STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS

by David Bischoff

  The clone nodded agreeably. “Oh, we don’t need to return to the Snar’shill.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, they only programmed us with the instinct to be with our Alpha in Omega Space. If you can provide us the laboratory, we would begin work immediately.”

  Zarpfrin chuckled skeptically. “It’s that simple?”

  “Well, there is one other thing,” stated the clone.

  Zarpfrin frowned. “What might that be?”

  “About that sandwich. I’d like some proper food, not that shift-stew you’ve been giving us. Could you perhaps get me some synthetic Bologna with cheese and olives? Or perhaps tuna fish. Tuna fish would be very nice. Perhaps with a little Denebian pâté on the side.”

  A smile crept over Zarpfrin’s face. It couldn’t be easier, he thought. With a few hand gestures, he called Urnsur on the holocomp. He was waiting in the adjacent room, and his 3D image rose from the floor like a translucent neon blue ghost.

  Zarpfrin said, “Captain, I want you to take this clone back to the holding facility and then do everything you can to make him and his … his brothers comfortable. Get them any food or drink they desire.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then ready your ship. We’re moving all the clones to Mulliphen this evening.”

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t question my orders. This is now a matter of Federal Galactic Security, and our highest priority.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “I’ll be joining you to Mulliphen and will instruct you further en route. That’s all for now!”

  The Captain did exactly as ordered. He fetched away the Shemzak clone and readied a flight plan to Mulliphen. Once alone, Zarpfrin sat back and considered his good fortune. For the price of an old ransacked research facility, a stack of Bologna sandwiches and some Denebian pâté, he would get not only Omega Space, the power to bargain with his clandestine Jaxdron contact, but most importantly of all, the Starbow and her crew. Zarpfrin restrained a desire to laugh hysterically.

  As far as bargains went, this was a humdinger. He had purchased the galaxy for a plate of food.

  Chapter Seven

  The Caesarean knife was sharp. It gleamed.

  And then General George Washington looked up as the belly of Omega Space opened.

  An unholy birth it was.

  From what the General could reckon, the fissure was huge. It was a gigantic gash that sliced down and covered a full third of the arc of the sky. Bruise purple, blood orange, it glittered like nothingness twisted into some beastly mass of phosphorescent goo. And in its very center, a spaceship came staggering though.

  Spaceship? Yes, what else could it be? thought George Washington. That’s had to be it … but no. On reconsideration it looked more like a gigantic amoeba. Blisters and antenna radiated up from a pockmarked surface, reminding him of unlanced boils under a week-old, ratty beard. It crackled and arced with energy, coruscating here and there in a myriad of colors: vermillion, ultramarine, and ochre, all the colors of an hallucinogenic rainbow.

  Sight came first and then sound, a ghastly and unsettling turmoil of sound.

  It was a gigantic, bolt-rattling explosion, and it seemed to sweep across all of creation. It was an aural earthquake so intense that the General was violently rocked back on his heels by the shockwave left by the sonic boom.

  “What the devil?” barked Washington.

  Only when his sensory array regained full system equilibrium did he recall the duty required of him. He opened a channel to the Starbow and broadcast a report.

  “Unit 58 George Washington here. Unknown vessel breaking though reality fabric. Scanning across all channels for identification.”

  There was no reply, only static. Com channels were apparently down. His link to the main computer was out as well, so he could not access the database for identification purposes.

  A large shadow loomed over him, and he watched the progress of the huge vessel as it moved across his field of vision. Throwing off sparks in majestic pinwheels, it lowered itself toward the ground. Using onboard system telemetry, General George Washington performed the necessary calculations.

  “Warning! Repeat: Warning! Vessel bearing at one-three-fiver and projected to land approximately one-point-five kilometers from Starbow. Estimated landing zone beyond existing defense perimeters, but within striking range if vessel sufficiently armed.”

  No response.

  Now was not the time to cower, he thought. Without any other recourse, a soldier’s duty is to depend upon his own courage and act accordingly.

  Washington took a deep artificial breath, and looked around for signs of support. None could be seen. Then, even though his actions lacked any kind of clear strategic logic, the General found himself walking forward. Perhaps it was a march and he was preparing to meet the enemy on the field of glory, but that mattered little. He moved in the direction of the huge spaceship, its hulking size not giving him the slightest reason to pause. It had just landed, spewing up great plumes of dust and smoke that winked and sparked against the dull gray panorama of Omega Space.

  As he drew closer, the General placed his hand to his side, and found himself touching the hilt of his saber.

  A saber? What was he doing with a saber? He’d had no need of a saber before! Instinctively, he found himself drawing the blade from its brass scabbard. It zinged in the open air like the terrible swift sword of his ancestors. Or had those been his descendants? It didn’t matter! It was glorious! A beautiful length of blue etched steel glinting in the light as though alien energy pulsed somehow from its very core. It was sharp! It was gleaming! It was … magnificent!

