Indeed the stars were alive.
A request came over the Par: he was summoned to the conference room for a meeting. The navigation team and all three captains were present.
The ships have obviously docked together in a cluster. Unusual, but these were unusual circumstances.
His Captain greeted him with a quick nod. "Now that we are all here, let us present the situation. Our discussion must remain private for now."
The lead navigation officer cleared his throat as he thumbed on the holographic image of the quadrant. It hovered silently above the center of the round conference table, turning slowly.
"As you well know, this quadrant is littered with black holes, charged gases, and random debris."
He pointed under the spider to the three red dots. "We have managed to navigate approximately one-fourth of the way through." He indicated further down the underside of the spider to a small blue sphere.
"The area marked is our destination. We needed to stop in order to recalibrate our reference points. There are subtle discrepancies between our charts and the physical measurements we have calculated. It has been an involved task. Many things have changed since these charts were recorded. We also have to take into account the natural mutation of frequency within our reference quasars. We have dispatched additional probes to aid our tracing sweeps. We need to incorporate as much information as possible into our model of this region."
The Captain spoke up. "Our efforts are imprecise. The data from our sweeps are distorted, undoubtedly caused by the many dense bodies surrounding us. But, with a little imagination, it is possible to make out ghost images of the alleged ships within our destination area. All things considered, it seems they do exist. That is, of course, from an optimistic perspective."
The navigator continued on. "Using the process of tracings super-imposed over gravitonic telemetry we were able to clearly determine that there is indeed, a clear region identified by the blue sphere, here," he pointed to the rotating holograph.
"Then let us complete our calibrations and proceed," Tsaurau suggested.
"There is another issue,” added the officer, hesitantly. “We did not recognize this until now. The charts have embedded within them a symbolic encryption algorithm, which introduces a subtle, but significant error. We noticed this once we superimposed our calibrations onto our charts. Without the solution to this algorithm, continuing on could be very hazardous.”
“Our own charts? How can this be?” asked the other Captain.
“These charts are very, very old. This was, of course, done with intention.”
“Tseman did mention something about a key,” Tsaurau offered.
“If I may add one more point,” insisted the navigation officer. Less than five thousand kilometers ahead, we will encounter a wall of debris and exotic matter. The course combinations to penetrate into this are almost infinite, however very few will allow us to traverse safely through. The charts have been accurate to this point. I trust they will provide a safe route if we can decipher this algorithm."
For a moment the room was silent. “May I suggest,” stated Tsaurau, "that the vessels of concern are stored within an extraordinarily safe area intentionally. We must recognize this achievement of the Ancient Ones and embrace this challenge. It may require considerable time."
The members nodded in agreement.
"May I also suggest that although very little has been stored within our library it is possible certain data has been missed. I believe it is time to re-examine all available content. I expect that there is a key hidden within this data. Captain, do you agree?"
The Captain nodded, "I do concede of the possibility. However, such research must also remain closed to the Par to ensure the security protocols are maintained.”
“Captain, this will add significant time to our efforts,” complained the navigation officer. “Surely we can utilize the Par for such a monumental task.”
“Perhaps we should contact Elder Tseman. She may know of this elusive cipher."
"No. We cannot risk any further exposure with external communications.”
The navigation officer’s gaze turned to the floor.
The Captain shifted his stance slightly. “Perhaps our local Par does not breach our protocols in any significant degree. You may utilize the local Par at your discretion, but I must remind you, we must be vigilant in keeping such information guarded. The Par security layers are not infallible.”
Agreement came with the double blinking of black eyes throughout the room.
The Captain nodded to the navigation officer. “I do expect that you take the lead on this initiative, and use as many resources as you require, everyone else resume your stations. Tsaurau, will you join me for dinner?”
“I would be delighted, Captain.”
The Captain walked in-step with Tsaurau as they left. The Par was already alive with the chaos of freethinking.
He spoke softly. “I must concede, Councillor, solving such puzzles is better left to younger minds.”
“I must agree. My level of interest in such mental challenges is waning. Perhaps it is the understanding of our true dilemma that weighs us down.”
“Perhaps,” reflected the Captain.
They entered the Captain’s quarters and quickly made arrangements for nourishment. The food was excellent, though Tsaurau knew the Earthman Ryan would certainly consider it bland. After dinner, they reminisced of past expeditions, in the times of old Xeronia.
Their conversation was cut short when an announcement came over the Par. A possible solution was at hand. They rushed to the bridge, Tsaurau a step ahead, slightly excited at the possibilities.
The navigation officer stood ready with his report. "Captain, Councilor,” he acknowledged. He pulled up a graphic with the Par, a collection of symbols representing numbers and algorithms. “You may see here,” he stated confidently, twisting a few of the formulae presented to a modified state. “The problem was relatively easy once we analyzed and isolated the verses from the Maskaffa legend. We exposed a simple trinary pattern, all I had to do was follow standard encryption decoding and…"
The Captain cut him short. "You have a course?"
