Oort Rising

by Magnus Victor

"What the hell was that?" one of the Marines mocked. "They're throwing furniture at us now? They leave their bullets at home, or what?"

  "You might be right." Antoniy replied. "Look at that light spalling. Coilgun damage. They probably left their railguns behind, didn't want to hurt the bridge—"

  Gutierrez chuckled. "Ha! So they got nothing that'll hurt our suits?"

  Another chair came hurtling down the hallway, and fell next to the other one. Both were easily pushed along by the assault gun. Still eighty meters to go.

  "Hopefully, no. They don't know yet what our troops have, and they're not wasting coilgun fire on an assault gun. That means they aren't stupid, and they have to know that furniture won't slow the tank."

  Half a desk joined the pile of debris. He thought for a moment, and the reason became obvious.

  "Gutierrez! Suppressive railgun fire on that hatchway! Keep it up 'till we reach the door or the barrels melt!"

  Sparks flew from the hatch where the rebels were hidden, as the Marine opened up on it. Rolls of dark smoke from melting metal blew past them. None of it bothered the tank, or the Marines.

  Antoniy shouted, to make himself heard. “We can't drive this thing into the bridge, and they know that. They're trying to build up a debris field, so we'd have to pick our way over the junk to get to the hatch. Without this thing," he patted the assault gun. "we would be easy targets if they have heavy weapons.”

  “So,” the sergeant added, hefting his own coilgun, “we have to assume they have something heavier than coilguns, then.”

  “Any commander worth his salt would bring something, even if he didn't plan to use it, so yes.” Then he added, “And remember, even a coilgun can hurt you, if they aim it well enough.”

  The roar of sustained railgun fire filled the corridor. The hatchway ahead — and the wall around it — sparkled with the muted flash of railgun impacts. A split-second later, a red-orange fireball blasted out of the doorway and struck the opposing wall.

  "Got one of 'em!" shouted an exultant Gutierrez. One of his heavy projectiles must have penetrated through the bulkhead near the hatch, and set off the power-pack of a suited rebel soldier.

  Antoniy smiled. With a weapon as powerful as the tank's railguns, even 'misses' often had useful side-effects. Or possibly bad side effects, given what was backstopping the rebels. But at least he was mostly sure that nothing important on the bridge was directly opposite the entrance.

  Mostly sure. But then, this was war.

  Chapter 19: Jump

  The holo-display flashed red and a warning klaxon sounded. Captain Conagher shot forward in her seat.

  “Enemy firing on the Tannenberg, ma'am!” called out the tactical officer. “They're arcing the shot around the planet, ma'am. Extreme-low-velocity.”

  Damn. It looked like the rebels had given up on capturing the smaller warship, and now only sought her destruction. Maybe their boarding parties had not been as successful as they had hoped. But it didn't change the Overlord's situation. She needed the Tannenberg in order to get back home.

  At least the two enemy rock-slingers which had fired so effectively on the Overlord earlier were at the edge of the engagement, far from both the planetoid and the Tannenberg. That necessitated their shot's odd trajectory, and the slow speed. The Verdun's grav generators must be starting to burn out, and the planetoid must have had no grav generators. Therefore they could only use its minimal gravity well to deflect the shots. Their fire came at a fraction of the speed they had achieved by slinging around the Verdun.

  Yet even though it would take much longer for their projectiles to reach the immobile ship, the result when they got there was not in doubt. “ETA to impact?”

  “Six minutes, ma'am.”

  The Captain drummed her fingers on the command chair as she stared at the two orange icons moving slowly towards the Tannenberg's green. Almost certainly they would be simple dense-rock conglomerates. Only rock. Not that fast. The Overlord's thick armor and deflectors would laugh off such a projectile, but the Tannenberg....not so much. “Helm, our ETA to Tannenberg?”

  “Seventeen minutes, twenty seconds, ma'am.”

  Far too slow. If the Tannenberg were crippled, or even destroyed outright – both likely possibilities – then the Overlord would be stranded, and most likely unable to run fast enough to escape the rebels and their out-sized ordnance.

