Virago One: A Hard Science Fiction Technothriller (Ace of Space Book 2)

by John Triptych

  Zhou frowned. He turned to his executive officer who floated beside him. “Alert Ground Control in Beijing. Tell them of the situation.”

  “Yes, General,” his executive officer said before he started giving instructions to the other com-link technicians manning the consoles.

  “General, we have picked up the American spacecraft. It is closing rapidly,” one of the sensor controllers said.

  Zhou remained stone-faced. To express dismay now was to lose the confidence of his men. “Distance to contact?”

  “Ten thousand kilometers and closing, sir.”

  The executive officer thrust his head forward so he could whisper in Zhou’s ear. “General, should we begin the evacuation order?”

  Zhou shook his head. There were enough emergency capsules for everyone, but to abandon the installation meant they would lose the entire effort of having an exclusive space station in cislunar space. Everything the country had worked so hard to achieve would be gone in an instant, and he did not want to be the commanding officer presiding over it. “No, Colonel. We shall stay here and defend the station with honor.”

  The space traffic control officer was nearly out of breath as he switched channels on the main view screen. “We have visual on the contact.”

  It took less than a minute for the Virago to suddenly appear in front of them. Loud gasps could be heard amongst the command crew as they both feared and marveled at the glowing white radiators along the side of the lozenge-shaped hull of the American spacecraft. Everyone held their collective breaths.

  Zhou turned to look at the communications officers. “Has there been no com-link messages from the Americans at all?”

  All three communications officers shook their heads.

  The traffic control operator was a young man, fresh from the academy. His eyes grew wide as he pointed at the Virago. “Look, it’s turning around!”

  Everyone else stared in mute disbelief as the Virago gently maneuvered itself until its thruster nozzle was aimed directly at the main power module of the space station, a scant fifty meters away. Suddenly, the plasma jet from the Virago’s exhaust intensified and began to burn through the thin walls of the station habitats. It was like applying a blowtorch to a set of cardboard dioramas. The Virago ran its thrusters over every major module until the entire station broke apart, its countless pressurized capsules literally melting and imploding under the intense waves of heat. Once the station was destroyed, the fusion battleship moved slowly to the drydock and did the same thing to it. In a matter of minutes, Tian-fu Station ceased to exist.

  “I did it for you, Tay,” Ruthven whispered to himself as he angled the Virago’s thruster and the spacecraft headed out of the Lagrange point.

  Chapter 24

  Errol Flux looked out of the meeting room window and stared at the street below. Despite the heavy rain, both United Nations Plaza and East 42nd Street was thronged with crowds, and the NYPD could barely hold them back. A privately owned aerial drone attempted to cross the restricted airspace over the UN headquarters compound using a hardened command signal, but two intervening police drones quickly intercepted it and shorted out its rotor systems using their built-in microwave projectors. This day is only going to get worse, he thought.

  David Conklin, ACE Corp’s spaceflight director, was sitting in a nearby chair facing the long desk. They had both flown in from California right after the breakout of the Virago and were now at UN headquarters in Manhattan, keenly observing the swirling tide of political chaos that was happening all around them. The thirtieth floor meeting room was empty save for the two of them, and they were using their smartglass com-links to stay up to date with the events happening at the nearby General Assembly Hall.

  Errol had tuned turned off his com-link. Listening in to the nonstop protests and accusations of numerous ambassadors had gone stale. He preferred that everyone worked together for a solution instead of blaming each other. “Any updates of importance, Dave?”

  David’s left earpiece was still tuned in to the proceedings. He shook his head. “The EU contingent has just finished their objections, now the African block wants to speak up. I gotta say the US delegation are good sports- they’re just sitting there taking it like a bunch of tackling dummies instead of walking out.”

  “They have to for the time being,” Errol said. “Latest word is that the president is on a personal com-link hotline to the Chinese president, but from what I can see, both militaries are on high alert and inching closer to open conflict.”

