Valkyrie (Expeditionary Force Book 9)

by Craig Alanson

  “For right now, here is as high as we can go. Maybe we can’t even maintain this altitude. I’ll know more after I expand the shields farther from the hull. We need to get enough buoyancy so engine thrust can be cut to twenty-eight percent, because I have to take five of the engines offline soon or they’ll burn out.”

  “Got it. The ship will hold together?”

  “Shmaybe. Try not to do anything stupid.”

  I tried my best not to do anything stupid. Working with Reed, Skippy expanded the shields and she reduced thrust until we could hold altitude with only twelve percent thrust, giving us a comfortable safety margin. By that time, we drifted down another nine kilometers and the pressure on the shields was greater, which actually helped produce buoyancy. On the display, I could see that Skippy had not only expanded our shields farther from the ship, they were warped into a balloon shape, larger above us than below.

  My one useful contribution to the operation was to order a probe launched. It flew slowly upward, picking up speed as the cloud layer density decreased. The little probe finally soared above the atmosphere, confirming that the shockwave of our nukes had not boiled up to the cloud tops yet. If the Maxolhx had their sensors focused on the planet, they might have seen some odd thermal readings, but even if they did, it was unlikely they would jump into orbit to investigate. Satisfied that there was no evidence of our crazy stunt, we turned the probe’s sensors outward. They detected nothing, because photons from the raging space battle had not yet reached the chilly gas giant world. It was odd, knowing that if we waited another four hours, we could watch faint images of the battle, as if we had only ever been spectators to the event.

  Eventually, we did watch the battle, in Valkyrie’s theater. The off-duty crew sat quietly and watched images enhanced by Skippy. We saw our fearsome ghost ship jump in, and we watched our attempt to fly away. The crew cringed with me as we saw the destroyer’s suicide run, ending with Valkyrie staggering in flight.

  The last image was a bright and ragged gamma ray burst as our battle-damaged ship jumped out of the weakened damping field. There was dead silence in the theater, broken when Frey remarked “I wonder if they made it, eh?”

  For some reason, we all thought that comment was freakin’ hilarious. It got more funny when the captain of the ship announced the bar was open. There wasn’t anything filthy monkeys could do while Santa Skippy and his little helper elfbots fixed the ship, and I figured the crew needed to blow off steam. While I slowly sipped one beer, I acted as bartender and encouraged people to have fun. DJ Skippy-Skip and the Fresh Tunes broke out a playlist of danceable party tunes, and soon everyone who wanted to party was tearing up the dance floor.

  Even Margaret Adams was getting into the party spirit, dancing with rhythm way better than anything I could manage. It made me wonder whether Skippy had directed the tiny machines in her head to assist her coordination, to boost her morale. No, I did not dance with her, I was acting as bartender, remember?

  Plus, she did not ask me to dance. Besides, she had plenty of dance partners, and only one of them was named ‘Rum and Coke’.

  After a while, I turned bartending duty over to Major Kapoor, and went back to the bridge to relieve Simms. Also to relieve Reed. “You’re sure about this, Sir?” Reed asked me, searching my eyes with concern.

  “Go join the party, Fireball. Some of the STAR team guys are terrible dancers, and I’m kind of an expert on terrible dancing. They need you to show them how it’s done.”

  “I meant, you’re sure you can handle the ship?” She asked as I slid into the pilot’s chair and stuck my hands into the 3D virtual controls.

  “Come on, Reed. I’ve taken every flight lesson I could squeeze in. All I need to do is keep us stable. If anything goes wrong, no monkey is going to save us.”

  “That’s true,” Skippy agreed. “There will be a tricky transition in fifteen hours, when I cut over from one bank of engines to another. It would be good for Fireball to be rested and ready, and not too hung over, at that time.”

  Reed laughed. “Fifteen hours? That gives me four hours for fun, eight for sleep, and three for coffee.”

