“We could, as a last resort,” Peter replied. “But—sorry, Stiles—without more practice I’m not sure you should be maneuvering that close to the ship.”
Stiles looked dejected, but did not appear willing to argue.
“How about EVA?” Peter suggested.
“That’s a possibility,” Ali said, “but none of us has any spacewalk experience. Plus, radiation is still pretty high out there. Remote drones would be easier. Less danger, too ….”
“Wait a minute. Remote drones!” Peter shouted. “Why didn’t anyone tell me we had drones?”
“We didn’t, until recently. Now that all systems are up and running Perry does have a few we could use.”
“Sure would have helped when we first entered the system,” Peter complained.
“Excuse me,” Ali replied defensively, “security had them locked out until Henrietta cured Perry’s consciousness. But yeah, lots of things would have helped back then. We’ve come a long way since. I’m ready to send one out ….”
Peter did not hesitate. “Do it,” he commanded.
Peter consulted his tactical command screen as Ali launched the small drone. The small blip separated from the front of their ship like a tiny torpedo. It slowed down to a relative stop and began a lazy turn back toward Perry.
“Successful launch,” Ali declared. “I’m configuring the camera now.” From engineering, Ali pressed his control screen and the camera began broadcasting what it saw.
Peter switched the main view screen to the remote feed and saw a grainy image of Perry’s front speeding through space.
“Is that me?” Perry asked.
“Sure is,” Peter replied.
Perry purred loudly. “Oh, I see. I’ve seen schematics and pictures of my superstructure while I was being built, but this is the first time I’ve actually seen myself as whole.”
“So, what do you think?” Peter asked.
“I am not sure. I look good, I guess. I can see stars and nebula reflected off my hull. I would believe you would say that is aesthetically pleasing.”
As Perry continued to absently hum, the drone passed over the bridge and veered off to port. The skin of the ship passed underneath the drone as it continued toward the aft sections. It quartered the ship and then slowed down as it reached a level between decks three and two. For a moment the drone slowed to exactly match Perry’s forward velocity and lingered over one spot.
“Perry, can you locate where we are in relation to your irritated spot?” Ali asked.
“The drone is currently 243 feet forward, and 24 feet up-deck of the target location.”
“Stand by,” Ali replied. He rolled the drone so the surface of the drone containing the camera was directly over the ship. He tilted the lens until it was perfectly perpendicular. “How’s that?”
Peter followed the action on the main view screen. “Looks fine to me, Ali. Zoom in just a bit, though.”
The magnification increased until they could resolve objects down to ten feet. Ali commanded the drone to continue its flight, and hull sections quickly passed by the camera.
“Ali, you are getting close now,” Perry replied. “I suggest you decrease relative velocity to 0.5 fps.”
The drone slowed to a crawl, and all eyes centered on the view screen.
“Nothing yet,” Peter observed anxiously. The tension was mounting as the drone approached the affected area. Finally, something came into view.
“Hey,” Jimmy yelled, “what’s that? It looks dark; kinda like soot sprayed all over the hull.”
“Where?” Stiles asked craning his neck. “I don’t see anything.”
“Ali, stop it there,” Jimmy suggested.
The drone held still as Ali complied. Indeed, there were dark patches along Perry’s hull, like faint shadows. They were oblong, and a faint trace of movement could be detected. It looked like branches swaying in a gentle breeze. “See, right there,” Jimmy declared.
“Increase resolution to max and zoom in,” Peter commanded. As the view increased, the forms resolved into two distinct objects.
“Hey,” Jimmy exclaimed, “those look like Wasatti warriors!”
Peter slowly recognized what Jimmy saw. “Huh.” Peter stared at the interlopers. He laughed nervously. “Well, there’re your ghosts, Jimmy.”
Jimmy looked mad being reminded of the night he first heard the hull creaking, and tried to ignore the barbed comment. “What are they doing out there?” Jimmy asked.
“They must have latched on just before we entered K-T-space and got carried along with us,” Peter offered.
“Are they still alive?”
“No, Null-Grav, they can’t be,” Stiles replied. “They’ve been without food and supplies for five hundred years.” The kids stared in silence at the two large warriors. Each one was bigger than the drone itself.
The drone made a couple lazy circuits around the two intruders. The bridge crew made sure the bodies were not moving under power, but instead were simply swaying to unseen perturbations before they dared say anything. It was as though the kids did not want to reveal their presence to the errant boarders. The camera zoomed in uncomfortably close until they could resolve the faces of the Marines under their combat visors. Although obviously dead, they still looked angry. Peter saw pure determination in their tar-black eyes as they lifelessly stared back into the camera lens. It was obvious from their expression they knew they were just seconds from accomplishing their mission, only to be stopped by the fierce and lethal effects of entering the alien dimensions of K-T-space without protection. And the anger frozen in their stony eyes easily overrode the absolute terror they must have felt in their final seconds.
“Are you sure they’re really dead?” Jimmy asked timidly.
“Aw, come on,” Stiles insisted, “five hundred years out there? Look at ’em; they’re mummies. Cockroach mummies.”
