“No.
Lady Mac
can take that many.”
“Good.”
“Have you thought what you’re going to tell them?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Jesus, Doc; their home planet has been wiped out, you can’t use the Alchemist for revenge, the dead are busy conquering the
universe, and they are going to have to spend the rest of their lives locked up in Tranquillity. You’ve had thirty years to
get used to the genocide, and a couple of weeks to square up to the possessed. To them it’s still good old 2581, and they’re
on a navy combat mission. You think they’re going to take all this calmly?”
“Oh, Mother Mary.” Another problem, before she even knew if they’d survived.
“The dish is ready,” Sarha said.
“Thanks,” Joshua said. “Right, Doc, datavise the code into the flight computer. Then start thinking what you’re going to say.
And think good, because I’m not taking
Lady Mac
anywhere near a ship armed with antimatter that isn’t extremely pleased to see me.”
Mzu’s code was beamed out by the
Lady Macbeth
in a slim fan of microwave radiation. Sarha monitored the operation as it tracked slowly around the designated orbital path.
There was no immediate response—she hadn’t been expecting one. She allowed the beam another two sweeps, then shifted the focus
to cover a new circle just outside the first.
It took five hours to get a response. The tension and expectation which had so dominated the bridge for the first thirty minutes
had expired long ago. Ashly, Monica, and Voi were all in the galley preparing food sachets when a small artificial green star
appeared in the display which the flight computer was feeding Sarha’s neural nanonics. Analysis and discrimination programs
came on-line, filtering out the gas giant’s constant radio screech to concentrate on the signal. Two ancillary booms slid
up out of
Lady Macbeth
’s hull, unfolding wide broad-spectrum multi-element receiver meshes to complement the main communications dish.
“Somebody’s there, all right,” Sarha said. “Weak signal, but steady. Standard CAB transponder response code, but no ship registration
number. They’re in an elliptical orbit, ninety-one thousand kilometres by one hundred and seventy thousand four-degree inclination.
Right now they’re ninety-five thousand kilometres out from the upper atmosphere.” A strangely muffled gulp made her abandon
the flight computer’s display to check the bridge.
Alkad Mzu was lying flat on her acceleration couch, with every muscle unnaturally stiff. Neural nanonics were busy censoring
her body language with nerve overrides. But Sarha could see a film of liquid over her red-rimmed eyes which was growing progressively
thicker. When she blinked, tiny droplets spun away across the compartment.
Joshua whistled. “Impressive, Doc. Your old crewmates have got balls, I’ll say that for them.”
“They’re alive,” Alkad cried. “Oh, Mother Mary, they’re really alive.”
“The
Beezling
made it here, Doc,” Joshua said, deliberately curt. “Let’s not jump to conclusions without facts. All we’ve got so far is
a transponder beacon. What is supposed to happen next, does the captain come out of zero-tau?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Sarha, keep monitoring the
Beezling
. Beaulieu, Liol, let’s get back to flight status, please. Dahybi, charge up the nodes, I want to be ready to jump clear if
things turn out bad.” He started plotting a vector which would take them over to the
Beezling
.
Lady Mac’s
triple fusion drive came on, quickly building up to three gees. She followed a shallow arc above the gas giant, sinking towards
the penumbra.
“Signal change,” Sarha announced. “Much stronger now, but it’s still an omnidirectional broadcast, they’re not focusing on
us. Message coming in, AV only.”
“Okay, Doc,” Joshua said. “You’re on. Be convincing.”
They were still four hundred and fifty thousand kilometres away from the
Beezling
, which produced an awkward time delay. Pressed back into her couch, Alkad could only move her eyes to one side, glancing
up at a holoscreen which angled out of the ceiling above her. A magenta haze slowly cleared to show her the
Beezling’s
bridge compartment. It looked as though some kind of salvage team had ransacked the place, consoles had been broken open
to show electronic stacks with their circuit cards missing, wall panels had been removed exposing chunks of machinery which
were half dismantled. To add to the disorder, every surface was dusted with grubby frost. Over the years, chunks of packaging,
latch pins, small tools, items of clothing, and other shipboard debris had all stuck where they’d drifted to rest, giving
the impression of inorganic chrysalides frozen in the act of metamorphosis. Awkward, angular shadows overlapped right around
the compartment, completing the image of gothic anarchy. There was only one source of illumination, a slender emergency light
tube carried by someone in an SII spacesuit.
