The Huralon Incident

by E A Wicklund

  “Stop shoving me,” demanded Dellard. “The people have a right—”.

  “Don’t make me tell you again. Go now!”

  The view returned to Dellard, once again before Elysian protesters. Off camera, the voice of the anchorwoman said, “Frank, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

  “We’re okay, Jennifer, but it was touch and go for a minute there. It’s clear the Madkhali Military Liaisons don’t want us anywhere but here. And now we have a heavily-armed escort.”

  Ando halted the transmission and returned the tank to tactical view.

  “Anyone get the feeling those protesters were coerced?” noted Zahn.

  “It’s madness Cap’n,” said Ando. “I’m glad we’re moving in to stop it.”

  McCray cleared his throat and stepped up beside the tank where all the bridge crew could see him easily. “Let’s be clear, everyone. We are not ‘stopping’ the vote. We are the fighting men and women of Elysium, not Madkhal. We don’t stop the democratic process, even when we’re certain the likely outcome is a lousy one. We are the guardians of the civilian right to vote. Sure, Elysians make mistakes, sometimes bad ones, but at least we have the right to fail, something far better than no rights at all. McGowan has every right to secede from the ESE, if they so desire.”

  McCray made eye contact with every member of the bridge. He wanted to be sure they understood how seriously he took this. “What we are doing here is ensuring Huralon, and McGowan, receive complete information. The Senator has skillfully pulled the wool over their eyes before calling for this vote. It’s up to us to remove the blinders, no more. McGowan will still vote, as is their right. They’ll just vote with with eyes wide open.”

  Looking suitably chastened, the bridge crew answered with muted, “ayes.”

  Getting back to business, McCray said, “Any reports of ships being boarded?”

  “No, sir,” said Ando. “They’re behaving themselves as Ms. Coopersmith predicted.”

  “They shouldn’t harry any merchants if they want to look like defenders of the people. Therein lies Springbok’s strength. We look just like a common merchant, and we’re sneaking in right under their noses.”

  McCray stopped to consult the tactical situation in the tank. An orange oval around Huralon showed the line where the battlecruiser could intercept and engage a typical Angeletti Clipper before it could escape into hyperspace. A smaller red oval, closer in to Huralon, showed the range where the far faster Springbok could still run out of effective range of Qalawun’s lasers. They wouldn’t cross the orange line, where combat would be imminent, for a few minutes, according to the display’s symbology.

  McCray returned to the Conn and kept a close eye on the Madkhali vessel as they crossed the orange line. “All right, everyone. If Qalawun is interested in us at all, she would move in now. She would believe she has us trapped in system at this point. Eyes? Any change?”

  “None,” said Warwick. “Still orbiting the planet.”

  Much of the crew breathed a sigh of relief. McCray still watched Springbok’s contact approach the red line, where even Springbok’s impressive speed could not pull them away from the battlewagon in time. While the bridge crew chatted amiably, apparently feeling confident, McCray watched their icon slip across that red line.

  By this point the light, and thus the sensor data they received on Calawun’s position, was 6.4 minutes old. Via Iris, McCray created a countdown timer in the tank. He sat up in his seat, eyes flitting frequently to the declining numbers. The time passed slowly for him, each second like watching the timer on a bomb ticking down to zero. At last the timer finished, and Qalawun remained in orbit around Huralon.

  Slowly, he felt the tension, knotting up his muscles, fade. This was the trickiest part of their approach. Despite his assurances to the crew that Qalawun would not engage them, he never felt certain it was guaranteed. No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy, after all. Springbok had traveled deep into the system and for the first time in hours the plan seemed like it would work perfectly.

  McCray smiled and turned to Aja in the newly added seat beside him. “You were right. They are too busy with the secession to bother with us. The Madkhalis have no interest in stopping—”

  “Aspect change,” Warwick snapped. “Qalawun is breaking orbit.”

  McCray clenched his fists. “Damn you, you bastard,” he growled. “Where is she headed, Eyes?”

  “She’s still making a turn, making cycles for 347 gees.”

