“I think I’m beginning to see how your society is organized, Tad. Your clans are based on the original…gifts the Lifegiver bestowed on your ancestors. All the high-temperature, high carbon dioxide breathers make up one clan, while all the low-temperature, low pressure people are in another. And so on. Am I understanding this correctly?”
Regina’s words took a little puzzling out, but eventually Tad thought he had it. “Yes, that’s right. All of those who were made suitable for a certain environment make up one clan. It is really the only way it could be since we can’t usually tolerate another clan’s air or temperature preferences.”
“But you do have dealings with each other?”
“Oh yes, there is a lot of trade that goes on and then there are…” Tad trailed off. He had been about to mention the raids that went on between clans, but he suddenly realized that might not be a proper thing to talk about. His uncle was off taking a tour of the ship (which Tad had impatiently managed to get earlier) and wasn’t around to advise him. Best to just keep it simple for now. “There is a lot of trade,” he repeated.
Regina did not seem to notice his hesitation. With their dependence on the translating computers, there were a lot of lengthy pauses in the conversation anyway. “And within the clans you are divided into, what was the word you used? Septs? And the septs are divided into families?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And about how many people, in all the clans, live in this star system?”
“Not really sure. Twenty or thirty million, I would guess.”
“That’s all? I thought this was one of the first places your ancestors colonized when they arrived in… in this part of space. I would have thought there would be a lot more of you by now.”
“Well, it is a lot of effort to maintain ships and space colonies.”
“I can imagine, Tad. But what about the fourth planet? We know there are people living there. Haven’t they increased their numbers a great deal? Are they terraforming it, or have they finished?”
“I… I don’t really know a lot about what’s happening there, Regina. I’m sorry. The Frecendi clan are cold-worlders—even colder than you people—and too far insystem for us to have a lot of dealings with. From what I’ve heard, the planet is too cold even for them and they only have a few cities along the equator. The elders on Panmunaptra can probably tell you a lot more.”
“I see. Well, thank you for all you’ve told me.”
“Can I ask a question now, Regina?”
“Of course.”
“Where do you people come from? Why are you here? What do you want?”
“That’s three questions, Tad.”
“Uh, yes. But I’d still like to know.”
Regina frowned and Tad was again fascinated by the little clumps of hair over her eyes. “We come from a long way off, Tad. It took us a very long time to get here. I’m not sure, but I suspect we come from the same general region as your ancestors did so long ago.”
“But you are not like us. Your temperature and atmospheric requirements are different from any of the other clans, Regina.”
“No, I guess we are different. But not too much different, I hope.”
“And why did you come from so far?”
“Why to make friends with you, Tad,” said Regina with a smile. Before Tad could ask any more questions, the woman got to her feet. She was very tall. “Whew! I think this is about all the heat I can stand for right now. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go cool off for a while. Thank you for talking with me, Tad.”
She let herself out through the tiny airlock which had been added to the compartment, leaving Tad alone with his questions.
* * * * *
Charles Crawford groaned when the alarm on the clock went off. He slapped it to silence and then looked at the time. He’d slept for six hours. Not too bad, really, except for the fact that he had been awake for nearly forty-eight hours before that, getting everything taken care of for his unanticipated absence. He was groggy and his eyes felt like they were full of sand. He rubbed them clear and sat up in his bunk.
His bunk. It did not feel like his bunk, the mattress was too soft and it had formerly belonged to a man who was now dead. Granted, the former owner had not actually slept here for over ten years, it still felt…odd. As he sat there, trying to come fully awake, he looked around the compartment. Frichette had insisted he take the commander’s stateroom and the former captain of Felicity, one of Shiffeld’s cousins, he believed, had had good taste—and expensive ones. The bulkheads were covered with polished slatewood paneling with built-in shelves, cabinets, and bookcases. The deck was thickly carpeted and the furniture very nice. Several original paintings graced the walls.
He supposed that eventually it would all go to whoever now had legal title to it. Crawford had no clue who that might be, nor did he care, but he had no doubt that someone, somewhere, would be eager to take possession. Hopefully, they would be as dutiful in taking possession of the remains of the former crew. The question of what to do with the bodies had been a ticklish one. Not just the ones from Felicity, but from all the navy ships. They could not just leave them where they were; the cold-sleep compartments had been created out of space normally used for crew quarters and recreation facilities. They needed to be removed and stored. Felicity had been given priority, of course, and her former crewmen were now in a refrigerated storage compartment on one of the supply ships. Moving the nine thousand others was going to be an enormous job. Crawford was glad it was not his.
He pushed himself out of the bunk and into the small washroom attached to his quarters. The shower advanced the waking-up process, but did not complete it. Coffee would be required for that. As he scrubbed himself, he thought about his plans for today. They had made turn-over just before he had gone to sleep and they were now decelerating toward the asteroid base that was their destination. Another eight hours would see them there. Hopefully the negotiations could be completed quickly and they could get back to the fleet so he could get back to his real job. There was nothing at all for him to do aboard this ship and even the few hours of inaction were weighing heavily on him.
