Galaxy's End, page 8
“Okay, I will try not to get distracted,” Dax admitted.
“One more wrinkled in there Captain,” Ramirez said, stiffening as she read something on her data pad.
“We got a beat-up ship that needs about every spare part left in the verse and that ain’t wrinkle enough for y’all?”
“I found something in the transmission
“The Drone protocol?” Abe said. “I didn’t catch it.”
“No, in the generated white noise.”
“Wait what?” Zeph pulled up the original wave form again. “Where. Who. How?”
“I invoked a standard OCMC decryption analysis on it.”
“Aren’t those different from system to system?” Tai asked
“Yes, but it responded to my rank and specialty.” She tapped the Sergeants’ Chevrons, then the Infantry designation beneath it.
“It’s not too complex, but only Our Cooperative Forces, or retired, usually catch it.” She pressed a few buttons on her data pad. “And just like so,” she pressed a final button, the wave form transformed once more. They were no longer waves, but rather long and short dashes of high and low frequency.
“What is it?” Kelly asked.
“It’s not a sound wave, I can tell you that,” Zeph said, standing up to get a better look at the display. “Ah, the decryption converted the signal stream from analogue to digital. Maybe it’s binary? The Highs are 1’s and the lows are 0’s?”
“Not binary, look,” Abe said. “If you think of the highs as on keys, the lows as off keys, it’s Morse code.”
“Wow, that’s going really far back. Prehistoric,” Zeph said.
“Still a classical favorite for signal operators,” Abe said. “But you are right, the T bandwidth makes it pretty inefficient.” He looked at the sequence. “Do you mind if I use this console, Cap?”
Dax nodded. “Be my guest. Y’all make yourself feel at home.”
Abe was at his console, despite the injury. “I’m going to take that form and convert it into Morse representation,” he said as he worked. “Assuming that a single high is a dot, and three highs are a dash . . .” he spread his hands in triumph. “There we go!” On screen the tiered wave form converted into Morse code dashes and dots, complete with word spaces and end markations. Abe took a small bow.
Ramirez went up the screen inspected it, and looked at the signal specialist. “Abe, you idiot, none of us except you read Morse.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” Abe pressed another sequence of buttons on the console, and it translated into Cooperative Standard.
The entire bridge reeled, quiet and stunned.
“I told you,” Abe said, breaking the silence, “bloody told you it was a bloody trap!”
Chapter 20
Dax let out a sigh that was as long and as deep as the galaxy. “Hammers.” Another sigh, just for good measure to make sure the galaxy heard him. “It’s always hammers.”
“What does that even—” Kelly started.
But Tai cut her short. “Shh. Best not to interrupt when he starts waxing philosophical with poker terms.”
“Will it offend him?” Kelly asked.
“No, worse. He’ll try to explain it to you.”
Dax ignored them. They had reviewed the message several times now, and Ramirez said it contained all the necessary protocol limiters.”
“Mayday, mayday, OCMCMEF, calling all OCF. High priority package extraction requested. Opposition force present and hostile.” It was appended with a sergeant Volkov ID tag and serial, which matched the in-system disposition, listing one Dimitri Ivanovich Volkov, OCMC.
“What do we know about the MEF elements here in this solar system? How did they fair when the Tactum collapsed?”
Ramirez pulled her data pad out again, and swiped from her pad to the main display, sending the entire feed over.
“The MEF did have a full company of Army engineers and Spacer research science fancy pants division” she highlighted a non-combat chain of command in blue. “But they had also attached several other units for support.” She highlighted a smaller chain of command in gold.
Next she pulled out to a system wide map, and then circled a dot in space. “Logs from the sitrep show that most of the MEF had been lost with a research frigate ‘Eli Whitney’ in the local gas giant Gamma 7’s gravity well, probably around when the Tactum fell. However, Dimitri and his squad of marines plus a trio of Spacer dropship pilots had been able to go hands-on and stay afloat. They had attempted rescue ops, like we did. Their ship not being rated for Gamma 7’s corrosive atmosphere and the difference in tonnage meant that they never stood a chance. Their system log ends with Sergeant Volkov stating they would head for the FOB in Gamma 4.”
