The Phoenix War Page 17

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” said Summers, making a snap decision. “Mister Iwate, program a flight path and send navigational coordinates to Sarah’s console.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Notify all decks to keep a sharp eye out the windows and have the lab activate the optical telescope.”

  “Already on it.”

  Summers wasn’t sure what kinds of ships would be out there, or indeed if any were out there, and she couldn’t be sure that the Nighthawk would win in a fight, for all she knew they’d be outnumbered. But considering the scope of the isotome threat, there was no other option. She had to risk it, even if it killed them all. But at least she knew the Nighthawk packed a mean punch.

  “All decks report ready, and the lab confirms the optical telescope is in position and online,” said Sarah.

  “Excellent,” said Summers.

  “I have a recommendation,” said Cassidy as she sat back down in the XO’s chair. Summers noted that Shen looked relieved not to be having the other ops officer hovering over him.

  “What is it?” asked Summers.

  “We could dispatch a probe or two to do the same job. Lessen the time it will take us to search each of the thorium deposits.”

  “If they catch sight of a probe, that might spook them and they could flee the system before we have the chance to intercept them,” said Shen.

  “Not if we only use the probes to search thorium deposits near our ship. It would accelerate our ability to search the deposits, and any ships, once spotted, would be too close to outrun us and escape.”

  “She has a point,” said Sarah. “They’d have to clear the asteroid field before they could jump to alteredspace, and I doubt any of their ships can maneuver these asteroids faster than the Nighthawk. We’d catch them. Provided they aren’t more than… two million mc’s away from us when the probe finds them.”

  Shen gave Sarah a strange look but did not object further. Summers took that to mean Cassidy and Sarah had the right of it. “Very well,” said Summers. “Launch two probes and direct them to assist in our search. Make certain they remain within a one-point-five million mc radius of the Nighthawk’s position.”

  “Aye, aye,” said Shen.

  With that, the extensive search began. Sarah deftly angled and maneuvered the Nighthawk, frequently firing thrusters to accelerate or decelerate the vessel as they made progress through the asteroid field. It was neither larger, nor denser than other common asteroid fields, but any asteroid field was considered extremely hazardous to any starship attempting to traverse it. Fortunately Sarah was expertly trained, and the Nighthawk was an order of magnitude more maneuverable than proper navy warships. Then again, proper navy warships would simply use firepower to carve a path, or else avoid the asteroid field altogether. For Summers and the Nighthawk, neither was an option.

  “We’ve reached the nearest thorium deposit,” said Sarah.

  “Thorium composes fifty-seven percent of this asteroid,” said Shen. “Two passes around the rock should be enough to know if there is anything hiding in this spot. After that, I suggest we move on.”

  “Agreed,” said Summers. “Commence first orbit.”

  “Commencing,” said Sarah. The ship swung swiftly around an asteroid that was only perhaps four times the length of the Nighthawk. “First pass complete. Moving to position for second pass.”

  “Both probes have reached their targets, thorium deposits two and three,” said Shen. “I am ordering them to commence their first passes.”

  “Very good,” said Summers. “Keep me informed.”

  “Second pass complete,” said Sarah. “No reports of any sightings from any deck. The lab confirms negative, they didn’t see anything.”

  “There’s nothing here,” said Summers. “Move us to the next target, thorium deposit four.”

  “Aye, aye,” said Sarah. The ship turned and accelerated. On the 3d display the nearest objects, several asteroids of varying sizes, could be seen projected around the tiny Nighthawk at the center.

  “Probe Charlie has completed its first pass. Report negative. Moving to position for second pass,” said Shen. Adding a moment later, “Probe Foxtrot also reports negative on the first pass. Moving to new position for second pass.”

  “We are approaching thorium deposit four,” said Sarah. “Slowing to twenty-point three mc’s per second and commencing first pass.”

