Battle Cruiser

by B. V. Larson

  I turned to her, troubled. “A man I ran down above Antarctica months ago. He had several of these tubes in his possession then. He claimed the tubes held embryos to be sold to rock rats.”

  “Sold?” she demanded, eyes storming. “Who would dare barter and trade with Beta infants?”

  “More importantly,” I said, “who would be interested in buying them, and why?”

  “We have to get them back,” Zye said. She turned to the petty officer. “You, underling, order this Edvar Janik to return the children.”

  The petty officer looked stunned. “Return the what…?” he asked. “I can’t. He’s gone. He had a ship docked at this station—but if you touch his name, it will navigate to a location program. See? Oh…apparently he’s gone out of range.”

  Zye made a growling sound of frustration.

  “He’s right,” I said, looking it over. “Smugglers, small-time traders—they’re one and the same on the fringes of the system. Once they get about a million kilometers out from Earth, you can’t be sure where—wait a moment.”

  I engaged my internal implant, connecting my retina to the net. I then navigated to a commerce database maintained by the Guard. My new rank allowed me to get data from CENTCOM directly.

  “The files indicate that the ship isn’t flying back out to the rocks,” I said, working my implant as fast as I could. “It vanished on Earth. It was tracked to the Antarctic again, where it went down and off the grid.”

  Zye looked relieved when I turned and focused my eyes on her again.

  “That’s good,” she said. “It’s cold there, right?”

  “Yes, very.”

  “Then we can go down and capture this fiend.”

  “Well, Zye,” I said. “All we know is that he bought the embryos and transported them to Earth. We can’t be sure that he’s—”

  “He’s a Stroj, William,” she said. “I know by the name. That sort of name—they choose them often. They were from Eastern Europe originally. I told you that, you remember?”

  “Yes, right,” I said thoughtfully. “You did.”

  “Let’s go! We must fly there directly.”

  She turned and took a single step toward the hatch. I put a hand out and gently caught her elbow. She turned back reluctantly.

  “Zye,” I said, “there isn’t time. We can’t go down there, find him, and return before we must get underway.”

  “But the children, Captain!”

  “I know,” I said, “they’re of great value. But everyone on Earth will be overrun by this incoming fleet if we don’t stop them. We’re talking about twenty-one billion people.”

  “Twenty-one billion Basics,” she growled.

  I removed my hand from her elbow. “I understand how you feel. I will give you leave to go down there and chase this man if you wish. But I ask you to stay—to fight with us. We need you. Everyone does.”

  Zye stood still. Her sides heaved as she took great breaths. Indecision was difficult for a person like her.

  “It would be better that you ordered me to stay,” she said. “I would infinitely prefer it that way.”

  “I don’t want you to resent me. You must make this decision on your own.”

  She looked at me, eyes glowering, enraged and despairing all at once. “You want it all. My help, my loyalty and my gratitude all at once.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Ruthless… You make a fine leader. I hate you right now—but I will serve you.”

  That said, she walked back toward the bridge. I followed. I thought of a million nice things to say, but I kept my mouth shut. When dealing with an angry, confused Beta, sometimes staying quiet was the best policy.

  By the time we’d reached the bridge, the final preparations were underway. The ship was fully loaded with personnel, weaponry and supplies. We cast off the umbilical-like docking cord and sealed every hatch on both sides.

  A long checklist began. Every station operator on the bridge checked and double-checked their status indicators.

  I was amazed how well the ship had recovered. She was truly superior to Earth technology when it came to rebuilding herself.

  The navigational gear, however, was still less effective than the equipment aboard a standard Guard destroyer. The Betas, it seemed, had made few improvements in that regard.

  They’d focused exclusively on power, weapons and survivability. Given the nature of the contest I was about to face, I couldn’t find any fault with their strategic decisions.

  Thirty-seven minutes before I’d promised Vice Admiral Halsey we’d be ready, we launched. The first moments were nerve-wracking. The fuel pump indicators dipped, and the power on the bridge dimmed, then brightened again.

  “Just the couplings,” chuckled Rumbold nervously. “She’ll be right as rain when we get her up to speed.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was giving voice to his opinions or his fantasies. A few minutes later, however, he proved to be right. The ship straightened out, stopped stuttering, and began to thrum with power.

  “We don’t have to do a hard acceleration,” I said. “Let’s get out there at a steady two Gs. Who’s watching the incoming contacts?”

  “I’ve got them, sir,” First Officer Durris said. He was standing at his post, moving his hands above the over-sized boards and trying to control everything with gestures. The trouble was any Beta operator would have dwarfed him. He looked like a child at a bay window. “I’m putting them on the forward display now.”

  The screen flickered into life. A dozen red points gleamed—then a hundred—then a thousand.

  “Can that be right?” I demanded. “Give me a count.”

  “Uh…the tally should be in the lower left now, sir.”

  A red number read one thousand, seventy-one. My tongue seemed to thicken up in my mouth.

  “How could they have that many ships?” I asked in a low, desperate tone. “There can’t be that many interplanetary craft registered on all the rocks combined.”

