The Convoy; Shadow Raptors Volume V: Shadow Raptors, #5

By Sławomir Nieściur

The battle in the Epsilon Eridani system is entering its decisive phase.

Skun ships are attacking the orbital fortifications with great force, but the battle-hardened colonists are not going to give up the ground easily. Although small in number, quarrelling and divided, they put up fierce resistance to the enemy, one by one destroying the stone cruisers and decimating their support.

 

Amidst the turmoil of war, the fates of scouts sent to search for the missing convoy; the trawler "Arrowhead", whose captain desperately wants to destroy the wreck of Oumuamua, the crews of the cruisers "Frontier" and "Pandemonium", and Commander Tsugawa, are all rushing to the rescue in a captured bulk carrier converted into a warship, intertwine.

 

The alien mother captured by Colonel Dressler and Oli, as well as the inhabitants of the planet AEgir, anxiously looking at the sky above their heads, illuminated by the glow of countless explosions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Royal Hawaiian Press
• Release date: Nov 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223158806

Book preview

The Convoy

The Convoy

Shadow Raptors

Volume V

***

All material contained herein is Copyright

Copyright © Sławomir Nieściur  2023

***

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9892919-8-4

ePub ISBN: 979-8-2231588-0-6

***

Written by Sławomir Nieściur

Published by Royal Hawaiian Press

Cover art by Tyrone Roshantha

Publishing Assistance by Dorota Reszke

***

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The Convoy

Shadow Raptors

Volume V

by Sławomir Nieściur

Table of Contents

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1.

Patrol ship QR-1

Sector six

Scattered disk of the Epsilon Eridani system

Braking completed. Ship in position, the AI reported.

Curvey, who had been wrestling with the safety harness buckle that had been jammed due to violent overloading, gave up and stopped tugging on the reluctant piece of metal, then pushed the button of the mechanism for lifting the external cockpit covers.

Turn off the bow emitters, he instructed.

Emitters off.

The interior of the cabin, until now illuminated only by a soft glow from the tactical screen and minor displays, was suddenly flooded with an intense white light, as if a nuclear warhead had exploded in front of the patrol ship out of nowhere. The glow was so intense that Curvey, who reflexively covered his eyes with his hand, saw tendons and finger bones shining through his skin for a split second.

Computer, polarization! he shouted, fumbling with his other hand for the switches on the console, looking for the visor's optical permeability adjuster. Before he had time to flick it, the light weakened.

Changing the alignment of the crystals. Transmittance factor ten percent, the AI announced.

Mother Earth... he groaned, rubbing his tear-streaked eyes with his hand. Squinting his eyelids, he looked into the now almost opaque glasmetal windshield of the front viewfinder, through which three horizontal rows of lights, five in each line, pierced.

Change the ratio to forty percent, he said. He took out from a compartment under the console small vision goggles, deceptively similar in appearance to ordinary safety glasses, and put them on.

The cockpit became frighteningly bright again, though not as bright as before. Filtered through the goggles, the glare from the jupiter lights of the mobile mining refinery in front of which Curvey's patrol ship hovered was no longer blinding, allowing the major to finally look with the naked eye at a section of the large structure visible some fifty meters in front of the ship's bow.

The list he received from Starfleet Command before the mission began listed only the largest vessels included in the expedition, such as bulk carriers, freighters and support trawlers. The remaining ships were positioned collectively, with no breakdown by class or type. The same was the case with installations, both mobile and unpowered, but towed by trawlers.

Precisely for this reason, Curvey was unable at this point to identify the registration signature of the installation, let alone what kind of raw materials it processed. However, from a distance he could see the huge rectification columns towering over the entire structure, which meant it was a refinery.

Computer, identify the facility, he instructed, while activating the reconnaissance drones docked under the patrol ship's belly, equipped with broadband scanners. A dozen of these tiny devices, not much bigger than a tennis ball, attached to the hull by electromagnets, signaled readiness for action with a series of short radio pulses, converted by the system into audible signals.

