* * * *
Across the street, a lone figure knelt on the rooftop of a two-story apartment house. Despite the afternoon darkness, her golden hair shone in the pastel light of the twin moons as it cascaded across her shoulders.
The rooftop access hatch made a barely audible creak as it opened behind her. She twisted her head that so her night vision goggles had a clean view of the hatchway. If anyone but her partner climbed through, they would be dead instantly. A crop of curly black hair rose through the opening followed by the form of a husky man, and she turned back to face Nestor Lane.
The newcomer bounded onto the roof and made his way to the woman’s side as she removed her googles.
“The perimeter looks secure.”
The man nodded. “How are the assets?”
“Shaken, but alive. Nice work disarming that snare mine.”
“Just glad I spotted it. Good thing we decided to plant the bug or I would never have gone back into the house. Have they found Frankie yet?”
The blonde woman was pressing her hand to an earbud. “Shush, let me listen.”
Both figures remained motionless for a few moments as the woman eavesdropped on what was happening inside the house. “They just found him—Dorham is calling for help. In a few minutes this whole area will be crawling with police.”
The man began packing up their equipment. “Too bad we didn’t get here in time to grab Banks. The boss is going to be pissed.”
The blonde removed her earbud and stuffed both it and the goggles inside her coat. “We would have gotten here quicker if you had booked us on an earlier starliner from Quijano. I swear, I should have killed you that night in Beresford.”
A disarming smile came to the man’s face. “You mean when you had the chance, eh, chica?”
“Lucky, I always have the chance,” the blonde said coolly.
That chilling threat would have wiped the grin from most men’s faces, but not his. “Admit it, Eden—I’ve been a good sidekick for the past two years.”
“Serviceable,” she said with a grudging smile. “You’ve been serviceable.”
Pulling the goggles out of her coat, she pressed them to her eyes and looked over the edge of the rooftop one last time.
“Don’t worry about him,” said the man. “Frank is plenty beat up, but he will be OK. Sanchez will take care of him. Let’s go.”
“I know she will,” said the blonde. “I know.”
She turned to her companion and nodded. “All right, let’s get out of here. The boss is waiting for an update.”
Sirens began to wail in the distance as the pair moved to the access hatch and off the rooftop.
20: Epiphany
Heavy cruiser Tempest
Summit star system
“Take it easy, Doc,” Chaz Pettigrew handed Corpsman Robinson a cup of coffee. “Now that we know, I almost regret asking you to do it.”
“I volunteered, sir,” said Robinson as he eagerly took a sip. “Besides, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Be that as it may, this is—” Pettigrew never got to finish his thought as Captain Nyondo entered the sickbay.
“Ah, glad I found you, sir,” she said passing through the hatchway. “Captain Ross and Commander Mullenhoff say that the FTL relay will be on-line within half an hour.” Just three hours ago the destroyer Warlock and gas miner Maroth had translated into the Summit system. Pettigrew delivered a few words of welcome to the crews and then put Warlock’s engineers to work straightaway on completing the final stages of the link up to Sarissa.
Having reported her good news, Nyondo’s eyes turned to Robinson. The corpsman was sitting on the edge of one of the patient cots wearing a queasy expression.
“Doc, are you OK? You look terrible,” said Nyondo as her gaze passed back to Pettigrew. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that afternoon shuttle flight down to the surface of Stobi would it? What happened? What’s going on?”
Pettigrew extended a hand, inviting her into a nearby chair.
“You ordered me to authorize that flight for a supply drop,” said Nyondo as she sat. “I assumed it was some sort of medical supplies.”
Robinson made a small moaning noise as Pettigrew placed a comforting hand on the corpsman’s shoulder.
“Sorry for not sharing the details with you, Captain,” said Pettigrew, “but the supplies Doc delivered to Stobi were not strictly medical in nature. Medicinal, perhaps, but not medical.”
“You gave them some of our beer, didn’t you?” asked Nyondo with a smirk as her commanding officer nodded. “Sir, I swear, these days I can almost read your mind.”
Her last comment hit a nerve as the faces of both men turned grave.
