by PP Corcoran
“Incoming signal from the stargate, Captain,” said Jacobsthal, the Salamanca’s communications officer.
“At last!” said Kate, as she tried in vain to hide the impatient scowl which formed on her face. “Put him through.”
The Tri-V at the front of the bridge came to life and revealed the red and green striped face of a Sumatozou, its bifurcated trunk swinging lazily from side to side. “And how may the Cartography Guild be of service to you today, Captain Preissman?” the gate master asked in a deep orotund voice.
“I have a somewhat embarrassing request of you,” Kate said, putting the right amount of contrition into her tone. “My great-nephew has run away from home and managed to secure passage aboard a Zuparti freighter, the Tla’koz, which departed through the stargate about a week ago. His father is obviously concerned for his well-being, and I promised him I would do my utmost to return his wayward offspring to him.” Well part of it is the truth, thought Kate, as she looked into the unmoving features of the Sumatozou. “I understand that this is an unusual request, but if you could access your records and pull up the destination on the Tla’koz’s flight plan, then I, and his father, would be eternally grateful.”
The expressionless face of the gate master stared back at Kate from the Tri-V. Seeing that the Sumatozou was unmoved by her attempt to appeal to his better nature, she decided to play her next card and appeal to his baser instincts. “My nephew is quite wealthy, Gate Master, and has offered a substantial reward to anyone who may be of assistance in reuniting him with his son. And I’m sure if I were to tell him how helpful you were in this task he would be very grateful.”
That got the Sumatozou’s attention. “How grateful?” the gate master asked, as his eyes narrowed in anticipation.
“Oh, say half a million credits,” replied Kate. The Sumatozou grunted and played with the ornate robes which covered his expansive body. “In cash of course,” added Kate. The Sumatozou’s hands stopped playing with his robes and the mouth below the trunk opened and closed without a sound emanating from it. After a moment his stubby fingers tapped briefly on his slate.
Kate heard a brief chime as Jacobsthal’s console acknowledged the arrival of a data packet from the gate master. The Communications Officer quickly scanned the information streaming across his display before turning to Kate with a worried frown. “The Tla’koz was bound for Uiok in the Gresht Region. The captain logged his intention of taking a planned maintenance and refueling cycle when he arrived and then plans to continue on to his final destination—Earth.”
Oh, crap, thought Kate, then she remembered the Sumatozou was still watching her impassively from the Tri-V. “If you send over a drone I’ll ensure your payment is loaded aboard and returned to you.”
The Sumatozou nodded appreciatively.
“One last thing, Gate Master,” said Kate before the gate master terminated the connection. “I need to transit at the earliest opportunity if I am to intercept my great-nephew before he gets away again.”
The Sumatozou played with his slate for a moment. “The next scheduled transit is in less than an hour; can you reach the gate by then?”
“Mr. Horak?” Kate queried her Pendal pilot who had overheard the Sumatozou’s statement and was already working out the calculations. “If we burn like hell we can do it,” he said.
Turning back to the Tri-V Kate addressed the gate master. “We can make it. Good doing business with you.”
“My pleasure,” replied the Sumatozou, who had just made a tidy sum for less than a minute’s work.
The acceleration alarm rang its shrill warning throughout the Salamanca, followed thirty seconds later by a second alarm which was followed by Kate being pressed back into her padded seat as Horak engaged the Salamanca’s ion drive and pushed the freighter to six G, as he raced to meet the departure time.
Straining against the G-force, Kate thought about the consequences of Charlie and his troopers reaching Earth before she could stop them. Kate tried and failed to put herself in Charlie’s place when he discovered his wife and children were dead. A shudder ran down her spine, and it was not due to the Gs she was being subjected to.
* * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
Kathal
The sudden deceleration of the dropship caught Anna by surprise, and her head rattled against the padded sides of her seat. Recovering quickly, she looked across the cramped personnel bay directly at the impassive, metal-armored casing of Tim Buchanan’s CASPer. The Scorpion captain and his CASPer were secured in place along with Corporal Jonny Vega immediately beside her and, as she looked down the length of the dropship, the unmoving metallic forms of the troopers of Support Platoon.
