The Phoenix War (23 page)

“Both probes have reached their targets,
thorium deposits two and three,” said Shen. “I am ordering them to
commence their first passes.”

“Very good,” said Summers. “Keep me
informed.”

“Second pass complete,” said Sarah. “No
reports of any sightings from any deck. The lab confirms negative,
they didn’t see anything.”

“There’s nothing here,” said Summers. “Move
us to the next target, thorium deposit four.”

“Aye, aye,” said Sarah. The ship turned and
accelerated. On the 3d display the nearest objects, several
asteroids of varying sizes, could be seen projected around the tiny
Nighthawk at the center.

“Probe Charlie has completed its first pass.
Report negative. Moving to position for second pass,” said Shen.
Adding a moment later, “Probe Foxtrot also reports negative on the
first pass. Moving to new position for second pass.”

“We are approaching thorium deposit four,”
said Sarah. “Slowing to twenty-point three mc’s per second and
commencing first pass.”

This went on for some time. The Nighthawk
would move to a thorium deposit and perform two swift, opposing
orbits. Searching for any hiding ships, containers, caches,
anything
, and, upon finding nothing, would head directly to
the next target. All the while remaining stealthed and praying that
whoever was out there, if there was anyone, didn’t see them first.
Wherever the Nighthawk went, the two probes were never far behind.
Each set to the task of searching the thorium deposits in a like
manner.

Come on
, thought Summers.
Find
something
. She felt her hands become clammy whenever they
reached a new asteroid, or a new report came in from the probes or
the lower decks; embarrassed, she’d subtly wipe her hands on the
knees of her uniform pants. Making certain to keep her voice calm,
stable, and in command, no matter how anxious she felt. Searching
the asteroid field was a strange mixture of uneventful nothingness
and the anxious belief that a deadly threat was imminent. She had
to be ready. No matter how long it took them, no matter how many
hours went by, and how tired they became, they had to be ready.
With each new pass she felt like she was prodding the action of an
ancient bear trap with a stick, waiting for the steel jaws to slam
shut suddenly. With who-knows-how-many ships emerging suddenly from
their hiding places and converging on the Nighthawk. But no such
thing seemed to be happening.

Then, after thirty-seven minutes, they found
something.

“
Sir
, Probe Charlie has a visual,”
said Shen, spinning his chair halfway to look at her. “There is a
small object parked on the far side of an asteroid thirty-five
thousand mc’s from our position. Close-range scan by Probe Charlie
indicates metal-matrix composites.”

“A ship,” whispered Summers.

“Maybe,” said Shen. “But whatever it is, it’s
an artificial construction made by
somebody
.” He turned back
to his console and seemed startled by an alert on his
screen
.
“The object does not want to be seen; it’s just
fired on probe Charlie.” He tapped some controls and his look of
worry intensified. “Sir… we’ve just lost contact with the probe.
The object is now on our scopes, it’s emerged from its hiding place
and appears to be fleeing. Looks like a small vessel, not much
larger than a standard shuttle.”

“
Intercept course
,” snapped Summers.
“Fastest safe speed.”

“Aye, aye,” said Sarah. Their view abruptly
changed as the Nighthawk turned and accelerated. “We’ll be in
weapons range in thirty seconds.”

“I’m gonna charge the beam weapon,” said
Miles.

“Negative,” said Summers. “That would only
give us away.”

“They’re already running! Obviously they see
us so there’s nothing to give away,” insisted Miles.

Summers wondered if that were true. She
assumed that their stealth system was still concealing them, but
that assumption had proven unsafe in the past… “Mister Iwate,” she
said, “is there any indication that the vessel can detect us?”

“Hard to say,” said Shen. “But I think they
probably haven’t. I think what spooked them was being discovered by
our probe. Most likely they know the probe saw them and transmitted
that finding before they could destroy it, so they’re hoping to get
out of here before the probe’s owner arrives.”

“Too bad for them we’re already here,”
Summers stood up and folded her arms. Watching the 3d display
intently. The smaller vessel was now visible, the projection of it
looked like a tiny wedge of cheese. Almost overly-simple in
design.

“Weapons range in twelve seconds,” said
Sarah.

