Ben leaned back from the Antares reports and looked back at her, a wide smile on his face.
"I'm better now, right this moment, Joanne, then I have ever been since you've known me."
She nodded and gave up a small smile. "Good, very good." The smile quickly faded. "It might get dangerous out here this time, Ben. We won't be sneaking around."
"You say that like it's a bad thing." He pointed to the reports on his desk. "If this culture is one-tenth what Jack Ballard says it is, we have to stand up for them."
"I'm more worried about our species, Ben, and more specifically, this ship."
"I understand that, Joanne. But this is a good mission. If those bastards come out on the surface, with this many Marines, we could have some serious fun."
Joanne wasn't so sure it would be 'fun,' but she understood the feeling. They had been chasing the mystery too long, the enemy frustrating all attempts to get at them, and it was time to get some answers. Their last mission, zipping silently around a significant portion of the local universe dropping spy-bots, was necessary but frustrating to the crew's appetite for more direct action.
She decided to change the subject.
"So, it goes well with Natalie?"
Ben looked away for a moment, then nodded. "I have you to thank for that, Joanne. If you hadn't asked me to come along, I'd never have met her."
Joanne shook her head. "No, you have only yourself to thank. I put you here, but you put yourself in that relationship."
"We’ve spent a lot of time together these last three weeks, that's for sure. But she also went home to Bozeman for several days to see her folks, and I had some time to get up into the mountains by myself. It was good."
"Did you get back to your mountain?"
"Sugarloaf? Oh, yeah. Natalie and I hiked it a few times—trails there are really fun. I got up into the Blue Ridge for a couple days while she was away. Nice and cool up there in the morning."
"I'll take the warm, you can have the cold."
"Thus, Fiji?"
"Exactly!"
"So, any company for you in the south seas?"
Joanne looked away, then back, shaking her head. "That time is for me, alone. And, in truth, there's no one, Ben, that I would want to take along."
"I see." Ben waited to see if she would take that any further, but Joanne switched topics, heading off that thread.
"OK, back to business. What do you think of the SLIP scanner?"
Ben shrugged. "It might be useful if we're kinda looking around and they happen to transmit and accidentally tell us they're present, but other than that I'm not sure how much good it will do."
"You're setting up a workstation?"
"Yes, we can access the display from the Intel workroom. We'll put it up on one of our regular monitor screens. There's an alarm if it sees anything."
She started to stand, then stopped and sat back down.
Ben looked up in surprise. "Is that all, Joanne? Or was there something else?"
"You know how I feel about you."
"I do. And, so do you. We've talked about this before." Ben was not sure where she was going with this line of conversation.
"I am the captain of this vessel, Ben. If whatever happens out there turns to shit, I have to do what's necessary."
"Of course, you do. What are you thinking about, Joanne?"
"You're the one with the data on the Seekers. If we need to talk to them, you're the one who's going to the surface."
"So, I'm the one who could be left behind?"
"This isn't a movie, Ben. But, yes."
Ben reached over, taking her suntanned hands in his and holding tight.
"Joanne, let's be clear, OK? Let's say this once and be done, OK?"
She nodded.
"I trust you with my life, just like everyone else on this ship. I will willingly follow you into combat under whatever circumstances we face. If something bad happens, I expect you to do the right thing, regardless of what that means for me, for Natalie, or any other single person." He hesitated a second. "Does that clear it up for you?"
"Yes, it does."
"OK, so, you go do your Captain thing, and I'll do my Intel thing, and we'll just see how this all works out. OK?"
"OK."
Joanne, feeling strangely encouraged, left the Intel section to check out the Bridge.
Ben, feeling less brave than he had sounded to Joanne, went back to his reports, and pushed the anxiety that Joanne's comments had seeded back in his mind. Do your job, let her do hers, and we all might just live, he thought to himself.
Maybe.
They wouldn't be to Beta Hydri until at least November 12th. If anything bad was going to happen to the Seekers, it might well be long over before they got there. Ben allowed a small prayer that this trip would all be for nothing.
