Match Game - Chapter One

The Bosphuraq cruiser approached the edge of its assigned sector and pinged the sensor frigates assigned to the squadron’s patrol route, logging the updates as they straggled in from the five escort ships that were scattered from sixteen to twenty nine lightseconds away. All of the frigates, and the cruiser’s own sensor suite, reported detecting the same thing in the sector: absolutely nothing. More than twenty lightdays distant from the star system where the squadron was based, the sector was, in fact, filled with drifting chunks of dirty ice that would become comets if something disturbed their orbits and they fell inward toward the star. To say interstellar space was ‘filled’ with anything was a great exaggeration, the vast sphere of dust, gas and ice chunks was so dispersed that it could usually only be detected with active sensor pulses. However, other than useless junk matter left over from the long-ago formation of the Bildegung star system, the squadron’s sweep had found no indication of any threats. No stealthed starships, no remnants of jump wormholes, no echoes of hostile sensor pulses, unless the Bosphuraq counted faint echoes of Thuranin sensor sweeps as hostile.

The Bosphuraq certainly did.

No one in the galaxy trusted the miserable little green Thuranin cyborgs, especially not those who knew them best: their peers within the Maxohlx coalition. The joint operation to capture the strategically important world of Bildegung from the Jeraptha was supposed to have been a Bosphuraq initiative, with temporary assistance from the Thuranin. The Jeraptha Home Fleet base and heavy shipyard at Bildegung had been a thorn in the side of the Maxohlx coalition for millennia. In the last thousand years, seven major Thuranin offensives to capture that star system had ended in defeat for the cyborgs, the most recent two battles were crushing defeats that weakened the cyborgs across their territory, leading to substantial losses. Tired of seeing their idiot cyborg clients losing, the Maxohlx had cajoled their Bosphuraq clients into an uneasy, and supposedly temporary, joint operation with their hated rivals. The unexpected arrival of six hundred Bosphuraq warships, accompanied by nearly the same number of Thuranin ships, had forced the Jeraptha commander of the Bildegung base to make a difficult decision. She could fight a delaying action to prevent the overwhelming enemy force from quickly taking control of the star system’s important military spacedocks, fuel stations and repair facilities, but the civilian population of the single habitable planet would suffer greatly in what would undoubtedly be a vicious battle. Or, she could retreat, send for reinforcements and conduct hit and run raids to harass the enemy until the Home Fleet could come back in force.

She had chosen the second option, partly based on assurances from the invading Bosphuraq that they had no interest in the planet or its population; they only cared about denying the star system to the Jeraptha as a base for offensive operations. At the time, it was assumed by both sides that a strong counteroffensive by the Jeraptha would come within months at the most.

Both sides were wrong. The Bosphuraq did keep their word to largely leave the planet untouched, even allowing Jeraptha cargo ships to carry supplies to and from Bildegung, though the fee charged for transit, security, and armed escort by the Bosphuraq soon made shipping impractical. With the population of that world relatively secure, and the Jeraptha Home Fleet busy elsewhere, a massive and costly operation to retake Bildegung had not risen to the top of the priority list.

Until recently.

The Bosphuraq had not kept their word to leave the planet’s population untouched because they had a strong sense of honor, or because they wanted to avoid bad publicity. They had intended to break their promise almost immediately, but they just weren’t given the opportunity. Their actions in that star system were restricted, simply because their treacherous cyborg allies had not gone away as they had promised. Instead of being satisfied that the Bosphuraq had solved a problem for them, and moved on to address their many other serious security problems, the Thuranin had maintained a fleet of almost a hundred warships at Bildegung. Skirmishes between the two supposed allies broke out frequently enough that their Maxohlx patrons recently had thrown up their hands and announced that their idiot clients could fight all they wanted, as long as the conflict was confined to that star system.

When that ‘All Clear’ signal reached the Thuranin at Bildegung first, their commander reacted instantly, activating a plan they had been wargaming for years. The Bosphuraq held the advantages of having twice as many warships in-system, and a greater percentage of those ships were heavy combatants. The Thuranin, knowing they were significantly outnumbered and outgunned, knew they couldn’t win a stand-up fight. They had one major advantage: the Bosphuraq were at the end of a very long supply line, and that route passed through Thuranin territory.

The Thuranin didn’t need to win a battle at Bildegung, they only needed to make the Bosphuraq see that the costs of keeping that world was not worth the benefits.

After launching a brutal surprise attack, the Thuranin then jumped away to harass the enemy supply lines. Since that battle two months before, the two sides had settled into a war of attrition, both combatants growing weaker with each ship lost, and with every vital component that wore out and could not easily be replaced. After just the first week of vicious fighting, the Thuranin were no longer trying to expel their hated rivals from the star system. They were waiting for the Jeraptha to see a juicy opportunity for vengeance, and all signs pointed to the beetles massing for a strike, led by the famous Mighty 98th Fleet. Instead of the Thuranin needing to take risks to administer a serious beat-down to the Bosphuraq, the cyborgs could just wait for the Jeraptha to do that for them. Knowing what their asshole supposed allies had planned, and anticipating an imminent Jeraptha attack, the Bosphuraq pulled the bulk of their in-system fleet together to orbit the vulnerable planet. If the Jeraptha wanted their planet back, they would have to pay a terrible price in blood.

