“How many do you think there are?” Kri asked.
“Looks to be a fair few, Lieutenant. We may need to back out of this doorway. Sooner or later they are going to rush us, and we won't be able to hold them off.”
Simmons turned and examined the door panel for a moment. Reaching up experimentally, she tapped at one of the controls. The door slid open after a pause, revealing a pair of crabs at the back of a ten by ten meter room, filled with inexplicable equipment. Simmons brought her laser up and poured fire into the crabs. A split second later, Kri and two of the marines joined her, downing the crabs. The group began withdrawing into the room.
Kri said, “No other doors. Let's not get trapped in here.”
“Good thinking,” Aves said. He turned and pulled the pry bar, taken from the pinnace and jammed it into the doorway. “That should keep it open.”
One of the marines said, “Sir, they are advancing down the passageway. Grenades?”
“Frag grenades.”
The Marines responded by hurling their grenades in a staggered pattern in both directions down the hallway. Kri and Simmons watched in amazement as the Marines worked, killing and destroying with astonishing efficiency.
“Sweep and clear, marines,” Aves said. The Marines went back out of the room and began advancing towards the positions previously held by the crabs.
“Looks like they are all down, sir,” One of the marines said.
“Any casualties?” Aves said. A chorus of negatives came back from the marines. “Wait. They may self-destruct.”
After a tense few minutes waiting, Kri said, “If they were going to blow up, they would have done so by now. I think that may have been a special case for the ones that boarded the Rampart.
“Never hurts to make sure,” Aves said.
Kri nodded silently and watched as a pair of Marines carefully picked over the bodies. Once they were satisfied, the group continued. After an hour of searching, the platoon found a room with a large number of displays and stations.
“This could be the bridge or something else. Perhaps damage control or engineering or even a medical bay,” Kri said.
Simmons wandered between the consoles, all spaced and built with the crab's three meter height in mind. Standing on her tip-toes, she said, “I think this may be an engineering area. Look at this diagram. It looks like the engine configuration before the ship was disabled.”
Kri nodded agreement. “Probably. Too bad we have no way to make sure. Do you see anything that may be a data storage module?”
Simmons and Kri crawled around the room for another thirty minutes before Aves, no longer able to contain himself, pointed at the ceiling. “Is that what you're looking for?”
Simmons and Kri looked up and then at the young Marine lieutenant with matching expressions of consternation. Aves chuckled quietly to himself and watched as the two naval officers climbed atop a pair of consoles and attached various probes and scanning tools to the module.
Kri began running through a generic sequence on his data probe while Simmons worked to find out about the materials engineering. Several minutes of intense concentration passed while they got their tools calibrated and working. Simmons said, “Any luck?”
“Some. This device uses some kind of electrical system to operate. I'm still mapping out what's a data path and what's a power supply. The system uses some kind of... ah. There we go. Look, it uses everything as a data path including the power supply.”
Simmons peered at the displayed data on the probe. “Interesting. Probably makes the system more efficient, but how does a system use the same potentials as both power and data. Fascinating innovation. Look, there. That looks like an intact data signal.” The data probe showed a steady baseline signal, captured and surrounded by various deflections that appeared to be data transmissions along the conducting pathways.
The pair worked for another hour, gathering as much information as possible and devising a data translation matrix. The eerie silence of the ship made it a tense time. Kri finally said, “I think we've learned all we can until we have time to interpret what we have seen and devise some specialized tools for this technology.”
Aves said, “Back to the ship, then?”
“Lead the way, Lieutenant,” Simmons said.
The walk back to the pinnace was as silent and tense as the time spent working on the alien console. There were no ambushes and no signs of any life as they made the trip.
Kri and Simmons got the pinnace underway in record time. As the tiny ship moved away, Simmons let out a long breath. “I don't think I knew how wound up I was until after we got out of there.”
Kri, with an uncharacteristic lack of humor, just said, “Yeah. Me too.”
On approach to the Rampart, they could see the alien scout ship had docked with Rampart, and the Bastion was in formation. Simmons keyed the transmitter. “Rampart, this is Pinnace one. Mission successful. All crew present and accounted for.”
“Rampart copies. You are clear to enter via boat bay one.”
Kri, Simmons, and Aves strolled into the briefing room half an hour later. The room was already occupied by Commodore Stokes, Commander Hanlon and Lieutenant Commander Patho. The three junior officers braced to attention.
Stokes motioned to the unoccupied chairs. “Please be seated.” The three officers sat down. “I know you'll all provide written reports of the boarding and salvage operation; however, I would like you all to provide a verbal account now.”
The three officers spent the next half hour detailing the operation. Once they'd completed their report, Hanlon said, “So let me get this straight. You two are ostensibly the brightest minds the Navy has to offer, and a marine lieutenant has to point out the data storage module for you?”
Kri sputtered, unable to respond. Simmons said, “Well, ma'am. He is a marine. Situational awareness is his specialty.” She turned and winked at Kri, who was still regaining his composure.
