Farnham's Legend: The beginning of the X-Universe saga (X Games Book 1)

by Helge T. Kautz

  "Dear colleague, to fire on a Teladi ship in a Teladi sector would not only violate interstellar peace treaties, but retaliatory measures would be taken against you immediately as well. Quite apart from the fact your weapons cannot penetrate my shield. You no doubt have instruments that confirm this, just take a look at them."

  The destroyer roared relentlessly on. If Inanias couldn't steer the yacht out of the way within the next few sezuras the Split spaceship wouldn't just cross her path, it would slam into her! It almost seemed as if the captain of the destroyer had planned on it from the start, but that didn't make any sense at all! Nopileos spread his claws in frustration.

  "I am special representative Cho t'Nnt," the Split breathed heavily through Nopileos' console, "on the way to an urgent task for the patriarch of Chin."

  The Splits' eyes were a watery blue and his white beard stood out in stark contrast to the sickly green of his scale less skin. The greenish colouring was the sole characteristic the Teladi and the Split had in common. The strange-looking captain looked like a warrior and Nopileos knew that this appearance would not be deceptive. He considered himself quite lucky to have not met him outside the ship.

  The Split who had identified himself as Cho t'Nnt continued. "Diplomatic complications with the Teladi creatures are undesirable at this point in time. However, I will not hesitate to destroy this ugly ship if it does not immediately clear out of the way of my flight trajectory."

  The flames of the destroyer's engines kicked at the Nyana's Fortune's shield with relish as the sleek, menacing spaceship disappeared from the stern camera's view. The glow of its drive caused the lower rim of the giant cockpit dome to darken as the hostile ship skimmed underneath his yacht, missing it by just a few fathoms.

  The controls glowed bright green as the two ships' defence shields came in contact with each other; sparks flew and the window went totally dark for a fraction of a sezura. The Split's countenance was swept from the console in a snowstorm of static, before Inanias finally cut the projection. Nopileos dug his claws into the pilot seat's armrests in reflex, expecting a murderous lurch, but nothing happened. The displays showed that the Nyana's Fortune was now off course by a few Teladian fathoms, but the defence shield had not come close to being overloaded at any moment of the crisis.

  As it became possible to look outside into space again, Nopileos saw that the Python was already some distance away, its engines glowing, superheating under the strain of rapid deceleration. But his instruments told him something that made him hiss in amazement. The Python's defence shield was gone; even its weapons systems were powered down to the barest minimum needed to deflect micrometeorites.

  "Inansias – was that us?"

  "Oh yes, Captain Nipoleos."

  "Then Alindreos didn't exaggerate?"

  "Why no – Colleague Asalayas Hominides Alindreos never tends to exaggerate, Captain."

  "I seriously doubt he doesn't", mumbled Nopileos. Under normal circumstances his scale fin might have flicked erect, but the excitement was still too deep in his limbs. Maybe the computer had not understood his last sentence or perhaps it declined to answer for other reasons. In any case it fell silent and marked the trajectory of approach on the gravidar screen with an orange blink instead, indicating a change of course transmitted by traffic control.

  The communications system beeped for attention and a Teladi in the uniform of the trade fleet appeared on screen at Nopileos' command. "I am Aolekosis Kissandras Minosos I, Flight Safety. We welcome you to the Trade Station High Finance and ask that you excuse the small incident. The captain of the Split Python Bone Scout rather liberally re-interpreted our explicit flight instructions. Since his ship has experienced potentially dangerous engine problems we cannot grant him extended stay permission, so we are allocating you his landing bay. We hope that you agree with this decision."

  Nopileos didn't have to think twice. "Yes, I believe I can live with that", he replied, his ironic streak reasserting itself. Flight Safety Teladi Minosos looked irritated for a moment, then he cocked his head and broke transmission.

