The Borrega Test

by James Vincett

  “Dampening field is up,” Nick said.

  “Hull shields are up,” Jerrit said.

  “Guns are crewed,” one of the twins said over the intercom.

  “Okay, ladies and gents,” Talbot murmured, “hang on to your hats.”

  Akaisha grew larger as the minutes ticked by. A white line showed the Trieste’s flight path toward the planet.

  “No sensors?” Beckenbaur asked.

  “Just passive.” Talbot tapped a few keys; the front window turned opaque. The HUD displayed the planet at the top in blue, and scores of white dots appeared on the HUD, at various distances from the planet. A flashing green dot showed the Trieste’s position, moving toward the planet following a slightly curved white line. “We’re picking up the signals from the net of commsense satellites around Akaisha.” She tapped a few more keys and several other yellow signals appeared at various locations between the planet and the Trieste. “There. Those are the reactionless drive signatures of several ships.” She highlighted another yellow dot, quite close to the planet on the left side of the HUD. “That’s the orbital station, and those signals nearby are transports and other civilian vessels waiting to dock.”

  A yellow dot flashed onto the HUD, just outside the red line noting the hyperspace limit. “That’s another vessel shunting in, probably on course for the station.”

  “There’s not too many, maybe a dozen.” Beckenbaur said.

  “Don’t be fooled, Doctor. Most of the blockading fleet is running under electronic counter-measures, masking their presence. As we avoid the visible ships, we may fly close to others hiding under ECM.”

  “Strong sensor sweep,” Nick said. A tone sounded and a yellow background lit up the HUD.

  “They’re scanning the predicted flight path between the location of our shunt and the planet.” Talbot said in a low voice. A new icon appeared beside the closet vessel on the left side of the HUD. “New drive signature; they’re sending fighters to investigate.” She tapped a few keys and lines grew from the new signal to a point ahead along the Trieste’s flight path. “I’ve seen this before; they’re guessing where we are, and are using the fighters to herd us toward a vessel we can’t detect.”

  “Pretty good guess,” Ferrel said.

  “Nick? Plot an intercept course toward the fighters. Don’t stray from our present course more than ten thousand klicks.”

  “Aye.” The navigator tapped a few keys and another curved line appeared on the HUD; it intersected with the fighter’s flight path ahead and left of the Trieste.

  “Jerrit? When the drive comes on line, adjust our heading and then cut the drive.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Krenlar? Power up the reactionless.”

  A few moments later, the engineer replied over the intercom, “Done.”

  The Trieste’s course line shifted to follow the navigator’s proposed course.

  “Another strong sensor sweep; the dampening field is holding.”

  “You’re flying toward the fighters?” Beckenbaur asked.

  “Fighters use the sensor feed from the carrier until they are in close enough range,” Talbot replied. “If the carrier can’t see us the fighters can’t either, until they’re right on top of us.”

  On the HUD, the countdown to deceleration continued, now set a few seconds later due to the maneuver. The symbols for the Trieste and the fighters crossed as Beckenbaur held his breath. He glanced at the HUD; twenty-six minutes since they had shunted.

  Talbot tapped a few keys and the HUD zoomed in to show just the fighters and the Trieste. “They’re probably six or seven thousand klicks away,” Talbot said with a smile.

  “Another strong sensor sweep,” Nick said, “coming from Akaisha.”

  “Probably another guess...” Talbot began.

  “Detecting a purge!” Nick cried. “It’s shredding our dampening field!”

  “Shit! Project a ghost of the Trieste ten thousand kilometers back along our course!”

  A few moments later, another green dot appeared behind on the Trieste’s course line.

  “Another purge!” Nick cried. “Our dampening field is gone!”

  “So is the ghost,” Beckenbaur said as the green dot flickered and disappeared.

  “God damn it! They can see us!” Talbot spat. “Power up the outer shields and the guns! Scan the fighters and put the specs up on screen!”

  The HUD split into two: on the right was the tactical display, and after a few moments an image of an arrowhead shaped vessel appeared on the left. Data about the ship flickered around it, the words DRAKKEN CLASS FIGHTER below the image. The HUD indicated the fighter had two lasers, two missiles, shields and armor. On the tactical display, the single icon separated into three as they moved to intercept the Trieste.

