by Adams, David
She watched as Kamal turned to Dao. “Disengage artificial gravity throughout the ship.”
She felt the familiar sensation of weightlessness. Her heels floated up from the metal of the hull, propelled by the slightest pressure from her feet.
“Mister Iraj,” she took a breath. “Ready to turn the key on my mark. Three, two, one…”
Chapter XI
“Assailing the Unassailable”
* * *
Operations
TFR Beijing
Initially, Liao had been taken aback by lack of fanfare in a jump. She expected a flash of light, swirls of energy, a strange warping sound, or some strange physics-defying phenomenon to occur when the jump was made, but the moment her key clicked into place, there was no noticeable sign that anything had happened. She floated above the console, feeling the gravity slowly returning.
When she had first came to space, the lack of gravity had made her nauseous–she threw up on the shuttle to the Beijing–but she had slowly become used to the strange sensation. That, or her nervousness and excitement were far too strong for her to worry about such a trivial thing as a little weightlessness.
“Navigation reports jump complete, Captain,” came Dao’s voice. “We are inside a gravity well. The jump drive is cooling.”
Liao steadied herself on the command console as her feet once again found purchase on the steel of the Beijing's deck. She withdrew her key from the console, placing it back in her chest pocket and glancing at her command console's readouts, then up to the Operations crew.
“Tactical report, Mister Jiang.”
Jiang's expert fingers flew over her console. “Aye aye, ma'am.” He frowned. “Strange. Uhh, the forward optical cameras show, well, nothing. There's nothing on long-range radar, either, just a whole bunch of weird reflections. The thermals are playing up, too. There’s something messing with our forward sensors, Captain. Maybe we’re being jammed, or it’s some kind of strange interference.”
Liao frowned, glancing down at her console. The forward-facing camera showed nothing but a dark grey blur, uniform in colour. The radar showed nothing at all, not even dust or sensor ghosts. The thermal camera was a thick white sheet of moderate heat, grey like its optical cousin.
“What the fuck's going on? Did we misjump? Is there some kind of equipment malfunction?”
She didn’t vocalise the last question in her mind, but thought it instead. Are the coordinates Ben gave us a trap?
“The coordinates appear to be accurate,” Dao said. “Based on our position… I'll check them again.”
Summer thumped her fist on her console. “We're right where he fucking said we would be, but there's just something wrong about our sensors.” She used a trackball to rotate the camera, spinning the device from side to side.
Liao could see the bearing change, but the grey wall in front of them didn't change until the camera moved past a hundred and sixty degrees, where the sea of stars that could be seen out the rear returned like someone pulling back a huge sheet in front of their cameras.
[“The constellations displayed by the rear cameras match those that would be seen from Cenar,”] came Saara's voice, [“but the forward cameras cannot see anything.”]
Liao didn’t like this one bit. She crossed her arms. “Launch strike fighters and hail the Sydney. Something's gone wrong and I want to know what that is.”
Jiang nodded, reaching up and speaking into her headset. “Strike craft away, Captain,” she called, then–focused, and frowning in confusion–received a transmission. She paused for a moment, listening, then turned back to Liao, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Captain! Jazz reports the launch process nearly flung his fighter into the station–we're right next to them. Cenar is directly in front of our bow, six hundred metres distant.”
“Six hundred metres?”
Liao stared. The distances involved in space travel and combat were usually vast, measured in thousands of kilometers at the least; for something to be only six hundred metres away was to be so close that the Beijing's sensors not only couldn't detect it, but couldn't differentiate between its hull and the hull of their own ship.
Summer spun one of the trackballs and the forward facing optical camera zoomed out, the grey blur shifting as it slowly come into focus, revealing the dull, grey metal hull of the Toralii Alliance station of Cenar.
The Toralii were right in front of the Beijing’s guns.
“Confirmed. One massive contact, six hundred and eight metres distant, showing up clear as day on short range radar!”
