Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) (37 page)

The
Odysseus
pivoted in space, turning her bow away from the slip, and then began to warp space again as she headed toward the outer perimeter of the planet’s shield line. Behind them, the
Achilles
slid out of her berth, turning smoothly and following even as the
Bellerophon
’s deck lights gleamed in the relative darkness of the construction slip.

“Shield control contacting us, Admiral.”

“Main display,” Gracen ordered simply.

“Aye ma’am.”

Part of the exterior view was superseded by the image of a stern-looking woman stepping out of thin air.

“
Odysseus,
you have been cleared with your group for transfer through the shield line. Please assemble your ships before passage.”

“Acknowledged, Shield Control,” Gracen said, gesturing to Steph. “
Odysseus
holding position here.”

The woman nodded once, then vanished as she had come.

“Just for the record,” Stephen Michaels spoke up, “the combination of the three-sixty view and the holographic communications is . . . creepy.”

“Uh huh,” several people agreed.

Gracen rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment. There was something a little unsettling about someone walking onto the bridge, apparently out of deep space. Or not so deep space, in this case. “ETA to the squadron?”

Susan swept her hand over her panel, then looked over. “Heroics will be on station in fifteen, ma’am.
Boudicca
is exiting the slip now.”

“Alright, we sit tight then.”

Minutes passed quickly as the squadron formed up. The
Achilles, Bellerophon, Boudicca, Hippolyta,
and
Heracles
joined the
Odysseus
at the first checkpoint. Gracen reopened communications to the Priminae as the
Hippolyta
came to rest in formation.

“Shield Control, this is Admiral Gracen of the Heroics, requesting leave for shield passage.”

“Confirmed, Admiral Gracen.” The stern-faced woman appeared again. “Leave has been granted. Follow your assigned lanes, do not stray from the path. Your shields will not survive long if you lose your way within the star.”

“Roger that,” Gracen said shortly. “Michaels, you heard the lady. Take us ahead, one-quarter acceleration. Do
not
cavitate. Susan, issue the order to the squadron.”

“Aye ma’am. Ahead one-quarter acceleration, no cavitation,” Steph repeated as he goosed the throttle just slightly.

“Aye aye, ma’am. Orders issued.”

The new star drive employed by the Heroic Class was, in actuality, older than the human race by all records. It was basically a variation on the Alcubierre equations, proposed in the later twentieth century on Earth but not realized until deployed by the Chinese over a century later.

The drive worked by literally changing the shape of the universe around the ship, creating a “slope” in space-time for
the ship to
fall
along. Out in open space this wasn’t a problem for most things the ship passed, since distances were generally large and tolerance for things like planets was extremely high.

Inside the controlled space of the Forge, however, the Priminae were justly concerned with the effect the passage of ships might have on the local space-time. Warping space too aggressively left behind small bubbles of deformed space-time that could take days or weeks to fade and, as the planet within the star continued on its orbit around the center of stellar gravity, those bubbles would inevitably come into contact with the shield.

Suffice it to say, that wasn’t a good thing.

The Priminae had their own term for it, a word that didn’t translate into English, but the closest anyone had come up with was the word cavitation from fluid dynamics. It wasn’t actually a bad comparison, since in a real way space-time responded to warping much the way fluids responded to pressure differentials.

The six battleships began the climb out of the gravity of the star, penetrating the planetary shield and passing without incident into the solar plasma beyond. Every sensor on board was blinded, save the beacon transceivers, and they continued on pure instruments as they headed out.

Transiting through the plasma was a tense period, lasting almost half an hour, but even bursting out into clear space did little to relax Gracen or anyone who knew a little bit about the anatomy of a star. The temperature on the hull didn’t decrease as they put some distance between them and the surface; instead it began to climb rapidly as they passed into the star’s corona.

“Ahead, full acceleration.”

“Aye ma’am.”

The
Odysseus
surged through the coronal flares, exploding out into clear space finally, with the other five Heroics following
suit. The six ships continued on course for a period as they got their bearings, instrumentation coming back online.

“Make course for Ranquil. Engage when ready.”

“Course applied, engaging,” Steph said, curving the path of the ship on a least-time course for the planet.

Gracen opened a channel across the squadron. “All hands, this is Admiral Gracen. We have successfully transited the Priminae star and are clear of the Forge. Congratulations on a textbook passage, or rather what
will
be one when we get around to writing the textbook.”

“Well, would you look at that.”

Captain Carrow heard the exclamation from his helmsman, but let it pass without comment. The six Heroic Class battleships had just entered fully into visual range, decelerating fast as they closed for Ranquil orbit, and honestly he couldn’t blame the man for sounding impressed.

Awed is the word,
Carrow corrected himself as he too watched the ships settle into a high orbit over Ranquil, just above the
Enterprise
’s own.

He’d seen the specs on the Heroic Class already, of course, but it was different seeing them in person as it were.

They were almost a kilometer and a half long, which wasn’t insanely large, he supposed. The
Enterprise
was over a kilometer from stem to stern, after all, but the Heroics were built with significantly more useable space.

He knew from the specs he’d perused that most of that space was dedicated to the power source used, and just what Priminae power sources were had been one hell of an eye-opener. The Priminae didn’t register fuel in anything as
mundane as gallons or tons. They registered it in
planetary
masses
.

Each Heroic used dual singularity power cores, each capable of holding five Earth-scale masses in a stable matrix. The system bled the mass off and used the resulting energy release to power the ship, weapons, and whatever else was needed. That was one reason why Priminae power systems never meshed well with the electrically powered Terran technology. The conversion requirements were massive and inefficient.

With that kind of power on tap, each starship in the Heroic Class qualified as a Type One Kardeshev civilization on its own merits alone. The numbers were just staggering, and it went a long way to explain why Priminae records from early scans of the
Odyssey
showed the ship as a total nonentity. Purely Terran-built ships literally didn’t register when compared to a Priminae or Drasin power curve. It was like comparing a raindrop to the Pacific Ocean.

The lead ship in the squadron, the name
Odysseus
clearly painted in white letters against its dark steel-blue hull, slowed to a full stop relative to the planet. Carrow was not surprised when he was told that there was an incoming transmission.

“Put it through,” he ordered.

The image of Admiral Gracen sitting against open space appeared on their main display.

“Captain, good to see you again so soon.”

“And you, Admiral,” he returned. “I see you’ve picked up your new toys.”

Gracen permitted herself a slight smile. “I believe that we
will
be having some
fun
with these in the near future, Captain. How are your people?”

“We’re cycling through leave periods, but I can cut them short and be ready to leave inside of twelve hours.”

“No need, Captain. We’ll be spending a few days in Ranquil orbit before we move on to our next destination,” she told him. “There is work to be done here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Gracen out,” she said before the image flickered away.

Carrow shook his head slowly.
Finally. We’re getting some movement
.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ERIC WESTON SPLASHED cold water across his face, barely smudging the dirt that he’d somehow picked up over the last few days. Most of it was dried sweat and friction rub off the interior of his armor, he supposed, but it stuck to his skin like superglue and he didn’t have time to wash up properly.

Thirty days. I can’t believe we’re still alive
.

Clearing New York had taken three days, by the end of which they’d faced over a hundred times more drones than had actually landed in the original assault and lost fifteen tanks, one hundred twelve Guardsmen, eight of his own squad, and, as much as he detested himself for saying it, even more damaging, eight irreplaceable suits of enhancing armor. The armor issued to the crew of the
Odyssey
had been the height of technical development, and few suits were ever issued to field teams. The few that were had went to teams stationed in global hotspots, none of which were near the U.S., and all of which had their own problems that simply could
not
be ignored.