by Jerry
“Mute the alarms—activate all weapons,” Frank Buckner said, and it was so.
The command computer deployed a surprising number of destructive devices, bristling from hidden panels all over the station’s exterior.
“Hope they can turn down the volume on their alarms,” Frank said with a grin.
The station had been the Space Navy’s primary maintenance facility two decades ago. Having commanded in those glory days, Frank knew all its systems, many of which had remained operational when the navy abandoned the place as too expensive to run or demolish. Out of the navy by then, he had bought it as surplus scrap for a song. No, not even a full song, a short ditty.
“Dad!” Alana, his youngest daughter said, “You’re starting a war with the Tak’won Empire!”
Mr. Buckner, what the blue hell are you doing? demanded the voice of Commodore Harl Vincent, commanding the navy’s escort forces.
A gravelly alien voice followed. Captain Nawash . . . Gutfrok na Tak’won . . . we . . . dock.
Frank grinned at his daughter and the only other human member of his staff, Raymond Baker. Both Alana and Ray were in their late twenties. Otherwise, there were only a few thousand military surplus robots aboard, from little microscopic nanobot guys swarming together to hulking great brutes that could single-handedly lift an old warp engine block without straining.
“Just a bit of friendly negotiation although, technically, we’re still at war,” Frank said, and made a gesture to open the comm channel. “You are docked, Captain. Close all weapons ports. Shut down your engines.”
The lethal openings on the Gutfrok slid shut and the fitful orange glow at its rear from the three malfunctioning drives faded.
“Weapons systems on standby, status to Guard,” Frank ordered his computer.
“How did we get stuck with this job?” Alana asked.
“Your mother sent them.”
Alana’s mother was Fleet Admiral Alicia Buckner.
Ray groaned. “Your ex-wife must really hate you, Frank.”
Frank smiled. “She’s an admiral; she hates everyone.”
* * * *
Frank’s Starship Repair was at Earth’s L5 point, where objects remain at the same place in relation to the Earth and its moon as all orbits the sun. Two centuries prior, several countries of Earth constructed vast rotating structures providing gravity for colonists in what came to be called ellfives in common usage.
The invention of artificial gravity made rotation no longer necessary and the advent of FTL drives caused colonists to move on. Who wanted to live in a tin can when entire planets were out there for the taking? The space navy used some of the ellfive structures for a few decades. Now most lay abandoned except for a few repurposed like Frank’s shop.
Frank’s business survived for two reasons—he could fix about any FTL drive or other ship system extant, human or alien, and he had several ellfive warehouses full of obsolete parts from his acquisition of the old space navy major repair facility.
“What do you mean, stay behind!” Alana said, showing a bit of her mother’s famous temper.
Frank and Ray were getting into thin pressure suits.
“You’re in charge here, Alana.”
Frank looked at Ray who, suited up now, was lifting a small case by its handle.
“Right, bring along your tools.”
Frank patted an outside pocket of his suit, which held a container of diagnostic nanobots. Those little babies were all he needed for this initial look.
Alana let her breath out in exasperation. “What the heck’s that, Ray? Those aren’t—”
“It’s nothing,” Frank said quickly.
“Don’t worry,” Ray said, attempting to hug Alana with his free arm.
She resisted at first and then gave him a quick one in return.
His heart wasn’t in it but Frank gave Ray a stern look. Out here in ellfiveville, Alana did not have much in the way of social opportunity. Besides, for several reasons, he was stuck with Ray. Luckily, Ray was not so bad—he knew little about mechanical repair but learned fast and pitched in enthusiastically.
“Think we can get them running again, sir?” Ray asked, polite as always.
Frank shrugged as he adjusted his suit.
“The old battleaxe thinks so.”
“Dad!”
“Well, she dumped this deal on us, Alana.”
“She knows how good you are,” Alana said and sighed.
“No, we’re not getting back together,” he said. “She chose career over family, as did your two sisters, as did you until recently.”
Alana ignored that, looking out a viewport at the waiting alien craft. Her older sisters were officers on her mother’s staff, but she resigned her own commission to be with Dad.
Frank tried to reassure her. “You’ve got our back, Alana.”
“What if they kill you, Dad?”
“Kill ’em back.”
* * * *
Faster than light was a concept many on Earth said was impossible, that old Einstein and his theory of relativity showed it impossible. Even those making a living writing speculative fiction in ancient days constructed stories where it took centuries traveling from star to star.
Then there was Professor Daphne Dawson, a mathematician of the early twenty-second century. She proved Einstein wrong about relativity and opened the door for FTL. Engineers started inventing faster than light drives—not using just one method but scores of ways.
Most drives were flakey or slow, required too much energy, or broke any time anyone looked at it. A few were practical. The now-retired warp engines from Frank’s days in service were massive beasts, hogging energy, but reliable with proper maintenance. Frank could fix those in his sleep.
In its expansion, humans began meeting aliens who also had FTL ships, so add thousands more ways of achieving speeds many times in excess of light. Some of these aliens resented human expansion. One, the Tak’won, under their Triple Emperors, was keen on doing something to stop humanity.
