M'tak Ka'fek (The T'aafhal Inheritance) (7 page)

Elena's tawny main and elegant Italian features appeared in a new window as the astronomer looked up and said “Si pronto?” Quickly followed by “Oh, it is you Ludmilla, what can I do for you tonight?”

“I see you are doing the same thing I am, shuffling documents.”

“Si, why is it that we got rid of paper yet 'paperwork' seems to keep increasing?”

“I was wondering if you need a break as much as I do? I was thinking of going down to Jesse's place for a Fantasy? Are you game?” Ludmilla could see her friend glance down and scan the display surface on her desk.

“
Basta
! This can wait! Yes, I will see you there, 10 minutes?”

“I'm on my way.”

Captain's Quarters, M'tak Ka'fek

Fifteen hundred light-years from Earth, Captain Jack Sutton was having a sleepless night. It was just another in a string of sleepless nights since he had assumed command of the T'aafhal battle cruiser M'tak Ka'fek. The installation of a large AM container had resurrected the four million year old warship barely in time to defeat a flotilla of hostile alien vessels. Those belligerents were in pursuit of his former ship, the Peggy Sue, which was fleeing the Sirius system en-route to Earth. The Peggy Sue managed to escape into alter-space and hopefully made it safely to Earth and home port.

Jack and company, however, had to make an emergency departure from Sirius to escape a near nova strength explosion accidentally triggered by the attacking aliens. The graveyard of derelicts where they found the M'tak was gone, blasted to atoms when infalling debris destabilized the degenerate matter object the wrecks were orbiting.

The method of their escape was still a troublesome point for Jack. He had ordered his new ship to get them away from the cataclysmic eruption any way possible. It turned out that the ship's solution was not to slip sedately into alter-space but rather to create a temporary wormhole that dumped them out halfway across the Orion Arm. After the elation of once again cheating death had passed, the Captain and crew realized that they were a long, long way from home.

Moreover, effecting their escape had almost completely drained the ship's supply of antimatter. According to Dr. Mizuki Ogawa and Lt. James “JT” Taylor, the ship's astrophysicist and navigator, respectively, returning to Earth using a series of alter-space hops would take more than two years. With Earth in danger, and the fate of their friends and loved ones on board the Peggy Sue unknown, that was just too long. So, with only enough fuel to limp from star to star, the Captain was desperately searching for a system where they could beg, borrow or steal more antimatter.

Jack tossed and turned and suddenly sat bolt upright in the strange bed. For a brief moment panic gripped him when he could not find Ludmilla. Reality quickly reasserted itself and his faculties returned.
Damn it, all this worrying is not doing anyone any good.
 

It is a normal part of your mind's architecture,
answered a voice in his head. It was the ship's AI—an artificial living mind that ran most of the onboard systems. When Jack assumed command of the alien battle cruiser the AI had “briefed” its new commander by implanting reams of technical data in his brain and establishing a telepathic link between them.

I need to learn to not broadcast my waking thoughts to the damned ship,
Jack thought privately, adding openly for the ship's benefit,
You've studied me long enough to know what passes for normal?
 

Yes Captain, humans are not so different from my creators. The T'aafhal dreamed as well.

I hope their dreams were less troublesome than mine,
Jack thought in reply.

Sometimes, but often not. They were burdened with defending all warm life in this arm of the Galaxy—and they were losing the last time I had contact with them.

That is not a comforting thought, M'tak.

Sorry, Captain. But you should know that when you sleep your mind stays busy processing and cataloging information. It also runs through countless “what if” scenarios. Future outcomes, both probable and improbable, are simulated. In this way, you are ready to quickly respond to events as they unfold.

So my nightmares are just my subconscious dutifully preparing me for the future?

Yes, I hypothesize that many of your species' claims of prophesy and visions of the future come from this process. That and the feeling that a situation has been experienced before.

Yes, we call that Déjà vu, French for 'already seen'.
To himself Jack thought,
I think my ship is trying to give me a pep talk.
Then:
M'tak, this is all very interesting but it isn't helping us get home.
 