Anna and Tim were aboard the second dropship, following Alastair Sinclair and the members of Third Platoon, who were in the lead craft.
“Two minutes,” called the pilot from the cockpit, his voice sounding slightly tinny in her small ear piece, as the dropship slowed perceptively again, though this time not so suddenly. The trip from where the Glambring had released the two smaller ships had been rougher than Anna had expected. Tim had warned her that the nap-of-the-earth flying the dropships would need to do in order to avoid the Besquith search radars protecting the Dusman facility would be best acquainted to a roller coaster ride that seemed never to stop. And he had been correct. Anna was sure she would have bruises all over her body as she had been bounced around in her seat as the dropship pilot had done his best to follow every contour and undulation of Kathal’s rugged surface.
“Remember to keep your mask on at all times, Doctor Wong,” cautioned Vega in her ear.
Anna nodded in response as she lifted the flimsy mask which was hanging from its elasticated strap around her neck and placed it snuggly over her nose and mouth. Kathal’s nitrogen-rich atmosphere was not suited to Humans, but the additional oxygen provided by the rebreather would keep her from suffering any adverse effects.
At least for a few hours, Anna thought, until the tank runs dry, and I suffer an excruciatingly painful death as the nitrogen replaces the oxygen in my blood stream, causing my muscles to spasm and tear while my eyeballs explode, and my ear drums burst.
Anna shook off the melancholy as the rear ramp of the dropship began to drop and her ears were assaulted by the high-pitched whistle of atmosphere screaming past the dropship. Through the opening ramp Anna got her first glimpse of the surface of Kathal as it flew past apparently only inches from the dropship’s floor. Everything appeared to be covered in a yellow hue. A rocky surface with no sign of vegetation.
“One minute,” the pilot’s voice said, and, as if taking that as their cue, the assembled CASPers turned as one to face the ramp, completely blocking her view of the ground rushing past.
“Remain in your seat with your belts fastened, Doctor, until I tell you to release them, then follow me down the ramp. Remember, each of these CASPers weighs nine hundred pounds, so watch where you’re going. We don’t need any little accidents do we?”
“Damn right we don’t,” mumbled Anna as the whole dropship swayed. The pilot raised the nose sharply, dropping the tail as the craft lost its forward momentum. A fraction of a second before the engines stalled, the pilot brought the nose horizontal again, and the dropship dropped onto its now-deployed skids, bouncing slightly.
Tim Buchanan charged down the ramp and, clearing the dropship’s tail, activated his 20-millimeter Magnetic Accelerator Cannon, which swung into place over his right shoulder. Next, he pushed out his left arm where the under slung 8-millimeter gun pod detected his movement and automatically released its safeties, clearing the gun for action and projecting a green telltale into Tim’s Tri-V display. Finally, Tim’s suit ran a brief subroutine confirming the high cyclic laser attached to his right arm was good to go. Satisfied his suit was fully operational and ready to fight, he checked in with Alastair who, with Third Platoon, had landed thirty seconds ahead of Tim’s dropship.
“Scorpion Bravo, down and clear.”
“Glad you could join us, Tim,” answered Alastair over the command net. “Caroline and Third Platoon have secured the area so you can bring out the package.”
Tim was pretty sure that Anna’s codename ‘the package’ would not impress her, but now was the time for professionalism, not sentiment. Switching channels, he called Corporal Vega. “All clear, Vega.”
Aboard the dropship, Vega gave Anna a thumbs-up with his armored gauntlet. “Let’s go, Doctor,” Vega said. He paused for a second while Anna untangled herself from her seat restraints before following her metal guardian down the ramp, squinting in the odd, too-dim sunlight. “Reflected light from the gas giant. The system’s star is on the other side of the moon at this time of day,” said Vega helpfully. The corporal checked his telemetry repeater which showed him the location and I.D. of each Scorpions’ CASPer; each trooper looked just like every other when wrapped in the mechanical armor. Identifying Tim’s icon, he made his way over to him while checking his suit’s readouts for threats to Anna and himself.
