“You’d already determined our destination,” said McAllister. “Why didn’t you simply inform us?”
“To ensure it was indeed our only viable option.”
“By sitting here,” added Guerrero, “Pilot Odthe considers you a member of his crew. And by doing so, we’ve combined our knowledge about the objective.”
I knew McAllister was hardly flattered, so I changed the topic. “Is our ultimate destination Tallavaster? Did any of the other shuttles escape?”
Guerrero said, “Our monitoring of the situation indicated that one shuttle escaped. One damaged yacht crash-landed on the ZQ Dock.” She looked to Pilot Odthe.
“Last tactical report from the Kalavar estimated seventy percent casualties among marines, crew, and passengers. With an estimated two dozen Stegmar and maybe half that number of Crax still onboard, victory is unlikely but not impossible. According to communications intercepts, thanks to Specialist Guerrero, we know that except for the elite troops from the escort, the boarding troops were reserves.”
“They didn’t expect large or organized resistance,” said Guerrero. “And I was able to send a false recall order to a flotilla of reinforcement pods.”
“Even if they do prevail,” said Dr. Shiffrah, “with any luck they’ll intermingle and infect their associates with the pox and pneumonia.”
“A tuberculosis was to be released,” said McAllister. I nodded in agreement.
“Misinformation,” said the xenobiologist. “If any crew or passengers from the Kalavar, except Dr. Sevanto and the captain, were questioned, the Crax would obtain inaccurate information. TB and the strain of pneumonia have similar initial symptoms in Crax, but it’s estimated to have a ninety percent mortality rate. Very contagious, and unlikely they’d find an immediate cure.” She thought a moment. “And the Stegmar are immune, but would be carriers.”
“Now, tell them the really interesting news,” said Pilot Odthe.
“Humans are unable to resist the microbe as well, and there is no cure once it takes hold.” She held up her hand and continued. “However, the Chicher immune system is able to produce effective antibodies. What you received, in part, was a dose of antibodies which should enable the human immune system to get the upper hand and eliminate it.” She checked the shuttle’s chronometer. “We’ll know in about five hours. Specialist Keesay, Colonist Watts, and Specialist Guerrero, if you pass the test you’ll be prepped for cold sleep.”
“And if not?” asked McAllister.
“We get some more antibodies from our Chicher crewmate and hope the second dose does the trick.”
“I don’t want to go into cold sleep,” cried Skids. His face was white, as if he was experiencing a Stegmar sounding.
“I’ve heard recovery isn’t as bad the second time,” I said. “Plus, exploration shuttles are equipped with better chemicals. Correct, Doctor?”
“Right on both counts. You might even be hungry this time when you awaken.”
Skids took several deep breaths. “I’m hungry now.”
“I think that last statement applies to everyone,” Pilot Odthe said. “Meeting adjourned.” I stood. “Specialist Keesay, come forward with me a moment if you would.”
Specialist Guerrero walked around to the boy. “Skids?”
“That’s my nickname. Specialist Keesay gave it to me.”
“Why don’t we find something to eat?” Specialist Guerrero was a head taller than Skid’s mother, and her hair, even though it wasn’t straight and considerably longer, was the same color. They might pass as first cousins. I looked closer. Guerrero bore traces of Pilot Odthe’s weather-beaten features.
“Can the Chicher diplomat eat with us, too?” Skids asked. “He chews fast, and he’s a good umpire.”
After their exit to the galley, I followed the pilot. I climbed into the co-pilot’s seat. Odthe began entering information into the flight control system. “What do you know about the boy?”
“That his safety and security is vital,” I said.
“Know why?”
“I have been able to piece it together.”
“He’s not an R-Tech colonist. Who is he?”
“I think you would classify that information as need to know,” I said. “And someone from intelligence has pumped me full of drugs to resist interrogation.” If something happened to me, I suspected McAllister knew. I doubted Pilot Odthe would ask her.
His eyebrows rose as he chewed on my statement. “His survivability, having been in cold sleep once, is virtually 100%. He’d be more likely to get killed moving about on board.” He continued to enter information. “Considering your assigned responsibility, is there any problem with your cold sleep?”
“Other than the fact that McAllister despises me a shade more than you? No.” I looked over the controls. They were similar to the Graying Griffin’s antiquated fighter. I thought about him and Benny, Janice, Smith, the chief, and Mer.
“You all right, Keesay?”
I responded an unconvincing, “Yeah.” He didn’t say anything. “Just thinking about some friends I lost. Maybe all of them.”
He shook his head. “War. We lost Spinazze and Jutte.” He stopped entering data. “Didn’t mix much among the Kalavar crew. Stuck to ourselves. Did work with Corporal Smith a bit. Said you’re a real lightning rod for trouble. Too hard-headed to take advice, but a real survivor. Chief Brold remarked as to your tenacity.”
“I’ll miss them,” I said.
“That boy thinks pretty highly of you.”
“Seems so. Do you think the ZQ Dock will hold?”
