James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart 06

by Crucible

  “Also, I have to pee,” Jordan said.

  “Nobody wants to hear your life story,” Taurus told him. Jordan finished pulling on his battle-pants, then followed Rook and Taurus out passed through the open blast doors, out behind the waterfall and toward the place where the Razorbacks were parked. They stepped out into morning on the burning planet. There was a patch of clear sky immediately above them, showing the muted peach color of the planet’s natural dawning sky. The scent of burning oil and sulfur was somewhat weaker, or maybe they were just used to it. Nevertheless, they snapped their masks over their faces, except for Jordan how was still enjoying his chocolatized lactose.

  “I guess you’ll be driving this morning, Jordan,” Taurus told him. Jordan agreed but first excused himself and ducked into the underbrush.

  “What do you think happened to the Trauma Hound?” Rook asked.

  “The Trauma Hound’s last known location was at the edge of a rift canyon eighteen-point-eight klicks south-southwest from the redoubt. It’s along a tectonic fault with massive piezo-electronic properties. The Accipiters are having a hell of a time trying to scan it.” Taurus realized the boys might need more specific description. “The tectonic fault is releasing massive electrical charges, including ball lightning. A hit of ball lightning could have left the Trauma Hound disoriented and disabled the telemetry transceivers.”

  “What about the other Trauma Hound?” Rook asked.

  “It scanned the immediate vicinity where the first hound was lost, but didn’t locate anything. Then, it returned to its patrol perimeter.”

  Jordan returned, still holding his thermal mug. He climbed into the Razorback’s driver seat.

  Taurus jumped into the passenger side.

  Rook pulled himself onto the back. “Should I warm up the gun?” he asked, patting the pulse cannon mounted on the back of the razorback.

  “If we need the gun, it’ll warm-up in 6 hundredths of a second,” Taurus told him. Jordan punched in the ignition sequence, and the twin turbines of the Razorback’s engines flared to life.

  “Secure your safety restraints,” Rook said. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.” The Surface

  The lights came up rather suddenly. Specialist Omega looked pleased with himself. “I knew they used magnetic resonance to condition the electrical flow,” he said. He watched the power levels rise and hold steady.

  Morgan was pleased. “Excellent, now let’s see if we can get these data systems on-line.” Clanging steps were heard as someone climbed the metal steps to the control pattern.

  Specialist Honda and Specialist Ing, returned, their carrying packs were bulging.

  “We have retrieved a few artifacts,” Ing told him, laying down his armloads of posters, books, and storage chips.

  “Did you catalog the location of each object as you found it?” Morgan demanded.

  “We followed the process exactly,” Ing assured him. “We took tri-dimensional images of each area we surveyed, we labeled and cataloged every artifact. There’s still more down there, but we thought you should see these.”

  He spread and arranged some plastic sheets around the table, two and three dimensional image captures.

  “One of the survivors of the attack appears to have been a meteorological scientist,” he explained. “He had kept personal records of the planet’s weather. These large posters are some of the images he captured, and there may be more in these storage devices.” The poster showed a city, reminiscent of the city depicted in the murals but clearly different. There was one huge tower in the center, surrounded by blocks of smaller buildings.

  The sky above it was pink and black with stormclouds. “When I put this poster into motion, you see a time-lapse of the city over a single 33-hour planetary day,” Ing explained.

  The sky went into motion, boiling with energy and exploding in bolts of bright blue lightning. As the day wore on, the sky darkened to lavender, then to violet tinged with crimson. But all day long the storm was constant.

  Ing continued. “You see, even before the Megasphere exploded, the natural state of this planet was near-constant electrical storms, ion blizzards… this may be the harshest environment we’ve yet seen humans successfully colonize.” Honda added, “In fact, the explosion of the megasphere may be the only reason it isn’t storming on the planet right now.”

  “You’re sure this planet was in a constant state of storm,” Morgan persisted. “This could be just one storm-obsessed scientist.”

