Star stuff, p.8
Star Stuff, page 8
Winter put a hand on his cheek, silencing them. She stared into his eyes.
"Don't," she whispered. Her voice shook, and tears shone in her eyes. He had never seen her so vulnerable. "Don't, Tommy. Don't blame yourself. Keep blaming me if you have to. But not yourself." Her eyes hardened, and her upper lip peeled back. "The only people to blame are the bastards who murdered our brother. And we got 'em, didn't we?" She wiped a tear off her cheek. "We got the bastards good."
"Sir?"
Titania's voice rose from farther back on the bridge. Tom stiffened, remembering that the android had inhumanly perceptive ears, that she had probably heard the entire conversation. He turned toward her.
"Report, Titania."
The android tapped a few buttons, and holographic displays appeared above her control panel. "I've run a scan of the system. Our sensors detect fourteen planets and forty-two moons. There are possibly more, but we'd need to send out probes."
"Can you pinpoint the signal's origin?" Tom said.
Titania tapped a few more buttons. A hologram of the Sargas's planets and moons hovered on the bridge. The android moved her hands, rotating the diagram, bringing different planets into focus.
"Scanning the system now, sir. Seven of the planets are gas giants. I detect two rocky planets close to their stars. They are too hot for life. A few planets are too far from their stars. They would make even New Siberia seem tropical. And …" She zoomed in on one planet. "Yahtzee!"
Standing at a nearby control panel, gruff old Hancock scowled at the android. "Yahtzee?"
"She means bingo," Tom said. "Titania, is that the source of our Golden Oldies radio station?"
"Ah, a joke!" the android said. She barked an unconvincing laugh. "Yes, sir. It's the source of the folk song we detected. And the threat."
"Excellent," Tom said. "Tell me more about this planet, Titania."
She cleared her throat. He really had to program the habit out of her.
"Planet Theta Scorpii Ceti, stats: axis inclination 1.7 percent, day length of 25.2 Earth hours, orbital period 436 axis rotations, equatorial radius 5,314 kilometers, mean density 3.514 g/cm3, surface area—"
"It's an ocean world about the size of Earth," Tom interrupted the android, glancing at the holographic display. "Two moons. A few big islands. Looks cozy."
Hancock harrumphed. "And somebody on that world is playing Filipino folk songs and threatening a HOPE starship." He squinted at the viewport. "What the hell is going on down there?"
Tom joined his XO at the viewport, abandoning the holographic star system. They were now close enough to see Theta Scorpii Ceti clearly on the viewport.
The image was magnified, of course. The viewport was shaped like a huge windshield. It was a common prank, in fact, to tell junior officers that the viewport was a mere pane of glass, showing a real view of space ahead, and to watch out for any space mosquitoes hitting it. Many innocent ensigns went for months believing this. In reality, the bridge was buried deep inside the ship, far from the outer hull. The viewport was a sophisticated screen, streaming video from cameras on the prow, constantly enhancing and magnifying the feed.
And now the viewport was showing a glorious view of the planet ahead.
"It's beautiful," Tom said.
The ocean world glimmered like a sapphire. The stats running across the viewport reported warm water and warmer air, both rich with oxygen. Islands dotted the ocean, draped with greenery. Two pale moons orbited the planet, one silver and one blue.
"Now this is where I want my next army base," Winter said. "A tropical paradise."
"You burn instead of tan," Tom reminded her.
She rolled her eyes. "I'll bring sunscreen."
Tom turned toward his helmswoman. "Floribeth, bring us into orbit. I'd like a closer look at those landforms."
"Yes, sir," the young officer began. "I'll bring us in at—" Floribeth squinted at the viewport. "What is that?"
Tom stared too.
A vessel was approaching them. It was long, slender, and silvery. A dagger flying through space. Flying right at them.
The alien starship was larger than the Galapagos. Tom saw no portholes, no airlocks, just a smooth silver object the size of a frigate.
Its fast approach was less than friendly.
