Far Space

by Jason Kent

  The screen froze and reset.

  “Play, 4x speed,” Jennifer said.

  The objects around Earth could still be seen to move, but much slower. The six objects showed up after two minutes.

  “Freeze frame!” Jennifer said. “That’s them.”

  Ian studied the image.

  “Uh, Marsha,” Ian said tentatively, “highlight USS Schriever and USS LeMay, please.”

  Blue circles appeared around the gravity readings of the two patrol craft.

  Ian leaned close and looked from the gravity readings of the US ships to those of the alien craft. “They’re nearly the same.”

  “There’s some variation,” Jennifer said. “But that is probably due to the differences in mass.”

  “What has this got to do with the alien’s showing up around Jupiter?” O’Brian asked.

  Emboldened, Ian said, “Marsha, can you take the anomalous gravity readings from here,” he used a light pen to circle the area of interest on the large display showing the gravity fields of Jupiter and its moons, “and compare it to these.” Using the light pen again, Ian circled the alien grav signatures from the display of Earth’s orbit.

  “One moment please,” Marsha replied. The display with the list of readings disappeared and was replaced by a side-by-side comparison of the two sets of gravity readings.

  “They don’t match,” Jennifer said after a moment of study. “Shouldn’t the ships have the same reading?”

  “Maybe this,” O’Brian thumbed the Jupiter display, “is not a picture of the ships entering Jupiter Space after all. Maybe the Chinese sensors were not working correctly.”

  “The report said the officer who sent this data saw the ships approach with his own eyes,” Jennifer replied. “What else could it be?”

  “Black hole,” Ian said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” O’Brian nearly shouted.

  “It’s not a black hole,” Ian said, holding his ground. He pointed at the comparison. “But it mimics one. Look, the gravity reading shows there is nearly infinite mass at each of these six anomalies. Marsha, what do the readings look like after the ships are underway close to Ganymede in the timeframe before they attacked the Chinese base?”

  “I will need to access other sensor data and correlate…” Marsha began.

  “Take your time,” O’Brian huffed.

  “The comparison you requested has been updated,” Marsha said.

  “Way to go, girl!” Jennifer exclaimed.

  “Thank you,” Marsha replied.

  The display now showed three sections for easy comparison.

  “The ships leaving Jupiter have the same readings as the ships attacking Earth,” Jennifer said quietly. “They had to have come out of the gravitational anomalies in Jupiter’s orbit.”

  “That’s not possible,” O’Brian stated.

  “Obviously, it is,” Ian said.

  O’Brian’s left eye twitched. He checked his watch. “I’m due to meet with the L5 techs.” He pushed off and left the lab without another word.

  “So what do you think?” Jennifer said.

  “I think he’s a little annoying,” Ian said.

  Jennifer took her eyes off the screen and looked over at Ian with sultry eyes. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous. But I’m talking about this.” She pointed at the display with the comparisons.

  “Non-attribution?” Ian asked, sure he was about to make a fool of himself.

  “Nothing else goes in the lab,” Jennifer assured him.

  “Okay, I did this paper in college about antimatter engines. I came across a lot of stuff on wormhole theory while doing the research. Anyway, wormholes would have a gravity reading just like that,” Ian said and poked the screen with the Jupiter gravity anomalies.

  “But those aren’t black holes,” Jennifer said. “They would have devoured Jupiter right along with the rest of the solar system.”

  Ian glanced toward the door before replying, “I think the aliens used wormholes.”

  “That’s not possible,” Jennifer said.

  “Now you sound like him,” Ian said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the door where O’Brian had exited.

  “You know what?” Jennifer laughed as she took Ian’s chin between her hands.

  Ian shrugged his shoulders. “You’re really cute when you sulk. It’s even better than the jealous look.”

  Ian met Jennifer’s gaze. He shrugged and smiled. “Well, I do practice in front of the mirror a lot.”

