by Allen Stroud
“About fifteen metres leeward of where we’d hoped,” Keiyho says.
“That’s acceptable. Adjust targeting to compensate but do it slowly. I don’t want them working us out.”
“Aye, aye.”
The Gallowglass is in range. We can attack. But, if we do, they’ll return fire. We must be absolutely sure we can hit them hard enough so there will be no retaliation.
“What’s their velocity of approach?”
“They’re decelerating. Four hundred metres per second and slowing.”
“Shann to Arkov, are you ready down there?”
“All prepped, Captain.”
“Good.”
On the high seas, warships were at their most effective if they could bring all their cannon to bear. These were situated belowdecks on the port and starboard sides. A man-of-war would have to turn to attack, raking her enemy as she came alongside. Of course, this made her vulnerable to the same broadside. The only way to win was to create an advantage. For a time, that lay in the training of gun crews, with one ship faster at reloading than another. After that, came ingenuity and innovation. Ironclads, rifling, breech loading, manufactured ammunition and others. The range of combat increased. Invention outstripped construction, resulting in mismatched battles between obsolete ships and modern killers.
And now, here we are, the obsolete ship, waiting for the enemy. The only way we can win is to ensure the fight is on our terms.
Up close and personal.
Le Garre is hunched forward over her controls. The minute we need to move, we’ll be relying on her. Like me, she’ll be matched against her opposite number. Reaction time, manual dexterity, perception, anticipation, all of these will be factors in their intimate duel.
I’m the same, competing for survival against an unknown enemy. Both of these duels are related to a whole host of other factors, meaning any victory might not be decisive. The technology available to us compared to that exhibited by our enemy weighs the engagement in their favour.
I can see Le Garre’s hands trembling. She’s been operating on minimal sleep, like the rest of us. We’re all trained to deal with fatigue and exhaustion, but it’ll still affect her responses. She’ll make mistakes; we all will. So will the people out there, trying to murder us.
I think about Johansson. Her fine mind for detail would make her an asset up here, but she’s the only person we have with decent medical experience. We need her downstairs. Besides, right now, we need to be a machine. Her EVA actions tell me she’s a little too ready to use her initiative. I need people who won’t exceed their responsibilities. Travers can manage her post and he won’t go off plan. Keiyho won’t do that either. Chiu definitely won’t do that. I can tell by the shame she can’t keep from her face.
“Gallowglass is two hundred klicks out,” Keiyho says. “Still slowing on approach. I’m getting signs of weapon discharge. They’re clearing a path to us.”
“Good.” I shift around in my chair. Our plan requires a careful series of actions performed in sequence to give us the best possible chance. There are two objectives. The first, to survive this encounter; the second, to survive a return trip to Phobos. We can’t do either without some on-the-fly innovation of our own. We’ll need to adapt to whatever happens as well. No plan ever works perfectly.
“Shann to Duggins, are we ready?”
The exhausted Texan’s face appears on my screen. “As ready as we’ll ever be, Captain,” he says.
In the totality of assessment, there is only loss and pain to come. War is always about cost. Resources will be destroyed; people will be wounded, maimed and killed. However, if we do not fight, we will die. I can’t accept there is any other possible outcome. The compromises of surrender, perception and responsibility are behind us.
This is where we are; this is our path.
The Khidr shudders. I look at Keiyho, who shrugs. Could have been a small collision with some of our debris. “Start a visual scan of the hull,” I order.
“The Gallowglass is still out of range. It’s likely to be nothing, Captain,” Keiyho replies.
“I know, but we can’t afford to take that chance.”
Keiyho initiates the sweep. I begin checking the exterior cameras as well. The process keeps me occupied and calms me. We don’t have full coverage anymore, but we have to check as much as possible.
Our plan is not without precedent. Superior enemies have been lured into traps throughout history. Moments like this, before the fighting begins, are difficult to bear.
“Range, one hundred and twenty kilometres,” Chiu says. “Gallowglass is still braking. Speed now one hundred metres per second.”
“At that speed, it’ll be twenty minutes to point-blank range,” Le Garre says.
“They’ll slow down further. Otherwise they’ll overshoot,” Travers replies.
“If we’re unfortunate, that might be their plan,” Keiyho says.
I’m watching the windows on my screen. The Khidr has rotated away from the Gallowglass’s path, but I have the tactical plot in front of me. The velocity and distance numbers are reducing fast. Our system is also tracking the drifting objects between us. One after another disappears as the Gallowglass’s point defence systems destroy each potential collision hazard.
With each moment that they don’t open fire on us, our chances improve.
“Update on our assets in the field.”
Three tags appear on my screen. “All dormant and intact, Captain,” Keiyho says. “They’ve not passed any of them yet.”
“Any reaction or targeting?”
“Not that I can see.”
I’m staring at the tactical ID of the Gallowglass, trying to imagine what their captain might be thinking and deciding. What would I do in their place, faced with an enemy ship that appears to be dormant? “Are they trying to make contact?” I ask.
