A Just Determination ps-1

by John G. Hemry

  Paul, watching as covertly as he could, saw her hands gripping her arm rests, not inputting any further maneuvering commands. She's too upset or too angry to do this maneuver manually. Not that I blame her. His muscles tensed against the force of the main drive. This is a hard burn. With only one minute's warning. I hope nobody got caught in the middle of something they couldn't secure in time. Vectors swung around once more, eventually steadying onto a new intercept point several thousand kilometers outside of the area claimed by the United States. Four days. There's nothing else that ship can do to try to outrun us. We're faster. One way or the other, this chase is going to end in four more days.

  "Sinclair."

  Paul jerked his head around at Commander Garcia's hail.

  "The captain wants you on the bridge for this intercept."

  "Sir?" Maybe Paul didn't have much to do in CIC, but he was Tweed's assistant, which meant his duty station was supposed to be here. Granted, with both Garcia and Tweed on hand as his immediate superiors, odds were Paul would never have anything to do except watch and learn, as Tweed had once advised him. Unless both Garcia and Tweed somehow died or were incapacitated, Paul wouldn't be giving any orders in CIC. Still, he had a job here. "My general quarters station-"

  "Is wherever the captain tells you it is! Get your butt up there."

  "Yes, sir." Whatever the Captain wants of me on the bridge, I guess it doesn't matter too much. I'm not going to be giving any orders here or there, not unless that SASAL ship somehow knocks out every other line officer on the ship. Paul looked down at the two enlisted crewing the console he was supposed to superfluously supervise. "Sorry, guys. You'll have to handle this one without me."

  One of the Operations Specialists grinned. "We'll do our best, sir."

  Paul swung out past the other enlisted and officers at their stations, down the passageway leading to the bridge. At every bulkhead, he had to stop to open and then resecure airtight hatches sealed for general quarters. It made for a tedious journey, but Paul had no intention of attracting the wrath of the XO by failing to maintain airtight integrity on his route.

  The bridge itself was far more crowded than usual already. Lieutenant Sindh, the general quarters officer of the deck, glanced over at Paul as he entered the bridge, a questioning and challenging look on her face. "The captain wanted me here," Paul answered the unspoken question. He felt awkward, not being part of the normal general quarters watch team, and fearing his presence might disrupt them somehow. But Sindh simply nodded and turned back to her console, the rest of the bridge watch continuing their functions as if Paul hadn't arrived.

  Wakeman, sitting in his chair on the starboard side of the bridge, looked over and gestured sharply. "Sinclair. Make sure you're close enough to answer any questions I ask."

  Paul wriggled through the watch standers, finally finding a clear spot aft and near the starboard side of the bridge. He fastened his tie-downs to the nearest securing stations, looked around to be sure he wasn't blocking anyone's view of any important display, then hung silently, his eyes on the main display.

  This close, the SASAL ship was easily visible on the main display, its image magnified by the Michaelson 's visual sensors. Unlike the smooth surface of the warship, the research ship was blocky, studded with pods and apparently tacked-on compartments. Without air or water resistance to worry about, civilian spaceships often had such additions applied apparently haphazardly, though Paul had been told they were actually added with enough care to ensure the ship's center-of-mass and line-of-thrust stayed more-or-less aligned.

  Paul looked forward, up, and to the right, as if there were a porthole there through which he could see the fleeing SASAL ship directly. If neither ship did anything else, the SASAL ship and the Michaelson would maintain the exact same bearings relative to each other right up to the moment their hulls bumped. Not that either the Michaelson nor the SASAL ship would actually let that happen.

  "Okay, then." Wakeman actually rubbed his hands together, smiling in anticipation. "Let's ensure this wise guy sees us. Deactivate the visual bypass system."

  "Deactivate visual bypass system, aye. Visual bypass system deactivated, sir." The lenses and the screens on the outside of the hull switched off, clearly revealing the Michaelson in all her menace to the nearby SASAL ship.

  "Communications. Call that ship and tell them to heave to for boarding. I want them at dead-stop relative to us."