"Yes, Sir! And I have made the all required adjustments allowing for mutation of the timeline. We have cross-checked it with our model and we have determined that this adjustment will allow us to reach our destination. This is a very unique balance of…"
Again the Captain held up his hand cutting him short, "Please, inform the other ships to review the course."
"The other navigators have acknowledged, Captain."
"And I wish to visualize this modified course."
The Par filled with an image swathed in a bright mirage of colors. The course cut through the collage in bright red, a mishmash of vectors with varying angles.
"Quite complicated, with multiple wait nodes,” the Captain commented.
The officer clucked approvingly at his Captain’s astuteness. "Designed delays,” explained the officer. "We will be progressing through a maze. Our encroachment must be timed precisely.”
“The area ahead of us is truly remarkable,” stated Tsaurau.
“Yes, it is too dense to be wholly natural. The chunks of debris are primarily methane and ammonia ice. But there are traces of heavy irons as well. Although the majority of the matter can be traced back to local cloud accretion, the exceptions are outstanding."
"How confident are we about this course?" asked the Captain.
"Reasonably – no, very,” he corrected himself. “Our extrapolation model is within 0.5% accuracy. Further adjustments will be needed as we advance. We will continue to update our model with actual measurements as we progress."
"These spirals, here, what are they?"
"As you noted, the course is based on precisely timed course adjustments. I will demonstrate."
The red line collapsed to a dot. "We are here." The image swirled, the line advanced, leaving its tail to be cut by endless
streams of wandering matter. The point advanced jerkily, stopping for different intervals at each node, and finally coming to rest within the blue sphere.
"We will need to alter our velocity multiple times."
"How tight is it?"
"It is true, our projected image is deceiving. A whole fleet could pass through this passage. But a word of caution - there is a high probability of failure if one strays from the mapped course."
"How did the Ancients develop this?" questioned the Captain.
"I am not sure, though I must agree such a feat is not trivial. One must consider how all these bodies interrelate to create a relatively stable formation over time. It is truly incredible."
"Very well. Enough discussion, as we cannot lose sight of our goal," interrupted the Captain. "Let us proceed."
When the ships entered the maze, the Par flooded with the symbolic jargon emanating from the navigation teams. Tsaurau stayed on the bridge throughout the ordeal watching as small moons of ice tore past them with silent deadliness.
When they reached their destination, a reflection of wonderment settled within the Par. They were in the eye of the storm, a haven that was spherical in shape with a diameter of approximately ten thousand kilometers. Its outside edge was ringed with nebulous clouds of antimatter, and floating cylinders of intense gravitation, but within the safety of this sphere, floated the strangest collection of starships they had ever seen. Vessels of all shapes and sizes drifting silently, pointing haphazardly in every direction.
The tracing officers initiated their scans.
"53..76..103 confirmed ships!"
"Most agreeable," announced the Captain. “The subject of legends. This indeed is marvelous!” He turned to look a Tsaurau smugly. "It is also pleasing that we have arrived in one piece. My faith in our young need not be awry."
Tsaurau barely heard him. His attention focused on the viewscreen. An immense vessel lay directly ahead, the viewscreen capturing only a portion of it, and other surrounding ships were dwarfed in comparison.
"That must be the mothership Elder Tseman referred to."
"Incredible!" exclaimed the Captain. "Perhaps we should board it first."
"No. Tseman ordered me directly to avoid this vessel," warned Tsaurau.
"Why?" asked the Captain, the veins in his forehead turning blue in total surprise.
"I truly did not inquire further. We will board every ship in this area if we have to, but not that one."
The surprised look left the Captain's face and gave way to an irritated flush of pale pink, a human blush but a Xeronian look of annoyance. "Very well, Councillor. Prepare to dispatch the reconnaissance teams."
The three Xeronian ships disbanded to a defined search pattern. Each ship was systematically boarded. They were looking for certain engineering qualities, and hopefully, an intact computer core. Each vessel was found to be empty of all life, their power reserves were minimal to non-existent. The atomic conversion engines had long since cooled to an ineffective radiation level.
News came over the Par. “Party 22 reports a successful find."
"Captain?" hinted Tsaurau with a tinge of excitement.
"Converge on that ship," ordered the Captain.
The Xeronian starship snaked through the winding maze of ancient vessels to the reported location of search party 22. They came upon a very old vessel. Roughly the same size as the Xeronian lead ship. Its outside hull was marred with many scars of some ancient war.
The Captain's reaction was uncharacteristic. The images he projected over the Par were varied, erratic. Tsaurau looked over at him.
"I know this ship. I believe it is an older scout, destroyer class, a unique and very dangerous vessel. Long-range high acceleration capability with diverse firepower. The archives had stated that all of these ships were destroyed after the Flukken wars."
Tsaurau still eyed the Captain cautiously. Such an outlandish knowledge of the machines of war. It was uncommon, to say the least.
