by Rolf Nelson
She cut him off her screen and watched her tactical displays. Another interceptor nears deployment position from #3 Carrier, then accelerated sharply off vector and farther away at an angle… but it didn’t explode. She zoomed in on it, checking its designation and situation. “Coms, bridge audio on interceptor… Charlie-four-nine.”
The various streams of chatter heard from the speakers disappears, replaced by a single conversation between a professionally calm pilot and a rather more freaked out controller.
“Manual controls only. On VFR, control. Weapons offline and diagnostics in progress.”
“Hold your position better, Charlie-four-nine. You are four hundred meters too close to Charlie-four-one. Don’t be a cowboy.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open, control. Proceeding with VFR. Initial system check indicates four priority one safety failures. Railguns clear. Gravity systems clear. Outboard missiles clear. Do you concur, control?”
“Uh, verifying that now. Hmmm... Negative, Charlie-four-nine, we are showing seven failures. Don’t touch anything, Charlie-four-nine. Keep position better. Don’t arm anything yet until we can confirm.”
“What systems are showing clear at my end that you show problem on?”
“Hold position better, Charlie-four-nine, now you are too far away. We are showing two gravity system failures, on mines six and eleven.”
“Over-riding safeties and ejecting mine six now, control.”
“NO! Don’t do ANYTHING, Charlie-four-nine!”
Everyone on the bridge held their breath for what seems like an eternity. The seconds ticked past. “Remote arming of mine six now, control.” Breathing resumed. “No detonation observed, control… Reengaging safeties on mine six only.” On the tactical screens a small detonation icon appeared. “Apparently my diagnostics are inaccurate, control. Minor shrapnel damage to the aft fuselage and secondary starboard drive power feed. Request return to cradle for evaluation.”
“NO, keep your distance, Charlie-four-nine!
Admiral Flicker signaled to cut that specific audio feed, and the normal chatter picked back up as her own flight controllers and pilots re-checked and re-confirmed everything, with the attention to detail only hundreds of years of making check-lists and the fear of instant death from the smallest mistake can induce. While they did their jobs, a few of the bridge crew double-checked their own pressure suits. Flicker tapped a control; a bridge officer from one of the other carriers popped up on a screen, half out of the picture as he hastily struggled to don a space suit over his normal bridge uniform. Judging from the fit, it was whatever emergency suit was handy, not his personal fitted suit. “I’m sending you a list of all the compromised systems we found, prioritized by how many instances of each problem were detected.” She waved to her carrier captain listening in to do so, and he hurriedly issued the order for it to be done. “It is imperative that you run that list thoroughly and manually, not just depending on automated diagnostics. It took us four days in transition and one in real-space to find and address them. I urge you to convince the Commodore to fall back for repairs, or we will lose too many men and ships even if there is no opposition. For the official record, I think that going deeper in system is a very bad idea. Given the unsafe weapons your carrier and ships have, I cannot commit to rescue operations that might compromise my own ships and crew from your defective and unrepaired systems.”
The face on her screen grows stony and cold, and he’s no longer fighting with the pressure suit. “Admiral, you are on the verge of insubordination. Do you wish to reconsider your words?”
“No,” she said flatly. A blinking light on a tactical display drew her eyes for a moment as another interceptor was destroyed. “Your systems are compromised, the plan makes no sense against this opponent, and I strongly suspect sabotage more than simple neglect or maintenance failures. I oppose deeper entry, and will not recover any disabled ships until all safety protocols can be assured and repairs on known potential issues made.”
The lawyerly man on her screen sucked his teeth a moment in nervous apprehension, then nodded acknowledgment. “I will relay your message, Admiral. Please stay available for the Commodore’s reply.” The screen blanked, and she turned to her carrier’s captain.
“If we get through this, I expect I’ll be retiring when we return. Anything you want me to pass on to anyone, face to face?”
Captain Pikaard sniffed thoughtfully, then shrugged it off. “I’ll let you know if it looks like we might live through it…. Of course, you’re only one person away from being senior in command, so we have a better chance than if you were a lowly captain.”
