by Chris Hechtl
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They sipped at the EM spectrum the best his little ship could, logging everything for future analysis. They didn't have the computer support to process even a tenth of the data, however. “Sir, at this rate we'll be full up in a day,” Jim said when the captain came back on shift the next morning.
They had identified eleven possible ship contacts in orbit of the planet. Seven of them were of appreciable mass, either a destroyer or freighter. The others were unknowns, they were still attempting to get positive IDs on the large ships.
“We're scheduled to be here for longer,” the new captain stated mildly. Didn't anyone plan for this? No, of course not, he thought pedantically. Send a damn frigate on a tin can's mission. “Were you on this all night?”
“Yes, sir.” The captain frowned thoughtfully. Jim looked okay, but he had circles under his eyes. The kid had the energy of youth and his implants so he could handle it, but the workload and stresses involved were taking their toll.
The captain crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the rating. “Then you've got a problem. Solve it. Compress the files.” He frowned thoughtfully, and then nodded to himself. “In fact, compress anything we don't need now as well. Restrict recreational use on the computer net and move some material to hard copy backups.” He was curious about how the rating would do on this little test. It would push him a bit and might expand his horizons. It would go a long way to see if the young man was ready for more responsibility.
Jim nodded. “Aye aye, sir. It's a drop in the bucket though, sir.”
“It's a start. Are we filtering?”
“Our ears are picking up what we can, sir. Filtering? I don't think … no, sir.” Jim shook his head.
“Do so. We don't need the spectral noise of the gas giant or local star. Strip that out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do the same for anything natural once it's been tagged and identified. Map its location and then filter it out. That should help.”
“Yes, sir, it should.”
“Once you've nailed down the artificial sources, tag them for further analysis but have someone keep an ear out for new sources as well. Just in case.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
He worried over being in the system though; he didn't want to blow his very first mission. The frigate wasn't set up for stealth, however, so they had to wing it. Three days on station. Just seventy-two measly hours and then they could jump out again.
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On the third day, they got additional confirmation of occupation of the planet. It was grim; Jim could barely listen to it. Hassan had tried, but he didn't have the stomach for it. He shook his head. He didn't envy intel's job, not in the slightest.
Come to think of it, they should have sent a spook along for the ride. Not that they had room … he frowned thoughtfully. Hopefully Admiral White would have one assigned to his staff. He shrugged such problems off his shoulders. He had other concerns—like if White was actually going to make the rendezvous. He had his doubts.
They had also gotten positive fingerprint IDs of each of the ships in the star system, EM from the ships when they were broadcasting. Any that were under power allowed the watching observer to fingerprint their drives. They gathered any other intel data they could without going active.
“Air getting a bit thick, isn't it?”
“Don't worry,” Jim said.
“Just saying.”
“We're fine. Technically we could get almost all the way back if we reduced mass. We'd be a jump short, but it could work. Could. Not that I have any intention of trying it.”
“But, sir, what if we wait too long at the rendezvous, and they are delayed or never show?”
“Then we're screwed.” That earned a wince. “We all knew the risks going into this, people. It's worth it.” He glanced at the clock. It'd damn well better be he thought.
“What's that smell?” Jim asked, sniffing the air.
“I swear you're worse than my sainted mother,” Adel growled shaking her head.
“Don't ask a lady to admit she's ripped one,” Ensign Nissan Ham, the navigator, said maliciously.
“Funny,” Adel growled. “Very funny,” she drawled, giving the Neochimp navigator the stink eye. The young woman giggled.
“Mind your stations, people. Work on the jump list,” the captain said mildly. When Jim sniffed the air again, the captain sighed. “I knew they should have crewed this ship with midgets.”
“Or elves, sir. Five to one of us, sir,” Jim said with a grin.
“Something like that. Are you okay with computer space?”
