Stranger, page 2
“Initiated.”
“Cooling system status?” Cha KinLaat asked.
“Pressure marginal and fluctuating, temperature stable.”
It violates normal procedures, but I have no choice. We must have thrust, he thought. This is a job for Bilik Pudjata, the builder of the drive system. “Bilik, come to the navigation station and take control of the drive system. We must get it started. Only you know how to do that.”
Bilik knew that something was very wrong, but he knew the drive system and its computer. “Start drive sequence.”
Helium-3 entered the propulsion tube where lasers flared like a colony of stars. The fuel ignited. The fierce heat expanded the gas in the cooling system. Pressure rose, the leaking coil stretched and ruptured. Coolant spewed into space.
The superconductor coils overheated. Magnetic fields convulsed and collapsed violently. White-hot fusion plasma, pinched by the dying gasp of a powerful magnetic pulsation, cascaded into a fusion explosion. A globe of pure energy blossomed on the stern of the Egg-that-Flies.
The explosion slammed the ship forward.
Bilik collided with the rear bulkhead. There was no up or down. He spun freely in the zero gravity and absolute darkness, lost somewhere in nowhere.
Is this death? Distantly, words echoed.
Dizzy and sore, he focused on them.
“Bilik, answer me. What happened?” The harsh tonalities of Mata ChaLik’s voice anchored him.
“The fusion drive …” Bilik said, barely able to speak. He dug his claws into his sides. Their sharp bite helped him regain control. “I don’t know.” His head throbbed violently.
“We have no drive,” Mata ChaLik’s voice was lower in volume but even more difficult to ignore. “I see no data on my comm-net. What happened?”
Emergency lighting brightened into a dull orange. Alarms bleated throughout the ship. Dust and debris floated through the navigation station’s air.
Bilik grabbed a claw-hold and stared at the status monitors: The hull was intact; the life support systems still functioned. The ship is tougher than I thought. Warning icons for the propulsion system flashed randomly. He activated the outside monitors. He could not see the propulsion system.
“I tried to start the drive system,” Bilik said.
Nothing seemed to make sense. Pain filled him.
“Explain what happened,” Mata ChaLik said.
“The propulsion system—” Bilik started to say.
“Get on with it.”
“Egg-that-Flies, do you hear me?” a voice came from the external communication system.
“Who is that?” Mata ChaLik’s voice resonated with anger.
“This is Dekah NahBu, scout-pilot on the third Bird-that-Soars. I was inbound to dock on the Egg-that-Flies when I saw an explosion. The back of the ship vanished. Everything aft of the fuel tank is gone. Nothing but ragged metal remains back there.”
“Everything is gone?” Mata ChaLik asked. “Everything? Navigator Cha KinLaat, what is our new orbit?”
“It looks stable, but for how long, I don’t know.”
“Figure out how much time we do have,” Mata ChaLik said. “And quickly.”
“Yes, Mata ChaLik, leader of the Defenders of Qu’uda, I hear your command.”
Bilik’s calculations revealed the explosion had raised their orbit but it would still lose velocity on each perigee pass. “The Egg-that-Flies has somewhere between 2,000 to 4,000 orbits before it drops into the atmosphere.”
“I see. Send me a more precise estimate. This time, use a private channel,” Mata ChaLik said. “Do you understand?”
Bilik replied using the formal title acknowledging the rebuke. “Yes, Mata ChaLik, leader of the Defenders of Qu’uda, I understand.”
Chapter Three
Taylor MacPherson stared at the fading after-image in the night sky. Could someone have found a working ballistic missile? The idea stirred memories. A flash of fear flooded his feelings.
Twenty years ago, a war in the Middle East fueled by ancient hatreds and fought with modern weapons became global. Fanatics resorted to nuclear weapons, first attacking with massive high-altitude EMP bursts that paralyzed the electronics of the industrialized nations. Supine and blind, the nations lay defenseless against the nuclear tipped missiles that came next.
A lump formed in Taylor’s chest. His wife, Vivian, had been in Washington DC along with millions of others on the east coast and had been incinerated in the nuclear fire.
Ohio was untouched, for none of its cities had been targeted. Taylor still found it hard to believe how quickly—within days—the financial system had failed and anarchy had become the norm.
A breeze stirred the tall oaks and beech trees. The top of the mesa-like hill was almost surrounded by the river. Most of the horizon was visible from this lookout point eighty feet above the Rocky River. He turned onto the stone path that led into the familiar warren of houses on this mound called the Hill.
Taylor paused on the steps of his home—a blocky sandstone two-story house. How different it was from the early years, especially that first winter. That was when Franny had become his lover and found they were made for each other. During a siege of the hill, a sniper had killed Franny and his heart was broken again.
Taylor stared at the carpet of stars in the night sky—millions of them, and in all colors. I wonder what was it that just flared so brilliantly? This is what it must have been like in the middle ages. It reminded him of the cold clear nights of the first winter and the harsh conditions that had brought waves of refugees as starvation gripped on the land.
Civilization had collapsed to a medieval level.
It was Chris—Franny’s daughter, now a battle-hardened fighter, who had recognized the man who’d killed her sister and raped her mother. She had gone after him and killed him without mercy.
