Battle Cruiser

by B. V. Larson

  “So you withheld information? About a mutual enemy?”

  She looked at me, puzzled. “I was not ordered to comply with the interrogators. Naturally, I withheld information.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Who would you accept such orders from?”

  “You, of course.”

  Nodding and unsurprised, I recalled that Zye and I had been quickly separated after our return to Earth. They’d debriefed us separately, and quite politely. Apparently, their gentle treatment had been viewed with scorn by Zye.

  “All right then,” I said. “From now on, Zye, cooperate with guardsmen. Answer their questions.”

  “As you wish.”

  The next hour consisted of an interrogation by House Astra security. I couldn’t blame them. I only wished Zye had been more forthcoming earlier.

  The truth was we’d all been taken by surprise. Earth was only just coming to grips with the idea we were back in touch with other worlds. We’d thought of ourselves as singular and unique for so long…the colonies had almost faded into the status of myths.

  At one point during the proceedings, Chloe came close to me, kissed me on the cheek and left. She wanted to go to the hospital on her estate, where her mother was in critical condition. It wasn’t the sort of ending to the evening I’d envisioned with her, but I urged her to go home.

  I tried to plan my next step. Star Guard had to be informed about all of this. We’d thought someone on Earth had manufactured a robotic assassin and clothed it in human flesh—but we’d never suspected that colonist spies were the ones building these monstrosities.

  “Captain,” I said, addressing the leader of the Astra security detail. “In my official capacity as an officer of Star Guard, I’m confiscating the corpse of the assassin. Please transport it to CENTCOM.”

  She looked irritated, but nodded. “We’ll do it.”

  “Zye, accompany me please.”

  “Hold on,” the agent leader said. “We haven’t exonerated her as yet.”

  “She’s a member of my crew. I’m not going to press charges against you for firing on her, and you’re not going to detain her and hinder our investigation. These creatures threaten our whole planet. That elevates the matter, and it’s officially under the jurisdiction of the Guard.”

  Again, the captain looked annoyed, but she nodded.

  Times were changing. Not too long ago, a personal security force leader might have stood up to a guardsman, confident that the machinery of government would back her up. The Guard had long been toothless and almost irrelevant.

  Events were propelling us forward. Everyone could feel it. Earth had a threat from the skies again. Humanity needed to stand united, and we all knew we had to band together. Centralized authority was usually born from necessity, and this occasion was no different than countless similar moments in history.

  “Zye, let’s go,” I said.

  She loomed over my shoulder, and security people melted from our path as we strode from the scene. I was glad I’d turned on my blood filters some time ago. They were doing their job. By the time we reached CENTCOM, I’d only have a faint headache to remind me of my excesses.

  We climbed into a hired air car. After a violent launch, I was impressed. The driver had taken my urging to rush seriously.

  My implants buzzed in my head. Printed on my retina was the name of the caller: William Sparhawk, the Elder.

  “Father?” I answered.

  “William…” he said. “I hardly know what to say. How can you be involved in two tragic events within such a short span? The suggestion it’s all a coincidence strains credulity.”

  His directness took me off-guard. A part of me had dared hope a congratulatory word had been earned. But my father wasn’t one to focus on the best elements. Instead, he tended to find the flaws in any effort.

  “I take it you’re talking about two assassination attempts?”

  “Yes, of course. Not to mention a rebellion in space. How is it you’re the center of this unrelenting sequence of disasters?”

  The question annoyed me, but I had to admit he had a point. “Have there been any other assassinations of note? Any other signs of discord among the populace?”

  “What a question…but of course, you’ve been out of touch. The answer is yes. We’ve had a number of labor riots. The cities are demanding better power rations, and the sea farming unions are on strike. Is that the sort of thing you mean?”

  “Maybe. You see, according to the Beta colonist Zye, we’re under attack worldwide.”

  “How so?”

  I proceeded to relate Zye’s report on the Stroj. “These beings have shifted, according to her, from spying to sabotage. That indicates they’re prepping us for invasion.”

  My father was the one who sat in stunned silence this time. He finally revealed himself to me, sending video to match the audio transmissions.

  I was surprised at his appearance. He was still in medical garb. He was lying on his back in bed, staring up at the vid pick-up.

  “You haven’t made a full recovery yet?” I asked.

  “No…and keep the information quiet, will you? My rivals are already getting ideas.”

  “Certainly. But what’s your condition, exactly?”

  “There were certain toxins in the artificial being that attacked me. She injected me with mal-bots—nanites that are still rupturing cells throughout my body on a daily basis. Antibodies and surgical bots are doing battle with them in my guts at this very moment.”

  “That would seem to indicate the assassination attempt came from a technologically advanced group,” I said.

  “Connect me to this Zye person,” he demanded.

  “I can’t,” I said. “She doesn’t have an implant.”

  “Well then…can you forward your nerve data to me directly?”

  “I’ll patch you into the feed.”

