Dreadnought (Lost Colonies Trilogy Book 2) (31 page)

-48-

The revelations of the past few minutes left us briefly euphoric—but the sensation quickly changed to one of cold fear.

“This means the enemy has been preparing to strike,” I said. “That ship behind us—the masses of suspended troops on that moon…”

Durris nodded slowly. “It’s the only possible conclusion, sir,” he said. “The Stroj have been preparing to invade. That huge ship was going to transport an invasion force. One that would surprise Earth by coming through an artificial breach and striking at our heart.”

“At least we destroyed their troops,” I said. “That must have put a kink their plans.”

Rumbold cleared his throat loudly. He often did that, but this time I sensed he had a different intent.

“What’s on your mind, Helmsman?” I asked.

“Well sir, if you don’t mind my speaking out of turn among the command line officers…”

“Not at all. Tell me what you’ve thought of.”

He licked his cracked lips and his eyes rolled from side to side. “That ship sir—she’s got no more reason to wait.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’ll follow us. She’ll attack Earth right now.”

Thinking it over, I had to nod in agreement. “You may be right. Yamada, are you watching the breach behind us?”

“Like a hawk, Captain.”

“Good. How long until the enemy comes through—assuming she hasn’t changed course or velocity?”

“She’ll hit the breach within twenty minutes—thirty if the pilot is cautious about an ambush.”

I shook my head. “I doubt her captain is thinking about caution now. Their cover is blown. They’ve lost their ground forces and the element of surprise—unless they strike right now, that is. Yamada, hail Central Command. I must talk to Star Guard.”

We were pretty far out, just past Neptune. That meant any signal we sent would take over four hours to reach Earth.

While Yamada made the arrangements for a long-distance beam to Earth, I considered what my report should say. We’d hardly accomplished our primary mission. We’d established no trade routes and forged zero treaties.

We had, however, made numerous discoveries. We’d mapped out our local bridges and discovered a dangerous enemy force on our doorstep. We’d even discovered some new technologies with alarming ramifications.

But, despite all our accomplishments, we were quite possibly bringing doom home to our planet. The dreadnought would not be the last of her kind, even if she could be stopped today. We’d have to build a war fleet of unprecedented power to meet this implacable enemy.

Sighing quietly, I began recording the message I must send to Central. While I spoke, the rest of the crew stayed quiet. They were white-faced, and they spoke only in whispers if at all.

At last, after I’d hammered out all the details in a succinct fashion, my finger hovered over the transmit button.

That’s when the rear hatch of the command deck opened. An irate figure stood there. She was hunched-over, and framed by the dim-lit passage behind her.

“Lady Grantholm,” I said. “How good of you to join us. Have you heard? We’ve returned to our home—”

“I know where we are, Sparhawk!” she said in a rising tone of voice. “Why didn’t you alert me immediately?”

“I’m merely reporting to CENTCOM, as any captain must upon returning home.”

She hobbled forward quickly, but painfully. “Don’t transmit anything!” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because, I must approve it first,” she said. “I had to nearly kill myself to get out of my cocoon and down here in time.”

I noticed then there were wisps of lavender foam in her hair and clinging to her clothing. The smart clothes writhed over her body, as if they’d been very hastily applied.

“Approve it? This is my report to make. My ship, my report. That’s the way we do things in Star Guard.”

She slapped at my hand, and I almost stabbed my finger down on the transmit button. I thought I could easily pretend to have made a mistake. She wouldn’t believe it, of course, but the deed would be done.

Reluctantly, I withdrew my hand.

Hunching over the boards, she brought up the recording and listened to my simple, truthful statements closely. During this process she clucked her tongue, gasped infrequently, and in the end tapped the delete key.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“I’m going to make the report. Have the brains to sit there and stay quiet!”

She began to speak, and I had to admit, I was impressed. The import of her words was more or less the same, but they were much less plainly delivered.

She started off by listing our accomplishments in detail. She spent the majority of the next ten minutes ticking off discoveries, inserting still images and vids. The message became an audio-visual feast as she melded it all into a smooth presentation.

I realized her report would play much better on the news nets. There was no question about that.

Finally, as she reached the ending, she mentioned the dreadnought that pursued us in deadly earnest. It was as if this fact were of merely passing interest. A footnote in an otherwise glowing story of accomplishment.

Then, she did something more drastic. She reached up and edited the list of receiving entities at the top of the message. She also removed the encryption option.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “Sending this in the clear? That’s a violation of military protocol—”

“So what if it is?” she demanded, slapping away my hand again, as I reached to change back her alterations. “Sparhawk, who’s going to hear anything out here anyway?”

