Chapter 20 - Alarms

On Thule, the party to welcome the 123^rd and the crew of their accompanying vessels home from Hesperus was well underway. The men of the 123^rd and their concubines were enjoying an afternoon's concert on this first Saturday of December, put on by concubines and dependants from across Thule.

Up on stage, an all-female troupe of taiko drummers were about to take their turn entertaining the Marines and sailors. All the drummers, including two girls about eight years old, were dressed in traditional Japanese fundoshi (basically a loincloth tied in thong fashion), and headbands called hachimaki. The traditional drums themselves ranged in size from merely large to enormous, with plenty of colourful decoration. As they raced onto the stage, the adults' breasts bounced attractively.

At least Vickie thought the breasts bounced attractively. Then she took a closer look at one of the brace of eight-year-old youngsters. Yep, this was the act that Michelle was anxious to have her mothers witness, for she was one of the eight-year-olds. Mickey was up on stage, dressed in the same fundoshi loincloth as the adults, the same hachimaki headband as the adults, and nothing else, like the adults. Her brunette hair done up in a cute ponytail, like most of the adults - a couple of the adults had a pageboy haircut. Vickie reflected that living out in the Diaspora meant that her daughter was rapidly turning into a nudist, if not an exhibitionist.

Not that Vickie could say anything against that. Samantha, being the sponsor, set the rules and got to override anything Vickie might have wanted done differently. Besides, right now Vickie and the rest of Samantha's concubines were all nude, just like the General's concubines over on the other side of the main parade ground where this “open air” concert was being held. It felt somehow hypocritical to Vickie for a parent to say to one's own child that she couldn't be publicly nude, or nearly so, when the parent was herself typically dressed only in her birthday suit.

Her attention being focused entirely on her first and, not counting the foetus rapidly causing her belly to swell, so far only biological offspring, she missed the far-off look that suddenly filled the General's face. She was not alone: of all those sitting around Michael, only Penny recognized that her sponsor had suddenly stiffened.

Around the crowd, around the base, around the planet other officers' faces grew a faraway look. They interrupted games with their kids, sex with their concubines, drinking sessions with their peers, paperwork in their offices, checklists on their ships, the cleaning their gear. All were officers, with three exceptions: Division Sergeant-Major Blondell and the sergeants-major of the 121^st and newly-returned 123^rd brigades.

Soon enough, word would be passed to the rest of the NCO's, and then the junior ranks. Whether many of the concubines would be informed was deemed not important by the Division or by the Fleet.

For now, both General Deschenes and Admiral Van De Graaf realized there was precious little that could be done until after an update arrived - if one ever did.

Meanwhile, Mickey and her fellow taiko drummers continued to pound out a driving martial beat. Sweat glistened over taut muscles as the women's breasts bounced alluringly.

The background stars shimmered, and suddenly CSS Ajax found herself a mere few hundred metres away from the vast metallic side of a Vesta-class battleship. Beside this vessel, even the Hero class cruiser looked small.

Before the Sa'arm battlewagon had even fully materialized, Captain Liamakeros barked out, “Rail gun, SHOOT! All missile tubes, SHOOT!”

“Rail gun, SHOOT!” repeated the Chief Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Skibinski. The ship shuddered as the inertial compensators struggled to overcome the recoil of the mighty battle cruiser's main gun. A fraction of a second later, ten FTL missiles left their launch tubes to hunt for targets. Two from the port tubes and another three from the starboard tubes locked onto the monster vessel and sped past the nose of the Ajax.

Hard on the heels of the FTL missiles came a phalanx of four Starfighters, dropping chaff between the Ajax and the massive Sa'arm ship. Ajax herself was adding to the cloud of sensor reflectors hiding her from the large predator. So far, the newly-emerged space-going monster hadn't fired a shot - clearly they hadn't anticipated emerging into a firefight.

“Impact!” called Sergeant Knauft, sitting at the Sensor station. “Enemy navigational shields are down.”

“Rail gun ready to fire,” advised Lieutenant Skibinski.

“Rail gun SHOOT!” called the Captain, not really believing his luck so far.