“What do I know? I’m only a pilot.” He winked and tapped in more data. “Two-hundred Colonial Marines stationed there, twelve-hundred on layover. Eighty security, five-hundred station personnel, maybe four-hundred civilians willing to fight. They were holding their own when we made our escape.” He ran his left hand through his thinning hair. “If they fought as well as the Kalavar crew, and the Crax want the station intact, it may come down to who gets there first. Our reinforcements or more landing troops.”
“Do you think the Kalavar will make it?”
“Captain Tilayvaux managed to keep one thrust engine intact. Her cascading engine was nearly cycled.” He paused. “We downloaded all of the combat information and communications. You did more than your fair share.”
“Do you think the Kalavar will be captured?”
“After we sanitize the information, we’ll jettison a message rocket. Let Earth know what happened. Many’ll be in line for medals, especially the Thunder Child.”
“Exactly what happened?”
“Managed to ram the Primus escort after your captain rigged a message rocket’s cascading engine. Distracted them by detonating an aux thrust rocket. Crippled it.” He smacked his fist into his palm. “Thunder Child finished her.” Odthe made a final data entry. “Let’s just say I feel for the med team that’ll have to board and decontaminate that battered old transport.”
I learned several things over the next five days. Injections in preparation for cold sleep keeps one on the constant edge of vomiting. Skids did an exceptional job of hiding his technical knowledge while aboard the Kalavar. And if McAllister managed to make sure I didn’t wake up from cold sleep, she’d be doing me a favor.
“Keesay,” said McAllister, “you need to plan more than four moves ahead. Check.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I advanced a pawn and blocked.
“Let me amend my last statement. Three moves ahead. Check.”
“Ever consider applying to the Fleet Academy?”
“Not a bad move, Keesay, but thanks for the bishop. Even you must realize I’m poor officer material.”
“No, a think tank. Tactics and logistics. Life should be rougher without that knight.”
“It would be if I weren’t going to win. I work better alone. Check.”
Three moves later I tipped my king. “You excel at games of strategy. Ever play euchre?”
“Thanks for the
compliment. And thanks for helping me and Anatol.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “And for what you did at the end.”
I wasn’t sure of her angle, if there was one. “You’re welcome.”
She gave me an icy stare. “I’ll still never forgive you for killing Steffon.”
Maybe McAllister wanted me to pick a fight. Like point out her fiancé had pulled a sonic blade. They were members of a riotous mob. “Every action we take has consequences.”
She cleared the screen. “At least you don’t attribute your poor play to the cold sleep meds. Euchre, you say? Isn’t that a game of chance?”
“Some. And skill. And getting to know your partner.”
“Think there’s a lesson in there for me?” She sat back and began to unbraid her hair. “I suspect you excel in that game. Skill, luck, depending on others.”
“Nothing wrong with partnering to achieve a goal.”
“I’ll study it while you’re in cold sleep. You partner with me against Odthe and whoever he picks?”
“I’m not getting into your feud. I like him better than I like you.”
“You like that creepy rat, too. Can you believe Shiffrah laid down with it?”
“Next to it,” I said. “Empathy. While you’re in the E’s, look it up. His species depends on close pack ties. See any other Chicher?” I mock scanned the compartment. “I don’t. Physical contact eases a Chicher’s hibernation.”
“I know. Supposedly it’ll steady the brain waves.” McAllister raised her hands using two fingers to emphasize quotation marks. “Fewer nightmares.” She undid another braid. “Xenobiologists are weird.”
“Ever heard of the phrase, ‘Pot calling the kettle black?’”
“No.”
“A binary sort calling a shaker sort routine, slow?”
“On the intergalactic weirdness continuum, where would you fall, Keesay?”
“Depends on who you ask. And I wouldn’t ask you.”
“At least you’ve only got another seven hours of consciousness.”
“You could always clean and maintain my equipment.”
“No thanks. Odthe’ll do that.” She gestured. “I’ll ask him to repatch those laser burns.”
I examined my handiwork. Sewing isn’t my forte.
“The Bloodhound III has extensive files,” continued McAllister. “Odthe has made two runs beyond the outer colonies. Has some files on Shigg tech. Even a few programs.”
“That should keep you busy for, say, eight hours?”
“Depends,” she said. “Odthe’s limited my access to the system.”
“Can you blame him?” She glared at me. “Seriously,” I said. “Look at what his shuttle’s built for. Even I can see it. How much do you think is classified?”
“Another game?” she asked.
“What, last one went all of twenty-six moves? Ever play draughts?”
“Nope, never heard of it. Involve luck?”
“Only in determining who goes first.” I searched the files for the program.
“Oh, Checkers. Haven’t played that since,” she paused, “I was younger than Skids. You can go first.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Skids has done pretty well. Saw a lot of carnage.”
“Seems to have locked onto Guerrero. Likes her almost as much as you. Even so, I don’t think he’ll need to see a psychologist.”
“Tough being popular,” I said.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Who’d’ve figured?”
I sat huddled with Skids and Specialist Guerrero. Misery loves company. “Told you, Specialist Keesay,” Skids said. “Waking up’s terrible.”
I pulled him close. “I’ve been thumped by one marine in my life. This is close.” I smiled at the communication specialist. “We should be more like Guerrero.”