  “That’s her max accel,” said Aja, consulting her boards. The bridge had expanded to accommodate her and a set of screens. They’re interested in something.”

  “Course has steadied,” said Warwick. She stopped to look McCray in the eyes. “Constant bearing, decreasing range. She’s on an intercept course straight for us.”

  McCray felt his blood run cold. “You bloody bastard.” He rushed to the tank. “Hard to starboard, Helm. Make your course 0-6-7 mark 0-1-2. Make cycles for 417 gees. Set tension at 0.91 Bohm.”

  The tactical display veered as Springbok’s heading changed rapidly.

  “Course 0-6-7 mark 0-1-2, aye,” said Raj, the muscles of his face taut. “Cycles for 417 gees.”

  Zahn joined him at the tank. “Putting tension that high is risky.”

  Dark paddle tension defined how stiff the energetic beams were. The paddles could flex a bit and thereby reduce the effects of feedback from the dark strata. With paddles set higher than the standard limit of 0.77, a ship could accelerate faster that it was rated for, but then feedback from knots and strong waves could destroy paddle emitters or even the ship itself.

  “You’re right, Prime, but we need speed. Staying in weapons range of that wrecking machine is far riskier.” McCray’s worst nightmare was being realized right before his eyes. He’d promised the crew he would get them out of this alive, but now their chances of surviving if the battleship engaged were nil. He cursed himself for a fool.

  Zahn shook his head at the tank. “How did they know when we’d be too far into the system to escape? We’re much faster than any clipper.”

  “I doubt they did. Even clippers of the same class get all sorts of modifications. Some are much faster than others.” McCray paced angrily around the tank. “He was probably making sure he had us before making his move.” At least he hoped that was the explanation.

  Symbology leaders showing base course and longer lines displaying projected heading extended from Springbok’s and Qalawun’s icons. Though Springbok had changed direction substantially, nearly pointing the opposite way, their original velocity vector towards Huralon still carried her closer to her enemy. Mostly, she slowed down from her base vector with a bit of drift to starboard. Her projected trajectory displayed a broad arc moving towards Qalawun’s port side. The big battlecruiser slowed, avoiding an overshoot, and turned to port to follow.

  McCray scowled at the display, wondering what went wrong. Maybe he was getting too old for this game. During his time on the beach, had he lost the edge? What tipped Qalawun off?

  “Why are they coming after us? What’s different? Warwick, do we have any unusual fields up? Perhaps a leaking a signal from a gun mount?”

  Warwick tapped away at her boards. “Nothing, sir. We should look just like any other clipper.”

  “Incoming signal,” said Ando. “It’s the Qalawun.”

  Perhaps the Qalawun would explain. “In the tank, Circus.”

  A young communications specialist appeared there, looking harried and nervous. He said, “Elysium heavy cruiser, Elysium heavy cruiser. Retreat at once. Your presence is interfering with Huralon’s democratic process.”

  “Heavy cruiser?” said Zahn. “There’s no way we could be confused for one.”

  McCray watched the tech being shoved roughly out of the way. His face was replaced with none other than Senator Marcus Mallouk. “Elysium warship. Your presence is a violation of agreements between the McGowan Star Group and the ESE. Per the McGowan Constitution
, ‘During a vote regarding membership in the ESE, no E.S. ships of war may be present within the heliopause of any Republic of McGowan star system.’ Retreat at once and interrupt the democratic process no further. Depart this system immediately or be fired upon. This is your last warning. I await your reply.”

  “What in Mind’s Name is he talking about?” spat McCray. He imagined many different scenarios when the signal came in, but this wasn’t one of them.

  “Is he full of it or what?” Ando said.

  “He is precisely correct,” groaned Aja, tapping at her screens. “I have their constitution right here. Mallouk must have been planning this for years, waiting for the right moment. I have to give him credit. He knows how to play the deception game.”

  “We’re being jammed,” Warwick called out. “Qalawun is jamming all communications frequencies.”

