Twilight of the clans III: the hunters

by Thomas S. Gressman

  The huge spindle-like drive core made up most of the Monolith's bulk and needed to be checked over carefully before and after each jump. It was a hot, sweaty, dirty job, one which, on most other vessels, was usually reserved as punishment detail. Aboard a ComStar ship, however, crew members were assigned to whatever details came up as their names appeared on a duty rotation roster. Since his cover was that of a mere able spacehand, Hatsumi was tapped to go with the jump tech, lugging her heavy tool kit and testing gear so she could maneuver more freely in the claustrophobic confines of the drive compartments.

  Hatsumi didn't envy the tech her freedom of movement. She needed lo be unencumbered so she could squeeze in between the massive coils and power leads, where it was hotter and dirtier than it was in the tight passageways. By the time they'd thoroughly checked each component of the K-F drive, the jump tech was smeared with far more grit and dust than Hatsumi.

  After stripping off his filthy jumpsuit, Hatsumi reached into his locker to retrieve a clean uniform. From the bottom of the flat, chest-like locker came a faint, barely audible hum. Suddenly, Hatsumi was no longer tired. Searching blindly through the scant belongings stored beneath his zero-G bunk, he located a flat plastic box, six centimeters square and one centimeter thick. The device was similar in appearance and function to paging units that had been in existence for centuries. This one could only be accessed by a single transmitter, operating on a very narrow, very specific wavelength. Even then, a message from that unit had to be compressed to the right pulse-length, or the receiver would refuse to accept it.

  Touching a mini-stud on the device's top edge, he silenced the tone. Another touch caused a single word to be displayed on the device's tiny LED screen.

  "Mandrake."

  A third touch blanked the screen. The single cryptic word had spoken volumes to the nekekami leader. It told him that the time for his mission was at hand, and his team should be ready to move at a moment's notice.

  * * *

  At the moment Hatsumi was returning the device to its hiding place, Morgan was receiving a message of his own.

  "Sir." Commodore Beresick came and stood next to him at the Truth's main bridge viewscreen. "All commands report charged, stowed, and ready."

  "Very well, Commodore." There was an odd ring in that brief sentence, an emotion that Beresick could not place. Perhaps it was the enormity of the moment. The task force had, up until that point, been operating deep within friendly territory. Now, it was about to take its first jump out of the Inner Sphere. Granted, they were merely crossing into the Periphery. But, since the Clan invasion, the Periphery had become a dangerous place to travel. There had been a resurgence in the number of pirate bands and the ferocity of their raids. Then there was that business with the bogus Knights and their so-called "Star Lord." Perhaps it was these concerns that created the strained note in Morgan's voice.

  Whatever was bothering the Marshal, he shook it off quickly, for when he spoke again it was in the full, steady voice Beresick had grown accustomed to, making him wonder if he'd really heard the strange tone.

  "Communications officer, give me a clear channel to talk to the fleet."

  The technician acknowledged Morgan's command. Within seconds, Morgan had drawn himself up, looking as though he was preparing to give some grand address about the momentousness of the occasion. This belied the simplicity of the message.

  "Cavalier to all commands, attention to orders. Initiate jump sequence, now, now, now."

  Morgan stepped back from the communications panel, laying a hand on the tech's shoulder in a token of thanks for his assistance. Beresick took note of the simple gesture with admiration for the Marshal. It was little things like acknowledging a subordinate's efforts that were the mark of a good commander, one the troops would be willing to follow into the teeth of perdition, if necessary.

  Even as Morgan's hand fell back to his side, Beresick was turning to bark out the orders that would begin the sequence of events geared toward translating the Invisible Truth from rational space through the nonexistence of hyperspace, to a system that was nothing more than a pinpoint of light barely glimpsed through the WarShip's viewscreens.

  "Lock course into navputer."

  "Lock course, aye, sir. Course plotted and locked in."

  "Charge the drives."

  "Charging drives, aye. Drives are charged and on-line. Ready to jump."

  "Sound the horn, and jump."

