by James Palmer
“Out here, a girl’s gotta be prepared for just about anything. You ready?”
“Yeah,” said Hamilton, hefting the Baranak he’d taken with him days ago on Hephaestus. It was still loaded, but he grabbed extra ammo. Just in case.
He had never actually been in an active combat situation. He had studied plenty of combat scenarios, of course, but as his instructor was fond of pointing out, no battle plan survived contact with the enemy.
Leda took a deep breath as the airlock cycled open. “You OK?” Hamilton asked.
“Yeah,” her eyes on the airlock. “Before I went undercover I overheard some intel about some top-secret R&D. Apparently, these gear heads figured out a way to mask a soldier’s vitals. Heart rate, pulse, even heat signatures.”
Hamilton nodded. “Null suits. I heard that bit of intel too. You think who we’re looking for has tech like that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t trust Proxima’s sensors.”
“The first thing I learned out here, Lieutenant, is to never trust anyone. Or anything.”
“That’s a sad way to be.”
“It’ll keep you alive.”
Leda stepped into the airlock.
The vast docking bay seemed to go on forever. It was dimly lit, but more lights came on as they moved around. “Air smells OK,” said Hamilton, sniffing. “Environmental controls and artificial gravity are still working, just like Proxima said.”
“They probably couldn’t have disabled it if they wanted to,” said Leda. “I’ll bet that even the Archive’s administrator never found out where those controls are located.”
Hamilton nodded. There was still so much they didn’t know about the mysterious Progenitors.
“However,” said Hamilton, “why do I still feel like we’re walking into a tomb?”
Leda grinned. “It’s the pyramid shape, I guess. Like something out of ancient Egypt back on Earth.”
“You know your history,” Hamilton said. His voice had a curious echo he didn’t like.
“I’ve always been fascinated by other cultures. It helps us understand our own a bit more, I think. Even alien ones.”
She looked around before striding toward the far end of the bay. “Proxima says it’s this way.”
Hamilton followed, his eyes passing over the other ships. There were a couple of freighters, a passenger transport, and a few other nondescript civilian vessels. Vessels that were now probably without owners.
Their boots echoed loudly on the dull metal of the docking bay, and Hamilton was happy to leave it for the confines of the Archive proper. More lights flickered to life as they entered through a tall door and into a corridor.
“According to Proxima, the Archive’s main section should be right up here. Good thing they’re all laid out the same.”
The going was slow. They checked every room they came upon, mostly scholars’ quarters. Many of the beds were unmade. It made it seem as if their occupants would be back any minute.
After a thorough room sweep, they came into the central hub of the archive. Hamilton and Leda gasped. Huge, dull gray walls rose up at tight angles, reaching an apex high in the ceiling composed of some tough, transparent material through which starlight filtered down. They turned their attention to the bodies.
There were several scattered about the enormous space, lying face down in research cubicles or sprawled on the floor, Progenitor learning crystals still clasped in their cold, dead hands.
“We need to find out what happened here,” said Hamilton.
“Proxima, where’s the administrator’s office?” She listened for a moment, then said, “This way.”
Hamilton followed her, his gun raised. In a recessed alcove was a transparent desk. An older man in white robes lay hunched over it. The back of his head was open and red.
Leda read the placard on his desk. “Pierre Falk. Must have caught him off guard.”
“Not quite,” said Hamilton. Look where his hand is.”
Leda followed the length of his right hand, which was cupping a tightbeam transceiver diskey. “He was signaling for help. That was his voice we heard on the transmission.”
“Yes,” said Hamilton. “We need to access the security footage.”
“Proxima,” said Leda. “Can you gain access to the Archive’s computer?”
“Unknown,” said the ship. “I will try.”
“There should be more bodies,” said Hamilton.
“What? Aren’t these enough?”
“No. That’s not what I mean. There were at least a dozen other ships and transports in the docking bay. Not to mention all those unmade beds. But I only count five or six bodies. Where is everyone?”
Leda shrugged. “This place is pretty big. They could be scattered all over.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He tapped his chin in thought.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking there are a lot of places to hide on something this large.”
“But Proxima didn’t detect any life signs.”
“I know.” He slapped the wall, feeling the strange, cool metal. “I wonder if some property of this stuff can fool a ship’s bio sensors.”
Leda tapped a button on her wrist comm so Hamilton could hear the AI. “Proxima, use my comm and run another bio scan. Anyone in here besides us?”
“Working,” said the ship. “Yes, Lieutenant Niles. Bearing one hundred yards from your current location.”
“Show us.”
They left the administrator’s office and twisted around to the right, breaking into a run. Whoever it was could be hurt. Or lying in wait ready to kill them. Hamilton raised his weapon as they got closer.
They saw the trail of blood leading to a closed door. Leda moved to open it, Hamilton covering her. She pulled it open. A man in a blue scholar’s tunic staggered out, falling forward. He rolled over onto his back, his hands raised.
“Please don’t kill me,” he said weakly. The front of his tunic was stained a dark, wet red.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Leda. “I’m Lieutenant Niles, this is Lieutenant Hamilton. We’re here to help you.”
