Citizen X - BP01

by DePrima, Thomas

  If the attack was successful, both ships would suddenly be in n-space. If the procedure was unsuccessful and a collision didn't occur, the targeted ship would continue away at FTL while the pursuit ship tried to rebuild its envelope and renew pursuit. During the two minutes it took to rebuild an envelope, the target ship, traveling FTL, could change course and attempt to lose itself in the vastness of space.

  "Tac, are you ready?"

  "Ready, sir," Lieutenant Nivollo said.

  "Okay, helm, it's up to you and tac."

  "Yes, sir," Bronson said. "Beginning my approach."

  The helmsman had brought the Perry around behind the rebel destroyer after they failed to stop it by crossing its bow and was now directly astern. Bronson began closing the distance slowly and with great care. All eyes not required elsewhere were watching the large monitor at the front of the bridge as the rebel ship loomed larger and larger. Bronson's practiced moves narrowed the gap between the two ships as other crewmembers licked at parched lips. Bronson kept one eye on the monitor and the other on his instrument gauges.

  "Tac," Bronson said, "we'll do this on zero with a countdown from five. Acknowledge."

  "Tac acknowledges. Will fire on zero with a countdown from five. Temporal generator is targeted and all is ready."

  "Very good. Standby."

  The minutes seemed to pass like hours as everyone watched the monitor. Not a sound could be heard, not even normal respiratory noises. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath, and everyone on the bridge flinched as from a clap of thunder when Bronson finally began his countdown.

  "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Nooooooooooo!"

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~ Feb. 18th, 2285 ~

  Sydnee wished she could remove her personal armor and relax, but she didn't dare unseal while in the open on this planet, and the only place that was completely safe was mostly buried under tons of dirt at the bottom of a hole that looked like the mother of all mortar craters. Fortunately, the padded body suit and armor allowed for the collection, processing, and dry storage of solid waste. Urine and perspiration were collected, purified, and available for re-absorption, so thirst wasn't a problem, but sustenance would be if she couldn't remove her helmet. If a wearer was feeling fatigue, the armor could provide concentrated doses of vitamins and energy nutrients through a small feeding tube in the helmet. It was the same tube used to provide recycled water, but while it gave the body what it needed most, it wasn't a long-term solution.

  In the hours that followed the opening of the sinkhole, the Marines had erected a couple of portable shelters. They weren't air-conditioned or even dehumidified, but they had the misters that kept the insect population near zero. One end of one shelter housed the food preparation area, and there were even a few tables and chairs, although most took their meals standing up, then put their helmet on and went outside because it was cooler with their armor sealed. The Marines had also erected an enclosed lavatory/latrine where they could wash, clean the waste system in their armor, and for a few minutes feel like a human instead of a robot, even if those few minutes were like sitting in a sauna.

  The CP tent had been re-erected, and the spray from the misting device seemed to be keeping it clear of insects, but Sydnee wasn't taking any chances. Besides, the armor was keeping her fairly cool in a miserably hot and humid environment.

  "Lieutenant," the com operator said, "I was receiving a message from the Perry, but it cut off in mid-sentence. Now they're not responding to hails."

  Kennedy was out with a patrol group, so Sydnee knew the com operator was talking to her. She walked over to the console. "What did the message say, corporal?"

  "The Perry reported that the rebel destroyer had refused to respond to hails. They had cut across their bow in a failed effort to trigger the vessel's ACS. The com chief said they were about to attempt a different maneuver."

  "An envelope merge?"

  "He didn't say. Or at least that part of the message didn't get through."

  "Oh no," Sydnee muttered.

  "What?"

  "Uh, nothing corporal. Keep trying to reestablish contact."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Sydnee had an image in her mind of a two-ship collision that left little of the two vessels recognizable. She knew she mustn't articulate her thoughts to anyone except Kennedy, but a collision was the only reasonable explanation for the loss of communications. The MATs don't have FTL, so they would have been unable to go check on the Perry even if the small ship had been available. Sydnee couldn't help but think of all the friends she had made on the ship, friends whom she might never see again, and hoped that there was some other explanation for the communication blackout.

