Garrison and Dominique were edgy already—the spectre of the pirate slaughter brought to this moment a frightening tension, and spoiled the otherwise serene reality of Eighre Masc. Garrison heard the accentuated harshness of his rapid breathing close in his helmet, his jumped-up heartbeat also pounding in his ears.
Garrison’s body temperature had shot up, and the hastily repaired suit coolers momentarily got louder as they adjusted to maintain a standard.
Dominique’s voice piped up meekly, but it was full of restrained laughter. “Oh… you okay… I was checking on the ice… just saw this… I’m sorry…”
“Yeah, that’s real funny.” He managed a light sarcasm through his recovering biology, sitting on the ground looking back at the puffy-suited man. Dr. Comani stood, waiting, seeing that he’d startled Garrison.
Garrison rattled off a quick update to Center in response to their urgent query, and then said to Dominique, “Well, okay, shall we invite our friend over for tea?” He struggled to his feet and walked back toward the oversized figure.
“I’ll open a channel.” He heard a rustle as she removed her helmet, and then snippets of the two-way conversation between them. “Okay, come on back, Garry, he’s coming aboard.”
He stumped back, frustrated and concerned that he and Dominique had not gotten the chance to continue their private conversation.
CHAPTER 54
EVENT: DAY 16, 1100 UT
Swan’s Special Forces were finally enroute to Titan.
They had never captured one of these creatures in their natural, gravity-free environment, but the admiral had come up with an idea that seemed plausible. He was having some difficulty, however, with how he had arrived at this idea. Overnight, he’d been kept awake by a new experience; he could only call it an inner guidance. But it was manifesting though the same electrical pulsations that had been bothering him. As if he were an animal being shepherded toward something, his thoughts turned this way and that. It was an unrelenting process until he came upon a memory; after this he was left unmolested by the pains in his head.
He recalled the time when he was a lowly colonel with EBMMP. Swan had been part of oversight on the Gravity Rejector net installation for Dock Cylinder Alpha’s Nexus station and the attached Bullet Tube. It was then that his current career path had blossomed.
He had stepped on a few toes, but by the time the net was ready for permanent activation, he’d risen to the rank of General. In that capacity he’d been able to hush up an ‘incident’.
With more than a thousand miles of perimeter along the base of the net, constant sensor surveillance had not yet been established. Two teen-age boys had been playing at the base of the net’s generated field, which had been activated for a battery of tests. The boys had discovered the null-gravity effect at the geometric center-point of a cable-net opening in the lowest row. They had set up a ramp, and were jumping cycles into the field effect. It allowed them to vault through the La Grange point, giving their jump supernatural suspension.
Swan had been alerted and was nearly there when the first known regression took place. Upon arrival of the security team, they found an inconceivable sight: a boy floating seven meters up at the La Grange center, with a fetus in a tight orbit. The boy’s clever stunt of ditching his bike, mid-air, and sticking in the null-gravity point, earned him the subsequent death of his friend, whose life was taken when he accomplished the same feat, and joined his friend to float in midair.
A portion of the field had been shut down and the two young victims retrieved. An interview with the child, once beyond some of his delirium, had elucidated some of the facts: the boy had assumed the déjà vu effect that he got, each time he passed through the net, to be coming from the Gravity Rejectors, rather than the odd stone he’d found and carried in his pocket. The teen’s desire to prolong the powerful, drugged sensation had encouraged the eventual achievement that had left him completely vulnerable to the alien force.
The boy’s spooky description of his inner experience during the draining of his friend’s life-force had inspired someone to suggest demonic possession and the bringing in of a priest. Swan was having none of that. There would be some fantastic explanation that did not involve mythology. An investigation of the incident site had revealed little. Swan returned on his own to the now guarded and cordoned area. He found the “stone”, quiescent now that it was back in standard Earth gravity, at the perimeter of a twenty-foot flattened area of withering grasses where the deflation-catch bag had been. The safety device had been removed, but the stone had been overlooked, blending in with the parched, rocky ground. But once he laid eyes upon it, Swan knew it was more than a curiosity; its unsmooth yet perfectly spherical quality suggested to him that it was unnatural. His research would prove this so. This is what had begun the planet-wide search for these objects.
Swan had not been equipped to save the fetus that day, and had decided it would be best for the other boy to disappear. It was the beginning of the many sacrifices that he would continue to make in his service to mankind.
That day had allowed him to prepare for the eventual reoccurrence he rightly suspected would come to pass.
Thinking back on those days, Swan decided he needed to bring gravity into the capture equation. It was one of the fundamentals of the drive-system containments that had effectively held and controlled these newly aggressive things.
In the initial days of the drive’s development, the mishaps that happened were in a regulated setting, making it possible for Swan to queer the view of any incident so that it appeared only as a tragic lab accident. All of those former regression events, as he had termed them, had his hand in the final review of the facts. Thanks to his careful disposal of the sole survivors through psychological manipulations, and his skewed reports of each scenario, those events had not had the appearance of an attack to any outside of the attack radius. Only a select few above Swan’s previous rank were aware of the facts before he twisted them.
