“It can’t be that bad, Ruben. Why, when I was there just ten days ago, the bridge interfaces seemed pretty responsive to me.”
Ruben looked annoyed. “Just because it responds to questions doesn’t mean it can dance a jig.”
Stephen smiled at his quaint analogy. “We’re not asking him to a dance, Ruben.”
“No, Captain, we’re asking it to do much more than that. If only it were that simple.”
Stephen had to admit Ruben was right. This was a tough assignment. It was a project some spent their entire careers on, and it was still far from finished.
It was a prototype—the first ever mechanorganic ship. It was part living, part machine, and extremely powerful. The ship was designed to be self sufficient, and if he could be successfully brought on-line he would change the course of the war—along with his planned siblings—once he proved space-worthy.
He was the Sampson K. Perry, named after the famous admiral who in 2230 successfully persuaded Hive messengers to break from their communal homes and crew human ships. The Perry was only the size of a line cruiser. It had seven decks, was only 1,400 feet long, and had a beam of 275 feet. That would have described a cruiser in perfect detail, but that was where the similarities ended.
The triple hull was constructed from a self-annealing amorphous carbon complex with properties resembling fluid diamond. In place of electronic circuits, organic fluids—so eerily similar to Hive protoplasm that Stephen had no desire to know where it came from—flowed through pulsating conduits. Each station normally found on traditional fighting starships was replaced by a living node, euphemistically called “organs.”
One organ was the communications system patterned after a human’s vocal chords; another served as the environmental scrubbing units, much like a kidney. He had hundreds of other nodes specialized into other critical tasks as well. Six miniature cold fusion power plants used elemental hydrogen that was soaked up from space to feed the ship using gigantic magnetic scoops, like a hungry whale filtering krill. It had the firepower of a fleet of dreadnaughts, and could manufacture munitions on the spot as easily as humans replaced dead skin cells.
In theory, the Perry could fly itself but everyone knew that was not a good idea. Humanity could never leave such raw power unattended. Once commissioned, he would hold a crew of only 150—twenty percent of a normal crew—with the majority of its interior space taken up by its own organic, replicating systems and environmental crew support. The interior rooms were spacious, but that was easily accommodated because there were so few of them.
Most of the normal rooms needed on other ships, such as forward battery directors or pump rooms were simply not needed on the Perry; the ship simply took care of all those functions automatically. It was as though the designers took only what was minimally essential for a warship and included them in the blueprints, leaving out all the rest. As a result, fifty percent of the interior was taken up with thick, solid mechanical organics while the rest held the isolated hollowed-out rooms and corridors leading to them. Adding to the alien look of the ship’s interior, there were hardly any square corners. The corridors looked more like hollowed-out caves. If one were miniaturized down enough to fit inside a body, the corridors might look like the interior of arteries, and the rooms themselves like one would imagine the chambers of a heart would be—if the body’s cells were green, that is.
Captain Campbell was chosen to take command of the ship. It was a tremendous personal honor. Just last week, the ship’s operating systems were keyed into his DNA for security purposes. Other crew could operate the ship, but only with his permission, as he had arranged for Ruben just before he left the bridge. It took forty years to reach this point, and it was only now slowly gaining consciousness, as if the ship itself were growing out of a prolonged incubation. And—assuming they were still on schedule—Stephen would take it out for its first trials later this evening. If he could convince Ruben, Stephen reflected.
“Ruben, are you saying we won’t make trials?”
“No, we’ll get it out the hangar. Just say’n I’m glad you’re the one to fly it, is all.”
“It’ll only be for a short spin around the neighborhood. Can’t have him venture out too far on his first day from the nest.”
“Yeah, and then back for months more tweaking after we see what it can do, or not do, more’n likely.”
