Defender Hyperswarm Page 12

  “Flight suits activated and functioning?” Kyoto asked, turning around to look at Mudo and Aspen. They sat directly behind her in black pseudoleather chairs, locked into their seats by restraint harnesses.

  “Yes!” Mudo shouted.

  “How about you, Aspen? Your suit working all right?” Kyoto steeled herself for the inevitable complaints: “This thing makes me look hideous, I’d rather sit on broken glass than this awful chair, and the smallest of my closets is still larger than this dingy little cockpit!”

  Aspen smiled. “I believe it’s functioning perfectly.”

  Kyoto stared at the woman. Something had been a little off about Aspen ever since she’d reported to the hangar this morning. Her gaze contained none of its usual cunning or derision, and when she said something nice, she sounded as if she really meant it.

  Maybe she’s just nervous, Kyoto thought. Or maybe she was only trying to look good in front of the hovercam she’d brought along and which had magnetically affixed itself to the inner hull in order to keep from being bounced around during takeoff.

  Kyoto turned back around to the Janus’s cockpit controls. They were simple enough, for despite the enhancements Mudo had made to the ship, the basic design remained that of a transport vessel. In many ways, it wasn’t that different from the cargo ship her father had piloted. Thinking of him reminded Kyoto to rub the sleeve of her bomber jacket. It was a ritual that she always performed before a launch. Like a lot of pilots, she was superstitious about such rituals, and while she didn’t believe in guardian angels—who could after fighting the Manti?—she liked to think that somehow her father’s spirit was watching over her.

  “Final systems check, Memory.”

  “All systems are go, Mei. Power, life support, shields, engines, and hyperdrive are all optimal. It’s now or never.”

  “Roger that.” Kyoto flicked a switch to activate the control panel’s holoscreen. An image of the GSA Control hangar appeared before them. A dozen techs—including Garcia—stood off to the side, waving and giving thumbs-up.

  Kyoto activated the Janus’ maglev boosters and the ship slowly rose a meter into the air.

  Kyoto frowned. “Feels a bit sluggish.”

  “It’s the extra weight: my hardware, your starfighter, and Gerhard’s hyperdrive. That’s why the cabin and crew quarters are so cramped, in case you hadn’t noticed. With all the extra technology crammed into the Janus, there’s hardly any room left for you flesh and blood types.”

  “This is only a prototype,” Mudo said defensively. “Future hyperships will undoubtedly be larger.”

  Kyoto waited for Aspen to make some sort of comment, such as, “Good—then maybe a girl will be able to bring along more than two suitcases, and not have to share a bathroom with everyone else on board.” But she said nothing.

  Surprised and more than a little relieved by Aspen’s silence, Kyoto took hold of the ship’s joystick and carefully steered the modified transport into the hangar’s airlock.

  “Seal the airlock, Memory.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  They waited while the airlock door lowered. When the green light came on, Kyoto said, “Open the hangar door, please.”

  “Your wish is my cliché.”

  The hangar door had been damaged in the Manti attack, and it jerked and shuddered as it rose, but at least it functioned. When the door was all the way up, Kyoto guided the ship along the ferroceramic rails and out into the Martian air. As the Janus cleared the hangar and began heading toward the dropzone, Kyoto thought of Wolf and Julia, as well as the crew of the Orinoco. Yesterday they had flown the same route to the dropzone, and now they were all dead. She felt tears threaten, but she fought them off. Now wasn’t the time for mourning.

  Kyoto increased the Janus’s speed and continued toward the dropzone.

  “Kipling calling Janus.” It was General Adams.

  “Here, sir,” Kyoto answered.

  “According to our sensors—not to mention Aspen’s live vidfeed—you’ve just left the hangar. Is everything go?”

  “Yes, General. Looks like nothing but clear skies ahead. At least to the dropzone, that is.”

  “Sounds good, Kyoto. Do your best to keep it that way, and we’ll be waiting for you in orbit. Kipling out.”

  “There is no need to go all the way to the dropzone,” Mudo said. “Since we will not be entering hyperspace until after we leave orbit, there is no danger to Cydonia.”

