by E A Wicklund
“That’s amazing.” McCray sat up. He’d never met anyone like Aja. The more he learned about her, the more she fascinated him. “What’s the heaviest thing you ever lifted?”
Aja paused in her weaving to think. “I suppose it was a CitiGo.”
McCray’s face fell. Four grown men would struggle to lift a CitiGo. He couldn’t help his astonished squeak. “Seriously? A CitiGo?”
“Yeah. Why?”
McCray realized his mouth hung open, and he snapped it shut. The three-wheeled electric CitiGos were small vehicles, but hardly anything a single person could pick up. “They weigh three-hundred kilos or more.”
“Really? I never checked.”
“Why did you pick it up?”
Aja stopped and gave him an impatient look. “Well if you’re going to throw something at somebody, you gotta pick it up first.”
McCray’s mouth fell open. “You threw…”
A tone sounded in McCray’s head. His Iris Mark IV system, a bundle of nanites in his brain that formed a nano-transceiver, alerted him that he had a call. “McCray here,” he said.
“We’ve got an emergence, Skipper,” said Zahn. Though the communication occurred only in his head, Archimedes passed the signal via Iris to his brain and he heard the XO’s voice as though the man stood in the room. “A sloop, possibly a sloop of war, nine light-minutes away.”
McCray sat up straight. “Any chance she’s what we’ve been looking for?”
“Data is still coming in, sir. Whatever she is, she’s on an intercept course.”
McCray felt a grin spread across his face. “I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 02
McCray jacked into his sarco and, moments later, the bridge materialized around him. It looked larger than usual at the moment. While the Alpha bridge team took over from Bravo team, more people populated the space. Archimedes automatically expanded its size to accommodate two teams present at once. The area shrank as Bravo team members passed on current station status and then disappeared from the simulated compartment.
“Captain on the bridge,” shouted Zahn, and everyone present stood at attention.
“As you were,” said McCray quickly. He didn’t want Navy ritual to get in the way of ship’s business with a possible hostile inbound.
He took his place at the Conn and examined the data in the tank. “Anything new on our guest, Andy?”
“Nothing so far, sir,” said the XO, taking a chair beside the Captain. “She’s still on an intercept course, but taking her time at it, pushing along at one-ninety gees. If she’s after us, she’s in no hurry.”
McCray watched the contact in the tank. “Any chance her course is coincidental?”
“Possible, but unlikely. Contact 2-0-3 is not precisely headed for McGowan VI, where there are cloud scoops available for refueling, but that might just be lazy navigation practice.” Zahn scratched at his short red hair. “I’ve seen worse ship’s piloting, to be honest.”
McCray nodded. Nothing definitive on that front. “Circus. What livery are we wearing?”
‘Circus’ was Lieutenant JG (Junior Grade) Casimir Ando. Like most of the bridge team, he answered to a handle in the time-honored tradition of fighting men and women. “We’re flying colors for Pronto Palawan Post Ltd., Cap’n.”
“Well done, Circus.” McCray nodded. One of his favorite qualities about Springbok was that her skin featured a thin veneer of nanites, able to change her paintjob in milliseconds. The Q-ship could look like most any merchant line her captain desired. Most of the time, Ando, the comms specialist, wannabe actor, and computer artist, made the call on Springbok’s appearance to other ships. “What about the bridge crew?”
“I’ve got a new avatar set I’ve been meaning to try,” said Ando. “Have a look.”
While most of Springbok’s bridge equipment was Navy standard, the Feedback Tank was not. Another holotank dropped down from the overhead above the tactical tank. In it, the bridge crew appeared, but looking nothing like themselves. At the Conn, McCray had high cheekbones and a pencil-thin mustache. Reflexively, McCray reached up to touch his face. Still clean-shaven, heavy jawline still there. His pale-olive eyes looked nothing like the simulacrum’s blue ones. As he watched the FT, his avatar made the same self-examining gestures.
McCray nodded. Any broadcast made to other ships would use the avatar’s rather than the actual faces of the bridge crew, to hide their identities. Not only was the true nature of the Q-ship protected, so was the crew’s. “Looks good, Ando. We’ll use that one.” He turned to the sensor station. “What do we know so far, Eyes?”
