Shall Not Perish (Lincoln's War Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   And she was a warship. That was obvious. Festooned with turrets on every surface, her hull heavy armor plating, a mighty beast that would be more than a match for the entire Zemlyan fleet, should it come to an open battle. With launch bays running along the side, a haven for fighters. Her father had worked on the designs for a deep space carrier for Zemlya, but there had been no time to get the plans off the drawing board once the Guild became a more serious threat.

   The base was just ahead, at the crest of the gully. The limited data they had on the planet stated that it had been there for centuries, a military base established long ago, and abandoned when the tides of battle had swept away, left to be reclaimed by the dust. In the desolate, airless environment, it was perfectly reasonable to hope that it would still be intact, at least to a degree. Even if it only bought them a little time, it might be long enough for them to warn their comrades.

   The thought of an actual rescue seemed a distant dream, but she still dared to hope that she would see the green hills and azure seas of her homeworld once more. She had to hold onto that, if only to keep her sanity. She glanced to one side, and spotted a gleaming figure on the horizon, someone wearing a spacesuit, who didn’t seem to care whether or not he was spotted. That ruled out Sergeant Petrov. The man was an engineer first, but he’d been through the same basic survival training, and dour disposition aside, he didn’t have any yearning to be captured by the Guild.

   They’d figured out where she was heading, and had decided to garrison the place. That was the only explanation that made any sense at all, and it’s exactly what she would have done in the circumstances. She cursed under her breath, ducking down low, looking at her pressure gauge again. She had enough air in her suit to last for eighteen hours. That wasn’t the problem. Without the base, she didn’t have anywhere to run. Though if they already knew about it, she’d have bigger problems.

   Reaching for her sidearm, she crept forward, keeping low and out of sight, then pulled a dull brown ball out of her pocket, clipping a cable to her sensor input before cautiously rolling it out onto the surface, an electronic periscope to give her a clear image of the area around the dome.

   There were three of them. Two standing at parade rest, the third, the one she had seen, walking the perimeter. None of them looked alert, and she couldn’t see any sign of defensive systems, no attempts to make the installation more secure. This was a temporary garrison, not a permanent one.

   Killing them wouldn’t do any good. She had to distract them, find some way to throw them off, and she had to do it quickly. Petrov would be approaching from a different direction at any moment, and if they had even the remotest indication that the survivors from the escape pod were in this area, they’d bring in reinforcements.

   The pod.

   Likely they’d sent another party out that way. Had probably already found the remains by now. The ground was mostly bare rock, so following their tracks would be next to impossible, not without specialist equipment. A brief flash of paranoia made her look to her rear anyway, checking back the way she had come, but she turned back to the dome with a reassured smile. The Guild didn’t have that many people based on the planet. A garrison of less than a hundred, and most of them permanently guarding the slaves on the surface.

   She reached down to her control panel, determined to give the guards something else to think about. They might be Guilders, but they were still human beings, and would still be concerned about the fate of their comrades. Pulling out a second sphere, she rolled it in another direction, tapping controls on her wrist to bring up the footage from the pod camera.

   Perfect. A small shuttlepod next to hers, with two people poking through the wreckage, obviously looking for clues to guide them to their prey. She was running a risk, but she quickly boosted the power on her communications signal, finally able to handshake with the computer on board the pod. The ship had crashed onto the planet at speed, but she’d managed to save quite a bit of thruster fuel. Enough for her to have a little fun, at any rate.

   As one guard drew close, she fired the lateral thruster, a bolt of flame racing out to roast the hapless Guilder alive, sending his corpse collapsing to the ground, and the pod hurtling in the other direction. She fired a second pulse, stronger this time, hurling it back the way it had come, this time smashing into the other guard, his body tossed into the air like so much cordwood, and on into the shuttlepod, the resultant explosion satisfactorily killing the feed, the flash visible even where she was.

