by Jerry
“And what religion does General Prince Moaroaf adhere to?” Frank said.
Nawash indicated some sense of satisfaction. “Fuquon, same as the Third Emperor.”
Frank smiled. “In view of this, what restrictions do I have in repairing your engines?”
Nawash moved away and talked quietly into the air for a moment, then returned.
“The Prince says ‘none.’ The Prince says fix engines and receive fifty slaves of your Third’s choice, to be provided after Earth surrenders.”
“Most generous,” Frank said. “We will begin.”
Dad!
He ignored Alana and pulled out a container of diagnostic nanorobots, emptying a portion like pouring smoke onto each engine.
“Now, we wait.”
Dad! Mother . . . the Admiral says whatever you do, don’t fix those engines! The Tak’won are sitting ducks all over the galaxy!
Ray did not look pleased either.
Frank shrugged. What good was that if they were still too far away for the navy ships to reach them?
* * * *
Two hours later, Frank and Ray were sitting on the floor, backs resting against one engine. They watched as information continued to scroll on Frank’s computer pad from the exploring nanobots. Nawash stood close by. The Tak’won commandos patiently kept weapons trained on the two Earthmen.
“Tell me, Nawash,” Frank said, “what god does the Second Emperor follow?”
“J’Qoojoos the Munificent,” Nawash said, straightening his stiff posture even more in what had to be pride. “The Second Emperor is a parent of mine.”
Frank smiled. “That is . . . impressive. And the First Emperor follows—”
“What waste of time is here!” yelled General Prince Moaroaf, as it stormed into and across the engine room in a surprisingly fast three-legged jog. “Nothing is repaired yet!”
Moaroaf rocked to a stop near them. “Kill all!” Moaroaf ordered, pointing at Frank, Ray, and Nawash in turn.
Red beams from hundreds of religious niches instantly put dots on Moaroaf’s body. The Tak’won commandos lowered their weapons and made what were certainly gestures of respect. The idol representing Fuquon turned a brighter shade of blue.
Moaroaf held up all three hands. “More time for repair work is granted.”
The beams faded and Moaroaf shuffled away in defeat.
Frank leaned over to Ray. “You people have intel on this religious stuff?”
“No, sir—we thought it just symbolic.”
“Starting to look a little too real, Ray.”
Ray spread his hands and shrugged while warily looking at the profusion of niches on the walls and ceiling.
Just idols and religious whatnots, Alana said. Mother orders you to make sure those engines can’t work and get back here before the fleet moves in.
Frank’s computer pad chimed and several of the small gods cast a gold beam on it from their niches. Frank scrolled through the results and nodded.
“Yes,” he said, looking up at Nawash, “I see the trouble.”
“Can fix?”
“Yes.”
“All three?”
“No problem, please allow access to several of my robots, now coming over.”
Dad!
* * * *
Frank and Ray stood watching robots swarm over the three engines. The covers were off and removed parts scattered around. Three hulking robots, intelligent mobile 3D printers, were fabricating new parts. At that moment, two more large robots were removing the last of the three rectangular supercharger attachments on top of the oval engines and setting it aside.
“Old Fuquon does not like this,” Ray said.
Frank looked over at Fuquon’s niche to see the statuette not only still glowing with a bluish light but oily blue tears flowing down its body. But the red angry glow from the other religious symbols was gone. Maybe that was a good sign. Things were working out.
Dad, came Alana’s voice, Mother has arrived and relieved Commodore Vincent of command.
Indeed, I have, Fleet Admiral Alicia Buckner—supreme commander of the Earth Navy and architect of the war against Tak’won—said. I see your plan is coming along nicely. Call me when you get a chance, dear.
Mother!
Nawash, now holding Frank’s computer pad in one hand while scrolling with another and using the third to point, was briefing High Priest Reehoot. Both seemed excited and confident. Frank wished he was and walked over to them. Ray tagged along, looking perplexed.
Reehoot regarded Frank. “The problem is found?”
