Sean Dalton - Operation StarHawks 03 - Beyond the Void

by Sean Dalton - [Operation StarHawks 03]

  “It’s the breath of the gods,” said Caesar, his green eyes aglow. “Oh, boss, what a haul.”

  “You’d better haul your—”

  An entry request came from the airlock. Caesar and 41 resumed work and Kelly touched the comm.

  “Somebody let me in!” snapped Dr. Beaulieu’s voice. “I don’t have my IDent with me and two hulking brutes from security are coming my way. If you don’t—”

  Kelly hit the release, and she abruptly cut off. Seconds later she was inside, looking unexpectedly beautiful and exotic in a flowing caftan that set off her coffee-colored skin. A cap of purple silk trimmed with gold perched atop her close-cropped hair. Gold bracelets covered her forearms and she carried a pouch bag of supple purple leather.

  “That was close,” she said, and hit the lock. Like Phila, she took a second look at Kelly. “Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about being without my uniform.”

  Before Kelly could answer, 41 appeared, bronzed and sweaty in his trunks.

  “Everything is in place,” 41 said, oblivious to Beaulieu’s stare. “Siggerson flashed a request for you on the quarterdeck.”

  “That means he’s got cast off.” Kelly glanced around at them.“Everybody, upstairs. Get strapped in. I don’t know what we’re getting into, but it’s going to be lively.”

  They filed down the corridor, and Kelly added, “Sorry about the end of your leave.”

  41 went into his cabin without comment. Caesar looked rueful, but Beaulieu said briskly, “To be frank, Commander, anything has to be better than dying of boredom at a Brahms concert with an elderly escort who gropes.”

  “Was it the music that was boring, or the escort?” asked Caesar with a wicked grin.

  “Both,” she retorted. She fished in her pouch and brought out a small packet. “Chew up this tablet. It’ll get you sober.”

  “Who wants to be—”

  Kelly ducked into his cabin and grabbed some clothes. By the time he reached the quarterdeck, the viewscreen showed that they were moving. Everyone quickly strapped themselves in place, and Kelly glanced at Mohatsa’s station.

  “Are we being hailed, Phila?”

  “Insistently. They’re also trying to beam a scrambler into our systems and stop us.” Phila’s dark eyes flashed. “It’s a good thing we rigged our own security codes into this baby.”

  “Clearing berth,” said Siggerson without looking up.

  The large astrogation screen in the center of the horseshoe seating area lit up. Against the soft green backdrop, white blips appeared. Kelly studied it a moment.

  “You’ve got the whole hangar graphed out.”

  “Don’t want any collisions,” said Siggerson.

  “Commander,” said Mohatsa. “We’re being hailed by the ESS Jefferson.”

  The big starship was coming into range on their view-screen now. She was already halfway out the hangar doors, and from this angle Kelly could see the blackened side of her lower decks where she’d taken Salukan fire in a recent skirmish. Her captain had reported casualties. She must be going out at half power, with half a crew’s complement. But she was going.

  Old pride in the fleet caught Kelly in the throat. He said, “Respond to their hail.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The viewscreen changed to show them the bridge of the Jefferson. Captain Lewis, craggy-faced with bristling eyebrows and eyes the color of steel, glared at them from the screen.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Valiant! You can’t pilot free through this traffic.”

  “I’m Commander Kelly. We have the capability, and we can be of assistance. Are you registering what is approaching the station?”

  “Not yet,” said Lewis. “These damned Minzanese engineers have us jammed with all their infernal shielding. My science officer assures me that we’ll have full sensor capabilities in about twenty-five seconds. In the meantime we have to sail out of here blind. Damned stupid arrangement. Whoever designed this station ought to have his butt kicked to Boxcan.”

  “Will you transmit that sensor data to us?” asked Kelly.

  “The hell I will! You’re not even in the Fleet—”

  Something broke up the transmission. Lewis’ face became dancing black dots. Then the screen blanked. Mohatsa put the hangar visual back on.

  Kelly set his jaw in irritation. “Phila, can you pirate off his sensors? He may be willing to go out of here blind, but I’m not.”

  She grinned at the challenge. “Can do.”

