Scott G. Gier - Genellan 01 - Genellan Planetfall

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Genellan Planetfall by Scott

G. Gier

SECTION ONE

A NEW WORLD

ONE

BATTLE

We're dead, Buccari admitted. A bead of sweat broke loose from the

saturated rim of the copilot's skullcap and floated into her field of vision.

She moved to keep the mercurial droplet from colliding with her lashless

eyes. Humidity controls in her battle suit activated, and she swallowed to

adjust for the pressure change.

"Reloading forward kinetics," she reported, breaking the oppressive

silence. She glanced up. The command pilot of Harrier One stared dumbly

at the holographic tactical display.

"Skipper, you copy?" Buccari demanded, switching to flight deck

intercom and cutting out the rest of the crew.

The pilot's head slowly lifted, his gold visor catching and scattering the

brilliant rays of Rex-Kaliph, the system star.

"Yeah, Lieutenant, I copy," he mumbled.

Buccari's anxiety clicked up another notch. She pivoted in her

acceleration tethers to look at Hudson hunkering at his station.

"Nash, status on the fleet?" she demanded.

"Nothing new, Sharl," the second officer replied nervously. "But main

engine power's fading, and engineering doesn't answer."

Buccari's scan jerked to her own power screen, confirming the bad

news. "Crap!" she uttered, frantically trying to override.

Hudson gulped. "Already tried emergency override."

"Commander, main engines are shutting down," she shouted.

"Computer's rejecting command overrides. We got nothing but thrusters."

Buccari pushed back from the instruments. Her scan moved to the

tactical display—the blip representing the remaining alien interceptor

moved outbound, a belligerent icon deliberately maneuvering for its next

attack. She exhaled and looked up to see the corvette pilot still frozen in

position.

"Commander Quinn!" she shouted. The pilot, reluctantly alert, turned

in her direction. She saw her own helmeted image reflecting into

diminutive infinity in his visor.

"Mister Hudson," Quinn said. "We've got ten minutes before that bug's

in firing range. Go back to engineering and find out what's happening."

Hudson acknowledged, released his quick disconnects, and pushed

across the flight deck into the bore of the amidships passageway. The

pressure iris sucked shut behind him.

Buccari looked into space at star-shot blackness. There had been visual

contact—brilliant, lancing streaks of argent. Aliens! They had found aliens.

Had they ever. They had jumped into a frigging bug nest! A whole

goddamn star system filled with aliens. Kicking Legion butt.

Harrier One had destroyed two of the alien ships; she had even seen

one explode through the digital optics of the corvette's laser cannon

shortly before their powerful directed-energy weapon had been disabled

by a hammering near miss.

A flashing radiation warning light on the overhead environmental

console captured her attention.

"Radiation damage, Sharl?" Quinn asked.

"Background radiation," Buccari said. "Not weapons detonation—too

constant. Probably solar flares from Rex-Kaliph. Sunspots. She's a hot

one." Starshine poured through the view screens, casting deep shadows

and illuminating the crew-worn flight deck in stark shades of gray.

"Looks bad for Greenland" Quinn said darkly. "She got hit bad."

"I'd be worrying about this ship, Commander," Buccari snapped.

"Yeah," Quinn grunted. "You're right. We're out of options…"

Buccari closed her eyes as the pilot flipped on the command circuit.

"Attention, all hands," Quinn announced. 'This—this is the end of the

line. Abandon ship. I repeat: abandon ship. EPL and lifeboats.

Two-minute muster."

Buccari gasped as if she had been punched in the stomach. It made no

sense; the EPL and lifeboats were defenseless— helpless.

"Kinetics show full reload," Buccari persisted. "Arming complete."

"Move, Lieutenant. You're EPL pilot," Quinn ordered. "I'll finish."

Buccari disconnected her tethers, but her efforts to leave were stymied

by the considerable mass of the chief engineer emerging from the access

hatch. Warrant Officer Rhodes pushed across the congested deck and

strapped into the second officer's station. Hudson reappeared, helmet and

wide shoulders wedged in the hatchway.

"Got the laser cannon hooked up to main power!" Rhodes shouted.

Quinn jerked in his station. "What the—the cannon? But main power is

gone! What've you guys been doing? Why isn't anyone on line?"

