Soft Target

[Nik]

'Soft Target' is long-term work-in-progress. Set in my Convention time-line, it follows 'City of Lincoln'. I've made four or five attempts at it, let my notes and drafts go fallow. Perhaps this will come right...

'One Pole, null gee,
Three thrust, five fly,
Earth, Moon and Mars,
Nine go to the stars !'
---

### Soft Target ###


Plop ! Plop ! Plop !

Three great ovoid ships erupted from Over-Space with weapons hot. Passive sensor arrays cycled to 'sub-light', drank data fast-- No myriads of mines or sensor satellites, no weapon platforms, no pickets, no fleets, no immediate hazard...

Details built. The mile-long ships were high above this system's ecliptic, 8 light-hours out. A stark, face-locked inner planet showed some industry in the twilight zone. The arid second planet had dark-side lights, and a geo-stand orbital construct which fountained wide-band comms.

The signature was not The Enemy's, but that was irrelevant. Who-ever they were, they stood on The People's path. That could not be permitted. Only The People had a place in this universe.

The ships' triplicate AIs conferred, concurred. No massive population, so a sparse system. Un-militarized, there could be scant defence. This was a soft target. For such, the War Plan read, 'Through & Through'.

The ships started their in-system drives. One thrust towards the inner planet to scour that industry. The others would raze the arid planet and flense the single orbital. Three days flight, one flaming, hyperbolic pass, coast out to the Over-Drive limit, proceed to the next candidate system...

It was a nice plan. It held nested contingencies and massive over-kill. It held the lessons from centuries of bitter space combat, millenia of planet-bound warfare. These were not the usual Enemy, but they'd be cleansed in the usual way.

It was a nice plan-- while it lasted.

These People could not know their bane was the least particle in the cosmos. They would never believe three such splendid warships were doomed by the fleeting, yet so numerous 0.3 eV Neutrino...
---

[Nik]

Oort 4, Epsilon Indi.

'Oort 4, General Office' was at the top of the main airlock's tarnished sign. Below that, 'Distributed Neutrino Observatory, Sector 4. Sponsored By Oort Mines Unlimited.'

Oort 4 was no research station. Dug into a big Kuiper Belt object, there was just enough gravity to keep food on the plate, bubbles rising in drinks. Rock Tugs ranged outwards, tracking kilometres-wide ice-balls of nascent comet nucleii, coaxing them back. A canning ship's lasers carved the mixed ice into neat, 10-kilotonne hexagonal prisms, each sized to slide down the gorge of a City-Class tank. Local tugs lowered these six at a time to the surface. Rail-mount mantis grapples shuffled tanks from pads to stock-yard, to the refinery and back.

Comet ice went in. Water, CO2, Ammonia, Methane, Hydrogen, Deuterium, assorted semi-organics and minerals came out. Re-supply runs took high value loads to the inner system, returned with rafts of empties. Tanks laden with basic chemicals were carefully eased onto three or four year Hoffman transfer orbits. Oort 4 had a hundred inbound, Oorts 2 & 3 nearer 150. Oort 1, the first, had 180.

Picture four ragged strands of icy pearls strewn across the system: Each tank is carefully aimed to pass within easy range of the second planet's tugs, each has a simple comm-pod that tracked its destination, laser-squawked a routine status blip ahead.

But, while those tanks of pure chemicals coast inwards, a string of photomultipliers frozen into their ice look for the assorted scintillations of particle strikes. They count solar neutrinos, note 'Cosmic Rays', supernova and gamma ray bursts. They watch for exotica...

Now drop a large ship from Over-Space or what-ever your math calls it. The Cherenkov wake spills outwards in a wide cone, light-speed spreading it 3 x 10^10 cm/sec, 8 minutes per AU. One tank sees it, then two, then several, six, a dozen. Their next status blips carry the time flags...
---

Highball Station, Clarke Orbit, Trilorn. Traffic Control, DINO Desk.

Phil Michelson, grad student and trainee Watch Officer, sipped his 'ponic coffee and watched an epoch-distant supernova's footprint creep across his screens. He'd spotted it from three tags, placed with four, confirmed with five. He had a priority job running on Highball's Student Remote Telescope before his flash alert reached the Deep Field Observatory at Trojan Forward.

