Daros, page 7
“Any of that could be true.” Jerrin was studying Brecca’s face now. “But I don’t think we’re going to figure it out from here. If your dad is still alive, we’ll have to hope that whoever he’s with now will help him. At least until the Patrol gets here, and the invasion is stopped.”
“You really think they’ll come? And that they’ll be able to stop this?”
Jerrin nodded. “They’ll come. Interstellar comms going down means they’ll realize something is wrong, probably soon, and if anybody got out before the gate got destroyed, which maybe some did, they’ll spread the word. The Patrol ships don’t need the gates to jump, so they can get here even with gate down. It just might take them a little longer, six days maybe, or less for the faster ships to make it. And the Patrol’s got more ships and more firepower than these invaders have. Way more. Even if you limit it to what’s nearby and able to get here fast. Unless the invaders reinforce, or have something tricky, some weapon or something they haven’t shown us yet, I’m thinking they’ll have to withdraw or be destroyed.” Jerrin looked at the display. The video still showed the drone’s investigation of Envy’s Price. “I mean, nothing’s guaranteed, but I think we’ve got a good shot at a rescue.”
Brecca could feel some despair taking hold. “Unless they hit all the worlds in this sector at once. They had way more than they needed for Daros. Maybe it’s a much bigger invasion.”
Jerrin looked a little crestfallen. “Man, you go dark easy, don’t you?” She considered. “With the antiquities, I think we’ve maybe got a simpler explanation. They came for that, maybe in and out, before Zinglar got access. A raid, not a war.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Me too. Me too.”
18
Bad News Bearers
Frim stared at her console. She had made an observation, and she absolutely did not want to share it. It was a bad observation, one that would displease the Captain. It was not Frim’s fault, but that might not matter too much. And this observation was not really worth dying for. Especially because Torlo had just received another piece of bad news. One of the installations on the surface had a high-grade shield generator along with defensive weapons. It had so far resisted both attack ships and ground troops and had not yet fallen.
Frim cursed internally. Hiding something of this import would definitely get her killed, and it would probably be discovered anyway. There was nothing for it. She opened her nasal flaps and pulled in a full dose of atmosphere. Time to try.
“Captain,” she said. “I have an observation to report.”
“Yes, Navigator?”
“My pathing software has indicated a potential hazard in orbit. Not an important hazard, not a danger to the fleet.”
“Then why bring it up? We’re not going anywhere. I’m sure there are plenty of hazards. We’ve created a great deal of orbital debris.” Torlo sounded angry. Not good.
“Captain, this hazard is a faint trail of exonium particles leading down into the planet’s atmosphere.” She swallowed. “Exonium is a known expellant product from Vonar star drives. Even when cloaked, they sometimes emit exonium residue upon movement.”
The Captain stared at Frim, her eye pulsing slightly. “You’re saying the Vonar left?” Her tone was cold and quiet. Her digits on her whip hand twitched. This situation was turning into a big pile of molting slime. Frim dared not move, though. Rin turned to watch the scene from her station behind the captain’s console.
The new ensign at Sensors chimed in, her voice far too eager. “I can confirm, Captain. The trail is there. It’s more visible under direct scans from the main sensor array. Still very hard to detect.” She sounded excited, but she was badly misplaying this. To be expected from somebody only a day or so old.
The Captain’s dead-eye stare shifted to the ensign. “You weren’t scanning before?”
The ensign’s nasal flaps fluttered, and her eye membrane blinked a few times. She was finally getting the picture, but too late. “Uh, captain, I was focused on studying gravity anomalies near the ship’s last location, as directed. The models didn’t--”
The whip snapped out, and the ensign’s top half fell off her bottom half onto the deck with a wet slap. She made some unpleasant noises and then was quiet. The hatching request indicator lit up on the main viewscreen. Pink, for Sensors.
19
All About That Base
Brecca woke to yelling. Her eyes were crusty, and her back was cramped from the hard cave floor. She must have slept for a while. But with the sudden noise, she was immediately on edge, alert, ready to run. It turned out it was just Enolon being excited. “They’ve got a shield?” he shouted. “They’re winning?”
