Manxome Foe

by John Ringo

"Right," Spectre said, his chin firming up. "Pilot, head for that battle. Stop at twenty AU out and then again at ten. This might just have zero to do with us. But I want to know who was fighting."

  Twenty AU hadn't given them any information, nor were they learning much at ten AU. The spot where the battle had taken place was still just empty space as far as they could tell. There were still some emissions from the area, but they were faint. And nothing on the electrical band.

  "Orders, sir?" the pilot asked.

  "Heat levels?" the CO asked.

  "We chilled on the outside stops," the XO replied from damage control. "We're good for about five hours."

  "Close the position under warp," the CO said. "Stay away from the center. Pass by at Warp One, five light-seconds up in the elliptic. Tactical, stand by to scan the area visually. I want to see what we can see. Pilot, you laid in?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Engage."

  "Aye, aye," the NCO replied, hitting the warp drive.

  The ship began hurtling forward, fast enough that the distant star could be seen to move. The viewer remained focused on the scene of the presumed battle as the ship flew "overhead" relative to the local solar system. They were approaching the system from just short of the distance from the Earth to the Moon, so anything left in the area had better be big.

  "Conn, Tactical. Switching main viewer to thermal."

  "Go," Spectre replied. They were approaching closest point of approach and tactical must have spotted something.

  When the screen switched to false color thermal imagery, what Tactical had spotted was obvious. There were large chunks of material, much hotter than the background, floating in space. One looked as if it might have been part of a ship. A very odd ship, but probably about half of a hull.

  "Maintain course and speed," Spectre said. "Tactical, I want full spectrum analysis. Pilot, as soon as we reach one light-minute from the scene of the battle, go to full warp and park it sixty AUs out from the sun."

  "Aye, aye, sir," the pilot said.

  "Tactical, Astro, I want a meeting with the full science and command group in the wardroom in one hour," Spectre said. "It looks as if whatever happened here is over. XO, stand down from Condition One."

  "Does anyone have anything to input that's not obvious?" the CO asked as soon as the full video was replayed.

  The region of space where the presumed battle had taken place was a mess. Bits of ships were littered liberally through the area. But they were so fragmented, it was hard to tell what they really looked like. However, there did seem to be two broad types. Some of the debris had a "hard-edged" look, while other bits were uniformly smoothly curved. There also appeared to be two broad types of material, one based around metals and the other carbon fibers. That was drawn from spectral analysis of smoldering "fires" where material was converting chemically bonded oxygen in slow vacuum fires.

  The largest chunk was a vaguely ovoid piece of what must have been a much larger ship. It was forty meters long and wide, more or less. There might be remaining sealed compartments. It was hard to determine in the low-resolution image. One side of the tumbling wreckage had clearly been hull. The other side was . . .spongy.

  "Two species in a space battle," Lieutenant Fey said. "I'd bet dollars to donuts that the smooth ones are Dreen ships. There's just an . . . organic look to them that is what you'd expect from the Dreen. And the spectral numbers from them match the chemical composition of Dreen rhino-tank armor about right. Not perfectly, but very close."

  "I've been looking at the particle traces, sir," Bill said, punching at his laptop. "I think I've detected a stream of materials headed outward from the system. There's a higher level of monatomic oxygen as well as traces of water. I'd say it's the track of a damaged ship or ships."

  "That's new information," the CO said, looking over at Tactical. "Did you get that?"

  "I'm not even sure what readings he's referring to, sir," the TACO admitted.

  "I'll send it over to you in a minute," Bill said, not looking up. "You've got the numbers; it's knowing what they mean that matters. There's always a small background of elements in space. Not much, but it's there and it can be detected by the way that it interacts with the particles being shoved out by a sun. In this case, there's a series of higher than normal readings, headed more or less in a line. It's like the trail of oil left by a damaged ship. We're going to need to write some code for the tactical computers to start looking for this sort of thing. Heck, it might not even be damage. We sure leak like mad. In fact, we should look for RF emissions from electron spin flips of water components like the hydrogen twenty-one centimeter wavelength line and the hydroxyl radical nineteen centimeter wavelength line. I'll bet you we leave those behind all over the place. And, they'd be easy, very easy, to detect." He manipulated the data for a moment, then nodded. "Yep, there they are. Wow. You know, we leave a trail a blind man could follow."