  Performing this trick was a mental effort, but I was finally able to gain the attention of my implant’s processing core. It had a necessarily simplistic interface. Soon, the feed from my eyes and ears was being transmitted and reproduced with minor lag inside my father’s brain. Not everyone had an implant capable of such things, but being the heir to House Sparhawk did have its advantages.

  Zye looked at me dubiously.

  “Who am I talking to?” she asked. “You or your father?”

  “Both, after a fashion,” I admitted. “We’re both listening.”

  “So strange…” she said, clearly uncomfortable with the technology.

  “Just forget my father is listening. Speak to me as if we were alone.”

  “That’s not possible. You’ve just informed me we’re not.”

  “I mean pretend—never mind.” I realized that she might not be imaginative enough to “pretend” anything, and besides, time was wasting. “Please make your report.”

  “Very well. There are many colony worlds. Not all of them are in contact with one another. But one planet that has successfully attacked several others is possessed by a group known as the Stroj.”

  “Tell me about them,” I prompted.

  “They are no longer completely human. I think that’s at the basis of their difficulties with other human colonists. They don’t empathize with Basics such as you—or Betas like me, for that matter.”

  “Basics?” my father said. Zye couldn’t hear his questions so I repeated query.

  Zye looked at me quizzically for a moment. “Your father asked the question, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bizarre… Basics are what colonists call Earthlings. You’re our basic stock. Some worlds still exist that are populated purely by Basics, but most have differentiated physically and culturally.”

  “Go on. What about the Stroj?”

  “They were one of the last groups to leave Earth. They were of Eastern European stock, as I understand it. Because of the Cataclysm, they weren’t able to find their way to their target world. They wandered, spurned by other colonies, until
they found a dim red dwarf with a planet barely able to support life.”

  “What kind of climate do they have?”

  “The world is small and murky. Subtropical, I think you’d call it. But the climate isn’t the trouble. The planet was overgrown with organics when they got there.”

  “Plants? Animals?”

  “Yes, and they’re all highly toxic to Basics. The atmosphere was dangerous too, full of heavy metals due to frequent violent volcanic eruptions.”

  “That does sound grim,” I said. “I suppose they adapted their bodies to survive.”

  “Yes, drastically. They started off with cybernetic alterations. In time, the cybernetics became dominant, and their flesh became optional. Some don’t bother to grow it anymore, except for sensory organs and sub-brains.”

  I tried to envision a race of cybernetic creatures that were partly human but mostly machine. They sounded unpleasant in the extreme.

  “The key to understanding them is to accept they are all unique blends of machine and flesh,” Zye went on. “They design and redesign themselves to fit their missions. One Stroj might appear as a robot. Another might have only a few parts that are machine-based. They’re all slightly different in configuration. To them, flesh is like clothing to a Basic. Most importantly, they can subsume the flesh of a person and take it over—as you or I might put on a jacket.”

  “I see…” my father said, and I repeated his words to Zye. “How are such strange beings operating in our midst?”

  “They can mimic other races. No colony is safe from their spies. They’re masters of disguise.”

  Lifting a hand, I stopped the conversation. “I’ve had a sudden thought,” I said. “Before Singh ordered me out on the deep-orbit mission to find the Beta battle cruiser, I apprehended a smuggler over Antarctica. Singh tried to stop me, but I persisted and caught the man. He behaved strangely, and he had in his possession a number of Beta embryos in tubes. He’d clearly stolen them from Defiant.”

  Zye was upset. “Did you execute him?”

  “No…Captain Singh didn’t even want me to chase him down. He said the embryos were to be sold to the miners. I was forced to let him go.”

  “We must find him!” Zye burst out.

  “We will, Zye. We will,” I said with all the certainty I could muster.

  “William,” my father said inside my head. “I’m going to disconnect and make inquiries. I want you to come home immediately. We’ll talk face to face.”

  “Father, I’m returning to CENTCOM. I report to Admiral Cunningham now, remember?”

  “I’ll make inquiries,” he repeated cryptically.

  The channel closed, and I turned to Zye. “He’s gone.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said. “I find it disturbing to have two males looking at me with a single pair of eyes.”

  Before we reached CENTCOM, Admiral Cunningham contacted me.

  “Yes, Admiral?” I answered.

  Zye looked at me and rolled her eyes. I was staring off into space again.

  “Commander Sparhawk,” Cunningham said in an irritated tone. “There’s been a change of plans. I want you to proceed to House Sparhawk and brief Servant Sparhawk in person.”

  I frowned. Clearly, my father had been throwing his weight around.

  “Admiral,” I said. “I’m a guardsman first and foremost. I would like to report personally to you.”

  “It’s a reasonable request, but it puts me in a delicate position.”

  “How so?”

  “Must I spell out the situation to you?” she asked. Then she sighed. “I see that I must. Your father is in charge of the appropriations committee. He’s long stood in opposition to the Guard, keeping our budgetary requirements from being met. If he were to change his mind on that topic, in light of these new developments…”

  “I see,” I said, and I did see. My father had contacted her and either threatened or offered to reward her—it was one and the same among the political class. “The avoidance of this type of situation was precisely why I joined the Guard.”

