“You can’t scan for other ships there,” Flipper pointed out.
“Sure you can,” Sato countered, “but because of the thinning of space-time there, no ships are perceived by the instruments as being close enough to detect. Even if you passed into hyperspace just meters from another ship, and at nearly the same time, on that level the other ship could seem to be a trillion miles away and many weeks ago.”
“Space and time are altered there?” Alexis asked.
“Yes,” he agreed. “The passage of time is carefully controlled by the hyperspace computer in concert with the field generators.”
“Which is made by the Cartographers’ Guild,” Chug said. Sato nodded and pointed at the Bakulu helmsman.
“The five-day trip has nothing to do with the stargate then,” Alexis said.
“Nothing,” he agreed. “The closer you get to the 2nd level, the more the time dilation effect is felt, and the greater the risk of slipping into the 2nd level. The 170 hours seems to be linked with the skimming effect. It’s a safe rate of travel to keep you from falling through to here. It might be possible to make the trip instantaneous, but it’d be like an elephant tight-rope-walking on a spider-silk line.”
“
“The Science Guild, probably a lot. I find it hard to believe science can simply be forgotten. The Cartographers, I can’t say. Now onto the physics of this place, second level. Where the first level is a stretching of space-time, this is a compressed realm. Time is compressed, space is compressed, everything is compressed.”
“So that’s why you slow down instead of floating on?” Alexis asked.
“Yes,” he agreed. “After the first trip here, I compared computer clocks from Pegasus with those on Prime Base. 1st Level Hyperspace never resulted in so much as an hour’s difference. Our trip here seemed to take no more than a few minutes.”
“We were here for many hours, though,” Long complained. “I should know; we built an entire fusion power plant.”
“The time dilation,” Alexis said.
“Exactly,” Sato said. “It isn’t that you don’t float in zero gravity, because you still do. However, time is compressed, so those few instances of floating pass more like weeks, years, maybe centuries.”
“But,” Alexis said, and Sato scowled, “if time passes faster here, shouldn’t we have been gone years?”
“Compressed,” he said impatiently. “You experience more time here than there.” Alexis made an “O” shape with her mouth, and Sato continued. “As that compression is space and time, it means this area around us is actually compressed as well.” Alexis nodded again; that seemed to make sense of the travel issues they’d had with the shuttle the first time. “This space around us,” Sato said, waving his arms about, “could well represent that of many galaxies. Or the entire universe!”
“Entropy,” Alexis gasped. She started to say how should couldn’t grasp how that could work, then stopped. There was no way to explain how one felt about such a concept. All the universe reduced to a space smaller than a single solar system?
“
Sato continued speaking, so Alexis set her pinplants to record his conversation while she spoke to Ghost.
“The thing that attacked our boarding party earlier? You said you didn’t know what it was.”
“
“Do you think it’s possible that something lives here—that this is its native realm?”
“
Alexis switched back to the real-time meeting, part of her mind considering what Ghost had told her, the rest running back the time she’d missed at the meeting under high speed. Most of it was Sato continuing to go on about how fascinating the realm was. Just a moment ago he’d suggested that if they located a suitable ship, he’d like to stay and continue research.
“I don’t think that would be an optimal use of your time,” she said. The look on his face indicated he didn’t agree. “We’re facing a war against humanity; it would be best if we dedicate our time and efforts to the problem at hand. Should we prevail, there’ll be plenty of time to do your research.” He gave a small smile, and she knew she’d placated him…for now.
She turned to her XO. “Paka, are the crews ready?”
“All set,” the Veetanho said.
“Very well.” Alexis activated her command circuit. “Drone Control, drones into the black as planned. Search and prize crews to the shuttles. Operation World’s End is a go.”
* * *
EMS James Armistead Lafayette, Emergence Point, Sulaadar System
Captain Crispin floated into the marine squad bay, stopping at the door as custom dictated. Her eyes narrowed at seeing an Aposa on her ship. The alien might resemble a Veetanho, but the race didn’t have the calm, collected nature of the Veetanho. The Aposa got along with Tortantulas and Gokas. They liked to fight and kill. “Clear to enter, Lieutenant?” she asked.
“Come on in, Captain,” T’jto said. Rick was at the rear of the compartment playing poker with Johansson and Anderson. Their heavy weapons specialist, Trah’q, was asleep where he’d clamped onto a handhold with a couple of legs. As his carapace was slightly metallic, it made a handy table for their magnetic playing cards and chips. The Xiq’tal didn’t seem to mind.
The MinSha head of Dragon Squad was floating next to a weapons station, working with the Aposa, Private Yeet, to service a weapon. “What can we do for you?”
“Bucephalus has moved into standoff position and gone dark. As per the plan, they’ll only be providing fire support if necessary. We’re in ideal position to intercept Détente as soon as she transitions to normal space in two days.” The captain looked at the disassembled equipment and the generally cluttered marine bay, and she scowled slightly. “Is your team ready?”
“We’re just going over some weapons,” T’jto replied. “We’ll be set eight hours before arrival, as planned.”
