by Tony Daniel
Captain Hirsch said, “Well done.”
“Thank you, sir,” he agreed. For warfare, it was well done. It was also something they could probably do again. Until the UN had phase drives installed, they couldn’t use the tactic, as they’d found out disastrously when they tried to “clandestinely” enter the Grainne system proper through the jump point.
He’d just killed several thousand people who had no idea they were combatants.
The next few Earth-minutes were mass confusion as two patrolling ships lit their drives hot, started trajectory for the station, then powered down as pointless. If anyone had survived, they’d be dead before any rescue could reach them.
Probably, no one had survived.
Then the ships turned power onto active sensor sweeps and detailed analysis of all space around them. They would attempt to backtrack trajectories on the impactors and reduce their search cones.
The problem with space was that there was nowhere to actually hide. The second problem was the power outputs of a major ship’s plant were significantly more detectable than distant stars, or local planetoids.
Captain Hirsch asked, “Sensors, can you get any commo?”
Werner replied, “Minimal. It’s tight beam, little bleed, and encrypted. Senior Ustan is doing traffic analysis and looking for indicators.”
Hirsch said, “So we wait.”
Their current trajectory would have them safely out of system, well into deep space, and in prime phase drive options in ten days.
“I need a break,” Metzger said. “Helm, please resume control.”
Tung said, “Sir, I have control.”
“Thank you. Captain, I need to walk a bit. May I have your leave? I’ll be in the gym.”
“You may. Thanks for your plotting so far. Please be ready for any notice.”
“Yes, sir.”
Metzger pushed and pulled his way aft, into the gym, and into the centrifuge. He could walk in endless loops, but it would work his muscles and burn off some stress. Being cooped in a G couch for most of a day was exhausting.
He wasn’t the only one walking, but he took a brisk stride that had him slowly lapping two others. He recognized one of the engineers, and one of the weapons maintenance techs. They all politely ignored each other.
He’d just vaporized thousands of people, most of them not direct combatants, but support.
The UN was going to try to kill him and everyone he served with in response.
Hell, they were already trying to do that.
Was it worthwhile? Or would it just escalate to more nukes and kinetic weapons back home? Was it worth winning if there was nothing left?
Fatigue hit hard. How long had he been at it? Eight divs, almost an entire day cycle. Yeah. Rest and calculate, that was his life at present.
He was about to ping the captain for permission when an incoming message ordered him to rest. “If unable, report to the medical officer.”
Moral quandaries aside, sleeping wasn’t a problem. He made it to his cabin and collapsed onto his bunk with just enough consciousness left to fasten in against maneuvers.
Captain Virgil Ashton, UNPF, aboard the frigate Laconia twitched at the alarm. His first glance at the display showed nothing untoward in the vicinity. Helm was steady. Nothing looked out of line.
Then he saw the transmitted report.
Station Roeder was being hit hard. In the display, warheads and mass piled in bright flashes, overloaded its screens and smashed it to vapor.
Distress calls and beacons disappeared in cries and screams, then lonely silence.
Twelve thousand people had just died.
He tried not to twitch as adrenaline shot up his spine and he broke into a feverish sweat.
“Where the hell did that come from?”
Ahead and right of him, Reconnaissance Operator Alxi said, “Sir, everyone is searching now. All ships, all stations.”
It had to be the Grainne Colony, and it was a violent, mass attack far inside Earth space. And why hadn’t Space Force acquired phase drive as soon as it was proven? It allowed things like this. Whichever ship had done that had avoided the jump point entirely.
Where was it?
The tactical display showed a trajectory that intersected the station at one end, and dissipated into space at the other. Somewhere along that arc, that attack had been launched.
Another image lit, the potential cone the hostile had taken after launch.
Fleet commed in. The admiral came on personally. Ashton straightened.
“Ashton, are you ready for pursuit?”
Ashton replied, “At once, sir. We have the track and can boost at once.”
“Go. Frag order will follow.”
“Yes, sir. We are in pursuit.” He turned. “Navigation, Helm, maximum safe boost.”
“We’re on it.”
Warnings sounded and Laconia accelerated.
Helm Operator Rao asked, “Are there any survivors, sir?”
He scrolled through the messages piling on his display.
He said, “There may be a handful in a tumbling section, and some in rescue balls if they can be reached fast enough. They were in the dock section.”
“Does this count as a terror attack?”
Twisting his neck, he said, “Technically it is within the Law of Armed Conflict. They hit a military target during declared hostilities.”
Rao snapped, “That’s a BS technicality. Maintenance and support aren’t combatants.”
It had been inevitable, really, as soon as the UN had dropped KE and nuke weapons on Grainne. Sending second-rate troops for occupation hadn’t been smart, either.
Ashton said, “Either way, we pursue.”
“And then vaporize them.” The man sounded enraged, his teeth clenched.
Ashton nodded. “Once we have that order, yes.”
The Grainne ship was somewhere in that cone in the display. For now, their best pursuit trajectory was a shot down the middle.
Intel came in bit by bit.
