Not that any of that would help them if the shuttle wrecked. At the speeds they were flying, they’d never know what happened. Which was probably, Mendoza mused, for the best.
The heads-up display flickered a series of warnings that Ortiz hastily dismissed with the tap of a control, clearing the screen to show the terrain rolling out before them. The Tyrants still had a sensor lock, but as they dipped down below the surface, it winked out. Evidently, they hadn’t expected the shuttle to attempt this trick either.
Volkov’s gloomy prediction started to turn into reality as the white-hot engines and the residual heat from their passage through the atmosphere sent clouds of steam rising all around them, chunks of eons-old ice falling into the abyss below. Any hope of stealth was lost, every detector on the planet easily able to spot their approach, but Ortiz pushed ahead anyway, weaving between the crevasses, trying to take an unpredictable route to their goal, periodically glancing at the images they had taken during their landing, the nearest thing they had to a map.
“Hundred and fifty miles to go,” he reported. “As the crow files, anyway. Maybe more like five hundred the way we’re doing it. You’ve got about two minutes to work out what to do next.”
“They’ll throw everything they’ve got at us,” Volkov warned. “Even if we try and abort, it’ll just make it easier for them to shoot us in the back.”
“Maybe,” Mendoza said. “Maybe not.”
“What have you got in mind, ma’am?” Singh asked.
“I think I know how we can get in. And take out that installation at the same time. Specialist, did you get any high-resolution shots of the base?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did, but…”
“And do you think you can work out just where the heart of the enemy installation is? The location of the control nexus for their network?”
“I think so. There’s only one building with that sort of output.”
“Perfect. That’s our target.”
Volkov turned to her as the shuttle skimmed past an icefall, and said, “I hate to be the one to break this to you, ma’am, but this shuttle doesn’t have any guns on it, and unless they fitted them when I wasn’t paying attention, we don’t have any bombs or missiles either.”
“You’re wrong about that,” she replied. “We’ve got a missile. Just one. This shuttle. We set up for a direct strike, rig the fuel and oxygen tanks to detonate at the right second, and slam into it like a knife through butter. We won’t even need that much. With the heat our thrusters are putting out, we’ll do a hell of a lot of damage just flying over it. Melt the foundations of that damned building right out from under them.” She looked around the cramped cabin, and said, “It’s got to be worth a try, people.”
“And what about us?” Volkov asked. “We’re dead if we do this.”
“I don’t do suicide missions any more than you do, Specialist,” she replied with a wry smile. “That’s not on the table either. Try this for size. The atmosphere out there is just about thick enough that our escape parachutes will work, especially if we fire our suit jets just before landing. That’s how we get out of this in one piece.”
“If it works,” Singh mused, “then we will have accomplished pretty much every part of our mission. The enemy base will be disabled, but we’ll have left enough intact that we should be able to work out what they were looking for, and almost all of the enemy seem to be inside that building. Probably for protection against the cold. We might just be able to secure the entire planet with one strike.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Volkov asked.
“Then it becomes someone else’s problem, and we don’t have to worry about it,” she said. “Suits on, everyone. Nick, set the shuttle up for the maneuver. I don’t want any heroics here. They aren’t going to be necessary today. Just point the nose at the shuttle and let her fly. Even if they manage to get a few missile hits in, as long as something smashes into that base, we’ll have done enough.”
With a frown, Ortiz replied, “I hate to leave the old girl.”
“No options, Nick,” she said. “Let’s get moving. Volkov, Singh, you go first. Once you hit the surface, hole up for a few minutes until the explosion, then move cautiously forward to take a look. Don’t attempt any communication with anyone until you are sure that it is safe to do so. The enemy are a lot closer to us than any potential rescuer, and I really don’t want to make it too easy to capture us. You’ll have enough endurance in your suits to stay out on the surface for sixty hours, longer if you can manage to burn some more oxygen out of the ice.”
“Sixty hours,” Singh said, tugging on his spacesuit.
“If the enemy are still in force, that’s enough time for you to get to some sort of safety and signal for help. Our people control orbital space, and they’ll do anything necessary to get you to safety. On your way.” Volkov and Singh looked at each other, visually checking that their suits were intact, and with a survival kit each, they stepped into the airlock, cycling quickly through the locks, thrown clear of the shuttle.
“We’re next, Nick,” she replied, tugging on her suit. “Hurry up and get yourself dressed.” She looked over at the controls, and said, “This is no time for heroics. Set up the automatic course and get out of here.”
“I’m having trouble,” he said.
“The systems are working fine. You’ve just got a martyr complex, and I’m not going to tolerate it.” She reached for her sidearm, and said, “You are leaving this ship, Petty Officer Ortiz. One way or another. If I have to knock you out with a sedative and toss you out in a rescue ball, your odds of survival are considerably reduced, but if that’s the only way I can force you to obey my orders, then I guess that’s just what I’m going to have to do.”
He sighed, nodded, and rose from his couch, saying, “I just don’t like to leave my ship behind. Especially like this.”
