“So the blue star’s fields gave the dying engines a boost?”
“Right. When the AI didn’t get any further commands from authorized sources for a prescribed length of time, it slagged—destroyed—the engines, knowing they were unusable. There’s a small, separate power source for keeping the life support going, the AI itself, essential services. Unless someone tries to access the ship who isn’t authorized or who doesn’t have an override code, the power lasts years,” Nate said to Bithia.
“How long does this separate power source last?”
“Nothing like the length of time your installations stay functional, running unattended.” Nate laughed. “We can’t stay here in any case. This ship is in a totally exposed position.”
Eyebrows raised, Bithia rapped her knuckle on the hull.
“No weapons,” Nate said. “This was strictly a fast courier job not meant to take offensive action. The weight was reduced and the speed increased for atmospheric flight by not mounting any weapons, not even a small blast cannon. We couldn’t defend ourselves effectively. No one could break in, not with the armament on this planet, but we’d be stuck. Run out of food and water eventually and starve to death.”
“I see. Not a very inviting picture of your world so far, all this talk of weapons and enemies and death.”
Somewhat irritated by what he heard as criticism, Nate said, “We didn’t set out to make life about war. We expanded into what became the Sectors, making peaceful contacts and treaties with the other sentients. Trade alliances, you name it. And then the Mawreg hit, like a barrage of black holes through a crowded planetary system. And it’s been war for sheer survival ever since, wherever the enemy and their allies make an incursion. And if the Mawreg ever do penetrate this system, by chance or on our trail, the ship’ll draw them in immediately. We’ll have to trigger the final self-destruct. Can’t take any chances.”
“Can we at least wait until tomorrow?” Thom said reasonably. “I’ve been dreaming about a shower and a decent meal all day. Well, hell, for months actually, but especially today, knowing we’d be at the ship. I’ll grant you the bunks in this thing don’t compare to a real planetside bed, but we ain’t exactly had any of those either since we left here. It’d be nice to sleep one night without being on guard, in chains, crawled over by vermin—”
Nate laughed. “We’ll stay tonight. The Mawreg probably aren’t anywhere near this side of the galaxy, much less this system. One more night won’t hurt. Gotta admit I’d like a real shower and food myself, even ship food.”
“I know something else you’ll want,” Thom said, opening the kitbag and reaching inside.
He flourished a lethal, burnished black Mark 27 blaster.
“How many do we have?” Nate eagerly took the one Thom had brought for him, inspecting it and checking the counter on the grip. “Fully charged. We can protect ourselves a whole lot better on this crazy planet now.”
“Three more in the weapons locker, with extra charges,” Thom said, his voice conveying deep satisfaction about going properly armed from now on.
“Are these weapons so much better than the ones you found in the warehouse?” Bithia asked, leaning over to see the Mark 27.
“With yours, we could only render living creatures and their immediate surroundings into piles of ash. Kind of frustrating, to say the least. You can use Mark 27s as a blaster or to stun someone or something. They’re pinpoint accurate, or can be set for wide spray. The Mark 27 has a longer range. The charge supports extended use—”
“I guess your people are more effective at designing lethal weapons. Perhaps mine were better at peaceful things.”
He left the pilot’s chair, setting aside the blaster, and gave her a quick hug. “I’m sure all civilizations have their good points and their flaws.”
“Excepting the Mawreg,” Thom said, index finger raised to emphasize his point. “Only bad with them—flawed, as you called it, from start to finish of their evolution.”
Bithia leaned into Nate’s embrace. “What now?”
“Lady gets first dibs on the shower,” Thom said. “In the meantime, I’ll work on organizing dinner.” He pointed at Nate. “At some point I should check on your injuries from yesterday.”
“Does this vessel have a name?” Bithia asked as Nate preceded her from the control chamber. “We named our ships.”
“We do too,” Nate assured her. “This is the Murphy, named for a Special Forces hero from our original home planet.”
