by Ken Britz
“Tubes one and two have been reloaded with standard torpedoes,” Reed said, echoing the report on Kenga’s tactical screen. “Passive spectral sensors have no corvettes active in-system. Spectrum analysis of the shipyard shows one ship docked within the orbital. Possible corvette, but indeterminable at this range or without active scan.”
Kenga’s brow furrowed at the XO’s report. Schooled or not, he wasn’t experienced. “Analysis, conn, process spectral data using known Anvil class signature criteria,” Kenga ordered.
“Conn, analysis, aye. Initial data confirms corvette or tug size engines. Running data filters now,” Analysis replied.
Reed frowned, not understanding.
“Corvettes patrol in class pairs. It takes time to reconfigure a shipyard for different ship classes. If I were the fleet and shipyard commanders, I’d have the same ship class as my patrol vessels—we do that at Childress and Kinnara. Don’t you agree?”
Reed’s face shifted through a range of expressions before adopting a neutral look. “That would make sense.”
Kenga checked the corvette’s range. They changed course, arcing toward Kuro’s original track. They were pointed towards Kuro now, the corvette’s drive plume in deceleration burn. The optics zoomed, and the details of the ship lit in false color from the scans. Something was on the edge of connecting, but the pain her side bloomed.
She switched the comm panel to the galley. “Galley, conn, send up a fresh magbulb of tea and refreshments for control.”
“Shouldn’t we watch for her to attack?” Reed asked after the galley acknowledged the report.
“She’s stowing bots on her hull. She’s not going to make drastic maneuvers just yet. She’s wondering what the Hel happened. We have time and we have the tactical control right now. Unless they reconfigure their torpedoes for extended range attacks, we’re not in their threat envelope. When she sees no secondary tachyon pulse, she’ll come looking. Deeper scans might find us.”
Reed inspected for himself, and his face chagrined. It was odd, Kenga thought. When Kenga turned away and returned to course, the corvette had expected her real target, but beyond that… what? Was the enemy worried there was another N-boat out there? Or perhaps she thought to draw Kuro into the second corvette. That was Kenga’s secondary worry, which grew as they neared the Jovian. So far, the spectral scans revealed nothing untoward, but the Jovian was massive. Anything could be hiding behind it. And with its radiation emissions, spectral analysis would be limited.
Kenga took the fresh magbulb and pondered the possibilities. Not as good as Dr. Lin’s herbal brew, but it was also missing the tang of gene-splice. Kenga would need that soon and considered ordering up a special bulb from sick bay. No, that wouldn’t look good, she reminded herself.
“Conn, analysis, confirm Anvil class corvette in the shipyard. Based on the data received, they’re undergoing repairs to one of their main engines.”
“Analysis, conn, aye,” Kenga replied. So, they wouldn’t have to worry about a pincer attack with this corvette playing bait. Time to go on the offensive and give Kuro time to make for the Jovian gravity well. Kenga felt her desire for combat rise above her pain. “Prepare tubes three and four. Pilot, standby for evasive maneuvers.” Kenga checked subspace hull status—still green across the board. If she could time it right… a wave of nausea hit her, and she doubled over in pain. She ground her teeth, fighting the onslaught of stabbing pain. She felt as though she were being repeatedly stabbed with a twisting jagged blade. She pulled a paintab from a suit pocket and slipped it under her tongue as surreptitiously as possible. Blood pounded in her ears and she lost time until the medicine sluiced into her bloodstream, sped on by the biomedical delivery system, nanomachines targeted to her pain receptors. When she recovered, Reed and the pilot were both looking at her, awaiting orders. She wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead. I must look like Hel, she thought. And that’s what I get for wanting to get into a fight.
“Are you all right, Captain?” Reed asked.
“I’m fine,” Kenga said with a dismissive gesture. “Status of tubes three and four.”
“Tubes three and four ready, as reported,” Reed said.
Kenga vision wavered. “Range to target?” she whispered to Reed.
“Point five five AU,” Reed replied with a frown. She didn’t need him to read her tactical display.
