Hunted Earth Omnibus

by Roger MacBride Allen

  “Oh, hell.” Dianne spotted something on her small repeater screens. “Tracking officer! What the hell is going on with CORE 219? I show a shift in aspect ratio.”

  “Wha—huh? What’s the… just, just a moment, ma’am.” Dianne looked over at the young officer. Who was it? Hamato. Dead flat tired, like everyone else. Exhaustion was getting to be at least as great a danger as the COREs. At least he was coming awake once she gave him a poke. “Ah, ma’am,” he said. “Confirming aspect ratio shift. I read CORE 219 coming about, presenting itself broadside to us—”

  An alarm sounded, and Hamato, now very much awake and alert, slapped at the cut-off button. “CORE 219 redirecting its radar, tight beam on Terra Nova.”

  “Battle stations!” Dianne shouted. “Stand by for evasive action.”

  “Trajectory change for CORE 219—219 coming out of previous patrol orbit. Turning toward Terra Nova.”

  “God damn it! Defence Officer Reed, stand by for authority. I’ll need to stay sharp.” Defence Officer! How strange an idea, in this day and age. It sounded as anachronistic as a rigging master. “Tracking, give me a tactical display and verbal report. What is range to 219?”

  “Current range 15,434 kilometres.”

  “Why are they moving on us now?” Dianne demanded. “We had closest approach hours ago.”

  “Unknown, ma’am. CORE 219 now accelerating toward us, acceleration rate climbing from twenty-five gravities. Thirty. Forty gravities acceleration. Holding at forty gees on a direct bearing for Terra Nova.”

  “Very well,” Dianne said. “Let the datalog show that I am declaring an attack as of this time. Defence Officer, I authorise release of all weapons and defence systems. Stand by for chaff canister launch.” It was the same tactic Sakalov’s cargo craft had tried—blind the attacker, deploy decoys, and make a run for it. Dianne Steiger, however, had seen to it that the Terra Nova had a few more teeth than a cargo ship.

  “CORE 219 has ceased acceleration,” Hamato announced. “CORE 219 now on an intercept course for a broadside impact with Terra Nova in eighteen minutes, five seconds. Closing velocity thirteen kilometres per second.”

  It was tempting, damned tempting to try evasive action now, but there was no point to it. Not when the Terra Nova could just about manage three gees with the wind behind her and the CORE was barely clearing its throat at forty gees. No. No. They would not survive here by running away. Sakalov had proved that much.

  They were going to have to kill this thing.

  Dianne licked her lips nervously and tried to concentrate on her display screens as the bridge erupted into action, staff rushing to their battle stations, voices shouting out orders and questions. Check the screens. Range to the CORE was dropping rapidly, at terrifying speed. But because the CORE had allowed the TN to fly past the point of closest approach, the CORE was coming in on a long stern chase, rather than head on. It was coming in from the rear and below and to starboard, on a direct heading, rather than circling around, getting into position, lined up nose to nose with the target, then barrelling straight down for a head-on impact.

  Was that good or bad? What did it mean, if it meant anything at all? Think! Think as the seconds ticked away. The Terra Nova had the means to fight back, but she was not going to get any second chances.

  And if the Terra Nova had learned from the attack on Sakalov’s ship, so too had the Charonians. The CORE that attacked his ship had no doubt sent a description of the event to every other CORE around Earth.

  All right, you know that they know. But do they know that you know that they know? There were still endless arguments as to the nature of Charonian intelligence. No one knew for sure if Charonians were self-aware, or if so, if they knew they were self-aware. From there it descended into philosophical horseradish, but one thing Dianne knew for sure, at a gut level: the Charonians weren’t much good at dealing with change. Nor had the Charonians shown any sign as yet of being aware of human intelligence.

  Right. Good. But the clock is moving. What does that tell you? That the CORE coming up behind them was doing so on the expectation that the Terra Nova would behave exactly as Sakalov’s ship had done.

  Dianne jabbed at the touch panels, brought up the data beamed up from Earth. She ran the attack on Sakalov backwards and forwards from every angle she could find, one eye on the tactical display on the main screen, ticking down the dying minutes and seconds until impact.

