Darkspace

by Richard Tongue

  The key was getting through their defenses, and accurately positioning the bomb. In theory, a missile might be able to do the job, but it would be fraught with peril, and a warhead of that size was heavy enough to tax the systems of the missile, slowing its acceleration. While it remained an option, the designers had intended that the missile detonate far enough from its target that precision guidance would not be needed. Usually, it would take something the size of a shuttle to get a payload like that into place.

  A shuttle.

  That was the answer. Though they’d have to do better than before. They couldn’t just hurl charges out of a cargo airlock and hope for the best. This time they would have to position the bombs on the surface of the enemy ship. It was certainly large enough for them to attempt a landing, though fighting their way through would be next to impossible. She looked up at the weapons manifest, the beginnings of an idea forming in her mind, and her hands danced across the controls as she worked through the list, adding combat sequences and maneuvers.

  “That might actually work,” Silva said, looking over Novak’s shoulder, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Novak asked. “I thought I told you to take ten minutes.”

  With a smile, she replied, “I did. I guess you lost track of time. Coming up with a crazy stunt like this, though, I’m not at all surprised.” She moved to Novak’s side, reaching for the controls, and added, “There are some substantial unknowns built into this mission plan. Not least of which are the intentions of the alien fleet. You’re guessing that they’ll spot what you’ve done and launch an attack to match, and presuming that their guidance systems are good enough to take advantage of the hole you’re hoping to rip in the enemy armor.”

  “I doubt they’d have launched their fleet unless they had some assurance that they can hit their target, and there’s at least a chance that we’ll be able to speak to them before we engage.” Looking up at the simulation still running on the display, she added, “We’ve got to take the risk. Unless you can come up with a better idea.”

  “Nothing with a chance of working this well,” Silva conceded. “I’ll fly your mission for you, Commander.”

  “Now wait just a damned minute,” Novak replied. “What makes you think you’re going along for the ride?”

  “Simple. I’m the best shuttle pilot in the task force. Possibly the best in the fleet. I’ve worked on the new missiles and with the warheads, and as weapons officer I am the best-qualified to set the charge on the surface.”

  “Your place is on the bridge, Lieutenant, and crew assignments…”

  “Are the Admiral’s decision.” She looked at Novak, and said, “We both know what this is about, Commander. You made that perfectly clear before we left, when we destroyed that Folk outpost. I know you don’t like me, don’t trust me, but right now, Commander, you need me, and you know it.” Turning to the display, she added, “This is going to be one of the toughest flights in history. Whoever pilots that shuttle will have to navigate through a host of enemy fire and countermeasures from Leonidas, making second-to-second decisions.”

  “Lieutenant…,” Novak rumbled.

  “Then a landing on an enemy ship. With who-knows-what sort of countermeasures waiting down there. Then plant a charge, or preferably two, and get out of there, through all the fire once more, before the charges go off and the aliens we are depending on, the aliens who we are unable to communicate with, launch an attack that I conservatively estimate at a thousand multi-megaton nuclear warheads. Half a gigaton even if only a quarter of them get through. Have I analyzed this mission profile correctly? Not to mention that we launch in two hours minus, meaning that whoever flies this mission is going to have to get into pre-flight immediately?”

  “That’s about how it works,” Novak said. “Bluntly, Lieutenant, I don’t trust you. I’ll concede that you want to win the war, I’ll even concede that you have the skills for the mission, but I also think that you’re in this for what you can get out of this. You’ve got the biggest black mark hanging over your career I’ve ever seen, and if we weren’t in a desperate situation, you’d be rotting in the Mercury Mines for the rest of your life. That can still happen.” Gesturing at the monitor, she added, “For me, this is life or death for billions of sentient beings. For you, it’s a chapter in your autobiography.”

  “At least you concede that I want to live long enough to write it,” Silva replied. “Suppose you’ve got me worked out. Suppose you know why I’m doing all of this, what my goals are, what I want to get out of this when the war is over. So what? What difference does it make why I’m willing to put my neck on the line? The end result is just the same, and for your information, Commander, a hell of a lot of people on this flying fairground feel just like I do. You think all those scientists have come along for love of pure research? All of them are looking forward to their book deals, to the tenure they’re going to get when they get home.” Looking Novak up and down, she added, “And then there’s you.”

  “What about me?”

  “Six months ago you were a passed-over Lieutenant wondering how you were going to stay in the service, on a dead-end deep-space assignment. Now you are second-in-command of the flagship of the fleet, looking to have stars on your shoulder in ten years at most. When we get back, you’ll have a ship of your own, maybe even this one, and your reputation will be well and truly made. You think my autobiography will sell? Yours is going to hit the best-seller lists.” She looked into Novak’s eyes, and said, “It hasn’t occurred to you. Yet. But it will. None of us are pure as driven snow, Commander, and it is crazy to pretend that we are. That’s not the world we live in.”

  “How the hell did you get quite this cynical?” Novak asked.

  “You’ll have to wait to read my book for that, Commander. That isn’t really important right now, though, is it? All that matters is that I’m right. That I’m the best pilot you’ve got, the best qualified for this mission, and that you need to make use of my skills if we’re going to pull this off.”

