Star Carrier (Lost Colonies Trilogy Book 3)

by B. V. Larson

  Vogel thought about it. “We have to find the central repository, the data core.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s where the location of our destination must be. It’s got to be very complex. You can’t run a bridge projector using a computer scroll, you know. Their data core must be one of the best in history, if you think about it.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “The process I understand in theory—you have to understand that I’ve never built one. But it works by generating a detailed mathematical model of the target star system. The bridge generated can’t go just anywhere, it has to go somewhere it knows. Somewhere it can model in this station’s data core.”

  I frowned, but nodded. I understood some of what he was saying.

  “So that’s how it does it?” I asked. “By modeling the destination? How does that create a bridge?”

  “It doesn’t, it selects the destination. I read about projection theory back in college. Funny to think I’m out here now, investigating a real operating unit. We never thought machines like this would make it off the drawing board.”

  “They’re real, Director,” I said, “very real. But again, how does the bridge itself form?”

  Vogel dragged his thin finger over a nearby patch of the shuttle’s hull. The smart metal responded by lighting up. On it, a diagram of the star system appeared. He tapped the central binary star, and the twin stellar objects appeared to flare up in response.

  “See that?” he said.

  Morris, who’d been quietly listening all along, scoffed. “You’re just tapping graphics with your bony finger.”

  “Yes, of course I am. But this is depicting a legitimate model. Can you imagine the jump in stellar output if what I’d just done was real? Billions of terajoules would have been released. That’s the kind of power a bridge projector requires.”

  Morris and I were both impressed with this answer.

  “You mean,” Morris said, “you have to generate something like the Carrington Event, or the Cataclysm back home, to power this thing?”

  “Not that bad,” Vogel returned. It would probably be focused, and it would do little more than generate a long day of static on the world nearby. But yes, these two stars power the projector. There’s no other source locally or remotely that could do it. At least, there’s nothing else that we know of.”

  We eyed the image of the twin suns depicted on the hull until they faded to dull red, then umber then vanished entirely.

  Could Vogel be right? Were we going to have to unleash that kind of raw power to operate this thing?

  I was impressed and concerned by the idea at the same time.

  -41-

  We reached the station without incident. The auto-cannons tracked us throughout our approach, but they never fired. Vogel said it was due to a software patch he’d installed in our friend-or-foe system.

  Morris privately told me he figured the old bastard had made up this sorry excuse, and the truth was we’d gotten lucky. Maybe the shuttle was too small to be classified as a threat, or the fact it was unarmed had tricked the AI into letting us pass.

  Whatever the case, the pod-like control module was located where the spider would be if this were a true web—down near the small end of the cone. We reached the module and piled out onto a large deck that was open to space.

  Our magnetics clacked as we crossed the open decking. It was a sound heard only inside our helmets. We reached an airlock, engaged the emergency override—and we were inside.

  Morris and his men were on high alert. They sprang ahead of us securing every hatchway before we marched farther into the operations center.

  In comparison to the overall structure, the control module was small, but from the point of view of a single human it was quite roomy. It contained at least a kilometer of curving, dark passages that strung out ahead of us.

  Each chamber we entered lit up, detecting our presence, but there were no pressurized regions. The entire command center seemed to be abandoned.

  We found broken equipment rolling around on the floors and abandoned junk hanging from the ceiling in cargo nets. Here and there, a slick patch of hard ice from accumulated condensation showed where a human might have caught a breath in the past. But most of the center was hard vacuum and seemed derelict.

  “Looks like they grabbed whatever they could and abandoned this place in a hurry,” I said, running my gloves over a ridge of hard ice that coated a railing. “Any signs of life?”

  “None, Captain,” Vogel said. He was beaming ahead of us continuously with a handheld scanner. “This place appears to be dead.”

  “Is that good or bad?” Morris asked.

  “Good, from the point of personal safety,” Vogel told him, “but bad in terms of getting this station into operating condition. The Beta ships are closing, and we don’t have much time to get these systems fired up.”

