Critical Asset

by Ian Tonnessen

  USS Abraham Lincoln

  0659Z, 24 December 2065

  DTG: 240659Z DEC 65

  FROM: SPACE OPERATIONS WATCH, UNITED STATES SPACE COMMAND

  TO: DL-SPACECOM LVL1 & LVL2

  CC: USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN CSF-66/CO

  SUBJ: FAILED COMMUNICATIONS CHECK, RFSS KOSTROMA

  TEXT: Russian Federation Supply Ship Kostroma failed a standard datalink+audio query from US SPACECOM Space operations Watch. US SPACECOM transmitted query at 240613Z DEC 65. Time-late gap: 14.1-14.2 minutes. Reply expected NLT 240652Z. Kostroma was undergoing high-g deceleration in solar interference zone but short of blackout zone during query attempt. Kostroma currently en route from Engels Spaceport to Dirac QCRDF, ETA 241300Z DEC 65.

  “Commander Yates, please report to the CO’s cabin,” Pierce spoke into her wristwatch. The announcement repeated itself in Abe’s voice on Yates’s watch.

  A minute later, the XO arrived. “Captain? What can I do for you?”

  “Robert, have a look at this article and tell me what you think.”

  Yates read through the news piece. “Interesting… is there any information on this that isn’t in the regular news?”

  “Nothing in our message traffic, and transmissions to and from that supply ship have been normal. It doesn’t sound like the police knew anything that they held back from the media, other than details on the gas. But here’s the thing… an hour ago I sent the SPACECOM ops watch a request for them to query the Kostroma. I just got this reply back.”

  He read the text. “Okay. I’m now suspicious. What are your thoughts about it?”

  Pierce furrowed her eyebrows and turned to the AI screen. “Abe, how difficult would it be to smuggle illicit cargo onto a supply ship leaving Engels Spaceport?”

  “Could you define illicit, Captain?”

  “I mean dangerous. Explosives, nuclear or radiological materials, exotic matter, chemical weapons, et cetera.”

  “This is probably unachievable, ma’am.” Abe displayed schematics for the Kostroma and the Engels Spaceport loading scaffolds. “The cargo supervisors at the launch site have authority to load all mission cargo during pre-countdown, but the cargo lifts as well as the Kostroma’s internal cargo bays are fitted with chemical spectrometers programmed to detect weaponized chemical and biological agents, as well as radiological threats. High explosives may also be detectable through the presence of trace materials in the air, though this remains the most likely scenario for smuggling dangerous cargo onto a Samara-Class supply vessel.”

  “Abe, could cargo supervisors at the spaceport tamper with those sensors on the lifts or inside the cargo bays?” asked Yates.

  “Unlikely, Commander. Kostroma’s internal security sensors are independently powered and may not receive instructions from any external systems. The spectrometers are configured to report only. This is hardwired programming designed to prevent manipulation.”

  Pierce sat forward. “Abe, what about people? Would it be possible to smuggle people onboard without setting off the cargo bay sensors?”

  “Yes, Captain. The cargo lifts and cargo bay sensors would not be able to distinguish people or innocuous materials such as clothing from standard cargo such as food or textiles. The sensors are programmed to alert the crew to hazardous materials.”

  Robert Yates sat back in his chair. “Do you think?”

  Pierce pinched her chin and nodded. “Well, maybe. I’m sure we’re not the first ones to think of it, and except for just now, Kostroma’s been transmitting normally since it launched. But let’s talk to CS-Kenya and see what McKenna thinks. They may have more information from Engels than we do.”

  “Captain… REDCON Three. We have orders to remain on ready-fifteen. We may have to fight those bastards soon.”

  “You’re almost correct. Standing orders state that all operational warships must be able to respond to orders within fifteen minutes. We’ve been keeping up with the REDCON level, but we’re still in a non-operational status until our overhaul is done. And the overhaul is paused since all the dock technicians went home for Christmas. They won’t return until the 27th.”

  “Abe read through all this first, of course,” Yates said. “Did he raise any concerns? Or make a recommendation to you?”