No, but it ensures you will be ready when an opportunity presents itself...
the AI paused.
Speaking of opportunity, Captain, Mr. Danner is calling you from the bridge.

Put him through.

“Captain, Lt. Danner here,” the young helmsman's voice sounded within the cabin. “Sorry to disturb you, but we have a bogy crossing the current system.”

“Do we know what type of ship it is, Mr. Danner?”

“The sensors say it is similar to one of those alien probe ships like we found on the Moon.”

I would concur, Captain, based on the information downloaded from Peggy Sue's computer,
the AI confirmed.
It is definitely an antimatter powered ship, though its drive is quite inefficient.
 

“Can you tell where it's headed?”

“It looks like it is lining up to make an alter-space transit, Sir.”

“Follow it, but do not let it know we are here, Mr. Danner.”

“Sir?”

“The last time we followed a ship like that where did it lead us?”

“To the Space Mushroom, Sir,” the puzzled lieutenant answered. The Space Mushroom was an alien space station encountered on the Peggy Sue's first voyage. Then understanding dawned. “It was headed to a refueling station!”

“Right you are, Bobby,” Jack said, genuinely smiling for the first time in nearly two months. “Consult the AI and make sure we remain undetected, but do not lose that ship!”

“Aye aye, Sir!”

BP-2, Bridge of the Alien Ship

Led by Tornassuk and Gunny Washington, Lt. Westfield's Marines fought their way inside of the inner structure they believed housed the alien ship's bridge. The alien defenders fought doggedly but ineffectively against the heavily armored Earthlings. As they worked their way aft, the Marines found a large number of side rooms, each of which they had to clear before proceeding. Most of the rooms contained empty pits filled with tendrils of mist that were quickly clearing. In a few of the rooms the pits were not empty—scattered, floating bodies of dead aliens cluttered the space.

“What do you make of these pits, Gunny?” one PFC asked.

“I don't know Fredericks. When we breached the structure their deck gravity must have failed,” GySgt Washington replied. “If I had to guess I'd say they slept in the pits. Maybe they were filled with liquid or something.”

“So you're saying that all these rooms are crew quarters? So where did they all disappear to?”

“You got a point,” the Gunny admitted. “We've killed a bunch, and there are a few dead ones in the rooms that must have bought it when the structure depressurized, but not nearly enough to account for all this bunk space.”

 Eventually, the Marines found themselves alone on the ship's bridge among the floating corpses of its crew. One of the technical specialists immediately began getting detailed scans of the equipment. “Looks like all this stuff is still intact, Lieutenant,” the tech reported.

“Great, once we secure the rest of the ship some of the science types can go over it to their hearts' content,” Dirk replied, then half to himself, “why do I have an uneasy feeling about this?”

“It was too easy,” said Washington.

“How so, Gunny?”

“This is one big ass ship, Sir. And Fredericks noticed something on the way in here—there's a boatload of what look like sleeping quarters along the passageways we entered through.”

“And?”

“One of the rooms looked like the inhabitants were all caught napping when we blew the atmo. There must have been a dozen aliens drifting around inside.”

“You're saying that if each of those rooms held a dozen hostiles we have encountered far too few aliens?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Shit! BP-1, BP-2, we may have a problem here.”

“Go, BP-2.”

“We've found a lot of what looks like crew quarters up here and nowhere near enough aliens to fill 'em. It is possible that there are a large number of hostiles somewhere between your position and ours.”

“Roger, BP-2. You have an estimated count?”

“At least company strength, possibly more.”

“Wait one...”

BP-1, Aft Section

“Sergeant Aurora! Take your squad and clear the enclosed structures forward of your position. BP-2 says that there may be a pile of aliens hiding in the tangle.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Jennifer turned to the Marines who were manhandling the antimatter eggs out of the fuel bunker. They were working their way through the maze of girders toward the shuttle that was still wedged in the hole it made breaching the alien ship's hull. “Sgt Tuttle, take your fireteam and support first squad. Come on, people. We need to get these antimatter eggs on the shuttle and the shuttle off the ship. ”

“We got three stowed on the shuttle, two more working through the jungle gym and nine still in the storage space. A couple of them don't seem heavy enough so they probably aren't full,” the Tech Sergeant reported.