   The guards had to have seen it. Now she had to gamble on their humanity, risky for a Guilder, but somehow, it paid off. Pausing only to snatch a pair of medical kits, they climbed onto a buggy, bouncing their way across the landscape in the direction of the wreckage. It’d take a good half hour for them to get there over the rough terrain. The second guard might, just might, still be alive when they got there, and a part of her hoped he was. If only because it would buy her more time, and every second she was free was another she could use to help protect her approaching comrades.

   As soon as she was confident that they were clear of the dome, she raced from the gully, running over the terrain to the airlock. Someone had visited the place in the recent past, and the trails on the surface suggested that the Guild was using it as an emergency shelter. Less work for her, certainly, and the airlock opened at the touch of a button. She held her pistol tight in her hand as the system cycled her through, the whisper of atmosphere rushing into the space between the hatches, slowly building up to breathable pressure.

   The dome inside was empty.  Most of the equipment had evidently been stripped out long ago, only some emergency kits haphazardly stacked on the floor, a few recently opened ration packs scattered on a table. She tossed her holdall down on the ground, then took off her helmet, resting it where she could easily reach it.

   Then a loud crack from behind her sent her hand snatching to it again, raising her pistol in the air, as the airlock cycled once more, this time admitting the sandy-haired Petrov, his face growing pale as he saw the weapon leveled at his chest.

   “Hey, Lieutenant, I’m on your side!” he said. “That was a hell of a show back there. Your work?”

   Volkova nodded, and said, “Had to get their attention somehow. It seemed the best way.”

   “I had the same idea,” Petrov replied. “I left a couple of grenades tied to the communications console, rigged to explode on impact. I guess they must have crashed right into their shuttlepod’s fuel tank.” He grimaced, and said, “I saw them flying overhead, maybe five minutes after we left.” Looking around, he said, “How old is this place?”

   Volkova walked over to the wall, wiped the dust from the dedication plaque, and read, “Moghbeli Station. United States Space Force, 2121. That answer your question?”

   Shaking his head, he said, “Old. Damned old. At least it’s airtight. How long are we staying here, Lieutenant?”

   “No longer than we can help, Sergeant. Get the transmitter set up. I’m going to see if there’s anything we can use in the emergency stores. We’re can’t wait too long. My guess is that they’ll be back in an hour.” She pounded her fist on the metal, and she said, “Tough alloy, even now. Might hold up against attack, but it might not.” She cracked a smile, and added, “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan. It might even work.”

   “You sound like my wife,” the dour man replied, shaking his head. He placed his holdall by the wall, pulling open the bag and unloading components, while Volkova looked around, her eyes caught by a gaudy, tattered poster hanging over what had once been the control console, an image of a ship surrounded by a swirling vortex, two bold words still bright, even after all the centuries.

   Remember Lincoln.

  Chapter 7

   Forrest rubbed her eyes, looking over the damage reports, Singh by her side as they continued through the catalog of malfunctioning systems and ruptured hulls. It seemed like every deck had the same reports
, shattered conduits, breaches in the armor, compartments open to space. Behind her, Romano and Fox were working through the tactical systems, while Clayton struggled to interpret the sensor data beginning to flood in.

   The communicator chimed, and Forrest picked up the handset, saying, “Bridge here.”

   “Sickbay here, Captain,” Doctor Holland replied. Somehow, she’d never heard him sound quite so weary before. “I just got out of surgery with Commander Gorgas. I’m afraid he didn’t make it. Too much damage to his brain tissue. I don’t if he’d ever have regained consciousness even if I had managed to stabilize him. He was directly exposed to hyperspace during the transit.”

   “Damn,” Forrest said. “Thank you for letting me know, Doc. What’s the latest on the crew?”

   “Frankly, ma’am, we did a lot better than we deserved. Right now the count is fifteen dead, eighty-one wounded, about two thirds of them with only minor injuries. We’re working our way through the roster down here. You can probably expect that count to go up, but not by much.” He paused, then said, “I’ll keep you informed, ma’am.”

