[FONT=arial,helvetica]Volatiles had begun streaming out of a comet with no name; as the body warmed up, a surface cluster of organic nodes began feeding from opening vents. The nodes most closely resembled an algae or lichen, and had no brain.
A jump entry flash-fried the lifeform. Pakkirad Landii's fast scout emerged from jumpspace with a lurch. It corrected its vector, refueled from cometary ice, and then accelerated away at six gees. In another day the engines cut off, and it hurtled in orbit around Yorbund, a hundred thousand kilometers from the world surface. Yorbund first looks damp, due to the extensive cloud cover. In low orbit, you might then make out odd-colored land masses and exotic, non-water seas. The ship did not get that close. It was not safe.
Neutrino sensors flashed. Just beyond the curve of the planet – there. A mass of signals. Pakkirad spoke to his ship. "Slow. No active sensors. Load nukes."
"Niiku," replied the ship's computer. Housings moved on tracks as arms swiveled, chambering missiles for launch. Small boxlike protrusions on the craft opened up multiple lenses and began to charge.
His ship passed a gigantic, solid, featureless pyramid. Resting in geosynch, it was found in deep space and towed here by the Scout Service a few years ago. The thing is 75,000 years old, and was built from in-system resources. That's all anyone knows for sure.
And there they were. Just over the horizon now, two cruisers, an ortillery, and perhaps two dozen auxiliary vessels, scattered far above the northern face of Yorbund. Sensors reaped information.
"Active ping bearing 270+15," approximated the computer. "Evasive in one hundred seconds. Attempting to jam." Fairings extended over sensitive surface equipment. Pakkirad sealed his helmet and pumped the ship's air into storage.
"Belay jam," said Pakkirad. "Overriding." He worked his control panel calmly. Focus on jamming their military bandwidth. Bounce decoy signals -- off of the pyramid abaft. Pour static into Yorbund's thermosphere.
"Multiple signals now on high-guard intercept," reported the computer. "One hour to arrival."
That would block access to the jump point. "Get us out of here," Pakkirad ordered. "Haste." The engines' electronic hum took a new note. "Accelerating away." Then: "Launches detected; impact estimate fifteen minutes with evasive action." Visible light stabbed outward from the scout. Pulsed for five minutes. Explosions noted as systems recharged. Again for another five minutes. More explosions. Then the ship jolted; klaxons whined. "Detonation outside turret four. Turret four non-responsive. Hull compromised in section four."
"Niiku, niiku, I'm checking it out," said Pakkirad, out of his harness. He glanced out the transpex and saw the orbiting pyramid, a new crater in its side. Up maintenance tube six he went, his toolset leading the way. It sprayed aerofoam over a fuming bulkhead. Pakkirad immediately programmed the foam outward. The hull hole was man-sized. A slap patch began knitting the hull back together. Conduit was injected from the dispenser tube. A jump plate was activated, and slid itself outside to cover the grid loss. As he finished, he felt the defenses fire again. More incoming.
Pakkirad slid back to engineering. In ten minutes he had the ship accelerating faster than it ever had before. 800,000 kilometers away, and another volley was repulsed. One million kilometers away, and the ship jolted again. "Multiple hits: bridge, maneuver, power plant, hull sections two, four, and five. Turrets two and five non-responsive. Maneuver drive non-responsive."
"I know!" yelled Pakkirad. He clambered over the power plant. Its dakkamek chamber sizzled at him. He glanced at red alarms on the display. Most of the bridge was gone. Fifteen minutes. Thirty. Finally the power plant was working. He felt defensive fire again. Too few this time. He braced. This hit knocked him to the floor. His vision blurred.
