Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1

by Michael Kotcher

  The Parkani watched the displays. Stella was handling it.

  “Power output now at half of one percent,” she reported.

  “Keep at it,” he said, nodding slowly. Once they reached five percent, he figured they’d be in the clear.

  Half an hour later, he called up to the bridge. “Captain, Engineering.”

  “Go ahead, Chief,” the Captain replied, his voice tense. “Report.”

  “Looking good, Captain. We’re at two percent output and everything’s looking good. Stella has a good handle on things. Another twenty minutes and we’ll be at three percent. At that point I’ll start upping the fuel injector rate.”

  “How long until we can get underway?”

  “Don’t rush it, Captain. I don’t need you destabilizing my reactor,” the Chief growled. “I’ll give another update in an hour. But I’d say we’d need another twelve hours or so to get everything squared away.”

  He sighed. “Very good, Chief. Keep me informed.”

  Seven hours later, the reactor was still holding steady, output at over sixty percent. “That’s higher than it’s ever been on my tenure on this ship,” Quesh remarked. With a combination of better fuel, new components and an AI tending the bottle the power output the ship now had more power than it ever had, allowing them to step down the secondary reactor to five percent output. That was enough to keep it from flaring out, but not so much that it would just be burning fuel unnecessarily.

  The Captain, though, had had enough waiting. Normally, the reactor was running at about twenty-seven percent and now at sixty-two, he was more than justified in wanting to get underway again. He ordered the crew to do one last set of diagnostic checks, but when those came up clean, he ordered the ship into hyperspace again.

  The crew was exhausted but jubilant. They had done it. Again. Another huge accomplishment under their collective belts, though the engineers grumbled that the deck and cargo divisions had done little to get the reactor work done. The cargo divisions grumbled that the engineering crews had irradiated one of the cargo bays and gotten several of the crew sick. The radiation damage to the corridors and cargo bay was minimal, but everyone noticed a slight grayish tinge to the metal in all the affected corridors. Every sensor they had indicated that the radiation levels were normal, but it was still eerie to walk through there.

  The reactor power levels finally tapered off at ninety-one percent. Tamara actually thought they could go higher and apologized to the Captain for the failure.

  “Oh… well…” he replied, a bit flustered. “I’m sure you are.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, since I’ve never seen the power level go higher than thirty percent, I think you’ve done okay for yourself.”

  She laughed. “What will you do with all that power now, Captain?”

  “The powerrrr…” he purred with fake malice, raising and clenching one fist. They laughed. Then his face grew pensive. “I’m not sure. I’ll talk it over with George and Quesh. I was thinking of increasing the ship’s armament.”

  Her eyes clouded, but her face remained a pleasant mask. “Oh? In what way?”

  “The guns we have are pretty pathetic. I’m not looking to make the old girl into a warship or anything like that, but the laser cannons we have don’t scare anybody. I was thinking we could add a graser or two.”

  But Tamara was already shaking her head. “Sorry, Captain, but that isn’t really practical.”

  He eyed her. “What does that mean?”

  “The power grid could handle one or two of those weapons, sure, but Grania Estelle is a civilian vessel. It isn’t configured for heavy armament. Oh, we could build and install gamma-ray lasers, but the hull isn’t designed to deal with the strain. A weapon like that is cumbersome and heavy. I’d be concerned with vibration and wear and tear. Then there’s sensor profile and our own neutrino signatures.”

  He shook his head slightly, as though his head was on a spring. “You’re losing me,” he said. “And you’re starting to give me a headache.”

  Tamara smiled. “The way I see it, Captain, there are two main problems. One, the ship isn’t designed to handle a weapon like that, much less two. A good shot or two might shake us apart. Yes, I’m sure we could jury rig some solutions to make it work, but to be honest, with the mass of the weapons and the wear on the ship when we use them, there would be a lot of maintenance and a noticeable reduction in speed.”

  He nodded slowly. “Okay, I can see that being a problem. And the second?”

