Imagawa had grown up on an isolated Halifaxian colony in the Aramis system, distant from the core worlds and vulnerable to attacks by Ajaxian raiders. She took a special pleasure in smoking them, those megalomaniac bully boys with big mouths and hate for everyone who was not one of them. They were impossibly sexist, and Imagawa always made sure that they knew that they had tangled with and lost to a woman. They hated that, they hated her, and had named her the Witch of Pella after a small moon where she had downed seven of them in one day. She liked the tag so much that she changed her call sign to 'Witch.' It suited her just fine.
She was quickly promoted, and the CSG (commander space group) aboard Liberty enthusiastically recommended her for the command of the fighter component on a battleship. That should have been the last stepping stone before ascending to the command of a space wing aboard a carrier, and then advancement to a captaincy. After that, could flag rank be far behind? She had daydreamed that one day she would sit in the captain's chair aboard the Lady of the Lake.
All that was to have come through months ago, but then this mission had been devised by the brains of Navy High Command. Her unit, the 88th Fighter Squadron, nicknamed the Golden Sabers, was in the middle of transitioning to their new F-243B's, and were undergoing flight qualifications on Halifax at Manchester Naval Station when Captain Andrew More came calling. He needed an experienced squadron as his shipboard space component. Time was short, the Steadfast and the rest of the 34th Strike Squadron was departing in less than twenty-four hours. It would be an in-and-out, hush-hush mission. With most of the journey spent in cryostasis it would be just four to five days round trip.
That was what Captain More had promised. Men and their promises! She and her mates had now been in the Memnon system for seven weeks. She might have enjoyed her time if she could have explored the Morrigan but she had not been allowed anywhere near the old ship. The loss of so many Navy crewmen when the strike group had displaced in-system weighed heavily on her too. She had been friendly with Captain Cynthia Todd, having known her when she was still aboard the Chalcedon. There were several others whom she had known personally, all dead in the blink of an eye.
She'd since run dozens of CAP missions just inside the Oort cloud that marked the boundary of the star system. The outer edge of just about every system in the known galaxy was enclosed by an enormous cloud of ice chunks, mostly composed of water and some other frozen gases. These were the leftovers of the formation of star systems. Here at Memnon, they were too far away to be pulled inward by the weak gravitational pull of the sun, but not energetic enough to escape the tug of that same gravity to float off into interstellar space. Memnon was unusual in having an Oort cloud set at such an extreme distance from the primary. At about one light year, it stood at the upper end of such observed distances. Memnon's outer reaches had likely been scoured clean of all closer bodies by the passage of several gas giants in extremely wide orbits. In this regard, Memnon was again unusual, in that the system was composed of six such gargantuan gaseous outer planets, and only two smaller, rocky worlds close to the sun. So the more distant ice chunks had floated around Memnon in their orbits in cold silence for billions of years, and were destined circle round the dim star for billions more. Evading the trillions of ice chunks in the Oort cloud was no challenge. The volume of space the cloud occupied was so vast that the distances between each chunk averaged a few million kilometers. Imagawa could fly her Wildcat, inverted, between posts just four meters apart. Between Oort cloud ice balls? Not a problem at all.
The CAP's still had to be run. It had been a patrol by a ship from Kongo that had found Morrigan, and there was always the chance that a merchant freighter or mining prospector would wander uncomfortably close, and the whole squadron would have to hide deeper in the cloud to escape being seen. The worst case scenario was that a flotilla of ships from the Memnonian Navy came sniffing. It was a wonder that they had not come by already. Tracking stations dotted every system in the Great Sphere, and Memnon had many of them in varied orbits. The collapsing displacement envelopes and the ensuing nuclear detonations that had scorched the 34th Strike Squadron should have been detected by them a long time ago. There had been no response.
Nonetheless, it was only logical to assume that they would be receiving a visit eventually from the owners of the Memnon system. The longer they waited the more that came to be a certainty. The RHN had been reluctant to send any more ships than absolutely necessary to retrieve Morrigan out of fear that their displacement signatures would tip off the Memnonians to the little flotilla's presence. Fewer ships in-system reduced the likelihood of discovery, but it also meant that if they were discovered, they'd be overwhelmed by the RMN.
"Something bothering you, Witch?"
That was Lieutenant Tom Percy, call sign Hammer. He was a good kid, talented and brave. Just twenty-two, he was an ace already. "You've barely spoken all patrol," he said.
Imagawa had not realized how obvious her discomfort at flying these patrols was. She had become unusually quiet. She was always preaching on and on about the need to communicate between ships while on a mission. She ought to take her own advice. "CAP is dull as dust, Hammer," she acknowledged. "I haven't killed anything in months. Still, we have a job to do."
"That's more like it," Percy said. "I prefer it when your homicidal. At least you aren't having fun either. I remember you promised us a hibernap out to some supersecret destination, a few days in-system, and then back to Halifax before the week was out."
"Plans change."
