Assault on Ambrose Station: A Seth Donovan Novel (15 page)

22.

Space battles are a thing of terrible beauty. From afar, they look like sparkling, brilliant flashes and beams interspersed with blossoming explosions and fantastical pyrotechnics. The sheer beauty is laced with the dreadful realisation that hundreds, if not thousands of lives are being snuffed out. That the life sustaining oxygen inside the ships are feeding those explosions, violently ignited in a doomed ship’s death throes. Combat with the Ghantri holds even more danger than other races, as their crippled ships tend to suicide – through either overloading their reactors or ramming nearby Protectorate vessels.

I once saw an entire wing of Ghantri fighters plummet through a drone defence grid, ignoring brutal casualties, to simply impact upon the armoured hull of an allied destroyer. The warship suffered severe damage, and was eventually destroyed when the capital ships got within range. The Fleet commanders had to adjust their tactics swiftly.

I was in the med lab, watching the distant battle rage on a tablet fed data from our sensors, silently hoping the Protectorate could hold the line. It was getting late in the evening, and I was bone tired, but Zoe had called me down after the evening meal. She was fiddling with her cybernetics toys while I longingly stared after the battle.

“All done.” she declared eventually.

“What’s all done?”

“Your present.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll need to come over here. I have to detach your arm.”

“You what?”

“I’ll put it back, silly.”

“Can’t you just do whatever you have to do with it still attached?”

“No, it’s too dangerous. I’d have to sedate you.”

“Dangerous?”

“Don’t be a baby. Come on, you’ll have it back in no time.”

I sighed and let her press her fingers into my shoulder, feeling for the control nodes. She scanned my cybernetic arm with a device and she keyed in several commands. Suddenly my arm no longer felt like a part of me, but something that was simply strapped to my side. I hated the feeling. It always reminded me of my injuries.

With the arm deactivated, she pulled sharply on the shoulder joint and it disengaged at her commands. The sudden imbalance of weight was utterly alien, so uncomfortable it was hard to describe. It felt
wrong
.

“I hate that feeling.” I grumbled. Zoe gave me a pout, a sooky face.

“It’ll be worth it. You’ll see.”

“If you say so.”

She took my arm and put it on a cradle over at her workbench. She had her back to me, and I could see her reaching for various tools. She never really liked it when I watched her tinker, but she sure liked to show off the results. I figured I could at least humour her. She took a few more minutes, the bulkhead in front of her lighting up occasionally with bright flashes as she fused…things to my arm.

I hoped she remembered that I didn’t like to advertise the fact that I was augmented. Many augmented people I know love to show off their artificial limbs or improvements, some in the extreme. But I prefer not to talk about them, due to how I received them. Not everyone gets augmented just because they’ve been injured, most just do it because they want an upgrade, either through cybernetic or biological augs. There are several sub-cultures that evolve around augmentation, and not all of them are healthy.

“I’m ready.” she said at last, turning around on her stool.

She reattached my arm and I eyed it off critically while she did so. I had to admit, I couldn’t make out what she had done. When it was attached and reactivated, she patted my upper arm and smiled at me.

“How does it feel?”

“Like normal. What’s new?”

“Well, I upgraded your joints. They’re thirty-two percent stronger now, if the specs are true. You’re also stronger in that arm, but not so much that you’ll unbalance yourself. You’ll be packing one hell of a left hook now.”

“Okay. That’s good, I guess.”

“And…you’ve got a little surprise.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sending an app to your overlay. Load it up.”

I accepted her transfer request, and an unnamed app began to install on my interface overlay. In moments, it was ready.

“Done. Now what?”

She stood up and walked around behind me. “Activate it.”

Suddenly, a small patch of synth-skin on my arm lifted up and a bright flash of violet light blasted out of a small barrel below the section. I jumped up in alarm as pieces of paperwork were blasted apart, sending a cart toppling over.

Zoe was giggling uncontrollably.

“What the hell?”

“Do you like it?”

“I have a gun in my arm?”

“Yep! It’s only short range, and can only fire a few times before it needs recharging, but your synth-skin now has a slight photoelectric effect feeding a trickle circuit that charges it up over time.”

I started to put out the small fire I had started with the tray of paperwork I’d blasted into oblivion.