He finished his body-maintenance and headed for the officers’ galley to get his coffee. He ran into Frichette there. The young man was seated at one of the tables with his cup of tea and munching on some ship biscuits. “Morning,” said Crawford, taking a seat opposite him.
“Good morning, Sir Charles,” said Frichette. Crawford started in surprise.
“Wow, that’s going to take some getting used to,” he growled. His frown deepened as another thought, one which had been troubling him for several days, came to mind. “Tell me, Lord Frichette, what did you think of that little comment Dame Regina made as we were leaving the Governor’s office? Have we really been bought?”
Frichette’s eyebrows went up and he glanced about to make sure they were alone. Finally, he shrugged. “Not really sure. On the one hand, what he’s been doing makes sense: we do need to fill the holes in the chain of command. On the other…”
“On the other, it makes all of us—well, all of us former commoners—indebted to him on a personal as well as a professional level.”
“True, and true for me, too when you consider this ‘commodore’ position he’s given me, but that’s how our system is supposed to work, isn’t it, sir? Ties of personal loyalty as well as legal ones?”
“I guess. Just never saw it from this angle before.”
“And we are all on the same side, aren’t we? I mean it’s not like we’re at odds with the governor, are we?”
“No… but at the same time we all have our own patrons back home. And while I might be a babe-in-the-woods when it comes to politics, I can see the political ramifications of this whole mess. Shiffeld’s going to be on the hot-seat when we get home and he’s going to do everything he can to cover his own ass.”
“You think he’s setting us up to take some of the blame? I don’t see how any of us could
be held responsible for the sabotage, but you may have a point. Not sure what we could do about it, though.”
“I don’t either. Bah, I’m getting paranoid. Just a bad habit of looking for the cloud around any silver lining that comes my way.”
Frichette nodded and then stood up. “I’m going to the bridge, would you like to come along?”
“May as well, I don’t really have anything else to do.” Crawford took his coffee and followed Frichette.
“Good morning, Captain,” said the officer of the watch as they came onto the bridge.
“Good morning, Mr…Dunkelberg. Anything to report?”
“No, sir. We are on course and on schedule. The drive and reactor are nominal. We’ve detected a good many other craft, but they all seem to be more of those prospecting ships. There certainly are a hell of a lot of them around here.”
“Yes. Well, keep your sensor people tracking them, it’s good practice.”
“Yes, sir.” Dunkelberg got up from the command chair and went over to the sensor station to look over the shoulder of the nervous technician there. Frichette took his place and busied himself looking at status reports while Crawford paced about, making everyone else nervous. At one point he found himself standing next to Frichette.
“Tell me, everyone aboard keeps calling you ‘captain’, but shouldn’t they be calling you ‘commodore’?”
“Another one of those traditions, Sir Charles,” replied Frichette. “The commander of any ship is called the captain, no matter what his actual rank is. I won’t be called ‘commodore’ until I’m actually commanding a group of ships rather than just one.”
“Ah, I see. I think.”
Eventually, the watch changed. Frichette’s exec, Lieutenant Chapman, had this watch and once the formalities were complete, he began discussing what he wanted to do for the next drill. They were still at it when the newly arrived sensor operator spoke up.
“Uh, sir, I’m getting something odd here.” Chapman immediately looked up.
“Odd, Mr. Hreni? What do you mean?”
“I’ve got five small energy sources at about a thousand klicks and closing. They weren’t there a minute ago, so they just switched on. But I can’t read anything else, sir, just the energy emissions.”
Chapman and Frichette went over to sensors and Crawford tagged along. “The energy levels are increasing,” said Hreni. “They’re nearly stationary, sir, it’s our own motion that’s closing the range.”
“Maybe some sort of sensor buoys?” suggested Chapman.
“Odd place for them. Mr. Hreni, are you using an active scan?”
“Yes, sir, I’m trying to paint them with radar, but there’s hardly any return at all. Whatever they are, they’ve got almost no metal in them. I could increase the power…”
“That might damage them. We don’t want to appear unfriendly.”
“Range is five hundred. We are going to pass them to port at about a hundred klicks at closest approach. Energy readings are still rising…God! Look at that spike!” Frichette looked at the read-out and sucked in his breath.
“Whatever these things are, they’re suddenly radiating like a runaway reactor.”
“Surely, this isn’t a normal…” ventured Crawford
“I don’t like this, Skipper,” said Chapman. “Maybe we should clear for action.”
Before Frichette could even reply, Hreni cried out: “Yow!” The sensor displays flashed white and then went blank. There were other flashes and other shouts from around the bridge. Then the lights in the compartment flickered and dimmed. The artificial gravity went off momentarily and then came back on at a lower level.
And the drive stopped.
The barely-noticed rumble and vibration of the main drive was missing. It was something people ignored while it was on, but even Crawford immediately noticed its absence. Everyone on the bridge was shouting. Frichette bellowed for silence and eventually got it.
“All stations report,” he commanded. “Engineering?”
“The reactor has shut down, sir! An emergency shutdown. We are operating on batteries only.” Not good. He looked to the next station.
“Helm?”
“The drive is out. We still have thrusters and our attitude is stable.” Not good, either, but without the reactor, the drive could not function.
