Awakening Threat

by Patrick G Cox

  “Looks like she’s been in a scrap,” the Commander commented. “But that’s not the sort of damage we’ve seen on other ships attacked by the Niburu.” He turned to the ComsRate. “Get me a link to her Captain.”

  “Online, sir.”

  “Captain Khama? This is Commander Polen. We’re to take your passengers off and all non-essential crew. Obviously, I can’t take them aboard my corvettes, so I need you to load your shuttlecraft and launch them. We’ll tow-transit them to our mother ship.”

  “That will require several trips, Commander. It would be easier if your mother ship closed us and we transferred everyone directly.”

  “Yes, it would, but that would also leave her vulnerable to attack. We’ll make as many trips as we need to.” The Commander glanced at a tablet the scan operator was holding. “According to my scans your ship has several Niburu barnacles attached to it. That is enough to keep our base ship well clear of you. Get your people moving please. The salvage ships will be here shortly and can deal with those parasites.”

  “Some of my passengers aren’t going to be happy.”

  “That’s your problem and theirs. I can’t put the Prinz at risk for the sake of their comfort. I’ll expect the first shuttles to be underway in half an hour.” He cut the link and leaned back. “Thanks for the heads-up there, Hillier. Monitor her and watch those damned Niburu barnacles. There has to be a reason they haven’t started eating her.”

  Chapter 28

  Celebrity Face-Off

  Harry watched the display from his command console. “The first shuttles have launched, sir. The Coniston is registered as carrying twelve, and eight have launched so far.”

  “Very good, that’s two each.” The Commander turned to the ComsRate. “Contact 841, 2, 3 and 4. Tell them, ‘Your lambs are on their way. Don’t hang about.’ And give me a link to Captain Khama.”

  “Order acknowledged, sir. Ship 841 says Fido and friends obey.” He grinned. “The others have sent ‘woof, woof,’ sir.”

  A snort of suppressed laughter escaped the Commander, and Harry laughed out loud as Commander Polen said, “Okay, tell them their master says ‘peep, pip, peep—get away round, and don’t stop to check any interesting smells.’”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The ComsRate’s grin almost split his face. “Captain Khama on link for you.”

  “Captain, you’ve only launched eight shuttles. What’s the delay on the remaining four?”

  “Commander, this is ridiculous.” The voice that replied was laconic and urbane, and definitely not the Captain’s. “There is no danger to your ship. The Niburu barnacles, as you call them, are no threat to you. We can be civilised about this, you know. If you don’t threaten them, they won’t harm you.”

  “Identify yourself, please. Where is Captain Khama?”

  “I am Alisdair Montaigne. I expect you’ve heard of me.”

  “I certainly have, Mr. Montaigne.” The Commander grimaced and rolled his eyes. “You’re fortunate we found you, and as pleasant as it is talking to someone of your standing, I must speak to Captain Khama. We don’t have a great deal of time, and I cannot allow the Prinz to close with your ship. I’m sorry if it inconveniences you, but you’ll have to use those shuttles.”

  “Commander, this is unreasonable. You surely cannot expect someone of my standing to embark on a mere shuttle without even rudimentary artificial gravity. I’m not without influence, you know. I’ve no desire to cause you a problem, but you force me to insist on speaking to your superior. He’s an acquaintance of mine, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “In which case, Mr. Montaigne, I shall arrange for you to speak to him in person. I have absolutely no doubt Admiral Heron will confirm exactly what I’ve just said.” The Commander paused. “Now, I really must speak to Captain Khama—immediately, please.”

  “Oh, very well, but I assure you, your superiors will hear of this.”

  “I’m sure they will, Mr. Montaigne.” The Commander glanced at Harry, his raised eyebrow signalling an unspoken question.

  Harry nodded. “Eight four seven, preserve a full record of this conversation, please. Copy it to the Prinz and to the Vengeance for the Admiral’s records.”

  “Done, Harry.”

  “Thank you.” Harry’s attention snapped back to the Commander as a new call came through.