The Bosphuraq cruiser, having detected no sign of Jeraptha activity in the sector, and feeling exposed operating so far from the planet, signaled its attending frigates to jump away in sequence. As the jump clock counted down-

The frigates began exploding.

Frantically, the cruiser scanned for the source of the attack and found nothing. No enemy ships, no missiles racing in for an attack. One, two, then three frigates exploded without warning and the cruiser’s captain decided to jump away, ordering-

Nothing.

The ship’s crew were frozen in horror, as twin rifts opened in spacetime a lightsecond away. Swirling light accompanied the chaotic radiation, blinding the cruiser’s sensors. Seconds later, there was no need for sophisticated sensors. Anyone looking at a viewscreen or out an airlock porthole could see with their own eyes: the writhing tentacles of a Sentinel emerging.

Acting without orders, a junior navigation technician slapped a button to activate the programmed jump, and the cruiser vibrated terribly as its drive struggled to create a coherent jump field, but create a field it did. The cruiser slipped away in its own deadly burst of radiation, jumping once, twice, three times to get away from the horrific thing.

When the cruiser jumped in near the planet Bildegung, but inside the zone restricted by local traffic control, the ship came close to being obliterated by friendly fire, the assembled Bosphuraq war fleet having many gunnery crews ready and eager to shoot at anything and everything. Accompanied by shocking images, the news flashed throughout the fleet and across the surface of the planet below.

A Sentinel was coming.

Humans had reportedly been able to put Sentinels back into hibernation, but apparently not all of them!

The planet had only hours, perhaps mere minutes, before it was torn apart.

Wisely, the Bosphuraq war fleet jumped away, and kept jumping.

Shortly after, Thuranin sensor frigates having picked up the Bosphuraq emergency transmission, their commander sent word out to their own scattered squadrons: retreat; jump away immediately upon receipt of the signal, and assemble at the nearest friendly military base. There was no hope of fighting a Sentinel. Reports that Sentinels across the galaxy were going back into hibernation were clearly mistaken. Whatever the humans had done, they had failed.

The planet Bildegung, and its three billion Jeraptha inhabitants, was doomed.

“A Sentinel? Here?” Admiral Tashallo gasped, slumping back in his command couch aboard the Mighty 98thFleet’s flagship.

“Yes,” the battleship’s captain confirmed, the message slip held by a shaky claw. “There is no mistake, Sir, the evidence is clear. Admiral, the enemy fleet, it appears both enemy fleets, have jumped away from Bildegung. Our path is clear.”

“Clear. Except for an ancient killing machine, that possesses technology that might as well be magic to us,” Tashallo muttered.

“Sir? Your orders?” Captain Lufundria asked.

“My orders,” Tashallo repeated stupidly, his mind in shock, trying to process the unthinkable. He had won the battle without firing a shot. Yet, what had he won? A planet that soon would be devastated, thrown out of orbit, or turned into a loose pile of rubble. Three billion of his fellow citizens would soon be dead. “Lufundria,” he took a deep breath, calming himself to project an entirely false air of confidence. “Bring the assault carriers forward. Have their star carriers jump directly into orbit, there is no time for an orderly separation.”

“Assault carriers? Sir, those ships will be vulnerable until we establish-”

“Until we establish a secure perimeter around the planet. Captain, the Sentinel has already done that for us. We cannot defend the world from such a horror. All we can do is pull as many of our people off the surface, before,” he looked away. “Before,” his voice trailed off. Regaining his composure, Tashallo stood up, aware that all eyes were on him. “Have the escort squadrons accompany the assault carriers to the planet. I want every available dropship to pull people off the surface.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Lufundria dipped her antennas, and turned away to issue orders. The star carriers burdened with assault transports were far away, constantly maneuvering to match course and speed with the planet. The star carriers could react quickly, though the crews of the transports would need time to prep their dropships. And someone would have to throw together a plan to evacuate a tiny fraction of the planet, under conditions of total panic.

“Lufundria, wait,” Tashallo called, and the battleship’s captain halted. “All other units will jump on my signal.”

“Sir? Where are we going?”

“To fight the Sentinel.”

Lufundria’s leathery face turned a paler shade. “Fight it?”

Tashallo’s antennas drooped in a fatalistic shrug. “To distract it, then, while the assault transports rescue as many as they can. It appears our human friends were not successful in their efforts to send the Sentinels back to, wherever they came from.  If we are to die anyway, we die fighting.”

“Sir,” Lufundria drew herself up to full height. “The Mighty 98th will show that Elder killing machine why we are much feared.”

Tashallo did not acknowledge the brave but foolish statement, other than with a curt movement of his antennas. Walking to stand near the battleship’s main display, he watched with grim satisfaction as the crew prepared for a hopeless battle.

