“Yes—but where do we get the thermite?” asked Trent Howarth, who had to bend at the waist to fit into the hatchway where he was floating.
“Oh. Yes. Sorry. Thermite is just a mixture of rust and aluminum. So we scavenge rust from around the hull, or make it by reverse-catalyzing iron into ferrous oxide. Then we collect aluminum parts from around the hull.”
“Plenty in the kitchen,” Wu offered. His culinary skills had elevated him to lord of the galley for those thirty minutes per orbit when they could risk enough power output for him to cook.
“Right,” Sleeman picked up. “So you grind down the rust and the aluminum into powders. Then you use the mini-centrifuge in my bio sampling kit to separate the grain size of the powders into the tolerances you need, and then you make the final mix.”
“Um, can’t we just use the hand-welder in the ship’s locker for this job?” Howarth looked hopefully around the group.
“Impossible,” Lymbery pronounced. “Working temperature insufficient. Fuel too limited. Unsuitable for vacuum operations.”
Peter Wu put up a finger. “What about an arc-welder? We certainly have enough electricity.”
Sleeman shook her head. “We’d have to fashion an arc-welder that will hold up in hard, EVA conditions. Also, the job would take much longer and we can’t afford to run the welder for more than thirty minutes per orbit. Not if we want to be sure we stay hidden.”
Which brought them all back face-to-face with the single most crucial uncertainty in their day-to-day existence; after a moment’s silence, Tina Melah wondered aloud, “Are we really so sure that we are being watched?”
Rulaine shrugged. “Ms. Melah, we could get a definitive answer to that question quickly enough: we could power up our drives, charge our capacitors, illuminate our active arrays, and wait to see what happens. If nothing, great. But if there’s still someone out there to see it, their ship will also be the last thing we ever see—as they come charging in to polish us off. That’s why we’re using only solar cells to recharge our batteries, and that’s why we keep our power generation to a few hundred watts during the thirty minutes we spend in the safe zone of our orbit.”
Howarth scratched his head. “So, if someone might still be out there”—he waved widely at space in general—“what makes any spot of our orbit ‘safe’?”
Karam took up the explanation; his experience had led them to adopt their near-absolute doggo running conditions. “Reason one: the attackers came out of the rocks in the leading trojan point. Probably retreated back there as well. And no, the Slaasriithi shift carrier didn’t eliminate them, because if Yiithrii’ah’aash had accomplished that, his first order of business would have been to rescue us and then go looking for the shuttle, and the other half of the legation, on Disparity.
“But instead, he high-tailed it out of the battlespace, pushing straight into preacceleration. We can still see him burning for shift as hard as he can, every time we come around to that part of our orbit that has us directly opposed to the sun. Which is why I suspect that area of space is clear: if our attackers followed Yiithrii’ah’aash, we’d have seen their exhausts. And there’s no cover for them to exploit out in that direction; no moon, no trojan asteroids, nothing.
“Reason two: that part of our orbit also takes us through latitudes where there are a lot of auroras. If we have to give off any electromagnetic emissions at all, I want us to be back-dropped, or better yet foregrounded, by those pretty shimmering ribbons of charged particles. I’ll take any interference I can get, right now.”
Phil Friel nodded. “So, that’s when we’ll do our welding: in intervals, whenever we pass through the safe zone.”
Rulaine nodded. “Yes.”
“How soon do we start? Mr. Tsaami mentioned that we’ll begin to deorbit in two weeks. Maybe less.”
Bannor didn’t stop nodding. “The sooner we start the repairs, the better. Because if our attackers are still out there, they’ll need to move pretty soon themselves.”
Karam nodded. “Yeah, because when Yiithrii’ah’aash eventually shifts outsystem and his tail-lights wink out, it will be less than two weeks before they wink back in. Along with a whole lot of friends from Beta Aquilae.”
“It makes me wonder what our enemies are waiting for.” Wu’s mutter was as dark as it was low.