“I don’t even...this is what you’ve been working on? Those spec-ops parts?”

“Yes,” she started to look hurt, “You don’t like it?”

“Are you kidding me? I love it!” I meant it too. I gave her a big smile. “I have a gun in my arm!”

She smiled again. “You like it?”

“Yeah! What sort of gun is this? I’ve never seen that effect before.”

She was suddenly enthusiastic again, practically bounding over the fallen cart and the scattered instruments to retrieve a tablet on her workbench. She started flicking through specification sheets.

“It’s a variation of a Votus laser tube. The energy signature is nearly impossible to detect by sensors, beyond physically witnessing it. There’s no heat by-product, no radiation left behind, and hits as hard as a hardlight bullet.”

“No wonder they’re illegal.”

“Semi-illegal. They have scientific uses as well. I worked with them for a semester at the Kanto Prime University.”

“This is really great, Zoe. Thank you.” She practically beamed at me.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll be thinking of you the next time I blast a bad guy in the face.”

She made a sour face at me, “I just hope it saves your life, one day.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it will. Thank you, I really mean it.”

I gave her a hug, and when I had her at arm’s length, I opened my mouth to speak.

“Zoe, there’s something we need to…”

“Warrior is here for nanite injections.” blurted out Crege as he limped into the med lab, “Hurry, little human, start duty in ten minutes.”

I smiled at her, “Go ahead, we can talk later.”

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and I walked out of the med lab as she gathered up her tools to attend to Crege’s leg. Why didn’t I just say it? I berated myself again, as I made my way down the passageway to the Mess Deck. It was a short climb to Deck 1 and my cabin, where I collapsed in a heap of self-reprimanding frustration.

23.

The last that our long-range scanners managed to pick up of the battle, before it was obscured by the debris fields, was that the Protectorate had managed to get it under control. The station itself took a beating, but I was pretty sure we’d have been able to detect its destruction even from here. My one hope, the only silver lining I could think of in all this, was that the attack would jolt the brass out of their current plan to pull out their forces. One can only hope.

We closed up on station again when we passed through the first debris field, but after a few hours of Crege paying nearly casual indifference to the many hazards in the area it became clear to us all that our Garz’a pilot had this well and truly within his capabilities. Still, Max had us all working shifts in the command module, and another of us on standby in case we struck something.

When we were clear of the field, a day later, we held our first command meeting in Maxine’s cabin. It was time I laid out my plan.

As usual, the senior officers were present – Max, Crege, Fel’negr and I. Artemis, as the ‘host’ of this crazy job, was also there. Tac, strangely, had grown rather attached to his more recent configuration. He sat in one of the chairs, looking for all the world like he was a person and not an AI. I sat opposite him, observing his mannerisms as the rest of the people found a seat.

“I’m surprised you’re not plugged into the sensor nexus again, Tac.” I stated.

“I alternate my time between the nexus and this form. I have found this unit’s mobility to be rather useful, First Mate Donovan. I enjoy the difference in interaction this form invokes in the crew.”

“Different how?”

“I am spoken to less as an attachment of the ship, and more like an actual crew member.”

“Has that been an issue for you in the past?”

“Not really, I merely refer to people’s tendencies to look at me when interacting, rather than speaking to an empty room.”

“I suppose that would be different.”

Max smiled. “As a woman, I can totally understand the desire to have people looking at my face instead of my tits when I’m spoken to.”

“Amen to that.” agreed Artemis.

“What has the galaxy come to,” said Fel, “When those two women agree on something.”

“Warrior does not understand human’s desire to stare at a female’s infant feeding glands,” chuffed Crege, “For Garz’a, a female’s entire body is worth looking at, not just a small portion of it.”

“It’s the feathers, right?” asked Fel.

Garz’a, although humanoid, evolved from birds of prey on their homeworld. The males were featherless and flightless, however females still had a fine decorative down covering their arms, necks, shoulders and backs. They were quite colourful and very beautiful to behold. Say what you will about alien physiology, I’ve been to a Garz’a strip bar with Crege a couple of years ago and I was pleasantly surprised to find the females quite beautiful indeed. Not in a sexual way, but aesthetically pleasing nevertheless. Add to the mix the natural grace and agility of the Garz’a, and I found the entire experience fascinating.

