by Isaac Hooke
“My calculations were correct,” Maxwell said. “But luck and probabilities always factor into such a long distance throw. Maybe the accretion disk was heavier than our initial readings suggested, and slowed down the incoming debris too much. Maybe the particular surface area of the main sequence star where the debris struck has excellent convection properties, and dispersed the geronium as it came in. Maybe the magnetic loops in the star were too far apart for the geronium to cause a short circuit. There are so many factors that could have influenced the outcome.”
Jonathan waited several moments longer, then sighed. “Perhaps too many.” The first part of the strategy had failed.
He was about to give the order to begin deorbital burn when the external video feed became completely white.
“Ops, report!” he said. At first he thought the given external camera had burned out due to the EMP-like effect of charged particles interacting with its electronics, but in theory that shouldn’t be possible, not when shipboard instruments used the entire hull as a voltage ground. And if it had burned out, the display would be black, not white.
“Starboard hull temperature critical at five thousand Kelvin,” Lewis said urgently.
“Looks like our geronium achieved the necessary critical mass after all!” Robert said.
“Radiation levels?” Jonathan asked the ops station.
“High,” Lewis answered. “The ship is averaging one mSv per second, now. Or sixty mSv per minute. Though that’s still far below what we’d be hit with if we were above the subgiant’s horizon.”
So the outer layers of the subgiant were sparing them from the majority of the relativistic particles after all, and its surface was heating up massively in the process, though higher than Maxwell had predicted. Or perhaps the temperatures the fleet was experiencing came directly from the flare itself—while the temperatures could range anywhere between ten million and twenty million Kelvin inside the solar explosion, heat dissipated incredibly quickly in space, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable for some of the thermal radiation to reach the fleet at five thousand degrees. Even so, the enemy task unit two would likely be experiencing four times that temperature if they were lucky, and two thousand times that if they were not.
A streak of light appeared in Jonathan’s vision. It wasn’t caused by his aReal, but was likely the result of an energetic proton interacting with his optic nerve. So much for all that shielding. He was suddenly very glad for the subdermal patch he wore.
“Hull temperature five thousand three hundred Kelvin,” Lewis said.
“Helm, fire lateral thrusters,” the captain said. “Rotate our ventral section toward the star. Give the starboard heat armor a respite.”
“Aye Captain,” the helmsman said.
After the rotation was complete, the damaged port side would still face away from the sun, and the Avengers, mounted on the dorsal and port sides, would remain shielded from the heat and radiation.
Slowly, too slowly, the ship began to rotate. The bridge compartment shuddered in complaint.
A call from Stanley appeared on the captain’s aReal. He was reluctant to take it, because he knew what the chief engineer was going to say.
“What is it, Lieutenant Commander?” Jonathan said after accepting.
“What the hell are you doing to my ship up there?” Stanley screamed over the comm.
“I went over the briefing with you,” Jonathan said. “The subgiant was expected to heat up a bit.”
“A bit!” Stanley exclaimed. “Our hull is only rated to withstand a temperature of forty five hundred Kelvin... not fifty-three! And for short periods of time. Short! As in seconds!”
“We’re working on alleviating that,” Jonathan said.
“Hull temperature five thousand four hundred Kelvin,” Lewis said.
“Damn it, Jon, move the ship to a higher orbit,” Stanley transmitted.
“You know as well as me that we’ll never be able to move to a higher orbit in time,” Jonathan said. “The Delta V costs are extremely high at the moment. In any case, I’m kind of busy at the moment. Captain out.”
He terminated the connection before Stanley could raise the inevitable objection.
The captain stared at the temperature reading on the display and held his breath as the ship continued to rotate all too slowly.
Jonathan clenched his jaw. “Natural flares never last this long.”
“This isn’t a natural flare,” Robert reminded him. “Maybe more of our original geronium is continuing to impact the companion star, feeding it.”
“Wouldn’t the flare push it away?” Jonathan said.
