Flagship (A Captain's Crucible #1)

by Isaac Hooke

  Rade had expressed some reservations regarding both strategies but he had no better ideas.

  Weak flashes of light erupted from the darkness in answer, and it began to move, very slowly, toward the glass. Just in front of the opening it paused as if sensing the trap. The black mist began to curl around all sides of the container, passing into the gaps between the glass and the bulkheads.

  The darkness flowed over the combat robot lying underneath the container. When its torso was entirely covered, the legs of the Centurion began to spasm violently. After several moments it ceased all movement and its status disappeared from Rade's HUD.

  He wondered what would have happened if that had been a man.

  "Move forward!" Rade said. "Catch it!"

  The still-standing Centurion promptly shoved the container forward, completely enveloping the main amorphous mass, and then sealed the glass.

  The container shook forcefully. Rade couldn't tell if the trapped creature fired some weapon or merely punched the glass with concealed appendages: no dents of any kind appeared in the surface. The scientists had done their jobs well.

  Meanwhile, some of the dark mist continued to float outside the container, cut off from its source. The isolated murk rose, enveloping the second Centurion's lower body.

  The robot shook, short-circuiting a moment later.

  The mist moved toward the Praetor next. The container continued to shudder in the background.

  "Back away," Rade said, and the Praetor obeyed.

  The darkness, severed from its source inside the container, began to dissipate the farther it traveled from the container. The Praetor had to retreat all the way to the end of the passageway before the mist evanesced entirely.

  The container shook for several more moments and then became still.

  Just like that, the alien was theirs.

  The Praetor returned to the container and lowered the second robot to the deck, aligning its various limbs parallel to the floor so that the Praetor could more easily drag the container over its body.

  When the Praetor touched the glass the darkness struck out and the container vibrated violently once again. Rade saw what looked like a claw momentarily scrape the insides before the shaking ceased.

  "Target secured," the Praetor said.

  Rade led the way back to the shuttle. He entered the airlock, and after the Praetor stowed the alien inside, Rade returned to the passageway and placed a tracking device in case the task group needed to find the wreckage at some later date.

  Then he dragged the disabled robots back to the shuttle and loaded them inside.

  * * *

  Jonathan stood inside cargo bay seven, which had been turned into a makeshift scientific research area. A long glass wall divided the bay in two, with the centerpiece—the translucent container holding the alien—residing on the same side as the bay doors. Bay seven was chosen for its easy access to outer space. If the alien escaped, it was a simple matter of opening the bay doors: the resultant explosive decompression would readily expel the creature from the ship. Opening a pair of doors was a far preferable option to blowing up half a deck.

  Five masters-at-arms and an equal number of combat robots secured the bay on the alien side of the divider. Jonathan stood on the opposite side, beside the scientists, who studied various unseen readouts on their aReals, pretending to look busy.

  The chief scientist, Lieutenant Connie Meyers, stood beside him.

  "The container is holding strong," the attractive woman said. "I told you this combination of polycarbonate, PVB, glass, and ThermoPlastic Urethane would hold the thing."

  "You did indeed," Jonathan said. "But that doesn't mean the container won't eventually wear down."

  "If it does, we'll reinforce it as necessary," Connie said.

  "So what have we learned so far?" Jonathan said.

  "Well, there's definitely something inside that darkness," Connie said. "We catch a glimpse of the occasional claw, or a proboscis now and then. We're not entirely sure what purpose the darkness serves. Maybe it nourishes the alien. Maybe it's some sort of portable atmosphere that follows it around. In any case, you'll of course be the first to know of anything new we learn."

  "Remember, whatever you learn here is classified," Jonathan said. "You're not to talk about this with any friends or family members aboard. I don't want to cause a panic."

  "Is that why you didn't make a general announcement about the capture?"

  "The less people who know about the alien presence, the better. While the Callaway's crew is one of the most disciplined in the galaxy, her members are under enough stress as it is. Can I count on you to hold your tongue, Lieutenant?"