“There may be enemies lying in wait in the system. Enemies that don’t yet realize we’ve discovered their invasion plans.”

“So what if there are?” she asked. “The second that big battlewagon sails through the breach after us, it will activate these bogeys anyway—if they exist.”

I had to admit she was probably right about that. But it did bother me to breach protocol in such a basic manner.

“It’s not just CENTCOM that will hear this,” I said. “The whole planet will. The news organizations—everyone.”

She jabbed a finger at me and nodded. “Exactly. That’s why I’m doing it this way. I’m saving Earth.”

Before I could stop her, that same finger darted down and touched the transmit button. The message was gone. There was no way to get it back, no way to retrieve it now. At the speed of light, it was heading toward every receiver on Earth, or in space, that might be listening.

Leaning back, I attempted to relax. “Let me see if I understand your reasoning,” I said. “Instead of a report to CENTCOM, you just made a deliberate leak of data to the entire world. The news people aren’t stupid. They’ll see through your carefully couched wording. They’ll report that doom stalks the skies.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And then a low-level public panic will begin. There’s nothing that will get a planet’s military moving faster than a public fervor. The politicians—including your father—will be forced to act decisively. They’ll have Earth barricaded before we get home.”

“All right,” I said, “I still don’t like breaching protocol… but this may have been for an excellent cause.”

She patted me on the arm as she retreated.

“You’re learning, nephew,” she said. “You’re definitely learning.”

No sooner had she left than the enemy ship appeared at the breach. Everyone on the command deck fell silent when they saw this engine of destruction.

We’d never seen her so close. She gleamed, having a surface of unpainted metal. There were no adornments, no identifying insignia. Unlike the Stroj themselves, their vessels were very utilitarian. They only decorated their own bodies, not their warships.

The enemy engine was blazing. They hadn’t stopped accelerating at all. The only answer to this was they must have known exactly where the breach was. They’d had it all mapped out, all pre-planned.

“All ahead full plus fifty percent,” I said. “Engage in one hundred seconds. We’ll give the crew a heads-up first.”

In truth, I was thinking of my aunt. She’d made the right call, I realized now. It was better to warn all of Earth, not just the military. Acknowledging her wisdom had made me reluctant to crush her body with excessive G-forces—at least, not without a warning.

Klaxons sounded and recorded messages played. All over the ship, the crew groaned aloud then scrambled for a berth and strapped themselves in.

-49-

The following hours were as grueling as any I’d spent on this voyage. We were outdistancing the enemy ship—but only barely.

“Captain,” Zye said, rousing me from a fitful slumber in the command chair.

I came awake gasping for breath. The weight on my chest—it was too much. Many of the crew were delirious. They had forced-air breathing systems and oxygen monitors that puffed extra life-giving gasses when they sensed the need—but it was still too much to be borne.

“I’m awake,” I said, shaking myself painfully.

Lying in any chair for long hours always gave me aches and pains in my limbs, but when under heavy acceleration it was infinitely worse.

Zye shadowed me, and looked me over with a critical eye.

“My leg’s gone numb,” I told her. “Help me up.”

She lifted me and set me on my feet. I took a deep breath and checked my monitors. They were mostly green—but a few were dipping into the yellow.

“We must eat, and we must rest.”

“It’s not time yet,” Zye said, looking at me in concern. “The schedule calls for four full hours of—”

“Damn the schedule. Ease off the throttle.”

Rumbold was nearly comatose. Zye gently removed his hand from the boards and touched the release on the throttle. The engines groaned with a sound like that of dying fans.

Feeling a great relief, I swung my arms and stamped my feet until I could walk straight again.

“How far is the dreadnought behind us?”

“About twenty million kilometers,” she said.

It sounded like a lot, but I knew it wasn’t. A few hours at these speeds would close the distance.

The enemy dreadnought reminded me of a relentless shark. It had little in the way of cunning but was seemingly unstoppable. As we rested, it pressed ahead. Stroj were built to take more gravity than Basics were, that was clear. Either that, or they didn’t feel the pain.

“Any response from Star Guard yet?” I asked Yamada, who was awake and rubbing her neck.

“I’ve got a terrible cramp,” she said.

“We all do. Check your boards.”

“Sorry Captain… no response yet. It won’t get here for about thirty more minutes, and that’s assuming they responded immediately upon receiving our transmission.”

I chuckled at that. “Be assured, they’ll respond fast. We’ll probably hear from a great many interested parties. Have you been sending steady updates on the enemy ship?”

