Phantom Fleet

by D K Evans

  "Dammit! Don't tell me what I should or should not be doing! You're in 3rd Fleet territory now, my friend, and I am in sole command here!"

  "Sir," Horsk could feel the anger tightening the muscles of his jaw. It seemed as though every other week he was being pulled this way or that by the ego of some pompous official or other.

  "I'm sending you some new mission data," Pharn curtly told him, "If you want to retain your command, Commodore, you will bring your ships to the specified rendezvous point on time."

  "Yes sir," Horsk answered through gritted teeth, "Can I ask what exactly is going on?"

  Pharn responded by simply cocking an eyebrow. As though the question somehow offended him.

  "It just seems that this is quite urgent," Horsk clarified.

  "Well you evidently aren't keeping up with recent events," the admiral contemptuously spat, "The Rebel fleet is in the area and we think that we've narrowed down their next target. So I... the 3rd Fleet are going to bring them to justice. Read the report. And don't be late."

  With that, the screen cut to black.

  Horsk shook his head as he picked his tablet back up and opened the recently arrived data packet. The presentation was sloppy, a lot of unnecessary information jumbling up the mix, but he got the gist of it. The Rebel fleet had been raiding outposts in a fairly linear pattern. In a surprising stroke of initiative, Pharn's forces had done their best to secure or destroy any starship fueling stations in their path, starving them of resources. And one station had been left deliberately intact in the Molis system. Horsk scrolled through the rest of the text. The plan was for an ambush. Fairly basic in execution, but even an idiot couldn't fail to strike a decisive blow to the Rebels if they were all clustered in one place as planned. He tapped a few buttons and sent the rendezvous coordinates over to the helmsman.

  "Sir? Are we breaking off the pursuit?"

  "That's affirmative," Horsk sighed.

  "Is this going to put us in an uncomfortable position, sir?" the comms officer tentatively asked, "What with the Councilor and all..."

  "Perhaps, though we can only do our best," Horsk answered, "What do you think of him, anyway?"

  "Councilor Volurm?"

  "Yes."

  "He's a man with a lot of responsibilities..." the young officer nervously looked around the bridge, "I'm sure he has the best intentions."

  "Yet you seem afraid of disappointing him?"

  "I... he... it's just that failure can sometimes be... it's..." sweat was breaking out on the comms officer's brow.

  "Relax," Horsk told him, putting him out of his misery, "It's over our heads. We can only take orders and carry them out to the best of our ability. If the Councilor has a problem with our new mission, he can take it up with Admiral Pharn."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Now send word to the rest of our ships. We've got a new destination, set a course for the Molis system. And you heard the Admiral – we can't afford to be late."

  -

  "You might not think it's serious, but it's you who got us into this mess in the first place!" Hubbard scowled at Duuven.

  "Ah, quit whining! If I wanted your opinion I'd ask for it."

  "Just what the hell is going on?" Ellery and Ford looked up as the two men barged into her office.

  "This asshole's been poking around in the engine room and thinks that he's found a problem with the ship!" Duuven jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

  "I have found a problem," Hubbard repeated, "And for some reason, this blockhead doesn't think it's a big deal."

  "Well what is it?" Ellery rubbed her brow.

  "The engines have been working overtime. The amount of wear and tear on them has increased massively over normal levels."

  "So?"

  "So, our fuel consumption is way above normal. The drives have just become way too inefficient. Probably because this idiot has had the ship braking and accelerating like he's stolen the damn thing."

  "To be fair, it is stolen," Ford added.

  "Point is that our operational range is massively reduced. If we don't refuel soon, we could end up stranded out here."

  "He's being dramatic!" Duuven insisted.

  "No, I'm being an engineer – a skill that you've apparently forgotten."

  "I dare you to say that again!"

  "Alright!" Ellery barked without bothering to get up, "Obviously we have a serious issue here. Even if we find the fleet, we might not be able to keep up if our fuel runs low. Any suggestions for where to get some gas?"

