Ignotus

by Kevin Hardman

  “I just need whoever is the best shot with a laser rifle suited up and outside asap,” Planck stated. “I’ll explain what I need then.”

  That was as much as Planck was willing to give away in terms of what he had planned. However, with respect to his requirements, there was no question as to who the best shot was – with any weapon – in their entire convoy: Loyola.

  Thus it was that, a few minutes after Planck made his request, Loyola was at one of the Nova’s airlocks, dressed in a spacesuit – which was like a light version of battle armor – and carrying a laser rifle. Maker, not wanting her venturing out without backup (and somewhat curious as to what Planck was planning) accompanied her, leaving Adames in charge on the bridge.

  “You ready for this?” Maker asked over the comm system in their suits.

  “Desperately ready,” Loyola replied. “I’ve been dying to do something more than sit on the bridge.”

  “Well, you’re getting your wish,” Maker stated as he began to open the airlock, and then he halted.

  “Listen,” he said, “I don’t mean to get into your personal life, but I have to ask about this child.”

  Loyola let out a groan of frustration. “Lieutenant, I understand your concern, but I’m still perfectly fit for duty, and will be for some time to come. It’s a baby growing inside me – not a malignant tumor.”

  “I know,” Maker declared with a nod, “and that’s not where I was going. I’m trying to find out what Erlen’s involvement was.”

  “You mean, whether he caused this to happen.”

  “That’s pretty much a given. I’m more concerned with whether he did it without your consent.”

  “Consent?” she echoed. “Seems like a weird word to apply to this situation. Truthfully, it’s a lot like that rifle I got from my wish list. Sure, it’s something that I desperately wanted, but thought I’d never get. However, if someone had just given it to me unexpectedly – as a gift, for instance – I wouldn’t say that they did it without my consent. It would be more like I didn’t think to ask for it because I didn’t believe I could get it. Likewise with this baby. So if you’re asking if Erlen did something wrong, I’d say absolutely not.”

  “So, you’re happy about this baby.”

  “Overjoyed,” she said, nodding enthusiastically. “Fierce, too – at least, he’d better be.”

  Maker laughed. “Okay, I just wanted to confirm that Erlen didn’t overstep. I mean, he understands what’s acceptable, but I just wanted to make sure. Anyway, let’s get back to the job at hand.”

  With that, Maker opened the airlock. A moment later, the door swung open, and Loyola – opting to go first – stepped out in the void of space.

  She floated there for a second, drifting away from the ship, and then activated the jetpack on her suit. The rockets gave her the necessary thrust, pushing her back towards the ship. A moment later, her magnetic boots connected solidly with the Nova’s hull.

  Upon seeing that Loyola had touched down safely, Maker followed suit, with the interior of his faceplate displaying various information in one corner: speed, trajectory, and so on. (Exiting the airlock separately was a safety measure; it would have been a disaster to leave simultaneously and then discover that neither jetpack was working properly.) Seconds later, he was standing on the hull next to Loyola. Looking around, he noted the two battle cruisers in their convoy nearby. Also, he saw just how badly they were outnumbered and outclassed by the Xnjda battleships, each of which dwarfed their own vessels.

  “El-tee,” Diviana said, her voice coming through the suit’s comm. “We’re being hailed by that bug-bear again. Sergeant Adames is letting our Vacra friend talk to him, but thought you’d want to listen in.”

  “Sounds good,” Maker said as he and Loyola stood on the hull.

  Seconds later, he heard Kpntel saying, “We’ve detected movement outside two of your ships. I hope you aren’t about to do anything foolish.”

  “No,” Maker heard Skullcap reply. “Your disruptor is interfering with life support systems on the ships, so repairs must be made. Your device is incredibly effective.”

  “It should be,” Kpntel intoned, “considering how much I paid to have it attached to your shuttle. And that was after paying to find out which vessel at the space station was yours.”

