I finished her thought. “-but they don’t check out. Skippy, do you know why ships can’t leave this Roach Motel?”
“We should call it ‘Hotel California’, Joe,” he sniffed. “No, I do not know why ships never return from there.”
“I like the name ‘Roach Motel’ better,” I declared. “Are we talking about a handful of ships, or a lot more?”
“Oh, hundreds, Joe. At least. The first recorded expedition was by the Rindhalu, of course. They tried many, many times to uncover the secrets of that star system. At first, they jumped ships in from far outside the system; typical cautious recon technique. Those ships disappeared, and later, the gamma ray bursts of their inbound jumps were not detected. The Rindhalu knew those ships had jumped into the system successfully, so the lack of gamma rays told them the remote images they had of the system were false. All they could be certain of was the gravity well of the star, and the Rindhalu were able to detect gravity signatures of three gas giant planets. That is all they could be certain of, and they did not know whether the Elders could fake gravity waves. After the initial recon ships disappeared, the Rindhalu tried everything they could think of. They jumped ships first a lightyear away, then closer and closer. Then they sent ships the slow way through normal space, and every time, they got the same results. When ships were between half and a quarter lightyear from the star, they simply disappeared. Probes, even nanotechnology, nothing came back. They even tried hiding probes inside comets and meteors, and sending them into the system. Results were the same; signals were cut off, after the object was between one half to one quarter lightyear from the star. The Rindhalu try again every once in a while; their last attempt to send a ship to the Roach Motel was ninety six thousand years ago. All the major starfaring species have tried, and failed, to recon that system. The last attempt that I know about was a squadron of specialized Thuranin ships from their Advanced Research Directorate, around four hundred years ago. Those ships also were never heard from again. At the time, it was a major scandal that nearly resulted in ARD being folded into their military research group.”
“Why hasn’t everyone given up?” I asked.
“Because if that star system has intact Elder technology, it would be an enormous prize to capture. And because every couple hundred or thousand years, some jackass gets a bright idea of how to succeed where everyone else failed. You biologicals always let your egos get you into trouble. It’s kind of a Catch-22 situation, Joe. Because no one has useful data about what is truly in that star system, no one can design a ship or probe to successfully bring back data.”
“What do we know about it?” I asked. “We must be able to see something there, even with long-range telescopes, right?”
“Uh, no. Joe, a long time ago, the Maxolhx had the genius idea to send ships there, equipped with devices that could temporarily alter the output of the star. Essentially, the Maxolhx planned to use the star to send signals, transmit data. Even if their ships couldn’t get out, the star could provide data to the Maxolhx outside the system. Sort of a complex Morse code, using the outer layer of the star as a transmitter.”
“It didn’t work?” I guessed.
“It didn’t work the way the Maxolhx planned. The star’s output was altered, but the signal was garbled, the results meaningless. To this day, the Maxolhx are trying to decode that signal, hoping there is some meaning buried in it. After that incident, the output of the star had been steady, unnaturally steady. Impossibly steady, actually.”
“Something in that system is controlling an entire star?” I gasped.
“Possibly, Joe. More likely, something in there is using a stealth field to mask the true image of the star. What we see from outside the system is a false image.”
“Holy- they surrounded an entire star in a stealth field?”
“No, Joe. They enveloped the entire star system in a stealth field; one that extends roughly a tenth of a lightyear in radius. Everything we see from outside is a false image.”
“Holy crap. And you think we should just waltz on in there? Mess with something that can cover a star system with a stealth field?”
“Oh, sure, Joe. No problemo. Whatever is going on in that system, it is Elder technology. Even in my currently reduced capacity, I am an Elder AI. I can transmit the identification codes that will grant us access. None of the ships that have become trapped there had Elder ID codes. I expect previous ships are not simply trapped; they were very likely destroyed.”
“Wait.” I waved a hand at his avatar. “You expect us to jump in there, and you, what, tell them not to shoot because we’re friendly?” Hopefully, the expression on my face reflected my disbelief.
“Yes, why? Come on, Joe, trust the awesomeness.”