Stokes watched the exchange with interest. His officers were growing increasingly comfortable with each other. The increase in unit cohesion and morale this implied gave him a sense of satisfaction. He turned to the young Marine lieutenant. “Mister Aves, do you have any additional observations?”
Aves somehow managed to sit at attention. “Sir, the crabs we encountered aboard the wreck were not as physically imposing. I would estimate they were something just under three meters tall, not the nearly four meters we observed in the boarders. They also did not explode upon being defeated as we previously noted. Although there is insufficient information to arrive at a solid conclusion, I would tend to suspect the crabs that boarded the Rampart were either specially trained or bred for the task.”
Stokes nodded. Aves' reasoning mirrored his own. “Very good, Lieutenant.” Stokes turned to address his tactical officer. “Mister Patho, do you have any input?”
Patho weighed his words carefully. “Sir, if we don't intend to mount a complete salvage operation of the wreck, I suggest we destroy the remaining portion. Leaving so much intact invites a number of uncomfortable possibilities in my mind.”
”Such as?” Stokes asked.
“There may be surviving crew, hiding aboard, waiting for us to depart or to lower our guard. We don't have a complete tactical picture of what the ship's combat capabilities truly are.”
Simmons said, “I doubt they held anything back, sir. They were fighting for their lives just as hard as we were.”
Patho nodded. “Possibly. They also may have been unable to deploy a larger or more powerful weapon. They might have believed they were able to defeat us. They know as little about us as we do them. Without a more complete picture of the systems that ship has and considering the level of violence the crabs have already shown they're willing to employ, we just can't know if they were holding back or not. The boarding action was carried out with a precision and lethality that makes me very concerned about the combat capabilities of these crabs.”
Stokes nodded. “You mak
e a good point, Mister Patho, but I believe the risk versus the possibility of increased intelligence on this race is worth it. Detail a pair of drones to tow the wreck to Lashmere orbit.”
“Aye, sir,” Patho said.
“As to everyone else, lend a hand with damage repair, and prepare to return to Lashmere space dock.”
Hanlon said, “We have all of the control runs from the primary ridge bypassed. The backup bridge is fully functional, now.”
Stokes pondered for a moment and then said, “If there is nothing else?” He waited for a silent moment. “Very well, then. Carry out your orders.”
The Rampart, accompanied by the Bastion and the alien ship, flew back to space dock at sublight speeds. Communications between the ships had gotten progressively better over the intervening four day sublight trip back to Lashmere orbit. The pilot, a being named Thun, had reported he was merely a scout and had run afoul of a pair of hostile destroyers on his way to the Lashmere system. After confirming no further hostile intentions and, in fact, no weapons of any kind aboard Thun's tiny scout ship, they escorted him to Lashmere.
Lashmere Space Dock engulfed all three vessels easily. It's massive shipyards and repair facilities developed during the war were now completely overkill with a peacetime operational load. There had been much talk of dismantling or at least shutting down the majority of the facility to reduce budget costs.
Stokes stood, gazing at the forward display in the secondary bridge. The main bridge was still out of commission and would not return anytime soon even with the full facilities of the space dock. The damage from the alien saboteur had been extreme. Salvaged components from the crab ship that had not been completely destroyed revealed little thus far. Kri and Simmons were working just about around the clock, attempting to decipher their data storage model.
During the return trip, Thun had been terse. He had transferred four survivors, rescued from the mid ships weapon bay, and had agreed to accompany the two warships back to space dock for repairs. Little else had been said despite several attempts by both Commodore Stokes and Admiral Vesper, who had arrived with the Bastion, to engage him in conversation. Thun had simply said he would only speak with a civilian official who could speak for the entire Lashmere people, and that was the only authorization he had received from his government on the matter.
A delegation of diplomats and politicians was waiting to meet Thun at the space dock as soon as all three ships were secure. Boarding tubes and moorings moved across the space between the Rampart and the space dock. The ever present hum of a ship operating under its own power softened to an almost inaudible buzz.
Hanlon looked up from her status display and said, “Done with engines, Commodore.”
Stokes allowed himself a slight smile. “Well done, people. I know the last few days have been rough. Secure all engines, Exec.”
“Secure all engines, aye, sir.”
Stokes nodded. “All department heads report your repair schedules to the yard captain by oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. For the moment, I expect minimum watch section and shore leave for all hands. Before we can release all hands, we have to meet with the delegation waiting for us. Bridge officers with me.”
As the bridge crew headed towards the boarding tube, Thun's ship maneuvered into the small boat dock at the same berth as Rampart. Rampart's bridge crew met the delegation waiting on the concourse. Most prominent among them was Lashmere's vice president, Richard Owens. The two groups moved together to where the boarding tube from Thun's ship connected to the concourse. Thun walked down the tube and gave all of them their first really good look at him.
