Authors: Ronan Frost
Lockhart did not take his eyes from the radar, his
voice steady and unwavering. "I trust you already have a full
report and readout on that planet and starships, Tech Officer
Waterly." It was not a question.
"Yes sir. Coming through now, and dispatching to
Central."
The air crackled with tension as the red dots blinked
closer. Lockhart knew immediately his mission target had been
achieved - the message the Federation had received was authentic:
this was the Critical Point. For three weeks all craft entering
jumpspace had fallen into this trap, and now the Scoipre had
finally located it thanks to the mysterious transmission received
earlier.
"Prepare to engage engines," ordered Lockhart. "Set
the co-ords for our exit point. As soon as those Sova-1 fighters
have past we get out of here."
Tech Officer Waterly watched the flat screen with
growing awe as data from the Scoipre's extensive scanning equipment
worked upon the multitude of readings. Radar had detected multiple
cannon bases on the planet, and together with the two Hartrias
warships in orbit they formed enough firepower to challenge even
the Federation's best. The Scoipre's only hope was to use her
powerful engines to stay out of reach of the enemy warfleet.
Captain Lockhart tensed in the chair and his finger
depressed a button on the side console. "Engine Master? If those
Sova-1's get beyond the second perimeter activate primary thrusters
and set course one seven three, two six five." Lockhart watched for
the holo radar a moment longer. Had the Hartrias been able to
locate them in those few seconds before the stealth system had
activated? It seemed they had for the Sova-1 fighters seemed to be
heading straight for them. The outer perimeter zone had just been
breached.
"They've got us on optical!" cursed Lockhart with
sudden vehemence. "Accelerate!"
Almost immediately the deck swayed beneath like an
old fashioned yacht lurching on the waves. The Scoipre's three huge
engines growled into sudden life, slewing the ship up to bring the
shark-like prow around. The three circular thrust ports glowed
bright white like small suns, but the incredible power was not
enough to escape the highly manoeuvrable Sova-1 fighters.
Lockhart slammed against the side of the command
chair as the Scoipre jerked and rocked as if shaken by a giant
hand. The second blast came almost immediately after, jolting the
ship upwards. Ruefully rubbing an almost dislocated jaw Lockhart
tapped quick commands into the computer.
"Stabiliser's damaged," came a mechanised voice over
the wailing sirens and warning beeps. "Port oxygen scrubber
inoperative."
Captain Lockhart exhaled quickly, allowing himself a
moment of consolation. The damage wasn't bad - the ship could
operate without the stabiliser and the remaining scrubber would
suffice. But he knew the Scoipre could not sit and take such
punishment.
"Subman Mitchell - why aren't we in jumpspace?"
"I'm having some trouble sir." The officer did not
pause from his task, traces of fear and panic rising through his
features. "There's something wrong. There are thousands of
jumptunnels - too many - and they are all blocked. Something's
stopping us from getting into them!"
"Mitchell!" Captain Lockhart waited until the
sweating thin boned officer turned his gaze away from the monitor.
Looking his straight in the eye, Lockhart growled;
"Don't lose your head. Keep trying to get us into
them. Meanwhile keep us moving on a course at one seven three."
The astronav blinked, retinal implants in his eyes
whirling as they focused on Lockhart. "But sir, that vector will
put us right into them..." Mitchell's mind was quick, and he
realised Lockhart's intent immediately. "Slingshot effect?"
"Do it. That's the only way we're going to get enough
velocity to pull away. Once we've reached optimal speed we engage
stealth systems and drift free."
"The Hartrias may be able to track us down," put in
the astronav.
"All the more reason to take us lower and faster to
the planet to boost the slingshot effect." Lockhart's heart was
beating loud in his ears, but his breathing was controlled as he
keyed in the Engine Master's intercom again and ordered full power.
He then ordered an SOS sent to the Federation fleet, along with the
full readout the Scoipre had obtained. Captain Lockhart knew that
the odds were against his small scout ship surviving, but he was
determined the information they had come here for would not be lost
with them. Even though the Hartrias had managed to block their path
into jumpspace hopefully a small message pod would go
undetected.