  “Dylan and Danner, are you ready?” Talbot asked.

  “Yes, ma’am!” they both replied.

  “Range is seven thousand klicks,” Talbot tapped at her console; the three fighter symbols on the HUD began to throb. “We’ve got targeting lock. Fire at will; concentrate your fire on one fighter at a time.”

  The entire HUD started to flash red. “What does that mean?” Beckenbaur asked.

  “The fighters have targeting lock on us, and they’re closing. By the looks of things they’ll catch up with us before we begin re-entry.” She tapped a few keys and a schematic of the Trieste appeared on the HUD beside the tactical display. The schematic flashed four times over the next ten seconds. “They’ve hit us,” Krenlar’s voice sounded over the intercom. “Penetrated the outer and hull shields, and took a chunk out of the armor plating.”

  One of the three fighter icons on the HUD flashed red. “We’ve hit one of ‘em,” Talbot said, “but there’s no telling the damage we’ve done.”

  The Trieste’s schematic flashed twice in quick succession. “The outer shield is weakening, but still up,” Krenlar said, “and they took another chunk out of the armor plating.”

  The fighter icon flashed again and then began to fall back from the other two. “Looks like we disabled one fighter. Good job, boys.”

  Another icon appeared on the HUD, much closer than the fighters, but ahead of the Trieste, the HUD indicating a range of a thousand kilometers. The HUD split into three: the tactical display; the Treiste’s schematic, and the image of a new ship with the words LUANDA CLASS FRIGATE below

  “Oh, shit!” Talbot cried. “It’s got targeting lock and will pass us in less than a minute!” The frigate’s icon flashed yellow and Talbot hit a key on her console.

  “Undeclared vessel: cut your drive and power down your weapons, or you will be destroyed.”

  “Accelerate and engage!” Talbot cried. “Fly as close to the frigate as you dare, Jerrit! Acquired targeting lock!”

  Engage? Beckenbaur could not believe it.

  The frigate’s icon flashed. “Got a hit!” one of the twins called over the intercom.

  The Trieste’s schematic flashed three times; Beckenbaur heard a loud BANG! “Outer shield is severely weakened,” Krenlar said over the intercom. “One shot got through to the hull.” Beckenbaur heard another BANG and the Trieste’s schematic started to throb. “Outer force field is almost gone!” Krenlar cried.

  “The frigate is firing on us,” Talbot said. The schematic of the frigate showed a flat rectangular slab with the weapons showing red: two turrets on the front, each with two laser cannon. Beckenbaur saw the frigate was only a little bigger than the Trieste. The frigate’s icon on the tactical display, now very close to the Trieste, flashed twice. “But it looks like we got two more hits.”

  What the fuck are you doing?

  The Trieste’s and the frigate’s icons merged on the HUD, the range less than two hundred meters.

  Beckenbaur had to clench his butt to avoid shitting his pants.

  “Cease fire!” Talbot cried. “Cut the drive! Redirect all power to ECM and jam their sensors!”

  Nick’s fingers flew over the console and the
HUD stopped flashing.

  “Nick? Put up the strongest dampening field you can.”

  “Already on it.”

  The Trieste’s and the frigate’s icons moved apart, the range increasing.

  A red cone flashed around the frigate’s icon and passed over the Trieste. “Strong sensor sweep,” Nick said. “Dampening field is holding.”

  Another red cone flashed around the frigate. “Strong purge.” Nick tapped at his console. “Dampening field is holding.”

  “Project a ghost image on a mirror course,” Talbot said. Nick tapped at his console and a green dot appeared on the HUD, curving off to the left, in the opposite direction from the Trieste.

  Beckenbaur watched the HUD as the seconds ticked by. The seconds became a minute, then two minutes. The fighters changed course toward the ghost image, and the frigate began to turn about.

  “I used the frigate’s sensor and drive signature to shake their targeting lock,” Talbot said. “We’ll project the ghost until they try a purge.”

  “What does that mean?” Beckenbaur asked.

