by Ken Britz
Weps nodded. “It’s the unpredictable enemy you’re worried about.”
“We can deal with it if we take her out, but I’d be happier if Venger was at our wing. At least she’s not dead.”
Loew tilted his head and closed his eyes, rocking on his heels. “I know what it is.”
Traynor waited.
“Let’s get some coffee,” he said, motioning for the crew chief to finish and release the team for chow.
“Let’s,” Traynor agreed.
In the wardroom, she stopped a steward and said, “Two coffee bulbs, Sally. Use my special reserve, please.” Sally brought two fresh bulbs, their seals open and the smell of freshly ground coffee filling the air. It was Traynor’s Earth-based coffee, a luxury out here in Rigel B.
Loew inhaled the steam and sighed contentedly. “I love my Kinnaran Plantation coffee, but damn do I love your Earth stuff, too. Is this the Kona kind?”
“Right from the island chain.” Traynor smiled.
“Damn, Jackie, you breaking out the good coffee is either a good omen or a bad one,” Loew said, drank deeply, and sighed.
“So, what is it?” Traynor said, tipping her own bulb back. The coffee was bitter, with a hint of peat and smoke. Perfect.
Loew’s eyes darted around the wardroom. “Hollis.”
Traynor frowned. She didn’t like that answer, but Loew had a better grasp of personal dynamics than she did.
“You know what his problem is? He’s afraid he can’t match up to Roger’s crazy. That shit he did on Tau Ceti was…” Loew shook his head admiringly. “So, Hollis, who’s a damned fine skipper, mind you, is stuck watching the back door while the Fleet is off looking for their decisive win. And I don’t think he can get his head around the fact that Rogers was publicly lauded for Tau Ceti, and punished by sticking him here at Rigel B. How do you think that makes Hollis feel? Is it a punishment to babysit the shipyard or a privilege?”
“You put the best spacers to guard the treasure,” Traynor said.
“I know, right? But it bothers Hollis. It’s why he’s obsessing over the damn engines. It’s his way of avoiding the answer which is also stupid as hell.”
Traynor shook her head.
“Come on, Jackie, you know it’s true,” Loew said.
“It’s not that simple, Charlie,” Traynor replied and sipped her coffee. Loew was right. Damn, he would make a fine exec himself someday!
Sally sensed a lull and brought out food—fruit and fresh sandwiches.
“Damn,” Traynor muttered. “I’ll talk to the skipper. We need him to forget the damned engines and let Chafee worry about them. I need his head in the fight and so does Orca.”
“I knew you’d come around to the right answer,” Loew grinned behind his bulb.
The wardroom hatch slid open and Jones strolled in. She sniffed. “Is that the nectar of the gods?”
“Have a seat and a bulb, Bull,” Loew said.
Ensign Jones swiped a sandwich half and jammed the whole thing into her mouth as though she’d never eaten before.
“Slow down, kid, you’ll choke yourself,” Traynor said, hiding a smile behind her coffee bulb.
“I’m just hangry, Weps,” Jones said, grabbing another and taking a bulb offered by Sally.
The wardroom drifted in and the knot in Traynor’s stomach loosened. She could keep her skipper’s mind on the fight. This Arbitrator was deadly.
21
HFSS Kuro Hai
Rigel B Jovian Orbit
1235 U.Z.
1254.12.14 A.F.
One thing Karine Kenga had always enjoyed about subspace: the blessed muting of Kuro’s background noise mixing with space whale song. It reminded her of deep sea diving in the equatorial waters of Midgard-Sekai, following the songs of the blue whales. Thoraijin’s angry waters were smoother around the serpentine islands that belted the equator. Kenga listened to the eerie dissonance, seeing motes and flits of light even with her eyes closed. Had she dreamed of home again? It was hard to tell with the drugs Dr. Lin had given her. Only in her dreams did she get a reprieve. Now the dreams were gone, and the message she carried weighed on her.
Kenga opened her eyes and checked the ship’s chronometer. She’d been out and the ship entered subspace without her. Kenga wanted to damn the doctor to Hel, but Lin meant too much to her to do that. Lin always knew just what Kenga needed, although not what she wanted.
