The Silver Ships

by S. H. Jucha

  The explorer-tug was unrecognizable in its new configuration. The tug’s massive boom-mounted engines were replaced by sleeker Méridien designs mounted directly on the stern. The hub wheel was gone. The narrow spine was now a fully encased fuselage. Two extrusions were noticeable amidships, and the expanded view revealed missile carousels that extended into the interior. The space-eating tractor beam engines and their generators were gone, replaced by row after row of two hundred and eighty planetfall ready seats, an extended galley, and a new refresher. The bridge’s advanced telemetry equipment, which Alex had spent a fortune acquiring, was replaced by Méridien designs, many times more effective and a third the size.

  Despite his personal feelings about the massive transformation of a ship that had been his dream for years, Alex didn’t hesitate. “How long will the rebuild take, Julien?”

  “We will need to communicate with the Team to determine how they might accommodate these requests before a timeline can be established.”

  “Get me a conference comm. I need Renée, Claude, Edouard, the Transfer Team, the T-Managers, Commander Jameson, and the President.”

  When did I begin directing the President? Alex wondered.

  * * *

  When Alex joined the Méridiens on the bridge for the conference, he was surprised to find Major Tachenko present.

  “The Major was making a shuttle delivery,” Renée explained, “so I invited her to join us for the conference comm. She and her crew are also invited to evening meal.”

  “Ready, Captain,” Julien signaled.

  “Mr. President and everyone, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules for this call.” Alex said. “Mr. President, we are about to disrupt production schedules for about thirty-four days, absorbing most T-resources and curtailing heavy tech production for New Terra during the period. We need your support.”

  “Go ahead, Captain,” President McMorris said. “Explain what you need.”

  Alex outlined the new offensive solution he’d designed with Julien, which would require two additional fighters and a second landing bay for the Rêveur. “The good news is that we’ve finalized our offensive solution for the fighters.” He went into a brief description of the two-stage missiles with their alternate heads: comm buoys, two loads of nanites, and warheads.

  At the end of the explanation, Minister Jaya exclaimed, “Captain Racine, do you mean to tell me your attack scenario depends on splattering nanites against this silver ship’s hull, programming a second attack of nanites in moments based on the information you receive, then following up with warheads aimed at small weakened areas on a maneuvering starship?”

  Alex’s confident voice cut through the dead silence that followed Jaya’s question. “That’s exactly correct, Minister Jaya. Julien gives us a ninety-three percent probability of a successful engagement.”

  “Your pardon, Captain,” Julien interrupted, “that was my previous calculation. With the newest updates, particularly adding relay targeting to the warheads via the buoys, my estimate has increased to ninety-five percent.”

  “Ninety-five percent?” was echoed by several voices on the comm.

  Julien continued, “The estimate is based on two assumptions. One, at least two fighters close the range with the alien craft to score with the nanites-1 missiles. And two, one of the four fighters must remain active long enough to deploy warheads when hull deterioration has been achieved.”

  No comments followed his announcement. Julien was describing the life and death of the fighter pilots in cold, hard numbers. It was a chilling prospect for everyone.

  “Proceed with your requests, Captain Racine,” said the President.

  “We’ll require two construction bays on the Joaquin, simultaneously. My ship will be transformed into a long-range shuttle with some offensive capabilities, and it must be completed at the same time as the Rêveur. The good news is that Barren Island gets both Méridien shuttles.”

  “Well, I approve,” Commander Jameson was heard to say.

  “Captain, how will you fit the Outward Bound in your shuttle bay?” Minister Jaya asked.

  “Julien’s suggestion is to piggy-back it on the Rêveur’s dorsal hull.

  “Excuse me,” General Gonzalez interrupted, “what’s a piggy-back?”

  “A piggy is an Earth animal.” Alex explained.

  “Ah, and this animal carries its young on its back,” Maria concluded.

  “No,” Alex said, frustrated, “we’ve found no evidence of that in the archives.”

  “Captain Racine,” the President interrupted, “perhaps you’ve been too busy to monitor the local news. Two days after we distributed the medical nanites, the news media ran a story about the miraculous reconstruction of a young girl’s crushed legs. In the days since then, we’ve had hospital reports of over 121 cases of medical nanites either preventing permanent damage or saving a life. As far as this nation is concerned, so long as you don’t disturb the distribution of medical nanites, you and the Méridiens can have anything you want.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. Julien will transmit all relevant data, reschedule production, redirect shipments, and coordinate the repair and retro-fit on both docks.”

  “And I’m sure he will do so admirably, Captain. McMorris out.”

  After the comm ended, Julien followed up with Alex on an open issue. “As we discussed, Captain, our maneuverability with the Outward Bound attached to our hull will be reduced to unacceptable levels.”

  “Apologies, Julien, I have an idea that I haven’t shared. We will approach the alien’s position with the shuttle attached. Then we’ll launch it with its own crew, to be picked up afterwards, if there is an afterwards for the rest of us.”

  “The shuttle won’t be FTL capable, Captain,” Julien reminded him.

  “I’m aware of that, Julien,” Alex responded. Silence greeted his pronouncement.

