1: Out of the Ion Storm, Into the Nova
Rowan massaged her temples, hoping to ease the throbbing in her head that using her telekinesis had caused, then looked at her instruments as they scanned the Murack side of the stargate. “Oh, stardust!”
Ryan shifted forward in the pilot’s seat beside Rowan, his fit, medium-built body reflecting tension. “What?”
Rowan’s pale-skinned hands flew over the navigator’s console, putting a graphic interpretation of the data she was receiving on screen. The result looked like a dome made of a web of blue lines. Each line ended in a dark speck. Dim stars glowed through the gaps. “Those are ionized gas trails. Twenty-five… correction, thirty-five ships in a rough dome formation on the sunward side of the stargate’s exclusionary sphere.” Rowan’s blue eyes traced over her readouts. “They’re just floating there.”
Ryan ran a copper-skinned hand through his brown hair. “Stay on course. The sycamorezoids and dichrostigmazoids can stick their tongues out at each other as much as they want. It has nothing to do with us. Our job is to get the relief supplies to Murack Five, and we’re travelling under a Republic Writ of Passage.” Only Rowan and Henry heard the tremor in their captain’s voice.
“Sorry, hotty boss, but these Hiss-ass-toos—” Henry shook his android head where he was wired into the Star Hawk’s computer control station. The unmutilated side of his face looked worried, the scorched side macabre.
Kitoy made a squeaking sound and lashed her tail as her cat-like body stiffened and her cougar tan fur stood on end. She sat at the communications console beside Henry on the horseshoe-shaped bridge. “Watch your mouth!” The translator nanobots allowed all to understand her. The nostrils on her cheetah-like face trembled, then flared. “Besides, you need to hold the middle consonant longer. It sounded like you were asking for a cocktail.”
“Sorry, sexy kitty. No Homo sapiens word does those sycamorezoid terrorists justice. They tried to blow up a stargate and decimate a planetary population. Now we’ve got to fly through a blockade of the buggers.” Henry drummed the fingers of his remaining arm on the computer console.
“On this side of the stargate, all the sycamorezoids know is that their scheme didn’t work. I’m betting the dichrostigmazoids had no idea what was going on. They aren’t going to try and eradicate their own planet. If the sycamorezoids try anything, it will be sneaky. They can’t risk Republic reprisals for attacking a ship under a Writ of Passage.” Ryan focused his green eyes on the blue lines on the main screen.
“Incoming message. Audio only.” Kitoy’s pointed ears twitched nervously as her tail lashed with anxiety.
“Play it,” ordered Ryan.
“Alien vessel, this is sycamorezoid traffic control. You are ordered to stall your momentum and leave this system,” growled a deep voice through the speakers.
“Sycamorezoid control. This is Homo sapiens H L T C- two-nine-seven – D – R C named Star Hawk. I am travelling under a Republic Writ of Passage carrying supplies to the relief efforts on Murack Five. You have no authority to block my transit. Please advise on safe exit trajectory from the Republic zone around the Murack stargate. There seems to be a lot of traffic at the perimeter. Henry, take over piloting.” Ryan moved to the command chair in the middle of the bridge, brushing smooth the blue UES space services coverall uniform he wore as he did so. The retiree’s braids, over-the-shoulder patches and civilian captain’s pin in the collar were all that marked him as separate from the government forces. “Rowan, focus the screen on one of those ships, maximum magnification.”
Rowan pressed the controls, changing the image on the big screen at the front of the bridge, then reached to nervously toy with her long, dark hair only to find it was cut short. The main screen filled with an oblong craft with rounded sections on both ends. Spikes poked from its surface in rings along its length.
“That’s a dichrostigmazoid heavy cruiser,” observed Ryan. “Rowan, bring up another vessel.”
The screen shifted to a ship that looked like a furry egg with fins projecting along its length from front to back.
“It looks sycamorezoid, but I don’t recognize the class.” Ryan stroked his clean-shaven chin.
“It’s their new type of destroyer.” Henry swivelled the computer control station chair where the upper part of his mutilated android body was strapped in. A mass of wires and fibre optic cables came from where his hips would have been, connecting him to the ship.
Ryan looked at the android, who was to his right at the back of the control stations that ringed the front and sides of the horseshoe-shaped bridge. “You’ve been keeping up with them?”
“I got bored, so I updated the friend and foe recognition files.” Henry shrugged his remaining shoulder.
“Good work. Send the rec-files to my private system. I’ll need to update when there’s time.”
“Message coming in from the transfer and monitoring ship,” said Kitoy from the station one forward of Henry’s.
“Play it,” ordered Ryan.
“Star Hawk, welcome to the Murack system. This is Dichrostigmazoid Space Traffic Control. On your current heading and speed, you will be leaving Republic territory in two-point-five Homo sapiens’ minutes. Be advised this vessel is not equipped to intervene on your behalf after that.” The voice was high-pitched and had a friendly cadence.
“You cannot do that! It is the sycamorezoids’ time to have primacy over emerging ships.” The deeper voice blasted from the speakers.
“You are in dereliction of your duty, sycamorezoid. As such, I step in to fulfill it as is permitted under Republic regulations. You are not allowed to hamper the entrance of ships into the Murack system.” The dichrostigmazoid’s voice was annoyed.
“Nova blast! They’re at it again. Boss, turn us around,” pleaded Henry.
Ryan smiled, then spoke to his crew but mainly for the benefit of Tim and Rowan. “Murack Six and Seven have been spitting in each other’s eyes for over a century. The sycamorezoids of Murack Six are galactic separatists and hate other species. I should have worn my brown trousers.”
Nervous laughter coursed around the bridge, breaking the paralysis that had seemed to grip the organic crew members.
Ryan straightened his uniform.
