Rebellion 2456_Martian Wars Trilogy Book 1

by M S Murdock

  “You bet we did! Hang on, Rebel Two!” said Buck. “We’re coming!”

  “It’s about time,” Wilma responded tartly. “You can stop playing with those guns and do some real work for a change.”

  Buck laughed.

  OOOOO

  Seaforian stared at his viewscreen. The artillery was gone. Gone. He was incapable of taking it in. This time there was no reprieve. If Kane could not defeat NEO, then Hauberk was doomed. He saw his whole career crumbling before him.

  “Sir!” called Hauptman’s voice from the terminal.

  Seaforian ignored the pudgy man’s interruption.

  “Sir, we are entering security mode!”

  The words slid over Seaforian like water.

  “Sir, please respond! Security mode is now operational!”

  Seaforian tore his eyes away from the rolling screen. “What is it, Hauptman?” he asked tiredly.

  “Sir, the station’s main computers have activated security mode!”

  “You’ve said that three times, Hauptman. I am aware of the security measures inherent in the station.” His response was lethargic.

  “But, sir, the computers are cut of?! The last upgrade in communications was never integrated with security mode. We cannot contact RAM Central.”

  Seaforian’s lethargy vanished. “Even for the Lazarus code?”

  “We can’t get to it. It has to come from RAM Central.”

  “Do we still have channels to the fighters?”

  “Yes. The computer considers them part of the station. It will maintain contact with them to the end.”

  "Try bouncing a message from one of them. They should be within range of a communications satellite.”

  "And RAM could use the fighter as a channel into Hauberk."

  “Yes. Keep me posted.”

  “Yes, sir. I will try immediately. Briggs!”

  Hauptman snapped into the fighter commander’s line.

  “Briggs here.”

  “You still have three of Hauberk’s fighters operational?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve got a mission for you.”

  “We’re clear.”

  “I am sending you a coded message for RAM Central.”

  “What? Do you have communications problems?”

  “No,” Hauptman lied, “the transmission is less likely to be traced through a fighter. You will act as a conduit. I want you to transmit that same code to SNOOP Two.”

  “I copy,” said Briggs. “We’ve got the station between us and the satellite. We’ll have to move.”

  “Then do it.” said Hauptman evenly. “I want you protected, the other two ships covering your position. You’re going to have to stay in play for a few minutes.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. Once you have transmitted the code, you will set your receiving channel to RAMDOWN.”

  “RAMDOWN! That’s an emergency channel!”

  “Don’t give me any backtalk!” snapped Hauptman. He was tired. “I think we have an emergency. Don’t you. ” There was silence from Briggs’s end of the link. “At any rate, you will be receiving, in turn, a transmission from RAM Central on the RAM‘ DOWN frequency. You are to transmit it immediately to me. I will have an open line to you throughout the operation.”

  “I copy, Hauptman."

  “Prepare for transmission."

  “Code mode open,’ ’ replied Briggs.

  Hauptman sent the distress signal, dormant in the depths of Hauberk’s computers for centuries, into the fighter’s communications system.

  Briggs watched the transmission indicator. “'Transmission completed,” he said as the red light went out.

  “Proceed with step two of your instructions."

  “I copy,” replied the fighter pilot.

  Hauptman could see Briggs speed off across space, the fighter’s two companions protecting his rear. Hauptman regretted his sharp words. Briggs was a good commander who had seen his supposedly invulnerable base overrun. It was not his fault communications were severed. But Briggs knew the Lazarus code was Hauberk’s last ditch reversal of the station’s automatic security measures. If he made it out of this, he might rate an apology. Hauptman turned to the technician beside him. “Pull up the missile launchers,” he said. “We may as well be ready.”

  The schematics for Hauberk’s anti spacecraft missiles appeared on a screen.

  “How many have we got?” Hauptman asked.

  “Thirteen,” replied Jacobson, the tech. “They were always considered a useless security check, so only a minimal number was installed.”

  “No one ever figured we’d have to use them,” Hauptman replied.

