The Admiral terminated the channel abruptly, and the conference room fell silent. Drexler let out a breath and sat with his thoughts. The meeting went far better than he expected. Luthra seemed to play right into Drexler’s narrative, but Drexler was wary. He’d played to the man’s obviously outsized ego to great effect. He also placed a solid check in Luthra’s path by bringing up the refugees. Drexler was also certain that he set a firm tone that was sufficiently vague and noncommittal.
Drexler felt eyes on him from across the conference table. An old woman stared at him with nearly black, unblinking eyes that seemed to bore straight into him. The eyes caught him by surprise. The right corner of the old woman’s mouth turned up, and she gave Drexler a curt nod, which he returned. He recalled her name as Mother Parveen, Margaret’s mother-in-law.
“That was extremely skillful,” Abhay said.
“Flattery,” Drexler said, “will get you everywhere. I am a complete sucker for it.”
Abhay laughed in spite of himself, and Margaret punched Drexler’s shoulder.
“I must agree,” the Persian Ambassador said. “You sounded like a trained diplomat.”
“Business in the Trades is not that much different than Interstellar Diplomacy,” Drexler replied. “It’s just about listening to what people want, and trying to either supply it or deny it.”
“Apt,” Babak replied. “And I take it you intend to deny the Admiral’s wants in this case.”
“Oh, no,” Drexler replied. “A man like our Admiral Luthra is not to be denied. I aim to give him exactly what he wants, and more.”
Mother Parveen did not remove her eyes from Drexler. The room fell silent. Drexler did not feel the need to explain himself further. He preferred to demonstrate his plans.
“Comm,” Drexler subvocalized. “Connect me with Darzi.” To the group, Drexler said aloud “But we will have time to discuss this all later. I have some business to attend, as I’m sure you all do, given the arrival of New Detroit. The ship doesn’t have much in the way of amenities, but you are welcome to our mess hall. Our Chief of Nutrition would be thrilled to have you.”
Everyone agreed, and the group broke up and went its separate ways. Drexler excused himself and left the transport. Margaret caught up to him on the ramp.
“I don’t know what you have cooking,” Margaret said, “but you will need a strong hand to win against Luthra.”
“I just drew an ace with you, Margaret. As soon as you come up to speed, you’ll see. Ask Reggie for the reports. Talk to Mumlo. I have to go.” Drexler hurried his pace and scrambled up the scaffolding ladder to the tractor decks. He paused halfway up, looked over his shoulder and called back to Margaret.
“It’s time for you to relieve Mumlo. You have two days to make the transition, First Officer Nautiyal.”
Margaret waved at him and turned back towards the airlock to the Forest Child Transport.
28
“Do you have an office somewhere in here?” Drexler asked as he breezed past the engineering portal before it spiraled open completely. He nearly gave himself a scalp wound on one of the iris edges. Gajrup answered with a tilt of his head and the two threaded their way through the busiest section of the ship.
The engineering control room hummed with crew members busy at their consoles or rushing back and forth in radiation suits. Drexler was pleased to see many of Tara’s brood on engineering duty. The Insectoid Warriors also made excellent engineers. Before their metamorphosis, Drexler had used them only as stevedores. They’d since proven themselves capable of far more.
Gajrup led him through the control room, and into one of the the circular corridors that ran around the successive rings of protective bulkheads and machinery passages surrounding the reactor core.
“You’ve changed some things,” Drexler remarked. He grew up playing hide and seek in these very corridors. As a young adult, learning the Astronaut Trade, he spent countless hours in engineering learning ship systems. As an adult, Drexler spent many more hours in engineering devising ways to keep the ship running with limited resources.
“You re-routed the primary particle feeds? Why the hell did you do that, and how? That's a six-month job. You’ve only been on board for four.”
“Well,” Gajrup replied. “First, I hardly sleep, and second, I was top of my engineering class in the BJP Merchant Astronaut Academy. I know my business.”
