by Chad Huskins
Rook tried to communicate back slowly, but it appears he no longer has to. Bishop has assimilated the necessary data from both the Cereb translator and the Sidewinder’s vast memory banks, and has extrapolated what is necessary to communicate to the human ear and brain. Within an hour, Bishop worked out the kinks, and adjusted his speech patterns. “I believe I have now adjusted the wavelengths appropriately. Communication will be key for us.”
When those first words were spoken from an ally—not from an enemy, nor from an old man losing his mind, but from an honest to God ally—Rook felt close to tears, and, of course, close to laughter. The two were so closely intertwined these days. “I, uh…” He swallowed, trying to control himself. “I agree.”
They take some time to scavenge for supplies on the planet’s surface. There isn’t much left, but they find enough to nearly fill the cargo bay. It will be enough to get them started, at least. Bishop moves to the top of the ramp and says, “I believe we should move soon. The mother ship still hasn’t moved, but the Soulless Ones—the Cerebs,” he corrects, using Rook’s name for their enemy, “will eventually have their communications back online, and we would do well to be away when reinforcements arrive.”
“I agree,” Rook says. “We’ve pushed it long enough here. I’m ready if you are, big guy.”
“ ‘Big guy?’ Am I not ‘Bishop’ to you? Have you selected a new name to—”
“No, no, it’s just a…a, uh, a sign of affection and respect between partners. Between friends.” Bishop stares at him from the top of the cargo ramp. “You understand friends, right?”
Bishop nods slowly, solemnly. “I understand friends. Friends have common enemies.”
Rook thinks on that for a moment, shrugs. “I guess I never looked at it quite like that, but yeah, I guess so. Friends also look out for one another.”
“Then I am your friend.”
Somehow, Rook feels that the alien is closely relating friend with brothers-in-arms. He supposes that will have to do for now. Beggars can’t be choosers. A bit of advice from his mother and father, back on the farm.
Finally, they both board the Sidewinder and close the cargo ramp. Rook checks the hydroponic greenhouse box, and is happy to see that some of Bishop’s repairs to it have encourage more plant life to grow. The Ianeth seems to know fathoms more about both organic and technological processes than the people who created the mini-hydroponic lab. Rook looks down at the growing vegetables, admires the augmentations Bishop has made, and realizes he’ll be spending a lot of time trying to wrap his mind around this alien’s psychology.
Rook taps a button on the primary control board. “Begin log,” he says. “Call sign Rook. As it turns out, the last entry I put into this log wasn’t my final entry. For anybody who hears this, that means exactly what you think it means. The principle of four works, and my analysis of my enemy’s psychology was accurate. The strategy worked, but I’m not sure that it will again. Some of the Cerebs probably survived, and they learn very quickly. But now I know they have blind spots, and where there’s one, there’s probably more.” He glances over his shoulder, at the alien moving down the corridor behind him. “I’ve also picked up a new crew member. He speaks a guttural, syllabic language, not entirely unlike human speech, and he has a translator working now. He says his people were called Ianeth, or something like that. They were wiped out just like humanity. He won’t give me his name—I think it’s a personal thing among his people—so I’m going to keep calling him Bishop. He says he was an engineer amongst his people, and that’s more helpful to me right now than any soldier could be. He is…a complex organism, capable of learning fast and interfacing with the Sidewinder’s computers to learn more about it, and more about Earth culture and human psychology. He’s already worked on the Alcubierre drive and, with the use of the omni-kit, he’s fabricated the necessary tools and parts to get the FTL system back online.
“I saved him, and he saved me. There’s two of us now, hopefully that’ll mean we can achieve twice the results, using what we now know.” Rook is struck by something. “We,” he says. “It…it feels good to say that word again. I’ll have more to say once we’re out of the Shiva system and to safety. Bishop says he knows of someplace we can go to hide. He won’t tell me where, just that it’s far from here, and that it may have supplies and may act as a nice staging area for our next attack.” He smiles, and adds, “We’re going to try and wipe them all out. It’s insane, I know. But it was also madness that had me dream up my little ploy. Such mad hope…” He trails off, then reaches for the sign-off button. “End log.”
They are almost beyond orbit. A brief visit to the asteroid field yesterday allowed them to gather some of the mother ship’s spilled pycno, enough to nearly fill the Sidewinder’s fuel tanks. They leave the burnt landscape of Shiva 154e behind them, rocketing passed its two moons. The moons are charred, too, left that way by the Cerebs so that humanity would have nowhere to retreat. Only asteroids, he thinks, glancing at his sensors and gauging the massive radiation readings still emanating from where the King met his end.
Once they are out of orbit, Rook hits the main forward thrusters, and in less than ten minutes the entire planet is barely a dot behind them. He starts running the navigational computer through its paces. He and Bishop have selected another base of operations, several hundred thousand light-years away. As Rook begins cycling up the plasma coils, stabilizing the magnetic plasma transference, and working out the appropriate pycno levels for the initial jump, Bishop enters into the cockpit and says, “I ought to run you through various key elements to the nature of the Cerebs. You have come to understand much about them, but there is more you should know if we are going to be friends.”
