James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart 03

by Bodicea

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “These ships’ redundant power and communication systems have been hardened against the effect of the alien pulse weapons,” Lieutenant Grumman, Chief of Flight Engineering was explaining to Lt. Cmdr. Miller. “You should be able to take three or four times as many hits if you get attacked again.”

  “Winnie will be carrying the Commander and the Bodicéan delegation. Lt. Honeywell, and the others will hold back out of weapons range in the Aves Chloe, Quentin, and Victor. Have the upgraded weapons systems been installed on their ships,” Miller asked.

  “Aye, commander, they have.” Grumman sighed. He was a heavy, gruff man, with a little black left in his thick head of steel gray hair. Grumman somehow managed to keep grease stains on his uniform even though not one system on the Aves was lubricated with grease. The weapons system upgrade was actually a pod attached to each ship’s belly containing a heavy-duty pulse cannon several times more powerful than the Aves’ standard weaponry.

  “Commander, can I ask you something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Is Keeler out of his gleaming mind?”

  Miller shook his head dourly. The loss of Hector and its crew weighed heavily in Flight Core. Now, the commander was sending another flight into the breach, well armed but horribly outnumbered. “I don’t know. He’s relying on your enhancements to protect the ships.”

  “I can’t guarantee these will hold. This is all theory. If we lose Winnie, we’ll lose the Commander, the Exec, the entire leadership of Bodicéa…”

  “That would indeed be a tragedy,” said Commander Keeler, stepping up behind the engineer. “I’d hate to lose that ship. Captain Wang just put woolbeastskin covers on the landing couches. They’re fabulous!”

  Grumman said nothing, but turned back to adjusting the power pack that boosted the strength of Winnie’s defensive shields. Miller had something to say, though. “You can’t trivialize the danger involved in this mission.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “What do you think you can accomplish with this?”

  Keeler turned to Grumman. “Lieutenant, this could be a long journey with nobody to talk to except a bunch of female politicians. For the sake of your commander’s sanity, would you double-check to make sure my personal entertainment suite has been installed in the ship’s data bank?”

  “I’ll get on it right now, sir,” Grumman answered in a tone of voice that conveyed exactly that he knew he was being told to get lost. When he had gone, and they were alone, Keeler addressed his first officer in a confidential tone of voice.

  “I trust you implicitly, Phil. I know you saw what you saw, and before we leave the system I am going to have to preside over a memorial service for another lost crew. We’ve lost people at three of the four planets we’ve been to, and I understand what a terrible thing that is.

  However, the Bodicéans will not believe there is a threat until they actually see the guns pointed at them. ”

  “So, in the instant between seeing the guns and being blown up by the guns, they will believe. I ask you again, what will that accomplish?”

  “If we survive, they should at least be good and scared,” Keeler answered, The seriousness in the commander’s tone increased by a factor of two. “You’ve seen the same analyses I have.

  This planet has no capacity to defend itself against a threat of this magnitude. It would be up to us to defend them. They are a sovereign world, and they have the right to accept or refuse our assistance. They will not do so unless they are convinced the threat is real. If we wait until the aliens are at their doorstep, it will be too late.”

  “Why not take Pegasus, then?”

  “I won’t endanger the whole ship. We have too much important work to do, here and elsewhere.” The commander put a hand on Miller’s shoulder. “Pegasus needs to stay here and plan a defense. No one on this ship id more capable of planning a defense than you are.”

  “And if the aliens do not know about Pegasus, then we will have the advantage of surprise,” came a voice, firm and resolute, somehow poetic in its inflection. Keeler and Miller turned to see a young man standing behind them … and over them, he was easily two meters tall and change. He was lean in a way that suggested a hard-worked body and a discipline that would not tolerate a gram of excess mass. His hair was black and clipped short and his eyes as dark and attentive as a bird’s. His face was handsome, but something suggested he considered his own good looks a distraction. He stood so straight as to mock the shortest distance between two points. He was dressed in a simple black outfit and a crew jacket that identified him as part of the ship’s Marines.

