by Scott Warren
The Dreadstar jolted with a metallic thump and a spike in the passive electromagnetic sensors. Magnetic locks. Primitive, inefficient, but effective. Two more impacts resonated through the hull and the ship began to vibrate as the view through the forward monitors slowly ceased spinning. Now what? Would they tow the Dreadstar back to the system’s core and attempt a joined space tear?
He was still postulating when a new sound came from the hull, one that could be mistaken for nothing else. Footsteps. Several of the remaining crew looked panicked, and even Tavram sucked in a breath of stale air. Space walkers, children’s tales to frighten cadets. Creatures who crossed the vacuum to steal souls, who walked in the void. No, this was just an unfamiliar lesser empire, using primitive technology. It must not be …
“My prince, the sunward habitat chamber near the foremost hull breach has been … compromised. The seal has been forced open, atmosphere is venting.”
“By the first stars,” uttered a voice.
“Quiet,” Tavram ordered. He pulled up the airlock status on his console. The venting had ceased. Had the stress on the ship from the docking caused it? Plausible. The chamber was isolated, in full vacuum now.
The icon for the inner habitation chamber hatch began to flash on his screen. Mechanical failure. First stars, the spacewalkers were in the ship! And he could do nothing as he tracked their progress. Nothing except buy himself a few more seconds. He ordered the survivors into position, interposing them between himself and the door. They had no weapons, but they might serve to distract while he got a few shots off. His heart raced, the cartilage in his joints expanded. These were ancient fight-or-flight traits encoded in his genome he’d not felt in years.
Even deathly thin as the atmosphere was, his entire crew’s labored breathing was silent. Metallic sounds from the other side of the bulkhead were translating through the metal floor. Tavram could feel the vibrations of the spacewalkers. He fingered the single handheld maser kept on the bridge, and raised it in a ready stance. It was heavy in his hands, burdened with the weight of his lineage’s survival. It wouldn’t do much good against a serious enemy but the polymer grip was comforting.
Two metal prongs slid through the join in the hatch, startling a cry of alarm from his remaining crew. A mechanical whir, then the prongs began to pry the door open. The device forcing the door open was pulled away. Behind it stood several short, stocky figures. They were matte black like the alien ship had been, except for plating lining their chests and shoulders that was just slightly glossy. Two arms, two legs as evolution had produced on countless worlds as a most efficient design. In their hands they held their primitive xeno weaponry. Long, black, and slim he could not tell if it was some kind of maser like the one he had leveled or perhaps a particle beam. The array of soldiers spread into the room, fingers kept off what must be triggers for the moment. Two of the alien weapons were pointed at him while the rest scanned across his crew looking for additional threats. They found none. Their movement was martial, economical, and precise. No motion was wasted, no part of the bridge unchecked.
Tavram stared through the shaking optics of his maser at what he thought was the leader, but in truth all eight looked identical. A veteran of several space engagements, he had yet to fire a personal weapon at anyone in his life. As he looked down the gaping tunnel of that alien’s weapon he did the only thing he could think to do for any hope of survival. He lowered the maser.
The change in the space walkers was instantaneous. Their deadly muzzles on their weapons lowered, their posture more relaxed, if still tight. The tallest of them reached out and took the maser from his hand. He didn’t resist.
“Is there a leader among you?” he asked. The largest stepped forward.
“I am Major Red Calhoun, of the Condor.”
It spoke in Malagath. His voice was tinny, mechanical, unexpected. Tavram had asked in the common Kossovoldt language, but the alien had answered in his own dialect.
“Space walkers!” cried the engineer from behind Tavram, less in terror and more in amazement. He silenced her with a wave. The First Prince switched back to Malagath.
“What is your empire?” he demanded. Red? Did they often name their warriors after visible spectrum light?
