CHAPTER SEVEN
Stealth field engaged, the RFNS Krishmahnta emerged into the unmarked expanse of deep space that stretched between Bug 27’s warp points into Bug 26 and Bug 28. But, the Krishmahnta being a monitor, Ossian Wethermere could not afford to open her engines up wide; that would quickly overload the field’s energy-absorptive capacities. “Report,” he demanded.
“All clear ahead, Commodore, just as the Arduan-reprogrammed courier drone reported. Getting selnarm transmission from Cluster Leader Temret aboard the Fet’merah now.”
“Patch him through to me.”
“Yes, sir. Switching.”
“Temret?”
“Here, Commodore.”
“Is the hot-wiring job you pulled on the enemy tripwire buoys holding steady?”
“ ‘Hot-wiring,’ sir?”
Wethermere smiled at himself despite the tension on his bridge. “Are the Kaituni warp point sensors firmly under your control?”
“Yes, sir. They would have been impossible to compromise using real-space commo channels, but their selnarm links had very modest crypto and firewalls. Easily breached. Control is assured.”
All of which confirms Ankaht’s assertion that the Kaituni really don’t suspect that anyone is tailing them. “Sitrep on the entry groups.”
“Our remote probe caused no alarm. Given its Kaituni origins, it was polled by the tripwire buoys and its codes were accepted as legitimate. It used that link to reciprocally feed our control software back up that datastream. Upon entering in the Fet’merah, we activated that software remotely and commandeered the sensors around the warp point. Passive sensors have detected the closest Kaituni elements to be over eighteen light-minutes distant, making surprisingly leisurely progress toward the far warp point.”
Which explains why Miharu took in not only her flotilla under stealth, but the recon detachment as well: at that range, the Kaituni are not going to detect the warp point activation. Of course, if they have some cloaked ships nearby—“Any sign of cloaked Kaituni?”
“None, sir. Fet’merah has done nothing but search for them since entering this system. That, and wait for you and the rest of the Relief Fleet.”
“Have the Kaituni attempted to contact you?”
“No, sir. Our best estimates indicate that we were able to exert control over the tripwire system before it was able to send notification of our arrival to the Fourteenth Dispersate. In which case, they only know that the courier drone arrived. They have no discernible alternate means to have detected us, or anything that arrived afterward.”
Which was all perfect. Which made Wethermere nervous. “Are you currently in contact with Admiral Yoshikuni?”
“Not at this moment, sir. We have kept to the commo intervals set out in the initial conops: one compressed selnarmic packet every three minutes on the average. That interval is further modified by a shared plus or minus fifty second randomization algorithm.”
“The admiral’s latest sitrep?”
“All clear. All forty-eight capital ships of her stealthed strike flotilla report full function. No evidence of enemy detection, and no projected intersection between her telemetry and the courses being followed by the Kaituni. Whose own use of selnarmic communications is much lower than we expected; they are unusually reliant upon lascom and even radio.”
Wethermere rubbed his chin: was this more evidence of the speciate recidivism that Ankaht had anticipated among the later Dispersates? Possibly, but Ossian had more immediate concerns: “And you’re sure that our own use of selnarm will not be detected by the Kaituni?”
“Not unless we wish it to be, Commodore. At these ranges, only a shaxzhu or a very, very powerful Selnarshaz would detect other sources of selnarm stirring in their perception of our species’ collective narmata. And they would have to specifically focus on trying to discern such a presence. Unless they already suspect that there are Arduans following them, they would have no reason to extend and strain their awareness to undertake such a draining exercise of selnarmic detection.”
Yes, but once we show up and start engaging them with precision fire, coming straight out of stealth . . . “Once they know we’re in-system, they’ll have plenty of reason to suspect that we have Arduan help. Have you learned anything since entering Bug 27 that would cause you to revise Ankaht’s assessment about their inability to, well, hack into our own selnarm links?”
“No, sir. Please be at ease about this. As Ankaht explained, only machine-relayed selnarm can be ‘hacked’ at all, because the relays lack consciousness and therefore lack the ability to screen out telempathic signals they do not wish to receive. However, our own mechanical selnarmic relays have been heavily encrypted. We conservatively estimate that it would take weeks to breach them, maybe months. On the other hand, we have now had months to analyze various samples of Kaituni technology, including multiple systems employed by the Fourteenth Dispersate itself. Since they expect no selnarmic contact in these salients, their encryption is not much more challenging than that of the tripwire system we just compromised and controlled. So our links remain secure. And our enemy’s remain extremely vulnerable.”