  “Then, Captain, I believe we have all the pieces of the solution.”

  “I’m starved,” he announced and headed for evening meal. Julien updated the Méridiens on the news. They wanted to return home as soon as possible, but not if it might cost them their lives. And if the Captain and Julien felt they had found a means of protection, it was a moment to celebrate.

  Alex turned to his food with a vengeance. The emotional release of finally discovering an offensive solution powered his appetite. The Méridiens glanced at their Captain and hid smiles. They had grown accustomed to eating at a slower pace, lingering over a dish here and there, so that they might finish when their Captain did. This evening they severely misjudged it.

  After all had finished their meal, including the shuttle crew and visiting workers, who had their own New Terran appetites, Renée and Tatia leaned back in their chairs and watched Alex as he polished off his last two serving dishes.

  When Alex finished, he turned to look at Tatia. “It’s your turn, Major.” Then he explained the ritual of story-telling.

  Tatia lifted her eyes overhead to consider her choices and decided to share the story that had pained her the most. She’d been in love with a young man, but he had loved space more than he did her. An EVA accident had claimed his life, and his family’s grief had been doubled upon learning the body couldn’t be recovered, having drifted into Seda’s gravity well. She told them of her greatest regret. They had argued, an angry, mean-spirited argument, before parting. When it appeared she would end on this sad note, she said, “But each and every one of us should never give up hope, not for ourselves and not for one another. Someday, you and I will find others to love.”

  As the Méridiens stood and offered their thanks for her story, Alex and Renée didn’t miss the significant glance Tatia and Alain shared.

  -25-

  On a cold and windy winter morning, a shuttle from the Rêveur landed on Barren Island’s runway. Service personnel hurried out to off-load Alex, Renée, and the twins and bundle them into a transport. They crossed the landing field to a sealed hangar and disemb
arked into a heated climate. Their visitors doffed their heavy winter coats, supplied courtesy of the TSF.

  TS-3 personnel got their first look at the newly appointed Captain of the Rêveur, resplendent in a Méridien uniform of deep, dark blue with gold captain’s pins at the collar and a shoulder patch for the Rêveur.

  Commander Jameson met his guests in the hanger. Waving his arm at the craft behind him, he announced, “Ser de Guirnon and Captain Racine, may I present your first Dagger.”

  “Did you say dagger, Commander Jameson?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, Captain, the first time one of our test pilots saw it, he said, ‘Looks like a dagger.’ The name has stuck.”

  “I see,” said Alex. It did look like a dagger, with its long, lean black fuselage; a cockpit that barely disturbed its sleek lines since telemetry was relayed to the pilot’s helmet; and four engines set on rear struts for maneuverability. A thin slit of plex-crystal shielding allowed visual sight for the pilot in the event of a manual landing. Every attempt had been made to minimize the fuselage’s silhouette to reduce the targeting opportunity for the alien ship, although nothing could be done about the boom-mounted missiles and engines.

  Renée, with Alain following, walked forward to examine the fighter more closely. She stepped over cables running from tech control consoles into sockets on the fuselage. “Is our Dagger ready to fly, Commander?” she asked.

  “Yes, Ser, word from Julien is that all systems are ready. Here comes our test pilot now.”

  They watched as a young man in a TSF flight uniform crossed the bay floor, carrying his helmet under his arm. He had short, dark hair curled tight to his head, dark eyes, and light brown skin.

  “Lieutenant,” said the Commander as he managed introductions, “Ser Renée de Guirnon and Captain Racine of the Rêveur. Ser, Sir, Lieutenant Jason Willard.”

  “Lieutenant Willard,” Alex enquired, “any relation to a Willard who rescued that shuttle crew last year just before the ship entered atmosphere and burned up?”

  “An intimate kin, you could say, Sir,” replied the Lieutenant, grinning at his own joke.

  “Do we need to review the test flight procedures today, Lieutenant?” said Alex. Jason was reputed to be one of the best shuttle pilots, but word had it that he was just as likely to stray when it came to following orders. “The fighter’s flight capability won’t be the only thing that’s judged today.”

  The Lieutenant’s expression sobered immediately and he straightened to attention with a crisp acknowledgement. “Message received, Sir.”

  As the Lieutenant climbed into his canopy, Alex circled the entire craft. He’d studied the vid representations, but it was nothing like the real thing. The thought of sending pilots to their death in these deadly crafts put an acrid taste in his mouth. It was difficult to absorb how dramatically his life had changed from that of a solitary explorer-tug pilot.

  A small vehicle hauled the fighter from the warehouse onto the runway, which was swept by a blustery wind. They listened in as Julien stepped Lt. Willard through the final flight procedures. Then, with engines flaring, the fighter shot down the runway for its brief sojourn into space before returning to the runway, the Lieutenant carefully adhering to the flight plan. The real surprise to everyone was that the flight telemetry was near perfect. The craft flew as expected, handled exactly as it had in the simulator, and was within operating specifications, as in dead-in-the-middle of operating specifications.