The ship juddered again, the inertial compensators shrugging off most of the rail gun's recoil. Another mass of metal headed for the Vesta.

Sergeant Knauft perused his sensors. “Missiles three and five impacting enemy. Damage amidships to Service Module, heavy. Point defence appears to be down.”

Cheers erupted. Knauft continued relaying the sensor reports. “Missiles eight and nine impacting. Connection between enemy's command module and amidships is venting. Fires and venting from service module. Missile ten impacting - engineering module hit, venting and on fire. Fuel explosion imminent. Recommend rail gun target engineering module and retreat from this vessel at full sublight speed.”

“Helm,” Captain Liamakeros cried, “reverse thrusters full!”

The helmsman, Corporal Mirea, didn't even wait to acknowledge the order. Before she even responded, she'd pulled the thruster level to full reverse. “Thrusters engaged, full reverse.” She keyed a button on the thruster level to advise Engineering this was an emergency order. A 'bong' sounded, advising the entire bridge that the order had been received and understood.

Slowly at first, but with increasing speed, Ajax pulled back from the burning, lifeless Vesta. Sergeant Knauft focused a visual pickup on where Intelligence estimated the enemy battleship's bridge was - behind the windows, a mass of flames danced. One of those windows suddenly cracked, and everything not firmly welded into place swept from the scene of the conflagration to form an ever-expanding jet of debris in space.

The sergeant reflected briefly that without advance warning, it could have been the Ajax's bridge being destroyed first by fire and then by decompression. For that matter, that could be the concubine quarters, buried deep within CSS Ajax. He gulped and determinedly started looking for a new target for Ajax's guns.

Over to port, he noticed one of the corvettes had suffered battle damage, with a Vervactor-class cruiser on its tail. “Captain, target, starboard fifteen, up ten.” Knauft put the tactical readout on the main screen, with the cruiser following the Confederacy ship like a cheetah chasing down a gazelle.

“Helm, get us in range!” Captain Liamakeros snapped.

“Aye, Captain,” came the equally clipped voice of Corporal Mirea as she manipulated the helm controls in front of her.

In another part of the vast, three-dimensional battlefield, two of the corvettes, CSS Pendennis Castle and CSS Scarborough Castle, found themselves chasing their nearest target of opportunity, the unarmed Volturnus freighter.

Suddenly, out of the cloud of debris astern of them that a few moments ago had been a Venti-class Sa'arm destroyer, sensor operator Corporal Buckiewicz of the Pendennis Castle made out the terrifying form of a Vervactor-class cruiser. He shouted out at Captain Wygant, “We're being pursued!”

Captain Wygant cursed under her breath. She'd have to let this tempting morsel get away from her, but corvettes - especially Castle-class corvettes - have no business tangling with cruisers if they can help it, not without lots of backup. The nearest interceptors were far away, and as for Confederacy capital ships, her little command would be scrap before she could bring this bruiser within range.

“Evasive. Corkscrew up 20, starboard 34. Maximum thrust.”

The ship began to weave a complex pattern that would hopefully evade the cruiser's predictors, assuming that the vessel used such devices. Fleet Intelligence wasn't sure whether the Sa'arm used such devices or were able to use their own organic computers.

It didn't work. Bolts of plasma raced out at close to the speed of light, dealing the little boat a glancing blow. It didn't feel glancing to the ship's crew though, as the inertial compensators were unable to fully deal with the effects of the impact.

“Hull breach!” cried the damage-control officer, Ensign Gaetz. “Compartments Bravo-Six and Hotel-Nine!”

Hotel-Nine was relatively unimportant, containing supplies and unmanned in combat, but Bravo-Six was another story. It was the corridor leading to the bridge. Until someone sealed that breach or cut a hole through the Bridge floor, the command crew of the Pendennis Castle was trapped there.

“Engineering reports superluminal engine is down. Sublight engines still fully operational. Battle shields down to seventy percent.”

Another piece of bad news. Off to Pendennis Castle's port side, Scarborough Castle hit lightspeed briefly, scooting out of harm's way. That took away the second target and left Pendennis Castle alone in the Vervactor's sights.

“Maintain evasive,” Captain Wygant ordered, gripping her chair's armrest. “Sensors, what other Confederacy ships are near?”

