I'm trying to get a first novel finished. So, if SF is your thing, make sure I finish my LA Modern Noir novel by harrasing me to get it done.
TC watched the holo-sphere. The armada was spread through a cone over thirty thousand kilometres from point to base. It was braking hard, expending fuel at a prodigious rate to make orbit, and not overshoot.
Her com clicked. ‘Are you okay up there?’
It was (name). ‘I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. We’re bored. I don’t understand why we’re up here. The insurrection’s over, near as dammit. What ships they did had they sent to earth, and the armada dealt with them.’
‘Consider yourself part of an honour guard. Your greeting them on behalf of all loyal colonists. And you know there’s still heavy fighting down here. Just because you cleared orbital space doesn’t mean the fighting’s over.’
‘I’m glad I’m not a colonist. The sooner this is finished and I can go home the better.’
‘Has the thrill of uniform worn off? I thought you liked getting to fly your thrill ship.’
A proximity warning flicked red on the control screen and TC pulled up the camera view. It looked liked a piece of debris from a construction barge. She was meant to be in a sector cleared of such junk, this piece must have been in an erratic orbit, or had been bumped out of its normal one by a collision. She used pulses of compressed air to lift the compact ship further above the line the debris was tracking on. Thirty meters should have been plenty, but she felt safer with another few hundred.
‘You’re moving,’ (name) said.
‘Just some debris. It’s fine. So, why did you call. It can’t be for personal time, this is a Delta-two channel, and I don’t have an Alpha to the ship.’
‘Maybe we could make it personal if we used code. Breakfast on Tharsis, furlough at Camp (name).’
TC grinned. One had been a few moments grabbed together in an empty meeting room. The other was three days at the largest military base on the planet, most of it spent in the ten-by-eight OMRU - Officers Mobile Rest Unit. She said, ‘It’d only work if I had something memorable to attach to these places and times.’
‘Ow. That stings. Maybe I should just tell you why I’m on. Flight Leader (TC), there’s a change to your orders. New plans should be in your flight packet. You’re to (send) them to your flight.’
‘What’s the change?’
‘Some genius thinks the salute will be prettier done this way.’
‘Really? It’s the little things that tell you the insurrections completely quashed, isn’t it. I mean, this has to mean all the fightings stopped. (Location) has been quelled, (location) is secure.’
‘This is a Delta-two channel, TC.’
‘Guess I was wrong. Just us folks in orbit who’ve got a clear schedule, and our ground command. I’m cashing in when we’re done. I’ll buy a mining rig, find a crew, and go live in the asteroid belt.’ A message received icon blinked on her screen. ‘That’s our new orders arrived. I’ll get those sent out. I hope the fuel calculations have been done correctly. None of us enough to be taking long jaunts to satisfy the admirals desire for a pretty welcome.’
‘I’m just the messenger.’
‘So I shouldn’t shoot you. Sorry.’ Distributing the new orders took a couple of moments. Then she uploaded the packet to her own system. ‘How are you doing?’ (Name) was a Major, but a paper pushing one who lived at headquarters and not on front lines. He’d never fired a weapon after basic training was over, never commanded troops in harms way. His job was data and logistics. She thought about their three days in the OMRU. He may be on the theory side of soldiering, but he kept in shape and there had been little excess on him, and no issues with stamina. She licked her lips at the memory. Her navigation system gave a flicker, like it was about to enter reboot, then settled to show the new flight details.
‘I’m fine,’ (name) said. ‘Making sure things get to where they need to be in the right amounts. I saw this in the work queue and thought it’d be good chance to say hi. Are you really going to go off and be an asteroid miner?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It appeals. Especially as I’ll be in the reserves for ten years after getting out. Hard for me to be recalled for the next thing if I’m digging minerals out of rocks millions of klicks from the nearest base.’
‘When this is finished, and the fleet is bringing the resources to do that, there’ll be nothing like this ever again.’
‘Until Mars goes again, or there’s another war back home.’ Her screen flashed to confirm the new course was entered, the instructions ready to send to the rest of the flight group. ‘Everything received, just going to look at it now
‘Look, I’ll be busy for a few days while the armada offloads. Why don’t we plan for another few days together?’
