Final frontier, p.7
Final Frontier, page 7
“I must access your engineering. I…may be able to modify your warp drive and increase speed.”
“You are not accessing any more controls,” Bryan said. “And you are not using any more of my crew to do it, either.”
“You cannot stop me, short of destroying this ship and killing everyone aboard.”
Bryan held the other’s eyes, sparing a glance at the pinkish fluid running from the man’s ear. But the eyes... They were the same eyes of his helmsman as they were just a short time ago. Bryan had to, again, remind himself that an alien intelligence was behind them. At the moment, the person before him was alien—Govkor, Gross had said. Yet, it was also Josef...or was it? Now that Govkor was in control, was Josef’s mind still intact?
“Would you rather take your chances with the Zirquin on your own?” Josef-Govkor asked.
McClance nodded. “He has a point. Our weapons barely scratched the enemy fighters.”
Bryan took a deep breath. “We’ll discuss it. In the meantime, get to the medical bay and have Misra examine that ear. Gross, escort him. Then, you’d better get some sleep.”
“Aye, sir,” Gross said. Josef-Govkor stood and obediently followed her off the bridge.
“I think we could all do with some sleep,” Stoner said. “It is the middle of the night watch, after all.”
“It seems we’ll have plenty of time for that,” McClance said.
“You believe him?” Bryan asked.
McClance shrugged. “Really, what choice do we have? Is the navi-computer still out, de Seleaux?”
“Yes, Commander. Still useless. But I do have the coordinates of where we emerged from that anomaly.”
“Can you return us to normal space?” Bryan asked.
De Seleaux worked her controls, then shook her head. “I cannot access helm control.” She stood, stepped over to the helm, and tried the controls there. She shook her head again. “Locked.”
Bryan grumbled. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
“I guess we’re stuck,” McClance said.
“I’ll go talk with our hitchhiker.” Bryan turned and stepped up to the door accessing the corridor.
“And I’ll check on engineering. Perhaps you could get Govkor to return us to normal space long enough to retrieve Mandrel.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
*
“Captain, is Lieutenant Commander Mandrel really dead?” Casey asked as soon as Bryan entered the medical bay. The reporter sat on one of the beds beside the door. Misra treated Josef on a bed across from her. She held some sort of probing device in his ear while Josef’s unfocused eyes gazed ahead.
“How is he?” Bryan asked as he approached, trying to ignore his sore jaw.
“His eardrum was punctured, but I have repaired it,” Misra said, her voice soft. “Lieutenant, you may experience some discomfort, particularly with higher noise levels. I will put a shield over the ear to protect it and help muffle sound.”
“What about his mind?”
“As far as I could tell, Lieutenant Vazquez’s mind was still intact after the alien left him.”
“Captain,” Casey spoke up again.
“But he resisted,” Bryan said, ignoring the reporter. “Well, Josef? Govkor? Which of you is really in there?”
“I’m here, Captain,” Josef-Govkor said, his voice sorrowful.
“Which ‘I’ is that? Govkor, come out so I can be sure I’m speaking with my officer.” For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Josef appeared to exhale the gray smoke that had gone into his ear some fifteen minutes ago. It floated to the side of the bed opposite Misra.
“My God,” Casey was heard mumbling. “It really did move into him.”
The mind of Lieutenant Franzis Josef remains intact. You have my promise. The voice sounded like Josef’s, but the lieutenant’s mouth never moved.
“I’d like to verify that for myself, if you don’t mind. Are you alright, Lieutenant?”
Josef shook his head and shrugged. “Sure. An alien takes over my mind and makes me kill a fellow officer. Why wouldn’t I be alright?”
I regret the death of your officer, Lieutenant Commander Mandrel. However, as I have said before, it was imperative that we withdrew from those coordinates before the Zirquin destroyed your ship.
“Yes, I know,” Bryan said. “You’re carrying vital information.”
