by Mark Henwick
Chapter 59
Newyan space
Captain Lim, commander of the Newyan Defense Ship Santoña, forces his hand to relax and surreptitiously wipes it on his leg.
What’s wrong with me?
He’s sitting in the chair that he always wanted when he joined the Newyan Navy: Captain of the Santoña. One of the two destroyers in the Newyan ‘fleet’ and the ultimate off-planet post for a Newyan naval commander.
This morning’s news is good, on the face of it: Captain Tiziana and her XO are back aboard the Biháriz. The government has decided to leave the navy to do naval things, apparently, instead of declaring her a traitor for driving off a pirate. A pirate in the Newyan system. It sends his pulse soaring with rage, but there’s more to worry about than that.
He and Tiziana have established a code in their communications. Nothing formal, but he knows from her latest bland message telling him she’s back on ship, she’s been deeply unsettled by being arrested by the Security goons. A feeling that has not receded now she’s been released.
What to do? Mutiny?
He’s been feeling increasingly worried. Thinking hard about it, he realizes with surprise that he’s been worrying for the last couple of years at least.
It’s the old story of boiling a frog slowly so he doesn’t notice.
Things are very wrong on Newyan, despite all the announcements from the media—not that he pays much attention to what the media says now. It’s become a complete propaganda machine for the government. It’s been trying to claim there was no real problem with food supplies over the last year. And here he is waiting for the Xian relief convoy, without which the urban populations of the planet will starve.
Also, here he is, with orders to escort the ships to orbit at the space elevator terminal, knowing they’ve said they intend to go directly to the cities and use their own shuttles to unload.
Does the Admiral expect him to fire on an unarmed relief convoy if they won’t do as he says?
What’s happening in Iruña, that things have come to this?
He wipes his hand on his leg again and looks up at the main visual monitors. They’re focused on the approximate volume of space where the convoy should emerge in a day or two, and the monitors have a good motion detection and zoom algorithm. The view suddenly leaps forwards and Captain Lim is staring, uncomprehending, into the heart of a firework a thousand kilometers wide.
“Helm, reverse! Maximum!” he yells.
The helmsman sends them backwards at maximum power.
What the nova?
Ships entering Chang space have velocities that are preserved on exit, but the entry system and exit system may also have velocities relative to each other. Most ships enter a system at a low speed and pointing at the approximate location of the planet they intend to approach. It’s required by the laws of some systems and good manners elsewhere.
All of that is ignored by these arrivals. Three spaceships have just entered the Newyan system at extremely high velocities, pointing in three different directions, from a relatively tiny volume of space.
Captain Lim has never heard of that being attempted before. The navigation and synchronization requirements to achieve it without collision or cross-effect are unbelievable.
And as a final effect on the top of this incredible maneuver, sufficiently high velocity entry from Chang space is characterized by violent plasma discharges. It really does look like a firework exploding.
“Shields!” he calls out.
“Shields, aye.” His weapons team had them powered and ready before his command.
“Sound battle stations.”
“Battle stations, aye.”
He feels the ship preparing around him like a charge of electricity building. The Santoña may be no more than an outdated destroyer in a two-ship navy out in the Margin, but she’s his ship and no one is going to say she’s not fit for purpose.
Pride in his ship floods back to replace the shock he’d felt at that ridiculous entry display.
His seat has reconfigured for military maneuvers, as has every station on the bridge.
“Paint those ships for me,” he says. “Full active scan, five seconds. Deploy ELINT platforms.”
“Full active scan, aye.”
“ELINT platforms deployed, aye.”
The ship’s weapon systems come fully on line. Two additional high-power scanning platforms get ejected to either side and move off to get clear of any interference from the ship.
The tactical awareness hologram shimmers into existence in front of Lim. It has the three ships tagged with simple ‘unknown’ labels. The size adjusts to keep the Santoña neatly in the middle of the display and the unknown ships at the edges.
On the monitors, the firework display of plasma from the arrival dies and the paths of the three ships turn and curve back in, as if they were each outlining the shape of a petal, hundreds of thousands of kilometers across.
His XO touches his pad, squinting at the figures on it. “Serious maneuvering, sir. Definitely military grade engines and compensators.”
The holographic projection blurs.
“What...”
The three unknown ship icons start to blink amber.
Lost trace? While on full active scan?
“Scanners!”
There’s a moment’s hesitation. “No malfunction. We’re being jammed, sir.”
Then, “Oh, nova!” The lieutenant stabs at his control pad and the edge of the holographic projection lights up with a red tinge. “We’re being targeted, sir!”
Warning screeches comes from the Weapons Station. Missile and targeting scanners are locked on the Santoña.
“Evasion 10-21.” He blurts out the first defensive procedure that comes to mind.
“10-21, aye.” The helmsman activates the pre-programmed maneuvers, hurling them around so hard he can feel the structure groan as the acceleration compensators max out.
“Deploy decoys.”
“Decoys, aye,” comes from the Weapons Station. Two small platforms eject and begin to mimic the electronic signature of the ship, while racing away from it.
