Star Carrier (Lost Colonies Trilogy Book 3)

by B. V. Larson

  After spending a full duty-shift in this particular stretch of hyperspace, I headed back to the command deck to see if my navigational people had worked out a course.

  “The general shape is oblong,” Durris said, using measured intervals from various returning pings to support his point. “We’ve been here for ten hours, and we’ve only got one axis where we haven’t hit a wall yet.”

  My XO was using the term “wall” loosely. The edges of any organized region of hyperspace were, by definition, indistinct and immeasurable. After all, at what precise point did any reality end? Beyond good reference points, it was all conjecture.

  Instead of concrete dimensions, we measured such variable spaces in terms of their coherency. Rather than a wall, then, the limits of the pocket we were currently plunging through were defined by borders where the laws of physics began to warp and shift.

  “Have you found any solution for the exit?” I asked.

  “Negative. We’re in a bumpy zone, here. We’re getting an irregular curve, and the pods we’ve dropped are still shifting positions behind us as far as our readings are concerned. This ER bridge is unstable today.”

  “Hmm. Typically unpredictable, just our luck.”

  Travel between the stars had become possible using two methodologies. There might be others, but we’d yet to discover them.

  The first method was extremely direct. One simply aimed their spacecraft toward the star in question, applied thrust to the opposite end of the ship, and rode the momentum to the finish line. The downside of this approach involved the distances between stars. Even at an achievable speed of around twenty percent of light, a short trip took decades.

  Fortunately, a second approach had been discovered. By entering Einstein-Rosen Bridges—otherwise known as wormholes—we were able to cheat on our math. The distance traveled was immaterial as it was inside a different type of space.

  But performing such a trick had its own negatives. Each hyperspace we entered followed slightly different rules, even from one trip to the next. Therefore, all of them were inherently unstable, and our ships often had difficulty finding their way out of a pocket universe once they were inside it.

  To solve the problem, we dropped probes to the aft of the ship and observed their behavior. In most cases, the exit to any ER bridge was directly ahead of the ship when it entered—but due to space-time warping, “directly ahead” wasn’t as easy a place to find as it should be.

  Fortunately, the warping effect for each hyperspace could be modeled mathematically. Watching the behavior of the dropped probes was our critical tool. If we could create a model that would place every probe we dropped into a straight line, the far end always aimed at the exit. That was exactly what we were working on now: finding a way out.

  At length, I became satisfied that Durris had the matter in hand. He would eventually solve the equation, and we’d have our destination pin-pointed.

  Leaving the command deck in his capable hands, I traveled the length of the ship to Vogel’s lab.

  His staff was there going over schematics. They jumped in a guilty fashion when I arrived, and they looked at me in concern.

  On the table in their midst was a variant. The thing was open, both its metal case and its fleshy interior. As they moved away, I could tell they were performing surgery.

  “Something wrong with this unit?” I asked.

  “No, Captain,” Dr. McKay answered, pushing strands of red hair away from her face. “We’re performing an alteration.”

  Eying her for a moment, I realized I hadn’t seen her pay any attention to Rumbold since she’d boarded my ship. Had that been due to her earlier state of intoxication back on Phobos? Or had she only pretended to be interested in him in order to get herself a ticket aboard Defiant? Time would tell.

  “An alteration?” I asked. “I see… for what purpose?”

  The team looked at me for a moment, and McKay removed her dripping gloves and stepped around the mess on the table to approach me. She reshaped her face into a false smile.

  “We’re very busy today,” she said. “Perhaps I can find Vogel to help you.”

  “Is this a private meeting?” I asked.

  “No, not at all—but it can be if you wish. Will you excuse us, staff?” she said, looking expectantly at the others.

  Without a word, they put down their instruments with various clattering and splashing sounds, then walked out.

  “Now, Captain, what can I do for you?” she asked, turning on her considerable charm.

  “You’re operating on this variant to alter its programming, aren’t you?”

  She winced. “Such an inappropriate way of expressing the situation… The variants aren’t programmed—not exactly. What we’re doing is installing an experimental governor in the thorax.”

  “Hmm. What’s the purpose of such a device?”

  “It’s rather like your implant, but it’s designed to alter behavior rather than serve as a communications tool.”

  I chuckled briefly. “Some would say the true purpose of our implants is to do precisely that.”

  “Well… this is a more direct application.”

  “What kind of behavior does this governor alter?”

  “Violent tendencies.”

  My eyebrows raised high. “I thought we wanted them to act as troops. To perform as an assault team if needed. Why make them less aggressive?”

  She blinked at me in confusion then laughed. “No, no, Captain. You misunderstand. These alterations are designed to improve their performance in combat.”

  “Are you saying it’s sub-optimal now?”

  “Yes, exactly. The variants were designed for construction, not destruction. They’re fast and accurate, but not informed soldiers. A vanilla variant doesn’t come with an innate knowledge of weakness in a target’s anatomy, for example.”

  Beginning to catch on, I felt disturbed. Walking to the mess on the table, I stood over it, staring. “What anatomy are you talking about? Human, or…?”

