“I see.” The leader exchanged glances with the people in his group. “How soon can we run a trial to test this theory?”
Len Myers responded to that question. “We’re planning one at present. It requires adapting the Exoskel unit we use to assist and repair function to those with serious spinal injury. We need several more days to make the necessary changes. Then we can begin a trial that will tell us whether or not the block can be bypassed. If it succeeds, we may be able to destroy the organism at the root of the cerebral block.”
James Heron interjected. “There is another complication. When we destroyed that ship, our three patients heard it scream. That suggests some sort of hive mind may connect everything infected by these organisms. If that is so, we need to discover to what extent the Niburu are able to extract information from their victims.”
Grand Admiral MacQuillie resumed the lead. “You still have Beagle and her instrumentation at your disposal, James. Make good use of her. We’re also reinforcing you. You’ll get the Ekaterinburg and more destroyers and frigates, plus some new missile weaponry we hope can penetrate the enemy hulls. It’s tipped with a powerful incendiary explosive, which should make quite an impact in their oxygen rich atmospheres.”
The leader was back in charge of the discussion. “We are depending on you, Admiral, to find the answers and solutions we need. I needn’t remind you that time is the one commodity we don’t have.”
In his med-unit, which felt more like a prison with every long day that passed, Harry had been following the news through his link to the ship’s AI, which gave him access to news channels as well as the data the science teams were working with. The discovery that the LPSL had been airing the opinion of a so-called specialist psychiatrist, who claimed that Harry was a dangerous psychopath, one likely to precipitate a war with any alien species he encountered, made him very angry. It made him even angrier that he could do nothing to counter it. They were even trotting out “expert” studies of the impact of his contact with the Canids, claiming he had corrupted their entire culture.
“Don’t allow it to disturb you, Harry,” James Heron told him.
“The Admiral is right,” Len Myers interjected. “All you’re doing is getting yourself worked up. Leave it to Theo L’Estrange. He’ll make them wish they’d not started it.”
“That is easy to say, sirs, but I lie here helpless, thanks to one of theirs, while they malign me and impugn my character. I cannot help but be angered by it.”
“We know, Harry.” James Heron hesitated. “Theo has discovered who may be behind it all and has taken steps to deal with it. Try to let it go. I will deal with Doctor Palmer in my own time, for the moment he’s actually doing some very useful work on our communications with the Siddhiche.” Harry noted with amusement the slight sneer in the Admiral’s voice when he emphasised the word doctor. “It is far better you don’t entangle yourself with that volatile man. Fleet is aware of what is being done and has taken steps to counter it.” He paused. “Ask the ship to monitor News Channels 9 to 46, and you will start to get a different picture. We chose those channels because they are watched by the sort of people the LPSL usually recruit from.”
Len chuckled and said, “I’ve seen some of it, Harry. I think they may have a credibility problem after this, and you’re likely to end up with a fan club.”
The Admiral laughed. “Adriana is already swamped with letters from young ladies who wish to meet you, and some of them propose providing you with some…ah…shall we say, home comforts. Adriana found the proposals outside of her programming.”
Despite himself, Harry was amused. “I think Mary might have a great deal to say about that, sir. I shall ask the ship to monitor the channels you mention.” He hesitated. “How much longer before you find an antidote? I do not think I can bear much more of being trapped inside my own head like this.”
The plaintive note in his voice, detectable even through the ship’s audio system, touched both Admirals. Len said, “We don’t know, Harry. You’ve seen the work Martin and his people are doing. You know what they’ve discovered and how complex it is. They’re doing everything they can, and we think they’re close to an antidote any day now. Be patient. We know it’s hell for you. Roberta and Anton are struggling as well, and they don’t have your link to the ship, so they can only see and hear what we tell them.”
“Len is right, Harry. I spoke to Martin on my way to see you, and he knows how important it is—and we have another incentive as well. Hundreds of thousands of victims on one of the colonies they abandoned when we destroyed their scout also need the antidote. Believe me, we are working round the clock, or should I say that Martin and his team are.”
“We’ve managed to track the Niburu location, colleagues.” The Grand Admiral looked strained as he addressed the Fleet Commanders through the conference link. “It looks as if they’re amassing for a major strike, but at present, we have no idea where it is likely to be.”
“How many ships are we facing?”
“There are at least fifty extremely large ones, and probably a hundred more of lesser size.” The Grand Admiral leaned back. “I don’t have to spell it out. They outnumber us by a good margin, even with the Sino-Asian Fleet in company.”
“We’ve only twenty ships equipped with the directed energy mass projector as a primary, and we know it takes several ships combined to destroy one of their smaller ships.” Admiral Heron twirled his command key between his fingers. “We need to find something else, something that weakens them significantly.”
“We have several new weapons to try, but this is like a terrier trying to take on a tiger.”
“Yes, Max, but this terrier is damned well going to have to do it.” The Grand Admiral grimaced. “Sorry, that was unfair. We do have a couple of other avenues we’re exploring. In the meantime, we’re not going to let them call the shots or dictate the agenda.” He shifted his position. “Here’s what we will do. I intend to launch strikes against their fleet. It will be a case of drop out, select target, fire on it and transit away. Secondary squadrons will be waiting for any pursuit, and will take them on in the same way. Attacks will be coordinated so that as they respond to one, a second or third squadron will launch a strike from a different angle and quadrant.”