“What?” she asked. “What did I say?”
Pettigrew leaned against the bulkhead and crossed his arms. “In yesterday’s staff meeting, Doc said something about how much of a bigmouth Shartok Minz was, so I asked him to deliver some beers to the surface and…”
“And share a few with Minz,” Nyondo went on. “You sent Doc to the surface to get an alien drunk so he would spill information. Sir, you do realize that Corpsman Robinson here doesn’t even drink. No wonder he looks awful.”
“I took some sobriety pills before going to the surface, ma’am,” Robinson said. “That’s… that’s not the problem.”
“It’s what he found out,” said Pettigrew in a somber voice. “Doc, you think you could go over it one more time, for the Captain.”
The shaken Robinson reluctantly nodded. “Of course, sir.” He took another drink of coffee and a deep breath. “Like I’ve said, Skipper, Minz is a talkative fellow as is, but after just one or two beers he really opened up. Amazing how quickly alcohol affects a Massang, especially considering the large size of their bodies.”
Nyondo smiled at the corpsman, seemingly trying to put him at ease. “Does the alcohol have any effect on those translator nanites that allow them to talk with us, or does Minz just naturally slur his words like the rest of us when he’s had a few?”
“There are no nanites,” said Robinson firmly. “At least not for language translation. That is the first lie. They apparently did try some nanotechnology to treat some of our injured Beta Corvi survivors, but it hurt the humans more than it helped. No, their ability to speak our language doesn’t involve any sort of nanotech. Minz let it slip, so I pressed him on it. He confessed that the whole thing was just a story they concocted to explain away how they could speak with us.”
Nyondo looked up at Pettigrew. The Commodore’s stare was fixed on Robinson as his thoughts were moving ahead to other things.
“But if the nanites are a lie, how did they learn our language?” she asked.
“The Shartoks are telepaths,” continued Robinson as he nervously wrung his hands. “A few Massang are born with what Minz calls ‘the gift.’ Minz, Harradoss, and Phersu are all telepaths.”
“Now we know what the term actually means,” added Pettigrew. “It’s a title for someone with telepathic abilities. Apparently, they form the ruling class of Massang society.”
“Telepaths,” said Nyondo pensively. “Are you saying they are in our minds? That we just think they speak our language?”
Robinson shook his head. “No, no—that’s not it. Minz told me that almost all sentient beings have a natural defense against telepathy. It develops through evolution. We don’t even know we have it, but it’s there. Think of it like hypnosis—you can’t be hypnotized if you don’t want to be. In much the same way, your mind can’t be telepathically probed if you fight it, and sentient beings naturally resist on a subconscious level.”
Nyondo looked to Pettigrew. “Somehow I can’t help but feel this all goes back to those three missing survivors from the Beta Corvi colony.”
“You’re right, it does. Only according to Minz, they were never really missing—the Massang have them, or I should say that the Massang had them.”
“Had?”
“They’re dead
, Captain,” Robinson continued. “This natural resistance to telepathy that we have, apparently it can’t be overcome by the Shartoks unless the brain is given other tasks, overwhelmed if you will.”
“And how do the Massang do that?”
“Pain. When someone’s brain is overwhelmed with horrible, unrelenting, intolerable pain, the natural telepathic defenses of the victim collapse.”
“That’s how our Shartoks acquired their language skills,” said Pettigrew bitterly. “They telepathically violated three of the Beta Corvi survivors. Those poor devils would have had a better chance at survival if they had been left behind on the planet.”
Nyondo tried to make sense of it all. “So the Massang tortured these three humans while the Shartoks stole their minds?”
“I’m afraid it’s even worse than that,” said Pettigrew, exchanging glances with Robinson. “If we are to believe Minz, to achieve the maximum amount of pain…”
“Those people were vivisected,” spat out Robinson.
Horror washed over Nyondo’s face. “You mean they were… they were cut open?”
“Yes. Dissected while fully conscious and without being anesthetized.”
Nyondo pressed a hand over her mouth in revulsion as Robinson went on.
