The Valhalla Call (Warrior's Wings) (10 page)

And then there was the speed of their ships.

They’ve clearly been hiding technical capacity from the Alliance. No ship in the Alliance could catch them, and they are battleships. What could their faster ships do?

The fact that the Ross were hiding technology from the Alliance, and were willing to expose that here and now, made the information he’d learned before the mission all the more vital. There had to be something more in this branch of the galactic arm, something the Ross wanted…or, more likely, wanted
back
.

“Push it.”

“Master?” the closest officer asked, looking over at him in confusion.

“Push our speed. Faster. We must go faster,” he ordered.

“Yes…Master. How much?”

“To the limits,” Master of Ships Parath ordered. “Push everything to the limits.”

“Yes, Master.”

*****

“We’re showing smaller ships catching up and moving into support positions around the Ghoulie ship, sir.”

“How much smaller?” Pierce asked, glancing over.

“On the order of a kiloton or less, each ship.”

That was small, for starships at least. He leaned over the lieutenant at the scanner station, peering at the data closely.

“Am I looking at fighters?”

“High-speed interceptors from the looks of things, Captain,” Lieutenant McPherson confirmed. “Almost a kilo-grav acceleration showing so far, and I think they’re going to crack the kilo barrier.”

“Damn, that’s fast.”

“Yes, sir.”

Earth ships were close to cracking the kilo barrier, another couple hundred gravs would do it, but it was still considered one of the new standard measuring sticks in space travel. The big problem for humans was that the tidal effects of the gravity control mechanism used to regulate acceleration forces began to become exponentially harder to control as you approached a thousand gravities.

Tidal forces were particularly difficult to deal with, particularly over the length of a Terra Class starship. When the force on one part of the ship was significantly different from the force on another point, it introduced massive stress over the length of the ship. Enough tidal stress would tear the ship apart, literally extruding it through the focal point of the gravity source in a process charmingly referred to by its scientific term…spagettification.

At 800 gravities, they were pushing the limits of the control mechanism used to prevent tidal forces from exceeding the structural limits of the Terra Class ships. At that speed, in fact, the Terra was only rated to ten thousand hours of service, so Captains were instructed to use it only in combat situations where speed was a necessity.

Pierce wondered if the alien ships had to deal with the same problems.

Probably not, not if the speculations about their system were true. Not from gravetic stress, at least. He supposed it was possible that the ships’ hulls might degrade from heat damage over time.

I’m sure they’ve got something that screws them over, that’s pretty much non-negotiable for military service in my book. If nature doesn’t provide it, the brass steps in to take up the slack.

Pierce smiled, more than a little darkly.

That joke had been much funnier back before he became one of the brass.

Chinese Vessel Feng Lau

Hayden System

The Feng Lau reversed thrust, decelerating into Hayden orbit at a single Gee, ostensibly to give her passengers time to pack their crap and get themselves in order. Which meant, for Ton and his team, they had about an entire week of sitting around while everyone else ran around like chickens with their heads cut off.

I swear, most of these guys couldn’t possibly have made it all the way through boot.

His operator team was only one part of the transfer of troops to Hayden. Most of them were regular Army, and they didn’t look to be particularly ready for what they were doing. Most likely they were actually fresh from boot, but completely untrained for space travel. If they were to be stationed on Hayden, he supposed it would make sense. No point in wasting spacer training on groundhogs.

“Major Washington?”

Ton glanced up to see a Chinese officer standing across from him, a flexi in his hand.

“Yes?”

“Communique from your Task Force Seven.”

“Thank you.” Ton accepted the flexi.

The Chinese officer left, not bothering to say anything else, and Ton let him go. Relations had never been particularly warm between the Solari Organization and the Chinese, though the two had never come into conflict. Solari had backed the U.S. interests in the South China Sea area, however, during a conflict over where the Chinese could put their orbital tether.

It had mostly been part of the still ongoing feud over Taiwan, but it had spilled over into Hong Kong and then across the rest of the area when Japan announced their intention to build a tether in the region. Before long, it had nearly spilled over into an armed regional conflict, and only the intervention of the UN and Canadian peacekeepers kept the smaller brushfires from igniting something larger.

Things had thankfully cooled down before the current conflict erupted, so the Solari Organization and its backers didn’t have to be watching their backs all the time, but a lot of tensions were still burning brightly between the two groups and the people who served in them.

While the two had never officially come to blows, Ton was well aware that more than a few of the
accidents
that befell Solari colonies were the work of infiltration experts trained, or bought, by the Chinese. Likewise, while he wasn’t entirely certain, he expected that there was a damned good chance that the reason former Sergeant Aida even made Solari rolls was to play a part in certain off-world uprisings that neither the Solari Organization nor the American government had
any
part in.

He put that aside for the moment, however, and glanced over the flimsy.

Flimsies were biodegradable sheets of organic light-emitting diodes packed into a transparent sandwich of paper pulp with an eight-hour battery. Disposable, cheap, and the sort of thing you printed off and gave to someone without worrying about whether you’d be getting it back. They didn’t have much in the way of computer power, enough to display text, pictures, audio, and video as needed. Probably a few million times more than it took to get men on the moon, but nothing compared to the cheapest piece of civilian kit these days.

In this case, it was a simple message, along with a status update and an encrypted package that he scanned automatically into his implants.

The Terra and the Canada have moved off-station, no explanation why. Interesting. Report to the admiral on the America. All right, that’s clear enough.

“What’s up, Major?”

Ton shrugged. “Change in our berth assignments, we’re bunking on the America.”

“Why not the Terra?”

“Captain Richmond took her and the Canada out of the system, no reason stated here,” he told his unit’s second commander, Lieutenant Nathan Clarke. “No difference for us.”

Clarke nodded. “As you say, Major.”