  “You raise an interesting point,” the insectoid noted. “Judging by both your own craft and the battleships you have employed to surround us, you are obviously an individual of great wealth. Surely in the face of all you own, the creatures on these few ships are no more than a pittance. It would be of little or no significance to you fiscally if they were allowed to go on their way.”

  “That is true,” the grizzly-pede agreed. “However, I accumulated the wealth you mentioned by taking advantage of every opportunity – even the small ones.”

  Maker felt his hand clenching into a fist as Kpntel spoke. The grizzly-pede was quickly rising through the ranks on Maker’s personal hit list, although he’d still have trouble challenging for the top spot.

  A subtle chime indicated to Maker that someone was trying to reach him on another comm channel. Loyola was also getting the same notification; as a result, they both switched over simultaneously to find an eager Planck waiting to talk to them.

  “I’m outside,” the scientist said. “Can you see me?”

  Maker looked towards the cruiser that Planck was on, magnifying the image on the interior of his faceplate. Scanning the hull of the other ship, he didn’t see anything initially.

  “I’ve got eyes on you,” Loyola remarked, at the same time pointing to give Maker an indication of where to look.

  Staring in the direction indicated, he finally saw Planck, standing on the outside of the cruiser and wearing a spacesuit identical to his and Loyola’s.

  “Okay, good,” Planck uttered.

  As Maker watched, the scientist reached down towards something akin to a spherical metal bin next to him. The bottom of it was apparently magnetized, because it stayed attached to the hull while Planck, working diligently, turned what appeared to be a screw-on top. However, rather than take the top completely off when he was done, he lifted it just a crack and reached into the bin. (Obviously, Planck didn’t want whatever was inside the metal container to float away in the zero-gravity of space.) A second later, he withdrew his hand and Maker saw that he was holding what appeared to be a rectangular white box that was perhaps eight-by-five inches in size, and perhaps two inches thick.

  “Can you see this?” he asked, holding up the box as he screwed the top back onto the bin with his other hand.

  “I’ve got eyes on it,” Loyola replied, looking towards Planck through the scope on her rifle. “White box, one corner red.”

  Upon hearing Loyola’s description, Maker looked again and noted that, as had just been stated, one corner of the box was indeed a deep crimson in color. Somehow, he had missed that detail at first.

  “Okay, I’m going to throw this box toward one of the alien ships,” Planck explained. “I need you to let it get a little bit away from me, and then shoot only the red corner. Not the entire box – just the red corner. Can you do that?”

  “Piece of cake,” Loyola replied without hesitation.

  Maker couldn’t help but be surprised by her confidence. In terms of distances in space, they were close to Planck, but in actuality – per Maker’s estimate – they were about a mile apart.

  Apparently Planck felt the same, because he asked, “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” Loyola said flatly. “It won’t be a problem.”

  “I mean, it’s a long way,” Planck noted, “and we probably won’t have time for an alternate plan if–”

  “Look, Planck,” Loyola chided, “we can stand here shooting the bull about my skill set and what I can do, or you can let me prove it. Personally, I prefer the latter – hopefully before the alien mothership gets here and puts us all in leg-irons.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Pla
nck muttered, “Point taken.”

  “Good to hear,” replied Loyola. “Ready when you are.”

  “All right,” the scientist said. “Just remember, let it travel a bit before you shoot.”

  “How far?” she queried.

  “Hmmm,” Planck droned. “Just wait about ten seconds, and then shoot it at your leisure.”

  “Understood,” Loyola stated.

  “Okay, great,” said Planck. “Tossing the first one…now.”

  He threw the box up in an underhanded fashion, and it went spinning into the void. Knowing that Loyola was concentrating, Maker remained still and silent, although mentally he ticked off the seconds.

  One-thousand-one, he thought. One-thousand-two, one-thousand-three…

  Although he started his countdown from the moment Planck released the box, he actually struggled for a second or two to track the target, but then got it in view. Thus, by the time the ten seconds had elapsed, he was watching and noted when Loyola fired.

