Fulcrum Gun (Savage Stars Book 4)

by Anthony James

  Recker suddenly understood what the elusive opportunity might be. “I don’t want to find the interstellar, Commander,” he said. “I just thought maybe the Meklon could have built another Gateway – a Gateway that doesn’t appear on their star charts. What better way to get a head start on the Galactar than by throwing your spaceship across a hundred galaxies?”

  “The ground controller definitely said the interstellar went to lightspeed, sir,” said Burner. “So if there is a secret Gateway generator, it’s not here.”

  “Will the mainframe divulge which base it received instructions from regarding the interstellar?” asked Recker.

  “Yes, sir. The commands were routed through a series of Meklon installations, but with an origin point of Oracon-1.”

  “Figures,” said Recker. “Has the ground controller completed the handover of those transports?”

  “A few seconds ago,” Burner confirmed.

  “Send coordinates to each spaceship – have their autopilots fly them at the maximum speed of the slowest and in the same direction. Once that’s done, provide each one a different lightspeed destination, but instruct them to hold the ternium drive warmups until we’re ready.”

  “That’s done,” said Burner a short time after.

  The hull readings of the parked transports climbed and each one lifted off at precisely the same moment.

  “Seventy-eight in total,” said Eastwood. “If anything’s going to confuse the Galactar, this will be it.”

  Soon, the transports were above the planet’s thin atmosphere and they accelerated strongly in a tight formation along their instructed course. Recker watched them go by – their armoured hulls bristling with retrofitted weapons. The largest transport was almost four thousand metres in length and could have likely carried half a billion people on its own if they were crammed in tightly enough.

  “Makes me sad to look at them,” said Aston.

  “Me too,” said Recker. “If we knew the Meklon were as bad as the Lavorix, maybe it would be easier.”

  “Anything else you want me to ask the mainframe, sir?” asked Burner.

  “I don’t think it’ll tell us anything, Lieutenant.”

  “Oracon-1,” said Eastwood. “Ever get the impression that’s where this road is leading us?”

  “We’ll see.” Recker gave the Fulcrum’s engines some power and the battleship surged through the vacuum, catching up with the transports in moments. He guided the spaceship into the centre and matched velocity.

  “Nine hundred klicks per second,” said Eastwood. “Not bad for the slowest transport, but it’s going to limit the deviation of our lightspeed journey.”

  “That’s something we’ll have to accept.” Recker half-turned. “Lieutenant Burner, issue a command to each transport for them to enter lightspeed. We all have to leave at exactly the same moment.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve taken care of it. Eight of the transports must be packing some older hardware and they’ll require fourteen minutes to transition.”

  It was longer than Recker had anticipated. “What’s the next slowest?” he asked, wondering if he should order the other transports to leave earlier and forget about those eight.

  “Thirteen-and-a-half minutes, sir. The fastest is ten minutes.”

  “In that case, we’ll wait the full fourteen.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s finalised. We’re heading for the next waypoint and the transports are going to scatter to random places where there are no known Meklon facilities.”

  Fourteen minutes was a long warmup time and the only consolation Recker had as he sat through it was the steadily increasing distance from the planet. Not that he expected the Galactar to come, but he wanted to be as far away as possible from the scene of mass murder. The more he saw of the Lavorix and how they waged war, the more Recker found himself hating them. He didn’t want to give his enemy that control, but his emotions were strong.

  Right on time, the Fulcrum entered lightspeed, along with the numerous transports. Straightaway, Lieutenant Eastwood accessed the simulator.

  “We might be three hours in front of the Galactar,” he said. “The figure hasn’t gone up or down.”

  “Is there a way for the software to take into account all those transports mixing up our ternium cloud and lightspeed trail?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’d like you to program in the necessary modifications, Lieutenant. You have two hours and then I want the results.”

  From the corner of his eye, Recker spotted Eastwood’s mouth fall open.

  “Are you taking the piss, sir?”

  “Of course I am, Lieutenant. Just keeping you on your toes.”

  “I’m never off them, sir.”

  “Like a 230lb ballerina,” said Burner.

  “And you can be quiet,” said Eastwood, trying and failing to sound angry.

  The remainder of the journey to the next waypoint was without incident and the crew were in remarkably good spirits. When Recker thought about it, he guessed the improved mood was a combination of the increasing distance between the Fulcrum and the Galactar, as reported by the simulator, and the hope they all felt that the seventy-eight additional lightspeed trails created by the departing transports would significantly impact their enemy’s ability to give chase.

  Waypoint four came and went and then waypoint five. The next destination was the place Recker hoped to hear something from the Meklon and he held the Fulcrum stationary for the transition to lightspeed. This time, he wanted to land on target, rather than having to make an additional correction later.

  “If the departure of those transports had zero effect on the Galactar’s pursuit, we should still be nearly seven hours ahead of the enemy’s ability to compensate for our abandoning the lightspeed journey at the midpoint,” said Eastwood.

  “We’ve got something to play with,” said Recker.

  “The transmission will either be there or it won’t, sir,” said Burner. “We won’t need to wait around.”

