Authors: Bennett R. Coles
Katja pushed past her troopers and the hostages as they crowded together in the little ship. She sat down in her seat and strapped in.
“Mother, Alpha-One… mission accomplished.”
R
apier
and
Kristiansand
had to run more than a million kilometers before the Cerberans finally gave up the chase.
Thomas leaned back in his seat, breathing deeply. He scanned his display one more time, just to assure himself that there were no more threats. The scope was clear. He exhaled again, his mind still too wired to properly take in what they had just done. With a single destroyer and a single FAC, they had taken on the most powerful hostile force in Sirius, and won.
And his ship had made the rescue.
“Hot damn, Cox’n,” he said, “if you were any better-looking I’d kiss you.”
Chief Tamma and Breeze both burst out laughing, the tension on the bridge easing. The last hour had strained the three of them to their limits as they conducted one of the craziest high-speed entries Thomas had ever seen, punched their way through the Cerberan ground defenses, and then taken fire for an eternity while Katja and her troops snatched the hostages.
Rapier
was pounded all to hell, but she was still flying.
He opened the inter-ship comms.
“
Kristiansand, Rapier
. My compliments on a fine bit of cover. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Well done
, Rapier
,”
Commander Avernell replied.
“Thank you for rescuing my people.”
Thomas checked the external view, and saw that his strike pods were disengaging from
Kristiansand
’s airlocks. The hostages had been held aboard the pods during the escape, and had only been transferred once the battle was over.
“Truly, my pleasure, ma’am.”
“Stay in formation. We’re plotting a course for Laika to RV with the fleet, point-zero-five-c. I’ll call in the report.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The admiral would be waiting to hear if their gambit had succeeded. Thomas was happy to let Avernell tell the tale. He wouldn’t want to be seen as boasting.
“Captain, Pilot,” Tamma said. “Pods are moving to dock.”
“Very good.”
Thomas was tempted to go aft to welcome his troopers home and congratulate each one of them on a fine job. But he knew that his place was the bridge—it wouldn’t be seemly to go running off through the ship with a big grin on his face. Instead, he sat quietly in his seat and practiced his image as the serene commander.
“NavO, secure from battle stations.”
“Yes, sir.” Breeze activated the ship-wide circuit. “Secure battle stations.” She flipped off the circuit, pausing in thought. “Damn. Whose watch is it, anyway?”
Tamma raised his hand. “Mine, I’m afraid. I have the conn.”
Breeze activated the circuit again. “Charlie watch, close up.” Then she unstrapped herself and climbed out of her spacesuit. She struggled slightly, and Thomas noticed that her hands were shaking. Her coveralls were soaked with sweat, but clinging to her figure in a way that highlighted the effects of zero-g. He forced himself to look away and think of Soma.
Breeze pulled herself past her own seat, spacesuit in tow. She looked quite pale.
“You okay, NavO?” he asked.
She rested a hand on his shoulder as she floated past, her expression instantly turning to one of casual good humor.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Thanks, boys, it was fun. Now I really need a shower.”
Tamma grinned over his shoulder.
Thomas did his best to roll his eyes.
Tamma looked back at his console. “Both pods are locked into place, Captain.”
“Very good.”
There was a long moment of quiet on the bridge. Thomas knew he should start drafting the inevitable report he would have to submit, but all he could come up with was,
We did it, dammit!
He suspected High Command would want something a bit more substantial than that.
A reflection in the bridge windows caught Thomas’s attention. In the reflection he saw the tiny, armored figure of his strike officer as she came through the hatch.
His face split into a grin. “OpsO! When we get back to
Normandy
I’m taking your whole team drinking!” He resisted the urge to get up and give her a hug, armor or no armor.
His good humor faded, though, as soon as he saw her face.
Katja moved slowly and carefully, the quiet whirrs of her suit accenting her every move. Her helmet and rifle were strapped to her waist, and she awkwardly hooked them both to her seat before meeting his gaze. Her blonde hair was plastered against her scalp, her skin was even paler than normal, and her large, pretty eyes had that vacant look soldiers had known for centuries as the “thousand-yard stare.”