  Beaulieu leaned forward with a small frown. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  Kelly shrugged and Caesar said, “After the little stunt we’re doing now, what’re a few more broken laws going to hurt?”

  In a few moments the data came in. Transmission was patchy, but as the Jefferson cleared the station and switched to long-range sensors, the Valiant’s viewscreen showed hazy, distorted space.

  “I see it!” said Caesar, pointing at the top left corner of the screen.“Formation. Enemy ships approaching.”

  “What’s their speed?” asked Kelly.

  “I can’t read it,” replied Phila.

  Magnification improved as though the people on the Jefferson were trying to refine their data. Kelly leaned forward, squinting at the tiny blips. Too far for positive identification. But there was something odd about them. He frowned. Where had he seen a formation like that before?

  “Alien formation. Not Fleet,” said Caesar.

  Kelly glanced at Siggerson. “Get us out of this hangar.”

  “I’m trying,” said Siggerson, glued to his instruments. Droplets of sweat shone on his forehead. “Those two frigates are being tractored out. If we cross one of those beams, it could crack our hull.”

  The strut of a starship passed in front of their sensors, blurring on the main viewscreen. Kelly looked hastily away. They were taking a horrible risk of collision. Probably every captain present was cursing them.

  “The station is sending out a powerful hailing frequency to those ships,” said Phila. “They do not respond.”

  “No wonder the alert went up,” said Caesar. “I’d better check our bomb hatches. We’ve never used them, and this is a hell of a time to find out if they work.”

  “I will help,” said 41, following him off the quarterdeck.

  The Valiant suddenly lurched, flipping Ouoji off the helm console. She twisted deftly in the air and landed on her feet, switching her tail angrily. Kelly glanced at Siggerson, who said, tight-lipped, “Had to apply the brakes. Continuing.”

  Beaulieu turned away from the viewscreen. “I can’t watch this.”

  Kelly turned his attention back to Phila’s small viewer and those enemy ships. They were much closer now, yet not close enough for a visual identification. If she wanted, the Jefferson could deploy extended-range missiles within another minute.

  The second starship in the hangar had cleared the doors. Siggerson lined up the Valiant between the second frigate and a scoutship, nudging too close for safety margins.

  “Do you think the Salukans would dare penetrate this far into Alliance space?” asked Phila. “Risk all-out war? Those ships are too large for anything the Jostics have. And they’re showing too much discipline to be a raid.”

  “They aren’t Salukans,” said Kelly. “That isn’t a Salukan formation. It’s ... Damn! I’ve seen that somewhere before. I know I have.”

  “Look how they’re bunched together. I count six ships, destroyer-class size at least,” said Phila, tapping the screen with her finger. “Everything else is too muddy. As soon as we’re clear, I can use our own sensors. The Jefferson has muck for equipment.”

  “Hang on,” said Siggerson. “This is going to be dicey.”

  Kelly glanced over his shoulder at the main viewscreen in time to see them suddenly jockey past the scoutship that was trying to cut them off. The Valiant turned on her side and shot through the hangar doors with less than a meter to spare.

  “Warning!” said the computer’s vo
ice. “Craft is too close to hangar doors. Warning! Craft is—”

  “We’re through!” said Siggerson, and the Valiant swooped up and over the top of a frigate so close Kelly had a dizzying view of its upper running lights before they cleared.

  “Good work!” said Kelly, and turned back to Phila’s screen.

  She cleared the pirate link off the Jefferson’s sensors, and the quality improved at once as their own, longer-range sensors took up the job.

  “Those are Fleet destroyers,” said Phila in puzzlement. “I don’t understand. What are they doing, approaching us from that direction, without standard hailing procedures, in an unknown formation? Can the Salukans have designed them as a trick?”

  Kelly didn’t answer. He was staring hard at the screen. He had seen that formation before. Long ago, when he was a child.

  The answer snapped into his mind. Kelly straightened. “Those are our ships,” he said. “They must be disabled, their communications cut off. That formation is their way of telling us they won’t attack.”

  “How do you know that?” said Phila, glancing up at him. “Looks pretty cosquenti to me.”