  Recker nodded, aware that a lot was riding on what they found when they next entered local space. He gave the command and, shortly after, the Fulcrum entered lightspeed. If the Meklon hadn’t received the Fulcrum’s transmission or hadn’t responded, Recker didn’t know what he was going to do.

  At some point, the running would have to stop and they’d have to pay a visit to a much higher risk target like Oracon-1. If it came to that, Recker knew he’d be testing his combat skills again. Maybe not against the Galactar, but against whatever else the Lavorix had left behind.

  If it came to it, he’d keep shooting them down until the Fulcrum was destroyed or he brought his crew safely home.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t come to that. The coming destination would be the decider.

  Chapter Eight

  When the Fulcrum exited lightspeed, Recker ground his teeth as he watched for the sensors coming online - this being necessary for the comms system to receive. Ten seconds after the sensor feeds appeared, he looked to Burner and Larson.

  “No waiting transmission, sir,” said Burner despondently. “There’s been more than enough time for our broadcast to reach a receiving station and for the return message to come. Even if the Meklon command structure is a nightmare of ass-scratching and paper pushers, they’ve had plenty of time to send something back to us.”

  “We didn’t make a mistake with our transmission either, sir,” said Larson, heading off Recker’s next question.

  “The Meklon are gone,” said Aston.

  Recker didn’t say anything for another minute, hoping that Burner and Larson would be proved wrong. No transmission arrived and Recker held in a sigh.

  “Tell me where we are.”

  “Nowhere,” said Burner. “No planets, no stars, no discernible space debris anywhere within a hundred thousand klicks.”

  “Time for a change of plan, sir,” said Aston.

  Recker knew it. Any commanding officer who survived more than a few years against the Daklan had ine
vitably learned to adapt. Those who didn’t were generally dead and their squads or crews with them.

  “Oracon-1,” he said.

  “It doesn’t have to be, sir,” said Aston.

  “What other options are there, Commander?”

  “We could explore and see what we can turn up from lower-risk targets. Either that or we wait for the Galactar.” She smiled unconvincingly.

  “We talked about this before – we have no easy way to rearm,” said Recker, ignoring the suggestion to wait for the enemy to arrive. “Eventually, we’ll run out of ammunition or run into something we can’t handle.”

  “Or take a six-month flight back to Excon-1,” Burner reminded him.

  “It’s an option, sir,” said Aston.

  “Not much of one.”

  “We’d be alive at the end of it.”

  “What if we return and the HPA have already been wiped out by the Lavorix? Maybe even by the Daklan? No, Commander, I won’t countenance a six-month journey. Not unless the alternative is guaranteed suicide and right now, I’m not convinced that’s the case.”

  “In which case, we’ve got to think of a plan, sir. If it’s Oracon-1, then that’s what it is,” Aston said.

  “It took a whole Daklan fleet to knock out the Lavorix ships stationed at Excon-1,” said Eastwood. “The Fulcrum is a real bruiser, but we don’t have any more firepower than a single annihilator.”

  Recker had his fist clenched and poised ready to crash down in anger when he was halted by an exclamation from Lieutenant Burner.

  “A transmission, sir!”

  “What does it say?” asked Recker, making no effort to disguise his relief.

  “Extinction Protocol - Sphere 4,” read Burner. “Fulcrum recognized. Security tier increased. Unlock code 00001 – fraction received.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, sir. I’m certain this is an automated message.”

  “You said it would be waiting for us when we got here,” said Eastwood.

  “I was wrong,” Burner admitted. “I don’t know why.”

  “Let’s not split hairs,” said Recker. “This is proof the Meklon are gone from what they refer to as Sphere 4. Presumably, each of their primary stations is within a separate sphere, making thirteen in total.”

  “The Meklon’s unlucky number.”

  “We don’t know what’s happening in these other spheres,” Recker continued. “At this moment, I can’t decide if that’s important or not. What is important, is that increased security tier and the unlock code.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m looking into what it means,” said Burner. “The fraction we’ve received is a four-trillion-digit number and it arrived a split-second after the text transmission.”

  “Is the delay significant?”

  “It was sent separately, sir. Maybe from a different place.”

  “How many other fractions are there and will we receive them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Recker felt a building excitement. Something of enormous importance had either happened or was in the process of happening. He checked the battleship’s control menu for additional options that may have appeared as a result of his increased security tier. The only difference was a new, star-shaped symbol which had appeared adjacent to his name on the screen.

  “Whatever that security tier increase did, it had no effect on the Fulcrum,” he said. “None that I can see.”

  “I can guess what’s going on, sir,” said Aston. “You’re already on the highest security tier for the Fulcrum. Now you’ve been given access to something else. Something that isn’t here and which a warship captain wouldn’t usually have the authority to use or maybe even be aware of.”

  The idea resonated and Recker nodded. “That makes sense. Now we have to figure out what it is.”

  “I don’t want to be the one tipping liquid manure onto the carnival parade,” said Eastwood, “But this high-tier stuff could mean no more than additional access to admin crap – you might have gained access to personnel records and pay grades.”

  “Let’s hope it’s something of greater significance, Lieutenant.” Recker turned his attention to Burner. “Have we received any more fractions?”

