Nearspace Trilogy

by Sherry D. Ramsey

  “Well, this is interesting,” Baden said.

  “What?”

  “There’s communication between the ships—the Chron and the others. I can’t decrypt it, but the comm scan is picking up data bursts between them.”

  “If you could figure it out—even what they’re doing, not necessarily what they’re saying—then we might be able to communicate with the station,” I said. “Do what you can.”

  Baden grinned. “And if I could figure out the content, too, we might be a whole lot closer to knowing what’s going on here.”

  “That might be considered unethical,” I said. “So I’m definitely not telling you to do that.”

  His fingers were already stuttering over the console. “Well, I’ll just tell you if I pick up on anything by accident.”

  “You do that.”

  “Sit tight, folks,” Rei said suddenly.

  I glanced up at the screen and saw something I’d been hoping I wouldn’t. The energy weapons in the front ends of some of the dark ships had begun to glow. Golden sparks vibrated between the protrusions, swelling to a globe of crackling energy.

  Despite Rei’s warning, Cerevare leapt to her feet. “No!” she gasped. “Don’t destroy another one!”

  A blast of yellow light flashed out from the long arms of one dark ship, but petered out short of a Chron vessel. It leapt forward in a renewed burst of speed.

  “Cerevare, sit down,” I ordered. “If we have to move fast, you could get thrown around.”

  The Lobor nodded and sat down, but her lupine face was taut with dismay. She balled her furred hands in her lap, never taking her eyes from the screen.

  Baden flashed her a grin over his shoulder. “Hang in there, Cerevare. I’m beginning to think Chron ships are not as rare as we thought they were.”

  Her ears twitched, and she took a deep breath. “You may be right about that.”

  “I think we’re in trouble here,” Rei said. “They’re coming straight at us.”

  Maybe sticking around hadn’t been my best idea ever. “Get around to the other side of the station. We definitely want to avoid any crossfire.”

  The Tane Ikai wheeled suddenly under Rei’s guidance and shot back the way we had come, making for the relative shelter of the other side of the station.

  “Merde!” Rei hissed. “I can’t do this. They’re changing course again.”

  The alien ships were engaged in a wild dance of bursts and thrusters, the Chron apparently trying to shake their pursuers, who likewise jockeyed for position to take more shots with the energy weapons.

  “Try to keep us out of their way,” I said. “It’s getting too dangerous. They’re coming too close. Forget everything except keeping us clear.”

  “Easier said than done,” she muttered.

  Their trajectory had brought them gradually closer to the dark station. It was impossible to anticipate which way they’d veer next.

  “I think their real target must be the station,” Hirin said. “The Chron ships. It can’t be coincidence that they’re coming this close. They’ve got a whole system to escape into if they wanted to.”

  One of the dark ships fired again, missing by a narrow margin as the Chron veered up and around one of the nine large spikes pointing to the wormholes like crazed weather vanes. Its two pursuers split up, one staying on the Chron’s tail while the other tried to circle around and catch the intruder between them.

  “Sure is interesting to watch someone else’s battle strategy, isn’t it?” Baden said lightly, and Maja shot him a disapproving frown. She plainly didn’t think it was the time for humour. He subsided, chastened. I was amazed.

  “Luta,” Rei said, and I knew instantly that it was serious, because she never, ever called me anything but “Captain” when we were on duty, “Luta, we’d better be ready with defenses if necessary. We can’t outrun them now because I can’t predict when we might suddenly be right in their path.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Yuskeya, give us full shields. Hirin, be ready on the weapons system and share control with my board. Viss, priorities for power are shields, burst drive and maneuvering jets, and then weapons.”

  Rei had called it not a moment too soon, because several things happened in far less time than it takes to tell it.

  One of the Chron ships pulled a sharp, unexpected turn that must have left anyone inside it lightheaded, and made straight for the main torus of the station. The defenders, apparently taken by surprise, moved to follow, the energy weapons glowing brighter as they powered up again. The Chron ship gained a little distance on them.

