Chapter 13 – The Wreck of Hesperus

CSS Arthur C. Clarke and her escort entered the Hesperusat system some two days after departing Thule. The system looked quite different from two months ago during the First Battle of Hesperus. The encounter was called that because everyone from the Admiral to the lowest rating on the smallest corvette was expecting at least a second round, and sooner rather than later. Hopefully that would be followed by a third and even a fourth - “hopefully” because when the numbering of the battles ended, the chances were good that the system would be in Swarm hands.

The only habitable planet, Hesperus, now had three orbiting battle stations, two of which were still under construction. Small early-warning sensor platforms, hopefully too diminutive to be easily detected by Sa'arm sensors, orbited the system's primary near its Oort cloud.

The fleet at Hesperusat were scattered throughout the system and beyond. Most of the warships were aggressively patrolling the system's outer boundary and beyond. The transports were all clustered in orbit around Hesperus itself, ready to perform a quick evacuation should that become necessary.

The marine garrison consisted of one-third of the Chosen Frozen available to General Deschenes. They were widely scattered, doing military engineering projects: building martellos, caching supplies and trying to make landing on the planet a thoroughly unappetizing proposition for any self-respecting Swarm Trooper. At the moment, only a handful of the martello fire bases had been finished, all scattered along Hesperus' equator. The main headquarters ashore was still located in the vicinity of the first Swarm landing site, where technical intelligence staff were dissecting those few scraps of Sa'arm weapons and ships that had survived the battle.

Captain Todmorton dragged his senior science officer Lieutenant Payne over to the one completed battle station, the Ralph Alpher, to meet with the senior officer of the Hesperusat task force, Commodore Andrew Swanson.

"Now remember,” Toddy threatened his errant officer as they waited in the Commodore's anteroom, “fly right. No jokes, no insults. This man may not be in the same service as I, but he could have my job.”

Payne smiled evilly at that happy thought.

"I'm serious. No joking. None.”

Payne regarded the supercilious popinjay with a raised eyebrow. “Did you follow the naming of the battle stations?” was his cryptic reply.

Toddy blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. “No. I assume they're named after fallen Navy heroes.”

Payne gritted his teeth. “Ralph Alpher. Hans Bethe. George Gamow.”

Toddy continued to draw a complete blank.

"The Alpher-Bethe-Gamow paper?” Payne ventured.

Still no connection. Clearly, Payne realized, physics was not Toddy's strong suit.

"AI,” he finally sighed in frustration, “please enlighten my comrade here on the topic of the Alpha-Beta-Gamma paper. The Wikipedia condensed version, not an in-depth discussion of the theoretical implications regarding the Big Bang.”

"Bethe had nothing to do with it?” Toddy asked in surprise as the AI filled in the blanks.

"From what Gamow said, his name was signed in absentia.”

"Are all you scientists nuts?”

"Of course,” Payne replied. “How do you think we stay sane?”

The communicator on the Navy sergeant's desk chimed, and the black-uniformed man ushered the two Fleet Auxiliary officers in to meet with the august personage within.

The Commodore rose to return the salute that Toddy offered, then shook his hand. He then embraced Lieutenant Payne, to Toddy's astonishment.

"Alex, you old reprobate, you got extracted?” was Commodore Swanson's reaction to his second guest. Toddy realized he shared the same Virginia patrician's accent as Payne.

"I surely did. I got five concubines out of the deal too.”

"Five?” The Commodore was amazed. “How did you manage that trick?”

"I was targeted,” Payne preened. “I was thusly allowed a supernumerary, as long as that was another scientist. I got myself my best student, Georgina Hannaford.”

"And what of Delphinia?” the Commodore enquired.

"Alas, she passed away, shortly after that Average Joes special aired. Breast cancer.”

"Oh, my sympathies.” Andrew's face grew sombre for a moment.

"And look at you,” observed Payne. “All done up fancy as a peacock. I told you messing around in that sailboat of yours would lead you to a life o' crime.”

Andrew smiled back, grateful for the change of topic. “You did, you did indeed. Now, what's this super-secret project that brought us back together?” He cocked his head inquisitively.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Payne explained Plan Foxhound. Like all the rest, Andrew Swanson's mood grew grim as the implications set in.

