Episode One
"Dawns and Dusks of Sorrow"
Robotech IV- The Odysseus Epic
Act One: Superdimensional Starforce Orion
by Presley H. Cannady (revprez@mit.edu)
and Lou Barnes (lbj@magiccarpet.com)
_______________________________
Chapter One
Ace One
The Corron Empire�s insistence on adding the Giovanni Stretch and
adjoining territories to its expanding hegemony stems primarily from a
deep political and military interest in the unique cross-section of
hyperlanes in running between Tital, Jarao and Rubia. Since 1632 C.E.,
the Empire as strictly controlled sixty-two percent of the Manchuria
Hyperlane Chain, the strategic set of grav-ity wave conduits that
drives
a wedge�known astrographically as "The Arm"�into Confederation
territory. However, Imperial control of the hyper-lanes north of
Muscida came to an end with the Jarao Cluster�s induction into the
Confederation. The J�kal�as the native Jaraoans were known in the
Em-pire�had rightly suspected that the Empire�s five-hundred year lull
in offen-sive activities was finally coming to an end only four years
before, when the Empire attacked and nearly destroyed the Terran
mission
to Rastaban. The First Corron Confederation War would set the tone
for Confederation and Im-perial hostilities for the next century, and
the Giovanni Stretch would become the most hotly contested piece of
galactic real estate in the known universe.
-Excerpted from "The Giovanni Stretch," Volume 831 in the
Revised History of the Wars of Earth and the Confederation,
Chapter XVII, pg 782. circa ET 2166 (ASG).
* * *
75 years later...Meteorlogical Orbital Control Center Padorin 922, 44 Magyar
Pasori II, May 12, 2165
"PREMIER HUANG HAN ZHEN OF THE CHINESE COLONIAL ARM PASSIONATELY ASSAULTED
the Defense Force�s inability to quell the latest wave of Chorymi raids
against Periphery colonies. While widely suspected of sponsering piracy and
terrorism, the Corron imperial government has adopted a policy of official
denial to this incursion and several others. As diplomatic initiatives in
the neutral Druse Star Kingdom grind to a halt, both Confederation and
Imperial delegates have issued censures against each other claiming
violations of the Treaty of 2150. Tthe Corron Empire cites the legalization
of independent and armed merchant marines within its borders as a tradition
that predates the Treaty and is consequently exempt from the
demilitarization-of-the-border clauses. Confederation analysts of the
Corron political history appear to corroborate the Empire�s claim,
considering a twenty millenia precedent a strong enough reason for the
Empire�s alleged disinterest with Chorymi activities. The Confederation and
the Keller Federation each of lodged official protests at the Druse Embassy,
although non-aligned star-nations have abstained from the matter. Whether
or not the Empire�s precedent trans-lates into a viable exemption to
international law remains to be seen.
"Despite the Administration�s political reservations, Premier Huang
demanded the UPDF take �unequivocal action� to �ensure both the economic and
civil security� of the Jarao, Rubia, and Betelgeuse cluster-sectors.
Brigadier General Ig�hranaa, DeForce Director of Public Relations, declined
to com-ment; refusing to elaborate further on the status of the special
envoy to the Druse System and on potential steps DeForce may take to rectify
this problem.
"Amidst the accusations of complacency, Chief of Naval Operations
Admiral Alfred Rensselaer held a press conference to discuss the Navy
mission to Jarao. Navy Command dispatched a Navy task force dispatched last
Thursday to demonstrate, as Navy spokesperson Commander Heathcliff Guster
putit, "our united and unrelenting resolve and national commitment to
Confederation sovereignty over our territo-ries along the Stretch." Still,
several respected commentators on military and foreign affairs�Dr. Ryan
Goldhen, professor of naval and space-naval history at the Naval Command
College in Newport News, chief among them�criticize the proposed defensive
posture as a �fallacious show to win back public con-fidence��as stated by
Dr. Golden in a foreign policy conference held recently in Boston. In
rebuttal, President Harcourt defended his decision to elevate the
Confederation military presence on the border, describing the deployment of
Task Force 152 as an honest effort to maintain the peace and integrity along
the Stretch. Despite intense feuding between the administration and its
critics, Task Force 152 will arrive on the scene within the next three
weeks. The current deployment estimate includes two fleet car-riers�those
are large naval vessels that ferry small strike-fightercraft�and four groups
consisting of other hull types.
"At 1130h EST, Sung Ji Park��In the Crossfire��will feature military
correspondant Dr. Helga Bruemer on the Right, Dr. Ryan Goldhen on the Left,
and Undersecretary of Defense Ma�atez ibn al-Rashid in panel discussion.
The topic on the table tonight�how will the Harcourt Administration re-spond
to these latest raids? Soon afterwards, a round-robin on the long-term
foreign policy embraced by the Liberal-Progressive congressional majority
with Dan Leanener on �Policy in Review.� Back to you, Kate."
