Chapter Fourteen
APPROACHING BD+56 2966 TWO (“TURKH’SAAR”)
Caine Riordan studied the rapidly growing disk in the upper left hand quadrant of Puller’s main viewscreen. Hoping against hope, he asked the same question he’d been asking every hour for the past day. “Mr. Solsohn, update on Hkh’Rkh communications activity?”
“Nothing significant to report, Commodore. After that surge of high-power radio chatter during and after the attack we heard, they’ve gone pretty quiet. Certainly no commo meant for us. If your contact on Turkh’saar is trying to put out a welcome mat, I’m not hearing it, sir.”
Riordan acknowledged the report. He’d had enough of quiet, both on the radio and on his ships, over the past thirty-four hours, particularly in contrast to the frenzy of activity that had surrounded their departure. To ensure command-grade presence on every craft, the members of Riordan’s staff had been split up. Bannor Rulaine, Pandora Veriden, Christopher “Tygg” Robin, and Peter Wu were aboard Wedge One with the majority of the Cold Guard. They were set to make the run dirtside behind Puller. Once in orbit, the last two wedges were to remain on station while Puller and Wedge One neutralized any Hkh’Rkh air defenses, and then descended to mount a preliminary search for the purported human raiders. Miles O’Garran had been left in nominal oversight of Wedge Two, whereas Phil Friel had been assigned to the not-quite-spec Wedge Three. Friel had spent most of the journey trying to figure our why that transport’s MAP thrusters were falling short of their impulse rating.
Puller had taken on Top Sergeant Matthew Fanny and eight of the hardest cases among the Cold Guard as a combination security/strike team. All were career soldiers, most of whom should have been senior NCOs, but had never managed to hold on to more than two stripes for very long. Also, they had apparently forgotten there was a life beyond the service, or had completely turned their back on it.
Unfortunately, none of them had much in the way of useful shipside skills. One—Lance Corporal Katherine Somers—could perform routine sensor operations in a pinch. But the others had nothing to do except checking their gear and cleaning their weapons. There was always make-work to assign, but Riordan had reservations about that option; it kept enlisted ranks busy, yes, but experienced ones like those on Puller would simply roll their eyes at the “keep ’em busy” ethos. Often, what was advisable for new recruits was almost an insult to seasoned professionals.
So, instead, he had assigned double PT and furnished them with all available news reports of what had happened since they entered their cryocells. They still grumbled, of course, but never within his earshot. Besides, grumbling was the true anthem of every military unit that had ever existed. And their current grumbling was simply aimless grousing about the food, the cramped quarters, and anything else that struck them as modestly annoying. It was, in summary, both a harmless and timeless bonding ritual.
Melissa Sleeman turned halfway in her couch. “Commodore, our current angle gives us some decent surface visuals.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Show us the pretty pictures.”
Sleeman complied. Turkh’saar magnified dramatically, its half-lit disk stretching from the top to the bottom of the main screen. Riordan noticed that there was some green and yellow mixed in with the equatorial brown. “Dr. Sleeman, have you been able to localize the source of the raiders’ tactical comms?”
She nodded, picked up a screen-linked stylus that worked like a laser pointer. “Working with the other ships, we’ve confidently mapped the footprint from which the human radio traffic has emanated since we arrived.” Her stylus pointed carefully to a band of green hills near the northern shore of the equatorial sea. “All of it came from this one-hundred-fifty-kilometer diameter circle.”
Riordan stared at it. “Did the signal sources move within that circle?”
Sleeman checked her data. “Difficult to tell, but there is a suggestion that toward the end of their most recent attack, the transmission points were moving steadily east.”
“Back-calculate the time of day when that was occurring.”
Sleeman raised an eyebrow, turned to her panel, tapped at the dynamic screen several times. “Sundown at that longitude, or just after.”
Riordan nodded. “They were moving eastward into the dark after completing their attack.”
Behind him, Solsohn’s voice explicated the conjecture. “They were heading back to base. Meaning we’re probably going to find them bunkered in someplace to the east of that transmission footprint.”
Riordan nodded, raised his chin. “Mr. Tsaami?”
Karam answered over his shoulder. “Let me guess: you want to know if we can come in against rotation at high altitude to the west of the footprint. That way, we can descend over it as we cross over the terminator into the dark.”
“Correct.” Riordan stared at the globe in his holoplot, estimating. “Looks like our velocity is just about right for that trajectory.”
“We’ll need to kick out a little thrust to get beyond the western end of that landing track before the sky goes completely dark.”
