Afterburn

by S. L. Viehl

  Teresa should know, since her own had been the first sacrifice on the altar of Noel Argate’s ambition.

  She pushed aside thoughts of the captain and surveyed her staff as they gathered for the meeting she had called. Like her, the URD residential staff had been working around the clock to clean up and repair what was needed to reopen the facility. Instead of the excitement and anticipation that had been present on the day the ’shrikes attacked, there was now an air of weary pride among the workers.

  This wasn’t just a research facility to them anymore. It was their territory, and they’d fought and bled for it.

  There were also more than a few troubled looks directed toward their view of the waters outside, which was why Teresa had decided to bring them together.

  “Good morning. As you know, repairs to the URD are now officially complete, as of yesterday. As of today, I am raising hell with the council to acquire some additional reinforcement for the view panels. I expect to get them by the time the URD is decommissioned and declared obsolete.” Teresa acknowledged the tired chuckles with one of her own. “The bureaucrats and data pushers don’t know how dedicated we are, but they’ll catch on. In the meantime, I thank all of you for a job well done.”

  A few people applauded, and there were various other sounds of approval and gratitude from those who didn’t know the Terran custom of slapping two appendages together.

  “Elders of the coastal pod are taking their own measures to safeguard their people and us by sending out pairs of males to patrol their borders.” Teresa displayed a photoscan on the wall vid of two big males swimming in the defensive, parallel position. “Those of you who are going out diving for botanical samples, keep these patrols in sight at all times. If there is any sign of trouble, return to the URD at once.”

  Teresa prepared to introduce the next topic when she saw Noel slip into the back of the room. He nodded toward her before moving to an empty seat.

  We’re best friends now, are we? The side of her mouth curled. “You may have noticed that we have a visitor from Quadrant Marine Division. His name is Captain Noel Argate, and he’s a marine biologist specializing in Terran aquatics. He may even be able to help us with our ’shrike problem.”

  “Are there a great many ’shrikes on Terra?” someone asked in a deliberately innocent tone.

  “Not the last time I was there, but maybe things have changed. Captain Argate?” Teresa gestured for him come to the front, and happily yielded her place at the platform to him.

  Now, she thought, let’s see how you ooze your way out of this one.

  Argate scanned the faces around the room before he spoke. “I’m not quite up to speed yet, but I have looked over some of the data on the recent changes in mogshrike behavior. Dr. Selmar indicated that the native sentients have stepped up their safeguards, so my first question would be, what are you doing to protect this facility?”

  “We’ve set up a security sensor grid along the seamount ridge, and are monitoring whatever comes in from the outer currents,” Teresa told him. “The problem with monitoring is that the mogshrikes move too fast to give us enough time to evacuate. We can’t avoid an attack; we can only respond to one.”

  Argate nodded. “Has any effort been made to identify why the ’shrikes are moving into the warmer waters? It was my understanding that the temperatures here are too high for them to tolerate.”

  For someone who just arrived on planet yesterday, he’s amazingly up-to-date on things. Out loud, Teresa said, “That was true, up until the day we opened for business. The current theories are in two camps. The mogshrikes may be in the process of changing the way they hunt. They’ve always lived as rogues, so we’re not sure why they would now choose to organize into pack hunters. There has also been a marked increase in the number of smaller ’shrikes being detected by our deep-sea probes, which could indicate an overpopulation problem. There is no explanation for the recent birth rate explosion, either, except for the fact that ’shrikes have no natural predators except for themselves.”

  “It would help if we could locate the ’shrikes’ breeding grounds,” one staffer put in. “We could monitor the activity there; get some sort of idea of what they’re doing differently.”

  “The reason we’ve never discovered a ’shrike breeding ground is because I don’t believe they exist,” Teresa said. “These are free-roaming animals that cover enormous territories in pursuit of migratory shoals.”

  “When they desire a mate, they likely hunt one,” Noel said. “The way they would food.”

