Assured (Envoys Book 2)

by Peter J Aldin

  From her corner of the skiff, Nkembe swallowed a mouthful of soybean and carrot. “I’ll look into it. But it’s credible that a species like this could hibernate, yes.”

  Gregory’s gaze swung between Pan and Fowler. Both men were frowning. “So, no comms and just enough power for a suicide mission. How strange is that, really? Insectoid and arthropoid species often sacrifice soldier drones for the good of the nest. Even some mammaloids do it.”

  “It’s not that,” said Fowler.

  “Then what am I missing here?”

  Fowler put his empty tray down on the floor. “The other thing missing in that report is sensors. The fighter had none.”

  “Just the forward canopy to look through,” said Pan. “My engineers and the Tluaanto theorize that Xenthracr fighters get pointed at where Kh’het4 will be and are sent off in that direction. No way to course correct. No way to tell if their enemy is coming out to meet them—except when they sight them ahead, which is problematic when you’re traveling at these kinds of speeds.”

  “It had braking ability,” said Gregory pointing to the report.

  “I don’t want to discuss the physics of space travel and space battle. The point is, that pilot and his ship were launched toward the Qesh construct without significant autonomy, or the ability to adapt their own mission parameters. Also—and this is really odd—the two that attacked us had no way of sensing us coming, or targeting us.” Onscreen, Pan’s fingers tapped at his cheek. “The thing I’m most concerned about, however, is a practical matter. What if we’ve stuck our foot in a nest of vespoida harenae?

  Beach wasps, Gregory translated. He’d once watched a documentary about Pride of Mao’s vicious, insectoid animals. Despite attempts to wipe them out, they’d been responsible for thousands of human deaths over the centuries. It was curious that Pan used their Latin scientific name rather than the Mandarin or English versions. That’s what I’m curious about? Good Lord, Ambassador, focus!

  He said, “Are you worried we’re picking a fight with a technologically equivalent race who are quite content to die in combat?”

  “I’m not worried about it.” Pan curled the tapping fingers into a fist. “I’m terrified.”

  “Better to know about them this way than find out when seed ships appear in DCHC territory,” said Fowler. “It’ll be vital to hear what the Lioness finds in terms of their fleet and troop strength.”

  Pan nodded. “And to see what kinds of fuel refineries and manufacturing plants they have.”

  “Messagepack for you, sir,” said Berderhan. She swiped it back to Chinyama’s tab.

  Moments later, the XO told them, “Assured has sent us an image of the Xenthracr prisoner.”

  It appeared on one of the small monitors above pilot and navigator. The creature looked like a bizarre variation of the lobsters Earthers had brought along to the colonies. Only bigger.

  “Nasty,” said Berderhan.

  “Weird,” said Chipper.

  “Fun,” said Vazak.

  13

  With the visitors crammed into the airlock, Chlalloun sealed the rear hatch before opening the forward one. Ana and Westermann exited first, stepping into a Tluaan “ingress port” between the frigate and the artifact. The blue, steel box appeared jury-rigged, its welding rough, its angles imperfect, and it poked into the Qesh corridor without meeting exactly with either floor or ceiling. Ana and Westermann were forced to take a half-meter step down onto Tluaan gravity-matting. The matting had been laid in strips over an uneven, cobbled floor. Without native gravity of its own, the Qesh corridor disregarded human-Tluaan aesthetics, crooking up at a thirty-degree angle to Ana’s left, and down twenty degrees to her right. In both directions, it curved quickly out of sight. The floor appeared to have a camber in the middle. Ana stepped out further from the entry port, peering into the guttering along the edges, spying moisture there.

  “Drains?” she asked Westermann.

  “Looks like it. Think they get a lot of rain here?”

  “I think they piss in the streets.”

  “Sure smells like it,” Westermann agreed.

  Neither of them wore a helmet—making the stink more pervasive—but they were wearing comms-earpieces. So Fowler’s voice was crystal clear when he said, “We can hear you. Keep it professional.”

  They replied and shared a brief grin.

  Ana told him, “We’re just speculating that drains mean they must have had their own gravity at some stage.”