  “Go ahead, Michael,” said the Commander. “What have you got?”

  “A very odd one, sir. The hull signature is a Sino-Asian cruiser, but she doesn’t answer any signal. She has an unusual electronic signature as well. Some of her systems seem active, others not. No indication the hull is being adapted by barnacles either, although she’s got around twenty attached.”

  “Did you run a scan for the presence of a living entity, human or animal?”

  “Yes. We got a life signal, but it’s not clear. In fact, it’s damned confused and doesn’t show up as anything in the databank, sir.” There was a hesitation. “They could be humans, but if so, they’re all huddled in three areas of the hull.”

  “Right, launch a monitor drone and get back here. We’ve got a few celebs trying to throw their weight and influence around. I need you closer to hand in case anything develops.” He cut the link and turned to Harry. “Have they deployed the rest of those launches?”

  “Just launching the last one now, sir.”

  “That prat Montaigne had better be on one of them. Signal 845 and 6 to take them to the mother ship.” The Commander stretched and flexed his shoulders. “That cruiser bothers me, but I can’t put my finger on it yet. Why are her transponders down? Why is she showing life signs, but all in concentrations? Why can’t our ships’ AIs contact hers? Too many damned questions.” He glared at the command display. “The last thing I need is a bunch of narcissistic celebrities trying to throw their self-importance around.”

  Harry nodded. “I agree, sir. I imagine our accommodation won’t be to their liking either.” He smiled and shrugged. “We could, of course, invite them to use our quarters here so that we can live on the Prinz.”

  The Commander laughed. “Yes, I can see ‘Monty’ Montaigne’s face if we offered him Regidur’s berth.”

  Disembarking from Eight Four Seven with the last of the shuttles delivered, Harry found the Prins van Oranien in a chaotic state. He edged his way through the crowd of arguing, confused and worried passengers, intrigued that they seemed to be from a wide range of social classes and ages. To one side a holovid team recorded the scene as he made for his cabin to retrieve his personal belongings so the cabin could be allocated to one of the rescued civilians.

  He found his way barred by a large man dressed in a manner intended to appear casual, but obviously intended to convey status.

  “Here, Lieutenant! I want to talk to the person in charge of this operation.”

  The peremptory tone brought Harry up short, his path suddenly obstructed by a large man whose face looked vaguely familiar. “Were you addressing me, sir?” he asked quietly, annoyed by the man’s attitude, and before the man could reply, Harry became aware that he was now the centre of attention for some reason.

  “I certainly am, young man. Do you know who I am?”

  Harry smiled politely, noting the expensive clothing, carefully arranged to give the appearance of informality, the arrogant expression and the expectation that he should feel awed that someone so important should deign to speak to him.“I regret I do not have the pleasure, sir. I have just disembarked from my command and intended to retrieve my belongings so that you or another of our guests might use my cabin on this ship.” He adopted a concerned expression as the man’s face registered surprise and then annoyance. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

  The man’s mouth opened and shut, and then he frowned. “I am Alisdair Montaigne, and I must insist that you, or someone else on this ghastly ship, find me and my partner some proper accommodation! The hutch that this individual—” he waved a hand toward the harassed chief steward “—tells me is
all he can offer is totally inadequate!”

  Harry’s eyebrows rose. “I see, sir. That is most unfortunate.” He turned to the chief steward. “Mr. van Hijsman, which cabin did you assign to this gentleman?”

  The chief steward carefully composed his face. He’d come to like Harry and knew him well enough to know that his polite expression hid his anger at the rude and offensive behaviour of this troublemaker. “I’d assigned Mr. Montaigne Commander Polen’s quarters, sir.”

  “I don’t care whose quarters they are,” blustered Montaigne. “They’re totally inadequate.”

  Harry smiled at the man, and spoke in a patronising tone that fairly dripped with sarcasm. “I’m afraid those are the most luxurious quarters available, except for Captain Doorman’s of course, but he won’t be able to relinquish his. This is a warship, sir. We are a little cramped for space. I’d offer you the use of my cabin, but it is about a third the size of the Commander’s, and I rather think Mr. van Huijsman will have it earmarked for someone less important than yourself.”

