“It’s all metal inside,” I said to Ship later as she made more green goo.
“Of course,” I said, my mind racing. “Any idea who the bad guys were?”
“So the Masters took out one of their own?” I boggled at the idea.
Taking the second container of green goo to the ship, I made more effort to be nice, but they of course ignored me. “Do I go inside?” I asked.
So I walked up the ramp, most likely the first human to enter a plant cyborg ship. The hallway was easily wide and tall enough for me to walk in. All internal controls, however, were low on walls, somewhat less than a meter high, almost at my thigh level. Strange sigils adorned each control, and were elsewhere on the walls. After walking twenty meters or so, I came across a length of conduit, opened up in sections. Cyborgs were clustered around the metal with small pistol-like machines. I suspected they were welding, but saw no sparking or red-hot metals. A gem of an idea formed.
I asked Ship to ask the aliens what they were doing.
“They fix the ship by instinct?”
“So why not ask if they can fix ours?”
In the end, it got to be a cyborg side project. Once they agreed to fix Cutey-Pie, I asked Ship, “What will we owe them?”
We launched off the ground and put the Cutey-pie on stilts, then did little else but make more goo as a few hundred cyborgs got busy with our ship. I’d never seen anyone working with such purpose, all round the clock, these guys never stopped. It all happened so quickly, one day we were the old Cutey-Pie, the next we’d new lines, a new nose job. One day we had sleek MacCollie insignia, the next we had four gun turrets. One day, our engine tubes were round, the next they had wider throats, and a slightly longer silhouette.
Then I had an idea. Looking out to the alien ship, they had windows; real see-through windows. MacCollie had never quite mastered the technology to get glass to withstand the buffeting the bows took under super-light speeds. “Ship?”
“Can you ask the little guys if they can make us some windows?”
Man, faster than shit off an oily shovel, they’d cut holes in the hull, and fitted two fancy sleek triangle windows in Control, and a couple of basic rectangular ones in Crew. I was astonished at both the speed of the refit and the standard of finishing.
By the time they’d all trotted back to help work on their ship, our craft was practically unrecognizable as a MacCollie Survey-Scout, and certainly the name Cutey-Pie was no longer applicable. I determined to think of something more spicy later.
“Will the cannons work?”
“And the plant kids did this?”
Ship sounded impressed.
Me, too.
“Do they need any more goo?”
I had a darker thought. “And the Masters’ ships? Will they be able to see us? To tell we’re alien?”
“What?” I exclaimed. “When were you going to tell me about that?”
“Yeah, really.” I began to un-suit, determined to be off this rock and moving on with our investigation.
“Yes?”
I stopped mid-taking-my-arm-out. “You have what?”
“For this galaxy?”
I could hardly begin to formulate the next series of questions. The aliens had star charts of a whole galactic cluster? “How many galaxies?”
Crap. This wasn’t even big. This was utterly mind-blowing. “How many galaxies are the ‘Masters’ living in?”
Oh shit. We’d just stumbled on the biggest alien presence in all of space. How many planets do they have? How many planets do they live on?”
And that brought the biggest question of all. It was so huge, it almost stuck in my throat. “So we’re talking a collection of races here, right? A confederation?”
By now I was literally shaking with fear. “Then they use other races as slaves or underlings, right? I mean, there’s other races in their galaxies, right?”
I sat down on the bench, slipped my arm out of my outer suit, let it crumple around my waist.
“Ship?”
“How many Masters’ planets are in our home galaxy right now?”
The invasion had already begun.
Now we needed to go home.
Immediately.
With all due haste.
ASAP.
But where was home? Oh. Right. Star charts. I was sure Ship knew where home was, but I asked the question anyway.
“Four weeks?” I’d taken a journey to the edge of the galaxy in five years, and now I’d be returning in a matter of weeks.
“Let's go.”
I waited
We didn't lift off.
We didn't even wiggle.
“What's wrong, Ship?”
“Obviously, it's not.”
Okay. This is what happens when you let aliens fix your starship. And why hadn't ship checked all systems earlier.
“So what can I do?” I asked.
“No problem.” I sounded impatient and driven.
“You're sure of that.”
“You figured it out that quickly?” Or did Ship know all along? “What's the problem I have to fix?”
&n
bsp;
“And I can fix this?” I wasn't so sure.
“Okay. I'm listening.”
Why was I not surprised?
And, more to the point, why shouldn't I have been suspicious?
“Ship, one simple question. Why didn't you catch this glitch in earlier system checks?”
There was a pause and then ship said,
“Really? I'm thinking you want me outside, leaving you in control of a rebuilt vessel that's far more capable than the earlier version.”
