Alien Cradle

by Jeff Inlo

  Taranson checked the upfeed from Orbital Control. "Scout vessel on a freighter pad near Terhit just got clearance to take off. Launch detected. The ship is away and taking orbit. High altitude course, and through the atmosphere. It's now pulling away from Janus, holding a course for system departure, probably loading course codes into the Boscon navigational computer right now."

  Jack scanned his own portable before confirming the ship belonged to Rath. "Absolutely. That's our little birdie, trying to get away. Question is where is he going to go? I don't know if I'd make a bet on this one."

  Jack lasercabled his portable to the SH-4 navigation computer. "I'm downloading a tracking program into your computer. It traces a beacon from that ship. Whenever Mr. Scampion is not in Boscon, we should be able to pick it up if we're near the same system."

  "Planted a little tracking insect, eh? Espial do that for you?"

  Jack just smiled. "No, the pilot did it all by himself, ordered a bunch of Authority equipment and installed it himself. I just asked the supply officer to attach a beacon to one of the stabilizers. That's the one thing this pilot of ours won't fool with. He doesn't like rough flights."

  "Cute."

  "Thanks, but that's only going to help us when he's out of Boscon Push. It's up to you to hold him when he goes hyperlight."

  "Which is what he's doing right now," the pilot added. "Ship off all screens, and off of Orbital Control. He's gone."

  Jack nodded. "Not a surprise."

  The pilot called pack to the Espial agents manning the detection devices. "Report."

  A burly voice from the rear control announced current status. "Boscon Push distortions picked up on all receptacles. Identifying patterns and submitting solution. Signature established, highly defined."

  "It's a good pattern," Taranson offered to the coordinator as he checked the signature himself. "It'll stand out nicely for at least three days standard."

  "What about the tracking gun?" Jack asked tersely.

  "Moving into firing position now."

  Taranson eased the spy vessel into the remnant wake of Rath's scout. With voice command, he engaged the tracking gun. A small barrel propelled a tiny microchip at hyperlight speeds in the direction of Rath's course. The chip, equipped with its own miniature source of Boscon propulsion, headed out into space with a dual purpose; to track the Boscon distortions and to leave a resounding trail for the SH-4 to follow.

  For long drawn out moments, however, Taranson kept the spy vessel at sublight speed and made no attempt to fully engage the Boscon Props on his own ship.

  Jack, not completely briefed on the new technology, questioned the tactic with obvious annoyance.

  "Well, why aren't we moving?"

  "We can't, not just yet," Taranson explained. "We have to wait fifteen standard minutes to allow the microchip to follow the target's wake and leave a trail that can be picked up by the receptacle in our nose cone. If we leave too early, we can overshoot the trail. As long as we keep firing the chips in standard intervals and allow them to set the path, we can move without ever going off track. We make up the lost time by traveling at a faster push. This ship is equipped with the new beryl-based Boscon Prop. Our maximum speed is nearly three times greater than our targets, but we have to remain at least fifteen minutes behind the last chip for as long as the target remains in Boscon Push."

  "Make it ten minutes," Jack said.

  The pilot tilted his head, offered the consequences of such a decision. "The chances of losing the path set by the chips increase."

  "I'll take the risk."

  "Your call." Taranson just shrugged, but offered a second alternative. "You know, we can fire a Boscon propelled torpedo with something similar to the tracking gun. The torpedo can follow the chips just like we can, but it can catch up to target, knock out our bird while it's still in Boscon."

  The thought was enticing, but Jack held off. "No. I want to know where he comes out before we fire on him. I'd like to know what his last plan was."

  #

  Rath did not set his navigation course directly for Semele. He chose a point in the populated Popai system instead. It was in the same general direction from Janus as Semele, but not so close that it would give away his final destination.

  There was really no good reason for this ploy, nothing concrete anyway. He was free of Janus, out of the system and in full Boscon Push. The small deception seemed almost laughable. There was no indication he was in any further danger and no reason to think he couldn't make it directly to Semele, and Angelo, but that feeling of foreboding kept nagging at him.