“Not your call,” she said. He looked at her, nodded, and reached for his suit, watching as she finished donning hers, locking her helmet into position and strapping on her parachute. The two of them stepped towards the airlock, Ortiz pausing for a second on the threshold. She reached for an emergency control, but before she could reach it, Ortiz pushed her in the small of the back, sending her skidding forward, the hatch slamming shut behind her.
“Damn it, Nick, you…” she began.
Before she could make another move, the outer hatch opened, before she’d had a chance to drain the atmosphere. There was air outside, but the pressure differential was more than sufficient to toss her clear of the shuttle, sending her spinning away into the cold wasteland beyond. She turned to see the departing ship, rising on its thrusters, beginning its final flight.
“Get out, Nick, now. That’s an order,” she said.
“Not a chance,” he replied. “I know this ship, and I know the autopilot, and it just isn’t up to what you are asking it to do. It’s going to take some careful flying if I’m going to make it down to the deck in one piece, and if they throw as much hardware up at me as I’m expecting, it will be hard enough for me to pick my way through. Don’t worry, Ronnie. I knew this was a risk, going in, and when you suggested this attack, I knew that I was going to have to be the one to execute it. I’m fine with this. Really.”
Taking a deep breath, Mendoza asked, “Is there no other way?”
“None. Now shut down your communicator. They’ll track you, and I don’t have time for a conversation anyway. I’m going to be visible any second now, and I have the distinct impression that our friends on the surface are working on an appropriate reception for me. Good luck. Shuttle out.”
Shaking her head, a tear dropping from her eye, Mendoza looked down at the surface, approaching fast, less than three thousand feet to go before reaching the bottom of the crack. The surface was melted, slick, deep pools of water everywhere with superheated steam rising all around her. A nightmarish hellscape upon which to set foot, but with the benefit that at least it would shield her from detection. She tugg
ed her chute open, the vast canopy high above her, then settled down into the straps, trying to navigate her way to safety.
She’d never done this before. Not for real. During her flight training, she’d simulated a parachute landing a few times, but it had only been an optional part of the civilian course, and had felt far more like a game than anything she had ever actually expected to do. The concept of landing on a world with an atmosphere using a parachute was a million-to-one chance, but right now, she was beating those odds, and that game had become harsh reality.
She tugged at the straps again, spilling some air in an attempt to get clear of the worst of the destruction below. The ground had been melted smooth at least, no jagged, icy peaks waiting to tear her spacesuit to shreds upon the landing, but that was about the only advantage she had. Her visibility started to fade as she slid into the steam, though the thermals also gave her a slight boost, sending her skimming to the side on the unaccustomed current.
A thousand feet to go. She reached for her thruster controls, trying to manage her descent, watching the speed slowly trickle away. The air was thick enough to slow her, but not enough. If there was the prospect of easy rescue, she might have opted to risk it, but under the circumstances, she had to come down to a safe landing, no matter what it took.
Five hundred feet to go. The steam was dissipating now, the temperature falling again, the shuttle’s mighty engines only having the most superficial effect on the rippled surface. The surface water was freezing over again, slick ice underneath her, the least of her problems at the moment. On either side, the mighty canyon walls rose, blocking any potential line of sight, shielding her from detection.
A hundred feet. She detached her parachute with the tap of a control, then fired her thrusters for the final descent, slowing down, down, down, her legs bent to absorb the force of the impact. Warning lights flickered on her heads-up display, the designers of her suit belatedly alerting her to the danger she was facing, but there was nothing she could do about it now.
She touched down into a puddle of water, her suit jets melting the ice once more. Her feet slipped out from underneath her on the slick surface, and she fell back, struggling to cushion her landing, before finally settling down. She’d made it. Somehow, she’d made it.
Then she felt a rumble on the surface, a tremor that heralded a distant explosion.
He’d done it. Ortiz had done it.
Now she had to make sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.
Chapter 8
Winter sat in his office, pouring over the reports flooding in from the fleet in the wake of the recent battle. The fighting had gone far better than they had any right to expect, and the words of Bianchi as they finished off the enemy fleet were still ringing in his ears. It had been too easy. Far too easy. They shouldn’t have been able to take down the enemy fleet at such a limited cost. Shaking his head, he looked at the last of the damage reports from the lower decks, and dropped the tablet onto the desk. There was a knock on the door, and grateful for the intrusion, he reached for a control to open it.
Morgan walked inside, and said, “News from the surface.”
“Have you made contact with Mendoza?” Winter asked.
“No, and we’re not going to, either,” he replied. “It looks as though she decided to follow the same plan you came up with. As far as we can tell, she slammed her shuttle right down into the middle of the enemy base, taking out their local network. We’re not picking up any activity down there, nothing at all.” Taking a seat, he added, “The storms are getting bad again, though. We could easily be missing a few signatures.”
“Could they have survived?”
“Not if they were still in the shuttle at the end, but they might have been able to get clear with the escape systems, I suppose. Anything is possible.” He paused, then added, “My money is on Mendoza getting clear. Our interpretation of the data suggests that someone was probably at the controls, but there were four people in that shuttle. Three of them could have got out. Though whether they were able to survive that is another question entirely. I wouldn’t want to try it.”
