by Doug Farren
The relative movement between the destroyer and the Komodo Dragon caused the beam to scribe a line of destruction across the ship’s hull extending deep inside. Secondary explosions began to rock the ship as power accumulators and fuel tanks exploded. A myriad of bright flashes suddenly appeared on one of the destroyers as a large missile magazine was hit. The vessel was literally torn apart from the inside. The second destroyer found itself floating in space without propulsion or any means of defense as the Dragon’s beam turned most of engineering into a molten mass.
Two point five seconds after being launched, the sledgehammers slammed into the shield of the third destroyer. The collision disrupted the weapon’s containment field, allowing the protons and anti-protons to intermix. The shield, already fending off the Dragon's four secondary batteries, resisted by throwing huge prominences of plasma into space. It failed when the second sledgehammer struck. The third and fourth spewed their torrent of accelerated particles directly onto the hull. Two glowing craters appeared in the side of the ship as debris floated into space.
The entire battle lasted less than fourteen seconds. “Coms, see if you can’t—”
First one, then the other two ships suddenly blossomed and were consumed by nuclear fire as the ships self-destructed.
“Never mind,” Doug said, the tone of his voice indicating his sadness. “Continue on course. Hold at three million kilometers.”
* * * * *
“I am in need of maintenance and repair,” the Orion said, immediately after the request had come in asking Tom if he would be willing to help search for the Purist shipyard.
“I know,” Tom replied. “I’ve seen the compensatory measures you’re having to take to keep the stardrive running. I guess we shouldn’t have bounced it like we did when we were trailing the Barstock.”
“I did ask you to have my drive worked on while we were on Earth,” the ship said.
“You would have been grounded for at least four days,” Tom argued. “We were needed.”
“I am also missing several pieces of armor and your stateroom has been damaged.”
“It almost sounds like you’re complaining!” Tom exclaimed.
“I am,” the ship replied. “My—”
“What!” Tom said, shaking his head as if the words had physically hit him.
“I am responsible for your health and wellbeing as well as maintaining myself in peak operating condition. It is becoming increasingly difficult to achieve those goals given the current state of my systems.”
“We aren’t that bad off,” Tom argued. “Finding that shipyard is a priority and I don’t think a few more days will make much of a difference especially if we don’t push your limits.”
“The decision, as always, is yours. I am only pointing out the fact that I am now operating at a significantly reduced level of efficiency and reliability has been compromised.”
“I’ll make a deal with you then,” Tom said. “We’ll stick around for no more than another week and then head for the nearest shipyard.”
“That would be acceptable.”
A few minutes later, the Orion was heading back to HR 8323 to begin searching their assigned area. While en route, he decided to salvage as much as he could from his destroyed stateroom.
The inner walls of virtually every spaceship built in the last 30 years contained a thin layer of material that acted like the sap of a tree. Punctures and holes up to several centimeters in size sealed themselves in a matter of seconds. The laser that had penetrated the Orion’s hull had done so for a very short time and much of its energy had been dissipated by the ship’s thick armor. The long gash in the wall had been small enough to self-seal.
Tom stood in the doorway surveying the damage. The room smelled of hot metal, chemical sealant, and burnt wood. The heat from the laser had been intense enough to ignite the sheets on his bed setting them on fire. Some of his wood was scorched and there was a noticeable line in the floor where the laser had spent its remaining energy. The large monitor on which he enjoyed watching his old movies was partially melted and unrepairable. Bending down, he picked up the carving of the Komodo Dragon. Turning it over to examine it, he was surprised to find that it had suffered only minor damage.
A maintenance robot entered the room and waited. Looking down at the little robot he said, “Well, let’s get this mess cleaned up.”
Two days later, Tom arrived at his assigned search location, slowed, and began the laborious task of scanning billions of kilometers of space looking for the hidden shipyard. It didn’t take very long before he was questioning his decision not to return to Earth. Bored, he decided to try to finish his carving of the Komodo Dragon.
After three days of searching, Tom was itching for some action. He considered heading back to Earth but decided to finish what he had started. What he needed was a good old-fashioned science fiction adventure movie. Settling into his command chair, he called up the list of what was available and selected one. Forty-five minutes later, the movie suddenly froze.
“Chyr would like to speak to you,” the ship said.
“Connect us,” Tom ordered. “Hey Chyr,” he said as soon as her image appeared on an adjacent screen. “How can I help you? Bored? Do you want to play a game of chess?”
“Up until a few minutes ago I would have said yes to both questions,” she replied. “I’ve run across something I’d like you to take a look at. I’m sending you the data feed now.”
A third monitor came to life showing the image of a small object along with a data stream. Anticipating his next inquiry, the Orion highlighted Chyr’s position on the tactical display. Looking at the data stream, Tom could see that she had found a cylindrical object measuring one meter in diameter and five meters long having a mass of a little over 25,000 kilograms. It was not spinning and carried a significant electromagnetic field.
“My sensors originally identified it as an asteroid,” Chyr explained. “The auto-navigator adjusted the ship’s course to avoid it but then automatically slowed to investigate when it became apparent it was not a naturally occurring object.”
