Alien Salute

by Charles Ingrid

  “Where?”

  *Three meters down the corridor, according to the sound grid.*

  Jack blinked hard. He had grit in the corners of his eyes. Carefully, he rolled his shoulders to ease the tension in his back. “Thanks, Bogie.”

  *Don’t mention it.* The warrior spirit’s voice carried an edge of irony. *If you’d done it my way, we’d have been out of here a long time ago.*

  “If I’d done it your way,” Jack retorted, looking over his screens, “we’d have the whole Thrakian League on our necks, you bloodthirsty old pirate.” He had time enough to wonder how many more his booby traps had picked off before the cubbyhole’s plate was wedged aside.

  No lights this time. The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched. They knew he was stalking them now. The Thraks were aware enough of human composition to know that lighting might give Jack something of an advantage. What they were unaware of was that the power of their beams could blind him.

  He could hear their clicking and chuckling beyond the opening. They seemed to be discussing who would penetrate the hold first. His twitch stretched into a half smile.

  He watched as the first Thraks eased into the hold, slope-backed, on all fours, supple and quick, as cautious as a canine with its back up. It could not see him, Jack realized, and watched as its deathmask gaze swept his shadowy corner several times. Feathery antennae erected at cheekbone height from behind the mask.

  Jack had never seen antennae on Thraks before. Adjunct sensory equipment? He watched the creature as it reared up into a fighting stance.

  A second Thraks moved in, clacking angrily. It shadowed the first. Jack looked over their shoulders to the third, hovering in the background. He’d bring that one down first—its body would block the exit. As soon as it leaned in closer to its fellows…

  There was an immediate reaction when the first Thraks discovered the shell of a companion in the corner. Jack had a split second as the third Thraks reared in the doorway.

  He shot, rolled, and stood up, fingers pointed, and blasted the other two even as they pulled their weapons into position.

  A fiery beam glanced off the side of the helmet as the last Thraks went down, its mandibles white with froth.

  From fear or anger?

  Jack stepped over the bodies as he left the hold and shut it behind him. He could have walked through them to relish the crackle and crunch, but he had no way to clean the stain off his armor just yet.

  He made his way deeper into the bowels of the freighter to yet another contraband hold, and closer to his ultimate objective, and waited for the next to the last time.

  If his plan held.

  The wait gave him time to think, and remember, and compare. He could not ever remember having seen antennae before, but then, he’d never stalked Thraks before. And he’d never before had the sensation he hadn’t even been seen.

  What was different this time?

  Nothing. Not a damn thing that he could think of.

  Perspiration beaded his upper lip. Bogie had flooded his mind with memories of the Sand Wars. If he had enough time to sort them out, perhaps…

  But his time was not his own. There was Amber to think of, and Colin, and his command of Knights, and his obligation to the evacuees.

  They sent a whole damn company after him this time.

  Bogie spoke just as the target and sound screens lit up.

  “I see it,” Jack told him.

  *You’d better be quick.*

  “Or I’ll be dead. I know.”

  He had only a split second in which to notice that the antennae had gone out again, quivering after him as eagerly as dogs sniffing after a scent. Were they sniffing him out?

  He did not have time to know if they’d succeeded, for his plan called for him to make himself a living target.

  “Here I am,” Jack called, and stepped out into the open.

  *Now you’ve done it.*

  Jack was too busy to retort.

  He hit the power vault, spraying fire down below as he soared toward the cavernous roof of the cargo hold. He caught the hatch doorway above, and was through, in a wash of laser fire that turned the suit red-hot. He broke out in a sweat as he slammed the hatch lid down and secured the bulkhead, sealing the bay. The outer door below closed automatically as he set off the sensors, sending the last remaining lifeboat into launch sequence. The armor cooled as he waited for the inevitable.

  The stripped down shell of what remained of the transport shuddered as the lifeboat powered off. Jack waited until the shuddering quit, then began to make his systematic way to the bridge.

  He stopped a last time as the freighter quivered again, and he heard the sound of the Thrakian warship blasting off in pursuit of the lifeboat and its lost company of men.

  A miserable, grubby lot of men awaited him on the bridge. They turned pale and battered faces toward him as he filled the bulkhead opening.

  Harkness spat.

  “It worked,” he said. There was blood in his phlegm. “And at least we’re alive.”

  “Now,” Jack said, “Let’s find our cryo bay while they can still say the same.”

  Chapter 5

  Rawlins tapped Amber gently on the shoulder. She felt his touch as though she had been asleep underwater and even though she opened her eyes, she viewed him through a murky veil. It had been days since she’d first awakened to find the lieutenant following her like a white shadow. She brought a smile to her face and let it shine for Rawlins, though underneath, her emotions knotted. Amber found him smiling back as she came fully out of her meditations.

  The air stank now. It spoke of bodies too close together, and water too scarce for bathing, and the air itself, too used up to be recycled well. It spoke, too, of time running out.

  Her stomach echoed the speech.

  Rawlins grinned as he lowered himself cross-legged onto the decking beside Amber. He held out a savory smelling bundle, wrapped about by a disposable cloth. “Last of the hot food,” he said.

