Alien Cradle

by Jeff Inlo

  The Fenrite pilots lacked experience. They had not yet logged the time in actual space flight, and there were no simulators available for training. They flew on instinct, letting the technology of the craft handle nearly every response. Still, some fatal mistakes were made on launch and two Fenrite attack ships burned up before escaping Fenrir's atmosphere. Every other ship escaped undamaged, took flight in space and headed for the backside of the moon.

  #

  Planning Station surveillance picked up the launch immediately. Authority personnel called out warnings to subcommanders.

  "Eight launch sites detected. Airborne objects on radar. Independent guidance systems and navigational controls confirmed. Incoming on our starboard side."

  The Station General picked up the reports on his comlink. The news was more than undesirable, it was unexpected. The station received reports from Espial agents that the Fenrites were constructing ships, but no launch was considered imminent. He turned to an aide monitoring ship defenses.

  "Status on our curtain?" he demanded.

  "Up and functional."

  "But they're still coming after us," the commander noted. "Launch all melees. Battle stations."

  The metal floor rang out with the echoes of the general's footsteps. He eyed a subcommander with impatience.

  "Give me a readout on those vessels."

  The response was almost unthinkable. "They appear to be quite similar to our own melees. In fact, I believe if we had our own ships in flight, we'd be unable to identify friendlies without beacons."

  To his credit, the general didn't waste time questioning the information. Instead, he turned a quick order to a flight control relay station. "Belay that launch order. Don't let one melee launch without a beacon. I don't want any confusion out there as to who's who."

  The subcommander gave more surprising information. "All Fenrite vessels are manned and armed. We have not picked up any Boscon signatures. No enemy craft has gone hyperlight. They're coming in direct, but without apparent formation or attack plan."

  Attack formation or not, the Station General simply did not expect the move; several squadrons of Fenrite space craft armed and apparently willing to attack.

  "What do they have in weaponry?"

  "No direct confirmation, but readouts remain consistent with intelligence obtained from the Espial agents on the ground. They appear armed with mimics of our own Spearhead missiles."

  "Nuclear warheads?"

  "That we can confirm."

  "Damn it." The general whisked about and made a near dash to his command chair. "Initiate all defense measures. Navigation, get us moving. Plot a course to the nearest base. Get us in push ASAP. Spartan base is the closest, right?"

  "Yes, sir," an aide confirmed.

  "Relay a message to all airborne melees that they are to divert back to Base Spartan after we're in push. Get a messenger shuttle out now. Send it to the nearest fleet. Command's got orders to hit Semele, so send it there. Read, 'Base at Fenrir under attack. Fenrites have melee response. Need assistance.' And drop the damn curtain. They know we're here. No need to waste the energy. Divert power to countermeasures and engines. How many melees do we have off dock?"

  "Two at this moment, sir, but four more are preparing to launch."

  "Damn. Navigation, estimated time to hyperlight?"

  "Four minutes, eighteen seconds."

  The general gritted his teeth. "Too long. Emergency procedures only. To hell with locking down. You've got two minutes, then, ready or not, initiate push. Bring up full monitor display. I want camera angles on all inbound vessels."

  Like the separate sides of a die, six terminals relayed a wide angle monitoring of the space surrounding the base station. The Fenrite attack ships were imaged on three of the six terminals.

  The Fenrite pilots approached with haphazard disregard for their own survival, like kamikazes, or angry wasps stirred from a nest. Each ship remained on course, displaying little in the way of evasive maneuvers. They simply aimed their vessels at the station and waited for their weapon systems to lock automatically.

  Had the Planning Station been prepared, Authority melees would have easily crushed the Fenrite assault. The flying skills of the human pilots would have meant the end of Fenrite ships that could not respond to dog fighting maneuvers, but such interceptors were simply not in position, most not off dock at all.

