by B. V. Larson
Their whipping arms were long, too. They could grab things from the top shelf or the bottom one without stretching. In contrast to the speed of their upper bodies, the group glided much more slowly on their feet. Overall, they gave me an alien feeling while I watched them.
Their lower bodies were like those of an insect’s thorax. They had six legs each, and they moved every leg as slowly as their arms were moving quickly. The difference between the two was unnatural and disturbing as everything else about them.
They didn’t bump along when they walked the way that humans do. They seemed to glide—like a trio of spiders doing a slow, methodical crawl as a group. It was only their whipping arms that moved with startling rapidity.
Their heads swiveled with odd, precise movements as they worked to watch everything they were doing at once. Some parts of the heads were flesh as were the trunks of their bodies. But those arms… they had to be enhanced with plastic and metal. I wondered if there was anything like meat and bone inside them.
“Variants,” I said loudly. “I must ask you to stop what you’re doing and talk to me.”
None of them reacted much. I thought they may have twitched, glancing in my direction during their frantic activities, but that was all.
“Variants, you are crewmen here on Defiant. I’m this ship’s captain. You will obey me now.”
This got the attention of one of the three. His arms slowed and moved at a waltz when compared to the flailing speed of the others.
“You are the captain?” he asked.
“I’ll be damned!” Morris exclaimed behind me. “They do talk!”
“I am the captain,” I repeated. “Now, if you would be so kind as to—”
“We have no need of direction. We’re behind schedule.”
Frowning, I considered the creature’s statement. As far as I knew, they were done with their major assignment, which had been to load the ship with equipment and supplies.
“If you do not listen to me, you’ll be confined,” I announced.
This got the attention of all three. They kept working, but they slowed down to listen and consider my words.
“Impossible,” said the second one. It had the number R-77 emblazoned on its chassis. The third one, number Q-161, spoke next.
“We’re getting further behind. Perhaps its goal is to delay us?”
“If so,” said the leader, number K-19, “it has already succeeded. Captain? Is that your goal?”
Putting my hand on the hilt of my sword nonchalantly, I considered the creature’s question. “I only want information.”
“And yet you threaten force,” the leader said, one tube-like eye focused on my sword.
“This is my ship, and I’m in charge here. I need to know what’s going on in order to pass judgment on your actions.”
“He’s unaware,” said R-77.
“Do not enlighten him,” piped Q-161.
But despite their suggestions, K-19 turned to look me over. “If we explain ourselves, will you leave us to perform our duties?”
“If I’m satisfied you’re acting under orders from CENTCOM, then yes.”
“Very well. We’re assembling a weapon.”
“What kind of weapon?”
“It must be mounted externally, on the hull. It’s a heavy impulse laser projector. We’re constructing the magnetics now.”
Peering in alarm, I saw they were forming what appeared to be a tube strung with wires.
“What’s the purpose of all this?”
K-19 looked at me for a moment. “Are you aware this ship is under threat?”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “You’re talking about the battleship Victory. Correct?”
“He is aware!” said R-77, glancing at the others.
“This ship lacks armament powerful enough to puncture the enemy hull,” Q-161 said.
I noted that Q-161’s voice was higher than the other two. Could it have been a female, originally?
“We’re working to construct a short range, high intensity lance that can do the job,” she said.
Stepping a few paces closer, I looked over the thing they were building. It could be a laser—a heavy one.
“I’m surprised,” I said. “You want to help us build a weapon to stop Victory? It’s your kind who have mutinied and taken control of that ship.”
“That’s insulting,” Q-161 said.
“How so?” I asked.
“We’re not machines. We’re individuals.”
“I see, and I stand corrected.” For some reason, the variant’s miffed responses made me smile. Perhaps there was some humanity left in these creatures after all, no matter what they looked like.
“Captain?” Morris said from behind me. “You aren’t suggesting we should trust these freaks, are you?”
“Please, no insults Lieutenant,” I said sternly. “Stand down.”
Morris had waved his men forward, and they were advancing with weapons lifted. Reluctantly, he signaled for them to halt. They stepped from foot to foot uncertainly. Every one of them wore a frown.
“We’re behind schedule, Captain,” K-19 repeated. “Will you leave us to our work?”
“No, not yet, I need to know more.”
“Please speak with Director Vogel in that case. He’s on Phobos. He’ll inform you concerning the situation better than we can.”
Nodding, I decided to follow K-19’s suggestion. “All right. Morris, let them work but watch them. Report to me before you take any action against them unless they threaten you directly.”
“But Captain…”
“Are my orders clear, Lieutenant?”
“Yes they are, sir.”
“Good. I’ll be back shortly.”
Leaving the hold with long strides, I found my mind was whirling. I returned to my quarters and privately reached out with my implant. I engaged the ship’s network and then went beyond it to the Solar System-wide transport layer.
The contact should be untraceable if Yamada had done her work well. I saw several pop-ups warning me about this transgression as I attempted to drive a private tunnel to Director Vogel. I waited a full minute, then another, with growing impatience.
