Starflake (T'aafhal Legacy Book 3)

by Doug Hoffman

  “And don't forget the Yakuza.” Bobby first met his wife-to-be while on a mission to rescue her mentor, Dr. Hiroyuki Saito, from the fearsome Japanese mobsters. Though it would take many months for her to admit it, Mizuki fell in love with the heroic, if slightly geeky pilot during that rescue.

  “I think stories of John Hawkins and Francis Drake influenced me as a young woman. I'll grant you that piracy and privateering are an over glamorized part of England's past, but they might have had more than a bit to do with my joining the Royal Navy.”

  “So you've always wanted to be the Dread Pirate Elizabeth, eh?” Billy Ray smiled behind his coffee cup as he teased his soul-mate.

  “I've been quite satisfied with Dashing Explorer and Alien Hunter, thank you very much.”

  “What do you intend on doing when we reach the blockading ships, Captain?” asked JT, hoping for some insight into the Captain's battle plan.

  “I think we will hail them when we get within 50,000 kilometers or so.”

  “And tell them what, dear?”

  “I'm gonna tell 'em to vamoose.”

  “You think they speak Texan?” Beth raised a single eyebrow.

  “It won't matter, we'll be using several variants of the old trade language that every spacefaring alien in these parts seems to know. I'm going to give them ten minutes to clear out. If they don't, when we get within ten minute railgun range we'll send a swarm of slugs on ahead to clear the channel.”

  “We'll be closing with them at a bit over forty klicks a second by the time we get that close,” Bobby said, consulting his forearm display.

  “Right, I figure ten minutes for them to see reason and another ten to blast 'em out of our way if they don't.”

  “That closing rate is not too fast to accurately hit the transit parameters is it Bobby?”

  “No, sweetheart. That's a perfectly reasonable insertion velocity. Of course, that's not to say holding true to the vector will be easy if they are firing back at us.”

  “And if the slugs don't take them down?” It was JT's turn to raise his eyebrows.

  “That's when we use the particle cannon. Unless they have the shields of a T'aafhal battle cruiser they'll be plasma.”

  “And then it's on to the Hyades.”

  “I thought we were headed to Eudora?” Pauline asked.

  “Same thing, Pauline,” JT answered. “The Hyades is an open cluster containing more than a hundred stars. Among them is Delta-1 Tauri A, an orange K-type giant that has the Latin name Hyadum II, meaning 'Second Hyad', and the common name Eudora. It is the primary component of a triple star system.”

  Being more poetic than JT, Mizuki expanded on the background description. “In Greek mythology the Hyades were sisters, the daughters of Aethra and Atlas.”

  “The giant who carried the heavens on his shoulders?” Beth hazarded.

  “Yes, the same. Legend says that there were five Hyades and they nursed the infant Dionysus, a son of Zeus. For their services the king of the gods rewarded them with a place in the sky. Fittingly, they were also half-sisters to the Pleiades, our final destination.”

  “What I'm wondering is, if there are bushwhackers sitting on this end of the alter-space transit line, could there be others sitting on the other end?”

  “It sounds like we need to be prepared to blast our way into the next system as well out of this one.”

  “I told you we'd get into a tussle or two before this voyage was over, Number One.”

  “Yes, Captain, you appear to be right about that,” his wife admitted. “What bothers me, however, is that the voyage has barely begun.”

  Crew's Mess, 2nd Deck

  “So what's the scuttlebutt Tam? You just came off bridge watch,” asked Tommy Chen, a sailor who's action station was on the X-ray laser batteries. Like most of the ship's weapons, the X-ray secondaries were capable of automatic operation, controlled from the bridge, but were most effective with a crewmember in the loop.

  “It's not like the Skipper told us what he has in mind, but he's obviously thinking several moves ahead.”

  “Tam and I've been with the Captain in a battle or two,” added Sam Sheffield, also a gunner's mate. “He's a tricky one, I can tell you.”

