“There’s always more, sir,” said Dominguez.
“That’s right, Lieutenant. I’m not trying to sugar-coat anything.”
“I’ve got this feeling that when we speak to the Raggers, they’re going to have something to tell us that we don’t want to hear,” said Shelton.
“We do want to hear it, Lieutenant. The truth might well taste like sewage with a cherry on top, but like I told you, it’s imperative we find out every available detail about the Sekar.”
“And in doing so we may discover something about the Raggers as well,” said Dominguez. “Want to bet they’ve got nasty little secrets of their own?”
“No bets from me,” said Kroll.
“So that’s what we have, folks. We give our ground troops the protection they need, see what the Raggers have to say and then let someone else decide what to do afterwards.”
It was a shit job and everyone knew it. When you’d come through enough missions, you started to recognize the icebergs and Griffin was getting that same feeling about this one.
As usual, it was the unanswered questions. Nothing in the mission briefing offered a suggestion as to why the Raggers needed assistance. Sure, they’d requested – and been granted - a truce, but they could have recovered the data from Glesia themselves. The fact they hadn’t meant there was something stopping them. Griffin didn’t for a moment believe this was all about former enemies working together to defeat a shared opponent. There was plenty waiting beneath the surface, ready to put a two-hundred-meter hole in the Broadsword’s hull.
“Let’s just get there and find out,” said Griffin to himself. On reflection, he was glad he hadn’t expended too much mental effort trying to figure out the permutations. It was a frustrating task with no rewards.
The journey continued and the crew gave up their attempts to resolve the issue with the sensors. Aside from the additional lightspeed data gathering hardware, the arrays were in full working order. It was a shame to miss out on this opportunity to learn more about the causes of the turbulence, but Griffin put it from his mind.
During the next sixteen hours, the crew caught up on their sleep to ensure that everyone would be alert when they came to the arrival point. Griffin had the gift of being able to sleep no matter what was going through his mind. In this he was lucky and he never tried to deny it.
On a journey of this length, the arrival time had an unpredictable variableness, likely to fall within plus or minus twenty minutes. Not only that, the calculated course through lightspeed would diverge slightly, adding an extra element of uncertainty about where they’d enter local space. To avoid being picked off on arrival, the plan was to exit lightspeed a few million klicks from the rendezvous, join up and then head on towards the place where the Raggers were supposed to be waiting.
Because of these uncertainties, Griffin had the crew ready and at their stations two hours ahead of the planned arrival. The technical checks didn’t take long, which left them with a period of waiting and wondering. ULAF officers who couldn’t handle pre-combat pressure were quickly identified and given off-ship duties.
“Twenty minutes!” said Kroll.
Griffin repeated his checks and got in touch with his lead technician, a lieutenant called Spencer Dallas.
“We’ll break lightspeed soon, Lieutenant. Do you have anything new to report?”
“No sir. No problems at least, if that’s what you mean. We’ve ironed out most of the alerts and the only ones remaining are an issue with a blocked duct on Lower-3 and a problem with the bridge food station.”
“I noticed that last one,” said Griffin dryly.
“Anyways, sir, there’re no ambers so I’m going to get my team hunkered down in quarters.”
“You do that, Lieutenant Dallas.”
Griffin closed out of the channel. It was far better to enter semi-hostile territory without having to worry that the maintenance teams were busy playing whack-a-mole with ambers and reds. He turned his attention to his console once again, just as the faint turbulence stopped and the background engine note fell quiet.
“That’s the tharniol drive switch-over,” announced Kroll. “Get ready for anything.”
The crew didn’t require prompting and Griffin could sense the heightened expectation in the cold air of the bridge. He became more aware of his own senses – his vision sharpened and his hearing with it. His nose detected subtleties in the ever-present odors which pervaded the Broadsword.