  “I suppose you’d like it if I fired up the fusion reactors right now and headed for orbit at top speed,” Kyoto said.

  “You mean like you did yesterday?” Mudo asked.

  “That was different; it was an emergency. GSA regulations are clear about where starships can lift off and where they can’t. The dropzone is the closest place within thirty kilometers that we’re authorized to use. If you don’t like it, feel free to take it up with General Adams when we get back.”

  If we get back, Kyoto mentally added.

  Mudo crossed his arms and said nothing more as they continued toward the dropzone, and Kyoto was exceedingly grateful. She’d never understand why the greatest genius the human race had ever produced had all the patience of a three-year-old who had to go potty now!

  When they drew near the dropzone, Kyoto pulled back on the joystick, activating the braking thrusters, and the Janus slowed to a stop. The dropzone pad was nothing but plasteel rubble now, thanks to the impact of the empyrean ring Kyoto had brought crashing down yesterday. This was as close as they could get following the ferroceramic rails.

  “Here we go.”

  Kyoto powered up the fusion engines and engaged thrusters, cutting off the maglev boosters a half second later. The Janus rose straight up into the pink Martian sky, and their seats juddered as the inertial dampeners struggled to do their job. But the IDs finally kicked in, and the ship’s ascent continued more smoothly.

  As the Janus approached escape velocity, Kyoto had a moment’s fear that the Manti would somehow sense what was happening and, just like yesterday, suddenly attack. But sensors showed no indication of Manti presence, and the Janus achieved orbit without incident. Waiting for them there, as promised, was the Kipling. The Battleship, looking more like a city in space than a vessel, dwarfed the modified transport. But despite the difference in size, on this day, the hope for humanity’s future rested upon the Janus.

  Kyoto let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. So far, so good. But they had a lot farther to go—all the way out of this dimension, in fact.

  “You’re uncharacteristically quiet, Ms. DeFonesca,” Mudo said. “Surely you have some sort of unnecessarily sensationalistic commentary for your viewers.” He gestured to the cam affixed to the cockpit wall.

  “We haven’t broken orbit yet,” Aspen said evenly. “I’m saving all my ‘sensationalistic commentary’ for when we’re in hyperspace. That is, after all, the main event. And please, call me Aspen. But if you have something to say to your fellow Colonists, Doctor—all one billion of them—be my guest.”

  Kyoto glanced over her shoulder to see Mudo staring wide-eyed at the cam.

  “Uh… I… That is, we are very… ummmm… proud—no, honored to be… Oh, to hell with it!” Mudo turned away from the cam, scowling.

  Kyoto looked back at the holoscreen, unable to suppress a grin. She was surprised that Aspen had been able to handle Mudo so effectively. Kyoto hadn’t thought the woman had the people skills necessary for the job. Maybe there was more to Aspen DeFonesca than she thought.

  “How are we doing, Memory?” Kyoto asked.

  “All systems are performing well within design parameters. Including—no surprise—myself.”

  “Sounds good. Lay in the course for the hyperspace entry point, and coordinate with the Kipling’s nav comp.”

  “Done and done.”

  “All right, then. Let’s find out if this thing really works.” Before Mudo could protest, Kyoto pushed the joystick forward and engaged the fusion e
ngines ahead three-quarters. As the Janus broke away from Mars orbit and headed out into space, the Kipling slowly swung around and followed.

  “Why is the Battleship escorting us?” Aspen asked. “I’m sure my audience would like to know as well.”

  “Do you want to explain it to her, Dr. Mudo?” Kyoto said. “After all, it’s your ship.”

  Mudo, still sulking after being tongue-tied on camera, only grunted.

  “I’ll take that as a no. Okay, as I understand it, the doctor’s new hyperdrive engine will create a temporary portal between realspace and hyperspace. After the Janus passes through this portal, it should seal shut behind us. But in case it doesn’t, the Kipling will be present to frag any Manti that might try to come through.”