  The chief steward was now struggling to hide his smile. “I have done exactly that, Mr. Heron.”

  “Heron?” spat Montaigne. “Did he address you as Heron?”

  “He did.” Harry held out his hand to the man who gave every appearance of finding himself in the presence of someone or something unpleasant. “Lieutenant Nelson-Heron, Commander of Corvette 847 at present. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Montaigne. I trust you will be able to settle yourself comfortably despite the cramped nature of the Commander’s accommodation.”

  Montaigne held out a rather limp-wristed hand and winced as Harry took it in his. “I’d no idea. You’re so young!”

  “I’m frequently told so, sir.” Harry released the damp hand, resisting the urge to wipe his own. He was about to continue when he was interrupted by a rather shrill and very intense young woman who pushed herself in front of him.

  “You! You’re responsible for this war!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She shook her finger in his face. “Yes, you! You never gave the Niburu a chance to show their real intentions, just as you didn’t do on Lycania and probably on Seraphis either. You can’t treat indigenous beings as inferiors wherever you meet them, you know! You’ve permanently altered their cultures—changed them for the worse, deprived them of their chance to develop their own...” Her voice trailed off as Sci’antha materialised at Harry’s side, and a moment later, Regidur loomed on the other.

  Sci’antha spoke first, her sibilant speech translated by a device clipped to her uniform. “You are threatened, Navigator?”

  Regidur was more forthright. “Depart, you foolish whelp. You know nothing of which you speak,” he snarled. He turned to Harry. “Why do you tolerate these undisciplined outcasts of the pack?”

  Harry laid a hand on the nearest arms of both. “Pack Leader Regidur, I have explained this before. It is the human way. We disagree on many things, and yet,for the most part we are able to accommodate one another’s views and ambitions.” He smiled at the circle of faces around them. “Ladies, gentlemen, my friends, Lieutenant Sci’antha and Pack Leader Regidur, will be delighted to answer your questions about their society and cultures once we have you settled. I know you will find it most enlightening.”

  Montaigne recovered quickly. “Fascinating to meet you. Lieutenant, and your companions — I hope you’ll find a moment to do an interview with me at the earliest opportunity, you as well, Lieutenant, and, er, Pack Leader.” He smiled. “What an opportunity to capture your thoughts and views on the situation for my show.”

  Conscious of the hostility of the interested crowd, Harry decided on caution. “I’m sure there will be, Mr Montaigne, but for the moment, I must clear my cabin, as mist my companions, so our quarters can be made available to you. If you’ll excuse us?”

  The crowd parted as Regidur moved to clear Harry’s path with Sci’antha at his side. It didn’t take long to clear his cabin, and the crowd had thinned somewhat by the time he retired to his quarters on Eight-Four-Seven.

  “This is a worrying development.” Admiral Heron frowned as he considered the Commander’s report. “We’ve now identified six more ships like this. All of them have the same life signature, and their electronics and hulls appear to normal, but they don’t respond to the AI or the transponder.”

  “Yes, the scientists are concerned about it, sir,” the Commander acknowledged. “They think the Niburu may be using these as some form of Trojan horse.”

  “Right. Copy this and the science team’s views to all ships. I want them on high alert to any suspicious behaviour. I’ll draft a Fleet Order to back it up.”

  Mary smiled as she addressed the hologram. “Harry tells me he met Monty Montaigne when they rescued him from the Coniston. Poor old Monty seems to have had some of his illusions quite shattered.”

  Niamh laughed. “I should think so too. Stupid man, what did he think he was doing? I suppose it is something his agent dreamed up to keep the old fool in the popular eye. What did Harry say?”

  “He introduced Montaigne and others to Regidur and Sci’antha.” She released a peal of laughter. “Oh, I wish I could have seen it. Monty almost fainted when Regidur’s translator device addressed him and asked whom he entertained. I didn’t know they were connected to the Provider on Lycania. Harry says he looked quite put out when the Provider suggested his acting was to entertain himself.”