  “They aren’t your ships, Captain,” Zye said with sudden authority. “They are the Stroj. The enemy has clearly captured your rocks—and your rock rats. They’re no longer human Basics.”

  I looked at her, but she was staring at the globular swarm of ships that were approaching us. So was the rest of my crew.

  The swarm shifted as they came in at a cautious pace. They were about ten times farther out than Luna, but they would be here all too soon.

  “Plot a course around Luna,” I said. “If they don’t react, we’ll hit them in their flank in…navigational estimate, Durris?”

  He plotted, and a spiraling curve appeared on the screen. A yellow course line intersected the enemy swarm.

  “Assuming they plow on straight ahead,” he said, “we’ll come into weapons range in seven hours.”

  “Good enough,” I said.

  “But Captain,” Rumbold piped up. “What if they see what we’re doing and speed up? They could charge toward Earth, and we’d be out of position.”

  “Yes,” I admitted, “and at that point, we’ll have to unleash the full capabilities of our engines to catch up.”

  Rumbold groaned. “I’ve only just knitted my guts back together after the last time!” he said loudly.

  Several of the bridge crew, those who’d experienced what Defiant could do, responded with grim chuckles. Durris and others who were new to the ship looked confused and concerned.

  -48-

  We accelerated smoothly toward Luna and did a banking turn around her, skimming close to the surface of the airless moon. When we came around on the other side hours later, we discovered the enemy had made a course adjustment—but it wasn’t toward Earth.

  “Sir, they’re plowing right toward us!” Rumbold exclaimed.

  Inwardly, I felt my guts twist. Outwardly, I hid my worries. I forced a tight smile, in fact, and nodded.

  “Exactly,” I said. They want to intercept us, rather than letting us hit their flank.”

  “Th
ey obviously think they can win,” Rumbold pointed out, “with plenty of strength left over for Earth afterward.”

  “And that will be their downfall,” I said with a firm conviction I didn’t feel.

  This was, I reflected, the singular moment during which the commanding officer of any warship must exhibit complete confidence. I knew nothing about the approaching flotilla or its capabilities. But I knew that we had to stop them, or Earth would be attacked.

  In this rare situation, misleading statements from a ship’s captain were practically expected. I couldn’t very well tell my crew we were all flying to our collective doom. That would only serve to increase the odds of such a prophesy coming true.

  My crewmembers needed to keep their morale high, and I was determined to help them, regardless of how it grated on me personally to be deceitful. Accordingly, I told myself there was no dishonor in a little bit of undeserved bravado.

  “Remember,” I said, “we rode out a strike containing a hundred warheads not long ago. We weren’t even firing back then—this time, there will be no mercy. We’ll blast them from the sky if they won’t turn back.”

  Zye perked up when I said these words.

  “If they won’t turn back?” she asked. “Surely, that doesn’t mean you plan to give them a chance to retreat, does it Captain?”

  I glanced at her. “It’s my job to keep the enemy from reaching Earth. I’ll do whatever I must to accomplish that goal.”

  “But sir…these creatures can’t be dealt with. They are the Stroj. You’ve met them in personal combat. Surely—”

  “Zye,” I said, “please return to your post.”

  She had left her station and taken two sweeping strides in my direction. After pausing for a moment, she returned to her boards and hunched over them. She was clearly upset.

  “First Officer Durris,” I said. “How long until we’re within effective weapons range?”

  “We’re converging…looks like five hours, if nothing changes.”

  “Good enough. Yamada, open a channel to the approaching fleet. Put them on screen.”

  She worked her controls for a lengthy period, but finally looked up and shook her head. “It’s no good, sir. We can’t get through.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know…they have to be hearing us. I don’t see any evidence of jamming. But they’re not answering.”

  “Keep trying to establish contact.”

  A few hours passed while we planned tactical scenarios and watched our sensors. I felt as if we were charging into battle with an unknown enemy—because we were.

  “Captain!” Yamada said suddenly. “We’ve got activity—looks like they’re launching something.”

  “Missiles?” I asked, stepping to the tactical screens.

  “No sir…well, maybe. Small craft, independently guided. I can’t tell from this distance, but they aren’t acting like missiles.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “They’re flying in formation. A loose wedge, about ten kilometers wide. Normal missile barrages would be a large swarm, or a stream following one another.”

  I nodded. “Do we have optical yet?”

  “I can only get the computer to project their course. Any visual data would be conjecture at this range.”

  “Right, put them up on the forward display.”

  The bridge became quiet as we watched the data create a visual map. Still far from Earth, the enemy fleet approached at a steady pace. There were over a thousand small craft—a startling number.

  Ahead of that force a new wedge-shaped formation of tiny contacts appeared. There were sixty-four of these.

  “They’ve got to be missiles,” Rumbold said.

  “Maybe. First Officer Durris, will they reach Earth before we can intercept them?”

  “Plotting now…no.”

  I glanced at him. He looked troubled. “Display the course, Durris.”