“Captain, sir, OpsO,” she said quietly. “Strike team embarked, no casualties.”
She was looking at him, but right through him.
He’d seen this before. No doubt he’d looked like this himself after his first real combat. It was hard to know how to handle a trooper in shell shock—everyone reacted differently.
“Very good, OpsO,” he replied. “I understand five hostages were recovered alive.”
“Yes.”
“Then the mission was a success.”
“Yes.”
Tamma looked back, surprise and concern etched across his dark features. Thomas noticed, and subtly waved the cox’n away. Tamma returned his attention to the console.
“OpsO, did something go wrong during the mission?”
She seemed to hesitate. Her lips moved slightly, but no words came out.
“Katja?”
She blinked, and focused on him for the first time. “There were civilian casualties. We were attacked. We had no choice.”
Thomas nodded in understanding, trying to offer reassurance without the cumbersome words. She’d seen death—
real
death.
He vaguely heard the comms crackle to life.
“Captain, sir,” Tamma said. “Pilot.”
He tore his eyes from the haunted gaze of his OpsO. “Captain.”
“
Kristiansand
is reporting an inability to communicate with Fleet. They have no readings on EF beacons. Can we confirm?”
Thomas called up his communication status board. In peacetime, every Terran warship radiated a continuous, secure beacon. Undetectable to normal space traffic, it allowed the different ships in the fleet to find one another in the vastness of the void. Before the Cerberan strike, Thomas had noted a large cluster of beacons near Laika, as EF 15 rendezvoused for their exercises.
Now the scope was completely blank.
He had experienced poor communications before, but never over such a short range. Anubis was barely a billion kilometers distant. Could the gas giant’s powerful magnetic field be interfering?
He didn’t think so.
“Chief, run a diagnostic on our beacon equipment.”
“Yes, sir.” Tamma’s fingers danced over his console. “Could it be because we stopped transmitting for the strike?”
Rapier
had gone silent on her beacon before the strike, just in case the Cerberans had got their hands on Terran beacon codes.
“No, it shouldn’t make a difference,” Thomas said. “We often run silent, but can still receive.”
Tamma nodded. “Equipment checks out, sir.”
“Hmm.” A flurry of scenarios flashed through Thomas’s brain—none of them good. Despite what the recruiting posters said, Astral equipment didn’t always work perfectly, and daily life in the Fleet involved working around troublesome kit. The beacons, however, never failed. A ship’s beacon was its lifeline in case of distress. It was based on old, robust, proven technology, and after twenty years in the AF, Thomas had never heard of one malfunctioning.
For an entire expeditionary force to disappear off the scope…
“What’s wrong, sir?” Katja asked.
Thomas looked at her. She had lost her thousand-yard stare and was focused on the situation. It was as if she had just woken up.
“We’ve lost beacon with EF 15,” he said, “and there’s no reason why we should have.”
“Jamming?”
“Could be.”
“By the Cerberans?”
“Unlikely. They don’t have that kind of technology. Besides, we’re too far out of their range.”
“Laikans?”
“Possibly,” he acknowledged. “But why?”
Katja had no answer.
Thomas flipped the comms switch. “Engine room, bridge.”
“Engine room.”
“I need a main engine report. Can we sustain another prolonged, full-power burn?”
“The engines are good, Captain, but that last strike put real strain on the wings. Please tell me you’re not planning another atmo run.”
“No, Chief. Deep space the whole way.”
“Then you’re good to go, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Thomas closed the channel and hailed
Kristiansand
. After several minutes, his central console lit up with the face of Commander Avernell.
“Ma’am,
Rapier
has no joy with comms. I have no beacon readings anywhere in the Anubian region.”
Avernell nodded. “We can still detect the beacons out at the jump gate, so this isn’t an effect localized on us. Something is masking the EF from our sensors.”
“Could it be a solar storm, energizing the Anubian magnetic field?”
“We checked. Solar activity is normal. I think this is jamming.”
“My scope doesn’t look jammed—just blank.”
“Our sensors detect a very low-level disruption covering the entire Anubian system.” She paused for emphasis. “Sirians don’t have this kind of technology.”