“This is Captain Kyle Prager here. The flight computer reports we’ve picked up our activation trigger code. Alkad, I want
this to be you. Are you receiving this? I’ve got very little left in the way of working sensors. Hell, I’ve got little in
the way of anything that works anymore.”
“I’m receiving you, Kyle,” Alkad said. “And it is me, it’s Alkad. I came back for you. I promised I would.”
“Mother Mary, is that really you, Alkad? I’m getting a poor image here, you look .. . different.”
“I’m old, Kyle. Very very old now.”
“Only thirty years, unless relativity is weirder than we thought.”
“Kyle, please, is Peter there? Did he make it?”
“He’s here, he’s fine.”
“Almighty Mary. You’re sure?”
“Yes. I just checked his zero-tau pod. Six of us made it.”
“Only six? What happened?”
“We lost Tane Ogilie a couple of years ago after he went outside to work on the drive tube. It had to be repaired before we
could decelerate into this orbit; there was a lot of systems decay over twenty-eight years. Trouble is, the whole antimatter
unit is badly radioactive now. Not even armour could save him from receiving a lethal dose.”
“Oh, Mother Mary, I’m sorry. What about the other two?”
“Like I said, we’ve had a lot of systems decay. Zero-tau can keep you in perfect stasis, but its own components wear out.
They went sometime during the voyage, we only found out when we came out to start the deceleration. Both of them suicided.”
“I see,” she said shakily.
“What happened, Alkad? You’re not in any Garissan navy uniform I remember.”
“The Omutans did it, Kyle. Just like we thought they would. The bastards went ahead and did it.”
“How bad?”
“The worst. Six planet-busters.”
Joshua cancelled his link to the communications circuit, turning to the more mundane details of the flight. Some things he
just didn’t want to hear: the reaction of a man being told his home planet has died.
Lady Mac’s
sensors were slowly gathering more information on the
Beezling
, allowing the flight computer to refine the warship’s location beyond Sarha’s initial rough estimate. The gas giant’s violent
magnetic and electromagnetic emissions were making it difficult. Even this far above the outer atmosphere space was a thick
ionic soup, congested with severe energy currents which degraded sensor efficiency.
Joshua altered their flight vector several times as the new figures came in.
Lady Mac
was well over the nightside now, the swirl of particles around her forward fuselage glowing a faint pink as they were buffeted
through the planetary magnetosphere. It played havoc with the support circuitry.
Beaulieu and Liol would datavise flurries of instructions to contain the dropouts, returning the systems to operational status.
Joshua monitored Liol’s performance, unable to find fault. He’d make a good crewman. Maybe I could offer him Melvyn’s slot,
except his ego would never allow him to accept. There has to be a way we can settle this.
He turned his attention back to the communications link. After the shocks he’d received, Kyle Prager was reacting badly to
Mzu’s news of her deal with the agencies and Ione.
“You know I cannot hand it over to anybody else,” Prager said. “You should never have brought them here, no matter what you
agreed with them.”
“What, and leave you to rot?” Alkad replied. “I couldn’t do that. Not with Peter here.”
“Why not? We planned for it. We would have destroyed the Alchemist and signalled the Confederation Navy for help. You know
that. And as for this fable about the dead being alive…”
“Mother Mary. We can barely pick up your signal now, and I knew where to look. What sort of condition would you be in five
years from now? Besides, there might not be any Confederation left in another five months, let alone five years.”
“Better that than risk others learning how to build an Alchemist.”
“Nobody is going to learn from me.”
“Of course not, but there are so many temptations for governments now the knowledge of its existence has leaked.”
“It leaked thirty years ago, and the technology is still safe. This rescue mission is designed to clear up the last loose
end.”
“Alkad, you’re asking too much. I’m sorry my answer has to be no. If you try to rendezvous I will switch off the confinement
chambers. We still have a quantity of antimatter left.”
