“Look at these,” Rojer said, focusing his sensor at its finest magnification where gatherers were stripping rows of a globular green vegetable form. Finishing the collection, the gatherers turned from the rows into neat triple ranks and trundled toward a central installation into which they disappeared.
Thousands of these installations had been scanned. They varied in size, evidently depending on the volume of crops, but not in shape, all being square buildings covering three to four acres, four or five stories in height with interior access at ground level along each side. Rojer had whizzed a sensor close enough to see that the entrance sloped downward. Activity continued night and day, for the creatures apparently did not require illumination for their tasks.
“And we thought this duty was boring,” one yeoman was heard to mumble, eliciting widespread grins and a mild reproof.
“Those buildings have to be the access to tremendous subterranean networks,” Istvan Mrkovic said thoughtfully. “There isn’t enough space inside any of them to store the amounts brought in on a daily basis. Do they pick for daily use, since I noticed they do leave immature vegetables on the vines and bushes, or just to process for storage? Yet I can’t pick up any trace of smoke or heat to account for cooking.”
“Vegetarians eat a lot of raw foods,” Anis remarked. “Or maybe they have a critter with heat-resistant paddles to stir the stew.”
Istvan shot her a reproving look for such levity, though even the captain smiled. “Certainly we haven’t seen anything coming back out for distribution so that has to be taken care of underground. Wow! What an organization! You gotta give ’em that.”
“The workers have to be fed something at some point to continue at the pace they go,” Anis Langio said, no longer bantering. She had her head propped on one hand and, as she watched the screen, was idly twirling a dark, springy curl around one finger. It seemed oddly out of character for someone of her rank and expertise. “You don’t see any of them lying down on the job or expiring from lack of care.”
“All mining must be done subterreaneously, too,” Mrkovic decided. “I haven’t seen anything remotely resembling an adit but those ships required a variety of metals. I’ve noted the presence of all the ores that we use but only that one finished ship in the construction orbit has been covered with their special coating. And if they have every centimeter producing food, the planet must be full up.”
“The last harvest before blast-off,” Anis quipped.
“Not if they’ve only one spaceworthy ship.”
“Maybe the agricultural workers are multi-tasked and once the harvest’s in they turn on their construction mode,” was Anis’s rejoinder. Istvan gave her another of his disgusted looks.
“She could be right,” Metrios said. “The palp that pulls the pepper could also manipulate delicate equipment.”
“And the trundlers shift struts and panels…” Anis went on.
“While the irrigators fill the fuel tanks,” Doplas said, joining in the fun.
“That is when we must be most cautious,” the captain said, and turned to Rojer. “You can withdraw the monitors quickly?”
Rojer nodded.
“Commander Yngocelen and I are still trying to include a small self-destruct unit, sir, just in case,” Metrios said. “Small enough not to create much flare but enough to fuse the innards to an unrecognizable slag.”
The captain nodded approval. “Our relief ships are not that far away.”
Rojer held his breath in surprise. Would he actually be in on the first invasion of a Hive world? He had heard the gunnery officer, Lieutenant Commander Yngocelen, and some of his staff discussing what would be needed to “take out” the moon batteries but no one had sounded very optimistic about success in that direction. Despite all they had seen of this Hive world, there were many unknowns.
From their Mrdini allies and once firsthand on Deneb, Humans did know something about Hive colonization practices. The creatures preferred G-type stars, M-5–type planets, worlds similar to Earth, or Clarf, the Mrdini homeworld, which meant that the three species were in competition with each other. The Hive method was to send one of their Sphere ships, managed by the Many Mind of ten to sixteen queens with specialized workers doing whatever crewing was needed. Each Mother ship was equipped with scout vessels which it sent on ahead to investigate appropriate systems. The Hiver then “cleared” the planet of all life forms, using as a fumigator first one, then other, viral infections, until the world had been cleared of its indigenous life forms. Then the Mother ship landed its queens and propagated its species until the new world, too, was overpopulated, when the process of exploration and colonization was repeated.