  "Could try and find a Federation supply ship," Duuven shrugged, "Hold 'em up and take their fuel."

  "A bit messy, though," Ford walked over to the desk and pulled up a map of the area, studying it for a few seconds before breathing a sigh of relief, "There's an autonomous fuel station about a day's jump from our current position. It's not manned, so we shouldn't run into any trouble."

  "Not bad," Ellery agreed as she zoomed the map out, "Plus it's well within our search area for the Rebel fleet, it should be a good place to plan our next move from."

  Duuven's fists clenched as Hubbard gave him a smug look.

  "I'll set a course," he grumbled, "Let's hope this goes smoothly. What's the destination?"

  "A gas giant," Ford replied, "4th planet of the Molis system."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ford and Ellery watched from the rear of the bridge with baited breath as they dropped out of jump space and appeared at the edge of the system. In front of them a distant orange star hung in the void and a string of pinpricks of light were strung out behind it. The planets. Ford watched as the bridge crew studied their instruments intently.

  "It seems to be all clear, sir," one of the technicians said at last, "Just some civilian traffic, but no sign of any military ships.

  "Good," Duuven replied, "Let's try and get in and out before the alarm can be raised."

  The helmsman nodded and kicked the ship into a micro-jump, hurtling them towards the gas giant around which the fueling station orbited. As the minutes ticked by, the tension only increased.

  "Captain, we picked up some unidentified signals whilst we were stationary. Their encryption seems to match with some of our known Rebel frequencies."

  "Can you read any of them?" Ellery butted in.

  "No ma'am," the crewman replied, "We're still locked out of higher-tier comms."

  "Okay," Ellery smiled, "At least we know we're getting closer. In fact if we're passively picking up the fleet's transmissions, then they must be seriously close."

  Ford nodded in agreement. Though for some reason, a knot of trepidation was bunching up in his stomach.

  A familiar dull thump gently rocked the ship and they dropped out of jump space again. This time, the surface of the gas giant was a wall looming in front of them. Of to the ship's port side, the fueling station was hanging in space. Dots of light were moving around it.

  "I thought you said it was unmanned?" Duuven shot an accusatory glance at Ford.

  "It is," he murmured, "The whole thing's fully automated. Those lights you're seeing are just drones. They keep the place running, harvest gas from the planet's atmosphere and bring it up for refinement. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if it's been years since an actual company employee has been out here."

  "So nothing to worry about?"

  "Nah," Ford frowned, "Except for the other customers. But stay out of their way and they'll probably stay out of ours."

  A small number of merchant vessels were buzzing around the station. Some were docked and others were just flying in lazy holding patterns, waiting for their turn to swoop in and pick up their share of reactor fuel. The rebels cautiously flew the carrier in and took up their place in the queue, beginning a slow and laborious orbit.

  A burst of static came through the speakers as one of the station's drones started to communicate with the carrier's central computer, assigning them a placeholder number and giving them an approximate waiting time. The numbers flashed across the view screen a
nd Duuven groaned.

  "Three hours? Are you kidding me?"

  "I hate to say it," Hubbard grinned as he ambled onto the bridge, "But perhaps I can be of some help?"

  Duuven watched irritably as the other engineer moved over to one of the consoles and hooked his data pad up to it. Another burst of static blared across the bridge as the station and the ship re-interfaced. After a few seconds' hesitation, the drone let out a contented warble and directed them to a vacant docking point amidst the tangled pipework of the station. Hubbard straightened up with a proud look on his face.

  "Tricks of the trade," he smiled as he waved the data pad in front of him.

  "Get us docked and hooked up as soon as possible," Duuven grimaced, "Let's not waste time here."

  Their ship fell out of its place in the line and smoothly nestled itself on one of the refueling points, a swarm of automated hoses and clamps reaching up to meet it. As the ship locked into place, an insect-like drone flew up to the bridge to greet them with a recorded message.

