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

by Doug Hoffman

  “That is fantastic, combined with some old shirts we now have the makings of a half dozen Molotov cocktails. The pigs will be in for quite a surprise when we show them that the people are not unarmed, despite their best efforts to keep us that way.”

  “Yes,” Sylvia spat, “only the fat cats get to drink real Earth wine from real bottles in the fancy restaurants, while we suck crap out of plastic squeeze bottles.” It was not entirely clear whether Sylvia's revolutionary fervor was due to Marxist zeal or hatred of mediocre wine. To Todor it did not matter, he had what he desired most, a way to make a shocking impression on the elites who ruled Farside.

  “All right, comrades, spread the word. A week from today we gather in the main atrium at 11:00, just before the 1% take their lunch in the fancy eateries around the park. In a week, we will Occupy Moon Base!”

  Bridge, M'tak Ka'fek

  Three transits, forty light-years and nearly two months after leaving the Trader's station, the M'tak Ka'fek emerged from alter-space's lesser dimensions and returned to normal 3-space. The crew were now well practiced at the drill for arriving in an unknown star system, and each bent to their assigned tasks.

  “This system contains a lot of dust and gas,” JT observed from the navigation station. “It looks like there is a single appreciable planet, a gas giant about the size of Jupiter at 2.4 AU. Looks like it has rings and a couple of sizable moons. The star itself looks like an isolated white dwarf.”

  “A white dwarf?” the Captain asked.

  “Yes, Captain,” answered Mizuki, happy for an opportunity to ply her skills as an astrophysicist. “A star made up of electron degenerate matter, there is nothing denser in the Universe except neutron stars and black holes. The average density of matter in a white dwarf is roughly a ton per cubic centimeter. A white dwarf can contain a mass comparable to the Sun's in a volume a millionth its size. This one has a mass of 0.8 Sols but its diameter is only 0.009 of the Sun's, about the same as Earth.”

  “A lot of the system's gas and dust is infalling on the star,” JT added, checking more readouts at the navigation station. “I'm registering a lot of gamma ray bursts and high-speed particles.”

  “Is it in danger of an explosion like the one that chased us out of the Sirius system?”

  “No, Sir. This system seems to be in a state of equilibrium. Junk continually gets sucked into the star, resulting in a lot of gamma ray and particle creation, but no build up for a big bang like Sirius. Still no sign of a station like in the Trader's system.”

  “Keep scanning, it has to be out there somewhere,” Jack ordered. Or the furry little twerps lied to us for some reason.

  “My God!” exclaimed JT. “The ring around that gas giant isn't made of debris, it's solid.”

  “It's the space station,” said Bobby, awestruck.

  At her console next to the helm, Mizuki ran some quick measurements. “The ribbon must be 100 kilometers wide, and 300,000 km in diameter. Its inner surface area would be over a hundred million square kilometers, that's two thirds the land area of Earth.”

  “And I thought the last station was big,” said Sandy, staring open mouthed at the planet encircling construct in front of them.

  “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” recited the Captain, rising to stand in front of the commander's chair.

  The bridge fell silent, as the crewmembers attempted to wrap their minds around the enormity of the station before them. Ever practical, as polar bears are, Lt. Bear broke the silence.

  “So, where do you think they keep the antimatter on that thing?”

  Part Three

  War Is The Remedy That Our Enemies Have Chosen

  Chapter 18

  Bridge, M'tak Ka'fek

  Once the initial shock of the space station's size faded, Captain and crew turned to analyzing the situation they were facing. It was obvious that they could not just pick a place to board and wander about looking for the antimatter they sought. Regardless, the first order of business was to find out what conditions were like on board the massive station.

  “Doppler radar shows the ring is spinning with a velocity of just over 12km/sec at the rim. That yields a centripetal acceleration of right about a tenth of a G,” JT reported. “It has a rotational period of 21 and a third hours.”