As quickly as they started, the warnings cease.
“No missiles detected, sir. No longer being targeted.”
The holographic projection’s color shifts to the normal blue. They are not under attack.
Now, in the projector, the three ships are named: Shohwa, Máquè and Húlí. The Shohwa has come to stand between the Santoña and the point of entry.
The other two are stationary on either side of the Chang space exit point, like guards.
How did they get there so quickly? Decelerate so hard?
“Ships emerging, sir.”
Neatly bracketed between the Máquè and the Húlí, freighters emerge from Chang space in a stately, glittering line, without any of the drama of the first three.
“Máquè and Húlí are Xian Harrier-Class corvettes of the Hegemony navy,” his XO says, reading from the analysis on his pad.
That is tolerably good news. Old she may be, but the Santoña mounts a battery of ten 0.6 cannon each side as well as five 0.2 in the bow and stern. She’s more than a match for a couple of lightweight corvettes who probably don’t even have ten cannon in total, and all those lighter than his bow guns. However, he leaves the shields up.
“And that’s the freighter Shohwa?” he asks, disbelieving it. No merchant ship maneuvers like that.
“The IFF says so, sir.”
He can tell his XO doesn’t believe it either. “I could paint it again...”
Lim holds his hand up to stop him. He has the feeling that blasting the Shohwa with active scanners again would be like poking the Xian with a stick.
“Visuals of the Shohwa to main monitor,” he says instead. “Along with images from the library.”
The library images are what he expects from a modern Xian merchanter. A two-kilometer spine with main reaction engines at the back, crew space at the front, and with the spin
e surrounded by five modular cargo pods, each stretching the length of that spine. Chang space generators and compensator assemblies ring the front and back. The ship looks over-powered in the engines, and very sleek, but otherwise not especially remarkable.
The image from today, in contrast, raises the hair on his arms.
Two of the cargo modules are gone. The acceleration compensator rings have been replaced with something far more bulky and powerful. And those cargo modules... something about the way there are shapes implied, dotted along their length…
“Can you do something about the resolution?” he says.
“Resolution, aye.”
There’s a long pause. The image zooms in, but does not resolve into more detail. Then: “There’s broad spectrum interference, sir. No greater resolution possible.”
“Incoming comms, sir. Direct beam. From the Shohwa.”
“Main screen.”
Nothing. The screen dissolves into static.
“Comms error, sir.”
“Fix it!”
Anger makes him snap at the comms operator. His ship is being made to look its age.
He needs to talk to the captain of the Shohwa, urgently, so no misunderstandings arise. If he’s right, the Shohwa is a Xian naval ship disguised as a merchanter. Probably one of their anti-piracy fleet.
And that nova-blasted customs cutter Duhalde fired on it!
“Where’s that comms?”
“Can’t seem to resolve it, sir.”
“Reset your comms processor. Bring it up again from scratch. Hurry.”
“Sir...” the XO is there to warn him when he steps past standard operating procedures. Recycling the comms equipment in an unknown and potentially hostile situation is one of those procedures.
But it’s a relief convoy.
He nods to acknowledge the XO and waves at the comms officer to go on.
Of course, he’s just called it a relief convoy because that’s what he’s expecting. What if it’s an invasion?
The thought is preposterous. Even if it is, he’ll just have to deal with it. A pair of corvettes and an armed merchanter? A thin smile comes to his face. Can do.
One minute later the screen clears.
A man in the deep blue of Xian’s Space Defense Force looks out at him.
“Captain Lim, I believe.” It’s not a question, and the man continues, his attitude neither particularly friendly nor overtly antagonistic. “I am Major Daniel Tiernan of the Hegemony Marine Corps, tasked with escorting the relief convoy to their destinations and ensuring delivery of supplies to cities on Newyan.”
The holographic shows the last of the convoy emerging in perfect timing, and the two corvettes taking up flanking positions. All the ships begin to pick up the pace.
“Major Tiernan.” Lim clears his throat. “We seemed to have doubled up; the Santoña has also been dispatched to escort the convoy, to lead them to orbit by the space elevator, from where the supplies will be distributed. We’re holding the elevator at top priority for this, naturally.”
“Under the circumstances, and given recent events in this system, the Hegemony has erred on the side of caution with regard to protection,” the major says, his face emotionless. “Hence our arrival. My apologies if that startled you. Regardless of that, your space elevator can stand down. The relief effort is equipped to deliver to all provincial capitals and oversee the distribution. My orders are to facilitate that, and I intend to follow those orders. Tiernan out.”
Major Tiernan, Danny to his close associates, has some very good friends called Talan and Zara he wants to re-connect with on Newyan, and has no intention of allowing the Newyan navy to delay that reunion.
Not to mention that the Duke might react... excessively to any delay.
The Shohwa moves away swiftly, taking a place behind the convoy.
The shocked silence on the bridge of the Santoña is profound.
“Signals, prepare a tight beam communication link for one of the planetary orbital relays,” Lim says, trying to radiate calm.
