When Taulbee spoke again, Dunn could hear the man nodding in agreement. “That’s what I thought you’d say, sir.”
“How are the marines?”
Taulbee managed a brief laugh, but through the block, it was more of a feeling than a sound. “Tired, as they should be. I’ve got them resting as best I can, but a couple of the holdouts are still studying cam feeds.”
Dunn shook his head. “For what?”
“Something we can learn, sir. Anything, really.”
“Okay. Another burn in 19 minutes. Be ready.”
“Aye, sir. Taulbee out.”
Dunn connected to Black.
“Yes, Captain?”
The AI had been unusually silent since Taulbee had destroyed Mira. He’d expected her to assail him with useless information, but instead, she’d merely described the hits and the damage done to the giant ship’s hull. He thought that strange.
“What do you make of their pursuit?”
The AI requested a block connection. Sighing, Dunn accepted it. The world around him, the holo displays, the bridge, everything disappeared, leaving him in darkness and facing a perfect sphere pulsing in a myriad of colors.
I see we’ve gone for comfort again, he told the AI.
The shape turned a dull red, the AI equivalent of a blush. Sorry, sir. Sometimes it’s best to go with what works.
You have something to show me?
Yes, Captain.
The shape disappeared, leaving the world clothed in darkness. A single pinecone creature faded into the foreground. Behind it, several other lifeforms appeared. Starfish, those monstrous bird things, and a few he didn’t even recognize. Each looked like a conglomeration of insect, mammal, bird, and aquatic animals to him. It was as if Earth’s once lustrous fauna, now virtually extinct, had headed out into space in an orgy of impossible reproduction and evolution.
The pinecone’s silvery claw poked out of its sheath, the suicidally sharp appendage glinting in unseen ambient light. The starfish moved forward, its large body and arms facing him like a creature from a horror holo. Its maw opened and closed, displaying serrated teeth and a pair of strong mandibles guarding the orifice.
The creatures you see here, Black said, are the original pair described in Mira’s data dump. However, the other creatures you see behind them are the new arrivals. Notice the similarities and the differences.
Dunn did. They were easy to spot. The pinecone creature had no visible means of locomotion. Black had previously theorized that perhaps they excreted gas as propulsion. That seemed borne out by some of Kalimura’s feed records. The starfish, on the other hand, moved with a grace he thought only possible in an atmosphere. Or with a set of thrusters.
While the starfish moved by pulling in its arms and shooting them backward like a swimmer plowing through water, the new arrivals had new appendages, including what looked like a solar sail.
Black? That sail.
Yes, Captain. I believe it to be a photo-sensitive organ capable of drawing energy from stray photons.
But it’s moving way too fast to only be powered by the push of photons.
Very true, Black said. I believe there is another explanation for this, although it’s at present beyond my understanding. As I’ve said before, the only way to truly understand these creatures would be to capture one and study it.
Not going to happen, Dunn said.
No, Black agreed. They have proved themselves far too dangerous to attempt such an endeavor.
So what are you telling me about these creatures?
The universe split again as the creatures lined up against one another, frozen in time, frozen in space. The pinecones were by far the smallest of the group. The starfish were next in size followed by the new arrivals. The creatures with the sails were the largest of the lot, and even more horrible to gaze upon than the starfish.
The limbs, appendages, and mouths disappeared from each of the images, leaving the carapaces in place. Dunn frowned. They slowly spun in tandem, giving him a more or less complete comparison front to back.
Do you see the similarities? Black asked, her spherical avatar floating in the far upper left corner of the simulation.
He did, but didn’t know what to make of it. Each of the shells had a dark, wavy appearance as if they had some effect on the surrounding light, but at the same time, the pinecones had a much tougher shell, as though they were more protected or made of a different material. The pinecones were also the only ones without long appendages of some sort.
Can you put them in order?
Black paused. By how we discovered them? By size?
By size, Dunn said.
