No one knew what long-ago events had triggered the aberrants’ descent into barbarism. And since the cause of the mass insanity remained indeterminate; contagion, psychological or otherwise, had always been greatly feared. Even in a society that prided itself on its citizens’ free access to information, only the most generic research concerning the aberrants was available to non-scientists. The bulk of the knowledge was hidden away, to be perused only by state-monitored scholars. It had been decided long ago that the less the general population knew about the aberrant world, the safer the rest of the galaxy would be.
So to most Akadeans the aberrants remained a faraway and shadowy source of dread and concern as it was known to practically everyone, albeit nearly exclusively through gossip and rumor, that the barbarians’ technological capabilities were moving forward at an alarming pace. It had been theorized that their limited lifespans had, over the centuries, endowed them with a drive to achieve that was far more intense than that possessed by normal human beings. But whatever the cause, the meteoric rise of their scientific prowess far outstripped anything ever seen on other planets seeded by Akadeans.
At Valessanna’s birth they had been hard pressed to cross their world’s oceans, and yet now they had the wherewithal to send forth limited exploratory missions throughout their star system. It seemed certain to be only a matter of time before they learned to traverse the vastness of space, and then the genie would truly be out of the bottle and there would be no capping it. Nothing would contain them at that point. On the day they became interstellar spacefarers, the galaxy would transform into an unthinkably dangerous place. That was another good reason for the laws against contact, Valessanna felt. Keeping them restricted to their own world might be impossible in the long run, but there was no reason to take the chance of helping them along. If the wrong technologies were inadvertently allowed to fall into their hands, the aberrants could very well be roaming the Milky Way in a matter of just a few years.
It was only the dire exigency of the times that had lifted the prohibitions imposed by the Union to allow for this one expedition. Yet even with the predations of the Vazileks now occurring at shorter and shorter intervals, the volunteers of the acquisition team would still be placed in strict quarantine for many months after their return, both on the Vigilant and later at a Union psychiatric facility. They would be watched continually for any sign of acquired antisocial or antisocietal behavior. Only after scientists were certain that they were in no way changed would they be allowed a debriefing and real contact with their observers, and a chance to relate exactly what a visit to the aberrant world was like. Hopefully the information that they had pilfered and would be bringing back with them would be of more immediate help.
That was Vigilant’s mission here, hard data aggregation. It had been determined long ago that some of the more technologically advanced of the many aberrant governments that held sway over different regions of the fragmented world devoted significant resources to the study of the planet’s recurrent episodes of societal fratricide, even going so far as to establish universities devoted to the study and perpetuation of the phenomenon. It was widely believed among academicians that within these schools and their adjuncts; in the libraries, the networks, and the history books; there could be found hard facts, unequivocal evidence that would paint a clear picture of the aggressive nature of the aberrants. What was needed was the unvarnished truth of how their conflicts were initiated, how they were conducted, and most importantly how each was eventually brought to an end. It was the hope of everyone involved in the project that this knowledge would somehow give the Union the key to opening a dialogue with the Vazileks and ultimately stop their more or less constant brigandage.
Thus the acquisition team had been formed, trained, equipped, and put aboard Vigilant. Then they had been brought to Sol Three, set down off the eastern coast of the continent that produced by far the most electromagnetic emissions, making it at least appear to be the most advanced area on the planet, and left on their own to accomplish their objectives. They had landed on the planet twenty-nine days ago. Now only a few minutes remained before the barge would be bringing them and the information they had plundered back aboard. Then Vigilant could turn her slender nose away from this nondescript little star and let her mighty engines take her and her crew far away from this accursed system, back to the Union, and home. It couldn’t come soon enough for Valessanna.
As she robotically strode to the point that was as far to port as she could go and was ready to turn back to starboard, she heard Busht behind her speaking softly into his com unit. She spun to face him, her eyes trained on his. His gaze was already directed to her own. “Yes,” he said as he nodded, his voice barely audible. “They’re starting in now.”
She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, then released the breath she had been holding and resumed her smooth, unthinking gait. Minutes passed. Busht reported the barge settling to the surface and making contact with the team. Somewhere on the bridge a console chimed, demanding the attention of the crewman that manned it. Seconds later the raspy, unsteady, and unbelieving voice of the woman at the sensor station called out to Valessanna.
“Captain, I read a ship approaching.” The ensign’s voice developed more clarity and confidence as she gleaned additional information from her equipment. “It’s gone sub-light well within the confines of the system. Approaching from above, angles seven by eighty-five. Moving in at high speed, approximately point nine three five. Make that two ships; no, check that; three now. In line ahead formation. They appear to be moving to an intercept course.”
Three ships, Valessanna thought. What in the name of the Rock were three ships doing way out here? What could possibly be important enough that the Union would send three vessels after Vigilant? Valessanna frowned and barked out an order. “Hail them!”
Before the communications officer could acknowledge, the ensign at the sensor console interrupted. “They’re not ours, Captain.”
“Belay that order,” Valessanna commanded stridently to the communications officer, pointing at his station with one index finger as she did so even though the officer on the watch had his back to her.
