A few more matters of logistics, planning, and approach were discussed and presented, and finally Captain Igan said, looking at his laptop, “The scouts are away.”
Communication at the speeds and distances involved would be impossible for days, at best.
“And so we wait.”
The natives, now aware of the impending arrival of others, objective, even race, unknown moved uneasily at the news.
“You do not know of these others, these other people in great ships who come to our planet?” FakFak said.
“FakFak, we don’t know what we don’t know. They might be known and friendly, any of a dozen odd worlds is capable of sending ships this far, and could have followed our trail. Personally, that’s what I think is happening. But space is strange, and it might be something entirely new, something different.” Captain George stood at the display, looking intently at the screen.
“Well, we soon shall see.”
“And there’s a possibility they were here before, someone or something was, looked at the straddle tanks left in orbit, and departed. We don’t know who that was.”
Lori looked to Charon, and asked, “Any history of ah, ‘Visitors,’ from the sky, or elsewhere, in your oral or written history?”
Charon stroked his chin in a very human fashion, and said, “Perhaps. Rumors, whispers, quiet talk, usually stopped when others arrived, among the oldest and highest priests, hinted at past arrivals of unknown people, not called aliens, but ‘Wanderers.’ Never or only fleetingly seen, but evidence discovered, then hidden or destroyed, and silence demanded by anyone involved. Mostly, the subject raised after thunder and clouds in the sky, with no storms present. Strange. All such talk suppressed by the High Priest Mackanima, and woe to he who questioned it. So, yes, some events might be interpreted as of off-planet origin, but not called that. Ever.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s all it was. Not frequent or often, I gather?” Lori asked.
“No. Very rare. Never seen in my lifetime, until your arrival.”
Lori’s nonchalant attitude did much to alloy the uneasiness of the natives. She was, after all, the Sky Lady, was she not? And if she was unconcerned, why should we be? The news swept through the city, and began to filter outward, but it seemed to matter not among the traders, and buyers of their goods. If anything, the arrival of others was seen as good for business.
“One hundred fifty hours until arrival, and they got guns and missiles?” Captain Bemaraha, of the bigboy ship, Mandara, said.
“Yes, and a nasty disposition, too, apparently,” Captain Igan said, sitting to her right, shaking a couple of appendages at the blazing images on the wall screen before them.
The screen showed six vessels, small elongated dots at first, then longer, somewhat sleek ships, engines blazing, not large engines, but powerful enough, in a tight cluster. But as the images enlarged to show details rather well, missile tracks appeared, a half a dozen blips on the radar screens, all heading toward the two small, illi-illi craft approaching from the lower quadrant, one closing, one keeping away.
“No contact?” Lori asked.
“Yes. ‘Surrender or die,’ I believe the translator said, in effect. And the Anawoka think so, too.” Captain Igan nodded to the dark feathered translator sitting amongst them. “Though we did not know that for sure until we got back. And as directed, we did not tarry to seek to open a dialogue under fire.”
“The language sounds remarkably similar to that of the Damai, some compression, and much variable, but similar. Enough so, it translated pretty well,” the Anawoka said.
“All that from one transmission?”
“No, from many recorded from messages sent from ship to ship. The hard-bodies did well in their reconnaissance work.”
“Any damage to the scouts?” Hunter asked.
“No. The ordnance seemed rather slow and primitive, and easily avoided.”
“And they continue onward, toward us?”
“Yes, so it comes down to what do we do next, wait for them to arrive, and start shooting, or what?” Captain Halcro of the Florez ship, the Balalaika, asked.
“I think a good offense is the best defense,” Captain Kanuri, of the second bigboy ship, the Sharika, said. “I suggest we go out and meet them, where we have room, and velocity, and can do as we please.”
“I concur,” Captain Bemaraka said. “And I’d sure not want them shooting at our ships while we cruise around in orbit.”