  One of the new crewmembers, Leonard “Beans” Branford, placed his tray on the table and joined the conversation. “I thought this ship was brand new, how have you been in battles before?”

  “On the old Peggy Sue, mate, not on this ship. Try to keep up.”

  “Well I've never been in a space battle before,” said Lisa Tyler, another new crewmate. “I'm not so sure I should have signed on for this mission. I mean, it sounded so romantic, visiting all those stars named after Greek gods and stuff—I didn't think we'd be getting shot at.”

  Jay Taylor, crew from the last voyage of the Peggy Sue, decided to add his reassurances. Not coincidentally because the Aussi was interested in Lisa in an amorous way. “No worries, Lisa. Sam's right to say the Captain is a sly old space dog. He's been in more battles than the lot of us put together. He and all the senior officers have been fighting aliens for years.”

  “You're saying they are all good, experienced officers?”

  “That, but more importantly they're lucky.”

  “What?”

  “There's been plenty of good officers, and crews, that have ended up dead sailing the inky void. I'll take lucky over good any day.”

  Tamara shook her head. “Ignore the superstitious sailor from down under, Lisa. If Captain Vincent and the others appear to be lucky it's because they are very good at what they do. As for scuttlebutt, all I know is Chief Jacobs told me we should all get some chow and then grab some rack time—the balloon is going up in about twelve hours.”

  Sam nodded. “Which means we will probably be called to General Quarters in ten.”

  Lisa still looked a bit unsettled. “I'm still not sure I want to be in a space battle.”

  “Really?” said Kashi Ademola, who had been quietly eating while the others gossiped. “Well you better get used to it. The shields are up and we're accelerating like mad around a bloated orange star so we can come at the aliens out of the sun. Miss, you are already in a space battle, one that won't be over for another half a day.”

  Chapter 9

  Command Center, Alien Flagship

  The squadron commander was nestled into the command bower deep within his flagship, Feaster On The Carcasses Of The Dead. The hunting had been lean and he had been ready to move his flock to another venue when the telltale signs of a ship arriving in system were detected. The transit point from which it emerged was not well traveled, unlike the one his ships hovered around. Even worse, the only thing detectable from that quadrant was some form of small, presumably automated, probe.

  “Where does that transit point lead?” the Commander hissed at his subordinates. Red eyes glared back at him from the gloom.

  “It is a long transit to a minor star system, Commander,” replied the current number two. Positions were constantly shifting among the members of the flock as they fought and jockeyed for advantage within its hierarchy. Thankfully, none had mustered the temerity to challenge him for overall command in more than a month. That would probably change if no prey flew into their snare in the near future.

  They were principally opportunists, pillaging the derelict and disabled, though they were not opposed to creating a new wreck to loot. Like a wake of vultures perched on a dead tree, his ships waited for something to either emerge from the transit point or to approach intent on transit to Eudora. His flock consisted of two major warships and five smaller auxiliaries used for boarding.

  The flagship of this pirate fleet was specially constructed for its job of preying on passing ships. Just over one hundred meters in diameter, the bow of the ship was a hemisphere that had once been half a metallic asteroid. The thick dense material provided a simple yet effective shield against a range of weapons that its prey might employ. It remained largely intact with only a score of
tunnels bored through its mass to provide conduits for weapons and sensors.

  Where the missing hemisphere had been was a jumble of tanks, cylinders and joining girders—as though an ugly industrial plant had been grafted to half a small planetoid. In a sense that was true, because the jumbled edifice contained a sizable antimatter conversion plant and its associated plumbing and storage. Surrounding the reactor were drives, weapons, and quarters for the crew. The ship's command center was buried deep within the asteroid's core, as shielded from the hostile galaxy as possible.

  Massive, inelegant, and slow to maneuver, Feaster was a brute-force answer to a particular set of needs. Massing more than two billion kilograms, it was perfect for blocking another ship's way—hard to blow up; too large to collide with and survive. It's companion, Consumer Of Viscera, was a smaller replica with a diameter of only thirty meters.