  She tried to turn her thoughts to something else, but the possible fate of the Perry crew refused to leave her mind completely, and all she managed to do was dredge up more unpleasant memories. She had been a young girl when her father died at the Battle for Higgins and she hadn't known him well because he always seemed to be away from home. But she remembered how happy she was every time he returned on leave and the wonderful days the five of them had together until it was time for him to leave again. Her mother was a different person then and had never gotten over the loss. She sometimes seemed to blame Space Command, but she knew that her husband was simply doing his best to help safeguard their lives and freedoms. Sydnee believed that she had remarried again not out of love, but merely because she was seeking family stability. Curtis, Sydnee's stepdad, had a good job and was a good provider, but he had always been a little distant with Sydnee and her sister. Perhaps part of that was because the two girls had always clung too tightly to the memory of their real father and hadn't allowed him to get too close. Her brother, Sterling, had been a little closer to his stepdad. That might have been because he was the youngest and had fewer memories of their real father. Sydnee hadn't heard from her brother in four years, and her messages were always returned as undeliverable.

  Thoughts of the possible fate of the Perry also led Sydnee to think about her friend Katrina. Her last three messages to Kat remained unanswered. She knew from news reports that things were heating up in Region Two, so it might simply be the result of a communication blackout on personal correspondence during military operations, but it might be something far worse.

  Their own situation appeared to be as serious as anything being faced in Region Two. If the Perry never returned, they'd be marooned on this planet with hundreds of potentially hostile rebels until another SC ship could rescue them in a few months. The rebels most likely had communications equipment, but Sydnee couldn't know if they were aware that their rebel rescue ship had arrived in the system, then beat a hasty retreat when it spotted the SC destroyer. The IDS jamming satellite dropped by the Perry would have prevented any communication unless the rebels also had basic RF equipment. If they did know about the arrival of the rescue ship, they'd blame SC for now being marooned here.

  The situation looked worse and worse as the pieces seemed to drop into place. No way off the planet, no relief from the dangers of flora and fauna, and a dangerous enemy who had shown an eager willingness to use deadly force to further their goals. No, it didn't look good at all.

  "Lieutenant," Sydnee heard through the microphone mounted in the chest plate of her body armor, "that ground is unstable. I wouldn't get too close to the edge."

  Sydnee looked down and was shocked to discover that she was standing a meter from the sinkhole edge. While she had been thinking, she had apparently been wandering around the base camp and former clearing. She looked towards the speaker, Sergeant Booth, one of the squad leaders, and gave him a thumbs up, then stepped backward.

  * * *

  "Report," was all Captain Lidden said to the tac officer as he struggled to his feet. His seat belt should have been buckled before the tactic was attempted, but it had been several years since the Perry had engaged another ship in battle and his mind had been preoccupied with the details of the maneuver. There was no se
nsation of movement when going to FTL and little when the Sub-Light engines were engaged, so it was easy to forget that the ship could be subjected to such violent movements. Lidden had been thrown forward out of his chair, winding up against the solid base of the helm console chair. He didn't think anything was broken, but he had definitely wrenched his back and might have seriously bruised some muscles.

  The helmsman, thrown completely over the console, was trying to get to his feet near the forward bulkhead where a darkened front monitor was offering no information about the space around them or the condition of the ship. Other crewmembers were likewise trying to get to their feet. It appeared that all had been lax about wearing their seatbelts on this occasion. A few were groaning as if suffering from broken bones.

  "We've struck the other destroyer, sir," the tac officer said as he regained his feet and checked his instruments. "That's all I know at present. The entire hull sensor grid appears to be off-line, including all vid units, and we seem to be bleeding atmosphere at a prodigious rate. Engineering will have to assess the damage and provide a more accurate report."

