by J. L. Doty
“Start easing her back, try for a new record.”
“Thirty-eight lights, sir . . . Thirty-seven . . .” A gravity wave rolled ponderously through the bridge and Eldinow held at thirty-seven lights for a few minutes while he and Gant and Cappik worked feverishly to stabilize Cinesstar’s systems. “Thirty-four . . . Thirty-two . . . Twenty-nine . . . Twenty-eight . . . Twenty-seven . . .” Eldinow’s voice suddenly jumped an octave. “There she goes . . . Down-transition, sir.”
“All stop” York barked. “Cut all power. Rig for silent running.”
And again the wait . . . always the wait. “That’s a new record, Mister Eldinow,” York said, trying to break the tension. “Congratulations.”
“Clear to a hundred thousand kliks, sir. Going to long range.”
They were all operating on a sort of personal auto-pilot, too numb and frightened to think about what they were doing. York had drilled them for months to just that purpose, so that when the pressure was really on, they could find comfort in routine. Sometimes that was all that separated a professional soldier from an amateur. “Start an electronic activity map. Keep it fully updated at all times.”
“Clear to a million kliks, sir,” Gant said. “And nothing on passive long range.”
York looked at his console, at their sublight velocity and range. “Now we wait. Miss Gant, start looking for any hint of radiation somewhere between us and heliopause, anything that might indicate where they’ve stationed their pickets. Also watch for the picket tender. If they make rounds to change crews on the weapons platforms we can see where they stop. And monitor all incoming traffic. Anyone incoming is going to be challenged, sometimes by a picket, and we have a chance of spotting any transmitter splash if they’re at all sloppy. And start looking for that freighter, a big one, coming in a little too fast. We need that baby, now.”
He was repeating his earlier instructions because of his own nervousness. Gant and Rame and the bridge crew were at it before he’d even stopped talking. He hung around for an hour, reviewed the early data on the system and electronic activity maps. The back-scans showed all the incoming and outgoing traffic he’d expected.
He put in a call to the empress. She had insisted he brief her on a daily basis. As always, Lady d’Hart was with Cassandra when York arrived. York bowed, “Your Majesty.”
“I’m told the maneuver was successful, Captain.”
York gave a cautious nod of his head. “As successful as we can expect at this stage.”
“Your ever-present caution is beginning to wear thin.”
Lady d’Hart interjected, “But that may be what’s kept us alive, Your Majesty.”
Cassandra asked, “Are we in danger?”
“The danger at this stage is slight. If we’re spotted now we’re still far enough out to make a run for it. At worst we could end up back where we started, with a whole train of pursuers on our tail.”
“So where do we go from here?”
York stepped to a terminal and brought up a display of the developing system map. Even as they looked on Gant and her people added more detail. “We’re about two light-months out, coasting in at point-eight lights. Since we can’t wait two and a half months to coast into the system, we’re going to hitch a ride on the transition wake of an incoming ship passing close to us. We need something large, like a freighter, and coming in too fast, so she’ll have to start braking hard before down-transition. Her speed and tonnage will all add to the size and intensity of her transition wake, and when she starts braking like that, she’ll make a lot of transition noise. And when she’s close enough we’ll give ourselves a little boost with our transition drive. With that, I believe her transition wake might pull us into up-transition, and all the noise she’s making will hopefully mask any flaring we do. We’ll have to accelerate hard so we can stay on top of her. Then when she down-transits we down-transit with her, which should be somewhere inside of heliopause. And from there we can coast into Lunan nearspace in something on the order of a day or two.”
Lady d’Hart asked, “How long might we have to wait for such an opportunity. I wouldn’t think freighters would make such mistakes often.”