Jim bobbed a nod. “It turns out we had some flash memory sticks in one of the storage containers, sir. The XO found them this morning, and we've been using them,” he said, indicating a bank of jury-rigged electronic storage devices hooked up to his station. The captain leaned over slightly to get a look. They were by the man's feet, hooked up to some sort of hub to the port.
“Just don't step on them or the admiral might keel haul you,” the captain warned as he straightened. He glanced at the clock. One minute until they could leave. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adel also superstitiously looking. He snorted. It wasn't like they needed to look; they could put the countdown on their HUD. But that was distracting.
When the clock hit zero, he nodded and straightened his shoulders. The bridge crew looked at him expectantly for the order. “Time to go. Helm, bring us about. Navigation, I want a soft translation into hyperspace.”
“A soft translation, sir?”
“Low band. If you can, find us a rock to hide behind while we do it.”
“Sir? We can't be near any appreciable mass or ….”
“I meant between us and the enemy. Run the numbers, even a planet or moon in the system. We need to time it so our flash of departure isn't seen.”
“I see, sir.” The navigator frowned as she ran scenarios. “This will take some time, sir. I'll need to simulate each ship's point of view carefully.”
“Just do your best.”
“This would be quicker and easier with an AI,” the navigator grumbled.
Captain Gruber ignored her gripe. Sometimes they had to do their own grunt work, not rely on an AI or someone to do the heavy lifting for them. He turned his eyes to his XO and chief engineer. “Something to add, Lieutenant?”
The XO shook his head. “No sir. They didn't notice our arrival, so let's hope we can get out the same way,” the XO stated. “If we're far enough out and with enough scatter between us and them, we may get lucky.”
“Exactly.”
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Earl Gaston Gumel, Captain of the Arboth class destroyer Jean Bart, watched his XO, Lieutenant Commander Dutch Lefou, make the rounds on the bridge. The earl was the senior captain of Fleet 4 TF2. He was quite proud of it and his ship.
Jean Bart had been named after a famous French naval commander and privateer on Earth. For years she had served in Home Fleet before being transferred to the newly constructed Fourth Fleet.
The captain snorted—Fourth Fleet. Not really a fleet at all, just forty-eight warships, each sent out to escort a freighter turned tender on various collection missions that the emperor's intelligence had targeted throughout the surrounding sectors. They were in good company though. Famous warships like the cruisers Drake and Smiladon as well as the destroyers Henry Morgan and Reprisal were among their number, though they were in the first and third task forces hitting the Sigma sector.
Most people who took him on surface inspection would think he was a vain man, prone to boasting and stupidity. They were wrong. Oh, he'd sown some wild oats in his youth. He'd been an avid bow hunter and a powerful brawler, but now he was a hunter of a different sort. He'd learned. He had a powerful magnificent body, but his time at the academy and in service had helped him discipline and train his mind into a keen weapon too.
His lip curled in a sneer. Belle had been a fool to spurn his advances.
She had acknowledged that he was handsome. But to call him rude? Conceited? Perhaps. But to be called that by a little slip of a girl? The daughter of an inventor? And for her to have leaned on a Neo of all people to protect and shelter her? He shook his head. Ludicrous. He'd eventually track them down and get his revenge. He'd already gotten the first dose on her father. The silly old fool Maurice hadn't lasted long in the asylum. And the beast's lair had been torn apart by military intelligence. Even now they were finding all sorts of uses for the AI robots that had inhabited the place and kept it running for so long on its own.
He flexed his bicep and felt the scars on his arm and shoulder thoughtfully. The beast had left scars on more than just his body, but the animal had failed to finish the job. He wouldn't make such a mistake. But he had learned from the experience. Oh yes, he'd learned, and he'd switched tracks from the emperor's army to the navy just so he could track the two fugitives down. He'd excelled in the navy too, changing his train of thought as he surveyed his bridge with professional eyes.