  Even as the klaxon blared its grating tone throughout the ship, Morgan and Commodore Beresick, standing side by side in front of the main bridge viewscreen, watched as the Rostock, a Fox Class corvette bearing the fist-and-sun-burst emblem of the Federated Commonwealth, winked out of sight, the first Inner Sphere WarShip to carry the fight to the Clans.

  17

  Battle Cruiser ISS Invisible Truth

  Zenith Jump Point, Waypoint Juniper

  Deep Periphery

  19 July 3059 2045 Hours

  Three times, the process of sending the Invisible Truth through the physical anomaly called hyperspace had been repeated in the Task Force's slow march across the Periphery realm known as the Outworlds Alliance. The Alliance, along with a half-dozen or so others, clung to the outer rim of the Inner Sphere. Unlike the larger Successor States, the Periphery states were largely unknown areas, occupied by adventurers, pirates, and scoundrels. Sandwiched between the outer rims of the Draconis Combine and the Federated Commonwealth, the Alliance clung precariously to existence. Were it not for increased aid from its more powerful neighbors, isolation and predatory bandits would have sent the Alliance into collapse decades ago.

  It had take nearly three weeks for Task Force Serpent to make its way across the Alliance, avoiding systems with large populations for fear of accidental, or purposeful, betrayal to the Clans. It was well known that the invaders had finally taken steps to deploy their own version of intelligence agents, called "The Watch." Whether the Clans were spying on the Alliance was not known. Still, Morgan Hasek-Davion thought it prudent to avoid all unnecessary contact.

  Within seconds of the Rostock's disappearance from the zenith jump point of the Alliance's Alpheratz system, Lieutenant Commander Phat Ng, the Invisible Truth's chief engineer, called out. "Engines on line, ship ready to jump."

  "Sir?" Beresick looked at Morgan, transferring command of the vessel to him for a moment.

  Morgan nodded. "Jump."

  "Aye, sir. Jump."

  Morgan knew that the transit between worlds was instantaneous, at least according to the way clocks ran in rational space. Still, the instant Commander Ng engaged the huge Kearny-Fuchida drives, he felt a rapid, but gradual, prickling sensation run through his body, as though he had passed through a field of static electricity. His vision blurred, and the sounds of the chaotic bridge dopplered into a distorted moan. A sudden, coruscating wave of color and noise exploded from nowhere to engulf him. The light and sound seemed to batter his chest, belly, and head. The sensation was like ejecting from a burning BattleMech into a carnival clown's mad dream. For a moment, it seemed his mind would shut down from sensory overload.

  Then, as abruptly as it began, the assault on his consciousness was over. Only the faint afterimages of nameless colors, and a slight tremor deep in his guts, remained.

  Blinking away the lingering shimmers, Morgan glanced at the Truth's navigational display. A string of alphanumer-ics told him that the WarShip had emerged from hyper-space in the right spot.

  "General quarters."

  Commodore Beresick echoed Morgan's command. An amplified, metallic voice rang throughout the ship.

  "General quarters, general quarters. All hands, man your battle stations."

  Again, the bridge was flooded with sound and motion. This time, the commotion was entirely natural. As each section called in, a bridge officer confirmed the report, and a green indicator came to life on the ship's status board. When all of the indicators in a department showed green, the officer responsible for that department san
g out.

  "All gunnery stations manned and ready."

  "Engineering, manned and ready."

  "Pri-fly reports all fighters ready, and standing by for launch."

  And so the litany went, until Captain Joshua Greystone, the Truth's executive officer, after reviewing the status board, called across the babble of voices.

  "Commodore, all stations report manned and ready."

  Beresick turned to face the bridge officers.

  "Sensor operator, report all contacts."

  "Sir, my only contacts are those belonging to the task force."

  "Navigator," Beresick called to another technician. "What is our position?"

  The officer reeled off a series of numbers, few of which had any significance to Morgan. He could see, by means of a monitor screen, that the fleet had emerged from hyperspace somewhat rimward and spinward of the Outworlds Alliance, at a single M-type star, with no inhabitable planets.

