A Star Wheeled Sky

by Brad R Torgersen

  The general waved the woman off, and nodded his head. She took her crew back through the hatch, which sealed tightly behind them. Followed by the mechanical sound of the transport uncoupling itself from the Alliance’s dock.

  Chapter 10

  Catapult was typical for her class. Ship-to-ship weaponry consisted of a honeycombed cluster of silos, filled with missiles all mounting nuclear-fusion warheads of various destructive yields. Those same missiles could also be used against ground targets if need be. To protect herself, Catapult had a second honeycombed cluster of antimissile silos, each designed to home on, intercept, and destroy incoming nukes. This system was backed by a point-defense network utilizing automated railguns which—while not sufficiently powerful in singular form to critically damage another large warship in space—could knock out incoming projectiles up to the size of something capable of carrying a bomb, or simply perforate the hull of an enemy ship when operated in concert.

  As a last resort, the ship could aim its aft end in the direction of the enemy, and ignite the fusion thrusters—creating a stream of hydrogen plasma focused enough to cripple any vessel foolishly crossing Catapult’s wake within a few kilometers.

  Unlike her larger cousins, Catapult didn’t carry much in the way of actual armor. Her chief asset was maneuverability. Being light meant having less mass, which in turn meant needing less thrust and fuel to perform essential ship-to-ship combat maneuvers. And while it would only take one direct hit from a substantial nuke to break Catapult’s spine, she could effectively strafe larger vessels and escape to safe distance before worrying about counterattacks.

  Or at least, that was what modern Constellar interplanetary space war theory held to be true. Based on a combination of actual combat action and cleverly extrapolated astrophysics.

  Zuri Mikton had never taken such a small ship into a fight. She wasn’t quite sure the frigate would be up to the job of handling Nautilan ships larger than some of the enemy’s outsized corvettes. And with over half her force being unarmed, there wasn’t going to be any leeway. Catapult would be—along with the two long-range scouts—the only armed Constellar ship on the other side of the Waypoint capable of putting up sufficient resistance. Should there be any enemy vessels present upon arrival—Daffodil notwithstanding.

  So, what did the new system offer?

  “It’s unremarkable,” Commodore Urrl said, pointing his finger at the two-dimensional cross section on the main wall screen of Catapult’s small briefing room, adjacent to the command module. “This system has been in the planet-finder catalog for hundreds of years. Six gas worlds ranging in size from point-six jovian standard, to one-point-five jovian standard. All but one of those is on the perimeter, with the largest being very close to the home star—which is a yellow dwarf somewhat larger and brighter than Oswight’s sun. I’d almost count the system as a binary, except indications are that the big jovian never underwent internal fusion.

  “The central planets are harder to pinpoint. Guessing at least five terrestrials, ranging in mass from point-two terrestrial standard, to one-point-three terrestrial standard. There’s some water there. As well as nitrogen. Perhaps a hint of oxygen? None of the planet-finder missions ever devoted extensive study time to this system, so we don’t have much else to look at, besides the basic dossier.”

  “Oort and Kuiper formations?” Zuri asked her executive officer.

  “We’re guessing standard on both, though there does seem to be some evidence of two separate asteroid belts. One sandwiched between the jovians on the outside, and one between the big jovian on the inside and the next nearest terrestrial.”

  “Any word on the status of the Daffodil?”

  “Negative,” Urrl said. “I’ve been in touch with Iakar on an hourly basis, and Daffodil never came back over the Waypoint. We’ll have to continue to assume she’s keeping station in the new system, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.”

  “Copy,” Zuri said, resting her chin on a knuckle. “What’s your gut telling you?”

  “Damned if I know, boss,” Urrl said, slapping a hand down on the small table between them. “I’ve got very little in the way of hunches. I have to assume that everybody will want a piece of this, but they’ll have to connect through Waypoints in Nautilan and Constellar space first. So…we’ve really only got one competitor to worry about. Unfortunately, it’s the worst opponent we could ask for. When they start moving ships, they’re going to move them in massive quantities. But that takes time. Which means the Daffodil might have given us the advantage—assuming there even is an advantage to getting there first. We’re not even sure what it is we expect to find. You get some information off that Oswight woman who’s over on Antagean’s lead ship?”

