by Erick Drake
Daisy scanned the DEVICE Tongue handed her. "But that would take all our remaining pseudo carbon blocks!"
Tongue pursed his lips. "Were you listening about the stuff with the war and Doves and things?"
"Fine," said Daisy returning the DEVICE.
"And in the meantime, Captain, XO, you need to put your differences aside. At least until we reach the rendezvous. After that, I don't give a crap. Agreed?"
"Of course. Even though this is all Jones's fault."
"My fault! What about -"
Their recriminations were interrupted by the sound of Tongue’s newly extended death quills tapping slowly on his DEVICE.
They exchanged quick, nervous glances. "Yes Ambassador, you've made your position quite clear," said Daisy quickly.
For a few minutes Tongue stared after their retreating backs. Leroy Cakes's ill-advised declaration was going to annoy a lot of people. Especially Tongue's secret employers. They wanted Tongue to ensure the talks did not take place. In order to do that, he first had to get to the LASS Square Jaw. Preferably in one piece.
8 Off we pop
One hour and twenty minutes later, the bridge crew were once more assembled.
"Repairs complete, simulations check out," the Chief Engineer's voice came over the intercom, "In fact I've been able to complete some outstanding maintenance on the Ion drive."
"No need to brag, Chief," said Daisy.
"By outstanding I mean 'long overdue'. But now that you mention it the results are pretty awesome. We should be able to hit Mark 7 with a cruising speed of Mark 5."
"Blimey," said Steve, "We don't usually make more than Mark 3 and that's if we get out and push."
"Well done Chief, prepare to engage wormhole, bridge out."
"I have no need to tell the Captain that it is usually at this point," said Jones from the XO station, "that the Captain would request a final status before setting off. You know, a brief summary of things and stuff."
An hour ago, Daisy would have bristled at Jones's intervention, regarded it as yet another attempt to undermine her authority. But during Tongue's tongue-lashing it had occurred to Daisy that Jones could have revealed she had cheated at the Captain's exams at any time. That she had done so was something of a scandal. That she had done so using a temporary and illegal mind patch was even more so. That she had done so using an illegal mind patch of one of the most notorious captains in human space history, the ravenous xenophobe Captain Weaver, elevated her 'something of a scandal' to the 'epitome of scandal', the very definition of 'a right shocker and no mistake'. But Jones had kept his mouth shut. She was grateful and she told him so on their way back to the bridge. She had also suggested that they should put aside their history and work together - at least for the duration of this mission. Jones had stopped walking.
"Yeah, look, it was just a bit of a shock, you know, seeing you and what happened and stuff. It all got complicated and annoying."
"Yes. I suppose it put us both on our guard."
Jones laughed then, "Letters? I mean what kind of a coward ends a relationship with a letter? Jeebuzz, we're terrible people aren't we."
Daisy agreed. "So, pax then?"
He smiled. "Yes, go on. Let's see where it goes. We might work well together."
"Yes," she enthusiastically agreed, caught up in the sudden mood of bonhomie, "We might end up fuck buddies!"
They both stared at each other in shocked silence. "Well, uh," said Jones, "I think the bridge is this way."
"No, that's the toilet," pointed out Daisy, "It's this way."
"Right, yes, lead on Captain."
Since then, the atmosphere on the bridge had been far less prickly.
"Thank you, XO," replied Daisy, "As you say, you have no need to tell me that it is usually at this point that the Captain would . . . erm . . ."
"Request a status . . ."
"Request a final status before setting off, yes, that. Final status XO?"
"Wormhole generators showing green -"
"Oh, bloody hell, engineering just said the repairs are complete. Now this?"
"No," said Jones gently, "That's good. Green is good. Puce is worrying."
"Oh, right, I knew that. Carry on."
"So, wormhole generators good, Ion set to full steam, course laid in. All systems look ready for the Captain's pleasure."
"Filthy systems."
"No, I mean -"
"I know what you mean XO. Your Captain was making a joke," she turned in her chair to smile at him.
"Oh," said Steve, "Shall I add that to the official log?"
