Twilight Serenade, page 13
part #6 of Earth Song Series
“The captain informs us he is inside the station’s shield envelope, without incident.”
Singh-Apal hissed in acknowledgement. It had been too easy. “Send a cruiser down,” he ordered Agan.
“That is a bigger risk,” the junior officer cautioned.
“As if I don’t know that,” he snapped back. “Tell the frigate captain to board the station. If there is no incident, send the cruiser.”
His assistant nodded and gave the order.
The fleet waited just outside the swirling stars’ effect zone as the orders were carried out. Finally, word arrived; a prize crew was on the station, unopposed. What they found, though, was less pleasing.
“The station is stripped of almost all the power modules.”
Singh-Apal hissed in anger. That’s what those transports had been doing over the last few days, and he’d lacked sufficient forces to stop them.
“There are empty EPCs arriving through an automated portal mechanism, and they are being filled as we watch.” That was better news.
“Have your female technicians access the station’s computer and evaluate it,” he ordered. “Look for signs of tampering or traps.”
The cruiser descended through the danger zone and arrived inside the station shields. As before, nothing threatened it or appeared unusual.
“We should begin moving the fleet down,” Agan said. “If the enemy returns, we will be better protected inside the shields.”
Singh-Apal held up a tentacled arm to forestall his assistant. “Wait for the technicians’ report.”
Agan hissed in agitation. The female techs were far lower in station than a simple male warrior, but Singh-Apal had learned to respect their abilities. As the T’Chillen space forces recruited more trained personnel, out of necessity, he’d authorized females to hold more technical positions. Then, after reviewing the efficiency of ships with high female to male crew ratios, he discovered the females handled their jobs with singular skill and dedication. He didn’t know why; they just did.
“I have the preliminary analysis,” a female reported. He looked at her and recognized her profile.
“You are Sally Two Eleven,” he said. She bowed her head in submission. She’d been with him before the Grent made themselves known and was a large part of the reason he’d liberalized the positions females could hold in the fleet. “Proceed.”
“The operating system has been tampered with,” she began, “in a quite sophisticated manner. You understand, Great Leader, that we do not have a complete understanding of the workings of Lost computer coding?”
“Of course.”
She bowed low, again, before proceeding. “With our limited understanding, we have quickly analyzed what we could. We found that the handling protocols of the EPCs have been tampered with.”
“In a dangerous way?” he asked.
“Very likely so. It is subtle, but mishandling could result in the detonation of the EPCs in the handling area.”
Each of the capacitors held enough power to run a dreadnought for days of combat. The idea of more than one being breached in a confined space was disturbing.
“In addition, the station has been instructed to not allow any local deliveries and only move the filled EPCs though the portals back out to selected destinations.”
“Can you verify these destinations?” he asked.
“No, that has been coded into the portal and is beyond our ability to extract. Whoever did it had access to portal control codes we do not know.”
“Can you help?” Singh-Apal asked the Grent.
“Possibly. Have the female copy the coding, and we will see.”
Singh-Apal gave the order, then asked more questions. “Is that the extent of the tampering?”
“We think so.”
“Think so? Why are you not certain?”
Again, the female bowed low. “You must understand, Great One, the coding of this simple system is many thousands of lines and is very cryptic. We’d like to do a full analysis.”
“How long would that take?”
“Approximately 40 days.”
“Unacceptable,” Agan spat. “This foolish female wants us to hover around these cursed stars for 40 days while they waste time staring at computer code?”
The female groveled before the raging assistant fleet commander. He bared his fangs at her and spat.
“We should kill this one and put another in her place. One female is just as useful as another.”
“This female has proven competent in her job,” Singh-Apal said. “You will not kill my staff without my permission.”
“Apologies, Leader,” Agan said, bowing slightly.
“I am in favor of allowing this. The station will refill the EPCs while we decipher the code.”
“And ship them to the enemy, though the portal, gaining us nothing.”
The damnable underling had a point. “Sally, can you remove or disable the code that ships the portals off-world?”
“Yes.”
“There, you see?” he asked his assistant. “We can sit here while the technicians ensure our safety and the station replenishes the inventory. Transports are already starting to arrive. In 40 days, we’ll have enough EPCs to justify beginning shipments to our shipyards.”
“The Matriarch would consider this an unnecessary delay,” Agan said quietly.
“The Matriarch put me in charge, not you. I stand for her will. That should be good enough for anyone.”
“As you say, Leader,” he hissed.
Sally went to work on the computer code, and more fleet elements arrived, as Singh-Apal waited somewhat patiently. But less than a week into the wait, he got a communication from High Command.
“You are ordered, by word of the Matriarch, to load the EPCs from the conquered station post haste—The High Command.”
“That lickspittle tail biter,” Singh-Apal raged in his quarters. The only explanation was that Agan had gone behind his hood and told one of his allies on the Council what was going on. You didn’t get to the level of being a fleet commander without having allies in high places or without killing all your enemies.