Summer stared blankly at her console. “What the fu—”
[“Captain, that is level sixteen–the command level. Ben's coordinates have deposited us directly in front of the tactical hub for the entire station!”]
Liao couldn’t help but realize, in that split second while her brain processed Jiang’s words, that Ben’s precise, robotic mind had–naturally–placed them in the optimal position. A Human operator would have simply put them anywhere within range, and Liao would have accepted that without question, but Ben was something else. She had expected to be close to the station, but this was practically inside it.
Their course of action was clear.
“Fire!” Liao shouted, gesturing wildly at Jiang. “At this range we can do some serious damage. Open up with everything we've got: railguns at maximum power, the strike craft–hell, even hit them with the point defense cannons if we can get a firing solution. Have the missiles target their guns: point defense, medium range, energy weapons—everything! The more we can knock out now, the better our chances will be.”
“Aye aye, Captain–firing everything at everything! Railguns charged—firing!”
Liao turned her gaze back to the command console, watching the forward-facing cameras with not only her military, analytical mind, but also her innate Human curiosity. She had not seen the effects of their weapons at such close range before. Normally, because of the vast distances between their vessel and their targets, the enemy contacts were always distant, disconnected entities that appeared merely as dots on their radar screen, like labeled pieces on a mah-jong board. Hits and misses were determined through feedback on their radar or thermal cameras, the exact results of their efforts estimated by thermal buildup or debris field dispersion—information based entirely on extrapolation and guesswork.
This time, however, she had ringside seats to her ship’s destructive capabilities.
Liao felt the barely perceptible shudder of their railguns engaging, the ship's twin magnetic accelerators propelling two ferrous slugs out towards the station’s hull. The ludicrous speed they were launched at–a fraction of the speed of light–made viewing the actual projectiles in flight impossible, but the results of their journey were immediate. The instant the shudder ended, two showers of sparks—like the splash from a rock being dropped into a pond—burst forth from the Toralii station's hull as the two slugs smashed into the armoured metal at terrific velocity, instantly vapourising large chunks of the structure and sending out sparks of super-heated plasma.
Twin geysers of white gas, like two high-pressure fountains erupting from the ground, burst from the two entry points as the atmosphere of Cenar vented into space, taking with it clouds of debris and the occasional Toralii body.
It was beautiful, in a way, watching the gas cool and expand, the debris cloud meeting the Beijing's forward hull like fog rolling down a mountain, the occasional flash of a missile detonation elsewhere on the station casting a fragment of the Beijing’s colossal shadow on the hull of the space station.
“Good effect on target. Numerous gun batteries disabled, and the hull near the command centre has been breached!”
For once, Liao didn't need her tactical officer's report to know how just how well they'd done. “Excellent work, Mister Jiang. Fire again when ready.”
“Aye aye, Captain. The railgun’s capacitors will be cooled and charged again in twenty seconds!”
Liao t
urned to Dao, a sudden knot forming in her stomach as James, one objective of their mission–in her mind, the sole objective–leapt back into her head. “Report, Mister Dao. Have we located the Tehran or the Kel-Voran Dreadnought yet?”
“No sign of the Tehran yet, Captain, but there is currently one contact within the four hundred thousand tonnes range. The rest are two hundred thousand or less, so that must be the Kel-Voran ship.”
Liao nodded. “Have the Archangel insert her Marines there, along with Garn. They'll need to secure the ship until the rest of his crew can be rescued and brought to man the ship.”
“Right away, Captain.”
Liao turned back to Jiang. “Status on Broadswords?”
“The Archangel is en route to the dreadnought; the Switchblade, Predator, and Paladin are standing by to insert their Marines once Cenar’s command centre has been disabled.”
“And the railguns? How close are they to being ready?”
