“Captain Mirza,” Absen spoke briskly, “I’ll trouble you to order Conquest to rig for flank acceleration. I will be taking the command courier back to Afrana at max burn, and you will follow as fast as you are able. Booker and Temasek will stay with Krugh and do all they can. The tug can get the Hippos back home if necessary. Send a general fleet signal with the situation and tell everyone in-system to go on full battle alert, including the colony.”
“Aye, sir,” Mirza said with a stunned look. “Khalid, make the signal. Sir, we don’t even know if our messages will beat that ship there.”
“No, we don’t. We can but do our best. Perhaps the ship will stop short, or run low on fuel, or perhaps it is not hostile, or it will break down. What I do know is we have two companies of Marines aboard it, with enough firepower to do a lot of damage. It gives us a fighting chance. If anyone can take over that ship, it’s Bull ben Tauros, so everyone get cracking.” Absen turned on his heel and hurried for the launch bay of his command courier, trailed by Steward Tobias.
“All right, you heard the man,” said Captain Mirza resolutely, reaching for his helmet. “Button back up for another hard ride.”
***
“We have an understanding.” Commander Johnstone divided his attention between the Ryss alien before him and the Marine commander behind him.
Bull grunted. “I’m still getting reports of Ryss firing at my Marines, Johnstone. They will follow my orders and not return fire, and retreat if necessary, but I don’t think the one you’re talking to is their commander. More likely just the leader of this group here.”
“Yes, I know that already. Sorry I can’t wave a magic wand and clarify the military situation for us, Major. Do the best you can, and let me talk to this…person.” Ignoring Bull for the moment, Rick stepped forward slowly, until the Ryss in front of him moved back from the doorway to allow him in.
Raising his empty hands again, Johnstone paused, just letting the shocked aliens gaze at him standing near their leader, getting them used to him. He occupied the time taking a long look at the one he had been talking to, categorizing him in his mind.
Tall, about 190 centimeters, and not the tallest of them either. Many of the Ryss stood two meters or more, and weighed at least a hundred and fifty kilos. Fur-covered in shades of brindle tawn, with a few darker or lighter, and feline ears that stood to attention or lay flat on their heads, they resembled nothing so much as giant cats – lions, perhaps. Manes on the larger, older ones enhanced this impression. Rick presumed they were biologically similar to cats as were humans to the great apes, or Sekoi to the hippopotamus-like herd animals on Afrana.
When the motley group inside the room calmed down and, more importantly, pointed their weapons away, Rick spoke carefully in Ryssan. “We are human. We are not Meme. We are not your enemies. We want to be friends. We can help you, but you must take control of this ship.”
More conversation broke out at his statements, and he could feel his translation software soaking up all the words, fitting them into the files and comparing written and coded meanings with the sibilant spoken sounds. Already he could understand much better than his own pronunciation would indicate, and the most difficult part of the process was trying to vocalize the words that the computers in his head were feeding him.
The Ryss leader to which he had been speaking arched his back, briefly turning left and right. For a moment Rick thought the cat-man would rub against him – there was a behavioral resonance. Some kind of greeting?
“My name is Trissk,” the creature said, tapping the back of his paw against his nose.
Commander Johnstone made the same hand motion. “My name is Rick,” he said in response, keeping it simple. Somehow he thought “Johnstone” might be hard for them to say. “I am mediation officer from my commander. I have deciding authority for humans. Decide you for Ryss?”
Trissk looked around, craning his neck behind him, glancing at Vusk glowering near the back. “Elder Chirom decides for the Rell clan of Ryss, but he is wounded. I speak for him.”
Great, thought Rick. Even an alien like me can see that there are undercurrents of some kind of politics here. What is the best course? Should I throw human weight behind this one, or look for another leader?
Operating on instinct, Rick made his decision. “I decide for humans,” he repeated. “Ryss will talk through you to me. Humans will talk thorough me with Trissk and Clan Rell. Humans will not talk with another Ryss of Rell. Only Trissk.” He hoped that was clear enough.