"Shields up!" Tom barked. "Gunners—to your stations! Hold your fire until my order. Titania—scan our archives. Any records of starships like this?"
"No, sir," said the android. "Nothing in our database matches the starship ahead, and we carry information on one thousand, four-hundred, and seventeen sentient spe—"
"Hail them!" Tom said. The enemy ship was still coming in fast. He waited for a connection, then spoke. "This is Captain Tom Emery of the HSS Galapagos. We come in peace and request that you slow your approach. We're a ship of explorers, come to—"
A video feed hijacked the viewport, consuming the entire wall of the bridge.
The image displayed what Tom assumed to be the innards of the alien craft. But it looked nothing like any bridge he had ever seen. It was like, well … like looking at the inside of an HVAC duct. The bulkheads were unadorned metal. No windows. No doors. Just a metallic chamber. It was empty aside from four metal rods that rose from deck to ceiling.
Tom frowned. "Is anyone—"
Electricity crackled between the rods. Lightning flashed. Several luminous spheres materialized on the alien bridge. They hovered between the rods—balls of glowing energy like small white stars.
The glowing orbs vibrated. Lightning crackled between the metal rods. Metallic voices emerged, speaking a single word.
"Leave."
The electric bolts are vibrating the air to produce a voice, Tom realized.
"Will you introduce yourself first?" Tom said, squinting in the light. "We're curious to learn more about your species."
Species? Was there truly a species here? Were these glowing orbs living beings? Or just glorified lamps? Surreptitiously, Tom tapped a few controls, decreasing the brightness, increasing the contrast.
Ah, here we go, he thought.
He could just make them out now. Skinny bastards. The aliens reminded him of neurons. There was a small round torso like a nucleus. If the specs running across the screen were right, that torso was no larger than an apple. But many tendrils extended from the nucleus, long and slender and swaying back and forth. The tendrils shone brightly, forming a sphere of light around each alien. Under normal conditions, the light completely hid the spidery creatures inside the orbs.
"They look like those Koosh balls Grandma Addy used to buy us," Winter said, walking up beside Tom.
"I was thinking neurons," he whispered, then looked back at the monitor.
Helmswoman Floribeth spoke softly. "They're Santelmos."
Tom whipped his head toward her. "You know these creatures?"
"Yes, they—"
The lightning bolts crackled again. Light flooded the Galapagos's bridge.
"Leave!" the aliens said. "This world is not yours to explore. We are the defenders of Bahay. Leave!"
"Bahay," Tom said. "Is that what you call this planet?"
"It is what our children call it," the glowing aliens said, rods thrumming and lightning flashing. "We will never allow you to hurt them again. Leave!"
The video feed died. The metallic bridge vanished. Once more, the viewport displayed the enemy starship hovering before them. Light flowed along rails in the silvery hull, coalesced on the prow, then blasted forth in a beam.
The Galapagos rocked.
Klaxons blared.
Sparks flew from a control panel.
"Bastards!" Winter cried.
Tom swayed, nearly fell. He clutched a dashboard to steady himself.
"Damage report!" he barked.
Hancock growled, rose from the deck, and reached for the cannons. "Goddammit, I'm going to blast those aliens to—"
"Wait!" Tom said. "Hold your fire! Hail them again." He looked at the viewport. "Alien vessel—you have fired on a Human Commonwealth starship on a peaceful mission! Disengage your cannons now, and—"
Another blast hit the Galapagos. They reeled through space.
"Goddammit, Tommy!" Winter cried, falling to the deck. "Shoot the bastards!"
Tom pursed his lips.
He had two choices now. He could retreat, maybe save his ship. Or he could fight.
And he knew what to do.
"Floribeth, pull back!" he said. "Retreat from—"
But Winter ran toward a control panel, grabbed a trigger, and opened fire.
Torpedoes flew from the Galapagos, streaked across space, and slammed into the alien starship.
Explosions bloomed across the enemy hull. Holes tore through silver shielding, exposing cables and chassis rods inside.
"Dammit, Winter!" Tom barked. "This is my ship—"
"In a security situation, the army takes charge!" Winter snapped back.