Following a short period in which everything on the warship, including its crew, seemed in perfect harmony, Griffin felt himself gripped by the wrenching sickness that came with the transition from lightspeed to local space. He gritted his teeth and filled his lungs in deep, steady inhalations. The gauges on his console went screwy, like they didn’t know what the hell was happening, and the sensor feeds turned static. Griffin gave the engine some power and the Broadsword accelerated. It was fitted with an earlier generation sublight propulsion to the Hurricane and it felt noticeably less responsive. He waited for his crew to tell him what sort of crap they’d ended up in.
Chapter Four
“Readying sensors for local-area sweep,” said Dominguez. “Let’s hope someone got here first and did all the hard work.”
It wasn’t to be.
“Looks empty,” said Shelton, moments after the static cleared. “Waiting for close-in scan to complete.”
“No sign of comms receptors,” said Kenyon. “Not ours, not Ragger.”
“I’d prefer it if the Raggers didn’t know we were here until we’re ready to say hello, Lieutenant.”
“Our receptors are hidden from anyone who isn’t a known friendly, sir.”
The close area sweeps came back clear, as did a more extensive scan of the vicinity. It was enough for Griffin to cut the power and bring the Broadsword to a near-standstill.
“We got here first,” he said.
Minutes passed and Griffin waited anxiously for confirmation that the other two ships had arrived. Meanwhile, Dominguez filled him in on the details as she found them.
“We’re ten million klicks from the rendezvous point, sir,” she said. “We had a pretty good landing and came in about fifty thousand klicks off target.”
One of the sensor feeds centered on a bright white speck which was noticeably larger than the other white specks.
“There’s the sun, Trion-V,” said Dominguez. “Four billion klicks from here, give or take.”
“What about Glesia?”
“One second, it’s on this same feed.” Dominguez made some adjustments and the sensor focus shifted. At first, nothing was visible. Then she added an enhancement overlay, revealing a circle highlighted in green. “That’s Glesia,” she said. “It’s not green, of course. We’re looking at the dark side. I’m still processing the sensor data, but we know it’s cold and we know it’s covered in ice.”
“I can’t spot a Ragger presence, sir,” said Shelton. “It’s unlikely we’ll get usable data from all this way and totally out of the question if they have active stealth.”
“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”
Griffin studied the planet, wondering if he’d get a feeling about what secrets it held. His intuition came up with nothing and he turned his attention away. The other two ships had yet to enter local space and he experienced the earliest hint of concern that they might have broken up or suffered some other failure.
“The Gradior’s comms receptor just went green, sir,” said Kenyon.
Griffin blew out in relief. A moment later, Dominguez located the Fangrin heavy cruiser on the upper sensor array.
“Eight thousand klicks from here,” she said. “Another good landing and only a little late.”
The Iron Cell entered local space a few seconds later. It checked in and joined the local comms battle network. Captain Isental reported no concerns other than the turbulence.
“We will make haste to the rendezvous,” said the Fangrin. He sounded angry in the same way he did every tim
e he spoke. Griffin still wasn’t sure if the alien was a naturally pissed-off kind of dog or if he smoked a lot of Fangrin cigars.
“Yes, let’s get going,” said Griffin.
The spaceships took on a tight formation with the two heavy cruisers out in front and the transport a few thousand meters behind. The Iron Cell had strong propulsion, but nothing like as capable as that on the Broadsword and Gradior.
“Everyone travels at the speed of the slowest,” said Griffin under his breath, keeping the engines at half power.
The three ships accelerated for several minutes on a course that would bring them closer to Glesia. Once top speed was reached, Griffin pulled the controls to the middle of their guide slots and allowed the Broadsword to coast. All the while, Shelton and Dominguez watched the sensor feeds in the hope of gaining an advance warning about what the Raggers had sent to meet them.
“Still no receptor,” said Kenyon.
“I doubt the Raggers are aware we’re here,” said Dominguez. “Unless they get lucky, their sensors probably won’t spot us until we’re close to the rendezvous.”