  Novak looked at Silva for a long minute, reached for a communicator, and said, “Admiral, I think we’ve got something. I’ll head up and give you a full briefing in a minute, but I need a shuttle prepared for launch, loaded with two warheads from the x-ray laser missiles.”

  “Two warheads…”

  “I’ll explain in a moment, sir.”

  “That’d better be one hell of an explanation, Commander. Who’s flying the shuttle?”

  “Lieutenant Silva and myself, sir. Novak out.” Turning back to Silva, she added, “I might have to concede that you need to be in the pilot’s seat, Lieutenant, but there is no way in hell that I’m going let you go out there alone.”

  With a gleaming smile, Silva replied, “Now, Commander, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter 5

  “Closing on target,” Cunningham said, confidence in every syllable as his hands slowly moved across the helm, working the controls like the seasoned veteran he was. He’d been offered a promotion after the last battle, assignment as Weapons Officer on a battlecruiser, but he’d turned it down to stay in post, along with dozens of others. They all knew that Leonidas was going to be key to the war, to victory or defeat, and they wanted to play their part in that victory.

  Sitting in his command chair, Scott was far less confident than his subordinate. Their battle plan had been thrown together at the last minute, all of their weapons systems patched together with a network of guesswork and improvisation, with the assistance of an unknown alien race a required prerequisite for success. He reached for a control, throwing the alien fleet onto the viewscreen, looking over their smooth, sleek likes as they slowly crawled towards the target, now less than a million miles away from his ship and closing all the time.

  Earth could have built that fleet, at any time after Gagarin, if there had been a clear and evident need. Orion-drive ships could have risen from the deserts of Africa an
d Asia, reaching into the sky to unleash atomic hell upon any potential threat. Clearly the aliens had thrown all of their resources into the defense of their homeworld, though a cursory examination of their biosphere suggested that there was far less to defend than once there was.

  “Bendix,” he asked, turning to the communications station, “Any news?”

  “We’re close, sir, but we’re not quite there yet.”

  “Define close, doctor. I need to talk to them, but I don’t need to engage in a long conversation about the merits of rational positivism. Just tell them when and where to let those missiles fly.”

  “It’s a question of meanings, Admiral. Right now I can only give you a two-in-three chance that we’ll get the translation right, even for a simple conversation. In half an hour I can give you ninety-nine percent, and you can start adding to that still more until our translation matrix approaches certainty. Though that still doesn’t mean we’ll actually be able to talk to them.”

  Turning to the linguist, Scott said, “Doctor, if this isn’t going to work, I need to know now.”

  “It’s a question of philosophy, sir. They’re aliens. I can’t tell you how they think, how they feel, even how they perceive the universe itself. For all I know, their plan is to commit racial suicide in the face of their enemy as a sign of worship and devotion. Maybe they’re planning the universe’s biggest fireworks display to welcome us to their space. I don’t know, sir, and that’s going to make matters complicated.”

  “You are filling me with confidence, Doctor,” Scott replied, shaking his head.

  “I’m just trying to be realistic, sir,” she said, turning back to her console. “If it’s any consolation, the test models we’re running with their local broadcasting show them to be almost depressingly like mankind. We’re pretty sure we’ve come across some rather lurid soap operas so far.”

  Cracking a smile, Chen said, “Something to look forward to when we get through this.” He threw controls, and added, “Xerxes and Themistocles are hanging back to provide covering fire, and both commanders have been instructed to veer off before they get into firing range.”

  “Good,” Scott said. “They don’t have the armament to provide anything other than decoy support, and they don’t have the armor to pull that off for any length of time.” Looking around the bridge, he added, “Having said that, neither do we, so helm, I expect you to pull off your usual wizardry with evasive maneuvers.”

  “Course already plotted, sir, ready to engage at your command.”

  “Weapons, are you ready to go?”

  The nervous Morales, nominally Deck Officer but also Silva’s back-up, looked over her controls and telltales and replied, “All systems are go, sir, ready to open fire as soon as we get within range. Kinetic cannons are programmed for defensive support, masers and lasers prepared to exploit any targets of opportunity.”

  “Sixty seconds to firing range, Admiral,” Cunningham said, taking a deep breath. “Enemy ship is still closing as before, no sign of evasive action.” He frowned, then added, “They don’t seem at all interested in the alien fleet, sir. I’d have expected them to deploy to provide maximum cover against their missiles. Even with the defenses they’ve got, there’s a good chance the aliens would get a few warheads through by simple weight of numbers unless they concentrate all of their firepower to stop them.”

  “Maybe they know something we don’t,” Rochford suggested. His eyes widened, and he added, “We’re missing a possibility, Admiral. What if the aliens are working with the Exterminators?”

  “Then we’re dead, Clyde,” Scott said with a thin smile. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “Thirty seconds,” Cunningham added. “Shuttle will launch in ninety.”

  “Initiate evasive pattern,” Scott ordered, and Leonidas began to lurch from side to side, Cunningham expertly playing the ship’s thrusters around in a bid to fool the enemy gunner. On the viewscreen, the tips of the malevolent vessel ahead began to glow red, heat building up as the laser cannons began their charging sequence, preparing to unleash a storm of fire on the incoming cruiser.