  “I just wish they weren’t so old,” said Jacobson.

  "Why? Nothing rots in space.”

  “I know, but these missiles are pretty basic, not like the ones we see now.”

  "That may be an advantage. There will be less margin for error,” reasoned Hauptman. He wiped sweat from his jowls.

  “I just hope they don’t malfunction. The success rate on these beauties was about sixty-five percent at best.”

  Hauptman smiled, a slow little quirk of the lips. “It is a useless gesture. However, it is a gesture I will not fail to make. Get those stingers operational.”

  “Yes, sir! They’ll be ready to go in two minutes.”

  “Good,” said Hauptman. “Martins, you’ve been tracking those NEO ships. I need the electrocardiogram of every enemy pilot out there, the leaders especially.”

  “They’re on file, sir. I did a Vitals read-out when they first attacked.”

  “Good. Give them to Jacobson.” Hauptman leaned back. His spirits again rose. He was not afraid. He was standing face to face with Death, with a glint in his eye. His own attitude surprised him, but he supposed it was because they still had a chance. If Briggs could get hold of the Lazarus code, they might all survive. He closed his eyes, squinting them shut against the glare of red light in the communications center, and waited for Briggs to contact him.

  OOOOO

  Ulianov, hovering near the communications complex, was trying to assimilate the present status of its host. It was aware of violent computer activity that encompassed the whole station. It saw security programs whiz by, and cringed into its hiding place, but the faceless security guards did not falter in their courses. Ulianov watched one guard jump a closed gate, heedless of the obstruction. Something definitely was amiss.

  Hauberk’s electronic panic had interrupted Ulianov in its search for a vehicle that would secure its position and destroy Buck Rogers. Once it realized the panicking station would ignore it unless Ulianov were to place itself directly in the line of fire-it returned to its survey of Hauberk’s resources.

  Suddenly it stopped in its search. One of the engineers in the communications complex was calling up a bank of spacecraft. Ulianov scanned the files. The crafts' intelligence was low. They were drones, piloted by computer. The files were old, and the coding in them was so simple it was confusing.

  Ulianov could see each craft carried a single weapon. This gave it a moment of trepidation. Was it accessing a drone or a bomb? The specifications Ulianov could detect were not clear. Even the size and type of the weapon was not specified. Ulianov recalled that it had faced the same frustrations earlier, when reading the records on the oldest part of the station. Apparently, when Hauberk was new, its administrators felt the best security was total secrecy, from the staff as well as any outside interest, the logic being if the information were not there, it could not be found.

  Ulianov saw the possibilities of this line of thought, but remained frustrated. It needed answers, and there were none. Ulianov ran the matter over in its mind. If the craft were drones, it could infiltrate the simple computer and take control, sending the ship after Rogers. If it were a flying bomb, it could use the craft to get away from the station, then jump to one of the fighter’s computers via the craft’s directional chann
els. In either case, it could accomplish its first alternative, and perhaps the second as well.

  Ulianov’s line of thought broke as it detected a transmission from the communications post to the various craft. Each of the drones was assigned a single EKG pattern. A ripple of static passed over Ulianov as it laughed. It waited patiently. As it watched, Capt. Anthony Rogers’s heart was handed in ritual sacrifice to one of the drones. When the transmission passed on to the next vessel, Ulianov jumped.

  Heedless of the station’s outraged security, it waded through the crowded channels until it reached the drone. It slid into the drone’s primitive computer, knowing it was set dead on target for the biggest threat to Masterlink’s-and Ulianov’s--existence. It settled into the computer, waiting for launch. Once it was away from the station, there would be time to find out the exact particulars of its host. Until then, it kept silent, knowing Hauberk’s communications center had the drones under surveillance.

  Chapter 32

  Eagle Leader, I see three bandits heading off Hauberk,” said Paul Revere, his clipped accent offering the information impassively.

  “I see them, Eagle Twelve,” Washington replied. “Now where the hell are they going?" he murmured to himself.

  “I don’t know, sir, but I could find out.”

