Storm Between the Stars: Book 1 in the Fall of the Censor

by Karl K Gallagher

  Marcus glanced at Tets. The mechanic had bounced away but looked unhurt. Marcus grabbed the third car, pressed the button, and pushed it off the truck it laid on.

  He hurried, putting some spin on the car. That sent Marcus toward the overhead and the car glanced against the hatch on its way out.

  Marcus transmitted, “Alys, close it.”

  The hatch began to move. A car flared white. Marcus’ helmet rang as a fragment bounced off it.

  “Tets, Alys, are you okay? Sound off.”

  She answered, “I’m fine.”

  The mechanic said, “Damn, I saw some shrapnel go right past me.”

  Marcus switched frequencies. “Bridge, they’re clear. Initiate spin.”

  “Acknowledged,” came his father’s voice.

  The stars visible past the closing hatch moved as the ship began to yaw.

  Tets bumped into Marcus. The mechanic grabbed his arm. His other hand laid a strip of vacctape on Marcus’ faceplate.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Sir, your helmet’s cracked.”

  “No, it’s not. It wasn’t leaking.”

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  ***

  “Enemy closing in,” said Betty.

  “Acknowledged,” replied Captain Landry. He’d been watching the fighters approach on the repeater screen. His initial fear they’d put a missile into his ship had faded. Now he was afraid they’d come close enough to check for damage and not find any.

  Which could inspire a missile shot.

  Azure Tarn was still in a gentle spin. Stars slid port to starboard in the windows. Streaks passing by were fighters shooting past them.

  “Past first buoy,” reported Soon.

  In theory they could safely transition to hyperspace now. In practice . . . he wanted to be well clear of the shoals when making a rough transition.

  Roger muttered, “They’re not getting real close.”

  “After what we did to that cutter?” said Marcus. “I’m not surprised.”

  Betty smirked. “You’re getting your wish. One’s accelerating to match our velocity.”

  Landry looked up from the repeater. There it was. A lean, vicious version of the cutter. A pressure hull just big enough for one pilot. A powerful thruster. Many pylons supporting missiles, cannon, radar and lidar transmitters, and other devices he couldn’t identify. He was sure their purpose was violence.

  The fighter drifted out of sight as the ship spun. Now the pilot was looking at the undamaged engines. And reporting his observations to his commander.

  Landry pressed the intercom switch. “Chief, take us through.”

  Then his chair twisted out from under him. He rolled across the deck, flailing in search of something to hold on to. Pain shot through his shoulder as he slammed into the base of a chair. He grabbed it with both hands, feeling its immobility. His body twisted in the belief the deck was falling away.

  The bridge was lit only by the glow of hyperspace shoals coming through the windows. At least two crew were vomiting. One screamed. A whiff of smoke cut through the vomit odor. A string of pops told of circuits burning as wild energy made it past the breakers.

  The vertigo started to fade. Holding on tight let the hands outvote the ears. Landry took a deep breath. Lying on the deck was safe. Restful. He was due for some rest.

  The occupant of the chair retched. There was splatter on the deck. One drop hit Landry’s hand. He began pulling himself up the back of the chair.

  Nobody else was on the deck. The screaming had stopped. There was plenty of cursing. The emergency lights were on but couldn’t compete with the light from outside.

  Landry looked out the window. Azure Tarn was still spinning. There was no fog present. He could see the shoals clearly. As the ship turned the near shoals came into view.

  Judging distance in hyperspace depended on the blurriness induced by the layers of aether between viewer and target. That shoal looked crisp.

  “Roger, are the thrusters responding?” Landry shouted over the noise.

  The helmsman was sitting upright in his chair. His hands hovered, barely touching the controls. “Dunno. The jump messed up my vision extra hard. All I can see is neon shapes moving around.”

  The near shoals came into view again. The cumulus-like surface looked a little different from the last look. Were they getting closer?

  The captain moved to the helm. He kept his feet braced on the deck when he shifted a hand from chair to chair. He was in no shape to take an unsupported step. When he had both hands on the back of Roger’s chair he asked, “What can you see now?”