“Two enemy attack ships down, some locals are saying,” said Rhee. “How do they have a shield that strong? And weapons like that?”
“Why do they have them, is what I’m wondering,” said Jerrin. “There’s no reason for a simple mining colony to have anywhere near that kind of firepower, or defensive installations.”
“And why didn’t we know?” asked Deffen. “You’d think security would be informed of weapons strong enough to resist a planetary invasion.”
“And that invasion was even a possibility. I don’t know what their game is here, but it’s a sure thing Zinglar is playing at something different than they were letting on.” Jerrin looked thoughtful.
Brecca made her way over to the others. They were clustered around the console they’d set up next to the antenna. “Did this just come over the network?” she asked. “How come we didn’t hear about it yesterday? Or right when the invasion started?”
Jerrin frowned. “I’m not sure, but I think it didn’t get turned on immediately. It might have taken some time to power it up. A shield that strong has to have a generator with the kind of capacity a battlecruiser uses. Plus whatever the weapons take. So maybe it just wasn’t turned on, and they managed to get it powered up a while after the invasion. Or maybe they didn’t want to reveal that they had that kind of weaponry. It makes them a target, after all. Or maybe it’s just a communication breakdown. The network between here and there wasn’t connected, so we just didn’t hear, or nobody was doing any reporting. We’re just hearing this second hand now, mostly from the bartender at the outpost on his personal feed. Nothing official.”
“Outpost?” asked Brecca. “This shield isn’t at the main city?”
Rhee smirked. “It’s on one of the more remote installations. Daros Ten. Northwest of here, pretty far north of Daros Station.” Rhee pulled up a holo map above the console. A section of Daros appeared. Brecca recognized the big irregular shape of the main city and spaceport and the network of lines and blobs radiating out from it - the rail system and the smaller outposts and mines. Rhee pointed at one near the top of the map. “Another mystery. I don’t know why they wouldn’t put the defenses where all the major resources were. To protect their investment. That’s all lost now, overrun by the invaders.”
“Daros Ten is near the location Kenjo gave for the antiquities discovery,” said Deffen. “I bet they’re protecting that. I bet it’s all connected. I bet that’s why they didn’t tell us.”
“Sounds right to me.” Jerrin had a grim look on her face.
Enolon, by contrast, was looking happier than Brecca had seen him. “But this means we can win. We can hold out for the Patrol. We can fight back.”
Deffen spoke up. “We don’t know what they can do from orbit. Even a good shield can’t stand up to significant bombardment. We don’t know how long it can maintain power, or what the invaders have for weapons. It could be vulnerable to nukes, to explosives, to EM. Or whatever else the aliens brought, stuff we don’t even know about. And we don’t even know what weapons Zinglar’s using. Taking down a couple of ships doesn’t win you a war.”
“Still,” said Enolon. “If we can get there, that sounds a lot safer than a cave.”
“It might be,” said Jerrin. “But not if we die on the way.” Rhee nodded her assent. Deffen rubbed his hip and said nothing.
“Have they issued an invitation? A call for people to shelter there?” continued Jerrin.
“Nothing in what I’ve seen,” said Rhee. “But again, it’s not official. Just a local sending updates.”
“Any pictures? It might help to see what’s going on.”
Rhee moved her hands across the console’s controls. “Here’s what we have so far.” Some images and shaky videos appeared in the holo above the console. The flare where a glowing section of shield took a weapon hit. Ships in flight overhead, beams lancing down, but splashing against the shield. A ship, one of the alien ones maybe, falling from the sky with a line of smoke and gas and dust trailing behind. And then two cannons pointed skyward, maxing out the audio volume with a crackle as they fired. In the video, Brecca could see the shield make a circular gap just as the guns went off. She wasn’t sure how shields like this worked, but it seemed like the guns needed the shield to be down for their shots to get out.
Deffen whistled. “Those are plasma cannons. See the logo there? Westworks? That’s some serious artillery. I think they might be L25’s.”
