Strike Battleship Engineers (The Ithis Campaign Book 2)

by Shane Lochlann Black

  The internal motion sensors detected Aibreann’s presence and a viewscreen in the forward control deck snapped to life, displaying the same raptor-emblazoned logo painted on the outside hull. A strangely slurred but relatively pleasant synthesized female voice sounded from the intraship address system.

  “Identification, please.”

  “Hi Dominique, it’s me Aibreann! I brought Boots and Checkers with me!” She jumped into the forward pilot’s shock couch, expertly donned the four-sizes-too-large flight helmet and adjusted the side-mounted microphone. All of the pretty lights were blinking just like before. She grabbed the controls and turned them this way and that. It was like being in her very own toy store. After a considerable delay, Dominique’s voice sounded again.

  “Greetings, Commander. How can Argent help you today?”

  Twelve

  Yili Curtiss imagined she was in some kind of strange cave. She knew caves were supposed to be dark, but for some reason this one was lit up like a sunny day. She squinted and tried her best to figure out what she was looking at, but the featureless silver surface overhead looked like it was both far away and right in front of her face at the same time. She tried to lift her right arm, but found it was way too heavy. So she reached out with her left hand and tried to touch the strange cavern ceiling to see what it was made of. She saw the mission chronometer on her wrist. It read 64 hours. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but it made her feel uneasy for some reason.

  It was so warm and so quiet. All she wanted to do was sleep. There was something fighting her attempts to wake up. So dreamy. So warm. She just wanted to drift off.

  “What is it?” She croaked. Her mouth was so dry. She could barely make coherent sounds. At least she thought she had heard something. Maybe it was her dream. Except she hadn’t been dreaming. “Water.”

  A whispery sound drew her attention to one side of the chamber she occupied. A small refrigerated compartment had opened. Dry ice vapor rolled out and gradually revealed three pressure bottles with the universal water symbol painted on them. Beneath each symbol was the designator and logo for Argent’s medical section. Yili fumbled with one of the bottles for a moment with her free hand and then somehow managed to take a drink. It felt like she had absorbed a glacier into hot desert sand. She settled back into the bed, savoring the refreshing chill. The bottle slid out of her hand and rolled on the metal floor before coming to a stop next to her. Not a drop was spilled.

  Yili squinted again with some effort and tried to remember what 64 meant. There was something about that number that should be incredibly alarming, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. So she tried the only thing she could think of.

  “Status report.”

  There was a pause before a voice patch opened and a faint hum became audible in the chamber. “Good evening, Lieutenant. Your present condition has been upgraded to fair. Your blood pressure is approximately eight percent below standard for the current atmospheric conditions. Initial sedatives have dropped to 11% effectiveness. Are you experiencing any pain?”

  “I was in my feet before, but I don’t feel anything now.”

  “I understand. Your feet have been treated for exposure. There is a four inch laceration along the lateral edge of your right foot. It will be healed in approximately nine days. You have been treated with a topical antibiotic for a mild bacterial infection caused by contact with the soil on Bayone Three. Your right ulna is cracked and has been immobilized for treatment with a regenerative accelerant. You have suffered a grade six concussion. Initial examinations have revealed no physical damage associated with the concussion. You are also suffering from low-grade anemia and oxygen deprivation. You may be cleared to resume your duties in approximately four days. A medical officer may also clear you for duty earlier at their discretion.”

  Yili sighed. “If only Hearts were here.”

  “Nutrition packs are available in the storage compartment to your left. If you are unable to access their contents, please request assistance and food will be made available to you by mechanical or intravenous means.”

  “I’m too tired to eat.”

  “I understand. Do you require assistance?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I understand. Skywatch medical guidelines recommend injured patients receive some nutritional sustenance every four hours. This sustenance can be provided in many forms–”

  “Stop.” Yili felt like she had been remade out of lead and heavy rocks. If it weren’t for the sedatives making her feel like she was levitating, she was sure she would sink a foot into the bedding. “Give me something else to talk about.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand that request.”

  “What is our current location?”

  “You are on C-deck aft aboard DSS Argent’s Copernicus One. The vessel’s present location is on the surface of Bayone Three, approximately one hundred ninety six miles from our target landing zone.”

  “Command computer interface.”

  “Unable to comply. Copernicus One reports command computer voice interface is off-line. Vessel autosystems report negative repair capacity at this time. Repair estimate is unknown. No human personnel are available to respond to requests for additional information at this time.”

  Yili thought for a moment. Somehow through the clouded, fuzzy gray wall in her mind she managed to put together something resembling a plan. “Engage microcode translation interface and establish permanent two-way telemetry and command overrides. Patch substitute voice interface to this unit. Chief Engineer authorization Ghost Two Nine Four Six.”

  There was a pause as the Angel’s relatively specialized programming attempted to follow its patient’s unusual request. Most people being treated for falling injuries asked for pain killers and food and then went back to sleep. This patient was asking an autonomous emergency medical transport to establish a wideband connection to the Copernicus central computers and then to substitute itself as the voice interface since the engineering boat’s command systems were apparently damaged. It was definitely an obscure operation, but fortunately for Lieutenant Curtiss, not outside an Angel’s abilities.