“We need to know who did this to you,” said Hamilton, kneeling beside the injured scholar and placing his weapon on the floor.
“Th-they were terrible,” said the man as Leda waved her comm over his injury, getting a diagnosis from Proxima.
“Big. H-heavily armed.”
“Were they Marines?” Hamilton asked.
“I-I d-don’t…know. Could be. They looked like it. They…didn’t show up on…the Archive’s sensors. Like…ghosts.”
Hamilton was reminded of what Reeg had told them back on Prollux.
Leda paused in her scanning, shook her head. She cast Hamilton a grave look.
“Please tell us everything you can,” said Hamilton. He wondered how the poor man had survived as long as he had.
“He’s bleeding out internally,” Leda whispered.
“There were s-six of them,” said the wounded scholar. “They killed…everyone. We didn’t stand a chance.”
“What did they want?” said Hamilton.
“Everything.”
“Do you know why?”
The scholar shook his head. Leda gave him some water from a flask on her belt. He sputtered and continued. “They took it all. Downloaded to a stack of qubit drives, then destroyed the computer core.”
“Whatever they wanted,” said Hamilton, “they made sure no one else would find it.”
Leda asked, “Did they say anything about where they were headed next?”
“I overheard one of them say something about R-Riveras B.”
“OK,” said Hamilton. “Just rest now. We’re going to get you some help.”
“Hamilton,” said Leda. “It’s too late. He’s gone.”
Hamilton looked down at the scholar. His eyes were staring sightless
ly at the ceiling.
Eight: In Transit
“Riveras B is a fairly large installation,” said Leda as her ship exited the Archive and headed at full power toward the nearest Q-gate.
“Yes. I know that one,” said Hamilton. “It started out as a terraforming operation until a crew of excavators uncovered some Progenitor ruins.”
“Right. And pretty old ruins at that, at least from what I’ve heard.”
“So what are they up to?” said Hamilton. “What are they after?”
“Whatever it is,” said Leda, “it must have some sort of military application. Though if that’s the case I don’t know why they’d be interested in a period so long ago. Sure, they were advanced, but no more so than we are currently.”
“There are different stages of Progenitor civilization, right?” said Hamilton, some half-remembered history class bubbling to the surface of his brain.
“Yeah. At least seven distinct eras that we’ve been able to uncover so far. Why?”
Hamilton shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe in all that time they stumbled backward in their development, and a previous era was actually more advanced. In either case, these guys seem to know something about the Progenitors that some of the greatest scholars in the field don’t. And that needs to change, fast.”
Leda nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find some answers on Riveras B.” To the ship she said, “Proxima, get me everything you can on the planet.”
“Working,” said the AI helpfully.
Hamilton went to the cockpit and sent off a quick tightbeam. Straker wasn’t in, so he left a recorded message. He hoped it would reach the Colonel in time.
Leda entered the cockpit and sat down. “Good news. Proxima was able to synch up with the Archive and download occupant files and security footage for the past month.”
“I thought the core was smashed.”
“It was, but the security footage was part of an additional memory cluster added a few years ago and wasn’t tied into the Progenitor memory core.”
“That’s great,” said Hamilton.
“Any word from Straker?”
“No. He was out.”
Leda nodded. “Proxima, show us the security footage from the time the raiders arrived.”
The view screen in front of them winked to life, showing four different views of the Archive. In the top left was the huge shuttle bay, where a bluish gray ship was coming in for a landing. It appeared to be an old stealth carrier, its identifying markings scored away. Hamilton and Leda watched as a white-robed docent came out to meet it and was gunned down as a group of heavily armed men exited the craft. Two of the men dragged the body off camera while the others marched into the Archive.
Leda put her hand to her mouth as these same men appeared in the other footage from the other sections of the Archive, shooting and killing everyone they came across. People ran from them and were shot in the back for their trouble. A few of the scholars appeared to be armed, but these were small weapons, and the raiders were better equipped and had the drop on them. The people aboard the Archive didn’t stand a chance.
“Proxima, how many people aboard the Archive?”
“Without access to their computer records I could not say,” said the AI. “But estimate thirty-six people.”
“No wonder the waiting list to get aboard an Archive is so long,” said Hamilton.
Leda nodded. “They don’t have much in the way of sleeping quarters. I suppose the Progenitors never intended for people to live inside them. But thirty-six people murdered.”
Hamilton shook his head slowly. “And for what? We still have no idea what they were looking for. What could the Progenitors have known that was important enough to kill for?”
“Proxima, get us a better look at one of those soldiers. See if you can run facial recognition.”
An image showing a group of three of the soldiers clearing a room froze, then zoomed in, becoming pixelated and blurry. “I am sorry, Lieutenant Niles. The low resolution of this footage does not give me enough information to work with.”
Leda sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.”
“They definitely look like Marines to me,” said Hamilton. “Maybe they mustered out after the war and hired themselves out as mercs.”
“But to whom?” said Leda. “This is a tight operation, ran by someone with some extremely deep pockets.”
