“I’m not looking forward to it either, Colter,” Perkins said in a matter of fact manner. “This is the job we signed up for. We begged the Ruhar for this assignment; the whole planet is watching us.” On behalf of UNEF, Perkins herself had done the begging and groveling to keep humans part of the projector reactivation team.
“Ma’am,” Shauna suggested, “there are parts of the rig we can take apart and pack away now. We don’t need the components for drilling.” Part of the rig scaffolding was in use to give Ruhar technicians and scientists access to the underground projector, but the actual drilling part of the operation was complete.
“You are sure about that, Jarrett?” Major Perkins was skeptical. “We’ve never done that.”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s in the drill rig manual,” Shauna pulled up a schematic on her tablet. “The hamsters take the drill rig apart sometimes, when they want to replace just part of the system, for field maintenance.” On the mission, the humans had not been allowed, or trusted, to take apart the drill rig. Instead, the Ruhar provided a refurbished drill rig after the team had worked on three projectors. “It’s easy,” she pointed to the schematic. “It’s looks easy, anyway. There’s a set of videos that walks us through the process. If we take it apart, we can cut the final part of the stowing process to a couple hours.”
Perkins looked at the file on her own tablet. It did look simple and easy, and the process did not require anything complicated. Which was good, because the translated Ruhar instructions read something like ‘Being Tab A into Slot B, for making joyous assembly’. It reminded Perkins of the Chinese instructions for the washing machine in what used to be her apartment back on Earth. The rig had been designed to break down easily. “We’ll look at this. This is good, Jarrett. If it checks out, I’ll talk to the Ruhar about it.”
“Ma’am? If we’re not needed here until the test,” Derek inquired, “could we fly someplace else to wait it out? There’s a Ruhar base only three hours south of here.” While the climate at the base was not tropical, it was warmer than the bone-chilling cold at the projector site. They could go outside without risking frostbite and death. And they could live in the base buildings, rather than being stuck inside the Buzzard the whole time.
“I’ll need to consider that.” Perkins’ instinct was to keep the Buzzard and her crew right where they were. The Ruhar did not need humans to reactivate the remaining projectors on the planet, UNEF through Perkins had begged for the opportunity to participate and demonstrate that humans could be trustworthy and useful. Abandoning the arctic projector site, simply because it was unpleasant, would send a signal that humans were soft. And the Ruhar base mentioned by Derek Bonsu was unlikely to be thrilled with the idea of hosting a group of humans. The base commander might outright refuse permission for humans to land there, even if Perkins offered to set up tents for her team to live in, so the Ruhar didn’t have to encounter humans frequently. Despite Perkins and her team having reactivated projectors and blasted a Kristang battlegroup out of the sky, humans overall were still not viewed positively by Ruhar. The Ruhar natives still had hard feelings against humans, who they saw as ignorant, backwards aliens used as a goon squad by the Kristang, to force Ruhar off the world they considered to be their home.
The real mission of Perkins’ team was not to drill down into projector sites to allow access for the Ruhar technicians. The mission was public relations, on behalf of all humans on Paradise. “I can sound out the Ruhar team leader here, she may have people who would appreciate a couple days away from,” she tried to think of a nice way talk about the frozen hell they were living in, then settled for, “here.” The Ruhar team had three Buzzards, and had set up two warm, large prefab shelters for use only by Ruhar. If some of the Ruhar were not needed for the second test, Perkins could use transporting them aboard their Buzzard as an excuse to fly her own team out.
