The Silver Ships
Page 6
Claude led him to the meal room by a different path than he had taken earlier for mid-day meal. Alex, attempting to build a visual map of the ship, had an epiphany about the implant’s power. It was the reason for the lack of labels on the doors, which he’d noticed the first time he boarded the Rêveur. Méridiens, he realized, could instantly locate rooms and one another throughout the ship. They might even be able to navigate it with their eyes closed, he hazarded to guess.
Another concept clicked for Alex—his ear comm was powered by his body heat, so it probably was the same for their implants. It answered a delicate question that had perplexed him, but one he’d chosen not to ask. The Méridiens couldn’t locate their dead comrades, because those implants were inactive…their environment cold.
The evening meal was a subdued occasion compared to the previous evening. The recovery of their comrade’s bodies had dropped a gloom over the small group.
* * *
After evening meal, Alex quickly headed for the bridge. He was more comfortable talking to Julien while he sat in the command chair, and he was anxious to have an overdue conversation.
“Julien, I’ve been wondering about the ship’s damage. Can you tell me what happened to the Rêveur?”
“Yes, Captain. Edouard has re-instated the bridge’s holo-vid projector. Allow me to show you.” Suddenly an image of space and a distant ship appeared in mid-air in front of Alex’s command chair, a hovering, frighteningly, life-like miniature.
“Captain Jacque de Guirnon, Renée’s uncle, was responding to an emergency distress beacon from the freighter Celeste, which had taken on a load of ore mined in a barren system. Within a day, we exited FTL near the freighter’s location and decelerated to rendezvous.”
Alex watched the freighter’s image expand in front of him. While he was fascinated by the holo-vid’s quality and the story unfolding, he hadn’t missed Julien’s words, exited FTL. He was rapidly collecting intriguing yet frightening new terms.
“As we closed on the freighter, I was able to examine in detail the ship’s condition, and remarked to the Captain on the holes in the freighter’s cab and the ship’s cold engine cones. The Celeste didn’t respond to comms.”
The view expanded until Alex could see the now familiar holes. Holes he knew would extend entirely through the freighter. As he leaned forward to view the image more closely, he noticed Renée slip into the second command chair.
“A strange craft rose from behind the freighter,” said Julien, as he activated simultaneous comm threads—Sol-NAC to Alex via his ear comm and Con-Fed to Renée via her implant.
Alex stood up and walked into the holo-vid to better view the small craft. It was shaped like a gourd seed, a shallow convex silhouette, the front pointed and the rear ovoid. Its hull was a polished, dark silver and unbroken by protrusions.
“The Captain ordered me to hail the alien ship on all frequencies, but there was no response. Instead, an energy beam speared out from the small craft and penetrated the Rêveur’s aft dorsal hull.”
Although the beam that had been fired wasn’t visible, Alex asked his question anyway. “Julien, can you back it up to the point when you think the ship fired its weapon?”
“Certainly, Captain,” Julien agreed as the holo-vid display reversed.
Alex studied the silver ship. He peered closely at the silhouette, and Julien obliged him by expanding the view further. “Strange.”
“How so, Captain?”
“There’s no protruding weapon, no barrel. Unless…,” Alex said, pondering the image, “unless the entire silvered hull is the weapon.”
“That’s an interesting observation, Captain.”
The holo-vid rolled forward and Julien continued his narrative. “Captain de Guirnon ordered evasive maneuvers and I attempted to keep the freighter between us and the silver ship, but the attacking craft was highly maneuverable, and it struck us many more times. All passengers were ordered into the stasis pods. Unfortunately, in the short time available, most didn’t reach the suite. The Captain ordered the crew, who were assisting passengers, to join them in stasis. Then he ordered an emergency jump to FTL. As I altered our course toward open space, the silver ship continued to strike us with its energy weapon. In the moments before we entered FTL, a beam struck our engine compartment. Another beam holed the bow, and all bridge personnel were lost.”
Julien was silent for a long moment, as if reviewing his memories of that moment. Alex, for one, was glad he wasn’t shown the vid of the bridge event. The discovery of the child still haunted him, and he didn’t need any more images like that in his head.
“With the bridge crew lost, I assumed command. Unfortunately, I detected no active implants on the ship. The stasis pods had been sealed, and I’d lost contact with the suite. My navigation and FTL comm access were gone as well.”
They lapsed into silence again as Julien closed the holo-vid.
“There was the distinct possibility the silver ship might follow and complete our destruction, but as you can see, it never did. Though we managed to enter FTL, I had lost control of the engines after the bridge was damaged. We were in FTL for 14.4 days, when we inexplicably exited FTL and resumed our originating sub-light velocity of 0.02c, drifting until you found us. My presumption is a beam damaged some portion of the engine support systems. Undoubtedly, safety protocols cut in and shut down the engines when the operating parameters were exceeded.”
“Without access to our FTL transmission system, I had no way of detecting whether our emergency beacon was broadcasting. After the first year, I calculated the probability of a rescue at less than thirty-two percent since our last maneuver had taken us on a tangent away from Confederation space. After the fifth year, I deemed the probability of a rescue so low the number isn’t worth mentioning. When my power-crystal bank’s reached eleven percent, I shifted my clocking routine to a ratio of 1 to 500 to slow my kernel and set routines to wake me if our hull sensors were triggered.”
