by Alan Black
Stone used a little known method to slide a hand free from his gauntlet. Pressing his hand to the pad, instead of flashing red, it pulsed green.
Dollish came to attention. His salute was parade ground precise. “Welcome aboard Three, Captain Stone.”
Returning the salute, Stone said, “Thank you, XO Dollish. Would you do the honors?”
Dollish nodded, spun on his heel in a perfect ninety-degree right face, and marched to the main hatch. He closed his fist and punched the button. The ramp retracted as the hatch clanged shut. He did an about face and said, “XO reports, Three is sealed and ready for departure, Captain.”
“Thank you, XO. As you were, Tim,” Stone smiled. “I’m going to the bridge and to get out of this suit. I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready. Make sure the crew is all where they’re supposed to be. Let’s get a verbal roll call before we undock.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Dollish sprinted down the corridor and disappeared down a ladder.
Stone followed at a slow pace. He was the only one who considered it slow. To most people, he was moving faster than Dollish ran. His suit enabled him to avoid steps on the ladders. He vaulted from one deck to the next in the stairwells.
On the way, he frowned as he sped down a dark corridor. Looking up, he could saw the lights flickering as if trying to come on. He made a mental note to jot the defect in the ship’s log for engineering or maintenance to fix. He chuckled at the thought. The ship did not have any maintenance crew and engineering consisted of a pair of piglets who knew just enough to turn the engines on and little else. The odds were that they would not survive any significant encounter, so fixing a few lights was a moot point.
He did not need to be announced on the bridge. For this voyage, he was the captain and sole bridge crew. Backing into a set of hastily welded suit brackets on the bridge bulkhead, he popped the suit open and climbed out. He wrinkled his nose at the sour smell. Having a super sensitive sense of smell was one thing, but when he was the one who had bad body odor, he had no way to get away from it. The suit would recycle and refresh itself, but he needed a shower.
Rather than go to his official captain’s office in the next cabin, he plopped down in the chair at the navigator’s station. He called up a list on his Personal Assistant and froze the display to the side of the monitor. The list started with the Platinum Pebble, captained by Numos, a position that gave him the unofficial title of fleet commander.
Stone checked the list and punched the communicator monitor buttons in the proper code sequence to call his XO. The ship systems were more complex than the quick point and press operations of a Hyrocanian shuttle, but he had achieved the honorary title of Ship Three Captain by the fact that he had piloted Hyrocanian shuttles.
Dollish’s face faded into existence on the monitor. “XO.”
“Tim, this is Trey on Three.”
Dollish laughed. “Yeah. I knew that would sound funny.”
Stone nodded with a tight smile. “XO Dollish, you have a strange sense of humor.”
Dollish continued laughing, “Not a chance, Captain. My sense of humor is healthy. It’s yours that’s gone all wonky.”
“We set?”
“Yes, Captain. All stations manned and ready.”
Stone pushed a few buttons and announced over shipwide comms, “Bridge here. We’re just about ready to shove off. Relax a bit folks, but don’t get too far from your stations. For you navy vets, we’re not at General Quarters or red alert but keep aware. Nap if you can, we may be at this a while.”
Punching a few different buttons, he called up the Platinum Pebble.
“Numos here.”
The man barely looked up from the console he was sitting at. Stone could see over Numos’s shoulder that the Pebble’s pilot was working furiously at his console panel. Within their fleet, Numos was the only captain with a pilot, but they had the most challenging activity. The two men had been hard at it for days already.
Numos and his tiny crew had undocked five days ago, racing toward the Hyrocanian jump point. The Platinum Pebble carried a large supply of standard human mines. How and why Numos had acquired them was a subject he refused to discuss. Why Stone Freight Company built a ship with military grade cannons was a different issue altogether.
The basketball-sized explosives could be fired from a cannon or set into patterns around jump points as mines. Numos and his crew had spent hours upon hours setting the mine’s IFF systems and shoving them into a crowded field around the jump point. The Vance shuttled Hyrocanian mines from the warehouse ship as fast as the deckhands could move them from one hold to the shuttle. Resetting the IFF was a simple procedure, turning the enemy mines against themselves.
