Crimson Tempest (Survival Wars Book 1)
Page 5
“Do we know exactly where we need to come out of lightspeed?” asked Breeze. “I’m sure we’d all prefer it if we landed on the nose, rather than six hours out.”
“The Alpha locked the Crimson’s signal down to the fourth planet,” said Duggan. “We have only basic data on it, since I don’t think anyone’s been out here in decades.” He reached across to an indentation on the plasmetal console and brushed it with his finger until he located what he wanted. “It seems like the fourth planet is nothing other than a big old rock. Too far out to host life, not so far out that it’s covered in ice.”
“Could be any one of another thousand planets we’ve seen,” said McGlashan.
“Nothing to get too excited over. If the Crimson’s there, we should be able to pick it up when we get close, even if it’s keeping radio silence. A kilometre lump of metal can’t hide for long.”
“Did they bother to go looking for it when they first lost contact?”
“Teron said they did, without giving away too many details. Perhaps they were certain it had been lost in far space or destroyed. However long they bothered to search, they didn’t find what they were looking for.”
“It sounds like baloney to me,” said Breeze. “If the Crimson was so valuable, why would they let it go without getting every tiny detail about it answered?”
“Yeah, something smells, that’s for sure,” added Chainer.
Duggan had already come to that conclusion. “It’s a fifty-year-old mystery that may not even be a mystery. Whatever happened way back then doesn’t concern us now. Let’s find this piece of junk and be on our way home.” He thought quietly for a few moments. “Let’s keep ready. I don’t like not knowing.”
Less than an hour later, the Detriment grated judderingly into near space, exactly twenty-five minutes away from the fourth planet in the Karnius-12 system. Before Duggan could even catch his bearings, a priority communication came through on an encrypted military channel.
“Top secret,” he muttered, his heart sinking as he read the details.
Planet Charistos discovered by Ghast fleet. Attempts at negotiation ignored. Military counterstrike failed. Hadron Supercruiser ES Ulterior destroyed. Surface of Charistos ignited by Ghast bombardment. Estimated civilian casualties: one-point-one billion.
“They’ve done it,” said Duggan, putting his head in his hands. “The bastards. They’ve gone and done it.”
Chapter Six
For almost two days, the Detriment orbited the planet, her sensors constantly interrogating the surface for signs of an unnaturally heavy object. The planet was a barren rock with a diameter of a little over one hundred thousand kilometres. The surface was pocked and scarred from an ancient meteorite storm of unusual ferocity, which the ship’s mainframe calculated to have occurred over three billion years previously. Without the presence of life to carpet the planet’s surface, the undisguised craters looked fresh and jagged.
“Nothing showing, Captain,” said Chainer. He’d exhausted himself with his efforts over the last forty hours and had found no sign at all of the missing ESS Crimson. They were all running on empty now, drained to enervation by the news of the massacre on Charistos. “I’ve covered every inch of the surface.”
“Could it be hidden in one of those craters?” asked Duggan. His face was haggard and pale. He called up a magnified image of the surface of the main view screen. It was a mixture of greys and computer-enhanced blacks.
“If it was fifty metres long then it might have escaped notice. It’s a kilometre long and weighs well over a billion tonnes. I haven’t missed it.”
Duggan cursed. There’d been no sign of Ghast activity yet. Even so, he had the feeling that he was pushing his luck by staying out here. Everyone was getting edgy, like they knew the Detriment was a sitting duck.
“Should we contact Monitoring Station Alpha and get confirmation of coordinates from the source receptor?” asked McGlashan.
“It’s a good idea, but they already fed the coordinates to the Juniper and the Juniper fed them straight to us. The Crimson is either here or it’s been destroyed after sending the signal.”
“What if it broke into pieces and the core somehow managed to survive with enough pieces to cobble together a transmitter?” asked Breeze. “It’s happened before. There might only be parts on the surface instead of a whole.”
“The sensors would have picked up anything big enough to transmit,” said Chainer. “I can focus the search on smaller fragments if necessary. It’ll take hours to scan for ten metre pieces or much longer if we want to scan for five metre chunks.”
“I don’t want to spend any more time here than is absolutely necessary. We’re needed back where we should be, instead of out here looking for a phantom in the mist,” said Duggan. He leaned across to have a look at the readouts, breathing in the bitter aroma of Chainer’s thick, black coffee as he did so.
“Look here, Captain,” said Chainer. “Here’re the analyses. There’s nothing that even remotely resembles what we’re looking for.”
“These crust scans over here. Iron ore?”
“Yes. Mostly hematite. It’s nothing unusual. It wouldn’t block our scanners.”
“This is much denser. This area on the south pole.”
“That’s galena. Lead ore. Again, nothing unusual about it. The Crimson should be much denser than that. It would stick out like a sore thumb.”
“What about if the ship was underground?” asked Duggan. “Beneath all of this stuff?”
Chainer blinked. “I suppose it’s possible it could hide if it was deep enough. A few hundred metres of lead would block even the Archimedes’ scanners, let alone the ones we’re working with. A kilometre worth of ship needs a pretty big hole.”