  Why of course Nopileos could live with it, it meant a permanent stay permit! The space in the docking area of a trade station was always in short supply and was almost exclusively reserved for cargo freighters that only needed a short time to unload or load and cast off again. Permanent docks could only be obtained through chance, personal connections or, of course, credits. Without the inadvertent assistance of Cho t'Nnt, Nopileos would have had to remain in a parking orbit far outside the station, waiting for the signal telling him he could dock and load supplies. Now he had a chance to look around the station at his leisure.

  Inanias corrected the Nyana's Fortune's trajectory. It was almost lost against the enormous gates opening to swallow the ship into the space station's hub.

  CHAPTER 16

  "It is only by risking our persons from one hour to another that we live at all. And often enough our faith beforehand in an uncertified result is the only thing that makes the result come true.

  William James,

  American philosopher, 1842-1910

  Elena sat at the end of the low wooden pier, her knees hugged tight under her chin. Her gaze seemed focused on the subtle interplay of water rippling against the posts underneath her. It was almost as if the blazing sky of the ruby sun sinking slowly beneath the waves meant nothing to her. In reality, she didn't look at the waves. She didn't even notice the reflections on the surface, even though she saw them.

  Behind Elena, the workday clamour of the city slowly gave way to the somewhat dampened, but no less ribald joy of the night. Milano was a wonderful city today. Having suffered terrible destruction during the Terraformer war, a new Milano had risen from the shards of history left standing, expanding over the centuries to the seas edge, to once again become a pulsating centre of life. Not much here gave rise to the memory of the dark times; but maybe this was a good thing after all.

  Elena's eyes saw nothing, her brain voiced no thoughts in any of her five mastered languages, and her spirit contemplated nothing. It was a meditation technique learned from a Zen Master many years ago and so practiced now that her hunched posture was no impediment. A few loose strands of her pitch-black hair had escaped the confines of her short, untidy plait to wave unnoticed in the gentle breeze.

  This was her last evening here and, after a hectic two weeks, it was the first moment she had been able to take from the endless meetings with theoretical mathematicians, physicists and ship designers whilst the X-Committee investigated the jump-drive from the lost X-Shuttle. But it had all been worth it because the politicians had finally approved a rescue mission, and tomorrow the Transit Liner would take her to the SPAARF facility at Lake Eyre in Australia.

  She and Kyle shared a dangerous profession and through fate or sheer bad luck, lurking in the shadows they both accepted the possibility that either of them could lose their lives in an instant. But from the moment Kyle's shuttle had been swept from the radar in an energetic storm of gravity waves, leaving only the jump-drive drifting in space, she had been certain her friend and partner was still alive. It was a feeling she could not shape into words, but even before the scientists had begun their autopsy of the recorded data it drove her to fight for a rescue mission and their analysis spurred her on.

  The experimental ship had almost certainly fallen through a cleft in the space-time continuum to another part of the galaxy. The question was, where? There seemed to be no easy answers. Jump-gates functioned on the principle of fixed singularities but the jump-drive generated its own transient singularity, punching a hole through the fabric of space and time. The theory was centuries old but the technology to implement it had only been made possible by the recovery of a damaged Terraformer ship with a prototype jump-drive, just seven years ago.

  The technology was dangerously difficult to control. A few microns misalignment could see the egress point of the jump tunnel shifting focus to the first massive gravitational body along
the transit direction – a sun, a neutron star, a black hole or – the fixed singularity of a jump-gate. The recovered jump-drive confirmed her intuition, yielding enough information to estimate the final destination of Brennan and the X prototype with an eighty percent probability.

  A fish broke the water and its arcing jump sprayed tiny, cool droplets on her sunburnt arms, pulling Elena back into the here and now. She watched the ripples fade before rising to her feet and touching each foot in turn, straight-legged, to loosen the kinks from her spine. The stretching exercise felt good after a month out of the gym and she extended the sequence, imagining she could feel the first signs of age gnawing at her fitness and flexibility, despite being only 29. For a moment she entertained the notion to strip off and swim for the sunset, but she had e-mails to write and calls to make. Instead she resolved to be up an hour early, for a circuit through the waking streets of the city. It wasn't her preferred form of exercise but there wouldn't be time for more.