Trissk seemed to relax with relief, then bobbed his head and turned to the other Ryss. “You heard the Human,” he said with more confidence than he felt. Meeting Vusk’s eyes in challenge, he went on, “They will treat with us through me. I did not wish to claim authority from Chirom, but I am closest to him. I sent the signal that brought the Humans here. So for these reasons, I now claim command of Clan Rell and the elder’s position, only until he is well enough to resume his office.” He took a deep breath, still staring at his rival. “Does any challenge me?”
Vusk must have thought about it, but even he was not stupid enough to risk the disapproval of the rest of the Rell clan and the aliens both. Instead, he laid his ears back and snarled angrily, then stalked off through the nearest door with his retinue, hefting weapons.
Speaking to Rick, Trissk went on, “The Rell will follow me.” He paused, searching for simple words. “We tried to open the Desolator vault, to disable the insane device. It is very strong. We have no strong tools. Perhaps your laser will open the vault.”
Rick nodded slowly, then lifted his helmet to his mouth, speaking into its open neck. “Bull, they say they can’t get into the AI’s vault to turn it off, but they think a semi-portable will work. That’s probably the best chance to solve the whole situation.”
“Agreed,” came the tinny reply from Bull, still sealed in his armor. “Which way?”
After repeating the question to Trissk, Rick pointed toward ship’s bow. “That way, many hundred-strides.”
“Right. One moment.” For some time Bull had been monitoring reports of stiffening resistance from autoguns and war drones, bottlenecking his forces at certain key locations. Reviewing the situation his HUD displayed, he ran down the list of his eight line platoons and two heavy-weapons sections.
“Johnstone, it looks to me like the AI is on to us. None of the six line platoons I assigned has made it to their objectives, the generators. If I knew anything about the layout of this ship I could try to cut power feeds and isolate the reactors, but I don’t. I need to gather a large enough force and tackle the reactors one by one, then hit the vault when we’re done with that, and I can’t do that babysitting you. Will you be all right with the kitties?”
“Yes, Bull, I’ll be fine I think. If not, you can come pull my nuts out of the fire.”
“I’ll leave a fireteam with you. Corporal Melindez, you’re now Commander Johnstone’s escort. See that nothing happens to him, and you might even make Sergeant again.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Melindez said, raising his faceplate to breathe the chill air. His ferret-like face morose, he clearly thought that babysitting the Navy wasn’t his idea of a good time.
Turning to Melindez, Rick said cheerfully over the comm., “Don’t worry, Corporal, I predict we’ll have plenty of misery and death to entertain you later.”
The fire team leader only grunted.
“One more thing, Bull,” Johnstone said, “in case you need motivation. This ship has lifted from Reta, heading toward Afrana, traveling faster than our ships can. Neither I nor the Ryss know what the AI is doing, but I’m guessing it can’t be good. We may be the only chance to take this crazy AI before it does who-knows-what to our people.”
“Then I guess we better go do what Marines do best: kick some ass. Do machines have asses?” With that, Major ben Tauros charged off down the corridor, leaving the six humans with the Ryss.
***
Relieved that the large warlord had left with his warriors
, nevertheless Trissk wasn’t sure what to do with the six Humans. Clearly they were competent fighters, fully armored and laden with deadly weapons, but the big one had taken the heavy laser with him. Without that or something like it, they could not open the vault to disable Desolator.
“Rick,” Trissk said tentatively, “we must open the device vault, but…” He gestured helplessly.
The decision-officer Rick seemed to understand immediately. “The warriors go to group together for battle. They will disable the power-makers, and open the device vault afterward if they can. Can you call to your Ryss to tell them to attack all war-devices?”
Trissk’s lips curled in the closemouthed smile of his kind. “Your facility with our language is improving.”
Rick tapped his skull. “I have computers in my head that help me.”
Trissk stiffened, glancing around to see if any other had heard. Apparently some had, for displeased whispers and mutters grew. “Remember,” he said over his shoulder, “their ways are not ours. They fight the Meme however they can. Do not judge them by our customs and taboos.”
