by Andrew Beery
***
Lieutenant Rebecca Ann Kirkland slowly ladled her Yorkshire batter into the hot pudding tins. Yorkshire pudding with synthetic Kobe beef and gravy had become a signature dish on the Coalitions' flagship. It might be because of the similarity between the names but the Lieutenant suspected the real reason was her fleet wide reputation as a consummate chef. Of course being the first active military vessel to receive a Michelin star earlier in the year didn't hurt.
She had just closed the door to the oven when emergency lights flashed on and the alert klaxons began to blare throughout the ship. Per protocol she immediately signaled the oven's AI to flash incinerate the contents and headed towards environmental which was where her emergency duty station was.
As she exited the captain's galley she bumped into her husband, the ships first officer. "What's going on Kenny?"
"I'm not all together sure," he answered as he entered the turbolift with her. "I was just getting out of a small group study session in Engineering when we went to red alert. From what the Captain tells me we have a suspicious ionization trail on our Goldilocks. We were scanning the planetary system looking for the Heidman when the sensors detected a shift in one of the inter system asteroid belts."
Before she could ask a followup question her CommLink beeped for her attention.
"Lt. Kirkland here," she responded sub vocally.
"Rebecca this is Cat," somehow normal military protocol never truly existed between the ship's chief cook and her captain.
"How can I help Captain?"
"I need someone with a doctorate level understanding of environmental systems to accompany my away team."
"Gee, Captain it's been a while since I was invited to a party. I'd love to come!" This last was said out loud as she winked at her husband. For his part the First Officer simply raised an eyebrow.
The door to the elevator opened and both Kirklands exited onto the bridge. The Klaxon had been killed moments before although the alert lighting remained active. Cat swiveled her command chair to face them before getting up.
"Ken, you have the bridge. Doc Riley, Rebecca, and I are going to take a little side trip with an old friend of mine, a civilian mining specialist named Ricky Valen. I need you to take the Yorktown and run interference for us."
"Very good, Captain. What's our status?"
Cat stood beside the husband and wife pair and beckoned to Commander Trifa. "Commander, put a schematic of Kepler-47 up on the main screen. Show our current position and then overlay sensor grid 12."
"Aye, Captain," the Hupenstanii responded. Immediately the requested visual appeared on the forward screens.
Kepler-47b dominated the middle of the display along with its pair of oversized moons and its own thin ring. A red dot was highlighted on the surface of the primary planet. A secondary display in the upper right quadrant showed the asteroid belt that was .4AU closer to the sun. The belt was definitely deforming with a large portion of the mass now actively moving in their general direction. The Yorktown, for its part, appeared as a yellow dot higher in the plane of the ecliptic about equidistant from the planet and the deforming belt.
"Scanners are showing alloys that may be what's left of the Heidman on the larger planet's surface. There is so much electrical activity in its atmosphere that it's hard to get an exact reading. With Captain Valen's help we are going to take a look up close. The planet is not that much different than Uranus and Ricky has spent more time setting up mining operations on Uranus than just about anyone in the fleet."
Ken nodded understanding. "Any speculation as to what we are looking at here?" he said, pointing to the rapidly deforming asteroid belt.
"If I had to guess, I’d say they are somehow involved with what happened to the Heidman." Cat said. "I have no desire to get involved in a conflict with whomever or whatever this is. My planis to check out the wreckage– if that is indeedwhat it is–and rescue anybody who needs rescue. Once that is done then I'm more than happy to leave this system in peace. Your job is to give me the time I need; but let me be clear. If it is a choice between the safety of the landing party and the survival of the crew, at your discretion you save the ship."
Ken's eyes met those of his wife's before he responded to Cat with a simple, understated, "understood."
Everyone, including the Captain, knew that Ken as the First Officer would ultimately do whatever was necessary; but at the same time, Ken as a husband and friend would move heaven and earth to avoid stranding the landing party.
***
The hive mother stirred in her royal nest den. A part of her knew something was wrong. Her body was being flooded with addictive endorphins. The hive mind which was normally under her control kept telling her all was well. She need not be concerned. She felt a heady rush of understanding. The core intelligence of the hive mind was a function of the number members. Linked as she was to several billion Hymenopterans her current understandingof‘everything’ was beyond anything she had ever experienced.
Her's was a peaceful people. Hymenopterans had never known war. They only killed in self-defense. Even their primary food, the sweet and flavorful sap and nectar from a wide variety of flowering plants, was harvested without harming the plants themselves.
Her inner-self knew that the current defensive rampage against all other lifeforms was out of control, but the allure of the super-mind was too much to resist. The super-mind had reasoned that alien life was a threat to the hive and that threat had to be eliminated at its source. The Hymenopterans did not have interstellar space travel capabilities but it was clear these invaders did. The logical solution was to learn the technology the invaders employed and then destroy their home nests. The hive mother fought against this compulsion but ultimately she was powerless to stop it.
Under the direction of the super-mind she ordered her warriors to capture the larger ship.
Chapter Four - Gray Lady Down...
