by Jim Rudnick
In moments, Tanner and the chief stood in front of the glass separating the lab from the practice range. The chief pushed the talk button on the wall in front of them. “Okay, Alex, carry the target, and please make an adjustment on the buckle to allow you to shoot from within the power belt—and Bill, stand off to one side with the laser,” he said.
Alex, one of the assistants wearing a white lab coat, reached down and into the buckle’s innards and made some kind of a modification. He put the belt on and then picked up a handheld target with one hand and a small handheld laser with the other. Using his index finger, he turned the belt on. Standing ten feet away from him, the other lab assistant, Bill, also picked up a small laser with one hand and a target with his other hand. Then they waited for the good to go from the chief.
Hartford looked at the duke, got a nod, and then said, “Go” into the wall mic.
On the other side of the wall, the testing began. Bill pointed the laser toward Alex who wore the belt, and he aimed directly at the target held outstretched by Alex to one side. The laser was getting through the shield as the target was beginning to smoke even though these were low-level lasers and at their lower settings.
“As you can see, the setting that Alex made on the buckle now allows a laser to get by the shield,” the chief said as he nodded to Alex.
Alex turned on his laser and aimed at the target that Bill held. The laser beam came right out of the power belt shield, and Bill’s target began to smoke too.
The chief said, “As you can see, an adjustment in the Ansible crystals means that the lasers are no longer being stopped by the power belts. Everything else still is not allowed to enter or leave. So our testing has shown that we cannot segregate the direction of what can pierce the power belt shields but only control the weapon granted access itself,” he said as the two assistants cleaned up the range and left them alone once more.
Seated back on his stool, Tanner asked the question that had come to mind right off the bat. “So, if we know what weapons a foe has—we can protect a belt wearer from same—do I have that right?”
“Exactly, Your Grace. Foreknowledge will be a huge advantage,” he answered.
“Projectiles—can the Ansible be set to allow, say, a bullet but not a thrown rock?” He had searched for a polarized point.
“Yes, from what we can tell, there are more than—at a rough count only, Your Grace—hundreds of frequencies. We’ve tested only the first dozen or so, since this ‘accidental’ breakthrough of yesterday.”
“Would the changes that you make be a user allowed item, Chief ... or is this done at the factory level only?”
The chief shrugged. “I do not know, Your Grace. We still have no method of inserting any kind of a tool or fingernail even to get the buckles to open. A study of the practice testing range vids showed us the exact spot to hit with the right amount of force, and we can reproduce that on all of the belts we have to get the buckles open. Further study is necessary, Your Grace,” he said and smiled.
Tanner grinned back. “You are so charged with that duty now, Chief. But if you can ‘jury-rig’ some kind of a jig for us to use to simply place a belt inside and, say, press down on a lid of some kind that will pop open the belt buckles—that will help. We’ve a need for about thirty or so belts to all be modified. Can that be done ASAP?” he asked.
The chief’s head was tilted to one side as he thought, and then he grinned back at Tanner. “Yes, I think we can rig something up by end of today, Your Grace. Just send us the belts and the weapon lists of what you want to allow ‘in’ and ‘out,’ and we can do all that by end of tomorrow.”
On the way back to the Sword, Tanner was busy on his PDA.
One EYES ONLY message was sent to the Leudie Trade Master Lofton for thirty new belts and cautious low-key news that the quest for a belt that would allow the wearer to wield a weapon had succeeded. The belts, he had said, were needed today. Now.
Major Stal, on Ghayth, was the next one to receive an EYES ONLY message. Tanner told him that he wanted a quick recon down on the wreck to see if there was any kind of weaponry that had been found—small arms, specifically—that would have been wielded by the Praix. So far, Tanner had seen not a single item in that category, but he’d been out of the Barony Navy for more than a year, so there might have been some new finds that he’d not been privy with.
