Storm Between the Stars: Book 1 in the Fall of the Censor

by Karl K Gallagher

  “We understand and will comply.” Landry made a throat-cutting gesture.

  The first mate muted the microphone.

  Roger was already looking over his shoulder, hand on the thrust controls.

  “Cut thrust,” the captain ordered. Another barely detectable shiver went through the artificial gravity.

  “It’s maneuvering to rendezvous,” reported Betty.

  Landry stood. “Can I see it from here?”

  Betty needed a moment to relate her display to the bridge windows. “Almost. It’s just past the port window.” She pointed to the bulkhead behind the communications console.

  “Roger, yaw ten degrees port.”

  The helmsman had a gentle touch with the thrusters. It felt like they were holding still and the stars outside shifted around the ship.

  “There it is.” Betty pointed at a moving dot near the edge of the window.

  “Hand me the monocular,” said Landry.

  He focused the viewer on the cutter. It was a round ended cylinder, almost hidden under racks and pylons holding equipment of various sorts. Most looked to be search and rescue gear. There were four missiles on extendible pylons. They hadn’t been bluffing.

  Landry lowered the monocular. “It’s a vacuum buggy,” he said with satisfaction.

  The cutter commander’s voice came across the speaker again. “Azure Tarn, I’m not familiar with your design. Where’s your personnel airlock?”

  Landry turned to the first mate. “Send them to the port dorsal lock. Have Marcus open the outer door.”

  Then he went back to thinking.

  As the cutter closed in, he ordered, “Roger, stand by to execute a maximum power plus yaw and plus pitch on my command.”

  The helmsman protested, “Sir, that will—”

  “Set it up and execute at my command!”

  “Yessir!” Roger was more surprised than scared. Landry hadn’t shown anger at him before. He positioned the thruster controls.

  The cutter was visible to the naked eye now. It decelerated to make a gentle docking. The mechanical protrusions made it look like a sea urchin or spiky crab.

  Azure Tarn could accelerate to almost the speed of light in normal space. In practice her top speed was limited by the need to spend as much time decelerating as accelerating before arriving at her destination.

  In atmosphere or hyperspace her speed was constrained by the strength of her hull. The resistance of the medium went up by the square of her speed. At sea level on Corwynt she could only go Mach Ten. Any faster risked rupturing her hull. A few weak points had been reinforced by previous owners.

  A ship which only traveled in interplanetary space—a ‘vacuum buggy’ to snobbish interstellar spacers—only needed a hull strong enough to hold in the crew’s air and support whatever was mounted on the outside. Maintenance personnel needed to be careful not to make accidental punctures when swinging tools about.

  As the cutter extended its docking tube Landry snapped, “Roger, now!”

  The helmsman slammed two levers to their maximum.

  Azure Tarn’s artificial gravity generators were networked with the thrusters. They kept the crew from feeling most of the pivot by compensating for the expected forces.

  The impact with the cutter wasn’t predicted. They all felt the lurch as the ship slammed against the smaller vessel. Worse was the sound, the crunch of crumpled metal, screech of wreckage scraping over the hull, and wail of alarms.

  On the bridge they could see the wreck spin away. “Belay rotation,” ordered Landry. “Full thrust for the jump point.”

  “Aye-aye.” Roger scrambled to obey. The full power of the main drive was more than the AG could compensate for. They all felt the deck tilted up toward the bow.

  Landry watched the wrecked cutter. All the attachments from one side were expanding debris. The hull was in one piece. The cracks were large enough no more air was escaping. One of the exterior lights was blinking red.

  “Is it transmitting anything?” he asked Lane.

  “Automated distress signal, Hold on.” She listened to her headset. “New message. Same guy who was talking to us. Requests assistance.”

  “Thanks.” So there was at least one survivor. If anyone hadn’t been suited up when Landry rammed them they were dead now. Whatever the original arrest order was for, Landry now faced arrest for murder or an act of war.

  As Azure Tarn accelerated away the wreckage fell out of sight.

  “Turn off the transponder,” ordered Landry. No sense pretending to be a law-abiding ship.

