Shroud of Eden (Panhelion Chronicles Book 1)

by Marlin Desault

  Delmar rose from his chair and strode to the outer office, where Eisler and Styerwald waited. “Come in. Admiral Camus is already here.”

  They filed into the office, and everyone except Eisler took seats.

  Delmar motioned for Eisler to continue. “Please tell Admiral Camus what we know about the--”

  Camus interrupted with a tap of his swagger stick on the polished table. “Who’s in command of Pegasus? Who are the crew?”

  Eisler stepped back in obvious surprise. “Sir, Commander Scott Drumond is in command with the rank of temporary captain.”

  Camus leaped to his feet. “My God, Drumond? That cowboy is in charge?” The white scar on his reddening face stood out like a gash on an apple. “Eisler, you knew about his screw-ups, his total disregard for rules and regulations, and you put him in charge?” He pushed the swagger stick aside and rubbed his forehead, as if to erase the horrible idea of Drumond in command of the reconnaissance ship. “I don’t like this, not one damn bit. He might go rogue and jeopardize not only his mission but the entire defense of the Panhelion.” His tirade finished, he collapsed back into his chair.

  “Hold on, Andre.” Delmar held up his palm. “Eisler didn’t assign Drumond to this mission. I did.” He paused to let that sink in. “He’s qualified, his duty reports are favorable, and except for a few mishaps, he’s one of our best officers. He’s the person I wanted in charge if this ship encounters hostile alien life.”

  “A few mishaps... mishaps you say? Christ, he was demoted and, except for an overly merciful court, would have been cashiered for disobeying a direct order.” Camus flared his nostrils and shook a crooked finger in the air. “He nearly destroyed his ship and crew in a joint exercise five years ago.” Camus focused the angry fire in his eyes on Eisler.

  “Sir, with respect, I have to say if he hadn’t disobeyed orders the ship and crew would have been lost.” Eisler’s shoulders drooped, a tell that he immediately regretted the remark.

  “I know the situation better than you, Commander,” Camus bellowed in a fume. “I was there. I gave him the order he so blatantly disobeyed, and my order was strictly per protocol. For your information, I know the regulations inside and out. I wrote most of them when you were still in the training corp.” The veins on Camus’ temples stood out like pulsing worms as he glared at Delmar and rested his elbows on the table.

  Delmar frowned at Eisler, a not-so-subtle hint for him to be quiet. “Yes, Andre, you wrote the book on tactics for our entire fleet. No one can deny they serve as the basis for our defense.” He clasped his hands and placed them on the table. “The incident you’re referring to was years ago, and regulations can’t cover every situation. When I requested Commander Drumond’s transfer to Exploration Command, you didn’t object.”

  “And good riddance, too!” Camus’ tone was unmistakable. He wouldn’t be mollified by faint praise. “You let him go back into space. If he screws up this time, I’ll have his head, and you won’t be able to save him, Jestin. I’ll see he serves hard time before he’s booted out of the service once and for all.” Camus dropped his fist hard on the table. “And Jestin, just so we’re clear on this, if he jeopardizes our security, I’ll make the Senate aware of your involvement as well.”

  “Andre, calm yourself. We’ve put a solid backup crew under Drumond.” Delmar narrowed his eyes. “Eisler, please continue.”

  Eisler glanced back and forth between the two admirals as if uncertain which one to address first. In the end he deferred to Camus. “Lieutenant Commander Klaas Van der Meer serves as second-in-command with Sub Lieutenant Anton Vogelein as comm officer. Lieutenant Marie Zirkel rounds out the crew as on-board astrophysicist tasked with gathering data on the anomaly.”

  Camus slumped in his chair. “That’s it? That’s all of them? A sorry lot if you ask me. All right, then, let’s get on with the explanation of this anomaly.”

  Eisler swallowed hard, pointed toward the wall, and changed the projection to an image of the stars in the Hyades cluster. “Yes, sir, as I was saying... the most credible of the few historical documents available say the Themis left Earth a hundred and seventy-five years ago. Although the records are sketchy, we believe those on board selected the Hyades cluster as their destination because the astronomers of the day observed an unusual lensing effect, a barely detectable refraction of the light from background stars in the cluster. Ten years ago our own astro-observers confirmed that such a refraction actually exists.”