  “Commander, we have a target coming straight on for the transit point from out of the star!”

  “What? Why did we not detect it sooner? Distance, velocity and size?”

  “It is roughly fifty-six thousand kilometers from the transit point, velocity 40 km/sec. It is sizable, as big in beam as the Consumer, though not as massive.”

  “What of weapons and shields?”

  “Gravitonic drives. I'm detecting signs of antimatter being burned and its shields are registering as very strong—I've never seen anything like it.”

  “Bold ones, they are. They mustn’t know that being too noticeable can attract the attention of those-who-must-not-be-named or their lackeys.”

  “There has been a rumor circulating that a new race has appeared, one that took on half a dozen of the Dark Lords' minion races and obliterated them all. They even say one of the Dark Lords themselves was destroyed.”

  “Rakaww! Rumors for inebriated sailors. No race is that powerful.” The Commander was agitated by his underling's rumor mongering. Didn't he know that even mentioning the Dark Lords was bad luck?

  “Commander?”

  “Yes!”

  “The alien ship is hailing us using the old trade language...”

  Bridge, Peggy Sue II

  “Peggy Sue, hail the ships blocking the transit point.”

  “Yes, Captain, transmission sent,” the ship's computer replied to the Captain's verbal command. “I have received a perfunctory reply indicating they can understand us.”

  “Very good. Send the following: Attention, ships holding station at the Eudora alter-space transit point. This is the Earth ship Peggy Sue. You will move away from my departure vector and stand down.”

  “Sent, Captain.”

  Standing next to the Captain's chair, the First Officer surreptitiously observed her husband. His face betrayed no emotion, no anxiety. He truly does change when he is commanding the ship in action, she thought. Instead of the friendly, often humorous man I married, he becomes a no-nonsense warrior leading his crew into battle.

  Bobby called out from the helm. “Captain, we are approaching twenty-five thousand kilometers from the transit point.”

  Billy Ray nodded to himself. “Prepare to launch a salvo of eight slugs from the main railgun battery. Target the largest ships blocking our trajectory. Fire on my command.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  The computer's voice spoke again. “Captain, there is a reply from the alien flotilla.”

  “Play it.”

  “It is in nonverbal format. I can read a translation.”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it.” The pedantic computer sometimes bothered the Captain, particularly in stressful situations.

  “'Approaching ship: you will veer off of your current course, cease all acceleration and wait to be boarded. Failure to comply will result in your immediate destruction.”

  “Well, I guess that removes any possibility of this ending peacefully. Be prepared to fire two X-ray torpedoes thirty seconds after the railgun salvo.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  “Captain we are less than ten minutes from transit,” Bobby reported.

  “Railgun battery, fire.”

  Even with the deck gravity and its inertial dampeners, the firing of the large railguns could be felt through the deck. Each tremor signaled the launch of two high density metallic slugs, each massing ten kilograms. The velocity imparted by the guns, which ran nearly the entire length of the ship's main hull, combined with the forward velocity of the ship itself, gave each projectile eighteen gigajoules of kinetic energy with respect to their targets. The first would strike in just under seven minutes.

  “Fire torpedoes, Mr. Hoenig.”

  “Torpedoes away, Sir.”

  “Captain, I'm picking up indications of plasma weapons being fired.”

  “Deploy anti-plasma defenses forward.”

  One of the common offensive weapons employed by hostile aliens were bundles of plasma. Within each bundle the hot charged matter flowed in patterns that generated magnetic fields, fields which kept the plasma itself contained in a compact knot. Some times these knots contained only normal matter; sometimes they contained separate braids of matter and antimatter. The composite knots collapsed when they encountered an object—like a ship's shields or hull—allowing their payload of matter and antimatter to mix. The result was mutual annihilation and a large burst of neutrinos and radiation.