  "Aye, aye, sir." Long moments passed, while Wakeman smiled confidently. "Sir, there's no response."

  "Are they receiving your message?"

  "Yes, sir. There's no doubt of that."

  Commander Herdez, occupying her chair on the port side of the bridge, broke in. "What if their comm suite is down?"

  Wakeman scowled. "Can't we tell them to stop anyway?"

  "Yes, sir," communications replied. "We can display a visual signal on the bypass system screens. International coding. There's no way they could miss that."

  "Then do it!" Minutes passed, while the distance between the ships shrank further.

  "No response, sir."

  "I can see that!" Wakeman pointed at the display. "He's not maneuvering at all! How can we get his attention?"

  "Sir, we can pulse a low-power particle beam off his hull in the same international code. If there's anyone alive on that thing they'll have to hear that. It's like hitting the hull with a hammer."

  "Yes! Good. Do it." Wakeman had lost his smile, his complexion slowly reddening.

  "No response, sir."

  "Damn him! Weapons!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I want a shot across his bow. Make it powerful and make it close!"

  "Captain?" Wakeman turned, scowling, at Herdez' voice. "We're outside the American-claimed area. Use of force at this point-"

  "Is justified by our orders! Right, Sinclair?"

  Paul spent a fraction of a second lamenting the fate which had placed him in the middle of a debate between the Captain and the XO. "Sir, our orders allow you to take any action which you deem necessary and appropriate."

  "Yes! You hear that, XO? Firing across their bow is necessary and damn well appropriate, I say. Weapons? Fire when ready."

  "Aye, aye, sir." A moment later the Michaelson shuddered slightly as she fired a multi-second burst from a high-powered particle beam which ripped through the space only a few kilometers ahead of the SASAL ship.

  "Now what?" somebody muttered.

  "He's maneuvering, Captain," Lieutenant Sindh called out. On the visual display, Paul watched the shape of the other ship alter as its thrusters pushed its bow around.

  "What the hell's he doing?" Wakeman asked.

  "Sir, I can't… he's lit off his main drive." Projected vectors leaped to life on the maneuvering display.

  "He's coming straight at us! Is he trying to ram us?"

  "Sir, it's too early to-" Sindh's voice was cut-off by the wail of the collision alarm as it was automatically triggered by the ship's maneuvering systems. "Disable that alarm! Captain, he's turned toward us and pushed onto a faster intercept. It looks like he's aiming to pass close above us from starboard bow to port stern."

  "Close aboard? How close aboard?"

  "Between one and two kilometers, sir."

  "Is he insane?" Wakeman looked around as if seeking confirmation. "Why would he take that kind of risk?"

  As if in answer, Commander Garcia called up from CIC. "Captain, the SASAL ship's projected course will put it in perfect firing position as it passes close above us. We'd be sitting ducks."

  "What?" Wakeman stared at the display. "But it's unarmed, right?"

  "Captain, we can't confirm that. He's not supposed to be armed."

  Everything seemed to be happening very fast. Paul, hanging silently now, tried to grasp the situation as the SASAL ship moved onto a near-collision course. I never realized how all those months of doing practically no maneuvering made us so unprepared for something like this. All of a sudden we're dealing with another
ship nearby and we have to react fast and nobody's used to it. Even Lieutenant Sindh must be seriously out of practice. Paul found himself wishing that Jan Tweed was at the maneuvering controls.

  "Weapons! I want you locked on that ship! Communications! Tell him to veer off! What's happening now? Somebody tell me what's happening now!"

  "Ten minutes to closest point of approach," Lieutenant Sindh announced. After months of having the luxury of long periods to plan maneuvers, they were now faced with less than ten minutes to act. On the display, the SASAL ship seemed to be closing on them with shocking speed.

  "I need options, people! What's he doing?"

  Commander Herdez spoke firmly over the growing tension on the bridge. "So far, the SASAL ship has displayed a pattern of taunting us. It is reasonable to assume this is another attempt to discomfort us."

  "Reasonable?" Wakeman switched his gaze rapidly from Herdez to the displays. "I don't-"

  "Eight minutes to CPA, Captain."

