Having been promoted to head of Station Security Oversight, a title that sounded made up, it still gave him a lot of freedom on the station. Now, as the Admiral’s Adjutant and serving as a major, he had additional clearance privileges. His positioning for the scurious task at hand couldn’t be better, but where to start? And how to manage things in a surreptitious, yet transparent way?
With the unfortunate but unavoidable demotion of Hanson, his only station-based ally, recognized too late, was gone. He didn’t have a head for espionage, or the skill that Hanson had with intel systems. He only had the one trick of writing on the zephyrs, as he had done for the secret message to Hanson in his cell. And that seemed just a party trick, compared to what he needed to know now.
His only plan so far was to somehow get the scientist, Bridge Cooper, up to the station; the man apparently knew a lot about the interstellar-drive things that were causing all this nastiness. Beyond that, what Amio could do to help uncover a plot was a question mark. Still, it was all he could come up with. It would give him an ally, despite the fact that it seemed inadequate. He just wasn’t sure what reason he might give for bringing the man up from his Earthside incarceration. Cooper believed Swan had something against him. And the admiral already had this Tasimov working on the problems.
Amio didn’t know what kind of timetable he had to work with yet, though it seemed that it was limited and growing shorter. He couldn’t wait for something to fall into his lap.
After his meeting with the admiral, he had headed for null-grav, to his chosen office in the comm transmission facility, familiar territory, hoping that some avenue of action would be inspired by the environment he felt at home in. He needed to arrange a meeting with the scientist, Tasimov, soon.
He almost flattened the woman as she abruptly appeared in his path from around a corner.
CHAPTER 60
EVENT: DAY 1
Sleeping since a time before man, it immediately began to recover.
The gravity-induced stasis dissipated slowly after its removal from the unnamed moon’s captive environment. In the moment of reanimation, information about a new energy source became a part of its record. The first component for obtaining this sweet energy was near already, after which the supply presented itself for consumption. It was a changed but seemingly natural order to the multi-verse.
There could be no understanding of the human experience, of the subjective human realm, that was the feeding ground.
It fed, passing the sweet-flavor of this particular energy through its enigmatic reality. The strange entity, manifested from Comani’s innocent-looking but deadly souvenir, was strengthened. Some small amount of food bled off into the universe, but it was enough.
It sensed two more of its kind in strange and unnatural gravity prisons. The gravitic sources were also new to the record. To the entity they fit into the universe as if forced into a space that was not shaped for them. They presented like mirror images of black holes, allowing approach without a dimensional shift.
The entity broke the strange dimensional boundary that walled off each of its kind, freeing the prisoners. By this action, entities normally singular had now been bound together in an unfamiliar form of connection. Set up by the assistance just rendered by one of their number, this link restored the natural condition of free, unfettered existence in the universe.
This freedom was evaluated only by its contrast to the magnetic and gravitonic imprisonment that had held these two for an indefinable period. By standards of existence, the duration was both infinite and so short as to have ended just as it had begun. In either case, the imprint of the experience was a matter of record; its wrongness could not be denied.
What left this imprint was not the incident of an elongated state of stasis; time was not an experiential dimension in the beings’ continuum. The primary entity had been dormant upon the face of that moon body for uncounted eons, and it would have been acceptable had it remained in its suspended animation until a future cataclysm knocked it from that gravity pit.
Rather, the disparity sprang from the unnatural nature of the captivity. Were they human, it would be said with some vehemence, “They would not forget”, but they were creatures generated from a different dimension, substance and non-substance. There was no brain within which to contain memories, just the impartial record, and an imbalance that they experienced. An imbalance that had been slowly growing, one which now had the feeling of being righted by some small measure.
The two newly-freed beings had a desire to feed because the food provided during their incarceration had been wrong to them, just as had the rest of that experience. Nourishment had been poured in at odd moments not of their construction, broken by non-time/space intervals of foodlessness.
The certain sweet energetic food, which was newly a part of their experience, was what was craved now.
First though, after a few lingering moments, the two wormhole creatures snapped back to the universe of their birth. Like rubber bands stretched, one end held captive as the other was released; the nature of their existence called them back to a familiar reality after this strange separation.
This place, and the space-in-time, was known; the sweet food could be found. Another matter of record. Soon enough, in human terms, they would return to man’s nearest outpost, where feeding and reestablishing of balance would be addressed.
The original quantum creature, awoken from its sleep by the unsuspecting terrologist, remained in this location for a time. Floating amongst the strange objects that were the ships, it sensed the approach of an additional, large store of sweet energy, accompanied by yet another of its kind.
Another captive, needing its natural unfettered existence.
CHAPTER 61
EVENT: DAY 16, 1915 UT
His body was solid and immobile, as if she had run into a brick wall.