The others murmured in agreement. One Admiral responded with a question. “Do we know whether or not they have monitors in hyperspace?”
“It appears not, but they may have other means of detecting an approach.” He paused. “One more thing on that score: all LPSL ships may be compromised in some way. We deduced this after intercepting one of them. It still had a human crew, but they were operating under the control of something else. It’s evident a number of their ships have been taken over in this manner.”
“What gave it away, sir?”
“The hull signature had been modified. Only the hyperpods and drives were still metallic. All of the information you need and the list of ships suspected of being operated in this manner is in your briefing packs.”
Chapter 22
Frustration
The Chairman of the Fleet Council stopped midsentence, his mouth open in astonishment as the apparition formed in the space between the podium and the crescent of Councillors. “What the devil?”
The figure turned, it’s form becoming less like a hologram, and assuming a more solid appearance. “You waste time. The Niburu will destroy you if you do not act swiftly. What is the delay?”
The Chairman blinked, the figure glaring at him had the appearance of his long dead father, a stern disciplinarian, and one of the pioneers of galactic exploration. “What do you mean …?”
Granbd Admiral MacQuillie seized the opening. “We are working on the antidote, it has needed a great deal of work to understand it, and we don’t have weapons powerful enough to destroy the Niburu ships. Nor do we have the means to detect and see them – or follow them. How do you expect us to deal with an enemy as powerful as this?”
The figur
e glowered at him as a murmur of assent ran round the table. “We provide as much as you are able to adapt for yourselves. Very well, you,” the figure faced the chief technical officer, “will be provided with the specifications to adapt your detection systems. You,” the figure faced the chief of construction, will be provided with a new propulsion system and you,” it faced the Weapons specialist, “will be given guidance on improving your weapons. Now you must not delay, you do not have time to waste!”
“But why are we … why aren’t you out there with our ships dealing with the Niburu?” The Chairman demanded.
“We provide all the assistance we can. You must now save yourselves.” The figure swept the chamber with its gaze, anger radiating from the appartition. “Do not waste any further time. You have none to waste!”
In the weeks since Harry, Roberta and Anton had been transferred to the hospital ship Aesculapius, he’d explored the ship’s data banks, got to know the AI, and done everything he could to remain positive and up to date. He’d even had some contact with the Provider, though that had been limited. He knew the other two were not doing any better. In fact, Anton was in a far worse state, largely because he’d been paralysed for a longer period than Roberta or Harry. Nothing the medical teams tried had done much more than allow him a few minutes of very limited movement before the poison immobilised him again.
“Evening, Lieutenant.”
Harry welcomed the distraction of the attractive med-tech’s voice, but felt a wave of embarrassment at the knowledge of what her arrival meant. “Good evening, Demi. How are Roberta and Anton?”
“Pretty good, considering. The Surgeon Commander wants to fit them up with a more permanent type of cranial sensor. The temporary ones we’ve been using are giving them a problem: the contacts are causing small wounds, and they get irritated.” She laughed. “You’re lucky you don’t need that.”
“I suppose I am,” Harry said, but he dropped into awkward silence for several minutes while she cleaned his groin and buttocks. It didn’t help that he could see her as she worked, or that she was particularly attractive. He could feel it when someone touched him, but he couldn’t move his muscles voluntarily, nor could he control his natural reactions. This was one of the many problems the medical team faced. They could feed their charges using tubes, they could use catheters to assist some functions, but one remained that required physical intervention.
Harry hated it, and it really brought home to him just how helpless he was.
She tried to joke with him to put him at ease. “It could be worse. At least you can tell me if I do it wrong.”
“Indeed, but I’d rather you did not have to do it at all.”
“Cheer up, sir. There’s some good news at least. That scientist from the Beagle, Dr. Borner—the tall, bald one—thinks he’s finally got a handle on how this organism works. They’re working on a way to modify it so that it destroys itself.”
“Good for Martin, as long as it doesn’t destroy us when he’s finished.”
“I think the Surgeon Admiral wants to be sure of that before they try it.” She finished and replaced the bed covers. “Try to get some sleep tonight, sir. Tomorrow we want to get you into a modified exercise rig. The med unit has maintained your muscle condition, so you’ll be as fit as ever when we get you back to normal, but Admiral Myers wants to get you a bit more mobile.”
Harry’s interest was piqued. “What are they going to try?”
“We’ve got a modified Exoskel unit—the type they fit to people with spinal disruptions. It’s designed to support someone with zero muscle control, so it’s fairly rigid in parts, like the spinal support and the leg and arm braces, but it will allow you to stand at least. The Admiral thinks you might be able to operate the Exoskel’s control unit with your link and move about a bit.” She moved into his view again, a smile lighting up her eyes. “At least it will allow us to check how much control you can regain of your limbs while using it.”
“Thank you for telling me. It is frustrating in the extreme being so helpless.”
