“Shreg me sideways,” Matt exclaimed. “It’s a Pharad Tear Snare.”
“What?”
“The Pharad, and we’re talking pre-Confed, had a theory that if they could snare a tear correctly, then you could transport it through hyperspace. It was all theoretical of course. Shrinking and moving a tear in-system is one thing, transporting it through hyperspace, woo boy.”
“Que, um Eight, is that possible?” Blazer asked.
Gokhead answered, his responses measured and careful. “Yes Three. The historical database concurs. It is theoretically possible, but would require another snare or puckering ship in hyperspace.”
“All Units, Monstero Nach Lead. The Moon Snows have this area secured. A cruiser with corvette escort is en-route to take control and study the anomaly. Nachs, RTB.”
Bridge, UCSBS-Wolfsbane
The captain could hardly believe his eyes hects later. The science team’s initial report now allowed everything to fall into place. The tear snare had proved unlike anything anyone in Confed had ever seen. Only ancient records from before the formation of the Confederation, a millennium before, had even mentioned something like the device. Images and holograms told much of the story. The science behind it remained well above his head. Pharad glyphs covered the device, the key features beyond reminiscent of their ornate tech.
The squadron on station had done much to help. They’d carved away the ice that had covered the mesh panels between the main struts that linked the outward- and inward-facing, spikes. Once the interior had been exposed the familiar design of a GF hyperspace buoy appeared, poking out of the jump point within. Trapped inside the atmosphere this way, with the lights of the inner spikes reflecting off the virtual surface, it almost looked like a trapped hyperspace bubble. But it was clearly a jump point, a traversable jump point.
“But why, and how?” he asked himself.
Tadeh Qudas seemed to walk straight out of a shadow to appear at the captain’s side, a cup of stim-caff in hand. “My people have a theory. It’s not a pleasant one.”
The captain jumped. “If I ever figure out how you mask your smell so effectively…” After Tadeh Qudas’ first time on the bridge, he’d found a way onto the bridge that had kept the guards from revealing his arrival. Worse, even his movements had become silent to the Captain. It had proven disconcerting, as the Telshin could already move with the stealth of a vantablack-covered scout when he wanted to. I need to have my micomm checked, make sure his tech, Gokhead, didn’t weave in a perception filter.
Captain Sardenon took the cup from Tadeh Qudas’ hand. “Thank you. What’s the theory?” he asked before taking a drink. It was bitterer than he cared for, but then Tadeh Qudas was no steward. That one sip was probably more potent than the cup he’d had at breakfast.
“Gokhead, Que Dee, and a few others have run some theories. They think that the transports that slipped through were carrying that thing.”
The Captain could hardly believe that. While moving a jump point around in-system was possible, he’d never heard of anyone daring to transport a puckered jump point through hyperspace. The few instances he could recall of races trying to move jump points into each other had proven disastrous. The results were invariably the same, collapsing or merging the tears, and always with ‘energetic’ results. “How?”
“They’re still working the math. But they theorize that the trap itself was originally far smaller, and was expanded after it had been moved into the system. The trap itself is heavily shielded and mimics the energy of a hyperspace bubble. We have no problems moving those through hyperspace.”
“But where’s the power coming from?”
Tadeh Qudas pointed towards the hyperspace buoy. “Likely by whatever is on the hyperspace side puckering the tear. Captain, if the Geffers have this kind of tech readily available, and with whatever they’re using to predict hyperspace drift…”
“Then they’ve just changed the way we wage war. Just have a corvette or anonymous freighter tow one of those in-system…”
“And, if it proves to be the one you want, open it up and pour a fleet through.”
“No need to capture jump codes, just launch as many ships as you can build into every jump point you tow in-system after you open it.”
“But there is some good news. If they can move it, so can we.”
That brought a reluctant smile to the Captain’s lips. “Yes, we can, and we can turn that snare into a trap of our own.” He stopped and looked up at Tadeh Qudas. “I wondered why you kept calling it a trap.”
Tadeh Qudas remained impassive as ever as he turned that skull visage his way. “One hunter to another.”
UCSB Date: 1005.322
Bridge, UCSBS-Wolfsbane, High Orbit Drobile Six, Drobile System
The tactical options that played out on the hologram didn’t fill Captain Sardenon with any kind of optimism. His officers had come to him with dozens of ideas on how best to exploit this ensnared jump point. It had been dumb luck that had allowed his pilots to find the device in the first place. The Phantom had proven just how effective a hiding place that gas giant was. Countless commanders throughout the centuries had hidden whole fleets within the clouds of similar worlds. Even so, no Captain would just jump blind through a jump point without recon to ensure that it was safe. That limited his options.
Mah Roa’s science officers wanted to try and move the device. They’d come up with a means to do so, clouds and all, safely away from the gas giant. There was just one problem. Once moved away, the clouds would sublimate. After they’d devised a solution to that, they realized they’d encounter another problem. The clouds would freeze solid and collapse in on themselves if they weren’t heated, and there’d be no way to hide such a heat source.
