Star Wolf (Shattered Galaxy)

by David G. Johnson

  “I just can’t get my head around this,” John confessed. “A mercenary captain drops half a ship’s worth of loot on a single crew member just because he is feeling magnanimous? I don’t know many Faithful that would do something like that, even though by the Lion we are supposed to.”

  “That’s what you are not seeing, Doc. This isn’t just a crew, it’s a family.”

  “A family?” John asked.

  “Yeah, that’s right, a family. In four years you know how many crew members have left Star Wolf? I’m not talking about casualties or the occasional treacherous slagger that had to be spaced out an airlock, I’m talking about ship-jumpers voluntarily moving on. Guess how many.”

  “I have no idea,” John replied. “From your tone, I suppose it’s a low number. Maybe twenty or thirty?”

  “Zero.”

  “Zero?” John asked, puzzling through the implications. “I’m sorry I have been a grounder most of my life and know little about ship crews. I take it this is unusual?”

  “Unusual? Try impossible. Look, mercs jump billets all the time, it’s part of life. This one pays better, that one is going somewhere I want to go, my girl wants me home, family duties call, whatever. There are thousands of reasons mercs leave ships, and not all of them negative. On average, an independent captain can expect fifteen to twenty percent turnover per year. Well-paying and successful captains might get it down to ten percent.”

  “And you are saying nobody has voluntarily left Star Wolf in four years?”

  “Yep,” Dub nodded. “So what does that tell you, Doc?”

  “It tells me something,” John said, rubbing his chin. “I’m just not sure what.”

  Dub stood from his seat and wandered over to a large wall of readouts and engineering controls that had just started beeping and flashing with yellow lights. Dub appeared unperturbed as he went to address whatever had just happened.

  “When you figure it out, then you will understand a bit more about Cap Hawkins. When you embrace it, you will know you are home.”

  John watched a serpentine umbilical extend from Dub’s right glove hand and jack into one of the engineering panels as he input commands into the console with his left.

  “Hey,” John interjected. “I didn’t notice that feature before. Is that some kind of data jack?”

  Dub glanced back over his shoulder and grinned at John.

  “This?” he said, pointing at the umbilical with his left hand. “Yeah, sort of. It is called a NID, Neural Interface Device. Mechers use them to interface with rigs to remotely control machines.”

  “Mechers?” John asked, racking his brain to dig out anything from his time in the high-tech Sarren system to give him a frame of reference for the term but coming up empty.

  “Gosh, Doc, you are a hermit-worlder. Mechers are also known as riggers because of the control rigs they use. Maybe you’ve heard that word.”

  John nodded even though he hadn’t really. A vague memory tickled at the back of his mind of one of the tour guide drivers back on the Sarren main world who had driven without using his hands. John remembered being somewhat unsettled but the driver had assured him the vehicle was ‘rigged’ for it. John had assumed the vehicle was computer controlled, as were many on Sarren, but maybe this was what the driver meant by ‘rigged’.

  “We, meaning mechers or riggers as you like,” Dub continued, “have cybernetic implants that allow us to remotely control vehicles and machines via a control rig. The rig converts our own biomechanical signals into a frequency and form which the remote vehicles or drones are set up to receive.”

  “So the rig acts like a biological to mechanical translator of sorts?”

  Dub rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment before responding.

  “Yeah,” Dub concluded. “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “But you are plugging right into the ship. Where is your rig?”

  “For a hermit-worlder, you catch on quick, Doc. There might be hope for you yet. This panel has a rig built in. This is one of several control interfaces I installed throughout the ship to allow me to remotely control my engineering drones. I use them to get into all the hard-to-reach places for cleaning and maintenance. That little alarm was a reminder that the ventilation systems are due for routine cleaning and anti-bacterial sanitization.”

  John thought back to what he had noticed at the base of Twitch’s skull. This seemed as good a way to assuage his curiosity without giving offense.

  “So, Dub, I saw a data jack on Twitch’s neck. Is she a mecher too?”

