by S. H. Jucha
“That’s right,” Teddy told them. “We treat this weapon like we were in the beam hulls.” He watched with satisfaction as the lieutenants made themselves small. They straightened, pulled their feet closer together, and dropped their arms to their sides.
“The easy part comes first,” Teddy said. “We remove the antenna, but let’s practice our techniques.”
The bay crew stood quiet and at a respectful distance. A tool cart was placed about two meters from the banisher.
The chief and the lieutenants reviewed the first section of the commodore’s instructions. The operation appeared simple and required few tools.
Neffess waited, while Nata selected the tools. Then Nata placed each item that Neffess required in her extended hand. The Dischnya’s strength made easy removal of what the SADEs had attached.
For the delicate step, Nata removed the antenna’s power cable connection. Then she steadied the antenna, while Neffess completed the final removal steps.
Teddy held the other side of the heavy antenna, as it fell into Nata’s and his hands. Carefully, they backed up and laid it aside for the bay crew to recover.
“Now, the cover,” Teddy said.
This time, Nata applied a stream of nanites from a tube, squirting it around the access panel’s perimeter. Neffess and Teddy stood by to lift the panel free, when its seals released. Then Teddy and Neffess laid the cover beside the tool cart.
“No mistakes,” Teddy warned, as the three of them stared at the banisher’s interior. “There won’t be an opportunity to apologize.”
Nata briefly wondered why there wasn’t a SADE aboard to make these adjustments. Belatedly, she remembered that there was the slim chance that the Trident could be caught in the EMP effect. If it were, it could be deadly for a SADE. The controller might suffer too, but at least the crew would live to extinguish any fires. It was more than likely that they would survive until rescued.
“Nata, you have the adjustments,” Teddy said.
Nata expected that. The interior of the banisher was crammed full. The SADEs had used every centimeter of space for the weapon. Among the three of them, Nata had the smaller and more delicate fingers.
Five adjustments were needed. Four were on panels that weren’t too difficult to access, and Nata made each one per the instructions. After each step, she consulted the readout to ensure it fell within parameters.
The last adjustment was deep in the banisher. It changed the output of the power cells. Nata was required to access a control on a heavy power cable, and to open it. This would allow the weapon’s maximum output.
Nata started to reach into the device’s interior. Then she stopped and eyed her coverall sleeve. Stepping back, she wiped her sweaty hands on her thighs, and rolled off the coverall’s top, tying the sleeves around her waist. She wiped her hands again and stared at her long-sleeved undergarment. While unlike the coveralls, the undergarment was close to the skin, it represented a hazard. Nata’s skin wouldn’t feel what she touched. The clothing would mask the sensation until it was too late.
Captain Pettifleur “Petite” Draken watched her monitor, which covered the action in the bay. She watched Nata strip the coverall’s top down, tie the sleeves, and stare at her undergarment. Quickly, Nata slipped her right arm out of the sleeve, baring half her chest, and tucked the sleeve behind her. A grunt of grudging appreciation escaped Petite’s lips. You might make captain yet, Lieutenant, she muttered.
Nata wiped her hands one more time. Then she approached the banisher. Her bare skin goose-pimpled from the bay’s chill air, and the fine hairs of her arm stood on end. Following the instructions, Nata reached into the banisher. She located the bottom of a section of circuitry and followed a slender connecting cable to locate where it crossed the thick power cable.
By now, Nata’s arm was deep in the banisher, and her torso’s front was pressed against the cold banisher shell. She concentrated on breathing and not shuddering.
With her fingers tracing the power cable in the direction of the instructions, Nata located the interrupter. She studied the instructions in her implant to ensure she understood which way to adjust the notched device. Then she moved it slowly, counting the tiny clicks she felt through her fingers. Seven clicks later, the device stopped. That matched the instructions.
Slowly Nata retracted her hand. Then she stood and swiftly backed clear of the device. Achieving a safe distance from the weapon, Nata jumped up and down, while hugging herself, and hissed, “Black space, that was cold.” Then she hurriedly dressed.
Neffess chortled. “Fur helps,” she said, running a dark-nailed finger along her muzzle.
“Focus,” Teddy instructed. “One more step. Let’s seal this device.”
Neffess and Teddy held the shell’s panel upside down, while Nata wiped its edges free of nanites solvent. Then she applied sealing nanites to the edges, and Teddy and Neffess fitted it in place. Within seconds, the panel had adhered to the shell.
“Well done, Lieutenants,” Teddy declared, as they stepped away from the weapon. “Now, all we have to do is survive the launch and detonation of six of these devices and the energy release from more than a hundred drones.”
Unlike the frowns on Neffess’s and Nata’s faces, Teddy wore a genial expression.
23: Opportunity
Aboard the Arcus, conversations among the attendant families were building toward a climax. Core engineers and techs had been invited to attend the reclusive meetings among the arches. These were opportunities for the families to hear from the individuals responsible for maintaining the failing systems.
