The Lost Intelligence (Lost Starship Series Book 12)

by Vaughn Heppner

  The machine he presently used had created a brain-wave funnel so he could project like this outside the jamming field.

  “You must be the Prime Saa,” Ludendorff said. The PBWTGP Machine turned his words into mass-mind-meld vibrations.

  The yellow cloud backed away from the jamming even as it focused on him aboard Victory.

  What are you?

  “Can’t you figure it out, old son?”

  Yes! You must be Professor Ludendorff, the Methuselah Man. How are you able to address me in this form? You lack such abilities.

  “A fantastic brain such as mine is the most formidable tool in the galaxy,” Ludendorff boasted. “You should know that, as you possess quite the intellect yourself.”

  I am the Great Intelligence. I am the Liss cyber mass-mind, which you have already deduced.

  “Been lying low for several thousand years, have you?”

  I almost awoke several years ago when the Draegars brought you to the surface for several weeks of mind manipulation. You would have died if I’d awoken then.

  “That’s false, and that means you’re bragging. Have the humans infected you?”

  That is not possible.

  “For being such a Great Intelligence, you lack some simple common sense. Your tools, your slaves, have obviously corrupted your perfect Liss cyber mind.”

  Lies!

  “I can actually see the corruption in you.”

  Explain your statement.

  “I don’t have to,” Ludendorff said. “You can sense it, must have been sensing it all along. Your greatest servant has been busy observing you. That observing has tainted you.”

  If you are so wise, name this servant.

  “Let me see,” Ludendorff said, as he adjusted the main panel. “Ah, it’s finally ready. Well, Prime Saa, I can’t say it has been fun, but it has been real. You’re too absorbed with yourself and like to talk. I should know. I have some of the same foibles myself. In your case, it has allowed my PBWTGP Machine to build up a bolt you’re going to appreciate—”

  Ludendorff stabbed a button.

  The PBWTGP Machine spewed a red clot of para-power. It shot through the funnel, swishing past the jamming field and arrowed at the hovering yellow cloud with slit eyes just beyond Victory. That clot struck—

  Ludendorff tore off the wired helmet. Electrical smoke poured from it. At the same time, the bulky PBWTGP machine caught fire, beginning to sizzle, spark, burn harder—Ludendorff threw himself onto the floor, scrambling under a heavy table.

  The overloaded PBWTGP machine exploded, hurling parts and pieces everywhere.

  -5-

  As Ludendorff confronted the Prime Saa, Andros Crank detected faint images, giving the information to Maddox. The captain relayed his order to Keith Maker, possibly the greatest helmsman in the Fleet. Keith guided Victory, the accelerating starship barreling toward the barely detectable stealth ship.

  The chase led Victory to a region between Earth and its Moon.

  “Andros,” Maddox said.

  “It’s still there,” the Chief Technician said.

  “Weapons officer,” Maddox said. “Deploy the tractor beam.”

  The weapons officer manipulated his board.

  On the main screen, Victory’s green-colored tractor beam reached out. The tip flattened as if pressing against a ship’s side. The stealth ship could not be detected on the main screen.

  The starship shook as the latched tractor beam used its supposedly greater mass to influence the captured enemy vessel.

  As if from nowhere, red sheering beams struck the tractor beam. The small red beams cut into the larger one as if sawing. Abruptly, Victory ceased shaking. The flattened end of the tractor beam vanished. The red beams were no longer visible either.

  Maddox struck an armrest. “Use the stasis field before they can get away.”

  Andros shook his head. “Can’t do that yet, Captain. We need to be closer to deploy the field. And it would be better if they were at a dead stop, or at least had the exact velocity as we do. That means—”

  “I know what it means,” Maddox said, his voice almost calm, as if he had to struggle to keep it that way. “Weapons, deploy the tractor beam again. Use them in beam rotations. If they want to cut our beam, we’ll make them do it all day, draining them of power.”

  The weapons officer glanced at Valerie.

  “It’s hard to latch the T-beam when we can’t see the enemy ship,” she told Maddox.

