Stories of the Confederated Star Systems

by Jones, Loren K.

  “Chief’s Quarters, COB speaking.”

  “Krys, come to control.”

  Master Chief McCormack arrived moments later. “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “Krys, take your Kitty to that debris field. Be careful, but find out what you can. And grab a piece of debris. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  The COB looked at her old friend and asked, “How bad?”

  “Like it wasn’t an accident that we found them here.”

  Krystal looked at Erica and shook her head. “The Old Man wouldn’t do that to us, would he?”

  “I don’t know, Krys. I just don’t know.”

  Captain Reordan and her crew departed ancient Earth with a full report to take back to their home era. But they had questions as well. Questions they didn’t dare ask.

  *

  Senior Councilor Javonich of the Temporal Directorate paced his office, scuffing the fine carpet as he kicked away his frustration, while First Lord Devero watched impassively from his seat. The report of the Wells’ encounter was in his hand, the datapad resisting his fierce grip.

  “Their mission was a success, though they don’t know it.”

  “Indeed, Councilor. You know that I objected to sending them into it blind.” The First Lord’s voice was soft, but it had a definite edge to it. “A little preparation might have done them a world of good.”

  “I know,” the councilor sighed, “but it was imperative that it appear to be a random act, an accident. We couldn’t let on that we were aware that a battle took place above Earth so long ago.”

  The First Lord stood and walked over to the glass case against the wall. There, nestled in a velvet pad, was a piece of wreckage. It was melted and twisted in an all too familiar pattern, though the metal itself was of an unfamiliar alloy. “To think that this has been buried on the moon for more than seven thousand years. God, can you imagine where we would be now if we had been able to make contact then?”

  Councilor Javonich nodded. “Yes, I can. A slave race or an extinct one from all appearances and the Wells’ report. They attacked without warning, and nearly destroyed the Wells and all hands. Not the act of a nurturing race.”

  “Perhaps so.” The First Lord sighed. “I would like to send them out again soon. They need to be too busy to dwell on this incident. I will be doing enough of that for all of us.”

  “As you wish. Send them to watch something quiet. I understand that there were some remarkable things happening in Europe during the 15th Century, CE. Let them go watch a civilization being built.”

  “Leave Nothing to Chance” © 2008

  Kachina

  THE OLD SHAMAN SAT ON THE BLUFF, the hot breeze toying with his long grey hair as he looked up at the sky. His eyes never wavered from the North Star, that fixed point around which all of the other stars rotated, as he sought guidance from the spirits.

  Suddenly a new star flared to life, only to disappear in the next instant. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He had been searching for a sign from the spirits, but was this the sign that he was seeking? The people needed a new home, but was this the place?

  Sighing, he wished silently that, just once before he died, the spirits would make their will clear.

  *

  The Confederated Star System Temporal Cruiser CSS H.G. Wells, TCH-1, flared into being, her drives shutting down in response to a malfunction. Her velocity was sufficient to send her speeding out into the dark reaches of the universe, but that was not to be her fate. Earth, a past Earth that had still not even dreamed of her existence, was waiting to receive her. The Wells coasted into an elliptical orbit around old Earth, her automatic systems compensating for the error in the arrival window.

  Captain Erica Reordan moaned softly as she began to regain consciousness. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the shapely backside of her executive officer, Commander Kellin Frazier. She was confused for a moment. Why is Kell’s butt in my face? Even more important, what was she doing lying on the floor of the control room? Resisting the urge to ask stupid questions, she rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow.

  The Wells’ control room was a disaster area. Bodies lay thrown about in various states of disarray. Everyone seemed to be alive, but no one was where they were supposed to be. Kellin drew a deep breath and rolled over suddenly, his legs knocking her elbow out from under her, causing her to fall across his knees.

  “Oof! Watch it, Kell. Move slowly for a few minutes.”

  “Captain? What happened, Ma’am?” Kellin sat up, looking down into her eyes for a moment before looking around. “Rough trip.”