  A ray of amber light struck the box, which went twirling away at a slight angle due to the impact. Because of its gyrations, it took Maker a few seconds to get a complete view of the box, but eventually he saw that the red corner had been sheared away – presumably by Loyola’s shot.

  He was about to congratulate her when something else drew his attention: emerald-colored light seemed to be dancing around the box as it continued moving away. For a moment, he thought Loyola had drawn some other weapon and was shooting at the target again, but then he realized that the new light was originating from Planck. The scientist was shining something like a laser pointer at the box, twirling it around.

  “Okay, that should do it,” Planck muttered, almost to himself.

  “Do what?” queried Maker.

  “Later,” Planck promised, and then reached for the top of the metal bin. “Now for the next one…”

  Chapter 79

  It took only a few minutes for Planck to toss boxes in the direction of all nine alien vessels, saving Kpntel’s flagship (as Maker thought of it) for last. It was a bit like skeet shooting, although at a slightly slower pace. That said, Loyola nailed the target – the red corner of every box – on each occasion with a single shot.

  When they were done, Planck grabbed his bin and headed back inside the cruiser, while Maker and Loyola did the same on the Nova. Maker still had no clue what exactly they had accomplished, but he hurriedly got out of his suit and raced back to the bridge, noting that Loyola arrived only a few seconds after him.

  Taking his seat, he asked of no one in particular, “Anything noteworthy happen while we were out?”

  “Nothing much,” Adames replied. “Just our future lord and master Kpntel saying how much we’ll love our new lives as pets.”

  “That’s not happening,” Maker declared.

  “So does that mean Planck’s idea was a success?” Snick inquired.

  Maker shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I don’t even know what we purportedly did. But Planck seemed satisfied, so keep your fingers crossed that whatever he had us doing out there pays big dividends.”

  As he finished speaking, he saw Diviana gesture to get his attention.

  “We’re being hailed,” she announced.

  “Let me guess,” Maker muttered. “It’s the Xnjda mothership.”

  “Uh, yeah,” stated Diviana, smiling at his phrasing. A moment later, Kpntel appeared on the monitor.

  “The time has come,” the grizzly-pede declared. “Prepare to be boarded. Also, although it probably goes without saying, any resistance will be met with extreme force.”

  “We understand,” Skullcap said. “Are you certain there is no way to dissuade you from this course of action?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Kpntel answered. “I am…”

  The grizzly-pede trailed off as some kind of commotion began near him. Although not visible on the monitor, it seemed to consist of several voices shouting something that was unintelligible to Maker. A moment later, the Nova shook wildly as something like a violent tremor seemed to pass through it. Maker recognized what it was from experience: the concussive blast from an explosion in space. And to the extent he needed confirmation, he got it from Diviana a second later.

  “Lieutenant,” she began, “scanners show that one of the alien battleships is gone – exploded.”

  Maker barely had time to digest the news before the Nova was rocked again and went lurching sideways.

  “Correction,” Diviana said. “Two of the alien battleships have exploded.”

  On the monitor, Kpntel seemed to be receiving the same report from one of his people as he stared out angrily at those on the Nova’s bridge.

  “What did you do?” he demanded. “What did you do?!”

  Ignoring him, Maker told Wayne, “Get us out of here.” As the young Marine gave a nod of acknowledgment, Maker ordered Diviana, “Tell the cruisers we’re on the move.” He then turned his attention back to the monitor.

  Onscreen, Kpntel was no longer asking what was going on in enraged tones. Instead, he looked as though an invisible person was tickling him with a feather – jerking left and right, and looking all around in bewilderment. It was almost like he was being annoyed by a bug that only he could see. But whatever was going on, it seemed to have an immediate and visible effect on the grizzly-pede physically, as his body seemed to diminish in both breadth and stature. In addition, his face started to look hollow and his eyes sunken; the carapace covering him began to take on an ashen appearance.

  “Who…what…?” Kpntel mumbled, plainly addled.

