“Fleet Admiral, if I might make a suggestion,” Jamangle ventured. “It might be beneficial if we listen to what the woman from GIT has to say. If they really did zing onto the shuttle, we need to know how it was done. It could have implications for our defense protocols.”
Squernshall grunted dismissively, but he pointed at Ellen. “Speak. Make it quick.”
“There was a harmonic resonance pattern at work. It triggered a feedback loop, and that affected your graviton wave amplifiers and prevented your security protocols from operating.” Ellen raised her eyebrows. “Get it? It’s obvious really.”
Squernshall shifted in his seat. “I see. Yes. I understand perfectly. Unfortunately, the captain isn’t quite as well versed in the ship’s systems as I am.” He nodded toward Jamangle. “Perhaps you could break it down for him. And don’t use so many long words–they give him a headache.”
“In layman’s terms,” Ellen began, waving her hands up and down alternately, “one tractor beam works on a different frequency to the other, and when they came together, they sort of…went all wobbly.” She moved her hands faster while bringing them closer together. “And while each system tried to compensate, the wobble got worse, and it mucked up your security system.” She held out her hands. “See?”
Squernshall, who’d been following the movements of her hands very closely, sat back in his seat, blinking. “Well, well. This is extraordinary.” He turned to Jamangle. “Call Bunce in engineering and have his team look at this. I want a full report on my desk in three hours, complete with analysis, action plans, and a costing for remedial action. Project deadline is forty-eight hours from now.”
“Aye, sir.” Jamangle thumped his fist to his chest in a salute then marched from the room.
“Very impressive,” Maisie said. “If we had leaders like you in the UN, things might actually get done.”
Squernshall leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. “My dear, if you had leaders like me on Earth, the human race would not have laid down their arms quite so readily when we arrived.”
“Tell that to the folks in what used to be London,” Brent said. “We all know what happened when they tried to resist.”
“Their attempt was ultimately futile,” Squernshall agreed. “But that’s only because their methods were misguided.”
Brent frowned. “What should we have done? Nukes? Germ warfare? Thrown a glass of water at you?”
“That would be telling.” Squernshall winked. “But here’s the thing: what you definitely shouldn’t have done, was sell out your planet for a few of our technological advances. It was all too easy for us. All we had to do was show you our shiny toys, and like greedy children, you grasped for them with both hands. You traded your independence for a handful of gewgaws, did you not?”
“No, we damn well did not,” Vince protested. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve never even heard of these googers, so I sure as hell never traded anything for them.”
“Gewgaws,” Maisie said carefully. “It’s like trinkets. Worthless.” She glanced at Brent. “Showy but useless.”
Brent smiled sweetly at her. “You say the nicest things. I guess I must be growing on you.”
“What is it with you two?” Ellen demanded, eyeing each of them in turn. “You’re like an old married couple or something. You’re not…together are you?”
“Are you kidding?” Maisie said. “I’m not sure which one of us is the most offended by that remark.”
“You, apparently,” Brent shot back. “At least, that’s what you want me to think. But I’ve got news for you, sister. I don’t care for people making assumptions about my status, and I don’t define myself by some outdated notion of whether I’d make a good potential mate.”
Maisie mimed a tiny round of applause. “Welcome to last century, Brent.”
“I give up,” Brent retorted. “I can’t win with you. And anyhow, as it happens, I would make a fantastic potential mate. I’m a dab hand at starting fires with a pair of sticks, and not only can I make a decent spear at the drop of a hat, but I can also plug a mammoth at fifty paces with the damned thing. Believe me, when you’re cold and hungry, I could put a hot meal on the table while your average modern man will still be checking his hairstyle and taking photos of himself pouting.”
“Cool!” Ellen purred. “What kind of spear? Would it be some sort of javelin or more like a half pike?”
“Enough!” Squernshall shouted. “I grow weary of your inane chatter. It’s time for your flogging. Jamangle! Where are you dammit?”
“You sent him on an errand,” Brent offered. “If memory serves, and it always does, your boy is en route to engineering.”