  None of the Qesh were visible, for which she was grateful. She had enough to contend with without a bunch of tailless alien rats running around her. She peeked back and around the edges of the ingress port to where the Tluaanto had sealed it against the artifact walls. The joins looked good—hell, if they weren’t, she wouldn’t be breathing. Down the tunnel left of the hatchway, a branch corridor spiraled up and sideways into what Ana thought of as roof. It emphasized the fact she was in a construction built by non-human minds and hands.

  After checking her telltales, Westermann told the group in the airlock the air was safe. She tapped her transmitter to off and added for Ana’s benefit, “Lucky for us.”

  Westermann headed right and “downhill” toward the curve in the corridor. Ana went left toward the weird roof-tunnel. The gravity matting was definitely helpful, but it was also poorly fitted, resulting in patchy grav that made Ana lunge and stumble several times before reaching the hole in the ceiling. Her flashlight beam revealed nothing inside but more tiled surfaces, so she turned to watch the others emerge from the steel ingress port.

  Fowler was first out and first to place his hand over his nose.

  See? she thought. It does smell like a urinal.

  Last one out was Sintopas. She caught his gaze and gave him some stink-eye. He broke contact fast.

  Yeah, friend. Better forget about blackmailing me.

  She’d done nothing wrong, not really. A vague personal update to her parents. Parents she barely remembered, who now insisted she owed them more than they apparently owed her. A sinking feeling reminded her that—although she hadn’t given away anything resembling sensitive intel—she had successfully breached Confed security protocols. And she’d dragged Chipper into it. The go-code she’d used was his. At the time, she hadn’t cared about that. He’d been a nobody to her, a means to an end. She’d used him. If Sintopas had the guts to deliver on his threat, what would it mean for her and Chipper? Disgrace and dismissal? Jail time? Yeah, the Sevens Party would drop her in a concrete box and leave her there till she died. Her parents were still technically enemies of the party.

  Her short nails dug into her palms. She could accept the consequences for herself if it came to that. But not for Chip. He’d been a fool for letting her talk him into it. He’d risked his own career and freedom. On a whim. But it had been an act of kindness for a person in a hard place.

  Chipper, you big dumb bulala.

  She sent one final glare toward Sintopas, fantasizing for a moment that she could make him spontaneously explode.

  I could. Sorta. I could hack his suit controls and start an electrical fire. I could rig his bridge comms panel to electrocute him next time he’s on duty.

  She blew out the breath she’d been holding, shaking her head. Killing him was such a Xerxian solution. Direct. Decisive. And selfish. If she played her cards right, Ana was on track to become a Confed; she now wanted to be a Peacer. And murdering an opponent to protect a secret just wasn’t the Confed way.

  But if he did anything to hurt Chipper—anything—then all options were back on the table …

  Her eyes found Sintopas in the middle of the huddle by the ingress port.

  You can take the chica outta Xerxes, asshole, but ya can’t take Xerxes outta the chica.

  Gregory tried to tell his brain to ignore the dissonance between what it felt and what it saw. From the perspective of a human who’d grown up with gravity’s fixed reference points and the straightforward designs of buildings and space station
s, the curving corridor he was trudging along was a damned mess. One moment it ran straight and flat, the next it veered down, then across, then up, meandering in a chaotic, irregular spiral. The best use he found for the Tluaan gravity matting was to stay close to the center where down felt most real and regular, despite the corkscrewing passageway.

  Nudging him from behind, Grace said, “You can thank me now for the exercise I’ve been making you do.”

  “I don’t look ill because I’m hiking a few hundred meters. I look ill because the passage and the gravity don’t match.”

  “At least you’re not floating through here,” Fowler said from ahead of him. “Less crashing into each other this way. Less overshooting and smacking into tiled walls.”

  He almost did crash into Fowler then. The colonel stopped suddenly, and it took Gregory a moment to realize that those further ahead had too. The group had reached a bottleneck, a narrow aperture through which they’d have to squeeze. Sideways. Beyond it, light flared brighter than that of the tunnels.