“I’m gonna need to charge the weapon
eventually,” said Miles. “If I use our other guns we won’t disable
them, we’ll destroy them.”

Summers knew he was right. The other vessel
looked too small and too poorly armored to withstand much abuse.
Clearly it was designed more for stealth than battle. But Summers
also didn’t want to drop cover and reveal the Nighthawk until the
last possible moment, in case the other vessel had some trick up
its sleeve.

You shall not escape me
, she promised
it silently, as she stared at its projection on the 3d display.
Then she looked to Shen. “Is there any chance they can escape
us?”

“Not that I can foresee,” said Shen.

“Weapons range achieved,” said Sarah.

“The vessel does have alteredspace
capability, but they would need another three minutes to clear the
asteroid field in order to make a jump. And even then, we could
stop them,” said Shen.

Summers nodded, content. “Very well, Mister
Brown, drop stealth and charge the beam weapon.”

“Hell yes.”

“Lieutenant Winters, match their course and
speed. If possible, maneuver us directly into their path.”

“Aye, aye.”

“We are now visible,” Shen reported. “The
other ship has changed course; it is accelerating.”

“Adjusting to match,” said Sarah. “They’re
smaller and more agile, but I
promise
you we can handle
anything their pilot throws at us.”

“Very good,” said Summers. “Mister Brown,
lock onto them but hold fire.”

“Hold fire?”

“Just
do
it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Lieutenant Winters, transmit the following
message. ‘This is the Commander of the IWS Nighthawk to
unidentified vessel, heave-to and prepare to be boarded. Resist and
you shall be fired upon. This is your only warning.”

“Message sent,” said Sarah.

“Any change?” asked Summers, hopeful. It was
always better to do things the peaceful way if the option was
available.

“None,” said Shen. “The ship appears to be
holding course, fast as it can. They’re trying to clear the
asteroid field and jump.”

Summers let out a sigh.
Very well
.
“Mister Brown you may fire at will, just remember you are shooting
to disable,
not
destroy.”

“With extreme pleasure,
sir
,” he
flashed her a grin and then focused intently on the weapons
display. A bright light flashed, visible through the window as the
Nighthawk’s beam weapon slapped the other vessel. Scarring it black
and disabling its engines, as well as some other systems no doubt.
It was too far distant to see the other ship out the window, but on
the 3d display the damage was obvious. Summers only hoped they
hadn’t hit them too hard. Most likely, they were only truly useful
to her alive. Assuming the ship was being manually piloted.

“Direct hit; they’re no longer accelerating,”
reported Shen.

“Hold fire,” ordered Summers. Much to Miles’
disappointment.

“They are adrift, multiple systems offline.
Including life support.”

“Board them
immediately
,” said
Summers. “We need them alive.”

“Commencing docking operation,” said
Sarah.

Summers tapped her direct line to special
forces. “Captain Pellew, we are about to board a disabled vessel.
Its life-support is failing so time is of the essence. All aboard
are to be taken alive.”

“Understood, Commander.”

“And, if found, any isotome weapons are to be
destroyed immediately.”

***

“Is everything ready?” asked Rafael.

“Almost,” said Calvin as he finished
inspecting the fighter-bomber he’d selected for the mission. It was
more agile and stealthy than any of the shuttles belonging to the
Black Swan, though far less maneuverable—and therefore more
vulnerable—than any of the Black Swan’s primary-role fighters. But,
unlike most of those, this vessel had an alteredspace drive.

“Are you satisfied, sir?” asked one of the
flight officers. He and a team of technicians had prepared the
fighter-bomber according to Calvin’s instructions. Though Calvin
made it a habit to personally inspect any fighter-class vessel
before plunging it into open space. Even the tiniest crack or bit
of broken armor or compromised window would be the end of him.

“Yes, I think so,” said Calvin, after a
moment. He’d inspected the entire outer hull, checked all of the
instruments, and verified that the cargo the Black Swan’s people
had loaded onto the craft was indeed what he’d asked for.
Everything seemed in order.