  ***

  “Governor? Do you have a moment?”

  Bridge Yeager looked up from his reader. Whatever his aide was bringing to him had to be more interesting than the Censorate Council’s latest update to the Index of Prohibited Ideas. He locked the reader. The Index was at the maximum level of security. “Certainly, Benno. What is it?”

  “Director Yokat and Director Pellel wish to see you. They say it’s urgent.”

  “Send them in.”

  Benno led the directors in. His offer of refreshment was cut short by a glare from Yokat. The Director of Order waved the aide out the door, shoving it closed just shy of the poor man’s foot.

  Then Yokat took his place next to his fellow director.

  Yeager studied them. Neither was interested in the soft chairs before the desk. They were almost at attention. It felt as if they were expecting to be chastised. He raised his eyebrows to invite them to begin.

  Director Yokat spoke. “Your excellency, I have failed to carry out your order.”

  Censorial governors possessed the authority to execute a subordinate on the spot for such lapses. Some did. Yeager asked, “Which order?”

  “I did not arrest and interrogate the crew of the Azure Tarn. They fled the planet before my team arrived.”

  “I see. So you requested Director Pellel apprehend them in space?”

  Pellel took a quarter-step forward. “No, sir. My people attempted to seize the ship for multiple violations of traffic control regulations. The criminals rammed the inspection cutter. Destroyed it.”

  “How are the crew?” demanded Yeager.

  “They’ll recover. Broken bones, vac bite, a concussion. Fortunately they were all suited up for the boarding. But all my available cutters were needed to rescue the casualties. The Azure Tarn was out of range before we could spare one to go after them.”

  To his surprise Yeager’s reaction was relief. He’d ordered the arrest in a fit of anger after being lied to. In the morning he’d wondered if he’d overreacted to an honest error. Now there was proof these visitors were ruthless traitors, with information sources inside his own administration. His order had been correct.

  “I see,” said the governor. “What authorization do you need to pursue them?”

  Yokat answered, “Neither of our directorates can reach the ship now. We, um, suggest that naval assistance be requested.”

  Yeager tapped his fingers on the desktop as he thought. In his years as governor he’d avoided calling in the military. Mowing down rioters or bombarding a city struck him as a failure of leadership, not an exercise of it. But a fleeing spaceship was certainly a task for the Navy.

  “Very well.” He pressed the switch to open the door and raised his voice. “Benno!”

  The aide appeared in the doorway. “Sir?”

  “Find out if the Commodore is on world. If so, get him on the line.”

  “Yessir.” Benno vanished. A moment later he returned. “On your screen, sir.”

  The center of Yeager’s desk lit up with the face of Commodore Meckler. He wore a deferential smile, an expression which sat uncomfortably on a visage accustomed to demanding unhesitating obedience. “Governor Yeager. How may I serve your excellency?”

  “We have a problem which seems best solved by the Navy. A ship of traitors has fled Corwynt and is beyond our power to catch.” Yeager summarized Azure Tarn’s escape. “I hope dealing with them is within the
Navy’s power.”

  He’d carefully worded his speech to avoid any orders or demands. While the naval squadron did have orders to assist civilian authorities, the commodore could appeal any order he didn’t like to his admiral at district headquarters, adding at least a month’s delay. Yeager was thankful he’d invited the obnoxious bastard to a dinner or gala at least monthly.

  The commodore grinned. “I wager the boys would enjoy some target practice. Don’t have the budget for much live fire rounds these days.”

  “Certainly. Traitors deserve no better. But we do have a long list of questions for them if there could be survivors.” A longer list than when Yeager first ordered their interrogation.

  “That takes some of the fun out of it. And it’s harder than just blowing them up. But a challenge is good for the boys. Let me see which ship has the ready duty.” The seal of the Censorial Navy replaced the commodore’s face.

  Yeager waited patiently. Neither director offered a comment.

  Commodore Meckler reappeared. “Good news, Governor. The carrier Implacable is on duty. She can head after them as soon as I send the orders. Which I’ll do now.”