  “Mr. Frazier, you have an absolutely astounding talent for understatement.” Captain Reordan struggled to a sitting position, then hauled herself up into her chair. Thumbing her microphone to life, she punched up the shipwide announcing system.

  “Attention all hands! Attention all hands! Damage control parties begin assessing the ship’s condition. Chief Engineer, establish propulsion capabilities and the status of the temporal drive.” Closing the circuit, she paused to rub her forehead, her fingers coming away with a smear of blood.

  Commander Frazier handed her a wet gauze, and she unthinkingly slapped it to her forehead. “HAAH! Damn, what was that!” she snarled as she threw the gauze on the floor.

  “Alcohol,” Commander Frazier replied levelly before sitting heavily into his own chair and accessing his computer. “Nav says that we have reached old Earth, but the temporal circuits are down. I have no idea when we are.”

  The rest of the control room staff was beginning to function again, retaking their stations amid soft curses and groans. Captain Reordan shook her head and ordered, “Sensors, I want an evaluation of that planet. Verify that it is Earth, then see if you can establish the era. Use atmospheric sampling and mapping.”

  “Aye, Ma’am,” the tech answered softly, not looking up from his panel. “Preliminary readings are pre-industrial. Very low levels of hydrocarbons. Limited sulfur dioxide, apparently from natural sources. Mapping shows a few large European cities, none in North, Central, or South America, with the exception of some population centers on the Yucatan Peninsula and in the high Andes Mountains. Waiting for our orbit to bring Asia into range.”

  “Pre-Columbian, or earlier.” The captain sighed. A crackle of static drew her attention to the intercom. “Report.”

  “Control, Engineering. We have normal space drive only. Hyperspace and Temporal drives are off line. Temporal drive is completely dead.” The engineer, Lieutenant Commander Williamson, paused for a moment. “We have indications that we took a micrometeoroid strike at the instant of our transit. We could be anywhen.”

  Captain Reordan caught her lower lip in her teeth for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Continue with repairs. Control out.” Turning her chair to face her command crew, she sighed. “You heard him. Until Mister Williamson establishes the true extent of the damage, we continue with the mission. There is a whole planet to survey for the historians. Until proven otherwise, we will assume that Mister Williamson and his people will be able to make repairs and return us home.”

  The crew gave her a few dubious looks, then began the survey. They had arrived north of the solar ecliptic so as to avoid as much of the Solar System’s debris as possible. The ship’s automatic systems had placed them in a high orbit around Earth to avoid any possibility of detection, but that was far too remote for her to consider. “Helm, move us into a polar orbit. Low and fast. I want a ball of twine survey of this time period.”

  The crew turned toward their primary tasks and began the survey, using instruments that varied from optical telescopes and cameras to x-ray spectrometers and gas chromatographs. Maps of a primitive planet began to form, showing a shockingly low level of development. There was some good news. The pyramids stood, and Rome seemed to have come and gone. China was flourishing, and Europe seemed to be clawing its way toward civilization.

  Forty-eight hours elapsed before Lieutenant Commander
Williamson surfaced again. “Captain, we have to land. I have made every repair that can be made in space, but there are some things that absolutely must be done on the ground, with all ship systems de-energized.” He sighed and offered her a lopsided grin. “Sorry.”

  “Very well. What kind of ground conditions do you want?” Captain Reordan asked, straightening her back and looking him in the eye.

  “Flat and dry, Ma’am. With a minimum of snakes.”

  The captain eyed her engineer slyly, then nodded. “All right, Jarred, I’ll try.” Turning back to the control room, she raised her voice. “Mapping, I want a deserted piece of real estate, flat and dry.” Turning back to the engineer, she tilted her head. “I don’t suppose that you want the Sahara Desert?” At his negative response, she grinned. “Pick somewhere in southwest North America. If I remember my history, there shouldn’t be many people there to avoid.”

