The Sentinel (The Sentinel Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

Anna was right about one thing. It wasn’t a star leviathan. Whatever it was possessed some cloaking, which was either rudimentary or damaged. The half-organic, half-mechanical leviathans had no such thing. This ship had a clear plasma signature, too, and while it was possible that this could come from a leviathan’s meal, that was unlikely. And it wasn’t nearly big enough—only about 150 meters long. Even a juvenile leviathan was a thousand meters long, counting the grasping tentacles.

A ship that had just gone through a jump point left the space around it noticeably warped for up to twenty hours. This had been a key discovery in detecting and defeating Apex craft, which used an unknown technology to make short, in-system leaps, rather than relying on naturally formed jump points. Was this Apex? The passive scans were unable to tell in this case, because the ship was passing too close to the star.

There was also no way to tell if it had armaments, although with the cloaking, it was almost certainly not a civilian craft. That meant a warship. It wobbled slightly as it moved. And the velocity was odd: five percent light speed, but not accelerating. That was too fast for a freighter, but not impressive for a military vessel. The fastest ships could manage better than ten percent light speed before fuel costs and the beginnings of relativistic effects began to take their toll.

But not a freighter, that was clear enough. A freighter had been Li’s hope, a resupply mission from the Singapore system. Eleven years was a long time to wait.

They couldn’t risk active scanning—that would give away the base’s location—but even passive data began to paint a more accurate picture.

“Computer, compare the plasma engine signature to known Imperium vessels.”

“There are no matches,” answered the cool female voice.

“Not an Apex vessel, then?” Li already knew the answer to this. It was behaving nothing like an Apex craft.

“Negative.”

“Could it be a Hroom vessel?”

“The engines do not match a known Hroom profile,” she said.

Li had asked this rhetorically, not expecting an answer from the computer, which usually needed more specific commands.

“Data is incomplete on Hroom vessels,” the computer added. “Contact with the Hroom Empire is limited to fringe and affiliated systems.”

So Li couldn’t fully discount the Hroom theory.

The Hroom possessed an ancient empire of alien worlds that lay beyond the systems mapped by Imperium vessels. They were prickly, given to aggressive defense, but not hostile if left alone. The Hroom Empire had been in decline and civil war for generations, however, which made them unpredictable, and it was against a theoretical Hroom threat that the Imperium had maintained a navy before the arrival of their true enemy.

Meanwhile, five hundred years after the Great Migration, the population of the planet Singapore and its colonies had been growing steadily but cautiously. Eventually, it was thought, the Hroom might be a problem. Before the war with Apex, official Imperium policy had been to avoid the Hroom and their worlds. The same hands-off policy was to apply to any other alien race, as well as human colonies. There were no other humans in the Dragon Quadrant, but it was rumored that Old Earth Dutch had settled on the far edge of the Hroom Empire, and perhaps other Old Earth settlers as well.

“Are any subspace messages emanating from the vessel?” he asked the computer.

“Negative.”

“Are there any secondary signatures like small accompanying vessels?”

“Negative.”

“Evidence of weapon systems?”

“I need a more specific question.”

“That seemed specific enough,” Li said. “Okay, how about lasers or kinetic weapons?”

“Negative.”

“Anything odd or unusual about the engines that I haven’t noted yet?”

“The two engines are operating at variable strength.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” he asked. “Could it be because you’re a computer and lack an imagination? Send the engine data to my personal console.”

It came through at once, and Li studied the findings. One of the two plasma engines on the mysterious ship was operating at only sixty-two percent power compared to the other.

Ah, so that explained the intermediate speed. And the wobble. And the slipshod cloaking, now that he thought about it. This was a warship that had been damaged in battle.

Or so we are meant to believe.
 

He heard this in his sister’s voice. And Anna would be right. Apex had used this sort of trick before. They were cunning, relentless predators. Eleven years was nothing. Singapore might be in ruins for all he knew, its people annihilated, its colonies snuffed out one by one. But Apex would continue to hunt until they’d exterminated every last human in the sector.

