The heavily laden ore hauler slowly, ponderously, crept away from Zeres Able. Fully loaded as she was now, Argo massed 46,214,730 metric tons, give or take a few hundred kilos, requiring eighty-three hours to reach a safe insertion point into hyperspace. Once the hauler was in that superluminal realm, it would be impossible to track.
Until then, Sinja could do little except worry about what might go wrong, something she admittedly did with far too much regularity.
Lambda Sequence:
Surprise, Surprise
Inside the Scout Pod
Stynx marveled at the beauty all around him. The star system ahead lay inside a spectacular nebula created by the death blast of a giant red sun that went supernova eons ago. Gorgeous, twisting streamers of fiery magenta and golden-yellow gases mixed with luminous dust filled space for light years in all directions.
As for the system itself, not much to see; just a solitary orange star with three planets and little else. Even the planets were unimpressive―small rocky worlds that appeared barren, airless, seemingly void of any distinctive features. Only the second planet had any moons, just two, both no more than irregularly shaped clumps of desolate rock. Nothing else but some scattered asteroids and comets of mediocre type. Certainly a sparse system by astronomical norms.
Linked to the influx globe, Stynx saw it through his mind’s eye: a vivid, richly detailed mental visual of a stellar schematic. Crimson circles represented the planetary orbits, with the planets themselves seen as slowly rotating green spheres. The second planet was circled by a pair of small orbs representing its moons. Through it all curved the glowing blue arc of the scout pod’s parabolic trajectory, looping past the orange star ahead before swinging back out to deep space. The trajectory ended at the rendezvous point with Tazaral, their dropship.
Like all reconnaissance missions, the pod Stynx and Jorth rode inside had been inserted far outside the star system they were sent to explore. From there, the pod’s sailwing had unfolded into a vast triangular shape that began pulling them forward, accelerating steadily until their velocity rose just above seven-eighths the speed of light. Its function complete, the sailwing detached, falling away behind the pod as it dissolved into an expanding cloud of infinitesimal motes, a maneuver that shed over seventy percent of their original mass.
Now the two Scout subForms rode inside a tiny, egg-shaped projectile no more able to alter its course than a bullet fired from a gun. The pod’s diminutive size and lack of a bulky propulsion system better hid its presence. A black shell composed of energy-absorbent resins provided additional stealth. In absolute silence, Stynx and Jorth explored the star system ahead, learning that which they were sent here to learn.
“Nine solar units from the outer planet,” Jorth announced from up in the cramped cockpit.
“Analyzing,” Stynx replied. He was in the minuscule rear nook, strapped atop a cushioned insulator bench. With gentle finger strokes, Stynx manipulated the influx globe grasped by his right hand, causing the stellar schematic in his mind to zoom in on the outer planet. The data from the pod’s external sensory grids, transferred by the influx globe straight into his memory sac, depicted the planet as a dreary, airless world. Stynx noticed its abnormally smooth surface. There were also thick rings of dust encircling the planet, partially blocking the sensory data. Despite this, the initial analysis revealed vast mineral resources: massive deposits of iridium, platinum, titanium, plus many rare isotopes were there in great quantity.
“Resource planet of deep core magnitude,” he told Jorth.
Stynx began identifying for future reference those areas that were most abundant. The nests were heading toward this region of space and rich mineral planets such as this would be needed for their plentiful resources.
The pod hurtled closer. To Stynx, the planet looked like its outer surface had been peeled away. Where were the impact craters? Why did he not see fissures from tectonic mantle shifts? The usual signs of planetary evolution were gone, as if scoured away―very odd for an airless world. He began studying the geological data with the intent of learning why.
The influx globe flashed a warning as a strange object appeared. Rising above the planet in a low orbit was a huge, rectangular shape lit by hundreds of bright lights. It bristled with pipes, cubes, dimpled spheres, and many other unfamiliar objects, all affixed to it in seemingly random patterns. Because it had been hidden behind the planet prevented its earlier detection.
