[“That looked remarkably easy,”] commented Dr. Simmons.
[“If you want, I can give you the launch codes too,”] Adam thought back at her, the sarcasm undisguised. [“The problem with storing access codes – even encrypted ones – on an internal storage device is that some of us can wirelessly READ them.”] There was no immediate response, so he fixed his mind on the task at hand and began sorting through the missile system’s guidance software. Although instantly converted, reading through so much of the alien language at once triggered a mild headache that began to burn at the edges of his brain. He ignored it, studying the alien programming curiously, allowing his own implant the time necessary to decode and analyze the large missile’s primary functions. [“I see a detonation sequence here, triggered after the completion of a sophisticated guidance program,”] he pointed out after a time. Dr. Simmons chose not to respond, waiting patiently.
Distant explosions reached his ears, blasts that could only be from the detonation of hand grenades or some other type of explosive. A crowd of blinking red dots appeared briefly on the periphery of his eye HUD before all of them moved back out of range. The battle for the warship was in full swing, and he hoped fervently that the Crasel had not erred in leaving the temporary safety of the crashed supply ship. It was true that they held an advantage while maintaining full control of the engine room, and it also helped that most of the Yakiir soldiers were still out in space, waiting helplessly aboard stranded shuttles. Still, he was really growing to like them, soldiers he had found who were legitimately working to protect their families and four men who almost certainly would have perished in the void of space were it not for his intervention. Abruptly he stopped what he was doing and stared at the computer screen in front of him.
[“Whoa…”] he gasped mentally, too stunned to complete the thought.
[“What, what is it?”] wondered Karen Simmons almost immediately.
Adam rechecked the software functions programmed into the missile carefully to confirm his suspicions. [“There are FIVE separate functions here, when only two are needed.”]
[“Have you been able to determine how they destroy whole stars?”]
[“Honestly, I don’t really care about that at this point,”] he said to her in response. [“There’s definitely some sort of warhead in the nose cone of each missile, some kind of nasty perversion of science that will instantly accelerate the natural life cycle of a targeted sun. What bothers me is that only two major functions are needed: a guidance program that allows the user to target a specific star and a detonation sequence once it arrives. So why are there three additional functions programmed into this thing? One of them activates just prior to detonation, and the other two start running at some point AFTER the targeted star explodes.”]
[“What do you suggest?”] she asked inquisitively.
[“I’m going to wirelessly transfer a digital copy of this missile’s entire hardware layout, along with a complete copy of its software, to your Science Lab on Tranquility,”] he answered a moment later. As he thought-transmitted the words, an upload progress bar appeared on his eye HUD, showing him the data transfer speed along with an estimated four minute time to completion. [“Make sure the President and Thomas take a look at this stuff as soon as possible… we’re going to need to know what this thing does. Those mystery functions might answer a lot of our questions.”]
[“I will,”] promised Dr. Simmons firmly.
Two blinking red dots appeared on his eye HUD, moving slowly toward him from the warship’s port side. [“I’ve got a couple of people moving toward me, probably strays running from the fighting,”] he noted cautiously, watching the progress of the two newcomers. They were going straight through access hatches linking the adjoining corridors that ran parallel to the missile room’s length, on a direct course toward him. Thinking quickly, his gaze shifted to the metallic panel lying next to his feet. [“I’m going to replace the cover plating on this missile and restore my invisibility shield,”] he decided grimly. [“Anyone who comes in here will never see anything out of the ordinary unless they happen to notice that the bolts are missing].”
[“Be careful Adam,”] said the Doctor sternly. [“Don’t take any unnecessary chances. Your wife would never forgive us if something happens to you.”]
[“I’ll be okay,”] he replied reassuringly.
A soft electrical blue glow briefly encompassed his body in response to the reactivation of his stealth shield. Wordlessly, he continued to wait behind his cloak of invisibility as the blinking red spots painted on the inside of his eyeball continued to move steadily toward him.
Mott’s Ghost, he thought to himself, thinking of Janney Stox. The battle for this ship has only just begun.
PROJECT WASTELAND
Pathfinder Series: Book Two
Chapter V: Blood Thirst
Planet Tranquility in the Proteus Galaxy…
President Dennis Kaufield, Thomas Roh and the enigmatic alien known only as ‘Noah’ were all present when Glen Fredericks walked into the large conference room that connected directly to the Science Lab. Fredericks was tall and broad-shouldered, but beginning to show his age. Nearly sixty, his hair was actually grayer than black now – in fact, once another ten years passed he would probably have a nice shock of curly silver on his head. Nevertheless, he smiled at the others upon entering the room and flashed a warm smile toward Thomas. Although he had primarily backed up Adam Roh on the Pathfinder, Fredericks was equally skilled with both hardware and software. Thomas had been known to joke from time to time that his specialty was software, Adam’s was hardware, and Glen was the ‘miracle glue’ that held the Roh brothers firmly bonded together.