  “Preparing firing sequence,” Morales said, her knuckles white as she gripped her controls. It was a terrible time to throw an untrained officer into battle, but both Silva and Novak had worked through a programmed battle sequence. While it was unlikely to withstand the vagaries of battle for long, it would at least serve to give her something to work with, something to build upon.

  “Coming into range now,” Rochford warned. “Closest approach in a hundred and forty seconds. That’s going to give us too damned long in the firing line, Admiral.”

  “Can’t be helped, Clyde. It’s not as though we’ve got a choice. We’ve got to give that shuttle every chance it can to punch through the enemy defense. Any sign of activity from the enemy fleet?”

  “Looks as though they’re getting ready to fire,” Rochford replied. “Picking up what look like heat plumes, engines warming up, and they’ve opened the hatches on their missile launch tubes. I’d say that only has one possible explanation. I just hope they don’t fire too soon.”

  “Or at us,” Morales said, gloomily.

  “Energy spike!” Chen yelled, and the first beams of laser light lanced from the tendrils of the Exterminator ship, burning their way through space all around them. Cunningham’s hands were a blur on the helm as he worked the cruiser around, trying to stay a step ahead of the enemy, knowing at every thrust that he was giving information to his rival on the enemy vessel, information that they would soon be able to use to match his moves. He threw in another pulse on the lateral jets, out of sequence, and while a laser bolt seared past the hull close enough to set the proximity sensors wailing, he was able to use the boost to edge out of the way, smoothly onto a new trajectory.

  “Kinetic cannons opening fire,” Morales reported, her words punctuated by the rhythmic pounding from the recently-modified turrets, hurling thousands of fragments of rock at unbelievable acceleration towards the target. Now it was the turn of the Exterminator ship to dance, swinging back and forth to dodge the worst of the incoming projectiles, sweeping through the sky with its lasers to dispose of the rest.

  “Bridge to Shuttle One,” Scott said. “Stand by for launch.”

  “Roger, Admiral,” Novak replied. “We’re all set to go down here, sir, as soon as you give us the word.”

  “Stay loose, Commander. We only get one shot at this, and there’s no margin for error at all.”

  “Understood, sir. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of our part.”

  Scott looked up, watching a pair of laser beams bracket Leonidas on either side, the ship flying straight and level for what he felt instinctively was a second too long before Cunningham hurled them into a wild series of maneuvers, the Exterminator gunner taking the bait and throwing everything he had at a target that had moved well out of the way with microseconds to spare. An eternity in space warfare, especially at such short range.

  “Hey, we’re getting some new power readings,” Chen warned, looking across from his console. “From the interior of the ship, deep inside, away from the tendrils. Looks like it’s charging something.”

  “Sensors, I need a comparative scan of that ship now! Match it to our previous encounters, on the double!”

  “Working,” Rochford replied, reaching over the technicians to work the console himself. “Outside the same, but inside the power network is a lot denser, stronger. Don’t ask me how they’ve managed it, but this ship has a lot more power than the ones we’ve faced before. There’s something in the guts of the thing that looks suspiciously like a gravity wave generator, but far stronger than anything I’ve ever seen before.” He frowned, then added, “I’m detecting Hawking radiation. A lot of it. I don’t…”

  “Helm, evasive, hard to port, now!”

  The ship lurched, the helmsman frantically obeying the Admiral’s orders, throwing the ship out of the way of whatever was being fired at them. On cue, the enemy
ship dived back again, regardless of Cunningham’s desperate efforts, and he barely managed to guide the ship away from the quintet of laser bolts that slammed through the sky, missing the hull by mere meters.

  “What the hell was that?” Rochford asked.

  “Get in touch with the science team, see if they’ve got any ideas,” Scott ordered. “And watch the enemy power grid. That must have taken a hell of a lot of power to pull off, and with a little luck, they’ll have to recharge for a while before trying it again. I don’t intend to give them the chance.” Glancing back to the helm, he continued, “Cunningham, what’s the story with the thrusters?”

  “I had to run half the lateral jets on overload, sir, and that barely altered our trajectory. It’s as though something radically changed the local gravitational field, tugging us precisely where it wanted us to go. They’d have carved us up like a roast if I hadn’t been lucky. I didn’t think that was possible, sir.”

  “Neither did I, Ensign, but I guess the enemy aren’t using the same set of rules as we do.”

  “If they find a way to do that again, sir, that’s only going to make this tougher.” Looking across at another control, he added, “Shuttle launching sequence initiated. Departure in fifteen seconds. I could do with another salvo, Kari.”

  “On it,” Morales said, firing another burst of high-speed rubble into the void, spreading out to clear the way for the shuttle, forcing the enemy’s lasers to drain their energy in sweeping the sky clean once more. She fired a quick series of maser pulses, taking the desperate, slender chance that they might find their mark, but none of the beams even came close to penetrating the super-dense armor ahead. The Exterminator ship was a product of a technology centuries ahead of anything humanity could conceive, its mere existence more than proof of their inferiority.