“Actually they do,” York said. As an academy cadet York had stood apprentice watches in every conceivable function in the system, including a short stint in traffic control on Luna Prime. “Freighter captains often come in fast like that to shave time off their delivery, especially if they’re running behind schedule and their contract calls for late-delivery penalties. Their contract may even specify an early delivery bonus. They’ll usually jimmy some of their equipment, so even if later they’re boarded and inspected, they can claim faulty equipment. It’s tolerated as long as they don’t push it too far, and we can count on one of them coming in like that every few days.” York didn’t add that his own stint in TC was almost twenty years ago, and no one else on board had ever served such a stint, at least not on Luna Prime.
“Excellent, Captain,” Cassandra beamed. “Excellent. Is this another one of those hunter-killer tricks?”
York hesitated. “Sort of . . .”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well . . . It’s the kind of trick a hunter-killer captain might use. But it depends on a large freighter coming in too fast right over the top of us. And the probability of that happening is pretty slim unless you’re going into an important, busy system and you place yourself right in the middle of one of their major approach patterns.” York hesitated, and both Cassandra and the d’Hart woman eyed him warily. “Hunter-killers don’t usually try to set up sneak shots on systems that are so heavily guarded, especially since once you’re in, you’re not going to get out.”
The d’Hart woman asked, “So no one has ever done this before?”
“To my knowledge, it hasn’t been tried before. Or, if it has, and it was unsuccessful, then that’s why we’ve never heard about it. There are any number of things that might go wrong.”
York braced for an onslaught of angry words, but Cassandra threw her head back and laughed. “I guess if it’s never been done before, they won’t know to guard against it, and our chances are even better.”
York had barely left her cabin when Gant’s voice came over his implants. “Captain, I think we’ve got our ride coming in fast.”
York rushed up to the bridge, but it was a false alarm. As he looked at the scan reports, and the details of the incoming transition wake, he shook his head. “Negative. That’s a military vessel, probably a cruiser.”
“But she’s big, sir, and coming in too fast. She’ll have to start braking pretty soon and throwing noise all over the place.”
“Yes. And her scanning equipment is a hundred times better than that of any freighter, and her scan operators are used to watching for sneaky little tricks, for anything out of the ordinary. We try to hitch a ride in her wake and she’ll spot us for sure. So batten down all hatches and sit tight. We’ll wait for a big, fat, dumb freighter.”
“It’s an ore freighter, sir, lot of mass, and coming in fast. She’s about two hours out, and hasn’t begun braking yet. Looks like she’s the one.”
It was the middle of the night, and York was standing over the terminal in his cabin, doing a poor job of waking up quickly. “I’ll be right up.”
On the bridge York confirmed Gant’s assessment. “Yes, she’s our ride in, as long as we can intercept. How close.”
She shrugged and hunched her shoulders. “Not good, not bad. She’ll pass within about ten million kilometers, close by astronomical standards, marginal if we want to intercept her wake.”
Leaning over Gant’s shoulder, York scanned her screens quickly. “What if we give ourselves a little nudge, minimum possible drive power now, a little more as she gets closer and begins to mask our noise?”
“We’ll be taking a chance, sir.”
“Add it to all the other chances we’re taking. Let’s do it.”
“Shall I sound General Quarters, sir?”
>
“Negative. Wake everyone up easy, tell them to get some breakfast, and I want them on station in an hour and a half.”
York had sandwiches brought up to the bridge, and lots of hot, black caff. They were chewing on the sandwiches and trying to estimate what their transition vector would have to be when, an hour later, the freighter got an angry message from Luna Traffic Control, and began braking. Her captain pleaded a fault in their auto-pilot.
An hour later York placed a call to Cappik. “You know what I need?”
“Yes, sir. Full combat status, gravity and drive, all switched on fast at your command.”
“Right. Eldinow, any questions?”
Eldinow was nervous. Much of this depended on him. “Just before she gets to us I start pushing a little drive, try to adjust our vector for intercept and hover just under transition, let her pull us into transition when she goes over the top of us. Then when we’re in transition, give Cinesstar everything we’ve got and try to keep up with her.”
“Jakobee?”
