Authors: John Koetsier
“EMPs are powerful weapons in proximity, but they obey the inverse square law just like anything else. Even a ten-click miss would probably be enough — and if they’re centered between a cluster, they’ll be at least 250 klicks away from each individual node.”
“I don’t get it,” the other tech said, shaking his head. “You can draw the missiles in, sure, if we can reprogram the array quickly enough. But how in heaven are you going to make them miss?”
“Simple. Because we’re not using a single node to attract a missile — we’re using three or four companion nodes. Each repeater will be using some fraction of its strength to pull the missile, meaning that, if all goes perfectly, we can get a perfect miss in the middle of a 500 kilometer equilateral triangle. They’ll come down right in the middle of quadrants. Most likely, with the speed we’ve given them, they’ll continue sinking into the sun, but worst-case scenario, they’ll oscillate a little at the central point, unable to move due to equal and opposing attractor forces from each neighboring node. In essence, they’ll have become part of the Sunflower’s grid.”
The other tech looked up with hope.
“In other words, they can send 500,000 EMPs. The sun won’t even notice, and the Sunflower won’t either. Excellent! But … how will you overcome internal guidance, and what percentage of output will be needed …”
They started a high-speed, high-tech conversation laced with words I did not understand. I headed that off at the pass.
“Details, details. We won’t know what exactly will work and what won’t until we try it, and guess what, we need to try it live. But first, we need to be able to initiate the attractors, and we need to be able to do that almost automatically, in real-time, in about 2000 locations, none of which we know beforehand. What do you need to do to get it going?”
“There’s some re-programming involved, obviously,” the first tech replied. “The Sunflower was never designed for this scenario, specifically. It’s going to take at least a couple of hours.”
The second tech started — had an idea.
“We could start with the meteorite avoidance algorithms — they do something similar. Probably will find most of the code we need there … just need to add some different sensor signatures to the detector grid.”
“Good. Get busy, get started, and do it in one hour. We may not even have that much time — the supply ship with the rebels on it is due to dock in 35 minutes.”
I left them to work on it and pulled the station manager aside.
“We need to slow that ship down without alerting them to any potential issues. How can we do that?”
“I, I don’t know …” he sputtered, looking shocked. “We’ve never had to do that before. There’s … there’s no conceivable reason to delay docking.” He spread his hands in helplessness. “I don’t know what would be a non-suspicious reason to wait.”
There was a communications officer seated nearby. He sort of turned and looked, not wanting to intrude but obviously having something to contribute. I nodded at him, waved him over. He looked at the chief, at me.
“Well sir, I couldn’t help overhearing. Do you remember the solar mining ship, Shrodinger’s Dachshund? About three months back? We asked them to hold off docking for about an hour because four or five of our solar probes were returning to the station simultaneously, and we wanted to clear them from the hold before bringing in another ship.”
“That’s right,” said the manager. “I’d forgotten!”
“We could do something similar now, sir.”
I saw a potential flaw. “Hasn’t this supply ship been expected? I might find it suspicious, if I’m a rebel fighter who thinks my cover is not blown, coming in on an expected and scheduled supply ship, to be delayed for a few probes that could easily have been diverted for an hour or so.”
The station chief looked almost comically crestfallen. “Well, that’s out.”
But the comms officer spoke up. “Sure, I would be suspicious too. I’d be suspicious of everything. But … if the probes were scheduled back earlier, and arrived in our hold with plenty of time to spare … and then we had some problems with them. Perhaps a containment issue with one of the power plants,” he said more excitedly, the idea starting to take shape.
“No huge problem, and fairly easy to fix, but it would take an hour or so, it would be something we would not want to delay, and we would want as few people and distractions in the hold as possible while it was fixed.”
“Perfect,” I said. “If our boy knows anything about the Sunflower and low-solar environments, he’ll know that it’s plausible. And I think we can count on him being very well informed indeed. Send the message now, and ask them to hold off for sixty minutes. Tell them we’ll be in touch earlier if it’s fixed ahead of schedule.”
I called in Livia from a patrol of the living quarters of the station, and asked her to take over from me in the bridge. We needed a presence there at all times. I whispered a few instructions in her ear, then left for the hold to meet up with Kin, Drago, and Tonia to see what surprises they had cooked up for our soon-to-be-visitors.
