Gibraltar Stars Read online

  “How are we pulling it off?”

  “Well, the egg won’t be superlight at the time. That’s important because, as we all know, it’s impossible to track a ship in superlight.”

  “So how can we track it?”

  “We track it the same way we would if we had a big radio beacon on it. We just use different instrumentation. The engineers have learned to produce a signal the Broa can’t detect. We do that by energizing the stardrive just enough for it to begin rotating the gamma dimension. We can then detect the small volume of rotated space inside the Broan ship and track its movements.”

  “Why would they take a ship with an energized drive field aboard one of their freighters?”

  “They wouldn’t, not if they had ever seen a starship before. But they don’t know the condition is abnormal, not to mention dangerous. They’ll assume the little tingle they get when they touch the hull is how it is supposed to work.

  “Think of a blind man carrying a lantern around in the stern of a rowboat. He can feel the heat, but he can’t see the bright light streaming away in every direction. He thinks it is something to keep him warm.”

  “So we just follow the blind man and his rowboat home?”

  “That is our hope,” Felicia agreed. “Galahad will spot the beacon in the Sabator system and note which stargate it uses. The ships at the other end will pick it up when it emerges and track it to the next stargate in the sequence. Then, because our ships cross the gulf between stars in about the same time it takes a Broan ship to get from one stargate to another in-system, it may be possible for our hunter to track the freighter all the way to Planet X.

  #

  Chapter Thirty

  Lisa Rykand lay strapped to an acceleration couch, alone in Observation, a compartment lit only by night lights. It wasn’t night aboard Galahad. In fact, it was just before lunch. However, the blue lights soothed her and allowed her to concentrate more fully on her task.

  Beyond the cruiser’s hull, large antennas were pulling in every coherent electromagnetic signal that intersected their gauzy golden mesh. These signals were decoded and filtered through specially-designed computers in the cargo hold. Those that met certain exacting parameters were passed along to the human translators. Lisa was one of half-a-dozen aboard.

  So much data was being received that it would be impossible to read all of it in real time, even the portion selected for review. Lisa sampled the signals sent her way. She did so by immersing herself in the cacophony of sound that issued from her speakers, listening to each for no more than 15 seconds before going on to the next.

  The Sabator system was markedly different from those she spied on during Q-ship missions. Typically, ninety percent of intercepts were in the language of the native species. In those systems, it had been sufficient to concentrate only on those signals transmitted in trade-Broan.

  However, Karap-Vas was a Broan world. All the signals leaking from the planet were in High Broan. The computers forwarded only those messages that seemed to bear on their mission, such as information from the local orbital traffic control net.

  Monitoring enemy communications was done in two-hour stints, which was about the length of time a human translator could be on the job and remain sharp. She then rested for two hours before doing another two-hours. After that, she had six hours off for eating, sleeping and taking care of sanitary needs before starting all over again.

  “Lisa,” a voice called out in her right ear.

  “Yes, Glenn?”

  Glenn Humphreys was the other translator this watch. He concentrated on space traffic control signals while Lisa handled the filtered output from the planet.

  “Check Channel Seventy, please.”

  She quickly switched over and listened to the dry orders emanating from one of the computers that controlled the space lanes.

  “Sounds like a routine course correction,” she said.

  “I was wondering if it might have something to do with Sasquatch.”

  “Where is the ship doing the maneuvering?”

  There was a short pause. When Humphreys spoke again, she could hear the sheepish tone in his voice. “The ship is on the opposite side of the system. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Better to err on the side of caution. We’re coming up on drop time. If you get anything else like that, let me know.”

  #

  Mark Rykand was also strapped into an acceleration couch. The Trojan Horse team had taken over Auxiliary Control aboard Sasquatch.

  In addition to Mark, Susan Ahrendt, Gordon Smithson, and Felicia Godwin were in their vacsuits (sans helmets) and strapped into control stations. Three other team members in full vacsuits were visible on screen. They were carefully disconnecting the web of cables that had powered the small starship since leaving Brinks Base.

  “Ready to disconnect power!” Spacer Toland announced.

  “Stand by,” Gordon Smithson ordered from the couch two places to Mark’s left. “Felicia, bring the internal generators online.”

  The power schematic on the auxiliary screen changed. The green line that showed power feeding into the small starship from Sasquatch went gray. At the same time a small sun at the egg’s heart began pulsing.

  “Generators are online and holding steady,” Felicia reported. “External power has been cut off. Ready to disengage power cable.”

  “Okay, Toland. Pull the plug!”

  “The plug is pulled.” The figure on screen disconnected the last remaining cable running to the small ship. Despite having no remaining visible means of support, the egg did not move. The normal space generators had powered up with the rest of the systems and the Trojan Horse was now station keeping.

  “All right, clear out. We’re ready to depressurize,” Dr. Smithson ordered.

  On screen, the three figures moved from view. A moment later, the airlock readouts announced that the bayside door had opened, then closed, followed by the shipside door doing the same.

  “We’re clear,” came a voice over the annunciator.

  “Status check on the egg,” Smithson ordered.

  There followed long series of scrolling numbers on the screen as the computers checked the health of the small starship. Within two minutes, they reported the egg ready in all respects.