"No. What?" she turned back to face front.
"It's just Captain Trevor used to like us to make a note of it when he made a joke. He'd make us read them back every month."
"No, Steve, that won't be necessary. Right, activate exotic matter, Ion drive to Mark 1. Bring the wormhole online."
The main viewer showed the customary pyrotechnic display that resulted from energetic exotic matter particles being projected at a single point in space-time, making the ordinary space around it recoil in a horrified scream that was a scrambled mix of hard, soft and lightly poached radiation, the result of which was a spaceship-sized hole through to hyperspace.
"Wormhole open."
"Thank you, Navigation Officer. Right, off we pop."
"Popping off . . . now." Steve hit the big, green button.
In a flash, the mouth of the wormhole grew larger on the main viewer and then all was darkness as Space Scrap 17 shot through the entry into hyperspace and sped on to its destination.
"We are at Mark 1 Captain. All systems look good."
"OK, let's take it to Mark 4. That should bring us to our rendezvous in . . ." Daisy's brow furrowed as she attempted to calculate their arrival time. "In time to do the rendezvous thing." She finished.
"Mark 4, aye."
Two hours later a similar pyrotechnic display in another sector of deep space heralded the opening of a wormhole exit point. Space Scrap 17 exited the wormhole and returned to normal space-time.
Empty, normal space-time.
Empty that is, aside from the mountain-sized pieces of rock floating around.
But very conspicuously empty of the flag-ship of the LASS space fleet, the heavily armoured and bristling with weapons-grade weapons LASS Square Jaw.
Of which there was no trace.
* * *
"Something's wrong," said Tongue. He ran the sensor scans again, this time extending the range to maximum. He frowned. "Captain, there is no sign of the Square Jaw."
"Oh good."
"Good?"
"Well, they won't notice we were late." Daisy raised her thumbs and grinned.
Tongue inclined his head. "You wish to join me in performing double penetration?"
"What? No, I mean 'good'. You know, thumbs up, the universal gesture of approval. Isn't that . . . isn't that what it means on your world?"
"Er, no. Unless the recipient of the gesture is in favour, in which case I suppose it could be considered a gesture of approval. Sort of . . ."
"That's the problem with universal gestures. No consistency," said Jones. "But the bigger problem is - where is the Square Jaw?"
Tongue shook himself. "Mic anything on communication channels? Set to widest bandwidth."
Mic Vol bent to his console. "No. Nothing. Some unusually heavy radiation static though."
"Captain," called Steve, "I don't know where we are. I'm running the standard navigation sweeps and . . ."
"And?" said Daisy, impatiently.
"And we should have exited fairly close to Jagrapax II. A super Earth. But it's not here. There should be four planets in this system, but I can't find any of them. Nothing but those huge rocks."
Jones swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Steve, could those . . . could those huge, actually very huge, massive in fact, pieces of rock also be accurately described as pieces of . . . well not to put too fine a point on it, could they be described as pieces of plan
et?"
"Well, I mean, yes, I suppose, they are big enough."
Jones bit his upper lip. "Hmm. Steve, just out of interest, are there similar collections of huge rocks at the locations where the other planets in the system would be expected to be?"
"Er," Steve consulted his board, "Yes! Yes, there are! Ah, no, except where the fourth planet should be. That's a gas giant."
"Oh, good. So that's there is it?"
"No. Just massive chunks of ice."
"Shit," muttered Jones, "Massive chunks of ice resembling what one would expect if a gas giant had been, say, I dunno, super cooled into a massive ball of ice and then smashed to flaps?"
Steve laughed, "Do you know, they could." He shrugged and shook his head. "I just don't know what to make of it all. We must be in the wrong place."
"Oh, we are definitely in the wrong place," said Jones emphatically. "Daisy, we need to get out of here right now."
Daisy twisted in her seat. "Explain?"
"Explain? Four planets have been taken apart and we don't want to meet whoever did it."
