Galaxy's End: Book One Page 25

  She studied the tables indicating that unless a change in velocity occurred, the three ships would enter normal space within a short time of each other. “Thankfully, for their plan to work, the other two ships will exit the wormhole after us.”

  The other item that drew her attention was Fang. While most of the time he was callous, rude, caustic, and often humorous, when the situation demanded, his entire demeanor transformed. He addressed her formally, by her position as captain, and he provided precise responses then repeated her commands in his answers to ensure there was no misunderstanding.

  Those were the habits and traits of military training. It indicated he had been on the bridge of a military ship as crew—perhaps as captain.

  Judging any race by preconceived ideas is always risky. There are too many ways to make mistakes based on her racial profiles and past experiences. Yet, it was natural to do so. Familiarity is a great advantage in most instances, a detraction in others.

  From a few hints he unwittingly provided, and a few brief explanations, she surmised the swamp-thing was far older than she. His background would be interesting to learn. It was a subject for future discussion—and it was private if he so desired.

  She said to the speaker above, “Bert, have you had time to work on that transmission we discussed for the military when we break out?”

  “I have,” he said after his usual ping. “It will include a greeting, a plea for help, an offer of our assistance in their war, and the fact that two enemy ships are right behind us will be transmitted in the briefest of terms. We also offer our surrender and wish to consult with their high command.”

  “That sounds like a lot,” she declared. “Too much. We need them to hold off blasting us from here to there long enough to talk.”

  Bert snorted with humor and without another ping. “For your understanding, I gave the uncut version. Perhaps this will meet better your approval: We surrender. We have come to help you win your war. Two enemy ships follow. Take us to your high command.”

  “That should get their interest,” she said.

  “They will hear our first message long before they can fire on us. It will be repeated on dozens of frequencies. Shortly after, a far longer message will clarify and expand most of what the first message tells them.”

  She nodded and realized Bert couldn’t see her. “I get it. Give them enough to keep their fingers off the triggers, then provide more. Good idea. I have one suggestion.”

  “Captain?” Bert sounded hurt.

  “Reconfigure the first message and expand on the second that the two ships back there must not be destroyed. They must be captured. That is critical. Explain in the second message that the two ships behind us contain the technology they need.”

  Bert pinged softly as if in apology. “I should have thought of that. It will be done.”

  “Thank you,” she tried to sound uncritical. It was difficult because Bert should have thought of it without her intervention. She had already come to rely on him to such a degree that a simple enhancement of his message was almost a rebuke.

  Her thinking shifted to the idea of the new aliens who had possibly brought with them the technology of following a ship within a wormhole. All she knew was they supposedly came into the human sphere from the far side. There had been no hint of their race, star of origin, or other indefinable indications.

  The secret military base they were approaching was nearby there if a few dozen light-years can be considered nearby. The few rumors Bert had acquired originated in the vicinity. She suspected they had entered the human sphere from the nearest location to their home world.

  She made a mental image of the human sphere and noted where the Bradley Concord, a loose collection of Earth-like worlds had a common governor. She then imagined what might lay beyond. Bert could project a 3D image for her, but she realized there were thousands of stars, and thus worlds, just outside the sphere in every direction.

  Even if she learned the locations of the local wormholes and their nexus points, it would take generations to search a fraction of them for the mysterious new aliens. Even if she did locate them, how would she identify them as the owners of the wormhole-pursuit technology and how could she accuse them of shipping the gray gel in the holds of at least two ships?

  That brought her up short. Two cargo ships. The one she was on and the Guardia. There might be more of the unknown gel on other ships, perhaps even hundreds. What it would be used for became increasingly critical with that thought.

  If the gel was dangerous, for instance, perhaps it was an expanding mass that ate intelligent beings like in some of the low budget holovids, or a creeping one-celled creature that expanded until it consumed an entire planet. The military of the Bradly Concord was a good place to take over and resolve the problem. She knew her examples were frivolous and silly. But the mysterious gel on two ships destined for three separate ports bothered her in more ways than she could understand.

  If nothing else, those ahead had a military mindset and would look at the cargo from that standpoint. They were better equipped to help than a port that dealt with traders. She felt relieved that the ship she was on would soon be in their hands. Better them, than her.

  She said, “Fang, how long until we exit the portal?”

  Thankfully, his response confirmed they still had time to think.

  A soft ping drew her attention. It was Bert, however, he paused before speaking as if choosing his wording carefully. “Captain, I have received a subspace message from the Guardia. They have opened the cargo crate we designated and found the contents. They confirm it as the same substance as found in ours. They await further instructions.”

  She hesitated. Fang was watching with three pairs of eyes on her, his pointed ears turned in her direction. He shut the mister for his skin off to reduce the soft hum so he wouldn’t miss anything. The entire bridge smelled strongly of lemons after the hours of its operation. She said, “Subspace message response to tell them the following in your words: The cargo in question is not to be delivered unless authorized by me. If I die, the cargo pod will be ejected into the gravity well of a planet or sun.”

