by Dietmar Wehr
Another longer pause was followed by, “Offer of one generator accepted. Your new docking bay is 27.”
“Docking bay 27 is acknowledged. Thank you, Station.”
By the time the ship had backed into bay 27, the Krell and Majenta ships had finished their examination of the generators and were in the process of sending the trade items they had agreed to provide. That confirmation of the generators’ value prompted other ships to make offers. Six hours later, all generators had been traded, and all but one trade had been completed. Corwell, who had just come back to the Bridge to relieve Franklin, leaned forward as Ronson swiveled in his seat to face him.
“That last trade is with a Koron ship, isn’t it?” asked Corwell. Ronson nodded. “They seem to be taking their time looking over the generator. Do you think they’ve found something wrong with it?”
Ronson shrugged. “I don’t know what’s causing the delay, but if they found something wrong with the generator, they would have said so, right?”
“Yeah, you would think so, eh?” Before Ronson could respond, the communications console beeped for attention.
“Ah, an incoming message, and it’s from the Koron ship,” said Ronson. He swivelled his seat around so that Corwell could read the message too.
“Prosperous Bird to Spearthrower. Our Captain would like to meet with your Captain to discuss some technical questions regarding your generator. We will complete the trade after the meeting. Will you come to docking bay 18?”
“Shit,” said Ronson in a low voice. “I don’t like this suggestion. You and Franklin aren’t ready to pilot Spearthrower on your own yet. If I have to walk all the way over to bay 18 and back, there are a dozen places where I could be ambushed.” He pointed to the message on the screen. “This technical discussion is bullshit. What can they possibly want to know that has to be asked in person instead of over station com channels? Even their docking bay isn’t secure from being monitored by the station personnel. Surely they must know that any conversation taking place in front of their ship isn’t going to be confidential?”
“You could insist that the meeting take place here in bay 27,” offered Corwell.
“Yeah, here in front of Spearthrower. I like that idea. If they say no to that, then I’ll tell them the trade is off and to send the generator back to us,” said Ronson. “Spearthrower to Prosperous Bird. I’m willing to meet with your Captain, but not in docking bay 18. You come here to bay 27. If you refuse, then send the generator back, and we’ll trade it to someone else.”
The reply came very quickly. “Prosperous Bird to Spearthrower. Our Captain says meet halfway on deck 12.”
Ronson didn’t hesitate. “No, Prosperous Bird, docking bay 27 or send the generator back.”
“Okay, Spearthrower. Our Captain will come to bay 27.”
“Tell him to come alone and unarmed,” said Ronson. There was no response to that message. Ronson left Corwell in command of the Bridge and collected Franklin on his way to the airlock.
“I want you wearing an environmental suit with a pistol standing in the open airlock hatch while I talk with the Koron Captain. Your job will be to watch the station entrance to the docking bay in case the Korons try to sneak in some of their people. I wouldn’t put it past them to try to board the ship. If they attempt it, it’ll be your job to stop them. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be on my guard. Whatever happens, we can’t allow Spearthrower to be captured. No matter what. Got it?”
“I got it, Skipper.”
Ronson and Franklin, now wearing their environmental suits but with the helmets off, waited by the airlock for Corwell to notify them of the Koron Captain’s arrival. As soon as Corwell confirmed that the Captain was entering the docking bay, the two men put on their helmets and equalized the airlock pressure with the pressure in the docking bay. The air in the bay was breathable, but the suits were used to prevent infection by alien micro-organisms. As soon as Ronson stepped through the outer airlock hatch, he noticed that the Koron Captain was wearing his version of an environmental suit too. Everyone moving around the station did, even members of the race that controlled the station. The potential danger from alien bacteria or viruses was just too great to take any chances. Ronson waited for the retractable ladder to extend itself to the station deck. He then climbed down and walked slowly over to where the Koron Captain was standing. The Koron, like almost all Compact races, were humanoid with one head, two arms, two legs, but Koron bodies were longer and their legs were shorter than humans. Ronson knew that facial structure and skin color was also different, even though the helmet hid most of the alien’s face.
“I’m Captain Troy Rem—“ He stopped when he saw the Koron wave aside the introduction.
“Names are not important. I know that you’re looking for information on which race caused the asteroid impact on your home world.”
“You know who did it?” asked Ronson quickly.
“We strongly suspect who did it.” He held out what appeared to be a folded piece of paper or some other similar material. Ronson hesitated before accepting the paper. He carefully unfolded it and saw a message in printed English.
[Three very large Trior ships arrived here separately and then left together 89 Earth days before the asteroid strike--They returned here together 34 days later--After a short stay they split up and went to different destinations]
Ronson quickly refolded the note to make it harder for any Trior monitoring devices to see what was on it. “Why are the Koron giving us this information? Your ships tried to ambush my ship on my last visit.”
