StarFight 1: Battlestar

by T. Jackson King

  Now, it seemed other life had learned the same hard lessons. And it chose to invade their clearly marked territory. So he had proposed the meeting down on the world of Warmth. Defense of his home cohorts on Nest had taught him the wisdom of entrapping the Hunter leaders of opposing cohorts. The trap allowed the trap-maker to render the invading cohort members without leadership, without a Hunter, or useful Servants, or strong Fighters, maybe they even suffered the loss of their egg-laying Matron. A cohort without leaders and guidance became chaos. It then became a simple matter to impose his pheromones on the new arrivals and add them to his home nest. So he had invited the meeting, had created a nesting site, had sent down a small cohort of defective Servants, and then waited for the invaders to arrive. The memory of the perception images of the new beings had nearly emptied his inner gut. His breathing spiracles had become erratic in their pumping of air. Nausea had filled him as he realized the new arrivals were the worst type of Soft Skins. They were two-legged scavengers who resembled smaller soft skins on his world of Nest. Those tree-dwelling beings were known as crafty thieves. Clearly these larger Soft Skins, who had only four limbs rather than the normal six, intended to steal Warmth from the grasp of the Swarm.

  The invaders had arrived. Transports from each of their ten flying nests had touched down on the empty meadow far below his ship. Close to four six-groups had walked in on just two legs. They had attempted to communicate with the defective Servants he had sent down. Those Servants knew their duty. They had pretended to cooperate. After one flying transport left the meeting site, giving him worry that some Soft Skin leaders might escape, he’d sent down a second transport. It carried the Storm Bringer floating globe. The globe, once deployed, rendered inoperable all signaling devices, whether pheromone or radiation-based. An added benefit came when the globe burst. The plasma created by its eruption incinerated all that lay below it even as the magnetic field created by the globe drew in local storm clouds. Those clouds covered the meeting site, making it invisible to normal perception imagers. While he could have destroyed the Soft Skin leaders with a particle disruption device, such weapons left behind deadly radiation residues that lasted for many lifetimes. He had no desire to sully the pure lands of Warmth. So the Storm Bringer globe had been deployed. And it had worked well.

  “Hunter!” came an alarm pheromone from a Servant who occupied the bench which analyzed perception signals from the monitor globes they had dispersed in orbit above Warmth. “A Soft Skin monitor globe has cast a hard scent beam down on the meeting site! The beam will reveal our second transport.”

  Around him the other eleven Servants who operated the systems and devices that controlled the operation of his flying nest now flared their antennae. Their mandibles moved as if cutting through an enemy. Their spiracles pulsed in anticipation of his response pheromone.

  “Have the Soft Skin flying nests changed their position above Warmth?” he scent cast, adding a food trail pheromone to entice quick response.

  The Servant spread his wings. “They have not. The intruder flying nests remain in their cluster formation, acting like—”

  “Alarm!” interrupted a releaser pheromone from a different Servant who monitored radiations from the cold of empty space. “The largest Soft Skin flying nest has released a small device. The device is a . . . a flying fabrication. It now enters the air of Warmth and flies toward the meeting site.”

  Hunter emitted a calming pheromone and spread it across the chamber by way of his wings. He followed it with an inhibitory pheromone to forestall hasty action by any Servant. “Servant,” he scent cast to the one who had scent spoken. “Send a pheromone signal to the flying nests of our Support Hunters. Advise them of the monitor globe action and the flying device. Have them awaken their Fighter Leaders.”

  Sudden scent silence came from those about him. The Servant who had reported the Soft Skin flying nest behavior now emitted a releaser pheromone, signaling his intent to change his behavior. His front limbs touched the control panel that lay in front of his bench. “Signal pheromones sent. May I add perception images from our sensor devices?”

  “You may do so,” Hunter agreed with the release of a calming pheromone. He then followed the scent words with a brief territorial pheromone to remind the Servant that he, the Leader of all Swarmers aboard the Colony Nest, controlled their futures, their lives and their destinies. “Send an identical scent to the Fighter Leaders in our flying nest. It is time for the attack stations on this nest to become fully occupied. The moment of attack may come sooner than any hard shell expects.”

