Humal Sequence 1: A Breath of Hope

by Robert Taylor

  “There’s a ship around it!” Lewis called. All eyes turned to her.

  “It can’t be a ship,” Hamilton argued. “It’s far too big.”

  “It’s definitely artificial.” She said.

  “Agreed.” Hamilton fiddled with the controls. “I make it about….Shit! Over a hundred thousand tons!”

  Suddenly, the Hope’s Breath didn’t seem so powerful.

  “Analysis?” Vogerian ordered.

  “We’re too far for any more detailed study.” Lewis grumbled. “But it has got some power.”

  Hamilton nodded. “Not much for something of that size, though. Probably life-support only.”

  “That’s a dangerous assumption.” Lewis scowled.

  “It wasn’t an assumption. Just a guess.”

  “ETA, O’Won?” Vogerian demanded.

  The pilot scowled at his controls, without turning around. “Several hours. It is a long way.”

  “Full acceleration.” Vogerian ordered.

  Veltin nodded. “Full acceleration it is.”

  The ship lurched forward, all six engine ports blazing with power.

  Hamilton returned to his studies of the surrounding area. There was no indication that the shuttle was around, so he could only assume that it had made it to the planet, or to the other vessel.

  He knew that little would happen during the next few hours but he was unable to leave the bridge to get any rest. He needed a couple more men. Unfortunately, apart from Jones and Klane, there was nobody whom he felt sure enough of to bring on board his team. The only one he felt might be safe was Johnson, and she hardly struck him as the sort to shoot someone who got out of line.

  He settled himself in for a long stay by propping his head up on one hand and promptly closing his eyes. He had never been able to sleep with his eyes open, a talent which he envied, so had to hide his face from the others. They weren’t to know if he was awake or asleep. It appeared as if he was studying the console intently. If they addressed him he would respond with something. That was a talent he did have. That of answering people whilst unconscious. Unfortunately, not all of his replies were likely to be of a civil nature or to bear any relation to what he was asked.

  It took some time before he drifted off to a half sleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Lewis’ excited cries awoke him from his slumbers. He stared around, uncertain as to what was happening.

  “It’s definitely a station of some sort.” Lewis was muttering excitedly.

  Hamilton turned to his console and rapidly watched the data flowing across it.

  During his nap, the ship had closed to within a million kilometres of the planet and the sensor data was far more accurate and complete, now.

  The object orbiting the planet was undoubtedly a station of some sort. There were no large engine ports or other visible means of propulsion. There did, however, appear to be smaller thruster jets used, almost certainly, to adjust the station’s orbit. Hamilton’s console, of a more military nature than the general sensor console, was quick to spot the bristling armament the station was endowed with. Fortunately, the entire structure, like the Morebaeus, appeared to be powered down.

  “What’s your evaluation, Mr. Hamilton?” Vogerian inquired.

  Hamilton noted that he was still hunched forward in his seat, seemingly as eager as ever. “It’s a station alright,” He agreed with Lewis’ opinion. She sneered at him. “But a heavily armed one.”

  Heads turned on the bridge.

  “Luckily, the entire structure seems to have been put on hold. Only low power readings.”

  “And the planet?” Vogerian inquired of Lewis.

  She shrugged. “Standard atmosphere mix, nitrogen and oxygen in acceptable quantities. Ample evidence of advanced plant and animal life. It’s ….”

  “Advanced?” Puckett looked alarmed.

  She scowled at his interruption. “Advanced as compared to plankton, bubble-brain.”

  Puckett looked away.

  “It’s a real picnic spot, apparently.” She continued. “No evidence of any civilisation, though. I would have thought that there’d be more signs of buildings, ruins, anything, if this was the Humal homeworld.” An edge of suspicion tinged her voice.

  “Perhaps,” Vogerian offered. “They lived underground. That would explain the lack of signs of their habitation.”