For military needs, speed wins over reliability. During the Second Tak’won War—still theoretically in progress although a truce had held for the last ten years, better than the six years after the First Tak’won War—speed became everything and newer drives replaced the slow warp drives. The new drives were finicky mechanisms, requiring constant babying and broke periodically. Frank got his share of repair jobs that the navy’s own engineers could not handle, and those people were good—he’d trained a lot of them back in the day.
Got any idea how they do it? Ray asked over their encrypted communications.
Frank and Ray floated halfway to the Gutfrok, following the protocol of giving the alien security force sufficient time to inspect them.
“Beats me and all the scientists,” Frank replied. “Our best engine does fifty lights, their old one five hundred, this new one supposedly over five thousand.”
Kinda blows the surrender ultimatum when all three of their top battleship’s engines go down at the same time, huh?
“Yeah, maybe,” Frank said, as the Gutfrok’s tractor beams pulled them to the nearest entry port. “But Alicia’s dumped the problem on us now.”
Admirals tend to do that, boss.
Frank knew Alana was listening in but she did not contradict him this time. The obvious was the obvious—sometimes, anyway.
The Tak’won Empire is a long way from us, Alana said through their earpieces, with a lot easier targets to conquer on the way. Yet, they pick a fight with us. Why?
Ray answered. We’re Tak’won’s single biggest competitor for uninhabited planets and trade with those that are. Get rid of us and everything in sight is open for the taking.
* * * *
The hot portion of the Second Tak’won War only lasted a few weeks over ten years prior. Frank, still in the navy then, commanded the engineering arm during the action. He desperately tried to come up with engines and tactics that would overcome the enemy’s vast advantage in speed,
and failed. The five-hundred light-speed engines, mounted three to a ship, outclassed and out maneuvered anything the space navy had.
Tak’won needed fast ships since their empire was over fifteen hundred light years down the spiral arm of the galaxy humanity was settling. It took more than three years for even their fast ships to arrive and engage the navy. Of course, the enemy’s home systems were far beyond the navy’s range. Earth’s strategy involved not contesting some worlds and concentrating forces around others.
Soon it became apparent to both sides that—while taking over a few worlds—the Tak’won lines of supply were just too long to win victory. Two waves of attacks had failed. They had contemptuously suggested a truce but promised a third, victorious campaign to follow at an unspecified time in the future.
Now, with massively faster engines, Planetary General Prince Moaroaf—in line for a spot in the emperor trinity—had arrived to deliver the demand of the Triple Emperors for unconditional surrender. All three of the new engines so inexplicably malfunctioning took a bit of the edge off the demand. Having three heads, three arms, three legs, and three sexes, the Tak’won set great store in the number three.
Coming into the ship from the airlock, Frank and Ray found themselves in the huge entry hall. Niches holding religious symbols covered the walls and ceiling of the hall. The Tak’won had literally thousands of religions with adherents always conspiring to gain greater political power.
Groups of three alien commandos kept them covered with energy weapons at the ready. Standing directly in front of them were the three senior members of the Tak’won ultimatum delegation. Prince Moaroaf and High Priest Reehoot—coordinator of religions—faced away from them, this tripod stance a studied insult, and only Captain Nawash, who wore the insignia of an admiral, was looking at them.
Frank and Ray removed their pressure helmets—the alien air was breathable albeit full of not always pleasant odors. They activated their translator buttons, which fed through the communicator bud each wore in one ear. There was also a button on each pressure suit feeding visual input back to Alana.
“Where . . . is . . . your third?” Captain Nawash asked.
“She’s on our station, with all weapons ready,” Frank said.
Nawash had its own translation device.
“A wise precaution,” it agreed. “Can you fix engines?”
“Perhaps,” Frank answered. “I’ll need to confer with your engineering staff and—”
One of Nawash’s eyes drifted to indicate the two with their backs to them. “We no longer have engineers. They have joined their various gods. The General Prince is . . . upset . . . and if we do not secure repairs . . . all of us perish. The General Prince’s chance to become the Third Emperor rests on this mission.”
“I understand and we have been tasked by our navy to start repairs. How do you plan on paying?”
The prince spoke, but did not turn. “Your Three will be promoted to slave supervisor if you make our engines work again.”
Alana’s voice was in Frank and Ray’s ears again. Mother will never accept us fixing an enemy warship so that they can return and make slaves of all humanity.
Frank knew that. He also knew she expected him stop this ship from leaving the solar system, especially with working engines. He continued to stand silent.
Nawash gave what had to be the equivalent of a human sigh. “I personally will pay—for results only. I swear this on my honor as a Tak’won officer.”
“No,” Frank said. “Swear on your god.”
Nawash paused, its three heads swiveling in agitation.
Prince Moaroaf, its back still turned, said something too rapid for the translators to render.
Nawash’s heads drooped.
Frank grinned and winked at Ray. “The Prince could care less, Nawash has a different religion,” he whispered.
“This one comprehended that,” Moaroaf said. “The offer of promotion from lowest slave status is rescinded . . . . Do it, Nawash. Now.”