  “Commander, you would be better advised to put your flight crews to battle drills,” he continued. “Simulated battle drills against the alien ships. The pilots have been briefed on their known capabilities and weaknesses, but only by practicing and simulation can that knowledge become an instinct that will preserve them when the battle is joined.”

  “Do I know you?” the Commander asked.

  The young man bowed slightly. “I am Tamarind, officially, Lt. Tamarind, of the First Order of Sumac, I am a Marine on Pegasus. Our situation requires me to offer my services to your first officer as his tactical officer.”

  “The First Order,” Keeler said out loud. A warrior-monk, trained by the Masters at the Unreal City.

  “I am pretty certain we conduct readiness drills whenever we’re in orbit,” Miller said, awkwardly, sure the warrior in front of him was well aware of this fact. True warrior monks always set him ill-at-ease, made him feel like a pretender to something he had neither the discipline nor the fitness to be. The Odyssey Project may have named him to the post of tactical officer, but it was merely a profession to him. To the Warrior-Monks, battle was religion.

  Tamarind shook his head. “You are in error, sir. Executive Commander Lear has ordered a suspension of tactical training missions.”

  “That’s right,” Keeler remembered. “She didn’t want to ‘alarm the Bodicéans at such a delicate stage in our negotiations.”

  “The simulations are continuing,” Miller countered, although he had also not agreed with Lear’s decision.

  “To know the environment of the battle is critical to the warrior. Our pilots must move within the battlespace in order to know it. I recommend reinstating and accelerating tactical rehearsals.”

  “That sounds reasonable. Coordinate with Flight Commander Collins.”

  “I also propose activation of the Pegasus Battle Command Center.”

  “The what now?”

  “You may refer to it as the War Room. It is a secure command cell underneath the primary command tower, designed for optimal display and analysis of tactical data and coordination of all ship’s defensive systems.”

  “Um,” the Commander’s gut reaction was not yet. It seemed premature, and possibly threatening to the Bodicéans (much as he hated thinking like Goneril Lear).

  Sensing his hesitation, Tamarind had a second line of argument ready. “The Battle Command Center can be brought to hot-ready status, ready for immediate activation in the event of a threat. We could conduct drills in the Battle Command Center discretely. I can identify sufficient tactical personnel who require readiness training as it is. It would not be an unusual function of the ship to train them there.”

  “All right,” Keeler replied. He knew something of Sumacians, too. They were the Chosen Defenders of God, of Mankind, of All That Was Holy and Good. They were seldom wrong.

  They were also able to get into your mind and convince you of whatever the wanted. All things considered, it was best to agree now and apologize later. “Conduct readiness training in the War Room.”

  The monk’s face conveyed no satisfaction. “There is another matter of some concern. Your adjutant reported to me a conversation with the consort of a high government official, who stated that according to local rumor, liberators from the Old Commonwealth were coming to free them.”

  It took Keele
r a moment to recall that. Alkema had reported the conversation to Keeler at the end of the evening, after they had been led to adjoining suites in a collection of stone and wood bungalows on the western end of the island.

  Miller frowned. “That wasn’t in any of the reports.”

  Keeler explained. “When we were on the surface, Ciel’s consort, Tobias, spoke to Lt.

  Alkema about some legend, or rumor, about an invasion force coming to his planet and liberating the men of his world.”

  Miller looked a little stunned. “You’re joking.”

  “Neg, I had almost forgotten about it until now. We assumed it was related to the Commonwealth, that they expected the Commonwealth to return to their planet one day and set them free.”

  Tamarind: “It may not mean anything, it may be just a story. However, if there is forewarning of the alien arrival, it means they may have agents, or collaborators, on the surface already. We must learn the truth of this.”

  “Agreed,” Keeler said. “See to it, Phil.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I believe that Tobias will not be accompanying us on this mission. I suggest you arrange to speak with him.”