‘Will you still be able to swing an OMRU with all the extra folks arriving?’
‘Data and logistics. You’ll be amazed at what I can arrange. Look, I’ve got to go, bye.’
Before TC could reply the link was broken. She blinked in surprise, but someone more senior than him had hoved into view, making him cut a less than one hundred percent necessary call.
The navigation computer now contained her new destination. It was much further out. There would be a delay in any Mars comms, so there was no room for last second changes to this new schedule, no way to call base for help if something went wrong. The holosphere showed the planned routes for her and the other three ships in her flight squad, four lines in bright colours. Hers was yellow and snaked a little, a route avoiding debris. She opened coms to her flight.’ Flight leader. Sound off.’
‘Flight Two,’ said David, a competent second.
‘Flight Three,’ said Misu, one of the youngest sent.
‘Flight Four,’ said Amber. Lucky to still be alive.
‘You’ve all had the updated plans. Have you all uploaded them to your navs?’ There were three yes calls. ‘We’ll depart in ten minutes at zero-four-hour. Gives everyone a chance to prep. The routes all look like they are factoring in debris, but you need to be ready to execute manual maneouvers so I want everyone in their suits and strapped in. Questions?’
‘Cap, why they changing things?’ Amber asked.
TC wasn’t surprised. Amber was the weak link in the flight and when the armada arrived TC would recommend, again, she be removed from flight duties.
It was something which nagged at TC. They were the poorest performing wing of the four which were active, why were they given the honour of being the welcome guard, and not the best? And why only one flight? There were no ships remaining in rebel hands. They dozen or so repurposed ships they used to provide cover for the earthbound fleet to leave were all destroyed.
‘They think our salute will look prettier in the new formation. I guess the incoming admiral must be keen on interior design. Right. Coms off. Have a drink, hit the head, get into your suits, and be ready on the hour.’
She killed the link and pushed back, the gimballed chair slid away from the command and flight panels and pushed her into the cramped personal space.
(Type of ships) were unusual beasts. They’d been designed for a single pilot to spend extended time in, up to several weeks if storage was very carefully arranged, though none were used that way. The chair could be fold flat to form a bed, there was a slide out toilet, and a heating slot for meal pouches. The ships were cramped and uncomfortable. TC disliked the conditions, but enjoyed being out in space. There was a feeling of freedom, a knowledge that the other side of the bulkhead was a vastness which could be travelled through, vastly different from the cramped tower block in a New Sydney suburb, surround by other refugees from flooded nations.
The funk which grew over a few days of flight never grew to rival the miasmic stench which millions of people crammed into to small a space, each from a place with its own variation on pungent food. Even now she only needed to catch a whiff of boiling cabbage to remember the haunted looking Russians who hung around a cafe in her blocks shopping levels, or the garlic which seemed to permeate everywhere that Mediterranean or Middle Eastern people lived or ate.
And everywhere people, milling, teeming, masses of people. Going, returning, sitting in place, so many people. Most seemed to be going through the motions of life, eyes dead to the possibility of life which existed beyond their peripheral vision. Some wiped away even that scope, numbing their senses with drink, drugs, or risks. Only a few seemed to move with purpose, a desire to achieve or be more.
She’d never been sure which she would be.
‘Flight Two to Flight One, ready to go.’
Snatching the meal pouch from it’s warming slot she slid back to the flight desk and clicked on. ‘Flight One. Acknowledged.’
Other flight commanders liked chatter between the group, but TC preferred things kept lean, crisp when on task. There was enough time for chatter when things were done.
Amber was next to call in. ‘Flight Four to Flight One. Ready.’
TC was peering into the holosphere, looking at their relative positions, and about to call Misu when the com clicked on.’ Flight Three to Flight One, ready to go.’ She nodded to herself, happy that everyone was ready with time to spare.
‘Thirty-second countdown.’ She pushed a tile on her screen and watched thirty click down to twenty-nine, twenty-eight… in their ships the others would be looking at the same countdown, hands hovering over the controls to turn their engines on, to take active control of their ships direction in the universe, instead of drifting like ghost ships on the solar eddies.
