Terminus Gate (Survival Wars Book 5)

by Anthony James

  It was tiring work and Duggan’s concentration began to falter. Much of the data was nothing more than automated check-ins between computers to ensure they were online and operational. None of the messages were plain old person-to-person communications saying hello or inviting someone to lunch next week.

  “They’re a boring lot these aliens,” said Breeze, his words echoing Duggan’s thoughts. “I’d be happy to learn a few things about them, to see if there’s anything in common between our two species. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to find much of that in here.”

  Chainer, however, was far more enthusiastic. “I believe Astorn was at least partially a military comms hub,” he said. “Some of the coding is similar to how we handle things in the Space Corps.”

  That got Duggan’s interest. “If you’re correct it means we’ve stolen some good stuff, instead of it being entirely civilian chatter.”

  “I believe I’ve also managed to identify their priority codes, sir.”

  “Now I’m very interested, Lieutenant. Can you sort the data according to its priority status?”

  “I’ve just done it, sir. You’ll see the updates on your screens in a few seconds.”

  “This is more like it!” exclaimed McGlashan moments later. “There’s a transmission here that contains the coordinates of two more hub planets.”

  “That’s a good start,” said Duggan. “An excellent start, in fact.”

  With renewed enthusiasm, they got stuck into the task once more.

  “I’ve archived the messages with priority codes seven and eight,” said Chainer after a while. “That should help remove some of the clutter.”

  “Get rid of priority six messages as well,” said McGlashan. “I’ve opened dozens of those ones and I think they’re network audit logs.”

  “Okay, I’ve hidden them as well.”

  “This is a gold mine,” said Breeze eventually. “I’ve found what appears to be datasheets and specifications for spacecraft components being sent from one research facility to another.”

  “I’ve got the coordinates of a further three hub planets,” said Chainer. “Alongside that, I’ve got what I believe to be an outline map of a place the language modules have translated as Sector-17.”

  “Show it on the main screen,” said Duggan.

  “Here you go. I don’t think it’s complete.”

  “If they have seventeen – at least seventeen – sectors like this one, humanity is properly screwed,” said Breeze.

  The bulkhead screen showed a map containing countless stars, spread across a huge distance.

  “I’ll highlight the solar systems I believe to be populated,” said Chainer.

  “Crap,” said Breeze. “Dozens of them.”

  “That’s assuming I’ve interpreted the data correctly.”

  “We can’t get ourselves hung up on what we find,” said Duggan. “I wasn’t expecting our enemy to be confined to three planets adjacent to each other and I’m sure you weren’t either.”

  “The bigger they are…” said Chainer.

  “The harder they hit,” finished Breeze. “And the more warships they have.”

  “Here’s something else,” said McGlashan. “I don’t think we’re the only species fighting against them.”

  “What have you found, Commander?”

  “One of these transmissions is a requisition order, demanding six Class-8 and nine Class-15 vessels, whatever they are. Apparently, they are to replace losses in Sector-23.”

  “Do you ever get the feeling that the Confederation is really, really insignificant?” asked Chainer. “I’ve spent my entire life thinking I’m a speck amongst the billions, and then I find out that the Confederation is no more than a speck of its own.”

  “I’m not sure I approve of the word speck when it comes to a description of the Confederation,” said Duggan drily. “Nonetheless, it does appear that other species have expanded significantly further than we have.”

  He opened the next transmission on his list and scanned through the contents. Then, he blinked to be sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him and he read it again, this time with great care. “You need to read the details of data package 62534A,” he said.

  There was a period of quiet, before Breeze spoke. “I don’t know if this is very, very good or very, very bad.”

  “If I understand this correctly, that installation on Frades-2 was a slingshot?” said Chainer.

  “That’s how I read it,” said Duggan. “Designed to fire a spacecraft up to lightspeed through the Helius Blackstar.”

  “Then the affected vessel activates its own fission drive as it emerges,” said Breeze.

  Chainer looked puzzled. “But they’re sending warships through anyway,” he protested. “Why do they need this slingshot?”

  “We have no idea what modifications their spacecraft require in order to make a successful transit,” said Duggan. “We know they keep trying and they’ve failed a few times with it.”

  “But the Crimson is using one of their very own cores,” said Chainer. “If we can do it, why can’t they?”

  “We’ve done it only once, Lieutenant.”

  “It makes you wonder about the risks,” said Breeze.

  “I wouldn’t spend too long thinking about it. We’ve got no choice other than to attempt a second journey through the Blackstar,” said Duggan. “We know it’s coming and we can’t allow ourselves to fear it.”

  “Doesn’t this mean we’ve scuppered their plot for a while?” asked Chainer. “The Frades-2 installation won’t be doing many lightspeed catapults after Commander McGlashan got her hands on it.”

  “What they built once, they can build again, Lieutenant. When it’s working, they can throw their ships towards Confederation Space at will, except this time it won’t be a mothership and a smattering of others. They’ll be able to send whole fleets through. We’ll never defeat them.”

  The situation was about to get a whole lot worse.

  “Sir?”

