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Authors: Tim Lebbon

Predator - Incursion (9 page)

BOOK: Predator - Incursion
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Within the holo screen, the Yautja habitat appeared.

At first it was a long view. The habitat was visible as a whole, a little over six miles long, and from this perspective there was little detail to be seen. It looked like a long tube, wide in the middle and growing narrower toward each end. Towers and protrusions rose along its length, some of them taller than the main structure was thick. Mains guessed that some of those arms were almost a mile long. It gave UMF 12 the appearance of a strange, spined sea creature, spinning slowly around its long central axis.

“Aaaand closer…” Snowdon said.

The image grew, quickly becoming too large for the frame and zeroing in on the superstructure. They knew it was made from some sort of artificial material that resembled ultra-strong bone, and had long suspected that it was extruded by machines probably still active inside the habitat. Seeing the vessel’s outer hull—or skin—close up only reinforced this image. The surface seemed smooth but uneven, pocked with random depressions and lined with staggered ridges. It was a pale gray color, almost off-white. Shadows might have been openings, or deeper depressions. Thin lines might have been cracks or fractures, or some sort of intentional hull markings on a massive scale.

As the habitat spun the view turned, and then blurred momentarily as one of the tall arms swept past.

“Are those arms docking towers of some sort?” Mains asked.

“That’s the best guess,” Snowdon said. “There are signs of ships docked along some of them, but there are also hollows in the hull that might be hangars. It’s difficult to tell.”

“You said there were a couple of ships orbiting?”

“There are. Too far away to see in any detail.”

“It’s huge,” Lieder said, awed. Over the last few decades W-Y had started building space habitats, vast structures possessing space drives but intended for orbit around moons or planets. Some of them were even larger than UMF 12, but they were bulky vessels, with little grace or finesse. This Yautja habitat had a smoothness, a startling beauty that Mains knew had a lot to do with its provenance. This was an alien vessel. For all they knew it was older than civilized humankind.

“Keep gathering information,” Mains said. He was getting twitchy—they should have never come so close. In all their time here, he didn’t believe that they had done anything to alert the Yautja to their presence. He had no wish to change that now. This was a silent mission, not an active one.

Brief diversions, such as the fight at Southgate Station 12, might once have invigorated him, but no more. Losing good people only depressed him, and he’d long ago decided that he would rather watch than fight.

“L-T, we’ve got incoming comms from Tyszka’s Star,” McVicar said. Two hundred light years in from the Outer Rim, Tyszka’s Star was the hub at which all Excursionist units were pulled together and trained, and from which every Arrow ship was launched. Communications from there were rare, and opening up receivers for a sub-space signal could cause a flare of Bannon radiation.

If someone was looking in the right direction at the right time, it could give away a ship’s location…

“More attacks?” Lieder asked.

“Maybe. Give us a bit of a nudge.”

“You sure, Johnny?” Lieder raised her eyebrows, and Mains looked around the deck at the others. Faulkner and Snowdon glanced at each other. Cotronis frowned.

“Of course he’s sure,” McVicar said. “Further away we are, the less chance of them seeing us.”

“You know what happens,” Mains said. “They see a splash and they’ll be on to us, but there’s no way we can ignore comms from Tyszka.”

“I’ll shove us along a bit.” Lieder ran some telemetry, calculated a burn, then gave them five seconds. She didn’t check anything with Frodo, and Mains liked her confidence. He also knew that if anything she did might be a risk, the computer would intercede.

* * *

A little less than an hour later, McVicar opened sub-space comms and narrowed to specified Excursionist channel levels. The message from Tyszka arrived, and he fed the signal into the bridge’s system. The voice that greeted them belonged to General Wendy Hetfield herself.

“All units, be aware that Yautja activity over the past ninety days has increased and expanded hugely from the previous several years. The 5th, 9th, 13th, 17th, and 23rd Excursionists have all been involved in contacts, and the 11th is missing in the Holgate system. Each contact so far has involved no more than three Yautja individuals.

