by Bodicea
Hammerjacks were designed to burrow into the surface of a planet (or a very large spaceship, the Aurelian world-ship probably counted as either) and unleash armies of small, self-replicating machines to infest the ship’s systems and essentially consume it from the inside.
Hammerjacks could also be used to gather intelligence, or, they could lie dormant for years, than detonate on command. A Hammerjack warhead had a total yield only one-third the yield of a Hammerhead, but since it detonated from inside the organism, it was just as deadly if not more so.
Hammerheads killed fast. Hammerjacks killed slowly. Their primary use was intended, for example, in a hostage-type situation, where the enemy would be told that his ship would be eaten from the inside out unless he surrendered. Mass use against an enemy in combat was considered an extreme use of the weapon, too abhorrent for consideration in the course of a normal battle. The Republic Ministry of Armaments had over 1,400,000 data points describing the precise circumstances under which they could be used. The Sapphirean PSDS policy was simpler. It was to only use Hammerjacks against an enemy that was pure evil.
“Hammerjacks away,” American reported after the last brace had been delivered. They bore down on the world ship, dodging and weaving between the spikeheads and the point defense system.
Lt. Commander Miller watched them fall, and kept to himself a thought far too cliched to speak out loud. Take that, you bastards!
With a final run through the center of the line, Prudence emerged from the angry storm and closed in on its home-ship, scorched, abraded, and pock-marked from the assault, but far more intact than she had any right to be.
Matthew Driver relaxed, just a little bit, and just long enough to tell the others, “73 seconds to Pegasus intercept.”
Pegasus was clear of the fleet and was rising out of the system. Her speed was only a few thousandths slower than Prudence.
Matthew quickly ran some landing scenarios. Then activated his comm-system. ” Pegasus, this the Aves Prudence on approach bearing 179 degrees at 90 light seconds. We are coming in hot and fast. If possible, convey a landing course and prepare a gravity shunt.”
Several seconds later, Pegasus acknowledged them. ” Prudence, this is Pegasus flight control.
You are cleared for landing hatch seven. Please state your complement and condition.”
” Pegasus, this is Prudence. We have five souls on board. All are well.” He left out the fact that Armatrading had vomited herself into unconsciousness shortly before clearing the spikehead field. “Estimated time to intercept you … thirty-two seconds. Mark.”
“We have you Prudence, welcome home.”
Goneril Lear reached out an laid her hand on Trajan’s shoulder. “We’re going to make it.”
Alkema looked at Matthew, knowing that their safe arrival on Pegasus was not quite a foregone conclusion. At this speed, it would be a very tight landing, with a possibility of impacting the stern of the Pathfinder ship, or possibly crashing into the landing bay in a roiling ball of flame and debris. That was also not the only problem.
Some of the spikeheads that had given up on Pegasus were looking for new targets. “The…
spikeheads…” Alkema said, amidst the speed and instant death flying on either side of him, getting each word out was an effort, “are…chasing… us.”
One of the Aurelian spikeheads had indeed broken away from the pack and was pursuing Prudence. Perhaps, it was smart enough to realize that tailing the shuttlecraft was a way of breaching the defenses of the mother-ship. More likely, it had just locked onto a target and was refusing to let go.
Matthew readied the tail guns and poured on the speed, and soon his ship was being buffeted, like a ship at sea bounding against the waves. They were beginning to feel the effect of Pegasus’ s gravity engines, pushing them aside.
The stern of Pegasus was growing larger rapidly.
” Prudence to Pegasus. Shunt gravity across our landing vector now. We’re coming in hot.”
“That spikehead will follow us right into the landing bay,” Alkema warned.
“Nay, it won’t” Matthew said calmly. “Its closing speed on us is greater than our closing speed on Pegasus. Meaning: it will destroy us three seconds before we can reach Pegasus.”
“Did I mention its been fun knowing you?” Alkema said. It suddenly occurred to him that he was only here because of the crush of a pre-pubescent girl. Before he could get too angry about that, though, he realized the girl and her entire family were probably dead by now.
Matthew’s hand hovered a control surface. He watched the distance to Pegasus close in hundredths of a second… until they were 14… 13… 12… 11 … seconds away.
He hit the Shriek release hard. The two Shrieks decoupled explosively from the Aves and flew backwards, directly into the spikehead. All three exploded. The shockwave pushed Prudence hard toward the landing bay. Matthew struggled to hold it steady into the open docking hatch.
His left wing scraped the side of entrance hatch seven, making a gouge four centimeters deep. The ship broke through four arresting fields before coming to rest, its landing struts completely collapsed. It lay on the main deck meters away from three undamaged Aves, looking almost like a murder victim found in a gutter.
The crew inside her command module realized they were alive and began offering thanks to Matthew and to God above before unstrapping themselves and preparing to exit through the main hatch.
As he rose from his landing couch, Trajan looked at his mother and said for the final time.
“I am going to Flight Core, whether you permit me to, or not.”
Executive Commander Lear nodded. If, after all this, he was convinced that the life of a flight jockey was what he wanted, then Vesta and the whole Army of Light could not persuade him otherwise.