Hearing the distinctive beeping and seeing a row of status indicators glowing green on the panel, he manually deactivated the striker electromagnets, then gave the AI another command:

Computer, enter the data of the identified object into the drone's memory. Task: multisite mapping of the object.

Command accepted, the AI confirmed. Data transfer completed. Initiating the task.

Before her voice rang out, from under the bow of the ship, one by one silvery spheres flew out and flashed toward the refinery, leaving behind thin streaks of ionized gas from the nozzles of the maneuvering engines. Several seconds later, the devices reached their target.

Computer, report in real time. Curvey tugged on the harness buckle again. This time the latch let go.

Drones in position, the AI announced. Mapping initiated.

Report.

Reporting optical mapping results. Object type IC-06. mobile four-module metal refinery. The area of the carrier platform is eighty-five thousand square meters, the estimated total volume of the enclosed space six hundred thousand cubic meters. No living module, no loading module, no support units. Pulse propulsion nozzles removed, deflector chambers exposed. On the deflector disks traces of exploitation. Auxiliary drive complete. Shunt motors without visible corrosion, nozzles unobstructed. No external power cells, no spare tanks.

Stop! interrupted Curvey. No power cells? Get more specific, he instructed.

He stood up, leaned against the top of the control console and brought his face closer to the glass. With the added protection provided by his vision goggles, he could now safely peer into the large rack on which the refinery's jupiters were mounted. Thirty meters long and five meters wide, the truss of lights was entwined with a web of thick, insulated wires.

IC-06-type facilities are powered by second-generation fusion reactors. Fusion energy is stored in power cells, which are conglomerates of high-capacity capacitors, from which it is transmitted to refinery components. Due to the physicochemical characteristics of the materials used to construct the cell housings and with a view to personnel safety, the cells are installed outside the structure, as far away from the most important refinery components as possible.

Computer, there is power on this installation, Curvey noted, moving even closer to the glass.

High above the panel with positioning jupiters, he spotted a cluster of unevenly spaced celadon lights. Judging by their arrangement, they were airlock leak signals leading to the technical rooms at the base of one of the rectification columns. He couldn't see the other two - they were obscured by a large plane of radiation screen protecting the upper, production part of the refinery.

Source of energy flows within the installation, unknown, the AI announced.

Locate the nearest transport tunnel and bring the ship inside, Curvey decided, settling back in his chair.

A 3D standard model of the refinery blossomed on the tactical screen, onto which the AI superimposed a graphic grid of the structure in front of the ship's bow, mapped by the drones. Missing elements were outlined in red. The scale of the cavities, while lacking damage, was alarmingly large, as if the refinery had arrived here partially dismantled.

While waiting for the system to process the information coming in from the drones, Curvey reviewed the data collected by the onboard tracking system during a recent flyby of the asteroid. He found nothing of concern either on the asteroid's surface or in nearby space. No radio transmissions, echoes, reflections, or magnetic field fluctuations caused by high-energy emissions of the tracking beams. It appeared that the enemy machines, lurking in the shadows of the hijacked ships after the destruction of the Trotsky patrol ship, had finally left the quadrant and flown in the wake of the Nest and its escort.

Transport tunnel located. Activation of maneuvering engines one and four. Vector one eight, distance three hundred and twenty-four, decreasing value. Initiating maneuver.

The space behind the windows of the side viewfinders lit up with a faint orange glow, which after a few moments turned white. The patrol ship breathed out slightly, tilted to the side, and then, pushed by the force of recoil, flowed under the support platform of the refinery, where, after a gentle slalom between metal girders that lasted several seconds, it flowed into a spacious, brilliantly lit room and settled on the launching platform in its center.

Maneuver completed.

Reduce the polarity to five and turn on the shields, Curvey said, anxiously glancing at the display of the onboard dosimeter, on which the number ten had just appeared, with a red exclamation mark next to it.

Crystal rearrangement. Transmittance factor five. Electromagnetic shielding active.

