Histaff

by Andries Louws

  Chapter Eighteen – Following Orders

  Captain Stek Haldane does what he always does. He stares at the map on the bridge’s ceiling and searches for patterns. The never changing star field is filled with years of memories of animals, plants, women, and people. The most elaborate picture he has found so far is a fish, a rather stubby species of saltwater fauna native to the planet of his forefathers. He drums his thick fingers on his chest plate, ignoring the stares his first mate keeps sending him every time he displays the nervous tick. Shuffling feet coming from behind him cause his mate’s stare to switch to the noisily walking person.

  “Communications officer, on deck,” shouts his mate, informing the entire bridge of something they already know.

  “Yeah, yeah. Shut up for once, will you? I’m here, captain! Reporting for duty.” The still drunken slur of the most useless person on his ship does little to irritate Stek for once. The captain waves a tired hand at the sloppy salute, motioning at his comms to take his seat. The bedraggled man does so, sitting down behind the workstation that hasn't changed for years now.

  Stek continues looking at the ceiling, trying to find that goofy looking mouse he saw once while continuing with the routine. “Status rapport.”

  “All nominal, sir. The biological Histaff readings are within parameters. No fluctuations,” is the report his mate gives.

  “Orbit within parameters. Next correction burn planned in three weeks and one day, sir.” That is his second mate, the third most experienced person on board this damned vessel. Stek sighs, but he makes sure to do it silently as to not disrupt the routine.

  “Three centuries of life support, five centuries of bathing supplies, and six centuries of single-use towels left, sir.” His chief engineer thinks he’s a funny guy, as usual. Stek’s chair groans as he straightens slightly, just enough to stare at the grubby nerd. “Sorry, sir. All supplies nominal. I’d like to request a small foraging expedition, sir!”

  This is new. Stek does not like new things. A scowl on his face, he keeps staring at his chief engineer. “Why?”

  “Well… No, stop staring at me, guys. He’d have found out either way.” The engineer rubs at his oil-stained uniform while sitting straight as he avoids looking at the accusing stares of the other crew members. “Your retirement party, sir. We’ll only need a few tonnes of ice and maybe a few iron bearing meteorites in order to throw you a proper party, sir. Requesting permission for a small foraging expedition, sir!”

  Stek looks around. Hopeful and watery eyes stare at him. Eyes that are usually completely focussed on the job at hand - keeping the Histaff menace contained - now peer at him with a rare spark. Stek had hoped that his crew had forgotten about his upcoming retirement. His ideal way to end this long tenure would be to just walk off one day, step into the cryopod and then wake up on the home planet. Freshly unfrozen, he’d then enjoy the rest of his retirement along with his fathers and forefathers, reminiscing about the shared duty they had all performed - four generations now. His crew has never actually been on a planet, living their entire life on this warp cursed vessel. Stek too has been raised in the civilian section of the ship, before rising up the ranks and ending up in the captain's chair due to having fucked up the least on the job.

  Now his crew wants to throw him a party. Like hell. “Denied. Proceed with the report.”

  “Other than that, all supplies normal, sir.” Dejected, his chief engineer turns back to his console looking slightly dejected.

  “All civilians nominal, sir,” reports his chief steward. The thin man hasn’t even turned away from his console. Stek stares at the man. This happens every single time; you’d think the guy would learn one of these days.

  His steward sighs and continues his report. “Your wife wants to know what you want for dinner, sir.”

  “Protein lasagna, I think.”

  “I will let her know, sir.” Stek almost chuckles as he sees his stewards' dejected look. The guy is too stuck up, taking his job way too seriously.

  “All sensors nominal, sir. One of the derelict space stations gave off some weird readings a few hours ago, but no alarms got tripped, sir.”

  Something unusual! Stek does not like unusual things at all. “Weird readings, ET?” The captain trains his gaze on his electro-technical officer.

  “A slight fluctuation in power readings, sir. Well within standards. Could have been a Histaff migration that tripped some movement sensors, sir.”