“One moment, Captain.” Jiang leant over her console, scrutinizing her readouts. “The railgun capacitors will be charged in three, two, one…”
There was another faint shudder as the railguns fired a second round of shots, the slugs disappearing into the twin holes already punched in Cenar's hull. This time, the effect was even more pronounced; the friction of the shots as they passed through the space station’s atmosphere ignited it, causing a gout of flame to burst from the two impact zones.
Liao watched in grim satisfaction as the whole level ignited, with secondary explosions clearly visible on the ship’s thermal cameras. The parts of the blaze exposed to space were quickly snuffed out, but that was precious little comfort to the Toralii in those sections who were left without air to breathe.
Jiang called over the bustle of the Operations room. “Captain, the railguns have had good effect on the target. Between the strike craft and our missile barrages, we’ve knocked out a great number of defensive batteries on the station. We’re ready to insert the Marines.”
Liao straightened her back, feeling it crack slightly and realising just how long she’d been hunched over her screen. “Excellent. Put them in, Mister Jiang.”
“Will do, Captain. Stand by.”
The woman turned back to her console, tapping her talk key. “Beijing actual to Marine teams—green light on insertion. Good hunting.”
Good hunting. The Marines were hunters, and that was something hunters said to each other. Never good luck or be careful. It was always good hunting. To rely entirely on luck was seen as a weakness; real warriors made their own luck through skill, relentless training, and tactical advantages. To rely on luck was not wise, but being overly careful was even worse. Hunters were supposed to treat defensive positions as a stable platform for attack, not a place to hide.
Aggression was necessary in warfare. You couldn’t win with caution. It was as Cheung had told her earlier—everything in warfare had to have a certain level risk to it, or there was no conflict.
The Marines she was ordering into battle knew the risks. It was admirable, in a way, how nonchalantly Cheung had dismissed the dangers of her profession, even when her arm had been scarred in the line of duty. Now she faced the same, and worse, along with all of her soldiers.
Jiang turned in her seat. “Captain, all Broadswords except the Archangel report they’ve attached to the hull and begun insertion. Archangel reports they’ve dropped their team and are now standing by for Search and Rescue duties.”
Liao folded her arms. “Good. Align railguns to target Cenar’s fighter hangars. Let’s see if we can clip their wings before they launch too many.”
Jiang chuckled. “Already got the firing solution locked in, Captain. With their hangar doors open, it shouldn't take more than one or two shots to have them nicely roasting in Hell."
Liao gave the woman a slight grin, nodding. “Use your discretion with the railguns, then, but be cautious. Make sure our Marines have their locator beacons on. Watch for friendlies and prisoners.”
“Of course, Captain.”
Liao felt the almost imperceptible shift as the ship rotated, then a third shudder as the railguns fired another barrage.
Dao’s voice caught her attention. “That’s odd,” he said, glancing at his instruments in confusion.
Liao stepped over to his station, resting her hand on the back of his chair. “What is it?”
“The reactionless drive. When I made that course correction, there was a weight on the outer hull. Small, but enough to affect the change.”
Liao frowned. “A weight? On which side?”
“The underside. One moment, I’ll bring up an external camera.”
When he did so, the problem became obvious.
A Toralii boarding ship had attached itself to the underside of the Beijing.
* * *
Engineering Bay One
TFR Beijing
Ben was good at a lot of things, but one of the things he was very good at was passing the time.
Being locked in Engineering was really no different than being stuck in the hull of the Giralan, or being left in the vast deserts of Karathi. He amused himself by scanning the entire interior of the engineering bay with his advanced optics, mapping its structure down to the molecular level and analysing every tiny imperfection in its surface. He counted not only how many bolts and welds and joins the room contained, but performed numerous small tasks such as estimating the temperature of the welds, or running the metal through an analysis to find its impurities then trying to to guess its age to the day.
