Seutter’s lips slid open, and he seemed to bare his teeth for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was louder and sounded almost choked with anger. “You will drink from the cup that is given you,” he announced.
The Captain closed his eyes—for only about half a second, but it was a purposeful gesture as far as Brattain could tell. When he opened them again, his face, which had been flushed with anger, seemed to resolve itself into a mask of calmness.
“Alright,” he told the possessed Seutter. “We should meet face to face. Will you come aboard to discuss your request?”
Seutter nodded slowly. “It shall be so.”
“Captain,” Brattain asked, “Is that a good idea? We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. If we let them aboard the ship—”
Kane shook his head. “I’m hoping if they come over here, we can maintain at least a small semblance of control. We don’t have much choice. If they wanted to blast us out of space they could do so at any time, and they know that.”
Seutter watched them dispassionately.
“Do they know everything he knows?” Brattain whispered to the Captain.
He shrugged. “Perhaps, but it hardly matters. In a way, you could say that they taught him everything that he knows. But come, let’s prepare for a conference.”
Brattain watched on the viewscreen as the sinister, organic looking ship glided closer.
Valorian, she thought. She wracked her brain for information on the strange new adversary who’d ambushed them.
Most of the information on them is classified, isn’t it? She thought. I can’t remember ever seeing images of ships like this before—I certainly would’ve remembered that. Eighty years ago was it? There was a treaty? In exchange for materials and granting them certain territories, they taught the first Psionicists, so that human ships would have greater flexibility, utilizing numerous jump points that our older, computer-driven systems would never have been able to access. That development was a great boon to the Republic, provided our main advantage in fending off the advances of the Corporate Worlds.
But the Valorians are supposed to be isolationists, aren’t they? In the Academy we were always told that we’d never come across them. I was taught that they didn’t even like to be seen.
There’s a common belief that they’re some kind of aliens… but the accepted theory is that they’re the descendants of a group of religious pilgrims who left earth almost a thousand years ago. During their slower-than-light voyage of many generations, they somehow came across advanced, non-human technology—if not actual aliens themselves—and they learned to use this technology.
I’m looking at that tech right now, Brattain thought, as the surface of the black vessel bubbled, and a long, tube-like appendage was extruded, reaching out like a tentacle towards one of the Musashi’s airlocks.
What she saw made her question everything she’d ever learned about the Republic’s mastery of technology, and the balance of power in the sector.
We’ve always been worried about the Corpies, she thought. But what could these Valorians do to us, even if they are just few in number?
A starship whose surface could bubble and transform? That implied a mastery of nanotech that was perhaps centuries beyond that of the Republic or the Corporate Worlds.
No wonder the information is classified, Brattain thought.
Fleet Command probably just hoped they’d honor the treaty, stay in their little corner of space. If the general public knew this kind of technology not only existed, but was in the hands of some kind of religious cult, their faith in the security of the Republic would be thoroughly shaken.
What did the Colonists do to provoke them? she wondered. Did they find the Valorians and attack them?
Captain Kane watched the screen with her for a moment, chewing on his lip. She almost thought that she could see his mind working, a million thoughts flowing behind his eyes.
He’s not hesitating, she thought, he’s planning.
“Comm, Sergeant Molokos,” Kane said. “Molokos, I need a detachment at B airlock, immediately. Sonics at non-lethal frequencies.”
Molokos’s gravelly voice came back. “Respectfully, Sir, I request approval to bring along more significant firepower. We have no idea if sonics will even affect—”
“I understand your concern,” said the Captain, “but sonics only, please. It’s a diplomatic gesture. You’ll escort our visitors to the conference room.”
“Comm, Infirmary,” Kane added. The officer patched him through to the sickbay. “Golan, I want you to bring the boy up to the wardroom and stand by.”
“Harry,” Xon responded over the Com. “I’m not sure that’s safe.”
Brattain thought that she could hear real terror in the doctor’s voice. It was a far cry from his normally calm, grandfatherly persona.
“I need to see if the boy can identify the attackers,” Kane explained. “We’ll see that he’s unharmed, as best we can. Jesus, you have the bridge… Dispatch a transmission to Command. Inform them of what’s occurred. Enable the recorders in the conference room, and transmit if anything unusual happens.”
“Yessir,” Reynard replied.
“What now?” Brattain asked. “Sir? If they want the boy, will we give him up?”
Kane shook his head. “No, but I need to get a better idea of what they want… What they’re doing here. Right now, my fear is that we’re treading a line between diplomacy and destruction.”
20
The main conference room was one deck lower than the bridge.
Brattain followed the Captain as he clambered down the ladder between decks. Apparently, during this kind of emergency, he didn’t want to risk using the ship’s internal transport pod; in case of an attack, he didn’t want them trapped inside the pod.
A sound precaution, she thought.
As they strode toward the conference room, Kane turned to Brattain, a quizzical expression on his face.
“What do you know about the Valorians, Commander?” He asked.
Is this some kind of test? Brattain wondered.
But no. She knew it was a serious question. The Captain wasn’t playing any games at this point.