  They had to reach the Tannenberg in time to intercept those projectiles. There was simply no other option. That meant...

  *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

  The Captain's voice erupted in Klaus' helmet, more brusque than normal. “ETA on the QMP?”

  Klaus checked his flight-time to his destination. Two minutes. Add a bit to get the computer hooked up, and—“Four minutes, ma'am.”

  “Your QMP jump is a go. You've got three.” The Captain cut the connection.

  Shit. This would be very, very close. He had to set up a sensor rig – computer, sensors, cables – in under a minute. Or else, he suspected by the Captain's tone, he and thousands of others on the Overlord would die.

  He wondered whether the captain realized just how much was at stake. Maybe he was the only one who had realized the real significance of the enemy's purpose-built projectile, and what they meant to do with them. A lot more could die if the Overlord was lost. Possibly tens of thousands, if the rebels followed through with their attack on Andromeda Station.

  His hands were not quite as steady as he would have liked, as he checked his cargo the fifth time. The small targeting computer, complete with its portable power source and QMP sensors, looked undamaged. Thank goodness he had not crashed into a wall with it. That would have doomed all of them. Every one of these units needed to be carefully placed and networked. Everything depended on this computer – and every one of the dozens like it - working perfectly, using untested code, on its first try.

  And every one of those computers had just taken a giant jolt of acceleration as they dodged enemy fire. He commed Johann. “I'm nearly there, but this computer and I almost became a smear on the wall in that last attack. Have your team run a confirmation diagnostic on all the others, make sure they have no damage.”

  “Already done, lad. You're the last.”

  “Got it. Thanks.” Klaus broke the contact and smiled. That had been very good, practical thinking on Johann's part. Must have been Murphy or one of the miners who put him up to it.

  A warning buzz sounded in his ear, only a moment before he decelerated at what felt like at least ten gees. There was barely enough time to clench his abdominal muscles so that he did not pass out, as the transport system set him down hard outside his destination. In combat, comfort was an abandoned luxury.

  No sooner had his feet hit the deck than he squeezed through the opening hatch. He had never before noticed just how slow the hatches were. The words “Processing Node 112-84-29” emblazoned on the hatch seemed to slink slowly into their recessed slot in the bulkhead. One minute left.

  Klaus almost filled the small, dimly-lit compartment, barely two meters on a side. There was supposed to be a crewman on duty, but he had been pulled to staff a damage-control team. Probably happier there, anyway. Klaus didn't envy the crewman his station. The heat generated by the exposed light and floor-to-ceiling server racks filling the compartment made this a real hardship posting.

  Mounting his computer on one of the open slots, he looked around for an available cable, but none were in sight. Forty-five seconds left.

  “t'Hell with it,” he mumbled, reaching to disconnect one of the other computers in the rack, “nothing here’s as important.” He pulled the cable.

  His stomach lurched as the room became weightless, and he heard the air-conditioning – what there was of it – turn completely off. The room, dim enough to begin with, darkened further as the lights died. Now only the red glare of emergency lighting gave the room any illumination. Combined with the heat, this made the compartment hellish in every sense of the word.

  Oh,
for the love of—! He bit off a curse. What were the odds he'd yank the Environmental computer for this section? No matter. He could work without it. Thirty seconds left.

  He plugged in and powered up the computer he’d just mounted, counting out the precious time. Twenty seconds.

  The preliminary check showed green – the program was ready to go. Ten.

  He commed the Captain. “Last computer in place.” He leaned against the hatchway, breathing the cool air coming from the corridor.

  “Confirmed.” Came the Captain’s voice. “Standby.” Now her voice shifted to the all-hands announcement channel. “Attention all hands, engaging QMP drive in ten seconds. Hold your positions until all-clear. Sealing hatchways.”

  The hatch slammed shut only a foot in front of Klaus. Dammit, why had he not thought of that? Now he was stuck in here with the heat. His interior-service suit was designed to keep him alive in case of a hull breach, no temperature control provided…and the reading from his datapad showed 52 degrees Celsius.