“Thank you, Temret. Krishmahnta out.” Wethermere frowned, leaned back in the large chair overlooking the immense bridge. Well, it wasn’t anywhere near as large as those of the devastator-classes, but it still felt more like an amphitheater than a bridge. He glanced at the holo-plot. The main van of the Relief Fleet continued to pour through the warp point that connected Bug 27 to Bug 28, spreading quickly into a fast attack formation that would drive on the unsuspecting Kaituni like a pile driver. Kiiraathra’ostakjo would be through in moments, Narrok a minute or so after him. Everything was going perfectly according to plan.
Which usually meant that something was about to go desperately wrong . . .
Admiral Yoshikuni glanced at her commo officer, who nodded. Good: Modelo-Vo was on the secure channel. “Report,” she demanded.
“Viggen has reached the warp point into Bug 26. Found one buoy. Dormant, apparently activated only when it senses the warp point throwing off incipient transit anomalies. It has been disabled via a selnarmic virus.”
“Good. Your job is now to hold the warp point, in case any leakers get through.” She smiled. “Think you can do that, Rudi?”
She could hear the answering smile in his voice. “Well, ever since you beefed up the recon detachment with destroyers and a few cruisers, I think we can take care of anything that comes our way.”
“Good, but I’m going to give you a little more stiffening, in case some bigger leakers come your way.”
“Sir?”
“I’m sending Captain Knight back with his pennant of heavy and standard superdreadnoughts.”
“Admiral, does that mean I’m no longer in command of—?”
“Commander,” Yoshikuni interrupted, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice, “let’s keep our egos on a leash today. Captain Knight still reports to me. He has been tasked to hold the warp point. And only that. You are my free safety. As such, you have the discretion and freedom to use the recon detachment to add to his efforts or to pursue opportunities we cannot foresee, until and unless you receive new orders from me. So Captain Knight may rank you, but you are not under his direct command until I say so.”
“Understood, Admiral.”
More like “relieved,” judging from the sound of your voice, she thought. She gave the hand sign to close the channel. “Tactical, any change in the approaching threat force?”
“None, sir.” Lieutenant Yaris gestured into the holoplot; a tapering lozenge of red motes crept lazily toward the thin, stacked wafers of blue ones that signified Yoshikuni’s flotilla. “They continue to show no awareness of our ships or of the selnarmic microsensors we let drift out of our stealth sphere.”
“Readiness of our scramblers to attempt interdiction on their selnarmic fighters’ ‘wingmen?’”
“The EW sections on all ships report full function. We should be able to take all their conventionally linked robot fighters out of the battle within the first few minutes.”
“That’s fine, but keep reminding our overeager electronic warriors that after the Kaituni fighters launch, we still have to let their main body close and commit to a tactical formation—before we yank the rug out from under their autonomous wingmen. Taking away two-thirds of each of their fighter triads at a single blow is only half the objective; ensuring that the balance of their main formation is made vulnerable by gutting their fighter assets is the other.”
“Yes, Admiral. I shall keep stressing that point.”
Yoshikuni nodded, watched the growing mass of blue motes at the opposite end of the holoplot shift position in a single jerk; the selnarmic update, now cycling every sixty-seconds, had just come through. She scanned the density of contacts, knew what it signified: almost the entirety of the Relief Fleet was now in-system, the monitors pressing forward as quickly as possible while being careful not to exceed the capacity of the leading ships’ stealth fields. Soon enough, the Kaituni would detect the other unstealthed formations behind them, apparently dangerously attenuated, and turn to attack those seemingly outnumbered craft.
And until then, Miharu Yoshikuni had to keep reminding herself not to drum her fingers in impatience.
Captain O. A. Knight leaned over to look in the plot. “Bring us five degrees to starboard, and zee plus three.”
“Aye, sir.” Sam Lubell—part of the bridge crew whom Knight had brought off the Woolly Impostor to serve under him aboard the superdreadnought RFNS No-Dachi—turned with a single raised eyebrow. “Any reason for that new course, sir?” Seeing Knight’s frown, he hastily added, “Just so I am aware of any changes you foresee in the tactical picture, Captain.”