  Then it struck him. Something throbbed within his chest and he felt a catch of something deeply emotional in his artificial throat. What was this sensation? It was somehow familiar. Pride? Nobility? Perhaps even a touch of honor? It filled him with … with something that he could only describe as patriotic fervor.

  Before him stood the symbol of everything he hated, all that he despised. The enemy, he thought. The hated enemy. This is my opponent, he told himself, and it seeks to destroy all that I hold dear.

  It must be vanquished!

  Without a second thought, General George Washington lifted the saber and marched with a triple-time cadence toward the alien ship.

  Chapter Eight

  “Report, Number One,” said Dr. Harla Zox.

  There was no response. All was absolutely pitch black, a darkness so pure, so lacking in any of the visual wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation, that it had a kind of substance all its own.

  It had been this way for some time.

  But Zox waited, in the dark, cold of his virtual space.

  Alone.

  This was an unusual situation for Zox to find himself in. Being in contact with the Prometheus via its neural interface meant that Zox was never alone, never without full access to images, sounds, datastreams, sensations … whatever it pleased him to experience. But now? Unending silence. And that was … intolerable.

  “Report!” Zox repeated in anger.

  “Hello?” came the response. “This is Brilliantine, mon capitan. Can you hear me?”

  “Brilliantine! What took you so long, damn you? Immediate damage report, Number One!”

  “Sir, we’re just getting the core back online,” the first mate said, his voice clearly hoarse from exhaustion. “All sensors, navigation, main weapons, jump engines are down. Life support is on emergency power.”

  “Then we’re defenseless?”

  “Some secondary weapons still work but are useless without sensors. However, all munitions and mobile units within our hull seem operational.”

  “That’s not good enough, Number One,” Zox said. “Now everything depends on our location! Where are we? What’s our tactical situation?”

 
; “Not sure, mon capitan. But we seem to have landed upon a plain somewhere in Gamma Space. The cloak—she may still be active, but I’m unable to confirm. Right now, we are preparing to launch a mobile reconnaissance vehicle. Ensign Sterling will scout and determine the nature of whatever threats may exist.

  “As for you, thankfully, your serum has remained uninterrupted, mon capitan.”

  “Don’t report things I already know, Number One!” retorted Zox. “If the serum flow to my brain tissue had stopped, we wouldn’t be having this conversion. Get our sensors up! That’s your first priority. Then I’ll be able to monitor and provide further directives. Assign the entire crew if you must.”

  “More than half the crew is dead, mon capitan.”

  “What?”

  “Many power sources overloaded as we crossed the wave horizon. Those too close to their consoles were killed instantly.”

  Zox considered this for a moment. “Well, we can only hope that the better half survived. Replacing them is a low priority. Put every breathing man on the sensor repair. Rip and replace components if you must. I need eyes in order to bring this situation under control. Do you understand?”

  “Oui, mon capitan.”

  “Good! Can you estimate how long these basic repairs will take?”

  Brilliantine looked around. Burnt-out stations and exposed power cables surrounded him on the Prometheus bridge. Only a few scruffy-looking crewmembers were carting away the dead; making repairs seemed a low priority among those who remained mobile.

  Brilliantine sighed. “That will be difficult. We’ll need a day to get the short-range sensors on line and—”

  “A full day?” Zox said, angered.

  “Mon capitan, we’ve never suffered this level of catastrophe before—”

  “Then what about Vitellius?” Zox said. “His systems should still be working. You would need only to establish a wired interface with me to initiate transfer. I would then at least have local sensory input to ascertain our situation and resume command.”

  “Oui, mon capitan! Right away!”

  Vitellius was one of Zox’s android assistants. A bit taller and bulkier than a robust human, its powerful black-armored body could serve as a temporary hand of the mind, as it were, when direct physical intervention was required. And Vitellius could also serve as Zox’s sensory input, allowing him to have the same point of view as a bipedal human.

  Normally, Zox would have deemed such an interface inferior to the sensory array of the Prometheus. Thus, the android was seldom used. However, the emergency situation offered few options.

  Brilliantine got to work at once with his chief engineer. Hauling bulky power and data jacks over to the large android, he worked feverishly to open an interface for Zox to transfer sensory data through. It took almost an hour, but with great satisfaction both men watched as various status lights came on throughout Vitellius’s black, carbon-frame body. Finally, the glow of neon red swept through the android’s head casing. Neon orange eyes confirmed the activation of Dr. Harla Zox’s neural residency.

  The transfer was complete.

  Zox looked down at his artificial hands. Wiggling his fingers and stomping his feet, he confirmed that he could indeed experience sensation through the body-mind connection. How primitive, he thought. Having a corporeal body such as this had truly become an outmoded way of being. No wonder the human species was so weak. Still, he could hardly deny that it felt good to move around and reinvigorate his motor sensations.

  With both hands Zox violently pushed away wall-anchored support braces, and took full control of his new body. Time to get to work and clean up the mess that surrounded him.

  Towering over Brilliantine, Zox said, “Number One!”

  “Oui, mon capitan.”

  “Assign half of our surviving crew to begin restoring navigation equipment and weapons.”