  “No. But in my experience, computers don’t quite get the concept of paranoia.”

  A scowl deepened on Yates’s face. “Going out there is unnecessary, Captain. That’s not the sort of thing we’re built for.”

  Of course he’d rather stay and hope for a war, Pierce thought. In twenty-eight years, I’ve never met an officer so hostile towards the HM as Yates.

  “I know it, and I’d rather not leave sight of Earth either. But I’d hate to ignore the idea of a hijacked ship heading for that station by just hoping it isn’t true. If the brass are going to want the Kostroma investigated, that could mean us. With our DEW cannons down, we’re the only warship who might not be obligated to stay here. So let’s get ahead of it and see what McKenna is thinking, if he’s even noticed this.”

  Yates shook his head, preparing a retort, but Pierce cut him off. “I know what you’re going to say, XO, but I don’t want to ignore this. Let’s call him.”

  * **

  “I hate to say it, Jaana, but I think your hunch might be right,” Admiral McKenna said to Pierce and Yates over the screen in the captain’s cabin. His legendary Texas twang was as pronounced as ever. “You’re also right that you’re not the first to think of it. Our tracking officer tried to ping the Kostroma himself, though as it turns out he was a few minutes behind SPACECOM. No response here either. I hope it’s just a case of solar interference, but how quickly can you get Lincoln underway and out to Dirac?”

  “Underway in fifteen minutes, and then at best speed we can reach Dirac in five hours, forty-five minutes, just after the Kostroma arrives,” Pierce replied, glancing at a trajectory graph displayed by Abe. “But Admiral, REDCON Three… we’re in a non-operational status, though the HM probably doesn’t know details of that. Our coilgun is still functional even if our DEW cannons aren’t. You may need us if this business downtown escalates.”

  “Normally I’d keep you around in case we need you, but you guessed right. I don’t need to right now. USS Jefferson transferred over from CS-Borneo’s command, so we should have enough redundancy in the event that shooting actually breaks out.” The admiral looked down at his console and entered commands as he spoke. “I’m hereby authorizing Lincoln to conduct high-g accelerations, and I’m directing you to depart for Dirac Station. You guys will get the order in a few seconds.”

  Shit. So, this could be embarrassing if we’re wrong, and Lincoln might be useless out there if we’re actually right. But at least it’s McKenna’s order.

  “Roger that, sir. We’re on it. We’ll refuel there, and we’ll be back tonight.”

  “Jaana… God be with you. I’m going to say a prayer that your hunch is wrong.”

  Pierce grinned and said a polite, “Thank you, Admiral,” before switching off the screen. He doesn’t have many weaker qualities, but that’s one of them, Pierce remembered. She had a lot of professional respect for the admiral. He had been Theodore Roosevelt‘s captain when she first reported there as XO, a by-the-book commander who treated Pierce like a star pupil. But it seemed remarkable to her that McKenna had been promoted as high as he was, given that the admiral didn’t even try to keep his religion to himself. It was quite a social faux pas, but she always took it as inspiration. If he can make flag officer, then surely I can.

  She let out a long sigh. “Well, XO, there’s our orders. Let’s get underway.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Yates huffed, standing to leave the cabin. He paused at the door. “Captain, what about weapons? If this guess about hijackers is right, they’re going to be armed. We have stun guns onboard, nothing more.”

  “I’ll talk to the chief engineer about improvising something,” Pierce replied, not actually having any ideas in mind. “You jus
t get us underway.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a grumbling tone, switching on the 1MC from his watch and walking into the passageway. “Onboard Lincoln this is the executive officer. Emergency sortie. All departments make ready for high-g transit. Emergency sortie in fifteen minutes.”

  Alarms sounded throughout the ship, followed by Yates’s voice repeated in all compartments.

  US Space Command Headquarters

  Omaha, Nebraska

  1:40 a.m. (0740Z), 24 December 2065

  “Jesus H. Crap-on-a-stick,” Lieutenant Commander Byers muttered to himself. “Did I stir up this mess by trying to call Kostroma?”

