No, I realized after only a few minutes, Simms was not with three of the science team. There were three scientists there, but the British and Chinese women were working on their own, because all of Simms’ attention was focused on an American engineer whose name I remembered as Frank Muller. He was a nice guy the few times I spoke with him, on loan to UNEF from a university like MIT or Caltech, that detail escaped my mind. He and Simms were huddled over tiny seedlings of spinach, talking quietly while she explained something to him. I could not hear what they were saying and I didn’t need to, their body language told me everything I needed to know. Scratch that, as captain of the ship I did not need to know details of the crew’s personal lives. What I saw told me all I wanted to know. The two of them were huddled closer together than they needed to be, and they were smiling, and whispering, and then he said something that made Simms laugh and she touched his hand and her hand lingered just a bit too long to be a casual gesture. And I thought to myself that is interesting.
Then I thought that Jennifer Simms was an adult and Frank Muller was a civilian and if two people could find a measure of happiness together, before I got us all killed trying to accomplish the impossible, then good for them. Especially good for Simms, I had kept her away from family and friends and home and any kind of personal life for far too long.
So, I walked around the gardens long enough to inspect everything, and got out of there as quickly as I could without being awkward.
CHAPTER TEN
“Sir?” Smythe rapped his knuckles on my office door frame. “You have a moment?”
“Certainly, Colonel,” I waved for him to take a seat.
“Perhaps it would be best if you called me ‘Smythe’? We currently have too many colonels aboard this ship.”
“Oh, yeah,” I agreed. He was right about that. Smythe and Simms were now Lieutenant Colonels, and in all except formal settings, they were addressed as ‘Colonel’. It was going to be cumbersome if we referred to each other by rank all the time. “What is it, Smythe? How are the new people fitting in? Are the Delta guys giving you any trouble?”
“No trouble at all, Sir. They are exceptionally disciplined and eager for action. All the lads, er, and ladies. I am still getting used to having women in Special Operations teams,” Smythe admitted with a wry grin. “Everyone is getting along well and we are forming up into one cohesive team. That is what I wish to speak with you about, Sir.”
“Uh, what part of it?” I had no idea what he meant.
“Although the team is smaller than any of our previous missions, we have the most international group of any mission, and the people have not had opportunity to train together dirtside before we departed. The two previous times, the five national teams were able to meet and spend at least a week of working together on the ground before we boarded the ship. There were still issues to be worked out in flight, of course. The point is, we now have a team composed of people who never met, do not know the tactics and training methods used by other people’s home units. Just getting everyone to think in the unique terminology we use has been a steep learning curve, people instinctively want to fall back on the language of their home units. Perhaps the greatest difficulty is that most of the team did not expect to be serving aboard the Flying Dutchman. I am accustomed to being called for a mission on short notice, but this,” one side of his mouth curled up in a wry smile, “was rather abrupt.”
“We could have had more notice,” I pointed at the ceiling, “if a certain beer can had been paying attention.”
“Hey!” The avatar shimmered to life on my desk immediately. “I was paying attention. I told you, UNEF Command conducted all their communications face to face, or in writing. Writing, like, on paper,” he shook his head in wonderment that anyone used such primitive technology. “That would not have stopped me from reading their notes anyway, I could have- Ah, OK. So, I was not completely paying attention. Hey! You try watching and listening to billions of monkeys, UGH. Thought I would die of boredom. One of the subminds I assigned to monitor social media actually did overload and ask to be taken offline, because it could not stand listening to one more argument about Real Housewives of Sheboygan. Seriously, your species cares deeply about the stupidest things.”
