by Don Foxe
“A point of no return,” Coop said.
“I’m sorry. I do not understand,” Storm replied, her head on her special little tilt. Finally reminding Cooper of where he had seen that tilt before. He once owned a German Shepard Dog, and it was one smart animal. It would listen to everything Coop said, reacting to what it understood, which was a lot. Sometimes he would simply talk to the dog, more or less thinking aloud, and the dog (Barkley, he remembered) would tilt his head, as if when he could get his ears and head tilted to just the perfect angle, he would suddenly understand what Cooper was going on about. It was like in movies about the Twentieth Century; people needed antenna on their television sets, and they had to play with them until they found an angle where they could receive the picture without static. Storm used the same tilt.
“A point of no return,” Coop explained, “is the point in a trip where you have exactly enough fuel to either complete your mission, or return safely to base. If you pass this point there is no way to return, because you will run out of fuel first. Going ahead is the only option.”
“Yes. Exactly,” Storm agreed and continued. “Sensors developed over thousands of years detect anything potentially dangerous, and provide as much sensory data as available. By comparing readings to others taken and stored in the computer, you can make a pretty good guess as to what may happen, and how dangerous the exit. As a ship gets closer to the exit, these reports become more detailed. Whether you are heading for a planet, or arriving a few thousand miles closer than originally planned, a decision is made before exiting.”
“Do certain ships have better sensors than others?”
“Yes.” Storm.
“Depending on what they have to trade for?”
“Yes.” Sky.
“And who has the best sensors?”
“Fell,” Storm replied, and then hedged by adding, “Perhaps the Pagorans.”
“The Fellen posses what is considered the best, and most advanced technology in the known Galaxy systems. Yes?”
“Yes,” came the reply, in unison from both women.
“The Zenge invaded Fell.” Cooper let the statement hang in the air. “And they took Stamalah 3, who have the best wormhole charts.”
Sky finished his line of reasoning. “The Zenge have access to the finest technology available to go along with a library of known and unknown channels. Only they will not. Our ships will have continued to fight until they could no longer do so, and then the crews would leave in escape pods. The Captains, or the highest remaining officers would set self-destructs, and the ship destroyed before any technology could fall into enemy hands.
“On Fell people would have fought any attacks as well. Our most exclusive technology is kept in bunkers. The Zenge will not to get through the security of these bunkers. If they try to blast their way in, those inside will destroy everything before allowing it to fall into enemy hands. The people will take to the jungles, the mountains, and hidden safe-havens around the world. The Zenge will not take an advantage away from Fell.”
Cooper did not bother to correct her. Battle changed norms. Well-made plans simply fell apart. Important people got captured, and sooner or later, anyone could break, and any secret revealed. He had to assume the Zenge controlled superior numbers, better-equipped ships, and technological advantages they may not have had before. The trick was to discover what they had before they unleashed it on Earth.
The remainder of the morning was taken up with descriptions of the systems, and the inhabitants of those systems who were, most likely, already overrun by the Zenge. They put together a list of possible advantages the Zenge attained by co-opting technology, information, or other unique or special resources.
The most interesting data regarded crystals. Much of the technology used by a variety of alien species, including a lot of the tech developed on Fell, used crystals for power. Crystal chips provided extended power for small appliances and electronics. Larger crystals were adaptable as energy sources for lighting to weapons systems. Some crystals produced heat.
A race called the Lisza Kaugh, which translated to Light Cutters, from the planet Rys, the fourth planet in the Quentle system, traded crystals as their main commerce.
Crystals mined and cut on Rys were used throughout the galaxy.
Space Fleet would soon run out of the Martian crystals used in space-fold arrays. Crystals not native to Mars. They may have come from Rys.
Sky described the Lisza Kaugh as tall, hairy creatures with humanoid faces. Despite the appearance of shaggy animals, they were highly intelligent. They used their technology, and the technology they traded for, to recover planets currently lifeless, but once habitable. They colonized and used the natural resources from those planets to increase bargaining strength.
Dwards were the miners on Rys. Short, hairy, and tough. They delivered the raw crystals to the Lisza Kaugh, who cut and polished them for end use. Cooper noticed the Dwards miners sounded a lot like dwarves, the miners in Tolkien books. The translator ring may have used a variation on the Earth equivalent so he understood the relationship between the Rys races.
He learned a great deal about wormhole travel, galactic trade, and some about what planets produced which trade goods. None of it would help if the Zenge decided to attack the Star Gazer, or Earth. It was interesting, and gave him ideas regarding potential future missions, but valuable only if he survived to mount a future mission.
Operational intelligence, data that could effect an upcoming conflict, included any space-worthy ships captured by the Zenge were being converted for battle. If they only captured twenty-five percent of the ships estimated to exist on the planets fallen thus far, the Zenge had access to over 500 ships. They had no way of estimating how many they possessed originally.
While they talked, Storm worked with Coop’s mini-pad. After almost ninety minutes, she handed it to him. “Place your PDS close to his PPS, say, ‘share,’ and then tell it what you want to share. If you want something on a PPS sent to your PDS, let them touch, and keep your thumb on the rear of your PDS. Say, ‘share,’ and what you want to share.”