"I still have family on Earth,” Andrew fretted.

"As do I. As do most of us out here, I suspect,” responded Payne. “All we can hope is that when this artificial ice age gets triggered, they won't be alive to suffer through it.”

"Not a great hope. Not a great choice, either: get killed by the Swarm, or get killed by the Confederacy.” Swanson didn't sound happy. “How does it feel being the one leading the charge to exterminate all life on Earth?”

"Oh, I feel special,” Payne assured his old friend, his voice thick with black humour. “Real special. I should be ridin' the short school bus.”

"So what do you need from me?”

Payne glanced significantly at his Captain. “Skipper here has some special orbits we need. If you'd clear the Clarke for them, we'd be eternally grateful.”

"Special as in how?” Swanson subvocally commanded the AI to project the orbits on a convenient patch of wall. “Very special.” He whistled. “These are low. Doable, but you're scraping the exobase at perigee on some of them.”

"Agreed, but we need to get this data.”

"Granted. AI, please advise Orbital Control, Clarke gets priority on orbits.”

"Thank you. By the way, our geologist would like the Captain to talk to you about doin' a complete geophysical survey, includin' seismic tomography and gravity gradiometry. He's also askin' the skipper to get permission for the Clarke's AI to quiz her fellow ships' AI about any orbital perturbations they've encountered.”

"Granted, although I doubt if it's necessary,” Swanson nodded. “I'm sure the AI are already doing so. That data's not exactly classified.”

"And the biologist needs to go down – there's an issue there. She's a concubine.”

"I'll arrange for a Marine escort, with instructions to treat her as if she were full Fleet Auxiliary.” Swanson grinned wryly. “Maybe I'd better not state which service. Marines don't typically have much use for Fleet Auxiliary.”

Payne flashed an amused smile. “Might be wise. Also, we're showing on the preliminary scans a lot of water on the planet, but there are no oceans or rivers. Any explanation there?”

"No, we've never wondered that. We've just considered the planet to be a barren ball of dust, a desert planet. Any rainfall just gets soaked into the sand.”

"Well, our aerologist and geologist will both be havin' fun with that, I'm sure,” Payne reassured him.

"Well, Captain, is there anything else I can help you with?” enquired Swanson politely, with just the slightest trace of irony.

"No, Sir, not that I can think of,” replied Toddy, hiding his irritation at how he'd been largely excluded from the conversation.

"Very well. Best of luck, gentlemen. I'll have a chat with my Marine counterpart below and get his co-operation as well. Sergeant O'Donnell will see you to the transporter room. Dismissed.”

Payne came to attention as Todmorton saluted the Commodore. Within minutes, they were back aboard Clarke.

As much as Colonel Stan Waterman would have liked to say “no” to Payne's request, he realized that the more he knew of this battleground, the better it would be for both him and his men. As a result, he created a scratch squad under the command of Sergeant Viletti to assist the scientists in their endeavours, and gave him permission to draw as many LAVT-102 armoured personnel carriers as he might need. He further authorized the sergeant to go directly to him if additional personnel or equipment might be required.

Viletti was not amused about escorting what he considered to be “civilians” around “his” battlefield, but accepted it with good grace. He reasoned that the sooner the boffins got about their business, the sooner they'd be out of his hair. The fact that one of the scientists was a very cute brunette concubine was a touch of sauce to the assignment, even if – as she belonged to another sponsor – she was unattainable. Eye candy was eye candy, after all.

Today, the third day after the Clarke's arrival, found him and his squad escorting the aforementioned concubine on a biological sampling mission originating at Martello Zero Zero Three. She would train the squad in the art of sample collection, following which they would split into pairs and take individual LAVT-102s from other points around the equator.

"Hi, cutie,” she addressed Viletti, flirting with him shamelessly. She turned serious. “We need to go here, here, here and here.” She indicated four points on the map, heading east from the equatorial Martello Zero Zero Three. “We'll take along four sampling kits and a sensor platform, and leave the sensor platform at the farthest point.”

The next martello to be built was located to the west of Zero Zero Three, Viletti noted. The sampling points she'd selected would be where the martellos being built from Zero Zero Two would hopefully link up with this.

