Invisible Enemy

by Ken Britz

  “Got him!” Reed said, unable to contain his enthusiasm. Kenga smiled, her eyes glittering.

  “He’s returning fire,” Weps reported. “No strikes.”

  “Conn, analysis, battle damage assessment. Direct hit to port main engine, ninety-eight percent probably of significant damage. Reduction in acceleration twenty to fifty percent. Too fast in relativistic for improved accuracy. Continuing to analyze.”

  “That’ll do, analysis,” Kenga replied. “XO, bring us around.” Kenga tapped gloved fingers on her magbulb. “Where’s the other damn corvette?” she whispered.

  “Ma’am,” Reed said, trying to hold back his anger, “why haven’t we torpedoed the corvette? And why didn’t we go into subspace and use the attack fins?”

  “Everything we do shouldn’t be to kill,” Kenga replied. “Damaging the port engine won’t disable her, but it will throw them off. When they discover the ruse, it will be too late.”

  “This is a war, Captain!”

  “Don’t make the mistake of equating war with killing. War is politics by other means, but not the only means. Many of the Galactic League Fleet are former fellow officers, men and women we’ve served with. How many GLF officers do you know?”

  “Only the Hegemony, the true League.”

  Kenga didn’t reply to that.

  Reed pressed a little harder. “We shouldn’t pull our punches. They will remain a thorn in our side. A mission threat.”

  “You should learn more about how to fight someone above your weight class, Commander Reed,” Kenga replied. “And you should know that going into subspace when entering the heliosphere is the exact thing the GLF expect because it’s standard operating procedure for the Subspace Fleet. This isn’t some colony we’ve come to bombard or a shipping lane to pounce on.”

  Reed ground his teeth. He could take Kenga. She was older, more experienced, and trained in hand-to-hand combat. Reed trained in handguns and riot gear. He had the weight advantage, but that meant little to Kenga; she had nothing to lose. Then he realized it was unseemly to question the ship’s captain in front of the crew. Kuro trusted Kenga. As their newest officer and not a subspacer, they didn’t trust him. He shook his head and studied the astrodisplay. The corvette was behind them, still going point two cee. It had changed course but veered back towards its original trajectory, The light delay recalculated. “Orders, ma’am?”

  “Maintain deceleration for one hour, then reverse course and resume at point one cee. We’ll have the corvette ahead of us. We have her where we can decide what to do next. The mission comes first.” Kenga settled in her creche and watched as they opened range to the corvette to the edge of their torpedo envelope—the extreme range at which weapons would be effective.

  “Aye, ma’am,” Reed replied. They would make short work of the GLF vessel yet. Kenga was holding back. Why? It wasn’t any sense of obligation to former GLF spacers, was it? Was this how she operated? She was a surgical tactician, doing the most damage with the least loss of life she could manage. Did that mean she was too careful? That seemed incongruent with Kenga’s death wish. Maybe he had something to offer the crew of the Kuro after all.

  7

  GLSS Venger

  Rigel B Outer System

  0250 U.Z.

  1254.12.13 A.F.

  Inside his spacesuit, Chief Engineer Javier Mitchum assessed the damage at the top of Venger’s Engine Room Two. From here, debris sparked in the pulsing lights of the vacuum warning. An impossibly tight grouping of focused particle blasts punched through Venger’s ablative armor, hull, and engine housing. Impossible for a human, but a machine could time it down to a picosecond. Below him, hull technicians patched the inner hull while damage control robots crawled outside the ship and applied nanofoam sealant and ablative plates to the outer hull.

  His chief propulsion mechanic gave orders as they clambered over the engine to inspect for secondary damage, climbing around the three-story silo that was Engine Room Two. Gas plumes shot from relief valves, and the lead mechanic gestured wildly at his subordinates, his hand gestures roughly equating to ‘fix that shit now!’