  Beresick interrupted Morgan's study of the star map.

  "Sir, we are right on time, and on target. All commands report in system, with no problems. We have no stray sensor contacts. I have passed the order to secure from general quarters and begin the recharging process."

  * * *

  At the opposite end of the Truth's 839-meter length, a complex dance of man and machine was beginning.

  In response to a series of commands, the ship's powerful maneuvering engines came on line. Slowly, the massive vessel began to swing around her head, until her nose was pointed directly at the star below. The thrusters fired a second time, bringing the starship to a stop. Thereafter, the drives would be used sparingly, only enough to keep the battle cruiser on station.

  No sooner had the Truth ended her orientation burn than a complicated series of servomotors, myomer bundles, and hydraulic systems began to deploy the ship's jump sail.

  To the uninitiated, the term "jump sail" was confusing. Not really a sail at all, the immense disk was a complex machine. Sandwiched between thin layers of plastic and wire mesh were sensitive collectors designed to gather solar energy, which would be transmitted, via specially designed power conduits, into the ship's jump drives.

  With a diameter of nearly one and a half kilometers, but a thickness of only a few millimeters, the Truth's sail was delicate in the extreme. Unfurling the high-tech gossamer was no job for fools or the impatient. Though many Jump-Ships now mounted a bank of lithium-fusion batteries that could be used to power the vessel through a single jump, damage to the sail could be a death sentence, particularly for a ship operating alone and in the void between inhabited systems. A damaged jump sail would inhibit the ship's ability to recharge its engines. If the sail was destroyed, the jump drive could only be recharged by drawing power from the ship's massive fusion engines.

  This particular process, while just as efficient as sail recharging, had its own peculiar set of problems. If power from the ship's fusion engines was sent too quickly into the jump drives, the delicate Kearny-Fuchida systems could be damaged beyond repair. Starship captains had been known to use this so-called "quick charge" technique, especially in a dangerous situation, but most preferred to rely on the safer method of recharging their drives using the jump sail. The thought of being caught with spent engines and a badly damaged sail was enough to give the most hardened spacer nightmares.

  That was why it was ninety minutes after Beresick gave the command to begin recharging the Truth's engines that the report came back, "Sail is deployed. Recharging is underway."

  Morgan looked across the bridge at a visibly relieved Beresick. Not being a spacer himself, he didn't have quite the dread of a damaged jump sail that the Commodore did.

  "I really hate to add to your problems, Commodore, but maybe we'd better think about launching a BARCAP." Morgan smiled as he gestured at the holographic representation of his task force, floating above the glowing mass of the star, tails up like a school of some bizarre kind of gigantic, bottom-feeding fish.

  Beresick grinned in return and passed the order to the primary flight control center. Several decks below, in the compartment by naval tradition still called "Prifly," the Aerospace Controller (given the traditional title of "Air Boss") ordered a double pair of the Truth's fighters launched.

  Within moments, two big Thunderbird aerospace fighters were hurled clear of the WarShip's hull by the ship's catapult system. Minutes later, a second pair of fighters were launched.

  The T-Bird's potent mix of laser and missile armament made it a logical choice for Barrier Combat Air Patrol duty. Though neither Morgan nor Commodore Beresick were expecting contact with hostile forces, there was always a chance. If any aggressors should appear, it would likely be pirates, who would turn tail and run rather than take on so large a fleet. But, contact with the Clans was possible. The task force's present position was close to the truce line, and no one was really certain exactly how the line applied to areas beyond the Inner Sphere.

  While Morgan watched, tiny icons representing the fighters appeared in the holotank. As the other ships of the task force launched their own fighter cover, more blips were added. Eventually, there were twenty fighters describing endless loops around the starships they had been assigned to protect.

  * * *

  The system had been designated Waypoint Juniper during the planning phase of the operation. It was indistinguishable from a thousand others across known space, and millions beyond the human sphere. With an M4 star and no habitable planets, the system had little to attract settlers.

