The Huralon Incident

by E A Wicklund

  Anxiety and remorse took hold once more. “No! No, my ship,” he howled. He pounded his fists and writhed, striking his face against the sarco’s interior. “We could’ve made it.” A captain shouldn’t carry on so, but he didn’t care. He was alone, and he let the tears flow. Would he die in this sarco, slowly suffocating over many days, his chance survival slipping away each interminable hour? What about his crew? How many others would die the same way? All those people, that fine crew who fought so valiantly. “We needed more time, just a little more.” How many were killed, he wondered. And how long would it be until someone found them? Would someone find them?

  And then he wondered about Aja. Was she still alive? Was she floating in her sarco, or did something far worse happen? He knew right then, if she didn’t survive, he didn’t want to either. The feelings he had for her had showed him a side of life he couldn’t have imagined before. He slammed his fist again. Life without her wouldn’t be life at all.

  “Captain, stop it,” said a voice.

  Still writhing in anguish, he redoubled his assault upon the interior.

  “Captain, you’re only hurting yourself. Stop it, now.”

  “What?” said McCray, hearing the voice at last. It sounded distant, muffled. “Who is this?”

  “Archimedes, sir. I halted the runaway electrical failures. Ship has power again. Unfortunately, your sarco perceived an emergency and physically disconnected itself. A drone has reconnected you, and now I’m rebooting your sarco to reestablish contact with Springbok. Please remain calm.”

  “Archie! What the hell happened? Are we still in one piece?”

  “Very much so,” answered Archimedes,” and still combat capable. We are evading and returning fire, but you are needed on the bridge.”

  McCray howled with delight, and struck the back of his head. “Ow.”

  “Captain, please—”.

  “Sorry. Okay, get me on the bridge, quick!” The lights turned on in the sarco’s interior. The forward screen before his face was smeared with blood. “Archimedes, what happened to me?”

  “You happened, you and all that emotionalism. Honestly, Captain.” Archimedes sounded clear now, obviously connected directly via Iris. Before, the AI must have been speaking to him by blasting the stateroom with very loud speakers. But then, another thought occurred, and he felt his cheeks flush.

  “Feck. Was I being recorded...earlier?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Okay, initiating virtual interface...no errors. Bridge...now.”

  McCray reappeared beside the tank and the smell of burnt electrical equipment assaulted his nose. “Is everyone all right?”

  A chorus of “okays” answered him, but looking around the bridge, with his command overlay enabled, they didn’t look so good. Piper worked his screens with his customary efficiency even though the overlay indicated his right wrist was probably fractured. Ando’s forehead had a deep bruise developing. As before, nanos rushed to treat his crew’s injuries. Luckily none of them were serious enough to drop anyone out of the bridge environment. They could still fight, and because of the immediate care in their sarcos, the could do so with maximum efficiency.

  “Damage report!” McCray said, as he stalked around the bridge, inspecting his team. Nearly everyone had experienced a strong reaction to awakening in the unexpected darkness.

  “We’ve lost hyper engine three,” DC1 Xiang said. With a flick of her pale fingers, she threw a rear view of the ship into a corner of the tank, and replayed a holo of what happened.

  The top two thirds of the aftmost engine was gone. The massive chunk, the size of some starships, separated from the ship and rapidly drifted aft while Springbok accelerated ahead. Electrical sparks, large as trucks, arced from shorn power conduits and burst from the stub of the ruined engine.

  “How about the other two?” McCray returned to the Conn, grateful the seat, and ship, wasn’t gone forever. Beside him, Aja looked a little shaken up, but uninjured. Briefly, he touched her shoulder, taking solace in the notion he could still touch her. She patted his hand and smiled.

  “I show green lights on hyper engines one and two,” said Xiang. “Still operational. Minor injuries reported.”

  Looking at the damage listed in the tank, McCray expected most crew members lay safely ensconced in their coffins, far from the violent strike, and deep inside the armored heart of the ship. Only robots, remotely controlled by those crewmen, braved the dangers of repairing the damage amidst radiation and vacuum. Springbok wasn’t beaten yet, not by a long shot. With two hyperengines they could still escape into hyperspace, if they made it to the heliopause.