  Mitchum climbed down Venger’s large main engine with the ease of solyars of practice in space, rechecking places the mechanics had already been. He remembered the mantra of his first chief, back when he was a young division officer. You can never be too careful. If you have time, check the engines. Then check them again. He patted the fusion shell as he passed downward, reminding himself why he’d joined the GLF. Venger was nimble and fast, and Mitchum enjoyed this class of ship more than any other he’d served aboard. He’d heard the Venom class had an even higher thrust-to-mass ratio, but he’d also heard about some design issues—something always cropped up, even after extensive modeling and space trials. Getting a ship’s acceleration past a thousand gravities introduced a myriad of problems with inertial systems. You had to spend almost as much energy keeping the crew from turning into paste as you did pushing them. The Anvil was a good class of ship, and all of Venger’s surviving sister ships were still in service—including Marengo Orca. Plus, his propulsion team tuned the new Mandrake fusion drives to squeeze out an extra five percent performance, which seemed small, but combat advantages were measured in small numbers, even in the vastness of space.

  Halfway down the engine Mitchum stopped, seeing the digital alert flags placed by the mechanics. He punched the bridge code and pushed a gloved hand on an interface plate, which gave him direct communications to the ship circuits.

  “Conn, chief engineer, damage report: Particle beam damage to port main engine coupling. Thrust limit until replacement is estimated at fifty-five percent. Will be able to re-pressurize Engine Room Two once outer patch is complete.”

  “Engineering, conn, aye. How long to you need to repair main engine two?” the OOD replied.

  Communications always seemed loud in his suit though the only other sounds were his own breathing and the ship’s vibration through his hand and magnetic boots. Mitchum ran some calculations in his head, flipped through the repair schematic his chief mechanic sent him and confirmed his numbers. He cursed. “Conn, engineering, repair estimate is two hours and the main engine will have to come offline. Starboard main and Engine Room One are operational.”

  “Engineering, conn, aye.”

  There was a chirp in his ear. He hit the engineering circuit button and put his hand back on the pad.

  “Chief Engineer.”

  “Chief, maneuvering, ready to restore compartment.”

  “I concur. Remember, you don’t need my permission for that.”

  “Yes, Cheng,” the ensign replied.

  Mitchum smiled to himself. Ensign O’Malley was a good kid and would make a fine officer. He just needed coaching. Mitchum’s suit chirped again, command circuit this time. He punched the code and touched the pad.

  “Chief Engineer, sir,” he answered.

  “How bad is it, Javier?” Rogers asked without preamble.

  “Not as bad as all that, sir. We didn’t lose anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” That much was true. One of his mechanics had a suit puncture and radiation burns from a beam that punched through the weakened hull plate. With some radiation treatment to flush her system, she should be back on rotation inside a day. If they were still fighting then, that is.

  “I’m asking about the Venger,” Rogers said.

  Mitchum went to scratch his cheek, but the helmet got in his way. “Just a pinprick, but a damn lucky shot. They could’ve hit the fusion shell, but that wouldn’t have done much damage. Coupling’s warped, but serviceable. I’d like to replace it if we can spare the time. What happened, Skipper?”

  “I got complacent, and the enemy let me know it,” Rogers said.

  Mitchum shrugged, which was hard to do in a spacesuit, but Mitchum was a big guy. He doubted the enemy got the drop on Rogers. Something more clever or implausible happened.

  “Pressurizing engine room two,” the engineering watch officer ann
ounced to all suits, and the lights shifted from flashing red to an amber pulse. He checked the hull plates from the bugs. Nearly done there as well. Quick work for machines.

  “Five minutes and we can stow for flight,” Mitchum reported to his captain.

  “Fast work as always, Javier,” Rogers said.

  “Stay in the fight, sir,” Mitchum replied, and the captain disconnected. He checked his external environment monitor and scrambled down the engine, to the level his hull technicians were working. Chief Hull Technician Anders was testing the patch with a molecular scanning unit. As Mitchum joined them, his suit connected to their proximity circuit automatically.

  “I don’t give a damn about what the skipper’s doing. I’m just tired of getting shot up! We just got Venger in shape and he volunteers as bait while the Fleet goes off for glory,” a junior tech named Nolan griped. He stowed their patch repair tools.

  “It’s not bait. It’s called patrol. Put more solyars in the creche before you talk military strategy,” Quint said.