“That’s it?” Coop looked at the PDS and then at Storm.
“It was simple. Your PDS is dated technology. The only hard part was trying to remember how those aged circuits worked.”
By lunchtime, the three tired of the mental gymnastics. They shared dour moods engendered by the potential for destruction brought by the Zenge. It was daunting to recognize, and accept, they hardly knew anything substantial about the enemy. The lack of intel included where they came from, what, if anything, motivated them, and if there was even an end game to the increasing number of attacks.
After lunch they returned to the mats, only this time the matches held under controlled. Cooper taught the two women offensive and defensive forms from Earth’s martial arts; with and without weapons. Both women demonstrated a strong basis in hand-to-hand, and quickly acquired unfamiliar techniques. Many of the blows delivered in martial arts depended on strike points as targets. Aliens might or might not have similar vulnerable points. He spent most of the time showing either defensive moves based in Aikido, or offensive moves using your opponents actions and lack of balance against them. These techniques were taken from judo, and similar grappling arts.
Sky enjoyed the body tosses the most. Storm, predictably, enjoyed grappling. She grabbed ineligible body parts whenever he rolled, or sprawled with her on the mat.
He still did not know their history, or even their ages for that matter, but he recognized Sky was the big cat, and Storm the kitten in the pair.
After two hours the three agreed to a break. Cooper left for Angel 7 to change, and the two women to their cabin. They would meet in three hours, and ask to speak with Poonch, to get his, and his officer’s opinions, and insights regarding the Zenge.
Each time Cooper returned to the bay, he made sure he walked previously unexplored hallways within the giant cruise ship. Due to the shear size of the Star Gazer, decks w
ere crisscrossed with hallway and corridors, creating mazes. He remembered Genna telling him the ship had over 800 flights above a huge open area (the hangar / bay / storage), and engine rooms. He would never know this ship the way he knew the PT-109, but his curiosity encouraged him to investigate different locations before taking the lift down to his ship.
Those he met were always polite and friendly. The young ones, though curious, did not approach, or impede his way. The little ones hid behind adults or older children, their eyes wide in wonder, not fear. These people had been displaced. They were hungry, cold, and living in what amounted to the Earth version of refugee camps, or tent cities. They impressed him. They did not cower. They did not complain. They were too reserved to approach him first, but if he acknowledged someone with a tilt of the head, or a simple “hell-o,” they always responded in kind.
He knew his being an alien did not make him unique among these people. Their history included visiting and visitations by aliens for centuries. He felt out of place because being among aliens was, well, alien to him. To them, he was an example of another species who shared the universe. The more he saw, the more kinship he felt.
He made a point to stop on deck 282. He found Rosz and Chaspi leaning against the corridor wall. When they saw their new human friend, they straightened, and added big smiles. As he neared, Chaspi turned and ran away. Confused, he asked Rosz, “What’s wrong with Chaspi?”
The Bosine teen barely replied, “You’ll see,” when Chaspi reappeared, pulling two older Bosine; a man and woman.
“You see,” she was saying to them. “I told you we were friends with the man from Earth.” Breathless, she stopped, fist pumped Cooper, and introduced him to her parents. They spent a few pleasant minutes in introductions, and Coop complimented the parents on their daughter; always a winning formula.
He showed Rosz how they could exchange tunes, and instead of wasting time deciding what, they both simply downloaded the other’s complete library. He said his good-byes, apologized for always being sweaty from working out when he ran into them, waved at the parents, and took his leave.
On exiting the lift, and walking towards Angel 7’s side-bay, Coop heard deep, mournful sobs coming from a female huddled against the bulkhead. Oddly, she was alone. Normally, so many used the bays as temporary housing, there was little chance of being alone.
He approached. He simply could not avoid it. His nature, and his training was to render aid, and not turn away, ignoring a person in trouble. “Is there something I can help with?” he asked.
The woman, older he thought, but still not fully comfortable with Bosine physiology to guess her age. He did not need to know physiology to see she was red-eyed from crying, clearly distressed, and a contusion was rising on the left side of her face.
“He has my daughter,” she whispered, choked from sobbing. He followed her eyes to a shanty-looking tent twenty feet away. Three young Bosine males talking, laughing, and milling about in front of the tent. Waiting. He was sure he had seen them before, when the training fight was going on, and he was told to stay out of it. It was training. Well, this was not training. He had a good idea what was happening, and no one was there to put a restraining hand on him this time.
As he headed for the tent, the three Bosine took note, and took defensive positions. One, about six-foot two took a position a little ahead of the two shorter, stockier versions on either flank. All three had classic ‘I’m a wall’ stances. Hands down, fisted, feet apart, and a steady heel-toe rocking motion. They kept their heads up, and gave him what they assumed were steely eyes.
Since the lead tough guy was being accommodating, and since Cooper had no intention of discussing the situation, he front kicked the guy so hard between the legs his balls (assuming Bosine balls were in the same general area as human’s) ended up in his throat. Judging from the look of shear pain and terror, he assumed he had assumed correctly.