  Not satisfied, he decided to add to his craftiness, make a move completely out of character.

  In mid Boscon Push, he cut the props. A procedure, in fact, which set off automatic warnings. He set no course changes and allowed for no computer computation. He did not allow for gradual speed reduction. He simply killed all forward propulsion. Not safe by any stretch of the imagination.

  Without the force of the props, the laws of physics took hold of his ship and returned it forcibly to a sublight speed. Nothing existed in deep space for sound to bounce off, but Rath swore he heard the echo of a metallic groan coming from the exterior of his ship. Alarm lights flashed all around him. Monitors gauged the integrity of the hull as the computer warned of intolerable heat and stress levels, but he himself was in no position to analyze them.

  His body pitched forward as if a mule kicked him square in the back. His breath simply halted and he felt his innards compress. If he hated atmospheric entry, this was worse. Even the Authority issued stabilizers could not keep the cockpit from shuddering. For a moment, he thought he must have crashed into an asteroid, and his ship, as well as his body, was being torn apart by the unforgiving vacuum of space. Rath tried to focus on the nav panels, but the force threatened to drop him into unconsciousness. He peered through the barely open slits of his eyelids. His course was preset by the navcom, but any such assurances of clear passage faded away the instant he killed the props. For all he knew, the scout could be spinning out of control and ninety degrees off its original course.

  Slowly, the force of the abrupt halt diminished. Rath began to breathe again, though somewhat painfully. Knowing the dangers he now faced, he urgently flipped viewing terminals to various magnifications as he looked to the viewshields. Blinking his eyes, he finally saw the specs of tiny stars in the distance. The ship remained on a steady course and was not engaged in a spin of any sort.

  Scanners sent out wave patterns, but the data return was painfully slow. Not a single solid object appeared around him. Not ready to accept such luck, he focused on his heading, fixed an exterior camera upon his forward path. He took hold of the flight stick, ready to maneuver clear of an asteroid or even a star, but there was nothing ahead of him but empty space.

  With no immediate threat, he became aware of a pounding throb in his head, compliments of the rough ride. His shoulders ached as well. That was something he definitely didn't want to do again, but for some reason, he felt better about it. His sense of concern wasn't as burdensome. That in itself offered a welcome change and perhaps even made it worth the risk of what he just went through.

  He gave himself a few minutes to relax as his navigational computer scanned the open space trying to find a nearby system. After long moments, the computer switched to a star recognition program and fixed the scout's position without having wave scanned a single object in space.

  "No one would believe I'd do something like that," he said to himself. "I guess if I ever wanted to lose someone that would've been the best way."

  He didn't go back into Boscon Push right away. He let the ship slowly regroup, moving forward at sublight speed, drifting through the edges of one system before even igniting the Boscon Props. Even then, he did not push full power. He monitored all diagnostic panels before lighting up to greater than one third push. Once convinced his engines received no damage, he entered the coordinates for Se
mele into the navcom. The thought of dealing with a pirate like Angelo wasn't any less troublesome, but any other concerns seemed to finally drift away.

  #

  Jack couldn't ignore the blank terminal which previously displayed the reception of the tracking chips.

  "What happened?"

  Taranson spoke abruptly. "We lost contact with the directional signal." The pilot's concentration then fixed upon bringing the SH-4 slowly and safely out of Boscon Push. He couldn't afford to continue at that speed without a preset course. The risk of smashing into a planet expanded with each second in hyperlight.

  Jack didn't care much about safety, he wanted answers.

  "Did we overshoot?"

  "I don't think so. The pattern was tight. We were receiving the last chip's signal, but then it just stopped." He called back to another agent. "Get a fix on that last chip. Find out what happened."

  "Malfunction?" the coordinator offered.

  "Possible. The chip might not have been able to take the strain of propulsion, but that's happened before and they always deliver what's akin to a distress signal so we know to send out another. This chip just stopped sending."