Mike Jeffries was in agony. He had ordered the Heidman's computer to redirect gravity and environmental support to section twelve. This meant he was now feeling the full force of this planet's 4 plus gravity. He was quite sure his right leg had a hairline fracture. The fact that the medical nanites had not already repaired it meant there were more pressing medical needs to be dealt with. He'd have been concerned by this but the sound of straining metal and popping rivets reminded him that what was left of his ship was hurting too.
"How long until the new power systems come online?" He gasped thru pain-gritted teeth.
The AI did not respond immediately. Mike became concerned. The sound of ripping metal reverberated through what was left of his ship. The floor shook so badly that had he been able to stand he would have fallen. The excessive gravity and his battered body had him seeing stars and fighting to remain conscious.
Finally Cindy, the AI, responded. Her voice sounded metallic and even more synthetic than normal.
"Power systems powering up in fifty-three seconds. Section twelve has been compromised. There is extensive collateral damage to sections eleven and thirteen. Structural integrity in both sections will fail in the next thirty seconds."
"How many crew in those sections?"
"There are ten revivable members of the crew in those sections, as well as Sassy."
Sassy was the black and white ship's cat. He had come onboard as a stray kitten while the ship was being built. After months of failed attempts to corral the cat, the crew had given up and accepted the feline as a defacto member of the crew. It was silly but Mike was momentarily overcome; not Sassy too.
Suddenly the gravity compensators powered up and the bridge illumination resumed at 50 percent. Everywhere the sound of systems coming back online filled the bridge with a familiar but long absent technological cacophony. The sudden reduction of excessive gravity made Mike momentarily light-headed. There was no way fifty-three seconds had passed.
Cindy answered the Captain's unasked question. "Structural integrity at 68 percent and climbing. Fusion reacto
r coming online in thirty-two seconds. An external power system is currently supplying 14.1 megajoules to the ship's systems."
"Sections eleven and thirteen?"
"Neither section is in immediate danger. Section twelve is being restored. One crew member was irreparably damaged by the implosion."
One dead. That meant two survived. He hated the math that reduced men to mere numbers but he had been lucky. "Open a channel to whoever is on that rescue ship."
"Unable to comply."
"Why?"
"My linguistic database is offline. The rescue craft is of alien construction and employs an unfamiliar communication protocol." Cindy replied.
***
"This is the flight deck. Welcome onboard prospecting shuttle Honey Dipper One. We hope your flight with us is a pleasant one. Please be advised our trip through the dense atmosphere will be a tad bumpy. Motion sickness bags are available for your convenience in the overhead compartment. If you should feel the need to use one of our air sickness bags please do not return it to the compartment as this makes the trip unpleasant for subsequent travelers. Again thank you for traveling with us and please think of us again the next time your travel plans take you some place you shouldn't go." Civilian Captain Ricky Valen grinned at his co-pilot as he toggled off the intercom.
Commodore Cat Kimbridge, who was currently serving as the shuttle's co-pilot, just shook her head. Ricky was as irreverent as they came. She supposed that's why she had taken a liking to him. That and the fact that many moons ago he had been the one to discover her stasis chamber on Mars and in essence 'rescue her' some fifty-odd years after her first death on the Red Planet.
"Why 'Honey Dipper’?'"
His grin got even wider. "Have you seen the crap I have to fly this baby through?"
Cat toggled her comm online. "Yorktown, this is..." she glanced at Ricky, whose self-satisfied smile threatened to breakhis face, "…Honey Dipper One. Our boards are Green. Requesting permission for departure."
Lt. 'Ziggy' Zimmerman responded with a lightly veiled chuckle. "Roger Honey Dipper One. You are cleared for departure. Good hunting Commodore. Yorktown out."
***
Rasta-Tckner signaled his main computer to continue feeding power to the alien craft. His internal sensors showed several sections of the ship were actively reconfiguring themselves. Many sections had a breathable atmosphere. He had to check his sensors twice. Apparently this amazing race seemed to have mastered gravity shielding technology. The effective gravity within the craft was only 60 percent of what his people considered normal.
He grabbed his portable medical kit and carefully pulled the helmet down on his encounter suit. His chitinous exoskeleton could easily handle conditions within the alien craft, buthe would need protection from the crushing atmospheric pressure outside the ship–not to mention bionic support for walking in this gravity. He didn't know if his medical computer was going to be of assistance given the probable differences in physiology between his race and the aliens, but what he could offer was the one universal need of all intelligent creatures. He could offer hope.
He wished his small craft had been fitted with an airlock but such was not the case. He popped open the cowling and exited the cabin. The surface of this world was harsh and completely alien. The thick atmosphere was tinted yellow and was almost like walking through standing water.
The servos in his encounter suit whirled as they struggled to compensate for the intense gravity of this nest world. His main legs extended to spread his weight out. He approached the alien craft in just a few steps. It was obvious from an exterior inspection of the ship that much of this section was uninhabitable. It was also obvious that this was only part of a once larger craft. Of course Rasta-Tckner already knew this. The other main section was three ferels farther south at the base of small mountain range.
