Dundas lowered his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Commander, I’m just tired. We’ll get it done.”
“There are other engineers on board; you gotta learn to delegate.”
Dundas nodded. “I’ll get Kelly on the life support; he’s good enough. Fuchs and I will get back on the hyperdrive.”
“Good.” McFinn picked his way back to the ladder and climbed up to main engineering. The makeshift systems and repairs in engineering were obvious, like an open sore. The technicians saluted as he walked by but did not meet his gaze.
McFinn’s pockcomp chirped. “Commander McFinn.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“We’re about to rendezvous with the Scourge. I’ll see you on the command deck.”
“Aye, Captain.” McFinn stepped into the lift and then cursed. He forgot they were inoperable, and the lifts were far down on the list of priorities. He stepped into the tube next to the lift and climbed up several decks, past several other people on their way down.
Winded, McFinn topped the ladder and walked down the corridor toward the command deck. This was a half-sphere fifteen meters in diameter, located where the rear cross-hull, the hilt, intersected with the long main hull, the blade, the whole ship shaped like a sword. A dozen crewmembers stood at the computer stations surrounding the circular sitrep table.
Captain Lillian Cavanagh leaned over and studied the reams of figures and data floating above the sitrep table.
“The hyperdrive?” she said without even turning around.
“They’re working on it.”
“How long?”
“Best guess is eight hours.”
Cavanagh cursed. She turned and looked at him. She had large bags under her green eyes and her dark hair looked disheveled. The Angau Coch and the Scourge, two Gladius class cruisers, had been on alert for almost eighteen hours, ever since the short, nasty and unexpected skirmish with a couple of Naati Wolf class cruisers.
McFinn scanned the damage report floating above the sitrep table. The outer shield looked almost gone; it probably wouldn’t block more than one shot in four. The hull shield appeared to be holding, but the display showed the secondary armor pierced in multiple locations; the diagram of the ship displayed multiple red points on the hull. The primary armor was likewise breached, but in far fewer locations. Two of the four 64 megajoule plasma cannons, one each on the ventral or dorsal sides, were inoperable. The big boy, the forward 32 gigajoule plasma cannon, was still operable. Of the four 500 megajoule lasers, the two on the ventral facing were inoperable.
Sensors, communications and electronic counter-measures were fine, as were most of the secondary systems, but the life support was spotty on several decks.
Propulsion wasn’t so lucky, either. They could only accelerate at half the rate due to a missile damaged reactionless drive. However, the hyperdrive was the biggest problem. Without it they couldn’t move swiftly through the system or to another star system altogether.
Dundas said things didn’t look good.
“Best guess?” Cavanagh barked.
“Yes, Captain,” McFinn said. He knew these moods of hers. Better to keep a calm voice. “That’s the most optimistic assessment. We may need some spare parts.”
“The Excalibur and Durendal will have what we need.”
“I hate to remind you, but they’re forty-eight hours overdue, Captain. If they had been on time in the first place, none of this would have happened. For all we know they may not make it at all.”
“Maybe the colony on Marista will have what we need.”
“Possibly. But there is a bigger question here, isn’t there, Captain?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are we even out here? This isn’t just a normal patrol, is it?”
Cavanagh looked at him and smiled. “Comms? Can you set up a link with the Scourge?”
A holographic image of a man appeared above the sitrep table, but he was not Human. Born and raised on the world Selene, Captain Mallus kar Sont had the fine black hair, high cheekbones, and the droopy eyes of the Dovar, a Hominin species discovered by Humanity early in the interstellar era. The species had integrated easily into Human society. Many anthropologists believe the Dovar were one of the last Hominin species transplanted from Earth by unknown sophonts during the Pleistocene Epoch.
“Captain Cavanagh,” kar Sont said in a deep voice.
“Captain kar Sont. I trust everything is under control on the Scourge?”
“Yes, Captain. I can send a current damage report, if you wish.”
