Across Enemy Space

by L. J. Simpson

  “We are in position, sir. The flight deck is secured for launch.” said the Vanquisher’s captain.

  “Very good,” replied the admiral. “Launch the recon birds and once they are on station, deploy the Mimics.”

  Ready and waiting inside the drop gates, a squadron of reconnaissance ships fell free of the carrier and headed off towards Haalikon. As soon as they were away, a drop cage containing a flight of four Mimics disappeared through a hatch in the flight deck to rest in the drop gate below. The deck hatch closed and a corresponding door in the Vanquisher’s outer hull immediately opened up to reveal the stars outside. The cage clamps released in unison and the Mimics were free, the flight quickly forming up and moving abeam of the carrier to await the arrival of the rest of the wing. By the time it was in position, the launch cage had been retrieved and recycled, another flight of four preparing for launch.

  With five other drop cages performing the same evolutions, the four Mimics soon became twenty four, forty eight and then ninety six as the flight deck gradually emptied. At a command from the carrier, the entire wing engaged their thrusters began their descent to Haalikon.

  P4’s Zeus observed the activity around the Vanquisher with a dispassionate eye. Sensors had detected the launch of a squadron of Apex reconnaissance units and tracked their progress as they took up positions around the planet. The Apex was known to possess a capable sensor array but neither P4 nor its neighbors was giving them anything to detect. Impasse was achieved when the Apexes shut down their engines, went into passive mode and promptly disappeared from P4’s scopes.

  Zeus turned its attention to the wing forming up around the carrier. It immediately identified them as attack fighters. The AI updated the threat assessment accordingly and began assigning weapons. The Paladin’s weapons payload included a battery of sixteen Banshee anti ship missiles, a pair of Gauntlet rotary cannons and a single Halo proton beam projector. Zeus opted for Banshee missiles as the enemy crossed the firing threshold, followed by Gauntlet rotary cannons as the range closed. Anything that survived would be met by salvoes of high energy particles fired from the Halo projector.

  As the Mimics descended towards Haalikon, their descent flattened out to place them in high orbit. Still just out of range of P4 and the rest of the defense net, the Mimics began to fan out across the planet, gradually splitting up into two ship elements. One of those elements eventually peeled away from the rest and darted down towards P4’s designated defense area.

  Intelligent as the Zeus AI was, it lacked the higher logic functions necessary for independent reason. It calculated probabilities and acted accordingly, using the laws of mathematics to predict the optimum course of action in any given situation. Had P4’s AI had been able to reason, it might have wondered why the approaching assault craft were coming in dumb. They had already departed from doctrine by dividing their forces. They were yet to transmit on any of the active sensor bands and they did not appear to have activated any of their weapons systems.

  Zeus concluded that the enemy was unaware of the existence of the defense network. Further calculations indicated a ninety three percent probability that the enemy would fail to inflict damage on any of the defending units, and a seventy eight percent probability that the attackers would be destroyed in the process.

  Accordingly, P4 simply counted down the seconds until the two attackers placed themselves inside the battery’s kill zone. As the Mimics crossed the threshold, P4 sprang into action. Its active sensors lit up the approaching targets and a pair of Banshee anti-ship missiles exploded from the launch tubes. For the attackers, there could be no escape; even without guidance from P4’s active sensors, the seeker heads on the Banshee missiles would have a crystal clear mage of the two Combine assault fighters. They would home in on target and the enemy would die.

  Even as the missiles closed, P4 detected an anomaly in the sensor readings. Active and passive readings did not match. Whatever the electronic emissions suggested, the approaching ships were too light and too small to be Combine attack fighters.

  Zeus belatedly concluded that the approaching contacts were decoys and immediately transmitted a warning to its neighbors. By then it was already too late. Forty three of the forty eight orbital batteries had already engaged the enemy. Their identical Zeus AIs had reached the same conclusions and dispatched volleys of Banshee missiles. All ninety six Mimics were blotted out of the night sky within seconds of each other.