“We never asked you to monitor every post on social media, Skippy,” the argument was getting me frustrated. “You should have been watching the senior officers assigned to UNEF Command, and the leaders of the Security Council nations. That list can’t be too many people, certainly not enough for your awesome capacity for-”
“I did that, Joe. At least, I did that as much as I could. The problem was, the operation to take control of the Dutchman apparently was planned long before we got back to Earth. UNEF Command had decided to take the ship away from you, they were only waiting for the optimal moment to do it. Since that Delta team got my attention, I went back to make sense of bits and pieces of information. It looks like UNEF Command first started discussing the idea of taking direct control of this ship about two months after we were overdue to return. The elections of new presidents in the United States and France also changed UNEF Command’s attitude about me, and especially about you. Your president is not a member of the Joe Bishop fan club.”
“Yeah, I got that idea when the intel people were grilling me at Wright-Pat. That’s all water over the bridge now, so-”
His avatar’s hands were on its hips, glaring at me with indignation. “The expression is water under the bridge, you dumdum. Damn, you can’t even get-”
“I said ‘over’ because this situation is a flood, Skippy.”
“Oh. Uh, go ahead, then.”
“Great. Back to the subject, Maj-” The new ranks were still something I hadn’t gotten used to. “Colonel, Smythe. I meant no offense.”
“None taken, Sir. This,” he fingered his lieutenant colonel’s insignia, “will take some getting used to for myself also.”
“Yeah, but I make a habit of forgetting. I called Desai ‘Captain’ for way too long. Go ahead, please.”
“Right. Instead of having five nationalities who were cohesive teams before they came aboard, we now have people from Britain, Canada, Poland and Germany. Plus Americans who are Delta Force and Marine Raiders, they both have their own set of standards, tactics and training.”
“Interservice rivalry is a problem?” If that were true, I would be upset. By ‘upset’ I mean I would be tempted to put on an armored suit and teach the offenders a lesson by slapping the shit out of them. Once again, I missed our non-nonsense Marine Corps gunnery sergeant. Margaret Adams usually spoke softly, because the people who knew her did not wish to arouse her wrath. With so few people on this mission, we could not afford to-
Smythe interrupted my dark thoughts. “Rivalries and morale are not presenting any difficulty. Overall I am very pleased about how to team is coming together, every one of them has put aside national identities to further our common goal. To continue the progress we have made, I would like to implement an idea that originated with the Indian team when we were on Kobamik, during our black op. My home unit is, or was, 22 Special Air Services Regiment. What the Indians proposed, and I would now like to implement, is to replace current unit identifications with this,” he reached into a pocket, and slapped a patch on the desk. “Special Tactics Assault Regiment, or STAR. People aboard the Dutchman would be assigned to four-man STAR teams. Colonel, we need one set of tactics and one training regimen. If we get back to Earth, UNEF needs to create international STAR teams to train together, in advance of deployment aboard the Dutchman. We cannot afford miscommunications in action.”
“STAR teams, huh?” I turned the patch on the desk, looking at it from different angles. Then, realizing the logo was the least important aspect of setting up a new unit, I looked up. “Have you mentioned this to your people?”
“No, Sir, I wanted to discuss it with you first.”
Rather than making my usual snap decision, I turned the idea over in my mind, giving it
time to sink in. The people Smythe commanded had not expected to serve aboard the Flying Dutchman, had not expected to serve together. If they had dreamed of joining the Merry Band of Pirates, those dreams most likely had involved joining the crew with their own team, whether that was SAS, Rangers, SEALS, paratroopers or whatever designation their home units used. “My only concern is this might be too many changes all at once.”
“Sir,” Smythe leaned forward with a touch of impatience. “My approach to taking off a bandage is simply to get it over with. It might come as a shock, true. I believe now is the appropriate time to present the STAR team concept to my people,” there was the slightest hint of emphasis on the ‘my’ when he said that, reminding me that I had always allowed him great latitude in managing the Special Operations component of the Pirates. “They have been presented with several great shocks already, being assigned to newly-formed unit will, as you Americans say, get ‘lost in the sauce’. If we wait and tell them later, that will be disruptive.”
“You know your people,” I replied with a slow nod of approval. “Proceed as you see fit. I sure as hell need you to knit them into one effective team, and do it quickly. We do not have a specific need for your team yet,” I smiled.
