by Adam Gaffen
“She’s making sense,” Nicole added. “Believe me, I’ve been there. Looking back, the best action I took after I inherited the Minister’s position was working alongside the people I was now in charge of. It made me one of them, still, despite my new title. More than anything else I did, I think.”
“Your people need you, Autumn,” Kendra said earnestly. “Don’t worry; I’m not running out on you.”
“I suppose,” Autumn said.
“Good. Sergeant, who are you leaving with me?”
“Private Thornton, Ma’am.” The blonde pointed to a tall, heavily-built Marine cradling his plasma rifle. He stiffened to attention.
“Relax,” Kendra said. “I don’t bite. Got a spare pistol? I don’t think I’ll need it, but I hate going unarmed.”
Nicole started.
“Oh! Kendra, here, take yours back.”
Kendra waved her off.
“I’ll collect when I come back. You don’t get to go unarmed either. Thanks,” she added to Thornton, who was holding out a standard-issue needler. “Extra magazines?”
He passed over a small pouch.
“Good. As soon as Mac finishes her research, we’ll be moving. Sergeant, take care of these two.”
“Aye-aye, Ma’am!” She snapped off a salute, which Kendra almost returned in time. Then Monaco organized her squad around her VIPs and moved them out.
“What’s your name, Private?”
“Thornton, Ma’am.”
“No, first name.”
“Oliver.”
“Good. Get comfortable, Oliver. We might have a bit of a wait.”
“THEY’RE NOT RESPONDING to our messages!” said Colona.
“Do we have a fix on them?” asked Whitmore. She was very much of the, ‘Shoot first, ask questions later,’ mindset when it came to the habitat.
“They’re too close,” Pipher said. “The missiles won’t be able to get far enough away to get a lock, and the lasers can’t target them.”
“Titania’s tits!” Whitmore swore. “Fine. Tell me the bay doors are closed.”
“They are, but they’re not on course for the bay; they’re going to impact within a few levels of CCIC.”
“Impact?”
“Unless they do a whole lot of deceleration, yes,” confirmed Colona. “Forty seconds.”
“Damn and blast. Diana, sound collision alert and seal the bulkheads!”
“Bulkheads sealing,” said the AI, as calm as if she were announcing the soup of the day. “There are thirty-seven personnel trapped in the compartments projected to be impacted. All are in skinsuits.”
“That’s something,” muttered Whitmore.
“Barge decelerating. Five, four, three, two, one, impact,” Diana said, and the station echoed with the sound of grinding and tearing metal. The deck vibrated but this was the only other sign of the collision, at least deep in the heart of the massive habitat where the CCIC was located.
“Quadrant eighteen, decks seven, eight, nine, and ten breached.” Colona’s voice was calm. “Structural damage from decompression and impact only. Sensors do not, repeat do not, indicate any explosive devices large enough to damage the station.”
McKnight picked up on what she didn’t say.
“There are small explosives?”
“Yes, Colonel, large quantities.”
McKnight turned back to Whitmore. “Admiral? I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“Nor I.” CCIC was on deck eight of quadrant eighteen. “Who do we have aboard for Marines?”
“Just the trainers,” McKnight answered. “And they’re topside.”
The Marines were intended to deploy shipboard; it had been logical to put Marine Country in the decks closest to, and surrounding, the vast construction bay at the top of Njord. Marine Country was the best part of three kilometers away, both vertically and laterally displaced from CCIC, even if they had been fully present. As it was, most of them were on Luna, supporting the Revolution.
“Break out the small arms,” Whitmore ordered. “And I never thought I’d say this. Diana, give me station-wide.”
“Channel open.”
“All hands. Prepare to repel boarders.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
TFS Enterprise
Stardate 12008.29
Commander Aiyana Cassidy had a problem, and much as she might wish it wasn’t going to simply ‘go away’. Actually, it was a pair of problems, one relatively minor, one potentially huge.
Communication between her daughters and the treecats who they’d adopted, or who’d adopted them, was becoming far more precise and rapid. She didn’t know if the ‘cats were matching words to the thoughts in the children’s minds, or were simply far more capable of learning language than anyone had a right to expect. She suspected the former, though she hoped for the latter. ‘Unexpectedly intelligent’ would be a far preferable term to ‘able to read human minds’.
This was the minor problem.
The potentially huge problem was what the ‘cats had ‘told’ Mikki and Lisa. The pair, and they were a pair, a bonded couple, intend to return to Earth when the Enterprise departed in a few days. This wasn’t a surprise, as they’d made it clear from the beginning. Cass had done her best to impress upon the girls what being away from Freyr would be like for the ‘cats, and how different everything would be.
So the ‘cats came up with a solution.
“A colony?” Alley had nearly exploded at the suggestion. Cass, forced into the role, tried to defend it.
“It makes sense, in a strictly logical way. Two ‘cats isn’t enough to keep a society going, and they are highly social animals. We already have a section of Njord turned into a habitat for Freyr’s goats, so we shouldn’t have much of an issue there. Increasing the space is simple enough, we just need a bit more diversity in flora and fauna.”