"Thank you, Ri-lyen. In other news, the approval of the site for the
New Edward�s Aerospace Force base, located in Athens Desert on Planet Eden
has elicited protests from various fringe groups ranging from the Humanity
Unchained Fellowship to the United Terran-Zentraedi Church of Christ�s
Unrepentent Love, alongside several primarily Earth-based anti-armament
groups..."
"Shut that damned thing off!" Chief Petty Officer Ishi Karano, Navy
Border Guard, nearly spilled his coffee across the already fritzy console.
Wiping the few stray splotches off his terminal station, Ishi switched off
the multivision and whirled back to his monitor. The lieutenant, in her
typically unpleasant manner, stomped onto the control deck, pausing for a
moment to give the main viewscreen a single, dis-gusted glare. Outside, the
dark, inauspicious spectacle of one of the most cluttered orbital rest areas
in the interstellar space-lanes reflected the mood of the station�s callow
commanding officer. Karano, totally used to his grumpy CO�s negativity
ritual, looked down at his console. The obsidian black surface�puncuated
only self-illuminated touch-keys�replied with a tinted reflection of the
chief petty officer�s bewhiskered facade. Definitely need to pick up some
more beard suppressor, he thought quietly as his hand reached to graze
against an irritated patch of facial hair..
CPO Ishi Karano, quickly approaching his eighteenth year in the service;
he had little under seven months left on Pasori Station. At the age
thirty-six, Ishi could look forward to retiring on a senior chief petty
officer�s pension and a colony plot on some frontier world out here in the
Periphery. He didn�t quite feel old enough to take his place amongst the
Confederation�s retired citizens. His sculpted, Sino-Japanese features
endured the temperament of his unusually pale complexion, and his shoulders
relaxed into a taut, obtuse triangle. Still, etched into the sharp features
that ancestry and a measure of physical training had bestowed upon him were
wrinkly lines that had no good reason to be there, especially in this day
and age when humans lived to ages previously unheard of. If that�s the
worse of it, then I�m doing pretty damn okay.
Once bordering on lankiness, Karano�s physique had drastically improved
during his time in service. Before arriving on station a year ago, the
petty officer had taught basic naval architecture maintenance on Belmont, a
lunar-world orbiting LTT 4332�s second gas-giant some thirty lightyears from
Earth. The gravity well�s depth on Belmont ranked somewhere in the upper
tenth percentile of human tolerance lev-els. For quantity�s sake, that came
out to approximately one-point-four-four gees. Chief Petty Officer
Karano�acting Machinist�s Mate 1/c back then�managed to survive three months
of vigorous high-gee training onboard an orbital gravity acclimation
facility, uniformly accelerating its torque from one gee to Belmont�s
gravity, until the doctors pronounce Karano fit to go planetside. One of
the most miserable, uninhabitable worlds within the human tolerance range,
the torrent weather and the bitterly agitated seas of the aquarian
world�eighty-seven percent water�appealed to the Academy leadership (for
some strange reason known only to the nostalgics in Command). After all,
the natural, chaotic elements of Belmont�s furious weather system proved
more than adequate as a test of the mettle of the Navy�s serv-icemen and
women. CPO Karano, to this day, wondered what had ever implanted in
Command�s per-petually mysterious mind that he of all people was fit to
teach the lucky pupils of the Navy�s most rigorous wet-navy training asset.
He watched as the lieutenant sat down at the console immediately to the
left of his. The watch officer�s chair traditionally lay in the center of
the room, but the lieutenant frequently complained about the small size of
the visual construct in her armrest. So, with no argument, nor concern,
from anyone else, she sat at the superfluous forward station; configured to
support her privileged command console. Considering that Meteorlogical
Orbital Control Center predated its senior officer by close to fifty years,
and that the station�s computer and network hardware was an unholy collusion
of "ancient technology" and modern-day electronics, Karano had to physically
rewire the console himself. Doing his job was hard enough, and a hard ass
(and save ass) lieutenant only seemed to burden the load. The same forces
that rendered the local space a confusing maze of space trash also brought
Karano and his senior officer together in a sort of paradoxical mixture of
feuding and camaraderie that explored the many paradoxes in relationships.
God help him if the lieutenant started shoving uniform protocol down poor
Ishi�s throat.