That remark made me roll my eyes. “Isn’t most of your awesomeness locked away in some dimension of spacetime you can’t access right now?”
“That hurts, Joe. It’s true, I am operating at reduced capacity. But even a tiny part of me contains way more awesomeness than you can imagine. Seriously, don’t worry, I got this.”
Chotek and I shared a look, and for once, I completely agreed with my boss. “There must be another option for getting this Elder thingamabob you need. We’ve searched for other Elder stuff before, and never had to jump into a star system no one ever returns from.”
“Joe, if there was another option, I would have mentioned it. I will admit, I do not know for certain there is a conduit in this star system. What I do know is that I am running out of time, and the ‘Roach Motel’ is the most likely place for me to repair myself.”
“We need time to think about this. How long until you have the jump drive working?”
“It is a miracle I can fix the jump drive at all, Joe; you monkeys seriously screwed it up. Give it another day before our first real jump, to be safe. I can continue running repairs as we travel.”
“One day, then,” I looked at Chotek again, and he nodded.
Despite Skippy’s constant grumbling about how badly screwed up the jump drive was, and how overworked he was, he admitted he was happy enough with the condition of the incredibly complicated equipment. On his advice, we performed a short test jump, then a longer jump. On my order, the longer jump was in the direction toward the wormhole we needed to go through, if we were ultimately intending to jump into the star system Skippy called Hotel California. Both jumps were successful, and Skippy told me he only needed to perform a few small tweaks to the jump drive before it would be fully operational. He did caution me that twenty three percent of our jump coils were junk; they had been damaged beyond repair by our clumsy attempts to jump the ship without him and all the strain we had put the ship through since he awakened.
Hans Chotek and I had assumed we had a full day to make a decision on what to do, but Skippy pressed me to act as soon as possible. Chotek called me into his office. “Colonel Bishop,” he said in a tone implying he couldn’t believe those two words belonged together, “your beer can has been asking me every ten minutes for approval, to send this ship on what could be a one-way trip into this Elder star system.” Whenever Chotek was extra unhappy with Skippy, he was my beer can.
“He has been bugging me about it every five minutes,” I responded. “Jeez, Skippy, you should have named yourself ‘Nagatha’.”
“Nagatha is clearly a female name, Joe, so it wouldn’t apply to me,” Skippy announced as his avatar popped to life on Chotek’s desk.
“Whatever. Do you-”
“See, if I had a name like that, it would be ‘King NAG-ammenon’,” Skippy suggested wistfully. “Or maybe ‘Emperor NAG-ustus Ceasar’. Those are properly regal names for me; they convey the gravitas of my awesomeness. Without being, you know, boastfully tacky.”
“Of course not,” I rolled my eyes.
“Those names wouldn’t work, Joe, because I do not nag. I provide regular reminders of important things you need to pay attention to.”
“Right. It only feels like nagging.”
&
nbsp; “Mister Skippy,” Chotek interrupted with irritation, glaring at Skippy’s avatar. I think Chotek liked it better when our friendly alien AI was a disembodied voice he could attempt to ignore when it suited him. Now, his avatar could appear anywhere, any time, and Skippy demanded attention. “We have been considering alternatives to your plan to send this ship to the, what did you call it?” Chotek scowled as he searched his memory. “Ah yes, ‘Hotel California’. Colonel Bishop, have you developed a list of alternate ideas to restore Skippy to functioning? Or perhaps an alternative location where we might find this ‘conduit’ device?”
“No.” I looked at Skippy to avoid Chotek’s eyes. “Sir, we have to take Skippy’s word about this conduit gizmo he needs, and when he describes it as a ‘conduit’, he’s doing that for our benefit. It’s not actually a thing.”
“It’s not a thing?” Chotek raised an eyebrow.
“Joe is correct,” Skippy acknowledged. “I was describing what I need as a ‘conduit’ to help you visualize the problem, but what I seek is not a physical device. It is a capability, an ability to create connections between this local spacetime and higher phases of spacetime. There are multiple possibilities for me gaining access to the capability I require, because Elder technology made extensive use of connections to higher spacetime phases.”
