Jacob had learned what there was to be learned. Maybe the four or five weeks that remained before the Earth fleet arrived would allow them to discover how to talk to the captive wasps. If not, maybe he could get some kind of video discussion going by showing the two sets of videos to the leader of the wasp ship out in the Kuiper Belt. It had already seen images of the living wasp captives and their habitat space. Showing the first or both videos might motivate the wasp leader to video talk with him and his people. It could not hurt anything to try out the videos. The wasp ship was deeply wounded and even if it headed in-system, it had half the normal space speed of his fleet ships. They could intercept and destroy it long before it got close to Valhalla.
“Everyone, thank you for your sharing. And your candidness. For now, we’re safe. For now, Valhalla still lives. Let’s do all we can to make repairs, figure out the alien tech and then find a way to talk with these wasps!” Had he yelled? Jacob took a deep breath. “Otherwise, as Richard has said, blood speaks louder than words. If I have to sacrifice every ship in our fleet to keep safe the civies on Valhalla, well, I’ll do that.”
“Jacob,” called Daisy, sounding concerned. “We’re humans. We adapt. We figure out stuff. We’ll find a way to peace.”
“Let’s hope so,” Richard said, his expression grim. “I really would like to see my granddaughter grow up.”
“We all would,” Jacob said, reaching out for his can of beer. “Shall we get drunk as skunks, whatever that old phrase means?”
Richard laughed long and loud.
Joy grew a smile on her face that was bright as the Sun.
Alicia shook her head, though she looked bemused, as if she could not believe the light-heartedness of the younger crowd.
Carlos smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.
Quincy nodded slowly, a half smile showing on his face.
Lori grabbed a bottle of vodka, swigged some down, then looked his way. “Ahead of you. Can you catch up?”
Daisy . . . Daisy had an impish smile on her face. No drink in hand, but she was pointing a finger at him.
“Jacob, I think that phrase comes from the practice of skunks eating fruit that ferments in their gut. Like muscadines. They musta looked really drunk to our ancestors.”
He joined the laughing, doing his best to push away his memory image of the Bikini atoll thermonuclear blast that had obliterated a Pacific island, not long after the end of the last global scale war. History and anthropology were fields he had always enjoyed. Sadly, studying history brought with it the knowledge that lessons are sometimes not learned the first time. Could humanity find a way to end its first interstellar war, without the death of whole planets?
CHAPTER NINE
Hunter Seven watched the imagery on the perception imager that had been sent their way. It was very different from the routine Soft Skin imagery broadcast from the fourth world. It offered the third world as a home to Swarmers, if his people allowed the Soft Skins to continue living on their world. It had been preceded by imagery of the four Swarmers taken from his flying nest by the invading Soft Skins. The Worker Leader and Workers were building a basic home in a landscape of trees and ground cover. He would have thought they were on the fourth world, except his Servant for analysis of external perception signals said the imagery came from the largest Soft Skin nest that now flew above that world. The signal source moved faster than the world moved from light to dark. Which meant the wild landscape must be somewhere inside the terrible Soft Skin nest that had shot out black beams which totally destroyed several Swarmer nests. His two large and three simple eyes all told him the same message. The Soft Skins which had attacked him now sought a means of sharing the worlds that orbited the local sky light. He looked to the elderly male Servant in charge of monitoring cold external space.
“Servant,” he scent cast in a mix of trail, territorial and aggregation pheromones. “If Swarmers put down a colony on the third world, would the Soft Skins obey the nesting pheromones emitted by our Matrons? Would they stay away?”
The Servant fluttered his two wings, which were dull and not glossy like the younger Servants in his Flight Chamber. His two black antennae leaned toward Seven. “Hunter, it is possible. While they ignored similar scents from the device we put at the outer edge of the colony sky light, they must know from the captives that pheromones are how all Swarmers work, relate and cooperate together. The invaders took with them many signalers from the chambers they visited. They have nests that fly from one sky light to another. They may learn how we scent cast from the devices they took.”
He looked to the young female who managed his nest’s propulsive devices. “Servant, could we reach the third world and eject a scent device that warns we now claim that world?”
