“I’ll settle for that,” Scott said. “Give me what you have.”
“So far,” Belinsky said, looking up, “I’ve managed to decode seven of the Godel sequences. All of the easy ones, essentially. There are a couple that would give the quantum computers back on Earth some serious trouble, but I think I’ve got enough to tell some of the story. That was probably their intention.” Noting Scott’s impatience, he continued, “They called themselves the Folk. That’s as near a translation as I can manage. They first attained spaceflight about a million and a quarter years ago, and starflight about a thousand years after they reached orbit.”
“We beat them to it, then,” Ivanov said, smugly.
“We had help,” Garcia replied.
Nodding, Belinsky said, “They didn’t. Somehow they managed to establish the shadow wormhole network, and incidentally, I’ve got indications that the largest file contains a complete chart of that network. Based on comparative projections, it is almost certainly at least ten times larger than our own.”
Rochford whistled, and said, “That could cover a hell of a lot of systems, Professor.”
“Hundreds. Thousands. You guess.” He reached for a slice of quiche, then continued, “They spread out for another thousand years or so, though according to what I’ve seen so far, they didn’t establish any off-world colonies. Some sort of religious reasons. They explored widely, though, but perhaps too far. The first attack took place in a distant system, one of their ships destroyed without warning. Then the aliens advanced, system through system.”
“How did they respond?” Scott asked.
“The Folk were not a warlike race. Their ships were unarmed, at least at first. They’d outgrown their aggressions centuries before reaching space, never mind the stars. Nevertheless, they armed their ships, with a wide variety of weapons, and set forth to meet their enemy. They fought battle after battle over the course of three years, only begrudgingly conceding each system, pushed back a step at a time until it seemed certain that they’d be defeated. They prepared for a last stand at their homeworld. The world we knew as Boreas.”
“And they lost,” Bouchard said.
Nodding, the Professor replied, “Evidently they were aware that the odds were against them, and they built the vault in orbit over their homeworld as a last hiding place for their people. Not to save them, but to preserve their memory. A few survivors from the final fighting must have made their way there, just in time to die.” Tapping his tablet, he added, “All the records of that race survived. We’ve got them. Every piece of data. Including notes of the final battle.”
“Is there anything that might be of immediate use to us?” Scott asked.
“I have the locations of two more wormholes in the system ahead, Captain. That was in the last file I decoded. I passed them onto your Ensign Chen for analysis.”
“Then we can run them a nice, merry chase for a while,” Ivanov replied.
“Not for that long, Lieutenant,” Santoro warned. “That last encounter played merry hell with the engines. That we were able to run them that hard was a miracle. I’m not sure how long we could do it if we were called upon to make the attempt a second time. If we had a brownout at the wrong moment…”
“We can’t run, then,” Scott said.
Belinsky looked at the assembled officers, and said, “We’re facing an enemy that was willing to wipe out at least one sentient race without hesitation or mercy, and one that apparently was willing to deploy its total resources to the task. The Folk were at least two centuries ahead of us, technologically, and they were still inferior to their exterminators. They lost every battle. The best they could ever do was buy time, and they had years to prepare for the fight, to construct space fleets larger than anything we have ever conceived. While they were not a naturally warlike race, they were extremely intelligent.”
“What’s your point, Professor?” Rochford asked.
“Only that if there was any sort of conventional military solution to this problem, they would have found it and used it, and the Folk would probably be alive today. You aren’t going to find an answer to this problem that easily.”
“Are you suggesting that we just give up?” Ivanov asked. “Run for this shadow network and hope they don’t follow us?”
“No, I’m not suggesting that at all, but I am suggesting that we’re going to have to think creatively if we’re going to win. The Folk were slow, methodical planners, who painstakingly researched every possibility before the moved. An inherently conservative culture. We’re going to have to try another approach.” He paused, smiled, then said, “Not that I have any specific suggestions, of course, but it isn’t really my field.”