  The captain nodded. “Andros,” he said.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” the Chief Technician said. “I’m working on it.” His pudgy fingers flew across his panel. “There. That should help.”

  On the main screen, a faint image of the stealth ship appeared. It was an oval-shaped vessel, much bigger than normal stealth vessels, perhaps an eighth the size of Victory.

  “Much appreciated, Andros,” the weapons officer said. “That should make the difference.” He manipulated his board.

  Several green tractor beams speared from Victory. These were each smaller than the original T-beam. Two of the new ones latched onto the oval-shaped stealth ship.

  “Start decelerating,” Maddox said.

  “I’m on it, sir,” Keith said.

  Like before, the starship shuddered and the engines increased pitch. Victory slowed the velocity of the enemy vessel.

  “Star Watch battleships are leaving Earth orbit to intercept us,” Galyan said. “They are attempting to hail anyone on us who will listen, but I am still blocking their messages.”

  Maddox nodded.

  “We have two solid tractor beams attached and three more are gripping,” the weapons officer said.

  “The stealth ship has cannons,” Galyan warned. “The cannons are activating.”

  “Andros,” Maddox said sharply. “We need that stasis field. Knock them out now.”

  The Chief Technician shook his head even as he stabbed controls. “Here goes nothing, sir. I hope it works.”

  The tractor beam continued holding the slowing stealth ship. Victory shook, and the enemy vessel shook more.

  On the underside of the ancient Adok starship, a dish glowed with power. The power built up—an odd, wavering energy field emitted from the dish. The wavering, 3-G stasis field flowed over the stealth ship. The faint image wavered but remained in place.

  “The enemy cannons are deactivating,” Galyan said. “Everything on the enemy vessel is shutting down over there.”

  “Excellent,” Maddox said. “Launch the attack shuttles.”

  “If the stasis field touches the shuttles,” Andros warned, “the Space Marines aboard will all fall unconscious.”

  “What?” Maddox demanded.

  “The Space Marines will go unconscious and possibly die,” Andros said. “All shuttle engines will stop, too. The stasis field puts everything to rest.”

  “What about the people in the enemy stealth ship?” Maddox asked.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Andros said. “If the stasis field stays on them too long, they will also perish. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

  Maddox slapped an armrest. He couldn’t believe it. “Andros,” he said.

  “Thinking during battle is a different process,” the Chief Technician muttered. “Everything happens so fast. I forgot to tell you about that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “Turn off the stasis field,” Maddox said. “We can’t risk killing O’Hara.”

  “It’s possible the enemy might revive if we shut off the stasis field too soon,” Andros said.

  “Turn it off,” Maddox said, his voice rising. “Turn it off now.”

  “Turning off the stasis field,” Andros said, as he manipulated his board.

  “Galyan,” Maddox said, “watch the stealth ship closely. Tell me immediately if you sense any revival on their part.”

  “What about our Space Marines?” Galyan asked.

  “Have the attack shuttles launched?” asked Maddox.

  “Affirmativ
e,” Galyan said.

  Maddox stared at the main screen. He saw the three attack shuttles, the first one well in the lead. With a nod, he said, “They storm the enemy ship. They find O’Hara. They bring her back here to me.”

  “Do you recall what I said about the stealth craft’s warriors?” Galyan asked. “They would rather die than allow themselves to be captured.”

  Maddox nodded. He hadn’t forgotten. It had been gnawing at him ever since he heard it. “Go there, Galyan. Help the Marines find my grandmother. Help her get to an access point so we can save her.”

  “What about the continued jamming, sir?” Galyan asked.

  “Andros will take care of it,” Maddox said. “Go. Save my—help O’Hara.”

  “That is not what I meant, sir. I will open windows for communication between us and the stealth ship.”

  “You can do that?” Andros said.

  “This near to the enemy vessel, yes,” Galyan said. “But sir,” the holoimage said to Maddox. “What about the enemy warriors?”

  “Right,” Maddox said. This was more than just saving his grandmother. “You go. I’ll speak to the lieutenant.”