Arriving in the main cargo dock I was pleased to see Drago and Tonia already supervising a few techs in the partial disassembly of a solar probe. Livia had notified them of the plan, and they had decided the subterfuge would be thin without visual verification. Since the moments just immediately before an ambush was the most likely time for prey to startle or bolt, I wholeheartedly approved.
I took a moment to look at the entire space. Essentially, the hold was a huge open space — about 150 meters wide and 250 meters deep — glued on to the top of the Sunstation, so that hatches could open and ships could dock in the protective shade of the main structure of the station itself. It was partially divided into two docking areas by beams and support structures in the middle of the width, and had smallish storage and equipment compartments dotted around the entire perimeter, some with closed doors, some open. Everything structural was formed of the same nearly indestructible supermetals used in the construction of our own sunship. The primary features, beyond the size itself, were the two huge hatches, one for each of the docking spaces. Each was easily 75 meters wide.
I pulled Kin aside. “What’s your plan?”
He motioned at the hold.
“The ship that’s coming in is too big to do anything like what we did — inventing our own entrance. Apparently it’s something like 50 meters at the widest point, and therefore has to come in via the dock. That means there are only two possible entrances — the south and north docks. Since the north dock is now conveniently occupied by that probe … we can pretty much guarantee they’ll be docking in the south dock.”
We walked down the hold toward the south dock. Stopping at a computer station, Kin motioned at the wallscreen, where a ship was visible, slowly rotating in all dimensions.
“I had one of the techs pull up a schematic of the supply ship. The only normal personnel and cargo exit is to starboard, as you can see, but there are emergency hatches along both the sides and top of the craft — 10 in total. One of us can cover all the upper hatches from a vantage point up high, but we’ll need at least two for each side to be certain of full coverage.”
I mused a little on what he had said.
“If they’re not suspicious, they may all come out the cargo hatch, allowing us to capture them all easily. That’s the best case scenario … but not the most likely.”
We had to assume that the attacker was at least as intelligent as us, and possibly smarter. Anyone who would risk everything to destroy humanity’s most amazing creation would certainly take elementary precautions.
“If I was coming in on that ship, I’d have a few of our team in normal dress leave the ship through the main hatch, infiltrate up to the command center, and take control of the bridge. But I’d also have some exit unconventionally, just in case. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’d have a few suited up, ready for trouble, waiting in reserve.”
“Agreed,” said Kin. “But how many will there be?”
We turned back to the ship’s schematic. Crew capacity was listed as five, and there were accommodations for up to five more. But it was, after all, a cargo ship. There was a lot more room — for passengers or fighters bunked temporarily in holds, even for Trojan horses.
“There is no way he is taking as few as five. He probably was not able to suborn all the original crew, and he may have had to replace some of them after they left their home port at L5, near earth. I would guess 15 or so … enough to replace each crew member, fill up the passenger manifest, and both capture and hold Sunstation.”
Kin was nodding.
“And, if he’s smart, some of those will be coming out to secure the station, while others stay safe and secure in the ship. Only when they hear that the bridge is secured will they venture out.”
I agreed with a nod. But the last thing we wanted was a fight on an unknown ship with an unknown number of enemies with unknown weaponry. That gave me an idea.
“So … we’re going to have to make them think they have succeeded.”
“Permission to dock?” The even tones of the supply ship’s comms officer filled our bridge.
I tapped a screen, and we gave assent.
We watched as the supply ship mated to our grav field and entered through the hold, slowly piercing the force field that now covered the huge open hatch, coming in through the gushing coolant that reduced the hull’s temperature to something that wouldn’t cook all human life in the dock, and sliding gently to a rest in the south slip. Techs still worked on the solar probe in the north dock, but looked up and waved when the ship’s hatch opened and the first visitors came out.
The visitors waved as well, and I kept an eye on the screens that monitored the top and side hatches. Nothing yet.
The station chief called down to the docks, using the words I had given him, apologizing for not meeting the visitors personally, and inviting them up to the bridge. We figured this would be like offering candy to a kid: irresistible. That’s where they would want to go anyways.
Three women and two men stepped out of the hatch, nodded at the techs, and walked out of the docking area. I followed them on the screens through the halls, down the elevator, and into the hall approaching the control room. We had patched up the door as best as possible, basically removing it and the surrounding frame, leaving an engineer in place, working on it as if he was engaged in regular, standard maintenance.
The five entered the bridge area, and immediately drew sidearms.