“Fine, keep the light ones 'till last. But get the full ones loaded ASAP.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Alien Crew, Amidships Headed Aft

The Captain watched as the Engineer attached the improvised triggering mechanism to the type three antimatter container they had extracted from the twisted remains of laser battery number seven. A simple timer and some circuitry to override the container's built in safety mechanisms.

“It is ready, Captain,” the Engineer announced, displaying his handiwork. “Depressing this switch will start a 150 second countdown.”

“Why 150 seconds?” the Captain asked.

“It is a standard timer,” the Engineer replied, contracting and releasing his carapace segments, the equivalent of a shrug. “It was the only thing I could find capable of providing the signals necessary to override the container's fail-safes.”

“Very well. Let us rejoin the rest of the crew. I want to move as close to the fuel storage bay as possible, to ensure the detonation of the main cache.”

Exiting the ruined laser battery, the Captain and Engineer joined a crowd of waiting crewmembers. Before the Captain could speak, one of the lieutenants pushed forward with a status report.

“Captain, our main body has advanced to just short of the fuel storage bay and are heavily engaged with the alien demons. Those left as a rear guard report more demons advancing from the control section.”

“Did they say how many?”

“No, Sir. They must have been overrun—I can no longer reach them by communicator.”

“Then time is of the essence. To the aft end of the ship and quickly. We must fight our way as close to the ship's fuel cache as possible.”

BP-1 & BP-2, Inside the Destroyer of Worlds

Lt. Westfield's squad closed on the remaining aliens from the bow of the ship while Capt. Rodriguez and company served as a blocking force, keeping the retreating crew from gaining access to the antimatter storage spaces.

“Well what ever you might want to say about these creatures, they are not cowards,” commented Sgt. Aurora to no one in particular. The aliens had repeatedly charged her squad's position, swarming forward firing projectile weapons at the Marines. Unfortunately for the aliens those weapons were ineffective against the Earthling's armored suits.

“Hey Sarge, looks like they're coming again!”

“It's going to get noisy again, Lads,” called Sgt Tuttle. Since they were fighting in vacuum it was really not going to get noisy, but the Marines of 2
^nd
squad knew what the former SAS operative meant.

Swarming out of holes and hatches in front of the Marines' positions the alien crew made one last, all out effort. More than a hundred of the cold life crustaceans surged toward the twenty eight Marines of BP-1, trying to overwhelm them by shear weight of numbers.

“Captain, I don't think we can hold the fuel bunker and the shuttle at the same time!” Sgt Aurora yelled, loosing another burst from her multi-barreled railgun. She, like all the Marines, was starting to worry about running out of ammo before they ran out of aliens.

“Right,” replied Capt. Rodriguez, emerging from the fuel store. “Shuttle One, take what you have on board and head back to the ship. Now!”

“Aye aye, Ma'am,” Lt. Lawson responded from the flight deck. Almost as the words were uttered the shuttle began to back out of the hole it had made in the hull during the initial attack.

“1
^st
squad, fall back on the AM store. The rest of 2
^nd
squad, reinforce 1
^st
squad. We need to stop these critters before they can get to the remaining antimatter.”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

“BP-2, BP-1. Come in Lt. Westfield.”

“Go, BP-1” came Westfield's voice, clipped by the comm circuit.

“What's your position?”

“We are about 200 meters in front of your position, directly behind the alien swarm.”

“Move to their flanks so you don't take friendly fire. Then give 'em everything you got.”

“Roger that, BP-1.”

“Use your suits' IR vision,” GySgt Washington broadcast over the common frequency. “The ambient temp in here is down around -170 but the sand fleas register -50 or so. Just don't fire at anything hotter, it's one of us.”