Despite the fact that his tractor cabin was pressurized, Papadelous worked from inside a heavy, armored vacsuit. Safety was paramount when the job took place on an airless, primitive moon some seven thousand light-years from Earth.
As the spot disappeared down the incandescent hole, Papadelous scanned his instruments with the boredom of someone who has performed the same task a thousand times. The work order called this a 200-meter long communications channel from the surface into the new gallery they had hollowed out of Sutton’s interior. Cables would be strung through the channel and then the whole thing would be filled with vacuum setting epoxy to seal it up again. After that, the gallery could be pressurized and interiors installed to make the new volume livable.
What the cables would be used for, he had no idea. That wasn’t his problem. Boring the hole was his task, after which he would bore another, and another, and another, ad infinitum. As a boy in Greece, his mother had told him the tale of Sisyphus, condemned by the gods to ceaselessly roll a rock to the top of a mountain each day, only to have it fall back of its own weight every night. Somehow, his current job put him in mind of that myth, except that he had been condemned to dig endlessly until he carved away the whole of this ugly moon.
Nor was he the only vacuum jack at work on the surface while others busily carved new tunnels and living galleries below. With eighty ships in orbit about the airless moon, Brinks Base had just suffered the largest population explosion in its brief history and an expansion of living and working quarters was the first order of business.
The sudden appearance of the system primary above the jagged horizon put the sun directly into Papadelous’s eyes, which in turn caused his head to throb. The star wasn’t the culprit in producing his headache. Rather, the send off they had given the crews of Ranger and Vaterland the previous evening was the primary cause. The party had been a raucous one, a bash that Grant had enjoyed immensely, especially the latter part.
He smiled at the memory of the bacchanal. He had found himself conversing with a female lieutenant for the first couple of hours. Him and about half the men in his construction battalion… at least those who had been shuttled down from the heavy equipment carrier. It had been just past midnight when he finally managed to talk her into accompanying him back to her soon-to-be-vacated compartment. What had followed made the interminable voyage from Earth almost seem worth it. His new found, and very transient, friend had made love with an urgency that spoke of her excitement at having someone new in her life. His memory of the night had been marred only by the realization that he hadn’t gotten her name the next morning. All he remembered was that she said she was an astrogator aboard Ranger.
The laser drill cut off automatically when the sensors detected a slight weakening of the incandescent plume, indicating that the drill beam had penetrated a cavity in the rock… presumably Gallery A-17 in the new annex if Grant’s three dimensional diagram was correct. The computer shut down the laser quickly enough that there would be little more than a scorch mark on the opposite wall where the drill beam had focused momentarily after breakthrough.
With his current hole drilled and another one facing him in a few minutes, actually a series of holes into which would be anchored the foundation of a communications tower, Grant paused to scan the horizon and sky.
In the distance was the sharp, black outline of a mountain. It must be a tall one, he thought, since its lower slopes were hidden somewhere over the horizon. It had been the mountain that had kept Hideout’s rays out of his eyes as long as it did. Nearer to him, he could see two other yellow construction tractors hauling equipment to various spots around the rugged black plain.
The amount of equipment they had hauled out from Earth was staggering. Of course, it had to be. Brinks Base would become the headquarters for humanity’s war against the Broa at least until they got the human stargate network up and running. Even then, Brinks might not be graced by a stargate. It all depended on how distant the nearest Broan world was.
If only a few light years separated the base from an enemy world, then it would be too risky for ships to jump directly to the Hideout System. Their secret base would remain a secret only until the first gravity waves reach Broan-controlled space. After that, someone would wonder why an uninhabited system possessed an unregistered stargate, they would send a ship to investigate, and the jig would be up.
Overhead, several bright stars strung out in a single line crossed the sky with visible motion. These were humanity’s ships in orbit. One need gaze skyward only a few minutes to see dimmer lights detach from the brighter ones. These were the landing boats that were shuttling supplies down from the freighters. In addition to all of the Q-Ship holds stuffed to their hull plates with necessary equipment, six large colony ships had accompanied the fleet. It would take more than a month to unload these behemoths of their treasure.
Beyond the moving ships was Brinks itself, an oversize Earth. The blue-white world was currently in half phase, with a very indistinct terminator line marking the transition from light to dark.
The black line of the horizon with its mountains beyond, the ships overhead, the blue-white ball as a backdrop… all should have combined into an awe-inspiring view. Perhaps it would have had not Papadelous’s head been throbbing so.
Giving in to the inevitable, he muttered the command that would cause a small white pellet to appear on the shelf of his helmet in front of his chin. Leaning forward, he tongued the pellet into his mouth and grimaced at the tart taste before rotating his head to get at the drinking nipple. He washed the pain reliever down with a mouthful of tepid water and began counting the seconds until it began to work.
Having done the only thing he could at the moment for his headache, he checked his workscreen for the next job and put the tractor in gear. As it bounced over the uneven ground en route to where the communications mast lay prone on the surface, Grant Papadelous contemplated the fact that the jouncing wasn’t doing his headache any good.
