Read Raising Caine - eARC Online
Authors: Charles E. Gannon
Tags: #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #Space Opera, #Alien Contact, #General
Raising Caine - eARC (38 page)
Melissa Sleeman started. “Major, that—I’m sorry. That’s crazy. No matter the scenario, we should be heading planetside to find the rest of the legation as soon as we can.”
Rulaine leaned back. “And then what?”
Sleeman blinked. “Why, we boost back up to orbit, or find whoever’s in charge on Disparity, or—”
But Karam was shaking his head. “That won’t happen.” Seeing the growing outrage on her face, he rephrased: “That
can’t
happen.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
It was Phil Friel who answered her. “The hull damage. Specifically, the gouge that damned penetrator rod carved into our belly.”
“But we—you—can weld that, right?” Rulaine had never heard Melissa sound confused before this moment.
This time Tina answered. “Oh, we can weld it. And it will hold air and be fine for spaceside operations. But re-entry? Phew.” She shook her head dubiously. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Unfortunately, that’s only half the problem,” Karam sighed. “I might—
might
—be able to get this bird down. Mostly because she’s a solid military hull, tough as nails, and has plenty of redundancy. But even if we go in turned turtle, it’s a one way trip. If we go down, we’re not getting back up without full repairs.”
Morgan Lymbery nodded. “It is due to the coolant line damage,” he explained. “During routine descents, and even more so during ascents, the engines are frequently at maximum thrust. But with a damaged craft, the pilot”—he nodded respectfully at Karam—“will have to push the engines and power plants beyond their rated limits.
“
Puller
’s hull damage and compromised aerodynamics ruin her airflow characteristics. That requires compensatory and corrective thrust. Each time Mr. Tsaami applies that extra thrust, we will be living on borrowed time, hoping the coolant pressures don’t cause the distributor to finally give out.” He threw up one hopeless hand. “Once that happens, we’re done. We’d be lucky to get to the ground in one piece before the engine dies. Or explodes.”
The bridge was silent for several long seconds before Peter Wu cleared his throat. “I grew up speaking English as well as Mandarin, but”—he turned toward Karam—“what do you mean by saying that the ship would descend while it was ‘turned turtle’?”
Karam smiled ruefully. “‘Turned turtle’ means ‘on your back.’” When he saw confused, and some disbelieving, looks around the bridge, he explicated. “That belly weld won’t take the brunt of reentry superheating. If it splits, or even flakes a bit, the underplating will burn through in less than a minute and we’ll come apart like a model airplane hit with a sledgehammer.” Several of the surrounding faces grew pale. “But our dorsal surface is pretty much pristine. So we’ll go in on our backs.”
Whereas many others looked pale, Phil Friel looked intrigued. “Can it take that? I thought that there were special alloys layered into the ventral surface to absorb and diffuse reentry heat.”
The answer came from Lymbery. “Not to worry, lad.
Puller
is up to the task.”
“With respect, Mr. Lymbery, why are you so sure?” Friel smiled. “You didn’t design this ship too, did you?”
Lymbery did not smile. “No, I didn’t. I was simply the independent inspector who signed off on the design.”
Friel’s mouth made a round, soundless, “Oh.”
Rulaine smothered his own incipient grin and, pulling against his finger-hold on the sensor console, tugged himself back into a fully upright position. “So we can fix this ship, but not like new. If we head planetside, it’s a one way trip. And we only take that trip if it looks like the bad guys have decided to go hunting our friends. Then, we’re the equalizers.”
“If we make it down alive,” Karam grumbled.
“Always the optimist,” drawled Tina Melah.
“Bah humbug,” Karam replied. “I’ll have you know that I am optimist enough to have already run multiple computer simulations of how to get
Puller
out of her three-axis tumble when the time comes for us to straighten out and get moving.”
“Is our tumble really that bad?” asked Melissa Sleeman, who’d spent most of her days manning the passive sensors, both those observing the planet beneath them and the dangerous vastness of space behind them.
Tygg leaned toward her; she leaned towards him. “Have you looked out a window?” he asked gently.
She frowned slightly. “No.”
“Don’t,” he urged her.
“Make you puke, fer sure,” Tina added.
Bannor nodded at Karam’s piloting console. “How long from the time you start firing the attitude control thrusters until we’re out of the tumble?”
“Thirty-one seconds.”
“That’s impossible. No one could do that.” O’Garran’s blunt assertion bordered on truculence.
“Watch your tongue, Stretch,” Karam countered. “And I didn’t say
I
was doing it.” He patted the console. “The computer will handle it. I ran the sims until I got it optimized, then recorded the sequence. When it comes time for us to move, I hit the right button and the show begins. But, fair warning: be strapped in. And try not to eat anything heavy beforehand; correcting this tumble in thirty seconds means a lot of hard thrusting along sharply opposed vectors. It will not be a pleasant ride.”