  To keep plasma knots from striking the shields, the Peggy Sue used its 30mm rapid fire railguns to lay down a pattern of small metallic pellets—like Gatling guns firing oversized shotgun shells filled with double-ought buckshot. Instead of hitting their target, the knots would collide with the cloud of metallic hailstones sprayed out in front of the ship and detonate. At least that was the idea. In practice it worked, but sometimes knots would still get through.

  “Anti-plasma defense deployed forward, Sir.”

  “Are they breaking formation, Mr. Aput?”

  “Only the smaller targets, Captain. The two largest ships have not changed course.”

  “We have multiple hits, Captain,” called out JT from the optical sensor station.”

  “On the forward screen, Mr. Taylor”

  A holographic overlay filled the view forward. Two sizable ships could be seen, one much larger than the other. Ugly, dark, bullet shaped vessels with rounded prows. The larger took two hits simultaneously, bright flashes marking the impact points. Then a third impact on the large ship, accompanied by a hit on its smaller companion.

  Beth frowned. “It's almost like the slugs are impacting a solid body, not a ship.”

  “They appear to have thick layers of dense material covering their bows.” Mizuki looked up from her instruments. “It must be intended as a defense against kinetic energy weapons.”

  A second flare blossomed on the smaller ship, which began to veer away to port. Fainter, secondary detonations could be seen from the smaller vessel as it turned side on to the approaching Earth ship. The larger vessel remained blocking the transit point.

  A fourth impact flared on the larger alien's scared bow. To starboard, a bright flash indicated a slug impact on one of the auxiliary craft that had waited too long to get out of the line of fire. The small craft came apart in a bright explosion.

  “Fourth impact on the large ship, and a hit on a smaller craft. The small craft is destroyed, looked like an antimatter explosion.”

  The X-ray torpedoes detonated, two white hot temporary suns flared as their antimatter charges exploded. Surrounding each warhead were rods of nano-engineered material, each independently targeted at the alien ships. A fraction of a second before the warhead's star hot explosion turned them into plasma, the rods were energized by the radiation released. Pumped to highly energetic states they lased, each rod sending a coherent beam of X-rays lancing toward its chosen target.

  Explosions blossomed like miniature novae, marking the deaths of the remaining auxiliary craft. The smaller of the two major ships also flared brightly and after a moment's hesitation erupted in a titanic explosion. Radiation from the explodin
g ships cause the Peggy Sue's bow panels to turn translucent, blocking most of the light from their death pyres. The holographic display remained, and on it the large blockading ship, damaged but holding fast.

  “Sir, we have taken out all the enemy but the largest ship, which is still blocking our course.”

  “Very well, Mr. Taylor. Mr. Aput, send targeting information to the main battery.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.” A grin spread along Aput's muzzle. He might be more cerebral than most polar bears but he was still a bear—and all bears loved closing for the kill.

  “Concentrate fire on the hostile's starboard side, let's see if we can knock him aside with the particle cannon. Fire as she bears.”

  “Firing!”

  Though the hyperluminal particle beams were invisible in 3-space they were represented by twin red lines on the forward display. The glowing lines converged on the left side of the pirate ship, as seen from the bridge. An instant later, flame and debris erupted from the stricken ship as its starboard side disintegrated. The target split open like an overripe fruit shot with a high powered rifle, its bow section fracturing into large chunks. The violent explosion sent the remains of the vessel away from Peggy Sue's course vector, clearing the way to the alter-space transit point.

  “Looks like that's done it, Captain, the enemy is destroyed,” JT reported. “Most of the debris will be clear of the alter-space transit point by the time we reach it. The secondary batteries are taking care of anything sizable that remains.”

  “Well done people.” Billy Ray allowed himself a satisfied smile. Well done indeed, but then we have a mostly veteran bridge crew and experienced hands at all of the weapons stations. Still, it's good to see them in action as a team.

  On the helm console, Bobby turned to the Captain and announced. “We are under thirty seconds to transit. What are your orders Captain?”

  “Turn control over to the computer for transit, Cmdr. Danner. Number One, secure all weapons and prepare for alter-space.”

  “Aye, aye,” came the replies.