Fortunately, the atmosphere onboard at Pasori Station made it a bit
easier to relax the formalities, re-gardless severity and seriousness in
which the Confederation considered its border with the Corron Em-pire. The
Navy�s Border Guard detachment to this sector, which conducted operations on
the authority of the ASF Frontier Command, maintained a constant watch over
a six-hundred lightyear stretch of the Buffer Zone. For the most part, it
was a painfully boring chore. A vast majority of the stars within a
twenty-lightyear sweep were too small to attract much attention and lacked
the necessary features to make them strategically attractive even if they
were noticable. However, a select few managed to lie along the paths of
gravitational waves, interstellar gravitational rifts often used often used
to facilitate superluminal travel. Consequently, these stellar bodies
warranted at least navigational buoys and communications re-lays within
their outer systems. Some stars actually possessed formidable planetary
systems�ones with real industrial or colonization potential. As
Confederation real-estate assets bordering a hostile star-nation, these
actually managed to draw actual warship pickets. For some God-forsaken
reason, 44 Pasori managed to cling onto the "Navy�s Most Desirable Border
Systems" list. Funny thing was that the Corron Empire had absolutely no
interest with the Pasori system, for reasons to overwhelming to discuss
compre-hensively and despite the fact that they had owned it up until twenty
years ago. Basically, it boiled down to a game of capture the flag writ
large. During CCW-4, Pasori had been one of the stars that the
Confed-eration secured outright and clung onto, simply by chasing down
gravitational waves that happened to lead into it and putting a destroyer or
two in-system. Unfortunately, it also meant that after the war, they were
stuck with it.
Part of CPO Karano wished the blue-skin bastards would take this bitch
of a star-system back. Of course, he doubted Navy Command would seriously
consider the strategic assesments of a nigh-senior rating wiltering at the
hind end of the patrol line. The chief docksman�Navy language for a
sensor-tracking specialist�had witnessed more than enough bloodshed to
conclude that he didn�t�nor wanted to�understand what made the Empire or
their big space army tick. Similarly, Karano had resolved to never again
ponder the inner-thoughts of Powers that Be on his side of the Line.
Personally, Karano wor-ried more about the threat immediately facing him
than that the Confederation faced as a nation. After all, he was the one
standing on the proverbial wall. Beyond that, he was as concerend about the
Empire as he was about the Invid, the parasitic alien race that had ravaged
Earth long ago and disappeared soon afterwards�never to be heard from again.
Of course, nearly a century and a half of history insulated him from that
threat, while the Corron Empire and the full force of the
Hwi-zhemal�orra�the Imperial Inter-stellar Army�just might lay waiting for
the opportunity to strike, and only fifteen lightyears of vacuum separated
them from Pasori�s remote corner of the galaxy. If knowing that hundreds of
death-dueling warships lay somewhere out in that vast, ominous void was not
reason enough to worry, Karano could irritate himself simply by looking at
the nearest meteorological display. Frowning at his console, he noted the
inevitable arrival of a small, immaterial storm of electromagnetic flux
activity brewing in a lower or-bit. Any free electrons and corresponding
ions floating about would undoubtedly be sucked into the eddies, and sooner
or later an even larger mess would translate upward into the high orbitals
and screw around with his sensor "visibility." When one considered that a
key job of an MOCC crewman was to keep an eye out on cislunar and orbital
traffic, Karano had a real excuse to gripe every time the proverbial shit
hit the cosmic fan. The proverbial shit, of course, manifested itself as
the all-to-tangible, particle and mi-crometeoritic shit cluttering the
"emptiness" just beyond the nearest viewport.
Karano often wondered why the Navy needed to park their oversized
flatbeds here at all. Unfortu-nately, such was life. Navy Transport
Command didn�t feel any obligation to explain itself to a mere CPO, nor did
it prostrate to the upset concerns of a mid-rating enlisted man. Still,
Karano could have looked up the answer if he really wanted to; in fact, he
had�on more than one occassion. On paper, the explanation made perfect
sense (don�t they always?), and Karano found himself nodding in bitter
agree-ment. The Navy needed to keep the traffic spaces here as clean as
possible, and it was just too risky to assign the task to some automated
orbital claptrap.
That�s where Ishi came in�the courageous and bold Chief Karano. The
Custodial Knight of the Order of the Cosmic Mop�destined to carry out the
noble task of rendering baneful meteoroids into "inert," micrometeoritic
dust. From his mighty throne in this orbiting fortress, he commanded an
army of semi-autonomous laser and grav-beam arrays�assembled collectively
into independent "Range Firing Units." These tools made his job
significantly easier, if no less boring. The grav-beam and laser
installations were deliberately set in orbit between Pasori�s third and
fourth moon. Controlled by five orbiting, un-manned space stations even
farther out, they were all slaved to the MOCC�s primary computer. The
automated task handlers left him with little to do but to watch the
fireworks, unless one of them suddenly started acting up�like the number
four Range Firing Unit was doing right now.
The Lieutenant browsed through RFU�s stats on her screen. Karano
watched her work out of the corner of his eyes, leaning back into his
not-so-comfortable seat and sighing heavily.
