“Fledgling out.”
“Mother Bird out.”
Another agreed procedure was that he initiated all comm. The exception that Maria would send, if it happened, was the notification that she was overrun and losing control of CP.
He had three more locations to check in ring four. In unlocking a storage room, he found three women and two men, all original Beta Priamos maintenance. After explaining who he was and the situation as briefly as possible, he forestalled any more questions.
“I need weapons and I need people willing to wield them,” he said. “I’ve got an elevator to ambush.”
Missile with serial number 13628, from tube number sixteen, would be the first missile to reach its target recon point. It reversed its boost with force that would have jellied a biological organism and switched on its receiver, braking to its recon point in five seconds . . . three seconds . . . arrival recorded. It began its activity countdown and searched for a ship like the Candor Chasma within its area of responsibility.
“I just wish I knew the real story,” Matt muttered.
His agony had started when the Minoans tracked the Aether’s Touch tightly following the Terran ship Candor Chasma toward the inner system. Initially, he’d alternated between blaming Ari for endangering his ship and hoping that both would be safe. There wasn’t anything he could do but pace, waiting for the Minoans to get free of the minefield and hoping he could convince them to follow the ships in-system. He tried to get Warrior Commander to issue a hail, but his request was flatly denied.
Matt looked at the three-dimensional tracking. He couldn’t read the linear script the Minoans used as tags, but given the progress on the diagram, he guessed the ships were pushing the top-boost capability of Aether’s Touch. They were taking an elliptical path that would bring them closer to the sun than advised by his ship’s engineering specifications.
“What the hell is Ari doing?” he whispered to David Ray, pacing in front of the bench where the counselor sat.
David Ray shrugged and gave him a sympathetic grimace.
“Your ship appears to make mechanical course updates, as if performing on autopilot,” Warrior Commander said.
Matt stopped in his tracks, struck dumb by a third possibility: Muse 3 might be operating his ship, because Ari wouldn’t use autopilot in either close formation or pursuit. He exchanged a wide-eyed stare with David Ray, who imperceptibly shook his head. Understanding the don’t-you-dare-tell-them-about-the-AI warning on David Ray’s face, Matt tried not to groan in wild frustration.
The next complication occurred in the form of the Bright Crescent. Having once spent several frustrating days on that ship, he knew who commanded it. Sleazy lying bastard—
Colonel Edones’s calm and cool voice was clear to all of them in the room, but Matt suspected the Bright Crescent could hear only Warrior Commander’s voice. His fists tightened as Edones told the Minoans that the Candor Chasma carried criminals who had stolen military hardware. AFCAW Intelligence didn’t know the motives of the following ship; at this point, they gave equal weight to the possibility that the Aether’s Touch was either pursuing or escorting the criminals.
Fuck you, Edones! Matt’s blood pressure spiked as he immediately focused on Edones’s insult to his ship. Then he took a deep breath and his logic slowly returned. The whole “criminal” story was a vat of shit dropped from the Great Bull himself; Edones was downplaying whatever was happening on those ships to ensure the Minoans would not pursue them.
Matt paced, his fists clenched, as Warrior Commander and Edones made plans. Another ship would be arriving, a Terran Space Force ship named the TLS Percival. Edones requested help clearing mines because the Percival had less armor and was more vulnerable. After the Minoans agreed, a younger voice replaced Edones’s and began to coordinate the operation.
Matt sighed and wheeled about, almost bumping into the emissary Minoan. He started, jumping back to slide down the slimy wall and sit beside David Ray. Contractor Adviser had quietly moved behind him and now effectively blocked both of them.
“You appear agitated, Owner of Aether Exploration.”
“I just wish I knew the real story,” Matt muttered.
“Are you familiar with Colonel Commanding Bright Crescent-ship?”
“Yes. I know him.” Matt didn’t need David Ray’s grip on his forearm to remind him to choose his words carefully. In retrospect, Matt could say that Edones never outright lied to him. Edones was more dangerous than that; he was a master of camouflage and omitting facts.