Rulaine shrugged. “They may be repairing damage to their own ship. And they have to figure out their next move.”
“Such as, coming in and wiping us out?” O’Garran proposed sardonically.
“If it was that easy for them, they’d have already done it,” Karam retorted.
Bannor nodded. “The game has changed. They’ve lost the element of surprise and have a lot more unknowns to deal with. Like this ship: we look to be dead in space, no one left alive, but they can’t be sure. Same with the shuttle: it could have been lost with all hands, but it’s just as likely that some survivors made it to the ground and are looking for help while hiding as best they can. And the attackers probably didn’t destroy all the Slaasriithi defense spheres .
“So the bad guys have got a lot of work left to do and not a lot of time in which to do it. They have the same operational countdown on Yiithrii’ah’aash’s ship that we do. Except for us, when that clock runs out, the cavalry comes over the hill and we’re saved. For them, it means ‘game over.’”
Tina Melah rose. “So we’d better get on the repairs right away.”
“You just can’t wait to get your hands on some thermite,” Phil murmured at her with a small smile.
She returned a wide grin.
Rulaine leaned forward, holding himself in place with three fingers he had hooked under the rim of the sensor console. “Before we get to work, you should be aware of the different tactical scenarios we might face and our planned responses to each one.”
The growing buzz of side conversations stilled.
“The happiest scenario is the one in which it turns out that the attackers are gone, the Slaasriithi come back, the rest of the legation is rescued, and we go on as before. A variant of that scenario is that the Slaasriithi come back, which is what triggers our hidden attackers into action again. In that scenario, we have to be ready to help fight them, or to run like hell.”
“Or to help retrieve the rest of the legation,” Trent added.
“No,” Rulaine countered immediately. “That’s not an option for this ship.” He held up a hand in response to the suddenly erect spines and opening mouths. “I’ll come back to that point. The next scenario is that nothing happens until we are about to deorbit. In that event, we wait until we’re in our safe window and boost outward from the planet.” He rode over the top of the growing frowns. “But the last scenario is the one that’s most likely and that I’m most worried about: that our attackers resume their operations. Now, if they come in supported by whatever shift carrier brought them here, we have no choice but to run. Again. Captain’s orders, actually. But if the attackers only bring the same small ship they used the first time, and if they bypass us to search the planet, that will force us to descend and try to help the rest of the legation.”
Melissa Sleeman started. “Major, that—I’m sorry. That’s crazy. No matter the scenario, we should be heading planetside to find the rest of the legation as soon as we can.”
Rulaine leaned back. “And then what?”
Sleeman blinked. “Why, we boost back up to orbit, or find whoever’s in charge on Disparity, or—”
But Karam was shaking his head. “That won’t happen.” Seeing the growing outrage on her face, he rephrased: “That can’t happen.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
It was Phil Friel who answered her. “The hull damage. Specifically, the gouge that damned penetrator rod carved into our belly.”
“But we—you—can weld that, right?” Rulaine had never heard Melissa sound confused before this moment.
This time Tina answered. “Oh, we can weld it. And it will hold air and be fine for s
paceside operations. But re-entry? Phew.” She shook her head dubiously. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Unfortunately, that’s only half the problem,” Karam sighed. “I might—might—be able to get this bird down. Mostly because she’s a solid military hull, tough as nails, and has plenty of redundancy. But even if we go in turned turtle, it’s a one way trip. If we go down, we’re not getting back up without full repairs.”
Morgan Lymbery nodded. “It is due to the coolant line damage,” he explained. “During routine descents, and even more so during ascents, the engines are frequently at maximum thrust. But with a damaged craft, the pilot”—he nodded respectfully at Karam—“will have to push the engines and power plants beyond their rated limits.
“Puller’s hull damage and compromised aerodynamics ruin her airflow characteristics. That requires compensatory and corrective thrust. Each time Mr. Tsaami applies that extra thrust, we will be living on borrowed time, hoping the coolant pressures don’t cause the distributor to finally give out.” He threw up one hopeless hand. “Once that happens, we’re done. We’d be lucky to get to the ground in one piece before the engine dies. Or explodes.”