“But we’ve seen no activity at the ships at all,” Anis said. “Or has the arrival of the refugee caused panic…”
“Hivers wouldn’t know panic if it bit them…” Metrios interjected drolly.
“…Well, then a rethink? I don’t understand why they haven’t done anything to repair the refugees’ ship for use if they’re about to send off a colonial expedition!”
“They also haven’t restocked their moon installations,” Yngocelen remarked. “They pumped out a bodacious amount of ordnance in that attack…even if most of it fell short. Surely they’d have to replenish it unless they have almighty storage facilities up there.” He glanced hopefully at Rojer, who laughed.
“Sir, there’s no way I can get a probe in those moon emplacements. Not a niche or a crack and I’ve no idea of what space is available inside. I can’t ’port blind.”
“No, no, of course you couldn’t, Rojer,” the gunnery officer replied, but his expression remained wistful.
“Been no messages sent there. No communication on any frequency,” Doplas said, glancing down at his control console as if it had capriciously malfunctioned.
“Told ya the refugees didn’t have the right password,” quipped Metrios, a grin on his narrow sardonic face. Then he suddenly sat up alert. “Lookee here. Activity in the shipyard.” All attention was instantly focused on that screen. “Can you hold that monitor stationary for a bit, Rojer?”
“Sure thing,” and he complied, trying to see what had attracted Metrios’s attention. A wide hatch had swung open at the end of the one uncultivated area on the whole planet—its space facility.
“Doplas, magnify,” Captain Osullivan said and paused a beat before he added, “Pods! The units they’re carrying look the right size and shape to be made into escape pods.”
“To replace the ones they blew up!” Anis added unnecessarily and glanced anxiously at the captain.
His strong-featured face showed only keen interest in the surface activity as hundreds of low-slung many-legged creatures, loaded with sections, trundled slowly across the flat surface and deposited their burdens at sixteen separate places before they scuttled back to the aperture, which sank back into the ground.
“Are the Arapahoe and the KTTS receiving these transmissions, Doplas?”
“Aye, sir, on automatic relay.”
Before the captain could ask Doplas to open a channel, both Captains Quacho of the Arapahoe and Prtglm of the KTTS called in.
“They begin to refit,” Prtglm said. “Time takes. Talent informs Alliance.”
“They don’t seem to be doing any work to complete the other two ships,” Quacho remarked dubiously, his heavy brows nearly bridging over his roman nose.
“Those are already fitted with escape pods,” Osullivan reminded him.
“Always queens are first,” Prtglm said. “Time takes.”
Rojer dutifully made contact with Jeff Raven to report the activity and was told to relay further developments as they occurred. Once the ground entrance closed, no further activity was seen. Excitement waned and Rojer was allowed to retire from the bridge at the end of his watch. Rather than have to evade questions on this new development, he spent the evening quietly in his cabin with Gil and Kat, watching more of the Genesee’s huge library of old tri-Ds until the red alert had him �
��porting himself and his friends to the escape pod assigned him. He and the others who occupied his pod were nearly asleep again when the “all-clear” hooted.
* * *
The next morning he overslept and had to ’port himself to the bridge to be on time. Looking somewhat as grumpy as Rojer felt, Commander Metrios duly noted his hurried arrival but issued no reprimand. Casually Metrios told Rojer that no further activity on the space field had been noted.
“Maybe they have to hatch out the assemblers?” Anis Langio suggested and then yawned, wiggling her fingers in welcome as Rojer stepped up to his couch. He grinned back at her.
“Any corrections needed, Commander?” Rojer asked Metrios, gesturing to the screens and the roving sensors.
“No, Roj,” Metrios said, with a wry grin. “They’re where we need ’em right now. We’re just lucky there’s so much space flotsam that our sensors seem just like one of the boys out there.”
“You know, for a planet that’s spotless,” said Eri Gander, the morale officer who often dropped by Rojer’s station, “they’ve made a right mess of space.”