  Maddox opened channels with Lieutenant Dain, explaining how he wanted this done.

  At the same time, Galyan vanished.

  -6-

  Back in Geneva, Becker groaned, his giant head aching. He found himself on the floor and didn’t remember falling. He sensed wetness under his nose—he touched the bottom of his nose and stared at his bloody fingers. What had happened to him? Where in the—

  I’m in Fletcher’s office.

  With a groan, Becker rolled onto his back. He felt sick and his nose hurt. He must have hit his nose on Fletcher’s desk when he went down.

  Why did I fall?

  He vaguely remembered telling Fletcher what to do next when a reeling force struck his mind. He’d blanked out, came to as he struck the desk and then—

  Becker pushed up with his hands, climbing to his feet. The room swayed, or he did. Becker thudded butt-first into a chair, panting, trying to think coherently. He gently wiped the bottom of his nose with a sleeve. Rubbed his eyes—

  Becker stared in shock across the large desk. Fletcher lay back sprawled in his chair. The Lord High Admiral’s features were contorted and frozen.

  Becker shoved up to his feet, staggering around the desk and grabbing one of the man’s limp arms. He felt for a pulse.

  “He’s dead,” Becker said quietly. He scowled. “Why did you have to go and die on my now, you dumb bastard?”

  No. That was the wrong question. Fletcher was dead. So, who ran Star Watch now? The people in Earth Defense Central seemed like the best answer. They were Colorado in the old United States of America. Even by rocket plane, it would take too long to physically go there and dominate the new leader.

  Should he go see Director Chom? The Sigma Draconian might have channels to the right places.

  Wait a minute, Becker told himself. You’re not thinking this through. What happened to you? You must remember.

  Becker moved to a chair, sitting, balancing his head, closing his eyes and trying to remember what had happened before he’d blacked out. He didn’t feel physically ill—other than his nose. It wasn’t bleeding as much and the agony of it had died down. That would imply—

  Becker’s eyes opened wide. He had a faint recollection. Nostradamus—the alien presence of the mass-mind had reeled back in shock. It had gone out to see for itself what was happening on Victory. There, Nostradamus—the Prime Saa—had faced a powerful jamming field. The field was different from the one he’d used against Hekkus Laja a lifetime ago in orbit around Jarnevon.

  Remember, Becker told himself.

  The Prime Saa—its mental projection of paranormal force—had worked to insert into the ship when Ludendorff had struck. The Methuselah Man had had some kind of weapon that fired a heavy red clot of para-power at the Prime Saa. The clot had dissolved the mind-meld. In that dissolving, the Prime Saa presence had fled from Victory.

  Becker touched his head. Some of that unlatching force had backlashed against him. Which was freaking weird. It should have backlashed to the Moon. What would cause some of the unravelling force to come here?

  Becker thought harder, trying to remember. He’d sensed…rage, rage against him. The rage had been because…the Prime Saa wasn’t going to let him survive its demise.

  “No, no,” Becker whispered. If the Prime Saa suspected him of disloyalty…

  Clenching his fists and shaking them, Becker shouted, “Think, you idiot! Don’t panic! You have to think. You have to use what you have.”

  Becker slid out of the chair and sat on the floor, crossing his legs and straightening his torso. He held as near to a lotus position as he could. Then, he closed his eyes and started analyzing.

  If Becker could have projected his thoughts like the Prime Saa could, he would have gone to the Moon caverns and checked on his Master.

  Did he really need to check on the Prime Saa, though? No. Ludendorff’s red para-clot had dissolved the mass-mind-meld. That would be a temporary thing. The Liss cyber mass-mind would be resting, plotting and readying itself for revenge. Regaining its projection power would take time, but not too much time.

  In that time, Becker had to strike. He couldn’t strike against the Prime Saa, as he probably couldn’t reach the Moon in time. What could he do that would give him high odds for success?

  Becker debated joining Maddox and making a deal. He rejected the idea almost immediately. That meant he had two choices. He could do something to make the Prime Saa happy with him. That would lead at best to an extended life of servitude. He couldn’t screw the babes any more anyway. He’d rid himself of that in order to rule the universe. But that was out under the Prime Saa.