  By the time the attacking ships passed beyond Fenrir's moon, only a half dozen Authority melees from the base were in flight. With precision flying, the human pilots engaged and thwarted the attack of several Fenrites, but they were outnumbered and the incoming vessels were spread too thin for a handful of Authority melees to engage all hostile craft.

  Station Control monitored yet more launches, not from the ground, but from the enemy vessels.

  "Missile launch. Missile launch. Hostiles have fired."

  The general rubbed his head as he peered into the display screens. "Fire all counter measures. Not one missile gets through, not one."

  The panel lit up, first with blips identifying incoming missiles, and then with defensive responses. Anti-missiles, much more advanced then what the Fenrites had used to save their own world, streaked toward the incoming nukes at near hyperlight speed. In some cases, the explosions destroyed not only the incoming missile, but the craft which fired it as well.

  Defense panels lit red with an abundance of vectors, course precepts, and intercept links. The number of Fenrite vessels dwindled, as did the number of remaining missiles in flight.

  "Radar, any new launches detected from the surface?" the general demanded.

  "Negative."

  "Any hostiles en route that have not engaged?"

  The answer was the same.

  The news brought confidence to the commander. "Navigation, kill emergency Boscon push. I think we may be alright, but continue to prepare lock down, just in case. Flight Control, how many enemy ships remain in flight?"

  "Four, sir"

  "Signal our melees to take them out."

  One of the last four Fenrite ships fired its missile just as the other assault craft exhausted their own weaponry. The arming device on the Fenrite version of the spearhead was designed to prevent accidental detonation on launch. The safety measure failed, however, and the ship itself exploded in a wave of nuclear fire.

  The blast occurred far enough from the station for the base to avoid damage, but the magnetic pulse bathed all ships and weapons in the region. The flash on the screen held the general's attention for only a split second.

  "That was one of theirs," he roared. "What the hell happened?"

  The din of communications turned into a massive blare. Operatives shouted out downed sensors and image echoing. Control displays flashed with confused precepts. A single aide shouted clear enough for the general to hear.

  "A Fenrite warhead detonated on launch. Some kind of misfire. Our countermeasure never reached it. I've lost contact with it. It may have lost its lock and is searching for a new target. Recommend abort and self-destruct."

  That single countermeasure was not the only defense system to lose its lock. The wave from the nuclear detonation jammed other countermeasures. Anti-missiles previously locked on incoming Fenrite Spearheads lost their targets. The defenses misfired and three enemy warheads impacted on the hull of the Planning Station. The devastation was near complete.

  #

  Rath spent several long, dull days at the large complex on Semele. He spoke with no one. He was afforded three meals, but no other comforts were offered. Mercenary guards warned him to stay put, to stay out of their way.

  No problem there. Rath wanted nothing to do with these miscreants. He wasn't there on some pleasure visit. He had delivered his message, released his burden on someone else. If anything, it was time for him to go.

  He spent the long hours considering his next move. Hopefully, they would return his scout, minus the beacon of course. He would wave a
happy farewell to this system and never look back; head for the most obscure trading post he could find. After that, he'd wait; wait for the news to spread of the Fenrite deception. As for the Regency response, he didn't care. He'd worry about that later. Right now, it was enough to know that others carried the secret, that he was not the only one who endangered Regency security. Just let the dust settle, wait for his own importance to fade.

  It wasn't a bad plan. He still had funds in his account; at least he hoped he did. He looked at the wristband and portable Opal had returned to him. They didn't give him access to a link, so he couldn't check his account, but if they would return his scout, he could only hope they'd leave his money alone.

  A good deal of this was wishful thinking. He knew that. These weren't the good fairies. These were marauders; pirates, looters and swindlers. They made money off of other people's misfortune. He simply had to hope for some honor among these particular thieves. He had brought them something of value, information that could save them. Rath didn't consider it too much to ask to be allowed to leave in his own ship and with his funds intact.