  A suitable site was soon chosen, and preparations for a landing on an unprepared surface were instituted. Captain Reordan called an officer’s meeting to announce her decisions concerning the landing. “I want as many of our people as possible in the landing craft and shuttles. Minimum crew for reentry. If the Wells breaks up, I want to lose as few lives as possible.”

  Turning to her XO, she nodded once sharply. “Commander Frazier, you will be in charge of the small craft. Follow us at a safe distance. If we break up…use your own judgment as to where you land. Find someplace isolated and friendly, maybe in Polynesia. Above all else, ensure that none of the ships can ever be found.” She paused again and looked each officer in the eye. “Gentlemen, good luck to us all. Dismissed.”

  The meeting broke up with the seven officers heading for the ships they would be commanding to the surface. Captain Reordan took her seat, strapping herself in for what she expected to be a rough descent. “Begin deployment,” she said softly, but her voice echoed through the Wells and her offspring. A slight jar and rumble announced each departing ship. When Shuttle Six left the ship a familiar voice said, “COB to Control. Don’t scratch her, Captain. I have a date when we get home.” Finally, when the seventh shuttle had separated, Erica took a deep breath and ordered “Begin descent.”

  The Wells fired her main thrusters to slow her orbit, her helmsmen using years of experience to guide the damaged ship into the gentlest reentry they could manage. Still, the Wells bucked and roared, her heat shields blazing brightly as the friction of the atmosphere slowed her on her way down. Finally, the air around the ship began to clear and the captain dared to breathe again. “Status?” she asked, knowing her people would tell her what she needed to know.

  The senior helmsman wiped his brow and turned to grin at her. “Ma’am, we are in a normal reentry. Atmospheric drive on line, gyrostabilizers at full power. We should make landfall in two hours.”

  Captain Reordan returned the helmsman’s grin. “Well done, gentlemen. Very well done.” Thumbing her mic, she spoke to the air. “Mister Williamson, ship status.”

  The engineer’s voice held just a touch of exultation as he answered. “The temporary repairs held, Ma’am. No further damage due to reentry.”

  “Well done to you and your people, Jarred. Communications, what do we hear from the rest of the ships?” she asked, her own high spirits showing as she grinned at her crew.

  “We are still waiting for word from Shuttle 3, but all others report no problems.”

  “Very well.” She paused to look around again, then opened the shipwide announcing system again, and tied in the ship-to-ship as well. “To all hands: Well done, people. We will be landing soon, and I want to remind you all that this is our planet, but not our home. We are deep in the past, and must be careful of everything that we do. All hands, prepare for landfall.”

  Their landing area wasn’t perfect for what they wanted, but it would do. And it had the added benefit of being far out in the wilderness where no human was going to see them.

  The Wells settled gently to the ground, her thrusters scorching a large circle of earth directly below the ship. The shuttles and landing craft landed in VTOL mode, each making a textbook landing in an arch off to the side of the main ship. As the ship settled, Captain Reordan again addressed her crew.

  “This may be redundant, but I want to remind all of you that our presence here is an anomaly. We must avoid any interaction with this time period. Above all, we must avoid any contamination. There is not likely to be anything new here for us, but each and every one of us carries dozens of exotic bacteria and viruses that this era has never seen. Anyone who exits the ship will wear full anti-contamination suits, with helmet respirators. All ship’s air will be filtered and decontaminated before being exhausted to the atmosphere. Mister Williamson, you may take your people out and begin your repairs.”

  “Captain,” Commander Frazier’s voice said from the ceiling speaker, “request permission to use the shuttles in atmospheric mode to make a low level survey of the area.”

  “Granted, but be careful. Keep it subsonic, and minimize your contrails,” the captain answered, her attention on the camera view of the repair crew. They all looked rather bizarre, with the welding and cutting shield attachments on their helmets. Others were setting up a portable test station and powering up the instruments that would tell them what to fix. Nodding to herself, she stood and went to her day room.

  She narrated a brief log entry, then slipped off her shoes for a quick nap. Lieutenant Commander Williamson could be counted on to wake her as soon as he was finished. The knock came far too soon.

