by GARY DARBY
“The tricky part is to get them going in the right trajectory and then accelerating up to the necessary speed to mimic the nova weapon. Plus, we have to maneuver one of them right behind the other.
“On top of that, as you can see, they’re not perfectly motionless but have a tiny amount of angular acceleration along their longitudinal axis as well as slowly revolving end over end.
“We’ve got to feather out those movements before we do anything else, or we’ll have a devil of a time putting them onto the right path toward Sarpens.
“And it’s not as though we can just put a corvette’s nose against a rock and start pushing. First off, we’d crush the corvette’s bow, and second, the timing of getting the right amount of push at just the right time would be incredibly hard to coordinate.
“So what we’re looking at doing is to build a makeshift ‘Roid Lasso’.”
“Such as they use in the Asteroid Belt?” Scoutmaster Tarracas asked.
“Exactly,” Federov responded. “The problem is we don’t have miner’s L-drills on board to bore down the thirty or so meters into the rock that you need to insert the plas-steel casings and pylons.
“So we’re recalibrating several ship’s lasers to focus them into a beam no wider than your little pinkie to melt and burn off the rock.”
“Why such a narrow beam?” Shar asked.
“If we hit those rocks with anything bigger,” Federov answered, “we might start them spinning again, might even amplify their oscillations.
“A greater concern is if we hit pockets of combustible gas. If we hit a large enough pocket, it could turn into the equivalent of a chemical rocket and push the rock out of orbit.”
“Meaning,” Rosberg replied, “that you’d end up having to chase it down and zero out whatever motion that generates. Still, that’s going to be one hot plasma stream.”
“Uh huh,” Federov answered, “and hard to control. But it’s the only way we can get it hot enough and precise enough to go that deep through solid rock.
“The borehole has to be perfectly straight, or at the force pressures we’re going to put on the casings, even the slightest bend could cause a total structural failure.”
“How long before the pylons are in place and ready for testing?” Tarracas asked.
“If everything goes to plan, two days,” Federov replied. “We’ll drill a test hole first, emplace the pylons, and apply the necessary stress to see if we’ve got it right. If the casings and shafts take the load, then we’ll go full bore after that.
“But you have to remember, my crew isn’t an interstellar construction crew, we’re kinda making this up as we go along. Our one redeeming feature is that my boatswain’s mate was the chief of the boat on a Navy repair ship for several years.
“One thing that Nav repair ships are noted for is finding workarounds and making do with what you have onboard and that’s exactly what we have to do here.”
“And they’re doing a great job too,” Rosberg replied sincerely. “Please let them know how much I appreciate their efforts.”
“I will, sir, and thank you,” Federov replied.
Rosberg turned back to the vu-screen and gestured toward the asteroids. “As we work on this piece of the puzzle, what else do we need to put it all together and make it work?”
He pointedly asked those around him, “And do we have the time to pull this off before the Faction explodes the nova weapon?”
“Sure wish we had a spy or two inside the Faction,” Shar mused. “Would be awfully nice to know what they’re planning.”
“And when,” Tarracas added.
The Scoutmaster rose from his chair and gestured toward the asteroids. “If Captain Federov’s plan works and we can accelerate and maneuver those asteroids in such a way as to mimic the device, we still face the problem that once we enter the system, or probably even before, someone from the Faction is going to challenge us.”
“Especially,” Shar observed, “if there’s already a plan in place with a time frame, and we show up ahead of schedule. We’ll get questions on why the sudden deviation and I suspect that they’re going to call home to find out what’s going on.”
Rosberg ran a hand through his hair and stared at the floor. “What you’re saying is that our ruse works only if we’ve got somebody who can convince them that this is legitimate, otherwise—”
“It’s a big bust,” Shar stated emphatically. “And worse, some bright boy or girl figures out that we’re on to them, and they—”
“Explode the device before we can get a second shot at rescuing our scouts,” Tarracas finished.