A few days later, Pegasus reached transition speed and vanished into the anti-night of Hyperspace.
Nights and nights went by, and the crew of the pathfinder ship went about the task of repairing the damage inflicted on their ship, and on their souls, by the ferocious battle they left behind them.
The Wally-ball tournament was rescheduled for four days after entering hyperspace. Flight Core won, 21-17, but the game was sparsely attended and there was little enthusiasm.
Talk in the corridors, in the food courts, and round the bar at Fast Eddie’s InterStellar Slam-N-Jam was subdued. What talk there was consisted of dissections of their defeat at 10
255 Vulpeculus, the loss of their comrades, and apprehension over what awaited them at the Aurelian home system. The dark mood took account of all these things.
In the time of transit, they had the opportunity to make their ship and their selves battle-ready, and to take care of other matters.
Keeler stared across at the four people in his office, flanked on either side by Marine Buttercup and a Guardian-Inspector named Churchill (who was also known as Centurion Bellisarius, but not to Keeler). He looked at the people one by one, then back to the desktop display of the personnel whose names and faces corresponded to the people who stood before him.
“Flight Lieutenant Adrian Lowell … Planetology Specialist Grace Jones … Astrophysics Specialist Ahmed Zoetrope … and Specialist Cree BladeRunner… those are indeed not your real names. Our aural scans show none of you are who you claim to be, which leads me to ask, then, who are you? Where are the people you’re pretending to be, and what are you doing on my ship?”
“Watching you lose,” said not-Flight Lieutenant Lowell, with a smirking grin. “Watching you run from the system before the Echelon destroyed your pathetic ship.”
“Is that all you were sent here to do, just gloat over us?” Keeler said, almost as though musing over the question. “Were you sent here to spy, perhaps? Were you sent here to sabotage our ship, learn our secrets? Oh, wait, I forgot.” He pointed to Bladerunner. “You were sent here to kill me. Were your comrades also here as part of that plan, or were they here for some other purpose?”
&n
bsp; The four phony crewmen looked back at him, and laughed again.
Inspector Churchill offered, “We have tried to interrogate them, Commander. They haven’t responded with any useful information. We could take them down and let our Truth-Machines have a go at them,” Churchill offered.
Keeler nodded in acknowledgement, if not quite ready to approve the plan, but definitely considering it. He turned to his Chief Physician. “Dr. Reagan, have you determined who these people are. Are they clones? Are they some kind of biological and/oroid.”
His ancient physician stood, creaks coming from her knees. “Nope, that’s what we thought at first, but them bodies is exactly the same as the bodies of our people. They kept the bodies, switched out the minds.”
I wonder if we could do that, Keeler thought to himself. He did not want to know if his people had that technology, and he hoped even if they did, they wouldn’t use it.
Reagan activated medical displays on all four persons and explained her thesis. “Medical Technician Partridge gave ‘em phys’cals on the trip back from the worl’ ship. He made sure they were healthy and free of disease, but he didn’t have the equipment to resonance map their auras … the field o’ energy created by the soul.”
“Souls… how can an advanced race believe in such twaddle?” said the one who wore Cree Bladerunner’s face. The others seemed to think this was funny. When they laughed, they sounded like indifferent, bullying adolescents called into the headmaster’s office.
She put up a display. “This res’nance map was made o’ Specialist Cree Bladerunner when he came on board.” The image was of a smiling Cree Bladerunner, surrounded by bright white and yellow light.
“This here is the res’nance map of that fella over there I took yesterday.” The figure of Cree Bladerunner was not smiling this time, and was surrounded by blue, purple, and black.
“Your conclusion, Doctor Reagan?”
“I was getting’ to it. I’ll tell you when, I’m ready, g’dam’ya.” Keeler cringed, expecting her to hit him with a stick. She farted, and turned back to the display, squinting closely. “This aura here, it ain’t just not his, it ain’t Sapphirean, and it ain’t Republicker.”
“Aurelian?”
“Ain’t never seen an Aurelian aura, but this is the aura of a dark, dark soul.”
Keeler waited, to see if she were pausing, or if she had finished. Not-Cree Bladerunner rolled his eyes and shifted on his feet.
Lear spoke before he could. “Do you have an explanation, physician?”
“Za.”
Silence.
“What is your theory, Doctor,” Keeler prompted.
Reagan belched and put up another holographic display. “There is microscopic scarring just beyond the hairline of the skull and in the eye sockets. There is evidence of micro-cellular stitching along the brain stem. This, when you combine it with the differences in the electrical signature of the brain indicates that the eyes, top of the skull, and sections of the brain related to cognition and higher thought have been removed and replaced.”
“So, what you’re saying is, someone transplanted the minds of other people into the heads of our people.”
“I mighta said that, if you’da let me finish, ya …”
Keeler glared hard at them. “Where are the people you stole your bodies from? Are they dead?”
“Why should that piss you off,” Not-Bladerunner sneered. “Aren’t you supposed to go to some happy mystical land when you die? We’d be happy to send you to meet your … god.”
Churchill leaned into Keeler. “They refused to answer that question under interrogation either, Commander.”
“How soon can we bring them before the Truth Machines?” Keeler asked.