  Ping. “The message has been sent.”

  Fang said, “The owners of this ship will not be happy when they get the invoice for the use of subspace.”

  “They’ll be mollified with the return of this ship.”

  “Maybe,” he muttered as he turned on the mister again.

  She examined the screens again, searching for any changes, although the ship should have warned them of any. She caught Fang still looking at her. “Listen, if they don’t want to pay it, I’ll claim the ship for salvage and pay the bill myself. This old tub is growing on me. I’ve been looking at how the passenger quarters could be remodeled to carry more cargo, so no need for stewards. Yes, it is slow and old, but it’s been updated three or four times it could turn a nice profit could be earned.”

  “Why tell me that?” Fang asked.

  “It would need a captain.”

  “Me? You can’t be serious. Besides, you go where the action is and I’ll go with you, but I thank you for the compliment.”

  “No compliment intended. I already have a good First Mate on the Guardia. You would be welcome here.”

  Fang snorted in his attempt at a wry laugh. “I like excitement. Find a place for me on your immediate crew and we will talk. I have few ambitions for advancement, but you are where my future lies.”

  She turned back to the screens, satisfied. He’d given her the perfect answer. Fang would enhance her crew in dozens of ways, and she would find the right position for him. Perhaps her First Officer would like a command of his own, such as the ship they were in, and then Fang could assume his duties on the Guardia. It was worth thinking about.

  Fang said, “Since you’re spending another company’s money, why not send a subspace message ahead to the Bradley Concord and tell them what to expect?”

  “Because they would have too much time to th
ink about it and may come to the wrong conclusion because of the possibility it is not worded exactly right. Politicians may get involved—probably will. Who knows? Popping in on them gives them little time to react violently and they will not want to make a mistake when we promise to provide information that will tip the balance of power in their war.”

  “Will it?” Fang asked.

  She smiled. “I may have exaggerated its importance slightly. Who knows? I’m only the captain of a small trader and am doing what is right.”

  Fang snorted in humor again. Then said, “Why don’t you recline and catch a few winks in your chair? You need to be sharp when we emerge. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

  She touched the button and allowed the chair to reposition itself. It was one of the latest models and it quickly conformed to the shape of her body as it formed almost a cocoon underneath and beside her. From inside the pillow, soft tinkles of soothing sound flowed, while shutting out the other sounds of the ship. Yes, it was a good chair. She would have to look at the manufacturer and model and order a similar one for the Guardia. That would wait until she woke.

  Fang said, “Captain, I think it is time for you to wake.”

  She opened her eyes and felt refreshed. A glance at the top corner of the screen nearest to her indicated she had slept the equivalent of a full night. She needed a bathroom and food, in that order. “How long?”

  Fang said, “Plenty of time to take care of personal needs and make a quick inspection of the ship.”

  How had he known she would do both of those things?

  Experience, she decided as she left the bridge. She was beginning to appreciate the solid construction of the old ship. It needed some basic work, but that was mostly cosmetic. If things didn’t work out, she might consider a second ship. One very much like this one. The Guardia could run point and locate larger cargo that was not in a rush to reach a destination. This ship could transport that. There was no telling how many cargoes she had refused because they were not in a hurry and for that reason wanted lower rates.

  After visiting the restroom, she started at one end of the ship and made a quick inspection of each space until she came to the cabin where the steward that had killed the former captain was confined. Her hand was almost on the handle before she pulled it away.

  She then paused again. Had the man called Chance influenced her decision not to enter? She had felt nothing of the touch of an empath, but he was older and perhaps a more sophisticated user of the mental power. Could he be so good at using the skill she wouldn’t detect it?

  She didn’t think so, but the thought unnerved her. She couldn’t trust anything around him.

  Still, she didn’t enter. Time was growing short and she wanted to be fully awake and ready when the ship left the wormhole behind and entered normal space. She expected to make several life-or-death choices and wanted to be fully alert and prepared.

  Seated again in the now-familiar captain’s chair, she gave a curt nod of approval to Fang and glanced up at the single speaker on the ceiling. “You with us, Bert?”

  “Always,” he said after a single ping.

  Fang said, “I’ve installed a countdown on that main monitor in front of you.”

  She noticed the number in the upper left. That was good. Her pulse elevated a small amount, already down to double digits. Whatever was going to happen, would do so soon.

  After a few deep breaths, she felt better. As a starship captain, she had made thousands of decisions, any of which could have led to disaster. Most wrongs could be corrected but a few couldn’t. The problem when you were the captain was that you never knew which.

  Her father had also taught her that. Mistakes kill, he’d said. Don’t make them. It was good advice. He’d also taught her to gather the right information before making a mistake. Despite all the variables in their present circumstances, she felt she’d done as well as anyone could and better than most.

