Flagship (A Captain's Crucible #1) (19 page)

"Those logs are public, yes. But what about the sleeping pods in the berthing area? Nothing spoken inside them can be recorded, not if the aReals are turned off."

"I think," Jonathan said. "That if I had visited your berthing area at any time in the past six months, I would be noticed. Consider for a moment what you're implying. It's a ludicrous proposition."

"Not so ludicrous if you came disguised," Robert pressed. "With instructions for Maxwell to delete the logs."

"Robert, I—"

"She's seemed so very distant, lately," the commander interrupted him. "I've wondered why. And now I know: you're having some sort of sexual relationship with Bridgette."

Jonathan couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had expected the commander to share his uncertainties over some facet of his command, perhaps his doubts about facing the alien enemy once more, or his trouble in disciplining a crew member. But
this?

"Robert. I assure you, I am not having a sexual relationship with your wife. I would never do such a thing. That you even think I would, well, it greatly lowers my opinion of you. And it's damn insulting, frankly."

Robert cocked his head as if listening to something on his earpiece. His face became very pale. "Maxwell says you're telling the truth."

"Of course I'm telling the truth," Jonathan said, knowing how well the AI could read body language, heart rate, and perspiration levels in response to a question or accusation.

Robert rubbed his face. "I'm sorry sir. I've obviously made a very big mistake. I don't know why I ever thought you were seeing my wife behind my back. It's just, I've been under incredible stress lately."

"We all have," Jonathan said. "Still, that's no excuse to level such a damning accusation. You say she's been distant, lately? You might want to have a long talk with your wife sometime. She's pregnant, Robert. And she's thinking about having an abortion."

Robert seemed stunned. "I didn't know that."

"Yes," Jonathan said. "And by telling you, I just violated the trust she placed in me. So you can rest assured that she'll never come to me again. That should prove a great comfort to you in the days to come. Now is there anything else, Commander?"

"No, Captain."

"Then you are dismissed."

"Yes Captain." Robert stood. "I'm sorry Captain."

Jonathan nodded distractedly.

When the captain had the office to himself, he shook his head.

Sexual relations with the wife of my first officer? Never!

Jonathan sat back, struggling to contain his outrage. He could use that feeling, actually. Funnel it toward another matter that needed dealing with.

"So, Maxwell," he told the AI. "I hope you enjoyed that little show."

"I did not, Captain," Maxwell said.

"Well and good, well and good." He steepled his fingers and tapped them together. "So. I'm not in the brig anymore. What do you think of that?"

"It is beneficial to the task group. You are the most qualified to lead."

"Oh really?" He felt the anger rise inside him. "Now all of a sudden I'm the most qualified."

"Yes. With the loss of the admiral and his task unit, the continuity of command protocol firmly places you in charge."

"But wasn't my arrest a standing order?"

"It was. But when Captain Rodriguez of the
Dagger
assumed command of the task group after the battle, he ordered you reinstated immediately. Due to your seniority, you are now the flagship commander. Protocol was rigorously observed throughout the process."

"Well that's damn good to know that protocol was observed to your satisfaction. But tell me something,
AI
." He put a particularly distasteful emphasis on the word. "Did you ever pause to consider the ramifications of your actions? No matter how grounded in code and in law, what you did resulted in the death of the admiral and his crew, as well as those of the escort vessels. Ten thousand lives, in total. If you had allowed me or Captain Avis to take command before, instead of arresting me, none of this would have happened."

"You cannot be certain," Maxwell said. "In fact, the losses of the fleet could have been even greater in your hands."

"No, Maxwell. They would not have been greater. I would have used the
Fortitude
against the enemy. I would have decisively won the engagement." He cleared his throat. "What I tell you now, I tell you because I want you to know where I stand: I place the blame for all those deaths firmly on your virtual shoulders."

"My actions were completely within the guidelines of my programming," Maxwell said. "I prevented a mutiny and helped enact the latest order from NAVCENT. What happened after that was out of my control."

"Which is exactly why you should have never circumvented my authority in the first place. Your actions were wrong, Maxwell, and only compounded the errors made by the admiral. The only reason I haven't had you deactivated and reformatted already is because I need you in the upcoming battle. But don't get me wrong, when we return to dry dock I'm having your processing units physically removed from my ship and transferred into a toaster. The only protocols you'll ever enforce again will be related to the browning of bread."

Maxwell paused a moment. And then: "I'm sure I will make an excellent toaster, sir."

Wearing his combat jumpsuit, Rade marched behind the Praetor and two Centurions that had been sent in to retrieve the alien from the wreckage. The lead robots carried the containment device. During the earlier briefing with the scientists, the captain had emphasized his doubt regarding the glass container's ability to hold the alien, despite the reassurances from the scientists. Captain Dallas said he didn't want to lose any more crew members, not when robots would suffice. Rade had agreed, and he'd volunteered to personally escort the robots to their supposedly injured target. His plan was to oversee the operation from the rear so that when the geyser of shit erupted, he would be the first one out of there.