“Later, Captain. Right now I need to brief you on what is happening here.” She paused for effect. “There have been four Naati raids over the last eighteen months, along the Antispinward edge of the Neutral Zone.”
“Then the rumors are true,” kar Sont said.
“Yes, the first such raids in the seven years since the Battle of Anuvi III. Prior to that, there had been no serious incursions for almost forty years. The Intelligence Directorate believes the structure of the Naati Command Authority has changed. For most of the previous four decades, the more cautious faction held power. They believed in studying us rather than provoking us, and they were trying to use covert action, communications intercepts mostly, to gather information. They even succeeded in buying information from various organized crime groups, and there is evidence they were conducting experiments on Hominins captured on Borrega, an independent world in the Neutral Zone. We believe the main architect of that strategy, a Naati called Moosta, was killed during the Battle of Anuvi III.”
“In the years since Anuvi III, the Hegemony pulled back, literally, abandoning border systems except for a few troops to keep order. We heard rumors of some sort of infighting, but couldn’t find out many details. Things were so quiet that the Minister of War even cut the Fifth Fleet’s budget.”
“A deliberate plan?” McFinn asked.
“Some of the Fleet Command staff argued as much in an effort to stop the cutbacks. The Navy doesn’t take the theory seriously; there was never any compelling evidence. The GID believes the conflict between the two factions was, and is, real.”
“And now the more aggressive faction is in charge.”
“It seems so. Four raids; in each case they enter a system with one or more Wolf class ships, land on a sparsely populated colony, kill the inhabitants, gather up as much technology as they can, and then retreat back to the Neutral Zone. It is very much like the opening stages of the Great Sophont War. Here.” She waved her hands and a bundle of holographic documents appeared over the sitrep table. “The details of each raid are now available to you.”
“What can they possibly hope to find?” McFinn asked. “It’s not like these colonists have any technology the Naati don’t already have.”
“The Directorate and Naval Intelligence asked the same question, Commander. The only thing we can come up with is the Naati are trying to provoke us in some way. Some analysts believe that it’s just the spineys acting like spineys, with no rhyme or reason. In an attempt to stop them, Fifth Fleet Command computed a percentage chance of a raid for each of the systems within range of the Neutral Zone. This system, Ceti Theta Quad, they computed to have the highest chance. The third planet, Marista, supports a small colony.”
“It seems you were correct,” McFinn said. “Why not tell us before?” You put our lives in danger by withholding information.
“You are a very competent and highly experienced commanding officer of the Imperial Navy, are you not?”
“Yes, but—“
“And I hand-picked you from the best of the best, true?”
“Yes.”
“You are trained to deal with the unexpected?”
McFinn looked at her, his face like stone. “Yes.”
“Then there was no need to tell you. I had, and still have, every confidence in you. Besides, if the Excalibur and Durendal had shown up as ordered, we wouldn’t be having any difficulties.”
“Why tell us
now?” kar Sont asked.
“Because now you need to know.” Cavanagh smiled. “I believe that we have repelled the raid in this system, thanks to your excellent work.
We were just lucky. “What happens now, Captain?” McFinn asked.
“The Venaris system, three hundred light years to spinward, is the system with the next highest chance of a raid. As soon as is possible, the Angau Coch and the Scourge will travel to that system.”
“What about the Excalibur and Durendal?”
“We’ll leave a message beacon for them to catch up.”
“Well, Captain,” McFinn said, “all of this is just academic. The Coch won’t be going anywhere for a while, if ever. The hyperdrive is damaged, maybe permanently, unless we can get some spare parts.”
“Our stores were damaged in the battle,” kar Sont said, “so our list of spare parts is short.”
“Maybe the colony on Marista can help?” Cavanagh asked.
McFinn shrugged. “Worth a—“
An alarm sounded and the sitrep table lit up like a fireworks display.
“Strong active sensor sweep, Captain,” Lieutenant Teng said.
