As it was, Duggan had to content himself with missiles, particle beams and a reliance on the energy shield to keep them safe. He worried the enemy could have a way of disabling the shield remotely. The Soriol had given no sign it was able to, but something more advanced like the Zansturm might have the ability. Eventually, he realised he was worrying needlessly about something he couldn’t change.
His stand-in crew proved themselves eager students and they were soon able to use the Valpian’s sensors to detect incoming enemy fire, as well as target and use the onboard weapons. In truth, much of it had been designed for easy use – in the same way as it was on a Space Corps vessel. The difficulties would come if events ever took a turn for the worse and the damage reports started rolling in. Duggan knew he’d be effectively on his own if things ever got really tough. He didn’t blame the others one little bit. This was the hand they’d been dealt and he had no complaints about how they were playing it.
During the final twelve hours, Duggan finally felt able to take himself off to sleep. One of the soldiers directed him to what could only have been the officers’ quarters for the Valpian. There was an area separated from the rest of the ship by a single door, behind which were ten cramped, individual rooms. Duggan found one which was unoccupied. It smelled of chilled meat and cool metal. There was an Estral-sized alcove in the wall for sleeping, as well as a wall-mounted screen and a chair.
Unable to resist, Duggan turned on the screen, only to find himself presented with a menu of different choices. He selected one and a video started playing. It depicted seven Dreamer ships flying in a way that had clearly been doctored to make it appear as though they were in tight formation. A rough-edged voice talked over the action and, using his suit helmet for interpretation purposes, Duggan was able to understand bits and pieces of a Dreamer propaganda video. He turned it off.
The bed itself had no blanket and the stiff, miserly mattress on top was less than an inch thick. It was as uncomfortable as it appeared, while the room was several degrees too cold for sleeping. All-in-all, Duggan was thankful he was wearing his suit and he managed to snatch three welcome hours sleep. He woke up with a pain in his hip, making him question if he was getting too old. A last glance at the mattress allowed him to assign blame to the bed instead of his body.
On his way back to the bridge, he exchanged jokes with a few of the soldiers, both human and Ghast. He stopped at a bells-and-whistles replicator in the mess room and tentatively pressed a few of the symbols on its screen. The machine gurgled alarmingly and then a tray appeared in the wide, dark slot underneath the selection panel. He withdrew the tray and stared with distaste at four green mounds of something-or-other. Wrinkling his nose, he pushed his fingertip into one of the lumps and found it to be slightly warmer than the surrounding air. He tasted it and discovered a product with a flavour somewhere between smoked fish and mushrooms, with the texture of coarsely-ground peanuts. Figuring it would be something to tell the grandchildren he might one day have, he sampled each of the four foodstuffs, before dropping the tray on the floor and kicking it away.
“Maybe that’s why the Dreamers are so angry,” said Bonner, who’d been close enough to watch the whole affair with amusement. “I’d be pretty pissed off if I signed up for service and they fed me this crap.”
Duggan grunted his wholehearted agreement and left the room. He spent the remainder of the pre-arrival time helping his crew with their questions about the warship’s operation, and also in thought about how he was going to deal with the upcoming hostilities. He didn’t take long to decide that out here in hostile territory, faced by an enemy who knew the Valpian was a rogue ship, the best approach was going to be a forthright one. He gave orders to Corporal Gax and the soldiers and then modified those orders twice more until he was finally satisfied.
“Five minutes until we exit lightspeed,” said Byers, now assigned mostly to engines and status updates.
“Does everyone know what’s expected of them?” asked Duggan, more for his own reassurance than for anyone else’s.
McLeod was assigned to a ‘fill in’ role and would try and catch whatever the others missed. It wasn’t a perfect arrangement by any stretch of the imagination. The soldier grinned broadly. “Yes, sir. We fly in, shoot the place up, jump onto the Crimson and then fly out.”
Duggan couldn’t help but laugh to hear a repeat of the words he’d earlier dismissed. “Sometimes that’s what it comes down to,” he said. “We’re going to arrive right on top of them. They’ll have an energy shield and we need to find out its radius before anything else. If we can, we’ll lightspeed jump through the shield and take it from there.”
They entered local space half a second late, not that Duggan was counting. Red-Gulos had proved reasonably adept at learning the intricacies of the sensors and he brought up an image of the Antrajis station on a huge bulkhead screen they hadn’t even realised existed until Duggan had accidentally turned it on a few hours previously.
“It looks bigger in real life,” said Byers.
“Yeah. A lot bigger,” said McLeod.
“We don’t have enough soldiers to storm that place if they’ve taken the crew off the Crimson and quartered them elsewhere.”
“We’re going to try,” said Duggan. “We can’t leave our people or our technology in the hands of these murderous bastards.”
The station looked exactly like the computerised model, except it was a much darker grey. It orbited a red-hued gas giant and from the angle of their approach, the Antrajis stood out in sharp contrast against the roiling, toxic surface below. The exterior metal also had a strange, shimmering appearance, as though it was covered in an early morning dew that refracted the sharp light of the nearby sun. Stars glinted like the eyes of creatures in a night-darkened forest and for the briefest of moments, Duggan remembered how the infinite beauty of nature and its contrast with technology had captivated him as a young boy.