  “Command computer datalink established.” It wasn’t much, but it was something. Now for the hard part.

  “Vessel status.”

  A pause.

  “Copernicus One suffered engine failure at T plus seventeen minutes current mission time. Engines and power systems are operational at two point four percent maximum readiness. Life support, weapons, navigation, communications, sensors, scanners, emergency systems, damage control, synthesis, repair, nano-system, deployment, tracking, metallurgy, chemical transport and atmospheric analysis systems are off-line. There is a hull breach on C-deck aft. The vessel suffered a catastrophic decompression event at T plus eighteen minutes current mission time.”

  “Crew status.”

  “Able crewman Reginald Tackett, Third Petty Officer Tessa Maclane, Gunnery Sergeant Alan Hall, Ensign Charles Boswold, Able Crewman First Class Walker Todd and Lieutenant Zony Tixia are missing.”

  “Swell.”

  “A voice communication from Senior Lieutenant Zony Tixia was received one hundred thirty four minutes ago.”

  Two hours ago!?

  “Replay communication!”

  Yili listened to Zony’s hails. Each was time-stamped at four minute intervals. Sure enough, the time stamps confirmed the last arriving two hours earlier. Zony sounded uninjured, but her last transmission was more than a little unsettling. Hostiles in the area meant the boat was in considerable danger since its only crew member was quite literally in a hospital bed unable to move. Curtiss fumbled around the interior chamber of the Angel trying to find her blasters and sighed with considerable relief when she discovered she had somehow smuggled both inside with her. At the very least if something unwelcome knocked on the door she would have an appropriate greeting for them.

  She also managed to find her commlink. She knew she needed to
establish communications with Zony as soon as possible, but she had another priority first.

  “Report status external deployment.”

  “Operational at 91% readiness.”

  “Very well. Launch two lookdown probes. Station probe one at one thousand feet altitude with observation center at launch point. Station probe two at five thousand feet with observation center at probe one. Evasion protocols. Acknowledge on successful deployment.”

  “Affirmative. Probes launched. Status update expected in six minutes.”

  “Very well. Activate trundlebots one through three and activate voice interface.”

  “Activated. Standing by for instructions.”

  Now she was making progress. The Copernicus engineering corvette was unique among all of Argent’s boats in its use of autonomous external and internal robotic repair systems. The battleship itself made use of permanently mounted damage control mechanisms which were both self-repairing and designed to be structurally redundant enough that if the ship were operational, there would always be enough capacity in the repair systems to put the ship “back together” so to speak.

  Because corvettes didn’t have the superheavy hull structures built into capital ships, they needed a more flexible and mobile repair facility. That necessity gave rise to the trundlebot. Each was mounted on a thick wheeled frame with heavy magnetic plates in its base and a rather formidable set of pulleys and latches that allowed it to climb uneven surfaces and lift itself from floor to ceiling if necessary. Once at the scene of damage, the trundlebots could cut, weld, reshape, install or remove nearly any component, return it to storage and find a replacement. They were named for the peculiar sound they made when rolling along a metal floor.

  Trundlebots were also ruthlessly aggressive rescue units. Since they worked with engineers almost exclusively, they were programmed to practically cut a ship in half, if necessary, to rescue human personnel who might be injured or trapped. One instantly arrived at the door of the Angel and started making tapping noises to see if someone was inside. When it didn’t get the response it wanted, it activated a search light so bright Yili could see the glow filling the deck through the small port in the Angel’s hatch. Then it fired up its plasma cutter. Yili barely stopped it from removing the Angel’s door with hasty reassurances she was not in danger.

  “Report repair estimates Copernicus One.”

  A pause.

  “Autonomous repair systems estimate seventy one days, nine hours, forty–”

  “Stop. Report repair estimates primary energy transfer interface port side.”

  “Autonomous repair systems estimate sixteen minutes, twenty-eight seconds.”

  “Very well. Repair primary energy transfer interface port side. Chief Engineer authorization Ghost Two Nine Four Six.”

  Yili heard the faint sound of a second plasma cutter going to work on the Deck C aft bulkhead. Even from inside the Angel she thought she could smell the acrid scent of burning paint. She ordered the lead trundlebot to activate its cameras and routed the signal to the Angel’s video communications terminal. Yili watched drowsily as the three chunky little robots carved a path through the aft bulkhead and made their way into the reactor chamber. Repair mission time was down to eleven minutes. With luck, she thought she might be able to restore the boat to some level of operation within an hour or two. She set her aerial probes to alert on proximate motion and let herself relax again. There was something else she was supposed to be doing, but she had used up what was left of her alertness. She reached for the commlink weakly before drifting back to sleep.