“Along with my valuable insights into your tractor beam problems,” Ellen chipped in. “And that has to be worth something to you, Admiral. Big time.”
“She’s right, Fleet Admiral,” Maisie said quickly. “When you report Doctor Granger’s findings to your superiors, you’ll be the flavor of the month. Just think of it–a critical weakness in a vital Gloabon system, and you will be the one who discovered it. Doctor Granger will make sure you get all the credit, of course. And you’ll reap the rewards: promotion, honors, the works.”
“How about that, big guy?” Brent asked. “They might even name it after you. Why, it could be called the…what was your name again?”
“Fleet Admiral Squernshall, but you’d better not be mocking me, human.” He hesitated. There was something in the way that this man talked: it made his head spin. “Anyway, the High Command would never allow me to attach my name to something like that.”
“Allow?” Brent said, aghast. “Why, sir, they’ll have no choice. You have this thing in the palm of your hand. All you have to do is exploit it in the right way. And I’m telling you, my friend, this is going to be huge. I can see it now.” Brent spread his hands in the air as if revealing a banner. “The Squernshall Security Solution. The only way to make your tractor beam safe. Be the envy of space fleets across the galaxy with our all-inclusive package. Say goodbye to those pesky unwelcome visitors. Make your tractor beam invulnerable to all forms of salvage banditry and space piracy. Buy your Squernshall Solution today. Only available from selected Gloabon establishments. Accept no substitutes.”
“Squernshall Security Solution?” the admiral murmured. “I don’t know.” He looked down for a moment, shaking his head, then he fixed his gaze on Ellen. “And what do you want in return? No, let me rephrase that. What are you hoping for in return?”
Ellen looked to Brent. “The stage is yours.”
Brent smiled. “Fleet Admiral, all we want to do is borrow your space station for a while. We’ll show everyone you mean business. We’ll fire up the engines and take The Gamulon out of orbit, then we’ll swing by the Andel-Kreits to say Hi. I’m telling you, when they see this place coming toward them, they’ll back down. There’s no doubt about it. I’m an investigator, and I know about this kind of thing. You have to negotiate from a position of strength. Trust me on this. You need to square up to them. Big time. So what do you say? How about it?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Squernshall gripped the edge of his desk with both hands. “Are you insane? I warned you–I’ll not tolerate any mockery. I’d have negotiated in good faith, but I can see that you do not intend to return that courtesy.” He pressed a key on his console, “Security to the XO.”
“Not those guys again,” Vince groaned.
“Wait!” Brent said. “Listen to me for one second. You’re in a stand-off, right? They have one your guys. They have Rawlgeeb, and you need to get him back, or you’ll lose face.”
“Not so much,” Squernshall said. “Technically, Rawlgeeb isn’t a Gloabon citizen at the moment. And to be fair, I did take some of the Andelian officers captive first, so I suppose they may feel entitled to a hostage of their own. And if they want him, they can have him as far as I’m concerned.”
“I did not know you were going to say that,” Brent said
. “But…but nevertheless, in the circumstances, I’m sure that you’ll agree with me when I say…when I say–”
“That you must stand up to the Andel-Kreit aggressors!” Maisie called out. “They boarded an unarmed vessel inbound to your space station and snatched a guest who was invited by you personally.” She shook her head firmly. “Fleet Admiral, this cannot be allowed to stand. And you would not want to be the officer who gave in to this flagrant breach of Gloabon protocol.”
Squernshall pursed his lips. “It’s true, they did break protocol. And that’s one thing I really can’t stand.” A buzz sounded from his console, and he sighed. “I’ve wasted enough time on you people, and security are here, so goodbye. It was not nice to meet you. In fact, if anything, it was sheer torture from beginning to end. Which, when you think about what’s going to happen to you, is nicely symmetrical.” He tapped his console. “Security, what took you? Never mind. Don’t bother with excuses. I’ll deal with you later. Just come in and get these dreadful people out of my sight. And if they give you any trouble, throw them out of an airlock.” He grinned at Ellen. “You see, you gave me all the information I needed before I agreed on a trade, so really, I don’t need you at all. Goodbye.”
