Star Destroyers

by Tony Daniel

  “Wait. You can turn it on and off? Reading others’ thoughts, I mean.”

  “A normal human mind is a closed system. It doesn’t broadcast like, like a radio, for example. If I want to get into someone’s head, it takes effort and concentration. If they’re sensitive to such things, they’ll realize something is wrong, especially if I push too hard. You don’t have to worry about me secretly reading your darkest secrets or anything like that.”

  David felt embarrassed. “You must get this a lot.”

  She shrugged. “I fully understand people’s concerns. No one wants their every thought and memory put on display for the judgment of strangers. I can’t hear what you’re thinking, and you probably don’t think in actual words anyway. I can sense you, and I can sense the presence of Dr. Vladof and the Marines on the deck below us, but I can’t tell what you’re thinking or feeling without really pushing.”

  “In the vids, they act like you can sense very strong emotions.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve never been paralyzed or overwhelmed by someone’s negative emotions, if that’s what you’re wondering. That’s just media embellishment. There is some truth to it, though. Fear, anger, lust, and love . . . strong, base emotions like that do have more of an impact.”

  “Lust?”

  “Oh yes. I can tell when someone is thinking unprofessional thoughts about me,” she said, coyly, not breaking eye contact with David.

  He felt himself flush. “I assure you that I—”

  Ophelia laughed and pulled on her flight helmet. “I’m just messing with you. Will you relax? I swear, everyone on this ship is so uptight. Being nervous about protocol and what is ‘proper’ restricts thinking. It’s like . . . it’s like placing a tight corset on your conscious mind. You need to be fluid; we’re making history here.”

  “Let’s go make some history then.”

  Hours later, after a textbook-perfect (in David’s estimation) vertical landing, under manual control, on top of the headquarters of the Magnolia Colonial Government, David, Ophelia, Dr. Vladof, and the Marines found themselves led down a long corridor by a very nervous-looking aide. None of the Magnolian officials had expected a team of four heavily armed Marines to step off the shuttle. Their own security people had protested, and tried to say that not only could the Marines not come in the building armed, but that David would also have to surrender his sidearm before entering. An officer does not give up his sidearm, David explained, and if the security guards wanted to try and stop the Marines from going in, then things were not going to go well for them. That had been the end of the protest.

  They were led to a secure room. Two security guards stood at the door, as did Triumvir Caledonia and a man in a white lab coat. “Ah, greetings,” the triumvir said, hesitantly. The four Marines took up positions around the doorway, and Caledonia watched them with concern. “What is . . . I was expecting the captain, not an armed incursion!”

  David stuck out a hand. “Lieutenant David Weatherby, Alliance Navy.” The Triumvir accepted his handshake, but kept nervously glancing at the laser pistol on David’s hip.

  “Ophelia Cruz, Office of Naval Intelligence,” his companion said, also offering a handshake. “I know all of this is unsettling, but what we’re doing here is unprecedented in modern history. Precautions were called for. This,” she said, indicating the xenoscientist, “is Dr. Vladof. He’ll be monitoring the exchange for scientific study.”

  The triumvir’s lab-coated compatriot perked up at that and introduced himself as a resident xenobiologist from a local university. The two eggheads immediately got to comparing notes, all but ignoring everyone else. They would be able to record everything from an adjacent room.

  Triumvir Caledonia relaxed a little, but still seemed unsure of the whole thing. “Yes, well, those soldiers won’t be going in, will they?”

  “No,” David assured him, “Just Ms. Cruz and myself. I’m assuming all the necessary scans for unknown pathogens have been completed?”

  “Of course. We’re aware of protocol. Our visitors were quarantined for the requisite amount of time. They voluntarily gave tissue and fluid samples. None of the microorganisms in their bodies are compatible with Terran biology. There is no danger of contagion. They are effectively sterile to us. We also have translation equipment set up, but speak slowly. It’s not one hundred percent.”

  “Excellent. Thank you for your cooperation. May we go in now?”