  You’d know. “That would keep the ’shrikes from having to break with their traditional, solitary behavior to rendezvous at a particular spot,” she agreed, “but it doesn’t explain the increase in population. Let me access the archived readings.” Teresa went over and displayed a spreadsheet on the wall vid. “According to these probe recordings, ’shrike births have more than doubled this cycle alone.”

  “They must be communicating with each other,” Argate said, and then frowned as laughter erupted around him. “I’m sorry, but that’s the only explanation. How else would they find each other over such great distances?”

  Teresa took another moment to savor the gaffe before she clued him in. “The ’shrikes have no vocal cords, no language, and no reason to develop either. The most primitive language among the aquatics, modal action patterns, or what the ’Zangians call ‘fin,’ is nonverbal body language understood by many species. We’ve never observed the ’shrikes using or responding to fin.”

  “Seeing as they occupy waters not inhabited by the ’Zangians, they may not speak the local dialect,” Argate said. “Have you considered that?”

  Teresa considered asking the captain to go and jump in the moon pool without a breathing rig, but then decided it was a good idea to inform him—and remind everyone else—precisely with what they were dealing.

  “Mogshrikes are a cold-blooded species at the peak of their evolution,” she stated flatly. “They’ve existed on K-2 for at least forty million years. They feed on anything that moves: wrill, teleosts, cope-pods, baelaeneans and, if hungry enough, each other. These creatures are incredibly ancient, and have had ample time to evolve into the perfect killing machines. Which is what they are.”

  “So have the ’Zangians, and according to the data I’ve studied—mostly written by you, Doctor—their brains are as complex and developed as any advanced humanoid’s,” Argate said, his tone implying her conclusions might be at least questionable. “So why automatically classify the ’shrikes, who have existed at least as long as the ’Zangians, as mindless monsters?”

  She wondered how snide and superior Noel would be if she brought him face-to-face with a ’shrike and let him collect a little data.

  Now there is an idea. “Ballie, would you go down and pull the probe vids we have in the storage room?”

  “IceBlade, you are cleared for launch.”

  Burn shifted in his harness, chafing at the uncomfortable and wholly new sensation of breathing air while seated inside a strafer. “Major, why didn’t you remind me that you’re a mouth-breather before I agreed to be your gunner?”

  “Probably because I breathe through my nose.” Shon used maneuvering thrusters to clear the launch pad before turning the strafer nose-up to engage the primary engines. “You’ve flown before without liquid atmosphere, in Rescue One with Jadaira.”

  “Yeah.” Burn groaned as the g-forces slapped him back and kept him pinned. “I hated that, too.”

  The green skies around them quickly turned a star-pocked black as the IceBlade escaped the stratosphere and K-2’s gravitational fields. Once in orbit, Shon righted the strafer and flew to where the remainder of the planetary patrol had assembled.

  “About time you got here, Major,” Saree transmitted. “Take position at the left rear, behind Loknoth in the CoveSong. We’ll be flying standard patrol formation around the planet. Stay toothy; these delegate ships are slotted to arrive on our watch.”

  “Ju
st what we need,” Burn muttered. “More civilians to herd.”

  “Our orders are to escort only.” Shon moved the strafer behind Loknoth’s CoveSong. “Keep the portside sensors on continuous sweep and let me know if you pick up any energy signatures.”

  Burn checked their coordinates. “Portside is where the moon ring is. I don’t think they’re holding their whine session there.”

  “Merc ships use asteroids and natural satellites as cover. If anything comes out of there, it won’t be to provide a welcome.” Shon adjusted their course to match Loknoth’s and remain in the double-bow formation. “What are we carrying?”

  Burn checked his panels. “Pulse cannons, fully charged, smartorps tubed and ready, a clutch of signal jammers, drill probes, and cell shunts. Plenty of extra shielding.” He thought of the StarFire prototype and felt even more annoyed. “Want me to dust things while I’m sitting back here?”

  Shon chuckled. “No, but if you see anything move that shouldn’t, you can dust that.”

  Burn felt a little better as the patrol completed its first orbit of the planet. Serving as Shon’s gunner wasn’t as important as having a command and flying his own ship, but he could observe and ask questions, maybe pick up a few tricks.