  “Sending,” the Servant scented back to him with a strong aggregating pheromone as a signal of his loyalty.

  Hunter settled down on his bench. It was elevated above the device boxes and tubes that ran along the chamber’s floor and across the ceiling above. His flying nest was a poor imitation of his home shelter in a deep hole in a rock face that fronted a cool lake and meadow. Like every Swarmer in the twelve flying nests that made up their colonizing effort, he felt bereft of home. Such loss was a sensation that sent some Swarmers into chaotic behavior despite the pheromone scents of their leaders. Only Swarmers who could stand a long separation from the home nest, or home shelter, took duty aboard the flying nests that sought out new homes for the millions of new eggs produced by the Matron caste. Hunter was one of those who could handle such isolation from the familiar. But he did not pretend the loss did not affect him. Only the awareness of finding new home nests kept his inner gut at equilibrium.

  Breathing deep through his spiracles, he focused his three simple eyes and two major eyes on all the perception imagers that filled his Flight Chamber. Unlike other hard shell groups on Nest, every Swarm member had trichromatic vision. They could see from the dark purple through blue, green, yellow and orange. Servants who studied distant sky lights said there were other colors beyond dark purple to orange, which their native Soft Skins could perceive. No matter. The Swarm’s trichromatic vision had been a vital aid in defeating half-aware flying hard shells. Now, that vision told him much. Several imagers depicted the ten invading nests. Their shapes glowed in ultraviolet reflected from the local sky light. As did the many monitor devices dispersed by the invaders.

  How would the Soft Skins on those nests react to the loss of their leaders, their guides, their givers of order and coherence? Chaos should fill those flying nests as the Workers, Fighters, Servants and Matrons left leaderless became confused and fearful. When the ten flying nests showed erratic movements, that would be the moment to strike hard. The twelve nests of the Swarm would fly in and englobe the Soft Skins, overwhelming any artificial stingers possessed by such strange lifeforms. A mass englobement had always been the method by which any Swarm cohort overcame an opposing Swarm cohort. Surely the same would now happen with the Soft Skins.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Daisy scanned the ship deck and status holo as she waited for Jacob’s friends to arrive. Her friend’s order to change ship status made total sense to her in view of the failure to contact any senior officer from the battle group. Something strange was going on at the meeting site. They had to know what was happening. The Cloud Skimmer would bring them imagery and sensor data once it arrived at the site, in another twenty minutes. Until then, the Lepanto and the other ships had to prepare for possible conflict. Which meant she had to confirm every deck on the Battlestar was in combat alert status with people manning the vital stations involved in operating, fueling and fighting the giant warship. The holo drew her gaze.

  She saw that the left and right side outrigger pods were now at Weapons operational status. The carbon dioxide lasers on the nose and tail of each pod were powered up and ready to unleash green hell against any target out to 10,000 kilometers. In the middle of each pod the proton lasers were up and aiming sideways, ready to cover any side-approaching enemy with their red beams. The proton range was the same as the lasers. On the spine and belly of the ship were the railgun launchers and the plasma batteries. They
were equally powered and ready to defend the ship against enemies that got too close. The railgun mounts were aimed sideways, like the proton lasers, and fully covered the flanks of the Lepanto. The plasma batteries covered the top and bottom angles out to 400 klicks, which made them useful for taking out kinetic Smart Rocks, if the enemy possessed such. She looked at the ship’s nose, the area directly above the Bridge on the ship’s outer hull. The emitter node for the antimatter cannon showed Green Operational, and the particle accelerator tube that circled the body of the ship had accumulated a reservoir of negative antimatter sufficient for four shots. While the range of the black antimatter beam was just 4,000 kilometers, anything touched by the magnetically focused antimatter became instant energy. Similar to the yellow plasma balls shot by the plasma batteries. Finally, she confirmed the six armories at the rear of the ship and the four hangars at the ship’s front were in fighting trim, ready to feed thermonuke missiles to the rear missile launch silos, Smart Rocks to the railguns, plasma canisters to the batteries, and laser artillery, rifles and pistols to the twenty person Marine boarding team. Which should already be at Silo Eight, ready to enter their Assault Darts if ordered to board an enemy ship. Finally, she noted the personnel count. There were 321 lives aboard the Lepanto, each one as vital to the ship as she and her friends.