  The graceful entrance of a fair-haired man with a mustache interrupted Rath's considerations. The newcomer moved like a curtain flowing with the wind, and his age was almost indeterminable. His body appeared young and quick, but his eyes held the caution of aged wisdom, or perhaps it wasn't age, but caution driven by living among those with few principles.

  Rath had not yet met this man and he sighed at the thought of another guard entering with a warning and leaving with a threat to do bodily harm if orders were not followed. He barely looked up at first, but the voice of the stranger demanded attention.

  "Mr. Scampion. I am Angelo. We must move quickly. Follow me."

  Rath wasn't given a chance to ask any questions. The man with the mustache turned his back on the scout with a bevy of trust or confidence... maybe both, but he was certainly in no mood to linger.

  As they left the room, Rath noticed Opal waiting at a side corridor. Angelo walked straight toward her, but said nothing as he passed. Rath nodded, but Opal ignored him. She fell two steps behind and followed them to a small room.

  Angelo opened the door, but turned to Rath before entering. He held a finger to his lips, making it very clear he didn't want Rath to speak.

  Rath nodded as he followed the pirate inside.

  The room felt almost alive. A charge of static electricity lingered about like a coarse smell that would not dissipate. Their steps fell on thick cushioned pads, adding a sense of movement to the very floor. Angelo walked under what appeared to be nothing more than a metal umbrella, basically an inverted satellite dish. He pressed several control switches and Rath heard the start of a conversation.

  The recording began with Angelo's voice, questions about Rath's experiences on Fenrir and his knowledge of the Fenrites. The scout was very surprised to hear another recorded response. It was his voice. Before he could question, the pirate instructed him to stand under a second umbrella.

  He did so, just as Opal took a position under a third, and only after all three were secure, Angelo offered an explanation.

  "Simple precaution, Mr. Scampion. Regency has very good vision and even better hearing. In fact, they hear things at a great distance. This little device was made to divert their attention. They can't hear us now. Only these recordings I'm transmitting. Forgive the unauthorized use of your voice. Opal recorded your discussion on her portable. I simply edited your previous answers, re-spliced them to make it sound like an entirely new conversation."

  "You think somebody's listening?" Rath looked upwards only to see his dim reflection in the polished white of the inverted dish over his head.

  "Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to keep track of you. It's highly probable. Now before you step out from underneath that dish, I want you to cover your head and shoulders with that gray blanket that's hanging next to you. It'll mask our presence once we walk out of here. As of now, the synthesizers have analyzed and recorded all the physical characteristics which can be captured by Authority surveillance equipment. The dishes are replicating and transmitting a shadow image of all three of us. We can leave the room and anyone using satellite recon will think we're still here.

  Satellite recon? Rath almost shivered at that thought. That meant the Authority was already here. That didn't make any sense, but Rath was in no true position to argue. He had been bottled up in an empty room. He had no idea of what was going on outside. Again he looked up, and again he saw only the concave shell over his head. He wanted to ask if the Authority was truly there, and if so, how many ships. He wanted to know if they had come as they promised, in force and prepared to deal with Angelo harshly.

  One look at the pirate, and he swallowed his questions. He lifted the blanket off a pole hook with a shrug. The material felt surprisingly heavy, though it remained soft and flexible. Rath threw it over his head like the cloak of a pauper. He parted the blanket in front of his face and watched with suspicious eyes as Angelo and Opal followed suit.

  The pirate leader issued one last warning. "Remain silent until I let you know otherwise, and keep that blanket over your head. We can remove the blankets after we reach a lower level. By that time, we'll be far enough away so that anyone keeping tabs on us will fail to make the connection."

  #

  Semele's satellite space control picked up the incoming Authority vessels just as the fleet-sized accompaniment dropped out of Boscon push.

  Pirate cruisers scrambled to intercept. They hit the advance scouts hard and fast. Before Authority combat ships could respond with countermeasures, two dozen Pinwheel torpedoes shredded the hulls of four small escorts.