His XO leans around the padded protection of his seat, muttering quietly for him only.
“Sir, if you took a ship like the Shohwa and stuffed those cargo modules full of cannon, missiles and shields, you could theoretically end up with the equivalent of a cruiser.”
Captain Lim grunts. He’s reached the same conclusion.
Reliable facts about space battles are thin. A single destroyer, on paper, wouldn’t want to take on a cruiser, not even one that’s really a disguised merchanter, especially when you add a couple of corvettes into the wrong side of the equation. On the other hand, two destroyers, like Santoña and Biháriz together, would have more weight of broadside than a cruiser and two corvettes. Just. Cruisers have much more power to spare—they can recycle their cannon charges quicker, fire more bolts. They have deeper shielding. Against that, destroyers are quicker, harder to hit.
Tough call.
He has no experience of real space battles, but he and Tiziana have trained together with scenarios including attacking something bigger than their destroyers.
He has no idea what the experience of the Xian ships might amount to.
The huge unknown is the Terran cruiser Annan, sitting in orbit around Newyan. Whose side would Captain Ndungane take, if it came down to it?
“Helm, minimum duration path to retrieve ELINT and decoy platforms.”
The helmsman responds.
“Going to have to hurry,” mutters the XO. “Look at them move.”
On their holo-projection, the whole convoy is accelerating toward Newyan far faster than freighters should be able to.
Lim’s face is grim. “You have the bridge. Expedite things. I’ll be in my cabin, on the tight beam, talking to Defense and then Captain Tiziana.”
Chapter 60
Zara
Navigating the network of tunnels beneath Iruña starts deceptively easily.
The rivers run through immense caverns in the rock. We take the right-hand one, the Neve. A walkway has been cut in the side of the cavern, well above the waters. It’s dark, cold, noisy, slippery, and the edge has no guardrail, but it’s a lot safer than being hunted by mercenaries out in the open.
How long before someone looks at the map and realizes what we’re trying to do?
Hwa’s instructions are detailed, but we quickly realize that it’s impossible to measure distance accurately. There are accurate positioning systems on pads, but they require communication with a satellite. Even if we could get a signal under all this rock, it would probably be a bad idea to have our pads communicating with the government’s positioning system.
We had a good length of rope when we left Berriaren, but between making stretchers for Kat, and then lashing together a raft, it’s been considerably reduced. We tie the remaining bits together and end up with a thirty meter measuring tape. That lasts for about a kilometer, until the walkway becomes so narrow and slippery Talan decides the rope is better suited to tying us together.
An hour later, we estimate we’re in the location where Hwa’s instructions say we need to start moving up.
I make Kat sit and rest with Talan. Ruslan takes one flashlight and walks back slowly; I go forward. We’re both looking up at the overhang above the walkway. Somewhere in this section, there’s an entrance to the next level recessed into the overhang. It’s described as being a round bulkhead door with a wheel lock. Black metal. Easy to miss with your eyes on the floor.
We come back, shaking our heads.
“Too far, or not far enough?” I ask Talan.
She grimaces. “Not far enough, probably.”
We move on, more slowly, checking the overhang as we go. Another fifteen minutes passes before Ruslan grunts and points up.
We’ve found the door. A tubular shaft has been drilled through the rock and the door is set in it, about halfway. Too high to reach the wheel lock, even for Ruslan.
“Think this is the right one?” I murmur to Talan
.
The pause before she answers tells me as much as I need to know. We’re really not sure, but going all the way back doesn’t seem right either.
We give the flashlights to Kat to hold while Talan and I lift Ruslan on our shoulders. He’s stronger than us, should the wheel lock be tight with disuse.
He’s also a lot heavier than us.
“Good choice,” Talan complains through gritted teeth as we twist and wobble in the darkness, very aware of the drop down to the water just behind us. She has to crouch to keep level with me, which makes it more difficult for her.
After a lot of grunting and gasping, the wheel finally turns and Ruslan opens the door. There’s a sliding ladder above it that he pulls down. We climb. The shaft has a lip raised above the level of the floor which has prevented any dirt gathering on the bulkhead door. We step out from the shaft and Talan pulls up the ladder and closes the bulkhead behind us.
We’re now in the lowest level of a multi-layered network of sewer system tunnels heading for distant treatment plants. Thankfully, the sewage is in closed pipes running along the tunnels. Despite that, it still smells, so we start walking quickly. At least there’s no ten meter drop down to a freezing river to worry about.
There is the problem of where we are exactly.
Hwa’s instructions say we should reach a ‘junction chamber’ in two hundred meters, and it’s much easier to estimate meters on the flat surface of this walkway than it was above the Neve.
Two hundred meters comes and goes.
At about two hundred and fifty meters, there’s a room which could be described as a chamber. Several passages with pipes enter the chamber. The pipes join up, two by two, until there is only one large-diameter pipe. That could be the junction.
The pipe joins leak and it stinks in here. Grey electrical wire extends from a pipe in the ceiling and runs to the middle of the room, where it’s been left to hang waiting for a light installation that never happened. It looks sad.