The damage did provide easy access to the ship proper. It appeared to Rasta-Tckner that these people, whatever their physiology, must be somewhat larger than his species. Even in his encounter suit he fit in the alien ship's corridor with plenty of room to spare.
He approached an airtight door. As he debated how to get past it, the corridor behind him was suddenly sealed by another airtight door that had been embedded in a recessed panel in the wall. He was now in a sealed tube not unlike a pupa gestation cell. He started to panic. A red light flashed on the door in front of him. The period of the flashes slowed and then finally stopped, at which point the light changed to green. The door in front of him opened. It was then that he realized the atmospheric density had greatly diminished.
Rasta-Tckner checked his encountersuit’s sensors. The atmospheric pressure was well within survivable limits. In fact the partial pressure of oxygen was rising to suitable levels as well. If he were a suspicious creature, and he was, he would suspect the masters of this ship knew he was here.
***
"The visitor is now in corridor C3. I have re-pressurized the six surrounding rooms. The partial pressure of O2 in each room increases by 5 percent sequentially," the Heidman's AI, Cindy reported.
"Great! Let's see which room it prefers; that will give us a baseline for their physiology."
Captain Mike Jeffries leaned forward in his command chair. Medical nanites had repaired his leg. Cindy estimated it would be another couple of hours before it was safe to revive the first of his remaining crew. This was OK with him because what he had to do next was best done without witnesses.
The ships main power systems had come online ten minutes ago and the transformation was startling. The advanced nanite systems were literally rebuilding the ship from the ground up. With the right raw materials, enough energy, and adequate time they could make the ship space worthy again.
Time though. That was the key, he thought. The Heidman had been attacked. Most of his crew killed or missing. His best friend had died in section twelve. He was angry. He wanted nothing more than to exact a pound of flesh in retribution but vengeance would have to wait. The overriding question was 'why.' 'Why were they attacked,' and 'would they be attacked again?' This 'thing,' this 'creature' in corridor C3, had the answers.
Because of the damage to his ship's AI, he might not be able to talk with his visitor but he could damn well get his answers through other means, and if somewhere along the line he got his pound of flesh... so much the better.
***
Captain Ricky Valen jogged the handle of the old fashion joystick he preferred to use when flying his mining shuttle, Honey Dipper One. It was his running gag that every time he flew her he gave her a new name. When asked he would simply say he liked to keep the relationship fresh. In truth he knew this craft inside and out. He truly believed he could feel a loose bolt in engineering through the subtle feedback in the joystick.
As he nursed the craft closer to Kepler-47b he kept a close eye on the approach vector. Entering an atmosphere as dense as Uranus was a tricky business. Even the best ablative shielding would be hard-pressed to withstand the type of atmospheric heating that would occur if their approach was too fast. Unfortunately the excessive gravity of a world like this meant that even a slow moving vessel would face four and a half gravities of acceleration on the way down. The only real option was to use a powered descent. At the same time, there was a lot of energy moving around in an atmosphere this dense. By comparison, flying through the wall of a category five hurricane would seem tame.
He had his onboard computer plot a course through the relatively dead air in the eye of the largest storm he could find. To the untrained observer aiming deliberately for the largest storm might seem foolhardy, but Ricky knew it would give them hundreds of kilometers of clean descent.
His attention was so focused on nailing the approach vector he failed to see a shift in the planet's single ring; a shift that mirrored in many ways the earlier shift of the larger asteroid belt orbiting Kepler 47. It was only when the Commodore leaned forward in her seat and said "What the..." that Ricky saw the cloud of ultra-small ships appro
aching their position en masse.
He quickly altered the course of the shuttle, but the swarm shifted to follow.
"This is going to get bumpy," and he swore as he dove the shuttle towards the outer wall of the storm they had entered. His hope was the resulting turbulence would throw off these would be attackers, for he had no doubt that they were indeed being attacked. The wind speeds were off the charts and the ship was buffeted roughly.
"I'm not sure I'm going to be able to hold this thing together."
"LET ME," Cat yelled as she reached her hand towards the control panel. Immediately a silver mass of Heshe nanites flowed from her fingers and established high speed interconnects with the shuttle's systems.
Cat took direct control of the shuttle's systems. Her Heshe supplied internal encounter unit was in fact a computer of immense power and sophistication. Its AI, Cal, functioned at a level that far and away exceeded even the best of human technology. She accessed that resource now.
"Cal, I need you to take control of this ship. Tie into the external sensors and find us a path of least resistance down to the planet’s surface; as close as you can to the Heidman wreckage while avoiding those ships that are pursuing us."
Cal acknowledged the command and began a series of maneuvers that even Cat, with her Heshe enhanced reflexes, would never have been able to match. She yelled above the escalating din, "EVERYONE, into your high pressure suits... NOW!"
As the others scrambled into their protective suits, Cat watched the sensor display of the approaching swarm. Ricky had been right to edge the shuttle into the storm wall. The smaller ships were having a heck of a time dealing with the buffeting winds. What amazed her though was their single-minded determination. The little ships were being bashed into one another with often catastrophic results, and yet they continued to pursue the shuttle with little regard for their individual safety.