"So they do. I think we are going to miss the holidays."
"I won't be getting you anything, just in case you were wondering," Imagawa said. "No place to pick up anything suitable way out here."
Percy waggled the wings of his charcoal-gray Wildcat. "If only you could see my tears, Witch."
"I have seen you cry more then enough times after I've beaten you at cards. I'll just imagine that's happening now."
"Ready to head back?" Percy asked. "All this ice is beginning to look the same to me."
"It will look the same to you and everyone else who ever comes out this way. Except for the occasional chunk that gets dislodged by a collision, or maybe the tug of a passing star that nudges one sunward to become a comet, these things will be out here until Memnon goes nova."
"I hope that isn't soon, Witch" Percy said in mock seriousness. "I didn't bring out my nice clothes for such an occasion."
'We'll be gone long before that happens, Hammer."
There was an extended pause. "You think we can get the Morrigan out of here?" Percy inquired. "Back to Halifax? I talked to a few of the people who have been aboard. Most of the systems are functional, but the shipbrain is shot. It looks like it took some serious damage in battle and, get this, those Tartareans we grabbed, they tried to cut their way into the main brainsystem, and did lots of damage on top of what had already been done."
"Butchery!" Imagawa exclaimed. "That doesn't sound like the Tartareans. They are supposed to be more civilized."
"Yes, that's their reputation. But they were freaking out. I heard that Morrigan herself was trying to kill them, and succeeded a few times."
"Good for her!" Imagawa hoped it was true. If those Tartarean turds had been poking around her innards, doing nasty stuff, she was glad that the old girl had fought back somehow. "But how? I thought the shipbrain was dead."
"Maybe it wasn't entirely," Percy speculated. "Maybe it is now, once the Tartareans did whatever they did to it. But not before."
"Bastards! Imperialistic bastards!"
"I agree. The Tartareans suck. You haven't answered my question though."
"What was that again?" Imagawa's mind had been filled with visions of Tartarean T-47 Tigersharks exploding into thousands of fragments in the void after being struck by her guns and missiles.
"Do you think we are going to be able to get Morrigan out of here? If we don't, we may have to destroy it ourselves."
Percy was right. It wa
s an appalling thought. Morrigan was the oldest ship ever to be discovered by the RHN. The few people whom Imagawa had come across who had been allowed to investigate her all gave glowing appraisals of her technology and build quality. Morrigan would be, if she could be salvaged and brought home to Halifax, the most potent warship in any navy in the Sphere by any measure. Halifax would be safe for decades, maybe centuries, with something that powerful in its fleet. If it couldn't move FTL, then it would have to be destroyed to keep it from becoming part of anyone else's fleet.
"Captain More brought in a specialist, his own cousin," offered Percy, "to unravel the secrets of the powerplant and the displacement drive. I hear he is a wizard with these things." Percy sounded a bit too hopeful.
"No one is a wizard with tech this advanced," Imagawa said. "I don't think that Morrigan is going to make it home with us." She had a sinking feeling that things in Memnon were going to get worse before they got better, if they ever got better.
That was when the threat warning lights on her F-243's console began to blink.
Chapter Fourteen
Victory Naval Base, Tartarus Prime, High Orbit
Arjuna Donner stood inside the orbital shuttle as it came to rest inside Victory Naval Base. Victory was the largest such base in the Great Sphere, being big enough to dock and service no fewer than a dozen battleships within her capacious interior. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind of activity. His orders to ship out with the Engagement Force had come without warning from Admiral Otis, who now stood on the deckplates outside the shuttle. Donner's comm chirped. It was Otis himself. "We don't have all day, lieutenant," the admiral said.
Donner hurriedly collected his bags and other gear and trotted down the ramp. He dropped his bags as carefully as he could, stood up straight, and gave Otis a smart salute. "Admiral," he said.
Otis nodded. Donner had worked with him long enough to know that he was clearly distracted. "Walk with me, lieutenant."
They strode across the deck which was swarming with techs readying ships of the Engagement Force for the mission. Otis pointed to one sleek warship, a Concord class destroyer. "That is the Amity," the admiral said with pride. "She was mine once. I was her first captain. A fine ship if there ever was one. I took her on patrol many times through the Candle Marches, chasing down pirates and laying down the law for the little colonial worlds that drift through the region. It was a good time . . . before . . ."
Otis seemed to be lost momentarily in thought, and then quickly snapped out of it. "Never mind an old man's war stories. Just reminiscing. Now, about your mission. I have ordered you to go aboard the Triumph."
"The battleship?"
"Is there any other ship by that name in the fleet?"
"Well, uh, no sir," Donner said. "A silly question." The ATS Triumph was the flagship of the fleet, the latest and greatest warship of the Armada. This would be his first posting to a spacegoing vessel. Donner had spent the entirety of his relatively short career doing planetary duty performing staff work for Monarchonate Military Intelligence. A berth on the Triumph was coveted by all officers. It normally took more experience than Donner had and some extra pull to secure a posting. When her sister ships, the Unity and the Vigilance were completed, perhaps the competition would ease up. For now though, it was intense, and Donner was being handed a dream assignment. His chest began to swell with pride.