  “Where did you get your wings, Major? The Academy?”

  “oKia. I used to joc freighters before I enlisted.” Shon followed Loknoth’s lead and bypassed a cluster of asteroids. “First time they put me in the seat of a fighter, I nearly crashed into a Transport hangar. Big difference in control response.”

  “Dair’s been making me fly everything in the trainer, from mini-launches to ore haulers.” Burn checked a signal light on the companel but found it too weak to register more than static. Probably an echo from the planet. “I don’t know how those spider miners can stand piloting those monsters. Takes forever to get them off the pad.”

  “Aksellans are far more patient than most species. Stand by, I’m getting some wave clutter.” Shon fell silent for a moment. “Are you reading that? It’s patterned.”

  “I thought it was an echo. Can’t pull more than fuzz off the transponder, but I’ll see if I can trace the source.” Burn narrowed the companel’s range finder and watched the numbers scroll onto his screen. “Point of origin is close by, maybe within a thousand kim. Whoever’s transmitting must not have any power behind it; it’s still barely registering on my com.”

  “Patrol leader, this is IceBlade,” Shon transmitted to Saree. “We’ve detected a repeating signal, low wave, unable to read. Could be a distress call.”

  “I’ll see if I can boost it,” Saree responded. “Downrelay to Rescue One.”

  “It’s not a voice trans,” Burn said as he studied the data scroll. “It’s binary, position code maybe. No ID, but the frequency is Ylydii.”

  “The only ship with a flight plan filed for this sector is the Ylydii ambassador’s ship,” Saree replied. “We’d better call this one in to Flight.”

  “Stand by, Wing Leader.” Shon shut down the intership relay. “Burn, if I turn the ship into the wave, can you amplify it through the hull?”

  It wasn’t standard op to use the strafer’s shock-absorbing alloy skin in that manner, but Burn tapped some keys and redirected the transponder. “Acknowledged. Receiving more of it, Major.” He watched the numbers again. “That’s definitely position and bearing. Ship is not flying to K-2, though—it’s headed out of the system.”

  “The Ylydii make many jaunts out of here?” Shon asked.

  “No. They contract offworlders to do their transport. Ylydii ships aren’t built for intersystem travel.” Burn widened his sensor sweep, encompassing the position of the transmitting vessel. “They’ve got another ship with them. Appears that they’re docked.”

  “Wing Leader, recommend we do a flyby and see what’s going on out there,” Shon transmitted to Saree. “Something is not right with that vessel or its heading.”

  “Attempting to signal the Ylydii ship,” Saree responded. After a short period of silence, a sharp sound came over the open channel. “Their transponder array is down or they’re not responding; my relay is just bouncing back. Patrol, initiate flight pattern star-delta. Major, if you would, take point.”

  Shon eased out of formation and moved to the front of the other strafers as they realigned into the scout pattern. “Wing Leader, recommend we power down weapons until we have a visual or contact.”

  “Acknowledged and agreed. Patrol, put all weapons on standby.”

  Burn felt a new wave of frustration as he made the changes to his firing control panel. “Major, if something’s wrong, shouldn’t we fly in prepared to engage?”

  “We can’t approach a com-disabled diplomatic ship with our power cells flaring, Sublieutenant. The Ylydii crew would read the spikes and interpret our advance as a coordinated attack. So would any mercs that have taken over control of the ship.”

  “Right, so we fly by and fin hi,” Burn grumbled. “What happens if the other ship is a merc and attacks us?”

  “Then we find out just how good a gunner you are, Sublieutenant.”

  The flight to rendezvous with the Ylydii ship took only a few minutes, and Burn’s attention strayed from his sensor panels only when the enormous vessel appeared outside the starboard view panels. “Suns, that’s big.”