But he knew it might go very, very differently.
Preeminent Ship 254
Beta Hydri (d)
Earth Equivalent Date: November 8, 2078
Ashil Kiker stood at the viewing port on the main deck of the ship. Exploration and the natural conquests which flow from it were not his skills; he was an individual of more subtle action. But he was a Preeminent after all, and therefore he would be able to vanquish any opposition and bring whatever culture he found to obsequia, or death.
The planet below him was attractive, but for the Preeminent's purposes, it was far too much water for too little land. It had no value to them since the population could not be brought to heel and serve. It was a suboptimal outcome, Kiker thought, as the Scholars, as ignorant and hard-headed as they might be, were productive farmers and the animals they grew were reported to be succulent to the palate. But, without the bent-kneed workers to farm them, it meant little.
Scad Nee Wok, the ship's commander, came to him to report.
"There is nothing new here, sir Kiker. Yes, the Vermin may have been here, but we have found nothing left behind."
"And the Scholars? The ignorant ones?"
"They also have not returned to their former place."
"They are all dead, are they not?"
"Such was the report, yes, sir Kiker."
It had all started with the Deists, he knew. This new species, such trouble that they called them the Vermin, had first appeared at the Deist's System 352. What if they were from beyond 352? That was an area not scheduled for exploration for another lifetime, perhaps more.
"How far, Scad Nee Wok, can this vessel explore?"
"Where is it you wish to go, sir Kiker?"
"Past 352. I want to find the source of these Vermin."
"I have the resources, yes. But I will require the permission of the Council to go so far."
"You doubt my authority?"
"I do not doubt my own, sir Kiker, and it does not extend to such an exploration. It is unheard of for a ship to go so far without the direction of the Council."
Kiker turned to look again out the port. Wok, annoying as he was, was correct in his response.
"Send a message to the council. Tell them I wish to see what is beyond 352."
"As you say, sir Kiker."
Hatred welled up inside Kiker, the hatred of that which presumed to threaten not only his life but his place in the universe, indeed, his entire culture's place. He would not accept that they could have any equal anywhere. They were the Preeminent, and they were meant to be worshiped and served. So far, they had overcome every world they found, crushing resistance, and placing the surrendered remnants under their rule. Six species had already come to obsequia and were living far better lives, in Kiker's expert opinion, than they had heretofore.
They were the Preeminent. This was the will of the Universe.
The direction of the Council was that he should proceed not beyond 352, but to a stable, yellow-white dwarf star in System 201, which was actually closer than 352. Kiker relayed the order to Scad Nee Wok, and they departed.
What the Council concealed from Kiker was that exploration to find the Vermin was a
lready underway, a decision taken after Kiker had been dispatched to Beta Hydri. They also hid from him the consensus among the scientists that 201 was exactly the kind of star that could harbor the Vermin.
Columbia
Earth Orbit
Saturday, November 12, 2078, 0930 UTC
The message had come in a few days before they returned home.
ROUTINE 207811081200UTC
TO: COLUMBIA, CHAFFEE, ANTARES
FROM: FLEETINTEL
ANTARES (ON ORBIT 20781109) REPORTS SURVIVORS OF THE BETA HYDRI
CULTURE THEY CALL 'SEEKERS.'
CHAFFEE (ETA 20781115) HAS LOCATED LARGE ENEMY FACILITY
APX 25 LY SOUTH.
COLUMBIA (ETA 20781112) HAS SPECIFIC INTEL ON ENEMY SPECIES
AND SHIP DESIGN.
FLEETINTEL TDOA RESULTS CONTINUE TO REVEAL USEFUL PATTERNS IN
ENEMY COMMAND STRUCTURE.
CINCFLEET HAS TASKED FLEETINTEL TO MANAGE CONSOLIDATION AND
CROSS-EVALUATION OF ALL INTEL STARTING 207811221300UTC.
