by Ken Britz
Captain Karine Kenga for one.
She’d grown up in the Subspace Service and served on four other vessels before the war broke out and she reported to the Kuro Hai. Reed wondered if his dislike of Kenga was because she was a subspacer or because he found other qualities lacking. She was a supremely capable subspacer, with a dozen successful war patrols behind her. Subspacers were a superstitious lot, and those who’d never served under her thought she was unlucky. Those who served under her depended on her skill to get them through another war patrol, luck or no. If anything, she was due for a promotion, more than ready to command a squadron of her own sharks.
No, it wasn’t her abilities, Reed admitted. It must be her. Kenga seemed personable enough, though she was always stiff and formal around him, unlike the rest of the crew. She shared none of her personal life, even after he’d been aboard for nearly a month. In the Fleet, it never took him long to warm up to the crew; there were many Hegemony loyalists eager to prove their worth to the new Hegemony aristocracy. He hadn’t found that here in the Subspace Fleet. Despite being assigned as Proconsul of this mission, there was little difference in his routine. Kuro crew answered to one authority, and that was Karine Kenga, and Kenga served the Hegemonic Fleet by following orders. She treated her position as a duty—not as an honor. Proconsul Reed didn’t have difficulty with other Fleet spacers who gained rank through merit and success, and it wasn’t the first time Reed had run into such headwinds.
Reed had done well at the New Fleet Academy and had prepared himself for the Subspace Service program by volunteering for subspace war patrols. He’d gone to Subspace Basic and Advanced schools and had a good handle on tactics. Yet he realized when the left Newer York that he’d made a grave error, or worse still, had annoyed a Hegemony official. This mission was not what the Admiralty briefed to him before patrol departure. He thought back to his short time aboard Tian-7 Station. His orders had come quickly, and that didn’t bode well for Reed. Something was afoot aboard the Kuro.
He glanced over at Kenga. Her head was bowed, her short blonde bob over her face and her eyes were closed, and if not for the slight furrow in her brow, she might be asleep. She gripped the magbulb of tea and held it close to her side. That was one secret Reed knew: Kenga was dying. It was why her friend, the flight surgeon Dr. Lin, was on this mission—to keep Kenga alive long enough to complete the mission. It was also his job to ensure Kuro completed its mission, with or without her captain.
“XO,” Kenga said, not opening her eyes. “Status of tubes one and two?”
Reed blinked. It had been hours since they’d deployed Little Kuro, as they had named the decoy, and at least an hour since she’d spoken a word to anyone on the bridge. “Tube one mine cluster ready, tube two standard torpedo ready.”
“All right, XO, let’s execute the next maneuver,” Kenga said, a steady soprano. She didn’t move within her command crèche, and her eyes glittered, reflecting the lights of the astrodisplay.
The gravitic impeller purred at full power. He checked the incoming corvette’s trajectory, locking in when the light delay calculations solidified with its angle of approach. “Launching tube one,” Reed reported as the mine pulsed out under high velocity acceleration. Once it cleared, Kuro altered course and decelerated from her own point one cee velocity. The mine placed itself in the incoming corvette track, and the display bloomed with its likely deployment spread, the mines stealth shrouded. Now that both Little Kuro and the minefield were deployed, the Kuro Hai moved to an attack vector.
Reed watched the astrodisplay, marveling at the technology. Little Kuro was a decoy, created after long months of secret testing in the subspace weapons lab on Childress. It generated its own subspace field and the subsequent tachyon emissions matched that of Kuro’s own hull. It had been a long-term project of the Subspace Admiralty to counter the newly developed GLF ASDIN system, which had advanced in the war solyars. It might not fool two corvettes, but would work against one, and conditions were perfect.
Reed glanced at Kenga’s displays. She wasn’t focused on the decoy or the incoming corvette. She studied the Jovian spectral analysis, looking for hints of the second corvette. It was hard to believe the GLF left one ship on duty. He was about to point that out when she spoke.
“Sensors, report enemy relative course and speed adjusted for relativistic effects.”
