Forbidden Suns

by D. Nolan Clark

  A great deal of thought had gone into what they should say to the Blue-Blue-White. When Valk interfaced with their drone fleet at Niraya he had downloaded a large amount of data, but most of it had been in machine language. Only a few messages had been encoded in the color language of the aliens. As a result he had only a basic vocabulary to work with, so the message had to be simple.

  The obvious choice had just been “Hello, we would like to speak to you.” Simple, and not aggressive. The kind of message that might get a favorable response.

  Lanoe had shot that down at once. He didn’t want to give the Blue-Blue-White the impression that humanity had come to their doorstep to make friends. Sending any kind of message at all meant forgoing the element of surprise, so he had argued that they should declare their purpose here as clearly as possible. He wanted the message to read, “You must answer for your crimes.”

  Candless had disagreed—she felt that Lanoe’s message might as well say, “You’re under arrest. Keep your hands where we can see them.” Instead, she’d argued for a more nuanced introduction. Valk had struggled to translate her words, but in the end they’d come up with, “We have a message of great urgency.”

  Lanoe still didn’t like it. He was spoiling for a fight. Some great triumph to slake his thirst for revenge—but even he had to recognize that the best outcome here would be for real communication with the jellyfish. Eventually Candless had gotten him to compromise.

  “Ready to begin signaling,” Valk said, sending his words directly to Lanoe’s suit. Through a camera view he saw Lanoe nod.

  “Do it,” he said.

  Valk painted the Screamer with a communications laser and sent the command. The little drone started to spin, its colored lights flashing in precisely timed intervals. The language of the Blue-Blue-White was heavily nuanced—the fifteen colors were important, but so were the durations of each color, their chromaticity and value.

  The color schedule had all been worked out in advance, but Valk translated it to himself as the Screamer flashed out its message.

  Blue–long blue–short white, the name of the species itself, which they always used to begin an address. Purple–purple–long purple–green–dark blue–long green: “We have a message.” White–dull red–white–very bright white, to indicate emphasis. Vivid blue–long vivid blue–very bright short white, to suggest that the message sender possessed high authority.

  The message repeated, over and over.

  Valk watched the people on the bridge. Every face was frozen with anticipation, with dread, with, perhaps, a little hope. If the Blue-Blue-White responded favorably, perhaps there was a chance at some kind of communication, of understanding. Perhaps, eventually, some form of reconciliation.

  As the Screamer pulsed out the colors, over and over, heart rates on the bridge started to climb. A few people started to sweat.

  Shulkin’s biodata didn’t change at all. The man was a statue. Bury didn’t sweat, because he was a Hellion.

  Lanoe’s heart rate actually slowed down.

  “We have to give them a chance to respond,” Candless said. “This is going to come as quite a shock to them, they’ll—”

  But before she’d finished her thought, the reply came. Searchlights lanced upward through the clouds, incredibly powerful lights in all fifteen colors, flickering as they replied to the Screamer. Not just one reply, but dozens, from at least three different cities. The colored beams swept across the sky, homing in on the Screamer as it rocketed through the outer atmosphere of the disk.

  Valk overclocked himself trying to record all the incoming messages. Blue–long blue–long blue–long blue–bright white.

  Orange–short orange–vivid orange.

  Green–blue–white–vivid red–dull red–blue.

  Vivid orange–vivid orange–vivid orange–vivid orange–short vivid orange.

  Some of the responses repeated, some were sent only once. Some were stronger than others. Data spooled at incredible speed through Valk’s processors, datasets combined, forced into arrays, broken back out into strings. He applied Fourier transforms and n-gram predictive algorithms, pushed it all through brute-force Markov models.

  He was done long before Lanoe spoke.

  “Well? What are they saying?”

  The problem was, Valk didn’t have an answer.

  In Lanoe’s ear, Valk’s voice sounded perfectly human. And perfectly apologetic.

  “It’s … gibberish,” the AI said.

  Lanoe scowled. Knowing full well that Valk would see the expression. Wanting him to.