“With difficulty we could fly that far,” she scent cast in a mix of signal and trail pheromones. “But our nest flies slowly. It would be easy for a Soft Skin nest to intercept and destroy us. Our time on Nest taught us that only strength prevents other hard shell life from attacking us or harming our larvae.”
He knew that. That was part of why Hunter One had ordered the attack on the intruding Soft Sky nests when they flew to a hover above the world of Warmth. But the third world was untouched by Soft Skins. It was the reason he and his Swarmers had been left behind. Their primary job was to watch that world. And then report their observations of it and of the Soft Skins once Hunter One returned with more defender flying nests. He looked to the new Fighter Leader.
“Fighter,” he scent cast. “Can you defend our nest if more Soft Skins try to invade our home?”
The young male Swarmer looked his way. “It will be difficult. We have less than half the Fighters we once had. The hard shell Soft Skins were terrible in their quickness to kill. But I am bred to fight. Any Soft Skin who lands again on our nest will be met by me and by others of my cohort.”
Seven knew that. No caste could escape their inbred duty. Even the Servants who knew things he did not could never stop trying to decipher the workings of living worlds and the cold dark in which so many sky lights flew. It was how their home of Nest had always been. And how their colonies that flew around ten other sky lights existed. Fly out and colonize. Grow new castes as needed. Defend the home nest of one’s cohort. Attack those who attacked any Swarmer. Those life patterns had allowed his people to spread across the land, seas and ice of Nest, and now out to other sky lights. But these new Soft Skins were different than the thieving Soft Skins that lived in the trees of Nest. Or the Soft Skins that lived within the salty waters of Nest’s seas. These new Soft Skins were very similar to the Swarm. They would fight to the death to defend their homes and offspring. They would fight when attacked. And they would defend worlds they had colonized. He faced something he had never considered. Could Swarmers and these new Soft Skins now share the same sky light collection of warm worlds?
“Hunter Seven,” called the older female Servant who had guided his nest back to the ice ball in which they had sought safety. “We serve no purpose in staying out here. Our nest needs repairs to close the three holes in our outer hard shell caused by these Soft Skins. If we travel to the third world and fly above it in a hover, we can send out Workers to do repairs on our shell and we can study the new world. We might also travel to its surface and find fresh food for our surviving Swarmers.” Her black antennae leaned toward him. “For myself, I am old. But the prospect of seeing up close a new colony world excites even me. How much more excited will our other Swarmers be when they can look at their perception imagers and see the clouds, lands and seas of a new home nest!”
The Servant had infused her argument with strong clouds of aggregation, releaser, territorial and trail pheromones. Her speech carried with it the hope of new life, of new larvae who could be put onto the third world. All Swarmers respond to such a scent. Even he felt his inner gut churn with emotion. And he needed something to distract his surviving Swarmers from the dismay so many felt at seeing so much of their home nest destroyed b
y the invading Soft Skins. They needed warmth and hope as much as he needed it. And there was no possibility his nest could fight and kill any flying nest of the Soft Skins. Only the tail ring of weapons tubes still functioned and he lacked the specialty workers needed to rebuild his middle and nose weapons rings. At best, his surviving Swarmers might be able to erect a covering to the large holes in his outer hard shell. That would allow for air to again flow in spaces where once Swarmers had lived, worked and enjoyed themselves.
“Flight Servant, let us test these Soft Skins. Set us a flight path inward, toward the third world.” He looked aside to the older male who was in charge of pheromone talking with other Swarmer nests, a duty now empty with the departure of Hunter One. “Speaker To All, prepare a simple imagery group that shows our nest flying from here inward to the third world. Show us flying far away from the fourth world. Show our nest moving into a hover above the new colony world. Let us see if the Soft Skins agree to our flight inward.”
“Simple imagery will be prepared,” the Servant said, leaning his thorax forward and tapping on the control panel that lay in front of his bench. “It will take part of a light cycle to prepare and send inward. If the Soft Skins reply, we will scent their response within a full rest cycle.”
