59
Kris was at her battle station as the Wasp prepared to discover if she could handle a jackrabbit jump to 3.5 gees.
Behind them, a buoy trailed, timed to go live with demands in Iteeche and several human languages that the intruder drop everything and declare its intentions. Since the demands would be coming from the ice giant’s orbit, and the alien would be over a million klicks away, Kris doubted there would be any shots fired.
The alien would either reply, or it would be fair game.
Of course, there was no way to tell if its reply was, “Die, you slimy aliens,” or, “We come in peace for all bug-eyed kind.”
Just once, Kris would like a plan that didn’t have all kinds of holes in it.
Ready or not, Sulwan mashed the deceleration button, and the Wasp began a dive toward the ice giant that had fed it enough that they hoped they could make it home.
The plan called for them to take full advantage of the giant planet’s size. First, they would decelerate into a grazing orbit, then they would pour on the acceleration and come out from behind the planet, ready to blaze a trail across the system, and just miss diving directly into the sun.
That assumed the alien bought into the idea that the Wasp was just a wandering rock that was not sticking to any safe orbit in this system.
The remaining Smart MetalTM would be spread out in front of the Wasp as she came rocketing out from behind the giant. Nelly already had a program that would change the face they showed the alien. If they put a ranging laser on them, all they would see was a tumbling rock.
Nothing here to see, move along, people . . . or bug-eyed monsters . . . as the case might be.
Hope was not a strategy. Luck was not a tactic. That was what Kris had learned in Officer Candidate School. If she pulled this off, she’d have to write her old instructors a letter about changing the curriculum.
On second thought, would anyone but a Longknife have the guts to pull this off? Would any rational teacher want to suggest this to any student whose best interests they cared for?
“Nelly, remind me to skip that letter.”
“What letter?”
“Never mind; if you missed that, it’s just another embarrassment I don’t need to admit to.”
“First, Kris, you are getting very good at keeping your thoughts from me. Secondly, you are getting very strange. You know how you used to talk about my needing to spend some quality time with Auntie Tru?”
“Yes.”
“I’m thinking we need to find someone for you to spend some quality time with, whatever that is, talking to someone about how your brain is working . . . or not.”
“Make a note about that, Nelly, now shut up.”
There was a loud bang, then a ripping noise came through the hull members, not over any audio system. People on the bridge looked around but saw nothing.
“We’ve got a hull breach along the main spindle, between bulkheads G and H,” Penny reported from her station at defense. “Damage control is moving to contain it. Report is that a weld let go.”
“Very good,” Captain Drago said calmly.
The Wasp continued its dive toward the ice giant below. The ride started to get a bit bumpy. A clang and rattle told them something else had let go. Kris found herself holding her breath.
She wasn’t the only one.
“Three containers just made an unscheduled departure from the Wasp,” Penny reported. “No one in them, but I think we lost half our supply of famine biscuits.”
“I don’t know whether to cry or cheer,” the petty officer backing Kris up whispered not at all softly. People chuckled and found they could remember how to breathe.
“Zero gee in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . now,” Sulwan announced. “We will be in zero gee for ten minnow,” Sulwan announced. “We will be in zero gee for ten minutes. Stay close to your high-gee stations because this is only an intermission.”
Captain Drago mashed his comm button. “Damage-control parties, keep the bridge informed on your progress. Lieutenant Pasley, can you give me any idea of what might break next?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” Penny said.
“We might have some ideas,” Mimzy answered at her neck. “The Wasp is not rigged for remote sensing of its hull stress, but Dada has noticed a minor air loss out of spindle compartment J, and identified a blur in the pictures coming from outside camera 53. The container it is on may not be attached as securely as we wish.”
“Damage control,” Captain Drago ordered, “check for a leak in spindle compartment J-2-g. Advise any personnel in the outer containers that they may end up on their own if they don’t move inward like we told them to.”
The skipper shook his head as he cut his commlink. “We ordered everyone to the spindle. But why do I think there are a few ignoring me? Boffins, likely.”
As the ten minutes of no acceleration passed, various damage-control details reported in. The burst seam was welded shut again. The leak was plugged, then welded down. Four boffins reported to the spindle. They’d been recording the view from the close encounter with the gas giant.
Common sense had finally prevailed over scientific curiosity.
The second high-gee blast would accelerate them onto a course that would take them close to the alien. With luck, it would also make it look like the rock they were impersonating had approached the ice giant from behind and therefore been out of sight all along.
That was the hope.
Kris was only too aware that a whole lot of people had died while she did what she hoped would work.
In the end, she reflected, she had accomplished what she set out to do. That huge mother ship was not going anywhere for a long time, if ever.
Still, a lot of her fleet had died in the effort.
Had it all been worth the cost?
Kris wished she could go back and find out. Hopefully, she would get a chance to someday. But for now, getting home and reporting what had happened was her job.
As the long hours slid by while they drifted toward the alien, Kris tried not to think about the calls she’d made and the price people had paid for them.
The alien did nothing. They did nothing.
They both did a whole lot of nothing.
Then the alien went active, and matters got interesting.
Very quickly, things got mortal.