“Oh for- I am not a marketing expert, you knucklehead. How about you pretend I said it in a very persuasive way?”
“No. I want to know my decision was not influenced by a slick marketing campaign. Ok, go ahead.”
“Seriously?” he asked with suspicion. “That was not a lame form of sarcasm?”
“Seriously. Right now, we have a bad-ass battlecruiser we can’t use effectively. At worst, if your experiment fails, we have to abandon Valkyrie and blow it up. Either way, we can’t be any worse off than we are now, right?”
“Joe, did you just ask me if there is any downside to my plan?”
“Uh, sort of, yeah.”
“Remember what happened the last couple times you asked me if there was any downside?”
“Shit. Yes. How about we pretend I never asked that question?”
“What question?”
“Thank you. Restart the reactors, and we’ll set course for Avalon.”
“Collect the probes,” Commander Illiath ordered from the bridge of the Maxolhx Hegemony patrol cruiser Vortan.
Subcaptain Turnell answered without needing to consult the holographic display, as the same information on the display was also fed directly to her optic nerves. “Two of the probes will be severely degraded by the time they emerge from the photosphere,” she noted.
“Discard them,” Illiath responded. She would have liked to discard all the probes and move on, but she might need the specialized probes in the future. Also, sensor devices capable of descending into the convection zone of a star were rare and expensive, and the Fleet would expect her to account for them when the Vortan returned to base. Therefore, she had to remain patient while her patrol cruiser loitered uselessly, waiting for the probes to return to their storage bays. Until the devices were securely stowed away, her ship must remain motionless relative to the star, providing an easy target for the ghost ship. There was no reason to think the ghost ship would strike there, but there was also no reason to think that it would not strike. The admiral had offered a pair of destroyers to escort Vortan on that phase of the mission, an offer Illiath had declined. Escort ships were in high demand to protect the convoys that were suddenly necessary, she could not justify taking two ships that were needed elsewhere. Part of her calculation in declining the offer was that lightly-armed escort ships had proven to be of little use against the enemy. Bringing two destroyers to protect the Vortan might only provide two more victims for the ghost ship.
Outwardly, Illiath showed no sign of fear or even concern. Inside, she was on alert for sudden combat. Vortan’s current action was the investigation of the star, in the system where the Bosphuraq used to have a facility supposedly for the purpose of developing atomic-compression warheads. The birds had lost that facility on the planet they called Quraqua, two heavily-armed orbiting battlestations, and a base on Quraqua’s moon. Despite conducting an exhaustive investigation of their own, the Bosphuraq had no explanation for how, or who, had caused the moonbase to fire on the battlestations and the planet. Considering the strong, multiple layers of security around the moonbase, it appeared impossible that an enemy could have gained access to the base. Also, the base had not sent any distress signal until shortly before it fired on the planet, giving no indication that it had been under assault. The Bosphuraq concluded that somehow, their own personnel had for unknown reasons, attacked their own facilities.
Deepening the mystery was the fact that the moonbase and another nearby part of the surface, had been struck by nuclear fusion devices. The devices had been crude, of a type not seen in the galaxy for thousands of years, but they had been effective in erasing evidence of what happened. The birds had not been able to identify the source of the plutonium used in the nukes, and the Vortan’s own sensors had frustratingly been unable to add any information. Where the nukes came from was unknown, and while it was a minor and unimportant part of the overall mystery, it was annoying to Illiath that such a simple question eluded answers.
After the Maxolhx received the stunning confession that a rogue faction of Bosphuraq had destroyed two of their patron’s ships, the mystery of who had caused the havoc on Quraqua suddenly had a completely unexpected explanation. The rogue birds had blown up their own facility, to conceal the fact that the atomic-compression work was cover for research into banned Elder technologies. That neatly explained what happened to the moonbase, and why nuclear weapons had taken out the hidden cavern under the moon’s surface where the Maxolhx had stored equipment. The Bosphuraq had nuked the storage cavern, after they raided it for useful equipment.
The explanation made sense. It neatly tied up all the loose ends. It satisfied the curiosity of Maxolhx leadership.
To Illiath, it was too neat. Other than the shocking confession sent to the Maxolhx government, there was no evidence that the Bosphuraq had acquired technology far beyond the capability of their patrons. The purpose of the Vortan being in the Quraqua system was to seek evidence to verify the story told by the birds.
So far, she had found nothing to confirm the unlikely tale.
“Turnell,” she pinged the other officer privately, avoiding the use of crude voice communications that could be overheard. “Do we need to wait for the last set of probes? The data collected already is clear; this star shows unmistakable signs of having been subjected to experiments with Elder-level technology.”
“Yes, I agree,” Turnell replied cautiously. She had learned the Vortan’s new captain often asked questions that seemed simple, yet were not. Neither Turnell nor Illiath were experts in the field of stellar architecture, but Vortan’s AI had been upgraded before the mission to be an expert, and that oversized computer concluded the star had absolutely been experimented on.