  “Right now they are computing our entry trajectory based on the ghost image; they think we’re going to enter the atmosphere on the other side of Akaisha. When they try another purge to cancel out our ECM, the ghost will disappear, and we’ll hopefully be decelerating by then.”

  “Very good, Captain!” Beckenbaur said.

  “Tricks of the trade, Doctor. If there are no more surprises, we’ll begin our deceleration in about twenty minutes. I need you to get ready to exit the Trieste.”

  I need to go to the head.

  “Three minutes, Doctor,” Talbot’s voice sounded over the commlink.

  Entry had been rough. If they hadn’t been strapped into their seats, they would have been tossed all over the cabin of the Maxxor. Beckenbaur looked to the right at Heather; she held onto the seat harness, her knuckles white, and smiled at him. He turned in his seat and saw the twins; they both grinned and gave a thumbs-up. Each wore identical suits of light battle armor; he couldn’t tell them apart if he tried.

  Beckenbaur sat straight and grasped the steering wheel. We’re fucking insane! He had worked for years to get to this point, but he now realized he never thought they would ever get this far. Bandele, you better still be alive, you bastard!

  “One minute.”

  Beckenbaur pressed the power button and the vehicle’s console came to life. He performed a quick systems check and then stared out the windshield at the rear doors of the Trieste’s cargo hold.

  “Five, four, three, two, one.”

  The cargo doors flew open and two rockets flared out. Each rocket bloomed into a large parachute and the force of deceleration pushed Beckenbaur back into his seat.

  “Yeeeeeeehooooooooo!” the twins cried.

  Beckenbaur felt weightless, and the view through the windshield changed to blue sky. He felt like he was tilting backwards.

  Beckenbaur made a mental note to get his bowels checked the next time he saw a physician.

  The front of the vehicle slammed down; the force threw Beckenbaur forward against his harness. He saw a flash of brown and green below the blue sky through the windshield.

  Everything stopped and the parachutes settled gently on the ground.

  “Hit the release!” one of the twins said. “Giver shit!” said the other.

  Beckenbaur hit a button to release the fasteners. He gunned the motor and drove off the cargo pallet.

  “We’re fourteen kilometers from Kularin,” Heather said as she worked the sensor console. “Come around thirty degrees to the right; there should be a road just over that ridge.”

  The Maxxor topped the rise and Beckenbaur pulled onto the paved road. The road ran through a copse of stunted trees with strange dagger-like leaves. They emerged onto rolling prairie, the grass half-a-meter high and greenish blue in color. Beckenbaur figured the time to be early morning, given the position of the stellar primary in the sky.

  Within minutes, they reached the outskirts of the town, a collection of wooden and cinder block shacks with high sloping roofs. Further ahead Bandele saw larger buildings, presumably at the middle of the settlement. The few vehicles pulled off to the side of the road to let the Maxxor pass.

  “How are we going to find him?” Heather asked.

  “We ask around for ‘nenafallyn.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Blackskin. No native Hominin of Akaisha has black skin. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

  They entered a slum; the buildings looked like little more than hovels, the streets filled with mud. Beckenbaur stopped the Maxxor. When they emerged from the vehicle the smell of feces and urine assaulted their nostrils.

  “Don’t tell me he lives here!” Heather said, holding her nose.

  “Someone should torch this place,” one of the twins said.

  “You just missed him,” someone called out in the native tongue, translated by the pockcomp.

  “What?” Beckenbaur asked, looking around. Several of the Ral stood about, looking at the vehicle, though they seemed too wary to approach.

  “You’re Beckenbaur, aren’t you?” The speaker was an old man, stooped, with grayish green skin, a wisp of a beard, and long dirty hair. He wore multi-colored rags and leaned on a staff.

  “How do you know?”

  “He wouldn’t shut up about you,” the old man replied. “‘A short man,’ he said, ‘skinny, but with a barrel chest, thinning hair, and thin limbs.’ He also said you might have a pretty girl with you. When he was drunk, he told me a story about a habitable moon that was a monster machine. He used to say you would come to rescue him; I thought he was nuts.”

  “You know Bandele?”