Rhodes held up his hands. The pilot's transmission overrode all

communications; Rhodes could not respond until Quinn's questions

ceased.

"Goldberg cleared and spooled the fusion ionizers—" Rhodes began.

"But the reactor temps!" Buccari interrupted on suit radio.

"Mains are hot," Rhodes said. "I rerouted power across the aux bus.

That killed our comm circuits and kicked over the power manager.

Primary bus is friggin' creamed, but we got a shot at syncing in five

minutes. Auto-controls are disabled. Fire control will have to be manual."

Quinn spun back to his command console and flipped the weapons

switch on the intercom. "Gunner, you on the line?"

The response from weapons control, two decks below, was immediate.

"Affirmative, Skipper," responded the gravelly voice of Chief Wilson. "I

sent Schmidt and Tookmanian to the lifeboats. What's go—"

"Stay put, Gunner. We got another card to play. You'll be getting a

green light on the cannon panel. Update your solution on the bogey and

get ready to toast his butt. You copy?"

"Huh… roger that, sir," Wilson growled. "No kidding? Bogey's squealing

garbage all over the place, but I'm still tracking him solid. Down-Doppler.

Estimate no more than seven or eight minutes before we reengage. I don't

know what Virgil's telling you, Skipper, but my panel says we're two weeks

away from a hot cannon."

Buccari looked at Rhodes. The engineer threw back a thumbs-up with

one hand and an "okay" signal with the other.

"Faith, Gunner," Quinn said. "Control sequence is manual, and power's

being transferred on the aux bus. Stand by."

Buccari, floating above her station, stole a look at tactical. The alien

irrepressibly passed the apogee of its turn. Screeching adversary warnings

steadied out.

"Back to your seat, Sharl. Fire control stations," Quinn ordered.

She grimly complied, calling up weapons status as she strapped in.

"Engineering's talking," Rhodes said, punching intercom buttons.

"Goldberg patched the circuit. I'm going back to main control." The

engineer clambered across the flight deck, hitting both pilots with sundry

parts of his body.

"Mr. Hudson, you've got the EPL," Quinn ordered abruptly. "Take

charge of the evacuation. Get the marines and nonrequired crew away

from the corvette."

"Sir?" Hudson blurted. "I'm not apple qual'ed. I—"

"You heard the skipper," Buccari said. "You've just been qualified."

"But—" Hudson protested.

"Now, Ensign!" Quinn snapped. "Move!"

Hudson stuttered a response, released his tethers, and sailed from the

flight deck. Buccari shifted her attention to the chatter on the fire-control

circuit. Rhodes and Wilson were discussing preparations for manually

firing the energy weapon.

"Okay, gentlemen," she interjected, overriding their transmissions.

"Full manual. Pick up the checklist at presync."

"Rog't Lieutenant," Wilson responded. "Ready for checks."

"Power's too low for capacitance alignment, Lieutenant," Rhodes

reported. "Need twenty seconds. We're only going to get one shot out of

this mess. After we discharge, it'll take a half hour to regenerate. Maybe a

lot longer."

"Standing by, Virgil. Let's go over prearm, Gunner," Buccari

commanded. She struggled to suppress her rising anxiety. Was there

enough time?

As she orchestrated checklists, Buccari stole glances at Quinn,

concerned that he would slip back into his stupor of self-pity. Perhaps it

no longer mattered: their crippled ship was hurtling helplessly through

space, all aces played. During the hectic engagement the pilot had used

the ship's decreasing power and diminished weapons to full advantage.

His last blast of acceleration had been a desperate, spasmodic action,

sapping the last gasp from the main engines, but it had propelled the

corvette through a pattern of explosions and slicing energy beams, past

the approaching enemy. Up to that point he had fought hard and well,

with no hint of surrender, but then had come the panicked

messages—distress calls—from T.L.S. Greenland, the corvette's

mothership. The horrible implication of Greenland's desperate pleas for

help had melted the metal in Quinn's spine: his wife was a senior science

officer on the battered mothership.

"Skipper," Buccari barked, "roll ninety for weapons release."

Without replying, Quinn disengaged the autostabilizing computer, hit

the maneuvering alarm, and fired portside maneuvering rockets. The

ponderous corvette rolled crazily. Quinn stopped the rotational wobble

with deft squirts of opposite power.

"Nash! Evacuation status," Buccari yelled into her throat mike.