Stynx quickly concluded it wasn’t a moon. Nor any type of known stellar body. Not natural at all.
He knew it could only be one thing . . . an alien construct!
He squeaked the news to Jorth. “There’s an artificial object orbiting the third planet.”
“Any life forms?”
Stynx zoomed in to get a better look, but details couldn’t be brought into focus; his view was obscured by the smoky rings of dust encircling the planet. Because this system was inside a nebula made it worse. “Unknown, the sensory data is indeterminate due to high concentrations of spatial dust.”
And then a powerful wave of electromagnetic energy splashed across the scout pod. Someone was scanning them.
Stynx analyzed the energy wave, noting its exceptionally high frequency with a very tight pulse. More EM waves washed over the pod. He noticed their amplitude varied, always changing. A waveform unlike any he’d seen before.
Stynx traced the waves, searching for their source, and in so doing found another alien construct. This one was much smaller than the first, but with a spherical shape instead of a rectangular one. It appeared to be metallic, glowing molten-red in the infrared spectrum from its fusion-type energy source.
And the spheroid was accelerating on a trajectory that would intersect the pod.
With trembling antennae, he detected two more spheroids, both the same size and shape as the first, both on direct intercept trajectories toward the pod.
“Jorth, we’ve been detected,” he squealed. “Three alien spheroids are converging on us. Their energy levels are rising fast. I think they’re going to fire.”
Argo
Sinja burst from her chair when the alarm went off. She leaned over the main console, studying the displays, afraid enforcers had shown up long before they should have.
Using her body as a lure, Sinja had taken advantage of a lonely corporate exec to access encrypted files, thereby gaining valuable intel to ensure this hijacking was a success. “The closest policeship is stationed five days from here,” she blurted, revealing information so unpleasantly obtained. “They can’t be here this soon.”
Mercer sat at a nearby console, equally worried. His fingers danced back and forth across the screen in front of him as he queried a guardian satellite for the cause of the alarm. “Something’s approaching the defense perimeter, but it’s not an enforcer ship,” he said with noticeable relief. As more data streamed in from the guard sat, Mercer’s eyes went wide with amazement. “Something small is inbound fast. Very fast . . . velocity at .88 c. An unidentified object less than a hundred kilograms in mass. Damn, the sats are having a hard time tracking it; their long-range sensors don’t even see the thing, whatever it is. It’s absorbing energy scans without reflecting anything back . . . exceptional stealth. If not for their gravwake detectors, the sats wouldn’t even know it was out there.”
Sinja nodded. The theory of gravity wake detection, and later the practical application thereof, had transformed space travel. She understood the principle behind the science, that was easy enough―every physical body exerts a fundamental force of attraction on all other physical bodies, no matter how small its size, the strength of which is directly proportional to the number of gravitons those bodies emit. The difficult part came from developing detectors sensitive enough to measure gravitons. But scientists in the late twenty-fifth century had done so, and now, after centuries of improvement and refinements, the gravity wake of a moving object could be measured with incredible accuracy. Gravitons also travel much, much fas
ter than photons, an exponential magnitude higher (similar to the difference between the speed of light over the speed of sound), heralding the approach of an object long before visible light emissions (which move at a comparably slow 299,792 kilometers per second) gave away its presence.
Wake detection was a milestone achievement that led to a full working knowledge of gravity and methods to harness it, from graviton drives to inertia nullifiers, then artificial grav fields and snare beams. It unlocked a new era of technological development that fast-forwarded humanity centuries ahead on the engineering scale.
Here, now, it enabled the gravwake detectors to track the inbound object and gauge its mass to within a few grams of accuracy.
“It’s ignoring repeated warning messages from the sats,” Mercer said. His face turned a paler shade of white as he gave Sinja a nervous look. “Their estimate of hostile intent exceeds seventy-six percent. The sats just energized their targeting grid, weapons are going hot.”
Sinja gulped. She stared at a display monitor as a small red oval sped toward the dotted orange arc that represented the Cirtus Beta defense perimeter. Three blinking green dots were moving toward it, with an alphanumeric under each identifying them as CA-10 satellites.
