Katabasis
© 2021 by Walter Reimer



There was an ancient saying from when Terra was the only planet Terrans inhabited, and seagoing navies fought each other: “A stern chase is a long chase.”

It was quite a different thing when ships fought in space; when an opponent had a higher velocity, longer-range weapons or a different vector, combat could be very brief. But the old saying came home to Gromov Feranq as what was left of his command fled and the Kashlani pursued.

He was outnumbered. He had known he would be outnumbered before entering Kashlanin space, and they’d been outnumbered at their first encounter, but as Task Force 2 ran for Terran-controlled territory the imbalance in forces had only grown greater – and the Kashlani were not attacking him.

The rear guard action he’d ordered had lost him sixteen destroyers. None of them were crippled or boarded, and the Imperial ships didn’t demand their surrender. The ships had been destroyed almost contemptuously, and any Imperial ship that had been damaged had been replaced by another.

And the pursuit had dragged on.

He knew that a possible trap awaited them ahead. The tiger was as certain of that as he was certain of anything. The shape the pursuing fleet had adopted, a huge bowl, practically screamed trap at every Terran who studied the plot.

But he couldn’t confide his fears to anyone aboard the Menhit. A commander had to be steady and inspire confidence. Morale was shaky enough already; seeing him afraid would cause it to collapse entirely. The only officer equal in rank to him, Wen Elian, was still in the sickbay aboard Tyr. His injuries had been more severe than initially reported.

Probing attacks against the rim of the bowl only further underlined their predicament, causing the damage or loss of more ships while gaining only the knowledge that the light forces at the fringe of the Kashlanin formation could call upon heavier units as necessary.

Task Force 2 was down to fifty-eight ships, most of which sported some level of damage. One cruiser had made the mistake of falling back to effect repairs to its hyperdrive, and had been attacked by six heavy cruisers. The straggler dealt with, the Imperial ships had sedately returned to their original positions.

The tiger huffed a sigh and stood up, smoothed his cheekruffs back, and entered the Menhit’s bridge. He nodded to the few crewmembers that saluted him and stopped beside the captain’s chair. “Status, Captain?”

The canine nodded. “Status is the same, Admiral. We’re running with our tails between our legs, and the Critters are staying with us.” He lowered his voice. “I’m wondering when the trap gets sprung.”

Same here, Gromov thought. “How long to Terran space?”

The captain glanced up at the tiger. “Another parsec, sir. ETA about an hour.” His tail swished idly. “Do you think they’ll stop at the border?”

“Would you?” Gromov muttered.

The canine’s ears went back.

“Excuse me, Captain?” the sensor technician asked. “The Kashlanin formation’s changing.”

“What? Where?” Gromov asked before the captain could speak. “Are they finally closing in?”

“N-No, sir,” the tech said, and the tactical plot appeared.

The edges of the ‘bowl’ were starting to draw in.