In the beginning, he truly had seen the force as non-intelligent, some sort of amazing reverse-time vortex, in view of how it affected humans. From his limited understanding, he assumed that this quality was somehow tied to its ability to move across space, in violation of Relativistic Laws.
The human impact was frightening and deadly, to be sure. But, as a secondary effect, though fascinating, it was inconsequential. To him. To those who were affected by the force, the consequences were grave but, even then, Swan had salvaged much of those incidents.
It was during his careful review of accident holologs that he first realized that an alien intelligence seemed to move within the events. The present request from the higher-ups, as to the intellect of the force objects was at first an annoyance. It meant he would need to do some fancy footwork to keep the politicians happy. Ignorant.
Without a little Gypsy Shuffle, as his grandmother used to say, the primary benefit of these things—allowing man to move through space—could be in grave jeopardy of being withdrawn.
But the mandate’s timing turned out to be in favor of a different understanding that Swan now badly needed. The intelligence question was moot—there was intelligence there and he needed to keep that fact wrapped up. Ostensibly, he had just gotten that scientist, Tasimov, working on it, but he would arrange his own official answer to that question.
The true crisis lay in the control of the loosed beings. The fact that these two space-based attacks came now, after a lapse since the first, indicated to Swan a level of calculation on the behalf of the creatures—waiting to strike when man was most vulnerable—when the time was right. This was how he was inclined to see it.
During the development phases, he did not need any sort of insight into the minds of these things to make use of them. Now it was obvious to him that, essentially, they were pissed off. Humanity had enslaved them and they were revolting. He was confident in his assumptions.
What he needed right now was a defensive device, and a way to recapture the escaped ones. Not someone telling him that they are intelligent.
Tasimov’s name was one of those at the top of a secret list of people that had the potential to threaten him. He was sure that she did not know of his involvement right from beginning of the project, but the things that she did know amounted to dark secrets he needed to keep from those who pestered him from political circles. The trail would lead back to him readily enough, were she to divulge details of her past involvement. And he didn’t care for her attitude one bit; she would need to be watched. He would have celebrated having her in his control, were he not so distracted and threatened by these unrestrained, hostile forces.
His stomach roiled at the thought of where each one of these things had been placed: in each interstellar ship, and one in each of the various outpost stations for communications. Right here, in his own command center. He passed above it, in Center Comm, with each spindeck revolution. Captive. But for how long?
His thoughts returned to gravity, the primary impact force for these things. Swan wanted to surround himself within a bunker of Gravity Rejectors. He might be safe. It was just not practical by any stretch of the imagination. Probably wasn’t even allowed due to the rejector’s radiation shield interference. He moved on to more productive reasoning.
His team would head out to the fringes of the System in the Rapscallion; his plan was to have them strip the containment sphere out of Pirate Patrol One, the Seeker, and somehow reconfigure it. He was assuming the same breach scenario that he’d seen at the pirate scow location held true; there would be a compromised drive-force containment vessel. It would be available for the gravity-projecting trap that he imagined.
Probably, it would not be very portable; the large power demand of the trap would require cables that would tether it, and it would be bulky and massive. It was no butterfly net. He would need to somehow lure the creatures, or whatever they were, into it.
As the aggressiveness of the entities was becoming apparent, he hoped for recapture. And, most importantly, was the idea of protecting himself. He was needed to help keep mankind on the path of galactic expansion.
If anyone could accomplish this critical mission, it would be his made men. It was worth the risk of losing some if it came to that. It was worth any risk to keep his ass out of the fire. And alive.
After the first few human losses in early development days, special equipment and trained operators were at the ready to supply any needed resuscitative and regenerative needs. He’d instructed his captain on Rapscallion to be sure to set up several stasis chambers—just in case.
His team would begin their return trip to Dock Toroid Alpha as soon as they had the sphere aboard, doing the rebuild enroute. He still had to get them a design schematic. No one was going to like what he’d planned for the bait to lure the force creature into his trap.
And it was time to recall the Quantum Butterfly to the Station without delay. He did not admit it to himself but Swan wanted the little ship here for any last resort escape that might be necessary.
CHAPTER 55
EVENT: DAY 15, 2030 UT
“This guy is whacked.”
“Garrison, keep your voice down. Maybe he is in a delicate place. After all, from what we’ve seen, the man must have witnessed sheer madness. Who knows what that would do to someone’s mind?”
“Hmm.” He was suspicious and uneasy in the man’s presence. He and Dominique had squeezed into the sleep cubby for a private word. Her closeness was doing wonderful things to him. He wanted to kiss her but he kept it professional. “He seems to be happy enough. Surviving just fine, too. I don’t see any threats here. And, if we’re to believe that space-fevered story about ghosts, his fantasy friends say it’s safe too. Not that I believe any of that stuff; but whadda’ya say we leave him here and have the Medallion pick him up when they’re done at the scow.”
“Garrison.” Her tone was scolding.
