Fractured Horizons (Savage Stars Book 2)

by Anthony James

  Two additional exits – both sealed and with red lights on their access panels – led to places unknown. The squad members had positioned themselves in cover and they watched the doors carefully.

  Elsewhere, thick smears of frozen blood showed where the soldiers had dragged the bodies of the three Daklan they’d shot earlier. The crimson trail led to the right-hand corner nearest the entrance, and there the huge aliens had been left in a heap. The face of one was aimed Recker’s way, its dark red skin visible through the clear glass of its visor and its humanlike green eyes staring in accusation.

  He turned away. “Private Steigers, return to the intersection – it seems like we didn’t kill all the Daklan.”

  Recker’s words were greeted by the expected level of cursing, while Steigers didn’t delay and sprinted through the exit.

  “Right, what’ve we got?” Recker asked. “Sergeant Vance said you’d found consoles.”

  “Over here, sir,” said Hendrix, rising from behind a ragged sheet of alloy which was propped up against what had once been a console. “Only one survived the impact.” She came around the sheet and motioned Recker towards the far corner where he found a station that was likely intended for two personnel. Debris was piled up next to it, most of which seemed to be broken pieces of a larger console, with its tightly packed innards exposed to view.

  “There was some other crap on top of it when we arrived,” Hendrix continued. “We cleared it away, but some of it was pretty heavy.”

  “Doesn’t look damaged,” said Recker.

  “If you put your hand on the front, you can feel the power running through it, sir. We figured you’d want to check it out.”

  “I’ll do just that,” said Recker. He remembered the panel arrangement from his time on Oldis and poked a finger confidently at the button which would bring the console out of deep sleep.

  For a long time, the four screens remained blank and he noticed that two of them were cracked. Just when he was ready to believe the console was out of action, the four screens lit up, awaiting input.

  “Time to check this out,” said Recker, calling up the top-level menu. Back on Oldis, not every console had access to the most secure functions of the tenixite converter and he worried that this one here would be on a lower security tier. “This is a maintenance console,” he said.

  “Is that good or bad, sir?”

  “I don’t know, Corporal.”

  As quickly as he could, Recker delved into the different menus.

  “You look worried, sir,” said Hendrix, attempting subtlety in her hunt for information.

  Recker didn’t see a requirement to keep secrets. “If I’m right, this cube was automated and what that means is that these consoles were only installed to allow the technicians to finish their sign-off checks.”

  “Sounds great. Right?”

  “I’m not sure. Each one of these consoles should have equal access to whatever data arrays and processing cores are installed but might not actually be able to activate the hardware after it went live.”

  Hendrix looked like she wanted to scratch her head. “That means you can’t remove the core override from our ships?”

  “I’ll soon find out,” said Recker without looking up. “Maybe yes, maybe no.”

  Seeing that he was in an answering mood, Hendrix kept talking. “If this console can activate the hardware, all of our warships are getting out of here?”

  “It’s not so straightforward - there might be no facility to remotely halt the override.” Recker glanced across. “Whoever designed the weapon may not have seen the need.”

  “Oh.”

  “Please - I need to think.”

  Hendrix closed her mouth and took a slow step backwards, giving Recker some room.

  “Let’s see…” he said under his breath.

  The console seemingly gave him access to everything. However, that meant Recker had too much to search through - like each single element of the cube from design drawings to technical specifications was included here, along with test routines for everything. He exhaled, wondering how he could possibly wade through the overwhelming quantity of data.

  After five frustrating minutes, Recker stumbled upon something unexpected. A physical toggle he hadn’t noticed on the control panel switched the console from test mode into operation mode.

  “That new screen looks different,” Hendrix observed.

  “It is, Corporal,” said Recker, hardly able to believe his luck. “They installed the operation software as well as the backend test stuff.”

  “I thought you said this cube was automated, sir.”

  “It was – but the automation routines run from the same command and control software that a flesh and blood operator would use. This is how the technicians made sure everything worked.”

  “I’ll let you get on with it.”

  In moments, Recker had discovered what he was looking for. “Interrogator priority list,” he read.

  “Interrogator?”

  “That’s what they called this satellite, Corporal. Anything coming near Pinvos was to be corrupted with the core override and its databanks searched for useful data.”

  As he dug deeper, Recker found himself going cold with fear. It turned out that the primary data the Interrogator was interested in was star charts. Whoever had built this satellite, they wanted to find out where their enemies – or maybe any species which randomly stumbled into the net – lived. Recker had been given the smallest example of what the tenixite converter network was capable of and he didn’t want to see the outcome of a maximum-level depletion burst on an HPA planet.

  Desperate to unearth more information, Recker hunted for an audit log of what the Interrogator had recently extracted and transmitted. He found the log, but it contained endless quantities of data and most of it was just codes that were doubtless understood by the receiver but made no sense whatsoever to the human brain.

  Recker knew it was critical that he return to base with the contents of the log. He remembered his discussion following the loss of the Barbarian and Claymore and how Lieutenant Eastwood speculated that their processing cores were too slow to crack their own data arrays. One way or another, it was imperative to find out the truth.