“Shit!” Cavanagh hissed. “Invoking tactical!” She brushed away the technical information with a sweep of her hands, and then pulled up the tactical display. The Scourge and the Angau Coch flew along the hyperspace limit of Marista, a world in a star system within a few hundred light years of the Neutral Zone. The hyperspace limit, noted by a red line on the sitrep display, defined the closest limit a vessel could invoke a hyperdrive without undue influence from the world’s gravity well. The two Gladius class cruisers flew side-by-side, a hundred kilometers apart.
“Looks like a purge,” McFinn said. “They’ve shredded our dampening field. We’re visible to their sensors.”
“Do we have a bearing?”
McFinn tapped a few keys. “Not yet.”
“Re-establish the dampening field,” Cavanagh barked. “I want a three-hundred sixty degree scan…”
“I’ll follow your lead, Captain.” kar Sont’s image disappeared from the sitrep table.
“Hypershunt detected!” the sensor officer cried. “Bearing three five three mark zero two, one thousand klicks.”
“Give me a sensor reading.” Cavanagh said.
After a moment, a new image popped up over the sitrep table. “Two Wolf class,” the sensor officer said.
“Looks like—“
“Another hypershunt! Bearing one seven three mark minus zero three, twelve hundred klicks. Two more Wolf class.”
“Nice,” McFinn grimaced. “They’re ahead and behind.”
“Looks like they’ve come back for another round,” Cavanagh said, “with reinforcements.”
“What’s so special about the colony on Marista?” McFinn asked.
“They’re not here to attack the colony,” Cavanagh replied. “If they were they would have exited hyperspace on the other side of the world.” She tapped a few keys on the sitrep table. “There, they are matching our course and velocity.”
“What the hell do they want?”
“Good question. My guess is one of these is an inexperienced commander that’s looking for a kill.”
Now the fear really stabbed his gut. How are we gonna get out of this one? McFinn felt the urge to urinate.
“Strong sensor sweep from all Wolf class,” the sensor officer said. One of the Wolf class images over the sitrep table began to throb. “One Wolf class at bearing one seven three has sensor lock on the Scourge.”
“They’re going to concentrate fire on one of us, like last time. We are going to do the same. Obtain a sensor lock on that ship and prepare to fire missiles.” A yellow halo appeared around the vessel.
“They’ve purged the Scourge’s dampening field, and all four Naati now have sensor lock on the Scourge.
“Fire missiles at target!” Cavanagh cried. “Full salvo!”
“Five missiles away! Eight seconds to target!”
“The Scourge has followed your lead,” McFinn said, “and launched five missiles on the same target.”
“All four Wolf class have launched missiles!” the sensor operator cried. “All twelve missiles are targeted on the Scourge!”
“Target incoming missiles with the laser cannon and fire,” Cavanagh commanded. “ECM? See if you can jam them.”
Above the sitrep table, red lines representing the course of missiles from all combatants grew towards the targets. One by one the lines disappeared as laser fire or electronic counter measures took out each missile, but it wasn’t enough the save the Naati or the Scourge.
Six missiles hit the Naati vessel at bearing one seven three a second before five missiles hit the Scourge.
“Twelve more missiles incoming!” the sensor operator cried.
“Fire another salvo!” Cavanagh barked. “What about the Scourge?”
“She’s reporting heavy damage!” one of the deck crew cried out. “Multiple hull breaches, reactionless and hyperdrive out, all weapons systems damaged.”
“FUCK!” Cavanagh spat. “Keep firing and jamming incoming!”
“We need to close,” McFinn said, “and engage with plasma and laser cannon.”
“We can’t! The damage to the reactionless makes the Coch like a turd in the water!”
Above the sitrep table, the red lines again converged on the Scourge and the Naati vessel. Six missiles struck each ship simultaneously. The holographic image of the Scourge disappeared.
“The Scourge?” Cavanagh asked.
“She’s gone,” McFinn said.
Cavanagh stumbled and went down on one knee. She looked at the deck for a long moment, her dark hair hiding her face. Everyone on the command deck froze and remained silent. McFinn looked at his Captain, unsure of what to do, the nausea of fear and anger rising in his stomach. Just as he was about to approach her, she looked up at him, the tears streaming down her face.