  Klaus shook sweat from his eyes, and braced himself against one of the racks. Six…five…four…

  The heat should have been the least of his worries.

  *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

  Captain Conagher gasped reflexively as the Overlord disappeared around her. She was alone in the universe — no ship, no Podera, no stars, only bone-chilling cold. Time expanded, and although she knew that it was only a split-second — at least that was what she tried desperately to tell herself — her mind refused to believe it.

  She floated, alone. No senses, no light, no touch, just cold. Forever.

  Her mind filled her head, pressure growing, trying to escape. Then her consciousness flew into the void, seeking in vain to fill it. She screamed in silence, fighting to hold on to the essence of herself, fighting to grip it firmly to her, to hang on to the memories, the dreams, the visions that were Emily Conagher. And losing.

  And then, just as fast as the sensation had appeared, it was gone. Light flooded back into her eyes, revealing the familiar bridge of the Overlord. Her crew were speechless, exchanging wide-eyed glances, some reaching out to pat their faces, arms, consoles, chairs, or the even deck beneath them. As if verifying that they were indeed real.

  She forced herself to release her fingers, which clutched the armrests of her chair in a white-knuckled deathgrip. She took a deep breath, smiled and gave the chair a small pat. Solid as ever. She held up her hands. Ten fingers. Check.

  So that was how teleportation felt. It had always looked much more comfortable on old-time TV...

  "Holy shit!" called the helmsman, voice unsteady. "What the hell was that?"

  Conagher was too shaken to reprimand him.

  She shook her head, focusing on the urgent task at hand. She would contemplate the downsides of teleportation later. There was work to be done. The displays on all of the consoles were black, but as she watched they started their re-boot cycle.

  Even though she had been assured that the bridge's computer systems would re-boot within fifteen seconds, it still felt like an eternity. She gnashed her teeth until the last of the essential controls came back online, and the holo-display flickered back to life. She blinked and did a double-take to confirm what it told her. "Helm. Confirm position."

  "Thirty kilometers to Tannenberg, ma'am." His voice was steady this time.

  "Hoo-yah!" cried the weapons officer, and the rest of the bridge crew joined in.

  Conagher gave a thin smile. "Hoo-yah indeed. ETA on incoming fire?”

  The tactical officer clambered back onto his chair. “Forty-two seconds, ma'am!”

  That should be enough. “Helm, move us to intercept the enemy fire. Grav-tether us to the Tannenberg once we are in position to block.” To the engineering officer, “All power to deflectors facing the incoming fire. Overload them at impact.”

  She could not be certain that the Overlord's structure hadn't been compromised by the jump, and she could not afford to take any chances. The deflectors would die, but they'd almost completely dull the shock of the enemy rounds hitting the hull. Hopefully, that would be the last shot the Overlord would take.

  “Impact in ten seconds, ma'am!”

  And there was no way to tell if this next projectile was another of the super-shells they'd hit the Overlord with earlier. She could only hope that it was not, that the enemy had felt that such power was overkill for finishing off the wounded Tannenberg.

  'CLANG'! The hull resounded again, and the bridge shook around her. Conagher's eyes darted to the damage-control readout on her repeater display.

  “Ma'am! We've lost the last of our forward deflectors!”

  She let out a long breath, and leaned back. But that was all that they'd lost. A few more armor sections had been holed, but they had served their purpose well.

  *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

  Klaus stumbled onto the Overlord's bridge, helmet off, still gasping for breath as smoke curled out of his suit. He had long ago lost his ability to smell its acrid, metallic odor. The charred outer surface, showing little of its original blue & gold coloring, stood in stark contrast to the gleaming, unblemished interior of the ship's bridge.

  He was grinning from ear to ear. It had worked! He counted his arms and legs for the twentieth time - they were all there.

  "CWO Ericsson," said the Captain, her voice crisp. "You will brief Commander Li on your technology, as soon as we are done here." She smiled in his direction, the first real smile Klaus could remember her giving, and added, "And by the way, congratulations, on behalf of me and my crew."