  Thirteen

  Not a word was spoken during the tense nine-minute transit between Minstrel and Argent. Captain Islington’s shuttle was just large enough to accommodate a five-person boarding party. If the Sarn destroyers returned unexpectedly, all they would accomplish by opening fire would be to enrage all of Skywatch with an unprovoked attack on one of its up and coming young skippers, three marines and her engineering Chief. It was bad enough Sarn were in an ostensibly Core-controlled system and appeared to be cooperating with the mysterious Ithis. An open act of war would probably not be in their best interests.

  Even so, walking through a cage supposedly containing two tigers was harrowing, even if the tigers were out of sight and didn’t seem to be paying much attention anyway. Plans were considered and rapidly discarded to set Minstrel herself down on Argent’s number two flight deck. As it turned out, the battleship’s largest of three flight decks had just enough vertical clearance at seventy six feet, but it was decided that re-launching a full-sized warship in reverse during an enemy attack could lead to a dangerous potential disruption of both vessels’ magnetic and drive fields. Battle screens could also have created destructive reactions with both ship hulls. Islington decided the risks were too great and ordered her shuttle launched instead.

  Fortunately, the risk had paid off. After landing on what appeared to be a completely abandoned flight deck, the Minstrel’s skipper trotted across the pitch black assembly area and finally reached a systems terminal. Engineering Chief Brogan started analyzing the ship interior with a handheld scanner. Three security detail marines hefted their TK40s and kept watch for any unusual activity.

  “Command computer access.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Chief? Can you analyze this interface for me?”

  Brogan punched up a diagnostic cycle. The terminal was in operation, but it didn’t respond the way he expected. “Odd. The command computer seems to be in some kind of reboot loop. It can’t accept commands. I need to get to a control facility before we can operate it from a comm station. I can visit engineering while you check the bridge, ma’am.”

  “Negative. We stay together.”

  “That will take longer.”

  “There’s nobody aboard this ship, Chief. That by itself is enough to keep me at red alert. Where the hell is the crew?”

  Brogan tried to activate a different system. “Maybe I can get intraship working through a manual configuration. There. Try it now.”

  “Ma’am, there might be hostiles aboard,” one of the marines warned. Everyone instinctively checked their weapons. The fact the only light was being produced by their tac suits didn’t help settle anyone’s nerves.

  “We can’t search this ship on our own. It would take days. We’ll just have to take the risk our enemies will come to the same conclusion.”

  The marine didn’t look convinced, but he nodded obediently. Islington tried to activate the intraship address system. Nothing.

  “Why intraship?” one of the marines asked.

  “Can’t be triangulated,” Brogan replied. “Captain’s been in a scrape or two here and there. He tried to call up a diagnostic overlay. The terminal remained dark.

  “There’s no power to this station, ma’am. My guess is we’re operating on emergency local battery power only.

  “How can this ship be in orbit over a potentially hostile planet and completely abandoned like this?” she asked rhetorically.

  “It’s just like the Dunkerque, ma’am. We all read Captain Hunter’s report about when she was discovered. It didn’t have a crew either. For that matter, neither did Kingsblade or Agamemnon.”

  “Well, we’re going to make damn sure Minstrel doesn’t end up the same way. What are the chances of getting control of this beast, Chief?”

  Brogan shook his head. “We don’t have the horses, ma’am. Give me a couple days and I might be able to lash up an automation system of some kind, but all that’s going to give you is rudimentary engine and navigation control. There’s just too much square footage to cover and not enough bodies to do it. Without power, it’s impossible.”

  “Navigation might be enough, Sean. At least we could get her home before the Sarn come back and start carrying the china and silverware out the back door.”

  “To do that we would have to leave Minstrel practically defenseless. I’d need thirty people and half a day to train them and even
then, I don’t know this ship’s systems well enough to improvise. She’s got eight fusion plants and as many guns. Lieutenant Curtiss’ section outnumbers our whole crew two to one and even then we would only cover one watch out of four. It will take six hours to get one power plant to half-power.”

  The captain didn’t look pleased. “Alright, maybe we can at least find out where everyone went. If I wanted access to the captain’s log, would I find them in the same places I’d be looking on Minstrel?”

  “The only places I know for sure there are security terminals aboard Argent are the bridge, the executive quarters and the marine C.O.‘s office. We need to go up about sixteen decks to get started.”

  Two of the marines looked up at the ceiling reflexively. Somewhere about eight stories overhead there were murky shapes, but their relatively small lights revealed no details. It sounded like their own ship would fit on the battleship’s bridge, and they were pretty close on their estimates. If Argent’s entire Deck One assembly and all the supporting facilities were taken into consideration, it would fill all of Minstrel’s internal volume and then some.

  The captain’s commlink beeped.

  “Minstrel to boarding party.”

  “Islington here.”

  “Ma’am, Satcom is tracking three inbound destroyer-class vessels. Estimated time to intercept 34 minutes. What is your status?”

  “Argent is powered down and abandoned. Indeterminate scanner readings on deck. No clues yet as to what happened to the crew.”

  “We have another problem, ma’am. Argent’s orbit is decaying. Best estimate is your heading is off by about four degrees.”

  The captain and the engineer’s blood ran cold.