Even then, there was no guarantee that moving the snare wouldn’t trip some form of alert. While that might cause the Phantom to not return, that could also, likely, spell the end of the snare. The Geffers, the Pharad in particular, were sure to destroy the snare to keep it from falling into Confed hands. They had a supreme weapon at their disposal, and they couldn’t afford to let Confed study it for long.
So Sardenon went old-school. The holographic display illustrated his trap best. He’d established a hundred kimet no-fly zone around the object. Patrols weren’t even allowed to take sensor sweeps of the area. Their limited contact with the device needed to be enough for now. Outside of the 100KMe sphere however Sardenon and the Admiral had had the battlegroup array dozens of atmospheric satellites. Using only passive sensors and ambient radiation taps for power, the probes would keep a diligent eye on their target. Then there were the orbitals.
Held in geostationary orbit high above the target were a dozen passive weapons platforms. High Command had offered them beam emplacements, the type that would be used to blockade major jump points, but he’d turned them down. Blockade satellites were massive, the size of corvettes or cruisers and bristled with beam weaponry, and they had massive power requirements. Their energy and sensor silhouettes would be visible to even a blind recon flight. No, Sardenon’s weapons platforms were simplicity personified.
Waiting in orbit with vantablack coatings hung frameworks holding 90-metra long and 3-metra wide tungsten rods. A small impulse motor would start them on their way and, after that, gravity would do the rest. He’d saturate the volume with the rods when the Phantom emerged. Each would hit with the force of a multi-megaton reaction warhead, all thanks to kinetic energy. Then, assuming the Phantom survived the initial assault, the rest of the battlegroup could move in and finish them off at their leisure.
The plan was sound, and would put the minimum number of lives at risk. But he knew well how plans would have a habit of working out. He turned to Commander Vetter and Tactical Officer Caudelle. “What have we missed?”
Vetter looked over the hologram again. Bomber patrols remained outside the no-fly zone, ready to pounce once the trap had been sprung. Corvettes and frigates were monitoring the other jump points in
case this snare was a trap for them. They might be able to hold their own should the Phantom arrive there instead, just long enough for the Wolfsbane and the destroyer group holding behind one of the local moons to slipstream in. “We’ve got the contingencies covered, sir. Now, it’s just the waiting game.”
Sardenon read the look on his Sia’s face like one of his son’s oversimplified school reports. “You disagree?”
She remained quiet for a moment, her ears lowered, as if she hadn’t heard. She shook her head and looked up. “Yes and no, sir,” she said fidgeting with her lower set of arms.
“Go on.”
“We’ve set up for an atypical jump point defense; defensive batteries, patrols, pickets ships on the other jump points, and reserve forces hidden nearby.” There was nothing new in that statement. “But, this is anything but typical, isn’t it? This jump point snare – look how big it is. Then look at how big the transport that brought it in was, and how small the science division calculated it could be compressed.” She called up a hologram of the freighters that had slipped through after their earlier encounter. “I asked the forensics team to analyze the garbage scow’s contents again. Their preliminary reports were inconclusive, since they were sent back to the core worlds for handling and disposal. What they did show were traces of the same metallurgical signature as seen on the trap.”
Captain Sardenon stood up and crossed his arms. His enemy might be cleverer than he’d thought. “They were hauling in more than one?”
“That is my assessment sir, but we can’t be sure. It could have been any number of other things. But sir, if they were hauling in more than one then what are the chances that there are more here?” Her dark nose wrinkled with concern.
Captain Sardenon looked at the hologram of the freighters. Assuming that there was no special handling equipment, the large freighter could have carried in two snares. He turned back to his officers, his stomach twisting. “Put yourself inside a Geffer’s head.” They both eyed him distastefully at the thought. “Where would you hide another of these?”
Commander Vetter pulled up a navigational chart. “One of the other gas giants.”
Sia jabbed a finger into a further planet. “The ice giant seems the most obvious choice to me, especially given the fighter they left behind for us to find.
“We were lucky enough to find even this one. If we go off searching for a second snare, we risk diverting valuable resources on a fool’s errand.” He tapped the hologram. “I want monitoring probes in place around all of the gas giants, but alternate high intensity scanning between the remaining giants, full spectrum.”
Commander Vetter cocked an eye at him. “But if there are snares there, won’t that tell them that we’re looking for them?”
“Yes, but if they can see that we’re focussing on the outer gas giants, with only minimal scans of this one, then the logical port of entry would be where?”
“Where it looks like we’ve already assumed is clean,” Sia replied with a wry smile. “Excellent idea, sir. I’ll set the order immediately.”
Dropship Hangar
Gavit could still hardly believe it. His old racer was the new testbed for an advance in drive technology that had been dreamt of for centuries, before plasma drives had even become a reality: a true reactionless engine. He marvelled at the sight of the old girl. Dorik and his crews had done an amazing job of restoring the craft, and Gavit couldn’t wait to fly her again. There were still challenges and problems to be worked out however.
Gavit could only grasp the basics of their theory, but that didn’t matter to him. He’d just be the one to fly the craft, he didn’t need to understand what every wire and circuit did. He looked over the plane. Dorik had bet everything on the PDE, there was no backup beyond the maneuvering jets. He ran a hand along what had been the exhaust for the plasma booster. The nozzle was gone - instead a slipstream bulb quietly pulsed in the dim light.
