Relic Tech

by Terry W. Ervin II

  “Upon establishing our course, we knew we were on a one way trip,” said Pilot Odthe to the assembled Bloodhound III team. “And we don’t know what to expect upon arrival at the quarantined planet. At the very least, the researchers will be unhappy to see us. Being the bearer of bad news won’t necessarily motivate them to provide assistance for our departure. At the worst, the Crax have captured the planet and we are heading straight into...” He looked at Skids. “Well, you fill in the blank.”

  He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Guerrero and McAllister haven’t been able to break the encryption. They estimate sixty to seventy hours outside of condensed space travel before making any headway. If it can be broken.”

  He tapped the tabletop screen. “Damage to the port thrust engine has been repaired, but remains unstable.” He powered off the terminal. “Reinitiating space condensation on our own isn’t a viable option.” He looked toward Skids, who averted his eyes first to me, and then to the floor. “And a priority is the continued safety and security of Colonist Michael Skids Watts.”

  Pilot Odthe took a deep breath, closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips together. “I’ve decided that we will cease condensed space travel as close to the inner orbiting moon as possible. From there we will assess the situation. Give Guerrero and McAllister a chance to complete their task.”

  Odthe took everyone’s approval for granted. “What happens from there will be played by ear. Twenty minutes. All systems checked. All equipment secured. Everybody knows their job.” He opened his eyes. “Report to your stations in ten minutes.”

  Skids followed me back to the ventral turret. His assigned duty was to assist in the nearby engineering compartment, monitor systems, report, and take action if directed.

  After watching me run a systems check, Skids pulled his laser derringer. The pilot had armed him with the BB gun of lasers. “I don’t think Pilot Odthe likes me.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “He gave you that sidearm. Showed you some Code War programming tricks. Remember, even McAllister thought they were pretty slick.”

  He slid the laser back into its holster. “I don’t know. I don’t think he does.”

  “Skids, there are all kinds of people. Some like you and show it, while others don’t. Same way for those who dislike you.”

  “What kind do you think Pilot Odthe is?”

  I adjusted my seat. “He’s the kind who doesn’t like a mystery. And that’s what you are to him.”

  “Mom told me not to tell anyone. I can’t believe she told you.” He looked forward. “She wouldn’t have told him.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “Specialist Guerrero likes you.”

  “Yeah, she’s pretty fun. I told her she should have kids.”

  That caught my attention. “What’d she say?”

  “Travels too much. She even showed Engineer McAllister some stuff!”

  “That I’d like to have seen.”

  “I think Engineer McAllister’s mother must have traveled a lot.”

  “You might be right.”

  “Here she comes now,” Skids whispered, as Guerrero stepped through a hatch.

  “Why don’t you go say good luck to the diplomat?” I checked my watch. “You’ve got four minutes, thirty eight seconds.”

  “Okay!” he said, scampering off like a Chicher.

  I asked Guerrero, “Any luck with the signals?”

  “They’re Crax. With the software and equipment we have onboard, it’d have to be A-Tech.”

  “Could be the Phibs?”

  “No. The Umbelgarri utilize more subtlety in their technique. The Crax simply put up a wall to break through.” She turned back around. “More complicated than that, but I don’t have the time and I’m not sure you have the intellect.”

  “Appreciate the vote of confidence,” I said. “Just remember, this dullard is manning the guns keeping any Crax, real or imagined, from shooting you up, along with our engines.”

  She shook her head with a smile and slapped the controls switch, shutting the door to engineering.

  I relaxed, and looked over my stowed equipment. Not much to speak of. A couple of firearms, some ammunition. Everything else was lost aboard the Kalavar.

  “Keesay, you set?” Shiffrah called from the dorsal turret over the com-system.

  “Right. Now which screen do I tap to turn it on?”

  “Want me to drill a hole in your turret so you can fire that shotgun through instead?”

  “Clear it with the pilot first.” When she didn’t laugh, I said, “I’m ready. Won’t fire up the guns or targeting system until I get the okay.”