  “Stroj, human and variant,” she said. “We thought it would be best to cover the bases.”

  “Quite… You’re telling me this thing will be an even more effective killer than K-19 and his crew proved to be at CENTCOM?”

  “Definitely. In fact, we used a download of K-19’s experiences in the formulation of this upgrade. I’m so glad you’re pleased.”

  I glanced at her thoughtfully. “I’m not sure that pleased is what I am. But it’s what I asked for, so I suppose I can’t complain now. Carry on.”

  Leaving the lab, I suppressed a shudder when I heard squelching sounds behind me. McKay and the rest of Vogel’s team had gone back to work.

  Over the following four days, we finally found our way out of the hyperspace bridge. When we broke through into normal space, we all felt relief.

  The feeling was short-lived however. The system we found ourselves in wasn’t quite the same as when we’d left it.

  “Radiation levels are high, Captain,” Yamada said, “even for Gliese-32.”

  Gliese-32, known as “Gi” to the locals, was an orange-colored star about thirty-five light years from Earth. We’d been here before and interacted successfully with the inhabitants. As best we knew, our armada had passed through this system on its maiden voyage.

  The breach came out quite near Gliese-32, and the system was high in gamma radiation anyway. We found ourselves maneuvering for several tense minutes to evade the gravitational pull of the central star.

  It was only then that we turned our thoughts to Tranquility Station, the home of the Gi people. There were no inhabitable planets in the system, and all life resided inside an artificial polyhedron built by the original colonists long ago.

  Or rather, all life had been located there. We stared in stunned silence at the dead wreckage that had once been an impressive human achievement.

  Today, Tranquility Station looked like a crushed, burned Christmas ornament hanging in space. Fully half its mass had been
blown away. The powerful shielding it had once used for a defense was gone. The fighters that had no doubt defended the station were drifting about, destroyed and useless.

  “I’m sorry sir,” Yamada said, her voice emotional. “I’m not getting any life readings. It appears as if the variants have killed everyone.”

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  The Connatic, a woman I’d once made love to, was clearly dead.

  -30-

  We’d hoped it wouldn’t be this way when we got here. I’d heard reports, of course, ominous warnings from Star Guard, Admiral Perez and my own aunt.

  But the scale of it… We hadn’t been prepared for that.

  “Not even the damned Stroj would have done this,” Rumbold said, thumping his fist ineffectively on his console. “Crazy machines!”

  “Keep scanning,” I said, “and send out welcoming signals. There might be someone here, hiding.”

  Nothing responded to our signals for several long hours. I began to get impatient.

  “Commander Durris, do you have the next breach we’re supposed to follow pinpointed?”

  “Yes Captain, but it’s not quite what I expected.”

  “Why not?”

  “It appears to be markedly similarly to one of those artificial bridges. The type that the Stroj can create. It seems to be in a location where a known bridge was previously. I don’t understand it.”

  I moved to his side and examined his data. There was no error that I could find. Reluctantly, I agreed with his conclusions.

  “Maybe it’s been tampered with,” I suggested, “transformed into a sort of hybrid bridge. It could be hijacked, redirected or damaged.”

  “I suppose such things are possible,” Durris said doubtfully. “But in any case, the signature is all wrong for a natural interface between hyperspace and normal space. One way or the other, this is going to be a blue jump.”

  “Hmm,” I said, “could it be the Stroj wrecked this system, not the variants? What if they were the ones who came here and blew up the station then left? Perez indicated the variants were destroying systems, but that could have been a cover-up.”

  “Admiral Perez told you what, Captain?”

  Durris was staring at me, and I realized that I’d let slip information of which he had no inkling. He had no idea I’d had a private conversation with Perez before destroying him.

  “He was a Stroj agent. You know that, right?”

  “Of course sir, the online articles—”

  “They don’t tell you everything in those releases. I was there. Before he died, he told me the variants were destroying Earth colonies out here as well as Stroj worlds. That they’re marauding, killing everyone.”

  “But why?” Rumbold demanded. “What the hell for? Do they hate all life? We should destroy those things in the hold before they kill us in our beds, Captain!”

  I glanced at him. “You might have a point. I might even do it if I didn’t need them so desperately. Remember the odds we’re facing. We need every advantage we have at our disposal.”

  Grumbling, Rumbold went back to his station.

  “Captain!” Yamada called out. “I’ve got contacts, sir!”

  “Where?”

  “From the wreckage. They’re—they must be fighters sir. A group of them has launched. I didn’t think there was anything alive in that hulk.”

  For the first time since I entered this star system, I dared to hope and permitted myself a smile. “The Connatic must have some fight in her yet. Open a channel in the clear. Let me explain who we are and why we’re here. They’re understandably paranoid.”

  She did as I asked, and I identified myself and my ship.

  The fighters didn’t respond. Neither did whatever served them as traffic control back on the wrecked station.

  Frowning at the data screens, from which flowed a steady output of predictive attack vectors and the like, I gave an order I hadn’t wanted to give.

  “Prepare our defenses,” I said. “Come about to an oblique angle—let’s not head right into them.”