Alley’s head sank onto her desk.
“And I suppose Seabolt agrees?”
“It conforms to her, well, aspirations, yes. She’d like to ensure a viable population off Freyr, especially now we know the ‘cats are not just sentient but intelligent. Did you see her report?”
“Which one? She sends up a Goddess-loving book every other day, which I don’t have time to read or do much more than glance at.”
“I believe I am aware of the report you refer to, Commander,” Minerva said. “Regarding the technology of the treecat population?”
“Technology? Oh, Goddess, what did I miss? Don’t tell me they have their own spaceships.”
“No, no spaceships.” Cass tried to be reassuring. “But they do use roughly Stone Age level tools.”
“Better and better. Say, it’s a little off topic, but I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“We’re pretty sure the planet was seeded at the end of the dinosaurs’ era on Earth, right?”
“Correct. You can do an analysis –”
Alley waved her off. “I don’t need the details of how, just the date.”
“Then yes. Sixty-five million, plus or minus.”
“Then why aren’t they more advanced?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, they’re Stone Age, right?”
“Right.”
“And we have warp drives.”
“Right again.”
“So why don’t they? They’ve had as much time to advance.”
Cass’s face cleared. “Oh! Geologic and climactic stability.”
“Run that by me again?”
“Freyr and Freyja are tidally locked, which means they don’t wobble and don’t particularly rotate or precess their axes.”
“’Precess their axes’?”
“Their poles don’t rotate as they revolve around their sun. The poles on Earth are off vertical by roughly 23 °, it’s called obliquity, and...” Cass saw the glazed look on Alley’s face and redirected. “And you don’t need to know about it. But the axial tilt is responsible for seasons. No tilt, no seasons.”
“I’m with you. Barely.”
“Changing seasons forces adaptation; think of the difference between summer and winter in Chicago.”
“Better. Got that.”
“Okay. No seasons means no short-term changes to weather. No wobble means no long-term climate change, except what happens on the stellar scale and that’s really extended, we’re talking millennia.”
“So it’s really nice almost all the time?”
“Essentially. And geologically, well, they have molten cores but there isn’t much tectonic movement, so no earthquakes or volcanoes and there isn’t much radioactive material near the surface.”
“That’s important?”
“There’s a theory which attributes the variety of Earth’s life to the activity of our volcanoes, forcing stuff like uranium to the surface. And the radiation released then causes mutations.”
“I never thought of radiation as a good thing,” Alley said. “On a sub the reactor gang are usually the ones who glow in the dark.”
Cass laughed before continuing. “What it all adds up to is Freyr and Freyja are extremely stable, and if there aren’t external forces to force change then evolution works really slowly.”
“So they’ve had the same amount of time but no prods. I think I get it, thank you. Of course, I have more questions now.”
“Like what, Captain?”
“Well, you said they have Stone Age tech, and we know they’re intelligent and curious. They don’t know how to use any of our technology yet. Right?”
Silence.
Alley repeated, “Right?”
“Well...”
Alley arched an eyebrow.
“Mikki and Lisa have been teaching them how to trigger the doors in our quarters.”
Alley groaned.
“Minerva’s been informed not to allow them out of quarters without one of us with them,” Cass hastily amended. “The point, though, is while they haven’t developed their technology to our levels, they’re certainly capable of learning how to use it.”
“I so didn’t need to know this today. Do you have any other good news, Commander?”
“Keep in mind I’m getting most of this translated through the girls. The ‘cats can pick up on my thoughts, but can’t really send them to me, not with any clarity.”
“Better and better.”
Cass grimaced but continued. “They propose we relocate a full, I suppose we’d call it a village, of ‘cats, plus as much of the native flora from the area of the village as we can, along with breeding populations of their preferred, ah, food.”
“I didn’t even think of food,” admitted Alley. “What have they been doing aboard?”
“Sampling everything the girls eat,” Cass said with a sigh. “Phaedra’s going nuts, saying things about protein incompatibility and nasty side effects, but so far so good. They particularly enjoy cucumber, for some reason.”
“Cucumber?”
Cass nodded. “They make a mess, too. Typically feline teeth, sharp and pointy for ripping muscle. Don’t do well with vegetables, but they’d eat all the cucumber the girls put in front of them if I let them.”
“If food isn’t a problem, why bring their snacks?”
“Dietary balance. Phaedra’s not wrong about protein incompatibility. There are almost certainly proteins and trace elements our environment, our foods, can’t provide; we simply don’t know what they are yet. It’s a gamble simply moving them off-planet.”
“And you’re sure they comprehend?”
“As sure as I can be,” said Cass.
“Fine. Make the arrangements. Can we teleport them aboard?”
“The ‘cats, yes. Might be tricky explaining it to them.”
“You’ve got two days. And tell Motherlove that her traveling zoo is back in business.”
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
CHAPTER NINE
Habitat Njord; Geneva
Stardate 12008.29
An explosion reverberated through the corridors of the habitat.