  “All right. It’s not catastrophic, at least.”

  “Unfortunately, we’re still nearly an hour away from the heliopause,” Zahn said.

  Laser blasts seared across the tactical screens with a harpy’s screech. Everyone jumped. Now the make-believe sound, after they’d been hit so solidly, took on a substantive reality for the bridge crew. They dove into their work with renewed vigor.

  “We’re not dead in the water,” rebutted McCray. “I’ll take that any day. Defensive systems?”

  “Four shield emitters and four paddles gone. One counter-missile battery lost with the drive,” Xiang reported.

  “Defenses at the stern are looking pretty thin,” said Zahn.

  “Right when we need them most,” McCray said, his expression grim.

  “Two minutes to missile intercept, Captain!” said Warwick.

  “Very well. Launch four decoys.” He stood and watched the tank from close up.

  Warwick’s brows knitted.“So early?”

  “It’s never wise to present the same-looking defense too many times in a row,” replied McCray. “We’ll launch another layer of decoys in one minute.”

  Warwick nodded, clearing accepting the unconventional wisdom, “Copy that. Launching four decoys.”

  “Piper. I see we only have twelve missiles in this current wolfpack salvo. Send them on their way and keep launching.”

  “Aye, Captain. Missiles engaging now.”

  “Raj,” said McCray. “After losing paddles, what’s our current best acceleration?”

  Raj worked his screens and gave an unhappy sigh. “382 gees, sir.”

  “Still enough to open the range,” said McCray, though disappointed. They had lost a lot of their advantage. “Switch to evasion set Romeo-Sierra-6.”

  “One minute,” called Warwick as laser blasts shot past them.

  “Launch four more decoys. Counter-missiles and EW, Eyes.”

  “Launching and firing. EW is up. Hopefully, the missiles like my latest EW pattern.”

  “I’m sure they will. ” McCray favored her with a grin, “If you remembered to put sugar on top.”

  In the tank, he watched the missiles work their way through Warwick’s electronic ghosts. For a moment, it seemed they were drawn away perfectly, but then something happened and they shifted back on target, all eight missiles streaking for Springbok.

  “Damn,” muttered McCray under his breath. This time, the enemy had figured out a crucial flaw in the pattern of the EW, allowing them to correctly identify Springbok among the contacts.

  Four of the weapons still died, destroyed by counter missile fire as they adjusted their course towards Springbok. The others avoided the hellish defenses long enough to close in and activate terminal guidance, taking advantage of the Q-ship’s thin aft defense. The four closed in perfectly ignoring other targets that would normally fool them.

  Two disappeared in a single shot from Springbok’s main lasers, a lucky fluke. Two streaked past, their initial attack foiled by unexpected evasions. They flipped over, seeking to acquire the ship once more with active radar. The reprieve was short-lived for one. Counter-missile batteries incinerated it before the weapon located the ship.

  The last found its quarry, aimed squarely at Springbok’s flank, and unleashed hell. Mc
Cray braced himself against the tank as the ship shook violently. He grimaced in dismay as damage text scrolled through the tank.

  Most of the sixteen lasers in the warhead missed cleanly, but one hammered in a direct hit. It passed through hundreds of sweeps of the paddles and rammed through the particle shield. The original 310 gigawatt blast, diffused significantly, still carried enough energy to shatter eight-hundred tons of armor and hull, and gouge deep into Springbok’s heart.

  Secondary explosions rattled Springbok as if an angry Titan shook it in a furious fist. Red warning lights flashed across the bridge and alarms keened at every station.

  “Damage report!” McCray barked.

  Silence answered him. He looked over to DC1 Xiang who appeared frozen. She flickered for a moment, then winked out of existence. McCray knew what that meant. Springbok’s first crewmen had been lost, and Xiang was among them. He closed his eyes tightly. Every crew member lost was a black mark against his soul. He felt the death like a stab wound to his side.