He needed to work out some more he thought; he was going to get flabby sitting in the chair. He ran a meaty hand through his iron black hair. He was vain enough to die it now that he was in his 50s. He admitted that. Oh, and fine, he did have hair transplants since he'd started to thin out on top. But he had a nice ponytail and looked quite dashing in his blood red dress uniform. His mother and all the ladies at court said so. Many a damsel would swoon at his cleft chin, pecks, and piercing blue eyes.
He was amused by the new noble titles that were beginning to proliferate through the empire's upper echelons. But he was proud his family had earned one. He came from a long line of men and women who had devoted themselves in service to the empire. His great-great-great something or other grandfather had been in some sort of debacle that had saved the empire during its formation over seven centuries ago.
His great-great-grandfather, grandmother, and great-grandfather had each been in the emperor's guard. His grandfather, Ijam, had been one of the first to train the legendary Death's Head Brigade. One of his cousins was a pilot in the Jolly Rogers; another had been in the Skull Squadron before he'd died in a live fire exercise.
His father, Antony, had been instrumental in the conquest of Ponduck and the cluster of systems in that region of Sigma sector. Finding the derelict civilian repair yard in Ponduck had been a stroke of luck. That was what had truly catapulted the family past others to get their patent of nobility. His lip curled slightly. Cream always did rise to the top after all.
He held the title now after his father's “unfortunate and untimely” demise. He shook his head. He had nothing to do with it of course; his overly ambitious brother had ordered it. The empire's justice department said so. A not-quite smile hovered over his lips. Gantu had been sloppy in his eagerness; he hadn't cleaned up his henchmen properly. One had gotten pinched for some minor crime, and they'd rolled on him. Gantu had been executed by the emperor's order just before Gaston had been transferred from Home Fleet to Fourth and then left on his assignment. He had managed to watch and record the execution though. He loved to watch it when he had his off time with Kin Yan.
“How is Corsair doing?” the captain asked.
“Fine, fine, sir. Captain Bones sends his regards,” the XO stated. The captain snorted softly to himself. Commander Brom Bones was an old friend of Dutch and captain of the old Cutlass class Corsair. They'd been classmates during their midshipman days and had served on their midshipman's cruise. Brom had gotten his command and his present rank after taking command of a string of prizes sent back to the empire. He didn't understand what Dutch saw in the man. He was a bully with women. He did dote on his wife, Katrina, though.
“Captain Queux asked if we had anything further on that flash, sir,” the XO stated eying the captain.
The captain frowned. The initial flash had indicated the jump-in of a ship. They'd expected the incoming ship, but it hadn't shown up on any of their screens. The captain of the Antelope class destroyer McRae was concerned about it. Gaston wasn't. He turned to Lieutenant Shanty, his senior tactical officer or TACO. She shook her head.
The lieutenant had a mohawk of purple hair and earrings in her right ear and the bridge of her nose. She was tall but well built. She wore spiked gloves she liked to kiss. She called them her knuckle dusters. She was a bloody minded bitch, which was only right; women in their profession had to work doubly hard to prove themselves. He didn't think anything of it; she wanted to be here after all. And he had to admit, she was good at her job—both on the bridge and in bed.
“It's there, sir. Something came in. I've been over the feed multiple times and ran it through every filter we've got. But whatever came through didn't get under power.”
“What does it mean?” Dutch asked.
“It could have been something natural. An explosive out-gassing of some sort,” the captain said dismissively. The XO frowned, but then reluctantly nodded.
“Not likely. On that vector, sir?” the TACO said, not ready to give it up.
“Did we get a location?” the captain asked, looking from her to the XO.
“Only Buccaneer's Breath saw it, sir,” Dutch replied with a shake of his head. “It wasn't enough to get a fix beyond a general bearing. We checked the records of the other ships; no one else saw it. It was consistent with the B-458 jump point, however.”
“Do you think it could be a scout? That jump line leads to Antigua, "Lieutenant Shanty stated cautiously.
The XO grimaced. “I know. And we haven't heard anything from Admiral Rico or Admiral Cartwright.”
