The crew had all been in their combat uniforms, light environmental suits, and strapped into their work stations when the beam hulled the ship and took their captain. Even so, two assistants and the second in command were sucked out the hole in the bomb-like explosive decompression. With the chief engineer, Aleksander Kosmalski, already dead from an earlier hit, Commander Lawrence Kosmalski, 4th officer, had suddenly found himself in command of EMS John III Sobieski and her surviving 67 souls.
When the beam carved through John III Sobieski, killing her senior commanders and temporarily crippling its command and control, the Schleect-class frigate had lost all control and begun an uncontrolled rolling and yawing spin through space. The crew were thrown around and panicked. For all intents and purposes, the ship looked dead. The remainder of their fleet didn’t wait for them; they continued their mad flight toward the stargate. And that had saved their lives. The enemy cruiser immediately went after the higher priority targets, giving John III Sobieski an agonizing 20 minutes to regain reaction control. Still moving at several dozen kilometers per second, it had drifted far out of the combat zone.
Damage control managed to slap patches on the bulkheads and restore atmospheric pressure to the ship. Lawrence helped repair vital systems, all the while trying to forget how many had just died. He couldn’t get the memory of those moments with Denise out of his mind, and the guilt about Amelia back on Earth burned right alongside. Now, despite all their work, the only functional fusion plant was a loss. Six hours was no more useful than six minutes.
They could probably reach the system’s stargate in well under that time, even with a single fusion torch. But even if he could fight their way through the enemy highguard which would no doubt be waiting for them and survive to make a transition to hyperspace, he couldn’t power the hyperspace generators for the 170 hours required. He tapped at his slate, linked with the ship’s main computer, which was remarkably untouched, and it informed him the batteries were 70% intact, and could provide power to the hyperspace generators for a maximum of fourteen hours. That was only about 150 hours short. He let the computer go, and it floated next to him.
“Sensors are coming back online!”
Lawrence perked up, at least that was some good news. “Let’s have a situation report,” he said. For the last hour, they’d been almost blind. Several crewmembers were manning antiquated telescopes taking visual readings on the stars trying to get a fix on their location, direction of travel, or even velocity. With sensors back up, it only took the junior surviving navigator a minute to fix their position.
“We’re just under two light minutes from the stargate,” the female officer announced. The CIC’s only remaining operational Tri-V came alive with a flickering image of the star system. The primary star was in the center, with each planet and its orbit around said star lit up in blue lines. A glowing white ring represented the stargate in its LaGrange point. Then a tiny green arrow appeared, and the view zoomed in closer. Their direction of travel and path behind them came alive with a dotted blue line, followed close behind by a series of red dots ahead.
“What are those?” he asked the sensor tech. “Ships?”
“No sir,” the sensor tech replied, “asteroids. I’m not picking up any other friendlies in the system. We’re approaching an asteroid field.”
“Any danger of collision?”
“We have a high probability of hitting one,” the navigator confirmed. The computer extrapolated their path. The flashing blue line intersected with one of the red dots. Not good.
“Ensign Biggs,” he called over the radio, “I’m going to need propulsion!”
“I can give you maneuvering engines only,” Biggs replied right away. “There is no way I can light the fusion torch. With the condition the power plant is in, it would blow for sure.”
“That will have to do,” Lawrence said, “ASAP Mr. Biggs.” The damage control coordinator said he’d have it in five minutes. Lawrence turned to the navigator. “Can you get us out of that rock’s path?”
“Yes sir,” the navigator confirmed. “But avoiding it any direction puts us into conflict with other rocks. It’s a surprisingly dense field.” Lawrence grunted. The asteroid belt back in Earth’s system was so dispersed that most of the rocks were thousands of miles apart. What kind of crazy field was this? It sounded like a bad Sci-Fi movie.
“I need options,” he told her, “and with what we have available.”
“I’m working it, sir,” she said, and her fingers danced on the touch plate controls. After a moment, she spoke again. “I have a plan,” she announced.
“Power in one minute,” Biggs said.
“Prepare for thrust,” Lawrence informed his helmsman, then told the navigator to explain.
“Well, we can give it a push first this way,” the screen showed the ship in larger scale. The miniature John III Sobieski looked perfect—nothing like it surely appeared now. Its tail flashed and the course altered to just barely miss the asteroid in their path. “And then we push this way.” As the John III Sobieski slid by the first asteroid, it flipped and thrust in a different direction. It looked like they were going to hit a second rock.
“This doesn’t seem like a solution,” Lawrence said.
“Wait for it, sir.” The simulation continued until John III Sobieski was only a few hundred miles from the second asteroid, at which point it thrust again. The John III Sobieski skimmed the surface of the second asteroid, and whipped around it in a tight elliptical orbit. The John III Sobieski thrust again, and the orbit settled in. The tiny graphical representation of their ship was swirling benignly around the asteroid over and over.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Lawrence said. The navigator beamed. “You sure about this?”
“Yes sir, if the readings on the asteroid mass and composition are good. We’ll have to fine tune it once we reach the last rock, but no problem.”
“Maneuvering drive is hot!” Biggs called. “But for the love of Jesus, don’t push it too hard!”
