The Lost Stars: Shattered Spear (16 page)

If she were still Syndicate, Marphissa knew exactly what would be expected of her. Do not risk the unit by heading into what might well be a trap. Do not risk the mission by risking loss of the ship. Whichever workers had survived on that planet were not worth diverting her ship’s track. Maybe they had important intelligence, but if so she could send a signal back ordering their battle armor to automatically upload all information their systems had accumulated. With that information in hand, she could proceed on her way without risking
Manticore
.

But she wasn’t Syndicate anymore, and never had been in her heart.

“What do you think?” she asked Diaz in a quiet voice.

Diaz inhaled deeply, blew out the breath, then answered in the same low tones. “Odds are it is a trap. No one has ever been recovered from a world occupied by the enigmas.”

“But the Syndicate could never mount recovery operations,” Marphissa said. “Eventually, any humans left on an enigma-occupied world would be run down and killed, but they could have remained hidden for a while. Planets look tiny from up here, but to someone on the surface a world is a very big place.”

“It would be dangerous to get close to that world,” Diaz pointed out. “We don’t know what sort of hidden defenses the enigmas might have already installed.”

“Shouldn’t we try to find out? That would be very important to know.”

“It would,” Diaz agreed. “But how do we lift anyone off the surface? We don’t have a shuttle. I can take
Manticore
into atmosphere, but there is no way of landing a heavy cruiser on a planet’s surface unless you crash it.”

Marphissa pondered that problem, feeling relieved that there seemed to be no way to save that person, but also feeling guilty to be relieved about it. “If there’s no means of—”

“Wait.” Diaz grimaced. “My pardon, Kommodor. I just thought of something. The tow cable.”

“The tow cable?” Marphissa took a moment to understand what he meant. Heavy cruisers, battleships, and battle cruisers were all equipped with long cables that could be hooked to other warships that had been crippled by enemy fire, allowing those damaged ships to be towed back to a repair facility. Even the efficiency-obsessed Syndicate bureaucracy had decided that the costs of tow cables were more than offset by the savings from recovering warships that otherwise would have had to be abandoned. “We could hover low enough for the cable to be just above the surface . . . How long is it?”

“Half a kilometer.”

“Half a kilometer,” she repeated, thinking of a heavy cruiser
coming within half a kilometer of a planet’s surface. “Is that idea even technically feasible?”

“I’ll have to have my specialists run the numbers on it,” Diaz said. “The atmosphere on that world is thin, so it might be possible if we cut our velocity down to a crawl. But it would be very risky, Kommodor.”

“I know.” She looked past her display to the blank bulkhead beyond it, thinking. “When Black Jack’s fleet went into enigma territory, they learned that Syndicate citizens were prisoners inside an asteroid and they rescued them. At great risk, they rescued Syndicate citizens and brought them home.”

“It was Black Jack,” Diaz said. “He is for the people, even though he is Alliance.”

“Can we do less than an Alliance fleet?” Marphissa asked. “Can we abandon whoever is on that planet, when Black Jack would go there and somehow rescue them? We are no longer Syndicate. There are people there who need our help.”

“Would you risk this entire crew to save one man or woman?” Diaz asked.

“Yes!” Marphissa nodded firmly. “Have your specialists analyze the proposal, Kapitan. While they are doing so, alter our vector to intercept that world in its orbit.”

“Yes, Kommodor. We will have to brake as we near orbit, so it will take two and a half hours to reach a point above where that recall signal came from.”

Two and a half hours to second-guess her decision. As
Manticore
’s thrusters and main propulsion pushed her into a new vector, Marphissa looked at the depiction of the planet they were now directly approaching. If the enigmas deep under that world’s surface were keeping track of events above it, as surely they must be, then they would know that the human warship was now heading their way.

“They are hiding,” she said to Diaz. “The enigmas don’t want us to know they are there. Even if they detected the pickup signal sent to us,
they will not want to do anything to tip us off that they are digging inside that planet. So they will stay quiet, watching, and waiting for us to go away.”