  “I’m trying, Lanoe, I really am. It’s just—I only have a limited vocabulary to begin with. I kind of expected I wouldn’t fully understand their replies, but I’m getting nothing. Not a single one of the replies means anything I can process. Maybe … I don’t know, it’s like there are some root words in there, a couple of suffixes I recognize, and even then I’m using metaphors, comparing this to the way we process spoken language, and this is a completely different kind of—”

  “Say again,” Lanoe told him. “This time, speak plainly.”

  “The message we sent is one of the simpler things you can say in their language. Their responses seem simple, too. Except I don’t understand any of it. I don’t have an explanation. Just the fact that it doesn’t make any sense.”

  Lanoe pursed his lips. Nodded to himself. Then he turned to look at Candless, and the carrier’s IO, Giles. “Tell me what’s happening with the drone.”

  Giles responded first. “The Screamer is still decelerating, mostly because of air resistance. It’s still moving faster than escape velocity for the disk, though. If we don’t change its course it’ll eventually collide with the star. Of course, it’ll be vaporized long before it reaches the photosphere.”

  Lanoe nodded. That wasn’t a problem—in fact, flying into the star had always been built into the drone’s flight plan. If the Blue-Blue-White responded unfavorably, or even just ignored the Screamer, Lanoe had wanted to make sure they didn’t get their tentacles on it. They could learn a great deal about human technology by taking it apart and studying it.

  “Valk is having trouble decoding their responses,” Lanoe told the crowd on the bridge. “In the meantime, we’re going to—”

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Candless said. “But look. There.”

  She pointed at the display that showed the camera view from the Screamer’s nose. Much of the image was just a welter of dark red swirling clouds. Along one side, though, he could see some lighter dots. They grew in size as he watched them.

  “Those must be Blue-Blue-White vehicles, coming to meet us,” Giles said. “At least, coming to check out our drone.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, for stating the obvious,” Candless said. “Commander Lanoe, sir? Would you like us to respond in any way?”

  “Valk,” Lanoe said, “have the Screamer send my message. The one I originally wanted to send. Maybe they’ll respond to that.”

  “If you’re sure,” Valk said.

  “I’m sure,” Lanoe told him.

  On the main display, a schematic of the Screamer displayed which of its fifteen lamps was in use at a given time. The new message contained a lot more vivid orange than the previous one.

  “Those vehicles are moving very fast,” Giles said. “In fact, the one in the lead is—oh. Uh, sir, those are—”

  “I see it,” Lanoe said. Those weren’t vehicles approaching the Screamer. They were projectiles. Missiles.

  The first one hit the drone off center, knocking it off its course. Bars of static raced up and down across the camera view.

  The second projectile smashed the Screamer into a million pieces.

  The camera view went blank instantly. On the schematic view the debris from the Screamer appeared as bright dots spreading out across the sky of the disk.

  “The drone has been destroyed,” Giles said. Perhaps for the benefit of anyone who hadn’t already figured that out.

&nbs
p; “There’s movement down in the clouds,” Candless said. She brought up a new display to replace the lost camera feed. The new imagery came from the carrier’s own long-range telescopes, and it showed a much wider view of swirling cloudscape. Something dark was swimming its way up through those clouds, tendrils of red wisping off its surface as it surfaced.

  An actual vehicle this time, Lanoe thought. No missile, no projectile would ever be that large. As it rose above the top layer of clouds, he realized that he was seeing, for the very first time, a Blue-Blue-White ship. Not one of the drones he’d fought at Niraya but an actual ship containing actual jellyfish. It was oblong and lumpy, its surface broken in a dozen places by white cagework blisters. Deep pits in its hull glowed with heat—those had to be either thrusters or weapons.

  The ship was—big. It could be hard to tell such things from a distance, but the amount of light it caught, even in that dim cloudscape, made Lanoe think it was very, very big.

  “What’s the scale on this?” Lanoe said.

  Giles leaned over his console, reading numbers from a display. “The wingspan is … Hellfire. Approximately five kilometers.”