  “That’s it? And just how do you interpret this... this refraction?” Camus’ eyebrows arced as he posed the question. “The anomaly you describe sounds like a simple concentration of dark matter, or do you have another theory?”

  Eisler took a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. “We still can’t be sure. At first we thought the same, that the gravitation of some dark matter was bending background light. Our physicists questioned the dark matter theory when they noticed the refraction appeared too localized to be a gravitational effect.” Eisler paused to let his audience consider his words. “Further, they discovered the object had a faintly luminous border, and to conclude their findings, they couldn’t detect other proper gravitational influences. They now speculate some other unusual substance may be changing the phase velocity of light. We can’t be sure, but the Themis émigrés were among the brightest of scientists of the day, and they may have discovered something about this anomaly that drew them to it. In their desire to escape the ravages of the nuclear wars, they may have concluded this anomaly beckoned as a safe haven.”

  “Strange dark matter, a questionable crew....” Camus’ lips pressed together in a hard line. “This thing has me on edge. I’ve got to know if it’s a threat.” He reclined in his chair. “The Senate formed Defense Command in the dark days following the nuclear conflict with the task of keeping the Panhelion safe from further domestic conflict. Fifteen years ago, when New SETI reported contact with an alien intelligence, they expanded our charter to include possible threats from interstellar space as well. Exploration Command—your command, Jestin—was an afterthought, formed as an early warning system.”

  “Andre, the New SETI contact you refer to was proven bogus.” Delmar placed his interlaced fingers on his stomach and glared at his colleague. “No evidence of alien intelligence has yet been discovered by any of our missions. Look, Andre, we understand your command was the first established by the Panhelion, and true, we came on scene later, but Exploration Command holds a Senate charter as well.”

  “Yes, thank God you haven’t met any hostile forces. Fortunately, in Defense Command we have the heavy weapons in case you do kick over a hornet’s nest of creatures from the nether reaches of space.” His eyes burned with the intense personal nature of his commitment. Camus carried a heavy and profound burden, the defense of all humanity from an unknown threat of unknown power.

  “We don’t need your heavy weapons for our missions.” Delmar leaned within arm’s length of Camus. “Exploration ships are small and fast. They carry only light defensive weapons. My ships are the eyes and ears of the Panhelion in interstellar space—to be more specific, Andre, your eyes and ears. If they encounter an unexpected threat, their task is to report it. In the case of a serious threat, they may have to be sacrificed. Their only defense is their speed.”

  Camus’ mouth twisted in grudging agreement. “It’s only a matter of time. A matter of time,” he repeated to himself, rotating his head in a slow back and forth. He stood and leaned forward with his palms on the table. “I need a few days to digest all this, Jestin, and you will keep me informed, won’t you.”

  Delmar stood as well. “By all means, Andre. For now we’ll adjourn, and I’ll be in touch if we have any news.”

