by Cameron, TR
“It was a clever move,” Jacobs observed, “sending in enough primary weapons to distract, and launching the mines from a passing torpedo that appeared to miss its target. The computer reduced it to a lower priority when it was no longer a threat and didn’t track the incoming, tiny projectiles.”
Cross folded his arms in front of him, his lips pursed. “Impressive. Difficult to guard against. Let’s work up something for the computer to keep a better eye on torpedoes that have missed their targets.” He turned to the communication officer. “What did you find?”
The communication officer’s face was crinkled, her eyebrows drawn together into a small frown. “I would’ve said this was random, except that analyzing it for just over an hour has shown that it occurs in a sixty-four-minute cycle. It’s in a section of the electromagnetic spectrum where we usually encounter space noise. Radiation. That sort of thing. This, however,” Ana Fitzpatrick continued, pointing at her own display screen, “is communicating something, but I have no idea what.”
Cross’s face mimicked Fitzpatrick’s look of confusion. “Is that all we know?”
“No sir,” she said slowly. “We also know where it’s coming from.” She paused, and shook her head, crinkling her face up even more. “It’s coming from us.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the deepest level of the cathedral, underneath the areas accessible by the public, underneath even the areas permissible to most clergy and staff, was a cavernous training space. Along the walls were weapons of every sort—modern and archaic. There were stations appropriate to each weapon where the select could come to practice. Primarily, this was a place for the guards that served the priesthood, who dedicated part of each day to maintaining and improving their skills.
This morning, there were eight guards present, befitting the status of the august individual who spun and slashed inside the lines of eight etched into the rock floor. Kraada Tak held a huge broadsword, both hands wrapped around its elongated hilt, weaving it through a variety of forms for attack and defense. Four guards were in the arena with him, attacking whenever the opportunity presented itself. Kraada rebuffed the majority of the attacks, his form almost flawless. When one slipped through and struck him on the light armor he wore covering his torso, he nodded at the guard and returned to a ready stance. The clash of weapons allowed him to retreat into a state where his thoughts didn’t task him. He wasn’t sure if it was holy, but it was a useful form of meditation—one he couldn’t allow himself often enough.
Eventually, there would be a challenge. What sort of hierarch would he be if he allowed a second to serve him as champion, rather than entering the arena himself? His thoughts changed direction as he saw an opening for an attack, and he wove gracefully past an opponent, using the occlusion provided to tap a second on the helmet with the tip of his sword. A look of surprise was crisply replaced by a frown as the guard waited to be chastised.
Kraada instead put the broadsword back into the scabbard running down his spine, between his wings, and clasped hands with each of the guards, thanking them for their time. This was one of the few activities that released the weight of the mantle he wore, and he planned to keep it that way. He was toweling off when an attendant broke into the room.
“I know I am not supposed to interrupt you, Hierarch, but the message you’ve been waiting for has arrived.”
Kraada dropped his towel on the floor and clapped the messenger on the shoulder. “Good work.” He pointed at the four guards he hadn’t been battling and ordered, “Escort me.” They fell into line around him as he hurried toward his apartments.
He reached his suite just as the cathedral’s communication staff signaled that the message had been decoded and was ready for playback. Kraada dismissed his guards and sat in the chair behind his ornate desk. He pulled out an earpiece and put it in, an extra nod to security that was most likely unneeded, but still reassuring. Indraat’s voice came through clearly, the robotic alteration of her tones a result of the encoding-decoding process. The Xroeshyn message system used some of the same technology that their wave travel system did to send messages that arrived considerably before the ships that sent them. Decreased fidelity was a fair trade for the increase in speed.
“Hierarch,” it began, “our first foray against the enemy was a complete success, though not without the loss of two of our own ships. The Jade Breeze survived unscathed. Included with this message are data files showing the details of the battle. Our weapons are effective against their smaller ships although we will have to combine efforts to take down their largest vessels. Our mines were highly effective against both their station and an individual ship.” The voice paused, and Kraada was annoyed at the crackling that filled the empty space.
“I see no evidence to suggest that they are not the promised enemy. Their technology fits the description, their morphology fits the description, and the reference to division among the enemy seems to apply as well. It is perhaps not as precise as you may have wished, Uncle, but as you well know, the gods have a tendency to be less than transparent.” The implied levity in her final sentence disappeared as she concluded, “We will engage the wave drive after sending this message, and should arrive within a day of it. I will submit myself to you upon my return to address any questions. Indraat, out.”
Kraada dropped the earpiece on his desk and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, thinking.
* * *
He was still reclined two hours later when there was a soft knock. He shifted forward again, stretching. “Enter.” The door swung open, and both an attendant and his valet entered the room. The priest was one of Kraada’s least favorite, a sycophant whose rise to his current position had more to do with the politicians he knew than with his efforts to serve his congregation, his church, or the gods.
Even his voice was slimy as he announced, “Marshal Drovaa is here to speak with you, Hierarch. It is a matter of some urgency.” Unspoken was the opinion that the military leader ranked higher in the attendant’s estimation than did Kraada. Kraada gave him a grin that showed his teeth.
