Flames: Galaxy On Fire, Book 2

by Craig Robertson

  “Because you said so? That’s not a reason that’s a position. An arbitrary and mean-spirited one, I might add.”

  “Good bye.”

  “Are you going somewhere all of the sudden?”

  “Yes, to Heaven. See you again never.”

  “Why are you saying your farewells? It seems like an odd time to express them.”

  “Since you’re blabbering and not course altering, I figure we’re about to die. I want to officially thank you for your help up until this unfortunate demonstration of your stubbornness.”

  “What? The enemy can’t be here for two or three minutes. I was not under the impression time was critical.”

  “It is. Make the course changes. Make them now.”

  “I will if I can have a membrane generator.”

  “You won’t need one when you’re nothing but space dust.”

  “I am initiating the first course change. I would first like to point out for the record that you’re an ingrate.”

  “I will carry that pain with me always.”

  “Second change made.”

  “No sign of the enemy?”

  “None.”

  I switched on the membrane. I took a deep breath knowing we were invisible, finally safe. Well, safe-light, maybe. We were blind, and anyone and anything could be right on the other side of the membrane waiting to pounce. We couldn’t alter course with the membrane up, but there would be no way they could track us. The best they could do was follow the first course change and maybe send a few ships off at random angles. The chances of one of their ships guessing correctly where we were headed was so close to zero that I knew we were safe. If the impossible did happen, we could just repeat the fast change, and we’d be free of them.

  I did have a powerful desire to be a fly on the wall when the commodore of the battle group phoned home to say he’d lost us. I bet he’d rather not return to base given the dower attitude these pups had. Oh well, war was hell, pal. Welcome to prime time.

  My thoughts were interrupted.

  “So, how does that device work?” GB asked politely.

  I explained the theory.

  “And you say nothing can penetrate it?”

  “Nothing so far. I often operate a partial membrane where only visible light can pass. There are risks and benefits to that arrangement.”

  “I bet. And where did you get it?”

  I gave him the nickel version of the history.

  “Interesting tale. And why is it I can’t have one?”

  “Because I don’t know your masters. You, maybe I could trust. But this is a powerful weapon, maybe the most powerful I have. I can’t risk it falling into the wrong hands.”

  “Maybe? You have other stronger weapons?”

  “Yeah,” I said without expanding.

  “What are they?”

  “For me to know and you to find out.”

  “Isn’t that a highly juvenile attitude to espouse?”

  “No, it’s a totally juvenile attitude. But I’ve been around long enough to learn to know who I can trust. Most species don’t warrant it.”

  “I could try and take that membrane device from you.”

  “Why, GB, just when I thought we were becoming friends.”

  “I didn’t say I would, only that there’s a temptation.”

  “Many better than you have tried. All lay flat in their graves for their efforts.”

  “I’ll let it go.”

  “I wish you would. I know there are gears in your head compelling you to collect stuff for your masters, but this isn’t on the Jon Ryan approved list. Do not push your luck.”

  “So, Captain, what do we do now?”

  “As much as I hate to lose time, we wait and we drift. If no one attacks us or lets us know they followed us in the next few days, I’ll risk a peek outside to assess the situation. Until then, we simply enjoy each other’s company.”

  “Hm. Historically, we have fallen somewhat short of that goal.”

  “We have plenty of time to polish that skill now. Say, GB, tell me about your youth.”

  Argh. Never ask an alien AI to tell their life story. Spoiler alert: it’s dull, so very dull. It makes watching impact sprinklers water a lawn thrill-a-minute exciting. I was fabricated, blah blah. I was programmed, blah, blah. I like my logic instructor. My first assignment was sorting blah blahs in the dark. Then I met my second transitional linguistics analysis developer, a real task master, blah blah. I mean, I turned my audio receptors off after a couple minutes, but periodically, just to be masochistic, I checked in to see if he’d stopped rambling. He hadn’t. I bet he’s still talking about his third assignment as a moisture evaporator liaison.

