Transformation Protocol

by David M. Kelly

  Giotto slammed her hand down on the table, and Hernandez's chair scraped back several inches. Logan had been quiet so far, but now his voice boomed around the hall.

  "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop using that term."

  Moriaby seemed genuinely surprised. "Pardon me if I've given offense. Don't you people use that term among yourselves?"

  As if on cue for a timely interruption, the track behind us rattled, and a number of steaming serving plates and bowls appeared. As the scent of the warm food spread, my mouth watered. When I glanced around, I saw I wasn't alone in my reaction.

  "Help yourselves." Moriaby waved his hand toward the food. "We don't have serving people... or robots."

  The chatter stopped for the most part as everyone loaded their plates. There was golden sweet corn, steaming Idaho potatoes, all manner of green vegetables, and what appeared to be slices of roast beef in a thick onion gravy. I guessed the beef was some form of processed soy, but that wasn't going to stop me.

  McDole and Moriaby were deep in conversation while people were serving themselves. Moriaby's face told me he wasn't enjoying what he was hearing, and I wished I was close enough to make out what they were saying.

  I nudged Logan and pointed to the two Atollers. "Are you sure you don't have any clue what happened to the Wright Atoll?"

  "Only what was said on the public newscasts." He forked a large potato onto his plate. "If anyone higher up in SecOps knows, they're keeping it quiet."

  "Well, Moriaby looks like he's chewing on a diamond-tipped grinding wheel."

  Aurore leaned in between us with a mischievous grin on her face. "Perhaps you could use your manly charms on McDole, Joe. I'm sure she wouldn't mind you pumping her for information."

  "Leave the guy alone," said Logan, fighting back a smirk. "His ego's plenty big enough as it is."

  I ignored them. "I'd like to know what went down, wouldn't you?"

  "If we knew," said Logan, "we might be able to connect it to our search or at least eliminate it."

  "Maybe she'll tell us on her own." I shrugged. "We're helping her out, after all."

  I sat back at the table, cut off a sliver of the "beef," and popped it in my mouth. The delicious umami of real meat flooded my taste buds, reminding me of the very best and most expensive steaks I'd ever had. But I'd never eaten anything close to this in space. The resource cost of animal farming was so crazily high that substitutes were usually all you saw.

  "Real beef?" I lifted up another piece.

  An automated drinks dispenser circled the table, and Moriaby waved it over to him. The boxy device trundled up and delivered a large glass of red wine at the touch of a button. He took a mouthful and swallowed, then sighed. "Not quite. It's Geneered. Specially adapted for growth inside nutrient vats."

  We had cultured meat on Earth, but it didn't taste anything like this. It was mostly used in mid-grade products with delusions of grandeur and mixed with real meat or soy-based products. I'd not tried it in its pure form, but from what I understood it was almost impossible to fully replicate natural flavorings. And with livestock farming hit hard by climate change, people had gotten used to the alternatives, saving the real thing for special occasions.

  "The quality is amazing," I said. "Perhaps you'd be willing to share the secret?"

  Moriaby grinned. "I wouldn't know the details. If you contact the Atoll agricultural bureau, I'm sure they'd be willing to share their secrets."

  "I'll pass that along." Then again, I probably wouldn't. I could well imagine the response such a query would receive.

  The conversation was muted as everybody tucked into the food, and I also spotted the MilSec team making liberal use of the drinks dispenser. "Watch out for those Atoll wines, Hernandez. They have quite a kick, remember?"

  Hernandez rubbed his finger along the edge of his nose, surreptitiously flipping me the bird.

  Moriaby was taking in most of his daily calorie allotment in liquid form, and as the meal progressed, his voice grew louder.

  "My grandfather was a scroff—sorry, I mean an Earther." He called for the dispenser again, refilling his over-large glass. "I've no idea what my grandmother saw in him. He seemed a beastly man from what I heard. One of the last Earthers to join an Atoll I believe. Addison was his name."

  "Guy Addison?" Aurore looked shocked.

  "That's him." Moriaby turned to her, slopping a significant amount of wine on the floor. "You've heard of him?"