  “Thank you, Commodore.”

  The screen went blank. It was just as well Meckler hadn’t tried to add some pleasantries to the conversation. He wasn’t any good at it.

  Yeager looked at his subordinates. “Director Pellel. Please inform me of the recovery of your casualties. Director Yokat. You will provide daily reports on your progress toward finding out how the traitors were warned of my arrest order.”

  Both men bowed.

  “Dismissed.”

  ***

  Captain Wing sipped his tea. Thirty hours of standing at alert with no work to do made staying awake a struggle. A normal shift would have maintenance, training, or an exercise. As ready ship Implacable couldn’t do any of those, lest it interfere with their ability to react instantly.

  “Skipper, message from the Flag. New orders.” The yeoman held out a message pad.

  “Good. I’ve been telling the Commodore’s staff we should have exercises for the ready ship.”

  “No, sir. It’s a real mission. Pursuit and capture.”

  Wing snatched the pad, shoving the tea cup into the yeoman’s hands.

  “Well, well. Looks like we’re cleaning up a mess for our civilian colleagues. Helm!”

  The bridge crew had all woken from their bored daze at the captain’s reaction. “Sir?” acknowledged the helmsman.

  “Maximum thrust at course, hmmm, 140 by 60. We’ll refine that in a few minutes. Navigator, take a look at this. Give me a rendezvous.”

  The carrier swung toward deep space. She was orbiting Glogfaen, next world out from Corwynt. It was a boring rock which no one minded the Navy bombing for practice, other than the rare miners or reclusive settlers.

  Wing took his tea back to distract himself from breathing down his navigator’s neck. The boy knew his trade. There was no sense distracting him.

  “Sir, we can’t do it. It has too big a head start on us. I can’t even pull off a fly-by intercept before it reaches that jump point.”

  Wing suppressed a curse.

  “The fighters can reach it,” continued the navigator. “They can be at the jump point waiting for it.”

  “Thank you.” Wing turned to his XO. “Scramble Squadron Two.”

  “Aye, sir!” In minutes the vacuum-specialized fighters were shooting into space.

  ***

  “Stand by for turnover,” said Soon. She watched the timer count down. “Execute turnover.”

  “Executing,” said Roger. Stars swept by the windows of the bridge as he flipped Azure Tarn end for end.

  The crew felt fine. The artificial gravity was prepared to compensate for the pivot. It kept them from feeling any vibrations.

  Even better, this marked the halfway point in their flight to hyperspace. Twelve more hours and they could say goodbye to this system. Shoulders unkinked.

  “We’re being pinged,” said Betty. “Not Corwynt Traffic Control this time. Different frequency.”

  Landry turned to face her. He didn’t demand more details. Her hands were moving briskly across the sensor console. When she had more information she’d share it.

  “It’s a fancy ping,” Betty continued. “Multiple pulses at different frequencies. Permission to ping them back? The source is in the main dish’s field of view.”

  “Granted.”

  Whatever was interested in them, it wasn’t close. It took several minutes for the response—responses—to come back.

  Betty described the readouts as they came in. “Whoa, that’s bright. Corner reflector strength. Must be vacuum buggies with gear all over them again. Coming at us fast, there’s some blue-shift on the echoes. Looks like ten of them in two lines. Ah, another echo lagging behind them. Dimmer, probably a smooth hull. The mother ship I’d guess.”

  She paused, then laughed. “Oh, Momma has her transponder turned on. How peacetime of them. Let’s see who we’re dealing with. ‘SCSH-3492, CNS Implacable.’ Then a bunch of letters that mean nothing to me. But it looks like a carrier and a bunch of fighters heading straight toward us.”

  “Can you estimate their speed?” asked the captain.

  “No. I’ll ping them again in an hour, that should be enough of a delta to let me calculate their acceleration.”

  The relaxation on the bridge had vanished. The crew were all hunched with tension. Except for Betty, who’d been expecting disaster and seemed to welcome it.