Seconds ticked by as Lawrence watched the plot, all the while grinding his teeth together. Home, he thought; was that even possible now? Putting them into orbit around the asteroid effectively marooned them. They’d give up their precious velocity and have no chance of reaching the stargate. But in their current condition, that wasn’t going to happen anyway. At least they’d have a temporary safe harbor and could maybe affect some repairs. He decided.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
* * * * *
Winged Hussars - 11
Lawrence floated in the CIC and took one last look around. Biggs said he’d be cutting power from the reactor in five minutes. Although he’d originally said the reactor would only be good for six hours, he’d managed to nurse it for two days. That was enough time to ready the shuttles for use as lifeboats. It was lucky that neither of the shuttles had been damaged in combat. He plucked the headset from where it was floating and put it on.
“Attention all hands,” he said, “this is the captain.” It still didn’t sound right coming out of his mouth. “Main power will be cut in five minutes. Report to your assigned shuttle immediately.” He paused for a moment, reaching out and touching the scarred and blood-splattered wall of the CIC. “Abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship.” He took off the headset and left the EMS John III Sobieski’s CIC forever.
The shuttles were multipurpose vehicles, made for cargo, crew, or both. They only had twenty seats in addition to two for pilot and copilot. Thirty-three were allocated to each shuttle. One of the injured had died since they’d fallen into orbit around the asteroid someone had nicknamed Anchorage. With eleven people having nowhere to strap in, and every square inch of the vessels crammed with anything useful, the pilots were going to have to maneuver extremely carefully to avoid injuring anyone.
Lawrence floated by the door to shuttle #1 and waited. After a few moments, the lights went out in the docking collar, indicating power was cut. They had decided to let the reactor
s go cold because, if they had been allowed to overload and explode, or even flash, it might have sent a signal to any remaining enemy ships in the system. Stealth was their only defense. That and some firearms from the ship’s tiny weapons locker. Biggs floated into the docking collar.
“The ship is secure, sir,” the man said. Lawrence nodded and gestured to the shuttle.
“Get aboard,” he said, and the other man floated past without comment, leaving Lawrence alone to pull the hatch closed, ceiling it as if a tomb. Inside the shuttle he found the navigator. “You’ve confirmed the orbit?”
“Yes captain,” he said, “EMS John III Sobieski will impact Anchorage in eleven days, maybe twelve.” Lawrence nodded and went to his seat, just behind the cockpit. With the ship powered down, it would be a mostly quiet death for EMS John III Sobieski.
“Pilot, let’s go,” he ordered. “Rendezvous with shuttle #2.” It gave him some time to think. They had enough food and life support in the shuttles for a month. Two months, if they stretched it. There just wasn’t anywhere to go. The Z’tha star system had exactly one planet that could support Human life, and it was now occupied by non-friendly forces. Lawrence knew from studying the manuals on warfare that mercenary units didn’t have much concern for slaughtering other units, unless there was the potential of ransom payments. The Winged Hussars, now bereft of even a ship, had nothing with which to pay ransom.
Ever since they’d made orbit around Anchorage, Lawrence had been mulling over his options for the crew. They could make the stargate without a problem, but the shuttles weren’t capable of hyperspace travel. They could wait for a civilian transport to come through the system and try to get a ride. The problem would be making contact without tipping their hand. Subtle sensor sweeps showed there were ships in highguard at the stargate and a defensive screen at the planet. However, no one seemed to be watching the emergence point. Since ships had arrived in-system several times to bolster the defenses, that didn’t surprise Lawrence. It would take an overwhelming force to retake the Z’tha system at this point.
Eventually, they matched orbits with shuttle #2, and he had to decide. Since surrendering was liable to be a less-than-viable option, especially since he had no clue what race controlled the system now, and many weren’t known to be gentle, he decided that waiting and hoping for a private ride was the best option.
“Pilot,” he said through the cockpit door. The man glanced back at him, and the copilot looked back as well, concern in her eyes. “Set course for the vicinity of the system’s emergence point. Tell shuttle #2 to follow a parallel course more than 100 kilometers away from us. Once you have us up to a decent speed, coast to reduce the chance of being spotted.”
“Understood,” the pilot said. He nodded to the copilot, and they began relaying the orders to the other shuttle.
* * *
The flightpath was a leisurely one. It would take nine days to get clear of the asteroid field. Anyone looking in their direction would think the two shuttles were just asteroids moving about. Sensors showed a lot of the asteroids had a high iron content, and that worked in the survivors’ favor.
They were four days into the flight when the pilot came back to see Lawrence in the passenger compartment. They’d put up some blankets, stringing them like trampolines to give a few areas of privacy for crew when then needed it. It wasn’t easy cramming 33 people into less than 800 cubic meters, especially for weeks on end. Add low rations and little real hope of ever going home, and the stress levels were high. Lawrence was using elastic straps to work out against a bulkhead. Extended time in zero gravity was hard on the Human body.
“Captain, I have something interesting.” The pilot came to a stop and held out a slate.
Lawrence carefully unfolded himself from the straps and toweled sweat from his face with his shirt before reaching for the computer. He examined the data, moving pages back and forth with a finger on the touch sensitive plastic, then looked up at the pilot who was grinning.