  "Great to hear," Spectre said grumpily. "But in other news, where's the damaged ship going?"

  "In the general direction of HD 37355, sir," Bill replied. "That's a G5 star in the general direction of Earth. Not on a line, mind you, just headed for that general quadrant. It could be headed for Tycho 714-1500-1. The two stars are only about two light-years apart. They're nearly a binary system. And both are main sequence stars."

  "Which means a higher likelihood of habitable planets," the CO said, nodding. "Bunch of them around here I noticed."

  "Yes, sir," Bill replied. "This is part of the Orion local group. It's a very dense group. Lots of hot sequence stars as well. And more dwarfs than we'd realized. Basically, it's crowded as hell. We're not far, at all, from some of the stars of Orion's Belt."

  "So this is probably a good area for the Dreen to colonize," the XO pointed out.

  "Uh, yes, sir," Bill admitted.

  "Which explains their presence," the CO said. "But what about this other race? Lieutenant Fey? Any points?"

  "Only a quote from the 'Seven Habits of Highly Effective Pirates,' sir," the lieutenant said. " 'The enemy of my enemy is my enemy's enemy. No more. No less.' I'd love to find an ally against the Dreen, sir. But until we find out more about them, I would advise proceeding with caution."

  "And there's only one way I can think of to find out more," the CO said distastefully. "We're going to have to go down there and do some sampling. Agreed?"

  "Carefully, sir," the XO said. "Get close, take a snapshot, closer . . ."

  "Agreed," the CO said. "Tell the SF guys they're going to have to take point in this one. They're the closest we have to a science team."

  "Sir," Bill interjected. "I think a careful search for survivors, especially this other race, is in order. Keep an eye out for beacons."

  "Agreed," the CO said. "Let's get to it."

  » » »

  "Bingo."

  Harold was happy to be back in the commo shack. Ground pounding was for Marines. He was just as happy to have the ship wrapped back around him. Not to mention being able to stretch out on a cot instead of on the ground.

  "What you got, Hal?" the leading PO asked.

  "I'm getting a radio signal," the commo tech said. "Emanating from the area of the battle."

  It was the third stop to check for data on the way in. The ship was under three light-seconds from the area of the battle and already starting to run into debris. It wasn't so much that it had been a big battle as that the forces involved had sent debris spinning off at very fast velocities. It was spreading so fast that in another day or two it would have been hard to find the pieces.

  "It's code, non-frequency skipping, just a set of dots and dashes," the commo tech continued, tracing the signal on his display. "I'd say that it's an emergency beacon sending somebody's version of SOS. It works out as 'MRE' in Morse."

  "Good job finding it," the LPO said. "Conn, radio shack . . ."

  "If that's a survivor of the other race, we probably should get in there and recover him, sir," Weaver pointed out. "Her. It."r />
  "Agreed," Spectre replied coldly. "But not until we're sure there are no active defense systems. I don't want to get shot out of the sky on a rescue mission."

  "There's some EM coming from the remnant of that ship, sir," Bill said, looking at his displays. "And there's a hot source in another piece of debris. I'd say it's some sort of powered up machinery. But it could be a washing machine for all I know."

  The hull suddenly "bonged" and everyone in the conn jumped.

  "Damn this debris," the CO swore. "We also can't just charge forward with all this chither flying around. But we're going to have to close the heavier pieces." He hit the intercom to the science section. "Master Sergeant Guzik, your team needs to start prepping for EVA."

  "Roger, sir," the Special Forces master sergeant replied. "We're in skins and ready to board the Wyverns."

  "Get with the Marine CO," Spectre added. "I want a platoon of Marines out there with you. The first priority is an apparent distress signal we're picking up. As soon as we figure out where it's coming from, your team and the Marines will retrieve whatever it is. After that there's some bits we need to pick up and take a look at. Last, you'll be examining the biggest chunk, which is probably Dreen."