There were large pots of hot coffee sitting on a lengthy, rectangular wooden conference table, along with baked goods of some sort. All of the men had thus far chosen to let the sweets set and gone straight for the coffee. Kaufield sipped from his mug, glancing appreciatively at Noah for stopping by on such short notice. The Proteus alien was himself a very important person in his peoples’ government and a loaded daily schedule to match. However, he had given his word to Kaufield when the Wasteland project began that he would fully support the former Pathfinder crew in their efforts. His presence was even more proof that he was trustworthy, reliable and fully committed to helping the Earth refugees solve their problems.
Even so, both he and his people were still a bit of a mystery, even a decade after their initial meeting. The refugees from Earth lived exclusively on Tranquility, working hard to build a new world. Besides Noah, visits from other people living in the Proteus galaxy were extremely rare. To date, they usually showed up only when President Kaufield needed to relocate one or more groups of ‘troublemakers’.
“How is Mary doing?” Kaufield wondered with a smile, walking over to shake Glen’s hand.
“She’s doing great… fully recovered from delivering our fourth kid,” Fredericks replied with a grin of his own. “Perhaps someday we’ll shoot for five, maybe even six.”
“That’s… a lot,” the President chuckled with amusement. “Especially when they’re all so young.”
“We’re managing,” Glen shrugged cheerfully. “Compared to what we went through after the Earth went to war, we think all is good.”
“Well, take a seat,” urged Kaufield with a gentle wave of one hand. “I suppose we should start our meeting.” He looked expectantly toward Noah. “Do you have any questions sir? After all, you are our honored guest today.”
“A few.”
“Then let’s hear them.”
“Okay. How many people have you planted in the Wasteland?” Noah asked Kaufield while watching Fredericks finally sit down. Though slighter in build and much thinner than Glen, Noah’s exact age remained difficult to judge. But his friendly features were covered with wrinkles and his thinning hair was almost completely gray. Those who knew him had little doubt that he was a respected elder amongst his people and therefore the perfect man to act as a perman
ent diplomat linking the Earth citizens to the Proteus aliens.
“So far just one,” said Kaufield with a dry smile. “The effectiveness of your technology and ours has proven to be… very fruitful, as far as information mining is concerned. We’ve learned a lot in a few days, much more swiftly than I thought it would take. Even my most optimistic estimates were wrong.”
“Long range observation can only reveal so much, especially in an area almost completely shrouded by the nebulae from dead stars. We’ve needed to learn more about what’s going on in that area for centuries… the sheer number of projects we have going is what caused us to delay further involvement.” Noah shrugged his shoulders. “What’s sad is that there is so much life in this universe and the suffering to match. We literally ‘put out fires’, as you say, on a daily basis.” A thin smile appeared on his friendly face and he leaned closer. “But then, you didn’t call me here to discuss my problems, did you?”
“No,” replied Kaufield, shifting his gaze to the eager expression on Thomas Roh’s face. “Thomas?”
Adam’s kid brother was all smiles, having only recently analyzed the most recent data upload that his brother had transmitted to them directly from the deck of a Yakiir warship. “None of you will believe what’s going on in that war zone,” the enthusiastic young scientist declared almost prophetically. “Believe it or not, there is a reason that entire stars are being destroyed there… and it’s not because one clan wishes to deny resources to all others as we initially believed. Something truly dark and sinister is happening there.”
Kaufield’s right eyebrow soared. “Have you been able to determine specifically what that might be?”
“Not conclusively,” admitted Thomas, his mood souring slightly. “However, the newest upload that Adam transmitted to us contained hardware schematics for a ‘quashing weapon’, along with the entire software database from one of the missiles used to deliver it. He had a number of questions that have now been answered.”
“What questions?” Noah wondered curiously.
To his credit, Thomas thought the matter though carefully before responding. “Most traditional guided missiles do two basic things,” he continued informatively. “They fly to their target and then they explode.”
“I take it this is not the case with the ‘quashing weapon’,” guessed Glen, selecting a cinnamon bun from the box on the table and chewing on a corner of it thoughtfully. He set it down on a paper napkin long enough to pour himself a steaming mug of hot coffee.
“Not in the slightest.” Thomas looked elated while consulting a set of handwritten notes lying in front of him on the table top. “The missile that Adam inspected was programmed to do five major things.”
“What in the world would a weapon like that do other than destroy a star?” asked Kaufield curiously.
Thomas studied his notes thoroughly. “I’ve run simulations and personally translated and sorted through all of the programming,” he stated firmly. “Noah’s people have several scientists working with us, and we all came to the same conclusion that Adam did.” He took a deep breath and then told them what he knew. “Function one is pure guidance, programming that directs the missile to its intended target site, at which point the nose cone containing the warhead separates from the rest of the weapon. Function two uses the missile body’s internal power system to put in place around it a protective shield that cannot easily be penetrated.” He glanced up at them briefly. “I can give you the specifics if you want, but I doubt even our best rail guns could pierce this shield once it’s in place.”