  “She spent thirty minutes giving me a lot of ideas,” Zuri said. “But until we actually have some tangible reconnaissance to work with, I don’t dare plan for specific scenarios. We’re just going to have to chew our fingernails off until we hit the Waypoint, and hope that when we reach the other side there isn’t a Nautilan battle group waiting for us.”

  Commodore Urrl drummed his fingers on his thighs, then reached for his microgravity coffee mug.

  “Nothing from nothing means nothing,” he muttered.

  “Or everything,” Zuri said. “It doesn’t take a genius to hope that whatever we find over there, it helps us in the war.”

  “Some form of Waymaker weapon?” Urrl said, an eyebrow raised.

  “Or maybe a piece of technology they never used as a weapon, but which might work to our advantage anyway. Imagine if all of the different Waypoints could somehow be forced to connect to each other at once?”

  “Now there’s a frightening thought,” Urrl said. “The entirety of the Nautilan military could systematically pop into our space at any system they chose.”

  “Well, maybe. But what if it was something only we could use, and we used it first?”

  “Hmmm, that’s a much more attractive idea. Put together a strike fleet. Start hitting the Nauties anywhere, anytime we wanted. Make it random, so that they’d never be sure when we might spring up in their back yard—guns blazing. Yes, I like your imagination much more than I like my imagination. Mine is filled with too many dreary wargaming outcomes, all of which are bad for us.”

  “They’ve pretty much been bad for us, as long as either you or I have been in the service.”

  “Yeah,” Urrl said glumly, while frowning.

  “There’s got to be some way we can work this discovery to Constellar advantage,” Zuri said, standing up. She started to pace back and forth in front of the wall screen, her eyes focused on the air roughly one meter in front of her.

  “Even if there’s nothing worth having in the new system, it’s bound to draw at least some of Nautilan’s interest. Enough for them to risk thinning out their forces in other areas?”

  “And then we hit back?” Urrl asked. “Regain some of what’s been lost?”

  “Yes,” Zuri said.

  “This assumes your bosses are even thinking offensively. And we both know they’re not. Face it. Constellar is on a near-permanent defensive footing. We’ve been beaten so many times, we can’t see straight. And there’s nobody at the top level who is crazy enough to suggest that we try to turn the tables on our enemies—whether a realistic opportunity to do so presents itself, or not.”

  Zuri sat down again, and knotted her fingers into her close-cropped silver hair.

  “Something’s got to give,” she said quietly. “Either we’ve got to break out, or we’re going to break down. That’s Nautilan’s whole strategy, and has been for two centuries of almost continual hostilities. They push us, we react—and lose—then they push us again, and so on, and so forth. Just once in my life, I’d like to push them for a change. Make them have to think about it. Cost them a little blood and soil.”

  “Preaching to the converted,” Urrl said, allowing himself a small smile. “And I really hope you’re right, boss. Truly. I do. Nobody would b
e happier than me if we found something on the other side of the Waypoint—some way to flip the situation around. Put the Nauties on the defensive. Make them eat a little bit of their pride. That’s something every single Constellar officer dreams about. But are we just imposing a lot of wishful thinking on what could turn out to be an entirely random, empty event? I’ll happily go wherever you point me. You know that. But I have to admit, this mission has so many variables attached, I just can’t do meaningful analysis. We literally don’t know anything. And the only good part about it is that we can fairly bet on the idea that the Nauties aren’t in any better shape. They’re sitting around wondering the same things we are. Or, at least, similar things.”

  “I wish to hell we had comms with Daffodil right now,” Zuri muttered. “That ship’s got the goods—assuming they’ve survived, and can tell the tale. By the time we cross, Daffodil will have had many days to do a first-run survey. I want to hope that the information they can give us will help us make the right decisions, quickly enough, to gain or keep an upper hand.”

  Urrl’s mouth buttoned up into a small frown.