  Very conveniently explained, Hamilton thought. He noted that Lewis looked unconvinced also. He decided to make things easier for Vogerian.

  “I note from my scans that a heavy proportion of the planet is tropical or sub-tropical. It could be that the vegetation has destroyed or covered the Humal dwellings.”

  Lewis scowled at him, but Vogerian jumped on the suggestion.

  “Yes!,” He nodded. “That must be it! After all, our Humal artefacts have been dated at over a thousand years. That’s ample time for the undergrowth to overcome the trappings of civilisation. Yes! That must be the reason!”

  Lewis rolled her eyes in disgust and returned to her scanning. Everyone was silent for a time, considering what they had found. Hamilton commenced a detailed sweep of the planet’s surface. He was hunting for the Morebaeus’ shuttle. His earlier scan of the station hadn’t revealed it docked there so they must have either made straight for the planet or visited the station, found nothing of use there, then headed down to the planet’s surface. So far his scan revealed nothing but jungle and wildlife.

  The Hope’s Breath closed rapidly with the planet and its orbiting station. Hamilton checked in with his companions.

  In the rec room, Klane sat watching the jury-rigged screen with her charges, Charlton and Dyzwiecki and LeGault. Everything was quiet as far as she knew.

  Jones, in the engine room with Tong, McDonald and Simmonds, reported nothing unusual from his collection of bugs.

  On the bridge, all eyes were fixed on the screens showing the approaching planet and station. All eyes, that was, except Hamilton’s. He kept his eyes on all the bridge crew. The sensors continued to scan the planet below, but had turned up nothing yet.

  Vogerian cleared his throat, an act which instantly drew everyone’s attention.

  “I take it no life signs have been detected on the station?” He inquired.

  Hamilton and Lewis both shook their heads.

  “And the planet indicates no sentient life?” He continued.

  Again, the pair on sensors indicated in the negative.

  Vogerian nodded thoughtfully. “Then we must consider the matter of landing-parties. One to the station and one to the planet.”

  Hamilton narrowed his eyes and tried to watch everyone’s reaction at once. Most showed hopeful expectation. Only Carl and Walsh remained impassive.

  “In view of our recent tragedy,” Vogerian continued. “I believe we cannot leave too few people behind on the Hope’s Breath, in case our uninvited guest decides to make another appearance.”

  There were nervous looks from most of the crew.

  “In view of this fact, I believe that nine of us should stay aboard, whilst five each make the exploratory journeys to the station and planet. The decision of who should go and stay I will leave to Mr. Hamilton.”

  Hamilton frowned. He’d been about to suggest the very same notion himself. Vogerian’s pre-empting concerned him. It was as if he was shifting the blame for any misfortune that should occur onto Hamilton.

  “I was about to suggest that course of action myself.” He said. “Alright, who wants to go down to the planet?”

  Nobody answered. Not surprising, he thought. There was nothing on the planet, as yet. He quickly checked the scan for evidence of something, anything. It was clean.

  “OK.” He continued who wants to stay aboard?”

  He’d expected a similar response to this question but was surprised, and worried, when Vogerian raised his voice.

  “I will stay behind,” He offered. “I don’t seem to take to shuttles well, in any case.”

  Hamilton re
membered the man’s paleness during the trip up from ground to orbit during the earliest part of their journey. “Anyone else?”

  “I’ll stay, of course.” Carl growled. It was the most that many of them had heard him say.

  Hamilton waited a few moments before asking. “And who wants to go to the station?”

  A chorus of “Me!” and “I’ll go!” greeted him. He had expected this. The asking was mostly academic anyhow. He decided who would go or not. He merely asked to see who was enthusiastic. Apparently all were.

  He thought it out for a few moments. “OK. Here’s the deal. We send one shuttle to the station. It reports, then returns. We’ll see about the planet later.”

  There were frowns and shrugs as the crew digested this. Most of them wondered why only one mission would be undertaken at once.