  “And now, he’s taking away any chance of us telling our side of the story,” said McCray, but as he watched the sensor returns moving across the tank, he felt hope. They may not complete all the goals of their mission, but they might complete at least one and they might still get out of this alive. He pointed at the tactical display. “Do you see it, Prime?”

  Zahn looked to where he pointed and shrugged. “Qalawun is leaving Huralon behind.”

  “Exactly,” grinned McCray. “The reason we had to sail all the way in to deliver our message is because Qalawun orbited the planet, able to jam any signal we sent.”

  Zahn snapped his fingers. “She’s out of position.”

  “That’s right. Ando, is your compilation of our evidence proving this vote was all a setup complete?”

  “Been ready a long time, sir.”

  “Good.” He turned to Aja. “Ms. Coopersmith. The Nasser class is very new. Does IS-3 know if they carry armed shuttles, or anything that could intercept a drone at long range?”

  Aja shook her head. “No, sir. The Nasser class are pure ship-to-ship killers. They don’t carry shuttles for ship-to-surface warfare.”

  McCray grinned. He’d hoped for that. Not all ships carried armed shuttles. The small craft were only useful for attacks on orbital and planetary installations. Parasite fighters for attacking warships, with defenses designed to destroy missiles, had proven less unlikely to survive engagements than smaller, more maneuverable missiles.

  “Excellent.” McCray tapped an icon in the corner of the tank. Now his fingertip functioned like a pen. He drew a circuitous line from Springbok to Huralon. “Ando, I want you to load your broadcast into a message drone and have it follow this course. Once outside the range of Qalawun’s directional jamming, have the drone broadcast it.”

  For a moment, Ando looked like a mischievous child. “I’m on it, sir. Three minutes.”

  Zahn said, “Qalawun could still destroy the drone.”

  “Right, but they would have to chase it first, putting them out of position once more and giving us a chance to escape. We could come back and try a different strategy later. They can chase the drone, or chase us, but not both.”

  “Incoming signal from Qalawun,” said Ando.

  “We haven’t even replied,” said Zahn.

  McCray shrugged. “In the tank.”

  Senator Mallouk’s visage appeared, purple with fury. “I have never heard such foul language from an officer of any service. You have refused to leave the system. Indeed, you continue to approach and threaten the democratic process your government agreed to. You have violated a sacred oath. You leave us no choice but to fire. May the Prophet forgive your sins, for I cannot.”

  The signal left everyone open-mouthed on the bridge—everyone except for Aja. “You see what he’s doing, right? Later, he’ll create a fictional crew and plug in an imaginary, belligerent captain. If it comes to international courts, he’ll offer that up as evidence for his actions.”

  “This man has a consummate skill for lying,” said Piper.

  “Message drone ready,” said Ando.

  “Release.” McCray settled into the Conn. What are you going to do about that, Senator?

  “Vampire. Vampire!” called Warwick. “Missile inbound. Eleven minutes to intercept.”

  “One missile?” said Zahn. “This is probably a shot across our bow.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Aja, crossing her arms. “If Mallouk plans on depicting us as belligerent to international courts, then he has to destroy us. That eliminates any evidence contradicting his story. Any shot they take won’t be a warning.”

  “You’re right,” McCray said, standing suddenly. The realization that it was an earnest attack filled him with urgency. “He expects to kill us with that one shot. Helm, maximum cycles. Begin evasive maneuver set Sierra-Tango-Three.”

  “Maximum cycles, aye.” Raj tapped his screen, sending commands to the AI.

  “Taking over evasive maneuvers,” said Archimedes. “Engaging now.”

  “Set particle fields to maximum,” called McCray. “Standby decoys and roll out defense clusters. Ready all defensive armament. Prime, sound Battlestations.”

  While the bridge crew leaped to action, Commander Zahn’s voice blared across the ship. “Battlestations! Battlestations! All hands man your battlestations.”

  Across the ship, crew members who weren’t already in their sarcos raced to get into the devices. The majority of these were in positions deep inside the armored heart of the ship. Repair robots in their hundreds hurried to preplanned positions near the outer hull, ready to charge into any point of damage. They stood ready to operate independently until drone operators took command of them via remote control.