Hudson's reply was instantaneous. "Apple needs another minute.

Request you hold maneuvers until I get the bay doors open. Lee and the

injured are in lifeboat one, ready to go. Number two lifeboat is not being

used. Still some confusion about who's staying and who's leaving, but that

won't stop us from jettisoning on your command."

An anxious voice—Dawson, the ship's communications

technician—broke in. "Skipper!" she transmitted. "Flash override

incoming."

"Dawson, everyone to lifeboats," Buccari shouted over the circuit.

"Commander!" Dawson persisted, her voice uncharacteristically

agitated. "We've got a clear language burst transmission from a panic

buoy. The task force has jumped, sir. The fleet's gone!"

The ship was silent, the crew rendered speechless—no, breathless! The

motherships had departed, gone into the massive distances, back over the

measureless hurdle of time. Rescue was light-years away now. It would

take months—years—for rescue ships to complete a hyperlight cycle.

Interminable seconds of silence dragged by.

Buccari slammed a fist on the comm switch and shouted over the

general circuit. "Dawson, get your butt in a boat. Rhodes, sync count. We

got a bogey inbound.!"

Quinn stirred. His hands moved automatically, a robot obeying his

program. The enemy ship steadily accelerated, gnawing at the corvette's

unwavering vector.

"Hudson! You reading me?" Quinn said firmly.

"Yes, sir. EPL and lifeboat one ready to go. What's the plan, sir?" came

back the disembodied voice. Hudson had moved quickly.

"I was hoping you had a good idea," Quinn replied. "Right now I want

you clear. Establish an outbound vector and hold it. Normal transponder

codes. Keep the lifeboat in contact. If you don't hear from me in two

hours, head on back to Earth by yourself. Shouldn't take you more than

three or four thousand years. If the bugs pick you up first, remember your

manners."

Buccari exhaled through a tight smile and checked tactical. The symbol

for a planetary body had been showing up for several hours—R-K Three,

the third planet from the system's star.

"R-K Three's coming up in sector two," she said. "Might be reachable."

Quinn nodded. "Hudson, get a downlink from the computer. Check

tactical. Sector two. Planet in range. Head for it. Good luck, Ensign.

Cleared to launch."

Buccari switched the comm master back to the weapons circuit,

clipping Hudson's response. "Status, Gunner!" she demanded.

"Main control's predicting three-sigma," Wilson answered. "Mains are

spooling. Power forty-five percent and climbing. Should have enough

power to fire in four minutes, and we'll finish syncing optics any second.

Rhodes's going batshit with shortcuts."

"Okay, Sharl," Quinn said, bringing all of them onto primary circuit.

"Let's take care of business. How many decoys left?"

Buccari checked the weapons console. "Three."

"Start laying decoys at sixteen hundred. How many kinetics?"

"Twenty-three heavies and a couple hundred dinks," she responded.

She brought her eyes up and scanned the infinite blackness, not

seeing—nothing to see. Her attention was drawn back to the evacuation.

System panels indicated that launch bays had depressurized. A distant,

sharp thunk followed by a high-frequency rumble vibrated the ship's metal

fabric. Status lights changed, indicating that the bay doors had reseated.

A lifeboat and the EPL—the Endoatmospheric Planetary Lander—had

launched. The greater part of the corvette crew was away, thrown into the

black void.

Chief Wilson broke in. "Fire control has active track. We're warbling

the signal and he's jamming, but we have sporadic lock. Power weak but

steady. My board is green. Beta three point two and dropping. Passing

manual control to the flight deck."

"This is Buccari," she replied in sterile tones. "I have fire control.

Arming sequence now."

Quinn flipped back a red switch cover on his overhead. Buccari gave a

thumbs-up, and Quinn armed the energy weapon. Amber lights appeared

on her weapons panel; a soft bell tone sounded in the background. She

flipped switches; amber lights turned green, and the tone took a higher

pitch. Quinn disabled the alarm while Buccari stared at the firing

presentation on her ordnance console. Range reticles moved inexorably

closer; the enemy ship was established on its track, only seconds from

long-distance weapons range. A tail chase: she had too much time—time

to think about what to do and time to worry.

"Firing range?" she asked.

"Hold until four hundred. We'll have him for lunch," Quinn replied.

Buccari looked up. The enemy had shown far greater range than that.