Without breaking stride he hit the guy on the left with his right fist, breaking his jaw, and sending him straight to the deck. Completing a rotation too quick to follow, he delivered a left hand to the forehead of the other guy, who had turned at the gasp of terror from the first guy. The blow propelled him ten feet and onto his back. It likely caused severe brain damage.
He pulled the tent’s door-flap out, and up, and walked into the dimly lit interior.
A Bosine girl, naked, and on hands and knees, was crying uncontrollably. The six-six bully from the previously mentioned training fight, was nude from the waist down. His hands roughly cupping her breasts, slamming into her from behind. The slap-slap-slap of his body against hers drowned out the short commotion, which might have warned him something bad was on the way.
Coop wasted no time, grabbing the son-of-a-bitch by the scruffy hair on his head, and yanking him off the girl, then tossing him out of the tent. Without checking on the girl, he stepped through the flap, following the Bosine, who had tumbled a good six feet before coming to a halt, his pants around his ankles.
The woman he stopped to help came closer. Coop looked at her, and said, “Go help her,” nodding to the tent. The woman did not hesitate, running to, and then disappearing into the tent. Coop dropped the front flap, giving the mother and daughter privacy. He allowed the Bosine time to get to his feet, pulling his pants up as he did.
He glowered at Cooper, and made another mistake. He spoke. “You think you are special because you fuck those two Fellen whores. You are not, and I am going to throw your ass into space.”
Cooper looked to his right . . . the Bosine’s eyes followed, and he noticed two of his guards on the ground, one with his hands between his legs moaning, while rocking to-and-fro.
Cooper looked to his left . . . the Bosine saw his other guard out cold on the ground, blood pouring from his shattered mouth.
He looked directly at the bully. There was a reckoning coming. Refugee life was difficult. Tensions build. But you do not, ever, ever take those tensions out on fellow refugees. You do not rape. And you do not murder. In Coop’s book, those were capital offenses.
The fight could have been over in ten-seconds. It lasted nearly ten minutes. It was not an actual fight. It was a beating. It was not an ordinary beating, but a demonstration. Some of those watching would have characterized it as ‘inhuman’ had the word been in their vocabulary. For some, it lasted too long. For others, it was the lesson he intended. For the girl, now dressed, and leaning against her mother, it was a beat down she intended to watch. For the mother, Cooper was vengeance personified.
Crew members who acted as security poured out of the lift seven minutes into the fight. They had been alerted by security cameras, and were sent by Captain Poonch. Men, and women drawn to the disturbance, stood between them, Cooper, and the bully. It was clear they were not going to allow interference. Word had spread. Everyone knew what had happened, and what was now happening.
A half-minute later Sky and Storm appeared, alerted to the situation by the Captain. They pushed through the crowd, but they did not interfere. A female Bosine spoke to Sky, and pointed at the woman, and her daughter. Sky spoke to Storm, and both looked angry enough to fight anyone who did try to stop the beating.
No one moved to help the three males who were down, and most likely in critical condition.
No one tried to stop Coop, as he finished the beating by snapping the rapist’s neck. It was audible, and obvious. No one tried to stop him as he walked away, moving through the crowd, past the guards, away from Sky and Storm, and to his ship.
No one followed him, not even Sky or Storm. He wanted solitude. They left him alone.
Chapter 20
Daniel Marcel Cooper had killed before. Killing someone who deserved it did not bother him. It was his other actions that bothered him. Inside of three days, he made first contact with extraterrestrials, and discovered another alien species possibly on the verge of attacking Earth. He had sex ( a lot of sex) with two females of another species, and killed at least one, and possibly fou
r aliens. Events were moving too fast. He needed everything to slow down. He had to calm down. His emotions were in over-drive. It was time for more thought, and a lot less action.
He was trained to act, without emotions clouding those actions. Over the preceding years he had pushed many emotions away, and buried others beneath duty, responsibility, and obligation. In the process he pushed many of the people who were his friends away as well. As Admiral Patterson enumerated before he left EMS2, only five people had been able to withstand his decision to insulate himself from the world.
Those emotions worked their way into his psyche, now no longer tethered to that world.
He took a hot shower, washing the blood from his hands, and splatter from everywhere else. He threw everything he had worn this day into the wash/dry unit. He sat cross-legged on Angel’s deck in his comfortable sweats. He dropped into a deep meditation state.
The Star Gazer’s coms officer tried to contact him. He ignored him.
There was light, followed by heavy rapping on the tripod leg of the ship. He ignored the request for attention, knowing it was Sky, and Storm.
After four hours he ate an MRE supper, and downed three bottles of cool water to quench his dehydrated body.
He dressed in his black combat fatigues, this time strapping a black matte surgical steel knife into its custom sheath on the left side of the belt. He reached up into a high cabinet, and pulled out a black baseball cap with the SPACE FLEET Earth and Circling Comet Logo. He put this on, knowing the curved bill, and well-worn cap gave him an even more menacing appearance.
The combat dress, and being armed, was to help him recover a proper mindset. He was a combat pilot. Captained the fastest, heaviest weaponed ship in Space Fleet. He was here to represent Earth. He had not done his job, instead, behaving like a tourist.
