The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) (29 page)

“Captain,” Brown said.  “The Druavroks are moving.”

“I see,” Hoshiko said, as the display updated.  “They’re
retreating
?”

“Confirmed,” Brown said.  He sounded as puzzled as Hoshiko felt.  “They’re withdrawing from the planet.”

Hoshiko’s eyes narrowed.  The Druavroks were actually pulling
back
, declining the offer of battle. 
That
was unprecedented.  Had she ever
seen
a Druavrok fleet refusing to offer battle, even against massively overwhelming firepower?  Were they launching stealth missiles on ballistic trajectories?  Or were they merely trying to put her on edge?  Or ... had she inflicted so much damage that they had become more sensitive to losses?  There was no way to know, but she rather doubted it.  The Druavroks had thousands of warships under their command.

“Launch a spread of tactical probes,” she ordered.  Cold suspicion washed through her mind as she turned her attention to the overall display.  It
had
to be a trick of some kind.  “I want every last atom of space dust within one AU of the planet noted and logged.”

“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.

Hoshiko thought, quickly.  Could the Druavroks have come up with a way to fool gravimetric sensors?  Could they have sneaked an entire fleet into the system without setting off alarms, allowing them to mount a surprise attack?  But if they had, why send the first squadron into the system, giving her all the warning she could possibly need?  Besides, if neither the human race nor the Tokomak had been able to figure out a way to hide their FTL emissions from long-range sensors, she rather doubted the Druavroks had managed.  It just made no sense.

Unless they're just carrying out a reconnaissance in force
, she thought.  Twelve cruisers, even with Galactic-grade sensors, would be able to chart out most of her defences without problems.  And then they’d go home and whistle up the battleships. 
That might make a certain kind of sense
.

She scowled as she recalled the intelligence reports.  None of her allies had any real idea just how many battleships the Druavroks actually
had
, but they were certainly supposed to have well over nine hundred. 
Thousands
, if one report was to be believed.  If they threw all of those ships at Amstar, against her fleet and the planet’s defences, they might well win ... but it would cost them dearly.  They’d never be able to rebuild before their enemies punched their way into their systems, blew through the defences and bombarded their worlds into radioactive ash.  And, irony of ironies, if they did take out the defences of Amstar, they’d kill the only people interested in saving the Druavroks from becoming the victims of yet another genocide.

“Task Force 5.5’s commander reports that the Druavroks are evading contact,” Brown said, curtly.  “He requests the dispatch of additional units to help him run the prey to ground.”

“Denied,” Hoshiko said, shortly.  She understood the impulse, but there was no point in risking uncovering Amstar.  And yet, what
was
the enemy trying to do?  “Inform him that we need to keep the remainder of the fleet at Amstar.”

“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.

The display flickered and changed, the red icons popping out of existence.  “They jumped back into FTL, Captain,” Brown reported.  “They’re heading away from the system at maximum speed.”

Hoshiko blinked.  That was
it
?  The enemy just retreated, as if they were humans?  Or another more rational race?  Could it be that the Druavroks had gained control of their blood lust?  Or, perhaps, that they had a battle fleet lurking somewhere nearby, just out of sensor range?  Why not?  It was a common tactic, one older than the entire human race.  She’d done the same at Malachi.

“Order the fleet to alter position in line with contingency plan beta-three,” she ordered.  If the Druavroks were counting on her ships being in a particular formation, or occupying a particular location, they were going to be disappointed.  “And then contact the planetary defences and suggest, very strongly, that they reposition some of their mobile defence platforms.”

“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.

“Keep the remainder of the fleet at alert status, for the moment,” she added.  Assuming the Druavroks had brought a fleet as close as they could, without being detected, they’d be less than half an hour away at maximum speed.  “We have to proceed on the assumption we’re about to face a much more powerful attack.”

She closed her eyes in contemplation.  “And order Task Forces 5.3 through 5.6 to return to the fold.  We may need their firepower.”