  Ten times bigger than the carrier. Far bigger than the largest dreadnought humanity had ever built. Five times bigger than the queenship Lanoe had fought at Niraya.

  He let his mind reel for a second. Got himself back under control.

  “All ships,” he said. “Move in for a close approach.”

  Candless whirled around to look at him, her eyes bright with fear. “Sir,” she said.

  “Do it,” he said. He turned and looked back at Shulkin. The madman was leaning forward in his chair, a tiny smile on his lips. Above their heads the holographic images of the Batygin brothers looked grim but resolute.

  “They wouldn’t listen to our message,” Lanoe said. “Maybe if we show up in person, they’ll pay attention.”

  The gravity on the bridge increased as the carrier accelerated toward the rendezvous. They had been hanging back behind the Screamer, but only by a million kilometers or so. It wouldn’t take long to close the distance.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Multiple radar signatures just below the top layer of clouds,” the IO called out. “It’s hard to get a fix on them—those clouds are full of particulates that block my scans. I can only get a sense of things moving around down there. None of them are as big as the—I’m sorry, I don’t know what to call that thing,” he said, gesturing at the giant ship on the display.

  “Dreadnought,” Shulkin said, startling a few people near him. Most likely they had forgotten he was there, Candless thought.

  “Sure,” Lanoe said. “It’s a dreadnought. Good a name as any. What’s our ETA?”

  “Two minutes,” Giles said.

  “Commander,” Candless said, “there’s a decision to be made, and it should be done now. If you want the cruiser to warm up its coilguns, they’ll need about ninety seconds.”

  She turned and looked Lanoe directly in the eye. Because what he said next was going to determine a number of things. Perhaps most saliently, their strategy. If they arrived with the coilguns hot, and if the Blue-Blue-White had sensor technology comparable to their own, the jellyfish would see that they had come for a fight. It would be the end of any attempt at negotiation or diplomacy.

  If, however, he failed to give the order to ready the guns and they got into a fight anyway, the guns would be useless for ninety seconds. Many battles didn’t even last that long. He would essentially be removing one of his best weapons from the fight.

  There was another layer of consequence to his decision, though. If he readied the guns, then she would know he never had any real intention of seeking redress. That he had come here for pure, simple revenge.

  She saw his jaw move as he gritted his teeth, thinking it through. He’d always been a man of action, and she knew she wouldn’t have to wait long for her answer.

  He turned to look at Ehta. “Have the gun crews stand ready,” he told her. “But don’t warm them up, not yet.”

  Candless allowed herself a sigh of relief.

  “I should be over there, with my people, sir,” Ehta said.

  Lanoe just nodded at her and turned back to the display. Ehta exited the bridge in a hurry—she just had time to get someone to fly her back to the cruiser.

  “Should we scramble the fighters?” Candless asked next.

  Lanoe looked deeply annoyed as he answered. He waved one hand in a chopping motion. “Have all pilots report to their ready stations. But keep them on standby.”

  “Very good, sir,” Candless said. She tapped at a virtual keyboard to give the order. Every pilot on the carrier would move immediately to the corridors that flanked the flight deck, ready to jump into the cockpits of their carrier scouts and Yk.64s at a moment’s notice. “And M. Valk?” she asked, because there were more fighters—BR.9s—in the cruiser’s vehicle bay, but the AI was the only available pilot to fly them. Knowing what it meant to have him operate those cataphracts, Candless did not relish the prospect. “I presume we don’t need his help at this time.”

  He gave her a very nasty glare. He knew that she was trying to keep him on the straight and narrow, and he didn’t like it. She did not care in the least.

  Candless had been a teacher once. Bury and Ginger had been her students and she would have done anything to keep them safe. Lanoe had put both of them in incredible danger, and the fact that they were still alive was little short of a miracle. Candless had failed, then, in her duty to her pupils. Perhaps by way of atonement, she’d extended her obligation to the entirety of the fleet. She would not let anyone—Navy, Centrocor, civilian—get hurt now, not if she could prevent it.

