by Don Foxe
“Why would they bring prisoners on an attack?” Gregory asked.
“They eat their captives,” Cooper told him. “Somewhere, in the data we’ve been streaming, is that disturbing information. One of the reasons they attack planets is to round up inhabitants, livestock, wild animals, whatever lives, and breathes, and use it as a food source. I doubt their diet is one-hundred percent meat, but enough. Bringing it along alive is probably easier, or cheaper, or tastier than killing it first, and then storing it.”
“Gross,” Gregory said, his face a bit more pale than its normal ruddy complexion.
“We’ll get full scans as we get closer, and make the final determination, but if we decide captives are on those ships, then we will have to board, and take them deck by deck. You need to begin prepping your Marines, and preparing EVA suits. The ships will have atmosphere, and the potential for a variety of bacterial or viral agents. I’ll take out their engines, and you’ll use the LBJ to board them.”
“If there aren’t many of the baddies, we might split up the team, and hit both ships. If we hit one, it gives the other one time to kill the captives, or use them as hostages.”
“You’re the ground commander. You make the call. If there isn’t anything else, you can get your people ready, and I’ll take a shower.”
Gregory left, and Coop turned to Genna. “I’m going to shower, and change, and return to the bridge in sixty minutes. I’m also going to have two Fellen join us. One will take coms, and one will take operations. I would like you in the pilot’s seat. Casey can move over to navigation. Have everyone else take a break. There is no telling how much time the next engagement will last.”
“The two blue women with the . . . tight tops?” Genna asked.
“The two blue women, who spent eight hours aboard Angel 7 helping destroy eight enemy ships which had us outnumbered, and outgunned . . . in tight tops.”
“Kennedy has already reviewed the data sent over. She informs me the Fellen both exceptionally talented, and incredibly gifted flight officers. I’m pleased and proud to share the bridge with them.”
“Thank you, Genna. Just curious, but you actually had Captain Black pinned to the deck?”
“A perfect hip throw. And I placed my boot — thank you for the boots, by the way — on her diaphragm. Every time she moved, I pushed my heel in just hard enough to take the wind out of her.”
Chapter 44
Cooper asked LCMD Smith to bring Sky and Storm up via the supply lift, instead of through busy corridors and personnel lifts.
When they entered the bridge, Cooper was in the command seat. Genna sat to his front, and left, at the pilot’s console. Lt. Casey Adams staffed the navigation console. Unlike the other two, Lt. Adams only heard descriptions of the Fellen. He came to his feet, his mouth dropping open, and his eyes wide.
“Lt. Adams, please return to your station,” Cooper directed without anger, understanding the reaction to a first contact. “Lt. Commander Smith, thank you for taking care of our guests. Sky, Storm, welcome to the bridge. You both know Ship’s Counselor Lt. Genna Bouvier. The young man, with the vibrant red hair, is Lt. Casey Adams, currently our navigator.”
The women had been issued Space Grays without insignia. Storm wore the white button-up, collared long-sleeve shirt without a cover, tucked into dark gray flight pants. It showed off her curves and trim waist. Sky wore a lighter gray sweater with shoulder and elbow patches over her collared white shirt, and flight pants. The combination muted her figure, but took nothing away from her beauty. Both, Cooper noted, wore their own boots.
“Storm, if you will take the first seat on your right. That is our communications console, similar to com-tac on Angel. Make yourself comfortable. I’m sure you will get up to speed quickly.”
“Sky, please take the chair adjoining Counselor Bouvier. That is Kennedy’s operations station. You have operational information, control, and weapons. This is normally our tactical station as well, but I’m routing tactical data to communications. Storm has shown a natural ability to keep up with tactics, along with communications. Suppo, any issues with our guests?”
Smith walked over to stand near the ship’s Captain. “No, sir. Wasn’t sure what they might eat, so I brought a lot of samples from the galley. I’m pretty sure they ate everything. Our guests were quite hungry, and appreciated the hot meal.”
“Thank you. You can return to your duties,” dismissing the Lt. Commander.