Knight frowned. “Sitting right in front of the warp point isn’t optimal, Lubell: we’re positioned astride their traffic conduit. So I want to put us in a flanking position. No matter how they approach the warp point.”
“Understood, sir. Thank you, sir,” Lubell said as he made the course change. Knight watched the holoplot as the blue mote signifying No-Dachi’s twin, Gladius, swung over to follow . . . and almost started in surprise when Lt. Engan shouted. “Warp point surge; transition imminent! Checking if proximity of Viggen has triggered—”
Knight’s eyes flicked toward the purple hoop designating the warp point, noted Viggen’s position, shook his head. “Belay any confirmatory selnarmic pings to our remote sensors, Lieutenant Engan. The last navplot update shows that Viggen did not maneuver too close to the warp point.”
“Then what—?” began Schendler at the comm station.
“Traffic moves through warp points in both directions,” Knight muttered. Even to his own ears, it sounded as though he had gravel stuck in his throat. “Schendler, one top priority selnarm squeak to Admiral Yoshikuni on RFNS Broadside: we have incoming hostiles.”
Miharu Yoshikuni nodded when the comm officer relayed Knight’s report, resisted the impulse to slap her palm down on the armrest of her conn in frustration. She glanced at the wide, unblinking eyes of the officer. “No return signal. No alert to our strike force. They’ll see it themselves. For now, we stay silent.”
“Admiral,” began the ship’s skipper, Captain Ibrahim, “the Arduans have assured us that as long as their presence is not suspected in this system, their selnarm exchanges would only be detected by chance. We could—”
“We could send a general signal, yes, Captain,” Yoshikuni interrupted staring into the holoplot. “And we could prove the power of chance by sending that signal and having it intercepted by this newly arrived enemy ship. A ship, I point out, that will be passing between us without any ability to detect our hulls and with no realistic chance of running into any of them.” Even though Yoshikuni’s strike force was in relatively close formation, that meant that even her most closely located hulls were still separated by well over fifty thousand kilometers.
“But if one of our commanders gets anxious—”
“I trust that our officers will continue to show the same self-control that they have to date. They know the OpOrd: hold position and hold fire until they get a flag signal to the contrary. I expect them to follow their orders. The enemy admiral is going to see what appears to be empty space all the way to the warp point into Bug 26. That presumption of local security will make the Kaituni just that much more vulnerable.” She did not turn to look back at Ibrahim. “Are my orders clear?”
“Crystal, Admiral.”
Yoshikuni nodded, glanced at the Comms officer. She kept her voice low. “Lieutenant Bazin?”
“Yes, Admiral?”
“Have our selnarmic microsensors pinged us with a compressed update on the enemy bogey, yet?”
“No, Admiral. Twenty seconds until the next remote sitrep.”
“When that data comes in, I want you to pay close attention to any mascom, lascom, or tight-beam RF emissions from the bogey. Give me as much directional data as possible.”
“Admiral, that will be mostly differential analysis.”
“I hope it will be,” Yoshikuni muttered in reply. Because the only way we’d get a direct read is if we’re unlucky enough to have an enemy comm link graze across one of our stealth fields or microsensors . . .
Captain O.A. Knight was extremely grateful for the tactical edge that stealth technology furnished him. But the deaf-and-dumb waiting that it conversely imposed was also driving him slowly, quietly mad.
With no way to see beyond the globe of energy absorption that was the hallmark (and tell-tale sign) of a stealth field, Knight and his crew had no choice but to count down the seconds until the remote sensors sent a selnarm squeak that would provide a brief view and assessment of whatever enemies had actually come through the activating warp point. And since he was in the commander’s chair, he was the only one on the bridge who could not afford the slightest sign—even that of a slightly more rigid posture—of anxiety while waiting for that information.
“Five seconds to update,” Schendler announced.
If I needed a cuckoo clock, I’d have had one installed, Knight thought uncharitably. He only nodded, made himself suppress a yawn that was more affected than actual . . . and glanced at the holoplot.
An almost invisible red speck appeared near the purple hoop that marked the location of the warp point.
