by Eric Thomson
“I kind of prefer the name Satan’s Eye,” Sirico replied. “It has a certain je ne sais quoi.”
“If we’re going to use colorful imagery instead of proper names, what does that make Temar?” Holt asked with a cocked eyebrow.
Sirico turned a perfectly innocent gaze on him.
“The Stye on Satan’s Eye?”
**
Brakal, unwilling to breathe down Urag’s neck on Tol Vehar’s bridge, fought his impatience in private while the cruiser’s sensors, linked to those of Tol Vach and the corvettes, scanned the coordinates provided by Kilia’s resident Tai Kan spy.
Though they had pledged him their loyalty when Hralk left, he knew his starship commanders were nervous at penetrating this deep into human-held space. They were now well beyond their assigned area of operations and out of range from the nearest Imperial subspace radio relay, let alone reinforcements. But Brakal was chasing this Persephone on a hunch, one he felt would pay off, if only by unmasking the damned ghost, so his ships might know in future whence the gravest peril came.
With Brakal’s temper more ferocious than usual, Regar was the acting strike force commander’s only regular companion and even now watched him from across the compartment, cup in hand, a sardonic twist to his features. Fortunately, the Tai Kan officer knew when to hold his tongue even if he exercised little control over his facial expression.
“What?” Brakal snarled after finally noticing Regar’s sly look.
“Nothing of importance.”
“I order you to speak, excrescence.”
“What if we find no traces here? Will you pursue deeper into human territory? Or return to where your formal responsibilities lie?” Before Brakal could reply, Regar continued. “Your internal debate on the matter is far from concluded. You do not wish to join Hralk on the home planet explaining to those fools wearing an admiral’s robes why you disregarded their commands and left our sector open to enemy attacks.”
A feral growl escaped Brakal’s throat.
“Their commands? What commands? I saw nothing that resembled a useful order in months. Since before we traveled to the world of the lost humans, even. They issue no plans, develop no strategies, and yet demand we win a war that was unwinnable before it even started.”
“Ah, yes. Our pursuit of the flame-haired she-wolf. Another mission without orders and wasn’t Hralk pleased with you, Commander. The only reason he didn’t relieve you of your duties then was because we discovered the fate of Ziq Tar and its crew.”
Brakal slapped the tabletop with an open hand.
“And we made those humans fear us for eternity. Glorious days, Regar, glorious days.”
“This time you hope identifying the ghost and perhaps stopping it will buy you the same forgiveness from admirals sitting in judgment on matters they can only understand with difficulty?”
“Forgiveness means failure. I intend to succeed. Then, perhaps, we shall never see Hralk’s diseased face again, and I will be given command of the strike force permanently.”
“That would please your chief of staff to no end.”
“Bah. Gra’k is wiser than he might appear.” When Regar gave him a questioning look Brakal burst out with laughter. “He was wise enough to not overtly challenge my taking control in Hralk’s absence.”
Regar raised his hand in a gesture of submission.
“Agreed. Gra’k showed wisdom in accepting his life would be foreshortened if he tried to assume Hralk’s mantle.” Regar raised the mug he was holding to his mouth. “I salute your success in advance. May an admiral’s robes adorn your uniform even as you plant your foot on the neck of the human ghost ship’s captain.”
“Stifle your impertinence, Tai Kan creature.” Brakal’s outburst merely served to feed Regar’s obvious amusement. But an insistent bugling from the intercom cut the latter’s reply short. “What is it?”
Urag’s voice came from the hidden speaker.
“Sensors have detected nothing of use. The human creature in charge of Kilia lied.”
Brakal rubbed his chin with the back of his paw-like hand.
“Perhaps. And if so he will pay for his impertinence. But I am not ready to turn back. What is the nearest star system?”
“One the humans call Hecate.” Urag mangled the name to the point where even Brakal understood only with difficulty. “It is but a short other space transit from here, yet our records show no usable worlds or artificial habitats.”