Yet he was certain enough that it was a warship, wounded or not. That was enough for Commander Li. A wounded warship, either alien or from some unknown human colony, was not enough to risk the integrity of Sentinel 3. Not when he weighed the possibility that it was a trick or being dangled in front of him as bait. He’d give his orders, and they wouldn’t please the Openers: maintain silence.

Complete
silence. No engagement. Only watch to see if the wounded spacecraft did anything suspicious. If it were pursued by whatever had damaged it. If it gave evidence of being bait.

Li was planning his speech to the crew when new information came up on the console. He didn’t see it at first, as he was caught up in how to manage the factions on the station. The Openers would howl, while the Sentry Faction would grimly line up behind their commander, ready to defend his decision to maintain silence, or to stab him in the back if he wavered. The fifty percent of his crew who had no firm alliance would gyrate madly in response to the unexpected development.

He had to keep them settled, had to get the crew calmed. Keep things from blowing up—quite literally, if whispered threats were to be believed—until the unknown ship was gone, and they could return to familiar patterns. Openers, Sentry Faction, neutrals, and the endless wait.

Eleven years. 4,039 days. Tomorrow would mark 4,040.

Li scrolled through the data one last time before shutting down the console, and it was then that he finally saw the wavy blue line. An incoming subspace message, sent by the unknown vessel. He frowned and opened it up, curious and alarmed.

His heart nearly stopped. The message used Singapore Imperium protocol, and it was directed to them. The computer had already opened the subspace, but the message was gibberish, a string of confused data. It used their codes, but there was nothing else decipherable about it. Not in its current form, at least.

Li’s heart kicked into his throat, thumping harder the longer he stared at it. What could it possibly mean? Whatever it meant, it changed everything. Someone knew he was here. Someone had sent him a message.

Chapter Two

Jon Li was a city boy who had never lived in the country, nor wanted to. As a boy, he’d climbed the steep hills of Panda City and had certainly enjoyed the gardens, trees, and tropical birds that he encountered, but that wasn’t why he climbed them. It was to get a view of the teeming tropical city, to look over the turquoise bay at the ships sailing into the harbor carrying goods from the islands that speckled the waters of Singapore like a million jewels.

There were birds in the trees, he remembered. And lizards on the walls of the temples, ignored by the monks chanting and burning their incense. Other small animals—rabbits, mice, tree frogs, and of course the insects that thrived in the heat, humidity, and rain—hid in walls or in the tree canopy, making their small living among the city of nearly a million people: rabbits. But Li had given them little thought at the time.

How things had changed. He’d have welcomed flies and mosquitoes, he was so desperate for something natural and wild.

The farms were the closest he could get. Nothing natural about them—they weren’t even as natural as the terraced rice paddy he remembered from back home. Instead, the farms were a massive hydroponic operation, with plants carried on big rotating chains to take them toward or away from the light, with water and nutrients monitored almost entirely by computer. Every tomato was without blemish or bug bite, every leaf of every potato plant monitored for stress or chemical imbalance.

But the room was big and open and humid and smelled of plants and life. And it was gloriously green. The room was alive, and when he closed his eyes and drew the scent into his nostrils, he could imagine the song and chatter of birds.

Li took a deep breath both physically and mentally as he passed through the airlocks and into the room. He walked down the rows of plants, occasionally letting his hand drift out to gently touch the leaves as they brushed past his face. There were technicians working, repairing tubes, trimming away dead plants for recycling, and checking the air humidity. A few glanced curiously in his direction, but nobody spoke to him.

Six hours had passed since he’d discovered the message. He’d been in turmoil ever since. Too long waiting, too long staring out at the stars. Maybe he’d clear his head walking back and forth through the farms.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice said behind him.

Li turned around to discover his sister standing behind his right shoulder. She wore her uniform, faded but in good repair. And always impeccably ironed. Anna’s eyes were narrowed, her gaze sharp, and the comment didn’t sound friendly, but penetrating. Almost an implied question.