  “A sensible, if unnecessary precaution,” Mudo said, finding his voice again. “The hyperspatial portal will close and it will remain that way.”

  “But Gerhard, simulations have shown a forty-four percent chance—”

  “Thank you, Memory, but don’t you have navigating to do?” Mudo said.

  An electronically synthesized sigh came out of the cockpit’s speaker. “Yes, Gerhard. Approaching departure point, everyone.”

  “There should be no discomfort as we pass from realspace into hyperspace,” Mudo said. “With any luck, the transition will be so smooth, we won’t notice it at all.”

  Kyoto certainly hoped so. The computer simulations she’d run earlier had been somewhat vague on that point. Her fingers moved across the controls on the holoscreen. “Powering down fusion engines.”

  The hyperdrive would need all the power the Janus could spare to open the portal to hyperspace. Besides, now that they’d accelerated to their current speed, there was no longer any need for fusion drive. In open space, the Janus would continue traveling at this speed for eternity unless acted upon by some outside force.

  “I’m going to be temporarily shutting down most of my higher-level cognitive functions for the transition as well,” Memory said. “But my navigational capabilities will remain online, and my cognitive functions will be reactivated as soon as we safely reach hyperspace. See you on the other side, people.” Then the speaker went silent as Memory fell into an AI’s version of sleep.

  “Powering up hyperdrive,” Kyoto said. She turned back to look at Aspen. “You doing okay?”

  Aspen smiled. “I’m a touch nervous, Commander, but otherwise fine.”

  Kyoto frowned in puzzlement. “Commander,” not Mei. Maybe Aspen was trying to act military for her audience, but there was something about the way she’d used the word that bothered Kyoto, though she wasn’t sure why.

  She shrugged it off and turned to Mudo. “And you?”

  “Tired of delays,” he said pointedly. “Gotcha.” Kyoto turned back to the control panel and activated the ship’s external comlink. “Kipling, this is Janus. Ready to initiate hyperdrive.”

  “Acknowledged,” Adams said. “We’ll keep watch to make sure the door swings shut and locks behind you. Have a good trip.”

  “Roger, General. See you soon.” I hope. Kyoto was surprised to find herself feeling nervous. She’d been in life-or-death situations dozens of times before, and she’d never felt this nervous. Perhaps because she’d never had much time to think about what was happening then. A starfighter pilot couldn’t afford to take the time to think. If she did, she’d hesitate, and if she hesitated, she died.

  But now Kyoto couldn’t help wondering—what if Mudo’s hyperdrive malfunctioned and vaporized them all? What if there was a hoard of Manti waiting for them on the other side? What if—

  “Screw it,” she muttered, and activated the hyperdrive.

  The cockpit lights and the holoscreen both dimmed as the hyperdrive began gobbling energy. A low thrumming came from somewhere deep in the ship, and the sound quickly rose in pitch and volume, becoming a shrill whine so painful that Kyoto thought her eardrums would burst. The whine rose to a piercing shriek, and then everything went black.

  Standing on the command deck of the GSA Battleship Kipling, Detroit Adams watched the main holoscreen as the Janus was enveloped in a blue-green aura of swirling hyperetheric energy. The ship shimmered, blurred, and then winked out of existence altogether.

  Adams glanced over at the officer manning the sensor station. “Report, Lieutenant.”

  The man looked over the readouts scrolling across his holoscreen. “Sensors indicate the Janus has successfully made the transition to hyperspace—as far as they can determine, anyway.”

  Adams understood. Once the Janus left realspace, the Kipling’s sensors could no longer track it. In a very real sense, the two ships no longer existed in the same universe.

  “What about the section of space where the portal was created?” he asked.

  The lieutenant worked the station’s controls for several seconds. “It appears to be completely sealed, General.”

  “Appears?” Adams used his ocular implant to directly access the data flowing through the lieutenant’s console. The information was displayed onto his optic nerve, and he “watched” as it scrolled by. Adams was no tech, but he understood enough of the data. Sensors had detected a minor hyperspatial instability. It was probably nothing, but…

  “Let’s keep tabs on it via ship’s sensors,” he said. The Kipling couldn’t afford to remain here, not if there wasn’t any immediate danger of Manti attack. He had an alien starship—and perhaps some potential allies—to find.