Nawash raised all three hands and made several gestures. “I swear on J’Qoojoos the Munificent that personal payment for the repair of all three engines shall be rendered. So mote it be.”
At the far end of the hall, a religious symbol glowed with a golden light, a chime like a temple bell sounded, and the glow faded.
“It is recorded,” Nawash said.
At that, High Priest Reehoot turned around to face them.
“The gods,” it said, “reward those who do their best.”
“Even slaves-to-be,” General Prince Moaroaf added.
High Priest Reehoot appeared offended. “The issue of slavery is not settled. Tak’won treats those who surrender fairly and all profit from shared trade.”
“It will be different when this one is Third Emperor,” said Moaroaf, still facing away from them.
The High Priest waved all three hands at Frank and Ray in a complex gesture. “Receive this blessing,” Reehoot said as golden sparks showered from the moving hands.
“Er . . . okay,” Frank said. “Show us to the engine room. Download all available data on these engines to our computers.”
“No,” Moaroaf said.
Nawash blinked his eyes in what had to be a Tak’won wink and held a tablet with one hand while the other two typed commands. Done, Nawash beckoned them to follow.
As Nawash led Frank and Ray from the entry hall, Frank spotted—in a niche near the hatch leading onward—a god likeness resembling a Laughing Buddha albeit with three heads and three bellies and could not resist reaching out.
Dad! Alana said in their ear buds, don’t meddle with their sacred stuff—it may look cute but probably is the God of Skin Earthies and Eat Them Alive.
Ignoring her warning, Frank patted all three bellies for luck—they would need all they could get. Especially since the Tak’won commandos accompanied them, weapons pointed and ready.
The statuette glowed golden. Frank felt a mild shock hit him.
“Boss,” Ray said with a hint of awe in his voice, “You just glowed like the image!”
“I’m okay,” Frank said and realized he was. He felt great.
“Interesting,” Nawash said. “Iohi the Benevolent is the most particular of gods. None other on this ship has been so accepted.”
“No, no, I’m Presbyterian,” Frank said.
“Iohi cares not about race. Congratulations.”
* * * *
The Gutfrok’s engine room was even larger than the entry hall but, like the other space, its walls and ceilings also harbored idols, alien relics, and other religious items.
Frank noted one of the idols close to the center of one wall blinked with a pale, blue glow. Others blinked red. He indicated the blue one to Ray with a tilt of his head.
“That would be old Fuquon,” Ray whispered. “Embarrassed all its engines have ground to a halt. The others are angry at it.”
In the center of the room crouched the three massive FTL engines. Colored lights, various control panels, rows of indicators, pipes, wires, and less readily identifiable things covered each engine in random profusion. The engines were huge ovals but each had a large rectangular box on top. The slight difference in color—the boxes looked newer—suggested the boxes were recent additions.
Under the watchful eyes of the commandos, Frank and Ray approached the engines. Frank pulled a comp pad from a suit pocket and watched it scroll through the info Nawash had sent. He turned and looked at Nawash.
“This is worthless, Captain Nawash. It’s just how the engines are controlled, nothing about how they work.”
Nawash bobbed its heads again. “Instant death to me if such comes to your knowledge. This is how to fix it as recorded by our engineers before their ritual executions.”
“In other words,” Frank said, “everything they’d already tried that didn’t fix the engines.”
Nawash’s heads were all looking in different directions, ignoring the two earthmen. No help there right now.
Ray had removed a couple of instruments from his toolbox and was looking at readouts.
Frank moved closer and spoke in low tones. “Well?”
“The bottom parts match our intel of their five-hundred-light engines but the top box is new. I have no idea how it works.”
Frank nodded. Ray knew nothing of engines but the robots handled all the routine repairs anyway. He, of course, had lived, breathed, and loved FTL engines all his life.
“Looks a bit like the first warp engines. Heck of a lot faster, though.”
Frank moved over to Nawash, whose heads turned to stare at him.
“The top part is new, yes? Works like a supercharger to give the added speed. Tell me about it.”
“No can.”
“Not how it works, how did it come to be?”
Nawash sighed through all three breathing orifices.
“Scientists of the Fuquon faith developed it. Since it gave us the advantage needed to conquer far-flung civilizations like yours, the head Fuquon priest gained great power. If successful, that one would be allowed to kill the Third Emperor and become a ruler of our race. Tak’won navy rushed modifications of engines in all our ships. The Third Emperor is very old and General Prince Moaroaf scheduled to take place if mission successful.”
Frank and Nawash looked at each other.
Nawash made an agitated movement of its heads. “All three units failed close together as we powered up again to leave your planet. This is such an improbable occurrence—three failures so close together and on only the second start-up. And all the other ships—”
“So Tak’won ships are now stranded all over known space?” Frank asked.
Ray whistled at the implication.
Notifying Mother of that, Alana’s voice said in their ears. Wow!
“Is true,” Nawash said.
“How do you know?” Ray asked.
“The gods tell us.”
Ray looked a little awed.
“We have FTL radio too, Ray,” Frank said.
“Third Emperor in large trouble if solution not found, and General Prince Moaroaf even more,” Nawash said.