The king’s good-natured smile was long gone. Not bothering to answer the admiral, he increased his pace up the stairway, leaving older, more out of shape officers behind.
Glancing over at the Omni, Dira questioned, “Aren’t you going to do something? Say something?”
“What do you want me to say? Are we in any position to go up against the king … his knights? Once we get wherever he’s taking us, I’ll talk to him. I’m sure this is only a tactic of some sort … perhaps part of some strong-arm negotiations.”
Angered, she felt for the SuitPac device she’d clipped to the inside folds of her dress. She depressed the two inset tabs and waited. When nothing happened, she tried again. Perhaps I didn’t press both tabs at the same time? she wondered.
Behind her, she heard the king’s son chuckle.
“Yeah … if you’re trying to get any of your Caldurian tech to function here, well … you’re in for a bit of a letdown.” As he moved closer to her, she felt his foul breath on the nape of her neck. “Welcome to your new home, pretty one. Welcome to Bastille Spire.”
Then, catching sight of Bastille Spire, an involuntary chill ran up Dira’s back. Directly before them—at the top of the stairs—was indeed a spire. And, like the steps they were now climbing, the pointed spire was hand-carved from obsidian-like stone. The tall spire rose two hundred feet, or more, above them.
Dira’s mind raced. If a way had been found to so easily deactivate both their NanoCom and SuitPac devices, did that mean all other Caldurian tech was also useless? Was the Star Watch fleet susceptible to the same fate? For years, Star Watch had been the impenetrable force, keeping enemies at bay. At that exact moment, Dira had no doubt at all that the king’s fleet of ships was en route to the Sol System.
Her attention was drawn to the sound of loud screeching, as though metal hinges were being forced open. They’d reached another massive wooden door, only this was by far the oldest, most imposing one yet. The ironwork latch mechanism was big and ominous, looking as impregnable as Bastille Spire itself.
It took four knights to swing the great door open all the way, while other king’s men ensured that the group moved steadily forward. Once Dira and the Omni cleared the entrance, she noticed the king, standing off to the side, appeared smugly self-satisfied, as he watched the increasingly rough shoving of the fleet officers by his knights.
Startled, Dira was surprised by the Omni’s sudden movement—the blur of a red uniform moving incredibly fast—as he charged toward the king, bringing both hands up at the same time. In a flash, his fingers became tightly clenched around the king’s thick neck. Dira froze, watching the ensuing commotion.
“You bastard! I’m going to rip your fucking head off!” the Omni spat. Then, with the Omni’s brute-force momentum overwhelming him, the king awkwardly fell backward. The Omni, falling with him, landed on top, his hands still securely wrapped around the king’s neck. Wretched choking sounds could be heard, echoing off the surrounding rock walls.
Screaming, Prince Lhore leapt ahead—frantic to save his father’s life—catapulting Dira, in the process, sideways into solid rock. She blacked out, then regained consciousness mere seconds later with her head hurting. Her fingertips became coated with blood when she touched the lump on her forehead.
Her eyes slowly focused on the commotion nearby. The prince was viciously yanking on the Omni’s arms, screaming for him to let his father go. “Release him … release the king!”
Dira was well aware that the Omni possessed incredible, nanite-enhanced strength. Close enough to witness, she could see the king’s face turn a bright shade of red—his eyes glossing over. He was dying. She then heard the telltale cracking sounds of cervical vertebra breaking apart. The king was dead.
Dira’s frustration at the Omni’s earlier inaction—his seeming willingness to become a sheep led to slaughter—was forgiven. Wow! The man had grit, she had to give him that. But she knew quick retribution was about to come. As bad as things were mere moments ago, now they were a whole lot worse.
Chapter 11
Jason went to check on Michael and Alice and, not finding them in the captain’s quarters, made a request:
“AI … give me a location for my son.”
The AI responded, “Both Michael and the drog’s last recorded position was within the confines of the Parcical’s Zoo.”