  Becker opened his eyes and climbed to his feet. That left the final option.

  Going to the Lord High Admiral’s desk, he opened drawers until he found a service pistol. He checked it and stuffed it behind him against his waistband. He took a calming breath.

  “Too bad you died, Fletcher. I guess that was my fault. I pushed you too hard. Your death has put me in a bad way. But it’s forcing me to gamble for the whole shebang.”

  Becker smiled at the dead man. “I’m going to do it, Admiral. I’m going to beat Maddox, Ludendorff and the freaking Prime Saa.”

  With the bold words ringing in his years, Becker turned for the secret door that connected via corridor to Director Chom’s office. It was time to get it done.

  -7-

  Several minutes later, Becker collected himself and his dominating energies, breathed deeply and opened the secret door. He stepped through into an empty room. Director Akon Chom was not at his desk.

  All right, all right, don’t panic yet, Becker told himself.

  He did, though, if doing nothing but standing there like a fool was panicking. He’d expected a quick battle of wills. Chom would not be an easy person to dominate, especially compared to Fletcher. That meant a fight to the—

  “Chom’s not here,” Becker said to himself. He walked into the room, thinking—

  “Don’t move,” Chom said from behind and into his left ear. The man’s bad breath wafted into Becker’s nostrils. A pistol also jammed into Becker’s back, making him arch in pain. “Who are you?” Chom breathed with his stinking breath. “Why shouldn’t I shoot you down like a rabid larl?”

  Becker’s mouth had become bone dry. He couldn’t speak because fear radiated so fiercely in him. Why hadn’t he sensed Chom hiding behind the door? How had the director known he was coming?

  “I don’t have time to for games,” Chom said. “Start speaking or you’re dead.”

  “I-I’m Captain Becker. You know me.”

  “That’s right, I do know you,” Chom hissed into the left ear. “I’ve been studying you, Becker. There’s something damned strange about you. You show up at the oddest places, and then wild things start happening. Do you know that I learned it was you
who convinced Fletcher to leave retirement and rejoin Star Watch?”

  Becker forced himself to remain calm, reaching out with his mind—he felt nothing. That was sickening. Had he lost his powers?

  “What just happened?” Chom said. “Why did your shoulders slump? What will I find if I walk the corridor to the Lord High Admiral’s office?”

  Becker thought furiously. He sensed the secretary in the outer office. He hadn’t lost his powers, but he couldn’t sense Chom. Was the man a holoimage? No. That was stupid. How did the pistol poke against his back then?

  Chom plucked off Becker’s hat. A second later, Becker endured the indignity of Chom feeling his cranium, the man’s thick fingers running through his hair and probing against his scalp.

  “You’re a freak,” Chom declared.

  “No!” Becker shouted. He turned around—

  With his pistol-hand, Chom shoved him in the chest.

  Becker staggered backward, nearly losing his balance. The back of his legs hit a chair, and he abruptly sat in it.

  Chom was a muscular, bald-headed soldier from Sigma Draconis. He wore a black uniform and looked like a tough guy with his oddly slanted eyes.

  That reminded Becker of his dream with the cloud having slit eyes of similar shape. Did that mean anything or was it simply a coincidence? With a shock, Becker understood what was going on.

  There was a half-metallic band around Chom’s head. It was the same kind of headband that Stokes had taken from the R&D center in Toronto, East Canada Sector. A small purring box was attached to the headband.

  “So it’s you,” Chom said, noticing the direction of Becker’s stare. “I wondered why Stokes went to all the trouble. Are you a Spacer adept?”

  “What?” Becker asked. “No. I’m on your side.”

  “Think again, traitor. You’re an alien freak. Your large dome shows that. You’re some kind of mentalist freak-artist, a mutated creature meant to work among us. I knew there were some kind of mind specialists working against Star Watch. I’ve been sensing it.”

  “No, you don’t understand. Nostradamus is from Jarnevon.”

  “What are you babbling about?” Chom demanded.