🚀 go-pugleaf

[[Continued from Part Two]]


     "Sir," an Ensign said from the Sensor Station.  "The ship is
maneuvering... we're getting weird mass readings from it."
     "How can you get a weird mass reading," Weiss asked, walking over.
"Mass just is -- you can't just spontaneously alter it -- not without
massive energy discharge or--"
     "It just fired energy weapons against the Potempkin, sir," the Ensign
said.  "Minor damage, but they were powerful."
     "Energy weapons, Jonesy?" O'Toole asked, storming over to the sensor
station as well.  "Are we talking Abyssian Channel-beams?"
     "No *sir,*" the Ensign said.  "They look like some kind of particle
acceleration beam, but with the particle stream in a transitional energy
state -- never seen anything like it.  The task force is mobilizing to
contain the bogey--"
     "There are still these odd shifts in mass coming from it," Hawk said
coolly, looking at a secondary display.  "Could your equipment be
malfunctioning?"
     "No ma'am," the Ensign said, shaking his head.  "It's not our
equipment -- we're still too far out.  It'd take twenty minutes to get
information at the speed of light -- they've deployed a hyperwave repeater,
and it's compiling information from the whole task force.  That's eight
ships.  Captain, they're engaging -- the Quartermain and the Los Alamos
have fired mass drivers, and the Potempkin has fired three L-Cannon --
moderate superficial damage.  That thing's touch, but it's bitten off more
than it can chew."
     "I don't expect you're right, Jonesy," O'Toole muttered.  "Helm -- go
to full acceleration.  I want to get there as soon as possi--"
     "Captain, we're still hours from them, even at fourteen gees.  They'll
have mopped--"
     "*Jesus* *Christ!*"  The Ensign at the sensor station was staring at
the screen.  "Captain, the Los Alamos has been destroyed."
     "*What?*" O'Toole demanded, wheeling.
     "He's right," Hawk snapped.  "The computer's saying tidal forces."
     "Tidal Forces?  You're saying the bogey just fired a *black* *hole* at
them?"
     "No sir," Ensign Jones said.  "No gravity flux, no radiation, no e-m
signature.  Just... an event horizon.  And the bogey itself's got an event
horizon now!  It's like... like it was at the bottom of a white dwarf's
gravity well, but it's not having superstructure problems!"
     "Missiles launched from the Quartermain and the-- they're missing!
How are they missing?"  The Tactical Officer sounded scared.
     Ensign Jones blinked.  "Sir... they're warping space.  They have to be
harnessing warped space!"
     "That's impossible, Jonesy.  Space doesn't warp without enormous mass--"
     "Which is why our mass readings are inconsistent, sir!  The mass
detector's getting--"
     "Do we have a Gravistatic ship there," Weiss demanded O'Toole.
"Everything the Zee-Gee ships are shooting--"
     "Yes," O'Toole snapped.  "The Phoenix.  It's maneuvering now -- we
can't afford to lose--"
     "The Potempkin's been destroyed," Jones reported.  "Oh Jesus... it was
torn almost inside out -- we're having trouble getting readings, now.
We're down to the Sensor Logs from the Quartermain and the Phoenix, and
what the Hyperwave Repeater itself sees."
     "Is the Hyperwave relaying back to Halcyon?" Hawk demanded, grey eyes
flashing.
     "No," O'Toole snapped.  "It burst relays every half-hour.  We're
recording as backup.  Time to arrival?  Damn it -- time to- "
     "The Phoenix is priming to fire main Gravistatic battery," the
Tactical Officer reported.
     "No!" Jones shouted.  "Captain, tell them not to waste the power --
they'll need it to retreat!  They can't use gravity against a singularity!"
     "It's not a singularity, Jonesy," Weiss snapped.  "Stay on your board
and speak when--"
     "Shut up, Weiss," Hawk snapped.  "Can't you see Jane's Fighting Ships
doesn't list that model?  We don't *know* what we're dealing with, so stop
squelching the only man on this deck with an open mind."  Open -- Jones's
thoughts were positively *racing.*  He knew astrophysics and he had the
math to drive his knowledge.  And he was an ensign in the Navy staring at
the board?
     Yes... Jones was the man to watch here.  The man to cultivate.
     "Report," O'Toole snapped to Jones.  "Did the Phoenix fire?"