  This went on for some time. The Nighthawk would move to a thorium deposit and perform two swift, opposing orbits. Searching for any hiding ships, containers, caches, anything, and, upon finding nothing, would head directly to the next target. All the while remaining stealthed and praying that whoever was out there, if there was anyone, didn’t see them first. Wherever the Nighthawk went, the two probes were never far behind. Each set to the task of searching the thorium deposits in a like manner.

  Come on, thought Summers. Find something. She felt her hands become clammy whenever they reached a new asteroid, or a new report came in from the probes or the lower decks; embarrassed, she’d subtly wipe her hands on the knees of her uniform pants. Making certain to keep her voice calm, stable, and in command, no matter how anxious she felt. Searching the asteroid field was a strange mixture of uneventful nothingness and the anxious belief that a deadly threat was imminent. She had to be ready. No matter how long it took them, no matter how many hours went by, and how tired they became, they had to be ready. With each new pass she felt like she was prodding the action of an ancient bear trap with a stick, waiting for the steel jaws to slam shut suddenly. With who-knows-how-many ships emerging suddenly from their hiding places and converging on the Nighthawk. But no such thing seemed to be happening.

  Then, after thirty-seven minutes, they found something.

  “Sir, Probe Charlie has a visual,” said Shen, spinning his chair halfway to look at her. “There is a small object parked on the far side of an asteroid thirty-five thousand mc’s from our position. Close-range scan by Probe Charlie indicates metal-matrix composites.”

  “A ship,” whispered Summers.

  “Maybe,” said Shen. “But whatever it is, it’s an artificial construction made by somebody.” He turned back to his console and seemed startled by an alert on his screen. “The object does not want to be seen; it’s just fired on probe Charlie.” He tapped some controls and his look of worry intensified. “Sir… we’ve just lost contact with the probe. The object is now on our scopes, it’s emerged from its hiding place and appears to be fleeing. Looks like a small vessel, not much larger than a standard shuttle.”

  “Intercept course,” snapped Summers. “Fastest safe speed.”

  “Aye, aye,” said Sarah. Their view abruptly changed as the Nighthawk turned and accelerated. “We’ll be in weapons range in thirty seconds.”

  “I’m gonna charge the beam weapon,” said Miles.

  “Negative,” said Summers. “That would only give us away.”

  “They’re already running! Obviously they see us so there’s nothing to give away,” insisted Miles.

  Summers wondered if that were true. She assumed that their stealth system was still concealing them, but that assumption had proven unsafe in the past… “Mister Iwate,” she said, “is there any indication that the vessel can detect us?”

  “Hard to say,” said Shen. “But I think they probably haven’t. I think what spooked them was being discovered by our probe. Most likely they know the probe saw them and transmitted that finding before they could destroy it, so they’re hoping to get out of here before the probe’s owner arrives.”

  “Too bad for them we’re already here,” Summers stood up and folded her arms. Watching the 3d display intently. The smaller vessel was now visible, the projection of it looked like a tiny wedge of cheese. Almost overly-simple in design.

  “Weapons range in twelve seconds,” said Sarah.

  “I’m gonna need to charge the weapon eventually,” said Miles. “If I use our other guns we won’t disable them,
we’ll destroy them.”

  Summers knew he was right. The other vessel looked too small and too poorly armored to withstand much abuse. Clearly it was designed more for stealth than battle. But Summers also didn’t want to drop cover and reveal the Nighthawk until the last possible moment, in case the other vessel had some trick up its sleeve.

  You shall not escape me, she promised it silently, as she stared at its projection on the 3d display. Then she looked to Shen. “Is there any chance they can escape us?”

  “Not that I can foresee,” said Shen.

  “Weapons range achieved,” said Sarah.

  “The vessel does have alteredspace capability, but they would need another three minutes to clear the asteroid field in order to make a jump. And even then, we could stop them,” said Shen.

  Summers nodded, content. “Very well, Mister Brown, drop stealth and charge the beam weapon.”

  “Hell yes.”

  “Lieutenant Winters, match their course and speed. If possible, maneuver us directly into their path.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  “We are now visible,” Shen reported. “The other ship has changed course; it is accelerating.”