Rook sighs. Yep. He definitely thinks friend equates to “fellow soldier.” “All right,” Rook says, and starts to stand up. Then, he sits back down. A thought suddenly occurs to him. “But first…” He taps a few buttons on the console, brings up a holographic chessboard. “You’ve been delving into my ship’s memory archives. Have you come across the game of chess?”
“I have.”
“Do you know how it is played?” he asks, reaching over to activate the Sidewinder’s forward laser. He adjusts it to warp space-time by one part in ten million, testing the field that will open ahead of the Sidewinder, permitting it into the quantum slipstream. Tachyon distortion shows optimal levels, so there shouldn’t be any trouble entering the Bleed. A soft chime sounds, indicating that strong tidal forces are being measured at the edges of the flat-space volume.
“I understand the rudiments of the pieces,” the alien says.
“Will you play a game with me?”
“Games are not necessary for friendship,” Bishop argues. “It is imperative as friends we understand the concepts of our enemies—”
“Games are very important to human friendships,” Rook says, now checking the synthetic flesh he made using the omni-kit, using it to patch up his leg. “And if we’re going to work together, we need to start bridging gaps. I will do as you say, I will study everything you know about Cerebs and become the kind of friend that you need, if you will first sit down with me and play this game, and become the kind of friend that I need.”
Bishop seems uncertain. His beady little black eyes view the holographic chessboard with a degree of suspicion.
Rook adds, with a smile, “It is this game that allowed me to destroy the mother ship.”
This appears to pique the alien’s interest. Bishop steps forward, cocks his head in a way that, were he human, would make him appear ready to fight. “How so?”
“Sit down, and I’ll show you.”
Bishop doesn’t move. For a moment, Rook isn’t sure the Ianeth will accept the invitation. Then, all at once, the large alien plops eagerly into the copilot’s seat, which whines in protest beneath his considerable weight, and leans over to Rook. “Show me. Friend.”
Rook smiles wider. He has the computer set up the pieces. While it does that
, he taps a few buttons, and pulls up a song, circa 1973. When it begins to play, Bishop sits upright and jerks his head around, alarmed. “What is that?”
“Relax,” he says. “It’s just music. One of my all-time faves.” He points to the chessboard. “Your move.”
Bishop looks at him suspiciously. Then, slowly, he moves a piece. Rook takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. It is the first time in over a decade he has experienced companionship. He revels in it, as a man in a desert might revel in a pool of cold water he’s stumbled upon. And, like such a man, he might even become insane with the sudden salvation, and with overindulgence.
To hell with it. Let it happen.
Outside, a tunnel through space-time opens and folds around the Sidewinder. It begins to enter the slipstream in a free-fall geodesic, so that there are no acceleration g-forces. Soon, all the stars become wavy, as if we are viewing them through a glass of sloshing water. Here, the stars bleed together, like a painting whose colors are scattered by rainfall. The quantum slipstream opens before us in a brilliant burst of white light. The ship plunges across the Deep, to parts unknown, carried by Dobie Gray’s greatest hit.
“Day after day I’m more confused,
Yet I look for the light through the pouring rain.
You know that’s a game that I hate to lose.
And I’m feelin’ the strain,
Ain’t it a shame?
Oohhh, gimme the beat boys, and free my soul,
I wanna get lost in your rock and roll,
And drift away.”
Acknowledgements and Notes
Special thanks to “Ace”, a friend who is a stickler for scientific accuracy in science fiction. Much of the science discussed in this novel is based off of materials, techniques, concepts and principles currently understood by science, with obvious extrapolations here and there. For instance, pycnodeuterium, or “pycno,” has been considered a possible fuel for interstellar space travel through the process of cold fusion, but is not agreed upon by all scientists as a viable option. The Alcubierre drive has long been a favored mode of faster-than-light travel…now, if we could just get our hands on some exomatter! Also, lasers will probably never have the destructive power one typically sees in sci-fi movies, but particle beams theoretically can have the power I’ve described here.
Asteroid fields like the one described in this story would probably only be in a very young solar system, before the asteroids had pulverized each other to dust and the pieces had been pulled away by planets, stars, passing comets, and other spatial bodies that would thin out the field. Still, I felt it made for an interesting battlefield, and an adequate “sectorboard” for Rook’s final game.
As for Cereb psychology, I feel I should say that I doubt it is possible for any race to evolve in the universe without suitably understanding deception, but then, what do I know about aliens? I constructed the Cereb psychology in a way so that I could discuss two facets of humanity that seem diametrically opposed at times, and yet surprisingly intertwined at others: deception and sacrifice. I am a firm believer that the best science fiction (I sure hope this was a good piece of sci-fi) takes the opportunity to discuss what it is that makes us human, the good and the bad, and how exactly we fit into the universe’s Grand Scheme.
As always, thanks to you, the reader, for following along on this adventure. I hope to bring Rook, Bishop, and the Sidewinder back to you soon for another swim through the Deep…and another game of chess, of course.
Chad Huskins
February 25, 2013
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
CHapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
CHapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Acknowledgements and Notes