The images slid by one another until they were arranged from smallest to largest. Seven different types of alien life. Seven different average sizes. Yet they all had the same attributes apart from the pinecones.
Are the pinecones ‘eggs?’
That is a good question, Black said. After studying their behavior from Corporal Kalimura’s cam recordings, I don’t think they are. Although they seem to be the least predatory of the varied species, and demonstrate herd behavior techniques when threatened, they have also demonstrated a certain level of intelligence far beyond what I would expect.
Meaning what, exactly? Dunn asked. So what if the small ones are as smart as the big ones?
The equivalent of a sigh filled his mind. At the base layer of Earth’s old ecology, the simple-celled organisms sitting at the bottom of the food chain were not capable of thought. Reflexes? Yes. Some sort of instinctual intelligence? Impossible to say. So let’s go larger, shall we?
The largest organism in the ocean, before the wars of the 21st century, was a type of whale. Although it was the largest creature on Earth at the time, its premier food source was an organism called ‘plankton.’ Many creatures in the ocean ate plankton, but my point is that size isn’t important for consumption.
Um, okay, Dunn said, still confused. I’m not following you, Black.
The limbs, appendages, mandibles, and mouths reappeared on the creatures. They looked like insects drawn from a child’s nightmare. All of them, apart from the pinecone, disappeared. An image of a new creature appeared. Only it didn’t look the same at all.
Compared to the pinecone, its shell appeared lustrous and bright, although it was technically black. Its segmented body seemed as though it could stretch and bend, but the most striking difference were the legs. The new creature had what seemed like hundreds of legs.
Wow, Dunn said. Is that from Earth?
Yes, Black said. Notice the similarities?
I do, Dunn said. You think these creatures, the ones we’ve seen thus far, are just the base of the food chain?
It’s possible, Black said. Their adaptations to life in z-g as well as a vacuum, are startling. By today’s models of evolution, one might say they’re even impossible. But there they are.
“Then what the hell is that beacon?” Dunn asked.
Black paused again. The AI seemed as though it was mulling over which of its many different theories it wished to pursue. That was never a good sign.
The beacon, Black said, is most likely one of three things. An attractor to repopulate portions of space. The first step in an alien invasion. Or something we haven’t even considered.
Dunn rolled his eyes. What does that even mean?
If I knew, Black said dryly, I would have considered it.
Fair enough, Dunn said. What do your simulations tell you?
Black said nothing for a moment, but the Earth insect disappeared. The pinecone zoomed out slightly and the rest of its alien brethren reappeared. Simulations are inconclusive at best, Captain. The Trio had a reason for sending it to Pluto.
Yes, Dunn said. To make sure it didn’t travel.
That is likely. However, Black said, there may be a different reason they didn’t want it to travel.
What are you saying, Black?
That my creators might know the real reason it’s here.
Dunn shivered. The videos. The communications piped to them. The files decrypting for Black as events unfolded. Were there thousands of those files? The answers for certain situations they foresaw? Or did they calculate the most likely events and plan for them?
They were the three most powerful AIs in Sol System. Designed on Xi’s principles and the most expensive technology of their time, and they had been retrofitted and serviced, unlike the rest of Trident Station and the Neptune Shipyards. While replacement parts for the Trio internals were always on time and abundant, just getting raw materials to print new components for the SFMC was a hassle.
All the Trio had to do was think, and they’d had 43 years to do that based on the information gathered by Mira’s crew and AI. Almost half a century of poring over data transmitted by Mira’s AI before it became homicidal.
Before the accident, Dunn said.
What do you mean, sir?
Dunn pursed his lips. He didn’t even want to think about this. Not when the Trio had control of the station, not when the AIs had control over the base he hoped to return to.
Black? I’m going out on a limb here and I’m going to trust you.
Thank you, Captain. Trust me with what?
He flexed his fingers, desperately trying to force himself to speak. What if the Trio planned everything? Including the accident aboard Mira?