“Sir, I asked Skippy if there are other places in the galaxy where we might find a ‘conduit’, and he says there are. But those places are much farther away, and several are in territories heavily guarded by advanced species we should not risk becoming involved with. The only place we can go, in the time available before Zero Hour, is this Elder star system Skippy has identified.”
“A star system Skippy admits even he knows nothing about,” Chotek observed. “No ship or probe has ever returned, Skippy has no accurate memories about the place, and the images we see from outside are manipulated through a massive stealth field.”
My boss was a picky, micromanaging pain in the ass. He was also right much of the time. “I agree with your concerns,” I said. “Skippy, I am not loving this plan.”
“The alternative, Joe, is the ship suffering a lingering death after the worm gets me and I shut down permanently.”
I bit my lip. “Ok, now I’m liking your plan better and better.”
“I am only considering a blind jump into this ‘Hotel California’ because it appears we have no other choice,” Chotek concluded.
“That’s the spirit, Chocky!” Skippy said happily. “I knew you had a love for adventure in there somewhere.”
“Skippy,” I asked, “what is the best case scenario?”
“That’s easy, Joe. We jump in, I transmit my ID codes to deactivate whatever is ripping apart ships there. Then I contact the local network, find a conduit, and after we fly close enough, presto! I stomp that worm like a, well, worm. And the old Skippy you know and love is back, baby! Even more magnificent than ever, baby!”
“Great. What are the odds this best case scenario will actually happen?”
“Joe, please. We are the Merry Band of Pirates. The odds that everything will go right are somewhere between ‘you’ve got to be joking’ and ‘fuggedaboutit’. When you make a plan, the universe chuckles and rubs its hands with delight, because it has another golden opportunity to screw with you.”
“Fine,” I knew he was right about that. “What’s the worst case scenario?”
“Oh, there are so, so many worst cases, Joe. I’ll give you a sample of the greatest hits. First, the ship could emerge from our jump as a cloud of subatomic particles, because there could be a severe sheering field covering the entire star system. It- oops, I should explain that a sheering field is local spacetime grid that causes objects embedding in it to be torn apart at right angles. Kind of like the field I use to stop bullets in the Dutchman’s rifle range. A system-wide sheering field would be cool, actually. Although more cool if I could watch it happen to some other ship, of course. That particular scenario is unlikely; maintaining a wide sheering field requires enormous power, and would tear apart any planets in the system. What else? Hmm. Oh, yeah, I’ve got a good one!” He shouted excitedly. “Oooh, you’ll like this. We could-”
“Skippy,” I interrupted. “We don’t need the gory details, please.” I had watched Chotek’s face grow pale, then red with anger. “Ok, we get it. Worst case scenario is the ship is destroyed.”
“Yup,” Skippy was cheery about that prospect. “Or the ship is disabled, and drifts dead in space until the power runs out and all you humans die. I might actually be dead before that, unfortunately. So, no downside.”
“No downside?” Chotek interrupted his angry internal thoughts to express surprise.
I spoke just before Skippy could explain. “He means, Sir, that we’re already certain the ship will fail and the crew will die, whether we go to the Roach Motel or not.” I winced as I used Sergeant Adams’ nickname for the Elder star system. Referring to the place as a device that kills disgusting bugs was not a good way to sell the idea of going there.
“No downside,” Chotek nodded. “Oh,” he sighed, “what the hell. Why not? We both know what is going to happen. We could argue about this until Skippy runs down to Zero Hour, and the decision would still be obvious. When there is no alternative,” he scowled at Skippy, “a terrible idea is the best one. Colonel Bishop, set course for this ‘Hotel California’, or whatever you wish to call it. I know you military people will create a nickname for it, if we didn’t already have one.”
“Yes, Sir.” I was usually happy when Chotek approved a plan, only this wasn’t my plan. It was Skippy’s plan, and Chotek was right. It was a terrible plan. “Skippy told me the jump drive capacitors should be fully charged and checked out in six hours.” With only two reactors, we wanted to have a full charge on the capacitors, because we couldn’t recharge them as quickly as we used to. After he awakened, Skippy suggested we keep the damaged reactor offline, and use its functional components as spares for the other two reactors. The good news was, with some of the materials we didn’t need, Skippy was manufacturing ship-killer missiles to partly replenish our depleted supply. “If we jump toward the first wormhole tomorrow morning, Skippy, how long until we approach the Elder system?”
