as far as the science advisors could guess, any signs of nanotech.
“How long?” McChesney said, on the human side of Space Tunnel #473, although of course he knew the answer.
“Forty-seven E-hours,” said his aide.
“Fuck it. We’re going in.”
The aide stared at him. “Supposed to be two more hours, sir.”
“Now.” And then, by way of feeble explanation, “It feels right. Now!”
“Yes, sir,” the aide said, her voice expressive of reservation, and they had gone in.
And hit the goddamned jackpot. Caught the Fallies un-fucking-believably in the act. Actually aboard the human flyer.
Wait forty-nine hours, the intelligence guys had said. We know that Fallers often wait twenty E-hours from the point of detection to the point of action. Their home planet has a twenty-hour day; maybe there’s a hard-wired circadian rhythm that affects social decision making. Maybe not. At any rate, it’s definitely nine hours up to the tunnel from the surface of their colony planet, given the planet’s position when you send the flyer through, and given the speed of their civilian skeeters. We’re assuming they have no military craft in the colony. No telling how long it will take them to notice the drifting flyer. They might even detect our flyer the second you send it through the tunnel, if they have a probe in orbit around the space tunnel.
“Then why didn’t the probe detect our original flyer?” McChesney asked.
“Maybe it did. Or maybe there’s no probe because this is such a small colony and not military. We’re flying blind here, Colonel. Just go in at forty-nine hours and see what you catch. Twenty hours from the time they detect the flyer to decision to go up. Nine hours up. Another twenty hours to contemplate the flyer and probe it with sensors. Then you go in.”
But McChesney had gone in two hours early, and caught the bastards in the act.
The colony skeeter had matched trajectory with the drifting human flyer, five clicks away, when McChesney’s first military flyer erupted from the space tunnel. The skeeter was better armed than humans had expected. It opened fire immediately on the flyer and destroyed it. But McChesney had four other flyers and a warship. He blasted the skeeter before it could annihilate anything else. The skeeter, unequipped with the new Faller shields that could render a particle beam useless, exploded.
The warship carried the most advanced sensors humans could devise. They picked up the two heat signatures inside the drifting flyer, where only two unheated dead bodies should have been. The sensors also registered that the heat signatures were not moving.
McChesney moved faster than safety regulations permitted. In seven minutes he had suited Marines aboard the flyer. The Marines were unnecessary. For once, the science brains had actually understood a military situation.
The Fallers had undoubtedly subjected the drifting human flyer to every sensing device they could before they boarded her. Their sensors told them there were two dead humans aboard, one a child. Maybe the Fallers had been able to tell that the man was damaged in the brain, a father who had abruptly died while taking his child somewhere. Maybe not. Maybe they had been able to tell that Katrina Van Rynn’s body included broken and reset bones. Maybe not. But they had never, to human knowledge, had the chance to examine a human child. Their blitzkrieg approach to attack had not included taking prisoners. They had taken possession of dead adult soldiers before now—but never a child. An alien species would want to know how their enemy developed—wouldn’t they? And they would reason that this probably wasn’t a military craft, not with a child aboard. Surely the Fallers had learned by now that humans did not take their offspring to battle. Katrina Van Rynn in her helpless, utterly threatless flyer, had been good bait.
A single Faller had boarded, accompanied by a robot probe capable of detecting any trap
“How long?” McChesney said, on the human side of Space Tunnel #473, although of course he knew the answer.
“Forty-seven E-hours,” said his aide.
“Fuck it. We’re going in.”
The aide stared at him. “Supposed to be two more hours, sir.”
“Now.” And then, by way of feeble explanation, “It feels right. Now!”
“Yes, sir,” the aide said, her voice expressive of reservation, and they had gone in.
And hit the goddamned jackpot. Caught the Fallies un-fucking-believably in the act. Actually aboard the human flyer.
Wait forty-nine hours, the intelligence guys had said. We know that Fallers often wait twenty E-hours from the point of detection to the point of action. Their home planet has a twenty-hour day; maybe there’s a hard-wired circadian rhythm that affects social decision making. Maybe not. At any rate, it’s definitely nine hours up to the tunnel from the surface of their colony planet, given the planet’s position when you send the flyer through, and given the speed of their civilian skeeters. We’re assuming they have no military craft in the colony. No telling how long it will take them to notice the drifting flyer. They might even detect our flyer the second you send it through the tunnel, if they have a probe in orbit around the space tunnel.
“Then why didn’t the probe detect our original flyer?” McChesney asked.
“Maybe it did. Or maybe there’s no probe because this is such a small colony and not military. We’re flying blind here, Colonel. Just go in at forty-nine hours and see what you catch. Twenty hours from the time they detect the flyer to decision to go up. Nine hours up. Another twenty hours to contemplate the flyer and probe it with sensors. Then you go in.”
But McChesney had gone in two hours early, and caught the bastards in the act.
The colony skeeter had matched trajectory with the drifting human flyer, five clicks away, when McChesney’s first military flyer erupted from the space tunnel. The skeeter was better armed than humans had expected. It opened fire immediately on the flyer and destroyed it. But McChesney had four other flyers and a warship. He blasted the skeeter before it could annihilate anything else. The skeeter, unequipped with the new Faller shields that could render a particle beam useless, exploded.
The warship carried the most advanced sensors humans could devise. They picked up the two heat signatures inside the drifting flyer, where only two unheated dead bodies should have been. The sensors also registered that the heat signatures were not moving.
McChesney moved faster than safety regulations permitted. In seven minutes he had suited Marines aboard the flyer. The Marines were unnecessary. For once, the science brains had actually understood a military situation.
The Fallers had undoubtedly subjected the drifting human flyer to every sensing device they could before they boarded her. Their sensors told them there were two dead humans aboard, one a child. Maybe the Fallers had been able to tell that the man was damaged in the brain, a father who had abruptly died while taking his child somewhere. Maybe not. Maybe they had been able to tell that Katrina Van Rynn’s body included broken and reset bones. Maybe not. But they had never, to human knowledge, had the chance to examine a human child. Their blitzkrieg approach to attack had not included taking prisoners. They had taken possession of dead adult soldiers before now—but never a child. An alien species would want to know how their enemy developed—wouldn’t they? And they would reason that this probably wasn’t a military craft, not with a child aboard. Surely the Fallers had learned by now that humans did not take their offspring to battle. Katrina Van Rynn in her helpless, utterly threatless flyer, had been good bait.
A single Faller had boarded, accompanied by a robot probe capable of detecting any trap
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