by P F Walsh
“Damage to one of our space transports, sir.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes sir. We ruled out concerns about any other behavior because the ship has been fitted with concealed explosives to destroy the engine controllers, shut down the engines, and fire the reverse thrusters to bring the ship to a holding stop. Any deviation from the planned course will cause detonation. We have even connected two added, independent navigation systems located in external hull sensor blisters. Disconnecting the ship’s original navigation will have no ability to stop the explosive if there is deviation from the plan. We also have direct telemetry to manually initiate the explosives and bring the ship to a halt.”
The President nodded, and said,
“OK, set it up. By the way, what are we going to do with her after?” No one jumped in to answer right away. After a short pause, the representative from the FBI spoke,
“Well, we made a deal to grant her asylum and we’ll keep it. We think we have a spot for her after she finishes, sir.” The President nodded and got up to go back to his desk. The meeting was over, and the plan was set. The group left, and as they closed the door behind them, the FBI agent who spoke last thought,
“Now, we’ll have to come up with something for her if she survives.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Book Three
An Earth month had passed. Svetlana reached for her glass of vodka after returning to her room at the training center. The final exam was brutal, but she knew she had passed. Still, she felt drained. The training was intense and the whole concept of piloting an interplanetary space transport was continually mind-boggling for her to realize. The few trips they had made for in-flight training seemed so simple at first glance. You couldn’t hit anything because space was so unmeasurably huge, but errors where there is no air, or nearby respite station, threatened death in a most unpleasant, gasping fashion.
The social atmosphere during the training was friendly though, and made her feel accepted. Her experience as a Russian Flanker fighter pilot was a constant source of queries from others wanting to know how it handled, and was it fun to fly?
“Fun to fly?” She thought. “When was it ever fun?” This occupied her for the first few weeks, trying to understand their perspectives until she realized the lack of constant predatory inspection and political supervision could make flying so much more enjoyable. She had finally begun to relax into her training and sharing knowledge with her fellow students. They were all pilots of one measure or another, having flown a wide array of aircraft. Many were military on the edge of retirement or service completion. Others were commercial pilots looking for a new challenge, and a shot at being at the head of the seniority line for a change. A mixed group, but to her discovery, a genial one.
“How different this is from back in Russia!” She thought. “I am accepted here based on my skill, not my sex. And,” She thought, “I have learned how to pilot a spacecraft of very advanced design capable of interplanetary travel. Something no one in Russia has done!” She continued to muse upon her fortunate circumstance, while she nursed the last of the vodka to its final resting place, producing a gentle buzz of warm pleasantness she had rarely experienced. She set the empty glass down and prepared to get some sleep. Tomorrow, would be the final mission briefing. Revenge was at hand. She recalled the expression,
“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
Space was very cold. She smiled.
“How long has it been there Artie?” Asked Mel as they all sat in the dining cabin of Discovery. The original crew of Discovery was beginning a meeting called by Sean. This was the core group of administering Caerus, and most had a vested interest.
“Just about three weeks now. Allister was picking through the recent sensor data of Central and noticed an energy anomaly out on the fringe. We almost missed it since it occurred as Mars was about to block its detection. Further examination of that area with passive time lapse study revealed an object keeping station that is believed to be a ship. It’s hard to see, and may have a non-reflective coating, but it is definitely there.” Artie said. Sean followed,
“We think it is watching us and gathering information. Or, it could be waiting for instructions from wherever it came from. Lots of possibilities. The most likely is that they are from the prior occupiers of Caerus. Allister found a record that Central sent an action notice of the move to its home base as it jumped.” Sean said, and then went on to describe that something of this type was anticipated, and he had Artie scrub all prior access codes with Allister’s assistance. Allister discovered several backdoor codes and those were also scrubbed. He continued,
“Now we have to wait and see what they may do. I expect sooner or later there will be a contact of some type. My hope is that it will not be hostile, but we are prepared for that too. Readiness for the security team on the ground has been elevated, and they know we may be expecting visitors. The caves are fully charged, and we are able to jump away on very short notice. That would come into play if we became the target of a missile attack. You can’t hit what isn’t there. As you know, Discovery has some formidable weapons and then we also have the fleet, so we are prepared as well as we could be for a single ship to approach.”
As Nasht-Mer was preparing to speak up in favor of reaching out to the unknown vessel, Allister broke in,
“Captain, the unknown vessel has launched a shuttle of some type and is heading in our direction. At the rate of speed, it is traveling, it will take a day for them to reach us. I suspect that is deliberate to give us time to become aware of their arrival. The shuttle is displaying running lights. No attempt to conceal.”
“That at least allows us to consider the contact to be non-hostile, unless the shuttle is armed.” Sean said. Doris, who had been sitting there listening, decided it was time to spend a few hours on the practice range. She looked at Nasht-Mer with raised eyebrows while nodding her head toward the corridor leading to the firing range. Nasht-Mer nodded back affirmatively, knowing what Doris was inferring. She would join her with her whip.