  “I’ll ask Skippy to set an alarm for you. Now, go have fun, while you can,” I shooed her away. The bridge was then empty, except for me. I hadn’t been joking when I said there wasn’t anything useful for us monkeys to do while Skippy worked on the ship. What the crew needed to be doing right then was giving thanks for being alive. They needed to have fun and restore morale. And they needed rest, to prepare for whatever the Universe was going to throw at us next. “Skippy?” I called when the bridge was clear. “Sitrep. Be honest.”

  “Forming a virtual balloon to keep us afloat is a major strain on the shields, they weren’t designed for such intense and continuous use. Once I get the engines working well enough, we can reduce shield output and use the engines to lift us. Except the engines also were not designed for continuous use. Starships typically only boost through normal space for short distances, if they want to travel far, they jump. We will be using our engines to dangle this massive ship in a gravity well, and I am watching them closely for signs of burnout. Our safety margin is not as large as I would like.”

  “Understood. How long until we can climb into orbit?”

  “My best estimate is we’ll be stuck down here for eight days, Joe. The good news is, I am fairly confident that I can fix the mess you have made of our fine ship. I’ll make the repairs I can down here, then we need to rendezvous with the Dutchman, to get the spare parts they are carrying.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “The bad news is, I am only fairly confident. I should know by now whether I can restore Valkyrie to its former glory. Unfortunately, because I slapped this thing together from a pile of Legos and it has been much modified and upgraded, there is no operating manual. Other than what I have observed in the short time we’ve been flying this beast, I’m having to guess at the best way to make all these parts work together. Some of my upgrades worked better than expected, and some, ah, not so much. I’ll be making changes. The bottom line is, we dodged a bullet.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Normally, I would savor watching you wallow in misery, but, ugh. I can’t believe I’m saying this; don’t beat yourself up about it. You made a judgment call. Based on what we knew at the time, it was a reasonable risk. You were right; if we had hit the one star carrier that was supposed to be there, it would have been a major defeat for the kitties. This is, ugh. This is my fault.”

  What I should have done is agreed with that arrogant little shithead, and let him wallow in misery for a while. Instead, I had to open my big stupid mouth. “How do you figure that? They played us, Skippy. They played me. They analyzed my actions and determined a pattern, and they knew what would lure me in. They gave me exactly the fat juicy target I was looking for, and I never questioned whether it was too good to be true.”

  “I can’t argue with that, Joe.”

  “You’re supposed to, dumbass. You’re supposed to tell me nice things like-”

  “Like what? Like that dress doesn’t make you look fat? You made mistakes and you know it. I made mistakes too. You know who else made mistakes? The rotten kitties. They set a trap and it didn’t work! Right now, they have got to be tearing their fur out, trying to analyze what went wrong. What is really going to drive them crazy is how we hit them where and when they were not expecting us. Clearly, they weren’t ready for combat when we jumped in. By my count, they lost two heavy cruisers, all four patrol cruisers, and four of six destroyers. The two star carriers will probably be scrapped where they are, and two of the surviving heavy cruisers will need extensive servicing in spacedock before they can be ready for combat again. Plus, we got away! By now, their AIs have surely discovered my feedback trick, and are creating countermeasures. But again, our ghost ship demonstrated capabilities that are beyond the technology available to the Maxolhx. They can only see the battle as a resounding and embarrassin
g defeat for them.”

  “Yeah, well, unless they assume our jump tore us apart. It is only a victory for us if they know we survived. I’m not taking us on another raid.”

  “Don’t worry, Joe. I have an idea about that.”

  Nine days later, Valkyrie began slowly climbing up out of the dense toxic clouds. Skippy would have preferred another day or two to work on the engines, but the shield generators were showing signs of serious strain. It was another judgment call and it was my decision, ordering Reed to pull us up out of the murky clouds. The probe we had in orbit had detected gamma ray bursts from ships jumping away from the battle zone, and two ships were jumping around in a grid pattern, looking for us. Based on their faint signatures, Skippy thought the two ships were the destroyers that had survived the battle. Neither of them were anywhere near us, so we weren’t concerned. When we finally broke free of the cloud tops, a cheer rang around the bridge. The star was too dim and it was the wrong color, and it was the most beautiful thing I had seen in a long time. We kept engine power on until the ship was in a stable orbit, where we hid wrapped in a stealth field while Skippy’s bots checked every system we needed for our next action.

