by Andrew Beery
I looked at him with a blank expression. He kept staring back at me with a look of expectation. Finally, I broke the silence.
“And this is important, why?”
“It’s Hoffmyer-Kilcov radiation,” he repeated, as if that was explanation enough.
“OK, I bite. Why is the fact that it’s Hoffmyer-Kilcov radiation important?”
Torbin sighed. Did I mention the good doctor was a notoriously unenthusiastic teacher? He had the patience of a three-year-old needing to use the bathroom.
“Hoffmyer-Kilcov radiation is only produced by a specific, hard-to-produce mixture of uranium-238 and thorium-232. Well, technically, it’s not a type of radiation as much as it is a specific ratio of radioactive decays. The point is, for planets the size of Earth and Paradise, this ratio is only achieved in the planet’s core. We shouldn’t be seeing any of it on the surface of the planet.”
“Any thoughts as to how it got here?”
“Certainly. And none of them are good. Based on the apparent age of these rocks, they didn’t come from Paradise.”
“So, a meteorite then,” I suggested.
Tobin nodded.
“It doesn’t look like any meteorite I’ve every seen,” Lori added. “It just looks like piece of cracked black glass.”
“Exactly. This piece and all the pieces we are seeing here,” he waved his hand around him, “are from a massive obsidian strike maybe ten or twenty thousand years ago. In geological terms, this happened yesterday.”
I looked around. The very thing that made the landscape beautiful, lush vegetation intermixed with black, very likely the result of a world-changing catastrophe.
“Does this help explain the anomalous atmospheric readings?”
Tobin paused and stroked the stubble on his grin before answering.
“It might. If the most recent impact occurred in an ocean. The ejecta would have been shattered meteorite and superheated steam. It probably wouldn’t have taken more than a few hundred to a thousand years for the atmosphere to completely clear and the planet to begin warming up again.”
“Ok, the mystery is solved. How much risk is there of another strike on the scale we are seeing?”
In my mind, I was thinking about the asteroid field Tanny was en route to explore. Was this the source of the massive meteorite?
“I would say the chances are relatively high. The beach is obsidian sand. It’s likely two or three times older. And there is one other thing, Admiral. If we are looking at obsidian with these types of radioactive impurities, the rocks that hit this world must have come near the core of another world . . . one that was not as lucky as Paradise.”
***
Twenty minutes later, after Lori and I had made a preliminary examination of the area immediately surrounding the Defiant, I made my way back to the launch’s bridge and reached out to Commander Mumba.
“Commander, I need to tweak the parameters of your mission. We think Paradise may be subject to reoccurring meteor strikes,” I said to Tanny, over our FTL comms. “I need you to evaluate the composition and full orbital dynamics of the field you are approaching. Doctor Tobin is sending you his data.”
There was a short delay.
“Understood, sir. I take it these are not your run-of-the-mill meteor strikes.”
“Negative. We think there were a series of extinction-level events in the not too distant past . . . geologically speaking.”
“It would help if we had data on the composition of those strikes. That way we’d know if the asteroid field we’re approaching was the source.”
“Great minds think alike. It’s in the data Doctor Tobin is attaching.”
I paused for a moment before adding, “Commander, be thorough. If we are dealing with a reoccurring threat, then we need to understand both the source and frequency of that threat. We’re going to need to make an informed decision about the viability of a potential Paradise colony.”
There was another short delay. Only about two seconds. Human FTL communications were reverse-engineered from Ancestor tech. It was a major accomplishment for humanity but, at the end of the day, it wasn’t quite as good as the original.
“Roger that, sir. Thorough it is. We’re still a few hours out. I’ll report back as soon as we get to the target area. Mumba out.”
No sooner had my finger touched the pad to kill the connection than the ship’s AI brought the ship to yellow alert. I looked at the console for a moment, wondering if, somehow, I had hit the wrong button. It had been so long since I had heard a yellow alert that I almost didn’t recognize it.
I saw that the alert had been forwarded from the Diaspora.
Arquat shimmered into existence beside me on the Defiant’s bridge.
I raised an eyebrow by way of question. He had long ago picked up on my mannerisms and knew that I wanted a full report.
“The Diaspora’s sensors have picked up a significant energy signature, emanating from a region near the asteroid field the Artemis is en route to investigate.”
“When you say ‘near’, how close are we talking?”
The holographic AI turned to face the forward view screen, which was mirroring the one on the Diaspora at the moment. It showed a schematic view of the inner solar system including the Diaspora, Paradise, the Artemis, the asteroid field and the source of the anomalous energy signature.
Arquat motioned with his hand and the display zoomed in on the asteroid field. The strange signal seemed to be coming from the clustered asteroids.
Anticipating my next question, Arquat confirmed the Artemis was exchanging sensor data with the Diaspora. We had higher resolution data, but they had fresher data, as the Artemis was currently nine light minutes closer to the anomaly.
I looked forward to a tense several hours as Tanny’s ship approached the unknown. In the meantime, I ordered the away team back to the Defiant for an immediate return to the Diaspora. The last thing I needed was for my people to be spread out if the situation decided to go south for the winter.