  “My father and I used to play strategy games when I was a young boy. I had an old discarded military mapboard that lit up with about six fleets. So I could have hundreds of ships in motion if I chose.” Excitedly Kelly pointed at the screen. “That formation was one we invented. Broken wing formation! It meant we were coming in wounded, without communications, and needed help.”

  “Are you sure?” said Siggerson doubtfully.

  “Yes, I’m sure. My father must be out there in that squadron. It’s coming from the direction of Nielson’s Void, isn’t it? They must have been on maneuvers, and something’s gone wrong. Phila, get me a line to Captain Lewis.”

  “You’ve got it, Commander.”

  “Kelly!” shouted Lewis in a fury. “You damned fool! You’ve broken every regulation in the book, and I don’t care which book it is! What the hell are you doing out here in the way?”

  “Captain, those are not enemy ships,” said Kelly ur-gently, gripping the back of Phila’s chair until his knuckles turned white. “It’s a Fleet squadron—”

  “Nonsense. Fleet squadrons have five destroyers apiece. We’ve identified six ships. They’re Salukan mock-ups, designed to fool us into letting them approach. But I—”

  “Sir, you must listen to me. Don’t fire on them. They’re ours—”

  “Have you established contact with them?” asked Lewis.

  Kelly frowned. “No, sir.”

  “Then don’t tell me how to do my business. They are coming down a closed space lane. They have answered no hailing frequencies. They have not identified themselves to Station 4 or made approach requests. They are not flying in a specific Fleet formation. Therefore, they must be stopped. Regulations—”

  “Don’t quote regulations,” snapped Kelly. “I’m telling you that I recognize this formation! It’s used for—”

  “Son, I’ve been in the fleet for forty years,” said Lewis. “Now shut up and get out of the way.”

  “Jefferson is preparing to fire long-extensions,” said Siggerson.

  “They’ve broken contact,” said Phila.

  Kelly punched the back of her chair with his fist. “Damn! Can we override their weaponry systems?”

  Phila’s eyes widened. “Negative.”

  “Firing ... now,” said Siggerson.

  Kelly whirled. Feeling sick with helplessness, he watched the astrogation board chart the missiles’ trajectories.

  Extended-range missiles were antiquated and not expected to achieve much damage in delivering fire to the enemy. They could be easily destroyed in mid-flight before ever reaching their target. However, they were used primarily as warnings off or as a means to draw the enemy’s fire and thus gauge the range and power of the enemy’s weapons. But if their target was disabled and could not fire back ...

  “Intercept those missiles and destroy them,” said Kelly.

  For a moment only silence answered him. Beaulieu, Phila, and Siggerson all stared at him.

  Phila reached out. “If you’re wrong, Commander, you’re finished.”

  “We’ll all be finished with you,” said Siggerson. “Charges of treason will be the least of—”

  “Damn it! Do you trust me, or not?” shouted Kelly. “That’s a direct order, Mr. Siggerson. You can protest it and stand down from your station, thus giving the controls to me. Or you can carry out your orders. But do one or the other now.”

  Siggerson’s angular face looked bleached under the lights. He hesitated one second longer, then brushed his hand over his controls.

  “Plotting an intercept course now. Prepare for distort. ETA six minutes at TD 7.”

  * * *

  2

  Kelly tensed, watching intently as Siggerson swooped them onto an intercept course. He called Caesar on the in-ship comm.

  “Do the weapons systems check out? We’re going to need them.”

  “Uh, right, boss,” replied Caesar’s voice. “Everything’s clear. You need us back up there or—”

  “No. Strap down tight.”

  Siggerson rolled the ship in a tight spin and they jumped into distort. Kelly lost his footing and went tumbling wildly across the quarterdeck. Winded and bruised, he scrambled to his chair at the first chance and strapped in.

  Beaulieu shot him a grim look. In spite of her restraint harness, she was gripping the edge of her seat with both hands. “I should have dosed everyone for mal d’espace,” she said, glaring at Siggerson. “I didn’t know we were going to do an acrobatic show for the benefit of the Fleet. Are you all right, Commander?”