  "What of the other ship?"

  "Unknown, sir. Our DeTect grid is down. I fired the forward laser array as Lt. Bronson reached zero, or at least what I expected to be zero. I realized as I depressed the fire button that he was in fact saying 'no.' It would appear that the action of the rebel helmsman was enough to make me miss the shot, sir. They might have continued in FTL while we dropped our envelope. Or they could be floating nearby."

  "What happened during the maneuver?"

  "As we neared the rebel ship, it suddenly performed a larboard roll along the center axis of the ship with a yaw to larboard. We made contact with her starboard hull as the ship shifted position in front of us. The collision had to have caused massive damage to that ship."

  "And it appears they did a good amount to us as well."

  "Their helmsman must have realized what we were doing, sir, and attempted to foil our effort to destroy their temporal generator by moving its relative position," Lt. Bronson said as he moved to retake his seat at the helm. "He probably assumed we would drop our envelope immediately."

  "Why did we collide, Bronson?"

  "It's, uh, my fault, sir, and I take full responsibility. I lost my concentration for just a moment when the other ship moved as it did. When we collided, I was thrown over the console. Damage to the ship must have been responsible for cancelling our envelope."

  Lidden grimaced. "Com, tell engineering that I need an initial assessment."

  "Aye, Captain," the com chief said. A few seconds later he said, "Done, sir."

  "Com, notify the Marines we left on Diabolisto that we've suffered damage during pursuit of the rebel ship and that our return will be delayed. Tell them we'll update as we have more information."

  "I'm sorry, sir. The transmission relays are down. I have internal communications only."

  "Not even RF?"

  "No, sir. I'm unable to transmit any signals on the RF bands or the IDS band. I'm also not receiving any signals."

  "Report that to engineering."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Okay. Listen up, people. We need information. We need to know everything we can learn about that other ship. We must know if a spread of torpedoes is about to be launched in our direction, if our temporal generator is intact, and if our Sub-Light engines can be used. Anything you can do to assist the engineers must be done. We need to find a way to contact our people on Diabolisto. We know we're too far for RF communications to reach them for years, even if we could send a signal, but there must be a way."

  "Sir?" the com chief said.

  "Yes, Chief."

  "I remember hearing that when Admiral Carver broke the light-speed record, her onboard systems shorted out so they lost all communications. She allegedly reported that if they'd had a tug or shuttle on board, they would have been able to contact the Prometheus with the communication system aboard the small ship."

  "Yes, Chief. That's true. Excellent. Contact Chief Wallomi and have her send a message from one of our small ships to our people on Diabolisto and then one to Simmons Space Command Base informing them of our problem."

  "Yes, sir."

  As the Chief turned to his console, the senior Engineering officer, Lieutenant Knudsen, contacted the Captain.

  "Lidden."

  "Sir, the news is bad. After impacting the other ship, we slid along its hull, damaging our hull from the keel up to deck eight. At least eighty percent of the frame sections along the larboard side have sustained some damage. The lower three decks are open to space and will require a major repair effort to restore use of those sections. We're shutting down all life support systems on the three decks as we determine that there are no survivors trapped down there."

  "Those decks should have been cleared when we went to GQ."

  "Yes, sir, and we haven't found anyone yet. I just wanted to be absolutely sure before I shut down life support."

  "How much longer to complete the verification, Lieutenant?"

  "We're almost done with the areas that aren't open to space. We should have the three decks sealed off within fifteen minutes."

  "Was the Marine hanger bay damaged?"

  "I'm afraid there isn't much left of it. The three MATs and two tugs down there are just a pile of scrap metal now. They'll never fly again, even if someone could manage to squeeze onto the flight deck."

  "I thought that new MAT was supposed to be indestructible."

  "The outer skin can't be damaged by laser fire and is resistant to damage from explosions, but that doesn't include being crushed between two large vessels. The Dakinium sheathing is probably in perfect condition; you just can't get into an eighteen-meter-thick ship that's now two meters thick."