“There are also reports of at least seven Yautja ships being sighted within the Sphere by other military and civilian observers. If seven are seen, there might actually be seventy. Be aware, remain alert, keep channels open. For those units currently surveilling Yautja craft, any launch toward or into the Human Sphere is to be taken as predatory and hostile, and all necessary action should be taken.

“You have twelve hours to absorb this information before you respond.”

The familiar low whine of sub-space white noise replaced Hetfield’s voice as the transmission ended. It was the sound of infinity, and it always gave Mains the chills. It sounded like indifference.

“And I thought we were the only ones at the party,” Lieder said.

“Seems not,” Mains said. Sometimes a year went by without any Excursionist unit engaging with Yautja, but now there had been at least five contacts within ninety days, with an entire unit missing. There could be many reasons for the 11th being quiet, but with everything else going on, their silence wasn’t comforting.

“You want me to slow us down again?” Lieder asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Leave us drifting for now,” Mains said, “but stay sharp. Nothing might happen here.”

“Or everything might,” McVicar said, his laconic voice giving his pronouncement weight.

“The first thing that needs to happen is dinner,” Cotronis said.

McVicar rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Faulkner said. “You know you’re the best cook.”

* * *

They drifted further away from the habitat, but they were still closer than they had been for some time, and all the
Ochse
’s observation systems worked flat out keeping watch. They didn’t need to be on the bridge for that to work, and Frodo would alert the crew to any anomalies immediately. But Lieder had learned her skills flying atmosphere skimmers on Ganymede, and Mains knew that she liked the impression of being in control. Though she very rarely flew or steered the
Ochse
on manual, she still liked to call it her bird.

“You’re sure?” he asked. She remained in her pilot’s seat, one foot up on the bank of controls before her, seat reclined.

“Someone’s got to stay in charge while you bastards eat.”

“I’ll bring your food up to you.”

“Thanks.”

Her voice sounded strange. Not weak, but distracted.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. No. Just thinking about Willis and Reynolds, and those other units must have lost people. Wonder what we’re getting into.”

“That’s why we’re out here. Why we have to keep a close watch on that.” He nodded to the holo screen, even though it was now clear.

“Guess I always thought it would be an easy mission.”

“Drifting around beyond the boundaries of human exploration?”

“Yeah. Well.” She smiled at him, almost said something, turned away. Mains wanted to hold onto the moment. Their closeness was something they both struggled with—they rarely spoke of it, but knew it was there. Sometimes he thought of it as love, but set against the vast, withering reality of deep space, love seemed such a vacuous, pointless concept.

It was a depressing idea.

He watched Lieder for a moment as she tapped her foot to some internal beat, then left the bridge and made his way down to the rec room.

They ate together, discussed the transmission from Tyszka, and the air was heavy with tension. A sense of nervous anticipation filled the room. They quipped and swore. The food was good. They had spent a long time cooped up together in this ship, and although there were individual cabins with their own bathrooms, a hydroponic room where they grew fresh food, a gym, a hold where the drones and a small shuttle were parked, and various other spaces where it was easy to retreat to when solitude was desired, this room was the beating heart of the ship.

There were VR games, a huge library of books on the reading terminals, comfortable chairs and even a small bar. They’d personalized the space and made it their own, the VoidLark’s home away from home. Nevertheless, it was each other’s company that made it work.

The ship felt larger than ever with the deaths of Reynolds and Willis, and that loss had brought home the seriousness and danger inherent in their mission. Things had changed.

* * *

Frodo’s soft chime startled him awake. For a few seconds Mains gasped and looked around, trying to place himself, feeling lost.

“Lights,” he said, and a gentle glow grew from the panels around his room.

“Wassit?” Lieder said. She opened one eye and looked at him. “You look like shit.”

“Frodo,” Mains said. He sat up in bed. Checked the time. Tugged on his underwear, threw Lieder hers. Slapped his cheeks a couple of times to bring himself awake. It had been fifteen days since the signal from Tyszka’s Star, and he’d almost allowed himself to relax.

“Sorry to trouble you all,” the computer said. Mains knew that Frodo was addressing the whole crew. “Four ships have just departed their docks on UMF 12, and seem to be preparing to leave.”