“Is Colonel Commanding Bright Crescent-ship trustworthy? You appear suspicious.”
Damn, these emissary types were better at interpreting humans than he expected. He might spout off emotionally about Edones to friends and acquaintances, but he wasn’t going to cast aspersions on the colonel to aliens. Besides, Edones worked for the Directorate of Intelligence. That made Edones, by definition, a professional liar, although he did it in the name of the Consortium.
“Colonel Commanding Bright Crescent-ship will perform his duty above all else, and that includes protecting Pax Minoica,” Matt said.
That was the truth. It was also the source of Matt’s difficulty with Edones: The colonel had been willing to even sacrifice Ari in the name of Pax Minoica. Matt’s answer seemed to satisfy Contractor Adviser, who moved to stand near the spherical tracking display.
“Bright Crescent-ship has launched missiles,” Warrior Commander said. “Percival-ship has dropped in safely and is pursuing Candor Chasma-ship.”
“Missiles?” Matt hung his head and pushed his fists against his ears. This was a nightmare.
“The missiles are probably programmed for Candor Chasma-ship,” Warrior Commander added.
“Yeah, but how accurate could they be?” Matt asked the floor. He didn’t expect an answer, but he got one.
“The most recent tracking package used on the Consortium Assassinator Missile Two Alpha has a point-nine-eight-six-six probability of finding a programmed profile within the range of ten thousand kilometers, provided its sensors can work optimally.” Warrior Commander was adjusting the tracking sphere zoom. “We are moving toward Pilgrimage-ship. A shuttle from Pilgrimage-ship appears to be dropping beacons along the orbital plane of Sophia One.”
This interested David Ray and Matt, who rose and came closer. The Minoans stood on the other side of the three-dimensional spherical display. The light from the display glinted off their jewels and metalwork, making their robes look diaphanous but deepening the darkness about their faces. Warrior Commander twisted a jewel hanging from his torque and Sophia I loomed large inside the display.
“What are those beacons transmitting?” David Ray asked.
“Distress calls,” Warrior Commander said. “My first analysis was incorrect. They’re not beacons, they’re—”
Four more Assassinator missiles arrived at their recon points and began searching for their targets. They operated at reduced efficacy due to the intense noise generated by the close G-type sun, which lessened their possibilities of detecting a ship meeting the preprogrammed profile.
The Candor Chasma had boosted into a different trajectory than initially plotted by Chief Serafin. Only two missiles of the original sixteen would come within ten thousand kilometers of the Candor Chasma. Those missiles would arrive at their target recon points within the next nine UT minutes.
“They’re people!” cried Lieutenant Kozel. “They’ve shoved out people in suits, who are transmitting on the emergency channel.”
Oleander heard Stavros swearing under her breath as she tried to get every bit of data out of the sensors. “They’re all drifting on different vectors, sir. They’ve got no propulsion. So far there’re five of them, strung about fifty kilometers apart.”
“They’ve got to be civilians from the Pilgrimage,” Lieutenant Colonel Aquino said.
“Delaying tactics. This explains why they aren’t jamming us; they didn’t want us to miss these victims.” Edones’s
voice was cool and objective. “They’re hoping the TD wave, or subsequent radiation bursts, will hit us before we can take cover.”
“I’ve got voice transmission.”
Lieutenant Kozel put the channel on speaker, so everyone on the control deck heard the transmission. The voice was adolescent, gasping, barely on the sane side of terror.
“Please, someone . . . don’t come near us! They rigged us to explode!”
“Chief, you’d better take this call,” Aquino said to Serafin, then rotated his chair to look at Sergeant Albert. “Start prepping a pinnace and assign a warrant officer to the helm. Find out how many explosive experts those commandos brought along.”
“Yes, sir.” Sergeant Albert looked doubtful.