  “I can make out the window frame.”

  Landry discarded the thought of taking over the position. He was too wobbly to operate the thrusters. Roger’s hands were steady. The boy just couldn’t judge the effect of his actions. Time to play seeing-eye captain.

  “Okay. Give me some plus yaw.”

  Roger twisted two levers in opposite directions. There was no change in the drift of the shoals outside. A promontory filled more of the sky than on the last rotation. Yes, they were drifting toward the shoals.

  “Belay. It’s not working.” Landry raised his voice. “I need power to the thrusters.”

  At the power operator console, Marcus lowered the cloth he’d been wiping his mouth with. “We have power for antigrav, controls, and life support. The breakers went on everything else. I’m still tracing the faults.”

  “Give me thrusters even if you have to cut the rest.”

  “Aye-aye.” There was too much noise to hear what Marcus did. Landry knew he’d been obeyed when his feet lifted off the deck.

  The decades of spaceflight to become a captain-owner left Landry immune to ordinary space-sickness. Freefall plus lingering vertigo and the stench of other crew’s failure to control their stomachs . . . was a challenge. Landry spread his feet wide and clamped onto the back of Roger’s chair with all four limbs.

  Once secure he said, “Try again, Roger.”

  The helmsman worked his controls. The promontory slowed its drift across the bridge windows.

  “It’s working! Give me some more. Good. Okay, cut thrust, but be ready to zero the spin when we’re pointed at open space.”

  Roger started. “We’re headed toward a shoal?”

  “We have time. We’re good. Minus yaw now.”

  The helmsman obediently applied the thrusters.

  “Okay, get ready to cut it off . . . now. Good! Acceleration dead ahead.”

  The near shoal was now only visible in the starboard windows, receding. It glowed as lightning flashed inside the clouds. Roger was looking from side to side, making out some of the features of local hyperspace.

  “Sir, we need some time for repair,” said Marcus.

  “Right. Betty, how long until that carrier can come through?”

  “Four hours to reach the jump point,” she said. “Plus however long she needs to load up her fighters.”

  His command chair wasn’t far away, but Landry doubted he could aim himself at it accurately. He reached over Roger to take his intercom microphone and pressed the PA switch. “All hands. We will heave to for one hour to make repairs then resume travel at best speed.”

  He handed the mike back. “Roger, cut thrust. We’re clear of the shoals on both sides.”

  The essential repairs took less than the full hour. Power, antigravity, and controls all tested green. Marcus then asked for all hands to help in the hold.

  Captain Landry decided to take a look at the cargo hold before endorsing that. It was an impressive sight. He was tempted to photograph it for the supercargo instructors. He’d never seen worse.

  “The problem was how squeezed they were,” Marcus explained. “It was like compressing a spring. Gravity held them to the deck. When we turned it off, well, this.”

  All the floaters once parked on the deck of the hold were drifting through the air. Some were moving faster, bouncing off others or a bulkhead
with loud rings. Crates brought aboard on flatbeds were now spinning on their own. Smaller objects told of crates broken open or floaters shedding pieces in collisions.

  “So what’s your plan?” asked the captain.

  Marcus didn’t hesitate. “Turn the AG on at one percent. Use the crane to shift any unstable stacks. Then run tie downs and nets over everything. That’s what I want the help with.”

  “What about the loose parts?” Landry pointed at a half-empty crate bouncing off the secured stack of vehicles.

  In free fall a shrug moved Marcus’ whole body. “That’ll have to wait. We’re going to be chasing after them until we unload.”

  The hour ended with only a third of the loose floaters even partially tied down. Captain Landry left Tets to help Marcus and Alys finish the job. The rest of the crew reported to their stations.

  Betty had stood watch while the rest labored in the hold. When they entered the bridge she reported, “No transitions or events, sir.”

  “Thank you,” said the captain. “Roger, let’s get underway.”

  “Aye-aye.” The helmsman applied thrust, starting the ship along the course Soon had marked.

