by Drew Wagar
'… important covert mission Galcop has ever undertaken. A pre-emptive strike at the heart of the Duval Empire. Your mission is simple: destroy the Duval Dynasty. This ship is carrying a pair of unique and highly classified weapons. They are one-shot devices, and there are no duplicates. Deployed from low orbit, they should vaporise the entire surface of the planet. You must evacuate the area immediately. The blast radius is significant. Fuel injectors are mandated, the coordinates are locked into your autopilot. Gentlemen, you launch in one hour.'
Jim heard the sound of booted footsteps. Whoever was up there was coming back down towards him. Quickly, he secreted himself in the only place he could, the null-gee toilet, his ear pressed up against the door, trying to hear what was happening outside.
He heard the footsteps pass and the hangar door seal up. He was trapped inside! He waited a further ten minutes before opening the door. The cargo hold was empty and silent, the door closed as he’d heard. He made his way to the bridge.
The astrogation console was already live.
Ship Ident: SuperCobra
Ship Name:Enola Gay
Hyperspace Destination:Achenar
Astrogation: Planet Orbit
Ordinance: 4x Loaded
Jim shut down the log in horror and flipped up the ship’s inventory, scanning down the list.
2x ECM Hardened Naval Missile
2x Quirium Cascade Mine
He staggered, collapsing into the pilot’s chair.
The stards had done it. They’d really done it, built the prakking bomb! His prediction was already a reality. The display flashed up, as if mocking him. He blinked, staring at it. A snatch of conversation drifted back into his memory.
'Are you prepared to do all that? Make that sacrifice? Do anything to stop this?'
'I am…'
There were two bombs aboard; there were no duplicates. But Galcop obviously had the knowledge, so they could make more bombs. Even if he destroyed these there would be more. He couldn’t stop it. The bomb technology would already be in a hundred Galcop databases. The Trumble was out of the airlock, the balance of power tilted, inexorably. He couldn’t undo that.
'… Do anything to stop this?'
He checked the onboard databases. Yes, there were the bomb schematics. The techs would have had them online in case the bombs had any bugs. The schematics were the answer.
It would mean the end of his life as he knew it. His accounts would be trashed, seized, frozen. He’d almost certainly merit a fugitive rating. But he didn’t need to survive for long, just long enough.
Jim jumped into the pilot’s chair. He had a vague plan, not much of one, but enough to be going on with. The mission of destruction had to be stopped first. That meant this ship had to be removed.
He hated flying, but he was a qualified pilot. It would have to do. Fortunately it was a quiet time of day. He switched off the transponder, impersonated a weary trader over the comlink, excused the lack of transmission for a minor onboard computer glitch and requested clearance.
'You’ll get Offender status in the next system if you don’t fix your transponder, you know that?' the traffic officer responded.
'I think I can cope with that,' replied Jim drily, activating the launch routine.
He fired up the engines and roared the SuperCobra out of the hangar.
The Chief of Staff was not a man to raise his voice, shout or exhibit much in the way of emotion. It was distraction from the task in hand and unnecessary; it interfered with getting the job done. His disapproval was nonetheless stark and terrifying to those in the room.
'Define ‘missing’,' he said slowly.
'It was stolen.'
'By?'
'We assume it was Jim Feynman. He’s also missing. The ship was unoccupied for only a couple of minutes. The witchspace flux appears to indicate Oresqu as the destination.'
The Chief of Staff shook his head, 'More Galcop incompetence. What prevents him from jumping again?'
'Nothing, sir.'
'Then this is your definition of missing, is it?'
'Sir.'
'Can we track the ship?'
The men looked anxiously around, until one of the techs stepped forward.
'Sir, if I may.'
The Chief of Staff waved at him, 'You have something to say?'
'Sir, the mines gives off gravimetric radiation in their quiescent state…'
'Quicker… ' The Chief of Staff drummed his fingers on the desk.