“Well, let’s get this meeting underway.” Max activated a holo-projector she’d taken from the mess deck and a section of the star system sprang into view over our heads. “Seth?”

“Right.” I nodded to Artemis, “Can you manipulate the image as I speak?”

“Sure.”

“First up, we’ve made it through the first hurdle of the system – the Protectorate. I’ve no doubt that we’ve slipped their notice and are free to venture further in-system without having to worry about patrols.”

Artemis spoke up. “From intelligence that I managed to gather while on Eridani Station, we’ve learned that the Protectorate is pulling back all its forces in the region. Patrols are limited to areas that The Eye can track without obstruction…”

“I’m sorry,” broke in Fel, “The Eye?”

“The Eye of Ar’od Dar.” I answered, “A massive satellite resting at the L3 Legrange point of the planet Ghan. The Ghantri built it during their pre-Jump Gate era and revere it as a religious artefact. Its a massive, highly sophisticated telescope that they use to map the Great Web Nebula, searching for Ar’od Dar and the rest of their crazy gods. I’ve heard tell that they even interpret shapes and patterns that they discern in the nebula as signs from said gods.”

“So anyway,” broke in Art, “The Protectorate flyboys only patrol clear sections between the Jump Gate and The Eye. Keeping up appearances, so it would seem.”

“We have several pockets of space where the patrols will more than likely patrol, but we can avoid most of them by sticking to debris fields like the one we just passed through.”

“Good work, Crege,” mentioned Max, “That was some solid piloting.”

“Warrior accepts your praise,
kitrak.
”

“This works to our advantage, since most of the paths we’ll be following will not only keep us clear of Protectorate patrols, but should also make it harder for The Eye to spot us too.” I cleared my throat, “But. This stretch here?” A line appeared on the map where I pointed. “That’s pretty much empty. I know for a fact that one of the fleets during the Push came through this region, but I can’t for the life of me think how. They were the only fleet not attacked during the whole fiasco, so they must have evaded notice somehow.”

Fel leaned forward, studying the map. He was sitting next to Tac, and the pair put their heads together briefly sharing a few quiet words. When they were finished, Fel spoke. “What’s the orbital length of Ghan?”

“Max, can you give everyone the star system specs?” I asked. She nodded when she’d sent everyone the file.

“Your theory is sound, Systems Operator Fel’negr.” declared Tac.

“At the time of the Push, Ghan had orbited far enough around it’s ellipse to obscure that region of space. Even their line-of-sight beacons wouldn’t be able to communicate with the Eye. They would have had to direct their telescope through the corona of the Gossamer star. I’d say they would be loath to attempt such amplification of direct star light?”

“Could be. We’re not going to have that luxury, however. It won’t be another two-hundred and seventy-nine days until we’re in a similar aspect.” I said.

“So what do we do?” asked Max.

“I don’t think there is anything we
can
do.” said Artemis.

“This spot will be our more dicey section of the trip. Luckily, it’s only going to take us about four days to cross. I recommend we cut all propulsion and put a slight tumble on the ship.”

“Coast along like debris?” asked Crege.

“Can you do it?”

“Warrior is offended you asked. Of course warrior can.”

“Max?”

“What is it with you trying to get my ship labelled as a junker?”

“No one will see us. Well, no one in our social circles at any rate.”

“True. Okay, in lieu of a better plan, I suppose that will have to do. What about station approach?”

“I’m getting to that. Art?”

Artemis zoomed the map in on a section I indicated, showing a small debris cloud.

“We got this image off a long range sensor scan that Art stole from the station. It’s the wreckage of the Protectorate Cruiser Vigilance of Night. It was originally part of Task Force One, the diversionary fleet that got wiped out first. It’s been adrift for years now, but I know from after battle reports that she didn’t get a chance to fire off a single shot before being destroyed by asteroids. Pretty much like what the Ghantri just did to the Jump Station.”

“So?” asked Max.

“It’s on the way, and I believe it’s well worth a look.”

“What do you expect to find there?”

“A salvo pod of United Arms DX-98 missiles, with any luck.”

Everyone just stared at me.

“Reference retrieved.” declared Tac, his voice suddenly taking on the tone of an advertisement reader, “The United Arms DX-98 Class 3 tactical anti-ship swarm missile gained a reputation for wide-effect destruction in the Battle of the Rizan Belt. It separates into three hundred individual warheads, each with AI controller guidance, and saturates the target area with detonations.”

