Children of the Old Stars

by David Lee Summers

  "One more thing,” called Ellis, standing. “I've thought a bit more about what you said about the Titans.” G'Liat turned sharply and entered the room again, letting the door close behind him.

  The warrior held up a long finger, reproachfully. Light glinted menacingly off the ring he wore. “Be careful who you discuss my thoughts on the Titans with."

  Ellis waved the warning aside as he stepped toward G'Liat. “If the Titans were tied to the Cluster in some way, why are their ships in as much danger as ours? I've been reading the records of Titan encounters. They've been examined by the Cluster the same as our ships."

  G'Liat folded his arms. “Have they? Who prepares those reports?"

  "The reports I saw came from the archived news files based on Admiralty reports.” Ellis’ eyebrows came together.

  "Who gives those reports to the Admiralty?"

  "The Titans, themselves, I suppose.” The captain took a deep breath.

  G'Liat leaned close to the captain's ear. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Rd'dyggian ships have been scouting the remains of all vessels destroyed by the Cluster. The only reported wrecks we cannot find are those of Titan ships."

  "So, either the Titans are lying about their ships encountering the Cluster, or their ships are being utterly destroyed by the Cluster."

  "There's a third possibility, and that's the one that actually scares me.” With that G'Liat straightened and left the room.

  Ellis moved to his chair and sat down at the computer to review the mission. He tried to activate the hovering icon for the mission briefing, but found his hand was trembling too much.

  * * * *

  Teklar of Titan was curled up in the nest of her youth in a cave. She knew the caves that Titans called home seemed humble to many species of the galaxy. Despite the humility of their domiciles, the Titans were so technically superior to the rest of the beings in the galaxy that no one scoffed aloud. The hum of the machine, which normally comforted Teklar in times of doubt, brought her only dread. All she could think of was the fact that those machines had been handed down unchanged from the time her ancestors acquired them from the Intelligence. Even so, her mind reached out to the machine and requested a warm drink. The drink materialized where she could reach out and sip with her muzzle. Her paws were curled around, using the warmth of her body to take the chill from her extremities.

  She had been convinced that when Ellis and G'Liat joined forces, they would solve the riddle whose answer she could not reveal. More important, she hoped they would find a way to send the Cluster back where it came from without involving her people at all. Instead, they were going to chase through the galaxy with a mapping vessel. Sighing, she took another sip.

  Although Rd'dyggians and humans had frighteningly chaotic minds, those minds could often leap to insights far beyond those of the Titans. The more egotistical of her people believed it would be many centuries before the most advanced beings of the galaxy reached the level of technology the Titans possessed. Teklar had her doubts. Deep down, she felt that even the primitive humans would develop technology on a level similar to the Titans in only a few decades. Once that happened, where would the Titans be, whose technology had not evolved in nearly thirty million years?

  Teklar knew the answer. The Titans would be where they were at this moment. They would be at the mercy of the humans. Only humans, and maybe Rd'dyggians, had the mental agility to talk to the Cluster. However, she feared the Cluster's response.

  * * * *

  Clyde McClintlock felt ill at ease. He worried about his people back on Earth. While he knew they could take care of themselves, he felt guilty running around the galaxy on a quest for the Cluster without them. He tried to turn his mind to the menu he was preparing for the next day. Looking in the mirror at his hair, dyed black, he felt even guiltier than he did before. Not only was he engaged in a holy quest without his people, he was deceiving the crew of the Sanson to do so.

  He stood up from the desk and paced the room. With a sigh, he realized how much he felt like he was back in the cell on Sufiro. At least, he thought, John Mark Ellis and G'Liat have some influence over the course of the ship. He was just along for the ride. As he thought, though, he realized he might have some influence over the course of the vessel after all. McClintlock knelt by the side of his bed. The Cluster might only be a tool of God, but it was a powerful tool. He had compared it to a hammer when speaking to Ellis. Nodding to himself, Clyde began to think of it more as a computer where messages could be stored.

  "Oh Cluster that roams the heavens,” prayed McClintlock. “Your image is exalted! Your dominion is assured and your desires are executed on Earth and in space by my people. You provide our reason for living and forgive our sins. Do not let me be tempted to abandon you. Instead, lead this ship and me to you. Your imperium is coming. Your power and glory will shine throughout the cosmos!"