  "Thankyou for choosing to shop with Grolton Starship Logistics," a woman's voice cheerfully said, "We hope you enjoy your stay."

  -

  Horsk looked down at his data pad and frowned. Their reconnaissance ship was sending back evidence of a lot of strange signals activity. But it was indistinct. Hard to identify. But it grew clearer with every passing minute. He could feel the familiar chill of anticipation tingling down his spine. Horsk waved his first officer over.

  "What do you make of this?" he shoved the pad under his nose.

  "Seems like enemy activity to me," the younger officer said, "But they're not in direct line of sight yet – the planet must be blocking their signals somewhat."

  "My thoughts exactly," Horsk said darkly as he turned to inspect the tactical map.

  His small flotilla had been sent to rear of the Federation fleet. Rear Admiral Pharn had arranged all of his ships in the upper atmosphere of the gas giant. Just low enough to be almost invisible to anyone who was specifically looking for them. And Horsk had to give the man credit – he'd predicted the Rebels' rough movements almost perfectly. The only problem was that they could see as little of the enemy as the enemy could see of them. For some reason Pharn had insisted on only having one tiny reconnaissance ship sent out – and it was focused exclusively on the fueling station, waiting for the Rebel capital ships to start docking. Horsk had tried to suggest a different plan, but as expected, he'd been overruled.

  "All ships standby," Pharn's voice filled the bridge, filled with static from the interference of the atmosphere, "We might have something. The Rebels could be docking as we speak."

  "With respect, sir, the signals we're picking up aren't strong enough to confirm the fleet's presence yet. From what my technicians are saying, the main body of their fleet is just a few minutes from crossing the horizon," Horsk keyed his intercom, "If we wait a while, we could see how the situation develops and..."

  "Enough of your helpful ideas, Commodore," Pharn snarled in reply, "Keep your mouth shut until the battle is over. All ships prepare to attack, I'm sending the latest footage of the station to you now – the Rebels have walked right into our little trap!"

  Horsk kept one eye on the monitor showing the rapidly strengthening signals and opened the new message that Pharn had just sent out. As some grainy footage from the reconnaissance craft flashed up on the tactical display, Horsk's heart dropped. A Rebel ship was docking at the station all right – it just happened to be the one he had been chasing just a few days before. Which meant the main body of the enemy forces were yet to arrive. He had to warn Pharn.

  "Sir! The enemy craft is not part of the main fleet!" there was no response, "Sir you're springing the trap too early!"

  No reply came back to him.

  "What the hell's going on?"

  "He appears to have locked you out of the command frequencies, sir," the comms officer informed him.

  "Can you get a message through any other way?"

  "It's not likely sir – the auxiliary channels are pretty jammed up with chatter at the moment."

  "Fuck!" Horsk slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair.

  "All ships, commence attack!" Pharn's voice rang out again, "Every vessel at that station is to be destroyed! Leave no Rebels alive!"

  Horsk felt the Labrys' engines quiver into life below him and jumped up from his seat, striding over to the helmsman.

  "Slow down," he instructed him.

  "Sir?"

  "I said slow down," he repeated as he turned to call across the bridge, "Tell the other ships in our flotilla to proceed at half-speed. Keep well behind the rest of the fleet."

  "Sir, that could be taken as disobeying a direct order from an Admiral..." one of the officers nervously ventured.

  "Correct," Horsk answered, "I am disobeying him. He's committing our forces too early to go after a single ship. And when the actual Rebel fleet comes around the planet, our vessels will be caught by surprise in open space. I for one, do not intend to get killed by our dear Admiral's stupidity."

  He turned to the view screen as they emerged from the clouds and tore into open space, the rest of the Federation force streaking past them.

  "Prepare for battle," he ordered.

