“I must strongly urge the need for immediate action, Madam President,” Orlova stressed. “We don't know what they are planning, but I cannot imagine it will be good. We've got to move as quickly as we can.”
“A five-day delay doesn't hurt,” Ryan said, peering over the President's shoulder. “Let us do this our way, Captain. Once we've completed our own feasibility study, I'm sure we'll grant approval.”
Orlova shut off the channel, shook her head, and said, “What the hell is their problem?”
The door opened, and Salazar stepped in, saying, “They said no? Did I hear that right?”
“You did,” she said, shaking her head.
“We'll go anyway,” Deveraux said. “I can get our squadron up to your ship...”
“And throw away your career,” Orlova replied.
“I think I can guarantee to provide any of your pilots with gainful employment, Lieutenant,” Ixtab offered. “We trained you. We know your skills, and our fleet could make good use of them.”
“There you go,” Deveraux said. “Captain, we all know what is at stake here, and do you think that a squadron that's already volunteered for an assignment like this would have any qualms about what it might do to their career? Besides, after the mission is over, do you think the President will disclaim our actions?” Shaking his head, he'll said, “We'll shame them into silence.”
Frowning, Orlova said, “We'll have to do this carefully. Can you sneak the components we need up to Alamo?”
“They can't, but I can,” Ixtab said. “That will cost you one credit.”
“One credit?” she asked.
“I've got to balance the books somehow. Don't worry, you can owe it to me.” He paused, then added, “As I said, Captain, I owe you.” Turning to Deveraux, he added, “Send me a list. I'll see that it's sent up to Alamo over the next forty-eight hours. We'll sneak it up a bit at a time on routine supply flights.”
“I'll get it to you right away,” the pilot replied. “Pavel, we'd better get you and Barbara back into the simulators. We might as well make all the use we can of this time.” He smiled, then added, “Captain, there'll be a request for orbital training coming your way in a few hours.”
“I think I can promise a favorable response.” She looked at her watch, and said, “How long will you need to get this all ready, without attracting too much attention from the authorities?”
“Seventy hours,” Deveraux said, glancing at a nodding Salazar. “Fighter launch in sixty, strike ten hours later.” He smiled, and added, “Right after the wedding, actually.”
“Then the mission is approved, gentlemen, for seventy hours from now. Pass your reports to me through Harper, on Daedalus. I'll have to brief Colonel Skeuros privately.”
“You realize, I presume, that the government of Copernicus will likely lodge a protest against this action,” Ixtab replied.
“Let them. If they do, I'll make it public.”
Shaking his head, Deveraux replied, “Do that, and I suspect the President would find herself impeached in a matter of hours. They'll keep it quiet. Trust me.” Shaking his head, he added, “The curse of it is, I suspect they're trying to protect us. We lost so many people in that first attack, the top brass have become gun-shy.”
“And you?”
Snapping to attention, he replied, “Ninth Intercept, reporting for duty, ma'am.”
Chapter 16
Harper shook her head as she read the report from the surface, the outline of the planned covert assault. In disgust, she dropped the datapad to her lap, Scott looking across from her console in concern.
“Something wrong, Kris?” she asked.
“Those damn fools on the planet are trying to block the strike on the base.”
“You're joking.”
“Oh, they're more than happy to let us do the work for them, that isn't a problem, but when it comes to committing their own forces, it's an untested mission plan with a high risk factor.” Shaking her head, she added, “They're claiming that they can't spare a single fighter from planetary defense operations.”
“I can't say I blame them,” Scott replied, glancing back at her console for a moment. Daedalus was in the middle of deploying the final satellite in the defensive network, ensuring that it was properly positioned and that the systems were fully operational. “They've been under siege for months, and it makes sense that they wouldn't want to risk further attack.”
