The Stars Came Back

by Rolf Nelson

  Allonia waves to him, a small, slightly embarrassed wave. He shakes his head, snorts softly.

  Saber: Thought this stunk. Got a bad vibe from the whole thing… Mind if we hang around, Sir? I’d sure hate to miss a party.

  Lag: Not at all, Lieutenant! Not at all. Be happy to have you join the festivities. You’re even in time for the reception.

  The Lieutenant grins around his stogie and slides down into his tank, pulling the hatch closed as he disappears inside. A moment later the tanks lift up and glides sideways so they are more alongside the ramp than facing into it, leaving more room straight down in front of it. The barrels rise up to 45 degrees, and looked at correctly, they look more like an honor guard at a wedding than warrant enforcers.

  Kaminski: Think this’ll work?

  Lag: Seymore’s not an idiot. I don’t care how many cops he brings, he’s not going to try to face down four grav tanks, no matter how mad he is. Only question is how trigger-stupid the rest of them are.

  They watch silently as a convoy of lightly armored police vehicles roll down the road toward them. They halt forming a line in front of the ramp between the tanks, surrounding the ramp. Cops pile out, wearing body armor, guns drawn. Seymore slowly gets out of one of the vehicles, impeccably dressed, a malicious smile on his face. He swaggers toward the foot of the ramp calmly with no obvious weapons, hands visible. He is followed by a police captain, a large, older police officer with bars on his shoulders, Sam Browne belt, reflective sunglasses, and carrying a folded piece of paper.

  Seymore: (Sneering) Hand her over and we won’t have to kill you all where you stand. Yet.

  Kat holds out her hand to the officer. He hands her the paper. She glances at it briefly.

  Kat: (Calmly) Your warrant is defective.

  Seymore face falls for a second, then goes back to its normal smarmy display. The older cop with him shoots him a dark look.

  Seymore: It’s fine. And even if it wasn’t, we have the tanks. She’ll be dead before you can get it before a judge to say otherwise.

  Kat: None here by that name. Allonia’s last name is “Strom.”

  Seymore looks surprised, and his eyes dart away from the people at the top of the ramp back to Kat, to Helton, and back to Kat, then Allonia. The older cop’s face twists into an ugly glare as he looks at Seymore. He knows he’s being used.

  Kat: Helton has been hired to act as a courier for us. His legal status is C2 diplomat. As his wife, under your laws she has diplomatic immunity. You can’t do anything until you get a council decree that says she’s persona non grata, and give her a chance to leave in a timely manner.

  Seymore’s eyes bug out and his face flushes red, veins bulge on his neck. He sounds like he’s about to hyperventilate and blow a gasket.

  Seymore: You… She… No… He… I’ll… D’OH!

  Kat: (Raising her voice, to make sure the cops can hear) Military tanks are not going to help you enforce your defective warrant against a diplomat’s civilian wife! In fact, if you try to take anyone here by force, they will have no choice but to actively defend the ship, the military personnel, and the diplomat on board.

  As she talks, the tanks move slowly around, slewing so they are more clearly beside the ship facing the line of police vehicles than facing into its cargo hold. Simultaneously the gun barrels lower, training down to just over the police officer’s heads, implications obvious.

  Kat: (Flatly) Anyone fires a shot, the remaining bits get wiped up with a sponge.

  The cops start to look back and forth among themselves. This was not what they were expecting. A few of them stand up from their firing positions, slowly, and make a show of flicking safeties on and slinging their weapons, keeping their hands visible.

  Kat: (Cool and polite) When you have a valid warrant, for a person you have jurisdiction over, we can talk. Until then…

  The police captain snatches the warrant angrily as Kat returns it, glaring at Seymore. Kat turns and walks up the slowly rising ramp, which closes behind her, leaving Seymore gasping in rage and impotence on the tarmac, staring at Tajemnica’s thick armor. The cops look around at each other uncertainly. The police captain turns and stomps back to his vehicle and gets in. The rest of the cops follow his example, slinging weapons and piling back into their vehicles, as Seymore stands and stares at the closed door in an impotent rage. The lightly armored police trucks head off in a cloud of dust, leaving him standing alone, cursing incoherently at a closed ramp and four grav tanks that sit, silently, guns not quite trained on him.

