The Immortal Game (Rook's Song) (19 page)

Rook wonders what he means by that.  He’s just about to ask when an alarm goes off.  A signal from the Sidewinder.  He and Bishop exchange brief glances before they both consult with their HUDs and start running for the ship. 
Bishop moves with insectile speed and is up the cargo ramp and gone, calling to him over the radio, “Do you see it?”

“I see it!”  Top-right corner of his HUD.  Proximity alert, coming from one of
their drones a thousand miles above.  A reading coming from a disturbance twelve light-minutes away.  A spatial distortion at the quantum level.  Something tunneling through a slipstream.  Size unknown.

Oh, God, they’re here
. 
God, no
. 
No, no, no, no, no
. 
We’re not ready
. 
No, no, no, no!

7

They
race past transonic speeds, a vapor cone rippling out from the Sidewinder as she breaks through Kali’s atmosphere at 6.7 miles per second.  At Mach 28, it’s a little more than what’s needed for the Sidewinder to escape orbit.  Rook has the pilot’s seat, of course, and Bishop is at the firing station, running through a brief systems check and prepping the principle of four protocols.  In the weeks before they came to Kali, they drilled this scenario two dozen times.

“All right, I’m picking up spacetime warp,” says Rook into his headset.  “You reading me, Bishop?”

“Copy that.  Reading you five-by-five.”  Though they were in the cockpit together, the Sidewinder’s drives can get awfully loud, and if the fighting got heavy, the turret and the sounds of particle beams smashing into their hull could make it difficult to hear commands.

“Now remember, if we get close enough out here, I may wanna take a few licks
on our hull before we retreat.  We could use the power.”  We may recall that the Sidewinder has endoergic armor, which works in tandem with photovoltaic solar cells to convert the energy of particle weapon impacts, electromagnetic attacks, and energy from any nearby ambient starlight to fuel other systems.

“Affirmative, friend.”

“Activating sensor shroud.”  The OPG engages, activating plasma stealth.  The DERP activates a second later, soaking up energy at long range.  “Sensor shroud engaged.  Moving on a parabola to Turk Two.”

“Copy parabola.”

For the sake of ease, Rook took to naming each of the stations.  The two at the north pole are Turks 1 and 2; the stations at the south pole are Turks 3 and 4; the four covering the eastern and western hemispheres are 5 and 6, and 7 and 8, respectively; and finally those covering the “split line” between hemispheres are 9 through 12.

Moving in close to the s
tation, Rook breaks their speed dramatically, and the inertial dampers make it so they feel almost no deceleration at all.  He cues up orbital protocol, and the Sidewinder’s AI highlights an area in space where he can begin a natural orbit around Turk 2, and recommends a speed for comfortably hitting this pocket.

Now in the sweet spot for orbit, Rook cuts some of the nonessential systems and puts all thrusters on standby mode.  Now, they slowly orbit the supermassive space station and wait for more data.  When it comes, it’s from another
drone, this one hiding behind Turk 5 in the western hemisphere.  “We’ve got a spatial distortion happening at one part in twenty, no, ten million.”

“Any tachyonic distortions?” asks Bishop.

Rook checks his sensors for noticeable disturbances.  Tachyons are particles that travel forward, backwards, and even sideways through time, if you can wrap your head around that.  In order to travel safely past light-speed, ships need to be able to shed off relativistic effects.  If they didn’t, the effect would be like bouncing too close to a black hole, where time slows down.  If a ship suffered that, they could very well emerge from the slipstream only to discover that a thousand years has passed, or ten thousand, or a million.  “Affirmative.  We have tachyonic shedding in our vicinity.”

“That’s definitely a
Bleed wake, then,” Bishop says, using the Cereb’s term for the slipstream.  “What’s the location?”

“
Finishing calculations now…it’s coming from Sector thirty-one.”  Rook doesn’t have to divvy up the space surrounding Kali all by himself as he did the asteroid field before the battle.  No, the Sidewinder is programmed for interstellar cartography and Kali is a familiar enough planetoid that it has overlaid a three-dimensional map on its own.  “Sending exact coords now.”