A martello, or martello tower, originally was an 1800's gun platform of about two to three stories, circular and built of thick stone, often with a basement and a tunnel connecting it to the primary fort. It provided cover for the troops inside and gave them 360 degrees of both cannon and musket fire, setting up kill zones that prevented besieging troops from just walking up to the defence works. The modern version was also a fire-support base, but dug into the ground. At Hesperus, the martellos had a battery of four gun/howitzers at the cardinal points and connected by deep trenches. These trenches surrounded a set of bunkers made from eight Type 1 pods dug into two levels of earth. Although only manned in times of danger, they contained quarters, arms, rations and a power supply, and could also serve as a hospital or sector command post.

"Each of these sensor packages have to be dropped within a twenty kilometre range of these specific points around the globe,” she was telling the squad. “Just set it on firm soil, press this button on the control panel, and stand back. It will deploy automatically.” She glanced at Viletti. “It can also be used as the basis for the standard sensor package for a martello. The idea is to eventually set one up at every martello site and let the nanites build the martello around it.”

Sergeant Viletti nodded. “So once we've done this, we can split up and start peppering Hesperus with sensor platforms?”

"And take samples. Samples first, always. We're building sensor packages as fast as possible, but we need the samples fast, so we're skipping three of every four future martello locations.”

"Ah, I see,” nodded Viletti. Subvocally, he noted that he'd need a pickup by a V-35 Panther at the last location. The response came back instantly from HQ that one would be standing by at the appointed time.

Nearly a week had passed since the Clarke had arrived at Hesperus. The Marine contingent assigned to assist the Science Division had grown to a full company plus supporting Panthers, rapidly spreading sensor packages across the planet and taking soil and air samples. While the job was by no means complete, they had enough both around the equator and in intermediate latitudes to concentrate on the next phase of the research, seismic surveys.

Lieutenant Hotchkiss sat at the Sciences station on Clarke's bridge. Captain Todmorton checked with him before calling up Orbital Control over on Battle Station Ralph Alpher. “Advise Orbital Control we are ready to begin collecting data,” Hotchkiss advised.

"Very well,” Captain Todmorton acknowledged. “Alpher Orbital Control, this is CSS Arthur C. Clarke. We are ready to receive data. Please proceed with Operation Crossbow.”

"Roger, CSS Arthur C. Clarke,” came the even voice of the duty controller, unperturbed by the presence of the Commodore hovering over his shoulder. “Ground control, please confirm that all Marines are ready for ballistic slug impact.”

Another voice, that of the Marine controller on the ground, came back at him. “Orbital Control, this is Ground Control. All ground personnel report ready.”

"Orbital Control, this is Ballistic Slug Control. Standing by on all slugs, all systems 'Go', all targets confirmed, all trajectories finished final check.” He looked over at the duty controller.

The duty controller took a last look at the locations and future trajectories of the ships surrounding Hesperus. “All ships orbits above ballistic slug orbits. Ready for ballistic slug de-orbit burn,” he noted.

He glanced back at the Commodore, who nodded silently. He flicked open a switch cover that prevented accidental activation of the slugs. “Initiating ballistic slug de-orbit burn in five... four... thee... two... one.” He pressed the toggle switch up. “De-orbit burn commencing.”

Some forty-eight large bars of metal, inert aside from the engine package strapped to their bases, began to fall down to Hesperus' surface. It didn't take long for the impacts to begin.

"Getting good data,” Hotchkiss noted. “Plotting has commenced.”

"Captain,” Payne requested formally, “may we have this on Tactical, please?”

Toddy was curious himself. He nodded at his helmsman, who toggled a switch. On the main viewer, a complex picture of the planet appeared, growing more complex by the moment as the slugs continued to land at their appointed places and the analysis grew more precise.

At one point, a red light glowed, pulsing. Hotchkiss pointed it out to his superior. “What's that?” asked Payne, rhetorically.

No AI seemed to handle “rhetorical” very well. “An anomaly, Lieutenant Alexander Payne. It appears to be an artificial construct.”