  The navigator monitored his vector. “Mind the navigation buoy,” she said.

  “No, don’t. Ram it,” said Landry.

  “Sir?” asked a confused Roger.

  “It might be recording our movements,” Landry explained. The leadership classes he’d taken said not to explain orders, but this wasn’t the Navy. He needed their willing cooperation.

  “Oh, okay.” Roger shifted course toward the buoy.

  The first mate said, “Don’t hit it with the leading edges.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.” As the buoy, an antenna-studded cube, filled the forward windows Roger pitched the ship up.

  Azure Tarn’s belly slammed into the buoy. Floating stationary in hyperspace didn’t require a sturdy hull. The buoy’s outer shell was thin as a vacuum buggy’s. Unlike a vacuum buggy, it was a solid mass of electronics and batteries. The sound of it smashing against the hull rang through the ship.

  In vacuum fragments just bounced off. The aether resisting Azure Tarn’s passage held the buoy debris against the hull, scraping along until it slid past the stern. Which made for more noises spacers didn’t like hearing.

  “We’re going to need a lot of repairs when we get to port,” said Lane.

  The captain growled, “As long as we get there we can replace the whole damn hull.”

  Betty sat up. “I have the signal of the next navigation buoy.”

  “Fine. If that’s on the way to Fwynwr Ystaen we’ll wreck that one too.”

  ***

  Captain Wing did not hover at the shoulder of his Fighter Operations Leader. Free-fall recovery operations were tricky. Cutting corners led to dead pilots, damaged carriers, and unpromotable captains.

  So he sat on the bridge paging through reports while eavesdropping on the chatter as each fighter was tucked gently back into its socket. Recovering the pilots and leaving the fighters for their return to the system would have saved most of an hour but violated doctrine. A doctrine violation would be far worse for Wing’s career than letting some mangy rebels escape to hide on some rock until their life support failed.

  So he waited. And imagined blowing the freighter’s drive apart to repay the false failure with a real one. One of the techs on the bridge had laughed out loud when the rebels jumped out. They would pay for that humiliation.

  “Bird is seated. We have umbilical connection,” reported a tech.

  The Fighter Operations Leader pivoted to face Wing. “Sir, all fighters aboard.”

  Captain Wing sprang to his feet. “Engineering, transition to hyperspace!” Then he turned to the FOL. “Thank you, Lead.”

  The carrier’s systems were built to handle even rough transitions. The only visible effect of transition was viewscreens blacking out then showing a view of hyperspace. Wing scented sugar, as if cotton candy was being shoved up his nose. A glance around the bridge showed no one bothered by transition effects. Of course, no one qualified for bridge duty without a dozen or more transitions.

  “Barometry probes away, sir,” said the sensor tech. He’d been thoroughly briefed on the need for prompt action.

  Starting the survey promptly didn’t reduce the time to produce an answer. Wing paged through more reports. He was certain his show of unconcern wasn’t fooling anyone.

  It took over ten minutes for the result. Wing knew it would be bad news. Anything useful would have been found sooner than that.

  “Sir, we’ve found no aether wake. They must have left the area at least two hours ago. Also, the navigation buoy has been destroyed.”

  No surprise. “Lead, launch Squadron One, execute search as planned. Navigation, check which buoys we’re getting signals from. Engineering, rig some replacement buoys. Something that will last long enough for Survey Corps to come out and clean up after these vandals.”

  The orders propagated down each chain of command, leaving Captain Wing with nothing to do but look calm again.

  The first fighter launched in a pleasing seven minutes. It flashed across the view, a lean dart of a vehicle, optimized for penetrating air or aether. Find those bastards, thought Wing. Cripple them. I want to watch them pay.

  ***

  Soon’s meticulous records of their first trip, combined with the signals of the navigation buoys, let Azure Tarn make her way swiftly though the shoals surrounding Corwynt’s star. Roger held the ship at a different angle when smashing each buoy to spread out the damage to the hull.