  “Good, because Pilot Odthe rigged the ventral turret to jettison on his or my command.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t have wedged the capsule door open?”

  “Just keep your eyes open,” Pilot Odthe said. “Ten minutes until cessation of condensation.”

  The pull of gravity decreased as the capacitors in the gravity plate lost energy. Minor as the gravitational fluctuation might be, Pilot Odthe felt it might be detected. The plate would be used to assist in slowing the shuttle, and then shut down. The wash of constant disconnect and anticipation disappeared. From my encased turret view, nothing changed.

  “Trouble,” called Pilot Odthe. “They’ve got a base on the moon and at least one orbiting satellite. They’ll pick us up before long. Guerrero, cascading engine status?”

  “Completing shut down.”

  “I’m collecting transmissions. Routing them to engineering until you get up here. McAllister, evaluate until Guerrero can take over.”

  “Acknowledged, Pilot.”

  “Too late,” called the pilot. “Picking up tracking signals. Monitor that port engine. Let’s make nice and head toward planet. Two-thirds thrust.”

  “Unidentified vessel, we are tracking you on approach to the planet Selandune. Please identify yourself.” The voice was male, and human.

  “Tracking Station,” said Odthe. “This is the exploration vessel Bloodhound III. Negral Corporation. We have suffered systems damage and request assistance.”

  “Selandune is a level-one quarantine planet. Do not approach.”

  “Acknowledged, Tracking Station. Our outdated navigational system records did not indicate this. Our cascading atomic engine needs repair. Or we need a tow.”

  There was a moment of silence, probably while the tracking station sent the contact up his chain of command.

  Guerrero said, “Intercepting a transmission from the lunar base.”

  “Reducing thrust to thirty percent,” Odthe said. “Give them less to complain about. Engaging sensors. Look sharp, team.”

  We continued our glide toward Selandune. “Transmission from planet,” said Guerrero. “Can’t decipher.”

  “McAllister?” asked Odthe.

  “Similar pattern. Apparent decrease in transmissions since our arrival.”

  “Shuttle Bloodhound III, what is your point of origin?”

  “Zeta Aquarius Dock,” said Pilot Odthe. He switched channels. “Guerrero, I’ve got a bad feeling. Download file three-three-six dash B to message rocket. Include communications with Tracking Station and all ship readings. Prep rocket for launch.”

  “Be advised,” said the tracking station, “friendly fighters en route to escort you to proper orbit around outer moon.”

  “Acknowledged, Tracking Station.” He paused. “Folks fire up tracking systems.”

  “Bloodhound III, cease acceleration toward Selandune. Come about and await escort.”

  “Here’s where it gets interesting,” said Odthe. “Negative, Tracking Station. Will continue on course for escort intercept.”

  “Selandune is a level-one quarantine planet. Approach is restricted.”

  “They’re hiding something,” Odthe decided out loud. “Maybe legitimate, maybe not.” He paused. “Tracking Station, our port thrust engine has received damage. Minimal maneuvering recommended by onboard engineer. Will continue approach under
reduced thrust.”

  “Negative, Bloodhound. Approach route denied. Come about.”

  “Pilot Odthe,” said Guerrero, “picking up analog low-band traffic. I think the lunar station just went to combat stations.”

  “Two fighters on approach,” called Shiffrah. “One standard colonial defense, one Crax!”

  “Okay, team. Things are going to get tight. No hitches, full scan. Focus planet surface. Find any bases. Locate and identify satellites. Download information to the light land transport vehicle.” He paused. “Correction, download information to the LLTV from Mavinrom docking till now.”

  “Exploration shuttle Bloodhound III, cease approach to level-one quarantine planet.”

  “Tracking Station, have identified one fighter on approach. My communications officer cannot give a positive ID on number two. She says the second fighter is not of human manufacture.”

  “Irrelevant, shuttle Bloodhound.”

  “Transmission from planet,” said Guerrero.

  “Shuttle Bloodhound, fighters have been authorized to disable your engines if you fail to cease approach and come about.”

