The Silver Ships

by S. H. Jucha

  When the heater chimed, he grabbed an over-sized tray, loaded it with the meal pouches, utensils, and a sealed juice carafe then climbed back to the bridge. Settling into his chair, his placed the food tray in his lap and quickly consumed the meal. He let the desserts cool in their pouches while he checked his comm board.

  A priority message from Sharius Tracking Center was listed at the top of the display. Another tap and Colonel Damon Stearns, commander of Sharius, appeared on his vid screen. “Captain Racine, at the time of this message, you are about to attempt an interception of the alien ship. If you have been successful, you are requested to stay in your ship and redirect to New Terra. Arrangements will be made to relieve you of the craft before you enter orbit. Please acknowledge soonest.”

  Alex replayed the message twice more as he finished his desserts. “Did you notice, Tara, the Colonel did say requested, not ordered?”

  “Affirmative, Alex.”

  It seemed the Colonel had recalled Alex didn’t report to Terran Security Forces or the Ministry of Space Exploration. He was an owner, who had to report to no one. On the other hand, he didn’t want to anger those in power.

  In the end, he decided to borrow a favorite ruse of his kid sister, Christie. She had the frustrating habit of pretending she didn’t know her unapproved adventures were off limits. The Colonel would later receive a message saying that he had already been on EVA when the request arrived. Alex knew if he followed TSF’s or the Ministry’s guidance, he’d never get a look inside the ship. “I ran it down, and I’m getting first peek,” he mumbled.

  Alex ordered Tara to cut the aft tractor beam and tied two directives to his deceleration instructions. Setting no watch and EVA conditions on the control board, he grabbed his tray and climbed back down to the central hub, recycling his empty food pouches and heading aft through the spine tube to the rear airlock.

  It took time to climb into his 85kg EVA suit with its mag-boots, armored gloves, tool belt, and oxygen tanks. He snapped his helmet into place, checked his oxygen read out, and cued Tara with engines off.

  When he felt the engines shutdown, he depressurized the airlock, which recycled the air back into the ship’s reserve tanks. Then he released the outer hatch’s locking mechanism and swiveled the hatch aside. The derelict was oriented upside down. He regarded the fifty-five meters separating him from the huge ship and searched for a point of ingress. Odd symbols in two columns left and right of an area seemed to indicate a hatch, but the hull was in shadow, and a hatch wasn’t visible.

  He pulled a grappling pistol from his belt and clipped its safety line to the retaining ring on the tug’s hull. Aiming at the symbols, he fired the pistol’s mag-clamp. It sailed across the gap, the line paying out behind it, but the mag-clamp bounced off the hull.

  “Well, she said it was an unknown alloy,” he mumbled.

  He reeled the line back on to its spool and reattached the pistol to his belt. Then, before he had time to argue himself out of it, he wrapped stik-pads over his boots and gloves, aligned his body with the derelict, and triggered the suit’s jets. He floated across the gap, the safety line paying out behind him as his heart thundered in his chest. When he struck the hull, four meters to the left of his target, the impact jarred his teeth, but his stik-pads anchored him in position.

  Now, he could just make out the hatch. “That’s some great craftsmanship,” he murmured, admiring the exquisitely fitted metal surfaces.

  * * *

  Small sensors, embedded in the ship’s hull, had relayed the contact of the Outward Bound’s tractor beams. Subsequently, other sensors relayed the impacts of the mag-clamp then Alex. The signals were transmitted to the ship’s bridge, initiating a wake-up routine.

  As the derelict ship drifted through space, power had become a premium, and the bridge computer, managing what little energy remained in its power-crystals, had shut down its sub-routines and later its primary routines in an attempt to preserve its existence for as long as possible.

  Utilizing the barest amount of energy, the wake-up routine ended the entity’s time dilation program. Restored to real time, the self-aware digital entity (SADE) studied the sensor logs and the small, odd craft holding it in traction. It monitored the progress of the humanoid figure walking across its hull. When the figure crossed into shadow, its tinted visor cleared, providing an unobstructed view of its face. In response, the SADE signaled the airlock’s exterior hatch to open.

