“If you ask Barnes in engineering there is,” Ford said. He snuffed his cigar on the post of Ethan’s bunk.
“How does he figure that?”
“He’s been picking up phase two hyperwave signals every few days. Seeing as the tower’s down and no one’s comm can send a hyperwave like that, I’d say someone has a bit more access to the outside than we all thought.”
“Can he track the wave? Does he know who it is?” The idea of contact with the Empire had suddenly charged Ethan with adrenaline. Ford, however, was quick to put him down.
“Don’t wet your pants, Walker,” he said. “Barnes also said that even if the wave hasn’t been picked up by the Naldím, there’s no guarantee the Empire will pick it up either. They’d have to be looking for it, and right now they don’t have any reason to: they don’t know we’re in trouble.”
“Do we at least know who it is?” Ethan repeated.
“Well, there’s not really enough to know about Wraiths to take a good guess,” Ford sighed, staring absently at the ceiling. “My first thought was Rico. It’s like this: he faked the injury because he was recruited by the Wraiths, and now he’s working undercover in CivSec.”
Ethan cocked his head. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Hey,” Ford said defensively. “I’ve heard dumber conspiracy theories than that.”
“Why would there be a Wraith onboard at all, though?” Ethan wondered.
Ford grimaced. “That’s where Barnes went a little off the deep end with his own theory. He thinks this is all a government setup, and we’re being watched with hidden cameras. Don’t get me wrong, though. I checked what Barnes said about the hyperwaves, and he’s right. You mark my words, if there is a Wraith, then something’s going on that’s a lot bigger than all this.”
Ford leaned back against the bunk, letting his message sink into Ethan’s mind. “Sleep on that,” he said finally, retreating back to his own bunk.
Ethan indeed tried, but sleep eluded him. Through the long hours of the night, he lay awake in his cot, trying to make heads or tails of the situation, assuming what Ford said was true. Even if it wasn’t, the ideas that it gave birth to kept him awake for several more hours.
Marines and pilots came in throughout the night, some after shifts, some after after-shift carousing as they attempted to distract themselves from the perilous missions that awaited them in the morning. Even their less-than-subtle entrances did not prevent Ethan from dozing off once or twice; he was so exhausted by midnight that he couldn’t tell. But when he rolled over to look at his clock, his heart skipped a beat. It was seven in the morning.
He tumbled out of bed, fumbling with his fatigues in the darkness. His comm buzzed to life from atop his footlocker, alerting him to the fact that he had missed several voice and text messages.
Swearing mildly and furious no one had awakened him, Ethan opened the door to the outer hall and found himself still utterly shrouded in darkness. In his state of fatigue, it took him a moment to realize what was wrong with the picture. Looking through the window across from the barracks, it dawned on him: it was still nighttime outside.
He returned to his bunk, double- and triple-checking the time on his clock against the sky outside and the timepieces of the bunks around his. It was seven in the morning, no doubt; the sun should have been far above the horizon by now.
Either the ship’s chronometer was thoroughly out of sync, or the planet was. He had no explanation as to what could have possibly happened to shift the timetable so significantly, but he had a sneaking suspicion the answer was parked in orbit, weapons trained on Voyager Dawn.
The Prisoner
“The Orbiter is active – the planet is in Nightfall.”
“Has the Master indicated how long he intends to hold the Humans hostage?”
“No. I think his defeat weighs heavily on him, however. I would not be surprised if he lets their minds rot before releasing the Grip.”
“Wait and watch, then. Do not attack unless they come to us. Until the Grip is released, the Hunt is postponed. Who knows – they may tear each other apart for us.”
Diamond, Hammer, and Raptor squadrons were assembled in the auditorium in record time following the failure of the sun to rise. Rhodes was waiting at the podium as the last few stragglers hurried in, looking tired and distraught – and not just from the sudden shift in time.