  "Roger, sir," Guzik said. "We'll get it done."

  "First Platoon," Berg's intercom chimed. "Fall out and fall in on Wyverns. EVA mission."

  "Oh, glory," Himes bitched, pulling out a set of skins. "Zero-Gee."

  "Space Marines," Berg pointed out, sliding out of his bunk and heading for the hatch. "And I told you to keep your damned skins on. You've got head-cleaning duty next cycle."

  "Speaking of heads," Himes muttered.

  "Should have kept your skins on," Smith said, sliding past him and following the team leader. "Last one into their Wyvern is a head-cleaner."

  "There's a radio signal coming from a piece of debris," Master Sergeant Guzik said. "The debris sort of looks like it might be a life pod. Our mission is to recover the pod and extract whatever is inside, alive. Unless it's Dreen, in which case dead works. We'll try to determine what is inside prior to opening it. Either way, we're going to be opening it carefully."

  "There's lots of debris out there," the first sergeant added. He, too, was suited up in his Wyvern. "Watch out for it. We've worked in microgravity but this is a whole new mission. Take it slow and easy. Keep your eyes open and one eye on your monitors. If you see any of the signs of Dreen presence, report it at once. The good news is that we can use the Number Three airlock, so we can get out faster. And in."

  "Good luck," Captain Zanella said. He was not suited up. "Semper Fi."

  "Bravo First," Lieutenant Monaghan barked. "Into the airlock."

  The airlock was the same tube that the Wyverns had been lowered down through, now converted back to its primary purpose. Berg and his team marched in and hit the closing button, then waited. The airlock was controlled remotely so that nobody could accidentally evacuate the ship.

  "Move out slowly and deploy in a triangle," Berg said. "Don't engage your EVA thrusters. Just climb out and step onto the hull. When the next team comes out, we'll spread outwards."

  "Yes, mother," Himes replied.

  "And watch the debris," Berg added as there was a faint "bong" from the hull again. "It's raining metal up there."

  The ship shut down engines and went into microgravity. Immediately afterwards, the hatch overhead opened up and outward like a clamshell.

  Berg grabbed the ladder and pulled himself up, hand over hand and carefully. If he drifted free, he had the EVA pack to get back. But it would be a pain.

  The ladder had automatically extended beyond the hull and he used it to lift himself up and over the lip of the former missile tube. He ignored the view; he had more important things to do, like getting his magnetic boots clamped down. When he was in place he swiveled his sensor pod to ensure the other two Marines were settled.

  Smith had, somehow, managed to lose his grip on the ladder before getting clamped down and was now drifting slowly away from the ship.

  "Smith, fire your thrusters down," Berg said with a sigh.

  "Working on it," the lance corporal replied. There was a brief puff of gas from the thrusters on his shoulders and he drifted downward, connecting to the ship's hull with a "click."

  "Bravo First deployed," Berg reported then switched to the team frequency. "Everybody make sure they're away from the doors."

  While he waited for the next team to deploy, he switched his view to a shot of their target. The pod was shaped vaguely like a seedpod but more angular and was tumbling slowly through space. Five meters long and about two wide, it had a pointed bow and stern and was apparently made of an aluminum alloy, according to the spectral readings. Aluminum was an odd choice, in Berg's opinion, but not something the Dreen had ever been seen to use. Which was oddly comforting.

  There were not, however, any portholes. They weren't going to be able to look in before they opened it. And what or whoever was inside couldn't look out. Odd that.

  He waited as the teams deployed, moving his outward from the airlock as each got into place; then the SF team came up.

  "Right," Guzik said. "Sir, we're going to have to secure the pod. Since it's tumbling, we're going to have to stop the tumble, first. Myself and the sergeant first class will attempt that, first. If that's okay by you, sir."

  "Go for it, Master Sergeant," the lieutenant said. "Want company?"

  "I would recommend deploying your Marines around the pod, sir, yes," Guzik replied.