  -2-

  Alex knelt beside the hatch, the Outward Bound floating above him. He’d searched for an access panel without success and was rethinking his approach when the hatch recessed a half meter into the hull and slid aside.

  “Yeah, just ask,” he said to himself. He switched on his suit lights, illuminating the darkened interior, released one boot then the other and used his jets to glide inside. The outer airlock hatch promptly closed behind him, but before he could panic, the interior hatch slid open. No attempt was made at atmosphere replacement. There was no air, but there was power. “So is this automation or a welcome?” Alex murmured.

  Alex tested his comm to Tara and received a response. He signaled engines on to reinstate the decel program and steadied himself with an outstretched arm against a bulkhead as the Outward Bound’s engines ignited.

  The interior corridor was anything but utilitarian. It was spacious and clean-lined, without pipes or ducts running overhead. Doors were evenly spaced down the corridor. An odd thing though—there were no numbers, letters, or labels of any kind—causing him to wonder how anyone knew where they were going.

  Dust motes, floating throughout the corridor, and a fine sheen of ice crystals coating every surface reflected his lights back to him. The debris was settling toward the bow under the deceleration. A piece of delicate, multi-hued, faded fabric caught on his shoulder as it drifted past. He’d never been on a dead ship before; never had to recover the bodies of those who’d died in space. The thought made him shudder.

  Down the corridor, a small light blinked on. Then a second and a third light followed suit, blinking on and off slowly and rhythmically, three meters apart from one another. As Alex stared, more of them joined the pattern, like night lights guiding a shuttle landing. He recalled one of his father’s favorite comments: “Anything done by half measure is done half-assed.”

  So Alex took a deep breath, blew it out slowly, and let loose of the bulkhead. Having removed the stik-pads from his boots, he used the Outward Bound’s momentum to drive him down the corridor toward the bow, following the lights. They led up a wide, vertical chute located inside the bulkhead wall. He halted his motion by bracing a boot in the shaft’s opening and slapping a stik-padded glove against a bulkhead. The shaft was empty, so he crawled on his hands and knees along its forward face. Even though the engines only generated 0.25g, his combined mass pressed him forward with 56 kilograms of force.

  The chute opened into another corridor and Alex followed the lights to a wide access way. A double set of split doors, spaced two meters apart, were open. Beyond the doorways lay an extensive bridge with enormous vid screens. Two large command chairs, centrally located, were elevated on a pedestal and surrounded by small vid and control panels. Despite the bridge’s impressive appearance, Alex’s first reaction was one of relief. The chairs were shaped much like his pilot’s chair, a sign that the occupants are or were humanoid.

  A small vid screen on one of the command chairs lit up. “Uh, oh…” he whispered. He released his hold on the doorway and floated across to the chair, bracing a hand against its back. The screen was obscured by a film of ice crystals, which he carefully scraped away with a stik-pad, surprised that it could operate in the cold vacuum.

  Character groups scrolled up the screen, but he couldn’t read them. As the letters Sol-NAC appeared in his own alphabet, he flexed an EVA-encumbered hand toward the screen and the rolling list froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he glanced around the bridge. Turning back to the screen, he positioned an a
rmored finger over Sol-NAC.

  The screen went blank then refreshed with words in his language. “Hello. I’m Julien, this vessel’s SADE, a self-aware digital entity. How are you called?” The screen went blank, replaced by an alphanumeric keypad.

  Alex carefully typed out his first name.

  “Hello, Alex,” scrolled the response, “I’m in need of your help. Are you the Captain of the ship that anchors us?”

  Alex typed in his reply, “Yes,” and then, “Are you an AI?” New Terrans had yet to develop AIs, but that hadn’t stopped computer scientists from postulating a myriad of possibilities.