  When Skippy was satisfied he had fixed the critical systems that needed to be fixed, we went hunting again.

  Going out looking for trouble, when our ship was not at full combat readiness, gave me a bad feeling. Conducting another daring attack at that time made sense, I agreed with Skippy’s reasoning, and both Simms and Smythe advised me that the risk was manageable and worth the potential payoff. Trouble is, that’s what I thought before our last attack, and that was a disaster.

  There were three targets to choose from. The two destroyers were operating separately, jumping around in widening circles from the battle zone while they searched for signs of where we had gone. So far, neither of those escort ships had come close to the planet where we had taken shelter, nor had they apparently noticed when the shockwaves of our nukes finally bubbled up through the dense clouds. We had jumped in so deep that when the shockwaves were detectable from space, they were not anything impressive, and it was not surprising the kitties were not looking for us in such an unlikely place.

  We knew where the destroyers were, or we knew where they were, several hours ago. They had each probably jumped since we detected their faint gamma ray bursts, and we would have to track them and go on a lengthy chase.

  The other target was easier to find, because it hadn’t moved in over a week. One of the star carriers had been self-destructed, the kitties must have hoped they could salvage the other. A battle-damaged heavy cruiser had parked itself near the surviving star carrier, either to provide cover, or because the cruiser also was not capable of flying very far.

  The wounded star carrier was a tempting target, even with a heavy companion there to protect it. We could jump in, hit the star carrier with one furious salvo, and jump away before a damping field could saturate spacetime around us. Losing a star carrier, while it was guarded by a capital ship, would be a heavy blow to the enemy, and make it clear that the ghost ship was still very much in business and not afraid of tangling with an opponent of equivalent size. It would be a powerful statement.

  A statement that, I decided, we didn’t need to make. All we needed to do was show the Maxolhx that our ghost ship hadn’t been knocked out. It wasn’t necessary to take on a heavy cruiser to do that. So, I ignored the temptation of a big score, and put the priority on reducing our risk. “Skippy, what is taking so long?” He was analyzing the searches conducted by the two destroyers, trying to find a pattern. If we knew roughly where one of those ships was likely to jump, that would save us a lot of time. “You can’t identify a pattern?”

  “There is a pattern,” he huffed, irritated at me. “What I am working on is identifying each of those destroyers.”

  “Why do we care about getting an identification?”

  “Becaaaaaause, if you haven’t already forgotten, one of those ships was out of missiles. That’s the one we want to hit, dumdum.”

  “Oh for- Listen, you moron. I’m sure that before the other ships jumped away, they conducted a cross-decking operation or whatever they call it, and transferred a reload of missiles to top off the magazines of both destroyers.”

  “How can you be sure about that?”

  “Because that’s what we would do.”

  “Oh. Well, why didn’t you tell me that, before I wasted my time?” He demanded, indignant.

  “I assumed you would use your ginormous brain, that’s why.”

  “Hey, I already told you, I am not the military expert,” he huffed. “I have you to handle that stuff. Ok, in that case, we have a target. Jump coordinates are programmed in.”

  We waited until Simms told me all stations were at battle stations, then I pressed the button to activate the nanofabric restraints for holding me in the command chair.

  “Ready on your signal,” Reed told me.

  “Jump option Alpha.”

  Hunting for a starship in the vastness of space is a pain in the ass, because space is so big. Skippy thought he knew where the target destroyer was likely to have jumped to next, so we jumped outside that area, and set our sensors to look for the faint signs of gamma radiation. The Universe must have been setting us up for something bad, because we detected a gamma ray burst within three minutes of jumping in. The news got even better: the enemy ship was eight lightminutes away. That gave us a crucial advantage, the gamma ray burst we had created would not reach the target for another five minutes. We could see them, but they couldn’t see us yet. Sometimes, the glacial pace at which light crawls through spacetime is a good thing.