“I hope you are right, Kommodor,” Diaz said.

Half an hour later, the specialists rendered their verdicts on the plan. “It is possible,” Diaz reported to Marphissa. “My specialists recommend that we program in the task and allow our automated maneuvering systems to handle everything inside atmosphere, because no one on this ship has experience with maneuvering so close to a planet’s surface.”

“The idea of hovering half a kilometer from the surface of a planet terrifies me,” Marphissa confessed. “It is within safe operating parameters for the ship?”

“Yes, Kommodor.” Diaz checked his display again where the report was visible. “Our main propulsion is so powerful it can easily hold the ship in a hover above a planet of this size. The main fear is making some imprecise adjustment from which we would not have room to recover, but that should not happen with the automated systems controlling the approach to the surface and the hover.”

Marphissa pointed to part of the report. “This is the only way to do it? Have them latch on to the tow cable, haul everything back out of atmosphere, then bring in the cable?”

“Yes, Kommodor. We can’t bring in the cable while main propulsion is going, and we can’t shut off main propulsion until we get back into orbit.”

She sighed heavily. “Let us hope that citizen, or those citizens, have intact armor or survival suits. Can we rig anything on the cable to make it easier for them to hang on?”

Diaz nodded. “My people are putting together a . . . well, it’s a cage. We’ll fasten it to the end of the cable. Whoever is down there will have to grab the cage and climb inside.”

“This is crazy,” Marphissa said. “You’re thinking that, too, aren’t you?”

“I would never tell a superior officer that her plan is crazy,” Diaz
said. “I would tell her if I thought it could not be done. We will be sitting ducks, though. If the enigmas choose to attack us while we are inside atmosphere, our velocity will be limited to speeds far below what we normally use.”

Marphissa frowned in thought. “When we reach the planet, I want to do some orbits before descending into atmosphere. Do some high passes, then some low ones, as if we are looking for any sign of the enigmas and
want
to provoke a reaction.”

“Then when we go into atmosphere they will think that’s just another attempt to get them to show themselves?” Diaz shrugged. “That might work. But it assumes the enigmas think like humans.”

“Captain Bradamont told me that staying hidden was the number one priority for enigmas,” Marphissa said. “I don’t pretend to know why that is, but as long as I know that is how they tend to act, I can use it.”

Manticore
reached the planet and went into high orbit, swinging around the globe as if conducting an intensive search. And, indeed, that was happening, as the warship’s sensors strained to spot any sign of whoever had sent the pickup request.

“Let’s go closer in,” Marphissa ordered. “Is the cage ready?” she asked Diaz.

“Yes, Kommodor. It is securely attached. I inspected the cage myself. It will hold under expected stress conditions.”

Manticore
slowed and dropped lower, skimming the upper atmosphere of the planet. As the heavy cruiser passed over the region where the pickup signal had originated, an alert sounded.

“We have the signal again,” the comm specialist said. “A burst transmission. Our systems have localized its origin within a twenty-kilometer radius.”

“Can we see anything?” Diaz asked, chewing his lip.

“No, Kapitan,” the senior specialist reported. “There is dust and atmospheric interference.”

“What about the indications of subsurface activity?” Marphissa asked.

“They ceased while we were still approaching the planet, Kommodor. We are detecting nothing artificial on the planet at this time except for the pickup signal.”

“The enigmas are hiding, as we hoped, trying not to betray any sign of their presence. Take us around one more time,” Marphissa ordered Diaz. “Then begin descent into atmosphere, aimed for a point at the center of the estimated position of that signal.”

DIAZ
nodded, eyeing his display as one of his hands moved to set the location for the descent. “I will transfer full control to the maneuvering systems in twenty minutes, Kommodor.”

“Comm specialist,” Marphissa said. “Be prepared to contact the source of the pickup signal.”

“Yes, Kommodor,” she replied. “I have the necessary commands already loaded and ready to transmit, but it is likely the Syndicate battle armor will refuse to link with our systems, and the people down there may not know how to override that. But we will be able to establish a voice link and use that to precisely establish their position.”