Light began to glow across the enemy hull again, moving along rails. Sparks flew from some of the rails, which were now dented or completely shattered. But it looked like the alien starship was still generating enough energy for a serious barrage.
The Galapagos's shields had withstood the first attack. Tom wasn't sure they would withstand another.
"Floribeth, evasive action!" Tom shouted.
The helmswoman was already yawing the starship right. A photon beam blasted to their left, just skimming their hull. The alarms blared with more vigor—just in case Tom hadn't noticed the enemy ship pounding him, he supposed. Their singed port bow turned toward the enemy.
"Taste our broadside," Winter sneered and shoved a lever.
Four cannons lined the Galapagos's flank. They all fired together. Plasma bolts slammed into the alien ship.
Three bolts streamed across the enemy's polished hull and rolled into the distance, leaving nothing but charred smudges. But the fourth plasma bolt entered the hole the torpedoes had left.
Fire spread through the alien starship.
Tom stood, staring at the fire raging through the silvery vessel. His crew was cheering. But Tom felt no joy, only rage.
Winter had defied his orders. This was mutiny!
Worse—she had possibly started a galactic war.
But he would deal with Winter later. The battle was not yet over. Right now, Tom had to keep fighting, like it or not.
I'm in this too deep now to retreat, he thought. I must end this battle with death or victory.
The enemy starship careened. Lights fizzled across what remained of its hull. It managed to fire one more blast.
"All power to shields—" Tom had time to cry.
And then the blast impacted.
The Galapagos shook. Control panels cracked. The bridge went dark. The viewport shut down. Alarms blared in the darkness, warning of a hull breach along the port-side cargo bay. Auxiliary engines hummed below deck, struggling to bring power back to the starship.
They were blind.
Tom cursed.
Goddamn you, Winter! he thought.
"Sir, I can't see!" Floribeth cried from the shadows.
As Tom's eyes adjusted, he noticed faint lights. Some of the control panels were still operational, running on backup power. Their monitors glowed.
Tom raced toward the helm. They had no central viewport, but they still had computers!
The workstations were running in safe mode. Text only. Tom typed feverishly at the helm controls, scrolling through lines of text, eyeballing navigational information displayed in green on black.
"The enemy is coming in fast." He grabbed the yoke. "It's firing agai—"
Another blast slammed into the Galapagos.
Tom fell to the deck. Fire raged across the bridge. A computer station sparked and shards of glass flew. Even the alarm system broke, and eerie silence filled the bridge. Air began streaming out, whistling, pulling debris. Hancock raced toward an emergency closet where they stored helmets and oxygen tanks. Then the artificial gravity died, and the old bulldog tumbled into the air.
Tom clung to the helm controls with one hand. His feet floated off the deck.
He stared at the green text racing across the black screen.
The enemy was still out there. Charging toward their port side. Undoubtedly priming its photon cannon for another blast.
Tom didn't know how badly the Galapagos was damaged. His port side still faced the enemy. For all he knew, the Galapagos's bow was a mangled wreck of twisted metal. Hopefully, at least one cannon was operational.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered.
He hit a button.
A groan sounded from somewhere deep in the ship. Motors were struggling, failing.
Tom pulled up new stats. Three cannons went dark. The fourth flickered …
"Come on …"
— and fired.
For a moment—silence.
Tom gasped for what little air remained on the bridge.
The silence stretched on for long seconds.
Then he heard it. Debris pattering against the Galapagos. Blast after blast.
The alien ship's debris.
The computer confirmed what Tom already knew. The enemy starship was gone.
Hancock paddled toward him through the dwindling air, looking like a bulldog trying to swim underwater. The XO was wearing a helmet and oxygen tank. He handed another helmet and tank to his captain.
Tom slipped on the helmet, hooked up the oxygen tank, and took a deep breath of air.
"Give me a damage report, somebody!" Tom said, speaking through the helmet's comm system.