…three, two, one. ‘Go, flight is a go.’ Her hands danced over the controls, executing the commands for the engines, calling up the gauges which showed the power output for each engine, and the thrust monitor. In the holosphere she watched the lines for the other three. Misu was lagging. Happy that her own ship was responding fine she opened Misu’s profile and checked the same engine and thrust profiles. They were within normal parameters, but Misu was lagging. She’d called ready, had she been lying?
She opened a private change. ‘Flight one to flight three, respond.’
‘Flight three.’
‘Are you having difficulty?’
‘A glitch in the navcom threw me out as we launched. I was about to reboot, but it came back on. Sorry, I should have said.’
‘Okay. You’re only a few seconds behind. But yes, you should have said.’ She remembered the flicker her own system adjust after the update. ‘Any idea what caused the glitch?’
‘I’m scanning now.’
‘Let me know if there’s anything. Flight one out.’
David and Amber hadn’t experienced any glitches.
She signed off and cut her comms, letting the non-silence of her ship in motion surround her. A gently thrum vibrated through the ship, a remote vibration which couldn’t be readily be identified as having an effect, but was noticeably absent when the engines were silent.
TC’s journey to her new spot was the longest. Watching the holosphere she saw Amber start to fall behind, her thrust cutting off first. A little later David and Misu’s followed suit. Finally her own engine’s cut off. The thrum died away.
Her thoughts turned to (name) and the prospect of more time together. They were a little like her ship. Long periods of silence, times when they there was noise, and short bursts of frenetic action. Burst of frenetic action certainly had its appeal. (Name) was right in the ballpark of whatever passed for her type. A little taller than her, eyes with irises like chocolate buttons, hair a couple of finger widths long - enough to grip when she held his head when they made love. If he wasn’t signed up for the long haul she might even have considered him for something more long term. But from here he’d return to some base back on earth or the moon. He’d disappear for weeks or months, dispatched on missions that he wasn’t allowed to discuss, or to confirm; she’d remain in Space Command and be out on flights, or flying her own desk, or become a base spouse, filling time with worthy causes, clubs, mid-afternoon wine coolers and temptations of affairs with her contemporaries.
It wasn’t a life she wanted, just a slightly more upscale version of the one she’d fled.
No, (name) wasn’t part of her long term future. If the armada did it’s job he might not be part of her near future for much longer.
Long enough for one last weekend though.
The armada continued to decelerate. Watching in the holosphere, TC was impressed. The mass difference between the huge Interdictors and the tiny needle ships was measured in (log scales?). There momentum profiles existed in different mathematical planes. Yet the armada continued forward with the ships retaining their relative positions to each other the cone shape intact.
Everyone commanding a ship in the armada knew what they had to do, how, and when. They knew what was expected of them. TC couldn’t get a flight of four to move off at the same time. She wondered what would have happened to Misu if she’d been under the armada’s command.
Of course, in short order she would be, they all would. This flight group and the others back in near-Mars orbit. Would they have a new commander, or would their structure remain the same and there just be a new level of command above them. Whichever it was things would change. That was fine. Change had been her intention anyway.
They were an hour away from executing their salute. She called the team and had them run system checks. If it had been possible she’d have made them check the flare packages being used had them run system checks. If it had been possible she’d have made them check the (flare packages) being used, had them strip the physical mechanisms down and reassemble them in an attempt to ensure this one thing could be done without error.
It’d be nice to have her flight accomplish one thing with no asterisk next to the achievement, no ‘They did well, but…’.
It was another reason she was leaving at her first opportunity. Yes, she’d risen to Flight Leader. But it was the flight which always screwed up. She was leader of the less capable. Trying to figure out how, what pathway led here, proved illusive and initially she’d teased the question, seeking to find the answer and with it some peace of mind. Now she did her best to ensure her squad’s screw-ups weren’t fatal, wished for the arrival of replacements, and ticked off the unknown days until she could quit the military and head out as her own captain.