It turned out to be a good call. By the time I made it to the Diaspora’s bridge, our anomalous energy signature was on the move.
2100.1985.0618 Galactic Normalized Time
The long sleep was coming to an end. Autonomous sensor buoys had been triggered. It was possible the great enemy had returned. Passive scans of the interloper revealed the ship was of unknown design.
This was of little concern. The Planet Eater’s AI had long ago reconciled itself to not remembering the exact makeup of the great enemy. Damage to its data core, early in the conflict, had meant his cybernetic intuition was the sole arbiter of who, and what, constituted the enemy.
Chapter 3: Awakening
“All hands! This is the Admiral. Prepare for micro-jump.”
I leaned back in my command chair. The news, a few minutes ago, that we currently shared the system with technologically advanced aliens put a damper on the otherwise festive mood that had run rampant through the massive ship. Everyone knew Paradise had just fallen off our list of potential sites for the second colony. My only concern now was recovering the Artemis and getting out of Dodge.
“Commander Ellison, plot a course that puts us between Tanny and whatever that is. Get us close enough that we can commence recovery operations.”
“Aye, sir. Mister Miller, you heard the Admiral.”
“Course already plotted and laid in, Commander.”
My Second Officer turned towards Lieutenant Nyota, our Communications officer.
“Lieutenant, signal the Artemis. Let them know that we will rendezvous in ten minutes and begin docking and recovery procedures shortly thereafter.”
“Aye, sir,” she replied crisply and professionally.
You’d never know the Commander and the Lieutenant were a couple . . . married less than a month ago. The rules on fraternization had long ago fallen by the wayside. Humanity needed births if it was to survive and the Diaspora had more than enough capacity for a significant populatio
n expansion.
A moment later, Engineering signaled the drives were energized and the ship was ready for Skip Space operation.
“Mister Ellison, jump the ship,” I ordered.
The telltale flutter of my stomach was the only sign that we had jumped. Nine light minutes was too short a distance to see a noticeable shift in the star field.
“Jump complete,” Lieutenant Miller reported, from the helm. “Sensor probes have been launched and are moving into position. The Artemis is three-hundred and sixteen kilometers aft our position.”
Arquat stepped forward into my field of view. He waved his hand in a broad arc and a secondary holographic view screen shimmered into existence.
“Admiral, you will want to see this,” the alien AI said.
The sensor probes were relaying data back to the Diaspora. Six uniformly shaped cylinders appeared on the screen. They looked like their surfaces were composed of lightly pitted rock. They also appeared to be hollow. The interior of the tubes glowed with a deep electric blue. The black of space could just be seen through the blue glow of the tubes.
The openings were slowly turning to face us. Before they completed the turn, all six ships emitted beams of highly collimated x-rays. The beams appeared to be modulated. As fast as the beams began, they stopped. The strange thing was the beams were not aimed at us. As far as I could tell, they were aimed into deep space.
While the collimated x-rays in question would have done some serious damage had they been pointed at an unprotected ship, our shields would have handled them easily, had we been the target.
The cylindrical ships continued to slowly realign themselves to more directly face us. Maybe it was silly, but I felt like a swimmer watching a shark take a sudden interest. It might be good for the shark, but it was decidedly uncomfortable for the swimmer.
“Those devices will be pointing directly at us in two point four minutes,” Arquat announced.
“Devices?”
“That is correct,” the holographic AI responded. “Although sensors are unable to penetrate their neutronium hulls, it seems highly unlikely that these are crewed vessels. The localized field density of ionizing radiation is virtually off the scales.”
I sat forward in my command chair.
“By ‘off the scales’ what exactly do you mean? Are we in danger?”
Arquat turned to face me. He adopted a somewhat patient face, like he was explaining something obvious to a small child. I had long ago learned to ignore such looks. He was smarter than the entire crew combined and there was simply no point in denying it. The only thing we had going for us was an innate creativity that he seemed unable to match.
“The radiation levels are approaching those of the surface of the sun, especially near the fore and aft orifices. Our shields will protect us, but should we lose them, we would be wise to approach no closer than one million kilometers.”
Roughly two and a half times the distance between the Earth and its moon, I mused to myself.
“Understood. Let’s get the Artemis docked and move on to the next system on our list,” I said. At the current speed of these alien devices, we were hours away from having to worry about them. Still, I had a nagging feeling that something bad was about to happen.
“Number Two, keep a sharp eye on our six friends out there. If they so much as fart aggressively, I want to know about it.”
“Roger that, sir. On the lookout for threatening flatulence,” Commander Ellison answered crisply.
None of us were taking the threat too seriously at this point. That was a big mistake. Three minutes later, the Artemis was in position to engage docking clamps. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Lieutenant Nyota, tie in the universal translator and send a greeting on all frequencies.”
“Sending message now, Admiral.”