  “Have you noticed that in every poster, every drawing, every mural we find, the planet’s sky is always storming?” Ing asked. “Did you notice in the town we came from, the streets are lined with lightning rods?”

  Morgan saw his point. “Transmit these data to the best Planetologist on the ship and let her work them into simulations.”

  “Mrs. Morgan?” Ing asked.

  “That’s the one.” Morgan smiled. “It might help take her mind off things.” The Surface

  The Razorback roared through the scrub and gullies of the planet’s landscape, as lightning flashed on the horizon and dust devils trailed along their course.

  They parked at the Trauma Hound’s last recorded position, some five meters from the edge of a box canyon. Taurus whipped out her sidearm as soon as she left the vehicle. Following her lead, her two soldiers took theirs out as well. They moved cautiously to the edge and stared down. A thick gray fog covered the canyon floor, roiling like the cloudfront of a summer storm, flashes of lightning within. Taurus used her Spex to peer beneath the fog. “There,” she said, pointing with her free hand toward a fog-clouded ridge down below.

  “That’s a steep climb,” Johnny Rook sounded more than a little excited about it.

  “Getting down there should be easy,” Taurus told them. “It’s getting back up that’s going to be a bitch.” She fired an anchor into the rocky ground and secured a rappelling line to it.

  “We lost COM linkage with the base, so, if you guys fall and break bones, we’ll just have to shoot you.”

  Rook and Jordan secured their own lines and followed her. Taurus was right about the trip down. It wasn’t too bad. The angle was steep, but footholds were plentiful, and the rope was solid enough for them to steady themselves with. They quickly reached the floor, which was more or less level, but layered with fallen gravel.

  The remains of the Trauma Hound were scattered at the bottom of the ravine, its head several meters from its tail. Taurus picked up the head and stared into its lifeless eye-units.

  “What the hell happened to you,” she asked it.

  “Did it fall over the edge?” Jordan asked.

  “It would have survived that,” Taurus told him. “And it sure as Hell wouldn’t have scatted over the landscape like…” Her voice cracked a little. Had she actually felt some sentimental attachment to the device?

  “I’m feeling kind of freaked out by this,” said Rook.

  “That is exactly the right thing to be feeling,” said Taurus. She turned the head unit around.

  “Look at this,” she said, fingering a large round hole at the back of the metallic cranium. “They cut into its head and removed its central processor.”

  “They?” Rook asked.

  “It had to be a they,” Taurus said firmly. “Or a very powerful it. But either way, they’ve got technology that can cut through our alloys, and they know how to find a central processor.”

  “Aurelians,” Max Jordan said quietly, and cocked his weapon. He hated Aurelians.

  “What do we do now?” Rook asked.

  Taurus placed the head respectfully back on the ground. “I believe standard procedure is to report back to base.”

  “We’re not going to do that, are we?” Jordan said.

  “Good guess,” she told him. She turned toward the glowing, electrical fog. “Whatever killed Rex is still out there We’re gonna find out what it is.” Chapter Eighteen

  Pegasus – PC-1

  Four projections surrounded Shayne Ameri
can’s bridge station, monitoring the hyperactive business going on in Flight Operations, Tactical, Communication, and Technical Cores. Rarely, even when under attack, had there been so much activity to monitor, and yet there was little she actually had to do. Even for her abnormally long attention span, it was taxing. And just as she was thinking, “Is there more to life than telling the commander about incoming transmissions?” the COM Panel signaled a new incoming transmission. “Prime Commander Keeler, there is an incoming transmission from Lexington Keeler. It’s TyroCommander Lear.”

  “Mrunh?” Keeler growled raising his head from its resting position on the armrest of his command chair. He had tried to grab a nap after the All-Chiefs meeting, but found himself unable to sleep. Upon repotting to the bridge, however, he had become instantly drowsy.

  “It’s not a directed message to you, Commander,” American went on. “It’s a general message to the crew.”

  Alkema crossed the bridge to her, “Isolate the channel. Don’t let her go shipwide.” American isolated the channel. Only she, Keeler, and Alkema and a few people on the bridge who happened to be in range saw the message.