ALL TEAMS SHALL PREPARE ABSTRACTS OF PERTINENT RESULTS FOR
DISTRIBUTION IMMEDIATELY ON RETURN.
DETAILED REPORTS WITH SUPPORTING DATA TO BE FILED WITH
FLEETINTEL NLT 2078111701300UTC
PENA
END
David and Katch set to work on the abstract, with Susan Scranton providing the details on the alien remains. They never did find a full body, but the several partial remains they did locate testified to the violence of the Bludgeon attacks and gave only a few hints at enemy anatomy.
But overall, the wreck had been a confounding and mostly disappointing endeavor. Most of it was tank; three pairs of enormous spheres. The piping led to the aft engineering spaces where they apparently ran a hydrogen/oxygen fuel cell to produce electricity. The drive system was not sealed like a Forstmann drive, but neither could they make any kind of conclusion about how it worked. They coerced red-headed FPI Lieutenant Tom Herring to take an EVA trip over to the enemy ship, but he had very little to tell about what he saw. He promised to write a complete analysis and send it to Forstmann, but he could not, he said, tell them anything about how the enemy drive compared to Forstmann. This made sense, of course, since the operation of the Forstmann Drive was perhaps the most closely guarded secret on (or off) Earth.
"You know what?" David asked Katch after Herring left the Intel office following their last discussion.
"What?"
"I don't think Tom knows jack shit about how the Drive works. They monitor dials, check levels, assert commands, but I don't think any of them have the slightest clue what's actually back there."
"So, what was he doing on the wreck?"
"Pictures for Forstmann. He might understand."
"Yeah, maybe. We'll have to see what happens."
They convinced Mike Clark to take some of his small supply of C4 and blow the hatch that the blood trail that Powell and Hughes had found seemed to pass into. It made a mess of the room, but other than some writing on the wall, nothing interesting was found in the next level down.
With careful, patient work, they had managed to explore the aft end beyond the broken passageway, and there they found more controls, and more writings, which they bagged, sterilized, and brought back with them. There were a couple of close calls with nicked EVA suits, but everyone got back whole and safe.
They carefully documented the outside of the wreck with photographs, hoping that they might find something more. David, keenly aware how the enemy used SLIP to their advantage, wanted to find the SLIP apparatus. It should be on the outside of the ship, he was sure, but he was equally sure he had no idea what it might look like. When they got back, Katch shipped the whole package to FleetIntel, who forwarded a copy to Lloyd at FPI. Perhaps he could find something interesting. The written materials – both the internal pictures and what looked like technical manuals – would be delivered to Greg Cordero at FleetIntel.
Antares had beaten Columbia back to Earth, but Carol had not been waiting for him as he got off the shuttle late Sunday evening. She was still working aboard Antares and would be down the next day. They'd both managed to wrangle a few days off. The real intelligence discussions would begin Friday, after Chaffee's return, so their commanders could afford to let the crew have some free time.
So, this time, it was David who waited for Carol to step off the Antares shuttle the next morning, well-bundled against the cold November wind. They held each other for a long time before they spoke, relieved to be together again. They slipped into the autonomous vehicle David had brought and headed out of town for the day.
ISC Fleet HQ Intel Section
Ft. Eustis, VA
Wednesday, November 14, 2078, 0845 EST
Kristin Hayes walked into Frances's small office and sat down, all without looking up from the printout in her hand.
"Good morning?" Frances asked.
Kristin glanced up only briefly. "Oh, yes, good morning."
Frances let a full thirty seconds go by. "Something on your mind?"
Kristin blinked and looked up. "I think I found something in these Beta Hydri messages."
"Oh?"
"The first one is at the lower end of the SLIP channels, 70. The second is much higher, 652."
"So, what are you thinking?"
"I think those are separate sources. Same place, but not the same transmitter."
"Interesting."
"Yes, but there a message from further south, somewhere around Alpha Mensae, on channel 76 which looks to me like a response to the 652 message."