Alxi summarized the Fleet Intel report verbally for everyone, even though it was in the display. There were a lot of things in the display, and they could be easy to miss.
“There was a lot of mass in that attack. The conclusion is it’s one of their destroyers. Big enough for phase drive, but not one of their fleet carriers. Those are too valuable and too fragile. A compact, phase drive—equipped ship with mass load. One of their Admiral class. We’ve previously destroyed one, that leaves three.”
Ashton said, “Good. I know their capabilities. Got them for review?”
“Yes, sir. Best known are on the display.”
Malahayati was a destroyer, phase-drive conversion, twenty-five years old. Their frames were smaller and more compact than UN ships, mainly built around jump-point defense. It was still a bigger ship than his frigate. It theoretically packed missiles and beams, but wouldn’t have been able to resupply easily. Two previous known engagements. It hadn’t been seen in months. It was likely low on everything.
Ashton said, “Now we have to figure how much fuel they used, still have, and can spare.”
This had to be punished, and Laconia was in a good position for it.
Rao reported, “Quito is astern, but can boost more. They’re joining.”
“Excellent, put me through. Shema, Ashton.”
Captain Grade 2 Shema said, “Hell of a thing, eh?” She looked wide-eyed in shock, not fear. It looked odd on her North Asian face.
Ashton replied, “Yes. Are we going to try to bracket?”
Shema said, “First I want to parallax all our sensor info. There might be something that will show them to us. I’ve got your trajectory. I’m going to deviate slightly outward, just on a hunch they’d rather be on the outermost track to space they can use.”
He said, “That makes good sense. Should I launch drones or waste a platform for intel?”
She shook her head. “I advise against it. We’ll throw that at them when we
find them. There are other ships that may be able to cross our scans and find something.”
“Understood. I just hate to chase without knowing what I’m chasing.”
She said, “For now that’s all we have, but it puts us in better position when we do find them.”
“It does. Yes, ma’am. We’ll funnel everything to you as we get it. Laconia out and listening.”
“Quito out and listening.”
Alxi said, “Sir, I may have something. An occultation of a star, and a rough trajectory, but it’s barely outside the estimated envelope.”
“Can you reconstruct a track?”
“I can.” It appeared in the display. It didn’t match either the estimated launch point or the current search cone, but it was too fast to be any kind of debris.
Alxi was good. She’d known where to look and found something.
It was his call to make. He made it.
“It’s close enough to assign it as Unknown One. See what Quito can find.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Metzger felt he’d barely closed his eyes when an alarm woke him.
“Report to C-Deck.”
He staggered to his feet and stumbled up the passage.
He was going to need a head break soon, but what did they have?
“They have us IDed,” Werner said as Metzger walked around the catwalk to his station.
Second Astrogator Yukat was on duty, and she cleared the couch as he approached.
This was his mission, his plan, and he had to furnish the options to the captain.
He settled in to the still-warm couch and squinted until his gritty eyes focused and his muddled brain tracked. The trajectories showed as equations, charts, and graphical loops in the system 3D sim. The tracks were beautiful ballistic curves against gravity and real motion.
They all had potential intercepts.
Metzger addressed the captain.
“Sir, our options are decoy and evasion now, or continue ballistically until any pursuit closes, then conduct decoy and evasion. I had planned for a momentary diversion in trajectory toward jump point.”
Hirsch said, “I recall. Do the latter. Any energy they expend now we won’t have to fight against later.”
“Understood, sir. Helm, my console has command.”
“Understood, sir,” Tung agreed.
He wanted to appear discreet, while being just noticeable enough for them to respond. This was why space warfare took segs or even days.
The correction for the jump point was simple. A huge solution set would accomplish that. This part of the set would actually get them there with enough fuel for a jump. This second choice would do so discreetly enough not to be seen. This one would just let them be seen, and give him the option of more visibility while still meeting the proper terminus. He mathematically shaved down a geometric shape until he had maneuvering options, minimum loss of fuel, and plenty of open space for evasion.
“All hands stand by for thrust,” he warned, and pinged the message through text, audio, and klaxon. Thirty seconds later, his correction started. The ship boosted softly, .2154 G according to his figures, and held it for exactly 436 seconds. It cut to micro G.
Then it was back to waiting.
“Sir, request permission for induced sleep.”
Hirsch said, “Absolutely. I’ll need your brain at its best. Helm, take control.”
Helm responded with, “Aye, sir. Helm has control.”
Metzger shuttered his couch, pulled a darkened visor over his eyes and ears, and watched hypnotic red waveforms drift across his vision. His brain tried to calculate their shapes, while he felt warm and ensconced in his couch. He’d just figured out the saw-sine expression of one when it changed to another, and . . .
Aboard Laconia, sorted data piled up.
Rao reported, “Mirabelle just came through jump. They’re on an almost-crossing vector, actually a very good position for an intercept, though tougher to get a good shot.”
Mirabelle was a destroyer. She was almost as fast, closer to the hostile, and had better weaponry.
“Got him!” Alxi said. “Sir, cross-referencing ours and Quito’s scans with those from Mirabelle has him marked. Also, we apparently had a stealth boat behind orbit?”