  Tamarind added. “He has left Concordia and returned to his city of residence, which is called Serenopolis. It is located on the tip of a peninsula near a large bay on the western coast of the southern continent. We are not permitted to fly there, but an Aves in stealth mode could land on the sea near Ciel’s home…”

  “How did you find out that?” Keeler asked.

  A slight smile was the only answer the warrior-monk would offer. That was part of the mystique, Keeler thought. The Warrior-Monks of Sumac possessed extreme physical and mental abilities, but were forbidden to explain their ways to outsiders, a prohibition that had endured for 4,000 years.

  Keeler then asked, “Are you an Adept, or a Master?”

  “A Master.”

  “Indeed,” Keeler struck an appropriate, but never excessive, tone of respect. “Begin preparing for your mission. You may leave no sooner than two hours after we have departed the landing bay.” Keeler paused, then added. “No one but the three of us needs to know about this.”

  Miller agreed. “No one but ourselves and the pilot will be advised of this mission, but what about Tobias. He might tell Ciel we were there.”

  “I don’t believe he will,” Tamarind said. “I will begin preparations, commander.” He indicated the pulse cannon pod on the belly of Winnie. “A wise innovation. All of our front-line ships should be retrofitted with them, for the battle that will soon be upon us, as surely as a summer storm.”

  “Fear no evil,” Keeler told him.

  Tamarind made no response, but bowed his head slightly, with a little smile, then walked back into the bay. The ships arranged there, the lights, the technicians all somehow because a backdrop to him, a scene made especially for him to stand out from. Keeler had to pull himself back to Miller and address him.

  Keeler felt the need to shake his head, as though the contents inside had shifted in the presence of the monk. When he felt they were properly arranged again, he spoke to Miller, very quietly.

  “If we don’t come back, you will assume command. Queequeg has a specific set of orders for you, but the gist is, save the ship. Defend the planet if you can, but do everything to make sure Pegasus survives.”

  “Understood.”

  Keeler turned away from him, then cupped his hand to his ear as though listening for something over the noise of the Landing Bay. “Do you hear it?” he asked.

  “Hear what?”

  “History, it’s stalking us in the darkness, but you can almost hear it breathing, it’s waiting to see what we will do and then it will judge us. In the next few days, the next thousand years of this planet’s history, perhaps all of human history, is going to be set on a new path.” He tapped his walking stick twice against the deck. “Pay attention, and bear that in mind.” Fast Eddie’s InterStellar Slam and Jam was almost completely dark except for the faint emergency lights around the two exits and the Emergency Wastewater Alert sign that, in the event of an emergency that required the space occupied by Fast Eddie’s to revert to its original intended purpose, would warn anyone inside that 2,000,000 liters of radioactive wastewater were about to flood the chamber.

  The Primary hatch recognized Eddie Roebuck as he approached, followed by a silver automech homunculus named Puck. The hatch slid open and the regular lights came up.

  Eddie looked across the mess left by last night’s crowd; beverage glasses were scattered around, some in pieces on the floor, some with lukewarm stagnant liquid dregs at the bottom.

  Eddie guessed there were seventy-two glasses for the sanitizer and perhaps eight for the recycler.

  As much as this disorder meant work, it still did not bother him. This might have come as a revelation to him had he given it much thought, which he did not. This was his own space, his own business, and he minded little the upkeep of these things that were his own. “Puck, get after those glasses,” he ordered. The robot bowed and obediently set about its task. Eddie made for the bathroom, and addressed the figure sprawled on the floor. “Wake up, Beauty.”

  “I’m blind.” Matthew responded grimly.

  “You said what?”

  “I’m blind. I drank alcohol and it made me blind. I’m blind.”

  “Beauty, you’re passed out in the urinal.”

  Matthew made a weak attempt to raise his head. Eddie helped him to his feet and half carried him to a seat at the bar. When he was sure Matthew would not fall over, he left him to pass behind the bar. First, he handed Matthew a flask of water. “You’re dehydrated.” As Matthew swallowed the water, Eddie drew out another flask, filled with willowfine.