The pain receded as fast as it had come. Her mind cleared, and she checked the astrodisplay. The enemy ship had stopped their deceleration toward their intended track. Kenga changed tactics. “Pilot, come left, forty-five degree yaw. Shift to tubes two and four.”
Kuro swerved, offering a broader aspect to the enemy, but put their stealth hull between them and the torpedoes they were about to launch. “Outer doors open,” she tapped the console, taking tactical command. “Shoot tubes two and four.” The stealth fairings just aft of the gravitic impeller slid inward, breaking the profile, but wouldn’t be seen by the enemy at this angle. She waited for the all ready. The corvette spun as it prepared to change course yet again, the light delay only a few seconds now.
“Solution ready, ship ready,” Reed reported.
Kenga waited.
9
GLSS Venger
Rigel B Outer System
0324 U.Z.
1254.12.13 A.F.
Captain Rogers left his cabin and stopped by Sensors on his route to the bridge. Basan, deep in the sensor net, noted his presence, which should have amazed Rogers, except that all fleet enlisted knew the whereabouts of the captain. He suspected it had something to do with his spacesuit beacon but could never prove it.
“Tachyon stream has faded, sir,” Basan reported. Venger had stayed on course for the shipyard as Rogers was unconvinced that it was the real target of the N-boat. She might even be close enough to determine that the Marengo Orca was there. That would be too high value to pass up. “She’s probably dropped out of subspace.”
“What do you have on gravimetric?” Rogers asked.
“Definitely have something affecting nearby space, but unable to get a fix.”
“It’s just as well. Gravimetric isn’t good on small objects, the range is abysmal.” He clapped a hand on Basan’s shoulder. “It does tell me she’s out there still. Probably behind us. Keep an active search for torpedo launches. I want to fire a volley back at them the instant we detect it.”
“Yes, sir,” Basan replied. “I’m feeding data to Weps per your standing order. Do you think we’ll catch her, sir?”
“We’ll take a beating, but if we can get the drop on her with the Bettas, we might,” Rogers said, hoping he sounded more confident than he did. He watched the other operators in Sensors, men and women immersed beneath headgear to scan their systems. Their bodies twitched, and they whispered to one another through the shack’s private circuit. It took special skill to be a sensorhead, and he did not envy them a task that required a high degree of diligence. He climbed down to the bridge, passing Cowan, vigilant in her creche. He’d only been away a few moments cursing his stupidity, but it had seemed an eternity. He’d also corrected by not rising to the bait and was now sure the tachyon trace was a decoy—something in his gut told him there was only one N-boat out there. He settled into his command creche, magbulb at hand and feeling old and slow. “I got the report from Sensors, XO,” Rogers said.
Cowan nodded in acknowledgement, her eyes not leaving the astrodisplay or sensor screens. The bridge was quiet save for the sound of machinery, the beep of systems and low voices between the pilot and copilot.
Rogers missed something critical. There were intelligence reports that the Hegemony were testing tachyon decoys. It was well understood that N-boats in subspace emitted tachyons through their hull. It had been known long before the civil war, but tachyon detection itself remained complex and not useful for strategic advantage. The ASDIN was their first breakthrough, and with the Fleet headed out to engage the Hegemony in Eagle Nebula, Fleet Admiral Waer had the sense t
o ensure Venger and Marengo Orca had been given the first of the fleet-ready ASDIN units. They might be a couple of screw-ups, but Waer wasn’t going to leave the back door to the shipyard orbital open.
He wished for the thousandth time that this cloud of luck wouldn’t follow him. What he’d done at Tau Ceti Supply Depot was calculated and thoroughly planned. He seized the opportunity to test a theory, and it had gone both better and worse than he’d hoped. Now, he’d barely missed a mine and lost personnel to a carefully targeted strike. His goodwill was about expended, which ironically would give him his wish.
“This is damned confusing,” he muttered to himself.
“She’s playing with us,” Cowan replied without looking up.
Rogers shook his head. That wasn’t it. Something wanted him to doubt this subspace captain. She was doing something peculiar. Playing with Venger didn’t follow normal Hegemony nor Subspace tactics. She was clever, but what did it mean? “Status of the Bettas?” he asked.