  On the bridge of the Vanquisher, the Admiral watched the destruction of his drones with quiet satisfaction. They were expendable assets and in truth, the whole wing cost little more than a single Whiplash attack fighter. Better still, the drones had not died in vain; the squadron of Apex reconnaissance craft now had exact data on the location of virtually all the defending units. He ordered the recon birds back to the carrier and deployed a trio of cruisers to the fore. Each was equipped with a hyper velocity rail gun firing high density kinetic rounds.

  Free to stand off and reduce the orbital batteries one by one, the cruisers casually unleashed salvo after salvo at the hapless orbital platforms. Designed for larger targets, it took time for the gun-layers to zero in on the smaller batteries but the end was just the same. P4 watched one of its neighbors disappear in a fireball as high energy round and orbital battery annihilated each other in a flash of incandescence.

  There was only one more thing that P4 and its Zeus AI could do; it launched all its remaining Banshees at the distant Combine fleet. The enemy was within theoretical range; indeed, once fired, the missiles would continue through the cosmos for all eternity. The limiting factors were the onboard fuel that the Banshees would require for course corrections and the time the enemy would have to launch counter measures. Zeus calculated only a seven percent probability of any of the missiles finding a target. As for the other weapons systems, the Halo proton beams would lose coherence long before they reached the target and the rotary cannon rounds would likely arrive on target several hours too late.

  Fourteen Banshees left in quick succession, streaking out into the void. They were quickly joined by dozens of others as adjacent batteries fired in sequence. Still more would follow as Haalikon turned upon its axis and the Combine fleet entered the weapons envelope of batteries presently beyond the visible horizon.

  P4’s Zeus had one final duty to perform. It opened up a secure subspace channel and fired off a situation report to Alliance Command. No sooner had the message left than a hyper-velocity round hurtled by scant meters away. A second round passed within centimeters. The next round smashed into P4’s hull almost dead center. The high energy round flashed to plasma upon impact, atomizing half the mass of the battery and scattering the shattered remains in all directions.

  The Banshees arrived in the vicinity of the Vanquisher and its retinue some thirty minutes later. During their flight, they had been obliged to make several course changes as the Combine fleet maneuvered around Haalikon. Now low on fuel, they simply chose the most direct path… and flew straight into a wall of flak put up by the Vanquisher’s escort. A single Banshee made it through and homed in on the largest target its sensors could find. It got to within a few hundred meters of the Vanquisher before it was obliterated by the carrier’s point defense systems.

  It was the final action in the battle for Haalikon. No man’s land had just moved two light years closer to the Alliance capital.

  Chapter 3: I, Spy

  Tycho City

  Tobias Franklin looked around uneasily as he waited for his contact to appear. He’d arrived well before the agreed time, which had given him the opportunity of surveying the building before the meet took place. What he expected to find, he wasn’t sure. If any of the Alliance counter-intelligence people were following him – or worse, lying in ambush – they’d hardly be advertising the fact. All Franklin could do was keep his eyes and ears open and look out for anything that might be construed as suspicious. And if he saw anything even slightly out of the ordinary, he was off, order
s or no.

  He presently found himself standing at the end of a long gallery, pictures lining the walls on both sides. A glance at his watch told him that it was almost time and exactly on cue he saw his contact emerge from the double doors at the far end of the room. Smartly dressed and well groomed, the man paced slowly along the gallery, stopping occasionally to admire one of the many works on show. One painting in particular seemed to pique his interest and he made a show of consulting the art gallery catalogue.

  Franklin was uncomfortable meeting his handler in person; the risks to both of them were very real and he wondered what could be important enough for the meeting to be requested at such short notice. But the request had been made and once summoned, Franklin was bound to comply. The venue, a modern art gallery on the outskirts of Tycho City, was chosen not only because Franklin was known to have an interest in contemporary art, but also because it allowed the opportunity to engage in quiet conversation with likewise interested spectators.

  Franklin stood facing a large artwork entitled Rhombi Variations, a collection of interlocking rectangles of various sizes, all separated by bold, black and gold lines. As his eyes examined the various hues, his ears warned him of approaching footsteps. A second later his handler was standing by his side.