He came to some minutes later. More alarms were flashing. And the power plant looked bad. Pakkirad made the decision. "Computer, abandon ship." Data vanished into atoms. Pakkirad fled to the locker. Into the lone drop pod. Back toward the planet, silent and stealthed. Meanwhile, the ship launched its missiles. Coasting outwards, Zhodani corvettes and fighters caught up, matching vectors. An hour later, the ship was stopped. Another hour later it was towed back to the squadron. By then, the pod was deep in Yorbund's atmosphere, and Pakkirad was in a medical low berth.[/FONT]
A jump entry flash-fried the lifeform. Pakkirad Landii's fast scout emerged from jumpspace with a lurch. It corrected its vector, refueled from cometary ice, and then accelerated away at six gees. In another day the engines cut off, and it hurtled in orbit around Yorbund, a hundred thousand kilometers from the world surface. Yorbund first looks damp, due to the extensive cloud cover. In low orbit, you might then make out odd-colored land masses and exotic, non-water seas. The ship did not get that close. It was not safe.
Neutrino sensors flashed. Just beyond the curve of the planet – there. A mass of signals. Pakkirad spoke to his ship. "Slow. No active sensors. Load nukes."
"Niiku," replied the ship's computer. Housings moved on tracks as arms swiveled, chambering missiles for launch. Small boxlike protrusions on the craft opened up multiple lenses and began to charge.
His ship passed a gigantic, solid, featureless pyramid. Resting in geosynch, it was found in deep space and towed here by the Scout Service a few years ago. The thing is 75,000 years old, and was built from in-system resources. That's all anyone knows for sure.
And there they were. Just over the horizon now, two cruisers, an ortillery, and perhaps two dozen auxiliary vessels, scattered far above the northern face of Yorbund. Sensors reaped information.
"Active ping bearing 270+15," approximated the computer. "Evasive in one hundred seconds. Attempting to jam." Fairings extended over sensitive surface equipment. Pakkirad sealed his helmet and pumped the ship's air into storage.
"Belay jam," said Pakkirad. "Overriding." He worked his control panel calmly. Focus on jamming their military bandwidth. Bounce decoy signals -- off of the pyramid abaft. Pour static into Yorbund's thermosphere.
"Multiple signals now on high-guard intercept," reported the computer. "One hour to arrival."
That would block access to the jump point. "Get us out of here," Pakkirad ordered. "Haste." The engines' electronic hum took a new note. "Accelerating away." Then: "Launches detected; impact estimate fifteen minutes with evasive action." Visible light stabbed outward from the scout. Pulsed for five minutes. Explosions noted as systems recharged. Again for another five minutes. More explosions. Then the ship jolted; klaxons whined. "Detonation outside turret four. Turret four non-responsive. Hull compromised in section four."
"Niiku, niiku, I'm checking it out," said Pakkirad, out of his harness. He glanced out the transpex and saw the orbiting pyramid, a new crater in its side. Up maintenance tube six he went, his toolset leading the way. It sprayed aerofoam over a fuming bulkhead. Pakkirad immediately programmed the foam outward. The hull hole was man-sized. A slap patch began knitting the hull back together. Conduit was injected from the dispenser tube. A jump plate was activated, and slid itself outside to cover the grid loss. As he finished, he felt the defenses fire again. More incoming.
Pakkirad slid back to engineering. In ten minutes he had the ship accelerating faster than it ever had before. 800,000 kilometers away, and another volley was repulsed. One million kilometers away, and the ship jolted again. "Multiple hits: bridge, maneuver, power plant, hull sections two, four, and five. Turrets two and five non-responsive. Maneuver drive non-responsive."
"I know!" yelled Pakkirad. He clambered over the power plant. Its dakkamek chamber sizzled at him. He glanced at red alarms on the display. Most of the bridge was gone. Fifteen minutes. Thirty. Finally the power plant was working. He felt defensive fire again. Too few this time. He braced. This hit knocked him to the floor. His vision blurred.
He came to some minutes later. More alarms were flashing. And the power plant looked bad. Pakkirad made the decision. "Computer, abandon ship." Data vanished into atoms. Pakkirad fled to the locker. Into the lone drop pod. Back toward the planet, silent and stealthed. Meanwhile, the ship launched its missiles. Coasting outwards, Zhodani corvettes and fighters caught up, matching vectors. An hour later, the ship was stopped. Another hour later it was towed back to the squadron. By then, the pod was deep in Yorbund's atmosphere, and Pakkirad was in a medical low berth.[/FONT]
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