The Huralon Incident

by E A Wicklund

  The odor of ionized air merged with the smell of human sweat. Archimedes knew they were all tense and added the effects of perspiration to the simulated bridge. McCray wiped a bead of perspiration away. It wasn’t so much the danger that plagued a naval officer’s thoughts; it was the waiting. This was the nature of naval battles. Titanic forces raced back and forth between combatants, but it took long, excruciating minutes for the streams of death to arrive.

  At last, Springbok slipped into the pink region. McCray felt his muscles tighten. What would the end feel like? Would he feel it at all? Would the shattered lid of his tank open and eject him into the deathly cold of vacuum? Would he even awake to reality at all, or just perish quickly while still in VR?

  He looked up at the tactical screens, but saw nothing unusual. The Naeridae were invisible to the human eye, invisible to touch. Dark matter, whether living or not, had little effect on normal matter, and vice versa. Even as he looked into nothing, his body passed through the body of the creature. Only the tips of the dark paddles triggered any reaction between such vastly different species.

  At last, Springbok exited the region marking the Naerida. The three looked at each other with relieved smiles. They had made it through, but now it was time to survive the juggernaut pursuing them.

  McCray paced back and forth before the tank, hoping he’d made the right call. It was always possible they might get more lucky hits on Qalawun with the missiles. Maybe if they stayed with that instead of this harebrained, risky maneuver, they might survive. Perhaps that was the smartest move.

  He shook his head. No, it never worked to count on blind luck. Real luck came to those who created a situation, a nest as it were, where opportunity could break through the shell just when it was needed. Sometimes creating those situations involved risk as dangerous as the problem that needed luck in the first place. Still, fortune favored the brave. He knew in his gut, knew in his mind, that the numbers favored Qalawun. On the other hand, in war, numbers alone did not always dictate the outcome.

  McCray paced around the tank for long minutes. He finally looked up and noticed everyone on the bridge watched him. “What?”

  “What is that zone anyway?” Ando asked, always the least diplomatic of the crew.

  McCray shrugged. No way he would tell. “It’s pink.”

  “Launching another salvo,” Piper said.

  McCray pointed to the pinkish globe. “Guns. Make sure your missiles pass through this zone.”

  Piper’s brows knitted. “Of course, Captain, but that wouldn’t ensure a least-time intercept.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “You may but I cannot answer. Maybe someday, I’ll explain over a beer.” He cast a quick glance at Raj, who seemed to ignore the discussion.

  “Very well, sir. A few touches to the screen and he updated the missiles flight plan enroute. Courses have been edited. Wolfpack launch is changing course now.”

  “Dodger. Change course to 0-0-3 mark 3-6-2. Qalawun should turn to follow. I want to be sure she passes through the anomalous zone.”

  “Changing course, aye. What if she doesn’t follow?”

  “Then change course as necessary to draw her in. Don’t wait for me.” McCray was insistent. “She must pass through that zone.”

  “What’s in there?” whispered Aja as she stood next to him.

  McCray crossed his arms and breathed deeply. “Hopefully, our salvation.”

  Minutes later, after a long, tense silence, Warwick suddenly sat up in her chair. “Whoa! What just happened?”

  “What’s going on, Eyes?” McCray said, moving to her station.

  “Our missiles just…blew up.”

  “Isn’t that interesting?” McCray hid a smile. By the Mind, it was working

  “Confirm,” said Piper, angrily working his boards. “Shortly after they entered that anomalous zone. What’s in there?”

  McCray held up his hands helplessly. “Another of those freak waves, probably.” He noted he’d won a small nod of thanks from Raj.

  Piper froze in mid tap. “Then, may I ask why I sent them through there?”

  McCray expected his crew would figure out that something lurked in that space, but he’d already offended the sensibilities of Zahn and Raj enough. No way would he tell more. “I’m afraid that’s above your paygrade, Guns. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you more.”

  “But wasn’t that a waste ammunition?”