Tom continued to read what was known about the object; Mass: 25,534 kilograms; Length: 5.12 meters; Diameter: 0.98 meters; Composition: bands of highly refined metals including iridium, cobalt, tungsten, platinum, and gold encased in a thin layer of iron. There was also a small device fitted to the front of the object that Chyr’s ship had identified as a small transmitter of limited power.
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“I thought you might be able to tell me,” Chyr replied.
“Point of origin and possible destination?”
“I’ll need a few more minutes of observation to verify the object’s trajectory.”
“This warrants a closer examination,” Tom said. Glancing at the tactical display, he noted Chyr’s ship was not very far away. “I’m altering course. I can get there in about 15 minutes.”
“Acknowledged. I’ll continue to send you the data stream until you arrive.”
Tom scratched the back of his head in thought as Chyr’s image vanished. The cylinder didn’t seem to serve any purpose. It was just a slug of processed metals hurtling through space. If it was bound for a destination it would have been far more efficient to load the slug onto a freighter than to just push it into space.
A set of coordinates appeared next to the object identifying its trajectory. “The cylinder appears to have originated from the asteroid the Komodo Dragon recently destroyed,” the Orion reported. “I have been unable to identify a possible destination.”
“The asteroid!” Tom exclaimed. “Show me its details.”
The Orion instantly complied. Tom studied the image, magnifying it until he spotted the launch tube leading into the asteroid's interior. “An electromagnetic accelerator? Why not use a ship?" he muttered to himself. Entering a quick series of commands, he learned the cylinder was moving at 2.3 kilometers per second relative to the asteroid and so far had traveled a distan
ce of 4.8 million kilometers.
“Get Chyr back on the line,” Tom ordered. As soon as her face appeared, he asked, “Have you seen where that thing came from?”
“Of course. I was just about to call you.”
“Let’s assume the asteroid was more than just a communications relay station,” Tom said. “Based on what you’ve found, I think it is safe to conclude that it also contained a metal processing plant. The refined metals must then be periodically launched into space. Since they are traveling at a relatively low velocity, the intended destination can’t be too far off. Does that all sound reasonable?”
“I find no flaws in your line of reasoning.”
“How much do you want to bet that if we follow where that thing is heading we’ll find the Purist shipyard?”
“I do not like to gamble,” Chyr replied. “But I believe there is a strong probability of your being correct. I will transmit a SITREP and explain that we intend on following the cylinder’s trajectory to see where it leads us.”
“Roger that—don’t leave without me.”
Chapter 40
“Captain!” the tactical station suddenly said.
Doug had been dozing in his command chair taking one of his famous ‘power naps’. It was a technique he had learned several years ago that allowed him to remain on the bridge for extended periods of time and yet stay alert enough to command his ship. He could fall into a deep sleep almost instantly and come awake just as fast. It was a little over four days since the AOH fleet had arrived and Doug had spent nearly all of it on the bridge.
“Report!” Doug barked as he sat up straighter.
“The Purist warships are leaving—heading off in different directions in groups of five.”
“Damn, these guys are smart,” Doug said.
“What does it mean?” the helm asked.
“It means the Purists have gone on the offensive,” Doug replied as he stared at the tactical data presented on the main viewer. Hundreds of icons representing moving groups of ships were speeding away from the planet in every conceivable direction. “No matter which group we follow, they will lead us in the wrong direction. The rest will regroup near their intended target.”
The executive officer arrived a few minutes later, took one look at the expanding sphere of ships, and let out a low whistle. “That can’t be good. What are you going to do?”
“Other than continue to keep the Admiral informed, nothing,” Doug replied. Waving his hand at the screen he said, “Pick one to follow. No matter which one it is, it will be wrong.”
“Did they leave any behind?”
“It doesn’t look like it,” Doug replied.
“I wonder—”
“Nuclear detonations on the planet’s surface!” the tactical station yelled.
“How many and what yield?” Doug asked as he shot out of his chair.
“Two, possibly three above and at least five on the surface. Could be more on the opposite side of the planet. All appear to be around one or two megatons.”
“The bastards!” Doug’s head jerked downward as he spat out the words. “Inform the Admiral. Helm, get us to that planet as fast as you can. Coms, call Lieutenant Wresinski to the bridge.”
Doug paced the bridge as the crew carried out his orders. As soon as Jazmin Wrensinski, the ship’s medical officer, arrived, he walked over to her. The doctor was a very short albino with stark white, curly hair. Standing only 139 centimeters tall, she was forced to tilt her head back to look Doug in the eye.
Doug quickly explained the situation. “The hangar bay is yours,” he concluded. “Set up an emergency treatment center there and get the shuttles loaded with whatever you deem necessary to treat the Mowry.”
“There’s going to be a significant amount of fallout,” the doctor said. “Contamination might—”
“We’ll worry about deconning the area later. Pick a crew to man the shuttles but—”
“I wasn’t thinking about the hangar bay," Wrensinski interrupted. “External contamination isn’t the major concern. I’m worried about people breathing it in or ingesting it.”