The battered and overworked Kristang frigate To Seek Glory in Battle is Glorious drifted through space, eighty million kilometers from the planet known to Kristang as Pradassis. Following the Glory's escape from the deadly trap Admiral Ferlant's Ruhar Fleet squadron had sprung on the Kristang pursuit force, the Glory had been badly in need of a major overhaul merely to keep the reactor and life support systems functioning at a minimum level. Instead of including the Glory as part of his remaining force, so that little ship could go home with the rest of the Kristang force, Admiral Kekrando had declared that frigate lost with all hands. The admiral had loaded two dropships with critical supplies and spare parts, and sent them on an unmanned one-way trip to the Glory, with orders for that ship to perform what repairs the crew could complete on their own. Since then, the Glory had been alone in deep space, outside the typical patrol areas of the Kristang guard force. The ship's stealth field was drawn tightly around it; the stealth generator and its support systems had been the first item the crew had repaired as best they could. The sensor field was offline, although that system was in reasonably good condition, by the standards of warrior Kristang. The sensor field was not offline for the purpose of maintenance, it was offline because the Glory could not risk its sensor field giving away the fact that an undeclared Kristang ship was lingering in the star system. For the purpose of hiding, using only passive sensors was the ship's best tactic, for the Ruhar guard ships were hammering the area around the planet with powerful active sensor pulses. Even with its passive sensor network half blinded, the Glory could easily tell how many enemy ships were searching, and where. Every time an active sensor pulse swept across their ship, even from eighty million kilometers away, the entire crew held their breath and prayed that their creaky stealth field generator would keep limping along for just a few more days, or weeks.
When the crew unpacked the unmanned dropships, they were initially delighted to find that the remnants of Kekrando's battlegroup had donated a generous supply of spare parts for the Glory's jump drive. Unfortunately, in order to conceal the ship's presence, the Glory could not jump at all. A jump would create two distinctive gamma ray bursts, at both ends of the jump wormhole; that would be like ringing a bell to announce the Glory's presence. The Ruhar guard force might suspect Kekrando had left behind one or two ships to spy on Ruhar activity, or to create mischief. They did not know for certain that Kekrando had violated the cease fire terms, and to protect Kekrando's force, the Glory must remain hidden until after Kekrando's ships had been transported away by Jeraptha star carriers. Only once the Jeraptha ships had jumped away could the Glory begin its mission.
To perform its mission, the Glory needed to do two things. First, it had not only to hide, but to give the Ruhar no evidence that an undeclared Kristang ship was in the star system. And second, the Glory needed to get closer to the planet, without jumping.
"Captain, I do not see how we can accomplish our mission," second officer Smando said quietly while two ship's two senior officers were enjoying their midday meal in the captain's cramped quarters. ‘Enjoy’ was perhaps not an accurate description, for the Glory's crew had been enraged to discover that among the supplies Admiral Kekrando had sent, the only food was survival rations. The homeward-bound ships of Kekrando's battlegroup had kept the best food for themselves. So Smando and his captain were choking down survival biscuits, soaked in cups of hot but thin chom.
"Specifically?" The Captain asked as he broke off a piece of biscuit to dunk in his cup of chom. The concrete-like biscuit did not actually dissolve or even soften in the chom, but dunking it gave a pleasing illusion that the captain could do something to make his food more palatable.
"Specifically, as we approach Pradassis, we come within the patrol area of the Ruhar guard force. Our engineers have performed miracles to keep the stealth field working. They can't conceal all evidence of our presence here. Sooner or later-"
"Given this ship's service record, I am betting on sooner," the captain mumbled over a mouthful of biscuit.
"Yes, sooner. Those guard force ships are going to detect our reactor exhaust, or the thous
and other types of particles we leave in our wake, even when the ship is in perfect condition."
"You joke, Smando," the captain slapped the table. "This ship has never been in perfect condition. Not even the day it left the construction yard."
"True."
"Tell me, Smando, given that it is inevitable the Ruhar guard force will detect the presence of a concealed ship, what would be even better than our continued ability to avoid detection?"
"A critical engineering failure that leaves us unable to perform our mission," Smando spoke words that would be considered treason aboard most other ships; a failure to display the proper warrior attitude at all times. Aboard the Glory, the crew had had more than their fill of proper warrior spirit crap, and preferred realism. "So we have to announce ourselves to the Ruhar, and be sent safely home?"