  With one eye on the clock, mindful that we only had five minutes to make a decision and act one way or another, I asked for advice. “What do you think, Skippy?”

  “Looks good to me, Joe,” he made a sound like stifling a yawn.

  “How sure are you of the target’s position?”

  “As sure as I can be,” he was irritated with me. “That ship could have jumped away four and a half minutes ago, and we wouldn’t know it.”

  “I know that.” Keeping my own irritation from showing wasn’t easy. “My question is, how sure are you of where that ship is right now?” The reason I asked is that Maxolhx ships could control and focus the gamma ray burst of their jumps, so we had to infer the jump location from detecting very faint backscatter of gamma rays off stray hydrogen atoms or other fine space dust. Skippy is incomparably magnificent, but even he had to rely on the sensors aboard our ship. Also, the kitties had excellent stealth gear, so we could not actually see the target ship. We had to guess where it was, in a bubble of probability that was always too large for my comfort.

  “I am sure enough. We will know for certain when we attempt to jump. If the target ship is where I think it is, our jump wormhole will be deflected away from it.”

  “No trying to force it this time?” He had confessed to me about how his stubborn arrogance had blown our drive during our fateful last attack.

  “I promise that I will let the jump computer handle the transition.”

  That wasn’t good enough for me, so I added “And?”

  “And, I won’t override the safety mechanisms of the jump system.”

  “Good.”

  “Even though I am way smarter than that stupid thing.”

  “Skippy,” I clenched my fists.

  “And if anyone knows how jump physics really works, it is me and not some-”

  “Just let the stupid thing so its job, Ok? Promise me?”

  “I will promise, if that gets you to shut up about it.”

  “Deal. Reed, jump us in, before Skippy decides to get creative.”

  We jumped in, active sensors hammering away to burn through the enemy’s stealth and pinpoint their location. Skippy is an arrogant, untrustworthy shithead, but he is also damned good at his job. The destroyer was within one hundredth of a lightsecond from where he predicted it would be. “W
eapons on standby,” I ordered. “Transmit the message.”

  We did not need to blow that ship to dust to accomplish our goal. All we needed to do was show that our fearsome ghost ship was still in the fight, that the Maxolhx still had to be on alert for us, and that they would not know where we would hit them next until we struck without warning.

  Our message, created by Skippy, was fairly simple. The first part was a warning: We will not shoot at you unless you are stupid enough to shoot at us. The second part was a taunt: Nyah nyah nyah, we are not dead. The third part was a variation on the usual manifesto, an incoherent harangue about how the Maxolhx must cease their unjustified attacks on the peaceful Bosphuraq people, blah blah blah. Someone in the Maxolhx intelligence office had to listen to Skippy’s manifesto each time, and I actually felt sorry for whatever poor asshole got stuck hearing the revolutionary call to action, which by now had grown to well over an hour of mouth-frothing angry rhetoric.

  Were the Maxolhx stupid enough to shoot at us, even after we warned them not to?

  What do you think?

  “Shit,” I was actually sad when the destroyer painted us with its target-acquisition sensors, and began firing maser beams. “Simms, whatever you gotta do, just get this over with quick, Ok?”

  “Sorry for the inconvenience, Sir,” she didn’t turn toward me, but I heard the verbal wink. At her console, she directed the weapons stations to hammer the target. First our antienergy pulse cannon knocked back the enemy’s shields, followed by particle beams and right behind that directed energy, a trio of railgun darts tore into the destroyer’s thin layer of armor. It was a sign of either my confidence in my ship and crew, or my stupidity, that during the brief battle, I was thinking about making a sandwich for lunch. There we were, toe to toe with a senior species warship, something that would have terrified me a few short months ago. Now, all I wanted was for the inevitable to be over.

  “Enemy main power is out,” Simms reported.