“Excellent.”

Marphissa leaned back, trying to look relaxed and confident, as
Manticore
finished most of another orbit and began braking, lowering her velocity to levels her hull would withstand inside the planet’s atmosphere. The heavy cruiser dropped toward the planet, her path a long curve heading downward and around the globe toward the point where the signal had originated.

Kapitan Diaz sat, both hands gripping his seat’s arms as if trying to ensure he would not reflexively enter a manual maneuvering command. “If I pretend our display is just zooming in on the planet’s surface,” he said, “it’s a lot easier to handle than if I think about us actually going this deep into atmosphere.”

“We’re barely moving,” Marphissa heard one of the specialists whisper to another. “Look. Our velocity is being measured in
hundreds
of kilometers per
hour
.”

“Try the link,” Diaz ordered the comm specialist.

She entered the command. “We’re not getting a link back, Kapitan. Request permission to go to voice comms.”

“Permission granted.”

The specialist began sending. “Whoever is requesting pickup, we need you to establish your position by answering our transmission. Comply. We require a signal to find you. Comply.”

After several iterations, an answer came, weak and riddled with static.
“Almost out of power,”
the reply murmured.
“Three of us. Where is shuttle?”

“Three,” Diaz said in amazement. “Give me the comm link. This is the commanding officer of the heavy cruiser. We do not have a shuttle. We are bringing our unit down to within half a kilometer of the surface and extending a cable. You must go to where that cable reaches the surface and climb into the cage attached to the end.”

“Cannot go far . . .”

“Continue to transmit and we will drop that cable as close to you as possible.”

“We are ten kilometers from the surface,” the senior specialist reported. “But the distance readings are fluctuating.”

Marphissa checked them and laughed slightly. “That’s because we’re traveling over the surface of a planet and what you’re seeing are altitude readings. Whenever we pass over a higher part of the planet
the distance to the surface gets shorter for that reason alone, and past that high part the distance gets longer on its own.”

“That . . . is odd to see, Kommodor. Distance to surface now seven kilometers.”

Marphissa looked at the image of the surface below and was surprised by the sensation of speed as the ship dropped lower with a velocity still in the hundreds of kilometers per hour. The mostly desert terrain beneath the warship appeared to be whipping past below at a disconcerting rate.

“Three kilometers.”

“I really hope we don’t have to go to manual maneuvering,” Diaz said, holding his hands back and away from the controls. “I’m afraid to touch anything.”

“Tow cable is being payed out. One point four kilometers remaining to surface.”

“Huge . . . fire . . .”

“That must be what we look like to them beneath us,” Marphissa said, trying to keep her breathing even. “They’re looking up and seeing our main propulsion pointed almost straight at them.”

Thrusters fired on automatic, gently nudging
Manticore
to try to position the end of the cable at the same point where the signal was now pinpointed.

“Half a kilometer,” the senior specialist said, his voice a little unsteady. “End of cable has made contact with the surface.”

“Get to the cable!” Diaz transmitted. “Can you see it? Get to the cable and get inside the cage. We can’t hold this position very long.”

“Understand . . . comply . . .”

“We’ve got visual,” a specialist announced. “Three figures. Syndicate ground forces armor. They are moving toward the cable.”

The motion of the three figures below, stumbling over broken ground and rocks, felt glacial. “How long are they going to take to get there?” Diaz grumbled.

Marphissa tore her eyes from the three figures and scanned her display for any sign that the enigmas were reacting. But this close to the surface
Manticore
’s sensors could observe only a tiny part of the planet. “With any luck, the enigma sensors are focused on objects in orbit and can’t see us when we’re this low.”

“One in.”
Manticore
shuddered, thrusters firing again. “Something shoved us.”

“Wind,” Diaz said. “Let’s hope it doesn’t pick up.”

The remaining two figures were racing after the cage, which dragged along the surface as
Manticore
was blown around. They caught it, and a second one boosted into the cage.