  “Tracking Station,” called Odthe. “Is that a Crax fighter?”

  “Irrelevant, shuttle Bloodhound. You have ten seconds to comply.”

  “It is relevant. Reports indicate that the Crax are at war with our ally, the Umbelgarri. I can transmit the information to verify.” He paused. “Turrets, stand ready.”

  “Keesay,” called Shiffrah, “you target ours, I’ll take the Crax.”

  “Understood.”

  “Negative, Bloodhound III. Will verify claim upon boarding. Five seconds.”

  “Tracking Station,” called Odthe. “The Crax have launched an invasion of human space in violation of Interstellar Treaty.”

  “We will verify claim upon boarding.”

  “Nobody is boarding my shuttle.” He cut the channel. “Take them out.”

  The Crax had already begun to maneuver. My target was slow. Tracking had him locked and, even at maximum range, four blasts connected.

  “We’re at maximum thrust, pilot,” called McAllister. “All systems stable.”

  “Hang on, team. Take out that Crax.”

  Odthe took the ship into a twisting roll. Tracking wasn’t able to keep up and lock on the Crax. I snap fired as it passed my turret.

  “Good hit, Keesay,” shouted Shiffrah.

  Pilot Odthe continued to corkscrew and I caught a glimpse of the fighter. My snapshot went wide. “Pilot, cannot lock with your maneuvering.”

  “Hold on, Keesay. We’ve got two lunar-launched missiles incoming. Deploying caltrops.” A shockwave pushed the shuttle. “Okay, fighter in retreat. Finish him!”

  We pursued. “Can only get proximity lock,” I called, opening fire.

  “Go with it, Keesay,” called Shiffrah, following suit. Two, then three of her blasts found their mark. Then both of our arcs centered on target.

  “Good work, team. Prepare to jettison message rocket. Estimate to condensation?”

  Guerrero answered, “Message rocket condensation, eight minutes.”

  “Team,” Pilot Odthe said, “nowhere to go in space. Will attempt landing on planet and evade. Guerrero, download including these words, complete?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Jettison rocket.”

  “Jettisoned.”

  “Let’s play with their head,” said Odthe. “Maybe some will recognize the truth. Prepare transmission. Eliminate all reference to the Kalavar from combat data around Zeta Aquarius Dock. Every frequency available. Transmit to planet and lunar tracking station.”

  “Will do,” said Guerrero. “Estimate twenty seconds. Have information on satellites and ground stations.”

  “Report,” said Odthe.

  “Two major land masses,” said Guerrero. “Transmissions originated near ocean along northern coastline. Information on screen.”

  I didn’t have time to look. More fighters would be on approach at any time.

  “Nine satellites identified,” said Guerrero. “On screen.”

  “Shiffrah,” called Odthe. “Target two kill-rockets on each. That will leave six for any surprises.”

  “Acknowledged. Targeting. Automatic launch when in range.”

  “Have located a tropical storm system,” said Odthe. “That will be our landing zone.”

  “If we make it,” said the dorsal turret. “Tracking sixteen fighters on approach. All standard colonial defense models.”

  “Okay, team. Guerrero, ID their frequency. I’ll transmit a message to them, then jam their communications. We’ll blow through and make a run for the planet.”

  “Frequency identified and locked in. Jamming pod standing by.”

  “Approaching fighter squadron,” Odthe announced. “Crax vessels have encroached on human space. We escaped Zeta Aquarius. It was under attack by a large Crax fleet. Cooperation with the enemy is treason. Break off and stand down.”

  “Jamming pod active,” said Guerrero.

  “In maximum range for our weapons,” said Shiffrah. “None have broken formation.”

  I said, “They’ve sent up their loyalists.”

  “Approaching their maximum range,” Shiffrah warned.

  “Burn’em,” Pilot Odthe ordered.

  “Keesay, you start from the left. I’ll start from the right.”

  She opened fire before I replied, “Understood.”