  She threw a last look at the crimson sun and went back along the pier to the shore and a city already raising illuminations for the nightlife. The air was warm and thick with smells that reminded Elena she was hungry. At the end of the promenade an elderly man roasted corncobs on a burnt-black grill.

  "You're new to the city, my chickadee," he observed, turning a cooking cob with a pair of forks.

  "Just half a year," she responded.

  He nodded and was silent as he stoked the fire. Then he spoke again. "I've been watching you for some time. You've been out there for more than an hour."

  Elena nodded. She warmed to the old man; he was more than twice her age and reminded her of her grandfather, who had been a formidable spinner of wild and entertaining tales. "Yes, just sitting there… meditating."

  "Hmm," he turned the cob again. "Milano is the most beautiful place I've ever lived, and I've lived in many places," he continued, salting the cob. "But if you feel restless my girl, deep in your heart, even the loveliest place on earth can't change that." He wrapped the corncob up in a piece of grey paper and offered it to Elena, waving away her credit card.

  "Oh, no, you'll get it free today, because you have such magnifico eyes! They have seen many things, haven't they?"

  Elena accepted gracefully. There was a surreal magic in the moment that made it difficult for her to just turn around and head back to her quarters and she hesitated.

  The old man nodded again and looked directly into her eyes. "There is so much life in them it burns me, just a little." He smiled. "The sun will rise for you always, no matter where, even on the far side of the moon. And someday you will return, to Milano."

  She had not mentioned her plans, were her intentions written so plainly on her face? She placed a short kiss on the old vendor's bearded cheek and headed for the nearest Underground station.

  As soon as Elena stepped from the sub-orbital shuttle onto the shimmering asphalt of the landing field, a dry uncompromising heat, so different from the temperate warmth of Milano, enveloped her. She wondered how the bird colony, noticeably reduced in size and clamour in the last two weeks, could bear the merciless conditions.

  Despite the heat it was a relief to be off the shuttle. She had travelled with Admiral Morrison, a short, stocky man in his mid-fifties who spent the entire flight talking on the phone to the research team, breaking off only occasionally to relay the latest findings. Apart from the incessant chatter the 90-minute flight had been an uneventful climb and dive covering half the world. But as always it left her feeling dislocated, despite the fact that the USC area was temporarily running on Milano time to avoid the complications of jet lag, which Elena could not afford in her current mission.

  She strode towards the squat central building, Morrison following as fast as his shorter legs could manage, sweat glistening through his thinning hair.

  "If you bring back Brennan as quickly as you walk, we'll all be celebrating in an Adelaide bar before sunset," he gasped.

  "Sirius B and back in 5 hours, including refuelling Admiral! Speciality of the house." Like Kyle she kept her sense of humour no matter what the situation, but she tried to keep it under control, aware it wasn't quite everyone's cup of tea. The last two weeks had been hard that way, she didn't want to risk alienating the decision-makers, but Morrison, despite being as dry as a bone and almost totally humourless, was okay. He knew her qualities.

  Admiral Molander, the director of SPAARF, and Dr Richard Saltz, the lead astrophysicist, met them at the edge of the security zone. They bore a packed schedule, beginning with a briefing on the latest scientific analyses of the recovered data and concluding with a detailed overview of the modifications made to the USC Getsu Fune. It left just enough time for another health check before the 11:15 shuttle launch that would take her up to the old ship.

  Less than six hours before the jump-drive powered up. Damned little time to say a proper goodbye to the blue planet, Elena thought. 'Au revoir', she corrected herself, not goodbye. She was coming back, together with Kyle.

  The time flashed by in a blizzard of briefings and tests; too much information to look at and understand, too close the time until orbit break-off.

  The USC Getsu Fune had been the jump-drive prototype test-bed and every cubic metre of the huge cargo bay filled with instrumentation. Even life support had been removed to squeeze in a few more monitoring devices. Engineers had ripped it all out and retrofitted a new life-support system in just 12 days. They had even reinstalled the original computer. It was 130 years old with speech and AI to match but it would take days and weeks they did not have to adapt a contemporary device.