  Washington considered the offer. They had cut the odds by one, and they were holding their own with the RAM pilots. Washington had discovered he was facing mercenaries, and that made his job easier. Mercenaries would go a long way for cash, but they wouldn’t take the borderline chances his own troops ate for breakfast. As the conflict progressed, he could see dedication working on his side-if RAM didn’t send reinforcements. “All right,” he said at last.

  “’Take da Vinci.”

  “You hear that, Eagle Thirteen?” asked Revere.

  “I heard. What are we waiting for?”

  “Roger, Eagle Leader. We’re on our way.”

  “Hurry back,” said Washington, sending a laser Charge into a RAM fighter’s shields.

  Revere, with da Vinci at his side, set out after the three RAM ships.

  “Aren’t those Hauberk’s ships?” asked da Vinci as they closed on the vessels.

  Revere ran a sensor scan, confirming da Vinci’s sighting. “Affirmative. I thought we got them all.”

  “We didn’t have much time to count coup before RAM attacked, but I know there were some prisoners.”

  “I wonder what they’re up to.”

  “I don’t know. They’re just hanging there, in plain sight. It’s sorta eerie.”

  Revere considered the enemy craft. “Let’s slow down and take a good look,” he said slowly. “Half throttle.”

  “Half throttle,” repeated da Vinci.

  The NEO fighters slowed, approaching the three ships cautiously. The enemy vessels did not move.

  “They’ve got to have seen us!” said da Vinci.

  “Unless they’re suffering a malfunction.”

  “All three of them?”

  “Good point.” Revere cut his Speed another notch “We should be coming within laser range in point four.”

  “Still nothing.” Da Vinci was baffled.

  “Point two . . . one-they should hit us now.”

  As if Revere’s words were a signal, two of the ships opened up their lasers.

  “They’re firing slow,” said Revere. “Let’s take a run at them and see if we can stir up a little action.”

  Revere accelerated, and his ship leaped forward, da Vinci on his wing. The enemy ships continued their fire, the pulses still set at the lowest frequency. As Revere neared his target, he opened up his own weapons. His lasers struck the enemy’s shields deeply. “They’re operating on half power! A couple more hits and those shields will go.”

  “I don’t like this,’ ’ said da Vinci.

  “I admit it’s strange, but we’re out here to eliminate the enemy.”

  “They might blow up in our faces,” cautioned the wingman.

  For answer, Revere flipped the fighter’s stubby wing. He headed back toward the three RAM pigeons. “Just pretend it’s a shooting gallery,” he said.

  This time Hauberk’s ships pumped power into their lasers, and the pulses increased. It was enough to burn the outer layer from the NE0 fighters’ shields, but it caused no real damage. Revere aimed the full battery of his guns on one of the ships. His lasers penetrated the weakened shields, and he saw them cut into the fuselage. He did not see the laser sever the ship’s fuel line, but the resulting explosion caught his attention. “Got one!” he said. “And it wasn’t mined.”

  He and da Vinci swept back for a third run.

  OOOOO

  Inside the enemy vessels, Briggs waited grimly for RAM Central to acknowledge the message he had sent. He saw one of his tail guards blown out of space, felt the distortion that the explosion caused as his ship rocked, as if at anchor. “This is Briggs,” he said. “Come in, Hauberk.”

  “Message received?” asked Hauptman.

  “Not yet. I am under attack. Have lost one ship. We’re running on half shields. I can’t hold on.”

  “You have to! That message is vital!”

  “Enemy vessels are lining up for another attack. Permission to break from position.”

  "Denied! You have to be there!” Hauptman cried.

  “They’re coming in. We won’t make it--Wait a minute! Message coming in!” Briggs saw the code indicator blink. “I’ve got it! Transmitting—“

  His voice was cut off.

  OOOOO

  In Hauberk’s communications center, Hauptman took his headset off. “Launch missiles,” he said wearily.

  Jacobson pressed down on his computer keys. “Missiles away,” he said.

  “At least we managed that,” said Hauptman.