  In response to his question, he saw, “As you might define artificial intelligence, I’d answer yes, Captain.”

  “Wow,” Alex exclaimed to himself, then typed, “What help?”

  “Our ship has been heavily damaged, Captain. The bridge has been cut off from its primary power supply and my backup power is extremely limited. A new power source is required immediately.”

  Alex typed, “Want to help. No means of transferring power.”

  “I have a means in mind, Captain,” appeared on the screen.

  For the next half hour, Alex responded to the SADE’s questions about his ship’s manner of propulsion and how he managed a supply of energy while in dock. Then he turned and exited the bridge, headed for the chute that led down and out to his ship.

  * * *

  The SADE watched Alex leave and pondered his abrupt departure. No agreement had been reached. He reran the exchange, hoping to discern whether the individual was choosing to help, leaving them adrift, or allowing him to expire so the ship could be claimed. He couldn’t reach any conclusion. His only option was to do what he had been doing for years: wait.

  * * *

  Alex navigated his way back to the derelict’s airlock and signaled Tara with engines off. The AI operated the airlock hatches for him, allowing him to leave. For Alex, this was an important test as to whether he might trust the entity or not. The thought made him laugh. “I’m debating whether to trust an alien computer!”

  As he looked above his head to judge the leap back to his own airlock, the darkness lit up beside him. A section of hull glowed around a ring extruded from the ship’s skin. It hadn’t been there before. He was sure of that.

  “Convenient,” Alex murmured, “and oh so clever.” He pulled the safety line from the stik-pad that had secured it to the hull and locked it onto the ring. Saving his suit jets, he returned to the Outward Bound by pulling himself hand over hand long the tethered line, his suit’s safety ring sliding along the line.

  While cycling through his own airlock, he considered his next move. He wanted to think through his decision logically, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a mature decision. Instead, and without much further consideration, he gathered a long length of power line from a storage locker, dropping it on the airlock’s deck, then dropped the jet pack and changed out his oxygen tanks. There wasn’t time to ponder the risks and potential benefits of aiding the alien ship. That could take forever, and the AI said it didn’t have much time left.

  A memory from childhood surfaced in his mind. He’d come home with a bleeding face and torn clothes one day, embarrassed to be seen by his mother. Three boys had beaten and kicked another boy to the ground. After jumping in to help the injured boy, he’d suffered the same fate. His mother had tilted his bloody face up to look into her eyes and said, “You have a choice in life, Alex. You can help someone in need or stand back and do nothing. And the choice you make determines the person you are.” Then she had kissed his dirty forehead and told him to wash up.

  When it came down to it, it wasn’t a choice at all.

  He cycled back through his airlock. Outside, he attached the power line to his ship’s dock receptacle and uncoiled the line as he made his way back across the safety line to the derelict. As his boot’s stik-pads hit the hull, a small panel beside the airlock hatch slid open. He peered into its interior and saw nothing—no connectors—just a dark funnel extending into the hull. Dubious though he was, he followed the AI’s instructions and pushed his power cable into the funnel’s throat. To his utter astonishment, the funnel’s sides closed around his line’s connector.

  The power line was designed to transfer dock power to the Outward Bound. Despite Alex’s efforts to convince the AI that the line limited the flow to one-way, it had assured him that it would work for their purpose.

  The line’s telltale flashed green, signaling current flowing, but the power meter wasn’t registering, which didn’t seem possible. The meter’s circuitry prevented power discharge from his ship, or, at least, that was its purpose. Yet, power was flowing…out of his ship, bypassing the meter’s control circuits.

  He broke out of his reverie and commed Tara. “Limit the discharge on this line to twenty percent of our generator’s output. Set an alarm for the charging capacitors. I don’t want any drain on them. Cut the power to this line if the alarm is activated.”

  “Orders received,” Tara responded.

  Then he slid back into the derelict’s airlock. As the AI operated the hatches for him, he signaled engines on to Tara.

