Battle Cruiser

by B. V. Larson

  “The unit you knew as Captain Singh was not worthy of his skin and has been destroyed,” it said finally. “I’m of similar design.”

  “And your name is…?”

  “Call me Kaur,” it said at last. “Admiral Kaur.”

  “Excellent. Now Admiral Kaur, if you would—”

  “All data of value has been collected,” Kaur said. “I sense no further point to this communication. Are you willing to discuss your surrender now?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I wish to discuss a peaceful resolution to our…”

  I trailed off. The screen had gone dark. The display representing our converging forces returned.

  “Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Rumbold asked.

  “That was an untrained Stroj,” Zye said. “Stroj agents are programmed to blend in with whatever culture they’re infiltrating. That unit was typical of what they’re like in their natural state.”

  “How long until we can fire on them?” I asked.

  Zye perked up at that. “The leading wave of assault pods will be in range of our guns in eighteen minutes. We might be unable to damage them at that distance, however.”

  Swiftly, I rotated my seat around to face Zye.

  “Assault pods?” I demanded.

  “Yes. I’m talking about the smaller contacts that are closing with our position. They clearly mean to board and take this ship.”

  I was flabbergasted. “Zye, why didn’t you tell us what they were if you knew?”

  “I don’t know. I’m surmising from past experience—and also, I wasn’t asked.”

  I looked at her in frustration. Was she being evasive because she was annoyed? Or was she just being Zye? Or, was she possibly engaged in one of her odd “tricks?” I really didn’t know which it was, but I was annoyed regardless.

  “If you have an insight concerning any enemy action that we don’t seem to understand,” I said, “please inform us immediately.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Heaving a sigh, I spun away from her. “First Officer Durris,” I said. “I think we should fire our big guns when they get well within our range.”

  “Why not fire the moment we can hit them?” he asked.

  “Because they’re bunched up. The armament on this ship can fire a variable spread of particles. If they stay close together, we can hope to hit more than one with each shot. I don’t want to fire early, warn them, then have them split apart.”

  “Excellent thinking. We’ll be within an eighty percent hit-probability range in twenty-five minutes. Shall I queue up our first salvo for that moment?”

  “Yes. Do it,” I said.

  We waited. It was difficult, and I had to turn up my suit air conditioners twice. The enemy “assault pods” as Zye called them, came within our maximum range and pressed closer. It was hard not to fire.

  I watched as our hit-probabilities increased steadily, forcing myself to be patient.

  “Sir, the enemy configuration is changing,” Yamada said.

  “What? Are they spreading out?”

  “Not exactly, sir,” she said, “they—”

  I felt a surge of near panic. Did they know we were about to fire on them?

  “Zye, fire!”

  “Firing primary cannons, bank one,” she said.

  The deck rocked under us. We hear the distant rumble of the guns carried through the ship’s structure to the bridge.

  “Should I fire bank two, sir?” Zye asked.

  “Hold on. Damage report, Yamada?”

  “I can’t tell. There’s some kind of deflection matter—chaff. Or a cloud of particles.”

  I felt the battle slipping away from me at that moment. It struck me all at once. Here I was, a junior officer in charge of a ship I barely knew how to fly, facing an enemy I knew nothing about. I felt a fluttering sensation in my guts, and it was hard to think.

  “Zye, what are they doing?”

  “I can only conjecture. I’ve never been on the bridge during combat with the Stroj before. I was maintenance personnel and in my cell prior to our last encounter.”

  “All right,” I said, “that’s fine. Just tell me what you think they’re doing.”

  “The Stroj have developed countermeasures to our weaponry. That’s all I know. Do you want me to fire the second bank of cannons now? We’re in the eighty percent zone.”

  “Hold your fire,” I said. I turned to Yamada. “Ensign? Talk to me.”

  “I just can’t tell you if we hit them or not. There’s some kind of obscuring cloud. I can’t see any of the ships anymore. Look at the display.”