     Jones turned back to the board and slapped the three-second replay.
"Yes *sir.*"   He bit his lip.  "No effect.  The gravity pulse was
disrupted out of the static wave.  Sir... there's another distortion of
mass... it... sir, the Phoenix is being targeted with that mobile Event
Horizon weapon... it's sluggish, sir, trying to evade--"
     "Their artificial gravity capacitors are drained," O'Toole swore.
"They're sitting--"
     "Sir... the Phoenix has been destroyed."
     "Three ships of the line in less than five minutes," Weiss said, shock
beginning to kick in.  "Who *are* they?  What do they want?"
     Hawk snapped her attention to O'Toole.  "I have to get within
eighty-five kilometers of that ship," she said.
     O'Toole blinked, and turned.  "Major, I don't take--"
     "Shut up, *Captain.*  I *have* to attempt a telepathic reconnaissance
of that ship.  We need some kind of intelligence as to their motives and
intentions.  You *have* to--"
     "Sir," Jones said, staring at his board.  "The Quartermain has been
destroyed.  The bogey's maneuvering again... I... don't know if its...
phenomenon is active right now or not -- the only sensor profile still
coming in is the Repeater's.  It's... sir, they're charging those energy
beams again, putting the Repeater in their firing arc.  It--"
     Jones looked up somewhat helplessly.  "Sir... the Repeater's been
destroyed.  Contact with the bogey has been lost."
     O'Toole stared at Jones for a long moment, then slowly faced forward.
     "Captain," Hawk said again insistently, "what is our time to engaging
the bogey?"
     "What?" O'Toole asked, turning back to her, his eyes on her.
     "What is our timeframe?"
     O'Toole narrowed his eyes.  "Are you insane?" he asked.  "That...
*thing* just destroyed four ships!"
     "I *have* to attempt contact with it.  I insist--"
     O'Toole's temper flared.  Hawk felt it like a near-tangible slap.
"You insist?" he asked.  "What is this?" he asked, fingering the golden
four point star on his uniform shirt.
     "What?"
     "What *is* this?"
     "Your rank insignia.  Captain of the T.C.N.F.  You're--"
     "That's right.  It's a Captain's Star.  Which means I'm in command,
and I'm responsible for this ship and for the safety of the Confederacy--"
     "Which means we have to get as much information as we possibly--"
     "Which means we have to get the information we *have* back to Halcyon
and the Navy.  We *have* to make sure they know what's happened.  Hell's
bells, Major -- we don't even know where the bogey *is*!  We don't know how
fast it's going, or at what vector -- it may have affected Transition out
of the system by now."
     "Captain--"
     "Helm -- set course for the nearest Transition Point to the Halcyon
System, and accelerate at all speed.  Let's get the Hell out of this
accursed system."
     "All speed aye, sir.  Twenty-one hours to Transition Point, sir."
     "Nothing closer?"
     "No sir.  Not if we're going to Halcyon."
     "Right.  Keep me posted."
     Hawk restrained her anger.  The Captain had a point.  They did need to
let the Confederacy know of the threat.  And Hawk needed to inform the Grey
Legion -- whatever this meant, the Legion needed to know.
     She glanced back to Jones, who looked sick, staring at his boards.  He
had been right, she was sure of that.  She had felt his mind weigh and
distill it.
     She walked slowly over to him.  Was he susceptible to women?  Yes...
active fantasy life.  No current relationship.  Excellent.  "Ensign," she
said, quietly.
     Jones jumped, and turned.  "Major?" he asked.  A bit of fear -- the
fear of the unknown.  But he accepted the ad campaigns.  Accepted the
Legion were the defenders of the Confederacy.
     Which was true, they were.  No matter that the weaklings in the
government and the other armed forces believed.  Well, no matter.  The
Legion had dealt with them, and ensured their mission would continue.
     "Ensign... that was excellent reasoning," she said.  "Could... I
discuss this further with you, at your earlier convenience?  I have to make
a report to my superiors -- I'd like your theories to accompany it."
     "Wha?  Oh, sure."  Yes... yes, he liked an attractive woman
complimenting him.  Good.
     It made it all so much easier when they liked her.  So, so much easier.