  “This will help, but you’ll want to save some of that water to wash it down.” Matthew warily lifted the flask of milky-white liquid and emptied it into his mouth. It stung sourly as it coursed down his throat. His stomach seemed poised to reject it.

  “Hold it down, beauty,” Eddie counseled. “Hold it down. Use the water.” He helped Matthew lift the flask of water to Matthew’s mouth.

  “You’re head should stop pounding in a few minutes.”

  “What about the fur on my tongue. It tastes like I’ve been licking a cat.”

  “You tried. He wouldn’t let you. I’ll get you a shaver.” Matthew buried his face in his hands. “I must have been a complete ass.”

  “Beauty, not even close.”

  “I seem to remember throwing up a large quantity of fried meats and vegetables last night.”

  “True, true, you did, but a real assol wouldn’t have gotten a mop and a bucket from the utility closet and cleaned it up.” He handed Matthew a moist towel to wipe the dried vomit from his cheek.

  Matthew blinked at him. He vaguely remembered doing that. Perhaps, this meant he had not gotten too far out of hand, which would be a good. On the other hand, perhaps it would have been better if he had forgotten.

  “Eliza…” Matthew said, and could not think of any viable direction to take any follow-up conversation.

  “She wasn’t here when you retro-digested your food. She missed the whole thing,” Eddie reassured him. “She left right after you told her how you thought you were wasting your time caring about her when she didn’t care about you and she never came back.” When he was in flight school, Matthew had once been in the jump seat on a trainer when the other student had under-calculated the escape velocity of the gas giant Colossus. The ship had reached the peak of its trajectory, then lurched backwards into the planet’s gravity well.

  His heart had felt like a heavy lead weight while Matthew had been helpless to do anything about it. Eddie’s words had the exact same effect.

  “I guess that’s it,” Matthew finally said. “Eliza won’t want to have anything to do with me… ever.”

  “Nunh-unh, ‘zact opposite. If she wanted you even a little bit before, she will want you more now… all the way.”


  Matthew gave him a dark, dark look. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Beauty, if you don’t give up this idea that women are supposed to make sense, I predict a long, lonely life for you.” He handed Matthew a warm, steaming cup of hot chocolate. “Let me explain it to you. Last night, you basically told Eliza that you’re not a sure thing any more.

  All this time, she was knowing she has you no matter what, so she doesn’t have to give you anything back. Now, she can’t know that any more. She’s going to have to give back now, or you’ll go to somebody else.”

  “You’re senseless. Why would she want me now that I told her to go away.” Eddie sighed. “You’re not hearing me. Sometimes telling a woman to go away is the only way to make her come to you. That’s the way their minds work. See, women were put in the universe to counter-balance men. Okay, so this means there is a whole big part of being a woman that a man can’t understand, and you can’t even try, so don’t. You either gotta accept that women don’t make any sense, or you might as well start looking for another man, which you probably can’t because of your religion.”

  “Nay, my religion permits that.”

  Eddie took a step backward. “Umm….don’t get any ideas.”

  “Eddie, there isn’t enough alcohol on this ship to make me get that idea.”

  “This has got to be the first time we agreed on anything. What I was trying to tell you was this, if you’re right and she wasn’t interested before, and she’s not interested now, you haven’t lost anything. Right? On the other hand, if I am right, she didn’t know she was interested before, now she does.”

  Matthew sighed. “If you’re wrong, she was a little bit interested before, and now she thinks I’m repulsive.”

  “Not repulsive, more like crude, but that’s not what she thinks, 19,000-to-1, that’s not what she thinks.”

  “So what do I do about it?”

  “You go back to your quarters, you clean yourself up, and you go on like nothing happened. You let her come to you, that’s what you do,” Eddie said, inarguably, coming around the bar to help Matthew to the door. “You get out of my bar and stop thinking unnatural thoughts about my fine self. Don’t think about last night, it’s only going to make you feel bad. Don’t think about Eliza, because if you break down and go to her, you are going to lose your advantage.”