  “Ah, a Kostovich, I believe,” said the man, mostly for the benefit of a middle aged gentleman and his partner who had chosen that exact moment to examine the adjacent picture. “A seminal work, apparently, though try as I might, I fail to see the fascination in geometric abstraction. I’m told it represents the height of non objective art, though in this case I believe the composition serves only to enhance the inherent two dimensionality of the canvas. I regret it leaves me cold. Perhaps if the artist had chosen to enlighten us with a philosophical interpretation… but alas, it seems he left us no clues.”

  “They say he was searching for harmony and equilibrium,” said Franklin, “In any case a noble enough pursuit, but I am content to see the painting for what it is.”

  “And that is?”

  “A piece of art – nothing more and nothing less. One which exists simply for its own sake.”

  “Like the universe itself, perhaps. But the attention is in the detail, is it not. And if not pleasing to the eye, why hang it on your wall?”

  The middle aged gentleman appeared to find the last remark amusing and, suppressing a smile, he moved away with his partner in tow.

  “What do you want,” said Franklin, tiring of the conversation.

  “To talk.”

  “I think I guessed that much,” said Franklin, looking warily over his shoulder.

  “You have no cause for alarm. Neither of us was followed here. At least, not by anyone you need be concerned about. Come, the gallery has a coffee shop with a rooftop terrace. That should suit our needs.”

  A few minutes later, they were sitting at a table on the far side of the sparsely populated terrace, well out of earshot of the other customers.

  “Quite a view.”

  Franklin nodded in agreement. He knew almost nothing about the man sitting across the table – other than his name was Jacob, and that he was a Combine spymaster, running agents in and around Tycho City. The first was irrelevant and almost certainly untrue. The second was something that could very well get him killed.

  “It is indeed a beautiful city,” continued Jacob. “It’s good that the war has not reached this far. As yet, of course.”

  “Are you telling me that it’s likely to?”

  “In the near future? I have no idea, though I suspect not. However, your Operation Zealous does seem to have placed both our sides somewhat at a crossroads.”

  “A crossroads? We lost ten percent of our cruiser force in Operation Zealous. Ten percent in just one engagement. Many of us were surprised that you didn’t just keep on coming after that. What was stopping you?”

  “Several reasons, I imagine. The politics of war, for one thing. Why fight your enemy when he may be about to capitulate. It was reasonable to allow your Interior Secretary time to try and sway the senate.”

  “Is he on your payroll, too?”

  “Again,” said Jacob with a shrug, “I really have no idea but I suspect not. Indeed, I would hope as much. As a misguided patriot he is far more valuable than a paid or coerced informer.” He noticed the shadow fall across Franklin’s face. “You shouldn’t take offence at that, by the way.”

  “None taken,” said Franklin, returning the shrug. “And the other reasons?”

  “Operation Zealous was a notable victory for our forces, but I’m informed your servicemen and women fought bravely and died even more bravely, taking an unexpectedly heavy toll on our formations. We were able to save most of our crews, of course, but the battle damage was extensive and will take some considerable time to repair. And so we must look to the future… We understand you have a new commander in chief.”

  “General Torrance,” said Franklin.

  “The obvious choice. Several among of our high command were delighted to hear of Admiral Tarr’s retirement. They regarded him as a formidable opponent and one not easily replaced. Certainly, they didn’t believe Torrance would prove as effective a leader, especially if he had to contend with dissent from within the Alliance War Council. But now we find that the Interior Secretary has been marginalized and that the new C-in-C has begun to implement a new strategy. Two unfortunate developments – one perhaps expected, the other not. It is the change in strategy that concerns us most. It is one that we would prefer to be delayed.”

  “I don’t see how I can help. I’m a commander, not an admiral. As you might imagine, the War Council tends not to share many of its secrets with me,” said Franklin.

  “I can tell you that the Alliance has begun production of large numbers of warp core disrupters – evidently with the aim of hindering passage into Alliance territory. It would be to our advantage if the deployment of the arrays were delayed until our fleet is back to full strength. You are involved in fleet logistics, are you not?”

