“But big Raktor,” Sofia said, “knows how to access each of those individual race’s computer architectures and, thanks to the Collectors’ work aboard the Hope, it can connect to a Collector computer system.”
“Okay?” Bull said. “Big Raktor is still aboard the Hope. How does this help us?”
Alpha waved a silver hand like an over-eager student. “Because these genetic changes are imparted to Raktor progeny. Is that correct?”
“Bingo,” Sofia said. “Our little seedling should be able to access the Collector computers and, as a result, control their ship.”
“Glad to hear you eggheads came up with something helpful,” Bull said. “So can you use its knowledge so that we can control the ship, too?”
“Uh, not exactly,” Sofia said, turning to Tag.
“I’m afraid we can’t reverse engineer the changes made to their voltaplasts and adapt it to our equipment,” Tag said. “We’ve still got Alpha and Coren to do things the old-fashioned way, but the seedling is by far the quickest and most efficient way to control a ship.”
“Which means we’re relying on the seedling’s cooperation,” Coren said. “How likely is it that it will grant our requests?”
“Definitely likely,” Sofia said.
“Definitely?” Bull asked. “Or likely?”
“It’s definitely a possibility that it will,” Sofia said with a mischievous smirk. “Look, this thing shares its genes with Raktor, but in many ways it’s just a baby. We’ve got the chance to interact with it, to make it our friend.”
Bull let out a derisive laugh. “I saw what that ugly thing grows up to be. I’m not about to make friends with it.”
“It’s our best option,” Sofia said.
“I am up for the challenge of befriending this specimen,” Alpha said.
Tag admired her enthusiasm and felt proud at seeing her readily volunteer for such a cause. Maybe this is what a father felt watching his daughter grow and take on new responsibilities, building her own identity and life path. He rubbed his eyes. Or maybe he was just getting a little too sentimental thanks to his exhaustion.
“Thanks, Alpha,” Sofia said.
Coren scratched at the fur along his arm, studying it intently. “I do have one concern.” He looked up at Tag and Sofia. “Gaining control of the Collector computers through this Raktor seedling is a fine plan. But that involves just one monumental task we haven’t yet discussed: getting onto a Collector ship.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Now I’m beginning to see why you wanted us to meet first,” Bull said. “Boarding a Collector ship is going to be a real gods-damned pain in the ass.”
“I concur,” Alpha said. “It will be a tremendous, as Bull says, pain in the ass.”
“We will succeed,” Tag said. “We’ll have the aid of the Mechanics and Melarrey.”
“Captain, ships from both their races were added to the Hope station,” Alpha said. “They seemed to have fared no better than Weber in their attempt to confront and destroy the Collectors.”
“Not helping, Alpha,” Tag said.
“I am not intending to be helpful,” Alpha said. “I am simply reporting the facts.”
That sense of pride Tag felt for Alpha was starting to turn to frustration. She still had a way to go in the human psychological development arena. “Look, we’ve got an interspecies force with all the strengths each can offer, from technical expertise to weapons. Plus, now we’ve got the ability to spoof the Collector ID codes.”
“Those facts are accurate,” Alpha said.
“Thank you, Coren and Alpha, for doing that,” Tag said. “Now all we need to do is gain access to a Collector ship and get the Raktor seedling on with us. Sofia rigged it with a transponder to translate its communications to us. We can easily outfit that transponder to transmit data to the Argo as well. It’ll be like vacuuming up everything the Collector ship has on it: locations of other Collector outposts and planets, ships, what they’re doing to other species, why they’re doing it. Any nanite connections. What happened to the Hope and why the Collectors were there. All the answers we’re looking for.”
“That’s assuming whatever Collector ship we manage to hijack has all that information,” Coren said.
“And if it doesn’t, we leapfrog from there,” Tag said. “We find another Collector ship. We learn and adapt like we’ve always done. It’s the only way we can stop whatever the Collectors are doing. It might be the only way to prevent them from destroying the Mechanics, Melarrey, and the humans.”