  “How big was the fluctuation?” asks Stek.

  “A few yotta-Hartrees, sir. Enough to run a printer for a few hours. Maybe one of the reworked managed to figure out how to operate a food machine, sir.”

  Just of few yottas of used power is not enough to worry about, Stek decides. He waves his hand, motioning the entire process to continue.

  “No messages, sir. We will receive revised cleaner schedules in twenty-two days, sir,” the drunken speech of his communication’s officer tells him what he already knows one more time. Stek leans back in his chair and starts staring at the ceiling again, satisfied that he performed his duty for the day.

  His mind put at ease, Stek starts wondering what retirement will be like. He has seen the holos, of course. A captain’s position comes with a rather large amount of holodeck hours. Stek has smelled the sea of his homeworld many times, seen the deep valleys of the green hills his species originated from, wandered the many cities raised by his kin. He just has never felt the wind there. Many late night conversation with his predetermined wife about what the wind will feel like flash through his mind. Stek has paid his dues to his species and country, his entire life - from gestation pod to his current post - dedicated to the awesome heritage of his species and people. All he wants from his old age is to be preserved in the cryosection like his forefathers, followed by a well-deserved pension.

  Stek keeps staring at the photorealistic, starry sky projected on the bridge’s ceiling for hours as nothing proceeds to happen. The captain fully expects this day to end just like all before, with no major developments and absolutely no excitement–

  “SIR!”

  –until a rather panicked shout wakes him from his half doze.

  “Report!”

  “All nomin–”

  “INCOMING MESSAGE, SIR!”

  The report started normally; then it was cut off by the panicked and significantly less drunken voice of his communications officer. “What kind of message is incoming, son?” Stek’s hearts pound like mad, propelling a thick soup of chemicals into his bloodstream that has him as rigid as a hullplate. He carefully manages his physical reactions, preventing his crew from noticing how startled he truly is.

  “Uuhm, opening now, sir!” This message is followed by some tepid clacking of buttons and synthetic beeps coming from the officer’s console. Every single eye on the bridge is trained upon the crewmember who is voted as ‘most likely to drink themselves to death’. “Got it, sir. It’s a … travel request?”

  Stek decides to break the extremely thick silence by asking for clarification. “A travel request?”

  “Yes, sir. A certain Solan requests approval for his flight plan. Uhm, well. He actually already started the jump, so I think it’s more like a formality, sir. I could disapprove this right now, and he would still show up on the requested time at the requested place, sir.”

  “So why did this Solan send us his flight plan?”

  “I don’t think he did, sir. Or maybe it’s part of some automated feature? Not sure, sir. Anyway, not much we can do about it. He will arrive in a few minutes.”

  More silence follows so Stek decides to break it again. “A few minutes? Did he come in from next door, son?”

  “No, sir. From near the core. It got delayed, I think.”

  Everyone on the bridge seems to be calming down now that nothing special seems to be happening. Some tension remains, however, as someone entering the system will be a first for the entire crew. The last vessel other than their current one left twenty ye
ars ago, and none have visited since. The sheer bizarreness of a ship coming from the core arriving only minutes after their much faster standard communication packet has reached its destination is lost to all. “Well, does he need a welcoming commi–”

  “SIR!” shouts his first mate, locking up Stek’s entire body in nervous shock once again.

  “Yes?” he manages to croak out.

  “We’ve got incoming, sir. Visual scanners indicate a white object heading this way, sir.”

  “Well, shoot it! Shouldn’t the sensors have picked it up?” The last stray matter or debris on orbits exiting the solar system got culled ten years ago. No new structures should be leaving the system at all unless something blew up or something...

  “Sir, it seems to be a small boat, sir!” his ET officer reports.

  “That’s the first rule, right? Nothing leaves? Shoot it already!”

  “Plotting course correction, sir! Permission to adjust orbit, sir?” asks his first mate.