  FADE TO BLACK

  Laredo

  FADE IN

  INT - NIGHT - Tajemnica Bridge

  Quiritis, Helton, Allonia, Bipasha, and Kaushik are in their normal places

  Kaushik and Helton in space suits, visors open.

  Helton: And that’s the checklist. Light it up!

  He reaches over and flips the master switch. There is a slight hum that grows and settles down, much smoother than ever before.

  Allonia: That sounds different. Good or bad?

  Quiritis: Good, I think.

  Stenson: (OC, through com) Looking good here!

  Helton: Let’s take her up, then. See what we can do.

  Quiritis: Aye-aye, Captain.

  CUT TO

  EXT - NIGHT - Landing pad near Tajemnica

  Dusk. Lights shine harshly from the nearby building, casting stark shadows. The air surrounding Tajemnica glows slightly as the drive fields are powered up. She lifts slowly, gently, then angles up and starts to surge forward, molecules about her brightening. Rapidly she fades up and into the deepening purples of sunset.

  CUT TO

  Tajemnica Bridge

  Quiritis: Feels good. Power green. Nothing in the red. A little extra drag from the damaged tank hatch cover, but nothing to worry about. No unexpected heating.

  Allonia: View looks clear. Nothing we didn’t already know about.

  Kaushik: Weapons secured, no red light. No target locks, no incoming, or suspicious somethings. For once.

  Helton: Hmmm… Makes me wonder what’s about to go wrong.

  Bipasha: At least give us time to clear atmo before you start worrying, Helton. We still have time for things to go wrong. (Teasing) No need to get your new wife all nervous.

  Everyone chuckles, even Quiritis.

  Helton: Point. How far does Stenson want to go before he tests things?

  Quiritis: He said at least a million kilometers.

  Kaushik: (Frowns) Why so far?

  Quiritis: Something about not wanting to be responsible for sterilizing the planet if we are too close and it goes “wrong BOOM” instead of just “wrong ka-thunk.”

  Helton: I suppose. Turning twenty thousand tonnes of mass into pure energy would be pretty impressive.

  Kaushik: Is that what made the Kyrie Crater?

  Allonia: The what?

  Kaushik: Some big experimental power system accident, wasn’t it? Blew a crater clear through the planet’s crust, more than four hundred kilometers across. Destroyed all the ships in orbit, except one that was past its moons, something like a million… kilometers… away…

  Everyone ponders the idea of a blast that large and their expected course.

  Ship AI: (OC, professorial tone) No. Kyrie Crater was caused by an experimental M38J variable-yield warhead missile test. They did not react as expected with planetary surfaces under certain conditions. They were discontinued, details classified.

  Helton: Uhhhh… Isn’t that what you said we have two of in the magazine?

  Ship AI: (OC) Yes. I did recommend against using them, if you recall.

  Kaushik: So if you nuke ‘em from orbit, you’re too close?

  Ship AI: (OC) Yes. Unless it’s a very high orbit. The surviving ship was 1.17 million kilometers away, and already accelerating away.

  Helton: Planet-killers. Great. I don’t even want to know how you came by them.

  Ship AI: (OC) They were never offloaded. In the excitement of the e
vent, some experimental data appears to not have been officially recorded correctly. The surviving testers were traumatized and under the impression all warheads were used.

  Bipasha: And there’s the trifecta.

  Helton: (Humorously sarcastic) That’s just how we roll, I guess. Livin’ on the edge. Illegal crew. An illegal ship that steals illegal weapons. Sure, why not?

  Quiritis: Universe is just lucky we’re the good guys.

  The powerfully built male avatar in armor appears on a screen, sitting atop a tank, chewing a cigar, grinning conspiratorially and looking a bit like LT Saber.

  Ship AI: Didn’t steal ‘em. They just never asked for ‘em. If anyone asks, you can honestly say you got nuthin’ but personal weapons aboard. Being a ship-person blurs that line sorta useful-like. You got your sidearms… I got mine.

  DISSOLVE TO

  Tajemnica Bridge

  Everyone still in place, but the sound is different.

  Allonia: Got something. Two hundred fifty kilometers, closing fast.

