“Open hatch,” she ordered, once it was done.
The ship obeyed, and Talie stepped cautiously into the small passage she’d created, moving quickly to reach the airlock. Now, all she had to do was get it open. Still, it was an emergency hatch. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be hard to get into, now, would it?
Talie studied the external controls, relieved to find a simple keypad. That was something she could deal with. Anlin had given her a program for decoding entry codes. Normally, Talie would have insisted on working it out for herself, but speed was of the essence, and she couldn’t afford to be proud.
She activated the program, glad when she heard the mechanism behind the panels grind into motion. The gladness was short-lived, however, as the hull shuddered beneath her. Talie forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly.
She had the choice: stand and wait for the airlock to open, or retreat to her ship and take off before whatever defensive mechanism she’d tripped caught her. The hull shuddered again, and warnings echoed through her implant, showing the umbilical’s connections at risk of release. Instead of running, Talie held her ground.
The airlock started to open, and Talie reached forward, curling her fingers around the exposed edge. It was now, or never. She wasn’t tethered. If the umbilical went, she’d be spaced in seconds—and the light ship-suit she wore would be no protection. Keeping her grip on the airlock, Talie slid one foot into the widening gap before her. Next, she slid her forearm through the gap, trying hard not to think about what would happen if the airlock started cycling in reverse. Closing her mind against the increasingly urgent alarms in her head, she got ready to haul herself inside the airlock as soon as the gap was wide enough.
The hull shifted, and the panels under her started to split apart. Her own small craft shuddered on the edge of her vision. Talie felt her heart freeze. The airlock entry widened just enough for her to wedge herself into the gap, and Talie held her breath.
At the other end of the umbilical, she heard something tear. Beneath her, the umbilical started to slide. Fortunately, the door kept opening, and Talie forced her way past its edge and into the tiny chamber beyond.
As soon as she was through, she reached out and slammed the button for emergency closure, knowing it was going to be way too slow. All she could do was grab the rail that ran around the inside of the airlock, looping an arm through it as she stared through the gap at the slow chaos occurring outside.
Her small ship was being drawn into the hull, as though it was on a landing platform. It was a clever trick, and Talie wished she knew how it was happening. What was more concerning, however, was the way the umbilical was breaking loose at both ends.
As the door started to cycle closed, her ship’s hatch sank through the larger craft’s hull, and the umbilical tore free. Talie breathed in, and out again, trying to pull in enough oxygen to keep her going until the airlock re-pressurized—hoping it didn’t depressurize completely. Air rushed past her into the vacuum beyond.
It was going to be a close-run thing.
Talie tried not to think about it, studying the way her ship was sinking through the skin of the bigger craft, even as the umbilical gave up its grip on the airlock, and floated away into the dark. Talie hung on, and, by the time the door closed, her arm was aching and she was struggling for breath. The outflow of air ceased abruptly, and she crouched. She didn’t give up her grip on the rail until she could breathe, again, and then she moved through the inner door and out into the corridor beyond.
To her surprise, no one was waiting to take her to the brig, or anywhere else. The corridor was as empty as the shell outside.
“Sasha, where are you?” she asked, but no reply came, either on the empty air, or into the communications centre in the implant. “Anlin?”
Still nothing.
Talie crept quickly and quietly forward, stopping when she reached an emergency locker behind a marked panel in the wall. If this ship followed anything like the usual protocols…
“Hah!”
Pulling out the vacuum-packed coveralls, Talie hurriedly pulled them on. It was a lucky guess—either that, or this species had an ‘average’ that equaled human average, and what were the chances of that? Talie didn’t care. All that mattered was that the coveralls fit, and she’d be less likely to be noticed—apart from the fact she was a different species.
Yeah, that might make her a little obvious. Until then, she’d pass a casual glance at a security monitor, which meant she’d better find her girls—and fast. They were lost and not answering their comms, and she didn’t want to think of what that could mean. It took a second for Talie to activate the tracking program she’d brought, and then she decided it would be faster, if she could tap into the system around her. That took her a little bit longer.
“Nice to know your lot like their wireless as much as mine do,” she said, keeping half an eye on the corridor.
She’d gone another dozen paces before realizing she wasn’t seeing any doors. Talie frowned, counting out the next twenty paces before she stopped a second time. Looking back, she realised she could no longer make out the emergency locker, even though the airlock was still visible. In an instant, she imagined just how easy it would be for that door to be opened remotely, and just how fast she could be sucked through it.
She scanned the corridor for cameras, and saw no-one.
“Come on, girls. Where are you?”
Again, there was no reply, and her words whispered back to her in the emptiness. Talie stopped, and leant on the wall. She’d found a layer in the ship’s system that she could only think of as the ‘public layer’. She hadn’t needed a password, or to register, but had just tapped in. It was a bit like standing in the middle of a spaceport concourse, or in front of a bank of elevators.