“Yes, but if we go out to meet them, we need a plan, a scheme of attack,” Captain Igan said.
“No, not attack,” Lori said. “A show of force, so to speak. Approach, try to get a dialogue going. We know nothing about these people.”
“Other than that they’re aggressive. If they’re people,” Captain Igan said.
Lori looked at Captain George, silent so far. “Captain, your thoughts?”
“A few of us discussed the matter last night. We recommend sending half the fleet out to meet and greet the newcomers, make them feel right welcome to the neighborhood, and chase them off if they give us any trouble. We go out, and come at them from the sides, giving us the advantage of minimal exposure to their broadsides, and if need, be, the ability to shoot coming and going. If we have to. Perhaps the sudden arrival of rather large starships, going faster than they are, might be intimidating.”
The screen displayed the mode of approach, and attack if that was necessary.
“We can easily out-speed and out-maneuver them, and if those puny missiles are the best they got, out-shoot them, too.”
“Their missiles were of no concern to us, and easily defeated,” Captain Igan said.
“Yes, well done,” Lori said, nodding at him. “OK, I support this concept. My only additional suggestions are to attempt to establish a dialogue if at all possible. Bring the Anawoka translators, let them have first chance to talk. Oh, and the UN reps, as advisors, if nothing else. Only if fired upon, return fire, though I hate to think of the consequences of that, to them, and to us. And if it comes down to a real, all out shoot-fest, try to leave one alive, at least, and undamaged enough to survive.”
“Why?”
“To lead us back home. Its home, that is.”
“Yes. Good idea.”
The group also supported her recommendation of Captain Igan as Admiral for the sortie.
Within ten hours, the ships chosen lit engines and departed, six in all, leaving the others in reserve, none heavily armed, to rearrange themselves in orbit so as to reinforce each other, a compact, nearly circular grouping with the Koyaanisqatsi in the center, clearly visible on the surface as a bright blip floating by in the sky, more so during the dim. Though most of the traders remained on station in their shops and stalls, the sudden disappearance of half the ships in the expedition hardly went unnoticed by the natives. Speculation, tinged with fear, ran high, and more than a few new offerings appeared at the obelisk to the Sun-god, and many more at the shrine of the Sky Lady, smoke from incense and other donations wafting thick and high.
Lori herself remained behind with the rest of the crew of the Koyaanisqatsi, waiting and watching, and hoping. And maybe saying a prayer or two, as well.
The screens showed what happened, long minutes after the fact, of course, distorted and recreated by the computers, the many early messages Doppler corrected, and played, none of it in real time, nor necessarily related to the action seen in bright and dark electronic images.
The Mandara, fastest of the ships, approached first, broadcasting greetings, a welcome, an invitation to parley, as translated by the Anawoka. The others vectored in from five directions, ready for war. Or not.
The incoming ships broadcast a stern challenge, calling for the expedition ships to stand down, prepare for boarding, to surrender, and obtain permission of passage, and pay huge fees.
The negotiations, if they could be called that, only partly received by those in Uta orbit, went no where, the demands of the incoming ships unchanged, even at the offer of
accepting a delegation from them to each of the expedition’s vessels.
By now, the ships were closing fast, none of Lori’s expedition’s ships slowing at all, though they were throttled well back, no longer accelerating, and then the visitors cut their engines, and each began to turn to face one of those approaching them. A final challenge, and all hell suddenly broke loose as the shooting began. It came fast, tiny little specks and lines seen from afar, and bright blips as friendly lazers and anti-missiles raced out and hit bandit missiles. This continues, as more messages went out, calling for a cease fire, and the approaching ships began to turn, to veer off. All to no avail.