  “Crew of Pegasus,” Lear began. She was flanked by Churchill and Sukhoi… as though to mock Keeler’s effort to remove her. “Thanks to your efforts, your heroic, incredible efforts, we have managed to salvage a Pathfinder Ship that would have been lost. Nearly two-thirds of the energy distribution nodes in the ship’s primary functional areas have been restored. Hull integrity is nearly 88% and rising. Nearly half the maneuvering thrusters have been restored, and we will soon have control over them through the ship’s primary BrainCore.

  “All of you deserve to be proud of what has been accomplished. But you also deserve the right to question whether the lives lost in this effort could have been preserved if proper tactical protocols had been followed. Why were Aves sent into an unsecured tactical situation?

  Was there another way to save the Lexington Keeler without the reckless detonation of a megaton-warhead in a planetary atmosphere? These actions, as well as others, have led to at least forty casualties among our crew. We have lost more people on this mission than combined on our previous missions, and the command of Pegasus owes you an explanation.”

  “What the Hell?” Alkema grumbled.

  “Sssssh!” Commander Keeler hissed. “She might be talking about me.” Lear continued. “I know it’s a breach of command protocol to even posit such a question directly to the crew. But recent events have forced me to break with the customary chain-of-command. We were told that the risks we took were necessary, because there would be survivors in need of rescue. But we found no survivors on-board Keeler. A relatively simple bio-scan would have demonstrated that this ship was lifeless. Was such a scan made, before brave people were sent to untimely deaths?”

  “It was,” Alkema almost shouted back at her. “We didn’t read life signs, but we couldn’t read much of anything through the atmospheric interference.” Lear continued. “You also deserve the right to question the direction our mission is taking us. Pegasus was designed and constructed to retrace the paths of the Ancient Commonwealth, and seek out humanity’s ancestral homeworld. Since we began this voyage, we learned that grave threats exist here, in our own quadrant. Is it really wise to stay the course, or would it be better to reconsider our mission, to stay in this quadrant, and recruit allies who can assist us in our battle against Aurelia, a ruthless enemy that threatens all humanity… including our beloved homeworlds of Republic and Sapphire?

  Lear smiled, a creepy thing in itself. “I’d just like to start a conversation about whether it’s wise to pursue this elusive dream of Earth, when our own homeworlds are threatened with Aurelian domination. There is no dishonor in questioning whether Pegasus enjoys the level of command competence worthy of her remarkable crew.”

  Keeler’s face was red, but his fury was muted. “What the hell does she think she’s doing?”

  “I think it’s called inciting mutiny,” Alkema answered. “Admittedly, this is approach lacks TyroCommander Lear’s usual inept deviousness.”

  “Even if she succeeded, she wouldn’t be in command,” Keeler pointed out.

  “Maybe, she is thinking that if she’s going down, you’re going down with her,” Alkema suggested.

  They both realized they were looking at American, trying to read a reaction from her that they could extrapolate to the rest of the crew. “Don’t ask me,” American told them. “This is between you and Lear. I just monitor inter-ship communications and integrate activities among different Sectors and Cores.”

  With great effort, Keeler put himself back on task. “Mr. Alkema, what’s our overall status?

  Are we in danger of attack at the present time? Have we tracked that alien ship?”

  “No sign of alien attack ships, and long range scans have detected no sign of the one that flew up from the surface,” Alkema reported. “There’s a possibility that it is leaving the system.

  We have restasked tactical patrols to retrace its course.” Keeler nodded. Sending out the reconnaissance/tactical patrols had been a risk, but he had decided to go through with it anyway. “What is the status of our other critical operations?” American answered him. “Ground teams have restored power to the redoubt and have recovered artifacts. Their tactical situation is secure at the present time. Repair teams on Keeler

  …”

  The Prime Commander held up his hand. “Summarize it for me. Would this be a good time for me to return to my quarters, drink, take a shower, and maybe eat a little something?”