  “Yes, do what’s necessary. Warm up the weapons and all that.” Too much is happening. Stek knew something just had to go wrong. He’s only a week from retirement, and of course, something goes wrong now…

  The entire ship shudders as long dead engines burst to life. Internal dampeners groan as their disused circuits receive power again while the mighty whine of charging beam weapons thrums through the entire ship. The starscape above Stek’s head changes as the ship turns. More change … Stek is not happy at all.

  “Intercept course plotted, sir. Within firing range in fifty seconds at point. Stand by …”

  More silence. Stek does not interrupt this time.

  “Point. Course corrected, retro burn planned for immediate orbit correction.”

  “Belay retro,” Stek interjects. He can leave the ship in a crooked orbit. That will drive the next captain mad. Course corrections can only be done with cause, so the captain after Stek will probably be stuck in a highly elliptical orbit for years. That will probably annoy the shit out of the new guy.

  “Belaying retro. Entering weapons range,” reports his first mate.

  “Fire at will,” commands Stek.

  “Weapons locked and fire sequence initiated,” reports his second.

  “Put it on main. Let’s watch the show.” The starscape in front and above the bridge switches to a small, white dot backed by faint stars. The white dot gains a blue hint as the object comes closer, the ship’s sensors unable to paint a clearer picture. Quickly, a roughly triangular shape becomes clear. Black windows and black doors are outlined on an otherwise white and blue hull. The ship’s exterior is completely white, a rather jagged affair that has small, blue highlights painted on.

  “Is that a homebrew? Are any boats white, apart from littorals?” Stek scratches his head. Nothing in his education or life experiences prepared him for such a situation. “Did the Histaff learn to fly now, too?”

  Then a beam of incandescent power envelops the white ship. Every single being on the crew expected the weapons to fire for a second at most. A full second under the firing beam weapon should be enough to vaporize just about everything. Certain multi-bonded printed alloys will resist, of course, but they would be scoured clean, free of any potential Histaff infection vectors.

  Another full second later, the ship’s second beam starts firing on the small vessel. Then the third. Soon, all four of the ship’s beams are pouring out massive amounts of power onto the small boat, which seems to be gaining a blue glow rivalling the shine of the beams.

  “So, what’s happening?” asks Stek.

  “SIR!”

  “WHAT?” This time, Stek manages to keep fluid, refusing to lock up again.

  “Ship entered system, sir. It appeared deep inside the zone, sir. Like, very deep, sir. Halfway, sir.” His first mate is shaking as he puts the ship’s readings on the main screen. The beams of light are partially blocked by the new arrival’s data. Jumping halfway into a sun’s gravity field requires powerful engines. Engines that are either massive - much larger than would fit in the one-kilometre long ship - or extremely expensive.

  “Halfway? What are they–”

  “STOP FIRING AT ONCE! YOU WILL SHUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AT ONCE, YOU INBRED IMBECILES. KATARENIN IS IN THERE, AND YOU WILL STOP FIRING RIGHT NOW!” All the screens on the bridge flash once before showing an extremely ugly and angry alien overlaying the beams. Balding head, smooth yet wrinkled skin, and a rather small stature form the picture of wroth that’s staring at Stek. The captain has truly locked up now, just like the rest of his crew. His second mate is also rigid, his fingers feebly twitching as they try to move towards his console.

  Then the white thing explodes and the beams wink out. Instead of seeing what they expected - a big fat load of nothing - a blue cloud of gas is expanding rapidly, quickly filling the entire bridge display. The small man peering down at Stek pops another vein on his forehead, takes a deep breath, and presses a button. The communication overlay shuts off, and Stek is looking at the stars again, although the otherwise perfect black now has a distinct blue tint to it.

  “What?” asks Stek.

