by Erick Drake
"Well as distractions go, that didn't last long," said Daisy, picking herself up from the floor. The holo-screen showed the alien death machine bearing down on Space Scrap 17.
"Chief, can we get this ship moving?"
"We can manoeuvre. The Ion engines might make Mark 1. Maybe. The wormhole generators were completely flat but I've got them on charge. Be ready in about fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes? I'm not sure we've got fifteen seconds! If only we had some weapons."
"Oh, I've got weapons systems online. Not much left of them though. There's a couple of anti-matter swarms and a pulse cannon is still working."
"Good enough Chief, well done. Fire an anti-matter swarm and shoot that bastard with the pulse cannon."
"Won't even scratch that thing. Its hull is pure neutronium. Lovely job."
“Neutronium?”
“Well, when the core of a white dwarf star exceeds its Chandrasekhar limit –“
Daisy cut him off. “Long story short please Chief.”
“It’s dense. We can’t hurt it.”
"Maybe not. But we can distract it from our ship, yes? "
"Right you are guv, swarm launched. Manoeuvring into cannon range."
The holo-screen showed hundreds of tiny pinpricks as the swarm raced toward their target.
"In range."
"OK, let's flush this turd. Fire pulse cannon."
Pulses of light shot away from the Square Jaw, impacting on the hull of the Doomsday Turd at the same time as hundreds of anti-matter missiles exploded.
"Any effect, Chief?"
"Bugger all. Although it's stopped chasing the ship."
"Great."
"And now it's coming for us."
"Bollocks. Mic, get us back."
"Aye Captain, transferring Chief Nau."
The Chief straightened and his rigid, artificial body crashed backward to the deck.
"Computer, evasive manoeuvres - keep us away from that thing."
* * *
In the Captain's chair on the bridge of Space Scrap 17 Jones chewed on a knuckle. He took a deep breath and keyed the intercom. "Smiert, what's the hold up? Where's the Captain?"
"Captain is still on Square Jaw. We've lost computer connection."
"Mic?"
"Sorry sir, that last shot set off a cascade failure. Data packets can't be formed."
"Effect repairs."
"Yes XO, the thought had occurred to me."
"Do we still have audio?"
"Yes, radio is still effective."
"Patch me through to the Captain."
"Channel open."
"Daisy, what's going on over there?"
"Well, I'm still here for one thing. The turd is coming after the Square Jaw. Any slight, remote possibility of you getting me back before that thing turns this ship into vapour?"
"We're working on it. Data transfer is inoperative."
"Good . . . good. Michigan, I don't think I can handle this. I don't know what to do!"
Jones recognised that tone in her voice. Now that she was alone, she was starting to second guess herself, allowing events to crush her self-confidence. Such as it was.
"Yes, yes you do, you do know what to do Captain, you’re doing great. When you requested transfer back you said 'Tongue, Nau and then me', remember?"
"So?"
"That was the right call - mission specialist with the key information, engineer to make sure we can get out of here and put that information to use and then you. And then when that thing was coming for us, you distracted it, yes?"
"Yes but -"
"Captain, you made command decisions in the heat of battle. You didn't panic, you didn't second guess yourself, you made the decisions. Listen," he lowered his voice to the rest of the bridge crew could not hear. "You don't need an exam pass or a rule book. You made those decisions. You."
"Well, if you put it that way," she said after a brief pause, "I do sound a bit Captainy don't I. No, who am I kidding. That was a fluke. We're all dead and it's all my fault."
A sudden thought occurred to Jones. "Well, I wasn't going to mention it, but it might interest you to know that the Doctor says she saw odd patterns when she transferred you over. Almost like, and I quote, 'two merged brain patterns'. Daisy - Captain - I don't think the Neural Uploader entirely cleared out Captain Weaver."
"What? Oh, that bloody black market cheap piece of shit!"
"Yes, but think about it. Heat of battle. Command decisions. Merged brain patterns."
"So, you think I did that because I'm thinking like her, like Captain Weaver?"