  Garcia came back on. "Recommend maneuvering immediately to complicate his firing solution, Captain."

  "Firing solution? He's not armed. Is he armed?"

  "Sir, we don't know. He's on a perfect firing approach."

  "We can detect if he's charging weapons! Right? Right?"

  "Yes, sir," Garcia answered. "But we haven't-Sir, my watch says they just detected a transient."

  "A transient?"

  "Yes, sir. It could have been caused by a power surge leaking past a well-shielded weapon-"

  Herdez spoke again. "Is that the only possible explanation?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "What does the combat system evaluate the transient as?"

  "Ma'am, it, uh, doesn't seem to-There's another one. I've got another watch stander reporting a transient detection."

  Herdez looked at Wakeman across the bridge. "Captain, I don't trust-" The collision alarm wailed again. "Secure that alarm!"

  "Five minutes to CPA, Captain. Combat recommends immediate maneuvers."

  Wakeman was staring at the display, then, like Paul had earlier, switched his gaze to look at the bulkhead in front of him and just above his head where the SASAL ship would be visible if there were a porthole there. "He's on a firing run."

  "Captain?"

  "The bastard's on a firing run. He's got concealed weapons. We detected them powering up. He lured us out of the American area and got us to fire that warning shot first so he could claim self-defense and now he's going to pass close above us and fire into us. Weapons."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "Are you locked on?"

  "Every weapon that will bear on the target, sir."

  Paul, watching the situation spin out of control but unable to imagine any way to intervene, wondered briefly at what point the SASAL spacecraft had changed from a ship to a target.

  "Three minutes to CPA, Captain."

  "Too close! Too damn close already! Fire at will!"

  "Captain?"

  "Open fire, dammit! All weapons! Kill that bastard!"

  "Open fire, aye."

  The lights dimmed as the Michaelson 's battery of energy weapons discharged and recharged repeatedly. Material weapons created debris and shrapnel which in space would be an endless source of peril to other ships. Particle beams and lasers evaporated their points of impact, spearing through obstacles and creating holes in vital equipment of all kinds, as well as any humans unfortunate enough to be in the way. Paul imagined he could see the SASAL ship staggering as invisible demons ripped through it from stem to stern. Lacking the sort of water blanket the Michaelson boasted, which wasn't cost-effective on civilian ships, the SASAL ship was helpless before the onslaught. Atmosphere and vaporized fluids vented from dozens of places, causing the stricken ship to wobble in its course as the escaping jets pushed it erratically.

  "Officer of the Deck!" Herdez snapped. "Immediate evasive action. Get us down and clear."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am." Sindh, who like everyone else but Herdez had been focused on the damage being done to the SASAL ship, frantically slapped the thruster controls, pushing the Michaelson down and away from the threat of collision as the other craft staggered past overhead.

  Paul blinked in the sudden silence. Everyone was watching the display, where the riddled hulk that had once been a living ship continued on its course past the Michaelson and on into empty space. After literally weeks of preparation and hours of tension, the combat had taken only a couple of minutes.

  "Officer of the Deck." Herdez spoke now with her habitual calm and control. "Plot an intercept of that hulk." She looked toward Captain Wakeman, who was staring at the display as if uncomprehending. "We will need to board the wreckage."

  Wakeman focused on her, his eyes wide. "Board it?"

  "To determine if there are survivors. And to find evidence of the weapons they were carrying."

  "Right. Evidence. OOD, get that course plotted."

  "Aye, aye, Captain."

  Paul squinted at the display near his seat in the Michaelson 's gig. The hulk that had been a SASAL ship had long since ceased venting material, using up whatever had been onboard during the days the Michaelson spent bringing her mass around and accelerating on another vector to cautiously reintercept the wreck. Captain Wakeman had spent a good part of that period crafting and recrafting a message reporting on the incident and his certainty that he had saved the Michaelson from destruction by a ship which had planned its attack for months.