  “He’s right,” I said, “team, press ahead, double-time. Stop checking every doorway. Get us to the control center immediately.”

  Obeying me, Morris’ troopers trotted ahead into the darkness. I heard their scuffling and hard breathing over our linked com sets. They grunted with effort as they worked open frozen hatches, kicked aside fallen equipment barring our path and generally hustled forward. Behind them, we walked at a steady pace.

  When we’d marched about a hundred meters into the structure, everything changed. To my shock, a firefight broke out ahead of us.

  Rippling fire lit up the passageway. I knew it was ours by the color and the rippling nature of the beams. They flashed as brightly as an arc-welder in the cramped, dark spaces.

  “Get down!” Morris shouted, pressing Vogel and I out of his way.

  He plunged ahead of us into the darkness, shouting and demanding reports. His marines seemed too busy to respond immediately, and he unleashed a stream of profanity.

  I aimed my own PAG down the passageway Morris was advancing along, but I stayed with Vogel. If the director went down now, there would be no way we could accomplish the mission.

  “Stroj, Captain!” Morris called back to me a minute later. “We’re engaged with them up here. They opened up when my men passed through an intersection. Two of my boys were cut down.”

  “Can you handle it?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “We’ll get them. Throwing out the drones now.”

  The gunfire subsided as both sides took cover. I couldn’t see, but I knew the marines were busy releasing crawlers, tiny machines like caterpillars, that would seek the enemy in the dark.

  After another half-minute, tiny explosions flashed here and there ahead of us. I saw rather than heard them. I dared to grin. The crawlers had reached their targets and self-destructed.

  My elation was short-lived, however. A huge hand came up from behind me and attempted to rip my gun out of my hand. Powerful fingers like steel gripped my gun, wrenching it away.

  A face loomed inside my assailant’s spacesuit. The suit was misshapen, as if it held an abomination rather than a true man, but it was the face itself that I recognized.

  A man—no, a creature—who I hadn’t encountered for a long time glared at me in the half-light. He was intent, feral. His skin was shriveled like a mummy’s flesh, and one of his eyes had been replaced by a darting, swiveling camera on a stalk that poked out of the left socket.

  The face was that of a Stroj—but not just any Stroj. It was none other than Lorn, a pirate who I’d had dealings with in the past.

  Vogel tried to help, but he was out of his league. His weak arms flailed at Lorn’s back. I doubt the monster even knew he was there.

  “Lorn!” I shouted. “Stand down. You owe me!”

  I spoke on an open channel, hoping both to distract the Stroj and alert Morris to what was going on in the rear ranks of the expedition.

  “Silence, Sparhawk,” Lorn responded. “It’s been too long. I’ve coveted your flesh for years, and I won’t be dissuaded from taking my sample now.”

/>   My elbow flashed up, attempting to crack his faceplate. The gambit failed, but he did stagger back for a second. My pistol flew away in a flat spin, bouncing off the passage walls.

  “Stop struggling,” Lorn said. “I don’t want you to injure yourself or to force me to do it. I want your skin intact for my trophy.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” I said, and I drew my sword.

  In an instant, it flared into life. We were too close to fence, but I was able to slash between the two of us. Several of Lorn’s fingers flew free, scattering over the passageway.

  “Damn you!” Lorn said, lunging to close again. “If you force me to kill you, your flesh will begin to decay.”

  “Get off me, or I’ll hack off limbs next,” I said.

  My shielding was active now. Lorn was having difficulty gaining a hold on my body. He staggered back, glanced at Vogel and then lunged for him.

  With a quick thrust, I stabbed him in the back. My sizzling sword sent up a wisp of hot vapors which froze quickly in the airless passageway.

  Lorn cursed and writhed, but he captured Vogel, who made mewling sounds of distress.

