In return, Cartwright sought refuge in formality, “Commander, We’re in formation with Dreadnought”.
“I’ve read your report, Lieutenant. Anything changed?”.
“There is one minor detail, it’s not in my report, Sir”.
“Go ahead then”.
Magnus, for once was slow on the uptake. His ears should have pricked up. Subordinates who want to speak with you, should usually be allowed to.
“Request permission to speak in person, Sir”.
“Alright Lieutenant. Repair aboard Dreadnought in 9 hours”.
Her flat and emotionless response of “Aye Sir” should have been a final clue. Cartwright was normally more animated.
He had little energy for enigmas tonight. He sipped his whisky steadily until it was gone, then went to bed. He slept like the dead, no dreams, no nightmares, just warm darkness.
Dreadnought and her ancient brethren continued their stealthy crawl up the local star’s gravity well. It allowed more time for inspections and tests of the old ship before attempting a jump.
Magnus had awoken and begun his day by reconfiguring his day cabin after dinner with Admiral Hecate. The desk and office seats was back and now pictures had appeared on the wall from his personal database.
In front of him, an ancient racing float plane was charging across the surface of a lake, on the cusp of take-off. An even older image of a sailing clipper running like hell on the breeze was behind him. He was toying, with an image of Earth’s first true space plane by the hatch. Images from Humanity’s pre-interstellar era fascinated him.
That people had ridden such unsophisticated machines riddled with hardship and a high risk of death inspired him. Once he completed his century of service, he promised himself he would find the time to try some of those things himself. It still left a lot of empty space, but at least he had a slightly more personalized work environment.
He’d then sat down and run through the ship’s log. One lesson he’d relearned on this self-assigned rescue mission, read the bloody log. Twice if necessary. Nothing was going to catch him by surprise this time. No dramatic events like foreign armadas defeated at the hands of the Blight or infected ships blocking their escape.
A brief chime ran through his mind’s eye with a note indicating Lieutenant Cartwright was due in a few minutes. He recalled their conversation from the night before, she’d been a little on edge. He hadn’t quite worked out the details of how to hand the ancient starship over the Admiral Hecate yet. No doubt, when he did though, Cartwright would need a good rest.
He closed down the files he’d been working on his desk top display, just as the hatch knocker sounded. In his mind’s eye, he authorized it to open. Lieutenant Cartwright walked in uncomfortably.
Now well rested himself, he was more attuned to the subtleties of her demeanour. He felt a small knot form in the base of his stomach. Whilst he’d studied as a Psy-Guard, he never been able to read thoughts or emotions like the others could. You didn’t have to be Agent Athena to see the misery Cartwright carried.
He looked her straight in the eyes, his voice was gentle “Please, Hannah, have a seat”.
She sat down, her hands unconsciously gripping the desk. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. She opened her mouth and nothing came out.
Magnus then reached out and took her hands in one of his surprising them both. “Tell me”.
Her voice was a strangled whisper “I put my Granddad in the ship”.
He didn’t let go or back away “I don’t understand, Hannah”. She continued “I survived the Olympus Mons infection. Everyone else aboard died on that cursed ship. My Granddad rescued me, but I watched all passengers and crew get taken. We Laurentians are so resistant to it. They slowly succumbed over a week. All of them were in agony”.
Now she’d started, the words tumbled out “I couldn’t make anything work, so I put my Granddad's digitized mind into the ship’s computer network. We were out of time. I was desperate”.
He bit down on his distaste “I thought the ghost-in-the-machine law banned human uploads on pain of exile and you’ve already been transferred to Tor Station as a warning”.
She sounded exhausted as she spoke “I know this goes against at least five articles in the Kingdom’s Charter. I figured exile to Barbary was better than ending up some Blight filled zombie”. Her tone became a touch of the accusatory “Anyway, you brought us all out here chasing some SOS buried in a funked up comms drone”.
Magnus blew out a breath “Who else knows?”.
