Raising Caine - eARC

by Charles E Gannon

  Riordan kept his voice calm. “Are we deemed less reliable than other species?”

  “No, Captain. We simply acknowledge that humanity is extremely inquisitive, and thus, by examining our machines, it may acquire technical insights that do not arise from its own experimental efforts. This could be highly destabilizing.”

  It is also the history of our race, W’th’vaathi. Stealing loot was never more than a penny-ante pick-up game for chumps. The big players have always known that the big stakes are in stealing information. “I suspect that destabilization is normative for us, then.”

  W’th’vaathi considered that for a moment. “That may be true. But it would be irresponsible for us to act differently. It is not our place to be a change-agent in the evolution of your race.”

  If only I could believe that you felt that way about influencing us biologically, as well. “So is that why you are reluctant to incorporate much technology into your environment? To ensure that it doesn’t destabilize you, too?”

  “Correct. For our species, complex machinery distracts, and ultimately conditions, individuals away from the processes and temporality of a natural environment. We are not reluctant to employ technology. We use it freely and gladly where natural processes offer no reasonable alternative. Space travel is one example. Rapid long range communications is another.”

  W’th’vaathi’s tendrils drifted lazily in the wind. “Each evolutionary path has its advantages. We have many worlds, and balance in each. But now we live in an age where military capability is needed. In that domain, we have no skill and little appropriate technology. The price of living in unvarying peace and balance is that, in the face of war and chaos, one is ill-suited to answer the challenges they pose.”

  Riordan nodded respectfully. “You are uncommonly honest.”

  “If one would be in harmony with one’s environment, one must be. We do not have your varying belief systems, no theories which attempt to promote some of our characteristics or traits above others.” She reflected a moment. “Of course, if your species was any less contentious and turbulent, you would not be the soldiers you are, and so, would not be the pivotal species of this moment.”

  After several seconds passed, W’th’vaathi obviously sensed the humans’ dumbfounded silence. “Surely, you have seen that, in the wake of the late war, you are nothing less than the fulcrum point which shall determine the tilt of subsequent interstellar events. Even though you are not a very advanced race, humans are the great variable.”

  “Why do you believe that?” Riordan asked.

  “The versatility and innovation of your species determines what you may accomplish, how swiftly you may change and act. That, not the starting differences in technological or biological mastery, will shape the course of imminent events. Surely, you have seen this.”

  Without a further word, W’th’vaathi turned to study the shining ribbon of river ahead.

  PART FOUR

  October 2120

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Approaching orbit, Close orbit, and Southern extents of the Third Silver Tower; BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”)

  Sehtrek confirmed Red Lurker’s passive sensor scan of the Slaasriithi orbital defenses. “The sequence and intervals of the enemy craft are optimal, Nezdeh.”

  Nezdeh Srina Perekmeres assessed the scrolling telemetry of the cannonball they had tentatively identified as their target six hours before. The spherical craft varied their speed, vector, interval on each orbit. The variations were, at most, of marginal tactical significance, but this time, the interval between the currently approaching cannonball and the next in sequence was wider than usual, thanks to whatever randomizing or optimizing algorithm determined the gaps in their orbits. It was only an eleven minute difference, but it was the largest the crew of Lurker had seen. Additionally, measurement of the derelict Aboriginal corvette suggested that it would begin to enter the atmosphere within the next two or three orbits: clearly, if the craft was either operable or still crewed, it would have saved itself by now.

  “Commence the attack,” muttered Nezdeh. “And inform Pehthrum to ready his assault team in the armored shuttle. They will be landing within the half hour.”

  Sehtrek nodded and tapped one of the dynamic tabs on his control panel.

