Wing Commander #07 False Color

by William R. Forstchen

  The shuttle came in faster than Tolwyn liked, flaring out to stoop low over the flight deck and come in for a slap-dash landing. The duty LSO winced and scrawled some comments on his computer board, the frown on his face and the way he underlined some of the words with an angry flourish making it clear to Tolwyn that he planned to dress down that pilot thoroughly later . . . if there was anything left after Boss Reed got through with him.

  Through the transplast window overlooking the flight deck, Tolwyn could see technicians swarming in to secure the craft, but everything stopped when the hatch opened and the ramp unfolded down to the deck.

  Standing there at the top of the ramp, dressed in a flight suit and holding a pressure helmet under one arm, was President Max Kruger.

  Tolwyn left the CSTCC at a dead run.

  It took only a minute or so to reach the flight deck, and Kruger had just stepped clear of the ramp. His craggy face broke into a smile as he caught sight of Tolwyn rushing breathless across the wide expanse of the deck. "Ah, Captain, I'm glad you were on duty,"

  he said genially. "Is the flight deck security monitor recording?"

  Taken aback, Tolwyn could only give a quick nod.

  "Good," Kruger said. He pulled out a folded paper from inside his flight suit, checked his wrist computer briefly, and opened the paper up. "It is now fifteen nineteen hours Confederation Standard Time," he said. He started to read, the words so fast he was almost gabbling them in his haste. "To Maximillian Kruger, Commander-in-Chief, armed forces of the Free Republic of the Landreich, Sir: You are hereby requested and required to take up the charge and command of Admiral, Task Force Ilios, with your flag in the FRLS Independence or such other vessel as you shall see fit to choose, and with said Task Force proceed on operations out-system at your discretion. Nor you, nor any of you shall fail at your peril. Signed this thirty-sixth standard day, A. D. 2671, Maximillian Kruger, President and Commander-in-Chief." He dropped the paper and met Tolwyn's eyes. "I have now read myself in and taken command of this Task Force, Captain."

  Incredulous, Tolwyn nodded. "Yes, sir, you have."

  "Very well then. Please inform the Commanding Officer that the new Admiral is aboard and has ordered radio silence except for essential intership communications—no contact with the planet by any ship. The Task Force will get under way immediately." He smiled again. "I would appreciate it if you would pass on those orders before you inform Captain Galbraith of the name of his new CO."

  "What's this all about, sir?" Tolwyn asked.

  Kruger's smile turned predatory. "Danny Galbraith wants to use parliamentary tactics to get me? Well, I know a few of those myself, whatever my detractors might think. I helped write the damned Constitution! 'No session of the Council of Delegates may be convened . . "

  "'...without the President or his appointed representative present to take charge of the meeting,' " Tolwyn finished the quote. "You mean . . . ?"

  "Right now, a whole roomful of politicians is waiting for me to show up. And I'm not going to be around." "There are safeguards . . ."

  "I know. I wrote those, too. They have a whole lot of nonsense to go through, formally establishing my absence from the capitol, waiting to see if they can locate me or my designated Speaker, declaring me formally in contempt, appointing a Speaker-Designate . . . it'll take them a week to get back to the business at hand, Captain. And meanwhile we're going Cat-hunting at Thos. The crisis will be over inside of that week. If we win, it won't matter if they vote me out. And if we lose, either at Ilios or at Baka Kar, then it won't matter one damned bit who's President when we all go under." He straightened his shoulders. "Now pass on my orders, Captain Tolwyn, and let's get this show on the road,"

  CHAPTER 18

  "Vigilance is the Warrior's salvation; inattention the Warrior's most dangerous foe."

  from the First Codex

  12:16:03

  Command Bridge, KIS Wexarragh

  Near Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

  2322 hours (CST), 2671.041

  Captain Nrallos Ian Vharr lounged in his command seat, letting his bridge officers perform their jobs without interference. The duty here was routine after nearly eight eight-days on this station. Wexarragh was nearly due to rotate home to Baka Kar, and Vharr for one didn't believe that day could come too soon. He was heartily sick of picket duty in this worthless frontier system.