  “Adjusting to match,” said Sarah. “They’re smaller and more agile, but I promise you we can handle anything their pilot throws at us.”

  “Very good,” said Summers. “Mister Brown, lock onto them but hold fire.”

  “Hold fire?”

  “Just do it.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Lieutenant Winters, transmit the following message. ‘This is the Commander of the IWS Nighthawk to unidentified vessel, heave-to and prepare to be boarded. Resist and you shall be fired upon. This is your only warning.”

  “Message sent,” said Sarah.

  “Any change?” asked Summers, hopeful. It was always better to do things the peaceful way if the option was available.

  “None,” said Shen. “The ship appears to be holding course, fast as it can. They’re trying to clear the asteroid field and jump.”

  Summers let out a sigh. Very well. “Mister Brown you may fire at will, just remember you are shooting to disable, not destroy.”

  “With extreme pleasure, sir,” he flashed her a grin and then focused intently on the weapons display. A bright light flashed, visible through the window as the Nighthawk’s beam weapon slapped the other vessel. Scarring it black and disabling its engines, as well as some other systems no doubt. It was too far distant to see the other ship out the window, but on the 3d display the damage was obvious. Summers only hoped they hadn’t hit them too hard. Most likely, they were only truly useful to her alive. Assuming the ship was being manually piloted.

  “Direct hit; they’re no longer accelerating,” reported Shen.

  “Hold fire,” ordered Summers. Much to Miles’ disappointment.

  “They are adrift, multiple systems offline. Including life support.”

  “Board them immediately,” said Summers. “We need them alive.”

  “Commencing docking operation,” said Sarah.

  Summers tapped her direct line to special forces. “Captain Pellew, we are about to board a disabled vessel. Its life-support is failing so time is of the essence. All aboard are to be taken alive.”

  “Understood, Commander.”

  “And, if found, any isotome weapons are to be destroyed immediately.”

  ***

  “Is everything ready?” asked Rafael.

  “Almost,” said Calvin as he finished inspecting the fighter-bomber he’d selected for the mission. It was more agile and stealthy than any of the shuttles belonging to the Black Swan, though far less maneuverable—and therefore more vulnerable—than any of the Black Swan’s primary-role fighters. But, unlike most of those, this vessel had an alteredspace drive.

  “Are you satisfied, sir?” asked one of the flight officers. He and a team of technicians had prepared the fighter-bomber according to Calvin’s instructions. Though Calvin made it a habit to personally inspect any fighter-class vessel before plunging it into open space. Even the tiniest crack or bit of broken armor or compromised window would be the end of him.

  “Yes, I think so,” said Calvin, after a moment. He’d inspected the entire outer hull, checked all of the instruments, and verified that the cargo the Black Swan’s people had loaded onto the craft was indeed what he’d asked for. Everything seemed in order.

  Normally Calvin would prefer a primary-role fighter over a fighter-bomber, especially since a handful of the Black Swan’s fightercraft came equipped with alteredspace capability. However, after some careful consideration, Calvin had chosen this vessel because of its significantly larger cargo capacity. Once the ordnance was removed, the payload hold could fit a surprising amount of supplies, including food, medical equipment, small arms, tactical gear, etc. He still hoped to rendezvous with the Nighthawk for supplies and crew, but in case that proved impossible, and he and Rafael had to handle this mission alone, he was stocking all he needed from the Black Swan now. The odds were against them either way, but at least this way they had a fighting chance. Or so Calvin hoped.

  The flight officer saluted. “Sir, my orders are to see you off at once.”

  “Yes, I know, time is critical,” said Calvin. And he had no intention of remaining aboard the Black Swan any longer than he needed to. It was an interesting ship, a mighty hulk leading a host of warships that was undoubtedly the largest military force Calvin had ever seen. But what made him bitter was the thought that many, if not most, of these ships would soon be destroyed, in a worthless series of battles against fellow Imperials.