  “Honestly, Captain, I think we should both do that,” Alkema suggested.

  Keeler stood from his chair, grabbing his command jacket and throwing it over his shoulder. “I’m outta here.”

  Alkema tapped the COM Link. “Lieutenant Navigator Change, Please Report to Primary Command.”

  Before he left, Alkema looked over the captured message file from TyroCommander Lear.

  Neatly captured. A little lozenge-shaped icon on his command board, labeled Incoming 52-7027. He transferred it to his private file, and saved it for private access. The only people who will ever see that will be Goneril Lear’s tribunal, he thought.

  Time and events would prove him wrong.

  Lexington Keeler – Secondary Command

  “Transmission off,” Churchill reported.

  Lear tried to stand up and was about to acknowledge him, when suddenly she found the Secondary Command Center going hazy and spinning out of focus around her. The next thing she knew, she was in the arms of Sukhoi. She didn’t understand what he was saying at first.

  “Are you okay… TyroCommander?”

  “Dizzy spell,” she answered him. “Fatigue. I should have to push myself this hard.”

  “You ought to lie down,” Sukhoi suggested.

  “I will be fine,” Lear insisted. She pulled herself back into her command chair. “Gentlemen, Commander Keeler’s next move may well be forceful. I suggest that we…” Before she could finish, the access hatch to the BrainCore opened. Technician Scout climbed the ladder and emerged into the Secondary Command Center. Fangboner and the other technicians climbed up behind her. “I am pleased to report the Primary Braincore is restored, connected, and ready to be brought on-line.”

  Lear beamed. “Excellent.”

  “Za, and it only took twenty-seven hours of uninterrupted labor,” Scout yawned. “As soon as I’ve talked you through the re-initialization sequence, I’m going to find some dark, warm corner of this ship and experience unconsciousness.”

  “I think I can handle the re-initialization sequence,” Lear told her. “You may take your much-deserved rest.”

  “I think I better stay around until the initiatilization is complete. As banged up as everything is around here, we might have unexpected problems.” She looked toward Churchill and Sukhoi. “Who are those guys?”

  “Security,” Lear answered.

  “We’re sweeping the ship in case any
Aurelians made it on-board during the battle.” Churchill went on. “When we heard about the sabotage to the BrainCore, Commander Keeler thought it would be best if we investigated. Did you note anything unusual when you were around the BrainCore?”

  When Scout answered ‘Neg,’ Churchill asked. “What kind of weapon was used to sever the BrainCore’s command links?”

  Scout answered. “Standard laser beam cutting tool. The tool cabinet on the deck was missing one.”

  Churchill’s brow crunched over his nose ever so slightly.

  “If you ask me,” Scout continued. “It was a member of the crew.” Lear held her thumb against the command input pad. “Initialize Primary BrainCore.” On the command arm, a small green screen illuminated.

  Input Authorization Required.

  “Technician Scout,” Lear said. “It’s requesting a command input authorization.” Scout sighed. “I was afraid of that. I think it should be just a matter of inputting one of the default Pathfinder codes. Try 1015-5224-1015-4930.”

  Lear tried the code. This time, a red doubleX appeared. “It’s not accepting that code.” Now, Scout was surprised. “Really. That was a default code. You can alter them, but it’s not all that easy. Try 1029-9639-1006-9803.”

  Lear tried the new code. The red doubleX remained.

  “0826-4106-0825-3844” Scout suggested.

  Lear input the code.

  Authorization Failure. System Lockout Engaged.

  “It says a system lockout has been engaged.”

  Scout pulled out her datapad and entered several sequences. “You can rule out the Aurelians. If the default codes were erased… it was almost definitely one of the crew.”

  “Why would the crew sabotage the BrainCore?” Sukhoi asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s a job for a Watchman.” Scout told them. “As for the system lockout, I’m good with the mechanical stuff, but you’re going to need an ace cyberneticist to get you into the system now.”

  “It would take hours to get someone down here,” Lear said. “I need that BrainCore on-line.”