"Hmm. That is better," the captain chuckled. "What I was thinking of was, for the guard force ships to detect evidence of an enemy ship, but not find us."
"I," Smando paused to think. He knew how his captain thought. He ventured a guess. "The absolute best would be for the enemy to be tracking the Glory, but not be tracking us?"
"Exactly! Excellent thinking, Smando! The enemy identifies signatures of every ship under Kekrando's command. They know which ships are awaiting a ride home from the insects," he used a disparaging term for the Jeraptha, "and they know which ships were destroyed for certain. The only ship missing from those two lists is the Glory."
"And they have our signature in their sensor databases." Smando could not yet guess what his captain was planning. "Our most distinctive signature is our jump drive, but we will not be jumping."
"Correct."
"Then there is our reactor exhaust, although we are operating at minimum power, so," he stopped guessing. "How can we make the enemy think they are tracking this ship, without them actually following our trail?"
The captain attempted another bite of biscuit, before dropping it back to soak in the chom. “In the days when ocean ships had metal hulls, this was after sails and before the use of aluminum and composites,” the Glory’s captain intoned in a voice that the ship’s crew knew meant he was going to talk for a while on an obscure topic. “The poor quality of the primitive steel, and the salt environment, caused the hulls to corrode, so the crews had to constantly scrape off the old paint, and apply new paint to protect the hull. It was a chore the old saltwater sailors hated with a passion."
“Yes,” the second officer indulged his commanding officer, wondering whether a poem was about to be composed for the occasion. The captain had a reputation throughout the clan for creating amusing, if not properly warrior-like, poems for all occasions.
"What we need, Smando, is paint scrapers."
"Mmm hmm," the second officer agreed. There was little actual paint aboard the ship, and little need to scrape what little there was. Color was within the materials the ship was composed of, or color could be changed by manipulating nanoparticles with various materials.
"Come," the captain announced, standing up as he placed the remainder of his survival biscuit to soak in the cooling cup of chom. "We will ask the fabrication shop to create several eights of paint scrapers."
"And then?"
"Then," the captain said with the slow, two eye blink that was the Kristang form of a wink, "we will step outside for some fresh air."
As Perkins expected, the meeting with the Ruhar projector team leader did not result in the humans being allowed to fly south for a couple days of R&R in a somewhat warmer climate. Instead, Derek Bonsu’s idea to fly south for a couple days had completely backfired on the humans. After the end of the status meeting, during which it had been decided a second test was needed to confirm the projector was fully operational, Perkins approached the Ruhar project leader. “Ma’am, the forecast calls for bad weather closing in. That won’t affect your people working down in the projector, but since most personnel aren’t needed to prepare for the test, I thought it might be prudent to fly nonessential people out ahead of the weather. We could bring people back in time for the test.”
The project leader had been considering a similar idea in the back of her mind. Perkins mentioning it spurred her into action. “I agree, that would be prudent. Would you want to send some of your team with us?”
Major Emily Perkins was not yet an expert at reading the facial expressions and body language of aliens, even vaguely humanoid aliens like the Ruhar. She was experienced enough to know the Ruhar did not like the idea of humans flying with them. She also knew the question implied that the humans’ Buzzard was expected to remain on site. Emily kept her disappointment from showing. “No, ma’am, I think my team needs to remain here, in case there is a problem with the drill rig.”
“Very well,” the zPhone translated the project leader’s actual words. “We will return before the second test, then.”
“I’ve got something,” the sensor technician declared quietly. “It’s something.”