Riordan considered. More thrust now might be spotted this far out if the Hkh’Rkh still had some decent satellites watching the approaches to Turkh’saar. But if Puller began its descent any later, it would be a bright, moving object in the night sky. That meant anyone with an eyeball could potentially detect their intrusion. Riordan sighed. “Give us the delta-vee we need to keep our planetfall timed for early dusk in that part of the sky.”
Tsaami nodded. As he made the announcement to strap in and expect a few minutes of thrust, Solsohn came alongside Riordan. “What’s in those western extents, do you think?”
“Probably the Hkh’Rkh’s primary settlements. Look at the debris in geosync over that spot. It’s still more dense than any other point, despite almost two years of drift and attenuation. Also, the best analysis of the radio signals intercepted by Shore-of-Stars suggests that the raiders don’t venture further west. It also suggests something about how far they’re likely to be based from the areas they’ve struck. Certainly not more than a thousand klicks. Probably less than five hundred.”
“Well, that narrows the search area some—but not a lot.”
Riordan smiled. “Well, at least it’s a start. Dr. Sleeman, have you completed the planetary summary?”
“Yes, Commodore. I confirm the gross astrophysical estimates collected by war-time Slaasriithi reconnaissance drones. Gravity is .96 gee, length of local day is 24.37 terrestrial hours, and length of local year is 153.15 local days. Turkh’saar’s average temperature is 9.6 degrees centigrade, placing it at the cooler extremes of a garden-planet classification. It is heavily glaciated through to the edge of the subarctic, with year-round snowfields extending well toward the tropics. The equatorial regions, such as the area in which the raiders seem to be operating, are what climatologists label cool temperate. The local weather is moderated by prevailing warm air currents running in from the tidally energetic ocean, which evidently has relatively high salinity, probably because of halite freezeout that ultimately leaches down from the seawater permanently water bound up in the polar caps.”
Solsohn shrugged. “Doesn’t sound so bad if you bring a jacket.”
Sleeman smiled faintly. “And if you’re not dependent upon unshielded electronics.”
“A flare star?”
Sleeman nodded. “Yes. The Slaasriithi measured peak REM intensities that would significantly erode lifespan. The planet has a strong magnetic field, which helps, but doesn’t help us if we stay in orbit.”
Riordan brought up the mission cumulative exposure statistics. “Our numbers don’t look that high. Has there been a recent trough in stellar activity?”
“Possibly, but we don’t have periodicity data on this star, except for the intervals between the flares that were strong enough for us to observe from Earth. Unfortunately, a lot of flare stars have almost constant, low-grade activity: a grumble of stellar irregularity. It only rises to a shriek—a flare—occasionally. But others are completely silent until they blurt out a coronal mass ejection. We’re not sure which BD+56 2966 is, because we don’t have sustained local observations to draw upon.
“However, it’s reasonable to assume that it’s been relatively quiet since we arrived in system. It’s also reasonable to anticipate that will change.”
“Which means it’s also reasonable to anticipate that no matter how hardened our electronics are, we could lose some of them if we get unlucky.”
“Yes, sir. Best way to preserve systems is to observe the same protocols you would for imminent tactical nuclear attack.”
Solsohn sounded worried. “That means keeping most of our sensors in sleep mode until they’re needed. That’s going to make any Hkh’Rkh forces hard to detect and the human raiders harder to find.”
Riordan nodded. “Harder to pinpoint, yes. But since the raiders are still operating radios and helicopters, I think it means we can further shrink the search area.”
Karam’s smile was evident in his voice “Yeah, they must have learned the hard way that they need to keep their missions brief in order to minimize the risk of being airborne during a flare. Which means they have to live closer to their targets.”
Riordan nodded. “Or they have a main base and a forward operating base. But even so, finding one will lead us to the other; none of the operating ranges will be too great.”
Solsohn’s eyes were unfocused as he did the mental math. “So what, about two hundred kilometers from the target? At most?”
“Sounds right,” Riordan agreed. “About an hour to spin up and fly to target. About an hour for operations, including whatever spoils of war they’re grabbing, then an hour home. And still, each attack means a three hour operation without sufficient hardening. They’re rolling the dice every time.”
“Sounds like a crappy environment for raiders or pirates,” Karam commented, “since they traditionally hate risk even more than they love profit.”
“I agree, but we don’t have any more time for hypothesizing.” Riordan stuck his hand in the holoplot, widened his fingers. The view expanded, showing their landing trajectory and its terminus at a spot on the planet soon to be swallowed by the creeping black tide of the terminator line. “Dr. Sleeman, anything else we should know about Turkh’saar?”
“It’s got to be a hardship world. A shorter growing season due to the cold and the extreme axial tilt. If there are mineral resources, they are not evident; most of the mountain ranges are half-buried under ice sheets. However, there is one area located somewhat to the south of the recent transmission footprint that is a distinct anomaly. It looks like it may have been heavily developed in the recent past.”