  She watched as Cargo Craft 43 fired its chaff bombs, dispersed its decoys, and the ship and the decoys commenced manoeuvring violently, hidden by the chaff. She saw CORE 326 burst through the sheltering chaff, smash one decoy, and then, it seemed, learn to tell the difference and barrel straight for Cargo 43. Run it again, from the top—

  Wait. There. That was it. Good. Okay. The only way out is through. If they lived that long. She turned to Lieutenant Reed, sitting at the Defence Ops.

  “Defence Officer Reed. Do not, repeat do not, use preprogrammed or optimised spread on chaff dispersal. I want your initial chaff dispersal to be identical to what Cargo 43 did. Same number of chaff cans, fired in the same pattern when this CORE is at the same distance. And don’t tell me Cargo 43 did it all wrong: I know that. You do it the same way and stand by for further orders.”

  “What’s the plan?” Gerald asked, materializing at her elbow. How long had he been there?

  Dianne realised she didn’t know the answer consciously. She forced herself to put it into words, and found she was explaining it to herself as much as to Gerald. “The CORE is optimising its attack,” she said, “but it’s basing that optimisation on Cargo 43’s behaviour.” Her hands worked the tactical display controls as she spoke, overlaying the current tactical situation with the death of Cargo 43. “When the CORE came through the chaff, the real ship, the target, was well to the rear of the formation. This CORE didn’t make its move until it was lined up for a perfect shot at exactly the same position.”

  She looked to Gerald, trying to tell if it made sense to him, if he saw what she saw. Not that it mattered. She was still in command— and there was no time to change the plan anyway. But still, to see that understanding would help just now. God, it would help.

  He nodded, and allowed the slightest of smiles to crease his lips. “You’re right,” he said. “That’s what they’re assuming. They think we’ll behave exactly the same way the cargo ship did.”

  Dianne grinned back, a hunter’s smile. “That’s what I figured. I thought we might want to encourage that idea.”

  “Defence Officer! Reconfigure decoy units to match the deployment from Cargo 43—but load an additional decoy and program it to duplicate Cargo 43‘s own movements. Helm, prepare to come about to a course parallel to the CORE, two kilometres off its port beam and travelling in the opposite direction at maximum acceleration. Do not, repeat, do not bring ship to boost attitude until ordered to do so. Defence, be ready to load and fire additional decoys and chaff. All sections, stand by and prepare to execute.”

  There. That was that. A guess, a hurried plan, and a flurry of orders. Already it was too late to turn back.

  Dianne watched her bridge crew scrambling to obey her orders, watched the clock count down the moments until projected impact, watched another clock display with less time on it tick down the time left until action, until Terra Nova would begin the same dance that Cargo 43 had performed—although, God willing, this time with a different end.

  Cargo 43 had deployed its chaff at six minutes six seconds before projected impact. Every attack simulation Dianne had run told her that was far too late, and that the cargo craft had used the chaff badly, running in precisely the wrong direction.

  What they had to do now was convince this CORE they were going to do the same.

  “Coming up on one minute to chaff bomb launch,” the Defence Officer announced.

  “How long after launch will the bomb blow and spread the chaff?” Gerald asked.

  “Optimal time would be two minutes, fifteen seconds afte
r launch,” the Defence Officer said. “However, we are matching the Cargo 43 time of one minute twelve.”

  “Defence, the moment that first chaff bomb has the CORE blinded, fire a second one programmed for optimal chaff release time. And put countdown clocks for everything on the tactical view,” Dianne said. “Helm, stand by for minimum-time throttle-up to maximum thrust on main engines,” Dianne said.

  “Stand by,” the Defence Officer said. “Second chaff bomb programmed for optimised dispersal pattern. Countdown clocks for launch and dispersal of both loads now on tactical.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Reed,” Dianne said. This was it, she told herself. First blood, first attack. This was the first time the crew of the Terra Nova, indeed the first time any humans on Earth or in the Multisystem would fight back. Hijacker had tried to fight, but she had failed. Now they would avenge her. Cargo 43 had merely tried—and failed—to do what humans had been forced to do against the Charonians every single time—retreat, run away, surrender in hopes of surviving.