  I was looking. The sixty-four contacts had now merged into one amorphous blob. At least it was still vaguely wedge-shaped.

  “First Officer Durris,” I said. “I need advice. What are we facing?”

  He stepped down from his post and stood near my chair. He peered thoughtfully at the forward screens. I had to admit, he appeared to be cooler than I was at that moment. I told myself I had to pull it together. Clear thinking under fire—that was one of the key principles I’d been taught at the Academy.

  “I’d say we’re looking at some kind of aerogel or thick gas,” he said. “I recommend we tighten our beam diameter and try to punch through it on our next salvo.”

  “We can no longer see individual pods,” I said. “They’re probably spreading out as well. If we narrow the focus of the cannons, we’ll miss.”

  “There is one other option. We could increase the duration of each projection. That will burn through the obstacle even with a wide pattern of fire. But, we might overheat our guns.”

  I allowed myself one second to think. I nodded my head.

  “That’s it. Zye, double the duration of fire. Fire at will.”

  There were several seconds of delay, then the ship shuddered again.

  “Bank two, firing,” Zye said.

  “Hold banks one and three in reserve,” I ordered. “Keep firing with bank two, unless there is a failure. Give them extra time to cool down between shots.”

  There was an excruciatingly long delay before the ship shuddered again.

  “Bank two, firing,” Zye said.

  “That took nearly ninety seconds,” I complained.

  “The heat in the chambers was intense due to the longer burn-time.”

  “Right. Keep going. Anything yet, Yamada?”

  “Yes…yes, I think we’ve burned a hole through the cloud.”

  “Give me a visual!”

  She tapped at her console. Our optical systems were finally within range. We could see the approaching force with extreme magnification and computer extrapolation.

  “We’ve punched a hole right through the middle of their formation,” Yamada said happily.

  A few of the bridge crew whooped, but I crouched in my chair, fuming. “Why am I not seeing any of their pods in that hole?”

  “Because we destroyed them?” Yamada suggested.

  “Maybe. Or maybe they scooted off to the sides. Shift our fire to an obscured area, Zye. Fire when ready.”

  Time passed. We blew chunks in the cloud, but it still kept coming at us. Suddenly, the point defense guns began to chatter on their own.

  “What are they shooting at?” I demanded.

  “Not sure. They’re seeing contacts—but they could be decoys.”

  “Visual on the hull!”

  The screen lit up and I saw a half-dozen automated guns swinging this way and that with alarming rapidity. They were almost a blur of motion as they rotated, dipped and fired in every direction at once.

  “What are they shooting at?” I demanded again.

  No one answered me. Suddenly, the screen went gray. It was the fog, gel, whatever. It had enveloped Defiant. A split second later, we broke through onto the other side.

  Then, I saw them. I immediately wished I could “unsee” them.

  Pods. Triangular shapes with flaring jets, each of which burned blue-white. They were slowing down, swooping close.


  Our cannons jerked and fired streams of rounds—spraying all of space with depleted uranium pellets.

  Several of the pods were hit. Some flipped, smashed into one another, and exploded. Each time one went down, I couldn’t help but cheer.

  But soon the invaders were down too low, too close to the hull to be hit. The battle cruiser was pockmarked with places they could land in shallow pits and divots.

  “They’re down, sir.”

  “How many?”

  “The computer counted thirty one hits—I’d say no more than thirty three got through.”

  There was a moment of silence on the bridge. We all looked up at the bulkhead over us. Would the armor hold?

  “First Officer Durris,” I said. “Contact Marine Lieutenant Morris. Is he ready to repel invaders?”

  “He wants to talk to you, sir.”

  I contacted Morris with my implant. His voice filled my brain.

  “Captain? What kind of boarding party are you expecting?”

  “Thirty-three pods got to the hull. They’ll be armed, and they’ll be some kind of machine organic mix of varying degrees. Do not let them through your personal defenses. They use highly toxic nanite-treated weapons.”