“Looks like a lantern bug’s ass,” Chris called out.
Gavit looked back at her. “Jealous?” he asked, caressing the bulb.
“If you like butts like that I know a few insectoids you should talk to,” she continued and stood beside him.
Gavit grabbed her ass and smiled. “No thanks. I’ll settle for this one, the second best in the universe.”
Chris sneered at him. “And whose is best, yours?”
Gavit shook his head. “Mine, no way, top five, yes. But let’s face it, Alieha still has the finest rear in the known galaxy.”
Chris half-laughed as she shook her head. “Even money on if Arion or I would kill you first if you went after her.”
“Not a bet I want to take,” he said and pulled her close before he kissed her.
Breaking the kiss, Chris looked at the racer. “So, just wanted to finally show this thing off to me? Gloat?”
Gavit started to nod then shook his head. “Not so much. Dorik thinks we’ll be ready for our first test-flight next decle. I want your help in going over the test plan. I don’t fully understand what all he’s doing and I trust you the most when it comes to engines.”
Chris stared at the racer, lost in thought. Gavit could only just stare back at her, marvel at her features, and kick himself internally for not even attempting something with her sooner. But then, they never would have worked out when they’d first met. They’d grown and changed so much over the past five annura, more than either of them had imagined.
Chris turned to him. “Read me in, but one condition.”
“Yes?”
“I’m your backup.”
“Deal, but only if you don’t poison me before the flight.”
Chris grabbed his ass. “No promises,” she replied, then smirked. “Top five is generous top 10, maybe.”
Bridge, GFS Barker, Tormuld’s Star System
Reporting bad news to Admiral Kimmet was not something anyone looked forward to. For Tony Nerant, to do so after a series of successful raids, it felt like a massive slap in the face. Perhaps it was the universe balancing the books, or what one of the ancient Earth religions used to refer to as Karma. Whatever the case might be, his recon-in-force had come up empty-handed.
At rigid attention, he waited for Admiral Kimmet to read through the initial after-action report. The Admiral took her time, swiping up on her handcom, a custom Padi from the look of it, to scroll through it. She pinched the screen a few times, face impassive, but even from a distance Tony could read the little ticks of frustration on her brow. After several agonizing minutes, she set the Padi aside and turned towards the main viewport overlooking the bow. Her free hand remained clenched at her side as she stared out at the inky blackness.
“Two months,” she hissed between clenched teeth, and turned towards her navigator. “Two months we waited for the predicted jump point alignment that should have allowed us to slip in, grab the Powell, and jump back. And it was all for nothing!” The Admiral hurled the Padi across the deck, the clear glass of the tablet computer shattering against the base of the smoky tube containing the Predictor.
“Ma’am, it’s possible that the Powell was wrong about its location,” the navigator stammered as multiple technicians ran over to inspect the tube.
Tony felt glad that he wasn’t the navigator right now. They’d received the distress signal from the Powell at least two months earlier, and had instructed them to sit tight and cease transmission. The Barker would send a rescue effort as soon as they could, but the ship had to quit telling the universe where it was. Then the Admiral turned her attention back on Jack and the other flight commanders. “You’re sure that your search was thorough?”
Tony glanced towards his squadron leader. Commander Hernandez stood tall and proud, his chest out. “Yes ma’am. As you have just read, we jumped in-system on three Ashland Tenders and began our survey of the Altair Green Planetary Nebula. Each flight inspected a major gravitational body or jump point within the system. There was no evidence that the Powell was ever there.” The Commander motioned
to Tony. “Lieutenant Nerant.”
Nerant felt the Admiral’s cool gaze fall upon him. His back straightened even more. “Yes sir. I led the jump point survey. None of the jump points revealed any sign of recent transit. All radiation readings were consistent with local stellar and none showed any sign of the Powell’s or any known ship’s energy signature.”
The Admiral turned back to Commander Hernandez. “You said you had a theory?”
The Commander motioned towards one of the other flight leaders. “Lieutenant Commander Greene.”
A slight, greying man stepped up, his demeanor cocksure and bold, his voice doubly so. “Ma’am, it’s entirely possible that, with their fragged nav comp, that they were relying on stellar navigation and local conditions to determine their location,” the executive officer of VFA-259, the Hellraisers began. “I experimented and cleared my navigational computer of its location data to see where it thought I was. It gave a different conclusion every time I tried; Eltair, Ketig, Vorg, or it just couldn’t figure it out.”
The Admiral turned back to her navigator. “Do you agree?”
The navigator nodded. “Yes ma’am. Given that it was a Confed system, and they would be unable to query the jump buoy without the right equipment. Interference from the Nebula would skew astronomical readings, and constellation charts might give incorrect location data.”
The Admiral looked back at the Predictor tube. “Get me plots of transit to the other possible nebulae. Let’s arrange for recon flights as soon as we have quick transits available, in and out, no hanging around. By now the Conts have to have picked up the Powell’s distress call. There’s no need to alert them that we’re looking too.”
Hell's Razer Page 31