Seven knew that also. Their imagery signals flew as fast as the light from their home sky light. And as fast as their signals from one flying nest to another flying nest. He gave thought to the prospect of seeing the third world close up, as if one hovered in its sky. Perhaps he could take an air bubble down to its surface and be among the first to breath its air, feel its warm and feed on its fruit and small lifeforms. Flying to the third world would gain his nest large amounts of imagery and the Servants would understand it well. Such information could be scent cast to the arriving Swarmer defenders upon their return. Perhaps Hunter One would choose to share this sky light’s system of worlds with the Soft Skins. He did not like the idea. The thought of sharing a nest home with a group of Soft Skins who would be a constant danger to the larvae was something never before encountered by any Swarmer. Perhaps it was possible. He would look closely at the Soft Skin response, since their sending of this new signal said they sought a way of dealing with the Swarm that did not rely on one flying nest killing the other flying nest. Perhaps he would learn a new life lesson. Perhaps not. The attack on his nest by the white shelled Soft Skins had happened even though his nest was not attacking any Soft Skin flying nest. Now, the Soft Skins stayed close to their colony on the fourth world. Soon enough he would learn whether there was a new way to live.
♦ ♦ ♦
Daisy transferred the wasp reply imagery to the front wallscreen, where it covered part of the image of Valhalla. While she loved looking at white-capped mountains, green forests, brown grasslands and the blue seas and oceans of the planet, this new wasp imagery was the first reply they had gotten from the left behind wasp ship. She wondered what Alicia, who sat to the right of her and Richard, would think of it.
“Captain, wasp reply going active on the wallscreen,” she said.
“Very interesting,” Jacob rumbled. Her ceiling holo of him and everyone else on the Bridge showed him leaning forward, looking intent. “Seems they want to orbit above the third world. And they propose a vector track with a large swing away from Valhalla. But no response to our proposal for trade in space.” He paused. “Navigation, talk to me about the proposed vector track.”
“Sir,” called Louise as she touched her control pillar and scanned one of her several holos. “The imagery is actually pretty sophisticated. Planet three lies ahead of Valhalla by about 20 degrees. That’s tens of millions of kilometers. It also lies two-tenths of an AU closer to the local star. The wasp imagery displays all this. But it also proposes a flight track that takes their ship above the local planetary ecliptic when their ship gets past the fifth planet’s orbital track. Sooo, they are not only proposing to swing out from Valhalla by a large way, they are increasing that distance by arcing up into the empty space above this system’s ecliptic.” The lean redhead looked back to where Daisy, Richard, Alicia and Jacob sat. “They’ve already begun traveling inward on this new vector track.”
Richard slapped his armrest. “Which means any of our ships can intercept and destroy that ship since it moves at half speed.”
“True,” Jacob sat, his tone musing. “But we can do that anytime until the wasp fleet returns. Tactical, do you see any increased danger to Valhalla from allowing this wasp ship to orbit planet three?”
“Sir, just a shorter transit time for the wasps to get to Valhalla,” Rosemary said, her Irish accent pleasing to Daisy’s ears. The middle-aged woman pointed at the wallscreen imagery. “But planet three lies two AU ahead of Valhalla, which adds to their travel time. Their ship can only make five percent of the speed of light, at best. We could intercept them well before they get close enough to bomb Valhalla.”
“So, a risk, but a modest one.” Jacob looked to the right. “Life Support, the Lepanto is next up to undergo repairs. Which will leave us immobile and locked into Green Hills base. What’s your estimate of repair time?”
“Sir, two weeks, possibly ten days,” answered Joaquin Garcia from his function post to the right front of the Bridge. The man’s crew-cut black hair looked well-kept. As did the man in general, she thought, before reminding herself she was committed to Jacob.
“Tactical, if we allow the wasp ship to make it to planet three, what are your recommendations for keeping Valhalla safe?”