Normally Calvin would prefer a primary-role
fighter over a fighter-bomber, especially since a handful of the
Black Swan’s fightercraft came equipped with alteredspace
capability. However, after some careful consideration, Calvin had
chosen this vessel because of its significantly larger cargo
capacity. Once the ordnance was removed, the payload hold could fit
a surprising amount of supplies, including food, medical equipment,
small arms, tactical gear, etc. He still hoped to rendezvous with
the Nighthawk for supplies and crew, but in case that proved
impossible, and he and Rafael had to handle this mission alone, he
was stocking all he needed from the Black Swan now. The odds were
against them either way, but at least this way they had a fighting
chance. Or so Calvin hoped.

The flight officer saluted. “Sir, my orders
are to see you off at once.”

“Yes, I know, time is critical,” said Calvin.
And he had no intention of remaining aboard the Black Swan any
longer than he needed to. It was an interesting ship, a mighty hulk
leading a host of warships that was undoubtedly the largest
military force Calvin had ever seen. But what made him bitter was
the thought that many, if not most, of these ships would soon be
destroyed, in a worthless series of battles against fellow
Imperials.

“Shall we go aboard then?” asked Rafael. He
stood next to Calvin, eye-patch still covering his vacant
eye-socket. Rafael had been promised an ocular implant to replace
his missing eye. Though it was doubtful his eyesight could be
restored considering the damage to the nerves—less than fifteen
percent chance—a proper implant could at least restore the
appearance of his face. But the Black Swan’s medical facilities
hadn’t had time to perform the operation. Calvin had allowed Rafael
the option to stay and have the procedure, but Rafael had chosen
instead to go with Calvin and assist in any way he could. Even
though he knew full-well that the longer he waited to do the
procedure, the less likely it was that his sight could be restored.
But, as some small consolation, the stubs on his hand had been
replaced by two artificial fingers which the medical staff had
successfully connected to Rafael’s nerves. They weren’t quite as
dexterous and responsive as natural fingers but at least they
looked perfect.

“You go aboard and get all the systems
prepped for flight,” said Calvin. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
There was something he had to do first.

Rafael nodded and climbed the ladder to the
cockpit of the fighter-bomber. Unlike Rotham fighters, which
without exception
were drone starfighters flown by remote,
nearly all Imperial fighters required a crew of at least one human
pilot. Partly this was for archaic reasons, but partly too it was
because of the fear that instructions by remote might be
intercepted, or have a time lag—however small—or that the drone
starfighter could be compromised and taken control by an enemy.
Calvin didn’t know how justified such concerns were—an ops
specialist would be better able to consider the technical
implications, they were beyond Calvin’s expertise. All he knew was
that he was personally grateful the Empire still preferred manual
fightercraft since he’d begun his career as a military pilot.

This particular fighter-bomber was designed
for a crew of four, three pilots and an ordnance specialist, but
two people could fly the vessel so long as they didn’t need to fire
any of the advanced weapons. Calvin and Rafael wouldn’t miss that,
since they’d only be launching their own supplies at their target
should they open the payload firing doors.

“Sir, I’ll notify the bridge that you are
about to embark and get the flight deck prepped for
depressurization,” said the flight officer.

Calvin nodded. They exchanged salutes and
went their separate ways. As the flight deck operators scrambled to
prep the deck for imminent launch, Calvin headed to one of the
flight deck control stations. He picked one that was behind secure
glass, where he wouldn’t be heard, and immediately ordered the
officer manning the post to “go take a break.” Since Calvin was a
lieutenant commander in full uniform, and the station operator was
only a midshipman, convincing him was easy. As soon as he was
alone, Calvin input the codes to connect to a kataspace channel so
secure that he was one of only a few anywhere in the galaxy who
knew the codes.

“Come on, pick up,” he mumbled as the
computer tried to connect him. He made certain that the computer
wasn’t set to record the substance of his call, but there was
nothing he could do about the fact that it would log that a
kataspace message was sent. He’d been tempted to wait until he and
Rafael were safely away before making this call, and do it from his
fighter-bomber, but thought it was a lot more likely the call would
be accepted if it originated from one of the most powerful, and
famous, ships in the galaxy. Rather than a meager fighter-bomber
support craft. Which would almost certainly be ignored.