M'tak Ka'fek (The T'aafhal Inheritance) (18 page)

“Thank you, Beth. You are indeed a woman of rare sensitivity and taste. What you are doing with this scoundrel I do not know...” Jean-Jacques finished his sentence with a Gallic shrug and a slight smile. “Have a wonderful evening and please come back.”

“I'm sure we will, and we will be sure to tell our friends.”

“
Merci, bonsoir.
” The Frenchman turned and headed back for the kitchen. Beth noticed that he walked with a slight hesitation, as though still in pain from his injuries. She look at Billy Ray, who had taken her hand.

“Thank you, I think you made his night with those remarks about France. It's hard for a proud man to loose everything and retain his dignity.”

“I think he's a fine gentleman,” she replied.

“Yeah, I've come to like the frog myself.”

After dinner she let Billy Ray walk her home. She kissed him briefly at the door to her apartment, but she did not invite him in—for some reason she felt that this was one relationship that needed to develop slowly. For his part, Billy Ray acted like a gentleman, and bade her goodnight with a smile and a nod. Then he was gone.

What am I getting myself into?
she thought, after her door slid shut and she was alone.
I could have asked him in and easily bedded him, but I think that would have disappointed him somehow. It would have disappointed me. Why am I pursuing him after Jesse's warning? Is it that I can't resist forbidden fruit?
 

* * * * *

The digital clock on the wall turned over the hour and it was time to brief her command. Further thoughts of the fascinating Commander Vincent would have to wait. Beth walked to the podium at the front of the room and addressed the gathered corvette crews.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Skipper!” came the enthusiastic reply.

“Our mission today is to proceed to the L4 point and intercept a number of hostile enemy. We will be conducting a live-fire railgun and laser exercise against drones...”

Chapter 10

M'tak Ka'fek, at the Alien Space Station

The better part of two days were spent crossing the star system to the alien space station. The probe ship they had been following was also inbound for the gigantic satellite. Docking instructions from the station directed the M'tak toward one huge supporting spoke while the probe proceeded to another.

“I think our little friend docked near a different antimatter collector,” Bear rumbled. When he was using the ship's sensors he often closed his eyes and raised his snout as though he was sniffing the air.

“Ease her in gently, Mr. Danner,” the Captain called out, casting a critical eye on the clearance between the side of the ship and the station. There was no flat, open area to land on like at the Space Mushroom. Here ships seemed to slide in between the major spokes and tie up directly to the station exterior. This suited Jack fine, getting underway in an emergency would be much easier. 

“It looks like all but two of the antimatter collectors are inoperative,” JT reported. “The one attached to the spoke on our port side is one of them. The other active collector is two away to starboard, where the probe ship was headed.”

“That's interesting. Is it just me, or is this place giving off a particularly seedy, down at the heals type of ambiance?” 

“It doesn't appear to be in the best of condition, Captain.” 

While the Captain tried to minimize his use of the thought link with the ship's AI, there were times when he was glad he could converse with the living computer without the rest of the crew hearing the exchange. This was one of those times.
M'tak, can we dock and keep the shields up at the same time?
 

No, Captain, our shields are at minimum now and will need to be deactivated, at least on the port side, to allow docking. Note that I am sensing no offensive weapons or, for that matter, power sources that might pose a threat to the ship.

Technical specifications popped into his head unbidden.
Well that is comforting.
“All right let's drop the portside shields and let that gangway tube seal against the port hatch.” 

“Are you sure that's safe, Captain?” asked Bear, opening his eyes to look at the Captain.

“The ship assures me that there is nothing on the station that can do significant damage to it before we can get the shields back up.”

From the station a pleated, retractable appendage reached for the side of the ship where lights, shining in colors both visible and invisible, outlined a sizable hatch on its hull. Like other hatches on the T'aafhal ship, this opening was not an opening at all, but a curving section of the ship's hull. Using technology that was, as Arthur C. Clarke put it, indistinguishable from magic, the M'tak's hull could be made selectively permeable, allowing objects to pass through while containing the air within. There was no need to open a hole in the hull or to equalize atmospheres with the station.