“Sky and Storm, you have less than an hour to acquaint yourself with our systems. If you have any questions, ask anyone on the bridge for assistance.”
Cooper had been a test pilot for the majority of his adulthood. He chose to live a solitary existence, which he appreciated. He interacted well with people, but always spoke straight to the point. He never intended to run a traditional, Navy-based bridge choked with protocol. The crew needed discipline, but performance required communications flow quickly, easily, and without fear.
During the vetting process to crew the ship, he interviewed the men and women about to make the final cut. He made it clear, when the ship became operational, he anticipated a more relaxed atmosphere than many trained under. Operating under duress, with civilian contractors, especially alien civilians, could be a preview of things to come.
“Casey, time to target?” he asked.
“Fifty minutes.”
Sky leaned across to Genna, and said, “I thought you were a captain.”
Genna smile, and told her, “I was captain long enough to get Kennedy to Mars.”
“Well, you made an impression as a captain. I hope you noticed we took care of Captain Cooper, as you ordered. And returned him in good condition.”
“I did, and thank you, . . . Sky. I’m glad you, and Storm are here. Your work on Angel 7 was, well, it was remarkable.”
Smiling, Sky resumed getting familiar with the operational systems for the PT-109. Storm was already rooting beneath the communications console, switching leads, and adding her own equipment. She made upgrades without being asked, but also not being told no. Genna sat relaxed, content in her comfort zone behind the pilot’s console. Casey kept sneaking glances over his shoulder at the aliens. Because they were alien, or because they were hot, Cooper could not tell.
Thirty minutes later he commanded Sky to perform deep penetrating scans of the Zenge vessel.
“May I address the ship directly?” Sky asked.
“Of course.”
“Kennedy, you will need to adjust the scans for heat signatures lower than normal. The Zenge are cold-bloodied,” Sky said aloud.
“Thank you, Sky. The settings are now adjusted,” Kennedy said. “The Zenge ship reversed course, and is currently heading toward the two cargo ships. Those ships have also reversed courses.”
Kennedy continued. “Interior scans, calibrated for lower body temperatures, show 61,237 lifeforms. The penetration scans indicate no warm-blooded lifeforms aboard. However, the section housing the bridge, and the area estimated for main engineering compartments have additional shielding. Life-form scans are impossible to read from those areas.
“The ship employs two thruster-style turbines for low-speed maneuvering, two sub-light engines, a matter-antimatter wormhole drive system, and two dynamo-generators capable of wrapping the ship in an electro-magnetic forcefield. The generators provide power for weapons and systems. There is another power system present, but unable to discern its purpose. I detect non-baryonic matter.”
“You mean negative matter?” Cooper asked, moving forward, on the edge of his chair.
“More appropriate, exotic matter which can potentially create negative mass,” Kennedy answered.
“There is a lot of chatter between the three ships,” Storm added, out from under the console, and in her seat.
“Activity in the unknown power system,” Sky reported. “The matter-antimatter containers starting to blend, and the unknown system is generating . . . well, generating zero mass. I thought zero mass imposs
ible,” she added.
“Captain Cooper,” this from Kennedy. “A wormhole opening has appeared in front of the mothership.”
“Sky, can ships create wormholes?”
“Not to my knowledge,” the Fellen replied, equally taken aback by the development. “Wormhole travel is accomplished by using charted wormhole channels. There are uncharted channels — probably millions of them — but no one can create one, and especially not within a solar system.”
Kennedy begged to differ: “The Zenge ship entered the new wormhole gate, and the gate has closed. They have retreated, Captain Cooper, and there is no way to know where the channel will lead.”
“Kennedy, get Dr. Trent, and get him to C-Tac ASAP. Genna, Sky, and Storm with me. Lt. Adams, the bridge is yours. If you want to call back-ups for pilot, coms, or operations, do so.” He rose and marched to C-Tac, the three women on his heels.
“Kennedy, display the wormhole event we witnessed,” he ordered. As the SHD screen showed the Zenge mothership about to enter the wormhole gate, Cooper called for her to pause.