“Been through it many times,” she said. “They say it’s best to sleep through the recovery.” She forced a smile. “Difficult to do after nearly three months of induced slumber.”
Dr. Shiffrah examined each of us again. “Another four or five hours,” she said, “and this will be an unpleasant memory.”
Pilot Odthe stuck his head around the corner. “Thirty-four hours until we drop out of condensed space travel.”
Twelve hours later and after a nap, the nausea was only a vivid unpleasant memory. I still had a metallic taste in my mouth, reminiscent of poor quality water reclamation systems.
“You still look unhappy, Keesay,” said Pilot Odthe. “Shiffrah said you checked out.”
I licked my teeth. “Aftertaste of the recovery drugs. And those tubes.”
“I have something that might get your mind off your troubles.” He held out a folded cloth and withdrew an exquisite blade. “Bayonets and shotguns go way back. Maybe during the U.S. Civil War, but definitely WW I. Should replace the one that Crax warrior chopped off.”
“Sawback blade,” I said, noting how light it was while admiring the workmanship.
“Well, true. Exact design replication of yours, except for the top, saw blade edge.” He tapped at a monitor screen. “Checked your scabbard. Used Kalavar surveillance recordings to ensure the exact length.” He adjusted. “See, right here is where the Crax took off the tip.”
I watched the scene play through, amazed that I’d survived.
“Best thing, Keesay. This one’s made of the same stock as your shotgun’s sheath. Damn lucky you had that. Could be someday someone else will remark the same about your new blade.”
“Sawbacks are pretty cruel. Early 1900’s in the trenches. If you were found with one.”
“Things would go rough,” nodded Odthe. “I figure the Crax’ve got it in for us one way or another. So, a captured human toting a little nastier-than-average blade? Won’t make his lot any worse.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Working with Phib alloys. Expensive, and time consuming.”
“You’re welcome. We have excellent facilities for small projects. And long voyages encourages one to find projects.” He shut down the terminal. “There was novelty in researching equipment for a space-faring relic.”
“This engraving, like scratches. Is that Chicher?”
“Nemo me impune lacessit,” Odthe said. “Ancient Latin for, no one injures me with impunity?” He saw the anger and suspicion on my face. “Chief Brold mentioned it. Your motto.”
I recalled that conversation. “If you inserted ‘pack’ for ‘me,’ it would sound Chicher.” Interesting, I thought. Chicher mores inscribed upon forged Umbelgarri tech, wielded by a human.
Pilot Odthe interrupted my moment of introspection. “You know anything of euchre?”
“Sure,” I replied. “Why?”
“After McAllister and I stalemated eleven times at chess, she suggested a game when you came out of cold sleep.” He smiled. “You want to partner with her?”
“I don’t have my deck. If she’s had access to your system, partnering with her may be the only way to win.”
“You’re assuming she’s a better programmer than I am.”
“I’ll team with the Chicher. You get McAllister.”
The Chicher diplomat had a knack for card playing and must’ve considered me part of his pack. We anticipated each other and managed to keep the upper hand on Odthe and McAllister until Specialist Guerrero climbed up the ladder and interrupted.
“Pilot Odthe, we’ve picked up some unusual communications.”
“What is it, Guerrero?”
“You’ll want to check this out yourself.”
“We’re all a team. Send it through up here.”
We cleared the table while Guerrero returned to her duty station. “At this distance, nine hours twenty-one minutes out,” said McAllister. “The communications must be almost three months old if the planet is point of origin.” Pilot Odthe nodded in agreement.
McAllister pushed away from the table. “No need to assist her,” said Odthe. “She’s highly skilled and experienced in this area.”
“Does ou
r team eavesdrop often?” I asked.
“If they don’t want someone to listen, they should encrypt their information more carefully.”
“Or at least minimize signal strength,” I said as Dr. Shiffrah led Skids into the room. She handed me a com-set similar to the one I left in Specialist Club’s possession. No ocular.
Pilot Odthe examined signal characteristics. McAllister followed suit. Her eyes widened. “Very sensitive equipment. Keesay, this is a controlled signal. The Kalavar would never have picked this up.”
Pilot Odthe spoke into his collar, “Assessment?”
“Not civilian encryption,” said Guerrero over ship’s communication. “Possibly military. Alien.”
“Crax,” said McAllister.
“Can you break the encryption?” asked Pilot Odthe.
“Working on it,” said Guerrero. “An unusual variant. Maybe as the signal strength increases. If the communication continues.”
“And we can reduce distortion,” added McAllister.
“Belief,” said the Chicher over his refurbished translator. “Worker Crax tools. Not Crax pack member voice.”
Chapter 36
Three decades before the Silicate War, Earth’s civilization underwent a crisis. When an apparent technological plateau had been reached, trailing nations and their associated corporations strove to close the gap. Several countries that enjoyed the technological, and thus the economic, advantage actively worked to undermine the advancement of others.
One impoverished nation developed low yield radioactive, high burst electromagnetic pulse nuclear weapons and secretly sold all it could produce. The economic and espionage struggle erupted into one centered around sabotage detonations of EM pulse weapons which leveled many things, including communications networks and robotic manufacturing. Mankind learned a number of lessons from the EM Pulse War.
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