The warship lurched again, sliding sideways, the motion transmitted to the cable below. Once again, the third figure ran after it, stumbling over rocks, the other two reaching out and down.

“Come on,” Diaz breathed. “Do it!”

One of those in the cage got an armored hand locked onto the third figure and began pulling it in, assisted by the second.

A bigger gust of wind hit, twisting and pushing
Manticore
.

Down below, the third figure clung desperately to the outside of the cage as it skittered and bounced over rocks. Either by accident or design, one bounce brought the soldier up and over to fall on top of the other two inside the cage.

“Get us out of here, Kapitan,” Marphissa ordered.

Diaz reached with great care to touch the control that would start the automated maneuvers for bringing
Manticore
up out of atmosphere.

Marphissa, accustomed to the heavy cruiser leaping under the thrust of her main propulsion, had to grit her teeth in frustration as the warship rose at what felt like an incredibly gentle rate. But she could see the hull stress and temperature readings that told her that even at this apparently slow acceleration the heavy cruiser was going as fast as could be dared inside even the thin atmosphere of this planet.

After what felt like an eternity but was only a few minutes, the sky
around
Manticore
changed from a disturbing shade of blue to the familiar black of space.

“Anything from the planet?” Marphissa demanded as the ship rose high enough to view a large chunk of the world once more.

“Nothing, Kommodor. No indications of enigma activity.”

“Coming into orbit,” Diaz said. “Not stable yet, but the thrusters can handle any problems.”

“Good. Shut off main propulsion and bring in that cable.”

Once again, a fairly quick process felt like it took forever. As the cage at the end of the cable neared
Manticore
, crew members in survival suits went out to collect the three soldiers and disconnect the cage. The soldiers were hauled along the hull to the nearest air lock, while the cage was shoved down toward the planet to vaporize during an uncontrolled descent to the surface.

“They’re inside,” Diaz reported. “Air-lock outer hatch sealed. Towing cable recovered and locked down.”

“Get us out of here, Kapitan,” Marphissa said. “Take us to the jump point for Midway, and don’t waste any time getting there. I’m going to go see our new guests.”

“Yes, Kommodor!”

Marphissa, bracing herself against the surge of acceleration as
Manticore
whipped out of orbit and headed for the jump point, walked carefully off the bridge.

To her surprise, she heard cheers breaking out through the ship. No words were identifiable, just sounds of jubilation. A group of specialists on their way to their watch stations saluted her, grinning broadly. “We did it, Kommodor! Thank you, Kommodor!”

She could not help smiling back as she returned the salutes. It did feel good right now.

The rescued soldiers were packed into the small compartment that served as a medical office aboard the heavy cruiser. They were still being helped out of their armor by unusually solicitous crew members
who commonly expressed disdain for their ground forces counterparts. But now there was none of that rivalry.

The three soldiers, two men and one woman, were thin, with haunted, confused eyes. “They look like hell,” Marphissa said to the senior medical specialist who was examining them. All three had already had med packs slapped on their arms, the packs providing intravenous nourishment, fluid replacement, and antishock drugs.

“They’re in awful shape, Kommodor,” the medical specialist paused to report.

“Keep working,” Marphissa said. “Brief me as you work.”

“Yes, Kommodor,” the medical specialist replied gratefully, maintaining the formal tones of an official report as he continued working. “Living in battle armor for so long is stressful under the best of conditions. They were also conserving energy, and their available food and water, and running their armor life support on filters that should have been cleaned or replaced long before.”

“Are any of them in danger?”

The specialist paused to consider the question. “No, Kommodor. Not now that they are receiving proper care. They will require extensive recovery time.”

The soldiers, though dazed, had slowly shifted their gazes to Marphissa and appeared to have realized that she was a superior. All three began trying to rise from their seats and come to attention. “Sit down!” Marphissa ordered, and the three instantly dropped back down. “Report.”