That makes sense, Jason reasoned. The drog certainly needed to urinate after all this time. He planned to stop by the Zoo after he and Billy visited Ricket and Bristol on Deck 2 first—Ricket’s laboratory. Having to bypass the DeckPorts, and neither would admit to it—both men were feeling the effects from an increasing amount of ship walking, of late.
Jason pulled himself up and over the top rung of an inter-deck vertical ladder. He held out a hand for Billy, who slapped it away with the back of his own hand.
“The day I need your help climbing a simple ladder is the day I pack it in.”
“Maybe if you’d stop smoking those wretched stogies, you’d be able to keep up with me. Just saying …” Jason said, always appreciative of an opportunity to rib his friend.
The two double-timed it down the passageway and found the hatch open into Ricket’s lab. Stepping inside, Jason found Ricket and Bristol hunched together over a 3D holographic display.
“What is that?” Billy asked.
Looking up, Ricket smiled and said, “Captain … Billy … we have made a little progress. What this is …”
Bristol cut in, “It’s an information cyclone. I named it myself, although it was primarily Ricket who came up with it.”
Jason took in the swirling, constantly moving tornado of numbers and symbols. “Looks like gibberish to me.”
“What you’re actually looking at, Captain,” Ricket continued, “is raw Caldurian cyclic code. It’s what makes Caldurian tech so very dynamic … so advanced. It is never static. With this visual model, I believe we will more easily spot any code mutations, specifically those of the Ingress Virus.”
Jason continued studying the model. “It looks … kind of alive. Like it’s organic, the way it fluctuates in and out like a flock of birds moving together.”
Ricket looked up, then stared at Jason with intensity. “That’s it, Captain! You are a genius!”
“Hardly,” Jason replied back.
“He’s right!” Bristol exclaimed. “Not that you’re a genius, but that we’ve been going about this all wrong—looking for divergent code splices, which are nearly impossible to detect. But cohesive movement, now that’s something completely different. Caldurian cyclic code has an … ahh … what’s the word, elegance to it. The Ingress Virus … at least the bits and pieces we’ve stumbled across so far … do not. Functional, yes, but hardly elegant, as it doesn’t flow … move in the same way.”
Ricket’s fingers were a blur of movement on the input device.
“What are you doing now?” Billy asked.
“I’m asking the AI to watch for aberrations of dynamism.”
Jason and Billy stared at each other, equally puzzled. Though neither knew what Ricket meant, both his and Bristol’s excitement was becoming infectious.
As Ricket tapped in the last entry, the model began to change colors. A prismatic effect, giving it an even more organic look than it had before.
“The colors are now tied to the varying speed of the moving code. As you can see, it’s similar to swirling liquid, yes?”
“There!”
Startled, they turned to Billy.
“Don’t you see it?” Reaching an arm over, Billy used his unlit cigar to point out a specific stretch of green symbols, amidst other, pinkish-colored, ones. It resembled a small, slithering snake.
“Capture it!” Bristol yelled, almost coming unglued at the sight.
Ricket’s fingers instantly returned to the input device. Jason watched the small alien’s eyes dart from the input device up to the model. He was in a race. Bristol’s choice of words seemed to be appropriate to wha
t was now happening. The green snakelike symbols suddenly became excited. Whereas before, at least somewhat, the symbols followed an up and down path, they were now visibly agitated. In frenetic movement, the green, snakelike symbols looped back, then shot up and jumped across the model at a sharp angle.
“Get the fucker!” Bristol yelled.
Ricket laughed, while maintaining his intense mental focus.
Jason leaned in closer, noting the Ingress Virus code was now surrounded by an orange sequence of symbols that moved with it—as if it had grown a new skin.
“What the hell is that?” Billy asked.
“Code condom,” Bristol said. “What we just witnessed was probably never, ever, seen before in real time. Ricket isolated the virus, totally disarming it. And because the virus is intelligent, it’s not happy. It’s going fucking crazy right now.”
Ricket didn’t slow his inputting. And then, with one last exaggerated key input, he stopped. “Watch this …”
The crazed strand of symbols blew apart. If ever it was possible to have an explosion occur—within a bunch of abstract characters and symbols—this was it. The angry green snake was no more.