“You are certain?” Asked the captain of the Ruhar frigate Mem Hertall. His little ship, once part of Commodore Ferlant’s force guarding the planet Gehtanu all on their own, had been detailed to sweep the system for hidden Kristang ships. All the ships declared by the Kristang Admiral Kekrando were gathered at the rendezvous point in the outskirts of the star system, waiting for a pair of Jeraptha star carriers to transport them away. What worried Ruhar Fleet Command was the possibility that Kekrando had not declared all his ships. Fleet Command Intelligence suspected there was one, possibly two frigate-sized ships lingering in the system. The Mem Hertall and two other frigates had been assigned search areas, and were crisscrossing the star system in a grid search. Finding a small, stealthed ship in the vast gulf of a star system was nearly impossible, so the search force was not looking for ships; they were looking for traces all ships inevitably left behind. Even the stealthiest ship gave off gases from propulsion, from tiny leaks in the hull, from the operation of airlocks and dropship docking bays, even from harsh solar radiation baking off a ship’s outer coating. Ships had to radiate waste heat intermittently. The powerful magnetic fields of their reactor containments systems disturbed particles of the solar wind as the ship passed through, leaving a swirling and electrically-charged wake behind the ship. No ship could pass through space, or even remain motionless in space, without leaving some sort of residual trace.
When the planet Gehtanu became important enough, the star system would be saturated with satellites creating multiple, overlapping stealth detection grids. That day would be a long time in the future; the Ruhar had not yet even installed a strategic defense satellite network around Gehtanu. Until detection grids were online, the Ruhar had to rely on ships slowly and painstakingly scanning the star system, their sensor fields set to maximum coverage. In such long search missions, the critical factor limiting the effectiveness of the ships was not their fuel, or food stores or the condition of critical components that needed maintenance. The critical factor was the boredom level of the crew. That is why the Mem Hertall’s captain wished to make certain the sensor technician was not merely seeing what he very much wanted to see in the data: evidence of an enemy ship. The possibility of action, and an end to a long and tedious patrol assignment. And the hope of the crew being given a well-deserved and long overdue shore leave on Gehtanu.
“Captain,” the sensor tech announced with confidence, “I know this is a trail left by a ship, and I even know which ship it is.”
The captain raised his chin and tilted his head back, in the Ruhar gesture to express surprise or skepticism; the equivalent of a raised eyebrow. Ruhar could move their eyebrows, but they usually used their chins instead. “Explain. Show me the data.”
“See the rhodium signature?” The technician pointed to the display. “Typical hull coating for Kristang ships. Molecules have been ablating off as the ship passes through charged particles of the solar wind; they can’t activate shields in full, because they know we would eventually detect that power radiation.�
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“Agreed.”
“So, this cloud we found was left behind by a Kristang ship. Now, see this line for palladium? Also lanthanum. This particular ship’s hull coating has been patched, poorly patched by whatever they had available at the time. And this ship has a distinctive ratio of rhodium to palladium and lanthanum. I recognize this ship; it’s in our database. This is our old friend the Glory,” she patted the display almost with affection.
The captain was still skeptical. “You are that certain?”
“Absolutely,” the tech declared with utter confidence. The Kristang frigate To Seek Glory in Battle is Glorious had been in multiple combat actions around Gehtanu, and during those engagements the Glory’s hull had been bathed by maserlight. Ships in combat were protected by energy shields that bent maser or particle beams safely around a ship’s hull, or dispersed the intense hair-thin beams. Some of the energy of the incoming beam bled through the shield, to be scattered across the surface of the hull. Even with the beam attenuated, enough energy remained to cook the ship’s hull, and flake off tiny pieces of the hull coating. Those drifting particles, remnants of the battle, had been scooped up and analyzed by Commodore Ferlant’s ships, adding the distinctive chemical signature of that ship to the Fleet database as the Glory. “No question about it. The Fleet database identified this chemical trail as the Glory with a hundred percent confidence. The Glory was overdue for major maintenance when she arrived in this system, and she has been limping along with the Kristang’s signature half-assed repairs since then. Her reactor leaks; the trail she leaves in her wake includes helium-3, both raw and irradiated. There is also a measurable amount of free oxygen behind her; she must have a hull breach somewhere that they didn’t quite fix properly.”
Trouble on Paradise: an ExForce novella (ExForce novellas Book 1) Page 5