  The console had an interface port on the left and Recker instructed his suit to link. Once done, he commanded the log file to upload into his helmet databank. The interface port was narrow and the log file was huge. He let the upload continue while continuing his search for a way to deactivate the core override.

  During the next few minutes, he uncovered additional information about the satellite, most of which was interesting, but not necessarily important to the current situation. The cube was fitted with a huge but apparently inefficient ternium engine, the modules of which were incorporated within the outer walls of the structure. The external pillars served several purposes. The first was to detect warships in local space and the second was to target them with core overrides. Other functions related to comms and sensors.

  “Hmm,” said Recker. “I’ve found a reference to a Purge option.”

  “That’s what took out our destroyers?”

  “Seems likely. It’s offline – must have been damaged in the impact.”

  “Shame – maybe you could steal the plans they used to build it, sir.”

  I’m already uploading other data, Corporal and I’d guess my suit databank will be full when it’s done.

  “The databank in my suit isn’t holding much, sir. Photos, mostly.” Hendrix smiled and Recker could see it was an effort. “From better times.”

  He nodded and met her gaze. “I appreciate the suggestion, but everything is taking a long time through this interface pipe.”

  “We could find a wider interface, sir, and there’s a portable data cube on the deployment craft. We could probably pull everything out of this satellite and take it home.”

  Privately, Recker didn’t think that the portable cube had a fraction of the necessary capaci
ty. “I’ll think on it, Corporal. Truth is, my priority is to get our warships back into the air. Once that’s accomplished, we’ll have plenty of time to empty the Interrogator’s data arrays.”

  A minute later, he found what he was looking for.

  “Core override command menu,” he read.

  The software was filled with options and Recker quickly gathered that the override itself could be tweaked in dozens of ways, depending on requirements. To his surprise, he discovered that it wasn’t merely software either – the override weapon fired a beam which contained not only the code, but something else, which was capable of burning out certain kinds of data arrays and maybe even processing cores.

  For now, the details were peripheral and he accessed the discharge log for the core override. A list appeared, along with a sub-menu to allow manipulation of the weapon’s effect. Inside that menu was a delete option, which Recker believed would return a selected spaceship to its previous state.

  Despite this apparently momentous discovery, Recker wasn’t happy and he swore loudly.

  “Sir?” asked Hendrix.

  “I’ve located an option to delete the override from the affected ships. However, the Interrogator has assigned each target a numerical code, with no other identifier.”

  “Which means we don’t know which code relates to which spaceship?”

  “Exactly. We’ve got seven active core overrides running, four of which relate to HPA warships and three others which are assigned to the Daklan heavies.”

  “Four against three. Easy,” Hendrix said the words lightly, but her expression indicated she knew the truth – an engagement would be too close to call.

  While he considered the options, Recker scrolled through the list, to find out how many other warships the Interrogator had encountered. The satellite had been busy during its operational period, though he had no way to determine how long ago these other warships had stumbled into the trap.

  The more Recker discovered about this distant war, the greater he understood the monumental scale of it and he suspected it made the conflict between the HPA and the Daklan appear little more than a playground fight in comparison.

  “I’m missing something,” he said, tapping his knuckles gently on the console.

  “Sir?”

  “This number here…”

  The longer he stared at one of the entries lower down the list, the more he became sure he was on the verge of understanding. Then, the pieces began falling into place.

  “The identifier used by the Interrogator for this warship here,” he pointed, “I saw that number on the Vengeance.”

  Understanding came. The Vengeance’s processing core identifier number was mixed up with the code assigned by the Interrogator. He accessed the entry and was confronted by a file containing nothing but numbers. These numbers likely had significance, though he didn’t know what it was just by looking.

  The data download which Recker had started earlier was finished and his suit storage was almost full. This additional file wasn’t too large and it fitted easily into the remaining space.

  This diversion held him up for less than five seconds and when he was done, Recker scrolled once more to the top of the core override list.

  “I know the core identifier for the Expectation,” he said, his eyes fixed on the top seven ships. “With a bit of time, I’ll be able to pick out the other ships in our fleet as well.”

  “That’s great news, sir,” said Hendrix.

  Recker spotted the core override entry for the Expectation. This level of the menu offered no obvious way to interact with the weapon, but he had no doubt he could soon locate what he was looking for. He didn’t get the chance. Suddenly, a new entry appeared next to each of the top seven designated numerical codes.

  Core Override: Withdraw.

  The moment he read the words, Recker knew it was time to act.

  “Move!” he yelled. “Back to the spaceship!”

  With the squad following close behind, Recker sprinted from the room.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Sir, what’s happening?” asked Hendrix as the squad dashed up the stairs.

  “The Daklan inside this cube accessed the core override from another console and they’ve issued the command to withdraw the code from all seven warships. They’re happy to engage our forces with their three desolators.”

  “Maybe you should leave the squad behind to flush out the Daklan soldiers, sir.”

