James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart 06

by Crucible

  “Get set, go!” Keeler ordered.

  “Launch Hammerhead,” Alkema ordered, in a strong whisper.

  Three displays appeared in Primary Command’s forward area, a schematic display of the Hammerhead, visual tracking from Pegasus’s forward sensors, and a view from the missile itself. The hammerhead launched from the forward missile hatchery, riding a blue-white ion stream as it arced toward the planet’s atmosphere.

  “Detonation in four… three… two… one… now,” American ticked off. The feed from the on-board sensor disappeared with a flash. The sensor display showed a single bright flash among the burning clouds. Several seconds passed.

  “Is that it?” Keeler asked. “Somehow, I was expecting more.”

  “Wait for it,” Redfire began, but before he had even finished, waves of exploding light and energy blasted through the atmosphere, spreading out from a single point in a V-shaped wake, as though the afterburner of the gods had turned on.

  The broad front of the wave caught the Pathfinder Ship Keeler , lifting it up, and pushing it out and away from the planet. The halo of fire surrounding the ship first flared with new fuel, then died when it reached the near vacuum of open space.

  Redfire beamed.

  “Lexington Keeler’s altitude has increased to 700 kilometers… 900… 1100…” American ticked off.

  “Calculating the new vector,” Alkema connected his mind with Pegasus to better make the calculations. He concentrated, let the numbers flow through his head. “With its current acceleration profile matched against the gravitational force of the planet… Keeler should continue moving outward until it reaches 17,000 kilometers. They will start to tumble again, but we’ve bought them at least nine days.”

  Keeler came really close to smiling, “That almost looked like fun. Lt. American, contact the repair crews. Let them know that we’ve bought them some time.” American relapsed into Grim Assessment Mode. “I’ve already tried, sir. Either the explosion knocked their comm system out… or they didn’t make it.”

  “Thank you Lt. Worst-Case-Scenario,” Keeler turned to Specialist McCormick at Flight Operations. “What about our Aves?”

  “Prudence, James and Quentin are still out there,” Flight Control reported. “Aves Amy on return course to Pegasus. I’ve lost contact and transponder signal from Maud. ”

  “Clear all Aves to land on Keeler.” The Prime Commander regained his command chair.

  “Prepare a Search and Rescue team for the Aves Maud. ”

  “Aves Basil and Leo standing by for retasking to Search and Rescue mission,” Flight Operations reported.

  Keeler waved everyone to get back to work and stop talking to him, and then turned to Redfire. “All right, TyroCommander Redfire. Give me the bad news about those ships that have been attacking us.”

  Lexington Keeler – SC-2

  Scout and Fangboner were, fortunately, secured in crash station when the enhanced Hammerhead detonated. Keeler had been nose down, in a screaming, final death dive toward the surface. With the ship’s malfunctioning artificial gravity fields and the spastic performance of the inertial dampening systems, they were not quite aware of Keeler’s attitude, only of the sensation of diving in an inverted position.

  Then, the forefront of the blast wave caught the front of the Keeler, and the ship was flipped end-over-end, making three longitudinal rolls as it rose above the planet. This, they felt. It was like extreme g- forces accompanied by extreme vertigo, simultaneous freefall and paralyzing, crushing weight, and a dizziness that felt like their brains and all their senses had been drained out through their eyeballs.

  After the blast wave died out, the ship stabilized, in the sense that it twisted and looped more slowly. For several long, long, long moments, there seemed to be no gravity at all. They floated weightless while the ship seemed to spin around them. Loose tools, bits of debris, and Move-O-Bot hung suspended in place while the damaged SC2 spun surreally around them.

  Then, the artificial gravity cut back in.

  “Oh,” Move-O-Bot growled before crashing to the deck with a hundred other pieces of tools and debris. “Crap.”

  Lear, unfortunately, had not made it to the High Peril Alcove when the attack started.

  Instead, she had only managed to pull herself into the command chair and strap herself into its emergency restraints. She was unconscious.

