Terror's End: The Rishkan Drive, #3

Chapter One

Message for you, Captain. Gweneth Rishka Davies heard the words through a haze of sleep, and did not stir. The hum of the ventilation fans made a drowsy sound, and John Rodriguez had spoken very quietly. Not even the captain had a private cabin on a tiny space ship like the Torpedo Cruiser Terror. In fact Terror only had one sleeping compartment, and the crew of seven took it in turns to use the two bunks or the floor. At the moment a curtain divided the room in two, with Roger Lodge, one of the weapon specialists, snoring gently on the other side. John did not want to wake Roger, but he had to get his captain's attention. He reached out and shook her shoulder.

Captain! There's a Most Urgent from AsCo! This time the words got through, and Gwen opened her eyes. She was not sure how long she had been asleep, but it did not feel like long enough. John shook her shoulder again, and Gwen spoke.

Okay! I'm awake. A yawn almost cracked her jaw as she struggled to sit up, but a Most Urgent flag meant she had to be in the control cabin. Tension tightened her nerves, and adrenaline kicked in as she considered what might be wrong. Terror was escorting a mixed convoy of freight and passenger craft between Ganymede and the Moon, and it made an attractive target for Venusian privateers.

Terror had been in the Jovian System for the past year, making sure unmanned cargo pods reached the edge of the Jovian system without being captured by privateers from the Venusian Colony Ships. Gwen was well used to fighting off attacks, but this was the first time she had escorted passenger ships, or been on this route. That made it more nerve-wracking than normal.

Anything on the monitors? She demanded

No, John assured her. Convoy's fine and space round us is clear for four hours.

Good. Gwen swung her legs over the side of the bunk, rubbing her gritty eyes to make them stay open, then winced as she touched the bruise round her eye; a week after being backhanded across the face by a Venusian her black eye still felt incredibly tender. Being woken at odd hours was one of the hazards of her job, and she never got fully undressed aboard Terror, despite the curtain that offered the illusion of privacy in the sleeping cabin. She thrust her feet into her magnetic boots, hoping she would be able to get back to sleep later. The relentless grind of working sixteen hour shifts day in day out for six weeks had keyed her to a pitch of nervous tension where food had very little appeal, and relaxation was almost impossible.

I'll be right there. Make some coffee. Her stomach heaved at the idea but she had to have something to help her think. John nodded, and left.

Gwen pushed her hair out of her eyes, and wondered what could be wrong. The trip had been uneventful so far; they were six days out of Ganymede, and had started to decelerate the day before. That change explained why the message came from AsCo not G-Base or Gilgamesh, they had passed to AsCo control, but there had been nothing on the news to explain an urgent message.

John was in the galley, making her coffee. She edged past him into the privacy cubicle and pulled the curtain closed, thinking longingly of her quarters back on G-Base. The wash area might be only slightly bigger than this one, but it was all her own, with a proper door on it. She felt sleepy, grumpy, and worried, and as she washed the anxiety dominated. The smell of coffee did not help either, and she called out.

John, forget the coffee, I'll have tea. She thought she heard him swear under his breath, but he was not there when she came out, and all three exits were closed. The galley doubled as an air lock as well as having a wash room at one end, so the doors leading off it were air tight and closed on automatic sensors. She put her hand on the pressure plate beside the door to the control cabin, and it slid open.

Conversation died as she came through the door. It was an unnerving sensation, and made Gwen wonder what her all male crew did talk about when she was not there. She shook her head, knowing she should be more awake that this, and looked round the semi-circle of chairs that faced the curving wall in front of her. A large view screen dominated the central portion, showing the scene recorded by the forward facing cameras in Terror's nose, while smaller screens displayed data from all the systems needed to run a battle ship. There were five chairs, and all of them were taken, even her own. Robert Nye, a man far older than she and only aboard Terror for this one trip, was in it, acting as pilot and making no move to stand up.

Gwen felt her temper rise. She had not had enough sleep, she felt dreadful, and she was the CAPTAIN! Wearing a scowl that could have curdled milk she glared at her crew. Nick Hall, her second in command and the communications officer, stood up hastily.