The rumblings settled down, with suspicion.
To Rick he said quietly, “Say no more of thinking machines in your body. It is forbidden for us to do such things. Early in our war with the Meme, we experimented with computer-Ryss fusions like that, but it ended badly. These warriors,” he went on, gesturing generally in the direction of the Rell, “are either too young to understand or too old to absorb all this newness. For the past twenty years this ship has been all they knew, and they have grown timid.”
Rick’s eyes unfocused for a moment, thinking. “What is your lifespan? Oh,” he answered himself. “I don’t know your units of time or how long your year is. But how long is it anyway?”
“Most Ryss live to sixty, if they do not die by violence.”
Still talking more to himself than Trissk, Rick went on, “Even if your year is twice ours… that’s not long. And if it’s shorter….” He stopped, then changed the subject. “Trissk, why are you different from the others? Why does the newness not bother you?” he asked.
“I was always an orphan, an outcast, and something of a rebel,” Trissk said, flicking his ears, the Ryss equivalent of a shrug. “I had to be flexible.”
“My kind of – of Ryss – of fellow, I’d say.” Rick struck Trissk lightly on the shoulder and he almost lost his monkey-paw to the young male’s reflexive swipe. Behind him the other warriors bristled and pointed their weapons, and the other Human warriors immediately stepped forward on battle line with Rick, ready to mow the Ryss down with their shouldered PRGs.
“Weapons down, Melindez,” Rick said, pushing the corporal’s carbine off target. “That’s an order!” he snapped, and the Human fighters reluctantly complied.
Trissk did the same with his people. “You Rell, point your weapons elsewhere. He did not hurt me. It was a friendly cuff, nothing more. He must be an elder in his Human clan.” A useful supposition, if not an outright lie.
Trying to defuse the tension, Rick said, “Trissk, we have to get moving. We have to do our part. I am not a warrior,” – and all the Ryss suddenly hissed in unison, flattening their ears. Some turned their backs and muttered.
“Perhaps you should speak quietly to me alone, Rick. Your ways and words are unsettling them. To claim you are not a warrior is – wait…” Trissk peered closely at the Human’s face. “You are not female, are you?”
“No, I am male,” the human said quietly, apparently taking Trissk’s advice.
“Then you are a warrior, for all males are warriors. To deny you are a warrior means you are…” Trissk ran both paws over his face, briefly covering his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “To be male is to be a warrior. To be a warrior is to be male. You cannot be one and not the other. Any who try to deny this are cast out or killed.” His ears flattened, then rose again. “I cannot explain further.”
“Fine. Got it. I’m a warrior. But for your ears alone, my primary expertise is not of war. Is that acceptable?”
“Of course. I myself am a technologist.” Not officially, but what else would I call myself, he thought. A politician? “I made the ship-signal to your people.”
“And I received it. So you are a communications officer like me.”
“I suppose so. I would enjoy spending half a lifetime learning about your people but right now we must act now, or these Rell warriors will go find something destructive to do.”
“Your people aren’t big on discipline, are they?” Rick said sourly.
Trissk glanced sidelong at the Human in irritation. “As I said, these are not trained soldiers. They are remnants rescued from stray ships and habitats as our homeworld was being destroyed by the Meme. Most of this vessel’s original crew have died over the past twenty years in strange ‘accidents.’ We suspect Desolator killed them, to keep them from making trouble, leaving alive only a remnant of refugees, passengers, and auxiliaries. Can you say the dregs of your people would be any better?”
Rick lowered his eyes. “Frankly, no. All right. Let’s give these, ah, warriors a task. Is there something we could do that would help us, and hinder Desolator?”
Trissk thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes there is. Follow me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bull began barking orders through his suitcomm, consolidating his men and weapons, converging them midway between where he estimated the AI vault to be and its nearest reactor, even as he led his heavy weapons section there at a shuffling trot. Down metalsnake corridors, steely gray with age and use, Marines tramped on converging courses.