“They are,” Travers replies. “There’s a constant loop auto-broadcast. I expect they’ll go to actual if they get a reply.”
“Let’s hear it,” I order.
Travers nods and after a moment, a synthesised male voice echoes through the bridge comms. “Fleet patrol, this is Gallowglass. We acknowledge your transmission. Stand by for further instructions.… Fleet patrol—” Abruptly, the sentence cuts out.
“That’s on repeat,” Travers says. “I didn’t think you needed to hear a second round of the same.”
“Doesn’t give anything away,” Le Garre remarks.
“Gallowglass is about to pass the first asset,” Keiyho says. “Your orders, Captain?”
“Maintain position,” I tell him. “We need their full attention on us before we make a move.”
“It’ll delay the response time.”
“We’ll manage that,” I reply.
“Range is ninety kilometres,” Le Garre says.
“Speculation on their planned defence?” I ask.
Keiyho spins around in his chair, so do Le Garre and Travers. “They’ll have their electronic interference net deployed,” Keiyho says. “If they see anything that might be hostile, they’ll activate lasers first and try to cut us apart.”
“Primary target?”
“Here, the bridge. If they can destroy or isolate our controls, the rest of the ship is defenceless.”
“Other usual targets will be power and propulsion,” Travers says.
“They think we’re out of fuel,” Le Garre points out, “and they won’t want to damage the cargo by blowing up a nuclear power unit.”
“Last resort then,” Travers says.
“If they’re sending a boarding party, how many can we expect?” I ask.
“Two, maybe three. We can handle them.”
“And without that number of crew, they might be weaker.” I turn to my console, activating the comms. “Shann, to Arkov. Time to depressurise t
he airlock.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Arkov replies.
I turn off the comms channel. “We need to wait until they’re aboard; then we attack.”
“Analysing their tactics so far, there’s no reason to believe they’ll hesitate to murder their own people,” Keiyho says. “Whatever they want from this ship is what’s keeping us alive.”
I nod. “It’s a matter of percentages, but there’s the added incentive that reducing their crew will reduce their effectiveness.”
Le Garre shakes her head. “They must be anticipating a hostile situation and planning for it. They know they have minimal crew. Would you divide your people?”
I frown. “You might be right.”
“On the Hercules, they didn’t need a boarding party,” Le Garre says. “The infiltrators were already in the storage container. They’re anticipating that they’ll have the same advantage here.”
“When things went bad on the freighter, they blew up the bridge,” Travers adds.
“That was the reason I mentioned it,” Keiyho says. “If they’d had a contingency, we’d have seen evidence of them using it when we were there.”
“Seventy kilometres to contact,” Chiu announces. “I’m detecting a launch of some kind. Could be another guided missile.”
Immediately, the rest of the bridge crew turn back to their screens. “The projectile is not accelerating,” Travers says. “It’s moved away from the Gallowglass. Seems to be smaller than the projectiles we encountered before.”
“Impact of an explosive charge at one hundred metres per second will still tear the Khidr to pieces,” Le Garre says. “If we don’t deploy countermeasures, that object could be enough to end us.”
“They wouldn’t make all this effort and just destroy us,” I reply. “Tag the projectile and monitor it for signs of deceleration.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Get a profile scan as soon as possible. Might be we can work out what it is by the shape.”
“Will do.”
I’m watching the tactical display on my station screen. The new object appears beside the Gallowglass. The rates of deceleration are comparable, but the new tag is gradually inching ahead.
“Range is fifty-five klicks,” Travers says. “Passing the second asset, now.”
The ship has rotated a full turn, and the main exterior view is pointed in the right direction again. I lean forward in my chair. There’s a bright circular object, a bit bigger and brighter than the visible stars. “There she is,” I mutter.
The Gallowglass gets closer and drifts across the screen as we turn away again. Everything is so quiet. The peaceful serenity of space belies what is about to happen. The ripping and tearing of metal, flesh and plastic, the rupture and venting of gases. All of these things deserve noise. We’ll hear them, and as long as we can hear, we’ll be surviving. The minute it all goes silent is the minute we die.
“Time to intercept?”
“Eleven minutes. Projectile will reach us in nine.”
I shift in my chair and touch my screen, moving one of the external cameras so it picks up the Gallowglass. The smaller object isn’t visible yet. I know Travers wants me to give the order to launch a missile, but I can’t. The minute we do, the game is up. I have to bluff this out. “Chiu, drop our power output down as far as you can without compromising us. Suspend life support if you have to. Let’s not make it easy for them to identify targets.”
Chiu grimaces but nods. A moment later, the atmospheric and thermal cycling alarm appears. She’s drawing the air out of the pressurised compartments, back into the central reservoir.
