Broken Halo (Wayfarers) Read online

  She pushed those thoughts away and turned back to the task at hand. “Launch the CTRs and four of the RSRs on a patrol around the resonance cascade. If it does turn out to be the Directorate, we need to know their strength and intentions.” Susan paused. “And if they have somehow managed to transit their entire force with such a low output, I want to know about it now, not when they begin hitting our defenses.”

  Mccalister answered with grudging respect. “And if it turns out to be a scout after all, Command?”

  Susan didn’t hesitate. “Then the CTRs will attempt to engage and disable them. We can’t afford to allow them to reveal our positions, and any ship we can destroy or immobilize now is another piece of the Directorate that will no longer pursue us.” A lingering guilt shadowed her words, and she felt compelled to add something more to her orders. “Emphasize the need to disable, and not destroy, the Directorate craft. Better to leave them people to recover than someone they need to avenge.”

  “Acknowledged, Command.” Mccalister paused, as if searching for a tactful way to phrase his next words. It was a rare thing. “Did you want direct communication with the patrols? In case you have special instructions for Angel-One, I mean.”

  Susan’s lips quirked as she fought to restrain her amusement at Mccalister’s attempt to be discreet. He was still learning how to treat her like a decent human being, and it showed at times like this. “No, Penance. Any signals between the Concord and the patrol group would risk revealing our location. If we do encounter enemy units, they need to pursue the rigs back toward you. Your detachment can then lead them on a chase through the system while we make preparations.”

  It was not a kind plan, and Susan didn’t like using a portion of her force as bait so blatantly, but it was unavoidable. The Penance could afford to move faster than the entire rest of the fleet, and didn’t need to join the gravitic net for the cascade until the last minute. Those two facts meant that the Directorate could chase them to their heart’s content, until the Penance and her sister ships rejoined the fleet and cascaded to freedom. Susan hoped that the trick would narrow the window of opportunity to attack the main fleet by enough that they would not risk losing anyone.

  Mccalister, however lacking he might be in the courtesy department, was anything but cowardly. His voice betrayed no worry about being used as a decoy; in fact, he sounded almost relieved for some reason. “Of course, Command. I was thinking of using the last two RSRs as a perimeter guard. They can keep us aware of our surroundings, make sure there aren’t any WGCs waiting for us again.”

  “A good plan, Penance. Command out.” Susan watched as the display marked the launch of the Penance’s rigs, little specks of light that began to move in the direction of the cascade. She knew that Gabriel was one of them and her heart caught at the thought of sending him into danger again, but she knew he would make it back if anyone could. He had already survived dozens of missions just as dangerous, and she didn’t think this one would be any different.

  Still, it was hard not to clench the arms of her chair as those dots of light drew closer to their target. If there was one thing Susan knew well about war, it was that anything could happen—to anyone.

  Gabe’s heart pounded in his ears as he accelerated to full speed. The rest of his flight of CTRs had spread out in an escort formation, with two of the RSRs tucked in behind them. Off to the right, another formation of CTRs and RSRs were moving toward the target area from a different angle, their sensors and pilots just as alert for anything that could reveal an enemy presence.

  So far, there hadn’t been anything—but then again, there hadn’t been anything at first the last time the Directorate showed up. Gabe cleared his throat. “Angel-One to Patrol One, anybody see anything?”

  One of the RSRs answered. “Prophet-Three, nothing on the sensors yet. We’ve nearly reached the cascade point. Recommend sending Patrol One up along the vertical while Patrol Two dives along the opposite vector. If they’re following standard maneuvers, we’ll catch them easier that way.”

  Gabe felt a chill. That plan meant he would be climbing, which was where the patrols had encountered the enemy in the last system. He shook off a brief feeling of doom. “Confirmed. Patrol One will head up, Patrol Two goes down. Call out at the first sign of trouble, and again, no signals to the main group.”