“I think you only need to look out a window to figure out the situation,” he said as soon as the last pilots had taken their seats. A nervous chuckle ran through the crowd. “I know what we’re seeing here seems impossible, but let’s work with what we’ve been dealt: the Naldím have blotted out the sun. Sops hypothesizes they’re somehow bending light away from us, in at least a fifty-klick radius. We have to act before they can utilize this new advantage they’ve created.
“The mission is two-fold,” he continued, throwing a tactical display of the planet up on the screen behind him, “Diamond will take a prograde approach around the northern hemisphere while Hammer and Raptor fly directly at the hostile ship. While Hammer and Raptor draw their fire, Diamond will attack from behind. Target whatever looks like a graviton beam powerful enough to do this.” He gestured out the small porthole windows to the darkness outside. “Take out the whole ship if you have to. I wish we had more to go on, but our scanners are still down, and this needs to be taken care of before it gets out of hand.”
“Our weapons didn’t do too hot last time,” Hammer Two said from the back of the room. “How are we supposed to make a dent?”
“I’ll let our specialist answer that,” Rhodes said. He held a hand out to the side of the stage, where Ethan was surprised to see Frank, nervously clutching a data drive. He approached the podium awkwardly, and plugged the drive into it. A blueprint for a bomb sprang to life on the screen. Our bomb, Ethan thought with a burst of pride. He did it. He made it!
“Hello,” Frank said quietly into the microphone, “Uh, so this is, uh, this is what you’ll be using to destroy their ship.” He clicked a button and the screen began to play a simulation of the bomb’s destructive capabilities. “I – I mean we – which is to say, Sergeant Walker and I – we developed this device as a terraforming tool. It has a distinctive shockwave dispersal pattern that allows it to clear a predetermined area of land and organic material while not doing damage to any ships above the point of impact. But if you hit the ship at the right angle with this thing, it should shear it in half. In theory, anyway.”
After briefly explaining what, exactly, the right angle was, Frank stepped down from the podium, allowing Rhodes to take charge of the meeting again.
“We would have used something more destructive,” the captain said, “but we don’t exactly carry heavy ordinance, and this was already in production. Besides, I don’t know a ship that wasn’t completely destroyed when it got cut in half.
“All squadron leaders will be carrying one of these – what did you call them, doctor?”
“Oh, uh,” Frank stammered, leaning in front of Rhodes to access the microphone, “It’s the Extreme Terraforming High-yield Airblast Nuclear resequencer.”
The ETHAN resequencer, Ethan thought, mildly amused. Frank could get a little out of hand with his fandom. Slowly, all eyes in the auditorium began to settle on Ethan as his crewmates put the acronym together. He slouched slightly, choosing to look no one in the eye.
“Right,” Rhodes barked, wresting control of the microphone back from Frank and attention away from Ethan, “There you go. All right, you know the mission. Get to it.”
*
“Diamond squadron away. Raptor squadron, proceed to catapult and mark vector.”
“Copy, Tower. All wings report ready.” Ethan eased his Sparrowhawk into the groove that attached the catapult to the craft. The fighter dropped a few centimeters as its front landing gear dropped into place. Excitement flooded Ethan’s system. That feeling always preceded the sudden rush of being shot into the air at a hundred and sixty kph in l
ittle over a second. He loved it.
Ethan’s five Raptors settled into the catapults around him, each reporting ready. He braced himself for the impending high.
“Raptor squadron, full throttle. Launching in three, two, one,” Traffic Control droned. The catapult operator hit the release on the controller’s mark, and Raptor flight was in the air, pulling into a vertical climb and straining to reach orbit. A few moments later Hammer squadron had launched as well, veering into the same maneuver on Raptor’s tail.
As they breached the upper atmosphere, Ethan sent out a ping on his radar, scanning for the enemy ship. A massive blip lit up the forward hemisphere of his radar. “Tower, I have radar contact with the target. No small craft detected.”
“Acknowledged, Raptor Lead. We’re receiving your signal loud and clear. Continue on current trajectory, weapons locked.” Ethan gunned the throttle, tearing across the horizon with his squadron in hot pursuit. The blip on his radar continued to grow as they neared the target; within minutes they had visual contact. Immediately, a problem became apparent.
