Read The Killing of Worlds for Free Online Page A

Then space flattened itself impassively before him.
    Marx took his scout drone and its growing retinue through the resulting hole in the Rix perimeter. The master pilot smiled exultantly. He was going to get his chance. He was going to do some damage.
    If only Zai could hold the
Lynx
together.
    “Just give me five minutes,” he muttered.
Executive Officer
    “Contact in four minutes, sir,” Hobbes reported.
    The captain’s eyebrows raised a centimeter. The flockers were arriving ahead of schedule.
    “They’re kicking, sir,” Hobbes explained. Kick—the increase of a rate of acceleration. “Maybe they suspect what we’re up to.”
    “Perhaps they simply smell blood, Hobbes. Can we have separation in time?”
    Hobbes refocused her attention to the heated conversations among the engineers working below. They were attempting to eject the energy-sink’s main generator, to separate the
Lynx
from its own defensive manifold, which was now glowing white-hot from the point-blank pounding of the frigate’s four photon cannon. The manifold was designed to be ejected, of course; warships had to shed their energy-sinks when they grew too hot from enemy fire. But usually the generator remained on the ship while the manifold was discohered, allowed to fly apart in all directions. Captain Zai’s plan, however, demanded that the manifold remain intact, retaining its huge shape as the
Lynx
pulled away from it.
    Therefore, the gravity generator that held all the tiny energy-sink modules in place had to leave the frigate—in one piece and still functioning.
    The engineers didn’t sound happy.
    “Slide that bulkhead now!” the team leader ordered. It was Frick, the First Engineer.
    Godspite, Hobbes thought. There was still an exterior bulkhead between the generator and open space.
    “We’re not at vacuum yet,” a voice complained. “We’ll depressurize like hell.”
    “Then strap yourselves to something and depressurize the bitch!” Frick countered.
    Hobbes checked the rank-codes on the voices: Frick of course was head of engineering; the team clearing the obstructing bulkhead came from Emergency Repairs, regular Navy filling in. A chain-of-command problem.
    She cut into the argument.
    “This is ExO Hobbes. Blow the damn bulkhead. I repeat: Don’t bother matching the vacuum, don’t waste time sliding—blow it.”
    Stunned disbelief silenced both sides of the argument for a moment.
    “But Hobbes,” Frick responded, his line now restricted to officers’ ears only. “I’ve got unarmored ratings down there.”
    Damn, Hobbes thought. The ratings had been pulled from other sections: maintenance workers, low-gee trainers, cooks. They wouldn’t have been assigned armored suits. Their pressure suits could stand hard vacuum, but weren’t equipped to survive an explosion.
    But there wasn’t time. Not to get the ratings out of danger, not even to get the captain’s confirmation.
    “The flockers are kicking on a steep curve. Time’s up. Blow it,” she ordered, her voice dry. “Blow it now.”
    “Does the captain—” the other team leader began.
    “Now!”
    The situation beacon guttered magenta in her second sight—an explosion aboard ship. A fraction of a second later, the actual shock wave of the blast rippled through the bridge.
    Hobbes closed her eyes, but cruel synesthesia didn’t permit escape. She could see it: low on the engineering wedge of her crew organizational chart, a row of casualty lights turned yellow. One swiftly flickered to red.
    “What was that?” Zai asked.
    “Separation in twenty seconds.” Hobbes couldn’t bring herself to say more.
    “About time,” Zai muttered. The captain ran far fewer diagnostic displays than his executive officer. He must not have seen the casualties yet.
    The engineering teams said nothing as they completed their work. Only grunts of physical labor, the hard breathing of shock, and the background sounds of shrieking metal as the generator began to move.
    When