Guardian 20243 was nearest the threat and would therefore serve as fire control for the targeting grid. It analyzed the tactical situation with mechanical precision, implementing a response strategy in eighty milliseconds, slow by CA-10 standards, but the lack of viable data on the inbound object made secondary assessment necessary. Triple-encrypted commands were sent to the hyperspace screech for priority transmission.
Guardians 20241 and 20247 received those commands, decoded them, and then fired lateral thrusters as they accelerated into position. Weapon capacitors inside their spherical, 140-meter diameter hulls sizzled with blue sparks as they built up a full charge. Their primary weapons, 225mm fusion lances, went into tracking mode and swung toward the target.
Guardian 20243 dutifully made twenty separate attempts to communicate with the intruder, on all transmission frequencies, without success. It duly noted for the record that no response was ever received.
Per strict corporate policy dictated by Imperium Mandates, the satellites must first warn the intruder. Having done so with no response, policy required they detain it. If, and only if, that failed, could they open fire. All unauthorized vessels were prohibited entry.
There was another reason for the no-kill stance. Lethal measures had, in some cases, resulted in expensive and time-consuming lawsuits from families of those killed trying to steal corporate property. Families who wanted generous compensation for what they perceived as overzealous corporate brutality. They were, of course, spurred on by lawyers seeking big-payoff, high-profile lawsuits against giant corporations, lawyers just as prevalent now as they had ever been, despite Imperium Mandates seeking to keep them contained. Such lawsuits commonly failed, but they did bring unwanted attention from both the public sector and Sphere Imperium. Besides, public prosecution of captured trespassers given extensive prison sentences―or even mind wipes―made a good warning to other would-be thieves.
The scout pod closed in at a constant 0.88 c, covering more than 265,000 kilometers a second. It made no attempt to evade or alter course, either unaware or uncaring of the guardian satellites moving to intercept it.
Now the three CA-10s were in position, forming a triangular constellation through which the scout pod must pass. Alignment was precise, escape impossible. Three snare beams snapped on simultaneously. Fluorescent-blue streams of coherent graviton force shot out and enveloped the scout pod, grabbing onto it, slowing it down. The satellites fired their reverse thrusters to counter the drag. The pod’s velocity plummeted, dropping to 200,000 kilometers per second, then down to 120,000, and so on, until finally it came to a complete stop.
The CA-10s closed in, locking the pod in a snare web between them.
Guardian 20243 sent a priority data burst to the hyperspace screech for immediate high-power, wide-area dispersal. Anyone within fifty light years with a working receiver would receive it.
“You must be frickin’ kidding me,” Sinja said as she slapped the console with frustration. “Everything was going so damn smoothly, and now this has to happen.”
Inside the Scout Pod
Stynx awoke with a groan. Dull pains extended down his back where the safety straps had dug in. He could tell the straps had tightened constrictively as they were designed to do, holding him in place during the crushing deceleration that had stopped the pod. Stynx also had a pounding headache, plus there was a shrill ringing in his otic spiracles.
After taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing this thoughts as he had learned to do during his joining with the Matriarch. He began chanting the Gift of Life. “Harooom . . . Harooom . . .”
The chanting progressed. This, he knew, would help numb the pain.
“Harooom . . . Harooom . . .”
Slowly, the pains in his back subsided, becoming minor aches.
“Harooom . . . Harooom . . .” The headache faded, as did the shrill ringing in his otic spiracles.
Feeling better, he opened his eyes and looked around his tiny recorder’s nook. The first thing he noticed was that the support wall in front of him had crumpled. Small, jagged cracks were visible elsewhere, but the nook appeared structurally intact. Then he saw the influx globe had collapsed into a shrunken, grayish blob, visibly damaged beyond repair. Without it, he couldn’t see outside the pod.
“Jorth, do you know where we are?”