“Vivisection produces the maximum amount of pain and trauma, allowing the Shartoks to enter the victim’s mind to… take it. It also has the side benefit of letting the Massang study human physiology.” Robinson paused, trying to tamp down his swelling emotions. “Captain, these people, the Massang—they are monsters. They have no regard for human life, or any other form of life in the galaxy as far as I can tell. I know he was drunk when he told me all of this, but Minz seemed—I don’t know—he actually seemed proud of it all.”
Nyondo sat up straight and smoothed the front of her uniform, trying to compose herself. “Doc, not a word of this to anyone else on board.”
“The Commodore has already made that clear, ma’am. You can count on me.”
Nyondo turned to Pettigrew. “Do you think Harradoss knows that we know?”
“My guess is not yet. From what Doc here says, Minz is afraid of Harradoss, so I doubt he will be anxious for his commander to find out that he screwed up and let us in on their big secret.”
Robinson smiled grimly. “It’s not just Minz. From what I understand, all the Massang live in fear of Harradoss. Apparently he’s quite the disciplinarian, and from what Minz was saying, vivisection is a common method of execution in Massang culture.”
Chaz was about to say something as a voice came over his comm badge.
“Paruzzi to Commodore Pettigrew.”
“Pettigrew here—what is it Commander?”
“Sir, the FTL link to Sarissa is ready. We are about to go live with Central Command.”
“Send it to my stateroom,” said Pettigrew, who then turned to Robinson. “Doc, you going to be all right?”
“Yeah, I’m OK, sir—but if you would permit a lowly Senior Chief to make a suggestion…”
Pettigrew smiled and gave Robinson a pat on the shoulder. “Suggest away, Doc. I need all the guidance I can get. What is it?”
Robinson looked to his captain and then back to Pettigrew. “When you speak with Central Command, tell them we need to go home.”
* * * *
When the New Earthers arrived from their native universe, the so-called Otherverse, they brought with them many technological advances from their dimension and time, which was three centuries into an alternate future. One of those gifts to the Renaissance Sector, faster-than-light communications, was about to be put to the ultimate test: a real-time conversation stretching over nine star systems and 146 light-years. What could possibly go wrong?
“Chaz, thank the Many Gods you’re still alive!”
The image of Admiral Tovar stood before Pettigrew and Nyondo in the privacy of his stateroom. Tovar was usually cool and collected—but not today. She wore a distressed face as she spoke from what Pettigrew recognized was her office on Presidio Station.
“We’re fine, ma’am,” he said in what he hoped was a confident voice. “I’m transmitting my full report on a sub-channel, but the short of it is that we arrived safely at Summit and have opened discussions with aliens who call themselves the Massang. There have been a few, shall we say, irregularities, but in gen—”
“Commodore Pettigrew, is this a secure line?” interrupted Tovar.
Pettigrew exchanged a sideways glance with Nyondo. “Well, Admiral, as secure as a hundred-fifty light-years could be I suppose.”
Tovar nodded and reached to hit a key on the console in front of her. “Then watch and listen. I’m sending you a video.” Next to the hologram of Tovar another image began to play as photons of light danced in the air. It was a space battle. The scene was jerky and chaotic, as one might expect of a video shot during combat.
Admiral Tovar spoke as the brief battle scene looped repeatedly. “One of the ships that was lost on the Zevkov expedition to Beta Corvi managed to send an old-style TacPac video signal just before it was destroyed. What you are seeing is the last thing they saw—the assault on their vessel. The attackers were probably jamming their FTL transmitters, so they sent this old style tachyon message which took fifty-three months to reach Sarissa. It only just arrived here two weeks ago.”
Pettigrew and Nyondo watched as two alien warships finished off one of the Zevkov expedition’s lightly-armed corvettes. They blew the ship apart just as a life pod emerged from the battered ship. The pod made it clear of the exploding vessel, but the attackers turned their weapons on it as well, vaporizing the small lifeboat. Then, as the aggressors began to steer a course toward the ship taking the video, the picture cut out.
