“Excuse me,” he said. “Permission to come on to the bridge?”
The man turned, regarding Webster as if he’d been expecting him and beckoned him forward.
But still Webster hesitated. For something told him that this wasn’t The Librarian. The physical similarities were but he had a marked sense that he was looking at someone else. He was broader across the chest and shoulders and had styled his hair neatly, in a style that wouldn’t have looked out of place inside the Confederation. There was a strange quality to his eyes also. These were dark and intense whereas The Librarian’s, he recalled, were bright blue.
Webster stepped inside. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
“Not directly. But I believe you had the dubious pleasure of speaking with The Librarian yesterday.”
“Yes, I did. But if he’s The Librarian, what does that make you?”
“You may refer to me as The Pilot.”
The Pilot spent the next ten minutes showing him around the bridge. Unlike his compatriot, he seemed quite relaxed answering Webster’s questions. He’d laid in a course which would see them meet up with The Naked Spur in the next eighteen hours. He even showed him a schematic of the deployment of the ship and the various freighters which had accompanied it. They all appeared to be arranged around another ship which, by the very nature of its organic design, was clearly a Da’al vessel.
But then, when he pushed the Pilot for further details of what had happened the man merely shrugged.
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
Webster found the whole process of being shown around both invigorating and slightly frustrating. For all that this was a new propulsion system, all he seemed to be able to work out was that it wasn’t designed to make use of gates of any kind. Just the mention of the concept appeared to confuse the other man.
After a while, Webster got the impression that he was nearing the end of his allotted time so decided to press him on something The Librarian had mentioned previously.
“The Librarian told me something interesting. He said that you used to be the Da’al’s masters?”
The Pilot viewed him with a renewed intensity.
“That is correct. We are an uncommon people. Unique in many ways.”
“I’m sure that lots of civilisations like to think that of themselves in that way.”
“Only with the Drasin, it’s true. Our ability to extend our life-span indefinitely is testament to that.”
Webster gave him a quizzical look. “And yet I’m stood here talking to a hologram. When do I get to meet you in person?”
“Long before the Da’al became a threat, we were putting great efforts into extending our life spans. We are inspired by the quest for knowledge and so sought to solve the problem of our own mutability, our alarming tendency to grow old and die. But in order to do that, we needed to make breakthroughs in technology and biological sciences. This in turn led us in a constant quest for resources.”
“I can see where this is going. You needed resources. Resources which weren’t available to you on your own planet.”
“We followed an expansionist policy, yes.”
“Some people might call that empire building.”
The Pilot raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever you want to call it, that’s fine. As we sought to find solutions to our problems it became inevitable that we should branch out into other star systems. Our progress was not without its challenges - we made mistakes, true. But all the while we fiercely defended our racial essence, ensuring that whoever we conquered was never allowed to take a place with us at the high table.”
He paused for a moment to input a new set of coordinates.
After the Librarian’s rather idealised re-telling it was refreshing to hear such a frank assessment of the Drasin’s achievements.
The Pilot went on, “We utilised everything these other planets had to offer while ensuring that they were never under any illusion as to who was in charge. I’m aware that this doesn’t portray us in a particularly flattering light but then we were the ones who ended up paying for our arrogance.”
“But that’s part of why empires are all doomed to fail,” Webster said. “It’s built into the fabric of their DNA. After their initial success the empire starts to proliferate and expand. Then, at some predetermined point the whole thing becomes unsustainable. Becomes so big that it can’t support itself. Is that what happened to you?”
“Not quite. Our mistake came when we discovered the Da’al. They proved to be both our greatest salvation and our greatest curse.”
Webster nodded as everything started to slide into place.
“What happened?”
“When we first encountered them, the Da’al had very little to recommend them. They were a largely aquatic species. They tended to work in large family groups controlled by a dominant male. These males expected total obedience from their progeny and if they didn’t receive it they were quick to make their disappointment known. This worked well in terms of helping the various leaders develop their own individual fiefdoms but it limited them in genetic terms as innovation and external influences were ruthlessly suppressed.”
Something flickered in the air above Webster’s head causing him to look up. What he saw were several dark shapes which moved lazily. They were reminiscent of a kind of bloated manta ray.
“And, what are these?”
“The Da’al as we first encountered them. Aggressive, combative, belligerent. Needless to say, they haven’t changed much.”
“Really? I’ve come up against quite a few of them now but none of them look remotely like this.”
“Forgive me, commander, but I think you may be confusing them with the Kurran. It’s a common enough error. The Kurran are the Da’al’s henchmen, if you will. The Da’al settled them quite recently. Just over half a million years ago. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
The Pilot brought up an image of two termite’s standing on their back legs, both clutching energy weapons. He was immediately reminded of the creature he’d left standing in an icy wasteland, its claw foot resting on a landmine.