“Would they reach orbit?”
Deffen considered. “A low orbit, maybe. The shots would dissipate some in the atmosphere and have less effective distance than they would in vacuum. But Daros doesn’t have that high an atmospheric ceiling because it’s dense for its size. And pretty good gravity for its radius, though less than standard. So they might make it out.” Rhee nodded at this. “But I think they’d have trouble reaching beyond a couple hundred kilometers. And maybe less than that with any accuracy. I don’t know. I was infantry, and this is navy stuff, or planet def.”
“So, this is at best a regional defense,” said Jerrin. “They might be able to hold out and defeat attackers, but it’s easy to stay outside its range?”
“Yeah, it totally can’t protect the planet. Just the local area. But with that range, that could cover most of the outposts nearby. One through Five, at least, and obviously Ten through Twelve, which are right near there. Might have trouble reaching the others, especially Thirteen.” Deffen wrinkled up his mouth.
“But they didn’t protect those, did they?” said Rhee. “The invaders are in all of those outposts killing people, taking prisoners. We were there, at Four. They’re in control.”
“So they’re not trying to save the rest of us?” said Enolon. “Just defend themselves?” He looked less happy now.
“Looks that way.” Jerrin was angry. “This whole thing stinks. They’re leaving us hung out to dry, and they’ve been lying about what they were doing. The mining operation might just be a cover for whatever they’re doing with the antiquities. Lies on top of lies.”
“But we could still go there. I mean, they’d have to let us in if we were just outside the shield, right?” Enolon’s tone was uncertain. He wasn’t convincing anybody, probably not even himself. “We’d be safe there. Safer than here.”
Brecca pulled out her con out of habit. Of course, with the network mostly down, the odds that there was anything new were small. But there it was – a message icon. She touched the icon, and a message popped up. It was from Nex! Brecca felt a surge of hope. Nex had addressed her and her father and sent it encrypted with the ship’s unique cypher key. She popped open the full message.
Captain Vereen and Brecca –
I hope you both have survived. I came down near Daros Two and headed for the settlement. I didn’t know, but it was already overrun, and I was taken captive when I arrived. I’m here in a cafeteria hall with maybe twenty other people. It is most undignified, and people are starting to smell and to argue. The food is pretty terrible. Just prepackaged rations, and bland ones at that.
They’ve taken some of the local leaders for questioning, and a couple haven’t come back, which is worrying. They don’t seem interested in me. They either haven’t noticed my implant, or they don’t care. Everybody else has been left with only their clothing – no tools, no weapons, no electronics, no anything – and I’m keeping quiet about mine. The invaders here are all huge soldier types. There are a few littler ones without all the armor who speak Trade, but they don’t come around that often.
Cam is here, too. I should have mentioned that. They brought her in a little after me. She got shaken up some when her pod landed, but other than a sore ankle, she’s all right. She’s winning some money playing veccuri with some Storelians, although nobody knows if we’ll live to spend it. I really wonder if they aren’t just keeping us alive to eat us. That would be close to how I thought I was going to die.
I don’t think there’s much network left working, but maybe you’ll get this. If you do, write back. It would be good to know you’re still alive. Stay away from the installations. I wish I had.
Your long-suffering crewbeing,
Nex
Also, if you are alive, please consider providing hazard pay. It’s consistent with union regs, and the insurance might cover it. This whole mess should trigger the nonstandard risk clause, for sure.
They were alive. Brecca felt a wave of relief. That was something, at least. They weren’t out of danger, but at least she knew where they were and that they were not hurt or under immediate threat. She sent a message back. She didn’t give locations or many details, in case it got intercepted and decrypted, but at least Nex would know she was all right. If he got it, and if he was still alive.
There was a sudden chirring sound from the front of the cave. It went on and on. The four security officers leapt to their feet and grabbed their weapons. They took positions behind crates, along walls. Finding cover, with overlapping fields of fire. Jerrin hit something on her con, and the sound ceased.