“Flight deck, everyone,” Mains said, although he knew he didn’t need to. “Frodo, turn on the shipwide grav.”

Dressing quickly, he and Lieder dashed from his room and almost collided with Faulkner. Together they passed through the rec room and up to the flight deck, efficient and fast, and three minutes after Frodo’s warning the whole crew were at their stations.

“Mark them up,” Mains said. McVicar engaged the big screen display. Initially it showed an expanse of nothing, but he zeroed in on the habitat, and four data bubbles marked where the ships were shifting slowly away from the vast mass. They were almost thirty million miles from the habitat now, drifting on station between it and the Human Sphere, but the
Ochse
could get there in less than an hour.

“What’s our status?” he asked.

“Still cloaked,” Lieder said. “Engines at ninety-seven percent charge. All drive systems green.”

“Weapons?”

“All systems green,” Faulkner said.

Mains’s heart was beating fast, but his actions and reactions were smooth and assured. He glanced around the bridge and saw that confidence echoed in the faces of his crew. They were trained, efficient, experienced. That’s why they were Excursionists.

Leading my people into battle again
, he thought, and there was a sudden pang in his chest at the danger they were facing.

“Be careful, guys,” he said. Lieder glanced at him but he stared only ahead. As he watched, one of the Yautja ships peeled away from the habitat and powered toward the edge of the screen.

“Designated Bastard One,” McVicar said. “Bearing zero one-four-one.”

“Toward the Sphere,” Mains said, but McVicar was too busy to reply.

“Bastard Two, zero one-five-eight. Bastard Three, zero one-four-nine. Bastard Four, zero two-one-six.” The display view pulled back to show the moving objects in relation to the habitat, each red speck now marked with its designation, as well as a data bubble showing relative velocity, shifting bearings, and other data.

“Bastard Four’s coming right at us,” Cotronis said. “Check our cloaking system again.”

“Still looks active,” Lieder said. “Frodo?”

“The
Ochse
’s cloaking device is fully functioning,” the computer said.

“Plot exact course,” Mains said.

“Zero two-one-four,” McVicar said. “Shifted slightly. Current comparative velocities put us within seven thousand miles of each other.”

“Too close,” Cotronis said. “L-T, they’ve seen us.”

“That’s not certain, but if we decloak they will for sure. Timescales?”

“Their accelerations are variable,” McVicar said.

“Classic Yautja distraction techniques,” Snowdon said. “They’re on a battle footing.”

“You’re sure?” Mains asked.

“They’re not just going for a picnic.”

“McVicar, prepare to open a sub-space channel to Tyszka’s Star, record a message to send. Tell them what’s happening, and that we’re engaging.”

There was no reaction. Everyone knew what had to be done, and they were already preparing.

“Faulkner, give me a best-case class one strategy here.” Mains was the L-T, but Faulkner was the weapons guy. With distances and trajectories involved, he’d be able to plan the best method of assault. A class one was an action in which their survival was of paramount importance. A class two was a suicide assault.

“Working on it.”

“At current acceleration, how long until Bastard Four is at its closest to us?”

“Just over seventeen minutes.”

“Suit up, people,” Mains said. There was a flurry of movement as the crew grabbed the combat suits always stored behind their seats and pulled them on. Magnetic clasps clicked, air hissed as life-support systems were tested, comms crackled and whispered. As Mains pulled on his own suit, wrapping himself in protective and aggressive tech, Cotronis stood by him. They helped each other secure and check their suits.

“Tough odds,” she said.

“We always knew it would be if something happened.”

“Maybe we should assault the habitat itself.”

He’d thought of that. As far as he knew, they were the only ones tracking a habitat such as this. Other Excursionist units spent months playing cat and mouse with Yautja ships, occasionally ending the chase with a brief, violent combat, more often than not losing touch. The
Ochse
had been on station for over a year. They were in a strong position, but attacking the habitat would vastly reduce the chances of their survival.

They might not even get close.

“I’d rather take out these four ships, then hang back. If they send more, we keeping fighting—but hopefully they’ll get the message.”

BOOK: Predator - Incursion
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