“Our records?” Brakal sneered. “The day I find an accurate entry about a human-held star system I will offer a magnificent feast of thanksgiving to the gods. Take us to this Hecate. We will at least study it from the star’s outer boundary.”
“And penetrate deeper into enemy space, thereby roaming further from our assigned sector,” Urag said in an unapologetic tone. “Be glad we choose to follow you nonetheless.”
“That is what I like about the commander of my flagship. His uncanny ability to state the obvious with absolute conviction.” But Brakal’s playful tone took the sting out of his words. Besides, Urag became inured to Brakal’s moods and sharp humor long ago.
“I hear and obey, Lord.”
— Twenty-Nine —
“We’re running silent,” Ezekiel Holt confirmed from the bridge moments after the emergence nausea dissipated, “and are just shy of Raijin’s hyperlimit.”
“Thank you.” Temar’s blue disk against the gas giant’s riotous colors drew Dunmoore’s eyes the moment the image stabilized on the CIC’s main display. “Let’s hope no one over there was looking at this part of space when we dropped out of FTL.”
“How long do you want to wait before initiating the burn that’ll put us into Raijin orbit?” Holt asked. “Astrid calculates we have up to four hours before we need course adjustments that might betray us to military-grade sensors.”
“I don’t intend to wait that long, Zeke. If our sudden appearance drew anyone’s attention, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Memories of the apparent ease with which Admiral Corwin detected her previous command as she tried to approach Arietis without being detected years earlier resurfaced. But Iolanthe was not a tired Type 203 frigate. Her emissions signature while running silent was a fraction of Stingray’s, especially after the old girl took a few bad hits from Brakal’s cruiser in the Cimmeria system, even though Tol Vakash suffered a far worse fate.
“The sensors detect no threats,” Chief Yens announced shortly afterward. “But I make at least a dozen artificial satellites orbiting Raijin and another eight orbiting Temar.”
Dunmoore’s gloved hand slapped the command chair’s arm with glee.
“Someone is living on that moon, protected by our government placing this star system out of bounds.”
“That means defenses as well sir,” Sirico said, “something to give surveillance satellites a few sharp teeth.”
Yens grunted. “We’ll only detect them once they power up and prepare to enforce the ban.”
Dunmoore nodded.
“And they’ll have something capable of scratching our paint job. Zeke, make sure the Iolanthe beacon is hot and ready. If the locals turn out to have a hostile disposition, I want to give them pause so they might reconsider shooting on a Navy ship.”
“And what if they do anyway?”
“How long do you think it will take us to sweep Temar’s orbit clear of any satellites?”
“A few minutes after you say the word ‘fire’ sir,” Sirico offered.
“Pretty much.”
Holt knew it was useless to argue with Dunmoore once she decided on a course of action. His hologram at her right elbow inclined its head.
“Shall I stand the ship down from battle stations and give the crew time for a meal before we come within range of whatever Temar might throw at us?”
Dunmoore’s stomach made its opinion heard at that moment, and she replied, “Yes.” Then she gestured at Sirico. “Why don’t you go eat now, Thorin? I’ll take the CIC watch.
No need to hurry.”
Sirico sprang to his feet with alacrity.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He gave Salminen a nod, and both left the CIC together.
Alone with the duty watch, Dunmoore settled back into the command chair and steepled her fingers below her chin. She studied both Temar’s growing disk on the main display and the tactical projection now showing small purple icons to represent the satellites orbiting planet and moon. Chief Yens deliberately chose the color as a blend of friendly blue and hostile red since no one would know what the beings occupying Temar were until Iolanthe made contact.
“Who are you?” She murmured. “And what are you doing there?”
Was another Corwin living out his fantasies on that moon? Or was it the Special Security Bureau this time? Perhaps doing something to support a reprehensible scheme cooked up by its director general to increase the Bureau’s reach and power over Commonwealth affairs? Or was it even more nefarious?