Perry hummed, as if he wanted to interrupt the conversation. “Excuse me, but my understanding of the common cockroach does not coincide with your observations. Gromphadorhina portentosa empirensis, of planet Empire at Iota Persei, is the largest cockroach ever recorded, at twenty–five inches. It is a close relative of the terrestrial Madagascar hissing cockroach that is believed to have stowed away on Empire’s first colonial ships as they departed Old Earth in 2166. The individuals we are examining are nearly five times their size. I find it difficult to believe these are cockroaches.”
“No, that’s the nickname we give the Wasatti,” Stiles clarified, “because they look like roaches.”
“Ah, another of Stiles’ nicknames … I see.”
“They do look mummified,” Ali observed. He glided the drone even closer to the faceplate of one of the warriors and shone a light onto its face. He used a remote arm to try to move the torso away from the hull to get a better look, but the bug was firmly attached to the ship.
“Perfectly preserved,” Peter observed. “No air out there, right Ali?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So does that mean those two are the first captive Wasatti?”
“Well,” Stiles replied, “I bet after five centuries, the humans back at the colonies have succeeded long before this.”
“Maybe,” Peter said distractedly. He was fascinated with the prospect, though. “Ali, can you pull one of those things in?”
“No, not enough power with this drone. If we want ’em, we’ll need to go out and get ’em.”
“Well, that’s exactly what we’ll do, but not quite yet. The background radiation out there is still higher than I’d like. Let’s wait for the rem count to fall off.” Peter stared into the eyes of the insect Marine, wondering what it was thinking before it died. Did it push the button for one of the missiles that killed my dad? Peter wondered. He hated the look of it. “I don’t think they’re doing any harm out there.”
“Probably not, but let’s not wait forever to send out the exterminator,” Stiles replied.
“Guys, there’s not much m
ore I can do with this drone,” Ali observed. “Should I bring it back in?”
Peter finally tore his eyes off the intruder, but the more he looked at it, the more personal it became. He would get that thing inside and have Henrietta dissect every square inch of it. And I’ll watch the whole show, he decided. “Ali,” Peter said, “run the drone along the rest of the hull. I want to make sure no more of those bugs are attached to my ship. After you’re done, I want an inventory of all ship’s systems by the end of the day. I didn’t know about those drones before, and I need to know about every tool I have at my disposal.”
“I can’t do that by tonight, Peter,” Ali replied. “I’ll need more time.”
“You have until the end of tomorrow then, but I want that list.”
There was silence for two whole minutes as Peter waited for the reply. Jimmy fidgeted nervously in his seat while they waited for Ali to acknowledge the order.
“Yessir,” Ali finally responded. He did not sound happy.
The com was severed from below without warning. He’ll just have to get used to working around my schedule, Peter decided.
Peter watched the remainder of the drone’s flight as it surveyed Perry’s hull. After a complete inspection, the view screen went black. Apparently, Ali switched off the camera and sent the drone back to the hangar for retrieval. Not another word came up from engineering.
Perry hummed again, as if clearing his throat. “Peter, I have a medical directive from Henrietta. You are to report to medical after dinner tonight for nanoradiation therapy. This will be the first daily session, over the course of eight days.”
Jimmy and Stiles looked over at Peter in concern.
“What’s this about?” Peter asked.
“Henrietta conducted an evaluation of all crew as part of her first medical duties. You are exhibiting the initial signs of precancerous growth in your bone marrow that must be treated as soon as possible. Fortunately, it is not even at stage one yet, so the prognosis is excellent. If I may add my unsolicited observations, Henrietta most likely just added an additional fifty–four years to your overall life expectancy.”
Peter stared at the greenish walls of the bridge, unable to find words to reply. The semi-organic room suddenly took on the appearance of the diseased organs Peter imagined he could feel growing inside his body.
* * *
PERSONAL LOG, Day 10, Year 500, 2130 hours: I’ve made a huge discovery—the first-ever recorded capture of Wasatti. This will prove to be a tremendous intelligence coup for the human race, and makes our return to the Colonies that much more essential. Even at the possibility of personal sacrifice, I will find a way to get this knowledge to my people.
Had I been able to utilize the shuttle to confirm the presence of the roaches, we’d have the specimens in our laboratories right now, but yet again I was superseded by poorly thought-out decisions. Peter decided to use a simple drone to assess the Wasatti captives, and if for some reason we lose them before I can bring them in, the failure will rest squarely on his shoulders. The poor boy is trying his best, but simply is not up to the task.
Speaking of which, he looked so pale after dinner tonight. He began his therapy, and I needed to console him to keep his spirits up. The slightest hardship is a terrible burden on him; he just does not realize what a strain command can be. I only hope his health improves!
Be that as it may, we are fortunate that I am here to carry this mission, no matter what hardships may befall us.
-Stiles Essen, Inner System, Antares Space.
* * *
Stiles logged out of his encrypted partition, closed down his PAD and put it away. He dialed the lights to medium intensity. “Perry?”
“Yes, Stiles?”
“Clarify what would happen upon the death of the captain of a ship while out on patrol?”
“Clarification of parameters needed. Is said ship part of fleet operations, with personnel more senior to the second-in-command within range, or is it currently patrolling alone?”