  “Sure you do,” Jennifer said. She leaned close to the displays. “You know what else? I think you might be right.”

  L5 – Vehicle Assembly Station

  Earth Space

  Colonel Yates pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing his headache would go away. He looked back at the images of General Hatterus, Space Corps Operations Chief and Colonel Ware. He was going to need more powerful medicine than wishful thinking.

  “What if we run into any trouble?” Yates asked, addressing the holograms at the far end of the VAS video conference room.

  “Intel tells us the ship is dead,” Hatterus said.

  Yates had to force himself to keep from rolling his eyes.

  “Should be a quick run out to Saturn and back,” Ware added.

  Yates leaned forward. He took a moment to phrase his words very carefully. “With all due respect, sir,” Yates was looking directly at Hatterus, “When has a plan ever survived contact with the enemy?”

  “Don’t go Space War College on me, Yates,” Hatterus said. “The enemy ship is dead, has to be or they’d have left by now.”

  “If it’s dead, General,” Yates said. “If it’s not and there are still crew members on board, I don’t think seven Special Ops troops are going to be enough.” The Special Operations Forces, or SOF for short, were good, but would there be enough of them?

  Hatterus leaned back and crossed his arms. Ware jumped in. “Yates, six of these guys will have combat armor. If they can’t handle a few aliens nobody can.”

  Yates nodded. Yes, the new space combat armor provided significant protection and an impressive weapons load. But there were still so many things they did not know. So many things could just plain go wrong.

  “The three Marines from Recon Strike will be at your location tomorrow,” Ware continued. “They were doing survival training on the moon at Mare Australe. The three Corps Forward Aerospace Controllers will arrive later today with the drop ship and pilot.” Ware’s hologram looked at Yates. “It’s all we can pull together on such short notice. Anybody else won’t be able to get to L5 for at least a week.”

  “I need you out of dock and underway as soon as you have the SOF troops on board,” Hatterus said, “Ware, wrap this up.” Hatterus cut his connection leaving only Ware and Yates in their video conference.

  “Guess that takes care of that,” Yates said. “What do you think, Ware?”

  Ware looked down at his hands on the table before answering. “Well, you’re heading out deep into the solar system with a new spacecraft with brand new engines. You have a crew which has just been thrown together and you have to retrieve an alien ship which may or may not have hostile crew aboard. What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Well, since you put it that way…”

  “Look, Yates,” Ware said. “You’re the man on the scene and you’ve seen these guys in action. We need you to get that ship and get it back here. If the aliens attack again we are basically defenseless. The U.S., heck, the Earth is counting on you to find something we can use against these guys.”

  “Thanks, Ware,” Yates said.

  “Hey, no pressure.”

  “No pressure,” Yates said.

  As Yates stood to end the conference, Ware’s hologram did the same.

  “One more thing, Yates,” Ware said.

  Yates eyed the hologram

  “Good hunting.”

  USS Cheyenne Flight Deck

  L5 VAS

  Yates floated into
the spacious command module and pulled himself into the commander’s chair. He looked down at the six stations and multiple view screens mounted below the overhead window. It was a real, honest-to-God spacecraft bridge.

  Combat ships, like Schriever, were armored all around out of necessity, leaving room for nothing but a few portals. A large view port like that on the Cheyenne’s flight deck was a luxury no warship could afford to have. The window was just the beginning. While still crowded with consoles and stations, the Cheyenne’s flight deck was basically a standard three-meter diameter hab module outfitted with command and control gear. This offered much more space than the Schriever’s bridge which had been designed to save mass and also was compact since it was meant to be used as a life boat – a function with which Yates was quite familiar.

  From his raised console station, Yates looked down an aisle at four stations stepped down below him. Due to the constant acceleration the Cheyenne would experience throughout its flight the module had been tilted at a forty-five degree angle to the center line of the ship. Between the inclination of the module and the reclining acceleration couches at each station, the crew could easily look up and forward out the multi-pane carbon nano-tube reinforced transparent laminate. The window, running from one end of the module to the other, offered a great view. Other, smaller, windows were set at strategic positions next to each station to allow the crew members to also see out the side of the command module as well.