“And now?”
“No radiant emissions, no sign of habitation. The remaining structures appear to be in advanced states of decay, but I will get better data as we descend; we will pass almost directly over it.”
Riordan thought for a moment, then said, “Flight Officer Tsaami.”
Karam’s answering tone was invariably less jocular when Caine addressed him that way. “Commodore?”
“I want you to give that anomalous area a wider berth. Say, two hundred kilometers more than our current trajectory would give us.”
“Very good, sir. To the north or the south?”
“South. An equatorial approach is easier and both puts us out over the ocean and further away from the western regions. Less likely to be spotted.”
“We’re going to have to perform a last-minute sidestep in order to hit the same landing zone, sir. That will require additional delta-vee.”
“Understood. Do it. And Dr. Sleeman, send your findings to the other ships. And tell Wedge One to stay twenty kilometers behind and above us. When you’re finished, I need you to add our gunnery relays to your panel’s dynamic controls.” He turned to Solsohn. “Major, you will now oversee remote platform operations.” Caine sat down slowly, drew the straps across his torso. “As soon as you’re ready, deploy our tacsats.”
“All of them, sir?”
“Have to. Any lower and we won’t be able to insert them into a stable orbit.” Riordan looked at the landing telemetry, hoped against hope that Yaargraukh’s voice might growl out of the speakers at this last possible moment. But this moment was no different from all the others Caine had spent listening for that message since entering the BD+56 2966 system: empty, expectant static of open channels. “Commence descent.”
* * *
The equatorial sea rolled underneath them like a vast, ragged roadway of glinting blue-black. The glints diminished in size and number as, aftward, the sun sank swiftly down behind the curve of what Riordan had come to think of as Turkh’saar’s western extents. As it did, the black arc of the terminator loomed closer in their forward view.
They had seen no ground lights nor detected any significant power emissions, staying well south of the northern plains in the hope that they would remain invisible to the suspected epicenter of Hkh’Rkh habitation. Likewise, there had been no challenges by radio, no radar sweeps. In short, the Hkh’Rkh seemed wholly unaware of the two closest human craft descending toward the atmosphere.
Until a wave of almost three-dozen missiles streaked upward at them.
Karam managed to sound bored. “Evasive, sir?”
Riordan stared at the rising red lines in the holoplot, measured the rapidly diminishing time and distance metrics glowing in the air beside them. “Not yet. Mr. Solsohn, patch the fire control for the Slaasriithi PIPs over to Dr. Sleeman’s console and deploy them. Then activate the tacsats’ image makers.”
Karam’s voice was slow, measured. “We could lose all of our orbital eyes, if we do that.”
“Unavoidable. We have to draw off the first wave of missiles while the three Slaasriithi drones get into an intercept formation beneath us. Major, order Wedge One to climb away; they don’t have our defensive capabilities. Dr. Sleeman, I need to know the moment the drones are available to commence point-defense fire against the Hkh’Rkh missiles. Main screen to ventral view.”
The flattening curve of Turkh’saar was replaced by a flat expanse of the dark equatorial ocean below. Faint smoke trails crept upward. Two jinked sideways. A small, sharp flash and the trails ended at a point of final intersection.
“One tacsat gone, sir,” Solsohn reported. “The remaining six are in enemy target lock. It looks like some of rearmost missiles are ignoring the image makers and pushing higher.”
Which indicated that either their onboard or ground-based active arrays were no longer significantly distracted by the tacsats and were boosting toward the only other target on their scopes: Puller. “Major, undertake evasive actions with all remaining satellites. Let’s wiggle the bait.”
“Mimicking evasion protocols, Commodore.” In the holoplot, the six remaining tacsats—cyan dots—began swerving in different directions. Perhaps a third of the missiles that had fixed upon Puller altered course to chase the newly enticing alternatives. But that left almost a score of missiles still on target.
Sleeman’s announcement came out in a tense rush. “The Slaasriithi drones are now ready to engage, Commodore.”
Riordan gauged the blood-red lines reaching up from the planet toward the tiny blue triangle that signified Puller. “Not yet, Doctor.”
“Sir, we have them all in range.”
“That’s not my concern. When our Slaasriithi PIPs start burning them down, those missiles may shift their targeting to the drones themselves, if they can. We can’t afford that; we need to keep our defensive shield, especially now that we know the enemy has a missile inventory.”
Sleeman stared at the holoplot for a moment. “So you’re going to wait until the missiles have committed to a course that makes it impossible for them to retarget on the drones when they open fire.”
“That’s why I’m hoping. And they should be reaching that point right about…now. Drones to PDF fire mode, Doctor, and engage.”