In the holosphere the cone of the armada was condensing, thickening, as the ships began the final phase of slowing. Soon it would split. Interdictors and needle fighters would head for positions above rebel strongholds. Troops would be dispatched on dropships to landing zones which put them within easy reach of the same bases, ready to swarm the rebels, to sweep up any who remained after the pummelling they’d just received from orbit.
TC readied herself, preparing to issue the order to deploy. The salute was to be a multi spectrum riot of noise and color a welcome mat laid out before the armada which would resonate in the visible for cameras to catch and relay home, and a welter of welcoming messages which would weave their way through the coruscating display and be visible to those watching augmented replays of the event. A red carpet laid out to a fleet yet to achieve its victory.
‘Flight One to all,’ her voice came over the comms, ‘switch to stealth and execute Omega, execute Omega. Confirm.’
‘Flight Two confirm.’
‘Flight Three confirm.’
‘Flight Four confirm.’
In the holosphere the sigils for her squad blinked out, hidden from sensors by the cloaking technology which had been disabled before the ships were dispatched to Mars.
That she could still see the armada meant she wasn’t cloaked.
Panic and confusion swamped her. She had never heard of Omega, did not know the ships could still operate in stealth mode, and did not give the order she just heard.
The engines turned on, the thrum in the hull coming a few moments before her sigil in the holosphere began moving.
The com clicked on. ‘TC, what the hell is happening,’ (Flight Command person) asked. ‘What is Omega? Why are three members of your flight in stealth mode?’
She keyed to respond, aware there would be a delay, but anxious to talk with base.
‘Flight Base this is-‘ she stopped, and keyed the com again. The light on her screen showed it disconnected. It remained that way despite her efforts. Then she said, ‘We came to Mars to fight rebels intent on anarchy and destruction. We found only freedom fighters seeking to remove the shackles of oppression. They tried to do it peacefully, we attacked, they sought to negotiate in good faith, we destroyed their fleet. Now is the time for all lovers of freedom to make their declaration of independence, to fight for their land, their loved ones, their lives.’
As she listened to a speech she wasn’t making Flight base responded, demanding she cease the attack, that she uncloak her team. The channel stayed busy with her impassioned call to arms, and base demanding to stand down.
The controls felt slow under her fingers, gluey, the processing system struggling to cope with overload. TC thought back to the glitch that followed the upload (name) sent. Two other members of her flight reported glitches. Maybe the other two never noticed it happening.
She slid back, twisting round and reaching to unclip a panel. It slid from it’s housing, floating away and bouncing off the bulkhead just above the heating slot. A small screen lit up and she pulled a keyboard from it’s holder. Commands ticked across the screen as she typed, seeking one which would let her override or reboot the system.
The com was filled with noise. Commands being screamed from Mars were joined, and then silenced, by a deep, sonorous voice, ‘This is Admiral (Akhbar). Flight Leader (TC) we have you targeted. Stand down now, or be destroyed and know we will seek out and destroy your compatriots.’
There was no hint of this being an idle threat in the voice. This was not a warning, this was what would happen.
TC stared at the control panel, seeking the lines of command required. She’d been in the top ten percent of her training group for software maintenance and manipulation, but that was four years ago, in a classroom, with a simulation of a faulty life support system.
A forgotten sub-routine option appeared. She could reboot the system to the last general ground crew setting. That had been last week, only her and her squad maintenance team had dealt with the ship since. She bit the side of her thumb as she stared at the screen, checking this was the right thing to do, seeking any reason not to.
As she readied to enter the necessary commands the admiral reached the end of his patience. ‘A trial would have been a good way to unravel your treachery, but it’s no surprise you’re to cowardly to-‘ There was background commotion, someone calling for the admiral’s attention with a note of desperation in their voice. ‘Then target them, now! And fire at the traitorous bitch who led them. Your going to fail, Flight Leader (TC), and you’re going to die knowing you fail-‘ A cry of, ‘For Mars!’ Cut across the admiral. TC recognised the voices. David, Misu, and Amber.
Coms fell silent.
TC turned to look at the holosphere. In the space behind the interdictors, where the admiral’s flagship had been, there was now several smaller items showing, none of them with an identity sigil. A blinking red sigil indicated several items moving at high velocity in her direction.
The main flight screens flashed red with with information demanding attention.
