by T. R. Harris
Copernicus activated the gravity drive, but with only one generator, it wasn’t much. He ran an intercept calculation at their current speed needed to reach the coordinates Aric gave him. Three hours.
“We’re not going to make it,” he said to the room. “And these ships have only minimal weaponry. And—” he looked at another monitor—“all of them were stripped off on the surface.”
Aric was too busy to acknowledge Coop’s report. He was back on the commlink.
“I have my ship moving in for a faster intercept. They will be here in fifteen minutes.”
Coop’s jaw fell open. When he made his calculations, he saw the distance to the intercept was half a light-year away. “You must be wrong. That’s too fast, especially within a star system.”
“I am correct,” Aric said evenly. “Keep us safe for that time, and we will have completed our escape.”
Coop checked the threat board. Aa starship was closing on them fast, coming from in-system. He pulled up a schematic of the ship; it was a standard security craft, with a two-person crew and armed to the teeth. The transponder code was assigned to Panorius. Being a small fighter, it had decent speed, but not over the long run. Even in its current condition, the freighter could beat it in a marathon, but not a sprint. Coop couldn’t outfight the ship, so he would have to out-maneuver it, all the while buying time for the Gracilian vessel to arrive.
Another quick calculation showed there was an eight-minute gap between the arrival of the two starships. Eight minutes was a lifetime in most engagements, even more so when only one of the ships had no active weapons available.
8
Coop racked his brain for any tricks he may have up his sleeve. He had extensive experience with Type-L freighters. There had to be something he could pull out of his hat.
Then he thought of the useless port side gravity generator. It was a huge piece of equipment secured to the hull by explosive bolts. Runaway energy generation was a constant threat aboard starships, and the units were made to be jettisoned if need be. But how would that help him?
He scanned the nearby space, looking for the ubiquitous asteroid belt most systems had. Apparently, this one was the exception. And there were no planets within range he could hide behind. He set to work on the computer, seeing if there was any scenario where he could throw the damaged gravity generator at the hostile craft. Possibly, if it was close enough. The question then arose: what were the fighter’s intentions? Were they there to recapture the prisoners, or were they tasked with eliminating them? The logical answer was recapture. Not only that, but they were aboard a commercial vessel owned by someone other than Panorius. The owners would be upset if the prison company indiscriminately destroyed a very valuable piece of equipment.
To buy them time, Coop began a series of radical course changes, like a wide receiver trying to avoid an incoming linebacker. Each change required a corresponding recalculation of the intercept path. But this would only buy them a couple of minutes. Then it dawned on Coop that the Panorius ship would get in close without firing if they intended to recapture the prisoners. That might allow him to use the generator as a weapon.
The comms lit up a minute later, with demands for their immediate surrender. The security vessel was authorized to use targeted fire to disable the freighter. They were just about in range. If they took out the starboard generator, Coop’s ship would be dead in the water.
“Strap in and cinch the harness down tight,” he said to Aric. “I don’t know if the compensators are going to be able to handle this.”
Copernicus had a graphic on the main screen; it was more basic, cutting through the clutter of an actual high-rez image of the incoming starship. He dropped out of light speed and slowed the freighter. When the security vessel was only ten miles out, he put his plan into effect.
He cranked the maneuvering jet to a one-hundred-eighty-degree angle, setting the cigar-shaped ship into a tight spin. He was right about the inertial compensators. They were commercial units, not military-grade, designed for combat. They couldn’t handle the stress. Both pilot and passenger were jerked to the left, their harness straps cutting into already tender and bruised flesh. Coop’s eyes crossed, which was something he wasn’t expecting. He needed to time the next phase of his plan perfectly and he couldn’t do that if he were blind. He took in several deep breaths, fighting against the increased g-forces. Then as the ship whipped around for the tenth time, he activated the explosive bolts on the port side generator. The ship shuttered as the unit broke loose and flew off into space.