“Give me fourteen hours, Commander.”
Keeler nodded. Churchill passed him the data form to approve the use of Truth Machines.
Keeler signed it and passed it back to him, with a question. “Do we have a brig on this ship?”
“A what, sir?”
“A place of confinement for prisoners.”
“Nay, sir. Until now, we have never needed one.”
Although he knew this was true, Keeler got the slight and inexplicable feeling that Inspector
Churchill was holding out on him. Keeler stared down Churchill. “Very well then, make one. Make it in the UnderDecks. Make it in the darkest, coldest, ugliest corner of this ship.
Make sure they’re monitored twenty-eight hours a day, with Security Inspectors or and/oroids outside at all times, and most important, make sure they can never, ever get out.”
“We could put them in stasis,” suggested Alkema.
“Neg, I want them lucid.” Keeler leaned into the face of Not-Cree Bladerunner. “At least for a while. Oz has spoken.”
Not Cree Bladerunner looked back with an expression every bit as hard. “Aurelia triumphant.”
“Get them out of my sight,” Keeler ordered. He looked away as they were led out.
Later on, he was scheduled for a meeting with his tactical core, to discuss their arrival at the Aurelian Home system. In preparation, he brought up a display showing how much Pegasus had expended trying to hold off the Aurelian assault.
Hammerhead missiles
–
27% depletion
Hammerjack missiles
–
5% depletion
Shrieks
–
142 lost
Aves
–
9 damaged, 3 severely damaged
Pegasus
–
Minor to moderate damage to 45 sections
Casualties
–
35 officers and crew with injuries severe enough to warrant medical attention
1 Aves lost with a crew of eleven.
The exequies for the crew of Basil had been beautiful and moving. The lives of eleven of Pegasus’s crew had been honored with life-affirming music and profound words from the commander, from their families and friends, and from the ship’s religious functionaries. Tears has been shed copiously. The crew had taken strength in sharing their pain collectively, except for one, who had always withdrawn to himself to deal with the really hard emotions.
When he was sixteen years old, Lt. Commander Miller had left his family behind in Graceland to go to the University. He had not felt a really profound sense of separation, and in the years that had followed, he had rarely visited his family. They had not really understood his art, and he had little interest in agriculture. The last time the whole family had been together had been at his wedding. It had been the first time they had met the woman who was to be his wife.
In the years that followed, he had come to see almost as little of her. In the Odyssey Project, they had come together again, but they had been living separate lives for years, wasted years, broken years.
He couldn’t bring himself to cry, nor to properly mourn for her. In a way, she had been gone for a long time, had long since broken whatever bond they had held.
Also, he had been one of those people who, when grief shows up at his door, turns up the music and pretends he can’t hear the knock.
Nevertheless, emotions churned inside him. He pictured them looking much like the view from one of the forward observation deck. Hyperspace, such as it could be seen, was a phantasmagoria, like the ghosts of the demonic pantheon of some dark alien race, re-enacting the atrocities that had condemned them to Hell. The beasts themselves could not be seen, but they cast terrible shadows in colors human eyes were not meant to see.
He stood and watched the shadow-fires of hyperspace. The view suited his mood so perfectly, he could almost fall into it and be lost for all time. He had been standing there, staring into the abyss for several hours, when he heard voices, not far off, and realized he was not alone. Not wanting to talk to anyone, he ducked into an alcove, and tried not to listen.
He recognized the voices.
Matthew Driver: It seems like this convers
ation keeps getting interrupted.
Eliza Jane Change: No one is here to interrupt now.
Silence.
Matthew: So, where does it go from here, Eliza? I’ve thought about a lot. I can go on as friends, but I can’t go on as maybe friends and maybe something else. So, I need to know, and I need to know right now, friends or something else.
Eliza: All right, we’ll try something else.
Matthew: What?
Eliza: You want to try a romantic, intimate relationship. All right, we’ll try it.
Matthew: After all that, you just… that’s it?
Eliza: You would never be convinced we wouldn’t work if we didn’t try. I would never be convinced it would work if we didn’t try. So, just kiss me or something, and let’s get started with this thing.
Miller tried to figure out how he felt about the two of them. The unrequited infatuation of Driver for Change had entertained the crew for sometime. He was, perhaps, privileged to witness its evolution to the next stage. Yet, he could not help but think how could any seed of love planted here, in the heart of such darkness, be anything other than doomed.
Commander Keeler met with his command and tactical staff every day during transition, trying to hash out the best approach for dealing with every possible scenario. These meetings had soon evolved to a likeness akin to tedium.
“Our mission is to approach and investigate this system, learn everything we can about the Aurelians, relay what we discover to the home-systems. If necessary…,” he paused, but only briefly. “If necessary, we will take action to eliminate the Aurelians as a threat to Sapphire and Republic.” There, the line had been crossed. There was no turning back.
“Does ‘take action’ include the use of Nemesis missiles?” Lt. Honeywell asked.
Keeler did not quite have an answer for that, but Lear bailed him out. “We have to very carefully consider the use of weapons of annihilation. If they know of Sapphire, and Republic, they may be capable of unleashing their pathogen on our home worlds.”
