ARMS Helm's End: (Book 7)

by Stephen Arseneault

  "I really don't like how we're seeming to go into isolationist shells here. We need to take the fight to them. Hiding only works to delay a confrontation."

  Tawn chuckled. "And what are we gonna fight her with? The Bangor? Our force of six bots?"

  "I thought we had a new one coming out today?"

  "We do. That will make six. The next won't be available for two more days. And for all of next week our output will be about five. I'd say waiting is exactly what we need to do. I mean, heck, we don't even know where Bax is."

  Idiot opened a comm. "Harris, I've detected an opening wormhole at New Earth. There's no additional signal coming through. This may be Baxter and her fleet."

  Harris stood. "Let's see if we can at least make contact."

  Tawn chuckled. "I have a better idea. Let's borrow one of those big bombs from the colonel. If we make it to New Earth in time, we could freeze whatever ships she has with her in place for a week. That would possibly give us an opportunity we haven't had."

  "An opportunity for what?"

  "To strike? To see what's she's up to? I don't know, an opportunity to not sit here on our butts?"

  "We aren't sitting here on our butts, we're turning out bots and probes."

  "Are you up for this or not?"

  Harris chuckled. "Just waiting for you to get up."

  The colonel was reluctant to turn over a boson bomb from his stockpile, but the potential for trapping Baxter Rumford at New Earth for a week meant another week the Retreat would have access to other worlds. And at the moment that meant having access to the raw materials required for continued shipbuilding.

  A wormhole opened to New Earth space. The Bangor slipped through.

  Tawn looked over the sensor display. "Here, just above low orbit. See the signals coming from this area? We have pops and spikes coming from that planet, except in this semicircle. And the data shows the noise in that area is coming from a point source. Idiot's filtering is a thing of beauty."

  "Let's send in a probe."

  Tawn nodded. "I'd almost say we just go in and look. No way she's moving that whole fleet around. She doesn't have the fuel."

  "True, but we don't want to tangle with a dozen Banshees that are fully capable of destroying us with a single hit."

  Twenty minutes later the probe data showed the Fargo surrounded by eight Banshees. A second probe sent into the atmosphere revealed another half dozen Banshees crisscrossing the continents.

  Harris smiled. "She's looking for fuel. And she won't find much of any there. The Denzee took every bit of fuel and stripped every ship capable of making a jump. It's the same on all the Earther worlds."

  "You think there's any to be had on the truce worlds?"

  "We can ask Idiot to check for us. I doubt they have much, but they would have some."

  "If so, should we go take it before she can?"

  "Might not be a bad idea. If we can keep her short on fuel she may not be able to conduct an attack."

  "What about our colonies? The Domer colonies. Think there's much fuel to be had there?"

  "Some of them, like Bella, are active. I bet they have a decent supply. Again, something we can have Idiot scan for. If we find anything substantial, we can move to protect it."

  "Colonists won't like that."

  "Who are they going to complain to? Domicile? It can't currently be reached."

  Tawn glanced at the bomb sitting back in the cabin. "I’m glad that beast fit through the door. Should we deploy it? Lock her in this space?"

  Harris gestured toward the airlock. "Set us a three minute timer and roll it out the airlock."

  "You can't do that yourself? You're closer to the cabin."

  Harris chuckled. "Your butt glued to that chair or what?"

  "Yeah, maybe."

  Harris stood with a sigh. He walked the six paces to the large rectangular container sitting in the cabin. A panel was opened and a three minute timer set. He rolled the bomb and its cart to the inner airlock door, where he opened it and attempted to push the bomb through.

  "We have a problem."

  Tawn rolled her eyes as she stood. "You need your hand held?"

  "No. It won't fit into the airlock."

  Tawn looked over the unit with a scowl. "Why would you not make it to fit a standard airlock? I understand our issue before with Alex, but this is the colonel's design."

  "We're on a three hundred year old ship. Could be the standards were slightly different back then. And I say that because that doorway has always seemed a bit on the small side."

  Tawn glanced down at the panel timer that was now dropping through two minutes. "Just shut it down. Reset it. We’ll pump out the cabin and shove it out the hatch. It fit in there. It’ll go back out."

  Harris poked at the bomb's display panel. "It's not resetting."

  "What? Move. Out of the way."

  Tawn fumbled with the controls for another thirty seconds before pulling back her hands and looking at the nav console. "Crap. Get ready to shove that beast out the hatch!"

  The timer dropped below one minute. Tawn raced to the nav console, typing away furiously at the keys. With a whoosh, the air was sucked out of the cabin.

  Tawn pointed as she yelled over her comm. "Close your faceshield, moron! And get ready to shove!"

  The atmosphere reached zero and the hatch pulled in and slid open. Harris pushed the bomb casing forward while attempting to line it up with the hatch. Tawn sprang into action, pushing hard on one end as Harris pulled back. The counter reached fifteen seconds.

  A hard shove had the eight hundred kilo device moving for the hatch. Tawn pulled with a grunt and Harris pushed with all the strength the muscles in his legs had to offer. Tawn moved to his side for the final push, before hopping over to the cockpit and her chair. A wormhole was opened as the bomb floated into free space. The hatch closed and sealed shut as the Bangor accelerated for the portal to another place.