There were signs on the digital doors leading out of the space, but Talie couldn’t read a single one. There were labels above the elevator buttons that were just as incomprehensible—and she had Galbas, Galrus, and Galchin down pat. She stared at her options, at a loss as to what to choose, and then she remembered she was in a ship, and that intent could transcend most barriers.
“I seek my daughters,” she said, willing the space around her to show her Anlin and Sasha’s location.
At first, nothing happened, and Talie wondered if language might be a barrier, here, too. Just when she was about to switch from Galbas to Galchin, one of the ‘concourse’ doors opened.
Talie stared at it, and then dropped out of the digital and into the real. The corridor was still there, but now she could see an end to it. Leaning into her intent, and lacing it with her need for the ship’s assistance, Talie pushed off the wall, and started walking towards the corridor’s end.
“Help me find them. I mean you no harm.”
She didn’t know why she’d added that last bit, but was glad she had. Inside her implant, in the space she’d made around her connection to the ship’s system, she saw a path traced on what looked like a section of floor plan. As much as she wanted to have a closer look at the plan, she didn’t want to press her luck. She just wanted her child and grand-child back—and, even if the ship couldn’t understand the bloodline bond, at least it accepted it.
Talie broke into a jog. She figured it wouldn’t matter, that the airlock was sure to have been monitored, that someone had to be watching, even if she hadn’t seen the camera’s yet. All she could do was go as far as she could before she was stopped.
“Dammit, Sasha. Why couldn’t you have just called me a silly old woman, and walked away?”
“That would surely have been disrespectful, would it not?”
The new voice stopped Talie in her tracks. She turned around, but the corridor behind her, like the corridor ahead, lay empty. She scanned the walls, ceiling and floor, but saw nothing resembling an intercom. The voice persisted, nonetheless.
“Why have you come?”
Talie looked all around, once more, and, once more, saw nothing.
&nb
sp; “Who are you?” she asked, then added, softly, “Where are you?”
“I am Sselesteth, Mother Ship, nurturer of the Sselestine. You are Talie, a human mother of mothers.” The ship paused. “And a protector, as well?”
“I… Don’t all mothers protect their young? How are you understanding me?”
“I understand all those who dwell inside me—and I know that mother’s protect their young, but you protect the nests and young of others, as well. That is what makes you both protector and mother... and, yet, you are not male, in any way that I can tell.”
Not male? Not that it mattered. Talie realised she had stopped, and made herself continue walking. She supposed she, Sasha, and Anlin could be considered to be ‘dwelling’ inside the ship.
“Where are my daughters?”
“They are at the end of the line.”
And if that wasn’t downright evasive, Talie didn’t know what was. She looked at the map on the implant, located the line and her end of it, and resumed walking.
“Are they okay?”
“They are well.”
“Are they talking to you, as I do?”
“They do. We speak of many things.”
“Such as?”
“Your granddaughter is most anxious that I understand the human perspective of what occurred on Capra.”
She was? And just how had the pair of them reached that as a topic of conversation?
“Why?”
“She feels badly that I do not understand it.”
“But why would that matter?”
“Because it was on Capra that our species first met.”
Well, she’d known that.
“And now we have met a second time, and are at war, again,” she told it.
“And, again, it was a human that launched the first offensive,” the ship replied.
Talie wasn’t going to let that stand.
“On Capra, it was your people who first attacked our colonists.”
“My people acted to defend themselves, when they were attacked. We met your colonists as they landed, and asked that they leave.”
Now, Talie understood why Sasha was trying to make the ship see.
“But we scanned the world; it was uninhabited.”
“We were there when your colonists arrived. They believed possession was nine-tenths of the law, save when they were not the ones in possession. They tried possession by primacy of discovery, but our records showed we had been first in that, too. Beaten on all legal fronts, they ordered us to leave. When we did not, they tried to force us to go. Surely, you had known this?”
Talie had not known that, but she had known the colony commander. As much as she wanted to deny the possibility, Sselesteth might actually be telling the truth. As if reading her thoughts, the ship continued.
“We pointed out the error, and asked the colonists to leave in accordance with Coalition Law. The commander called in assistance.” Again, it paused. “You were one of those who came.”
“You drove us out.”
“We fought you to a stand-still, and offered to return your colonists.”
Talie froze.
“You what?”
“We offered to return your colonists—and those who had fought on their behalf.”
Talie stood in the silence that followed, hardly daring to believe it—and wanting to hear more.
“But Commander Collins said…” Talie stopped, tried to control the sudden swirl of emotion, and took a breath. “Commander Collins said there were no survivors, that you had slaughtered them all.”
“That would have been inhumane, and against the treaty we had signed with your Coalition. We tried to return your people, and were refused.”
Shock made Talie dizzy, and she reached a hand to the nearest wall, used the sense of it to steady herself.
“You tried?”
“Yes. Your warriors were not to be blamed for following their orders, and many of your colonists had agreed that they should leave. Most were not complicit in the colony leaders’ attempted genocide. We captured and held them, pending the outcome of the conflict.”
