In his cubby, the doctor turned his face to the wall and said, “Forgive me, Captaino Bartell, I can hear you not believing what I say. I do not know what I can say. I believe my Jessie.”
Garrison addressed him. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, Dr. Comani, but we can’t afford to go running off on the say-so of your ghost-girlfriend. I’m no psych doc, I don’t know what to tell ‘ya, but we’d be in a lot of trouble if we started taking orders from someone whose mind might be just a bit addled by some traumatic events they witnessed. I don’t …”
The comm light flashed and chirped urgently at that moment. Garrison cautioned his companions to silence and turned on the suit speaker. “Yes, Center, Bartell here.”
“Change in orders, the Medallion has been called to Celestial Wheel station. We have had a mayday stating an attack in progress. The nature of attack is not certain; comm was lost before any details were given. The Medallion is the closest battle-class ship, and will be responding, though its transit time will be five days. The QB1 is to return to Dock Toroid Alpha, with Dr. Comani, immediately.”
As the report came in, Garrison and Dominique stared at one another, their jaws dropped in surprise at the message, but moreover, its match for what the doctor had just told them.
But Garrison also had something else on his mind, or someone else—Taylor. His concern for her abruptly shifted to fear for her life. He attempted to get different orders. “We can be there much sooner. We are ready to leave Eighre Masc immediately.”
“Negative. The orders are clear; you’re to return to DTA.”
“That makes no sense. I want to talk to the person responsible for this order.”
“Admiral Sw…” the comm tech on the line faltered. “Mission command has appended a ‘No Changes’ to the orders. They need to be followed as they stand, immediately.”
Garrison was furious, but played it cool. “Acknowledged, we’ll be on our way soon.”
Dominique’s mouth was still open as she stared at him. He cut the speaker off and said to the both of his companions, “Alright, what do we do?” He threw the question open, even as he was already committed to disobey this latest order. The comm tech had just tipped Center’s hand and given away the final piece of evidence that Garrison needed to justify his mutiny. Swan was indeed feeding these fatally tinged orders out to them, and maybe to others; Garrison mistrusted every aspect of their intention.
Garrison had hoped that he could get the green light from Center to help assure Taylor’s safety, as well as that of the entire starship crew. While he had no plan of action, the QB1 was the most qualified for a response, having a leg up with regards to their newest passenger… and what appeared to be actual ghosts feeding him information. He couldn’t tell Center this. But when his request was declined, his path was set.
He was playing with fire and forces he did not understand, but between the look on Dominique’s face, the plea in the doctor’s voice, and his need to protect Taylor, it seemed that he could make no other decision.
Dominique and the doctor both spoke up at once. Their common feeling was in alignment with his. They would go to Celestial Wheel to pick up the survivors. They would beat the Medallion by a day and a half; and while it might be as dangerous, or more, than whatever fate Swan had in mind, at least it did not serve the admiral’s ends.
The two surviving women would crowd the small ship, especially in EVA suits. If the circumstances permitted, he could make an attempt at resolving the door fault for the return trip. Their biggest problem now was the flack they would be getting, as Center received their new heading.
It would be best to shut the comm down, or at least make it appear as if they were not able to establish contact. The failure had occurred aboard Pirate Patrol One, why not the QB1?
With that, they headed into space toward their clandestine destination.
Before veering from the proscribed flight path, they pulled the plug on Center Comm.
* * *
Though they had momentarily and unwittingly defeated the nanosensors’ ability to pick up their voices, excluding them with the repaired ship suits, these and other various sensors continued to transmit data for a moment after Captain Bartell firmly set them on their mutinous path.
The monitors back at Center were observant, seeing the comm loss first, instantly assuming an intentional violation—and then the rest of the data stream dried up.
In those brief moments between the two data-loss events, a malfunction occurred. A coordinate package indicated that the ship was in the vicinity of the besieged Celestial Wheel Station.
CHAPTER 67
EVENT: DAY 18, 0100 UT
‘MAYDAY! MAYDAY! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!’
As Swan listened to the Wheel’s distress call for a second time, each word was a spike being driven into his head.
The message cut off mid-sentence, but before the silence, blaster bolts sounded, and another familiar but chilling sound came too clearly over the transmission—the short, strangled squeal of an infant’s cry.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck… The hackles on his neck seemed to be permanently aroused, creating an irritation under his uniform collar. Compulsively rubbing his neck under his loosened tie, Swan struggled to keep his composure as he considered contingency plans. Hyped on stimulants, he had decided to avoid the futile question of sleep.
The two Low Earth Orbit Stations were on conditional high alert. Knowledge of the threat was withheld from the majority of the military personnel, and all the civilian populations aboard.
Swan was keenly aware of the danger. His personal safety was at stake.
He took a small measure of ease from a certain fact: there were very few other individuals who had both pieces of information that made clear the danger at hand. There were scientists who knew of the elemental as a non-intelligent force, having studied its deadly effects years before; and there were the high-level engineers who carefully handled the enigmatic component of the propulsion system that moved SBMMP ships.
