Generations (The Nimbus Collection Book 3)

by Clemens, D. C.

  When Kaylie believed she earned a break after a couple hours of work, she went back up to the main deck to eat. She found a helmetless Agent Vaughn talking to Clay and Mr. Broussard at the little mess table as if they were best of friends.

  “Can I join the boys’ club?” Kalie rhetorically asked as she sat down to eat her bowl of leftover Chinese noodles.

  “Ah, welcome, Miss Bell,” began Agent Vaughn. “Your lawyer here was just telling me exactly how he expects the justice system to dish out righteousness. In your case, since you were only following your good captain’s orders, he anticipates no more than a two or three months of jail time followed by two years of probation. Your captains face slightly longer sentences, but they’ll also be hit heavily with fines.”

  “How bad would have it been if we were caught with the containers?” asked Kalie before slurping up some of her noodles.

  Agent Vaughn looked to Mr. Broussard, who obliged him.

  “Depends on the judge, really. I can spin some good stories about ignorance to some, while others will only see the military hardware and think us radicals, but I’d say around four or five years.”

  “Really? Wow, that would have gotten me right on the straight and narrow,” Kaylie said to Agent Vaughn, taking a swig of her beer afterward.

  “I don’t think it’ll take that much. I spoke with your aunt several months ago, you know. It took little convincing from me to suggest you would benefit greatly from a visit or two from her if you were ever incarcerated. I told her that you would rebut her visits at first, but that I thought you were ready to be swayed away from your erroneous path by some readings of the Sacred Script.”

  The three men then broke into laughter.

  “You big asshole!” blared Kalie, flinging her noodle bowl at the agent.

  He didn’t seem to notice his fresh coating of stringy food, and there was only more laughing in the table, including some from her a bit later.

  The merriment stopped when the ship’s console began beeping, signaling the sensors were picking up something.

  “The ADF?” Clay asked Agent Vaughn.

  “I’m not picking up their frequency,” answered the agent as he wiped the fragments of the soup from his face and hair with a murky napkin.

  The four of them made their way to the console, Kaylie and Clay each taking a pilot seat. Kaylie brought up the holoscreen to its largest size for easier viewing by the spectators.

  More to Clay than anyone else, Kaylie said, “The sensors picked up two inbound jumps.”

  “Hold on,” said Clay. “We’re being hailed.”

  He flipped the appropriate switch. From the triggered speakers, all of them heard odd grunt-like sounds in a deep and consistent tone.

  “What the fuck is that?” Kalie asked, this time to no one in particular.

  The rest of the crew, hearing the odd noises in the speakers, joined the confused party a few seconds later.

  “What’s that noise?” Trista unknowingly repeated. “Is something wrong with our speakers?”

  “This is Captain Thompson of the Oracle,” said the acting captain through the microphone. “We are not picking up your transmission clearly.”

  He echoed the message a half moment later, but the answer was still coming in the form of the bizarre, garbled sounds. Then, as Clay was repeating himself a third time, the speakers went silent. Two beeps from the console drew their attention to the holoscreen as the computer circled two points of interest.

  “Two ships just appeared,” informed Kalie, “and they’re making a rapid approach our way. Nothing to identify them, but they each appear to be cruiser-class.”

  The ship’s cameras zoomed as much as they could on the two vessels. They were quite close already, surprising everyone (except Brandon, thought Kalie) at how their sensors did not pick them up sooner. The unknown ships were identical to one another and were three times as long as the Oracle. They were colored the same as the dark space around them, but the Oracle’s cameras could still see that their outlines were shaped like a broad wing, closely resembling ancient stealth bombers, though much taller.

  “What do we do?” Brandon asked Wei.

  Clay answered for Wei, telling Kalie, “Direct all power to shields.”

  She did as instructed, but she knew this would only add a few seconds of defense if one or both of the striking ships decided to attack.

  The pair of enigmatic ships were eventually flanking the Oracle, and while they kept a judicious distance, the cameras followed their every move and displayed their views on the bow window.