  David continued to shake his head in disgust. “We told them, didn’t we? The president should have listened to us when we suggested in making the development of the Virago public. Now everyone thinks it was a top secret, first-strike weapon to take out the Chinese in space. The conspiracy sites on the net are all saying, ‘I told you it was real,’ and now the mainstream media are following in their footsteps.”

  Errol shrugged wearily. “Too late now. Only the British have gone on the record saying they believe our story that it was stolen by rogue elements within the military, but then again they never disagree with us on anything anyway.”

  “The Chinese media are saying it was a planned, deliberate attack and sanctioned by the US government,” David said. “There’s plenty of protesting outside, saying it’s all our fault too.”

  “I’ve already gone on record saying I thought the top-secret development of the fusion battleship was a mistake,” Errol said. “I’ll let ACE Corp Public Relations handle things on from here.”

  “Our stock price took a deep dive in the markets this morning,” David said. “People are saying they’ll boycott our products.”

  Errol snorted. “We make pretty much everything these days. If they want to live in caves without our solar power grid, satellite com-links, robots and internet, or my electric cars, they’re welcome to it.”

  The door opened and in came Trevor Ledwidge. He still wore the same rumpled suit for the past two days and the swollen, dark circles under his eyes indicated that he barely had any sleep. There was still a bandage at the top of his forehead. He closed the door behind him and let out an exasperated sigh. “Goddamn it.”

  Errol continued to stand by the window. “You okay, Trevor?”

  Ledwidge grimaced while sitting down on the nearest chair. “We’ve moved to DEFCON-3. The Chinese have begun to sortie their entire Pacific fleet, and we have to match them. All US naval and air units in that part of the world are on high alert status.”

  “What about all the evidence that Urizen is behind the hijack?” Errol asked.

  Ledwidge exhaled deeply before answering him. “I relayed your suspicions to the president, but he says that it’s just too vague right now to make an executive order placing all the directors of Urizen into custody. Anyway, we have a lot more pressing things to worry about. We are furiously trying to calm the Chinese down, but it isn’t working.”

  Errol moved closer and leaned over the table to make eye contact with him. “Look, there’s a huge possibility that Urizen is behind this caper. Stilicho’s email said as much. If you take their entire board of directors in for questioning, I bet we can figure out what the hijackers are up to.”

  Ledwidge closed his eyes. The stress was too much and he could barely contain his temper. “I read that email you forwarded to me, and so far it’s all circumstantial. We can’t arrest the entire company just because their products were found on the body of one of the hijackers.”

  “It’s more than circumstantial,” Errol said. “I’m telling you that only Urizen has the financial and space transport capability to pull off something like this. Every minute we don’t do something, the bigger the chances they get away with it.”

  Ledwidge opened his eyes again. “Get away with what?”

  “With whatever it is that they’re doing!”

  “There’s no chance we won’t know about it,” Ledwidge said. “There’s nowhere to hide in space. We can see what the Virago is doing, as well as
every other spacecraft that’s out there. I know you’ve got a personal vendetta with Urizen Group’s chairman, and you want to see him hauled off to prison, but unless we have more evidence, it’s not going to happen.”

  It was now Errol’s turn to lose his temper. “So just because the president is good friends with Tyrus Faust it means that he gets away with hijacking and murder, is that it?”

  “Now hold on just a minute,” Ledwidge said. “The president is also on good terms with you, just like with every other business magnate. He doesn’t have any favoritism here. Right now our priorities are to make sure this doesn’t get out of hand with the Chinese. At the same time, our Orion fleet will deal with the Virago. We got this in the bag, so let’s give it some time to play out.”

  “The Virago can destroy any Orion sent up against it,” David said. “I wouldn’t be so confident with this plan if I were you.”

  “We’ve got five Orion battlecruisers with orders to intercept her,” Ledwidge said. “Even if we lose a few, we can still win by sheer numbers.”

  Errol bit his lip. “You don’t get it, do you? The moment the Virago launched itself out of Earth’s orbit, every other warship in the world became obsolete. It’s like a diesel-powered ironclad going up against a fleet of wooden sailing ships. The Virago's going to annihilate the Orion fleet you’re sending up against it.”