  “M. Valk is not exactly in my good graces right now,” Lanoe said. No, in other words. He looked up at the identical holographic heads floating over them. “Batygins. I have orders for you. Keep well back of the carrier, but be ready to move in fast when I give the order. Ready firing solutions for your missiles, but don’t shoot until I give the word.”

  “Understood, Commander.”

  “Understood, Commander,” the twins said, just a split second out of synch.

  Candless bent over her console. “Thirty seconds to close approach,” she said. “All hands prepare for maneuvers. May we please clear the bridge of all nonessential personnel?”

  It was a rhetorical question. The carrier’s off-duty officers filed out of the bridge in a hurry, probably anxious to get to the safety of their bunks. Bury lingered for a moment, watching the displays. He looked downright wistful. Eventually he left, though, and only M. Bullam remained.

  Candless had to give the Centrocor woman a long stare before she seemed to realize she’d been ordered off the bridge. “Hmm? Oh, sorry,” she said, with a warm smile. “Back under the old management, I used to observe from here during combat and maneuvers,” she said. “If I’m not welcome, though—”

  “You aren’t,” Candless said, seeing no point in sugarcoating it.

  “Sorry! Sorry,” Bullam said, laughing. But she vacated the bridge.

  Which left six of them. Giles the IO, a pilot, and a navigator at their stations. Lanoe and Candless—and Shulkin. Candless caught Lanoe’s eye and nodded at the old zombie.

  Lanoe started to look even more annoyed than he had before, but then he must have realized what she was trying to convey, because his face cleared and he nodded. “Captain,” he said, putting a hand on Shulkin’s arm, “I’m running this show, but from here the carrier is yours to command.”

  Shulkin’s only response was to lean forward slightly.

  Candless didn’t like that much. She didn’t trust Shulkin—frankly, she thought the man was incapable of the job he’d been given. Perhaps Lanoe wanted to send a signal to the Centrocor forces that they were all working together now. She knew better than to challenge his order.

  She found a seat near the back of the bridge and strapped herself in. Lanoe checked the displays one last time, then did the
same.

  “Beginning deceleration,” the carrier’s pilot said. They needed to slow down if they didn’t intend to just shoot right past the dreadnought at high speed.

  Powerful retro thrusters in the nose of the carrier burned hard, shoving against their direction of travel. The shift in gravity was disorienting, and for a moment Candless felt queasy as the bridge turned upside down.

  “Sir,” the navigator said, “how close should we get to the dreadnought?”

  Lanoe looked to Shulkin, but it didn’t seem the captain had any thoughts on the matter, at least none he chose to share.

  “Stand back about fifty kilometers,” Lanoe told the navigator. “We’ll let them get a good look at us, but there’s no need to be aggressive about it.” He glanced over at Candless. “At least not yet.”

  As they approached, Lanoe had eyes for nothing but the main display. The IO had expanded the image to fill half the bridge, and it showed the Blue-Blue-White dreadnought in enormous detail. What had before seemed lumpy and shapeless now seemed intricate in its design. The hull of the ship was smooth but riddled with narrow pits, few more than a meter across. Much smaller than the weapon ports on its top side. He peered hard at the cagework blisters that encrusted its surface like giant greenhouses. Were there jellyfish behind those windows? Were they staring back at him?

  “Fifty kilometers, sir,” the navigator said.

  “Full stop,” the pilot told him.

  Lanoe forced himself to inhale. “Talk to me about the other ships, the ones under the clouds,” he said.

  “It’s hard to get a good count—they’re in constant motion,” the IO said. “I estimate there are fifty of them, with an average diameter of fifty meters each.”

  “Why are they loitering down there? Do they think we can’t see them?”

  It was a rhetorical question. No one bothered to answer. Lanoe probably wouldn’t have heard them if they had. “Valk,” he said, “is there any way to send them a message?”

  “Yes,” the AI called back. “I can modulate the running lights on the carrier to shine in the fifteen colors. The lights won’t be strong enough to be seen through the clouds, but they’ll be visible from the dreadnought.”