  Hamilton had decided that Vogerian had been too eager to assign the choice to him. That meant he wanted Hamilton to overlook something. So far, all Hamilton could think that that was, was the fact that two missions at once were twice as likely to go wrong. Vogerian wanted two missions. Hamilton was only going to give him one.

  “As to who’s going, well, I think we can fill a shuttle up. That’s eight people. That’ll leave eleven here. They should be sufficient to deal with any problem.”

  “And who are those eight to be?” Vogerian didn’t question his choice of only one mission.

  Hamilton considered his choice briefly. He’d mostly already decided. “Puckett and LeGault will be pilot and co-pilot.”

  Puckett’s eyes glowed with triumph over Veltin, who started protesting about how he was more qualified. Hamilton shut him up and continued. “I’ll go, to keep an eye on things and Charlton’ll take care of any injuries. In addition, we’ll take Johnson and McDonald for scientific analysis.”

  Johnson beamed at him.

  “Also, Simmonds in case we need any engineering expertise and you, Lewis.”

  Lewis raised her eyebrows in surprise, certain that she was not to be picked. “Can’t get enough of me, huh Hamilton?” She quipped.

  He smiled. “Just keeping you where I can see you.” Seemingly scratching his nose, he passed her the Corp signal for possible danger.

  She scowled and seemed about to say something but decided to keep quiet.

  “In view of her rather fiery temperament,” Vogerian began. “Don’t you think you’d be better off with someone a little calmer, such as, Walsh, for example?”

  Hamilton was not slow to note the quickness with which Walsh stepped forward, smiling optimistically.

  “I don’t think so. Sorry Walsh, maybe next time.”

  Walsh shrugged fatalistically, then returned to his console.

  Hamilton tapped his headset mike. “Jones, you read me?”

  “Sure.” Jones sounded bored.

  “Escort your charges to the rec-room.”

  “What’s happening?” The black man demanded.

  “Some of us are going on a little trip.”

  It took some fancy shuffling around to get everyone shifted to their new positions without the security team losing sight of someone. Finally, however, and with much complaining from those being moved around, the switching was complete.

  During this time, the Hope’s Breath closed quickly on the planet and was put in orbit around it by the ebullient Veltin. They then matched orbit and velocity with the station, closing to within a thousand kilometres. Detailed scans revealed nothing new about the structure, save that had numerous docking ports and hangar areas. Some of the latter bays were open, though no ships could be detected within. One of these bays was chosen as the shuttle’s landing point. Once there, they would try to find an airlock and gain access to the structure. It had already been determined that, though gravity was present on the station to a small extent, there was no atmosphere, no breathable air. They’d all have to suit up to go aboard.

  Hamilton’s continuing scan of the planet had still revealed nothing of interest. He left it to continue its work by itself.

  Hamilton stood in the Hope’s Breath hangar deck with the landing party. Perhaps, he reminded himself, it was more apt to call them the boarding party, since they were going across to another vessel. He wore his armour and three pistols as was usual under the current circumstances, but he had also decided to bring the plasma rifle along. This last was a concession he was more than prepared to make to the dangers they might encounter on the station. He was quite certain that, whatever they found, it wouldn’t be what they expected. He still wore his headset for communications but it had been enhanced by a belt pouch booster to increase its range.

  Jones had been dispatched to the bridge console to take Hamilton’s position. Hamilton left it to Klane to decide who’d be on the bridge and who’d be in the rec area. The engineering section was to be left unmanned. It could be monitored from the bridge, in any case.

  The other members of the party had gathered their gear one by one, under the watchful eye of Klane or Hamilton. As if this wasn’t irritating enough for the crew, Hamilton had then insisted on searching their equipment. At first indignant, it nevertheless planted the seed in their minds that someone among them might not be whom he seemed and they gave each other nervous glances.