Captain, I've got the message set up here. It's palm coded.

Palm coded! Gwen exclaimed. Of all the fool things. She placed her hand on the palm plate, and flopped down in the comms position.

The message was not only palm coded it was under Captain's cipher, and encrypted. They don't want me to read this, Gwen complained as she set to work. They just want to see if I can get at it before the time code expires. Where's my tea? The cup appeared by her elbow as if by magic, and she took a cautious sip. I need something to eat too, she declared, and Nick, who was also in charge of catering, took the chance to escape.

Toast?

Fine, Gwen looked at the message, and wondered if she had missed a code, it still made no sense. How much sleep did I get anyway?

Three hours, Colin Shaughnessy, the ship's chief engineer, said with a grin.

That's why I feel so lousy, Gwen grumbled. Don't anyone mess up, I'm not in a mood for mistakes.

That's okay, Colin was laughing at her. Nick's still in command. Hey! Nick! Shouldn't the commanding officer be on the bridge?

I am, Nick said through the open airlock. I've got my foot in the cabin. The toaster sat right at the edge of the galley, and was hard to reach without standing half in and half out of the control cabin.

You two are disgustingly wide awake, said Gwen, but she was beginning to feel better as the tea took effect.

Gwen, Nick, and Colin were Terror's senior officers, with three juniors to back them up. Not that there was much of an age difference between juniors and seniors; they had graduated AsCoS, the space training college, only one year apart. Gwen was not yet twenty one, and Terror's regular officers were of similar age. Robert Nye was a different matter. Ten years older than the rest he held an equivalent rank to Gwen's, and in theory he should have been in command. However his was a temporary post, filling in for Terror's regular navigator who was in hospital with two broken legs, and he took his orders from Gwen with good grace.

Gwen had to suppress the urge to swear when she finally got the message decoded. Yes, it was important, giving warning that hostile ships had been tracked moving towards the convoy, but they would not reach it for at least half a day, even if it was their target. Letting her sleep for another five hours would have altered nothing. Her heart sank still further as she read to the end. AsCo command promised to keep her informed with hourly bulletins, which meant getting up every hour to decode them, and she did not want to do it. She raised her head, and glared around the cabin. Everyone was carefully not looking at her, except for Robert Nye.

Gwen stared at the other captain for a moment, then grinned.

Mr Nye! she said happily. I have a job for you.

Captain? Robert had quickly picked up the crew's habit of addressing her by rank.

You can decode the next one of these that comes through. Don't call me unless it really is urgent!

What's happening? Colin demanded.

AsCo found some Venusians heading our way and wanted us to know as soon as possible. Gwen announced. Nothing to worry about yet. She stood up, and looked round the cabin. I am going back to bed. Don't wake me unless anything happens that will affect us in the next ten hours.

Getting back to sleep was unexpectedly easy; Gwen lay down, shut her eyes, and the next thing she knew the lights were on in the cabin. Roger whistled tunelessly between his teeth as he dressed behind the curtain. Gwen sat up, feeling much better than she had five hours ago, and wondered if the Venusians were still heading for them. It seemed unlikely; there could be no element of surprise in an attack on a convoy in deep space, but the Venusians might risk it, they were losing the war. Maybe she should have had those hourly updates. No, she would be a wreck by now if she had, and instead she felt better than she had since the Venusian hit her. She dressed quickly, hoping whatever malaise she had been suffering from was cured.

Roger? You ready?

Yes, Captain. They took the curtain down between them. Jim James, the second engineer, Nick, and Robert Nye were all due off duty now, which meant putting a mattress on the floor between the bunks, so using the curtain was impossible.

Handing over the watch on a routine patrol would normally take five minutes, but convoy escort duty meant that each ship's movements must be reported, and Mr Nye had to update Gwen on AsCo's messages. It took half an hour for the off duty crew to disappear into the sleeping cabin, and Gwen's stomach had started a now familiar feeling of threat as she officially took back command from Nick. If she ate she might be sick, if she did not, she would be sick. Last time she had suffered like this the doctor at G-Base had diagnosed nervous tension and advised her to go on leave. It had not been possible then, and it was not possible now, although she was owed a whole month's leave. Hopefully she would be able to take some of it after arriving at the Moon.