“The question we have not answered is; when?”
“When?” Turnell repeated.
“When were the experiments conducted?”
Subcaptain Turnell could not understand why it mattered exactly when the rogue Bosphuraq had attempted to make the star create a massive, focused flare. She understood the question did matter to Illiath, and therefore the question must be important. So, Turnell had to act as if it were important to her also. “We know the star’s internal structure exhibited signs of distress when our initial force arrived here.” That force had conducted only a hasty, high-level analysis, before gleefully flying off to strike a Bosphuraq research station that likely had absolutely no connection to the rogue faction.
As if that mattered.
“Yes.” In her transmitted thought, Illiath added a tiny element of patient indulgence. Her second-in-command had not understood the issue.
Turnell knew she had not hit the mark with her comment about the initial investigation. “You are asking whether the star was experimented on before the moonbase was nuked, or after?”
“Correct.” That thought included an undertone of satisfaction. “The story we have been told is that the rogue faction blew up their facilities here, to erase evidence of what they were really doing. Yet, they could not erase evidence of how they altered the star’s internal structure. So the question is, why would they bother to destroy their research base on the planet?”
Turnell considered that for a moment before answering. “Perhaps because, if we had captured that base, we could determine how their technology functions?”
That was not the answer Illiath wanted to hear. Nevertheless, it did make a certain sense. “Perhaps. If only we had a time machine, to see what the star looked like before the moonbase was nuked.”
Turnell did not need to think about that remark, she knew exactly what her captain was hinting at. “Should I calculate a jump?”
Illiath’s lips curled back, exposing her upper fangs. Aloud, she said “Yes. Do that. We can retrieve our probes later.”
The Vortan jumped far outside the star system. Far enough that photons emitted by the star had left their source before the moonbase attacked the research station on Quraqua. With telescopes focused on the tiny dot that was
the local star, they were looking backward in time. Impatiently, Illiath waited for the ship’s AI to analyze the incoming sensor data. “What is taking so long?” She finally demanded, after the infuriating machine had cycled through the data six times.
“It is impossible to reach a conclusive result,” the AI replied. “We are too far from the source. The effects of alterations in the star’s structure largely occurred in the convection zone. At this distance, those effects are masked by turbulence in the photosphere.”
Illiath was not giving up so easily. “It is possible to create a model of the photosphere, accurate enough to filter out the turbulence?”
The AI, which could think faster than lightning, hesitated before answering. Officially, Maxolhx AIs were not fully sentient beings. Unofficially, Illiath thought the machines were all too aware of their existence, and were too wary of displeasing their masters. She needed truthful answers, not answers that made the AIs look useful. “It might be possible,” the machine admitted. “It would take a considerable amount of data.”
“We have extensive data on the star, from before our people abandoned this system,” Illiath reminded the AI.
“True. Accessing that data now. It will be necessary to get more current data, to determine how the photosphere has changed over time.”
“What do you need for that analysis?”
“I have loaded a series of twenty-three jumps into the navigation system,” the AI replied. “They will take us around the star to view it from all angles, and at varying distances to create a timeline.”
Gathering data from twenty-three additional points in space and time seemed excessive to Illiath. Was the machine hoping she would consider the effort too time-consuming, and forget the idea? Was the AI afraid that it could not accurately create a model of the star’s outer layer, and wanted to discourage her? Deviousness in her colleagues was to be expected, even admired, if done skillfully. Deviousness in an AI was cause for the machine’s memory to be wiped. “Very well,” she consented, hoping to cause dismay. “Initiate jumps as you see fit.”
The AI was anxious about its ability to model the star, as anxious as a non-sentient collection of virtual circuits could be. After jumping twenty-three times, and spending an eternity of AI time to crunch the data, it was surprised to achieve a workable solution. “Commander Illiath,” it waited for an auspicious time to announce the result. Illiath had just stepped out of her personal shower, after spending a pleasurable few hours with a crewman in her bed. From the AI’s observations, its masters were typically in a receptive mood after intimate encounters. “I have completed the analysis you requested.”
Illiath was indeed in a good mood, which is why she was only briefly annoyed at the use of ‘requested’, when in fact what she had done was to order the machine to do its job. “You have run the current data through the model?”
“Yes. To be clear, by ‘current data’, you are referring to the photons we are receiving now, which were emitted by the star before the moonbase was destroyed by a nuclear device?”
“Yes.” That little quibble by the machine made Illiath clack her fangs together.
“Even with the model, it is impossible to definitively state whether the star’s internal structure was altered before the incident at the moonbase. However,” it added quickly, anticipating the ship’s captain would be irritated. “The model consistently states there is a four percent certainty that the star was not affected by experiments, at the time the moonbase was destroyed.”
“Hmm,” she was disappointed. “Four percent is hardly conclusive.”
“The four percent is consistent,” the machine emphasized. “Six point three billion variables were run through the model, and the result is a distinctive pattern: the internal structure of the star was not altered before the moonbase was destroyed. Commander Illiath, the next logical step is to perform a series of jumps closer to the star from this position, to see when the model indicates the star was affected by experiments.”