“You’re telling me that after all this time I haven’t even seen a Da’al yet?”
The Pilot gave a thin smile. “That would seem to be the case. If you’d come across one, you’d know about it. They have what can only be described as an extremely distinctive aroma. It works to attract possible mates while at the same time chemically inhibiting the younger males - effectively neutering them. The dominant males have an extremely strong urge to reproduce.”
He brought up an image of a bloated figure. Its face was broad with a slash of a mouth and eyes which drooped alarmingly. The body ended in a long, thin, whip-like tail.
“You don’t paint a particularly flattering picture of them and yet they somehow managed to defeat you.”
“We under-estimated them, that’s true. Initially, we viewed them only as simple aggressors who we could exploit as a way of controlling other species. The only reason that they hadn’t become more dominant on their home planet was because they were largely aquatic. So we decided to change all that. But when we started experimenting on them, we were surprised to find that they possess a very unique gift.”
Webster looked at the image with distaste. “I find that hard to believe.”
“All the same, we discovered that the same system they used to navigate the oceans could be utilised, with a few upgrades, to encompass space flight. It didn’t happen overnight but gradually we began to entrust them with the running of our interstellar fleets. They are truly extraordinary in that regard. We took care to put counter measures in place to stop them taking over complete control but eventually the Da’al found ways of subverting those systems.”
“And that’s when they turned on you?”
The Pilot made to correct Webster but then stopped short, his face splitting into an awkward smile.
“You’re quite right. The whole thing has a grim p
redictability about it. Did I mention that they can be quite aggressive?”
“I believe you called them aggressive and belligerent.”
“Both biologically and socially they have evolved to dominate other species. The whole concept of surrender is foreign to them. There is no reasoning with them once they’re set on something.”
“So how did you manage to control them for so long? Get them to do your bidding.”
“We had some level of success early on using versions of their own hormones against them. But, over time, this became a less effective means of controlling them. There were several warning signs although, unfortunately, we chose not to heed them. The benefits granted to us by their navigational skills were just too tempting. They helped us achieve FTL travel far sooner than we would have on our own. But by closing our eyes to the threats posed by the Da’al, we simply accelerated our own downfall.”
The quiet of the bridge was disrupted by the keening sound of an alarm.
Webster looked at the Pilot who appeared unconcerned by this turn of events.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
He stepped down onto the main deck and crossed over to the master console. All the while, the screens flashed with data, though in a language Webster couldn’t begin to understand.
Then, from nowhere, another figure appeared and went across to help him.
Webster thought at first that this was The Librarian but quickly realised his mistake.
This was another sub-mind to be sure. He was dressed differently, in a blue smock over a green turtleneck sweater. His hair was longer as well, pulled back in an untidy ponytail.
From where Webster stood, it was difficult to hear what was being said so he moved closer.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” The Pilot’s voice had an edge to it now.
“I’m sure you haven’t but that doesn’t alter things. Either we go ahead with this or we don’t.”
“This isn’t why we’re here. We didn’t agree to any of this.”
“No, but that’s never stopped us in the past,” the man in the turtleneck was saying.
“And, in the meantime, events are getting away from us. If we don’t act soon it may already be too late.”
The figure in the turtle-neck sweater looked Webster up and down.
“Is this the one you’ve been talking about?”
“It is. But can we just focus on one thing at a time?”
The newcomer gave Webster an intense look before turning back to select a file.
For the first time he had a clear sense that he might be in danger. He wasn’t sure what had triggered it exactly but it was all tied up in the fact that this third, as yet unidentified, sub-mind was virtually indistinguishable from the other two. Although that wasn’t completely true, either. He quite admired the Pilot for his openness while finding the Librarian to be something of a sanctimonious robot. Both responses were purely emotional of course but, with nothing else to go on, he regarded this as good a gauge as any.
And what had he meant by that last comment?
“Is this the one you’ve been talking about?”
He didn’t like the sound of that at all.
CHAPTER 12
All they could do was sit and watch as their missiles homed in on their target. Moving around wasn’t an option anymore as they were all confined to their crash couches.
Bearing in mind that his physical movements were limited to being able to suck on his water pipe and select various HUD icons using his eyes, Faulkner had deferred to Whaites on the issue of which missiles to launch. And it hadn’t been a straightforward task, either, as he was constrained in his choices by the vast distances they would have to operate over. And while it did limit the payloads of the various missiles he’d employed, Whaites guaranteed him that the missiles would still be viable when they eventually reached their target.
Whaites had opted to lead with the more powerful missiles first. His hope being that they’d pack a sufficient punch to blow a hole right through the Da’al ship’s aft defences. This would be followed up by thirty stealth missiles, all of which would be targeting different areas. Each one was fitted with cameras in the hope that they would be able to identify significant weaknesses within the ship’s hull.