“Too much interference, Captain,” Corporal Buckiewicz confessed, as the screen in front of him blurred again. The interference was coming as much from helmsman Corporal Snelgrove's wild and unpredictable steering as much as from battle damage, destroyed ships' debris and blasts of weapons fire.

The corkscrew manoeuvre managed to throw off the cruiser's aim enough that the next blast that came close did minimal damage. The minimal damage, however, was a crack in the bulkhead between the bridge and Compartment Bravo-Six. With an ungodly roar, the bridge vented itself to the vacuum that used to be the corridor. Everyone noted that their suits were now stiff as the air pressure rapidly spiralled to zero.

“We're falling apart,” the Captain muttered to herself. 'Bridge crew go to subvocal. Helm, maintain evasive. Sensors, find me a Confederacy ship! Now!'

'Aye, Captain!' Corporal Buckiewicz subvocalled back, as the noise shrank and the need to subvocalize vanished with the compartment's atmosphere. The corporal silently vowed he would find another Confederacy ship or die trying - an unwanted alternative course of action that looked increasingly likely with each passing second.

Suddenly he noticed something that he desperately needed to communicate to his Captain. “Range to cruiser increasing!”

“Increasing?” Captain Wygant tried to puzzle this new development out.

“Incoming missiles!” Corporal Buckiewciz called. “Dead ahead. They're ours!”

Four FTL missiles had just emerged from hyperspace. They bracketed the corvette, racing past them toward the Sa'arm cruiser. Everyone on the bridge released a breath they hadn't been aware they were holding as the missiles deliberately missed by the narrowest of margins.

Suddenly, the forward screens showed the lovely sight of the rapidly-approaching cruiser CSS Ajax. Never had Captain Wygant seen anything prettier in her life.

As the Vervactor aimed its weapons at the Ajax, another ship popped out of hyperspace: CSS Belfast had also come to the rescue. She arrived off the Vervactor's stern quarter and pumped her weapons into the ship's engines, turning around and giving herself a half-second of superluminal speed without even waiting to see what damage she'd done.

The damage was enough. The engines' fuel began an uncontrolled burn that rendered all abaft the command module into a hell of fire and escaping gases. The command module detached from the body of the Vervactor and started slowly rotating in space, all power lost. It was the work of a moment for the avenging CSS Ajax to render the arrowhead-shaped module into airless scrap.

On board the battle station Alpher, Commodore Andrew Swanson's staff tried to tease out details of the fleet engagement from limited communications. The flickering lights from the explosions and ships' fires at the battlefield near the outer rim of the system wouldn't be visible for several hours yet, having to come to their eyes from near the rim of the system. Radio likewise would only arrive in hours, as it travelled at the speed of light. Standard Confederacy communications used superluminal links, but still required two kinds of time: minutes to arrive at this distance, and minutes when the vessels were not busy firing at each other and could spare the time to talk to headquarters.

At present, there wasn't a lot of time for the ships' captains to do much talking.

“Should we send a message drone to Thule?” fretted the S-2.

“And tell them what, exactly?” Commodore Swanson demanded sarcastically. “That the paint is dry in the Alpher's hangar bays?”

Suddenly, the communications rating's face became alert. He absorbed the message, and turned to his commanding officer. “Commodore, report from Pendennis Castle. Extreme battle damage. Weapons down, superluminal engines off-line, shields almost gone, hull breaches. Casualties five, no deaths. They are unable to continue combat and are retreating from the battle zone. Making best speed to Outpost Zero Nine for repairs.”

“Do they have a count on other ships at all?” Swanson quizzed his communications rating. “Destroyed, damaged?”

“Coming in now, sir.” The corporal paused. “They're still analyzing sensor readings, but at present they report no other losses of Confederacy ships detected. The Swarm have lost at least one cruiser, one destroyer and two scouts. They're bloodied but not finished, and neither is the battle.”

“Now we have something to tell Thule. Communications, send a drone immediately with the update.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

“And,” the Commodore added, “make sure the Marines below are updated. There might be nothing to act on, but some news is better for their morale than no news.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

He then turned his attention to his concubine. He had the luxury to do that, at least. 'Connie,' he subvocalized. 'Pass this along to the other concubines.' He passed the battle report along.

