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

by John Triptych

  Stilicho cursed repeatedly, trying to wriggle and straighten himself in order to reach out and grab hold of the grid fins, but he had no propulsion to maneuver. In the end all he could do was to thrash about like a cockroach lying on its back, scared and helpless against the remorseless forces of gravity and momentum.

  Emerson’s suit had magnetic boots, and he stood up and reached out to grab Stilicho as the hapless corporate troubleshooter flew past him a second time. He was able to grasp Stilicho’s ankle at the last moment, and Emerson pulled him back towards the fuselage. “I got you.”

  Stilicho was breathing heavily as he floated back onto the missile’s main body. The moment he could reach out, he grabbed hold of the nearest grid fin and crouched down, his hands and knees still shaking from the sudden adrenaline rush. He could still feel the missile’s thrust as its engine continued to fire. “Holy crap that was close.”

  “I’m sorry for that, Stil,” Maia said. “But due to this missile having a solid-fueled booster, I cannot control the throttle intensity. All I can do is set it for maximum burn until the propellant is used up.”

  Stilicho was still catching his breath. “Fine, fine. How are we doing?”

  Her voice seemed apologetic. “According to my calculations, not enough.”

  “What?”

  “At our current rate of thrust, we do not have enough delta-v to decelerate enough for an intercept with the tanker,” Maia said. “There just isn’t enough fuel. I’m sorry, Stil.”

  Stilicho cursed. “Goddamn it!”

  Emerson crouched down beside him. “What’s the matter?”

  “Maia says we don’t have enough delta-v to decelerate for an interception. We’re screwed.”

  “Wait, there may be an alternative,” Maia said as it switched com-links to all channels so that both of them could hear her. “This missile still carries high explosive warheads.”

  Emerson looked up quizzically. “Yeah, so?”

  “The chances are slim, but a controlled detonation of these warheads could create some delta-v to further slow down the missile,” Maia said. “Perhaps enough to put you within interception range.”

  “Of all the crazy ideas, Maia!” Stilicho said.

  “Wait, she’s right,” Emerson said. “It could work but it’s risky. We’ll have open up the missile’s nose and remove the warheads individually, then place them one at a time inside the rear thruster nozzle. If we detonate them one by one, it could slow us down enough for one pass at that tanker.”

  Stilicho let out a deep breath, steaming the inside smartglass of his visor. They could very well blow themselves up with just one mistake. “Well, good luck in handling a freaking bunch of bombs, much less one of them. I hope you’re a demolitions expert.”

  “My specialty is demolitions,” Emerson said. “But I won’t be the one who’ll be handling the warheads.”

  “Who then? Me?”

  Emerson held up his stubby gloved hands. “Yup. These hard suits aren’t built for the delicate touch. You’re wearing the skinsuit, so you have to do it. The toolkit is right beside me. Don’t worry, I’ll guide you every step of the way.”

  Stilicho growled.

  “The Intrepid is burning up a lot of propellant trying to get to the tanker ahead of us,” Lawson said while staring at his console on the Virago. “I’m guessing they’re gambling that either they or one of their missiles gets to the tanker before we take them all out.”

  Ruthven frowned. Did the Air Force Orion fleet sacrifice themselves to buy time for that patrol rocket to destroy the tanker? He had already adjusted the throttle lever to maximum. “We’re almost at full acceleration. I’m going for the Intrepid first, then the missiles.”

  “Could we just take out their NERVA drive, Colonel?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Ruthven said. “How many minutes till we get in range?”

  “Around ten minutes.”

  Using the wrench from the tool box, Stilicho had managed to remove the forward panel on the missile’s nose. He threw the cover containing the forward guidance system sideways, and it slowly drifted away into the eternal blackness. The whole scene was disorientating, for it felt like they weren’t moving at all, despite the fact they were actually travelling ten times faster than a bullet fired on Earth.

