by Mark Wandrey
“Sure,” he smiled as he examined the results. There was a fire of desire in his eyes and he was no longer just ‘hanging there’ after the service he’d helped her with. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“I’ll be interested in that soon,” she said and nodded towards his excited state.
“That’s good to hear.” Mindy moaned again and Aaron moved to put a hand on her, gently patting his daughter’s side. She made mewing sounds and settled down. “Go deal with the buck toothed beggars,” he said. Minu nodded and went out the door.
Minu floated into the CIC, her grace somewhat returned as she no longer carried an extra eight kilos of liquid and baby in her midsection. Lilith hovered in a globe of holographic displays as she continued repairs on her beloved ship. As Minu floated in and slowed, Lilith looked up, spotted her new figure, and did a nearly classical double take.
“Don’t ask,” Minu grumbled. She’d long been jealous of Cherise’ chest, in a girl-girl sort of way. Now that she had at least as much as her friend, she wasn’t sure she liked it. Lilith shrugged and went back to work.
With many hours of practice, Minu called up from the computer a work station in the zero gravity sphere then quickly configured it. Using the new codes provided by the Squeen, she established communications.
“Squeen task force, this is First among the Chosen Groves.”
“We acknowledge you,” replied a chittering Squeen, its language rendered by Minu’s translator. A moment later a visual link was established. “I am Sly Mover, commanding this transport taskforce.”
Minu tried hard not to laugh, succeeding mostly. She wished Pip was still around so he could find out what was up with the translators and Squeen names. Sly Mover?!
“We have you on long range sensors,” Minu told her visitor. The data piped to her by Lilith showed five ships, classified as one transport, three frigates, and a light cruiser. “Be aware we continue to get intermittent sensor returns on aggressors in the region. They seem to be holding a grudge on getting their butts kicked.”
“If the translation of your language is correct, I do not believe the T’Chillen have butts.”
Minu shrugged, not caring if the little bugger understood the quip. “Agreed. We have two ways we can do this, you can have your combat ships use their shields to escort you through the danger zones between the stars, or I can have you rendezvous with one of our Ibeen and transfer the fifty EPCs to you out there.”
“The latter option appeals to us the best.”
“Very well,” Minu agreed and flashed a notice to Ibeen Beta that was just finishing loading. “Our ship named Ibeen Beta will meet you just outside the solar activity zone in…” she consulted the reply from the Ibeen load master, “forty-two standard minutes.”
The Ibeen loadmaster was cramming an extra twenty of the huge ship-class EPCs aboard. It would have been a dangerously overloaded situation normally, but with them only needing to be aboard for a few minutes it was a small risk. It meant they’d be less than full when leaving Dervish. That was also okay. Minu believed the goodwill this ‘gift’ generated would pay off heavy dividends.
“Sure Strike wishes to convey is greetings and says the Squeen appreciate this gesture. Our leadership as also agreed to begin cooperation with you in the future.”
Minu smiled and nodded. “I am thrilled to hear that! We, humans, hope it marks the beginning of a closer relationship between our two species. And I’m personally grateful for your timely intervention in the battle, and of course for returning my mate.”
Minu and Sly Mover exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes including her asking him about his vessels. He proved less than forthcoming on that subject. Then the Ibeen rode up out of the maelstrom escorted under the shields of the Fiisk and the Squeen had work to do.
The rest of the operation was routine as the Ibeen docked with the Squeen transport and the Beezer crew quickly transferred the EPCs. Watching through enhanced images Minu marveled at the grace and speed of the massive space suited grazers. You would never think their time in space could be measured in weeks, not years. Her decision to bring them into this venture was another gamble that appeared to be paying off.
“Transfer complete,” Sly Mover reported as she watched the Beezer crew reboarding their ship and backing away from the much smaller Squeen vessel.
“Understood, safe journey home. Please relay my respects to Strong Arm and Quick Finder.”
And with no further fanfare, the Squeen ship joined its escorts and jumped away. An hour later the load master of Ibeen Epsilon contact her. “First, we are completing our loading operation.”
The screen she brought up showed the bulbous interior of one of the many storage bays on the Dervish station. It was now a massively different vista than she’d first beheld so many years ago. Once the interior had been covered top to bottom with thousands of filled EPCs, ready for a Lost war fleet starved for power. Now the hundreds of maintenance bots sat idle because the walls were bare. Minu had stripped the station to the walls.
“Lilith?”
“Yes mother?”
“Is the coding finished?” Minu asked.
“Mostly.” Lilith checked with the subprograms at her disposal. Her mother’s request had been a bit of a challenge and took her the better part of a ship’s day to complete. If you considered how much raw processing power the Kaatans possessed, that was an impressive amount of work. “Are you certain of this course of action?”
Minu was examining the tactical feeds as she listened to her daughter. As the Squeen ships departed a pair of T’Chillen corvettes broke from the cover of a nearby stellar cloud (the remnants of an ancient super nova) and raced towards the Squeen ships, letting fly a wave of shipkillers, then turned to flee.