  “Bunch of bullshit if you ask me. Hey, chief, how come you’re still on Venger? Ain’t you supposed to transfer off this old bucket?” Nolan asked.

  Anders never looked away from her work. Mitchum admired the care she took with her inspection. It reminded him of all the thousand little ways a crew cared for the ship that kept them from the cold deep of space. “I don’t go to the best ship. The best ship is a target about to be a memorial or a battle standard for the next fleet action. I’d rather be where I’ll survive. I’m tired of this damned war and I want to get home. If that means keeping one good ship in one piece so we can end it, then by God, I will do it. I’m sticking with our pirate captain. At least until his luck runs out.”

  “And when it does?”

  “It won’t matter then, will it, Nolan?” Anders said, and she turned to face him. “I wanna know who said the Old Man volunteered for patrol.”

  “I just heard—” Nolan motioned with his hands.

  “Don’t listen to space dock workers and don’t listen to the damn comms guys. They think they know everything, but they don’t know half the truth of what passes through their circuits.” She shook her head incredulously.

  “Are we done? I’m so hungry I might eat my suit-goo,” Quint said.

  “It’s got everything a growing boy needs,” Anders replied, reviewing the scans on the unit.

  “Even you, Chief?” Nolan asked.

  Quint chuckled. “Chief’s got bigger balls than you, Nolan. Don’t make her whip them out and show you.”

  “That’s just gross, Q.”

  “Hey, Chief, Nolan’s thinking dirty thoughts about you. Want me to hold him down while you tea bag him?”

  Anders shook her head. “I’m surprised there are any thoughts in that empty helmet. Nobody—and I mean NOBODY—listens to comm shack scuttlebutt.” When she saw Mitchum, she straightened up. “Hull sealed, sir.” The proximity circuit got quiet.

  “Testing the weld?” Mitchum asked.

  Anders nodded with a smile. “Only took a minute and the bots are stowing out hull.” Anders was rough to deal with, but she was efficient. Wartime honed her desire for efficiency to a sharp point.

  The amber lights clicked to steady green at the same time their suits gave a happy chirp. Mitchum hit the retract so he could talk. The air was still thin, and his ears popped with the pressure drop, but he could hear the recyclers and pressurizers humming. Anders did the same, showing tight curls of auburn hair, hard features and dark eyes. She pulled her terminal from the stop cord on her suit, reviewing the damage. “We didn’t return fire. What’s the plan, sir?”

  “Plan is we get into our creches and hold on. Skipper won’t give us any time. We have a sub to hunt down.”

  “You heard the man, get your asses stowed for flight!” Anders barked. She tossed the test unit to Nolan, who threw it over his back. Quint and Nolan hiked up the ladderwell Mitchum just left. The other, a quiet hull tech named DeGrasse, went down, to where the drive cone met the hull. Mitchum examined the patch as a matter of habit. It was excellent work—Anders let no one do a mediocre job, even in the middle of a firefight. “You didn’t come down here to see my sorry ass, did you sir?” Anders asked with a smirk.

  “Is it sorry? Your ass, I mean.” He liked Anders a lot, and they’d been together when he was Venger’s assistant weapons officer. Their relationship had to change when he’d been promoted and transferred to chief engineer. It was unfortunate that his promotion was at the cost of Chief Engineer Diego, lost on Roger’s crazy maneuver at Tau Ceti Depot. Another tour aboard Venger and Mitchum himself might end up as XO when Cowan moved on for command. If I survive my tour, he reminded himself, thinking of Diego.

  “I love your sweet talk, sir,” Anders chuckled. “What happened?”

  “We got slapped, I think.”

  Anders looked at the focused punch through the hull and back at Mitchum quizzically. “Are you messing with me? This is a war. Ships don’t trade shots like they’re at a dance.”

  “This one did.”

  Ander held up her hands. “I ain’t a strategist, but if a sub wanted to play, they play for keeps.” She pointed to the strike point. “This ain’t for keeps.”

  “Then what is it?” Mitchum smiled. The crew were often far more perceptive than some higher ranked officers gave them credit for.