  An operative monitoring a tracking station called forward a report. "I've located the chip. It is not signaling a course. It's in a search pattern for the Boscon distortion."

  "Any registered malfunctions?" Taranson questioned almost harshly.

  "Negative. It's simply trying to reestablish connection with the distortion."

  "Scan the system with our receptacles."

  Jack looked backed and forth, not understanding the dialogue. "What's going on?"

  "The chip lost the Boscon signature. It's still functioning. It's in a search pattern trying to reestablish contact, but we're not picking up any Boscon distortions in this area. There hasn't been a ship here probably in weeks."

  "Then where'd he go?" Jack demanded.

  The pilot could give no answer.

  "Keep scanning, enlarge the field," Taranson called back to the operatives as he put a fist to his chin and stared at the blank screen before him. "There's no debris. There'd be a trail of debris if he broke up."

  "You think he crashed?" Jack questioned, his own doubts obvious.

  "Didn't you hear what I said? There'd be debris. No, he's in one piece. I just don't know how he managed to break off his distortion path like that." The pilot looked to Jack's portable. "Are you getting anything on that tracking device? If he dropped out of Boscon, he can't be far."

  Jack looked at the terminals. "He's not anywhere near this system."

  Taranson wasn't about to accept the situation. He called back again to the tracking ops. "Any indication of a Boscon distortion in this system at all?"

  "Negative."

  The pilot paused, looked at his screens, but they didn't hold the answer to his question. “Alright, let’s consider this logically. We had a push signature, we have no malfunction report, and we have no debris field. Let’s assume he stayed in push and something happened. There’d still be a signature in the area, something we could pick up. Problem is, there isn’t, so he can’t still be in push. That means…” He came up with an idea, one almost too difficult to accept. "No way. It's possible, but not real smart. But it would explain everything."

  "What?" Jack demanded.

  Taranson didn't want to say it, but it was the only true explanation. "He must have broke Boscon Push. Just killed his engines. That's the only way this could happen. Normally there's a diminishing trail, a slow deceleration the chips can identify. But there was no trail, it just ended, and the tracking chip goes flying right on through. By the time the chip realizes there's no more distortion to follow, we might be more than a full system away. That's one gutsy move to pull off. Gutsy and stupid"

  Jack's eyes narrowed. "Can that really be accomplished? Just stop, just like that?"

  "It's risky, but yes." Taranson looked to the coordinator. "My question would be why would he do that? He can't know we're following him. He couldn't have scanned us. That's impossible. But there had to be some reason he took that precaution, and the only thing I can think of is that he knew he was being followed."

  "He's scared," Jack replied, reconsidering the factors. "When he's scared he overreacts. Damn, I should have known. Can we find him?"

  "Probably. I don't want to give you anything more definite than that. If he cut his props, the trail just ends. We'll be able to find that again. That's not a problem. The hard part is finding out where he ended up, and where he restarted his props. It's finding that new path which is going to be the trick."

  The black emptiness of space as seen through the SH-4's viewshields seemed to mock any such attempt. Jack peered into the vastness that encompassed the spy vessel and grunted with defiance.

  "I need to find this guy."

  Taranson hid his own misgivings and simply muttered the obvious. "I know you do."

 

 

  13

  Empty space, that's all they could find. Taranson mumbled to himself as the SH-4 spy vessel crisscrossed several systems. Still, nothing. He was able to backtrack to Rath's break point, the moment he killed his props. That information was maintained by the receptacle links which captured the signals from the tracking chips, but Taranson failed to locate any new Boscon distortions. There was simply no sign of a second hyperlight path. And no sign of the scout either, just empty space.

  No trail and no ship. Nothing on radar and nothing on Jack's sensor program. Even if Rath had managed to slip a curtain on the scout, the beacon would still reveal his position. But there was no signal, not from their current location and not from any neighboring systems. That meant either the beacon had ceased transmitting or Rath was gone, back in full Boscon Push.