Jan smiled faintly at the compliment, the went back to studying the situation as the three carrier groups accelerated deeper into an unknown mess.
The good news was that no more ships had been lost, and progress was being made on repairing the compromised systems. The problem list they provided the other two carrier groups of the task force was allowing progress to be much faster than hers had been. In the three hours since they entered the system, hundreds of fixes had been implemented, the self-destruction upon station arming bug had been traced and fixed, and everyone on her bridge was acting much more relaxed as the reports of success streamed in and no sign of Tajemnica could be found. The bad news was that some other problems had been detected that troubled them, and many of the interceptors could still not be safely retrieved; while the problems aboard them were known and partially isolated, they were not actually repaired properly, and couldn’t be until they were back aboard.
An icon appeared on a screen indicating a private call from the Commodore. Turning to head for her ready room, she called out to the XO “She’s yours. I’ve got a call to take in private.” The Executive Officer nodded acknowledgment and understanding while he walked towards her command console.
Sitting in her chair in the bridge ready room, she tapped the Commodore’s icon, and his image appeared on the screen. He looked stressed but tightly under control. He now wore his space suit with the visor up. She nodded a greeting. He didn’t acknowledge for several long moments before he spoke.
“The list of problems you sent over has been… useful.”
“You’re welcome, Commodore. It took a huge number of man-hours to find them while in transition on the way here.”
“I’m curious, Jan. What prompted you to manually check so many things that passed normal diagnostic scans?”
“Simple caution, sir. Something didn’t seem right about the whole situation, and hearing about multiple power problems in the newly assigned cruiser I thought that any half-competent saboteur would hide things from the obvious automated checks. Once we found a couple of matching problems on separate ships, I knew we had to be systematic. We had some time, so I made the most of it. Nothing like searching for real problems that could actually kill you to make people take things seriously, and start thinking like an enemy would to search for hidden trouble. My men can get very creative when their lives are on the line.”
“Hmmm…. I wonder. It seems rather… convenient, I guess you could say, that you happened to have decided to do the search with so little evidence.”
“What are you implying, Sir? It sounds like you are suspecting me of sabotaging my own ship.” She was indignant, but only shocked at the implied accusation for a moment as she thought about the political nature of the man she faced.
“I’m not suggesting anything, yet. But I’m sure we will need to investigate this thoroughly upon our return.”
“Oh, I very much agree, sir. I’m sure they will want to know how so many problems went undetected aboard your fighters until they started exploding, costing twenty-four lives, and why their own chain of command did not notice the pattern and call for corrective action.”
The commodore, already cold, turned downright frosty. “Those are not the words of a person eager to continue their career, Admiral Flicker. I hope you are more judicious in the future.” The connection ended. Jan sat still,
letting her pulse slow. No, they were not wise words, perhaps, but they were heartfelt. Any honest inquiry would clear her, but it would be ugly and acrimonious, and it wouldn’t be the first time an investigation board was seeking a scapegoat more than answers. Pushing a button on her desk, she thought hard until an orderly appeared.
“Coffee, please. And tell Pik-” the wail of the Under Attack klaxon interrupted her. Leaping to her feet and running to the bridge, she called as she moved. “Who and where?! How long?” Glancing at the tactical displays she saw a cruiser icon blink and go out, one from the Commodore’s carrier. Then three interceptors in a row, one after another blinked out, less than thirty seconds apart. About her the controlled confusion of battle communications exploded.
“Transitions detected!”
“Missile locks on group three!”
“Railguns hit cruiser six, minor damage!”
Being trapped in real-space when another ship can transition into your position was the most brutal situation to be in; it was the situation Flicker feared most developing coming to life. Her opposition’s locations would be random, and her available reaction times extremely short. As they watched, interceptors and cruisers were disabled or destroyed, one after another, with little return fire. In a flash of realization, she saw that the unknown ship was transitioning inside the defensive formations, directly between the outer ships and the carrier, or in line between cruisers, resulting in a weapons-launch lock-out with safety over-rides preventing friendly-fire casualties.