  “It’s weird,” began Clay. “Even at this range the scanners aren’t picking up much. They can’t just be random Badland dwellers with stealth tech that advanced.”

  “Maybe we stumbled on some secret government testing ground or something,” suggested Wei.

  “In the Badlands?” said Trista. “And with bad comm equipment?”

  “Okay, then they’re aliens… Or alien robots!”

  “This isn’t funny, Rhino,” said a nervous Brandon. “Whoever they are, they got us dead to rights.”

  “That’s not quite the right expression,” said Wei. “We haven’t been caught doing anything wrong.”

  “Do I have to remind you why we’re here?” asked Agent Grace.

  “Everyone shut up,” ordered Agent Vaughn. “One of the ships is closing in.”

  The nameless ship on the portside of the Oracle was rapidly shortening the distance to the smuggling ship. When it was a mere half mile away, two magnetized-tipped cables could be seen slowly heading toward the hull of the ship.

  “Damn, they want to latch on to us,” said Clay.

  “I guess they really want to make our acquaintance,” said Wei dryly. “Our shields can’t inhibit them from latching on if they keep going that slowly. Do we try and evade?”

  No sooner had Wei finished asking his question did an alarm signaling the presence of projectiles sound. Kalie experienced initial confusion as to why a ship that wanted to connect to their own would be before firing on them, but clarity exposed itself when she saw the coupling ship’s roof erupt in a tower of short-lived flame, splashing away substantial hunks of debris. The Oracle’s computer calculated the trail of the warhead that struck the ship and pinpointed the elusive outline of yet another craft slinging around the gas giant and heading in their direction. Another warhead was discharged from the newcomer. Their alarm still sounded, but Kaylie guessed that they were not the targets. The huge slug impacted the same ship, effectively shredding it in half, permanently cutting its hopes to link with the Oracle. Clay took manual control of his wife’s craft, taking hold of two stout handles on the console, and began to attempt to flee this fight by moving away from the gas giant’s gravitational grasp.

  Meanwhile, the companion of the destroyed ship was able to expel a vengeful slug of its own during this ambush, but its impact on the original attacker was not destructive, indicating a highly reinforced shield. Seeing its failure, the ship initiated evasive maneuvers, diving for the cloudy cover of the planet with a great push from its stern-wide thruster. Just before it could gain the cover of the green atmosphere, an explosion ripped half of its stern open, sending the entire ship into a long spin until it vanished beneath the flogging clouds. A beep from the console several seconds later indicated that a jump had been made from within the cloud layers of the vaporous planet.

  The victorious ship zipped past the Oracle, exiting the pull of the titan world as it did so. The closer view allowed for the crew to see that this was a narrow and exceptionally long cruiser. Its bow had the stacked exit points for two rail guns that likely ran most of its half mile length. Most of the sleek ship was glazed in a deep shade of blue, but thin silver streaks could be detected running some of its extent, which Kalie guessed could either be windows or some type of vent system. The end of its stern displayed the ends of seven white-hot thrusters that formed a flower-like pattern. It was the grandest ship Kalie had ever laid h
er eyes on.

  The Oracle received a hail. Clay permitted it.

  In a masculine voice that was far too smooth to be of organic origin, the dispatch stated, “One of the ships was able to escape. They will likely warn the rest of its scouting party of our presence. When can you jump, Captain Thompson?”

  “Our core is fried,” answered Clay a bit tentatively. “I say it would be no less than fifty hours before we can jump.”

  “If we work our asses off,” mumbled Kalie.

  Wei gave her a hard tap on the head.

  After a short silence, the hummed voice said, “It’s best for both parties that you keep your ship hidden in our base so as not to be left exposed to a probable counterattack. Is this acceptable?”

  Agent Vaughn leaned in between the captain and his subordinate (Kalie noted that he still smelled like her noodles) and spoke into the microphone, saying, “This is Agent Vaughn of the Arcadian Investigation Agency, who is technically in control of this ship. Just who is ‘our’ enemy, and may you please identify yourselves?”