“Well, exactly who are they?” she asked loudly, expecting the ensign at scan to deduce that the question was meant for her, which she readily did.
“Unknown, Captain,” the ensign answered. “But they are all of the same configuration, and at least appear to be quite modern. Data is coming in slowly; they are heavily shielded.” There was a pause on the bridge. The only sounds were the small noises of the crew manipulating controls at their stations and the ubiquitous background whisper of the atmospheric system pushing air.
At length the ensign spoke again. “I have an ID, Captain. Vigilant says they are Vazilek, ninety-eight percent probability. An unknown type, but similar to ships observed during the Demyrsin raid.”
A shudder slightly convulsed Valessanna’s shoulders and caused her to draw in a hiss of breath. She was certain everyone on the watch did the same. Her mind reeled. Vazilek raiders? What could they possibly be doing here? Did they mean to attack the aberrants, or were they here to do business with them? The two groups did, after all, share some quite brutal similarities. Or had Vigilant been shadowed somehow? Had they unwittingly led them to this place? Before any further questions could barrage her brain, a crewman at one of the science stations rotated in his chair and addressed her.
“Captain, if they are comparable to the ships encountered at Demyrsin, they will be carrying substantial armament.” A patina of anxious stress covered each word of the man’s stentorian pronouncement. “We are no match for three of them,” he concluded. The fearful urgency with which the crewman had spoken shattered Valessanna’s shock-induced inertia.
“All stations, level one alert,” she snapped. “Helm! Fire up the engines; get us under way. Toward the star. Let’s draw them away from the small craft. Navigation! We’re going to slingshot around the star and com
e back for the cutter and the barge. Input course for maximum speed if you please. Communications! Alert Lindy and Deckar. Patch ‘em in, get ‘em up, and coordinate the rendezvous. Weapons!” There was an awkward pause as Valessanna realized that the weapons stations were yet to be manned. She grunted for no particular reason before turning to mount the two steps up to her command chair.
It came swiftly to life as she settled into it, shaping itself to fit snugly around her body and holding her like a half open cocoon, emulating chairs at stations all across the bridge. Tiny speakers grew out of the chair’s headrest until they were nestled against each of her ears while a thin microphone snaked out on a level just beneath her chin. A holographic plate came into view, rising on an until recently hidden support arm.
“Vigilant, tactical plot, please,” Valessanna ordered. The air above the plate flickered to life, depicting a three-dimensional image of the system and its surrounds. There, far above the plane of the planetary orbits, were the Vazilek ships. Represented by three elongated, red diamonds, they were approaching quickly and appeared to be on a heading aimed directly at the white diamond that was Vigilant. Valessanna’s ship, on the other hand, had been set in a slow, stellar orbit, closer to the second planet than the third, and even with all her engines now burning appeared to be hardly moving at all. “Sensors, update the Vazilek course, please.”
The speakers at her ears came to life. “They are maintaining an intercept course, Captain. They appear to be periodically correcting their vector to allow for our movement and acceleration. It seems certain they have detected us.”
“Roger that,” she replied, then ordered, “Exec!”
Busht acknowledged.
“Colvan,” she asked almost plaintively. “Are they in the air yet?”
“Negative Captain, they are still loading.”
“Keep me apprised.”
“Captain; Sensors.” It was the voice of the diffident ensign. “One of the Vazilek ships has broken formation. It is now on a direct heading for Sol Three. They may have detected the small craft.” Valessanna quickly shifted her focus to the tactical display. She could already see it. One of the red diamonds was slowly moving away from the others. As she watched the remaining two, they moved into a line abreast formation. Great, she thought. Now more of their weapons will come to bear as they fall in behind us. It was a sure sign the raiders were spoiling for a fight. But who would have thought otherwise?
“Colvan, did you get that?” she asked.
“Affirmative,” Busht intoned.
“Tell Deckar he has ten minutes, and then he’s got to go, regardless of the status of the mission.”
“Roger that.”
Valessanna checked her display again. The three intruders were already well within the radius of the fourth planet’s orbit. “Navigation, how much time before the one Vazilek can intercept the barge and the cutter?” She already knew she wasn’t going to like the answer.
“That’s hard to say, Captain,” came the reply. “But if they wait until the last moment to brake, and their deceleration rates are comparable to ours, they could be there inside of twelve minutes.”
Twelve minutes? That was all? “Can we beat them there?” She knew she wasn’t going to like this answer either.
“Not a chance, Captain.”
“What if we turn around and take a direct heading?”
“We won’t be there for another thirty-seven minutes using the gravity we’ve got to work with, and turning around is worse. This star is small, but we’re in close and we’ve already gained a good deal of momentum. It would take us nearly five minutes just to do a one-eighty and get back to where we started from. And we would be no where near deep drive velocity when the Vazileks came within range. Even if we somehow beat them to the small craft, I couldn’t guarantee an escape.”