  “What’s your sense about Antagean, and his crews?” he asked.

  “You tell me,” Zuri replied.

  “I guess if I have to ask, I’ve already answered my own question,” he muttered.

  “I’m not thrilled bringing three boats filled with civilians on this trip, either.” Zuri said.

  “The lieutenant commander himself,” Commodore Urrl said, “that’s who really worries me. He’s just a civilian playacting like he’s one of us. I can tell the type. All of the Reserve is like that. Happier being out of the ranks than in them. You mark my words. When the pain comes, he’s liable to fold. He hasn’t fought the way you and I have both fought.”

  “There has to be a first time for everything,” Zuri said.

  “If he didn’t fight when he was young,” Urrl groused, “he’s not much good to us now, at his age and rank. You learn those skills early, or you don’t earn them at all.”

  “Maybe,” Zuri said, then allowed herself a slow, exasperated exhale. “But it’s not like we had better options. We’re going to have to hope that Antagean doesn’t crack once the rockets start flying. If they start flying. And if he does crack…I can always relieve him. Whether his crews like it, or not. They belong to us for the duration of the trip. The onus is on the lieutenant commander to prove he deserves his rank.”

  Chapter 11

  Wyodreth Antagean stepped into the dim light of the small starboard observation bubble—wearing a DSOD spaceflight coverall, versus the more formal two-piece uniform he’d worn at the Planet Oswight spaceport—and allowed himself to sink into one of the seven plush gee chairs which faced outward into the void. In the days since departing dock, the sun had diminished almost imperceptibly to the point that its light was now being challenged by some of the brighter stars set against the inky, permanent blackness of interstellar space.

  All of which had seemed eternally out of mankind’s reach for the entirety of Wyo’s life. He’d spent his twenties and thirties becoming intimately familiar with Constellar’s systems, and even a few of the systems in Starstates Yamato and Sultari on those rare occasions when Antagean liners had been tasked with handling international passengers and cargo. Now he’d be crossing the Slipway into virgin territory. It was a prospect as exciting as it was unnerving, precisely because everyone expected Starstate Nautilan to be doing the same. And Wyo dreaded the idea that one or more of his ships might fall before Nautilan missiles.

  Running his father’s business was challenging enough, even on the good days. He’d stepped into Dad’s shoes not out of desire, but out of necessity. And while Seinar Antagean, his sister, was a capable number cruncher who ably kept the books, she was liable to get overwhelmed by the personnel aspect. Which was where Wyo himself tended to do best—provided none of those personnel were getting killed.

  A visitor quietly stepped into the observation bubble, and sat down one chair away from Wyo’s own. He turned—the dim light making silhouettes of them both—and thought he recognized the Lady Oswight. She still wore the same type of zipsuit he’d seen her wearing on day one. Almost as if she didn’t dare wear anything else. Wyo had occasionally seen spacephobes travel like that. Terrified that the ship might crack open at any moment, leaking all of the atmosphere into space. So they never set foot outside a pressure garment.

  “Ma’am,” Wyo said, reluctantly getting to his feet.

  “Please, sit,” the Lady said softly.

  Wyo looked behind them, expecting the former colour sergeant to appear. When Axabrast did not emerge from the open pressure hatchway, Wyo slowly bent his knees, and returned to brooding in his gee chair.

  “It’s breathtaking,” Garsina said. “I can see what the appeal is, for people who make their lives in space.”

  “There is a certain romance to it,” Wyo admitted. “When I was younger, my father made sure I cut my teeth out here.”

  “What do you mean?” Garsina asked.

  “I may have been the boss’s son, but Dad made sure I started at the bottom of the food chain. I spent years learning just about every job there is to learn aboard a commercial starliner. No chore was too menial, nor too messy.”

  “Sounds like you didn’t enjoy it,” Garsina said.

  “I didn’t. I can look back on it, now, and see Dad’s point. But at the time? I just kind of went around being angry a lot. Captain Loper can tell you some stories about that, if ever you get a chance to talk to him.”

  “Back home,” Garsina said, “I had to beg my father, to let me do any kind of work.”

