Orion Fleet (Rebel Fleet Series Book 2)

by B. V. Larson

  Ten more precious minutes went by. We’d agreed to return to Hammerhead for extraction after two hours. The number had been arbitrary, but I thought it should be plenty of time.

  “I don’t get it,” I said, “the vents should be right here. They were on our scopes—you saw them yourself, Abrams.”

  “I detected something visually,” he admitted, “but you leapt to the conclusion it was an opening in the hull. What if it was only a dark streak? It could have been a mere stain on this endless vessel—a region that reflects marginally less sunlight.”

  He was right, of course. While phasing, it was rather like looking at the world from underwater. You could make out shapes and motion, but there was plenty of confusing interference that made solid identification of objects difficult.

  We continued gliding doggedly, but suddenly things changed under us. The hull shifted, opening up long trenches.

  “We’ve been seen!” Abrams cried, his voice cracking high. “Oh, how I hate you, Blake. I knew from the first you’d be the death of this crew.”

  “Shut up,” Samson said.

  “The crack—it’s artificial, and has a gentle curve to it,” Gwen said, her voice shaking a little. “Look forward, then aft. It’s like a long, even trench line that twists over the surface.”

  “I see another one, over there!” Samson said, pointing.

  We all looked, and we could see the edge of it. A mound of debris shifted in the silence of space, falling into the black dark interior of the Hunter.

  “I get it now,” I said. “This isn’t a trench, or a canal. This is an opening. It spirals around with many others—we’re looking at the grooves of a giant drill.”

  Open-mouthed, the others examined the evidence. Once you saw it, you couldn’t unsee it. The conclusion was inescapable.

  As we watched, the grooves expanded and deepened until each became a vast abyss. These channeled grooves served at the Hunter’s jaws. When attached to a victim, they madly churned entire planets down an endless gullet.

  “We must be nearing the next planet,” Abrams said. “This ship has opened its jaws, and it’s preparing to feast on yet another world.”

  No one argued with him, because we couldn’t. The situation was as obvious as it was disturbing.

  =47=

  With a twist of the controls, I sent us descending into the groove under us.

  “What are you doing?” Abrams demanded.

  “What we came here to do. I’m infiltrating this ship.”

  “You’re feeding us into the jaws of a monster!” he exclaimed. “They could close up again at any moment, or start spinning, or ram us into the planet’s crust and grind us to atoms!”

  “All true,” I admitted. “But how else do you enter the belly of a beast, Doc? The only way into a shark is through its mouth.”

  The group was wide-eyed as we descended into the trench and darkness swept over us. The interior was as black as tar. The sky above glowed with millions of stars that watched without pity. We couldn’t help but glance up at them with longing.

  We found the bottom about a mile down. It was so dark there, we had to run the pod’s external lights in order to see anything.

  What we found surprised us.

  “That’s an artificial object,” Gwen said.

  “The whole thing is artificial, Lieutenant,” Dr. Abrams said in a condescending tone.

  She glanced at him, then tapped his helmet and pointed. He looked at what she was indicating, and he frowned.

  “What have we got?” I asked them.

  “It appears to be… some kind of clothing,” Abrams said.

  We got closer, and Gwen manipulated the pod’s external arm. The object was brought close to our hull and we examined it through the pod’s transparent hull. We all peered at it in wonderment.

  “It’s a glove,” Abrams said. “A silver glove. What in God’s name is it doing down here?”

  “I’ve seen things like this before,” I said. “That’s an Imperial glove. Their military types wear such things. Get it into the pod.”

  “What?” Abrams exclaimed. “Are you mad? It might have an identifying chip, or a warning beacon—even a booby trap of some kind.”

  Samson made a rude noise with his lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Doc. No one is this kind of chicken-shit. Nobody.”

  Abrams pursed his lips tightly and said nothing.

  Gwen retrieved the glove, and we found it was bloody around its sheared-off end.

  “The hand is still inside the glove,” Gwen said. “Whatever Imperial lost it, they probably died here.”

  “You think so?” Abrams snorted sarcastically. “I still say that thing might be diseased.”

  We examined the glove closely using the pod’s instruments. Abrams led this effort, despite his complaints. He quickly found identifying marks. They amounted to a series of shapes like cubes with various parts missing. I recognized it as Imperial writing. They wrote with long sequences of geometric shapes. They reminded me of QR codes on Earth.

  We searched the region further, and found several artifacts that appeared to be from an Imperial spacecraft. That had us all scratching our heads.

  “So,” I said. “This thing has crunched up Imperials as well? It’s not just us who are playing the victims?”

  “I thought these ships were controlled by the Imperials,” Gwen said.

  “That was what Fex told us,” I said, “but Fex tells lies.”

  “Or,” Abrams said, “he possibly has no idea what the truth may be.”

  “Right…” I said, guiding the pod upward again.

  The sky looked distant, but it grew steadily as we ascended.

  “Where are we going now?” Samson asked.

  “Back to Hammerhead,” I said. “We’ll wait at the rendezvous point until she extracts us.”

  “I would rejoice,” Abrams said, “if I didn’t suspect you’ve come up with a fresh way to kill us all.”