  “I suggest we hurry, Stil,” Maia said to him. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Stilicho said as he reached into the hollow front section of the missile. It carried six warheads packed in like a revolver’s rotating cylinder. With the wrench tethered to his arm, he reached back into the toolkit and removed a pair of pliers from the magnetic tray. Just as he brought the tool over to where the opening was, he inadvertently let go. Realizing what he had just done, Stilicho yelped before he noticed that the small tool just floated in front of him. Quickly grabbing the pliers once more, he leaned into the alcove and started to disconnect the explosives from the casing.

  Emerson continued to crouch near the middle of the fuselage. “Everything okay?”

  Stilicho had the virtual diagram and step by step instructions displayed on the side of his smartglass visor. “Yes, yes. Just a mild panic attack, thank you.”

  “Just to let you know. Intrepid is still trying to intercept the tanker, but using a different trajectory to try and keep the Virago away from us.”

  Stilicho couldn’t help but admire everyone else’s coolness in the face of death. He only wished he had half the courage of those men. “My hat’s off to them. I hope they make it.”

  “Please don’t forget to detach the controller module, Stil,” Maia said. “It’s located right behind the warheads.”

  “Yes, yes. Instructions for step six is right on my smartglass, Maia,” Stilicho said. Using the power screwdriver from the toolbox, he was now detaching the entire warhead section.

  “We’re at two thousand kilometers from the Intrepid,” Lawson said. “She’s still accelerating.”

  It was not at their optimum range, but Ruthven calculated it would take about a minute for the tungsten shells of the main gauss guns to reach the enemy spacecraft. The problem was if the Intrepid made slight changes to its attitude, he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint a precise shot to disable their drive section at that range. Nevertheless, the three missiles that had already been fired by the opposition worried him more. “I’m letting loose a short burst. Hopefully it connects and takes out their NERVA drive,” he said while toggling the fire button. “Guns, guns, guns.”

  Lawson leaned forward, using full magnification on the front cameras while the Virago’s AI artificially highlighted the graphical path of the fired rounds to the target. Almost a minute later, he could see the Intrepid shudder as if being rocked to one side. He held his breath.

  In a matter of minutes, the video stream showed more details of the Intrepid as the Virago steadily caught up to it. Lawson gasped. The Intrepid’s navigation lights were off, and the ship had taken a direct hit. Another minute passed, and the Virago sped past it at a mere fifty kilometers away.

  Lawson turned his head and grimaced at his commanding officer. “They’re dead too! Why couldn’t we have waited for a better shot?”

  “Not now, Vince,” Ruthven said while angling the control stick to adjust the Virago’s course in order to intercept the first missile. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  Lawson angrily shook his head. “No, Colonel. We’ll talk about this now! You promised me … you promised that American casualties would be at minimum!”

  Vlad and Herbert said nothing as they just looked at each other, mouths agape.

  “I said we would try and minimize casualties on our side, Vince,” Ruthven said softly. “I didn’t expect our own people to work with the Chinese against us too.”

  Lawson sounded like he was out of breath. “They’re all dead. We wiped out our own fleet.”

  “We defended ourselves,” Ruthven said. He was about to say more when he noticed that Lawson had a pistol aimed
towards his head.

  Despite the microgravity, Lawson’s hand was shaking. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Imagining the dying screams of the men he murdered was drowning everything else out in his mind. Someone had to be blamed. “I trusted you, Colonel. I trusted you with my life!”

  Ruthven rotated his chair until his whole body faced the executive officer. “Yes. You trusted me. And we’re still alive because of that trust. I’ve gotten you this far. But if it isn’t enough for you then go ahead, pull the trigger. I’ve done a lot of bad things today, and I take full responsibility for it, just as I acknowledge full responsibility over anything my subordinates did too. My own life ended when my wife died. Whatever happens now is for God to decide. If you shoot, I won’t hold it against you, Vince.”

  Lawson had thought about pulling the trigger, but it wouldn’t undo anything. He placed the pistol back into the holster, opened his faceplate, and started sobbing. Salty teardrops began floating away from him.