  “Both a reasonable day-night cycle and amount of simulated gravity. The daylight is going to be pretty feeble though. Are we sure that there is warm life on that thing, and not a horde of Dark Lord minions?”

  “The inner surface appears to be some form of giant greenhouse. Spectral analysis indicates a nitrox atmosphere and IR scans report that temperatures are around 16ºC. A bit cool but quite comfortable, Captain.”

  “Speak for yourself, primate,” Bear harrumphed. “Why are all these places either stinking hot or without an atmosphere at all?”

  “Evidently most of the galaxy's warm life lacks your discriminating taste in environmental conditions, my ursine friend,” Jack chuckled.

  “The presence of a significant amount of free oxygen is a strong indication that dark life is not present,” M'tak's AI stated. “To most of their species oxygen is poisonous.”

  “Well that's a positive. I wonder what it's made of? The rim must be under a tremendous amount of strain.”

  “Given the rotational speed, I would guess it is wrapped in something like sheets of graphene or other mono-molecular material, Captain.”

  “The bigger question is how it stays in position,” added Mizuki. “A ring structure or a sphere would be gravitationally unstable with respect to the central planet.”

  “Yeah, wasn't there a big stink when it was discovered that Larry Niven's Ringworld was unstable years ago?” added Bobby, who's view of the Universe was filtered through a lifetime of reading science fiction.

  “Niven's Ringworld was a giant artifact 600 million miles in circumference orbiting around a star. Its rotation generated a standard Earth gravity and would have required some form of super strong 'unobtainium' to hold together,” JT scoffed. “Face it Bobby, his world was SF fantasy, that thing out there is real.”

  “Just because we haven't found a Ringworld or a Dyson Sphere yet doesn't mean they don't exist,” Bobby muttered, causing Mizuki to give him a cautioning look before commenting herself.

  “There are two sizable moons in orbit around the planet as well. Perhaps they function as shepherd moons to keep the ring stable, like the moons around Saturn.”

  “Interesting speculation, Dr. Ogawa,” Jack said. “However, since it is here, and has obviously been here for quite a while, such questions can wait. What we need right now is to figure out where to board that thing. M'tak, can you locate any antimatter on board the station?”

  “Yes, Captain, neutrino emissions indicate there are hundreds of sites containing antimatter on the station. The problem is there is no way to tell if a signal represents a significant cache or simply a local power generator.”

  “Well we certainly do not wish to roam around the station hoping to stumble upon the mother load. I think I need to have a conversation with our passengers about contacting their compatriots on the station.”

  * * * * *

  In the trader's quarters, M'tak had thoughtfully provided them with the same view being displayed on the bridge. Across the front wall of the common room the banded gas giant and its encircling ring appeared in all their glory.

  “Gaze upon that and remember it well. It is a sight that none from our station have seen in generations. Even the Trader has not laid eyes on the Ring Station.”

  “Trader Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra, how will we find our cousins on the gigantic wheel?” asked Feeshkar, suitably impressed by the size of the visibly turning ring.

  “As you will discover if you ever become a senior trader, there are certain frequencies that our kind monitor on every station. How else could far ranging trading missions find our own across the arm of the galaxy?”

  “You are trul
y a worthy leader for our expedition, Trader Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra,” oozed the unctuous Poonta-ta-ka. He had finally recovered from his prior encounter with the white fanged monster. Indeed, the prospect of trade, with lucrative once in a lifetime deals in the offing, raised the spirits of all the Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra.

  As all three fantasized about the riches they were about to acquire a tall figure in black materialized in front of the trio. Poonta-ta-ka jumped at the Captain's sudden appearance, but seeing that it was not the white horror, he quickly regained his composure.

  “Ah, Captain,” said Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra. “We were just wondering when you would pay us a visit. We see that you and your magnificent ship have brought us safely to our destination.”

  “Yes, Trader Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra, we have arrived at the station. Vast as it is we were wondering if you had a plan for contacting the station Trader?”