“No!” Alkad yelled. “Peter’s on board.”
“Then stay away.”
“Captain Prager, this is Captain Calvert. I’d like to offer a simple solution.”
“Please do,” Prager answered.
“Shoot the Alchemist down into the gas giant. We’ll pick you up after it’s gone. Because I can assure you, I’m not going to
come anywhere near the
Beezling
with that kind of threat hanging over me.”
“I’d like to, Captain, but it will take some time to check over the Alchemist’s carrier vehicle. Then the antimatter would
have to be reloaded. And even if it still works, you might be able to intercept it.”
“That’s a very unhealthy case of paranoia you’ve got there, Captain.”
“One that has kept me alive for thirty years.”
“All right, try this. If we were possessed or simply wanted to acquire Alchemist technology we wouldn’t even have come here.
We already have the doc. You’re military, you know there are a great many ways information can be extracted from unwilling
donors. And we certainly wouldn’t have thrown in a crazy story like the possessed to confuse the issue. But we’re not possessed,
or even hostile to you, so we told you the truth. So I’ll tell you what. If you’re still not convinced that we want to end
the Alchemist threat, then go right ahead and kamikaze.”
“No!” Alkad yelled.
“Quiet, Doc. First though, Captain, you put this Peter Adul character in a spacesuit, boot him out the airlock, and let us
pick him up. He cannot be allowed to die, not if he knows how to build an Alchemist. The possessed would have him then. Guarding
against that technology leakage is part of your duty, too, now. Once we have him, I’ll blow you to shit myself if that’s what
it takes.”
“You would, too, wouldn’t you?” Prager asked.
“Jesus, yes. After what I’ve been through chasing the doc, it’ll be a pleasure to finish this properly.”
“It may be just the lousy reception I’m getting, but you look very young, Captain Calvert.”
“Compared to most starship captains, I probably am. But I’m also the only option you have. You either die, or you come with
me.”
“Kyle,” Alkad pleaded. “For Mary’s sake!”
“Very well. Captain Calvert, you can rendezvous with the
Beezling
and take my crew off. After that the
Beezling
will be scuttled with the Alchemist on board.”
Joshua heard someone on the bridge let out a heavy breath. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Christ, what an ungrateful bastard,” Liol complained. “Just make sure you invoice him a huge rescue bill, Josh.”
“Well that finally settles that question,” Ashly chuckled. “You’re definitely a Calvert, Liol.”
The
Beezling
was in a sorry state. That became increasingly apparent on
Lady Mac
’s final approach phase, when they were rising up behind it from a slightly lower orbit. Both ships were deep inside the
penumbra now, although the gigantic orange and white crescent they were fleeing from still cast a glorious coronal glow across
them. It was enough for
Lady Mac
’s visual sensors to provide a detailed image while they were still ten kilometres away.
Almost the entire lower quarter of the warship’s fuselage plates were missing, with only a simple silver petal pattern left
surrounding the drive tubes. The hexagonal stress structure was clearly visible, fencing in black and tarnished chrome segments
of machinery. Some units were obviously foreign, jutting up through the centre of the hexagons where they’d been hurriedly
inserted to complement or enhance original components. From the midsection forward, the fuselage was relatively intact. There
was very little protective foam remaining, just a few dabs of blackened cinderlike flakes. Long silvery scars etched across
the dark mono-bonded silicon told the story of multiple particle impacts. There were hundreds of small craters where the fuselage’s
molecular-binding generators had suffered localized overloads. Punctures whose vapour and shrapnel had been absorbed by whatever
module or tank was directly underneath. None of the delicate sensor clusters had survived. Only two thermo-dump panels were
extended, and they were badly battered; one had a large chunk missing, as if something had taken a bite out of it.
“I’m registering a strong magnetic emission,” Beaulieu said as they closed the last kilometre. “But the ship’s thermal and
electrical activity is minimal. Apart from an auxiliary fusion generator and three confinement chambers the
Beezling
is basically inert.”
“No thruster activity, either,” said Liol. “They’ve picked up a tumble. One rotation every eight minutes nineteen seconds.”