  As all life-forms did, the Ylydii brought their native environment into space with them. Unlike the compact strafers, their vessel had obviously been designed for maximum space and comfort for the aquatic crew and passengers. A central control module served as the hub for two orbiting wheels of gigantic, transparent immersion tanks. Each tank stretched out the length of ten strafers and boasted enough liquid to comfortably accommodate a dozen or more occupants, while interconnecting conduits provided easy access to other tanks and areas of the ship.

  “Looks like no one’s home.” Burn scanned the emitter stations, which were positioned to illuminate the tank environments but remained dark and cold. “Power relays are functioning at minimum levels.” In fact, the entire ship looked dead, and that made Burn’s neck itch. “Major, permission to engage weapons array.”

  “Not yet.” Shon made a pass under the ship, where a small cargo carrier vessel sat docked to the command hub. “They may have suffered some collision damage.”

  “With no debris field? I don’t think so.” Burn scanned the carrier and the resulting spikes on his panel made his heart pound. “Major, that docked hauler is outfitted to the teeth, weapon cells powered, ready to fire.”

  “What about the repeating signal? Where is the point of origin?”

  Burn switched over to the companel. “Inside the ambassador’s ship. Correction, there are two signals. One is too faint to read. The other originates from the docked carrier.”

  “Why didn’t we pick up that one?”

  “It’s being focus-transmitted, sir. Directly back toward planet Ylyd.”

  Onkar’s harsh voice came over Burn’s headgear. “We have you on monitor and have contacted Ylyd. The second signal is a distress call. They’re asking the Ylydii fleet to rendezvous with them to repel an attack.”

  “No one’s attacking them.” Burn rechecked his readings. “It’s a decoy, Subcommander. The mercs probably have other ships concealed or waiting just out of sensor range.”

  “That’s my feeling,” Shon added.

  “You can’t attack the ambassador’s ship,” Onkar told them. “If the signal is, by a far stretch, legitimate, then it will cause an interplanetary incident and disrupt the peace talks before they begin.”

  Burn thought the peace talks might have a better chance if there were people still alive to attend them. “Major, we have to board the ship. I can take the transpod over and relay what’s actually happening in there.”

  “We’ll need a diversion,” Shon said. “I show a clutter region within fifty kim; that’s where I’d stash the ambush ships. If we fly over and begin shooting our way through it, it should draw them out, and create enough
interference to let the transpod slip in undetected.”

  “It’s risky. Byorn—”

  “I’ll be armed and ready. They’ll be distracted and unprepared.”

  “Very well. Major, I’m launching Rescue Three to handle casualties. Byorn, protect the ambassador and her people, no matter what the cost.”

  Burn saw a power spike on his board. “Major, carrier preparing to fire.”

  “Patrol, initiate evasive maneuvers,” Shon transmitted to the rest of the pod just before the carrier detached from the Ylydii ship. The smaller vessel darted out and fired a wide spread of pulse energy at the IceBlade. “Gunner, engage weapons array and return fire.”

  Burn already had his panels up and his systems ready by the time Shon gave the order. “Firing wing cannons, launching torps.” He sequenced his vollies to Shon’s rolling flight pattern as the major evaded the worst of the attack spread. Shudders vibrated through the strafer as the pulses he couldn’t dodge glanced off the hull.

  To keep from firing on their own ships, Burn monitored the winding flight paths of the other strafers. New power signatures peppered his sensor panel. “Reading six new contacts,” he told Shon and gave him the bearings. “They’re coming out of the clutter.”

  Shon avoided a side-volley from the carrier and flew in and under the diplomatic vessel. “Think you can handle a midflight transfer?”

  Burn looked up at the open dock port the carrier had left unguarded. “As long as you can fly and fire at the same time.”

  “Transfer weapons control and prepare for emergency transpod dock,” Shon said. “Flood the pod with liquid atmosphere.”

  A midflight dock was one of the most complicated and dangerous of pilot maneuvers. Burn engaged the panels that separated him from Shon before opening the strafer’s rear flood valves and filling his own pod with liquid synthetically treated to closely match the composition of ’Zangian seawater. Once he was breathing liquid again, he transferred weaponry control to Shon and enabled the severance system.