Titania floated toward him. "Sir, given that our holographic display system is currently unavailable, shall I prepare a report in spreadsheet form, and if so, should I print it on letter size paper or—"
Hancock shoved the android aside and cried out, "The entire port side is blasted right open! We got an engine on fire! We're going down, Tom!"
The roar of burning engines and twisting bulkheads was fading. That meant more air was fleeing. Blisters began to rise on Tom's hands. He was wearing a helmet, yes, but no spacesuit.
They could not seal this breach.
Hancock was right. The Galapagos was going down.
Tom spoke words he had hoped to never utter.
"Abandon ship! All crew—head to the shuttle hangar and abandon ship!"
The crew pulled themselves along the railing, scrambling in zero gravity. Winter was busy shouting commands into her own headpiece, rousing her company of marines.
"All marines—to the shuttle bay!" she cried.
As the crew fled, Tom remained alone on the bridge.
He would remain until everyone was safe in a shuttle. And if he had to go down with his ship, he would.
Before racing off the bridge, Winter gave him a last look. She nodded. She understood. She saluted him, then ran toward the shuttle bay.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The last air was fleeing the bridge.
The viewport was dead.
The lights were off.
Only the glow of a single workstation lit the bridge, running on battery power. Tom stood there, tapping controls, trying to calm his trembling heart.
He finally got the security video streaming to his workstation. It was black and white, staticky, showing the inside of the Galapagos's hangar. Thankfully, the enemy fire had spared that section of the ship. Scores of people filled the hangar, scientists and marines alike, rushing toward the shuttles. Winter stood on a crate, shouting, trying to bring order to the chaotic rout.
As Tom watched from the bridge, a shuttle taxied toward the airlock. Even here on the bridge, Tom felt the deck vibrate as the hangar's great airlock slid open. The shuttle plunged into deep space. The remaining crew kept entering other shuttles, cramming them full.
We have enough shuttles for the crew of the Galapagos, he thought. But not for this many marines!
His head spun. He fell to the deck.
His skin was turning icy. Gray. Dying.
Alarms flashed and rang in his helmet. There was almost no air around him. Tom cursed, tapped a few buttons, and redirected the HVAC vents. He could hear metal doors opening and closing across the ship. Air from the upper decks flowed from the ceiling vent, washing over Tom. No sooner did the air enter the bridge than it leaked into space. But it gave Tom a few more moments of life.
Why the hell are there helmets and oxygen tanks but no spacesuits?
He cursed himself. The ship came with standard evacuation protocols. He had failed to catch this oversight.
If I die, it's my own damn fault. So long as I can get my crew to—
The starship suddenly lurched.
An explosion rattled the entire vessel. Bulkheads bent.
"Tom, what's going on?" Winter cried through the comm.
Tom stared at the controls. Dammit!
"An engine burst!" he said. "The fuel conduits are ruptured."
"How long do I have?" Winter said. "Before this whole ship blows?"
"Five minutes if you're lucky, probably less," Tom said. "Get more shuttles out!"
The starship was spinning madly. Tom wrestled with the yoke, trying to steady their flight. Warnings flashed across his monitor. Fire was racing through corridors and cabins. He sealed some doors. He cut off the flaming engine.
The ship finally seemed to stabilize. Loose chairs and shattered control panels floated across the bridge. Tom adjusted some dials, and the artificial gravity groaned back to life. The debris clattered onto the deck. So did Tom. Then the grav drive died again, and it was back to floating.
Tom hit a few more buttons, and he finally got some auxiliary power to the main viewport. It came to life reluctantly—dim and low-res, but offering a wide vista of space.
He could see the husk of the alien starship. Not much remained. The biggest chunk was a charred metallic chassis. Silvery bulkheads, metal rods, and engine components floated through space. Some debris were plunging toward Bahay, burning up in the planet's atmosphere. Anyone looking up from below would enjoy some impressive fireworks.
Light flared. A shuttle flew from the crumbling Galapagos, heading toward the planet. A moment later, another shuttle followed. Then three more. Tom watched them dive into the atmosphere, ionizing the air around them.