'We can track the mines in a given system. I can give all Galcop vessels the necessary signature.'
'Do it. What do we know about this Feynman? What is he likely to do?'
'His psychometric profile is on record. He is a man of integrity, independence and high intelligence.'
'Sufficient to outsmart all of you, I see.'
'He believes the bomb should never have been created. We believe his most probable course of action is to try to broker the bomb technology to either the Federation or the Empire, probably both.'
'How?'
'We don’t know. We have made it virtually impossible for him to get even close. Both he and the ship have been listed as fugitive and we’ve informed both organisations that we have a rogue ship with a psychopath aboard. We have informed them they have permission to shoot on sight if they encounter him. They will undoubtedly do so. Outcome: he has nowhere to go.'
The Chief of Staff nodded.
'Gentlemen, this is now a Navy operation. We must end this intolerable farce. We have no idea of this Feynman’s intentions. If that ship falls into the hands of a civilian we will have a disaster on our hands; if it falls into the hands of the Federation or the Empire we will have a war which we will not win.'
He stopped and glared at them.
'Find that ship. I will deal with its destruction. Dismissed.'
The men filed quickly out.
The Chief sighed deeply and then keyed his comlink.
'Dana, secure channel, Imperial frequency five-one-one-zero, no record.'
His secretary, a genetically-engineered and hex-edited girl designed specifically for this unique role, carried out his instructions immediately without question, without intuition, without thinking..
The image of a man appeared on the screen, the face darkened and invisible. To the man at the other end, the Chief of Staff’s image appeared similarly obscured.
'Agent?'
'Yes.'
'There has been a change of circumstances.'
'The second target has changed?'
'No. the target remains. However, the target is mobile. I have sent you ship details, markings and ident along with this message.'
'Where is the ship?'
'We are locating it now. Tracking information will be forwarded to you shortly.'
'Desired result?'
'Target must be terminated, the ship destroyed along with any potential witnesses. I will keep Galcop forces away from your position.'
'Understood. I will need an appropriate ship. Payment will need to be renegotiated.'
The Chief of Staff pressed a button on the console.
'I think you will find this adequate compensation.'
The Agent paused, considering.
'The target will be terminated as requested.'
The communication closed.
No time was wasted. The Agent put the necessary wheels in motion. Prepared as he always was, many things were already close to completion. It was actually gratifying to be able to further other plans as a result of the Chief of Staff's request.
He stood surveying the work as it progressed, awaiting the moment he could take possession.
The accommodation was basic, unpleasant and would normally have been considered beneath his contempt; yet the rock hermit provided anonymity, immunity and untraceability without compromising location. Achenar was not a world that Galcop citizens frequently visited, particular not for clandestine dealing. The Empire was not a friendly place to anyone from the 'A
ligned Worlds'. To those with certain requirements though, their advanced technology made them a necessary evil.
One of the techs approached him, nervously trying to assess the correct protocol for addressing what he thought was an Imperial Lord from out-system.
'It's ready, sire.'
Sire! You fool. I'm no Lord of the Empire! I have a higher purpose than the promulgation of your execrable royal family…
The Agent allowed nothing of his contempt to show, it was just another role to play. His face was narrow, aquiline, sharp and aggressive. His eyes scored the brand new vessel, admiring its distinctive sharp lines. It was a surprisingly elegant ship. He usually found ship design offended his sophisticated sense of aesthetics; this one was different. An elegantly symmetrical twin hull design, space enough for a long campaign, agility and speed which belied its size and enough weaponry to make it by far the most formidable ship to grace the space lanes. It sat poised in the hanger, as if impatient to leave, awaiting its chance to rend, rip and destroy like the bird of prey it so strongly resembled.
'Excellent. Equipped as to my specifications?'
'To the letter, my Lord.'
'Payment has been received, I trust.'
'Everything is in order, yes, no problem. Indeed.' the man stuttered over the words.
'Its name?'
'It has no name, my Lord.'