  “I don’t know. I ain’t the strategist, sir.” Anders smirked again. “Hope the old man knows what he’s doing.”

  “He does,” Mitchum put a hand on Anders’ shoulder. She frowned but put a familiar gloved hand on his. He’d come down here to check on her as much as to look over Venger.

  “I’m good, sir.” She squeezed. “Javy.”

  Mitchum nodded and dropped his hand. “Get stowed, Vic.”

  She clambered up the ladder ahead of him, and he followed, heading toward maneuvering. He hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, but war made no promises. Friends and lovers disappeared in an instant. He hoped to hell he could do it to the enemy first. Thoughts like that always knotted his stomach, and he pushed it away. It was never good to dwell on things during a firefight.

  His mind turned to the problem of the subspace ship. Why had the enemy holed their main engine compartment rather than torpedoing them? It could’ve been a matter or range and speed. Torpedoes can only turn and speed up within limits, since above half light they wouldn’t be able to maneuver drastically…

  He jogged to the nearest pad and slapped the command circuit.

  “Figured it out, have we?” Rogers replied.

  “Yes, sir. They passed us, close.”

  “And we would’ve taken the bait. Head to your creche. We’ll shake them before they hole us in a more permanent way.”

  “Aye, sir,” Mitchum said and ran to his creche station as the ship’s maneuver alarm sounded.

  8

  HFSS Kuro Hai

  Rigel B Outer System

  0315 U.Z.

  1254.12.13 A.F.

  The tachyon stream of the subspace decoy veered towards the colony planet on its pre-programmed course. Kuro ran at point one cee and vectored toward the Rigel B Jovian still trailing the enemy corvette and matching their slowing speed. The enemy corvette ignored the decoy path and maintained course for the shipyard. Kenga had stunned them, briefly. What would the High Admiralty think if they knew I expended an expensive decoy without a kill? Not much they could do about it now, though. Vice Admiral Zeng would understand.

  “She’s not taking the bait,” Reed remarked. “We could fire back. We should.”

  “Where’s the second corvette?” Kenga asked, to get him to leave her alone for a moment. Glory had its place, but her new XO was far too eager. Inwardly, she was glad he was bloodthirsty, for it held a mirror up to her own growing desire for battle. Was it enough to keep her in check? She studied the tachyon emissions and buzzed sensors.

  “Sensors, ma’am. Still tracking the decoy.”

&nb
sp; “Never mind the decoy,” Kenga ordered. “It’s done its job. It’ll change course and head into the star. Sweep the corvette’s bearing. I see weak tachyon streams.”

  “Checking,” Sensors said. “One faint stream, possibly two from the corvette.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked. A new weapon? Something the High Admiralty Intelligence arm hadn’t learned about? Could it be a side effect of their new detection system, designed to track subspace vessels through the tachyon emissions? It was rudimentary compared to Kuro’s advanced sensor suite, but it might prove effective enough. They would have trouble triangulating with a single sensor and if they stayed out of subspace for the moment, there was no tachyon stream for the enemy follow.

  “I’m not sure, ma’am,” Sensors replied, interrupting her train of thought. She switched off the circuit and settled back. It wasn’t a surprise the Galactic League had figured out the subspace technology—they’d been one fleet not so long ago. But why were the real space fleet streaming tachyons now? The corvette was an Anvil—an older ship class and not subspace capable. Kenga examined the passive scans of the enemy vessel. They matched what the Hegemony knew of the class. There were new blisters, new probes and the forward torpedo ports were widened, but nothing drastic, nothing that would lead her to believe this ship was subspace capable.

  Or had the GLF, like the Hegemonic Subspace Fleet, built a small subspace device? That made her wonder. She switched to her tactical screens and pulled up the latest intelligence reports, but nothing jumped out at her. They had given her a refresher briefing just before departure… had she missed something? No, she hadn’t, but she had suspicions. The Alexandria shipyard orbital had an OSI node—they had developed the ASDIN detection system. Did they have something else that Hegemonic Intel might’ve missed or overlooked?