Vigilante Series 2: Nebula Vigilante (27 page)
“Eliana, George and Suzanne, all seems normal here. The hydrogen gases of the Magellanic Stream are just a few AU away, close enough for our scooper Remotes to reach
quickly, since they are riding our exit velocity of one fourth lightspeed.” He felt BattleMind recede a bit as it took care of the launching of the Remotes. “We’ve got two, maybe three days to spend floating here, underneath the Core of the Milky Way. Isn’t the view magnificent?”
Everyone ooed and ahhhed and made small talk. Matt paid no attention since his standard duty after every emergence from Translation was to back up the automated status checks of vital ship systems. It was while checking the
microwave sensor arrays they used for automatic avoidance of large solid objects that he noticed a shimmer of microwaves coming from an empty part of the sky. A part of the sky that lay between them and the star cluster. What was going on?
“Mata Hari, check out this microwave shimmer at locus ninety-three Zed, twenty-one Alpha,” he said aloud and by PET thought-image. “
Is that a Dark Matter tidal effect?”
“I don’t think so, Matthew,” murmured his partner. “Let me focus our neutrino scanner over there. Ah! Something artificial hides behind that microwave shimmer. Fusion reactions are present there. The shimmer is a kind of stealth shielding. But why? And who?”
“I’ve never heard of such a stealth effect,” said Gatekeeper from the back of Matt’s mind.
With regret, Matt mentally tapped at the purple cloud of BattleMind. “Partner, do the T’Chak have any record of such a microwave shimmer?”
The alien AI’s mind-flow hit him again like a hurricane or a tsunami, but this time the alien made an effort to buffer its thoughts. As did Mata Hari. Matt felt strained but not exhausted. “No. It is clearly an intelligent action by someone unknown to me, and not recorded in the Intelligence dome’s memory crystal. Shields going up!”
Matt felt the whispers of his friends as they heard the human real-time conversation
. Somehow, their emergence from Translation had drawn the attention of someone. At least, the gravity wave pulse that instantly flowed out as they emerged had been detected. With a sigh, he went back into
ocean-time
.
Floods of data filled his mind and inner self. Femtoseconds rushed by as picoseconds moved tick-tock past his awareness, and nanoseconds felt like long minutes. He noticed the microwave shimmer had come closer, now lying less than one light minute from them. Suddenly, the shimmer was gone and a solid object appeared where before the black of space had been wrapped around it. He saw a silvery
octahedron, its sides all triangles as if two pyramids had been joined at the base, with no evidence of a fusion pulse spacedrive nor the nodules that emitted the Alcubierre Drive ellipsoid that always encapsulated
Mata Hari
as they traveled from star to star. It did not spin, twirl or do anything except approach them at speed. Sensors said it approached at one quarter lightspeed.
Ten milliseconds
, said his inner timesense as his AI friends expressed surprise, shock and concern. Matt felt the Alcubierre flat space-time shields form up around all sides of
Mata Hari
. Even the stern was covered thanks to a new nodule built by BattleMind during their weeks of transit from Megadeen to the stream. They were as protected from external matter and energies as could be done, according to the T’Chak builders.
A pink beam suddenly speared out from the silvery octahedron and impacted on the ship
at the same time he saw it. A lightspeed weapon!
“Mata Hari, is it—
”
Matt felt his heart slow its pumping even as he felt the thoughts of the three AIs blur as his own mind failed to keep pace. Why? In
ocean-time
he had always been able to think at computer speeds, even if it was babytalk mode for sharp AIs like his companions. What the?
“Matttthewwww,” came Mata Hari’s mind voice. “Beeeeam issssss staaaaasissss. Orrrrgannnnicccsss froooooozeeeennnnn. Whaaaaat doooooo?”
The alien’s pink beam had somehow frozen Eliana, Suzanne and George into an alien version of the stasis one felt while in suspended animation in an escape lifepod. He could communicate only because he was in
ocean-time
neurolinkage with the AIs. Was this a hostile act? Or something else? And how had this beam penetrated past the Alcubierre space-time shields? He did have one answer that would give them time to consider their options.