“That would be a one-way trip, wouldn’t it” Tai said.
Dax nodded. “Without a DS retriever module, or a carrier equipped for DS retrieval, they would be stuck on Gamma 4 for the duration.”
“It paints a grim picture,” Ramirez said. “Volkov’s MEF element retreated to Gamma 4 and then found two things. One,” she raised a finger, “something important enough to broadcast a general distress call, and two,” she raised a second finger, “something dangerous enough to have to impede with a signal blocker.”
“All in the locality of the one place in the solar system that we know will have the supplies for the Kyrie.” Dax sighed another time. “I tell ya.” He couldn’t help but just shake his head. “What are the odds?”
“One,” she raised her finger, “I am starting to strongly dislike it when you make overt references to poker and other games of luck.” She raised a second finger. “Two, the odds are exactly one. It happened. This is obviously why you get into so much trouble gambling.”
“I mean we have to go right? Even with the danger,” Zeph said, his voice forlorn. “What’s the alternative? Go planet to planet, system to system, just scavenging for the supplies we need for the next jump, barely surviving? With this—” his gesture took in the entire ship, “as the only sight we will ever see?” He stopped lowering is voice. “What kind of life is that,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“It would be a life, eh,” Abe said. “Not in the business end of a trap. Most likely murdered. All of us, our gear stolen. Or maybe they’ll just rape and beat us, and then take our ship and strand us on a planet that is so backwater, I can smell the cow dung from here!”
Dax considered this. Grounding the Kyrie brought the grave and very likely probability of her never getting off planet. But not heading for the FOB meant a race between their life support and their reserve fuel.
“Abe,” Dax said to private Ramadi, “I understand where you are coming from. Voids knows I always suspect everyone is out to shoot me. And I’m usually right.” Before Tai could finish raising her eyebrow, however, he added, “Usually because I owe them money. But still, I understand expecting a brass knuckle in every backroom, a sidearm pointed at you from every shadow. But the law of the Void says that when there is a spacer in need, we must render aid if able.” He paused a moment for, if he was being honest with himself, dramatic effect. “All we’ve get left in this galaxy is each other. I’d rather cling together for that warmth, instead of dying cold and alone in the void.”
There weren’t any claps afterwards, despite what Dax’s extensive experience with holos would lead him to believe.
Ramirez, however, stepped up to save them from the awkward silence. “Okay, that’s all nice and good, Captain, but when we get dirtside,” she said, her Marine dropship slang coming out, “we are going to need a lot more than a vague plan and semi-inspirational speeches.”
Semi. Ouch. Well, Dax deserved that. “What did you have in mind?”
“Clearly we have two objectives.” Ramirez held up two fingers. “One, we need to recover Volkov’s MEF element, or barring that, extract the data they discovered. As the Captain has stated, SOS calls are sacrosanct, especially one from one of our own.” All the military person, active or otherwise, nodded. “Two, we need to locate supplies for the Kyrie. In fact, I probably should have made this point number one, but keeping the Kyrie operational should be of penultimate priority. Otherwise we are just another group of survivors needing rescue.”
Dax turned to Bik. “She’s really big into bullet points, huh?”
“She was part way through Officer Candidacy Training.”
“That explains a lot.” Dax remembered going through OCT on the suggestion of a commanding officer. But he realized his ass belonged in a pilot seat, not in an office chair.
Ramirez turned to glare at them. “Are you two completely finished?”
Dax gave her a thumbs-up, and Bik shrugged in the affirmative.
“Good. Two objectives demand two teams.” She brought up a field mission display. “Team 1’s objective is to recover the MEF element and investigate the satellite array.” She circled the array and dragged two gold icons and one green “To that end, may I humbly suggest that we bring our best communication assets. Zeph, Abe, and myself in command.” She looked at Dax questioningly.
“No objections here,” he said. “Like the saying goes, you have the flight, err field plan, you have the command.”
