by James Palmer
“You mean the same epics that still haven’t been fully translated?” said Hamilton. The long-dead race had been common knowledge for over 400 years, but their best scientists had yet to scratch the surface of their technology and culture.
“I’m talking about a segment that has been translated,” said Drizda. “I studied it while still barely a hatchling at our science academy. But the specific details are fuzzy. I can’t find any reference to it aboard your ship’s paltry library. No offense, but it is no science vessel.”
“Do you think these things are some kind of Progenitor artifact?” asked Hamilton.
Drizda shook her head. “Unclear. But the Progenitors might have known of them, and may have even developed a way to stop them.”
“Or,” said Hamilton with a heavy sigh. “These things are what killed off the Progenitors.”
Kuttner sat there nodding slowly for a long moment. Finally, he said, “You want to visit one of the Archives.”
“Yes,” said Drizda.
Hamilton leaned back in his chair. The Progenitor Archives were the only free standing remnants of Progenitor culture in existence. They were like giant floating monuments to that long-dead race, always parked in a planet’s Lagrange point in a star system that contained a Q gate. They had served as almost neutral territory during the war, with neither man nor Draconi wanting to so much as put a dent in one of them, though they couldn’t if they tried. The Archives were as tough as they looked.
“Where’s the nearest Archive?” he asked Hamilton.
“Archive Seven is in the Fomalhaut system,” said Hamilton. “But access is hard to get. There are research waiting lists parsecs long.”
“I know that Archive’s administrator,” said Kuttner. “If she hasn’t retired by now. I’m sure she’ll make an exception for us in this case.”
Hamilton nodded. “I’ll get us under way.” He stood up to leave.
“Good,” said Kuttner. “While you’re at it, get the repair crews in overdrive. I want us ship shape for whatever’s coming next. And tell Cade to get the main gun back online. I have a feeling we’re going to need her.”
“I will study the data I collected from the attack on us and the Odysseus,” said Drizda. “Perhaps it will give us more insight into what these things are and how to destroy them.”
“Good,” said Kuttner. “Meeting adjourned.”
He waited until Hamilton and Drizda had left, then opened up a tightbeam relay. He might be violating orders, but he still wanted to keep his old friend Admiral Sheldon advised on what they were doing. Perhaps it would keep League administration from declaring another war on the Draconi until they could figure out what was going on.
10 Sparring
Lt. Commander Leda Niles raised her katana into ready position and waited for her attacker to do the same.
The sword had been a gift from her father, who in turn had received it from a minor shogun on New Nippon. It had been made by that world’s finest swordsmith, and was truly a beauty to behold. The curved blade glinted brightly in the training room’s spots, and it was perfectly weighted and balanced. The bone handle was wrapped tightly with blue silk thread; she enjoyed the feel of it as she twirled the weapon in her left hand.
It was wickedly sharp as well, being constructed of a nanocarbon steel alloy, something that hadn’t existed in feudal Japan on pre-Singularity Earth. It would never dull or need sharpening.
Her sparring bot stepped into view four feet away and lifted its own sword, a scaled down, modern version of Leda’s weapon, designed and printed by Leda herself. The bot was a head shorter than Leda’s five foot eight. Its black carbon nanotube carapace glinted darkly in the light of the training room, making it look like some anthropomorphic beetle. Leda wasn’t as heavily protected, wearing only flexsteel pads on her chest, arms and legs. The bot was programmed for low impact sparring so it couldn’t really harm her, but accidents did happen, and the chance that she could be injured excited her, made it feel like a real battle.
The Dragon War was over, but as a soldier she kept herself ready should such days return.
Her ersatz attacker lunged forward, bringing its sword down in a smooth slicing motion that Leda easily countered, blocking its blade with her own.
The next move was hers, and she came at her opponent fast, her blade scything through the air at her attacker, and it parried and blocked her just as quickly.
Leda enjoyed these workout sessions. She longed for a flesh and blood sparring partner, but the bot’s AI learned more each time they fought, making it tougher to beat with every session. Now it was countering her almost move for move; time to change things up.
Leda sidestepped her opponent’s latest sword thrust, getting inside its reach and delivering a swift side kick to its midsection, sending the bot sprawling on its back, its sword flying from its hand and sliding across the mat. Leda stood over it, her blade at the closest thing it had to a throat.
“Point Lt. Niles, for the win,” it said in an emotionless metallic voice.
Leda grinned. Her cochlear implant chimed.
“Niles,” she said, panting.
“This is Straker,” said her boss. “Meet me in my office in ten.”
“Yes, sir”
Her implant bleeped as the circuit closed. “Duty calls,” she said to the defeated sparring robot.
It rose to its feet and retrieved its sword, then went and plugged itself into a charging crèche set into the far wall. Leda sheathed her own sword and headed for her quarters. If she hurried, she’d have time for a sonic shower before her impromptu meeting.
Straker loved surprising her with meetings, inspections and any extra work he could find to dump in her lap. Her position wasn’t glamorous, but as administrative assistant to the head of Special Operations and the Fleet’s Chief Science Officer, Leda got to be involved in some interesting—and highly classified—work. Still, there hadn’t been a lot to do in the eighteen standard months since the war ended, and she had felt herself getting restless. Hopefully Straker had something more exciting for her to do than shuffle data flimsies.