  “Shall we go aboard then?” asked Rafael. He stood next to Calvin, eye-patch still covering his vacant eye-socket. Rafael had been promised an ocular implant to replace his missing eye. Though it was doubtful his eyesight could be restored considering the damage to the nerves—less than fifteen percent chance—a proper implant could at least restore the appearance of his face. But the Black Swan’s medical facilities hadn’t had time to perform the operation. Calvin had allowed Rafael the option to stay and have the procedure, but Rafael had chosen instead to go with Calvin and assist in any way he could. Even though he knew full-well that the longer he waited to do the procedure, the less likely it was that his sight could be restored. But, as some small consolation, the stubs on his hand had been replaced by two artificial fingers which the medical staff had successfully connected to Rafael’s nerves. They weren’t quite as dexterous and responsive as natural fingers but at least they looked perfect.

  “You go aboard and get all the systems prepped for flight,” said Calvin. “I’ll join you in a minute.” There was something he had to do first.

  Rafael nodded and climbed the ladder to the cockpit of the fighter-bomber. Unlike Rotham fighters, which without exception were drone starfighters flown by remote, nearly all Imperial fighters required a crew of at least one human pilot. Partly this was for archaic reasons, but partly too it was because of the fear that instructions by remote might be intercepted, or have a time lag—however small—or that the drone starfighter could be compromised and taken control by an enemy. Calvin didn’t know how justified such concerns were—an ops specialist would be better able to consider the technical implications, they were beyond Calvin’s expertise. All he knew was that he was personally grateful the Empire still preferred manual fightercraft since he’d begun his career as a military pilot.

  This particular fighter-bomber was designed for a crew of four, three pilots and an ordnance specialist, but two people could fly the vessel so long as they didn’t need to fire any of the advanced weapons. Calvin and Rafael wouldn’t miss that, since they’d only be launching their own supplies at their target should they open the payload firing doors.

  “Sir, I’ll notify the bridge that you are about to embark and get the flight deck prepped for depressurization,” said the flight officer.

  Calvin nodded. They exchanged salutes and went their separate ways. As the flight
deck operators scrambled to prep the deck for imminent launch, Calvin headed to one of the flight deck control stations. He picked one that was behind secure glass, where he wouldn’t be heard, and immediately ordered the officer manning the post to “go take a break.” Since Calvin was a lieutenant commander in full uniform, and the station operator was only a midshipman, convincing him was easy. As soon as he was alone, Calvin input the codes to connect to a kataspace channel so secure that he was one of only a few anywhere in the galaxy who knew the codes.

  “Come on, pick up,” he mumbled as the computer tried to connect him. He made certain that the computer wasn’t set to record the substance of his call, but there was nothing he could do about the fact that it would log that a kataspace message was sent. He’d been tempted to wait until he and Rafael were safely away before making this call, and do it from his fighter-bomber, but thought it was a lot more likely the call would be accepted if it originated from one of the most powerful, and famous, ships in the galaxy. Rather than a meager fighter-bomber support craft. Which would almost certainly be ignored.

  After a few seconds, a familiar voice sounded through the headset. “A secure hail from an alpha-class dreadnought, very interesting,” said Grady Rosco. “Now tell me, just what in hell do you want from me?”

  “Grady, it’s me.”

  “Calvin Cross? The famous Executor of the Empire, well looks like you’ve got yourself a fancy new starship.”

  “Look I don’t have a lot time, so I’ll get right down to it. Do you still have connections in the DMZ?”

  “The Rosco Family has connections everywhere.”

  Not a very helpful response. “What about inside the Alliance?”

  “Some,” said Grady Rosco, sounding less enthusiastic. The mere mention of the Alliance seemed to bother him. “That’s deep Khan territory.”

  “So is that a yes or a no?” asked Calvin.

  “Like I said, some. We have to keep tabs on those bastards somehow. Why do you ask?”

  “Remember that favor you owe me,” said Calvin. The same favor that he’d tried repeatedly to make them forget, the same favor that they technically owed his father—who’d turned out to still be alive, though the Roscos didn’t need to know that…