  “Captain,” Smithson said into the intercom. “We are ready to launch.”

  The answer came back from Captain Vanda on Sasquatch’s bridge, “Very well, Doctor. Stand by.”

  There followed a raucous klaxon alarm, followed by the order for all hands to prepare for vacuum operations. Mark slipped the helmet into place, engaged the neck ring, and gave it a twist. His ears popped as the suit pressurized.

  Mark activated the control that told the captain that he was ready. On the screen, icons lit up all over the ship to indicate compartments secure for vacuum.

  One red spot remained stubbornly lit. Captain Vanda’s sarcastic voice echoed in his ears. “Anytime you are ready, Miss Comstock!”

  A very young female voice responded, “Sorry, Captain. I had trouble achieving pressure integrity.”

  The last icon turned green. The hatch to Auxiliary Control closed automatically in response to a command from the bridge. A few seconds later, the words ‘SHIP COMPARTMENTALIZED’ scrolled across the main screen.

  “Prepare to open hangar bay doors,” Smithson said.

  There followed the distant sound of pumps as air in the hangar bay was pumped out. This was the most time consuming part of the process. Unlike an airlock, which was designed to minimize wasted volume, the hangar bay comprised some 30 percent of Sasquatch’s internal cubic. Pumping air into storage tanks required fifteen minutes.

  An interminable time later, instruments showed less than one Torr of pressure inside the bay and the pumps fell silent. The pressure readout remained steady for several seconds, then dropped rapidly to zero as valves vented the remaining atmosphere to space.

  “Doors coming open,” a spacer on the bridge announced. On the sc
reen, the floor beneath the Trojan Horse parted and the black of space appeared in an ever-expanding line. Sunlight from the system primary bounced off the left door and bathed the bay in reflected white light.

  They had fallen sunward for more than a week. Most of that time, Sasquatch was in a hyperbolic orbit, moving substantially faster than local system escape velocity. The high speed dive took them well inside the critical limit. The unpowered dive continued until they crossed the orbit of the seventh planet, the largest of the system’s gas giants.

  They then decelerated at two gravities for ten hours, slowing to intra-system velocity. At the end, Sasquatch was falling in-system on the same orbital path the Trojan Horse would take following its release. It was an orbit that in ten days’ time would place the little starship within fifty planetary diameters of Karap-Vas.

  Following release, Sasquatch would boost at right angles to their current course for a full day at three gravities. Fleeing north, away from the crowded space lanes, would minimize the possibility of detection once the egg began to squawk. Should luck be against them, their velocity vector would guarantee a long stern chase for any pursuers.

  “Doors are open,” the bridge reported.

  “Ready to disinfect,” Dr. Smithson announced.

  He waited for the order to be acknowledged, and then pressed the control to open the pressurized tanks in the bay.

  A short storm appeared on the viewscreen as the egg was buffeted by cloudy vapor. The power readout showed a slight increase in the strength of the little ship’s drive field as it compensated for the sudden asymmetric thrust. The storm passed quickly as the tanks exhausted their cargo of disinfectant. When all was quiet again, Smithson ordered. “Envelope off!”

  Several sparks appeared around the periphery of the egg and the iridescent coating that had protected it ever since New Mexico sloughed away. Suddenly, the bare hull was visible in the reflected sunlight, with the jagged gash apparent on the right lowermost quadrant.

  “Ready for biological material infusion.”

  The telltales on the hangar bay airlock flickered again. Soon, Spacer Toland reappeared. He trailed a cloud of quickly evaporating vapor as he pulled himself hand over hand toward the Trojan Horse. The vapor was the residue of the disinfectant that had washed down his suit at the same time the bay was scoured. A pressure bottle and a small cage were strapped to Toland’s utility belt. Inside the cage was the body of a small animal that looked like nothing that ever evolved on Earth.

  Toland reached the starship and pressed the airlock control. The door opened immediately since there was no pressure within. The gash in the side had destroyed the little ship’s pressure integrity, and would hopefully give the Broa a convincing reason why it had been abandoned.

  Toland pulled himself head first into the opening until only his boots were visible. A minute later, the boots reversed direction and the rest of his suit slowly reappeared.

  “Brahmin biological material has been sprayed throughout the egg. Cage has been mounted on the aft bulkhead,” Toland announced. “Close the airlock.”

  The circular opening disappeared as quietly as it had appeared.

  “Clear the bay!”

  “Clearing now.”

  “Stand by to power stardrive,” Smithson ordered after Toland was once again through the airlock. “Minimum energy, Felicia.”

  “Stardrive coming to power. Minimum energy,” Felicia Godwin reported.

  Felicia studied the results for a full minute.

  At the end of that time, she announced, “Drive field is at minimum power and holding steady. Field detectors have a lock. None of the normal space instruments can see a thing. Ready for launch.”

  “Trojan Horse ready for orbital insertion!” Smithson announced. “Captain Vanda, do we have your permission to launch?”

  “You may proceed when ready, Doctor,” Sasquatch’s commander answered from the bridge.

  “Commander Rykand, do I have your permission to launch?”