“Tower, we have multiple hostiles,” Hammer Lead said, beating Ethan to the punch.
“Copy. All wings not carrying special payloads, engage small craft.”
“Negative, sir,” Hammer replied, “That’s not what I meant. There are two capital ships in orbit.”
There was a pause. “Say again, Hammer Lead. Two capital ships?”
“Roger. The cruiser we encountered when they first attacked, and a new ship. The new arrival seems to be the one projecting the beam.”
Hammer’s observation seemed accurate: the bow of the second ship, a larger frigate, was shaped like a massive claw, and the green veins that stretched across its fingers were pulsing violently. The space inside its grip shimmered like a mirage.
Before the tower could respond to the situation, Moira broke in over the comm. “Tower, Diamond Lead reporting fuel leak. I don’t have enough fuel to make the prograde approach. Repeat, not enough fuel to make rendezvous.”
Ethan instinctively looked down at his own fuel gauge, and his heart sank like a rock. Where it had been nearly full only a moment ago, it was now bordering on fumes.
“What the hell,” he swore. He activated his own comm. “Tower, Raptor Lead reporting fuel leak as well. If I don’t turn around now, I won’t make it home.”
“That’s two weapons out of commission,” the controller sighed. He paused momentarily, then reactivated the comm. “Mission scrubbed on captain’s orders. Return to base.”
Ethan began to guide his fighter slowly around in a loose arc, measuring every ounce of fuel as he progressed. To fall back into the gravity well at this rate would bring him close to the enemy position, but the risk was more desirable than getting stranded in space.
“Raptor flight,” Ethan said as he inched closer and closer to the Naldím ships, “break off and return on original vector. Once I’m back in atmo, get a trace on me; I might not be able to get all the way back to the ship.”
“Copy, Raptor Lead,” Reeves – Raptor Two – affirmed, “We’ll watch you all the way down.”
“Much obliged.” He burned through the last of his fuel, barely setting a trajectory that would get him back in the atmosphere. It also put him uncomfortably close the enemy. He only hoped the Naldím were not interested in a lone fighter on the drift.
They were. As soon as he fell within sensor range, a squadron of Naldím fighters shot out of a launch bay hidden in a crevice on the ship’s hull, setting a direct course for the Sparrowhawk. Ethan spun the ship around to face them, now falling backwards towards the planet’s surface.
The Naldím’s firing range was far greater than his own, he knew from past experience. But even after they had fallen into range and could have easily obliterated him, they continued on a seemingly peaceful approach. When his own rangefinder alerted him that he could commence firing, he hesitated, wondering what the Naldím’s intentions could possibly be. It certainly wasn’t rescue.
The comm chirped. Ethan activated it, hoping it was the tower informing him of backup. It was, instead, from an unknown source.
“Shli’panton,” said a voice, unmistakably Naldím. “Nau krull n’muhle. Kelt muhle’orothonan.” Ethan scrambled to activate his helmet’s translator function. It struggled for a moment while Ethan tried in vain to raise his squadron or anybody else. There was nothing. The Naldím’s message repeated, and Ethan’s thoughts returned to last night’s conversation about acceptable losses.
“This isn’t acceptable, Mason,” Ethan muttered. The only response was from his helmet, squawking slightly as it caught onto the Naldím’s dialect and began translating.
“Human fighter,” it said, its imitation of a Naldím monotonous and mechanical, “we are taking you in. Deactivate your weapons.”
*
The Naldím fighters dispersed as soon as Ethan’s Sparrowhawk had been towed into the hangar courtesy of an unseen force. He found himself alone on the deck. His heart and mind were racing, one beating furiously in panic, and the other desperately searching for an escape where there was none. The fighter was dead, he was armed only with a pistol, and the ship was no doubt crawling with hundreds of Naldím. He could only assume that he had been kept alive for a reason, and would be kept alive a little longer for the same reason. He had until then to escape.
A squad of Naldím entered the hangar as Ethan continued to draw blanks on a workable plan. One of them, sporting a decorative bandoleer, stepped forward.