Her voiced was quiet and flat “Nobody. Fred won’t link to anyone else. The CIC over there is running on hand eye interface only”.
Magnus spoke again “You backed me violating an interstellar treaty. I can’t hardly drop a shuttle on you for trying to survive”.
Her face was equal parts hopeful and disbelieving “You won’t hand me in then, Lennard?”.
He grimaced slightly “No”.
“Thank you” She looked happier, relieved of a burden.
He made a show of looking stern “That was your one freebie though, Hannah”.
His mind’s eye chimed. “Skipper, we need you in CIC. Umm. Quickly”. Bainham had the watch and he sounded nervous. Not I might upset my boss nervous, more like something is really wrong nervous.
His sub-vocal reply was stoic and simple “On my way”. He opened his mouth but Cartwright beat him to it “I know, duty calls. We’ll speak again”.
He didn’t feel like saying anymore, he just blew out one long breath, a moment of simple human connection abruptly severed was frustrating.
She made a cheeky smile “I thought of a name”.
The foreshadowing was obvious “The Frankenstein?”.
“How did you know?”.
“Lazarus was my second guess”.
They parted a little reluctantly, with a shared realization of how much they had come to depend on one another in a few short days. They were now in it together. Cartwright went off to the hangar bay for a shuttle back to the Frankenstein. Magnus to Dreadnought’s CIC.
Half to himself “Crisis, crisis, there’s always a new crisis. Why did I hunger for this job again?”.
This brief note of complaint was one few luxuries he allowed himself before plastering a quietly confident expression on his face and heading to CIC.
Chapter 16
Magnus entered CIC in time to once again face the classic Starship Commander’s conundrum. Being the first witness to events of interstellar import, but the light speed limitation guaranteed they were over before you could possibly react.
On the right side of the main display, a Lakedaemon cruiser was burning across the interplanetary void on a flying course from Socotra two’s jump point and final destination in orbit over Socotra three. The position of the planets and sun had hidden it’s flight until now.
That cut both ways. The Lakedaemon crew would not have seen Dreadnought bombard their base from orbit or make off with the Frankenstein in company.
On the left side of the main display, a high-tech Blight ship slid stealthy through space. It was difficult to tell its origin in system. Dreadnought’s sensors were hard pressed to hold the contact, but the usual Blight thermal tell-tales could just be made out.
It was cutting in relatively close to the sun on the opposite side from the Lakedaemon ship. If it made no changes, its course would meet the Lakedaemon ship before it arrived in orbit over its destination.
Even before Sub-Lieutenant Bainham briefed him, Magnus knew it was too late to warn the Lakedaemians. The light was too old and the message transit time was already longer than the time to intercept. He wasn’t ready to report this new development to Hecate either.
Magnus went through the formalities in CIC. His voice was flat and emotionless as he spoke “I have control”. Bainham replied “You have control, Skipper". He sounded both relieved and a little guilty about it.
On the screen, the inevitable was taking its own sweet time. W
atching two dots crawl together on a tactical display, whilst anticipating yet more loss of life was psychological torture.
Cartwright, now back in Frankenstein’s CIC, contacted Magnus via mind’s eye private link.
Her tone was harried “I know there’s nothing we can do, but I needed to hear someone else say it too”.
Magnus gave her a small smile and replied “Yeah, you’re right”. He paused to think, “Like it’s no longer just my selfish choice to keep safe”.
The two ships drew closer until it seemed impossible the Lakedaemians could not see their hunter. Still both ships flew on peacefully. The reality that some Blight controlled ships would appear uninfected implied the latest strain of Blight was far subtler than its predecessors. A thought more horrifying than battle.
Magnus paged Agent Athena to Dreadnought’s CIC.
In the few short minutes, it took for her to arrive, a shuttle departed the Lakedaemon ship and docked with the Blight ship.
Agent Athena entered CIC and ascended to the command level.