“Are there any places that could hide a ship?” asked Duggan.
“Let me see.” Chainer called up the detailed surface map which the ship’s sensors had created during the two days’ circuits of the planet. “You could hide the Juniper in some of these holes,” he muttered, his eyes glancing over the results of his mainframe query.
“Anything?” prompted Duggan, impatient for an answer.
“There are at least a hundred fissures that might be wide enough to house a kilometre-long object,” said Chainer.
“What about here where the ores are most thickly clustered?”
“That’s an area nearly thirty million square kilometres. It looks like it took the brunt of the meteorite storm, which might explain the presence of so much ore. There must be fifty or sixty fractures in the rock that you could hide a ship in.”
“Let’s focus our efforts there,” said Duggan.
“Aye, Captain,” acknowledged Chainer.
Duggan changed their course towards the planet’s south pole. “Which are the most likely places you’d hide a ship?” he asked.
Chainer called up a holographic view of the area, overlaid with the fissures in the planet’s surface. The image hovered in the space of the bridge, tantalisingly realistic, yet impossible to touch. “We’ve got a couple here and another one here. I reckon you could fit a big ship into those ones.”
“Anything in the data we’ve already collected from our scans that might help?” asked Duggan.
“I’d say we can rule this one out and this one. We flew directly over and got a pretty good view straight down. There’s nothing at the bottom. And this one narrows almost immediately. You might squeeze something through.”
“Not likely, though,” mused Duggan.
Four minutes later, the Detriment reached a position where its scanners could gather additional data based on the new priorities which Chainer had given them. Duggan stood nearby watching the readouts, while McGlashan and Breeze didn’t even try to feign disinterest. For another hour, the Detriment criss-crossed the crater-strewn south pole of the planet. In truth, the ship’s sensors were advanced enough that they could pick up extraneous data even when they hadn’t been instructed to do so. The mainframe wasn’t quite a
ware, but it was well enough programmed to know that it was best to gather too much information when the opportunity arose, rather than too little.
“Nothing new,” said Duggan, almost to himself.
“I reckon we’ve got seventeen possible locations,” said Chainer. “Places where the surface metals are too thick to be certain they aren’t hiding anything.”
“Anything you can do to eliminate some of those? Seventeen is too many to search. It could take us weeks, especially if we have to get outside and use the tanks.” Every gunner carried a total of four armed vehicles for surface work, which were affectionately known as tanks. They were technological anachronisms, but they were tough and packed a punch.
Chainer stared at his displays for a few moments, without speaking. Eventually, he gave Duggan the bad news. “I can’t see any way of bringing the numbers down.”
“Can you analyse the sites for any signs of surface disruption that might not have occurred naturally?” asked Duggan.
Chainer frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“I want signs of heat damage to the surrounding rocks. Anything hotter than a meteorite strike. Like something from a missile or a beam weapon. If the Crimson came in fast, it may have only had nanoseconds to pick its location.”
“And if so, it might have blown an existing hole wider in order to get through,” said Chainer in understanding.
“Exactly.”
The results weren’t long in coming. “This one, Captain. There are signs of something much hotter than expected. There’s extensive fusing in the rocks in a big area near this crater over here.”
“That’s more like a cavern than a fissure,” said Duggan, peering at the area. “Four hundred metres wide and three hundred tall. You could fit a ship in there.”
“It would almost be touching the sides,” said McGlashan. “Not something I’d fancy without guidance.”
“That’s our spot,” said Duggan with a sudden certainty. “If anyone came looking for the ship they’d easily miss it if it were hidden in there.”
“We’re going down for a look?” asked McGlashan. She’d served her time as a foot soldier in the same way that he had, and Duggan suspected that she missed the days.
“I’m afraid not, Commander,” said Duggan with a smile. “We’ll allow Sergeant Ortiz and her men this one, shall we?”
McGlashan showed a flicker of disappointment. “Of course, Captain. It’s their time to shine.”
Duggan called up the ship’s intercom. “Good news ladies and gentlemen. It’s your chance for some action. Get suited up and report to the launch bay. Twenty minutes, please.” He closed the channel and turned to the others on the bridge.
“I’ll get down there and let Sergeant Ortiz know what’s up.” With that, he climbed out through the tight exit door from the bridge and navigated his way with a practised smoothness along the two hundred metres of corridors that took him through ultra-dense engine matter towards the Detriment’s single, cramped launch bay. As he walked, Duggan could feel the immense, otherworldly power of the vessel’s engines which surrounded him on all sides. Although the Detriment appeared huge to look at, there was hardly anything spare within its hull. Propulsion, weapons, guidance. All the important parts took up close to ninety-five percent of the interior. It left precious little room for a sizeable crew or cargo, not that the Gunners had ever been specifically designed to shuttle infantry into combat – their addition was more of an afterthought. Duggan had never asked what the production line cost of a Vincent class came to. He doubted it was a cheap way to carry four crew and fifteen soldiers.