#
“Everyone have a good time last night?” Dan Landon asked his staff. The dozen officers gathered around the long table constructed of locally quarried nickel-iron all looked as though they wished they were somewhere else. Most were listless, while a few glanced nervously at the open doorway, as though visualizing the quickest route to the local head. Their condition answered his question more eloquently than words ever could. It was with a certain malicious mischief that he boomed out, “All right, enough fun. Let’s get down to business. Commander Aster. What did you learn yesterday?”
Aster, a small intense man with an unruly shock of blond hair, leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table while keying his datacom to life. After a second, he responded to Landon’s question.
“Just what you heard, sir. The caretaker staff discovered five possible Broan systems during our absence. Four of them are back in the direction of Earth, one is due galactic north.”
“Analysis results?”
“Two of these contacts have issued a single gravity wave apiece. Two others have issued three waves, and one has issued more than a dozen.”
“So we can assume that particular contact is a primary Broan world?” Landon asked.
“It’s a good assumption to start,” Aster replied. “The last discovery is more than 200 light-years from here, so the fact that there has only been a single wave may be misleading. Presumably traffic in that system could have increased considerably in two centuries.”
“What of the radio and optical observations?”
Lieutenant Gretchen Stephens, Astronomy Section, spoke up. “I’ve reviewed their records. They have recorded definite radio signals from three nearby star systems, as well as two confirmed instances of monochromatic radiation.”
“Comm lasers?”
“Yes, sir. Obviously these systems are inhabited, but there is no evidence as of yet that they have stargates in operation.”
“No gravity waves in five years?”
“No, si
r.”
Landon frowned. “What are you implying?”
“Sir?”
“Are you suggesting that these systems lack stargates, and therefore, are not subjects of the Broan Sovereignty?” Landon asked.
“No, sir. What we know of them is that they would never do that.”
“What we know of them comes primarily from Sar-Say and I have reason to distrust him,” Landon replied coldly.
There were several brief nods. The Broa’s near escape on Earth had sent a shiver through the officer ranks of the Stellar Survey… most of whom had since transferred to the Space Navy.
“Just because we have not yet detected a gravity wave from these other systems doesn’t mean the Broa are not present, Admiral.”
“No ship traffic in five years? That’s a long time between visits, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, sir.”
Landon turned to a small mouse of a man who looked especially miserable this morning. Funny, Landon thought, he wouldn’t have thought Dr. Luigi Penda to be the partying type. Penda wore the uniform of the Space Navy, with the rank of Senior Scientist. However, he did not wear it well. Some people looked disheveled, regardless of their wardrobe.
“Dr. Penda. Is it possible that these systems are emitting gravity waves and we aren’t detecting them?”
“How far away are these systems?” the scientist asked.
“All within a dozen light-years,” Gretchen Stephens replied.
“Not according to our theory about how gravity waves work, Admiral. The discontinuity of a mass materializing within the gate is what produces gravity waves. Theory says that these waves should be omni-directional.”
“Could the Broa have overlooked these systems, even though they are emanating radio waves and comm laser beams?”
“No, sir. If we detected them, the Broa would have as well.”
“Then, assuming for a moment that these systems aren’t radiating gravity waves because they lack stargates, it is logical to assume that the Broa have chosen not to occupy them on purpose.”
Penda shook his head vigorously, then appeared to regret it. “I agree with Lieutenant Stephens. That does not comport with what we think we know of their behavior.”
“Yet, the systems have not been visited by starships via Broan stargate in five years,” Landon persisted. “If the Broa bypassed these worlds on purpose, what does that tell us about their situation?”
Penda shrugged. “Perhaps the beings that inhabit these systems are just too different. They couldn’t very well establish a colony on a gas giant like Bonnie or Clyde, even if an intelligent species were discovered to inhabit those giants. Likewise, an intelligent species found on a planet close to their star, say at the range of Mercury, would be difficult to conquer, just because of the difference in physiology. How would the Broa force an intelligent molten rock being to do anything?”
“Or they may be too technologically primitive for the Broa to worry about,” another officer suggested.
“Unlikely,” the scientist responded. “They need farmland to grow crops, mines to produce metals, raw materials of all kinds. We know they mine otherwise inhospitable and uninhabitable worlds. A planet with a population of potential slaves would be especially valuable as a raw material source.”
Landon frowned. Everyone seemed especially obtuse this morning. He continued: “Okay, they have no reason to bypass an inhabited world, at least of oxygen breathers. So if they are actually doing it, what are the implications?”
“I suppose it could be proof of what we suspect, namely that their conquests have reached the point of diminishing returns,” Dr. Penda replied. “If they lack the manpower or resources to conquer without limit, as we suspect, they would begin to cherry pick their victims. Especially valuable worlds would be conquered, while less favored ones would be left alone.”
“Would that be feasible?” Commander Connors asked from down the table from Penda. Antoinette Connors was a statuesque brunette, with an aggressive personality. She was also Landon’s most capable strategic planner. “Wouldn’t they have to conquer any planet with a technologically advanced race? Otherwise, they risk being challenged by some competitor, essentially the same as we are planning to do.”
