Usurper of the Sun Read online

  “Rotation maneuver and deceleration synchronization complete, Commander,” Igor announced proudly. “A few minor glitches; nothing that impacts the mission.”

  “Thank you, Igor. We could never have come this far without your skills and commitment to excellence,” Aki said.

  “Only doing my job, Commander.”

  “Well, to celebrate the completion of the operation, would you please announce our success to the world?”

  “Me?”

  “It would be a shame to let your sonorous voice go to waste,” Aki said.

  Igor brought himself online with the communications network, cleared his throat and half-sang, in a rich baritone, “The UNSS Phalanx has completed rotation and deceleration synchronization. We will now enter the Contact Phase.”

  THE PROBE HOUND had been retrofitted with the same corrosion-retarding paint as the ships. Approaching the Builders’ vessel, the probe fired its jets to slow down relative to its target. To avoid any misinterpretations of hostility, the hound’s jet nozzles were configured in a V-shape, pointing at slight angles away from its line of flight. Between the two jets was a square screen five meters across that displayed a series of messages using all frequencies of visible light and in infrared to cover the entire spectra of light emitted by the Builders’ home star.

  The ETICC was betting all its chips on this last ditch effort of communication. By displaying video directly instead of encoding the images in pulse modulation, the ETICC hoped its message might finally be conveyed.

  The camera mounted on the probe did not have as high a resolution as the one on the Phalanx, but the closer proximity of twenty thousand kilometers made up for the difference. On the morning of July 28, Aki was in her cocoon reading a report on UNSDF observations while keeping an eye on a live feed from the probe. It was still several hours before the probe was to arrive. An alarm sounded and the monitoring system displayed a message.

 

  Aki looked at the image from the probe. The nuclear pulse engine that had burned brightly in the center of the Torus was out. The engine area that had been masked by the blinding light of the blast was finally visible. It was an opening at least fifty meters across. The nuclear pulse engine used a bowl-shaped reflector with a focal point that emitted the energetic equivalent of a continuous series of detonations from small hydrogen bombs. This reflecting bowl made up most of the image that the probe’s camera could see. The dish was circumscribed with tiny protruding thorns that appeared to be a set of laser devices to contain and direct the destructive force generated by the explosions.

  The opening began to close like an iris. While the size of the outer edge remained the same, the crimson color of the iris expanded inward, gradually taking on the shape of a half-sphere. The sunlight emanating from behind the right side of the vessel was partially blocked, creating a pattern of light and shadows on the area, giving it an eerie impression of depth. The iris continued to close until it was a tiny dark spot surrounded by crimson. To Aki, the image suggested the eye of a chameleon.

  Aki looked into the eye. Chills ran through her. She had the unmistakable sensation that the eye was looking right back at her. The probe was positioned slightly off to the side but the opening seemed to be staring directly at the hound.

  “It’s watching us.” As soon as Aki spoke into her mic, the image disappeared from the screen. Warning messages began to flash.

 

  “All stations, report!” Before she finished her command to the crew, the computer system was displaying its quantitative analysis of the situation.

 

 

  The computer system displayed the recorded video from a camera on the Phalanx. It showed the probe in flight then, suddenly, the image went completely white at the moment of the explosion as the imaging sensors clipped. When the video returned, the probe had been replaced by a visible explosion—one similar in appearance to the result of a nuclear detonation.

  Aki played the video in slow motion. Probe, static, explosion—followed by a fluctuation in the nuclear pulse engine.

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “The probe’s communication systems stopped with no warning in just under five milliseconds,” Igor said.

  “Could the probe’s engine have exploded?”

  “Nil chance of that. The sensors would’ve picked up an initial change in temperature or pressure. The telemetry readings were normal right until the end.”

  “There’s no doubt about it—the probe was intentionally destroyed,” Raul said.

  Concerned that her disappointment was not appropriate to her role as commander, Aki did not respond, remaining silent even though a command was clearly expected.

  “Aki! You loco? Snap out of it. We need to report this to the fleet.”

  “It’s true. I’ll send the message.”

  Even as she tried to accept what had happened, Aki sent a voice recording to the rest of the fleet.

  “Priority message from the UNSS Phalanx. It appears that the hound was attacked as it approached the alien vessel at a distance of fourteen thousand kilometers. Observations indicate that the blast from the nuclear pulse engine was concentrated into an intense beam directed at the probe.”

  Just then, the warning again appeared on Aki’s screen.

 

  The iris dome that had closed over the engine opened. Once the dome had fully retracted, the nuclear pulse engine began to fire, obscuring the view of the center of the Torus.

  “Had the probe been approaching head-on, that beam would’ve passed right through the hound and destroyed us too,” Igor said. Since taking the most direct route between the two ships would have required the probe to pass through the propulsion blast of the Builders’ ship, the probe had been programmed to travel perpendicularly and then approach at an angle.

  “So their policy is shoot first, questions never?” Raul asked. “I guess their ship is as trigger-happy as the Ring’s graser system.”