  Scout tried to free herself, but the restraints held her in place. She realized she was trapped there until the restraints determined it was safe to release her. Without functioning systems to provide this information, she was stuck. She reached for her utility belt.

  “Look at that,” Scout was peering up through the protective repair dome.

  The burning clouds were gone, replaced by the comforting black of space, punctuated by the bright diamonds of stars. In one corner, the dusky orb of 15 215 Crux II hung, looking much less dangerous than a few seconds earlier.

  Lexington Keeler – Hangar Bay Alpha

  The ride had been no less violent in the landing bay, but the repair crews had secured themselves, latched their Aves to the deck, and had survived the storm of debris that had been tossed around the hangar with only a few dents and scrapes.

  Duke eased his grip on the “Oh, Shit,” handles in Keeler’s Flight Control station and eased himself back onto the deck. “Reminds me of a 20 GuildCredit epileptic Panrovian whore I met in the WayStation on Fenris 3. All right, break’s over… find out how many repair crews are still alive and let’s get a position and damage assessment.”

  Pegasus – The UnderDecks

  Queequeg crawled through the ventilation shaft. It was big enough for an over-large cat, but not by much. His paws and very sensitive whiskers picked up the vibrations carried through the ship’s structure. They felt like missile launches. Pegasus was probably under attack. That was the humans’ problem, not his.

  His problem was more primal: curiosity.

  Rumors had persisted among that part of the ship’s ancillary crew that possessed pointy ears, whiskers, and thick-padded paws of rodents that lived in the vents and ducts of the great ship. Rodents excited him at a primal level. Like humans who hunted antler-beasts back on Sapphire. His pursuit of rodents put him touch with a primitive part of himself. He really loved that part of himself.

  Of course, any rodents that did sneak aboard during construction or had smuggled themselves in cargo, would have been detected by the ship’s systems, and dispatched with humane swiftness by the exterm-o-bots. But even the possibility of rodentia was worth the hunt to a bored feline on a long journey.

  Queequeg came to a bifurcation of the system. It was exceedingly dark, but human’s genetic foolery had not extended to his feline night-vision. He saw just fine. His whiskers twitched. Something was down the left side. He paused, wiggled his hindquarters, and then moved forward.

  I am a magnificent fusion of instinct and sensory perception, Queequeg thought. Flawless reflexes, exquisite in form and function.

  In the dark, guided by his superb night vision, the cat came to a large junction where a circulatory pump fed atmosphere from the purifiers below decks and up toward the Agro-Botany Bays. If he had been a human, or a dog, he might have tripped over the first piece of debris, but he was a cat and noticed it right away,

  Following the trail a couple of meters further led him to the source of the debris.

  It looked like a large metal beetle, and it had been dismembered. Its feelers still twitched, but its sensor head was split open and each of its legs was detached. The artificial musculature and connective wiring had been ripped out and chewed. It extended around the carcass like entrails.

  An exterm-o-Bot, or more exactly, an ex-exterm-o-Bot.

  Queequeg was almost embarrassed to find most of his fur was standing on end.

  Chapter Five

  Lexington Keeler – Secondary Command Center

  “I think I’ve got it,” said Technician Scout. She had freed an interface pad from her utility b
elt. “I’ll have us out of these restraints in a few seconds.” Move-O-Bot extended his arms and pushed himself up from the deck. He then extended his arms the other way and began tickling Fangboner in the armpits.

  “Stop! Why are you doing this?” Fangboner begged between giggles.

  “To temporarily amuse myself,” growled Move-O-Bot. “Heh Heh Heh, kootchy coo, you cute little baby technician you.”

  “Please, Krishna, stop!”

  “Stop whining, you two are lucky to be alive,” Move-O-Bot went on, continuing the tickle torture.

  “There are three of us,” Scout reminded the mechanoid, trying to patch her tool into the inputs for the restraint sensors so she could convince them that everything was all right and the crew could be released.

  Move-O-Bot blew a ring of smoke from his speech unit. “Yeah, but the skinny guy dressed as a woman seems to be out of it.”

  Scout looked up and turned toward Lear, who lulled unconsciously in her restraints, a trickle of blood licked across her eyebrows.