  The Vordran system was something of an anomaly, a seemingly ordinary red dwarf star system which supported an incredible number of strategically valuable jump points. Nearly thirty had been surveyed by Imperial astrogators, but many more were believed to be present. No doubt the humans knew of others.

  Balancing the number of jump points was the scarcity of worthwhile real estate, though. A single loosely defined asteroid belt circled the star at a distance of just over one AU, and even the mineral content of the orbiting chunks of rock was too low to make it worth exploiting the system. Early in the war the Landreichers had established an asteroid base, which the Kilrathi had promptly blown up and replaced with one of their own. After it, in turn, had been destroyed by raiders from the Landreich both sides had decided the place just wasn't worth a full-scale presence. After the destruction of the Landreich installation on Hellhole the Landreichers had stopped even trying to maintain ships in the system, since there was only one jump point leading into human-controlled space anyway and the Landreich's posture had always been primarily defensive. But there were plenty of jump points leading in to the Empire, so Governor Ragark had ordered a constant presence be maintained.

  At one time this would have entailed the presence of an entire carrier battle group, perhaps a task force, but Ragark had been steadily pulling back most of his capital ships to Baka Kar to build up his strike fleet or to detach on garrison duty elsewhere in the province. Ever since Kilrah had been destroyed, Kilrathi star systems had started declaring their independence as the clans pulled their separate ways, deprived of the unifying force of Emperor and Homeworld.

  Vharr understood the need for ships elsewhere in the province, but he sometimes wished there was still more than a single picket ship posted in the system now. The new strategic thinking seemed to be that all they really needed out here was a tripwire, a ship that could report if the Landreichers entered the system so that defensive forces could be mustered at Baka Kar to stop them. Under that theory, the picket vessel could be considered expendable once it had got off its warning by hypercast. Why waste additional ships when one could do the job?

  All well and good . . . except when you were the expendable ship in question. And it could get boring, endlessly watching the same extent of space for eight-days on end, without another ship or crew to provide relief from the tedium. The only excitement they'd seen on this tour had been the encounter with the cloaked human ship that had escaped through the jump point after Wexarragh had damaged him, and that had filled less than twenty minutes all told.

  "Disturbance in the jump point," the Sensor Officer reported suddenly.

  "Specifics," Vharr rasped, turning to face him. "It appears to be a single point-source, Lord Captain. Displacement in excess of one hundred thousand tons."

  "Carrier-equivalent. I did not think the human Landreichers had a ship that large." Vharr swiveled his chair to face forward. "Helm Officer, get us under way. Build a vector outward from the jump point until we see what we're up against. I have no desire to be engaged by something while we're at a standstill. Communications Officer, send a hypercast. 'Unknown ship is emerging from Jump Point Nine' . . ."

  "There he is!" the Weapons Officer announced.

  The ship emerged suddenly from the hyperrealm, large and angular. It had come out of jump within a hundred kilometers of the Wexarragh, and the sensors and computer imagery systems were already beginning to process the data.

  "IFF transponder reads him as the Karga, Lord Captain," the Communications Officer reported. "Imperial carrier of the Bhantkara Class. Computer lists it as missing in action since ear
ly last year, operating against Landreich under Admiral Cakg dai Nokhtak and Captain nar Hravval."

  "An Imperial carrier?" Vharr studied the computer image forming on his monitor. It certainly looked like an Imperial carrier, at that, one of the new breed of supercarriers created by the Ministry of Attack following the Battle of Earth. Not so big as Thrakhath's fleet carriers, with two flight decks rather than three, but powerful ships with plenty of fighters. Could he really have survived all this time behind enemy lines? It seemed almost beyond belief.

  The images showed signs of extensive damage, crudely repaired. Vharr leaned forward, studying the monitor intensely. It would make a story for the Codices, he thought, to hear how the carrier had survived on its own for so long . . .

  "Incoming message, Lord Captain." The Communications Officer announced.

  "On my screen."