  Elena swallowed her unease and focused on the positive. The science team were now reasonably confident they knew where Kyle and the X-Shuttle ended up and estimated a 91% probability they could place the USC Getsu Fune in the same area. She liked those odds and she liked the fact that even if unanticipated quantum variations threw her off course she'd be able to return to Earth, although it might take several small jumps. They had Kyle's accident to thank for that; the data it provided enabled them to calculate jump points with vastly increased precision. Every dark cloud, she thought cynically as she listened to Saltz's excited briefing.

  The final health-check gave her all A's across the mental and physical board, in all respects she was ready to start her mission.

  T minus Two hours found Elena wearing a light pressure suit marked with the USC emblem, riding a ground skimmer heading for the orbital transport that would take her up to her ride. Both admirals had insisted on accompanying her.

  "Elena," Molander interrupted her reverie, "I sub-divide humanity into two categories you know." He paused for effect. Molander had a murderously comical talent in finding cranky metaphors – unintentionally, mostly –, and Elena hid a smile of anticipation.

  "Namely there is the first category, who, frustrated, put away their credit card and mumbling go their way if their chocolate bar gets stuck halfway inside the vending machine. The second category slips the card again into the device and orders the same chocolate bar for a second time. Usually two pieces come out then; the first one which was jammed, plus the second one that had been ordered."

  "Not always!" Morrison interjected.

  "And then there is the third category," Elena laughed. "Those who don't like chocolate bars at all!"

  Molander looked perplexed. "My point still stands…" Elena shook her head and hid her smile in the window as she watched the brightly illuminated launch pad grow in the pitch-black Australian night. It reminded her of the first gigantic lunar rockets from the previous millennium, but on a smaller scale.

  Molander's point certainly stood, no matter how garbled. Not everyone was happy with the enormous expense of the rescue mission. Only complete success would silence the critics, and she thought cynically, wipe all memory of doubt from their heads. The politicians would then claim the success for themselves but Elena didn't care about that, she counted herself among the second of the Admiral's categories. Even
if the missing pilot had not been her best friend or if the odds were less favourable, she would still have volunteered without hesitating.

  The skimmer hissed to a stop with a gentle twitch.

  Orbital feeder launches were routine these days, with only 3 real incidents in the last century, and almost completely automated so only a single white uniformed technician was present to run the pre-flight checks.

  "Mata né, Major," Molander said, shaking Elena's hand. "We'll meet again."

  "No question, Sir," she answered.

  Morrison shook her hand and wished her good luck.

  "Thanks Admiral, your team has worked miracles against the clock so I'm hoping a little bit of luck here or there won't make any difference!"

  "Let's hope so… er… you know what I mean. We're counting on you."

  A lifting platform, caged-in by wire netting, whisked her up the ten metres or so to the airlock. Molander held her gaze for a moment, waved and then joined Morrison and the technician in the skimmer.

  The ascent to orbit was uneventful and the feeder shuttle intercepted the USC Getsu Fune scarcely twenty-five minutes after launch. The old ship had clearly been designed as a transport vessel, looking like a pencil eraser with its bulky body, downward bevelled nose housing the cockpit and upward bevelled tail mounting the drive and attitude jets. Unlike the X-Shuttle the singularity drive was installed in the capacious cargo bay and so could not be ejected in an emergency.

  The 'moon ship,' as its more poetic Neo-japanese name translated, had been in space for over a century and time had left its mark on the faded white hull. Micrometeorite impacts scarred the ablative layer and larger dents suggested more serious collisions while its shields were down. Only the USC's Vitruvian Man emblem, emblazoned on both sides of the hull, shone new, like wet paint. The Jupiter B series had been designed for an unlimited lifetime though, and could stand a few scrapes and dents so Elena wasn't concerned. As they docked, the two vessels plunged into the black of the Earth's shadow.