“Haven’t developed a form to gobble up their garbage, that’s all,” Metrios replied.
“Vegetarians get their iron and minerals from their food,” Anis remarked with an overly innocent expression on her face. “Which reminds me, Eri, we could use some new tri-D’s. There’s nothing I haven’t seen a zillion times.”
Eri and Anis both looked queryingly at Rojer who held his arms wide, mimicking Anis’s expression. “Look, I’m just transport. I have nothing to do with loading.”
“Which reminds me why I’m here,” Eri said, turning to Rojer. “I’ve four to ship back this week.” He raised his eyebrows queryingly.
“No problem. My ’Dinis told me that there’re two ’Dini pairs to go as well.”
Anis heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’m always glad to know they are not as po-faced and stiff-upper-lipped as Prtglm pretends they are.”
“The ’Dinis’re going to hibernate,” Rojer said and grinned to defuse any criticism as he added, “That’s not considered a weakness in ’Dinis.”
“At least you save them from going on the line,” Metrios said, nodding his head approvingly.
Anis gave a convulsive shudder. “I don’t care what euphemism they apply to the process, it’s still cannibalism.”
“Term it exigency during long space hauls and accept that interpretation,” Mrkovic said, but his expression indicated he was in complete agreement with the astrogator.
“At least we have Rojer here. Man and Mrdini’s best friend is the local FT&T Talent.”
Rojer grinned back, relieved that the subject of ’Dini traditions was not pursued. On the bridge, at least, he wasn’t quizzed to the point of aggravation by pruriently curious crewmen and women. He had had to make the point that he might have lived closely with “immature” ’Dini, but he didn’t know much about the adults.
“So what’s to be done today, Commander?” he asked Metrios.
“Close watch on the shipyard and those pod elements. We’ve got a little self-destruct package in the new probes I ordered up in case we need to put more in action.”
“Don’t I just wish we did have some action,” said Yngocelen as he stared glumly at the static scene on the screen. “Aren’t they putting the cart before the horse? I mean, assembling escape pods when they haven’t repaired the hole they put in the refugee ship? Never did understand why they plugged it. Especially after they had already conned the queens into leaving in their escape pods.”
“Puzzling indeed,” Metrios admitted, “since it damaged a perfectly spaceworthy craft which would have nicely increased their existing fleet.”
Because he now knew these officers well enough, Rojer decided to voice his thoughts.
“Commander, I don’t think that torpedo hit a cargo or docking area,” he said.
“You don’t?” Metrios’s expression encouraged him.
“No, sir, I think they holed the life support systems. Because it was a hole, not a shattering blast.”
“Show me.” Metrios was not the only one who perked up with interest.
Rojer ’ported one of the monitors into the appropriate position. Unfortunately the entrance point was in deep shadow. What was visible were the clean edges of the torpedo’s entrance. The damage would be easily repaired. At least it would on any of the Alliance ships.
“Maybe there was something in that torpedo they sent up,” Rojer added quietly, steeling himself for dispute.
“Yeah, but what and why?” Yngocelen asked in a caustic tone. “We know from even the partial reconstruction of the Great Sphere which A Squadron discovered that they can seal off decks and areas just as we can.”
“Yes, but the queens were evacuating and there’d be no one to issue orders to the workers to close anything. I think,” and Rojer paused so as not to sound as sure as he was of his theory, “this lot wouldn’t want the workers spawned by other queens. They’d want to get rid of them before they filled the ship with their personal workers.”
“So the torpedo delivered a gas or something noxious to fumigate it, huh?” Yngocelen asked, mulling over that theory.
“Boy’s got a good point,” Metrios said, over Rojer’s head, but his tone was approving.
“I could send a probe inside the ship to find out,” Rojer volunteered, since no one had discredited his theory. Although Captain Osullivan had not taken part in the conversation, he had been listening.
“Then do so, Mr. Lyon,” Captain Osullivan said, nodding to Yngocelen. “And program it for a full scan, Mr. Yngocelen. It’s about time we learned what’s going on in there, since Mr. Lyon’s Talents allow us to be discreet.”