  A plain-faced kil wearing the rank tabs of a Trathkhar of Communications appeared on the screen. "This is the carrier Karga. Admiral dai Nokhtak commanding." The signal broke up for a moment, then returned. "We have evaded a force of ape ships which had been following us for several eight-days. Request clearance through to Baka Kar so we can make repairs and report to the Imperial Governor for new orders."

  "Lan Vharr, escort destroyer Wexarragh. Your authentication codes, if you please. And I would like to speak to your commanding officer."

  Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir

  Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

  2327 hours (CST)

  "Well, you heard the kil," Admiral Geoff Tolwyn said. "Give him his authentication codes."

  Jhavvid Dahl, the Kilrathi communications specialist, turned in his chair to look at Tolwyn. "These codes are a year old. We can only hope they have them on file."

  "Just do it," Tolwyn snapped. He turned to face the monitor beside the kil. "Prince Murragh, are you ready?"

  The Kilrathi prince gave him a grasped-claw gesture in response. Murragh was on the carrier's flag bridge, surrounded by other Kilrathi officers and enlisted ratings from amongst his castaway group. Dahl had assured them that he could use the ship's computers to morph Murragh's features into those of his uncle, drawn from the communications files, in a real-time program that would allow Murragh to provide the interactive movements and the phrasing of his uncle far more effectively than a pre-programmed simulacrum. With luck, what the picket ship's captain would see would be a convincing imitation of a bridge full of Kilrathi.

  Tolwyn hoped it would work. If the picket ship got off a warning, they would never penetrate to Baka Kar to take out the dreadnought. Everything was riding on this ploy, and Geoff Tolwyn carried the whole weight of responsibility for the operation squarely on his shoulders. Admiral Richards had transferred his flag to the Xenophon at Hellhole to take command of the Terran-made warships of the battle group, leaving Tolwyn to handle the approach to Baka Kar entirely on his own.

  The last time he'd held command had been the Behemoth mission. Memories of the battle passed through his thoughts from time to time, reminding him of just how much was riding on his performance as a commanding officer.

  Right now, though, it was Murragh's performance as an actor that counted most.

  'This is Cakg dai Nokhtak," Murragh intoned solemnly. It was strange to see his familiar face and figure on the intercom screen, but beside it, on the intership monitor, the computer-altered image of his uncle, shorter, stockier, with touches of silver around his blunt-faced muzzle. "It is good to see another Kilrathi face again after all this time, Captain. We have been cut off for many eight-days . . . over a Kilrah-year, in fact."

  The captain of the escort was looking unsure of himself. "Your authentication codes are not current . . ."

  "Didn't I just say we've been out of touch!" Murragh roared, flexing his claws in evident agitation. "Karga was badly damaged in battle with the apes. All his battle group destroyed! We have been stranded in a system in ape space, our engines useless, since then. Only recently were we able to effect repairs! Of course our codes are invalid. Check your records for the period when we left on our mission! And be quick about it!"

  Tolwyn had to smile. Murragh hadn't actually uttered a single untruth. He had simply omitted a few crucial things. And he was doing a credible impersonation of an irritable and irritated aristocrat about to have a junior's head, quite possibly literally. In the Imperial fleet, junior officers did not offend a senior officer's sense of honor and live to tell the tale.

  But the look on the picket ship captain's face bothered Tolwyn. He isn't buying the story, he thought grimly.

  And he's already sent out a message alerting them that something's on the way. If we don't get him to pass us through, we're finished . . .

  Command Bridge, KIS Wexarragh

  Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

  2329 hours (CST)

  Vharr's claws flexed nervously. The admiral's anger was enough to make him cringe. But there was something that nagged at him, something not quite right. He studied the monitor more closely. There . . . that was what was bothering him. An almost unnoticeable distortion in the video image. It seemed to be localized right around the admiral. If it had been a systems problem, surely it would have disrupted the whole screen . . .

  A trick of some kind? Or just a communications glitch? Vharr didn't like the choices he was being offered. A wrong choice either way could lead to the utter disgrace of the Vharr hrai, not to mention his own execution.