  I’d critically damaged one and destroyed a second when they opened fire with pulse lasers and 20 mm cannon fire. I damaged one more and Shiffrah finished her fourth when the turret warning light flashed. My seat ejected into the main shuttle and a safety door slammed shut.

  “Ventral turret destroyed,” I called, catching my breath.

  “Jamming pod inoperative,” called Guerrero. “Hull breach in forward engineering.”

  “We’ve blown through,” said Pilot Odthe.

  “Good armor for an espio—I mean exploration shuttle,” I commented.

  “They’re turning to pursue,” said Guerrero.

  “They’ve had their noses bloodied,” said Pilot Odthe. “Dorsal gunner, keep them off. Once we’re in the atmosphere we can lose them.”

  “Should be easy enough,” Shiffrah said. “My guns have better range.” She was correct. None of the surviving eight showed interest in charging up our six.

  The shuttle’s continued acceleration provided enough gravity to permit easy movement forward. I joined the Chicher at the meeting table. We signed, “Greetings,” before I strapped into a chair and accessed the system. He continued to collect data on transmissions.

  “Pilot, look at this,” said Guerrero.

  “That’s a Behemoth class transport,” he replied. “Wonder what it’s doing here?”

  “Take a look at what’s unloading and guess,” said the communications specialist.

  “Somebody’s in this deep,” Odthe said. “Download this recording. For this I’ll risk our last message rocket.”

  “What’s so interesting?” asked McAllister.

  “Our friends at CGIG are transporting Crax frigates,” Odthe said. “ETA to atmosphere, two minutes.”

  “Intruding shuttle, this is Research Command.” The voice could have been synthetically generated. “You are in violation of corporate and governmental law. This is a level-one quarantine planet. We have the authority to destroy you if you continue approach and establish orbit.”

  “Research Command,” replied our team leader. “You have already fired on us, and failed in your objective. If you have any yellow neckties down there, you might query them. What might the penalty be for rendering assistance and harboring the enemy of Earth and her colonies?”

  “Negative, invading shuttle. You opened fire first.”

  “Simply enforcing the law. Check with your legal team. Shuttle out.”

  “Crax frigate clear of the transport,” warned Guerrero.

  “McAllister,” called Odthe. “Estimation
on how long it’ll take that Crax frigate to cold start her engines?”

  “During the Silicate War, standard Crax frigates required an estimated twenty-four minutes. Their design may have improved.”

  “They may have been prepping since our arrival,” I added.

  “Shiffrah,” called Odthe. “Prepare to engage fighters. I’m coming about.”

  “What?” questioned McAllister.

  “Calculated risk. More fighters we eliminate, the fewer available to search for us planetside. Now monitor those engines.”

  I held on as the Bloodhound turned. “Jettison message rocket.”

  “Rocket jettisoned,” said Guerrero.

  “Keep on them,” said Odthe.

  I watched on monitor as Shiffrah took out two, then three. Another limped away.

  “Coming about,” said Odthe. “That Crax’ll fire her engines any moment.”

  “Five fighters remain intact,” Shiffrah said. “Three of those damaged.”

  Guerrero warned, “Crax frigate firing up engines.”

  “Not fast enough, team. We’ll make it. Find a nice ocean to hide under.”

  “Fighters intercepted and destroyed second message rocket.”

  “That’s okay, Guerrero. Our first is long gone.”

  “Kill rockets launching.”

  “More good news,” said Odthe. “That should yank a warp cord in their shorts. Wager they don’t have replacements.”

  “Crax moving to intercept,” said Guerrero.

  “We have the planet on our side. Brace for atmospheric entry.”

  The Bloodhound rocked. “Hull temperature rising,” said Guerrero. “Increased friction due to hull damage.” Shuttle vibrations increased.

  “Have to go in fast or that Crax will get a shot at us.”

  “Forward hull temperature increasing beyond safety parameter.”

  “Firing braking thrusters,” called Odthe. “Hang on.”

  I jerked forward, not realizing how much difference an energized gravity plate made.

  “Heading into a tropical storm,” Pilot Odthe said. “We’d better set her down for inspection before submerging.”