Though she couldn’t fathom what or who might hide on Temar, Dunmoore’s instincts told her this was the final destination for the folks taken from Kattegat Maru.
She was startled to find a smiling Thorin Sirico standing by her chair half an hour later.
“I’m ready to relieve you, sir. The wardroom is serving the usual post-battle stations sandwich bar, but there’s also a nice Scandian asparagus soup.”
Ever since Major Salminen and her company became permanent members of the ship’s complement, the menu in the various messes often featured offerings culled from their icy home world’s traditional cuisine.
She climbed to her feet.
“I stand relieved. The CIC is yours, Mister Sirico.”
**
“Nothing’s stirring around Raijin, sir,” Sirico announced moment Dunmoore entered the CIC several hours later. “If it weren’t for the satellites orbiting it and Temar, I might almost believe the system uninhabited. Whoever is there exercises commendable emissions discipline. No radio waves, and no subspace carrier wave. The satellites must talk to their control station via tight-beam links or possibly lasers.”
He slipped out of the command chair and stepped aside.
“Thank you, Thorin.” Dunmoore study the tactical projection and the now more distinct image of a blue orb passing in front of Raijin’s colorful swirls. “Bridge.”
“Drost here, sir.”
“Initiate thruster burn to reorient us for an orbital trajectory.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Dunmoore, out.”
Though she could neither hear nor feel the thrusters pushing Iolanthe on a new vector, one that would allow the gas giant to capture her, the data on one of the CIC’s side displays showing course and speed began to change.
That change was nevertheless so small it didn’t seem to affect the ship’s relative position in the three-dimensional holographic tactical projection. Nor did Temar’s image waver on the main screen thanks to the optical sensor array’s smooth tracking.
Several minutes passed in silence before Astrid Drost’s voice came through the speakers.
“CIC, this is the bridge. Course correction completed.”
“Acknowledged,” Dunmoore replied. “And now we wait to see if someone spotted Iolanthe.”
“They would have to look straight at us with sharp sensors, sir,” Yens said. “The emissions that little thruster nudge gave off barely register.”
Dunmoore nodded in agreement. Over the last six months, Renny Halfen and his crew had done a miraculous job making the already stealthy Q-ship even harder to detect by the best military-grade sensors.
The fact he broke several engineering regulations in the process didn’t matter. Halfen did whatever was necessary to improve Iolanthe’s most important asset: her ability to appear out of nowhere and turn from an innocuous freighter into a starship captain’s biggest nightmare.
At this range, Temar’s surface features were taking on a more distinct edge. Wispy clouds of brilliant white half covered a dun-colored landscape slashed by dark blue, almost black seas and lakes.
About two-thirds the size of humanity’s original home and of a similar appearance, its status as a moon orbiting a gas giant struck Dunmoore as slightly incongruous. But it wasn’t the only moon known to nurture life.
At least two orbited similar gas giants in the Sol system, where unmanned exploration droids found the first evidence of primitive alien beings, though both were uninhabitable by humans.
Even those such as Temar, marginally able to support sentient, oxygen-breathing species, were hardly unique, although few attracted anything more than small resource extraction settlements. There was something about living under the looming presence of a gas giant that disturbed the human psyche.
Dunmoore knew Yens, her sensor crew, and the ship’s AI were subjecting every visible part of Temar’s surface to intense scrutiny, but she did not expect them to find anything. At least not without active scans which would most assuredly betray their presence to functioning threat detectors.
If someone was there, they would likely try to keep their existence and location well hidden.
Or not.
By now, both Iolanthe’s new course and Temar’s orbital motion around Raijin were revealing parts of the surface facing the tidally locked moon’s primary.
The image on the main display wavered before vanishing, replaced by the close-up view of a slash in the dull native vegetation. It looked entirely like a landing strip big enough to accommodate the most massive starships capable of maneuvering in an atmosphere.