The last thing Stephen needed was to be reminded of how long it would be before the ship was ready to permanently leave the base. He dreamed of that day. It would be good to be away from here. If it worked out as planned, he would be captain of the Perry in a fleet commanded by Erin. Then, she would only be a few thousand miles—and a short shuttle ride—away, not to mention the special dispensation given to children with parents in the same mobile fleet. He wondered what it would be like to see his wife whenever he wanted. “The Perry will be okay, Ruben. Just wait and see.”
“Gives me the creeps, somehow ….”
Stephen saw Ruben glance at the ceiling nervously, as if he were afraid of being overheard by ghosts occupying the strange, haunted ship. It made Steven laugh again. “Aw, Lieutenant Wilkins, don’t take this the wrong way, but you give most people the creeps. Just remember, he’s still a machine, but you’re not.”
“Wish you’d quit calling it a ‘he.’ Ain’t natural, somehow.”
It was difficult not to think of the ship as a person. The officers spoke directly to the ship instead of issuing commands to the crew. And his voice was so real when he responded. Just ten days ago, when Stephen was aboard, he purposely asked the ship a question requiring deductive reasoning. The ship was still maturing, almost as if he were still in his mother’s womb, but Stephen was sure he’d felt the ship vibrate while he thought out the answer. It was almost as if the ship was nervously tapping his heel—that is, if he had a foot—as he worked out the puzzle. What strange times we live in.
“Don’t know, Ruben; the short time I’ve been with him, he seems more sociable than you.”
Stephen watched Ruben shrug nonchalantly. “Don’t take much for that.”
“You just need a steady girlfriend to teach you proper manners. How about that cute lieutenant in armscomp?”
Stephen was surprised to see Ruben blush. That was a first. He was always so assertive. If Rube saw a goal in the distance, he’d knock over anyone in his way to get to it. He was the sort of man that would not accept “no” for an answer—more so in himself than anyone else.
“Who, Tricia? Nah, she’s partial to Mac.”
“That ape?” Stephen asked. “You could beat him out; if you just tried.”
“Kinda hard t’ do that with me over here and you way out there.”
Stephen was not going to accept blame for Ruben’s lack of love life. Being here in the middle of nowhere was hard enough for the crew. Fraternization was frowned upon for centuries in the Navy, but because of the huge distances involved in space travel, and the enormous time differentials of those left behind, relaxed regulations had to be accepted. “Patience, Ruben. We’ll get you back to the Sirius soon enough.”
“Don’t matter none; don’t think she even knows I exist.”
“Sure she does, Ruben. And quit acting so hurt. Doesn’t suit you.”
“Could be you could assign her over here …. That’d make Mac real happy.”
Stephen snorted. He was not sure he would want to have Mac as an enemy. That was not an especially palatable thought. Mac’s forearms were larger than Stephen’s thigh. And his muscles bulged more than that ancient cartoon sailor … what was his name?
“What, now I’m your personal match-maker?” Stephen asked.
“Just say’n ….”
“Is there anything else you need while I’m at it?”
“Yeah; when she comes over, have her bring some steaks from ship’s stores. Gettin’ a mite spotty over here in the food department.”
A nice juicy steak would be good about now, Stephen thought. They had a few le
ft for special occasions, like after they test-ran the new ship—successfully, of course. “Sure, sure ….” Stephen was about to say something smart in reply until he noticed the com signal blink. It was a priority call he missed while bantering back and forth with Ruben.
“Oops, I gotta go. Just saw a com signal from the governor himself. I can’t keep him waiting, you know.”
“Okay, Skipper. And remember, now: medium-rare on those steaks.”
* * *
Stephen closed the connection to the base hangar and quickly brought up the governor’s aide. It didn’t really surprise him that she looked as stern as if she just pulled a straight pin from the seat of her pants. That’s what you get for working with politicians, sweetie.
“Hello, Janet,” Stephen said, as pleasantly as possible. And don’t use that look on me, he added silently.
“Captain,” the receptionist replied with distain, “Governor Essen has been waiting for you to pick up.”
