M'tak Ka'fek (The T'aafhal Inheritance) (25 page)

“Lt. Taylor, have you entered the coordinates for the first alter-space transit?”

“Aye, Captain. This first one will be a long one, M'tak calculates 21 days. All combined, the three transits will take us a month an a half, two including crossing the systems involved in 3-space.”

“At least it should be a peaceful two months,” Jack replied. “Mr. Danner, take us out of here.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Bobby grinned, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Departing Mos Eisley Station for parts unknown.” 

“Mos Eisley Station?” the Captain queried. 

JT chuckled and replied in his best Alec Guinness voice: “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.” 

“Indeed,” Jack laughed, “certainly a fitting appellation. But I think I will reserve judgment on it being the galaxy's worst until we see this next space station.” 

“Alter-space transit in four hours and twenty seven minutes, Captain,” Bobby called from the helm. 

“Very good, Mr. Danner.” 

Four hours and twenty seven minutes later the M'tak Ka'fek shimmered and fell out of 3-space into the hidden dimensions of alter-space. 

Chapter 15

M'tak Ka'fek, Alter-space

The T'aafhal cruiser neared the end of the third leg of its voyage. It had been an uneventful journey so far, the two intermediate systems being both uninhabited and unremarkable in their composition. The Marines and crew spent most of the time in alter-space preparing for combat—either at the ship's weapon stations or in their suits of space armor. They had taken to playing a version of zero-gee rugby in one of the ship's cavernous shuttle holds, a rough and tumble game that even the bears enjoyed.

The trip for the confined traders was even more monotonous than for the earthlings. At first they passed the long days playing
scheneek
, a form of gambling played with three multifaceted dice. When Feeshkar went on an extended winning streak the others accused him of cheating and refused to play further. This left the three with nothing to do except look forward to the sporadic visits by the ship's officers. 

The senior officers took turns conversing with the Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra via holographic projection. In one-on-one sessions, each of the three aliens attempted to cut private deals with the Captain and JT. Evidently it was every trader for himself in their culture. All three assured the Earthlings that the head trader of the station they were traveling to would be as ethically flexible as they were. 

When it came to sounding out the Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra, Bear proved an exception. He received no offers of great wealth or untold riches in exchange for betraying his friends and throwing in with the alien merchants. He only conversed with the furry traders by himself on one occasion...

* * * * *

“Hello, my furry little prospective
hors d'oeuvres
,” Bear had greeted them on his first and only holographic visit to the traders' enclave. Since the Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra were about half the size of a human, the full grown male
Ursus maritimus
was a towering monster in their eyes. And though they did not know what
hors d'oeuvres
were, the toothy carnivore's smile gave them a strong hint. 

“I was wondering about your home planet,” Bear asked them. “Are there a lot of your kind there? Do you have any natural predators? And what about climate? Does it ever snow?”

The traders' nervously clutched their tails and chittered to each other. Then, being senior, Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra replied, “We have no real home planet, Great Sir. Our people have been scattered among trading stations across this arm of the galaxy for as long as we can remember. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just wondering. See back on Earth, the humans and my kind compete for space and food. I always keep an eye out for new hunting grounds—some place with plump prey and cold weather.” Again, Bear favored them with a toothy smile.

The traders commendably held their ground, but Feeshkar sidled sideways until the senior trader was between him and the frightening white apparition.

“If we think of any worlds that fit your requirements we will gladly let you know,” the senior trader replied, recovering his poise. “For a modest finder's fee we can search our network of contacts on other stations. I'm sure we can find something to fit your discriminating tastes.” 

“You do that, Trader. And remember, taste has a lot to do with it.” With that Bear's projection faded out like the Cheshire Cat, his toothy grin the last part of his image to disappear. This caused Poonta-ta-ka to flee the audience chamber and seek shelter in his room. 