When he arrived on the bridge a short time later, he was not surprised to see Agan curled around the command pedestal. “You have news?” the upstart asked.
“You know quite well I do, and what the orders are,” Singh-Apal snapped as he slithered toward the command deck.
“I’m afraid I do not,” Agan insisted.
Singh-Apal gave him credit for sticking to his story. “We are ordered by the High Command to occupy the station and begin transferring power modules immediately.”
“Indeed? There must be an urgent need.”
Singh-Apal didn’t doubt there was. The T’Chillen controlled more than half of all the power stations in the Concordia. Were they to divert all that production to war, it would be more than enough. However, those power stations fueled hundreds of minor species. By themselves, they were no threat to the mighty T’Chillen, but cut off from vital energy, they could ally, and together…
Starships consumed frightening amounts of energy, as did their construction. He knew just how stretched their resources were. Still, rushing was a mistake he hadn’t intended to make, but now his hand was being forced.
Singh-Apal reached the command deck, and Agan relinquished the pedestal without hesitation. He turned and looked at his technical leader. “Sally,” he hissed.
“Order me, Leader.”
“Do you have any results?”
“It is too soon in the analysis. However, I was… concerned we would be hurried, so I instructed my team to look for tags indicating changes.”
“What did you find?” he asked.
“There are thousands of edit points in the code, Leader. Many thousands. I examined several, and they are either innocuous or appear to improve the original operating system. It is most confusing.”
“Were our enemies bored?” Singh-Apal wondered aloud.
“It was a waste of valuable computer processing time,” she stated. “It would take my team nearly a year to do all of this work. It is flawless coding.”
Singh-Apal nodded and turned to his assistant whose lidless eyes watched him intently.
“Orders, Leader?”
He considered ignoring High Command. It would take another week for a follow up order to arrive, at which point the females could have uncovered some trap or trick left behind in the code. Of course, if nothing was wrong, he was extending his throat for Agan’s bite. He spat in frustration before giving the order.
“Form up a cruiser squadron to escort a transport. Tell them to proceed with extreme caution.”
The orders were relayed, and the ad hoc squadron formed up on four cruisers. In short order, they dove through the maelstrom of Dervish. The bigger, slower transport drew the energy vortex much more effectively, so the cruisers were forced to stay in tight formation, their shields overlapping, to provide maximum protection. By the time they reached the station, all four warships’ shields were glowing orange with massive energy loads.
Finally, though, they were inside the station’s shields, safe and sound. Everyone on the command dreadnought’s bridge breathed a sigh of relief, none more than Agan. It’s not over yet, Singh-Apal thought as the cruisers took up station around the docking area, and the transport began to move in closer.
Since their ships weren’t designed to load EPCs directly, they were forced to move modules the same way the Beezer had. T’Chillen in spacesuits with bots to assist began swarming from the transports as the external bay doors swung wide. Less than an hour after the order was given, the first EPC floated out of the station, and Singh-Apal began to think his instincts were wrong.
The programs that ran the station were complex and interconnected. Five distinct programs worked to make the systems function together, and no one program had supremacy over the others, as was common with the autonomous, non-combat facilities built by the People. Sally and her team of programmers were busily combing the station’s internal control programs and handling systems for signs of dangerous modifications. Lilith had inserted thousands of changes in those systems, but none of them were hazardous.
If she’d had time, she would have branched out into the station’s less innocuous systems, particularly station keeping and shield control. She did notice that one of the programs that monitored ships close to the station had a new subroutine. It noted when more than six ships were within its shield and reported to another program.
She noted that and moved on. In her section of the ship, she was isolated from tactical, so she had no idea that a new group of ships were now in the station’s shield perimeter, until she ran a compile on the station’s monitor program and found it had altered itself. Sally instantly stopped what she was doing and compared the code against the original she’d recorded.
On the bridge, sensor operators noted that the station was shifting positions. It had done so dozens of times since their arrival, so it was not unusual. They transferred the data to the gathered fleet and went back to work.
Sally finished her comparison an hour later and verified that the reporting subroutine was gone. The program was doing something and covering its tracks. Instantly, her assessment of the programmer changed from confused or unskilled to dangerous.
“Control,” she called, “please verify the number of ships next to the station.”
“Six,” came the terse reply from the CIC liaison.
Sally looked at the missing subroutine again to see what program it reported to. Maneuvering.
“I’m going to the CIC,” she told her assistant programmer. “Re-task all analysts to the maneuvering program. I’m sending you a program call tag to search for. This has the highest priority!”
Sally reached the CIC and requested an audience with High Leader Singh-Apal Katoosh and was promptly told to wait. T’Chillen females didn’t go far if they didn’t follow instructions from males. Those who ignored protocols didn’t live long. Sally had risen high within her field. A few more steps and she’d move into the command structure and receive an appointment, perhaps even fleet command or analysis, on the home world.