“Way too close!” shouted Simpson. He was one of the handful of Marines who were still aboard Njord and, willy-nilly, been pressed into the fight.
“Fall back!” he ordered over the comms, then repeated it over the ‘plant.
The encroaching forces had been moving steadily inwards despite his Marines’ best efforts. There were simply too many of them for a bare handful, not even a full platoon, to stop. Already nearly half of his people had been killed; a flesh wound planetside was a death sentence in vacuum. When the barge had crashed its way into the hull of Njord they’d opened a nice wide vent to space.
The emergency bulkheads stopped the air loss, but every time the bastards encountered one they burned or blasted through it, dumping more air and letting vacuum’s tentacles further and further in. He checked his ‘plant for their position and blanched. There were only three chokepoints left between them and CCIC.
“Admiral, what do you want us to do?”
“We’re working on a plan,” Whitmore immediately replied. “Hold just a few more minutes.”
“Aye aye,” he said, and returned his attention to the battle.
“Goodrich! Head down...”
“IF IT’S STUPID AND it works,” started Flashdance.
“It ain’t stupid, yeah, I know that one. Everyone does. But a Direwolf?”
“Blast the barge and they’re cut off from resupply and retreat. Bring the power down and, well, spacesuits don’t react well to lasers.” Flashdance’s voice was cold. She could hear the explosions of the approaching battle and knew if it reached CCIC she and most of the people in the compartment were going to die.
She had other plans.
“Danni’s onboard with it and so is Bontrager. We’ve got to do something!”
“Very well. Tell them to hurry.”
Flashdance’s smile was hungry. “I think they’ll manage. Hecate, go for launch.”
The teenage AI’s voice said, “On the way.”
Two icons appeared in the display as Double Dip and Shooting Star’s Direwolves were propelled into space.
“Nymeria Actual, you’re a go.”
Daniela’s voice, somewhat compressed as her Direwolf was thrown into high-g maneuvers, said, “Thanks. Clear the remaining compartments. These aren’t exactly precision instruments.”
“Commander. Anything you want to tell me?” Whitmore’s tone held just a hint of amusement.
“It never hurts to be prepared?”
“Hmmph. Whitmore to Simpson.”
“Simpson.”
“Fall back to section 17/8. We’re going to clear the compartments.”
“Fall back to 17/8, aye.”
“Diana, evacuate anyone left in 18/8.”
“All personnel have been evacuated,” the AI reported.
“ATTENTION, BLUE SKY 11-Alpha-328, withdraw from Federation space immediately or be destroyed.” Daniela groused internally but orders were orders, and orders were to give a warning before they opened fire. She didn’t expect a response and was surprised when a male voice responded.
“We are on official United Earth government business, serving warrants against members of the Terran Federation. Who are you to give us orders?”
“Identify yourself.”
“I am Major Matthew Wiser of the Protective Services Directorate, seconded out to the Justice Directorate for this mission.”
“Wait.” Daniela changed frequencies. “Admiral, we have a problem.”
“MAJOR WISER, THIS IS Admiral Whitmore. Is it the UE’s habit to damage private property and commit murder in the execution of warrants?”
“Whitmore, Whitmore. Ah, good. Davie Whitmore? I have one for you. By the order of –”
“Stop right there. You have no authority in L5, no jurisdiction. Your invasion is just that: an invasion, and we are entitled to use any means necessary to repel you.”
Wiser was confident, she granted him that. “Your people come from UE
member states. That is my authority!”
“I’m not going to debate legal niceties with you. Withdraw or be destroyed.”
“Destruction of this ship will be regarded as an act of war,” he shot back.
“Major,” Whitmore said as placatingly as possible. “Allow me ten minutes to talk with your superior at the UE. Perhaps we can resolve this situation without any further loss of life on either side.”
“Five. Director Roosevelt Lynch.” And he closed the channel.
“Diana, what do we know about Lynch?”
“A summary has been downloaded to your implant.”
In seconds Whitmore was up to speed on Cass and Ken’s history with Lynch and Hartman and was groaning.
“Do we have Q-Net connection to Luna yet?”
“No, Admiral,” Marc Reeve said from the communications board. “Still down.”
“Anything working?”
“No; the bomb pretty well wiped the spectrum clean. We’re hoping to get limited bandwidth soon.”
“Groundside?”
“Communications to Earth are clear; the system is solid, it’s the Luna-based equipment which is having problems.”
“Get me the UE; I don’t care what time it is there. I want Hartman and Lynch on my personal terminal, and I want Montana looped in.” She strode towards her office without waiting for confirmation.
“WHO ARE YOU?” WHITMORE asked of the first face to pop up, a woman.
“Mya Hartman.”
“I wish circumstances were better, Director.”
“Could you fill me in?”
Montana’s face jumped into the circuit before Hartman could answer.
“Admiral, I’ve got two Wolves filled with everyone I could scrape up quickly en route. Ten minutes to arrival.” Then she noticed Hartman. “Ah.”
“You know each other?”
“In passing,” Hartman answered.