He smiled. Three previous supernovas came on vectors that ensured they were first seen from Sol or Nova!, but DINO 6/5 was his alone. He hummed quietly, watched the data streams. His preliminary sighting report and the SRT-Cam spectra were raking in hits across Trilornet. The differential responses of the tanks' products and their detector strings, the instruments' evolving anti-correlation genetic algorithms all piped lovely statistics into his spreadsheets and up-dated them.

Ping ! P-Ping ! Ping !
"That's odd..." Phil worked the new tags backwards. He set the time-stamps against light-lag, got a new vector, "Chief ? We expecting a freighter ?"
"Not that I know of, Cuz ! Whatcha got ?" Watch Officer Marianne Michelson swivelled her chair, "Next City-class is still days off Break-Out. No haulers due. A tramp ?"
Ping !
One glance settled it, "No chance, Chief, that's waaay high off the ecliptic: Need a fat load of Delta-V to dock, wrong vector for a jovian grav-assist. Odd wave-form, too-- See, humpy-lumpy ?"
"Uh ? Lessee--" Marianne skidded around the desk, "Yeah, right lumpy... Ice-Strike ? A super-heavy Cosmic ?"
Phil shook his head, "No way-- Oort 2 had a recent sweep through there, cleaned it out. And sig's wrong for a spalling."
They looked at each other in silence.
"Okay..." Phil muttered, hastily ported his wave-front data to another screen, "If it is composite--"
Marianne held up three fingers.
Phil nodded absently, drilled down into arcane Mathematica menus, "Toolbox, Advanced, Fourier, De-Convolution, Come on, come on, come-- Uhhh..."
The messy graph unravelled to a triple hump.

Phil gulped, made it official, "Chief, we have a probable triplet emergence, 70% on 5 tags."
"Thanks, Watch." Marianne replied formally, "Good spot, Cuz, high-confidence triple bogey."
"The Others ?"
"Uh-huh." She flipped the guard off a big, new orange switch, pressed that home. Then she swore.
"Sorry, supernova !" Phil sighed, aborting the SRT-Cam's tracking, swinging it high, "At least I've got your peak on record... Okay, I'm calling the Minor Planets program. We're 17 degrees off ecliptic, vector puts them here-abouts. Won't get much parallax, might catch a flare or occultation..."
"Three chances."
"We have the smallest search-field, but lowest parallax. Trojan Forward's big light-buckets should spot them first."
"Can you refine the parameters ?"
"You've been war-gaming with Uncle Ted !" Phil grumbled, "Okay, yes. We'll get more emergence data, improve their initial position and vector. Three ships, three soft inner-system targets. Assume they do the logical thing and head this way-- Will they match orbits ? Or just swing through ? This data's light-lagged by 8 hours. We don't know their initial velocity, if they'll coast, constant thrust, boost & coast, minimum-time boost and brake, whatever. But, if we can get their line, we've a dozen hours to track them."
"Now draft the APB."
Phil laced his fingers, popped the knuckles, pulled standard phrases into the template, "Flash ! Flash ! Flash ! From Highball Watch: Orange Alert: Probable in-system emergence of Multiple (Est 3) unknown craft near 216.90 +85 Approx 60 AU. Sightings requested. Due Care Advised: Refer Red Circular 23/68. End Flash. End Flash. End Flash."
"Short and sweet." She nodded, "Send it."

Rapid footsteps outside announced arrivals. The hatch swung.
"Code Orange, Watch ?"
"Morning, Uncle Ted !" Marianne raised three fingers, "DINO caught their emergence, high off the ecliptic. We've flashed the APB."
"Hmmm..." Ted glanced at the warning, eyed the numbers and graphs, saw them update as more tags rolled in, "Well done, Watch."
"Just like we trained..."
"We hoped for more time, for a few more sims-- Six months would give us PALADIN..." Ted shook his head, " 'Ask of me anything but time'--"
"Napoleon !!" Phil and Marianne chorused.
"Uh-huh... So, what will they do ?"
"We've just been through that..." Marianne shrugged, "Too early to say, but my guess--"
"Minimax ?" Phil asked.
"Uh-huh..." Ted nodded.
"Assume a hyperbolic pass." Marianne waved, "Wham-bam and away."
"Yeah, why stick around ? Happens to be our least-time worst-case, too." Ted sighed, "Okay, you've both done good. Can you handle any more DINO tags until the shift-change ? Then grab a meal and your Code Orange check-list. Come T-minus, Bedrock light up their decoys, we'll un-couple Highball's habs and fly off anything that can space..."
"And the Boules ?"
"They'll get one chance-- If they're lucky." Ted shrugged, "Ah well, busy day, gotta run..."