He took special notice of the raised, unnaturally-straight lines protruding from the gentle curving edges of the hollow where the dropships had landed. A trooper from Support Platoon that Vega’s suit was telling him was Okoro, the cyber specialist, with Lieutenant Rivero watching his back, was working on a panel located beside a pair of impressively large and heavy-looking doors. Vega had just stopped beside Tim when the heavy doors split and rumbled into their recesses.
“Eyes out!” ordered Alastair. Two troopers from Support Platoon toggled controls within their CASPers and each of their left armored legs popped open to reveal a dozen baseball sized objects. From the top of each ball a small rotor sprouted and spun up until each ball lifted from its dock and, under the control of the trooper whose suit they had come from, whizzed past Okoro and Rivero, through the open doors, and off into the dark.
“Good telemetry from the Eyes, Colonel,” Rivero reported on the fully-automated surveillance drones. Apart from transmitting real-time images, the drones also carried a full miniature sensor suite, which detected enemy surveillance systems. If they came upon one, they halted, reported their position, and waited for someone like Okoro to neutralize it before proceeding.
Alastair brought up the Eyes’ feed. The tunnel the little drones were moving through angled downward, steadily getting deeper. This matched with what Al, the Zeewie mine supervisor, had told them to expect. “So far, so good,” said Alastair over the command net. “OK, Gonzalez, two of your troopers have got the back door.”
“Sir,” Rivero said as he pinged two of his troopers and ordered them to remain with the dropships and guard the Scorpions’ escape route.
“Caroline, you’ve got point. According to Al, the tunnel was designed to accommodate heavy diggers in case of structural failure somewhere in the mine, so let’s advance in pairs. The Eyes show the tunnel is wide enough for two CASPers side by side.”
Without further ado, the Scorpions headed into the mouth of the tunnel, disappearing from view in pairs. Anna was reminded of animals boarding the Ark before the great flood. Hopefully this particular mission would not end up in a similar disaster. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she retrieved a set of goggles which she placed over her eyes. With the tap of a control on the goggles’ side, the darkness of the tunnel was transformed into shades of white, grey, and black by the image intensifiers built into the goggles. The sight of the Mark 8 CASPers surrounding her was reassuring. Anna hoped Al’s directions would be accurate; she didn’t fancy wondering around darkened tunnels for the rest of the day.
* * *
The normal quiet of space was torn asunder as Striking Talon and Devil’s Fang emerged from hyperspace. “Transition successful, Captain. Devil’s Fang reports systems nominal.”
Captain Po did not bother to acknowledge the bridge officer’s report; the HecSha cruiser’s commander had expected nothing less. His crews were professionals, unlike Gorak and his cursed Jivool, who had screwed things up so badly on Ralla Station that Po had been forced to authorize Gorak to sub contract a platoon of Flatar to bolster the Jivool mercenary soldiers’ ranks. Po had explained to Gorak in no uncertain terms that he should expect the extra expenditure to come out of the Jivool’s pay for this mission. The HecSha captain had thought for a moment the Jivool mercenary commander was going to argue with him until Po had succinctly pointed out their employer, one Veetanho General Peepo, would be sure to point out Gorak and his Jivool mercenaries’ mistakes. By the look on the Jivool’s face at the mention of the infamous Peepo, Po was satisfied he would receive no further argument from Gorak.
Po dismissed any more thought of the Jivool; he was more concerned with the delay caused by waiting for the arrival of the Flatar mercenary replacements. General Peepo was not renowned for accepting tardiness without good reason. Po allowed himself a wry smile as he imagined the look on Gorak’s ugly Jivool face when Po placed the blame squarely on Gorak and his men’s shoulders if General Peepo showed even the slightest sign of being annoyed with Po, even though he’d said he wouldn’t.
“Contact the facility on Kathal,” ordered Po. “Inform them of our ETA and tell them to prepare the reactor for immediate transport.” Po ran a clawed hand over his dry scales and promised himself a long, luxurious mud bath once this contract was fulfilled.