"So, what the hell was that all about, Skip?" Karano queried innocently
as his fingers coiled together behind his head. "I mean, it was just the news."
"Just stay alert," Lieutenant "Sparky" Tobalt replied, her eyes firmly
locked on her console�s display. It had taken awhile, but the senior rating
learned early on that their was little sense in engaging in a proto-col
debate with an officer�especially Lieutenant Tobalt. Despite Janeen
"Sparky" Tobalt�yet attac-tive�frame, and her pair of delightfully freckled
dimples, she could be a real firebrand at times. In fact, that quality
seemed to add to her pleasing features, and�in Karano�s farthest
thoughts�the lieutenant attitude seemed to indicate she might be quite a
handful in bed. "Watch the multivid on your own time."
He simply shrugged as the lieutenant scrolled down RFU-4�s
self-diagnostic report. He completed the same query not more than five
minutes before the Lieutenant stormed onto the bridge. Of course, he
un-derstood that the Lieutenant always double-checked his work; more out of
boredom than distrust. Of course, the skipper wasn�t about to admit that.
"Damn it, Chief." The lieutenant shifted her display as so to scroll
back the last ten minutes of RFU-4�s diagnostic reports. "I can�t go on a
break without worrying that you�ll let a friggin� boulder smash us the shit."
"Sorry, Sparky," Ishi swiftly interjected.
"Lieutenant."
"Yeah. Sorry, Lieutenant," Chief PO Karano replied. First glance,
Sparky seemed way too offish to go far as an officer. No one expected her
to make is as far as Commanding Officer, Pasori Station. Those lucky enough
to draw Pasori Station as a first assignment normally cane from a pool
consisting of the most irresolute, undetermined ratings and officers DeForce
had to offer. At twenty-six, Lieutenant Sparky Tobalt was the youngest and
most openly craven CO in Pasori MOCC�s rather ordinary history�an honor she
readily dismissed in conversations amongst her peers. Her first field
assignment as a midshipman out of Point Majestic Military Academy had been
onboard a similar MOCC in over Odin II; naturally, she fit in just fine on
Pasori Station. "Do just enough" paraphrased her life philosophy
adequately. Rarely devi-ating from this hallowed principled, she had gone
from a mediocre graduate to an equally average officer in no time.
Reliable, efficient, prudent; these words returned time and time again on
her fitreps, and while they alone were admirable qualities, her seniors were
quick to note how frequently they were as-signed to her. Her first two
months onboard a Navy destroyer had left her department head unimpressed,
and he did not object to forwarding her request for transfer to a safer
haven up the chain.
Virtually anyone could attain the command of a meteorological station,
if that�s what you really wanted. Still, it took some time; Sparky wasn�t
the first officer lacking a backbone to hear of Pasori. Four years as
Station Exec had finally seen to her superior officer�s relief and her
promotion to CO. All throughout, Lieutenant Tobalt remained true to her
creed. In the �real fleet,� the work wasn�t just diffi-cult�in most cases
it was downright hazardous. You had to move quickly and decisively, and
that went against the grain of Sparky�s character. Maybe she wasn�t the
kind of officer the posters were looking for�she was still pretty damn good
at what she did, even if it wasn�t a particularly unique skill. Besides, of
the Navy wanted to shell out a biweekly paycheck to have her sit around all
day and blast rocks out of the sky, then so be it.
"So, what happened?" Sparky paused at the end of the datafeed and closed
the diagnostic window. Her console screen went blank as she turned her head
to face Karano.
"Heh?" The CPO blinked twice. Sparky�s taciturn expression caught him
off guard. Ordinarily, he could read her like a billboard poster. Such
passivity in her facial expressions simply didn�t register with him.
Sparky turned back to her monitor for a moment, frowned, and then
reassumed her deadpan expression. "What were they talking about...on the news."
"Oh," Karano sighed. "Didn�t you hear?"
The CPO�s brow furrowed as Sparky shook her head dumbfoundedly.
"The Periphery colonies are still up in arms about about those raids."
The lieutenant�s eyes widened, and not even the time gap between Jarao and
Pasori could possibly lessen the shock. Hyperstate commu-nications,
although instantaneous, were still limited in the sense that the media could
never conceivably be everywhere in the Confederation immediately. A modern
telecommunication news organization�the media service had long since
separated from video entertainment�worked (an effectively managed)
thou-sands of smaller news agencies simply to facilitate the lack of
manpower. No organization could super-vise the millions of professionals
and billions of other workers employed by the media industry. Even so,
system or even planetary-scale news coverage was the stuff that headaches
were made of. Distributing to the nearbly systems required endless
maintenance of contracts and relations with sister or competing me-dia
agencies. Territorial stakes were high, and most small-system news agencies
relayed on hyperspace-capable courier drones to transmit messages across the
vastness of space�light-speed transcievers still the maxim in communications
technology. Consequently, sometimes breaking news took days�even weeks and
months�to spread throughout the Confederation. In this case, the news had
taken roughly fifteen hours; the hyperstate network in this region was fifth
generation and public access. Still, a full five-sevenths of the
Confederation�outside of the major system-clusters and colonial
branches�lived with either tenuous hypertate/gravitic communications, or
with none at all.