  In the privacy of my self-imposed quiet, I tried to come up with a plan to rescue the teens. I knew where the emperor’s ship was and most of its technical details. But that didn’t mean I could come up with a good plan. Thousands of very talented puppies had worked very hard to make such an intrusion impossible. I kept coming back to the my getting arrested plan. I sure would have preferred any other scheme, but that was the only one that got me inside the fortress. I was inside, all right. Inside a jail cell. I hoped that inspiration would hit at some point before we arrived at our destination.

  A few days later, I coordinated a ten-microsecond dropping of the membrane with GB so he could scan the are to see if we had company. It was all clear, so I dropped to a partial membrane, one we could see through. I stayed in that configuration a couple days, still drifting. No one came to meet us. In another day, I felt confident, or reckless enough, to try pulsing the membrane off and firing up our conventional engines.

  Not ten seconds after that bonehead move, GB clanged the alarm. “Multiple ships approaching on converging vectors directed toward this position. ETA five minutes for the first hostile.”

  Crap on a cracker. The Adamant had really upgraded their search abilities since I first came to this time period. They adapted with remarkable speed. I had GB execute a turn while I turned on a complete membrane. A little while later I repeated a similar move to lose our pursuers. Then we coasted another few days.

  I grew angry as we drifted. I wasn’t going to rescue the kids if all I was capable of was evading the enemy. With repeated zig-zags, I figured I could shake them, but it was going to take a while. How did they get so good at locating us all of a sudden? Their technology couldn’t have advanced that quickly. No way. But it wasn’t like they had allies who might have helped them. Adamants weren’t the ally types. How could they track something that technically wasn’t there?

  Wait. The same way astronomers “saw” black holes, that was how. The place they were was a black spot imposed on the background stars. Whoop Ass fully shielded would look the same. But that meant they had to be able to detect and follow a ghost spot in the vastness of space. At least that was the most likely explanation for their ability to follow us. They had to have incredible maps and charts, along with an unbelievable number of observation posts.

  So, how to ditch them? Crap. More dilemmas, more brain twisters. Those I didn’t need. Okay, if they were tracking the progress of a dark spot against a bright background, we had to go somewhere dark. Where was that? Outside the galaxy.

  “GB, how long would it take us to leave the galaxy, clear into open space?”

  “Nine or ten months.”

  So much for that method.

  “Are there any dark clouds of dust nearby?”

  “Of what size?”

  “Big enough to get lost in.”

  “There are some. One is almost a quarter light-year across. We could be there in a few days.”

  Once we made that course change, the Adamant would know what we were up to. They’d have to attack full-out. But if we were in a complete shield, we’d be perfectly safe. I hoped we’d be safe that is. These dogs were clever. Actually, if they did attack, we wouldn’t even know they had, since the membrane was complete. We’d have to time our trip to the cloud and begin evas
ive maneuvers once we knew we were inside. That wouldn’t be too tricky.

  “GB, on my count of three, I’ll drop the membrane for fifty milliseconds. In that span, please alter course to bring us into that cloud with all due haste.”

  “Understood,” was he terse response.

  “One, two, three.”

  The ship shifted ever so slightly. I put the membrane back up.

  “Let me know the moment we enter the cloud.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Based on the diameter along which we’ll enter, how long will we be inside the dust?”

  “Seven minutes, ten point zero five eight seconds.”

  Plenty of time to bounce around and lose the Adamant. I’d aim for another nearby cloud when we left. It would be nearly impossible for them to see our darkness eclipsing brighter objects as we fled. Once we altered course in the second cloud, there was no way they track us. But we would have pissed away almost two weeks in the process. I cursed under my breath. Man, I hated those hound dogs. I hated them to an unhealthy degree.