Rowan turned her athletic form in her chair at the navigator’s station at the front left of the bridge to glance at her lover. He was no longer the tender, compassionate man that shared her bed. Not the determined warrior who would fight through all obstacles to achieve his end. This Ryan was colder, harder, and frightening. Every line of face and form was as solid as a sabre’s edge, and his voice was a breath from the graves of dead and forgotten men from ages past.
“Kitoy, broadband transmission, uncoded. On my mark. Mark.
“Murack gate monitor ships. Thank you for your greetings. The Star Hawk is a Hawk Class Heavy Lander reclassified to carry light to moderate civilian cargo. As a point of fact, it is the same vessel that broke the blockade on Murack Seven during your last conflict. We are travelling under a Republic Writ carrying relief supplies to Murack Five. As such, we are outside any interspecies conflicts. I am transmitting my course on an open sub-frequency and would ask that all ships cooperate with the delivery of Republic aid supplies.
“Kitoy, download all ship’s status updates to a communications probe. Navigator, do a running update on the probe’s course to see it enters the stargate.
“Republic Gate Monitor ships. I will also mention that I am Captain Ryan Chandler. The Star Hawk is the ship I commanded during your last declared war. If anyone should consider violating the Republic Writ of Passage, keep in mind that I only have to survive long enough for my communications probe to reach Republic space. Also, be warned. I will be most annoyed if actions are taken against me! End transmission!”
“Stardust, we’re vapour! Could somebody let me cop a feel before the end,” said Henry.
“Dad, you are bluffing, right?” Tim stared at his father from the environmental control station one down on the left from the navigator’s console. Since Ryan’s cloning, no one with eyes could be faulted for thinking that Tim was Ryan’s older brother.
Ryan shrugged.
“I… They… I’ll key in the transmission.” Kitoy put her audio on speaker.
“Captain Shuka, do not be stupid! That is the one the felinezoids called Space Mink. The Homo sapiens are mad to let that one have a Bird of Death as his own,” spoke a deep voice.
“Admiral, our orders,” objected an equally deep voice.
“You were not bridge crew during the blockade on Murack Seven. He is within his rights to take relief supplies to Murack Five. If we act against him and the Republic learns of it, the cost would be enormous. We will do nothing to stop him. I will relay his flight plan to Murack Six. The reigning monarchs can decide what to do. I order you to move your vessel.”
A higher-pitched voice came over the speaker. “Admiral Bukk, this is Commodore Vrignet of the dichrostigmazoid. We have heard your inter-ship communications and concur. It is not our place to violate Republic law. Captain Chandler, I am sure you are monitoring this. I promise you, the dichrostigmazoid will take no action against you.”
Rowan checked her instruments. “The ships are clearing a path along our flight path. Wait a moment. One ship is—”
“Captain, we have a message coming in from a dichrostigmazoid freighter,” blurted Kitoy.
“Put it up, audio-only,” ordered Ryan as he moved to the pilot’s station.
“Star Hawk, this is the Swift Flyer. We are a civilian ship trying to exit the Murack system. We humbly ask permission to share your flight corridor. Our home is Lazadd, and we have no intention of returning to this uncouth place.”
Ryan nodded. “Kitoy, transmit.
“Swift Flyer, maintain five thousand kilometers distance at apogee and fair voyage. End message.
“Rowan, plot the pull points for the gravity laser drive to keep us clear of the other ship. Ziggy, be ready to use the particle beams as an anti-missile system.”
“Aye, sir.” The podgy middle-aged man in a U.E.S. ground forces uniform with retiree braids over the shoulder patches sat at the weapons station at the back left of the captain’s chair.
Ryan drew the gravity laser drive’s pull points from the file and steered the Star Hawk down the left side of the passage the other ships had opened. The Swift Flyer, which looked like a tube with rings around it and bulbous ends, plotted a course parallel but opposite to the Star Hawk. A small wedge-shaped ship followed five thousand kilometers behind the Star Hawk.
“We are out of Republic territory.” Rowan toyed nervously with the sleeve of the floral print blouse she wore.
“Keep steady,” said Ryan.
“The Mary is following us.” Rowan looked to her side. To anyone else, Ryan would have appeared calm. Only she noticed the cording of his neck muscles.
“We’ll focus on not getting blown up for now. The assassins we’ll deal with later.” Ryan’s eyes stayed glued to the exterior display.
“We have an incoming message,” said Kitoy. “It’s from the dichrostigmazoid’s gate monitor ship.”
“Put it on.” Ryan gestured to the big screen.
“Captain Ryan Chandler, I wish you good voyage and caution that the Murack system has experienced an increase in illegal activity. Pirates may not be inclined to respect the Republic Writ of Passage as the government forces have law-abidingly done.”
“Thank you for the warning,” said Ryan before the screen blanked. “I hate this system. Henry, take over piloting.” Ryan returned to the captain’s chair.
“Do you want stealth?” asked Henry.
Ryan considered. “No. We haven’t been shown an overt threat, and stealth can be considered a hostile act. I’d rather not get back to the Switchboard Station to face a charge of provoking a space conflict.”
“So, we wait until someone shoots at us?” asked Kitoy.
“Stupid rule, isn’t it?” agreed Ryan. “Everyone, stay at station. I want some distance between us and those ships back there. Rowan, Ziggy, keep scanning for other ships. I want to see what’s coming.”
“Aye,” chorused the crew. It brought back memories for Ryan. Memories he’d tried hard to leave behind. His hand traced over the name plaques on the side of his chair. One for each captain that died in the line of duty on the Star Hawk. His eyes skipped to the backs of the chairs around the bridge. Not one had less than two plaques attached to its back. He sighed and focused on keeping his current crew alive.
© 2024 Stephen B. Pearl
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