“Translate five light minutes away from this space,” he mindspoke as rapidly as he could, adding PET thought-imagery to his words. “If the alien approaches to within one light minute again, jump away but stay in perception range of it. Whomever is out there will learn quickly to not get close or to use this beam that seems to be range-limited.”
The grey of the Alcubierre space-time drive replaced the front holosphere image and Matt felt his stomach stir briefly with a tinge of nausea. Then black space sprinkled with the colored diamonds of distant stars appeared again in the holo. Still in
ocean-time
, he felt the normal mind flow of his AI partners.
“Damn! Are my friends awake?
Are their bodies OK? Are they—”
“Just fine,” Mata Hari said hurriedly. “No damage. They are awakening now as if from being asleep. This stasis beam left no ill effects. BattleMind, how did this alien beam penetrate our shields?”
The massive thought-flow of BattleMind hit Matt’s awareness like an avalanche, with no buffering by anyone. In his mind the three clouds of AI awareness spoke to each other, with him a minor spectator.
“Not known!” growled BattleMind. “The alien ship moves towards us now at one quarter lightspeed. I will destroy it!”
“No!” said Mata Hari and Gatekeeper together. “Perhaps that is what the Anarchate did when exploring here, and why this ship acted this way. Let us talk with them.”
“Yes!” yelled Matt into the dense tapestry of AI thinking. “Give
talk a chance. We can always Translate away from them again.”
The dragon shape of BattleMind turned glaring red eyes on all three of them. “Retreat! The T’Chak Imperium never retreats!”
“Not retreat,” Mata Hari said, taking the visual form of a smaller female dragon. “Tactical maneuvering, dear one. This species could impede the performance of your Task. As we have studied the Anarchate military power, let us study this entity to see their intent. Perhaps they could assist us, if they are hostile to the Anarchate?”
The typhoon storm of BattleMind’s thoughts moved more thoughtfully. It opened its crocodile mouth, flickered out a pink tongue, then lowered its wings from BattleFlight mode. “Your mind shape is more pleasing than that weak human mode. Agreed.
Your point offers a Task useful option. We wait here, or nearby, for communication to occur.”
Wiping his brow
mentally, Matt watched the EMF sensor feeds as the silvery octahedron starship approached, then held stationary at one light minute distance. It seemed the aliens learned fast. There were no beam emissions. Instead, the ship generated a modulated signal on the 21 centimeter band of hydrogen, an alien version of the “Let’s Talk” concept pursued a century ago by human SETI astronomers.
“Is it voice or imagery or something else?” he asked his AI friends.
Mata Hari resumed her Spy persona look of the frilly white Victorian dress with black hair piled atop her head. She looked busy, frazzled and puzzled as her persona stared at the holosphere imagery. “It is mathematical. From the very simple to the very complex. Symbolic imagery follows, indicative we think of words or concepts. Gatekeeper, can you apply your translation algorithms to this input?”
Matt thought the invitation to the AI that had worked as a Welcome gatekeeper to dozens of aliens species made sense. The visiting aliens did not all speak Belizel. But all of them, being super-rich, would assume the Port arrival AI would automatically understand them.
“Yes, my dear,” boomed the warm voice of Gatekeeper. “There are similarities to the speech of the Topean, Zam and Hashclick species. It appears to be more iconographic language rather than syllabic like most human talk modes.” It paused, passing a string of hyper-speed dataflows to Mata Hari. “The human languages of multi-tonal Mandarin and Bushman echo-clicks are also useful. I am sending back the human English speech modes with embedded object and action images. Later I will pass on the Belizel of the Anarchate. But since we all speak this English, that is first.”
“Very good, my country gentleman,” Mata Hari said as her persona switched image modes to one of her dressed in an embroidered summer dress, her black hair flying loosely as she smiled happily.
