The Hades Connection

by Gabriel S. Timar

Chapter 11

The last things George Pike remembered about his life on Earth were the suntanned, streamlined, naked body of Lynn, the report of a gun, the bullet hole in the wood paneling, and his blood on the white carpet next to the black towel.

The next thing he knows, he’s being welcomed to the Third Dimension, where he has a choice not only of afterlifes but of accommodations and a new body, as well. George signs up with Hades, Ltd., a corporation that seems to be the best of a dubious lot.

George very much enjoys being welcomed by Arabella, who is not only highly efficient but something of a race car driver. And yet she has asked one question he cannot answer: how he died. Neither he nor anyone else seems to know. Now George must meet the head of Hades, Ltd., a certain Mr. Lucifer... and prepare himself for a career as a double agent in interstellar intrigue.

Just as I was ready to leave, somebody knocked on the door.

“Come in,” I shouted in a tone I believed worthy of the captain of a spaceship. However, the voice sounded more like the meow of a kitten than the roar of a lion.

A young crewman entered, threw a crisp salute and reported: “Mr. Fedorov’s compliments, sir. He would be most grateful if you could come to the bridge at your earliest convenience.”

“Very well,” I replied, this time in a more acceptable tone, and reached for my braided cap.

The bridge was only a few meters from the captain’s quarters; we got there in a few seconds. Lieutenant Fedorov was bending over the planetograph. For the moment, I was lost again in the memories of von Vardy.

I just stood there studying Fedorov, an impressive young man born a few years before the Great War. At the end of the hostilities, his father was a major general commanding a Cossack Armored Division on the Caucasus front. His mother served on the Nimrod as a communications engineer during the ship’s epic battles. She was the daughter of a Scottish peer and the first Briton to earn the Distinguished Service Cross in the Great War.

With such a bloodline, Fedorov was a sure winner to get into the army or the space fleet. He chose the latter, but by virtue of his family traditions, wanted to come to grips with the enemy. Therefore he specialized in armaments and weaponry. Although Fedorov was the youngest commissioned officer on the Nimrod, he was good enough to hold the prestigious posts of chief gunnery officer and third in command.

He turned around, threw a crisp salute, and said: “It’s nice of you to come so quickly, sir.”

“Your message suggested urgency, Mr. Fedorov,” I said returning his salute. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“I don’t really know if there is a problem, Captain,” he replied. “It could be a ship shadowing us, or the planetographs may be acting up. I don’t know enough about the communications equipment to sort it out. Therefore I put the ship on yellow alert, turned the shielding to maximum, called you, and sent a messenger to wake up Lieutenant Scranton.”

“Good thinking, Mr. Fedorov,” I replied. “On a crucial mission like this, one cannot be too careful. Did you try the standby sets?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “When I found the same malfunction, I ordered the yellow alert. Let me show you.”

He moved out of the way and pointed at the screens: “They are all on now, sir,” he said.

The planetograph is the most important navigational instrument of a cruising spaceship. It is similar to radar but has a much longer range. It shows all foreign bodies within 5, 10, 15, 20 and 25 minutes cruising distance from the ship.

Normally there are four planetographs on a gravac ship; one is always set at a short distance coverage, say five minutes, while the other one looking for objects in the long range, at twenty or twenty-five minutes cruising time away. The other two sets are on standby in case of any malfunction. Naturally, if the set is covering shorter cruising distance, it will show more of the smaller objects than in the long-range setting.

I looked at the two working sets. One was set at five, while the other at twenty-five minutes as prescribed in the operating manuals.

“Every time I switch on the standby set to the ten-minute coverage,” Fedorov explained, “a bogey appears at three o’clock horizontal, plus two o’clock vertical, about 5.2 minutes out. It slips off the screen in a few seconds. My crew is very fast with the primary sensor, but not fast enough. They just could not lock on or hold it long enough to have a look.”

“Curious,” I remarked. “Let’s see.”

“As you wish,” Fedorov shrugged, “please observe.”

He turned on the standby set and set it to the five minutes coverage. Nothing happened; the two screens were identical. When he switched the standby planetograph to the ten minutes coverage, the bogey was there; a high-density little bastard. The instant the set was on, it slid across the screen.

“Return the standby set to five minutes coverage,” I ordered.

The switch clicked and I had the two sets on five minutes coverage. I slowly counted to five.

“Test the operating set. Switch to ten minutes now,” I ordered.

“Affirmative,” intoned Fedorov; the switch clicked.