  She sighed. “The second. Having a heavy weapon like that would certainly be a deterrent to anyone deciding to mess with us. But that in and of itself would cause problems. We wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that we had grasers, the power output is just too noticeable. Which would make people think twice about dealing with us, but it would make serious players just work that much harder to disable us. If they know we’ve got a massive punch, they’re either going to up their punches, or they’re going to try and swarm us with more ships.”

  The Captain considered her. “These are all valid points. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m concerned my shiny ship is becoming a better target for pirates.”

  “I didn’t say we couldn’t arm her better,” Tamara replied. “I’m just saying that gamma-ray lasers aren’t the way to go. Now, you’re currently outfitted with four laser cannons, well, we call them lasers, but they are really focused particle beams. You’re right. As a weapon system they’re really only good for shooting incoming meteors. We can probably figure out some way to up their effectiveness.” She pursed her lips, staring at the bulkhead in thought. “Let me think on it and see what we would be able to get away with.”

  “We?” he asked, amused.

  Tamara frowned at him. “I am a member of the crew now, remember? My ass is as much on the line as everyone else’s is.”

  “Well that’s true.” He sighed. “Get back to me on this, please. I really want to try and get some better weapons.”

  “I will Captain, I promise.”

  The solution that she, Quesh and Ka’Xarian came up with was a quartet of rail gun turrets. The weapon was relatively simple: a tube lined with electromagnets, capable of accelerating a solid metal slug up to almost twenty thousand kilometers per second. The guns themselves could spew slugs at over a thousand rounds per minute, with a magazine of ten thousand rounds.

  “It will take a bit of reinforcement around the mounts,” Tamara admitted, “But not as much as it would for a serious energy weapon. The rail gun is essentially recoilless. There’s no propellant to get the round to fire, it’s just accelerated out the barrel of the weapon by the use of magnetism. Which is another benefit. The power levels are very low and you wouldn’t be announcing your intentions to anyone with halfway decent sensors.”

  “What’s the catch?” the Captain asked suspiciously.

  “The range is good,” she said. “The guns are effectively kinetic projectile weapons, which means that if you see them coming, you can maneuver out of the way. Technically, you could hit someone on the other side of the star system if you had the patience and the ability to aim. But if you could get someone within say, half a light second, you could pound them.”

  “The catch, Moxie?”

  “Oh, sorry. They won’t do terribly well against any serious energy shields. It’ll take fair few salvos to open a hole in a large vessel’s shields. However, I don’t think you’re going to last very long against a cruiser or even a destroyer anyway. Against the occasional pirate raider in a corvette or even something as large as a frigate, we could hold our own.”

  He nodded. “I’m sold. I just want to keep the wolves at bay anyway. I’m not interested in taking on a saberbear. Can we build them now?”

  “Of course. Can’t install them until we drop out of hyperspace, though.”

  “Get with Quesh and hammer this out.”

  Admiral Nicholas Tandred was seated at his desk in his stateroom aboard his flagship, the battleship Valkyr
ie. His battlegroup was patrolling the western edge of Republic space and had been for the last three years. They were currently parked in orbit of the Dryden system, taking on supplies. It gave his crews time to rest and take some shore leave, though he was still battling the bane of any flag officer: paperwork. As an Admiral, he always felt that the amount of reports and paperwork should be handled by his clerks, but no. The clerks insisted that he be submitting more forms and reports to them. In turn, they would send back more reports, sometimes to make minor corrections, at other times for new issues all together. He, of course, would be expected to review and send these back. He never got ahead; it was a never-ending cycle. He, like many officers, also wondered if the clerks knew who was actually in charge of the Navy.

  And like many officers, secretly, he was scared to truly push the issue and find out.