Gesturing at the viewscreen, Harper said, “They're still under siege, Kat. Until that Xandari garrison is wiped out, any safety they might be feeling is purely illusionary, and if I know that, their so-called experts must as well.” Shaking her head, she added, “Maybe we ought to just pull out, let them get on with it. We paid a high enough price to free this world already, and it's time they took their share of the bill.”
“They're scared, Kris,” Scott said.
“Who isn't? You can't let that influence your decision-making” With a sigh, she added, “I'll be glad to get out of here. This can become someone else's problem, and as far as I'm concerned, they're welcome to it.”
Shaking her head, Scott replied, “Are we going back to the original plan? Mount an orbital bombardment?”
“I haven't a clue. All I know is that I have a special meeting with the Captain some time tomorrow, over on the Red Avenger. Don't ask me why we're holding it on a Neander ship rather than on Alamo, but I know all of the squadron commanders will be there.”
“Sounds like fun. What do you think we'll do?”
“If I know Maggie Orlova, we won't be pulling out with that base intact, that much I do know.” Looking at the sensor display, she added, “How are you coming with our last bird?”
“Final start-up sequence now. I think we're about ready for a weapons test.” Looking across at the sensor display, she said, “Spaceman, find me something to shoot at.”
“Already on it,” he replied. “How about a nice piece of debris, ma'am? Three meters wide, orbit a little higher than the network. I've got positive sensor track, and it's in range of Satellites Two, Three and Four for another two minutes.”
“Sounds good to me,” Harper replied. “Ingram, notify Alamo and Surface Command that we're about to conduct a live-fire test, and that I recommend all orbital installations go to standby alert. Kat, do that here, as well. Just in case.”
“Aye, ma'am,” Scott replied, turning to a microphone. “All decks, proceed to standby alert for weapons systems test. Repeat, all decks to standby alert.”
“Warming up engines,” Armstrong added from the helm. “Preparing evasive course.”
“Signal from Alamo,” Ingram said. “We're clear to proceed at our discretion.”
“We're ready here,” Scott said. “I'm bringing the network to combat mode.” She entered a sequence of commands into her console, data streaming down the display, and paused, before more violently continuing with the sequence. “Something's wrong.”
Harper rose from her chair, walking over to her, and asked, “What?”
“Combat mode is active, but the network isn't responding to my commands. It's stuck on autonomous mode, and I can't seem to disable it.”
Sliding into the electronic warfare station, Harper looked up at her monitors and added, “There's a rogue signal. Damn it, I should have known they'd try something like this. It's got to be the Xandari.”
“How the hell could they do that?” Scott asked. “It's a laser communications network. There's no way for anyone to hack into it.”
“Someone's obviously found one,” Harper said, loading intrusion programs into her system. “Ingram, I'm going to need the highest-bandwidth laser you can give me, focused on Satellite Two. Then issue an emergency alert for all ships to get out of range as fast as they can.”
“What about the station?” the communications technician asked.
“Safest place in the system,” she replied. “They'll want to capture it intact. It's the fleet that's at risk. Move it!”
Alarms sounded across the ship as Daedalus moved to battle stations, Armstrong gunning the engines to guide them to safety, while Harper frantically worked to infiltrate the now-hostile network. Everything Scott said was true. These satellites were meant to be invulnerable to attack, only accessible by ultra-tight-beam laser. You'd have to be in the right position at the right time to block the beam, and they would have picked up a launch from the refinery long before it had made it to orbit.
All around, ships scrambled, lurching to high acceleration as they attempted to get out of firing range. Most of them were moving too slowly, crews not reacting to the alert as they should, and the satellites began to reorient themselves as they looked for a firing solution, preparing to unleash a wave of destruction that would leave them easy prey for a Xandari assault.
“Nothing from the hendecaspace point,” Arkhipov said. “Or from the lunar refinery. They're just sitting there, ma'am.”
