The Last Starfighter by Alan Dean Foster

It was against all laws and regulations for a visitor from an advanced system to expose himself to unsophisticated primitives, but that was a League tradition, and the League was about to undergo some drastic shifts in policy. The killer knew that its master could care less if it had to expose itself to half the local population. All that mattered was getting the job done.

If any of the natives happened to catch a glimpse of it in its unmasked form, that was their tough luck. They were going to be seeing quite a bit of the Ko-Dan and their allies before long.

The ZZ-Designate looked forward to the future. This world looked amusing. After concluding its assignment it decided it might stay a while. The inhabitants made funny targets. There was sport to be had here.

11

Alex watched the screen as it filled with images representing the incoming Ko-Dan ships. A superimposed grid located the armada precisely and readouts ticked away the distance remaining between the invaders and Rylos. The script meant nothing to Alex, but seemed ominous just the same.

“The armada will come through thusly, according to predictors.” Grig spoke carefully, methodically. “Unless opposed, they will reach geosynchronous orbit around Rylos in twenty time-parts. Squadrons of small attack ships will precede the command craft, which houses the mass driver.”

The last translation used a term vaguely familiar to Alex. He asked Grig to elaborate.

“That is the weapon that was used to destroy the Starfighter base. Actually a very primitive notion, made useful in modern warfare only because of the intervention of advanced technology. It’s difficult to defend yourself when the enemy is throwing irresistible forces at you from an immovable object. Think of it as the ultimate catapult. A very flexible weapon. It can fire anything you can fit inside it.”

“Then how do we cope with it?”

“We don’t,” Grig informed him. “It poses no danger to us. Only to fixed objects like ground-based installations . . . and cities. Our danger will come from ships armed with weapons similar to our own.” He adjusted a control, trying to locate the Ko-Dan command ship.

“You said the command craft will be preceded by squadrons of smaller ships, fighters. How many ships? Or maybe I should ask, how many squadrons?”

“Oh, it’s not the number of squadrons that concerns me,” Grig replied easily. The view on Alex’s screen jumped, steadied. Grig finally had the Ko-Dan command ship in focus. It was most impressive. The view leaped forward so realistically Alex almost ducked; then it slowed and crawled across the skin of the alien vessel until it stopped on, a large opaque blister located near the bow.

“It’s this command center that worries me. From there combat information is relayed simultaneously to every Ko-Dan ship, enabling them to act in concert against any attacker. The center is comprised of a series of ultra-sophisticated plotting computers operating in tandem. Give them enough time-and they require very little-and they will predict a pattern of movement for any intruding ship, enabling the fighters to concentrate on it as one.”

“How can it do that?” Alex inquired, “when any attack is bound to be made at random?”

“No machine or organic pilot functions in a purely random fashion. Each utilizes preferred maneuvers without doing so consciously. The Ko-Dan computers will pinpoint enough of a pattern to predict where an attacking ship is likely to be at any point in time. That takes the initiative away from any attacker, and initiative is vital to the success of any Starfighter assault.”

“So we’ve got to destroy that command center before it has enough time to analyze our movements.”

Grig nodded. “And deal with the fighters while they’re trying to regroup for concerted action. That is the Ko-Dan’s weakness They tend to hold back until receiving instructions from higher up. They can’t help it; it’s part of their mental makeup. Usually it works for them. They overwhelm any enemy with mass attacks. But they’ve never had to deal with a Starfighter before.

“After we take care of the command center we’ll finish off the smaller ships before they can move in and attack Rylos itself, then return to take care of the command ship before they can move the mass driver within precision range.”

“Seems to me they were precise enough from farther out when they destroyed the base.”

“They need to drop into low orbit to make their threat as believable as possible. It is one thing to be on the receiving end of such a weapon, quite another to be able to look up in the night sky and watch it cross over your head. The Ko-Dan do not really want to destroy Rylos; they want to conquer it. There is no glory in ruling rubble. So psychological weapons are as important as technological ones.”