“That's good, isn't it?” Connie asked. She was never really interested in war - and now she found herself in the middle of one.

“It's good so far. Keep your fingers crossed.”

Colonel Stan Waterman, commanding officer of the 122^nd Brigade, took the news from space with equanimity. Destruction of cruisers and scout ships did nothing compared to what the destruction of the hive sphere would accomplish, so as far as he was concerned, his brigade was still dedicated to a large-scale defence of Hesperus against a too-numerous enemy. Nothing had changed. At least, nothing yet.

Unlike the sailors who were accompanied by a single concubine, the Marines sailed alone - maybe with a handful of camp followers. Here they expected close combat, and so did not even have the luxury of a relaxing stop at a whorehouse. The only people whom the Colonel could pass the word along to were his fellow Marines and the Navy corpsmen assigned to the Brigade.

“Think they'll leave any for us?” asked Sergeant Viletti.

“I wouldn't complain if they got 'em all,” Waterman chuckled.

The officers and senior NCOs bent again over their maps.

“We really need more time, more troops and more equipment,” Stan fretted. He looked at Sergeant Viletti. “Now I know what Samantha Redburn went through when that Venti landed on Thule.”

Viletti merely smiled as Stan returned his attention to the large, illuminated map.

“We only have forty eight martellos strung along the equator plus the one we're at, which was where the original Swarm attack landed. This planet's about as big as Earth and Thule, that means between each martello we've got miles and miles of miles and miles. I want to establish points between each of the equatorial martellos, consisting of a pair of nexuses, food, water, ammunition, tent-type shelters, field communications, that sort of thing. Use the limbers for the SP-103's to store it all, with a self-destruct mechanism to prevent Swarm capture. Nothing complex with each cache site just yet, they'll likely be here before we're done, just have the nexuses up and running. Use the V-35's to drop the caches. Start with one cache midway between martellos, then one between the cache and the next martello, then go back between the midpoint cache and the previous martello, and so on until we're no more than a few hours' march between places of supply and transport.”

“How long do we work on these?” one of his lieutenants asked.

“Until they get here. That'll keep the men from fretting. Keep them doing something useful.”

Fleet Auxiliary Commander Roger “Toddy” Todmorton walked into the CSS Arthur C. Clarke's mess for a coffee break. He was a touch nervous, not only because his largely unarmed ship was cheek-to-cheek with a battle zone, but also because he never quite knew what kind of surrealist silliness his Sciences Division was going to inflict upon him next.

Today, however, he needn't have worried. Aside from some of his other crew catching a cup of coffee, the mess was empty. At first that made him relax, but then he remembered that the time to really get worried was when you didn't know what your children were up to, because they'd gone deathly quiet.

It was deathly quiet on the Clarke.

Toddy gulped down his coffee, slightly scalding his mouth as he did so, and headed off to find out just exactly what his zoo was up to now.

The corridors, as was proper, were quiet, everyone at their posts, or in quarters. However, even then he would have expected some sort of communications, routine announcements, that sort of thing. Toddy paused in his exploration to listen to the sound of the ship around him.

Nothing. Not a peep. Just the normal background sounds of the ship's life-support system and the engines.

In a small lab deep on the Science deck, he found out what his Sciences Division was up to. Payne was deep in communications via inter-ship transmission with Commodore Swanson and another senior-ranking black-clad officer whom Toddy didn't recognize, both on separate video screens. The rest of the Science Division clustered around the lieutenant, All who were officer scientists were dressed in Fleet Auxiliary Daily uniforms, while the concubine scientists were wearing shifts of the same dark blue shade.

As he entered the room, Commodore Swanson nodded to Lieutenant Payne. “As you ordered, Sir.” Both of the black-clad officers saluted as the call ended.

The group disbursed down the corridor, chatting about a wide variety of research projects. As Lieutenant Payne approached the hatch, he nodded at Toddy.

Captain Todmorton was left standing mystified in an empty laboratory. Why did two senior officers salute a lowly lieutenant?