  Ledwidge was stone-faced. He hated being contradicted. “Then we still have your boy’s backup plan.”

  “Which has a very low chance of success once the Virago gets wind of it,” David said. “If you want to give Stilicho Jones a chance, then you have to send the Orion fleet out right now.”

  With a hiss of disgust, Ledwidge got up and left the room. They could see him from the corridor window activating his com-link and talking on his smartglass, gesticulating in anger.

  Errol sat on the edge of the long table and crossed his arms. “I feel sad for those Orion crews. They’re going out on a suicide mission.”

  “Hopefully they can burn up more of the Virago’s fuel. Who knows, maybe they can get lucky and cripple it,” David said. “Either way, it helps Stilicho a little bit.”

  “They should have put Stilicho on one of the Orions instead of their NERVA rockets,” Errol said. “He could have gotten to our runaway tanker that much faster.”

  “I think it’s better they used a NERVA rocket for his plan,” David said. “If Stilicho used an Orion, the Virago would have gone straight for him instead of attacking the Chinese first. At least with an ordinary spacecraft he could still pretend to be part of cislunar traffic and buy himself more time.”

  “What do you think his chances are?”

  “Pretty slim,” David said. “Once the Virago has him in their sights they can catch up to him fairly quickly.”

  “I’ve got faith in Stilicho,” Errol said. “When the going gets tough, he never lets me down.”

  Chapter 25

  The cockpit of the Intrepid was located just behind the spacecraft’s nose, and it was very cramped. The entire manned section of the rocketship consisted of just three small compartments: the bridge, a common room, and the airlock. The rest of the spacecraft housed the huge internal tanks containing atomic hydrogen propellant for the NERVA drive located at the rear. Intrepid’s crew consisted of just three personnel, which was typical for a spacecraft of this type. The spacecraft commander and pilot sat side by side, facing the forward viewports, while the engineer sat behind them, facing his console that monitored the nuclear powerplant. The whole set up was similar to a jet airliner’s command cabin. Having been invited into the cockpit, both Stilicho Jones and Captain Keith Emerson were wedged together in the small empty space just parallel to the engineer, while floating behind the two pilots.

  Stilicho checked the time using the smartglass on his helmet visor. It had been a little over two hours since the Intrepid fired up its atomic engines and left Earth orbit. “Are we there yet?”

  Major Mark Kelso, commander of the Intrepid, glanced back at him. “Nope. We’ve got at least another quarter of a million kilometers to go. Another four and a half hours, at best.”

  “I’m hungry,” Stilicho said. “I’ll need to suggest to ACE Corp to put up a floating burger stand at around this distance from the Earth. Think of all the money we could make serving freshly grilled burgers and fries out here.”

  First Lieutenant Spencer Sittig, the Intrepid’s chief pilot, chuckled a little. “You remind me of my kids while on a road trip, Mr. Jones. Always hungry, and always asking if we’re there yet.”

  Emerson had wedged himself along the wall. He had been quiet for most of the trip. “There’s food in the common area if you’re hungry, Jones.”

  “Y’all can just call me Stil,” Stilicho said before turning to look at the burly space trooper. “And I can’t stand that freeze-dried crap. I can’t believe you guys were willing to sign up for this.”

  “Serving my country and belonging to an elite group of pilots is a good enough reason for me,” Sittig said. “Very few ever get chosen to crew military spacecraft, so it’s one heck of an honor.”

  Rawls, the chief engineer, laughed while continuing to monitor his console. “Spencer, you never liked food anyway. Mac and cheese is the height of cuisine for you.”

  Sittig nodded. “That and pizza is all I need. The stuff they issue to us right now isn’t too bad either.”

  “Don’t forget the beer,” Kelso said. “Pity we have to wait until after the mission is over ‘till we get some of that.”

  Rawls snorted. “Aw, forget the beer, when we get back I want my girlfriend!”

  Sittig shook his head. “No chance, pal. She’s probably with General Delgado as we speak.”