“A pleasing sound. Show me this shower you speak of. And then I’m hungry. I have all those years in the healing chamber to make up for.”
Laughing, they retraced their previous path through the ship, Nate escorting Bithia to the small quarters area.
Bithia rejoined them later, dressed in a fresh blue tunic embroidered with fanciful lavender and green flowers. Her leggings matched the green of the flowers, with a hint of lavender threads in the weaving of the fabric. The outfit was from her pack, the lady having declined to wear a Sectors uniform, no matter how practical it might be. Her masses of hair were held away from her face by two black enamel clips set with small emeralds. “Celixia did an excellent job of trading during her day at the markets of Poqueteele.”
She kept Thom company in the tiny galley while he prepared dinner and Nate took his shower.
A revived, refreshed Nate appeared in the combination galley and dining area as Thom and Bithia finished setting out the last dishes.
Thom whistled. “Spit and polish, man. Recruiting poster!”
Nate took a mock swing at his friend, who ducked easily out of the way. “Feels good to have the right uniform on again.”
Bithia stared at him, a little shy of this crisp stranger in the formfitting black and silver uniform, black space boots, the Mark 27 riding at his hip in its battered holster, his thick chestnut hair now cropped short.
“You look so different,” she murmured as he sat next to her. She touched his neatly trimmed beard. “I’m glad you kept this.”
“Same old Nate,” he said cheerfully, taking her hand and kissing it. “Less dust and dirt, certainly less hair, but same guy. Okay?”
“Of course.” She studied Thom, raising one hand to finger his red hair. “Are you going to change as much?”
He blushed. “Well, ma’am, depends what you mean by change. I guess so. I mean, no one wears their hair as long in the forces as the guys on this planet. And Nate’s right, our own uniform works for me better than this kilt and cloak costume.”
“Let’s eat,” Nate interrupted. “You fixed six weeks’ worth of rations.”
“If we’re going to slag the ship tomorrow or the day after, figured we might as well enjoy ourselves while we can. Most of this stuff can’t be carried on the trail, since there’s no way to reconstitute it.” Thom passed a heaping plate of biscuits to Bithia. “Try these, ma’am. Not as good as those six-spice cake things, but probably better with beef and gravy. As reconstituted by the AI, of course.”
“It is all fine,” she said. “Except for those, whatever they are.” Brow furrowed, she pushed away a plate of green beans. “Nasty. I can’t believe you’re going to eat such a repulsive dish.”
“When you’re through insulting our vegetables,” Nate said, “we’d better discuss what to do next. I hadn’t planned beyond getting to this ship.”
“Ever since we was captured, the only thing I could think of was getting here and taking off in triumph, leaving Sarbordon and Lolanta and all of them in our back flash,” Thom agreed around a mouthful of beef and gravy. “And then somehow finding our way to the Sectors.” He took a long swallow of his drink and laughed ruefully as he set the glass on the table. “I worried about the astronavigation issues, not whether the damn ship would fly in the first place. I mean, Haranda was so positive.”
“I have a proposal.” Bithia spoke into the silence, toying with her plate. “Something I’ve been thinking about since we escaped the city.”
“An
d?” Fork in midair, bite of steak forgotten, Nate eyed her.
“My father’s main base was in the mountains. Since you say we can’t stay on this ship, and I must admit it would be cramped and confining, could we not journey north? If the facility is even partly intact, we’d have a good base of operations.”
Nate was interested, but his enthusiasm was tempered by a healthy skepticism. “How far north are we talking about? What if the facility was gutted, like the lab in Nochen? Why would someone go to so much effort in Nochen if they weren’t going to be as thorough at the main site?”
“But the warehouse survived intact.” Bithia had her counterargument ready. “Maybe the cleanup crew—whoever they were—didn’t have as much leisure for disassembly of facilities as you believe. The three of us are technology-based people.” She waved her hand at the galley fixtures. “High technology! I don’t think either of you relish the idea of going to the lowlands and joining Atletl’s army, or becoming farmers here on the plateau. Do you? What other career can we have in this place? Try to reinvent some hybrid of our own level of civilization with virtually nothing?”
