Read Raising Caine - eARC Online
Authors: Charles E. Gannon
Tags: #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #Space Opera, #Alien Contact, #General
Raising Caine - eARC (9 page)
“No, sir. All ancillary comm and sensor platforms were seeded near or at the approaches to planet two, where the fleet engaged the Arat Kur. Nothing’s been deployed out here yet.”
And why should there be? We plan on leaving Arat Kur space as soon as possible.
But that meant there was no one to alert, no one to call for help. SS
Arbitrage
was all alone. With one chilling exception. “Ms. Tagawa, please hail the contact. All frequencies, all languages and codes. Don’t forget to include the Accord code.”
As she did so, Piet turned from the helm. “Jorge, whoever is on that ship is not interested in talking with us.”
Velho nodded. “I agree.”
“Then why try?”
“Because we know nothing about them. So any reply gives us more knowledge than we have now.” He turned toward Ayana. “Response?”
“No response, sir. And I don’t think we’re going to get one. The contact’s telemetry suggests intentions that, as Mr. Brackman speculates, preclude communication.”
Jorge felt his heavy brows bunching against each other as he frowned. “What is its telemetry?”
“Range, closing; bearing, constant.”
It took a moment for Velho to recall what that crisp definition actually meant. “It’s going to
ram
us?”
Tagawa shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Or board us.”
“That’s impossible.” He hesitated, remembering some of the stories that had come out of the Epsilon Indi system just after the war. “Well, it’s
nearly
impossible.”
Ayana nodded. “Yes, sir, that is the conventional wisdom.” She pointed into the plot again. “But this craft is wholly unconventional. I am not sure the same rules apply. And it is difficult to conjecture why a ship that can withstand immersion in the upper stratosphere of a gas giant and capable of such extraordinary thrust would expend itself in a ramming attack. Which leaves one logical alternative: she is attempting a rendezvous. And if we refuse to let her dock…” Tagawa’s voice trailed off; the conclusion of her analysis was inescapable.
Piet cleared his throat. “So: what do we do? I’d like to suggest running like hell, but we don’t have ten percent of that hull’s acceleration.”
“First,” Velho announced at the end of a sigh, “we start screaming for help.”
Tagawa raised one eyebrow. “We
are
in the communications shadow of the gas giant, sir.”
“Yes, our lascom is useless, but if we start broadcasting a wide-dispersal distress signal now, we could reach any covert patrols or classified microsensors that might be lurking out here. In the meantime, we’ll give our visitors something to worry about.”
“Such as?” Piet sounded doubtful.
“Such as having to work to catch us, even if we can’t outrun them. Max burn on the main drive, Piet.”
“Sir,” began Piet, whose sudden formality meant he was getting seriously scared, “as per your orders when we cut thrust to effect retrieval of the tankers and skimmers, all our plants are now in power-saving mode. We can’t reach full thrust until we get to eighty-five percent of maximum power plant output, and that will take at least fifteen minutes.”
“I am aware. Maximum means you get me as much thrust as you can, as fast as you can. Also, accelerate the skimmers and put them into a close slingshot orbit, the closest they’ll take without being pulled in. And Ayana, I want them running their transponders in distress mode, non-stop.”
She nodded, understanding. “So that the intruder must choose between chasing us or catching the skimmers before they get around the gas giant’s far terminator and out of its broadcast shadow.”
“Yes, and in the meantime, I want the point-defense fire mounts brought to bear. At the intruder’s rate of closure, we’ll be able to use them as ship-to-ship weapons in about eight minutes. Now, where’s Mr. Kozakowski?”
“Just arrived, sir,” came the corporate factotum’s voice from the hatchway.
Jorge turned, nodded tightly and wondered how long the unctuous owl of a man had been listening just beyond the hatchway. “You received an update on our situation?”
“Which situation do you mean, Captain? The umbilical hoses or the unidentified intruder?”
“For now, our concern is solely with the latter. Your technicians are to meet ours back at the cargo freight module, just forward of the cargo cradles.”