Thun was short, not more than one and a half meters, bipedal with short legs and arms that reached nearly to the floor and covered with short, coarse hair that was cream and tan in color. His wide, roughly triangular face had a pair of tiny black eyes that never seemed to rest on anything and were much too far apart, a flat nose thrust hairlessly out of the center of the face and showed that Thun had a pale gray skin under all the fur. His mouth was a tall, triangular affair that tended to open and shut rapidly as he engaged in vocalizations. He wore a gray one-piece uniform that was covered in adornments and markings.
Stokes nodded to Thun. “Good morning. I hope you are ready to meet with our political and diplomatic leaders.”
Thun wobbled his head side to side in what Stokes presumed was meant as an affirmative. “I am. My communications with my government have given me several directives and granted me some latitude in diplomatic matters. Until a formal delegation arrives from the alliance government.”
Vice President Owens spoke. “Good morning, Mister Thun. My name is Richard Owens. I am the vice president of the people of Lashmere.” Thun waggled his head side to side in acknowledgment of the statement. Owens continued, “Would you be so kind as to explain your rank, role, and then tell us a bit about the planetary alliance you represent?”
Thun's English was perfect with no detectable accent. “I could never be considered a representative of my people. I am simply a scout ship pilot. Although my government has given me the authority to negotiate with you, it is merely a preliminary stage until a formal delegation of actual representatives arrives.” Thun fell silent for a moment while he considered his next statement. “The alliance I am a part of was formed thousands of years ago in reaction to the incursion of a hostile and warlike species. The alliance is made up of five different species. Each species contributed to the plan that eventually defeated this hostile species. Since their defeat, we have devoted ourselves to the exploration of scientific knowledge and gaining a deeper understanding of the universe and ourselves.
“The alliance is made up of five different species, as I said earlier. These species are Xalcek, my species, the Unam, the Yaderiedea, the Hontoata and the Gol. Each species maintains a central political structure, mostly on their planets of origin. My home planet, Xalcek, is where the capital of the alliance is located. There is a separate political structure that governs the alliance independently from the planetary government. Each species elects representatives to the alliance government. These representatives help to determine how the alliance and individual species interact with each other.
Vice President Owens looked suitably impressed. “Five thousand years is a very long time to have a government of such size endure. How do you avoid stagnation and complacency causing overwhelming bureaucratic overload?”
Thun considered the question for a moment. “That is a complex inquiry. I am not initiated into the deeper understandings of how our alliance government works, but there is one principle that has kept all of our planetary governments from destroying themselves under their own weight. Every one hundred years, each planetary government is required to make a clean sweep of all laws, regulations, political offices and rebuild from the most basic of structures. The alliance has the ability to put this off for up to an additional fifty years if there is a crisis or need to do so, but this has never happened. Each government starts with a set of basic rights and responsibilities and the new representatives must use that framework to establish new laws, regulations and principles to govern the people for the next hundred years.”
“What's to stop the new government from just copying what the old government did for the previous hundred years?”
“Many times they do, but it allows the government to respond to the younger generation each time they are born. Often, this keeps planetary governments from keeping old, irrelevant or useless rules and laws.”
Owens looked surprised. “New generation? How long do you live?”
“The Xalcek have the shortest average lifespans in the alliance. Usually, we live three hundred to three hundred twenty-five years.”
“Ah.”
Simmons broke into the conversation at that point. “Do your species live this long naturally or did you achieve this lifespan through some technological advancement?”
Stokes shot Simmons a withering glance that stopped her stopped on the edge of sa
ying more. “My apologies, sir. Miss Simmons, please restrain your exuberance.”
Owens chuckled and gave Thun his best politician's smile before glancing at Stokes. “Thank you, Commodore. I will see Mister Thun to the conference rooms. Please carry on.”
Stokes saluted smartly and said, “Aye, sir.” and watched as the Vice President, Thun and the rest of the diplomatic delegation disappeared into a lift. He then addressed his assembled bridge officers. “Everyone is dismissed with the exception of Miss Simmons. Get your divisions secure and release them for shore leave.”
The bridge crew hustled back up the boarding tube to carry out the orders. Simmons stood, watching Stokes expectantly. When he did not begin after a moment, she said, “I apologize, sir. I was merely trying to ascertain the level of technological advancement the alliance may have.”
“Are you an intelligence operative now? When a lieutenant is in the presence of the vice president of the planet, silence is not just the best policy; it is the only policy. I meant to speak to you once we arrived back in spaceport about your bearing before this incident, and your actions here have only made it more important someone speaks to you. You've exhibited a variety of poor bridge behaviors since you came aboard. Initially, you engaged in ongoing and unprofessional conversations with Mister Kri, and the report I received about your boarding action made it clear we're lucky you didn't manage to get the entire team killed over there. I realize you're used to having special exception made because of your brilliance, and I don't deny your mind and scientific ability are valuable assets to the Navy, but as long as you are attached to my command, you will learn to behave yourself like a military officer. What kind of message does it send to the enlisted men and women when you act that way in front of them? What kind of message does it send to the other officers that a person with your reputation does the things you do?”
A Faded Star Page 6