“We are human,” it said. Curious. Tavram had never heard of humans, but then he rarely concerned himself with the affairs of the lesser empires. After all, they were little better than animals, and over 1500 had been encountered. Some of them had even been scoured away by the Malagath. Had the emergency engine cause the Dreadstar to invade their space? Surely their primitive vessels could not secure a large place in the stars.
“And your intent?” asked Tavram.
The creature turned its head away, muffled sound came through the helmet, perhaps he was communicating over a shortwave communicator.
He turned back, “Our intent is to salvage mechanical technology from your ship, then take your remaining crew aboard the Condor.” he said.
This was met with wails of anguish behind him, and the creature raised a hand in what he must have thought was a placating gesture. “After which, we intend to return you unharmed to your people, in exchange for what supplies and technology we can barter for you. You will not be harmed in our custody.”
Tavram relaxed. He had heard about outfits such as these from the lesser empires. Scavengers who picked the bones of the great battles in hopes of finding any functioning wreckage. Likely these space walkers intended to take anything valuable back to the planet Human to study. Though most were not interested in dealing with survivors, and tended to wait until there were none to move in. Some were even less interested in waiting than others.
“In the interest of self-preservation, human Red, I must inform you that we are being hunted, a Dirregaunt specialist has been tasked with eliminating this ship.”
The alien quickly bobbed his head a single time. Curious gesture. “We don’t plan to stay long once we get your people aboard. What is the most valuable asset aboard this ship that we can easily remove?”
The first prince gestured to himself, “You are speaking with him, human Red.”
In the dark between stars, the Springdawn flew bereft of all light. More than half-way through the horizon jump they detected the superluminal distress call carrying Malagath encryption. They couldn’t read it, but out this far there was little doubt what it could be. The Dreadstar was in truly dire straits. His science team’s calculations had been almost perfect; on a stellar scale it was practically next door to their intended destination. Best Wishes complimented his astroticians and set the instructions for the next leg of their journey. Now with the distress signal’s origin they could pinpoint the Dreadstar’s location to within a few thousand meters and emerge from the second horizon jump with the laser capacitors already charged. Foolish to give themselves away.
“Detach the coupling here, Human Aesop. I am sorry there is so little functioning salvage for your crew.”
She spoke in the lilting and fluttery tones of the Malagath language, an approximate translation relayed to Aesop’s retinal implants. It was hard to believe she belonged to one of the most dangerous species in space, or that she probably viewed him as barely alive. Most species avoided contact with the Malagath where possible, they had a reputation for amorality that made most starfaring species nervous. Or dead.
The Malagath technician was wearing one of the vacuum suits the Vultures unpacked for taller humanoid rescues. It still looked uncomfortable, short and wide on her, but she quickly adjusted to the novelty of working in the vacuum of space. She still showed the fear her compatriots had during the transit to the Condor, but at least she was shielded from the intense black expanse her people so feared.
Aesop depressed the spots she directed and the fusion coupling separated from the reaction train, or at least what he thought was the reaction train. This ship was so advanced he barely recognized anything. His retinal implants were going nuts trying to scan and label it all, inte
rfacing with the computer on his vacuum suit, it in turn networking with the Condor. He pulled the coupling from a larger piece he would have loved to tear out, but would have to cut a larger gap in the hull to carry it away. Most of it had holes anyway, which didn’t help matters much. Even damaged, any engine parts were going to be e extremely valuable to Union Earth researchers, but the entire drive had been shot to hell by the Dirregaunt ambush. He passed the coupling to Aurea who pushed it through the hull breach to their waiting skiff.
He’d take this ship apart bolt by bolt if the Old Lady would let him. The captain of what he’d learned was named the Dreadstar insisted they leave immediately for Malagath space. Captain Marin insisted otherwise. Refugees were well and good, but they needed cold hard salvage to get enough credit at one of the neutral stations to refuel in order to get the new tech to friendly space.
His radio beeped in his ear, retinal display showing the captain’s override circuit. He winced. It looked like his fun was over.