  Niamh laughed so hard that she had to wipe her eyes and take a few seconds to regain control of her voice. “Oh dear, I would’ve loved to have witnessed that encounter. Monty’s actually quite a nice person once you get past the ego and the front he puts on for the public. I shall write to Harry and let him in on some of his background. Perhaps it will help him deal with the man.”

  Mary giggled. “I expect so. Better warn him about Monty’s other preferences though. I’m not sure Harry is able to deal with that when he’s the attraction.” She grinned. “There might be a revelation of the old-fashioned Harry, and that could make him even more unpopular.”

  Niamh nodded. “You’re right, I’ll warn him about Monty. The old man is a bit of a lecher.”

  Mary nodded. “Best coming from you, I think.” She changed the subject. “I must say, he’s a new man now he has his own command, but I think the female AI has become a rival for his affections.”

  Both women laughed as they said in unison, “Men!”

  Niamh added, “They never grow up, do they?”

  The briefing officer was in the Admiral’s office to give him a pre-brief of the report he would deliver to the Captains and Commanders due to assemble in less than an hour. His team were already busy preparing the flag officers’ conference room for their arrival, but the Admiral always insisted on seeing the briefing beforehand. “There’s evidence the Niburu are taking over and using captured ships to lure ours into positions from which they can be attacked and captured,” said the officer to Admiral Heron. “These Trojans can be spotted, but they’re getting better at making them appear normal.”

  “Have they been able to repair the transponders?” James Heron glared at the information before him.

  “Yes, but not the AI linkage, and that’s crucial because it’s your best way to spot them: your AI should be instructed to inform you of any ship not responding to the normal AI uplink.” The briefing officer paused. “A second check is the rather strange signature we get when we scan for life forms.” He displayed an image on the viewing screen. “As you can see, you get this odd distribution: a large concentration here—roughly where the enviro spaces are—and here, around the living quarters and control room, and right aft near the reactors, but, interestingly, not around them.”

  “I wonder why that is. Normally someone would be in there monitoring their output.” The Admiral’s staff Commander leaned forward to study the graphic.

  “There’s something else. Look at the oxygen signature. One short circuit and that ship will go
up like a bomb.”

  “That opens up some interesting possibilities,” said the Admiral. “But where are the human crew? What is the life form we’re picking up signals on?”

  “To answer both your questions, sir, we simply don’t know.” The speaker paused. “We suspect the cluster around the accommodation and command spaces may be the crew, but, if it is, they have been immobilised. We’ve found that the scan frequencies can see the Niburu ships, and the reading we get for a life form is identical to what we get from them in the enviro space and the after-control spaces. It looks as if she’s carrying a Niburu crew and is under their control.”

  The Admiral leaned back in his chair. “So we could be faced with a large number of these Trojans. Have we any reports of them attacking anything?”

  “Two, sir, both from reported LPSL ships. Neither of them has been in contact since the initial distress call.” He consulted his tablet. “Both reported being under attack by Fleet warships. We had nothing in either area at the time.” He grimaced. “Of course, the LPSL’s PR people have made huge capital out of it, and ignore our statements to the contrary.”

  “To be expected, I suppose.” The Admiral sat upright. “Very well. Flags, see the means for IDing these Trojans is passed to all ships. Draft a Fleet Order for my signature. Under no circumstances must any ship identified in this way be allowed to join any convoy or close with any other vessels. If such a ship attempts to engage, shoot to disable. There’s a possibility we can save any human survivors, assuming we can reach them with the antidote.”

  “One more day and we’re shot of these damned LPSL refugees.” Kallie slumped into a seat beside Harry and tucked into his breakfast. He glowered at the group of chattering passengers at the next table. “If I have to listen to anymore self-righteous lecturing about human aggression and ‘human disregard for unique and precious sentient species,’ I’ll bloody well feed them to the Niburu myself.”