Five minutes later Dr. Trent entered, and before he could take his seat asked, “Did I hear correctly? The Zenge created a wormhole to escape through?”
Cooper tilted his head to the SHD, and said, “Watch.”
Once more a wormhole gate appeared. The Zenge ship entered and disappeared as the gate closed.
“Kennedy, was the wormhole there before, and we missed it?”
“No, sir.”
“The Zenge created it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is the gate still there?”
“Yes, sir,” and anticipating the follow-up question, “but I would advise against using it. Even if I had wormhole drive capability, which I do not. As Sky said earlier, this is an unknown channel. We have no way to predict the destination, or what might be waiting.”
“Nathan. Ideas?”
Trent, watching the event, and listening to the conversations, dropped his fingers, absently massaging his temple, away from his forehead. To his credit, he made no comment regarding the aliens in the room.
“Wormhole travel has always been a theoretical possibility. With the information we gained from our new friends, obviously a reality. Wormholes are unstable designs. They need a negative energy band to prevent them from collapsing. A naturally occurring wormhole would not be able to sustain continuity. The zero mass would dissipate. Someone, sometime in the past built the channels travelers use to move between star systems.
“The mechanism employed on the mothership created exotic matter. That is exactly the type of matter needed to keep a wormhole from collapsing. We witnessed the creation of a channel.”
“But Sky says no channels exist within solar systems. The gates always open at the outside edges,” Cooper argued.
“Doesn’t mean a wormhole gate couldn’t exist within a solar system, only incredibly dangerous to use. Solar systems are dirty and unpredictable. Neptune’s moons were once dwarf planets in their own orbits. They got too close to Neptune, and its gravity scooped them up. Out here, asteroids, and planetoids bang against each other like bumper cars. You could exit a gate within a solar system, and end up yanked onto a planet and crushed.
“I would say the Zenge panicked, and used the fastest means of escape they had available. Wherever that channel leads, I doubt they would use it to return. This was a one-way strategic retreat.”
“I agree,” Sky added. “The Zenge are cowards. They saw seven of their ships destroyed, one incapacitated, and the PT-109 approaching. They sent messages to the two cargo ships, and then used their only means of escape.”
“Agreed, “ Coop concurred. “They said sorry guys, we gotta bug out. Good luck, and then they ran.”
It was Genna who asked, “Do you think the Zenge built all the wormhole channels?”
“Doubtful,” Sky answered. “They most likely discovered the ability from a world they invaded. Nothing suggests the Zenge were or are creators.”
“Storm,” Cooper turned to the Fellen who remained quiet throughout the discussion. “Thoughts?”
“They sent messages to the cargo ships before escaping,” she repeated. “The Zenge on those ships know they have been abandoned. I would suggest, if there are captive aboard, they are in grave danger.”
Cooper shot from his seat, and with an anger directed at himself only, said, “Damn! We’ve been sitting here discussing science theory, and Storm is the only one staying in the present. Kennedy, long-range penetrating scans on those cargo ships. Genna, get us to them, quickest speed. Dr. Trent, thank you. Everyone to your stations.”
“Captain Cooper, the wormhole gate is collapsing in on itself,” Kennedy said.
“You mean it closed,” Coop replied.
“No. It collapsed. It is no longer there,” the AI responded.
“Damn,” Trent said, leaving though the corridor door. “I wanted to study that thing.” The others exited through to the bridge.
Casey stood, and called, “Captain on the bridge,” to himself, having decided not to replace stations with back-ups. Protocol still protocol.
Seated, Cooper keyed direct communications from his chair. “Col. Gregory, get your people ready and in the shuttle. Kennedy, please provide Col. Gregory with a schematic of the two ships, and update him on scans.”
Cooper listened as Kennedy briefed the Marine:
“The two cargo ships are basic shipping containers. Three levels. Bottom level consists of engines, ventilation, habitat systems, and retractible quad-pods for landing. Mid-level is hangar, engineering, command control, and crew cabins.