“Fucking bastards,” she said in a quiet voice. She got to her feet. “Fucking bastards!” She pulled down her tunic, ran her fingers through her hair, and wiped the tears from her face. “Sitrep.”
McFinn looked at the sitrep table. “The enemy has maintained its distance. No more missiles incoming.”
“Incoming transmission from a forward Naati vessel,” the communication officer said.
“They’re going to ask for our surrender,” McFinn said. “They want to take prisoners and gather intelligence.”
Cavanagh stared at the sitrep table for several moments, motionless and expressionless.
“Second transmission,” the communications officer said.
Cavanagh kept staring at the sitrep table. McFinn looked at her, his stomach a storm of nausea and fear.
“Don’t answer them yet,” Cavanagh said in a quiet voice.
“Repeat, please, Captain,” the communications officer said.
She looked up, her face stone cold. “Don’t answer that fucker! This whole thing is a trap. They’ve attacked our colonies in order to draw in our warships. This vessel is the true target of their technology raids. If they want to steal from us, and if they want to eat us, they’re going to bloody well work for it.” Her eyes shone like diamonds. “We’re going to maintain communications silence and play the wounded lamb. They don’t want to destroy us; they need to take us relatively whole. When they get within range we can wound with plasma cannon and missiles.” She tapped a few keys on the sitrep table and waved away the tactical display. The technical information for the Wolf class appeared. “We need to prepare for a Naati boarding action.”
Oh shit! “Aye, Captain,” McFinn said. “I’ll lead the defense.”
“No!”
McFinn looked at her in surprise. This was by the book; the executive officer was responsible for leading the defense against any boarding action.
Eyes wide, Cavanagh nodded, and then looked back at the sitrep table.
McFinn strode from the command deck and tapped his pockcomp.
“Sergeant Cobrado? Assemble and equip your squad. I will meet you in your ready area with the ship’s security.” The complement of the Angau Coch included a squad of thirteen Imperial Marines and a dozen security staff. Most of the Coch’s crew carried a sidearm, as well.
We’re all going to die! McFinn wanted to run to his quarters and hide like a little boy, but he gritted his teeth and made the necessary calls to assemble his team. He met the security crew at their armory. He donned light battle armor and hung the helmet on his belt. He retrieved a short-barreled blaster rifle and a belt of stun grenades.
Seeing the security staff equipped, he ordered them to follow, and he led them down the central corridor toward the Marines’ own ready room.
McFinn felt the unpleasant sensation of vertigo, and he almost stumbled; the Coch had just performed a tight maneuver. Without stopping, he continued down the corridor. The squad of thirteen Marines snapped to attention as soon as McFinn appeared. Sergeant Cobrado saluted.
She looks so young, McFinn thought. All of the Marines had already donned their own, heavier battle armor. The Marines looked almost identical with their shaved heads, with height and skin color the only variation in appearance. Most of the squad of thirteen, including Cobrado, carried an ion battle rifle with under-mounted grenade launcher. Two of the squad carried long and heavy plasma repeaters. The Imperial Navy intended Marines attached to a light cruiser to perform security work or light action, so the brass did not provide the Marines of the Angau Coch with the more powerful Kriegworks battlesuits, much to McFinn’s chagrin.
It will have to do.
The security staff fell in behind the Marines. McFinn tapped his pockcomp. “Boarding defense is assembled, Captain.” Vertigo again assaulted his sense of balance, and he put a hand on the bulkhead to steady himself. The Marines and security personnel bent their knees and a few stumbled to the deck, but they quickly recovered.
“Two of the Naati cruisers are closing, Commander,” Cavanagh answered. We have twenty minutes, max. Make it count.”
“Yes, Captain.”
McFinn looked at the Marines and security personnel and took a deep breath. He stepped back. “Computer, project a schematic of the Angau Coch.”
The Borrega Test Page 6