“Three five seven relative, declination positive point four. She’s operating at point one seven cee relativistic.”
“Alter course to conform to the enemy ship’s track,” Kenga ordered.
“That will put us within weapons range of the enemy,” Reed said. Kenga was crazy, but subspacers weren’t the sanest people.
He punched up a course change that would put them within a thousand kilometers of the enemy.
Kenga’s eyes glittered. “You can do better than that, exec. Give us a port-to-port passing.”
He altered course further, putting them within five hundred meters of the enemy and passed the calculations over to Astrogator Jin. Jin reviewed them, made adjustments, and passed them back. Adjustments! Reed burned at being corrected but read the results. “Come to oh three seven, positive point two declination,” Reed ordered the pilot. What should be hundreds of gravities of deceleration was just a normal gravity pull with the gravitic impeller and inertial compensation. The Kuro bled more velocity following its own previous track. The track lines of Kuro slowed and the speed track of the enemy curved and lengthened. She stayed behind the mine’s track as the astrodisplay computed its trajectory.
“Reverse heading. Standby for maximum acceleration on this run. Adjust course if necessary,” Kenga said. “Stay behind the mine until its calculated impact.”
“That will put us at nearly point one cee and over point three cee closing. If we’re off by a fraction of a degree—” Reed said as the ship steadied on its course, nose pointed back along its trajectory. This was crazy!
“—I’ll make that determination, XO,” Kenga said, her voice soft but commanding.
Reed frowned. She wanted to show she trusted Astro and XO’s calculations.
“Anvil class corvette confirmed by drive signature on deceleration burn,” Sensors reported. “No change in course.”
Reed checked the track calculated for the decoy behind them and the corvette ahead of them. “Still following the decoy,” Reed reported with some satisfaction.
“It could be a ruse. All war is deception.”
“Launch detected!” Sensors reported, voice shrill.
Reed’s fingers few over the controls. The sensors locked onto the torpedoes streaking toward them, speeding past point three cee and climbing. His fingers hovered over the countermeasure buttons.
“Hold countermeasures,” Kenga said. She tapped her comm panel. “Weapons, ready to fire. Lock onto corvette. Target port main engine, forward to aft firing chain.”
“Five seconds,” Reed said. He sweated and his heart rate shot through the roof. “Countermeasures?”
“No,” Kenga said, locking eyes with Reed. His fingers edged toward the controls. Astro grabbed Reed’s wrist, but without pressure.
5
GLSS Venger
Rigel B Outer System
0240 U.Z.
1254.12.13 A.F.
Cowan’s captain stared at the astrodisplay, then at the torpedoes. Cowan considered what was possible at this range, including a preemptive torpedo launch. She read Rogers’ mind even if she didn’t understand his motivations. Amber Cowan had been assigned to Venger for a solyar now and had been more than an asset to the man the crew called Jolly Rogers, who’d been captain of the Venger for only six months before Cowan reported aboard but she had heard all about his daring attack on the Tau Ceti Supply Depot. The bold stroke landed Venger in refit a month later when they had to be towed to the Alexandria shipyard at Rigel B, sans compression core. There was a story in that, she was sure, but OSI had wrapped it in secrecy.
Hours of boredom were almo
st over. She’d lost count how many times she scoured the ship systems, checking items that the automated systems reported already and re-running diagnostics. “We’re on the edge of standard torpedo range,” she reported.
“Though not within Betta range,” Rogers said absently.
“Conn, Sensors, loss of tachyon stream, conducting bearing/declination sweep,” Basan reported.
“Possible aspect change,” said Lieutenant Jim Powell, the ship’s astrogator or ‘Astro’ and battle watch officer.
“Do you think so?” Cowan asked, beating Rogers to the punch.
“They dropped out of subspace,” Astro said.
“Possibly. The ASDIN hasn’t maintained contact while in transit. It may be finicky. Ready tubes three and four.”
“Less than fifty percent acquisition at this range, sir,” Astro reminded him with a dour expression.