On a positive note, the "necessity" of on-the-scene news reporters had
increased the focus on local news franchises. For the first two months of
the Katherinian conflict with the cetacean d�N�ra and for nearly the first
half of the civil war that ensued, T�l�vision Cinq�one of Katherine�s
outmoded broadcasting conglomerates�covered the escalating situation with an
exclusivity soon envied by the Confederation�s major news broadcasters.
Much of Cinq�s news was over five-weeks old by the time it reached the
nearest major hyperstate com-route; the Martha Sector�s communications were
limited to military com-nets and light-speed communications. Ergo, the only
way news made its way outsystem was embedded in the com-puter memories of
courier drones sent out to navigate grav-waves by remote. Still, by the
time nation-wide "paper" and "televised" news coverage arrived on scene�like
the Washington Post or the Karbarran New Network�T�l�vision Cinq had
elevated itself into the international scope. Faces such as Jacques
Gersault and Samantha Purpleton achieved household fame as the UPC�s
excitement-starved populace tuned into the violently dramatic events that
plagued the Martha sectors
Today, the focus of the news people lay hundreds of lightyears from that
internecine hellhole.
"That," Karano continued, "combined with last week�s raid on Jarao V�"
"Wait, did you say Jarao?" Sparky interrupted him, her reticent
expression immediately shifted to one of intemperate suprise.
"Yep." Karano slowly sipped the last bit of his coffee. "Seems that a
Chorymi raiding part�they said five Jackrabbits�went hit and run on the
Marine training installation there. Jumped a Marine fighter squadron
training there and battered the hell out of two Garfish DGs. The whole
thing went FUBAR. Just as they were about ready to finish it, a destroyer
squadron shows up. They bugged the hell outta there real quick." Karano
was citing from the official communiques which had arrived on station hours
earlier; Sparky clearly hadn�t had the chance to read through her daily
SitRep datapad.
"My God." The lieutenant drew in a sharp breath. "How...how many?"
"Sixteen pilots, all Marines," Karano answered; his tone had dropped
noticably. "No one made it back. They were jumped before they hit vacuum."
"Oh god," Sparky gasped. "That�s only..." she drifted off, her gaze
subconsciously shifting to the vac-uum outside.
"Real close," Karano announced their mutual thoughts outloud, although
his tone dripped with a despi-cable detachment. "Too close..."
"Damn it, Ishi! We�re talking about at least thirty dead people, and we
both know that Jarao�s got a big red X marked through it on their
star-charts. What�s the hell are the politicians waiting for, anyway? I
mean, they come across the damned border all the time, hitting our ships and
killing; but no one gives a damn. It just doesn�t make any sense."
"No, Sir." Karano turned back to his console�RFU-3�s diagnostic was
complete and the datafeed was already en-route to his station. He took the
opportunity to relax a bit; reclining as far back as his chair would allow.
"It really doesn�t. God knows that the Periphery knows what�s going on
here; and they know that the government isn�t really doing anything about.
Still, you got to look at it this way�look who�s making the decisions.
"Core Worlders, non-Terrans, and domestic socialists. They�ve got the
House and Senate, and they�ve had it for the past two election. I�m
surprised that they�re doing anything at all�forgot to tell you, Admi-ral
Rensselaer did dispatch a task force; although it won�t be here until next
month. Even so, maintaining the active fleet is a big enough cost as it is,
and so long as the politicos pay lip service to the problem in Druse, then
nobody�s whose voting for them will give a damn. That�s the simple way of
putting it. Don�t forget, while humans are ready to remember what the
Empire did on Earth back then, the rest of the Confederation isn�t willing
to risk paying the price we did in CCW-4. So what if a few incidents occur
out in the Periphery�the voting population out here is too thin and too
powerless to threaten the Core�s interests."
"I know the Confederation isn�t perfect, but you�d think she�d take care
of her own." Born on Earth, Sparky had never really known how the anti-Core
sentiment of the Periphery�amongst Terrans and non-Terrans alike�until she
arrived at the Pasori MOCC station. Ishi Karano grew up on Rigel IV, and he
knew exactly how the Huang political machine used the festering internal
rivalry to win election after election. The past eight years had seen the
worst of it, although Karano doubted that this year�s elections would change
the current precedent. Remember when I had to defend my poli-sci masters?