  “Ah…” Lorn said, turning to face me. “I’ve got your oldster, Sparhawk. If you pull your sword out of my back and give me my trophy, I’ll let him go.”

  Vogel’s eyes pleaded with me. I could see he was terrified and probably injured. Lorn gripped him with such force that it was grinding the director’s fragile bones together.

  I knew from long experience with Lorn and his kind that negotiations were always traps. The moment I agreed to give him something, he’d immediately demand more, until he demanded so much I was unable to provide it.

  Cutting this process short, I yanked my blade out of his tough body and brought it in line with this throat. His hand came up to grab the blade, but he didn’t dare. Worms of plasma and force ran up and down the length of it.

  I could see his eyes inside his helmet, through his faceplate. Lit by the glow of my sword, his features writhed in hate.

  “I’ll rip his head right off,” he threatened. “Back away!”

  Vogel squeaked, making an unintelligible plea.

  My blade didn’t waver, but instead moved closer to Lorn’s face.

  “Yield,” I said. “Surrender or I’ll kill you. The old man is less than nothing to me. He’s been an irritant since we left Earth.”

  Hissing in disappointment, Lorn tossed Vogel aside like a broken doll.

  “Damn,” he said, “I thought he might be a cherished relative.”

  It occurred to me that Lorn’s initial attack would have been much more effective if he’d simply attempted to kill me. He had control of my gun for a moment, and he could have used it and ended the entire affair.

  But I knew from experience that wasn’t how his kind viewed the world. They were creatures of status and personal glory. Killing me would be an accomplishment, but it would gain him little among his own people unless he managed to bring home a pristine scrap of my flesh.

  To see some living part of me sewn into his patchwork body—that was his goal. Such a trophy would provide him with a boost in status on his home world that earthlings could barely understand.

  “Are you all right?” I asked Vogel.

  The old man climbed to his feet, his limbs shaking.

  “I’ll live,” he announced.

  “I thought you said you didn’t care about him,” Lorn complained, nursing his injured back. He slapped a patch on the hole in his spacesuit, and it sealed itself almost immediately with smart-gels. “And I thought you didn’t like to lie, Sparhawk.”

  Lorn dropped to the floor to scramble for his lost fingers.

  “I don’t,” I said, kicking the last of the severed digits his way. “He has been an irritant since the day I met him. Tell him, Vogel.”

  At that name, Lorn whirled and crouched. He looked at Vogel and assumed a predatory stance.

  “Lorn…?” I said. “Stand down. We can talk.”

  “I must have him!” Lorn said, ignoring me. “He’s the inventor of the variants! A villain whose flesh represents inconceivable value!”

  Lorn stalked forward reaching for Vogel who retreated like a scuttling crab.

  But before Lorn could grab hold of him, or I could thrust a sword into the Stroj’s back, K-19 arrived on the scene.

  We’d left K-19 behind on the shuttle because his bulk was too great to easily navigate the passages. After all, they’d been designed for normal-sized humans. Apparently, he’d taken it upon himself to join us after listening to the sounds of battle over the com system.

  The variant’s whip-like arms flashed. Two snaps blurred in the passage, and they took down both of Lorn’s legs from behind.

  With his legs hanging by threads, the Stroj fell on the deck. But even then, his outstretched claw-like fingers made grasping, greedy motions in Vogel’s direction.

  -42-

  Lorn quickly lost consciousness, not due to pain, shock or even loss of blood, but rather to lack of oxygen.

  The Stroj were infamously hard to kill. We went to work on him, patching his suit and transfusing air, heat and power from ours into his.

  “Why do you bother?” Vogel complained. “That monster should be left to die here.”

  “You’ve got a point,” I admitted. “But he’s one of the few members of his people with whom we’ve managed to have successful negotiations. If we let him die now, who will speak for us among his kind?”

  Vogel shook his head. “Forget diplomacy. Kill them all, I say.”

  I looked at him sternly. “They’ve fought us before, but they’re at peace with us for now. I consider your variants to be more dangerous.”