        <-< Serenity IV >->

     The Abyssian looked around the control cabin.  "It is... all so
small," she said quietly.
     "So it appears," Percival said, smiling a bit.  "We need to cut mass
where we can -- you'd be stunned how just a little weight ate into our
reaction mass."
     "Little... what of your artificial gravity baffles?"
     Percival squinted.  "Heh.  Right.  Um... this thing *look* like a five
thousand ton rated ship?"
     "Five... your... smaller ships do not have artificial gravity?"
     "No one does period, 'cept the Military, and then only on the big
capital ships."  Percival wondered if he were giving away state secrets.
He finally decided he didn't know any state secrets.
     "I... see.  I get... somewhat ill in null-weight."
     Percival blinked, and smiled slightly.  "C'mon," he said.  "I'll get
you strapped into a rotation couch."
     "Rotation?"
     "Yeah... we're a constant boost ship -- at lower Gees, the couch stays
level with the floor -- feels like you're on the surface of a planet.  At
higher Gees, the couch angles to support you.  Okay?"
     "I... yes.  Yes, that will be--"  She blinked.  "Captain Holt is back."
     "Wha?  How do you kno--"
     There was knocking below, and Molly and Jackson climbed up the ladder
and through the hatch to the Control Cabin.  "We ready to burn, Perc?"
     "Uh, yeah -- um -- I'm going to ride in the Pit -- I thought the...
um... passenger--"
     "Renita," the Abyssian said, sitting up in the acceleration couch.
"We are launching soon?"
     Jackson looked back at Renita, then started climbing into his own
couch.  "As soon as Percy gets below, Todd gets up into co pilot's, and
Molly runs the checklist and gets clearance."
     "I... see. Thank you, Captain Holt."
     Jackson nodded.  It was `Captain Holt' now.  The Mystic seemed a bit
more scared.  He wasn't sure if he liked that or not.
     She seemed so young... but that was humanomorphism.  He knew better.
Abyssians could live to be a hundred and ninety or more, in Terran Standard
years.  She could be old enough to be his mother -- if she wore the Amber,
that seemed a likely hypothesis.
     The checklist went normally enough.  Jackson managed to ignore the
sinking feeling in his chest, even nodding to Todd as he hauled himself up
to the Co-Pilot's chair.  He kept waiting... waiting for the proctors or
the damn Confederate Army to show up and arrest them all for treason.
Waiting for the Abyssian to do something -- anything.  Anything at all.
     Waiting.
     ~You are frightened.~
     Chills ran down Jackson's spine, and he turned in his chair to face
Renita.  #You're not helping,# he sent to her.  #Who are you?  How do you
know me?  How do you know I was once a Grey Legionnaire?#
     ~I know many things, Jackson Holt.  More than you could imagine.  We
will launch, do not worry.  For if we do not launch, we will die.~
     #You said that before.  What are you talking about?#
     Renita shifted on her couch, and stared up at the viewports.  ~You
were once a Grey Legionnaire.  Our _Morgarth_ wear white, not grey.  They
are our warriors.  Our Combatants.  The word could translate to
Legionnaire, I think.~  She looked back at Jackson.  ~I think you have
become a White Legionnaire.~
     Jackson narrowed his eyes, and turned back to the viewports himself.
Lying on his back, facing up.  Waiting.  #We consider uninvited telepathic
contact rude,# he replied.  #I'm not inviting you.#
     ~No... you are not.~  Renita shifted as well, apparently more comfortable.
     "Up-ship cleared!  Thirty seconds... ship tight, all green.  We have
our window."  Molly sounded excited.  She'd launched the TCFT Meridian
hundreds of times, but she always conveyed the excitement of a ten year old
on his first launch.
     "Reactor hot," Todd reported.  "Drive active.  Propulsion green.
She's good to go."
     "Captain, we await the word."
     Jackson turned and glanced at Renita.  She didn't turn to look back at
him.  "Pilot," he said, "launch when ready."  The ritual was important, to
everyone in the crew.  Especially now, in front of a passenger.
     Who Jackson didn't trust.
     There was the rumble as the torch was lit, reaction mass burning.
There was the sudden lurch, and the Meridian launched into the sky,
pressing the crew and passenger into their seat at several times their
weight.  The rumble of initial launch gave way to the baffled thrum of the
engine as it burned them higher and higher....
     "We have orbit," Molly said.  "Now preparing first tack to reach
Transition Point.  ETA to Transition, six hours, thirty-four minutes.  Tack
in ninety-two sec--"
     "The... gravity..." Renita said, flushing with embarrassment and nausea.
     Todd glanced back.  "Jackson, can you get her a ZeeGee sack?"
     "Yeah... Molly -- correct slightly.  Let's go with a three quarters
Gee acceleration.  Give our passenger a little easier ride.  Can we do it?"
     "Sure thing.  Hang on for a new projected time of arriv-- hey, Traffic
Control's sent an automated warning -- we've had six unexpected Transitions