The Agent frowned. Perhaps not having a name might be beneficial, all the better for illusiveness, yet he considered the machine deserved an identity of its own. It would doubtless further his plans beyond the immediate requirement, perhaps even become the instrument that would bring about the downfall of the Empire itself.
The Agent almost laughed at the irony. Then it came to him.
He drew a weapon from within the heavy cloak he wore. On first glance it appeared to be a sword, clearly an ancient weapon from a time long past. For the few who had studied the ancient arts of warfare, closer inspection would reveal it was a particular type of weapon, combining the weight and power of an axe with the cutting edge of a sword; brutal power coupled with precision damage infliction. It seemed a fitting match for the new vessel.
The tech took a nervous step backwards as the Agent held the weapon aloft and examined it in the dim light of the hanger bay.
'Sire?'
'A name.' The Agent whispered, gesturing at the ship with the weapon, 'Name it – Falchion.'
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
The SuperCobra’s hull flashed, reflecting light from Tionisla’s star. Jim drove the ship immediately away from the hyperspace inbound marker. Once again he was lucky: there were no other ships around. He’d imagined that police Vipers would be soon be arriving at every exit point and checking the ships coming in-system, but it looked like the usual organisational inertia was slowing down their efforts. Even if they did appear the SuperCobra should be able to outrun them without much difficulty. Jim thought that Galcop might even shut down the witchspace markers completely, but the chaos that would cause would need some seriously extreme justification. They hadn’t even done that when they found out that Thargoids were piggybacking on the witchspace system.
Perhaps they were simply having problems tracking him, as it was notoriously difficult to track a ship through witchspace. He’d seen designs for witchspace cloud and wormhole analysers, but they were more an art than a science at the moment. Perhaps one day they’d be perfected – perhaps sooner rather than later.
Jim had a thornier problem on his mind than the immediate evasion of the Vipers. He’d left without much more of a plan than the immediate prevention of the attack on Achenar, which he’d stopped with the theft of this ship, but it was only a temporary reprieve. Galcop would be able to build more bombs in a pretty short space of time. Months at best, weeks most likely; perhaps only days. Whatever he did he had to do it soon. He imagined he was currently being listed as Public Enemy Number One. He wondered how far up the ranks the knowledge of the bomb went. Was it a Presidential decree, or the Navy, or a Galcop official?
Brokering a conversation with the Federation and the Empire would take too long, even if they did believe him. He’d begun to feel it was more likely he’d cause an all-out war, rather than prevent one, by going down that route. He also felt it was more likely he’d be eliminated immediately after handing over the information. Not an enticing prospect.
He’d toyed with the idea of simply transmitting the plans on wideband. The SuperCobra didn’t have a powerful long-range transmitter, so the best he could do would be system space. Potentially enough people would hear the transmission and relay it. It was likely it would be propagated quickly throughout the known worlds. Tionisla would be the obvious place to do that, what with the main newsfeeds like the Tionisla Chronicle being transmitted around the galaxy from their huge orbital wideband array.
Tionisla was a funny old world. In the old days it had won the Krik-Adams award for the ‘Dullest Night Sky in the Entire Galaxy’. Offended, the Tionislans had invested in all sorts of projects aimed at making their night sky more interesting. The most famous was the now legendary orbital cemetery, though it was nowadays between the planet and the sun and no longer visible at night except at dawn and dusk. Apparently sensitive religious feelings were at odds with the thought of thousands of dead people looking down from above during the night. The government had invited huge orbital ship contractors and anyone with the requirement for a big rig to build there and now the night sky was full of blinking flashing shapes. One of the biggest was the Tionisla Chronicle Array, a huge transmitter now moored directly opposite the cemetery, permanently eclipsed from the sun in complete radio silence, serving newsfeeds across the galaxy. Twice the diameter of a Torus station, but not rotating, it looked like a small moon from the surface.