There's warm rolls if you want them, Nick said as he headed for the sleeping cabin. And tea.

Thanks Nick. Gwen smiled her gratitude. She took the food to her chair, and ate without really tasting anything. Instead she watched the ships of the convoy though the main monitors, checking them off in her head. Emperor was the largest; a cruise liner registered on Mars, and carrying mostly Martian citizens. The Martians claimed neutrality in the war, but they would take Alliance citizens as passengers, and often travelled in Alliance convoys. They had ignored the tradition of inviting all convoy captains aboard the largest ship at the half way point of the trip, which had not worried Gwen especially. Ice Maiden was also a passenger ship; she made the trip with every convoy and carried the spare pilots for the four single operator scout ships assigned to help Terror guard the convoy, as well as forty passengers. This time she was laden with young Jovians on their way to the Moon to attend AsCoS. Gwen had been invited aboard, but her refusal had been accepted with understanding.

Helios, Silesia, and Pride of New York were all regulars on this trip too, being cargo ships belonging to the Gilgamesh Trading Company. Hodiak and Monkey, the two other cargo carriers, were less habitual travellers on this route, but had both done it at least once. They trailed a string of unmanned cargo pods, containing valuable minerals and fitted with more powerful Rishkan Inverters than the unescorted pods Terror was used to seeing out of the Jovian system, but Gwen's main concern was with the three private yachts that made up the rest of the convoy.

Liane and Sunstruck were tiny, no larger than Terror herself, and too small to be armed or requisitioned by the Patrol. They carried family groups, both had children on their way to AsCoS, and tended to travel linked together. The other yacht, Mycroft, was registered on Mars, so had avoided requisitioning, but she was six times Terror’s size, and carried a battery of four cannon. She had joined the convoy at the last minute, and although Gilgamesh security had checked her out Gwen felt uneasy about her. Her owners were lunar citizens, but hardly patriotic ones or they would have passed their yacht to the Alliance. Mycroft was quite capable of making the trip on her own, and Gwen had placed her at the head of the convoy, which left Terror free to act as rear guard while the scout ships patrolled the flanks. Mycroft's owner had not objected to his ship's exposed position, he almost seemed to expect it, and Gwen had disliked his smug acceptance. He had implied all sorts of things about the Patrol's inefficiency in needing to rely on civilians, and Gwen had been glad she had delegated the conversation to Nick; he was a born diplomat, but she might have lost her temper.

Captain? Gwen jumped at the sound of Roger's voice, You have a Most Urgent from AsCo.

Thanks, Gwen set about decoding it, wishing AsCo were a little less security conscious; decoding messages should be the communications officer's job. As she worked she was vaguely aware of the creak of the exercise machine crammed into the corner of the control cabin. She kept Terror's internal gravity at Earth normal, even though most of the crew were Moon born and used to its lower pull. It helped fitness, but exercise was essential too, especially on cruises that could keep them cooped up in the two small cabins for weeks at a time, so the machine was in almost constant use. Colin Shaughnessy was taking his turn now, and Gwen did not look at him. They had not said good morning to each other yet, but Gwen was aware of every move he made.

Colin Shaughnessy was an oddity in the Patrol. When most young people who got a place at one of the space training colleges longed to join the prestigious organisation that policed space travel, he made no secret of his distrust of it. He had been drafted at the start of the Venusian rebellion against the rest of the Solar Confederacy, and given a place aboard ship despite his protests that he would be more useful in a shore based posting. He never lost his cool in a fight, revelling in his ability to know what the pilot would need from the engines and shields, but at other times he was painfully arrogant and argumentative. He had gained fame as a Star-Strike player in his early teens and adulation from fans of the holographic computer game gave him a self confidence that was sometimes unwarranted. That confidence grated on those who believed he was nothing more than a self promoting youth from the slums, and it took a strong personality to accept his own evaluation of his skills. Gwen Davies was the only person to believe him capable of more than he produced, and he loved her for it.