Rosberg thought about it for a second and grumbled, “So what we need is someone akin to a double agent. A person who can play a convincing enough role to get us past their sentry and interdiction ships.”
He glanced around at those seated in Federov’s ready room. “Well, none of us can play the part, nor any of our crew.”
“What we need is the the real deal,” Shar remarked. “A person who has inside knowledge of the Faction, can speak the lingo, and knows their code words and phrases.”
“In other words, credibility,” Rosberg replied. “So where would we come up with anyone like that? It’s not as though we have access to any Faction prisoners. Those that the Navy had were probably cut loose by now and made their way back into the fold.”
Lieutenant Brant Renn, who had kept quiet during the discussion in deference to his seniors, now spoke up. “I think I know where one is, or rather, where one might be.”
“What’s that, youngster?” Rosberg snapped. “Speak up.”
“Well, sir,” Brant answered quickly, “if you recall, when we were on Alpha Pegasi Three, we had to set a Gadion free.”
“I remember,” Rosberg responded. “But, exactly how does that help us with our problem? That fellow is long gone by now.”
“With all due respect, general,” Brant replied, “that may not be entirely accurate. Unless he got rescued by another ship, I seriously doubt if he even got out of the system.”
After staring at Brant for several seconds, Rosberg snapped his fingers in response. “That’s right, I remember now. You said something about sabotaging his vessel.”
“Yes, sir,” Brant replied with a smile. “We gave him nearly spent power packs; each had less than a minute at full boost left in them. To make it look as though they were fully charged we gave each a quick injection of pressurized ions.”
Federov snorted at Brant’s comment. “If that’s the case, he wouldn’t have even gotten up to five percent of light speed before those packs ran out of juice and with barely enough energy left for life support. His distress beacons could be sounding but would anyone be listening?”
His face took on a thoughtful expression. “Pegasi Three is pretty isolated, and frankly, they might not care about a distress signal from a single Star Sprite. So unless someone came to his aid, he’s been coasting ever since.”
“Then it’s just a matter of finding him,” Rosberg observed. He turned to Brant to ask, “Any chance you got his outbound heading?”
“Sorry sir,” Brant answered, “we didn’t.”
“That means an awful lot of space to search,” Shar noted. “The question—would we find him in time?”
“There’s no question to it,” Rosberg rumbled. “We have to. With what we have we don’t have the forces to take on the Faction and this time around, we don’t have the Navy to fall back on, either.”
Tarracas spoke up and said, “May I suggest a possible plan to accomplish both of our needs?”
He gestured toward Federov. “What if Captain Federov stays here with the Intrepid and works on getting the asteroids ready, and we take the Zephyrs and search for our marooned Faction?”
Rosberg glanced over at Shar, who returned his look with raised eyebrows. “The Navy crew is going to have to do most of the prep on the rock anyway,” Shar observed. “It would make for the best use of our resources. The only trouble
is—”
“That it puts your ship and crew directly in harm’s way,” Rosberg said in a gruff voice to Federov. “Whereas we’re out looking for one vermin, these other space jackals could set that thing off without warning and you’d be caught directly in its path.
“You wouldn’t stand a chance. Are you willing to take that gamble?”
Federov peered at his hands as if considering Rosberg’s question, then raised his eyes to meet Rosberg’s open expression.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, “I am. Besides, if we reversed our roles, I have no doubt that you and your scouts wouldn’t hesitate to do the same for my crew and me.”
Rosberg met Federov’s candid stare and nodded. “Captain, you got me on that one. You’re right; we would. Go ahead and proceed. In the meantime, we’ll try and locate this slime-worm and get back here in under two days.”
His fingers drummed on the table as if considering other options in his mind before he ordered, “During the time that your labor gang works on that hunk of rock, I want your bridge crew to have your long-range sensors working overtime.
“I suspect that your first indication that the Faction is bringing in their weapon is when you see them scurrying out of the system. “When you see that, then you know it’s time for you to leave, too. Understood?”