She saw humans in this. Ever since her interaction with them at the Lost firebase, she’d been fascinated, and she’d made them a personal study. She carefully reviewed and cataloged every bit of news and information that became available on them. She knew that the few in her species who were aware of them considered them to be nothing more than pawns of the Tog. Sally knew they were much, much more.
They were impressive warriors, having defeated the Rasa and the Tanam. They’d fought the Mok-Tok to a standstill on Planet K and stolen a ship out from under her people’s snouts. She was the only T’Chillen who survived who’d seen the humans do it. But, for some reason she didn’t understand, she had never told her superiors about it. Instead, the Rasa took the blame, and they’d died for it.
The humans were now major players in the galaxy’s food market through a joint venture with several leaseholds considered less than useful for that purpose. They’d began selling space shuttles, useful to many small species with orbital facilities. And they were hiring out soldiers for military operations, doing so carefully to avoid angering other species.
This seemed beyond such a young species. But its sneakiness, cleverness, and stealth spoke of no other species she’d dealt with. And there had been a Kaatan with those transports and other ships; she was certain of that.
Long minutes went by as she waited outside the CIC. She dared not ask to enter again, now that the High Leader knew she was there. If anyone were nearby, they’d think her hiss of frustration almost sounded like a male’s.
Finally, the door slid open and a tactical officer stuck his head out. “Are you the female computer coder?”
“I am.” She bowed her head low.
“The High Leader will see you.” She followed him inside.
“Why do you want to see the High Leader?” demanded Agan as soon as she was inside. Singh-Apal was on the far side of the CIC, wrapped around the command pedestal, watching a myriad of displays.
“I believe this station is an elaborate trap.”
“Absurd. What would a female know about combat traps?” he demanded with as much disdain in his voice as he could manage.
She desperately wanted to admit that she’d been studying starship combat tactics since their defeat on the Rasa home world years earlier, that she’d accessed records as ancient as time, speaking about combined fleet actions against the People, both wins and losses. She’d watched the battle fought days earlier and knew the mistakes they’d made, but she said nothing. “Not a thing,” she said and lowered her head. “I know only technology and computer coding.”
“I thought as much. I should have your worthless body ejected into space for wasting my time,” he hissed, though not very loudly.
You’d like that, she thought. “I have discovered that the computer programs have been communicating with each other.”
Agan gestured dismissively, and two armored guards moved toward her. She spoke quicker. “The programs are responding to our presence and doing something, then deleting the records of what they are doing!”
The guards, not caring or understanding what she was talking about, curled their powerful arms around her and started dragging her toward the exit. Agan had turned but stopped at her last comment. “Has the station begun to maneuver, Leader?”
“Wait,” he ordered the guards. “Tracking, report on the station’s position.”
“It has been maneuvering for the last four hours.”
“How far?”
“A little over one light second closer to the K-class primary.”
“Why wasn’t tactical informed?” he snapped, whirling on the suddenly terrified sensor operator.
“Sir, the station has maneuvered often since we arrived. This was the first time it has demonstrated an extensive maneuver. We were about to—”
Agan spat and cursed, turning to Sally. “What do you know?”
“Six hours ago, there were six ships next to the station. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “What is happening?”
“I need to speak to the High Leader.”
Agan slithered toward her with blood in his slit eyes.
“Is that Sally?” came an authoritative voice from across the chamber.
He stopped his advance, turned, and bowed slightly. “Yes, High Leader, I was about to tell you she may have some information of note.”
Singh-Apal had already left his pedestal and was moving toward them. Agan could see he was looking past him and at Sally. “Yes, that is why the guards have her restrained.”
Agan cringed and gestured angrily. The obviously confused guards obeyed and released Sally.
“High Leader,” Sally bowed almost to the deck, “can you tell me if more ships are headed to the station?”
“Five more are almost there,” he confirmed. “It’s taken a little more time because the damnable station is moving.”
Sally raised her head and took in the various monitors and the data they displayed as quickly as she could. Long accustomed to analyzing data, she had the situation in tentacle in moments. “High Leader, I beg you to reverse those ships out of their descent.”
“Why?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry, just curious.
“I do not know.”
“This female is addled,” Agan said and glared at her. “She reads some code and sees enemies stalking our tails.”
“I ordered her to do just that,” Singh-Apal reminded his assistant and turned back to her. “I have trusted your ability several times, and you have not let me down. However, I cannot risk those ships, which are almost to the station, on the word of a female.”
“I understand, High Leader. I am just waiting for word—” and she suddenly cut off as her communicator chirped.
“Tech leader,” her assistant spoke urgently, “we have results.”
“One moment,” she told the males and spoke, “proceed.”
“We found more subroutine calls, just as you though. The path was circuitous and runs between several programs. Whoever wrote it was incredibly talented and meant for us to waste our time. Most of the changes are meaningless; they are only there to distract us.”
