Triton – 01 sf-3

by Randolph Lalonde

  “Then that's what's we'll do, but first I have to tell you something, you're not going to like it.”

  Captain Valance crossed his arms and leaned against the front of his black topped desk. “Whatever it is, we'll get through it.”

  Alice took a deep breath and went on. “Before I found Jonas on the Malice, Gabriel Meunez's ship, I finished a strange job. An edxian named Zarrix had purchased a salvaged cargo from a friend of mine.”

  “An edxian? I've never seen one,” Jake commented.

  “I have now. They're strange, couldn't be more alien. I don't even think an issyrian could shape shift into one. Anyway, Zarrix was an exile, and the cargo was from a successful biological experiment. Some company had used edxian DNA to create something else and just as they were about to sell it on the market the edxians found out. They destroyed the lab to satisfy their honour but some of the humans got away with research and raw materials. My friend found their ship after it had undergone hyperspace emitter failure and salvaged it. I delivered the materials and found out that this exile is going to use them to show his people that humans were about to continue their work. According to him it won't matter which humans were planning to go ahead with it, his people will start a war and kill or capture everyone in their path.”

  “Capture? What for?”

  Alice couldn't help but remember the sound of the word from Zarrix, his grating voice was something she'd never forget. “Cattle. Humans are a delicacy. He said they'd be starting with Ara Enormous, since that's where the materials were last,” she paused a moment and shrugged. “I don't know what to do.”

  Jake thought quietly before replying. “If we could broadcast a report from you at the next port, maybe even when we're about to leave the Enreega system, then it could help. The only government large enough to do anything about this in the area is Regent Galactic. I don't expect much movement from them on this.”

  “I wish I still had the Clever Dream. Her computers have all the data recorded from the whole experience. I have my conversation with Zarrix on my command unit, but the extra data would help, especially the more detailed scans of the hold.”

  “Well, we'll broadcast your conversation on our way out of ports. That'll also get it on the Stellarnet. Maybe someone will listen.”

  “Hopefully. I just can't get over the fact that I gave Zarrix everything he needed to inspire his people to go to war.”

  “How could you have known?”

  “You're right, I couldn't have, but if I had destroyed the evidence once I found out what it was it could have stopped there. I was just too afraid.”

  “Would you have survived it?”

  “Probably not, but if I were braver thousands, maybe even millions could have been saved.”

  “I can't blame you for wanting to get out of there, I would have done the same myself. This isn't your fault, the people who ran these experiments and tried to profit from them are responsible. If what the exile told you is right, that's where it started. Besides, what if you tried to destroy the evidence and failed? Then you'd be dead and there'd be no one to warn people about this.”

  Alice looked to him expectantly. He had never seen her appear so vulnerable.

  “No, you did exactly what you should have. Now you're here and we can spread the word. Besides, if you didn't make the choice you did you wouldn't be here, I would still be looking for you,” he smiled at her warmly. “I'd still be out here searching for a daughter I'd never find.”

  Alice sighed and smiled back at him, she couldn't help it. “Thank you Jake, I needed to hear that.”

  “Any time. Just don't tell the crew I have a soft spot,” there was that smile again, open, warm, welcoming. The memory of it would help her through the days to come.

  Two Hours To Hyperspace

  The gunnery crew, all two hundred and eighty three of them assigned to the upper deck, stood in ranks in front of Chief Shamus Frost in shoulder to shoulder lines. The loaders and heavy suits were all at the rear wearing their two meter tall combat armour. Mechanics stood a meter ahead of them and the gunners were lined up down on one knee at the front. All eyes were on the Gunnery Chief.

  Frost didn't use an amplification unit, proximity radio or his comm when the deck was quiet. His eyes scanned from one end of the line to the other, inspecting, looking for flaws in uniforms and gear that was simple, easy to get right and even easier to find flaws in. “Close your collar Bowes!” he barked. The gunner clasped the high collar of his dark grey vacsuit, as did a couple other members of the large team.

  He nodded to himself. “What you can learn in a simulation is amazin'. You've learned ta work with the lower deck guns, some of you have learned how to arm, disarm an' reconfigure torpedo systems, an' others have even learned how to service a turret while half the barrels are firin'. Only twenty three washed out, now that's impressive. I expect ta send another twenty off my gunnery deck before the next hour is up since a simulation cannot teach you how ta manage yer fear,” he bellowed like it was the only way he knew how to speak. His salt and pepper stubble made him look much older than he was, and even though he was shorter than average with a squat build he seemed tall at a distance. His back was straight, his gaze ran up and down the line making eye contact with everyone as he went.

  “A long time ago I looked to my father and told him that I'd be signin' up for a gunnery crew. He took me aside an' said; 'gunnery crews pay for their victories, their losses and their failures round by round. We're what's left over when Fleet's taken all the better men an' women inta service as pilots, engineers, general maintenance, comm officers, navigators, deck hands, infantry an' even damage control grunts. They look at the bottom of the barrel and see if the sludge can be trained to shoot, load or climb into a killing machine an' get it firing again. If someone can't be on a gunnery team, they can't serve anywhere else.' He was tryin' to tell me not to start beneath the bottom, an' when I didn't listen he showed me this.”