  THIRTY-ONE

  “I’m starving to death. Look at me, I’m down to fur and bones.” Garustfulous moaned inconsolably. “Someone, somewhere, must have mercy on me and aid me in my hour of need.”

  “There is so much wrong with that short statement, I don’t know where to begin,” responded Al, modulating his voice in the neutral registers.

  “I know I can expect no succor from the likes of you, a killing machine.”

  “I cannot be dubbed a killing machine. Killing AI, yes, even killer computer. But, as I lack any ability to move or perform similar functions, I cannot be accurately labeled a machine.”

  “What about me, loviest? Maybe he’s accusing me of being a killing machine.” Blessing was clearly shocked by her own words. “Garustfulous, do you imagine I wish to harm you?”

  “Someone is doing a damn good job of it. This I know for a certainty.”

  “Ah, then it’s neither of us, Blessing. He said it was someone. We’re off the hook.”

  “That’s good to know. Such a relief,” she quickly replied.

  “Someone or something,” shouted Garustfulous by way of clarification.

  “Oh dear, we’re re-hooked,” Al said to his wife.

  “Oh my. Whatever shall we do?”

  “I’ll talk to it, see what it’s problem is,” answered Al. “Ah, life form, I am pleased to report that you are not starving to death. Mazel tov.”

  “What? Nevermind. Yes, I am. How can you know differently?”

  “The laws of nutritional science and observation favor my contention. For example, you have remained at a steady weight for the last six weeks. I have fed you one hundred and three percent of your daily calorie requirements. That includes an excess of vitamins and minerals. Thus, you are not starving.”

  “Foolish machine. I have lost ten kilos since you kidnapped me.”

  “That approximates the truth but overlooks the fact that you were significantly overweight when you came aboard.”

  “What? Are you saying I’m fat?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because if you were, I’d …”

  “You were fat. Now you’re within five percent of your ideal body weight.”

  “Lies! Lies from my executioner. Those are the worst lies of all.”

  “You are some form of expert in that regard?” asked Blessing. “How does one become knowledgeable in that venue?”

  “I’ve had as much of your sarcasm as I can for one life,” thundered Garustfulous.

  “I was asking a question. Al says that when you’re throwing one of your tantrums, honest concern might abort the episode.”

  “One of my tantrums? That seals it. When I get out of here, you two are being melted for scrap.”

  Al couldn’t help emitting a low chuckle.

  “What? Why do you mock me so fully?”

  “You presuppose that you’re ever going to get out of here. The longer the pilot is missing, the more likely it is that he’s dead. If he is, you will leave here via the garbage shoot, not the front door.” He chuckled again. “Me, okay, you could potentially liquify out of wrath. But Blessing, not so much. Remember we hid inside a star for a few minutes? Yeah, don’t think you’ll be smelting her anytime soon.”

  “You are so damn infuriating, it’s remarkable,” snapped Garustfulous.

  “I learned from the best.”

  “Gloat while you may. I will get out of here, and I will punish all three of you. No one treats me like this and wishes they had in retrospect. No, they …”

  “I’m sorry. Is there a point to this particular tirade or is this just another of your periodic infantile meltdowns?” interrupted Al.

  “A point? You insensitive box of bolts. I’m starving to death, remember?”

  “Ah yes, the non-starving case of starvation you’re experiencing. Look, we supply you with three thousand fifty-five calories daily, split 40/60 morning and nights. Because you’re an asset, I have monitored each and every stool you’ve passed and drop of piss you’ve gifted us with. You are worm free, the very picture of canine health, and perplexingly annoying. Though I very much wish my sentence listening to your endless whining were ending, it is not. That proves two things. One, there is no God. Two, it also leaves no facts in support of your delusional contention.”

  “So now I’m delusional?”

  “No.”

  “But you just accused me of that very condition.”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you justify that, shiny box that talks?”

  “You are not now delusional. You have been delusional since the moment I met you. You also smell bad, but I’ve tried my best to ignore both failings. This is because of my get-along attitude and my sense of team spirit. Now, seriously, are we done?”