Bear had arranged the special departure effect with the ship's AI, convincing the sentient computer that it was a common gesture of friendship on Earth, citing the works of Lewis Carroll as historical precedent. The frightened Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra found themselves alone in their quarters, feeling very far from home, with visions of polar bear smiles dancing in their heads. 

* * * * *

Though it became apparent to the traders that the visiting Earthlings were only some form of projection, they none the less had been badly frightened by the massive white carnivore that called itself Loo-ten-nant Bay-er. After Bear's visit Poonta-ta-ka went catatonic for two days and Feeshkar developed a nervous tic. Only senior trader Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra seemed unfazed by the encounter with the large white carnivore, though the ship's AI reported that his caloric intake dropped precipitously for a week. 

It took the Captain several days to figure out why the traders were suddenly so skittish when he or JT visited them. When he asked the other officers about their guests' behavior Bear claimed he had simply questioned the aliens about habitable planets in the area. A quick conversation with M'tak and Jack put two plus two together. Not wishing to fray the excitable aliens' nerves further, he excused Bear from future visits, which was exactly what Bear had wanted in the first place.

Base Operations, Farside

Billy Ray had just returned from a shakedown cruise of the latest ship to emerge from Farside's shipyard. The five day trip had been a pleasure cruise compared to his previous voyage. Captain Curtis had commanded that mission, the month long space trials of the frigates Constitution and Constellation. With Capt. Curtis in command on board the Constitution and Billy Ray captaining the Constellation, the new warships had traveled to the asteroid belt, out to Jupiter, and back to fly by Mars before returning to base. Though there were a few rough edges and minor equipment malfunctions, both captains were pleased with the performance of the new frigates.

They returned to resupply and exchange crews. Then, after only four days in port, Gretchen took the frigates out again, with new captains and crews—a training mission in preparation for the completion of the next pair of ships, due in just over two months. Though Billy Ray would have loved to command of one of the frigates again, he understood the necessity to get several crews, and several captains, trained on actual vessels. Besides, the newly designated Fleet HQ had other plans for the lieutenant commander from Texas.

In the month the frigates had been away—occupied by running their engines at flank speed, blasting small asteroids into rubble and other naval past times—two more spaceships had been completed. These ships were much less glamorous than the sleek and deadly warships. They were, in fact, rather unlovely: 200 meter long cylinders, 40 meters in diameter, rounded at either end. Inside their decks were arranged one on top of another, like a layer cake.

The two ships, named the Issac Asimov and the Arthur C. Clarke, were freighters, intended to haul hundreds of passengers and associated equipment to the new base on Mars. It was on the bridge of the Issac Asimov that Billy Ray spent the past five days, ensuring that the freighter could be reasonably expected to deliver its cargo and passengers to Mars, intact and alive. In its empty condition, the Asimov managed to pull a sustained 4G acceleration, topping out at 6G under emergency power. When heavy laden she was only expected to boost at a single gravity—a far cry from the +60G of the new frigates. Still, being in space, commanding a ship, was much preferred to being stuck on the shore.

That was because Beth was also spending much of her time in space, training corvette crews. Indeed, it seemed like fate and the high command were conspiring to keep the couple apart: Beth had departed on a two week training flight, but before she returned Billy Ray sailed on the Constellation; he returned a month later, but before the Constellation made port Beth departed on another extended training flight; then she returned, only to find that Billy Ray had departed on the Asimov. Continuing the frustrating game of ships passing in the night, Billy Ray returned the Asimov to port only to find a message from Beth on his communicator. She had been pulled off on yet another mission and would not be there to greet him when they docked.

Reporting in at HQ, a squeaky clean new ensign told him that he was to report to Col. Tropsha's office. “Colonel Tropsha?” Billy Ray asked, “not Chief Administrator Tropsha?”

“That is what the memo says, Commander, 'Lcdr. Vincent report to Col. Tropsha's office. Urgent.'”