  Angel-Nine, the leader for Patrol Two, answered. “Confirmed, Angel-One. Breaking off.” The four CTRs and two RSRs swept into a sharp dive while Gabe led his own rigs upward. They quickly disappeared against the backdrop of the stars, though the BCI helpfully tagged their general location with a bright orange dot.

  Then there was nothing—nothing but silence broken only by the howling of the illusory wind on Gabe’s face and the occasional muttered prayer to the Lord. Gabe could feel the tension in the rest of his flight mates, and he wondered if the others thought they were speeding directly into a trap as well. After they had climbed for several minutes, he keyed his comm again. “Angel-One to Prophet-Three. Still no sign?”

  “No contacts, Angel-One. None at all. We should have found them by now.” The frustration evident in the scout’s voice was clear over the comm. “They could have come out and headed to the sides, or on a diagonal. It’s hard to say without more scouts available.”

  A second signal came in, this time from far below his position. “Angel-Nine here. No contacts reported. Any change in orders?”

  Gabe thought for a moment, running over the various possibilities in his head. “Okay, we’re going to split up. We have to cover as much ground as we possibly can without getting too far from each other.” He mentally planned out the maneuvers as he spoke, trying to calculate the distances involved in his head. “RSRs, break left and right, curving back toward the plane of the system. CTRs, pick vectors about sixty degrees from the course the RSRs are following, and curve back just like they are. We’ll form a nice little hexagon and meet up with Patrol Two at the plane of the system. Once we make contact, move to support each other and fly smart. We want to lead them to the Penance, not the Concord. Everyone got it?”

  Acknowledgements came back to him over the communications network and the formation broke up exactly as planned, the six rigs spaced evenly into a six-pointed star. He followed his own course, curving back to where he could see the signals of Patrol Two. Their courses would form a kind of sphere that should—theoretically, at least—catch their unwanted visitors inside. Gabe ramped up his sensors to full power, straining for any sign of movement.

  For long moments, there was nothing. Then a small red light appeared in the corner of his vision, warning him that his sensors had picked up something behind him.

  Gabe froze, alarm bells ringing through his mind. He turned his head very, very carefully, hoping to make it look like a casual, disinterested sweep of the area. Anything more dramatic would clue the enemy in that they had been noticed, and given where they were, he didn’t want to end up with a plasma bolt in the back. It took long moments to pivot enough to see, a minor eternity where he had to pretend that everything was still normal.

  Then it was there, hovering at the extreme edge of his sensor range. Ice distilled in Gabe’s gut as he recognized it, half a second before a garbled, static-filled signal reached him. “Atanaas?”

  Giving up all pretense of subterfuge, Gabe turned to face the slender rig. He couldn’t tell if it was the same one he’d faced before, but something suggested that it was. There was a momentary temptation to wave hello, but Gabe killed it quickly. He keyed his squadron frequency. “Angel-One to Patrol One, Patrol Two. Does anyone else have a visitor?”

  Allen answered a second later. “No. Have you made enemy contact?”

  “Negative. No WGCs or other Directorate craft in evidence.” Gabe kept his eyes locked on the slender rig. It was shifting, as if impatient. “It’s the other ones. The ones from before they showed up.”

  Silence answered his response, and before anyone could respond, the slender rig spoke again. “Atana
as? Mae consesa u muatero.” It moved its arm up to train its weapon on him, and Gabe restrained himself from doing likewise. He had no idea what kind of game the other rig was playing, and the last thing the fleet needed was another enemy. Instead, he pointed his gun blatantly out to the side.

  “My name is Gabriel Miller, Wayfarer Defense Force. I am no threat to you.”

  The other rig hesitated, its gun still pointed at him. “No aes Atanaas?”

  Gabe shook his head, hoping it was the right answer. “Not Atanaas. Wayfarer.” He tapped his chest with his free hand. “Wayfarer. Gabriel.”

  The slender rig appeared to ponder this answer, the strange lights along the sides of its head winking at him. Then its gun turned aside. “Waeferer. No aes Atanaas.”

  Gabe nodded, exaggerating the gesture. “That’s right. Wayfarer.” He paused, searching for the right words. “Who are you? Are you Atanaas?”