In reality, he didn’t expect to hit the security ship with the free-flying generator, but it was on track to do that. Until the fighter changed course slightly. A minute later, the tumbling gravity generator flew past with a couple of miles to spare.
With a long-overdue sigh of relief, Copernicus stopped the spinning motion of the freighter.
The fighter hung off at a distance a while longer, the pilot intrigued by the desperate act.
“Interesting,” said a voice over a commlink. “Yet I doubt very much you are willing to do that again with your only remaining gravity generator.”
“Come closer, and we’ll see,” Coop answered. “I have more tricks up my sleeve than just that.”
“Your comment is confusing; however, I believe I understand the meaning. You are instructed to surrender your vessel immediately. You cannot escape. You will be returned to Confinement Center Number Eight. Failure to comply will require a boarding of your vessel and potential loss of life. What is your answer?”
“Was there a question in there?” Copernicus asked.
“Will you surrender or not?” said the exasperated voice.
Coop checked the intercept clock. Forty seconds, give or take a few, brought about by his recent course changes and the slowing of the ship.
“I will give you my answer in one standard minute. Please hold.”
There was a moment of silence on the link. “I … we … hold? I do not understand.”
“You will.”
The Gracilian starship appeared on the long-range sensors a moment later. It would be visible on the equipment aboard the fighter, as well. Coop scanned the readouts: medium size deep space vessel, various weapons batteries fully charged and active—and a one-hundred-percent energy signal. He leaned forward and reread the data stream. That can’t be right. No vessel had one-hundred-percent efficiency.
It only took a moment for the Panorius fighter to make contact with the incoming warcraft, asking about their intention. Copernicus wasn’t privy to the answer, but when the fighter abruptly activated a deep gravity-well and disappeared, it was obvious it wasn’t to their liking. What surprised Copernicus, however, was that the Gracilian ship set off after it.
It only took an additional twenty seconds, while both vessels were still on the screens before the fighter disappeared at the end of a bright energy bolt sent from the Gracilian ship.
Was that necessary, Coop thought? They were running away. It seemed Aric’s people were a lot more ruthless than first thought.
A few minutes later, the large, dark ship maneuvered above the bulbous bridge of the freighter and extended an umbilical. Magnetics secured the tube before it was pressurized, and workers passed through and began cutting through the hull above the pilot station. Coop joined Aric near the rear doors and waited for the shower of sparks and melted metal to stop before a round section of the hull fell inward with a loud clang. A ladder dropped through the opening and Aric rushed off ahead of Copernicus, who was a heartbeat behind, hoping Aric didn’t intend to leave him behind now that the escape was complete. To his relief, dark-skinned Gracilians in slick military-like uniforms helped him into the umbilical and the waiting warship.
Coop only got a brief glimpse of the spaceship through the bridge viewport, but what he saw took his breath away. As a starship repairman, he lived and breathed spacecraft. This one was one of the meanest looking things he’d ever seen. It was delta-shaped, wi
th stubby back wings and a generally flat profile. The forward section formed a long snout, which flattened out at the focusing ring compartment. Along the snout were dual weapons batteries, two on each side. They didn’t look like any flash weapons Copernicus had ever seen.
That was about all he could see at the moment. But now he was aboard the vessel and with plenty of time to satisfy his curiosity.
The umbilical was detached, leaving a prominent hole in the hull of the freighter’s bridge. It would have to be sealed before any of the surviving crew could reenter the bridge. Then Coop snickered. After his radical spin maneuver, he seriously doubted if anyone not prepared would have survived. There was probably no one left to reclaim the vessel.
Copernicus followed Aric along a narrow corridor lined with conduit and screened-in electrical components. It wasn’t like any corridor aboard a starship he’d ever seen, reminding him more of an old submarine on Earth. It was smaller and more cluttered, with a lot of equipment crammed into a small area.