  Puckett and LeGault were eager to get going but Hamilton ordered them back until he had checked over the shuttle for explosives or other, less pleasant surprises. It was clean, though, and soon the duo were running system checks in the small cockpit. The others were kept outside until they were ready and then allowed to board.

  In comparison to the survey launch, the Hope’s Breath shuttle was luxurious. Although it still carried only eight people seated, Hamilton was fairly certain another six could have been squeezed in along the aisle and in the baggage area by the rear entry hatch. The seats were more than generous enough for even the widest person, though leg-room, as always, left a lot to be desired.

  Stowing their gear at the back, the six passengers began to seat themselves. Not unnaturally, nobody wanted to sit next to the volatile Lewis. Hamilton himself had hoped to sit next to Johnson, but Charlton had been swift to seize that opportunity. Reluctantly, Hamilton dropped into the seat next to Lewis.

  “What’s going on Hamilton?” she demanded quietly, even before he’d made himself comfortable.

  He shrugged. There seemed little point in hiding much from her. Perhaps he could enlist her on his side? “I think we’re being set-up.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “By who?”

  Hamilton was uncertain of how much to tell her. The last thing he needed right now was her blurting out his suspicions to everyone on the ship. “I’m not sure yet, possibly Vogerian. There’s definitely something going on that we know nothing about.”

  “No shit!” She sneered.

  Hamilton scowled at her. “I just haven’t figured it out yet. I will, soon.”

  “We’ll probably all be dead by then.” She muttered sarcastically.

  “I don’t need you stirring the pot, that’s all.” Hamilton told her.

  She curled her lip in derision. “You ought to know by now Hamilton, I do what I want.”

  “Don’t become a part of the problem, Lewis.” he warned, inwardly cursing himself for being drawn into another posturing match.

  “We’ll see.” she said, smirking.

  The shuttle gave a lurch just then. Whilst they had been talking the engines had been fired up and the hangar deck evacuated of air. Hamilton leaned out into the aisle and stared forward, through to the pilot’s area and out past the viewports.

  The huge bay doors were slowly opening before them.

  This is it, he thought. If ever there’s a time for our assailant to make his move, it’s now. The old proverb came to his mind; While the cat’s away, the mice will play. Only this time, he told himself, it was the mice that were going away and a very dangerous cat that was left to play.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The trip to the station was, to say the least, uneventful. A th
ousand kilometres was a long way, even to a powerful shuttle such as they were in. Although the trip took only an hour or so, the passengers grew bored rapidly.

  Hamilton spent the time ignoring Lewis, and she, him. The others chatted amongst themselves for a while, then grew silent. The thought of their destination occupyied their minds. Each was imagining what it would be like.

  Puckett and LeGault concentrated on their duties with admirable professionalism. Hamilton would have expected even the most jaded pilot to stop their work and gape at the monstrous station they approached.

  It was classically designed. A torus surrounding a central spine. The torus rotated very slowly, though the spine remained almost motionless. The whole structure was spinning faintly. Hamilton took that as a sign of age. The spine protruded from both sides of the torus, offering docking facilities at one end and an impressive array of antennae and transmission dishes at the other.

  Hamilton, peering through the tiny porthole he sat next to, observed that many of the dishes pointed off into space. No doubt they were some kind of DST, he thought, akin to their own Stellarnet. The others seemed to point downward towards the planet, causing him to ponder whether indeed it was as dead as it appeared.

  The station grew larger and larger as they approached, finally filling everyone’s view. Puckett gently manoeuvred the shuttle around to their target hangar, in the spine. Up close, they could see how the spine itself was massive. The cluster of four docking bays they approached turned out to be a cluster of four huge bays and myriads of smaller ones. There was no sign of power anywhere. In addition to the bays, Hamilton noted the weaponry emplacements dotted all over both the torus and the spine. The thing had enough firepower to fry the Hope’s Breath, of that he was certain.

  Puckett slowed the shuttle as they approached their hangar. LeGault scanned the interior with the shuttles limited sensors.