Penda shook his head. “Without the stardrive or stargates, these unconquered species are trapped in their home systems. In effect, they have been frozen in place until such time as the overlords are better able to absorb them. Think of them as oil reserves that have yet to be extracted from the ground.”
“Assume that the hypothesis is correct,” Landon said. “How does that change our strategic and tactical situation?”
“How would it, sir?”
“Because, Doctor, unconquered systems within the Sovereignty could prove a source of allies. Presumably the bypassed star systems are aware of their situation and the fate that eventually awaits them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Put some of your people to studying the implications. This may change our strategy. In the meantime, we know of five systems that are Broan fiefdoms. What do we do about them?”
The conversation quickly turned to operations planning.
Their orders were very clear regarding positively identified Broan star systems. Barring compelling reasons not to, such systems would be visited by a two-ship reconnaissance force. Initial reconnaissance would be conducted from the edge of each star system, with the recon ships hidden in the proto-comets and floating icebergs of the Oort Cloud.
#
“We’ve got orders,” Mark told his wife as they ate dinner in the commissary. Like everywhere else on the base, the compartment was a mass of packing crates and equipment stacked haphazardly among the iron tables and benches.
“Who is ‘we?’” Lisa asked. “The two of us or our ship?”
“Ship,” he replied. “New Hope has been assigned to a scouting mission.”
“To where?”
“It’s called Target Gamma. It’s the system with the heavy stargate traffic.”
“Oh, goody! We get to sneak up on a star that is probably the home base of the entire fucking Broan Space Navy!”
“Not very ladylike,” Mark admonished.
His jocular response was answered with a comment even less suitable for ladylike lips.
“Actually, we should only be so lucky,” Mark responded. “Pinpointing the enemy’s primary naval base this early would be something to tell the grandchildren.”
“If we live to have any,” Lisa replied. “When do we leave?”
“That’s up to Captain Harris. I understand our second ship will be Galloping Ghost. She hasn’t even begun unloading. That will take at least a week.”
“Good,” Lisa replied. “It will give me time to brush up my colloquial Broa.”
#
Chapter Twenty Six
“Stand by for breakout,” Mark Rykand announced. His words echoed in his ears as they were carried via annunciator throughout Starship New Hope II. Their voyage was coming to an end in the outskirts of a star system known to be in the hands of the Broa. The war against the pseudo-simians was about to begin in earnest.
“Status check, Astrogator!” Captain Jonah Harris ordered. Harris had been executive officer on a Survey starship before being transferred to the Space Navy and given his own command. He was still new enough at his job to betray traces of emotion in times of stress. This was one of those times.
“Everything is nominal, Captain,” Mark responded in what he hoped was his best competent-but-bored-astrogator tone. He, too, was feeling the tension as the computer counted down the seconds to breakout.
The plan was for them to drop sublight well out from the target star, which everyone was calling Gamma, after its arbitrary target designation. After checking more than a hundred stars, the astronomers had come up with general rules for virtually every feature to be found in any system. Among these were the minimum and maximum distances for the leftover remnants of star formation that made up the
Oort Cloud.
New Hope was more than a week out of Brinks Base. She had dropped sublight four hours earlier to take position readings and coordinate with Galloping Ghost. The final position fix had required them to measure the angular bearings to more than a dozen marker stars in order to pinpoint their precise position. Once they had that, they searched for their consort in a sea of black. Ghost had dropped out just far enough away to make rendezvous inconvenient, but not impossible. With both ships maneuvering toward one another at maximum acceleration, it took just over one hour for them to match orbits.
Once they had Ghost in visual range, Mark Rykand’s astrogation department spent another twenty minutes making sure that their jump data was synchronized with that of the other vessel, another “Type Seven” Q-Ship. By departing the same point in space and by following a rigid course-and-time plot to their target, both ought to drop out relatively near one another on the outskirts of the Gamma System. Indeed, the only difference in their course plots was a slight variation in timing to guarantee they wouldn’t collide with each other post-breakout. There was nothing they could do about the possibility of colliding with debris in the Oort Cloud.
That was the reason Mark’s heart rate, and that of just about everyone else’s, was increasing with each second that brought them closer to Gamma. The Oort Cloud of any star is the home of the massive frozen snowballs which might one day fall into the inner system to become comets.
The cloud was huge, extending nearly a quarter-light-year out from the system primary. Its mass was greater than the mass of the star and all of its planets combined. Still, since the Oort Cloud covered billions of cubic kilometers, some regions contained no more matter than the void between stars.
“The chances of hitting an iceberg are infinitesimal, Captain Smith!”
The quip echoed through Mark’s brain even as he told himself that there was no danger. “Captain Smith” was the fabled Edward John Smith, captain of history’s nearly mystical ocean liner, the ill-fated Titanic. No doubt Smith’s navigation officer had given him the same assurances that Mark had given New Hope’s commander.
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