"Jones, no-one can take apart a planet. Stop being such a namby. We have to wait for the Square Jaw. They can't waggle their fingers and cluck about our timekeeping now. If anything, I might put in a complaint about them. Flag-ship of the fleet, my arse!"
"I'm getting something on audio," called Mic.
"There you see," said Daisy, "probably apologising for their tardiness. Put it on speaker Mr Vol, let's all enjoy their squirming." Daisy turned back in her seat and crossed her arms.
The speakers crackled and then came an urgent voice, "This is a distress call from the LASS Square Jaw. Message follows: This is the Captain of the LASS Square Jaw. Argh! Help! Jeebuzz look at the size of that bastard! What the frigging flaps is it?! Run, help, argh! Mummy!" There came the sound of an explosion and the message fell silent.
The bridge crew sat and stood in stunned silence.
Steve shook his head and shrugged, "Well I'm flummoxed. What can it all mean?"
"XO," said Daisy, "I have reconsidered your former proposal and on further consideration find myself in complete agreement with your assessment. Steve, get us the hell out of here! Now!"
"Wait," Tongue held up his hand. "Captain, I'm detecting an Ion engine trace leading out of this system."
"The Square Jaw . . . or huge, planet-killing bastard?" asked Daisy.
"Square Jaw. The trace matches their engine signature. They must have burned the engines pretty hard. Feeding coordinates to helm."
"If it leads away from here that's fine by me. Steve, lay in a course to pursue the Square Jaw. Mark 7. Pop."
Steve laid in the course and smashed his fist down on the 'Go' button.
Space Scrap 17's Ion engines burst into life and the ship flashed away from what remained of the Jagrapax system.
9 Flaps
Ion engine trails are pretty much indistinguishable from one another. But a few centuries ago, it had become fashionable for young, rich owners of hot rod spaceships to modify the Coulomb field manipulators of their Ion engines to write the name of their ship along with an insulting note in the Xenon gas trail left in the wake of their vessel.
This fashion was quickly superseded by a newer and rather more violent fashion, whereby the people offended by the insulting note followed the Ion trail of the hot-rods, located their owners and beat the living crap out of them.
The practice was adopted by the Loose Association space fleet as a way to track down illegal space craft and those that were overdue their yearly service.
"Ion trail thinning," said Tongue from his station. "Looks like they stopped here."
"OK Steve, engines off. Mic, any communications traffic?"
"Nothing Captain. But that spike in radiation static has returned."
"As have the big chunks of rock that look suspiciously like chewed up planets," said Jones. "Steve, assuming our last location was the Jagrapax system, where are we now?"
Steve did some quick calculations, "Er, well, according to this we should be in the Cuk system. Seven planets. Three uninhabitable, four heavily populated."
"And where there should be planets?"
"Nothing. Nothing but these floating piles of rubble. You know what this means?"
"Yes?" said Jones patiently.
"This means someone must have created a device capable of cloaking entire planets."
Jones ran his hands over his face. "And the rubble?"
"Ah well," said Steve now eagerly into his conspiracy, "That was just to throw us off the scent. Cunning bastards."
"Yes, Steve it could mean that - or it could mean a planet-busting bastard has reduced these planets to rubble just like it did at Jagrapax."
Steve just gaped at him, eyes wide. He emitted a strangled tension chuckle.
"Captain, I've found the Square Jaw," said Tongue. "In the vicinity of the second planet. Or what remains of the second planet."
"Oh, thank Jeebuzz," said Steve, "She's got weapons and shields and everything. We're saved!"
"Tongue, feed her coordinates to the helm," said Daisy sounding equally relieved, "Steve take us to her, Mic tell her we're coming."
The bridge crew watched the main view screen intently as Space Scrap 17 approached the LASS Square Jaw,
"There!" shouted Jones pointing to the viewer. In the distance was a bright dot, small but definitely the profile of a space fleet multi-mission starship.
"Mic, any response from them yet?"
"Nothing Captain. But the background radiation may be scattering the signal."
"Or not," said Jones flatly.
As they approached, it became obvious that the flag-ship of the space fleet was dead in space.
