Free The Oncoming Storm by Christopher Nuttall

lines.”
    Minutes ticked away before the XO spoke again. “Captain,” he said formally, “all tubes are cleared. The airlocks are sealed.”
    “Cut the power lines,” Kat ordered. Previously, her ship had drawn its power from the shipyard’s fusion cores. Now, Lightning would be completely reliant on her own reactors for power. “Engineering?”
    “These beauties took the strain without even dimming the lights,” Lynn pronounced. “All power cores are functioning optimally. Battery power is held in reserve.”
    Kat had to smile. Keeping the lights on was hardly a significant demand, not compared to the ship’s drives or weapons. They could have operated the lights through batteries alone for days, if necessary. But it was good to know there hadn’t been any minor problems.
    “Disengage from the tubes,” she ordered softly. “And then prepare to take us out of the yard.”
    “Maneuvering thrusters online,” Lieutenant Samuel Weiberg reported. The helmsman looked disgustingly confident in his skills, but he had reason to be. “Drive field generators standing by.”
    A faint shiver ran through the hull, so faint that Kat wondered if she’d imagined it.
    “Tubes disengaged,” her XO said. “We will be clear to depart in five minutes.”
    Kat felt her heartbeat racing in her chest, thumping so loudly that it was a wonder no one else could hear it. Her ship was finally ready to depart . . . She braced herself, mentally counting down the seconds. Suddenly, she just couldn’t wait.
    “The shipyard just signaled us,” Linda Ross reported. The communications officer looked up from her console, her gaze meeting Kat’s. “We are cleared to depart.”
    “Take us out,” Kat ordered.
    A dull quiver ran through the vessel as the maneuvering thrusters fired, slowly pushing Lightning out of the shipyard and into open space. The quivering grew stronger as the helmsman checked and rechecked his systems, knowing that a single mistake could have disastrous consequences if he didn’t catch it in time. Drive fields were so much simpler, Kat knew as she watched him work, but bringing a drive field up within a shipyard would tear the complex apart. They would have to wait until they were in open space before powering up the drives and leaving the system behind.
    She watched the display until they were outside the shipyard and then keyed her console. “Mr. Lynn?”
    “Drive nodes are online,” the engineer said. “You may bring the drives to full power at will.”
    Kat smiled. “Bring up the drive,” she ordered. “And then run a full cycle of tests before we go anyway.”
    “Aye, aye, Captain,” the helmsman said. Another quiver, stronger this time, ran through Lightning. The background noise deepened for a long moment, then returned to the steady thrumming that had pervaded the entire ship since the fusion cores were activated. “Drive online . . . field active in twenty seconds.”
    Kat held her breath. This, she remembered, was where Uncanny had suffered her first major systems failure. Her drive nodes had proved utterly unequal to the strain placed on them and blew, one by one, leaving the starship tumbling helplessly through space. After that, she had been mildly surprised the Navy had kept the ship in commission, let alone built a second cruiser to the same—if somewhat modified—specifications. She felt tension rise on the bridge as Lightning quivered, a faint sensation spreading through the hull, then settling down.
    “Drive field active, seventy percent power,” Weiberg informed her. “All systems appear to be handling the strain.”
    The XO looked relieved. Kat didn’t blame him. Apart from the potential for disaster, a repeat of the Uncanny debacle would probably have destroyed both of their careers. The last she’d heard, almost everyone who had served on Uncanny as senior officers had left the Navy, although not all of their careers had been blighted. Some had no longer felt like pushing