“When I was a youngling, my patriarch would complain about the number of failing parts that needed replacement,” a tech told one meeting. “It’s doable, my patriarch would say, but the amount increases every annual. Now, I wish it were only the smaller elements of the infrastructure that were in need of attention. Major structures of the ship need to be overhauled. To do that, we have to shut down those services, but we can’t. We’re approaching the point where the ship must be abandoned.”
The tech had spoken at a meeting attended by Kofroos, the Deloy’s senior attendant, and Gedram, her offspring.
“Are you convinced yet?” Gedram asked Kofroos, as they left the secretive meeting.
“Am I sure the ship is in trouble? Undoubtedly!” Kofroos replied.
“Well?” Gedram encouraged.
“Well what?” Kofroos replied tartly. She was unbalanced by too many aspects of her life falling apart just like the ship. Elvian society had an order to it, and that arrangement was being upended. On top of that, she was frightened by the Deloy, who would access the hidden panel in her sleeping quarters, play with it, and stare at it for a long while.
“You’re the Deloy’s senior attendant,” Gedram argued. “If you would speak at these meetings, it would encourage many to take the proposition seriously.”
“You mean I should speak for the families joining the core, if a count was called,” Kofroos replied, shaking her head.
“It’s not if a count is called; it’s when the count will be called,” Gedram retorted. “The core’s reps are waiting for signals from thirty-one of us who have led the meetings thus far.”
Kofroos stepped aside to let others pass, and she stared at Gedram.
“You’re preparing to destroy our society,” Kofroos accused. “Is there no other choice?”
“I’m listening,” Gedram said, crossing her arms. “Tell me what you propose.”
“I don’t have any idea,” Kofroos replied in exasperated tones. “I just think your method is too extreme.”
“You’ve been listening to the engineers and the techs just as I have,” Gedram reminded her matriarch. “We’re not going to live our normal lives for the next four or five decades and then have a sudden collapse of our systems. The core’s workers are sounding the alarms. The ship’s systems will continue to degrade. Our activities will be attenuated as the annuals pass. When should we do something
about it? When something happens during transit and we find ourselves somewhere in the void?”
Kofroos knew her offspring was making sense. The concept was radical, but the situation was growing dire.
Attendant families continued to pass by the pair and offer their courtesies. They found it disconcerting that the Deloy’s senior attendant, who was in an intense conversation with her offspring, wasn’t returning the greetings.
The corridor was filled with the families who’d participated in the meetings. As one, they swept aside colorful sleeves and examined their slates.
Kofroos and Gedram were no exception. The soft but insistent tingling of their slates demanded attention.
“It’s Vyztram,” Kofroos said. She was surprised. Usually the AI updated the population with a lengthy but innocuous list of notices in the early morning. Those messages arrived without notification, and most Elvians in the arches ignored them.
Kofroos and Gedram glanced around. The corridor was a study in statues. Family members were frozen, as they read Vyztram’s message.
“Everyone has the same message,” Kofroos remarked, as she started to read and realized the importance of what Vyztram was communicating.
“We’re being offered a planet to inhabit,” Gedram said in a hushed whisper. “How can that be? We destroyed the lives and the ships of the locals.”
“Keep reading,” Kofroos read. “The strangers who arrived are negotiating for us. Vyztram has shared the status of the Arcus.”
“Vyztram calls them Omnians,” Gedram muttered, as she read.
“We’d live in domes. We’d be prisoners,” Kofroos said, detecting subterfuge on the Omnians’ part.
“I thought you said we were to read,” Gedram said pointedly. “Look at the AI’s details that are attached to the domes. The planet has excessive levels of oxygen. It’s almost entirely green.”
“The inhabitants are called Ollassa,” Kofroos commented, refusing to rise to her offspring’s prodding. “They’re symbiotic associations of flora. That seems impossible.”
“Uh-oh,” Gedram remarked quietly.
“What?” Kofroos queried.
“Final lines,” Gedram replied. “Vyztram characterizes the Omnians as protectors of this system. They came in response to our harvesting of resources. The negotiations offer us a choice —”
Kofroos finished for Gedram, who had halted in midsentence. “We ally with the Ollassa and uplift their technology, or we’ll be driven from this system.”
Gedram and Kofroos stared at each other and then gazed around. They met the wide eyes of many near them.
“I don’t think you’ll have to organize any more meetings,” Kofroos commented, slipping an arm through Gedram’s and directing her toward their cabin.
Throughout the core, residents were reading the same message from Vyztram.
Yemerth finished reading and hurriedly messaged Dafine and Famgore. It read, “We must meet.”
“My office,” Dafine replied via his slate.
Three out-of-breath reps made the central control hub at nearly the same time. Due to the late evening, a minimal number of workers monitored the stations. They stared at the winded reps, who hurried through the privacy screen into the leader’s office.
“Is this our moment?” Yemerth asked, looking hopefully from one companion to the other.
“Let’s not wonder,” Famgore advised. “Dafine, query the contacts in the arches. Ask them if they have the numbers.”
Dafine nodded, devised the message, and attached it to the list of thirty-one contacts. Then the reps found seats and waited.
Gedram pulled her arm free of Kofroos. She stepped to the corridor’s bulkhead, and Kofroos joined her.