Lin entered her cabin, carrying a fresh magbulb of tea and her kit.
“You let me sleep too long.”
“You’re in pain.”
“Anything about the corvette?”
Dr. Lin shook her head. “Nothing I’ve heard. Jin knows you were resting. The proconsul has his own thoughts, but he’s not that stupid.”
“Help me into my suit,” Kenga said, getting up.
Kenga’s movements were automatic if pained here and there and she felt oddly detached.
“I wonder how much longer we’ll need this charade?” Lin murmured.
“To the end,” Kenga replied. “All warfare is deception, Lynn.”
Dr. Lin snorted, handing her another chemtab that Kenga slid under her tongue. “And who are you deceiving, Karine? Yourself or the crew?”
Kenga smiled. “A little of both.” She took the magbulb from Lin and drank. This was different, more of something from Lin’s own garden—her personal stock. There was a hint of ginger and lavender. “Can we make it to the end, I wonder?”
“Only the gods know our endgame.”
“Do they now?” Kenga smiled behind the bulb.
“Who are the gods, but puppeteers? We dance on their strings.”
“On a galactic scale, that’s troubling, doctor. How many more tabs do you have?” Kenga reviewed the ship’s track and sensors then waved the displays off, satisfied she understood the operational picture. She smiled at Dr. Lin, wanting to say thank you, hating herself for putting her friend in harm’s way.
“I remember now why I retired,” Lin mused.
“I thought you hated Secession.”
“Well, that, but mostly I really don’t like subspace,” she replied, shaking her head to clear it. It was strange to have your real-world senses struggling with the higher translation of the universe. Lin’s movements had a blurry quality, and it reminded Kenga why subspacers adopted a stoic attitude. Subspace did weird things to your mind. And if Lin knew what Kenga knew about subspace now…
“Funny, you managed plenty of decasolyars without a problem.”
“You can do a job but not like it, you know,” Lin said. “I don’t enjoy putting spacers in cold storage, either.” Lin fixed Kenga with a don’t be one of the reasons stare. “You’re officially cleared for duty, Captain. For what it’s worth.” She held up tabs, a red pair and a green pair. “Red for pain, green is a stimulant. Both are much stronger than the chemtabs I’ve been making for you. Please use them only if you need them. If you take too much…”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Kenga slipped the tabs into a suit pouch. She touched Lin’s arm briefly. “Best get yourself to sick bay. You’ll be busy soon.”
“You’re making me feel like a worker instead of a surgeon,” Lin replied, gathering her gear and following Kenga out of her stateroom. When Lin was out of sight, she slipped a red tab under her tongue and went to the control room.
There was quiet expectation in the control room, as though the space whale song was a special performance and not random frequencies. Reed was there with her lead sensorhead, Senior Chief Chapel.
“Captain,” Reed said, his eyes holding a question. Kenga felt better, but she wondered if it was just the eye of the storm. That moment when a patient experiences the airy lightness of being before succumbing to death. No.
“Proconsul. You have something?” Kenga leaned over the astrodisplay. Far on the other side, the approaching corvette’s tachyon stream came into view. The Jovian took up a most of the screen. Kenga reduced the scale. “Weapons, conn, status of starboard fin l
oadout.”
“Conn, weapons, fin loadout ready, launch chamber is loaded,” Tan replied.
“Very well,” Kenga replied and turned to Reed. “Are you ready, Proconsul?”
Reed nodded. “Are you sure you don’t need Astro—XO Jin?”
Kenga smiled. “I’ll need Jin in astrogation for now. You can assist with weapon deployment and priorities. You have a… proclivity for it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reed said.
Kenga, Reed, and Chapel took the lift down to the deck. Tan was waiting for her. He looked much better than he had the day before He was cheerful until he spied Reed. “I won’t need you on this shot, Gunnar,” Kenga said, hooking a thumb at Reed.
Tan was nonplussed. “Ma’am?”
She put a hand on his good shoulder and leaned close to whisper. “It’ll be all right. I need you up top. We’ll be awfully close to the Jovian, and with the fin in real space…”
Tan frowned, understanding, but not agreeing with her decision at all. “I’m fit for duty, sir.”