  * * *

  Less than half a light-second away, the lacom signal sent by Sehrtrek’s tap hit a sensor no bigger than a dessert plate, embedded in a shed-sized asteroid fragment. That sensor sent a brief electrical pulse along a wire that led to a self-seeking missile loosely moored on the lee-side of the rock. The clamps holding the missile in place fell away, and a small spring mechanism uncoiled against its fuselage, imparting enough momentum and slow spin so that the missile moved out of the concealing shadow of the boulder. The missile’s nose swung toward the cannonball rising up over the planetary horizon. Dozens of primarily plastic passive microsensors, scattered by Lurker during the first engagement, detected the oncoming sphere’s reflection and captured its telemetry and image. When polled by another lascom squeak from Lurker, each sensor relayed its data on the object by physically vibrating a reflective plate in code.

  The remote targeting computer aboard Lurker correlated the data from this almost invisible phased array and transmitted an intercept footprint. However, it did not instruct the hidden missile to illuminate the active sensors in its seeker head to acquire a lock. Instead, it simply noted the missile’s status: ready to engage.

  * * *

  Tegrese glanced up at Nezdeh. “The missile acknowledges receipt of primary guidance to the intercept envelope.”

  Nezdeh nodded. “Ulpreln: set our thrust to two gee constant. Jesel?”

  Jesel’s voice crackled out of the intership speaker. “Here, Nezdeh.”

  “Have your pilot keep your armored shuttle fifty kilometers behind us and match velocity until you receive the deployment order.” She closed the ship-to-ship channel. “Tegrese: commence rail gun salvoes of area denial munitions into pre-targeted orbital paths. And launch the remote missile.” She rose, pushed herself toward the ready room.

  Tegrese was too surprised to sound deferential. “Nezdeh, why are you leaving the con?”

  “To locate our agent on the planet.” She slipped the vial holding her last Catalysite out of her pocket. “I shall not be long.”

  * * *

  Bannor Rulaine was staring at the count-down clock: thirty-seven minutes until they were compelled to boost in order to sustain orbit, which would almost certainly bring the attackers down on them. But better a fighting chance than a crash landing—or immolation, if the deorbit heat undid the hull welds first.

  Karam was glowering at the clock. “I just hope our numbers are right,” he muttered.

  Bannor kept his own voice low; no reason to alarm the rest of the bridge crew. “I thought you were sure about the timing.”

  “Yeah, well, because I couldn’t illuminate the active arrays to double-check the passive spectroscopy, I had to guess at Disparity’s atmospheric composition and the rate at which its density increases. And my best guesses may not have been good enough.”

  “And if we start the burn early—?”

  Karam gestured to the holotank. A pulsing red plane rested alongside the image of the planet and projected out into the spinward reaches of nearby space. “An early burn is like sending up a signal flare for anyone who might be lurking closer than that detection limit. Because if they are on our side of the planetary horizon, watching for us to go active, they’ll jump us the moment we—Wait: what’s that?”

  A red blip appeared well behind them in the plot; it was just barely in that part of space delimited by the red plane. The passive sensors registered an immense thermal bloom in that same spot.

  “What, they’ve seen us now?” Melissa Sleeman wailed at her sensor console.

  Bannor leaned back, watched the blip for a moment. “Let me know when you’ve got telemetry.”

  “Shouldn’t we be fleeing, rather tha
n staring at the sensors?” Morgan Lymbery asked through chattering teeth, clutching the gunnery console.

  Bannor shook his head. “Not yet.” He turned toward Tygg. “Go gather the troops, Lieutenant. If I’m right—”

  Sleeman interrupted with a surprised shout. “The bogey—it’s not making for us. Wide telemetry divergence.”

  “Unless they are trying to flush us toward a ship they have coming around the other side of the planet,” Lymbery added.

  Melissa shook her head. “Not unless the other ship is pulling five gees. They couldn’t get around to catch us before we could break orbit. No, I think they’re—”

  “Now reading a second thrust signature in the wake of the first.” Karam jabbed a finger at the thermal readouts a moment before a second red mote appeared riding piggy-back on its leader.

  “And it’s on precisely the same heading,” Melissa added.

  Bannor looked at the vector of the bogeys and then scanned the other elements in the plot: the defense spheres, the planet, the geosynchronous marker positioned over the patch of the south continent where the first engagement had taken place. “They’re making planetfall.”