"You aren't going to be much more than baggage aboard ship until you get out there," Otis said. Donner felt immediately deflated.
"That should come as no surprise," Otis said, even though it did to Donner. "You are a fine lieutenant, you know your business, but your resume is very thin when it comes to actual space experience. It is time you got some."
"There must be more to my mission than getting some space legs," Donner said. "I'm about to finish my second year out of the Academy and would have been posted to one ship or another."
"I was about to get to that," Otis said. "I need someone from MMI to be my eyes and ears aboard Triumph. We are moving through dangerous times, lieutenant. Something very odd and untoward has happened in the Memnon system. We need to figure out what has happened. I'm not sure what you are going to find at Memnon except that it will be unpleasant. I want you to handle every bit of information that the fleet comes across. Only when we have all the pieces of the puzzle will we be able to figure out how such a massive rogue operation got off the ground. Under our noses, Donner. Under our very noses! Every piece of evidence we find has to get back to me. I don't want the combat officers to shut us out of anything of consequence. I can only judge what is consequential if I see everything we find."
"I understand, admiral. Look and listen."
"Good. Take this then." Otis handed Donner a small plasteel briefcase.
"It's heavy."
"For good reason, lieutenant," Otis said. "It contains state-of-the-art encryption and communications gear. Not miniaturized yet for wearable use but small enough to carry around. Do not remove it from your personal quarters. Ever. You are not to take it off Triumph unless you are forced to evacuate. Am I clear? Record all of your observations in it. Keep no other notes. I don't want your ideas flowing to non-Intelligence personnel until I clear them for dissemination. Understood?"
"Yes, admiral."
"Good. The specific details of your mission are in an encrypted file inside. The most important thing to remember relates to Halifax. I dread seeing us come to blows with them over Memnon. I think that they are going to be furious if their ships have been damaged or destroyed. With potentially hundreds dead, they may be in a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of mood. I want you to log the circumstances of your encounter with any Republican warships as soon as you find them and send them via tightbeam to the Gazelle. She's a courier, very fast, and is on standby to run any report of Halifaxian involvement immediately back to Tartarus."
Donner was confused. "I'll do that, admiral, but why can't this go through ordinary channels? I'm sure the king would want this information as eagerly as anyone else. Surely the Engagement Force would send a courier home if things got hot with the Halifaxians."
Otis shook his head. "That is what you would think, and hope," he said. "It is not always the case, however, that line officers give their superiors the full story when it comes to what is really going on. If the unfolding catastrophe that we have experienced over the last two months teaches us anything, it is that there are factions within the Armada that would like to see a war with Tartarus sooner rather than later. We have to stop them. Think about it, Donner! Who had the power to produce or acquire a million nuclear mines? Who could have put together an operation using two naval ships with tech looted from black archaeological sites?"
"Someone with lots of power, and accomplices in the right places?" Donner did not know if he sounded smart or dumb at this moment. Though he was with MMI, he had never been one for cloak and dagger spycraft. He was good at analysis of technical intelligence, but the ultimate motives for astropolitical actions remained opaque to him.
Otis' eyes narrowed. "Right you are!" he fairly shouted. "And we need to know who that is before they can start a war that consumes us all."
Chapter Fifteen
Aboard the Morrigan
The struggle to restart the powerplant on Morrigan might have been easier if Howell had an idea of what a properly functioning reactor of this type should look like in operation. For all he knew, the last time a similar antimatter-powered machine had been up and running was fifty thousand years in the past. From the size of the reactor spaces, there had been room for around twenty crew. Not all would have been needed to oversee the plant's operation, but their presence indicated that their additional input was ready to be called upon when needed.
Howell, on the other hand, was working largely on his own. His cousin Andrew had seconded a couple of techs to help him out, but they were bewildered by what they saw before them, and were of little use. Other, more experienced engineers were needed to
make repairs on Golden Lion, which should, he had been told, be displacement-capable in a day or two. Not bad for destroyer that had been so badly battered. Unfortunately, those other engineering minds were not here to aid Howell in deciphering the greatest scientific find since the Lady of the Lake had been recovered from the wilderness void of the Gulf.
Howell had also been aboard the Cordelia on several occasions. That vessel, though many thousands of years younger, and consequently less sophisticated, than the Morrigan, had been constructed according to a similar design philosophy. All modern Republican warships of destroyer size and above carried fighters. The space given over to these attack craft was valuable interior room that could not be devoted to more weapons, larger powerplants, or bigger crew quarters. The ability to carry fighters was judged to be of such tactical value, however, that these last were deemed acceptable sacrifices in the neverending ship designer's quest to marry speed, protection, and firepower in an ideal blend.
The Memnon Incident: Part 2 of 4 (A Serial Novel) Page 3