Proximity alarms sounded. Weapons circuits became hot. Gunner

Wilson narrated a stream of weapon status and contact information.

Buccari interjected terse preparatory commands while Quinn maneuvered

the corvette, optimizing weapon release angles. His maneuvers were

ragged; the battle-damaged thrusters were out of alignment, and power

inputs were intentionally asymmetrical in a desperate attempt to slew the

ship from its ballistic trajectory.

Wilson: "Bogey at ten thousand, sector six. Overtaking velocity point

eight. Engagement radius in thirty. Optical scan in tight oscillation."

Buccari: "Roger that. Holding fire, all switches green."

Wilson: "Bogey at six thousand, sector six. Trajectory is veering high

and starboard. Now sector five. Scanning."

Buccari: "Stand by to deploy decoys."

Wilson: "Three thousand, sector five. Bogey is maneuvering.

Intermittent optical lock."

Buccari: "Roger optical. Firing decoys."

Quinn manhandled the maneuvering jets, causing the corvette to buffet

and accelerate laterally. Despite the jerking excursions, Buccari's

movements were measured and precise.

Wilson: "Bogey at sixteen hundred, sector five. Bearing constant.

Optical lock is firm. He's firing at the decoys."

Buccari: "Roger lock."

She pressed a switch on her weapons board. A salvo of kinetic energy

missiles, sounding like popcorn popping, streaked their unholy fires across

the flight deck's viewing screen. Quinn rolled the corvette ninety degrees

to port and fired a new set of maneuvering thrusters, unmasking

additional weapons ports. Buccari pickled another set of kinetic energy

missiles.

Wilson: "Bogey at twelve hundred. He blew our decoys away, and he's

got us locked in!"

Screaming radar lock-on warnings reverberated through the corvette.

The enemy was preparing to fire, the high-pitched whooping alarm

sickeningly familiar. There was no way to evade the impending

explosions—not without exhausting their only means of fighting back.

Their single option was to stand and fight, the laser cannon their final

punch.

"Here go a pattern of dinks and the last of the heavies," Buccari

announced, her fingers playing the weapons panel. Distinct thumps

vibrated through the ship, followed by a chorus of softer popping sounds.

Quinn rotated the vessel, slewing it around and uncovering the arcing

streaks of destruction as they vanished into interstellar distance. Buccari

scanned tactical. The approaching target converged with datum. The

range selector activated, automatically resetting the scale and moving the

enemy ship back to the rim of the display.

Wilson: "Thousand clicks. Maneuvering away from our missiles. No

deception, but heavy jamming. Jump shifting through it with full systems

lock-on. Hard lock."

Buccari verified weapons configuration and optics alignment. She

scanned tactical. Targeting reticles were perfectly aligned. The next salvo

from the alien would blast them to eternity. She clenched the firing grip,

moving the trigger guard aside.

"Okay, Gunner. Roger lock," she replied, surprised at her own calmness.

"Program firing the load. Standby cannon. Confirm power status." She

punched another button, and salvos of missiles sprayed outward at the

oncoming destruction.

Wilson responded immediately. "Power up. Board's steady. All systems

check. Ready to fire!"

Buccari reverified lock-on and then glanced into the blackness of space.

The corvette's missiles were painfully visible— blasts of hot-white fire

streaking to starboard, punching into the vacuum in regular intervals,

each meteor a shining sliver of steel and depleted uranium.

Why hasn't the bug fired? she wondered. Suddenly her eyes caught an

impossibly faint and distant glimmering. She concentrated her focus on a

point at infinity and detected the unmistakable bloom of a colossal

explosion, reduced to a pinpoint of light by the immense intervening

distances.

Wilson: "Six hundred, and—sir! Bogey's fading out! Enemy tracking

and fire-control radars have gone down, too. He's… gone. Completely off

the screen! Something… the kinetics must have taken him out!"

Buccari turned to tactical. Warning detects flashed, but the cursors had

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ScannedbyHighroller.ProofedbyHighroller.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.GenellanPlanetfallbyScottG.GierSECTIONONEANEWWORLDONEBATTLEWe'redead,Buccariadmitted.Abeadofsweatbrokeloosefromthesaturatedrimofthecopilot'sskullcapandfloatedintoherfieldofvision.Shemovedtokeepthemercurialdropletfr...

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