  Senior Chief Sampan appeared in her place. “Major hit in the port quarter, Cap’n,” he reported without preamble. “Frames 302 to 338, decks 22 to 27 open to space. Damage control parties are enroute. We lost six paddles on the port side. Main Laser Three reports nonfunctional. Chief Engineer reports Fusion Three is down, executing repairs. We lost eight shield emitters.” He looked McCray in the eye. “Nearly the entire port quarter is exposed.”

  McCray nodded, walking over to Sampan.“How many casualties?”

  “Thirty-seven casualties reported, sir, including DC1 Xiang.” His eyes dropped for a moment.

  “I’m sorry, Senior Chief,” said McCray. Xiang had two kids, somehow that made it worse. But the present demanded his full attention. The time for grief would have to come later..

  “Captain,” said Raj. “I need to place starboard paddles matching the destroyed port ones in standby. We’re developing an attitudinal list.”

  McCray nodded. With six paddles missing on the port side, the starboard paddles developed extra grip in the dark strata. Springbok yawed to port and became less controllable, continually trying to turn to port. Shutting down paddles on the starboard side eliminated the problem, but also reduced acceleration.

  “Very well, Dodger. What does that put our acceleration at?”

  “Not good. Max accel is now 317 gees.” Raj winced. “Qalawun will exceed our velocity in twenty-eight minutes. Time to the heliopause is now one hour, twenty-seven minutes.”

  McCray stared into the darkness of the tactical screens. For all practical purposes, they’d been handed a death sentence. They couldn’t reach the heliopause with Qalawun firing every nineteen seconds for over an hour, and especially not with the port quarter so exposed. All he could think about was how hard they’d tried, how close they’d come to surviving. They would all soon die, and he had led them here. The responsibility felt like a punch in the gut,

  “We should see the results of our last volley soon, Captain,” said Piper. Laser blasts on the tactical screens lit up his face in red.

  “Give me some good news, Guns,” McCray answered, forcing down his personal demons.

  “Two hits!”

  McCray hustled across to Piper’s station. “Anything critical?”

  “I see escaping atmosphere from multiple locations,” Warwick said, excitement lighting her voice, but then her shoulders slumped. “Both were solid hits, but no reduction in paddle output.” She glanced up at McCray. “We had to hit something vital, sir.” She looked desperate. “We had to.”

  “Still means they can catch us,” Zahn said, shaking his head beside the tank. “We needed something more than that.”

  Piper turned to him and pursed his lips in disappointment. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought I hit something that would help us.”

  McCray clapped him on the back, hard. It was time to be a commander of warriors, and that meant urging them on even when all seemed lost, no matter what he personally believed. “You’re doing great, Guns. Keep firing Wolfpacks, they’re making a difference.”

  Piper frowned. “I don’t see—”.

  “You had to take out some defensive clusters, right in the bow where they need them most. Every hit you get makes more hits possible. Load ‘em up and give the bastards all you’ve got. If we’re going down, we’re going down swinging.”

  Piper’s chest puffed out. “Aye, sir. Launching now. I’ll get you some more.”

  McCray crossed the bridge to Warwick. “Blind them, Athena. Stab their eyes out. Nobody in the Fleet works the magic like you. Are you with me?”

  The Lieutenant’s eyes turned hard, a warrior trapped in a corner, steeling herself for a final horrific assault on their attacker. “All the way, sir.”

  McCray stood in the middle of the bridge, turning to every single member in turn. “People, I know it doesn’t look good for us, but we’re all still breathing, and we’re still fighting. The game isn’t over until every swab jock aboard is sucking vacuum. Fight until the end, people, because if we believe in ourselves and never give up, it might not be the end.”

  He returned to the Conn and sat down. Zahn joined him and leaned over to whisper, “A little luck wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “Luck is made, not found.” said McCray, a little too tersely. He turned to Zahn and gave him an apologetic look. The big redhead just waved it away as unnecessary.

  McCray tapped at his chin, his mind racing. “In history, when the ancient Greeks sailed in triremes, the Greek gods would sometimes intervene. That’s what we need right now: a god. A modern Poseidon.”