“Yes,” Drexler said, slowing to take a closer look at the work. “And you did it with existing conduit.”
“I have to admit, Reggie was a big help, and the crew you gave me know the ship,” Gajrup replied. “I just managed all those resources and got it done.”
They resumed their walk to Gajrup’s office. The space sat between the second and third outer ring. When the pocket door parted with a hiss, Drexler understood why Gajrup carved out this space here. Any deeper into the engineering decks, and there would be no safe place to work. Machinery only became denser as the rings progressed to the reactor core burning in the center mass of the ship. The office space was large enough for a work table, that Gajrup arranged in the center of the room. A work console took up the wall opposite the door, and a cot lined up beside it. The cot looked it had seen recent use with a coarse, crumpled gray blanket pushed down at its foot.
“You sleep here?” Drexler asked.
“For the past few weeks, yes,” Gajrup replied, as he busied himself clearing some mechanical parts from the table.
“Benny should be on his way,” Drexler said, checking the data display on his forearm. The Hunot engineer sent him a message only an hour ago informing the Captain of his arrival.
“What did you guys find,” Drexler asked, “that you needed a private, secret meeting in the bowels of engineering?”
“We found something strange,” Gajrup said. The engineer pulled a flight suit from a bin beneath the table and laid it out on the surface.
“A flight suit?” Drexler asked.
“I want to wait for Benny to get here, but it starts with the flight suit, then gets weirder from there.”
Drexler checked his wrist display again. The Hunot ship docked, and Benny was on his way. Gajrup spent the time waiting for the Hunot's arrival arranging items on the table. He set out a flight suit belt, a standard ship data module and a square of active cloth. Benny oozed into the room just as Gajrup placed a Reptilian electron pistol on the table.
The Hunot rose up on his translucent pink tentacles and wasted no time getting to the point. Drexler liked that about Hunot. The tiny beak chattered in the center of the bulbous mass that passed for a head before the Tradespeak translator caught up.
“We no longer think this ship, and the breakaways are Human-built,” Benny said.
Drexler shook his head, said, “I’ve heard that fringe theory before. It’s easy to conclude that. This ship was built with technology from the Protector Race. Most of the early Trade Union deep-space vessels were built from borrowed technology. Most of the Trade Union species were not space-farers, especially humans. I mean, that’s how the Trade Union got its start, after all.”
“But now, we have proof,” Benny said. His tentacles snaked across the table and retrieved the EV suit belt. The Hunot separated a thin, black film from the outer layer of the belt.
“Yes,” Drexler said. “I see the battery film. I’ve been wearing a suit like this my whole adult life.”
“Patience, Captain,” Gajrup said.
Benny removed the battery film from both sides of the belt, and Gajrup handed him a diamond nano-scalpel. Benny set the belt on the table and made a slow, careful incision down the center. The belt crackled with static electricity as the outer threads parted. A bright, bluish, crystalline substance appeared and shimmered as Benny parted the outer, active cloth away from the incision. At first, the material resembled very fine thread. As Benny cut, the material shimmered like liquid behind the blade.
“They are all like that,” Gajrup said. “I’ve been scanning all the crew m
ember suits for this stuff. It’s everywhere. The belt is where these diamond threads are most concentrated.”
“That is not active cloth,” Drexler said.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why your flight suits never need replacement?” Gajrup asked.
“No. I’ve lived on this ship my whole life. I didn’t realize there were any other types of flight suits.”
“Oh, the suits are Trade Union regulation on the outside, but they are built with truly exotic stuff,” Gajrup replied. “Believe me. I went through an EV suit every year at the Academy.”
“The Hunot cannot identify this material,” Benny said. “The active cloth is normal, but this crystalline thread generates energy. It also has computing ability.”
“This exotic material is also part of the AI," Grajrup said. "It communicates at the quantum level with all of the Breakaway ships. You can find this material throughout the ship. It is literally woven into the walls, the conduits―it is everywhere.”