Scott nodded, then said, “Needless to say, I have no intention of giving up. We’re going to win. We’ve got to. I will not permit our people to go the way of the Folk, just a few artifacts tumbling through space that someone might find in a few million years. Commander Garcia, you will work on the modifications to the weapons systems. Use any resource you need to get it done in time. Lieutenant Santoro, I want you to explore ways to enhance the robustness of the power network. Go through the specs again, find me an edge, an advantage.” He looked around, and continued, “We survived our first encounter with the enemy. We’ll survive our second. There is an answer to all of this, somewhere, and one way or another, we’re going to find it.” He smiled, and concluded, “Dismissed.”
Chapter 11
Scott lay on his bunk, flicking through the reports on his tablet, one after another, before dropping the device to his side. He glanced at the discarded book on his desk, then shook his head and looked up at the clock on the wall, showing the time they’d spent in otherspace, now seeping past the estimated five hours. He reached for his jacket, then stopped, instead placing his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling. The door chimed, and he glanced to his side to see Rochford walk inside, dropping down into the chair by his desk.
“I figured it was either here or your office,” Rochford said. “I know you like to put yourself in hiding before a battle.”
“Anything wrong?” Scott asked.
Shaking his head, Rochford replied, “Nothing with the ship. Everything’s as good as it’s going to be. I wish I could say the same about the crew.” He paused, then said, “The Professor’s story has made its way out onto the lower decks. Too many people were helping with the calculations.” Frowning, he added, “That Godel code is damn tough to crack.”
“How are they taking it?”
“They’re ready and willing to die for their planet. They’d rather live, but they don’t consider that an option.” Rochford looked at the desk, at the old book sitting on it, half-open, “The Bronze Age Collapse?”
“One of those books I’ve been meaning to read for a while. I thought I might try again, but I can’t seem to settle on anything. Though some of it did sink in. You realize that, over the course of a few decades, almost every civilization in the Mediterranean and Near East collapsed? The Greeks, the Hittites, the Babylonians, the Assyrians. All of them. Only Ancient Egypt survived. Imaging living there, watching your neighbors collapse one after another, until you’re surrounded by nothing but wasteland where once there were proud cities, mighty warriors.”
“It must have been strange. To see your whole world torn apart all around you, unable to do anything to influence the situation.”
“I used to wonder how they must have felt. Now I think I know. We’ve been through the same fire, without even realizing it. That ship, or one very like it, wiped out the Folk in less than a decade. We’re not so advanced. They’re going to beat us in a handful of weeks. I think we’ve got to assume that they will quite methodically eliminate every trace of humanity, unless we can stop them.”
“We will.”
Turning to Rochford, Scott said, “Clyde, do you really think this has only played out once before? We thought we were alone in the universe, came up with the idea that we were so damned special, so unique. Turns out w
e’re just the latest race in the firing line. How many other civilizations have been wiped out, destroyed at the height of their strength, just in known space?”
“We’d know, surely.”
“Would we? We managed to miss the Folk. I wonder just how many other bunkers are out there, somewhere, hiding in plain sight, overlooked in our mad dash to the stars. Or how many races died without even managing to leave a permanent record of their existence. Hell, would we? Do we have time to prepare some sort of redoubt for eternity, or the technology to do what they did?”
“That’s a reasonable point,” Rochford replied. “Come on, this isn’t the warrior I know.”
“We’re not done yet,” Scott said. “Though I think the Professor is right. We’re not going to find a conventional solution to this one. It isn’t going to be as simple as technological refinements. If the Folk were methodical, then we’ve got one edge they haven’t.”
“And that is?”
“Guile,” Scott replied.
“Bridge to Captain,” Wilson’s voice called. “Dimensional instability is increasing, sir. I think we’re about to emerge from otherspace. Estimated egress in six minutes.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Scott replied. “Bring the ship to battle stations. I’ll be up in a minute.” Snapping off the communicator, he picked up his jacket, sliding it over his shoulders in an easy move, then walked to the door, Rochford following. The two of them walked to the elevator, the doors open and waiting for them, the mechanism bursting into life as they entered.