“Upper level, forward to aft. First, an open room, and a sizable cold storage area. Amidship is storage and armory. The final area is located above the hangar; holding cells by the configuration.
“In the nearest ship, there are sixteen cold-blooded lifeforms, most likely Zenge, and 268 warm-blooded lifeforms located in the holding cells. We will overtake in forty-five minutes.
“The other ship shows fifteen cold-blooded, and 421 warm-blooded lifeforms.”
“How do we get inside?” Gregory asked.
Storm answered. “We don’t have to shoot the doors off this time,” she said. “The cargo ships use simple, basic systems, including their operational computers. I’ve already hacked in through a network. I’m shutting down engines, locking the section doors to where the cells are located, so they cannot harm the captives, and shutting down elevators. As soon as you are ready, I will open the hangar doors.”
“New time to overtake is thirty minutes.”
“How close, Skip?” Gregory asked.
“You can get from ship to ship in fifteen minutes. I’m going to park the 109 behind the first cargo ship.” Coop was having a difficult time transitioning from fighter pilot to commanding officer. He continued to attack every issue as his problem alone. He had a crew, and he needed to begin accepting that fact.
Gregory said, “I’m taking the full contingent, including Dr. Singh, and three corpsmen. Twenty-nine total personnel. I need a shuttle pilot and co-pilot.”
“Sky and I are on the way,” Cooper told him, and everyone else. “Counselor Bouvier, you have command. Keep this ship safe. We don’t know the mothership will not return, and we don’t know for certain these cargo ships don’t have ship-to-ship weapons. Storm, keep us informed, and make sure Gregory, and his men know where the Zenge are. Sky, with me.”
He should not leave his ship, or his command, to ferry Marines into battle. He really needed to make the transition from lone operator to command. He would make it, once everyone was safe.
Chapter 45
Smith had EVA suits, and laser-pistol sidearms ready for Cooper and Sky when they reached the hangar. Coop’s weapons belt included a sheathed knife. Henry knew his friend well. Everyone strapped into seats aboard the LBJ. Marines in the hold; Coop, and Sky at the controls. They had to go through depressurization, hangar door opening, and a short trip though space
to an open cargo door. He entered an unused bay, liberal enough to allow the LBJ to enter and settle. The entire trip took thirty minutes.
They waited for Storm to close the cargo ship’s doors, and pressurize the bay. The EVA suits allowed them to survive no atmosphere, but would not keep them from being pulled into the void. Besides, the EVA suits were more for protection from pathogens they might encountered on the alien ship. Of course, these particular suits were designed for Space Fleet Marines. Fitted with armor plates to disperse laser fire, or deflect most small-arms projectiles. The helmets provided heads-up displays, and could provide vision for low light, no light, and heat signatures. The Marines could communicate with each other, the LBJ, or Kennedy. Sky, Coop, and Anton wore trans-com rings. Sky slipped a spare around the Colonel’s neck without asking permission.
“Four Zenge inside the engine room, behind the primary engine, thirty-feet inside the door,” Storm warned them. “Doors opening, now.”
Gregory sent Marines through the door, four left, and four right. The rest stayed behind. The Zenge had laser weapons, hand held and shoulder fired, but nothing more exotic. You don’t need exotic to kill.
The Zenge proved to be well-trained soldiers. They used the dense housing materials for the engines to prevent the Fleet Marines from acquiring open targets. They also operated as two-man teams. (Two-Zenge teams? Two-lizard alien teams?) Each team covered a side, and each team member took a turn firing.
The Fleet Marines were better trained, and they had numbers. They moved forward, using bulkhead columns, and machinery for cover. The EVA suits held up. Four of the eight advance Marines hit with laser fire. While lasers knocked them backward, and down, they did not penetrate the suits. One Marine was knocked unconscious when he fell back hard into an engine vent.
“Do we give them the chance to surrender, Colonel?” came a query from the sergeant leading the team.
“Don’t know how to ask,” Gregory admitted. “You have them flanked. Give a tick, and if they drop weapons, take them. If they look like they intend to fire, kill them first.”