Текст книги "Mercenary's Star"

Автор книги: Уильям Кейт

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"Don't you think I know the mass of a UnionDropShip, Captain?" Kodo's voice was silky now, and dangerous.

"Of course, my Lord. The...intruder masses 3200 tons. While this couldbe explained in terms of a light cargo load or low expendables, the discrepancies seemed important enough to warrant bringing them to your attention."

"You have done so. Your analysis of the DropShip's mass discrepancy is masterful, a brilliant piece of routine deduction! The freighter has arrived on a purely routine resupply mission...a bit early, yes, but purely routine! Routine!" His head shook again in the shocked silence, sour disapproval etching the corners of his mouth and eyes. "Your file states that you have initiative. Captain. I can't say that my entry in your service record is going to support that contention. I suggest that, in future, you use that vaunted initiative and let me get on with my work!"

The bald head swivelled back to Study the terminal screen at his desk. Recognizing the end of the interview. Captain Powell saluted, closed fist to breast. "Thank you, Lord Admiral."

Outside the Admiral's office suite, she put a hand against the corridor wall and let out a long sigh of relief. Lords of Space, but Old Baldy was in a bad mood today!

"Captain?"

"Eh?" A young Lieutenant from the Commo Department saluted as she looked up. "What is it?"

"Priority message from a courier, Captain. It just came through.”

“I'll take it."

He handed her the sheet, saluted, and retreated. She read it, paused, then read it through again. So.Here was proofthat the drive flare she'd watched through the telescopic scanners above the base hadn't belonged to a Combine resupply mission. It was a DropShip ferrying mercenary ‘Mechs to support the rebellion on Verthandi. That was critical information. The question was...how best to use it?

If she gave it to Admiral Kodo, he might do nothing or else he might call an alert and take the credit for himself. In either case, it would be dangerous, personally dangerous, to directly contradict the man again when he was in such a mood. If she sidestepped Kodo and alerted Nagumo's headquarters directly, she would be court-martialed for bypassing the rigid Draconian chain of command. Well, the foggy old bastard wanted initiative, did he? She'd give him initiative.

Straightening, Powell turned and stalked toward her office. She couldn't put the base on alert without old Kodo's direct approval, but, by all the Black Hells of Space, she could intercept, that DropShip with a routine patrol. Routine! Patrol One-Nine ought to be in a favorable position for a quick burn that would swing it close for a look-see. When the patrol was close enough to eyeball the intruder and bring it under its guns, and with other officers there as witnesses, thenshe would show the message to the Admiral.

Maybe then Baldy Kodo would recognize initiative when he saw it.

* * * *

Verthandi was swelling in the Phobos'safter screens. It appeared as a globe of gold and tan mingled with dark green and blue patches at the pole, and painted with the swirls of gilt-edged storm clouds and weather fronts dwarfed by distance. The world's moon, an airless, ancient, and crater-pocked rock a scant 110,000 kilometers from its primary, moved in stately procession along its orbital path. It circled Verthandi about once every four-and-a-half standard days. World and moon filled one of the narrow bridge viewscreens, as stars and glory crowded through the others that revealed the encircling Deep to the instrument-crammed bridge.

Grayson stood on the command podium, just behind the horseshoe of screens and terminals of the captain's seat. He leaned across Martinez's shoulder and pointed at the nav console screen where a pair of blips marked targets tracked by the DropShip around the curve of the planet on an intercept course.

"I see them, Major," she said. There was neither scorn nor fear in her words, but he sensed the underlying tautness. "Escorts, I'd say. They're not shaping for an attack pass."

The ship's senior commtech looked up from his own console nearby. "Incoming message, Captain," he said. "Standard Combine protocol...but their IFF code is a new one."

"We expected that," Martinez said. "It's been a few years since the Invidiousvisited Kurita space and took those recordings. Open a channel, and pipe it up here. We'll play dumb."

Grayson looked across the bridge crowded with ship personnel and instrumentation to catch the eye of their Verthandian employer. He could see the sweat glistening on Erudin's forehead, and he found himself holding his breath. The plan for their approach to Verthandi had been worked out long before the boost from Galatea.