  "My great-grandmother worked with him. He was a shuttle pilot, saved an Atoll from a terrorist attack."

  "Well, well. That's absolutely correct. My grandfather, the hero. May his name rot in the depths of history."

  McDole took her plate over to the recycler. "Perhaps we should end this visit now."

  "No, no, no. We're only getting started. We don't have a great deal of opportunity to entertain guests out here, not even"—he burped—"Earthers."

  The wine was getting to him, and I wondered if his guard had dropped enough to wheedle some more information out of him. "If you don't like it here, why do you stay?"

  Moriaby's face darkened. "My mongrel grandfather, of course. He's the reason I'm stuck in this cursed spot. Isn't that right, Commander?"

  McDole was waiting by the food rails, unable to mask her disapproval. "I have no idea what you mean."

  "My family has tainted blood. Yes, that's it." He took a drink that half-emptied his glass. "I've been marked since the day I was born. That was why I was always marked down when I was a child. Why I didn't place highly at the academy."

  "All academic and military gradings are carried out by computer," McDole snapped. "No one can influence them, except yourself."

  "Then finally... I make one small mistake. A minor infraction of the rules. A misdemeanor at best. And I'm summarily banished to this...place."

  "You were—" McDole cut herself off.

  "I'm sorry to hear that, Flight Lieutenant." Logan raised his glass. "Many of us know all too well how it feels to be overlooked and unfairly punished."

  "Exactly." Moriaby had refilled his drink and turned to McDole. "Incredible. I get more understanding and sympathy from scro—Earthers—than I do my own kind."

  "Could I ask a question?" Logan was playing him perfectly with his deferential tone. "Have you seen anything unusual out here?"

  "Unusual?" Moriaby studied his wine glass for a moment then took another gulp. "No. Not a damn thing. It's a hellhole, I tell you. Nothing happens here."

  Logan gave out a small sigh. "Thank y—"

  "Well... apart from the ghosts."

  A shiver crawled up my spine.

  "Ghosts?" I said it the same time as Logan.

  "Yes. Ghost ships. They're so bloody... inconsiderate."

  Logan lifted his eyebrows, and I nodded and sat back. He was doing well enough on his own without me screwing things up.

  "What kind of ships?" Logan said.

  "Flight Lieutenant, this conversation should end right now," McDole barked.

  "What are you going to do, Commander? Have me exiled even farther?" Moriaby slammed his glass down, the contents splashing across the table.

  "Are these Earth ships?" Logan cut in.

  "What? Oh no... That is, we don't know. That's the crazy thing about it. We detect them on our scanners. We know they're coming through. Never message us or respond to our signals. Just come and go, here and gone, as though they weren't really there. Almost like... ghosts." His hand slapped the table on each point, sending up a shower of spilled wine each time.

  "What about their transponders? Don't they identify the ships?"

  "I wondered that too." Moriaby stared into the distance. "But I asked for the logs to be analyzed, and they told me there were no trapsonders...tran-sponders recorded."

  That's unusual," said Logan. "And disappointing."

  "It's a ghastly mystery." Moriaby leaned back in his chair. "I ordered the station to be put on high alert. Maximum scans of all incoming ship signatures. I thou
ght we might identify them using secondary detections—thermal patterns, mass profiles, and the like."

  "That was smart thinking," Logan said.

  "I thought so." Moriaby waved at the drinks dispenser and refilled his glass.

  "And...?"

  "And nothing. That's the damnedest part. The signatures matched no known ship configuration—Atoll or Earther." He slurped his wine. "As I said, ghost ships. Don't tell anyone, but sometimes I wonder if they're real or not. Perhaps they're just artifacts from deep space. Being out here does strange things to the mind. Hell Is Empty and All the Devils Are Here."

  Giotto and Sullivan snickered, and Logan looked around.

  "Perhaps it's time we were heading back," he said. "Thank you for your hospitality and the wonderful food. It would be impossible not to appreciate such an unexpected luxury all the way out here."

  "Think nothing of it. We could feed half of Earth's population."