  * * *

  The short time Julien waited for the Captain’s return felt longer to him than all the years of isolation he had spent waiting for rescue. Just when he was starting to wonder if he had been deserted, the small ship’s rear airlock reopened. The Captain uncoiled an armload of cable, plugging one end into his ship’s receptacle before making his way back.

  Julien opened the charging receptacle hatch for him and signaled the funnel nanites to engage the power line connector. It took only a moment to detect the primitive flow switch, analyze its circuitry, and reverse its polarity. Current immediately flowed into his power-crystal banks. It compared poorly to his ship’s overall energy needs and ultimate capacity, but if Julien had been capable of shedding a tear of relief within his metal-alloy case, he would have. His primary question was answered—the human was not a scavenger.

  As the ship drifted, Julien had been dependent on the bow’s power-crystal bank, which allowed the bridge to operate its redundant systems in isolation from the remainder of the ship during emergency conditions. With a renewed power supply, he would be able to resume control of any bridge systems still operational. He closed the double set of access doors behind Alex as he entered the bridge and flashed the command screen to gain his attention. Across the screen, he sent, “Captain, there are decompression openings in the bridge bulkheads that must be fixed. If you would continue to help, please locate the supply cabinet to your left, with the blinking light, and remove two plates.”

  * * *

  When Alex finished reading the instructions, he scanned to his left and spotted the cabinet door. Inside, stacked on edge, were plates about half a meter square and a two centimeters thick. He pulled two out and returned to the vid screen.

  “Excellent, Captain,” he read. “You must apply them to the two openings you see in the hull, one high to starboard and the other low to port. The plates will self-seal once provided with sufficient heat.”

  Heat, Alex thought and considered his options. “I’ll be back,” he told the AI, then retraced his steps back to the Outward Bound. Once onboard, he stopped for some water and a meal bar. He considered checking his messages, but he figured it was better not to know who had commed what to him.

  Back on the derelict’s bridge, Alex unloaded two full packs of tools. Whatever this AI, Julien, required next, he was prepared to deliver. He pulled a compact welding canister out of his pack, grabbed one of the repair plates, and made his way to the more accessible portside hole. It was perfectly round, about thirty-two centimeters in diameter, with smooth edges. He twisted his body around to look at the other hole, which appeared the same. A hole had been punched completely through the bow. The decompression would have been powerful enough to suck anyone on the bridge into space. It explained why there weren’t any bodies.

  Putting aside
the unsettling mental image of the bridge crew’s demise, Alex returned to his work, lighting the welder and dialing it to its minimum output. He positioned the plate over the hole and applied the torch to the far edge of the plate, gawking as the edge became liquid and spread out to merge with the bulkhead. In his surprise over the life-like movement of the metal, he had pulled the torch away before the edge became seamless. So he waved his torch over the edge and watched it disappear. Then he applied his torch to the other edges, following the flow of metal until all signs of the plate disappeared. When he finished, he stood up and examined the bulkhead. If he hadn’t applied the seal himself, he wouldn’t have known it existed.

  Suddenly, a touch of vertigo overcame him. The ship’s advanced technology surpassed anything his people had…seamless repairs that took only moments to apply, a funnel that could mold itself to fit a power line, and a self-aware digital entity that could converse in Alex’s language or many others, for that matter. He felt strange and out of place, like a child left to fend for itself in an adult world.

  He mentally shook himself and tackled the second hole on the bridge’s starboard side, its repair just as simple, then returned to the chair’s vid screen. The screen switched to the keyboard and he typed, “What next?”

  “Allow me a few moments, Captain,” was sent back.

  After nearly a quarter hour, Alex wondered if something had happened to the AI. Then his suit’s audio pickup relayed the soft hiss of air, and his helmet readouts displayed increasing air pressure. When the hissing ended, his helmet registered an acceptable air mixture for breathing, though with less oxygen than was found on his world. The air temperature was acceptable so he broke his helmet seal and tested the air. Satisfied, he removed the helmet completely.