  -

  Ford gazed out of the window. In a weird way, it was actually quite interesting watching the station at work, with the automated systems helping the assembled freighters and tanker ships gorge themselves on fuel and the drones whizzing to and fro. He was so engrossed that he almost forgot to flinch when one of the merchantmen orbiting above them took a missile near its engine compartment and exploded into a shower of debris. He jumped up and a few seconds later, a protective blast shutter came down over the window. A second missile struck – this time close enough to feel. He set of at a run down the corridor as alarms started blaring.

  Ford burst onto the bridge in time to see another missile hit the station just in front of them, igniting a gas storage tank in a sudden flash of light.

  "Decouple us from the station!" Duuven was yelling, "Get us loose, dammit!"

  "What the hell's going on?" Ford yelled.

  "It's a fucking ambush is what's going on, genius!" Duuven jabbed a finger towards the map screen, where a swarm of angry red dots were surging up from the surface of the gas giant below.

  "Everything under control?" Ellery asked as she swept onto the bridge.

  "It will be as soon as I get us out of here."

  "We can't leave," Ford told him, "It'd be suicide."

  "Are you crazy? We can't stay here, we're sitting ducks! We've gotta make a break for it!"

  "We'll be more vulnerable in open space," Ford told him, whilst as if to illustrate his point, a bulk freighter orbiting above them took a barrage of missiles to the flank.

  "So where do we go then?" Duuven threw up his arms.

  "Simple," Ellery cut in with grim determination, "We go forwards."

  The two men followed her gaze out of the view screen. In front of the ships lay the heart of the station – a tangled mess of machine rooms and pipework that was open to space. Some of the gaps were perhaps just big enough to hide a ship.

  "No," Duuven shook his head emphatically, "You are not crashing my ship."

  "Either we get ourselves some decent cover or we're going to get blasted into space," Ellery responded.

  "I'll take my chances," he replied as another missile slammed into the ship on the next berth, "Take us up and get us out of here."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," Ellery nodded and lunged for the helmsman's controls.

  -

  Cheng had made his way to the auxiliary command center when the shooting started. He hadn't felt too comfortable with missiles flying around, but now he was watching the screens in horror as the ship lurched forward and tore itself free from its moorings. It slammed through the pipes in front of it and sent rapidly-crystalizing gas flying off in mad spirals before its engines passed by and ignited the
whole lot. He braced himself against the back of one of the chairs and the carrier smashed through a refinery module and pulverized a group of maintenance drones on the far side.

  "Shit!" he exclaimed as another fireball rushed towards them, enveloping the hull before they came out the other side and crashed headlong into tangle of steel girders and support beams. The ship came to a standstill with its nose firmly lodged in place. Cheng flinched as another alarm klaxon sounded.

  "All fighters scramble," the announcer said in an incongruously bored tone of voice, "Repeat, all fighters scramble."

  Never one to miss a fight and somewhat eager to be leaving the ship, Cheng ran for the door.

  He burst into the kit room and pulled on his flight suit, checking his wrist-mounted computer and hurriedly calibrating his helmet's heads-up-display. He turned to his leave and was surprised to see Ford also preparing for to go outside.

  "I'm shocked they let you back in a ship," he grinned, "You don't have the best record, after all."

  "I'm not flying," Ford breathed, "The ship's stuck in place – apparently I've got to help get her free."

  "Well good luck with the un-sticking," Cheng clapped him on the back, "I'll keep the Feds off you for as long as I can. Just don't leave without me."

  "No worries. If we're still breathing in ten minutes, I'll be sure to save you a seat."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ford stepped out of the airlock to find that the emergency teams were already at work. The glow of cutting torches could be seen all across the prow of the ship. Behind him, the hull plating vibrated as the fighters lifted off and headed back through the ragged tunnel the carrier had bored through the tangled guts of the station.

  "Over here!" Hubbard waved him over and passed him a large battery pack, "Take this over there – the guys need it for the power saw."