He responded quickly. “I’m just kidding, don’t get upset.” It was a half-truth. “We’re going to be pretty cramped in here. We’ll have to rotate sleep shifts.” He was thankful that he’d still have a third of the time alone with her.
She read something in his eyes in that moment, and cupped his chin with one hand, giving him a quick peck. He wanted more, and placed a hand on the back of her head, bringing her back in for a deeper kiss. Despite the restricting, extra bulk of the EVA suits that they still wore, her body posture melted a bit as they savored the soft sensual warmth of each other’s tongues and lips.
She took the initiative and broke the soft caressing connection before it had a chance to fire off too many stimuli. “What do we say to this story, Garry? He expects us to take some sort of action. With all the scientific jargon he was rattling off, I’m not sure I understood whatever point he was trying to make.”
“Well, I think I understood even less; I missed half the words through that thick accent. I imagine that it would be best to humor him, whatever strange request he has to make. We’ll rendezvous with the Medallion, and then he’ll be someone else’s problem.”
Dominique didn’t have any better idea. She didn’t share Garrison’s uneasiness, or his motivation to be rid of this person. In fact, though she had not voiced it, contrary to Garrison’s judgments on the man, Dominique was slightly intrigued by the scientist’s story.
Considering the bizarre nature of the thing that they were chasing, combined with the orders that meant to place her directly in the line of fire, she maybe had a greater investment in whatever new information came, no matter how strange. “Alright, we’ll be fine. His stories will keep us entertained in our close confines. Let’s get on our way and off this iceberg.” She planned to encourage Comani to share as much as possible.
They emerged to find the scientist propped awkwardly against Garrison’s flight couch. The hibernation suit’s bulky construction was an issue in the confined space. The man would need to leave it behind. They had to get him into a flight suit. This gave Garrison an idea. “Uh, Dr. Comani, you look uncomfortable.”
He replied in clipped but exuberant, Italian-accented English. “I would be fine, but the suit, she cannot fit a small space as your ship. I must return to the pod. I have seen my flight suit there. I will get it.”
“Yes, well, you should rest. You’ve had quite an ordeal. We can get your flight suit.” He turned to Dominique as he said this and gave her a meaningful look. She understood immediately.
“We’ve locked the controls, Doctor, so you don’t need to worry about bumping anything. You just relax, the cabin’s warmer than anyplace you’ve been lately.”
Involuntarily, the doctor shivered. “Sì, forse... maybe you right. This is better. I stay and rest.” Amazingly, the man slipped easily into a state of calm. He could have just come from some retreat center. He closed his eyes, a slight smile touching his lips. They looked at each other, wordlessly sharing the mystery. Garrison shrugged and they reached for their helmets.
As they might have expected, even though Dominique had not left the channel open to Center, the comm intoned; Dominique reached over her couch and waved the freq’ open. “Astra here.”
“We want you to stay in open transmission mode.”
“Understood.” She cocked her head at Garrison; he nodded back.
To give Center a back-up of her confirmation, he said, “Copy that Center, you should be reading us loud and clear through the trans-recorder.” There was no response. That was fine.
Once they were in the lock, helmets on, Garrison immediately shut off the external speaker that fed their conversation to the trans-recorder. He quickly explained the set-up to Dominique, counseling her to keep her breathing as quiet as possible so that there would be no noticeable difference in the muted and unmuted sounds being carried to the recorder. She understood, and he resumed the transmission to Center,
making some innocuous comments about the planet’s reputation and how he wished they could explore. In intervals during the remaining distance to the escape pod, they held their more private conversation.
“Quickly, Dominique, tell me: that voice over the comm, why did it make you flinch?”
“I know that voice well, Garrison. It belongs to General Clarence Swan.”
“I know the name; he was up my chain of command, though I never met him. Wasn’t he the one responsible for the flight characteristics of our Light Skipper?”
“Yes, although I’ve heard rumors to the effect that he stole the credit for that. It wouldn’t surprise me. Anyway, he’s bad news, Garrison…”
“Hold on a sec…” He switched the external speaker back on and engaged her in a brief conversation about the pod as they approached it.
Back in their cone of silence, “Okay, go on.”
“Well, I was involved with him briefly. He became obsessed with me. He’s been dogging my career, claiming credit for several of my advances since I met him. I wish I’d never set eyes on the man. I don’t know why I got involved in the first place. In fact, I really don’t even want to know the answer to that question.”
“We all make mistakes. Why does he worry you so much?”
“Oh, I had thought I’d finally shaken him. It’s been at least a year since I heard anything from him. When I heard his voice,” she experienced a slight convulsion of disgust, “I got the feeling that he had set this all up to get back at me. It was a shock, that’s all. I have a hard time believing that he would want to harm me physically. Emotionally, maybe.”
“I suggest that you rethink that. I have the overwhelming feeling that we are being set up. Would his obsession be the type to turn dark? I mean really dark?”
“Oh God.” Her tone was stricken. “Garrison…”
Parallel Extinction (Extinction Encounters Book 1) Page 31