  “TyroCommander Lear, are you all right?” Scout called out.

  “I… will … be,” Lear moaned slowly, raising her head.

  She looked around the wreck that was the SC-2, which remained a semi-circular space filled with blank screens and silent crew stations, beneath a clear dome beyond which the stars spun dizzily as Keeler twisted in space.

  “Is this my destiny,” she continued, a little blearily. “When I was supervising the construction of Pegasus, it was brought to my attention that the port wingblade was asymmetrical to the starboard wingblade by nine centimeters. It was still within tolerance, and in the long run, it meant only a light energy variance would be necessary to sustain to propulsion fields when the ship was in flight.

  “Nevertheless, I ordered them to strip down the port wingblade and rebuild it. The construction managers were furious, as was the Odyssey Project Directorate. At the time, he port wingblade was sixty percent complete. Taking it down would mean dismantling one of the gravity engines, and put the ship’s completion months behind schedule. But I stood my ground. Pegasus was going to be perfect.

  “In the end, Pegasus was complete on time, with two perfectly symmetrical wingblades.”

  “What a pointless and depressing story,” said Move-O-Bot.

  “Why are you telling us this?” Scout asked her.

  “Pegasus was rightfully mine,” Lear hissed. “For the last ten years of her construction, I was in charge. Then, they put a Sapphirean in command. And when he died, they replaced him with another Sapphirean. He took my command, then, he stole my ship, what was rightfully mine.”

  “Well, you did almost start a global thermonuclear war,” Scout reminded her.

  “And Prime Commander Keeler may yet get us all killed,” Lear spat… literally, flecks of foamy spittle flew at Scout and Fangboner across the SC-2. “He has no business…”

  “Got it,” Scout input a command into the interface tool and the restraints released them.

  She and Fangboner caught themselves, but Lear slumped to the deck. Fangboner crossed to her and took out his Medikit. “Looks like she has a concussion. She’ll need to rest for a while.” Scout touched her COM Link. “Technician Scout to Lieutenant Duke, we are in the Secondary Command Center, preparing to commence systems inspection. What is your status”

  Duke answered,. “Alive and kicking, Technician Scout. That was quite a ride. The good news is, we can do it all over again if we don’t get the systems back on-line before those aliens attack again or before we tumble out of this orbit.”

  Scout nodded, “Acknowledged. By the way, TyroCommander Lear is injured.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Za, she really is injured.”

  “I meant is she seriously injured.”

  Fangboner answered. “She’ll be unconscious for a couple of hours, but the injuries are not life threatening.”

  “Would you like them to be?” offered Move-O-Bot.

  “Who is that?” Duke asked.

  “A mechanoid,” Scout answered. “Long story. What should our priority be?” Duke told her, “We need to establish systems links between SC-2 and our command post in Flight Operations. Try to get the crew stations up and running.”

  “What about Primary Braincore?” Scout asked.

  “Interface systems first,” said Duke. “I’ve got other teams checking in… some with injuries.

  You get to work, I’ll check in when I have the time. Flight Ops Command Post out.”

  Pegasus – Battle Management Command and Control (BMC2) Deck 2

  Redfire began his meeting with his conclusion, “We have to explore the surface of the planet,” Prime Commander Keeler, Alkema, American, Magnus Morgan, Adrian Honeywell, and Flight Commander Collins surrounded the black and blue oblong table in the Strategy Room.

  Redfire touched a command panel and activated a holographic projection of the planet, with the flight vectors of the alien ships displayed as bright gold contrails. “We used our sensor tracks to extrapolate a point of origin for the ships that have been attacking our rescue teams.

  The most likely point-of-origin is the planet’s surface.”

  “How is this possible?” Alkema asked him. “We assumed that the blast wave from the Megasphere wiped out any advanced life on the planet.”

  “That atmosphere may have shielded the surface better than we thought,” Redfire answered.

  “So, who are they?” Keeler asked.