The Captain caught his gaze and nodded to him knowingly. "Understand, we have all changed since the death of Xeronia. I am a student of history and therefore, of war. I embrace that which I detest, so I may understand it. Councillor, you are too quick to judge one who does not share your beliefs."
"Captain, you have your responsibilities. It is I who would make a poor captain," replied Tsaurau. "This particular ship does not seem, in any way, more superior to the others surrounding it. Its mere size indicates an inferior standing."
"These vessels are significant because they were built purposefully for the hardships of war by the Ancient Ones. They served to protect the ambassadors when they traveled through hostile areas where rogue factions were prone to attack.”
"How do you know of this? The information about the Ancient Ones and the Flukken wars is far from intact."
"You are aware that the Ancient Ones provided us with their historical archives, are you not?"
"Yes, but I considered those archives lost in the Great War."
"On the contrary. The information exists. It was transferred to our colony ship the day we left Xeronia. The Elders thought it wise at the time."
"Where are these archives?"
"There are reasons such knowledge is not commonly known, and why it is not open and available on the Par. If the Elders grant you access you must exercise a strict caution."
"I will respect such a condition."
"You must."
He turned his attention back to his officers. “Tracing, scan the remaining vessels, are there any others similar to this one?”
“No, Captain.”
“So, this may be the last one in existence.”
The Captain queried the Par for the officer in charge and closed a peer-to-peer link.
"Officer Tsebeck.”
“Captain,” beseeched the officer,” please bear with me. The network links are fragile with all the surrounding interference."
"Officer Tsebeck, report please," the Captain requested.
She surged back through the Par, although weakly, and some data shifted into illegible from the interference. "The vessel … sound … server core intact. A trickle charge … capacitors. Do not … tools for a core transfer."
"Can this vessel move under its own power?"
"Negative, …tain. Main drive … shutdown … long. The internal burner …ation temperatures … zero. Not enough p…er to start up the converters.”
“We now have a lock, Captain,” interjected the communications officer.
“With a considerable effort we may be able to determine the integrity of the antimatter gravitational fields, but my engineers do not think they have the time or the knowledge to initiate the start-up procedures. Even if we did, it would take up considerable time for the transfer reaction plates to reach operating temperature to allow them to work effectively. This is the only way we know of to charge the capacitors and get the antimatter generation flow up to the required levels."
“I understand. What is your estimate?”
"Three days at least."
"That is too long. He opened his link to all ships. Captains, recall your search parties. We will bring this vessel with us."
The three ships converged on the ancient war vessel, each taking hold of a structurally sound section of the ship with tightly focused gravitonic beams.
The Captain announced, “Time to go home.”
* * *
Ryan was tired. His brain was tired. His body was tired. They had him exercising, memorizing, theorizing, calculating and reading until he couldn't do it anymore. He was racing through mathematics that made his university physics calculations look like child's play. And the damn vaskpar was unrelenting, barraging him with information day and night.
He had learned the ugly side of their Xeronian ways. When it came to his physical training program, they lacked any compassion. They based their program on their comprehensive understanding of how his body works without any consideration for how he feels. Thei
r goal was to increase his coordination skills between mind and body.
But they didn’t feel his pain, nor recognize his weariness.
It was called reflex conditioning, ingrained automatic response to predetermined stimuli. The specially designed exercises had little forgiveness on atrophied muscles. And he could feel each and every one. He had enough. He needed a rest.
The Xeronians did not take his refusal to participate very well. They were up in arms. He was affecting their schedule.
It didn’t matter. He was taking a day off. Even the murmur in the back of his mind had faded since he had ordered the vaskpar to silence. He spent the night in his room. A deeply cushioned chair welcomed his sore body. He ordered the lights off and activated the fireplace. It crackled intermittently; the orange flames danced softly.
For the moment he was at peace.
He wondered about Tsaurau's expedition, searched his memory, but could not recall if he had said goodbye. They were two days overdue. He fought down a knot in his stomach.
Of all Xeronians, he had come to know only one of them well. He missed his friend. Tomorrow he would try to find out what was happening, and maybe visit the engineering area, get an update on the progress of his ship's construction.
His own ship.
Would he be ready in time? Was she still alive, out there, enslaved?
Sad visions ran through his thoughts like dark gray clouds on a drizzling day.
He had seen too many die.
His crackling artificial fire lulled him into a troubled sleep.
* * *
Darkness screamed at him. Whips lashed in the air.
He saw her.
"Ryan, help me! Ryan!"
He was floating. He reached for her hand but missed.
He drifted away, her image becoming smaller. He felt something pull at him. In a moment he was outside. It was dark and cold. The stars were sharp, glaring without shimmer. He was looking at the hull of a large black ship. Large red letters passed him by; he transcribed their shapes into English X .. A .. I .. B .. U .. N .. Z .. T. The ship floated past him in silence.
A Bellicose Dance Page 19