Shaking her head as her fingers danced across her console, Harper cursed as the system blocked her access. She'd helped design the security systems for the control software, and knew where all the weak spots were, the little holes she'd left for herself to exploit should the need arise. As fast as she worked in, someone else overrode her, using sheer brute force to push her out of the systems. Whoever it was had ten times the bandwidth to work with that she did, must be close enough to be right on top of her.
“No sign of activity on the satellites themselves?” Harper asked, but Arkhipov shook his head.
“Not a thing, ma'am. Just a slow rotation for target acquisition.”
“We'll be out of the fire in a hundred and sixty seconds,” Armstrong said.
“I've got a salvo in the tubes now, set for defensive pattern,” Scott added.
“Fire at will,” Harper said. She paused, looked across at Scott, then said, “And get me a firing solution on Satellite Two. I can't even access the auto-destruct, and we might have to bring them down.”
“Seems like a hell of a waste,” Armstrong said, shaking her head. “That's exactly what the Xandari will be wanting us to do. Three days to get this network set up, and we already had the components prepared. It'd be a week to do it again, and no guarantee the same thing wouldn't happen next time.”
Harper turned back to her station, her intrusion programs still struggling to make headway. None of this should be happening. Tapping a control, she brought up the laser communications grid, scanning for any additional sources, then pulsed a high-volume data spurt through the system. At once, she saw an anomaly, the link-up between Satellite Two and Satellite Three slightly reduced.
Rising so fast she made her chair spin behind her, she raced for the sensor station, diving for the controls as she scanned the location of the data drain, throwing the filters to their maximum magnification as Arkhipov looked over her shoulder. There had to be something there, along the beam, and after a few seconds, she found it. A piece of debris, ten meters across, a quarter mile away from the path of the laser, trailing a thin cable behind it, drifting into the path of the beam. Tapping a control to feed the location to the helm, she turned with a triumphant smile on her face.
“Get us to that location, helm,” she said. “Kat, I'm going to need a firing solution on that piece of debris, and I want it yesterday.”
“Going to be tough,” Scott replied, turning to her station, struggling to focus her targeting computer. “That's a lot smaller than anything we usually hit.”
“Missile launch!” Arkhipov yelled. “Satellite Three, two missiles, bearing directly!”
“Hell,” Harper said, Daedalus rocking back as Scott responded in kind, trajectory tracks swinging towards each other on the sensor screen. That was only a small fraction of the capacity of the network, a warning shot across the bows. Sooner or later, the fleet would regain control of the satellites; the Xandari wanted them to be forced to destroy it first, leaving Copernicus open to an attack. Harper moved back to her chair as Daedalus' engine roared, throwing it onto the projected course.
“Satellite Four!” Arkhipov yelled. “Three missiles, heading for the Long Shot.”
“Signal from Major Tlodoc,” Ingram added. “He's setting up an attack run on Satellites Five and Six, and wants to coordinate with us.”
“Tell him to hold off!” Harper said. “I don't care what you tell him or how you do it, Spaceman, but you've got to stop that attack from being pressed home!” The technician glanced back and forth, and she stepped over to him, snatched a headset, and said, “Major, this is Lieutenant Harper. Do not, repeat, do not launch an attack on the satellite network. We'll have it back under control in a minute, and the last thing we need are panicking fools throwing missiles around. Daedalus out.”
Shaking her head, Scott said, “That's going to go down well, Kris.”
“As long as it holds him,” she replied. “How are you doing?”
“I think I've got a weapons lock. I'll have to use all four missiles to be certain of it, and that's going to leave us defenseless if they try a last-minute strike.”
“We don't have a choice,” Harper said. “Commit.” She moved back to her command chair as the ship curved onto its course. Ahead of them, the missiles they had launched earlier met a fiery end as they smashed into the enemy warheads, clearing a safe path for them towards the invisible target. She leaned forward, looking at the sensor display, only the highest-magnification shot revealing their target.