“An interesting turn of events, Captain,” Wilde said, through the command network.  “The precursor to a far greater invasion?”

“It certainly seems that way,” Hoshiko agreed.  She narrowed her eyes as she contemplated other possibilities.  Nothing came to mind.  “But they may have something else up their sleeves.”

She settled back to wait, expecting to see the enemy fleet appear on the scanners at any moment.  But nothing materialised, not even a handful of freighters running supplies in and out of the system.  The Druavroks had apparently come, seen and retreated without bothering to fire a handful of shots for the honour of the flag.  And it made no sense at all.

Maybe they decided our defences were too strong to risk tangling with
, she thought, as the minutes turned into hours.  But Dab-Yam’s defences had been stronger, at least on paper, and the Druavroks hadn't hesitated to try to wear them down. 
And we had a powerful mobile fleet to back them up
.

“Order the alpha crews to go off duty, catch something to eat and get a little sleep,” she said, grimly.  Her crews had been at red alert for over three hours, leaving them tired and strained - and ready to jump at shadows.  It wouldn't be long before there was an accident, perhaps with tragic consequences.  “The beta crews are to remain at alert.”

“Aye, Captain,” Wilde said.  “It doesn't look as if they have any intention of returning to the system.  They may have just wanted to test the waters and force us to go on the alert.”

“It certainly looks that way,” Hoshiko agreed.  She scowled at the blank display as if it had personally offended her.  “Our enemies are suddenly acting like rational men and it worries me.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Texas - and the other states of the Alliance for the Preservation of the United States - began a mass round-up of illegal immigrants today, following the victory over Mexican troops in the Battle of El Paso.  All immigrants are being taken to concentration camps where they will be held, pending the end of the Texan-Mexican War.  The Governor’s office, citing the precedent of the round-up of Japanese-Americans during World War Two, has refused to consider halting the program, despite legal challenges.  Indeed, a number of lawyers who did challenge the program were arrested on charges of sedition and aiding and abetting criminal acts
.

-Solar News Network, Year 54

“Captain, I think we have something here,” Lieutenant Octavo said.

Thomas leaned forward as a new icon blinked to life on the display.  It had taken three weeks to reach the Druavrok-held system, shadowing an enemy convoy so closely as to be lost in the convoy’s gravimetric backwash, then another week to establish the fact that most of the freighter convoys making their way in and out of the system were heavily escorted by enemy warships.  Attempting an attack would be nothing more than suicide.  He’d been on the verge of seriously considering moving on to another system when Octavo had called for his attention.

“I see,” he said.  Thankfully, three weeks of constant drilling had improved his Gal-Standard One to the point they could communicate without any problems.  “What
is
it?”

“It’s a mass driver,” Octavo said.  “Or, rather, it’s a mass-driven piece of rock, spewed out from one of the asteroid mining stations and spat towards the fabber.”

Thomas studied it in some puzzlement.  He couldn’t help being reminded of some of the early Solar Union settlements, back when GalTech had been in short supply and human technology had been all there was for the vast majority of founding citizens.  The concept was simple enough - raw materials mined from an asteroid were fired towards a fabber, where they were caught and fed into the gaping maw - but the Druavroks should have had no need for such a primitive construction.  They’d copied the Tokomak, after all, and the Tokomak had always dragged the asteroids to the fabber and carved them up there, rather than hacking the asteroid to pieces where it was found.

“Maybe they’re running short of GalTech,” he mused.

It made a certain kind of sense, he thought.  The Druavroks would have a handful of military-grade fabbers, but they’d want to keep them focused on supporting the war, rather than maintaining their economy.  Someone with a far less advanced tech base - even pre-Contact Earth - could build and maintain the mass driver without any need for GalTech.  He wondered, absently, just how advanced the Druavroks had been before the Tokomaks arrived, then dismissed the thought.  By now, they were as capable with GalTech as any of the other Galactic races.

He smiled as a nasty thought occurred to him.  “How many of those projectiles are they tossing at the fabber?”