  Dub grinned widely.

  “Nope, Twitch has a decker augment, but she’s not really a proper decker. She’s just ‘decked out’ like one,” Dub said, before laughing at his own pun.

  “Decker, mecher, enough with the slang. Can you put things in plain speech?” John laughed, feeling more than a little out of his league with technology so far beyond what was found on Tede. “She interefaces with machines, doesn’t she? What is the difference?”

  “Well, sort of. Her implant is called a CID, Cerebral Interface Device. She doesn’t interface with a rig controlling drones or vehicles. Instead, she is actually able to enter directly into a computer system and interact at the speed of thought. Whoever built Star Wolf had a love for tech and no qualms about an augmented crew. There are CID interface remotes on every system on the bridge, and quite a few others throughout the ship. Most go unused right now since Twitch is one of the few current crewmen with a CID implant.”

  “So how is her implant different than yours? Aren’t you issuing commands directly from your brain to the drones?”

  “Sorry, Doc,” Dub said, his mouth twisting even more out of shape than usual as the engineer tried to think of a way to explain. “This is a little like you trying to discuss an appendectomy with a mechanic.”

  “Ah, different vocational vocabularies. I see.”

  “Let me explain it this way,” Dub continued. “Have you ever played with a remote control car? Surely they have those even on a TL6 world like Tede.”

  “Yes,” John said, biting back his irritation. “We are hermit-worlders, not Neanderthals.”

  “Okay, well my interface, when attached to a control rig, kind of works like an RC car controller. I’m giving commands but I’m just sending them right from my nerve interfaces, freeing up my hands for other things. It is not really any faster than using a remote control. Deckers are a whole other matter.”

  “How so?”

  “Deckers are the evolution of historical computer hackers. As computer systems got more advanced, and AIs started to really develop, anti-intrusion software advanced, so that some guy trying to hack into a computer system with a keyboard and a few worm programs didn’t stand a chance. As cyber-security evolved, so did the hackers.

  “A group of whiz kids developed something called a cyberdeck. It’s basically a portable box containing a virtual reality environment that deckers use to hack computer systems. Via a CID wired directly into their brain, they plug into the cyberdeck, and then jack the cyberdeck into a computer system. The cyberdeck takes the actions of the computer system’s anti-intrusion programs, the data files it contains, and the thoughts of the decker, using them to create a virtual, 3D environment that a human mind can relate to. The commands from the decker’s brain operate at the speed of thought in this cyberdeck space, and deckers are able to exist in cyberspace as if they were walking around inside the computer systems.”

  “So what does that have to do with Twitch and Star Wolf’s system interfaces? Is there a cyberdeck built into the ship’s systems?”

  “Not exactly. With the right interfaces, CIDs can be used like a rig on steroids. Star Wolf’s CID stations can accept either manual inputs or take the commands directly from the mind of the operator via a CID. Twitch is the only pilot aboard who controls this bird at the speed of thought.”

  John thought back to the technology regulations he was aware of. Technological prosthetics were considered q
uite different than augmentation. Prosthetics that simply replaced normal human functions were widely accepted. Cybernetics that allowed humans to function far beyond normal human abilities were more restricted even on high-tech worlds, and were banned outright on planets like Tede.

  There was still a lot of debate about data jacks given the potential for abuse as a drug replacement on high TL worlds. “Enhanced Reality” parlors offering programs which submerged the customers into a virtual reality world of pleasure stimulation for as long as their credits held out had become the modern equivalent of opium dens. Reports of ER junkies dying from malnutrition or dehydration while jacked into an Enhanced Reality station were widely publicized and were the focus of the argument against data jack augmentation.

  “So how many augmented crewmen are there aboard Star Wolf?”

  “Got a problem with augments, Doc?” Dub said, adopting a much less congenial demeanor than they had been enjoying.