  “Sensor lock set, General,” the lieutenant said.

  “Good.” Adams smiled. “Now let’s go hunting.”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  The lights came back on, and the holoscreen rebooted.

  Kyoto tried to make sense of the information displayed on the screen, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her ears were ringing, and her head hurt like hell. She turned to check on Mudo and Aspen. The doctor’s face was ashen, and he looked as if he was struggling not to vomit, but otherwise he appeared unharmed.

  “I thought you said we wouldn’t notice the transition.” Kyoto’s voice sounded muffled to her own ears, and she was afraid she might be yelling, but she couldn’t tell.

  Kyoto heard Mudo’s voice as if it were coming through a three-foot wall of thermafoam. “Simulations showed only an eight percent chance of that happening. How odd.”

  Kyoto looked at Aspen. “Are you all right?”

  “That noise was irritating, but I weathered the transition well enough.”

  “Irritating? I thought my damn head was going to explode!” But then the full import of Aspen’s words hit her, and she turned back to the holoscreen. Her head had cleared enough for the readouts to finally make sense.

  “According to ship’s sensors, we’re in hyperspace.” Kyoto experienced a sensation of profound awe. Though she’d traveled through Stargates hundreds of times, she’d only jumped through hyperspace before. She’d never actually stayed there for any length of time. But here she was, here all of them were—alive and safe.

  Wait… what about Memory?

  Kyoto activated the ship’s internal comlink. “Memory, are you back with us yet?” She waited several seconds, but there was no reply. “Memory?”

  This time when Mudo spoke, his voice sounded less muffled, and Kyoto knew her hearing was returning to normal.

  “It’s possible the amount of hyperetheric radiation we experienced during the transition was stronger than I anticipated. It might even have been strong enough to penetrate the shielding around Memory’s positronic matrix. If that happened…”

  Kyoto did not like the sound of that. Not only did she consider Memory a friend, they needed her if they were to have any hope of completing their mission, let alone surviving it.

  “Memory?”

  A buzzing came from the speaker, followed by a crackle that sounded like an energy discharge of some sort.

  “I’m… here, Mei. Gerhard was right. The hyperetheric radiation generated by our passage was more intense than expect
ed. I’m… a little foggy but still functional.”

  Mudo frowned. “How functional? Have you performed a full systems diagnostic on yourself?”

  “Why bother? It would just be a waste of time and energy. I feel fine.”

  Mudo’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Memory, perform diagnostic.”

  “Maybe later, Gerhard. Right now, it’s more important that we take a look around and get our bearings, don’t you think?”

  Kyoto could tell by Mudo’s expression that something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what. She started to ask, but Mudo cut her off with a quick shake of his head and the mouthed the word Later. She understood. Whatever Mudo had to say, he didn’t want Memory to overhear.

  She decided to take Memory’s advice and switched the holoscreen to external view. At first, Kyoto thought the screen had been damaged during the transition into hyperspace. Instead of white stars against the black background of realspace, the holoscreen showed a field of gray partially eclipsed by hazy dark shapes.

  “Welcome to hyperspace,” Mudo said.

  “What exactly are we looking at?” Kyoto asked.

  “The best the Janus’s sensors can do to re-create an image of the dimension we’re in,” Mudo said. “If one were to don a vacc suit and go outside, the view likely be quite different—assuming one could see at all. Since hyperspace is so much more compact that realspace, light behaves very differently here. In fact—”

  Mudo was interrupted by the sudden blaring of an alarm. The fusion engines powered up by themselves, and main thrusters fired.

  “What is it, Memory?” Kyoto asked. “Are the Manti attacking?”

  “We have a far more serious problem than a few spacefaring insects,” Memory said. “We’re caught in the gravitational field of a mass shadow.”

  “Damnation!” Mudo swore. “That simply is not possible! I selected our entry point precisely to prevent this from happening!”