  “I’ll go in ahead of you,” Grace said as she brushed by him.

  When it was their turn, he followed her in. Knees and shoulders bumping against protuberances along both walls, Gregory saw why Chlalloun had recommended the padding of an e-suit. They emerged into a wide-open cavity, roughly circular as if it was the inside of a sphere. Gregory was immediately grateful again for the gravity matting; without it, he’d have immediately lost any sense of up and down.

  “Hello, Qesh,” Grace said quietly as she progressed further out onto a kind of pier formed from gravity mats.

  Gregory scanned the chamber. There were plenty of the little creatures in here, all right. Thirty of them, at least. Most were adults, although a handful of smaller ones were present, all clinging to the bellies or backs of the larger ones. The Qesh had created gardens all around the sphere, in wide bands snug to surfaces, in free-floating bubbles. some enclosed behind wire mesh, some within dirty glass or plastic. Pipes or hosing appeared from random spots along the walls to run into and through the surface-clinging gardens, and here and there the casing for some form of machinery or device had been anchored to a floor/wall. About fifty meters away and around one wall, two Tluaanto had anchored themselves to one of these casings, but Gregory couldn’t tell whether they were adjusting the machinery or studying it. The pair were the only other Tluaanto he could see.

  For the time being, he could do nothing but gawk and try not to lose his bearings in the cavity’s topsy-turviness. Along the floor/walls, Qesh pulled themselves around via handholds or flaws in the tiling. One launched itself from the far side of the chamber, sailing confidently toward a free-floating tree out in the middle. What on Foucault, he wondered, was a tree doing out there in vacant space, untethered, its short roots exposed to the air? How was it fed?

  After taking it all in for a time, he came to himself and noticed the conversations around him. Grace was giving an unimpressed Sintopas tips on what he should video next. Jogianto and Westermann had decided the air was fresher in here than the corridors. Vren and Pi chatted in their shared language. Nkembe was muttering to herself.

  And Fowler was plying Chlalloun with questions via Buoun. “No warriors in here. The Qesh don’t frighten you?”

  “They are not dangerous. The only time they tried to bite us is when we tried to go … there.”

  Chlalloun was pointing to a hole in the floor “above” them. Someone—no doubt Tluaan—had traced its edges with yellow paint. Gregory noticed there were many similar holes around the hollow sphere.

  The scientist said, “We think they mate in there. We avoid it.”

  Fowler replied, “We’ll avoid it too. We have no desire to watch Qesh mating.”

  Buoun touched Gregory’s shoulder and indicated the far end of their pier. “Look.”

  Gregory brushed through the others for a better view. Two Qesh had crouched by a pile of metal and plastic junk. They appeared to be sifting through it, trying to fit pieces together and occasionally succeeding. “What are they doing?”

  Buoun directed the question to Chlalloun who had followed them. “This is an air reclaimer from our frigate. Or it was.”

  “You’re letting them ruin your air reclaimers?”

  “Not ruin; redesign. They’ve done this with two others. They broke them apart before fitting them back together. When done, neither looked the same as the other. But their redesigns have improved efficiency by 28-35 %. Water filtration systems too, for which we are grateful. Most of our water reserves were on the frigate the Xenthracr destroyed.”

  Gregory gestured around the chamber expansively. “This is a … habitat? And they’ve been here for centuries you think?”

  “Millennia, possibly.”

  “What?”

  Eavesdropping, Pi said something scornful. Buoun translated, “They could not have been here so long.”

  Chlalloun dropped his head and eyes. “Yes, shining one. But centuries definitely.”

  “A self-contained system without resupply for centuries?” Gregory wondered.

  “From what we can see, they achieved this because of supplies of raw materials in one of their larger compartments and by maintaining a small population. They are also innovative and resourceful.”

  “But centuries? Why are they out here? Why so long?”

  Strangely, Chlalloun looked to Pi and Buoun rendered her reply into English.

  “We theorize a collapse of their space-going civilization several centuries past. You humans suffered such a thing, so it is a reasonable theory. The collapse must have stranded this artifact.”