   “Is there anything we can do, Doctor?” Singh asked.

   “You might consider prayer, sir. Sickbay out.”

   “Fifteen dead,” Forrest said, shaking her head. She tapped another control, and said, “Bridge to Lieutenant Brooks.” She paused, waited for a reply, then repeated, “Bridge to Lieutenant Brooks. Reply at once.”

   “I’m here, ma’am,” Brooks replied. “We’re just sealing the breaches on the starboard turret deck now. It’s going to be at least two hours before we can re-pressurize, though. Even then I’m not particularly confident that it will hold under any stress.”

   “Lieutenant...”

   “I’ve managed to get the landing deck cleared as well, ma’am. We can now accept fighters and shuttles if necessary, and Chief...”

   “Lieutenant,” Forrest interrupted, firmly this time. “Commander Gorgas is dead.”

   “Oh.” There was a loud report, the sound of a man slumping to the deck, and he said, “Captain, I must take full...”

   “Cut that out!” she snapped, all eyes on her. “You obeyed my orders, and it was my idea. Don’t you dare take any of the blame for this on your shoulders, and don’t you dare fall apart. Right now this crew needs you, and needs you badly.” She took a deep breath, and said, “The way I see it, you just earned the first field promotion of the war. I’m moving you up to full Lieutenant, and assigning you as Acting Engineering Officer. Who do you want to take over at Damage Control?”

   “Ensign Roberts is next in line, I guess...”

   “Then tell her that she’s got the job, and get moving. I want this ship in battle-ready condition in twelve hours. Do I make myself clear?”

   “Yes, ma’am. Twelve hours.”

   “Then get moving, mister!” she barked, slamming the handset back into its holder. Singh looked at her, a frown on his face.

   “You were a little hard on him, weren’t you?”

   “Shock treatment, Commander. He needed a jolt.” Looking around the bridge, she added, “That goes for each and every one of you. Stay focused, people. I know we’re in a bad situation, but the only way out of it is for us to work our asses off to get this ship back into the fight.” Gesturing at the monitor board, festooned with red lights, she added, “All of this can be fixed. And ladies and gentlemen, all of this is going to be fixed. Do I make myself clear?”

   “Yes, ma’am,” Romano said, a smile on his face.

   “Then get back to work, people.” The only crewmen not to respond was Clayton, who looked at his screen, his eyes fixed on the display, hands motionless, as though he hadn’t heard a word that she had said. She looked at Singh, then walked over to the technician, looking over his shoulder at the readouts. “What’s the problem, Specialist?” When he failed to respond, she shook his shoulder, and said, “Specialist?”

   “Captain?” he replied, looking up, his eyes empty, vacant. “I need to see you in private, ma’am. You and Commander Singh.”

   She glanced at Singh, nodded, then said, “My office, then.” Turning to the rear, she said, “Lieutenant Fox, you have the deck.”

   “Yes, ma’am,” Fox replied, barely looking up for a second before returning to her work. Forrest led the way into her cramped office, chairs scattered on the floor, the contents of her shelves lying on the carpet, a coffee mug overturned on her desk. The three of them walked into the room, and Clayton made for the wall monitor, slaving the display to his station on the bridge.

   “What is it, Specialist?” Forrest asked.

   “I’m not crazy, ma’am. You’re going to have to know that first. I haven’t lost my mind, and I know what I’m seeing, and I’ve checked my calculations a dozen times. We’ve not got the sensor resolution I’d like, and there are still more checks that I can do, but as it stands, I think I’ve got something close to a definitive answer.”

   “That’s good, Specialist, but...”

   “I worked out where we are quite quickly. TIOS 69-333. It’s a brown dwarf star about eight light-years from New Dover. A private survey team explored the system back in ‘91, found three planets, one of them pretty rich in gadolinium. That’s where we are. They called the world Enkidu.”

   “Excellent,” Singh said. “We should be able to work out...”