  “I don’t like it when you start off a conversation like that, Commander. It means there’s bad news ahead.”

  “They have another installation close to the first – the same thing as they had on Frades-2.”

  “Where is it?” asked Duggan, crossing to look at her screen.

  “I don’t know, sir. They use their coordinates and we use ours. We haven’t yet been able to tie them together. That isn’t the worst part of it.”

  Duggan read the rest of the details over her shoulder. He swore loudly.

  “They’ve got a fleet ready,” he said. “Eighteen warships waiting to be sent through the wormhole.”

  “Damn,” said Chainer.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Duggan paced up and down. “I need every scrap of information we can find about this second planet,” he said. “I want to know where their fleet is located and when they plan to launch it. Lieutenant Chainer, I need you do everything you can to tie our coordinates with theirs, so we have the same points of reference. You have my permission to drink as much coffee and hi stim as you require, but I want those coordinates!”

  “What’re we going to do, sir?” asked Chainer.

  “I don’t know, Lieutenant. I really don’t know.”

  Duggan took his seat and resumed his search through the Dreamers’ transmission data. He uncovered much that would be of interest to the Space Corps, but he didn’t have time to look at it in detail – there were other, more pressing concerns. A fleet of eighteen ships would represent a significant incursion into Confederation Space, especially since they would be free to travel wherever they chose and destroy whatever they wished.

  The search proved fruitless and they found no more details relating to the capabilities of the assembled Dreamer war fleet, nor anything which would allow them to pinpoint the location of the second ground installation. They’d stolen a large quantity of data, but it was after all only a snapshot of events taking place within the enemy’s territory and it wa
s naturally going to have many gaps. As time passed and fatigue crept in, Duggan felt a growing certainty about what they had to do.

  “We have to destroy that installation and hope they haven’t already sent their warships through the wormhole,” he said.

  “I think I can offer something positive,” said Breeze looking up. “There are time stamps on each of the transmissions. They mean nothing to us, of course, except as a list of numbers. However, we can translate into something we know by deducting the time stamp on the earliest transmission from the time stamp on the latest one.”

  “What does that give us?” asked Duggan.

  “If you look at the transmission which mentions their war fleet, you’ll notice a time reference that’s later than anything on our stolen data. It could be their planned time to launch.”

  “It may be nothing relevant,” said Duggan. “The arrival of a nineteenth ship or the time of a drill.”

  “This is what we have, sir. If this is their departure time, it’s approximately five hours after we reach the wormhole.”

  “If only we knew where to find them,” said Duggan.

  “It’s down to you, Frank,” said McGlashan.

  “Great! Thanks, Commander.”

  “Maybe we can help,” said Duggan. “While Lieutenant Chainer does his thing, we can look at the data from our first scan when we came through the Blackstar. There might be something that gives us a clue as to where the second installation is. We need to look for similar planets to Frades-2, which are a similar distance away from the wormhole.”

  “You may be disappointed, sir,” said Chainer. “It takes a long time for the super-fars to interpret distant data. You may recall there wasn’t a great deal of time to spend map-making.”

  “I understand, Lieutenant, but we have to do something.”

  Chainer’s assessment of their chances proved to be an accurate one. The Crimson’s sensors had picked up numerous solar systems in the vicinity of the wormhole, without gathering much in the way of additional details. The end result of the crew’s search was eleven separate planets, any of which might be home to a second enemy installation.

  “There’s no time to check out eleven planets,” muttered Duggan.

  “Let’s face it. We need the coordinates of the enemy fleet and the target planet,” said McGlashan.

  “I’m not planning to attack the enemy fleet, Commander – just the installation.”

  “If they’re stationed close by, we could emerge from lightspeed only to find two thousand missiles coming our way.”

  “It’s unlikely,” said Duggan.

  “Not as unlikely as you might think, sir,” said Breeze. “We can assume their fleet is somewhere near to the catapult. Unless we arrive many hours away, there’s a chance one of them will see our fission signature. If we know where they are, we can tailor our approach. I’d far rather arrive undetected so that we can take a look about in comparative safety.”

  “Fine, fine, I acknowledge the necessity,” said Duggan.

  The minutes and hours ticked by. Duggan, Breeze and McGlashan were able to take breaks, but Chainer seemed like a man possessed. He drank coffee after coffee while he stared at his console screens, muttering words to himself that the others couldn’t quite hear. His hands never stopped as they punched up lists of data for his eyes to read.

  “We might have to get you that third hand after all, Lieutenant,” said Duggan at one point.

  “I’m feeling pretty worn out, sir. The caffeine isn’t working anymore.”

  “Want me to see if Corporal Weiss can fix you up with something stronger?”

  “Not a chance, sir. I don’t want her putting any of that medical crap into my body.”

  Duggan looked sideways at McGlashan. Her mouth was half-open in shock from hearing Chainer’s words.

  “Frank, you eat and drink crap every single day,” she said at last.

  “Yeah, but it’s healthy crap and I won’t hear another word said on the matter.”

  McGlashan sat down with a shake of her head and a bemused expression on her face.