The Scoipre swung around into a one-eighty degree
turn and the swarm of attacking Hartrias fighters lost their quarry
for a moment. The hammerhead scoutship shot forward, drawing upon
the full might of its engines. Surplus computer equipment shut
down, as did most of the radar equipment, in an effort to reroute
all available power.
The manoeuvre confused the Hartrias for the precious
few seconds the Scoipre needed. Before the Sova-1's had managed to
turn and reform their combat formation the Federation ship had
built considerable speed, and was pulling away. Looking into the
radar display scope Lockhart saw the Hartrias fighter ships had
dispersed and slowed like a falling net. He knew the Hartrias
command must be confused by the Scoipre's sudden vector alteration
as the ship they were pursuing sudden turned back into them. Now
the Sova-1's formed a blanket behind them, ensuring the Federation
ship could not escape as they were forced closer to the Hartrias
warships' guns.
"Sir - request to divert some power to forward
shields. A head on attac-"
"Negative!" bawled Lockhart, silencing the tech
officer immediately. "I want all power to engines." Lockhart also
knew the Scoipre's shields would be next to useless against a
warcannon; their only hope was evasion. It was a gamble he had to
take.
"Slingshot vector is set," said Mitchell a trifle
uncertainly. The alarm sirens had been muted, leaving the sounds of
clinking metal on metal, the rapid tattoo of fingers tapping at
keyboards and the steady rumbling of the engines through the deck.
The astronav pulled the padded earphones away from his head for a
moment. "I've put us as low as possible without hitting
atmosphere."
"And the ground based cannons?"
Mitchell brought up another display on his flat
screen. "The computer has given us the optimal route based on the
data we picked up earlier."
Lockhart nodded. He watched as the image of the
planet appeared in the holographic display constructed of
see-through 'wires' like lines of latitude and longitude. What was
the name of this planet anyway? Had it every been given a name? It
seemed strange how this backwater end of the universe had suddenly
become the centre of attention - entire empires focused about a
nameless planet.
"Sir," said Subman Mitchell "The concentration of
jumptunnels is increasing exponentially. At this rate they'll be
solid by the time we reach the planet." He drew a gloved hand over
a sweating brow. "I've never seen anything like it..."
"Keep your mind on the task," growled Lockhart,
suddenly regretting he had recruited such an inexperienced officer
on his team. A fully qualified jumpspace technician was one thing,
but in the heat of battle it all came down to experience and the
ability to keep a cool head. "Keep trying to plot us a jumptunnel.
The Hartrias must have some sort of blocking device, and I want you
to find a chink in their armour. Got it?"
Wide eyed and fully aware he was rapidly falling out
of favour Mitchell nodded and turned back to his console.
Flashing like a silver fish through shallow water,
the Scoipre darted closer to the planet that now loomed huge
against the backdrop of stars. Lockhart watched the holo-map, brows
furrowing.
"Those Hartrias warships aren't moving in to attack,"
he commented.
"Perhaps they are confident the land-based cannons
will be able to take us out," replied Loriena. She paused, hand
raised to the small speaker in her ear. "Wait...I've picked up two
squadrons of fighters."
Lockhart nodded; he recognised the attack formation
immediately. "They are Daml bombers and I-T fighters." The I-T
fighter was a larger version of the Sova-1, a crew of three and
increased firepower making it a more formidable foe. But Lockhart's
attention was still focused elsewhere. "I can't get those warships
out of my mind - something's wrong. Astronav - give me a plot for
their position when we reach our perihelion."
Mitchell took only a few moments to plot the
trajectory. "Both Hartrias ships will be on the opposite side of
the planet, sir. They are sticking close together."
Lockhart shook his head. "I don't like it - why don't
they split up and cut off our vector?"
His question was left unanswered. The Scoipre
suddenly hit the wall of I-T crossfire, electricity running the
length of her hull as the craft bucked wildly. Computer screens
blanked out momentarily and overhead lights dimmed suddenly before
the emergency power circuits kicked in.