The bridge was silent for several long seconds before Peter Wu cleared his throat. “I grew up speaking English as well as Mandarin, but”—he turned toward Karam—“what do you mean by saying that the ship would descend while it was ‘turned turtle’?”
Karam smiled ruefully. “‘Turned turtle’ means ‘on your back.’” When he saw confused, and some disbelieving, looks around the bridge, he explicated. “That belly weld won’t take the brunt of reentry superheating. If it splits, or even flakes a bit, the underplating will burn through in less than a minute and we’ll come apart like a model airplane hit with a sledgehammer.” Several of the surrounding faces grew pale. “But our dorsal surface is pretty much pristine. So we’ll go in on our backs.”
Whereas many others looked pale, Phil Friel looked intrigued. “Can it take that? I thought that there were special alloys layered into the ventral surface to absorb and diffuse reentry heat.”
The answer came from Lymbery. “Not to worry, lad. Puller is up to the task.”
“With respect, Mr. Lymbery, why are you so sure?” Friel smiled. “You didn’t design this ship too, did you?”
Lymbery did not smile. “No, I didn’t. I was simply the independent inspector who signed off on the design.”
Friel’s mouth made a round, soundless, “Oh.”
Rulaine smothered his own incipient grin and, pulling against his finger-hold on the sensor console, tugged himself back into a fully upright position. “So we can fix this ship, but not like new. If we head planetside, it’s a one way trip. And we only take that trip if it looks like the bad guys have decided to go hunting our friends. Then, we’re the equalizers.”
“If we make it down alive,” Karam grumbled.
“Always the optimist,” drawled Tina Melah.
“Bah humbug,” Karam replied. “I’ll have you know that I am optimist enough to have already run multiple computer simulations of how to get Puller out of her three-axis tumble when the time comes for us to straighten out and get moving.”
“Is our tumble really that bad?” asked Melissa Sleeman, who’d spent most of her days manning the passive sensors, both those observing the planet beneath them and the dangerous vastness of space behind them.
Tygg leaned toward her; she leaned towards him. “Have you looked out a window?” he asked gently.
She frowned slightly. “No.”
“Don’t,” he urged her.
“Make you puke, fer sure,” Tina added.
Bannor nodded at Karam’s piloting console. “How long from the time you start firing the attitude control thrusters until we’re out of the tumble?”
“Thirty-one seconds.”
“That’s impossible. No one could do that.” O’Garran’s blunt assertion bordered on truculence.
“Watch your tongue, Stretch,” Karam countered. “And I didn’t say I was doing it.” He patted the console. “The computer will handle it. I ran the sims until I got it optimized, then recorded the sequence. When it comes time for us to move, I hit the right button and the show begins. But, fair warning: be strapped in. And try not to eat anything heavy beforehand; correcting this tumble in thirty seconds means a lot of hard thrusting along sharply opposed vectors. It will not be a pleasant ride.”
“Damn,” answered O’Garran with nod and a frown. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “But why wait? If you did it now, it would make the welders’ EVAs a lot less disorienting, wouldn’t it?”
Karam nodded. “Yes. But it would also get us killed.” He pointed out beyond the bulkhead. “Remember all that talk about the bad people who might be out there? The ones who’ve already tried to kill us?”
Trent shrugged. “Yeah, but we know they’re not running active sensors, so they can’t know what our tumble-pattern is, not enough to determine that it’s changed.”
Karam sighed, his eyes were shuttered. “Listen, greenhorn. A lot of space combat is nothing but our computers and sensors dueling with their computers and sensors. But there’s also a common sense side. First, anyone watching us from a passive posture will measure our reflected light: how much, which wavelengths, and most important, when do we shine and how long? Variations in the first two variables can be altered by other elements: the position and angle of the ship relative to the sun, a solar flare, or if any dust is moving in or out of the radiant path from the primary to Disparity.