I stared at the screen. The echo appeared again, and just as quickly slid off the screen.

“Mr. Fedorov, kindly switch one of the standby sets to ten minutes,” I said.

“Yes sir,” he replied and threw the switch.

The screen was empty.

I turned to Fedorov: “Hit fifteen minutes.”

The screen was still empty. The solution to the problem was obvious.

“There is nothing wrong with the planetographs, Lieutenant,” I said. “There is a ship out there. The fellow is sensitive to our planetograph echoes. She shows up on the five- and ten-minute range, but it is too small to show up on the fifteen. There is no doubt: she is shadowing us.”

“I understand,” Fedorov replied. “Any instructions, Captain?”

“Keep the ten-minute coverage on one of the planetographs, set the other one to the five-minute range. If the fellow enters the ten-minute zone, order optimum acceleration for manual control, put your gunners on red alert and fire at will. There is a good chance the bastard is hostile.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Fedorov replied and recorded my orders.

I made myself comfortable in the captain’s chair and pulled the straps tight. My mind was racing. I knew it should be a robot ship with the neutron drive. Humans would not survive the brutal acceleration when the bogey slid across the screen. She had to do at least 12 G’s to move that fast. With a gravac ship, we could not possibly outrun it.

Scranton arrived. He was also a very promising youngster, an unequalled expert of navigation equipment.

“Thank you for being so quick, Mr. Scranton,” I said. “Please forgive me for calling during your rest period, but we have a problem and need your expertise.”

He seemed surprised, but did not say anything. Maybe this was not the usual style of Captain von Vardy.

“I understand, Scranton, you know everything about planetographs,” I continued.

“I try, sir, I try,” he groaned.

“The false modesty of youth, Scranton,” I said with a smile. “Could you modify one of the planetographs to give us eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen minutes coverage?”

“Most certainly, sir,” he replied confidently.

“How long will it take?”

“I’ve already done it, sir,” he said turning red as a lobster. “I have a fine tuner installed on each planetograph. I use them to confirm our average velocity. I can give you any time coverage setting instantly from one minute up to sixty.”

“I’m not going to ask for the authorization of the modification to standard equipment nor for the detailed technology.” I smiled. “I want you to turn two planetographs on the ten-minute coverage. Then slowly turn one of them to eleven minutes. There should be a ship there. If it slides off, go up to twelve minutes and keep going until the damn thing stays put. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, sir,” Scranton replied. “When do I start?”

“As soon as I give you the order,” I replied. “Mr. Fedorov, get your primary sensor crew ready and rig the pen ray as well. As soon as Scranton determines the position of the ship, your guys should lock on. Send the image to my intelligence screen.”

“Affirmative,” Fedorov replied.

The penetration X-ray sensor, a very special scanner, called “pen ray” in spacefleet slang, passes through all types of shields; it scans the interior of any vessel. As the beam is very tight, no larger than the diameter of the lead in a pencil. It is nearly impossible to detect being under pen ray inspection. With this type of sensor, one can feel through the interior of a ship and produce a picture similar to a jigsaw puzzle. With further sweeps, the observer can fill in the blanks.

“One more thing, Mr. Fedorov,” I said. “We may have to do some fancy evasive maneuvers. Please ask Commander Nelson-Sired to take over the pilot’s seat. Let me know when everything is ready.”

Just as Fedorov disappeared, Scranton stepped to my chair and reported: “Sir, I believe I can tell you exactly when the readings on the strange ship will stabilize.”

I shot him a querying look.

“You see, sir,” he explained, “at the 12.345 minute coverage the planetograph signal is identical to its carrier wave.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Well,” Scranton continued, “their receiver must be tuned to the planetograph signal only. Their sensor must identify it and send the necessary command to the computer. However, the sensor must be insensitive to the carrier wave. If they couldn’t follow us precisely, they’d be reacting to the continuous carrier wave signal.”

“Interesting theory,” I replied. “We should test it as soon as everybody is ready.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, sir,” replied Scranton and returned to the planetographs.

“Pilot ready,” came the voice of Commander Nelson-Sired.

I looked at the pilot’s seat. The commander was sitting there, strapped in as prescribed.

“Thank you, Stuart,” I said politely. A captain must extend the utmost courtesy to his first officer.

“Primary sensor and pen ray crews are ready,” came the voice of Fedorov.

“Engage, Mr. Scranton,” I intoned.

Apparently, he immediately started with the 12.345-minute setting because the ship remained on the screen.