Cowan regarded the skipper. What was he thinking? Let them know we’re here? See how they react? Or surprise them? Put them on the defensive, make them react, and do something Venger can respond to. The lights blinked on her panel. “Real space torpedoes ready,” she reported. “Solution ready.” The astrodisplay bloomed with growing ovoids of uncertainty.
“Shoot tubes three and four,” Rogers ordered. Venger, under heavy acceleration, felt little reaction to the mass change as the two torpedoes launched into space and sped away at a thousand gravities of acceleration.
“Sensors, conn, maximum optics. If she’s out there, we might see her. Train everything you’ve got on her,” Rogers said. “Let the machines compensate for light delay.”
“Conn, sensors, aye,” Basan replied.
“Waste of fish,” Astro muttered.
“Stow that shit,” Cowan hissed. Astro was angry that she’d questioned his analysis, but rather than lash out at her, he questioned the captain and she was having none of it. She watched the torpedo telemetry as they reached the sub’s region of space. There was a red dead-reckoning trace for the sub, and a green line where Venger arced to intercept, drives pluming past point three cee.
“Evasive?” Cowan’s fingers hovered over the controls, eyes flicking to Rogers.
“Belay,” Rogers said, his eyes on the torpedoes trajectory.
“Conn, sensors regain of tachyon track, bearing zero four four, declination point five, checks with dead reckoning.”
“Torpedoes in the search pattern,” Commander Erik Estrada, the weapons officer, reported.
“She knows we’re here now,” Rogers said. “Comms, conn, send a SITREP to Alexandria and request message traffic. Inform them we’ve engaged one subspace vessel, class unknown. Provide coordinates.”
Cowan thought it was odd he was contacting the shipyard while he had two fish engaged in search. The fuel counters on the two torpedoes wound down as they searched for the stealth vessel. Perhaps he believes they won’t gain the sub, she thought.
“Conn, comms, aye. Drafting SITREP now. Twenty light-minute differential, sir.”
“Report when complete.”
“Warning! Close aboard contact, port side,” the automated system reported. Alarms blared.
“Pilot, hard right thrust!” Rogers barked. Venger heeled over as the port thrusters pushed hard to turn the ship to starboard while the mains continued at full speed. Cowan’s vision tunneled and her spacesuit compensated for the high gravity turn. She grunted and squeezed the controls within her creche.
Suddenly the ship rocked and spun on its axis. The radiation alarms buzzed as the port side of the ship was bombarded with heavy radiation.
The G forces abated, and Cowan’s vision returned. The captain had overridden the pilot’s controls, placed the rudder amidships, and countered the roll. She breathed hard and worked against the acceleration, needing to review the damage. There was some ablative hull loss on the aft port quarter. “Surface damage, no breach.”
Rogers nodded in acknowledgement. “Pilot, steer us back on intercept track, veer around the torpedo search space to the other side.”
“Aye, sir,” the pilot said, the ship turning toward a new trajectory.
“Weps? Torpedo status?”
“Still searching. No gain,” Weps said, combing the sensor sweeps from the torpedoes.
“So, it’s my luck against yours,” Rogers said to himself. “Hope mine’s not all used up.”
Cowan turned to Rogers. “Sir, how did you know to evade? And why didn’t we evade earlier?”
Rogers didn’t take his eyes from the screens. “I didn’t think the ASDIN was faltering, but the tachyons were being shrouded somehow, as though we were in the shadow of something. There’s one thing that’s excellent at absorbing emissions, besides subspace hulls...”
“Mines.”
“I guessed a minefield. If that happens, best to stay within the opening made by the mine. Subs aren’t capable of creating a dense minefield. And it makes little sense to have such a loadout for a shipyard run. We got too narrow into her trail and she knew it.”
“Conn, sensors, ASDIN gain bearing zero one two, declination five point three,” Basan reported.
“Sensors, conn, confirm,” Rogers said.
Basan reported, “Conn, Sensors, confirm tachyon stream gain. Steady. Contact has changed course and slowed.”