The Squeen frigates maneuvered to intercept the missiles with precise laser fire, but refused to take the bait and pursue the harassing ships. In another few minutes the Squeen transport managed to speed up enough that pursuit would become difficult, and they raced away in tight formation. The Ibeen had remained within the defensive range of the Fiisk, so was not harassed.
“I think that backs up my decision,” Minu said, indicating the brief exchange. “The snakes won’t give this up. Once we’re gone, they’re going to be all over this station. It doesn’t have the defenses of the firebases, it relies on stealth.” She glanced again at the feeds from the Dervish power station. A hundred kilometers wide from delicate arm to delicate arm. A marvel of technology that was impossible to replicate. Probably impossible to even get close. How much of the power the entire Concordia ran on came from similar installations, she was forced to wonder.
“As you wish, mother,” Lilith said.
“Are repairs almost complete?” Minu asked.
“Ninety-seven percent. Most of the remaining work can be completed en route. I need to supervise an EVA to repair one missile launcher, which can wait until we return home.”
“Good,” Minu replied. “Inform the Ibeen captain we’re ready to move out.”
When the Kaatan finally climbed back out of the maelstrom of plasma that was the Dervish system she escorted the final Ibeen and was in formation with the Fiisk, the three Eseel in formation around them less than a light second distant. Long range sensors confirmed the remnants of the earlier fleet was still there and had been gathering additional ships for days. Minu gambled that after the last shellacking they wouldn’t try anything with less than overwhelming in number, and had won.
When the six Lost ships pulled up and raced away, none pursued them. The prize had been left behind, and securing it was their primary mission.
Singh-Apal Katoosh, high tactical leader of the space forces of the T’Chillen, observed the insanely intertwined stars from the bridge of his dreadnought and tried not to think of the energy at play there. Or the ships he’d lost in taking this system.
“And this prize is worth the cost we paid?” he asked the tiny communicator installed on his left heari
ng diaphragm.
“And then some,” came the reply. “The People had these fuel depots hidden throughout the galaxy. They are incredibly difficult to find, and just as difficult to make.”
“Then why not give us the means to make our own instead of taking this one?” Singh-Apal asked the Grent. When no reply came, he was emboldened. “Or do you lack the knowledge?”
“That is not relevant,” the reply came, “this one is yours. Use it.”
The T’Chillen commander hissed in satisfaction, quite aware that the Grent hadn’t answered his barb.
“Scouts report,” he demanded of his tactical crew.
“No enemy ships detected,” one female tech said.
“No emanations from missiles,” another added.
“The station shows no life signs and no indications of tampering.”
“They simply abandoned the station to us,” Singh-Apal mused aloud, “this is not logical.”
“They knew we were gathering a superior force,” his second in command said. Singh-Apal turned to him, Agan Soufa was his name. The second was almost as high born as Singh-Apal, a fact that hadn’t escaped his notice when the upstart was assigned by the high command. His command was quickly growing too vast for one war leader. It was obvious to all but the most stupid that this lickspittle was sent to be groomed as a fleet commander. By sending a commander from Clan Aphu, the further challenge to the rapid rise of Clan Madhu was just as obvious.
“They easily bested our previous fleet,” Singh-Apal reminded his junior, “even when we successfully divided them and lured out the Kaatan.”
“Only because the enemy revealed a new ship type,” Agan said.
“Yes,” Singh-Apal agreed, glancing away at the tactical displays. The team there was still analyzing the battle data on that nasty little surprise. A seemingly new design from a species extinct for millions of years. That defied logic as much as the abandonment of the station.
“High Leader,” his communication officer said, “the captain of the frigate TL-22 requests the honor of being the first to approach the station.”
Singh-Apal considered for a moment. Analysis suggested nothing short of a dreadnought could handle a hit from the raging plasma storms near the station while at the same time a small ship (like a frigate) could maneuver more effectively around them. At the same time, should anything less than a cruiser meet resistance, it would almost certainly die instantly at the hands of Lost technology. Not that even bigger ships fared much better, as witnessed by the sizeable debris field nearby. Should it be an ambush, the captain (from his own clan) would die instantly with his crew. There was glory either way in this assignment.
“Tell him to proceed.”
He watched as the tiny ship detached from its escort position alongside as cruiser and fell into the midst of the stars. The pilot was rather skilled, and though one solar prominence got close enough to make the ship’s shield glow bright red, it won through to its objective.
“The captain informs he is in proximity to the station, inside their shield envelope, without incident.”
Singh-Apal hissed in acknowledgement and considered. It was just too blasted easy. “Send a cruiser down,” he ordered Agan.
“It is a bigger risk,” the junior cautioned.
“As if I don’t know that,” he snapped back. “First tell the frigate captain to board the station. If there is no incident, send the cruiser.”
His assistant nodded his head and gave the order.
The fleet waited just outside the swirling stars effect zone as orders were carried out. Finally the word arrived; a prize crew was on the station and not opposed.
“The station is stripped of almost all the power modules,” came the details. Singh-Apal hissed in anger. Of course that’s what those transports had been doing over the last days, and he’d lacked sufficient force to stop them.