A moment later, the corridor met up with the bridge. As with the corridor, it was smaller than Coop anticipated, with a pair of command chairs crammed in against a bank of monitors sitting forward of the location. There was a narrow viewport lining the sides of the compartment, but not forward. The pilots would rely only on the monitors for line-of-sight maneuvering.
Aric began an intense conversation with another Gracilian, this one dressed in a cobalt blue uniform with a yellow swatch over his right breast. Copernicus moved to a side operations console and ran his fingers over the smooth surface. Everything smelled new and molded with perfection.
He thought about the recent history of the Gracilians. They had once had an advanced society of over eight billion individuals thriving at the far end of the Kidis Frontier, at the beginning of the long swath of civilized worlds that would later become known as the Dead Worlds. According to Aric, their population now numbered around a million, mostly scattered across the galaxy. These were the fortunate few who got off the planet at the last minute before the attack, or those who were off-planet at the time. The Gracilians were well-known in the Frontier and had business interests on hundreds of worlds. Once the surface of Gracilia was irradiated and left uninhabitable, most survivors clustered together to form part of the mass exodus from the region, the refugees seeking shelter on any world that would accept them. At the time, there were so many refugees from a hundred worlds streaming into other parts of the galaxy that local resources were overwhelmed. The survivors soon found themselves shut out of planets closest to the Kidis, having to seek refuge farther into the Expansion. The planet Aac’or—where the bulk of the Gracilians eventually settled—was fifteen thousand light-years away from Gracilia. Even then, it wasn’t a harmonious integration with the natives. And, according to Aric, the Gracilian’s attempted coup on the planet didn’t help.
All this made Copernicus ask where did the ship come from? As far as could see, it was manned exclusively by Gracilians. Had they built it as well? Or did they hire out the manufacture?
The pair of pilots now engaged the engines, and the warcraft moved away from the now-derelict freighter. Copernicus moved to a side bulkhead and placed his hand on the warm metal, feeling the harmonics in the hull. He had intimate knowledge of most space drives and could identify the make and model by the vibrations they produced. This was a hum, more of a sound than a feeling. It was like nothing he’d ever felt. He pulled his hand away quickly when Aric suddenly turned his attention to him.
“Copernicus Smith, I want to thank you for your efforts in securing my freedom. I will honor my promise of payment. I would also like to keep you around as part of my security detail until I am fully within the company of my people. I will pay extra for this.”
Copernicus acted excited and appreciative. And acting it was. At the moment, all he truly felt was apprehension. There was a lot more going on here than he realized.
“Thank you, Aric; I appreciate it. As you know, I have no credits or a job, and I’m sure there’s going to be a bounty out for us for the escape.”
“That is why I wish your continued assistance. Having a Human at my side could be advantageous.”
“So, where are we going? And I have to tell you; I’m really impressed with this ship. What’s the energy source. It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve experienced before. And the weapons I saw outside. They don’t look like conventional flash cannon.”
Aric’s face turned hard. He stepped in a little closer to the Human as the other three Gracilian’s standing on the bridge also crowded in a little more.
“Contain your curiosity. The functioning and capabilities of this vessel are of no concern to you. You are here exclusively for your strength and physical prowess, nothing more. Is that understood?”
“Yeah, sure. As I said, starship repair is what I do for a living. I was just asking.”
“Ask no more.”
Coop looked to the forward bank of monitors at the pilot station.
“So, where are we going?”
Aric sighed. “If you must know, we are heading for a small world you have never heard of. It will take us fourteen standard days to get there, so until then, you will have nothing to do. It is called Liave-3.”
Copernicus coughed to hide his reaction. “Eh, sorry, dry throat. All that excitement during the escape. Is this Liave-3 where you have your money?”
“More questions?” Aric asked. “Are all Humans this inquisitive, even when they have been told not to be?”
“Sorry; it’s just our nature.”