"Exactly."
"The notorious, murdering, psychotic, pirate Captain Weaver?"
"Yes."
"So, I'm a racist now?"
"Well, a Xenophobe. But you're alive. And so are we."
"No, that makes more sense. I'm doing Captainy stuff because I have a real Captain living in my head. Right, so we should -"
Daisy's voice cut out in a blizzard of static.
"Steve, what's happening?"
"The turd thing. It's firing on the Square Jaw."
* * *
Daisy stood alone in her artificial body on the bridge of the battered LASS Square Jaw.
"Computer, how are the shields holding up?"
"Shields at 37% capacity. Tactically we cannot survive a direct impact from the alien weapon. However, indirect impacts are survivable. I have selected vectors in my evasive manoeuvres calculated to ensure we do not present a direct target."
OK. Bumpy ride but survivable.
"Computer, how long since my brain waves were downloaded into this body?"
"One hour and ten minutes."
Daisy updated her assessment. OK. Bumpy ride but survivable. For fifty minutes. After which her real body would die.
The bridge rocked again. "Shields at 35 per cent capacity. Reinforcement to 40 per cent in seven minutes."
"Great, keep it up."
"Engines are beginning to overheat due to continued vector adjustment."
"Computer, do you understand the concept of a good news sandwich? I like good news sandwiches. They're the best. Although, fried egg sandwiches are pretty awesome."
"Please restate query."
"Never mind."
If the engines failed the Square Jaw would be a sitting duck. A sitting duck sitting in front of a vast steam roller with 'I hate ducks' written on the side next to a crude picture of a duck inside a circle with a red 'X' drawn across it.
"OK, let's try to find some good news. Computer. Analysis of current and previous engagements with the alien weapon. Focus on proximity and pursuit tactics. Give me schematics on holo-screen."
The bridge rocked once more.
"Shields at 34 per cent. Reinforcement to 37 per cent in twelve minutes."
Daisy needed to buy time. And time was a resource in very limited supply.
* * *
"And this is it, is it?" Jones looked up from the DEVICE. Steve shrugged.
"Well, we got rid of everything else when the contract for the sewage transport came through.
"Right, fine, load them up." He was disappointed with Space Scrap 17's array of weapons, or rather ‘potential’ weapons since she wasn't supposed to actually fight anything. He punched the engineering intercom.
"Chief, how's it going down there?"
"Just about done. We've removed the safeties, made the navigation MASER arrays as hot as we can. But we'll be lucky if they can boil an egg, let alone damage that thing."
"We don't need to damage it, just distract it from the Captain. How about making it chase ghosts again?"
"We don’t have holo-projectors.”
"OK, well hurry up with the MASERs. Bridge out. Mic, communication arrays?"
Mic stopped what he was doing.
"Difficult to say. I've been waving this tool that makes beeping noises at the relays for a while now. I'm not sure it's making a difference or even if the relays actually like having tools
beep at them."
"It's a digital synaptic re-router," said Tongue from the Mission Operations station, "When it stops beeping it will have finished rerouting the computers neural pathways around the damaged communication motherboard. Keep waving until it stops."
"Increase waving," said Jones to Mic, "We've only got forty minutes until the Captain's brain turns into jelly. Tongue," he made his way over to the Mission Ops station. "Anything else you can tell me about that Doomsday Machine? Other than it's invulnerable and can kill planets without breaking a sweat?"
Tongue waved his hands in the air, "It's invulnerable and kills planets without breaking a sweat. That's the only thing I can glean from the Square Jaw logs."
"Both an immovable object and an irresistible force," said Mic.
"Quite," said Tongue. "In any case, Doomsday Machine is a good description. A weapon that must never be used because if you do, it's doomsday for everyone. Rather like the atomic weapons of your twentieth century."
"A flap sight worse than that," said Jones. "That thing makes nukes look like a sensible first option in response to a stroppy comment. No, this is more like the social media platforms of the twenty-first century."
