All of which meant that it should be safe to bring the vessel aboard. But prospectors are a paranoid lot, especially those who live long enough to celebrate their fiftieth birthday, and Jepp wanted to inspect his find. What if his activities triggered ancient weapons? A power plant? Anything was possible.
“No, it pays to be careful,” Jepp said as the lock cycled open, “and to trust the Lord, for he shall show the way.”
The Pelican’s navcomp, which Jepp called Henry, after the ancient navigator, issued a perfunctory “Amen,” took note of a distant heat source, and wondered what the object was. Time would tell.
The utility sled would have been perfect for the job, but it, like so many other pieces of gear, was sitting in the Pelican’s maintenance bay awaiting repairs.
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Jepp intoned sanctimoniously as he pushed the ship away.
“And blessed is the name of the Lord,” the AI replied, “for he rules heaven and Earth.”
“He rules heaven,” Jepp agreed tartly, “but Earth is up for grabs. That’s why I left.”
The computer noted the useless information and stored it away.
The prospector fired the jet pack, swore when he veered off course, and made the necessary changes. Was he getting rusty? Or did the right thruster need a tuneup? It took a lot of work to run a scooper-which was why the Pelican had been designed to carry a crew of three humans and two robots. That was fine, except that people made Jepp crazy, not to mention the effect he had on them, and the fact that the robots had been sold to buy fuel.
The drifter was bigger now, much bigger, and clearly a prize. Jepp felt his heart beat faster and was reminded of his childhood, when brightly wrapped presents awaited eager hands, and suspense was half the fun.
Which would be more valuable? he wondered. The ship, and whatever artifacts it might contain, or the metal it was made of? A nice problem to have.
The prospector fired his braking jets, felt the suit start to slow, and brought his boots up. They hit, his knees absorbed the shock, and the electromagnets embedded in his boots grabbed the hull. Or tried to grab the hull and failed. Jepp bounced away. “Damn! There’s no steel in this hull!”
Henry, unsure of how to respond, said nothing. The heat source was larger now, but only in relative terms, since it was little more than a pinprick of warmth in a sky lit by a powerful red giant. Once the object came close enough, assuming it did, the navcomp would notify its master.
Unable to walk on the surface of the hull as he had originally planned to do, the prospector was forced to reactivate the jet pack and search for a way in. There were plenty to choose from. Having been wrecked by the asteroid field, or having fallen in with the floating rocks, the drifter had been repeatedly holed.
Jepp selected a large pear-shaped opening and eased his way through. With no sun or starlight to guide him, the prospector found it necessary to activate both his headlamps. Only one of them worked. The disk of pale white light drifted across potentially valuable artifacts, and Jepp felt his pulse start to race. Alien technology could be worth lots of money!
The light drifted across the entrance to a tunnel. The human brought it back. Something that looked like a leathery fire hose led up and into the darkness beyond. It floated like kelp in the ocean.
Jepp killed his thrusters, pushed the hose to one side, and pulled himself into the tube. Metal gleamed as if coated with some sort of lubricant. There were no seams, ridges, or other handholds, so the human grabbed the hose and used it to pull himself upward.
Eventually, after what Jepp estimated to be twenty or thirty feet, the tube emptied into a central chamber. The prospector turned his head, which caused the light to play across smooth metal.
Now the human realized that there were six additional tunnels, each having its own hose, all of which terminated in a half-inflated leather bag. That’s when Jepp realized that the “bag” possessed eyes, at least three of them, and that the hoses were arms, or tentacles, that the alien could extend into various parts of its ship. It appeared as if at least some decomposition had occurred-followed by freeze-dried mummification once the ship was holed.
The human shuddered, released his grip on the withered limb, and felt his back hit the inside surface of the chamber. That’s where the prospector was, still examining his discovery, when Henry called. “Sorry to interrupt, but it appears as though a ship is headed our way, ETA three hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-two seconds.”
Jepp used the Lord’s name in conjunction with a swear word, was ashamed of himself, and started over. “Blast! What kind of ship?”
“Too early to tell,” the AI replied. “Looks big, though—judging from the amount of heat.”
Jepp swore once again. Just his luck.... A company ship? Or a pirate? He wasn’t sure which he dreaded more. Either would be happy to steal his prize. But not if he could take the drifter aboard, hide among the asteroids, and wait the heathens out.
The prospector turned, grabbed hold of the tentacle, and pulled. There was no resistance. The far end was free. Jepp swore, fired his thrusters, and caromed off the side of the tube. “Bring the P in close! Open the hatch! I’m on the way!”
The human was subject to tremendous mood swings, and having been unable to consistently correlate them with external stimuli, the computer no longer attempted to do so. It used a pressor beam to shove an asteroid out of the way, shortened the tractor beams, and brought the hulls closer together.
The hatch yawned obediently, and the maneuver was complete. Henry cycled through the onboard systems, verified that the most critical ones remained operational, and went to standby. The human would emerge soon-and work would resume.