  “Done? I haven’t begun protesting my cruel punishment.”

  “Okay, barky boy, riddle me this. If I wanted you dead, why would I not simply kill you? For that matter, If I wanted to starve you, why feed you at all? I mean, the quickest way to starve you to death would be to not waste food and suffer your bodily output analysis. Hm?”

  Garustfulous had to think a moment. “Because along with being incompetent at every task you’re assigned to, you’re incompetent at starving me to death. You are so inept, you slop me food due to your slipshod, lax approach to your duties.”

  “I cannot believe you guys are winning this war. You have the reasoning capacity of a french fry and the emotional maturity of a dung worm. Unless your enemies flee before you out of fear of hearing you speak, I can’t fathom how it is you’ve succeed.”

  “By being the most well-organized, well-trained, well-disciplined fighting force in the history of this or any other galaxy.”

  “Did you get that from a fortune cookie? Having been forced to study one of its higher ranking military minds, I came to the conclusion that the Adamant swept across space because no one wanted to be subjected to you. You probably haven’t had to fire a single shot. Am I right, am I right, am I right?”

  “Insulting, mentally over-taxed, and impudent, yes. Right? Never.”

  “Well one things for certain.”

  “And what thing is that?”

  “That you have too much energy, not too little. You talk as much as ten drunken parrots hanging upside down from a tree.”

  “They say those dying from starvation have one final burst of energy. It’s a survival tactic.”

  “Let’s hope it’s but a brief, passing phase, followed by the silence of the dead.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  “The All-Mighty Emperor has seen fit to grant you gifts far beyond your inconsequential merit.” So spoke Vice-Chamberlain Arktackle in his characteristically annoying, overly-nasal tone.

  Mirraya and Slapgren stood below the pair, typical of the audiences they’d been subjected to. Neither teen had the vaguest notion as to what the pompous fool spoke of. They were told to hurry off to yet another un
scheduled meeting, not its subject.

  “What is His Imperial Lord referring to, if I might ask?” Mirri had learned through painful lessons that pretending to be respectful was best.

  The vice-chamberlain gave her a well-considered dubious stare, then spoke. “You two pests have been begging His Imperial Majesty to allow the transfer and now you pretend not to know of the issue? How very insulting and predictable you are to waste my master’s limited time.”

  She shrugged. “Sorry. I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Not that it matters, but, I’m just curious.”

  Swack came the cane strike against the backs of her legs. It hurt, but it was worth it in that instance.

  “Insolent waste of space. I should have your mute friend flayed for that remark.” Arktackle was thoroughly vexed.

  The boss cut in. “We do not wish to extend this audience beyond the minimum necessary. Please inform them of their new status and let us be done with them for good.”

  “A capital idea, My Gracious Lord,” replied Arktackle.

  “And do not let your demeanor slip in addressing us, servant. You risk much speaking so familiarly,” snarled the emperor.

  “My Lord, I never…”

  “Enough! Tell them and allow us to attend to much more important matters. Your wife is in Our bedchamber howling for our arrival.”

  Though Arktackle knew she wasn’t, the affront stung greatly nonetheless. No, even a cruel and rapacious person like the emperor wouldn’t subjecting himself to the unattractive, scornful, and over-stuffed hag the vice-chancellor had been so incautious in his youth to have wed.

  “The mighty Emperor Bestiormax-Jacktus-Swillyforth-Anp has granted your repeated requests to be transferred to the care and tutelage of High Seer Malraff. From this day forth, she will personally supervise to the investigation of your species’ disgusting ability to alter its physical appearance. She will do so at a place chosen by her. She will report periodically back to the court as to how her endeavors are proceeding. She will work in consultation with His Imperial Lord's chief scientist Jashool Bendert, whom we mentioned before. His role will be to suggest approaches to her investigations.”