  “Oui, but … that will slow down the work on sensor arrays.”

  “I will take over those vacated jobs personally. The reason sensors aren’t restored is simple incompetence.” Zox looked menacingly at Chief Engineer Burton. “Now that you can concentrate your resources, I expect things will move a bit faster?”

  The Chief Engineer nodded with fear. “Yes, captain! We’ll get systems online soon.”

  “See that you do,” Zox said, then turned towards Brilliantine. “I’ll be at the starboard sensor array. Have whomever you’ve assigned to sensor restoration meet me there and I’ll oversee the work. We must move quickly. Until we have sensors, navigation, and weapons, we’re a defenseless target for anyone in this part of space. Wherever that might be.”

  Chief Engineer Burton looked up sheepishly. “Sir? Shall I not assign some men to life support? We’ll run out of air if it’s not restored soon.”

  Zox hissed, “Then I suggest you work quickly on weapons and navigation, Chief Engineer. Your reward will be the opportunity to continue breathing.”

  Without another word, Zox stomped off towards the starboard array. Surveying the extensive damage as he walked, he took note of the many dead crewmembers.

  It was a putrid, disgusting, potentially foul-smelling mess, and a massive waste of humanpower.

  Getting the Prometheus in ship shape—he would have registered amusement at the pun if he hadn’t been so deeply infuriated—would indeed take time. Angered so by the sight of the dead, he used his hulking physique to pick up bodies as he walked and toss them in garbage shoots like so many discarded candy wrappers. The hiss of decompression reminded Zox of the toilets he had used when he had a human body, which hadn’t been so very long ago. There was no reason to slow things down with meaningless funeral rights. Dr. Harla Zox, the mind of the ship, reiterated to himself the deepest and most infinitely cruel truth of being a pi-merc.

  If you died: you died.

  Chapter Nine

  “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm,” Captain Tars Northern said, looking somewhat annoyed. “But don’t you think it’d be better if you put on some clothes first?”

  Cal Shemzak didn’t hear Northern nor would he have paid much attention if he had. His mind was absorbed in the sensory array that his mind had conjured up magically. But this was Omega Space. Magic wasn’t really what made the array come into being.

  It derived from the imagination of Cal’s mind.

  After just a few moments of carefully focused thought, what phased into existence before them was a large mechanical device. It appeared out of thin air, laden with numerous parabolic antennae, monitoring screens, keyboards, and a few antique-looking dials and levers. Apparently Cal’s imagination was very fond of antique-looking dials and levers. Without waiting, Cal ran across the floor to the device and darted back and forth, buck naked, examining his fantasy-creation-made-real the way a small child examines a new toy. He was immersed completely in trying to understand its basic workings, and guffawed at what he saw on its screens from time to time.

  Dr. Michael Mish was also there, supervising to the extent that he could. He stood a few feet back and looked on with great interest. Normally, he would be spearheading a scientific analysis of the contraption, but since its design had been forged by Cal’s thought patterns, it seemed prudent to let its creator have the first go.

  Northern could only stand by and watch with chagrin. Laura had already given up, and gone off to dry herself and get dressed. Watching her strut away also gave Northern reason to harbor thoughts about her relation with Cal. Was he jealous? No, that was ridiculous, he reminded himself. He was the Captain after all, and had other things to worry about. Such as who, exactly, had invaded Omega Space other than themselves. Could it be the Federation? How could he and his crew get back into Normal Space? And even if they could return, would Shontill and his people try to stop them? Shontill might have been a loyal member of the crew, but he was Frin’ral. As such, there was no telling what might happen if
things got out of hand. And speaking of which, just how out of hand would things get?

  All his questions were sound, and needed attention. However, as much as he tried, the image of Laura standing near him in a deeply revealing terry cloth bathrobe still weighed on his mind. He shook his head several times to clear his thoughts. But the image of Laura, her body still glistening with water, kept haunting him … and it would not go away.

  “Beautiful!” yelled Cal. “I’ve got it!”

  Northern looked up, shaken awake from his inner thoughts. “Got what?”

  “A fix on the other ship.”

  “Ship?” asked Northern. “Who? What kind of ship?”

  Cal shook his head, and darted back and forth over his large scanning array. “Not sure who it is or what kind of vessel. However, if I understand this crazy thing, it’s telling me we have another visitor from Normal Space.”

  Dr. Mish stepped closer and attempted to read over Cal’s naked shoulder. “Were you able to get exact coordinates?”

  Cal turned briefly. “It’s nearby, but exact location is a concept from Normal Space.”

  Northern looked baffled. “Pardon?”

  “Exact coordinates implies an object at a fixed point in space-time,” Cal said, still fixated on the scanner. “However, Omega Space doesn’t work like that.”

  Northern looked at Mish. “What’s he talking about?”

  Mish remained silent a few moments before looking more attentive. “Oh … I do apologize, Captain. I am still getting strange emanations. I can’t say what is causing them at this time.”

  “Let me finish,” said Cal. “Omega Space is like … well, the closest analogy would be the Heisenberg Principle.”