  “Coordinates to our base has been sent. The answers you seek lie there. This ship is obliged to return to radio silence and withdraw into hiding.” True to its word, the mysterious cruiser cut off its frequency and made a quick turn back to the gas giant.

  “Well, this is bizarre,” said Trista. “Where do the coordinates lead to?”

  “To one of the moons of this gas giant,” said Clay. “So, Agent Vaughn, you’re technically in charge, do we head for this base?”

  “You know we have no other choice. Whoever these people are, we can’t afford to be caught in the middle of their scuffle. Might as well pick a side.”

  “Sacred, of all the fucking places you people jump to,” said Agent Grace.

  No one moved from their spots as the Oracle made its way to the designated moon. On reaching sight of it a few minutes later they discerned a grayish sphere marginally bigger than the Earth, currently orbiting on the day side of its much bigger guardian. Scanners detected only a trace atmosphere on the seemingly dead world, making atmospheric entry smooth sailing. On reaching the precise coordinates, they found themselves hovering near the northernmost point of the satellite world and were positioned in the middle of a slim valley between two mountain ranges that reached an average of eight miles in height. There was nothing remarkable at first about the area, the entire expanse looking little more than a dumping ground for excess rocks from an even duller world. Then, when Trista was about to say something, scanners detected activity below them. A circular piece of the ground was opening, unveiling an artificial shaft that the Oracle’s instruments declared went down three hundred feet below the surface.

  “Please enter our dock,” said the same level voice from before, confirming it did not belong to a single person but to a program.

  The Oracle obeyed after a moment’s hesitation. The entrance was large enough to fit a small cruiser and, as the frigate slowly entered the space, the shaft switched on some low level lights to aid in the descent. Kalie found something very soothing about the lights, feeling as though they came from tiny stars rather than electricity. When their ship was halfway down, a small, dark blue frigate rose up. Their transitory neighbor was unlike anything Kalie had ever seen. The ship had a very slender fuselage with a flat, vertical propulsion engine on either side, each being nearly twice as long as the fuselage itself. And, like the main body, the thrusters tapered off at the bow. However, unlike the central body, the thrusters started to expand toward each other once they passed the stern until they met each other shortly after, giving the illusion of a single thruster. Before Kalie could take in any details of the vessel, the ship reached ground level and accelerated away.

  The shaft’s upper doorway next began to speedily close and the vertical channel was filling up with an atmosphere similar to Earth’s, though with a bit more oxygen. When the entrance was fully shut, many more shaft lights were ignited, presenting a shaft made from a metal only a few shades lighter than the gray rock outside. On reaching the bottom of the dock, the smuggling ship extended its three landing skids to bumpily land on solid ground.

  The instant the ship settled, the artificial voice said, “You may exit your craft if any of you wish to meet my masters, but we request that you do so weaponless. A Sacred vicar will be your host and he will be unarmed as well.”

  “A vicar?” wondered Wei aloud. “Way out here?”

  “All right, I’ll meet with this vicar,” said Agent Vaughn as he put on his helmet. “Agent Grace, you stay armed here in case of trouble. If anyone else wants to join me, they are welcome to.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Clay.

  “Me too,” professed Trista.

  “No,” insisted Clay. “I need you on the pilot’s seat in case we need to escape. I’ll need a lawyer, though. You mind, Eli?”

  “Not at all,” replied the lawyer.

  “Good. Rhino, I want you to watch Mrs. Thompson’s back, all right?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Then I’m staying here, too,” said Brandon.

  “Then I’ll join you, cap,” said Kalie quickly, happy to be anywhere Brandon was not, but covered it up by adding, “Can’t have just a lawyer watching your back.”

  Agent Vaughn was already waiting by the lowering ramp when the rest of the expedition joined him. The group stepped onto an immaculate, dark floor that was an obvious type of high-end concrete. The bottom half of the shaft was shaped like an octagon and there were wide blast doors stamped on each wall. A green light turned on just above a door directly facing the bow of the Oracle and the blast door slid up, presenting an unassuming passageway.