  Hyades Star Cluster

  -

  Pegasus

  ~~~

  In the dark recesses of Pegasus’ equipment bay, tiny dots of light flickered on three quantum computers, silently calculating separate and redundant programs. Month after mont
h, they labored, comparing sums and a preset number. If the accumulation of any one of the three met the condition, the ship’s systems would spring into action. The likelihood of a failure for one was minuscule. For all three to fail, the statistical probability vanished to the infinitesimal. Still, if any of the three failed, a separate, electronic fail-safe watchdog exercised its override authority.

  Finally, after many months, all three found themselves in critical agreement. Effectors triggered, and four slumbering humans roused from deep anthro-stasis.

  Scott Drumond woke naked, immersed in a fluid polymer, and returned to full consciousness with a ferocious thirst. As the stasis capsule drained, a soft, cleansing mist of dilute glycerin swirled around him. A thousand dreams, only vaguely remembered from his time in stasis, swirled in the fugue of his awakening. Groggy, he collected his thoughts, and the events that had occurred before he went into stasis crept back into his awareness. In a flash it dawned on him.

  They had arrived.

  The lingering, sweet odor of glycerin still clung to him as waves of pressurized air gently rippled across his skin. With a croaking voice he ordered the capsule door to open, wound his way among the other stasis capsules to confirm the rest of his crew were also in the wake cycle, then went to his cabin and donned his silver-tan duty uniform. The bright blue piping around the gold sleeve bands signified him as a member of Exploration Command. His epaulets, he noted with satisfaction, were embroidered with an insignia he hadn’t worn since his court-martial. If all went well, HQ might make his temporary captaincy permanent.

  In zero gravity, he floated along the white, oval corridor to the mess alcove, where he folded out the table from the gleaming titanium wall. After he punched the caffeine icon, he lowered the lap restraint and relaxed in the low-back chair. Soon after, a soft tone chimed. He grasped the flask, and squeezed the warm brown brew into his mouth.

  Damn corvettes. Compared to a strike cruiser they were pitifully small. Like all the crewmembers on Pegasus, he’d undergone psychological tests designed to weed out anyone inclined to claustrophobia. Pegasus, with barely enough room for him and his crew of three, accommodated five, but on this mission one berth went unused.

  He wasn’t about to complain. He’d given up hope of ever going back into space after the court-martial, but fate took an odd turn. After a boring year of processing provisioning requests for the fleet, he puzzled over an unexpected transfer to Exploration Command, the shunned brother of Defense Command. No less than Admiral Justin Delmar, Commander-in-Chief of Exploration Command, had personally signed the order.

  The little corvette did have one advantage over the large cruisers: designed as a scout, she was fast. Damn fast. Her designers had mounted three powerful hadron engines to her low mass fuselage. He’d seen ships like this one accelerate to five g’s in a sprint, and seen more than one crew member suffer internal organ damage from sustained high-g maneuvers, the risk of which only an extreme emergency justified. Speed made up for her puny armament of two photon cannons, not much better than a thrown wad of spit in a fight with a heavy ship. Only speed, he was all too aware, would save Pegasus in a serious engagement.

  Like other scouts in Exploration Command, she carried warp rings fore and aft, rings that when combined with her hadron drive gave her a maximum range close to two hundred fifty parsecs.

  From the corner of his eye Scott spied Lieutenant Commander Klaas Van der Meer at the alcove entrance. Van der Meer, heavyset and muscular, had crew-cut blond hair that complimented his perpetually tan complexion. Second-in-command of the Pegasus, he stood a good two and a half centimeters taller than Scott, and outweighed him by ten kilograms.

  He motioned Klaas to the opposite side of the fold-down. “Arabica’s ready. Have a seat.”

  Klaas maneuvered into the seat, and Scott handed him a flask of fresh brew. The burly Klaas eagerly sucked out a gulp of the brown liquid, spiked with needed nutrients. “Thanks.” He swiped a drop that floated near his lip. “Just what I need to get the stale taste out of my mouth. Deep anthro-stasis hasn’t improved much, and it never leaves me refreshed.”

  Scott snickered. “That’s not the point. If you hadn’t put up with stasis all those months, you’d have repeated the same dull work over and over, checking terminal screens every few hours. You’d have prowled the complete library and be a well-read man by now.” Scott exaggerated; in a dozen lifetimes, no human could watch the vids or read all the books and articles in the ship’s library.

  “No thanks.” Klaas grinned and took another sip. “I’ll suffer the indignity of stasis. I couldn’t stand waiting that long to get on with my life.”

  Scott squeezed two dollops of sticky paste on a ceramic disk and put the preparation into the dielectric oven. A moment later he took out two rolls. With the smell of cinnamon and coffee wafting through the alcove they both chewed the first solid food they’d eaten since they entered stasis six months ago.

