M'tak Ka'fek (The T'aafhal Inheritance)

by Doug Hoffman

  Let us see how sweet your victory is when your boarding force is vaporized along with the rest of the ship, the Captain thought with malice. Still, he could not help thinking of the fate that had befallen his ship and his crew. For centuries we have sent out ships to lay waste to distant planets orbiting faraway suns. Never have we encountered a foe that offered more than token resistance. Yet these creatures have attacked us with ships we cannot match; they brandish weapons we cannot counter. We are like primitives before these warm life demons.

  A sequence of indicators lit on the control panel. But the sequence stopped short of completion—the scuttling charges were not responding. The control lines to the antimatter store must have been severed...

  BP-2, Forward Section

  As promised, the Marines in Shuttle Two felt not the slightest tremor on impact. The sites for the incursions had been selected using thermal imaging and were rotationally about 110 degrees apart with respect to the target's central axis. The Marines of 3rd & 4th squads encountered an environment much the same as their compatriots in the aft part of the alien vessel. A mostly empty interior space laced by girders and support trusses with embedded enclosed structures woven into the tangled mess.

  “What is with this shit?” asked one puzzled Marine.

  “It's like some weird, alien jungle gym,” said another. “No atmo and no deck gravity.”

  “Yeah, it's like a humungous trailer park suspended in the world's biggest sewer pipe.”

  “Move out and find cover,” ordered GySgt Washington.

  “The prey has got to be in those tubes and boxes,” rumbled Tornassuk, one of the polar bears.

  “You may be right,” agreed Lt. Westfield. “Let's go say hello.”

  The Marines of 3rd & 4th squads spread out through the chaotic erector set interior of the alien warship, bounding weightlessly between girders and supports. Forward they could see open space and the ship's bow section still ponderously floating away. Looking aft there were a number of solid structures embedded in the web of supports. Approximately on the ship's center-line was the largest of these.

  “Sir, that large enclosed structure up ahead looks like some kind of central control. There's bundles of cables and pipes and stuff coming out of it. What do you think, LT?” GySgt Washington asked Westfield. “Should we blast our way in?”

  “Yeah. I don't know what those cables all do but they must have some purpose. Use the breaching missiles to open a way inside.” Aside from their normal armaments, the weapon makers back at Farside had come up with some man launched missiles. Similar to RPGs, each packed the wallop of a large artillery shell.

  “Aye, Sir. OK, you heard the LT, ventilate that large structure aft.” Four of the advancing Marines quickly found stable positions in the spiderweb of support beams, unlimbered tube shaped launchers and fired on the structure.

  Bridge, Destroyer of Worlds

  After minutes of dithering, the chief engineer verified that the scuttling charges were no longer functional. “Captain, what are we to do? If we do not destroy the ship the Dark Lords will slaughter our brood-mates and the People will be no more.”

  “Stiffen your carapace, you sniveling coward!” the Captain snapped. But the engineer was right, his highest duty at this point was to those back home. He was entrusted with a sacred duty, to return victorious or to sacrifice all on board while taking as many of the warm life enemy with them as possible. “Is everyone armed and suited up?”

  “Yes, Captain,” replied his first lieutenant. Those left on the bridge had donned pressure suits that sealed tightly against their segmented exoskeletons. With their arms encased in the clumsy suits the crew were milling about, several holding projectile weapons.

  The Captain finished slipping on his pressure suit and signaled to his crew. “All right, we are going aft, by way of the laser battery on the lower starboard quartile. We will show these invaders that the People will not simply roll over and die! Attack!”

  His crew raised a somewhat half halfhearted cheer and headed aft. The Captain grabbed the engineer with several forelegs and hissed, “You and I are going to retrieve the antimatter container that powered the laser battery. You will rig it with a detonator and we shall work aft, as close as possible to the main antimatter store. With any luck we will still be able to set off the main AM store and send this hell-spawned plague of demons back to the fires they came from.”