  Durris looked at me, and he shook his head.

  “What is it, Commander?” I asked.

  “It just seems like a terrible waste. Must we destroy the last colonists in this system? Why won’t they answer?”

  “Yamada, are they receiving our messages?” I demanded.

  “I think so, sir,” she said, working her instruments. “They’ve synched, and our packets have been accepted. The channel is open, but they’ve made no attempt to respond.”

  “Tell them we’ll have to destroy their fighters if they get within two hundred thousand kilometers.”

  “Sir?” Durris said, stepping toward my chair in alarm. “That’s much too close. Well within our safety zone.”

  “Yes, but still beyond their practical ranges.”

  “The fighters are doing something, sir,” Yamada said after she’d transmitted my warning twice.

  I moved quickly to her station. I wanted the latest input, unfiltered.

  The news wasn’t good.

  “As you can see,” she said, “they’re pumping out crystalline gels ahead of them to diffuse our defensive lasers. They’re building up a large cloud of material to hide behind.”

  “Captain?” Durris called.

  Reluctantly, I moved to his side.

  “I’ve reworked the simulations,” he said. “They’re going to cruise in behind a thin shielding and then scatter, hitting us from multiple sides. At least, that’s what the battle computers say is the most likely case.”

  Releasing an unhappy grunt of disappointment, I checked the range again. They were at five hundred thousand kilometers and closing fast.

  The numbers were significant. At this range, we could hit them but they couldn’t hit us. Fighters were small and difficult targets, but they had to get in quite close to do damage. There were generally a lot of them, and a capital ship couldn’t afford to let them get in close without losses. The essential fact was we were at our optimal range right now, and I was letting the opportunity to inflict losses slide past us.

  “All right,” I said reluctantly. “Focus on a lead fighter. Punch through that shield and take it out.”

  “Just one, sir?” Durris complained. “The usual practice—”

  “I know. Hit just one of them. Maybe they’ll get the message.”

  He didn’t even bother to acknowledge the command, aim, or declare his exact intentions. Apparently, he’d already anticipated an order of this kind, because he simply reached out to his control screen and double-tapped his index finger on the red swarm of incoming fighters.

  The main batteries hummed, then buzzed, then sang. We waited a few seconds—then the beams reached them.

  “We took out one. Recharging.”

  “Hold your fire,” I ordered.

  He said nothing, but his jaws were tight with tension.

  “Analysis, Yamada? Did we impress them?”

  “They’re taking increased defensive action, darting from side to side—but no messages. They’re continuing the attack run.”

  The odd thing about space battles is they could appear to be fast or slow, depending on the distance to the target. At great distances, the action was greatly delayed. Often minutes passed between firing and witnessing a strike. On the other hand, when the range was short, things happened with blinding rapidity.

  “Unlimber all three main batteries. Fire in a slow cycle, don’t melt anything down. Fire continuously until they’re destroyed or they break off.”

  Having given a fateful order, I moved to my seat again, feeling the weight of command. Why did humanity insist on mutual destruction? In many cases, I’d been in conflicts that were easily avoidable.

  The current situation was a distinct one, with all things considered, as these people should know better. They had nothing to fear from us. It just didn’t make sense.

  “Sir?” Rumbold asked me, “Permission to adjust our course?”

 
“What for, Rumbold?”

  “To maximize the time we have at medium range.”

  I knew what he meant. If we turned away from the fighters, they’d take longer to get within range. They wouldn’t be able to shoot back while we kept pecking at them steadily.

  “Permission granted.”

  The ship veered, exerting lateral force on us all. Defiant was equipped with inertial dampeners, but they never operated with one hundred percent effectiveness.

  Three minutes passed. During that time, we destroyed two more targets. Durris came to me, smiling.

  “We’re in the clear if the situation remains as it is,” he said. “They’ll be down to twenty or so fighters by the time they reach us.”

  I nodded, less than overjoyed. It still seemed like a terrible waste.

  “Captain…” Yamada said in a concerned tone. “They’re changing their formation.”

  Durris rushed back to his tactical table. His smile had vanished.

  My mood shifted as well. The enemy was ballooning out from behind their prismatic cloud, abandoning it. They surged forward with shocking speed. Our latest volley of shots went wide, hitting nothing.

  “Commander Durris,” I called. “I’ve seen Gi fighters in action before—they don’t fly that fast.”

  “I know sir… I know. We’re in close enough for optical recognition.”

  A wire diagram of the enemy configuration appeared on the forward screen. It wasn’t the right shape. It was sleek, rather than angular and rounded like a manta ray.

  “What are we facing, Commander?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know, sir. I’ve never seen this design before.”

  “I have,” said a new voice from the back of the deck.

  We turned to see Director Vogel. He stepped forward, making a gesture toward me for permission to enter. I nodded.

  “Welcome to the deck, Director. What are you talking about?”

  “Those are Earth fighters,” he said. “Our new fighters.”

  I studied him for a moment then turned back to the forward screens. The enemy had formed into four groups now, and these groups were converging on our position. They were still accelerating.