  Which made her wonder again at Jacob’s order. Carlos was a programmer on Navigation Deck, Lori a biologist on Science Deck and Quincy a laser gunner’s mate assigned to the front laser node on Weapons Deck’s right outrigger pod. Which left out only Kenji. Course the man was a line cook in the Mess Hall, an important talent but not something they needed for a space battle. Would there be a battle? Or would some Lieutenant Commander on another ship or LC Bannerjee on Lepanto show up and order the battle group to leave the system? Retreat in the face of the loss of their captains, XOs and other ensigns did not sit well with her. They had to know more about these wasp-like aliens. Who were they? Where did they come from? Why were they in orbit above the system’s outermost planet? Had they attacked the commanders of her fleet? If so, why? But answering such questions required a common language. A feat yet to be achieved. Maybe Lieutenant Branstead on Science Deck could figure out an algorithm that would—

  “O’Hara,” called Jacob from behind her. “What is the status of the Cloud Skimmer? How close is it to the meeting site?”

  “The skimmer is twelve minutes out from the meeting site,” O’Hara said, her Irish accent very pronounced. “It is now over the ocean that separates the meeting site landmass from the continent below us.”

  “What do our spysats say about the twelve alien ships?” Jacob asked.

  Daisy looked ahead at the woman who had mentored her on space battle tactics. She liked Rosemary O’Hara. The woman reminded her of her mother. Who now worked on Pluto at the Wide Field Infrared Observatory on that small world. Her father, who’d divorced her Mom when Daisy was just nine, lived on Taiwan and worked at some kind of Chinese tech company. He had never sent her a birthday present, nor had he attended her graduation from the Stellar Academy. Her Mom had shown up. Which made her love the hard-working scientist even more than she already did. Thanks to her Mom, she had taken flying lessons at age 12, soloed at 13 and earned her jet pilot license at 16. That background, and help from the Illinois senator her Mom knew, had gained her admission to the academy. She had seen Jacob in some classes there, but had never spent time with him at the academy. Just before boarding she’d heard he was a loner, not sociable. Which did not fit his manner during the officers holo shoot at the orbital shipyard station. Or his manner on the Lepanto. While the man was shy, he had made Kenji feel welcome in the ensigns ward room, a place rarely visited by any enlisted Spacer. He’d done the same for Quincy, a Brit who came from a Royal Navy family. That reaching out had endeared Jacob to her. Which left her wondering why she had not taken the obvious step and invited him to join her at the weekly Dance Night. Surely he knew how to dance. While he was congenial to other women ensigns and enlisted, she had seen no sign he wanted close contact with women. Could she change that attitude?

  “Acting Captain, the six spysats we have on that side of the world report every alien ship remains as they have been,” O’Hara said softly. “There is a forward group of six ships arranged in a hexagonal pattern, and a following group of six ships arranged similarly.”

  Daisy blinked as a memory of her high school biology class filled her mind. She recalled a picture of a wasp nest hidden under the eave of an old wooden building. Each chamber built into the mix of plant fiber, mud and wasp secretions had six walls. They made for hexagonal chambers, similar to the honeycombs of bees. Larvae were born and fed in the hexagonal chambers until they became true wasps. The memory caused her to tap her right side armrest and bring up a holo image of the twelve alien ships. Yes! Each ship was long and had six sides faceting its shape. Tubular shapes stuck out from the front, middle and rear of each log-like ship. Were they lasers? Cannons? Missile launch silos? Something else?

  “Thank you, Tactical,” Jacob said. “Uh, CWO Osashi, those spysats uploaded continuous video of the meeting with the aliens, didn’t they?”

  “They did, sir,” the man said, his tone formal but not amiable. She wondered at that.