“Very well. What is their task?”
Kozakowski is the last human I want to reveal this to, but now I have no choice.
“When we commandeered the ship, we took the precaution of not just refitting it as a tanker. We added some cargo modules of our own.”
“I have noticed.”
Snide bastard
. “Did you also notice that one of them is auto-deployable?”
Kozakowski frowned. “You mean it is a cargo module that can be triggered to release its payload into free space? That is usually a military variant, is it not?”
“It most certainly is. As a precaution, we were tasked to carry a small number of ship-to-ship drones in the autodeployable module. But it needs to be powered up and patched into our command system, first.”
“So we have some real weapons?” Piet almost shouted.
Velho smiled. “As soon as we activate the module’s integral subsystems, we can send out a little fleet of our own.”
Kozakowski’s smile was dim: he was clearly unhappy that this information had been withheld from him. “I shall get right on it, sir.” He nodded and moved toward the hatchway that led off the bridge and into the keel-following transport tube.
“Mr. Kozakowski, can’t you coordinate your technicians from up here?”
“Perhaps, but many of them are, well, suspicious of your prize crew. And although your personnel are obviously the experts when it comes to an auto-deployable cargo module, mine are familiar with the particulars, and idiosyncrasies, of the
Arbitrage
. So I think it wisest that I be present to ensure that my crewpersons cooperate smoothly with yours, given that our lives are at stake. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Absolutely. Go at once.”
His smile still wooden, Kozakowski left the bridge.
—Just as Ayana’s unflappably calm voice cracked under the stress of an urgent report: “Intruder’s energy levels are spiking. Our hull sensors detect a low-power laser painting us: they’re acquiring ladar target lock, sir. And probably readying a beam weapon of some kind. I recommend—”
And then the world wrenched violently sideways.
Chapter Ten
In close orbit; V 1581 Four
“Results?” demanded Nezdeh, glancing at Sehtrek.
“UV laser blisters one and two have eliminated
Arbitrage
’s facing point defense fire batteries. Marginal damage to surrounding structures of the command section.”
“Was the bridge hit?” Nezdeh’s tone was sharp. As she’d intended.
“N-no…Srina Perekmeres,” Sehtrek assured her hurriedly.
Tegrese hovered eagerly over her weapons panels. “If the Aboriginals tumbled their ship, they could bring their navigational laser to bear. Is it advisable for us to—?”
“We will need the
Arbitrage
’s nav laser ourselves. Besides, it bears upon too limited an arc to be of any danger to us. It is designed to engage targets at ranges of multiple light seconds, but also within a very narrow forward cone. What of
Arbitrage
’s communications arrays?”
“Both primary and auxiliary arrays have been eliminated by blisters three and four. Blisters five and six remain ready in PDF mode.”
“Excellent. Time to intercept?”
“Eight minutes, Nezdeh. We will be tumbling for four-gee counterboost in ninety seconds.”
“Understood. Pass the word. Sehtrek, get me a magnified image of the Aboriginal ship.”
A highly detailed 2-d visual of the
Arbitrage
replaced the navigational view. Nezdeh sought, and saw, the damage inflicted by her lasers. As she inspected the enemy’s wounded hull, she peripherally noticed activity at the head of the cargo cradles, where the two tanker-tenders were moored and several conventional cargo modules were secured. “Sehtrek, I cannot tell what the Aboriginals are endeavoring to accomplish near their cargo modules. What do the sensors tell you?”
“Several things, Srina Perekmeres. The most obvious is that they seem to be attempting to resolve some sort of malfunction involving the first tanker-tender transfer umbilicus and its connection to the fuel intake port.”
“You are sure this is a malfunction, not the opening gambit of some defensive ploy?”
“I see no evidence of the latter, Srina.”
“Very well. It also appears that there is some reconfiguration occurring near one of the wedge-shaped cargo modules just forward of the main tanks.”