The final EYES ONLY message was to his wife with the news that he was on Neen and would be home for dinner. That message made him smile; they’d not been together very much in the past few weeks. “Honeymoon’s over,” he said to himself, “and the life of being a Royal was a real user-up of time ...”
#####
As he strode down the major path between the rows of tents, Alver was of a mind that this mission would not bear fruit. The duke had asked him—well, the head of the RIM Confederacy task force had asked a Barony marine—for help. But in his eighteen months of duty here on Ghayth, he’d heard nothing himself about weapons on the wrecked ship.
As he got to the end of the path, where the big dining tent was pitched, he stopped for a second to look out at the huge lake to his left. He shook his head. Huge lake, the research team says ... huh, still looks like a small sea to me, he thought. Mushroom trees were braving the brisk winds that came from offshore, and he could see whitecaps out there too. In surprise, he realized the air was clear of the mist that normally hung over the shoreline, and he could see all the way to the horizon.
“Damn—those climate guys are good,” he said to himself, and he turned to his right to enter the tent and went over to the far side to sit down with the two members of the xeno team he’d called to meet him.
Professor Reynolds, the head of the xeno team was an old hand at the kind of science that was required to dig out facts from ancient relics. Alver had looked up each of the team back when they’d first been shipped here from Neres, and this man was pretty much the poster boy for alien races and their toys.
Beside him sat Professor Beedles, the xeno team member to whom all devices—things that were meant to be picked up and held or used as tools—were sent. He had reported over the past almost two years everything he had found. He had found things as mundane as toothbrushes, which had been later updated to be beak cleaners. He had reported on the alien’s ladders that so far had been left as a standing find. He had reported on more than two hundred items. And none had even been postulated as being a weapon, or so his reports had said.
Now, to get the word from the horse’s mouth, Alver thought. “Gentlemen—thank you for finding time to meet with me,” he said.
The two nodded but said nothing.
“I need to know—the duke has asked me to ask you both personally as to your finds on the wreck over the whole time you’ve been here. Did you find weapons? Handheld weapons? Of any kind of type—or even something as yet not even indexed or categorized as a weapon?” he said.
He looked at the two of them, and they did not look at each other at all. Good sign, he thought, as he knew people colluding often reached out for eye contact before telling the same lie.
Reynolds half-smiled at him and put down his tablet. “One thing about being on a xeno team, Major, is that you quickly realize that what you think is a delicious appetizer is merely shoe polish. We bring no knowledge about the Praix to this xeno team search. There are no printed records we can find, photos of them holding this or using that. We know only that they were this size and could fly.”
Beedles added, “And used ladders. And that their crewmembers database could be updated by simply turning one on,” he added.
That stopped Alver cold. “Pardon? Could you expand on that and also how you know that the ship’s database was updated too?”
Beedles preened a bit, Alver thought, as he was being asked for more information based on his own xeno team testing.
“Surely, Major. Astin and I—she’s the xeno team member in technology—were working down in the cargo bay areas in what we think are the Praix tools warehou
sing section. She and I were testing round steel or some kind of steel alloy disks that ended up being our alien ladders.
“We decided to try to get one to work, so she took one down off the wall, as well as an amber-colored filter. Placing the filter over the steel disk meant she had to put her finger over an LED switch. At least we thought it was a switch. That gave her a shock—not a big one, mind you, she said, and it turned on the disk that now emitted an amber glow. It floated two feet off the deck. No matter what we did, including both of us getting up on it, it would not sink.
“Anti-grav for sure, and that was the big import of the testing of that device. But in hindsight, the fact that Astin was shocked, we felt, was a part of the alien database being updated, as further tests showed that she and she alone on the xeno team could get some things working,” he said.
Professor Reynolds jumped in right then. “And, Major, we’d like to, once again, request that we get access back into the wreck. Something caused that big hum those days and days ago, and we’d like to see what that meant inside. Instead of getting blocked by your marines who are still refusing access.