Griffin didn’t think one thing or another about the Raggers staying comms silent. He’d have likely done the same thing himself in the circumstances. The rendezvous was two million klicks from Glesia and the Broadsword closed in fast. Gradually, the sensors gathered more information about the planet itself. There wasn’t much to see – the surface was cased in uneven sheets of ice and wrapped in storms.
“No sign of any surface activity,” said Shelton. “Going by the experience on Qali-5, the Raggers must have another stealth shell around the place. The alternative is that everything’s below ground, blind side or positioned so perfectly underneath a few of these storms that we can’t see what’s there.”
“We already agreed to go on the assumption of a stealth barrier,” said Griffin. “Keep scanning but I won’t be disappointed if you turn up blanks.”
When the flight computer prompted him, Griffin started the process of bringing the Broadsword’s speed down. The plan was to complete the final fifty thousand klicks at a much-reduced velocity in order that the waiting Raggers wouldn’t be surprised and do something stupid. Of course, it might give them a better opportunity to shoot down the human and Fangrin spaceships, but Griffin figured if they were going to do that, they’d gone to extraordinary lengths just to score three kills.
That’s what he told himself.
“Still nothing,” said Kenyon.
“Forty thousand klicks from the rendezvous,” said Dominguez. “There’s nothing out here and we’re near enough that I can say with confidence that they are definitely cloaked.”
“That’s what we expected. Keep watching.”
With the rendezvous point only a few hundred klicks away, Griffin reduced speed again and the other two matched it. Eventually, they came to a standstill, at the exact place where Fleet Admiral Stone and the Ragger Hass-Tei-112 had agreed.
For long minutes, nothing happened.
“The Iron Cell’s pilot doesn’t like it, sir,” said Kenyon.
“None of us like it, Lieutenant.”
Just when Griffin was beginning to think the Raggers were late or had abandoned the mission before it had begun, Lieutenant Kenyon reported a green receptor.
“Got a green. Oh shit,” he said.
“Please report, Lieutenant.”
“The receptor is tagged Prime011, sir. It’s going to be a big one.”
He was right. The Ragger spaceship switched off its stealth modules and revealed itself. Dominguez obtained a sensor lock quickly.
“Right outside our front door,” she said. “Only four thousand meters, directly to port.”
Seeing the Prime011 brought back memories of Satra and Griffin’s encounter with the Ragger mothership Prime015. This second example of the enemy’s military might was identical to the first in terms of its basic shape. Prime011 was a disk, 2500 meters across and with a center height of 1000 meters. It tapered from the center and the edges were rounded.
As well as being massive, the spaceship’s hull was thickly plated and it bristled with multi-barrel turrets, many of which looked as if they’d been bolted on as an afterthought, rather than being designed to fit in with the overall shape. Some of these turrets were made to fire slugs and others to launch huge waves of missiles. Griffin identified other shapes attached to the outer surface. Their exact purpose was unknown, though almost certainly they were designed for offensive or defensive purposes.
“There’s our baby,” said Shelton.
“Yup,” said Lieutenant Caitlin Murray, who was Kenyon’s replacement backup after the death of Lieutenant Dan Faulkner. She spoke little except when it was time to talk business.
“Is it alone?” asked Griffin.
“No other ships are showing up on the sensors,” said Dominguez.
Griffin half-smiled. The Raggers were playing it cagey and he didn’t for a moment believe they’d sent one of their Prime-class warships out here without an escort. They weren’t visible, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there.
“I’ve got a weapons lock on Prime011, sir,” said Lieutenant Effie Jackson. “I detect no sign of weapon charge-up from the Ragger ship.”
“Hold and be ready,” Griffin warned.
“Waiting on your order, sir.”