“We are the People’s Liberation Army, and this station is under our control,” said one of the women calmly, more matter of fact than aggressive. Probably more terrifying for the crew than a crazed high-energy takeover, I thought. I studied her face: thin, angular, strong lines. Short blond hair, pale blue eyes. No excess, and no signs of age or weakness. No signs of human compassion or decency, either.
Then she lifted her pistol — some kind of energy weapon — and casually shot the camera. My view flared, then collapsed. This was expected, and I immediately switched from the built-in station channel to the secondary feed we had quietly installed when first coming aboard and taking control. My new point of view, from a nanocam stuck to the wall opposite the door, was not as comprehensive but reasonably adequate. I switch to fisheye mode to see all the room just in time to see the woman shoot the comms officer, two techs ensigns, and another bridge officer.
My heart jumped. This was not part of the plan. We had really no idea how ruthless these people were. Then there was another surprise.
The leader of the rebel group did not shoot the only crew member left, the station manager, next. Instead, she turned to the man and smiled crookedly.
“Hello, Jacques. Missed me?”
I cursed the manager, now understanding the initial resistance and subsequent delays and incompetence. Simultaneously, I set off destruct charges for the main bridge command instruments and computers and called to all my people.
“We’re blown, we’re blown. Station manager was in on the plot. Act as if they know all our plan. Find and destroy all of them!”
Then I took off toward the bridge at full speed, in full armor. As I ate meters, I reviewed the back-up plan at high speed. I had been in the secondary bridge; Livia was nearby. We were both heading to the control room right now. Drago and Tonia and Kin were already in the hold; their job was to contain and then eliminate any enemies on the rebel ship. Sama and Helo had been in reserve, and I made a quick decision.
“Sama, Helo: get to the hold. Help Tonia, Drago, and Kin. Liv and I will take the control room.”
I heard their assent and was satisfied. Now they could leave two people out in the hold, covering all the ship’s exits, while sending three in to root out any terrorists inside. Livia and I would suffice for the bridge. I hoped.
Three seconds later I was there. Saw Livia in the corridor by the gaping used-to-be-door. She joined me and we burst into the room at full speed. Saw four figures who were suddenly in sunsuits similar to our own. Time slowed.
Instantly as I passed the threshold of the ruined door, my suit buzzed, as though hitting static electricity. Momentarily I lost power, but momentum carried me through. Stumbling, trying to control an impossibly heavy and now inert suit, I fell, but managed with a supreme effort to turn the fall into a roll. A particle beam zipped just over my shoulder as I caught a glimpse of Livia, stopped in the threshold, caught in a web of force lines flickering like slow-motion lightning.
Continuing the roll to my feet as suit power came back on, mostly, I instantly triggered my shoulder turrets to shoot tiny AM grenades at two of the suits right in front of me. The suits were massively armored, and conventional handheld weapons were almost useless. Only massive particle beams and solar lasers stood a chance of penetrating. And antimatter, of course.
The bursts detonated with a blast of sound that almost overwhelmed even my protected ears as I initiated another roll into the feet of the other two suits. Tried to trigger two more grenades on the way to the ground, but got a whining noise instead, and a click. AM grenades were offline. At least they had worked once.
Two down.
There was no time to figure out what else was offline as another particle beam hissed right past my eyes, sizzling into the supermetal of the bridge deck, turning that almost unimaginably robust material into so much molten slag. A millisecond or so later I finally made contact with the suited figure hoisting the massive weapon. Lucky for me it was so big and heavy — it was also slow to move and target. Bouncing up, I bulled into the suited opponent, causing him (or her) to stumble backward and drop the weapon.
Malfs filled my heads-up display, so sophisticated weapons were out: brute force would have to do. Sunsuits would protect their occupants from blunt trauma, but nothing could prevent instant massive acceleration and deceleration events from scrambling brain stems, which left caveman tactics as the only available option. In other words, creative bludgeoning.
Leaving that fighter for a moment, I continued my motion into the remaining suit. Tumbling him over, I bent and grabbed one of his feet. Then I used the immense power of the suit to pick him up, swing him around my head in a short arc, and step forward to introduce the swiftly moving helmet with a stationary, immovable object: a wall. It was not exactly irresistible force, immovable object — the supermetal wall barely showed a dent — but the fighter slumped, and his faceplate popped off, revealing the station manager’s face.
Obviously he had hidden some sunsuits near the bridge for himself and the rebels. Too bad his would never be used again — waste of good equipment.
Three down.