More missiles flew out, in clusters and groups, and the expedition ships began to take hits, some ordinance getting through, the distance now shortened, and getting shorter by the second. Lori groaned as her ships, out of room, time, and dialogue, quickly returned fire, stout HiE lazers producing puffs of fluxing metals at or near gun or missile ports, then missiles launched when ordinance continued to hit them. The alien ships began to burn and twist and come apart. The battle lasted scant minutes, the visitors continuing to fire on in courageous desperation, if nothing else, and all but one breaking up in slow motion, flashes and blasts twisting them into pieces, all save the one.
The last incoming ship took a few minor hits, but sailed through the growing debris of the space melee, racing past the battle, and beyond, turning around to arc away and accelerate toward the planet ahead, only a few odd missiles following as if chasing it, though none caught it.
The expedition ships tore past the battle site and each other, debris and briefly burning ships all around them, turned, and began decelerating and arcing around, to return in due course to the still moving clot of junk that once was a formidable space fleet.
Lori watched the battle in growing despair, a feeling shared by all in the ComC. No one cheered, or said anything. What sort of people are they? she asked herself, and someone answered out loud, “Those must be some strange aliens.”
“Think there’ll be any survivors?” a person asked.
“Won’t be many.”
“Watch the flier, he’ll be passing by pretty close.”
The lone survivor did pass, but not close, not on their side of the planet, cutting between it and the sun, on a heading to swing around the massive star, and shoot out and back the way it came, staying well away from the battle scene. Lori and her ships let it clear the planetary plane, and watch it began to move away.
“We could catch it, captain, and capture it.” A technician pointed to the figures on a screen.
“No, let it go. We can follow it easily enough later, those engines are about the dirtiest I’ve ever seen.” Captain George watched it go on the screen. “Plot course and possible destination,” he told the sensor operator.
“Got anyone who can follow that ship, at a distance, see where it goes?” Lori asked the image of Captain Iolos, of the Izada.
“Yes,” the illi-illi chirped back to her on the view screen. “I though we’d give it a chance to feel safe, and follow it at slow speed, so as to not overtake it before it arrives where it goes, and to watch for space mines.”
“Very good. Proceed when ready,” she said. “Let us know what they find. Avoid capture at all costs. And thanks.”
“That last is essential. We depart in six hours, perhaps less.”
They found no survivors, in the long hours before they returned, the alien starships being rather fragile, and their crews even more so. Shuttles and lighters searched the spreading debris field, seeking computers, people, cargo, engines, power units, whatever they might locate, and found some things, but little of real, practical use.
The searchers drifted along with the debris, but slowed and stopped well short of the planet, and allowed the metallic shards to continue to fall inward, and burn up in the atmosphere in spectacular displays of otherwise seldom seen meteors. Some larger chunks even impacted the surface, congealed lumps of scorched and melted metal.
Lori met with Kayla Gludan and Rodrigo Hsu, the UN reps, and asked if they might have done anything differently, upon their return.
Kayla shrugged, and said, “We might have surrendered...”
“Yes, and turned over advanced technology to a very aggressive race? No, Ms. Lindbloom, you did what you could, tried your best. I just fear this is not the last we’ve seen of our unknown visitors,” Rodrigo said.
A very somber group gathered in the dining hall of the Koyaanisqatsi, ships’ captains, first officers, fire control specialists, everyone involved in the action, for a critique.
“We are sorry to have failed you,” Captain Bemaraha said, speaking for all of the five others. “We regret the totality of the destruction we visited upon the alien vessels.”
“You have not failed me,” Lori said. “You showed great patience, and reserve, until you could do nothing else. You sustained damage, far more that you need have, and you protected yourselves, and the very planet below us, from unknown and possibly total annihilation. We cannot know the purpose of the visitors, but now do know they did not come in peace. And though offered that option, rejected it, in favor of a hostile response. We did not initiate the battle, and in fact held our hand that one might escape, and return to warn the place from which it came.”
“That may prove not to be so wise.”
Lori nodded and asked, “What of the ships themselves, what could you tell of their level of technology?”
“Small living areas, small crews, they were mostly fuel tanks and engines...”