“Well then maybe it’s just taking the subgiant time to dissipate all that resultant heat.” The commander paused, his eyes defocusing. And then he added urgently: “We’re rotating too slowly.”
“Miko,” the captain said. “Have the Avengers strapped to our hull dial their recoil buffers way back. I want them to prepare to fire a concerted missile blast to aid the lateral thrusters.”
“They’re ready, sir,” Miko replied a moment later.
“Fire,” Jonathan said.
The ship’s rotation increased.
“Ventral section now facing the star,” the helmsman reported a few seconds later.
“The cooling system built into the starboard hull is finally having an effect,” Ensign Lewis announced from the ops station. “Starboard temperature is rapidly dropping to background levels. Meanwhile, ventral temperature is stabilizing at five thousand four hundred thirty Kelvin.”
“So we’ve bought some time,” Jonathan said.
“Will it be enough?” Robert asked.
“Helm, prepare to rotate the starboard side back into place,” Jonathan said. Like Stanley had mentioned, each section of the hull was only rated to withstand temperatures of up to four thousand five hundred Kelvin for a few seconds. Above those temperatures, the allowable exposure time would be even less.
Lewis spoke again. “Wait. Ventral temperature is now dropping.” She paused. “I’m reading four thousand. No, three. Two.” She looked up. “Ventral hull temperature has returned to the former high of nine hundred fifty Kelvin, and average radiation levels ship-wide have dipped to their previously moderate amounts.”
The white faded from the external video feed on his aReal and once more displayed the horizon of the subgiant, with the view interrupted by the occasional radiation interference.
Jonathan exhaled, wiping his forehead. “Status on the rest of the fleet?”
“They managed to similarly rotate different hull sections toward the sun,” the ensign responded. “Looks like minimal damage, fleet wide.”
He glanced at the tactical display. “Status on alien task units?”
“The vessels that were part of enemy task unit two are completely gone,” the ensign responded excitedly. “I’m seeing a debris pattern that is consistent with fifteen disintegrated vessels. There must have been a spectacular coronal mass ejection from the companion star. You did it, sir.”
“Royal flush, Captain,” Robert said.
“We haven’t won yet, Commander,” Jonathan said. “And if anyone deserves praise, it should be Miko and Maxwell.” He focused on the tactical display. “What about the other task units, ops?”
“Enemy task unit one remains intact, and is continuing its pursuit one hundred fifty thousand kilometers behind us,” Lewis answered. “Meanwhile ETU-F2 remains out of sight behind the subgiant, and ETU-F1 hasn’t moved from its remote stationary orbit.”
“Is it possible ETU-F2 was destroyed in the flare?” Jonathan asked.
“Unlikely, Captain,” Lewis responded. “Based on its current estimated position.”
Jonathan pursed his lips. The three ships of ETU-F2 would still intercept the human fleet from the front at some point as they looped around the subgiant, then. The trio that were part of the faraway ETU-F1, meanwhile, would be dealt with in a separate battle.
So with fifteen enemy vessels down, t
hat left three somewhere in front, and twelve immediately behind.
The human fleet was still outnumbered three to one, discounting the civilian ships. The odds of victory were slim.
The captain smiled grimly. I make my own odds.
thirty-four
Jonathan studied the pursuers. The enemy resided one hundred and fifty thousand kilometers behind them, and was closing. According to the CDC’s interpretation of the heat signatures and visual data, that group was composed of one laser ship, two capital ships, eight of the smaller dart vessels—including T300—and the new craft that looked like a pyramid built atop four stilts, which was larger than a dart ship but smaller than a capital ship.
The captain tapped his lips with two splayed fingers and a thumb. He zoomed in on the laser ship.
“The next phase of the plan won’t work,” Jonathan announced.
“No, it won’t,” Miko agreed.
The commander furrowed his brow beside Jonathan. “What are you two talking about?”
“Look at the laser ship,” the captain said.