  SHIPSHAPE

  Aboard naval ships, the space allotted any sailor was at a premium. The crew slept in bunks lining the walls of the ship. The only concession for officers was a curtain that could be pulled across the sleeping space for some modicum of privacy. Even during his tenure as a ship commander, all John Mark Ellis had was a cot, a fold-down desk and a slightly larger curtain.

  "So much for being a government employee,” said Ellis as he stepped into his quarters aboard the Nicholas Sanson for the first time.

  Ellis entered alone, after a busy day reviewing crew reports and ship status. The bed, like those aboard naval vessels, was built into the wall. The similarity ended there. The bed was molded into the wall in a way that gave it a certain elegance, making it seem all the more inviting. Not only that, there was a window over the bed, allowing the stars to shine in, giving him a sense of peace, not unlike sleeping on the deck of his grandfather's boat. In addition to the bed were a dresser and two chairs at a round table. Like the bed, they were mounted to the floor in case the graviton generators failed, an occurrence Ellis had a hard time foreseeing on a ship this well maintained. Looking to the left, he saw a door that led into his own private lavatory.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ellis eased shoes off his feet and lay back, sinking into the soft, yet supportive mattress. It seemed like it had been a lifetime since the captain had a good night sleep. For the past several weeks, Ellis rented a cubicle in Japan, where the mattress seemed paper-thin. Before that, comfortable as G'Liat's mud bath was, it did not compare to a real bed.

  Lying in bed, Ellis thought about the good fortune that had allowed him to command a ship so quickly. One of the senior captains in TransGalactic retired recently, opening a position on a bigger ship for the Sanson's previous captain. As Kirsten Smart had said, they were reluctant to promote Yermakov. As Ellis faded toward sleep, he marveled at the remarkable chain of circumstances that allowed him to lie in this bed in these quarters.

  The captain's eyes popped open. He thought back to his conversation with G'Liat about finding a ship for their search. He remembered suggesting the mapping vessel to G'Liat. Even so, that suggestion had come after the Rd'dyggian had been inside his mind. The captain's thoughts wandered and he found himself wondering just how long the alien had been planning a trip aboard this particular ship.

  Ellis sat up in bed, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. It was well known throughout the confederation that the Rd'dyggians had always resented the Titans’ interference in their war with the Tzrn. The captain pursed his lips, hoping he wasn't letting himself be a pawn in some elaborate revenge plot.

  Ellis growled at himself. The last thing he needed was to be distracted by paranoia, especially when he was scared senseless at the idea of chasing the Cluster alone. Taking a deep breath, Ellis let it out slowly with the words, “I'm in command."

  Feeling wide-awake, the captain stood and stepped into the lavatory. Like everything else on the ship, it was spotless. Looking in the mirror, Ellis examined his auburn beard, which he had trimmed just two days before. Small, out of place hairs jutted
out at odd angles.

  Forcing a smile, Ellis thought his beard reminded him of the crew. By and large, they were efficient and orderly. Still, the bridge crew seemed at odds with that order. The pilot, Laura, seemed the only capable member of the command crew. Ellis vowed to work on shaping up Yermakov and Papadraxis the next day. This was his ship after all, and it was time to take full charge. Using the trimmer he found in the drawer under the sink, Ellis cut the stray hairs in his beard and nodded to himself in the mirror. Pleased that paranoid thoughts were behind him, Ellis shut off the light and returned to the comfortable bed.

  * * * *

  Kirsten Smart stepped into her familiar quarters aboard the Sanson. Almost habitually, she turned on the news—audio only—and stepped into the lavatory. Kirsten undid the barrette, letting her hair fall loose. She brushed it methodically while listening to the news. An admiral named Strauss was being interviewed.

  "We believe we've detected a pattern in the Cluster attacks,” said the admiral. “While many ships have been destroyed, it appears rare that two ships of the same class are ever destroyed."

  "You mean, if one human freighter has been destroyed by the Cluster, no other freighter will be destroyed?” asked the reporter.