One of the men blinked, then began reciting a standard Syndicate accounting for himself. “Capek, Katsuo, Worker Third Class, First Squad, Eighth Platoon, Third Company, Nine Hundred Seventy-First Ground Forces Brigade. Immediate Superior Worker First Class Adalberto Horgens. Unit Commander—”

“Enough.” Marphissa looked at the other two. “Your names and ranks, only.”

“Dinapoli, Mbali, Worker Fourth Class,” the woman said.

“Keesler . . . Padraig . . . Worker Fourth . . . Class,” the second man managed to recite. He was in the worst shape of the three, his eyes having trouble focusing on Marphissa.

Marphissa looked at Capek, who was watching her with a bewildered expression as he tried to figure out her rank from her uniform. “What happened?”

“Honored, um—”

“Do not worry about titles. Just tell me what happened.”

Capek blinked again, but with a clear order to follow he managed to rally his thoughts. “We were on a wide patrol . . . checking out areas far from Iwa City Complex. Our orders were to search for . . . for . . . anything out of the ordinary. My supervisor told me that we were searching for . . . infiltrators. On the third day of our patrol, we received an emergency alert that hostile forces had entered the star system. We were ordered to . . . return to Iwa Complex to defend the city. Two hours later, we were ordered to hold positions and . . . prepare to ride out orbital bombardment.”

He stopped, his gaze on Marphissa growing troubled. “Are we prisoners, honored . . . ?”

“No,” Marphissa said. “My ship, our forces, did not attack Iwa. What happened after you received orders to dig in?”

“Our unit commander told us to head away from the city. Get as far away as we could, he said. All units were . . . dispersing.” Capek paused, trying unsuccessfully to swallow and continue his report.

“We got far enough out,” the woman took up the tale, her voice thin with exhaustion. “We saw the rocks come down and felt the impacts, saw the flashes and the debris clouds even from as far away as we were. All comms lost. We could not contact anyone. Worker First Class Horgens ordered us to head back toward the city.” She paused, her face twitching. “Toward where the city had been. We would fight to the death, he said.”

Capek managed to start speaking again. “We traveled for over a day, on foot. It got very hard when we hit the bombardment zone. Very
hard.” He appeared to be about to cry. “They destroyed . . . everything. We saw their ships coming down. Not like ours. Not Alliance.”

“Like turtles?” Marphissa prodded. “Big turtle shapes?”

“Yes,” the woman soldier agreed. “Different sizes. They came down. Worker Horgens led us toward them.”

“Dispersed column formation,” Capek said. “Standard dispersed column formation. Horgens was in center. Then . . . his head exploded. We went to ground. Others dying. We could see. I realized our links . . . were . . . being . . . targeted. I told Di— Dinapoli and K—Keesler, only two near to me, to kill links. Total elec . . . tronic silence.” He stopped again, staring at nothing but clearly seeing the slaughter of his comrades.

“You three survived,” Marphissa said, “because you went totally passive. Did you see the enemy?”

Capek focused back on Marphissa as if momentarily uncertain of where he was, then shook his head. “Long-range smart rounds . . . I think. Nobody close to see us. They came much later, we are certain. To take away bodies.”

The woman spoke once more. “We didn’t move for . . . an hour? Then Worker Capek said we should get spare power packs and rations off the dead. We would need them. But don’t take packs already plugged in. If the enemy saw armor had been looted . . . they would come looking for us.”

“That was smart, Worker Capek,” Marphissa said. “You’ve been hiding since then?”

“Hiding, watching their ships come and go. No ships for a while, though.” Capek’s eyes went distant again for a moment. “Long time. Lying quiet, conserving power. Not transmitting. Cold. Air getting bad. Not enough water, food. Make it last. Someone will come. Someone will come.”

She thought about how many days those soldiers had spent suffering and in fear, nursing a wild hope that rescue would arrive. Marphissa looked over them again, seeing how thin they were, their badly cracked
lips, the bleeding skin sores from their long time in Syndicate armor, the eyes that twitched around as if expecting to wake and discover that this was a dream. “How did they manage to run to the cage?” she asked the medical specialist.