“Right,” he said with weary resignation. After quickly getting directions from the data display in his jumpsuit's sleeve he was on his way. The new woven in units were rapidly replacing the formerly ubiquitous personal pads and smart phones. Only civilians and new recruits could still be seen carrying around network access devices.

There was yet another wet behind the ears ensign guarding the entrance to the Colonel's office. This one wore data glasses and welcomed him by name before he could introduce himself.

“Good afternoon, Commander Vincent. Go right in, she's expecting you.”

Entering Ludmilla's office Billy Ray had a sudden moment of indecision. Normally the Navy did not render the hand salute when indoors, but one was expected to salute when under arms or when reporting to the commanding officer. He was guessing that the reference to Col. Tropsha meant that Ludmilla was in command of the HQ in the military sense.
Better safe than sorry,
he thought. 

He marched to within two paces of Ludmilla's desk, came to attention and saluted. “Lcdr. Vincent, reporting as ordered Ma'am.”

Ludmilla looked up slightly amused and then returned his salute. “At ease, Commander, take a seat.”

Billy Ray seated himself stiffly in one of the visitors chairs.

“I understand that the freighter's shakedown cruise went without indecent?”

“Yes, Ma'am. Nothing major, the hull kept the atmo in and performance met specifications. A few minor corrective actions and it will be ready for service.”

“Good, we need to get the personnel transfer to Mars underway as soon as possible. In fact, that is part of the reason I wanted to talk with you as soon as you got back.”

Oh God, please don't make me nursemaid a ship full of civilians on a month long trip to Mars!
Billy Ray swallowed hard. “Yes, Ma'am?” 

“I understand that you are a native Texan, Da?”

“Well, yes Ma'am, I am.”

“It seems our friends in the Republic of Texas are in need of our help. Though we warned them that the coming winter would be harsh beyond their usual experience they were still caught unprepared. Their cobbled together power grid has suffered a number of outages and many people are in danger of freezing to death.”

Billy Ray didn't know what to say so he simply nodded.

“The counsel has decide to send them relief equipment, some of the self contained fission reactors intended for the Martian settlements. We also hope to entice some of the residents into becoming Martian colonists. Since you are a native born Texan, TK suggested that you would be the perfect officer to command a large shuttle ferrying the reactors dirtside.”

“Yes, Ma'am”
At least I'm staying in the neighborhood.
 

“How soon can you depart?”

“As soon as they can load the cargo and I can brief the crew.”

“Good, then I will leave you to it. Dismissed.”

Billy Ray nodded and headed for the door.
Better busy than sitting around thinking about not being with Beth,
he thought. Then Ludmilla called after him, with a faint smile on her face. 

“By the way, Billy Ray. TK is already planetside and will meet you at the airport hotel in Fredericksburg. He also took an experienced officer as his pilot; I believe you know Lt. Melaku?”

Hangar Hotel, Fredericksburg, Texas

 The wind howled outside the bar where TK was meeting with officials from the Republic of Texas. Snow had drifted against the side of the building and was starting to encroach on the small shuttle parked just outside on the apron. The temperature was a bitter cold -6ºC in a town where historically the average daily high temperature during the month of January was a comfortable 20ºC. The frigid temperature was an after effect of the alien bombardment—massive amounts of dust and debris had been thrown up into the atmosphere where it blocked the warmth of the Sun and caused global cooling. 

On TK's previous trip to post-apocalypse Texas he had warned the residents of the Texas Hill Country that, though they survived the initial bombardment, they were still not out of the woods. New weather satellites had been put in orbit so the changing and unfamiliar weather patterns could be monitored, but still the citizens of the Republic did not believe that things were going to be as bad as the people from the Moon made out.

“I tell you, TK, we're freezing our behinds off down here,” said Roger Stoltz, acting president of the Republic. “We've had two power plants break and there are power lines down all over. Whole communities are without power and people in outlying areas are having trouble keeping their livestock alive.”

As if to underline the man's complaints the lights in the bar flickered and dimmed. As it was, those in the room could almost see their breath in the cold air.