  Byers re-read the message from CS-Kenya: the Lincoln was getting underway and heading out to Dirac Station immediately. This was the same ship whose captain messaged to ask SPACECOM about pinging Kostroma. And Lincoln was one of the DA’s high-value assets. The alliance only had nine warships in space, five of which were American. A significant movement of one of them –and sprinting off to the far side of the Sun sure as hell counted as significant– necessitated a wake-up call to SPACECOM’s commanding officer, Admiral David Martin. Byers prepared himself for a lot more face time with the admiral than he planned.

  “Understood,” the admiral replied to Byers over the comm screen. It was audio-only, the screen itself blacked out, but it was obvious that Martin’s voice was still groggy from sleep. “You were right to wake me, even if the ship is in non-operational status.” He paused. “CS-Kenya… they didn’t try to forward the same sortie message to Dirac themselves, did they?”

  “No, sir, that’s still for us to do.”

  “Good, good. Commander, I’ll leave that to you. Inform Dirac of Lincoln’s transit, give them the estimated time of arrival and have them prepare the return transit fuel for the ship, but don’t inform them of any suspicions CS-Kenya happens to have about the Kostroma. It’s not our place to convey unconfirmed information like that. Just send them the details on your failed comms check. Are you clear on that?”

  “Yes, sir, I understand,” replied Byers.

  “Very well. I’ll be there before the morning brief in a few hours.”

  “Aye sir. Thank–.”

  The admiral hung up.

  “He doesn’t want us to elaborate on why a warship is heading to Dirac?” Lieutenant Ramirez asked. “It’s not like it’s an everyday thing.”

  “That wouldn’t be my choice either, but I’m sure he has his reasons. This is probably all over nothing, so I guess mentioning someone’s hunch would be unnecessary and embarrassing. Anyway, I’m not about to second-guess the admiral, considering he outranks me six times over.” Byers began drafting the message for transmission.

  * **

  Admiral Martin got up from bed while his wife slept. He went into his study and out of earshot, and called a private number for Erik Stendahl, the Secretary of Defense.

  CHAPTER 7

  Dirac Station – Operations Center

  0807Z, 24 December 2065

  Dirac Station was not the largest space facility ever built. It boasted twenty thousand square meters of habitable floor space, but that still took second place to the beautiful Astral Hotel in low Earth orbit. Nor was it the most remote. Even at the Sun-Earth L3 Lagrangian position, three hundred million kilometers away from Earth and hidden behind the star, it wasn’t nearly as distant as the Jovia and Cronus science outposts which orbited Jupiter and Saturn.

  None of those places represented the forefront of modern science, however. Dirac specialized in the various subdivisions of materials science. It was the one place where research in quantum chemistry and physics could have free reign without concern over what an experiment gone catastrophically wrong would mean for Earth. Exotic matter, negative energy, unrestricted nanotechnology, theoretical propulsion designs, metamaterials – all these were subjects of research at Dirac. But it was most famous as the only place in the solar system which manufactured antimatter in quantity, the stuff meant to fuel the next great leap of civilization in the form of the grand interstellar ships being built at Pioneer Spaceport near Denver. The ability to cheaply mass-produce it was the driving reason for the station’s existence. Max Planck may have been the father of quantum theory, but it was Paul Dirac who first theorized antimatter in 1928. The choice of the station’s name did not require much debate.

  Dirac Station was not built on the far side of the Sun. It was assembled in low Earth orbit during the early 2050s and moved to the Earth-Moon L3 position for the first two years of work. After a trial period, manufacturing enough antihydrogen to demonstrate proof-of-concept and enough Rydberg-type exomatter to fuel the DA’s new orbital warships while construction continued in other areas of the station, Dirac moved to the Earth-Sun L3 in 2057, its permanent home.

  Dirac’s laboratories, over six thousand square meters of floor space in all, comprised one of the three distinct sections of the station. From the outside, most of the section was unimpressive, a large rectangle of a single-story facility assembled without regard for aesthetics. Attached to the far end of the Labs were the two linear particles accelerator lines, the linacs, which protruded out into space opposite from each other like a pair of huge antennae. The accelerator was a marvel of modern physics considering each linac was only six hundred meters long, far smaller than most of its counterparts on Earth. The material produced by the accelerator complex was the foremost reason for the station’s existence.