Meanwhile, light minutes away on-board the Blight Cruiser ex-Palantine, Clone Prince Ptolemy Alexander, Princeps of Syracuse, clone son of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Titan Perses of the Lakedaemon Empire, tried to relax in his armour, but his feet and hands would not stop quaking. He rode a shuttle from the light cruiser Asteria to ex-Palantine.
As he lay clamped in his acceleration couch, he felt fear like he never had before. Not even the many occasions when his own sociopathic ‘father clone’, the Lakedaemon Emperor, decided Ptolemy had failed him. His alliance with a Blight strain had seemed audacious, just hours ago, but now foolhardy.
The Blight strain’s gestalt had demanded the Socotra 3 base in return for raising Ptolemy to run his own nation. The terrible destruction was plain to see on that benighted planet. That deal was now impossible. Ptolemy’s erstwhile ally had summoned him, alone, to speak man to …… machines he supposed.
The possible tortures were boundless, but he dared not try to run. His doughty Asteria could sustain a chest crushing nine gravity acceleration. Ex-Palantine was of ancient origin. Leonidas Colony had discovered an archeo-tech trove and she was the prize piece. Her reactionless drive could accelerate her at over sixty gravities. The Leonidas Colony Defence Force had lost her, their flag ship, in 3868, at the height of the last Blight crusade. Amongst her payload was a container of advanced medical nanomotes. Blight infection had swept the ship including her cargo and had absorbed the then cutting edge neural networking abilities of the individual motes, sowing the seeds of a far greater threat in the present.
The Blighted ex-Palantine appeared more terrible the closer they got. Uninteresting hull features took on a hellish visage where the infestation had twisted and warped them to better suited her new possessor. He could feel the cold sweat breakout all over his body.
The shuttle didn’t wait for any authority, it just switched itself over to automated docking. This close to a major Blight strain, technology sometimes slipped under their control, even without infection.
The shuttle mated to a docking port with a gentle bump. There was a hiss of equalising air pressure, then both air lock doors opened at once, something software interlocks supposedly made impossible. His safety clamps retracted of their own record. The Clone Prince floated free. He pulled himself along hand over hand towards the hatch and passed through. As he entered the ex-Palantine, he expected to drop to the floor. Human vessels all ran a para-gravity set to roughly Terran Standard. But here, nothing. The main lights were off too. A few system status panels gave off an ethereal illumination.
His armour’s head up display showed a severe climb in his heart rate. His eyes grew slowly used to the darkness. He could pick out an inhuman shape gliding towards him. It’s arms, appendages, whatever they were, moved like a mockery of human limbs. Instead of one hinge joint in the middle, the whole length seemed to curve, more like a tentacle.
He finally thought to turn on his passive infra-red vision. It helped. The false colour display revealed the strangeness of the approaching figure. It had no obvious weapons. It had four limbs and an unremarkable torso, but no head. Despite the lack of gravity, it seemed to hang down from the ceiling like a sloth. It closed in, until it was three metres away.
His armour detected a comms channel opening up. It bore Lakedaemon encryption. A text message appeared on his HUD.
FOLLOW THIS ONE.
The Blight sloth didn’t turn. It just swung along the ceiling back along the direction it came. Ptolemy pushed himself along after the construct. It took him into an arcing corridor then up a deck, along another corridor, then into a server room.
Bizarre was the only way he could describe the next sight. Like a cross between clockwork and granite. A black shiny monolith loomed over him. A gentle red light bathed it. Tiny pick pricks of light rushed across the polished service. Patterns like cogs and gears were carved into the surface.
His HUD threw up a new message.
OUR AGREEMENT HAS NOT BEEN FULFILLED.
His suit broadcast his stammering reply on the same channel “The base has been attacked by your enemies. I didn’t know”. Even to himself he sounded weak.
The pause whilst the Blight monolith processed his words, was short, yet excruciating. He had to bring them back onside, or they might infect him right now.