  It fired two torpedo-like missiles straight at the torus that formed the heart of the station. These weren’t little flash-pack torps like Jahelia Sord had lobbed at us. These were heavy weapons, and they hurtled straight at their target.

  “Kristos!” someone said. We were all probably thinking it. If the station blew up now, we were so close that we’d be pummelled by a shockwave of debris that could rip straight through us.

  Two of the dark pursuers fired on the attacking Chron. Both missed again as their target spun and dived. The Chron torpedoes reached the torus, and I tensed, nails digging into the armrests of the chair, preparing for the impact, the explosion. And whatever would happen to us, caught like a fly in a spiderweb.

  “Captain Paixon, what the hell is going on up there? Are we in a dogfight?” Jahelia Sord’s voice demanded over the comm. I felt a brief flash of guilt—I should have told her to secure herself somehow. She could have been thrown around with all our maneuvering. But I had honestly forgotten all about her.

  “Sord, brace for impact!” was all I had time for.

  The torps slid, smooth as a knife into butero, into the dark, gelatinous skin of the station. Simply disappeared. No impact, no detonation, nothing. I looked up at the screen in time to see that Chron ship making for the nearest wormhole, the two spidery ships in close pursuit.

  “That was—” I started, but I didn’t get to finish.

  His comrades both fired on the station in quick succession.

  Someone, maybe Maja, shouted—a brief, inarticulate cry of alarm. Movement on one of the screens caught my eye. I turned just in time to see one of the shorter black spikes of the station snake out toward the Tane Ikai like an enormous, outstretched tentacle, and envelop us in its shadowy grasp.

  Chapter 21 – Luta

  In the Belly of the Beast

  “ALL DRIVES HAVE shut down,” Viss yelled over the ship’s comm. “Captain, what’s happening?”

  “Unknown,” I told him in a voice I knew sounded shaky. “Don’t try to restart the drives. We don’t know what’s happening. Come up with the rest of us and use the auxiliary console here.”

  The viewscreens had all gone black, showing nothing outside the ship. The power stayed on, the soft hum of life-support a comforting background drone. The ship seemed to be moving. Not normal drive-powered motion. It felt like we were being carried, a gentle swaying reminiscent of long-buried childhood memories. Pleasant, really. Only it wasn’t supposed to feel like that on a far trader.

  I still gripped the arms of the chair, and I realized my nails were actually hurting from digging in to the fabric. Deliberately, I relaxed my hands. Everyone else had a tight grip on something, too. Uppermost in my mind was the Stillwell—was this what it was like inside that ship? Alive, but blind and deaf to everything outside, cut off from everything? My stomach clenched in another sudden wave of nausea, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with mutant cells or errant bioscavengers. It felt like pure fear.

  “As soon as we stop moving, I want everyone in an EVA suit,” I ordered.

  “Are we going somewhere, Captain?”

  “I don’t know, Baden, but I’d like to be prepared. Get a suit to Jahelia Sord, too. Maja, you’re in charge of that as soon as you have yours on.”

  We stopped. Everyone moved for the EVA lockers.

  The ship’s comm crackled loudly, and I jumped. Jahelia Sord
’s voice filled the bridge. “Godsdammit, what’s happening, Captain? Are we in trouble?”

  “I’m sending an EVA suit to your quarters, Sord. Put it on. That’s all I can say for now.”

  “If the ship is in danger, I have a right—”

  “I said, not now.” I signalled to Baden to cut her off, and he leaned over the comm panel.

  Viss’s pounding feet echoed down the metal decking, and Gerazan was right behind him. They slowed when they reached the bridge, and Viss spoke in a low voice, without preamble. “Captain, we have a plan?” He carried one of the EVA suits from engineering over one arm and sat in the empty skimchair at the auxiliary engineering console to begin pulling it on. Gerazan had brought one, too, and immediately crossed to Rei, sitting beside her.

  “No plan yet,” I answered Viss. An eerie silence filled the bridge, and I found myself almost whispering. “We’re playing by ear. But I’m not prepared to sit around very long, waiting to see what happens.”