Nate laid his eating utensils next to his plate and took a long drink of juice. Without looking at her, he said, “I want to be sure why we’d do that. If you’re asking us to travel there in case your father left you some kind of message or—”
“No.” She shook her head with a flash of anger. “I told you on the beach I’d finally, fully accepted my past life is over. Vanished. I wouldn’t ask you and Thom to go with me to the main facility if my only reason was such a forlorn hope.” She took his hand, waiting for him to meet her eyes. “We built a huge facility. The workers were obviously in a hurry at Nochen since the contents of the warehouse were left untouched. There may be all kinds of things left at the mountain base. Even if we decide for whatever reason not to live there, we can equip ourselves much better for life on Talonque on our own terms, more in the style I think we are all used to, comfortable with.” She reached for her gilintrae, then stopped. “I forgot, nearly out of power. I’d show you the location on the holo map, but the base is built inside the crater of an extinct volcano.”
“T’naritza, the Sleeping Goddess, I know.” Nate grinned. “I’ve heard the story of the volcanic mountain where she was supposedly born more than once. Your father having built his base there undoubtedly contributed to you being seen as the goddess, you know.”
Wrinkling her brow in a frown, she didn’t deign to comment. “We ride north for a few days along the great road to the farthest village, and then it’s a day’s climb to the destination we seek. It’ll be hard, but not impossible. And worth it if we find what I hope may be left there to salvage.”
Raising an eyebrow, Nate checked with Thom. “You up for this?”
“Got nothing better to do, and the potential rewards outweigh the effort. I don’t like the idea of going south again, I gotta tell you. Not if there are other options. So, sure, why not take a chance on exploring for alien treasures?”
Nate turned to Bithia. “You’re positive the base is going to be accessible from ground level? What if your gilintrae doesn’t have enough power to open the flyer tunnel door? Or if the last people to leave sealed it when they departed?”
“My father established a spot where the local leaders could come and meet with him. It was the farthest the villagers were willing to climb on the mountain due to superstitions about not waking the goddess. I walked there with him several times. He enjoyed learning the local legends, collecting the songs—novelty was all part of what drew him to explore new worlds, not solely motivated by the scientific rewards and the profits from importing exotic luxury goods. There’s an access door beside the flyer tunnel we used for these walks down the mountain. With your weapons, I’m sure we can force our way in should I be unable to activate the controls.”
“Sounds like you have it pretty well planned out.” She must have dreamed many times about doing this during all those years she was held captive in Nochen. “All right, here’s to successful mountain climbing.”
Thom and Bithia raised their glasses and drank to his toast cheerfully.
Nate had to admit he relished having a purpose, even if it had nothing to do with getting them home. He’d been more depressed than he wanted to admit to either Thom or Bithia when he realized the Murphy wouldn’t be leaving Talonque. He’d never had a fixed home in the Sectors, unlike some guys, but anywhere there was more home than Talonque could ever be. A man couldn’t ask for better companions to be marooned for life with than Bithia and Thom, but it would have been so much more ideal to be in the Sectors, whether working at the consulting business he and Thom had planned, or doing something else. Bithia’s proposal for their next course of action was inviting and felt right to pursue.
He finished his dinner with renewed appetite.
After the meal, he and Thom went to work sorting through the contents of the ship, setting aside whatever might be useful in their new life among the planet-bound. They left anything impractical for living planetside or too bulky to be transported on kemat.
“Not too much we want to take,” Nate said, eyeing the pile of items on the galley table. “Weapons, meds, change of uniform, a few personal items from our own kits, not too much in the way of food or drink. We’ll pack this in the saddle bags at first light, slag the ship and be on our way. No reason to linger.”