All this was bought to an end by a crashing, burning explosion that tore a two metre hole in the side of the bulkhead. In Ben’s mind it all happened in slow motion; through his audio sensors, he could hear the faint hiss—undetectable to Human ears—that preceded the detonation of a Toralii breaching charge. He watched as the bulkheads came apart, the metal melting and fragmenting, and studied the trajectories of the semi-liquid metallic shards as they splattered onto the deck.
He saw the Toralii boarders come into the room, anticipating where their armoured feet would fall, studying their featureless visages through the helmet visors. Ben saw the attackers raise their weapons and cut down the startled Marines guarding him like a scythe through a field of wheat.
[“They have a construct,”] one of the Toralii observed, wearing the white armour that denoted a leader, [“chained, and in the stylings of our own. Perhaps it is salvage?”]
The word burned through Ben’s mind like a brand. Salvage. These Toralii were of the Alliance, as bad as the Telvan in any way he could measure. He watched as they inspected the Human bodies, barely paying attention to him.
[“That’s correct,”] Ben offered, lying. Fortunately for him, though, he had full control of his vocal chords. He allowed emotion in only when he chose to, and in this case, discretion would serve him better. [“They bound me, not knowing what I was. But I can help you.”]
The Toralii attacker used his boot to casually turn over one of the Human corpses, verifying it was dead. [“Construct, what do you know of the layout of this ship?”]
[“Everything.”]
Casually, the white-armoured Toralii leader gestured to his red-armoured companions. [“Good. Break his chains.”]
And they did, with the ruthless precision that Ben expected from them. He stretched himself to his full height, gesturing submissively towards the Toralii leader.
[“What is your command?”]
It riled him to offer service, but it was necessary—for now.
[“Show me to this vessel’s voidwarp device so that we may destroy it. We do not know how these aliens arrived this far beyond the jump point, but they cannot be allowed to escape. We need to prevent further translocation so our reinforcements can arrive and crush them.”]
Ben gestured with a claw. [“The device is through that bulkhead, then down one level.”]
A breaching charge was placed on the far wall and detonated. Like this room, its neighbour was occupied, bu
t by engineers; the Toralii boarders made short work of them, cutting the unarmed Human engineers down like insects. Then a charge was placed on the floor.
[“You are certain, construct?”]
Ben affixed his sensors on the lead Toralii. [“My information is accurate, Leader.”]
With a nod, the Toralii blew the charge. A spray of metal flew into the chamber below and they leaped in one after another, Ben taking the rear.
The casing for the jump drive was empty because most of its systems were controlled from Operations.
[“Hold,”] Ben said, watching as the Toralii prepared another breaching charge. [“You will need that one to escape this room.”]
The white-armoured Toralii regarded him with a condescending sneer. [“What?”]
Ben gestured to the roof. [“You blew a hole in the roof, and your armour is too heavy to climb back up through it. You will need at least three charges to get back to that level.”]
The Toralii became agitated, but Ben held up his claws. [“Do not worry. I will tear the forbidden voidwarp device from its mounts and crush it myself. ”]
That idea met with nods of approval, so Ben turned to the casing for the Humans’ jump drive. Attaching his claws to the metal, he steadied his feet and gripped the device with his large clamps. Straining his articulators, he pulled, the metal of the jump drive stressing and groaning before finally tearing free in a cloud of debris.
[“Crush it,”] the Toralii leader commanded, nodding with approval at the gaping hole in the Beijing’s jump drive compartment.
[“As you wish.”]
Ben extended a claw, grasping the shocked Toralii leader by the middle and closing his grip. With the crack-splinter of stressed metal, the Toralii spacesuit crumpled like an empty can, the violent gesture barely giving the alien just enough time to shout before his lungs were crushed. Swinging the corpse as a weapon, Ben slammed it into the one of the other Toralii, then casually dropped the one-tonne jump drive onto the forehead of the third. Picking up the device when his grisly work was done, the construct scampered nimbly up the wall to the ceiling, disappearing through the hole the Toralii had made, carrying the Beijing’s jump drive with him.