“Thank you, Skraan. Please ask the marshal to give me a short while. Provide him with refreshments while he waits, and you may deliver dinner to both of us while we meet.” He turned to his valet, who was already laying out appropriate robes for the meeting, and motioned for him to follow him into the dressing room.
Once properly attired, he received the marshal. “It’s good to see you again. We must stop allowing our only meetings to be those inspired by moments of crisis.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Hierarch,” Drovaa said, sitting down across from him at the short dining table. “I’ve had a report from the Jade Breeze.”
“Indeed? How did our attack fare? What have we learned?” Kraada’s excitement was not entirely feigned. Even though he knew some of the answers to those questions, he was interested to know what Drovaa’s sources had reported to him. Once he’d heard the other man’s information, if appropriate, he would share some of Indraat’s.
“I am sorry to break this news to you, my friend, but the commander of the Jade Breeze tells me it’s impossible that these aliens are our promised enemy.”
Kraada froze for a beat with his fork on the way to his mouth, then recovered and chewed slowly before responding. “Indeed,” he said again. “On what does the good captain base his opinion?”
“It’s his estimation that neither their technology nor their strategies make them a significant threat to our forces. As the holy book declares we’ll find the true limits of our strength and faith in fighting the promised enemy, this opponent doesn’t appear to rise to that standard.”
Kraada took a deep drink of his wine, swirling it in his mouth before swallowing and offering an appreciative sigh. “And your opinion on this matter, Marshal?”
“I wouldn’t have shared my subordinate’s observations, if I didn’t believe them correct, Hierarch. This may be a case where we’re hoping so intensely for a certain result t
hat we see that outcome where it doesn’t exist.”
“Indeed,” replied Kraada a third time. “In any case, it hurts us not at all to consider how we may deal with them as a thought experiment over dinner, while we await the ability to question the captain of the Jade Breeze on this matter, don’t you agree?”
Kraada saw the scowl the other man smothered before it had a chance to do more than quirk at his lips. “Of course, Hierarch. In exchange for such a fine meal, I’d be happy to engage in such a flight of imagination.”
After his guest’s departure, Kraada vented his annoyance on the dishware and wine glasses, hurling them skillfully one by one into the room’s fireplace. Drovaa, that damned fool, was playing games. Apparently, it had been too long between campaigns for him, and he was entertaining himself by placing pieces in Kraada’s part of the board. He punctuated that thought by lofting the wine bottle through the air to crash into the flames as well. The noise brought guards and servants, who burst into the room and then stood back looking uncomfortable.
“Clean it,” he ordered, “and do not disturb me until Indraat Vray arrives, save at the word of the emperor.” He stormed out and entered the set of rooms he used as a sleeping chamber, closing the soundproof door behind him. His nightly habits calmed him, and by the time he was ready for his last task before sleep, his mind was centered. He walked to a corner of the room and sat cross-legged before the avatar of his patron goddess. Bowing his head, he spoke ritual words of supplication, adding requests for patience and strength, and promising death to the enemies of the Xroeshyn that the gods had delivered to them.
His last thought as he slipped off to sleep, wrapped in heavy blankets that surrounded him like the arms of the goddess herself, was that the gods keep their promises, and these aliens must therefore be the ordained ones. With a sleepy snarl, he added the addendum that if Drovaa Jat played him false, he would discover that Kraada played a much better, much deeper game than did he.
* * *
A long night’s sleep put him in a much better frame of mind to meet the next day’s challenges. He shared breakfast with Indraat, the finest breads, proteins, and fruits that his staff could provide.
“The captain of the Jade Breeze is convinced these aliens are not the enemy we’ve long awaited.”
Indraat Vray snorted in response. “The captain of the Jade Breeze’s idiocy is only interrupted by the occasional thought with some tenuous connection to reality, which he then rejects out of hand.”
Kraada laughed at this blunt critique of her fellow officer. “You seem to have a very complete view of the good Traan Aras.”
“This is true, Uncle. He has, on several occasions, attempted to engage me socially.” Her wings fluttered theatrically in what a human would have called a shudder. “Trying to make small talk with him requires one to carry entirely too much of the burden. I cannot imagine it is any better for his crew.”
“Perhaps this explains dearly departed Reenat Srav’s frustration with him?”
“Reenat also exists… existed, that is… in a world of his own making, where reality had little purchase.”
“My, Niece, this is a side of you I haven’t seen before.”
She looked up at him through lowered eyelashes. “Before, I wouldn’t have deemed it appropriate to share these thoughts with the Hierarch of the Xroeshyn.” Switching from demure back to her normal tone, she continued, “But with my uncle, who knows many of the players, and who needs to know all of them as well as possible to arrange the board most effectively, I feel confident that truth will be welcomed as a positive.”
“Between us, always. I pledge it. If I am foresworn, let the gods deliver me to the in-between and leave me there for all eternity.”
“So may it be.”
“So may it be.”