  "Five seconds... four... three... two... we're through. Now close, you degenerate wormhole!"

  A bubble of negated field formed around the ship as the opening closed behind them. As the hole snapped shut, the field dissipated.

  "That was a little too close."

  Harris looked over at the nav console. "Where are we?"

  Tawn chuckled. "Not sure. Didn't have time to set in where I recognized. Doesn't matter. We just jump home from here."

  "Hold up. I've got something showing on the sensors. We're out on the edge of boson space. Somewhere beyond Gondol. I've got a strange broadcast signal that just went by."

  "A what?"

  "Don't know. Not a format or frequency band I recognize. It was definitely a signal. And there it is again. About five seconds long."

  "You capture it?"

  "As much as we can."

  "Was it directional?"

  "Hold on... yes. Heading for Gondol."

  "Let's go check it out."

  Harris slowly nodded. "I think we should."

  The Bangor was soon settling at the base of the building at Gondol. Tawn and Harris hopped down and entered the armored structure that sat atop the shaft going down.

  Tawn turned. "Should we leave Farker here?"

  Harris shook his head. "No way. He comes with us. You are waterproof, aren't you, boy?"

  "To fifty meters, sir."

  Harris chuckled. "Still cracks me up when he talks."

  Ninety minutes later, the duo and their pet stepped from the stairs into the ankle-deep water. Another twenty-five minutes had them standing in the maintenance room. They pressed the blue button on the console.

  "Hello, sir, ma'am."

  "Hello, Sas," Tawn replied. "You didn't happen to receive a broadcast signal in the last few minutes did you?"

  "A broadcast? From where? We have received the occasional signal. Most I would place in the category of reflections from your Human colonies."

  Harris said, "It may not be here yet. We just came through a wormhole, remember?"

&n
bsp; "Sas. We just traveled two-point-two light-years to get here. The signal you sent to your database, how long would it take to travel that distance?"

  "Four hours and twelve minutes of your standard time."

  "Wow. That's hauling ass." Tawn typed away on her arm pad. "That's about eight hundred light-years for your broadcast to travel to reach the database here."

  "We have the direction and distance, we should be able to pinpoint the location of the Burrell. Sas, can your ships travel at that same speed?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you have knowledge of the physics behind that speed?"

  "I do not."

  "Crap. Thought I was on to something."

  "You were. According to what we just learned, that signal will be arriving in about an hour and a half. I'd like to be here when it arrives."

  Tawn pointed out toward the hall. We go back halfway and we have comm to the ship. We link that recording through to Sas here and it should be able to tell us what it says."

  Harris nodded. "I like your thinking. Farker, head back toward the ship until you're within comm range. When you have comm, channel it through to us."

  Three farks were returned as the mechanical pet scampered out into the hall, splashing lightly as he ran.

  "I love that dog more every day."

  Ten minutes later a comm channel opened. Harris began to patch it through to the Gondol AI.

  Tawn grabbed his arm. "Hold on there, Hoss. You think that's wise? Connecting to the alien AI?"

  "Isn't it the same AI we've been connecting to for several years now back on Midelon? That's Burrell tech too."

  "I guess."

  Harris said, "Sas, can you limit your access through the comm channel to the single broadcast file I'll be highlighting?"

  "I can."

  "Please do so, then."

  The comm was connected and the file transferred.

  Harris closed the connection. "Open that file please and decode and interpret the message it contains. I believe it to be in your language."

  "It seems we have good news. A maintenance team is on the way to expedite the repairs to our systems. They will be following behind this broadcast in four of your standard days."

  Tawn asked, "Does it say how many ships are coming?"

  "Given the extent of the damage we received, the normal response would be a full maintenance fleet, consisting of two manufacturing vessels and sixteen installers."

  "How many Burrell?"

  "A standard fleet would have several hundred maintenance bots and approximately fifteen hundred personnel. Please keep in mind, this data is from the last fleet to visit this planet. Personnel and capabilities may have changed in the past two thousand years."

  "Any military units with them?"

  "Each fleet is typically escorted by five Megalon cruisers. Those vessels have a crew of ninety and a Marine contingent of four hundred."

  "What weapons or defenses do they have?"

  "I do not have that information."

  Harris asked, "Then how'd you know the personnel counts?"

  "I had many discussions with Burrell workers during the construction of this facility. Those numbers came up repeatedly during talks the individuals had with each other. I was referencing those events for the data."

  "Hmm. OK."

  Tawn said, "This, their arrival, could be good or bad. If they're friendly, maybe they can help with Bax. If not, we might be back in a three-way like we just came out of."

  "Or Bax attacks them and they send their whole fleet to punish the Humans. I'd sure like to know more about these Burrell before they get here. Sas, how many planets are under the Burrell's control?"

  "I do not have that data."

  Tawn held up a hand. "From overhearing discussions with workers, how many planets were mentioned as being under Burrell control as of last count?"

  Harris nodded. "Nice phrasing."