Tongue shuddered. The Earth had been monitored for years by the Reptillions whose brief was to watch for signs that the human race was about to develop the technology that would allow it to leave its solar system. In that event, they were to warn the rest of the Galaxy so that everyone could evacuate to Andromeda. It was only after the human race had disarmed all its social media platforms, thereby proving that it did actually have some intelligence after all, that the threat from Earth was downgraded from 'Lethal, poisonous scum' to 'Morons'. At that point Fisticon J'al Raz Patralax, leader and chief coordinator of the Reptillion task force, shed his human outer skin disguise, which he had fondly named after his mother, D’vid I'cke, and left the Earth. Tongue shuddered again.
"Bridge," Chief Nau's voice called out from the intercom.
"Yes Chief?"
"All done. MASERS are as hot as I can make them."
"Great. Standby. Steve how's it going with the torpedo tubes?"
"If by torpedo tubes you mean forward airlocks, all loaded."
"Right." Jones strode over to the Captain's chair and sat down. "Get ready. We're going to throw everything we've got at that bastard. We've got to stop it shooting at the Square Jaw. Steve, get us as close as possible."
13 The fall of the LASS Square Jaw
Daisy's analysis of the Square Jaw tactical logs had proved worthwhile. With the help of the computer, she observed that the alien weapon had proximity sensitivity. Anything within a certain area, say one hundred miles, it attacked. Which meant all she had to do was keep the Square Jaw over a hundred miles away from it and it wouldn't try to shoot them. Which was a problem because she couldn't get the distance due to the fact the death turd was capable of more speed than the damaged engines of the Square Jaw could muster.
"Captain Daryl, the alien weapon is veering off."
"What? Why?"
"It is now focused on Space Scrap 17."
"Damnit. Show me."
A holo-screen sprang up before her. She gasped.
The screen showed streaks of light flashing out from her ship, stabbing at the alien death machine.
"What are they shooting with? We don't have lasers or energy weapons."
"I have enhanced the display to provide visual representation of MASER fire. Space Scrap 17 is using navigation MASERs to attack the alien. MASER intensity is far beyond the recommended safety rating for such a vessel."
"They're hitting it with everything they've got but the kitchen sink."
"Correction. Space Scrap 17 is now discharging a large quantity of kitchen sinks at the alien."
"Sorry, what?"
"Space Scrap 17 is currently firing upon the alien with navigation MASERs and a large quantity of kitchen sinks discharged from their forward air locks."
Daisy regarded the screen again. Between the streaks of light, she could discern packing crates, helpfully enhanced by the computer with silver outlines.
"I don't suppose the alien is allergic to kitchen sinks?"
"Not noticeably. MASER fire is also proving ineffectual. However, the alien has stopped pursuing us. We are now able to create the distance we need to keep us out of its proximity detectors. Space Scrap 17 is now caught in a tractor beam and is being dragged into the maw of the alien weapon."
"No, see, that's a bad news sandwich. That's bad news, good news, bad news. I want - oh never mind."
"In two minutes, we will be outside the alien's proximity radius."
Daisy chewed her lip. Then she strode to the Captain's chair and sat, her posture ramrod straight. "Computer, bring us within one hundred miles of the alien. Full engine burn. Arm anti-matter swarm and pulse cannon."
"Captain Daryl, proximity will make us a target within point blank range. Our weapons have proven ineffective against the alien."
"Quite right computer. And from here on in you can call me Captain Weaver."
If the computer had been programmed to notice such things it might have been disturbed by the manic gleam that had suddenly appeared in Daisy's eyes.
* * *
"XO, the tractor beam has cut off. We're free," said Steve.
"Great. Why? Are we dead? Did it shoot us with a massive energy beam so hard our consciousness hasn't caught up the fact we're now just atoms floating around thinking we're still alive?"
"It's the Square Jaw - it's having a stare off with the Doomsday Turd."
"What? Is she insane? Mic, get me Daisy - the Captain."