“And no, we’ve found not a single instance of any device that is a weapon. Nothing that is similar to what we have—small arms or rifles or carbines—not a single thing has been found. Now, we were only about twenty percent through the ship so far ... again another reason that we now need full access—doorways that were locked may now be open,” he said, a bit exasperatedly.
His voice, Alver thought, was frustrated. Upset. Not mad but still wondering why the xeno team could not enter.
So he nodded and clapped the professor’s arm where it lay on the table. “I’ve asked for that same thing, Professor—and hope to hear back from the commander or even Neres soon too.”
He turned to Beedles. “Please forward to me the reports—not a host of same, just the few that talk about the discovery of the ladder—and how later you found that your xeno team member had been, somehow, added to the Praix database. Today, please,” he added and rose.
“Of course, Major,” Beedles replied.
“I need to get up to the Wilson soon, gentlemen, so a quick reminder—those reports as soon as possible, and please keep this meeting and our talk confidential. I know I can count on you both,” he said as he strode away.
He was lost in thought, but admittedly, he had nothing on Praix weapons to help the task force with, he knew. Of course, how to add a human to the Praix database giving more access to shipboard systems—now that was interesting ... he thought and strode the path leading out of the tent city and toward a shuttle that waited for him. Got to let the duke know ASAP ...
#####
On the Wilson, Captain Magnusson was waiting with some degree of impatience. He’d brought the Defiant over to Ghayth and had gotten orders awaiting him that he was to dock on the station and pick up a couple of platoons of Barony marines. That wasn’t the issue—the issue was that the orders directly from the duke were that the marine major was to be in charge once the ship took up its own picket duty around the Praix intruder ship.
He’d already heard about the fact that the aliens had not used that ultra-bright teal ray to find the Defiant, due, he’d also learned, to the fact that it was clad in Xithricite hull plates. He thought that was a comfort until he’d looked around and had noted that there were already three frigates clad in the exact same hull plates, their redness easy to see. He had gone from being the only ship that could withstand all space weapons to now being the smallest of the four with the same degree of invulnerability.
Frustrated. And now impatient that the marines were taking so much time. He barked at a lieutenant across the landing bay deck a few feet away. “Mind telling me what the hell is taking a few dozen marines so bloody long to get down here?” he asked.
The lieutenant slid his tablet down to his side. “Sir, they’re all in cargo bay number three, just one deck up, getting some armory items, I was told. I can message them to move up to double-time, Sir?” he asked, staring straight out in front of him.
Magnusson sighed. Two platoons were about, what, eighty soldiers maybe? How long to get a new rifle or something and then show up down one deck in the landing bay? He spun on his heel and went over to the Defiant and back up the landing ramp, leaving word to the duty officer posted at the bottom of the ramp to notify him as soon as the marines were aboard. He walked off to his left at first to take a side corridor to the major corridor that ran the whole length of the ship and then left again to the bridge. While shuttles normally had a very limited bridge, this one, at more than one hundred fifty feet in length, did have a ready room. At least that’s what he called it—he’d been told that it used to be a storage room for extra gear in a previous life before the shuttle had been re-commissioned as the Defiant and outfitted with its brand new invulnerable Xithricite hull plating.
He entered the small room, and the door closed behind him. He took one of the six seats around the center table. He quickly called up the ship’s AI and asked for a view from one of the picket ships of the Praix intruder ship, and in moments, he was looking out at same.
The Praix ship stood still, as normal, and around it laid the task force ships. Surrounding the Praix ship were three RIM navy ships and three Caliphate ships, their red hulls easy to see. “Not so easy for the Praix though,” he said to himself.
Course, he rationalized, so what? Didn’t matter that the ships couldn’t be seen, their weapons would undoubtedly fail to enter the intruder ship force field like all other ships. Right, he thought.
He nodded. That did make sense.
He watched nothing happen for another full half hour and a bit, and then there was a knock at the ready room door.