“Trey on Three, Captain Numos. Ready to undock.”
Numos chuckled. “Yeah. Tim was right. That is funny.” The man sobered and added, “Got it, Captain Stone.” Numos checked a readout on his dataport. “Boost in five minutes. One, Six, Seven, and Twelve are proceeding ahead of you.”
Stone was not offended when Numos disconnected without his usual pleasantries. For the first time in the years he had known the man, Numos looked harried, tired, and in need of a clean shirt and a shave. Things aboard the Platinum Pebble must have been hectic the last few days.
Stone announced to the crew. “Undocking in five minutes. Clamps free and engines hot.”
All he could do was wait. His frustration subsided as he pulled his P.A. out and did an etymological search on the phrase “engines hot.” He had heard the phrase his whole life, but it never made sense. Their engines were not designed to generate heat. They generated shields, antigravity, and life support. Life support’s supplemental systems had to have heaters to keep the cold of space from freezing the crew.
What bothered him was he had a clear memory of burning his fingers on a shuttle engine when he was performing the impossible by converting it from intrasystem capabilities to a hyperspace engine. He checked the engines on-board the Platinum Pebble shortly after moving aboard, and sure enough, they had the new convertible engines. On the side of the motor control panel, was a little plaque that read, “Manufactured under license by Stone-Wright Engine Design Company.”
He did a quick walk through engineering on Three as soon as he was given the command of the ship. It carried the conventional dual engine design with one jump engine and one for regular space transit. The rest of the ship was an assembly line duplicate of the Rusty Hinges—minus the rust and decay.
He would not need a hyperspace engine for this trip.
Numos broke his reverie. “Three, boost now.”
Stone realized he had been staring at the line of colored lights on the panel. Rather than green, the Hyrocanian standard was any color meant “on” and white meant “off.” He mashed the big “go” button at the navigator station.
A moment later, a bright white light changed to a bizarre orange color. He pushed a small button with his thumb. Three had boosted far enough away from the spacedock to turn its shields on high. He rolled a little dial expanding the shields to a fifteen-kilometer distance. They did not need a fifteen-kilometer buffer, but they did not need a smaller one either. As Captain, he decided more was better than less.
That completed his entire list of things to do, until—or better yet, if—they encountered an enemy fleet. He had preset their course, straight from the spacedock to his defensive spot “on the wall”. Gordy, now Captain of One, had argued it was supposed to be called “of the line”, but Numos disagreed because a wall was what he wanted to build. The wall was positioned with the system’s sun at their back, bathing the jump point in bright white light.
Stone announced to the crew. “On station in thirty-seven minutes.”
Stone thought they were the longest thirty-seven minutes ever recorded by man until he struggled to stay awake for the thirty-seven minutes after that. Being on the station was one thing, turning to face the navigation point the Hyrocanians would use to jump into the
system, was another. It was all preset into Three’s computer systems. Sitting and waiting for the enemy to show up and kill you was mind numbingly boring. The second thirty-seven minutes of waiting felt twice as long as the first thirty-seven minutes.
He ran the time thing through his head again, not the “time flies when you’re having fun” thing, but the hyperspace time anomaly. The Vance jumped to Holliman’s Rift, five days ago. Of course, they dropped out of hyperspace at the same time they jumped in, regardless of the fact they spent three weeks in the gray of nothing. Nothing was nothing. Time was something and did not exist inside hyperspace, except within the tiny bubble wrapped around any ship passing through. When a ship jumped from hyperspace back to normal space, that tiny bubble burst, taking any expended time with it.