“Yes, Captain. We’ve forwarded every bit of intel on the dreadnought we have. It isn’t much, as we haven’t yet faced her in open battle.”

To my mind, that moment would probably be our last in this universe, but I kept those thoughts to myself.

Half an hour later, the responses to our initial report began coming in. At first, we got a simple automated acknowledgement from CENTCOM. It was from Admiral Halsey himself.

“Captain Sparhawk!” the recording said, “I’ve just been informed you’ve returned to Sol. I’ll check on the rest of your report just as soon as I’m able. Congratulations on what I’m sure has been a successful voyage.”

The canned response was almost amusing. I knew he must have recorded it months ago, ready to transmit the moment we reported our return into home space.

It wasn’t long after that, however, that the tone changed. My next transmission surprised me: it was from my father. Rather than coming through regular channels, it buzzed its way into my head via my implant. I decided to take it privately, since it had been transmitted with that intent.

“William,” my father said, looking as if he’d been dragged from bed and hastily placed in front of a vid pickup. “I’ve heard that you’re on your way back to Earth. There’s some confusion about your status. The Star Guard people are buzzing about it. I just wanted to warn you. Rest assured that our House is behind you. Sparhawk out.”

His message didn’t surprise me. My father often got official communiques even before I did despite the fact he wasn’t always on the list to receive them. Members of the permanent ruling class of Earth had privileges.

The next message was from Halsey again. He looked different this time. His service cap was gone, as was his dress-uniform. Instead of smiles, he regarded me with a glum expression.

“Sparhawk? What’s this about you bringing home an enemy warship?” he demanded. “I can’t believe you’re responsible for such a gross lack of judgment. Maybe the joint chiefs were wrong about you… ‘the best,’ they said. ‘Wise beyond his years,’ they said. Now, it looks like you’ve embarrassed us all.”

That was it. Short, to the point, and irritating. I turned to Yamada.

“He’s clearly not yet had time to view the files depicting the dreadnought’s displacement or our firepower estimates.”

“It’s the middle of the night, and it’s a weekend,” she said. “They’re going to freak out when they realize what we’ve brought home.”

“Yes… as they should.”

Cautiously, I waited for five more minutes.

Long distance communications in space were problematic. They were more like holo-mail correspondences than conversations, as the back-forth messages couldn’t be responded to quickly.

As each new message came in, the picture grew more grim. Star Guard was beginning to panic.

“Official request from Central Command,” said the next message. I directed Yamada to put it on the primary screen.

The face of a middle-aged rear admiral filled the forward bulkhead. She was very serious in her demeanor, and her uniform was perfectly crisp despite the late hour on Earth.

“Captain Sparhawk,” she said severely. “You’re hereby ordered
not
to lead that enemy vessel to Earth. Get it off-track any way you can.”

Shrugging, I thought the idea wasn’t a bad one. I doubted if I could pull it off, however.

“Helm?” I asked.

Rumbold snorted awake. “Ready!”

“Shift course toward our base on Ceres. Let’s see if they follow us.”

Rumbold laid in the course and we felt ourselves gently slewing to starboard for several long minutes.

“Captain,” Yamada said. “The Stroj ship is still heading for Earth. They’ve made no effort to alter their angle of flight.”

Nodding, I sipped a cup of hot caf and weighed my options. Really, there weren’t many.

“Come about,” I said. “Rumbold, turn back toward Earth. Let’s see what a parallel course does to impress them.”

“Nothing, sir,” Durris said. “They’re not reacting at all.”

About a minute later Durris walked up and approached my command chair. “Many might take you as disobeying a direct order from CENTCOM, William,” he said quietly.

“You can relieve me if you think you have the grounds,” I said.

He shook his head and crossed his arms. “I only want to hear a justification.”

“I was ordered to distract them from their course. My first effort failed. Turning back to pace them isn’t disobedience. Quite the contrary. I’m considering other options.”

We studied the boards in silence for a few minutes. At last, he sucked in a breath and nodded.

“You’re right. They’re ignoring us. What else can we do?”

“I’m open to suggestions,” I said, “but I really know of only one other maneuver.”

“Which is?”

“To turn and fight.”

“That’s suicide.”

“Probably,” I admitted. “That’s why I haven’t given the order yet.”

At that point some ten minutes had passed since we’d made our course corrections and been ignored by the Stroj ship. The communications light blinked again.

“Put the transmission on-screen,” I said.

It was Admiral Halsey again. He was now standing in Star Guard’s War Room. He was dressed but bedraggled. The female rear admiral was nowhere to be seen.