“Yes, the supercharger units were faulty. They gave the tenfold increase in speed but shut down incorrectly. The next time engine restart occurred, or at least sometime in the next few times, the engines overloaded and various components fried.”
“Can fix?”
Frank smiled and waved at the bustling robots. “We are repairing and rebuilding. The superchargers must be discarded.”
“But that will make return trip very long.”
“Nope. The rebuilt engines will run at about six-thousand lights, with a service life of centuries. The extra speed the superchargers gave—once I understood it—is done easily and safely without that added prone-to-break complexity.”
Dad!
Hush, Alana, he knows what he’s doing, the Admiral said.
Ray shook his head but kept quiet.
Commander Baker, the Admiral said, why don’t you come back over to the station and brief us while Frank finishes up.
Ray!
He’s naval intelligence, Alana. Do quit yelling over the comm link.
Ray left while Frank continued supervising his industrious robots.
“Fixed soon?” Nawash inquired.
“Yes,” Frank said, but something was bothering him.
He walked over and peered into the nearest engine. Everything appeared fine in its spacious interior. He watched as a gaggle of small robots fastened a new capacitor bank in place, having cleaned away the blackened mess from where the old bank had burned out.
Inspecting the other two engines gave him the same feeling of unease, born of long experience. Everything looked right but it just didn’t feel right. Well, they’d just have to tune these babies when he got them restarted. Do a bit of diagnostics while running and tune any roughness out. Standard procedure, he’d done it thousands of times.
* * * *
Almost four hours later, the robots reported all complete except for replacing the covers. Always leave the covers off until tests show satisfactory operational parameters.
Rather than trying to understand the alien engine controls, Frank had control software on his computer pad. The pad was now generating holograms in midair of readouts showing the flow of data from the many sensors his bots had installed in the engines.
He pressed the power icon and all three engines began humming as they came online. Nawash and High Priest Reehoot made pleased sounds. General Price Moaroaf was still absent. Maybe that’s why they were making the pleased sounds, Frank thought.
The hum deepened and readouts showed each engine was passing through two percent of max power. Frank babied them along. As five percent came up, all three engines shut down.
There was dead silence in the vast engine room.
“At least nothing smokes this time,” Nawash said.
The statuette of Fuquon had stopped crying blue tears and its blue glow faded but a few of the other niches were again issuing an angry red glow.
“Give me a moment here,” Frank said.
* * * *
An exhausting two hours later, Frank was finishing manual adjustments on the third engine. Tools lay around him—grime from inside the engines coated his hands. He had removed the pressure suit entirely and his shirt was soaked with sweat.
Nevertheless, he loved it. This was the kind of repair work he gloried in, hands on, one on one with the balky engine, a rapport no robot could ever hope to achieve. With satisfaction in a job wel
l done, he finished reseating the last energy concentrator, laid down his laser wrench, and stepped back from the engine.
The red glow of earlier was gone from all the little gods’ niches; instead most of them were glowing gold. Occasionally a golden beam would reach out to caress an engine.
Fuquon was now a vivid swirl of blue and red—anger and embarrassment. General Prince Moaroaf was still absent.
Nawash and High Priest Reehoot, after watching patiently all this time, came forward. Nawash handed Frank’s computer pad to him.
“You will like this,” Frank said, his confidence in full bloom again.
He tapped the start sequence on his pad and all three engines came up fast, powerful hums from each filling the engine room. Frank twisted his wrist back and forth, the gesture causing the engines to rev up, drop back, rev up, and drop back. It seemed the whole ship was shaking to these FTL beasts caged might.
Frank shut them down, started them up, shut them down, started them up, and revved them a few times just from the joy of a job well done. Finally, all tests optimal, he dropped them back to idle, a low thrum sounding just above audible levels.
Nawash and High Priest Rehoot moved all three legs, heads, and arms in some sort of happy dance. Golden beams from the little gods crisscrossed the vast engine room space like an Earthly light show. Everyone was celebrating except Fuquon.
Frank revved the engines a couple more times just to prolong the moment.
Finally, everyone calmed down.