  McCray watched the tank, chin on his fist. Qalawun wasn’t firing any more missiles. The tactical display showed little activity aside from laser shots, streaming red across the tactical displays. Only their own missiles passed between the two. No surprise there. Chahine still expected to claim this ship. A single missile hit from Qalawun in the right spot might obliterate Springbok. They wouldn’t fire another missile, and laser fire from Qalawun wouldn’t affect a being of dark strata. No, Springbok must fire as many missiles through the creature as possible. It was up to the Q-ship to get the creature good and riled up for a fight. “Not if it works. No more Wolfpack salvos, Guns. Just fire missile salvos as soon as they’re ready.”

  “Hang on,” said Ando. “We just passed through that anomaly and nothing happened.”

  “That’s right.” Piper paused and waited for McCray to fill in the blank, but McCray offered nothing to the weapons officer. He watched Piper look into the tank and sigh when more missile icons disappeared. “Another volley is destroyed.” He stared at McCray with confusion. “I hope they served their purpose.”

  “I do too.” McCray paced beside the tank, watching the contact of Qalawun as it entered the zone highlighted by Raj. What was happening in there? Was it working? Would the creature attack furiously like Hannibal’s elephants, enraged after being struck by scores of arrows?

  He paused to watch Warwick for a moment as she analyzed the data on her screens. At least she got a break after fighting off Qalawun’s massive missile volleys for so long. He blinked as a laser shot screamed across the tactical screens. She could do nothing about the battlecruiser’s laser shots, of course. All they could do was evade and hope for the best. For now, the Fleet’s best and most creative Electronic Warfare officer need only concentrate on her electronic ghosts, making Springbok appear where she was not.

  He watched her lean back into her seat, savoring a break in her workload. Even another brace of laser blasts failed to disturb her calm, yet focused expression. Though relaxed, she never took her eyes off her sensors, and then she suddenly sat bolt upright. “Captain! Something’s happening to Qalawun.”

  McCray turned back to the tank with a predatory smile. At last, it’s happening. “Optics view, if you please, Eyes.”

  The entire bridge crew stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfold in the tank. The massive battlewagon tumbled out of control. Its starboard dark paddle emitters, machines the size of houses, dragged across its hull, ripping through armor many meters thick as if it were tissue paper. The tears, marked in black hull breaches thirty meters across, crisscrossed the hull. Hundreds of tons of material crumpled before reaching weapons nodes, the high-energy systems exploding in catastrophic blasts.

  The paddles mounted upon the aft hyperengine experienced a different demise, being jammed into the engine itself and emerging as fire and destruction on the other side. With main structural members shattered and burning, the entire engine—a structure the size of an office building—slowly collapse like a failing levy, falling away from the crumbling ship.

  Internal explosions began erupting across the vessel, hurling chunks of hull, pieces of equipment, and human bodies into the void. Gaping wounds in the vessel’s flanks grew larger until Springbok’s crew could see whole shuttles tumbling out of gashes in the boat bays.

  Most everyone on the bridge gasped, unaccustomed to witnessing a ship being dismantled by invisible forces. McCray wasn’t sure what he expected, but he knew he never expected such catastrophic violence. Perhaps some
thing that might temporarily disable the big battlewagon, but nothing like this. Of the bridge crew, only Raj and Zahn stared at the horror impassively. They had seen such destruction before as members of the Navigator’s Guild. At last he understood Raj’s opposition to his own captain and his reluctance to approach the Naeridae at all. The creature’s incredible assault made advanced weapons seem like pop guns.

  McCray started to wonder if he’d gone too far. Perhaps he had committed an atrocity? What have I done? “Warwick. Is Qalawun still targeting us?”

  Warwick pulled her eyes away from the tank with visible effort, snapping her mouth closed. “Ah…negative, Captain. We are no longer being painted. Laser fire has ceased. I estimate only one of their original eight lasers is still functional.”

  “Very well. Keep an eye on her.”

  “Incoming signal, Captain,” Ando called out.

  There. The moment McCray hoped for but never believed he would see. “In the tank, if you please.”

