Sertian Princess

by Peter Kenson

  David gave her a grateful smile. "Good. Finish your weapons check and get ready. We'll be off in only a few minutes now."

  As she turned away, Sam's voice came through as if on cue. "The Palomar's coming up to the inner defence ring now, boss."

  "Ok Sam. Give me a status check on our friends."

  "The Aldebaran's on her way to Quental again. The Antares and that captured Rigellian frigate haven't moved yet: looks like the repairs to the main drives of the Mastodon are taking longer than expected. And the Cleopatra's well on her way to Serta but we still haven't been able to raise her."

  "Still?" David looked up in surprise. "They can't still be out of phase with us surely."

  "That probability is currently down to 38.6% and decreasing all the time. Most likely explanation now is some sort of equipment malfunction."

  "Do we know where she is?"

  "Oh yes, boss. She shows up OK in the tank. She's on course for Serta and bang on schedule. We just can't talk to her, is all."

  "Well keep trying to raise her, and let me know as soon as there's any change in her status."

  "Yes boss."

  "Ok Sam, clear the area and prepare for launch."

  As the klaxons blared out their strident alarm and the ground crews scattered for cover, David led Prince Gerald and Brianey aboard the shuttle and watched as the outer airlock door sealed. Inside, the main passenger compartment was already crowded with the areas around the main and emergency airlocks occupied by Sergeant Harrides and his five guardsmen. Bulky in their full battle armour, each took up the space of two ordinary people.

  The guardsmen were clustered around the exits in order to be the first out when the shuttle hit the spacefield, to take out the local ground defence systems. Behind them Julia had organised a full attack team of 12 of the bodyguard, split into three groups. The largest group comprised the specialist marksmen, armed with laser rifles to immobilise any ground vehicles and gas grenades for the guards that would be around the hostages. Then there were the two 2-man snatch squads, fast and mobile to get the hostages themselves. And finally there was a medical team in case anything went badly wrong.

  While Prince Gerald stayed with the Imperial Guard, David and Brianey went through to the flight deck. Julia was already seated in the copilots position, going through the prelaunch checks with the onboard computers. David lowered himself into the command seat and Brianey, as was her right as duty bodyguard, took the third position.

  The shuttles own system lights were all green but Julia methodically completed the routine checks anyway.

  "All systems green, my lord," she reported formally. "Shuttle's ready for launch."

  David glanced to his left at the auxiliary display which was relaying the status of the docking bay itself. As soon as the last of the auxiliary lights flashed green, he pushed the button to transmit the Shuttle Ready signal and release the interlock on the docking bay doors.

  The giant doors swung open and the shuttle shuddered slightly as the tractor beams reached out from the roof and walls of the dock and lifted her clear of the floor. On one of the exterior screens he could see the penetrator with Corin at the controls, already passing through the force screen at the entrance to the dock. Then it was the turn of the shuttle to be carried through the shimmering screen and into the void beyond.

  He kicked in the main drive units as the tractor beams released their hold on the shuttle and, with Corin taking station on his right wing, locked onto the course pre-set in the navigation computers.

  The first leg of their approach was to be a steep dive, down past the second planet and towards the Parmian sun. This was planned to give them two vital advantages. First, they could use the gravitational pull of the planet and then of the star to whip them around and accelerate them towards the innermost planet without producing too much of a radiation flare from the use of the shuttles own drives. Second, approaching the heavily defended base from out of the sun would help to mask any residual image which they might generate on the defence system screens.

  It was sheer bad luck, therefore, that just 15 seconds into the dive the proximity alarms exploded into raucous life, warning of an imminent collision. David switched the shuttle back onto manual and made a grab for the controls, pulling her round in a high-g turn as the other ship flashed by.

  "What the hell..." he muttered as a barrage of angry yells and complaints came through from the passenger compartment.

  "Go talk to them Bri. Calm them down and check there's no injuries.

  "Corin," into the communicator. "What the hell was that and where did she come from?"

  "I've got her in view, my lord. It's a large Atraxa class freighter of the type used for mining operations. Course indicates she's just left a low-level parking orbit around Parm II. We'll have to do something about her quickly though. She's screaming for help on all emergency frequencies."

  "Ok Corin. Stay on her," David ordered and hurriedly switched communication channels.

  "Sam, jam those bloody transmissions. And give me a complete scan of that freighter. I want to know if she's armed.

  "Julia, get us back on course and boost the power to make up the time we've lost."

  David punched in one of the emergency channels on the communicator. The freighter, apparently called the Parmine IV, was still broadcasting frantically. Suddenly the transmission cut off in mid-sentence and there was only white noise left on the channel. In the sudden silence he could feel Julia pulling the shuttle back round onto course as Brianey slipped back into her seat.

  "No real problems back there, my lord. A few bruises and a bit of wounded pride, that's all."

  "Ok, thanks Bri.

  "Sam, have you got that scan yet?"

  "Yeah, she's clean boss. Those Atraxa class vessels can be adapted to fit weapons pods, but there's no sign of any military hardware on this one."