Lieutenant Warwick, commanding the ship’s sensors and therefore its eyes, looked up. The bluish light from her screens shined across her extremely dark skin. “I need a few more minutes to get anything concrete, sir. For now, she’s a big sloop, roughly two-hundred meters long. A type likely to be armed but may not be. As she gets closer, I could tell you for sure.”
“Copy that.” McCray nodded. It wasn’t enough, but such was the nature of combat in space. The speed of light seemed mind-blowingly fast until aboard a starship in a fight. With a target light-minutes away, it took precious minutes just to get a complete sensor reading. Most of the time the information a commander received stayed incomplete until the vessels closed to within light-seconds of each other.
“Incoming signal,” announced Ando.
“Good,” said McCray, letting out a sigh of relief. “Let’s see what he has to say. In the tank, Ando.”
A shaven-headed man with a neatly trimmed beard replaced the tactical view in the tank. “Hello clipper. I am Anatoly Liu, ship’s master of the Viviane Brazil. I’ve got a load of nanomed body mods I’m willing to part with. We’ve got everything: horns, wings, feathers. And it’s all top of the line. Did I mention they’re Elysian? Let’s talk business.”
The image froze as the message ended. McCray raised an eyebrow, wondering how Liu managed to get his hands on the stuff. Extreme body modifications were common throughout human space, but Elysians had turned it into an art form. Most citizens were physically beautiful, but people being people, they quickly got bored with it. Fashion-forward thinkers soon sported animal horns, working wings, feathers, and colorful scales. The features being cheaply produced by nanos, and free to any Elysian citizen. Best of all, the Elysian meds were the least painful and the least likely to trigger a cellular rejection. They were highly prized in the markets of any human nation.
“How generous of him,” murmured McCray. “He’s willing to share them with me instead of taking them to the regular market?”
“Undoubtedly, they just fell off the lorry and he found them by the road,” said Zahn.
McCray snorted. “Yes, of course, and I was born yesterday.”
“I’ve got a solid sensor reading on him, Captain,” said Warwick.
McCray sat up straight. “Whatcha got, Eyes?”
Warwick’s long and heavy black braid slid across her shoulders as she scanned her four screens. “It’s a Xian-Leavy Jade-class sloop. She’s operating non-standard particle screens, heavier than normal, and two extra dark paddles. Very custom. The Jade-class isn’t usually armed, but this one is. Estimate her two lasers are 550 megawatt Mitsui FireDragons. Lastly, she has a single Faust missile launcher.”
“An odd mix of weapons,” said Zahn. “They weren’t collected from one nation’s weapon collection.
“And almost certainly a pirate.” McCray grinned. “We’ve got our baddie.” At last, this was it. His chance to prove to the Snails, those administrative officer types who hid safely away from combat and did everything slow, that he knew what he was talking about.
A communications window with Aja’s image in it, opened and floated in mid-air beside McCray’s elbow, another of those handy virtual bridge capabilities.
“Hang on a minute, Captain,” she said.
“Good news, Ms. Coopersmith,” said McCray, grateful that she had been monitoring the action on the br
idge. “We’ve found a likely suspect.”
“I’m afraid not, sir.” “It’s unlikely this is a Madkhali.”
“What?” McCray’s face fell. The entire purpose of their mission was finding proof that some Madkhali captains had gone rogue and engaged in pirate activity. The impact of such a diplomatic windfall against their nemesis, the DPM, could not be overstated. “How do you know that?”
Aja looked sympathetic. “We’re looking for a Madkhali-flagged military vessel, right?”
“Right.”
“Madkhal never worked out a deal with Xian-Leavy. Despite the nation’s large size, Madkhal could never afford the asking price for Jade-class sloops. There’s no way this is a Madkhali vessel.”
McCray pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. So close, yet so far. “Very well. Thank you, Ms. Coopersmith.” McCray sagged back into his seat. “Ando, he’s waited long enough for a reply. Prepare to record.”
Ando signaled he was ready.
