“Nine-Saturn-Elephant-Six-Three,” Pa Kur said.
On the screen, hidden mines appeared. The Star Watch vessels indeed maneuvered around them. The mines moved through gradational forces, but they would not be able to move fast enough to put themselves anywhere near the accelerating vessels.
“Commander,” the comm specialist said. “This…is a disaster.”
Pa Kur nodded to himself. “Put the commodore back on the screen.”
“Are we surrendering?” the comm specialist asked in a dull voice.
“Is that what you wish?” Pa Kur asked.
“No,” the warfare specialist said. “We must dominate or perish. We have no other choice.”
“Well?” Pa Kur asked the comm specialist.
“It has been an honor to fight for the Race,” the comm specialist said.
“Well spoken,” Pa Kur said. “Now, put the commodore back on the screen.”
With a single tap, the comm specialist did so.
“You understand your hopelessness,” Garcia said.
“Surrender or die,” Pa Kur told her.
“Prides goes before the fall,” Garcia said. “Have you heard that saying before?”
Pa Kur stared at her.
“A sage wrote that a long time ago,” she added.
“The sage was a fool,” Pa Kur said. “Good-bye, Commodore Garcia.”
“Good-bye,” she said, almost sounding sad.
That was strange, pity coming from a subhuman. It caused Pa Kur to shudder with revulsion. He despised pity directed at him. Only admiration would do.
“Philosopher-Eight-Star-Seven-Hippo,” he said.
The images on the screen changed once more. Another set of mines appeared. These were already in the correct location.
“Commander?” the comm specialist asked.
“I have given our ship the code words that turn on the sensors we installed five days ago. Those sensors came from the Methuselah Man’s star cruiser. What you see are the real and rare hidden mines. The others were there for the sub-men to find in order to make them maneuver into the correct position and to let them feel confident. Remember, it is their confidence in themselves that we are most attempting to destroy.”
“Are those mines powerful enough to annihilate the flotilla?” the comm specialist asked.
“Strand believed so,” Pa Kur said.
“Is the Methuselah Man always correct?”
Pa Kur paused before answering. “We know he is not always right.”
Time passed. The warfare specialist targeted the approaching Titan-class missiles. Giant railguns fired round after round. It would take time for those rounds to reach the missiles. These were beam-firing missiles, though, and might attack before the railgun rounds destroyed them.
Pa Kur glanced at a timer. “Dampen the special sensors,” he said.
The comm specialist complied. The hidden mines disappeared from the main screen, although everything else remained.
Soon, the invisible nova mines ignited. They overloaded the regular sensors, showing Pa Kur and his bridge crew expanding whiteness in space.
Titan missile beams reached them. The nova mines had been far behind the missiles. The first shield buckled, turning black. The middle shield absorbed what got through the first. More beams should have struck the shields, those from the battleships and heavy cruisers now in firing range.
“The nova mines must have worked,” the warfare specialist said. The overload of the regular sensors meant they couldn’t see yet what had happened to the flotilla.
“Commander,” the comm specialist said. “I’m reenergizing the superior sensors.
Pa Kur nodded.
Soon, they viewed the mass debris where most of Commodore Garcia’s flotilla had been. The carrier had survived along with two heavy cruisers and four destroyers. One destroyer showed severe damage, hard radiation leaking from its battered engines. All the surviving ships were in the process of changing their heading, still accelerating hard. They would sweep far past the hammership and Inferno III. No doubt, they would attempt to use Inferno I to pivot and head back to an outer Laumer-Point and eventual escape.
“Begin acceleration toward them,” Pa Kur said.
“If they decelerate to fight us,” the warfare specialist said, “we might be on equal footing. One Star Watch carrier, two heavy cruisers and three good destroyers should defeat a hammership.”
“Even if Strand’s hidden star cruiser helped us?” Pa Kur asked.
“No. We would have the advantage then. Is he going to help us?”
Pa Kur had already told them Strand would not help them. He said, “Strand’s help is meaningless, as the sub-men will run away.”
“I would not run if I commanded their vessels,” the warfare specialist said.
“No,” Pa Kur said, “but you are superior to the sheep.”
It wasn’t obvious at first, but the surviving ships did indeed run, and they accelerated as fast as they could. The one destroyer never made it, though, exploding seven hours after the initial mine explosion.
“Where is Strand?” the warfare specialist asked later.
“We are not attempting to destroy the last ships,” Pa Kur said.
“We must whittle down the Grand Fleet ship by ship when the opportunities present themselves if we are going to win the final encounter,” the warfare specialist said.
Pa Kur couldn’t believe his ears. Didn’t the other realize how powerful of a statement this was? The sub-men ran from a lone hammership. It showed an unwillingness to engage in battle even on superior terms. Another word for it was cowardice. The worst disease for a soldier had infected the survivors. The best option was to let the fear-carrier go to infect the rest of the ships of the Grand Fleet.
The Methuselah Man’s master plan needed widespread fear in the Grand Fleet. Given enough time and enough enemy fear, and Strand would give their side a miracle, one that would change the entire course of the war.
-12-
Several days later, Sergeant Riker worked in his yard. He had a small billet in the Swiss countryside, a cottage with a white picket fence.