“Oh, I am so sorry.” Zhyanka had correctly traced the likely whereabouts of the sergeant, and she’d played the distracted scientist, her nose in a z-brief. It was boldly titled, —CLASSIFIED—NEO-PROPULSION OF INTERSTELLAR MILITARY VESSLES —by Dr. Bridge Cooper.
Her intentional collision flustered her more than she had expected; she barely maintained her grav-boots’ grip to the floor in the null-gravity. Hardly needing to act the part, she caught her breath while strategically folding the report against her breast, title staring at him as she hugged it.
She went on, choosing her inflections, crafting her accent, trying to give the impression of a degree of helplessness. “Dat vas clumsy of me, but it does not appear to have caused you harm.” She reached out with one hand and smoothed his uniform, seeing by his insignia that he was not a sergeant after all. Pretending to read his name patch, “Major Amio,” she said it in her Russian way, “I am so sorry, but Admiral Swan has got me running too fast to solve this question he has given to me.” She waved the top secret report flagrantly, obviously, before folding it against her breast once more.
Amio’s eyes followed the waving zephyr sheaf, as she hoped they might, and she waited to see if there would be a reaction.
For a split second, his eyes widened, then returned to a casual, nonchalant look. She had seen it, though. Something had clicked for the man.
“It was my fault, Ma’am.” He was politeness personified. “Is there any way that I might be of service?”
Zhyanka had to be cautious here. She had researched Bellamy Amio to a fair degree, finding nothing in his background and service record to indicate that he had a darker, hidden side. But one could never be sure when dealing with the devious, criminal mind. His size was imposing, easy to translate as ‘threatening’, but she was not one to judge on appearances. “Thank you, Major, I vas just on my way to try and contact my old comrade, Dr. Bridge Cooper.” She dropped the name, praying that it would not backfire, risking the loss of that potential source of professional collaboration.
The
mountain of a man could not hide his interest. She was pleased that she could read him, yet she was still uncertain as to which way this might turn.
She had intercepted him near the transmission facility, assuring the plausibility of her story. He clearly did not sense her subterfuge; his posture relaxed, his tone becoming friendly and open. “I’m sorry, I did not get your name, Ms. …”
“Tasimov, Doktor Zhyanka Tasimov.” In full Russian, her proper name rolled luxuriantly from her tongue.
“Dr. Tasimov. Well, this is a coincidence; I was going to arrange a meeting with you, on behalf of Admiral Swan. He has asked me to facilitate your research.” He paused, thinking about something, then said, “This is going to sound odd, but I may be able to help you.”
She kept her wariness hidden as she responded with delighted surprise. “How could this be, Major?”
Amio considered her for a moment and gathered a bit of his reserve back. He glanced around casually, though clearly assessing his surroundings, and said, “You know, you remind me of someone back on Earth, somebody that I really miss. Would you do me the honor of having a meal with me this evening?”
The man took an initiative that Zhyanka had not expected, but welcomed happily. “I would be glad for accepting such a sveet invitation.” She gave him a real smile.
“Thank you, Dr. Tasimov. Why don’t we meet at ‘Pluto’s Tail’ in Vegas Slice at 2300, station time? You are not restricted from visiting the other slices?”
“Nyet… I mean, no, only from return to Earth, until this is solve. And, please, call me Jhana, it is how my friends know me, and yes, 2300 will be fine.”
So far, so good. She was glad to move forward with the research quickly.
CHAPTER 62
EVENT: DAY 16, 2300 UT
Tasimov waved, getting Amio’s attention.
Catching sight of her, he nodded an acknowledgement and changed direction toward the table. She’d chosen one in a corner of the dim but noisy restaurant.
“Jhana, hello,” he repeated her name as she’d spoken it upon their introduction earlier. She appreciated that; most people she met in her career life knew her on paper before they met her in person. Using her familiar name as a professional modification, for ease in communication, always resulted in her peers knowing her as “Jana”, a flat name, the J spoken in the sharp, stabbing sound of the English language. Her name lost the soft, feminine sound of her own tongue.
“Major Amio, it is so very nice. Seet down, please.”
“Thank you. Have I kept you waiting?”
“Nyet, I have just come in. Would you like café?” She waved at the waiter closest to them.
They ordered drinks, setting a casual mood. When the man stepped away from their table, the major said, “Please, call me Bellamy, or Lamb, if you like; it’s what my friends call me.”
She held her tongue for a moment; the waiter had quickly returned with the drinks. They bade him return in another moment, giving them a bit more time to decide their order, and he hurried off into the busy restaurant.
She looked back at her dinner companion as he held his mug in one large fist; it was a big mug but it practically disappeared in his grip. “This name, Lamb, it seems not to fit to you. I mean no offense; do your friends make fun?”
“Oh, I suppose it’s a good-natured joke. I kinda like the nickname; it catches people off guard. In my work that’s not a bad thing.”
His statement caused her to be thoughtful, though not wary as she had expected to feel. The man seemed without pretense, engendering her desire to trust him. Still, she remained careful. “You did say I vas reminding you of somebody?”