He paused, taking a deep breath. “We have to find out who these Collectors are. This trail, from the first time we discovered nanites and Drone-Mechs, leads to them. If Weber was supposed to destroy them, I want to make sure we do that. But I also think it’s imperative we find out what else these things might be planning. Because the gods know if they somehow got Lonestar to work for them, if they have their fingers in the SRE and are pulling strings there, we have to stop them. For all we know, the Collectors and the Drone-masters are one and the same.
“Brute force isn’t what got us here today. That won’t be what stops the Collectors, either. And that’s a good thing, because force isn’t our strength.” He narrowed his eyes, looking at Bull, then Sofia, then Coren, and finally then Alpha. “Intelligence. Guts. Pure stubbornness. That’s what we’ve got.”
Sofia hooted and slapped the table, and Coren managed a full-blown smile. Bull still seemed skeptical, however, and Alpha merely listened. Tag decided it would have to do.
“Right now the Mechanics, Melarrey, and SRE are in the dark,” Tag said. “We don’t know who we’re fighting. We don’t know why. The Collectors have hidden themselves from us for long enough. Let’s get ourselves a Collector ship and figure out who it is we’re fighting against. If we can get that knowledge back to our people, we’ll shine a light into the shadows.”
Alpha clapped her hands with a violent sound like the hulls of two ships colliding. It wasn’t quite the dramatic applause Tag had wanted at the end of his speech, but at least he had won her over.
“Was that not an appropriate response?” Alpha said.
Sofia clapped Alpha’s metal shoulder. “You did fine.”
“Anything else before we call a meeting with the other ships?” Tag asked.
“Besides, of course, noting once again that this will be an extremely risky mission with an improbable level of success?” Coren said.
“Yes, besides that,” Tag said.
“Wouldn’t be any fun if it weren’t,” Sofia added.
Tag looked around at the others, giving them a chance to speak up. But the only one in the room that spoke up was the seedling, declaring through the terminal, “Raktor is hungry!”
***
A pinprick of light showing the location of the UNS Hope and the strange station built around it glimmered in the distance as Tag sipped a cup of coffee alone, his elbows on a table and his eyes glued to the viewscreen. Stars peppered the screen, reminding Tag of the days he had gone camping in a budget OutDome with his family. Their favorite destination was the “Black Hills Retreat,” which mimicked the open skies and snow-capped mountains of long-ago South Dakota. As a child, he had been unimpressed with the six-meter diameter dome until the holoscreens had turned on. The images transported him to a camping site surrounded by pine trees. A bonfire burned in the middle, and he could smell the charred wood and smoke mixing with the aroma of the ponderosas. Of course, the images and scents had all been pumped-in forgeries, but he still couldn’t forget the simulated night, when, for the first time, he had seen what the skies were supposed to look like without the light pollution clotting his view of space from Earth. He’d felt an almost magnetic pull toward the heavens.
“I want to be there,” he had told his parents.
And now he was. The space between stars wasn’t so romantic when he faced monstrous plants that took over space stations, slug-like Dreg who were little more than parasites, and the mysterio
us Collectors who apparently had no ethical qualms about killing and enslaving all citizens of the universe. Still, in moments like this, he couldn’t help but marvel at the vast, sparkling beauty of space.
The hatch opened, and Coren strode in. The Mechanic headed straight to an autoserv bay.
“Well that didn’t go terribly,” Coren said without turning to look at Tag.
“Could’ve been better,” Tag said.
Their meeting with Bracken and Jaroon had, unsurprisingly, been filled with a fair amount of doubt in regard to relying on the Raktor seedling. Bracken thought the entire thing was suicidal, but her Mechanic’s honor overruled her logical objections, and she pledged to follow Tag and see this mission through. However, she had insisted that they not rely solely on Little Raktor. Tag had agreed that deploying a second, non-Raktor transponder granting their three ships access to a Collector ship’s computer systems would be prudent.