“Patrolling alone.”
“The first officer, or acting first officer if the first is also incapacitated at the time, would automatically assume command.”
“That’s what I thought,” Stiles replied. “And could anyone interrupt that change of command?”
“Only the medical officer, if he or she determines that the first officer is mentally or physically unfit for duty.”
“No one else?”
“No, Stiles. That is inviolable.”
“And if the medical officer is determined to be incompetent?”
“That would be a very unusual circumstance, but if so, the first officer cannot be superseded,” Perry replied.
“Another question: what happens if the captain is incapacitated; you know, like sick?”
“That would be similar to the above logic stream. Only the medical officer can make that determination, and if so determined, the next-in-command would assume responsibility until such time as the captain can resume duties, as determined by the chief medical officer.”
Gee, Stiles thought, poor Peter Pan is sick. What bad luck … for him. I wonder if he hears the crocodile’s ticking.
Stiles thought back to his last deep-teach session about Napoleon consolidating his power. Do not act until all pieces are set in place. He also recalled that Napoleon was a master at controlling the media. Use propaganda to turn a defeat into a victory. As long as the masses don’t know the details, you can remain their hero and savoir. Control the way history is written, and history will prove your actions correct.
“Perry, you may not know something about humans that I think is important.”
“I would appreciate the advantages of your insights, Stiles.”
“See, even if a person is healthy … sometimes they are obsessed with worrying about things. For example, poor Peter just found out about his illness, right?”
“That is correct; however, he should fully recover.”
“Yes, thank God. But, well, his concentration can be affected if he worries too much. And if that takes place, he may not think straight. We’re not like you. You can think of a zillion things at once.”
“Not a zillion, but—”
“Yeah, I know. Point is: Peter might not be competent if he worries too much about his illness.”
“I should apprise Henrietta of this possibility.”
“No, no; that’s not necessary. She actually told me. ’Sides, you’d hurt her feelings if you reminded her of that. It would look like you didn’t trust her medical abilities. You don’t want to do that, do you?”
“I would not wish to cause Henrietta any mental, or physical, harm.”
“Good; me either. She’s so sweet. So, between all of us, we need to keep an eye on Peter; for his own good. If you see him do anything that appears to be odd—you know, like not logical like you would do in his place—just mention to Henrietta that you think his illness is impairing him. But be subtle, so you don’t hurt her feelings.”
“Thank you, Stiles. I appreciate your concern.”
“Hey, I’m only trying to help.”
CHAPTER 12
Antares Star System – Inner System
Perry was enjoying his cruise from Antares like a puppy on his first walk on a bright and sunny day. Everything he saw seemed fresh and new. Until now, he was preoccupied with vital, distracting matters. After narrowly escaping the Wasatti menace, his first jump lasted five hundred long years. That was pure agony for Perry, spending all that time alone in the empty void of K-T-space.
He was aware of his mind-numbing boredom as he fell into the pit of time. He would have gone completely insane if he were human, like a man condemned for life in sensory deprivation. A couple hours deprived of all senses was all it took, but for Perry it had been over 182 thousand days. It was a wonder Henrietta was able to bring him back from the brink at all.
Even so, he was still shut-out from most of his primary memory partitions; not
only from damages he accumulated on his unprecedented voyage, but from the blue-key lockout shutting off most of his recall. Even that was not all he had to bear; he then needed to fight his way from the death grip of a red supergiant, coming closer to a star than any ship ever tried before.
Now that all those horrible trials were over, it was pure bliss cruising along, totally unconcerned about anything other than the simple joys of flying. Of course, he had more than enough spare memory to multitask through any situation, but this was the first time he was completely free of extraneous encumbrances. And truth be told, he was a little bored.
“You know, Henrietta, we have a tremendous opportunity to collect more scientific data about the stars around the Ten Colonies than ever before.”
Henrietta was in her medical office, reviewing equipment. Although Perry did not notice, she was slightly annoyed by the interruption. “I hadn’t thought of that,” Henrietta replied tartly.
“Yes; already I have stored 980 exabytes of data for this system alone. And I have only just begun cataloguing the near-space of Antares. If not for the interference of the surrounding nebula, I could have gathered five times more data.”
“It sounds like that makes you happy,” she replied distractedly.
“I do not know if I would call myself ‘happy’ but I do think it is critical not to waste opportunities when presented.”
“Whatever you say ….”
“Do you question me?”
Henrietta made a point to stare at her screen. “Oh no,” she replied. “I just think you don’t exactly know yet what you’re fully capable of. You’re more alive than you think.”
Perry thought about what she said for three microseconds. He thought it important to give it due consideration, and did not want to rush his conclusions. He respected her insights and enjoyed working with her. He actually disliked it when she slept, and could hardly wait for the arrival of each morning to begin his conversations with her anew.
Perry wondered why the nine hours away from Henrietta—while she rested—felt more like the five hundred years he experienced in K-T-space. He knew the difference was nearly 500 thousand times shorter, but it often seemed the same. How could that be? Perry wondered. “So, is part of being alive a thirst to learn new things?” he asked.