“What’s our distance?” he asked.
“Sixty thousand klicks. A good landing,” said Red-Gulos.
“I’m reading a power surge from the station,” said Byers. “I don’t know a number big enough to tell you what it is.”
“There are three smaller vessels in our vicinity,” said Red-Gulos. “I am gathering more details.”
Duggan put the gravity drives to full output and felt a rush of exhilaration at the power coursing through the Valpian. It surged through his veins and he knew that he could grow to love this warship, should he get the chance.
“Let the fun and games begin,” he said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I AM ATTEMPTING communication with the ESS Crimson,” said Red-Gulos. “I have aimed three narrow transmissions – one towards each of the exterior doors on the Antrajis. If it’s in one of the hangars, we should soon find out.”
“I’m firing a single missile at the space station,” said Duggan. “Missile away. Let’s see where they’ve got their shield.”
“The Crimson is here,” said Red-Gulos. “I have a response.”
“That was quick,” said Duggan sharply.
“It’s an automated reply and it’s asking for a code.” said the Ghast.
The Crimson was a military vessel and shouldn’t have acknowledged any inbound communications without being specifically instructed to do so. It definitely shouldn’t have asked for a code and Duggan was mystified at what information it was expecting. He asked himself if this was some sort of emergency protocol initiated by Lieutenant Chainer. There was too much happening elsewhere for him to give it his full consideration.
“Our missile has detonated off the orbital’s energy shield,” said McLeod.
“Shit,” said Duggan. “Their shield only projects five or six klicks outside their walls. There’s no way I can jump us through that – not without colliding with the station.”
“The Crimson is behind the central of the three doors,” said Red-Gulos.
Duggan glanced at the image of the space statio
n. The upper and lower bay doors were huge and the middle ones larger yet – they were fifteen hundred metres wide and four hundred high. There was plenty of room to fit a Crimson-sized ship inside. The Valpian would be rather more of a squeeze.
“We’re not going to fit this cruiser in the bay. Not easily,” he said. “Even if we can get through their energy shield.”
“Our own energy shield has come up,” said Byers. “We just took a hit. A particle beam, I think.”
“I’m detecting multiple launches from the station,” said Red-Gulos. “Five hundred missiles.”
The lights on the bridge dimmed and then returned. “We’ve had a wobble,” said Byers.
“Disruptors,” said Duggan. “They’ve got some in the space station.”
“Two of the smaller vessels are preparing for lightspeed,” she said.
“The third vessel is also firing at us,” said Red-Gulos. “One hundred missiles from a range of ninety-six thousand klicks.”
Almost without thinking, Duggan set the Valpian on a course that would circle the space station at high speed. Then, he targeted the hostile vessel and sent two waves of fifty back at it. The Valpian’s missiles travelled at incredible speed – faster than any Duggan had used or faced in the past.
“Our shields dropped for a fraction of a second when we launched, sir,” said Byers. “The Antrajis tried to get us with a particle beam while they were down.”
“I’ve got plenty to learn,” said Duggan.
“The enemy missiles will impact in five seconds.”
“Pray that our shield is strong enough,” said McLeod.
“Impact.”
The Valpian’s energy shield was struck by five hundred high-yield missiles from the Antrajis station, followed a moment later by a further hundred lower-yield plasma warheads from the patrolling vessel. The external sensor feeds went completely white and a series of gauges went crazy, their needles bouncing up and down, before rapidly stabilising. One gauge – this one more prominently displayed than the others – dropped by fifteen percent and remained there for a moment before recovering much slower than the rest. This gauge was unlabelled.
“This one’s something to do with our ability to maintain the shield,” Duggan said. “I always thought they could keep their shields up indefinitely, but it appears there are limits.”
The lights on the bridge dimmed again.
“The enemy patrol vessel was not destroyed by our attack,” said Red-Gulos. “It has launched a hundred more missiles.”
“The other two have entered lightspeed, sir,” said Byers.
Red-Gulos brought up an image of the remaining vessel on a secondary screen. It wasn’t necessary for a warship captain to see his foe, but Duggan preferred to know who he faced. The vessel was fifteen hundred metres long - not exactly an insignificant opponent.
“I think they’ve fired a particle beam at us,” said McLeod. “To go with those missiles.”
“The orbital has launched again,” said Red-Gulos. “Five hundred.”
“There’s another big spike on our power charts,” said Byers.
The Valpian was under sustained attack and Duggan knew he was being too passive. With a series of quick gestures, he targeted the light cruiser with two hundred missiles and the rear particle beam. As soon as that was done, he launched the remainder of the Valpian’s available missile clusters towards the space station – a total of four hundred additional missiles.
“That light cruiser is on fire,” said McLeod. “Like, really on fire.”
“Our shield has taken another wave of a hundred,” announced Byers. “Correction, make that six hundred.”
The gauges did their dance and once again stabilised. All except the main gauge, which hadn’t yet recovered from the first wave of missiles.
The bridge lights dimmed for a third time.
“Two more particle beams on us,” said Byers.