“Is all fixed?” Nawash asked.
“Yes,” Frank said, and instructed his robots to replace the engine covers, pick up the tools, and clean the work area.
Still the best mechanic in the known universe, his ex-wife the Admiral said.
You shouldn’t have kicked him out, Mother>, Alana said with a little bitterness.
Who said I did, Alana? While Frank was undercover here—we still saw each other from time to time.
And Ray too. He’s in the navy?
Frank, Ray, me, your sisters—everyone but you, her mother agreed.
“Okay,” Frank said, ignoring the radio chatter in his ear, “the repairs are finished. These engines will run fine pretty much forever with minor periodical maintenance. Any good warpship mechanic with a little training can repair all your ships and keep them running. I know quite a few retired navy guys who—”
What! said the Admiral.
High Priest Reehoot leaned forward as if struggling to understand. “Warp engines, that Earth science?”
Nawash answered him. “Our engine is very like warp engine.”
Reehoot shook all three heads, still confused.
At that moment, General Prince Moaroaf charged into the engine room and straight across to Frank. Moaroaf glowed blue and red like Fuquon the extremely angry little god. Sparks flew from Moaroaf’s body as if it contained a massive amount of power.
“Stupid earthling has ruined our chance to enslave the galaxy. Fuquon is displeased. This one seeks revenge.”
Moaroaf clapped all three hands on Frank, one on each shoulder and the third on the top of his head. All the energy stored within its body discharged with a thunderous clap!
Frank glowed golden as beams from the little gods powered his defenses. Moaroaf’s attack backfired, causing the General Prince to whiz through the air, trailing dark smoke, and crash in a blackened heap on the floor all the across the vast engine room.
At the same time, angry red beams flew from every niche that had a straight line into Fuquon’s niche. Oily smoke boiled up for an instant, and then Moaroaf’s god was just a heap of ash with tendrils of wispy smoke rising from it.
“Ah, things progress,” Nawash said.
High Priest Reehoot adopted a formal stance. “You have done well, Frank of Earth. There is to be a ceremony in the entry hall. Please invite those from your station to also attend.”
“It is payment time . . .” Nawash searched for a word. “Buddy.” And gestured for Frank to move toward the nearest engine-room hatch.
As Frank bent over to pick up his pressure suit, the black heap that was Moaroaf suddenly sat up, drawing an energy weapon in a blur of speed. Frank’s reflexes caused him to flatten on the floor but Moaroaf fired at the engines instead.
All the little gods who had clear shots hit Moaroaf with red beams, turning the disgraced Prince into Fuquon-like ash as well. Moaroaf only got off one shot but the fierce beam hit an engine, which slowly whined unevenly down to a stop from the damage, a small amount of white smoke curled up from the hole melted in the engine cover.
Frank got up and dusted his hands. He watched as the white smoke disappeared and the engine automatically powered back up.
“Hit one of the self-repairing modules,” he said. Removing a small 3D printer stylus from his belt, he air-drew a cover to close the energy beam hole and patted it into place.
* * * *
The entry hall was filled with Tak’won and the few humans from Frank’s Starship Repair.
Nawash and High Priest Reehoot stood in front of the little three-bellied god, Iohi, careful not to block its view. All the other Tak’won were behind the small group of humans.
Frank and the Admiral—resplendent in her dress uniform and happily holding Frank’s right hand—were together. Near them were Alana, her hand in Ray’s, and Frank’s other two daughters, Amy and Alice. All except Frank wore Earth Navy uniforms, even Alana.
Frank leaned over a bit and looked at her. “Drafted, hey Alana?”
“Mother can be persuasive, as you know, Dad.”
High Priest Reehoot cleared all three throats. Being amplified, it was noticed and the entry hall grew quiet.
“With the destruction of the former general prince and the gods’ repudiation of the once-god Fuquon, the Third War to Conquer Earth is over. Under the failed leadership of the former Third Emperor, who the gods inform us recently fell off this plane of existence, Tak’won accepts Three-Defeat and seeks peace.”