He watched as Corporal Bannon cleared corners, releasing tiny gnat drones from a slot on his back-rack. Special suits and training made Recon Marines the best at what they did, and he wondered what possessed him to have tried walking point himself. Probably stupid enthusiasm after nothing but training for the last three years, he thought. Well those autoguns almost got me, and the aliens’ maser weapons gave me some nasty burns. Maybe Jehovah is trying to tell me to quit sticking my dick out quite so far.
Splitting his attention between the here and now and the virtual HUD overlay, he watched carefully as his section approached the rear of the two score Marines of First Platoon, Alpha Company. “Captain Bryson,” he called to the company commander on the top channel, “keep a good three-sixty lookout, three dimensions. The enemy’s resistance has been scattered, but the Ryss aliens say the Desolator AI is crazy. We don’t know what it will do.”
Bull switched his net one level down, in order to include the understrength battalion’s senior NCOs. “Coming up behind, Swede,” he called, watching as Bannon sent a drone around another corner. “You should see my point man’s gnat momentarily.”
“Got it, sir,” Master Sergeant Lars “Swede” Gunderson replied. “Come on in. First Platoon will keep you snug and safe as a baby in his mother’s arms.”
“Bad metaphor, Swede, since all the mothers are back on Afrana, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Bull waved his men forward rather than switch channels again, though the gunner in charge of the semi-portable should have heard the exchange anyway.
A moment later they jogged by First Platoon’s outer troops and into the large intersection that was their meeting place.
From the portside corridor, another Recon Marine showed himself, and then led others forward. Third platoon, Bull saw on his HUD. Fourth was off to the starboard side and Heavy Weapon Section Two moved up behind them. He now had most of Alpha Company here, minus only Second Platoon spread out guarding the sleds, almost half his command.
Sergeant Major Charlie McCoy waved a greeting as he joined Bull from Fourth.
“General channel, all hands. First, Alpha Company,” he said. “Objective One is this fusion reactor,” throwing it up on their HUDs. “It’s forward of us and on the port side. My intent is to move forward cautiously and in force to Objective One and use the semis to disable it. My goal is to deny power to the enemy. Th
e enemy is an AI the aliens call Desolator, and the machines it controls. All of those are fair game.”
“The aliens are big catlike people,” he went on, “and they don’t have sealed armor the way we do, but their weapons are high-tech and effective. Do not engage them unless you absolutely must. They are supposed to be passing the word over their comms to avoid engaging us too, but you never know.”
“All right, Third Platoon you are on the port side flank up these parallel corridors, with your limit the usable edge of the ship. Fourth here to starboard, with your limit the central corridor. First platoon, right up the middle toward the reactor, with semis One and Two in trail. Third and Fourth, detail one squad each to cover my ass, and remember everyone, they could come from the levels above or below. Any questions?”
None came, so Bull ordered, “Alpha, move out. Break break, Bravo Company this is Objective Two here,” HUD-marking a fusion reactor on the starboard side of the ship. “Captain Curtin, take that objective with all deliberate speed, keeping the rules of engagement in mind. The aliens are our allies, but new and twitchy ones from what I have seen. When you disable that generator, move on to the next one forward. Ben Tauros out.”
Curtin was a good man; Bull knew he’d get the job done.
Walking forward, he kept watching the HUD for any sign of resistance, but it didn’t come right away. Instead a sudden heavy feeling staggered him, and he saw the section carrying the semi-portable suddenly and clumsily set it down. “Gravity is increasing,” an unknown voice reported, then the whole company was shoved to the deck as the Gs went up to at least five. Bull crawled forward, his implanted cybernetics powering his limbs, but the sixty kilos of armor, suit and weapons that normally seemed so light now weighed at least three hundred.
“Alpha Company, is anyone experiencing less than five Gs?” The pull was not dangerous in itself, but they had lost all mobility and some of their combat capability too.
Desolator: Book 2 (Stellar Conquest) Page 12