Ashton replied, “We did? I wouldn’t know. They don’t talk to anyone.”
“Well, they’re talking to me now. Or rather, they’re sending a very tight, burst-encrypted message to Mirabelle, who then tight-beamed us. So we’re hopeful the enemy can’t crack it.”
The “enemy.” That term hadn’t been used much. They were the “opposition,” the “resistant colony.” After this, they were finally the “enemy.”
“Is it in the display?” he prompted.
Alxi said, “It is now.”
The enemy ship was moving fast, but unpowered, and that was a very well-designed trajectory. It took them far enough from the jump point or habitat to minimize visibility, but not so far in system to increase their flight time or expose them to in-system sensors or weapons.
Ashton called down to Engineering Deck. “Powerplant, how much over max can we handle for a few hours?”
Commander Basco paused a moment, then said, “I can support ten percent over. Fifteen is probably safe but you’ll need to sign for it.”
“Fifteen it is. We’re chasing this asshole down.”
Another shape came on the display.
Navigator Mafinga said, “Assuming full fuel bunker, that’s his possible trajectories to deep space. Once he hits the edge of that, he’s clear.”
“How much overlap do we have on intercept?”
Mafinga ran a cursor through the image.
“Currently over two hours.”
Ashton twisted his lip. “Not a lot, but enough. Will higher boost help?”
“Sir, it will not. We’ll eat through our own fuel.”
“If we plan to wait for a recovery vessel, how much can we close?”
Mafinga swiped and tapped for calculations, and said, “That opens up options, but sir, I’d rather save that fuel for any course changes. We don’t know how accurate these initial findings are, or what weapons they’ll throw.”
Ashton nodded. “Valid. They’ll throw missiles, the same as we will. He can’t risk being seen and can hide missile drops easier than a beam. We can’t pour enough energy into a beam for potshots. When are we in range for a firing solution?”
Tactical Officer Shin said, “Only about ten minutes to max range. But we’ll have a much better shot in thirty-four.”
“We’ll wait if we can,” Ashton decided.
Shin added, “I have an ongoing solution updating, sir.”
“Closer means a larger warhead, correct?”
“Yes. It doesn’t make a lot of difference normally, but in this case, the weapon mass is an issue.”
He asked Shin, “Can we overboost the warheads?”
Shin said, “We can fake it with some additional jacketing. There will be more emission, and higher velocity fragments, but we’ll lose some to the blast.”
“Any hit will be a good hit. A few minor delays and he’s stuck in system until we slag him. Do it.”
Shin tapped info and swiped his display. “They’re on it,” he said.
Ashton signaled for his orderly.
He said, “Please have food brought to the bridge crew. Have our reliefs on mandatory rest waiting. This may drag out.” He turned back to the command crew and said, “Rest breaks will be one person every fifteen minutes, with a junior officer filling in. We want to keep our information flowing smoothly.
“Let’s fry this clown.”
“I’m awake,” Metzger said at once, before he realized there was an alert sounding in his ears.
He glanced at the displays surrounding him as the captain brought him up to date.
“They’re in pursuit. I need your expertise.”
“It looks like they corrected to match my anticipated course, and have deduced the shi
ft since then. I’m determining any discreet evasion will be impossible. They’ve got us dialed in fine based on energy signature.”
Captain Hirsch said, “That was my conclusion. We’d hoped to be farther out before detection.”
Metzger said, “We might have been better taking a burn as soon as they IDed us, but we’d then be juggling fuel, too.”
“Do you have a scenario to cover this?”
“Sort of. That one I discussed with you. Alpha three alpha.”
The nature of forceline propulsion meant the ship had zones of speed, much like surface vehicles would reach speeds where energy to overcome friction increased dramatically to another plateau.
For now, Metzger made a course adjustment and applied a steady, low thrust to get them to deep space as quickly as possible. The math was simple. If they reached interstellar space before pursuit reached them, they were free. If pursuit reached them, they had to fight. If they had to fight, they had limited maneuver delta before they’d have to go ballistic and drift into position for phase drive. If they ate too much into their safety margin, they wouldn’t have any star drive capability.
To fight, they had a modern electronic-warfare suite, but once within range of mass or beams, they had six and only six configurable warheads against their two pursuers.
“Okay, I assume I’m going to have to lead on this since it was my calculations. I’ll need food, induced sleep between activity, and the medical officer to keep an eye on me. If that meets your approval, sir, it should be a half seg before they manage to do anything relevant. I’d like to drop under again. If they close within those parameters or seem to detach anything that might be a weapon, wake me at once. With your permission, sir?”
“Do so. I’ll have a cook on call for whatever you’d like when you wake up.”
“Right. Thanks. And first, head break.”
He took care of business, returned and snuggled back into his couch, and waveformed back into unconsciousness.
He knew he’d been asleep, but all he saw was increasing waveform complexity and modulated tones. The machine was pulling him back awake.
Then he was conscious and removed the mask.
A glance at the displays showed a third ship, a picket destroyer, closing, though not yet in range to be combatant.