Matt once more admired the feminine smartness of his partner in Vigilante work. She understood how vital visual images were to organics and, it seemed, to thinking AIs. “Any idea how long it will take to translate?”
“Not long,” muttered the country gentleman image of Gatekeeper. “In fact . . . the translation is complete. Do you wish to listen to it in AI mode or in human hearing mode?”
“Human hearing mode,” Matt said as he shifted out of
ocean-time
and into the slow thinking and speech mode of living organic lifeforms. “I want my friends to hear this. And I can always re-enter
ocean-time
if there is a need.”
“There was a need, Matthew, when that stasis beam first hit. None of us had any idea of how to escape the beam.”
“I did,” muttered BattleMind. “While your pet organics might have been brain-frozen, the beam did not affect us at all. I would have destroyed this artifact with an antimatter pulse. No solid object can escape the impact of antimatter.”
“Then it is good that Matthew was not frozen in stasis, just slowed down to normal cyborg mode,” Mata Hari said pleasantly to the T’Chak AI. “Matthew, are you ready for the translation to be broadcast?”
“One moment,” he said, then explained to his puzzled companions, who looked alarmed to learn they’d been frozen in stasis, then relieved that they’d escaped the stasis beam and would now learn what these new aliens intended. He blinked mentally, shrugging off the aftereffects of twice being in
ocean-time
within the last ten minutes. “Hey folks, take a look at the front holosphere. Seems my AI buddies have translated something broadcast by that alien starship there.”
They all looked at the holo as the image of black space, the silvery octahedron ship
and distant stars was replaced by English letters marching across the holo, from top to bottom.
“Greetings new lifeforms. We are the Bogean Harmony, from the
nearby star cluster. We regret the issue of our stasis beam. Prior contacts with lifeforms from the galaxy above us were violent at first. So we applied the stasis beam to the two later visits in hope of preventing violence. But the globular ships of those lifeforms destroyed themselves. Unlike your craft. Why is that?”
Matt blinked, then recalled a min
or datum from the Intelligence dome memory crystal. A datum that surely his AI partners already knew.
“Matthew,” spoke Mata Hari aloud as she, Gatekeeper and BattleMind all appeared in lifesize holos on the Bridge. “Shall I answer for us? With the memory crystal Rule data?”
“Yes, please do so. You three think faster and are able to decipher this speech faster than any of us. Thank you.”
BattleMind’s alert stance seemed to shift to one of surprise at his Thank You to it and the other two AIs. Well, it was right and proper to acknowledge someone’s superior ability. Or so he had been raised, years ago.
“Bogean Harmony,” Mata Hari said, with her words appearing in the holosphere. “We are starship
Mata Hari
. Our living component consists of four thinking organics and three artificial intelligences, plus unthinking animals that occupy our nature habitat.” The summer dress persona of Mata Hari paused. “We claim separate names to identify our personal selves. Mine is Mata Hari. Our other AIs are Gatekeeper and BattleMind. Our organic guests and partners are Matthew Dragoneaux, Eliana Themistocles, George O’Hussey and Suzanne Magnusdottor. How do you refer to yourself or selves?”
A second passed, then they read the reply.
“Mata Hari, we are both. We choose names for each member of our polity. But our species heritage allows each of us to share in a group mindLink. Perhaps you and your organics link in the same way? That might explain why your ship did not destroy itself.”
Mata Hari’s holo smiled. “Yes, Bogean Harmony, we do mindLink in a similar manner, though we use artificial means. As to your
prior question, the social group that rules our home galaxy is called the Anarchate. One part of this social polity employs large spaceship globes to enforce its Rules. One Rule is that any Nova battleglobe that loses its organic lifeform contingent is required to destroy itself. Your stasis beam made it appear there were no living organics on the later ships. That tactic is due to the combat nature of the Anarchate, which tolerates no other authority within our home galaxy. We are . . . refugees from that authority, on our way to the home of one of our party that lies in a nearby galaxy. We call it the Small Magellanic Cloud. Images accompany these polities and locations. What was your intention in contacting us?”