“Yes, Srina Perekmeres. I believe they are attempting to open one of the cargo modules presently, but are encountering difficulties. However, I suspect—”
“Yes, it is almost certainly a weapons pod of some kind.” Nezdeh leaned back, rubbed her chin, measured the benefits and risks of the alternatives for addressing this new challenge. Destroying the cargo pod before it opened was simplicity itself: two of her UV laser blisters could reduce it to glowing tatters and strips of metal and composites. But any weapons inside the module—indeed any and all assets onboard the
Arbitrage
—were worth their weight in gold to a small, independent, and desperate group such as hers. Perhaps, if they were careful enough…
No. I cannot risk it.
“Blisters one and two, target the opening cargo pod. Fire until it is destroyed. Keep your aimpoint away from the keel and adjoining pods and structures.”
Tegrese muttered, “Yes, Nezdeh,” even as she worked to follow her orders.
On the screen, the weapons module flew apart as if being savaged by an invisible flail. A moment later, two bright flashes obscured the view of the
Arbitrage
, and, fading, revealed that significant damage had been done to two nearby cargo modules, as well as the already struggling tanker, which had now been half torn out of its docking cradle and was floating at an acute angle relative to the keel.
“Nezdeh,” began Tegrese carefully, “I—”
“It was no fault of yours,” Nezdeh interrupted. “The damage was caused by the secondary explosions from the weapons the Aboriginals had stored in that module. It was a risk, but one we had to take.
Lurker
is too small to be safe from even such rudimentary drones and missiles as Earth produces. If our PDF arrays had failed to intercept any one of those munitions—” Nezdeh left the comment uncompleted: the
Red Lurker
might enjoy many extraordinary technological advantages over her immense, lumbering foe, but this much was true: size was a value unto itself. More specifically,
Arbitrage
was large enough to carry munitions so powerful that even a near miss could cripple a small hull such as the Ktoran patrol hunter.
Even when fighting hobbled kine, one must still avoid the horns.
Sehtrek’s tone was perplexed. “Srina Perekmeres, the Aboriginals’ active sensor array is gimballing away from us.”
Nezdeh stared, thought, smiled when she realized what the Aboriginals were attempting.
They are clever, not readily cowed or dismayed. One day, their genelines will refresh ours most productively.
“Tegrese, eliminate their primary and auxiliary arrays, immediately.”
“As you order, Nezdeh.” She complied without a pause, realigning her weapons. “But what are they attempting?”
“They mean to use their active sensors to send messages. It is a crude broadcast signal, at best, but, pulsed, they could send a simple report in their species’ distress code.” As she watched, two of the long, narrow masts of the
Arbitrage
’s dispersed array shuddered, then almost jumped away from the shift-carrier as if an invisible scythe had severed them. “Maintain fire until their systems are eliminated.”
“Yes, Nezdeh. The Aboriginal ship is slightly faster than we anticipated, more responsive to her attitude and plasma thrusters.”
“That is to be expected. The
Arbitrage
has only completed half of her refueling requirements. She has less mass to push than when she’s fully loaded.”
Tegrese glanced up. “What shall we do with the Aboriginals themselves?”
“That will be determined by their reactions to us. Ulpreln, prepare for terminal intercept.” Nezdeh secured her straps: four gees of counter-thrust was nothing about which to be cavalier.
“What do you mean, ‘how they react to us’? We are dominant!” Tegrese held tightly to her gunnery console as Ulpreln slowly tumbled
Lurker
so that her engines now pointed at
Arbitrage
, the correct position for terminal braking.
“Tegrese, except for a few of the Aboriginals’ leaders, they all believe our charade: that the Ktor are a nonhumanoid species indigenous to some frigid world, with body chemistries based on ammonia or hydrogen fluoride. Once we have boarded them, and they quickly discern that we know little of Earth, they will just as quickly conjecture that we must either be the Ktor or their servants—which, for all intents and purposes, has the same effect upon our charade: it will be over. At that moment, their fates are bound to ours, for they may not return to their own kind to tell our secret. Ulpreln, attend the mission clock: commence our counterboost as scheduled.”