  Directly in front of Yates, Lieutenant Reeves manned the combined navigation and communications station on one side. Captain Mitchell sat at the reconfigured cargo master station, now the weapons station tied to the hastily added munitions hanging off Cheyenne’s hull. A step lower and in front of the nav/com and weapons stations, Captain Maytree and Lieutenant Langdon sat in the pilot and co-pilot stations respectively.

  Yates could also turn at his seat to address the final two stations occupying the rest of the module on either side of the rear hatch. Steve Pearl had commandeered the engineering station, sending the L5 tech assigned to the mission to sit in the auxiliary station in a module located twenty meters behind the bridge. The other rear station had been turned into a tactical station to help Mitchell if the Cheyenne got into a fight and also to coordinate any SOF troop activities. Major James Taylor, Marine Reconnaissance Strike and senior special operations troop on board, occupied the seat.

  Yates looked down at his display board. Everything was in the green. “Okay people, let’s do the poll. I need to know if we’re ready to take this beast out to Saturn. Mitchell, call the roll.”

  Mitchell pulled up the departure checklist. “Navigation.”

  “Nav, go,” Reeves replied.

  “Communications.”

  “Comm, go,” Reeves chimed.

  “Propulsion,” Mitchell continued.

  “Hell yes,” Pearl said.

  Mitchell looked back at the civilian.

  “Propulsion is green,” Pearl sighed.

  “Tactical.”

  “Tactical. go,” Taylor replied.

  “Attitude Control.”

  “ACS, go,” Langdon said.

  “Helm.”

  “Helm, go,” Maytree replied.

  “And weapons station reads green,” Mitchell said completing the list. “That’s a ‘go’.”

  “All stations have reported in,” Reeves added. “All personnel are strapped in and ready for maneuvering.”

  “Tell VAS Control to pull their lines. USS Cheyenne requesting clearance for departure,” Yates said.

  Reeves relayed the request.

  A face appeared on the monitor hanging below the view port. The VAS Controller was surrounded by more people than her tiny control room was meant to hold. With all the senior VAS management, technicians and engineers looking on, the young woman said, “VAS Control to USS Cheyenne, you are cleared for departure. All lines are free.”

  “Lines are free,” Langdon verified.

  With the crew at VAS Control still tied in through the camera mounted at the forward end of the module, Yates ordered, “Take us out, Captain Maytree. Secondary engines and ACS only.”

  “Secondary’s on-line,” Pearl reported. Under his breath, he said, “You know Robert; It’d been sweet to blast out of here with the main engines burning.”

  “Steady, Steve,” Yates replied.

  From the pilot’s station, Maytree took her hands from the controls and, looking straight forward, said, “Lieutenant Langdon, you have the stick.”

  Yates had to resist the urge to squirm in his seat.

  YES!

  This was the moment every star pilot longed for – to be in complete control of all the power a spacecraft could deliver. Okay, so it was not lighting off the main anti-matter engines…yet, but it was good enough for Ian.

  “I have the stick,” Ian managed to say smoothly. He silently thanked God his voice did not crack.

  Ian carefully rechecked the ACS configuration and the readiness of the secondary engines. The secondary’s, basically old-style chemical rockets, were meant to be used in just this sort of situation when using the full power of the anti-matter drive system was dangerous or simply provided too much specific inertial thrust.

  Taking a deep breath, Ian tapped the big red bar on his board, activating the control program. The program would handle the balancing of thrust from the eight secondaries and tweak the Cheyenne’s attitude if needed.

  For a moment, it seemed as if nothing had happed. Ian rechecked his board. All secondary’s had ignited and the ACS was functioning. A full thirty seconds after the command was given, Ian felt the push back into his seat which told him the Cheyenne was indeed accelerating.