“Sparhawk?” Halsey boomed. “I want you to ignore that last order transmitted by our idiot standby crew. You’re to stay between Earth and that monster at all costs. And most importantly,
do not
engage with them. Not yet. We’re gathering the support you’re going to need—if we’re going to pull this off, we’ll need time to do it.”

Relieved, I sat back in my chair. Durris approached again, shaking his head.

“Halsey figured out we’re the biggest line of defense between Earth and this monster ship. He doesn’t want us wandering off. You knew they’d see the light, didn’t you?”

“I certainly hoped that they would.”

He studied the data. “We’ve got nearly a day’s flight to Earth. I’ll warn you if anything changes.”

“Are you suggesting I should retire, XO?”

“I am indeed, sir. We need your fine mind operating at peak capacity as we approach Earth. At that point, there won’t be any second chances.”

Taking his advice, I heaved myself up and headed for the showers. Even before I got there, I felt the ship slow down. We were nearly weightless. The helmsman had orders to match the enemy course and speed. Clearly, they were slowing down to meet Earth in her locked circular orbit around Sol.

The thought was chilling in a way. The dreadnought was implacable, methodical, and deadly. Those aboard her were going to park in orbit above Earth, doubtlessly intending to take their time while delivering destruction onto our cities.

In the meantime,
Defiant
was to be ignored. Probably, they thought of us as negligible. Like a small, barking dog that couldn’t stop a prowler, we could only irritate them.

Crashing onto my bunk, I passed out into what seemed to me a dreamless sleep. It was the sleep of the dead. Nothing exhausted a man more than doubling his weight for hours on end.

When I awakened, I bathed and ate. Returning to the command deck refreshed, I found Yamada, Durris and Rumbold were gone. They’d been replaced by a skeleton crew of understudies.

Only Zye remained at her post. I approached her and touched her shoulder.

She looked up at me questioningly.

“Zye, you should take a break. Go take a shower or something. I need you functioning at your best when this battle begins.”

“Captain,” she said, “I’ve been studying the enemy vessel.”

“Yes, we all have.”

“Sir, I think there’s something odd about it.”

I let her show me what she was talking about. The data was confusing.

“The ship does seem to be… larger,” I said, frowning. “But that’s not possible—is it?”

“I don’t think so.”

Moving to Yamada’s screen, I ran my hands over it and worked the controls. There was the monster ship, displacing an estimated tonnage that was mind-boggling. What was really disturbing, however, was the fact that the estimate was fully twenty percent higher than it had been when we’d first discovered the ship.

“Could they have some kind of light-bending technology?” I asked Zye.

She shrugged. “I’m not aware of such a thing—other than their ability to cloak their vessels.”

“Get Yamada up here on the double.”

A few minutes later, while we were still puzzling over the sensor data, she showed up with damp hair and slightly out of breath.

“Lieutenant,” I said, “what do you make of these sensor discrepancies?”

She sat down, blinking, and went over the data we’d compiled. She was baffled at first, but soon began working numbers. In the meantime, I summoned my key crewmembers back to their stations. I had a feeling we might need them.

“Sir, the ship seems to be getting bigger the farther away it is from us. That’s very strange.”

“Obviously, it’s some kind of trick,” Zye complained. “The Stroj are always full of tricks.”

“Yes,” I said, “but it’s up to us to figure out exactly how we’re being fooled. Is it possible this ship we’ve been running from, this monster of the skies, is much smaller than it appears?”

Yamada shrugged. “I suppose. Maybe it’s like their stealth tech. Think about it: a small ship wants to go unnoticed. A larger ship, however, might want to look bigger and more dangerous than she is.”

Snorting and shaking my head, I was almost convinced. “Could we be running from a phantom?”

“It’s possible,” Yamada said, frowning. “But there’s another possibility, sir. She could be looking bigger because she’s closer to us than she appears to be.”

I stared at her. “Explain.”

“Well, what if she’s projecting herself in a different location. The technology to do so would be somewhat simpler than total stealth. She could—”

Snapping my fingers, I walked over to Durris. “Plot her course.”

“That’s this yellow line here, sir,” he said. “Running right by our ship.”

“Yamada,” I said, “swing your sensor array around and focus on that yellow line. Look for tritium trails.”

She stared at me, then wordlessly got to work. For a tense ninety seconds, no one spoke. At last, she made a choking cry.

“She’s alongside us, sir!” she shouted. “She’s pacing us, and projecting herself as being far behind.”

“The slowing of her engines…” I said thoughtfully. “It was a trick. We matched her, when really she’s been roaring ahead to catch us.”