  “Most likely, Aurelian survivors. It’s possible the Aurelians established a base, perhaps several bases on the planet before the attack. When Keeler entered the system, the Aurelians opened up on them. Keeler fought back with everything they had. They destroyed the main force but left enough Aurelian bases on the planet for the Aurelians to launch a counter-attack.”

  “Their ships don’t look Aurelian,” Honeywell countered. On the holodisplays in the room, enhanced views of the alien ships showed long, blade-shaped hulls attached to cylindrical drive units; like rocket-powered cutlasses.

  “Our intelligence on the Aurelians is limited,” Redfire answered. “We do know that they are broadly dispersed across the quadrant. They can’t navigate hyperspace, so their ability to share technology is limited. It’s possible each Aurelian Echelon has unique equipment.”

  “I just want to raise the possibility that our attackers may be some new alien species,” Honeywell clarified.

  “Oh, God, not another one.” Keeler moaned and buried his face in his arms on the table.

  Morgan was furious, but quiet about his furiousness, with just a hint of anger in his voice when he accused Redfire. “You fired that warhead, even though you knew there was life on the planet?”

  Redfire ignored him. “In any case, I think an exploratory mission to the planet is imperative. We won’t know the extent of this threat until we investigate.” Redfire answered.

  “Is possible some of the colonists survived, and this is part of their planetary defenses?” Alkema asked.

  Redfire repeated himself. “We won’t know until we investigate.”

  “How much survey data do we have on the planet?” Keeler asked.

  Morgan brought up another projection display. “Only about 45 per cent of the surface area has been mapped at all. The dust in the atmosphere is highly-charged. It’s very difficult to get scans in any part of the spectrum . ”

  “You’re going to need a lot of cover,” Collins suggested. “I am thinking three combat-Aves, and at least twenty Accipiters to cover you from orbit to the deck.”

  “And a heavy warfighter presence on the ground as well,” Honeywell added. “If they have attack ships, they probably have ground troops as well.”

  “The enemy is very good at sneaking up on us and getting the first shot in,” Redfire observed. “Instead of 10 Aves with 20 people on each, let’s go with twenty Aves with 10 on each.”

  Without lifting his head, the Prime Commander sighed and nodded. He hated it when ta
ctics came down to how to lose the fewest people, when it came down to numbers. But he had enough sense to shut up, trust his tactical team, and drink a lot.

  “We need a place to land, first,” Morgan told him. “By the way, I’ve decided to lead the ground team. Instead of launching more probes, let’s move Pegasus into a close orbit. With our sensors, 3,000 kilometers should be close enough.”

  “That would also make us vulnerable to attack,” Alkema warned.

  “Tactical Situation One,” Honeywell suggested. “Full Shields. Weapons hot.”

  “We won’t be able to cover Keeler from a close orbit,” said American.

  “If the bladeships are coming from the surface, we will be in a position to intercept,” Honeywell answered her.

  “We can put the rest of the Quicksilver Angels on patrol around Keeler while we complete the planetary survey,” Collins suggested, checking her datapad, seeing which Aves were still available.

  Keeler sat up, “All right, move in Pegasus close to the planet. Scramble the … scramble that squadron to cover Keeler. ” He stood, crossed to the display, and pulled up another report. “I am informed that as Keeler was lifted out of the atmosphere, a section of the hull broke free and a repair crew was blown out into space. That makes 34 people we have lost since arriving in this system. I want these casualties to stop.”

  “Then, leave the system,” American suggested.

  “Cut and run?” Honeywell asked incredulously.

  “It’s the only way to be sure, if your goal is no more casualties,” American argued. “Just putting all the options on the table, sir.”

  Keeler nodded. “Not yet. We may still find survivors on board Keeler. And the ship may yet be salvageable. No, we won’t cut and run, but we will butch up.” He turned to the holographic display on which the stern, weathered visage of Carlyle Duke was displayed. “Lt. Duke, what is the status of repairs on Lex Keeler?”

  Duke answered from the Ops Center. “We are still testing the ship’s systems, and still working off portable generators. We don’t know if any of the ship’s power systems are operable, and we don’t risk putting them on-line with the power distribution system as fragile as it is.”