“Cohen, I just had a parley with their captain. He’s made a compelling case for not being here any longer. Take what you’ve got and get your ass back to the Condor.”
“Are you sure, Captain? There’s still a lot of tech here I can pry loose.” The line clicked dead. Not one to repeat herself, Captain Marin. He growled into his helmet before switching back to the frequency he shared with the Malagath technician.
“Aurea, they want us back on the Condor. We need to go now.”
The tech slid a hand over the surface of the reactor shell, looking at it with an unreadable expression. Her facial expressions were unfamiliar to him, but her body language was all too recognizable. She regretted having to leave the ship that had been her home. Aesop could sympathize; he’d had a ship shot out from under him before he’d been chartered onto the Condor. The Orion Spur was not a friendly place, especially for species behind the technological power curve.
He followed her to the breach in the hull, bouncing as the charge in the gravity floor plating had almost completely abated. He would have loved to pry those out and take one or two but there wasn’t time. The plates were likely more efficient energy-wise to the stolen tech the Condor was using to generate her own artificial gravity and inertial compensation field.
Aurea reached the breach and then stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I am … still nervous,” she admitted, “I see the skiff, but I cannot make myself go to it.”
Cohen checked on the ship’s status with his retinal implants. The Condor was going through its Zero-G checklist, which meant he had to get back and strap down all the new salvage as well as the skiff. “Look, we don’t have time for this. Just hold on to me and I’ll take us over, ok?”
The tech switched places with him, wrapping her long fingers around his shoulders. The gloves of the suit fit her well. They were a plastic polymer that shrunk to form-fit whatever size hand was in them for maximum dexterity, albeit with two extra fingers the Malagath did not need. Her added mass was almost nothing as he maneuvered through the hole in the outer plating. The skiff waited just beyond, and behind it, the open bay of the Condor. He gently pushed off, feeling Aurea tense up against his back, but she did not cry out. He reached out for the skiff, transferring his momentum to it and making small adjustments with the thrusters to get them back in the bay. The bay door slid shut as he was barely through and the hum of the sublight engines greeted him as the ship immediately began to accelerate. The old lady must have a powerful need to be gone.
Gravity gradually returned to the bay, and Aesop was able to coax Aurea down off his back, still surprised by how light she was. He supposed he shouldn’t be. Many of the races they came across were adapted to life in space with less need for physical strength and stamina, relying on their technology to do everything for them.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, right?” he asked, locking down the skiff and securing netting around the cargo.
“It was … something I never thought I would do. It was frightening, but exciting. You humans, you do this sort of thing often? Space walking?”
“All the time, Aurea. Every ship we come across, or any time we need to make repairs on the hull. Come on, I’ll show you something you might like a little better. Would you like to see the engine room?”
First Prince Tavram entered the alien ship’s bridge behind her captain. A mask had been fitted over his mouth by the resident doctor to keep the oxygen from entering his respiratory system. That these creatures required the toxic, flammable gas to survive had flabbergasted him. It seemed the more he learned about this strange little race the more mystery lay ahead. They were clearly matriarchal, aligned behind this captain who asserted dominance by baring her teeth at each crewmember she passed, each of whom returned the gesture in kind. They breathed poison, walked in space, greeted each other with threats, and each member of the crew could perfectly understand his language, though most could not speak it and used the lesser Kossovoldt tongue instead when speaking to him and each other. Baffling. He had asked about human language, and learned it was largely tribal and that many of her crew did not speak a common human language.
The ‘ship’ as they called it, was primitive. Simple forged steel construction with obvious joining of different metals and outdated composites. Wires and piping snaked everywhere like thick vines, carrying power, potables, and hydraulic fluids. But it was still ingenious in a barbaric sort of way.
“Captain Ma’am, Sergeant Cohen is aboard and we’re on our way as ordered.”
“Good, hold steady, max acceleration. Build us up some speed, I have a bad feeling. How’s the trajectory for a horizon shot?”