“Damn,” answered O’Garran with nod and a frown. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “But why wait? If you did it now, it would make the welders’ EVAs a lot less disorienting, wouldn’t it?”
Karam nodded. “Yes. But it would also get us killed.” He pointed out beyond the bulkhead. “Remember all that talk about the bad people who might be out there? The ones who’ve already tried to kill us?”
Trent shrugged. “Yeah, but we know they’re not running active sensors, so they can’t know what our tumble-pattern is, not enough to determine that it’s changed.”
Karam sighed, his eyes were shuttered. “Listen, greenhorn. A lot of space combat is nothing but our computers and sensors dueling with their computers and sensors. But there’s also a common sense side. First, anyone watching us from a passive posture will measure our reflected light: how much, which wavelengths, and most important, when do we shine and how long? Variations in the first two variables can be altered by other elements: the position and angle of the ship relative to the sun, a solar flare, or if any dust is moving in or out of the radiant path from the primary to Disparity.
“But any alteration in the latter two variables tells them that we’ve changed our tumble. And that means they’ll come after us. So we stay as we are until we’re ready to fire up the engines.”
“Can’t happen soon enough,” O’Garran opined brusquely, turned to Bannor to look for the “dismissed” nod.
“Actually,” Rulaine commented, “we need every calm minute we can get, Miles.”
“That may be, Major, but I doubt those minutes are being very friendly to the Captain and the others. I’m just worried that Disparity might be finishing the job that the enemy started. Sir.”
Bannor nodded sadly. O’Garran was correct in all but one particular. The force that had brought all this misery to pass wasn’t simply “the enemy,” wasn’t simply “the threat force.” They were assassins.
And I am going to send them all to hell.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Spinward Trojans, BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”) and Close orbit; V1581 Four
Nezdeh purposely seated herself next to Sehtrek, which put her directly across the table from Idrem. She did not want to manage the distraction of sitting alongside Idrem, or the possibility that she might absent-mindedly reach out toward him.
This is one of the reasons the Progenitors warn that romantic love is the seed of all weakness. It creates reflexes that we must control, and that therefore, distract us from optimizing the realization of our individual will to dominion.
“Let us begin,” she said.
Sehtrek raised an eyebrow. “Shall we not wait for the others, Nezdeh?”
“I have not informed others of this discussion. It would not be prudent to pull them away from their stations.” Which was, she knew, a pretext so threadbare that Sehtrek would see straight through it to her real reason: to eliminate the ultimately unproductive output of the lesser intellects among her crew. But that could not be admitted openly. To do so would be to imply that Sehtrek, an Intendant who was not even designated for Elevation, was more intelligent and capable than many of Nezdeh’s fellow Evolved.
Tegrese chose that moment to enter the small briefing and ready room. “So: here you are.” She sat. “I was told by Ulpreln that he suspected there was a meeting in progress.”
Nezdeh looked at her.
Tegrese returned the stare. Her puzzlement transformed into a frown. “I
am
off duty,” she explained.
Of course you are. And of course this had to be the one time you did not sleep or mate or train during your off-hours.
She repressed a sigh. “I saw no reason to disturb you. And you need not remain.”
Tegrese shrugged. “But I shall do so. I am eager to learn of our next steps.”
“This is to be a quick meeting. There will be little time for any input.”
Tegrese’s frown was short-lived. “Understandable.”
Nezdeh turned to Sehtrek. “You have accumulated one hundred hours of data on the planet and the objects orbiting it: what recommendations do you make?”
“That we make a carefully timed ground attack within the week, presuming that there are no further changes to the battlespace.”
“There have already been changes?” Tegrese had not been at the table for a minute and was already beginning to burden the process. Nezdeh glanced at Idrem, who was attempting to suppress—a smile? Yes, there was an amusing irony to Tegrese’s arrival, Nezdeh allowed, despite the annoyance.
Sehtrek touched his beltcom. Between the silver spider-leg tines of its holographic projector, a representation of the Slaasriithi planet rotated, three small dots keeping pace at equidistant points along a shared orbit. “A new defense sphere was launched. It occupies the same orbital spot as the one we destroyed four days ago.”
“Meaning there could be more.”
“Almost certainly so, Idrem. Although I am surprised that it took them this long to launch a replacement.”
Nezdeh shook her head. “The Slaasriithi are not at all dominion-oriented, and so far as we can determine, do not have wars. This far within their domain, a prompt defense replenishment system may be an afterthought. But they are not stupid; if they have more defense spheres in their local inventory, we must expect that they will now be ready to deploy them more rapidly.”