“Out, Human. No harm yet,” he growled, stumbling through the language barrier. There was nothing for Ethan to do but obey. He slid open the canopy and pulled himself out, holding his hands above his head. The Naldím pointed at the gesture.
“What this?” he scoffed. Ethan’s helmet did not bother to translate – the Naldím was attempting to speak Common. Ethan almost found the gesture comforting.
“It’s…it’s uh,” Ethan stammered. He had never spoken to a Naldím before. Doing so now felt not only terrifying, but awkward. He tried not to let the fact that he was communicating with an alien for the first time in his life take over his train of thought. “It’s surrender. A sign of surrender,” he finished.
“Then good. Come, now.” The Naldím whipped around, signaling for two guards to flank Ethan. They pushed him forward and out of the hangar, confiscating gear off his suit as they plunged into the bowels of the ship.
It was shockingly pristine within. The walls shimmered a bright silver, and thin lines of green energy pulsed along the seams of the architecture like veins. It felt as though the ship itself were alive. The Naldím seemed to treat it as such, treading lightly across the floor and gently caressing the door controls at each junction. If Ethan hadn’t been so terrified, he might have admired the Naldím’s elegance.
He expected a brig, or worse, a torture chamber, but the room he was finally deposited into appeared to be a medical bay. There were three Naldím already in the room. Two were encased in glass cages, shrieking horribly as miniscule beams of green energy – not unlike that shot from the Naldím’s weapons – lanced out at them from the walls of their containers.
The third Naldím was watching them with indifference. He looked for the most part like the others, except for the elegant sash draped over his shoulder. His skin was also brighter, a shade of tan Ethan had not seen before. After a moment the Naldím pressed a button and one of the Naldím went limp. Ethan retracted his assumption and considered the possibility that this was a torture room after all.
“Tau muhl’ka?” one of Ethan’s guards asked. The Naldím – a doctor or technician of some sort, Ethan assumed – turned to face him.
“Vam muhlec,” he said, then pointing to a lone examination table in the middle of the room. “Sit, Human,” he hissed. Ethan slowly mounted the table, keeping a wary eye on the still-shrieking Naldím in the cage.
“What are you doing to him?” he asked.
“He needs to suffer,” the
Naldím answered simply. His tone was dispassionate, but his use of Imperial Common was surprisingly graceful. He looked at the guards. “Tau kanen,” he said, pointing at the door. They exited without a word.
“Why does he need to suffer?” Ethan pressed on, somehow finding comfort in the fact that this Naldím spoke Common fluently.
“It is the Great One’s will for all to suffer, should we wish to come into his presence in death,” the Naldím said, “Klac’ec, this Naldím-” he pointed at the screaming creature, “was wounded mortally in battle. He would have died asleep and without pain had I not brought him here, woken him, and tortured him. We will not waste resources trying to save him in this life, but we can save his next one. I think he has suffered enough now.” He pressed the same button as before, and the Naldím crumpled to the floor of his cage.
“You killed him?” Ethan asked, feeling a strange sensation of pity.
“Yes,” the Naldím said, completely devoid of emotion. He turned to Ethan and activated a computer. The table hummed to life. “But Klac’ec is not the topic of our meeting. You, Human, are. What is your name?”
“Ethan,” Ethan responded firmly, “Sergeant Ethan Walker.”
“Sergeant Ethan Walker,” the Naldím said in return, “I am N’muhl’on, physician aboard this craft. My assignment for the duration of your stay is to make sure you remain alive. It will require a complete understanding of your physiology. You have similar living requirements to the Naldím, I know, but I wish to uncover your intricacies. It will be fascinating, I am sure.”
Ethan cocked his head, his hope of escape elevated ever so slightly. “You make it sound like you’re going to let me go.”
“Eventually yes, though I do not know when. I am not privy to the machinations of the Master – I merely do as I am told. However, as I said, I have been curious about the anatomy of Humans for some time now. If you would assist me in the discovery, I am sure there would be a suitable reward in your future.”
Voyager Dawn Page 9