“Very well,” the captain said and left the compartment.
Rick had always marveled at the rather unique arrangement between marines and the ships they served on. The captain of a ship was the supreme authority aboard their vessel. Even a merc company commander would defer to them onboard. Yet the marines’ area was a little fiefdom of their own. A captain would always stop and ask permission to enter, even though they could do so anytime they wanted by regulation. Captains who barged into marine country uninvited could well find themselves with unhappy marines. Unhappy marines could be worse than enemy marines.
He glanced around the squad bay and shrugged. It was less than a quarter the size of their bay on Pegasus, so naturally it was cluttered. James Armistead Lafayette, or JAL as her crew of 43 called her, wasn’t designed for marines at all. The bay Captain Crispin had assigned to them had been auxiliary water tankage just 24 hours prior to departure. Hussars naval techs repurposed the space in just 12 hours, complete with an arms locker, medkit, and small autochef. Crowded, it might be, but they had everything they needed.
“Nosy bitch,” Anderson grumbled, tossing a five-credit chip onto Trah’q’s shell where it stuck with a little ting.
“Watch who you’re calling a bitch, asshole,” Johansson retorted as she anteed up.
“
Sorry, sergeant bitch,” he replied, and everyone grinned, even Johansson. Rick liked Anderson. He’d transferred from Hippogriff a few weeks ago, and as a Hussars vet, he fell right into place. His record was spotless, and everyone figured he was due a corporal slot as soon as one opened up.
T’jto held up the magnetic accelerator cannon. “As soon as we get this MAC squared away,” she said, “we need to start stowing gear.” There were general mumbles and head shaking, and the lieutenant moved her head slightly so her multifaceted eyes could take in the entire bay. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” echoed from everyone except the sleeping crustacean. She nodded and went back to working on the weapon. Yeet glanced at them all, her whiskers twitching slightly. Her razor-sharp incisors gleamed slightly in the bay’s lighting. Teeth which could cut carbon fiber-reinforced armor.
“Please secure that power cable,” T’jto told her, and she went back to helping with the MAC. The Aposa had been hired after Anderson and was the least friendly member of the squad, even less so than Trah’q. She was typical of her species, from what Rick had read; they simply didn’t like others, not even their own kind.
They wrapped up the game just before the lieutenant finished repairing the weapon. Rick rapped on Trah’q shell, rather like knocking on a door, and the Xiq’tal’s eye stalks rotated up and looked around. “LT wants us to clean the squad bay.” Trah’q looked around and waved his big claw, his race’s version of a shrug, and helped stow gear. Rick had just closed a storage bin full of ammo when the ship’s alarm claxon sounded.
“Set Condition One throughout the ship!” The XO’s voice resounded down the companionways of JAL. Moments later, the sound of clanging airtight doors followed. Dragon Squad immediately began breaking gear back out and arming up.
“Wish we’d had room for our CASPers,” Anderson grumbled as he strapped on the armor he’d secured only minutes prior.
“In this little ship?” Rick asked. “Trah’q can barely fit down the hallway.” He pointed to the huge crab-like alien, who was busy strapping on his minimal combat gear. The Xiq’tal’s eyestalks looked at both of them without slowing his arming up.
The squad was ready in under two minutes, and LT T’jto was reported in. “Marine squad reports ready,” she said over the intercom. “Requesting situational status?”
“Marines, Détente just transitioned into the system.”
“That’s two days early,” Johansson said, voicing what they were all thinking. The op was for the marines to be in a boarding pod and to take Détente by surprise, either attaching to an airlock if the ship responded, or performing a dynamic entry if not. “So much for that plan.”
“Stand by, Marines, we’re working the problem.” The CIC cut the connection, and the marines had no choice but to wait.
* * *
EMS Bucephalus, Sulaadar System
“Battle stations,” the computer called. Jim maneuvered through the buzz of activity in Bucephalus to reach the CIC. He’d been about to take a shower on the gravity deck. Luckily, he usually disrobed there instead of flying through the ship naked, like most of the Cavaliers naval personnel tended to do. Two of his troopers with sidearms were next to the armored CIC door, and a red light was flashing around its outline, indicating it could close at any second if Bucephalus came under fire. You didn’t want to be in the door’s way should that happen.
“Commander,” Captain Su nodded as he sailed in.
“Captain, can I have an update?”
They’d been underwhelmed upon entering the Sulaadar system. After being briefed on the combat situation the Hussars had experienced there only months ago, Jim half-expected a fight as soon as they arrived. Instead, nobody seemed to care they were there.
“Ship just transitioned into the system.” That in itself wasn’t anything to note as unusual. A dozen ships had appeared since they’d arrived; all were freighters. “It has the Détente’s IFF transponder code.”
Jim checked his clock to confirm. Exactly five days since it left. The ship had used the five-day trip Alexis Cromwell talked about.
“We didn’t think they’d risk that,” Jim said. Captain Su gave him a hard look. “We haven’t discussed some of the things we were told by the Hussars. One of those is that a five-day trip though hyperspace is possible, though risky.”