  As the alien Captain left the bridge of his disabled ship for the last time a series of tremors shook the command structure. This was followed by a brief whistling as the structure’s atmosphere—mostly nitrogen and methane, with traces of ammonia, at a pressure of close to three Earth atmospheres—escaped into the cold emptiness of the main hull enclosure.

  BP-2, Forward Section

  Immediately following the breaching explosions debris, blown by what must have been the aliens' atmosphere, gushed out of the newly created openings. In all his years with the U.S. Marines Dirk Westfield had never dreamt that he would one day be in an armored space suit, about to attack alien invaders from the stars. Sometimes, you just gotta' go with the flow. “That should have let them know the Marines are here.”

  “Aye, Sir,” GySgt Washington acknowledged over the command frequency, signaling to individual squad members to advance. From left, right, top and bottom the Marines closed on the interior structure. Along with the chunks of debris were a number of strange bodies.

  Bodies with multisegmented carapaces and an inordinate number of legs hanging down. Hunchbacked bodies that looked like a cross between a tailless shrimp and a clawless crab, grown to the size of a pig. As one of the bodies bounced off of a support beam and pinwheeled slowly back into the empty space within the hull, the front of the creature could be seen—a small head low and forward of the hunched back, five small unblinking eyes strung across its brow.

  “That thing almost looks like a giant sand flea,” said LCpl Joe King, “well, except for the five eyes.” King was from Pensacola in the Florida panhandle where a “sand flea” was not really a “flea” but a type of crab without claws. Fishermen favored the critters for bait when trolling for red fish and pompano.

  “I don't care what it is, it's butt ugly,” someone else said.

  “Yeah, like you're Mr. Universe.”

  “Can it!” Washington yelled. “They ain't comin' out so we have to go in after them. Morrison, King, take point.”

  Just as the Marines began to move forward to enter the structure more of the alien pseudo-crustaceans popped out of the holes the Marines had blasted. These were not drifting cadavers, however. They moved with purpose, ducking behind parts of the supporting structure from which they opened fire with projectile weapons.

  Random flashes sparkled around GySgt Washington, who quickly ducked behind cover. Morrison and King also came under fire.

  “Damn, I think they're shooting at us,” King proclaimed.

  “So shoot back, Joe,” Morrison yelled. “That's what the thing you're carrying with the trigger is for.”

  “Hey, there are funky sand flea things popping out all over the enclosed structure,” reported another Marine. “I guess blowing those holes in the enclosed part stirred up a hornet's nest.”

  “You know, I never cared much for shellfish,” Tornassuk chuckled as he opened up on the swarming aliens with his 15mm. “Let's see if they know how to fight.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Tornassuk,” replied Washington, “there's room for a shitload and a half of those things in there.”

  The bear rumbled something undecipherable and loosed a short burst at three aliens hovering near a hole. A cluster of soundless orange detonations flashed, turning the aliens into a rapidly dispersing cloud of shell fragments and body parts.

  “Gunny, we need to get inside that structure and secure any navigational or computational equipment,” Dirk ordered. Assuming that there is such equipment in there and we can identify it just by looking at it. “BP-1, BP-2. Things just got mu
ch hotter up here. We have armed aliens swarming from the enclosed structures...”

  Chapter 3

  Commanding Officer's Quarters, Farside Base

  Ludmilla had retired to her quarters to finish working on the endless stream of reports and authorizations that accompanied every action, no matter how trivial, required in running the lunar base. But despite the growing number of messages in her in box, she sat staring sightlessly at the desk's surface display. Her mind was on matters far away.

  Out on the edge of the solar system her friends were locked in battle with alien forces unknown. The last message from Gretchen said simply, “Enemy sighted, about to engage.” Ludmilla knew that what she was doing, no matter how mind-numbingly boring, was necessary, but she could not help wanting to be with her friends on board the Peggy Sue as they went in harm's way.

  What if there are casualties? I am the ship's doctor, damn it! I should be there, Ludmilla thought in frustration. She knew that there were other doctors on board, doctor's she had worked with and trusted, but it still ate at her to be so far away and unable to help those she cared about. That thought triggered an even sharper pang of emotional anguish.