Indeed. And you, Lieutenant Franzis Josef, agreed that it was more important to save the majority. You, Captain Bryan Hamilton, as the commander of this vessel, must realize this.
“I do, when it’s necessary.” Bryan took a deep breath, setting aside his resentment for a moment. “However, there’s a chance that Mandrel may not be dead. Commander McClance is investigating the possibility now. Mandrel may simply be stuck in the inner chamber. His suit may be protecting him while the reactor interferes with communications.” He centered his attention on the cloud floating in front of him and tried to look as stern as possible at the faceless entity. Any other time and place, he would have felt silly talking to a cloud. “I want you to unlock the controls and return us to normal space—just for a moment. The inner chamber won’t open as long as the warp drive is engaged. We’re out of danger. We need to stop just long enough to get Mandrel—whatever his condition—out of the inner chamber. After that, we may proceed to...Epitaph.”
Epitara. Will you allow me access to your warp drive and, if possible, increase its efficiency?
“On one other condition. Apparently, you were able to plot a course with our navi-computer not functioning, the result of our passage through some kind of wormhole.”
A fold corridor. The Imperium have established a network of such passages throughout this and neighboring galaxies.
“Then, you are familiar with this galaxy.”
Of course.
“I want you to examine our star charts and see if you can determine where we are. I’ll give you access to our stellar cartography.” Silence hung over the room. Bryan tried to maintain his patience, but the silence seemed to drag on. He looked about the room anxiously. All eyes watched him with interest and varying degrees of bemusement. Finally, he returned his attention to the cloud, glaring. Whether or not his glaring did anything for the alien, he couldn’t be sure. “Well?”
Very well. First, I will release your helm controls. How long will you need to extract your officer?
“Five minutes?” Bryan looked to Misra, who nodded her confirmation. “Certainly, no more than ten.”
“Are you going to move back into my brain?” Josef asked.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Misra said at once. “Vazquez was alright after his episode, but his was brief. Prolonged or repetitive contact with that...creature could result in brain damage.”
If you do not resist, I will not damage your brain.
“You seem fine without a host,” Bryan said. “You got aboard my ship well enough on your own.”
Due to the nature of your ship’s controls, it would be more efficient if I were able to access them through a host.
Josef let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll do it.”
“No, I will,” Bryan said. “As commanding officer of this ship, you will take me. You rest, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As you wish. Immediately, the cloud floated toward him. Bryan fought the urge to step back and cover his face. He forced himself to hold his ground—and his breath—as he allowed the alien to flow up his nose, overwhelming his olfactory sense with the smell of ashes. He had to fight even harder to not exhale the bitter scent. It soon passed. The cloud was all in his head, though he felt no different. Not yet, anyway. Probably when it wants me to do something. Just do not resist.
I won’t as long as you don’t make me do anything that threatens ship or crew.
The intercom whistled for attention. “Captain Hamilton, McClance for you,” announced Gross’ relief.
Hamilton approached the nearest intercom speaker. “Captain,” McClance said once he was patched in, “Anderson and Krishnik have agreed that there’s a chance Mandrel may still be alive. Did you have success with Govkor?”
“He’s agreed to return us to normal space to let us retrieve Mandrel and help us get our bearings.”
“Good to hear. I’m returning to the bridge.”
“I’ll meet you there. Hamilton out.” He switched off the intercom and started for the door. “Doctor, get to the main engine room and stand by.”
*
Ken stood on the operations deck, looking over the bridge. The night crew were all there now—manning communications, helm, and navigation. The captain, however, sat at the helm console while the relief stood behind him. Vibrations in the deckplates faded as, on the viewscreen, the white streaks of warp space gradually gave way to normal starscape.
“We have returned to normal space,” Hamilton said.
“The inner chamber is opening,” said the ensign at communications. All eyes were on him. “Doctor Misra is going in. Mandrel...is alive.”
As one, everyone on the bridge let out a tremendous sigh. Ken smiled and nodded. “Smashing news.”