  “Making evasive manoeuvres, sir! That cloud of gas is expanding rather qui–” His first mate’s words are cut off when the entire bridge gets a distinct hint of blue. Stek watches numbly as someone taps some more buttons and a local map is displayed on the bridge screen. It shows an expanding blue ring, which their ship is now inside of. They see the new ship - a kilometre-long spike of menacing black - quickly move towards the centre of the blue sphere. There it hangs for a few minutes while the entire crew just watches mutely. Then the ship speeds off, flying towards the edge of the solar system at high speed.

  The small man appears on the screens again. He is still looking angry, just no longer raving mad. In his hand is a small black box. He caresses it gently, combing the many thin wires trailing from its surface with gentle fingers. “A cleaner has been diverted to this sector. They will arrive in a few months.” Then the man is gone.

  More silence. Every single bridge crew member slowly melts as their rigidly locked bodies relax slowly. Stek decides that he has had enough of all this. His wife will understand, right? If not, they will have their entire retirement to make up. Stek slowly stands up. “Log that. Log everything, and someone find out what needs to be done. Find the protocol books or something. I’m sure there are lots of forms that need to be filled out.”

  Stek looks around at the motley crew one last time. Nearly everyone has been replaced since he himself got out of school, of course, but that is just the way things go. He honestly can't wait to meet those old fogies again, once they're all thawed out at the end of their duty. “I, for example, studied retirement law comprehensively. Mental trauma allows an acting captain to retire a month early. I’m using this law to retire. See you all back on the homeworld.”

  Stek waves at his crew and walks off. His racing hearts just won't calm down after all that excitement. Two new things happening in a single day? Such an eventful day has not happened for decades, he is sure. He strolls out of the bridge, ignoring all the confused mutterings following him. He saunters through the corridors he has known his entire life, making his way over to the back of the ship through the single central hallway. Arriving at the end, he gently pushes against the single door leading to the back of the ship.

  Turning around, he walks backwards into the retirement chamber. From here, he will be frozen in time and stored, only to be thawed once this tour is up. A faint smile plays across Stek’s face as he imagines himself a peaceful scene, enjoying his old age on the wonderful home planet.

  The floor under his feet moves him backward as something odd flickers in front of him. Is that a hologram of himself? With a slight confusion in his hearts, he sees the projection of himself turn blue and still, moving to the side at the end. He remembers this from his own parents and colleagues. They all stepped back, turned blue and were stored. Why is he not frozen yet, then? Why are these bars clamping d
own around his limbs? Why are those knives descending from the ceili–

  [ You have died; please choose your next destination: ]

  [ Wander eternally ]

  [ Afterlife ERROR DEITY 404 ]

  [ Reincarnation ERROR DEITY 404 ]

  [ Risen undead queue ERROR CLASS 404 ]

  [ Soulbound construct queue ]

  [ ERROR ]

  [ ERROR ]

  Chapter Nineteen – Authoritative Ascendant Anger

  “Katarenin, wake up! Everything is alright now. No one is going to hurt you anymore. Come on, sweetie. Stop being a lazypants and wake up!”

  Katarenin groggily opens her eyes. She sees a familiar ceiling. “Daddy?”

  “Yes, I’m here, sweetie.”

  Rubbing her eyes in a leisurely manner, she rolls over in bed. The power limitations that come with spaceships mean that Katarenin can either sleep in a suspended grav bed or the ship can move. The fact that she is waking up on top of a normal mattress - as far as the hyper-advanced, nano actuating supporting filament lattice can be called normal - means that she is on board of her father’s ship and they are moving. “I had this weird dream, Dad …”

  She looks over at the man. The glass panel separating her from the small, wizened, and rather dusty looking person is odd, but Katarenin doesn’t pay it any attention. Her bedroom is rather small. Her bed is placed in the middle of a ballroom-sized sleeping chamber, the walls covered with clothing closets and all kinds of high-tech apparatus. Honestly, she doesn't really know what half of them do anymore. She vaguely recalls pointing at some catalogue while putting this room together. She does remember it cost more than many highly developed planets.