"That's a large artificial construct,” Hotchkiss observed. “It's the size of a good sized... city....” He glanced significantly at Payne as a question crystallized in his brain. Did Hesperus ever hold, not just life, but a civilization?

The last Saturday night of the month on Thule was Pole Dancing Exhibition Night at the Beauty Saloon. Samantha, being the senior Civil Service officer on Thule, was the happy host of this party, which inevitably descended into orgy status. As hostess and master of ceremonies, she wore her duty uniform, grey kepi rolled up and stuffed under her left epaulet.

At her private table just off to the side of the stage sat all but two of her little family. As the concubines were off-duty, Callee and Vickie were both nude aside from concubine collars and leather sandals of a style called JC Waterwalkers by those whose religion came with a sense of humour. Callee held her son Jason to her breast, feeding him as he regarded her with his large eyes. Vickie rubbed her growing abdomen comfortingly. The three dependant girls wore blue hockey jerseys with their names on the back and the Frank McGee Arena poppy logo on the front, and the same JC Waterwalkers as the older two women.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Beauty Saloon's parade of feminine pulchritude, the monthly Pole Dance!” The largely male crowd growled its appreciation – or perhaps impatience. “First we have the Junior Division, starting off with my very own Candace! Give it up for the blushing Candy! Ain't she sweet?”

There were groans at the pun – shortly followed by appreciative groans, grunts and growls as the nubile young naked teen performed the routine she'd spent the last week practising. At first she had to concentrate internally as the sound system belted out “I bet you'd look cute, in your birthday suit!” Soon, though, she found herself getting turned on by the attention, and to Samantha's and the crowd's delight, began flirting outrageously as she wrapped her body sinuously around the gleaming chrome pole.

At the end of the song, she bowed gracefully and returned backstage. After the last of the four juniors did their dances, Samantha finally began on the older women. This time, she started with, “A very special dancer tonight, the chief concubine of our own Governor, General Michael Deschenes, Penny!” Several Marines raised glasses in congratulations to their superior officer, situated at the edge of the stage.

As her predecessors did, Penny happily danced naked around the pole. Unlike the rest, however, she concentrated on her owner, never taking her eyes off of him. The others had flirted with the entire audience. At the end of the dance, she didn't go backstage, but rather walked down to Michael's lap, opened his trousers and publicly began to fuck him. It wasn't gentle lovemaking, either. It was a serious, do-me-now rut. It didn't take long for first Penny and then Michael to reach climax. As she accepted Samantha's hand back up on to the stage and back to join the rest of the dancers, Michael's seed dribbled down her thighs.

Finally it came Melodie's turn. She happily concentrated on Samantha, flirting with both her eyes and her body. When Samantha got on stage, there was a noticeable wet spot at the crotch of her uniform trousers, and she gave Melodie a deep and long French kiss. She then hauled all the dancers out for the audience to cheer and ogle one more time.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the concubines announcing their pregnancies for November! Give it up for the newly pregnant Pole Dancers!” The looks of astonishment on both Melodie and Candy were all she could have hoped for. “Come back the last Saturday in December, when we'll have a bunch more!”

"Yes,” she told them, as she escorted them back to the rest of her harem. “You're both pregnant. Congratulations!”

The other sponsors were by this time gathering their concubines. Around them as they walked, clothes were hitting the floor.

"What made me a junior, and Mom a senior?” Candy wanted to know. “Just our ages? I sense there was more than that.”

"There was. This is your first pregnancy. Next time you'll be in the Senior Division with your mom.” Samantha grinned. “Yes, it's possible for someone to be in the Senior Division and be younger than someone in the Junior Division.”

Just as they got to the table, Samantha's face grew a far-away look. “That's interesting,” she muttered when she got finished with the subvocal communication.

"What is?” demanded Mickey.

"That was the Governor, needing my sign-off on an emergency request for a targeted pickup. A message drone just popped out from Hesperus. It seems they found evidence of a civilization buried deep beneath the sands and desperately need an archaeologist. They're doing the best they can with the science specialists they've got, but they still want help.”

"You said 'yes'?” asked Mickey, her eyes pleading.

"We both said 'yes'. Now it's up to Whitefeather. Let's see what the Office of Targeted Extractions can do for us.”