Precursor Revenants (The Precursor Series Book 1)

by Cain Hopwood

  But he’d have to bear with it as needs must. “What?” he snapped.

  “The humans have translators, the humans have translators, The Doyenne must be informed.”

  Katona held up a claw to silence it. Barely resisting slicing off its head. “I will question the human about its translators, but you must remain calm, and translate faithfully.”

  “Most true, most true,” the mindless thing chittered.

  Katona turned to the colonel, hoping the translator was calm enough to do its job. “Colonel, we weren’t aware you had translators.”

  “Of course we do. Earth has hundreds of languages.”

  “But we have no record of them. Are they like this one?”

  The colonel tilted his head. “Of course not. They’re human, like me. They just have a gift for languages and make their living translating.”

  “Thank you for clarifying that.” With one eye Katona glanced at the translator. It had returned to its usual statue-like self, so he continued. “As I was saying, we already have a deep knowledge of your capacity for warfare. I doubt that there is much of a secret nature you could reveal. Let me assure you, we have no intention of taking control of this system by means of force.”

  “My superiors will be relieved to hear that.”

  “In fact, I doubt that we could effectively do so. At least not without having to inflict so much destruction that your society would cease to be of any use. We are primarily interested in new worlds as markets for our members, and as a source of trade goods.”

  The colonel was silent for some time before he spoke. “You will excuse me if I question why an admiral seems to be opening trade negotiations. Is there an issue with the translator?”

  “You are insightful colonel, there is no mistranslation. I am indeed a general admiral, a commander of both land and space borne forces.”

  The colonel held up two of his paws, Katona did not understand the gesture, but he could make a guess, so he kept talking. “Your question is a fair one. You are right, normally diplomats would be in our seats. But your planet is not, sorry, was not, scheduled for inclusion in galactic society at this point. However, we have a problem we think you may be able to assist us with.”

  “A military problem?”

  “Yes, but if you either can’t, or won’t help, then there is little point in accelerating your inclusion.”

  “There’s no point hiring someone who can’t do the job, huh?”

  “Put succinctly.”

  The colonel looked around. “And given the size and number of ships you’ve got, I’m guessing that this job is not about the application of overwhelming force.”

  “It is not.”

  “So it’s more of a small, dirty job?”

  Katona’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, this colonel was very insightful indeed. “From our knowledge of your history, small, dirty jobs are not uncommon between your nation groups.”

  “They are not. Given the right motivation, I imagine my leadership would commit me, and my unit, to those kinds of jobs.” The colonel looked down the length of the table at Katona’s guards. “But these guys are quick on the draw, they seem capable, why would you need us?”

  Katona selected several flimsies from another pile on the table. They showed images of a snow-covered world. “Tell me colonel, what kind of support would you require conducting small scale operations in this kind of environment?”

  The colonel took careful stock of the images. “Not a great deal, food for the duration, transport depending on the distance, and whatever weaponry and munitions were required for the operation itself.”

  “You can assume the goal is to render a small industrial installation inoperable.”

  “How many buildings?”

  “Twenty.”

  “How close can the team be dropped?”

  “Fifty kilometers away.”

  “Can they be extracted by air?”

  “Yes.”

  The colonel tapped an image on the table, it showed a building on a rocky outcrop, surrounded by snowfields. “How cold is this place?”

  “Between minus ten and minus twenty centigrade.”

  The human bobbed his head again. “I’ve got guys that can do that job, as long as they can breathe the air.”

  Katona was pleased, this colonel was asking the questions he’d ask, were their positions reversed. This was someone he could work with. He pushed his flask of ettam off to one side, made space on the table and reached for his file for Marbel.

  “Let us get down to the details,” he said.

  They spoke for three demis, Katona drank two flasks of ettam and the human took frequent sips from his own flask. It was only after the colonel had taken his leave that Katona realized something odd. During the whole meeting, the human hadn’t once seemed bothered by the temperature in the room at all.

  — 3 —

  It was twenty-two hundred hours. Jon only just had time to stow his gear, shower, shave, and wash a contra-narc down with an old fashioned black coffee. Now, he and the XO were standing on the freezing tarmac at the JTF2 main base of operations, Trenton. On the flight back from BC, Jon and the XO had barely touched the rum. Instead, the XO had talked, and talked, giving Jon a complete rundown on the situation.

  It was unusual to say the least. A gigantic starship of unknown origin had appeared between the orbit of Mars and Earth. Literally appeared, one moment there was empty space, and the next there was a ship giving off as much light as a small moon. Not only had its arrival been noticed by astronomers, but exotic particle sensors deep in the Antarctic ice, and experimental gravity wave detectors, had all recorded sensor readings well outside anything even remotely considered normal.

  Within minutes of the news reaching high office, the government reacted. The scientists and astronomers were told, in no uncertain terms, to sit on the news. They were also warned that any form of leak would be mercilessly tracked down, and every funding program for the entire organization at its source canceled. Then the government muzzled the mass media and the networks using old, but still effective, anti-terror laws.

  At this point the world still believed the star was a new comet. Of course it was only a matter of time until the truth leaked, that was unavoidable, but every hour the news stayed out of the mainstream media was an hour the administration could use to prepare for the inevitable panic. At least that’s what they said.