Curvey once again crouched over the viewfinder and scanned the interior of the hall with his eyes. He wondered where the communication panels had been placed, through which he could connect the patrol ship's communications module to the main transmitting antenna, whose canopy he had found earlier on the technical diagram.

There they are! he was pleased to see a row of connection sockets in a wall-mounted technical bay, not far from the landing pad. Without looking at the AI, he summoned one of the reconnaissance drones, and as the machine flew into the hall, he docked it remotely at the communications socket, using the neurosensory controller. From then on, the drone was to be the signal relay.

Seeing a message on the screen that the two communications systems were synchronized, Curvey activated the transceiver module and set it to the emergency frequency, then activated the speech recorder.

Computer, activate emergency communications protocol and call QR-3.

Protocol active, transmission in progress.

QR-1 to QR-3, QR-1 to QR-3! Sergeant Reiner, can you hear me? Over! he said loud and clear, then, having checked the quality of the recording, he looped it and began transmitting.

While waiting for the second deputy to respond, he once again brought up the diagram of the refinery on the screen.

Where are you hiding? he muttered, rotating the figure so that he could see all the segments adjacent to the engine room at the same time.

Although he was not particularly familiar with the technical aspects of industrial installations, he still immediately recognized the distinctive shape of the fusion reactor chamber. A large metal hemisphere that looked like a split fruit clung tightly to an even larger cubic module located in the middle of the support platform, between four gargantuan-like oxygen cylinder processing columns. Somewhere in there, hidden among a tangle of trusses and massive heat sinks lay survival shelters shielded by a thick protective coating.

He turned the schematic again, this time in such a way as to have an overhead view.

There you go... he smiled with satisfaction at the sight of a series of protuberances at the base of one of the rectification columns. Computer, move the drones under column number three. Task: scan the communication tunnels connecting the engine room with the survival chambers, he said.

Command accepted. Implementation in progress.

QR-3 to QR-1, reporting in. Over, sounded from the communications module's speaker so suddenly, and so loudly, that Curvey twitched. With a quick movement, he turned off the emergency transmitter.

QR-1 to QR-3, have you dealt with the infection? Over, he said into the microphone.

Software clean and operational, Major, replied Reiner. This code is bad, poorly protected, he added. A simple scan was enough. Over.

It wasn't the code that was the problem, Sergeant, but its location, replied Curvey. Did you try to contact the fleet? Over.

You ordered an information quarantine, Reiner reminded. But the communication is working. All the time we are receiving transmissions from the location responders of the Pandemonium and the Kursk. Over.

In that case, I declare the end of the quarantine. You will make contact with the Pandemonium and inform the Admiral that we have managed to locate the two missing bulk carriers, the Opal and the Sapphire, and the mobile refinery. The search for the remaining units of the convoy is underway. Over.

What about their manning, Major? The Admiral will certainly ask about it. Over.

The fate of the crews unknown, at least at the moment, Curvey replied, looking at the screen, where a diagram of the refinery section, compiled from drone data, had just been shown. But we will be looking for them, as well as the other ships, anyway. Over.

Roger. Do you need support? Over.

Stay in your current positions. I've docked at the refinery hangar and I don't think I'm in any danger temporarily. I'll try to look around a bit here. You guys keep an eye on the approach to the anomaly and report to the Admiral on possible enemy movements. Over.

Yes, Major. Over.

And one more thing. There are no more major enemy units in this quadrant, and smaller ones too, I think... If any fighters appear in the foreground, I authorize their destruction. Just be careful, no bravado. Understood? Over.

Understood, Major! confirmed Reiner enthusiastically. We're going to give them a rough ride!

Over and out... finished Curvey for him.

He turned off the modem and reached for his helmet. From the diagram of the refinery, it was clear that the hangar into which the AI introduced the patrol ship was less than fifty meters from the transport corridor running the entire length of the installation, above which was the base of column number three.

Computer, reroute communications to the suit's modem, he said, applying an oval glasmetal bubble, protected in the rear by a tungsten coating that also acted as a transmit/receive antenna.