  “Good. Sitting around isn’t my strong point, either.” He bent to secure the boots of his suit.

  It took a few minutes to suit up. Baden and Maja checked each other’s suits, and then Maja left with one for Sord. Gerazan and Rei checked each other as well, and the rest of us paired up. I’m not certain whose suit I checked; my mind was dangerously distracted, running through possible plans of action. We had flux lasers and a few other goodies in the weapons locker, not counting whatever personal ordnance the crew had in their quarters, which was likely not inconsiderable. The ship’s weapons systems were offline. With the drives shut down by an unknown, outside force, we were pretty much at the mercy of that force, with only our own wits to rely on.

  I didn’t like this at all. If this was the situation inside the Stillwell, and had been for days, they’d probably all have gone mad and killed each other by now.

  The comm board lit up.

  “Incoming message,” Baden said.

  “Put it on the ship’s comm, Baden. Let’s all listen.”

  The voice was smooth and uninflected, strangely accented and genderless. Completely intelligible, though. “We apologize for any inconvenience. We have removed your ship from possible harm. Please make yourselves comfortable, and a representative will meet with you shortly.”

  I glanced around at the others. Viss raised an eyebrow, and Hirin shrugged. The voice went on.

  “The environment in the urgulat immediately surrounding your ship has been adjusted to meet the survival requirements of your species. Please feel free to leave your vessel. At this time you will find only the rearmost airlock hatchway is operable. If you have any immediate concerns or requests, please respond on this wave.”

  Hirin said, “Well, at least they’re polite.”

  “Politely laying down the law,” Baden observed.

  “What’s an urgulat?” asked Maja.

  I shrugged. “Good question. This station, I’d guess. Maybe they don’t know our word for it.”

  “They seem to have a reasonable handle on the language,” Yuskeya said. “It’s older, more formal Esper, but clear enough.”

  “I’d like to take them up on that offer to look around,” Viss said, getting up from his skimchair. “Captain?”

  I held up a hand. “We’re not all getting off the Tane Ikai at once. Viss, you and Yuskeya come with me. Hirin, you have the chair. Everyone sit tight, and monitor us on the suit mics and cameras.”

  Hirin opened his mouth as if he’d protest, but then closed it and merely nodded.

  Someone else, however, did have something to say. Gerazan Soto stood to stiff attention and said formally, “Commander Blue, I’d like permission to ask you something.”

  If Yuskeya was surprised, her voice didn’t show it. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

  He kept his eyes trained directly on Yuskeya when he spoke. “With all due respect to Captain Paixon, we’re now in contact with a previously unknown alien species. Shouldn’t the Protectorate assume control and follow protocols for this situation?”

  In my peripheral vision I saw Rei shoot him a look that was—less than friendly. Viss muttered something I didn’t catch. Angry words sparked on my own tongue, but I bit down on them. I’d let Yuskeya handle this. She seemed to take a moment to consider his words.

  “Lieutenant Soto, you’re quite right,” she said finally.

  Shock stole anything I might have said in that second. Someone made a gasp of surprise. Fortunately, Yuskeya continued without pausing.

  “Or you would be, if we were still in Nearspace. However, we’re not, and so I don’t believe the Protectorate has any jurisdiction to override Captain Paixon’s command. I am assigned to her crew, under her, and I’m not about to usurp her authority. You, however, are still under my command. Does that answer your question?”

  His gaze didn’t waver. “Yes, Commander. Thank you.”

  Rei let out a little huff of what sounded like annoyance. Hirin raised his eyebrows at me but didn’t say anything. I merely said, “Now that that’s cleared up, let’s go.”

  The three of us headed for the rear airlock. Viss and Yuskeya hadn’t said anything to each other, but I thought I could trust them to do their jobs.

  Yuskeya paused when we passed the weapons locker. “Weapons?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know. It’s one of those, ‘if they wanted us dead we’d already be breathing vacuum’ scenarios. They had their chance to take us out—probably more than one while we were puttering around the station. And we’re still here. I don’t want to insult them.”