   Taking a deep breath, Clayton pressed, “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, sir. Far from it.” He tapped a control, and said, “I took these images of the starfield. These are from today.” He entered in a command sequence, then continued, “I’m going to switch between this view and the images taken by the original survey team. And remember, this was just twenty-five years ago.” The stars jumped, moving wildly around, many of the original patterns no longer recognizable. He repeated the sequence ten times, then looked up at Forrest, saying, “That’s not twenty-five years of drift, Captain.”

   “But...”

   “There’s something else.” He swept his hand across the screen, bringing up a view of the surface, and said, “See that mountain range, over on the right? The flat plain beyond? This image was taken by the first exploration team as part of their orbital survey. Now look at the image I just captured, five minutes ago.” He tapped a button, and the image changed, two deep craters now marring the formerly featureless surface. “Meteor craters, and old. I’m not an expert, Captain, but they’ve been there for centuries, not years.”

   Singh looked at Forrest, then said, “Specialist, are you saying...”

   “That we’re not in 2118 any more, sir. My preliminary calculations put us somewhere around 2640, plus or minus ten years. I’ll have a more accurate figure for you in an hour, once I’ve had a chance to take some more measurements.” He stepped forward, and said, “I know this sounds crazy, Captain, and I really hope to God that I’m wrong, but I’ve run these checks a dozen times now, and I get the same results every time, and...”

   “Easy, Clayton,” Forrest said, looking at the screen. “Commander, what do you think?”

   “I’d have to go over the data myself to be sure, ma’am, but my first assessment is that he’s probably right. I can’t think of any other way to explain the stellar drift.” He paused, then added, “We’ve been listening out since we arrived, but we’ve heard no hyperspace chatter, not on any of our standard frequencies. Given that a war just broke out...” He sighed, and said, “I figured it was a malfunction. Lieutenant Todd’s been working on some diagnostics.”

   “Have him keep at it. And I want the sensors checked, and double checked. As well as the control programs. If the Pacific Federation can mess around with our command systems, they can get into our sensor interpretation software as well.”

   “You think this might be a trick,” Clayton said, hope flashing into his voice.

   “We can’t rule anything out at this point.” Turning to Singh, she said, “Commander, you�
�re in charge of this investigation. Delegate everything else to Commander Kirkland.” At his grimace, she continued, “I know, I know, but we’re running short of officers as it is.”

   Frowning, he replied, “You’ve already given a field promotion to Brooks. Maybe you should think about giving one to Gonzales.” Looking at the wide-eyed Clayton, he said, “Probably better you don’t handle the checks up on the bridge. Aft Sensor Control is still operational. Get down there, clear everyone out, and get everything set up. I’ll be down in a minute.”

   “Is there anyone else you want?” Forrest asked.

   “Not at this stage, Captain. As long as there’s someone checking my work. I don’t trust myself with the systems. Not when it is this important.”

   Nodding, Forrest said, “Commander Singh will watch your back. Dismissed.” As he walked out of the room, she added, “And consider yourself bumped up to Spec-1, as of now. I think you’ve earned it. A lot of people would either have started screaming or written those results off.”

   “Thank you, Captain,” the technician said, standing to attention and saluting before walking out of the room. Singh watched him go, then walked over to the viewscreen, looking at the world slowly rotating beneath them.

   “I’d like someone else down there,” he said.

   “Kirkland?” Forrest asked with a smile. “I know you don’t like her, but...”

   “She’s an empty uniform, Cat. That’s all she is. She got dumped here after her last three duty stations bounced her. I don’t think we can count on her for anything.”

   “And you’d rather trust Sal Gonzalez? The only reason he didn’t get busted at his last court-martial is because I’m pretty sure he bribed the judge.”

   “He’s a crook, but he’s a smart crook, and that’s what we need right now. We’re not in the Boy Scouts, skipper.” Forcing a smile, he added, “You know what I mean. Odd as it sounds, I trust him. A damn sight more than I trust Kirkland. But he’s not who I want down there.”