“We have the update,” Schendler exclaimed. “One bogey, bearing zero-zero-three by three-fifty-nine at a range of seven light-seconds, making straight for the Kaituni van at .06 cee equivalent. Tentatively identified as a courier-escort. She is broadcasting on one of the customary enemy frequencies, sir. Decryption proceeding. The transmission is comprised of short strings with a lot of repeats. I’m guessing basic transponder and security exchanges, Captain.”
Knight nodded. “A dog barking because it’s in sight of its kennel.”
“What do we do, sir?” asked Lubell.
“We sit in our silent ball of blackness and let him pass.”
Engan was studying her sensors intently. “Sir, the bogey is cycling through a variety of direct-beam comm links. Apparently updating the buoy we compromised earlier and select enemy vessels through lascom transmissions . . .”
No different than our own standard operating procedures, reflected Knight.
“. . . but they are sending some signals into empty space. Unless, of course—”
“Unless they’ve seeded their own microsensors around this warp point.” Probably updating some suitcase-sized passive sensor platform made mostly of plastics. Which we never spotted. Which could be floating somewhere behind one of our own hulls. Which increases the chance that one of their comm beams will get clipped off by that hull’s stealth field and cause the bogey to investigate—“Ross, I want six selnarm-retrofitted heavy bombardment missiles soft-deployed to a range of two kilometers. Do it now.”
“Yes, sir.” Ross’ reply sounded more like a question than a confirmation. “Deploying now. Do I maintain a link to them?”
“Yes. For now, use their attitude control thrusters to keep them near us, well within the stealth field. But keep your finger ready on the firing switch.”
“Sir, I’m sorry; I’m not following you.”
“For now, you don’t need to, Lieutenant. And if we get lucky, you won’t need to. But be prepared to route our selnarmic sensor data to the missiles and to activate them.”
“Aye, sir.”
But Knight barely heard Ross’ reply: he was watching the bogey intently, waiting for the next, imminent update . . .
***
Miharu Yoshikuni saw the bogey jump forward in the updating holoplot—but not far enough. In the intervening minute, it had slowed, veered aside. Something had made it change course. Damn it.
Well, now we have to take a chance with real-time updates. “Sensors, send selnarmic activation protocol beta to our tier one array of passive microsensors.” That would furnish every hull in her flotilla with streaming sensor updates. “But hold the tier two array in reserve.” That would give them a backup in case the Kaituni started finding and neutralizing the tier one platforms.
“Aye, sir.”
“Comms, I need to speak to my task force leaders.”
“Getting Captain Knight and Commander Modelo-Vo on selnarm link ASAP, Admiral.”
The real-time system display brightened, unfroze the varicolored mayflies which had been jerking their way through the navplot, minute by minute, for the past two hours. Several smaller lead elements of the Fourteenth Dispersate were moving forward more rapidly. There were less definitive signs that the rest of the formation was, conversely, slowing. Well, that much was good news: the longer it took for the enemy van to get to her strike force, the more time the body of the Relief Fleet had to catch it and grind it down from behind.
“Admiral, I’ve got Captain Knight and Commander Modelo-Vo on the command channel.”
“Acknowledged. Gentlemen, you’re closest to the warp point: any guess why the bogey started getting twitchy?”
Modelo-Vo started making an uncertain sound; Knight interrupted brusquely. “My sensor ops caught indications that the bogey was signaling to proximal receivers that were beneath the volumetric sensitivity of our scans: we conjecture Kaituni microsensors. Our best guess is that they grazed one of our stealth fields, didn’t get the ping-back they expected, have become wary. They may suspect nothing more than a dead sensor, but they’re proceeding with due caution. They’re not stupid.”
“You’ve got a good jump on this, Captain. Have you taken steps?”
“I have, Admiral. I followed protocol Charlie X-Ray.”
Excellent: Knight had cut loose some selnarmically-steerable ship-killer missiles for remote launch. He’d ultimately move his ship so they fell outside of his stealth field. Once the enemy tweaked to them, his own ship would be well away. The Kaituni might wonder where the missiles had come from, or if they had somehow been undetected as they were lying doggo—but there would be nothing pointing back to their source from within a stealth field. “Just what I would have done, Captain. Good thinking. And it looks like we’re going to have to put your precautions to immediate use. The bogey seems to be starting a widening spiral sweep.”