On paper it appeared to be an excellent plan showcasing just the right combination of stopping power and stealth technology. But none of that helped dispel Faulkner’s various misgivings. For, as far as he was concerned, they were just chancing their arm with this first attack. There was no brilliant ploy here with which they hoped to take-out their enemy. Instead, they were relying on a theory which Davitz, the chief engineer aboard Mantis, had posited but which he hadn’t lived long enough to see put into practice.
And the rest was all down to guesswork. Because the only thing which had been proven to have any effect on the Da’al shields so far was the EMP linked to a nuclear explosion. And, with no nukes currently available, they were just going to have to adopt a policy of wait and see.
“What’s the state of play with those missiles?” Faulkner asked.
“So far,” Whaites replied. “They’re all green. It’s looking good.”
“Distance to target?”
“One point six million miles.”
“How long before we have a possible strike?”
“Sixteen minutes, sir.”
Schwartz’s face popped into the top corner of his HUD and she gave him a rather forced smile. ‘Forced’ in terms of the effort it took just to move your head under these conditions. The acceleration couches were excellent for protecting the human frame from the vagaries of sub-light travel but they really limited what the crew could effectively do.
Certainly, on a personal level, Faulkner was struggling to stay fully alert. Initially, the doctors had wanted to put him out completely but he had refused. He needed to be conscious just in case Whaites’ plan didn’t work out the way they wanted it to.
The officers and crew who were still awake were sealed inside their own hugely ungainly compression suits. These suits would allow them to continue working safely, even in the event of a hull breech. As well as monitoring and supporting their basic bodily functions, the suits worked to squeeze the various body parts, ensuring that an adequate flow of blood was maintained throughout their circulatory systems. They were extremely uncomfortable to wear and downright painful at times.
Age-wise, this was pushing Faulkner to his absolute limits.
He was certain the doctors knew it too, but they had been prepared to take their lead from Schwartz. If she was willing to sign off on Faulkner’s health in the short-term, then that was good enough for them.
He wondered what she made of all this. His win-at-all-costs attitude towards the enemy. Schwartz was one of the new breed of officers who had grown up without fully grasping some of the sacrifices Faulkner and others of his generation had been forced to make. Did she think that he was over-stating his case as far as the threat posed by the Loki was concerned? Did she resent him for endangering their lives in this way?
There was no way of knowing. He just hoped that he still commanded some small level of respect from her. Because, in spite of everything that had happened, they were still in the game. There was still a chance that they could pull this off.
All they needed now was a little luck.
“The first of our missiles is coming into range, sir.”
He could see Whaites’ face on the top right of his visor. Despite his gaunt features, the man still managed to look excited. This would be his first foray into actual combat, and he was clearly relishing the experience.
The picture switched to show them the view from one of their lead missiles. It was surprisingly detailed, giving the impression that they were heading for an alien city lit up at night. The view was surprisingly tranquil, giving no indication of the destruction which was about to be unleashed.
“Two hundred and ninety seconds to target.”
Faulkner could sense the tension in the room.
If those Da’al shields were active, they would find out about it in the next few seconds.
“Whoa! What was that?” someone said over the tac-link.
“I didn’t see anything,” Whaites said.
“We seem to be picking up enemy fire.”
“We’re two missiles down.”
“I’m not sure what’s happening, sir. But, at such close range, they have to be deploying lasers.”
“Since when did the Da’al have point defence capabilities?” Schwartz asked.
Faulkner wasn’t listening. He was too fixated on what he was seeing. He could just make out the flash of multiple impacts. They seemed to be coming from everywhere.
“We’re taking multiple hits, sir. They’ve locked on and hitting us with everything they’ve got.”
When his screen suddenly went blank, Faulkner brought up the tactical display front and centre, only to see that their first wave of missiles appeared to have been wiped out.
Then he started seeing gaps in the second wave of missiles. They were being picked off, one by one. And yet, still he refused to panic. They had over forty missiles heading for the target. The enemy couldn’t get them all. They were bound to score a significant hit at some point and then they’d take it from there.
With the question of the shielding having been removed, it would simply be a matter of studying the data. They’d dealt with lasers before, the threat they posed wouldn’t be insurmountable. They’d learn from their mistakes and try again.
Except their window of opportunity was closing fast.
“Sir, we have four vectors incoming.”
Whaites said, “Incoming?”
There was a moment of incomprehension and then the sound of a massive explosion ripped through the whole ship. Faulkner’s head was jerked to one side and, if it hadn’t been for the head restraints built into his suit, the outcome would have been far worse.
Cry of War: A Military Space Adventure Series Page 18