Although Rojer sent the tiny probe through ventilation ducts and up and down dark and empty corridors, nothing was going on inside the hulk. Nothing apart from a haze which still hung like a miasma in the interior, and especially heavy in the center of the vessel.
“Could be a combination of gases,” the science officer said, “because there sure aren’t any workers of any description left and there are signs of corrosion on the few organic substances the monitor identifies. The Hivers seem to specialize in lethal doses. I wouldn’t want to send anyone in to investigate. Despite the hole in the hull letting vacuum in, the stuff’s lingering. It’s going to take time to flush all that out.”
“Sections weren’t closed off either,” Yngocelen said, tapping Rojer approvingly on the shoulder. “Yup, and that junk even cleared out the tubes where larvae are stored. Clean sweep!”
Rojer could not entirely suppress his delight that his theory had been verified, but everyone was smiling so he felt it wasn’t inappropriate for him to do so, too.
“Good thinking, Rojer,” Osullivan said to cap his moment of triumph.
Nonetheless Rojer heard—not from the direction of the officers—less grateful sentiments from one or two of the ratings on duty.
“It was only a theory, sir,” Rojer said, altering his grin to modest self-deprecation. It was awful hard to please everyone all the time no matter how carefully he conducted himself.
“How long will it take for that gas to clear, Mr. Mrkovic?” Osullivan asked.
“Can’t say for sure, sir, it’s heavy stuff. All systems are dead on the ship. If they were activated…” and he shrugged. “With respect, sir, the Genesee doesn’t have eva suits on board that would protect us Humans against a corrosive gas atmosphere.”
Nor did the Mrdini when the options were discussed at a captains’ conference. Although the derelict Great Sphere was being subjected to the most exhaustive scrutiny by both Humans and Mrdini, the emphasis had been on establishing what powered Hive ships and what fuel was used, and analyzing the peculiar composition of the hull material. Ventilation and life support systems were a low priority.
“Captain Prtglm would like us to figure out a way to get in that ship,” Captain Osullivan reported to his staff officers. Rojer was also
sitting in, as he had attended the captains’ meeting as translator. “It has an idea,” and Osullivan’s smile was amused, “of boarding and bringing a relatively undamaged Hive ship back to Clarf. I gather Prtglm is to be retired at the end of this mission and it would like to do so in glory, as it were.”
There were murmurs of understanding for such ambition.
“I didn’t think Mrdini did things like retire,” Anis Langio remarked.
Osullivan cleared his throat and smoothed back his hair. “I believe it’s a question of size.”
“Yeah, it is the biggest ’Dini I’ve ever seen,” Yngocelen said thoughtfully. “If it gets much bigger, it won’t fit in its own ship. It has to bend over to walk our companionways and this ship’s built for tall.” As the gunnery officer was just under the two-meter mark, he was sympathetic. “But you know,” he went on off-handedly, “maybe Rojer could ’port a small boarding party directly into the torpedo hole. They’re obviously waiting until the gas disperses. Of course, we’d have to figure a way of doing that first.”
“What do we know about the Hiver ventilation systems?” Osullivan asked rhetorically.
“No more than what the probe could see, sir,” Metrios replied.
“Any idea of where or what the controls would be?”
Everyone turned in Rojer’s direction.
“Me? I know as much as you do but…”
“But what, Mr. Lyon?” the captain prompted in an encouraging tone.
“Well, sir, when I first came on board, I believe I mentioned that groups back on the homeworlds are trying to reassemble the innards of the Great Sphere? We know what the main investigative team is working on—the fuel and engines—but maybe somebody else might have a clue to the life support area. I could make a discreet inquiry.”
“Of whom?”
“The T-8 engineer at the Aurigae Tower.”
Metrios looked considerably more receptive the moment Rojer mentioned “engineer.”
“Please contact him then. Discreetly, of course,” Osullivan asked Rojer.
Lyon's Pride Page 2