  Before his words ended, the red alert lights began to blink, and a siren screamed throughout the echoing reaches of the station. Hauberk was lost. It was designed as the most efficient closed security system in RAM’s vast empire, and one of its primary directives involved a breach of that security. Hauberk could not be overrun. Before that happened, it would destroy itself.

  When the artillery post went, the station’s security had gone into action, but there had been one last possibility. If the deactivation code-the Lazarus code were received from RAM Central within one hour of security activation, the self-destruct sequence would be canceled. Hauberk would accept that code up to one minute before the end. Hauptman almost had made it: only fifteen minutes remained. In spite of losing the computer link to RAM, he had almost managed to stave off the inevitable. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his work finished.

  “Hauptman! Hauptman, come in!” Seaforian’s voice raged over the channel unnoticed.

  Hauptman let him rave. In these last minutes, be derived a certain pleasure from ignoring him.

  "Eagle lender this is Eagle Twelve. We have disarmed the bandits."

  "Good work. Eagle Twelve. Now get on hock here. We need you.”

  "On our way. Eagle leader. Sir, there's something you should know."

  "Yes?" asked Washington.

  “Those ships were sitting ducks. We couldn’t get them to break formation and fight. They were running with half shields. It was fishy."

  “Hmm." Washington mulled the matter over as he rolled out of the way of a RAM fighter. “Notice anything else?"

  "Only that they were ships out of Hauberk, not the RAM reinforcements."

  “Then it’s likely whatever they were up to was closely tied to Hauberk."

  “I would say so, sir.”

  "Eagle Twelve run a sensor probe as you pass the station."

  “I copy. Scanning now."

  “Anything unusual?”

  "Well, sir, it’s hard to tell. They’ve suffered so much damage that I'm getting a lot of electronic chaos. Wait a minute! Sir, they’ve launched missiles!”

  "What class?” Washington asked.

  Revere watched his screen as
the computer ran War the specifications for known missiles.

  “What’s taking so long?” prompted Washington.

  "Search me, Eagle Leader-here it is. The missiles are Macmillan Questors.”

  "Those things come out of the history books! They’ve got to be hundreds of years old.”

  "The computer says two hundred thirty-seven years.” replied Revere.

  "They seem to be operational,” cut in da Vinci.

  “How many do you scan,” asked Washington.

  “Thirteen,” replied Revere.

  “Well, at least some of us will survive. Those thing work by EKG. They’ll home in on a pilot until their fuel is exhausted. And they have an awful lot of fuel.”

  "Recommendations, sir?” da Vinci asked.

  “Take them out,” said Washington. “And pray you don’t pick the one set for you. Once they clear Hauberk, they’ll pick up speed. Hit them now if you can.”

  “Affirmative, sir. Wait a minute. My sensors are picking up a power surge from Hauberk. Sir, it’s hot! It looks as if the main generators are building up to implosion?

  “Can you estimate the time of detonation?”

  “Negative, sir,” replied Revere. “There’s too much interference from the station’s damaged systems.”

  “Make contact with Hauberk.”

  Revere added Hauberk’s communications frequency, but the station did not respond. “The line is dead, sir. Nothing coming in or going out.”

  “All right, get out of there!” commanded Washington.

  “Yes, sir!” Revere and da Vinci set their throttles wide open and headed into space, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the suicidal behemoth that was Hauberk.

  Washington opened up the universal emergency channel. “All combatants. This is NEO Eagle Leader. Hauberk station is about to self-destruct. Evacuate the area immediately!”

  OOOOO

  “Eagle Leader, this is Rebel One. Any time estimate?” Buck’s voice was sharp and clear.

  “None. Too much interference,” said Washington.

  “Buck!” came Huer’s voice again in Buck’s helmet. “I must tell you now! I was trying to tell you I’ve broken Hauberk’s codes! I understood everything it transmitted and received before its communications went down. The last mags: it received was from RAM Central: the Lazarus code! It’ll stop the self-destruct mechanism! But it’s got to be entered manually within the next eleven minutes!”