-- damn it, we're looking at a sixteen hour delay.  This better not be a
god damn Drill."
     "Delay?" Renita said, rising in her chair.  "What do you me- "  She
blinked.
     And Jackson blinked too.  There was something... something he could...
     Cold... malevolence... the bite of the jaw, the drinking of the blood--
     "Christ!" Jackson spat, lurching uncontrolled across the cabin.
     "Wha -- *Boss!*" Molly shouted.  "What th--"
     "He has felt them," Renita half-shouted.  "We must leave.  We *must*
*leave* *now!*"
     "What the?  What have you done to him, you *bitch?*" Molly's anger was
palpable in the cabin.
     Renita drew herself up, her hair a corona of greenish gold fire around
her face.  "I have done naught.  He can see, where you cannot.  We must
leave *now* or we shall be killed.  They have come."
     "They?  What they?  Come for who?"
     "For myself, and for Jackson Holt.  There is *no* *time.*  We must get
out of this system or it shall be our tomb!  Do you--"
     "Whoa..." Todd was punching up screens.  "Guys -- I'm logged into
Traffic Comp -- check this out."  The displays brought up six ships, rated
at fifteen thousand tons, made up of symmetrical patterns of saucers and
cylinders.  Each started launching separate smaller ships.
     Jackson hauled himself between the two chairs.  "Jesus," he muttered.
"Acceleration, now. Find a Transition Point -- any damn point that's close.
Get us out of here."  As the drive burned again, Jackson slowly fell back,
grabbing hold of the rungs of the ladder to stay in place.
     "Wha--" Molly said.
     "Right," Todd said.  "Damn -- Traffic Comp's lagged to Hell and back,
not giving me any damn coordinates to work with.  C'mon... there's the
nearest -- it's a Stage Five to the Whitehall system--"
     "Stage Five?  This thing hasn't done more than a Stage Three since we
bought her," Molly snapped.  "Second-hand!  Find the next one!"
     "Looking... what the Hell are they doing -- positioning themselves
over the planet equatorially?  *Damn* they're fast!"
     Renita blinked.  "No..." she said.  "They... they would not- "
     "The Hell -- I've lost Ground Control," Todd said.  "Frequencies are
going--
     Jackson felt a sudden lurch -- a simultaneous rush of fear and horror
as thousands began to scream, almost in unison... almost... "Molly -- full
acceleration *now!*  What is *happening!"
     "Oh Christ," Todd swore. "I'm getting reports -- hundreds of them --
buildings being shattered, the seas erupting onto the land.  What are
they--"
     "They are destroying the usable portions of Dali Lama," Renita said,
horrified.  "Their weapons are devastating..."
     "Destroying the damn *planet?*" Molly shouted.  "Six ships?  How?  Wh--"
     "Accelerate *now!*" Kevin shouted, dropping to the lower deck before
four gravities slammed him into a fetal position.
     "I've lost Traffic Control," howled Todd.  "I can't get another
Transition Point from the computer!"
     "Time to the T-Point for Whitehall?" Jackson demanded, ignoring the pain.
     "We can't pull a Stage-five trans--"
     "We *have* to!" Jackson shouted again.  "Time!"
     "Thirty-eight seconds!" Molly shouted again.  "Vectoring!  Hang on!"
     The ship lurched, inertia hurling Jackson against the far wall, hard
enough to black him out for half a second.  "What are your weapons," Renita
howled, terrified.
     "Weapons?!" Jackson shouted back, ignoring the pain and the dread.
"We're a damn Free Trader!  We aren't armed!  We..." he blinked... his
mind's eye coming into focus... feeling the perceptions of the horrors on
the Meridian... the decision to send one of the small craft after it....
"Oh God," he croaked....
     "We've been acquired!" Todd shouted.  "One of the small crafts is on
our scope, vectoring to get us... must be getting us into a firing arc!"
     "No time to evade," Molly shouted.  "Percy!  Do we have enough charge
for a Stage Five Transition!?"
     "Are... you... mad?" Percival's pain-ridden voice came over the intercom.
     "Is that a damn yes or no," Molly shouted.
     "He's on an intercept vector," Todd shouted.  "Accelerating... sweet
Jesus, he's accelerating at fourteen gravities for us!"
     "Maybe!" Percival shouted.
     "Right... hang on, kids!  This is gonna hurt!  Set for Stage Five to
Whitehall?!"
     "Locked!"
     "Engag--"
     The Meridian cracked the surface of space/time, and with a halo of
light it was gone into the darkness.


WHO ARE THE INTRUDERS?
WHY ARE THEY KILLING THE TERRANS AND ABYSSIANS ALIKE?
WHY DO THEY WANT RENITA AND HOLT?
HOW DOES RENITA KNOW SO MUCH?


I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you... but GARY OLSON does, and he's
up next, for the pulse pounding episode of RISK!

--
Risk is the intellectual property of and is Copyright 1996 Christopher
Angelini, Eric Alfred Burns, Matthew Gerber and Gary W. Olson.  Electronic
redistribution is permitted as per the guidelines in the Superguy Mailing
List FAQ.  All rights not specifically ceded are reserved.