He tried to run the ramifications of a transmission through his head. If everyone had the bomb, would peace remain? Would the various governments form some kind of non-proliferation treaty, or a non-aggression pact, or simply stand off in their classic cold war stance? Jim wasn’t a politician.
What about civilians? The introduction of the energy bomb had been vigorously opposed in many quarters for its destructive power. This new bomb was far more dangerous. If the plans were broadcast, what would traders do with it? What about pirates? Even the parasitic boy racers would have access to it. The thought of hit and run strikes on populated areas by ruthless privateers or jejune adolescent teenagers out for a laugh made his head spin with fear.
How to stop this? How to win a game where the only winning move is not to play?
He could think of only one way.
His destination was Lave, seat of Galcop power.
He’d had to go by a long, drawn-out route. The obvious route to Lave was via Leesti, but Jim was sure that route would be closely monitored. The only alternative viable was a detour via the tech-mad Tionisla.
Tionisla was only just over nine light years away from Onrira, but it was just out of range from the nearby Oresqu system. In order to get there he’d had to choose a circular route via Zaalela. It was taking longer than he’d hoped and it had been dangerous. Zaalela was a feudal system. Not very friendly to Galcop – not very friendly to anyone in point of fact. He’d been fortunate. This time.
The SuperCobra was equipped with a fuel scoop so he’d been able to refuel at the star in each system rather than have to approach the stations. He’d veered away from the space lanes immediately upon entry and been lucky enough to follow a Python Class Cruiser through its witchspace wormhole after overhearing where it was bound on the wideband.
Nor had he necessarily dived straight towards the stars for refuelling, either. He’d used his hyperspeed drive to navigate around to the far side, eclipsing the planet from view. He’d assumed that Vipers would already be patrolling the stellar surface facing the planet.
He’d risked an anonymous text to Geraint, but there had been no response and he feared the worst.
His Clean status had
been wiped within hours of launching. He imagined the hunt was on, but had no idea what response he could expect from Galcop; they seemed sluggish, lethargic even. Fortunately, the SuperCobra didn’t look like some outlandish ship: few ident systems would recognise it as anything other than an ordinary Mk3. It had exactly the same external dimensions as a standard Mk3; without any cargo aboard there would be no perceivable mass discrepancy and he’d paid particular attention not to exceed the speeds and capabilities of the older ship whilst flying around in view of other vessels. Only the quad exhaust plumes looked different. Finding one little ship out here in the void would not be easy for Galcop.
Fuel Tanks Full.
Time to move on. He set the hyperspace co-ordinates for Zaonce. One more stop and he’d reach Lave. Then the fun would really begin.
With a flash of eerie magenta light five ships emerged from witchspace into the Zaonce system.
Rebecca watched the astrogation console as the two Sidewinders, the Mk1 Cobra and her brother’s Krait formed up behind and to the sides of the Eclipse. It was getting close now. Two more hops and they’d reach Diso, their ultimate destination, where some distant relatives awaited them. It had been a real slog across the galaxy this time. It took a lot of time, doing everything in seven light year jumps. Rebecca didn’t understand why they couldn’t extend the range of the witchdrives. There was some obscure technical reason which Lance had tried to explain by saying it was something to do with the particulate density of static witchspace fields but she’d lost interest long before the explanation was over. It had been worse than that time when Lance tried to explain how the astrogation systems on modern ships hid the complexities of Newtonian physics from the pilots. Rebecca had almost beaten him to death with a console tablet for being so anal about it.
They were heading station side this time, rather than refuel at the star. They were low on provisions and one of the Sidewinders had a blown hull plate that was slowly leaking coolant. All in all though, they’d managed the ninety-odd light years in pretty good shape. There had only been a minor run in with pirates during a hop through Esusti and they’d pasted them, enjoying a fifty credit bounty. They’d even made a couple of thousand credit profit on the journey. Spirits were high and they all felt optimistic for the first time in months. Zaonce, a sophisticated world, offered the opportunity for some serious R&R.