  “Yes,” said Kelly, still breathless. The viewscreen cor-rected for the blur effect of time distortion. Kelly watched the running missiles intently. “Distance, Phila?”

  “Seventy-five hundred meters and closing.”

  Kelly leaned forward until the straps of his harness cut into his chest. “Can you detonate them electronically?”

  Phila checked. “Uh, negative.”

  “Damn,” said Kelly softly. “Can we nudge them off course?”

  “Possible—”

  Siggerson snorted. “They’d just correct it. We’ll have to destroy those missiles. But our firepower isn’t strong enough to crack their shielding.”

  “Sir!” said Phila urgently. “Jefferson is locking cannon onto us. They’ve sent a warning for us to veer off or they’ll fire on us.”

  “Raise shields!” said Kelly, wishing he could use the waver. But the Jefferson could see right through it. “Siggerson, we can overtake the missiles and leave a mine in their path.”

  “Yes, but we’ll cut it fine—”

  A shudder rocked the Valiant, setting the lights flickering erratically for several seconds.

  “Shields holding,” said Phila.

  “Do we continue?” asked Siggerson.

  Kelly set his jaw. “That was just a little potshot. Continue, Mr. Siggerson.”

  “Sir,” said Phila worriedly. “If they use stronger cannon fire, they could weaken our shields and even destroy them. We can’t go head to head with a battle cruiser.”

  “Veer to feint course,” said Kelly as though he had not heard. He called Caesar. “Are you still standing by in the hold?”

  “Yeah, boss,” said Caesar cheerfully. “We nearly got bounced on our skulls though. Who’s shooting at us?”

  “The Jefferson.”

  “What—”

  “Listen,” said Kelly sharply. “I want you to prepare for manual release of mines one and three on my order. Siggerson’s got too much to do up here without handling weapons.”

  “Can do. Standing by.”

  Keeping the line open, Kelly checked their distance and speed. Siggerson was looping in a wide trajectory meant to fool the Jefferson as to their increase in speed. And meanwhile the disabled squadron was drawing ever closer. They were within range now to destroy the missiles, but t
hey did nothing. Kelly imagined the captains of those six ships watching their sensor data and feeling helpless. And if his father was on board one of those ships ...

  Swiftly Kelly brushed the worry away. He had to think now without any emotions clouding his judgment.

  Siggerson dropped the Valiant four hundred meters and sent her arrowing right across the flight path of the lead missile. The Jefferson did not fire at them a second time. They could hardly do so now without taking the chance of hitting the missiles.

  Kelly’s stomach knotted with tension. The missile filled the viewscreen, coming right at them, seemingly too fast to miss. “Faster,” he breathed. “Faster.”

  He waited, however, ignoring his own jumping nerves while he counted carefully the lag time. His finger touched the comm. “Fire one,” he said.

  The Valiant rocked slightly from the ejection. The viewscreen showed the mine tumbling in their wake. The missile struck it dead on. A brilliant fireball flashed across the screen, which could not dim quickly enough. Beaulieu covered her eyes, and Kelly swiftly averted his face.

  “Preparing for second pass,” said Siggerson.

  Kelly blinked the dancing purple spots from his eyes. “Bull’s-eye, Caesar. Good work.”

  “Ready when you are,” said Caesar.

  Siggerson brought the Valiant around and aimed her across the path of the second missile. They were almost in position when Phila whirled in her seat.

  “Sir—”

  The ship lurched as though slapped aside by a giant hand. Gravity and life support cut out along with the lights for what must have been only a few seconds. But to Kelly, floating against his harness and feeling as though he couldn’t draw a breath, it seemed like an eternity. Then lights, heat, and air returned. But gravity remained off. One data screen near Philia’s head flashed gibberish as though its computer had blown. Kelly could smell circuits burning somewhere.

  “Shields ... down,” said Phila, coughing.

  Fury caught Kelly in the throat. “Where are we?” he shouted, staring at the viewscreen that had gone crazy and wasn’t relaying anything but visual static. “Where’s that missile?”

  “We were knocked out of its path. Close shooting,” said Siggerson. “Their gunnery officer took a chance at that angle of shaving off the nose of the missile—”