Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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I sat down to lunch on our last day on-planet with the commander of our Troop Transport (the military's response to the Support Frigate.) She smiled. "Hello, Jake. It has been a long time." I nodded. "It has, Commander Paktu." She flicked her hand as if to swat an insect. "Please, call me Jel. So, what do you think of the mission?"
I looked at her. Though she was several years older, she was quite attractive. A thought passed through my head, but I abruptly ceased thinking it. Situations like that create unsettling conflicts of interest. I cleared my throat. "I find the mission itself to be a goldmine. We have an ever-growing need for more resources. Butβ¦"
"What?"
"I don't think building a new Yard is going o be a good way to use them. Look at us. Out of 300 million, only 550 thousand of our people got back to Hiigara. We're only barely at 600 thousand now after ten years. Only twenty thousand men are enlisted in the Navy, and our numbers in the Ground Forces are a joke. Sure, we can build more ships, and protect our borders further, but there is a limit."
"Ah, but even a Heavy Cruiser only needs 150 men to work it."
"I know, and automation of more and more ship systems are making that number even less, but we should use the resources to build up Hiigara. Infrastructure, cities, what have you. After hundreds of years planning the trip back home, we're so eager to leave it rather than make it a place worth fighting for."
She said nothing, and although I knew she would not file me for insubordination on that last conversation, I was half regretting my words. "Another thing, do you know if the Corporation is really interested in the Gemstone's asteroids?"
"Listening posts have shown a deviation in their patrol routes since it has been discovered." I grimaced. The Corporation was a race who was not well liked in the Galactic Council. A race of bluish humanoids, their goal in the universe was to gather all the resources in the galaxy, and with them build the grandest and most unbeatable fleet ever. Rumors were that they could have easily destroyed the Taiidan Empire with their forces, if the combined might of the Council hadn't subdued them.
And yet, in spite of all their strength, it all boiled down to the only two spaceships they ever designed. The first one was their Fighter-class vessel, Lzz-char. Faster than a Scout, and more powerful than a Defender, they could easily defeat a squadron of normal fighters. Even missiles had difficulty locking onto them. The two liabilities was they were all piloted by robot brains, and had weak hull plating. They were almost, but not quite, as intelligent as sentient beings, and that weakness was exploited in the limited skirmishes our navies fought.
Second were their command ships, or Hrr-char. These were twice the size of a Heavy Cruiser, and had ten turreted Ion Cannons as weaponry. They were also in charge of harvesting, with six harvester beams attached to each face of its hull. They had a longer range, and could target several clusters simultaneously, which reduced the necessary amount of the starships in one area (fortunately.) Their construction bays cranked out hundreds of the Lzz-char, and even one such command ship, due to their turreted weapons and strong hulls, could bring harm to a well-built fleet. We weren't on their bad side, but we also weren't on their good side, so we kept our guard up.
"So that's why Angel Squadron was chosen for this mission." She nodded, and prodded one of the things on her plate. "Simulation dogfights between your new starfighters and Lzz-char fighters have been promising." She shrugged. "Not that we're expecting trouble, we just like to be safe." She pushed away her food and commented, "Ugh, I've been in the service for ten years, and each time this stuff gets worse." I smiled. She got up and said, "We leave at 0800 hours. Get packed, Jake."
* * *
I got everyone ready and we launched at 0755 hours. I wanted to set up a test for old Hal Soban. I only notified the rest of the squadron about the ruse an hour beforehand. As the pilot was always late for duty, but not too late to be very noticeable, I wanted to see what happened if he was in a situation where he really was very late.
The two hundred meter starship we called home took off and was in high orbit by the time the holocam of the hangar showed Soban stumbling into view. He looked around at the empty space. He got a very frantic look on his face, and then reached into his flight jacket to fish out this comm. He switched it on, and almost instantaneously the comm. light in the Angel Base's bridge lit up. I ordered the ensign at the comm. station, "Patch it into my personal comm.," and I picked up my own rectangular device.
"How's it going, Cadet?"
"Sir, where is everybody? I'm on time!" he replied in a frustrated voice.
"Actually, it's really 0805. You're more than a little late."
He looked at his chrono. "Look, just tell me where you guys are."
I glanced back at the other pilots with an air of malice. "Tell you what, Mr. Soban. We have set the hyperspace motivators to activate in exactly five minutes. If you get here in time, you can come with us on this mission; if notβ¦" But I couldn't finish my sentence before I saw him race to his ship and took off on a cold start.
I turned to the sensors officer, and pointed to the main holoprojectors. "Ensign, I want you to tap into Cadet Soban's forward visual feed. Mash it down to 2-D and patch it into the first projector. Then tap into Main Orbital Sensors and use them to follow his Interceptor's flight path. Display it on the second projector." He gave a straight nod, and in a few seconds we were watching the frantic flying of the Lance-class vessel.
First we saw him exit the atmosphere; the array's instruments clocked his speed at 4000 kilometers per hour. "He can't stay at that speed and stay together," Myla noted. But he didn't have to. In front of him was a huge matrix of girders and construction vessels. He swerved up, down, and side to side at breakneck speed to avoid crashing into a future orbital hotel. He got out fine, but he scraped his hull on a construction vehicle as he exited.
Then he was getting close to a targeting range for rookie Bomber pilots, which flying through would be dangerous, but it was the most direct route to the ship. As the new pilots let fly with blue balls of plasma, his white and black ship flew through the explosions from the impacts. He flew through one with a piece of his starboard wing having caught some of the flames, but in the cold of space they blew out quickly.
Then came a fleet of incoming merchant ships, and he skidded across the hulls of more than one of them. Over the general comm. system I heard several of the pilots complaining at him as he flew by, and him frantically apologizing.
I checked my chrono, and then switched on my comm. "Only one minute left, sport." I heard him cursing after I told him this. There was only one more obstacle left, and we had deliberately set it up: Shipyard Hiigara, or better known as the Mothership. I asked, "Kind of a large ship to go around, wouldn't you say?"
"That's why I'm not going around it."
And yes, I saw him fly into the main rectangular portal on the starboard side of the ship. Fleets of Scouts were trying to go the other way, seriously hindering his lead. Thanks to his forward visual feed, we got to look inside at the massive construction yard of the Mothership. All blue, the system of lasers and assembly lines of ships being build proved to be quite an obstacle. I saw a few squadrons of Defenders and Cloaked Fighters being built, as well as a lumbering Ion Cannon Frigate. When he was approaching the other end, I smiled, even though I was rather disappointed. It was blocked off, and there was no other way out. And he only had 20 seconds left. But then he lowered his ship so we could see a Destroyer, from the name painted on the side it was called the Avarice, and the larger construction door of the ship began to open up. The three hundred meter vessel slowly began to exit, and Hal just managed to squeeze through the narrow crack that the construction door opened.
He shot out and hit the afterburners. Ten seconds.
He was within a hundred meters of us, and slowed down significantly to extend his docking claws. Five seconds.
Twoβ¦one, and blue light ran down the ship. A second later I felt the vibration of his ship docking on one of the pads. I smiled and nodded. "He really is an Angel."