  He was reviewing reports from his advance pickets out in Independent space, when his door alarm chimed. “Come,” he called. The hatch opened and one of his officers, a Commander Duncan Harth, entered. The man commanded one of the heavy cruisers in the battlegroup. He was a dark, sallow man with a skeletal visage. Harth always looked as though he was ill or horribly undernourished. His voice was low and raspy as he spoke.

  “Admiral, I have the reports for the outer pickets in Independent Space.”

  Tandred looked up. “Good. Anything interesting?”

  “Mostly routine. Nothing of any serious interest.”

  “No Federation activity?”

  “Not in this report. In fact we haven’t seen any sign of Fed activity out there in eight months.”

  Tandred frowned. “I don’t know how I should feel about that, Duncan. I don’t want Federation ships in the Indie systems, but when we don’t see them there, I wonder if they’re just good at hiding.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. One thing. We got a report from one of the picket ships about a reserve vessel operating out in Indie space.”

  “What?” Tandred asked, stunned. “A Naval Reserve vessel?” He pressed a comm button on his desk. “Sopris?”

  His yeoman immediately answered. “Yes, Admiral?”

  “Get me a list of all Naval Reserve vessels operating in Indie space right now.”

  “Yes, Admiral. I’ll message you immediately with that.”

  “Good. No, wait. Get a list of every Reserve ship in the Fleet.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  Tandred ended the call. Getting that info would only take a few minutes. “Where was this reserve ship sighted?”

  “Instow.” Harth checked the report. “One of the corvettes, the Fury sighted her.”

  “So? Why is a reserve vessel operating out there?”

  “I don’t know, Admiral. It isn’t from this battlegroup.”

  Tandred sighed. “Yes, Commander, I know that. What I want to know is what the hell is that ship doing there?”

  “I don’t have any idea, sir. Do we have any interests out there?”

  “No ships, just the pickets. But I have a few irons in the fire out there.” Harth was wise enough not to ask. The Admiral considered it for a moment. “What was the ship’s name?”

  “Um… Grania Estelle, sir. According to the ID data the ship was broadcasting when Fury intercepted her, she was a bulk cargo freighter.” Harth pursed his lips. “That makes even less sense, sir. Why would a Navy Reserve vessel be operating unsupported?

  “So let me get this straight,” Tandred replied, sitting himself more comfortably on the chair and steepling his fingers. “Fury arrives at Instow, sees this ship, the ship broadcasts its ID and Reserve status, and Fury’s captain just lets her go?”

  Harth frowned. “Not entirely, sir. Apparently, the ship was in orbit of the habitable moon of that world when Fury arrived in system. Once Fury started her approach, the ship left orbit, heading for the hyper limit. Fury followed in pursuit and intercepted the ship just shy of the hyper limit. It was at that point that the ship broadcast its Reserve status and its commander called Fury.”

  “Wait,” he said, sitting up. “They actually talked?”

  “Yes, sir. A…” Harth consulted his datapad. “Commander Tamara Samair called Fury and informed them of the freighter’s Reserve status. She then indicated she was on some sort of mission, though she refused to indicate what that was. She transmitted identification codes that turned up valid, and Lieutenant Sykora was forced to turn away.”

  Tandred hissed. “I will string that wretch up! He let them go!”

  Harth nodded, unconcerned. “Yes, sir. He did. He had what he thought were valid reasons. He had proper identification of both the ship and the commander. How was he to know differently?”

  “The idiot should have stopped them and discovered their true purpose,” Tandred pressed.

  Harth nodded again. “Perhaps, Admiral, he should have. But what if the registry and the ID were legitimate? Should he have risked his command over a freighter?”

  “It’s his job to risk his command.” Tandred was starting to get angry.

  “Yes, sir, you’re right. It is.”

  “Why are you defending him?” he demanded.

  “Because without the benefit of hindsight, he made a judgment call. And we don’t know anything yet, Admiral.”

  Tandred blew out a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I still want that idiot’s head on a plate. But you’re right. We don’t know anything yet. But I want that ship, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir. I request permission to detach Legacy immediately and investigate. I’ll find our wayward ship, Admiral.”