As Gedram pulled up her sleeve to examine her slate, Kofroos asked, “Another message from Vyztram?” She wondered why she hadn’t been included.
“No,” Gedram replied quietly. As was her habit, she glanced around to ensure she had privacy. The corridor had emptied soon after Vyztram’s message had been absorbed. “It’s from Dafine.”
“The leader of the core’s reps?” Kofroos asked in surprise.
“Hush,” Gedram hissed, which shocked Kofroos. Nonetheless, it achieved the effect Gedram wanted. Her matriarch was quiet.
“What have the two of you been talking about?” Kofroos demanded in a whisper.
Gedram held up a finger, while she read. She knew it would upset her matriarch, but, at this moment, things were too critical to be concerned with niceties. When Gedram had absorbed the request, she locked eyes with Kofroos.
Kofroos was taken aback by the intensity of Gedram’s stare. She’d always considered that her offspring would need her guidance for many annuals to come. Now, her offspring’s hardened expression said that it was Kofroos who was the minor when it came to this crucial turning point in Elvian society.
“The reps want to know if we have the numbers,” Gedram said quietly. She leaned against the exquisitely decorated bulkhead.
Kofroos squelched her intake of breath at the casual treatment of the delicate motif.
For Gedram’s part, she touched a finger to her small teeth, while she thought. She was reviewing the many meetings that she’d hosted. She knew individuals were seriously considering what had been shared. Some had voiced acceptance of calling a count and switching loyalties. Most others hadn’t expressed opinions.
While Gedram considered how to reply, her slate tingled.
“Now what?” Kofroos asked in exasperation.
“The other hosts are replying,” Gedram replied. Making up her mind, she replied to Dafine’s message.
“What did you tell Dafine?” Kofroos inquired hesitantly.
“I’ll tell you,” Gedram replied with a smile. This time, it was she who hooked her matriarch’s arm to finish the walk to their cabin.
Dafine’s slate buzzed, and he refused to look at it.
“Well?” Yemerth demanded, as the leader’s slate buzzed again.
“We’ve thirty-one contacts,” Famgore said. “Might as well wait to hear from most, if not all, of them.”
Yemerth silently counted the messages. At twenty-eight, she stared pointedly at Dafine. It made both Famgore and him chuckle, and he quickly offered a hand gesture of apology.
Dafine regarded his slate. The answers to his request were short, and he read them out loud. “Unknown,” he said, which perplexed him. “No and no,” he read with a stricken expression.
“Keep reading,” Famgore urged.
“Yes, go, yes,” Dafine read, with a bit of relief.
When Dafine finished the messages, Famgore announced, “Two unknowns, three negatives, and twenty-five affirmatives.”
“That’s thirty,” Yemerth noted. “Who’s missing?”
Dafine eyed the list of messages. “Gedram,” he said. He’d no sooner uttered Gedram’s name than his slate buzzed. He checked her response. Then he smiled at his companions. She says, “Go, go, go.”
* * * * *
The Deloy threw her slate aside. It struck the edge of her divan and tumbled to the floor.
An attendant dutifully picked up the slate and placed it in the position the Deloy intended it to rest.
The Deloy fumed. She was aware of the attendants’ furtive meetings. Reports from concerned elites had inundated her slate.
Vyztram’s message was a subtle invitation to a count, and the Deloy knew it. A count was a challenge to her authority, and every Elvian was aware of that. She would never accept an offer to settle a planet, and the elites, with their attendant families, held sway over the core’s population. If a count unsettled the delicate balance, the Deloy would see her power dissipate.
Her patriarch had weathered several challenges in his lifetime, but she’d yet to face one. This count might be different. Rumors and suppositions were rampant. Their essence was that the families were seriously considering breaking with the elites.
While the Deloy seethed, Dafine touched his slate, selecting t
he AI.
“The core’s reps are requesting a count,” Dafine replied.
Vyztram quickly accessed Yemerth and Famgore and received their confirmations.
In the Deloy’s suite, an attendant felt the tingle of her slate. A glance at it revealed a priority request from Vyztram. She hurried to collect the Deloy’s slate and extend it to her.
The Deloy examined the message, entered her vote in favor of the elites, and tossed it aside. She was miffed that it fell again to the floor. When the attendant reached to retrieve the slate, the Deloy commanded, “Leave it.”
The attendant stepped back. Then she turned away, pulled back her sleeve to access her slate, and entered her selection. She’d chosen the core.
A thought occurred to the Deloy. She retreated to her sleeping quarters and connected to Vyztram.
“I order you to delay the announcement of the count,” the Deloy said.
“Until I’m prepared to have you announce it,” the Deloy countered.
“List the reasons you have,” the Deloy ordered.
Vyztram dutifully read the numerous circumstances that would prohibit the issuing of a count’s results, and the Deloy seized on one.
“The Arcus is in danger, isn’t it?” the Deloy declared.
“Then you will hold the count until the Arcus is safe,” the Deloy said happily.
For the Deloy’s part, she was exasperated. She hated Vyztram. To her mind, the AI should be doing her bidding and not asking so many questions. “We’re surrounded by enemy fighters, aren’t we?” she pointed out.