At least now they had a backup plan of sorts, and while Bracken had been reluctant to agree to the mission, Jaroon seemed positively ecstatic to go after the Collectors. Tag figured the jellyfish-like alien would follow him into the three hells and back if that’s what he asked, and he still wasn’t sure why. It didn’t hurt to have a constant cheerleader on the team, and the Melarrey did have formidable, if odd, weapons which would come in handy if they were forced to engage the Collectors in battle.
Tag found it oddly comforting that the Argo was well-equipped with enough weapons to turn their enemies into a cloud of space dust.
Coren punched a selection on the autoserv bay’s terminal and the hot, salty smell of fresh ramen wafted from the machine. Tag’s stomach grumbled, and he crumpled his empty coffee cup, following Coren’s lead to stuff himself with something more filling.
“You know there is something I find absolutely crucial that I must do, no matter what happens next,” Coren said.
Tag’s eyes roved over the selections of artificial foods. “And what’s that?”
“If I’m going to be a permanent fixture on this ship”—Coren paused and slurped up a mouthful of noodles, wincing as he did—“we’re going to need to get a proper food facility here. This human food is as atrocious as human weapons and shield systems.”
“I mean, it is based on human technology,” Tag said, selecting a bowl of fried rice for himself. “What did you expect?”
“You have me there.” Coren drained the rest of his noodles with an unceremonious slurp. “After we’re done with the Collectors, I will install a Mechanic-friendly food processor.”
“Feel free to do so,” Tag said. “I’m curious what your food tastes like.”
From the open hatch, another voice called, “Don’t be.” Sofia strode in and made her own food selections. “Imagine pasta that’s been overcooked until it’s slimy. Then add a liter of hatch grease and that stinky brown stuff Raktor left all over the Hope.”
“It’s that bad?” Tag asked.
“Worse,” Sofia said, tapping on an autoserv bay’s terminal.
Alpha joined the group next, carrying something under her arm.
“Food?” Tag asked her.
“Absolutely not.” Alpha set what she’d been carrying on the table. It was the tank with the seedling. The vines no longer whipped about wildly, and its beak was gently closed, reminding Tag of eyelids closed in sleep.
“Little Raktor’s looking especially calm,” Sofia said. “What did you do, drug it?”
Alpha clicked disapprovingly. “That is against all human ethics! I would not drug a creature without its consent.”
“I know,” Sofia said. “Just joking.”
“Oh, humor,” Alpha said. “I am pleased to report that I have established a data connection with Raktor.”
Tag’s eyes followed Alpha’s arms to a fingernail-sized port where one of Raktor’s vines trailed out. “Is that safe?”
“I am controlling all data flow to and from Raktor,” Alpha said. “It is unable to control me due to the biological portions of my synthetic intelligence. It can only access computational data in silico.”
“If you’re sure,” Tag said. “Why did you establish a direct connection? Is there an issue with the translation device?”
“I decided the translation device is much too slow for efficient communications. Conversations that would take weeks can happen over the course of minutes using this direct link. It is a much more efficient mode of communication than vocalizations.”
“And are you two friends now?” Sofia said, leaning across the table. Coren chuffed.
“I suppose that would be one way to characterize our relationship,” Alpha said. “We have bonded over the similarities of being computationally oriented beings. Both the seedling Raktor and I would not exist if it weren’t for the power and data flow provided by technology other races have made.”
“Glad to hear it. But the most important question is,” Tag said, “do you think, when push comes to shove, Raktor will help us?”
“That is something I cannot accurately predict at this time.”
Alpha loved numbers. Her refusal to provide any kind of numerical assessment signified even her uncertainty.
“So our future may rely on the willingness of an unpredictable immature seedling that can connect with computers to help us and you can’t provide any prediction on whether it will,” Tag said. “That sounds pretty grim.”