  “The probe was slowing down and displaying the visual message. There is no way they thought it was an asteroid. Why weren’t they interested in what the probe was or what its message meant?” Aki asked.

  “Our only option is the Remora,” Igor said. The Remora was the transport vehicle designed to bring the Contact Team to the Builders’ ship. It could be operated either remotely or by a pilot who was on board.

  “Just a minute. If they blow up the Remora, there’s no way to board their ship. Any way we can maneuver the Phalanx close enough to board directly?” Aida asked.

  “No. If the Remora’s destroyed we’ll have no choice but to terminate the contact mission,” Aki stated. She knew that destruction of the Remora would be interpreted by the UNSDF as unequivocal proof of hostility. Warmongers would already try to use the lost hound as an excuse. Any further act of aggression would offer full justification to proceed with their attack. Why did they destroy it? The Remora lacked a message screen, which made the Remora even more likely to be taken as a threat by the Builders. “What other choice do we have, Aida?”

  Aida remained silent. There weren’t any other choices, and all five crewmembers knew it.

  After the twenty-minute time lag passed, UNSDF Fleet Headquarters responded:

  “Prepare to send the Remora unmanned. If it is destroyed, abort the contact mission.”

  The clock of their allotted twenty hours was about to start ticking. Aki had little time to make a decision.

  “Aida, Joseph, Raul, remove the equipment aboard the Remora. Risking the Remora might provide an answer on how to approach the ship safely. Igor, program the Remora to make the approach. I will tell you what I want her to do.”

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, the unmanned Remora was released from the Phalanx. The ship was a cylinder four meters across and ten meters long. One end had an entr
y hatch, which had been purposely left open. The perimeter of the hatch was fitted with an extendable sealing ring to allow airtight docking with the Builders’ ship. The Remora was also equipped with thrusters on all sides to maximize maneuverability. In essence, it was a portable jet-powered airlock.

  Igor had programmed it to fly at a ten degree angle away from its target for the first half of the trajectory and then to subtly point itself back on course during the second half, curving and approaching as indirectly as possible. It was unclear which would appear more threatening—flying on a direct course or appearing to be flying away and then changing course partway through. Aki decided to use the same approach as the probe even though that method had failed, only because a direct approach seemed even riskier.

  At 5 PM GMT, Aki watched the Remora from her cocoon. The ship made its roundabout way toward the Builders’ ship. She clenched her palms as it approached a distance of fourteen thousand kilometers. Nothing happened. Aki started to let out a yelp and then restrained herself.

  Twelve thousand kilometers. Ten thousand. Nine thousand.

  The nuclear pulse engine stopped, just like before. The iris reappeared around the engine.

  “I just commanded the Remora to retreat,” Igor said.

  Even if the Remora fired its front thruster at full force, that process would take several minutes to stop all forward motion.

  Aki tensed again. She worried that she had marched the Remora to a firing squad. Losing the Remora would end any possibility of communicating with the Builders.

  Alarms sounded and static appeared on the monitor. One glance and the dreams of Aki’s past four decades were ruined. A ball of white gas expanded from where the Remora had been. A loud shriek from Aida echoed over the comm system, and Aki’s spirits sank even lower.

  ACT IV: JULY 29, 2041

  NORMALLY, THE LARGEST screen at UNSDF Fleet Headquarters toggled between the ten most important of the thousands of feeds they received. For the past four hours, however, the screen stayed on a single feed that showed the orbits of the inner planets. The War Zone had the sun at the center, followed by Mercury in the ten o’clock position along its elliptical orbit. Earth was farther out, on the opposite side at four o’clock.

  The Builders’ ship was at nine o’clock, heading for where Mercury would be on August 3. The trajectory was depicted by a solid red curve. Immediately next to Mercury was a dot representing the Phalanx.

  The three ships in the First Armada—the Rutherford, the Chadwick and the Curie—were on the outside of Mercury’s orbit, on course to intercept the Builders’ ship.

  The velocity of the Builders’ ship far surpassed the combat vessels. While the UNSDF called the plan an attack, Raul had summed it up best. It was an attempt to stop a high-speed maglev train by chasing the train on bicycles.

  Analysts hypothesized that the Builders’ attack beam was generated by directing the blast from the nuclear pulse engine into a concentrated beam of energy. The engine was capable of pulsing three hundred times per second, giving the powerful beam almost limitless range.

  The combat ships were equipped with three nuclear missiles and three spiderwebs each. The missiles and spiderwebs could both achieve velocities of fourteen kilometers per second. Assuming the weapons would be launched from outside the danger zone of fourteen thousand kilometers, it would take sixteen minutes to reach their targets, giving the Builders ample time to react and neutralize them with their beam. A successful attack was a long shot at best. Gloom hung in the air at UNSDF Fleet Headquarters. Then an attack specialist jumped from his chair.