  "Of course, Captain."

  "Good." Jonathan stared at the black mass. Should it be treated as a prisoner of war, as Robert suggested? No. They couldn't afford to grant it the same rights that would be given a human. Not when they knew so little about the creatures.

  He turned toward Connie. "You do realize you have my complete authorization to experiment on it fully?"

  "Yes, I figured as much, given your previous order."

  "I'm not sure you understand what I want," Jonathan said slowly. "So let me be clear: I need to know how to kill these things."

  She regarded him uncertainly. "You're ordering me to kill this alien? If I can?"

  "Not necessarily. Injuring it is fine, too. Mostly I want to know how we can get our weapons to penetrate that black fog of theirs. The MOTH chief seems to think it's a shield of some sort."

  Connie nodded. She seemed relieved that he wasn't asking her to kill it outright. "I'll see what I can do."

  Jonathan glanced at the stationary man who sat cross-legged on the floor directly in front of the container. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be meditating. "Has our friend had any luck, yet?"

  "None," Connie said. "I should remind the captain that I object to this sort of unscientific mumbo jumbo. And if the captain were to promptly send away the man, this chief scientist would be extremely happy."

  "You don't believe in telepaths?" Jonathan said.

  "I do not."

  "Telepaths exist, Lieutenant," Jonathan said. "And are among us. Empirical evidence has proven it."

  "Though not everyone agrees with this evidence," Connie said. "Such as myself."

  "The navy does," Jonathan said. "Or NAVCENT wouldn't assign a telepath to every ship."

  "I've never agreed with that policy, though the navy has shoved worse things down our throats, I suppose." Connie shook her head. "I once met a telepath at a fair. He was able to correctly predict what card would be chosen from a deck seven times out of ten. Circus tricks. That's all telepaths are good for."

  "You would be surprised, I think." Jonathan tapped his lips with three fingers. "But what you described isn't exactly telepathy. Listen, when I was younger I didn't believe in them either."

  "What made you change your mind?"

  He smiled wanly. He didn't dare tell her about his recurring visions of Famina. Instead he said: "Humanity is evolving, Lieutenant. Mutations subtly change us every century. The Human Accelerated Regions of the genome ensure it. More and more human beings are exhibiting signs of psychic abilities every year. In a few millennia, there's a good possibility a quarter of humanity will be telepathic. It's the next stage of human evolution."

  "Yes, well, that's all well and good for the future of humankind. But as I said, in the here and now telepaths are good solely for circus acts. From what I've seen, anyway."

  "Objection noted. You should really read up on the latest research, though. It's fairly convincing."

  "I'm sure it is."

  He nodded toward the divider. "Mind if I talk to him?"

  "By all means." Connie beckoned toward the metal hatch installed in the glass wall. "He's here only because of you, after all."

  She opened the entry hatch with her aReal and Jonathan stepped through.

  He knelt beside the telepath and flinched at the sudden
pain in his knee.

  Getting old.

  "Hello Captain." The man hadn't opened his eyes yet. "Watch your knee."

  Not bad.

  "Thank you, sir," the man said.

  Jonathan cocked an eyebrow. "Impressive. You're Barrick?"

  "I am." The telepath finally looked at the captain.

  Jonathan stared at the amorphous mass that rested on the bottom of the container beside him. An alien species. It's language completely unknown and inaccessible to humanity. No one had any idea where to begin, as far as communication was concerned.

  The telepath was a start, if perhaps a feeble one.

  "I'd hardly label myself feeble," Barrick commented.

  "Would you mind not doing that?" Jonathan said.

  Barrick seemed taken aback. "Doing what?"

  "The whole reading my mind without my permission thing," Jonathan said.

  "Sorry, Captain." Barrick lowered his gaze. "Sometimes I feel like I have to prove myself."

  "The chief science officer got to you, didn't she?" Jonathan said.

  "Somewhat. I have trouble reading her."