  “I mean no offense, Dub. I understand your hands to be within the realm of cybernetic prosthetics, although the built-in NID clouds the issue. During my medical training however, I came to understand that with cybernetic augmentation there is a danger of cyberpsychosis manifesting in the augmented individual.”

  Dub shook his head and raised his voice slightly. John didn’t sense Dub was angry, but he was clearly perturbed.

  “Cyberpsychosis only happens when somebody gets implants out the wazoo, enhancing function way beyond human norms. Also it is far more common with people using sub-cute augments that can’t be clearly observed externally.”

  “I do recall the cyberpsychosis rate being much higher with extensive sub-cutaneous augments,” John admitted, “now that you mention it.”

  “That’s because sub-cute auggers jack around with their own perceptions of themselves. Their mind no longer knows if they are man or machine. A few augments here and there, especially ones as common and externally conspicuous as NIDs and CIDs, don’t create cyberpsychos.”

  “I’m sorry, Dub. You are right,” John said, once again mentally kicking himself for letting his hermit-world preconceptions get in the way of fitting in with Star Wolf’s crew. “It is just I have had to process quite a few changes since I came aboard.”

  Dub visibly calmed and the jovial grin once again graced his large, mutated smile.

  “Apology accepted, Doc. To answer your question, we have a couple of other augments with CIDs, one of the sensor operators and a heavy infantry marine who jacks into his mechanized armor. Beyond any gizmos that might be in the crew’s medical records, I think we four are the only cyborg threats to the existence of humankind aboard right now.”

  John laughed.

  “Okay, okay, I guess I deserved that. I clearly have a lot of adjusting to do. I appreciate your patience with my learning curve.”

  “Null sweat, Doc. You’ll get used to it. Honestly, high-tech worlds are few and far between. We see a lot more backwater rocks like Tede than we do places where mechers and deckers abound. We ever make it to a techno-paradise, I’ll have to get you drunk and see what kind of implants we can fix you with before you sober up.”

  John hoped Dub was joking, but a devilish glint in the malmorph’s eye was enough to make John wonder. Still, best to play it off for now and not risk what had been a good session of friend-making thus far.

  “That’s a good reminder not to go drinking with you, Dub,” John chided as he stood to leave. “Take care of yourself and let me know when you have that datacube reader put together.”

  “You got it, Doc.”

  John patted Dub on the shoulder, thanked him for the talk, and made his way toward his quarters. He had quite a bit to chew on. Digging deeper into Elena’s research was a priority, not only to possibly help Dub, but possibly uncovering answers as to why so many were willing to go to such lengths to get it. There was also the generosity of Star Wolf’s captain to ponder. Molon’s ability to inspire such incredible loyalty was like nothing John had ever seen. What had he signed up for?

  Ten – Firefight

  Molon strode onto Star Wolf’s bridge. Twitch was at the helm, her CID interface jacked in and blinking furiously. With the exception of Dub, who Molon wanted in the engine room in case anything went wrong, the most experienced senior officers for each station would be manning the bridge for this transition out of voidspace.

  Voidspace was in effect another dimension. It could not be entered and exited at will, but rather the voidspace drives were tuned to utilize points of connection between voidspace and real space called jump points. They were basically places where the two dimensions drew together, figuratively at least, and the barrier that separated the two was porous enough to cross. These places, called VEPs or voidspace entry points, were fixed places in real space. Since the discovery of the first VS drive, Humaniti had been mapping these VEPs.

  The voidspace drive also utilized the unique, malleable nature of voidspace, which could be manipulated to fold together upon itself, effectively negating the concept of distance. Those anchor points within voidspace, pulled together in a certain order, allowed ships with VS drives to enter voidspace at one VEP, and exit at another, which might be a vast distance from the entry point, without having to cross the real space distance in between. Only a small fraction of these VEPs had been mapped, along with the calculations tying them to other fixed and recorded VEPs.