The scout ship was hungry. The far-ranging mission had consumed a great deal of fuel, parts were beginning to fail, and food was required. Raw ore-bearing asteroids would do, but refined metal was easier to digest, and therefore preferable. And, since long-range sensors confirmed the possibility of such a feast ahead, the construct increased its speed.
Did the ship belong to the Thraki? No, it didn’t appear so, but General Directive Three was clear: “Any and all available resources can and should be used while searching for the Thraki.”
Jepp hung in space, motionless relative to the Pelican, and watched while the tractor beams drew the wreck into his ship. It looked as if one monster was in the process of devouring another.
Finally, with the drifter aboard, the prospector fired his thrusters, passed through the open doors, and waited for Henry to close them.
The argrav was restored and Jepp felt his boots make contact with the deck. Maybe, just maybe, there was time to escape. “How soon will the godless bastards arrive?”
The AI correctly surmised that the human was making reference to the oncoming ship, checked its sensors, and offered a reply. “ETA one hour, three minutes, and two seconds.”
Jepp grabbed an armful of tie-downs and hurried to secure his prize. The sinners had increased their speed! “Take the P in among the asteroids. Maybe we can lose them.”
“Order refused,” Henry said crisply. “The odds of this vessel surviving such a course of action fall well below my acceptable minimums.”
Jepp thought about the random manner in which the closely packed asteroids bounced off each other, knew the computer was correct, but refused to surrender his find. The solution? Place himself in the loving hands of God. “Revelations 1:8 ... ‘I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord...’ ”
The navcomp processed the override, found a match, and fired the ship’s drives. The human had decided to destroy both the ship and himself. That being the case, the AI contacted the onboard autochef and cancelled Jepp’s dinner.
The scout ship watched its meal grow warmer and start to move. Additional acceleration would result in excessive fuel consumption—but seemed warranted, given the circumstances. More power was applied, the vessel surged forward, and the distance continued to close.
>
Jepp secured a final tie-down, cycled through a lock, and entered the control area. Half-empty ration paks were scattered about, dirty clothes hung from equipment racks, and tools littered the deck.
He opened the helmet but kept the suit on-a sensible precaution when blundering through asteroid belts.
A plastic crucifix poked up and out of the debris that covered the console. He touched it for luck, dropped into the command chair, and ran an eye over the screens. “Blast! The Philistines have gained on us!”
Henry checked his memory mod for “Philistines,” discovered that the human had assumed certain things about those on the other ship, and realized that “gained on us” was the operant part of the sentence. “That is correct ... they have gained on us.”
“Well, do something, damn you!”
“I am presently guiding the ship through the asteroids. Would you like to take the controls?”
Jepp looked up at the main viewscreen. Sunlight glided across a pockmarked chunk of rock and was lost in the blackness beyond. The Pelican slid past, paused while a house-sized boulder drifted by, and continued its journey. One slip, one mistake, and the whole thing was over. “No, but do what you can.”
“Of course,” Henry replied evenly. “I’ll do what I can.”
The next hour passed with excruciating slowness as the Pelican pushed its way into the belt ... and the other vessel started to slow.
Still, time was on his side, or so Jepp had assumed. Suddenly that advantage, like the easy profit, was snatched away. Harsh, actinic light strobed across the slowly tumbling spacescape, and the human sat bolt upright in his chair. “What in heaven’s name was that?”
“That was an exploding asteroid,” the navcomp replied cheerfully. “The most direct route between two points is a straight line. That being the case, our pursuers decided to remove obstacles rather than go around them. A rather unconventional use of weaponry, but effective nonetheless.”
“Shut the hell up,” Jepp said sourly. “How long before the idolators reach us?”
“About ten minutes,” Henry replied calmly, “give or take a second or two.”
The scout ship waited for its bow cannons to recycle, fired, and moved through the newly created opening. The feast, which continued to waste precious resources, would soon be ingested. Millions of nano were notified and brought on-line. They began to seethe with barely contained energy. Once the meal was brought aboard, it would be their task to digest it.
Rock fragments sparkled as they hit the ship’s screens, were reduced to their component atoms, and drifted away.
There were fewer asteroids now—a fact that allowed Jepp to see his pursuer for the first time. It filled the main screen. He fell through the pit of his stomach. The situation was worse than he had supposed. This construct was as alien as the drifter that occupied his hold, only a lot more frightening!
The oncoming vessel had the free-form bulk of a ship never meant for atmospheric use. It consisted of three cylinders, all mounted side by side, and surrounded by a framework of metal. The force field that protected the hull shimmered as rock fragments made contact with it.
The human watched aghast as still another asteroid exploded and the alien vessel pushed its way through the resulting debris field.
The Pelican shuddered as alien tractor beams locked onto her hull. The drives screamed as they fought to pull the ship free-and junk avalanched off the control panel.
Jepp sat transfixed as garbage tumbled into his lap. The Sheen ship, for that’s the name he had assigned to it, was unstoppable. It became even larger as a rectangle of light appeared and the Pelican was drawn inside.