The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and as the security detail led the prisoners away, Squernshall sat back and studied the ceiling. “The very idea,” he muttered to the empty room. “Take The Gamulon into battle? Fling a vast space station around like a freighter? Preposterous. Absolutely ridiculous.”
CHAPTER 28
Aboard The Kreltonian Skull – Andromeda Class Battle Cruiser
Official Status: Ambiguous.
Ship’s Log: Earth Orbit – Skeleton Crew.
Zeb paced the bridge, his eyes narrowed, his brow creased in concentration.
“Now I understand why you complain when I do that,” Dex muttered darkly from his position in the captain’s chair. “Cut it out, Zeb, I’m trying to work on my ransom demands.”
Zeb stopped abruptly. “Maybe I should bring the prisoner onto the bridge. It might help our case if the Gloabons can see our hostage.”
“Maybe. But before we do that, I need to know if we can reach the Gloabons on comms.” Dex turned to Nailsea. “Drop our shields for a few seconds. Cricklade, as soon as shields are down, try hailing The Gamulon.”
Hands poised over the tactical console, Nailsea pushed out his lower lip. “Now, sir? Only, I’ve just got the shields all nice and level after our little skirmish.”
“Yes, now,” Dex said. “And don’t question my orders, Nailsea. That’s not how we do things on the bridge.”
Zeb wagged his finger at Nailsea. “You must always respect your superior officers. Do not question their authority.” He lowered his hand. “Unless you see them doing something really stupid. In which case, go right ahead.”
“Ignore the Lieutenant Commander,” Dex said pointedly. “He’s not himself today.”
“But, he’s my superior officer,” Nailsea protested. “Surely, I shouldn’t ignore him completely.”
Dex ran his hand across his brow. “Listen, I’m the commanding officer of this ship, and what I say, goes. So turn the shields off, Nailsea, before I send you back to the galley to peel a dozen sacks of black potatoes.”
“Aye, sir,” Nailsea replied unhappily, adding in an undertone, “You don’t peel black potatoes, you scorch the spikes off with a blow torch. Everybody knows that.”
“What was that, Nailsea?” Dex demanded. “Are the shields down yet?”
“Coming down now, sir.” Nailsea looked up from his display, his eyes stretched wide with fear. “Sir, with the greatest of respect, may I have permission to raise the shields again, please?”
“Certainly not. We haven’t even tested the comms yet.” Dex smiled patiently. “Pull yourself together, Nailsea. Cricklade, are you hailing The Gamulon?”
Cricklade didn’t reply. She sat perfectly still, staring hard at her screen as if frozen, her mouth hanging open.
“Honestly! Do I have to do everything myself?” Dex tapped into the console on his chair’s armrest.
“Sir, please!” Nailsea called out. “The shields, sir! Quick!”
“Just a minute,” Dex replied without looking up.
“Oh hell! I’m sorry, sir,” Nailsea moaned. “I have to do this. I have no choice. Shields up now. Maximum power. Helm, prepare for evasive maneuvers.”
The blood drained from Dex’s face as his console told him what Nailsea hadn’t been able to say. “Oh shim! We’re finished!”
Zeb hurried to join Nailsea at the tactical console. “Dex, we have The Gamulon approaching on a collision course. It’s accelerating rapidly. Impact in approximately twenty-four minutes and fifty-seven point zero three seconds. Recommend red alert. Also, according to my ethics processing module, this may be a good time to make peace with your makers. So, Dex, thank you for putting me together and then bringing me back to life, and all that jazz. And sorry about the incident with the zinger and the bathroom, and for breaking your media player. And, although you don’t know about this yet, I may have accidentally creased that photo of Miss. Torque Wrench you keep under your bed.” He tilted his head from side to side. “I think that about covers it. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Sorry about shooting down that target buoy and nearly getting us all killed while accidentally starting a war at the same time.”
“That’s all right,” Dex said, his voice seeming to come down to him from a great distance. “These things happen.” A vapid grin plastered itself across his face as he looked frantically from one crew member to the next. Chefs! he thought. Cooks and bottle-washers. All of them. There’s no way we can survive this encounter. It’s a tactical nightmare that would test the brightest and best at the academy, but this lot can barely manage a casserole without getting their elbows in the gravy. What the hell am I going to do?