In the viewscreen, a side image of the silver octahedron appeared beside the lines of text.
“We seek knowledge of other lifeforms, but we do not enjoy leaving our home star cluster. There are other thinking species in our cluster, and we have long enjoyed relations of trade with them. Perhaps, if someone from your home galaxy was interested, we could establish a trading agreement with them? Something of ours they wish to acquire in return for something of theirs? It could be data or histories or rare minerals and gases that are less common in our cluster than, perhaps, in your galaxy?”
Matt smiled. Perfect! “Mata Hari, ask them to wait a moment. I have the perfect solution to this encounter.” He looked left at Gatekeeper. “Would you go and bring back our
Meligun guest, Gatekeeper? I think Rak tho-mesk will enjoy chatting with this Bogean person.”
Eliana and Suzanne laughed softly from the accel-couches and George leaned forward to chuckle loudly. “Yes! Maybe we
can convince these Bogeans to take him off our hands. Uh, our starship?”
BattleMind flapped its black wings. “Losing one more organic pest is always a welcome event,” it muttered. “But this trade matter has no value to me. Will these Bogean aliens interfere with my harvesting Remotes?”
Mata Hari nodded to the dragon looming beside her, then gestured at the forward holo. “Bogean Harmony, we have sent for a fourth organic lifeform on our ship. It claims the solo identity of Rak tho-mesk of Clan Klickjo. Its lifequest is directly involved in this trading that you describe. And regarding items of value, how did you arrive here so quickly, with no evidence of an Alcubierre space-time drive, or a fusion pulse space drive?”
The alien response was almost instant
. “You still use that ancient technique for star to star travel? We do not use that mode. We harness the Dark Energy that is forcing the expansion of our universe, sometimes at faster than light speeds. It works well to move both within a star system and to go star to star. If we wish to land on a planet surface, we employ a magnetic repulsion method. Do all your species use such antique transit methods?”
Mata Hari crossed her hands over her embroidered bodice. “Most do, though there are areas of our home galaxy that the Anarchate has n
ot entered, for its own reasons,” she said. “They may harbor lifeforms as advanced as you. But our other trade goods are rich and varied and—”
“Send them Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony,” Matt told her, thought-imaging a recording he’d heard so many years ago, when he still lived with his Mom, Dad and sister
s. He blinked, then thought hard. Behind him the Spine slidedoor opened and merchant Rak entered in company with Gatekeeper. “Merchant Rak tho-mesk, the aliens in that octahedron ship out there control a star cluster that lies south of the central Core and next to the Magellanic Stream. We now lie 9,421 light years south of the galactic plane. They want to trade, but not travel into the Anarchate. Are you interested in working with them? Oh, they have a stardrive better than the Alcubierre Drive that everyone uses.”
“Whaaat!” stuttered the black-furred alien bear. In his mind’s eye Matt saw the four armed alien approach him, then sit
down beside his Interlock Pit and lean forward, his stance one of intense interest. “Of course I am! The Melikark Conglomerate and I will treat these aliens to pleasures they have never—”
“Good,” Matt interrupted. “But we have a price before we allow you to negotiate with these aliens.”
“Price?” it muttered, then gave a bearish sigh. “Well, a price for services performed is normal. What is your price?”
Matt glanced over at Eliana, whose green eyes seemed amused by his word byplay even as Mata Hari held off from further chat with the Bogean Harmony. Good. He looked directly at the bear’s pink eyes. “My price is a change in the Melikark
terms of bondServant contracts. Your conglomerate must agree to allow any indentured bondServant to leave their contract within a year cycle if they desire, with free transport to another merchant world. Even if they still owe you a debt. Agreed?”
“But, but . . . I am a low level manager for the conglomerate. Surely you don’t think I can spe
ak for the entire Melikark Conglomerate?”