  But running wouldn’t work anymore. Cargo 43 had told her that much. Terra Nova had been little more than a passive observer for the last five years. That time was over. No more watching from a distance.

  Now it was fight or die. Dianne had come to that decision in the last few days, half without knowing she had done so. The disastrous Hijacker mission had served to fix the idea of death in the minds of all aboard. Someone had scrawled No one gets off this ship alive in the wardroom head. Dianne had ordered it removed at once, of course, but she could not erase the sentiment—or the fact that it was probably true. Better to die fast and clean, fighting to live, battling their tormentors, rather than rotting in the dark.

  “Helm, stand by to perform minimum-time attitude correction on my mark. We’re doing this one by feel.”

  “First chaff launch in thirty seconds,” the weapons officer announced.

  “Very well,” Dianne said, her eyes on the tactical monitor, working the time-advance display, juggling all the predicted moves in her head. But which direction would it move, and how fast, once it spotted the decoys? Where would the TN be by then? Could they get safely inside the chaff cloud by then? Would the two chaff clouds be enough? Should she order a third chaff can? No, too late.

  “Twenty seconds.”

  Damn it, had she guessed right? What if the CORE decided to switch to thermal sensing and spotted them in the chaff cloud? There was no way to mask a fusion exhaust flame, after all. The fusion flame. Now there was a weapon. Was there any way to rake it across the CORE during the flyby? No, too late to set that up. Play it as it lies.

  “Fifteen seconds to chaff launch.”

  Of course, the chaff wouldn’t just hide the TN from the CORE. It would hide the CORE from the TN, at least on radar. No way around that, of course, and it wouldn’t have any practical difference on the outcome, but even so it was a nuisance. “Tracking—can you give me a confidence level on visual tracking of the CORE once we’re in the chaff?”

  “No problem there, ma’am,” Hamato replied. “We should be able to see it just fine on visual and infrared.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t think to look for us in something besides radar, then.”

  “No sign they ever have, ma’am,” Hamato said.

  “Your optimism is most comforting, Mr. Hamato.”

  “Ten seconds.”

  The tension built. Not that the chaff launch meant anything. Just a small canister cast free into space and lighting its engines. But it had to work. It had to. The countdown clock reached zero and winked off the screen. Dianne somehow was disappointed not to be able to feel or hear the launch directly, though of course she knew better.

  “Chaff bomb away,” Reed announced. “Good ejection, good engine light and attitude. Chaff bomb on proper course and heading.”

  “Here we go,” Gerald announced. He slid into his station chair, strapped himself in, and pulled on his headset. “All stations, all hands. We will be experiencing high acceleration and rapid manoeuvring. All hands secure for boost and manoeuvring. Do not, repeat, do not leave boost stations after first burn. We may be doing repeated burns on short notice. Remain at boost stations until further notice. That is all.”

  “Chaff bomb engine shutdown on time. Chaff dispersal charge to fire in forty seconds at my mark. Mark, forty seconds to dispersal charge.”

  “Defence, prepare for manual launch of decoys and second chaff can on my order.”

  “Ready for second launch. First can dispersal in thirty seconds.”

  Dianne worked her displays, and brought up the forward radar image. There it was, dead ahead, glowing big and bright in its own radar emissions. And there was the chaff can, a bright and tiny dot illuminated by the CORE’s radar. Almost into the same not-quite-optimum position that Cargo 43‘s had been in. Almost ready to blow.

  Of course, it would take time for the chaff to spread after the can blew. The artificers said it ought to expand out to a cloud of ten or twenty kilometres’ diameter in something like a minute. Dianne did not like dealing with numbers that vague, but she had not wanted to risk testing the system, for fear of a chaff cloud attracting some CORE’s attention. There was no way to know for certain how big the cloud would get, or how fast—and no way to know just how opaque it would be to the CORE’s radar sense. Suppose this CORE was smart enough to have cobbled together a sensory system that could see through the chaff?

  Suppose they all ended up dead in the next ten minutes? The bridges were burning behind them now. No way back.

  “Second chaff canister ready for launch.”

  “Very well,” Dianne said. “Decoy status?”

  “Decoy programmed as per your orders.”

  “Very well. Will we be able to control the decoys from inside the chaff cloud?”