“I see.” Alex did some mental figuring. “Wait a second. We knock out the control center to prevent the fighters from acting in concert, but to get to the command center we gotta get through the fighters.” He slumped. “That makes it simple. We’re dead.”

“Don’t fret. I’ll have it all figured out by the time we reach attack position.”

“Sure you will. While you’re making notes, keep in mind I’d like any remains sent to …” He broke off as a steady humming noise suddenly penetrated the cockpit. “What’s that?”

“Sensor. We’re nearing the outer limits of Rylos’s inner defensive shield.”

“I thought the Ko-Dan already broke through that.”

“Temporarily, long enough for them to destroy the base. Now the shield is back in place again, until they break through the next time. They are playing with us, I fear. This time the armada itself will come through, convinced they’ll be doing so unopposed.” He emitted an alien chuckle. “Aren’t they going to be surprised!”

“Oh yeah,” Alex agreed flatly. “They’ll be terrified out of their socks.”

Another buzz replaced the steady humming. Grig’s main monitor screen came to life. Two images appeared off to port.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” Grig studied the screen. “Highly irregular to see cargo ships this far above the ecliptic. I can’t imagine where they’re headed. They may not be aware of the Ko-Dan presence.”

“How’s that possible? Surely everyone within communications range knows about it by now.”

“Everyone within range, yes, but these visitors may be on their way in from outsystem and may have just emerged from supralight drive. I’ll try hailing them on sealed beam.” His hands worked instruments.

“This is gunstar one out of Rylos. Identify yourself, please. You are in a combat area. Ko-Dan armada is close at hand. Repeat, identify yourselves. You should leave this sector immediately and proceed in to Rylos.”

“Can’t the Ko-Dan pick that up?” Alex asked anxiously, watching his own screen. Indeed, he couldn’t take his eyes off it. Literally.

“Not unless Xur’s spies have burrowed deeper into League technology than so far suspected.”

Abruptly space lit up outside the ship, bright silent flares erupting off to their left.

“What was that!”

“Contradiction of my aforementioned,” said Grig as he threw the ship onto a different course and boosted their speed. “Unless they have simply been ordered to attack any vessel not attempting contact on an approved Ko-Dan channel.”

Alex stared at the battle screen. “Hey, they’re coming toward us! Shouldn’t we take evasive action before they catch up to us?”

“They are not catching up to us,” Grig replied as he concentrated on the controls. “We are catching up to them. They are trying to get away.”

“Uh . . . maybe we should let them?”

“This is no game, Alex,” Grig admonished him. “These are not Ko-Dan fighters. They are Xurian ships, traitors, Ko-Dan allies. I’ve jammed their transmissions so they can’t report back to the rest of the armada, but we have to stop them quickly. Stand ready, Alex. There are your first live targets.”

“Live?”

Grig didn’t reply. He was too busy trying to run down the two retreating ships.

“Gee, Grig, I’m not sure I’m ready to …”

“Within range in five milliparts. Get ready.”

Ahead, the two Xurian ships suddenly disappeared, vanishing from their screens.

“Where’d they go?” Alex wondered.

“Only one place to hide from scanners at this range. Hang on.”

The gunstar dipped as Grig flung it toward a large asteroid drifting nearby. Alex flinched, but there was no rending crash. Grig had plunged them into the center of a large crater, close on the track of the fleeing Xurians. He slowed immediately, knowing their quarry would be forced to do likewise or risk smashing into the walls of the volcanic vent.

The cockpit was full of beeps and clicks as he navigated a course through the asteroid. The tunnel down which the Xurians were fleeing was curved and smooth-sided.

“Three milliparts to kill zone. Weapons systems armed. Defensive screen armed.”

Alex leaned forward. “Grig, wait!”

“Fire when ready.”

The images of the two Xurian ships were sharp on the screen floating in front of Alex’s face, both of them pinned against the firing grid like tired butterflies. Alex stared blankly, suddenly conscious of what the pair of points represented. This was no two-dimensional microchip-generated picture. Both of those ships were filled with intelligent beings not unlike themselves.

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