Finally, Vogel answered me.
“This is an illegal correspondence,” he said. “I will report this after I identify the criminal behind it.”
“Then there is no need to speak,” I said.
We had only a voice connection with no visualization. Still, the signal was clear.
Vogel hesitated. “Who is this?”
“Did you place three variants aboard my ship?”
“Captain Sparhawk? Why can’t I identify you if it is you?”
I noticed he didn’t deny my assertion. Further, he’d recognized me by the inference alone. This allowed me to make two quick assumptions: first, that Vogel had indeed sent the variants. Second, he’d programmed them—if that was the appropriate term for hybrid creatures—to help me.
“You’re not the only one with a technical team,” I said to him. “This conversation can’t be traced or recorded by anyone but me. Now, please tell me what’s going on. My marine commander is itching to destroy your variants.”
“No, he mustn’t do that! Control your dogs, Sparhawk.”
“Give me a reason to do so.”
“I did send them. After I learned of the misuse of my creations, I felt I had no choice. They’re only a small force… I did what I could.”
His words confused me, but I was intrigued as well.
“You’ll have to explain with greater clarity.”
“There isn’t time. Your proxy technology is impressive, but you shouldn’t think it will stop CENTCOM for long. This conversation will be hacked or disconnected soon. All I can tell you is that you should allow my variants to work. They’re efficient and loyal. They will not be turned.”
Before I could ask for further information, Vogel’s predictions came true. The connection grew fuzzy, the tunnel collapsed and failed entire
ly.
I put a hand to my chin, mind racing. Who should I trust? Who should I suspect? It seemed that I was in a compromised position. I didn’t know how to proceed.
-14-
When I returned to the hold, I ordered Morris and his men to withdraw. They did so with poor grace.
“They’ll make hamburger out of you, Captain.”
Eyeing him sternly, I waved him out. They all withdrew.
“K-19,” I said, “I’ve spoken with Vogel. He tells me I should trust you.”
“Excellent. I hope this means you’ll allow us to work at full capacity.”
I watched their flashing limbs for a moment. “Are you saying you’re performing sub-optimally now?”
“Yes. This hold is pressurized. It would be better if it was not. Gas is like liquid to us, it hampers our movements. The air resistance slows every motion and introduces complex force-application problems our software must continuously compensate for. The additional friction alone—”
“But if I depressurize the chamber, you won’t be able to breathe.”
Q-161 made a twittering noise. I took it for laughter.
“We don’t breathe—not precisely,” K-19 explained. “Our organic components are fueled with oxygen artificially. Our vocalizations are generated by speakers for your convenience.”
“I see... Very well then, I’ll close the hatch and allow you to depressurize the hold.”
“Thank you,” K-19 said without so much as glancing in my direction.
I couldn’t feel bad about that as they were clearly very focused on their work.
“I’ll be back in one hour,” I said, “expecting a report on your progress.”
“We’d prefer a window of ninety-four minutes. We should be finished by then and in need of assistance with the next step.”
Agreeing to K-19’s terms, I left the hold. I found myself giving an involuntary shudder when I closed the hatch doors.
What had Vogel created? Whether they were working for Defiant’s defense or not, I felt a sense of unease and even revulsion in the presence of these variants.
The variants’ claims concerning Defiant’s inability to stop Victory concerned me. To investigate, I moved to the command deck and consulted my Exec.
“Durris,” I said, “have you used the tactical table to game out an encounter with Victory?”
He looked at me sharply. “Is that likely to happen, sir?”
“I hope not, but it’s best to prepare, isn’t it?”
He gave me a nod. “I came to the same conclusion, sir. Accordingly, I’ve been gaming out various scenarios. The results aren’t good.”
He proceeded to show me how events were projected to go.
“You can see here,” he said, “we’ll meet and engage at a range of about two million kilometers.”
“Our beam weapons don’t reach that far,” I pointed out. “Are you supposing we’d fire missiles at that point?”
“That’s speculation. What isn’t a guess is the effective range of one of these battleships. They can hit us at nearly double our longest reach—two million kilometers.”
“I see,” I said.
In the long history of naval warfare, the effective range of weaponry had often determined the victor. Battleships had been built bigger and bigger to carry larger guns. Larger weapons could hit an enemy ship before the target could fire back. Eventually, aircraft carriers had been invented to extend this range even farther, making battleships largely obsolete.
The same principle applied in space but even more so. Beams and projectiles fired in space met little to no resistance and thus traveled great distances without losing their punch. In the case of beams, there was a limit as the focus of any radiation tended to spread and thin with every kilometer traveled. Projectiles didn’t dissipate in killing power, but the odds of the target being where you thought it would be lengthened with distance. As a result, tracking missiles and beams were favored weapons at long range.
These battleships we’d built had been designed to reach farther than other ships could. The primary method used was to goose-up beam power so a given burst of fire kept its potency even at great distances. Bigger beams required larger generators, and therefore, larger ships.