  "First Platoon, prepare to deploy. I want Alpha top side, Bravo forward and Charlie to the rear. That is with the ship as down. All clear? Sound off."

  "Alpha, clear," Staff Sergeant Hinchcliffe replied.

  "Bravo, aye aye," Berg said.

  "Charlie, aye aye," Priester chimed in.

  "Roger," the LT said. "Deploy."

  "Bravo, let's take this easy," Berg said. "Break boots then follow me."

  He lifted one boot up to the toe, then moved it back to position alongside the heel of the second. Lifting up the second from the heel, he drifted very slowly away from the hull. He picked a spot forward of the pod and engaged his thrusters, moving outward from the hull at a lightning pace of barely a half meter a second. Looking at his monitors, he could see that the rest of the teams were deploying with equal rapidity. Moving in microgravity just plain sucked.

  So did fighting in it. If he'd carried his Mojo, one shot would have sent him spinning off into the void. There simply wasn't anything with serious punch that didn't punch back; even most rocket launchers had some recoil. The system that the Marines used for microgravity combat was, therefore, a very low-power multiple rocket launcher. The rockets were notoriously inaccurate and the best you could do with them was fill up the target area with fire. And each of the micro-rockets had not only minimal velocity but a lousy little warhead. And they still had some recoil. So unless you were clamped down, you also had to correct your spin as you fired. Supposedly the next weapons system would have automatic compensation, but for now it was a pain. Presumably the Dreen had a better system. If they ended up fighting Dreen in microgravity, they were grapped.

  By the time he reached the "front" of the pod, it was no longer the front because of the tumble. But he figured he'd just park where he was. There was no way he was going to chase the tumble.

  Master Sergeant Guzik and Sergeant Hanel had to. They got into position, then fired up their jets, basically trying to catch up to the nose and tail of the ship. Guzik managed to snag the nose with a vacuum clamp on the first pass but Hanel missed his snatch and went rocketing off into the void before he got control again. In the meantime, Guzik had gotten flipped around but by reeling in managed to get into contact with the hull of the pod. Applying full force from the really low acceleration jets, he managed to get the tumble slowed enough for Hanel to hook up on his second pass. With two jets working on it, the pod eventually stopped tumbling. More or less. It was still not quite in sync with
the ship but that could be dealt with later.

  However, as soon as the tumbling stopped, the nose of the ship recessed into a curve instead of a point. It had by then rotated back to Berg's position and he was the first one to spot it.

  "There's a change here," Berg said. "The nose just did something really weird."

  "Define 'really weird,' " Gunnery Sergeant Neely said.

  "It just . . . flexed," Berg said. "It didn't move like metal, Gunny. More like memory plastic. I don't know what it means."

  "So do we move it down to the hull?" Master Sergeant Guzik asked.

  "I just had an interesting thought," Sergeant First Class Hanel said in a very strange voice. "What if it's not a life pod? What if it's a boobytrap?"

  "Oh . . . grapp," Lieutenant Monaghan replied. "Tell me that wasn't a general broadcast."

  "Team leaders only, sir," the SF sergeant replied. "But it's an interesting question."

  "Whoa," Guzik said, releasing his hold on the pod and backing away. "I've got a seam opening."

  The pod split open along its length, revealing three creatures in suits. They were about the size of large dogs and had six limbs, four apparently "legs" and two "arms." However, the ends of the arm portion of the suits split into multiple flexible appendages that looked more like tentacles than hands.

  Two of them were holding devices in those tentacles. They might be communicators or guns, it was impossible to tell. They looked like PDAs, but for all Berg knew they could throw lightning bolts.

  Guzik backed up his suit and held his claws up, rotating up the shoulder mounted rocket launcher.

  "Hey," he said. "We come in peace and all that."

  "Well, that wrecks this as a salvage operation," Himes muttered.

  "I've got it," the LT said, jetting slowly up to hover beside the master sergeant. He held out one of the suit claws while waving to the ship with the other. "Come on. Your survival gear's not going to hold out forever. We'll see what we can do in the ship."

  "I doubt they can understand you, sir," the master sergeant said.