  Fowler asked, “But was it a research station? The makings of an interstellar ship? An ark?”

  “An ark,” Pi replied. “If Buoun understands your term correctly. No doubt they saw the collapse coming and wanted to preserve their species. Chlalloun’s mission has found no other sign of Qesh space technology. Correct, Scientist-Overseer?”

  “Sahsah,” said Chlalloun with a dip of his head.

  Pi had spoken curtly, keen to move the conversation on. Gregory wondered if she was hiding some discovery. Or if she’d simply rather be with Naat, assessing data in a clean and familiar environment. Moments later, Pi confirmed his latter suspicion by saying, “We have seen enough. Let us return to the comforts of our frigate or the Assured.”

  Gregory felt he should object. They had only just arrived. But really, what else was there to see? This chamber was no doubt representative of other areas. Seen one, seen ’em all. Pan could send in engineers and systems techs if he wanted more details on Qesh technology. Nkembe had fulfilled her wish to see the Qesh in person. He shifted one of his own boots out of a moist patch of what he hoped was mold. For him, the novelty was wearing off as quickly as it was for Pi. He was wandering around a habitat with patchy gravity and unreliable hygiene. And he was tired. A glance at his wristwatch told him it was getting close to six a.m. He’d barely slept in the previous twenty-four hours.

  “Chlalloun,” he said, “are there other important things to see?”

  Chlalloun’s response appeared genuine. “Of interest to engineers and biologists perhaps. But Qesh have nothing of military or cultural value.”

  “Not sure why we’re here, then,” Fowler muttered.

  Buoun answered that. “To see the Qesh for yourselves.”

  “And what an anticlimax that’s been.” The colonel took one last look around the chamber before becoming the first person out of it.

  “I’d like to stay,” Nkembe said in a firm tone. “Might I keep the Ensign’s float-cam?”

  Gregory glanced to the soldiers waiting by the wall. “Corporal Westermann, are you happy to stay with the lieutenant?”

  “Yessir.”

  “I’m sure the captain wouldn’t object. Ensign Sintopas, can you leave the cam controller with the doctor please? I’ll let the captain know. But, Lt. Nkembe, you should probably return to Assured in a few hours.”

  Nkembe had ventured nea
rer the tinkering Qesh. She gave him a distracted wave of acknowledgment before crouching by them. Neither showed any sign of noticing her, going about their work with quiet focus.

  “Have a great time,” Gregory murmured to Westermann.

  Her straight face wrinkled into a smile. “Nature-watching is my favorite hobby, sir.”

  Sintopas had simply left the controller on the pier and exited the chamber after Fowler. Buoun and Pi entered the tight exit next, with Gregory and Grace behind them and Jogianto bringing up the rear.

  When they were all the way back at the frigate docking corridor near the skiff, Pi declared she and Buoun would remain behind. Gregory had expected it and saw no reason to make a fuss. They were here to check up on their people. And the accommodations were probably more comfortable here than on Assured. Despite that thought, Vren chose to return to Assured.

  After a brief conference with his superior, Buoun asked, “Would you be so kind as to send the skiff back for us in six human hours please?”

  “Of course. I’m sure you and your surviving explorers here have a lot to catch up on.” Gregory touched his finger to his brow. “I will see you both at some point later today.”

  “Adios,” Buoun said before he followed Pi and Chlalloun out to the frigate’s main passageway.

  “Why the switch to Spanish?” Fowler wondered as he boarded the skiff.

  Following him, Gregory shook his head. “Why do the Tluaanto do anything?”

  A half-fifteenth after the Human skiff had departed, Buoun took a seat in the multipurpose ship’s mess. He sighed with pleasure after breathing in the sweet aromas emanating from the kitchen: mourak nolgoush stew. The ingredients had come across on the skiff’s return flight after Gregory’s group had left. With such rich aromas, this room would soon crowd with desperate mission crew deprived of fine fare for many orbits.

  It was nice to sit on a Tluaan chair in a Tluaan eating room. However, he already felt the itch to be among Humans again, to return to the “quarters” provided for him on Assured.