He was not good looking, not really, with a crookedly broken nose, and eyes of such pale blue that they were really grey. The scowl he wore as a nearly permanent expression had put sullen lines around his mouth. That battered, pleasantly ugly look drew girls like flies, all sure that they could make him smile, and he normally projected an aggressive sexuality that told them exactly how to set about it. He had scared Gwen at first, but circumstances forced them together and they learnt to be friends. Friends first, and lovers afterwards, and then part of a close knit crew, whose trust in each other was all that stood between life and death.

The Patrol had strict rules about fraternisation between crew members; they ran mixed gender ships, but inter crew sex was prohibited. On a ship Terror's size there could be no privacy, and even without the rules Gwen was almost certain she would have been celibate while aboard. Almost, but not quite. There were times when she would have given anything for a hug, and she could not hug Colin without it turning into something more, and she could not hug anyone else without making Colin jealous. Not just celibacy, but a total lack of touching characterised her life while on duty, a state of affairs that they more than made up for every leave. Seeing Colin every day, even if they never touched each other, reminded her that there was more to life than her ship, and fighting Venusians.

Right now though, protecting the convoy was her job, and it was time to get on with training for the attack that might never come.

Roger, warn all ships. I'm going to do a dummy attack run on the scouts.

You want me to warn them too? Roger asked uncertainly, and Gwen grinned.

Of course. But they won't know which one I'm heading for until it happens.

This would be the sixth such attack Gwen had launched since the convoy formed, and Nick had commanded a couple too. The first one had startled everyone, but they were becoming routine now, even though they still livened up the journey. They were useful drills for everyone concerned, and an hour later, as Terror twisted away from the weapon lock one of the scouts had on her, Gwen found she was enjoying herself.

We'll swing round and try to get the drop on scout two as well, she decided. Colin? You take over as pilot, and I'll be engineer. It's your turn on weapons, Roger, so that leaves John with monitors and comms. Everyone had their own style, and Gwen was aware that Colin flew Terror in a very different way to herself. He was far less precise, and to Gwen's mind much less predictable, than she was; flying engineer to his pilot was challenging. The attack on the second scout flowed into an attack on the third one in a way Gwen felt she sure she could not have attempted, and the scouts were not expecting it, because Terror scored direct hits on both with their weapon guidance system.

"I'm beautifully lined up on Mycroft," Colin said longingly.

Can't play with civilians, Gwen reminded him, and he snorted.

Civilians! Old man Heyer was one of the first pilots recruited into the Solar Patrol.

"Mycroft to Terror, come in please." The call was so on cue that John fumbled his reply badly.

"This is Terror. What do you want?"

Can we play too, please?

Mycroft under ex-patrol captain Heyer proved disappointingly easy to beat, and Gwen could hear his superior attitude slipping a little more each time they talked. He had been so certain that Mycroft could take on Terror that he had offered a bet on the outcome, and jeered when Gwen refused it; by lunchtime he was sullen, and glad to stop.

The tenth message from AsCo brought unwelcome news; the Venusian ships they were tracking had disappeared. Tracking space ships at long range was extremely difficult unless they were under power. The gravitic drive that kept them at constant acceleration and allowed travel times between Jupiter and the Moon of less than ten days made them stand out from the background like beacons, but should stealth become more important than speed the Rishkan Drive was a liability, and it would be turned off. The ships could still be manoeuvred, so no assumptions could be made about their course, and while closing speed would be lower they did not lose velocity.

The convoy from Gilgamesh was already in the deceleration phase of its journey, and the ships were slowing down; AsCo calculated that the Venusians would not arrive for at least four hours, if indeed they intended to attack. Only when the ships came within range of Terror's radar and magnetic detectors would Gwen know where they were again, and those detectors would give anything from ten minutes to half an hour to prepare the convoy for combat.

What's up? Colin asked as Gwen went on staring at the message.