  "Hm, a pity. If she's strictly civilian, we can't just blast her out of space. Can you induce a bit of positive feedback in her transmitter loops instead, Sam? Overload a few circuits and keep her off the air for a while?"

  "Sure thing boss. But I think we're a bit too late. I'm tapped in to the main comms channel on their defence net, and there's lights going on all over the board."

  "Do it anyway. And have the probes start a run. If they're looking for intruders, let's give them some."

  "Ok boss."

  "Julia, how much time have we lost dodging round that bloody freighter?"

  "Just over 2 minutes 37 seconds so far, my lord, and still increasing. It'll be another 30 odd seconds before we start pulling time back."

  "Can't we do any better than that?"

  "I've got her opened up as far as she'll go, my lord. She just isn't built for speed."

  "Can we still make it on time?"

  "No my lord. We were aiming to hit the field exactly 10 minutes after the Palomar touched down. Now NavComp's calculated an optimum flight path which has us on full boost past halfway and then using the boosters again to help slow down. Even then we get there over a minute late and we'll be blazing like a torch in the sky, all the way in."

  "And that means the Palomar's bound to be alerted," he continued. "So they'll accelerate the DeCon procedures and whisk the hostages away before we get anywhere near the spacefield."

  He sat back in thought, considering this analysis of the situation, his fingers drumming idly on the command panel. The two women, Julia and Brianey, watched him for what seemed like an age but was probably only about 30 seconds, until he suddenly snapped upright again.

  "Right Julia. Turn this tub around and get us back on board the Salamander as fast as you can."

  "What are you going to do, my lord?"

  "Patience, patience. I'll explain in a minute. For now, just concentrate on making the fastest rendezvous you can with the Salamander."

  "Yes my lord."

  "Bri, ask Prince Gerald to come forward a minute, please."

  As he waited for the prince to appear, Dav
id could feel the vibration through the structure of the shuttle, warning that the drive units were pouring out close to the maximum amount of energy that the hull could stand. The shuttle was turning rapidly again now, as Julia pulled her round towards the Salamander.

  "You sent for me, Lord David?" Prince Gerald arrived on the flight deck and dropped into the third seat.

  "Yes. We have a small difficulty. All that ducking and weaving has caused us to lose time: time we cannot make up even if we go in all the way on full burn. So unless we do something dramatic, we're going to hit the spacefield late and, by the time we get there, the entire Parm Defence Network will be on full alert waiting for us and the hostages will be gone."

  Contrasting emotions of worry and amusement flickered across the face of the young officer.

  "A small difficulty," he repeated. "If that's a small difficulty, I should hate to see a large one. So, what is this dramatic action we shall have to take?"

  "I'm going to use the Salamander to jump us right on top of the spacefield. Then we use the shuttle just for the final drop down to the ground."

  "But you can't," Julia burst out. "You can't jump a ship the size of the Salamander in so close to a planetary mass. You can't calculate the gravitational field that accurately."

  "If the shuttle had subspace capability, I would use her instead. But she doesn't, so it has to be the Salamander. Now Sam has enough information on Parm I to calculate a point of re-emergence directly above the spacefield. That's not affected by gravitational anomalies. What we can't do with any certainty, is predict whether we'll be 50 kilometres above the field or 500."

  "Or 5 kilometres under," Julia added. "My lord, it's madness. It can't be done."

  "Yes it can. There is a risk involved, but it would take a massive field peturbation to drag us that far down. It can be done, and it's the only chance we have left to make up that lost time."

  "I agree with Lord David," Prince Gerald put in. "I have heard stories of such jumps in my father's palace. There are a few Space Captains brave enough to attempt such a jump and some skilled enough to succeed. Maybe Lord David is one of them, I don't know. But if we can truly do it, it will put us inside their inner cordon. There'll be nothing between us and the spacefield."

  "Well, you shouldn't believe everything you hear," David grinned. "But I happen to know that some of those stories are true. Salamander can do it but I need to be back on board to use the main Navigation Computers. I want to calculate those jump coordinates myself."

  CHAPTER 22

  "What the hell's going on out there?"

  Colonel Dak Hendrick, Chancellor of Parm, was experiencing an increasing sense of helplessness, a rising tide of inevitability that had the potential, he sensed, somehow to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Trapped aboard the bridge of the Palomar, able only to monitor the noisy and increasing traffic on the main Defence Channel, he was beginning to feel that events were slipping beyond his control.

  All the way back from the raid on the Aldebaran he had kept the ship on full alert, constantly looking for the counter attack, the possible rescue attempt. But by the time he reached the outer limits of his own Defence Network, he permitted himself to relax sufficiently to receive the expressions of congratulation from his officers. Mixed with the congratulations there was, he recognised, a considerable feeling of relief. They had survived the raid but they had paid a terrible price. Thirty seven of their crew were missing or known to be dead and the Ragnar, pride of the Vostovian fleet had been completely destroyed by that unknown ship.

  The unknown ship. That, he admitted, was the main cause of his unease. The Imperial Corvette they had expected to be there and, on her own, would have posed no threat. But that other ship...... Who was she? And how had she destroyed the Ragnar so easily?