There was no reply from his podmate. Stynx checked the biolinks in his spacesuit that kept the two Scouts in constant communication and found them functioning properly. Again he called out to Jorth. Still nothing. Thrice more he tried, but his podmate never answered.
Stynx’s antennae drooped. The last thing he remembered were alien spheroids accelerating toward the pod. They had lashed out with energy beams that grabbed the pod, bringing it a violent, abrupt stop. The brutal deceleration had rendered him unconscious. It might have killed Jorth.
He began trembling, realizing alien monsters from those spheroids might break into the pod at any moment. They’d take him captive, inflicting the same torturous fate on him as the Suij’Crai’C did to their victims. Knowing he was trapped in the pod―unable to see anything outside it―made his fear grow. He breathed irregularly; both hearts began to palpitate.
On the verge of thrashing in panic, memories of the Matriarch blew into Stynx’s mind. They gave him instant strength.
“Embrace your fear,” the Matriarch of Tor Nest had told him during their joining, sharing with Stynx not only her great love but her wisdom as well. Like him, the Matriarch had known fear . . . many times. Yet she had endured and was stronger because of it. “You will reap the same benefits.”
Stynx was determined to endure. He knew fear would only hasten his demise, so instead of cringing at imagined monsters that might not even exist, he embraced them as the Matriarch had instructed him. As Stynx did so, the alien creatures he imagined were out there coming to get him morphed from hideous demons into puffy white clouds. A serene calm descended. Never had his mind been clearer, in fact.
“Your function awaits.” Those were the Matriarch’s last thoughts as their joining came to an end.
My function is to explore! Stynx told himself with conviction. Those who captured the pod would want to know what was inside it. He must survive until that happened. Whatever came for him, he would meet it as a proud Scout subForm of Tor Nest.
He checked his spacesuit, found the air pressure a nominal 0.85 standard, indicating it was airtight with no leaks. The oxygenation pump still functioned, giving him several weeks until the air level fell dangerously low. An inventory check revealed ample food supplies and plenty of water pouches. Nothing about the current situation seemed threatening.
Reaching up, Stynx grasped the communication bulb, a membrane-encased audio organ the s
ize of a grapefruit that dangled from an umbilical cord. With smooth strokes he configured it to emit a distress signal on continual broadcast. Stynx soon heard a bleat . . . blip . . . beep . . . that would repeat until the pod’s intrinsic energy expired. He’d expire from a lack of air long before it did. When Tazaral arrived to retrieve the pod, this signal would tell them of his whereabouts. He knew they’d try to rescue him. Except with those alien spheroids out there, that might not be possible.
Even so, he’d cling to life as long as he could. Stynx had survived a Suij'Crai'C death-swarm. Made contact with the Ryche-Angst. He’d survive these spheroids as well.
To do so, he must conserve his dwindling air, water, and food supplies. Stynx closed his eyes, then began chanting the soft sing-song incantations that made him relax. His bodily functions slowed, going dormant, and he entered a deep hibernation state.
Breathing just once a minute, Stynx fell into a long, peaceful slumber.
Argo
All four hijackers had gathered on the bridge to see the alien pod. They were hunched over control consoles, staring at the display monitors.
Tarn sat behind them, right wrist handcuffed to his swivel chair’s armrest. He could break free if he had to, but right now the hauler captain was just as spellbound as the hijackers.
On the displays, trapped in a snare web by the guard sats, was something amazing―some “thing” that made them all stare in wonder. Clearly it wasn’t of human origin; extraterrestrial definitely: an egg-shape, smooth and black and practically invisible against the starscape behind it. Only the blue-tinged curvature of the snare fields wrapped around the pod gave proof the thing was even there.
“Never seen anything like it before,” Dupree said, the bony fingers of his left hand idly stroking his scraggly mustache. “Can you tell if aliens are inside it?”
“Data is inconclusive,” Sinja replied with a shrug. “Sensors don’t even see the thing, which is odd. Its surface must soak up energy pulses like a sponge. Can’t tell what’s in there.”
The Sphere Imperium: Book Two of the Intentional Contact Trilogy Page 4