“Good. Then team two, which will obviously be led by you, Captain, and consist of Tai, Kelly, and I hope you will take advise from Bik.”
Dax turned to Bik and gave him a thumbs-up. He returned it with a shrug and a grin. He was making progress in communicating with the big man.
“And your objective is to perform recon on the FOB.” She circled the FOB and brought two gold and two green tags on its perimeter. “And if Bik determines it is advisable to do so, retrieve the essential supplies.” She turned to her marines, with Kelly facing the brunt of her glare. “Let’s go easy on the shopping spree this time, okay?”
“Jeez, Sarge. The shopping spree is the only reason we all still alive and kicking,” Kelly said, but still having the good grace to be embarrassed about it.
“With your consent, Captain, this is my suggested course of action.”
Dax turned to Bik again. He cocked his head, and Bik shrugged in response. Dax clapped, followed by Zeph and Tai. “That OCT is really paying off.”
“Quite,” Zeph said.
“That’s how you put together a plan, Cap,” Tai said. “Take notes.”
“Ooh, you wound me, Tai.” Dax mimed a cut over his heart. “I make plans sometimes!”
“Does your plan,” Tai asked, “involve ‘barge in and shoot everything that wants to shoot us and hope for the best?’”
“You read my mind!”
“And what about peaceful negotiation and talks?” Tai asked, with Ramirez behind her, arms crossed arms and nodding.
“Well,” Dax said, scratching his head, “we could try to shoot them all peaceful-like, but in my experience, that usually convinces them to shoot back in a non-peaceful-like manner.”
Ramirez turned to Tai. “Does that ever work for him,” Ramirez said, cocking a thumb at Dax. “The dirtside belt-miner accent and speak?”
“If by work you mean gets people to underestimate him, then most definitely no.” Tai said, crossing her arms in her stern lecturing pose. “But if you mean get him into bar fights, then most definitely yes.”
Chapter 21
Zeph keyed in the last sequence into his console. “I’ve got our approach vector spun up, Captain.”
Dax nodded, and then thumbed his comm. “You may notice that the Captain, that’s me, has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign.”
“We’re all good in here, Captain,” Ramirez said. He could hear the wryness in her voice.
“In that case, thank you for joining us in Apocalypse Air. If you look out on your starboard side, you will see miles of pasture and farmland. And, for a special treat, if you look out port side, you will see miles of farmland and pasture.
“All right, hang onto your butts,” Zeph said, “this is going to be rough.” Rough was an understatement. Yes, Zeph had given them the most efficient approach vector to the planet, but with no Tactum powered orbital satellites to map out thermal deviations and air currents, it was the equivalent of doing heart surgery without nanocams: the risk of failure was high and the consequences fatal.
There was a subtle transition when they descended into Gamma 4’s gravity well. Within a matter of moments, the Kyrie was no longer randomly spinning laterally but instead was in a corkscrew spin downwards. Into their doom. However, with the descent into the gravity well came a descent into the atmosphere of Gamma 4. Which meant Dax could make small hands-on changes by pointing the Kyrie into different angles of descent. But again, without the constant T-feed of atmospheric readings, it was like he was a nugget again, straining to read the dials and making the appropriate corrections.
It was a very delicate dance he performed, thousands of kilometers above the planet’s surface. If angle of approach was too steep, he would never be able to decelerate enough to prevent the Kyrie from becoming a burning crater. But, if his angle of approach was too shallow, he would spend too much time in the upper atmosphere and become a burning meteorite instead. The trick was finding the sweet spot between the two fiery ends. He could feel it through the Kyrie’s controls, however, before Zeph said anything.
“You’re angled too low,” Zeph said, grunting in his harness. “We’re going in too fast.”
“I know, I know,” Dax said. He hated what he had to do next, the precious resources from the Kyrie it would take. “Prepare for five second manual burn, on my mark.”
Tai nodded, making the appropriate configuration changes. “Burn prep complete.”