  Gwen studied me.

  “Captain?” she asked. “We haven’t found any kind of real access to the interior. We haven’t really found anything other than the remains of an Imperial ship.”

  “Wrong,” I said, “we’ve discovered the true nature of this Hunter.”

  Abrams rolled his eyes at me. “Such thin evidence. You leap to unsound conclusions, Blake. It’s your greatest failing among many.”

  I turned to him. “What’s your theory, then? Why did we find this Hunter has been chewing up Imperials just like it’s been chewing up our planets?”

  “You’re saying these Hunters aren’t controlled by the Imperials. That’s why they’ve been keeping their distance—not to control, but to observe a dangerous enemy.”

  “It seems clear to me,” I said.

  “But why aren’t the Hunters attacking the Imperial ships then?” Gwen asked. “This machine should have attacked their cruiser—it would have attacked one of ours.”

  I pointed a finger at her. “Right. That’s what interests me now. This Hunter will destroy whichever enemy ship comes near. Methodically destroying entire star systems from the outside inward… But it’s ignoring their cruiser—why?”

  “That part is obvious,” Abrams said. “They must be giving off some kind of signal. Some kind of friend-or-foe blip the Imperials have managed to imitate—that is, if your theory is correct in the first place.”

  Samson narrowed his eyes and stared up at the stars above us. “Rat-fuckers,” he said.

  “What’s that?” Abrams asked.

  “Rat-fuckers. That’s what they are. They have tech that could save our worlds, but they don’t care enough to give it to us. Instead, they follow around at a safe distance, watching the show.”

  None of us answered him, because he could well be right. The Imperial Kher were not known for their compassion.

  We used the last of the pod’s propellant to rise above the Hunter and drift at a safe altitude. At last, space around us seemed to waver.

  �
�Hammerhead is close,” I said. “Hold on.”

  We plunged into a warped region, and we vanished from normal space. We soon came to synchronize our phasing with theirs—or rather, to be consumed by the phasing region Hammerhead was generating around her hull.

  After a few more minutes, we were aboard our ship and climbing stiffly out of the pod. Its interior had been beyond cramped, and we were left to stretch out on the decks with tingling limbs.

  Taking the specimen box with the silver glove we’d found, I walked up to the bridge and joined my crew.

  Miller got up stiffly. “Good to see you again, Blake,” he said.

  Terms like “captain” and “sir” were gone. I decided to let it slide this time. Perhaps he’d had his heart set on us never returning. In that case, it was enough just to disappoint him.

  We left the Hunter behind, and when we were at a safe distance, we applied maximum thrust.

  “Dalton, take us to that next planet. Zero in on that cruiser and fly right at her.”

  He glanced at me appreciatively. “We going to war, Captain?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “All right then. We’ll give those posh bastards something to think about before we’re brought down.”

  I glanced at him, but I said nothing. My mind was whirling, thinking about the implications of what we’d learned.

  “Gwen, take the watch,” I said, and I left the bridge.

  When I found Abrams, he was in his lab hard at work. He had a few assistants with him that were listening to incoming signals. They all had headsets on, and they were studying displays of what looked like waveforms.

  “What have you figured out, Abrams?” I asked.

  “I’m not quite sure what you’re—”

  “Cut the shit,” I said. “You’re trying to analyze everything that ship is sending out. What have you found?”

  Abrams frowned, and he indicated his instrumentation. “Nothing in the normal emissions bands. No radiation. No radio. No lasers or energy releases… I’m intrigued.”

  “What could it be, then?”

  “I think it might be gravity,” he said, spinning around his chair toward me.

  “Gravity?” I asked. “Like our anti-gravity technology?”

  “Yes. The Imperial ship is giving off gravity signatures. That’s nothing unusual, but the strange part is they’re variable.”

  “Explain.”

  He crossed his arms and took on a superior air. “Do you promise to give me credit this time?”

  “I’ll engrave a plaque with your name on it,” I said. “Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, if you think about it, one of the most consistent measurable constants in the universe is the gravitational influence of a nearby body. As long as you stay at the same distance from it, it will register as a flat line on any chart.”

  “Right…” I said, looking around his lab. It wasn’t very big, no more than seven steps from wall to wall. “What’s the Imperial ship doing?”

  “Its altering its gravitational influence—constantly changing what should be a steady signal.”

  “What do you need to verify this theory?” I asked.

  “We need to come back into phase. I need to measure them in the clear.”

  “Done.”

  I contacted the bridge and ordered Miller to phase-in. He did so after giving me a list of problems with the idea, which I completely ignored.

  The moment we were in open space again, Abrams was using his instruments to get a reading on the enemy warship. It was indeed fluctuating in gravitational influence.

  “Ah yes,” Abrams said, “I even impress myself sometimes. The cruiser is shrinking and growing—in a gravitational sense—every few seconds. It varies between the size of a ship and the size of the Hunter itself.”

  “Interesting…” I said. “Does that confuse the Hunter? Or give it a secret signal not to attack?”

  “Difficult to know.”

  “Can we do the same thing?”

  “We can. We were given a gravitational subsystem by the Rebel Kher to improve our ship’s performance, remember?”