“Doctor Misra is taking him to the medical bay for examination.”
“Are they clear of the inner chamber?” Hamilton asked. The ensign relayed his question.
“They’re in the airlock now.”
Hamilton swung back to the helm controls. A moment later, the vibrations in the deckplates returned as the stars on the viewscreen again blurred and stretched into white streaks. The captain came to his feet. “All yours, Lieutenant,” he told the helm relief. “You don’t have much to do. Just make sure the readings don’t change.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s Josef?” Ken asked when Hamilton joined him on the operations deck.
“Resting. Misra repaired his eardrum, but his right ear will be delicate for a few days.”
“What about the alien? Govkor?”
“I’m his host now while he examines our star charts and modifies our engines.”
“I hope he agreed to let you get some sleep first.”
Hamilton rubbed his eyes. “He better. I’m going to get some whether he likes it or not.” He dipped his head and continued softly, as if to himself, “I understand, but a few hours won’t make much difference. You Darkkons may not require sleep, but we do.” He sighed. “Yes, I’ll let you do that.”
Hamilton turned and stepped up to the communications console. “Excuse me, Ensign,” he said normally as he pushed aside the relief officer and played the controls.
A perplexed ensign looked from the captain to Ken. “It's okay, Ensign. I think. Captain? Govkor?”
“There is nothing to worry about, Lieutenant Commander McClance,” Hamilton-Govkor said.
When he finished, the captain straightened and turned back towards the door. “As you were, Ensign.”
*
Bryan Hamilton sat on his bed and released an enormous sigh. As soon as his butt hit the mattress, his eyelids dropped like weights. He slipped off his jacket and laid it at the foot of the bed. His boots came next as he glanced at the chronometer on his nightstand. 0325. Four hours until he was to go back on duty—assuming nothing else went wrong before then. “You got that, Govkor?”
Your need is felt, Captain Hamilton. I will let you sleep and re-energize your body.
“Thank you kindly,” he said under his breath as he fell back. His eyes were sealed, and he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
As Hamilton lost consciousness, there was a significant shift in brain activity. Particularly, a transfer of memories in the neo-cortex. Govkor focused his attention on that area of the brain, seeing all that this Human had experienced most recently. The launch of the E.A.S. Frontier and departing his homeworld, Earth, for a two-month survey mission. His intention to investigate a potentially hazardous sector before resuming with the survey mission. The warning from Sharesk—one of the two non-Human observers that had joined the crew for the mission—and that he and three of his officers decided to proceed over the objections of two others. Govkor recalled seeing something of that in Josef and Gross’ memories.
Then, Govkor saw Hamilton’s memory of the Frontier being pulled into a wormhole—the fold corridor. He returned his attention to Earth’s star system—Sol System, consisting of an average-sized star, eight planets, seven planetoids, hundreds of moons, and an asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth planets. The star system was thirty thousand light-years from its galactic center toward the end of the fourth of six arms—the shortest of the six. Earth was the third planet, with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and a single moon. The other three inner planets also had rocky crusts; the four outer planets were gas giants, the first of which was the largest.
Govkor searched his own memory for star systems fitting those specifications and were less than a light-year from a fold vortex. The only one he could think of that was the closest match was in a larger galaxy three million light-years away. Though, the last survey of the system showed no sentient life, let alone an industrialized civilization. In fact, the third planet had been recovering from a meteor impact that had wiped out most of the life on it.
He remembered something about that particular vortex. An experiment had destabilized it, creating a fracture in the space-time continuum. So, these Humans could be from that system, but from some point in the future. To find out how far they had come, he would need to compare his cartographic information with what was in the ship’s computer.
Govkor worked his way toward the olfactory nerves and followed them to the nasal cavity and out through the nostrils. Something like an explosion reverberated through the Human’s skull. He rushed out through the nostrils and took in his surroundings—all quiet. Another blast of sound—from the Human! Govkor found himself being pulled back into Hamilton’s gaping mouth. What was he doing?!