On Bishop’s display, the coordinates scroll up:
S31 – SQ701 – SB97 – D03 – P01 – H006
.  The section of space is pinpointed on his sectorboard.

“Got it,” the alien says.

“It’s definitely getting closer, coming right towards us.”  Rook runs over a few more numbers.  His mind racing with possibilities, he thinks,
This could be it
. 
The end of humanity
. 
The end of Ianethity
. 
This is when it all ends
.  Rook looks at the date on his HUD, memorizes it. 
The last historical date that matters
.

But he hasn’t completely surrendered yet.  Marking the date is only a matter of habit in times like these.  In fact, he experiences a heartening moment when he sees the readings coming from the
drones, marking a relatively small spacetime anomaly.  Rook lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  “I’m reading a low spatial expansion.  The contraction matches…it’s not a fleet.”

“A survey team, then.”

“Most likely.”  But neither one of them held any illusions.  There was nothing out here for the resource-obsessed Cerebral Empire.  If they were out here, they were looking for prey.  “I’m going to try and bring up visual.”

“Be careful, friend.
  If they spot the drone—”

“The jig is up.  Right.” 
Rook taps a few keys, sending the order for the drone at Turk 5 to peek just over the station’s horizon.  It does so, and sends back a holographic image.  Rook looks at the squadron of four skirmishers, led by the large Bleed Driver.  They have just entered Kali space, and are hovering about 120,000 miles away.  “There they are.  Damn it, how did they find us?  I thought we scattered our trail pretty good this time.”

“Any number of ways.  They could’ve followed our ice trail, detected ionic disturbances, or radiation bursts, probably a bit of all those.”

“I was hoping there would still be enough CMB to mask all energy trails,” Rook says, referring to the cosmic microwave background, the thermal radiation detectable almost uniformly throughout the observable universe.  “That’s what I get for hopin’.”

“We may still have a chance.  They are a small number, and I notice they aren’t retreating back to the Bleed.”

Rook nods.  “Yeah.  That means they haven’t detected us yet, or they’d go and get the fleet, or just attack us outright.  Their speed and trajectory indicate they’re still scanning.”  His eyes range over the display, gauging their position and that of their drones.  “If they tracked us this far, then they’ll be on us within the hour.”

“Agreed.”

“We could try and run, but…”

“We don’t have anywhere to go.”

Rook nods, his tongue running over his teeth, deep in thought.  “What about this fortress world of yours?”

“
It’s not safe for staying, I can assure you.  And since it’s not too far away, they’ll only track us to there once we activate our drives and head into the slipstream, and then we’ll be in the same position, only here we have the element of surprise.”

“Right.  Okay.  So that’s it, then.  We take them here and now.”

“Affirmative, friend.”

A chime goes off, telling him that the skirmishers have moved to sub-light speeds, and performed a micro-jump closer to the planet.  They now hover about 10,000 miles away from the Sidewinder, and they are flying roughly fifty miles abreast at around a thousand miles per hour.

“We don’t have much time.  They might follow the energy trails down to the surface, but eventually they’ll read us, or pick up on one of our drones.  These spheres will certainly warrant close inspection.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Let’s sit here a moment, see what they do.”

The cockpit goes silent for a time.  They watch the squadron complete two more micro-jumps, now just two thousand miles away and approaching Kali’s western hemisphere.  As
the squadron gets closer, Rook makes a small adjustment to their orbital position and speed.  The Bleed Driver, he notices, lags behind a couple thousand miles or so. 
Leaving room for a strategic escape
, he thinks.  If the squadron gets jumped, it can turn and run, and live to tell the tale.

But that’s not gonna happen
.

Eyes riveted to the display, Rook licks his lips.  He
doesn’t know it, but he’s started to grin.  Like an animal licking its chops, getting ready to pounce.

The squadron first inspects both spheres hovering above the planet’s western hemisphere, which takes about an hour.  Then, they move south, away from the Sidewinder.  Two hours later, they move on to Turks
5 and 6 above the eastern hemisphere.  Anticipating this, Rook already has the drone that was hiding there moving slowly away, drifting down towards the planet.  It’s covered in the same mimetic clay as those he used in the asteroid field.  The shape-shifting polymer should make it look like nothing else besides a tumbling meteorite.  Rook commands it to shut off all systems, going to sleep, so as to produce the smallest EM and IR signatures possible.