“That’s a fact that would have been useful to know,” she said coldly. So would a lot of things I can’t tell you right now, Jim thought. “What course of action should we take?” Captain Su asked. Jim considered for a second.
“Jam them, full power.” Su looked at her sensor tech and nodded.
“They’ve spotted us,” the tech said. “The Détente is accelerating, 9 Gs.”
“That’s maximum according to the Hussars’ people,” the tactical officer reported.
“Bring us about,” Su ordered. “Full power once we match bearings.” The maneuver and acceleration alarms in Bucephalus blared a second before the warship yawed. Jim closed the buckles on his courtesy seat, locking the arm and leg restraints in place once he’d clicked in a pinlink. After she completed her turn, the fusion torch was fed reaction mass, and the ship surged forward.
“Full power,” the navigator said between breaths, “4.5 Gs.”
“Understood,” Su replied. Jim concentrated on breathing with an elephant sitting on his chest.
“They tried to transmit a moment before we jammed,” comms said.
“Did anything get out?” Su asked.
“If it did, it wasn’t much.”
“I have a firing solution,” tactical said, “laser charged, and missiles loaded.”
“Hold your fire,” she ordered, “until we have word from James Armistead Lafayette that this is our ship. Comms, get me Captain Crispin.”
“Go ahead, Captain Su,” James Armistead Lafayette’s commanding officer’s voice came over the laser communicator.
“We have a firing solution, Captain, which will last…” she looked at her tactical officer, who held up five fingers. “It’ll last for five more minutes. Can you confirm your aggressor has command?”
“They’re trying to run from an acknowledged friendly,” Crispin replied, “and we got their attempted burst transmission. We’re going to come up their baffles and go for a disabling shot. If we fail, you have permission to splash them.” Jim understood that. It meant the little intelligence cutter was going to fly up Détente’s fusion plume and fire a disabling shot at her engines. It was high-risk because the plume was like an energy weapon the closer you got, but the ship they were pursuing was nearly blind directly astern. In many ways, it resembled submarine warfare from the 20th century on Earth.
“Very well, James Armistead Lafayette, we’re standing by. Best of luck.”
Jim leaned back and let the gel pad of the seat absorb as much of his weight as it could. Bucephalus maintained thrust to extend their firing solution as long as possible. All Jim could do was wait.
* * *
In the minute before James Armistead Lafayette came about and lit her torch to full power, Rick’s squad raced at top speed to the central port of the ship. The vessel was small, with one main front-to-back passageway, known as the central run, which went just under the bridge. JAL was too small for a CIC. Just behind the bridge, a ladderway led from the central run up to her dorsal docking port, and another down to her ventral docking port. Another two companionways went port and starboard to two more ports. They’d docked with Bucephalus on her ventral port, and their now unusable boarding pod was mated to the dorsal. They knew if JAL managed to catch Détente, it would have to dock via the port or starboard ports.
As fast as possible, the marines spread out along the port and starboard companionways. Then, using the magnets built into their combat armors’ hands and feet, they clamped down against the rear-facing side of the companionway. Trah’q simply latched on to a few handholds. The extent of his armor was a section sealed over his breathing organ and mouth parts, an
d a bubble around his eyes and feelers. The Xiq’tal were nearly airtight naturally, being a deep aquatic race.
No sooner had they clamped in place than the PA blared. “Stand by for maneuvers and extreme acceleration. Repeat, extreme acceleration.”
“I wonder how extreme?” Anderson asked. JAL spun.
Rick was used to radical changes of direction from his time aboard Pegasus. The battlecruiser possessed a scary amount of maneuverability for its size, nearly equal to most frigates. However, JAL was mostly engine. When the ship suddenly spun, Rick honestly thought they’d eaten a missile.
“Oof,” he grunted as a six-G turn slammed him sideways so hard the magnetic grapple on his suit glove squealed and threw sparks from the steel decking.
“Oh, this is gonna hurt,” Johansson moaned. Rick silently nodded. If JAL could manage six-G turns…
Eleven gravities slammed them back against their combat armor with bone-jarring brutality. Rick struggled to draw breath, and his vision swam red, signaling imminent blackout. Had they been in CASPers, that would’ve been that. He’d simply have passed out until thrust was eased. The combat armor had a few advantages over the CASPer. In the big battle armor, you needed some room to move around. It was haptic in nature, responding to your limbs’ movements. The cockpit front was a good foot away from your head, and jammed with things like a miniature Tri-V, medical systems, etc. More like a battle robot than combat armor, a CASPer was out of its league in this sort of situation.
Combat armor was all encompassing. It was designed for fighting in space, and it was similar to what the crew of the ship wore in a fight, only armored. It was as functional and snug as a pair of pajamas. In addition, its sensors could tell when the Human occupant was under extreme G strain, and the armor lining in the lower limbs inflated. The effect was to restrict lower limb blood flow and help the brain remain functioning. It hurt like hell and jacked your blood pressure through the ceiling, but you stayed awake.
A Fiery Sunset Page 20