“Attention,” Wilson’s voice announced. “Set Alert Condition One throughout the ship. I repeat, set Alert Condition One throughout the ship. All hands to battle stations. Prepare for wormhole emergence in five minutes. That is all.”
“He’s a good kid, isn’t he,” Rochford said. “Just like his father.”
Smiling, Scott replied, “I still can’t get used to the idea that he’s an Academy graduate. Makes me feel old.”
“Buddy, you are old.”
“You’re two years older than I am, Clyde.”
“I never said it wasn’t contagious.”
The doors slid open, and Scott relieved a grateful Wilson, who raced back to his console, dropping down in front of the communications station. Rochford took his position, Ivanov far more reluctant to yield the chair, finally making his way to the rear of the bridge. Given how short-handed they were, Scott had been forced to make at least some use of him, but he was still watching him carefully. Trust was a precious and expensive commodity, and one that Ivanov had yet to earn.
“All decks are cleared for action, sir,” Rochford reported. “Not quite as fast as last time, but still way above normal.” Throwing controls, he added, “Mass suggests a brown dwarf system ahead, though a pretty small one.”
“It’d have to be for us to have missed it for so long,” Ivanov said. “There’s nothing in the charts in this region. Nothing at all.”
“A perfect hiding place,” Scott said, approvingly. “Sullivan, the same drill as before. Full sensor sweep of the system as soon as we arrive. I need to know every detail about local space, and a course plot of any objects we encounter. Lieutenant Wilson, I want the full First Contact suite broadcasted as soon as we arrive. If there’s anyone in the system, we’ve got to know about it as fast as we can.”
“And if they’re hostile, sir?” Wilson asked.
“Then it’s probably better that we know at once.” Turning to Rochford, he asked, “Best guess, Commander. Assuming the alien ship missed the wormhole on the first past, based on our current evaluation of its performance, how long before it arrives here. Always assuming it took the bait.”
“Forty minutes, plus or minus eight,” Rochford replied. “Though I can’t guarantee that it won’t come flying right out after us. Ensign Chen pulled off some pretty fancy flying, but that ship looked as though it could maneuver on a centicred.”
“Assuming they didn’t, your first priority is to match the data of the other two wormholes the Professor found and try and work out just where they lead. I doubt we’ll be able to lead them by the nose forever, but I want to know what options we have.”
“Not a problem, sir. I should be able to crunch the numbers quite quickly, especially with full use of the sensor grid.” He paused, then asked, “How long before the Professor has anything more for us?”
“He claims the best part of a day. Apparently, the coding gets a lot harder to unpick, very quickly. We can’t count on that providing us with some sort of wonder weapon.”
“Besides,” Ivanov added, “they lost. The best we can hope for is knowing what tactics and technologies won’t work.”
“Fair point, Lieutenant,” Scott conceded, as the rear doors opened, Garcia sprinting to her station. “How are the modifications coming, Commander?”
“We’re just about ready, sir,” she said. “We haven’t conducted any test shots, but the systems look fine in simulation.”
“We should have time for a practice run when we arrive in-system,” Scott said.
“I’d rather not, sir. We’ve had to, well, improvise a little, and I’m not sure how robust the modifications will be in combat. We’ll get a good shot, that much I can guarantee. I don’t know if it’ll hold together long enough for a second one.”
“Then we’ll just have to make that first one count,” Scott replied.
“Ten seconds, Captain,” Chen said. Theoretically, given the shift rotation, it should have been Cunningham at the helm, but Chen had refused to countenance it. This was his ship now, and Scott could sympathize enough to support the young officer, though he had the alternate on standby if needed.
The ship shuddered slightly as it slid into normal space, the emergence somehow different from the usual wormhole transit he was used to. The starfield returned, and just as predicted, a dim brown dwarf rested at the heart of the screen, data streaming down the side of the display as the sensors began to map the new system.