  “I do indeed. Monitor her pull for a few more minutes. When you have a good signature, we’ll phase out again. When we phase back in, I want you to have altered our anti-grav equipment, so that it imitates the Imperial ship. Can you do that?”

  “Don’t doubt me.”

  I left him to his work, and I went to the ship’s officer’s lounge. It was a small affair, with barely enough room for six around a table. It also doubled as our conference room when necessary.

  The bar was strictly self-serve. I poured myself a double and sipped it, thinking about what all this meant.

  Quite possibly, I’d found the key to our dilemma. But I was going to have to be sly about it. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  =48=

  Abrams worked all night to get the signal pattern isolated. When he contacted me at last, I was stretched out on my bunk.

  Awakening with a snort, I sensed a tickling in my brain. My arm was pinned down, so I blearily attempted to move it.

  When I did so, Robin rolled off my arm and onto the deck. She scrambled up with a squawking sound. She blinked at me accusingly.

  “What the hell?” she asked. “You’re kicking me out of bed at 5 am?”

  “Oh… sorry.”

  The truth was I’d forgotten I’d gone to bed with her last night. I’d had a few, then she’d found me, and one thing had led to another.

  Our bunks aboard the phase-ship were anything but roomy. She’d been lying in a tangle of limbs on her side, all snuggled up against me.

  “Sorry?” she demanded. “That’s it?”

  “I’ve got Abrams buzzing my brain,” I explained. “He startled me awake. Sorry.”

  She wrapped a sheet around her breasts and began rummaging for her clothing.

  “Sorry…” she grumbled.

  In the meantime, Abrams was talking to me about technical details. He seemed excited. “It was a complex sequence that was simple to reproduce in the end. Based on a Fibonacci number sequence—a common occurrence in nature and science—the gravitational variances were subtle, but distinct.”

  “That’s great, Doc,” I said. “Have you got the formula or not?”

  “I’ve said as much. Are you distracted, Blake?”

  I watched Robin pulling on her pants. Her butt lifted up as she squeezed herself into the pants and tapped the cinching pressure-spot. Damn, she liked to keep her clothes tight. She must be doing that on purpose.

  “Yes, I’m distracted right now, Doc. I’ll get down to your lab as soon as I’m awake.”

  “Very well. I’ll hook up an easy trigger you can toggle from the bridge.”

  “Have you tested any of this yet?”

  “Of course not. I must have your approval first.”

  I thought about telling him to test it on his own. That would give me an hour, maybe, to make up with Robin. But in the end, I had to reject the idea.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll get to the bridge and contact you.”

  Disconnecting from Abrams, I reached out and tried to loop my arm around Robin’s waist. I planned to pull her back into my lap, but she danced away.

  “No way,” she said. “That’s not happening. I’ve been an idiot.”

  “Come on, Robin...”

  “You threw me out of bed, Leo!” she complained.

  “I was sleeping.”

  “Did you even remember I was in bed with you?”

  She had that look in her eye. A suspicious stare that studied my reactions. She was like a lie-detector, this girl. Most people I could tell whatever I wanted—but not Robin. She was an investigative reporter and an accomplished liar in her own right.

  “Come on,” I said again.

  “That’s what I thought!”

  She grabbed her stuff and left. I sighed and took a shower. Maybe it was for the best if we took a break. It was hard
enough running a starship without being worried about a girlfriend.

  And she’d been growing into more than just a casual fling lately. It had happened almost without my noticing. Whenever I was vulnerable—which was pretty much all the time when it came to her sweet face—she waltzed in and took advantage.

  For some reason, her angry departure made me irritable. Usually, I was a guy who could let women come and go as they pleased. There were always more fish in the sea, as they say.

  But this time I dressed and stalked the passages. A few early-risers and late-watch people made pleasant comments, to which I grunted in return.

  I found Robin on the mid-deck, having a shower in the public chamber. She’d skipped bathing in my cabin. Standing in the doorway, I eyed her for a few seconds before speaking up.

  “What’s a man supposed to do when an interesting lady like you comes along?” I asked loudly.

  She squeaked and spun around.

  “How long have you been staring at me?”

  “I just got here.”

  She compressed her lips into a thin line.

  “Lies,” she said. “That’s the problem with you, Blake. You lie, lie, lie! That’s all you do!”

  This attack took me by surprise. In response, I shed my clothing and walked into the shower chamber with her. There were eight showerheads, and they detected bodies automatically. Normally, the crew for any given shift showered together as a group. They weren’t given all day to do it, however. The water cut out about eight minutes after you entered, whether you wanted it to or not. You could get around this, of course, by moving to a different showerhead and tripping its sensors.

  “I don’t want you in here,” Robin said.

  “It’s a public space, and I need a shower after spending the night with you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You want me to scrub your back? You’re missing a spot.”

  She glared at me for a second, then turned around. I rubbed soap on her back, and she let me do it.

  “You’re impossible, Blake,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone who’s as full of shit on a daily basis as you are.”

  I rolled my eyes and almost managed to keep quiet. Robin was, without a doubt, the slipperiest eel of a woman I’d ever met.