  “Yes, yes. Chalmers, let them in please.”

  The security guard complied, tapping the screen of a wrist-top device. The door to the secure room slid open with a sigh, and the triumvir stepped aside to let the Navy personnel in. David, his heart racing, took a deep breath. Ophelia nodded at him, and together, they stepped inside.

  For as long as he lived, he would never forget that moment.

  The doors of the secure room cycled, hissing open, to reveal a well-lit interview room with a table and chairs. A figure stood beyond the table, brightly colored, contrasting starkly with drab tones of the room. It turned to face the newcomers, its eyes darting back and forth. David had no basis on which to judge its body language, but for all that the creature looked pensive.

  The Wanderer had vaguely reptilian features, standing upright on legs that ended in clawed toes. Like most higher life-forms of Terran origin, it was bilaterally symmetrical: two eyes, two arms, two legs. Its smooth, leathery skin was mostly red, with yellow accents; its elongated, lizard-like head was topped with a crest of small spines or horns. The alien was clothed in a black bodysuit that covered its torso and extended down to its elbows and knees.

  “Greetings, humans,” it said, in a tinny, perky female voice. It took David a moment to realize that it was speaking through a translator device, the speaker for which was affixed to its clothing. The Wanderer’s actual language sounded like a series of grunts, hisses, and clicks. “This One is Ship-Lord She Who Travels the Stars For the Duration of Her Life.” The translation was literal, the device still rattling off the being’s name after it had stopped speaking. “This One is . . . grateful . . . for your decision to speak with us.”

  The Naval Intelligence agent spoke first. She enunciated each word clearly, to give the device time to translate. “My name is Ophelia, and this is David. We represent the Interstellar Alliance Navy and our ship, the Independence.”

  The Wanderer looked askance at the humans for a moment. “You are a being-who-sees-into-the-thoughts-of-others,” she said, looking at Ophelia. “Those like you are much . . . revered . . . amongst us. Are you the lord of the humans here?”

  David briefly thought about the long and, occasionally, bloody history of relations between normal humans and the psy-active minority. “Not . . . precisely,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “We are here as representatives of our . . . ship-lord, with authority to speak for him.”

  “This One understands,” the Wanderer said. “Will you accept our request?”

  “Please tell us the situation,” Ophelia said. “This is without precedent. In all our history, no nonhuman species has asked to live amongst us and be protected.”

  The Wanderer looked . . . thoughtful, perhaps . . . for a moment, before looking back up at the two humans. One of its turreted eyes was focused on Ophelia, the other on David. “Our . . . civilization . . . is made up of many . . . factions . . . not all of these factions maintain-peaceful-relations-with-the-others. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” David answered. “Our species is not united as one either, and never has been.”

  “We have wandered the stars for . . . a thousand generations . . . without having a world. Living in space, always moving, always on ships, never at . . . peace. My . . . those-for-whom-I-am-responsible-for-and-have-authority-over desire a world to live on. A . . . home. This world is the most ideal of any we have found.”

  “I see. Many other species would be hesitant to make a peaceful request. Others would try to take this world by force.”

  “We
are one ship. Those-for-whom-I-am-responsible-for-and-have-authority-over number only ten thousand. The human . . . empire . . . is vast and . . . powerful. We would be safe here. Humans are . . . feared . . . by those-of-my-kind.”

  “We are feared?”

  “Yes. Feared,” the Wanderer said, the translator device conveying certainty of conviction well. “Humans take worlds for their empire. Humans kill not-humans who oppose them. The humans are not the most powerful, but are among the most powerful, and among the quickest to use violence.”

  David wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Being feared might be an advantage, but it also might drive other species to attack. “I . . . see,” he said. “But what are you running from?”

  The Wanderer ship-lord seemed confused. “This One is not moving-quickly-across-the-ground-under-my-own-power.”

  “Remember, the translations are mostly literal,” Ophelia said.

  “Okay. You said you would be safe, protected by the humans. What is it you want protection from?”