“Sensors?”
“We are completely blind to port, sir. All sensors on that side are not responding. The starboard sensors are still operational.”
“Weapons?”
“Uh, not sure, sir. Main fire control is out. Portside batteries are giving me mixed readings. Some aren’t responding and others seem to be on manual control. The starboard batteries are online using back-up fire control. Missile tubes are…not sure, sir.”
“What the hell happened?” demanded Crawford.
“I don’t know,” replied Frichette. “But Mr. Chapman, clear the ship for action. Shut down the artificial grav, we can’t spare the power for that. And bring our two guests up here. Maybe they can explain this.”
“Yes, sir!”
* * * * *
Tad was instantly alert when the lights flickered. When the gravity fluctuated and the drive shut down, he knew that something was wrong. He had heard the wail of the ship’s combat alarm twice the day before, but some instinct told him that this time it was not a drill. His uncle was instantly awake, too.
“Get dressed. Get your helmet on.”
“Yes, sir.” Tad quickly moved to comply. An instant later the artificial gravity went off completely, but Tad was used to free fall and it did not slow him down at all. He was suited up first and was helping his uncle finish when the intercom signaled them. The person at the other end seemed very agitated and it was impossible to make out anything except for ‘captain’ and ‘bridge’. It seemed obvious that the captain wanted them on the bridge. Uncle Jari signaled his agreement and the man broke the connection.
“What’s happening, sir?” asked Tad.
“I don’t know, but it sounds serious. Let’s get up to the bridge.” They went through the tiny airlock and found two men waiting for them in the corridor. The men tried to hurry them along, but instead retarded their progress; they were not nearly as skilled in free fall. They were also hampered by the swarms of people in the passageways. Dozens of people were scrambling about in what seemed like panic.
Things were a bit calmer on the bridge, but only by comparison. Captain Frichette was snapping out orders and receiving reports continuously, but he stopped when he spotted Tad and his uncle. He and Mr. Crawford, who was also there, immediately floated over to them but then stopped and talked and waved until they were given a pair of the translating computers. Naturally, Tad and his uncle already had theirs ready.
“My ship has been attacked,” said Frichette. “Can you tell me why? And by who?”
“What has happened?” asked Uncle Jari. The reply was lengthy and complicated and it took a few moments to puzzle out. But it eventually became clear that a party of warriors had used their pulsers against the ship, disabling many of its systems. Tad and his uncle exchanged fearful glances. Raiders! And surely not from the Seyotah clan. No! Someone was trying to wrest this treasure from them! They started to speculate on who it could be, but Frichette was growing impatient.
“They are raiders, Captain,” said Uncle Jari. “From another clan.”
“We lost track of the five who fired at us when our sensors went down,” said Frichette. “They’ve gone past us by now and I’m trying to locate them with our remaining sensors in case they attack again.”
“No, Captain!” said Uncle Jari urgently. “The first ones are no longer a danger. They have not the fuel to catch up. But there will be a second wave waiting in ambush. Maybe a third. Look ahead, not behind!”
When Frichette saw the translation he turned away and began issuing orders again. Tad moved so that he could look at the various bridge displays. Many of them were blank. Clearly the raiders’ pulsers
had been very effective. Not just the ship’s sensors, but probably the drive and reactor as well had been knocked out. A chill went through him. The ship, even though it was one of the smallest of the Newcomers’ vessels, had seemed so large and powerful. He had assumed it could deal with any possible attack by raiders. Apparently not…
“This is a disaster, Tad,” moaned his uncle. “If the raiders take this ship, we will lose everything we had been hoping for. All the trade and business will go to another clan.”
“Don’t give up hope yet, sir. The ship isn’t completely stunned. Some of their systems are still working. You saw the size of their turrets: their pulsers must be enormous. If they can take out the next waves before they can fire, we might still win through.” Uncle Jari nodded and gripped Tad’s shoulder.
Frichette had rotated his ship to bring his undamaged sensors to look forward. A few tense minutes went by and then several people shouted when a new contact appeared on the screen. Tad could not be sure of the scale of the display, but the contact seemed to still be a fair distance away. A few moments later there was more excitement among the bridge personnel. Frichette turned to face them again.
“The new contact is signaling us,” he said. “I can’t make any sense of the message. Can you translate?”
“I will try,” said Uncle Jari.
Frichette ordered the message transferred to the speakers inside their helmets. They listened—and both groaned. “Clorindans!” exclaimed Tad. One of the most powerful—and aggressive—clans in the system, and an old nemesis of the Seyotah. The news couldn’t be worse.
“Well,” demanded Frichette. “What do they say?”
“They… they are demanding that you surrender your ship and accompany them to their base.”
“Like hell!” snarled Frichette. Crawford made a similar noise.
“They say they will attack again if you do not submit.”
Frichette’s reply did not translate at all, but he conferred with Crawford for a moment and then began giving more orders. There were affirmative answers back from his crew and a moment later a number of new displays began to light up. Tad was no expert on such things, but they looked to him like targeting displays for pulsers. The Newcomers were not going to give in! A thrill went through him.
Across the Great Rift Page 17