Solbidyum Wars Saga Book 1: Battle of the New Orleans

by Dale C. Musser

  “That information is restricted.”

  “Can you tell me how long the journey will be?”

  “Eight hundred, twenty-two hours and twenty-six minutes at our current speed,” was the response.

  The response was of course not actually in Earth hours and minutes, rather I understood this to be the equivalent duration. How I knew this I could only attribute to whatever this headband had done to my brain, thought I did have to do some mental calculations using my newly acquired information. As I sat there contemplating the situation, I realized that I could perhaps get some information from the ship that might explain what was going on.

  “How did you happen to be in the swamp back on Earth?”

  “What is Earth”?

  “Earth is the planet where I found you.”

  “This ship was taken illegally and flown to Earth, where it landed in the place you call swamp.”

  “How long have you been in the swamp?”

  “This ship was on Earth for 4,563,983 hours 42 minutes and 38 seconds.”

  “Holy shit,” I thought, making a rough calculation in my head, “that’s over 500 years.” In that amount of time the ship would have sunk into the mud. It must have settled unevenly over time, which would account for the ship’s sideways position.

  “Is the body of the person in the infirmary one of the people who took you illegally?”

  “The body is that of the man who illegally appropriated me.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “There were no others. He was the only one.”

  “Why did he take you?”

  “He needed me to escape.”

  “Escape! Escape from what?” I asked with confusion.

  “That information is restricted.”

  “Can you tell me what happened to the man that stole you?”

  “Yes. He died.”

  “Well, that is rather obvious,” I said with lost sarcasm. “Can you tell me what caused his death?”

  “He died from a toxic substance injected into his bloodstream by way of a bite from a creature of your planet Earth.”

  “Really? Which creature?” I asked in a somewhat incredulous tone.

  “I do not have that information. I was unable to observe the event. When he returned from his excursion he had already been bitten. My analysis of his blood indicated the bite was venomous and the poison was a variety of neurotoxin that did not exist in my database,” the ship stated.

  I remembered studying poisonous snakes in the coastal swamps of the United States (the region of Earth where I am from), and only one of those delivered a venom that was primarily classified as neurotoxin – the coral snake. The others were variations of protein digestive venoms that was necrotizing to the tissues. But people didn’t normally die from coral snakes bites if treated with the antivenin. For some reason, though, this man had not survived.

  One thing bothered me so I thought I would ask, though I didn’t think I would get an answer.

  “When you concluded that I didn’t understand your language, you showed me the video, believing I would find the headband and use it, correct?”

  “That is correct,” the ship said, “In the event the crew is incapacitated or killed, leaving no pilot, and I am discovered by someone unable to understand the Galactic Federation language or any language in my database, I am programmed to repeat the instructional video on all available screens until the individual finds and applies the headband.” Indeed, the instructional video had since disappeared from the screen.

  “Why didn’t you do that when I first entered the ship?”

  “Communication functions had been disabled by the thief. Only the basic maintenance functions were still active. When you pressed the amber indicator on the console, communication capabilities and controls were restored, making it possible to not only communicate with you, but to also carry out my prime directive.”

  This last bit made me laugh, as it reminded me of an entertainment program that was performed on Earth television called Star Trek.

  “Prime directive,” I chuckled to myself as I summarized these already inconceivable circumstances, “I’m talking to a ship by way of an electronic hippy headband as I fly through outer space to an unknown destination… and now I learn the ship has a prime directive.”

  “What is hippy?”

  “Never mind…” I murmured and rubbed my head, “So, this prime directive is the same as the principal command that prevents you from taking me home?”

  “Essentially, yes. The principal command refers to the executed actions that result in fulfillment of the prime directive. Shall I explain further?”

  “NO!”

  This rather dry conversation was going nowhere. The ship had already said it would not tell me the prime directive, so I didn’t bother pressing for details about the related principal command. I had little or no choice in any of what was unfolding… and wouldn’t, until the ship completed its mission – whatever it was. Obviously it required going somewhere specific, but the who, where and why would remain unknown until we arrived. Mulling over all of this in my mind generated another question.

  “So what happens if you are unable to complete your prime directive? What if your destination no longer exists?”

  “There are contingencies; a secondary destination is programmed in case of an emergency.”

  “But all of that was over 500 years ago,” I exclaimed, “those who programmed you are long dead and the civilization that created you may not even exist anymore.”

  “Such a contingency has not been included in my program.”

  “Well…” I waited for more clarification, “what happens in that case?”

  “Under my prime directive I would be required to search for any remnant of the civilization that created me and report to their authorities.”

  “…And what would happen to me in that case?” The ship did not reply.

  This largely fruitless conversation had come to its natural end. At this point I was becoming rather tired, so I tilted the captain’s chair into a more relaxed position and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep. I dreamed of finding the ship in the swamp – a flying saucer – and when I boarded, the body in the infirmary came to life and told me I was being held for ransom. In the dream I was imprisoned in a cage in the cargo hold, while the over the ship’s communication system the song Blue Moon played repeatedly.