  “Why didn’t we see that they have a blind spot? Their beam only covers 120 degrees before the Torus blocks the path. All we need to do is approach from the side.”

  “They’ll just turn the ship,” answered a supervisor.

  “The ship’s rotating to produce artificial gravity in the Torus, a gyro effect. That makes turning the ship extremely difficult.”

  “So we attack from multiple sides at once?”

  “Yes! It has to work.”

  In the throes of desperation, any alternative seemed a good one. The idea caught on, and a new plan was broadcast to the entire fleet. Each wave reprogrammed their ships accordingly. Once the strategy had been entered, the computers ran a quartermillion simulations of possible outcomes based on the foreseeable variables. Success was not guaranteed, but the calculations confirmed that one condition was absolutely necessary: the weapons would need to be launched in halves and reach the target nearsimultaneously, one toward one side of the Torus and the second toward the other.

  Orders were given for the Rutherford and the Chadwick to launch their missiles and spiderwebs immediately. Provisional plans were loaded into the navigation system of the weapons with the final decision to be uploaded in-flight via laser transmission.

  Both ships followed their orders. The automatic launch sequences for the five missiles and four spiderwebs were executed without intervention from the crew. At 8 am GMT on July 29, the number of moving objects in the War Zone shown on the overhead screen at UNSDF Fleet Headquarters increased from five to ten. Cheers and whistles echoed through the large room.

  An order from UNSDF Fleet Headquarters also arrived at the Phalanx: “Contact Phase aborted. Vacate the War Zone pronto.” Reading the message, Aki felt powerless. Throughout the mission, every member of the Phalanx crew had refused to accept this scenario, though it was the most likely. Constructing the Ring with no regard to its detrimental effect on the earth; failing to respond to the ETICC’s messages of peace; the drastic measure of burning their own ship; their standard operating procedure of destroying every object that approached them—every action the Builders took made their message clear.

  We are coming. We care about nothing else.

  Nonetheless, Aki and her crew had chosen to ignore the irrefutable signs. Aki had clung to her far-fetched hope that the Builders would prove to be benevolent and curious.

  Aki flipped the switch that activated the ship-wide comm system. “We need to decide whether we follow the advisory. What dangers do we face by staying?”

  “For starters, the guided missiles could mistake us for the Builders’ ship,” said Joseph, the bodyguard. Aki had learned that his mood, as strange as it seemed at first, was lighter in tense, high-stress situations—as if danger relaxed him.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. Our ship emits an ID signal that the missiles recognize. They should also identify us visually. If the Builders jam our ID signal or the missiles’ visual capabilities, we’re still a hundred thousand kilometers away, far enough to prevent mistaken identity,” Igor said.

  “What about the Builders targeting us in retaliation? Being the closest enemy ship makes us an easy target,” Aida said.

  Since there was a chance the Builders could close the distance between the two ships, there were no guarantees that the ships would be far enough away to avoid triggering the Builders’ attack beam. Aki was pleased that her team was approaching the subject rationally.

  “My gut says they’re not seeking out targets or bothering to connect their actions to ours. I think they’re ignoring us or oblivious, unless we get close,” Raul said. No one disagreed.

  “Off the record, I do not want to terminate the Contact Phase,” Aki said. “If the Builders’ ship is damaged in the attack but still intact, staying here would offer the possibility of rescuing one or more of the Builders. Maybe they would be more willing to listen if we could demonstrate our intent.”

  “Wouldn’t we be exposing ourselves to the nuclear radiation?” Joseph asked.

  “More than a little. If their engine becomes disabled, incapacitating their attack beam, I think going in for a rescue will be safe. If that happens, I could not live with myself if we stood by and did nothing.”

  “Commander, it’s a noble and worthy cause. What else are we doing while we’re out here? Might as well have a good view,” said Igor.

  “The UNSDF will benefit from
the close-up footage, even delayed, as long as we stay out of their hair,” said Raul.

  “Let’s go with, ‘UNSS Phalanx requests to hold position for battle status observation and possible rescue mission after attack.’”

  Everyone agreed. Aki sent the message.

  JULY 29, 11 AM GMT

  THE FIRST ARMADA deployed its weapons. One round of missiles and spiderwebs approached the Builders from one side and the second round was closing in from the other. The telescope on the Phalanx had not made visual contact with the weapons, partially because the weapons were designed to be nigh undetectable. All that could be seen were heat signatures in the form of tiny points of infrared light amidst the cold of space.

  By 10 PM GMT the missiles had crossed the hundred thousand–kilometer mark. The missiles would arrive at the target in just three hours. The Builders’ ship showed no signs of change. Headquarters feared that the Builders might halt their rotation, enabling them to turn around, but there were no signs of that maneuver.

  “Are you asleep?” Raul asked Aki on a private channel, his volume turned low.

  “No, I’m up.”

  “You haven’t slept for days.”

  “I’ve napped in spurts. I’m alert.”

  “If you say so. I was worried since you didn’t come out for dinner.”