Jakobee started reciting his role, though York didn’t really pay attention to him. They’d drilled this routine in sims repeatedly for days and he knew his part. He was just giving them all something to do other than sit and wait.
“Captain,” Gant said, “You asked me to give you a quarter minute warning. We’re there.”
“Thank you Miss Gant.” York switched to allship. “Stand by all stations. Hold your discipline. Shoot at nothing unless you’re given a target by your station commander.”
“Ten seconds and counting, sir . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .”
York scanned his screens one last time.
“. . . zero,” Gant barked. The freighter was still several seconds behind them, overtaking them rapidly as York’s screens showed Cappik bringing up the power. Eldinow started to apply sublight drive gingerly.
“Hit it hard, Mister Eldinow,” York growled. “This is no time for a soft touch.”
Eldinow obeyed instantly, but sublight drive was nothing compared to the transition velocity of the freighter overtaking them. “Here she comes, sir,” Gant said. “Eight hundred million kilometers and closing . . . Five hundred million . . . Two hundred . . . She’s going to pass to within . . . forty thousand kliks. Here she comes.”
They could all feel the leading edge of the freighter’s transition wake as it interfered with Cinesstar’s internal gravity. York’s stomach did a somersault and a wash of static surged through the air as the freighter passed over them. “Shit!” Eldinow squeaked. “Up-transition, sir.”
“All ahead full, Mister Eldinow,” York shouted, swallowing to keep the sandwiches down. “Don’t let us down-transit. Not now.”
Cinesstar’s hull groaned as the freighter’s transition wake twisted and warped her gravity. The readings on York’s screens shot upscale as her transition drive struggled with the mess in local space created by the nearness of a large ship in transition. Wave after wave of gravity rolled through the decks, and the computer started diverting power into Cinesstar’s structure to hold her together. “Mister Eldinow,” York shouted above the noise. “To starboard, minimum drive power, one second burst.”
He couldn’t hear Eldinow’s reply but he saw the response on his screens, and as Cinesstar slid farther out toward the edge of the freighter’s transition wake, the warring pressures on the hull eased slightly. But it wasn’t enough for a young tech at Gant’s scan console. York had to give him credit though. He had the presence of mind to turn his head and blow his breakfast all over the deck rather than on his console. And then he had the further presence of mind to wipe his chin and turn back to his work as if nothing had happened, vomit staining his tunic.
York watched his screens, held on tight, tried to ignore the noise as the hull of the ship complained loudly. He was close to vomiting himself, but he was certain no ship’s captain had ever puked on his own bridge, and he would accept utter damnation before being the first man in the history of Fleet to do so.
He held on, watched his screens, kept his mouth shut, monitored the freighter’s velocity and Cinesstar’s relative proximity. He had only one order to give in this situation. His crew knew what they had to do, but it was up to him to tell them when to stop doing it. The freighter was slowing steadily, dumping inordinate amounts of power to kill her velocity. Then she appeared to hesitate, almost to pause as if waiting for something. York hadn’t been sure what he should be watching for, but that was it. “Down-transition,” he shouted, “All stop.”
“Down . . . transition,” Eldinow groaned.
The change was so sudden he almost did lose his breakfast. One moment he was hanging on while Cinesstar’s hull screamed at them, and the next a frightening, intense silence settled throughout the ship.
York swallowed hard. “Miss Gant?”
“Nothing yet, sir.”
The freighter down-transited just in front of them.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir. One minute, sir.”
They waited while Gant tried to assess their situation. York switched to the command channel. “All station commanders, this is the captain. If you had the same kind of trouble we did you’ve got some fairly sick people on your hands. Don’t assign clean-up details yet. We may be under fire momentarily.”
“We’re two-point-one light-days out, sir,” Gant interrupted him. “Coasting in at point-five-six lights . . . We’re well within the rear picket line . . . None of the pickets we identified are turning toward us . . . None are powering up. No signs of any abnormal activity in our vicinity . . . Wait a minute!”