The ex-slave ship captained by EMIS Agent Tammie Ryte jumped into hyperspace toward Holliman’s Rift five days ago and jumped out again at that exact moment. Four jumps later, after another sixteen weeks of time that did not actually happen, they jumped out into the Lazzaroni System having spent only three days of standard galactic time in travel. The Marvin departed even earlier, but no one knew whether the UEN was responding, or if the small shuttle had actually completed the trip, since ships—large and small—occasionally did not survive the gray nothingness of hyperspace.
Maybe EMIS Agent Ryte could light a fire under someone and get some real UEN help out here in time to plug this hole the enemy was going to use to drive a wedge into humanity’s backyard. Maybe the UEN had taken action when the Marvin reached them and was already on their way. Maybe the UEN decided they did not have enough ships to attempt a defensive action against an unknown number of enemy vessels. Maybe the Marvin and Ryte’s freighter had both vanished. Maybe the UEN was coming but would arrive too late to save their impromptu defensive fleet. There were too many maybes.
A flashing light indicated an internal comm was vying for his attention. He pushed the tiny white button and it turned color. Stone looked at the familiar man, but it took a second. It was Benjy, the man sent to the Hyrocanian cafeteria because of attempted sabotage, the man Stone had put in charge of the humans his team rescued from the warehouse ship.
Stone said, “Good to see you, Benjy. What can I do for you?”
The man looked pleased with being remembered. “Um…Captain Stone, I’ve practiced firing these guns in simulations, but I’ve never fired a real one in my life.”
Stone said, “Don’t worry. Those sims are very realistic.”
“Yes, sir. That’s what Tim—I mean XO Dollish said. I’m not worried about pulling the trigger. I figure I’ve got plenty of payback to collect. I just wondered if I can squeeze off a few just to see what it feels like.”
Stone nodded. He knew from personal experience that real life was never as much fun as the simulations. Pulling a trigger in real life was almost anti-climatic since most simulators were designed for teaching a trainee to manage the worst-case scenario. “Let me see if I can get the fleet commander’s approval.”
He called up Numos. “Captain? May we clear the barrels?”
Numos smiled, “Good idea. I’ve had too many FNGs stagger in surprise when their first shot wasn’t what they expected. We don’t have much ammo to spare so keep it to a minimum, and dammit, don’t aim for my minefield.”
Stone broadcast to the crew. “I am unlocking weapons safety. We have the fleet commander’s authorization to fire one shot. One shot only. Set your range to ten kilometers. Repeat, one shot only.”
Stone flicked off the bridge weapons safety. He consulted his communication list and called up Benjy’s station. He nodded at the man and watched Benjy spin the distance dial on his four-barrel cannon. He squeezed the trigger once. Shock showed on the new gunner’s face.
Benjy said, “What the—?” Looking at the system controls, he grinned. “There isn’t any recoil like the simulator said. That’s what always kicked my target off center.” A big grin split the man’s face, “The fix is in.”
Benjy operated a cannon that fired hard-shelled explosive bullets designed to penetrate deep into an enemy ship before exploding. The man would not get to fire until or unless they came up against a Hyrocanian that did not have its shields up. That was not likely unless the minefield managed to disable an enemy ship without destroying it. Still, the man was more ready now than he had been a few minutes ago.
Waiting was the hard part.
Finally, he announced to the crew. “Sleep if you can, folks. With a little luck, the navy will show up, and we can all go home.” He did not add that if the UEN does not show up before the enemy, they were all in for the long sleep.
Chapter Fifty-One
A screeching alarm woke Stone. Slapping the off button, he sat bolt upright.
Numos’s face, now clean shaven and in a fresh shirt, popped onto the communications monitor. “Jump point navigation translation waves. Lock and load. Remember your orders. Stay on your station points.”
Stone broadcast to the crew, “General Quarters. General Quarters. General Quarters. Man your stations. Weapons on bridge lockout, but we want to be ready.”
A voice responded. “Forward cannon number nine. Left transverse jammed.”
Stone slapped open his comms. “XO.”
“On it, Boss.”
Numos said calmly, “Enemy ship on the navigation point horizon. Spoofing active.”