“Добро пожаловать на борт товарищи” (Welcome aboard, comrades) Svetlana said to the large group of men all dressed in black as they floated into the Space Transport from the ground shuttle. The first man, acting as leader, frowned and replied,
“What did you say?” Feigning his inability to understand Russian. Then,
“Who are you? Where is our pilot?” He put his duffle bag down on the ramp and postured in a challenging body set.
“Идиот! (Idiot). Did you think we would use a local pilot for such an important mission? I am your pilot, Colonel Kuznetsov, GRU. Who is in charge?” She demanded as she held out her ID. The first man spoke up,
“I am, Major Verenich, and I need to see that identification. This is a change we were not told about.”
“That is because you didn’t need to know Major, now get your men aboard and secure both your men and equipment tightly. I don’t want Spetsnaz junk falling all over the ship. We leave in ten minutes. secure your gear in the nets in the cargo compartment behind the passenger section. The door to it is open. It’s locked open, leave it that way for rapid access. I will give no further warnings. Be sure to locate the puke bags near each seat. I want no mess. Доберитесь до этого! (Get to it!)” She shouted, folded up her ID, and turned away to go back to the cockpit and prepare the ship for departure.
“Сука! (Bitch)” He mumbled, and started yelling at his men to grab a hand hold and get everything strapped in including themselves.
Aboard the Trether shuttle,
“Sub-Commander we are within approach range to ask for clearance to approach.” The pilot announced. The Sub-Commander nodded and keyed his mic,
“Central, this is shuttle Beka-9 from the Trether Comitatus scout ship Berrn-58, on command of her Majesty Queen Mithren, requesting approach and docking instructions. Our shuttle contains a diplomatic and scientific team. We request fu
ll diplomatic accord. Please advise who is in command.” The message was received by Central who copied Allister instantly and replied,
“Shuttle Beka-9, stand-by for instructions. Our facility is known as Caerus, and is under the ownership and command of Master Captain Sean Flynn, Senior Field Officer of the Embassy of the Planet Earth a member of the Council of Worlds, and Duke of Mer. He will be advised of your request immediately.”
The sub-Commander raised his eyebrows and looked at the pilot questioningly, realizing that this mission had indeed turned into a diplomatic one, an area he did not feel comfortable in. The pilot said,
“Sir, perhaps we should slow our approach until we receive clearance?” Both of them realizing the shuttle’s video recording of this operation was now certain to be played back in front of the Kreig, Trether’s Citizen’s Parliament body and the Ruling Masters.
“Yes, reduce speed to one half, stand-off at least one hundred nikas until we get a response.” He keyed his mic again on the ship-to-shuttle’s channel,
“Doytain, you heard?” He queried the Scout ship.
“Yes, Sub-Commander, action approved, and follow instructions when they come.” This was a clear message to the Sub-Commander that he too knew the event would receive scrutiny, and got his command participation included in the record. The time increments clicked by and the Sub-Commander was just about to go to the nourishment panel when the reply came.
“Shuttle Beka-9, you are not properly authorized in your mission, but you are cleared to approach the docking station. Set minimum approach speed suitable for a docking station, and dock at port nine. This port will bear a multi-spectrum flashing light. Confirm that you are able to detect the flashing light. The docking access shell is self-conforming to your vessel’s hull. It will secure your shuttle for the automatic boarding port to seal, that will be pressurized. The following is the atmosphere gas mix...”
Central read off the gas mixture which the Sub-Commander could see was quite suitable for them. He keyed his mic,
“Copy all, we see the docking light and are proceeding.”
Central replied,
“Acknowledged. Since this is an unauthorized diplomatic request, we require that only one of your team be armed to protect your senior officer. No other weapons are permitted in the docking station without approval. You may seek authorization for your mission from the Queen while you are here. Detectors and protections are in place. Advise the number in your party and the senior officer in charge. Be prepared to present your documents. Please acknowledge these requirements and acceptance.” The Sub-Commander, stunned at the reference to the Queen, paused trying to understand how that could be so. Then, recalling his superior’s instruction, replied,
“Instructions received. We will comply. There will be three in the boarding party and the senior officer is Sub-Commander Dellick.” The Sub-Commander continued,
“This is a first contact meeting and is diplomatic. I will be accompanied by gCap Erroof with a side arm, and sPex Mexmell.” He then turned to his team in the shuttle and said,
“The rest of you remain on alert status until I, or the Doytain, tell you differently. Pilot, keep the engines at station idle, copy and send our last communications record with Central to the Doytain. Especially the part about us not being authorized and the Queen.”
He watched as the shuttle entered the docking shell and was softly gripped by the padded mechanical handlers to stabilize the ship. A few moments later, the boarding port began to move slowly toward the ship’s crew port, its flexible opening much larger than the crew port. A slight nudge from it moved the ship very slightly as it pressed against the hull and sealed. A low hissing was telegraphed into the hull, and could be heard by the crew. When it stopped, a crewman inside the shuttle, stationed at the ship’s crew port status panel, called out,
“Pressure detected in the boarding port.”