“I can assess that statement, Captain,” Alpha said, “and it appears that you are one-hundred percent correct. It does sound, as you say, pretty grim.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Tag curled his fingers around the armrest of his crash couch. Plasma washed over the ship as they traveled the last leg of their hyperspace journey. Maybe it was just his nerves, but Tag thought the violet and emerald streaks coursing over the viewscreen were more violent and frantic than usual.
Every bit of tension flowing through his fingertips would undoubtedly be felt by his crew. He needed to be the face of confidence, completely assured that they could pull off a heist that would someday be made into a score of shoddily made holo-films and novels distributed throughout even the most distant of SRE colonies.
“Prepare for descent into normal space,” Tag said.
Sofia’s controls moved forward to meet her waiting hands, and her fingers curled around them, ready to engage manual piloting at the first sign of incoming pulsefire.
“Alpha, have the T-Drive spooling and calculate an escape trajectory as soon as we descend,” Tag continued. “Coren, countermeasures and weapons hot. We’re going to try to do this the stealthy way first, but if all else fails, you know what to do.”
Coren nodded and punched in commands to his terminal. The whine of the charging cannons reverberated throughout the bridge, along with the metallic clicks and clangs of chaff being loaded. Those weren’t the only weapons the Argo had to offer this time.
As much as he wanted to destroy the Collectors, especially if they turned out to be the Drone-masters, the thought of launching thermonuclear warheads made his skin creep. Images of a world being turned into chunks of rock swam through his mind. He saw forests turning instantly to cinders, and oceans boiling and evaporating. People crying and screaming, running from a wall of fire and destruction they could never escape.
He was the one with the power to bring those images to life. If he was to carry out Captain Weber’s original mission, he wanted to be absolutely sure he was launching those weapons at the right target.
If not...
There was no room for if. He had to be certain. “Bracken, Jaroon, are you ready to do this?” Tag asked over the comms.
“We are ready,” Bracken said.
“Absolutely!” Jaroon replied.
“Alpha is going to transmit the retreat trajectories and muster point if we get separated. There’s no shame in turning back now.”
“We are in it as long as you are,” Jaroon said.
“As are we,” Bracken said.
“Initiate
transition into normal space now!” Tag ordered, approving the command via his terminal.
Alpha pulled back on her controls and began the transition procedures. The purple and green waves on the viewscreen crackled and slowed, and Tag fought against the familiar feeling of being thrown forward as the inertial dampeners caught up to the rapid change in acceleration. He braced himself as the images on the viewscreen gave way to a field of stars, half-expecting asteroids to loom into existence before them.
But this time, no asteroids careened toward them, threatening to grind the Argo into bits of slagged metal. The holomap at the center of the bridge pinged. It marked a flurry of activity as red dots zoomed in and out of existence several hundred thousand klicks off their bow.
“Countermeasures ready?” Tag asked.
“At your word, Captain,” Coren said.
He waited a moment, his gaze intent on the holomap. Bulkheads groaned around him as the alloys expanded and shrank, adjusting to the tremendous output of energy and absorption of heat from their recent transition, but otherwise, no one dared say a word. The crew were poised at their stations, their gazes darting to and from the holomap.
They were all looking for the same thing. Like every encounter with the Drone-Mechs, they expected to see a maelstrom of incoming ordnance sparking across the holomap headed in their direction. The klaxons could go off at any moment to sound the alarm that they were being targeted.
But as they waited, despite the apparent hive of activity on their holomap, nothing happened.
“Jaroon, Bracken, any incoming contacts?” Tag asked tentatively, almost afraid of their answer.
“Negative,” Bracken said.
Jaroon next. “We haven’t detected anything.”
“Maybe the spoofed IDs actually worked,” Tag said.
“Of course they did,” Coren said with an air of confidence that sounded forced to Tag. “Alpha and I did all the work.”
“Even so,” Alpha said, “there is a chance for error.”
Shattered Dawn (The Eternal Frontier Book 3) Page 16