Bristol punched the air, shouting, “Yes!” Ricket too looked pleased with himself.
“So … you’ve cured the Ingress Virus?” Jason asked.
Ricket shrugged. “No, not completely, Captain. But now we know how to track it and destroy it. This was simply the code from one particular Caldurian device, where the Ingress Virus was present, that’s now been exterminated.”
“Which device was it?” Jason asked.
Ricket looked over to another nearby display. “This was infected Caldurian cyclic MediPod code.”
“Well, that’s something, isn’t it? You can get the MediPods back online.”
“Yes … maybe soon, Captain. We still need to do two more processes. One, come up with a vaccine, if you will. Which should not, now that we have the methodology to search out the virus, take the AI long to work through.”
“And the second process?”
“We need to figure out how to spread the vaccine en-mass. Probably similar to how the Ingress Virus was spread in the first place … maybe through NanoCom.”
“Speaking of which, I need to contact Liberty Station. I’m assuming those in charge there have detected the approaching fleet, coming from the Sommis of Adriark, but without comms, there’s no way to know that for sure. Are there other ways to contact Liberty … other than using our infected Caldurian tech? It’s essential we get in touch with them.”
He observed uncertainty in Ricket’s expression. Another thought reoccurred to Jason, one he’d been trying to keep at bay, concerning Dira. Undoubtedly, she was now within Sommis of Adriark space. Had she been captured? Injured? Was she still alive?
Chapter 12
Angered, Boomer abruptly stood, then kicked out at at the base of the Stellar’s forward bridge console. “Crap!” She looked around for something she could pound a fist into. Seeing nothing she could afford to break—her frustration only increased. Trying to reach her father on the Jumelle for over a day, she next tried the Parcical, with the same result. Sure, she’d been away a long time, but surely the whole fleet hadn’t changed their communication protocol. Or had they? She also tried contacting her mother, but not reaching her wasn’t anything new. She was always gallivanting off to some distant planetary system or another. Once Nan Reynolds left the U.S. presidency position, she’d dedicated herself to interstellar relations. An ambassador of peace, she called herself.
Boomer sat back down and stared out into the blackness of space. Problem must be this beat to shit spaceship. But flakey comms weren’t the only issue. She’d successfully called up, and cleared, an interstellar wormhole the day before, but the second wormhole—which was needed to get closer to Earth—never formed. What was that all about?
Something else occurred to her. Standing up again, Boomer let her hand drop to the SuitPac device on her waist. Depressing the two inset tabs, she waited. Nothing. “Okay, this is getting frigging weird,” she said aloud, “… maybe it’s not the ship’s fault after all.” She thought about the commonality of those things not working—phase-shifting, the Stellar’s comms, her SuitPac device, and the ability to call up an interchange wormhole. She wasn’t sure about her internal NanoCom, since she was too far away to make a direct connection to anyone. She’d been successful in transmitting one intergalactic message to her father, but nothing after that. It seemed that the current problematic issues were all related, tied up somehow with Caldurian technology. She didn’t think interchange wormholes were actually Caldurian, but maybe the interface—the ability to communicate with the interchange—was somehow associated with Caldurian tech. It made sense.
“AI … is there a way to bypass normal communications? Utilize the Mercedes standard comms package? Like how the Stellar was originally configured when she exited the factory?”
Silence.
Boomer made an exasperated gesture, her hands raised and extended out. “Hello?”
“It is possible. We need to come out of FTL first.”
“Really? Okay … do it!”
Boomer, feeling the Stellar’s inertia dampeners kick in, steadied herself by holding on to the forward console.
“A test communiqué has been sent, resulting in an auto-reply back.”
“To whom? In my experience, interstellar communiqués take a long time.”
“To a distant commercial vessel nearing the Sol System … Consignment Freight Van. The driver’s name is Wendy Howard. Would you like me to open a channel with her?”
“Yes, definitely!”
Boomer waited. What seemed like forever was probably less than a minute.
“Consignment Freight … Van 429, this is Wendy … go ahead.”