  Semele's defense perimeter of orbital catapults fired Boscon sensitive charges in compact clusters. The large metal canisters locked on the fading Boscon signatures, propelled themselves to a point within the Authority formation, and detonated en masse. A large cloud of chemically corrosive gasses rotated in the very midst of the arriving fleet, forcing the Authority vessels to break formation or face hull decay.

  Each of these defenses was anticipated by Authority Command, and Fleet General Hollins issued his first combat order.

  "Mist that cloud with detergents. Neutralize it before any of our own ships fly into it by mistake."

  While watching clipper ships shoot absorbent crystals through pressure cannons, Hollins issued orders to the carriers in the group.

  "Keep all fighter class ships on alert, but don't launch." He demanded immediate status reports from his com links. "What's the damage report on their initial attack? Any manned ships struck by their torpedoes?"

  "No, sir. The four ships struck were all decoys. Three of the remotes no longer functioning. The fourth is still responding."

  "Send the functional ship around the far side of Semele. I want them worrying about their flanks and focusing on remotes, not us. Self destruct the other three before they can get any readings. I don't want them to know that they're targeting decoys. And initiate attack pattern Pharaoh."

  The main display lit up with three bright flashes indicating the fulfillment of the general's orders regarding the decoys. Sector status charts affirmed fleet movement toward the proper formation.

  The commander stole a glance at the time table displayed on a planning console. "Five seconds to Sibling. Give me immediate confirmation."

  Over three dozen Boscon signatures appeared on the surveillance displays just as a radar tech announced confirmation. "Sister fleet has arrived."

  Semele was now sandwiched by two attack groups. Pirate cruisers broke off all forward attacks. They had managed to destroy the fourth unmanned decoy, but only now realized the scope of their dilemma. Raider captains pulled their cruisers back, deferred all engagement against the Authority fleets. They tried to coordinate a flank run, but all ship-to-ship messages drowned in a sea of communications.

  The Command Station of the flag ship hummed with messag
e transmissions. Coordinated attack plans, both real and deception, flowed through unencoded channels.

  "Let 'em chew on that for a while," Hollins growled, but a satisfied nod graced those around him.

  #

  The SH-4 spy vessel slowly altered its course just before the sister fleet arrived near Semele.

  "The Authority is coming in," Taranson advised as he flipped flight control back to manual. "I'm transmitting a coded identifier. Authority vessels will know we're here, but no one else. I don't want anyone flying into us by mistake. I'm also easing back so we don't get caught in a cross fire."

  A scowl crossed Jack Lasonelli’s face. "You just make sure you maintain a lock on our three targets down there. I don't want anyone of them to leave that complex alive."

  "Don't worry. I've got a lock on all three. They're all there."

  Jack peered through the viewshield at the arriving Authority fleet. "Have your ops monitor the battle, but the main priority of this vessel is to maintain surveillance on our three marks."

  "Confirmed. Auxiliary sensors tracking pirate and Authority vessel movement. Reports will be sent to your terminal."

  Display maps offered a three dimensional tactical of the battle. Right after breaking ranks to avoid the corrosive defense cloud, Authority ships regrouped to a pyramid formation. A large space carrier sat at the top.

  Taranson offered his own findings. "A second attack group has just dropped out of Boscon. Authority vessels are transmitting unencoded attack formations on all channels. They're flooding the wavelengths."

  "You still got a hold on Scampion and his friends?"

  "Affirmative. Still in a secured room, no other marks. They're still discussing the merits of Scampion's findings."

  "They aren't trying to evac?"

  "Not yet. They might not know what's going on outside. No one has come into warn them and no one's receiving any transmissions."

  Jack shook his head. "Careless for such an infamous pirate" He scanned the viewshields once more. Marauder cruisers continued to follow rogue Authority crafts, but the larger ships engaged with a great hesitancy. They fired weapons from long range and avoided entanglement with the bulk of the Authority strike group. Smaller pirate controlled ships darted about like buzzing flies, moving too quickly to be of any true threat, but also avoiding Authority tracking guns.