M. Planck - The Kassa Gambit

“Well, they’re sending someone out to talk to us.”

That finally cut through Stanton’s ice-block reserve. He leapt to Kyle’s side, stared down at the console, and reached out for the controls.

At the last instant, he stopped, a testament to the rigidity of his training.

“Permission to assume the helm, Commander.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Kyle was too relieved that the man had finally asked to be picky.

“Granted, Captain.” Kyle stepped out of the uncomfortable chair. Stanton sank into it, his hands and eyes already fully engrossed in the task at hand.

“Not emitting standard FOF, Captain. Permission to query.” It was the first time Kyle had heard the comm officer speak without sneering. The crew was too busy with the current threat to remember they hated him.

Captain Stanton answered instantly, assuming the authority he should have had all along. “Granted, comm. Gunnery, you are live.”

The other two men on the bridge silently took up their duties, slipping goggles over their eyes. Stanton put on his own. They would see the battle from any of a dozen different angles, hopping between the external cameras and computer-generated displays, but all Kyle would get to watch were several men in funny glasses talking to each other. Not the excitement one expected from a space battle.

“Query is negative.” The comm officer didn’t sound worried. He was too professional for that. But Kyle was a professional at listening to what people didn’t want to be heard.

Unable to bear being completely out of the loop, he ventured a question. “What does that mean, Captain?”

Stanton flicked him a pitying glance, no mean feat considering his face was obscured by goggles.

“It’s not one of ours. Or anybody that we know.”

“An unregistered ship?” It wasn’t unheard of.

Stanton spared him one last comment before forgetting about him completely.

“It’s not a ship. Targeting, report.”

The gunnery sergeants spoke for the first time.

“DF negative.”

“T negative.”

They carried on like that for another thirty seconds, speaking their Fleet jargon so fluently it almost sounded like a real language. If it hadn’t been for the urgency in their voices, Kyle would have thought they were just putting him on.

Then Stanton reached for his console, pausing only long enough to direct a comment to Kyle.

“Hang on.”

To what? Instinctively Kyle went into a wrestling crouch, expecting anything. Stanton’s fingers moved, and the atomic engine flared into life, throwing Kyle to the deck with its force.

He slid to the back of the room, where he could at least latch on to a stanchion. Gravity moved under him, changing direction, made his stomach feel like it was pushing up to his mouth. The ship went both forward and up.

Stanton killed the engine, returning the world to normal. The grav-plating in the deck said down was down again, comforting Kyle’s whirling stomach.

A few seconds of tension, and then the comm officer made his pronouncement.

“NavProj says it’s null-vee.”

The words were gibberish, but the tone said victory. The men in the room relaxed, and Kyle relaxed with them. Stanton, perhaps rendered giddy with relief, offered Kyle an explanation without being asked.

“It’s a mine. But it’s powered by gravitics, not thrust. It can’t match our vector. This far from a planet, it maneuvers like a pregnant cow.”

Kyle paused, trying to formulate just the right response to show his legitimate respect without blowing his cover as a petty political hack. The delay cost him his chance.

“Captain! More bogies!” The comm officer, so recently urbane, now sounded perilously close to panic. “Five—six—seven!”

Stanton tried to focus his officer, get him back to thinking about his job instead of his possibly short future. “Mines or ships?”

“Too small to be ships, Captain. But…”

Kyle’s stomach got light again. Fleet officers were not supposed to say “but.” It wasn’t the kind of word you ever really wanted to hear. In the context of a space battle, it was positively ominous.

The comm officer paused for an agonizingly long time before continuing. “Only one is on an intercept vector, Captain. The others are … spreading out.” The officer punched at computer buttons furiously. “They’re ignoring our decoys, and blocking us. All possible escape routes are covered.” He sat back in defeat, disbelief written on his face. “One of them is even covering the node entrance.”

Stanton stared straight ahead, reviewing the situation through his goggles. Then he took them off and faced Kyle.

“You should begin preparing your final report, Commander. Our optimal course predicts approximately twenty-seven minutes before impact.”

Kyle was amazed at the captain’s sangfroid. “You’re giving up? Already?”

“I am not giving up.” The ice was back, all the more noticeable for its brief absence. “I am explaining the expected outcome. The Launceston is a patrol boat. Our chief defense is maneuverability. I foolishly revealed our maximum thrust while avoiding the first mine. Now we will all die because of my error.”

Putting the goggles back on, he began determinedly punching buttons on his console. Kyle could almost see him mentally paging through the Fleet tactics manual, trying every trick in the book. If they died here, it would not be from a lack of training.

“Why?” Kyle asked.

Stanton did not answer.

“Why did you reveal that information?”

Yanking the goggles off of his face, Stanton turned and all but snarled at Kyle.

“Because I am human and capable of error would seem to be an adequate explanation. Sir.”

Kyle didn’t believe that for a minute. The man was too much like a machine to claim to be human now. Even with his life expectancy reduced to less than half an hour, Stanton wouldn’t break protocol and actually snarl at a superior officer.

Following his hunches was what had got Kyle to where he was today. Not that being on a spaceship doomed to destruction was a particularly laudable destination, but it was too late to change methods now. “Did you break some kind of regulation when you took that first evasive maneuver?”

“No, sir, I did not. But I have already accepted blame for the situation, so I do not understand the commander’s line of inquiry.”

“Why isn’t there a regulation against what you did?”

Stanton stared at Kyle. Obviously he didn’t think it was an appropriate time to discuss Fleet regulations.

But the comm officer had been listening in, and now demonstrated that someday he would earn a command of his own. Assuming he survived this one, of course.

“Sirs … no known mine system would be able to take advantage of that information.”

Kyle could see Stanton’s face slowly changing from choleric to puzzled.

“You said it before, Captain. It’s nobody we know.” Kyle didn’t know how this information would help them, but he was sure it was important. He had to make Stanton realize that.

The comm officer interrupted. “Captain—I’m picking up another ship. An independent freighter, registered from Altair. Merchant class A, identifies as the Ulysses . It’s in low-orbit around the planet—just broke atmosphere.”

Stanton frowned at this new piece of the puzzle. “Maybe it’s someone they know. Give me a channel, comm.”

Kyle didn’t want to pull rank now that the captain was finally treating him like a human being, but he had to. Whoever had sent him on this mission had sent him for a reason. If that freighter was League-friendly, a League officer would have to make the call.