* * *
Captain Kothoo had not left his command chair on the bridge of the Glambring since the departure of the dropships carrying Alastair Sinclair and his Scorpion troopers, and, he admitted to himself, he had no intention of moving off the bridge until the colonel and his men were safely back aboard. In the navigational Tri-V, the current status of the ship was displayed. The Glambring was hovering barely beyond Kathal’s atmosphere, and the ship’s helmsman was having to make constant course and altitude adjustments to ensure the frigate did not dip into the upper atmosphere.
These problems didn’t make it to the top of Kothoo’s worry list—the elSha was more worried about avoiding detection—so he had put the entire ship on Emission Control State One. To the uninitiated, that meant every electronic system with even the slightest chance of broadcasting an electronic signal, radar, lidar, communications devices, even the Glambring’s mess’ microwave ovens had been shut down or put into standby mode. Kothoo spared a glance over to the bridge’s communications section where his Comms Officer and two senior ratings had their eyes and ears glued to the frigate’s comms systems, which had been manually placed in receive-only mode.
He shifted his gaze around the bridge until it landed on the activity going on in the Electronic Countermeasures section of Tactical. Jutting out from below a console which had been literally torn to pieces was the multi-appendage form of Engineer Larras, and hovering above him was the very worried face of the Glambring’s Tactical Officer. The trip through the gas giant’s magnetosheath may have gotten them past the Besquith radar but, concernedly, the ECM system had become overloaded by the intense radio waves contained within the magnetosheath. The finely-tuned system could detect a single pulse from a radio source from beyond the edge of the solar system. Unfortunately, that sensitivity had been the cause of the damage because the duty operator had mistakenly left the detector grid online during transit through the intense radio-generating magnetosheath.
The tactical officer became aware of Kothoo’s intense stare and joined him by the captain’s chair. “Larras estimates another thirty to forty minutes until we are back up, sir.”
Kothoo worried his lip before replying. “With the active systems in standby mode we are blind as a bat until the ECM detectors are back online. A mile-wide Wathayat freighter could be sitting a foot off the stern and we would have no idea.” Kothoo let out a small sigh and shook his head. “Let’s hope that Larras is as good an engineer as he tells us.”
* * *
By the time the Scorpions navigated their way through the underground tunnels and were forced to halt their progress while members of Support Platoon went forward
and dealt with a booby trap left by the Besquith for the third time, Anna Wong had stopped worrying about what might be up ahead in the dark. Instead she had come up with a routine to pass the time. Switching off her image intensifier goggles she allowed the enveloping darkness to fold in on her. Without any input from her visual senses, her brain naturally attempted to compensate by accentuating her auditory senses. Closing her eyes, Anna tried to place each of the CASPer-clad troopers surrounding her purely by the low hum of the suit’s power cells. Admittedly, she’d had limited success, but she had found that by concentrating hard, she could even discriminate between some of the suit’s more individual traits. Vega’s suit made a hardly noticeable squeak whenever he moved his left shoulder, probably caused by the seals rubbing together. Tim’s CASPer, on the other hand, had a faint clinking coming from the under-arm gun pod. Anna had speculated what it might be and had settled on a loose link in the drum magazine which fed ammunition into the weapon’s breach.
“Moving,” Vega’s voice said quietly in her ear. Tapping the control of her goggles, the faded color tones which were her world for the moment returned. As her eyes adjusted to the enhanced vision she caught her breath as she realized the imposing figure of Vega’s CASPer was only inches from her face.
“According to Al’s tunnel map, we should only be a couple hundred feet from a maintenance access installed to link the tunnels to the facility. The colonel plans on breaching it with explosives and when we do that all hell will break loose. Stay close. OK?”
For the first time since entering the tunnels, their precarious situation hit Anna with a sobering effect. In a few minutes, people would die. In her years with the Winged Hussars, no matter the number of propulsion or weapons systems she worked on, installed in warships, or observed in the weapon’s proving grounds in New Warsaw’s outer system, she had never been involved in combat.