Lockhart's square jaw clenched, muscles bungling
beneath his austere flight suit. He had been in many battles
before, but a scout craft was never meant to fight solo. Calling
upon years of experience Lockhart fought down the urge of panic and
forced his mind to focus; he would need all the skill he could
muster if they were to survive.
The massive battleship Rplore hung in orbit around
the planet, multiple retro engines flashing yellow wedges of fire.
Great steel claws linked the Rplore with the smaller ship, the
Urisa. Final adjustments were made to keep the Rplore close as two
more docking mechanisms were linked.
Aboard the cylindrical two-kilometre long warship
Force Master Loakar oversaw the progress via a panel of monitors
and computer readout screens. An exterior camera recorded the slow
and awkward extension of the docking claws as they pulled the
crippled Urisa closer. A second later atmospheric sensors in the
aft docking bay dropped to zero as the doors opened to space.
Loakar spoke into the voice activated comm-link.
"Weaponsmaster Treah - is docking complete?"
The central screen blanked and filled with static for
a second before turning black as a distorted voice came over the
speaker system.
"The tugs have pushed the Urisa into position," Treah
reported. "Repair crews are already working on Avatar, but without
parts the best they can hope for is a temporary fix. Meanwhile
we'll have to keep that Federation ship off our back."
Loakar growled low in his throat and clenched his
fists at his side in a Hartrias gesture of frustration. He knew
that without Avatar the Urisa could not accelerate away or activate
her cannons. Nobody knew what had caused the chain reaction which
had destroyed Avatar's massive databanks and had come close to
putting the Urisa out of orbit. It was only the efforts of the
Rplore that had saved the Urisa from falling planetward like a
meteorite. Now that Admiral Karthorn had been killed responsibility
for both the Rplore and the Urisa fell upon the Force Master's
shoulders until makeshift repairs were made.
"The Rplore will dispose of the Federation cruiser,"
Loakar growled. "We've blocked access to the jumptunnels to prevent
them escaping and the legion of Sova-1's should be more than
sufficient to finish them."
Weaponsmaster Treah's voice was hurried and abrupt as
a clanging sound reverberated around him. "I'll patch an update to
you at 0980, sir." Without another word the comm link snapped
silent.
Loakar was straightening when the midshipman came
bolting down the stairwell into the closed confines of the
communications room. The officer stood to brisk attention, saluting
sharply with a fist across his chest.
"Sir, the Federation ship has changed course and is
heading directly for us."
Loakar's brows furrowed. "What? Why haven't the
Sova-1's finished them off?" Loakar was already starting for the
stairs, the midshipman hurrying to keep up as they headed for the
control bridge.
"We've obtained a positive ID signal, sir," said the
radar operator as soon as they stepped into the openness of the
bridge. Three huge VDUs were before them showing the vast blackness
of space.
"It's a scout craft." Loakar placed himself in
control chair and flicking switches to bring the board up from
status.
The radar operator was stunned for a moment. "Yes sir
- class four Federation scout. How did you know?"
"The speed at which they've moved far surpasses even
the Sova-1's engines, and the only craft able to outrun our
fighters are scouts. Now my suspicions are confirmed; the
Federation know we are here."
"Logical deduction," came a cool voice in Loakar's
ear. The speaker stepped around, revealing himself to be a dark
robed, towering figure. Cold icy blue eyes glinted from the sunken
folds of his reptilian Hartrias face, a wry grin across his
face.
"De'olorn," breathed Loakar, a little annoyed that
the Adviser had managed to startle him. "Do you think the
Federation know the Urisa is crippled?"
De'olorn grinned an empty smile devoid of mirth. As
an Adviser he had served twenty years on the bridge and his opinion
was highly valued. "It is a scout equipped with sensors, after all.
But no, I don't think their purpose is to attack - not with an
armament of that size."
Loakar was not convinced. He punched the intercom and
started speaking even before the line had cleared.
"Weasponsmaster Treah? Report immediately."
This time Treah's holographic image appeared on the
nearby console, his brows raised in evident surprise before managed
a curt salute. "Captain! The docking procedure is not yet
comp-"