Normally, when he was off on a mission, old Mrs. Tell kept his home clean, coming in three times a week to dust the place, cook a meal on his stove, watch a show, feed his dog and make sure the automated watering system had watered all his flowers, shrubs and trees.
One thing Riker detested was coming home to an unlived-in house, one that felt empty and devoid of life. He loved the feeling of normality in his house, that people consistently used the place. Since he so seldom was here, it had become even more of a fetish to him.
The sergeant wore work clothes and dug a hole for a new tree. He carefully piled the dirt to the side. Once the hole was the correct depth and width, he laid the store-bought tree onto its side and worked the dirt and root system out of the plastic pot. He crumpled the solid-packed dirt so the roots could breathe. Then, he set the tree in the hole, used his hands to shovel dirt beside it and finally reversed his shovel, using the handle to poke and tap the dirt tight. He shoved some growth-sticks into the soil afterward so the new tree would have plenty of nutrients.
Standing, feeling a crick in his back, Riker eased his torso straighter. While dusting his hands, he admired the new tree, a poplar. Once he put the new drip-line into place, everything would be set. Yes, the poplar would definitely add to the cottage’s charm.
Riker turned to grab the spade, and stopped in shock.
An apparition flickered into appearance. It faded before solidifying, a perfect holoimage of Professor Ludendorff. He could see through the image to the back door fifteen feet away.
“Sergeant Riker,” the holoimage said, using the professor’s tone just as Riker remembered it.
“What do you want?” the sergeant asked.
“We need to talk.”
Riker shook his head. “Go see the captain. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“Whe
re is the captain?”
Riker shrugged. He had no idea. The young man had simply disappeared several days ago. It wasn’t like Maddox most of the time. The captain could at least have given him a hint about what was going on.
“You don’t know where he is, do you?” the holoimage asked.
“I suppose I don’t,” Riker said. “What is that to you?”
“Aren’t you interested in what you don’t know?”
Riker puzzled out the meaning before shaking his head.
The holoimage appeared annoyed at the answer.
Riker couldn’t help it, but he grinned. The professor had grated on him. The man had been too smug by far. It seemed the holoimage was indeed a replica of the professor. Riker could see how it could have convinced the captain of its genuineness.
“I’ve come to you because I believe your captain has been taken into protective custody,” the holoimage said.
Riker rolled that over in his mind. He hadn’t thought of that. Could it be true?
“How do you keep track of the captain’s comings and goings?” the sergeant asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters,” Riker said. “I’d also like to know how you knew where to find me.”
“I astonish you by coming to your house to see if you’re home?” the professor asked. “Why would that be surprising?”
Riker muttered under his breath before asking, “How can you appear like this? What’s your operational range?”
“None of that concerns the issue at hand,” the holoimage said. “If Victory doesn’t start soon, I’m not going to be at the Nexus when you finally arrive. Time is critical.”
“Even if that’s true,” Riker said, “what are you expecting me to do about it? I’m just an old man who knows a few tricks and to keep his gun ready and fire when it’s most needed.”
“That gun is definitely needed now, Sergeant.”
Riker smiled. “Professor, you’ve come to the wrong man. I can’t help you.”
“You disappoint me, Sergeant. I thought you had greater imagination.”
“No, sir, that’s the captain.”
The holoimage eyed him, finally shaking its head. “I shall have to seek out Meta, it seems. Where is she?”
“Don’t know,” Riker said.
“You’re lying.”
“Don’t know about that either,” Riker said.
“I fail to understand your unconcerned attitude.”
“That’s because you’re a genius, seeing a hundred angles in a thing and wondering which one you’ll try to solve. Me, I’m a sergeant. I know about pay grades and keeping my nose clean. See this place? It’s me to a tee.”
The holoimage glanced around before shaking its head again. “If—”
“You’re wasting your time, Professor. I don’t care about you enough to risk my career.”
“They’ve imprisoned your captain.”
“That’s not my problem,” Riker said. “Making sure I receive my pension when my stint is over—”
“Bah!” the holoimage said, throwing up its ghostly hands. Afterward, it disappeared.
Riker kept staring at the spot. His mind whirled at the implications of what the thing had told him. A second later, the sergeant sprinted for the back door. He burst through, tracking dirt onto his wood floor, something he usually never did. He grabbed a comm-unit on the kitchen counter, activating it.
A moment later, Galyan answered.
“Listen to me,” Riker said in a rush. “I think this could be important.”
***
Lieutenant Valerie Noonan sat at a station on Victory’s bridge. It was a large circular area with the commander’s chair in the center of the room, presently unoccupied.
Valerie peered at a screen on her panel. It showed Antarctica with heavy cloud cover as the starship passed below the Earth. To Valerie it seemed that the starship passed over the most beautiful planet in the galaxy.
The lieutenant wore her uniform. Most people considered her beautiful with long brunette hair. She’d been letting it grow since the Destroyer’s destruction. She had also lost a few pounds since then, a result of more practice in the combat room rather than any conscious effort on her part. She wanted greater proficiency at hand-to-hand combat. Because of that, her uniform needed altering. It didn’t fit quite as snugly as it used to, giving her a slightly rumpled look, in her opinion.