“But… you won, and we were told you killed them all.”
“We killed none of those we took. We placed them in stasis until they could be returned. When our offer was refused, we woke them and offered them a home. Some asked to sleep until they could be reunited with their loved ones.”
Talie leaned against the wall, feeling as though she’d been punched, or gone three rounds with a michondrian. The ship nudged her.
“Please explain your distress.”
“My husband…” she said. “My husband is among the fallen.”
“I can check the records. We left no dead behind. All those we found, living or dead, have records.”
But Talie’s mind had stopped at one word.
“Behind?”
“The human leader had many secrets. Many were the reports he suppressed in the database he failed to destroy before we captured it. This one, however, describes the reason for our relinquishment of Capra.”
Relinquishment?
“You mean you left? All that fighting to stay, and you left?” Talie heard the outrage in her voice, fought to not start screaming, held onto a torrent of angry accusation, and finally managed one more question. “Why?”
“You must read it to understand,” Sselesteth told her, and the report it had delivered to her implant flashed. “Please take your time. I will wait.”
“You could just tell me.”
Talie had no desire to read a report. She had daughters to find.
“You will believe the words in the report far more easily than you will believe mine.”
It didn’t take her long to skim the report. When she was done, there was only one thing she could ask.
“Did you save them?”
“We saved all we could, and left a force to guard them. They gave us a small piece of land for our ‘ambassadors’. We have kept their system free of intrusion for the last two and a half of your Terran decades. When they ask, we will help them advance.”
“But that’s…”
“It is all we can do to atone.”
“But it is forbidden—by Coalition Law,” Talie protested.
“We have permission. Your Commander Collins has been outlawed. We were on our way to Coalition Central to deliver our human cargo when we stopped to ask for assistance, here. Having returned Capra to its rightful inhabitants, our people, my children, are in need of a home.”
“And we turned you away.” Talie remembered the sselestine asking to resupply, and their threat to take what they needed. Capra was a long way away, and even a ship this size could not fly forever. “How low on supplies are you?”
“We have placed all non-essential personnel in stasis,” the ship replied, “but will need to wake enough to guard us when we dock.”
“You can’t dock!”
“I have no option but to try. My people, all my people, will perish if I do not. We expended most of our resources to reach Capra, and the war took almost all our reserves. Your Coalition did not wish to assist us, when first we asked for aid.”
“Then how did you get permission to assist the amphibs to advance? How did you have Collins outlawed?”
“We left Capra, but we persisted in our efforts to find understanding. Someone eventually heard us, and our story was verified. It is why we must visit your Coalition Central. We are the last, and we must find a home.”
It stopped, sadness seeping across their link.
“We sought assistance, not a war—and, now, your Coalition’s aid will be too late.”
And when the Coalition came, the colony would be found in contravention of Coalition law—and more than just Talie’s daughters would be in jeopardy. All her family would suffer, and everyone she knew—for a crime they did not know they’d committed.
“I need access to your comms array,” she said, and allowed the ship to see her intent.
Sh
e had been right. This thing was more than just a ship that she could bend to her will by wishing hard enough. This thing was sentient, like a dragon, or a human psi… or like a Human-Mind-Transfer craft. The HMTs were recognized intelligences, their humanity and sentience agreed on by all but the very, recalcitrant few.
“As it is with my people,” the ship said. “The closest you have come is your HMT, for I was sselestine once, and walked the stars on two legs like the rest.”
For an instant, Talie had the sensation of being shown the ship in a single gesture, and then the vision ended.
“These are the descendants of my children and their mates, all that are left of our clan and its tribes. We are seeking a home.”
And being denied it by all it met. The ship did not say as much, but it was there, in the data behind its words. Talie could glimpse bits and pieces, as though the ship remembered, and could not quite suppress all that passed through its mind.
“I need to speak to Coalition Central,” she said, her daughters momentarily forgotten. “I need them to speak to the colony leadership on your behalf. May I use your comms array?”
“You do not ask if the array will reach that far.”
“I’m assuming that, if you have spoken to them before, then your reach is sufficient. Am I wrong?”
“You are not wrong, but another complication approaches.”
Another complication? Talie waited.
“Commander Collins blames us for his downfall. He pursues us across the stars. He will arrive soon. Your leaders see him as a friend, and are very much mistaken.”
Thinking on what the ship had told her, Talie could see why.
“Let me speak to the colony leadership,” she said. “We will send them the transcripts of your conversation with Central, and the report Collins suppressed, warn them he is not to be trusted.”
“They are guarding against my contact.”
Talie eyed it, inside her head.
“Are you telling me you can’t smash your way through? Broadband your story to every colony comms device in range?”
“I can blanket your world with the truth,” the ship said, “but I am not sure they will believe it.”
The Expanding Universe 4: Space Adventure, Alien Contact, & Military Science Fiction (Science Fiction Anthology) Page 38