  Not long after the starship’s arrival, a smaller ship had descended into a parking orbit close to one of the Hazuka orbital factories. A small entourage from the ship had been received by the Hazuka administrators. Unfortunately, the ships arrival sent the Hazuka head office into a tailspin, and they couldn’t give the factory any useful guidance on what to do with the aliens. So the factory administrators fell back on their Japanese roots and stalled with tours and tea ceremonies.

  After several hours of pomp and protocol, the main body of the entourage returned to their ship in a huff. Before they left though, the translator for the group explained that the next person they wished to talk to needed to be a distinguished earth military leader. One with direct and recent experience in cold climate military operations. No one else would suffice.

  The Hazuka board punted the problem to the North American Union. Not long after that, the JTF2 commanding officer, Colonel Whitfield, had been scrambled to orbit. Presumably never to be seen again.

  At this point in his explanation, Jon’s XO’s voice had tightened, which was as emotional as Jon had ever seen the regiment’s hard bitten second in command.

  “And I tell you Jon,” the XO said between gulps of rum. “He didn’t hesitate. He strapped that old hand cannon of his grandfather’s to his belt and strode onto that shuttle like he was heading home for the weekend. It was inspiring.”

  “The colonel is a man who takes his duty seriously,” Jon had replied.

  “He is at that. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when his shuttle reappeared. And the first person he
asked for was me.”

  “You two go a long way back right?”

  The XO’s voice took on a distant tone. “We do. So you can imagine my surprise when the first, and only, thing he said was, Get Jon, meet me at the hatch.”

  At this point Jon’s jaw just about hit the floor. “Why me?”

  “He didn’t say, didn’t have time to say I’d guess. But according to Hazuka flight control the shuttle’s due to touch down at ten tonight.”

  And that had been the end of the XO’s explanation.

  Jon pulled his heavy parka closer, trying to ward off the February chill. The contra-narc was going to work, and in a couple of minutes all traces of the Trinidad rum would be scrubbed from his system, unfortunately.

  They didn’t have to wait long. The shuttle’s landing lights appeared off past the end of the runway and Jon followed its approach. It touched down with a squeal of tires, and with a roar of reverse thrust slowed rapidly. It taxied across to the apron to where Jon, the XO, and an attendant with a set of stairs were waiting.

  It stopped so close they could feel the residual re-entry heat still radiating from the fuselage. The attendant pushed the stairs up against the outline of the hatch. He then gave a thumbs up and a smile to where the cockpit would have been on a regular aircraft.

  “Come on, the colonel said to meet him at the hatch,” said the XO starting up the stairs.

  “Really?”

  “Consider it an order. I’ve known him for twenty years, I don’t know how many times I’ve collected him and he’s never once requested I meet him at the actual hatch.”

  Jon nodded and followed the XO until they were both standing on the small platform at the top of the stairs. The hatch creaked, then with a hiss of escaping air swung open. Inside stood the colonel with a highly irregular two day’s growth of graying beard, but with his usual sparkle.

  “Avis, pleased you took me at my word,” he said loudly. “I don’t have much time, I’m getting straight on a plane to Washington.”

  “I’m aware of that sir, the other passengers are waiting inside.”

  “Where it’s nice and warm huh, what do you expect.” The colonel descended the steps. As he passed Jon, he pitched his voice low. “Stay close lieutenant, I might stumble on these stairs and need a hand.”

  Jon spun and followed his commanding officer as closely as he could on the narrow metal stairs. Sure enough, just after the colonel stepped off onto the tarmac he appeared to buckle on one leg. Jon, ready for something, darted forward and grabbed the colonel under the armpit just before he collapsed.

  “Damn zero gravity, that tarmac just spun underneath me. Thanks lieutenant.” As he helped the colonel back to his feet Jon felt a slight movement against his chest, and a sudden weight in his parka inside pocket.

  The colonel straightened, then started across the tarmac toward the terminal building whispering like a ventriloquist out of the corner of his mouth. “Lieutenant, listen up. Take that, get it to Pascale. Get his help to work up a plan for an assault on McMurdo station, assume it’s defended by terrorists with assault rifles based off the same tech.”

  Jon blinked, then his mind kicked into gear. “Antarctica sir? Winter or summer?”

  “Winter. And lieutenant,” the colonel turned to look at him as he pulled open the terminal door.

  “Sir?”

  “Factor in a walk in from fifty clicks out, through potentially hostile terrain.”

  Then the colonel stepped into the heat, light and noise of the terminal building. Before Jon knew it, his commander was surrounded by men in dark suits and whisked away. Even the XO disappeared. Jon merited a couple of glances from the milling crowd, but as the colonel was led away, they followed. Jon waited for a moment, then slipped off and returned to the barracks, not once even patting the heavy object in his parka pocket.

  The colonel had gone to some trouble to ensure that he got this object to Pascale, and Jon knew better than to pull it out in the middle of the terminal building.