My thesis was on the tripartite relationship between the bureaucracy and
legislature, foreign policy, and the proletariat. In the long run, though,
avoiding war at the expense of some of its small-change colonial holdings
sounds like a great deal�at least from a Core-worlder�s perspective. They
look at things just a little differently out here. After fifty-plus years
of eating the Core�s crumbs on secondary membership, the Rubians are getting
sick of holding the short end of the stick�no voting citizens, no
Congressional delegates. Through in our own colonists, who can�t vote in
local elections or run for local office, and you�ve got a pretty angry mix
of people out there. The Core treats you like a foreigner. Hell, you still
need a passport to move in and out of the sector. I can�t help but take it
to mean the Core wants to use the Periphery as a shield, while spitting in
their faces any time they get uppity about a tax hike or some representation
is-sue."
"Frankly," Karano leaned back, "I�m not sure I�d like to see what would
happen out here if the shit hits the fan."
Civil war sounded a bit extreme, yet Sparky had to nod in agreement. If
current trends continued, in either passivity or ardent fervor, the Core
risked alienating the Periphery completely. At this point, the Periphery
state governments had clearly expressed their general discontent with the
Core�s inability to differentiate between them and the Buffer Zone.
"So. You�re saying the government�s ready to let thousands die�"
"Hundreds of thousands, yep. What do you think we did at Ishtar?"
"Damn it," Sparky swore in surmounting anger. "And what the hell�s
Command doing about it? Nothing? I just can�t believe that."
"Well, I didn�t say that, Sir," Karano politely cleared his throat. "We
simply wait until the government thinks we have something worth fighting
for. Don�t forget, almost every keyworld has gone through a nuclear war of
some sort; ours was wiped three times, and occupied during another major
invasion. A lot of folks, even Terrans, have really started looking at war
a bit more contemplatively since the twenty-first century, Sparky. Even
when we watch the lunar parades and crap like that, all we�re seeing is the
side that trumps up a false air of security. To tell you thr truth, I think
we�re downright scared of getting into another pissing contest with the Empire"
Sparky acknowledged with a nod, then broke the conversation and returned
to her screen. Looking at his empty mug, Karano looked up at his CO
pleadingly, "Say, Lieutenant. Can I run down to the mess hall and get a
quick refill?"
"Go ahead, Chief," she waived him by. "Sorry about�"
Suddenly, the world about them exploded into a frenzy of alert klaxons,
quickly cutting Sparky off as the bridge crew frantically responded.
Without so much as a warning, the station�s internal alarm had suddenly
blasted; the blaring blast sounded the rare five-key alert through the
metallic floors.
"What the hell," Ishi Karano, not even halfway out of his chair, plopped
back down and hurriedly looked over his console.
The klaxons ceased and the main screen lit up; with a flashing "Priority
Golf" occupying the upper left-hand corner.
"Passive contact," a docksman manning a rear station cried out.
"Bearing three-three-four mark two-zero-zero. Range, five-three-five
thousand klicks. Approach time vector is seven minutes out of lunar orbit
at projected terminal velocity, heading towards orbital approach at five
degrees off tangental! I can�t get a fix on its acceleration yet, the
oblique is to narrow. Whatever it is, it�s real small, but it�s definitely
on approach. At that speed, it should hit the atmosphere at close
to...er...oh shit! Eight-seven ee-ess!" That meant by the time it crossed
passed the orbit of Pasori II�s closest moon, it�s orbital speed would be
eighty-seven times the local planetary-lunar escape velocity. The resultant
impact would be quite...spectacular.
"How the hell did it slip by OutSys?!" Sparky demanded. "What�s the
ETA? Somebody, get the damned actives on-line!"
"One hour, twenty minutes, estimate�that�s all I can get out of
passive," Karano datalinked his termi-nal to the lunar-side computers, which
in turn churned out constant data pulled from various satellites scattered
throughout the lunar-planetary system. "Got it! She�s on active
hyper-sensor. Lidars standing by. I�ve figured approach, coming in on
zero-three-four mark off Approach Delta-Foxtrot. It�s...it�s de-celerating.
Shit, on its own! Velocity will drop to negative point-two-zero Groucho in
thirty minutes!" Karano meant that meant that it would soon drop below the
local escape velocity�roughly thirty-eight kilometers per second. There was
some time before the object traversed the distince between its current
position and Pasori II�s lunar orbital shell. However, no shuttle or probe
could intercept and retrieve something moving that quickly. They�d have to
move fast.
"We don�t have all fuckin� day!" Sparky�s eyes deviated from her
monitor. "Bobby! Wilkes!" She looked down stomped on the grated floor that
separated the First and Second Meteorlogical Laser Control Center Levels.
"Wake up down there!"