He could count on one hand those who knew that both of these objects were the same, and fewer still, that were aware these objects were in everyday use in the stations.
Swan therefore believed that the rising threat level for additional attacks was essentially still his secret. As a whole, the data was highly classified, shared only with certain others above him—those who had the ability to let the burden for these recent atrocities fall completely on his shoulders.
His Special Forces knew the specific value of their target, yet of all, Swan trusted these people—his soldiers—above all; they were fearless in the face of the dangers that the entities represented. While the admiral could be thrown to the wolves, his main concern was with those that might open the gates and allow the predators in. This centered on the people below him.
Over the years, the various lead scientists had been discharged from the extended study project, and had been transferred to separate terra firma locations. They were filling positions that had been created for the purpose of keeping them occupied by BUMP. During the last year or so, Swan had done some final housekeeping to move the lower-level leak potentials off the station, separating the remnants of any researchers that had any connection to the early studies. His hope had been that, with these people separated, it would decrease the likelihood that the dots would connect easily. So far, the strategy met Swan’s comfort level, despite his transfer of Tasimov back to Toroid Alpha. In fact, since he now ran the station, she would be effectively under his thumb here—less of a worry now, than when she was on Earth.
But he feared that this secret could not last much longer. Classified or not, these original researchers knew of the bizarre side effect of the drive force. Of these men and women, a few had personally witnessed the original accidents during the experimental stages, and what the results of those mishaps had been, including knowledge of the military effort to save the victims. The succe
ss that BUMP had achieved—the resulting Special Forces—had been suppressed. But a serious accusation was enough to open an investigation; that would be very damaging.
With the increasing attacks, it was becoming a logistical nightmare to keep a lid on rumors that might trigger the connection in one of these people’s minds. Someone was going to put it together soon enough.
He kept his list of names in his private, internal view for absolute secrecy. He pondered the need for dark actions to assure the permanent silence of those people.
Things were moving too fast, maybe to a point-of-no-return. Consequences could be bleak for Humanity, and he struggled with just how to bring these wild forces back under his control.
His team was arriving in the Jupiter system now.
He’d pored over the interstellar drive schematics and had sent a copy to his team leader, Captain Crist Boronson. Included with the schematic for the current Gravity Rejector containment was a modeling and set of instructions for the reconfiguration: a trap to catch the forces that had been loosed upon the space faring. He’d sent the same plans to the Medallion.
Swan was trying to work out whether it made sense for him to take credit for this development. After all, it had been his idea to use the Gravity Rejector spheres. He completely ignored the fact that it was the obvious answer, a basic modification of a device that had been used for a similar purpose all along.
But if he took credit and it didn’t work…
With these things on his mind, and despite the attack on the Wheel station, he made an effort to retain the feeling that he’d awoken with—that he had started to gain some ground. His trap would shortly be realized, giving him a chance to get the upper hand.
And in all of this mess, there was some redemption. It was in the fact that these wild forces left untouched all of humanity’s hard works; the ships were virtually undamaged. He imagined the same would be true of the Wheel outpost.
Swan held the disdainful attitude that humanity itself was like the grey goo that almost destroyed it—relentless, filling every niche, and constantly replacing and increasing itself like a virus.
While it involved expense, he could easily arrange any number of replacements to fill the positions so rudely rendered absent by these events. He simply had to reign in these forces first.
In the past days, the sensation of his skin tingling or crawling had increased. He found himself checking over a shoulder, as if he might discover that something loomed, ready to pounce on him from behind, sinking razor sharp teeth into his exposed neck. His uniform had always given him a sense of power in the past, but now it was chaffing, giving him a rash. It was a woefully inadequate symbol, considering the nature of the threat. And it was closer than he liked.
When his team got back here, he decided irrationally, he would somehow have their new trap rigged into the space in front of his desk. Swan was one to whom irony appealed greatly. He fantasized that, were he actually confronted by one of these things, he would bring it to task in front of his desk, as he did with other underlings. Just as he had Tasimov, a few days earlier.
CHAPTER 68
EVENT: DAY 18, 0115 UT
Amio stood at attention while the admiral spoke in a patronizing tone.
“I wanted to brief you on the latest turn of events…” Swan was interrupted mid-sentence by simultaneous tones in his ear and from his desk. “Pardon me.” He used a sub-vocal response, the other end of the conversation routed to his ears only.
In his black tile square, Amio kept his stance rigid; his CO had not invited him to be at ease. He would not be at ease until out of reach of Swan’s revenge, should he discover Amio’s hidden agenda. He kept his eyes fixed above Swan’s head, but he still could easily see the man’s face shift its color to an angry red, after which, the color drained away, leaving the man only a few shades darker than his white uniform.
Immediately, Amio worried that his ruse had been revealed, and that his promotion was about to turn to an arrest. The constant worry was beginning to wear at him. He played the game out until an actual accusation was leveled, and kept his expression blank despite Swan’s altered composure.