Oleander kept an eye on her display while she listened to Serafin’s side of the conversation with the terrified civilian. The chief was chatting quietly and normally with her implant mike, sounding as if she were preparing to bake cookies.
“What’s your name, hon? Samuel . . . that’s okay, it happens to all of us. Samuel, I need you to repeat what those bast—those men told you. . . . Well, a one-hundred-kilometer range is unlikely for a proximity fuse. Samuel? Don’t panic. I need you to breathe slowly. That’s good. Now I want you to describe what they hooked on your tanks. . . .”
“Sir, the Minoans say they can only offer limited assistance. They can’t disarm the devices because they’re similar to the mines,” Lieutenant Kozel relayed.
“For once, their comments are helpful,” Aquino said.
“Perhaps we should send Knossos-ship on to the Pilgrimage ,” Edones said.
“Let the Minoans board however they want? Exact their own punishment—let them decide who lives and who dies? We don’t know what collateral damage might result.” Lieutenant Colonel Aquino sounded appalled.
“It’s not going to matter if the weapon detonates.” Edones spoke calmly, but he made no move to call Knossos-ship.
If the weapon detonates . . . Oleander shivered.
“Sir, the Rhapsody is prepped. Master Sergeant Pike is sending two explosive technicians, plus two ‘fast learners,’ as he called them. They can be ready and released in three minutes,” Albert said.
“I can help.”
At the sound of this voice, everyone looked over toward damage assessment. Major Phillips, their Terran Space Forces coordinator, was standing beside Senior Master Sergeant Albert.
“Uh, I don’t think we can afford to lose our only Terran liaison officer. Right, Colonel Edones?” Albert had that familiar stricken look on his face that noncoms got when faced with a useless senior officer who intended to make a muddle of his operation.
Before Edones could answer, Phillips said, “There’s nothing more to coordinate with the Percival. I’ve got medical training, which might be needed.”
“Yes, but—”
“I was a Battlefield Medic and I’m prior enlisted.” Phillips said the magic words.
“In that case, sir, how soon can you get to the Rhapsody ?” Albert said, looking toward the mission commander’s chair. Edones nodded curtly, and Phillips left for the pinnace deck.
“I think we’re dealing with the same fuses we saw on the mines,” Chief Serafin said. “I doubt they’d have anything better; this is their last gasp at holding us off.”
“Give the Rhapsody all the information you’ve got, Chief,” Aquino said.
“Hey, Oleander.” Captain Janda had swiveled about to face her. His face was hollow and ghastly. Lucky for him, the second-shift pilot seat was relieving him soon. He rubbed his smooth head absently. “How’s it going with the missiles?”
“The projections don’t look good. By my calculations, six of these missiles arrived on target and had nothing to aim at. Most of the others will miss, except for two that might get a chance.”
“They might change their vector. We could get lucky.”
“I suppose so, sir.” She continued to monitor her station.
“Sir, the Minoan ship relays that they’re moving on to the Pilgrimage,” Lieutenant Kozel said.
“Ask them to wait,” Aquino said. “Sensors, can you track them?”
“Sir, I’m barely holding on to their one sharp edge as it is,” Captain Stavros said. “They’ll get to the Pilgrimage before us.”
CHAPTER 23
The Terran Expansion League (TerraXL) and the Consortium of Autonomous Worlds (CAW), hereinafter referred to as the Parties, conscious that testing of temporal-distortion weapons degrades the fabric of the universe, have agreed upon the articles written in this Treaty. . . .
—Preamble to Temporal-Distortion (TD) Testing Treaty, First Treaty Signed under Pax Minoica, 2092.005.12.00 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 5 under Conflict Imperative
Ariane put the license crystal into her front pocket on her hip. With her hands still tied, she felt around Julian’s vest for his knife.