  Now coming from some hidden speakers somewhere on the dock, the voice reemerged to say, “Please take the open tunnel and enter the second room on the left. Your host will be waiting for you there.”

  Clay shrugged with his hands and made the first move. Everyone followed. In contrast to the gloomy floors and walls of the shaft, the tunnel was made from a pure white stone. Something about the place made Kalie feel uneasy, but she could not figure out what in particular made her feel so. As they were instructed to do, the assembly entered into the already open entrance of the second room. The room itself was about the size of a small conference room, the white from the hallway invading this space as well, and had a long oval table made of dark granite splitting the room in a lower and upper half. Strangely, there were no chairs anywhere. There was also a closed blast door on the other side of the room and the wall on their right showed a live holo-projection of the dock.

  Most interestingly, standing on the other side of the table was a tall figure adorned in a loose fitting and hooded maroon robe. She also saw that the priest wore a lightly armored red suit under the robe, the helmet’s dark visor making it impossible to see his face. The cloaked figure gave a small bow. Agent Vaughn and Mr. Broussard returned it, leaving Kalie wondering if she should do the same, but she was soon relieved from making a decision when the host pulled down the hood and said something in an unrecognizable dialect that her Tongues of Fire program could not recognize. What she could tell was that it sounded very sing-songy, like some kind of one man chorus, but it barely registered higher than a loud whisper.

  As soon as the strange song ended, the ever present voice said, “Welcome to our outpost. This is officially the first meeting of our species, we only regret it was not under more desirable circumstances.”

  The four of them glanced at one another for a second, before Agent Vaughn asked, “Species?”

  The vicar spoke again, once again needing a translation. “You heard correctly. I am known as an eldrick and we are in this outpost to covertly study your kind and best determine how and when to inform humanity of our existence. Regrettably, it appears we might have to contact your leadership sooner than anticipated.”

  After a moment of silence deep enough to hear atoms speaking to one another, Kalie said, “No shit?”

  Following the s
ame pattern of communication as before, the vicar replied, “No, we are not jesting.”

  The vicar’s visor then became clear as the air itself to show a humanoid-like face of a very dark tinge of ebony. This intense blackness carried two large, oblong eyes, their irises colored an intense orange while the rest of the eye was gray. Where a human nose would be was instead replaced by three vertical slits, with the middle being the longest. There was a thin, almost lipless mouth below these slots. Bordering this face were the signs of silvery strands of hair.

  “So we’re the first humans to ever talk to you, err, I mean, to any of your kind?” asked Agent Vaughn.

  “Yes, making this a momentous occasion for me as well. I personally never expected to be the first to speak with humans.”

  “So who were the people you attacked?”

  “They are known as draken.”

  He turned to the holoscreen, which changed its image to that of an orangish, upright lizard-like creature with an elongated body standing in a parched landscape. Half its body was donned with corroded armor plates and its horned head had a fierce snarl.

  “More aliens?” asked Kalie, not completely realizing her standing in human history just yet. “How many are there?”

  “I assume you mean the number of intelligent species,” said the vicar’s translation. “There are thirty-four such species known so far, including yourselves, with eleven having advanced spacefaring technology.”

  “Are you at war with these draken?” asked Mr. Broussard.

  “Yes, or more accurately, with a sizable faction of their realm that have aligned themselves with our enemy. Some draken nations are united to our cause.”

  “Sounds like a big war,” said the agent.

  “It is, though there has been a lull in hostilities as of late, but that will not last. The enemy we attacked was part of a scouting convoy we know to be in the region. We were anticipating keeping hidden from them and allow our fleet to dispose of them when they saw fit, but we could not simply allow them to do whatever they desired when they discovered your vessel. Many draken tribes like to make slaves of other species and would have likely used you as such. Of course, my information is mere hearsay for you, but I hope our hospitable arrangements will at least aid in easing your minds.”