Federov hesitated, then replied, “Understood, sir.”
Rosberg turned to the others and ordered, “Gentlemen, let’s get down to the Zephyrs and make ready to get underway. We’ve got a rat to catch.”
Rosberg went out the hatchway, followed by Tarracas, Shar, and Brant. Shar caught up to the general and spoke in a low voice, “Sir, if the Faction do show up with that nova weapon, do you actually think that Captain Federov will pull out without at least attempting to attack the Gadions?”
“Of course, he wouldn’t,” Rosberg answered. “Didn’t you notice how he hesitated when I told him that I wanted him to boost out of here if that hellish device shows up?”
“He’s going to disobey your orders,” Shar stated. “And you knew he would when you gave him that order.”
“Yes,” Rosberg replied in a flat voice. “But I had to give him that directive, if for nothing more than my own conscience.”
He stopped to look back at Federov’s ready room. “If Captain Federov gets even a whiff that the Gadions are inbound with that unspeakable weapon, being the brave and honorable man that he is, he will make every attempt to destroy it.
“Even if he’s outnumbered a hundred to one, he’ll attack, and keep on attacking until he’s no longer able. And then, he and the IntrepidX will be blasted out of the sky.”
Tarracas spoke reverently, appreciatively, “And if that happens I suggest that we do as the Sha’anay—remember those with whom we have fought, and honor the Intrepid’s crew for the rest of our days.”
Chapter Eleven
Star date: 2443.115
Aboard the Mongan Ship, Inbound to Imperium Space
Trying his very best to display the calm, relaxed, self-assured attitude that he’d seen in other Star Scout officers, Star Scout Lieutenant Dason Thorne felt he was failing, miserably.
Though he seemed unperturbed on the outside, inside he was fighting a gut-wrenching fear that left his stomach churning in sour-tasting acid.
Every so often, he couldn’t help himself and began to pace around the Mongan ship’s bridge. On his fifth or sixth go-around, Alena took him aside to whisper, “Take it easy, TL, or you’re going to wear out the deck plating.”
“Sorry,” Dason replied. “But what if we can’t contact General Rosberg or Elder Tor’al, or what if we—”
“Hey,” Alena quickly interjected, “one if at a time. Let’s work on getting through to the general first. If we can’t, then let’s worry about the next if, okay?”
Dason nodded in agreement. “You’re right, one step at a time.” He turned and asked, “Doctor, where are we?”
Stinneli glanced at his navigation console. “We should be entering Imperium space in about a half hour if I’m reading this correctly.”
At that moment, one of the doorways to the bridge slid open with a soft swish and in strode Sami and TJ. “Are they still out?” Dason asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Sami replied. “We used the Romer technique, which means those three Mongans will be sleeping till the middle of next month.”
“You just aren’t going to let it go, are you, Sami?” Alena asked.
“Nope,” Sami replied with a roguish grin. “Remember, I’m the guy that had to lug that Mongan halfway across the AP planet.”
“It wasn’t anywhere near half,” Alena retorted.
“Well, it sure felt like it,” Sami answered.
Dason’s communicator came alive with Jadar’s voice, “Dason, we’ve fused the hatch, unless there’s a back door somewhere that we don’t know about, there’s no way the dogs will get loose. We’re headed back to the bridge.”
“Great work,” Dason replied. “That’s one less thing to worry about.”
He turned to Stinneli. “Alena and I are headed to the Zephyr. Once we’re aboard, bring us out of hyperspace.”
“Will do,” Stinneli replied.
A few minutes later, Dason and Alena entered the Zephyr and took their places in the pilot’s pod. Over his communicator Dason intoned, “Okay, we’re ready here.”
“Stand by,” Stinneli replied, “powering down to sublight.” After a few seconds, he called out, “Hangar doors opening.”
Accompanied by muted rumbling, the giant doors slid open, revealing the Milky Way’s glory as the stars spread out like a giant tapestry to which tiny fireflies clung.