Chris and her horse-mounted fighters had swept northern Ohio clean of the gangs; they were the ones who had restored peace to northern Ohio. After that, trade had begun and brought a measure of prosperity. That was key to our survival.
Over twenty years, Taylor had learned the lights of civilization around the world had gone out. During that period of time, there was constant warfare fought at a primitive level. Technology had disappeared. The more Taylor thought about the strange lights in the sky, he was sure they may not have been natural events.
They worried him.
Chapter Four
“How long to make the repairs?” Mata ChaLik’s voice boomed from the comm-net.
“The explosion destroyed both the propulsion system and the spare propulsion tubes.”
Bilik Pudjata had constructed the drive system and his duties included maintaining it. However, he had never expected the need to build a new system far away from the support of their home planet of Qu’uda.
“Then make a new one.”
“We do not have metal forming equipment to make a new propulsion tube.” Bilik chose his words carefully. “We brought spare parts instead of equipment, remember?”
He had fought a losing battle to install equipment to fabricate new parts. Mata ChaLik had insisted on bringing additional weapons, which took up valuable cargo space originally allotted for the metal fabricator and other tools.
“Surely you can make a propulsion tube. We have an abundance of iron, plenty of power, and skilled crew members.” Mata ChaLik used a tone reserved for ignorant trainees. “So, when will you have the drive system restored?”
“Mata ChaLik.” Bilik kept his voice low and neutral. “We cannot cast iron under zero gravity conditions and make a part with the required integrity. So, to make it within the gravity centrifuge, we must remove the food production and air regeneration system to get enough space to build a metal caster.”
He referred to the complex agricultural system that was the heart of their life support system.
“Once uprooted, it will be impossible to restore, which means the ship will lose its capability to travel between the stars. We will be forever dependent upon supplies we carry, which would be insufficient for a long voyage. That would mean we could never return home.”
“What?” Mata ChaLik’s voice quavered with anger. “I do not want to hear what you cannot do. You must rebuild the Egg-that-Flies’ propulsion system. And soon. Do you not understand?”
“I cannot do it on the Egg-that-Flies. It does not have the space or the equipment.”
Silence descended on the comm-net. All had heard his words.
“Then, Bilik Pudjata, go to where you can make the parts for the propulsion system. Go to the surface of the planet below and make the parts.” Mata ChaLik’s voice had a deadly quality. “That is an order. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mata ChaLik, leader of the Defenders of Qu’uda, I understand.” Bilik acknowledged his authority.
If we abandon the ship, Bilik realized, we’ll be refugees on an alien world. Sooner or later the ship will crash into the planet below. That’s sure to devastate its ecosystem.
A mixture of fear and anger nibbled at Bilik’s mind. Right now, the only thing we have is limited time and that lies heavy upon our claws.
He knew there was not even enough fuel left to send a message drone back to Qu’uda.
A wave of fear expanded from the corner of Bilik’s mind.
“Bilik Pudjata.”
“Yes, DalChik DuJuga.” Bilik recognized the familiar voice of the spokesperson for the Keepers-of-the-Egg. The Keepers had the responsibility to counterbalance the military authority of the defenders and maintain internal harmony.
“You must be surgically altered to resemble the aliens so you can move freely among them.”
“Really? Is that necessary?”
Their society valued conformity, including appearance. To be non-conforming in either thought or appearance meant to be sidelined from the center, out of favor, without influence.
“Can you make a propulsion tube here?”
“No.”
“Do you have metal forming equipment?”
“No.”
“Then you must go among the aliens to find those items needed to make a replacement propulsion tube,” DalChik said. “The change in your appearance is for your safety and benefit.”
DalChik DuJuga told Bilik how the Keepers-of-the-Egg had come to their decision and how the ship’s medical team would shape him and fit him with a mask to make him look like an alien. He did not tell Bilik their image of the planet’s natives was based solely on the observations and images taken by a scout in a high-flying Bird-that-Soars.
It took the medical team several days to lengthen his arms, flatten his face, and give him a nose. During surgery, they removed his head crest, his stubby tail, and the webbing between his digits.
When he woke up, Bilik discovered they had removed the claws from his feet, which made him feel almost naked, defenseless. They dyed his skin and implanted fibers on his head and face to match the aliens’ hair. They installed lenses to hide the vertical pupil slits and orange color of his eyes. They fitted him with a face mask made from a breathable polymer to complete his disguise.
Bilik became totally different, no longer recognizable as a Qu’uda.
Bilik found they had replaced his original biocomputer with two larger and more powerful personal biocomputers. He felt like he had lost a friend, for one of the new biocomputers was a vocal stranger that spoke many languages. The second biocomputer, economical with words, served as his personal defense system and provided communications via a satellite inserted into a geosynchronous orbit. It was the personification of a male warrior, which it urged Bilik to become.
The surgical team modified his hormonal system to increase his muscle growth and strength, which made him totally male. There was no “she” left in his psyche or body. Never again would he be an egg-bearer, for the flood of male hormones had destroyed his female aspect.