“Override friendly-fire launch safeties! All beams on automatic, fire at ANY transitioning ship! All cruisers close to three hundred meters, interceptors hold at two hundred beyond them! Launch missiles at ANYTHING within time-to-target-transition strike range! Railguns fire wide dispersal area denial patterns! I KNOW it’s risky, but if we don’t shoot, we die!”
About the bridge orders were sent forth, questioned and confirmed, and the background humming of firing railguns was added to the noise of war. On tactical displays the acceleration vectors on her cruisers and smaller ships all changed dramatically as they returned from their normal distant screen to a tight huddle where they could fire in extremely tight mutual support at an enemy that could appear in their midst rather than from a distant horizon. She watched helplessly as the third carrier group was picked apart, yet still not trying to close up its formation. Even though everyone on the bridge dreaded and expected it, there is a gasp when the carrier itself disappeared in a ball of nuclear fire, only one of its cruisers and a handful of fighters remaining.
Her ships were still too far away, though they were closing fast, when Carrier Group One started losing ships. A cruiser went dark, then two fighters on VFR collided. A moment later another got raked from behind with railguns and a missile; cameras caught the unmistakable angular prismatic form of their tormentor, and the interceptor went dark on Flicker’s displays. Cameras with high-power lenses, radars, infrared, and all other sensor systems constantly streamed and updated damage assessment. The fleet’s relative effectiveness reading fell unevenly but precipitously as the data flowed in. The task force, a bit more than ten thousand men and women, was being chewed up by a single ship smaller than any cruiser in the formation, and they couldn’t touch it. The commodore’s carrier exploded. Not nuclear, just an impressive array of conventional ordnance detonating near-simultaneously, leaving her two remaining cruisers and a few dozen interceptors stranded in the system. With that, Admiral Flicker was now officially the senior and ranking officer, and was therefore in command.
“All ships! Tight formations together, head for us. No more than a hundred meters apart! Disengage friendly-fire safety protocols, fill space with things for her to run into! Launch full mine spread! Enable nukes for friendly-fire lethal-close detonation! We HAVE to get her here, or we all die!” A flicker appeared on a screen, followed by a close examination from a sensor tech.
“Ma’am, looks like someone tagged her!”
They watched as ships gradually clustered and gather together, then their groups started converging on her carrier at maximum acceleration. No more were disappearing, and people started to breathe a little easier.
“Ma’am, debris analysis indicates a railgun hit and some atmosphere released.”
Near one of the carrierless cruisers, with seven stranded interceptors close around it, a glow of transition showed up, and a missile was launched on automatic. The sun-like sphere of light caused by fusing hydrogen dimmed the camera images that were tracking them, and combat computers attached to other sensors automatically process the flood of readings. “Ma’am, four of the interceptors gone, cruiser acceleration at zero, but I think… oxygen, iron, carbon, titanium vapor… I think they got her. No exit transition detected.”
Chapter V
Adrift
Allonia walked into the restaurant looking for her husband and the captain, excited that she had learned a lot, relieved to be away from the manager and his clumsy attempts at making passes, and hungry for some real food. Not seeing them anywhere about was a surprise, but it didn’t take long to be sure they were not present because there were less than a dozen people present and they looked pretty subdued. She took a seat at the booth she’d left them at that morning and dialed up a menu, figuring something must have come up and they’d be back shortly. Her com vibrated and chimed quietly for her attention. Not trusting local display systems she pulled it from her purse. It was a voice-only call from a nameless number she didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Hello, yourself!” Brother Libra’s cheerful voice issued unexpectedly from the com. “Where are you?”
“Well howdy, Brother!” Allonia replied pleased to hear the older man’s words. “What a surprise! I’m at Tres Sombreros, corner of 91st and Solo. Are you in town? Planning on surprising Taj?”
“Something like that. 91st is pretty close. Is Helton with you?”
“No, but I was expecting him to be here.”
“How about we talk when I get there? Should be… six, maybe seven minutes.”
“Sounds wonderful! Be fun to see you again. Dorek will be so surprised, too! Should I order anything for you?”
“No, don’t think so, thanks. See you shortly.”
They signed off, and she ordered before sitting back to people-watch. A few minutes later, the waiter, a pimple-faced young man with a Mohawk, delivered her food with a nervous smile.