She cut the quick-tie around her wrists, causing instant pain. Her fingertips felt numb as she entered and started a small boost to change their course and chase the weapon. That wasn’t tough, since the package was inside a big aluminum can and was behaving like any other space junk jettisoned off a speeding ship near the sun. She couldn’t grab it back; Tahir’s primitive mounting system had blown its struts as part of the release procedure. If this ship was upgraded with external booms or manipulators, she didn’t have time to find the interfaces.
“Six minutes, thirty seconds remaining,” announced the Candor Chasma’s ship timer.
There was only one fast option: an N-space drop, made without getting a buoy lock—meaning there’d be no coming back to real-space. She floated around Julian, avoiding globs of vomit, and started the initialization, knowing it would hold on “Install license crystal. . . .”
She felt the forces change from the boost and she gripped the handhold tighter. The vomit and flechettes started drifting down to the floor. Emery and Tahir were sliding down the walls. Julian stayed, webbed into his chair.
Swinging through three handholds, she was out the main hatch. She dove forcibly down the vertical, catching herself at the bottom. The referential engine was always at the most forward part of the ship, usually under the control deck. She was familiar with the TM-8440 and found the license crystal slot quickly.
Back up to the control deck, she glanced at the three men. None were coming round. Good. She needed to concentrate. The initialization had finished and the engine was tuned well—not surprising, because the pilot had been running diagnostics two days ago.
“Five minutes remaining.”
First, she calculated and programmed the drop time, ensuring it happened when the ship overtook the weapon. The time window was tight, barely covering the detonation point. She had to force the engine to accept the plan because they were too far from the buoy to get a lock. We don’t need a lock to drop out of real-space, only to get back safely from N-space. Lucky for her, the isolationists had disabled the N-space safety protocols with the others they had to inhibit.
Second, she messed with the recently tuned engine, making it inefficient. This was a bit tricky and she thanked Gaia that she understood the physics behind referential engines, Penrose Folds, and Fold boundaries. If she managed to get off this ship in time and outside the Fold boundary, she could get extra push from the badly tuned engine and its waste of energy.
“Four minutes remaining.”
Almost done. Before she turned away from the console, she brought up the full tactical display that Julian didn’t want to bother watching. Everything within a half light-hour was displayed. There was Aether’s Touch, fifty kilometers behind and slowly closing. She wished she could use comm to warn Joyce of her plan, but he wouldn’t have Abram’s authorized frequencies and she didn’t have time to roam the comm spectrum. Besides, there would be severe interference this close to the sun. She could only hope that Joyce was paying attention.
“Three minutes, thirty seconds remaining.”
She saw two blips streaking
toward a point on the ship’s trajectory, which didn’t surprise her. She had expected Colonel Edones would authorize Assassinator missiles. Good old Owen—at least he tried. Unfortunately for her plan, if the Candor Chasma was damaged, the N-space drop might fail. One missile trace would intercept them, at the point when the ship caught up to the weapon, but before the Penrose Fold was established for the N-space drop. The missile would have to lock on to the Candor Chasma and it would suffer the same problem as the comm: the electromagnetic noise, this close to the sun.
“Three minutes remaining.”
She pushed to the weapons console and frantically searched the different displays. She found the right display, with a command to release chaff. When she tapped it, the display responded as if there were a load of expanding foil specks and gas going out the tube. She could only pray that this, coupled with the interference from the sun, would confuse the missile.
“Two minutes, thirty seconds remaining.”
Time to go. She looked at the three limp bodies, knowing she should try to save someone—and she didn’t need Dokos’s tag to remind her that it wouldn’t be Emery. She’d serve out her own justice, at least this once. She cut webbing from the N-space seat.
With Tahir webbed to her back, she floated them both through the corridor to the emergency evacuation modules. They were small, but some ships didn’t have modules that separated. Finally, the oddities of the TM-8440 were working for her, rather than against her.
“One minute, thirty seconds remaining.” How convenient. The ship’s timer could announce inside the emergency evacuation module. She got both of them webbed in and hit the EJECT button. They pushed free with a strong boost.
Vigilante Page 28