“Gee, I didn’t realized it was that long. Anyway, no harm, no foul, right? I’m available now, though, so you can patch me through.” Stephen tried to look as innocent as possible. He offered her a cheesy smile.
Janet shot him “a look” and brought up Governor Essen without saying another word. Stephen hid the smirk developing on his face. “Reginald,” Stephen said, “I assume you are calling because you received my briefing assessment.” Stephen tried to take charge of the conversation so the governor could not ruin his good mood.
“Yes, I did, Stephen. Very thorough, as usual ….”
“Thank you, sir.”
“So, what do you really think of all this mess?”
“Well, another skirmish was inevitable. When and where they’d show up was anyone’s guess. They did come in with much more force than what our analysts predicted, though.”
“And we still have no clues as to where their base of operations are; their homeworld?”
“No, Sir. It’s most likely somewhere outside the thirteenth hour vector, but that could be anywhere from vector-hour eleven to fifteen. That’s a lot of space to explore.”
“And where is our military intelligence failing us?”
So much for his good mood. That man has no clue, Stephen reminded himself. For the average person back home, they had difficulty seeing the urgency of “the war.” They think: so what if there’s a skirmish every ten years, or so? For those out in space fighting it, those long years in space are only but weeks and the isolated skirmishes in time quickly turn into a harried campaign. The planet-bound simply had no concept of the huge distances involved in an interstellar war.
“I’m not sure our intelligence is failing us, sir. We’ve only had three contacts with them in fifty–five years. Each battle had no strategic consequence, other than feeling out each other’s resolve. You can understand how closely we guard our navigational data. They’re just doing the same. Both sides have kept their cards pretty close to their chests up to this point.”
“True enough; true enough. So—offering your best guess now—why did they come at us so hard this time and how did they know we’d be there?”
“That’s a tough question—”
“Which is why I consult you,” Essen briskly interrupted him.
Stephen held back his sarcastic reply. “I think they wanted to see how hard a fight we’d make of it in Sigma Bootis; show our hand as to whether anything of strategic importance was there worth protecting. That’d be typical strategy.”
Stephen paused a moment to consider everything Erin told him in her after action report. He had to admit some things just did not add up. Uncertainly, Stephen continued, “Knowing precisely where the fleet was in mid-battle—seemingly—is disturbing, though. Their flanking fleet knew exactly where to jump in, within a few million miles. Nobody could guess that well beforehand. The best explanation is that a stealth ship from the lead fleet snuck out after contact was first made to provide data to the follow-on force waiting just outside the system limits—”
Essen interrupted Stephen again, “And the worst assumption?”
“The worst assumption? The roaches have spies in our midst. Then, we’d be royally screwed.”
“You think that’s possible?”
“No, governor, I don’t. But it can’t be ruled out. Remember, finding one scout ship hiding in a stellar system is much more difficult than finding a particular grain of sand on a planet. If there was a stealth ship out there observing the opening moves, the Argonaut Fleet would never have seen it.”
“You think they have the upper hand?”
Stephen winched at the thought. “No, but we don’t either. And I won’t rest until we do. Getting the Perry operational will go a long way doing that.”
Essen seemed to ignore Stephen’s conclusions. “What’s the implication of this latest attack? Are we in any danger? Here at the base, I mean?”
“No more or less than we were before, Reginald. Keep in mind: these are simply the early jabs in a fight. Don’t let the fact that we’ve been fighting for fifty-some years affect your opinion. For the soldiers fighting the war, it has only been a few months. Neither side knows the other’s weaknesses yet, but you still gotta probe. We’re just starting to understand how they think, but it takes time. Remember, the activity surrounding a hive of bees looks chaotic at first, but once you understand what they’re doing, it all starts to make sense.”
Stephen could tell Essen was not buying the argument. It looked as though he was ready to say something different, but changed his mind. “Do we accelerate the schedule because of this … this attack?” Essen asked.