A monitor showed Stone what Numos’s ship was broadcasting. The face of the corpulent admiral they captured on the warehouse ship that held the virion nest glared at the jump point. It looked angry that the incoming ships had taken so long to arrive. The creature’s avatar shouted nonsensical and often contradictory instructions at incoming Hyrocanian ships.
Dollish reported, “Nine operational, Captain. Just had to hit the P.O.S. with a hammer to free a frozen joint. I left the hammer with the gunner, just in case.”
Stone punched up the external cameras facing the jump point. Sure enough, a massive ship was pushing into the system. One minute there was nothing. The next instant, a huge craft, bigger than anything Stone had ever seen, popped into view. The bright system sun glinted across the face of the warship. Two smaller ovoid Hyrocanian ships popped into view next to it. They were the standard size and shape the Prophet had been building for the enemy, but next to the monster, they were like tiny ducklings following along behind a Colorado elk.
Two additional Hyrocanian warships popped into normal space, then three more. Stone shouted, though no one could hear him, “Stop it! That’s enough!”
He had set up his P.A. to show a situational relay. The jump point was already on the 3D display. Surrounding it was a thick belt of mines. The Platinum Pebble was the center point on his wall. Flanking Numos were twelve new Hyrocanian warships. Their wall was a plane perpendicular to the jump point, but each warship was stationed in a circle surrounding the Platinum Pebble as their flagship. The P.A. tagged all friendly ships green and incoming Hyrocanian ships as red.
Eight bright red dots glared back at Stone. The large monster in front had a thick circle around it and a smaller dotted line encircling it. For now, the thick red circle designated it as the Hyrocanian flagship. The dotted line indicated its shields were up. One of the two original escort ovoid ships did not have shields up and only one of the remainder did. The Hyrocanian admirals were overconfident, expecting to jump into a friendly system.
Suddenly, there were seven more Hyrocanian ships.
Stone held his breath instead of cursing. Their best hoped for plan was that the Hyrocanians would send one transport ship to supply crew to the new ships, filling each ship with goods and provisions from the warehouse ship already at the spacedock. All the humans would have to do is blast one ship into space dust. A fleet this size was beyond their worst scenario. It appeared the enemy brought in one ship for each new ship they were gaining.
He shook his head. No one ever expected the Hyrocanians to employ the buddy system for equipping new ships. This was a c
rappy time to find out about it.
Broadcasting to his crew, he kept his voice light and unconcerned. “I know you see the enemy on your reticules, but easy on your triggers, people. The good news is the Hyrocanians have given us a target rich environment. We’ll get our chance after the minefield does its job.”
Before long the Hyrocanians discovered the minefield. The big flagship breached the edge of the minefield before any of the other ships cleared the edge of the jump point. The ship entered the field at system-crossing speed. Their high rate of speed was necessary for a fleet jumping through the same navigation point. No fleet commander wanted his ships crowding each other upon entry to a new system.
The monster’s shields began scooping up mines. It only attracted a few mines before they exploded, blasting radiation into the ship, killing electronics, frying every system from their electric toothers to engines and life support. The shields failed directly exposing their hull to mines. The next few mines, unencumbered by shields that were kilometers away from the hull, raced at the flagship, slamming into it and exploding with a ferocity born of a human designer’s anger and desire to inflict maximum damage on humanity’s enemy.
The flagship was large enough to absorb the damage from a few nukes blowing yawning gaps in its hull, however, a dozen such explosions caused the flagship to shudder and go dark. Multiple internal secondary explosions outlined the dead ship.
The minefield had not claimed its last victim. One ovoid ship had jumped into the system with its shields down, a decision its admiral must have regretted when mines slammed into the ship’s hull. The regret was short-lived as the admiral and its ship ceased to exist in the blink of an eye.
The second ovoid ship’s shields were on full. Catching sight of the minefield, its admiral probably stripped its gears shifting from running at high speed in fourth gear to dropping into reverse. Its quick course change did not matter.