Frances pulled up the history of SLIP intercepts on her workstation, looking more closely at the channel numbers. "Yes. All 76's locate to Alpha Mensae. The Enemy Station source is only on 248."
Kristin shifted in her chair. "Don was telling me last week that he thought there might be a pattern in the channels. That's what got me going in this direction."
"Looks like he was right."
"So, any other hits on 652 or 70?"
"No. But we've only been at this for a few months. They could have both been involved with Inor or Otbara or even Sigma, and we might not know."
"Yes, it took a while to get this all working correctly."
"But if we could match channels to transmitters, even imperfectly —"
"We could track individual enemy ships. That would really be something."
"I'll bring it up at the staff meeting today. Maybe some of the others will have more ideas."
"Right, good idea."
There was spirited discussion of the meaning of the channels around The Table later that morning, with a conclusion that they were likely on to something very significant.
Roger Cox started the discussion. "OK, try this...the enemy has an eye on Big Blue, somehow...and it sees Antares poking around, and it calls home, just like a Sentinel would. Then, home sends a ship to go see what's going on."
"Makes sense so far. It's what we would do," Frances responded.
"Maybe that's why it makes sense!" Kelly Peterson responded, a sly smile on her face.
"Kelly, you're such a buzz killer."
"That's one of my best qualities!"
Roger continued. "OK, so, then, the ship shows up and there are no humans hanging around, and nothing changed in Capital City."
"So, he's there, but nothing's changed, so he sends a 'what the hell?' back to H-Q and they tell him something."
"Or, where-to-next?" Adrienne McLean asked.
"Sure, could be. In any case, that's a logical scenario."
Peña looked around the table. "Intrepid won't be there for four or five more days. Is this something we should tell them?"
Rich Evans spoke up. "If we think there's a decent chance that some surveillance station exists, then yes, we should clue them in to look for it."
"Ann will understand, sir."
Peña nodded. "Roger, draft the message, and I'll get it off to Henderson."
"Yes, Commander."
PRIORITY 207811141515UTC
TO: INTREPID
FROM: FLEETINTEL
FURTHER STUDY OF ENEMY MESSAGES FROM BETA HYDRI LEADS US TO BELIEVE
THERE IS AN ENEMY SURVEILLANCE FACILITY IN THE VICINITY.
THE TWO MESSAGES FROM BH WERE ON SEPARATE SLIP CHANNELS
WHICH WE BELIEVE IMPLIES SEPARATE TRANSMITTERS.
END
ISC Fleet HQ Intel Section
Ft. Eustis, VA
Friday, November 18, 2078, 1400 EST
Ron Harris had not been away from his family for so long in several years. Their reunion was sweet, but overladen with the frustration and fear of having a loved one at risk so far away for weeks. It took a few days to adjust back to a normal life, and Ron did his best to be home and present as much as possible, given how much work there was to be done at FleetIntel.
Today, he was back in familiar settings at The Table, going over the results of Columbia's photographs of the enemy Drive with Dan Smith, David Powell, and Randy Forstmann. Forstmann had studied Tom Herring's pictures and come to the conclusion that the enemy Drive was inferior to what the Fleet was using.
"It's less efficient and less powerful. I'd expect they'd only be able to do point-eight-five light year per day at the most."
"How can you tell?" David asked.
Forstmann just looked at him. "I can tell, Lieutenant Powell. Leave it at that."
"But, Mr. Forstmann, we saw —"
"Leave it at that, Lieutenant." Forstmann, someone known for good manners and patience, had cut him off mid-sentence. David looked at Dan, who just shrugged, and gave up.
"I must ask, Lieutenant Powell, do I have all the images? Have all the others been destroyed?"
Dan answered for him. "Yes, Mr. Forstmann, Herring was emphatic about that. We've erased and bit-washed everything we had."
"I am sorry to be so prickly about this, Commander Smith, but this is a secret that must be protected. The entire Fleet, the entire new economy, is largely based on the Drive."
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