I didn’t waste any time worrying about him, but I had paused to admire my handiwork for a millisecond too long. The other fighter, the one who had been carrying the huge beamer, crashed into me at full speed. Stunned, I slammed into the wall, bounced off, and ducked away from another onrushing charge. Only to trip over
Jacques’
loose faceplate and fall flat on my face. I levered myself onto one knee to leap back into the fight but froze. The massive beamer muzzle was so close it almost filled my field of vision. The pitted gaping hole held death.
“Sayonara, sport,” the rebel woman whispered. And pulled the trigger.
I jerked myself to one side, the world exploded, a particle beam sizzled the air and fried the almost impregnable metal beneath my feet. I landed, rolled, and bounced to my feet, wondering why I was still alive, wondering where the woman was, then wondering what the red mist in air was. Then I saw Livia near, missile launcher folding back into place on the shoulder of her armor, and I understood.
Four down. I swiveled, searched. One missing.
Then Livia spoke.
“Finally got out of that force field. Thought I was going to be too late.”
Her voice was low and dark, and her tongue caught on the sounds as if something was blocking her words. I took one huge step to her side, folded back my faceplate as she folded hers, and straining every muscle, kissed her viciously, then tenderly, tasting salty wetness rolling down her cheek. Then she held me, as much as anyone encased in 1500 kilos of exotic metal armor can hold anyone, and we came up for air.
“For German,” I said. She nodded, eyes streaming.
I stepped back, smiled tightly, then triggered comms.
“Sama, Helo! Status report?”
“Sama here. Helo and I are on station, covering the ship. Tonia, Kin, and Drago are inside, hunting down bogies. All OK so far, two bad guys down.”
“Good, stay on it. Bridge secure, Livia and I are OK. Four enemies down, one missing. Watch your backs as well as the ship.”
I turned back to Livia.
“We saw five come out of the ship. Any idea where the last one is?”
“No. I didn’t see anyone come out — he must have left the bridge right after we stopped watching.”
“Well, we’ve got ourselves a chase. Have to assume he’s armored too … and therefore can take this station, and any of the remaining personnel, apart at his leisure, unless we stop him.”
I thought for a second, made a decision.
“Livia, go to the crew quarters. Ignore everyone but the two techs who are working on the EMP defense. Make sure they complete it quickly, and don’t let any harm come to them.”
She nodded. “You’re going after the last one?”
I nodded in return, and we parted at full speed.
I ran through the station, using the suit’s power to its fullest extent, running down a mental checklist. Bridge, no, just was there. Dock, no, left there and there are people on station. Crew quarters? Possibly, but if so Livia will deal with. Dining and leisure hall? High probability, and that’s the first place I looked, kicking in doors and checking any rooms on the way. Nothing.
“Livia: on station?”
“Yes, have the two techs in hand. They’re safe, and the re-programming is complete. They want to talk to you.”
“Later. No sign of our last rebel?”
“No sign, nothing. I’ve got all the crew together in one of the larger domiciles, and no-one’s seen anything. They’re all pretty scared, though — they saw the killings on the bridge, and the station commander’s betrayal.
“Keep them safe. I’m still searching. If you hear anything urgent from any of the others, let me know.”
I stopped, considered. Command deck empty, living quarters clean. That left only one option, and not a good one. I headed for mechanical at top speed.
Mechanical was the lowest layer of the station, closest to the sun. All the power generators were there — direct mass to energy conversion. And all the machines keeping us alive were there as well, like the grav generator reducing the Sun’s otherwise mighty G-force, which alone could kill us unaided in a matter of hours. The FESS shield, which stopped the sun from cooking us. Comms, which kept the Sunflower structure tuned and operational. And — most importantly of all, perhaps — the controls for the output array, which distributed the power captured by the Sunflower in tight-beam lasers to Earth and humans all over the solar system. Mechanical was a place an enterprising terrorist with a few AM grenades could make himself very useful indeed … as long as he had as little concern for personal safety as he obviously had for human life.
But my guesses were wrong. He was indeed in mechanical … but not causing immediate destruction. Rather, he was communicating with someone. I edged closer, as quietly as one can in a 9-foot armored suit, thankful that the background noise of immense engines had covered my doubtless noisy entry, and tuned my aural receptors to his exact position.
“ … no, can’t do that,” he was saying. “We’re finished here. No chance anymore of capturing the station intact. As far as I know, everyone’s dead but me, and I don’t have a lot of time.”