  These mapped and recorded routes had been assembled into a huge shared database that Humaniti used to connect its vast empire. Ships willing to experiment might enter an unmapped VEP and grab available anchor points, exiting from another unmapped VEP elsewhere. Sometimes this dumped a ship into the middle of nowhere, but other times this led to the discovery of rabbit trails, shortcuts through voidspace to nearby star systems.

  Their path from Hatacks to Ratuen was just such a rabbit trail. Their arrival point in Hatacks from Tede, however, was fixed and mapped as a standard VS route. If someone was planning to ambush a ship jumping from the Theocracy border system of Tede into the Dawnstar-controlled Hatacks system, this is where they would be waiting.

  “Captain,” announced Lieutenant Marie “Warbird” Warberg, currently manning the astrogation station. “Voidspace transition in three minutes.”

  Molon’s command officers were the top five in Star Wolf’s chain of command. Warbird was sixth right after Mel, so not technically a command officer, but without doubt capable of assuming the captain’s seat if needed. She had served with the Empire Navy and had been one of Molon’s earliest recruits.

  The starboard forward door opened, and in walked Dr. John Salzmann.

  “Captain,” John said, nodding a greeting.

  “Couldn’t take the suspense?” Molon asked.

  “Mel let me know we were about to enter Hatacks. Word is if we are going to hit trouble anywhere this side of Ratuen, it’ll be here.”

  “That’s about the size of it, Doc,” Molon replied. “Warbird, how long from transition until we can get to the rabbit trail VEP to Ratuen?”

  “Just a hair shy of forty minutes, captain. It is very close.”

  Molon growled under his breath.

  “Forty minutes is a long time in enemy space with our tail flapping in the breeze, lieutenant. Have that course queued up and drop it in as soon as we complete transition.”

  “Aye, sir. I’ll shave the time as close as I can.”

  “Twitch, punch it the microsecond we clear the VEP and beeline for that rabbit hole.”

  “Aw, and I was thinking I might do a few barrel rolls, loop-de-loops, and laps around the nearest star first.” Twitch snarked.

  Molon ignored her quip and tapped at the communication panel on the arm of the captain’s chair.

  “Bridge to engineering. Dub, you there?”

  “Aye, Cap,” came the reply across the comms. “Whatcha need?”

  “As soon as we read all green post- transition, push those engines to the red. My hackles are up on this one, and I want the trip to the
rabbit trail VEP to be the shortest forty minutes in history.”

  “Already on it, Cap. I might get you to thirty-two if I can keep from blowing the ship up or having anything critical fall off in the process.”

  Molon couldn’t help but smile. Dub knew this ship like no one else. There wasn’t a person in the galaxy he’d rather have in the engine room.

  “You know where we keep the glue if you need it, Dub. Bridge out,” Molon said, as he closed the comm channel.

  Molon turned to face Peter “Boom-Boom” Trang, currently manning the bridge engineering station. After Dub, Peter was the senior engineer aboard.

  “Boom-Boom,” Molon said, addressing him.

  “Yes, captain?”

  “Watch those engine load readings. Once Dub takes us hyper-hot, you let me know if anything even hints of trouble. The last thing we need on this run is to blow an engine.”

  “Aye, captain,” Boom-Boom responded, turning his attention fully to the array of panels in front of him displaying every aspect of the ship’s engine and energy functionality.

  “Dub was joking about the blowing up part,” John asked, having turned a slight green. “Wasn’t he?”

  “Probably,” Molon answered, fighting to hold back a grin.

  He liked John. Whatever happened after this mission, he hoped the doctor would decide to stay aboard. It was a refreshing change to have a civilian around.

  “Starrrting transition,” Twitch announced.

  The slight slur in her speech and her hands resting motionless on the console in front of her told Molon that she was more than halfway on the cyber-side of her interface with Star Wolf’s helm controls. As of now, every movement of the ship was being controlled directly from her CID.

  “Put it onscreen.”

  Mel accessed the vid screen controls on her comm panel and the forward wall of the bridge came to life with light. The swirling colors of voidspace appeared, having already begun to align, signaling that transition was imminent.