  “Anything you want, Lieutenant, let us know,” said Duggan.

  Chainer was already lost to the world and his lips moved in time with his thoughts.

  “Ten hours until we break from lightspeed,” said Breeze. “I’ve chosen a place that’s two hours out.”

  “What if we can’t translate the coordinates of this second installation, sir?” asked McGlashan. “Are we going to wait around until we find it?”

  Duggan chewed on his lip. “No,” he said. “I don’t like the odds if we have to search randomly. We’ll need to jump from planet to planet, each time taking the risk of our fission signature being seen. If I’m not confident it’ll be an in and out raid, we’ll go through the wormhole. The second installation is a target of opportunity – an important one, but not enough to attack at any cost.”

  Ten hours became five and Duggan took himself off for a walk through the confines of the spaceship’s interior. Inevitably, he found himself at the mess room, where all corridors seemed to eventually lead. The room was three-quarters full, the soldiers in high spirits and exchanging wisecracks. Duggan counted four Ghasts in the room, their grey-skinned heads easily visible above the others. They seemed at ease with their human counterparts.

  He took a seat opposite Lieutenant Ortiz. “Thirty years of fighting and now this,” he said.

  “Most of us have no reason to hate the Ghasts, sir. They’re the same as us, they just fought for a different bunch of politicians.”

  “Practical to the last, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m not saying it’s all handshakes and smiles. I can see it in the eyes of a few of our troops.”

  “As long as they keep it to themselves.”

  “I’ll make sure they do, sir.” She sighed. “If everything goes to plan and our alliance with the Ghasts remains strong, it could be generations until the war is forgotten.”

  “There’s a new war to help them forget. It’s hard to hold a grudge against the man or woman who just saved your life.”

  “The Ghasts don’t let their women fight, sir. I twisted Red-Gulos’ ear about it and I finally managed to wring an opinion out of him. Apparently, the women are the artists of the species, while the men go to war. It sounds a bit Neanderthal if you ask me.”

  “We can’t expect them to have identical values to us.”

  “I know sir, but can you imagine me writing poetry or playing a harp?” She smiled at this alternative vision of herself.

  “Don’t knock it until you try it, Lieutenant. I’m convinced everyone has more than one talent.”

  “So what’s yours, sir?”

  Duggan tried to come up with a response and couldn’t immediately think of one. “I don’t know,” he said.

  This time Ortiz laughed, with no trace of mockery in the sound. “How’s about you take up the harp and I’ll try my hand at poetry?”

  “That’s a deal,” he said. “Let’s wait until we get back to base before we take up any new distractions.”

  “We’re not going straight home, are we?” she asked.

  He suppressed a look of surprise at her intuition. “How the hell did you figure that out?”

  “You always come to the mess room when you’re searching for something to take your mind off your duty.”

  “You’ve got me there, Lieutenant, and you’re correct. We’ve discovered evidence of a second enemy base near to the wormhole, along with a war fleet. If we can nail down exactly where they are, we’re going to take a shot at them.”

  “Need me to prep the boys and girls?”

  “There’ll be no troop deployment this time, Lieutenant. We’re going to nuke the crap out of them and fly away through the wormhole, giving them the finger as we go.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “It might not come off, in which case we’ll simply leave this area of space, taking our stolen data with us.” A clock on the mess room w
all told him it was nearly time to get back to the bridge. “I didn’t thank you for sealing up my suit helmet on Astorn.”

  “That wasn’t me, sir. It was Lieutenant Chainer – he was first down the shaft to see what was wrong.”

  “He never said.”

  “Did he need to?”

  “I guess not,” he replied.

  He left the mess room and took a longer route to the bridge. He stopped briefly at the medical facility and looked inside. Barron was gone, leaving McCarty as the sole occupant of the room. The man was still attached to the medical robot and it was only the steady beeping accompanying his heartbeat which told Duggan he was alive.

  Back at the bridge, there was a change.

  “Where’s Lieutenant Chainer?” Duggan asked.

  “I was just about to message you, sir,” said McGlashan. “You must have missed him by about twenty seconds. He found what we wanted to know and I gave him leave to take a nap.”

  “He’ll never sleep. I’ve seen how much caffeine he’s taken today,” said Duggan, hurrying to his seat. “What’ve we got?”

  “The second base is only a few minutes’ high lightspeed away from the first one, sir, and it’s about the same distance away from the wormhole.”

  “Was it one of the eleven planets we’d narrowed it down to?”

  “Nope – it’s in an entirely different area.”

  “That figures,” he said. “Where’s their fleet?”

  “This is the part you might not like so much – they’re parked right off the wormhole. The coordinates are quite precise.”

  Duggan sighed. It was the second most logical place to leave the warships after the planet itself, but the exact last place he wanted them to be.

  “Could the catapult pick their warships up from that that range in order to launch them?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, sir,” said Breeze. “The target vessel might need to be within a few thousand kilometres or it may be that the installation can perform its function from a great distance away. The first base had colossal reserves of power.”

  “Did the super-fars get anything on this planet?”