“You spoke for them when your recognized my combat suit in your Trans-Galactic office, didn’t you?”
Matt said, working the guilty-as-sin mode that affected some species. “I believe you managed to send off an Alert signal to the nearby space fleet of your business partners. And also sent a tachlink message to the Combat Command of the Anarchate. Yes?”
“Yes,” muttered Rak tho-mesk. “I commit to strongly urge such a contract change, in return for our sole access to these Bogean Harmony aliens you have met. Satisfactory?”
Better and better. “Satisfactory.” Matt looked to Mata Hari at the same time he PET image-thought his idea of how to win-win by getting this alien off their ship while also helping millions of other lifeforms now serving bondage duty to the Melikark Conglomerate. “Can you convey this situation to our Bogean friends?”
“Yes, Matthew,” she said with a big smile. “Doing so now.”
In the holo there appeared the image of a Bogean. It resembled no lifeform Matt had ever encountered, though the two brown eyes that adorned its eyestalks looked compassionate. Somehow. The rest of the creature suggested an amphibian lifestyle. Its body lay low to the ground, had ten legs in five pairs, while four armhands sprouted from the area underneath a wide, frog-like mouth. The head titled to one side, then the other.
“I hope my appearance is not too shocking,”
the Bogean said.
“My solo identity is that of Eli dork-methusel, from the Nadder clutch, of planet Restful Joy. And that grouping of sounds resembles the evening serenade of the young females of our species. We like it. What is the cost?”
Matt resisted saying free. “Eli, my solo identity is Matthew Dragoneaux. While my species is limited in mobility, as you ca
n see, our composers of acoustic sequences made both by voice and by instrument are very talented. You just heard the Fifth Symphony by one Ludwig van Beethoven of Vienna, Austria, planet Earth. He died more than 300 year cycles ago. But his music lives on.” Matt smiled, but hid his teeth. “If you wish to offer a trade for that music, you could provide us with the details of your Dark Energy stardrive, for our use only. Or perhaps your stasis beam device? We are not able to project a stasis effect, though we use it for long travels by organics.”
“You say you are refugees from this Anarchate polity and are heading outward to this Small Magellanic Cloud. Will you be returning this way?”
Eli said in printed words.
“Yes,” Matt said, ignoring the growl of BattleMind. “We plan to consult with our T’Chak . . . friends over conditions in our home galaxy. We will likely return to debate this Anarchate polity. But whatever we do, trade relations will not be disrupted.”
“Good. When you return, stop at this space-time locus. Both devices will be awaiting you. They will only respond to the life-tech signature of your starship. Is this satisfactory?”
“Yes!” Matt said, happy to accept a future gift while leaving behind a
present bother. He eyed Rak. “Why don’t you continue this conversation in your stateroom? Our Mata Hari will monitor your negotiations, of course. Oh. If you are pleasant to these Bogeans, they may allow you onto their ship. They might even return you to the nearest Anarchate star system. You like?”
“Of course!” boomed the bear-like alien, standing up. “I depart to render my services to these . . . new trading partners.”
Matt focused back on the Bogean alien, meeting its eyestalks. “Please negotiate these trade issues with our companion Rak tho-mesk. And please remain near us while we harvest hydrogen isotopes from the nearby stream of neutral hydrogen. In three day-units we will depart. Before then, you are welcome to invite our companion to visit your ship, perhaps even to travel with you to a nearby Anarchate star system.”
“Appreciations for your understanding, Matthew Dragoneaux. You and your companions are welcome to visit our star cluster at any point in the time stream. I transmit a code emission that will tell any ship of ours that you are a friend. We are now friends, do you agree?”
“I agree. Happy negotiating.”
The image of the Bogean, its text speech and its starship vanished to be replaced by a view of nearby space and the silvery glint of the Bogean Harmony starship in the distance. Matt sighed and sat back in his Pit chair.
“Anybody up for a game of checkers? I need to relax after all that!”