  All three crewmen laughed. Stilicho could sense they were a tight group. Long voyages with a small company tended to bring everyone closer, and all secrets were shared. He had heard that the colonists on Mars had even begun to develop their own lingo from living there for close to three decades now.

  Once the laughter had died down, Kelso turned and glanced at Stilicho once more. “I’m not entirely sure what we’re supposed to do once we get to Lagrange-2, can you fill me in?”

  Stilicho hesitated before answering him. “Actually I don’t know myself. All I know is that there’s an automated tanker ship somewhere in that area.”

  Kelso gave a quizzical look to his chief pilot before turning his attention back to Stilicho again. “Okay, assuming that there is a ship out there, then what? Do we destroy it?”

  “This is where it gets tricky,” Stilicho said. “I’ve been running scenarios in my head since we launched into orbit. If we do take out the tanker, there’ll be no reason for the Virago to head to Lagrange-2, which means that they’ll probably make another ship or space station their destination. Or they could go nuts and just rampage throughout cislunar space and wipe out everything before running out of fuel.”

  “The Virago can do a lot of damage before it runs out of fuel,” Emerson said. “It can head back to Earth and devastate China if it wants to.”

  “Exactly,” Stilicho said. “I believe that the best plan of attack is to pass through the Moon’s commercial orbit before we get to Lagrange-2, that way they’ll think we’re part of the normal space traffic, and it gives us more time. Once we get to the tanker, I figure I can sneak onboard the Virago while it refuels and shut down its AI with my own.”

  “That is one hell of a risky plan,” Kelso said.

  “It’s the only strategy that makes sense,” Stilicho said. “If we take out the tanker, who knows what the Virago will do. We have to make them think everything is going according to their plan for now.”

  “Even if by some miracle we do get to the tanker in time, then what?” Emerson asked.

  “I have reason to believe that a certain NASA special agent is onboard the Virago,” Stilicho said. “If I can find a way to contact her and let us in, then we’ve got a chance.”

  Inside the Virago’s battlesp
here, Colonel Ruthven sat back onto the command chair. The rear cameras on his console showed the floating wreckage of the rapidly receding Chinese space station. “Okay, I’ve plotted a course that will take us to Lagrange-2. It should take about an hour, so we got time to kill again.”

  Ganz grimaced as he began unstrapping the crash webbing. “I’m going to get the body of that whore that’s in the storeroom and flush it out of the airlock.”

  “Go ahead,” Ruthven said. He glanced over at Major Vince Lawson, who had settled back in his chair for a quick nap. His son’s death had been avenged, and now his mind felt empty. For the past several years after his wife’s death, all he could think about was revenge, but now that it was over, a sense of calmness had begun to permeate his being. Ruthven wasn’t sure what to do next, so all he could think about was the next phase of the plan and nothing more.

  “I think I have solution to problem of casaba howitzers,” Vlad Utkin said. “I have written up crack, but there is hardcoded firewall in CAIN that prevents me from arming missiles from here.”

  Ruthven nodded. “Okay, then what’s your solution?”

  “Da, I think if I can go to missile bay and run crack on direct interface with each missile’s AI, then I can bypass most of safeguards,” Vlad said. “It will take some time, but I sure it will work.”

  Ruthven gestured at him to go ahead. “Stay in touch using the com-links. Can you set it up so that only you can access the missile bay?”

  “Da, I already programmed CAIN for it,” Vlad said as he began to unstrap himself from the chair.

  Herbert Eng Wu’s com-link access was nullified, so he merely lifted his faceplate before getting out of his chair as well. “I’m going out.”

  Ruthven shrugged as the three men floated out of the inner airlock.

  All three of them went their separate ways. Herbert headed towards the fusion plant while being unknowingly monitored by Ruthven via the spacecraft’s remote cameras. Vlad started making his way up to an access tunnel, which would lead him to the Virago’s missile bay. Just before opening an access hatch, the Russian entered in a passcode, which enabled the entryway to unlock.