“Chaz. those attacking ships look very much like the one that delivered the Beta Corvi survivors back home six months ago,” said Tovar.
“You’re right, they are. Those are Massang warships. We have three of them in system with us right now.”
“So, it was the Massang that attacked Beta Corvi,” said Captain Nyondo as she thought aloud. “They destroyed the Zevkov space assets, but then rescued the people on the surface. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would they do that?”
“There’s more,” continued Admiral Tovar. “I disobeyed orders and went outside official channels to show this video to our EarthFed military liaison. The Earth government says that these vessels look like early versions of the warships that were attacking humanity in the Otherverse, the aliens they called the Adversary. The New Earther physicist Acree believes we’ve discovered our universe’s Adversary. What did you call these people again? The Massang, was it?”
“It’s all been a ruse,” said Pettigrew. “A lie. They set this whole thing up—the attack on Beta Corvi, supposedly rescuing our people, inviting us to Summit. They’ve orchestrated this whole chain of events.”
Nyondo threw up her hands. “Why?”
“Who knows?” Pettigrew shrugged. “To test us, or try to learn as much about us as possible by pretending to be our friends. At this point, it’s hard to separate what’s real from what’s fake.”
“That attack by the Lytori wasn’t a fake,” said Nyondo.
“The who?” asked Tovar, only to be ignored for the moment.
“Oh, they’re definitely at war with the Lytori,” replied Pettigrew. “But I’ll bet my bonus pay that the Massang started it.”
“Who or what are the Lytori?” demanded Tovar.
Pettigrew was half in thought and didn’t respond, so Nyondo answered.
“Another group of aliens, ma’am. They attacked the Massang base here—and us—a few days ago.”
“Of course they attacked us,” said Pettigrew. “They saw us hanging around with their enemies.”
Tovar grew annoyed. “Look, you two, whatever is… for the good of… can’t afford…” The hologram from Sarissa was breaking up as Tovar’s image flickered and faded. Before either of them could say anything, XO Paruzzi was calling from the
bridge.
“Captain, something is happening in system. There’s a lot of movement out there. Yaxa just broke orbit and is headed our way, and the two Massang destroyers are moving toward Warlock. And Skipper, they’re moving fast. It looks to me like they are building up attack speed.”
“Paruzzi, this is Pettigrew. Our FTL comm just cut out—anyone on the bridge know anything about that?”
“Commodore, Mullenhoff here. I’m pretty sure the FTL is being jammed. Our intership comms are also down.”
Pettigrew made a fist and slammed it down on the desktop. “Those bastards were listening in.”
Nyondo joined Pettigrew as both stood and bolted into the passageway. “XO, this is the Captain. Ring to General Quarters—and make it no drill.”
* * * *
“What the hell is Captain Ross doing?” grumbled Nyondo as she and Pettigrew arrived on the bridge. The tactical display showed Warlock station keeping in Stobi orbit some five thousand klicks from Tempest. Luckily the two Sarissan gas miners, Vasant and Maroth, were conducting a joint operation out at the sixth planet, so for the time being both were out of danger.
“They’re jamming our signals,” said Paruzzi as his superiors sat down in their command chairs. “I can’t reach our other ships. We’ve tried to establish direct laser comm links, but that isn’t working either.”
“XO, give an old-fashioned TacPac a try,” advised Pettigrew. As the Commodore studied the tactical display, he mumbled under his breath. “What are the words…”
Nyondo overheard as she checked Tempest’s readiness on her console. “Sir?”
“What are the words,” repeated Pettigrew. “It’s a phrase Harradoss uses a lot. I always took it to mean that he was trying to find the right words to get across his point, but that’s not what it meant at all. He was actually searching for the best way to lie to us. ‘What are the words…’”
“Enemy firing on Warlock!” Paruzzi yelled. The Massang destroyers had coordinated fire of their surgewave weapons, sending a wall of distorted space-time hurtling toward the Sarissan warship. Warlock was being taken totally by surprise. The vessel was still just sitting there, and even if it were maneuvering, the human destroyer had no shields to defend itself from what was about to hit it.
Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3) Page 20