  When I awoke, every moving part of my body was sore from the body slams and falls of the day before. I also noted that I smelled rather badly and decided that it was time for me to try out the shower. I asked my “host” if it was possible to display instructions on the use of the shower, and to my delight, it did so with no hesitation. The instructions included explanations of functions for all other items in the bath area as well, including a bladeless depilatory device for shaving that was rather amazing and effective, though I hadn’t a clue how it removed the hair or where it went afterward. I asked for toiletries – specifically, deodorant – but the ship didn’t seem to understand the request and only commented that perspiration odor was not an issue while onboard. While I do not understand it, I have noticed that I have not seemed to be producing any perspiration odor during the time I was using the ships toilet/shower. Instead of brushing ones teeth there was a device similar to the water picks used on earth. A fine stream of water with some antiseptic in it was sprayed across the teeth and gums by a small handheld device attached to the wall. When you were finished with the device you placed it into a small recess in the wall where it was sanitized for the next user.

  The shower itself was rather unusual. I anticipated that it would perhaps be something like the lavatory sinks, dispensing a soapy wash first, followed by a rinse. Even my host found this to be a logical extrapolation from my earlier investigations. However, the spouts first emitted something like a thick fog that coated my body and head with a film scented somewhat like a floral and mint combination. After the fog, there was a few
moments of mild tingling, described in the video as being something akin to ultrasonic cleaning; only there was some other element involved that I frankly didn’t understand. Finally, I was rinsed with a fine mist of pure water. The entire process only lasted about three minutes, after which streams of warm, dry air played over my body, drying it in seconds. I was surprised such a short process left me feeling cleaner than had with any bath I’d ever taken at home; and the ultrasonic treatment seemed to relax and soothe my sore muscles as well.

  I had inquired of the ship about cleaning my clothing; so, as instructed, I placed everything, including my shoes, inside a small compartment in one of the crew quarters before showering. I was told to wait until the light on the door changed from orange to green before removing them; but by the time I was finished with my quick shower, the green indicator was already lit and the laundry was finished. The clothes and shoes were spotless, without any scent of detergent or cleaning agent – not a stain, smudge, or odor to be found…surprisingly (and pleasantly so), not even on my shoes.

  Feeling fresh and revived, I went to the galley for some breakfast. Though I could now read the labels adjacent to the food and drink dispensers, I still didn’t understand what any of the items were. There was nothing equivalent to “bacon and eggs” or “hamburger” and the only drink labeled on the drink dispenser that I could understand was “water” which, luckily, was the first button, the one I had selected the day before.

  I realized that the only way I would ever come to understand what dishes were would be to try them; and so I moved to the next selection on each machine and was rewarded with a beverage that reminded me of a light mango or kiwi juice and a noodle dish containing a something like a vegetable or meat mixture. Whatever it was, it tasted incredibly good and I was tempted to have a second bowl.

  While I ate, I asked the ship to clarify other functions in the galley. I was instructed as to the use of a recycling repository for dishes, utensils and any remaining waste food. Apparently the ship recycled everything. Even dishes and utensils were broken down to base components and reformed to make new bowls and utensils after each meal. Protein and organic materials were processed with some sort of molecular converter and shaped into the food selections in the dispensary. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of investigating what those organic material sources might be; but I resolved to think of it as being no different from Earth practices where organic materials are processed to manufacture fertilizer for crops or feed for livestock. So I simply pushed the thought from my mind and was satisfied to understand that everything on the ship was recycled – water, waste, organic and inorganic materials – and that the ship was essentially self-sufficient and equipped to perform practically indefinitely in this way.

  I was a bit more curious and, to be honest, somewhat worried while out in that expanse of space, as to whether the ship’s source of power was sufficient to get the ship to its destination. Perhaps it was even degraded after the long hiatus in the swamp. This nagging concern prompted me to inquire about the ship’s fuel and the rate of power consumption. I gave the question some thought before asking, hoping that some careful wording and a commanding air might solicit an answer that would give me further clues as to the nature of the prime directive.

  “Is there any risk that your power source may have become depleted or contaminated during the long period of inactivity in the swamp? I haven’t seen any fuel stores anywhere on the ship. Perhaps you should tell me where to find them so I can complete a visual inspection.”

  I received the standard reply, “That information is restricted.”

  I was starting to feel rather troubled about the ship and its mission. At one point I asked about its ownership and was told that it belonged to the Galactic Federation; but when I asked the names of the captain and crew, I was again told, “That information is restricted.” I began to wonder just what sort of classified mission was underway when the ship was stolen. When I asked whether the ship was armed with defensive weapons, the response was “Yes,” but when I asked what type of defenses, I was again told, “That information is restricted.” My inquiries regarding offensive weapons were met with like answers.