The admiral made a telling movement, meaning his private communication was over, but he did not immediately resume their conversation. Instead, he took several audible deep breaths, his face regaining a bit of its color. Eventually, he said evenly, “I have a need that I wish you to facilitate, Major. I’m aware that you know of the type of accident that occurred aboard the pirate patrol vessel. This is what Bartell and Astra have gone off to see about, as well as the Medallion.
“As you’ve seen, one of the symptoms of this attack was loss of comm frequency. If this were to be used as an indication, it would appear that we have just had another attack of this nature. We have just lost contact with the QB1.”
Amio tightened his abdominals, holding his breath, knowing it would be a gasp otherwise. I’m too late. He carefully controlled his next inhalation, making it nearly silent.
Swan went on without showing any note of remorse, lending credence to the suspicions voiced by Hanson. “We’re looking into the details. What I called you here to tell you was that this same occurrence had happened early this morning; we lost contact with a station out on the fringes. The Celestial Wheel. This was preceded by an SOS before the freq dropped out.”
Knowing what he did, Amio’s spine was tingling.
Swan went on, finding his own reason for his adjutant’s silence. “I don’t expect you to know what to say here. I’m just keeping my right-hand man in the loop. So, you should know that I instantly suspect something irregular about the loss of contact with QB1. The Light Skipper was a personal discovery of mine. It’s not like the rest of our fleet. Very few know this—consider yourself in my deepest trust—the little ship is alien-modified, a different type of drive than the force that powers our big craft.
“We haven’t been able to detect the changes that were made, either in the organic AI or the hardware, but it functions slightly better than the rest of the fleet vehicles. In any case, because of this I see no reason that the QB1 would be a target, as the other ships and stations have been.”
Amio listened, regaining some of the hope that had just been dashed. But something was wrong here. His meetings with Cooper and with Dr. Tasimov had filled in some blanks for him about the drive force, but what the admiral was sharing presumed he had this secret knowledge. His stomach knotted abruptly as he began to second-guess his situation. Did Swan know that he’d been told these things? Was the man baiting him? Or was the admiral just forgetting himself in the heat of his emotion? How should he respond?
“I want that ship back, Major. That’s a priority for me.”
Amio remained attentive but silent.
“Now, I’ve sent the trap design to the Medallion; they’ve got two containment units available that they’ll convert into traps for the escaped energy forces. Center has dictated that the Medallion go to the Wheel to look for survivors. That’s fine, but when I commanded the return of QB1 to base, this is when they went dark. I am considering using my authority to divert the Medallion, and instead, have them find the Light Skipper. What would you do in my position?”
More alarm bells rang in Amio’s head. He hadn’t expected this. The admiral was directly involving him in this decision. What would his culpability be as a Major-Adjutant? The admiral had him in a riveted gaze. Beads of sweat, which threaded through his crew cut, traced electric sensations down his scalp.
He threw it back at Swan. “Well, sir, my first concern would be for your responsibility, and what jeopardy you might place yourself in were a superior in your chain of command to have a problem with your decision. Is the decision to divert a ship from its ordered mission one that would be considered as in the interest of Humanity, and therefore, justifiable?” Amio was pleased and relieved by how that sounded. He had his CO’s best in
terests at heart.
Swan’s eyebrows rose slightly as he considered his assistant. “Good answer, Major. Yes, I do feel that it is justifiable by those terms.” He held out a chip. “Transmit this to the Medallion immediately. Go.” Once Amio took the chip, Swan made urgent shooing motions with the hand that was still extended.
He gave the admiral a salute and turned, glad to be out from under the weight of his gaze. As he made his way out to Center Comm, he looked at the chip in his hand, worried about just how Swan had wrapped him into this business; there was no way to turn back now. The best thing he could do would be to gather as much incriminating information as possible—cover his ass. He did some deep, slow breathing to calm his hyper-anxiety. He really wasn’t cut out for espionage.
CHAPTER 69
EVENT: DAY 18, 0115 UT
Amidst red flashes and claxons, Taylor made her way toward her cabin.
Attempting to appear to be following the captain’s directive, her mind was racing as the hallways filled, then quickly cleared. All hands were making their way to their assigned stations. This was not a drill.
She would shortly be alone in the corridors, and would stand out, easily picked up by security. She had a small chance of finding an alternative path, but a smaller window of time. Taylor had something in mind and she made her choice, veering from the route that would take her back to her confinement.
In her explorations over the past ten days, she had made a mental note of the closest suit-locker location when she’d happened upon it. It wasn’t a secure area, having only a simple entrance and minimal, neck-high privacy screens for the men and woman as they suited up, attaching the personal waste systems. There were common lockers containing back-up suits. She went straight to one of these.
Behind the privacy screen she stripped, hoping that she would not be descried by the ever-present security monitoring, sure to be shipwide. Her only consolation was the state of the emergency that they were under. She hoped distraction would be in her favor. She pondered the personal connections for a split-second and decided to take the trouble to insert them; she was getting into a situation that might take some time to get out of.
Parallel Extinction (Extinction Encounters Book 1) Page 36