“May I then end the life of the useless being in command of the Jade Breeze?” She took out the dagger sheathed at her hip in a smooth move, twirling it in her fingers before sliding it back into its home. “It is past time that someone did.”
Kraada gave an approving nod to her attitude, but not to her idea. “His existence must continue for a while longer, Vray. First, we need to see what information he can provide when I question him. More importantly, though, he may be useful as a distraction in the middle part of the game.”
Indraat Vray sighed. “I understand, Uncle.”
“However, when he’s no longer useful, you may do the removing.”
Indraat smiled. “I will hold you to your vow.”
Kraada’s face fell into the lines of worry that had been present far too often as of late. “How sure are you that these aliens are the promised ones?”
“Seven of eight, Uncle.”
“Seven is good, Niece. Seven is very good indeed.”
* * *
Indraat returned to her ship after the meal, and Kraada headed to the Defense Center. He planned his arrival to interrupt Drovaa’s interview with the captain of the Jade Breeze. When he arrived, he discovered that no such meeting was taking place, and was instead ushered into the marshal’s presence.
“Hierarch, good to see you again so soon.”
“Marshal,” Kraada replied. “Have you finished already with Captain Traan?”
“I have. There wasn’t much new information to be had, other than data that we’ve supplied to our tactical and defense personnel.”
“Do you continue to believe they aren’t the promised enemy?”
“They call themselves humans.”
Kraada hoped he kept his irritation from showing. “And are these humans our promised enemy?”
“They are not.”
Kraada stood and paced. “It hasn’t happened often before, Marshal, but I find myself disagreeing with you in this case.” He waved an arm to forestall any reply. “However, at this point, we need not commit publicly one way or the other, so let’s not worry about doing so.” He turned back and sat across the desk from Drovaa again. “Whether they are sent by the gods or not, they have destroyed a holy relic, and in so doing have damaged our honor. The only way to regain it, is to destroy the offenders, don’t you agree?”
Drovaa spread his arms wide. “I agree, Hierarch, and nothing would please me more. I will ready two squadrons for departure in the next eight-day.”
Kraada toasted him with his wineglass in reply. It’s a start, Marshal. It’s a start.
Chapter Twenty-Three
With the ship safely in tunnel space, Cross and Kate could take some essential downtime and have a drink with Jannik.
“So how did you manage it?” Cross asked.
“Secret engineering techniques,” Jannik replied, taking a sip of his whiskey.
Kate laughed, discharging a little more of the tension they all felt. “But seriously, how did you?”
“Well,” Jannik leaned back and scratched at the center of his chest, “once Fitz discovered that the signal was coming from the DC, there were limited options. Inside the ship, or outside it. I figured that the likelihood of them getting a bug into our computers was smaller than them sticking one of those tiny things on our hull since we’ve seen how good they are at that. We deployed spiders on the ship’s hull, and sure enough, they found one.”
Cross remembered from his rotation in engineering how useful the tiny spider-like robots were, constantly crawling the insides of the ship looking for problems. “Clever idea, to use them outside. I didn’t know they were vacuum-rated.”
Jannik recoiled in mock offense. “Of course, they are, my boy. Everything that the engineering division does is first-rate, with tolerances far higher than needed. For instance, they also have built-in magnetics in their tiny legs that allowed them to stay attached.”
Kate interjected, cutting him off, “So after you found it, the spiders just yanked it off the hull?”
Jannik turned back to her, sitting forward in his chair. “Not at all,” he said, sweeping his arms on the surface of the table. “The little ones were too small for that t
ask. We had to get out the mongoose.”
Cross snorted into his drink, thankful that he wasn’t taking a sip right at that moment. “Does everything down here have an animal name?”
“Yes. You’re referred to as the sad puppy.”
Kate laughed some more and then said, “Let me guess. And I’m the happy kitten?”
Jannik smiled. “Crafty owl.”
While she sat back with a pleased expression, Cross protested, “I’m not a sad—”
“Anyway,” Jannik said loudly enough to override him, “the mongoose is an articulated robot, kind of like a caterpillar, but with all of its legs on the inside of a flexible membrane made of ballistic cloth and the thinnest newsteel we’ve ever been able to produce. It costs about the same as a laser cannon.” Cross whistled, and even Kate looked impressed. “Being the types that we are in the engineering division, we always have two, a primary and backup.”
Kate nodded. “You’d have a backup set of drives if you could.”
“We do, actually” said Jannik.
“What?” Kate and Cross expressed their surprise at the same moment.
“The Washington has a backup drive.”
“Jannik,” Cross said, “have you been brewing moonshine with the fusion engines again? The ship’s not big enough to have two drives.”
Jannik shook his head in apparent mourning for the complete lack of knowledge possessed by everyone younger than him. “My boy, the wormhole drive doesn’t take up much space.” At the mention of it, Cross remembered reading about it at the Academy, but it hadn’t entered his mind since. He could see from the look on her face that Kate had also forgotten.
“Okay, but let’s get back to the point at hand, brilliant engineering man,” Kate said. “What did you do with the mongoose?”