“I can imagine, sir. I’ve nursed a lot of people who are quadriplegics.” She smiled down at him. “But you’re the first who talked to me through the ship’s AI.”
“I’ve had an interesting contact, James. Damned nearly scared the living daylights out of the Council. One of your Siddhiche chose to confront us in the middle of a meeting.” The Grand Admiral grimaced. “Didn’t mince words either.”
“I can imagine. How did it manifest itself?”
“Everyone present swears they saw a ghost of one of their parents.” He rubbed his eyes then removed his glasses and polished them. “I’m not sure what I saw, or who, and the voice we heard—it used the audio comms system—was indescribable.” He chuckled as he replaced his glasses. “I think the Council secretary had to go and find a change of underwear. Pompous prat looked as if he was having a coronary. The long and short of it is they are providing us with something new to combat these alien ships.”
The Exoskel unit proved to be lightweight but very complex. The web of straps, struts and supports all had to be fitted, adjusted, repositioned, and then secured to him with cuffs and belts. It took almost an hour to fit it to him and adjust all the signal emitters built into the cuffs and bracelets on his arms and legs, and to situate the harness embracing his chest and shoulders. His neck was supported by a rigid collar, which also housed the control unit.
“Right, Harry.” Len Myers’s expression was neutral as he stood in front of Harry. “Now keep in mind that the commands your brain generates to make any movement are a lot more complex than you think. So, be patient. Take it slow and easy. You’re going to have to learn from scratch with this to make even the simplest movements.” He held out his hand. “Try to extend your right hand to touch mine.”
“Very well, sir.” Harry focused. He’d found the link to the control unit as soon as the team had fitted it to him. To his dismay, both arms jerked into life. His right lashed out in a semi-circular motion causing the Admiral to step back smartly, while Harry’s left arm jerked behind him. “Damn. I beg pardon, sir.” He focused his thoughts. This time the response was a little better. His left arm remained still, but his right jerked upward, so his forearm swivelled upward at the elbow. He arrested the motion then tried to move the upper arm so that his hand edged forward.
Len accepted the hand as it stopped a little short of Harry’s target. “Good going there, Harry. Told you it wasn’t that easy.”
Relief flooded his brain and, to his surprise, he felt a tear sting and then trickle from his eye. Len Myers saw it too. Grabbing a sampling kit, he handed it to the nurse.
“Catch that. It’s the first time we’ve seen an emotive reaction. Might be an important sign that something’s changing.” He watched as the nurse captured the fluid on a sterile swab and sealed it in the sample tube. “Get it to the biology people, pronto,” said Len, and then he smiled at Harry. “Now then, Lieutenant, let’s work on getting control of this outfit.”
“I get so angry with James at times!” Niamh whacked a small stone toward the water with her stout shillelagh. “He hints at things, but won’t commit himself to answering my questions. From what he would say last night, they have found something that enables Harry to use some sort of appliance to move about.”
“But that’s wonderful!” Mary turned to face her companion. “That’s good news, isn’t it? It must mean they found something to counter the poison.”
Niamh frowned. “I thought so too, but James says they’re still unsure about something, but of course he wouldn’t say exactly what they’re worried about.” She sighed.
“Oh.” Mary stared across the lough. “I wish they’d let me go to the Fleet. I could make myself useful on the hospital ship. It’s so annoying being stuck here and not able to talk to Harry. I knew something had happened when he didn’t keep our scheduled hyperlink chat.”
Niamh slipped an arm through the younger woman’s. “I know, my d
ear. Let’s go to the old parish church and sit for a while.” She patted Mary’s arm. “It’s funny, you know, James and I must have read that memorial many, many times when we were young. Never did we dream we’d one day find ourselves guardians of our own ancestor, or that he’d teach us what faith really means.”
Ferghal was finding life aboard the Dutch mother ship, Prinz van Oranien, comfortable but busy. The ship was designed to carry twenty-four corvette class patrol and attack ships. These carried a small crew but a range of powerful weapons, thus enabling them to deliver a very heavy punch when needed. They were complex vessels, the smallest fighting ships to have artificial gravity. Capable of independent transit, they were extremely fast and nimble. Accommodation was limited and cramped, which made it necessary for them to operate with a larger ship to supply the essential recreation facilities and more spacious quarters. The mother ships also provided repair and maintenance facilities.
“Our second flotilla is still completing.” The Engineering Commander handed Ferghal a tablet. “They’re having some changes to their weapons fit.” He shook his head. “By the look of it the crew will have to live in EVA suits tethered to the hull. There won’t be room inside for them.”
Ferghal glanced at the tablet and whistled. “I see what you mean.” He grinned. “Whoever ends up commanding one of these is going to find out what it was like living on a man o’ war in my day. Do they really think the TechRates will be happy living in such confined quarters?”
“Three to a cabin? Yes, it’ll take a bit of adjusting for some of them, but they have to accommodate twelve TechRates, two warrant ranks and three officers plus the CO. The earlier ships had six doubles, but these have four triple berth cabins for the TechRates.” He shrugged. “They’ll adjust. Besides, they have the more luxurious accommodation here; they’ll only be using these quarters when they’re deployed.”
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