  “No, ma’am. Our radio links will be jammed by the chaff.”

  “How are we going to order them to switch over to homing mode?” Gerald asked. “We don’t know exactly when we’re going to be shielded by the chaff. If they start moving in before we’re out of sight, the CORE might figure it out and come after the one signal that’s still running.”

  “Yes sir. We’ve thought of that. We’ve programmed them to switch to homing mode twenty seconds after losing contact with us.”

  “Excellent, Reed. Remind me to double your pay if we ever get to someplace where they use money.”

  “I’ll do that, sir. First chaff can detonating—now. Good detonation. Um, ah, cloud expansion looks somewhat rapid.”

  Dianne watched on the radar screen. More than somewhat rapid. It was too damn fast. The faster the cloud expanded, the faster it would blind the CORE—but the faster it would dissipate as well, leaving the Terra Nova exposed. This was going to be a close run thing, that was for sure. But at least the CORE would be blinded fast. Any second now, the cloud would spread out, hiding the CORE from the TN‘s sight—and vice versa. Any second, any second. Anticipate just a bit.

  “Defence, reset that second chaff can. Set it for minimum lateral boost only, straight off the port beam. No forward boost. We’re going blow its chaff right where we are now.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Dianne glanced at the countdown clock in the upper-left-hand counter, showing time to impact with the CORE. A bare five minutes left, three hundred seconds to live if the CORE had its way. How many of those seconds would they need? When would the CORE be utterly blinded, and how soon until it could see again?

  No way to figure, not even time to set up the problem. Never mind. Do it by feel, by gut, by the heat of the sweat in your armpits— “Dump second chaff can now,” Dianne shouted. “Now, now, now! Helm, use attitude jets, translate hard to starboard, five-second burn. Give us some clearance. Give me a call-out at safe distance for main engines.”

  The Terra Nova shuddered and slapped herself sideways, lumbering away from the chaff can.

  “Safe distance—mark!” the helm officer called. “Helm, correct attitude a
nd bring us to CORE-parallel-negative course—NOW!”

  The ship lurched harder, twisting end-over-end to come about, and Dianne could feel the vibration of the att jets. The jets cut, and then came another slap from the opposite side as the helm officer killed the rotation. “On attitude,” he called. “Stand by for main-engine throttle-up.”

  The acceleration caught at Dianne, shoving her down into her command chair. Caught at her, and did not let go. A dull roar seemed to come up from nowhere as the engines’ shuddering vibration began to fill the ship.

  “Point five gees,” the helm officer said, shouting to be heard over the increasing roar of the engines. “One gee. One point five. Two gees. Two point five. Three. Three point one. Safety limit at three point two gravities.”

  “Give us some leeway,” Dianne shouted into her headset, watching the numbers on the tactical screen. “Throttle back to three point zero.”

  “Throttling back, three-zero.”

  “Intercept on chaff cloud in fifteen seconds,” Gerald called. “We’re going to take some impacts.”

  That was an understatement. The ship was going to plough into any number of the tiny, insubstantial bits of chaff, moving at thousands of kilometres an hour relative to the ship. The Terra Nova’s micrometeoroid shielding had been designed to protect the craft for a hundred-year trip between the stars. It would be able to take the strikes, but it was going to be a rough ride for all of that.

  “Decoys running, armed and active!” the Defence Officer called out. “Second chaff can showing good telemetry and ready to blow as programmed.”

  There was a sudden new vibration and the ship seemed to lurch just a bit, as if had run into something—as indeed it had. They were in the chaff, and taking strikes on the hull.

  “All stop on engines,” Dianne called. The noise of the engines vanished, and the great weight lifted—the first moment she was even aware that it had been pressing down on her. Now they could hear the clittering patter of the chaff impacts on the hull, echoing through the ship’s interior.

  Dianne checked her radar display screen, now a perfect fog of murky white, the chaff particles reflecting and backscattering the CORE’s radar pulses in all directions. The CORE had entered the chaff cloud itself by now, was passing through it on a course opposite to the Terra Nova’s and just a few kilometres away. But you could not tell that from the screen. It was impossible to get a radar fix on anything in that bright cloud.