  The ship-lord was silent for a long moment. Her turreted eyes darted back and forth, as if she were contemplating what to say next. After nearly thirty seconds, she spoke again. “We are being exterminated.”

  David noticed that Ophelia was suddenly breathing faster, and she had a look of discomfort on her face. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Wow. That one hit me hard. Most of her emotional output has been mild, and a lot of it I couldn’t understand. It’s kind of like trying to read a book in a foreign language. But when she said that? Sadness. Fear. Anger, even. Unless she’s really good at spoofing psy-actives, this is something serious.”

  “You’re being exterminated,” David repeated. “How? By whom?”

  “Ancient enemies,” the ship-lord said, the cheery tone of her translator now more solemn. “Long ago we fought a great war, a terrible war, against them. We drove them back, but they survived. We were united-as-one-in-purpose then. Now we are divided. We are scattered. They have returned. They remember. They . . . hate . . . us. Their . . . wrath . . . is terrible. They are stronger now, we are weak. Few of us left now.”

  “My God,” David said, quietly. “Your ship, it’s full of refugees, then?” He couldn’t help but feel concerned. It was Alliance policy to not get involved in alien conflicts, lest humanity be pulled into a war they didn’t understand. There was a very real, not-to-be-underestimated risk of good intentions leading to another bloody war. At the same time, these beings were desperate, and they were afraid. Turning them away seemed heartless.

  The Wanderer listened to her translator intently as it conveyed “refugees” to her. “Yes. If you turn us away, we will go. We cannot fight the humans’ empire. But we request a place to live, and protection. We will not . . . cause problems. We . . .” She fell silent as another device made a strange noise. She looked at some kind of device attached to the back of her hand, and touched it with a claw.

  At almost the same moment, David’s communicator chimed, as did Ophelia’s. It was a priority message from the Independence. Something was wrong. “This is Lieutenant Weatherby,” he responded. “What’s the situation?”

  Much to his surprise, Captain Akua himself answered. “Lieutenant,” he began, urgency in his deep voice, “I’ve been monitoring the interview with the Wanderer. Very well done, but the situation just changed. Another ship just folded into the system, only a couple of light-seconds out from us.”

  “More Wanderers?”

  “No, Lieutenant. The contact is unidentified, but they are broadcasting to us and to Magnolia. Stand by.”

  David tapped his communicator a few times, routing the incoming transmission to the big screen on the wall of the interview room. The . . . thing . . . that appeared on the screen reminded him of a grotesque crustacean, though the similarity to Terran sea life was entirely superficial. The creature’s body was covered in a thick, armored exoskeleton. It had a pair of red eyes on stalks protruding from its head. A cluster of mandibles chittered as it spoke, but the transmission was translated into standard English.

  “What the hell is that?” David asked.

  “I’ve never seen that species before,” Ophelia said.

  David quickly cross-referenced the image with files on every known species. “This is first contact. But how are they able to translate this into our language?”

  The chittering alien monstrosity’s image was replaced with one of the bulbous Wanderer ship. “We mean you no harm. We have no quarrel with you. We want this craft only. It must be destroyed. Do not interfere.”

  The Wanderer ship-lord stared at the image, in silence, for a few moments before speaking. “It’s them. Those-who-hunt-us.”

  “She’s afraid,” Ophelia whispered to David.

  “I’m not feeling great about this myself.”

  The unknown alien’s face returned to the screen. Its very movements were unsettling. “This craft must be destroyed. The filth it carries must be destroyed. Do not interfere. It will be over soon. If you do not comply, we will destroy your world as well.”

  Captain Akua’s image returned to the screen. “It just loops after that, Lieutenant. At this moment, the unknown contact is headed toward us at eight gravities. It out-masses the Independence by three times, and its armament is unknown. I want you, both of you, to give me your assessment. Quickly.”

  “Alliance policy is to not interfere with alien activities,” David said.

  “Alliance policy is also to defend the sovereignty of our territory,” Ophelia added.