“Yes, ma’am. They’re looking for something. Might as well satisfy their curiosity. I can be ten thousand kilometers away from the missiles in a few seconds, and I’m told we already have a hard lock on the bogey since they’ve started running active sensors.”
“If your on-board selnarm specialists have tested the missiles’ responsiveness to their links, you are cleared to begin.”
“Yes, Admiral. The missiles were confirmed as responsive within the first half minute we soft-deployed them.”
Yoshikuni suppressed a smile; Knight’s seasoned professionalism was as evident as he was laconic. “Show them the missiles and engage the bogey as soon as it sees them. You are to remain under stealth. You, too, Commander Modelo-Vo.”
The two men answered her with a chorus of “Aye, aye, Admiral.” The channel closed.
In the holoplot, the blue icon denoting Knight’s No-Dachi scooted further to the side of the purple hoop of the warp point. Six small cyan pinpricks remained behind, hovering motionless in the space it had vacated: the missiles he had soft-deployed for remote operation. For a moment, the bogey did not react—then it straightened out of its slow, cautious recon sweep into a high-speed sprint back toward the Kaituni van.
“Sensors?”
“The bogey is sending on all channels, using all comms.”
Ibrahim, leaning forward from the captain’s conn, gestured toward the six blue pin pricks. “Why is Knight not activating the—?”
“He’s giving that bogey a chance to stammer out a full report about the missiles. Making sure that the Kaituni have no reason to suspect this was anything other than some lurking mines they missed on their earlier sweeps. But any second now—”
As those words left Miharu Yoshikuni’s lips, the six cyan midges brightened and raced after the enemy escort. Reports bounced back from one section to another on her bridge: transmissions from the bogey had redoubled; it was deploying a recorder buoy; it had begun emitting chaff and image-makers; but only one missile had fallen for the bait and veered off target.
Two of the remaining five blue pinpricks winked away as Sensors announced, “Enemy point defense fire has commenced; scratch two.”
The remaining three missiles closed. The red bogey danced erratically. The closest blue point flickered and died, but had apparently been close enough to injure its target: the enemy icon faltered in its course, slowing slightly—
The last two blue glints drove into the red icon. All disappeared.
“Target destroyed,” announced Sensor Ops.
Yoshikuni leaned back. Textbook, she thought, suppressing a smile. We didn’t show our hand or true forces, but gave them a completely convincing automated ambush scenario. Now, if they follow the customary playbook, they’ll send forward some light hulls to sweep the area, like sappers going ahead into an enemy minefield, while the van slows and hold back, waiting for the “all clear.”
But in the next moment, Yoshikuni was leaning forward, rigid, eyes widening.
Because that’s not what the Kaituni were doing. Instead of just frigates and destroyers probing forward at a leisurely pace, they were racing for the warp point at flank speed—every single red mote that comprised the Fourteenth Dispersate. An angry scarlet wave building momentum toward the thin blue dike of her currently invisible strike force.
“Er . . . Admiral,” began Ibrahim.
“Send to all ships; stand to general quarters,” she ordered the Comms officer. “Sensors, ETA of enemy lead units?”
“Given the performance statistics of the ship classes assumed to be comprising their vanguard, we project thirty-seven minutes, Admiral. The leading edge of the main body will be trailing by about five minutes, assuming they hold present course and speed.”
Sensor Ops shouted into the end of the report. “Relief Fleet’s first echelon of monitors is coming out of stealth, not far behind the rearmost ships of the Kaituni formation.”
“Any Kaituni reaction to that?”
“None observable yet, Admiral. It’s all unfolding pretty quickly.”
“Continue to report. Gunnery, start compiling a target list for distribution throughout our control net. Sensor Ops, keep refining those projected firing solutions; inform me when we are close to achieving hard lock.”
Respectful assents answered her as she leaned back, frowning at the holoplot.
Ibrahim who had never sunk back into his chair, was watching the plot carefully. “Certainly some of their larger ships will fall back to protect the auxiliaries at the rear of their fleet.”
Yoshikuni shrugged. “Captain, I only know one thing for certain right now.”
“And what is that, Admiral?”
She pointed at the swollen wave of red icons. “Here they come.”