Authors: Unknown
As she gazed out the window at the slowly healing city beneath its blanket of clean white snow, she wondered if that would be such a tragedy. It was tempting sometimes to think of laying down the mantle of responsibility and returning to the ranks of the citizenry. Then she would have more time for her family and someone else could worry about this headache with the aliens.
She allowed herself the fantasy for another minute, and then with a sigh, she returned to her desk. There were problems to be solved and that was not being accomplished by staring out the window.
#
Six months after their departure from Neptune, Mark Rykand decided that he had had enough of the romance of star travel. The problem with flying at multiples of light-speed was that there was nothing to see. No one had ever invented a way for a starship moving at superlight velocity to detect the outside universe. Such an instrument was not even theoretically possible. So, as much as he would have liked to watch the stars march majestically by as the light-years flew past, all there was beyond the viewports was blackness for 167 hours out of 168.
Once each week, they would drop sublight for an hour to confirm their position and take sightings of the surrounding stars. Then it was back into the absolute blackness of wherever it is that a ship goes when it breaks through the light barrier. With nothing to see most of the time, there was little for the astronomy staff to do.
That was the reason that he had lately taken up an “alternate profession.” Ever since the
Ruptured Whale
left Neptune, Mark Rykand had been teaching himself the intricacies of Broan computer science. The subject of his study was the
Hraal
’s main computer, the machine the specialists on Luna had studied extensively. They had sought the cause of the massive data loss about the same time the ship suffered explosive decompression during the Battle of New Eden. They had not found it.
Like everything else onboard the
Ruptured Whale
, the Broan computer was a study in contrasts. Like the Broan trade language, actually operating the machine seemed childishly simple. The interface was akin to the early graphical user interfaces that had been the fashion for human computers through much of the Twenty First Century, although “point and click” was a concept that seemed to have eluded the Broa.
Still, the computer displayed information on a holoscreen in dot-and-swirl script and with easily comprehended iconic representations. Scientists who had studied the computer back at Luna had done a good job of deciphering its basic structure and operating principles. A large amount of this data was intact, including sections detailing the operation of most of the
Ruptured Whale
’s original systems. In fact, it had been those records that allowed human engineers to rebuild the Vithian freighter so quickly.
However, there remained the puzzling gaps in the computer’s memory. Whatever had caused them was as much a mystery as ever. Perhaps one of the Broan Avenger’s energy bolts had sent an electrical surge through the ship, wiping out sections of memory at random in the same moment all the pressure doors retracted. The only problem with the “electrical surge” theory was that Broan equipment did not suffer from electrical surges. Unlike humans, who strung wires everywhere, the Broa equipped each of their machines with its own self-contained power cell. Save for the hull, electrical charges had no conductive paths to follow to reach the computer circuitry inside its protective case.
By the time the
Ruptured Whale
was approaching the midway point of its journey, Mark Rykand had read all of the reports and learned to query the Broan computer almost as well as a human model.
However, nothing in his studies shed any light on the mystery. Therefore, with Captain Landon’s permission, he and Chief Engineer Dresser had opened the machine and were exploring its internal circuitry, looking for some clue to its malfunction.
The computer was located in what was now the Engineering Department. It was a cube that measured two meters on a side. If their power cell technology exceeded humanity’s, Broan skill with computers seemed to lag that of
Homo sapiens
. The computer was powerful by any measure, but a human-built machine with similar capabilities would have occupied one-tenth the volume.
The computer was a hybrid. Parts of it appeared to be purely electrical in nature, while others glittered with the glass of a holographic memory system. Alien or not, Mark recognized the general purpose of most of the mechanisms. There were a few devices, however, whose functions were a mystery.
“It reminds me of some of the antiques in the Smithsonian’s computer collection,” Laura Dresser said as she used a needle probe to track one particular conductor back to its source. Because the individual traces were nearly invisible to the naked eye, she had pushed her old-fashioned spectacles up on her head and replaced them with a pair of micromanipulator goggles.
“How so?” Mark asked from where he was monitoring the readout from Laura’s probe.
“It’s so damned ‘modular’ in here. You would think after all this time, the Broa would learn that you never use two elements if you can combine them into a single integrated circuit.”
“Maybe they had a reason, or maybe the specialists are right when they speculate that the Broa suppress new inventions to keep from destabilizing their empire. … There, I think you just touched it.”
“Right,” she replied. “It seems to be live at Junction Alpha Six Two. Let’s see if we can track it to the next junction.”
At that moment, Sar-Say floated through the hatchway.
“Sar-Say!” Mark yelled across the cavernous space. “Join us.”
The pseudo-simian moved with the assurance of a long-time spacer. He quickly reached the point where Mark and Laura Dresser were working and anchored himself to a handy stanchion.
“Hello, Mark. Hello, Laura. You asked to see me?”
“Hello, Sar-Say,” the chief engineer responded from where she had her upper torso inserted into the alien computer case. “Yes, we need your help.”
“How may I help you?”
“This is your ship’s computer. We are trying to determine if it was damaged in the battle.”
“Why?”
“Because we would like to understand the cause of the massive data loss about the time your ship depressurized. Can you help us?”
“I do not know. I am a trader, not a computer technician.”
“You must know something,” Mark persisted. “Not the technical details, I grant you, but surely the stuff that everyone knows. You probably have plenty of knowledge stuffed down in that eidetic memory of yours.”
“I will tell you what I know.”
“We have most of the circuitry identified, but there is one particular trace that has us stumped.”
“Stumped?”
“An idiom. It means that we do not understand.”
Sar-Say nodded. “I do not know that I can help, but I will try.”
“Come over here,” Laura called.
The Taff moved to the computer, where he anchored himself to Laura’s belt and gazed over her shoulder at the interior of the massive thinking machine.