“Whether Liave-3 is the location of my assets or not is none of your concern. Be assured you will be paid at the proper time. Until then—”
He turned to another of the Gracilians in the room, this one wearing a red uniform. “Since space is limited aboard the vessel, provide sleeping accommodations for the Human in the cargo hold. And one more thing. Secure the engine room. He is not to have access to it under any circumstance. Pass my orders along to the rest of the crew.” Aric gave Copernicus an amused look. “Do not let your curiosity ruin our relationship. It may be your nature, but let it not become your legacy.”
9
Of course, Copernicus knew all about the planet Liave-3. It had served as his base of operations for six years until he met up with Adam Cain and his gang. He hadn’t been back there in—he had to think—ten years? He knew the place had grown exponentially lately, becoming the unofficial capital of the Dead Worlds, and he spent most of the next fourteen days accepting the logic in Aric’s journey to L-3. His homeworld of Gracilia was still mildly radioactive and not yet ready for resettlement. It was also well-known that several groups of Gracilians went to Liave-3 after the attack. He tried to imagine how big a stack of two billion Juirean credits would be? It had to be huge, and not something one could drag along with them as they hopped from planet to planet, looking for someone to take them in. It made sense that Aric would stash the cash somewhere out of the way. And at the time, there was no place more out of the way than Liave-3.
Copernicus was given free rein of the Gracilian starship—all except the engine room—and allowed to eat in the communal dining area. He had very little contact with Aric during the journey, although he saw him often. As for the rest of the crew, they were a decidedly non-social bunch, at least when it came to him. He didn’t know if they’d been ordered to be that way, or it was just how this particular group of Gracilians reacted. He’d worked with dozens of Gracilians before while at the dark matter research station, but they were mainly scientists and technicians who reveled in the sharing of knowledge. It was this openness that got them in trouble, as Copernicus and Sherri learned about the Dark Matter Collector, an ancient artifact left over from the Aris. The two Humans immediately saw an opportunity to make a quick buck by selling the collector in an auction to the highest bidder. What they didn’t realize at the time was that the collector was a potential bomb capable of producing a gravity singularity that could suck in a
tenth of the galaxy. Not only that, but the gravity disruption that would cause would have been enough to destabilize the super-massive blackhole at the center of the galaxy, eventually bringing about the destruction of the entire Milky Way. That revelation was both startling and terrifying, that he and Sherri had been traipsing about the Kidis Frontier with a weapon of such devastating destructive power. He was glad when Adam took it off his hands and disposed of the collector.
But there was another, more immediate consideration at hand, as he lay on his bunk in the cold cargo bay or meandered through the narrow passageways. It was the ship itself. He knew the location of the Panorius Confinement Center, as well as the distance to Liave-3. Aric said it would take fourteen days to make a journey of around fifteen thousand light-years. That was approaching trans-dimensional drive speeds. But this wasn’t a TD-starship. That type of vessel had been outlawed once it was discovered what damage the TD drive caused to the fabric of space-time. So, whatever energy drive the ship was using, it was the most efficient in the galaxy.
He knew the Gracilians were a race of brainiacs; they’d proven that time and again with their contributions to the weapons industry of the Incus, or in their energy devices used throughout the Kidis, indeed, the entire galaxy. And now they’d demonstrated it with this starship.
And then there was their research into dark matter and dark energy. How far that research had taken them was unknown. But what was known—or at least one would think—all that progress came to a screeching halt the day Kracion attacked Gracilia. That was five years ago, and yet looking at the quality and sophistication of the warship, it appeared the Gracilians hadn’t skipped a beat in their technological know-how.
At one time, Copernicus thought the ship was a prototype; however, there was too much refinement, too many perfect fits, too much logic, for this to be an experimental vessel. This ship was the result of years of product development. It was perfect for what it was designed to do—and that was the question. Why would a race now numbering only a million individuals need a warship in the first place? Any warship. There were too few of them to wage war, even if they wanted.