  * * * * *

  As Jack conversed with the three alien traders, those on the bridge spoke with each other in low voices. Mizuki and Bobby were still geeking out over the space station while Bear and JT focused on the mission ahead.

  “I guess it's a good thing we didn't eat the little twerps after all,” Bear admitted grudgingly. “On our own, we could wander around on that thing for ages without finding this station Trader or any antimatter.”

  “I'll bet they give us the runaround for as long as possible, before they tell us where the antimatter is kept. Of course, that's probably smart of them, since once we lay hands on the fuel we will probably grab as much as we can and head back for Earth.”

  “You think the Captain will just grab the antimatter and head for home?”

  “I know the Captain doesn't show it, but he's worried about what might be happening back home in our absence.”

  “I don't know, JT. I've known Jack for years—sometimes he gets hung up on his sense of propriety and fair play. Never understood it myself.”

  “I guess we'll just have to wait and see, brother Bear, we'll just have to wait and see.”

  Alter-space, En Route to Earth System

  The mission commander consulted her instruments and forcefully exhaled a stream of the ship's liquid atmosphere. Her kind did not posses names, only the designation of their function. She signaled the rest of the crew.

  “We approach emergence in the target system. Be alert for the appearance of our two sister ships.” She did not need to tell her crew to be ready to raise the shields and power up the ship's weapons—each knew their duties and responsibilities or they would not be on board.

  They were transiting from the system humans called Beta Comae, where the warm life scum had destroyed a refueling station. It was also the system from which the Destroyer of Worlds had launched its failed attack. The mission commander had been ordered to use this particular approach as well. Perhaps the dark ones did not wish to disclose other possible lines of attack to the enemy. Perhaps not. The Dark Lords kept their own council.

  The commander's mission was not one of destruction but rather a quick reconnaissance to identify the enemy's major resources. It was made clear to her that she was not to engage the enemy on her own, simply swoop in and back out, returning the intelligence gleaned. The ships would exit the system via three different transfer points to diminish the likelihood of pursuit.

  After seven and a half days in alter-space limbo, the excursion around the alien sun would be a welcome diversion. Then they would transit back to report their findings. Following the reconnaissance it would take several months to gather the Dark Lord's vassals. At the appointed time, squadrons of warships would converge on the enemy system from three transit points, as close to simultaneously as possible. It was the mission commander's job to give the fleets some idea of what they would encounter after they emerged.

  Not long now, she thought, a couple days in normal 3-space and then back into the safety of the hidden dimensions. Not a very exciting mission, but perhaps the subsequent attack will prove gratifying. Of course, some of the vermin could try to bar the way, wouldn't that be fun? Her vent flaps quivered with anticipation.

  The Atrium, Farside Base

  It was just after 11:00 AM and there seemed to be an abnormally large number of people milling about the atrium, most of them young and many wearing the drab gray jumpsuits of base maintenance. As the crowd began to congeal in the middle of the large open space, placards and banners appeared. One read “Jobs, Justice & Education,” several others “We Are The 99%.” A large banner proclaimed “Occupy Moon Base,” in letters two feet tall. A smaller, but more ambitious sign read “Occupy Everything.”

  The takeover was carefully planned. There were coordinators scattered throughout the crowd of protesters. They knew the sequence of events and were there to keep the rest of the rabble in sync. Toward the edges, the crowd linked arms and sat down, forming a perimeter that disrupted normal foot traffic. Many of the passers by looked on amused, while others nervously fled the scene.

  Several leaders produced bullhorns or pressed personal Karaoke machines into similar service. After a ragged start, the assembled masses were soon chanting in unison, decrying the rich fat cats who were oppressing the people. A number of military personnel, eating an early lunch in the main restaurant on the second level, placed hurried calls to other sections of the base.

  * * * * *

  At her desk in the HQ complex, Ludmilla's office erupted with several annoyingly insistent alarms. The one she chose to answer first was from Capt. Curtis.