  Klaas slowed his eating as if in thought. “Captain, I may be out of line, but your presence on the ship surprised me, especially since you hold the rank of captain. When we left base, rumors ran rampant through the fleet,” he said, his voice weak from disuse.

  Scott arched his brows. “And what did they say?”

  The corners of Klaas’ mouth curved up ever so slightly. “That you like Martian rum, for one.”

  “That’s ancient history. I don’t drink.” Scott’s face flushed. In spite of his resolution of strict abstention, his past was neither dead nor forgotten.

  “Another rumor says you were forbidden to hold operational command. Kinda leaves a fella a bit confused and curious.”

  “Understandable,” came Scott’s clipped reply. “Does your rumor mill have anything else?”

  “No, I just like to know where I stand. As second-in-command, I have to know these things.”

  He squared his shoulders and glared at the larger man. “As second-in command, you only need to know how to run this ship. You were a late transfer, so I didn’t have enough time to brief you before we left.” He took another gulp of the brown brew and locked his gaze on Klaas. “I think it’s my turn to ask some questions. You can start by telling me your previous assignment.”

  “Second officer on the Demos,” Klaas said in an offhand way.

  “I know that ship—a corvette with a good record. Whose toes did you step on to get this assignment? We aren’t exactly on a mission to further a career. If I had to guess, I’d say Admiral Delmar had a hand in your reassignment.”

  “To be honest, yes. He asked me to help you in case of trouble.”

  “And what kind of trouble would that be?”

  “Oh, whatever comes along. Delmar didn’t say specifically.” Klaas’ calm voice sounded as if he were delivering the mail.

  “Commander, this mission will be successful.” Scott’s nostrils flared. “I’ll do my job. Just make sure you and the crew do yours. Do I make myself clear?” His voice echoed off the nearby wall. Occasions such as this compelled him to reinforce his authority.

  “No need to vent your tank on me, but just so you know where I stand.” Klaas threw his empty container into the disposal. “I didn’t volunteer for this assignment. I was ordered to take it despite the fact that I was supposed to be given command of my own ship. I’m as anxious as anyone to get this mission over with.” He fixed his gaze on Scott. “And you were right. Admiral Delmar personally assigned me to this ship.”

  Delmar’s covering himself, in case I screw up. Scott glanced away and shook his head. “Tough luck, Klaas, but you’re stuck with me, so let’s make the best of it. And now that we’ve cleared the air, I suggest you go to the command deck and check our progress.”

  Panhelion corvettes were not expected to engage in battle, and consequently were not commanded from a combat deck, but from a small command deck. That deck, though not as heavily armored as that of a strike cruiser, did serve as Pegasus’ battle center in the event circumstances forced them to engage in com
bat.

  Scott remained in the alcove a few moments thinking over Klaas’ reaction, then stood and worked his way down the narrow corridor.

  Diminutive Lieutenant Marie Zirkel floated toward him, her auburn hair swaying as she wobbled in the weightlessness. When standing, she stood only as high as his chest. Her frail appearance belied the toughness of the well-toned muscles beneath her shapely tailored uniform.

  A rather attractive officer, unusual for an astrophysicist. He grabbed her arm to slow her sideways motion and keep her from bumping into the wall.

  She caught the side rail and, hand over hand, worked her way to the alcove.

  “Join me for some coffee?” he said, and tagged behind her to the alcove.

  They sat down, and he heated two more coffees.

  She smiled as the aroma of the coffee circulated through the alcove. “Thanks for catching me back there. You saved me from a bad bruise.”

  “A common courtesy in zero g.” He handed her one of the flasks. “Try this. It’ll take the sour taste from your mouth. I want to chat with you about the anomaly anyway. Think you can make any sense of it?”

  “Let me do a little poking and prodding. Then I may have some answers for you.” She paused and downed a swallow. “I attended a symposium about the observed data before we left. Unfortunately, the assembled wisdom came to few conclusions, and when the discussion ended, everyone agreed to call it an enigma... an enigma wrapped in a riddle.”

  “A rather unsatisfying conclusion.” He lifted the lap bar and with a quick open palm push, floated away from the table. “We’d better join Klaas on the command deck. I want the ship back in normal space-time when we reach the exit point.”

  He quaffed his coffee, and they both floated away from the table.

  The last member of the crew entered the alcove and reached to grip the side of the table, and Marie returned to her seat as well.

  “Am I late? Sorry, I needed a few minutes to find my tunic,” Sub Lieutenant Anton Vogelein, the youngest of the crew, muttered. He whipped his head around, throwing yellow hair over his eyes. His boyish smile and smooth face made him look younger than his twenty-seven years.