  And yet you don't, I thought. "One last thing, Flight Lieutenant." I said out loud. "Do you think you could share your sensor logs of these unidentified ships? It may help us with our search."

  Moriaby looked across at McDole, and I spotted the slight shake of her head.

  "The logs? Well..." His fleshy lips curved into a smile. "Why not? We have nothing to hide, do we, Commander?"

  McDole's words were labored. "No. Nothing at all."

  "In that case, I'll have them sent over to you right away." He clambered unsteadily to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I have duties to perform. You can stay if you like—we have plenty of room. Or the robots can escort you to the airlock."

  "We should get back to our ship." Logan also stood. "Some of our people remained onboard and might get nervous if we don't return."

  "As you wish." Moriaby turned, lurching toward a door in the far wall.

  A robot approached McDole, and they spoke privately for a few moments.

  "Follow me," she said.

  *

  The trip back was uneventful, but everyone was more subdued than on the way out. McDole was silent and kept her eyes straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. Once back on the Shokasta, she was quick to remove her suit but didn't leave.

  She placed her hand on my arm. "Could we talk? Privately?"

  I was tired, even though I'd resisted the urge to sample the wine, but she might have something useful to tell me. "Where?"

  "Is my cabin acceptable?"

  Everyone's eyes were on me. "Give me five minutes to check on the ship."

  McDole nodded and hurried away.

  "So, you're going pump her for info after all?" Aurore said.

  Everyone broke into laughter except Giotto, who looked like she'd sat on a firecracker.

  "I expect she wants to discuss Moriaby or the ghost ships," I said.

  Aurore's laugh was throaty. "Uh huh."

  At the controls, I ran a simple diagnostic check. I'd been worried about leaving Dan onboard and wanted to make sure everything was in order. It didn't seem possible he could have accessed anything—the control systems were locked—but it had nagged at the back of my mind. After a few moments, the results came back green.

  I stopped at Dan's cabin on my way to McDole's to see how he was doing—my guilty conscience playing up, no doubt. He'd made the decision to stay—no one had forced him.

  He opened the door partway when I knocked, peering through the narrow gap. "Everything okay?"

  "They had some good food. You'd have enjoyed it."

  He gave a faltering smile. "Probably. I know they're not all bad. I just... I dunno. I get nightmares sometimes, where I'm, you know, tied up in a box and they're all poking at me and laughing."

  Sometimes it's difficult to come to terms with how much one human being can screw up another, whether deliberately or not. "Don't worry. You're one of us now."

  Dan had a bashful expression that reminding me so much of Charlie. "Thanks, Joe. But I feel more like an intruder, even here. No one wants to talk to me, not even you."

  I remembered his harsh words when we first met on the Atoll, but his accusation hit home. We'd done little to make him feel welcome since bringing him onboard. "Let's change that."

  After chatting a little longer with Dan, I made my excuses and headed to McDole's quarters. The door slid open when I knocked, and she gestured for me to enter.

  "I'm sorry about Moriaby." Her chin dropped several centimeters. "I seem to be saying that a lot these days, especially to you. I don't know why I should care so much about your opinion. But I do."

  "Why are you apologizing? I don't recall you forcing drinks into him."

  "I know, but his language was appalling." McDole stepped closer and reached out to me. "It seems every time we're together, you see the worst displays of Atoll society."

  Her hand was ridiculously small in mine, but the heat from her skin seemed to burn. "As you've said before, not all Atollers are the same."

  She let go of me and sat down at the small desk. "Have you any idea about the ghost ships he mentioned?"

  "I'm outside the loop on such things. Logan may know more, but I doubt it." I stood awkwardly by her bed. The second chair had vanished—maybe the rental period was up. "How about a trade?"

  McDole's eyebrow formed an attractive arch. "What do you mean? Information?"

  "What happened to the Wright Atoll?"

  "We don't know."

  I took a step toward the door. "Play it your way."

  She grabbed my wrist, pulling me around to face her. "Wait, Joe. I mean it, we don't know what happened. The Yukawa found almost nothing left. They identified some debris and found one of the station's data recorders."

  "That didn't reveal anything?"