“Will the kemat be all right out there tonight, you think?” Thom asked, raising an eyebrow at Bithia. “Any large natural predators? I can set the sonic perimeters if need be.”
“Might be a good idea anyway,” Nate said. “Let us all get a good night’s sleep, which is something hard to come by on this planet, I’ve found. I don’t want to leave a warm bunk in the middle of the night to go tangle with a mountain lion or whatever the local variation is.”
“Consider it done.” Thom rose from the bench.
“I’ll do it. You were on guard all last night. Go grab your shower, and then why don’t you hit the rack?”
“You sure?” Plainly tempted, Thom hesitated.
“You must be the most exhausted of us all,” Bithia said. “You stood guard all night and rode all day. I can help with sorting.”
“No more argument from this boy, then. See you in the morning.” Thom yawned and left the galley, heading aft.
Nate and Bithia took a few more moments, organizing the supplies. Then they too left the galley and strolled to the front of the ship. Bithia watched while Nate instructed the AI to activate the sonic perimeter thirty yards out.
“Does this AI remember the way home to your Sectors?”
He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the pilot’s chair. “It has the coordinates of the blue giant where we first veered off course. It probably has the sequence of the hyperspace nexi we passed through on our wild ride here, despite how fast it all happened. And it contains all the star maps for the Sectors, which is one reason we have to slag any permanently disabled ship. Can’t risk the Mawreg getting their multieyes on the classified data. So in summary, yes, the AI remembers how to get us home. But without a ship, what good does the navigation data do?”
She tapped the gilintrae on her arm. “The idea of allowing such irreplaceable information to be destroyed when there may be a way to save it bothers me. Let me see if my device can communicate with yours and capture the data.”
“Didn’t you say your fancy bracelet was out of power?” But Nate rose from the chair to let her take his place. Fine with him if she wanted to make an attempt and interesting to see if her technology could cross the gap between ancient alien and Sectors AI techniques.
Bithia sat gracefully, studying the console for a long moment, passing her hand an inch or two above the surface of the board. “This AI is a mind, is it not?”
“Not exactly. In the big ships, like the Andromeda battle cruiser, the AI is a fully conscious, registered sentient. But on little vessels like this, there’s only a rudimenta
ry, partial system. A brain stem, you might say, keeping the vital functions of the ship going, but not capable of the complex processing that the big systems—or the human brain—carry out. Doesn’t have those modules.”
“A helpful explanation, thank you.” Closing her eyes, she began to hum, almost inaudibly, holding a steady note that extended on and on, as if she no longer needed to breathe. A faint vibration rippled through his own mind, an oddly off-balance sensation, as if he were about to slip sideways into a whirlpool. He shook his head to dispel it, not wanting to be drawn into whatever she was doing with the AI. There are some disadvantages to these hidden abilities of mine. The note she hummed affected him once more. The vertigo was more pronounced, and he regretted the big dinner he’d eaten.
Not wanting to disturb her, but curious to check the gilintrae, which she held parallel to the console, Nate leaned over her shoulder. A line of single, fat green motes of light looped from the jeweled cuff and to the console and back.
“Whatever,” Nate said to himself and retreated to the rear observer’s chair to wait for the end of this experiment. The beds on the Murphy were narrow, but if Bithia was in the mood to be creative, he had some ideas for whiling away the night in an interesting fashion in the privacy of the pilot’s cabin.
He fought someone, striking out as if he was drunk or waking from a deep sleep. Nate tried to land a blow, but his opponent dodged, calling his name and swearing. “In the name of the seven hells, snap out of it, Nate, wake up!”
Thom shook him roughly again as Nate stared around the cockpit, staggering under his friend’s violent treatment. Raising one hand, he said, “I’m okay, I’m awake, thanks.”
Releasing his tight grip on Nate’s shirt, Thom retreated a step. “What happened in here? I was afraid I’d never get you conscious again. Had me worried.”
Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance) Page 27