“Are you certain of these readings?”
“Yes sir,” the man said. “They were confirmed by shuttle #2 via laser link.”
Lawrence looked down again. If what this said was true, there was another ship in their path. They’d thought it was just an asteroid, but as they got closer and could use low power radar mapping, it had proven to be a non-organic shape. Nature didn’t make elongated cigars two hundred meters long that returned crisp images.
“It’s not an ambush?”
“We don’t think so,” the man said. “It’s tumbling. If it’s an ambush, its crew is going to get the award for the best maskirovka ever.” Lawrence grinned; the pilot’s Russian side was showing.
“Any energy readings?” The man reached over and touched an icon on the slate. Another series of readings appeared. Yes, there was energy, a very tiny amount that could have been from anything…except a fusion plant, unless it was masked incredibly well. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to make up his mind.
“Plan an intercept course.”
Lawrence took advantage of command privilege and assumed the copilot’s seat as they approached the ship. The low power radar gradually built a better image as they neared. It was big alright. At first, he’d thought the sensor data was wrong. It wasn’t. Nearly two hundred meters long, twenty-five meters wide, and shaped like a cigar. It had to weigh 80,000 tons! There continued to be a tiny amount of energy leakage. If you weren’t looking right at it, you’d never notice.
The time to either pass by or slow came, and Lawrence gave the order to slow. The shuttle flipped over so its exhaust was facing the slowly spinning ship and fired its engines. If it wasn’t a derelict, now would be when they found out. The seconds ticked by, and nothing happened except their velocity fell off relative to the ship. Lawrence breathed again.
The two shuttles came to a stop only a few meters away from the ship. The pilot opened the shutters on the viewscreens and, with the aid of a pair of spotlights, they were able to see the ship for the first time. It looked both old and magnificent. Its lines spoke of a grace the EMS John III Sobieski hadn’t possessed, and yet somehow, it also said it meant business.
“Look at its nose,” he said to the pilot and pointed. The pilot aimed the camera at it, and an enhanced image appeared. The nose didn’t come to a point, or even a rounded end. It looked like it had an iris-leafed doorway of some kind. “Docking ring?” he asked.
“That’s got to be three meters across,” the pilot said. “That’s one huge door!”
They floated for a time and examined the huge ship. The welds along its hull were solid, and the material looked substantial. The flight crew noted damage here and there. Burns along the hull, melted hull plates, and even places where repairs had been made.
“That’s a warship,” Lawrence said, pointing. They’d gotten close enough to the cruisers in their squadron to see their heavier armaments. Those included laser arrays and directional missile launchers. EMS John III Sobieski’s missiles were launched directly from tubes along her hull, which was common in small ships. The vessel they were alongside had directional launchers and numerous laser arrays.
“I think you’re right, captain,” the pilot agreed. “What do we do?”
“It looks intact,” the copilot said, floating in the doorway of the cockpit. Lawrence looked back at the other man and thought, I wonder if we can get aboard?
“We could try and board,” the pilot suggested, echoing Lawrence’s thoughts. “We have a dozen space suits between the two shuttles.”
“I need to consider the crew’s safety,” Lawrence said. “That’s a pretty easy ship to spot if someone is looking.”
“It’s been here a long time,” the pilot said. As if to emphasize his point, one of the shuttle’s maneuvering jets fired to maintain stability and the defused gas blew a halo of dust off the big ship’s side. “A really long time.” Lawrence looked back into the rear where 33 crew waited for him to decide what to do. Getting people into sui
ts and through the tiny shuttle airlock would be difficult.
Ultimately, it was the realization that getting home was going to be even more difficult.
“Let’s see if we can get aboard.”
* * * * *
Winged Hussars - 12
“It’s messy, but nothing is ruined that I can tell!” Lawrence had to listen to the radio carefully. Biggs was transmitting from over 100 meters aft, through many steel decks and equipment. The transmission was weak, but intelligible. “It looks like it has three fusion reactors. We’re evaluating the engineering control systems. Give us another hour.”
“Roger that,” Lawrence said and turned back to the three men who were with him. They’d reached the center of the ship and found what had to be the CIC, a huge steel chamber with rotating, lockable blast doors. Unfortunately, they were rotated and locked. “Any luck?” he asked the men.
“No sir,” replied the pilot from his shuttle. Lawrence thought his name was Kochek.
“It’s got to weigh a ton, sir,” Kochek replied. Lawrence could just see his head shaking back and forth inside his spacesuit helmet.
“Captain!” another man called. “I found another one.” Lawrence floated over to the side passage. The man’s suit lights illuminated a dead alien. It had four arms, was humanoid, and was over two meters tall. It was desiccated, and its limbs were contorted in death. Probably died in vacuum, Lawrence thought. There was damage to some of the doors and hallways. Maybe a battle inside? Suddenly the lights came on.
“Son of a bitch!” Lawrence swore, reaching up to slide his visor down over his face. “Biggs, was that you?”
“Yes sir!” he replied. “You’re not going to believe this, but one of the fusion reactors is coming online.”
Alpha Contracts Page 22