  Oh Jack, where are you? Are you alive? No, you have to be alive, you have to come back. Humanity needs you, I need you! Savagely clamping down on her runaway emotions she pulled her mind back from the precipice—as comforting as it might be to descend into gibbering irrationality, it would solve nothing.

  “Der'mo! To hell with this,” she said out loud. “I need a drink, and I am not going to drink alone in my quarters.” Flicking open her contacts book on the desktop display she scrolled down and tapped on the entry for Elena Piscopia, a fellow scientist and comrade from Peggy Sue's previous voyage.

  Elena's tawny main and elegant Italian features appeared in a new window as the astronomer looked up and said “Si pronto?” Quickly followed by “Oh, it is you Ludmilla, what can I do for you tonight?”

  “I see you are doing the same thing I am, shuffling documents.”

  “Si, why is it that we got rid of paper yet 'paperwork' seems to keep increasing?”

  “I was wondering if you need a break as much as I do? I was thinking of going down to Jesse's place for a Fantasy? Are you game?” Ludmilla could see her friend glance down and scan the display surface on her desk.

  “Basta! This can wait! Yes, I will see you there, 10 minutes?”

  “I'm on my way.”

  Captain's Quarters, M'tak Ka'fek

  Fifteen hundred light-years from Earth, Captain Jack Sutton was having a sleepless night. It was just another in a string of sleepless nights since he had assumed command of the T'aafhal battle cruiser M'tak Ka'fek. The installation of a large AM container had resurrected the four million year old warship barely in time to defeat a flotilla of hostile alien vessels. Those belligerents were in pursuit of his former ship, the Peggy Sue, which was fleeing the Sirius system en-route to Earth. The Peggy Sue managed to escape into alter-space and hopefully made it safely to Earth and home port.

  Jack and company, however, had to make an emergency departure from Sirius to escape a near nova strength explosion accidentally triggered by the attacking aliens. The graveyard of derelicts where they found the M'tak was gone, blasted to atoms when infalling debris destabilized the degenerate matter object the wrecks were orbiting.

  The method of their escape was still a troublesome point for Jack. He had ordered his new ship to get them away from the cataclysmic eruption any way possible. It turned out that the ship's solution was not to slip sedately into alter-space but rather to create a temporary wormhole that dumped them out halfway across the Orion Arm. After the elation of once again cheating death had passed, the Captain and crew realized that they were a long, long way from home.

  Moreover, effecting their escape had almost completely drained the ship's supply of antimatter. According to Dr. Mizuki Ogawa and Lt. James “JT” Taylor, the ship's astrophysicist and navigator, respectively, returning to Earth using a series of alter-space hops would take more than two years. With Earth in danger, and the fate of their friends and loved ones on board the Peggy Sue unknown, that was just too long. So, with only enough fuel to limp from star to star, the Captain was desperately searching for a system where they could beg, borrow or steal more antimatter.

  Jack tossed and turned and suddenly sat bolt upright in the strange bed. For a brief moment panic gripped him when he could not find Ludmilla. Reality quickly reasserted itself and his faculties returned. Damn it, all this worrying is not doing anyone any good.

  It is a normal part of your mind's architecture, answered a voice in his head. It was the ship's AI—an artificial living mind that ran most of the onboard systems. When Jack assumed command of the alien battle cruiser the AI had “briefed” its new commander by implanting reams of technical data in his brain and establishing a telepathic link between them.

  I need to learn to not broadcast my waking thoughts to the damned ship, Jack thought privately, adding openly for the ship's benefit, You've studied me long enough to know what passes for normal?

  Yes Captain, humans are not so different from my creators. The T'aafhal dreamed as well.

  I hope their dreams were less troublesome than mine, Jack thought in reply.

  Sometimes, but often not. They were burdened with defending all warm life in this arm of the Galaxy—and they were losing the last time I had contact with them.