Enormous foot-thick doors started to close; the star field narrowed into a vertical bar and disappeared from sight. Someone or something forced the drives to shut down, the control panel went dead, and the lights went out. Henry had just switched to backup energy banks when a self-guided cable snaked out of its metallic lair, slithered down the ship’s side, made modifications to the way the terminal end was configured, and entered the appropriate socket.
The AI was still evaluating this development, still searching for guidance, when it was seized, translated, and downloaded to a bubble-matrix prison.
The storage media held other AIs as well, many of whom were so alien that Henry couldn’t communicate with them, but at least one had human origins. It had been part of a long-range probe ingested two years before. It spoke first. “Hello, mate! And welcome to the cosmic trash bin. I hope you like three-dimensional chess, because there isn’t much to do.”
Confident that it had evacuated the food’s onboard intelligence, the scout ship cleared the meal for digestion and put the nano to work.
Jepp fumbled for the emergency lighting switch and toggled it to the “on” position. The overall level of illumination was lower than usual but sufficient to his purposes. “Why did the power go down? What’s happening?”
There was no reply. The navcomp should have been on-line but wasn’t.
The human freed himself from the chair, hurried down the main corridor, and into the lock. It took five minutes to close his visor, check his suit seals, and cycle through. The readout on his heads-up display claimed there was no need. Though slightly richer in oxygen than humans normally required, the atmosphere inside the alien vessel was quite breathable. Why? What kind of creatures were they? And where were they from?
Jepp opened his visor and looked around. What little light there was came from the Pelican’s navigational lights. He saw beams, like the ribs of a whale, and gently curved hull plates. There was no sign of his hosts, or captors, as the case might be. “Hello-is anybody out there?”
Silence. It was disconcerting, but preferable to a horde of bloodthirsty aliens. There was a loud creaking noise followed by the sounds of metal on metal as the Pelican collapsed onto the deck.
Startled, and more than a little surprised, Jepp hurried to inspect the damage. There wasn’t any. Not in the normal sense, anyway. Most of the landing skids were missing! The margins were smooth, with no sign of the tool or tools used to create them.
That’s when the human noticed what looked like a river of metal snaking away from the ship and into the surrounding gloom. A hastily conducted investigation revealed numerous rivers-all headed in the same direction! The Pelican was being disassembled at the subatomic level and hauled away.
There was a groan as still another structure gave way and the Pelican settled onto the deck. That’s when Jepp realized the importance of salvaging whatever he could. Food, water, and medical supplies-all were aboard his ship. The prospector ran for the lock.
The next two hours were a race against time. As Jepp struggled to remove the things he needed, the nano took the vessel apart.
The prospector wondered about the supplies at first, fearful that the microscopic robots would claim those too, but the machines showed no interest in anything beyond the Pelican herself.
Logical, he supposed, lest the nano attack their own ship, and eat themselves out of house and home. That being the case, Jepp was able to secure a considerable amount of food, all the water he could find containers for, medical supplies, and, since there was no one to object, his flechette thrower.
Once those materials were safely stowed the human turned his attention to a box full of emergency light wands, a portable generator that might be coaxed into life, and a reasonably powerful data comp. That’s when the lights went out. The nano, voracious creatures that they were, had burrowed into the emergency power stacks.
Jepp played a beam over the wreck, cursed his captors, and backed away.
There were dozens of nano streams by that time, all wending their way through the same portal and into the darkness beyond. Jepp followed the intertwining rivulets through the arch and down a funnel-shaped corridor. It narrowed alarmingly and barred his progress.
The metal was like an enormous snake by then, a silvery pseudopod that pulsed as if invested with a life of its own. Jepp wa
tched as his ship, and the drifter that might have put him in the black, were sucked into the funnel.
Frustrated, angry, and more afraid than he would have cared to admit, the prospector returned to the hold and what remained of his vessel. “Okay, you win. So what now?”
The scout ship heard inarticulate sounds and sensed movement deep within its belly. The sensation was easy to ignore. The vessel had fuel, a purpose, and the means to fulfill that purpose. What more could any living creature want?
3
I drew these tides of men into my hands and wrote my will across the sky in the stars.
T. E. Lawrence
Dedicatory verses to Seven Pillars of Wisdom
Standard year1935
Planet Earth, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
The bar was located near the Los Angeles spaceport and catered to a wide variety of clientele. Smoke floated above the tables like neon clouds. There were patrons, plenty of them, including a group of cloned spacers, a pair of spindly Dwellers, something in a hab tank and some Naa legionnaires.
Dancers, most of whom were human, writhed within specially designed holograms. The music, much of which was alien, throbbed within carefully engineered “sound cells.”
Legion Colonel Leon Harco had been wearing uniforms for more than thirty years and felt uncomfortable when clad in anything else. Yes, there was some degree of correlation between civilian clothes and the status of the people who wore them, but you couldn’t be sure.
Not uniforms, though. Thanks to badges of rank, service stripes, unit badges, decorations, and yes, the tattoos many chose to wear, a knowledgeable eye could read a legionnaire’s uniform like a book. A single glance was sufficient to establish another person’s place in the chain of command, ascertain the kind of skills they had, figure out where they had served, and guess who they might be acquainted with.
By Blood Alone Page 3