“I know.”
Tan’s face worked through a range of emotions. It was his job as Weapons Officer to be in the attack fin with Kenga and Chapel. But Kenga was the captain, and he opened the starboard fin ’lock.
Kenga winced as she climbed down the ladder into the fin, edging around the sensor suite and into the forward portion by the launcher. She stowed her magbulb in a zarf and strapped herself into the creche. Reed was above her, strapping into his creche, and Chapel was farther up in the sensor suite. She tapped the ’lock display. Tan’s face, in shadow, frowned at her. “All clear, Weps.” Motes of light danced through his head.
“Shutting the hatch and sealing the hull field,” Tan said.
“Stand by,” Kenga said. She powered up the hull generators that would allow the fin to drop into real space. The fin’s systems came to life with muted tones and dim screens. Reed powered up, checked the torpedo loadout, and ran diagnostics. The fin’s hull generators warmed and meshed with the existing hull field. She checked the astrodisplay. They had time before the enemy corvette was in range. Everything checked green across the board. She tapped the intercom. “Extending and translating fin.”
“Good hunting, skipper,” XO Jin said.
The fin hummed and vibrated as the hull fairing slid inward. The fin rotated and extended from the hull, shifting the inertia and causing her creche to hiss on its gimbals as it changed orientation. The fin slid into place and locked with a clunk of magnetic and mechanical bolts, jarring Kenga to her bones. Instead of Reed being above her, now he and the sensorhead were behind Kenga, now facing the point of the fin. The bulkhead behind her was the six-tube torpedo launch cluster.
“Conn, fin, shift to shallow, two degrees.”
“Coming shallow,” Jin replied.
The dancing motes dimmed, and the space whale song became a dissonant murmur under the purr of the impeller. Her displays and screens brightened.
“Transfer ship control,” Kenga ordered Reed.
“I have ship control,” Reed said, testing the pitch and roll of the ship. The fin transmitted control through an umbilical.
“Fin, conn, you have control.”
“Dipping fin,” Kenga said, and activated the hull generators.
The massive black fin of the Kuro slid down into real space. The purr of the ship’s impeller and the tactical displays became sharp and clear.
“Real space,” she reported to Chapel. Radiation meters spiked and alarms chirped. Kenga silenced them.
“Beginning sensor sweep,” Chapel said.
Something buffeted the fin.
“I have it,” Reed said, steadying the attitude. “We’re getting some turbulence in the troposphere.”
Kenga checked the hull stress sensors. While the Kuro wasn’t made for atmosphere, she could handle a certain amount. The mechanical and magnetic bolts held just fine—shear stresses on the fin were minor.
“I’m raising our orbit,” Reed said. “Accelerating to compensate.”
The ride smoothed out as the atmosphere thinned. Kenga’s screens and sensors flickered with interference. The fin steadied, black and waiting, a lone object in real space waiting for its prey. She switched the sensor feed to the Jovian behind her, the night side pulsing with electrical storms deep in its belly. She traced the line of the fin to the vanishing point, where the umbilical tied her to Kuro, translated into subspace beyond. Early in her career, this used to give her vertigo, but after solyars of war vertigo had been replaced by cool anticipation. If the fin was in extremis, Kuro could translate into deep subspace, pulling the fin with it. Being two translations away from the ship wasn’t the most comfortable feeling, but it beat being dead.
“Status of the corvette?” she asked.
“On approach vector,” Reed replied. “Chapel picked them up when we dropped out of subspace.”
Chapel filtered the data and the astrodisplay stuttered. The shipyard corvette was still on high deceleration burn. She reviewed Chapel’s initial scans. The first corvette was far behind them, limping along on meager secondary drives. Not dead, but out of the fight.
The second corvette had a drive signature similar to the first, though its main engine plume fluctuated on known output curves.
She took a drink. “Any more tachyon data?”
“Not at this range,” Reed replied. “We recalibrated one sensor for a low signal threshold, narrow band. Radiation is playing havoc with that sensor array, just as it will theirs.”
“Recommendations?”