  No one spoke as Ian monitored the Cheyenne’s laborious initial start. After three minutes, the dormant anti-matter drive unit at the extreme aft of the ships stack cleared the outermost girder of the VAS.

  “USS Cheyenne has cleared dry dock,” Ian said. He could not help adding, “Next stop, Saturn Space.”

  Ian glanced up at the main display when the crowd in VAS Control erupted into cheers.

  The normally reserved VAS crew were busy hugging and patting each other on the back. Only the controller still maintained any composure, although Ian noticed she did have an unusually wide grin on her face.

  “VAS Control acknowledges clearance of dry dock,” the controller said. “God speed and good luck, Cheyenne.” The cheering redoubled before the controller cut the VAS control video feed.

  The Bridge was oddly silent after the celebratory crowd cut out.

  “Well, here we go again,” Pearl said from his station.

  “Yes indeed, Mr. Pearl,” Colonel Yates said. “You and your team run a final diagnostic on the AM drive. I want to go to full power as soon as L5 is out of our tail wash.”

  “Aye aye, Captain,” Pearl said, happily tapping on his control boards.

  Ian smiled at the engineer’s blatant abuse of protocol.

  “Good job there, newbie,” Maytree said softly to Ian.

  “You could have warned me you were going to do that,” Ian replied.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “All right people,” Yates announced, “we’re on our way to retrieve some space junk which may save humanity. If any of you wanted to get off this ride, it is too late now.”

  USS Cheyenne

  Near Space – En Route to Saturn

  Ian tried to keep his eyes forward since looking around just made him feel sick.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Ian asked over the local net.

  The dark armored figure next to him turned to face Ian. The heavily tinted visor hid the man’s face.

  “Being outside a spacecraft which continues to accelerate thanks to the wonders of anti-matter or giving you a gun?” Captain Alvin “Al” Rucker asked.

  “Both, actually,” Ian replied. “You do realize I’m a space pilot, not some, and pardon the expression, ground pounder, sir.”

  “No offen
se taken,” Rucker replied. “Someone’s got to hold the ground you boys fly around. Still, you’re military with some amount of training. Course, I had not realized just how inadequate the training was.”

  “Yeah,” Ian said. “I keep hearing that.”

  “Good thing we got to you before the little green men then, huh?” Technical Sergeant Eric Anderson said as he approached Ian and Rucker with long strides. There were times neither of the Marine’s mag boots was in contact with the hull in direct violation of one of the most basic rules which had been drilled into Ian’s head during his brief extra-vehicular instruction during pilot training

  Anderson wore an armored space suit matching Rucker’s. Their names and rank were stenciled across the chest.

  “You let him shoot yet, Captain?” Anderson asked.

  Ian lifted the M-25S automatic rifle in his gloved hands. The weapon was basically a space-rated mini rail gun. The M-25S, as the manual Ian had skimmed last night indicated, could accelerate slugs fast enough to punch through most armor. It could also host a variety of ammunition. Ian had figured they would be shooting the flachette rounds, tiny packets of sharp needles. Flachettes were designed for fighting inside ships; they were great for tearing apart your opponents but lacking the punch to rip open a hull. The weapon Rucker had given Ian was loaded with the heaviest round available for an M-25S.

  Rucker was saying, “Just waiting on the Chief.”

  Ian turned to see a third armored figure approaching. Chief Master Sergeant Luis Cordella was huge without his suit. Add the armor, weapons, and mag boots and he was simply a giant.

  Cordella came up to the loose formation and saluted Rucker. “Sir.”

  Rucker returned the salute. “Okay, let’s see how the LT handles his M-25S.”

  “Got it, Captain,” Anderson said. He pulled out a small parcel from a hip pocket and hurled it away from the ship. When it had moved about fifty meters off the port side of the ship, the device expanded.

  “Take your best shot,” Rucker said.

  The three armored black combat suits of the Special Operations troops backed away from Ian in his gleaming white hard suit.