TC changed her mind on rebooting the system just now, and shoved the keyboard into its slot before sliding back to the main console. The incoming missiles were less than an hour away. There was no way of knowing what the warhead contained, apart from certain death.
She had one chance of escape. The reactivated stealth system. If she could survive the next hour, and find somewhere to hide, then she could reboot the system to a more benign setting. The incoming warheads would have tracking capability, but they might not have the heuristic capability to follow a rapidly changing course in a transmission cloaked target. It took nearly ten minutes to program in a route which used full engine power for ten minutes, and changed direction in five, eight, or nine minute intervals.
The engines kicked in. She watched her velocity climb. In the holosphere the missiles altered track to match her. The perfect cone of the armada had splintered, the ships spreading out without any clear order.
The stealth system activated, and the holosphere disappeared. The ship shifted through its first course change. From now it there was no way of knowing if she’d managed to outthink the missile until it detonated, or enough time had passed to make uncloaking a viable risk.
That was the thing about a stealth system. No one could see you, but you couldn’t see anyone either. Nothing in, nothing out.
It was a reason the systems had been decommissioned. After several ships disappeared forever it was realised the risks of an untraceable and uncontactable ship filled with all manner of massively explosive materials hurling through space outweighed the potential benefits.
With all external information cut off TC’s screens quietened, swathes of red and orange were muted.
She realised there was still a rushing noise, but it was in her head. It took a few minutes for that to dispel. Minutes which she spent piecing events together in her head.
(Name) had called and sent the data packet with their new orders. The packet had to be the source of the override which had taken their ships. (Name) either didn’t know what he was sending, or was complicit. She expected to believe he didn’t know, that he’d been used in some nefarious way by the separatists, and was surprised to find the belief failed to gel.
The Mars rebels were fought fighters, they’d shown technological skill in repurposing non-military hardware to devastating effect, and in disrupting or interrupting all manner of communication systems. But this was more than that. This required a deep knowledge of how a (type of ship) operates, an intimate understanding of its original design and features, and changes that had been made to them. They also had to know that ships had been sent out as a welcoming committee, and they had to know the armada was coming. The second part might be known, it was impossible to block all forms of communication with earth, but who knew about the welcome party?
If it was the rebels, then their infiltration of the task force was to such a level there should be real concern about the viability of defeating this insurrection.
But how could they have the number of people in the critical places required?
The more TC thought about it the more it felt like some devious piece of theatre designed to shape the minds of everyone who saw it.
She’d wondered why her flight was selected to be the welcoming team. If they were to be sacrificed it made sense. They were the least useful flight in the squadron. And the admiral. She didn’t know him by name or reputation, but there must have been something about him that recommended him as an unwitting victim. His ship won’t have been one of the fleets newest, and the rest of the crew were as expendable as herself, David, Misu, and Amber.
Orchestrating such a thing required someone with skills in data and logistics.
Like (name).
They’d been an unlikely pairing. As a flight leader she, technically, was an officer, but not a proper one. If she moved to another flight, or to a ground crew post and wasn’t the leader, she wasn’t an officer anymore. He was a proper officer, right from training. She had an air of raggedy untidiness which her best efforts to remove never quite achieved. He was so squared away he ironed his shorts and socks.
Knocking into him, making him spill a drink, had seemed funny at the time, a cute get together story. Now she wondered again why he was in the flight crew mess.
Meeting (name), being made flight leader, news of the armada being underway, all happened around the same time. And now she thought they were all connected.
Back on earth some genius with a mind like a pretzel figured that wiping out the Mars negotiation fleet wasn’t enough, that sending the largest armada ever assembled, wasn’t enough, that pounding rebel positions from orbit wasn’t enough. They figured that right now there wasn’t sufficient hatred for the colonists back on earth and, therefore, some great sacrifice had to be made.Death and sacrifice are part of war. But being sacrificed while being branded a traitor burnt hard.
The ship finished the course directions she’d programmed in. Three hours of blindly twisting and turning seemed to have worked. She was still alive. The ship should be about a hundred thousand kilometres from Mars.
text by stuartcturnbull picture by Gordon Johnson