“Sir, we need some guidance here,” Zeb called out. “Perhaps you might take the helm. Due to the size and power of The Gamulon, our optimal window for evasive maneuvers is closing rapidly.”
Dex clapped his hands to the sides of his head and pressed hard. Get it together, you fool, he told himself. You’re a member of the Andel-Kreit Fleet, for flek’s sake. If you’re going to go down, go down fighting. He took a deep breath, tipping his head back, then he sat up straight in the captain’s chair, gripping the armrests with both hands, his talons digging deep into the upholstery. “I’m sorry, Zeb. As usual, your assessment is correct. But I can’t take the helm. I need to stay right here. I must maintain overall command of the bridge. And this is where the CO sits. It’s my duty.”
“As you wish, sir,” Zeb replied. “If you’d like, I can take the helm.”
“No, stay on weapons as before. Give me missile locks on as many critical areas of that damned space station as you can find. Nailsea can run countermeasures. Cricklade, launch an emergency comms pod toward the fleet. Message begins: The Skull is about to engage. Message ends. Stimps, Klegg, stand by to ramp up all engines to maximum thrust.”
“Aye, sir,” Stimps said smartly. “What course, sir?”
Dex hesitated. “Come about ninety degrees. Prepare to ram that space station.”
For a full second, silence reigned on the bridge of The Kreltonian Skull, then a resounding chorus rang out as sitting resolutely at their stations, every crew member called out, “Aye, sir!”
“Stand by,” Dex said firmly. “We’re going in.”
CHAPTER 29
Gloabon Space Station The Gamulon
Brent stared out through the bars of the cell door, sizing up the pair of Gloabon guards patrolling the corridor. He ran his expert eye over their body armor, their weaponry, their general state of readiness, and he could come to only one conclusion. Big bastards, he thought. But no brighter than your average goon. There had to be a way to trick them into opening the cell, but so far, they’d studiously ignored every word he’d said, and Vince, Maisie, and Ellen had firmly suggested that he sit dow
n and shut up. Now, he leaned back against the cell wall, thumping his fist against it in frustration. “We can’t just sit here, goddammit! We need to bust our way out.”
“Not this again,” Maisie moaned. “That didn’t work out so well last time, Brent.”
“That was different,” he began, but before he could go on, a thud on the wall boomed across the narrow cell. “Did you hear that?”
“Of course we did,” Vince replied. “It’s probably someone else who wishes you’d keep quiet for a while.”
“No, someone’s trying to get through.” Brent thumped the wall twice and was rewarded with two taps in return. “Hey, who’s there?” he called out.
A harsh cry answered his call, the sound punctuated by guttural snarls.
“That’s Andelian,” Maisie said. “I’ve heard it at the UN. I think someone just said hello.”
“Say something back,” Brent urged. “Tell them we need to work together to form an escape plan. Maybe they have something useful in their cell like maybe a vent or a duct we could crawl through.”
“I only know a few words,” Maisie protested. “Linguistics isn’t my area.”
Brent held out his hands. “Come on, Maisie. Try it. Say something. Please.”
“All right.” Maisie cleared her throat and stood, addressing the cell wall, her voice raised and her tone strident. “Ach mach, ptach nach. Scrawn gee hum tach.”
Brent strained his ears, but there was no reply. “What did you say?” he whispered.
“I asked him his name. I hope so, anyway.” Maisie’s cheeks colored, and she looked down at her hands. “But there’s a possibility, now that I think about it, that I asked him if he would care for a dance. In fact, yes. That’s what I said.”
“What?” Brent stared at her. “What the hell did you say that for?”
“I’m sorry, but I did my best. It’s a tonal language, and the grammar is very strict.” Maisie shrugged. “It could’ve been worse. There was a translator at the UN who got into a muddle while introducing an Andelian warrior at a cocktail party, and they’re married now. The poor man’s wife was very upset.”
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