  The other effect of the Navy pursuit was to ruin Landry’s plan for resting his crew. Once past turnover he’d planned to put the ship on half manning. Instead everyone wanted to stay up to see the result of Betty’s next ping.

  Marcus took over the power console, well rested after a post-loading nap and fresh bandage. That forced Welly to go off duty. Lane went to their cabin, but a text message demanding updates made it clear she wasn’t sleeping. Everyone else insisted they were needed at their post.

  Hints from Roger and Soon persuaded Betty that fifty minutes was enough of an increment to calculate the vectors. When the echoes finally came back Soon copied the data to her console to do the projections.

  “Shit.” Soon turned to face her expectant audience. “They’ll be at the jump point ten minutes before us.”

  “Well . . . damn.” Landry castigated himself for not showing proper confidence in front of the crew. Then again, confidence wouldn’t help this situation much.

  “What do we do?” asked Soon.

  “Might be time to surrender,” offered Betty.

  Roger snarled, “You think they won’t execute you, bitch?”

  “Lock it up,” ordered the captain.

  Marcus studied Soon’s plot on his repeater screen. “We could stop decelerating,” he offered. “We don’t have to be stationary when we transition.”

  “Yeah, if we don’t mind being ripped to bits,” said Roger.

  “Lots of ships have done fast transitions. It’ll be rough but beats a Censorial torture cell.”

  “Or they’ll put a missile into us when they figure out what we’re up to,” said Betty. “Guess that’s still better than torture.”

  Landry turned to his son, an inquiring look on his face.

  “If it looked like a drive failure they wouldn’t shoot,” said Marcus thoughtfully. “They’d wait for the carrier to catch up and take us in tow.”

  “That could work,” said the captain. “Let’s talk to Gander about faking a failure. Soon, you have the con.”

  ***

  Marcus normally didn’t mind the fit of his spacesuit. It was snug, but that was a necessary part of keeping him alive and functioning. He just wished it could be adjusted for unusual conditions. Such as a bandage on his thigh being compressed into the wound.

  Well, it didn’t hurt much. Not enough to slow him down. At least he wasn’t going to slow down in front of Alys and Tets. They were helping him with his part of the fa
ke-an-engine-failure plan: tossing three floaters overboard to simulate debris from a drive explosion.

  They’d rigged the floaters to explode before depressurizing the hold. Delicate electronics work was bad enough without doing it in pressure gloves. Though it wasn’t that delicate. These weren’t space rated units. Operating outside a gravity field they’d tear themselves to pieces. Marcus and Tets were just splicing out the regulators which would shut the process down.

  They concentrated on not making the floaters explode in the cargo hold.

  Alys, not having electronics training, was operating the crane. She’d expanded her experience by pulling floaters loose from the jam next to the hatch. Having one pull loose and bounce off the overhead was not in the crane operator’s guide. But she’d gotten it back under control and placed by the main cargo hatch to be sabotaged.

  Now they were watching the countdown to the thrust cut-off. There’d been no way to estimate how fast a transition the ship could handle. Soon calculated when they’d have to stop decelerating to evade the fighters. They’d go through to hyperspace at that speed, live or die.

  Three floatcars lay on their sides on top of others, tops facing the hatch. Marcus and Tets stood by them. Their safety lines were tied to girders overhead.

  The artificial gravity turned off. Marcus felt his arms float up toward their natural position. That meant the drive was off, or they’d be slammed against the aft bulkhead. Alys started opening the main cargo hatch. The motors were sized to close it against three gravities. There were large warning labels declaring that excessive speed in low gravity could cause major damage. Marcus had told Alys, “Open and close it fast. We can fix it later.”

  The hatch was fully open in seconds. Marcus grabbed the antigrav car and kicked hard against the liftvan they’d been resting on. Once they were a few feet clear he reached in through the open driver’s window and pressed the start button.

  The car pushed away from the ship, resisting the pull of a planet it didn’t realize wasn’t there.

  The fringe of the antigrav field pushed Marcus away as it would any unlucky pedestrian. He twisted to land on his feet, making the wound in his thigh spasm again.