Sehtrek nodded. “Agreed. Which means that the harder of the two targets we must engage are the Aboriginals who landed on the planet. We must penetrate the cannonball defense, find the targets, neutralize them, and then return to orbit.”
Idrem nodded. “Brenlor sent us a tight-beam update half an hour ago. He estimates that the additional landers we require for the assault will arrive here in eight days.”
“The sooner the better. The Slaasriithi shift carrier is probably no more than four days away from making shift. Consequently, a response force from Beta Aquilae could arrive here within two weeks. We need to have concluded our operations and be well into our preacceleration phase by then.”
Idrem gestured at the cannonballs orbiting the image of the planet. “It would be helpful to have the
Arbitrage
’s navigational laser array on hand when we confront the cannonballs again. It would make short work of them, even at extreme range.”
“Helpful, yes, but to do so, we would be telegraphing our intent to attack. The enemy sensors, of which there seem to be an almost inexhaustible number, would detect the approach of
Arbitrage
days before we could include it in an attack. That might prompt the Slaasriithi to launch more cannonballs, or undertake different strategies that could complicate our primary objective: to find and eliminate the planetside Aboriginals.” She steepled her fingers. “So, we will conduct our attack without prior warning. We shall wait and watch the cannonballs’ orbital patterns, crack a hole in those defenses using
Lurker
’s firepower, and then send one of our landers through that hole to locate and neutralize the Aboriginals on the surface.”
Idrem’s eyes drifted to a yellow triangle that was closer to the image of the planet, looping around it in an uneven, wobbling orbit. “So, when do you envision eliminating the other Aboriginal craft?”
Sehtrek had evidently thought the question to be addressed to him. “I do not know that we must, Idrem. It has shown no power output, and its orbit continues to decay. As an added precaution, I have projected attack times during which it would be on the other side of the planet, should it retain some combat capability.”
Idrem folded his arms. “Although it shows no power that we can discern at this range, the ship in question—a Commonwealth Wolfe-class corvette—has reasonable capacitors.”
“Capacitors are useless without a working power plant,” Tegrese asserted. “There is never even residual heat to suggest that they powered up while out of the field of our sensors.”
Idrem stared at her near-insolence. “Most versions of the Wolfe-class are fitted with retractable solar panels. They can maintain minimal power by recharging the ship’s batteries.”
“As it might be doing now,” Nezdeh concluded.
“Or it may simply be the lifeless wreck it seems to be.” Tegrese’s comment doubled Nezdeh’s annoyance.
Idrem intervened. “We know the craft was significantly damaged. Time will help us further determine its status. And if their orbit decays to the point where they start entering the atmosphere, they are finished, even if there are survivors aboard.”
Nezdeh nodded her agreement. “Happily, we need not confirm the status of the Aboriginal craft before we commence our operations. Once we have removed a cannonball to open a landing window,
Red Lurker
will continue to track both the remaining two cannonballs and the Aboriginal wreck whenever their orbit puts them within sight of our sensors. If the wreck attempts to challenge
Lurker
in any way, we will be able to destroy it, even from our stand-off position.”
Tegrese shrugged. “If you are so fearful of it, then why not strike now and eliminate this troublesome variable?”
Sehtrek’s tone was careful and very patient as he pointed out what should have been obvious. “The present range of engagement is far too great for us to be assured of success, and a renewed attack may bring more cannonballs after us. At any rate, it would not only reveal our presence but our position, depriving us of the surprise we need for our planetary assault.”
“Very well. But what of the ground target? Isn’t it possible that the shuttle crashed? That all the Aboriginals are dead?” Tegrese was asking the questions Nezdeh had feared she’d ask: questions that she, Idrem, and Sehtrek had already considered and answered.
“There are survivors. My Reifications confirm that there is at least one Devolysite still extant on the surface. Furthermore, our sensors showed no thermal blooms consistent with either a catastrophic reentry or a crash.”
“So,” said Tegrese with a sardonic smile as she leaned away from the table. “The impossible task of eliminating the escaped Aboriginals is now merely improbable.” She became serious. “We shall need many of the frozen clones, and all four of the
Arbitrage
’s landers, if we are to—”
Idrem shook his head. “That will not answer our needs. Firstly, several of the
Arbitrage
’s landers have been converted into refueling auxiliaries. Secondly, any clones which are still in cryogenic suspension will be of no use. They take too long to revivify and longer to indoctrinate to our dominion. The Slaasriithi response from Beta Aquilae will be here before they are ready.”
Tegrese seemed almost abashed. “Then what are your plans?”