They watched the hatch close behind him. Phil heaved a sigh, turned, "Ah, we've got a couple more tags-- I'd better work on them."
Marianne hesitated, "What did you draw ?"
"Hab cluster 6: 'Ponics, sub-station, workshops, docking hub and a life-boat wall." Phil watched the de-convolution edge through 90%, "Big Pole in the sub-station lets us go tangent, life-boat provides OMS and Nav. Can't run far or fast, can't hide. Zig-zag, throw chaff, decoys and MetalStorm, is all. You ?"
"Here."
Phil drew a sharp breath, "Fight ?"
"We've wall-to-wall comm-lasers, and Highball's built around old Venturer. Power room looks quaint, but those old fusors were over-built with triple redundant feeds. Poles were routinely retro-fitted with Vernon Preventers, so they're tougher than they look. We can draw fire, give the RockTugs a chance. And we've Plan Parthian."
"D'uh, it did take one mucking great laser to light a classic fusor..."
"Uh-huh."
"Uh-huh."
"Okay, Cuz, that thing's hit 95%: You'd best send another APB..." Marianne shook her head, "Don't laugh: I gotta phrase book in my Code Orange pack..."

---
Nik-note: Typed this today from rough notes, hence ragged appearance. Feedback welcome.

Next part is a mess. I'll need a few days to study previous drafts and go with best plot...

[pyan]

Woot! that is hard SF!

I liked it very much, but it may be over technified for a lot of people. Reminds me a bit of Cherryh.

Personally I would lose the last two sentences of post 1:

These People could not know their bane was the least particle in the cosmos. They would never believe three such splendid warships were doomed by the fleeting, yet so numerous 0.3 eV Neutrino...

Firstly, it kind of gives away the final result, and secondly,

It was a nice plan-- while it lasted.

is a great line to end an introduction or preface.

[Lacedaemonian]

As Pyan said this is very hardcore sci fi technological blah blah. I hate sci fi. However, your prose read very smoothly and I liked some of the dialogue. Definitely worth continuing mate.

[Nik]

Um, I've made three more tries at the next section, but it is NOT working.

Tray full of pieces, but still no box-picture...

Sure, they can hack Einstein and flit across flat space at trans-light speeds, but Mr Newton rules inside a g-well's bell. Could I just hand-wave the strategic and tactical implications of Anomalous Phase Space math ?? Um, no-- Sixty AU in three days needs ~0.1 c, which takes a month to build or shed at ~ 1 g.

Gotta be a way...

'Hurry up and wait' ? 'A count-down is the same in any math' ?

D'uh, back to the note-pad and biro...

[Nik]

Space is BIG. One leisurely light-second to the Moon, five, ten, twenty light-minutes to Mars. Then the numbers run wild...

About eight light-hours out, you reach flatter space. Beyond the deep bell of a star's g-well, cheeky math can bend the c-limit, wrap, wrinkle, warp or bubble space to cross light-years fast...

Imagine 'OverSpace' as an ocean-- No, not the 'Silver Ship on a Silver Sea' beloved of TriVid, think of Cape Horn.

Stars' g-wells form iron-bound island coasts, with summits clad in cloud. Their solar wind's heliopause is breakers on a harbour bar, their bow-shock a barrier reef.

Cutting the galaxy's magnetic field generates incredible aurorae, re-connection arcs writhe, snarl and spit St Elmo's Fire. The neutrino flux is a grim, cold current. The galactic wind howls, slashing at your ship with cosmic rays. Gravity waves ripple, slap or crash across the ship like an earthquake. A great star's paroxysmic death may raise a tsunami...