  "No two freighters of the same class,” corrected the admiral.

  The reporter pressed on. “What about the freighters Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard?"

  The admiral paused an uncomfortably long time. “Our understanding is that the Vineyard is an uprated design. It was not identical to the Nantucket."

  "That sounds like a fine point,” said the reporter.

  "Fine, but real,” stated the admiral, firmly.

  Kirsten Smart pursed her lips and wondered whether any mapping vessels had been destroyed. She knew that none of the Ogilby fleet had been attacked. With grim hope, she knew that TransGalactic was not the only mapping fleet to use ships of the Sanson's design. After a few minutes, she turned off the news, slipped into a nightgown and tried to drift off to sleep. Instead of sleeping, she tossed and turned, unable to get John Mark Ellis’ face out of her thoughts.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Clyde McClintlock was up early. He hummed during his shower, confident that his prayers to the Cluster would be answered. He shaved quickly, then donned his white shirt, trousers and apron. The evangelist smiled to himself thinking how much the attire reminded him of the suit he wore when he preached to the people of Cape Cod. Looking in the mirror, his smile turned to a frown as he saw the black-dyed hair standing in contrast to the white clothes. With a sigh, he hurried out of his quarters toward the kitchen where his staff would be waiting for him to present them with the day's menu.

  Arriving at the kitchen, Clyde's spirits lifted as he saw the two women and two men who comprised his Monday morning staff getting the kitchen ready for the day. Clyde clapped his hands together and the four looked at him. “Menu for this morning, is bacon, eggs, and buckwheat pancakes,” announced McClintlock.

  The lead cook, Morganna, stepped up to McClintlock and put her hand on his shoulder. She looked as though a cigarette should be dangling from her mouth. From the heavy tobacco smell that clung to her, McClintlock suspected that she did smoke back in her quarters. The boss, Ms. Smart, forbade smoking anywhere else in the ship. “Mr. McIntosh,” she drawled. “This crew is going to mutiny if you make them eat eggs, bacon, and buckwheat pancakes every morning for breakfast."

  McClintlock looked to the ground and wrung his hands. While in the Gaean Navy, it had seemed like ambrosia anytime that menu was prepared. The alternatives were always cold, gooey oatmeal or hard biscuits that were served with gravy just to make them edible. The evangelist looked into Morganna's lined face. All of his years of command training rebelled against asking a particular question. At a loss for anything else to say, though, he succumbed and asked, “What do you suggest?"

  Morganna's concerned expression brightened into a smile. “I can make a green chile and sausage quiche that will knock your socks off. We can serve it with a bit of fruit. The crew will love it."

  His stomach feeling hollow, Clyde nodded. “Sounds good."

  As the kitchen staff swarmed about, preparing breakfast, Clyde slunk back to his office and turned on his terminal so he could prepare the menus for the rest of the day. Instead, he simply sat wondering how he could continue to pull off this deception perpetrated by Ellis and G'Liat.

  Morganna found him like that about an hour later. “Why so blue, boss?"

  "Do you think I'm doing a good job?” The question actually made McClintlock's stomach hurt. “I can't even seem to come up with appetizing menus."

  Morganna sat down in the chair opposite McClintlock's desk. “It doesn't take a hexadimensional engineer to know you were a cook in the military,” she said with a wry grin. “You've just got to learn to ask for advice now and again."

  Clyde McClintlock squirmed and looked at the floor. He wanted to shout the fact that he had run the military of an entire continent. Wringing his hands more furiously than before, he wanted to say he had been governor of that continent. On Earth, millions of people followed his teachings about the Cluster. Only momentarily, did he wonder at how a farm kid from Sufiro could have attained all that. With a sigh, he looked up into her brown eyes. “You're right,” he said. “You want to help me plan lunch?"

  "I thought you'd never ask,” she said. “But first, the captain is expecting his breakfast."

  Clyde McClintlock laughed inwardly thinking this was the first morning that Ellis had been aboard. “I take it, it's customary for the head chef to take the captain his breakfast?"

  "It's good politics,” suggested Morganna. “Always good to impress the captain."