Three seconds later, Ulpreln engaged the thrusters once again; the counter-acceleration crushed Nezdeh back into her couch.
* * *
Jorge Velho released his white-knuckle grasp on the arms of his command couch. “They’ve destroyed both arrays?”
“Yes, sir.” Ayana Tagawa’s reply was eerily calm.
“Probably because they realized that we meant to try signaling with them. As you feared.”
She half turned, so that their eyes could meet. “Sir, I meant no disrespect or criticism with that warning. Despite the risks, it was the only reasonable course left to you. Many civilian commanders would not have conceived of it.”
Velho noticed the slight emphasis she put on the word
civilian
. Why would she even phrase her comment with that adjective, unless her dossier was somehow incomplete—?
But there was no time to pursue that thought; the attackers were not wasting time. “The intruder has tumbled and is counter-boosting.” Ayana paused, checking her data. “At four gees.”
Piet glanced up at the navplot, assessing. “They’re going to shoot past us.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Jorge, who had piloting credentials but nothing like his helmsman’s experienced, instinctive surety.
“Because unless they mean to maintain that counterboost right up until they kiss our hull, they won’t have killed all their forward momentum, relative to making an intercept.”
Ayana stared at the plot. “But that is exactly what they mean to do. Look at their telemetry: at their current rate of relative deceleration, they are going to match our vector and achieve an approach velocity of zero at exactly twenty-one meters from
Arbitrage
. And they are making for a logical boarding point: the EVA hatches in the lading and remote engineering sections, just forward of the tanker cradles and cargo racks.”
Piet shook his head. “That’s madness. No one can take four gees of sustained deceleration and then be ready to un-ass their couches and conduct an assault. One or the other maybe, but not both.”
“And yet,” Ayana pointed out calmly, “there is no other explanation for the intruder’s course of action. They mean to board us.”
Velho accepted that the impossible was becoming the inevitable, and sought for a way to reverse that trend. “Piet, give me full portside roll from the emergency attitude control system.”
Ayana looked around with a smile. “Excellent, sir. They will not be able to dock with a rolling ship, not until they have re-matched relative vectors. That will delay them considerably. And using the compressed gas of the emergency ACS will not give them a ready thermal target, as would the plasma thrusters.”
Jorge smiled, but feared the expression was as crooked as he felt. “That’s the idea. Now, let’s see if it works. In the meantime, get me an updated damage report, and get Kozakowski back on the bridge.”
* * *
“Srina Pere—Perekmeres,” Sehtrek grunted out past the lung compression of the sustained four-gee counterthrust.
Impressive; not many low-bred, even Intendants, have that much willpower.
“No need to speak,” Nezdeh said with considerably less effort. “I see it. A faint roll in the target. Tegrese, thrust signatures?”
“No new thermal signature,” she replied.
So. The Aboriginals are not using their heavy plasma thrusters, then.
Which logically meant compressed gas thrusters. “Sehtrek, give me a particulate density scan of the space immediately proximal to
Arbitrage
.”
“Plumes of p-parti-ticles on the port side—”
“Track those plumes back to the hull of
Arbitrage
. Relay those coordinates to Tegrese. As soon as you have them, Tegrese, fire one UV laser blister at each.”
Sehtrek gasped out, “Relaying.”
Tegrese nodded. “Firing.”
“Report,” Nezdeh demanded as, at three points along its port side, the Aboriginal craft spat out showers of violently spinning debris.
Sehtrek coughed. “Plumes dissipating. No new particulate emissions from compressed gas thrusters.”
“Roll rate of target?”
“One tenth of an RPM.”
“Ulpreln?”
“Commencing correction.”
Lurker
bucked slightly as a new, inward-spiraling vector was added to her course.
“Time to intercept?”
“Revised ETA is five minutes.”
Nezdeh toggled her beltcomm. “Brenlor?”
“Here.”
“Stand by for boarding. In five minutes, the rehabilitation of our House begins in earnest.”