  “Ludmilla, you need to take a look at the Atrium monitors. It would appear that we have a civil disturbance brewing.”

  “What?” Ludmilla quickly called up a panoramic view of the Atrium on her office wall. “Who are these people?” she asked. Though her question was rhetorical the voice interface for the base's main computer interpreted it as a command. Soon a flock of names appeared, hovering over individuals in the crowd as the recently installed face recognition software identified the protesters.

  As Ludmilla watched, several protesters produced cans of spray paint and began tagging walls with slogans. A couple of more ambitious types began scaling the large palm trees that grew near the waterfall, evidently intending to string a banner or two from the towering plants.

  “These idiots are making a mess,” the Chief Administrator exclaimed. “Where did these fools come from?”

  “Evidently they began converging on the Atrium just before 1100 hours. This thing has been well planned, it isn't just some spontaneous flash mob.” From the sound of her voice and the background noise, Gretchen was on the move. No doubt headed toward the disturbance.

  “We need to get some security forces to contain the protesters and move any civilians present to safety. We need to protect the businesses surrounding the Atrium as well.”

  “I've already contacted Jennifer, the Marines are on the way.” Jennifer was Jennifer Rodriguez, the head Marine, recently promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. As Gretchen spoke, Marines in helmets and light body armor appeared on the periphery of the main public space. They were greeted by chants of “Pig! Pig! Pig!” and a smattering of thrown food and beverage containers.

  With the appearance of uniformed opposition, the mob ratcheted up the action. One of the smaller bistros—really just a serving counter and a cluster of tables along one side of the Atrium—was rushed by the protesters. Tables and chairs were upended and several thrown across the counter. The few customers that had not already fled, ran for the advancing line of Marines and safety.

  Ludmilla received an incoming call from Col. Rodriguez. “Da, Tropsha here.”

  “Col. Tropsha, we have cordoned off the approaches to the Atrium and are working to evacuate the civilians who were trapped at the various shops. The mob seems to have been waiting for our arrival, since they are escalating the violence now that they have convenient targets.”

  “Can you contain them?”

  “Yes, Ma'am. That is not a problem. Trouble is, we are not really equipped for a civil d
isturbance. The light body armor is used for training but we don't have any shields, batons or a useful amount of pepper spray.”

  “I really do not want to use lethal force if we can avoid it, Colonel.”

  “Our people are armed with stunners, we can take them down if need be. If they physically attack the Marines we may have no choice. Thank God they do not seem to be armed.”

  * * * * *

  In the center of the roiling mob, Todor and his inner circle of devoted anarchists decided now was the time to break out their Molotov cocktails. Lighting the first wine bottle filled with flammable cleaning fluid, the lead instigator reached back and with practiced ease hurled the makeshift bomb through the air. In the light gravity, the burning bottle soared above the crowd, across half the open space to land on the wide stairs leading to the second level. Broken glass and burning liquid splashed among the Marines standing on the stairs.

  “That will shake the pigs up!” He exulted. “You didn't know we were armed, did you, you jackbooted fascists?” he screamed. The escalating violence was an almost sexual pleasure for him. As he turned for another bomb the crowd noise changed from raucous defiance to shrieks of terror.

  * * * * *

  “That was a fire bomb!” observed Gretchen, who had arrived at the plaza on the second level and was standing near the top of the stairs where the bomb burst. Several of the Marines had been set alight, the flames quickly smothered by their comrades. “This is now a direct threat to base integrity. We need to end this now.”

  “Da! Col. Rodriguez, stun them, stun them all.”

  “Aye aye, Ma'am,” Jennifer switched frequencies and issued the order. Seconds later the edges of the mob were alight with shimmering blue. Protesters dropped like felled trees, falling to the ground where they twitched and convulsed. The range of the stunners was limited to around ten meters so the Marines had to step over fallen protesters at the periphery to reach those at the center of the mob.