“Understood.” Valessanna struggled for calm as she felt herself teetering on the edge of panic and tipping the wrong way. What to do, what to do, she thought over and over. She sat, transfixed, watching the holographic image before her. The red icons continued to swoop down on Vigilant while her ship seemed to be gathering speed in only infinitesimal increments. It was clear even without a query to navigation that they could not hope to escape, even using the gravity of the star, without first coming within range of the Vazileks’ weapons—weapons that the outlaws were rarely shy to use. They only abstained from a fight when the odds were stacked heavily against them, and that certainly wasn’t the case here.
Whatever the reasons for the Vazileks’ presence in this system, those reasons had become superfluous immediately upon the detection of the Union ships. Now the intruders were in stalking mode. The predators were aware of the prey and knew that they were the stronger. They would proceed to hunt Vigilant and her small craft unfalteringly, until all three of them were destroyed and any survivors had been taken as captives. They would never willingly allow the Akadeans to escape; Vigilant would ultimately have to outrun them to survive. Valessanna had had enough dealings with the criminals to know what to expect of them.
“Sensors to captain. The Vazileks have changed course. They’re veering away.”
Valessanna’s stunned, initial relief quickly turned to horror as the import of the maneuver became clear. They were not ending their pursuit; they simply understood that Vigilant was not fleeing. They had detected Lindy and Deckar and knew from experience that the Akadeans would not abandon their shipmates to incineration. The two ships were braking into a parabolic course that would put them between the star and the aberrant world on a vector heading out of the system, on a line directly astride the one Vigilant would have to take to get back to her cutter and barge. When she emerged from the far side of the star the Vazileks would be waiting, and the Union ship would have to run a gauntlet of fire all the way back to the third planet and beyond, enduring a formidable pummeling until they could gain enough speed to activate the deep drive and escape into the haven of faster-than-light travel. It was going to be a rough ride, and one that could quite conceivably have a very bad ending.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
Burnt
O’Keefe had never put much stock in the stories he’d heard of UFOs, alien abductions, or any of that nonsense. He’d seen plenty of people on television claiming to have seen or experienced such things, but had always scoffed at the rubbish they spouted as either hoaxes or the fruit of overactive imaginations. He figured a lot of what was claimed was the work of con artists hoping to find some way to capitalize on the inherent gullibility of a third of the population. But his convictions were getting a little shaky now, as the evidence hanging before his eyes was indefeasible. He sat woodenly at the controls of his boat, awestruck, still staring wide-eyed at the extraordinary, hulking craft floating effortlessly over the water. It was several long moments before he shook off the trance-like stupefaction that had seized him and spurred himself to action.
He reached for the night vision binoculars on the seat next to him. He raised the device to his eyes and focused it on the beings traversing the wide swath of spillway near the saucer. They were certainly not little green men. The people loading their cartons of contraband into the saucer were human in every way. Other than the fact that they all appeared to be somewhat short in stature, they looked absolutely normal, their appearance and demeanor suggesting nothing more than middle-class America. Most of them wore some sort of work clothing, predominately jeans and multicolored tee shirts by what he could discern in the jade half-light of the binoculars. They all appeared to be young, tan, fit, and trim—too fit and trim to simply be ordinary civilians. They had to be military—Air Force for sure. But what was with the strange language? Some kind of code maybe? That had to be it. Whatever they were doing, it was so secret that they were using code talkers, just like in World War II when the Corps used Navajos to keep their radio traffic secure. But what were they doing here? His lake wasn’t exactly a secure spot for top-secret adventures. What ever happened to Nevada and Area 51
? Why weren’t they out there, or somewhere else in the desolate West, loading up their mysterious cargo? And what would be their response to a lone stranger caught observing them? Each question he asked himself led to even more questions, none of them with definitive answers. His mental meandering only served to make his comprehension of the situation murkier than it had been before.
Then abruptly, as O’Keefe still watched through the night scope, the comportment of the trespassers changed markedly. Whatever his visitors were doing; they had suddenly been energized to finish their task more quickly. In the blink of an eye the tempo of their efforts had turned from capriciously casual to doggedly determined. Gone was the jovial repartee he had witnessed only moments before. Now they ignored each other as they passed. They were jogging out to the trucks to grab boxes, and once they had them they were feverishly lugging those same boxes as quickly as they were able back up into their aircraft.
In only a short time, even that pace became unsatisfactory, and they proceeded to back one of the trucks up to the base of their ramp and unload it from there. Even as they removed the last cartons from that truck the next one was being driven up to the shore, ready to take the place of the other as soon as it could be moved. O’Keefe could not readily discern what if anything about the situation had substantially changed, but something had sure spooked his visitors.
As he watched the drama playing out before him, his boat continued drifting closer to the dam. The little craft had moved far enough to the east that he found himself in a position where his line of sight to the activities on the shore was unimpeded by the bulk of the saucer. He could now see nearly the entire length of the ship to shore ramp, and it was at once abundantly apparent that the rapidity of the strangers’ efforts had increased to an even greater pitch. They seemed nearly spent now, jostling each other as they descended the ramp and bending over to grab their knees each time there was a moment with no parcel of cargo available for them to carry. Even at a distance O’Keefe could plainly see that all of them were gasping for air.
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