  Karam arrived at the same conclusion a moment later, having run the numbers rather than analyzing the tactical picture. “Absolutely. And they’re headed toward the landing footprint we projected for the TOCIO shuttle.” He leaned back, a bitter smile growing as he said: “They’re not after us at all.”

  Lymbery nodded, his voice pitched a whole octave lower. “They’ve written us off as dead. Unpowered, we’d go down before our orbit brings us back to their descent vector.”

  “And they are moving to intercept the defensive sphere that’s got a larger-than-usual interval between itself and the one following.” Sleeman added.

  Tygg nodded, looked at Rulaine. “Yeah, they’ve got business planetside, all right. They’re moving to clear both the orbital- and air-space for a dirtside operation.”

  Bannor nodded back. “I’d bet dollars to donuts that the first blip is the hull that did the shooting last time and the second is carrying in the assault team.”

  Lymbery frowned. “But how do the attackers know where our people are located or that they are even alive?”

  Bannor shook his head. “I don’t know that, but I don’t need to, right now.” He pointed at the arrow-straight path of the blips, a path which was going to carry them through the prior-engagement orbital marker as if it was a bull’s-eye. “They know where our people are, and that’s all we need to know.” He glanced at the count-down clock, then at Tygg. “I’ll meet you in the ship’s locker in five minutes. Break out the packs and get the ground team suited up.” Tygg nodded, remembered to add a salute, turned to carry out his orders.

  He hadn’t taken half a gliding step toward the hatchway when Melissa jumped up out of her seat into the growing micro-gee. “Be careful,” she blurted nervously at Tygg’s receding back.

  Lieutenant Christopher Robin turned to face the petite genius. Bannor waited for the witty or poignant reply that he presumed Tygg had prepared for just such an occasion. The tall Aussie smiled his big wide smile, and said, “I will. Be careful, I mean.” And then he was heading through the hatchway, as Bannor thought: Really? Really? That was the best you could do?

  But Melissa Sleeman was smiling as Tygg left—and then, just as suddenly, was frowning. And clearly scared.

  Well, we’ll all be scared before this is over—“Karam, let’s think this through—fast. Looks like those blips are going to disappear behind the planetary horizon in about nine minutes.”

  “I’d call it ten, but go on.”

  “Once there’s no longer a clear line of sight to them, do you think it’s safe to light up our own drives?”

  Karam frowned and shook his head. “Sorry, but no. We still haven’t seen whatever shift-carrier brought them into this system, which could still be watching us. Or they could have dumped a remote sensor when they were lurking out there, allowing them to peer around the horizon.”

  “I agree. So we’re still in a scenario where any spaceside maneuver or thrust could reveal us to our enemies almost instantaneously.”

  “I think until we’re on the far side, we’ve got to assume that.”

  “So that tells us what we have to do: get to the far side.”

  Karam looked at Lymbery and Melissa, and then all of them looked at Bannor, almost timidly. “Boss,” Karam said in an almost gentle voice, “you do remember that we’ll be burning up in the atmosphere by that time, right?”

  “That assumes we aren’t already committed to a reentry.”

  Karam blinked. “Well, yes, but—” Then his eyes opened wide: “Oh.” Then they opened wider. “No way.”

  “No choice.”

  Melissa Sleeman broke in loudly. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

  Karam leaned back, his face settling into a customary frown. “Well, he’s talking about suicide. Or damn close to it.”

  Bannor decided it was time to put their exchange on a military footing. “What Senior Flight Officer Tsaami is trying to say is that he lacks the nerve to attempt a maneuver that I thought was well within his skill set.”

  Karam sat up straight. “Now, hold on, Ban—”

  “Our backs are against it, now. So ‘Major’ or ‘sir,’ will do, Flight Officer.”

  “Well—uh, yes Major. So, Ms. Sleeman, here’s the implications of the Major’s various and decidedly dangerous inquiries. Rather than boosting for orbit, or hanging on until the very bitter end to do so, he’s suggesting we initiate a descent. Unpowered except for the secondary attitude control thrusters, I’m guessing.”