Rosemary’s red ponytail swung wildly as she looked back. Her milky-white face had gone tense. Her lips were tight, a further sign of concern. “Captain, I would dispatch a destroyer to escort the wasp ship to planet three, beginning when it crosses the sixth planet’s orbital track. That lies five AU out from the star and 4.3 AU out from Valhalla. Then, once the wasp ship arrives in orbit, I suggest the destroyer launch a missile with multiple thermonuke warheads to orbit above the wasp ship. The destroyer captain can choose an orbital speed that will keep the cluster of thermonukes permanently stationed above the wasp ship. That way we can attack either the ship or the planet, or both, if the wasp ship heads for Valhalla. It also serves as a visible warning to the wasp ship to stay in orbit.”
“I like that,” Jacob said firmly. He looked to his right. “Lieutenant Branstead, prepare a cartoon video for our reply that shows what we’ve just discussed. The wasp ship is 50 hours out from Valhalla. I’m sure you can prepare and transmit the video well before they reach the five AU limit.”
“Captain, my people will have the video ready within five hours or less,” Alicia said from her seat next to Richard. “Is that acceptable?”
“Yes,” Jacob said. He looked down to Daisy. “XO, what’s the status of the Philippine Sea? I noticed lots of black streaks on her hull from the lightning bolt and laser fire she suffered while launching the Darts.”
Daisy did not have to look at her holo that showed the location of every ship in orbit above Valhalla. This was data she had memorized, along with the repair schedule. “Captain, she is combat capable. While the Sea needs replacement of the adaptive optics lenses that were burned out during her recent sortie against the wasp ship, and she took three deep strikes into her armor, her hull is intact and her weapons systems are all operational. She has a few crew on liberty at the orbital station, but she could leave orbit within an hour.”
Jacob grew thoughtful. He leaned his chin on his right hand, a mannerism she had always liked about her friend and lover. His choice earlier to send only the co-existence cartoon video to this wasp ship, while saving the ‘destroy both planets’ video for any arriving wasp fleet, had helped her feel better about the stark choices facing him, her ship and every human in the system. Now, he seemed willing to allow the wasp ship to come in-system so it could see the world that might be a future colony world for the wasps. If, of course, the other wasps would accept the idea. So far, this wasp commander, who had bombed Valhalla, had shown himself will
ing to make a partial compromise. In fact, it was the first communication from this ship since its allies had left for Kepler 22.
He nodded slowly. “So most of our ships will be available for system defense while the Lepanto is undergoing repairs. That leaves only the St. Mihiel to come in after us for her cargohold repairs. XO, send an order to Lieutenant Jefferson for her ship to intercept the wasp ship at the fifth planet’s orbital, thereafter to follow and do as Tactical suggested.”
“Captain, yes sir, working on it.”
Daisy turned to her own group of holos. The Philippine Sea was holding orbit near the Star Navy base. Further out were the Chesapeake and Tsushima Strait, both now fully repaired. She tapped on her left armrest, activating one of the control patches on her seat. Giving thanks she was ambidextrous, she tapped in the text order, selected an Alert signal code to get Joy’s personal attention, and then hit the Send dot on the patch.
“Captain, orders sent.”
“Good.” He looked ahead and to the left. “Engines, move us to a link-up with Hangar Two on the base. We need to get those deep holes on our nose, belly and rear fixed as best the base can fix them.”
“Captain, moving on a single thruster,” called Akira M’Bala as the South African woman worked her control pillar.
Daisy wanted to relax. But she couldn’t. Managing all the decks on the Lepanto, plus tracking Med Hall reports, along with demands from Life Support for new food supplies for the wasps in the Forest Room and keeping a constant watch on her situational holo for the emergence of new moving neutrino sources, which might be new wasp ships, left her feeling tired and worn down. But her shift had four more hours to go. Jacob had six more hours to go. She gave thanks that Alicia was now back on the Bridge, readily available for advice, support and insight into how hundreds of people related on the Lepanto. And the sober, calm presence of Richard gave her a sense of safety she badly needed. Briefly she wished for her old job of just being the pilot of the admiral’s Landing Craft Assault. She loved flying. And being in charge of the Battlestar was harder than reading thermals and down drafts that might jostle her LCA.
Battlegroup (StarFight Series Book 2) Page 12