“Nominal,” Cowan reported.
“All right, they will make the first volley.”
“Sir?”
“We have enough countermeasures to keep the torpedoes from striking. We’re out of emcon now so we’ll know within light seconds when she launches. As soon as she realizes her other quarry is in the shipyard, she’ll go in for an attack. If we can trust ASDIN, they haven’t gotten there yet.” Rogers tapped the comm panel in his creche.
“Weapons, sir,” Estrada responded to the call.
“Weps, prep three fish volley: two real space, one Betta. Fire in serial order—real, Betta, real. If you can reconfigure, give me extended range on the standards. She may cotton to the Betta and drop back into real space. We’ll have her, and she might not be ready.”
“And if she stays in subspace? Second Betta to respond?”
“Exactly. I’ll try to close range at that point.”
“I’ll make the changes, sir. I’ll configure what I can now,” Estrada said, and Rogers could almost hear the smile in his voice. Gods his crew were a bloodthirsty lot sometimes.
“Very well.” He cut the connection and turned to Astro, glued to the astrodisplay, frowning.
“Waste of fish, you think, Astro?” Rogers asked.
Astro startled, then his shoulders slumped. “Just think, we didn’t have him that first time.”
“No, we didn’t, but unless the torpedo orbits decay into the sun, the fish are recoverable. We have plenty more on board.”
“That’s true, sir,” Astro said pensively.
“What is it?”
Astro sighed. “Sir, the Bettas aren’t tested. They’re slow and will tip our hand. Wouldn’t it be better to fire one of them first?”
“The Bettas are slow. The standard fish should make the sub dive into subspace. That’s where the Betta will catch him. That’s what they’re designed to do.”
“Why not fire both Bettas? He’ll make the shift even if the first is slow, but either Betta will get him if he’s in real space or subspace.”
“Like you said, they’re untested. The real space torpedoes have been, which is why I’m sending one as a trigger and the second as insurance. Let’s see how it works out, eh, Astro?”
Astro nodded, but he seemed dubious. Although Rogers was taking an enormous risk, he had to do something to shake down this intruder. Thinking about his sister ship, he called comms.
“Comms, Captain, we’ve been steady on course. Anything from the Marengo Orca?” he asked, not expecting anything.
“Received acknowledgment via tight beam. Receiving PERSFOR message for you now, sir. Forty-two light minute delay.”
Rogers pulled up his inbox and read the message. It was from Jack Hollis.
Received message. Will put to space to harass the enemy, though starboard fusion drive bottle has harmonic issues. Ship’s systems are otherwise top notch. Sorry I can’t play the bait, but I can intercept in one standard day. Orbital defenses are standing by. Good hunting. Jack.
Rogers archived the message. So, no help from Jack. Rogers didn’t expect much, but he was glad Marengo Orca was en route to meet Venger. The ship’s alarm blared.
“Torpedo launch, bearing port one seven five declination negative point four!” Sensors reported. “Launch detect a point five AU. Two five zero seconds light delay.”
“Weapon sequence,” Weps reported. “Shoot tubes one, three, two.”
Venger cut thrust, fired the torpedo sequence, spun and sped up, perpendicular to the incoming torpedoes on a reciprocal heading. Torpedoes could get as high as point five cee. The ship shook as the mains drove and lateral thrust tried to maintain balance. The port main was at redlined at fifty percent. Red flags littered the engineering display.
“Range detect and closing. Two torpedoes confirmed inbound,” Sensors reported.
“Ten seconds,” Cowan grunted as the acceleration pushed them hard into their couches. “Countermeasures!”
Rogers’ vision blurred as he watched the incoming torpedoes pass the outbound torpedoes, green lines crossing red. The blanket of countermeasures put out a spectrum wall between Venger and the enemy torpedoes. Venger’s weapons rings and blisters pulsed, firing at the first incoming torpedo. It corkscrewed to evade. Venger buzzed and hummed and shuddered like an angry cat in a beehive.
“Volley Two!” Cowan barked. The decoy and homing countermeasures burst from the ship. The close aboard alarm blared.