The universal translator was based on mathematics. Math was truly the only guaranteed point of commonality in the universe. Two plus two was always four . . . whether you were a human or a J’ni. The universal translator built relationships in math that mirrored measurable physical phenomena, like the intrinsic absorption frequencies of water, or the periodicity of the closest quasar. Once these relationships were established, the ship’s AI began to work out simple transactional concepts like yes or no. From there, establishing a larger lexicon was quite a bit easier; especially if one was willing to jettison such niceties as grammar and syntax.
Of course, all of this required powerful computational resources on both sides of the conversation. It also presupposed a desire for both sides to communicate.
“Are they answering?” I asked.
“A moment sir,” the Communications Officer said. She was holding an earpiece to her head and listening intently.
“I am receiving a signal. It’s coming in on the hydrogen line, 1420MHz. It’s modulated. I’m running it through the universal translator.”
The Lieutenant paused, and continued to listen.
“I’m sorry sir. We can’t decode their response.”
I looked over towards Arquat.
“Suggestions?”
The AI shook his head.
“I’m afraid this might be time for your human intuition to take over,” He said.
“My intuition tells me to hightail it out of here as fast as we can.”
I turned back towards Lieutenant Nyota.
“Lieutenant, try bouncing their message right back at them.”
“Aye, sir. Transmitting now.”
Before I could ask if there was a response, my Second Officer spoke up.
“Admiral, the Artemis is secure and . . .” Commander Ellison began.
“Weapons fire!” Ensign Donaldson yelled.
I caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Nyota. Her face had gone white. I guess neither one of us had expected this type of answer to our attempt to communicate.
On the forward view screen, I could see the end of one of the cylinders glow a blazingly bright white. It was the first of the objects to point directly at us. That didn’t bode well for us once the others finished their realignment.
Arquat picked up the report. “The lead ship just fired an antiproton be . . .“
WHUUP!
The entire bridge shook hard enough to knock most of us . . . myself included . . . out of our seats.
WHUUP! WHUUP!
The bridge shook a two more times in rapid succession. I went rolling and crashed into the Navigation console hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.
The lights flickered and went out momentarily before being replaced with the red emergency lighting.
Several consoles overloaded and exploded in a shower of sparks. Arquat disappeared. My guess was a power conduit feeding his holograph projectors had shorted out. There was the smell of burning plastic. As a general principle . . . the smell of burning ‘anything’ in an enclosed environment like a starship is never a good thing.
I could feel the ship spinning. That meant the inertial dampeners were compromised as well. I suppose it was a miracle we still had gravity plating on the bridge. I knew that might not be the case throughout the ship. If other sections had lost their inertial dampeners as well, my wife and the medical staff were going to have their hands full.
“Jump the ship!” I ordered. “Jump us now!”
“JUMPING!” Miller yelled, over the din of the emergency klaxon.
I felt the telltale pressure in my gut, and on the back of my neck, that indicated we had entered Skip Space. A moment later, I felt our exit. Wherever we had gone, it wasn’t far.
The lighting stabilized. Fire suppression systems kicked in. The Second Officer ordered the audio portion of the klaxon silenced. I was tempted to award him the Captain’s Medal of Honor for that last.
“All decks, status report!” Ellison barked into the ship-wide comms.
As he began to access the damage, I took a look around the bridge. If this was what one of the most protected areas of the ship looked like, I could only im
agine the damage the rest of the ship had taken.
It was during this visual sweep that my eyes landed on the Weapons station, and the form of the young man who had been manning it. There was no doubt that Ensign Donaldson was dead. He was badly burned and a shard from a power conduit pinned his torso to the smoldering console.
A yeoman and several others were moving to his position. As much as I wanted to . . . I couldn’t afford to spend time thinking about the ensign. At least, not at the moment.
“Mister Miller, where did you jump us?” I asked, as I crawled back into my command chair. The forward view screen was currently dark. I had no idea where we might be.
“Orbiting Paradise, sir. It was the quickest set of coordinates I could enter into the navigation computer.”
“You did good, son,” I assured him. In point of fact, I couldn’t believe how fast he had been able to get us into Skip Space and out of immediate danger.
“We’re getting status updates from all over the ship,” Commander Ellison began.
I raised my hand to pause his report briefly. Arquat had just shimmered into existence next to my command chair.
“Admiral, the enemy weapons discharged petawatt antiproton beams at us. Our shields were 98% effective at stopping them.”
I whistled. “That was 2% of their power? Holy Moley. What must those beams be able to do against a ship without shields?”
“Keep in mind, Admiral, we were hit by only three of the beams, and not all at once. If we had been hit with all six simultaneously . . .”
“We wouldn’t be here having this discussion,” I finished for him. “Are we in immediate danger?”
“Negative, Admiral. At least, not from those automated weapon systems.”
I turned back to Commander Ellison.
“I’m sorry, Number Two. What can you tell me about the state of the ship?”
“It’s bad sir. We have over one hundred dead. Four times that number injured, and at least a couple dozen missing and unaccounted for.”
I nodded. I was hoping for better but feared worse.
“There are multiple hull breaches. Airtight hatches and emergency force fields minimized the decompression but most of the dead came from those areas.”