Robert’s eyes defocused, indicating he was concentrating on his aReal. “The lens is intact.”
Jonathan nodded. “Yes. The scientists were wrong.”
Days ago, a large prominence had been detected on the surface of the subgiant. The original plan had called for the fleet to pass over that prominence in a higher orbit while lobbing mortars at the surviving enemy ships in pursuit. The scientists hoped the lenses of any pursuing laser ships would melt under the resulting extreme temperatures thanks to their exposed placements.
“The coming prominence won’t destroy the laser ship,” Jonathan continued. “We recorded temperatures in excess of five thousand Kelvin back there when the effects of the flare reached us. Apparently those lenses are amazing thermal conductors.”
“So much for well-laid plans,” Robert said, directing a slightly accusing glare at Miko.
Jonathan leaped to the tactical officer’s defense. “Plans are fluid, and meant to change with the ebbs and flows of battle. You know that, Commander. We’ll simply have to deal with it.”
Robert lowered his gaze. “Sorry sir. My apologies, Miko.”
Jonathan continued to tap his lips as he studied the tactical display. “I think I have a way to take out not just that laser ship, but perhaps all of them.” He lowered his hand. “Maxwell, how long would slugs last out there in those temperatures?”
“Slugs launched by the mag-rails?” the AI asked.
“That’s right,” Jonathan replied.
“The current batch of slugs in fleet inventories was harvested from an asteroid containing a high concentration of iron ore. As such, each slug is composed of approximately eighty-five percent iron. Since the melting point of said element is one thousand eight hundred eleven point fifteen Kelvin, the slugs will last indefinitely if launched into or above the current orbital plane. If hurled directly toward the subgiant, the slugs will eventually melt.”
Jonathan scratched his chin. “Maxwell, can you hit a target at a hundred and fifty thousand kilometers with those slugs?”
“Interesting question,” Maxwell intoned. “But I would like to point out that the mag-rails are meant for point-defense.”
“Just answer the question, Maxwell,” Jonathan said.
The AI was quiet for a moment. “If the enemy vessels continue on their current heading with the same acceleration, I can estimate a trajectory, yes. This is only an estimate, and the margin for error would be quite large at roughly plus or minus twenty percent.”
“Then you’ll simply have to fire the slugs in a dispersal pattern to make up for that margin of error.”
“By doing so, we will exhaust half of our supply.”
“Half?” Jonathan didn’t like the sound of that. “So what you’re saying is, we’ll only have the ability to fire two such waves, and then we’ll have nothing left for point defense, except Vipers?”
“That is correct. Unless you order the conversion of mortar inventory to slug inventory. Though it will take an hour before the first of the mortars are properly transferred and loaded into the processing machines, and another hour after the breakdown begins before the initial slugs are inserted into the mag-rail feed systems.”
Jonathan tapped his chin. “Schedule four mortars for the conversion. I want us to have at least some mag-rail point defenses in reserve a couple of hours from now.”
“Done,” Maxwell responded.
“If we fire the mag-rails as soon as possible,” Jonathan said. “At what range can we expect impact?”
“If launched now,” the AI returned. “The slugs will intercept when the enemy fleet is approximately one hundred and ten thousand kilometers behind us. The actual distance those slugs will have to cover is only seventy-two thousand kilometers, however.”
“Seventy-two thousand kilometers is a heck of a long way for a slug to travel and still hit anything with any accuracy,” Robert said. “The AI wasn’t lying when it said the margin for error was large.”
The commander was completely right of course. Like mortars, slugs had no propulsion, and therefore weren’t autocorrecting. Once launched, the trajectory was set for the lifetime of the slug.
Jonathan nodded. “That’s why we’re launching so many. Maxwell, when will the enemy detect the attack?”
“If their sensor capabilities are similar to our own,” the AI responded. “Detection will be limited to a few moments before impact. The enemy won’t notice the heat increase on our ships resulting from the initial firing, either, thanks to the elevated thermal levels of our hulls.”