The Venusians have switched off their Drive.

How long have we got? Colin had been in combat as often as Gwen, and never doubted the Venusian's intentions.

Four hours according to AsCo, Gwen began to call up the navigation programs. I want to run some checks on their figures.

Will they attack? John asked nervously. He had only been in Terror for six weeks, and his one experience of combat had been extremely nerve racking.

It's a valuable convoy, Roger pointed out. Foodstuffs, and metals. Fuel enough to set up an independent settlement anywhere in the Asteroid belt.

And there are no other targets round here. Colin shrugged. We're it, unless they're just going to hide in the Asteroids. How many ships, Gwen?

More than one, picking up the gravity anomalies of the Rishkan Drive units at a distance was easy, but extracting more data from that anomaly was not. Run it up as a Star-Strike scenario and try to double think them.

Everyone on the Moon played Star-Strike. It was a national obsession, and the great players were heroes. Colin Shaughnessy was the most famous of all, and his face stared out from thousands of posters. He had first been Lunar Champion at the age of sixteen, and had held the title ever since, except for this last year when he had missed the tournament entirely. Star-Strike was all about space battle strategy, and this was not the first time Gwen had used Colin's game playing skill to help out think the enemy.

Three hours later, at the end of Colin and John's shift, there was still no trace of the Venusian ships. Gwen ordered the scouts operating out of Ice Maiden to spread more widely; she had to know more about the number and type of ships they faced before she could put any of Colin's suggestions into place. It did not help that his defensive strategies were not as strong as his offensive, that gap used to be filled by Piotr Ivanoff, the injured navigator, who was also a championship level Star-Strike player.

Colin was reluctant to leave the control cabin, but Gwen promised to wake him if the Venusians were found. The convoy was at risk from attack all the way to the Moon, forty five hours away, and he had already been on duty for sixteen hours.

Once the replacement crew had settled in Gwen set Robert Nye the job of finding the Venusians, and took her turn on the exercise machine. It helped her to think, and as soon as she had eaten again she ordered Mr Nye, who was acting as pilot, to take Terror to the head of the convoy. It was extremely unlikely that the Venusians would attack head on, but not impossible, and Mycroft's poor performance in the previous shift's mock battles worried Gwen, as did her theoretical neutrality.

Martian ships were allowed to defend themselves, but she could not build the ship into any of her defensive plans since she could not order the ship to fight. She placed no reliance on Captain Heyer's good sense either; he might rush headlong into combat and be destroyed. His would not be the first Martian ship to become involved in a battle. At least two had been destroyed while travelling in Alliance convoys and the Martian government had declared that self defence did not imply loss of neutrality. That did not mean they encouraged their ships to fight, and Gwen hoped Mycroft would not have to, her neutrality could be as much a weapon as the four cannon she carried. She had to convince Captain Heyer of that, and show him where his best chances of survival lay, but her earlier request that he travel at the head of the convoy made her job harder now. The Venusian attack could start at any time, and Gwen wished she had not left the visit so late.

"Nick, ask Mycroft which airlock we should approach. I'm going aboard."

It's a Martian registered ship, Nick reminded her, and Gwen shrugged.

With Lunar citizens aboard. Say I want a confidential chat, and it'll have to be face to face. They don't have the Alliance ciphers, and I don't want everyone listening in.

Yes, Captain. Nick began the call while Gwen took her uniform jacket from her locker on the rear wall of the control room. She never bothered with it on board Terror but needed it to show her rank when meeting strangers. Although not short compared to the population she grew up in, people she met in space always towered above her, and with her slight build she could easily be mistaken for a child.

The black jacket she shrugged on boasted the full silver sleeve of a Senior Captain, but Gwen felt a fraud wearing it. All cruisers needed a Senior in command though, even one as small as Terror, so Gwen was stuck with it. And the jacket was useful; first impressions counted, and the jacket displayed honours as well as rank.

Airlock Four, Nick announced. The rear one on the port side.

Docking in three minutes, Mr Nye declared.