  Captain Chahine’s face had been gouged from temple to chin, and blood still dripped from his wounds. Scarlet emergency lights flickered across the bridge, creating hellish shadows across his scowling visage. Broken bodies floated behind him in the null gravity, lit by the strobing effect of damaged, arcing equipment. His left eye had swollen shut, a livid shade of purple. “Captain Berry,” he said. “It seems you have won the day.”

  McCray wasted no time responding to his crippled enemy. “Captain McCray, actually. Master of Egalitarian Stars Ship, Springbok.”

  The captain choked on a laugh and spat out blood. “I figured as much. I’ve known for some time you are no merchant captain. It seems you have proven the better ship’s master today. I have no idea what devil-spawned weapon you fired at us, but whatever it is, well played, sir.”

  “You fought well. I could not have asked for a better opponent. I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

  “I as well, Captain. You had a right to fight for ship and crew. You did what any good ship’s captain would do.” He paused to cough up more blood. “I swear upon the eyes of Madkhal, long may he guide us, that I intended no harm to Elysium had you given your ship to me.”

  At this moment, McCray was inclined to believe the man. It looked like he might soon draw his last breath. At such a moment, a person must always share their final truth. “Then what did you plan to do with it?”

  Chahine gave a little laugh. “It was a dream, I suppose. Perhaps I dreamed too much.” He leaned towards the camera, eyes glittering. “I wanted to cut out the cancer that poisons my nation. I would’ve destroyed the palaces of the Elites, cut their supply lines. Oh, your politicians have tried to control the Elites with your economic sanctions. I know they meant well, but all it did was take more food away from the poor. You don’t know how to hit the Elites where it hurts. I do. I would’ve choked them into oblivion!” He turned away from the camera as coughs wracked his body. He returned with an apologetic smile. “We Madkhalis are not so bad, Captain McCray. You Elysians only know us through the Elites, but we are nothing like them. We are good people, kind to a fault. If only you had met my parents—I think you would’ve liked them.”

  McCray watched sympathetically. All the man wanted to do was free his people. Have I just killed the one man brave enough to turn the tide against a destructive regime? McCray felt he must do something for the captain. For a moment, he looked askance at Aja. Perhaps the folks in IS-3 could work out something for him. “Captain, this fight is over. I offered you the chance to surrender before, I offer it again. Let us help you. We have medical staff aboard who can see to your wounded. I can bring the ship around and pull your people off.”

  The dying ship’s captain looked hopeful. “You would do that? After we continued the attack? There has been loss of life at your end, I expect. Are you man or angel?”

  “The time for killing is past,” replied McCray. “It is time for healing. Perhaps your dreams are not at an end, Captain Chahine. Perhaps they are only just beginning.” He paused to look at Aja a moment. Her quick nod told him she already knew where he was going, and the possibility existed that IS-3 might fund an ambitious revolutionary. “I have someone aboard who might start that process.”

  Chahine smiled at last. “I think I would like that. Please accept—”

  The captain’s image abruptly disappeared into white noise.

  “No, no. What happened?” McCray demanded. “Ando, get him back.”

  While the comms officer worked feverishly, Warwick shook her head. “Captain. He can’t. Qalawun is gone.” She pointed to the remote optics view in the tank.

  DPS Qalawun, once the pride of the DPM, finally lost control of her fusion plants, and disappeared in the heart of an exploding star.

  Chapter 32

  Bertram Quartermain walked slowly down the marbled hall of the Thatcher Building. Idly, he glanced at the sculptured busts of statesmen and stateswomen resting on plinths as he passed them. They had faced difficult times, too. The spymaster hoped that he might draw inspiration from those great minds.

  He knew he should feel good. Operation Roundtable had ended successfully, albeit with the civil disruption in Huralon. The Madkhali Senate lay in disarray with the death of Senator Mallouk, the perfect environment for his man to flourish in.

  But as he plopped onto the bench beside Morrissey Chamberlain, he couldn’t help but feel that events had gone horribly awry. Despite the good news, the specter of war loomed.