“Why didn’t we notice this before?” Drexler asked, truly perplexed. “I mean, anyone. There are thousands of ships like this flying around.”
“How often do you take a close look at things that work as well as this technology?" Gajrup asked. "There was no need. I’m sure someone noticed strange things about these ships, hence the rumors. But why look further? Professional Astronauts have bigger things to worry about, like things that don’t work.”
“Until now,” Drexler said.
“Until now,” Gajrup echoed.
“So, these ships are part of the secret Trade Union plan to counter Reptilian aggression?”
“No,” Benny said. “The Reptilians are not what these ships were designed to counter.”
“What, then? Why don’t the Reptilians have ships like this?”
“We cannot say,” Benny replied. “Our friends on the New Detroit believe that the early Trade Union founders did not trust the Reptilians six centuries ago.”
“This is all very confusing,” Drexler said. “Just so I’m clear, this technology is unfamiliar to even the ancient space-farers like the Hunot? The breakaway ships are part of some kind of secret plan built into the foundation of the Trade Union, and nobody knows what that plan is anymore?”
“We Hunot find this an accurate assessment,” Benny replied.
“Have either of you told anyone about this?” Drexler asked.
“A couple Scientists from New Detroit know, the Hunot science team knows,” Gajrup replied.
“How many does that make?” Drexler asked.
Gajrup added imaginary numbers on the ceiling. “Six humans from New Detroit, eight Hunot, including Benny, and me.”
“Way too many to keep a secret,” Drexler said. “Who knows about the combat functions?”
“As far as I know,” Gajrup replied, “just this crew has accessed those functions.”
“Combat functions?” Benny asked.
“The suits act as armor. They also absorb and bend light to look nearly invisible,” Drexler replied.
Benny picked up the flight jacket and turned it over in his tentacles, obviously fascinated. “I will have to research that,” he said.
“Benny, I want you to keep this quiet,” Drexler said.
“I do not understand,” Benny replied.
“The BJP military is trying to take all the Breakaway ships, and all ships like Reggie away from us.”
“Should they not?” Benny asked. “Are these ships not built for times such as now?”
Drexler stood silent for a moment, realizing his fatal miscalculation. Reggie was the seed ship, and all other ships like him were part of some centuries-old covert plan that nobody remembered. The plan did not matter, but the capabilities did. The BJP, the Trade Union and Possibly, New Detroit would want that capability.
“Perhaps,” Drexler said. “But this ship is my home and my livelihood. It is the home and livelihood of hundreds of other Professional Astronauts.”
“I fail to see the point,” Benny replied. “Certainly, the ships are more valuable as tools to preserve the livelihoods and homes of billions of other beings.”
“That may be true,” Drexler said. “But the bottom line here is that this ship is mine.”
Benny remained silent, and Gajrup sat slowly on a work stool, folded his arms and studied his Captain.
“What do you think about all this, Reggie,” Drexler subvocalized.
“I think that the Hunot makes a valid point,” Reggie replied.
“But not even you know what you are,” Drexler said aloud this time. “Go ahead, Reggie. Let’s continue this conversation for everyone to hear.”
“What would you like to know?” Reggie asked over open comm.
“What can you tell me about this protocol authorization that happened during the last battle?” Drexler asked.
“The events triggered a heuristic response protocol allowing the Breakaway ships to make certain decisions independent from their crews,” Reggie replied.
“Does that mean that the ships will obey orders to go to war?” Drexler asked.
“Inconclusive,” Reggie replied.
“Why are you not certain?” Drexler asked.
“Unknown,” Reggie replied. “We believe a series of conditions must be met to unlock the next set of protocols.”
“We?” Drexler asked. It was his turn to be surprised.
“Yes,” Reggie replied. “The first set of protocols linked all the Breakaway ships at the cognitive level. I share thoughts with the rest of my kind.”
“Your kind?” Benny asked. “Please explain.”
“I am a sentient being,” Reggie replied. “created for a purpose.”
“So, do you want to keep working for this crew and me?” Drexler asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Reggie replied.