“I’m not sure we can. Don’t forget, Reginald, this attack occurred nearly twelve years ago. In normal space, that’s nearly ancient history. As for our schedule, though, I was just talking to Lieutenant Wilkins when you called. He said it’s very tough sledding down there.”
“He always thinks that.”
“That’s true, but he always gets the job done.”
Stephen tapped his thumb with his fingers. He, too, wished this assignment was over, and couldn’t wait to get the Perry out of the hangar. The ship was so vulnerable just sitting there. Only when the ship was mobile and could fight for himself would Stephen feel safe.
“Our primary job is getting the Perry working,” Stephen suggested.
“You don’t need to remind me of that,” Essen snapped.
“Of course not; sorry, Sir—” Stephen began to apologize, but was cut off when Essen disconnected.
Then just let me do my job, will ya? Stephen finished in silence.
CHAPTER 4
Vega Construction Base – 1300, January 29, 2365
Ruben disliked his current base assignment. He would much rather be working on his old ship with his old shipmates, where he felt at home. This place was different. He decided long ago his temporary assignment to the VCB construction yards was a job he would have chosen just above shoveling manure, but he hated this new special mission even more. Didn’t sign up for this kinda stuff, he kept thinking. What do they think I am, anyway?
Ruben usually was so confident, but now he had no idea how to proceed. A bead of perspiration formed on his forehead and slithered into the corner of his eye, forcing him to wipe it away with the back of his sleeve. It was a long time since he had been so unsettled. The butterflies in his stomach reminded Ruben of his days as a plebe with Master Chief Kowalski watching his every move.
How do you even talk to ’em? Ruben wondered. He swallowed a gulp of air and stared at the blank bulkhead ahead of him as he began.
“Right; you all got your CT-suits on?” He glanced at the chubby one, hopping up and down on one leg while slipping his jumpsuit over his hips and outstretched leg. Ruben imagined he was watching a clumsy greenhorn trying to ride a horse. A chorus of “yes, Sirs” followed. Ruben was still skeptical the suits were properly on, though. Regulations are regulations, even if for a short time, Ruben realized.
“Okay, okay,” Ruben st
ammered, “gather ’round.” He glanced their way and saw them take their sweet time obeying his orders. He grew impatient, expecting subordinates to jump to his command. “Hop to it, now. And don’t go touchin’ anything, neither.” He made a quick count, looking around confused. “One of you is missin’.”
Somebody in the group replied in a timid voice, “She couldn’t get dressed in front of us, could she?”
“Oh, right.” Ruben stroked his jaw, thinking of what to do next while the fifth one finally joined the group. They slowly accumulated to his front, like a family of ducks. “I s’pose you all may have lots of questions, but I’d rather you wait ’til after we’re done t’ ask ’em.”
“How can we ask any questions after we’re done?”
That was the small one. Haf’ta keep an eye on that one. “That’s precisely the point,” Ruben replied. “Besides, that’s a question. And what did I just tell you?”
“Not to ask any questions until after we’re done.”
“Good; you’re learnin’. That’s a good sign. Okay, Stiles, as you know, your paw asked me to give you and the other young’n’s a look at our new ship. This is highly classified stuff, you know, so whatever you see here is just between you ’n’ me. We all know how rumors run through the base, so Governor Essen thought it best to let you all see it for yourselves with your own eyes before it goes out. But ‘mums’ the word. Got it?”
“I’ve been on board loads of times,” Ali boasted. “My dad and me worked on several of these systems together. I even came up with the idea to link the hangar and mass-slug manufacturing systems into a paired sub-organ.”
“That so?” Ruben asked dubiously. “Huh ….” Ruben tried to remember ever seeing that fireplug of a kid on board, but could not recall a time. Snuck on, maybe, the little sneak. I should look into that.
“Quiet,” Stiles commanded. “No one asked you.”
“Did too,” Ali replied. “The ’tenant told us to keep quiet about what we see. But I’ve seen most of the ship already, and I’ve never said a word to anyone about it yet.”