He grunted and yet said, “Come in.”
Major Stal entered and snapped off a salute to the captain of the Defiant. “Major Stal, reporting in, Sir. Sorry to have delayed our deployment—we only got word about the last-minute items two hours ago, Sir. But, both platoons on board and encamped in cargo bay number two. Cozy, but we’re fine, Sir,” he said.
Magnusson nodded and waved to one of the seats opposite him. “Thank you, Major. Good to have you aboard. May I ask—what kind of armament did you just get issued?” he asked, wondering what someone thought might be of help against a force-field-protected alien ship.
Alver nodded and rose once more. He undid his utility belt and then the bottom two buttons on his camouflage shirt. From beneath that cover, Magnusson could see a simple red linked belt.
“A belt?” he asked.
Alver nodded and then looked over at the captain’s side. “I see that you’re wearing a needler, Captain. Can I ask,” he said as his hand snaked down to find the power belt buckle and made some kind of a movement behind the buckle, “that you shoot me with that needler, Sir—no need to worry, Sir, the belt is invulnerable to a needler.”
This I gotta see. Magnusson thought. “Fine, Major, but do step away from the table, no sense in you hitting your head when the needler takes you down,” he said. He drew and aimed the needler directly at the marine’s chest and hit the trigger button.
Nothing happened at all. He grimaced, then stopped firing, and slid the power button up to full—and he hit the trigger button again.
Nothing happened. The marine was smiling at him and not falling to the deck in pain.
Magnusson turned off the needler and re-holstered it on his side. He waved the marine to sit. He stared at the belt for a moment or two and then began to ask rapid-fire questions.
Stal waited until Magnusson had asked all of his questions before he answered a single question. “Yes,” the marine said, “the power belt would protect him from any type of space weapons.
“Yes, the whole two marine platoons were now wearing such belts.
“Yes, they were in fact invulnerable, but with a certain set of circumstances, they could fight back.
“Yes, the only weapon that could pierce the belt’s shields was a projectil
e weapon.”
Stal reached over to his own sidearm and held up the fully automatic pistol. “Only this kind of bullet can pierce the power belt’s shield—a .454 Casull. It’s what we shoot—and what the belt will accept both outgoing and incoming. The fact that the Casull, even though it had huge knockdown power, had fallen out of manufacture more than five centuries ago helps a bit, in that we are counting on the fact that the Praix do not have such a caliber—nor for that matter any kind of projectile weapons either. At least that’s the skinny,” Alver said.
Magnusson sat back. He looked out at the intruder ship still floating within the ring of the task force ships and then back at the major. “Major, I hope to God that they don’t have such weapons—but to count one’s life on that is what I might call foolhardy,” he said.
Alver nodded. “Aye, Captain, but then we’re marines, aren’t we?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Tanner stood at the window and once again tried to yank the heavy drapes across the full width of the window. He’d not been able to see in one corner of the big view-screen in the duke’s study, and he cursed the curtain rod for not giving him some slack.
From behind him, a voice called out. “I know you’re getting ready for the alien confrontation—would you rather use the old duke’s real ‘war room’ than try to modify that drapery, Tanner?” Helena stood there, looking at him as he swung around and said, “Huh, hon?”
She nodded. At least he’d partially heard her. “You do remember that I took the guided tour of our new palace, and one of the rooms, was called the ducal war room, down on the third floor—and I have the location right here,” she said as she held up her wrist to show him her PDA.
He grinned. “Yes, please, my dear ... lead on.” He left the drapes partway open and followed her.
They headed out the door and to his right. They walked down the long residential-level main corridor to the private escalator and took it down a level. On the third floor, they walked hand in hand through the security access point that was invisible but monitored by the ducal palace AI. She took a side corridor about a hundred feet along to the right, and that took them toward the rear of the palace. At a doorway on her right, she stopped and gave him a big sweeping gesture.