“Thank you for your kind offer, Captain Liu. The cupboards are empty, just now.” McCray used the common slang for a ship with no barter available. “We’re late to pick up a shipment as is. Be well, and fair stratas to you.” McCray motioned that he was finished and to send immediately.
“Three minutes minimum for a reply, Cap’n,” said Ando.
That meant they were three light-minutes away. “Copy that. Helm, come to 0-2-3 mark 3-5-2. Let’s veer off to make it clear we’re not interested.” In three light-minutes Viviane Brazil would see Springbok’s course change, but all the while they still closed. It would take a further two and a half minutes for the light-speed radar signals to return for Springbok to see how the sloop responded.
Right on time, Warwick called out, “Aspect change! Brazil is changing course to 0-1-4. She’s accelerating, making cycles for 332 gees. That’s maximum acceleration for a Jade class.”
“She’s still trying to intercept,” said Zahn.
“Too late for that,” McCray said. Even though she changed course, it would take some time to overcome the velocity of her original vector. “At best she’ll slide round behind us. She’ll still get within weapons range, though. Helm, let’s make it harder for them. Make cycles for three-sixty gees acceleration.”
“Making cycles for three-sixty gees, aye,” answered Raj.
Springbok’s Dark Paddles, the energy beams that propelled her through space, increased their cycle rate to 38MHz, sweeping 38 million times per second. The ship leaped forward as the paddles dug into the Dark Strata, that catchall term for dark energy and dark matter. The Q-Ship accelerated through the vast, dark sea of the strata, an exotic form of matter/energy impossible to detect or even feel without the dark paddles.
“We’re running for it? asked Zahn. “We can take her.”
“I don’t see the point in fighting a ship we don’t want,” said McCray. “What if we’re damaged? That’s spoils our chance to find the pirates we do want. I want Springbok’s first fight to mean something.” Minutes ticked away as he watched the tactical display and the approaching vessel.
“Inbound signal,” said Ando.
McCray’s fingers tapped at the armrest. “In the tank, if you please.”
“Come now, Captain,” said Liu. “Let’s talk. It’s been a month since we’ve seen a port. Everyone aboard has heard my strata stories. Let’s sit for a brandy and I shall entertain you.”
“Response, Captain?” prompted Ando.
“Negative, Circus. I’ve had enough of him already.”
Zahn watched the tank. “I’m thinking he’s less interested in selling and more inclined to looting.”
“That may be,” nodded McCray. “I’ll give him a chance to break off, just in case. That works in our favor.” He really wanted to avoid a shooting engagement. If weapons fire started and the pirate escaped, he could go tell everyone a Q-ship was operating in the area. Springbok’s cover would be blown, and they would never find their quarry.
More minutes passed. Space combat wasn’t for the impatient; most of the time combat amounted to hours of maneuver and counter-maneuver before battle was joined.
“Approaching closest point of intercept,” said Warwick. “She’ll be eight light-seconds away.”
“That’s still too far,” said Zahn. “Shooting now would be ridicu—”.
On the tactical screens a livid red line shot across them.
“Weapons fire,” barked Warwick. “Missed us by five-thousand kilometers.”
Zahn stood up. “He actually fired on us? That idiot. We’re too far away for laser fire to be effective.”
“He’s hoping to spook us,” said McCray, also a little surprised. A screeching sound split the air and he turned to the tactical screen to port. A searing red line marked the passage of a laser shot. It helped that Archimedes marked the laser’s path, normally invisible and soundless, on the tactical screen. Well, it wasn’t so much helpful as adrenaline-inducing. It served to remind them all that they were in battle. He turned to Zahn. “Battlestations, Prime.”
“Battlestations, battlestations.” Zahn’s voice rang through the ship. “All hands man your battlestations.”
“Helm, make cycles for 380 gees,” said McCray. “Begin evasive maneuvers.”
“Evasive maneuvers, aye,” replied Raj, focusing hard on his screens.
“We’re still running for it?” murmured Zahn as he stood next to McCray.
McCray consulted the tank. “We’re thirty minutes from the heliopause. He can only target us with one of his two lasers while chasing us. We’ll make it into hyperspace before he gets a good hit on us.”