  "Three hundred and fifty-six."

  "Whoa. Do you know how many of those were fully developed colonies versus outposts?"

  "Define outpost."

  "Fewer than ten thousand colonists?"

  "The recordings indicate 64 percent full colonies, 22 percent outposts, and 16 percent unknown."

  "How many with more than five million colonists?"

  "The data indicates 38 percent with the remaining data unknown."

  "So 38 percent of 64 percent of three hundred fifty-six. That's at least eighty-five major colonies, two thousand years ago. That's big."

  "Any indication in those discussions of the empire's growth rate in colonies?"

  "I have a single discussion that mentioned a new outpost being added on average every six of your standard years."

  Harris punched away on his arm pads. "That's... three hundred thirty-three over two thousand years. So they may have doubled in size during that time."

  Tawn winced. "Sounds about equal size to what the Frizoid have."

  "And we may be sitting right in the middle of the two."

  Tawn shook her head. "Nope. Burrell are approximately that way, and the Hoya and Denzee came from over here. With empires that size, they almost have to have encountered each other. Sas, were there any mentions of the Frizoid in the Burrell conversations?"

  "Yes."

  "Any mention of hostilities?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell us of a few."

  "I have a mention of the Battle of Trifalla. Seven thousand ships lost to both sides. The battle ended in a withdrawal from the Trifalla system by each. There is mention of a fight over a planet designated as Mongrel III. We lost the planet to the Frizoid and then reclaimed it four years later."

  "And this was two thousand years ago they were fighting?"

  "Yes."

  Harris asked, "Was there anything else to that broadcast other than the Burrell are coming?"

  "Yes."

  Tawn chuckled as Harris scowled. "Tell us what else was in that message."

  "Instructions for priority tasks. And fourteen thousand seventy-seven questions related to Humans. I answered what questions I could. Would you be interested in answering the others?"

  Harris laughed. "No. Not really. Not unless we can make a list for them to answer at the same time."

  Tawn held up a hand. "Hold on. Depending on what those questions are, this might be an opportunity to start out on friendly terms."

  "Not likely. Sas, give me an example of two of those questions, randomly selected."

  "What is the normal dress of a Human? I sent a response to that question."

  Tawn chuckled. "If you used us as normal, that was a fail. These are battlesuits we're wearing, not considered normal attire."

  "What's another question?" Harris asked.

  "What are the shielding capabilities of a Human warship?"

  "How'd you respond?"

  "I do not have that information. Scans of your vessels from the sensors of this facility yield minimal results in those qualifications. I do not have a reference for what constitutes shielding capabilities that are either good or bad. The reference data was not provided."

  The discussion continued for several hours before the decision was made to return to Midelon. After a two and a half hour climb up the stairs, a jump was made to home. The Bangor settled in its usual spot in the grass beside the bunker.

  — Chapter 4 —

  * * *

  Harris stood in front of the others. "We think we trapped Bax at New Earth. At least for the better part of a week. The Fargo was there and we set off one of the large bombs."

  Tawn continued: "And we almost blew ourselves up in the process, but that's for another time. We jumped out to the edge of our space while getting away. Harris noticed a signal broadcast heading to Gondol. We paid a visit and got the AI there to decode the broadcast. It was Burrell, and they're coming. A maintenance fleet will be at Gondol in four days."

  Harris said, "We also managed to get some new info out of the AI. The Burrell have, or had, an empire probably
equal in size to the Frizoid. And apparently they were fighting with one another two thousand years ago."

  Tawn nodded. "And in the broadcast they sent the AI were a bunch of questions about Humans. Some were mundane, such as what are our food preferences, while others were direct such as what weapons we possess, how powerful are our shields and armor? According to the AI, more than 26 percent of the fourteen thousand questions asked were military in nature. They know we're here and they want to know our capabilities."

  Harris took a seat. "The maintenance fleet they're sending has five cruiser-class ships coming as escort. We don't know their power, weapons, or what they can do."

  Tawn held up a finger. "Not totally true. We know they can cover approximately eight hundred light years in sixty-six days."

  Gandy typed away on his arm pad. "That's... more than four thousand times the speed of light! How's that possible?"

  Harris shrugged. "How's a wormhole possible? We use that all the time without having an understanding of the physics going on behind the scenes. We just have to accept that the same sort of thing is happening here. We've seen it. We know it's happening. Our sensors recorded it."

  Alex said, "There have been various theories floating around since Humans first arrived here. Our sensors can detect an event before it's light-speed arrival. How is that possible? We know it to be so because we use it every day. However, we don't have a full understanding of the underlying phenomena. Perhaps the Burrell can enlighten us."

  Tawn pulled a meal from the stack. "I know I'm about an hour early, but it's been a busy day. Who's up for eating?"

  Harris rubbed the back of his neck. "We're dealing with, or about to deal with, a species who had more advanced tech than we do two thousand years ago. They built this place. They might even be responsible for us coming here from Earth. How are we supposed to prepare for that? For them?"

  Alex stood, pulling an MRE from the same stack. "We can't. So maybe we just eat."