  “Captain?” a voice said from outside of the door. “Ma’am, Mister Williamson reports all repairs complete. The XO has been informed, and is on his way back.”

  “What about the COB?”

  “Ma’am, she said something about something biting, and she’d be back soon.”

  The captain sighed and stood, stretching to relieve her back muscles. She muttered, “What a weird hoby,” then returned to the control room. “Status?”

  “All systems are operational. All hands are accounted for. Preflight checks are complete on all craft. We are ready to ascend at your command, Ma’am,” the quartermaster of the watch replied as the senior watch-stander.

  “Very well.” The captain opened the ship-to-ship intercom. “All ships, prepare for immediate takeoff. Rendezvous in orbit for recovery, then we will see about visiting the fifteenth century.”

  The Wells burned her way into the sky, her small ships blazing up after her like ducklings following their mother.

  *

  The old shaman nodded in satisfaction. He had seen the lights in the sky and had returned to the bluff to seek conformation of the spirit’s will. The strange things he saw on the plain heartened him, and the sight of the kachina spirits dancing around the great pillar had been the answer to his wish.

  Here was where the people would settle. The place where the great kiva would be dug was marked plainly by a great circle of scorched ground. The place where the people would build their homes was also marked by the arch of smaller circles of charred earth.

  The shaman offered the spirits a prayer of thanks. This was an omen that even a child could understand.

  “Kachina” © 2002

  Rescue Mission

  Old Earth, Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Florida, October 2696, Deep Ocean Mining and Salvage Vessel SS Kerry Ann, Captain Davis commanding.

  THE KERRY ANN MADE HER SLOW, crawling way across the floor of the Atlantic Ocean in search of mineral deposits and the hulks of long sunken ships. Metals once used on the construction of sea-going vessels brought phenomenal prices on resource-starved Earth. The crew dozed at their stations as the Kerry Ann followed her programmed route through the deep. Then the alarm klaxon sounded.

  “Sir, large metallic object two hundred meters to port,” the sensor operator reported as soon as he focused his eyes on his readouts. “Primarily aluminum, with a large chunk of steel and some copper that is probably wire.”

  “Alt
er course to investigate,” Captain Davis instructed. “It’s probably an airplane from the makeup.”

  “Alter course to port, aye,” the helmsman answered. “Hey, Sten, how about a course? There is a whole lot of ocean floor two hundred meters out to port.”

  “Sorry. Course 087 true. Range now one hundred eighty seven meters,” Sten answered, remembering his professionalism.

  The Kerry Ann made her slow way to the mineral deposit as the sensors continued to probe. Sten began refining his estimate of the amount of metal, and was excited by the readings that he was getting. “Captain, this thing is heavy. There’s nearly six thousand kilos of metal. The iron makes up about one thousand kilos, copper only two or three hundred. The rest is aluminum.”

  “Noted. Run it through the data banks. See if anything matches the readings and configuration.”

  Ten minutes later the Kerry Ann reached the deposit. She was just about to take the material onboard when Sten suddenly cursed. “Ah, crap! All stop! Captain, all stop! It’s military!”

  The captain and crew of the Kerry Ann slammed their vessel’s controls, stopping mere meters from the wreckage. Turning anger narrowed eyes on Sten, Captain Davis just glared without asking for an explanation.

  Sten wiped at his face before speaking. “Sir, the data banks identify the wreckage as probably being a,” he turned back to his screen and read aloud, “General Motors TBM Avenger. It was a warplane used by United States forces as a torpedo bomber during World War II. There are a few other possible matches, but the computer is seventy-eight percent positive that it’s an Avenger.”

  The captain sat back and scrubbed his face with both hands. Under Maritime Salvage Laws warships, including aircraft, remained the property of the nation that they served, even after they were sunk. This was an old, but still honored law, since so many of these wrecks were also mass graves.

  “Mark the damned thing for the Maritime Patrol to salvage, and get us back on course,” the captain ordered angrily. “We’ve wasted enough time on this.”