One of the first things anyone learned about space combat was that the vast majority of laser shots missed. Because of the enormous distances involved, the information on a ship’s location could be many seconds out of date. In that time a ship could have moved thousands of kilometers from the last-known position, and it could be anywhere in a large volume of space. McCray felt that laser fire amounted to a crap shoot—a guess at where the target would be.
“Inbound signal,” said Ando, looking anxious, but then it was his first combat “Liu’s demanding we shut down our paddles and heave to.”
“Tell him to to piss off,” snarled McCray.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
Another red blast streaked past on the tactical displays, closer this time.
“Fourteen seconds between shots,” said Warwick. “A fast cycling time, but not for the smaller FireDragon lasers.”
“Copy that, Eyes,” acknowledged McCray. “Liu can shoot all he likes. he’s never going to hit us hard from that range. His laser will attenuate too much to do anything serious.”
“Twenty minutes to the heliopause,” said Zahn.
“We’re slipping away,” said Warwick, and McCray glanced her way as her fingers dancing across her screens. She looked tense—lines forming on her otherwise smooth features—yet still focused on the job. “He’s five light-seconds behind and we’re opening the range.”
“You see, people?” McCray was grinning. Many of them had never seen combat before. They needed to know he had the situation well in hand. “We’re too fast. He’ll never catch us.”
The ship shuddered suddenly. Red lights flared across their displays. DC1 Xiang, the tall, pale-skinned damage control specialist suddenly appeared beside Warwick.
“Hit on Number Two Hyperengine,” Xiang reported “About sixty tons of armor blown off. Cosmetic damage only.”
“A lucky shot,” grated McCray.
“Standby,” said Xiang, looking worried. “More data coming in. Critical hits on the hyper control runs. Secondaries are down too.” She looked up, the shock plain on her face. “Captain, we cannot enter hyperspace!”
“That’s not possible,” growled McCray, feeling the same shock. He gestured in the air and a screen opened with the harried face of Chief Engineer, Commander Guillermo Parsamayan. “Gui, what the hell happened
?”
Gui looked frustrated. “A one-in-a-million shot, sir. Shrapnel from the strike slipped through a gap in the armor and hit both the hyperdrive control runs. This is supposed to be impossible.”
“How long to fix it?”
“I need a couple days at least.”
McCray felt his face sag. “Two days? You gotta be joking.”
Gui shook his head. “No way around it, sir. I got the nanoprinters making parts now, but hypercontrol junctions are complicated pieces of kit. Hyper capability is down for now.”
“Keep me informed, Commander.” McCray ground his teeth in frustration. How could a piddling little pirate do this to his ship and from such a long range? What would those assholes in the admiralty say to this? Whatever the reason, the choices on action had become far simpler now. “Helm! Roll ship and come port to 2-8-5.”
The maneuver neatly unmasked three of Springbok’s lasers. She had four lasers to the Brazil’s two, but while Brazil could only fire one laser in a stern chase, Springbok’s cleverly designed geometry meant she could return fire with three in the same stern chase. At the helm, Raj replied to his order as McCray turned to Lieutenant-Commander Piper. “Guns, you have a targeting solution?”
Piper grinned ferally. “Locked and ready, sir.”
“Fire!”
“Firing lasers Two through Four, aye. Standby for damage assessment.”
“Don’t wait,” grated McCray. He couldn’t take a chance on another lucky hit. “Fire all missile tubes.”
“Fire all missiles, aye. Birds away.”
Hatches disguising missile tubes along Springbok’s spinal and ventral surfaces—away from the powerful sweeps of the dark paddles—opened and missiles the size of passenger buses roared out. Once clear of the ship, six paddles on each missile activated and hurled it towards the enemy at over 1,200 gravities. Without the need for inertial balancers to keep a living crew intact amidst killing gee forces, the missile’s paddles could function at full force. The Expert Systems aboard—not nearly as smart as an AI, but easily capable enough to attack a ship—began maneuvering as a coordinated unit, dodging and weaving in preparation for a swarming attack.