Nawash now spoke. “Once the new Three Emperors take office, formal surrender will be offered.”
“First,” Reehoot continued, pointing at Frank, “we accuse this one of conducting a stratagem of deceit against the Tak’won Empire. He subverted some among us to sabotage an already faulty supercharger design and ensured breakdown at a very embarrassing moment—just after the former general prince had delivered the ultimatum to Earth.
“Frank of Earth further conspired to fix our engines but with certain overrides that would allow Earth Navy ships to control Tak’won ships and he stole the technology of our engines, improving it so that Earth ships would be much faster even than Tak’won ships.”
“How plead you, Frank?”
“Guilty as heck,” Frank said.
“Dad!” Alana said but clamped her mouth shut under the stern gaze of her mother and new commanding officer.
Nawash tapped its chest. “This one confesses to approaching and conspiring with Frank to inflict this deceit upon the Tak’won Empire.”
Reehoot made a forgiving gesture with all three hands. “Nawash did so with the support of the Council of Gods who wished peaceful trade and coexistence, not endless wars of conquest. The gods decree that Frank and all Tak’won conspirators are forgiven.”
Beams of golden light touched Frank, Nawash, Reehoot, and many others in the vast room.
“Now,” Nawash said, “we must reconstitute the Imperial Leadership. I am honored to become Second Emperor.” Nawash glowed purple for a few moments. “And the Council of Gods has ruled that they, from now on, will have a representative in the Leadership.”
High Priest Reehoot bowed three heads as the purple glow emanated around it.
Second Emperor Nawash and Third Emperor Reehoot moved aside, turning and bowing to the small three-bellied god in its niche.
“Now, as is traditional, Iohi the Benevolent anoints the First Emperor, one chosen to best help both Tak’won and Earth reach full potential in a mutually agreeable partner
ship and perhaps, one day, even find a Third to join our two civilizations, making them whole.”
A beam of purple flowed from Iohi to bathe Frank in purple light.
Nawash turned and bowed to Frank. “This one would be pleased if the Imperial Highness would also accept this as payment for his repair services as this one personally guaranteed.”
Coached in his mind by Iohi the Benevolent, Frank made a gracious Imperial gesture of acceptance as best he could with only two arms.
Alicia grabbed onto his right arm and got on tiptoe to whisper into his ear. “These little things in the niches—are they computers or really some sort of gods?”
Frank shrugged. “These days, what’s the difference?
Alicia nodded. “And as for you, I thought our plan was to gain an advantage for Earth and swipe their engine technology as a bonus. You go and end the war in victory for us and take over the whole Tak’won Empire.”
“Couldn’t help it, darling—good mechanics are always in demand.”
WHEN YOU’RE READY
M. Ian Bell
In the morning, when the fog lies thick and heavy on the water, I sit at my workbench and seed the next simulant. It takes fourteen double-C commands to move the digital embryo into the simulation tank and begin the process. The tank thrums to life and the computer flashes the confirmation message. All of this happens in less than thirty seconds, fingers made nimble and automatic by muscle memory.
The first light of day filters in through the haze and I move to the south wall to watch as tendrils of mist are illuminated on the shore, smoky fingers reaching up through the rocks as with some unfriendly intent. By noon, when the sun is high and blinding, the seed will be fully rooted and thriving. The tank will ping to alert the new arrival and the simulation will begin in earnest. In approximately thirteen weeks, the trial will be complete.
And that’s not so very long.
I place my forehead against the window but the entire wall is dashboard glass and this only prompts Diane.
“Pardon me, but you have activated—”
I silence the dashboard and settle into the sensation of contact. The glass is cool and refreshing against my skin. I imagine it energizing me by degrees, ignoring the pulsing images in my eyelids that keep time with my heartbeat, willing away the headache building in my temples and the back of my skull. When I open my eyes and pull back, the landscape appears brighter. I check my wrist reflexively, but I’m not wearing a watch. It doesn’t matter what time it is; it’s morning on day one. The first week begins.