“Do you see this small trace here on this module?”
“It is very small, but I see it.”
“It seems to come out of the power module and run off into this crystalline thing. Any idea what it is for?”
“No, Laura. I have no knowledge of such things.”
“Could it be an interrupt line?”
“What is that?”
Laura opened her mouth to explain, but was cut short by a quiet beep from her comm unit.
“Get that, Mark!”
“Right.” Mark stretched to where Laura Dresser had left her equipment belt. He unsnapped the communicator and pressed the face to activate.
The call was from the communicator-on-duty. The captain wished to speak with the chief engineer. Laura muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath, extricated herself from the computer, and pulled the magnifier goggles down to dangle around her neck. She then restored her glasses to her face before pulling herself to where she could reach the comm unit that Mark held at arm’s length.
“Yes, Tyler?”
“The captain wishes to speak to you, Madame Chief Engineer. Stand by.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“About those figures you sent me this morning …”
Suddenly, a flash and crackling noise emanated from somewhere behind Laura Dresser. She pivoted her body to look. At first, there was nothing to see. The open front of the computer case blocked her view such that only Sar-Say’s legs were visible. Then, while they watched in horror, the rest of his body floated slowly into view.
The pseudo-simian was limp, his tongue lolled from his muzzle, and his yellow eyes stared sightlessly into space. He looked dead.
Captain Dan Landon sat at his control station aboard the
Ruptured Whale
and let his eyes scan the banks of instruments in front of him as he sipped lukewarm tea. The tea was heavily sugared (the way he liked it), but a bit too strong for his taste. After six months in space, the autokitchen program should have learned his tastes better than that.
His control station was the same basic setup he used aboard
Magellan
. It had multiple display screens inset into a horseshoe-shaped console surrounding his high-backed command chair. The chair included a lapboard with an imbedded touch screen that provided all of the fingertip controls he needed to monitor every section of the ship. Though the instruments were the same as on the big starship, outwardly, they looked completely different.
The instrumentation aboard the
Ruptured Whale
, along with everything else, was part of a grand masquerade. Despite the fact that the control station was a standard design for human starships, the design of the console was such that it blended into the alien décor of the ship.
That was the way it had been with all of the human additions to the alien craft. Those that a casual visitor (for instance, a Broan port official) might see were camouflaged to look like part of the ship’s original equipment, while those not easily camouflaged were hidden from view. The object had been to make the ship operable by humans without advertising the extra-Broan origins of the equipment. Nor had the effort to disguise the ship ended when they departed Luna. Ever since leaving the Solar System, the crew had worked tirelessly to enhance the interior camouflage until Sar-Say proclaimed it would pass muster anywhere in the Sovereignty. Landon hoped the pseudo-simian was right. They were betting the future of the human race on his opinion.
The plan to masquerade as a species from a far-off part of Broan space was made possible by the fact that (according to Sar-Say) there were no standardized layouts for Broan starships. Rather, the various species used a few common hull designs, but customized them to fit their varying physiologies and needs.
A ship of Broan manufacture crewed by humans would be expected to be equipped with couches, chairs, tables, and viewscreens that displayed pictures in wavelengths to which the human eye is sensitive.
In fact, had they tried to use the same furnishings and instruments as the previous owners, any aliens they met might find the fact sufficiently odd to pass on to Those Who Ruled.
Therefore, the Whale now had two completely different propulsion systems - the Broan original and the human add-ons. Since they could not be passed off as being of Broan manufacture, both space-drive and stardrive generators had been installed in the capacious cargo hold, surrounded by heavy bulkheads, and then hidden behind a façade of alien packing crates. If they did find one of the worlds of the Broan Sovereignty, any port inspector who came aboard would discover nothing but a hold filled with general merchandise.
Nor had the heavy equipment been the only additions to the ship’s equipment. Also buried in the hold were three of the most powerful computers humanity had ever built. They were attached to thousands of sensors imbedded in the hull. While in a Broan star system, the Ruptured Whale would record more signals than one of the fabled Soviet intelligence trawlers of the mid-20th century.
The Ruptured Whale had originally been designed to be spun about its axis to provide artificial gravity.
That particular capability had not survived the overhaul. The star drive generator, in particular, had badly altered the ship’s dynamic balance. Any attempt to spin it in its current configuration would cause it to thump like a groundcar tire with a knot in it. As a result, the entire voyage was being made in microgravity.
Other preparations for disguising their origins were also underway. Each member of every starship’s crew was being instructed en route in the Broan trade language. As quickly as they gained proficiency, alternate computer displays were programmed with the Broan dot-and-swirl script. In case of an inspection, the display language of every screen could be converted instantly to Broan. In addition, all permanent writing and markings had been changed over. Even those ships that would never come within a light-year of a Broan vessel were taking the precaution.
Landon sipped his tea and scanned his instruments. As they had for half a year, they told him that his ship was healthy. Even Mikhail Vasloff had given him little trouble en route. Not only had the agitator proved to be a first-rate cook, he was an asset at any of the ship’s frequent social gatherings. He had even become a regular at the captain’s weekly poker game.
Thinking of Vasloff, Landon wondered how the public announcement had gone back home. From a distance of 4000 light-years, the political squabbles of Earth seemed less important than they once had.
Of much greater import were Dan Landon’s worries about his ships and people.
One of the biggest worries was what he would do if one or more starships failed to make rendezvous.
Stardrives were inherently reliable and fail-safe, and each ship had message probes and auxiliaries to send off in case of a breakdown. Still, space was too damned vast. Even knowing a ship’s position to within the accuracy of her instruments would not help much. There were just too many cubic kilometers in a cubic light-year to do a proper search.