“We shall dedicate all our currently revivified clones to the project, who are currently aboard one of the two landers that are en route to us. The other one, a paramilitary version, will be our landing and assault craft.”
Tegrese nodded, seemed to be searching for some worthwhile point to raise. “Will the other cannonballs not simply follow our lander planetside and destroy it?”
Sehtrek pulled up a holographic report on what they knew about the cannonballs. “I do not have complete technical intelligence on the devices, but their shape and performance indicates that they are intended for extra-atmospheric work. Without lift surfaces, all their maneuver is powered. So, given their limited atmospheric duration compared to craft with lifting surfaces, it seems unlikely that they would descend to pursue our lander.”
Tegrese finally asked a pertinent question: “So, given the planetary communications black-out, how will you find the Aboriginals?”
“Our agent has a Devolysite that will deliquesce when I send the appropriate Reified command. As it dies, it emits a strong return wave through the Reification, which shall guide our initial point of descent. Its deliquescence also signals our saboteur to begin providing us with terminal guidance, that we may more narrowly locate the Aboriginals and kill them.”
Sehtrek nodded at Nezdeh’s synopsis. “Is there anything else we need to consider?”
“We will need patience,” she answered. She considered Tegrese from the corner of her eye.
A great deal of patience.
* * *
Tlerek Srin Shethkador allowed the iris valve to remain open for several seconds before he entered the isolation cell in
Ferocious Monolith’s
brig. It had already been determined that the subject was susceptible to the will-eroding power of fearful anticipation. So it would be now.
The Aboriginal woman was sitting in desperate uncertainty away from the door. But since the cell was round, there was no corner in which to shelter her back and derive some sense of defensibility, of security. Her clothes were still wet from the hourly drenchings of cold water he had ordered. Every sixty minutes, one autarchon entered to hold her down, another brought in a container of cold water which he poured over her slowly. Then they left, never having said a word, never having met her eyes. She was an object they were watering: nothing more.
Shethkador stared at her slim, shivering legs. Some Aboriginals—they were rare, but they existed—were able to immediately discern the true purpose of such treatment: to unnerve and defocus the subject by demonstrating that they were alone, helpless, and of no urgent interest to their captors. Questions and direct engagement sent a message to most subjects that they were important, and that was a form of power, a slender bit of nourishment for their own aspirations to regain dominion. The rare subjects who were able to distance themselves from their fears in such a situation intrinsically understood that there was no act of cooperation or placation that would serve to appease or please their captors, because their captors desired neither. The captor-captive relationship was not, ultimately, social: it was simply manipulation exercised by the dominant to extract compliance from the subordinate.
So taught the Progenitors;
Tlerek silently recited,
such is the truth of the universe.
To which this sodden Aboriginal female was as senseless and deaf as the rocks floating around them, here in the trailing trojan point of the fourth planet out from V 1581.
She looked up; her shivering redoubled. Shethkador was pleased. In his youth, he had spent some effort perfecting the disinterested stare with which he regarded her now
.
“Stand,” he said.
She did, slowly. The reluctance with which she complied was not indicative of defiance, but uncertainty over what actions might displease him.
Excellent.
“You may ask questions, now,” he told her.
“Where am—?”
“When you are given the privilege to speak to me, you are to address me as Fearsome Srin. If you fail, you shall be immediately punished. If you fail repeatedly, you shall be terminated. Now, try again.”
“Fearsome Srin, where am I?”
“Aboard my ship. What do you last remember?”
She frowned. “I was being sedated for cryogenic sleep procedures on Jam—”
“What is Jam?”
“That’s what we call the second planet in V 1581.”
“You call it ‘Jam’? As in, a sweetened fruit spread?”
“No, as in a traffic jam.” When she saw that Shethkador’s expression did not change, she tried a different approach. “Like a big guy trying to crawl in a small space; he gets jammed, stuck—”
“So the name refers to all the fleet traffic that is passing through the orbital facilities there. Continue.”
She nodded with tolerable deference. “My partner and I were able to get away from our original ship in Sigma Draconis Two and stow away on the
Changeling
, just after we did the job for you.”
“You did a job for
me
?”
She blinked, fearful. “Yes. You—you’re a representative of CoDevCo, right? Fearsome Srin?”
Now it becomes clear
. “I am not a member of the Colonial Development Combine. I, along with others, compelled that megacorporation to do our bidding during the recent invasion of Earth.”
The Aboriginal was now too confused to remember to be fearful. “You compelled CoDevCo to—?”
“Attend,” Shethkador ordered. “The Colonial Development Combine was suborned by Ktor to facilitate our invasion of Earth. CoDevCo may have retained your services as a confidential agent and saboteur, but it was ultimately acting at our behest.”