  Betty shifted her attention from the view outside to her readouts. “I’m picking up some signals.”

  The captain pivoted toward her. “Radar or comm?”

  “Dunno. It’s too scrambled. Might be a mix of both. It’s right at the edge of detectability. Probably bounced off multiple shoals before reaching us.”

  Welly had resumed her post at the power console. “They’re still chasing us,” she said. Then she flushed as she realized she’d spoken aloud.

  Landry spoke in a reassuring tone. “We have a good head start. They may not even realize which way we went.”

  The signals were still faint when Azure Tarn emerged from the shoals. They flew through the phoenix formation, headed for the star where they’d first contacted humans outside the Fieran Bubble. Soon had no trouble keeping them on track. She’d taken pictures of all the hyperspace landmarks regularly on the outbound trip. She aimed Roger right at the rift they’d emerged from.

  “On course and speed for next leg,” reported Roger.

  “Good,” acknowledged the captain. “Let’s pick up some more speed.”

  “How fast, sir? We’re already halfway through the yellow zone.” The helm console included a gauge measuring the aether pressure on the hull. If the needle reached red they could expect the hull to give way.

  “Accelerate gradually. Let’s see how she handles it. The designers always build some margin in. This is a good time to use it.”

  “Aye-aye.” Roger nudged the thrust levers forward. The ship’s drive only used its full capability in vacuum, when the ship could accelerate with the only limit being the artificial gravity’s ability to counter the effect on the crew.

  The needle moved through the rest of the yellow without any alarming groans or shudders from the hull. The bridge was silent, everyone’s ears straining.

  “Red now, sir,” said Roger.

  “Noted,” said Landry.

  Nothing was complaining. Welly watched her systems. A leak of aether into the ship could short out power lines. All the lines along the forward hull were functioning.

  “I have warning alerts,” said Betty. “It’s the base of the main dish. The alignment motors are overloaded.”

  The captain said, “Acknowledged. Back off speed slightly.”

  Roger reduced thrust one notch, then two.

  “No warnings,” said Betty.

  “Very well. Maint
ain this speed.” Landry wished they’d dismounted the dish. It was designed to be folded up and fit through the cargo hold hatch. They’d cruise faster that way. But it would take hours of work to accomplish. They couldn’t spare the time.

  The worst part of being between stars was that they were fully visible to anything that might see them. Landry had considered bypassing this star, going around it to make a straight run back to the Bubble in open space. But that route had no place to hide. The shoals around the mining station’s star were the best place to shake off their Censorial pursuit.

  Especially if they could disappear into the rift before any Censorials emerged from the shoals around Corwynt’s sun.

  Landry was actually hoping they’d escaped by the time they were found.

  Betty cursed. “Pings! High frequency. Definitely strong enough to get an echo off us. If they’re close enough to ping us that hard they probably have a visual as well.”

  Reactions ranged from more curses to a whimper.

  “We’ll have a couple more chances to break contact,” said the captain. He could only think of one, but maintaining morale was his duty.

  “Multiple sources,” Betty continued. “Identical transmitters. Simple pings. I’d bet these are from small craft. The mother ship is lagging behind, maybe looking at a different route.”

  “We can hope,” Landry answered. Then he cursed himself. Sarcasm was no way to keep up his crew’s confidence.

  Another radar source registered on Betty’s console before they reached the rift. “This one is lower frequency,” she reported. “Likely from a larger vessel.”

  “The mother ship,” said Landry grimly.

  The entrance to the rift was wide. Roger had plenty of clearance to each side. “Sir, I’m reducing speed. Aether density is higher here.”

  “Acknowledged,” answered Landry.

  Once they’d been on course for the rift Soon had started a new project. Now she copied a plot to all the repeaters on the bridge. “Here’s our course for the Fwynwr Ystaen system. I’ll have to adjust it for where we actually emerge. This takes us to the entry point for the homeward channel in minimum time. We’ll transition at sixty percent of the speed we did last time. I found a manual that says transition effects follow a square law, so it should only be a third as bad.”