Gant worked at her console frantically, and York kept his mouth shut. “There’s one ship ten AUs off our port bow, another fourteen off our stern, but we were tracking their vectors before we made transition and they haven’t changed course. No signs of anyone else suddenly powering up.”
“McGeahn,” York growled. “What’s on the com?”
She hesitated. “Well there’s lot’s of stuff, sir. We’re in Luna system, you know.”
York lost his patience. “Yes, Miss McGeahn. And if anyone picked up an unauthorized transition, or anything out of place, there’d be a system-wide intruder alert on every channel, and all hell would be breaking loose.”
“Oh, sir. Sorry, sir. Didn’t think of that, sir.”
McGeahn switched channels several times, listened to each carefully. “Nothing, sir. Just a lot of chatter, and the usual traffic. Though the Watch Commander at Luna TC is giving that freighter captain hell. Nothing else, sir.”
York looked at his screens. Traffic flowed in front of them, behind them, over them, under them, everywhere, some military and some civilian. York looked up from his screens and glanced around the bridge.
They were all looking at him, waiting. “We . . . made it. Yes, we made it.”
They waited for several seconds, then suddenly McGeahn let out a yelp, and they all cheered.
“We coast for another day or two,” York told Cassandra and Lady d’Hart. “Get right into the heart of the system. We’re still in danger here, but the closer in we get the better chance we have.”
Cassandra frowned. “Why not just announce ourselves now? I have a grand speech all written up. We can saturate the media with my face and a wonderfully happy report of our successful escape from the clutches of the evil DCO. Surely they wouldn’t try anything now.”
York shook his head. “We’re still out far enough they can jam our signal. We’ve got two rings of picket ships behind us, an inner ring of orbital weapons platforms in front of us. I’d like to get within that, get inside heliopause. It’ll then be difficult for anyone to make an accurate transition toward us, and impossible for them to use their transition batteries with any accuracy unless they’re right on top of us. Less chance for them to jam us, more time for you to broadcast.”
Cassandra smiled. “You’re the expert, Captain. At least let me congratulate you, and thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We’re now in the most dangerous part of this. We’re at a good targeting distance for them, and we’re too close to run.”
Cassandra waved the comment off, but when York left he remembered that Lady d’Hart had frowned, as if that were terribly upsetting news.
“. . . I don’t know where I am, but I’m all right.”
Sylissa d’Hart watched the screen on her terminal go blank, had to force herself not to cry. She’d watched the recording of her son a dozen times, had struggled almost continuously with the choice before her. They had Andrew. They had her son and there was nothing she could do to help him.
She reached out to play the card again, realized she was only torturing herself. Juessik had said she would know the right moment. They had Andrew, and now she must choose.
CHAPTER 33: HONOR ABANDONED
Bella Tzecharra tried to conceal her uneasiness. Five admirals—Bargan Abraxa, Andralla Schessa, Johan Soladin, Katrine d’Avollo and Shinton Diego; respectively the Dukes and Duchesses de Maris, de Vena, de Satarna, de Tarris and de Uranna—one slip and Tzecharra’s career would end. “We’ve confirmed their course, Your Grace. If the Kinathin armada continues on its present course they’ll transit into Lunan nearspace in just under eight days.”
Andralla Schessa leaned forward pensively. Next to Abraxa, Tzecharra feared her more than any of the others. “You say if. Where else would they go?”
“The Kinathins are not fools, and they have no way of knowing the chaos that has resulted here in Third Fleet. After the defeat at Aagerbanne they could guess that Third Fleet is not strong enough to engage them directly, but they would still expect fairly strong resistance. So I can’t believe they intend to just transit directly to Luna.”
Schessa nodded her approval. “Very good reasoning.”
Diego interrupted her. “But we all know the rebellion of Leonavich’s officers has rendered Third Fleet incapable of any resistance. So that leaves Home Fleet as the only formidable battle force we have between Luna and an armada of a hundred Kinathin warships. And I doubt if any of us wants to trust our lives to Home Fleet.”