“Nineteen days, Joe. The first wormhole we go through will take us most of the way there, it’s a long transition, far past our destination, actually. The second wormhole will take us backwards a bit to get there, but that is the shortest and fastest route from here to Hotel California. We will come through the second wormhole eleven days from tomorrow; then it will be eight days of jumping by ourselves to reach our destination. There is a wormhole much closer to our destination, but, it’s dormant, and, you know, I can’t screw with wormholes like I used to. After I fix myself, I could reopen that dormant wormhole on our return trip.”
“Six hours.” Chotek declared. Then his scowl turned to a smile. “Colonel Bishop, this means you have nineteen days to think up an alternative to jumping the ship into the unknown.”
“I’ll do my best, Sir.” Great, I thought. No pressure on me.
We went through both wormholes without incident. The first wormhole did not get a lot of traffic, its two ends were six thousand lightyears apart so it was convenient for long-distance travel, but its two ends were actually too far apart. The far end of that wormhole was deep in Bosphuraq territory, and there wasn’t a lot of ships traveling between space controlled by the Thuranin and Bosphuraq. Those two species, roughly equivalent in technology and clients of the Maxolhx, hated each other and had as little contact as they could. So, that particular wormhole didn’t get used often, plus the end in Bosphuraq territory was in a region with very few habitable planets. The result was the Flying Dutchman came through the first wormhole to find space there absolutely empty. Without Skippy’s special awesome abilities, we had to rely on the ship’s slow and inadequate sensors to confirm there were no enemy ships waiting to attack us. As soon as the drive coils were ready, we jumped away
almost randomly, simply to clear the area and make us less of a target. Then we jumped again as soon as possible, just in case someone was on our tail.
The second wormhole took us back toward the Roach Motel, and this wormhole saw even less traffic. On the near end, that wormhole was seventeen lights years from the only habitable star system within thirty lightyears, and that habitable star system had another more convenient wormhole only five lightyears away. On the far end of the second wormhole, there was the Roach Motel, and pretty much nothing else. When we emerged from the second wormhole, Skippy confirmed the closest other wormhole was eighty seven lightyears away. There were only two star systems within a hundred lightyears that were not boring, useless brown or red dwarfs; a blue giant star, and the Roach Motel. According to Skippy, the Class-O blue giant was older than it could possibly have been without burning out, and it was rotating much too slowly. Skippy concluded the Elders must have screwed with that star somehow, somehow altering its rotation and stretching out its lifespan. If we have not been on a clock ticking down to Zero Hour, Skippy would have wanted us to fly over to that blue giant an examine it closely.
Since we were unquestionably on a deadline, we jumped directly toward the Roach Motel which was a Class-K orange dwarf star, if that means anything to you. It didn’t mean anything to me either. I could have looked up the info on my tablet, but doing that would not give Skippy an opportunity to make fun of my ignorance. With him worrying about his diminished awesomeness and the worm that was trying to kill him, I figured he could use a good chuckle. Besides, while our two remaining reactors were straining to recharge the jump drive coils, there wasn’t much for me to do, and I was bored. Laying in my bunk, I had been trying to read a book, but found I couldn’t concentrate. One of the reasons I was not able to let myself relax and enjoy a leisure-time activity was the air vent above my too-small bunk. Air used to whisper steadily out of that vent, without me ever noticing. Now that we only had two functioning reactors, Skippy was conserving power by cycling the air ventilation system on and off. The breeze was still gentle, and the sound barely above a whisper, but when the air cycled on, I felt it on my face, and realized the air had not been blowing earlier. That reminded me of our dire situation, and that prevented me from relaxing enough to read for enjoyment. “Skippy, can you explain what is an ‘orange dwarf’star? I know Earth’s sun is a yellow dwarf.”
Zero Hour (Expeditionary Force Book 5) Page 18
