by Jim Rudnick
At the door to Supply Bay Six, he pressed his thumb on the entry ID plate, and the door slid open with a gentle hiss. He took the steward inside with him as the door closed behind them.
"Steward Stevens, yes?" he said as he identified the enlisted man who now stood before him.
"Um, yes, Sir, Stevens, Sir. I ... I wanted you to know, Sir, that I've just cleaned up the captain’s quarters, and as per your directions, I've placed all the empties—well, I broke the bottles up first—directly into the combustible trash containers as you've requested. Sir," he said and looked a bit uncomfortable as he said that.
Craig had passed those orders to the Steward staff on the QT so no one would know ... the captain’s drinking was still confined to his quarters at least, but he had to know when it happened. So far, it had not been out in public, but Craig doubted that the pill-salvaged hung-over captain that so often showed up for a duty shift on the bridge fooled any of the crew. So far, he'd not made many mistakes, only small ones he'd blame on his lack of attention or sleep, and Craig hoped that was all it ever would be.
He half-smiled at Stevens and then nodded.
"Thank you, Stevens ... much appreciated. Let's continue to keep this among ourselves, shall we?" he finished saying and draped a hand on the steward's shoulder.
"It's this damn punishment mission is all this is," Craig lied to the steward. No sense in helping out the shipboard rumors that must already be rampant on the ship. Just the captain’s reaction to this idiotic mission would suffice, he hoped.
"Keep me in the loop, please, Stevens ... it's my job to ensure that we're all safe and that includes our captain too. And keep this among us too, please ... no sense causing anyone else any stress on the Marwick, right?" He looked directly into the steward's eyes.
Stevens’ pupils expanded, he noted, and yet he nodded in agreement.
At least he said he would keep this a secret, Craig thought as he wondered how long that might apply.
He reached and shook the steward's hand, surprising them both. Stewards, he surmised, weren't treated like peers. He realized that the stewards were plugged into much more of shipboard life on the Marwick than the officers were.
Maybe, Craig thought, that simple handshake would help assuage the rumors ... maybe not ... and they left the Supply Bay together.
#
On the Drozir, the Novertagian security cruiser that was charged with the duty to protect its home world, the situation was curious. They had been expecting to go out and meet the Sterling, the frigate that was carrying the Barony representative, usually the Lady St. August—at least those were their orders.
And like all good Navy men, they followed orders.
Having left Novertag only a day earlier, they moved out to the planet's orbiting station called Saratov, took on the perishables and supplies, then leapt to FTL, and moved out one day to wait close to home. Coming out of hyperspace, their mass proximity sensors had suddenly blared, and klaxons screamed as imminent collision was sounded.
"Helm, full Inertial, hard aport, then match vectors," the officer of the day seated in the captain's chair barked. The whole bridge leaned as they surged hard left. Ahead in the bridge view screen, the stars that were inward from the RIM swirled to the right, and after a few seconds, the gongs and klaxons went off, collision averted.
What was just off on the right-hand side of the view screen was the curious thing ... there lay a ship. A ship lay there, bigger than anything ever seen on the RIM ... and it was strange indeed.
The door to the bridge lift slid open, and Captain Pankov strode onto the bridge. As he caught sight of the alien ship, he slowed and then sat sluggishly into his now vacated chair. His mouth was open and he snapped it shut.
"Status, XO?" he said loudly and turned to his right, but his eyes never left the ship on the screen.
"A-Okay, Sir," his XO, Lieutenant Commander Shvernik said, "but as you can see, Captain, we have company ... let me center this, Sir." He moved a hand over his console, and the huge alien ship jumped to the center of the view screen.
"Ansible, hail them ... and find out what the hell they're doing so close to Novertag and what they want," he commanded the officer on his left.
"Science, anything in the dBase on that ... style ... of ship—plus sensor audits?" Pankov asked his science officer who was seated behind him. Probably not, he thought, at that size.