Gwen studied the ship in the view screen. Overlapping red circles on its bow declared its Martian registration, but the Roman lettering of the name was far larger than the Chinese characters beneath. She stared at the flowing symbols, and hoped Captain Heyer would co-operate. Gwen had all the technical data for the ship, providing such information was one of the conditions of joining a Patrol protected convoy, but Mycroft looked larger than she expected.

Anyone know anything about Captain Heyer? she asked, and Nick nodded. Fill me in then.

Stepping through the airlock into Mycroft was like entering a different world. For a start, this was a proper airlock, a small chamber stacked with emergency evacuation bubbles and one full space suit. Gwen staggered when the door into Terror slid shut; Mycroft ran at lunar gravity and it re-established itself instantly. Gwen was still getting used to the change when the door into Mycroft proper opened. There was no one waiting to meet her, but she had no choice as to direction. The corridor in front of her was as wide as Terror's entire galley, but held nothing except doors leading off on either side, while one blocked the way ahead. None of them were labelled, but the way to the main cabin was obvious, and Gwen was not tempted to explore.

The airlock slid shut behind her, and the door ahead opened immediately. Having only one door opening at a time was standard space ship design, and Gwen did not hesitate to go forward. She stepped into a cabin as large as Terror's entire hull. This was obviously a family room, with comfortable chairs and recreation consoles scattered around, and the family was in full possession. Gwen could see seven children, ranging in age from two to fourteen, and they were all staring at her. She stared back.

In a fully controlled environment clothes could be as fanciful, impractical, or absent as the wearer wished without any discomfort, and the two youngest children were both naked. The oldest girl might as well have been, she had dressed to display her budding assets, and nothing was left to the imagination; her face fell when she realised the expected guest was female. No adults were in evidence, but the under dressed girl spoke out loud,

Patrol's here, Dad.

Four doors led out of the family room; Gwen felt the one behind her slide shut as one on the other side of the space opened, and knew that the control cabin must lie beyond it. She was not sure if she was supposed to stay where she was, or pick her way across the crowded room, but her dilemma was quickly answered.

Thank you, Clarissa. Send him in. Clarissa grinned at Gwen rather spitefully, making a mock courtly gesture to enter the control cabin.

You're a girl, Gwen thought the speaker was male, but hair streamed down his back, long enough not to have been cut in the seven years or so since birth, and he was wearing overalls that gave no hint of his sex.

True, Gwen agreed, not knowing what else to say. She was glad to leave the family room without anyone else speaking.

The control room door slid shut behind her, and Gwen found herself in a much more familiar environment. A holographic tank occupied the forward portion, rather than a simple screen, and three of the four control couches arranged round it were occupied. Gwen ignored them for the moment. The man standing up had to be Mr Heyer, and he was looking at her in blank surprise.

Captain Rishka?

Gwen looked at him. Why would he be expecting Captain Rishka? Had Nick made a mistake and used the wrong name when he said who was coming aboard?

I’m Captain Davies, Captain Heyer, Gwen nodded a greeting. Thank you for seeing me. I. He gave her no chance to continue her speech, breaking in with,

I was expecting Captain Rishka. Heyer frowned at her. "Rishka is Terror’s commanding officer after all!"

Not any more, Gwen told him. I’ve been in command for two months now.

Huh! I would have expected someone older. It was a reaction Gwen had become used to. Terror's successes were legendary, but the Patrol were well aware that the truth about the ship would be an embarrassment. Rumour and press speculation made her out to be the first ship of a new and top secret design, with a crack crew of highly trained officers. In reality she was an elderly ship, reconditioned as part of a student project and still mostly flown by those students.

"I'm Terror’s Captain," Gwen said impatiently. She had too much to do to waste time explaining she had changed her name.

Captain, Mrs Heyer struggled to get up, and Gwen saw she was heavily pregnant. Can I offer you anything to drink?

No thanks, Gwen hoped she did not sound rude. "I can't stay long, there are Venusians in the area, and I need to get back to Terror."

So why did you come over? Captain Heyer said irritably. "This is hardly the time to go visiting