  “Your minder, Mister Axabrast, kept you from getting your hands dirty?”

  “He’s not my minder,” Garsina snapped. Then she seemed to think better of herself—her expression transforming in the wan light—and said, “But he is my protector, when father wishes it.”

  “How did you manage to evade Axabrast’s watchfulness at this hour?” Wyo asked.

  “I left him talking to your engineers down in the reactor module. In addition to having a fascination for First Family etiquette, as it pertains to his longstanding assignment within the Oswight house, Mister Axabrast also enjoys spacecraft. It’s a hobby of his, going back to when he was newly enlisted with Deep Space Operations and Defense. His first time out, as a young private, he fell in love with the ships. These huge, complex machines which carry us from world to world. He won’t say so to me openly, but he’s concerned that your civilian starliners aren’t up to the challenge of this mission we’ve embarked upon.”

  Wyo made a scoffing sound.

  “Just because we’re not bristling with rockets doesn’t mean these ships are weak. My father doesn’t own many ships, but the spaceframes he does operate are the most robust variety available from any civilian shipyard anywhere in Constellar space. We’ve got the best reactors my father can buy, and we run our maintenance and module rotation schedule at twice the pace recommended by various manufacturers. For precisely the reason that Antagean can’t afford to have a reputation for cheapness. We’re too small, and we don’t enjoy the favor of any particular First Family who can intercede on our behalf, in case something goes wrong. Our operational record, since the inception, is the best of any commercial line in the Starstate.”

  “I didn’t mean to question you—or your father’s—competence,” Garsina said tersely. “Just informing you of Mister Axabrast’s opinion.”

  “Well,” Wyo said, “you can tell the colour sergeant for me that if he doesn’t trust these ships—or the men and women running them—he’s welcome to transport back to your family’s yacht.”

  “Oh, he’d like that very much,” Garsina said bitterly. “With me being pulled by the wrist!”

  “So would I,” Wyo muttered, and then realized the almost dead silence of the observation module made even under-the-breath speech sound very loud in his ears.

  Garsina stood up stiffly, almost hoppi
ng out of her seat in the half-gee thrust.

  “You think we’re pests?”

  “I didn’t say—” Wyo blurted, but then realized it was too late.

  “Typical businessman’s son,” Garsina said, almost spitting the words. “You happily take First Family money when it suits your corporate interests, but then you bad-mouth us behind our backs, and fight us tooth and nail in the Constellar Council! Is it any wonder that the Council is practically gridlocked every session? My brothers have spent years dueling rhetorically with commercial representatives forever trying to counterbalance the First Families, when it comes to legislation. Forgetting that none of you would be able to make a single coin without our support and oversight!”

  Suddenly, Wyo saw red. He’d spent the past six months trying to navigate Oswight regional regulations, in regards to fee schedules, and what types and kinds of cargo were considered restricted at Oswight spaceports. Every system had its annoying local rules, true enough, but Oswight’s were unusually costly, and sometimes even contradictory. He’d practically had to bribe several Oswight officials—without coming right out and calling it a bribe. And all for the sake of First Family insistence that they each maintain a microgovernment within their respective territories. At the expense of men—like Antagean—who simply had a job needing to be done.

  “Oversight?” Wyo almost barked the word. “That’s what you call it? As if the war isn’t bad enough, you all chisel and chip away at the hard work done by honest people who aren’t good enough for you, simply on account of being born common. If ever there was a time when Starstate Constellar did need the First Families, I think that time has long since passed. And every businessman and businesswoman in the Starstate will say the same thing—provided they’re not keeping their mouths shut to avoid being slapped with phantom penalties and punitive taxation on account of having offended one of you!”

  Part of Wyo’s brain knew he was committing a serious error. If his father were present, doubtless Wyograd would be trying desperately to shut his son up, while apologizing to the Lady Oswight in the same breath. But Wyo didn’t have his father’s patience where politics was concerned. And after being yanked away from work, and plunged into the present predicament against his will, Wyo’s nerves weren’t up to the task of placating the Lady and her opinions of businessmen.