  “Captain, I don’t know if giving the Wanderers asylum is the right thing to do. It would be a significant shift in Alliance policy, and I can’t begin to guess at the long-term ramifications. We are also in a first-contact scenario. This is all uncharted territory, sir. That said, these aliens came into our space without permission and are threatening one of our colonies. If we comply with their demands, we’re setting a bad precedent. We’re acquiescing. It projects weakness. They say they mean us no harm, but we have no way of establishing what their intentions are. I would say that defending the sovereignty of Alliance space is the priority.”

  “I concur, sir,” Ophelia said. “To do otherwise would be to invite more of these incursions and more demands.”

  Captain Akua nodded. “Very good, both of you. That was my assessment as well. We will defend Magnolia from these hostiles at all cost, and will protect the Wanderer ship to whatever extent we can. The rest of it, their asylum request, we’ll have to sort out later. I want you to take the Wanderer there back to your shuttle and return to the ship immediately.”

  “You want us to take her with us, sir?”

  “That’s affirmative. Don’t leave her behind on Magnolia. Return to the shuttle with her and return to the Independence. That is all. Out.” The screen went blank.

  The Wanderer ship-lord turned its attention back to David and Ophelia, focusing one of its eye turrets on each of them. “You will protect us?”

  “Yes, Ship-Lord,” David said. “The newcomers made the mistake of threatening a human colony. We consider that an act of war.”

  “If there is a war, you may not win. Those-who-hunt-us are powerful.”

  “If we surrender you to them, give them what they want, do you think that will get them to leave us alone in the future?”

  “No, David. They have hunted us for . . . a-very-long-time. They do not relent. They see all life as inferior to themselves. They are at peace with none but themselves.”

  “Then let’s get going, Ship-Lord. I have been ordered to bring you back to my ship.”

  “Very well. This One will comply.”

  Some time later, David was once again behind the controls of the Raven, boosting in a minimum-time, maximum delta-V trajectory back toward the Independence. Ophelia Cruz was next to him again, running the tactical systems while he concentrated on flying. The ship-lord, Dr. Vladof, and the Marines were all in the Raven’s passenger compartment again, pinned into
their seats as the shuttle roared over the planetary horizon at four gravities.

  “David,” Ophelia grunted, her body strained under the acceleration. “The Indy is on my scope. We just came over the planetary horizon.”

  Checking the tactical display, David was left speechless by what he saw. The Independence was thrusting away from them so quickly that they’d never be able to dock with her. Somewhere, far out of visual range, the newcomer ship was lobbing missiles and torpedoes at it. The Indy was using its lasers and railguns to target the incoming weapons while constantly firing at the enemy. In such battles, the ship that scored the first solid hit usually won. Captain Akua was trying to lead the alien craft away from Magnolia.

  “What is the status of the Wanderer ship?”

  “They’re firing, too. Looks like the hostiles launched parasite craft toward it.”

  David watched on his screen as a pair of egg-shaped small craft rocketed toward the refugee ship, firing on it as they closed. The Wanderer ship appeared lightly armed, and was using all of its firepower to defend itself from the fusillade. He knew in an instant what he needed to do; there was no way he was going to be able to catch up to the Independence, and he would not be able to help defend his ship. But the Wanderer ship was much closer and looked to be in trouble. Warning Ophelia to hang on, he used thrust-vectoring and maneuvering thrusters to slew the Raven almost ninety degrees, putting it on an intercept trajectory with the pair of hostile small craft.

  “As soon as you’ve got weapons lock, start firing. Make your shots count. We don’t have much.” The Raven was armed with a brace of tactical missiles and a powerful pulse laser. It would have to do, because it was all they had.

  “David?” It was the ship-lord, her synthesized voice piping up in David’s helmet.

  “Kinda busy right now!” he grunted, mashed into his seat.

  “Missile lock!” Ophelia said. “Firing!”

  “David,” the ship-lord repeated, “whatever happens, This One is grateful. This One is glad to be with you. If we die, we die together. As . . . not-enemies. More than not-enemies. Friends.”