“They’re trying to synchronise,” said Duggan. “To hit us when our shields are down.”
“The enemy light cruiser is breaking up,” said Red-Gulos. “The energy reading from the main section is eighty percent below its earlier peak.”
“They’re gone,” said Duggan. It wasn’t unknown for the Gallenium in a warship’s engines to continue reacting at half of its maximum output even when the hull was in pieces. The Dreamer vessel was way below that. Unwilling to take risks with warship debris after what happened to the Crimson near the Helius Blackstar, Duggan launched another hundred missiles towards the wreckage.
“Our four hundred missiles have not penetrated the Antrajis’ energy shield,” said McLeod. “They made a big cloud, though.”
“Keep it relevant,” said Duggan, his irritation compounded by another flicker of the lights. The space station evidently had several disruptors, though they weren’t proving too effective against the three AI cores on the Valpian.
The Antrajis launched a third wave of five hundred missiles and kept up its particle beam and disruptor attacks. The Valpian remained undamaged, though the central gauge had dropped below the halfway mark. It seemed likely the orbital had plenty of power in reserve to keep its shield going against any number of the cruiser’s own missiles, so Duggan gave the front particle beam a try. He aimed at the central hangar bay door and fired.
“That one got through,” said Byers. “They’ve got a big patch of orange to show for it.”
“What if our crew aren’t sitting nicely in the Crimson behind those hangar doors and waiting to be rescued?” asked McLeod. “That’s a big place if we have to start looking for them on foot.”
“In that case, we’ve lost!” said Duggan. He was angry – not at McLeod for asking the question, rather in worry that the soldier might be right.
“There’s something building on the orbital, sir. It’s some kind of massive reading coming from the two rings. It’s different to anything else I’ve seen.”
Duggan would have preferred specifics, though he couldn’t blame Byers for not knowing.
He fired the second particle beam, again aiming at the central hangar doors. The beam was invisible to the human eye, though its effects were not. It heated the alloy of the door until it was glowing. The first beam hadn’t recharged and Duggan had to circle the orbital for a few additional seconds until the weapon was ready. A fourth wave of missiles crashed against the energy shield, pushing the main gauge slowly towards zero. If the power bar was fully depleted it seemed certain the shield would fail and the Valpian would be vulnerable to missile fire.
After a third particle beam hit, the central doors on the Antrajis turned to sludge and then sagged away from the orbital’s hull, leaving a vast hole through to its interior.
The reason for the orbital’s power spike soon became apparent. Firstly, came the sweeping nausea of a life support system struggling to cope with massive, instant deceleration. Then came Duggan’s realisation that the Valpian had stopped moving. Something was holding it in place, fifty thousand kilometres away from the Antrajis.
“What the hell?” said Byers. “They’ve got us with something.”
Duggan had seen this before when he’d witnessed a Dreamer mining vessel bring a colossal chunk of rock to a standstill. It appeared the same technology could be used offensively as well.
“Whatever they’re using it must be housed in the tori if that’s where the power readings are coming from,” he said.
“Can we destroy them?” asked McLeod.
“They’re big,” said Duggan. “I’ll fire when able.”
“I can see the Crimson,” said McLeod.
“Yes, it is there,” said Red-Gulos.
“Try communicating with it again,” said Duggan. “I need to know if the crew is onboard.”
With a rising dread, Duggan realised they were running out of options. Before their arrival, he’d pinned his hopes on being able to lightspeed hop through the outer energy shield, from where he’d expected to launch some kind of assault on the orbital.
Finally, while Crimson was in the middle hangar they had no way to get to it. If the crew were onboard, they were certainly unable to take action. They may be in cells somewhere deep within the Antrajis and far out of reach of a quick incursion from the soldiers on the Valpian. A thought appeared before he could stop it. If they’re still alive.
He swore in frustration. There were times when you just had to give something a go and hope to find a way. This time it hadn’t worked and they were trapped by some kind of new weapon. In truth, he was confident they could execute an escape at lightspeed, but he wasn’t ready to give up quite yet. Angrily, he launched from every one of the Valpian’s clusters, sending six hundred missiles to collide fruitlessly with the orbital’s energy shield.
“The Crimson is still asking for a code,” said Red-Gulos.
“The orbital is no longer firing missiles,” said McLeod.
“We should think about getting out of here, sir, assuming we can,” said Byers. “They must have trapped us for a reason.”
“What damned code is it after?” asked Duggan.
“You’re the captain, sir,” said McLeod.
The words sparked recognition in Duggan’s brain. “Of course! It wants my personal codes. It must be something Lieutenant Chainer has set up.”
He took two quick strides to bring him alongside Red-Gulos.
“Do you want to sit?” asked the Ghast, an absurdly mundane question in the circumstances.
Duggan didn’t answer, since he was too busy studying the comms panel. To his relief, he saw there was a facility to transmit biological data. He instructed his suit to provide his encrypted biological codes to the Valpian’s comms panel. The Valpian then relayed the codes onwards to the Crimson.
“I’m receiving data from the Crimson,” said Red-Gulos.
Guns of the Valpian (Survival Wars Book 6) Page 14