  In answer, the rig tilted its head to the side. “Atanaas? Dundu?” The rig looked about the surrounding area, its weapon coming up as it searched. Clearly, Atanaas was not a friend.

  He waved to catch the thing’s attention, and its head came back around to stare at him. “No. Wayfarer.” Gabe tapped his chest. Then he gestured with his free hand to the slender rig. “You?”

  For a moment, the message did not seem to get through. Then the rig’s shoulders shook, as if in laughter. “Hasee! Aeoy Eagro, du lo Breces Rotis.” It tapped its chest with its own free hand. “Eagro. Hasee aes?”

  Gabe grinned. He tried to match the deep tone of his apparent counterpart. “Asee aes. Good to meet you, Eagro.” To clarify his meaning, he offered a slight bow.

  The motion seemed to amuse the other rig, and again the shoulders shook. “Aeblis vin! Mae du grestae conotertu.” It copied his bow, though it seemed to make the motion much more fluidly. When it straightened, however, its stance grew much more formal, and the voice grew deeper. “Cuidse du Atanaas, Waeferer. Mae duar u bono du lestimar sei wellas tu muateren. Nas baemus.”

  The slender rig moved its non-weaponized arm in a sort of ritualized flourish, and then it turned as if to leave. Gabe reached out, surprised that the stranger was already satisfied with their exchange. “Wait. Who are you? Where are you going?”

  His questions were answered only by another wave of the slender rig’s hand, and then the intruder shot away. Gabe accelerated after it, his mind racing. If the rig was headed back to its own kind, maybe they had some kind of base nearby that the Wayfarer fleet could draw supplies from. Perhaps the strangers would even be interested in a kind of alliance to resist the Directorate, if such a thing was possible. Either way, he had to know more. He wasn’t going to let the thing escape him a second time.

  Gabe had barely begun his pursuit when the rig glanced back and gave him an almost annoyed gesture. It accelerated even further, pushing itself past the safe speeds that a CTR could endure. Desperation filled him as the rig began to pull away from him. He glanced back, wondering where the others were. “Angel-One to patrols, I’m in hot pursuit. Where are you guys? Repeat, I’m chasing an unknown rig and need RSR backup.”

  Garbled static was his only answer, and Gabe began to notice small contacts flickering in his periphery. They were steadier than they had been. When he took a closer look at them, he realized that they were located along the lines his signals would have taken to reach the others. The fact that the strangers had isolated him from the others nearly convinced him to cut short his pursuit, but he shook off his fear and pressed on. If danger lay ahead, the Lord would protect him. He had to know more.

  The slender rig continued to gain distance on him, and he began to despair of finding out anything more about his uncertain quarry. He was just on the edge of losing contact, the slender rig a mere speck on his sensors, when the BCI brought something to his attention.

  It seemed like nothing at first, a simple ripple in the background scatter of the surrounding area. Space was hardly an even distribution of electromagnetic radiation and gravity, and sometimes the sensor suite tended to pick up occasional oddities instead of focusing on the wider tactical picture. Yet that distortion had occurred directly ahead of him, just barely off to the right of where his target was fleeing, and Gabe focused his attention on it for a second.

  In that second, the ripple became something more. Worse, it moved, sliding through the void on some unclear journey, and Gabe brought his rig up short. Momentum continued to carry him forward even as he tried to brake, to pull back from that disturbance. His sensors continued to refine their data as he watched in horror.

  The ship—if that was even the right word—was a monstrosity that no sane individual could have created. There were certain rules to shipbuilding, especially when the stresses and complications of tetherdrive travel were considered. Most large craft were built in a sturdy rectangular or oblong shape, with few variations. Anything more delicate or ornate tended to tear apart during combat maneuvers, or required far more power than any current technology had ever provided.