"Inbound DropShip, this is a fleet blockade patrol in the service of the Duke Hassid Ricol and the Grand Fleet of the Draconis Combine." The radio voice was sharp through the hiss of static. "You have entered interdicted territory. Identify yourself."

Grayson picked up the microphone. The encounter had been discussed and rehearsed, but his throat was tight with tension. "This is DropShip Li Tao,inbound to Verthandi with a consignment of military supplies from the freighter Chi Lung."He paced his words carefully, overriding his nervousness. The eyes of everyone on the bridge were on him as he spoke to the unseen fighter pilot in the void beyond. A computer screen by Martinez's right elbow flickered, then rearranged patterns of green light and black into schematic outlines of the approaching fighters, flanked by the cold words of statistics and performance. They were Shilones,canted, twin-finned wing shapes massing 65 tons each, carrying missiles and a trio of lasers. No threat to a real UnionClass, they could savage the lighter armor of the Invidious'sconverted DropShips, and they promised the rapid approach of heavier warships against which the Phoboscould not last long.

There was an awkward hesitation, a pause of a second or so as radio waves crawled between points a sizable fraction of a light second apart. The delay felt endless.

"Li Tao,your IFF codes are obsolete. We will approach to make visual comfirmation."

"Can't help that," Grayson replied in what he hoped sounded like aconvincingly offhand manner. "We've been in the boonies for quite a while. But come on in and eyeball us, if you like. Hope you guys like what you see."

The approaching patrol ignored the attempt at banter. "Make no attempt to alter your present vector. We will give you precise instructions for additional delta-V and vectoring momentarily. You will proceed directly to the Combine base on Verthandi-Alpha. Under no circumstances are you to approach the planet or make any course or thrust corrections without our specific orders."

Martinez arched one eyebrow as Grayson returned the microphone to her console. "Touchy, aren't they?"

Time passed. The Shilonefighters narrowed the range, their thrusters burning furiously to match course and speed with the still-decelerating DropShip. Martinez watched the latest listing of computer predictions of vector and delta-V for the Combine fighters and shook her head. "If they keep burning fuel like that, they’re not going to make it home."

"There's their ride home," Grayson replied, pointing to another blip rounding the curve of Verthandi's horizon. Fresh information spilled across the computer screen. The new target was a LeopardClass DropShip massing 1700 tons. Though lighter and less heavily armed and armored than a Union ,it was still more than a match for the Phobos."If that thing catches us, we've had it."

Having been trained for ground combat in a BattleMech, Grayson shared most Mech Warriors' general dislike for all AeroSpace Fighters. The interservice rivalry between ground-hogs and air-heads was a long and venerable one, dating back to Terran times. In actual battle, that rivalry became an intense hatred for enemy fighter pilots who could cleave the air above a ‘Mech battlefield, leaving a wake of shattered, burning war machines.

Friendly DropShips were, of course, the only way ‘Mech armies had of moving from a JumpShip to a world and back again, and so members of a ‘Mech unit and the crew of their transport could become quite close, despite the good-natured rivalry. When it came to enemy DropShips, however, Mech Warriors both respected and feared them. On the ground, those heavily armed and armored giants could burn down approaching ‘Mechs with almost practiced ease.

Worse was the approach to the battlefields of a new world, when Mech Warriors had to sit and watch the developing battle in space around them, unable to affect the course of events, unable to direct their weapons against approaching enemies, unable to do anything but curse or pray. For Grayson, it was somewhat easier being on the bridge, watching the approach of the enemy. For the rest of the men and women aboard the Phobos,locked in cramped cubicles and surrounded by gray metal and the worried faces of their comrades, the wait must crawl on, unendurably.

And this is what you've trained for so long,he told himself. To lead men and women into battle. Victory or death...Glory and honor...All Grayson felt, however, was an agony of fear that he might have made his last and biggest mistake.

Bridge computers unfolded new equations. The Shiloneswere almost within visual range now. Though much more distant, the Leopardwas moving along a course that would block the Phobosif she attempted to bolt and run toward the planet.