Jonathan glanced at Robert. “What do you think?”
“It could work,” the commander said. “But we should add some mortars and X90s to the mix, timed to arrive at the same time as the slugs. Concentrate the bigger, detectable weapons on their starboard and port flanks. Herd them. Give them a path to take. Meanwhile, we fire the slugs straight down the middle and give them no choice but to dive when the incoming waves are detected.” Even without other kinetics coming in from an upper vector, it would take far too long to move to a higher atmosphere by the time the slugs were spotted, so the enemy would be forced to dive like the commander said.
“You’re forgetting that the X90s are liable to detonate prematurely because of the heat out there,” Jonathan said.
“I don’t think they’re that sensitive,” Robert said. “But fine, then fire mortars at the very least. They were sourced from the same iron ore as the slugs.”
Jonathan thought for a long moment. “No. If we fire anything detectable, they’ll change trajectories like you say, Commander. But they might veer far off course, well beyond where we aim our slugs. They might even initiate a deorbital burn early, to begin the long process of moving higher. Better if we fire the mag-rails alone and undetected, spreading the slugs to account for any predicted last-second evasive maneuvers.”
Robert nodded. “It’s your decision.”
“Maxwell,” Jonathan said. “Will we still have enough inventory for two waves if we spread the slugs beyond the margin of error, to account for any evasive action?”
“We will for the first wave,” the AI returned. “Though there will be less available for the second wave, and coverage will be minimal for some of the ships.”
Jonathan contemplated a moment longer, and then: “If we’re going to do this, let’s not get in each other’s way. Miko, separate the fleet. It’s time to skew our straight line of vessels into a diagonal. Maintain the same orbital height but have the ships behind us apply varying degrees of starboard thrust to spread out. Move us apart just enough to clear each other’s mag-rails. I don’t want to tip the enemy off by maneuvering too far. We should look like one long horizontal line to them.”
“On it,” the tactical officer replied.
“They’ll still think we’re up to something,” Robert said.
“Maybe. But they won’t know what.” Jonathan shifted in his seat
. “Maxwell, start putting together a mag-rail firing solution for Miko and the tactical officers of the other ships, using the tactics we just discussed. Target the laser ship with extreme prejudice, followed by the pyramid ship and the two capital ships. Include the remaining ships, but give them a lower priority.”
“By lower priority,” Maxwell said. “You mean target them with fewer slugs, thereby reducing the probability of their destruction?”
“Yes,” Jonathan said. “And exclude T300 from the targeting solution entirely. Prepare two waves. In the second wave, use only enough so that we’re left with twenty-five percent of our slug inventory. I want some rounds left over for a third wave.”
“If I leave twenty-five percent of the slug inventory intact for a third wave, I can only target eight ships on the second wave,” Maxwell said. “I assume you want me to include the laser ship, the pyramid ship, and the capital ships in that second wave of targeting?”
“I do,” the captain said. “Those ships you mentioned need to be taken out at all costs. I want the first and second waves launched three seconds apart. Target the second wave underneath the given vessels.”
“You’re assuming the enemy ships are going to dive out of the way when they detect the first wave,” Robert stated.
“I am,” Jonathan said. “Their captains will have to make a split-second decision, and given the spread of the first wave, diving will be the best option.”
“And if Maxwell gets his timing right,” the commander said. “The targets will dive right into the second wave of projectiles.”
“That’s the hope,” Jonathan said.
“Shall I prepare a third wave?” Maxwell asked.
“No,” the captain answered. “Hold off indefinitely on the third wave.”
“Preparing firing solution,” Maxwell said.
Jonathan thrummed his fingers impatiently. “Maxwell?”
“Processing,” the AI returned.
Jonathan waited a few more seconds. “Maxwell.”
“Leading a target at over a hundred and forty-seven thousand kilometers away with mag-rails is a computationally intensive task,” Maxwell returned. “Some patience is in order.”