Leda stood before her boss’s door, freshly showered, wearing a clean white uniform worked in the black and white of Special Operations. Her brown hair was pulled up into a tight bun, and she wore an officer’s cap on her head. She carried her slate in her left hand.
Leda made a move to knock, but the door chimed and slid open. It was one of Straker’s more annoying habits to always somehow know when someone was at his door. Leda marched inside stiffly. Straker was big on protocol, at least among his subordinates. He stared up at her from behind his desk, his dark eyes taking in her presence.
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” he said. As she sat in a molded plastic chair across from his desk, Straker opened a drawer with his left hand and inspected the contents. Then he reached in and selected a long cigar, placing it under his nose and sniffing it approvingly before snipping off the end and jamming it into his mouth. He flicked out an antique lighter and lit the end, filling the room with pungent smoke.
Leda sat primly and tried to pretend the smoke didn’t bother her. Straker had no vices save this one, and believed smoking was one of the advantages of being planetside as opposed to the pure oxygen environment of a spaceship, where lighting up could prove deadly. The whole exercise was more of a strange affectation than a health hazard. The cigars were made of a non-carcinogenic synthetic tobacco the planet where Special Ops was headquartered was famous for.
After a minute of puffing, his eyes on a spot in the far corner of the ceiling, Straker finally looked at her. “You’ve done great work here, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir.” Leda knew that Straker didn’t give compliments casually.
“I know things have been a bit slow since the war ended,” he said, exhaling harmless blue smoke to hang between them like a fog. “But things are picking up again. The mission of Special Operations has not only been R&D, but exploration.”
“I’m aware of that, sir,” said Leda, wishing he would get to the point.
“We’ve explored less than a tenth of our galaxy,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. “We’ve already found evidence of the Progenitors, and encountered the Draconi. Who knows what else is out there?”
“I don’t know,” said Leda. “But I’d love to find out.”
Straker nodded. “That’s good, Lieutenant. Because you’re going to have to make some hard choices in the coming days.”
“How’s that?”
“Are you aware that your old boyfriend, Commander Hamilton, is in a bit of trouble?”
“What?” she said, leaning forward slightly. She stopped herself before saying, “When is he not in trouble?”
Straker nodded. “It seems that the good commander and the captain of the Onslaught have decided to buck orders and are currently AWOL and possibly in possession of information regarding a superior alien race.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I just need to know where your loyalties lie,” said Straker.
“With the Admiralty, of course,” she said without hesitation. “And to Special Operations.”
Straker nodded. “That’s good to hear. I just want to make sure any personal feelings you might have don’t jeopardize our work here.”
“No, sir,” said Leda. “What Commander Hamilton and I had died a long time ago.”
Straker grinned around his cigar. “Good. Dismissed.”
Leda got up and exited his office, but her head was filled with questions. What the devil was Straker talking about? Alien technology? And what the hell had Noah Hamilton gotten himself into now?
11 The Archive
Archive Seven was a massive black pyramid hovering in the L1 of a lifeless planetoid fifth out from its host sun. Hamilton had been aboard an Archive once before, but he still wasn’t prepared for the sheer size of it.
The Archive was immense, bigger than all the pyramids of ancient Egypt put together. It dwarfed even the Onslaught. He looked at it, a shimmering, metallic black against the darker black of space, its pinnacle limned in starlight, and couldn’t help but feel hopelessly insignificant. A race that could build this, he reasoned, could snuff out his life as easily as he could step on an ant. And yet that race was long dead, while he was still here.
Hamilton took a deep breath and smoothed his uniform front. He was here to complete a mission, not ponder the meaning of his existence.
“Hail the Archive,” said Captain Kuttner.
“Channel open,” said Brackett.
“This is Captain Henry Kuttner of the LS Onslaught,” he said. “I’d like to speak with Administrator Solomon.”
There was dead silence on the other end for a long moment. “This is Dr. Solomon,” said a female voice testily. “State your business here.”
“We believe the Archive contains data of the utmost significance.”
“Where have I heard that one before? Hank? What’s going on?”
“We don’t have time for chitchat, Helena,” said Kuttner. “We’re all in great danger. And we think by studying the Progenitor epics we’ll find a way to stop another long and costly war with the Dragons.”
“Hold, please,” said Dr. Solomon.
Kuttner rolled his eyes as the feed went silent. “I hate this bureaucratic crap.”
“How do you know her?” asked Hamilton.
“It’s a long story,” Kuttner muttered.
Hamilton nodded. He knew what that meant. He had a few long stories himself, and had known the captain just long enough to know when not to pry into his personal life.
“All right,” said Doctor Solomon after several minutes. “You’re going to make a few hundred grad students very jealous, but you can send a small party aboard.”
“Great, Helena. Thank you. I’m sending my first officer, a Draconi scientist, and a couple of Marines. That OK?”
“Fine,” she said. “Solomon out.”