  “A noble ambition,” she said without an ounce of sarcasm. “But we’re all forced to live within the boundaries of certain realities. And as you, yourself have made quite clear, we are once again no longer alone in the universe.”

  “Very well,” I said. “I’ll do as you ask. But first let me relay to you what I’ve learned.”

  At length, I discussed the presence of the Stroj, their apparent violation of our star system, and their infiltration into our midst.

  “I’m upset to learn these details,” Cunningham said when I finished, “but I’m not surprised. There have been a number of odd events. The idea that some kind of outside influence has been behind these incidents goes a long way toward explaining them.”

  “Glad I could be of assistance, Madam. We must find a way to detect these Stroj infiltrators and catch them.”

  “Agreed. Now, return to your father at House Sparhawk. That’s an order.”

  Redirecting the air car onto a new course, we soon landed at House Sparhawk. My mother greeted me with enthusiasm on the pad—but she seemed alarmed by my apparent body guard.

  “Who is this…?” she asked.

  “Mother, this is Zye, a Beta. She’s a friend and a loyal crew member.”

  After the introductions were made, I took Zye to meet my father in person.

  The old man looked to be in bad shape. He was wearing an oxygen mask, and tendrils of tubing crisscrossed his prone form.

  “You didn’t look this bad in the projections you sent me,” I protested.

  “No, sorry. I edit all the impressions and even the nerve-feeds that I send out. I’d stand a chance of losing my chairmanship if I let anyone see how seriously ill I really am.”

  “Poison?” Zye asked, leaning forward in concern. “Stroj poison?”

  “Yes,” my father said, sighing. “That’s what it must be. Ever since that wicked machine cut me.”

  “It’s not exactly a machine,” Zye said. “Not in the traditional sense. It’s a hybrid form. Alive and dead at the same time.”

  “Yes, well, whatever poison it used is killing me.”

  “Have you tried an EMP burst?” Zye asked.

  My father nodded. “The nanites seem to be shielded.”

  “Then you must move on to more extreme measures,” she advised. “Stroj poison is always fatal if unchecked.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Electric shock. Two thousand volts should be sufficient.”

  “At what amperage?” my father asked dubiously.

  “Five amps should be do it. A duration of approximately ten seconds is required.”

  My father’s eyes widened. He looked in my direction.

  “Is this your way of getting your inheritance early? I’ll surely die!”

  “Resuscitation is generally needed afterward,” Zye admitted. “But tissue damage is minimal with proper grounding.”

  My father suffered a bout of coughing after that. His coughs were wet and thick. I saw blood at the corners of his mouth when he finished. With a trembling hand, he reached up to wipe at them with a cloth.

  “All right,” he said. “None of my physicians have managed to do a thing. They’ve prodded and irradiated me half-to-death. Their latest scheme was to attempt a reprogramming of the swarm by injecting fresh nanites to infect the rest.”

  Zye shook her head. “We’ve tried that. Stroj poisons are resistant to such techniques.”

  Father heaved a sigh. He summoned engineers and explained what needed to be done. After arguing with his medical staff, he ordered them all to leave until the procedure was over.

  As engineers wired his pale wrists with cuffs and cords, he looked at me squarely.

  “Sparhawk the Younger,” he said. “In a way, I’m unsurprised to find you in the midst of all this. I’d long believed you were a failed clone, a mismatch, but now it seems that you are like me. You’ve simply chosen a different organ
ization to strive within.”

  “Father, it sounds like you might come to accept my decision to join the Guard?”

  “Never,” he said, “but I might learn to live with it eventually. We’ll need good men in powerful ships if even half the things this Beta has told us are true.”

  At last, the engineers were finished. We were ushered to a safe distance before the transformer was connected to the contacts.

  I nodded to my father, and he nodded back.

  Then, they flipped the switch.

  -40-

  It would be fair to say that my father and I had never been close. But in that moment, as I watched him die thrashing about in agony, I felt kinship with him.

  His face was very similar to my own, after all, if many years older. His mouth opened as the voltage hummed and surged, and some random frequency of the alternating current must have matched that which causes fine muscular movement. His eyes were blinking open and closed very rapidly, as if a machine were driving them.

  “That’s enough,” Zye said.

  “You said fifteen seconds,” I pointed out.

  “Yes—but he’s already dead.”

  They killed the power, and the technicians fled. In their place, a squad of scandalized doctors and nurses rushed to replace them. They cast glares in our direction.

  “What was the point of that?” demanded the head physician. “You might have set his hair on fire!”

  “It wasn’t perfectly done,” Zye admitted. “But he has either been cured or his death has been hastened. It’s up to you which it will be.”

  I was too upset to speak, but I maintained a rigid expression. Nothing less was expected of a member of the Sparhawk household under such circumstances.

  We watched as they worked on Father for several minutes. His breathing and pulse were reestablished, but they were artificially maintained. His brain wasn’t providing his body with nerve impulses. They were being delivered through emergency implants that sat here and there on his body like glimmering leaches.

  “His internal implant has melted,” complained a doctor. “He’ll need a new one.”