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Antares Passage by Don Dixon
(c) 1997, All Rights Reserved
After more than a century of isolation, the paths between
stars are again open and the people of Alta in contact with their sister colony
on Sandar. The opening of the foldlines has not been the unmixed blessing the
Altans had supposed, however.
For the reestablishment of interstellar travel has brought
with it news of the Ryall, an alien race whose goal is the extermination of
humanity. If they are to avoid defeat at the hands of the aliens, Alta must seek
out the military might of Earth. However, to reach Earth requires them to dive
into the heart of a supernova ...
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Antares Passage -- An Excerpt
... "Put the system primary up on the screen, Mr.
"Coming up now, Captain."
A few seconds passed before the screen flashed once and
a yellow-white disk lay centered in the field of view. The only features
on the star's surface were a few sunspots trailing one another across an
incandescent plasma sea. Even though large enough to swallow a hundred
planets the size of Alta, the spots were minor imperfections when judged
against the whole disk of the star.
"We're waiting on confirmation, Mr.
Cristobal," Drake said after a dozen seconds passed in silence.
"Uh, sorry, sir. I was just rechecking my data.
It's Sol all right. The spectrum matches to ten significant places."
"Very well. Mr. Haydn, pipe this view into
Communications Channel Two. Then switch the main screen to the tactical
"Aye aye, Captain!"
The screen changed again, this time to a schematic
diagram of the space in the vicinity of the Sol-Goddard foldpoint. As the
screen came alight, it began to fill with symbols that quickly painted a
picture of the foldpoint defenses. There were several low whistles on Discovery's
bridge as their extent became apparent. They had started out formidable,
and were getting more so with each passing second.
Radar and infrared sensors had quickly detected
thousands of objects scattered throughout the volume of space occupied by
the foldpoint. Each was the size of a small scout ship and constructed of
an open framework of girders, fuel tanks, and an oversize photon drive.
The nearest such was less than a thousand kilometers from Discovery, and
after a visual examination, the technician manning the threat console
tentatively identified it as a high acceleration orbital mine.
Just beyond the foldpoint's periphery floated two
hundred orbital fortresses. Telescopic examination of the closest showed
it to be bristling with heavy lasers, antimatter projectors, missile
launchers, and various ports that were presumably used to sortie manned
interceptors. Interspersed among the offensive weaponry were long and
short range sensors, heat radiators, communications gear, and a number of
less identifiable mechanisms. Judging by the amount of quiescent energy
the orbital fortress spilled to space, it was more than a match for any
normal fleet of warships.
If the line of orbital fortresses weren't enough, long
range sensors detected three formations of warships maintaining station at
various distances from the foldpoint. Each fleet was positioned to
interdict the most direct route to Earth, and each appeared to be composed
primarily of blastships and heavy cruisers.
Drake keyed for the technician manning the
countermeasures console in the Combat Control Center. "What's the E-M
spectrum like, Mr. Benson?"
The technician's lined features split into a wide grin.
"You could come close to frying an egg on our hull, Captain, the
radar beams are so thick out there! I have identified 1312 separate
sources of E-M radiation in the vicinity so far -- everything from search
and fire control radars to ranging lasers and communications beams."
"Let me know if that changes."
"Mr. Cristobal. Where's Teddy Roosevelt?"
"Ten thousand kilometers off our beam, sir. Almost
due galactic north. She has gone to one-tenth gee and appears to be
maneuvering for rendezvous."
"How long until Alexandria comes through the
"Another two minutes, twelve seconds, sir."
"All sensors at high gain?"
"Yes, sir. High gain and recording."
"Very well. Stand by to report her arrival."
The countdown chronometer ticked off the remaining
minutes and seconds. When the proper time had elapsed, the converted liner
flashed into existence some six thousand kilometers in front of Discovery's
"Message from Teddy Roosevelt,
Captain," the communicator said immediately after Alexandria's
"Put him on, Mr. Haydn."
"Channel Three, sir."
Drake turned to where Admiral Ryerson's features were
visible on an auxiliary screen. "Yes, sir?"
"You have been cleared to enter the solar system,
Captain. Please move your ships to the main traffic corridor as previously
"Will do, sir."
Ryerson glanced away from the screen pickup, then back
again. "We calculate rendezvous in forty minutes."
"See you soon. And Drake ..."
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