“Nav computer has it locked in steady with the star’s gravity. We’ll have broken line of sight with the Dreadstar when we make the jump. We’ll need one more star before we can hit Taru station. ETA to jump five two minutes.”
Nav computer? Who would trust such delicate computations to a computer? Were they jumping one star at a time? Perhaps these humans with their primitive brains were more limited than he thought. After all, they had only been among the stars for the last hour of the Malagath Empire. According to their captain, anyway. There was much she had been reluctant to discuss. From his forced crouch he could see the navigation monitor, though the numerals on it weren’t Kosso standard. Not much to be learned there. There was a third seat in the command center of the Condor, marked with a cross and a circle. He took it, his knees somewhere by his shoulder made for an uncomfortable position, though better than hunching beneath the low ceiling.
“Control, sensors. Photon Doppler detected, superluminal contact bearing relative one-eight-zero, one-four degrees azimuthal out of the horizon.”
“Sensors, conn aye. Shit that was quick. Yuri, you get all that? Shutter the drives, turn on the GSD.” The captain flicked a switch, turning the open receiver to the main circuit, “This is the Captain speaking. A superluminal contact has been detected, we are engaging the gravitic stealth device and going ballistic. Stow for Zero-G,” she turned to Tavram, “You’re going to be floating here in a second, chief. Strap into that stay.”
The subtle shuddering of the ship ceased as the engines were shut down. Their constant hum was replaced by a new oscillation, a strengthening of the artificial gravity drive, he thought. His weight began to lessen, and he attached the lanyard the captain had pointed out. He still felt slightly panicky and, though he would never admit it, somewhat sick. Malagath artificial gravity could be localized practically to square meters
“Full ballistic, ma’am,”
“Good, bring up the Dreadstar on the main screen.”
“Aye ma’am.”
“I do not understand, human Victoria. We are simply flying in a straight line in hopes he will not see us?”
“Not now, chief. When we’re out of it.” She replied. Tavram chafed at being addressed so by this lesser empire captain. Her tiny ship barely had room for her ego, it seemed. And yet she had saved his lif
e at risk to her own. This ‘privateer’ as she had called it, who knew the value and safety of a rescued spacefarer. Pragmatic? Astoundingly so, and reasonable if rigid. Martial yet disciplined. Primitive yet, well, resourceful. The rational side of him looked forward to learning more about them on the trip back to the Malagath Empire. If they survived the next few minutes, at any rate. Unlikely, as they would be picked up in the first round of the Springdawn’s active sensors.
The Dreadstar appeared on the monitors and Tavram’s neck folds moistened, a reaction of the increased blood flow and body temperature. Such detail. It was as if his broken and battered ship were still abreast of the Condor.
“Control, sensors. Here she comes, Vick.”
“Thanks Avery. Steady on course, Huian.”
Again Tavram was impressed, until he remembered that the Condor had probably stolen the superluminal sensor technology from another empire. The view screen though, he knew of no one who could produce such optics resolution. Where had they found that?
“Ok people, hold on to your asses.”
There was silence but for the hum of the anti-gravity device. On the screen, hundreds of thousands of kilometers away, a second, massive ship winked out of horizon space less than 100 meters from the Dreadstar, dwarfing it. The sleek lines and narrow profile of the Springdawn was unmistakable, as was the skill of her navigation team. There was a warning from sensors of energy weapon signature, and Commander Best Wishes unleashed his high-wavelength lasers at point blank range. Though the lasers fell outside his visible spectrum their effect on his ship was all too obvious. The metal burned, twisted, and flew apart under their fire. Again and again the lasers cut, pulverizing any section larger than a few meters into space slag. Tavram couldn’t stop himself from keening. It was as though his heart was being pierced by the Springdawn’s fire. Even at this range, the lasers interfered with the optics of the Condor, causing the screen to flash when they fired.