  “I’d rather insult them than be unprepared,” Viss said.

  “Okej, we’ll compromise. You two take weapons, and I’ll go unarmed. That should cover our bases.”

  They pulled plasma rifles from the locker, giving each a quick, efficient check before we hurried on to the airlock.

  “Helmets?” Viss asked when we reached the outer door.

  “As a precaution,” I said with a nod. “Let’s be sure these folks know what the ‘survival requirements’ of our species are before we try to breathe the air out there.”

  So we fastened on our helmets, ran through one more EVA check with each other, and pushed the button to open the airlock. When it cycled through with us inside, I nodded to Viss, and he opened the other door to let us out.

  We stood for a long moment in the hatchway, staring out at the inside of the station.

  “Sankta merde!” Viss breathed, his voice low over the interior helmet speaker.

  I don’t know what I had expected—judging from the gelatinous exterior of the station, something equally surreal, I suppose. Instead, it bore a striking resemblance to docking bays all over Nearspace. Solid floors and walls, cables and wires snaking in unfathomable coils, miscellaneous equipment and tools pushed off to the sides out of the way.

  The only strange element was that it was entirely black. Everything was black—some shade between charcoal and ebony. Some surfaces were matte and some reflective; various textures caught the light as we moved, finally, out of the hatchway of the ship. But the colour scheme had ostensibly been devised by someone of little imagination or colour perception. Light shone from the ceiling to illuminate the bay, long glowing strips running the length of the room. The light wasn’t hot, like the high pressure sodium lights on the Tane Ikai; it had a more muted feel, like phosphorescence.

  Yuskeya had her datamed out, taking readings. “They got that part right, at any rate. Seventy-nine percent nitrogen, twenty percent oxygen, one percent a mix of other little goodies, none of which will harm us. Pressure’s right, too, one kilogram per square centimeter, and the gravity feels pretty much like home. I’d say it’s safe to take off the helmets.”

  So we did, while we walked a little way from the ship in order to turn and look back at her. There wasn’t much to see. Only the rear wall of the hull was visible, the rest of the ship still enveloped in the black, jelly-like substance that made up the exterior of the station. I imagined it letting
go of the ship with a sucking noise and oozing into the shape of one of those long spikes. I wasn’t sure I trusted any material that acted that way.

  Viss strode to the nearest wall and touched it with a tentative, gloved finger. “More solid than it appears,” he observed. He inspected his glove as if he expected some of the material to have rubbed off on it, but he held it up so we could see that none had. He pressed a palm flat against it. “There’s the slightest give. I feel like if I pushed hard enough, my hand would go inside.”

  “How about you don’t press that hard,” Yuskeya suggested in a terse voice, not taking her eyes off her datamed screen.

  Before Viss could answer her, the “representative” appeared. I say “appeared” advisedly—it was only a hologram or something akin to that, and it sprang into existence a mere foot or so from Yuskeya. She’d been intent on her readings and stumbled sideways, tripping on one of the cables. Viss automatically put out a hand to steady her.

  “Thanks,” she whispered without looking at him.

  He nodded gravely, even though she couldn’t see him, and said nothing.

  “Are your crew and vessel unharmed?” the hologram alien asked politely, in unexpectedly intelligible Esper.

  I couldn’t answer right away. If the hologram offered an accurate representation of the species that had created this station and the spidery ships, they were intriguing. They reminded me of crows.

  I shouldn’t say that, I suppose, because it gives the wrong impression. The hologram stood at least five feet tall, so size did not enter into it. It was the long, beak-like mouth—the only accurate way to describe it was as a beak, although it was paler than a crow’s usually dark one. Then there was the sleek head covered in what resembled black feathers. The small, round, dark eyes, constraining a rampant brightness as it regarded us.

  A long, camel-coloured robe with a rolled collar that wrapped around its throat also concealed the rest of the body. My imagination, rightly or wrongly, supplied furled wings and splayed, birdlike feet beneath. The creature must have hands, but somehow I couldn’t envision them. There was no apparent way to discern gender.