  Recker had already considered it. “Negative, soldier. Whatever happens, the side which thinks it’s about to lose will destroy the Interrogator rather than let it fall into their opponent’s hands.”

  “Damn.”

  They came to the top of the stairs and Recker found the stationed soldiers ready to move.

  “Into the spaceship,” he barked. “Go!”

  One-by-one, the soldiers threw themselves over the gap and into the open hatch leading to the deployment vehicle’s interior. Those waiting their turn shifted nervously and kept their guns aimed at the intersection in case the Daklan chose this moment to attack.

  “How long will the core override take to shut down, sir?” asked Sergeant Vance on the comms.

  “I have no idea,” said Recker. “We might already be too late, in which case it’s going to be a matter of luck whether our deployment craft can escape from the conflict without getting shot down.”

  “There’s nothing on the comms yet,” said Montero.

  “Even a warship comms won’t penetrate the walls of this cube, Private. The core overrides could be gone and they wouldn’t be able to tell us about it.”

  When his turn came, Recker scrambled through the hatch and into the bay, ignoring everything else as he made his way along the narrow aisle to the cockpit. Sergeant Vance had already made room and Recker took the middle seat.

  “That’s the last one in, sir,” said Montero. “Hatch closed, we’re good to go.”

  Recker fed in the power and the incision craft pulled strongly away from the inner cube. The support pillars appeared to have doubled in number and he snarled in frustration as he guided the spaceship above one and beneath the next.

  “The steps!” said Montero.

  “I see them.”

  Flying around two more of the spokes, Recker aimed the vessel’s nose at the opening below. At the last moment, he rotated the hull so that it was parallel with the gap and dropped it inside.

  The following seconds or minutes – Recker wasn’t quite sure how long the escape took – tested his skills to the limit. He skimmed edges and walls, pulling the control sticks in every direction, constantly adjusting to save precious fractions of a second.

  “Last step coming up,” said Vance. His voice was dead calm and Recker had no idea if it was an act or if the man’s state of mind was simply immune to external influence.

  The deployment vessel hit the lowest level and the underside shuddered as it scraped across uneven alloy. Dimly, Recker noticed one of the Daklan shuttles that Vance had shot down earlier and, incredibly, saw that two of the alien soldiers had somehow made it out. They had nowhere to go and fortunately, they weren’t carrying a shoulder launcher.

  “Lucky bastards,” said Montero.

  “No, Private,” Vance corrected her. “They’re the unlucky ones.”

  “Forget them. Where’s the Expectation?” growled Recker, his eyes scanning the feeds.

  “No sign of it, sir.”

  “Keep checking the comms!”

  With fear building, Recker took the deployment craft outside under full thrust. The dust hadn’t settled and he suspected it was here to stay, along with the winds which immediately buffeted the spaceship and forced Recker into an instinctive correction.

  A fast-moving shape sped into the forward sensor arc, followed by a second.

  “Sergeant Vance be ready!” shouted Recker.

  Vance had his hands on the triggers and the gun motors whined.

  “Hold fire!” yelled Montero. />
  The tension remained in Vance’s shoulders, but he didn’t unleash the destructive power of the nose gun.

  “Friendlies,” said Montero, panting, like she’d run a thousand metres in a full loadout. “They’re shuttles from the Shock and Awe.”

  “Tell them to return to their docks immediately!” said Recker. “And find me that destroyer!”

  “There!” yelled Montero, juggling comms and the sensor controls.

  A huge shape fell from the sky and Recker saw that it was the Expectation.

  “Coming in fast,” Vance observed.

  The destroyer’s propulsion sound engulfed the much smaller incision vehicle and the billion-ton Expectation decelerated like only a ternium-engined warship was capable of. About fifty metres overhead, it came to a halt and Recker mentally congratulated Aston on her judgement.

  “Where’s the docking bay?” he said, his eyes searching for the outline of the hatch on the destroyer’s underside.

  “We’ve got an interface with it, sir,” said Montero.

  An ingenious arrangement of overlapping alloy plates retracted into the Expectation’s hull in a way which had always reminded Recker of a kaleidoscope.

  Without warning, a comms channel opened.

  “It’s Lieutenant Burner, sir,” said Montero.

  Recker’s full focus was on bringing the deployment vessel into the bay. “Has the core override ended?” he managed to ask.

  “Lieutenant Burner doesn’t know what’s happening, sir.” Montero went quiet, listening. “The crew have regained control over some of the onboard systems.”

  Once the incision craft was lined up with the bay, Recker prepared to activate the gravity chains on the internal clamps, which were designed to pull the deployment craft into docking position. Before he could do so, the overwhelming howl of the destroyer’s propulsion abruptly cut out and the Expectation dropped lower. It collided with the deployment craft, producing a hollow boom.

  Aston reacted quickly and steadied the destroyer once more. The incident could have delayed the docking procedure but instead it brought the incision craft right alongside the clamps. A console light went green and Recker stabbed the button to dock.