  That is not a comforting thought, M'tak.

  Sorry, Captain. But you should know that when you sleep your mind stays busy processing and cataloging information. It also runs through countless “what if” scenarios. Future outcomes, both probable and improbable, are simulated. In this way, you are ready to quickly respond to events as they unfold.

  So my nightmares are just my subconscious dutifully preparing me for the future?

  Yes, I hypothesize that many of your species' claims of prophesy and visions of the future come from this process. That and the feeling that a situation has been experienced before.

  Yes, we call that Déjà vu, French for 'already seen'. To himself Jack thought, I think my ship is trying to give me a pep talk. Then: M'tak, this is all very interesting but it isn't helping us get home.

  No, but it ensures you will be ready when an opportunity presents itself... the AI paused. Speaking of opportunity, Captain, Mr. Danner is calling you from the bridge.

  Put him through.

  “Captain, Lt. Danner here,” the young helmsman's voice sounded within the cabin. “Sorry to disturb you, but we have a bogy crossing the current system.”

  “Do we know what type of ship it is, Mr. Danner?”

  “The sensors say it is similar to one of those alien probe ships like we found on the Moon.”

  I would concur, Captain, based on the information downloaded from Peggy Sue's computer, the AI confirmed. It is definitely an antimatter powered ship, though its drive is quite inefficient.

  “Can you tell where it's headed?”

  “It looks like it is lining up to make an alter-space transit, Sir.”

  “Follow it, but do not let it know we are here, Mr. Danner.”

  “Sir?”

  “The last time we followed a ship like that where did it lead us?”

  “To the Space Mushroom, Sir,” the puzzled lieutenant answered. The Space Mushroom was an alien space station encountered on the Peggy Sue's first voyage. Then understanding dawned. “It was headed to a refueling station!”

  “Right you are, Bobby,” Jack said, genuinely smiling for the first time in nearly two months. “Consult the AI and make sure we remain undetected, but do not lose that ship!”

  “Aye aye, Sir!”

  BP-2, Bridge of the Alien Ship

  Led by Tornassuk and Gunny Washington, Lt. Westfield's Marines fought their way inside of the inner structure they believed housed the alien ship's bridge. The alien defenders fought doggedly but ineffectively against the heavily armored Earthlings. As they worked t
heir way aft, the Marines found a large number of side rooms, each of which they had to clear before proceeding. Most of the rooms contained empty pits filled with tendrils of mist that were quickly clearing. In a few of the rooms the pits were not empty—scattered, floating bodies of dead aliens cluttered the space.

  “What do you make of these pits, Gunny?” one PFC asked.

  “I don't know Fredericks. When we breached the structure their deck gravity must have failed,” GySgt Washington replied. “If I had to guess I'd say they slept in the pits. Maybe they were filled with liquid or something.”

  “So you're saying that all these rooms are crew quarters? So where did they all disappear to?”

  “You got a point,” the Gunny admitted. “We've killed a bunch, and there are a few dead ones in the rooms that must have bought it when the structure depressurized, but not nearly enough to account for all this bunk space.”

  Eventually, the Marines found themselves alone on the ship's bridge among the floating corpses of its crew. One of the technical specialists immediately began getting detailed scans of the equipment. “Looks like all this stuff is still intact, Lieutenant,” the tech reported.

  “Great, once we secure the rest of the ship some of the science types can go over it to their hearts' content,” Dirk replied, then half to himself, “why do I have an uneasy feeling about this?”

  “It was too easy,” said Washington.

  “How so, Gunny?”

  “This is one big ass ship, Sir. And Fredericks noticed something on the way in here—there's a boatload of what look like sleeping quarters along the passageways we entered through.”

  “And?”

  “One of the rooms looked like the inhabitants were all caught napping when we blew the atmo. There must have been a dozen aliens drifting around inside.”

  “You're saying that if each of those rooms held a dozen hostiles we have encountered far too few aliens?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Shit! BP-1, BP-2, we may have a problem here.”