  “Thank you.” She did not have to fake warmth in her voice as she reached out and took her rations. “Did you eat?”

  “Yes,” he answered, his gaze flickering off toward the quiet people surrounding them.

  She thought, in that second, that Rawlins was a great deal like Jack, able to be alone and private even in a crowd where privacy was nearly impossible. She also thought that Rawlins, like Jack, had probably given her a portion of his dinner. She would not insult him by asking further, and she ate her gift with swift, clean bites.

  Rawlins flexed his back as though tense. Amber swallowed the last of the meat pie, then said, “What’s wrong?”

  His shockingly blue eyes flickered back to her, then he frowned. His brows were almost as milk-blond as his hair, but he’d darkened them with a liner. She could see the dye across the fine hairs. Then she realized part of what was so startling about his eyes: the lashes were nearly transparent, giving him a wide-open look.

  Rawlins cleared his throat. “We’ve had no word from the freighter.”

  “Have they picked up our homing signal?”

  “Not that we can tell.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “It means that, if Thraks did attack, the freighter may not have survived. Or that they can’t get within range to find us. Or… we’re on our own while they decoy the Thraks away.”

  “Or,” Amber teased, “the world ended yesterday and we just don’t know it yet.”

  He flushed. “And you’re not worried?”

  “Yes. But Jack has a way of surviving, even when he shouldn’t. And we’re alive today. So that counts for something. And I’ve just had dinner. That counts for a lot.” Amber grinned.

  “Is it true what the guys talk about?”

  “That depends.” Her grin faded. “What do they say?”

  “That you’re a street brat. That you grew up in under-Malthen.”

  “That I did. So my philosophy is easily explained. Live for today. Tomorrow, take care of
tomorrow. Or something like that.”

  Rawlins shook his head. “It must have been tough.”

  She paused, squinting her eyes in recall. Rolf, the man who’d kept her and trained her, had not been a good person. But she’d had her freedom most of the time… a wild, flighty creature who would be recalled to her accounting only at sunset. A fey thing, with flashes of intuition that kept her alive, and successful, and protected her from Rolf. Her mind could, and would, kill. She’d almost killed Jack the night he had reached for her in love. The fear that she had, had driven her away in Bythia, straight into the arms of the holy madman Hussiah. The guilt burned her still. How could she face that happening again? There was no way of knowing if she had purged herself of the instinct to kill without intention… until the moment came again. Amber brushed her hand across her face as if looking for a stray bit of hair that tickled. The movement brushed away her thoughts. “It was… different,” she answered. “How about you?”

  “I’m a timber man. Or was, until I decided to become an officer. Then when the Knights expanded, I applied to join them.”

  “That’s rare. Pepys doesn’t like to recruit out of Dominion ranks.”

  “I know. But I’m good in armor.”

  She appraised him. Jack had mentioned Rawlins’ ability many times. But the young man’s soft declaration now was not boastful, merely confident. “So I’ve been told.”

  He colored then, and ducking his chin down, turned his face away.

  Amber laughed, and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Rawlins! Really.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Here I am with orders to be a tower of strength for you, and you’re the one comforting me.”

  “Orders?”

  He looked at her. “You know.”

  Indeed, she did. Jack thought of everything… but had he thought of the fact that she would find Rawlins strangely appealing? That he awoke in her an echo of what her feelings for Jack awoke? This was dangerous, Amber thought, and did not continue to meet his gaze. “Tomorrow,” she said, “you can be a tower of strength for me.” With a deep breath, she dropped back into her meditations, not only to control her usage of air, but also to calm the turmoil of emotions rising within her.

  Rawlins watched her consciousness recede until he could no longer reach her. Around them sat or lay dozens of people in similar conditions, though Amber was a master of the deep trance. St. Colin had instructed them all on meditation in an effort to conserve air and keep stress under control.

  He had no place else to go, and he wanted very much to be where he was, so he made himself comfortable and tried to drift away.

  “There she is,” Harkness said grimly. “We’ll be in docking position in about six hours. It’s going to be tight, commander.”

  Jack stood behind him, looking over the pilot’s shoulder, at the com screens. “Better late than never,” he said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on how levelheaded our lot has been. Pinned up in those three labs… we’re going to have a squirrelly bunch.”

  “A good number of the evacuees are soldiers,” Jack told him. “I think I can vouch for their actions. And St. Colin is quite a man. If you haven’t seen him in action yet, I recommend you do so. He’ll have been talking with them.”

  “I’ve seen you in action,” Harkness growled. The purpled mottling of his face had deepened, but the swelling had gone down. “That’s enough for me. Shall we mark the homing signal and let them know we’re coming?”

  Jack’s gut tightened reflexively. He would like Amber to know he was close to her, but he did not want to give the Thraks any more information than he had to. “No,” he said.

  Harkness’ head swiveled about to look at him, one frizzled eyebrow raised.

  “No,” Jack repeated levelly, meeting the pilot’s gaze.

  “Right,” Harkness said, and looked back to his command. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “We’re close to a sand planet.”

  Jack had been on his way out. He stopped in his tracks as though he had been shot. “Which one? How close?”