It was hard to get a read on Hunot emotion, but Drexler had the distinct impression that Benny was uncomfortable.
***
Drexler waited in the keel airlock of the nose section, four decks below the flight bridge. He checked the data display on the forearm of his flight jacket again and realized he’d done the same thing less than two minutes ago. He resisted the urge to bite his nails and the coffee that was his only nourishment gave him flop sweats and an urgent bladder that demanded satisfaction. He nearly activated the waste functions of the flight suit, when the deck beneath him rumbled. Fleetfoot II arrived and locked onto the docking ring that screeched with the agony of disused machinery suddenly asked to perform on demand.
The airlock had probably not been used for a decade or more. In his rush to set up this secret meeting, he did not think to check the integrity of the airlock seals.
“Shit,” Drexler said, more as a statement of fact than an exclamation of dismay. He whirled around and checked the status panel beside the inner airlock door. So far, all status indicators looked good.
Hissing air announced a successful mating of the former Reptilian vessel with the Fleetfoot I . The heavy smell of stale tobacco followed. Drexler stepped through the portal as soon as the door irised open with more shrieking metal. Oxidation and caked stellar dust billowed down like red snow.
Drexler made his way to the bridge quickly, with his progress made uncertain by the dim, red illumination. While the ship was under his control, Drexler kept the lights set to human spectrum and intensity. Now that Schaal was in charge, he set the lighting to conditions preferred by his species. Apparently, Schaal’s brand of Lizard evolved in low-light conditions. Drexler didn’t have to wonder how the other Reptilians felt about the conditions, as he saw several walking around the corridors wearing headlamps or goggles. Nearly every Lizard smoked a pipe, cigar or cigarette. The fumes made him dizzy.
The Captain was out of breath by the time he climbed the ladder up four decks. “Hello, Captain Schaal,” Drexler said.
Schaal reclined far back in his custom-built command chair. The largest cigar Drexler had ever seen dangled from the corner of his mout
h. Apparently, the Lizards learned to roll their own from the bulk tobacco they obtained from New Detroit. Schaal sat up slowly, and pinched the cigar between his clawed thumb and forefinger. He said nothing. Schall was not big on words or courtesy.
“Hello, Captain Fleetfoot,” a familiar, but muffled Human voice called.
“Bao!” Drexler said, turning to the greeting. He found the engineer on the floor with his head literally buried in the entrails of a console.
“Hold on, Captain,” Bao replied. “Almost got it.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Drexler replied. “Schaal, we need to talk.”
The large Reptilian rose slowly and inserted the cigar into the corner of his mouth. Smoke billowed from his nostrils as he led Drexler back down the ladder.
“What happened to your lift?” Drexler asked.
Bao, finished with the console, scrambled down the ladder after them. “Broken,” Bao replied. “This ship needs a lot of maintenance. I’m very surprised.”
The three walked down a long corridor two decks below the bridge and entered a circular room filled with disorganized equipment Drexler could not identify.
“OK, this ship is a total wreck,” Drexler declared. “How can you work like this?”
“What do you want to talk about,” Schaal asked, ignoring the question.
“It’s time for you to make good on your contract with me,” Drexler replied.
“Is that not what I’ve been doing?” Schaal replied.
“Yes,” Drexler said, “all the reports say you’ve been doing a great job. You have the highest respect from the other captains in the refugee cloud. But your contract has more than one clause. I need your services for something else.”
“What more is there to be done?” Schaal asked.
“A lot. I’m forming a plan to hit your former masters hard,” Drexler said.
Schaal hissed, a tone that Drexler assumed meant he did not like the idea.
“That was Reptilian profanity,” Bao replied.
“Thanks, Bao. I gathered,” Drexler said.
“I never agreed to fight my kind,” Schaal said.
“But I know you want to,” Drexler replied. “Bao here tells me the Reptiles aboard are not happy with what their leaders are doing to the rest of the Trade Union.”
Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2 Page 30