  McDole shook her head. "It was from the Wright's traffic control system—routine monitoring information."

  "Did it show any unusual traffic?"

  "Everything it recorded was genuine. But..."

  I finished off her thought. "But it wouldn't have detected a ghost ship?"

  "The traffic systems key off a ship's transponder signal. Without one, a ship would be effectively invisible unless someone specifically scanned for it."

  I still couldn't see how the loss of the station and the Sacagawea were related. "Some people think the U'Gani are behind the disappearance of the ship. Do you think they destroyed the Atoll?"

  She pulled a face. "Unlikely. No one's had any contact with them that I know of, and why would they bother us out here? There are large distances between us and their territory according to the Ananta data."

  "Possibly, but we're pushing outward fast," I said. "Anything else I should know?"

  McDole bit her lip. "Whatever happened to the Atoll was rapid but not instantaneous. The recorder showed a definite series of events where it lost connections to other systems throughout the station. Our specialists hadn't finished the analysis when I left, but whatever happened, it took several hours."

  My brain raced as I thought about what could cause such an effect. "That would rule out something like an explosion."

  She nodded, her face grim. "It also means the people onboard would have seen their deaths coming."

  That was a hard picture to get out of your head—to see doom approaching but being unable to escape, and even worse knowing the only chance of rescue was literally light-years away.

  McDole pulled me back to her. She seemed somehow delicate, in contrast to her usual determined strength. "I've never been scared of space," she said. "But I am now."

  I didn't know what to say, so I put my arms around her hesitantly, holding her gently as if that could relieve her fears. McDole relaxed against my chest, and I felt her breathing, slow and regular. For a moment, it was nothing but two people sharing a moment of comfort, almost at a primitive level. Then I felt guilty and stiffened in her embrace.

  She smiled at me sadly. "It's okay, Joe. I understand."

  We moved apart awkwardly. "I'll ask Logan if he knows anything about the ghost ships, but I'm fairly sur
e his answer will be a negative."

  She nodded and I left, my head swimming with crazy thoughts. Nothing seemed stable or clear. Dan was so screwed up he had nightmares. The Atolls knew no more about what had happened to their station than we did to the Sacagawea, and now we had ghost ships to worry about too. For a moment, even my feelings about Dollie paled into insignificance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After some much needed sleep, I was ready for us to move on. Logan confirmed he had no idea what the ghost ships were, which didn't necessarily mean they weren't from Earth. McDole arranged for more supplies to be shipped over from Geller Station. It took several hours, but when we'd finished, every spare cubic meter was crammed to bursting point. By my calculations, this gave us about three weeks to search at each Jump. Not very long, but the systems with stations would require less time—if the Sacagawea had reached them, they'd almost certainly know about it.

  Now we had no reason to linger—we wouldn't find out more by staying. Moriaby was noticeably "unavailable" while the supplies were shipped over but did make a brief appearance to wish us on our way.

  I moved the ship away from the Atoll, wondering what would happen to it. If what Moriaby had said was true, and the Atolls had no real interest in expanding outside our solar system, perhaps they weren't the threat we thought they were. Though this idea conflicted with McDole's assertion that timing was the issue.

  Our next destination was Procyon, another binary star system with its two stars separated by an average of twenty A.U.—about the same as the distance between the Sun and Uranus. I played around with the Jump programming, not sure how to set the target. If I set the Jump to come out close to Procyon A, we could also be too near to the second star. From the data we had, Procyon was a bust in terms of planets. There were two, in tight orbits, and neither was interesting to anyone but astronomers. Beyond that, there were several debris fields and belts, which were probably planets that had either been torn apart by the gravitational forces or had never got going for the same reason.

  The trip was a little over five light-years. Which meant we'd have energy reserves to Jump again if necessary without having to allow time for the Casimir system to recharge. That was what convinced me, and I set the destination to the outskirts of the system, well away from both stars. We weren't near enough to Sirius' gravity well for it to worry us and cleared the station in a few hours. I broadcast a warning to everyone before triggering the Jump. Hernandez didn't bother showing up for this one—the excitement of his first two "dates" so great that he'd promptly thrown away my number.