The passageways inside the severed wing section of the alien ship were intact, for the most part. Artificial gravity proved absent: variable-strength supermagnets inside their boots held the fireteam to the deck. The strength of the magnets was determined by the pressure applied to the sole of a given boot; Rade had to purposely force one foot down, and once the boot contacted the deck, it was literally sucked in. When it was time to release that foot to take the next step, he'd have to yank extra hard before it came free. Those magnets were stronger than those found in standard spacesuit boots, and they made walking awkward—the feeling was similar to trudging through mud. Still, it was something he was well-accustomed to thanks to the countless hours of practice in the vacuum sim.

The helmet lamps revealed a cylindrical metallic hallway covered in strange symbols. The fit was tight, and the group had to travel in single file. Rade had the video feed from the foremost robot piped into the upper right of his HUD, providing situational awareness from the front. He knew the captain and first officer were also watching the various feeds from the comfort of the
Callaway's
bridge.

The passageway curved to the right. Seven meters ahead, at the terminus, the alien darkness resided. Without gravity, the amorphous mass floated roughly in the center between the deck and overhead, its wispy tendrils brushing the bulkheads on either side, vaguely reminding Rade of a toy energy ball.

Again he wondered how the creature survived without an atmosphere. The scientists were convinced the murk concealed a creature of flesh and blood inside. Perhaps that darkness was an environmental suit of some kind, protecting the actual alien within from the void as well as shielding it from plasma and laser weapons.

Rade waited around the bend as the robots approached. Via his HUD, he switched his main feed to the Praetor's point of view, keeping the lead robot's output in the upper right.

About three meters away from the alien, the robots lowered the container. A small gap existed underneath the lower pane of glass and the deck, due to the circular nature of the bulkheads and the rectangular shape of the container. The lead Centurion lay flat on the deck while the second robot shoved the container forward over its body—the first robot fit easily inside the aforementioned gap, and soon resided entirely underneath the container.

At that point the second robot accessed a control panel on the back and manually keyed-in a code. The far side of the container folded open toward the darkness.

The robot began flashing its headlamp in a pattern of photonic bursts that matched the frequency and brightness of similar eruptions from the darkness. If that didn't draw the creature out, they were instructed simply to slide the container over the thing: because of the tight confines of the passageway, the mist would have no other option but to move into the container.

Rade had expressed some reservations regarding both strategies but he had no better ideas.

Weak flashes of light erupted from the darkness in answer, and it began to move, very slowly, toward the glass. Just in front of the opening it paused as if sensing the trap. The black mist began to curl around all sides of the container, passing into the gaps between the glass and the bulkheads.

The darkness flowed over the combat robot lying underneath the container. When its torso was entirely covered, the legs of the Centurion began to spasm violently. After several moments it ceased all movement and its status disappeared from Rade's HUD.

He wondered what would have happened if that had been a man.

"Move forward!" Rade said. "Catch it!"

The still-standing Centurion promptly shoved the container forward, completely enveloping the main amorphous mass, and then sealed the glass.

The container shook forcefully. Rade couldn't tell if the trapped creature fired some weapon or merely punched the glass with concealed appendages: no dents of any kind appeared in the surface. The scientists had done their jobs well.

Meanwhile, some of the dark mist continued to float outside the container, cut off from its source. The isolated murk rose, enveloping the second Centurion's lower body.

The robot shook, short-circuiting a moment later.

The mist moved toward the Praetor next. The container continued to shudder in the background.

"Back away," Rade said, and the Praetor obeyed.

The darkness, severed from its source inside the container, began to dissipate the farther it traveled from the container. The Praetor had to retreat all the way to the end of the passageway before the mist evanesced entirely.

The container shook for several more moments and then became still.

Just like that, the alien was theirs.

The Praetor returned to the container and lowered the second robot to the deck, aligning its various limbs parallel to the floor so that the Praetor could more easily drag the container over its body.

When the Praetor touched the glass the darkness struck out and the container vibrated violently once again. Rade saw what looked like a claw momentarily scrape the insides before the shaking ceased.

"Target secured," the Praetor said.

Rade led the way back to the shuttle. He entered the airlock, and after the Praetor stowed the alien inside, Rade returned to the passageway and placed a tracking device in case the task group needed to find the wreckage at some later date.

Then he dragged the disabled robots back to the shuttle and loaded them inside.

* * *

Jonathan stood inside cargo bay seven, which had been turned into a makeshift scientific research area. A long glass wall divided the bay in two, with the centerpiec
e—
the translucent container holding the alie
n—
residing on the same side as the bay doors. Bay seven was chosen for its easy access to outer space. If the alien escaped, it was a simple matter of opening the bay doors: the resultant explosive decompression would readily expel the creature from the ship. Opening a pair of doors was a far preferable option to blowing up half a deck.

Five masters-at-arms and an equal number of combat robots secured the bay on the alien side of the divider. Jonathan stood on the opposite side, beside the scientists, who studied various unseen readouts on their aReals, pretending to look busy.

The chief scientist, Lieutenant Connie Meyers, stood beside him.