Kenga smiled to herself. She’d surprised him. He was still the proconsul and a competent, if eager, tactician. It was part of the reason he was in the fin with her, that and keeping him engaged to reign in his bloodlust. Perhaps she could reign in her own desire for combat… The crew didn’t deserve fallout from her actions as captain. “She’ll expect us to be in the Jovian’s shadow, not so low, but here. Should we dip into the atmosphere?”
The surrounding screens flickered from radiation interference. “You’re right she’ll expect us on the dark side, but the umbilical won’t support us in atmosphere. I have a better idea.” She punched up the corvette’s closest point of approach. She did a fast calculation then entered a course change and sent it to his screen.
He studied the change. “That would work, assuming he comes in at a lower orbit.”
“Let’s hope the minefield does its job for us. Get us into position.”
Reed worked the problem.
Radiation warnings and health alerts had been streaming across her HUD. She suppressed them impatiently and considered her options. The corvette would be cautious; that much she was sure of. Could they push him into overcautiousness in time?
Reed altered course and accelerated. They enemy would come from high declination at speed.
She checked the loadout—five functional torpedoes: two were Backbreakers, with more being assembled. She’d fire a four-torpedo salvo and keep the last in reserve. The downside of the fin was that its only defense was shifting into subspace, and since the torpedo loader was deeper in subspace, they couldn’t reload while the fin was deployed. Scans showed the corvette was where they expected her to be. Kuro could get outside their attack envelope with the Jovian-boosted impeller. If there weren’t any upgrades to the Anvil class design. She tagged fin tubes two through four for the salvo as Reed maneuvered into attack position.
There were a lot of unknowns, but she was playing a hunch.
Short of breath, she pulled a breathing tube from her helmet ring and adjusted the oxygen. It helped, and she resumed watching the corvette, thinking, The perceiving eye is less than the observing eye…
There were more ideas in her head. Could she make the enemy’s own weapons work against them?
22
GLSS Venger
Rigel B Outer System
1240 U.Z.
1254.12.14 A.F.
“It’s not possible,” Astro Powell said.
> Rogers, Cowan, and Powell, were arguing in Rogers’s at-sea cabin.
“You can’t use the compression drive inside a gravity well, let alone the heliosphere of a star. It’s impossible.”
“That’s what experience and quantum mathematics tell you. Compression drives compress space and distort time. It requires immense energy directed into minute changes. We need quantum AI to make these changes. But you’re wrong, It’s not impossible. Why don’t we hop to Andromeda?”
“Time,” Powell replied. “The Andromeda we’re seeing is millions of solyars old. We don’t know what’s there now.”
“Exactly, and what we see here and now isn’t where it is today.”
Powell glared at him. We know this already, Rogers guessed he was thinking.
He went on, “We know from experience that jumping into a gravity well increases the complexity of the compression so much that quantum can’t calculate. We also know the quantum probabilities collapse inside the heliosphere and there’s an impossibly high probability you’ll decompress near a planet or the star itself—or worse, inside them. But listen, you’re also thinking this is a short hop.” Rogers turned his display and showed the loop. “We’re in-system now. We know the exact shape of space-time and the interactions of the gravity wells, right now and we can predict the near future with mathematical certainty. What I’m proposing is that we hop out past the heliopause, against the ecliptic where the gravity well is least complex, then compress a curve in flatter space back into the ecliptic.”
Powell shook his head at the diagrams and ran the numbers. The probability was tiny, but something….
“This has been tried before.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
Rogers nodded. He had Powell’s interest now. “It has, and it hasn’t. Most in-system hops have been from heliopause, or intra-system hop—it’s the safest. My theory is that an in-system hop isn’t possible unless you hop out past the heliopause. You know the dynamics at the beginning and end of a compression. The complexity is the fold-space in between. Too short a hop is too much for a quantum AI to manage. Terrible results. But if we define the hop as an ecliptic loop or lemniscate, it might have been possible before. It’s possible with the Mark IV.” “I’ve done experiments,” Rogers said. “It can work, in a system without a lot of competing gravity wells. Rigel B has its star, the colony planet and the gas giant.”