"Not at all, Sir—not a thing at that size ... sensors say she's at 2700-plus feet and that huge rectangular boxy area amidships is at least 1500-plus feet of her. Noted no known engineering propulsion system either—she's moving at ... what ... one-sixth or so of light speed—coasting would be more like it, Sir. We're matched and course says, Sir, at this speed and trajectory, we'd leave RIM space in ... about 235 years, give or take—"
"Give or take? This is how a Novertag science officer treats science?" barked Anatoly Vetochkin, the ship’s Secretariat officer as he bounded out of the lift and onto the bridge.
"Science is science, Officer Chubarov, and I am hereby reporting you for conduct detrimental to our cause. Leave the bridge. Leave it now!" Vetochkin bellowed at the stolid-faced science officer who left his seat and exited quickly.
"Captain, who is that?" he said as he pointed at the ship that now filled the view screen.
The captain held his breath for a moment. No one would fault him, he knew, if he stood up to the politico who now was acting as if he ran the bridge, but then again, he knew that somehow it would come back to haunt him. Not now—but surely in the future, so he shrugged it off and turned to the Secretariat representative.
"Officer Vetochkin, what a pleasant surprise. I assume that you are referring to the ship in our view screen?" Always polite. Always deferential. Always remembering that on Novertag, the politicos ruled all...
"Yes, Captain, and unless you have that screen zoomed in, that ship looks big ... bigger than us for sure," Vetochkin replied, just as dryly.
"Sorry, Sir," the bridge Ansible officer offered, "no answer because they do not have the technology—well, no Ansible at least. In fact, no communications at all, from what I can tell, Sir," he reported.
Unusual, Captain Pankov thought, was an understatement—everyone everywhere in the galaxy used the Ansible to talk live via hyperspace. Not having it meant ... well, what did it mean? he thought as he shook his head and turned again to his ship's Secretariat officer.
"Big, yes ... about four times our size, moving sedately and for all intents and purposes, not a threat—at least not at this point. Sir." He studied the ship as he spoke and noted no changes in her direction. He also noted that other than the hundreds and hundreds of slightly lit viewports in the boxy rectangle amidships, there were no other running lights whatsoever. No directional spots, no landing lights either—though he now realized this was a ship meant for space only.
In fact, that's about the only thing he could say was certain. This ship was meant to cruise ... slowly ... but that was all that he knew.
His XO spoke up. "Permission to send over a shuttle, Sir? Standard away team, but with a security detail too, perhaps?" he added quietly.
Pankov turned to his Secretariat officer and raised his eyebrow. If it were up to him, he'd delay and Ansible back to Navy headquarters for a considered approach, but he knew that could not be deliberated now.
"Yes, XO, yes ... go ahead—and I want to ensure that we have a live feed of everything found on board that ship—working on the assumption that we will be granted access, of course," Vetochkin said purposely.
He turned suddenly to his XO and then added, "If needed, an EVA outside to find that boarding port is also okay as well ..." He realized they may not be able to match boarding entries so a space EVA walk might be needed too.
He would never ever offer to leave the Drozir, but as Pankov knew, politicos never did very much but took charge of decisions for the good of the state. At least that's what they said, but he did wonder what they said to themselves behind clos
ed doors. He nodded to his XO, who turned to key in the orders and then launch the away team. They would know soon about the alien ship, and that would help all concerned, Pankov realized. A good thing for Novertag, he suspected, as long as it was good for the Drozir as well ...
#
Up on Beta Row, almost at the end of her sleeper checks for the day, Kikinamagan Naqreq ran her fingers along the sleek red tank. Above her on the Alpha Row, she noted the row counter there was done and leaning over the atrium area at the center of the five vertically stacked sleeper tank rows. At almost 1500 feet long, the sleeper amphitheater was the one space within the Keshowse that was lit softly at all times. The hues of the LCD lighting were soft and yellow in tone. Above her, the Kikinamagan who was the Alpha counter waved and then turned back to filling out his check forms before finishing his shift and turning in his reports. Naqreq didn't know him, but she yelled up to him anyways.