  I was curious about the devices on the console in the control room, which I now thought of as the bridge instead, and I asked the ship about them. The ship was most cooperative in explaining all of the displays and controls, except for those relating to the weapons system, but when I thought I would try some of them out I discovered that they were inoperative. When I asked this about this, I was told that all controls were locked, until such time when the ship had completed its prime directive.

  “Then how was the ship stolen by the man in the infirmary?” I wondered out loud, only to be told “That information is restricted.” The ship did, however, agree to set up simulations for flying the ship, teaching me the basics of control and course plotting. For all the busy displays and buttons on the console, the ship actually was very easy to fly; however, from what I could tell it was rarely flown manually. Primary navigation was by verbal instructions given to the ship’s computer, and it essentially flew itself.

  I thought to ask the ship what should be done with the body in the infirmary, since I didn’t think it appropriate for the remains to just lay there. I was told that the body would be taken care of when its primary directive had been completed, and that it should be left as is for “evidence,” but the ship would not elaborate further when probed.

  It occurred to me that, since I had re-activated the ship’s communication and operating systems, the ship should be able to contact the government it claimed was its owner. I expressed this to the ship, asking if it had done so. Apparently, though faster-than-light travel had been developed, a faster-than-light communication system had not. Communication over distances was achieved by way of drones deployed to carry messages to a general location and then broadcast them until acknowledgement is received. Even with this technology, weeks could pass before getting a message to more distant locations. The ship said that, while it was able to pick up communicate signals from the Federation’s nearest planets during its time on Earth, the messages had originated hundreds of years earlier. Until the ship came within the solar system of a given planet, any meaningful two-way communication was impractical. I found this to be a strange obstacle; in all the science fiction books I had ever read or movies I had seen, communication never seemed to be problematic. I suppose it was somehow assumed that, if faster-than-light drives or warp drives were invented, then the space-time problem would automatically resolve itself as far as communication was concerned.

  I found the ship to be very helpful and cooperative with anything I asked, as long as it didn’t conflict with its prime directive (whatever that was). Eventually, though I had my wristwatch for reference, I lost my sense of time. I realized at one point that I didn’t know if it was 2:36 in the afternoon or 2:36 in the morning. My watch was an old analogue timepiece with a self-winding mechanism that had belonged to my grandfather; it didn’t have any of the fancy features of the newer watches of my generation. I had always expressed my fondness of that watch and, when my grandfather died, my grandmother insisted that I have it. Now, however, the concept of a watch seemed rather silly, since it was highly unlikely that any planet I encountered was unlikely to have exactly 24-hour days and 365-day years. I had no real sense for how long I had been on the ship or even how long I had been unconscious or slept. What had seemed a few minutes to me actually could have been hours or even a day or more. So I asked the ship how long I had been onboard only to get an insane answer in minutes and seconds as defined by the Galactic Federation…. While it was possible for me to translate these numbers into units of time as we on Earth use, with the information implanted in my brain from the headband I found it frustrating to have to do so. I was able to instruct the ship to automatically translate the time into Earth units, after first explaining these units as they related to Galactic time. From then on I was able to ask the ship exa
ctly how much time had elapsed since I had come aboard and I was surprised to discover I had been aboard the ship 14 days 13 hours, 45 minutes and 12 seconds Earth time, according to the ship.

  It was two days later when the ship announced that it had contacted a Galactic Federation ship and that I would shortly be receiving company from its representatives.

  I’m not sure who or what I expected for an introduction, but it was certainly not what I would have anticipated. The first thing I saw looked like a swarm of wasps approaching the screen – maybe 30 to 50 of them –surrounding the ship in seconds on all sides. A few minutes later, three additional groups of ships, equal in size and quantity, joined in a similar configuration and all moved en masse into a tight formation around my position. Upon closer view, I could see these craft were not wasp-like at all; rather their shapes more closely resembled the first generation stealth bombers of Earth only with blended curves.

  I was starting to get very nervous about all of this, when suddenly a second viewing window opened on the ships screen, inside of which the image of a man wearing a Kelly green uniform appeared. From the expression on his face I assumed that he could see me and my surroundings inside the bridge as well.

  “Congratulations on your recovery of the TRITYTE,” he began, “I trust the cargo it still intact?”

  This initial communication did not match what was beginning to feel like a military interception, so I was still processing “Congratulations” and “TRITYTE” (probably with my mouth agape) when he cleared his throat and collected himself, “My deepest apologies for my lack of courtesy, sir, I’m Captain Maxette of the Federation Star Ship DUSTEN… and who might you be?”

  In my insolent nature I wanted to say “I might be the Easter Bunny,” but on second thought I figured this was not the time to be funny, besides the fact that the reference would surely have been lost. “I’m Thibodaux Renwalt, but you can just call me Tibby. Everyone else does.”

  “Well congratulations again, Tibby, but… uhhh… the cargo is intact, yes?” he asked again with some trepidation.