  Ruthven wanted to get up and console him, but the beeping noise on his station brought his focus back to control of the spacecraft. He adjusted the chair until it faced the controls once more. “First missile is in range. I’m firing. Guns, guns, guns.”

  Chapter 29

  Stilicho Jones wedged himself into the hollow front end of the missile. He figured that since the shaped explosive warheads had now been placed in the thruster nozzle, he was now at the farthest part from the point of detonation. His imagination had been running rampant for the past ten minutes and he had a feeling that he would be blown up into tiny pieces once the warheads detonated.

  Captain Keith Emerson crouched down just near the tip. He had also armed his EVA thruster pack and was coordinating with Maia in case he needed to make minute attitude adjustments for the missile. In the worst case scenario, he could conceivably escape by grabbing Stilicho and thrusting away from the missile in case the entire weapon exploded, but that was all wishful thinking as there would be no place to go to before he ran out of propellant anyway.

  Maia’s voice continued to remain calm, for she couldn’t synthesize any emotions whatsoever. “Control module link established. First warhead detonation in three … two … one.”

  Stilicho closed his eyes and clenched his teeth while gripping the sides of the alcove.

  Because of the vacuum there was no sound, but the sudden sensation of force pushed Stilicho deeper into the hollow front end of the missile. The rear of the weapon was facing towards their intended target.

  “Captain Emerson, please follow the thrust instructions on your faceplate,” Maia said.

  “Okay,” Emerson said as pressed the button on his control stick. “Two second burn … now.”

  Stilicho grimaced as the right side of his helmet nearly collided with the cylindrical walls around him, but he was able to hold it off using his hands. “Is it done?”

  “Not yet,” Maia said. “First warhead had successful detonation. Now get ready for the second blast in three … two … one.”

  “Three missiles down,” Colonel Ruthven said while looking at his command console in the Virago’s battlesphere. “Vlad, do you have any info on that fourth missile?”

  “According to CAIN, it's drifting now,” Vlad said as he looked at his own console. “Ya, in fact it decelerated. CAIN reports one warhead must have detonated prematurely. Missile will miss tanker.”

  Ruthven leaned back on his chair. “That’s it then. I’m placing the Virago on autopilot. We’ll dock with the tanker in a short while.”

  Vlad Utkin raised his arms while yelling in triumph. “Spasibo! Is truly over for us all?”

  Ruthven nodded. “Yes. You can head over to the AI core and get your copy of this spacecraft’s program suite now.” He pointed to Herbert Eng Wu. “You, rocket scientist.”

  Herbert was somewhat startled. “Me?”

  “Yes you- head over to the docking controls near the main airlock and supervise the refueling,” Ruthven said. “You know the procedures, right?”

  Herbert nodded as he began unstrapping himself. “Yes, I co-wrote the technical manual before I was arrested.”

  “Then get going and make sure you do a good job.”

  Vlad was already on his way past the inner airlock. Herbert followed him out.

  Major Lawson continued to sit idly in the other command chair. He had not said a single word since his outburst against the spacecraft commander.

  Ruthven undid his restraints before floating over to him. “Vince, it’s truly over now. Everything’s okay.”

  Lawson turned and faced him. He had tears in his eyes once again. “Was it all … worth it, Colonel?”

  Ruthven placed his hands on Lawson’s shoulders. “Yes, Vince. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  A loud beep coming from the console startled them both. Ruthven turned and took a look at it. He let out a curse.

  “What is it, Colonel?” Lawson asked.

  “That last missile,” Ruthven said. “CAIN says it’s moving deliberately to get close to the tanker spacecraft.”

  “No way,” Lawson said. “The Intrepid crew is dead.”

  “Unless someone was crazy enough to hitch a ride on it,” Ruthven said while pulling himself back over to his command chair. “We can probably take him out with the point-defense lasers once we get close to docking range.”

  The tanker spacecraft looked no different than a standard ACE Corp transporter ship, the only change was the fully automated piloting system and it carried no passengers. Stilicho leaned out from the hollow of what was left of the missile as he watched it slowly getting larger by the second.