  The numbers on the screen decreased. They looked like they were decrementing faster, yet she knew that was not the case and still believed it. As they approached zero, she said, “Bert, keep me informed.”

  Fang raised an empty flipper and curled the edge in what she believed was his version of OK, the ancient thumb and forefinger circle.

  The numbers stalled and winked out of existence. Monitors around the bridge recalibrated with the latest information as the ship entered normal space.

  Three rapid pings. Bert said, “Messages sent and verified receipt.”

  Fang said, “We’ve got company.”

  She glanced at the screen to her right, which displayed nearby space. A larger dot and a pair of smaller ones were accelerating in her direction. She swallowed hard.

  Fang said, “Looks like a frigate and two small destroyers.”

  “Any response to the messages?” she asked Bert.

  “On screen six,” he said, excitedly, and without a courteous ping.

  Her head turned to the left where a smaller screen for personal communications winked to life. She tabbed the audio options so Bert and Fang would hear. She said calmly, before the image fully stabilized, “Captain Stone, here.”

  A stern-faced semi-human male scowled at her. He wore a pale blue uniform, a cap that was both useless and a hazard in space, and three gold bars on his shoulder pads. That made him a commander, technically a full military step below a captain, although more than enough rank to command a frigate.

  “You have entered a restricted area and are under military arrest. Your ship is now the property of the Bradley Concord. Shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded or be destroyed.”

  Captain Stone sat up taller. She snapped in her most official voice, “Shutting down our engines and preparing to be boarded.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain,” Fang said.

  She heard the change in the pitch of the engines. Her eyes were locked on those of the commander. She said, “Now, let’s get a few things straight. You are only a commander. I need to speak to your superior immediately.”

  He started to answer, his face turning hostile.

  She held up a finger to stall him as if he were a child in a classroom. “Sir, with all respect, failure to do as I ask may cost you your command, if not your life. We have complied with your orders and are unarmed and helpless. How can sending a message to your superior be of danger to you? Yet, if you do not send it, I assure you that your career is at an end.”

  Oh, he was angry, but enough of her words stung so that he turned away and gave an unheard order to a subordinate. He turned back to her. “My superiors will want to know everything.”

  “And I will tell him everything. In the meantime, why have you not dispatched your ship and one of your destroyers to the nexus where two enemy ships will appear very soon?”

  “You cannot know that,” he said.

  She drew a breath and decided to bully him. Military types always had a weakness in carrying out orders. She said, “You are charged with protecting the secret of this military base while on patrol. If, as I say, a pair of enemies appear, then turn and reenter the wormhole when you knew of their arrival and you did nothing to protect the secret of this location, it will not go well for you, sir. I suggest you let one destroyer remain with us while you go become a hero.”

  His face reddened. He snarled, “If you power up or attempt to use subspace radio, we will obliterate you.”

  Obliterate. A nice word. She refused to smile. “Yes, sir.”

  The commander broke the connection without warning. She watched the screen and the frigate, and one destroyer broke from the last. It took up position by matching velocity and course, a few kilometers distant from each other. The captain of that ship didn’t attempt to communicate, and she had no doubt there were missiles hot and programmed to strike her ship.

  “Incoming communication link established,” Bert said as the screen came to life again.

  A woman with puffy, sleep-filled eyes and wild, tangled hair stared at her. Des
pite that, there was no doubt she was in charge. Without identifying herself or asking for the same from Captain Stone, she snarled, “What’s this all about?”

  “Two more ships will exit the wormhole near where we emerged. I’ve asked your commander to move and block their reentry. They are enemies and followed us through the wormhole despite our best efforts to lose them by switching at junctures.”

  The woman sighed. “Ships close enough can determine where others are. Even in wormholes, young lady.”

  “I am Captain Stone of the trader ship Guardia and have been in command of my ship for over a decade. If your use of ‘young lady’ was a compliment, I accept. I know and understand that ships nearby can detect each other briefly at any nexus, but the two following behind us were at light-month distances and still able to track us.”

  “Impossible.”

  “If you blockade the entrance to the wormhole and capture either or both of the ships, the technology is yours alone. Consider that for a moment.”

  The unidentified woman sighed and spoke off-screen before turning back. “There are no other ships. I’ve just confirmed that fact. What are you up to?”

  Captain Stone locked eyes and without looking up, said, “Bert, when will the other two ships exit the wormhole?”

  A ping sounded. “On your screen.”

  Stone fought to keep a straight face. A decrementing number was spiraling down at a rapid pace.

  The other woman demanded an answer.

  Captain Stone remained silent.

  The woman began by making threats she couldn’t enforce, yet. Captain Stone believed nobody was going to pull every hair from her head before the ships appeared in normal space.

  Captain Stone remained silent and ignored the threats as the numbers continued getting smaller.

  In the middle of another angry tirade, Stone held up four fingers and curled one. Then a second as the number decremented.

  “What are you doing?” The woman demanded; her face flushed.

  Stone had just curled number three. She lowered number four.