“What is it?” said Brecca. She found a crate of her own, but her pistol was deep in her pack farther back in the cave. She had no idea what to do. Her breath came quickly, her heart beat fast, and she had a taste like metal in her mouth. “What’s that sound?”
“Proximity alarm,” said Deffen. He popped the battery pack out of his rifle and checked its charge, then slapped it back into its slot. His mouth was set in a thin line.
20
Everything Happens for a Treason
“The guns are sizable, Captain. Advance scouts did not report a defensive installation of this size.” The new Sensors officer’s tone was neutral, and she looked at her console, answering direct questions well. She was glistening. It took a while for the skin to settle, to accustom to dry air rather than the dampness of the incubator. But that was hardly the only challenge. Frim remembered how overwhelming it had been to have her brain filled with implanted skills and knowledge, language, culture, custom, ethics, and her navigation training, all there, arising seemingly at the same instant as consciousness, as her first ragged breath of air, while the sustenance tubes were still being disconnected. It had been jarring. A few moments later or earlier, at a different spot in line, and she could have been a soldier, an engineer, a maintenance worker, a hatcher, a scientist, or a captain, but her ship had needed a navigator, and thus it was Frim came to be who she was. And moments later, she’d been seated at Navigation, steering a ship, communicating fluently in a language she had just learned, discomfited and reeling. She could see echoes of that tumultuous time, of those feelings, in the Sensors officer’s face.
But there was a key difference. That ship, 806495, had been a different world. There, under her first captain, selective cullings were rare, not the daily parade of death on display here on 807332. Certainly, cullings were not absent. Those who the Captain deemed defective were removed, though usually with less spectacle and more dignity. The Principle of Selection still applied, but without the casual, frequent murder so common here. And on that ship, the Principle seemed to work as intended. Those who were incompetent or defective, or who could not find Harmony in their work, were removed, and the crew grew together into an effective team. In those days, Frim had bought into the system without question, and she had prospered with the ship and the captain.
Until she didn’t. The Captain had died during an attack, impaled by debris knocked loose by a torpedo strike. As the ship limped away from the battle, barely functioning, a new Captain had been hatched, and it was then that Frim learned that her first Captain was an exception, a pleasant aberration, not the rule. Her second Captain, now long dead, was in the mold of Torlo, her current one. She showed only caprice, impossibly high standards, frequent cullings, and a crew living in uncertainty and fear, cycling through hatchlings at an alarming pace.
806495 had been deemed too damaged to repair, and the sundered ship was consigned to salvage. Her crew was dispersed to other ships. That was how Frim had arrived on 807332, a crew transfer, unusual but not unheard of. Her first tour on this ship had been reconnaissance, no combat, but even that light duty had been made ugly by the new Captain, Torlo, the same one radiating frustration and rage behind her now. On that simple mission, over two thirds of the bridge positions had been culled, some of them multiple times, over a stretch lasting only a bit over two Orbits. It had been a profound relief to return to Enzok, to detach from the crew, to be scrubbed clean, reseeded, and to spend some time on leave.
Perhaps it was because of her experience with her first Captain that they approached her. Or perhaps it was some flavor of emotion she broadcast, or some genetic signature they detected. She could never be sure. But at some point, she had realized that she could not continue to live like this. When they offered her hope, a chance to change her plight, the governing system, everything, to fight against what she hated, she’d signed on with no hesitation. That was a reckless decision, to be sure. Those who approached her could have been liars, or security officers running a false operation to weed out the weak or defective, or merely dreamers with no hope of success. But so far, she’d been able to survive despite the odds, helped along by their implanted masking device that sublimated her emotions and thoughts, drew attention away from her and made her appear unremarkable, even more fully the subdued obedient drone she was supposed to be. And if she survived and persisted, she might be able to help those dreams, spoken of in hushed tones in a storage room on Enzok, become reality. Even if it meant her death. It probably would. But she had a purpose now, and hope, where before there had been only fear and anger and futility. If this fleet’s mission failed, if she could help that happen, it did not matter if she lived or died. That would be victory enough.