"Aye, aye, Skip!" the chocolate-brown face of a sensor dock rating
peered through the grated floor. "Small-mass object on course for
approximate intersection at Approach Delta-Foxtrot; currently bearing
oh-oh-fiver mark zero-three-four off intersection relative�that�s true
bearing three-three-four�check, make that three-three-three mark
one-nine-nine. It�s definitely showing a deflecting radius, but I can�t
figure out what it is. Looks like its jettisoning material.
Romeo-Foxtrot-Uniform Fiver, Four, and Three on-line, targeting solution
ready. Estimated final velocity, point-zero-zero-zero-niner ee-ess.
Decelerat-ing tractors on standby."
"Mark India-Victor-Five�approach vector Nine-Zulu-Delta to Delta-Foxtrot
approximate confirmed," the code referred to the planet the fifth and last
station, their station, orbited. Ishi carefully manipulated the
heat-sesitive scanners, then switched through various EM and TEM scans.
"Damn! Hyper-grav residue levels at point.eight!" A starship at maximum
warp only leveled off at a fraction of that level. "That thing is about six
meters in length, major heat distortion�man, that thing�s got to be
man-made. Wilkes! Filter it! I want the decel tractors on-line now. Keep
RFUs on-line, but get ready to cycle them down to stand-by on my command!"
"Aye, aye, Skip!" the technician shouted back up. Sparky loaded up the
computer data. Ishi looked over at her for a brief moment, and then did a
double-take. Man-made? he scoffed inwardly. Hardly. Even if it was rare
for a rock to make such a direct, speedy approach like that, claiming it had
to be man-made was just jumping to conclusions. After all, inbounds like
this were rare, but not unheard of.
"Computer, identify," Ishi ordered outloud, invoking the computer�s
voice recognition software while his fingers went rapid-fire to refine the
inbound�s projected flight path.
"Working," the unfittingly dulcet reply came back. In a few seconds, a
detailed sensor report came back.
"Hyper-grav residue my ass," Wilkes shouted through the metal grating.
"It�s emitting some sort of hyperstate transponder signal! ID�ing as a
Markham Class...er...Class Baker." Ishi stammered slightly�confusedly
even�until Sparky�s voice brought him back to rapt attention.
"Point-eight grav-residue?" Sparky parroted sharply, her mind working
over the dilemma with un-swerving efficiency. "That doesn�t make a hell of
a alot of sense for something that size, especially when its moving at
sublight."
Sparky was right after all, Ishi commended her silently befoer
double-checking his current figures. That meant that the pod had traveled
in hyper somewhere in the outer solar system�for God knows how long.
Eventually, local gravitational pockets, producing the superluminal
equivalent to friction, had man-aged to naturally coerce it back into normal
space. There was no other explanation, but Ishi still found it to be a bit
incredulous. Much to his surprise, RFU Station One�s and Three�s
artificially intelligent com-puters had already confirmed their suspcions.
Consequently, the autonomous RFU�s had initiated the "hypermagnetic web"
strategy. Standard operating procedure demanded that Station Five, the
command base, would be equipped with the most powerful force-beam�a Mark XIa
hyper-pulsar array. That first blast should be enough to knock off a
considerable amount of mass, or change the course of the incoming asteroid.
However, this was not necessarily the case all the time. In fact, a great
deal of meteoric material managed to evade the strength of Station Five�s
pulsars. So, when a really nasty rock managed to dodge into the planetary
system, the next four stations would take turns whittling it down to a
manageable size�the number of satellites on the job dependent on station
positioning. Finally, Station One could launch missiles�if necessary�at the
remainder, completely neutralizing the deadly object. When a REALLY fast
moving object (at a signifigant percentage of sublight) charges into orbital
space, the tractors on all stations are set on high and wide spread. By the
time it reached Station One, it will have either slowed enough to effect
neuralization or it had already been rendered harmless. Anything moving
supralight�well, that was the Interplanetary Meteorological Office�s
jurisdiction. If such an object fell into Pasori II�s court, there was
nothing Sparky and the MLCC could do; so, the crew prefered not to think
about it. Right now, Sparky realized, they had enough time to easily gather
a firing solution and let off an intercept torpedo, or a pulsar beam once
the object came into range.
However, destroying an escape pod was never an option.
The hypermagnetic web would employ the use of the pulsar emitters of all
stations as "gravitational tractor-beams." Special continuum distortion
devices were installed alongside the directed energy and particle-beam
systems dedicated to slowing and destroying incoming meteoroids.
The gravity "beams" would literally "fold" subatomic particles into a
superluminal state, striking the pod with a wave of gravitational force and
coercing the object in question to managable velocities. Once they slowed
the object down to about nine kilometers per second, local tractors could
then kick in as it passed close to the installations, slowing and
manipulating its speed and course, respectively, until it could be halted
and brought onboard the primary station.