  It was that M4 star that worried Commodore Beresick. Because of the vagaries of the physics involved in operating a Kearny-Fuchida drive, it would require at least 205 hours for the jump sail to collect, convert, and store enough solar radiation to power the fleet's jump drives for their next hyperspace transit. That meant the fleet would be lying doggo for eight and a half days.

  Up until this particular recharging stop, no one had paid much attention to the length of time the fleet would be lying quiet, gathering solar energy to recharge their K-F drives. Now, in the no-man's-land of the Periphery, with the danger of encountering pirates—or possibly even a Clan raiding party hanging over them—the tension among the officers and men of Task Force Serpent began to mount.

  At first, the effects were subtle. Restlessness and the inability to concentrate were easily countered with shorter watches and extra time allotted on the vessel's grav decks. But, as the hours mounted, so did the stress level.

  Before the mid-point of the charging process had been reached, Captain D. C. Stockdale, the Eridani Light Horse's chaplain, had already been asked to speak three times with troopers who had become embroiled in bitter arguments. The last of these, sparked by a disagreement over the outcome of a 'Mech combat simulation, had nearly brought two veteran warriors to blows. Stockdale, with the aid of Sergeant-Major Young, had to separate the men before they could inflict damage on each other.

  Even the officers were not immune to the drain of tension on one's patience. Once, during a change of watch, Morgan asked Commodore Beresick to check on the rotation schedule of the pilots flying the BARCAP. As Morgan tried to explain his concern for the alertness and combat readiness of those badly overworked aviators, Beresick snarled, asking him why he wasn't so concerned for the ships' crews.

  Aboard the Bernlad, a Star Lord Class JumpShip belonging to the Knights of the Inner Sphere, Paul Masters spent fifteen minutes dressing down his personal technicians for not completing a scheduled maintenance procedure on his Phoenix Hawk when he thought it should have been done. When the Knights' chief technician heard that Masters had reprimanded the techs, he tracked the Colonel down and gave him a scathing rebuke of his own. During the profanity-laced diatribe, the tech became so incensed that Masters feared a physical assault.

  * * *

  These tension-provoked incidents came to a head thirty hours before the fleet was due to jump outsystem.

  A pair of SL-17R Shilones belonging to the Eridani Light Horse's Third S
triker Battalion had just completed a long patrol swing around the Ericsson, an Invader Class JumpShip attached to the First Kathil Uhlans. As they began the inward leg of their patrol sweep, Warrant Officer Leonard Harpool spotted a blip on his sensors, where no blip should have been.

  "Wildman, I got an unknown here." Known as "Hedgehog" for his spiky, unruly hair, Harpool reported the contact to his lance leader, giving range and bearing in proper military fashion. "He's at three-three-seven, mark sixteen. Three-nine-zero and closing."

  Lieutenant "Wild Steve" Timmons, the lance commander, glanced at his sensor display. The blip was slightly to port, and above his plane of travel, at ten o'clock high. The display told him that the unknown was about three hundred ninety kilometers away. The combined velocities of the bogie and his fighter lance meant that they would be in visual range in a very few seconds.

  As Timmons watched, the bright trace divided, suddenly becoming two. Neither blip displayed an Identify Friend and Foe signature.

  "I got 'em, Leo. Hang tight a minute."

  Timmons tapped in a command, sending out a powerful coded pulse of microwave energy. The transponder squawk should have triggered a similar pulse in a friendly ships. This time, there was no response.

  "Negative IFF response. Lock and load, Hedger, we got us a gunfight." Switching channels, Timmons sent off a brief message to the "Air Boss" aboard the Invisible Truth.

  "Courtyard, Courtyard, this is Echo Five. Two bogies, possible bandits, at one-six-even, mark forty-five. Echo Five and Six are engaging."

  "I got a sensor lock." Harpool called even before Timmons had finished his report. "Warbook calls 'em Clan OmniFighters, prob'ly Sabutais. Eighty percent certainty. Target lock."