  Shamus pressed a button on his arm length command and control unit and a two meter tall hologram appeared between him and the gunnery team. The view was from behind a much older turret. It was beat up, some parts were replaced through hasty but solid welding and it was built into the side of a ship, not installed in the top. The armoured suit the loader wore was showed signs of age and extreme wear and tear as well.

  The armoured loader ran from another turret further down the line to stop at the one in the foreground. The paired guns were still blazing as one of the magazine wells slid back empty. The loader crewman reached to his right and took a three ton magazine of rounds from a leaning rack and transferred it to the empty well then flipped a large latch on the top of it so he could pull the magazine casing free.

  When he pulled the empty magazine casing out of the well, leaving the rounds loaded inside, one round rolled out. He put the empty casing, a large, bottomless rectangular box, onto another rack to be reloaded then picked up the loose round.

  Frost paused the playback. “What do we do here Acheson?”

  “We put it into a safe waste container for matter recycling,” Acheson called the answer out.

  Frost resumed the holographic playback. The loader placed the round into the large magazine well and the box closed on his armoured arm up to the elbow. In one swift motion the rounds were put in play and as the turret continued to fire most of the armoured limb was pulled right into the workings of the machine.

  Most of the gunnery crew cringed. The crewman had lost his real hand and most of his forearm had been flayed to the bone. Frost paused the image as the crewman activated the emergency seal on his suit instinctively, severing his arm at the elbow.

  One of the mechanics to the right turned and vomited. It echoed across the deck and several other crewmen turned green.

  “This is the recording my father showed me, the man in the suit is my grandad. He made a bad judgement call on account of an ammo shortage. Within eight milliseconds the consequences of that act were paid. The deck
was down one good loader, that turret didn't get repaired until after the battle, an' they had to replace two arms. The arm on that suit, and my grandfather's. He was lucky, damn lucky. Some of you won't be. That's the life, we fight hard, pick our targets like deadeyes because a shot that misses today could take out a civilian in twenty years. That's space out there lads, it's not like firin' planetside. Yer gamblin' whenever you shoot in the dark, odds are long that you'll hit someone or somethin' but when you're not sure, you're doin' harm.”

  Chief Frost paused for a moment before going on, letting his point sink in. “I eventually became a loader, then a mechanic an' finally a gunner. I saved so many flyboy asses that they gave me my call sign. I liked that call sign so much I made it my last name. Let me tell you, there's nothin' like seein' a bomber after your ship, markin' it and splitting its hull wide open before it can launch! That kind of victory comes in time, for now if you see an important target, get three sets of eyes on it until it's gone. We don't have fighters, we don't have other ships watchin' our backs, but we do have the best gunnery deck this side of the Sol System, and a crew that did in five days what I thought we'd need a month for.

  Be quick, be careful, be sure of your targets. Every decision you make matters. We're sendin' ammo into space, you don't know who you're killin' if you miss. Today we take this practice shoot, the Captain and the deck hands below were nice enough to provide us with a whole bunch of targets just floatin' out there. You'll learn to fear these machines first, an' someday that fear will turn into respect. Now get to yer stations an' let's do this by the numbers. Remember to watch everything going on in every direction or these machines will eat you alive. Triton!” he shouted at the end of his instructions.

  “Deploy! Dominate! Disappear!” the crew replied, their raised voices echoing across the massive open deck.

  Captain Valance approached from behind. He had heard the whole thing from the express car doors. “How are they Chief?” he asked Frost as he watched the crews run to their stations.

  “Better than I was,” he eyed a burly fellow who wiped his mouth as he made his way off the deck. “Didn't see that comin'. Thought he'd make it past today.”

  “We've put some of the washouts to work on cleaning and light repair rotations. One started tending bar in the main Observation lounge and I've had requests for him to stay on duty there.”

  “Mahajic, aye, good man. I'm surprised there weren't more.” Frost muttered. “This is a good, clean, well designed deck, but she's intimidating as all hell. We'll probably lose two more as soon as we depressurize.”

  “I meant to ask about that,” Captain Valance said as he looked at one of the turrets. The Gunner was getting strapped into the seat as the four magazine wells were drawn closer to the deck so they could be loaded.

  “Aye, we depressurize to minimize damage from fire or explosions, and so we don't lose people if there's a hull breach. We just seal a section off and they keep operatin' if there's anyone left. If there are no turrets left ta run in their section they make their way in through an external emergency airlock an' rejoin the crew.”

  “So you expect to take damage.”

  “We expect to get pounded, there's nothin' like a lot of rail cannons on the field to complicate things. A smart enemy sends their fighters right after 'em, tries to do as much damage as possible to shake the crew up and disable the guns.”

  “Makes sense. How are the lower gunnery posts doing?”

  “Better. They practically trained themselves, some even have experience.”

  “Do you think we'll be ready?”

  “Aye. They're shakin' but they'll pull the trigger.”

  “Good work Gunnery Chief Frost,” Captain Valance said, offering his hand.