“How long ago was this attack?” Alex asked.
“Comparing our time to the internal chronometer in your EVA suit, it would be seventy-two of your years, Captain”
“What?” Alex exclaimed and whirled to face Renée. “Seventy-two years?” he asked.
“Seventy years of our time, Captain,” Renée spoke quietly. “That’s how long we’ve been gone from our people.”
He watched as tears formed in her eyes. He wanted to console her, but before he had the chance, she stood up, wished him a good sleep, and left the bridge without another word. Alex felt deflated.
“Were you able to do any damage yourself….I mean to that silver ship?”
“That would require weapons, Captain, and we have none.”
“That’s because you’re a passenger ship, correct? But you have ships that can fight?”
“No, Captain, we have no fighting ships or offensive weapons. We are a peaceful society with a single home world and many colonies, under one government, the Confederation. We’ve had a few minor conflicts during our first several hundred years, nothing significant or recent. Even a successful trespass against one of our citizens by another is improbable today, if not impossible, with our implants. The hand weapons you see on Étienne and Alain are for personal protection. They can do no more than stun and are more likely to be used against aggressive fauna than anything else. It is against our laws to have a weapon that can cause harm, much less kill any being.”
After a few moments of reflection, Julien added, “We’ve never had a need for a weapon that could incapacitate a ship…until now.”
Alex continued to sit in his chair, imagining such a peaceful society suddenly attacked by alien ships. He recalled a vid of a wild diablo, a vicious species of New Terran fox, invading a den of Earth rabbits introduced by the colonists. The slaughter was quick and thorough, even though the diablo couldn’t consume even half of the small rabbits it killed. The similarity between the two images was frightening. Even more frightening was the
thought that his people were just as defenseless.
He climbed out of the command chair to head back to the Outward Bound for the night, but stopped in the bridge’s access way. “Julien, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what, Captain?”
“I’m sorry for all those years you spent alone.” Alex stood with his hand braced against the bulkhead, waiting for Julien’s response.
“You are the first to offer me that sentiment, Captain.”
“Then I’m sorry for that too,” said Alex as he left.
Into the silence of the bridge, Julien said, “Good evening, my friend.”
* * *
Later that evening, Renée was in her House suite, one of the few relatively undamaged cabins, when she commed Julien.
Renée sat on her cabin’s bed, unable to respond. By law, SADEs were endowed with basic rights and were treated with courtesy. But have we treated them as equals?
Finally she admitted the truth that had occurred to her.
Renée continued,
Then she questioned her own statement.
<…someone such as the Captain?> Renée completed his statement for him.
* * *
Alex floated over to his pilot’s chair, physically and emotionally exhausted after his first day with Claude. The repair work was grueling, particularly given the mass of his EVA suit. He was used to wearing it for a few hours at a time, once every twenty to thirty days, not for five full days in a row. But the intense labor was nothing compared to the recovery of the Méridien bodies. That part of the work had become a wakening nightmare.
“Messages, Tara,” he requested, too tired to examine the queue himself.
“You have a priority message from Minister Drake.”
“Play it.”
“Captain Racine,” Minister Drake began, “perhaps we’ve attempted to micro-manage the man-on-scene, so to speak, and our choice of action—or inaction—may not have been entirely appropriate.” Alex snorted at the Minister’s opening statement, which was as close to an admission of wrong doing as he was ever going to get.
“It appears that you are our de-facto representative,” Drake continued, “and as such we need you to consider the wishes of your government in your communications with these aliens. In addition, we need detailed daily briefings. Learn their technology, learn what they might offer us, and discover what they might request in exchange. This is an opportunity that must not be squandered. Please adopt this position with the great responsibility that it entails.”
“Message ends,” Tara stated.
This message, as did the others from Minister Drake, rubbed him the wrong way. Despite his reaction, he argued his own counterpoint: wasn’t what the Minister said true? Shouldn’t he be working to make the best deal for his people? But somehow that didn’t seem right. He liked the Méridiens, and they were human too, just different…and beautiful, come to think of it.
“Tara, message to Minister Drake, New Terra,” he began and then gave the Minister as much detail as he could fit within the message’s buffer limit. He had to send four messages to complete his brief.
He knew the day that had just passed would be the template for the next seven days until the refueling rendezvous. With little to do aboard his own ship, he would continue working with the Méridiens to restore the Rêveur, while seeking answers to the tragedy that had befallen them.
-7-
Minister Drake strode along the well-appointed Government House corridor lined with its magnificent vid displays of New Terran landscape and, recently added, vids of space. He stopped in front of an administrator, who gave him a professional smile.
“President McMorris is waiting for you, Minister,” she greeted him. “The rest of the attendees are already there.”
The double doors of the President’s office slid open at his approach, security identifying him in advance. Arthur McMorris was seated behind his intricately carved, guriel wood desk, crafted by the twenty-third President’s son for his father. The task had taken the son almost three years to complete, the wood more akin to metal due to its high mineral content. No President had ever replaced the desk as it had become a symbol of the office.