When the skirmishers reach the eastern hemisphere, Rook watches them closely for any sign that they’ve detected the drone or any of its siblings. 
They don’t believe in stealth, so if they had noticed anything they wouldn’t play dumb, they’d just bag it and continue on their search-and-destroy mission
.  At least, that was how they operated before.

Behind Rook, Bishop
is moving quickly.  The Ianeth runs his hands over his controls, fast as an adder, making the most minor and exact adjustments—rotating the targeting axis point-three microns, filtering ambient noise so that it wouldn’t hamper targeting, adjusting particle flow in the accelerators, checking and rechecking the heat sinks.

Now, as was inevitable, the skirmishers leave Turks 5 and 6 and are now headed north, towards Turks 1 and 2, directly
towards Rook and Bishop.

“Okay,” he says, letting out another breath he didn’t know he was holding.  “You ready?”

“Affirmative, friend.”

Still ensconced behind the massive sphere, Rook activates OMS systems and again adjusts their orbit and speed.  Within five minutes, they have just started cresting the “top” of the sphere and are coasting along, coming within targeting range of the Bleed Driver.  “Activate forward active jammer on my mark.”  Bishop begins targeting sequence, and seconds later a chime lets Rook know his partner has found it.  “Three, two, one…
activate!
”

The Sidewinder’s
most powerful active jammer is a full-spectrum and -quantum distortion projector, which not only scrambles incoming signals, but also “paints” a target and then jams its outgoing transmissions.  The Bleed Driver is hit by this all at once.

“Target is
painted.  Transmissions jammed,” Rook says.

“Copy that.  Standby to target-lock, eight seconds.”  Bishop couldn’t have targeted the Bleed Driver earlier because, by doing so, he would’ve set off alarms inside the ship, and they would’ve been able to communicate their dilemma
to the skirmisher squadron.  “Target locked.”

“Engage.”

The blue-green beam cuts silently through the vacuum, traveling nearly the speed of light and collides with the Bleed Driver before it can muster a defense.  Bishop’s aim is true.  The particle beam hits the ship’s lower drives and superheats them.  Five terajoules of energy pulse through it and seconds later, it explodes, and with enough brightness that they can see it nearly two thousand miles away.

“Target is neutralized,” says Bishop.

“Copy!  Moving to engage squadron!”  Rook rolls thirty degrees to port and starts checking target trajectories.

The skirmishers could perform sub-light jumps, but without the Bleed Drivers they will be more or less stranded
here.  However, whereas it might take them years to physically travel anywhere beyond Kali, they really didn’t need to since they also possess quantum-entanglement communicators, and could ask for reinforcements from across interstellar distances, unless Rook is in time to paint them, as well.

That’s why he waited for them to get so close.  They were well within range now, just about forty
klicks off, and there are no Turks to interfere with the Sidewinder’s jammer beam.

“Status.”

“I have all four targets locked,” Bishop replies.

“Activate forward jammer.”

“Copy.”  A beat, then, “Jammer engaged.  But I had to widen the beam a great deal to include all four of them, which means it won’t reach as far.  We have to keep them all close.”

“Copy!  Moving to engage!  Begin targeting protocols—”

“I already have two of them locked on—”

“Then what’re you talkin’ to me for?  You are weapons-free, friend!”

“Copy.  Engaging.”

The Sidewinder races towards the closest of the skirmishers, Rook flying in such a way to show their broadside to the other skirmishers, hoping to absorb some of their firepower through the EA systems.  The Sidewinder comes within a mile of the first skirmisher, and, much to Rook’s surprise, it banks sh
arply away and shoots for cover, trying for the far side of Turk 2.

“Strange,” Bishop says.  “They’re running.”

Rook says nothing, stays focused on the chase.

A low whine c
omes from the targeting station. “I’ve got tone,” says Bishop.  “Firing.”