Dason tapped on his flight controls and moments later the Zephyr was floating less than a kilometer away from the Mongan cruiser.
Engaging his n-space communicator. Dason intoned, “Zephyr Four, Lieutenant Thorne, calling General Rosberg.”
He waited several seconds before he repeated the message and kept repeating for several minutes. He paused to mutter to Alena, “No answer. Are we still too far out?”
“For Terra, probably,” she replied, “but not for Sarpens Two.”
She gave him a sideways glance that caused Dason to quickly respond, “I recognize that look, and no, I’m not going to believe that the Faction got them, or they’re dead.”
For another half hour, Dason sent out his n-space message to no avail. “Let’s get back to the ship,” he instructed Alena in a disappointed tone. “We’ll head in for another ten, twenty light-years and try again.”
He was about to engage the Zephyr’s flight controls when he was startled to hear over the n-space communicator, “Rosberg to Zephyr Four, Rosberg to Zephyr Four.”
Dason slapped at the comm's button and exclaimed, “General Rosberg! This is Scout Thorne—I mean; this is Lieutenant Thorne.”
“Lieutenant Thorne,” Rosberg answered with gusto, “it’s good to hear your voice, son. Are you and your team all right? And please tell me you have good news regarding Jadar Marrel.”
“We’re all fine, sir,” Dason replied in a rush. “And yes, we found him, and he’s okay. But general, we also stumbled onto something else regarding the Mongans. We’re in big trouble, sir and it’s even worse than what the Faction plan to do at Sarpens Two.”
There was a pause before Rosberg responded. “I can’t imagine anything worse than that, but I’m listening, let’s hear it.”
Dason glanced over at Alena before saying, “Sir, I think that this should be in private.”
There was a slight pause before Rosberg answered, “If you think that’s best.”
Taking that as her cue, Alena slipped out of the pilot pod and went aft.
In low, rapid tones, Dason recounted everything that had happened since the Intrepid left for Sarpens Two. In detail, he described what he had learned about the Mongans’ plans through the sharing of memories.
He finished by saying, “The other two Mongan warships are loaded with Kolomite too, and h
eaded for the Helix. There are dozens more inbound, but I’m not clear on their positions or how soon they’ll get to the nebula.”
Rosberg was silent for a long time, and when he did speak, his voice was a mere whisper. “Son,” he croaked, “are you absolutely, absolutely sure of this? Is there any chance you’re mistaken?”
“Sir,” Dason replied with his own voice barely audible, “you have no idea of how much I wish I were wrong. Unfortunately, no, the images are crystal clear.
“Plus, when we were in the Helix harassing the Mongans, Lieutenant Romer and I actually saw them seeding the nebula. We didn’t realize at the time what it was but now I know what they were doing and what they intend to do.
“It also explains why the AP planet is so important to them, and why they’re concentrating all their forces there. They mean to take every last one of their race through.”
“At a cost,” Rosberg replied in a grim voice, “that’s so horrible, so incredibly evil, that it’s all but inconceivable.”
He paused and then asked, “Did you get any idea of their timing, of when the Mongans plan to pull the trigger? What are we talking about? Hours, days, weeks?”
“Precisely? No sir,” Dason replied. “I did sense that they’re getting close, though.”
He hesitated. “I didn’t see anything in particular, other than the feeling that there’s something critical that they need to finish first and whatever that is, it’s not entirely completed. But, when it is—”
“That’s when they’ll go,” Rosberg finished for him.
“Yes sir, I think so,” Dason replied. “Their time sense doesn’t seem to be the same as ours, sir. They appear to think of time in long periods, long intervals. Our seconds are like minutes to them, our day like a week.”
He tried to form his thoughts coherently. “If I were to best-guess it, I believe it’s only a matter of our days, but exactly when? That I can’t answer.
“I’m sorry, sir; I really am, but there’s just nothing that gives me a definite timeline, only a general feeling that it could happen within days.”