“Sir, you know our latest intel states that both have been defeated,” the Taco stated, shooting her painful statement directly to the captain.
That had been a hard pill to swallow. Prinz Zir had come in bearing the news only a week ago. The small ship had gotten word when she had stopped in Briev. Convoys were plying their way between Pyrax and Antigua, rich with tempting booty. The ships hadn't been shy about bragging about the battle in Antigua or another that had been fought in B101a1 supposedly. They'd covered their tracks carefully and then left, but not before recording the ion wakes of all the ships that had passed through each star system they had crossed.
The small spy ship had rerouted through Kathy's World to bring word, apparently narrowly missing a large enemy fleet movement through that star system. According to Prinz Zir's skipper, he'd gotten through the star system despite an enemy picket and then jumped to Protodon with word. Two days ago she had hypered out to go to Nuevo Madrid to spread the word to the empire.
He appreciated the warning though it was maddeningly vague and filled with inconsistencies. It bothered him that Kathy's World had fallen. Several ships had passed through there; no one had reported it! It didn't make sense. Hell, his ship had passed through that star system over a year ago. Fourteen and a half months he corrected himself. They'd had orders to hit three star systems: Proxima, Requim 11, and Centennial. He'd filled up the medium tender T11459 he’d been escorting on the first two worlds; the last had been a bust. He hadn't gotten everything on his shopping list, far from it, but he was satisfied the brass wouldn't complain.
He frowned again, going back to Kathy's World and their passage through the star system. The freighter in orbit had reported the occupation was well under control … could it be a mistake? The information from the spy ship? Or had they been tricked? They had only the radio call to …. He frowned and played with his lip, torn with indecision. Finally he shook his head.
“Which I still cannot believe. They had more than enough forces to take on …,” the captain cut himself off with a grimace. “One heavy cruiser? Taking down a task force from Fleet Three? It's inconceivable.” He shook his head. “And capturing … no it's not possible.”
“We could go to Antigua and check, sir. It is up to your discretion,” the XO suggested, eying him hopefully.
“No,” the captain stated flatly. He saw the slump in the other man's shoulders and shook hi
s head. He knew what was on Dutch's mind; the man was bored to tears in orbit. Well, that was too bad. “That's not going to happen; our orders are clear. I'll inform the naval station in Nuevo Madrid. Perhaps they'll dispatch a spy ship to check out the situation. I'm not going to violate my orders and sail into what could be a trap.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Should we alert General Busche?”
The captain eyed his XO like he was insane. “And say what? We saw a bright flash?” the captain shook his head. “She'd skin us alive. She's got enough of a problem running her battalion on the planet.” He was fairly confident she'd get the upper hand eventually, but the population was made up of mostly Neos. Neos who knew their homeworld fairly well and were getting pretty astringent about guerrilla warfare, or so he'd heard. His command had been tapped ten times this week to do a kinetic strike he thought. He was running low on kinetic rounds.
The XO blanched. “You don't think she'd really do it, sir, do you?”
“Do I want to risk my hide to find out, Dutch?” The captain snorted at the commander's expression. “Trust me, she'd be pissed at the distraction, but the most we'd get is a tongue lashing at this distance. She's not the sick type. Not that there is anything wrong with flag officers who are ...,” he said hastily then shook his head.
“Yes, sir. If you say so, sir.”
“Changing the subject, you said that we're running behind on loading?”
The XO nodded in relief. “Yes, sir. We're down to four shuttles since the general commandeered the last one to replace her losses. Number six should be certified flight worthy in thirty-seven hours according to the mechanics.”
“Tell them to get it sorted out pronto. Groundside leave for a day if they can get it done in twenty-four,” the captain said.
“I don't think that's an incentive, sir, seeing as how hot it is down there. Even the space port isn't considered safe yet.”
“They may not know that.”
“Do you really want to risk losing them if they do go down, sir?”