"Kikinamagan, what are you called?" she said after holding the back of her right hand to her forehead as a sign of respect. She knew she didn't really have to show such a signal to one who like her was just a Kikinamagan or a “young student,” but she thought that it was always proper to show respect in the circle of life on the Keshowse.
He smiled down at her, returned the same sign of respect she had shown, and even bowed his head slightly.
"I am called Sigwan, and yes—I know that you are Kikinamagan Naqreq of the Beta Row band. And yes, I too agree that, as you so eloquently put it at the last Tribal Council meeting, things here on the Keshowse must be looked at ... and perhaps even, yes, changed." She thought suddenly of that Tribal meeting, and this Kikinamagan had sat near the front but had taken notes, copious pages of notes, she remembered, but did not speak at all. He looked to his Sachem and even offered up some private counsel, but did not ever take the center of the circle to speak.
"Then perhaps from your notes, you too will join us in our quest to make the Sachems listen ... to make them converse, and yes, to make them change the awakenings as we now think they should be changed."
She looked at him, her head slightly askew, as she waited for him to answer.
And then over his shoulder outside a port that stared out into space, she thought she saw something—something that she knew she should not be seeing ... a helmeted astronaut was peering in at the sleeper rows.
She gasped and scrabbling to open up the alarm toggle, she jammed her thumb against the button, and the klaxons went off with a bellow.
In all the years since the Keshowse had been leaving its system home, they had never ever been visited by another alien race. They had never seen another ship, she had been taught, and they had never been boarded either.
The Alpha Row counter yelled down to her, but she couldn't hear him over the din. She pointed up and over his shoulder to the porthole, which she saw was now empty. Still the klaxons rang out, and the light within the sleeper atrium suddenly grew much brighter.
Moments later, she saw other Kikinamagans and Sachems suddenly appearing from up above, pouring down the stairs from the administration offices and flooding in from the rows above and below her position. First to reach her was the Band Sachem Hassun who thumbed the alarm button, as only a Sachem could, to turn off the deafening klaxons. He ignored her sign of respect as she touched her forehead.
"Kikinamagan, why did you sound the ship-wide alarm?" he said calmly, but Naqreq could see his face was flushed. She had always thought this Sachem, who ruled the Tribal Council, ruled the ship even though their society used tribal counsel and consensus to iron out all difficulties.
"Sachem Hassun, I did so because through a port up on Alpha deck, I saw a helmeted astronaut peering into the ship. I made no mistake, Sachem ... this was an alien being looking in at our sleeper rows. It was right there"—she pointed—"just over the left shoulder of Kikinamagan Sigwan Sachem. I know what I saw," she added a bit forcefully but knowing this statement too would be looked at down through the years, and she wanted to be seen to be truthful.
Hassun looked around at the dozens of crew and nodded first to Sachem Ahanu who immediately left the scrum and ran down Beta Row toward the bridge. Further quick looks and nods to other Sachems followed, and soon the Kikinamagans were left alone with only Sachem Hassun.
"Kikinamagan Sigwan, remain where you are," he called up to Alpha Row and then turned back to her.
"I believe you saw what you saw, Kikinamagan, but we will have to check. Please accompany me to that port—balance of you all here back to your regular shift duties. If anything arises from this, we will use the ship’s announcement system to inform you ... now go!" he said again quietly and turned toward the stairs at the end of Beta Row to climb up to Alpha Row.
They walked almost in lockstep down the lengthy balance of Beta Row and climbed the stairs together. Once up on Alpha Row, they doubled back down the row to where Sigwan stood almost at attention, and Hassun looked at her with a question on his face.
She moved to the edge of the row railing and looked down, seeing her row cart, and gauging her own position with that of Sigwan. She moved over between two sleeper tanks and then right up to the porthole before Hassun swiped his arm to get her to move over and out of his way.
