Free Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike by Doug Dandridge Page B

pieces of that hull flew off into
space, to fall into the black hole within minutes.  Internal divisions, floors,
walls, bulkheads, were also vaporized for several kilometers into the station,
along with everything that was contained within those chambers.  Ten kilometers
further everything was smashed, machinery ripped apart, people pulped.   Some
of the blast moved through openings, tram tunnels, lift shafts, spreading the
fury in seemingly random directions.  In some sections, thirty kilometers from
the blast, all organic forms were vaporized, while across a bulkhead there was
no effect.  In several places the top of the station blew out.
    The region affected was more than the area of
ten thousand battleships, an area almost beyond comprehension, though only a
tiny portion of the enormous station.  On the outer areas of the devastation
robots and emergency personnel went to work containing the damage.  In the area
of total devastation there was nothing to be done, and over ten thousand
sentient beings were gone, mostly Ca’cadasan commandos and human Marines.  And,
of course, the station had been pushed off kilter by a blast that none of the
designers had ever envisioned.
    *    
*     *
    “I think I’m going to lose her,” yelled out the
Tech that was supervising the grabber array on the Donut .  The station
was moving toward the point of no return, the section opposite the blast
shifting closer to the black hole, as the section nearest the explosion drifted
out under the impulse of the force of the weapon.
    “How much power are you giving the grabbers,”
said Lucille, running over to the man’s station.
    “One hundred percent,” said the Tech.  “All
they’ll handle.”
    Lucille looked up at the schematic, cursing
under her breath.  She looked back at the sweating Tech.  “Give them one
hundred and ten percent.”
    “That could burn them out,” argued the Tech.
    “And if we hit the hole, it doesn’t matter if
the grabbers are intact or not.  Now give them everything you’ve got.”  There’s
supposed to be some extra capacity built into the units , she thought,
praying that it was true.
    “Giving them one hundred and ten percent,” said
the Tech, his fingers striking the panels and overriding the system.  The power
meters on the system climbed past the blue columns that indicated normal power,
moving into the red zone that was the warning that too much was being asked of
the millions of units.
    The station continued to move on its path to
disaster, everyone in the control chamber staring at the schematic.  There was
a shudder through the floor, not as sudden or strong as the one the explosion
had caused, but in some ways more powerful.  The fabric of the station
stressing and straining under the multiple forces pulling on her.
    “I’m losing some of the grabbers,” yelled the
Tech.
    “How many?” yelled Lucille, glancing at the
control panel.
    “About point one percent,” said the man.  “With
more going every second.”
    “Keep the power feed going,” said Lucille,
thinking of ordering another increase, weighing the odds in her mind.  “One
hundred and twenty percent,” she ordered.
    “We’re going to lose more,” blurted out the
Tech, his fingers inputting the new orders.
    We could lose several percent and still have an
increase in power ,
she thought, but is it enough?
    “I think it’s working,” yelled the Supervisor.
    The column showing the percent of failed
grabbers was climbing, passing one percent, then to two, then speeding up and
hitting four.  The remaining grabbers were still pulling at space harder than
all of them would have at one hundred percent power.
    And then the station barely moved away from the
point of no return.  Slowly at first, barely noticeable, then speeding up.
    “Ease off a little of the grabber power when
she crosses the fifty percent line,” said Lucille, putting a hand on the Tech’s
shoulder.
    More were overheating, but