  Her left armrest’s overhead image of the entire Bridge showed Jacob tapping his fingers on his armrest, clearly working at patience with the man who had challenged his right to issue any order. “Rerun on the front wallscreen the last three minutes of AV imagery. I assume the feed was cut off due to the lightning storm?”

  “Sir, that is what happened,” the elderly chief warrant officer said, sitting stiffly at his post. The man tapped the control pillar in front of him. “Last three minutes of imagery going up. Time stamps are in the lower right corner.”

  Daisy looked forward, trying to ignore the constant rasping of her vacsuit against her arms and legs. The suit was a bother but its wearing was in conformity with the new Alert status. At least the helmet-back position allowed her to breath normal ship air.

  The wallscreen filled with a high density color image of the backs of the captains and XOs who sat on field stools facing a cluster of eighteen wasp-like aliens. Clearly the image came from the tablet of one of the ensigns who sat behind the senior officers. She saw the broad back of Admiral Johanson on the left side of the arc of officers. None of them wore vacsuits. All were dressed in woodland camo NWUs. In the middle of the room hovered a hologram that showed various Earth plants and animals. The imagery was controlled by some officer who was trying to establish a common language or terminology. A holo next to it was controlled by the aliens, one of whom held a silvery tablet in his upper arm pair. That holo showed color images of the fleet ships in orbit above the fourth planet. Behind the aliens was parked their shuttle, which like their ships had a hexagonal outer hull. Words were heard as the humans talked among themselves, while the only sound coming from the aliens were rare raspings of the top limbs against their thorax shell. She wondered if rasping their limbs against their chitin shells was how they talked.

  “Does not look as if the two groups are understanding each other,” Jacob said, sounding calm but determined.

  “Maybe Lieutenant Branstead knows what is happening. I just watched on my seat’s repeater screen, alert for any incoming signals,” the Communications chief said, his tone indifferent.

  Daisy respected Branstead. The woman had a Ph.D. in molecular synthesis of biological polymers and led a deck of 51 specialists in the natural and social sciences. Which included Jacob’s friend Lori, a specialist in exobiology.

  “I’m sure you were alert. That sparkle at the top! Is that the incoming eleventh shuttle?”

  She fixed on what Jacob had noticed. The view from the back of the clear geodesic dome allowed a view of the landscape and sky in front of and above the dome. At the very top of the holo was a tubular image that shone silvery. As she watched, the tube quickly became an alien shuttle. In seconds it extruded six sti
ck-like legs from its bottom hull, hovered on belly jets, then landed on the flame-fused brown soil of the meadow. It rested just ten meters to the side of the original alien shuttle.

  “What’s happening on its roof?” Jacob asked quickly.

  Daisy, like everyone on the Bridge, was fixed on these last images of their senior officers. Who seemed intent on running through a series of numbers filling their holo, which might have been from a SETI common language program. None of them paid attention to the new arrival. Which, she now saw, was opening up its top. The alien shuttle’s roof split open down the middle, then two hull flaps rose up vertically. In two seconds something round or . . . or globular, she now saw, lifted up slowly from the inside of the shuttle. She could not tell how big the globe was, other than by comparison to the shuttle itself. Daisy guessed the balloon-like globe was perhaps two meters wide. Which meant it was half as wide as the shuttle itself. The globe lifted up higher, then higher still, its rise steady. Was it a weather balloon? Something filled with helium or hydrogen? There were no jets or fans or propellers showing on the globe’s exterior.

  “That globe is rising from the inside of the new shuttle,” Osashi said, answering Jacob’s query.

  “What is that thing?” Jacob asked sharply, his tone intense.

  “Maybe a weather monitoring station?” Osashi said, sounding puzzled. “When I first saw it I wondered what it might be. Perhaps the aliens were concerned for a local weather change. Or something. I’m no meteorologist. Sir.”

  “Understood.”

  She watched the globe rise up and beyond the view angle of the tablet held by the ensign who was transmitting the meeting actions to the spysats above for retransmission to—

  “Damn!”

  A bright yellow-white light flashed down into the holo image. Then the image went dark.

  “What the hell was that light flash?” Jacob said.