Communications rerouted, came the AI's voice, this time already from the helmet's internal speakers.

Curvey crawled out from behind the console and, stepping carefully among the bits of screws protruding from the floor, with the help of which the automatic repair machine had patched up the defects in the hull plating, walked to the aft of the ship, where the largest emergency hatch was located. Without thinking long, he opened it and jumped down to the landing platform.

Computer, work out and transmit to the suit's navigation system an updated schematic of the communication routes, taking into account my current position, he instructed, looking vigilantly around the spacious room.

Although the hall was brilliantly illuminated and empty, not counting a few heavily corroded service machines standing against one of the walls, Curvey felt a strange uneasiness, as if something bad lurked somewhere under those sooty and in some places over-melted from the heat metal plates.

Communications tract diagram transmitted, the AI informed him in a voice so impersonal that Curvey shuddered.

He activated the display mounted on his left forearm and laboriously tapped out the database access code on the miniature keypad, then displayed on the screen a virtual map drawn up by the AI with the tunnels and communication shafts marked and the manholes leading to them.

And what do we have here? he said, raising his hand to his face.

The screen was covered with a grid of green lines intersecting at all sorts of angles and tiny yellow symbols marking the hatches and cages of the transport cranes. He and his ship were marked by red triangles, a smaller one and a larger one, overlapping one another, and which separated after Curvey jumped off the platform and walked a few meters away from the side of the patrol ship.

Computer, good job, he praised, seeing how with each step the icon indicating his current position moved slightly, as did the entire map. How do you determine my position? he asked, having realized that he had not yet activated the suit's built-in locator.

I use local monitoring subsystems.

Do the cameras work? he marveled, breathing a sigh of relief at the same time. He already knew where he got that nasty feeling of being watched. The alien implants, although hidden under the thick layer of the vacuum suit, in an incomprehensible yet typical way detected emissions from the on-board equipment and informed him, pumping stimulants into his body.

Confirmed.

He ran over to a service machine docked nearby and, clasping the dusty body of the machine with his hands, pushed it away from the wall to reveal a charging panel at the rear, equipped with several access slots. Control diodes pulsed above all the contacts without exception, indicating a steady flow of energy.

Computer, are there other sources of power functioning here besides the main reactor? he asked. If so, give me their types and indicate their location on the map.

I am processing the data, the AI announced. I'm plotting the location. Source number one, neutron core stabilizer de-radiator, source number two, dual-chamber main launch platform propulsion unit.

Two more markers appeared on the display screen. One right at its edge, where the refinery schematic ended, the other close to the hangar, no more than ten meters from the wall where Curvey was standing.

Stabbed by a sudden premonition, he dug a handheld dosimeter out of a pocket at his belt, turned it on and brought it close to the metal plate. The device vibrated briefly once and a second time, a second later a red exclamation mark lit up on its miniature display.

Damn it! cursed Curvey, then dashed at a run toward the patrol ship to get within the ship's generated electromagnetic field as quickly as possible.

Computer, emitters at full power! he wheezed, crouching behind the hatch.

Maximum emission, the AI communicated.

The space around the patrol ship rippled, as if something suddenly heated the non-existent air, in several places from under the landing plates gushed sheaves of sparks, and the searchlight directly above the ship also went out.

When Curvey looked at the dosimeter again, the device's screen glowed a reassuring green.

Computer, get four drones down here. Task one: measure the intensity of high-energy radiation in the area... he paused for a moment to check on the map the distance between him and the survival pods, ...four hundred meters from my position. Communication routes and technical tunnels are to be checked. Task two: develop the shortest route to the spore capsules, taking into account environmental conditions in terms of their impact on the human body. Confirm.

Command accepted. Proceeding to implementation.

2.