“Small engines.”
“...though with considerable armament, for such size ships. The engines seemed capable of travel in Williams Space, though not for long.”
“Perhaps there is no need, in this small cluster.”
“And high speed would be troublesome, given the many gravity wells.”
“Any word from the scout?” Lori asked the illi-illi.
“None yet,” Captain Igan said.
“Be advised, that when and if we learn of a home planet, or planets, it is my intention of going to visit them, immediately, without delay,” Lori said, to murmurs of assent around the room. “Now, have we found any bodies? Any idea of what these aliens look like?”
“Yes,” someone answered.
“What?” she asked.
Gesturing toward the screen, the woman said, “They look like the Damai.”
“After your departure and once we settled in new quarters, I gathered all the old papers, and studied them,” Charon said to a small gathering in one of the antechambers of the Ed Center a day later. “I recalled hearing once, many years ago, as a beginning acolyte, a tale from an aged, and retired priest, a story that from the stars we came, from the stars others will come to teach us, and to the stars we will one day return. Hence, the worship of the Sun-god, I presume. And now, the Sky Lady,” he said, waving a slow hand toward Lori. “Mackanima forbid teaching the old legends, as he called them, and few have heard it since. But it is there, in several old records, hard to read, old style writing, much faded, and many parts lost. They tell of a time of ‘seeding,’ as it is called, of the desperate and dispirited and discredited, brought here from afar, and left, the minds wiped by chemicals or something, all to start a new life on a new planet. And forgotten, presumably. But scarce records show Mackanima received, several times, reports of thunderous noise, and glowing clouds rising to the sky, and strange, burned smells in the air long after. ‘Just the manifestation of the Sun-god, let no one investigate the working of the Sun-god,’ he said, and suppressed all further queries. None dared challenge him on that. But he avidly read and re-read the few such reports that arrived here.” Charon looked up at the strange alien faces surrounding him. “It appears the old reports are correct. We did not arise here, creatures of the Sun-god, to give him worship and praise. We were brought here from another place, left on our own, and now those who did so seek to return, as they might have on occasion in the recent past
. Perhaps to place us in slavery, perhaps to add others to those of us already here. I rather doubt to bring us the benefits of knowledge and technology, as you have, Sky Lady.”
Lori nodded thoughtfully, one hand holding her chin.
Charon continued, “And now, what will you do? Go look for this place from which the starships of war arrived?”
“We have already sent out a ship to find it,” Lori said. “And yes, when we do, we will go there, to seek to meet those who sent out the fighting ships, and try to forge a peace. It may be difficult.”
“Do the old writings say more about those brought here, or those who brought them?” Tarue asked.
“No, nothing more. All has been lost, to time, neglect, or fear.” Charon looked at Lori, and asked. “Will you then leave us, and not return, Sky Lady?”
So that is the fear, the dark terror reflected in the eyes and speech of all the natives lately.
“Yes, I will leave, I am the leader of the Expedition, I must go, to investigate this new place, this new planet. But I will return. We will not abandon our good friends on Uta, no matter what, of that you may be certain.”
The news greatly relieved Charon, he dropped his head in thanks, rose and bowed to Lori and took her hand, and quickly left, to spread the word, no doubt. Just as well, she really did have to go, and did intend to return, but who knew what would happen.
A few days later, Captain Bemaraka compiled the recommendations of her fellows, and looked at Hunter and Lori. She said, “Everybody wants to go, and in this case, there is a certain strength in numbers. But I suggest we leave the cargo transports here, they are of no use in a battle, will provide great loss if taken or destroyed in combat, and by remaining will allay the fears of the natives that we will go for good. And we can keep trading, here, then, too. And one or two ships to protect them.”
“Yes, several ships want to go, to open trade on what is surely a much more developed and advanced planet than Uta. Should that prove feasible,” another said.
T-47 Book II (Saxon Saga 6) Page 27