“I hadn’t realized the battleship specs were this good,” I said. “No wonder CENTCOM wanted to build these big bastards to go after the Stroj.”
“Indeed,” Durris said. “There is some good news: The battleship is damaged. She’s maneuvering slowly, and her acceleration arc is way off specs. I’d say there are weak points in her armor as well, judging by the state of the hull.”
“Do we have targeting data? Points to hit hard with our weapons at close range?”
“Definitely. We know a lot about them, and they know a lot about us.”
“Has CENTCOM designated the ship as hostile yet?”
He gave me a quick up-down glance. “No. Not yet. They’re marking it yellow on the boards, meaning it’s an allied ship.”
“Allied? Meaning it isn’t an enemy… but not quite a friend?”
He nodded.
“They know something is up,” I said, staring at the data. “Someone down there knows. It might be Perez.”
“Knows what, sir?”
I glanced at him sharply. I wanted to take him into my confidence, but I wasn’t sure that I should. So far, I hadn’t dared to do so with anyone other than Morris.
“I believe Victory has been compromised,” I told him in a quiet voice.
He lowered his voice to match mine.
“Is this confirmed, Captain?”
“Not officially… but yes.”
“How did you come to this—?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We have to prepare to defeat Victory, but at the same time, we can’t let on that we’re doing so.”
Durris looked upset. He was a rules-follower and a worrier to boot. This gave him a natural dislike of all off-script activities.
“I don’t like this, Captain,” he complained. “For the record—”
“I understand your dismay. Unfortunately, I’ve found over my years as a commander that I’ve often been forced to deal with reality, rather than a fabrication that I’d prefer to be the truth.”
He looked down and nodded his head. “You can count on me, Captain—to a reasonable point.”
That was a warning, and I knew I’d best heed it. Durris would contact CENTCOM if I went too far. He’d have to be convinced more directly.
Sighing, I stepped away from the tactical displays and waved for him to follow me. He did so with some reluctance.
When we reached my office, I played the vid recording depicting Admiral Halsey’s death. He watched it all, until the final moments when Halsey was torn apart by the variants.
“What is this?” he sputtered. “Has this been reported?”
“Not by me, no,” I admitted.
“But it has to be, sir!”
“Not yet. I don’t know who else might be compromised.”
“Who’s doing this, sir? Who’s behind it all? Are these variant things planning to kill every human in the system?”
“At first, I suspected they might be. But now I’m of the opinion they’re tools, nothing more. The ones aboard our ship seem to be building a weapon to destroy Victory.”
I told him then about K-19 and his fellow variants.
“I have high hopes the weapon they are creating will do what they say,” I said in summary.
“Huh…” Durris said. “That’s very odd…”
“What’s odd?” I demanded.
“I hadn’t yet gotten to the end in my tactical breakdown with you, but my simulation predicts we’ll lose this upcoming fight with the battleship. We’ll lose because of their thick hull. My entire counter-plan revolved around getting close and penetrating one of the pockmarks in their hull. If those craters go deep enough, and this heavy lance can hit hard enough…”
“We might be able to puncture th
at big slow ship and take her down?” I asked hopefully.
“Maybe…” he agreed, “provided we aren’t blasted out of space during our approach.”
We put our heads together then and began to plot in earnest.
Long before Durris and I could set into motion our plans to deploy the lance, I was summoned by another call from CENTCOM.
This time, they didn’t bother going through Yamada. They contacted me directly via my implant.
The interface alerted me as to the source of the unwelcome intrusion. It was Admiral Perez, and he was projecting himself to my location.
I hesitated before opening the channel. Was Director Vogel’s warning coming true already? Had they detected my hacked implant and moved to discipline me?
There was only one way to find out. I couldn’t ignore this caller for long, and I couldn’t head out into open space to face Victory without convincing CENTCOM it had to be done. My crew was loyal to me, but they weren’t mutineers. They’d refuse to follow my orders if they conflicted with the brass unless I had a damned good reason.
As the call buzzed irritatingly in my head, I rushed to my office. Sucking in a deep breath, I conjured up a neutral face and opened the channel.
“Is this something important, Admiral?” I asked immediately. “I’m quite busy at the moment.”
He snorted. “No doubt.”
He examined his surroundings before speaking further. This time, his avatar was perfectly placed. He was standing on the far side of my desk. He paced the floor, his feet matching the surface of my deck almost as if he was truly present.
“Sparhawk,” he said, “I’m going to break protocol with you. We’ve had trouble contacting Victory.”
“You don’t say?”
He removed his gaze from a case containing my service decorations and glanced at me sharply.
“Yes, I do say. You’re probably aware of more than you’re letting on, but you’re wary of CENTCOM interference.”
“If you have any evidence of my improper—”
He put up a hand to stop me. “Forget it. Your recent actions don’t matter. We’re in an emergency situation. I’ve gotten word from abroad that things aren’t well. Our fleet has done more than fail—it has damaged Earth’s diplomatic status.”