“But any alteration in the latter two variables tells them that we’ve changed our tumble. And that means they’ll come after us. So we stay as we are until we’re ready to fire up the engines.”
“Can’t happen soon enough,” O’Garran opined brusquely, turned to Bannor to look for the “dismissed” nod.
“Actually,” Rulaine commented, “we need every calm minute we can get, Miles.”
“That may be, Major, but I doubt those minutes are being very friendly to the Captain and the others. I’m just worried that Disparity might be finishing the job that the enemy started. Sir.”
Bannor nodded sadly. O’Garran was correct in all but one particular. The force that had brought all this misery to pass wasn’t simply “the enemy,” wasn’t simply “the threat force.” They were assassins.
And I am going to send them all to hell.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Spinward Trojans, BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”) and Close orbit; V1581 Four
Nezdeh purposely seated herself next to Sehtrek, which put her directly across the table from Idrem. She did not want to manage the distraction of sitting alongside Idrem, or the possibility that she might absent-mindedly reach out toward him. This is one of the reasons the Progenitors warn that romantic love is the seed of all weakness. It creates reflexes that we must control, and that therefore, distract us from optimizing the realization of our individual will to dominion. “Let us begin,” she said.
Sehtrek raised an eyebrow. “Shall we not wait for the others, Nezdeh?”
“I have not informed others of this discussion. It would not be prudent to pull them away from their stations.” Which was, she knew, a pretext so threadbare that Sehtrek would see straight through it to her real reason: to eliminate the ultimately unproductive output of the lesser intellects among her crew. But that could not be admitted openly. To do so would be to imply that Sehtrek, an Intendant who was not even designated for Elevation, was more intelligent and capable than many of Nezdeh’s fellow Evolved.
Tegrese chose that moment to enter the small briefing and ready room. “So: here you are.” She sat. “I was told by Ulpreln that he suspected there was a meeting in progress.”
Nezdeh looked at her.
Tegrese returned the stare. Her puzzlement transformed into a frown. “I am off duty,” she explained.
Of course you are. And of course this had to be the one time
you did not sleep or mate or train during your off-hours. She repressed a sigh. “I saw no reason to disturb you. And you need not remain.”
Tegrese shrugged. “But I shall do so. I am eager to learn of our next steps.”
“This is to be a quick meeting. There will be little time for any input.”
Tegrese’s frown was short-lived. “Understandable.”
Nezdeh turned to Sehtrek. “You have accumulated one hundred hours of data on the planet and the objects orbiting it: what recommendations do you make?”
“That we make a carefully timed ground attack within the week, presuming that there are no further changes to the battlespace.”
“There have already been changes?” Tegrese had not been at the table for a minute and was already beginning to burden the process. Nezdeh glanced at Idrem, who was attempting to suppress—a smile? Yes, there was an amusing irony to Tegrese’s arrival, Nezdeh allowed, despite the annoyance.
Sehtrek touched his beltcom. Between the silver spider-leg tines of its holographic projector, a representation of the Slaasriithi planet rotated, three small dots keeping pace at equidistant points along a shared orbit. “A new defense sphere was launched. It occupies the same orbital spot as the one we destroyed four days ago.”
“Meaning there could be more.”
“Almost certainly so, Idrem. Although I am surprised that it took them this long to launch a replacement.”
Nezdeh shook her head. “The Slaasriithi are not at all dominion-oriented, and so far as we can determine, do not have wars. This far within their domain, a prompt defense replenishment system may be an afterthought. But they are not stupid; if they have more defense spheres in their local inventory, we must expect that they will now be ready to deploy them more rapidly.”
Sehtrek nodded. “Agreed. Which means that the harder of the two targets we must engage are the Aboriginals who landed on the planet. We must penetrate the cannonball defense, find the targets, neutralize them, and then return to orbit.”
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