“UFO at 12.345 minutes out at 3 o’clock horizontal and 4.93764 hours high,” Scranton reported.

“Primary sensor and pen ray locked, sir,” Fedorov said.

I had the strange ship on my screen. The primary sensor was at extreme range, but I could see the cigar-shaped, orange-colored, very small, high-density ship. It looked like an old-fashioned bullet without external appendages. I estimated it was no more than ten meters long.

“Mr. Scranton, switch the planetograph to five minutes coverage on my command,” I stated. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, “I can switch whenever you wish.”

“Okay,” I said. “Mr. Fedorov, the UFO should come in closer when we switch off the ten minutes coverage. Alert the primary sensor crew to maintain contact.”

“Affirmative,” came the reply.

“Stu,” I turned to the Commander, “if the bogey starts for us, you must take evasive maneuvers whatever you see fit. If she appears on our two-minute screen, the gunners will have a go at it. If this happens, I can’t give you any orders; we’ll be in your capable hands.”

“I understand,” he replied, winked and gave me the thumbs up sign.

“Is everybody ready?” I asked.

“Planetograph ready,” came Scranton’s voice.

“Primary sensor and pen ray crew ready,” Fedorov reported.

“Mr. Scranton, if you please, switch now,” I ordered.

The ship disappeared from our screens.

“Primary sensor and pen ray still locked on the UFO,” Fedorov replied. “She is now 5.01 minutes out, 2.9875 hours horizontal and 2.00385 hours high.”

It was much better. The strange ship filled my intelligence screen. The primary sensor and the pen ray were both working well.

“Pen ray crew,” I ordered, “give me a sketch pattern on the whole ship.”

The ship’s interior slowly emerged as a faint jigsaw puzzle on my screen.

“Mr. Fedorov,” I snapped, “ please report on the potential armaments of the UFO.”

He undid his safety harness, walked behind me, and studied the screen.

“I need more information on the nose cone,” he said.

“Pen ray crew, triple sketch pattern, start at the nose cone,” I ordered.

The pen ray crew must have been good; the voids on the nose cone begun to fill in fast.

Fedorov studied the screen intensely. “It seems, sir,” he started, “there is a large nuclear warhead in the nose cone. It is about five to ten megatons. There is also a short-range rocket attached to the warhead. From its fan size and the fuel container, I believe it has at least thirty-G acceleration capability. The fuel reserves appear to be adequate for about twenty minutes’ flying time.”

“Great,” I sighed. “The bastard can catch us no matter what. Stuart,” I turned to the pilot, “give me optimum acceleration for manual control, if you please.”

“Roger,” came the reply. “Set acceleration to 1.275 Gees.”

By this time, the pen ray crew had finished the triple sketch pattern; we now had a good idea of the interior of the ship. As I had suspected, it was a robot vessel.

“Pen ray crew,” I intoned, “give me total saturation readings on the ship.”

“Roger,” came the reply.

“Well, Mr. Fedorov, what else did you find?” I asked.

“There are no other manually controlled or automated weapons systems on board, sir,” Fedorov stated. “The guidance and the autopilot must be miniaturized, since I cannot find the damn things. Furthermore, I have no idea what makes the ship move.”

I did. I located the iridium alloy block with the daphnium crystal of a zero-inertia drive. The ship used technology far more advanced than the capabilities of the Khomu engineers. Obviously, our competition had sent it directly from a highly developed civilization in the First Dimension.

I needed time to figure it out. However, a couple of things were obvious: we had to defuse the warhead somehow and stop the operator from activating it.

“Mr. Fedorov,” I said, “assign your best gunners to number four and five laser cannons. If the nose cone separates, they must open fire at maximum aperture as soon as the missile reaches their extreme range. Use manual target lock, because the pilot will take wild evasive maneuvers.

“After you’ve issued your orders, get together with Mr. Scranton, organize an EVA-rated team to go out there and defuse that damned bomb. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” replied Fedorov, obviously very pleased. “By the way, Captain, may I lead the EVA team?”

“Do you know anybody on this ship who knows more about weaponry than you?” I asked.

“Well,” he groaned.

“I don’t,” I rapped. “So, by default you are elected.”

For the moment, I had nothing to do on the bridge, except to prevent Ivan alias Ann Forrest pressing the firing button. I was sure it was located in his or her cabin.

“Stu,” I said, “would you take charge for a few minutes? I have to check with Miss Forrest on something related to this bomb.”

The commander gave me a strange look but did not say anything, just nodded.

I stood up and went to my quarters.

Proceed to Chapter 12...