“Yes, I know. My ship was one of the ships that were preparing the ambush. I was ordered to destroy your ship, and I would have followed those orders, but I knew our ships were outmatched, and I expected to die that day. Your decision to avoid the ambush spared my life and the lives of my crew. I feel that a debt is owed to you, and this is my way of paying that debt.”
Ronson thought fast. After a while he said, “I believe you, but my superiors will want to confirm that this information is accurate. Do you know of a way to get that confirmation?”
The alien nodded. “I have a good relationship with the Trior station Manager. I’ll request a copy of the station docking logs going back far enough to include this period, and I’ll send the data to your ship. It will be encrypted. The decryption key is the Koron word for vengeance. Do you not think that is appropriate given the nature of your quest?”
“Very appropriate. Am I correct in assuming that your superiors will not be pleased if they learn that you’ve done this?”
“You are correct. I could be accused of treason if they learn of it. The penalty for treason is death.”
“They won’t learn of it from me,” said Ronson.
The Koron Captain started to turn away. “Wait! I have one last question,” said Ronson.
“Yes?”
“Which race was it that struck your home world?”
“We suspect the same race was responsible for that and for other home world strikes, but we have no proof. The trade will be completed as soon as I return to my ship.”
Ronson watched him turn and leave the docking bay. When he and Franklin had taken off their suits, the two of them stopped in the small compartment that had food preparation facilities. Franklin got two freeze-dried coffee containers and added hot water to them. As he handed one to Ronson, he said, “Can you tell me what was on that note?”
Ronson took it out of his pocket and handed it to Franklin, whose expression didn’t change as he read it.
“I can see the implications, but it’s not conclusive proof. Those three ships could have been doing something else entirely,” said Franklin.
Ronson smiled and nodded. “I know, but at least we have a lead, assuming that the Trior log data confirms this information. Before we found Val Ky Ree, survival for the human race was more important than vengeance. I suspect that the Emergency Committee isn’t interested in vengeance at all, but I am. How about you?”
“Well, ah, I’d need proof, absolutely conclusive proof, but…yeah, if I had that, I’d be interested too. But even if you find it, what kind of payback could you do? Would Val Ky Ree help you?”
“I kinda suspect that she would be at sympathetic to the idea. We humans are her adopted race now. Under her Warrior Code, our enemies would be her enemies. How far she’d go, I don’t know. I’ll worry about that if and when we get the proof. It might take years, with a piece of the puzzle here and another piece there. I wasn’t completely honest when I told that Koron captain I believed him. I AM inclined to believe the data, but I’m also paranoid enough to consider the possibility that this is all a setup to get humans and Trior at each others’ throats. For now, I intend to keep my cards close to my chest. Let’s get back to the Bridge. That captain should be back to his ship by now and I want to see if he keeps his word about completing the trade.”
Chapter Eight:
When Spearthrower arrived back at Vesta, Ronson was pleased to learn that the duplicate repair system was finished and operational. It was already working on manufacturing parts for the new ship, and the Committee was pleased to learn that he had succeeded in acquiring enough of the rare metals that the new ship could be completed. They wanted Spearthrower to go out on another trading mission with generators that Val Ky Ree had produced during Ronson’s absence, but Val Ky Ree wanted to visit Gunnir, and Ronson wanted to go with her, taking Spearthrower in case he needed to visit the planet’s surface. As usual, Andreason was pushing back.
“Why do you need to go along, Ronson? Isn’t Val Ky Ree capable of giving the Aesirian colony on Gunnir a visual inspection by herself?”
“She can only observe the colony from above. If there’s something unusual going on there, or if there’s something that could be of value to us, she won’t be able to take the necessary action, and I can’t move around on the ground effectively unless I have Spearthrower. If it’s any consolation, we can take the new batch of generators and stop at a Compact station on the way back. It’s too bad our survey team isn’t able to go at this time. I wouldn’t mind some human company on the trip.”
“Well they’re not, so an extra trip will have to be made some other time. Damn, I hate having to wait another five weeks for our first ship to be finished. The cargo you brought back helps, but we need more, a LOT more.”
“I understand that. Val Ky Ree does too. As a free agent, she can come and go whenever she wants. She deliberately stayed here until Spearthrower returned in order to take it, and me, along with her to Gunnir. I’m asking the Committee to let me go with her to Gunnir, and we’ll trade those generators on the way back.”
Andreason sighed. “I have a feeling you’re going to do what you want to do anyway, so go ahead.”
Ronson thanked him and went for his cramped quarters to pick up a few personal items before heading for Spearthrower. Two hours later, Spearthrower was aboard Val Ky Ree’s ship, which was accelerating away from Vesta. The trip to Gunnir was uneventful, but more comfortable for Ronson. He was able to bring some of his personal things such as blankets, entertainment disks and clothes. The entertainment disks included recordings of TV shows and movies that had been taken off-Earth before the strike. He brought them and a screen to play them on to the Bridge, but before getting into the entertainment disks, he had something else to show Val Ky Ree.
“Remember our discussion of the mythical Valkyrie that provided the name Spearthrower?”