  As soon as the colonel’s plane to Washington departed, Jon considered hitting the sack. It had been a long day and while he was tired, his mind was buzzing wondering what the heavy object in his pocket could be. He figured that Pascale might still be up, so he messaged the engineer, and surprisingly received an immediate reply.

  “In the shop. See you soon.” Was all it said.

  The shop was at one end of the hangar where the regiment’s heavy equipment was stored. It served as a base of operations for the engineers and it had facilities for light engineering, fabrication, and repair.

  Jon’s footsteps echoed in the cavernous hangar. The main lights were off, and there was only the occasional pool of light to navigate the length of the huge space. Dark shapes of heavy lift volantors, scouts, and gunships slid past as if in a dream.

  Then he heard what he first thought was comms static, but as he approached the end of the hangar, it slowly resolved into tinny music. Pascale was indeed in the shop, and Jon quickened his step.

  Unlike the rest of the hangar the shop was fully lit, even though it only had one occupant, Pascale, who was sitting on a stool at a workbench looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

  “Are you okay,” asked Jon.

  The engineer passed a flexi to Jon. “Got this from the colonel a little while ago, he said you’d call.”

  The flexi showed a high resolution image of what appeared to be a fat monitor lizard with belts wrapped around its body. It was standing upright and while it had two arms, each arm had two elbows. The arms ended in hands with four digits.

  “Ugly bastard,” Jon muttered to himself. Then he remembered that Pascale had an issue with snakes. Jon gave a little smile and raised his voice. “You know what this reminds me of…”

  “Don’t fucking say it. If it wasn’t for the colonel going up in some fucking alien fucking spaceship, I’d have figured it for a joke.”

  “Well I think I’ve got something that will help take your mind off our ugly friend here.”

  “What,” grumbled the engineer.

  “His gun, at least I’m guessing it’s his gun.” Jon reached carefully into his inner pocket and pulled out the heavy metal object the colonel had stashed in there. It was grey, and it had a bent hilt rather than a handle which made it look like an old dueling pistol.

  The engineer’s eyes goggled. “Holy shit, is that…”

  “Yes, it’s a genuine alien weapon.”

  Jon gingerly put it on the bench in front of the little French engineer. Pascale jittered backward and forward, conflicted between his natural curiosity, and his desire to get to a safe distance.

  “Is it safe?”

  Jon shrugged. “I’ve got no idea, the colonel literally slipped it in my pocket.”

  “And you came here with it?”

  “He told me to. He specifically asked for an ops plan that assumed we’d be going up against assault rifles using the same tech as this.”

  Pascale picked up the flexi with the image of the snake/lizard creature. He zoomed in on one of the creature’s strange double thumbed hands, then looked at the pistol. “Well, if he grips using his lower two fingers…” His head tipped to one side, then, all caution forgotten, he picked up the gray pistol using his thumb and forefinger to mimic the shape of the alien’s hand.

  Jon moved to one side, well away from what looked to be the business end of the pistol. “Yep that would work.”

  The engineer pointed at two thin slits on the top of the pistol. “That leaves our friend here with two fingers to fire with. So one of these slits is the trigger, and the other… the safety?”

  “Or maybe an ammo or effect selector. We don’t even know what this thing fires, if it fires anything at all.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can work that out,” said Pascale. He took the pistol over to the other side of the shop and placed it gingerly in a large cabinet, keeping it pointed away from their general direction.

  “What’s that?” asked J
on.

  “Deep molecular scanner, we usually use it to check for micro-fractures. But it will give us a good picture of the inside of that thing.”

  “Could it set the weapon off?”

  The little French engineer stopped, his hand over a control panel. “It shouldn’t. Well, it’s unlikely. The scanner is muon based. Muons barely react with matter as it is. What kind of hand weapon would just go off when hit by a cosmic ray?”

  Jon held up his hands. “Just checking, you’re the boffin.”

  “I hate that word.”

  “I know,” said Jon with a twitch of his eyebrows.

  Pascale just grunted in reply, closed the scanner’s door and activated it. It didn’t hum or throb, but a light on each corner flashed briefly.

  Jon was nonplussed. “Is that it?”

  “The magic is in the software.” Pascale walked over to a work table, flicked his wrist and Jon’s datatacts registered a request for consensual imaging. He approved the request and a model of the pistol appeared floating above the table.

  “Let’s see what you’re made of,” muttered the engineer donning a set of interface gloves. With a precise sequence of gestures he enlarged the model until it was two meters across.

  “Let’s check out those two slits,” said Jon.

  “Sure.” Pascale spun the model until they were looking down on the top of the alien weapon. Then he stripped away the outer shell to expose its inner workings.

  Jon frowned. “There’s not much to it.”

  “No, at least not at this level.” He pointed at a couple of dense clusters in the grip. “I’d hazard a guess that these two modules control things. And it looks like there’s just a couple of simple switches under those slits on top.”

  Jon leaned in for a closer look. “How would our ugly friend here activate the switch, his top two fingers couldn’t possibly fit in either of those slits?”

  “Let’s see.” Pascale examined the flexi he’d got from the colonel and zoomed in tight on the creature’s hand. “Here, check this out.” He handed the flexi to Jon and pointed at the tip of one of the creature’s fingers.