“I don’t know,” said Hamilton, “but I don’t like it.”
“At least we have something to go on now, as well as their next destination”.
Hamilton leaned back unsteadily in the co-pilot’s chair. “That’s something, at least. I just hope it’s enough.”
“I think we can beat them to Riveras B,” said Leda. “Though it won’t be by very much.”
Hamilton glared at her. “Are you nuts? You’ve seen what these people are capable of. Our work is done here. It’s time to call in some Marines of our own.”
“And by the time they arrive it will already be too late. The trail will have gone cold. Come on, Noah. We can do this.”
He looked at her, shocked at her casual use of his first name, a breach in protocol that just days ago would have seemed vulgar. Damn her. Damn him, she was right.
Hamilton rubbed his face, feeling the beard stubble on his chin and cheeks.
“Anyone every tell you that you were going to get them killed?”
“Not in a while, no,” she said with a grin.
Hamilton was suddenly very tired. “Let’s get some rest. We’ll need to come up with a plan before we arrive at Riveras B.”
“Agreed,” said Leda. “I’ll get Proxima to wake us as soon as we arrive in the Riveras system.”
Nine: Dr. Argent
“Now entering the Riveras system,” said Proxima, awakening Hamilton from a light sleep. He sat up in his bunk, almost banging his head on the one above, upon which Leda dozed. She raised herself up, jumped to the floor. “Well,” she said. “Let’s see what’s what.”
Hamilton followed her to the cockpit. A yellow-green planet spun beneath them.
“Any sign of a ship?” said Leda.
“Negative, Lieutenant,” said Proxima. “Multiple life signs detected from the planet below. No active distress beacons or S.O.S. calls.”
“Good,” said Hamilton. “We either beat them here, or they chose someplace else to hit.”
“This is the place,” said Leda. “I know it.” She flipped a couple of switches. “Riveras B scientific outpost, this is Lt. Leda Niles and Lt. Hamilton of Navy Special Operations. We request permission to land.”
There was silence for a long moment. At last a male voice said, “This is Dr. Tobias Argent, team leader here on Riveras B. We weren’t expecting the Navy to check up on us this soon. Please transmit your credentials for verification.”
Hamilton arched an eyebrow. “Copy that,” said Leda. “Sending credentials now.” Leda flicked another switch, transmitting the specially encrypted code that stored both of their credentials and Navy identification.
After more than five minutes of waiting, Dr. Argent replied, “You’re clear to land, Lt. Niles, but I must say that this is highly irregular, and I will be speaking with your superiors about this.”
Leda stifled a grin. “That would be just fine, Dr. Argent. In the meantime, if you can send us landing coordinates?”
“Coordinates received,” said Proxima.
Leda nodded. “Take us down.”
The ship landed on a relatively flat stretch of ground a few hundred yards from the outpost. Proxima told them that they wouldn’t need pressure suits, but the rebreathers were a must, as the oxygen mixture wasn’t quite what they were used to.
They stepped down the ramp, weapons held at the ready. “I thought they’d at least do us the courtesy of having someone here to meet us,” said Hamilton.
He looked around. The planet looked pretty barren save for some yellowish scrub grass that spro
uted at random intervals beneath their feet. There was a series of low hills to the east and west, and spread out in front of them was the scientific outpost, looking almost identical to the one they had checked out on Hephaestus.
“Well,” said Leda. “Red carpet or not, we’ve got a job to do.” She stepped off the ramp and began walking toward the largest of the habitation domes, followed closely by Hamilton.
A few people were out working with various pieces of equipment, and all of them stopped what they were doing to look at their visitors as they passed. As they got closer, one of the scientists stepped forward.
“Excuse me,” she said. “This is a restricted area.”
Leda flashed her Navy ID and introduced herself and Hamilton. “We’re here to see Dr. Argent. Where might we find him?”
The young woman pointed at the big dome. “He’s usually in there. What’s this about?”
“We believe this installation is about to be under attack,” said Hamilton, stepping forward. Without another word he urged Leda onward toward the indicated dome.
“You’re just going to blurt it right out, huh?” said Leda. “The direct approach. I like it.”
“They’re too complacent,” said Hamilton. “We need to stir them up, get them talking. Especially if this Dr. Argent refuses to take us seriously.”
Their boots crunched on loose gravel. In the distance to the east they could see the unmistakable outline of what could only be a collection of old ruins. Crumbling obelisks rose into the sky, and beyond them a huge form like a pyramid or ziggurat lay obscured in yellow mists.
“Remarkable,” Leda said as Hamilton pounded on the outer door of the dome.
“Come,” said a muffled voice, and Hamilton opened the door for Leda before they both stepped inside.
The interior was filled almost entirely with artifacts. Plastic shelves were crowded with ancient pottery shards, slivers of metal and another things Hamilton couldn’t identify. Sitting in the midst of it all was an older man with iron gray hair and stern features, staring at them from behind a makeshift desk.
“Can I help you, Lieutenants?” he said gruffly. “I am sorry for the mess. We were not expecting another ship for at least two standard months.”