“That’s at the bottom of an equatorial valley on the Satan’s Eye side,” Yens said. A smaller view of Temar appeared on a secondary display, with the location marked in glowing red.
Sirico studied the data scrolling by on his own console and nodded.
“Makes sense. The atmosphere at sea level appears to be a tad thin, and the bottom of that valley is below sea level. That must be why it’s richer in flora than the rest of the surrounding landmass. Interesting they settled in the hemisphere always facing Raijin rather than the other one. They would only get a true night when Raijin is blocking Hecate completely.”
“Maybe because there’s no suitable location in the hemisphere facing outward,” Yens said, “if the criterion is ground lower than sea level.”
“Imagine Satan’s Eye constantly staring at you.” Sirico shook his head. “Not a recipe for keeping one’s mind intact.”
“I doubt you can see the polar vortices from Temar’s surface, Thorin, so it’s not as if you’d live under Raijin’s evil gaze.”
“Sure, but still. Those psychedelic color bands, each with its own set of boundary vortices? Damn thing must cover a big chunk of Temar’s sky. Drive me mad after a few days, it would.”
“I’d stop looking up,” Chief Yens said, practical as always. “And there’s evidence of aboveground structures by the strip.”
A new image appeared on the main display, it was that of low rectangular structures camouflaged among the native vegetation. One of them boasted the unmistakable dome of a ground control unit on the roof.
“I guess we found the owner of those satellite constellations.”
Dunmoore nibbled on her lower lip, eyes half-closed as she studied the tactical projection again. Iolanthe’s planned orbit around Raijin was further out than Temar’s, meaning they wouldn’t get more than a short glimpse of the installation each time they passed each other.
Yet changing the Q-ship’s course so she could assume an orbit lower than Temar’s and study the surface would involve another thruster burn, this one closer to the satellite constellations and therefore more readily detectable. Never mind that a lower orbit would betray Iolanthe’s silhouette against Raijin’s bright atmosphere every time she passed between it and the moon.
The same thought must have struck Ezekiel Holt. His holographic image appeared at her right elbow.
“What do you figure, Skipper? I can’t think of an easy solution th
at’ll leave us undetectable.”
“I don’t know why I thought any possible settlement would be in the hemisphere facing away from Raijin, Zeke. Shows you how my personal quirks can interfere with clear tactical thinking.”
“Quirks?”
“I’m with Thorin. Spending my days basking in the glare of Satan’s Eye wouldn’t do my remaining wits any favors. Clearly, the folks who cut that landing strip into the valley floor were of a different opinion.”
“Or there was no other choice. Don’t sell human instincts short. That being said, what’s the plan?”
She exhaled noisily.
“Send Tatiana and her company down in full battle order—”
“Minus one platoon.”
“Minus one platoon — to seize the place. Or maybe the bosun can form a landing party to replace the soldiers currently in Kattegat Maru. Chief Guthren would be an ideal leader.”
“She could and he would. It’s an idea, but perhaps not a good idea. Judging by the hardware we’ve seen floating around this system so far, that’s a Commonwealth government installation, folks supposedly on our side.”
“Not always on our side,” she growled in reply. “As you might remember. But I was joking, Zeke. When did I last charge headlong into a situation?” Upon hearing her first officer’s strangled exhalation, Dunmoore said, “Never mind. Forget I asked the question.”
A soft laugh prefaced Holt’s reply.
“Probably for the best. If you want my opinion, since we must go live at some point, it’s best to do it from a position of superiority. Forget orbiting Raijin until we build a full picture of the situation. Slip into Temar orbit right away and see what happens.
“We’re hardened enough to absorb ground-based fire until we can evade it and if Chief Yens’ sensors didn’t up orbital gun platforms so far, it’s because they’re dormant. And that means we’ll have time to either target or evade them when they power up. This far from the Empire, the only hostile forces that might disregard the warning buoys and come sniffing around wouldn’t be much of a challenge for standard aerospace defense pods.”