He finished my thought. “But when you do, you will need them right quick. Yes, Sir.”
While I tried to think of a way to steal both a set of pixies and a Maxolhx dropship, I needed to discuss something with Skippy, so I closed my office door ad called him. “Skippy, we need a backup plan.”
“Um, we do not yet have a plan at all, Joe. A backup seems premature.”
“I mean, if we can’t stop the Maxolhx from reaching Earth, we need a backup plan.” Rubbing my temples, I stared down at the desktop. “You always say our missions are impossible, but this time I think the whole idea of us fighting two Maxolxh ships is arrogant bullshit. I got us out here on a fool’s errand, and now I realize I asked people to commit mutiny and throw their careers away for nothing. UNEF is right, I’m a reckless, short-sighted amateur. This has been fun, now it’s time for a reality check. So,” I exhaled in defeat, “we need a backup plan.”
“Okaaaaaaay,” he dragged the word out. “Is this backup plan to throw a really bitchin’ party before the Maxolhx blow your planet to dust?”
“No. A backup to Earth. A place where humans can survive in secret and safety, if Earth is destroyed, or even if aliens conquer us and turn us all into slaves. We need a place where human culture can survive, not just our physical beings. Like those Verd-Kris. Their people were enslaved by the Thuranin, and their original culture was lost. The Verd-Kris are bringing it back, because the Ruhar have provided places where they can do that safely. Work with me, please,” I pleaded. “I am trying to think long-term, like you say I should. Even if we manage to stop the Maxolhx from coming to Earth, there will always be another crisis. We need a place for humans and human culture to survive, if Earth is conquered or destroyed.”
“Ok, makes sense. What are you thinking of?”
“A ‘Beta site’. A planet we could use as a colony. It would have to be somewhere no aliens could get to. And it needs to be hidden, no one on Earth can know where it is. Going to this Beta site has to be a one-way trip, I think.”
“That is a tall order, Joe. A place where not even the Maxolhx or Rindhalu could get to?”
“A place that is not easy for them to get to, how about that? They would have to make a major, major effort to get there, someplace far enough away that they would never bother to make the effort.”
“Ok, but, um, I see a flaw in your plan. If this place is so far away, how would humans get there?”
“Easy. We use Skippy’s Magic Carpet.”
“To quote you, ‘Uh, what’?”
“There are lots of dormant Elder wormholes in the galaxy, right? Even ones that are outside the galaxy?”
“Outside the galaxy?”
“Yeah, in the,” I waved a hand vaguely. “Magellan’s Clouds, something like that. And there are like, dwarf galaxies out there too.”
“There is the Great and Lesser Magellanic Clouds, yes. Also, in no particular order, the Fornax dwarf galaxy, the Carina dwarf, the-”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I meant,” I leaned forward excitedly. “See my point? There are plenty of places out there that must have habitable planets, far from any place the senior species could reach. All we need to do is find a dormant wormhole out there, someplace remote.”
“All we need to do? Joe, you act like that is easy. And by ‘we’ you mean me. I have to do all the work.”
“Can it be done? Do you have a map of the entire wormhole network?”
“Nope.”
“No?” My jaw fell. “Crap, I thought for sure you would have something like that. How do you know which wormholes are out there, where the connections go, or can go? You used to screw with wormholes willy-nilly back when-”
“Yes, and my manipulating wormholes is what got us into this mess. Listen, dumdum, I do have a map of the wormhole network, but it is by no means complete. I can query the network control system-” He sighed. “Ah, that is a bad description but I’m talking to a monkey, so what can I do? When I connect to the network using the controller module, I get a rough, temporary glimpse of conditions in the local network. Think of it like the ‘Notice To Airmen’ bulletins you check before you file a flightplan, only much more sophisticated. By keeping track of those glimpses, I have been able to assemble a rough mapping, but it mostly covers only part of the local sector, confined to a slice across the Orion and Sagittarius Arms.”