“I wonder if we will run into the same type of reception we got at the last space station?” Bear growled. 

“I don't know my friend, but I am getting the impression that this station is more derelict than operational. Why would anyone let things fall into such a state of disrepair if they could help it?”

“I would concur, Captain,” added Mizuki. “I sense little activity to indicate large scale production of antimatter. There may be some stored within the station but I fear there is no large cache here to be plundered.”

“Plundered?” Jack smiled, “Mizuki, are you getting caught up in this pirate craziness along with the rest of the crew?”

“I am sorry, Captain,” the young Japanese astrophysicist smiled shyly, “it just seemed like the correct word to use.”

“Arr, Captain,” said Bobby, grinning.

“Come on, Bobby,” Sandy added, “you're starting to act as daft as the Marines. I half expect to see them running around with eye patches and daggers between their teeth.”

“We may turn to piracy if we don't find some antimatter soon,” the Captain agreed. “But let's take care and not scare the locals before we have to.”

“Captain, we have a good seal with the docking gangway and there is pressure on the exterior side of the hatch,” the ship's voice announced. “We can disembark personnel whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you, M'tak. And you're sure that there are living creatures on board the station?”

“Yes, Captain, the docking mechanism and the welcoming beacons seem to be automated but there are signs of living creatures within this section of the station—warm life, given the interior temperatures. An analysis of the atmosphere outside the port hatch indicates a nitrogen oxygen mix at a tolerable pressure for your species.”

“Very good then. Lt. Bear, Lt. Taylor, take a couple of the Marines and reconnoiter the quayside. In suits, and full armor for the Marines.”

“Should we take the SEALs as well, Sir?” JT asked.

“I think we will hold them and the rest of the Marines in reserve, just in case we need to come retrieve you.”

Port Shuttle Bay, M'tak Ka'fek

Bear and JT were standing in the cavernous shuttle bay next to the port side hatch. With them were two Marines, Jon Feldman and Joey Sanchez. All members of the reconnaissance team wore battle armor. Also present were Sandy McKinnett, the three SEALs and the four remaining Marines, also in armor and prepared to launch a rescue mission if needed.

“All right now, Lieutenants,” Sandy said to the leaders of the recon team, “you go walkabout and we'll wait here for you to step in something.”

“Always the optimist, Sandy,” JT commented as he checked over Bear's weapons pack and gear. The suits were an improved model with significantly more power and energy storage. The previous model used a type of superconducting battery which gave the wearer about 12 hours of light use, 8 or less under more strenuous conditions. The SC batteries could only store so much energy before high internal magnetic fields caused a breakdown in superconductivity.

The ship came up with new, replacement cells that operated on a different principle. They were not batteries in the usual sense. Instead, they contained a metallic nickle matrix infused with hydrogen. When excited by intersecting terahertz lasers of the correct frequency atoms of hydrogen and nickle fused, resulting in copper and surplus energy—essentially a cold fusion reaction. The fusion cells could power a suit for a week or more, while producing an excess of energy. Enough excess energy that rounds in the wearers' weapons could be enhanced by pumping energy into the nano-engineered explosive in their warheads. Unenhanced, a 20mm explosive round had the kick of a conventional 40mm grenade. When pumped up with additional energy the explosive impact was the equivalent of a 105mm cannon shell.

The added power output of the CF cells also increased the effectiveness of a suit's built in shields. Not to the point where they could deflect a direct hit from a large caliber railgun, but enough so they could protect against most shrapnel and smaller rounds. Even the old suits could shrug off conventional rifle and small arms fire.

“Well you blokes go take a Captain Cook and if you get into an argy-bargy with the locals we'll hold up our end,” said Sandy.

“Too right,” said Ronnie Reagan.

“Strewth!” added Rosey Acuna.

“Have you all been taking Aussie slang lessons from Lt. McKinnett?” asked a mildly exasperated JT. The rest of the Marines were having trouble suppressing snickers.

“Come on, mates,” said the grinning Sandy, “it's money for old rope.”