  "Lord Admiral," he said cautiously, thinking fast. "I am required to send over a shuttle. To verify . . and to assist." He turned away from the monitor, gesturing to his Executive Officer. With the transmission briefly muted, he gave his orders. "Send a detachment of assault troops on the shuttle. The admiral is to be given all due deference . . . but we must verify his story. I don't like the smell of it."

  A squad of troops would be useless against what could be aboard that carrier, but they, like the ship himself, were a tripwire. If there was trouble, they would alert him to it, and he could alert Baka Kar... before he died in turn.

  Combat Information Center, FRLS Mjollnir

  Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

  2330 hours (CST)

  "He is within his rights," Dahl said. "And if he truly does have orders to inspect passing ships, he would not yield even to an admiral. It would cost his honor to do so."

  "Yeah," Tolwyn said. "And we just look more suspicious if we try to argue it. Okay, Murragh, give him the go-ahead. And get me Bhaktadil and Bondarevsky on the intercom circuit. Time for Operation Welcome Wagon."

  Starboard Flight Deck, FRLS Mjollnir

  Jump Point Nine, Vordran System

  2345 hours (CST)

  Bondarevsky crouched behind a bank of instruments, uncomfortable in full space armor. With his helmet set to infra-red imaging to compensate for the dim lighting of the flight deck, he was starting to get a headache. And the waiting was starting to get to him. He wondered how the marines could bear it. This was nothing like being in the cockpit of a fighter on the way into battle . . . or even holding down the command chair on the bridge. There you had enough to do to keep you from having to think about what was coming. All he could do now was hunker down and try to keep from worrying.

  The Kilrathi shuttle passed slowly through the airlock force field and stooped in for a landing on the flight deck. It was an older design than those used aboard the Mjollnir, somewhat smaller but standing high on landing gear that gave plenty of clearance for the loading ramp that opened from its belly. The design allowed for savings in space aboard cramped ships like the escort, where the ventral ramp would open up into an airlock through the outer hull of the escort when the shuttle was secured to its piggyback position aft of the bridge.

  Bondarevsky could almost feel the intensity of the emotion on the flight deck now. He wondered what they were thinking aboard the shuttle. With no Kilrathi in sight to greet them, they were probably getting edgy. He gave a hand signal that he knew Sparks could see from the w
indows of Primary Flight Control overlooking the flight deck. They had planned for the contingency of boarders, and the sequence had been rehearsed, but Bondarevsky's heart still beat a little faster, knowing that this time it was for real.

  If all was going according to plan, the carrier was now broadcasting on the same frequency they'd picked up from the shuttle on its way across, a panicky broadcast as if from the CSTCC claiming the shuttle was in trouble on final approach. There was a localized jamming field here on the flight deck, though, to keep the Cats from realizing they were featuring in an imaginative drama playing for the benefit of their suspicious friends. The Kilrathi communications expert, Dahl, would be playing his role to the hilt. The tough old peasant had seemed to enjoy the notion of putting one over on the aristocracy when he'd helped them hatch the scheme during a council of war at Oecumene.

  The ventral ramp opened slowly, and a pair of Kilrathi in armor came cautiously down. After a moment they were joined by more. It looked as if there was entire squad of assault troops there, plus a single Cat in the cockpit of the shuttle. With the troopers beginning to fan out, and no more in evidence, Bondarevsky gave a second hand-signal for Sparks.

  In an instant, the silent, darkened environment of the flight deck changed dramatically. The lights came up to full intensity, a siren began hooting an urgent warning, and the artificial gravity cut off.

  Then the airlock force field cut off, and a wind like a sudden, unexpected tornado swept through the long, tunnel-like flight deck.

  The Kilrathi troops, armored and trained for work in space, were in no actual danger from any of it, but the sudden combination of distractions was enough to confuse them for a few crucial seconds. Unable to see clearly, and instinctively clutching to save themselves as they were blown free from the deck in sudden zero-g by a torrent of escaping air that threatened to carry them into the vacuum of space, none of them was in any position to think of anything beyond the immediate crisis. Even the pilot in the shuttle was caught by surprise, rushing to help his friends.