Illiath had been about to suggest the same course of action. “Agreed. Jump at your discretion.”
The Vortan’s AI wasted no time in drawing a conclusion. “Commander, assuming the model is accurate, the-”
She broke into the machine’s announcement. “Can we assume that?”
“The model continues to show it is four point one six percent more likely that is it accurate, rather than it is wrong. The model should be validated by Fleet intelligence, I have prepared a package containing the model and all of our data. The package should be sent to the next relay station we encounter.”
Illiath had to remind herself that the changes in the star were subtle, so subtle they had to send specialized probes deep inside the roiling fire to confirm the altered patterns were not a sensor glitch. It was impressive that the AI had created a model that could analyze the star’s internal structure from more than a lightmonth away. The machine had done well. It never occurred to her to offer words of praise to it. “Very well. Assume the model is accurate. What have you found?”
“The experiments, if that is what happened, occurred well after the moonbase was destroyed. The first sign of alterations in the star’s structure were detected only shortly before the Bosphuraq notified you of treasonous activity by the alleged rogue faction.”
Illiath took a moment to process that information. Then, “Why did you say ‘if that is what happened’? You believe it is possible that the changes in the star’s structure are not caused by experiments?”
“Since it is now clear the information provided by the Bosphuraq does not match all the facts we can independently verify, it seems prudent to question other aspects of the story.”
“Why would someone go through the effort of changing the star’s structure, if the effort was not a test of technology capable of turning the star into a weapon?”
“As I am only a machine, I cannot speculate about the motives of sentient beings. However, one possibility is the purpose of tampering with the star was to provide evidence pointing to the Bosphuraq.”
She did not need to take time to consider that notion, for it aligned with her own suspicions. Therefore, she did pause to consider the idea, as she knew that confirmation bias could lead her down the wrong path. If her conclusions were drawn to support a theory, rather than the facts, Fleet Intelligence would brutally point out her errors in judgment. “You also said ‘alleged’ rogue faction.”
“Again, we have no evidence that a rogue faction of Bosphuraq even exists, other than a message that cannot be traced back to its source. That message could have come from the Thuranin. Or the Rindhalu.”
“Leave that possibility out of your report,” she ordered. “Calculate a jump to collect our probes, then we will move on to our next objective.”
“Yes, Commander. May I inquire about our next objective?”
“We are going to investigate another part of the story in the mystery message,” she now felt confident in referring to the confession message as a mystery. The AI was correct. No group of Bosphuraq had claimed responsibility for sending the message. Other than the contents of the message itself, there was no evidence the message had been sent by the birds at all.
“Commander, if we find more evidence which disagrees from the alleged facts in the message, what will you do?”
“The next logical step. Find out who did create and send that message. I do not like being lied to.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“What do you need me to do, Joe?” Chang asked quietly, while we sat on uncomfortable folding chairs in his tent on Avalon.
Before we landed on Avalon, I had sent a briefing packet to him, to distribute down his short chain of command. The packet explained the current situation, and that I intended to take all remaining military personnel off Avalon. Plus I wanted to bring along a couple of biologists, to take care of the hydroponics gardens aboard the Flying Dutchman. We would be raiding most of the food supply from Avalon, but fresh food from the hydropon
ics was important for health and morale. With us still cut off from Earth by the Maxolhx blockade of the Gateway wormhole, and knowing there was nothing we could do to stop the kitties from getting to Earth within the next couple years, keeping morale up would be important. “Kong,” we used each other’s first names because we were both colonels. “I need you to command the Dutchman. Nagatha is doing a great job as the control AI, but she still has the restrictions she inherited from Skippy. She can’t actually fly the ship or authorize release of weapons. I can give you two pilots, one fully qualified to fly the Dutchman, and one on an accelerated training program.”
He gave me a wry smile. He knew that ‘accelerated training program’ meant the other pilot had only recently started learning the basics of the starship’s controls. “I should learn to fly also, as a backup,” he frowned.
“Hey, I qualified to fly.” I reminded him. “How hard could it be?”
Another wry smile. Just enough to let me know he appreciated the joke, not so much that he questioned my ability to pilot a star carrier. “Am I getting an executive officer?”
“Anyone who can double up,” I shrugged. “Kong, I can only spare seven people for the Dutchman, and two of them will be biologists. One of the biologists was in the Air Force,” I added.
He nodded, unconvinced, and tapped his laptop. “I know the biologist you mentioned. She was in the Air Force seven years ago. As a medic.”
“It’s the best I can do. The Dutchman will be our stores and support ship, she shouldn’t be going into combat. Because we both know the Universe loves to screw with us, I need an experienced captain there, in case you run into trouble.”
“When we run into trouble,” he corrected me. “You want to take all military personnel off Avalon? Regardless of specialty?”
“I don’t have a choice. At this point I need warm bodies, and we’ll train them up as best we can.”
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