Radio telemetry told of other developments. At least two more fighters were swinging in close orbit around Verthandi from the far side, and another DropShip was readying for boost at the base on Verthandi-Alpha. The Dracos might not be certain that Phoboswas other than what she claimed to be, but they certainly were taking no chances.

Moment by moment, the Phoboswas being boxed in by forces she could not outrun and could never hope to overcome.

7

 

Governor General Masayoshi Nagumo scowled at the image of Admiral Kodo on the comscreen. The time delay between Verthandi and Verthandi-Alpha was less than four-tenths of a second, but twice that was needed to make the transmission and to receive the reply. The almost one-second delay acted as an unwelcome drag on extended conversations.

The worst part of it, Nagumo decided, was that he could not choose the moment at which to explosively interrupt a subordinate in mid-apology or explanation. Here was Kodo, for example, talking for almost a full second before Nagumo's acid, single-word commentary could cut off the Admiral's complaint about the low level of initiative and efficiency among the members of the Combine garrison stationed on Verthandi-Alpha. The delay was a short one, but enough to irritate an already-irritated Governor General.

"The situation is notroutine," Nagumo said, once Kodo had fallen silent. Around him, the Techs and staff in the Regis Command Center also listened apprehensively. "I am gratified, at least, that you had enough daring and initiative to order a patrol to check out the intruder. That is, after all, the purpose of a blockade, is it not?"The last words were thrust at Kodo's bald image, like edged weapons.

"Yes, my Lord." Kodo was sweating heavily, the overhead fluoros in his office gleaming from his moist scalp. "I...I felt it my duty to position our patrol, with a heavy back-up, to check the intruder carefully, and to be in position to block him from Verthandi, just in case. He cannot possibly avoid us."

"Good. You will take precautions that the intruder not be allowed closer than 70,000 kilometers to Verthandi. When it lands at Verthandi-Alpha, I want your Techs to take that ship apart if necessary to search for contraband or hidden passengers. The cargo is to be reloaded and transhipped here on one of our DropShips. Understood?"

"Y-yes, my Lord."

Nagumo nodded, but his scowl deepened. Kodo had proved himself incompetent in having only a single patrol—a LeopardClass named Xao,and two fighters—in a position where they could approach the intruder. Two more fighters were in close orbit around Verthandi and could be deployed if the intruder broke free of the outer patrol and made a run for the planet. Other fighters and another DropShip were being readied now at Verthandi-Alpha's base in case the intruder's object was a sneak raid on the planet's moon.

Too many possibilities remained. The intruder should have been intercepted farther from Verthandi, hours ago when the blockading force had more options and more time to exercise them. At that point, the intruder would have been travelling at a higher speed, of course, and so more fuel would have been needed for an intercept, but certainly that was preferable to gambling all in the last handful of hours before the in-bound vessel hit Verthandi's atmosphere. The ships that were in place oughtto be sufficient to handle the threat, but... damnKodo!

Nagumo clenched his jaw. It was too late now for recriminations, nor could he choose a replacement for Kodo at the moment. "Very well," was all he said. "How long until visual contact is made?"

"Patrol One-Nine has the intruder in sight, Lord. It will be another few minutes before they close enough to make out details."

"I am putting all space defense forces on full alert. Maintain an open line to this office. I want to listen directly to the communications between your patrol and the intruder."

"Yes, my Lord."

Minutescrawled. The intruder was approaching Verthandi from the system's zenith point, to sunward, and was now some 200,000 kilometers out, somewhat above the plane of the ecliptic. Verthandi-Alpha was on the opposite side of Verthandi from the approaching DropShip. Was that deliberate? Nagumo wondered. In any case, the intruder would have to be escorted past Verthandi and to a safe grounding on the moon.

A voice half-smothered in static cut through the command center. "What the hell is that thing?"

The terminal screen of the Tech seated in front of Nagumo glowed with the traceries of voice patterns and stress analysis. Quick-flowing words of light identified the speaker as Lieutenant Kestrel Syrnan, pilot of the lead patrol fighter. Other data showed vector, range, and scan data. The target itself appeared on another screen, relayed by the Shilone'son-board cameras to the DropShip Xao,and thence to receivers on Verthandi and Verthandi-Alpha.