Cowan ran the display and stacked the data. “She’s shifted course and is heading for the colony now.”
Rogers tapped his fingers on his creche. “Steady on course. Let’s ease up on the mains. I need coffee and time to think.”
Astro gave the order to the pilot, and the ship resumed its normal point seven G acceleration. “Stations pause. Galley provide relief and all stations report status.” Rogers got out of his crash couch, looked at the astrodisplay and then headed to his cabin, lost in thought.
“Has the fight gone out of the old man?” Astro asked after the captain was gone.
“No, he’s just working out the problem. Normal subspace tactics are for them to evade and run deep until they reach their target. Something’s definitely hinky with this sub.”
Astro nodded as if in agreement. Powell wasn’t as experienced as most of the senior officers aboard Venger, but he was a brilliant astrogator and mathematician.
Cowan picked up two magbulbs coffee and placed one in the captain’s creche. Her body ached from the constant acceleration burn and her hands shook. Adrenaline trickled into her bloodstream, but it wasn’t all the excitement of battle. Fear was there, sitting like a hot poker just behind her ribcage. And that thought brought shame, because her ship and crew could not afford to have an officer—a leader and warfighter—afraid to die. She couldn’t avoid it, as much as she tried, but she could control it. She thought of her family. Juan-Felipe’s face, his rough calloused hand in hers. She pictured her children. JJ with his perpetually wild hair, and Lucy with her ever-present curious expression. The thoughts calmed her racing heart, and with a sigh, she focused on Astro’s question and not her own biochemical reactions.
Cowan shook her head and watched the torpedoes fuel timers tick down to zero. Could it be one of the newer subspace ships? What if Basan had a signature she could compare… She tapped a button to contact analysis, but the radiation alarms buzzed, and particle beams ripped the port side of Venger open.
6
HFSS Kuro Hai
Rigel B Outer System
0242 U.Z.
1254.12.13 A.F.
The torpedoes passed close to the ship and continued on their trajectory, silent as death in space. Optics displays flitted from sensor to sensor to track the exhaust plumes.
Reed pulled his hand from the astrogator’s grip. He realized too late what Kenga had done. She’d brought the Kuro inside the engagement range of GLF torpedoes. They hadn’t begun their search or activated their sensors, let alone proximity fuses. The ships were streaming toward one another a quarter of the speed of light.
“Conn, weapons, ready to fire. Targeting port side of engine blister.”
“Weapons,
conn, aye,” Kenga replied. The astrodisplay showed the trailing corvette gaining on the decoy.
“We should launch weapons,” Reed said.
Kenga looked at him with that smugness. It annoyed Reed more that they were the same airs he put on, though his were because of his aristocracy, not his subspace expertise.
The corvette entered the minefield, spiraled, and steadied.
“Conn, analysis, glancing strike based on radiation emission. Enemy is still in pursuit.”
“Analysis, aye,” Kenga said.
“They evaded the minefield,” Reed said.
“At speed, mine deployment and dispersal isn’t effective,” Kenga said.
“You wanted to use the stealth shrouds of the mines to cloud their detect and track,” Reed replied, assessing her true intent. It was a clever idea, though in most scenarios it was useless. This just happened to be one where it would just work…
“The decoy should make its programmed course change now. Let’s see what she does.”
The corvette changed course, re-vectoring as it reacted to the decoy’s course change… right into the predicted path of the Kuro.
“Weapons, shoot when we hit CPA.” Kenga was inscrutable. Reed felt his neck get hot again. The proximity alarm warbled as they passed in close, so close their radiation screens would overlap. They weren’t close enough to activate the corvette’s close-in weapons systems, but if Kenga was right, they weren’t even looking in Kuro’s direction.
“Particle ripple shot, port side, forward to aft. Five seconds,” Weapons reported. Reed watched the screens, the corvette feeling all the optics. She came fast, drive plume blurring the screen. Kuro’s radiation alarms buzzed lightly as it fired, and the screen whited out in false color. It was brief, as the two ships were traveling at almost point three cee relative.