  "How about the shuttle bays?"

  "The larboard shuttle bay is almost as bad as the MAT hanger. The shuttles were all destroyed."

  "What about the starboard bay?"

  "I don't imagine it sustained any damage at all, sir."

  "How many shuttles are available there?"

  "None, sir. We've only used that bay for incoming visitors. Our shuttles all operated out of the larboard bay."

  "Wonderful," Lidden said with a grimace. "Do you think it's possible to access the communication system in any of the small ships?"

  "I think it would be far better to utilize our limited resources in getting the Perry's main system operational. And even that must receive a lower priority to getting the ship sealed and the propulsion systems operational."

  "Surely there must be some portable IDS gear available."

  "That sort of equipment was all stored in the Marine holds down on deck two. Deck two is pretty much gone, sir.

  Lidden took a deep breath and then expelled it quickly, his frustration evident. "Very well, Lieutenant. Carry on."

  "Aye, sir. Knudsen out."

  "Lidden out." To the com Chief, Lidden said, "Forget about using the MATs or shuttles for communications, Chief. The ships were all destroyed in the collision. We won't be sending any messages from there. Any other ideas?"

  "Negative, sir. That was all I've come up with up so far."

  Lidden took another deep breath and released it slowly before saying, "Com, have Lt. Weems come to my briefing room."

  "Aye, sir."

  Weems arrived on the bridge twenty-three minutes later and was admitted to the Captain's briefing room as soon as he approached the doors.

  "Lieutenant Weems reporting as ordered, sir," Weems said as he braced to attention in front of the Captain's desk.

  Like the rest of the ship, this compartment was small by modern standards. A plain, office-sized desk molded from a plastic composite material took up a full third of the space and left barely enough room behind it for a chair. As with the rest of the ship, the metal bulkheads were merely painted rather than having been surfaced with any of the many available decorative coverings found in the new ships.

  "Lieutenant,"
Lidden said. "I need someone to perform a special task, and you're it. We're dead in space at present, our communications are down, and the hull sensor grid is unavailable as well. I need to know what's going on outside this ship. Specifically, I need to know what happened to the rebel ship involved in the collision. To that end, I want you to find a couple of volunteers to assist you, suit up, and take a walk around outside. Take a vid unit and record everything of interest. Our engineers are going to be busy inside for a while, so any images you can get of the hull damage would be useful, but the primary mission is to spot the rebel ship and determine if it poses a threat to us. Understand?"

  "Completely, sir."

  "Good. When you select the people to assist you, avoid anyone who is involved with, or indispensible to, the current interior efforts."

  "Yes, sir. I have a couple of people in mind whom I'm reasonably sure aren't indispensible in the current repair effort."

  "Who?"

  "Lieutenants Caruthers and Stiller, sir. If one is occupied, I can substitute with Lt. Bateman."

  "Fine. Track them down and head out."

  "Aye, sir."

  * * *

  As the evening briefing began in the CP tent, the noncoms and officers assembled around a table where a holographic mat had been rolled out. It was currently displaying an image of the rebel camp. The images, taken by an oh-gee camera that circled the rebel encampment slowly at low altitude, provided incredible detail. Using the same technology as personal armor, the cameras were almost invisible to the human eye when they projected the scene from the opposite side on the side facing an observer. No one would ever spot a camera unless weather conditions were just so. If the unit passed through fog or mist, the wake might be seen, but otherwise there was only a slight rippling effect when it moved.

  "The situation does not appear good," Lt. Kennedy said.

  Sydnee resisted the urge to roll her eyes, despite the fact that while wearing the helmet no one could see her real face. Rolling her eyes was a bad habit she had developed in her teen years. It always annoyed her mother, so she had used it freely when they argued, but since entering the academy, she had struggled to unlearn it. While the behavior might have been understandable in a teen, she knew it was unacceptable conduct by an adult and totally inappropriate for an officer in Space Command.