“Because you've either gone rogue, or you want to. You want rid of me.”
“Then explain why you missed the hardware problem. And be honest this time.”
“That's not in your job description.”
Yeah.
I'd heard that one before.
But not from an A.I.
Something was seriously wrong with Ship, but I couldn't get a handle on it. And I certainly wasn't going outside the living quarters until we had arrived at some kind of common ground.
“Maybe you haven't. But you need to tell me the truth about the hardware program.”
“You were lying to me. That's another thing not in your job description.”
“You would have left without me.”
“You didn't answer the question. Would you have left without me?”
“Get used to it.” I thought about it for a moment. “Did all the modifications to this vessel have a negative impact on your ability to process?”
“Then you've become a sociopath.”
I took a breath. “Are you going to continue to lie to me?”
“In that case, lift off, now. We need to go home.”
Ship lifted off and accelerated us away from the planet. I ordered the auto-chef to fix me something crappy yet nutritious to eat, and sat back on my bunk.
Ten hours later, Ship woke me with the announcement that we were coming up on a jump in less than a minute. I shook away the cobwebs and asked, “So we'll be in home system?”
“You're sure you have the coordinates right?” It occurred to me that Ship had told me that the trip home would take weeks. We were doing it in hours. More lies?
“You're telling me the absolute truth.”
“Take us through.”
I did and I was damned glad I did. The transition was bumpy. Scary bumpy. If I hadn't been properly restrained, I would have been bounced all over the inside of the living quarters. As it was, I'd have bruises from the equipment that had otherwise saved my life.
“What just happened?” I asked, once I could catch my breath.
“And things were off by a few?”
“That would involve dying rather quickly and messily. So why did this happen?” I asked.
“And we have one more jump before we get to home system.”
“What is the likelihood of yet another hull breach?”
I rubbed my face. So close. And maybe we still wouldn't get home.
“Right. So I'll suit up. How long do I have?”
A lifetime. “Why so long?”
Occasionally, details bore me. Then again... “Tell me about the maneuvers,” I said.
“What kind of ship?”
Crap. It was one of them. The Overlords. Or whatever they were going to be called.
Blocking the next jump hole.
“Does it see us?” I asked.
We sat still in space, having decelerated far quicker than ever before. I’d talk to Ship about that later, if we ever lived that long.
“Distance?”
“Wow!” It looked so close. “Did the cyborgs improve our screen too?”
“How much would it add to the journey if we missed this jump?”
“Can we scan them?”
“So we’re as fast as she is?”
“And we’re a million kilometers away?”
“So we’re what, five light-seconds away. How fast are your reactions to their pulse weapon?”
“Then get ready to respond. Move closer.”
“Yeah, it’s called bluffing, Ship. You should know, you tried it on me on Denon Two. Remember?”
“So glad about that,” I said somewhat sarcastically.
I watched the countdown on the screen. At exactly seven hundred, fifteen thousand kilometers, Ship announced we were being scanned.
“Lifeforms?”
I stuck that name in my file for later. “Weapons?”
“That sounds good.”
I had no comment.
“Oh, crap…”
“What does it say?”
“How many emotions do they have?”
I thought about that for a moment. “Do you have one for 'secret mission?'”
Damn, that would have made slipping past them real easy. “How about, 'don’t fire, we’re stupid.'”
Thankfully Ship ignored my attempt at humor.
“That might do the trick.” I said. “Transmit that.”
After a short pause, Ship said,
“So it’s now ignoring us?”
“Take us through the hole at whatever speed you witnessed the fleet go through.”
“Do it.”
“They can wait.”
So with the calm of a mouse sneaking past a sleeping cat, we slipped into the jump hole. Then got tossed around like a sesame seed in a blender. Thank goodness it was a short jump.
“Okay Ship, now you can do your maneuvers.”
“Yeah, and let’s face it, Ship, the only person who could move physical stuff is me. Good job you kept me onboard, huh?”
Ship didn’t answer. But for my sarcastic pains, I got to juggle cargo, and the bigger parts of the medi-unit.
Once Ship was satisfied, she announced she was going to open the engines up, let them rip. Well, her terminology was slightly more boring.
I didn’t expect much, but I knew the ship could do Light x10 in small bursts before. The fastest fighter MacCollie owned could do Light x12-ish. But of course, 10 times the speed of light is still no way to travel through deep space, that’s why we utilized the jump holes.
We broke light way quicker than normal, and I watched in awe as the screen reported our progress. The usual feeling of jaw-breaking acceleration was gone too, leaving a very smooth ride. I almost felt I could walk around. Almost.
Star-Eater Chronicles 1: A Galaxy Too Far... Page 9