Prime011 was a threatening ship, with more than enough firepower to deal with the Broadsword and the Gradior. For some reason, Griffin was already sure the Raggers weren’t going to open fire. The presence of one of their capital ships meant the aliens were taking the underlying reason for the truce seriously. The Raggers had a message to deliver and Griffin was confident they intended to make sure it reached both the Unity League and the Fangrin.
“Get me a link to whoever’s in charge,” he said. “Make sure Captain Isental is in the same channel.”
“Working on it, sir. The Raggers aren’t currently responding.”
The aliens didn’t stay comms silent for long. A few seconds later, they accepted Kenyon’s request for a channel.
“I’ve got someone calling himself, herself or itself First Echelon Hass-Tei-112. Want to speak on open or private?”
“I think we all deserve to hear this, don’t you? Let’s have the asshole on open comms.”
The channel hummed quietly and Griffin waited to hear what the Ragger would say.
“You are here,” said Hass-Tei-112. The translation modules added a menacing sibilance to the words, which Griffin suspected was an accurate representation of the alien’s real voice.
“We are here,” said Captain Isental. It sounded like he was seething and Griffin hoped the Fangrin had enough control to keep himself together.
“Yes. We believe you have information for us,” said Griffin. “Information which will allow us to work together in order to defeat the Sekar.”
“Yes, the Sekar,” said Hass-Tei-112. It suddenly clicked with Griffin where the word came from – it was a failed translation of the Ragger word Seeker.
“What do you have to tell us?” asked Isental. “I hope that coming here was not a fool’s errand.”
“We do not play you for fools.” The Ragger made a sound like it was taking in a rasping breath. “This is critical for every living creature. The planet below us holds information we must recover. This data we willingly offer to share.”
“What is this data?” Griffin demanded.
“The rifts. Perhaps how to close and how to open. The secrets of the Sekar. Without the knowledge, we will perish.”
Griffin didn’t have time to wonder exactly who Hass-Tei-112 believed was going to perish. Captain Isental didn’t give him time to think.
“Our sensors cannot penetrate the stealth field you have erected above the surface, Ragger,” said the Fangrin. “What is down there and why did you not let our more senior officers know about it before we spent eight days flying here?”
“Patience, [Translation Unknown]. You will listen.”
Captain Isental made a snarling sound in his throat that was definitely not friendly. It seemed like he was on the verge of telling Hass-Tei-112 precisely where he could insert his patience. Griffin gritted his teeth, hoping the Fangrin wouldn’t blow the whole mission before it got started. He glanced to his left and saw Jackson poised over her console.
“Hold,” he repeated, using the bridge channel to keep the Ragger from hearing.
Isental regained control and, for a moment, nobody spoke. Griffin was determined for something to come out of this meeting and he broke the silence.
“Hass-Tei-112, when you spoke to Fleet Admiral Stone, you told him that the data couldn’t be recovered without the assistance of the Unity League or the Fangrin.”
“That is correct.”
“If Glesia belongs to the Raggers, what is preventing you from recovering the data? What is it that humanity or the Fangrin can do that you cannot?”
Once again, the Ragger made a hissing noise which sounded like air being sucked through the gaps in tiny, needle-sharp teeth. Griffin didn’t like hearing it one little bit and felt sure it was indicative of mockery.
“Glesia does not belong to the Raggers,” said Hass-Tei-112. “The planet is fatal to us.”
“I have got no idea why the planet might be fatal to them, sir,” said Dominguez on the bridge comms channel. “There’s the usual shit on the surface – methane, ammonia, nitrogen, but nothing that a spacesuit won’t keep out.”
“Speak!” said Isental. “Why is this planet so deadly to you? What makes you think the Fangrin or the humans will survive?”
Hass-Tei-112 produced a wheezing noise like a dying man trying to take one last breath. “Your species have already survived the death pulse, Fangrin. In our facility on Qali-5. Did you not know?” The Ragger wheezed again and Griffin thought how nice it would be to drive his fist into its mouth.
Refuge 9 (Fire and Rust Book 5) Page 4