Kuttner turned to Hamilton. “We’ll prep a shuttle for you. Select a couple of Marines and get over there on the double. We may not have much time before another attack.”
Hamilton nodded. “I’ll take Ellison and Rodriguez. Dutton’s too trigger happy.”
“Fine,” said Kuttner. “You’re in charge of this jaunt. Get what we need and get out.”
“It may take a little time,” said Hamilton. “Like finding a particular needle in a stack of needles.”
“If I know Helena Solomon,” said Kuttner, “she’s got that entire Archive indexed by now. If what Drizda needs is in existence, you’ll find it here.”
Ellison expertly guided their shuttle toward the immense black pyramid. Its huge size was even more apparent outside the Onslaught. It was so formidable, so ancient, that it took Hamilton’s breath away.
As they neared it, a small opening appeared toward the pyramid’s base, and Ellison fired the shuttle’s attitude thrusters to line it up with the docking port. “We’re going in,” she said, as the opening loomed larger in the shuttle’s observation blister.
Moments later they were inside the massive structure, the docking door closed, atmosphere pressurized to Earth standard. Hamilton unstrapped from the crash couch and opened the shuttle door. Drizda did the same and joined him at the opening, her slick black tongue flicking out, tasting the atmosphere, her reptilian eyes going over every inch of the docking bay.
As they stepped out of the shuttle, a complement of Archive personnel walked out to meet them. There were two white-robed docents, one male, one female, tightbeam quantum net uplinks fused to their bald skulls. Standing between them was a tall woman wearing the familiar white and black uniform of Fleet Science. Her shoulder length hair had once been blond, but was turning an intense white. Her eyes were a pale blue, set in high cheekbones. Hamilton could tell she had been very beautiful in her younger days, and she still was, but her bearing made her look more tough and formidable than anything else, a facade as impregnable as the alien structure she occupied.
“Dr. Solomon, I presume,” said Hamilton, extending his right hand. “I am Commander Hamilton of the LS Onslaught.”
Dr. Solomon simply stared at him, her arms at her sides. “I don’t know what this is about, but we are in the middle of some very important indexing and core dumping. The Archive’s servers are quite slow.” She looked at Drizda a bit warily.
Drizda stepped forward. “Doctor Solomon,” she said. “I am Drizda of the Draconi Science Guild.”
Hamilton glanced at her, impressed at her use of mankind’s name for her race. What the Draconi called themselves was unpronounceable.
“Our colonies are being destroyed,” she went on. “And yours, too. We believe a clue to the things that are attacking both our peoples lies somewhere in the Progenitor Epics.”
Solomon arched an eyebrow. “Are you a student of the Epics?”
“Only casually, when I was younger.”
“The Epics are complex and lengthy,” said Dr. Solomon. “Too big even for a single Archive to store them all. Without knowing what you’re looking for—”
“I think I do,” said Drizda. “With your permission and help, I’d like to try. The fate of worlds hangs in the balance.”
Hamilton nodded. “She’s telling the truth, Doctor Solomon. We’ve seen these things firsthand. If the Progenitors knew of a way to stop them, we need that information now.”
Dr. Solomon’s icy demeanor softened, but only a little. “All right. Follow me. My docents and I will help you all we can.”
12 The Progenitor Epics
Hamilton’s group followed Dr. Solomon and her docents through a veritable labyrinth of corridors.
“This place is amazing,” said Hamilton. His voice was a near whisper, but still it echoed loudly in the vast maze. “I always wondered why the Progenitors put these where they did.”
“I believe the answer is quite simple,” said Drizda. “If a race is advanced enough to detect an Archive’s prese
nce, let alone reach it, then they are worthy of the knowledge contained within.”
“That makes sense,” said Hamilton. “If anything about the Progenitors does.”
“They are still very mysterious,” said Drizda. “Did you know that out of all this knowledge of their culture and expertise, we still don’t have the slightest inkling what they looked like?”
Hamilton nodded. “Yes. I always thought that was strange. Ancient human civilizations always left behind cave paintings, pictographs, art. The Progenitors don’t have any of that. I’ve always wondered why.”
“Perhaps it simply never occurred to them,” Drizda offered as they followed Dr. Solomon and her docents around a bend in the corridor.
Hamilton looked at Drizda. She was incredibly bright. Surely she was an asset to Draconi high command. He couldn’t understand why they would shun her as they have.
“Why did your people cast you out?” he asked.
Her alien eyes flitted toward him. “I suppose you deserve an answer. I guess I owe you that much for sparing my life on Verdant.”
She was silent for a long moment before opening her mouth to speak. “My people were offended by my research. I was studying the origins of life on my world, and comparing my people to yours and what little we know of the long-dead Progenitors.”
“The origin of species,” said Hamilton. “That got pretty contentious back on my homeworld for a while too.”
Drizda nodded. “My people believe they were hatched from a Cosmic Egg by an all-powerful dragon we call the Egg Mother. They believe that, in the beginning, the Egg Mother was all that was. Her eggs became all the planets, and the glint of her scales became the stars. They also believe that we are chief among her children, masters of the stars, and that anyone else we encounter is inferior, and put there by her for the express purpose of being our food.”