  Bannor nodded. “They use compressed gas, so no thermal signature.”

  Sleeman saw the rest. “Sure: I get it. So we’re inside the atmosphere in a landing mode when we get to the far side. Then we burn for high-altitude controlled flight, swing around the planet, land, and intercept them. Hell, we’ve already got their descent trajectory plotted to within a reasonable approach sleeve, so when we come back around the planetary horizon, we just look for their exhausts and follow them in. We won’t even have to light up our own active arrays to find them.”

  Karam leaned forward. “Yes, but all that assumes Puller holds together and that the threat force stays on their current heading.”

  “I don’t think there’s much worry about them staying on course.” Bannor hitched a thumb at the holoplot: the two blips were holding a perfectly straight line. “They are wasting no time. And if their planetary assault doctrine is anything like ours, as soon as their lead ship takes out the defense sphere that’s crossing their descent sleeve, the second ship will continue to bore in for a high-speed, high-angle descent. Then the other one will boost back out a bit and hold position to cover the assault lander’s return to orbit.”

  Karam nodded. “I agree. Sir. That’s probably SOP whenever flesh-and-fluid critters of any type decide to send a raiding team down to a planet. Been on a few of those myself. But we shouldn’t be making any easy assumptions about Puller’s ability to survive the maneuver you’re suggesting. Those belly welds won’t hold, and we’ll be so far into the descent when we reach the far-side that I’m going to have to red-line the power plants and engines to keep us from falling like a brick. Except that I wouldn’t bet a counterfeit uni on how long any of those systems will last, given our wounded coolant system. Which is all a bit of a problem, since we need to get halfway around this damn planet before landing, and somehow get you and the rest of our ground-pounders into the fight. Regarding which: on what prepared landing strip would you like me to deposit you, sir?”

  Bannor shook his head. “That’s not how it’s going to go, Flight Officer—and watch your sass. You are not landing to deploy us. Instead, you will maintain altitude, which should make it easier for you to maintain speed. At least until we’re over the drop zone.”

  Karam’s jaw sagged. “‘Drop zone?’ Are you mad—sir?”

&n
bsp; Bannor shook his head. “No; desperate. Look, Karam, we have a grand total of one operational option that gets us into the fight when, and where, we need to be. The five of us grunts do a HALO drop—”

  “A HALO drop? Bann—sir, in order to keep this hull airborne that long, I’m probably going to have to run in sprint mode.”

  Lymbery went pale. “The engines and the coolant lines will never take that. Not now.”

  “Will they suffer catastrophic failure?”

  Lymbery frowned. “Well, no—probably not.”

  “Then I will trust our flight officer, ably assisted by you, Mr. Lymbery, to land this stricken bird after we deploy.”

  Karam shook his head. “Land where? And deploy at—well, at way too high a speed. Bannor, this is suicide.”

  Rulaine leaned back, folded his arms. “The odds are that three or four of us will land and remain combat effective. The alternative is to boost away from this planet and be destroyed while our friends are hunted down like rabbits by a strike team.” He stared at them all.

  Karam looked away, mumbled, “Well, when you put it that way—”

  Sleeman stared up at Rulaine, her eyes bright, sharp. “Okay, Major; I’m in. How do I help?”

  Her bravery melted the last hints of reluctance on the faces of the other two, and Bannor thought, You just did help me, Miss Sleeman. More than you know. “Let’s get to work,” he said.

  * * *

  Caine tried to eat another bite of the food proffered to him by one of the Slaasriithi who seemed to specialized in harvesting and tending the environment: the pastorae. But Riordan’s shortness of breath made him susceptible to nausea when he tried to eat or drink anything substantial.

  Besides, while the food wasn’t exactly bad, it was very strange. The Slaasriithi seemed to have limited nest-raiding privileges with a variety of species: eggs were always on the menu as the protein component. That, and a kind of sardine paste mixed with something that tasted like peppery pickled plums, had started out as the party’s favorite, but soon became cloying. It was a strong, wholly unfamiliar taste and one for which the human palate, and stomach, seemed to have limited toleration.