The missiles had almost reached the lighter blue pinpricks of the three drones when they started winking away in twos and threes. The Slaasriithi PIP technology was, once again, startlingly swift and accurate. In the viewscreen, small blossoms of flame sparkled against the dark backdrop of Turkh’saar as they crossed the terminator.
Sleeman seemed to force herself to speak slowly. “All targets destroyed.”
Riordan nodded, hid a smile. The only real civilian in his team, Melissa Sleeman was still not as accustomed to suppressing panic as the rest, but she was learning quickly. Hardly surprising; learning quickly was arguably the doctor’s most outstanding talent.
Solsohn shook his head. “Lost all but one of the tacsats, sir.”
Riordan realized he had been leaning forward throughout the engagement. “That’s one more than I thought we’d have left. And if we leave it at this altitude, they’ll probably try to hit it again. If they can.”
Duncan frowned. “Sir, with respect, it certainly seems that they have demonstrated that capability.”
“They have, but take a look at this.” Riordan poked a finger into the tacplot, traced the red launch trajectories of the missiles to the surface of Turkh’saar. “They came from three sites arranged in an equilateral triangle around the anomalous area Dr. Sleeman detected.”
Karam half-turned his head. “So you think they fired everything they had because they thought we were making a reconnaissance pass?”
“Possibly. Or these may be automated launchers. It’s odd that the Hkh’Rkh didn’t use these missiles against the Slaasriithi commerce raiders. Unless, that is, these particular missile batteries are part of a dedicated, autonomous defense network.”
Sleeman nodded. “That’s consistent with what looked like their swarm-intercept programming.” She sniffed. “Pretty poor automation, if you ask me.”
“Which is why the Slaasriithi PIP system knocked them all down so swiftly.” Riordan stood. “Bow view.” The mottled darkness of the night-side surface beneath them was replaced by an onrushing tableau of space, cut in half by a curved mass of lightless black: the planet occluding the stars behind it. “Major, send to Wedge One: we will be nosing down and crowding thrust for a steeper, faster descent. I also need you to find me a hiding spot for our one remaining tacsat.”
“There’s some junk big enough to hide it behind, but that means we’ll only have use of it twice a day. For two hours at a time.”
“Understood. If you can, try to place it so that one of those two-hour intervals falls between midnight and dawn in our approximate landing zone. I want to be able to see well beyond the light of our campfires.”
“And the Slaasriithi PIPs, sir?”
“Leave them deployed. Same orbit, same hiding among the debris. Space them evenly along that orbital track, if you can.”
“That will give us access to only one drone at a time, and at very high orbit, sir.”
“One at a time is better than complete gaps in our coverage. And if we need to regroup them, they’ve got decent thrusters. Assuming we have enough warning.”
“Risky, sir.”
Karam sounded impatient. “If you leave them any lower, Major, what makes you think that the Hkh’Rkh won’t start taking potshots at them? If they do, and if they splash one, then we’ve got a coverage gap. Through which they’ll probably launch a barrage at us when we’re on the ground.”
Solsohn leaned in the direction of the pilot. “Not sure I like your tone, Flight Officer.”
“Not sure I care, sir—and I’m not sure I’m under you on the T.O.O.”
Caine kept his tone crisp. “That’s enough, Mr. Tsaami. You’ll show Major Solsohn the same respect you show Major Rulaine.”
Karam turned in his seat; his smile was like a hook waiting for bait. “I thought you’d want me to show him more respect than that, sir.”
Riordan felt a grin trying to pull at the left corner of his mouth. He turned to Solsohn. “Major, I’ll task Mr. Tsaami to remember you’re not part of our dysfunctional family.”
Duncan nodded almost wistfully before adding, “Sir, besides the lost tacsats, something else bothers me about the engagement: how did they detect us? We weren’t maneuvering, weren’t broadcasting, weren’t even sending lascoms anymore. And they never ran active sensors. So how the hell did they see us at all?”
Karam’s tone was almost as dismissive as his one-shouldered shrug. “We dumped out a bunch of tacsats. Major.”
“That was before our last burn, well before any long-range passive sensors could have detected us. And our own sensors never spotted any dirtside power generation consistent with that kind of orbital watchdog system.”
This time, Karam gave no sign of discounting Solsohn’s assertions.
Riordan nodded. “I don’t like that mystery any better than you do, Major, but we can be sure of this: the Hkh’Rkh know we’re here and where we’re heading. So any chance of making an undetected planetfall is gone. Mr. Tsaami, take us down as quickly as our hulls can handle.” He tightened his straps. “There’s now a fuse burning on this op. Let’s hope we can be back in orbit before it blows up in our faces.”