Bilik was bigger, stronger, and faster than any of the crew but still smaller than most of the aliens.
The crew’s attitudes told Bilik they were now afraid of him. He no longer felt like he belonged—it was like he was an outsider, far from the center. He sought out the spokesperson for the Keepers-of-the-Egg.
“DalChik, my appearance repels my crewmates. What can be done about this?”
“When your mission is over,” DalChik said. “We shall reverse your modifications and you’ll be made to look like us again. The surgical team will look upon this as a great opportunity to practice their skills.”
That gave Bilik scant comfort.
It was now time to take the last remaining Bird-that-Soars down to the surface of this strange planet for a closer look.
Chapter Five
Bilik piloted the Bird-that-Soars—a shuttlecraft—down through the atmosphere during the middle of the night. The bumpy ride took him to a section of land along the southern edge of an inland freshwater sea—it was the shallowest of the five freshwater seas, adjacent to rich, fertile land.
Remote surveys had shown it was the most likely area to have iron. It was the southern-most body of water of the five. Inland, the terrain was flat with widely scattered native dwellings and communities.
Bilik activated the craft’s array of sensors and scanners, which detected traces of metal, much of it iron. There has to be equipment to melt it, he thought. He started scanning the individual buildings.
The sensors indicated a group of buildings that were especially rich in iron, the signature of a foundry. This world was once highly developed, he thought. Iron is everywhere, much more than our home world of Qu’uda.
The foundry was adjacent to the confluence of two rivers where there was a community of natives. It was time to take a closer look.
Bilik slowed his craft to a hover and descended in the large open area alongside the building. He worried the shuttle’s size would make it difficult to conceal even under the cover of darkness. He scanned the area and detected no movement or warm bodies before climbing down from the craft. Earlier tests confirmed the atmosphere was breathable and free from pathogens.
Yet, he wasn’t ready for the exotic aromas of this strange world—a mixture of fragrant and metallic scents, overlain with the stink of decay. Once on the ground, he found lush, soft vegetation underfoot. The smells both excited and worried him. The odor of decay suggested to him there had been much death and destruction here.
Inside the building, he found piles of metal fragments and slag, which confirmed it was an iron foundry. His hopes rose, but a close examination revealed the equipment was a mass of flaking rust. Water from a leaking roof had dripped on the equipment. It was corroded beyond repair.
Once back in the shuttlecraft, Bilik started its fusion engines and rose vertically before accelerating into an easterly flight. Bilik again flew the craft slowly, scanners and sensors recording data continuously.
After crossing a wide river, the sensors once again indicated the presence of iron concentrated in a small area. It was contained within a building that appeared undamaged.
Bilik put the craft down some distance from the building and activated the scanning equipment, again checking for signs of mammalian life. Detecting none, he left the shuttlecraft and went inside the building. The roof appeared sound and there was no water damage. Deeper into the cavernous building, he stopped in front of a tall, cylindrical structure surrounded by slag and iron fragments.
It looks like a metal melter, he thought, but where’s its power connection? An abundance of slag and metal fragments convinced him it had been used to melt iron. He clambered up the adjacent metal stairway and peered into the huge cylinder. He accessed the memory section of his biocomputer to see if there were any technologies his civilization had used that were similar to this device. It wasn’t long before he got his answer.
Great Egg! It’s a primitive iron-melter. It uses combustion for energy. Bilik realized it was technology his civilization had abandoned many generations ago. This will never do.
Bilik picked his way through the maze of machinery in the dark building, heading back toward the Bird-that-Soars. Before he got to the building’s entrance, his beam-light illuminated several large cables descending down a wall. He stopped, for they reminded him of power conductors. He followed them to a large dust covered cylinder that was tilted at an angle.
Yes! He thought. This looks like a type of iron melting equipment. He climbed a worn metal ladder up to its top, examining it in detail. Yes, it was primitive, but it was an iron-melter. He felt a surge of hope. However, it was not large enough to make a propulsion tube in one pour. He carefully examined the equipment and became more convinced it was undamaged.
Now, if it had power—a lot of power—it might work. Perhaps I can make the propulsion tube in sections. He headed back to the Bird-that-Soars with images of the iron melter stored in his biocomputer. He began to formulate a plan.
Chapter Six
On his second trip to the surface, Bilik took time to observe the alien natives who were primitive mammals. He set up remote devices to eavesdrop on their conversations and fed the recordings of their language to his biocomputer.
Downwind of their crudely built dwellings, he could smell a combination of strange food, unwashed bodies, excrement, and burning vegetation. The natives wore clothes made from roughly woven fabric or animal skins.
Those in the ship above readily believed his stories of the natives’ filth and poverty. After all, they were mammals. He also discovered the large joint in the middle of their lower limb was opposite to his, which explained their strange gait.
Bilik’s language biocomputer steadily increased its vocabulary and relentlessly drilled him in the local language. The natives’ speech seemed high-pitched, full of squeaks when compared to the cadence of his own language. It took almost a full cycle of seasons of relentless drilling by his language biocomputer before Bilik felt confident enough of his alien language skills to approach a native. He chose to contact a native who lived alone by the river in a primitive and odorous dwelling.