  Jonathan pursed his lips. "That would explain her attitude."

  "Yes."

  "And you have no trouble reading me?"

  "Not at all, Captain," Barrick said. "You are an open book."

  "Well that's good to know," Jonathan said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "So tell me, have you been able to reach our prisoner?"

  "I've been trying," Barrick said. "But it's like there are these giant, monolithic barriers surrounding its mind."

  "All right," Jonathan said, taking on the role of the doubter for the sake of Connie, who was probably listening in with Maxwell's help. "Let's say you get through. How will you even communicate with it?"

  "Various means," Barrick said. "I'll attempt images. Sounds. Feelings. I'll throw the gamut of human senses at it."

  "Yes," Jonathan said. "And that's the key word. Human senses. This alien may use faculties we're entirely unaware of to communicate. We have no idea how its sensory inputs interpret the universe, none whatsoever. Maybe to this alien, light is treated as hearing, touch is sight, and sound is smell. Or to give you another more concrete example, look at the sperm whales of Earth. They communicate using three-dimensional holographic images transmitted via sound waves. I don't need to tell you how long it took us to figure that out. You propose to communicate with this alien via thought. But how can you do that when you think in human words, pictures, and sounds, and not whatever sensory inputs the alien uses?"

  Barrick regarded him calmly. He seemed hesitant, as if afraid the captain wouldn't like the answer he had in mind. Finally, the telepath spoke.

  "There is a theory, Captain, that every being in the universe is linked to a higher dimension. Call it a soul, call it an invisible cord leading away from every living thing that travels up the dimensions to a shared plane. Human, alien, it doesn't matter. We're all linked to that collective dimension from which all life originates. The Wellspring. And just because we can't see that shared world, or hear it, or touch it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I believe telepaths have access to this higher, communal consciousness. To this Wellspring. It is through that realm I will reach the alien."

  Jonathan smiled wearily. He suddenly understood very well what Connie meant when she spoke of telepathy as mumbo jumbo.

  "All right." Jonathan stood. "Keep me posted on your findings."

  twenty-five

  Jonathan shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. He was seated in the office of the chief weapons engineer.

  "So what do you have for me today, Harv?" Jonathan asked the man.

  "I think I can upgrade the external firing sensors," Harv said. "To enable our mag-rails to better target the enemy fighters."

  "How?" Jonathan hoped he didn't regret the question. Harv was known to spout complex engineerese.

  "Well, as you know by now, we lost our entire starboard bank of Vipers in the last battle."

  Jonathan nodded. In an earlier update the lieutenant had mentioned how the power system for that bank of lasers was completely melted and likely couldn't be repaired until dry dock. A "regrettable loss," in his words.

  "But there is a silver lining," Harv continued. "Because the processors tied to the Vipers themselves are still intact. We can transfer some of those processors away from the damaged heavy beams, and I can upgrade the main targeting system so it can more quickly acquire the enemy fighters when they come into range of the point defenses. It won't be much, but it will shave a few microseconds off the acquisition subroutine."

  "Microseconds?"

  "Like I said, it's not much, but at the speeds most space combat occurs, it could mean the difference between a hit or a miss. When the enemy fighters are harassing us in waves, I'm sure you'd rather have a hit more often than a miss."

  "How long will the upgrades take?" Jonathan asked.

  "Two days."

  "Do it," Jonathan instructed Harv. "And send the specs for these upgrades to your counterparts throughout the task group. Have the warships transfer processors from damaged Vipers to the targeting system, and if no Vipers are damaged, instruct your counterparts to take a few offline. I want every ship in possession of upgraded point defenses when the next attack comes."

  The weapons engineer grinned slyly. "Already done."

  Jonathan cocked his head. "I don't know whether to chew you out for undermining my authority or to congratulate you for taking the initiative."

  "I would prefer the latter," Harv said. "I don't think I could take a chewing out with a straight face. I laughed my ass off through boot camp, you know."