  The final portion had been nerve-wracking to Paul, who had been on watch as the Michaelson matched course and speed precisely to the hulk so that the crafts hung motionless relative to each other even though they were hurtling through space at high velocity. "At least we know he's not going to pull any last minute maneuvers this time," Lieutenant Tweed had observed dispassionately.

  Now, as the gig drew closer, Paul could tell Lieutenant Tweed had been, if anything, understating things. There'd been no sign of life on the SASAL ship since it had been riddled by the Michaelson, and the amount of damage Paul could easily see explained that all too well.

  Paul glanced over at Sheriff Sharpe. As the ship's legal team, they'd been tapped to assist in the boarding and inspection of the wreck. Sharpe looked back, then smiled grimly. "Sir, if I may offer a small bit of advice, when we get on board that thing, I wouldn't look at stuff too close."

  "Excuse me? That's why we're boarding it. Us and the rest of the boarding party. To look at stuff."

  "Sir, I've assisted in some pretty unpleasant crime scene investigations in my time. I'm just suggesting not looking too close at certain things. That's all. You'll understand."

  Soon enough, Paul did. While the chief engineer of the Michaelson led a group through the wreck searching for its concealed weaponry, Paul and Sharpe were ordered to find the captain's quarters and search it for records or orders which might provide further evidence of ill intent.

  His progress through the wreck seemed dreamlike, floating through silence and darkness lit only by the areas his survival suit light fell upon or those spots where openings torn in the ship let through solid splashes of sunlight. The lack of atmosphere inside the wreck meant that none of the light spread in any way, so a location would be either brightly lit or totally dark. Paul set his suit light to its widest beam and moved cautiously, fearing jagged edges that might rip his spacesuit, but the energy weapons that had savaged the SASAL ship had left absurdly precise holes. Only where the ship's own equipment had flared or burst in its death throes did any torn surfaces exist.

  They found the first body floating not far from their entry point. The wound on it caused from being nicked by one of the Michaelson 's powerful energy weapons was absurdly clean and smooth, instantly cauterized even as it was inflicted. The rest of the body, however, had nothing clean about it. "Oh, God." Paul looked away hastily. I've never actually seen a human body subjected to explosive decompression before. Now I know what the Sheriff meant when he said not to look too close. He couldn't throw up, not in a su
it, so he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, fighting down nausea.

  "Sir?" Sheriff Sharpe had one hand on Paul's arm. "You're better off occupying your mind with something else, sir."

  "Meaning exploring for records."

  "That'd do, sir."

  "Remind me to listen to you next time."

  "Hey, sir, with that kind of learning curve you may make lieutenant junior grade, yet."

  Even though he was grateful for the distraction posed by Sharpe's banter, Paul still glowered at him. "Let's head on down this way. The diagrams from our merchant shipping data base say the captain's quarters and the bridge should be over there." Finding a hatch with a name embossed on it just off the bridge, Paul looked inside. The stateroom was empty, making it all the more likely this space belonged to the ship's captain, who must have been on the bridge while the SASAL ship was making its run on the Michaelson. "I'll check the desk area."

  Paul had to pound on the desk and use one of his suit tools before he could yank open drawers that had already been frozen into place, hastily pocketing the data discs he found inside. Much of their content might have been damaged by vacuum and cold, but something might be recoverable. A picture fastened to the desk showed several people, doubtless the dead captain's relatives or family. Paul tried not to look at the picture as he rummaged for anything else that might constitute evidence. He added a few pages of printout in a foreign language, then turned to see Sharpe going through an open safe on another bulkhead. "That was lucky."

  "What was lucky, sir?"

  "That they left the safe open."

  "They didn't leave the safe open, sir." Sharpe grinned conspiratorially. "Certain talents come in handy in my line of work."

  "Good thing you're on our side, Sheriff. Anything good?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine. Data discs, some foreign currency, and maybe a diary or personal log."

  "Take it all." Paul swung slowly around, his light illuminating the bulkheads around him. "What's that?"

  Sharpe moved close to the locked panel, examined the lock for a moment, then Paul could see his head nod. "Retinal-scan lock. Too hard to crack this one, sir. Request permission to pop it."