  But they had not been followed or attacked in deep space where they were most vulnerable. The veiled threats he had put out about the safety of the hostages had obviously had the required effect. Now, as they were entering behind the shelter of the interlocking series of patrols and automatic defence satellites that formed the Parm Space Defences, he ought to be feeling more secure. Instead there were all these reports.

  It had all started with the sighting by that ore carrier out of Parm II: some kind of shuttle craft apparently. But how did a shuttle get that deep into the defences? Then the mining ship mysteriously went silent. One of the patrol craft had found the freighter again on radar, apparently intact, but could not get any sort of signal from her. Of the shuttle craft, there was no sign.

  Then there were a whole series of reported sightings of small craft, maybe probes, maybe one-man fighters, suddenly appearing and then just as quickly vanishing again. Where did they come from? Craft that small had a limited range. Where was the mother ship?

  And now, one of the nuclear cells of DefSat 26, one of the inner ring satellites, had suddenly gone critical, blowing a gaping hole in their inner defences. It could have been an accident: the satellite had not reported itself under attack. But with all these other reports, Hendrick felt that an accident was stretching coincidence a little too far.

  "What the hell's going on out there?" he repeated.

  The assembly of ships officers clustered around him remained silent. Not for the first time he wished he had taken that arms salesman's offer last year to equip the Palomar as a Command Ship. But the cost had been astronomical and the sales of Biridium had been down that year

  "We still have time to abort the landing, Colonel," one of the officers offered hesitantly.

  "No, dammit. No", he snapped. "I need to see what's going on. I need to be in the Control Centre. The landing goes ahead. And make arrangements to have the prisoners transferred to the Administration Complex as soon as we land."

  The two minute warning was sounding as David climbed back in through the shuttles airlock and cycled it shut behind him. They had not grounded the shuttle on the docking bay floor but were holding it suspended by the tractor beams ready for a quick exit once the jump was complete. He settled back into the Command seat and started checking the controls. Once they broke through into normal space, they would register on every screen in the region. Seconds, fractions of seconds would then be of vital importance, especially as the shock of their appearance would be muted by the fact that every element of the Parm Defence force was currently trying desperately to find them.

  Sitting there as an enormous blip on every screen in the System, the Salamander would at last present them with a target, something on which the furiously searching patrol ships could converge. At the predicted point of re-emergence they would draw fire within seconds from at least two of the Defence Satellites of the Inner Ring. It would have been three but Corin had successfully taken one of them out. The number of patrol ships within range was harder to guess. As far as he could tell by monitoring the signals traffic, the patrol patterns they were using should keep them further out. They would have to turn and dive down towards the planet, and their glowing target. Precious minutes for him to drop the shuttle down to the spacefield.

  The immediate problem, though was the automatic DefSats. David was not concerned from the Salamanders' point of view: her screens could handle anything the satellites could throw at her. But unless he got the shuttle away from the Salamander before the satellites opened up, there was a chance that she might be hit by a power beam, either a loose shot originally or else deflected by the main screens. The more distance he could put between the shuttle and the Salamander before the lasers started crisscrossing the area, the safer he would feel.

  The 10 second warning. Time for one last prayer that they would not be too far above the planet: far enough but not too far. He had set the height for 50 kilometres: as fine as he dared and considerable closer than prudence would ordinarily have dictated. Spatial disorientation. Then it cleared and the bay doors were already opening, the tractor beams swinging the shuttle towards the increasing gap.

  Through the force screen, David fired th
e main drives and dived down towards the planet’s surface. It was close. Perhaps no more than 20-25 kilometres. They had emerged into the planet’s atmosphere and the shuttle was buffeted by the turbulence of the displaced air. Still, that had its compensations he reflected, as he battled with the controls. The volume of air displaced by a ship the size of the Salamander was enormous and the shock waves, both noise and wind, caused by the movement of that air, would further help to disorientate the ground defences.

  The spacefield grew rapidly now as the shuttle dropped down towards it. Through the cabin speakers he heard Sam announcing that the Palomar had landed a mere 5.7 seconds before they broke through. The timing was spot on so far. On the rear screen he saw the beams of purple light, lancing down towards the Salamander and dissipating in an iridescent splendour on her defence screens.

  He could see the Palomar now in a corner of the spacefield. Normal DeCon procedures would, he knew, take about 10 minutes. If they really hurried they could cut that in half or better: say 4 minutes for safety. He glanced at the chronometer on the control panel. One minute 15 seconds so far. He had less than two and three quarter minutes to land the shuttle and disembark the attack squads.

  Pulses of violet light flashed past him as the ground defences opened up. They were still aiming at the Salamander he saw with relief. They had not spotted the shuttle yet, either directly or on the radar screens, but it could not be much longer. On the ground now, even without any magnification, he could see the line of vehicles snaking its way out towards the freighter. That must mean that the shuttle itself would now be visible to the naked eye as a black dot, rapidly growing in size.

  Two minutes. He blessed the incompetence of the ground defence crews who were so preoccupied with the sight of the Salamander hovering like an enormous black disc above them, that they were oblivious to all else around. Less than 5 kilometres to go now. He relayed the fact on the intercom to the main cabin. And then the inevitable happened.