“Can we get a shuttle down there, take a look?”
“I’d advise against that until the weather clears up a little. I’m not sanguine about the idea of a shuttle getting through all of that muck at the best of times, but if they have to go up against some surface-to-air rockets…”
Nodding, Winter said, “They might not even know anything about it until it was all over, if the conditions are as bad as that. Have we got any idea how long it’ll be before it blows out?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, skipper. We don’t have the right sort of scientists on board, and our sensor systems aren’t really designed for work like that. Not on a planetary surface. I’d guess that we might have better news in the morning, but that’s all it is. A guess.”
“Then we just sit up here and wait?” Winter asked.
“Unless you’ve got something better to do. Moore’s team is out on the hull patching up the battle damage, and they’re going to take at least six hours to do a thorough job.” He paused, then said, “Bianchi’s sent in the first of her results. Want to know what she found?”
“Far less biomass than would ordinarily have been expected, suggesting that those ships were undermanned. Evidence that they had inferior weapons systems, older designs, or perhaps those that have suffered some interior damage?”
“Not bad, though I think you are anticipating the results just a little. You think this was bait, don’t you?”
“Just as I’m fairly sure that we’re going to have a surprisingly easy time finding a way deeper into their territory. They’ve decided that the best way to finish off this fleet is to draw them in. It makes sense from their point of view. They don’t know what sort of strength we’ve got, and they don’t know where we’ve deployed our ships. If we found a path directly into the heart of their territory, then logically, what would we do?”
“Bring everything we’ve got and go for the jugular,” Morgan said. “Which is precisely what we’re doing, I suppose. Christ, it makes too much sense.” Rubbing his chin, he added, “What’s the alternative, though?”
“Now that is the question, isn’t it,” Winter replied. “And damn it all, I can’t think of one. I’m hoping that we find something on the surface that might give us some sort of a lead, but as it stands, I can’t see what it might be. What about the rest of the system? Have we completed our sweep?”
“On a preliminary basis, but I think we’ve got everything we might want.” He pulled a tablet out of his pocket and put it on the desk. “There are monitoring satellites around three of the other planets in the system, but as far as we can tell they’re just navigational beacons, maybe some emergency supplies. They’ve been in position for a long time. Decades, maybe longer. No sign of any visits to any other planets in the system, at least nothing that left behind any sort of a trace.”
“The gas giant?”
“No moons, one monitoring satellite. There’s a big, big storm in the southern polar region, one of the largest ever detected in a gas giant, but there’s nothing much more than that to say about it. I’d say everything is pretty much as it currently appears to be. A system with one installation.”
“And what are they looking for?” he asked.
“They’re cracking through the ice,” Morgan replied.
“Sure, I get that, but why are they doing it?” Winter said. “What’s the point? There are ice worlds all over the galaxy. What’s special about this one?”
“Genetic harvesting, maybe? Trying to extract extremophile DNA?”
“Possibly, but it’s a lot of effort when they ought to be focusing entirely on us. They’re single-minded, Joe. The only goal they’ve got is to capture Earth and bring the entirely of the human race under their control.” He paused, then added, “Maybe we need to take another step back and ask a question we haven’t tackled yet. Why?”
“Why?”
<
br /> “Why do they want to conquer Earth? What’s the point? We’re no threat to them, especially now, and with the military strength they’ve got at their disposal, there’s no way we would have ever sought a war with them. Hell, they could have spent the next century slowly infiltrating their people into our government, and as long as they weren’t careless, there wasn’t really anything much we could have done to stop them. We’d just all wake up one morning to find ourselves a conquered race, and that would have been the end of that.”
“So why start a war at all?” Morgan asked. “What’s the rush?”
“And what is the motivation? Do they need warm bodies for some reason? I’d have thought that a technology this advanced could have done a hell of a lot more automation than they have. Could there be something else they are looking for? Or something they’re afraid that we’re going to find?”
“We’ve got the numbers and the industrial base,” Morgan said. “I honestly just assumed that they decided to launch their attack while they still had a technological advantage.”
“That’s an obvious answer, and I wonder if it perhaps isn’t a little too obvious. They could have dealt with that as well, surely. If they’ve managed to work their people deep into our key political-military institutions, then why not the universities as well? They could funnel research into safe areas, make sure that we don’t make any advances along lines that might threaten them.”
“Not the colonies, though,” Morgan said. “They’re increasingly independent, and if they had pressed for some sort of secession…”
“Then there would have been a short, nasty civil war followed by a long period of occupation to soak up more of our military, more of our assets. Precisely what the Tyrants wanted. That war was only a few years away. We both know that. So again, I ask, why didn’t they wait for us to fall apart?”
Morgan frowned, then said, “Do you have an answer for this question, or is all of this purely rhetorical? I can’t think of anything that makes sense, but I suppose that is precisely the point you are trying to make.”
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