Thoughts of mystery merchants and stealth ships flashed across Thomas’s brain. A sinister pattern was emerging.
“Centauria.”
Avernell nodded. “Can your ship sustain a high-speed burn?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was pleased that he had anticipated her thoughts. “I can be at Laika in ten hours.”
“Then both of our ships will proceed at best possible speed to rendezvous with the fleet. I’ll be there in about fifteen hours.” She paused, then added, “Stay sharp—we’re not alone out here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“
Kristiansand
out.”
Thomas leaned back in his seat, aware that Katja was watching him. He ignored her for the moment.
“Officer of the Watch, we are detached from
Kristiansand
. Set a course for Laika, point-one-c.”
As Tamma obeyed, Thomas activated the ship’s intercom.
“This is the captain—sitrep. Well done on the rescue mission. We successfully recovered all five living hostages and lost none of our own. We are en route to rejoin the EF at Laika, but we have lost their beacons. We don’t have all the information, but suspect Centauri jamming.” He paused, considering how to word his next thought. “Tensions are high, and we don’t know what’s waiting for us. Therefore, we will remain on alert. One-in-three watches will stay in effect, but all personnel are to remain suited. Relax when you can, but be vigilant on watch. Information will be provided as it becomes available. That is all.”
Finally, he turned to Katja.
“You deserve a hot shower, OpsO, and a hot meal. Why don’t you take a break for a while?”
Katja nodded curtly and rose, none of her earlier shock apparent.
“I’ll check on my team, sir, and ensure that the strike pods are ready for action.”
“Very good.”
She left the bridge, and Thomas watched her go. Every trooper dealt with shock a different way. Some withdrew, some drank, and some just buried it deep by keeping themselves busy. The busy ones were the ones that worried him most.
His operations officer would have to take care of herself for the moment, however. As Thomas settled back into his seat, he turned his mind to the tactical situation. His fleet was masked by jamming—or worse. Centauri stealth ships were prowling the system.
And, he suddenly realized, his daring rescue had done nothing to ease tensions. Two Terran warships had just attacked a civilian settlement belonging to the most powerful hostile force in Sirius. This force was clearly—if secretly—supported with Centauri weapons and training, and two Terran warships had just laid waste to its capital city.
And he had led the strike.
Thomas looked again at the conspicuous absence of EF beacons on his scope, and felt a chill rise in his chest. He had always wished for the chance to prove himself in war. He suddenly found himself praying that wishes didn’t come true.
L
aika was a far cry from Cerberus. The large, atmospheric moon had been settled by very different people from the individualists who had claimed Cerberus as their own. Peace, order, and good government were its three founding principles, and Katja could tell the difference from more than twenty million kilometers away as
Rapier
was hailed by the Laikan Long-Range Vessel Traffic Management System.
“Vessel in position zero-nine-zero, one-zero-two, two-seven-six, this is Anubis Control. Please identify yourself.”
It was Katja’s first time on the bridge of a ship entering Anubian space, and she was impressed. Laika was only one of six Anubian moons inhabited by humans, but it took on the responsibility to manage the considerable traffic spread throughout the entire planetary system that swirled around the gas giant. Laika had tracked, tagged, and queried them while Anubis itself was still little more than a bright disk in the distance.
The Cerberans were having a good day if they noticed you in high planetary orbit.
“Anubis Control, this is Terran warship
Rapier
, en route to Laikan orbit.”
There was a delay in the response, but not as long as the light minute between
Rapier
and Laika.
“Terran warship
Rapier,
roger, system traffic is moderate. Reduce your speed to point-zero-five-c. Be advised one convoy of five cargo ships is outbound for Cerberus, eight million fine off your port bow. They are led by Merchant Vessel
Darcy Harrington.
Recommend you make passing arrangements.”
“
Rapier
, roger out.”
Katja throttled back to conform with Anubian safety speed, checked her 3-D display and confirmed the presence of five contacts moving in formation five million kilometers ahead. At
Rapier
’s speed they would reach their closest proximity in about nine minutes. Her navi-computer calculated the numbers, and recommended a slight change of course to open up the distance.