  With that, she turned back to the Commodore.

  Klaus glanced down at the lump of melted plastic clenched in his fist, and sighed. He did not drop it, though. That datapad had stayed with him since he'd started working on the Ad Astra, and had survived the ship's destruction. One of the last mementos of his time aboard. He swayed.

  "Are you all right, sir?" asked one of the Marine guards flanking the entrance. The man wrinkled his nose at the smell, but his voice betrayed none of the casual haughtiness of Marines around Navy personnel. 'Squid' or not, walking in a suit that fire-damaged must have earned Klaus the man's respect.

  "Yeah. Electrical fires. Not fun. Release latches melted. Can't get it off.” His voice was clipped and strained as he made his way to the engineering console. “No permanent damage. I'll live. Work to do."

  He put his report out of his mind, and brought up the damage schematics first, ignoring the other activity on the bridge. They were all too busy with the same thing he was — damage assessment. As the last wisps of smoke left his suit, Klaus chuckled. "Here's some advice: next time we jump, stay away from the server rooms."

  "Next time, sir?" The Marine shifted from one foot to the other, and his voice had a slightly higher pitch now. "We're doing that again?"

  Klaus gave him a look. What would he have to be so worried about? He was safe in the bridge, not in an electrical fire-trap. Not only was the bridge an integrated design, letting it be teleported as one unit, but it also had its own, dedicated reserve power. There weren't any suddenly-cut-off electrical lines to start fires. He pulled a strand of melted wiring off his suit. Not like the server room.

  All the same, Klaus had to admit that the feeling of teleporting — like being dunked into a tank of liquid nitrogen, so cold that it had burned worse than the actual fire — was enough to get to anyone.

  But he had to tell the Captain what he had figured out about Andromeda Station. It kept slipping his mind, and maybe he was wrong. But if he was right, she would really need to know. There was an endless supply of rocks out there that the rebels could throw. Then again, he knew the Navy well enough not to blurt it all out in front of the entire bridge crew. Maybe he could talk the Captain alone, somehow.

  The communications officer interrupted before Klaus could say anything. "Captain! We've got audio from one of our shuttles on the Tannenberg."

  "Patch it through," replied the Captain.

&n
bsp; Klaus looked up from his work, as a familiar voice came over the bridge speakers. "—enant Gureivich, we've retaken the bridge here, but the systems are locked down tight. We're bouncing our signal through one of the ships in the hangar. The rebels got into the ship's systems somehow — they were using them on us coming in. They scrammed the systems as we came in, though, and none of our codes work."

  Commodore Petrakov spoke first. "What about Captain Irakopolous?" Captain Conagher raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

  "The rebels didn't take any prisoners, sir." Antoniy's voice was flat.

  "Are any of the captured rebels talking?"

  “Most of 'em dropped their weapons at first sight, but they don't know anything useful.” Antoniy coughed. "The other four - officers by the look of them - took cyanide. Can't exactly question them.”

  Commodore Petrakov paused for only a moment. "Lieutenant, we need those systems. I'm forwarding you my access code. Patch in the Tannenberg's communications console. We can control her from here."

  "But, sir!" the Overlord's communications officer exclaimed. "This channel isn't secure!"

  "It's lose the code or lose the Tannenberg," Petrakov cut him off. "The code can be changed later." He typed a command into his console. “I'm authorizing you to bypass protocol.”

  A few moments later, Antoniy's voice again. "Code received, sir. Entering it now." A second later, his voice returned, a note of stress underlying it. "Sir, I've entered the code, and the system isn't accepting it!"

  "What?" barked the Commodore.

  What? Klaus gasped, looking up from his damage console. Maybe he was still in shock, but that didn't make any sense. He thought about the comm protocol, and ruled out carbon-based error. Antoniy couldn't have garbled it. A Commodore-level access code could override any ship-level lockout. At least in the Navy he remembered.

  Commodore Petrakov continued, his voice regaining its calm. “I'm re-sending. Confirm entered correctly.”