  He was quiet for a second while he absorbed that.

  “Any clue how many troops are in each pod?”

  “Not sure…one to four, if I had to guess by their size.”

  “You said they’re partial flesh? So, if we kill their meaty parts—will that stop them?”

  I sighed. “Probably not. I’ve fought them a few times face to face. They’re pretty tough.”

  “That’s just grand, sir. Do you know how many marines I have aboard?”

  I blinked. I didn’t know. Before we’d shipped out, I’d spent all my time working on ship’s systems.

  “Tell me, Lieutenant.”

  “I’ve got seventeen troops, including myself. That’s it.”

  “Noted. I’ll organize the crew to support you. We’ll arm everyone.”

  “Thank you, sir. Just tell them I’m in command when the shit starts to fly.”

  “Will do—and Morris?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “Thanks for signing back on with me.”

  He laughed. “Dumbest damned thing I ever did!”

  The connection closed, and I wondered if he was right.

  -50-

  “They can’t get in here, surely,” First Officer Durris said, staring at the vid pickups.

  The invasion craft on our hull were opening and disgorging troops. They were in bulky suits, and they appeared to be large individuals. They carried heavy packs full of gear, moving with deliberate methodical steps.

  Rumbold cleared his throat. Durris looked at him. “They might just get in,” he said.

  “How?” asked Durris. “The outer hull is a ferrous poly-alloy. It’s partly collapsed matter, very tough. It would take a nuclear blast to break through.”

  Rumbold shrugged. “They’re rock miners, remember? They also managed to break into Defiant before we even began to investigate this craft.”

  First Officer Durris looked unusually pale.

  “They will break in,” Zye said, staring at the streaming video. It flashed and flickered, but it was unmistakable. Troops were crawling all over our hull like ants. “They are Stroj, and they would not have landed on the hull if they weren’t sure they could board us.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, spinning my chair around to face Durris. “What did you say?”

  “About the hull, Captain? That it’s partially collapsed matter?”

  “No, no. About nuclear blasts…I’m a fool.”

  I jumped up and waved to Rumbold. “Get a work crew suited up. Send all of them to the missile launch bays.”

  “Yes sir!”

  “Durris, you have the bridge.”

  We were rushing through the passages a moment later. Rumbold was right on my heels.

  “You’re thinking of the warheads, aren’t you Captain?” he asked me, huffing.

  “Yes. I’ve been a fool. I should have spread them out in a pattern to stop these invaders before they even reached the hull. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”

  “You haven’t had much battle experience yet, sir,” he said. “If it’s any consolation, very few other Earthlings alive today have faced enemy ships in a serious fight.”

  We opened the last hatch, and we rushed into the missile bays. There were no launch vehicles—only warheads.

  Each of the devices was shaped like a pyramid. They were designed to go into a missile—but as our missiles were incompatible with the Defiant’s launch tubes, we had only the modified warheads.

  I looked them over, seeing the kind of detonators my crew had attached. As I did so, a dozen men in black spacer suits filed in. They were enlisted men, hard-eyed and serious.

  “How can we help, sir?” ask a petty officer.

  I waved him forward. “We can’t use proximity fuses, or timers. The only way to do this is with a radio-signal. Set up the warheads—all of them.”

  The spacers climbed all over the stack of warheads, adjusting them manually. There was no hesitation in them, no backtalk or questioning. This was real, and they knew it.

  “Listen up,” I said. “There were three enemy invaders in every pod out there. That means an estimated one hundred troops are crawling over our hull, looking for a way in. We’ve got to use these warheads as mines to blast them off the exterior hull, without killing ourselves or our ship.”

  They looked at me quietly. I noticed they all had at least a pistol on their hip. That was something—not much—but something.

  “Each man is to take a warhead. Line up at the tubes. We’ll shove one in, eject it, then the moment the outer blast door over the tube is closed, we’ll detonate it.”