On command of the Sub-Commander, the crewman opened the crew port to a slight hiss as pressures equalized. The air smelled fresh and sweet, the result of a newer and more robust atmosphere management system on the docking station. The crewman stepped aside and the Sub-Commander in his day dress uniform boarded the Caerus docking station after ducking slightly to exit the crew port. He straightened up and could see he was being met by a small group, two of them were uniformed and armed. No, three, when he noticed a large sidearm on one who was standing next to what appeared to be the person in command of this boarding event. The Sub-Commander spoke,
“I request permission to board the docking station with my party.”
“Granted.” Sean said and lightly struck his chest with his closed hand as a Trether salute. Instinctively, the Sub-Commander saluted back and added a slight bow in deference to an assumed superior officer, and said,
“I am Sub-Commander Dellick.” He turned to his two companions and said,
“This is gCap Erroof my personal aid, and sPex Mexmell a science officer.” They both saluted and bowed slightly. Sean acknowledged the salute and said,
“There seems to be a great deal for us to discuss, Sub-Commander, but first let me assure you that the disease which killed all the prior occupants has been identified and eliminated. It is safe to be here.” This alleviated the lurking concern the Sub-Commander had when he read the last reports that were sent from the Outpost. He was quick to reply,
“Thank you for that information. My science officer will be very interested in getting a report that we can bring back with us. That disease killed some of our best scientists, technicians, and military stationed below, on what we have referred to as the Outpost.” He said.
“Yes, we know, and regret such an event happened. Central, of course, cleaned up all remains except one. He was sealed in the main control center. We have respectfully preserved his remains in a sealed container that you may wish to bring back with you for scientific considerations, and the benefit of his family, if any. He was the last one to survive and did so while sealed in the control center, all alone, where he finally died. We did not do an autopsy. It appeared he died from age and food deprivation.”
The Sub-Commander nodded as his aid checked to confirm their data recorder was getting all of the exchange. Sean spoke again through his translator,
“Permit me to introduce myself. I am Captain Sean Flynn.” He turned to his team,
“This is my Security Officer Doris Lang, and next to her is Rookt-Nab our legal counsel. Central has provided him with all of the base laws and regulations of your home world. There are sure to be updates to his knowledge of your recent laws and regulations, but he can express an opinion on any issues that may present themselves. The other two are port guards. I am in command. Any questions or requests can be made directly to me. I can come to immediate decisions regarding any of them. Shall we go to my ship in the next docking cradle where it is more comfortable? The docking station is still under construction.” He asked. The Sub-Commander agreed and the group moved to the next docking cradle, and boarded Discovery.
Nasht-Mer had continued to practice with her whip after Doris left to become part of the receiving party. Her expertise had levelled into a virtually perfect technique, and missing her aim for the target was rare. The whip was a formidable weapon and Nasht-Mer had become more comfortable with it than any of the other weapons she had trained on. Its mysterious ability to come alive from her hand motions while wearing the necklace was no longer something strange to her, or to Doris for that matter. Some of the crew still were spooked at her control of it.
A crew member once picked up the whip she had set down while she toweled off her perspiration after training, and attempted to snap it. It lay inert in his hand with a mild burning sensation in his palm. He immediately put it down, and left the training room. Nasht-Mer had smiled as he retreated. Today, she was alone in the training room after Doris had left and practiced more delicate captures with the whip tip, ones that were not intended to injure or damage an article, but rather to retrieve it. This req
uired more practice, and the whip seemed to understand what she was trying to do. The hours passed by.
The discussions with the Trether party became more cordial as they went on. Each party came to the conclusion that neither was a threat to the other. The Sub-Commander reminded himself that his mission was to investigate the Outpost to determine its present use and report back. In addition, he was troubled by Central’s mentioning their Queen. As he put down his cup of Zeng Tea, he looked at Sean and asked,
“Captain, in our approach communication with Central, it mentioned our Queen. Is she here?”
“Yes, she is. I am afraid it is my sad task to advise you she is deceased. We believe she was an early victim of the deadly infection that swept all life away so thoroughly on the outpost we now call Caerus. Would you like to go down and visit her memorial mausoleum? She is perfectly preserved and can be viewed.” Sean asked. The Sub-Commander stiffened up slightly as he realized they had found her at long last.
“Yes, Captain, absolutely! There have been many decades of searching all over the galaxy for her. Even now, as we speak, somewhere there is a ship of ours searching for her, and all other of our ships have it as a secondary mission. This will be greatly appreciated by my people and the Kreig, our Parliament.” They all got up and went to the Discovery’s Shuttle and traveled down to Caerus City. More security guards saluted as the shuttle ramp came down and the party stepped onto Caerus. Sean noticed the increased security,
“Visible to our visitors, but not oppressive. Just right.” He thought. Sean called up a transport vehicle and they travelled to Queen Mithren’s Mausoleum. The City was all lit up with fountains flowing and researchers walking about in their long white coats. The Sub-Commander tried to take in every detail. This was his first trip to the Outpost. In fact, no one from Trether had been here in many decades. It appeared it was fully staffed and vibrant, continuing its early mission of research. All appeared well tended and clean. The new owners had its operation well in hand.