“Okay,” nodded Glen with growing interest. “Normally the body of a missile traditionally carries enough liquid or solid fuel needed to guide the weapon to its target site. At that point the warhead would detonate, and the entire missile would be destroyed in the process.” He appeared perplexed. “Why add all that technology simply to preserve the body?”
“Because there are three additional functions to be carried out, and the missile body has to survive through the entire process. Function three detonates the warhead once it is close enough to the target star to do its job. The destruction process takes anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on the size, age and fuel content of the star. During this time, collectors designed into the outside of the missile casing capture even more energy from the dying star, supplementing the internal power system and amplifying the protective shield even further. The target star completely burns itself out while a large piece of the weapon just sits there and monitors the entire process.”
“Do you know specifically how the warhead causes the star to chain react?” wondered Noah.
“Not yet,” Thomas answered immediately. “There are unknown substances of some kind in the warhead, the composition details of which – by accident or design – is not contained within the weapon’s software. We’re working on several theories and will eventually figure it out.”
“Big deal,” growled Kaufield somewhat angrily. “They destroy whole stars. If it’s not done specifically to deny those solar systems and their resources to others, then why do it? Why blow up an entire sun?”
“Because,” emphasized Thomas, “whoever created these weapons needs the energy output of a dying star.”
For a short time, silence reigned in the room. “To do what?” asked Glen much more loudly than he intended to. He had been in the midst of taking a bite from his cinnamon bun, then froze in place once he heard Thomas’ announcement. His mind was whirling from all of the possibilities this news presented.
“I wasn’t certain at first,” said Thomas in response. “Not until I examined the schematics that Adam provided in a little more detail and found the internal transit hardware.”
“Point-to-Point technology?” Noah’s face paled noticeably while listening to the discussion.
“Yeah,” the younger Roh confirmed with a nod. “Earth doesn’t… didn’t have Proteus-type technology in any way, shape or form. Nevertheless, when we decided that we wanted to jump across millions of light years in an instant, we made certain our research team found a reasonable way of doing so. Our Controlled Artificial Singularity – or CAS system – was developed and installed on the Pathfinder so that we would be able to generate far more power than traditional solid or liquid fuel – more than even uranium could ever hope to provide. Suffice it to say, whoever designed these so-called ‘quashing weapons’ wasn’t smart enough to invent CAS-type devices, so they’re using the output from a dying star to power their version of our long-range transit system. Because they can’t generate the singularity that we can, an exploding sun, in this case, substitutes as the key source of the energy needed for a long-range wormhole transit.”
“Someone in the Wasteland is exploring other galaxies?” Glen appeared puzzled by his own theory.
Thomas looked at him dourly. “I wish that’s all they were doing,” he said sincerely. “Function four channels the energy collected from the dying star into the PTP system on the device, opening a transit wormhole between a point near the missile body and a second point far away. Very far away,” he emphasized, actually appearing a bit fatigued around his eyes. “I did the final calculations by hand just prior to this meeting… we’re talking about a transit spanning quadrillions of light years, at minimum. Perhaps even quintillions… it would be difficult to tell which multiple of 10 is accurate without actually observing one of these devices go off while monitoring the process. I can tell you that even our CAS hardware would not be capable of reaching as far as this missile’s transit system does.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Kaufield curiously. “Even if we sent one of our Canary probes through and it came back successfully, that kind of mind-blowing trip would take someone so far from home that they might not ever get back. Who knows if the environment in the destination area holds stars capable of generating the power for a return journey? It sounds like a one-way journey to me. Why would anyone ever do this kind of thing, much less repeat the process
over and over for centuries?”
Shaking his head, Thomas exhaled slowly. “You’re assuming that someone from the Wasteland is traveling elsewhere,” he pointed out. “What’s actually happening is the reverse scenario – function number five transmits a signal through the transit wormhole that acts like an informative beacon. It’s a signal that someone or something on the other side is obviously using to monitor the star’s death until the radiation from the explosion subsides sufficiently for them to come through… from their side.”
“Someone from the Wasteland is using the destruction of stars to open a wormhole that allows others to move ships into the Wasteland…?” Glen trailed off incredulously. “From where?”
“That is the question of the hour,” decided Noah. He had been content, through most of the discussion, to listen to Thomas’ conclusions. Now he scratched his head and frowned noticeably. “Even if the transit is in terms of quadrillions of light years and not quintillions, it likely places one end point outside of our known, physical universe. That’s why my people have never known anything about this… our tracking system looks for both termination points in order to detect the conduit that connects them.” He shook his head with disbelief. “It’s almost as though…” Trailing off, a thought occurred to him. “Do you remember the universe diagram that I transmitted to the Pathfinder?” he asked them. “Do you remember how it depicted the pattern of universe creation, expansion, compression and eventual rebirth?”
The Pathfinder Trilogy Page 48