“A class three weapon?” asked Max. “What in the galaxy are we going to do with that? We can’t use it. Not enough room.”

“If we can find a few, we can tow them near the station and set them up on an asteroid or a drifting hulk. There ought to be enough debris nearby. We fire a salvo at Ambrose Station and the attack should distract the Ghantri fleet stationed there long enough for my Eclipse fighter to get in close to the station.”

“What about us?”

“You’re not going anywhere near the station. There’s another debris field about a million kilometres from the station that you can park the Dreaming in until I call you for extraction.”

“And how, exactly, do you plan on either calling us or us getting to you?”

“I’m going to rig up an EVA suit with extra life support and drift towards you. You can pick me up, or I can get to you using a thruster pack.”

“How would we find you? The moment you transmit a signal the Ghantri will be able to find you. How will you be able to get free of the station’s radial acceleration? We don’t carry high thrust jetpacks in our kit. How will you…”

“Max,” I interrupted, trying to stall her incoming tirade I knew was coming, “It’s a work in progress. I understand that. That’s why I’m putting it on the table - so we can brainstorm it properly. I’ve thought up parts, I had a lot of time to think these last few days. What I’m lacking is the maths, the real world applications of my ideas.”

“Sounds more like you have a half-baked plan with more holes than a leaky junker.”

“It’s not perfect, I’ll admit. The key here is that I’m going to treat this experience much like the last time I was here. One problem at a time. I can think on my feet, I can set myself realistic goals and fix problems one at a time. Fix enough problems and I’m half way home already.”

“I may have a solution to one of those problems,” offered Fel, “I can set a transponder on the Dreaming to emit a low powered pulse coded signal. It won’t be detectable above background radiation without the code, but you’ll get the coded signal’s specs loaded to your overlay. That should allow it to recognise the signal in the background noise of the region.”

“Right. There you go. One problem.” I gave Max a reassuring smile. I could see she was far from convinced, but for the time being willing to listen.

Artemis brought up an image of the station itself. Like most large population habitats it was a torus configuration, complete with its own atmosphere held in place by the centrifugal force of its spin. I was pretty sure there were atmospheric fields in place as well. Can’t be too sure when you’re talking about the atmosphere of a station. The ring had four spokes leading to a central docking sphere.

The ring was essentially a hollow tube with the inner, or upper, quarter of the tube cut away. On the inside of the tube was the main habitable zone, complete with soil, grass, lakes and rivers. Below the surface, and throughout the rest of the ring, resided machinery, atmo-field generators, water treatment facilities and waste disposal facilities along with many of the other life preserving effects required to maintain the station’s habitability. The Ghantri had since populated the subsurface by the hundreds of thousands. They kept the slaves dirtside, and acted as distant guards to the giant prison.

“This central sphere,” indicated Art, “is free from the fake gravity generated by the station’s spin. If he can exfiltrate from here, he won’t need a high thrust profile.”

“Bang! There’s another problem down.”

“Alright, no one likes a smart arse.” said Max, the start of a grin forming on her face.

“I’m not a smart arse, I simply offer the truth and I speak fluent sarcasm.”

“Okay, so if you get off the station, how long do you think it will take you to cross a million clicks of open space in just a space suit?”

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d come and pick me up once I’m a certain distance from the station. Can you rig me a transmitter as well, similar concept, for me to turn on when I need the ship to collect me?”

“I’m not sure,” said Fel, “What range are we talking about?”

“I can realistically only travel a few thousand kilometres before most basic space suit life support starts to fail.”

“You’d need a relatively large transmitter. About the size of a suitcase.”

I rubbed my chin. That wasn’t going to be something I could lug around safely while on the station.

“If I may, First Mate Donovan.” offered Tac.

“Go ahead.”

“I have transmitters, capable of reaching those distances, built into my brain sphere.”

Tac, and the rest of us, had taken to calling his physical housing a brain sphere. Really, through some kind of wizardry of modern science, most of his form reached into multiple dimensions, but a spherical core about twenty-five centimetres across represented his presence on
this
dimension.

“You’re suggesting that I take you with me again, like I did on the Blade of Xerxes?”