  “You will be in EVA range within five minutes,” Maia said.

  Stilicho looked down the length of the missile he was riding on. Over half of the fuselage had been blasted apart when the shaped charges detonated the other way. The sixth and final warhead proved to be particularly tricky, and when the explosion tore most of the remaining thruster stage away, Stilicho thought he had been blown up for sure. Emerson had the foresight to pull him out of the front hollow of the missile just before Maia detonated it, and there had been a counterblast that erupted from where he had been hiding in a split second later. If it were not for the space trooper’s quick thinking he would have died.

  “Stil, if you could position your helmet at the proper angle, I can initiate network uplink with the tanker,” Maia said.

  “Hold on,” Stilicho said as he clambered out of the hollow nose cone and thrust his head towards the missile’s rear. He needed to present a clear line of sight for the optical com-link relay that was built into the suit’s helmet. “Okay, try it now.”

  “Initiating network,” Maia said. “Com-link established. Warning: firewall blockage. Attempting to bypass. Blocked. Sniffing for open communication ports. Failed. Attempting backdoor intrusion. Succeeded.”

  For the past few minutes, Emerson did not move at all. He was like a metallic statue near the missile’s tip. “How is it, Maia?”

  “There is a competing command module within the tanker’s AI system,” Maia said. “I am attempting to overcome it. Give me a few minutes, please.”

  “That’s gotta be CAIN,” Emerson said.

  “More like Anonymyst- the Russian hacker dude,” Stilicho said. “Errol told me this tanker was supposed to head to the Air Force space station at Lagrange-4 but was diverted here instead.”

  “Yes,” Emerson said. “Once the Virago had done her shakedown cruise, she was supposed to be refueled over there.”

  Stilicho snorted. “So much for all that. Maia, does that tanker ship have a name?’

  “Yes,” Maia said. “The Chumbawamba.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s in line with Errol’s naming conventions for all ACE Corp ships,” Maia said. “He likes late Twentieth Century rock bands.”

  Stilicho rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever. Now what?”

  “This may take some time in sorting through the tanker’s
system,” Maia said. “It still has some fuel left in its thrusters, so I’m initiating the drive to match speed and velocity with the missile you are riding on. However, if CAIN detects the adjustments, it will no doubt initiate contingencies.”

  “What kind of contingencies?”

  “CAIN may attempt to wrest control of the Chumbawamba’s AI systems from me,” Maia said. “I can compensate, but I require a lot of processing power, and the personal server in your spacesuit may not be able to handle it.”

  Stilicho grimaced. “Goddamnit.”

  Emerson faced the ship and he started up the thruster unit on his back. “We’re going to have to go now. I’ve only got enough fuel for one pass.”

  Stilicho remembered the file they had on Vlad Utkin. “Maia, can you do a com-link bounce from you to the Virago?”

  “Yes I can,” Maia said. “I can use the Chumbawamba as a relay.”

  “Hear me out,” Stilicho said to Emerson. “Anonymyst’s psych profile says he’s a Singularity freak, and he protested vehemently against the UN AI ban.”

  Emerson twisted the hard suit’s rigid torso to face him. “Jones, we don’t have time!”

  “Let me finish,” Stilicho said. “I think the reason he joined in with the group to help steal the Virago is not because of money, he just wants the AI.”

  “I don’t understand your point, Stil,” Maia said.

  “Think about it,” Stilicho said. “We can woo him away from the others.”

  “How?” Maia asked.

  Stilicho grinned devilishly. “We play some mind games with him. It’s like a corporate negotiation. We deceive him to get what we want. I’m an expert on that.”

  “Time to go,” Emerson said as he grabbed hold of Stilicho. “Maia, release his tether line.”

  Less than a second later, the Air Force space trooper thrust away from what was left of the missile, carrying Stilicho in his arms like a mother holding a child. There was almost a thousand kilometers of open space between them and the approaching tanker—any false step would surely maroon them in the black void of space.