He couldn’t help himself, he spoke again “I know where another archeo-tech trove is. I can take you there”.
WE DO NOT TRUST EASILY TWICE.
That he wasn’t dead already made him realise the gestalt was interested.
He was about to reply when he bumped forward like he’d been struck. Then his vision went dark about from the HUD. His armour projected and image showing that a foreign body was now wrapped round his head, shoulders and arms. Then the HUD followed too.
He tried to move his arms and legs, but the suit seemed to have locked up completely.
After a few seconds, he heard a high pitch whine in his left ear. He couldn’t identify the sound initially. Then he remembered when he had heard something like it once. In Asteria’s sickbay. He’d visited some injured crew, one was still in surgery. He’d walked past the surgical cabin. A Doctor was trying to heal his patient’s fractured skull. He’d used a drill that whined exactly like the sound now. He screamed as he realized what was happening, then passed out. He awoke sometime later.
As he came around, bright lights seemed to flash inside his head and text appeared across his mind. DO NOT DISAPPOINT AGAIN. IT WILL BE FATAL.
After two hours, the shuttle undocked from ex-Palantine and transferred back to the Asteria.
The two ships formed up and set off for the nearest jump point at a gentile one gravity.
Back on Dreadnought, Magnus had called a meeting of trusted Officers. Jack Armstrong and Greg Jones had arrived already and taken seats around the conference table. The atmosphere was nervous as Athena entered and took an empty seat. Magnus had arrived before all three and had taken the chair at the head of the table, easy as it was his meeting.
Cartwright joined in over a laser link to Frankenstein.
A holo-projected chart of the Socotra system hovered over the centre of the table. The Blight ship and her Lakedaemon companion on course to the nearest jump point. Dreadnought and Frankenstein clawed their way out of the local sun’s gravity well.
After the Officers had had the chance to greet one another, Magnus brought the meeting to order.
“You all know Blight and this Lakedaemon vessel seem friendly. Too friendly. Heisenberg is busy checking our own Lakedaemon guests for infection” he paused. “We are confident ours are clean”.
He looked around the room “The question before you, is what do we do next? I’m asking for suggestions or ideas. The decision is, as always, mine as Commander, but I never eschew wise counsel when it’s available”.
Armstrong spoke first “Sorry, Skipper, I think I’ve got the wrong meeting room”.
Mag
nus sighed inwardly, the laxity had broken the room’s fearful miasma. “Thank you, Jack. Stay, you might learn something. Anyone else?”.
Jones spoke up first “We need secure accommodation for your catch Athena, we also need to tap into Fleet intel. More is going on here. Both of those are a few days away. Almost all the way back to the home system”.
Athena looked around the room “Not necessarily. I had a destination in mind when I began my retrieval operation. There’s a well-hidden station with the right facilities, only a day and a half away”.
Jones looked displeased “It’s not on my damn star charts”.
Athena tried hard to look sheepish “No, it wouldn’t be”.
Magnus interrupted before Jones could get another complaint in “What’s there?”.
Athena continued her efforts at sheepishness, no one really buying it “A few labs, some Blight samples, a little archeo-tech”.
Cartwright saw a pause and jumped in with her own burning question “We’re not exactly sanctioned. Something like that, has got to be well protected. Won’t they just atomize us first and ask questions later?”.
Athena answered “The main defence is accessibility, not weapons. As long as you trust me, we’ll be fine”.
Cartwright wasn’t quite ready to let up “Why’s it so inaccessible then?”.
Athena started to look annoyed “It’s in an unusual environment”.
Armstrong piled in “Unusual how? We risked our necks to rescue you. Just stop this spook shite”.
Magnus smiled “Ah! Para wisdom. Thank you Corporal”. He paused, “Athena out with it please”.
Athena looked round the unforgiving faces and couldn’t stop a sliver of sarcasm escaping “It’s in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant. You insisted on bringing Lakedaemon guests. Happy?”.
The Syracuse Deception Page 12