  Attached to the Labs on its spaceward side by a web of power cables was the vast antimatter storage array, a clustered polyhedral range of eight thousand containers which were, in total, larger than the rest of Dirac itself. The giant cluster grew daily as more antimatter was produced, all being stockpiled for the day when they would power colony ships to the stars. In the meantime, the storage containers provided Dirac with its popular nickname: the Powder Keg.

  Attached to the Labs on its opposite end, the sunward side, was the Hub. The second of Dirac’s three sections was the ungainly cluster which contained the station’s functional organs: the fusion reactor, the life support machinery, the main cargo and materiel storage areas, and the management spaces like the operations center and administrative offices. Projecting out into space from the aft sections of the Hub were Dirac’s sensors and communications arrays, four huge VASIMR thrusters, and a dozen extendable heat dissipation radiators. The Hub contained a three-hundred seat cafeteria and even a small recreation area complete with a full bar, though the most popular entertainment for Dirac workers was the same as on Earth: inside their virtual reality headsets.

  The third section of Dirac was Accommodations, or Accom. These were the living areas for the station’s personnel, arranged in a ring which radiated outward from the center of the station, attached to the Hub by six cylindrical corridors. Like the antimatter storage segment, Accom had some ability to expand as the station’s human complement grew in number. And so it had. When fully staffed, Dirac was home to nearly eight hundred people, double what it was when the station first moved to L3 eight years earlier.

  Despite its size, in the early morning hours there were only two people needed to man the Hub’s operations center amid twelve empty chairs and all the walls and desks covered in display screens. On the morning of Christmas Eve it was Mike Trevino and Markus Fuller, passing the time talking about work while most of the other two hundred people onboard slept. On their screens were status displays for the station’s internal systems, the orbital telemetry and station-keeping information, data streaming to and from the L4 satellite link back to Earth, and so on. Once an hour, the station also received status messages transmitted from inbound and outbound ships, and there was only one ship transmitting: RFSS Kostroma.

  Fuller was one of the station’s Hub engineers, and Trevino was a junior member of the nanotech research team, with most of his waking hours involved in research into picofilaments and advanced micromanufacturing. But Dirac Station had no permanent watchstanding personnel for the op
s center, so it drew people from the scientific centers in the station. It was one of the drawbacks to the honor of getting to work there. Overseeing the Ops Center was a collateral duty for them, and there was rarely much to do but keep an eye out for anything abnormal. It was the early morning hours, and it was Christmas Eve as well. Three-quarters of the station’s eight hundred personnel weren’t even onboard during the holiday season.

  The Ops Center’s main focus over the past few weeks was actually station-keeping. Unlike the L4 and L5 Lagrange points in Earth’s orbital ring, the L3 point was not a stable one. Located on the far side of the Sun opposite from the Earth, the focus of gravity was too weak to prevent Venus from interfering with the L3 point every twenty months. But this was the season for interference. Venus was nearly at its closest point to the station, so Dirac’s four main thrusters ran continuously on low power to counter the gravitational pull and keep the giant station holding its place at L3.

  At 0807Z an audible chime notified the ops watch that they received a written message from US Space Command. An attempt to contact the Kostroma by voice message had been unsuccessful, and the Space Command cruiser USS Lincoln was on its way out to Dirac to intercept and investigate.

  Mike Trevino looked at his comms and trajectory screens. Kostroma was less than five hours from arrival, and the close angle the Sun had with the ship’s line-of-sight to Earth might have interfered with its comms. That must’ve been what the problem was, Trevino figured. The hourly data messages from Kostroma were still coming in to Dirac, the last one only a few minutes ago. The second half of the text from SPACECOM was the strange part. Ships experienced solar interference with their voice comms before, but warships had never come out to Dirac to check on that.

  “Should we wake up Lynch?” Fuller asked, referring to the station’s acting administrator.