The launch bay was an area at the lowest end of the ship and close to the rear. It was less than twenty metres square and six high, with only eight metres of alloy separating the contents from the oblivion of the vacuum outside. The four tanks took up the majority of the available space – they were angular and vaguely wedge-shaped, with stubby cannons mounted on turrets. They didn’t need wheels and could hover over almost any surface. It was cramped and uncomfortable inside, with barely enough room to fit six infantry in their combat suits. Duggan had seen a dozen crammed into one before and it hadn’t been a pretty sight.
The repair bot was sitting in the centre of the hold, between the four tanks. It was a matte grey cylindrical object, three metres long, squat and powered by a small gravity drive hidden somewhere within. The robot’s surface was utterly featureless to the naked eye and it was designed to operate in the most hostile environments imaginable. It appeared almost sullen as it waited in the hold.
In the remaining space of the Detriment’s bay, soldiers struggled into their combat gear, the sounds of their voices raised above the background noise of the engines. Duggan was experienced enough to pick up the nervous tension of men and women who were about to face the unknown. Soon, they were gathered in formation, with Sergeant Ortiz at their head. Their body suits were a dark grey, made of a flexible polymer and with an oversized alloy helmet that could support the suit’s occupant for almost a month away from the ship. They looked strange and menacing.
“We’ll not be setting the Detriment down,” said Duggan. It wasn’t usual practice to land, particularly in a potentially hostile situation like this one. The vessel would be an easy target if a Ghast warship dropped out of lightspeed close by. “We’ll come to a height of two hundred klicks and then let you go. I’ve had the Detriment’s mainframe give the tanks and repair bot the instructions they need. You’ll just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“Same as ever, Captain,” said Ortiz, her voice imperfectly replicated by the suit’s comms box.
“We think the Crimson piloted itself into a split in the surface over the planet’s south pole. I want you to get in there, find the ship and point this repair bot in the right direction. Needless to say, you can’t let anything happen to it, else we’ll be trying to lift whatever’s left of the Crimson into the hold that we’re currently standing in. And I’m sure you can see there’s not enough room to carry both tanks and spaceship fragments.” The soldiers relied on the tanks for transport and firepower. They’d be loath to see them abandoned so that the Detriment could carry a semi-functioning computer core back to the Juniper.
“What happens when the Crimson’s fixed up, sir?” asked Ortiz.
“That depends on what state it’s in and how fast it can fly. We have almost no data on its capabilities. The decision has not been made.”
“Understood,” she said.
With that, Duggan left the soldiers and returned to the bridge. He sat back in his seat and watched the internal readouts that told him the men and women had now boarded the tanks and were ready to disembark on his signal. Duggan gave McGlashan the nod to let her know she was in control for the drop.
“Bringing us in close, Captain. Thirty seconds,” she said, tapping in a path to bring them near to the planet’s surface.
“Thirty seconds and we’ll be in place,” echoed Duggan through his comms channel to Sergeant Ortiz.
“Roger that, Captain. Thirty seconds.” Her voice was piped directly into the bridge and her words floated in the air.
“We’re now one-hundred-and-ninety-five klicks up,” said McGlashan. The viewscreen showed an image of a bleak, flawed surface. It was inhospitable by the standards of many planets, yet there were places that were much harsher than this one.
“Almost a walk in the park,” said Duggan to himself. “Sergeant Ortiz, you’re good to go.”
“Roger,” came the response.
“Cargo hold door open,” said Breeze. “Tanks one, two and three on their way. Repair bot with them.”
“Keep me updated, Sergeant.”
Ortiz’s voice came back at once. “Like you said, Captain. Just sitting back and enjoying the ride.”
“We’re pulling up to ten thousand klicks and we’ll circle the landing zone. Keep the comms open unless I say otherwise.”
“Roger. We’ll leave a manned beacon up top at all times.”
“Will do.”
McGlashan brought the Detriment away from the planet’s surface while they waited. The seconds passed until they became a few long minutes. The tanks could be dropped from twenty-five thousand kilometres in an emergency. They’d not have much power left by the time they landed, so Duggan had brought the Detriment in close so that the tanks’ engines would have plenty of juice to spare. Once down, the armoured vehicles had no way of getting back up. Duggan planned to deal with that when it became an issue.
Ortiz’s voice crackled into life, startling Duggan. “All tanks safely deployed, Captain, less than two klicks from the target. We’ve got the repair bot tagging along with us.”
“Roger. Keep those updates coming.”
Duggan found himself on his feet while he waited for further news. He wasn’t sure why he felt so concerned, since he’d always thrived on taking risks. Something about this mission just didn’t feel right. He wasn’t given the time to reflect on the vagaries of fate or luck.
“Deep fission signature detected, Captain,” said Chainer. “We’ve got a Cadaveron breaking out of lightspeed on the far side of the planet.”
Chapter Seven
Duggan swore and then swore again. “Any chance they’ll have detected us?”
“No chance at all.”
“Sergeant Ortiz, we’ve got a Ghast heavy cruiser coming into orbit. We’ll need to break off comms shortly. Keep your heads low.”
“Roger that, Captain.”
“Keep looking for the Crimson and we’ll collect you when we’re able.”
“What now?” asked McGlashan. “Think it’s here looking for us?”