By the time the tractors released, the pod was passing through the
second RFU echelon, moving past RFU-Four and towards RFU-Three.
"Passing into standard approach lane at
point-down-five-zeroes-eight-seven-two rads deviation," one of the
non-commisioned techs from below shouted up. "It�s still flying to quick to
sweep into a direct orbital approach. The momentum she�ll pick up on the
swing back up might throw her back up into Wild Child." That meant, while
Pasori II had just earned itself a new satellite, the current velocity�to
close to escape velocity for comfort�would swing the escape pod into a
radically elliptical orbit. With that aster-oid death trap surrounding the
planetary system...Sparky didn�t feel like thinking about it.
The tech manning the station to Karano�s rear suddenly dropped his jaw,
"Well I�ll be a Chorymi Tristar, it just fired its attitude adjusters.
Proceeding on a direct course right for us!"
"Station Four�s images are coming through," Kanaro keyed in the video to
the viewscreen.
"Station Three reports two-thousand percent deceleration rate.
Uncertainty plus or minus zero-point-zero-eight," That generally meant it
was now going slow enough to assume a stable orbit. Still, it would be
easier to catch a bullet with one�s teeth.
"God almighty, look at that!" Sparky pointed at the image of the escape
pod. A distinct glow eminated from its ultra-violet outline, almost as if
it had�"Geez! It must�ve been out there for months at least! Look at that
hull ionization!"
"Yeah," Kanaro agreed to. "I can�t see in any registration marks.
Still, it looks safe enough."
"Station Two finishing its web quota. It�s up to us now."
The pod drew into the view of Station II�s visual sensors. Repeated
scans of different information channels brushed across it. Many showed a
non-incandescent glow that seemed to dim much of the rest-
Sparky stared at the pod, as a flash of recognisance flashed in her eye.
"My god, it�s actually bleeding off its own grav-residue."
Kanaro studied his own readings, before bolting upright in astonishment.
"Lifesigns! Vague, but the cyro-chambers there are still running!"
"I can�t get a good reading off it," Sparky complained. "What do you see?"
"Definite biosigns at level three strength. Whatever�s alive on that
thing, its frozen solid."
"It could be�" Sparky was about to comment when a shout came up from the
number two level.
"Hey, cap�n!" Wilkes called up. "If you give me a minute, I can clean
that thing off."
"How?" Sparky smiled questioningly.
"Station II�s laser array is still in range. I just need them to tweak
some code and we can use it to �sweep� the ion-rads away," Wilkes replied.
"After that, you can draw it in without worrying about con-tamination.
Either way, its too hot to let it get close to the station�s hull."
"All right, Bobby," Sparky looked down at the dark-skinned sergeant.
"Get on it. I want Bay Three�s mooring tractor ready in three minutes.
"Let�s get to work people."
Within a few minutes, Station II�s laser array had completely swept the
pod clean of radioactivity. "Four-to-four clear."
"Entering local space," Kanaro announced. "Approach base
three-four-zero mark zero-one-three true. Its slowed to thirty-eight
kilos-per-sec."
"My tractors ready!" Bobby flipped on his tractor control. Outside, the
tractor array began to power up. "Targetting!"
The tractor beam gently latched onto the surface of the pod, carefully
drawing it closer to Station One. "C�mon baby, right down the pipe," Sparky
breathed, feeling like an old Terran shuttle pilot preparing to effect a
precarious docking operation with those old claptrap space stations. For a
brief moment, Sparky felt her stomach churn with sickening impatience.
"Just a little more."
She counted away the final seconds of approach in silent prayer.
Just a little more...a little more...there!
Sparky was already moving. Throwing on her headset, she once again
shifted into her harsh, authori-tative persona.
"Medivac!" she barked. "Two teams to Cargo Bay three! Now!"
The screen instinctively refocused to its cargobay cameras. As the
surrogate doors slid open, the tiny ship floated in, the blue wave warmly
guiding it to its resting place. Finally, Kanaro and Sparky could see the-
Sparky�s mouth dropped open as she glanced at their prize. It was about
six meters in length, and three meters in height. Typical escape pod,
except for its A-class registry.
"Ma�am," Kanaro�s pitch heightened. "Alphabetically classified pods
haven�t been used in thirty years."
* * *
+-----------------+-<The Badass Reverend of Funk Prez>---+
| Presley H. | Political Science / Computer Science |
| Cannady II | and Electrical Engineering Undergrad |
|<revprez@mit.edu>| at the Mass. Institute of Technology |
+-----------------+-<Anime Manga Development Group>------+
+ Author of Liars and Dreamers, a Robotech fanfic +
+-------<http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/1731/index.html>-+
| MIDN 4/c A-2-2 SQD, MIT-Harvard-Tufts NROTC Battalion |
|_|"The art of war is of vital importance to the state"|_|