"Waving and beeping," said Mic from below the comms station.
"Steve, get me the Captain."
Steve punched the buttons on his board in his customary fashion - which is to say he blindly flapped his hands over the controls like someone hoping to hit the right buttons. Which he invariably did. "OK, comms open."
"Daisy! Captain! What are you doing?"
"Your Captain is saving her ship, XO. Or rather Captain Weaver is saving my ship."
"Captain Weaver?! Oh Jeebuzz, look, Daisy -"
"No time - veer off and proceed to the Nonsense Sphere. You have to warn the Ululations."
"But Captain -"
"You have your orders. Captain out."
Jones stared at the view screen. What had he done? He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Tongue's voice.
"She's right Jones. We have to warn them. She's bought us time."
"She's going to get herself killed and it's all my fault."
Tongue frowned. "Why would you say that? Wait, what did she mean about Captain Weaver?"
Jones's shoulders slumped. "She was alone on that ship. Beginning to panic. Look, Tongue," Jones lowered his voice, "She didn't pass the Captain's exam."
"Yes, she did, you can't fake those certificates."
"Well, she did but it wasn't her. It . . . she bought a mind patch off the black market -"
"What, but that technology is dangerous, it is outlawed in all -"
Jones waved away Tongue's objections, "Well she did. The patch personality was . . . was Captain Weaver."
"Wow. But I still don't see what -"
"To keep her from panicking, to give her hope, I told her the Doctor reported two brain patterns when she completed the transfer. Like Daisy had two brain patterns instead of one."
"But that's nonsense, only an idiot would believe . . .oh."
"Yes, 'oh'. Daisy believes she has Captain Weaver's mind and experience. She thinks she's Captain Weaver."
"Oh Jones, what have you done?"
"Exactly."
"Well . . . irrespective of how we got here, she has bought us time. We need to warn the Ululations. We need to leave now."
Jones continued staring at the main viewer for a moment. "Damn it," he muttered. "Mic, has that wand thing stopped beeping? Can we transfer the Captain back?"
"Afraid not sir."
"Damn it," he muttered again. The bridge crew seemed to hold their collective breath as they waited for his decision. Hating himself he said, "Steve, move us to a safe distance and bring the wormhole generators online."
Jones enjoyed the XO position because it meant he could tell people what to do and he could sit back doing nothing. For once he hated the job. Slumped in the Captain's chair - her chair - he had nothing to occupy his mind while the others went about their work.
"Steve, keep the Square Jaw on the main viewer."
The view screen shifted from star studded blackness of space to the not so titanic battle between a tiny, damaged spaceship and a gigantic, planet-eating bastard.
"Jones, she's firing on the turd!" shouted Steve.
"She's what? Zoom in."
There was a flurry of pulse cannon fire, followed by a blinding explosion as her remaining anti-matter swarm futilely detonated. The alien responded with a vast, mile-wide energy weapon discharge.
When the static cleared there was no trace of the LASS Square Jaw.
Jones's fingernails bit into his palms. With a conscious effort he un-balled his fists. "Wormhole generator status?" he eventually said into the quiet that had descended on the bridge. "Steve!"
Steve jerked and tore his attention from the view screen. He glanced down at his board. "Wormhole generators ready. Exit point set for Ululation homeworld."
"Good. Bring us as close as you dare to the Turd and fire MASERs. Then open the wormhole and get us out of here. Make sure the wormhole entrance is big enough for that thing to fit into."
"Sorry, what?"
"Just do it."
Tongue was suddenly standing before him. "The Captain just saved us so we can get to the Ululations and warn them. You're throwing that away!"
"No, I just want to get that thing's attention."
"It will follow us!"
"It is headed that way anyway! We're faster, we'll get there ahead of it."
"But - why?"
"That thing just killed Daisy. I'm going to repay the favour. Now get back to your post, Science Officer."
For a moment, Tongue looked like he was going to protest further. But then he seemed to think better of it and went back to the Mission Ops station.