“Well,” she said. “It’s believed that they’re technically human, but they’re the closest thing to non-human intelligence that we’ve found in explored space. They’re politically unaligned, with a limited trade relationship with the Republic. They’ve been granted sovereign rights to administer several systems in this sector, though it’s not known how many of them exist. Possibly as few as a thousand.”
Kane nodded. “They’re also a race of powerful psionicists, of course. Taught our Psionicists’ Guild everything they know.
“But I thought they were some sort of religious monks?” Brattain added. “Keeping to themselves and philosophizing or praying or… whatever it is they might do.”
“But that ship out there—you know a warship when you see it, Commander?” Kane shot her a grim smile. “I do, too. And I wish I could tell you that I know more than you do about what’s going on right now. But I don’t, really. I’ve heard rumors, of course. That the Valorians have powerful technology. That our leaders are afraid to interfere with them, and feel it’s not worth it to do so… So long as they only occupy a few systems in this desolate section of space.”
“But no indication of any troubles with them,” Brattain said. “The Fleet didn’t say anything in briefing? We weren’t supposed to encounter them?”
“No,” Kane said. He raised his hand to stop her speaking.
They reached the conference room and entered. Like the wardroom off the bridge, the conference room was centered around a long table. But it was larger than in the wardroom, the reclining nanofoam chairs more comfortable.
Somehow, I doubt that these Valorians will appreciate our upholstery, Brattain thought.
Kane gestured for her to sit at one of the chairs at the head of the table. He himself stood beside her seat, his palms
on the surface of the table, arms supporting him as he gazed at the door. It was a pose that was both casual, but commanding.
He has no idea what’s going to happen, Brattain realized. The Fleet didn’t brief us. We aren’t prepared.
He’s concerned, yes. But how can he stay so calm?
Does it have to do with that Void of his, or is it just experience? In his place, could I be so calm and focused?
“Commander,” he told her. “Try and keep your thoughts as clear and focused as possible. Be alert for any intrusion. There’s no information on what they’re capable of, but based on how they’ve abused our poor Mister Seutter, they’re obviously powerful telepaths.”
Sergeant Molokos’s gruff voice came over the room’s comm system. “Captain,” he announced, “We’re coming in. Our visitors are with us.”
“Good,” Kane said. “Let’s hope for a productive little chat.”
The conference room’s doors slid open. Molokos entered first, the curved bulk of a plasma rifle clutched in his massive hand.
I thought the Captain said only sonics?
She wondered how often the Drone might disobey a direct order from his Captain. But, deep down, she was glad that the marines had brought the heavier weaponry, all the same.
Seutter was behind Molokos, marching in stiffly, his face taut and expressionless.
And then, flanked by the squat Drone marines, were their three… guests.
Brattain gasped despite herself.
Will they sense my fear?
The Valorians towered over the Drones.
The shortest one had to be about two and a half meters tall, the others maybe slightly taller. They were clad in some sort of hard-shelled space suits—or at least, that was what they looked like; but the surface of the suits was irregular, organic looking, like bleached bone.
Almost like some sort of exoskeleton, she thought.
The plates of their armor melded together, flowing into one another, the network of veins running over the surface seeming to pulse… alive.
The worst things, though, were the visors. At the front of each of their bony helmets was a mirrored, shiny surface, obscuring any of features that might lie beneath. As they moved, the surface of the visor seemed to ripple, going from silvery to a black color.
It had to be a trick of the light… But no, the visors were actually swirling, flowing, also alive.
The Captain, however, maintained his composure. He stood up straight and gestured toward the conference table.
“Please,” he said to their visitors. “Feel free to sit.”
The Valorians moved to the far side of the room, near the other end of the table. Molokos and his marines let them move away; but they raised their plasma rifles to keep them trained on the Valorians.
Seutter, however, sat down directly beside Brattain.
His presence gave Brattain chills. Not because it was Seutter—who could be difficult and volatile to be sure—but because it felt like a walking corpse had just taken its place beside her. Seutter was not in control of his body; he was merely serving as a comm system of sorts for the armored visitors.
“Render unto us what is ours,” Seutter said, speaking in that pained, raspy voice again.
“First things first,” the Captain responded, smiling calmly. His demeanor was not that of an interrogator, but of a master teacher who could calm a room of unruly students with his presence.
He continued: “We traced a Republic-issued lifeboat to these coordinates. No trace of the ship it came from, though we believe it was attacked. Do you know of an attack in this area?”
The Valorians didn’t move.
Seutter, their mouthpiece, just stared blankly ahead.
“We also have a witness,” Kane said.
He touched the comm button on the sleeve of his nanosuit. “Doctor, please bring him in.”
The doors to the corridor slid open once more. Doctor Xon stood there, young Jeremy beside him, his tiny hand clenched in the doctor’s own.
“BETRAYER!” Seutter screeched.
Without further word, the Valorians leapt forward on their long, bony, exoskeletal legs.