  Jack believed it was the latter. It was a simple matter of logic. If Scampion was scared enough to pull a stunt like killing his props, he certainly wouldn't hang around afterward. Finding the new path of Boscon distortion would prove that. It just wasn't going to be easy.

  Taranson continued his search. He ordered all receptacles placed on wide array, but in truth, he didn't know which direction to follow. He knew the point in space where Rath had cut his props, but he couldn't predict the course changes brought upon by such a sudden displacement in power. Rath's scout could have ended up in any direction from the last monitored distortion. The turbulence of sudden shift could have sent the scout tumbling up or down, right or left, maybe even backward - or any combination. Who knew? There was just no way to tell. There was also the possibility that Rath kept his scout below hyperlight after re-engaging his engines. The scout could have traveled through half the system before powering props to a point where they would leave a clear signature.

  Taranson turned to the coordinator with a look of frustration. "We've got his last known position pinpointed, but there's still no sign of debris, sir. It didn't break up in the shift. I'm sure of that. The target is probably under its own power and heading in a new direction."

  "I'm sure it is, captain." Jack responded coolly.

  Taranson tensed at the simple response. "We're searching for a trace now. All receptacles are functional and on full absorption. If there is a Boscon distortion nearby, we'll find it."

  The tone was a little too official. Jack knew the pilot was worried about losing the scout and maybe he was now following standard procedure to cover his own butt, so the coordinator offered his own understanding of the situation, just to add a little incentive.

  "We have to find it, period. You shouldn't be caring if it's nearby or not. You know how far this goes up. No one on this vessel is going to be able to just shrug his shoulders and say 'Oh well, we lost him. We'll try and do better next time.' That's not going to fly, and neither will you in the future if we don't find Mr. Scampion."

  Taranson grumbled again. He was about to protest against the impossible when he altered his focus to the nav terminal. "Fine, I'm instituting a new
search pattern, a spherical enlargement. It's going to take some time, but it's the best way to ensure we're not moving off in the wrong direction."

  "Whatever it takes," Jack replied simply.

  The navigational computer displayed a three dimensional grid. Preset paths curved symmetrically around the end of the Boscon signature. The course of the ship created a growing sphere around that point. Amidst the free flowing precepts, Taranson engaged maneuvering power directly to the computer.

  "There, the ship's on automatic pilot. It'll continue to circle about the last known point of distortion, the edge of the spherical pattern will increase with each pass." The pilot paused as he looked to Jack. He hesitated, but spoke his thoughts regardless of any misgivings. "Off the record, this isn't good. You're right; I know what this mission means. I want to find this guy as badly as you do, but I'm still wondering about this little move of his. He's not supposed to know he's being followed. You said he's scared and that may explain things. But what happens next? If he's scared enough to pull off a move like this, what else is he going to try?"

  The coordinator considered the point. Breaking off push in mid-flight was dangerous, even life-threatening, not something he would have expected from Mr. Scampion. He chewed a thumbnail nervously as he could not offer an answer to the question.

  "I'm serious," the pilot continued. "I've got clearance, I've seen the files on this. This guy's a loose cannon that can cause a lot of damage. If you were Rath Scampion and you're that scared, what would you do?"

  "I guess I'd run, just like he did."

  "To where?"

  "The outer rim," Jack answered with a little more certainty. "He's comfortable out there. He's a long range scout, remember?"

  "Yeah, but he's not on any scout mission. What's he going to do when he gets there? He's got no place to go."

  "He needs time to think, to consider what's happening. He also feels vulnerable. You asked what I would do if I were him. That's not the right question. It's not about what I'd do, but what he would do. We have to think like him, consider his natural reactions. If I thought like Rath Scampion and I was scared, I'd get as far away as fast as I could. Then, I'd figure out how to save my skin. That's what he does, I know this guy. He likes to take time to think, but he definitely has a thin line of nerve. He's not going to stick around and pretend like everything's fine and dandy. This little trick of his was a surprise, I have to admit, but surprises usually don't last."