  “Opus. One of the last the Thraks took. I understand the nest ain’t been too successful. It’s damn near abandoned. We might be able to find some supplies if we go in.”

  “No. No, dammit, that’s probably where that warship’s from. Let’s scoop up the lifeboat and get the hell out of here before they track us. Our call for Needier coverage has been out long enough. They should be close now.”

  “It’s a gamble.”

  “One I’m willing to take.”

  The pilot chewed on the inside of his cheek before answering slowly, “Then it’s one I’ll take as well.”

  Jack looked at Harkness. Animosity was banked inside the bulky body as though it were some kind of slow-burning fire. “I’ll see,” he said, “that your freighter is re-outfitted.”

  Harkness took the information with a nod. He was the first to turn away. Jack waited another moment to see if the pilot had yet another bomb he wished to drop in Jack’s lap, but the pilot said nothing more. Jack ducked back through the doorway and left the bridge.

  What was left of the transport had been thoroughly cleaned down, but the stench of Thrakian dead seemed to have permeated everywhere. Jack found himself snarling as he walked back through the hulk to the vast gym.

  If she had been here, Amber would wonder with Harkness why Jack hadn’t destroyed every Thraks he could get his gauntlets on. He didn’t know if he could explain to her that he did not want to send other Thraks into a frenzy of vengeance, that his only goal had been to make occupation of the freighter too expensive. Setting loose the second lifeboat had ensured that the Thraks would cut their losses and go after their remaining search party while they could. The Thraks were not berserker fighters. They had a calculated strategy behind much of what they did, even if it was incomprehensible to their enemies.

  They were, after all, Jack mused, alien.

  It was more surprising to him that there had been a sand planet one could classify as a “failure.” Had it been too close to the Dominion territories? Had the Thraks been unable to complete terraforming? If so, why? A defeat to the Thraks was a victory for the Dominion and the Triad Throne, even if accidental. The trick was to find out what had happened so that it could be duplicated. Was what had happened the reason the Thraks stopped expanding so suddenly and sued for peace?

  He stopped before his armor and eyed it critically. He’d been unable to strip and service it properly since leaving Bythia. Traces of warfare from two engagements stained it where he’d been unable to cleanse it better. Jack reached out and traced over the crudely painted over insignia on the suit’s chest plate. There would be a day, soon, he promised himself, when he’d show that insignia again. When he returned to Malthen this time, he did so with full knowledge of who had been responsible for ordering Dominion troops abandoned on Milos.

  Pepys, emperor of the Triad Throne. He hadn’t been emperor then, of course, but the savage losses of the Sand Wars had been one of the major factors propelling Pepys into power.

  And when Jack faced Pepys again, it would not be as a loyal Knight reporting to his monarch.

  And Jack knew that Pepys knew it.

  Bogie awoke under Jack’s feather-light touch as he brushed the insignia. *Jack.*

  He did not respond to his alter ego. Bogie’s mental strength washed over him like an inexorable tide, probing, and then ebbing away into silence as the being sensed that he did not wish to converse.

  The quiet left in Bogie’s wake was shattered by a tone from the intercom monitor.

  “Commander, it’s not necessary to come up, but I’ll feed this to you. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Again, Jack thought, as he went to the monitor and watched it flicker into life with the computer’s projection. And this time, as last, the vision chilled his blood.

  His silence was his answer and after a brief moment, Harkness said, “You don’t recognize it, either.”

&nbs
p; “No.”

  Alij put in, “That sucker’s big enough to inhale us and never notice it.”

  “Moving how fast?”

  “It’ll overtake us before we dock.”

  Jack looked at the screen. The Thraks had nothing in space like that as far as he knew, and neither had the Dominion. But the Thraks hadn’t been to war openly in twenty years. Who knew what they could have been developing? He wet his lips. “What’s their course?”

  “I don’t think they plan an intercept.” The intercom was silent a moment before Alij added, “They don’t need to blow us out of the water.”

  “I know.” Jack stood a moment, hating the feeling of being totally helpless. “Leave the intercom open. I want to see the computer simulation of that the second it becomes more than a blip.”

  “Will do.”

  Jack sat down and waited.

  He waited until the hour when the computer simulation came on and showed him outlines of firing turrets. Then he went over and suited up, unsure of what else he could do. Then he went to the bridge.

  Harkness noted his looming presence at the bulkhead, and gave a nod. He said to Alij, “How close?”

  “Mark, one half hour.”

  “How close are we to rendezvous?”

  The brown-skinned navigator gave Jack a nervous look. “Do you want me to split hairs?”

  “If necessary.”

  “It should be simultaneous. But…”

  “Yes?”

  “But I don’t think they intend to ram either us or the lifeboat.” Alij laughed a little too sharply. “That’s just a theory.”

  Harkness gutturalized deep in his throat and spit into a cup at the side of the control board. The pilot said nothing, deeply intent on the computer simulation of a docking process happening at his control screen.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because, well, because we’ll be making some minor adjustments in speed and trajectory to match those of the lifeboat. And I don’t see the unknown making adjustments. If they continue on their course, and we continue on the course Harkness has set, they’ll just brush over the top of us. We’ll miss by maybe two hundred feet.”