For months now, she had been in effective control of Star Watch’s greatest combat vessel. The control had only been while in Earth orbit. Still, it was an honor to run the starship on a day-to-day basis. She had followed every routine with scrupulous precision.
While she had learned the art of command-while-in-danger from the best—Captain Maddox—in her heart, Valerie wanted perfect routine in these things. Yes, a good starship captain had to make fast decisions well. But she had a strong tendency to stick to regulations, as it felt better doing it that way.
Maybe the routine these past months had rubbed off on her. Or maybe the perfect routine had rubbed away the hard-won knowledge of space combat while in dire straits.
Valerie recognized all those things. She also knew that she felt much more comfortable running the starship like this. She had trained long and hard to win a posting to the Space Academy. She had earned everything she had ever gotten in her life, because she had not been born with any of the advantages or privileges of being in a taxpayer family. She had grown up in Detroit, a welfare city if there ever was one. And she had come up the hard way and was damn proud of her achievement.
A few days ago, Galyan had gotten antsy for reasons she didn’t understand. Fortunately, the alien AI had settled down to the regular routine. Valerie appreciated that and hoped to keep it that way for the rest of her posting this time around.
The lieutenant swiveled around on her seat. Dr. Clifford was hunched over a weapons board. He was a tall man in a white lab coat and possessed wavy blond hair and the bluest eyes. The doctor looked like a surfer, and had to be the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Valerie was usually on the bridge when Dr. Clifford studied Victory. She tried to be as helpful as possible. After all, that was her chief duty. Star Watch needed Victory’s weapons systems duplicated if they were going to beat the New Men.
The doctor happened to look up, catching Valerie staring at him.
She blushed, nodded and turned away.
“Do you know what bothers me the most?” Dr. Clifford asked in his rich voice.
Valerie faced him again.
“It’s the Adok mindset,” the doctor said. “It veers away when ours would keep going straight. They did not look at matters the same way we do. But it’s difficult to know when they’re going to do that. The Adoks had a very mathematical bent of mind.”
“That’s fascinating,” Valerie heard herself say.
“I think so too,” the doctor said. “I wonder if you could help me for a minute.”
“I’d love to,” Valerie said, surprising herself with her bubbling willingness. She had never acted like this before.
She rose from her position and stopped short.
A holoimage appeared before her. It had a humanoid shape, although it was much shorter than a regular man or woman. The Adok holoimage had ropy arms and extremely deep-set, dark eyes. It was Driving Force Galyan, the image of the living Adok who had commanded the starship six thousand years ago. His engrams had been imprinted into the ship’s AI, forever changing it with its growing personality.
“Hello, Valerie, “Galyan said. His voice was still slightly robotic although it had achieved a little more warmth than before.
“Hi, Galyan,” Valerie said, stepping around him.
The holoimage shifted, standing before her again. “Could I have a word with you, Lieutenant?”
Galyan also had a sharper image than he used to. It showed his facial skin to greater effect than ever. The texture seemed like old saddle leather kept out in the sun too long. If o
ne looked closely enough, she saw faint lines crisscrossing the Adok’s “leathery” skin. The skin offset the deep eyes more, making it seem as if an owl peered from out of a hole in a tree.
“I’m busy right now,” Valerie said. “Maybe we can talk a little later.”
“I would like to speak to you now,” Galyan insisted.
Valerie glanced past the holoimage at Dr. Clifford. He watched them. She smiled. The doctor smiled back, and it put goosebumps up and down Valerie’s arms.
“I have work to do,” Valerie said, and she did something she had never done before. She walked through the holoimage.
Galyan winced at that, spinning around, watching the lieutenant hurry to Dr. Clifford.
“Doctor,” Galyan called. “I would like a private word with the lieutenant on the bridge.”
Valerie stopped, turning in surprise. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” Galyan said in a carefree manner. “It is routine maintenance. I wonder if you forgot about it, Lieutenant.”
“Routine?” Valerie asked. She couldn’t believe she would have forgotten a routine maintenance scheduling. She plotted all those into her tablet weeks ahead of time.
“Just a minute,” she told the doctor. Giving Galyan a stiff glance, she returned to her station and picked up her tablet. Clicking it, she checked the schedule. She didn’t see—
“Send him away,” Galyan whispered in her ear.
Valerie looked up in exasperation. “What is this about?” she asked sharply.
“Please,” Dr. Clifford said. “This is Driving Force Galyan you’re addressing. Shouldn’t we accord him the highest respect?”
Valerie seemed taken aback by this statement.
Clifford was more than just a weapons specialist. He also had a master’s degree in X-Tee relations. X-Tee meant alien contact. Galyan was one of Earth’s few aliens they had ever contacted.
“Would you like me to leave, Driving Force?” the doctor asked.
“If you do not mind,” Galyan said.
“Of course not,” the doctor said. “I’ll see you in a while,” he told Valerie.
“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound crestfallen. The doctor had never asked for her help like this before. Would he remember to pick up where they had almost left off?
The Lost Colony (Lost Starship Series Book 4) Page 11