  “That’s right,” said Franklin cautiously.

  “We require information on production centers, storage depots, transport and deployment schedules and anything else that might be of value, including escorts, that kind of thing.”

  “It’s all going to be classified – you know that. I’d have to stick my neck out a very long way to get any of the stuff you’re asking for. A very long way indeed.”

  “I understand the difficulties…”

  “I’m not sure you do,” said Franklin.

  “But I ask nonetheless,” said Jacob bluntly. “The information is vital to the Combine war effort and I must urge you to obtain whatever data you can.” He stopped short of saying ‘regardless of risk’ even though he’d been instructed to do so. His superiors would see that as disobeying a direct order, but as far as Jacob was concerned it was more a matter of operational discretion; in simple language, an application of good common sense. Franklin was no good to the Combine dead and if there was ever an order tailor made to guarantee his demise, that was it.

  Franklin shook his head. “I’m not involved in production and I can’t help you with the escorts – that’s all way out of my purview. As for the transports, I don’t know. I might be able to get access to the movement orders. I’ll have to see what I can do.”

  “Of course.”

  “But whatever happens, we don’t meet like this again. We use the dead drop – usual signal.”

  “Agreed,” said Jacob, getting up to leave. “But I must impress on you the urgency of the situation, for both our fates are tied up in this. I’d hate for you to outlive your usefulness. Enjoy the view while you still can.”

  Jacob left the terrace and descended to the ground floor, leaving the gallery by the front entrance. As he passed through the lobby, one of his cohorts – a man called Capper – gave him the safe signal, a simple scratch of the chin that told him that no-one appeared to have been monitoring the meeting. Jacob didn’t ex
pect that anyone would, but in a deadly dangerous business you took whatever precautions you could. Capper had been watching Jacob’s back for more years than either of them would care to remember. He knew what to look for, knew how the enemy’s counter intelligence agents operated and he also knew how to look after himself if things happened to go wrong. Franklin had been right when he said that meeting in person was risky, but Jacob wasn’t in complete control of the situation either. His superiors had made their orders abundantly clear. They needed results and they needed them quickly, and that concerned him almost as much as his mission. Why the rush? It made him wonder if the war was going as well as the high command was claiming.

  Though the Alliance probably never suspected – or maybe they did – there was just as much political maneuvering taking place on the other side of the border as there was here on Tycho. As far as Jacob could see, the only advantage in seizing Oneida, Ebron and Haalikon was in making the high command and their political lackeys look good in the morning newspapers. The war effort would have been better served by them gathering whatever forces they could muster, bypassing the Alliance’s abandoned colonies and bringing their fleet to battle as soon as possible. Even allowing for the losses inflicted by the Zealous attack, there would surely have been enough left in the locker to force a victory.

  But instead, the Combine’s leaders were busy handing out medals and patting each other on the back. For certain, none of those damned generals or politicians were plying their trade here in the enemy’s capital, where there was only one accepted punishment for espionage. Didn’t they realize that the people who teased out the much needed intelligence were living, breathing human beings? People like Franklin and himself, people who bled when shot. Up to a point, Jacob could forgive the politicians, who tended to live in their own particular world and had little idea – probably – of how their precious data was collected. What he took umbrage with was the apparent indifference of his controllers sitting in the safely of their offices on Tarsus, deep within Combine space. They should damn well know better. More than one Combine cell had been blown during the past months – one right here in Tycho City. Jacob had only become aware of the cell’s existence by virtue of its capture, an event widely covered by the local media. How the capture had been effected he could only surmise, but if they’d received the same orders to obtain data ‘regardless of risk’ and been either too naïve or too gung-ho to take the orders under advisement, it was hardly surprising that they had been exposed. ‘Regardless of risk’... He almost shook his head in despair. And now the Alliance interrogators would go to work on the captured operatives and – one way or another – extract every last piece of information they had. The only good news was that each cell was self contained, completely independent and functioned within strictly defined areas of operation. Nothing they knew could point the enemy in Jacob’s direction.