I activate the ship-wide comms. “Go to suit oxygen, everybody,” I order and clip my emergency supply to the port on the side of my chair. I flip the visor of my helmet down, and the internal audio speakers activate automatically. There’s a faint hissing sound as the suit system starts working to balance the atmosphere around my mouth and nose. The compartments of the Khidr will remain pressurised, but plugging in means people survive if the room they are in is suddenly breached. I think back to what Johansson said about manipulating environmental controls. If anyone wanted to wipe out my crew right now, this would be the way to do it. Inject a little nitrous oxide into the supply tank. With us all on pipes, everyone would be unconscious before the alarms—
“Gallowglass is decelerating further,” Travers says. “Three minutes to point-blank range.”
“What about the projectile?”
“It’s also decelerating and manoeuvering. Course plot suggests its aiming for our airlock. Looks like you were right, Captain.”
I wince. There’s no time for points scoring. “Prepare for arrivals.”
“Aye, aye.”
“We’re also being hailed.”
Showtime. “Inform Specialist Sellis it’s time for him to go to work.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Sellis
I’m strapped into an acceleration chair in corridor four with a portable screen in my hands, waiting.
And waiting.
It’s dark. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing into the emergency mask. If I look up and to the left, I’ll see the guy, Shah, from the Hercules. They’ve assigned him to watch over me and given him a weapon, just in case.
Oh, how the fucking mighty fall… They trust me even less than some hypoxic stranger found in a tin can. Still, I’m doing better than Doctor ‘Sociopath’, who they’ve sedated and prepped for cold sleep.
The fate of the ship and everyone on board is in my hands. When the Gallowglass opens a comms link to talk to us, I’m supposed to convince them I’m in charge of the ship.
I have no idea what I’m going to say.
I can guess what Bogdanovic would do if he were in this position. This would be his chance to alert Rocher’s friends on what to expect. He’d start all sugar pie and then try to blurt out some information to give the Gallowglass a strategic advantage. Not that they need one; we’re screwed anyway.
I have to think about that and consider it carefully. This moment is about making the right choice for me, not anyone else. That means evaluating my survival chances and working out who I care about. In the past, it was all about me too – another fix, rolling the dice again, for the next roll and the next. But this… It’s the same but different. I can’t explain why.
I’m thinking about what Captain Shann said to me – you need to lie to these people. She might be right. Lying is the only way I have any power and can keep something back. I’m used to lying, but it doesn’t make it easy. Good liars commit to their argument and don’t try to fill in too many details. It’s strange that this time I’ll be lying to help people, not just wriggle out of my own issues. If I go with Rocher’s people, it’ll only be a strategy to stay alive longer.
Either way, there will be a battle and I reckon this time, only one ship will survive.
I remember when I was first told I was being posted off planet. It was a Friday, right at the end of my duty shift. I’d already booked leave, so I went home that night and started bingeing on science fiction. I watched films, played the immersion sims, everything. That whole weekend was a blast of starships, multicoloured laser beams, strange aliens and galactic adventures. It was like old fireworks in the night sky, a huge epic spectacle. All the colours and flashes distracting you from the mass of death and destruction being advertised as entertainment. Of course, no one really died; it wasn’t real space. Most of what I watched and interacted with had been made on computers or recorded in film studios.
It was fun.
Astrospace training on Orbital Station Two was nothing like any of it. I decided there and then, reality out here sucks. My first combat situation in space, when we escaped from the Gallowglass, might have been colourful and epic on the outside, but when you’re powerless in a pressurised metal can, rest
rained to keep your body from being smashed against the walls, you don’t feel much of the spectacle.
Now we’re going to war for a second time and I guess it’ll be just like the first time, only I’ll be strapped into a chair out here instead of my bed in my—
“Specialist Sellis?” It’s Travers on the screen. “We have the Gallowglass hailing us. Are you ready?”
“I…uh…yeah, sure.”
“It’s audio only, but we’ll be transmitting video. They’ll be able to see you.”
“Understood.”
Travers’s face disappears and the window goes black. The words ‘exterior comms established’ begin flashing in the bottom right corner of my screen.
“This is Gallowglass command,” says a distorted voice. “Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Specialist Jake Sellis,” I reply.
“Do you have an authorisation code, Specialist?”
“Yeah, it’s zero, B, X, H, U, J, seven, six, nine, three, A.”
There’s a moment’s pause before the voice answers. “That code is confirmed, Specialist. Can you report the status of your ship?”
“Ensign Chiu and I are in charge. There’s still some resistance, and we’ve had to lock up a lot of the crew. We’ll need help to secure the ship and deal with the prisoners.”
“Support will arrive shortly,” the voice says. “You will need to allow our transport to dock. When our assets disembark, you must both identify yourselves with your recognition codes.”
“Understood.”
“Thank you for your loyalty, Specialist.”
“I…err…yeah…okay.” Even as I say the last words, the conversation ends, and after a moment or two, Travers’s face reappears. “You get all that, Lieutenant?” I ask.
“We did, yes. Well done.”
“I kept it simple.”
“Probably for the best.” Travers rubs his bandaged forehead, and I suddenly feel guilty for not helping him on the bridge when I had the chance. “If they contact again, we’ll alert you.”
“Sure. I’ll be here.” Where else am I going to go?