When all units of the Mighty 98th acknowledged the revised orders, he quietly told the navigation officer to start a countdown to jump. A countdown to death.

He should say something, he knew. Something stirring, something that would inspire his crews, for they would soon be dead. Words that might live on, to inspire other elements of the Home Fleet to fight on, against impossible-

“Sir!” Lufundria interrupted the admiral’s dark thoughts. “A ship just jumped in.”

“One of ours?” Tashallo asked.

“Not,” her mandibles worked side to side, like she was about to spit out something unpleasant. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? What do you mean by-”

“It’s the Ethics people, one of their specialty stealth cruisers, the ‘We Don’t Want to Brag About That Thing You Can’t Prove We Did’.” Lufundria sighed. “A Captain Scorandum wishes to speak with you. Urgently. He used the proper Flash priority code.”

“He did, hmm? Is he aware that our plans have changed?”

“Perhaps he wishes to join the fight?” She said sourly, knowing that couldn’t be true.

Tashallo snorted. “Perhaps, he wishes to register a wager on how long the Mighty 98th survives fighting a Sentinel. Put him on the main display, please.”

The image of Captain Scorandum appeared, his head floating disembodied in the holographic tank at the center of the battleship’s bridge. “Admiral Tashallo?”

“Big Score,” Tashallo used the other officer’s nickname. “If you are contacting me to announce a Sentinel is active in the area, we already know.”

“It is-”

“Several Bosphuraq frigates were blasted apart without warning, by an unknown-”

“We know. That was-”

“A Sentinel then emerged in the same area, it-”

“Never happened!” Scorandum said loudly, to drown out the Mighty 98th’s commander.

“-is assumed to-” Tashallo continued as if the ECO captain had not spoken. “Er,” he blinked. “Never what?”

“Admiral, it never happened. There is no Sentinel,” Scorandum’s very self-satisfied face filled the display.

“There are at least three Bosphuraq frigates that would disagree with you.”

“Those frigates were destroyed by stealth mines,” Scorandum’s antennas twitched. “A lesson there: it is best to vary your patrol route, so it does not become predictable.”

“That was your doing?”

“Um, I can neither confirm nor deny any involvement.”

“But, the, the Sentinel,” Tashallo insisted.

“Holographic projections,” Scorandum explained, a grin creeping into his expression. “It was touch and go there for a moment. Those holographic projectors, and the radiation generators, consume a hellacious amount of power. We worried that damned Bosphuraq cruiser was never going to jump away. If it waited another few seconds, the holograms would have collapsed.”

Tashallo’s antennas drooped. “There is no Sentinel?” He suddenly needed a large, a very large glass of burgoze.

“Nope,” Scorandum shook his head, his antennas bobbing side to side. “There never was. As far as we know, the humans have somehow put them all back into hibernation.”

“Captain Scorandum,” Tashallo glared. “You did not think to inform me of your operation in advance?”

“Er, well, Sir, we didn’t know if it would actually work. Those damned large-scale holographic projectors are somewhat unreliable, and the Bosphuraq came close to penetrating the stealth fields we had around their generators. The-”

“Captain! You activated a plan, not knowing whether it would work or not?”

“Well, in testing, it did work three out of eleven times, so,” his antennas shrugged. “We figured it was worth a shot. Who needs a task force,” he grinned, “when you can pretend to have a Sentinel?”

“I can’t believe you took such a risk.”

“We did chase away both enemy fleets without firing a shot,” Scorandum noted.

Tashallo’s antennas slapped his own forehead. “What am I supposed to say about this?”

“A simple ‘Thank you’ would be nice, I suppose? Or,” he read the expression on the admiral’s face. “Er, nothing. You could just say nothing?”

Tashallo glared. “I will discuss this with your superiors. They never should have approved such a reckless-”

“Admiral? My superiors don’t know anything about this operation.”

“You did this on your own?”

“This is how the Office operates. Our headquarters doesn’t like being bothered with pesky details of proposed operations. If an op succeeds, they can take credit, and if it fails, well, they can be as shocked as everyone else.”

“I don’t believe-”

“No way would the Office have approved a wacky scheme like this one, so-”

Tashallo sighed. “Oh, I am getting too old for this shit. Captain Scorandum, it is unfortunate that communication difficulties prevented me from understanding anything you said. If you know what I mean.”

“Um, that would be great!” The ECO captain shuddered with relief. “Er, as a ‘Thank you’ from us, we can offer a bottle of very fine vintage burgoze, from the legendary Farah Three Reserve stock.”

Tashallo’s eyes bulged. “You are regifting a bottle I gave to you?”

“Well, now this is just awkward.”

Aboard the We Don’t Want to Brag About That Thing You Can’t Prove We Did, Lieutenant Kinsta frantically waved his arms, claws clacking to get his captain’s attention. “Sir!” he said in a harsh whisper. “You drank the last of that Farah Three last week.”

“I know that, you idiot, I was stalling for time.” Scorandum cut the communications link. “Jump us the hell out of here now, before Tashallo uses us for target practice.”