Between the stars is not empty. Dust and gas mascons gather, swirl like drifts of pumice or weed. Oort clouds' nascent comets drift across the space-lanes like so many titanic ice-bergs. Dim 'Brown Dwarf' sub-stars lurk like sea-stacks.

And now it gets hard...

[Paramour]

Wow! That was one of the most interesting things I’ve read all week! And that’s saying something, considering I’ve conquered three new novels and a handful of short stories.

Despite the technical jargon, which fits the genre well but is not to my personal taste, I’d have to say your writing is almost poetic. It let me flow from one line to the next.

I did have a question though, due to my ignorance of Sci-fi writing. You seem to label scenes, perhaps?

Originally Posted by Nik

Oort 4, Epsilon Indi.

Originally Posted by Nik

Highball Station, Clarke Orbit, Trilorn. Traffic Control, DINO Desk.

It reminds me very much of a screen play! At least, that part does

I hope you write more for us to see, I’d love to continue reading.

[Nik]

Hi, P, thanks for the kind words !

I've been trying to write 'Soft Target' for a long, long time, but it keeps getting stuck.

I didn't want to hide the 'meat' of this draft with reams of back-story. Easiest place-set was a sign on the desk...

[Interference]

Uhhh - wow!

I almost didn't read it after the "plop, plop, plop" bit at the start, but when I scrolled down I was mesmerised by the conversational science. Learnèd (I might have the accent back to front) but chatty. A delicate balance expertly executed, imho.

If I have a crit it's over the dialogue which seems to replace some thinking, in the same way as it does in a film or, more often, television script. In prose, you have the unique luxury of exploring a mind from the inside, and, fwiw, I like to read those explorations. But it's really more a niggle than a crit. I loved the rest.

[svalbard]

Sci-fi is not my thing but your style is engaging. I can see how you keep getting stuck. I imagine you have a fairly complicated and epic story in the making here. My only piece of advise is to keep at it. If you are stuck on a giving part, then move on to your next chapter or scene. Keep going until the end. Then go back and refine the areas that are troubling you. There is nothing wrong with your skill as a writer.

[Nik]

However you do the math, your tech must ripple 'OverSpace'. Early ships vary: Some look like mutant paddle-steamers, with multi-finned gubbins at side, quarter or stern. A 'caterpillar' configuration lends itself to elegant outriggers. The cranky Vortex Drive's giant 'rotor' still suggests 'air-boat'. A Casimir-Warshawski's splendid vanes can resemble sails. Modern designs, of course, keep their workings inside the hull.

Old or new tech, all must drive the ship and, rudderless, steer with thrust. Mr Newton keeps a separate ledger for OverSpace, with RealSpace momentum set aside until BreakOut. You can, with care, boost or brake that Real Space cache while in OverSpace. There's even three good reasons to do it...

Stars move. They lie so unchangingly upon the sky, but vast distances deceive. Except for exotica, like a dashing interloper from the vast Halo, our local stars swirl in the Disk of our Galaxy. Moving 135 miles per second or there-abouts, they take a quarter-billion years per wide orbit. Some share 'Common Proper Motion', or form a 'Moving Group'. Others approach, cross, recede quite sedately. Ten, twenty miles per second difference includes most Disk stars' drift. A few do scoot at twice that speed, or more. Clusters may eject their smallest to roam alone, a binary star's death may fling a companion wild and wide. 100 miles per second for widows or orphans is unusual, but 350 is not unknown.

Planets also move. They orbit their star at 5, 10, 20 miles per second, may offer a grav-assist sling-shot. The space-dock adds 5 miles per second LEO, or 2 if geo-stand.

Stars', planets', stations' speeds add, subtract, gyre and gimble, play 'Catch If Catch Can' with schedules. The third reason for cacheing RealSpace speed is real distance.

Eight light-hours to or from a g-well's brim is a long, long way...

[Nik]

Sure, regular traffic can get closer. Canny Captains may thread a Reef Pass, then navigate the ever-shifting banks, tidal channels and islets of an estuary or wide lagoon.

The analogy holds good for OverSpace. Approaching in the plane of the ecliptic, with Ephemerides fresh and OverDrive tuned to concert pitch-- Yes, a well-handled ship can ride a Lo Road's equipotential manifolds to the inner planets' Lagrange Zones. But, miss the inlet, misread a grav-buoy's code, fudge any turn, snag a comet or RealSpace craft-- Pauli's exclusion principle splashes you across a thousand miles in a flare-hot gamma burst...