"I'm reading a normal scan. Lieutenant. Radar profile and computer ID make her to be a Union Class,3500 tons. She could be one of ours." That voice was Smetnov, the wingman. Stress patterns flared. Though his voice was unnaturally calm, the instruments measuring the stress in his tone betrayed his fear. This, Nagumo had learned, was Smetnov's first active patrol sighting.

"I know what the computer says, Pilot," Syrnan replied. His voice was showing stress too, though it was well-controlled. "But she just doesn't feel right, somehow."

Nagumo studied the TV image transmitted from Syrnan's ship. The screen showed a dully-reflective, metallic globe, rust-streaked and worn. On one flank was the black-on-scarlet circled dragon, emblem of the Combine. Chinese ideographs picked out the vessel's name– Li Tao—and the name of her parent vessel, Chi Lung.

A confusion of voices intruded on the radio link. Nagumo heard someone—a woman, he thought—speaking with rapid urgency, and then Kodo's bark, "Get her out of here!"

"Kodo! What's going on?"

The Admiral's voice came over the speaker. "Nothing, my Lord. One of my junior officers chose an inopportune moment to present a courier message."

Syrnan was right. That vessel didn't feel right. There was something missing...what? "What message?" Nagumo demanded.

"My Lord, it is nothing."

"Read it to me!"

"Uh..." There were muttered sounds and confused background noises as the image of the intruder grew larger. What was odd about that vessel?

There! It was difficult to see in the orange-dim light of Norn, but the vessel was rotating slightly, and the play of shadow against the hull cried out to Nagumo's experienced eye. That DropShip was no Unionclass. The particle projection cannons normally mounted on bow and flanks were missing. Paint had been artfully applied to imitate the weapons' shadows, but now that the ship had rolled, the angle of light made the disguise less convincing. There should be autocannons, too, but the vessel had none.

"My Lord!" Kodo's voice was urgent. "It's from one of our agents on Galatea! 'Report mercenary unit probably in employ of rebels en route to Verthandi.'"

"It's a trick!" Nagumo shouted. "Relay command here, my authority! Attack! Attack the intruder!"

The fighter pilot had already arrived at the same conclusion. Long fractions of seconds before Nagumo's command could have reached him, his own order was heard at the command center. "Smetnov! Overthrust! Punch it!" The TV image was lost as the Shilonefighter wheeled and accelerated at a gruelling four Gs.

"Emergency! Emergency!" Syrnan's voice was frantic now. "Flight One-Niner to base ship! Intruder is hostile. Repeat, hostile! Intruder now changing course to zero-zero-three mark fiver, at two Gs!"

Nagumo glanced up as the static hiss from the overhead speakers chopped off. "What's happening, dammit?"

"Transmission interrupted," a Tech said. "Contact lost with both elements of One-Nine. Xaoconfirms the intruder's new course." The Tech glanced up at Nagumo, his face pale under the center's harsh lighting. "The intruder is accelerating toward Verthandi, Lord."

Nagumo paused, considering. "Get me Colonel Kevlavic."

Mayhap the intruder could be stopped before it entered atmosphere. If not, it would be up to Kevlavic to eliminate the danger as soon as the ship touched down on Verthandi's surface.

Mercenaries',he muttered inwardly. Damnation'.

* * * *

Grayson and the bridge crew of the Phoboshad been listening in to the radio transmissions between the two Shilonefighters and then-base ship. The transmissions were unintelligible without the computer codes that would unscramble an enemy's battlespeech, but the sudden surge of emotion in the Draco pilot's voice had been unmistakable.

The alarm had been sounded. Use Martinez glanced across at Grayson and with a raising of her eyebrows asked his permission to fire.

"You may fire, Captain," he said with studied formality, and a lance of coherent light from the Phobos's single heavy laser gutted one of the Shilones.

"Stand by for high-G maneuvers," Martinez said, her voice sharp but calm. Grayson scarcely had time to lower himself into an empty bridge observer's chair before the Phobos'sdrives throbbed to a full two Gs, and her captain gave the orders that swung her onto a new course.