  A moment later, the grizzly-pede, now looking cadaverous, seemed to wince, and then he screamed – a long, undulating sound of fear, pain, and anguish. But he was far from the only one; all around him, cries and howls could be heard coming from others on his ship.

  Suddenly Kpntel convulsed once, and then appeared to freeze in place, almost as if he’d turned to stone. (Frankly speaking, in Maker’s opinion, the grizzly-pede’s complexion had unexpectedly adopted a sallow and pasty tone that made him look more like a life-sized clay figurine than a living creature.) Following this, to everyone’s shock, Kpntel’s body began to peel, his skin breaking off in flakes and scabs that fluttered down like autumn leaves falling from trees. Within moments, it became abundantly clear that his entire body was completely desiccated.

  Tiring of the gruesome spectacle, Maker declared, “That’s enough, Diviana.”

  The screen mercifully went dark, and a few moments later – as another blast hit the Nova – Diviana reported, “All alien ships destroyed.”

  Chapter 80

  Thankfully, Maker’s entire convoy made it through the encounter with Kpntel essentially intact. Each ship had suffered damage to some degree from the exploding battleships, but it was mostly cosmetic. Aside from making sure their ships were still space-worthy, Maker had two immediate concerns.

  The first was the shield disruptor – he wanted it off the Nova asap. Fortunately, it had ceased functioning after the destruction of Kpntel’s ship (indicating that it was somehow remotely operated). At that juncture, Wayne was easily able to detach and study it.

  Reporting his findings to Maker, the young Marine said, “I’ve disconnected the explosives, but it’s definitely what was disrupting our shields.”

  “Good job,” Maker told him. “Now toss it out an airlock or something.”

  “Will do, but it’s weird, though,” Wayne noted, scratching his temple. “They knew how to cloak it from our shuttle’s sensors and it was designed to disrupt our systems, but humans aren’t known in this area of space.”

  “It’s not that weird when you consider that Kpntel sold us as pets, among other things,” Maker countered. “He obviously encountered humans at some point in the past and had an opportunity to study our ships and technology.”

  “In other words, he was a pirate as well as a slaver,” Wayne surmised.

  “I think recent events have pretty much established that,” Maker
concurred before sending Wayne on his way.

  The other concern Maker had was finding out what exactly had happened to Kpntel’s ships. For that, he had to wait until Planck returned to the Nova, which actually happened sooner rather than later. Ergo, the minute the scientist came on board, carrying a satchel slung over one shoulder, Maker hustled him into the conference room, where they were joined by Browing and Dr. Chantrey.

  “Okay,” Maker began, “please explain exactly what you did to those alien vessels.”

  “Happy to,” Planck said in a bit of a chipper tone. “One of my former colleagues – Harris was his name – spent years working on a project he called the Poseidic Exsiccator, which basically consisted of nanobots designed to suck water out of compounds.”

  “And that’s what you used on those ships?” asked Browing.

  “Yes,” Planck confirmed with a nod. “Harris originally conceived of them as being able to help irrigate arid regions, such as being able to burrow down to the water table and then transport water from there to the surface.”

  “Obviously there were military applications as well,” Maker noted.

  “Oh, yes,” Planck agreed. “For instance, if you were under siege, you could deploy the nanobots to essentially confiscate the enemy’s supply of water. Since it’s a basic requirement for almost every species we know, lack of water would eventually force them to retreat. That was one of several non-lethal applications for the technology.”

  “Non-lethal?” Maker repeated. “Maybe you missed what happened back there, but that was about as far from non-lethal as you can get.”

  “I’ve seen the effect they have on living creatures,” Planck said. “And I agree – it’s horrific.”

  Maker simply stared at him for a moment. Although he’d heard Planck’s last comment, it didn’t sound to him like the man thought it was horrific at all. Instead, he had uttered the phrase with the same dispassion one might display when giving the time of day to a stranger on the street. Maker now vividly recalled that Planck had been the lead scientist in charge of a group making all kinds of nasty weapons, and he suddenly questioned whether it was in anyone’s best interest to have Planck return to “normal.”