“I think there’s one every ten minutes,” Octavo said.  He’d been a merchant spacer before transferring to the Solar Union’s auxiliary forces and had plenty of experience with passive sensors.  “They’re hard to detect, but I’m picking up an electromagnetic spike from the direction of the asteroid belt at ten minute intervals.”

Thomas tapped his console, running a calculation.  The projectiles would take four days to reach the fabber, assuming nothing went wrong along the way.  And what
could
go wrong?

Us
, he thought. 
Time to do something nasty
.

He glanced at Octavo.  “Are there any sensors mounted on the projectiles?”

“I don't
think
so,” Octavo said.  “They’re just pieces of rock, as far as I can tell.”

And passive sensors would be impossible to detect
, Thomas thought.  But really, why
would
the Druavroks bother to rig the projectiles with passive sensors? 
They’d have to strip them off at the far end before they shove the projectile into the fabber
.

He rose.  “Match our course and speed with the projectile,” he ordered.  “And then order Roxy and Tarquinii to suit up and meet me at the airlock.”

“Of course, sir,” Octavo said.  He sounded puzzled.  “Do you mind if I ask
why
?”

“We’re going to unlock one of the missiles from the hull, then fix it to the projectile,” Thomas said.  “I want to give the bastards a
very
nasty surprise.”

He grinned at Octavo, then nodded.  “You have command,” he added.  “In the unlikely event of them coming to investigate, take the ship out of range and we’ll go doggo.”

“Understood,” Octavo said.  “Good luck, sir.”

Thomas nodded, then turned and walked back to the airlock hatch.  Roxy and Tarquinii were already waiting for him, wearing everything apart from their helmets.  Thomas had a private suspicion the two girls had actually been pirates, judging from some of the things they’d said when he’d been trying to get to know them, but he’d kept that thought to himself.  As long as they did as they were told, when the chips were down, he didn’t give a damn about their past lives,  Besides, they
were
hellishly competent.

Roxy leaned forward.  She’d dyed her hair purple, for reasons Thomas couldn’t begin to fathom.  “What’s the plan, boss?

“We’re taking an antimatter warhead to the projectile, fixing it to the rock and then leaving it there for the enemy to find,” Thomas said, as he reached for his suit.  Thankfully, like so much else, Galactic suits were standardised.  “Any more questions?”

Roxy and Tarquinii exchanged glances.  “No, sir,” Roxy finally said.  “Are you sure the warhead is
safe
?”

“Antimatter is
never
safe,” Thomas said.  He finished pulling his suit on, buckled an EVA pack to his back and then picked up his helmet.  “But it’s a lot safer to rig one of their projectiles than it is to try to attack the fabber ourselves.”

He smiled at the thought as he clicked the helmet into place, then checked Roxy and Tarquinii’s suits and allowed them to do the same for him.  The enemy fabber was heavily defended, surrounded by a network of automated weapons platforms which were backed up by the planet’s mobile defenders.  He’d hoped to find a way to get into attack range, but one look at the defences had told him it would prove futile.  They’d be blown out of space a long time before they managed to launch a missile at the fabber.  But this way ... they might
just
get a warhead into contact range before the enemy noticed it was there.

“Check radios,” he said.  “Sound off.”

“Here and hear, sir,” Roxy said.

“Confirmed,” Tarquinii said.  Her voice was lighter than Roxy’s.  Thomas thought she was younger, but neither girl had been forthcoming about their age when they signed up.  “Here and hear, sir.”

“Good,” Thomas said.  The low-power radio wasn't
passive
, but it would be next to impossible to detect unless the enemy had a stroke of amazingly good luck.  “Let’s move.”

He stepped through the airlock, silently grateful they weren't anywhere near a planet.  He’d grown up on an asteroid, of course, and he’d made his first EVA almost as soon as he could walk, but being in orbit around a planet had often struck him as disconcerting.  It was an illusion, he knew, that the planet was either falling on him or he was falling on
it
, yet the knowledge wasn't enough to keep him from feeling antsy.  In deep space, by contrast, he was actually
swimming
through the inky darkness ... smiling, he climbed out onto the hull and headed towards the missile launchers.  The spare missiles were bolted to the hull behind them.  Reloading was going to be a right pain.