Without that local knowledge, you must BreakOut at the g-well brim. To get in-system before locals rise in arms, you must move real fast. A tenth g boost requires 50 days, a quarter 32, a 1g boost 16-- All much too slow. Even with anti-matter fuel, a big ship straining frames and crew to pull 3g still takes a dozen days. To better that, you gotta bring a heap of delta-v.

The People's three vast ships ram into RealSpace at almost one-tenth c. At such speeds, the solar wind is a buffeting gale. Hard vacuum holds enough trace gas to seem sand-blast. Dust-grains strike like cannon shells. Each pebble is a TacNuke. Perforce, such ships must deploy layered sweeper screens. First, smoke to clear zodiacal dust, to high-light pebbles and larger for the point-defense. Chaff smites gravel, blinds hostile sensors, may dissipate beam weapons. Smart Pebbles wait to throw themselves against glimpsed mine or rock. Ship-killer / point-defense missiles fill a navy's Cruiser role. Hardened sensor probes peek around the smoke and chaff, don't survive long. Semi-autonomous replenishment drones work to fill in the gaps.

Each ship's screen rips a path through interplanetary dust, is consumed to leave a weird comet tail. The three ships' triple bow launchers cycle steadily. They feed replacements forwards, as coldly, inexorably, as foot-soldiers to a great battle.

---
FWIW, Martin Lo is real.
Interplanetary Transport Network - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[Nik]

T-minus eight hours...

A countdown is the same in any number-base: Hurry Up And Wait.

One of The People's ships stooped on the first planet, two on the second. They met no mines or missiles, ships or beam weapons. Had their targets even noticed the ships' approach ? The ships' AIs could not worry. Instead, their unexpected leisure let them spawn worst-case scenarios. Was this attack so easy because it was ? Lurked there a trap ? How could that be ? What form could a trap take ? Where could a fleet of ships or launchers hide ? Where were the sensor buoys to lay the net ? If this then that, if thus then so-- their options lay open.

Coherent Light Impinging-- Alerts lit the decision trees from root to fractal leaf. Ah ? Merely comm-strength ? From the orbital ? As that alert subsided, the relieved AI cores handed off sub-tasks. Why now ? How was the tracking done ? What is the signal ? The latter proved easy-- First Contact code. Combat AIs have no call for aesthetics, but ELINT noted the message's mathematical elegance with some concern.

More coherent light impinged upon each ship-- It was still comm-strength, but ten times more powerful than the first signal. Then ten, twenty, forty, sixty such comm-lasers all yelled at each. These were different. These used The People's own wave-bands and protocols. These were tuned to doppler into the great ships' own rest-frame. Strategically, it meant their tracks and speed were known to a fare-thee-well. Also, direct light and scatter from the incident beams blinded many sensors. Tactically, scatter from screen debris degraded inter-ship and screen control comms. The actual content was unexpected and startling. Phonetic, ungrammatical, mispronounced, it was in The People's own Speech.

"Do not approach within 10 planetary diameters until dialogue established. Alter course to maintain 10 planetary diameter distance at close passage. You are denied station approach clearance-- Turn Away."

Where had these new Enemy learned The People's Speech ? How had they survived ? AIs conferred, concurred: It mattered not for now. There would be no dialogue. There could be none. These were not The People. These were on The People's Path, in The People's Space. That was as intolerable as this clumsy attempt at Speech. Razing the allotted targets would resolve their existence...

"You are denied station approach clearance-- Turn Away. You are denied station approach clearance-- Turn Away."
Tactically, the persistent signals interfered. ELINT sought to anti-correlate, reported a problem. Each comm channel carried a pseudo-prime code in the side-bands, each channel used a different code-- and all beat with the ships' own signals. Merely by shouting cleverly, that distant orbital had hobbled the screen system.