  Helton: Close or intercept? Any weapons locks?

  Kaushik: Nothing here.

  Allonia: Ah… let me see here… OK, not quite dead on, but very close. Velocity changing to match ours when we cross. Looks to be coming alongside.

  Ship AI: (OC) Very good. You are learning the controls better all the time.

  Allonia: If you can calculate this as easily as I breathe, why do you want me to learn it?

  Ship AI: (OC) It is the creativity of children that comes from ignorance and inexperience. Much more useful creativity comes from self discipline, knowledge, developed skills, and practice. And you may not always be here. Your skills travel with you.

  Helton: ETA?

  Allonia: About… six minutes.

  Helton: Acceleration?

  Allonia: About twice ours.

  Helton: Quiri, mods ready to kick online yet?

  Quiritis: Almost, but still too close. Not for another half hour.

  Helton nods in understanding.

  Helton: Hail them.

  Bipasha: You want to be on screen, or just voice?

  Helton: Let’s see if they’ll respond, give us anything useful. Put me on their screen.

  Bipasha nods, hits a few controls, then nods to him.

  Helton: (To main screen camera) Unknown ship, this is Captain Helton Strom of the starship Tajemnica. Alter course or state your intentions.

  There is a pause, then on the screen appears a man in his mid thirties. On the small bridge of a ship, he’s dressed in space armor, and guns are on racks in the background. He has long hair, a rakish look, and a big smirk.

  Pirate Captain: Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old friend Space Colonel Strom, of the Plataean 3rd Expeditionary Force. Wow. Never thought I’d see you again. Small universe, eh?

  Helton doesn’t recognize the man, but knows the reference.

  Helton: (To Kaushik) Time to test the BFR. Get it prepped.

  Pirate Captain: You gave me a bit of a scare last time. Freaked out my crew when you popped up on the screen. Cost us a pretty penny when that ship went on its merry way. Tricks won’t work this time.

  Helton: Well, howdy! Good of you to show yourself this time. It’ll make collecting the bounty easier. There may not be a lot left to ID.

  Pirate Captain: You’re bluffing. Starship captains don’t fly economy class on budget space liners. Even if they only captain an ancient Meridian.

  Helton: (Casually) Things change… How’s business?

  Pirate Captain: (Looks disconcerted for a moment) Business? Oh, you mean… now you’re stalling, trying to come up with a plan. Won’t work.

  Helton: Yeah, you figured me out. I’m not really hauling nukes, or Plataean soldiers, or flying an old warship that was recently rearmed. Not at all. Just a common freighter driver, trying to make ends meet. So, you going to board us, see if we have anything of value, rape the women and children, that sort of thing? Or just waste a missile on us?

  Pirate Captain: Gotta hand it to you, you’re a cool one. Most guys are sweating pretty good in the first thirty seconds.

  Helton: Either I’ve got a psychotic killer ship, I’m crazy, or I got more up my sleeves than you do. Choice, choices, choices.

  Pirate Captain looks at him hard. Helton smiles back.

  Helton: Scans show much detail on his weapons?

  Allonia: Checking.

  Her hands work the controls. Sensor readings start popping up on screens. Kaushik scans through it quickly.

  Kaushik: BFR is online, ready. They have anti-debris beams, message drones, one missile launcher, six missiles in the magazine. Older models, ST15Rs. Reliable, but short range only, unless they do a long coast. Manual cycle magazine. Looks home-made. One external light railgun. Numerous light weapons inside. Crew of twenty two. No, scratch that. Looks like twenty one, one android. Hmmm… Sex bot.

  On the screen, the Pirate Captain’s face falls with each correct fact stated.

  Pirate Captain: How did you-

  Kaushik: Those missiles won’t penetrate the armor, even if they hit. Really just a modified ground-to-ground APC missile for close range against thin-skinned targets. Micro-lasers are little more than dust poppers. Only thing they really have is above average acceleration.

  Helton: Our ship has good eyes. Or else one of your lonely guys is a mole.

  In the screen’s background there is now frantic activity. A couple of guys run past the camera, flustering the increasingly dismayed-looking Pirate Captain.