“Hi, Wendy. My name is Boomer Reynolds. Um … I’m contacting you from the Stellar. Apparently, we’re fairly close to each other. I’m having comms, as well as other technical troubles that seem to be getting worse by the minute.”
“Okay. Oh, there you are. You’re way back there. I can see you on my long-range sensors. What can I do for you, Boomer? Wait … aren’t you the Omni’s …”
“Granddaughter,” Boomer said, trying to keep a growing impatience from her voice.
“Wow! My boyfriend works on the Parcical. Do you know that ship?”
“Oh yeah … know it well. Spent a part of my life on that ship, and on a few other ships, as well. What’s his name?”
“Ryan. Ryan Chase. He’s a pilot. But he’s not allowed to talk about it.”
“Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve been back in this sector. Look, I need to get a message to any U.S. fleet or Star Watch vessel. I’m going to keep on trying too, but knowing someone else is trying sure would help me.” Boomer hesitated as an idea came to her. Be better yet if Wendy could get a message to Liberty Station. “Can you contact Liberty Station, in the Sol System?”
Wendy laughed. “I know where Liberty is, Boomer. What do you want me to tell them?”
“That I’m having technical problems. Caldurian tech problems specifically. Let them know where it is you last saw me, too.” Boomer could hear Wendy jotting down the information.
“Got it. I’ll forward the message,” Wendy said.
“Great! And if I make it back there alive, I’ll say hi to Ryan for you.” Boomer cut the connection.
She felt the Stellar come back into FTL mode. Staring at nothing in particular, she asked, “AI … what is our ETA for reaching Earth?”
“At the Stellar’s current FTL pace, it will be another twelve hours, thirty-two minutes, before we reach Earth’s upper orbit.”
“Terrific!” she snapped back irritably. She knew she was behaving like a petulant child, but overly frustrated, she didn’t really care. She began to pace the width of the small bridge, chewing on the inside of her lip. Stopping mid-stride, she looked up again. “You said at the current FTL pace. What can you do
to increase our FTL speed?”
“For minimal durations, Mercedes has a little-known option. One that was not released by the manufacturer to their customer base.”
“Yeah? So what is it?”
“They call it Turbo-Light.”
She waited for the AI to continue. “Go on … you don’t need to spoon-feed the information to me. Just spit it out.”
“Turbo-Light is an AI-initiated function.”
“Well, go ahead and initiate it.”
“Turbo-Light is now engaged. Updated ETA is six hours and fifteen minutes. Know that Turbo-Light cannot be reengaged within a twenty-four-hour period.”
“Uh huh. Just let me know when we’re a half-hour out.”
* * *
By the time the Stellar had traversed well into the Sol System, Boomer received an incoming hail from Admiral Mayweather, stationed on Liberty Station. She knew the older officer, and he sounded overwhelmed. He confirmed that, yes, he had spoken to the Consignment Freight driver, Wendy, and that yes, the military was well aware of the multiple issues with Caldurian technology; the effect that same was having on numerous fleet vessels. Mayweather told her he hadn’t spoken to her father yet, but he did relay news that the Parcical was last detected in Earth’s upper orbit. He assumed the vessel had phase-shifted to somewhere on the planet, but there were other important issues presenting themselves right now—the most critical was that a large alien fleet had been detected, now roughly heading in the direction of Sol. So they had their hands full. The admiral apologized. He was then called away to tackle urgent business requiring his attention.
Boomer wanted to ask him why her father was commanding the Parcical. Wasn’t he captain of the Jumelle nowadays? But at least she had a last known location to go on. And if the Parcical did phase-shift to some indeterminate location on Earth, she had a pretty good idea where that was.
Within the hour Boomer was manually piloting the Stellar—from low orbit down toward the southwestern part of the United States. By the time she began flying low over San Bernardino, she was second-guessing herself. There were a number of places the Parcical could have disappeared to. But since she was already there, it wouldn’t do any harm to go home for a while—even if that meant being there alone.
Scrapyard LEGACY (Star Watch Book 6) Page 7