“Take whatever precautions you deem necessary,” Doug told her. “But make sure you include at least two marines on each shuttle—the Mowry might not understand we’re trying to help them.”
Wrensinski nodded her head. “Yes Sir. I would suggest using two of the shuttles to start moving as many people out of the blast area as possible. I’ll use the third to transport the severely injured back to the ship. Getting those people out of the contamination zone and treating their wounded should be our top priorities at the moment.”
“Do whatever you have to do,” Doug told her. “This is a medical disaster. You’re in charge.”
“We can’t do this alone,” she added, running her fingers through her hair, stopping briefly to scratch an imaginary itch on her scalp.
Turning slightly, Doug said, “Coms, ask the Admiral to recall all ships to the Mowry planet, best possible speed. Unless he countermands the order, I’m putting Commander Wrensinski in charge of disaster recovery.”
“Thank you Captain,” the Commander said.
“If you need anything—anything at all—just ask. If anyone complains, I want to hear about it. Good luck.”
Chapter 41
Tom dropped out of stardrive and quickly matched his trajectory with Chyr’s. “This is your discovery,” he said. “How would you like to proceed?”
“There’s nothing on any of my scans,” she replied. “If the cylinder is heading for a shipyard, it must be very well shielded.”
“Or completely powered down because we've already been detected,” Tom suggested.
“Either way, it can’t be too far away,” Chyr reasoned. “Based on its relative speed it’s already been en route for 24 days.”
“Transit time wouldn’t matter much if you had a continuous stream of cylinders,” Tom pointed out. “But, I don’t see any sort of guidance system or any method of correcting its course which means the cylinder’s trajectory has to be very precise. The farther the distance, the more precision is required.”
“It does have a transmitter. It could be used by a shepherd-ship to locate the cylinder so periodic course corrections can be made.”
“Agreed.”
“Let’s proceed on the assumption that this cylinder is heading straight for the shipyard,” Chyr finally decided. “We’ll use our FTL drive at sub-light speed to cover as much distance as possible. If we pass near an asteroid we’ll stop to investigate.”
“Roger that. Ready when you are.”
Taking manual control, Tom powered up all weapons then engaged the stardrive. Allowing Chyr to take the lead, he followed keeping a comfortable distance of 4,000 kilometers behind and 300 kilometers to one side of her ship. Chyr held their velocity to just under one quarter light speed. It took less than 10 minutes to find the shipyard.
Tom’s stomach twisted itself into a knot as the Orion instantly dropped out of stardrive. Even though he had manual control, the ship’s AI had taken over and disengaged the stardrive. Before Tom’s far slower biological brain could adapt to the new situation, a microsecond burst of actinic light marked the location of a nuclear detonation. Alarms and warnings appeared on his control board an instant later as a powerful weapon tried to burn its way through his shield.
Reacting far faster than its still confused occupant, the ship’s AI instantly evaluated the situation and took action. The particle beam cannon as well as one of the ship’s lasers unleashed a torrent of energy against the source of the attack. Three missiles rapidly erupted from the Orion’s launcher as the ship applied full emergency thrust in an attempt to put some distance between it and the attacker.
The sudden acceleration overloaded the ship’s internal compensators and Tom was violently pushed out of his chair. Instinctively reaching out to stop himself, he grabbed the edge of the control board so hard he bent the steel. The maneuver, however, probably saved his life
. The quick change in direction caused the enemy weapon as well as a second one, to briefly lose its lock. Before he could regain his seat, a wave of dizziness hit him as the ship made an emergency transition to FTL.
“Damage report!” Tom ordered as the Orion sped away.
“No direct weapons damage,” the ship replied. “Power converter SD-04 tripped on reverse current and will not reset. The primary deuterium flow regulator has also failed due to cycle fatigue. Sadly, I must also report that the P’nutch has been destroyed.”
Tom’s stomach suddenly felt as if he had swallowed a live scorpion. All mental activity halted for a brief moment. “Chyr’s dead?” he managed to ask.
“I’m afraid so,” the ship replied, managing to sound as if it was actually upset by her death.
“What happened?”
“A cloaked, armed gravity mine forced the P’nutch out of stardrive and detonated. The explosion overloaded her shield, allowing a significant amount of radiation as well as two particle beams from a cloaked defense station to penetrate her defenses. I believe one of the beams hit her missile magazine initiating a series of secondary explosions. The ship automatically initiated self-destruct.”
“That could very well have been us,” Tom said.
“I did manage to confirm that we have located the shipyard,” the Orion said.
“Show me the tactical scans,” Tom replied in a monotone voice. Ordinarily, such news would have excited him but Chyr’s death had put a significant damper on his mood.
The view of the command center faded as the Orion’s computer fed the data directly to Tom’s eyes. A small asteroid measuring slightly more than a kilometer in diameter appeared. It was surrounded by a swarm of icons representing cloaked defense stations and gravity mines. There were no ships present.