  “Yes, Commander. Do that. Report back as soon as you have something.”

  Harth saluted. Tandred returned it. The commander did an about face and exited.

  The Admiral sighed. He liked order in his universe and this anomaly was definitely disrupting that order.

  Who the hell in Fleet would send a reserve vessel, a freighter no less, out into Independent space? Why waste a ship like that? Independent space isn’t safe for civilian traffic. Then he paused, seething. If Intelligence decided to send a team out there to look into any Federation activity out there without informing me, there is going to be a reckoning.

  He reread the report. Who is this Commander Tamara Samair? I don’t have anyone by that name under my command. He did a quick search of Republic records. Nothing came up under that name. “Sopris?”

  “Yes, Admiral?”

  “Run a personnel search for a Commander Tamara Samair, in the Navy Archives. Go back fifty years if you need to.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  “Thank you, Sopris.”

  Sopris was a very capable yeoman, if anyone could dig up the information he wanted, Sopris would.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sopris called. “Admiral, I’ve done a search, and I went back as far as a century. I have no record of a Tamara Samair even in the Navy, much less a Commander. I went through Marine archives as well, nothing. I checked on ground and aerospace forces and even the Starfighter Corps, all nothing.”

  Tandred frowned. “Huh.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Check our intelligence files on Federation personnel. Maybe someone was faking a security code.”

  “I will check, Admiral. This may take a few hours to go back as far.”

  “Take your time, Sopris. I want that information.”

  “Aye, sir. Should I also check civilian files?”

  Tandred considered that. “No, stick with military files for now. If the search comes up nothing, I might have you do that then.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Oh, do you have that ship list?”

  “Yes, Admiral. It’s in your inbox.”

  He looked over and saw the blinking light on his computer terminal, indicating a new item received. “Thank you, Sopris. Carry on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tandred cut the connection and looked to the list. Sopris had been thorough. Of course there were no reserve vess
els in this battlegroup. There were seven in the western edge of the Republic, but none that went by the name Grania Estelle. What the hell was a bulk freighter doing in independent space? Are there any corporations crazy enough to send a ship that big and important out there? There can’t be that much in the way of goods needing shipment that far from civilization.

  Continuing down the lists, he kept checking, but no ships matching either the description or the name appeared. He thought about it some more. By that same token, if it isn’t a Reserve vessel, who could possibly be running it? Federation? That makes even less sense. That area of Indie space is awfully close to the Republic. They’d be crazy to send a freighter that close to our border.

  This was a mystery. And it was one he did not like. There was enough going on out there that needed tending to, he did not need some freighter intruding on his well-ordered universe.

  Commander Harth exited the shuttle in Legacy’s boat bay. He opened his communicator to call the bridge. “Bridge, this is the Captain. Have astrogation begin a plot to take us to Independent space. We are leaving the battlegroup.”

  His executive officer, Lieutenant Tran, quickly replied. “Understood, Captain. Do we have a place in particular?”

  “Instow. Make sure the crew is recalled from leave. I want to be leaving orbit by 1800.”

  “Very good, sir. Is there some reason for this rush, sir? Should we be concerned?”

  He smiled. “Orders, Lieutenant. You know how it is.”

  Tran chuckled. “Yes, sir, I do. Will you be joining us on the bridge?”

  “Not just yet. I’m going to Engineering to speak with the Chief, then I’ll be in my stateroom. But I’ll be on the bridge at 1800 when we depart.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Two hours later, the heavy cruiser Legacy left orbit, moving out past the other cruisers and destroyers of the Valkyrie battlegroup. Its main engines lit off and the ship accelerated away from the planet, headed out toward the hyper limit.

  The trip to Hecate went fast, both in the literal sense and in the way that an anticipated journey seems to move quicker than it should. The Grania Estelle was indeed much faster than it had been, so technically, the trip was much shorter than it would have been four or five months ago.