As the countdown continued, the lasers' message changed.
"You are interfering with traffic-- Turn Away. You are interfering with traffic-- Turn Away."
How quaint !
"Failure to comply with traffic control may incur penalties-- Turn Away."
Was that a threat ?
"Unauthorised approach within 10 planetary diameters may incur severe penalties. Alter course. Turn Away."
That sounded like a threat...
"You place yourself in danger-- Turn Away. You place yourself in danger-- Turn Away."
That could be a threat...
"You are under arrest for violations of traffic control directives. Turn Away Now And Prepare To Be Boarded."
That was unlikely.
"Turn Away Now Or Face Lethal Force. Turn Away Now Or Face Lethal Force."
That was a threat.
"Turn Away Now-- You Have Been Warned. Turn Away Now-- You Have Been Warned."
Yeah, right...
"Further Failure To Comply With Traffic Control Directives May Result In Your Destruction-- Turn Away Now."

The AIs conferred again. They reviewed their data, refreshed their decision trees. They concurred. Two piddling, undeveloped planets ? One shabby orbital ? It was a bluff.

[Nik]

"Docking tunnel secure, Skipper !" squawked from the intercom, "Take us out !"
"About ruddy time--" Sam Varney snarled. He eyed the ranks of status greens, flipped the first latch interlock cover, "Delta-V horn. Brace for verniers."
"Verniers, aye !"
"Five, four, three, two, one, verniers thrusting. Docking Safety Lock to un-safe. And clear. Primary Lock un-safe. And clear."
Clamps sponged open, echoing through the hull. The ship shuddered, a gap opened.

"One metre, five, ten. Mike, get up here ! Thirty. Fifty. Hundred. Two hundred. Tug Samovar to Highball Traffic Control, passing three hundred. Request permission to proceed."
"Tug Samovar, you are clear of station hub. You are cleared to proceed."
"Thanks, Traffic. I, ah, been a pleasure, Ms Ellie..."
"Don't you go all maudlin' on me, Captain Varney !"
"No, Ma'm !"
"Now, git !"
"Yes, Ma'm !" Sam shook his head, switched to intra-ship, "Mike, move your ass !"
"I'm here--" Mike flew onto the tiny bridge, spun with a young Spacer's natural grace, closed and dogged the hatch. He twisted, slid into his Co/Eng couch, locked harness and suit plumbing with three practised moves, "Secured for boost !"
"Delta-V horn. Delta-V horn. Brace for boost."
"Boost, aye !"
"Three, two, one. Poles coming up. Point one g. Point five. One g nought. One g five. Two g nought. Two g five. Clear of Station space. Turning to course leg one. On course... Mike, where the HELL have you been ??"

Mike hesitated, admitted, "I proposed."
"You-- what ??"
"Jaine--"
"Your cute brunette in Astro ?"
"And she said yes !"
"You could have done that by vid--"
"So we wed."
"What ??"
"Padre held a quicky service--"
"It must have been--"
"Five couples here, twenty-some across the Habs."
"Well I'll be... " Sam shook his head, " 'Wild Thing' Micky Brown finally went legit..."
"Ah, well, neither of us wanted our time to be for nothing..."
"Ha ! Okay, Mike, tomorrow you start on that correspondence course again."
"Yessir !" Mike gulped.

"Now read me the strain gauges for Tankage Zero."
"Aye, aye, Skipper !" Mike brought up system displays, "Ten greens: Forward clamps are 78, 77, 75, 83, 78. Aft are 75, 72, 73, 76, 75."
"Forward Four always reads high, but let's humour it. We still getting tracking updates ?"
"Uh, yessir-- Trojan Forward's relative light-lag is growing. They're having trouble slewing array elements. Long-baseline resolution has dropped to a metre."
"I don't think The Others even know T-Forward's there !"
"Me, neither, Skipper..."
" 'They also serve who only stand and wait.' "
"D'uh ?"
Deep in his helmet, Sam allowed himself a grin, "Coming up on course correction, then we boost hard."
"Aye, aye, Skipper. Hi-boost interlocks are green. Heliox correction running. Heliox on-line. G-suits active. Strain gauges green."