"Hooray," said Steve, "the Square Jaw."
"Yes Steve" said Daisy.
"And it's having a rest, just lying around waiting for us and now we're all safe and - it's dead isn't it."
"Yes Steve," said Daisy.
The Square Jaw hung in space. That it had been in battle was obvious from the myriad black scorch marks that seared across almost every part of its armour plating. Parts of the hull were exposed to space, ripped open by something powerful and unforgiving and relentless.
Daisy sat forward in her seat. "Jeebuzz, what happened here? Life signs Mic?"
"Dead," said Mic.
"What, all of them?"
Mic turned to her. "What?"
"All the crew are dead?"
"The crew?"
"Yes!"
"No, I was talking about comms. All channels are dead."
"Right, so what about life signs?"
"All dead."
"No life signs at all?"
Mic stood, "Ah, you must be the new Captain. Welcome aboard, I am Mic Vol your communications officer."
"What are you -" Daisy stopped, suddenly remembering her conversation with Mic when she had first come aboard.
She and Mic both made "Ahhhhh" noises and pointed at each other.
Steve looked alternately at Daisy and Mic as their temporal conversation played itself out. "Sorry, am I the only one not following this?"
"Captain, we need to find out what happened here," said Tongue, leaving his station to stand before the Captain.
"Something nasty," said Jones, "We need to run away. Now, before that thing comes back."
"Why should it come back?" shot Tongue.
"Well, I don't know, maybe it had the Square Jaw for starters, followed by a delicious buffet selection of all the planets in this star system for main course and now it's looking for a Space Scrap 17 shaped cheese board!"
Tongue addressed the Captain again, "We need to find out what happened. This may be related to the peace talks -"
"Ya think?" muttered Jones.
Tongue shot Jones a look that could have done nasty things to metal plating. Jones was fortunate in that he had no metal plates in his head. But just to be on the safe side, he thought it best to pretend to be distracted by something on hi
s console before Tongue's stare also developed bio-weapon capabilities.
Tongue dragged his attention away from Jones and back to the Captain. "What if someone were trying to prevent the Ululations reaching Blah-Blah? As Yerbootsian Ambassador to the Ululation delegation, I demand we make the effort. Lives are at stake."
"Yeah," said Jones, "Ours," he gulped as he realised he had spoken aloud. "Oh look," he said, pointing at another area on his console, "There's a . . . oooh, better do . . . the thing, hmmm," he frowned down at his console.
"Captain we need to access the logs from the Square Jaw," said Tongue, who had decided to kill Jones at a more opportune time.
"Well, that's easy enough. Mic establish a link to the Square Jaw's computer."
"Yes," said Mic, "That's something I should know how to do. Ummm," he bent to his console and stabbed at a few buttons hopefully.
"No Captain," said Tongue. "Captain's logs and mission briefs are not available on the open network. We have to go over there."
"Of course we do," said Daisy, pinching the brow of her nose.
"Wait a minute . . ." said Steve.
"You have an idea?"
". . . I thought he was a Science Officer, what's all this about Ambassador?"
"That'll be a 'no' then."
"Don't worry your tiny brain about it, Steve," Jones gave up pretending to do the thing, "Look we can't get over there. The shuttle bay exit is buggered, we haven't had time to repair it."
"Well then it's a spacewalk," said Tongue, "I volunteer."
"Ah, your kind are invulnerable to hard radiation? Good," said Mic.
"No," replied Tongue frowning.
"It's just that the peculiar radiation in this system exceeds the tolerance of our space suits - by the time your body arrives at the Square Jaw you would be quite dead."
"We have to know what happened here. The fate of the Galaxy depends upon it." Tongue's hair had twisted itself into a short, severe style. The sort of haircut you did not argue with.
"I see two main temporal outcomes to this discussion," said Mic.
"You see what?" said Jones.
"It's . . . Mic, his species sees time differently, sort of all at once and in bits," said Daisy. "That conversation we just had. We had it earlier today as well. He was having a conversation in the present and the future. Or something."