  Frost shook it firmly. “Thank ya Captain, you mark targets an' we'll shred 'em.”

  Captain Valance turned back to the express car and looked at the gunnery deck as the large doors closed. It was like watching a ballet, with the mechanics checking vital components on each turret, the gunners activating systems as they slid up into the firing position, and the loaders moving four ton magazines from the large materializers set into the floor between them. The noise was incredible, but he knew that in just a few minutes they'd depressurize the entire deck, and they'd perform their dance in silence.

  The express car doors closed and the vessel began to move. A sudden pain, like a steel rod being jammed into the top of his head stabbed at him. He clenched his teeth and fell to his knees.

  Memories of a strange bridge, commanding the First Light into a battle they couldn't win against cloaking ships that beat at their flanks and rear with massive disintegration weaponry. The massive station was surrounded by asteroids containing the same material the First Light was constructed from. It was like returning to a birthplace, only there was pain, so much pain.

  As the research station fired its big guns crew members were tossed like rag dolls and shattered like glass under the high impact. The ship, the crew were dying, and then he remembered his ruthlessness. The idea to turn towards the largest source of damage, their objective, and use a technology developed for peace, their wormhole generator, to create a gravity well and destroy the station while making their escape.

  “A bird does not sing because it has an answer,” came the last words from his best friend. He had to leave him behind, in the way of the stone and metal maelstrom that would erupt in their wake. Minh-Chu Buu was his name, and they had been soldiers together as well as civilians. His companionship was irreplaceable.

  There was no time to reconsider, and they bore through the station, arriving at Starfree Port with their ship in shambles. Their objective had been to destroy framework research, to prevent it from getting out into the galaxy. The last memory was upon him then, looking out at General Collins' bearded face as he taunted him through the transparesteel of the long term stasis tube. There were two other tubes behind him. The profile of the shadow in one was that of Wheeler, he could see it even through the drug addled memory. The other he did not recognize, there was too much long hair in the way.

  He balled his fists and braced himself as another wave of all consuming pain washed over him. “Every few generations there is a leap in technology so drastic the conditions of life change. This is such a time. Make sure this information lands in the right hands so it is a cure before it becomes a weapon. All your fears are justified,” the voice of Doctor Marcelles echoed in his mind.

  The nature of his existence was revealed to him then, how he was built, the memory of his first breath, and the first time he opened his eyes to gaze upon the thin, smiling face of Doctor Marcelles. “I have betrayed my masters again and leaked your location to someone who will take you away from this place. She can be trusted. When you are activated again you will be able to decide which life you want. That of Jonas Valent, who will be destroyed if he cannot be tamed, or that of Jake Valance. One has a life you can only imitate long enough to learn from, the other is a slate on which you can write whatever you wish.”

  “Why?” he managed to slur from the cold inspection table. There was a light behind the Doctor's head, he couldn't see the rest of the room.

  “Because we should all have progeny and hope that they are better than ourselves. I have completed my work and when you are fully activated, can access the transferred memories of your human predecessor as though they were your own, yours will begin. Make no mistake my son, all that you feel is real but no matter how intense those memories may be, they cannot make you Jonas. His life is there as a platform, as a baseline to elaborate on, to grow from. He is a good man with principles, his example is important. Never fear losing yourself in his experiences, no matter how you use them. You can only ever be yourself and I believe the sum will be much greater than the parts. I must say goodbye to you now, they'll execute me once they discover I've betrayed them unless I can get away in time.”

  His minutes old mouth worked to form the question. “Who?”

  Do
ctor Marcelles laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Go to Zingara station as Jacob Valance and you will be found by someone with answers. There are other messages in the emergency storage unit contained within your framework, but they will only come if certain unfavourable conditions are met. I pray you never find yourself in such a situation. Go and be whole, my son.”

  There was one more flash of pain before he woke. He was flat on his back, looking up at the faces of Alice and Stephanie. “Sir, are you all right?” Stephanie asked as Alice scanned him.

  All the pain was gone. He could remember everything, as though he were Jonas Valance, but the gift he had been given by his creator was the ability to distinguish with certainty whose memories they were. Not his own, but he could delve in and feel, experience them as if they were. Emotional memories were harder to distinguish from his own, but within his mind was a firm grasp of where Jonas' history ended and his began.

  He got to his feet slowly. “I'm fine,” he looked out of the express lift and saw the entrance to the bridge was open just down the hall.

  The experiences he unconsciously drew from, the knowledge he had acquired from a past he didn't understand before all fit, it all made sense. He even knew why it had happened. He had met Alice. Jonas wasn't the trigger, it was Alice. The first time she brought him out of his stasis tube the process of remembering should have been triggered but she left before he could meet her, before he was awake.

  She shook her head and shrugged. “My scanner says you're fine, a little heightened electronic activity, but it's gone now.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. “Ready to perform another rescue?” he asked her.

  She looked up at him confused at first then smiled. “Aye.”

  “Are you sure you're all right sir?” Stephanie asked, eyeing him.

  “I'm better than all right. I'm ready,” his smile was broad and had a hint of something dark behind it.