Govkor climbed, pushing himself in the opposite direction of the maw, fighting the suction created by the Human’s diaphragm. Govkor started slipping between the jaws, through the pharynx. He was nearly in the larynx when Hamilton exhaled, shooting him up to the ceiling and dispersing him throughout the room. Treacherous pillar of flesh! Govkor fought to suppress a mental roar at the Human as he pulled himself together. Organic creatures should not be punished for bodily reflexes which they have no control over, he tried to tell himself.
Govkor floated toward the computer terminal on the opposite side of the room from where the Human lay. How was he going to connect with this primitive technology? He looked over the terminal, which consisted of a monitor, a control panel, and a dataport. He sank toward the dataport and slid into it as much of himself as he could manage. There were four paralleling grooves lining one side of the receptacle. He shaped part of himself to fit them and mimicked the material.
He concentrated and entered a conduit similar to the Zirquin interface but darker, curving in one direction then another. His tunnel joined other similar tunnels that ran parallel to him. Pulses of light flashed back and forth along them. Eventually, he came to a hub with thousands of different pathways leading in every direction. He searched through them—life support, power distribution, utility controls, engine control, communications, defense systems, internal sensors, external sensors, navigation, science lab...
Navigation seemed promising. He proceeded in that direction and found files of star charts. Sol System and other systems in its vicinity and their positions in their galaxy—the Milky Way, they called it. He compared Sol System’s position in the galaxy with that of the system he remembered, taking into account his position in the Universe—in the galaxy the Humans called Triangulum. The difference wasn’t much, but it was significant enough.
CHAPTER 7
Ship Calendar: 11 March 2105 A.D.
Earth Calendar: 998,368 B.C.
KEN COCKED his eyebrows and glanced around the table at his fellow officers. Casey, her assistant, and the observers stood around the room. The Humans all shared similar expressions of shock, some with gaping jaws. The Peridjinn simply stood there, exchanging looks with each other. Their gills seemed to pulse a little quicker.
It was 0800 when the captain summoned them all to the briefing room. While the gaseous form of Govkor floated behind him, Hamilton relayed what the alien had discovered while they were sleeping.
After what felt like several minutes of silence, punctuated by the constant hum of the ship’s power, Casey finally spoke, her voice slow and quivering. “Three million light-years from Earth?”
Hamilton nodded. “And, about a million years behind the Earth we know.”
“Govkor, has the Darkkon Imperium encountered other vessels coming through that corridor from the same region, from about the same time?” Sharesk asked.
Not recently. The smoke-cloud alien now spoke with a voice that sounded like a deeper variation of Hamilton’s.
“The Peridjinn have lost a dozen ships over the past century—from our point in time,” Ken explained.
“You are trusting this alien?” Yanova asked. “I understand it commandeered your ship.”
Hamilton glanced over his shoulder at Govkor, then back at the Russian representative. “I am for now, but it’s not like we have much choice.”
“We need their protection,” Ken explained. “If our brief skirmish with the Zirquin is any indication, we would not survive here on our own.”
“What did you do to provoke them?” Krishnik asked.
Ken shrugged and looked between the Peridjinn representative and the captain. “I was about to ready weapons—”
You did not provoke the Zirquin. Hamilton turned to the cloud floating behind him. The Zirquin are mechanoids that were programmed to attack and destroy anything that does not register as their own.
“Who created them?” Mandrel asked.
Seconds passed while the cloud floated silently. Ken couldn’t decide if it was thinking or refusing to answer. “Well? Who created them?” Casey prompted.
Approximately twelve hundred years ago, by your time, a civil war started that eventually consumed this galaxy. Three-hundred-thirty-eight years into the war, one faction created the Zirquin, mechanoids capable of self-replication and programmed to attack anything that did not register as their own. Later, the other faction created the Zargon to counter the Zirquin.