“Yes, I remember that discussion, Troy. Do you wish to change the name of Spearthrower to something else?”
“Not at all. On my way back from Citanor Station, I remembered coming across an image of a mythical Valkyrie that someone just happened to have stored in their personal data tablet when Earth was killed. All surviving data has now been centralized here on Vesta so everyone can see everything. I wanted to show you this image because I think it might appeal to you. Here it is.” He turned on the tablet and held it in front of one of the video cameras placed at regular intervals around the room. What Val Ky Ree saw was a creature that resembled a human female, dressed in form-fitting chainmail armor with a sheathed sword at her waist. Her helmet had a stylized wing on each side. Extending from her back were a pair of very large dark wings, partially curved at the ends as if they were about to wrap around someone. She was looking down on a battlefield of dead warriors, and her arms were in the process of lifting the spirit of one particular warrior up from its body.
“It does appeal to me, Troy. This winged female has the demeanor of a warrior, and her wings, while anatomically impossible, are quite inspiring. I thank you for showing it to me. I see that you’ve brought other material. More images?”
Ronson laughed. “In a manner of speaking. You’ve shown me visual imagery from your culture that was intended for entertainment purposes, and I’ve brought a selection of materials that had a similar purpose in our culture. Most of these are fictional in that they are the product of someone’s imagination and are not recordings of actual events or persons. Would you like to see some of them?”
“Very much, Troy. There is much about your people that I do not yet know.”
Val Ky Ree was alternately amused and repulsed as she watched some of those recordings with him. Her opinion of the human race declined somewhat, but she didn’t tell Ronson that. It wasn’t that she had any doubts about helping humans, but rather that she now thought that humans were not quite as mature as she had first assumed. They obviously needed her guidance even more than she had thought. At least Troy had the good sense to be embarrassed by some of his own entertainment material. And to his credit, he hadn’t tried to hide it.
Ronson was on the Bridge when the ship dropped into a low orbit around Gunnir. He looked at the visual scan of the planet carefully. Like Aesir, Gunnir had all the right colors: blue, green, brown, with white polar caps and clouds. As it happened, they had arrived while the small and now desolate Aesirian colony was in the night side. That was not really a problem. Val Ky Ree brought the ship down to a relatively low altitude and skimmed over the surface, passing from the day side into the night side at supersonic speed. When they reached the colony site, she slowed down and turned on her exterior lights. Ronson was surprised by how much light the ship could aim at the colony and by the modest but still quite attractive architecture of the colony buildings. With plenty of land available, there was no reason to build high. The colony consisted of thousands of brightly colored two or three story buildings with plenty of green space in between. The small spaceport was empty of ships. Val Ky Ree circled the colony three times and landed at the spaceport.
“Dawn won’t be for another five hours, Troy. I suggest you get some sleep and explore the colony during the day.”
Ronson shook his head. “That’s not going to work, Val Ky Ree. My sleep cycle is way out of sync with this colony’s day/night cycle. I’m wide awake now. We came here to check out the infrastructure. I can take the air-jeep and poke around now. I just need you to guide me to the right buildings.”
“Very well, Troy. However, I recommend that you take a weapon with you. This planet was only just beginning to be surveyed for colonization when I fought the last battle and went to sleep. I know very little about it or any potentially dangerous local lifeforms. There’s been enough time since the Ascension for those kinds of life forms to migrate back into the colony.”
“Okay, I’ve brought along a weapon called an automatic pistol. I’m sure it’s primitive compared to what the Aesir had, but with our limited technical resources on Vesta, it’s all we could manufacture ourselves right now.”
“At least you have something you can use to defend yourself. I regret that this ship does not have any personal weapons, but my data storage units do contain detailed information on several personal weapons that might help your people to —I believe this is the term you use— reverse engineer a working weapon.”
“Yes! Our engineers would love a challenge like that. What kind
of principle do these weapons use?”
“They fire a coherent light beam that is tuned to a specific frequency causing temporary paralysis in most living organisms.”
“Hmm. A non-lethal weapon like that could be very useful, but am I correct in thinking that some living organisms don’t respond that way?”
“Correct. However, the data I have indicates that the exceptions are less than one percent.”
“I’d be happier if the percentage was zero,” said Ronson.
“Perhaps your engineers can find a way to accomplish that goal.”
“Yeah, perhaps.”
Ten minutes later, he was piloting the air-jeep out of Spearthrower’s cargo bay and then Val Ky Ree’s hangar bay. All of the ship’s external lights were on, but the field of light quickly faded to a deep blackness that made the hairs on the back of Ronson’s neck stand up. He was wearing his environmental suit again, and even with the headphones dialed up to maximum sensitivity to external sounds, he still wasn’t sure if he was hearing every sound out there. The air-jeep was throwing a piercing pair of lights ahead, which only added to Ronson’s growing apprehension that he couldn’t see what was behind him or off to either side. Next time stay inside until daylight, dummy.