The damaged Shilonewas out of the fight. The other was boosting at a back-breaking 4 Gs, angling for maneuvering room.

Missiles blossomed from the Phobos'smissile bays in the next instant. Two struck the accelerating fighter, disintegrating one wing and sending the craft off, powerless and tumbling end over end. Either or both fighters might yet still be in the fight, but their radios and radars were silenced, their power plants momentarily stilled. At twenty meters per second squared, the Phobossped toward the swelling golden globe of Verthandi.

Moments later, Martinez cut the ship's boost and the Phobosfell free, saving fuel against the maneuvers that would soon be necessary. Radar and imaging cameras showed the LeopardClass DropShip, with a pair of fighters flanking her, now balanced on dazzling drive flares in an attempt to cut the Phobosoff from Verthandi. The Leopardwas already cutting between Phobosand the planet, in a position to anticipate her maneuvers. All Captain Martinez could do was to make those maneuvers unpredictable enough to keep that Combine DropShip guessing.

At a range of 90,000 kilometers, the LeopardClass vessel opened fire.

The endless Succession Wars that had engulfed humanity for centuries had claimed many victims. One of the first was the high-level of technology required to manufacture the sophisticated electronic gear necessary to keep both warships and BattleMechs in operation. Mankind had long ago lost the know-how to construct the comparatively simple computer chips needed to direct self-targeting and fire-and-forget homer missiles, for example. Space battles now resembled the maneuver and broadside exchanges of gunfire characteristic of the ancient Age of Sail more than they did battles of the 20th and 21st centuries. Missiles arced across intervening space along courses and at velocities set by heavier shipboard computers, aiming for predicted impact points. Would-be targets combined random bursts of powered flight or deceleration with free fall so that predicted impact points were always someplace other than where the missile actually exploded.

The first enemy volley missed. The enemy DropShip and its two tiny escorts, in close orbit now around Verthandi, passed around the curvature of the planet and out of sight. Verthandi's moon slowly settled behind the sweep of the planet's green-patched north pole as the Phobosdropped ever nearer.

Grayson swam to the captain's console, weightless now as the Phobosdrifted in unpowered freefall, her drives silent. "We'll need our screen out, Captain," he said. Martinez nodded.

"Those fighters will try to close when they come around the planet's curve again," she said. "They'll try to pin us down to let the DropShip move in and work us over at leisure. We can't let any of them get too close."

Devic Erudin was clinging to a stanchion, looking deathly ill. Grayson did not particularly enjoy freefall, but he was not as badly affected by it as some. Combat, especially, could be rough on anyone not used to being shipboard during rough maneuvers. He swam across to Erudin's side.

"Do you want to go below?"

Erudin managed a greenish smile, and shook his head. "Strange to talk about below,when I seem to have lost my grip on up and down," he said. He belched once, heavily, and added, "I seem to have lost my grip on my stomach as well."

"If you feel sick," Grayson warned, "leave the bridge. These people can't take the time to clean up after you."

Erudin nodded and seemed to make an effort to collect himself. "What's happening now? What's the Captain doing?"

Grayson glanced across at Martinez, who was speaking with steady urgency into a microphone at her console.

"We're dropping our pups...the two Chippewafighters we brought on board at Galatea. We'll need them to screen us from the Combine fighters. We're releasing them while the enemy blockading vessels are hidden on the other side of the planet, along with the planet's moon." He shrugged. "We're probably under observation from the ground, so what we're doing won't be much of a surprise. You never know, though. Every little bit, they say..."

"And...and the enemy DropShip I heard them talking about?"

Grayson shook his head. "We'll have to wait and see about that one. It's going to be a squeaker, though." He raised one eyebrow. "So much for the nonexistent blockade, Citizen."

"I...I don't understand. They haven't been this vigilant."

"You've been away for awhile. Or maybe it was just bad luck that we ran into their patrol."

"Will...will we get through?"

Grayson looked across the deck toward the bridge viewscreen, which showed the bulk of the planet whose golden light now flooded the crowded bridge.

"Well, Citizen, I guess we'll find out in a few minutes."

When the Combine ships emerged again from behind the planet, they would strike.