Black was silent for a moment. The creatures disappeared and a picture of Mira filled the void. It was Mira as she had looked before leaving Trident Station and Sol System on her supposed mission. The ship was still majestic, still elegant for its size and shape. Still a monument to humanity’s efforts to ensure their future.
Now it was little more than millions of hunks of Atmo-steel floating through the Kuiper Belt. Any evidence of its journey was lost forever, save for the creatures it had brought back with it. Well, those and the beacon.
Captain, Black said, are you implying the Trio realized the danger of the beacon once Mira’s crew brought it on board? Or they knew even before the crew retrieved it?
I don’t know if it was before or after, but I think they knew before the reactors went critical.
Black paused again. He could practically hear her making a “hmmm” sound. Possible, Black said. I have run similar simulations.
Dunn cocked his head. You have?
Black seemed to chuckle. Captain, the last few hours have been an eternity for me. Even while running Oakes’ and Nobel’s calculations, monitoring the marines, and handling my usual duties, I’ve hardly been taxed. Ever since the first message from the Trio, I have been curious as to their decisions as well as their intent.
The weapons, Dunn said. They were experimental, but they worked.
And the Trio ensured those munitions were put aboard the ship. The likelihood of coincidence is nearly impossible. If the Trio knew of the creatures, which it appears they did, they did nothing to warn SFMC or SF Gov about them. Or perhaps the reports were lost. Or, Black said, Colonel Heyes either knows and chose not to brief you, or his commanders did the same to him.
Again, possible. But that didn’t make much sense to Dunn. If SF Gov or SFMC had known about the threat, it would have been nearly impossible to keep it secret for the last 43 years. Secrets just didn’t stay secret. They never did. Not for long, anyway.
Black? If the Trio did know, and they set this up, why did they do it? What could possibly be their reasoning?
Mira disappeared, replaced by a view of Trident Station and Neptune Shipyards orbiting the strange-hued world. No ships were docked. It was a simulation, similar to the one the Trio had used in their last few messages. Similar, but not the same.
I cannot say with any confidence what that endgame might be, Captain. I believe we’ll have to return to Trident Station to discover the answer to that question.
Bullshit, he thought to himself. He felt Black’s reluctance to voice her suspicions, which meant she had an idea, but didn’t want to share. In a way, he couldn’t blame her. If she saw something malevolent, she didn’t want to share it because it would destroy any trust she had left with the crew. And if it wasn’t? Well, she wanted to be sure one way or another. So did Dunn.
Contact PEO. Tell them we’re heading back. Also ask Mickey if he has a fix on Dickerson.
Yes, Captain.
He broke the connection and was once again on the bridge. Oakes readjusted himself in his couch. The ship’s cycling engines made the deck and bulkheads vibrate, a soothing sensation rather than what it did to you when you were under thrust. When you were under multi-g thrust, you felt as though every bone in your body was going to be pounded into dust.
Dunn rubbed at his eyes. He wanted out of his combat suit. He wanted to sit in the galley, read, and drink coffee. And you can do all that, he told himself. The moment we’re on our way home.
He smiled to himself. He could almost taste the too-often recycled air on Trident Station, imagine the feel of its deck beneath his slippered feet, and smell the odors of various vape flavors, the sour-tang of beer, and the all too casual atmosphere of the officer’s club. Just have to make it there, he told himself.
You’re assuming it’s all still there, a voice inside his mind tittered.
Dunn frowned. He knew a part of him wondered that very thing.
Chapter Sixty-Six
The second thrust burn had ended, but it didn’t mean they were safe. The creatures had dropped back, but they were still coming. Every few minutes, Kali flipped to the aft cam feeds and watched the trailing horde.
The sheer size of the lifeform conglomeration was daunting to say the least. It looked as though there were millions of them. Far from the number they’d seen on the hull when they’d first arrived, much less what they’d found inside Mira.