“Let's go,” rumbled Bear, “before I spit the dummy.”

“Not you too,” JT moaned as he followed his ursine friend through the side of the ship and into the alien boarding tube.

* * * * *

The party advanced cautiously down the boarding tube, through an open door in the station's hull. A ten meter long passage through the hull brought them to a conventional door that was shut tight. Feldman stepped up and examined the mechanism. “The symbols look similar to the ones on the M'tak, do you want me to try and open it?” 

“Do it,” Bear ordered. Feldman punched a sequence of buttons with his gauntleted fingers; the massive door clanged once and slid ponderously aside with a loud screeching noise.

“I guess we do have air pressure in here, or we would not have heard that,” commented JT.

“Doesn't exactly fill me with confidence about the condition of the place,” Bear replied. 

“If the inhabitants are down on their luck maybe they'll be easier to trade with.”

Bear snorted. “OK, Sanchez.”

“Yeah, LT, let me guess, I get to take point.”

“Why break with tradition?”

“You know, it is sort of like old times,” Feldman said. “If Ronnie had come along it would be just like back on the Space Mushroom.” Ronnie was LCpl Ronald Reagan, who was suited up in the port bay with the rest of the prospective rescue party.

“Yeah, bro. Remember what a fun time that was.” Joey took a deep breath and stepped through the portal onto the station proper. Glancing around the dimly lit interior his suit's heads up display highlighted a number of objects that might be living creatures. Mixed in with the rubbish and debris that littered the huge hallway it was hard to tell.

Piles of junk, consisting of detached panels, loops of wiring, conduit, piping and less identifiable material, were heaped haphazardly across the 100 meter wide expanse of stained deck. Here and there, from grates in the deck, tendrils of mist issued. Overhead light shown down from scattered panels, some partially disconnected and flickering.

“Coño, what a dump!” he exclaimed, walking forward two paces, railgun at the ready. He turned and waived his companions forward just as a flying mass of unidentified goop struck the side of his helmet and right shoulder. 

Bower of Keneesh-ka-ka-kar The Trader

Within the bowels of the alien station a group of creatures were carrying on a less than cordial conversation. There were three individuals, all of a race that called themselves the Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra, which roughly translated as
Scavengers of Wealth
. The participants looked like oversized lemurs with long bushy tails and extraordinarily large, bulbous, red-orange eyes. The eyes were an indication of their evolutionary descent from nocturnal forest dwellers and also explained their preference for dim lighting within the meeting chamber. 

The chamber belonged to Keneesh-ka-ka-kar, also known as the Trader. But then, all Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra fancied themselves traders of the highest caliber. Their bodies were covered with fuzzy, cinnamon colored fur that was frosted with black highlights. Their tails, fully as long as their bodies, were banded in black. White fur extended from tufted ears, framing faces and foreheads, then ran down each creature's throat, chest and belly. In the middle of each face was a pointed black nose and muzzle from which black fur swept up and around the eyes giving the appearance of a bandit's mask—not a wholly inappropriate impression. 

“There is a new ship docked along this sector of the station,” Zooshnarak-kak-ka hissed in the sibilant speech of the Scavengers of Wealth. “A ship of significant size, though the size of its complement has yet to be revealed.” 

For several moments, Trader Keneesh-ka-ka-kar sat in silent contemplation. The rich carpets layered on the floor and forest motif tapestries on the walls helped muffle sounds from the surrounding station. Hanging from the ceiling on triple chains, bronze braziers smoldered with incense, masking unwelcome odors. What light there was emanated from large leafy plants in glazed ceramic pots. Their stems and veins glowed brightly, with more subdued illumination from their leaves. Some were green, some blue, but most were a reddish orange that complemented the creatures' eyes. Finally the Trader stirred. 

“Do we know what life form builds this type of vessel?”

“No, Trader, its type is unfamiliar to us, though we are searching the station's archives for record of any similar vessel. It must be crewed by warm life, to have docked on this spoke. We should know more shortly, some of them venture into the major left hallway.”