"The container is holding strong," the attractive woman said. "I told you this combination of polycarbonate, PVB, glass, and ThermoPlastic Urethane would hold the thing."

"You did indeed," Jonathan said. "But that doesn't mean the container won't eventually wear down."

"If it does, we'll reinforce it as necessary," Connie said.

"So what have we learned so far?" Jonathan said.

"Well, there's definitely something inside that darkness," Connie said. "We catch a glimpse of the occasional claw, or a proboscis now and then. We're not entirely sure what purpose the darkness serves. Maybe it nourishes the alien. Maybe it's some sort of portable atmosphere that follows it around. In any case, you'll of course be the first to know of anything new we learn."

"Remember, whatever you learn here is classified," Jonathan said. "You're not to talk about this with any friends or family members aboard. I don't want to cause a panic."

"Is that why you didn't make a general announcement about the capture?"

"The less people who know about the alien presence, the better. While the
Callaway's
crew is one of the most disciplined in the galaxy, her members are under enough stress as it is. Can I count on you to hold your tongue, Lieutenant?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Good." Jonathan stared at the black mass. Should it be treated as a prisoner of war, as Robert suggested? No. They couldn't afford to grant it the same rights that would be given a human. Not when they knew so little about the creatures.

He turned toward Connie. "You do realize you have my complete authorization to experiment on it fully?"

"Yes, I figured as much, given your previous order."

"I'm not sure you understand what I want," Jonathan said slowly. "So let me be clear: I need to know how to kill these things."

She regarded him uncertainly. "You're ordering me to kill this alien? If I can?"

"Not necessarily. Injuring it is fine, too. Mostly I want to know how we can get our weapons to penetrate that black fog of theirs. The MOTH chief seems to think it's a shield of some sort."

Connie nodded. She seemed relieved that he wasn't asking her to kill it outright. "I'll see what I can do."

Jonathan glanced at the stationary man who sat cross-legged on the floor directly in front of the container. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be meditating. "Has our friend had any luck, yet?"

"None," Connie said. "I should remind the captain that I object to this sort of unscientific mumbo jumbo. And if the captain were to promptly send away the man, this chief scientist would be extremely happy."

"You don't believe in telepaths?" Jonathan said.

"I do not."

"Telepaths exist, Lieutenant," Jonathan said. "And are among us. Empirical evidence has proven it."

"Though not everyone agrees with this evidence," Connie said. "Such as myself."

"The navy does," Jonathan said. "Or NAVCENT wouldn't assign a telepath to every ship."

"I've never agreed with that policy, though the navy has shoved worse things down our throats, I suppose." Connie shook her head. "I once met a telepath at a fair. He was able to correctly predict what card would be chosen from a deck seven times out of ten. Circus tricks. That's all telepaths are good for."

"You would be surprised, I think." Jonathan tapped his lips with three fingers. "But what you described isn't exactly telepathy. Listen, when I was younger I didn't believe in them either."

"What made you change your mind?"

He smiled wanly. He didn't dare tell her about his recurring visions of Famina. Instead he said: "Humanity is evolving, Lieutenant. Mutations subtly change us every century. The Human Accelerated Regions of the genome ensure it. More and more human beings are exhibiting signs of psychic abilities every year. In a few millennia, there's a good possibility a quarter of humanity will be telepathic. It's the next stage of human evolution."

"Yes, well, that's all well and good for the future of humankind. But as I said, in the here and now telepaths are good solely for circus acts. From what I've seen, anyway."

"Objection noted. You should really read up on the latest research, though. It's fairly convincing."

"I'm sure it is."

He nodded toward the divider. "Mind if I talk to him?"

"By all means." Connie beckoned toward the metal hatch installed in the glass wall. "He's here only because of you, after all."

She opened the entry hatch with her aReal and Jonathan stepped through.

He knelt beside the telepath and flinched at the sudden pain in his knee.

Getting old.

"Hello Captain." The man hadn't opened his eyes yet. "Watch your knee."

Not bad.

"Thank you, sir," the man said.

Jonathan cocked an eyebrow. "Impressive. You're Barrick?"

"I am." The telepath finally looked at the captain.

Jonathan stared at the amorphous mass that rested on the bottom of the container beside him. An alien species. It's language completely unknown and inaccessible to humanity. No one had any idea where to begin, as far as communication was concerned.

The telepath was a start, if perhaps a feeble one.

"I'd hardly label myself feeble," Barrick commented.

"Would you mind not doing that?" Jonathan said.

Barrick seemed taken aback. "Doing what?"

"The whole reading my mind without my permission thing," Jonathan said.

"Sorry, Captain." Barrick lowered his gaze. "Sometimes I feel like I have to prove myself."

"The chief science officer got to you, didn't she?" Jonathan said.

"Somewhat. I have trouble reading her."

Jonathan pursed his lips. "That would explain her attitude."

"Yes."

"And you have no trouble reading me?"

"Not at all, Captain," Barrick said. "You are an open book."

"Well that's good to know," Jonathan said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "So tell me, have you been able to reach our prisoner?"