  In contrast, Chamberlain looked so excited, he nearly bounced up and down in place. “Can you believe it?” He grinned. “Parliament is voting to make me Interim Prime Minister.”

  “That usually precedes a vote to go to war,” Quartermain said, staring morosely at the floor.

  “To think that they look to me for leadership in this exciting...this troubling time.”

  Quartermain stared across the hall into the sculpted face of Gandhi. “Five months ago, every member of Parliament had never once served the government. Most focused their entire being on what body mod to pursue next, or watching the next episode of Homes of the Obscenely Wealthy. Even during the Thallighari War, we had no Interim Prime Minister. So I’m forced to wonder how Parliament learned of the obscure law that creates an IPM.” Quartermain finished with a glare at Chamberlain.

  “What are you suggesting? I had nothing to do with it. Every law is available to the public. How should I know where they got it?”

  “You’re a Keeper, aren’t you?” growled Quartermain. Tasked with informing parliamentary members about laws? And now, we’re charging straight into a war we’re not prepared for.”

  “Oh, it’s not like that at all.” Chamberlain turned to the spymaster, eyes filled with excitement. “Springbok’s incredible successes proves our technology far outstrips the Maddies. We’ll send in a few battle fleets and bite off a couple dozen star systems, and the Madkhalis will soon be suing for peace. It’ll be over in a few months. And then with all these dilapidated cities on our hands, they’ll need to be rebuilt. Think of the business opportunities! I’m forming a consortium of investors now. We’re working out business plans for all the new companies we’ll need, and I’ll be at the head of most of them.” He whispered conspiratorially, “And don’t worry, you can get in on this too…”

  Quartermain’s jaw worked as he fought to control the rage building within him. He had seen the intercepts and wondered how much the Madkhalis were giving the keeper, but now he realized the man wanted something worse. War. And despite all those deaths of good people, he planned to profit.

  You used me. You planned this all along. The authorization to manipulate Parliament granted everything you wanted. Operation Roundtable provided you the perfect opportunity. This coming war is what you sought all along, and now millions will die just to further your own ambitions.

  And I fell straight into your trap. I let you play me like a cheap drum.

  If this can happen then I’ve lost the touch. It’s time to retire, call
it quits.

  Quartermain still had one last duty he could perform for the nation.

  He took a deep breath and slowly released it. He hadn’t thought about the arcane Chinese character in decades, but it returned to him easily, as though his time performing field ops ended only yesterday. His breathing slowed further, and metabolic changes brewed in his system. Nanites in his bloodstream responded to the long, unused command and began building the microscopic factories needed to make a substance in his liver. It only took a few more moments before he began to sweat.

  “Quartermain? Bart! Are you listening?” Chamberlain asked. “I lost you for a minute.”

  Quatermain smiled. “It all sounds wonderful.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes.” He patted Chamberlain's hand, smearing his sweat into the keeper’s skin. “We should take action immediately.” He stood up. “I must go now. Everything is set in motion.”

  As he walked away, he heard Chamberlain behind him, gasping in shock. Quartermain allowed himself a smile. The man would pay dearly for his treachery, his body slowly dismantled from the inside out.

  ***

  After a long trip to somewhere—no one was willing to tell Blanchard—it felt good to him to finally get outside the small cell of the prisoner ship. Anything was better than that. Unfortunately, his hands remained cuffed to the transorbital shuttle’s seat on the flight down to planet, somewhere. Add to it, the shuttle’s crew chief refused to turn off the holoscreen as it played a news broadcast from that most horrid of all places, Huralon. Also cuffed to the seat beside him, Stephen Mallouk looked nauseated by the news story too. With a sigh, Blanchard settled back to watch it, sneering at developments that felt like a personal attack upon himself.

  On the holoscreen, suspended from the overhead, the camera showed long lines of Madkhali troops waiting to enter the Huralon Militia’s sub-orbital transports. To Blanchard’s ears, the voice-over of Chandra Fleurette, SNS anchor, sounded a bit too self-righteous.