  Vogel rolled his eyes and walked carefully past the crumpled form of the Stroj on the deck. He wanted nothing to do with the colonist. “We have to find the nexus that controls this station,” he said. “Have your marines cleared the rest of the module?”

  Morris returned at the mention of marines, and he nodded. “I think I found what you’re talking about up ahead. The Stroj made their last stand there.”

  Vogel and Morris moved off into the dim-lit passages. K-19 quietly crawled in their wake. After making sure Lorn would survive, I followed them.

  When I got to the heart of the control module, I found it to be surprisingly roomy. We were able to all fit, even Lorn, who the marines carried with them.

  We cleared the bodies of the fallen Stroj and Vogel began to work with the control panels immediately. K-19 helped with both efforts.

  They soon had the power on, and the center began to warm up. We heard hissing air as the chambers were repressurized.

  “That’s your plan?” Lorn asked from the floor.

  We turned together, startled, to see him sitting up. His legs were both a mess, but he was conscious and seemed unconcerned by the state of his body.

  “You’re going to live here?” he asked. “What happened to your ship, Sparhawk?”

  “Defiant is in prime fighting condition,” I assured him. “We’re not here for safety’s sake. In fact, I can hardly think of a more unsafe spot in the galaxy.”

  “Really? How can that be? Your variants have defeated us. They’ve driven us back from this system and killed millions of my people.”

  I winced, suspecting his words were all too truthful.

  “This unit, K-19, isn’t like the other variants,” Vogel said. “He’s under our control, loyal to Earth. The others are acting on their own recognizance.”

  “I don’t believe that. What about it, Sparhawk? Are the variants all rebels? Mutineers?”

  My mouth opened to answer, but I couldn’t lie to him. Such an act went too strongly against my convictions. Under the best of circumstances, it was hard enough for me to tell even an enemy a deliberate untruth. But in this case, Lorn was a victim of our variants as much as anyone else out here was. To lie to a prisoner in our power whose civilization had been demolished by creatures we’d built and released for precise
ly that purpose… it seemed unconscionable.

  “They are and they aren’t,” I said. “A faction among Earthlings caused them to go on this rampage. We—my crew and myself—are attempting to fix that error.”

  “Really?” Lorn asked. “Now, that is a strange outlook on the universe. People say that the Stroj are mad-things because we covet trophies of flesh from our enemies. But here you are trying to fix a situation that’s obviously to your benefit.”

  “Our benefit?” Vogel demanded suddenly. “How so?”

  “Is it not self-evident?” Lorn asked. “With my people in retreat, there’s little out here to stop the superior fleets of Earth. From my point of view, you’ve won this battle of survival between our peoples, and yet Sparhawk is squandering your best opportunity to rid yourself of colonists once and for all.”

  I turned to him, seeing an earnest expression on his face. He meant what he was saying.

  “I understand how you might think of us that way,” I said, “but Star Guard is sworn to defend all humanity—not just those born recently on Earth. As strange as it may seem, Lorn, I’m here to defend your people from the variant fleets.”

  “That is a noble goal,” he said snidely, “but one that’s too late in coming. We’ve been defeated. We’ve lost most of our fleet, and we’ve only taken down a few of your battleships. We didn’t fight ruthlessly enough. We tried to defend every world, and by doing so, we lost them all.”

  I looked at him, troubled. “Has your home world been destroyed like this one?” I asked him.

  “No. Not yet. Transmissions from our star systems indicate it’s just a matter of time, however. Your variant fleet is heading toward our home star, hopping from one system to another, destroying everyone they meet.”

  “In that case,” I said, “you should help us. Tell us how to operate this great machine.”

  He laughed. It was a strange, unnatural sound. “Why would I do that? So you can open a pathway back to Earth? Your fleet of four ships is pathetic—oh yes, we’ve counted your battle cruisers. We’ve been watching you quietly while you slink around among our dead.”