  Jonathan had to grin at that. "The latter it is."

  * * *

  The task group finished collecting the survivors from the wreckages of the Linea, Selene, Devastator and Halberd, then set a course for Achilles with the goal of using the gas giant as a gravitational slingshot. The maneuver would cut three days from their travel time to the 1-Vega Slipstream.

  Jonathan ordered the Aurelia to stay behind with the Marley to protect it while that ship affected major repairs. The Grimm, as the second most vulnerable ship in the task group, also remained behind. Most of the engineering crew and 3D-printing robots from both ships were temporarily transferred over to the Marley to aid in repairs.

  Jonathan had allowed the only survivor from Task Unit One, the Salvador, to come along with them, despite the fact Captain Rail had been so deeply entrenched in the admiral's camp. The Salvador's communications had proven readily repairable, with the damage to her engines and weapons systems minimal; because of her extensive firepower, he decided to give the captain a chance to redeem herself.

  Jonathan had the vessels under his command launch one nuke each toward the uncharted 2-Vega Slipstream. The weapons were programmed to drift most of the way, using minimal propellant for course corrections, with instructions to form a hexagonal pattern right in front of the Slipstream boundary, effectively mining the entrance. If any more reinforcements arrived, the enemy would be in for a little surprise.

  Jonathan had his communications officer transmit a continuous message in all known languages to the remaining enemy ships, offering to exchange the alien prisoner for their human hostages. So far no response had come. That likely ruled out a diplomatic resolution to the conflict.

  Without the Marley and Grimm to slow them down, the task group made good progress. Robert's coordinated offensive must have inflicted more damage on the capital ship than previously believed, because the human ships were slowly gaining on the alien targets. The task group was scheduled to overtake the targets in five days, roughly two days from the exit Slipstream.

  Meanwhile, the sentry ship had abandoned its guard position of 1-Vega, and was well on its way to rendezvousing with the other two. When a comm drone appeared from the Slipstream a day later, the sentry ship simply fired its directional EMP weapon at the distant object, frying the drone's electronics to prevent any tra
nsmissions.

  The sentry joined its brethren two days later, and together the convoy proceeded toward the Slipstream at the pace of the damaged capital ship.

  At that point the human task group was only two days away. Tensions were high throughout the Callaway. When Jonathan walked the passageways to visit one department head or another in person, the nods of the crew were often stiff, their eyes weary and lined with worry. Yet there was also pride in those eyes, and determined purpose. They were battle-hardened men and women by that point, crew members who had journeyed to the brink, looked over it, and lived.

  Jonathan hoped they would all survive in the days to come.

  If he had anything to do with it, they would.

  I won't let you down, Jonathan mentally promised his crew as he strode those passageways. I swear it.

  * * *

  Barrick floated in the mind world. He was surrounded by points of light, as if he resided in deep space. Sometimes square planes of pure darkness soared past him, alternately appearing above, below, to his right, or to his left. Occasionally multiple planes passed by simultaneously, momentarily forming an open-ended cube around him.

  Those planes were the barriers the alien mind put up whenever he tried to reach out to one of those points of light.

  So far, those barriers proved impenetrable, like the minds of Presidents and CEOs who were trained to fight off telepathic probing attempts. He had placed similar ramparts around his own mind, of course: the last thing he needed was an alien presence messing with his consciousness.

  He had been at it for what seemed like weeks so far. But time behaved differently in the mind world... weeks there would be mere minutes in reality.

  There. A change. When he tried to touch a certain point of light, the plane that intercepted him felt slippery, somehow. He tried again. Yes. He thought he could slide past if he applied more of himself.

  Gathering his reserves, he reached out. Once again a dark plane soared past, blocking his attempt. He almost touched the light that time, but not quite.

  He moved some of his concentration away from his own mental barriers, weakening them very slightly, then reached for the star again. The dark plane intercepted him once again but he didn't bounce off that time. The plane remained in place, and with effort, he was able to slide across its surface.