Her ribs throbbed. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon. While she’d probably be more comfortable in sick bay, slacking with Elliott, the pain wasn’t going anywhere. Her broken ribs, bruised organs, and tortured flesh didn’t care if she was in a combat suit or a damned bathtub—it would still hurt.
In a few more minutes, Oakes would warn them about the next burn and it would be time to get back in the acceleration couch, but until that happened, she was going to keep looking at the cam footage from Taulbee and Gunny.
The closer Gunny’s skiff got to the beacon, the stranger the light became. The captured images also started to waver in and out of focus as though the onboard AI was unable to figure out what to track. Worst of all, many of the frames were simply not there. The cams had somehow dropped at least seven or eight seconds worth of footage scattered amidst grainy, unclear images of dangling pipe, crumbling Atmo-steel, and shattered bulkheads.
The beacon and the surrounding area seemed to just consume the skiff’s light as if the photons were liquid going down a drain. What they’d seen inside Mira, hell even in the hanger bay, had been the same. Something was eating the light, making it far more dim than it should be. Worse, while the light was bright up close, the darkness seemed to just swallow it. Did the beacon provide some sort of field inside the ship? Was it the creatures? Or was it something else causing the effect?
She shivered. Knowing probably wouldn’t set her mind at ease anyway. They were towing the sled that held the beacon, they were being followed by an unimaginable horde of malevolent alien life, and somewhere ahead of them, Dickerson and his escape pod were still traveling to Pluto. The only question was whether or not he was still alive inside of it.
Taulbee appeared at the cargo bay entrance. She snapped to but he shouted “at ease” before she had a chance. He looked in her direction, held up a finger, and beckoned her.
Kali felt guilty, although she didn’t know why. She supposed she felt that way whenever a superior, NCO or commissioned, wanted to have a word. Didn’t matter if was Gunny, one of the many lieutenants, or the captain himself. It was always the same crawling feeling that you had done something wrong and would be held accountable for it.
She bris
kly walked to him and took a parade rest stance in front of him. “Sir.”
He looked as though he were going to give her bad news. “Corporal? Gunny is out of action. Until he is returned to duty, you’ll be performing his tasks.”
The words entered her ears and her mind froze. Part of her had known this was going to happen. The moment she’d heard Gunny was down, she knew Taulbee would have to juggle things around. To make matters worse, two members of her squad, including herself, had already suffered extensive injuries. But someone had to be in command and by rank, she was next in line.
Somehow, she had a feeling that needn’t have mattered. Carb had seen plenty of action during the last two wars, she had much more experience than Kali, and she’d even been a corporal before she was busted down. But something in the way Taulbee looked, grim and cheered at the same time, made her feel as though she’d proven herself.
“Aye, sir,” she said at last, doing her best to keep the words flat and emotionless. She thought she had succeeded.
Taulbee nodded to her. “Black has put you on the command channel. For all field ops, I’m your direct superior. Understood?”
“Aye, sir,” she said again.
“Good.” He brushed a hand through his close-cropped hair. “How are the injuries?”
“Not keeping me from doing my job, sir.”
He nodded. “I don’t know how you did it, Kalimura. I don’t know how any of you got out of there alive.” He raised his hand in salute. She clicked her heels together and returned it. Taulbee slowly lowered his hand. “I want your squad on their asses and in their couches in two minutes.”
“Aye, sir,” she said, cheeks flushed, voice choked.
“See you after the burn.” He turned and quickly made his way back to the bridge.
Kali watched him go for a moment, more to compose herself than out of reverie. She didn’t deserve the baton, not yet, but it had been passed on to her. She was in charge of their only squad. Two relatively healthy lance corporals, one in sick bay, one floating out in space, and two privates. She grunted. Don’t get all choked up, she said to herself. You were leading three LCpls through that hell ship not more than two hours ago. This would be easy by comparison.
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