“There are empty EPCs arriving through some automated portal mechanism and they are being filled as we watch.” That was better news.
“Have your female technicians access the station computer and evaluate it,” he ordered. “Look for signs of tampering or traps.”
The cruiser descended through the danger zone and arrived inside the station shields as well. As before, nothing threatened them or looked unusual.
“We should begin moving the fleet down,” Agan said, “if the enemy returns we will be in a much better position inside the shields.”
Singh-Apal held up a tentacled arm to forestall the assistant. “Wait for the technicians’ report.”
The other hissed in agitation. The female techs were far lower in station than even a simple male warrior, but Singh-Apal had learned to respect and count on their abilities. As the T’Chillen space forces consumed an ever higher amount of trained personnel, he’d authorized females to hold more and more of those positions. It was out of necessity that he made the decision. Then, after reviewing ship efficiency of those with high female to male crew ratios, he’d found the females handled their jobs with singular skill and dedication. He didn’t know why, only that the facts were plain to read.
“I have the preliminary analysis,” a female reported on his bridge. He cast an eye towards her and recognized the profile.
“You are Sally Two Eleven,” he said. She bowed her head in submission. She’d been with him from before the Grent had made themselves known, and was a large part of the reason he’d so liberalized the positions females could hold in the fleets. “Proceed.”
“The operating system has been tampered with,” she began, “and in a quite sophisticated manner. You understand, great leader, that we do not have complete understanding in the workings of lost computer coding?”
“Of course.”
She bowed low again before proceeding. “With this understanding, we have analyzed as best as we could in a quick manner. We find that the handling protocols of the EPCs have been tampered with.”
“In a dangerous way?” he asked.
“Very likely so. It is subtle, but a mishandling could result in a detonation of EPCs in the handling area.”
Each of the capacitors held enough power to run a dreadnought for days of combat. The idea of more than one being breached in a confined space was disturbing.
“In addition, the station has been instructed to not allow any local deliveries and only move the filled EPCs though the portals back out to selected destinations.”
“Can you verify these destinations?” he asked.
“No, that has been coded into the portal and the method is beyond our ability to extract. Whomever did it had access to portal control codes we do not know.”
“Can you help with that?” Singh-Apal asked the Grent on the little communicator.
“Possibly. Have the female copy the coding and we will see.”
Singh-Apal gave the order then asked more questions. “Is that the extent of the tampering?”
“We think so.”
“Think so? Why are you not certain?”
Again the female bowed low. “You must understand, great one, the coding of even this simple system is many thousands of lines, and the basic coding is very cryptic. We’d like to do a full analysis.”
“How long would this take?”
“Approximately forty days.”
“Unacceptable,” Agan spat from where he’d been listening. “This foolish female wants us to hover here around these cursed stars for forty days while they waste time staring at computer code?”
The female groveled before the raging assistant fleet commander. He bared his fangs at her and spat.
“We should just kill this one and put another in her place. One female is just as useful as another.”
“This female has proven competent in her job,” Singh-Apal said, “and you will not kill my staff without my permission.”
“Apologies, leader,” he said with a bare bow.
“I am in favor of allowing this. The station will refill EPCs while we decipher the code.”
“And ship them off to the enemy though the portal, gaining us nothing.”
The damnable underling had a point. “Sally, can you remove or disable the code that ships the portals off world?”
“Yes.”
“There, you see?” he asked his assistant. “We can sit here while the technicians make sure it is safe while the inventory of this place fills up. Already transports are starting to arrive. In forty days we’ll have enough to justify beginning shipments to our shipyards.”
“The Matriarch would consider this an unnecessary delay,” Agan said quietly.
“The Matriarch put me in charge, not you. I stand for her will. That should be good enough for anyone.”
“As you say, leader,” he hissed.
The female went to work on the computer code, and more fleet elements arrived as Singh-Apal waited somewhat patiently. But less than a week into the wait, he got a communication from high command.
“You are ordered by word of the Matriarch to proceed with loading of EPCs from the conquered station post haste – The High Command”
“That lickspittle tail biter,” Singh-Apal raged in his quarters. There was no other possible explanation except that Agan must have gone behind his hood and told one of his own allies on the council. You didn’t get to the level of a fleet command without having allies in high places. Or at least without first killing all your enemies.
When he arrived on the bridge a short time later, he was not surprised to see Agan there curled around the command pedestal. “You have news?” the upstart asked.
“You know quite well that I do, and what the orders are,” Singh-Apal snapped as he slithered toward the command deck.
“I’m afraid I do not,” Agan insisted.
Singh-Apal gave him credit for sticking to his story. “We are ordered by the high command to occupy the station and begin transferring power modules immediately.”
“Indeed? There must be urgent need.”
Singh-Apal didn’t doubt there was. The T’Chillen controlled more than half of all the power stations in the Concordia. Were they to divert all that production to war it would be more than sufficient. However those power stations fueled hundreds of minor species. By themselves they were no threat to the mighty T’Chillen, but cut off from vital energy they could well ally, and together…