Cruiser Pandemonium

Sector One

The Epsilon Eridani planetary system

The Hercules and the Kursk at the head of the formation. As support assign them frigates from the cover of the Moebius, and give him to the rear of the formation. It will liquidate the survivors. Corvette the Paulus to the spikehead, let they clear the approach path with kinetics up to the range limit of the enemy's defensive systems. After clearing the path, it is to slow down and take its place on the left flank. Enter the wedge, into the middle of the enemy grouping. The Hercules and the Kursk on the spokehead, then us, then the Brittany and the Spartacus, said Kravchenko, while wandering with the cursor of the electronic pointer over the large sheet of the tactical screen. As I mentioned, the Moebius will secure the rear.

And what about the Lambert, Admiral? asked the liaison officer sitting in the seat of the chief radio operator. Captain O'Hara is once again requesting permission to join the formation.

I do not agree, answered Kravchenko firmly. The Lambert is our ace up our sleeve. By the time we make the turnaround, the Skunians will have had time to get together and try to regroup their forces. We can't let that happen, so O'Hara will remain in low orbit to prevent them from doing so. With luck, we'll be able to avoid a renewed clash, so we can move on to the second point of the operation, the attack on the Nest.

Optimist... a heavy sigh sounded from the canon's cocoon.

Kravchenko put the pointer down on the console top and turned with his chair towards the fire control station.

Do you want to add something, Sergeant? he asked threateningly.

The figure in the cocoon moved restlessly.

No, Admiral, rumbled from under the sensor helmet.

Kravchenko furrowed his eyebrows, rose from his seat and walked closer to the elevation over which the cocoon hung.

Are you sure? Don't be shy, I'd love to hear your comments, he said.

I apologize, Admiral. This will not happen again.

Sergeant! Kravchenko's voice suddenly hardened. I remind you that you personally gave your opinion on every damn sub-point of this operation and estimated the chances of its success at ninety-eight percent. And now suddenly you have doubts? Why didn't you mention them earlier?

The figure in the cocoon rose to a sitting position, then pushed the helmet curtain out from under the shroud. From under the dark, mirrored veil, a pair of slanted eyes with vertical pupils and heavily bloodshot whites glared at Kravchenko.

With all due respect, Admiral, but earlier the grouping included the Devastator and a hundred gunships of its escort. Unfortunately, its exclusion from the team was not consulted by anyone. The gunner disentangled the coils of sensory fabric and nimbly jumped down to the platform, completely unconcerned about the fiber optics with which he was connected to the cocoon. He approached the backup command post and activated the displays mounted on it.

The Devastator, however poorly armored and with a skeletal crew, accounted for one-fifth of our firepower, he explained, tapping his finger on one of the screens. Eighteen plasma cannon batteries, four sets of boarding lasers, more than twenty torpedo launchers and an unspecified number of kinetic cannons. With the support of several missile frigates, this ship could easily face the Pandemonium and the Ukulele combined.

You must be joking, Sergeant, snorted Kravchenko. No bulk carrier, no matter how armed, will not be able to keep up with a heavy cruiser. And it's not about size, firepower or armor thickness, but maneuverability, targeting systems and generally the entire electronic infrastructure!

In maneuvering combat, yes, the operator agreed. But not in an encounter battle, which is what the clash with the Skunian cruisers will be. Please note that the Oumuamua are already flying at only a fraction of cruising speed. We are also slowing down and will slow down even more, if only to allow the Moebius to position itself behind the formation. If the Skunians had appeared in our perimeter right now, the combat contact would have lasted at least half a minute. A HALF MINUTE, he stressed. And yet it will last even longer, because we will also slow down. It will be a murderous battle, to the point of extinction, he concluded grimly.

He turned off the screens, then walked over to the cocoon, gathered the dangling fiber optics into a bundle and began to plug their ends back into the sockets in the suit.

A despondent silence fell on the bridge, broken only by the quiet mumbling of the liaison officer, who, bent over the microphone of the command recorder, was giving orders to the commanders of the other cruisers.

What do you think I should do, then? asked Kravchenko after a few moments, already in a much calmer tone.

The gunner, who was about to slip into the cocoon, stopped and slowly turned towards him.

"If I were you, Admiral, I would immediately abort the Devastator's