  Helton: How’s business aboard the SS Target Drone looking now? Guess you depend on cowardice and insiders when boarding. Sure as hell isn’t weaponry. Anyone you’d like us to inform of your demise?

  Ship AI: (OC) I have scavenged all personal information necessary to inform next of kin.

  Helton looks over the text scrolling up a screen above him for a moment.

  Pirate Captain: (Confused and concerned) How… who are you?

  Helton: Me? I’m just some guy with a few friends and a ship. And I’m the guy that is going to make it suck to be you. Rumor has it we’re the good guys, though… Laredo? Your parents named you Laredo? Larry the space pirate. Huh. Give us a minute to see if we need to board you, or just use your ship for a weapon-test target. Any history, Taj?

  Ship AI: (OC) Flight logs match a pattern of reported activity. It is probable that they have taken at least three crewed ships, seven automated cargo transports. Likely smugglers, too.

  Helton: Well, I can’t really hold smuggling against you. That’s just market economics at work. But piracy. People. That’s different. Been on the wrong end of that. Can’t very well haul you back, though. A few folks don’t like us much either, right now. So…

  Allonia: Course is altering.

  Laredo’s image disappears from the screen. Helton looks at the star field it now displays and ponders a moment.

  Helton: Kaushik, how many were suited up?

  Kaushik scans the data before him.

  Kaushik: All but three of them.

  Helton: Load the BFR with a light projectile, just enough power to make a little hole in them. That would be a good first test fire. We can radio back details to have someone else pick them up. Or not.

  Kaushik nods and works the controls a moment. The star field on the screens shifts slightly.

  Quiritis: Acceleration is constant, drives would be an easy shot at this range.

  Helton: Fire when ready.

  Lights on the bridge flicker a moment, an odd sound resonates through the hull. Screens show a streak as space dust flash-heats and glows, and a brighter flash as the small projectile converts a line of material through the pirate ship into super-fast plasma, heat, light, and death.

  Allonia: Looks like… drives gone, hull breached. Decompression slowing. Airtight doors auto-shut.

  Kaushik: No more main power.

  Quiritis: Accel is zero. Drifting ballistic.

  Helton: Looks like the first test shot is a success
. Let’s go see what the drives can do, now, shall we?

  FADE TO BLACK

  Six pack

  FADE IN

  INT - DAY - Engineering

  Stenson and his team are tired, unshaven, and excited.

  They have been hard at work a while and are looking forward to a real test. The readouts are all in the green. Most are steady, some are fluctuating gently. The sound of the drives is an intense, slightly pulsing hum. Stenson nods in approval at what he sees.

  Stenson: OK, three cores hot. Nominal. Bringing number four on line.

  He taps a control, the sound changes, and other tone that doesn’t mix in very well overlays the hum. Then the noise starts to modulate and vary with increasing harshness.

  Stenson: Number five.

  The modulation and harshness gets worse, and another dissonant minor note joins in.

  Stenson: Bringing number six on.

  He hits another control. Another hum adds to the cacophony, and it turns harsh and screeching, pulsing up and down. The engineering team winces at the din grating on their ears. The readouts are now bouncing all around, many up into the red. Stenson rubs his chin, looking at the readouts, thinking hard, tapping controls, looking and thinking some more. The racket gets worse. The others in the room start looking nervous.

  Helton: (OC, over PA) Everything OK ?

  Stenson: Nothing breaking, just can’t sync them. Sounds like love-sick demons, but it’s not that bad. Gimme a minute.

  Quiritis: (OC, over PA) Redneck tune up?

  Stenson thinks a moment, eyeing displays, now almost all into the red.

  Stenson: Taj, any ideas? How hard can we push it? Efficiency is pretty bad now. Any lower and we start having heat problems.

  Ship AI: (OC) Not familiar with Quiri’s expression.

  Stenson: Push it hard, force synchronization with power and acceleration rather than precision.

  Ship AI: (OC) Risky.

  Stenson: Could we still use the cores with the Sokolov drives if the Harmons crap out?

  Ship AI: (OC) Maybe. A definite maybe. Too many unknowns to calculate reliably. Initial guess is seventy percent chance, plus or minus ninety percent.

  Stenson: Very helpful. Don’t suppose the calc any easier with five drives, so we have one spare, just in case?