Adrenaline pumped into Brattain’s bloodstream. She watched, as if in slow motion, as Seutter slumped in his chair…
The door to the corridor slid shut again as Xon and the boy retreated.
Meanwhile, the Valorians were headed towards the table. One of them did a running jump towards them—
—but Molokos tackled him.
The big marine smashed the giant intruder against the wall, and there was a loud chink like the sound of ceramic on metal.
The other Drones opened fire, narrow-ranged plasma shots pulsing through the air in yellow-blue streaks.
Just hope they don’t breach the hull, Brattain thought.
Volleys of roiling plasma shots hit the bony chests of the two armored Valorians rushing forward—
—but the searing energy seemed to sputter around their armor and then dissipate, leaving them without so much as a scorch mark.
The two Valorians paused…
Then raised their thickly gauntleted, armored fists at the marines.
There was a horrible sound as the gravelly voiced Drones screamed in agony. They writhed and twitched, dropping their plasma rifles. One of them fell to his knees in pain.
Molokos was distracted, just for a second, by the plight of his men, turning his thick head towards their screams.
The Valorian he’d had pinned to the wall took this as an opening.
With a press of strength of his own, he hurled Molokos back across the room. The marine slid on his back towards the end of the table where the Captain, Brattain, and Seutter were encamped.
We’re unarmed, Brattain thought, as the Captain wished. But if they get through the marines, what could we do anyway?
Still, as one of the Valorians approached, the Captain ran forward.
He threw himself adroitly at his attacker. His armored opponent was so tall, it seemed like he was climbing the Valorian’s armor as he leapt up to grab his neck.
But the Valorian took the Captain’s forearm in his gauntleted fist and threw him aside as if her were a child’s doll.
“Captain!” Brattain shouted, leaping out of her chair.
But her eyes were drawn to another motion—
The remaining Valorian withdrew a small disc from a crevasse in its armor. Only a few centimeters across, it was flat and veined, like some odd variety of shellfish. He threw it onto the wall behind him, where it adhered.
There was a horrible screeching noise and the center of the tiny disc began to glow…
There was only one thing they could possibly be planning, Brattain realized.
“Pressurize your suits!” she yelled, not knowing if anyone could hear her over the still-screaming marines and the screeching of the disc on the wall.
“Command pressure lock!” She verbalized, and touched several nubs on the sleeve of her suit, enacting the manual activation code just in case.
The sleeves of her nanosuit flowed over her hands, becoming gloves. The entirety of the suit tightened all over her body, binding her almost oppressively at first, applying mechanical pressure that could save her in a vacuum. Material from the collar and shoulder pads of her nanosuit flowed up to form a helmet around her head, and a transparent nanofiber sheet flowed down from that to form a visor. She heard a hiss as membranes on the back of the suit sucked in oxygen from the available air, inflating a temporary air supply.
Brattain was being pre-emptive, of course. The suit sensors, if they detected a sudden drop in air pressure, should automatically switch to emergency pressurize mode.
But she wanted to be ready…
They were all wearing nanosuits; herself, the Captain… and the marines. Xon and the boy, Jeremy, had retreated out into the hall, behind the doors which would hold up against vacuum.
But Seutter—
She looked to the Psionicist, who was slumped
in his chair beside her, his eyes closed. All he wore were simple linen garments and some slippers.
She knew that she had to do her best to protect him, despite any personal feelings she might have about the man and his personality, or his potential to cause harm to the ship. He was the only Psionicist on board. He was an asset, a vital component of the Musashi in a way.
She turned toward Seutter, standing, then grabbing him and dragging him towards the doorway to the room. He was not particularly large in build for a man; but Brattain was still glad that she’d kept up with her exercise regimen as she grabbed him underneath his arms and carried him towards the door.
She saw the Captain getting up from the floor out of the corner of her eye.
Good. He’s okay…
And the marines—she thought that they were shielding themselves, aware of was about to happen… Although the two Drones who’d been screaming, what would happen to them?
All these thoughts ran through her mind in a few seconds—
—before there was a flash and a bluish-white crackle of energy, and a deafening boom.
And then, suddenly, she could feel the air in the chamber howling around her and Seutter.
I was right, she thought. They breached the hull.
She began to slide backwards on the floor, pulled by the outrushing air.
“Command mag lock!” she screamed.
Her suit picked up the audible order, and her boots became magnetized to the deck as the airflow buffeted her body like a hurricane.
She turned to look back.
The Captain was heading towards her. The marines’ suits’ pressure mode had been triggered by their own sensors, their squat bodies fully covered and pressurized, pale eyes peering out through the emergency visors as if looking for a strategy, awaiting orders.
Molokos waved his arm and motioned them towards the door. Then he came up behind the Captain, pushing him forward.
There was a jagged gap in the wall where the Valorian’s device had ripped a gash all the way through to the outer hull. Brattain could see that the inner alloy of the bulkhead had been breached. There were jagged, blown-out shards of ablative armor poking out beyond it as well, and beyond that—the blackness of space.
Space Cruiser Musashi: a space opera novel Page 10