  This ship was anything but normal. The thing burrowed through space like a terrible claw, with spikes and protrusions distorting the space ahead of it. Its shields were so heavy that even at such a close distance—and he was close enough that he whispered a horrified prayer to the Lord that he could still escape it—Gabe couldn’t see through the disturbance those shields created. At any greater distance, the ship would have been completely undetectable, and the speed at which it moved was just as impossible as that level of protection. Gabe remembered the cascade signal that had brought his patrol to the spot and numbly came to the conclusion that it had definitely not been the Directorate that had entered the system there.

  Yet for all that deadly power and terrifying alien structure, the ship did not seem unduly concerned about him. As his momentum slowed to a near halt and he started to accelerate away from the spot, one last signal reached him, this time in an even deeper and more alien tone than Eagro’s. “Wa, vasta, Waeferer. Nas baemos aen ottru tempar.”

  With that, both the escorting contacts and the last traces of the rig he’d chased vanished, scattering like seeds before the wind. The terrible ship he’d glimpse rippled out of sight, receding past the point where his sensors could identify its horrifying shape, and Gabe shuddered in relief. He’d thought that the slender rig had been bad enough, but that thing was definitely going to torment his dreams for a long, long while.

  Abruptly, a flood of signals crashed in on him, and Gabe was assaulted by a half-dozen open channels from his patrol members. Allen’s voice overrode all the others. His wingman did not sound pleased. “Angel-One, if you don’t respond right now, I’m going to—”

  “I’m here, Two. Still here.” There was only a short pause, and then the comm net filled with demands for explanations. Gabe tried his best to speak over them. “They were jamming me, I think. I haven’t heard you guys for the past few minutes at all.”

  Prophet-Three was the first to respond to that detail. “How is that even possible? And if the Directorate could do that, then why—”

  “It wasn’t the Directorate.” Silence reigned again, and Gabe glanced back at the spot where the ship had been. The shape of it was still etched in his memory. “Trust me, I almost wish it was. Let’s get back to base.”

  He ignored the other demands from the pilots who hadn’t understood what he meant. The rest of his flight kept quiet; no matter what the others would say, Allen and the other Angels knew what Gabe had seen in the last system, and they could probably figure out what he’d found here, too. After that, the rest of the fleet would hear about it as well, thanks to the rumor mill, but he didn’t want to start that whole process early. Trying to convince IntCent that he was serious was going to be hard enough without the others making it harder. This time, letting them ignore it was not an option; the presence of another ship—likely a rig carrier, now that he thought of it—was too big to set aside for convenience’s sake.

  As he set his course for the P
enance, Gabe prayed that the Lord would help him see what his discovery was going to mean for the people. Yet all he knew as that distance shrank was that he and the rest were going to have an awful lot of explaining to do.

  Chapter Nine

  Susan looked up as Gabriel came storming through the door. She’d expected him to react this way, though it did surprise her that she wasn’t seeing him until now. He waited with palpable impatience for her to acknowledge him, standing at rigid attention as she finished the report on her console. Then she turned to him, careful to keep her expression and tone of voice calm and neutral. “Captain?”

  Gabriel delivered a salute more precisely than he ever did when he wasn’t angry. He spoke with deliberate formality. “Captain Miller, wanting to speak with the Admiral about his orders.”

  The edge in his voice made it tempting to make him wait even longer, but Susan decided against provoking him any further. “Take a seat, Captain.”

  Gabriel sat, his spine rigid. For a long moment, he merely stared at her. Then he began in a flat, level tone. “Medical examination, Susan? You really think I’ve gone crazy?”

  Susan winced inwardly at the betrayal in his tone, though she took care to hide it from him. “The possibility existed that the crash affected you somehow. It was suggested to me that perhaps the BCI was also damaged in some way that the technicians on the Foundry missed. I decided that I needed to make sure you were stable.”

  “Stable?” The question was delivered in such an incredulous tone that Susan winced again, this time openly. Gabriel shot out of his chair and began to pace the office, completely disregarding any sign of proper discipline—again. “So they’re saying what—that the damage explains the perfectly fine sensor records I brought back? That it explains the fact that my communications were jammed for several minutes? All so they can ignore what I found out there?”