“Mark.” The Kyrie burned irreplaceable fuel, retro thrusters firing, trying to angle her nose up from the steep angle she was currently. Trying to steer her from a fiery death. The marines in the bridge tensed in their seats. Unlike manning point defenses, exa-atmosphere approaches were not improved by more cooks in the kitchen.
“Burn complete” Tai said. “How are we reading, Zeph?”
“Uh . . .” Zeph looked at his console and plugged in some calculations. “Less dead, I’m pretty sure.” He crunched more numbers. “But still a high chance of dead.”
“There’s always a high chance of dead,” Dax said. But he could feel it in the vibrations of the Kyrie. These weren’t the vibrations that would tear her apart. These were the vibrations that said she was stretching her wings and taking flight. “But I think we left the worst behind us.”
“Technically above us,” Zeph said, still tracking their angle of approach.
“No, I’m pretty sure the worst is still below us,” Tai said, still being a grim realist.
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Dax said. “Everyone on this planet has probably noticed our entry. Nothing we can do about it now. And at that point, the worst will be all around us.”
A few hundred kilometers off the ground, Dax initiated another burn. Though it was necessary, he still resented the precious seconds of fuel. Based on the projected technological status of the planet, this might be a one-way trip for the Kyrie. It pained his heart to think of the Kyrie forever stranded dirtside on a planet instead of in space, free . . .
But with the last bursts of the retro thrusters, Kyrie gave a shudder and then settled into the ground.
“Successful landing,” Zeph said, still reading mechanically off the readouts.
“Confirmed, nothing burned up in reentry,” Tai said, the sarcasm lost on the astrogator.
“Good, very good.” Zeph said.
“Dirtside, marines,” Dax announced.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day, Captain.” Ramirez was probably glad that her marines could have a problem they could shoot at. Marines preferred very direct solutions.
“I’ll be equalizing the cargo bay, so let’s stage there before heading out.”
Ramirez stood up from her inertia chair and shoulder her pack, gun slung across her chest. “Oscar Mike, marines!”
“And civilians,” Tai added.
“Useful civilians,” Ramirez said. With a nod. “Mission time start.”
Mission time 0000.
Chapter 22
Mission time 0445
Dax hated it when he had a brilliant idea and no one listened to him.
“I told you we should have started with the ‘bring guns’ idea,” Dax said. “They—” he emphasized the gunmen with a gesture, “obviously got the memo.”
Both Bik and Tai remained silent, just glared at Dax.
Mission time 0125
Sunset over Gamma 4 was hauntingly beautiful. Gamma Solara minor lit an ocean of emerald that reached to the bloodred horizon and beyond, light refracting off the onyx black clouds in the distance. And the quiet. Without the Tactum, the legion of agri-drones remained still, and the only sound was the whirring of the local insectosoid. The humans were reticent to disturb the peace, buoyed by the gentle pace of the puma, Kyrie’s cargo transport.
Bik sighed. “It reminds me of home. Chem green agri-crops, black carbon refractory clouds. Terraformed of course, just like my home planet. It was the Tribe Chiefs themselves that sold our land and our people to slavery. The Cooperative’s offers for subsidization were too substantial to pass up.” He looked towards the sunset, and sighed. “My peoples were given a chance to be free, but given the prerogative, they chose servitude for themselves. At least my colony did.” He shrugged and patted his machine gun.
Tai and Dax stared at the oft quiet marine, surprised by the most consecutive words he had uttered since they met.
“Feeling homesick, Bik?” Kelly asked.
Bik chuckled to himself. “Hardly, Kelly.” He took a deep breath, seeming to savor the air around him. “While I hold a tiny longing for my tribe, it is my home that is sick of me.” He smiled and shook himself out of his reverie. “No, just trying to work up the strength to break this beautiful peace.” He reluctantly picked up the radio. “Sergeant, this is Mbikala, come in.” The man spoke over the radio with a clear, refined accent.
They had decided to check in every fifteen minutes mission time and to use the marines’ shortwave radio instead of their wristcoms. Just in case hostile elements were scanning burst transmissions. Or even not-hostile-but-opportunistically-in-a-thieving-mood elements were scanning in the area.