“T-class star, and pretty dim even for that,” Rochford said. “Two planets and a cometary belt, nothing to write home about. She’s got a pretty fast relative speed, heading out towards intergalactic space.” He paused, then added, “God, it’s past galactic escape velocity. Captain, we’re looking at a wanderer. This star didn’t originate in our galaxy.”
“Under other circumstances, I’d be celebrating,” Scott said. “Any sign of life?”
“No response to our messages, Captain,” Wilson reported. “No sign of any electromagnetic activity in the system, either. We’re alone, sir.”
“Sensors have completed system sweep, sir,” Sullivan added. “I can confirm Lieutenant Wilson’s report. No sign of artificial energy signatures, no sign of anything at all. Both planets are uninhabitable and look as though they’ve always been that way. Just balls of rock. First analysis doesn’t see anything worth exploiting. I’m surprised the Folk bothered to send a wormhole out here.”
“A star system that came from another galaxy,” Rochford replied. “I’d say that was worth looking at, wouldn’t you?” He turned to Scott, and said, “We’re about three light-years from Kapteyn’s Star, sir. One of the two wormholes goes right there, the other heads to another location with no known star. I’d like to send a probe to investigate.”
“How long for total transit?”
“Unknown, sir, but it would enter the wormhole in less than thirty minutes. If the alien ship was following right after us, they’d be here by now. I’d say we gave them the slip.”
“I’d strongly recommend against launching a probe, sir,” Ivanov said. “Once it returned, they’d know we were in this system.”
“They’ve got to know that anyway, Lieutenant,” Rochford replied.
“Yes, sir, but if…”
“Good idea, Lieutenant,” Scott said, a smile crossing his face. “Launch your probe, Commander, right now, and make sure that it is programmed for automatic return.” He reached for his controls, bringing up a view of l
ocal space, and said, “Helm, I’m reading a comet about fifteen thousand miles away, with a nice big coma. How close can you get us?”
“Happy to land on her, sir.”
“Sullivan, what do your sensors tell you about it?”
“A conventional comet, sir, probably fairly young. Lots of volatile mass, and as you said, a large coma. Some signs of cryo-volcanism, but nothing to worry about too much. A short expedition should be relatively safe, Captain, but I’d want to check it over more thoroughly before landing.”
“Get started. I want a full analysis of the surface, and I’m extremely interested in that cryo-volcanism. Helm, take us in. Put Leonidas down where we’re in shadow, so the alien ship can’t detect us as soon as it enters the system.”
“That won’t work for long, sir,” Garcia warned. “It might get us close enough to take that shot, though.”
“What explosives do we have in our armory, Commander?” Scott asked.
“The usual heavy charges, sir. What have you got in mind?”
Looking up at the comet, he asked, “Have you got any idea what would happen if we blew the comet into a million pieces, all of them aimed at the alien ship? It’d be like a shotgun blast, aimed right down its throat. They might be able to block energy weapons, but kinetic warheads would be a completely different matter, especially on that sort of scale.”
“We’d have to do some pretty fine survey work, sir,” Garcia said. “Though I suppose we don’t have to actually destroy the comet. Just throw a lot of chunks towards the enemy. We’d need to guide it in, make sure it was within the firing arc. This won’t be particularly precise, skipper. It really would be a shotgun blast.”
“Can it be done?”
“If we position the charges on the surface, place them in the right places, then I don’t see any reason why not.” She nodded, a smile crossing her face, and added, “It’d be one hell of a shock, sir. That much shrapnel hurled at one of our ships would rip it into a million pieces.”
“The wormhole to Kapteyn’s Star is forty minutes away at maximum speed,” Ivanov said. “We could just about make it before the alien ship arrived. If we launched a network of probes towards the surface of those worlds, they could simulate enough activity down there to potentially delay them for a while, buy the fleet time to assemble. There’s only a small science station at Kapteyn’s. It wouldn’t be a bad place to fight a battle.”
Battlespace (The Stars Aflame Book 1) Page 10