He sipped his coffee, and from between the rim of his mug and the bill of his cap, his eyes slowly swept the crowded, noisy place, as if from behind a kind of camouflage. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Maybe reflex, like during their earlier meeting. He took the first step, quickly answering most of her concerns about him. “I apologize for that small misdirection. The truth is that I need someone I can trust, and as it happens, you know someone that I already trust, or at least have no reason to mistrust.
“Since our earlier meeting, Jhana, I have been busy. In my position, I have a great deal of access—I hope you’ll forgive me—I looked into your file.” He waited, as if he had just confessed an infidelity and expected a reprimand.
On the contrary, he shared something that he would have kept secret, were he a threat to her; he had just told her how much trust she could place in him.
So she took a cautious step, in her own turn, easing up on the accent. “I would expect this, Lamb, thank you for telling me. It means that I now tell you something. This admiral, he thinks that I can get something about a secret project, which I do not know how to get, all alone. But I do know who could help get this.” She was confident that she could get her old co-worker to help solve the question that Swan had posed for her.
Amio was quickly feeling that his choice in trusting this woman with the commanding presence was a good one. He confessed further, “It is Bridge Cooper, isn’t it? You said he was your colleague.” She nodded. He went on. “It was the interstellar drive that you worked on together, wasn’t it?”
Just then the server returned, a forced smile indicated his hope that he would not have to return a third time for their order. Tasimov and Amio managed a quick, unconsidered order, and the man sped off again.
It was time for Tasimov to step fully into the circle of trust. “Yes, he was with team who worked on what I have said, a secret project. Now I tell you what this is.” She leaned in towards him, across the small table, her eyes narrowing and voice lowering. “What do you know about these interstellar drives that run your beautiful ships through space?”
The question, posed with her Russian accent, took on all of the danger that surrounded it; Amio’s neck prickled. “I’m afraid I know things that I wish were not true; things about something that is responsible for a great many bizarre deaths, recently. Some friends.”
Tasimov had rested her chin in a hand as she listened to his response. Her attitude shifted at his final sentence, from conspiratorial to sympathetic. She moved her hand from her chin to rest atop his on the table. “Bellamy, I am so sorry to hear this. I am angry. This is not new. I know about these things. It is the fault of the military. What they did not wish to know has come back to haunt. How can we help each other?”
Amio went on to tell of some of his conversation with Cooper, and a snippet of the demise of Pirate Patrol One. Pausing only when the food arrived, he saved the most treasonous bits of sharing for the last—Swan’s alleged plan, and his suspicions about how he and Hanson had unwittingly played a part.
He was glad he would have a requisition from her as the reason to get Cooper up here from Earth. They finished their meals with a bit of small talk that was designed to keep the meeting as foreshortened as possible, and bid each other good-bye with a hearty arm-grip as they headed off to the tasks assigned to each.
CHAPTER 63
EVENT: DAY 17, 0045 UT
Elementals. Applying such a name to the subject of their studies had brought much laughter and criticism down on Cooper’s head years ago.
In concert with Amio’s motivations, Tasimov went directly from their dinner meeting to her office and submitted the request for the man to be brought to DTA.
She was not tired, so she sat down at her network-isolated station and inserted the order chip Major Amio had given her; she found that she had access to files that she had created during her earlier research years, and files from her former colleagues. There were more recent Elemental accounts having to do with the latest event. She looked these over first.
She was appalled as she read the account of Private Geoff; she felt certain that there was no need for that woman to die. Tasimov had seen the possibilities for recuperation, all those years ago. She had spoken to one of
those survivors, though only once, and afterwards had not heard any more about the man. Her opinion of Swan dropped ever lower as her suspicions heightened.
She began to consider the question that the admiral had asked to be answered first: could the containment spheres be reconfigured as traps for the loosed and attacking Elementals? She read the man’s proposal for a trap. The admiral had struck upon the most obvious solution in his suggestion to recapture the creatures, and also, the easiest one for her to make a reality.
She spent an hour sorting through schematics, notes, and reports, getting a re-grounding in the system that had become the drive containment. During the original, rough stages of development, it was found that gravity had a natural impact on the force objects, as they became quiescent in as little as one earth-gravity. But in space it was only the Rejector’s gravity projection that created the effect, and not the kind of gravity that was simulated with rotational motion.
She then loaded the containment sphere schematic into the modeler and went to work, exploding it into its component pieces. With a wave, she swept non-essential parts out of the picture, and molded the design to its new purpose. She vocalized as she went, creating the instruction set that would be used to reconstruct the device in the field. With brushes of her fingers and vocal commands, she drew in the cabled, remote control console. Considering the objective of the trap, she lengthened the cable, thinking of the operator’s safety. After the sphere, the lengthy coil of optical and power supply conduit would be the heaviest part of the unit. Its lack of portability could not be helped.
Parallel Extinction (Extinction Encounters Book 1) Page 34