He looked out of the port and stared for a full minute before moving away and signaling for her to look out for herself. With downcast eyes at first, she walked up to the port that opened up onto the space around them and then looked up—and gasped.
Off the port side, a strange-looking ship was within a mile of the Keshowse, its speed matching the tribal ship as they moved through space. It was much smaller than the Keshowse and was smooth and sleek looking with huge landing fins she didn't recognize from their tribal library. While the shape was a bit familiar, she knew the ship could be an explorer or an aggressor, and there was no way to know for sure.
She tried to slide her head sideways on the port glass a bit to see if she could see that astronaut, but she couldn't get a look at much past a few feet either forward or aft. Other than that alien ship a mile away, there was nothing else to see and even fewer stars.
Hassun nodded to her and then pointed at both of the Kikinamagans before him.
"This is to stay between us, with no exceptions, by the sigil—yes?" he posed to them both.
As per tribal custom, both of them nodded and touched the back of their right hands to their foreheads, acknowledging their agreement in traditional form.
He turned back toward the front of the Keshowse and walked off with purpose, or at least that's how it looked to Naqreq as she watched him stride away.
Sigwan moved around her to the window and stared and she joined him.
"Who are they?" he said quietly as a mile away the Novertag frigate the Drozir moved through space in sync with the Keshowse ... with the purpose of either ship unknown to each other ...
#
Thanks, all," Bram said and tossed back the bottom inch of beer in his glass and slowly stood up in the Officer's Mess. Grinning at the table full of lieutenants and shaking a finger at them, he cleared his throat and then pointed at the bull ensign.
"I'm done ... and you, Lieutenant JG Whiteside, you should not be here much longer—duty shift in less than eight hours and you—and yes, I, need sleep! What're we up to, boundary Buoy number eight? Can't leave it waiting, now can we?"
"Sir, yes, Sir," the ensign replied. "But as we've learned, Buoys number one to seven were a total waste of time, Sir, so number eight won't much matter either," he said with no real animosity. He grinned up at Bram, raised his beer, and chugged it all down, swiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
"Sir!" he shouted, "won't miss duty, Sir!" He waved over one of the stewards and drew a circle around the table. "One more round and on my tab—and then cash me out!"
Bram shook his head, said his good nights, left the Mess on Deck Twenty-three, and wandered over to the lift to go up to his quarters up on Deck Twenty-eight. In the lift, he counted and realized that
while yes, he had about seven beers, that wasn't that bad a load. He checked his watch to see the time, and with almost seven hours of sleep, he'd be fine tomorrow. The lift deposited him on Deck Twenty-eight, and he walked clockwise down the corridor, thumbed his door open, and made his way to the head, dropping off his uniform shirt on the way.
He winced as he looked in the mirror over the small sink and noted that at twenty-six years old, he had no gray in his hair and no crow’s feet near his eyes. Other than a look of slight intoxication, he was fine. Maybe a bit more than slight, and he grinned at himself.
He fished through his toilet bag, found the sleeve of hangover fix-up pills near the bottom, and put two of them on the counter to take first thing after he woke up.
No sense in taking any chances, he thought, and he made his way back to the single bunk and sat on the edge to take off his remaining clothes. Pulling off his sock, he noted that it was pretty threadbare, and he'd have to request some new ones from stores tomorrow.
It hit him like a freight train ... one instant he was alone on his bed, dragging off a sock, and the next he was falling down a cavernous totally black hole—a shaft that seemed to go on and on forever, making nausea come on suddenly.
He remembered to try to grab at the edge of the bunk below his thighs, but he couldn't feel with his hands.
He tried to focus his eyes on anything as he fell and fell but could see nothing. He was blind, but he thought of horrible creatures that he could not see ...
He tried to listen to the sound around him, but he was deaf and he could not hear ...
Whatever this is, it's not good, he thought. Suddenly he was sick, and the vomit spewed out of him floating up as he continued to fall and fall and fall.