“Nachos with extra jalapeños and guacamole, ice cream, lemonade, and two large pickles. Anything else for you?”
“No, thanks… Oh, yes… There were two men sitting here earlier. Did you happen to see where they went?”
“No, but I just came on shift a half-hour ago. It’s been quiet, but I don’t remember anyone at this table.” Allonia smiled her thanks, and the young man walked away while she set to work on the food. Halfway through, she saw the bank manager come in, looking flushed and flustered, casting his eyes around nervously. Inwardly she groaned, but she kept her expression neutral until he saw her and his face lit up. He immediately walked toward her, hands working themselves into knots as he approached. Allonia put on a minimal polite smile.
“So very, very good to see you here, Morena. Very glad to see you. May I sit?” He helped himself to a seat opposite her without waiting for an answer. “I had hoped to talk with you before you left, very sorry about the urgent call from MorgChase, Mr. Dimond can be so longwinded… I had so wanted to ask if you had any plans for this evening. I have some tickets, excellent seats for the Rockerama concert over on Gamma, we could take the company’s private shuttle over and-”
“Oh, there you are!” Sharon’s shrill and excited voice called from behind Allonia. Turning, she saw Helton’s sister walking rapidly towards them. “You’d not believe what happened!”
Sharon slid into the booth next to Allonia, drawing a confused squawk from the bank manager as she flopped her handbag onto the table. Before introductions could be made, Skelton slid into th
e other spot next to him, expression serious. “Is he bothering you?” he asked, indicating the banker with his elbow.
“YOU!” Sharon exclaimed.
“Me,” Skelton smiled at the ladies. Suddenly his expression froze as he spotted two men wearing masks enter from another door. “Ah, shit!” he said quietly but intensely, teeth clenched.
Waving guns around and each holding out a bag, one of them shouted “Everybody on the floor! Wallets, electronics and jewelry!” Several patrons screamed, including the banker, and some move to get on the floor.
Skelton was a little too slow getting down and hiding his face. One of the robbers paused and pointed his gun unsteadily at Skelton. “Hot damn! I get a bonus, Remmer! Look!”
The thug blazed away, jerking the trigger and spraying bullets wildly about in the general direction of their table. Sharon curled up and shrieked, Skelton went for his own sidearm, the other two dove for what little cover available, sliding under the table and bench seats. One bullet grazed the banker, making him scream even louder as he fought for space with Allonia. Three bullets hit Skelton, two striking his light body armor and one going through the arm with which he’s drawing a pistol. Splatter from a miss impacting a steel table support scored a line across Allonia’s ankle. Skelton dropped his gun, and Allonia watched it with adrenaline-infused eyes, wishing it were falling toward her, rather than away. From her position under the table, looking out at the legs and lower bodies of the robbers, her eyes fell on the pair of guns stuck under the seats they were just sitting on. Recognizing them instantly, and knowing something bad must have happened to the two men. She peeled her husband’s titanium 10mm down and adjusted it for a moment in her right hand to get a proper grip, leaving Helton’s pistol for later.
The two thugs were walking toward the table, turning this way and that, waving guns around and swearing at the customers, closing the distance to finish off Skelton, who had fallen at an awkward angle and was having a hard time breathing after the impacts on his chest. Allonia couldn’t see more than the lower legs of the thugs. She paused a moment to line her shot up, and the banker saw her and stopped squawking, eyes wide. One thug’s legs lined up in her sights as he stepped forward and turned slightly. At only four meters they looked like huge targets. She pulled the trigger, thinking that she’d have to tell Dorek he needed a stiffer recoil spring to increase the cyclic rate, because it just felt way to slow. No matter, the bullet passed through the nearest knee, then just above the other knee, of the nearest robber, causing him to fall slowly to the floor before her. He fell at normal speed in reality, screaming in pain at being kneecapped twice in a fraction in a second, but Allonia didn’t hear him. She was focused on shooting out the feet of the other robber before they were obscured by the falling body. Another shot, silent to her ears and horribly loud to everyone else, plowed through the instep and ankle of the second man. Another shot followed it, taking off part of the other foot.