  “Certainly,” he said, and the screen shifted. Tiny red lines grew from every one of these unknown threats. They coalesced into one thicker red line—which ran directly into the green line that projected our current course.

  “These new contacts are headed for us, sir,” Durris confirmed. “Not Earth.”

  “Zye, are our point-defenses fully operational?”

  “Yes sir. Ready to fire when the targets come into range.”

  “Excellent. How long do we have, Durris?”

  “Difficult to say. The contacts are accelerating now, but their rate of acceleration is dropping. I’m not sure if they’re going to slam into us at their top speed, or what.”

  “Give me your best guess.”

  He fooled with the numbers, and I stepped over to join him at the navigational boards. I could see he was having a few problems. He was using all his own calculations, rather than the ship’s AI.

  “Zye, could you step over here please?”

  She appeared in an instant. The way she loomed over Durris, frowning, I could tell she was wondering if he might need arresting or something similarly drastic.

  “Could you help the First Officer get the AI to give us its best guess as to the timing of this conflict?” I asked her, keeping my tone neutral.

  Zye reached a long, thick arm between us and tapped the board firmly. “There, right there. It’s on the display already.”

  Durris and I looked in confusion. “Hmm,” I said, “but that’s only the projected moment given their current course and speed.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I was hoping for something more. An intelligent projection of likely outcomes…?”

  Zye looked baffled. “Beta computers don’t speculate about anything. If they did, we’d turn them off.”

  She went back to her board and sat down.

  Durris and I exchanged glances. “No AI data interpolation?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “That doesn’t fit with Beta design thinking, sir,” he said. “That’s why I was doing the calculations by hand on my personal computer.”

  “All right. Can we feed the data back to CENTCOM and see what they can come up with?”

  He shook his head again. “We’ve got basic communications, but there’s no format match. Our files are all different. Even our transfer protocols are barely compatible. We’re on our own for data analysis.”

  “Contact CENTCOM anyway,” I said. “They should be able to see what we’re seeing. Let them run the numbers for us.”

  “Will do.”

  I walked away, thinking hard. We actually knew very little about Defiant’s design. There were bound to be difficulties like this. A century and half had passed since we’d been in contact with the Betas, and technological divergence was only to be expected. I hoped against hope it wouldn’t screw me later on.

  As we grew closer to these two groups of contacts, I became increasingly anxious. I did my best to hide it, of course.

  After checking on every member of the bridge crew at least three times, I went back to my seat and forced myself to park there. It would be another forty minutes before anything came within extreme range.

  “Captain!” Durris said suddenly. “I’ve got a channel open with the approaching fleet!”

  “The primary group or this smaller force?”

  “The primary group, sir.”

  “Everyone look calm. Durris, put them on screen.”

  The tactical map faded and was replaced with an almost human face. The skin was there, as were the teeth and the eyes. There were things missing, however. The being before me had no hair—and no ears.

  That wasn’t what shocked me about the person who looked out at us with obvious curiosity. What I almost couldn’t accept was the fact that I recognized the face. It was none other than Captain Singh of the destroyer Altair.

  “Captain Singh?” I asked.

  “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” breathed Rumbold. “That’s him!”

  The thing turned its head, regarding each of us in turn. I saw then, as
it rotated its head this way and that, there were ears after a fashion—or at least there were holes where the ears should be.

  Dark openings with flaps of skin hanging over them were located on each side of the skull. Inside those openings I saw a dull, metallic gleam. Could its skull be metal?

  “Is that you, Captain Singh?” I asked again.

  “Identify yourself,” the person said.

  “I’m Captain William Sparhawk. This is the Star Guard ship, Defiant.”

  Singh—if he truly was Singh—continued to look around at the bridge crew.

  “That, Captain,” Zye said, “is a Stroj in its natural form.”

  I looked at her, then back at the screen. It was disturbing. The creature regarding us looked human, but the cues it gave off were all wrong. In a way, I thought I might feel more at ease if I’d been faced with some kind of intelligent spider.

  -49-

  The being that resembled Captain Singh finally looked up and addressed me, after having apparently studied each person on the bridge.

  “Why have you contacted the Stroj?” he demanded suddenly.

  “We hailed your ships to warn you off.”

  “A threat? You’re wasting my time.”

  He moved as if to disconnect the channel. I put my hand up quickly.

  “Wait!” I said. “Let’s talk.”

  “You wish to surrender?”

  “No, that wasn’t my first order of business.”

  “We would prefer that you surrender. The captured Beta ship has value. Your flesh has value. We would prefer not to destroy either.”

  “All right then,” I said, feeling my way through the conversation. “Let’s talk. Are you Captain Singh?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve identified myself. I would ask that you do the same.”

  The Stroj fell silent for a time. Its head moved in small jerks and twists. It seemed to want to scan each of us, focusing on every face in turn, over and over. Or, maybe it was gathering information concerning our equipment and bridge modifications. This seemed more likely and I had to hope I hadn’t given too much away.

  I realized I was no longer thinking of the Stroj as masculine, nor even as a human. The strange creature had become an “it” in my mind.