  “Of course I do. I’m his landlord. He rents a shack from me. Said he wanted to live among the natives.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “The resistance came and took him. ‘Jala Resurgent’ they call themselves, but they’re nothing but a bunch of killers, little better than the Union.”

  “Where did they take him?”

  “North, to that secret base. Came and took him a day or two ago.”

  “Thank you!”

  The old man merely looked at him and scowled. “Tell him the rent is late!”

  Beckenbaur started the vehicle. “He’s at Outpost 39; it was his last duty station.”

  “Can we trust these people?” Heather asked.

  “It’s the only lead we have.” He gunned the motor and maneuvered through the muddy streets back to the main road. He contacted the Trieste and told the story of the old man. “The place is about two hundred kilometers north of Kularin. Fly ahead and tell us what you see; we’ll be there in three or four hours.”

  “That’s cutting it close,” Talbot said. “We’re seeing some activity in orbit. I think they’re moving ships in position for orbital bombardment.”

  “We’re close, Captain. Really close! Bandele is still alive, I just know it!”

  He gunned the motor and drove as fast as he dared north down the narrow road. After a hundred kilometers, it turned to gravel and he had to drive slower or lose control of the vehicle. The landscape became more and more barren, the grass on the prairie patchier, the copses of trees more ragged. The sun moved across the sky as time passed, the shadows of the trees shifting.

  He called the Trieste and Talbot replied. “There a battle going on around the outpost, Doctor. I’m not sure what’s going on. We’ll see you soon.”

  An hour later, they rolled over a ridge. A few hundred meters away Beckenbaur saw the outpost, plumes of smoke rising in the sky. The smoking wrecks of many vehicles, some overturned, on the prairie. He saw scores of bodies scattered on the prairie as he drove toward the outpost. He saw a group of figures huddled behind the ruins of the gate, defending themselves from others within the compound.

  The Trieste flew in low and banked; it spouted two red beams of laser fire and explosions erupted within the compound.

&n
bsp; “What the hell is going on Trieste?” Beckenbaur asked.

  “You should have a clear path right to the gate, Doctor. It looks like the natives attacked the outpost. We mopped up the remaining defenses outside. We counted at least twenty-five Marines in armored battlesuits, but they realized they were no match for our lasers and took off. We think there are surviving defenders, but they’re holed-up inside the buildings.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “We don’t have much time, Doctor. Ships in low orbit are moving over the area, probably getting ready to bombard the surface.”

  As Beckenbaur rolled up, the figures huddled near the gate turned and raised their weapons. “Dylan, get up to the plasma repeater and give ‘em a hand. Danner, you want to join them?”

  “Gladly!”

  Danner put on his helmet, hefted his blaster rifle, and exited the vehicle. Beckenbaur saw him run to the gate as plasma bolts streamed toward the defenders in the outpost. The figures at the gate cheered.

  Two more red beams struck the remaining APC in the compound and it exploded. Danner led the others through the open gate with cover from the plasma repeater. Beckenbaur rolled forward over the ruins of the gate.

  He tapped his pockcomp to connect to the vehicle’s loudspeakers. “Bandele!” he called. “William Osatari Bandele! Are you here?”

  Beckenbaur turned left and rounded the corner of a building. The door opened and he saw Bandele; another figure stood behind him and held a pistol to his head. Danner and the others ran forward, knelt, and aimed their rifles.

  Beckenbaur and Ferrel exited the vehicle.

  “Bandele!” Ferrel called.

  “Back off! Or I’ll blow his brains out!” The figure holding Bandele grasped him harder and put the gun right to his head.

  “Kill him, and you’re dead,” Beckenbaur said. “Your choice.” He realized it was woman.

  “More traitors to the Union!” she cried.

  “Danner? You got a clean shot?”

  “Just say the word.”

  “Don’t kill her!” Bandele called out. “She knows what’s going on here!”

  Beckenbaur felt the hair on his head and body tingle; an instant later an explosion shook the air and he found himself lying on the ground. Dazed and ears ringing, he looked around. One of the nearby buildings had exploded. He glanced toward Bandele and saw him roll on the ground out of his captor’s grasp.