. . . If You Get Caught
© 2021 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by :iconbaroncoon:

“Step One Alert.  All crew to their posts.  Admiral n’Lanya, report to Command immediately . . . “  
The announcement went through six repetitions as the crew of the dreadnought Azr scrambled to their battle or damage control stations, and the officer commanding the Imperial Home Defense Force came out of his quarters at a brisk walk, hurriedly closing his dark gray uniform.  The kam gestured as shlani saluted or greeted him as he stepped into a lift.
Prince Dorvan n’Lanya entered the flagship’s command center and acknowledged Admiral l’Schan’s salute.  “What news, Frelen?” the Imperial Heir asked, looking past the older kam at the flag plot.
L’Schan said, “We received a message, sir, coded AZ9,” and Dorvan’s ears perked at the code prefix, “relayed from our Station NZh-2233.”  L’Schan turned toward the hologram.  “That hyperspace wake is a Terran force, and there is a virtual certainty that it is headed for the Homeworld.”
“Tron muta’,” Dorvan said.  He looked at the representation of the ‘ripple’ moving through hyperspace and asked, “Are our ships in place?”
“Yes, sir,” l’Schan said, feeling an almost fatherly surge of pride in his pupil.
He abruptly sniffed, paused, and sniffed again.  Pitching his voice low he asked, “Didn’t stop to bathe?”
Dorvan looked a little embarrassed.  “I was needed in Command ‘immediately,” so there was no time for a shower,” he said with a smile.  “I read when I was younger that my ancestor, the Savior, had to be pulled away from the vir who would eventually be his third wife when the Siege of Farz began and the Allies were trying to cut his last supply line.”
The older kam chuckled.  “I recall the story,” he said.  “Aka, twining tails with a subordinate?”
“She’s a subcommander,” the Imperial Heir replied, “and yes, we have.”  He looked thoughtful.  “When this conflict ends, I would like to begin a relationship with her.  Mother has been asking if I am going to marry.”
“And she agrees with you?”
Dorvan’s smile was all the answer the old officer needed, but he said, “It will take time, of course, and we need to know each other far better than we already do.”
One of the sensor technicians raised their head.  “Sensor contact in hyperspace,” the vir reported as the flag plot illuminated a scout ship at the fringe of the wake.  There were a large number of such ships, minimally armed but with very sensitive sensors that they were poking into hyperspace.  “Power signature is Terran, destroyer type.”
The Imperial Heir grinned and his tail spur poked into the flag plot.  “Begin probing the perimeter of the rest of the wake, determine ship types,” he ordered.  “Have designated ships stand ready to deploy gravitic mines on my order.”  As his orders were relayed he eyed the distance between the Terran force and the home system’s perimeter before reciting to l’Schan, “’Our enemies are at the gates.’”
L’Schan felt the memory press on him and let it come, reciting the rest of the line, “Let us go show them our hospitality.’”

***

Aboard the Terran battleship Menhit, Admiral Gromov stared at his hyperspace plot.  Task Force Two had succeeded in getting this far, and the route was being recorded.  Any future military operation would find a much clearer path to menacing the Imperial home system.
If, of course, the data made it back to the Confed.
Near him stood the captain of the Menhit and his flag staff, and around him stood small holographic images of the other ship captains.
His command was still intact, which both pleased and disquieted him.  Despite taking their time and moving slowly, a ship in hyperspace will cause some disturbance in its wake, and he was certain that the Kashlani had spotted the task force.  The admiral in charge of the second task group thought the same way, and he could see the expressions on the captains’ faces.  They shared his own assessment: the Terrans were blindfolded and walking straight into a trap.
Which brought to mind the question that had nagged at him for days:  Why hadn’t the shlani done anything to stop the Terran invasion?
“Anything to report?” he finally asked.
Admiral Wen said, “One of our screening destroyers reports an analysis of the hyperspace terrain ahead of us, and the conclusion is that we are on course.”
“The Home System?” Gromov asked.
Wen nodded.  “Binary star system, three planets, outermost is a gas giant – what?”  Heads turned as one of the destroyer captains turned away momentarily, stepping out of her communications imager.  She returned, looking shaken.
“Report,” Gromov said.
The feline took a breath.  “Sensor contact, sir.  Active contact, it managed a solid data return.”  Her tail switched back and forth.  “They know we’re here.”  Silence fell as the news sank in.
“All right,” the tiger said grimly.  “We have four options.”
“We can outphase now and thereby force battle in open space.  We can increase speed and assault the system, and then run for Terran space as fast as practicable.”  He held up a paw to silence those who had started muttering.  “The final option is retreat.”
“That would result in,” and one cruiser captain drew a claw across his throat.
“Yes,” Gromov said.  He thought, staring at the flag plot as the stylized representation of the Kashlanin home system gained detail.  “Right.”
“All ships, increase speed and move to battle formation.”  The others acknowledged the orders and, one by one, the small images winked out.

***

“They have increased speed, Frelen.”
“Very well,” Dorvan n’Lanya said.  “Are the mines in position?”  
“Yes, sir.  The ships have completed deploying the mines.”  The plot altered its viewpoint to show the minefield outside the orbit of Kirnakir.
The kam’s tailspur clacked against the deck.  “Fire the mines.  Outphase us.”

***

“Gravity spike!”
“Outphase!” the captain shouted before the destroyer’s hyperfield could hit the gravitic ‘wall’ that suddenly reared up ahead of them.  Behind the most forward of the task force’s screening vessels, the other ninety-nine ships of Task Force Two appeared in normal space.
Less than five seconds later, two divisions of the Home System Defense Force, each division having the same number of ships as the entire Terran formation, outphased less than two light-seconds behind them.
Gromov growled as the Menhit’s captain ordered, “Charge shields and primaries – and look sharp, Sensors.  They’re behind us, but there’s no one ahead.”
“Sensor contacts,” and a flock of ships was seen coming around the limb of the gas giant Kirnakir.  They had been concealed from sensors behind the planet’s bulk.
“Oh.  That’s where they are,” the captain deadpanned.