Ton nodded, idly fingering the new gold leaf on his uniform. His promotion had been quick, given just before shipping out, and he was still getting used to the title and the insignia in the mirror.

Well, it looks like I’ll have time. Communiqué checks out. Other than the fact that the Terra and the Canada are missing, it looks like things are dull here.

*****

Alamo Shipyards

Trojan Point, Sol System

Sorilla pushed back the slightly nauseous sensation as she stepped off the shuttle that had delivered her to the shipyards and her new assignment. There was something just vaguely off about the local gravity, but she couldn’t quite place what it was, unfortunately. It wasn’t as bad as coming out of jump space, thanks be to whoever might be listening, but it was bad enough for her to notice.

She schooled her face to an impassive expression as she walked, stepping down the ramp of the big shuttle and onto the surface of the large meteor that had been dug out to create the Alamo facility.

A figure was waiting for her at the edge of the ramp, and Sorilla brought her heels carefully together as she dropped her personal duffel and saluted.

“Commander,” she said, holding the position until the other woman returned the salute.

“As you were, Lieutenant. I’m Commander Latiffe. I’ll be your immediate supervisor while you’re at the Alamo.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sorilla answered automatically.

“You’ve been here before, but this will be your first time in officer country I believe?”

Sorilla nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Grab your kit, follow me.”

Sorilla swung up her duffel, easily slung it over one shoulder, and followed as the other woman walked off. Her eyes flitted around, easily picking out signs that she knew indicated that the Alamo had originally been built as a microgravity environment.

“New gravity system, I presume?” she said as they walked.

“Yeah, test system used to develop the design for the new ships.”

Sorilla’s stomach rebelled just a little as she cringed. “Damn. I hope they refined the system on the new ships.”

“Why?” Latiffe asked, glancing back at her.

“Something’s off with the system,” Sorilla said. “I feel like my head is lighter than my feet.”

“You can feel that?” the commander blurted, clearly shocked.

“I’ve got micro-accelerometer implants all through my body, Commander. Took me a few seconds to figure out why I was feeling a little nauseous when I stepped off the shuttle, but yeah,” Sorilla confirmed.

Commander Latiffe shook her head. “We’ve had dozens of OPCOM operators through here recently, all with those implants, Lieutenant. None of them noticed a thing.”

“They’re all using the RFID-based implants, ma’am. My suite uses nerve coms,” Sorilla explained.

“What’s the difference?”

“Nerve coms are more secure, but it turns out that using the nervous system to piggyback communications has side effects,” Sorilla said. “Basically I’m more in touch with my implants than other ops are. They could have detected the difference if they’d queried the computer specifically, but there isn’t much call to do that.”

“I see,” Latiffe said in the tone of someone who really didn’t.

“Don’t worry about it, Commander. I’m just awesome that way,” Sorilla said with a smile that was very uncharacteristic of a butter bar lieutenant talking to a full commander.

It was pretty much par for the course for an experienced master sergeant talking to damned near anyone, however.

Commander Latiffe didn’t say anything in response, so the two continued deeper into the Alamo in silence.

*****

“Admiral?”

Brooke glanced up. “Yes, Terrance?”

Terrance Briggs was her Navy-assigned steward, or whatever they were calling his specialty these days. Terms and names changed, but the position was a constant in the service of the Solarian Organization. Something of a babysitter combined with a social secretary, she had once joked, though with more than a touch of truth to it all.

“Lieutenant Aida has arrived on station, ma’am.”

“Ah, thank you, Terrance,” she said with a nod and a casual gesture. He tipped his head slightly and backed out of the room, closing the door.

With Aida on station, her part of the upcoming operation was ready to begin, though the first few stages were going to be little more than training, of course. They certainly had a lot of that to do, there was no doubt there. Task Force Five had drawn the short straw, for better or worse. Seven had been assigned with the defense of Hayden and holding the jump point there at all costs, but Five…well, she wasn’t sure that what they wanted from her was even entirely possible.

I suppose that’s what we get for doing the impossible once before,
she thought, a little tired. She’d been working on the administration side of the upcoming mission now for over a week, and it would be good to focus a little more on something practical even if she wasn’t personally involved.

Brooke straightened up and got her feet, stretching somewhat to limber up muscles that were too used to being cramped into the uncomfortable office chair.

I’m going to really miss microgravity onboard ship.

Progress had its price, she supposed. Brooke glanced at the clock on her desk screen and decided to get something to eat before meeting with Lt. Aida. This was one brief she wanted to get in person.

Besides, the lieutenant might just deck someone else if I sent anyone lower ranked to tell her what we want her team to do.

Brooke was chuckling softly to herself when she stepped out of her office and nodded to where Terrance was sitting at his own desk. “Going to get some food, Terrance.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the steward said as he got to his feet.

“I’ll be fine alone.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Terrance paused, then remained behind as she left, looking much put out, to her amusement.

Brooke wasn’t present to see him wait for precisely a 30 count and then follow after her anyway.

*****

USV America

Hayden System

Major Washington looked over the interior of the America’s shuttle bay, a cavernous facility within the ship that made him boggle slightly at how very large the ship itself had to be. There were four other shuttles in the lineup, as well as room to move them all around if needs be. Large airlock lifts were in place to move the craft down to the launch bays below, and there were easily enough machinery, vehicles, and people milling about to make him feel right at home, as on any military base he might choose to recall.

“Major.”

Ton turned and nodded to the lieutenant who had walked up to meet them. “Lieutenant.”

“Sergeant Krantz will escort your team to their berths,” the young officer said, nodding to the sergeant standing behind him. “May I suggest giving him your bags? The admiral wants a word.”

Ton nodded and handed off his duffle to the man. “Let’s not keep the man waiting.”