“I call bullshit on that, Skippy. You have showed me maps, many times, showing wormholes all over the galaxy.”
“Yes, and that map is from data I pulled from the Thuranin, the Jeraptha and others. All that is publically available info, nothing that would help us find a far-distant, dormant wormhole.”
“I’m throwing the bullshit flag this time. We have more than once connected to a dormant wormhole you assured me nobody knew about. If the wormhole is dormant, it’s not connected to the network, so how did you know about it?”
“Ugh. How has my life spun so far out of control that I am explaining Elder systems to a monkey? To you? Ok, dumdum, prepare to have knowledge smacked down on you like a ton of bricks. Most dormant wormholes are still connected to the network, in fact it is very rare that a wormhole actually disconnects. So, the network knows about the dormant wormholes and reports on them, duh. Because wormholes that are currently dormant might be reactivated following a network shift. Also, when wormholes operate, they create gamma radiation, as you would know if you were paying attention.”
“I was.”
He ignored me. “Through maps of gamma radiation events, that I got mostly from the Thuranin who got it from the Maxolhx who got the historical data from the Rindhalu, I know where active wormholes used to be. Compare that to the map of currently active wormholes, and presto! I know which wormholes are dormant.”
“Yeah, I figured it was something like that.”
“What? Then why did you waste my time with-”
“Do you know how network shifts work? Like, can you predict which dormant wormholes are likely to be put back online in the next shift?”
“Unfortunately no, and I am embarrassed about that,” he mumbled. “It is not a problem of me not being smart enough to understand the protocols that govern the network! It is also not some pain-in-the-ass restriction inside me where I sort of have the info but can’t use it. In this case, I do not have that info, because it is not available to me. For some reason I do not understand, whenever I use our wormhole controller module to query the network, it responds with just the info I need for a current requirement, it refuses to provide more basic data.”
“So, when you ask the network whether wormhole X can temporarily connect to wormhole Y, it will tell you yes or no, and-”
“It will tell me yes or no, and if yes, how to do it and the parameters and any safety aler
ts. Like, if there is a massive star in the line between X and Y, the network will advise against trying that connection. The gravity well of a massive star can make the wormhole connection unstable. But that rarely happens. What the network will not do is respond when I inquire about the basic network geometry and settings. All I get is silence, like it ignores my question. By the way, thank you for mentioning something I am embarrassed about. That was so kind. Why does a dumdum monkey needs to know how the wormhole network functions?”
“Because, Oh Greatest of all Great Ones, imagine this scenario: what if we choose a beta site close to a dormant wormhole? You screw with the network to temporarily reactive that wormhole, then shut it down again after we return from bringing colonists to the beta site. Then, ten years later, a wormhole shift brings that dormant wormhole back to life, and it just happens to conveniently connect to a wormhole in Maxolhx territory. The beta site would be screwed!”
“I see your point. Well, that makes things extra complicated.”
“Exactly. I think what we need is a habitable planet near a wormhole that is dormant and is so far away no ships could get there by jumping. And where the wormhole is very, like extremely unlikely to come back online within the next couple thousand years.”
“Whoooooo, damn, you are not asking much.”
“I know it’s a stretch, but, is there a way to identify such a place?”
“Joe, the biggest problem is the requirement for a habitable planet. Because the target site is far away, we can’t use wide-field sensors to remotely search for habitable worlds. Anything we can see from here would be pretty much useless anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“You want a site far away, extremely remote? Take the Fornax Dwarf galaxy as an example. It is approximately three hundred thousand lightyears away, so any photons we see from those stars left that long ago. A planet that was habitable, but not inhabited, back then is not guaranteed to be in that condition now. The world could have fallen into a deep ice age, or a wandering brown dwarf star could have swung through the star system and thrown the planet out of orbit. Or a native intelligent species could have acquired technology during the past three hundred thousand years, and pose a threat to your colony.”
Renegades (Expeditionary Force Book 7) Page 17