  As Alex listened to the awe-struck exclamations of the pilot, flight crew, and operations personnel, he whispered into his comm, “Damn, Julien.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  -26-

  Production work was nearing completion. The Rêveur’s engine frames were being shipped to the Joaquin to be pre-assembled in the bay. The engine components would follow and be assembled onboard the Rêveur. The Joaquin Station Manager notified Alex that his ships were scheduled to enter the bays in twenty-one days. The station’s dedicated tug, A Little Shove, would assist him.

  After morning meal, Alex addressed Julien on the bridge. “I’d like you to draft a list of crew positions with their responsibilities. We’ve had a number of New Terrans aboard. Let’s see where they might fit into the crew. In the meantime, I need a star chart with distances.”

  “Certainly, Captain, I’m ready when you are.”

  “Please plot these points: the New Terran system, the Méridien system, the origination point of the Rêveur’s last trip, and its course and destination when the attack occurred.”

  Alex walked around the holo-vid as Julien dimmed the bridge lights and labeled the systems. The Rêveur left from Méridien. A red line denoting its course led to a far system called Hellébore. “Add the star systems that make up the Confederation.”

  “Black space,” Alex whispered as twelve more additional blue lights were added, surrounding the Méridien home system. The Rêveur’s course extended to the farthest limit of Confederation space. “Julien, where were you going? Was it common to travel to such a distant colony? I mean, you’re a premier passenger ship with a House representative aboard, not a freighter or a common liner.”

  “One moment, Captain,” Julien requested and immediately switched to the subject of FTL mechanics while he summoned Renée to the bridge.

  * * *

  Renée couldn’t help but wonder why fortune had deserted her. She had been hoping this subject never arose. Alex was seated in the command chair when she gained the bridge.

  “Hello, Renée, I believe I’ve touched on something outside of Julien’s purview. I was asking him where you were going when you were attacked.”

  Renée examined the holo-vid and was transported to—what was for her—the recent past. She recalled the well wishes of her family and the sense of joy and celebration of a new adventure. So many close House associates had chosen to accompany her, and most were gone.

  “The Rêveur was transporting me to the Hellébore system for my marriage,” Renée said, choosing to be frank. “When I turned twenty, I was pledged to Ser Antoine Bassani, of House Bassani. Antoine’s father is—or was—the Cetus Colony Governor in the Hellébore system.”

  “An arranged marriage? Is this is a common practice among your people?” Alex asked.

  Renée shrugged. “Yes, it is our custom, Captain. When I was awakened and told seventy years had passed, I felt as if I’d been robbed of my birth right and my marriage.”

  “Do you think your husband-to-be is still alive?”

  “If no accident has befallen him, he should be. He was thirty-eight at the time of our attack, so he’d be one hundred eight or nine years now, middle-aged,” Renée said, watching Alex pace.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Alex came to an abrupt halt, but his mind was racing. “Middle-aged… one hundred eight years is middle-age? How long do your people live?”

  “Life expectancy for us is about two hundred years.” She watched Alex make his way to a chair and sit down in a stupor. “Captain, we understand your people live about half our life span. It’s the nanites that constantly repair and maintain our bodies. They allow us to appear much younger than we actually are throughout our lifetime.”

  A thought suddenly struck Alex. “Renée, the medical nanites we’ve distributed and used in our emergency wards. How will they affect New Terrans?”

  “Captain, the medical nanites released to your people have a fourteen day life-span,” Julien explained. “They continue to replicate, repairing and maintaining the health of the patient during this time, then they inactivate and the body removes them as waste.”

  “I should have guessed you had the issue covered. If the people ever learned what nanites could do for them, they would storm Government House.”

  “Alex, I’m not pleased we withheld this information from you, but your people were unknown to us. We thought, if you knew the truth, it would place you in a dilemma with your own people.” She watched him for a sign, something that would tell her she hadn�
�t irreparably damaged their relationship.

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m thirty-four Méridien years. And I’m the youngest Méridien on this ship.”

  “So you could live for another one hundred and sixty years.”

  He didn’t seem to require an answer, so she said nothing.

  “When you return, will you seek him out?” Alex asked.

  “He deserves to know what has happened to me. I hope to find him content with a wife and children,” she said. “My life is elsewhere now.”

  “Then what will you do when you return?”

  “I don’t know. Since awakening, there has been so much to do and so little time to think. But all of these things—our rescue, your people, our Pact, have made me realize that having choices, something rarely afforded me before, is a wonderful thing.”

  “So if you could have anything you wanted for yourself, what would it be?”

  Renée closed her eyes. For the first time since she’d reached adulthood, someone was asking her what she wanted to do with her life. The feeling was intense, liberating, and frightening.

  Julien sent to her,

  She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I want to know that my people are safe. And, if they aren’t safe, I want to do what I can to help them. If we fail, it won’t matter what I want. If we live, I’ll choose my own way, my own life.”

  Alex leaned close to her, looking into her eyes, and said, “Then what you want for yourself is what I want for you,” and walked off the bridge.

  -27-

  At Alex’s request, there were no guests at evening meal that night. When all had finished, he stood to draw their attention. “Méridiens, three of you are trained crew members. The rest of you were passengers. Yet, all of you have helped in the repair of the Rêveur and you’ve done well.” Nods of appreciation followed his comments.