  Standing, Clyde McClintlock stepped out to the kitchen, where he prepared a tray for Ellis. He had to admit the quiche smelled good. He grabbed a second plate for himself, trusting that Morganna had the situation well in hand, and made his way to the captain's quarters.

  * * * *

  As Clyde left the Kitchen, Isaac and Quincy entered. They grabbed plates and each took a slice of quiche. “Looks like Morganna's cooking again,” said Quincy, finding a seat at a table.

  "Thank God,” sighed Isaac. The programmer's brow knitted. “You know, there's something familiar about our cook."

  "You're just being paranoid,” said Quincy.

  "Who's being paranoid?” asked a stout, balding man, entering the kitchen.

  Isaac and Quincy each nodded to Mahuk, the chief engineer. “Isaac keeps telling me he's seen our cook somewhere before,” said the burley Quincy. “He even thinks it was on the news."

  "Why's that seem so strange?” asked Isaac, holding up his hands in mock indignation.

  "The guy's a second-rate cook at best,” said Quincy. “He would never get a cooking segment on the news."

  "I didn't say it was a cooking segment,” said Isaac, exasperated.

  "Forget the cook,” said Mahuk, waving his hands, already bored with the conversation. “I just want to know if you've modified the code for the EQ drives like I asked."

  "I'll have it done right after breakfast,” said Isaac.

  * * * *

  McClintlock did not think about consulting the computer, or asking anyone where the captain's cabin was located before he left the kitchen. Despite the fact that Ellis’ cabin was only one deck above the kitchen, Clyde wandered the halls long enough for the tray of food to get cold. At last, the one-time colonel found himself knocking on the captain's door.

  "It's about time you got here,” grumbled Ellis as he stepped out of the lavatory. He sat down at the table. Like the chairs in his office, the chairs at the table were mounted in tracks and could be pushed away and pulled toward the wood-grained table.

  "This is a bigger ship than I'm used to,” said McClintlock, sitting the tray on the table.

  "I know what you mean. I'm still getting used to the idea of having my own quarters, much less my own ready room.” Ellis smirked to himsel
f. “I almost feel like an admiral."

  "You better not let Ms. Smart hear that. As far as we're concerned, she is the admiral.” Sniffing the air, Clyde noticed the air smelled remarkably clean. There was no evidence that the captain had unpacked, much less smoked, his pipes. “Are you feeling okay?"

  "I'm feeling fine.” Ellis raised his fork and cut into the quiche. Taking a bite, he made a face. “This is good, but it's cold.” Shaking his head he looked at the evangelist. “It really did take a long time for you to get here this morning."

  McClintlock shrugged. He took a bite. Ellis was right, the quiche was good. “It seems odd that you would go through an entire night without your pipe,” McClintlock said, at last.

  It was Ellis’ turn to shrug. “Ship's rules.” McClintlock began to say something, but the captain cut him off. “Even though I can smoke here, the fact of the matter is that Ms. Smart doesn't like it. As you say, she's the admiral. No sense pissing her off."

  McClintlock nodded sensing something peculiar in the captain's voice—almost a lilting as though the captain was in love. The evangelist did not care to guess whether it was love with the owner's representative or the ship itself. “So, I hear we're finally heading out tomorrow,” said McClintlock changing the subject. “Where's our first destination?"

  "The planet Zahar. Ever been there?” The evangelist shook his head. “Neither have I.” The captain reached over and flipped on a display. A schematic of a star and nearby planet appeared over the table. The planet seemed impossibly large for its proximity to the star. “Zahar is a terrestrial planet just a little smaller than Jupiter. It's covered with water just the right temperature for a Jacuzzi."

  "Sounds like a great place to visit."

  "If the gravity wouldn't tear a human to pieces,” mused the captain. “It's a rich system, and thus one that people want to get to easily. Unfortunately, the gravitational currents with those two large, close bodies make it a tricky one for small yachts and traders that don't have the computational power of bigger ships. They rely on mapping vessels to provide up-to-date records of the jump points.” The captain took a deep breath. “By the way, the last ship attacked by the Cluster was from Zahar.” Ellis retrieved a napkin from the tray and wiped his mouth. “It's time I got to the command deck."