  Across Springbok’s exterior, hatches dilated or slid open, revealing the hidden domes of her defensive laser clusters. Other hatches moved aside to clear the weapons bays on the ship’s ventral and dorsal surfaces. The ship was ready for battle.

  It was clear DPS Qalawun had chosen to pursue Springbok instead of the message drone. So be it. McCray felt a fire, a lust for battle, light in his belly as he watched Qalawun’s sensor return. He’d fought many battles to the death. This was a dance he knew well, and he was very, very good at it. Springbok’s captain glared at the battlecruiser’s sensor return. Bring your best you big, damned bastard. I’m going to make you pay.

  ***

  Aboard Qalawun, the sensor tech announced, “Precious Jade has fired a message drone. Strange, they’re almost firing away from Huralon.”

  Chahine grinned in admiration. “He’s a canny one, that captain.”

  “There is no room for admiration of the enemy,” snarled Marcus. “Destroy it at once.”

  Chahine refused to look at the Senator. “Message drones are very tiny targets, usually no longer than eight meters. We’d have to break off our pursuit of Precious Jade just to hit it.”

  “So chase the drone down, destroy it, and resume chasing the merchant. Must I explain everything?”

  Chahine chuckled mirthlessly. This fool knows nothing of energy and motion. “That’s precisely what that captain wants. That drone has nothing but a plea for help from the system corvettes. It’s pointless. A distraction. He’s hoping for an inept commander at this end. If we chase it, we’ll lose pursuit velocity, and their better acceleration will guarantee their escape.”

  Marcus’s mouth worked, a retort seeming to die in his mouth. “Well…that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Ignore that drone, you dog. Maintain pursuit of Precious Jade. Don’t let him distract you so easily. Must I think of everything?”

  Chahine never let his gaze waver from the tank, lest the Senator perceive his thoughts. You honestly think no one notices you just reversed yourself, do you, you despicable little man? Thinking doesn’t come naturally to someone who is never questioned, never challenged to think carefully. Just shut up, fool. Stick to oppressing the starving masses. Leave fighting ships to me.

  Chahine nodded. “As the Esteemed Senator wishes.”

  ***

  “Green lights on all defensive and offensive weapons,” said Warwick.
>
  “Very well,” McCray said, returning to the Conn. “Standby EW systems and decoys. Wait for my order. We’ll give that missile the least time possible to analyze our defenses.”

  “Standing by, aye.” The EW officer took a deep breath and returned to her screens. “Sensors show the missile is a MillSwift II. Bomb-pumped lasers. Four-hundred Gigawatts output. Forty seconds until intercept.”

  “Copy that,” said McCray.

  “I still think one missile is an ineffective attack,” Zahn said. “Doesn’t make sense.”

  “That’s our proof that Qalawun really believes we’re a merchant. A single missile against a merchant with no active defenses can easily destroy the ship.”

  “It’s switching to terminal guidance,” called Warwick.

  “Copy.” That meant the weapon would use onboard sensors for the final approach to its target. “Let’s pull it in a little farther, Eyes. We’re going to surprise the hell out it.”

  In the tank, McCray watched the missile’s track, a mere three light-seconds away from Springbok. Qalawun’s missile hurtled through space, accelerating at 1099 gravities, an acceleration no inertial balancer could counteract. The lack of any living soul aboard eliminated the need for such systems. Its dark paddles hurled it through space as fast as it could go.

  Symbology in the tank indicated the missile had dropped the controlling data links from Qalawun. So close to its target, the data from its launching platform was many seconds old and virtually useless. Springbok sailed thousands of kilometers away from the last position reported by battlecruiser’s sensors. While McCray followed the action, the missile switched to terminal guidance and engaged its onboard radar. Being closer to its quarry, signals returned much quicker, and thus were more current. It soon found Springbok, changed course, and streaked towards it.

  As the missile icon moved ever closer. Blocks of text reported the weapon’s time to intercept and its likely activation range.

  “EW now!” said McCray.

  “EW, aye,” answered Warwick. She jabbed at the screen.