  “That’s the plan?” Rumbold demanded suddenly.

  “Yes,” I said. “In its entirety. You there, approach the tube. You two, open the chamber and load his warhead into it. Rumbold, you handle the ejection. I will signal the detonation personally.”

  They did as I asked, but they were grumbling now. Apparently, the haphazard nature of my plan didn’t sit well with them. I didn’t have time to reprimand them for their lack of confidence and decorum. I didn’t have to explain that this plan was the best we had at the moment, either.

  Using my implant, I contacted Zye. “Give me a tactical feed, please,” I asked her.

  “All I have is visual data—images from the hull that are about two minutes old. The Stroj have knocked out all of our vid pickups as they find them.”

  After wasting a few precious moments cursing, I tried to think. To detonate a warhead on the assumption it was in position—that was going to take a lot of guts. I steeled myself. I was going to have to do this on intuition.

  “Warhead loaded, sir,” Rumbold said. “But it’s just sitting in there. No form of propellant at all.”

  “Wrong,” I said. “The chamber is still pressurized, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, when we open the missile tube doors, the pressure should push the warhead out into space. We’ll detonate it as soon as it’s clear.”

  “How will we know when it’s outside the ship?” Rumbold demanded. “What if it hooks up, or what if the outer doors open slowly? The warhead will be just sitting there. It will rip a hole right through—”

  “I know,” I said, “but I don’t have a better way, Chief. We’re going to have to chance it.”

  “I know a better way,” he said.

  Frowning, I turned to see him opening the tube hatch again. Before I could stop him, he climbed into the tube.

  “What the hell are you doing, Rumbold?”

  “I’ll provide visual confirmation,” he said. “I’m tethered now. Open the tube. If I have to, I’ll push the damned bomb out myself.”‘

  “You’ll be killed.”

  “We’re going to die anyway if you keep delaying!” he complained.<
br />
  I hesitated. The rest of the spacers looked at me, uncertain.

  “All right. Zye, open gun port six. Talk to me, Rumbold.”

  “It’s opening…it’s too slow, sir! The gas all rushed out, and it’s gone. The warhead is still sitting in the tube with me!”

  “Let’s abort,” I said. “We’ll think of something else.”

  I stepped over to the tube where Rumbold had vanished. Two men stood ready to drag him back out of there.

  “Hold on, I think I can push it out,” Rumbold said, grunting with effort. “I’ve got it! It’s floating free. Detonate it, man!”

  “Zye, close the tube door,” I ordered.

  “There’s no time for that!” Rumbold shouted. “Just blow it up before it floats too far off. The Stroj—oh God sir, they’ve seen me and the warhead. They’re coming my way.”

  “Zye, is that missile port closed yet?”

  “Almost.”

  “Dammit, Sparhawk!” Rumbold shouted. “Blow the thing—!”

  I depressed the detonator.

  I didn’t want to do it. Rumbold had been a friend of mine, a loyal man who’d served for years under me. He’d taught me more than I’d ever taught him about flying a ship in the void.

  A burst of released energy hit Defiant’s hull. The force of it caused a booming sound as it smashed into the hull. It wasn’t a shockwave, as there was no atmosphere to carry such a physical effect, but we were so close that the hull was battered. Inside the ship, there was a sound like that of a massive hammer striking an equally massive bell.

  We were thrown off our feet, but we climbed back up quickly.

  “Get the tube open!” I ordered, but I needn’t have.

  The spacers were already working to spin the wheel. The automatic drive on the system didn’t seem to operate any longer.

  When we had it open, a shocking thing happened—the chamber began to depressurize around us. The two men who’d opened it were sucked out into space.

  I managed to grab hold of the wheel and hang on. After a few seconds, the atmosphere in the hold was gone, and the bulkheads had sealed automatically to keep the rest of the ship’s air from jetting into space.

  Crawling hand-over-hand to the base of the tube, I looked inside.