  Mark scanned the instruments. Everything appeared normal. Despite the fact that his heart was racing, he found his command voice and replied, “Permission granted, Doctor. You may launch when ready.”

  The launch itself was anticlimactic. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the Trojan Horse slid downward toward the open hangar bay doors, then out into direct sunlight. When it was ten meters distant, the captain ordered the doors closed. The view on the screen shifted to one of the hull cameras.

  With the departure of the Trojan Horse, control of the mission shifted back to Sasquatch’s bridge. A flurry of orders emanated from the command circuit, ended by Captain Vanda saying, “Stand by for prolonged acceleration!”

  On the screen, the Trojan Horse had achieved a separation distance of approximately 100 meters.

  “Engines to power!” Vanda ordered.

  In response, a familiar weight clamped down on Mark’s chest. The plan called for a smooth increase in acceleration to one standard gee for an hour before going to three gravities.

  Something was wrong!

  Instead of a steady increase, the force pulling Mark down into the couch seemed erratic. The cruiser felt like a ground car that has lost its traction on ice.

  He was thinking how nonsensical that idea was when the universe reached up to smash him into his couch. The impact of his head with the cushioned interior of his helmet was hard enough to produce stars. The rebound into the restraining straps was worse as his nose smashed into the faceplate.

  Then he slipped into blackness.

  #

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Oh, shit!” an unidentified voice exclaimed on the command circuit aboard Galahad. “Sasquatch has blown up!”

  Lisa had been dividing her attention between listening to the Broan intercepts and watching the star field that contained her husband. With the warning from the bridge echoing in her ears, she snapped her attention back to the main viewscreen. What she saw sent an icy dagger lancing through her stomach. There was a new star in the display, one that had not been there ten seconds earlier, and it was growing brighter.

  Time stopped. In that moment, Lisa Rykand died. That single, awful, horrible moment seemed to go on forever as the import of the news sank into her disbelieving brain.

  Mark was dead! What would she do now?

  Mark had often spoken to her of the moment when he’d learned of his sister’s death. Lisa always responded sympathetically, patting his hand in public, drawing him close to her breast in private. The biological impulse to give comfort was automatic. But she really hadn’t grasped the pain Mark suffered — not until this very moment. One instant, he was alive. She’d heard his voice over the comm laser just a few seconds ago. The next, he was dead.

  The awful moment of timelessness stretched until Lisa took her first, sobbing breath. It didn’t help. She wondered how it was that she would ever be able to breathe again.

  As the spark on the screen began to subside, the universe came rushing back. Her ears, which had been rendered momentarily deaf, suddenly turned painfully sensitive. The excited cacophony of voices on the command circuit was a roaring waterfall of white noise. Yet, her sharpened perceptions allowed her to discern the individual cursing and gasps of a dozen different voices.

  That came to an abrupt halt as Galahad’s captain overrode the pandemonium. “Silence, everyone!

  “Communications, do we have Sasquatch’s laser beam?”

  “No, sir,” the communicator on duty responded. “It shut down at the moment of the explosion.”

  “Monitoring!”

  There was a long silence. The Captain had to repeat the command.

  “Uh, here, Captain,” Glenn Humphreys’ voice answered. It was only then that Lisa realized the query had been to her.

  “Any indication the Broa have seen the explosion?”

  “Nothing yet, Captain.”

  “There will be. We need to know the enemy response as soon as you have something.”

&n
bsp; In a daze, Lisa reached out and keyed her comm set. “We are on it, Captain,” she said in a voice drained of emotion.

  “Commander Rykand. Do you wish to be relieved?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Then get all of your translators wired up. We just lit up space like the Seventh of August! They should be burning up the comm circuits any second now. We need to know how they respond.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lisa switched to her private circuit with Glenn Humphreys. “You heard the Captain, Glenn. Get Harris, Ruiz, Sun-Ye, and Swenson online. Have them use the alternate stations. I want them in the loop in five minutes.”

  “Right, Lisa,” Humphreys said. “And, my condolences…”

  She responded with a short, silent obscenity under her breath before answering. “Time for that later. The captain’s right. We are about to see what happens when you surprise a Broan planet. The next few minutes are likely crucial for the war effort, so let’s get all we can. Make sure we’ve got plenty of storage space in the computers. Flush the low priority stuff if you have to.”

  Ten minutes later, still numb, but functioning — barely — Lisa listened to the filtered output of the computers. Two other translators had slipped into the compartment and quietly assumed their duties. She barely noticed them.

  As the computer switched through one intercept after another, everything seemed normal. Then, on one of the space control channels, she caught an excited inquiry in High Broan.

  Loosely translated, someone had just asked, “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?”

  Humanity’s secret had just died with Lisa’s husband.

  #

  Hand Leader Tor-Ken, late of the Broan Navy, sat at his console and wondered when his interminable shift would end. He originally joined the navy because it was expected of young males of his clan. It promised a life of service to the Race, an attitude many of his brood mates found to be quaint.

  He’d spent a dozen cycles aboard ships and was largely content. However, after mating, he agreed with his female that the progenitor of a brood should not go spacing to the ends of Civilization.