And if we get hit, the containment fields fail and we die
, he thought.  It was something he’d overlooked until the drills had brought it to his attention.  Antimatter warheads
could
be a major problem, but most missile storage compartments were heavily shielded. 
One hit and we’re dead
.

He pushed the thought aside as the first missile loomed over him.  It was
huge
, easily twice the size of a shuttle; he recalled, with a flicker of gallows humour, just what missiles had been called back at the Academy, when the prospect of a violent death had been somewhere in the future.  He muttered orders to Roxy and Tarquinii, then carefully deactivated the control systems, released the missile from its bolts and pushed it away from the ship.  There was no point in keeping it - it
was
GalTech, after all - once they removed the warhead.  He keyed the EVA controls on his wrist and thrust away from the ship and out towards the missile.  Thankfully, landing on the missile’s hull would not be enough to trigger the warhead.

“We need to remove the warhead,” he said.  His skin felt cold, very cold, as he peered down at the sealed hatch.  “Get ready to catch it when I remove it from the casing.”

Praying silently under his breath, he opened an access hatch, linked into the system with his implants and shot a handful of codes into the processor.  It bleeped once, then opened the latches, allowing him to remove the antimatter containment system from the missile and push it out into space.  Roxy caught it a moment later and checked the processor herself, making sure the antimatter was secure.  A mistake now would destroy the ship.

“It's secure,” she said.

“It doesn't look very big,” Tarquinii commented.  “You sure you got the right warhead?”

“Antimatter doesn't have to be any bigger than my fist,” Thomas reminded her.

His skin crawled as he took the warhead, then pulled it towards the projectile.  Up close, the projectile was colossal, easily twice the size of
Rustbucket
.  He landed on the rocky surface and waited as Roxy and Tarquinii landed beside him, then used cutters to burn their way into the projectile.  No one would notice, he was sure, as they carved out a chamber large enough to take the warhead.  The surface was already scarred and pitted where the Druavroks had burned it free of an asteroid and carved it into a shape they could load into a mass driver and shoot towards the fabber.  He placed the warhead within the chamber, set a proximity alarm just in case the Druavroks
did
discover it, then watched as the chamber was sealed again.  It was almost unnoticeable when the girls had finished.

“Back to the ship,” Thomas said, once they were done.  He checked his timer, then led the way back to the airlock.  “They’re in for a
very
nasty surprise when they melt the projectile down for raw materials.”

The two girls were grinning from ear to ear when they removed their helmets, once they were back on the ship.  Thomas left them to return to their duties and headed forward to the bridge, where he checked the tactical console to be sure his calculations were correct.  It would be two days before the rigged projectile reached the fabber ... until then,
Rustbucket
could carry out a tactical survey of the system and look for other prospective targets.  Who knew?  The information might be very useful if - when - Captain Stuart went on the offensive.

“Keep an eye on the projectile,” he ordered, when his shift came to an end.  “We’ll sneak closer to the fabber just before it reaches its destination.”

“Yes, sir,” Octavo said.  He sounded impressed, although - unlike a Solar Union officer - he hadn't raised any objection to Thomas taking personal command of the away team.  “Have a good night, sir.”

Thomas couldn't wait until they were in position to watch the fireworks, but there was no way to speed the process up.  He slept, commanded the ship as they surveyed the handful of asteroid mining stations - all built with technology that would have been outdated on pre-Contact Earth - and slept again, as they slowly curved back to the planet and into position to observe the effects of their sabotage.  It was hard to be
entirely
sure - there was no way to track the projectile using passive sensors, unless they were at very close range - but the projectile had been fired on a ballistic trajectory.  Thomas found himself leaning forward as the seconds ticked away to zero ...