  ***

  Captain Chahine stood at the tank in the center of the bridge. Arranged in a circle around him, his people worked at their stations, murmuring quietly as they received reports from other parts of the ship. He turned to face aft at the hatch in the corner, hoping the marines would show up soon.

  “Hit!” called the Weapons officer. “A solid one, sir.”

  Chahine rushed over to the station. “How solid? Is she breaking up?” He worried that they might have hit it too hard and it would break up. That would ruin everything.

  “Standby, sir. I see something drifting back from the Jade. It looks like another ship, detaching itself.”

  “Engines firing?” said Chahine, watching the data too. Weapons sensor displays were less detailed, being focused on establishing weapons locks rather than physical details.

  “It’s not a ship,” said Sensors. “It’s a piece of the ship. All glory to Madkhal. It’s a huge chunk.”

  “No. My ship,” muttered Chahine to himself as he walked over to Sensors.

  “Our ship is fine,” said the Sensor Officer, frowning at the captain.

  Chahine ignored the man’s questioning look and read through the more detailed sensor scans. “She’s still underway though, fully powered.”

  “Concur, sir. My guess is she just lost a hyperengine. Angeletti Clippers have big drives. Losing one wouldn’t affect her acceleration in normal space.”

  Chahine returned to the Weapons Officer. “Do we have any birds enroute, Plaxico?”

  “Aye, sir. Latest salvo is almost there.”

  Chahine felt his breath coming in pants. That ship and all its wondrous technology must survive as intact as possible. His plans weren’t quite ready and he could hardly countermand the Senator just yet. When the moment came, he would have to act fast, and hope the Jade survived until then.

  Marcus cringed as laser blasts streaked past, the artificial sight and sound the ship inserted, clearly terrified him. Chahine never even blinked. It’s good for him to be reminded the world is dangerous outside his palace, he thought.

  Twenty-four marines arrived on Qalawun’s bridge with a clatter boots and the nautical warriors fanned out to the sides.

  At last. Chahine grinned. “Senator, would you like to meet Major Sensabaugh? He’s the CO of our marine contingent, here to ensure your safety.”

  Marcus eyed the marine for a moment and sn
iffed. “Why? My bodyguards are quite sufficient.”

  “No amount of security is enough for the Senate’s finest leader,” said Chahine, bowing his head.

  The ship veered hard and suddenly, momentarily overcoming their inertial balancers. The Senator snarled a moment as he stumbled into a console, clearly annoyed by universal laws. He recovered and preened as though a cat who’d just stumbled. He looked appeased to be spoken to as he liked, but his narrowed eyes suggested he didn’t trust it. “I am uninterested in meeting your menials, ChaCha. If they follow orders, that is enough.” Marcus turned away and returned to the tank.

  Chahine walked up to the clean-shaven Sensabaugh. The Major was short for a marine, but his golden eyes were sharp and intense, his musculature sharply cut, revealed by the ripped biceps exposed by rolled up sleeves. Both men had grown up in poverty, joining the military forces only to escape it. As children, they had lived in close proximity to the wealthy Elites, hunting for scraps in the shadow of outrageous wealth. Their mutual disdain for their oligarchic overlords knew no bounds.

  “The Master at Arms debriefed you?”

  “Aye, sir. We are already moving on the positions. Engineering and Auxiliary Control have already been pacified.”

  “Excellent. The Master at Arms informed you about the special targets?”

  Sensabaugh shared a feral grin. “Yes, sir. We’re ready.”

  “Wait for my order.”

  Chahine watched sixteen of the twenty-four marines fan out and approach certain stations on the bridge. Behind them, eight stayed beside Sensabaugh. They stood, weapons at port arms with gun barrels pointed up and to the left. More crewmen entered through the hatch, and Chahine grasped one named Tamanagi by the shoulder. “Over here at weapons, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “Self-destruct our volley of outbound missiles. Quickly now!”

  Several other crewmen looked confused as the other marines led them away from their stations, quietly removing those expected to be uncooperative. Only Plaxico, at Weapons, protested loudly. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go. Captain, what have I done?”