"Okay..." Sam nodded, "And if I stroke out ?"
"Follow the flight plan. No heroics." Mike quoted, "Tugs are essential for rescue & recovery."
"Still, if you get a chance with the Ice Slicers, take your best shot."
"Ah, yessir ! Targets of opportunity !"
"Okay, secure for hi-boost."
"Secured for hi-boost !"
"Delta-V horn. Attitude shift."
"Attitude shift, aye !"
The tug's heading shifted a dozen degrees on two axes.
"Delta-V horn. Delta-V horn. Brace for hi-boost."
"Hi-boost, aye !"
"Elephant in three, two, one. Two g eight. Three. F-four. F-five. S-six..."
One minute passed, two, three, then the boost eased.
"All greens, Skipper !" Mike panted, "Text-message from BrewStar, 'Samovar, we're in the groove !' "
"Reply, 'Fly Clean, Jimbo !' "
"Sent, Skipper-- D'uh ? Screen one-- The stars are going out !"
"Any change on tracking ?"
"No Sir !"

"Five minutes to Dustoff. Heard from your family ?"
"Sis and her twins are with Ma in Bedrock. They're locked down tight. Gram and Gramp drew decoy duty--"
"Active or passive ?"
"Both-- They're making out like a mine-head--"
"Ballsy--"
"Old 305 site--"
"I know it-- Lifted tanks from there-- What is it now ? Show cave ?"
"Yessir, pretty carbonates ! Also Dispersal / Evac Centre, Flare Cellar, Spelunk School."
"Didn't the main workings move to 501 ?"
"Yessir, four years back. But when 501's rich seam pinches, there's a megaton of medium-grade in 305 North."
"Still ballsy..."
"They've the usual."
"Uh-huh."
"Uh-huh."

"Coming up on Dustoff." Sam warned, "Delta-V horn. Brace for zero-g."
"Zero-g, aye !"
"Flying free. Okay, spring Tank One."
"Tank One, aye. Tank One away. Ten metres. Twenty."
"Delta-V horn. Brace for verniers."
"Verniers, aye !"
"Backing up... Steady. Spring Tank Two."
"Tank Two, aye. Tank Two away. Ten metres. Twenty."
"Delta-V horn. Brace for verniers."
"Verniers, aye !"
"Backing up... Steady. Spring Tanks Three and Four."
"Tanks Three and Four, aye. Tank Three away. Tank Four away. Ten metres, twenty."
"Delta-V horn. Brace for verniers."
"Verniers, aye !"
"Backing up... Steady. Spring Tank Five."
"Tank Five, aye ! Tank Five away. Ten metres, twenty, thirty..."

"Right, let's back up a-way. Delta-V horn. Brace for verniers."
"Verniers, aye !"
"Backing up... Backing up... Backing up... Steady. Unlock Zero Forward."
"Zero Forward un-locked, Skipper. Clamp Four was a bit slow..."
"Always is, Mike. Delta-V horn. Brace for verniers."
"Verniers, aye !"
"Backing up real slow... One metre. Five. Ten. Twenty..."
"Rear rim clearing clamps, Skipper." Mike glanced across the screens, "Clearing forward hull-- Boule One's away."
"Backing up fifty metres, hundred, two hundred, three hundred--"
"Still time for the full spread, Skipper."
"Uh-huh. Four hundred. Five hundred. And fifty. Going free. Unlock Zero Aft."
"Zero Aft unlocked."
"Delta-V horn. Brace for verniers."
"Verniers, aye !"
"Easing up real slow... One metre. Five. Ten. Twenty..."
"Front rim clearing clamps, Skipper." Mike glanced across the screens, "Clearing aft hull-- Boule Two's away."
"Give it a few more seconds... Okay. Pitching to escape vector. And steady. Pop the cans, Mike."
"Cans spilling-- Pattern matches the sims !!"
"So this damn stupid scheme may yet work ! Okay-- Delta-V horn. Delta-V horn. Brace for hi-boost."
"Hi-Boost, aye !"
"Let's get the HELL out of Dodge !!"

The People's ships' AIs had noticed of course. Two silly little ships ? Two rings of five spheres linked by chubby tubes ? They looked like toys ! Sure, they were interposing stuff-- What else to try ? But against a layered screen, smart pebbles and stand-off missiles, it was all a waste of time. Just how much mass could such small ships hope to haul ??

[Clavitz]

It's very well written, but it was a bit advanced for my age. Some of it was just too complex for me to understand. I'm guessing it wasn't meant for my age, but nonetheless I look forward to reading it when I'm a little older.