To the rear, another ship, one of the Koltoc, sped after them, supporting their attack run, but there was no way they could reach them in time to do any good. All across the network, sensors were tracking allied ships as they raced for the safety of high orbit, leaving the planet totally undefended. If a Xandari fleet arrived now, they'd have no chance of putting up a cohesive defense.
“Thirty seconds to target,” Scott said, the bridge silent once more as the crew prepared to launch the attack, waiting for the best firing position. Ahead, Satellite Three beckoned, swinging around towards them, surely about to unleash a six-missile salvo that would wipe them out. As she expected, Arkhipov turned, a grim look on his face.
“Energy spike, ma'am. Four missiles, bearing directly.”
“Only four,” Armstrong said, “They're leaving us a choice, then.”
“Golden rule, Midshipman,” Harper said. “Never do what the enemy wants you to do. Press the attack, Kat.”
Seconds later, Daedalus rocked as her missiles raced forward, shooting towards the small fragment of debris that was their target, heedless of the approaching swarm of missiles. A series of explosions rippled across the screen, and Scott turned with a triumphant smile.
“That did it! We've got full control of the network.”
“Evasive, Armstrong!” Harper said, and the young officer dived at her controls, sending the ship racing away from the chasing missiles, trying to gain speed. “Scott, can the network do anything for us?”
“Three's still reloading, and Two's too far away,” she said, shaking her head. “Impact in thirty-one seconds.” Looking across at the next console, she added, “They're on guidance from the refinery. We'd never hack into their systems in the time.”
“Signal from Major Tlodoc,” Ingram said. “He warns us to watch out for flying missiles.”
“That's not funny,” Scott said, bitterly.
“No!” Arkhipov said. “Profitable Venture is launching a missile spread! Four in the air!”
Harper sat forward, a smile spreading across her face as the two salvos approached each other, the nimble Koltoc warheads surging forward, easily passing Daedalus and standing between them and destruction. The end was inevitable, a ripple of destruction skimming through space, the sensor display clear once again.
“Tell the good Major I owe
him a drink,” she said, turning to Ingram. “Scott, take the satellite network off-line. We're going to have to go over the safeguards again.” Sighing, she added, “Arkhipov, contact Alamo, and see what we can do about clearing this orbit of debris. I'd bet that wasn't the only little surprise they left for us.”
Copernicus' moon rose over the planet, a shimmering blue ball holding their deadliest foe. They'd been lucky to survive this attack. The next time might be a different story. She looked up at the countdown clock, fifty hours remaining before they could leave the system. It couldn't come soon enough for her.
Chapter 17
Cooper rubbed the sweat from his forehead with his dirt-stained hand, looking down at the trench he was working on. In the background, he could hear Lydia Clark, Alamo's resident archaeologist, engaged in the latest round of a long argument with the local scientific team, laced with incomprehensible jargon. He'd been told to carefully dig in this area, just in front of one of the larger pillars, and that was good enough for him.
He spotted something white in the dirt, and gently worked around it with a brush, belatedly remembering to snap a picture of the area with his datapad. As soon as it had become apparent that the space around Sol had been the home of long-dead alien races, a few years ago, he and all other Triplanetary Fleet personnel had been dragooned into a short course to teach him how to function on a dig site, but there had been so few trained experts that it had been just another one of a thousand lectures, this one by a Sergeant who had little more idea of the subject he was discussing than the class he had attempted to teach.
A scream of cursed invective from the far side of the dig site set him looking up, as Clark raced over to Private Saltzman, also knee deep in the dirt, snatching away his trowel and berating him over some textbook error. He wasn't the only member of that boarding team who had decided to take a little time to recover. Almost half a dozen were down here somewhere, and another squad was on leave in the city.
Not that they weren't ready for action. His communicator sat nestled in his pocket, ready for instant recall, and a shuttle was waiting at the local military base, just under a mile away. If the need arose, they'd be back on Alamo within ten minutes, and that was considerably less time than it would take any ship to reach orbit from the hendecaspace point.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles Page 14