The ship rocked and bounced, spinning. The pilot fought to counter the attack and the ship’s unbalanced engines.
“Torpedo explosion close aboard!” Cowan reported.
“Lost track, second weapon,” Basan warned over the PA. The countermeasures would do that, throwing out a burst of sensor signal to blanket their ship, but also made enemy detection difficult. Weapons systems switched to optic scan acquisition, searching for the drive plume of the second enemy torpedo.
Rogers grabbed the thrust control and overrode it to maximum. If the port main coupling was going to disintegrate, it wouldn’t be because they’d been blown to pieces. The fusion core wouldn’t be the problem. Red flags erupted all over the port side engineering displays.
“Volley three!” Cowan launched the second decoy countermeasure pack. New alarms klaxoned. “Countermeasure fail!” Cowan announced over the shipwide circuit.
Another explosion rocked Venger, and it slewed out of control. Rogers’ suit extended its helmet and squeezed hard against the high gravities. “Hull breach… Hull breach… Hull breach…” the ship’s system droned as he blacked out, falling away from the echoing alarms in his head.
10
HFSS Kuro Hai
Rigel B Outer System
0328 U.Z.
1254.12.13 A.F.
“She’s detected,” Reed said, seeing the ship’s vector change.
Kenga gritted her teeth, focusing on the problem and not her pain.
“Counterfire,” Reed reported after a few seconds. Sensors confirmed launch and enemy torpedoes streaked on the astrodisplay. “Two hundred second light delay.”
“Stand by countermeasures. Standby shift to subspace,” Kenga said. “Flank speed.”
Pilot responded and the bridge crew were crushed into their creches as the gravitic impeller overtaxed the inertial compensation system. Kuro surged forward like a thoroughbred. Kenga would not get another pass on these torpedoes. Long seconds passed. The speed lines arced on the display, with the corvette driving her own fusion drives to maximum. The Anvil had twice Kuro’s acceleration. Optics and spectra picked up three enemy torpedoes fanning out from the enemy corvette. The second torpedo seemed to be damaged or misconfigured, its acceleration curve lagging behind the other two.
“Torpedoes on acquisition,” Reed said, breathing hard, focused on the outbound torpedoes. “Outside of standard envelope.”
Kenga watched the incoming torpedoes, the light delay calculations adjusting. The first enemy torpedo lost acceleration, its drive spent at the edge of t
he envelope. The second and third torpedoes continued on. At thirty light seconds, she ordered. “Countermeasures! Prepare to shift!”
Kuro let loose with jammers and mimics to fool the incoming torpedoes.
“Torpedo lost track. Re-vectoring!” Reed gasped. “Reacquiring!”
“Second countermeasures!” Kenga ordered as Kuro closed range to the corvette. The shift board was green already.
Kuro fired another barrage of countermeasures into space, trying to blind or lure the torpedo away from the ship. Kuro was too big to evade such a fast weapon, but she could confuse it. She corkscrewed, starting evasive maneuvers. Kenga held the order to counter fire.
“Ten seconds!” Reed announced, his head immobile and watching the astrodisplay. Kenga’s vision tunneled as the ship’s acceleration overrode the inertial dampeners. She hit the button to execute the shift into subspace.
Everything went black.
11
HFSS Kuro Hai
Rigel B Outer System
0331 U.Z.
1254.12.13 A.F.
Reed thought for a moment he’d gone blind, but it was the shift to subspace coupled with high gravity acceleration. The weight on his body eased as the pilot steadied course. He wiped his brow and checked his sensors; all were green. Kuro had maintained good ship’s discipline in the fight. The track of the torpedoes streaked in as Kuro swung away, diving toward the ecliptic. His vision cleared, or it almost cleared, he had little flits and motes in his vision. Everything was dim, but the air seemed more tangible. He swiped at his face, but the air just swirled and tiny lights danced. It was his simple four-dimensional mind trying to translate and make sense of six-dimensional space, but he didn’t like it.
“Shallow, degree two,” the pilot reported in a shaky baritone.
“Recommend deploying fin for optic dipping,” Reed said, as a matter of procedure.