  “No, sir. I’ve run the partial code through the Fulcrum’s decrypting hardware and there’s nothing to indicate how many other parts are to come, nor how long they might take to get here. This is probably something that…” Burner cleared his throat. “…real Meklon commanding officers get shown when they’re promoted.”

  “We’ve got no choice other than to wait, have we?” said Recker.

  “No, sir.”

  “Is there a way you can guess the likely arrival time of these other fractions?”

  “I’ll run it through my how long is a piece of string estimator, sir, and see what comes out the other side.”

  “Fine, I get the message.”

  “The second fraction arrived,” said Larson suddenly. “Another four trillion digits.”

  “How will we know when they’re all here?” asked Fraser.

  “The comms system will automatically assemble them into a whole, decrypt that whole and then take whatever action the resultant file dictates.” Burner raised his head. “Don’t worry – it’s not a shutdown code.”

  “I didn’t think it was, Lieutenant,” Recker replied truthfully. “This is something big and I hope it’s going to give us an advantage.”

  “We got the third fraction,” said Burner. “There’s no way to tell where they’re being transmitted from. If I had to guess, I’d say that each military station holds a single part of the whole and only when a certain threshold is breached can they begin transmitting.”

  “Which is a strong method for ensuring the Lavorix never get their hands on the completed code,” said Larson.

  “Fraction number four,” said Burner. “It’s still not assembling.”

  Minutes passed and the unlock code fractions continued pouring into the Fulcrum’s comms system. Recker wasn’t yet concerned about the passing of time, but he did start wondering exactly how long this would take. Lieutenants Eastwood and Fraser were the most accomplished coders amongst the crew and they scrutinised the fractions as they came in. Neither was able to glean anything useful.

  By thirty minutes, the Fulcrum had received a total of thirty-one fractions. Nothing had arrived in the last ten minutes and Recker was on edge.

  “I bet there’s only one more to come,” said Burner.

  “Could the broadcast station have been destroyed?” asked Fraser. “Maybe it’ll never arrive.”

  “I’m sure that’s a possibility,” Burner admitted. “I’m equally sure that more than one Meklon installation holds a copy of each fraction, to reduce the likelihood of them all being taken out.”

  “And there’ll be deep space satellites capable of broadcasting as well,” said Larson. “At least that’s how I’d set it up for maximum certainty.”

  The next fraction arrived a moment later and it turned out to be the final one like Burner had guessed.

  “It’s assembling!” he said. “The file’s going to be a big one.”

  The decryption and assembly took several minutes and pushed the Fulcrum’s core utilisation to one hundred percent. When finished, the comms system deposited a file into the battleship’s databanks. The file auto-ran and a new menu option appeared on Recker’s command console.

  Retribution

  He accessed the menu.

  “There’s a lot to go through,” he said, feeling the eyes of his crew boring into him.

  “Are we sticking around while you do it?” said Aston.

  Recker nodded. “We’ll have to – I’ve got a feeling we’re going to find something in here that tells us where to go next.” He came across some additional star chart data – currently locked to the ship’s commanding officer. Without hesitation, he gave Burner and Larson access. “Check that out,” he said.

  “New locations revealed,” said Burne
r a moment later. “Places that weren’t on the star chart before are now visible to us.”

  “Study them – and quickly.” Recker dug deeper into the new menu and found something which made his bubbling excitement climb yet further. “The Meklon were working on a counter to the Galactar,” he said. “A weapon.”

  “Fitted to a spaceship?” asked Aston.

  “I don’t know what the eventual plans were for it,” said Recker. He opened a new file and skimmed the contents. “It wasn’t finished,” he said, feeling immediately deflated. “93% towards completion, according to this high-level project plan.”

  “Is that plan up to date, sir? When you’re under threat of imminent death, you tend to put all hands on deck and forget about the paperwork.”

  “I’m not certain,” said Recker. “This file has plenty of data in it – more than I can read in a couple of minutes.”

  “Can you give me access? Maybe I can help,” said Aston.

  “Done.”

  “Me too, sir,” said Eastwood.

  “And me,” added Fraser.

  Recker gave every member of his crew full access and then got on with the task of searching through the enormous quantity of data. After fifteen minutes of reading, he concluded that the Meklon organized their files well enough, but these ones were clearly aimed at personnel who already had knowledge of ongoing projects.

  “Sir, how much longer?” said Eastwood. “Whatever lead we had over the Galactar, it’s eroding.”

  “I know that, Lieutenant.” Recker’s eyes jumped of their own accord to the timers which Eastwood had set running. “Even if the estimates are bad, we should have at least a couple of hours to do this.”

  “And then we’ll have to build up our lead again.”

  “I’m aware of the problems we face, Lieutenant.”

  Eastwood fell silent and Recker continued his search. The difficulty lay in the fact that the Retribution project had been spread across several planets, with components built in numerous factories and then shipped elsewhere for further assembly. Those assembled parts were then taken to other destinations to be combined with other modules. Recker guessed the Meklon had been forced into such a convoluted method by the need for secrecy and because their primary manufacturing facilities had already been destroyed.