Well, what are you going to do about it?
 

Jeremy Megat stood next to her. He was in a work jumpsuit—earth brown for those working in the farms, although there was no actual earth here, and Li knew the man would rather be flying his one-man ship—his scooter—collecting ice from the Kettle’s ring or inspecting the battle station’s hull. Megat was three inches taller than Li, but that understated his size. Li and his sister were both slender, whereas Megat had augmented his already large frame with weights and other exercise. It was said he spent hours every day in the gym. Li found the man’s size and posture vaguely menacing.

“I know you’ve been calling,” Li said to his sister. “I saw all your queries. I didn’t answer because I have nothing to report.”

“Nothing to report in fact?” she asked. “Or out of choice?”

“You think I’m sitting on a translated message? I’ll share it when there’s something to share. The message came through on Imperium protocol, but we still have no clue what it says.”

“You’re sure?”

“The computer is trying to break it by brute force—that’ll take time. For now, it’s gibberish.”

“And it should stay gibberish,” Megat said. His eyes were even harder than Anna’s “It can only be a trap. A trick. A lie.”

“You closed access,” Anna said, “so all I have is your word that you haven’t translated it.”

“Why would I keep the message secret?”

“Presumably for the same reason you closed access to me.”

“I need time. A few minutes to look it over before everyone goes crazy.”

“What are you afraid of?” she asked. “That one of us will translate it first? Why should that bother you?”

“All this factionalism,” Li said. “It’s as dangerous as any enemy. Whatever the message says, someone is likely to do something dumb when he reads it.”

“A strong hand prevents that sort of thing, brother.”

“A strong hand against what? Against whom? And what do you want me to do? Put people in solitary because they’re excited about this ship? Because they think it might be their salvation after eleven years of constant vigilance?”

“If necessary,” Anna said. “Or stronger measures, if needed.”

“Stronger measures? My God, what are you talking about?”

Megat reached out and plucked a leaf from the potato plant growing next to his head. He dropped it to the cement floor, where it joined the withered plant material that had fallen naturally or been trimmed by workers. Li stared, taken aback, so shocked by the gesture that for a moment he was speechless.

At last he found his voice. “What the hell are you doing, Megat?”

“It was diseased.” His voice was flat, emotionless.

Li picked the leaf up and turned it over. It was large and green and without visible blemishes. “I don’t see anything—it’s not diseased.”

“I work here, not you. I know a diseased leaf when I see one. The potato plant will barely notice its absence. Leaving it on would have killed the whole plant.”

“You didn’t even look at the leaf. I saw you! You tore it off while staring straight ahead, and then you dropped it, also without looking. How would you know?”

Li found himself growing irrationally angry. It was one leaf from one plant. It didn’t matter, not really. But the act was so careless, so wanton in a farm where every plant, every calorie produced, was counted and compared.

Megat didn’t look apologetic at all. He didn’t even look defensive.

“It’s my job to notice these things, Commander,” the man said. “You can’t see what I see—that’s because you don’t work in the farms.”

“You’re a scooter jockey. This isn’t even your real job.”

“Believe me,” Megat said, as if he hadn’t heard, “when you can’t spot the disease, that’s when it’s most insidious. That’s when it threatens to metastasize and destroy the entire plant.”

Li finally understood what the man was getting at, and his anger grew.

“It’s a dumb metaphor. Men and women aren’t leaves. This station isn’t a potato plant. That plant you damaged completes its entire life cycle in a few months, and we’ve got to keep going for who knows how long? Maybe the rest of our lives.”

“All the more reason to be ruthless in pruning the dead and dying,” Anna said.

Li turned on his sister. “And you! Are you the one spreading this factionalism? I’m no Opener, I’m on your side. I agree and have always agreed. Sentinel 3 maintains its vigil. We do not break from protocol.”

“I used to believe that, Jon. Now I’m not so sure.”

He looked between his sister and Megat. How had they found him here anyway? He was theoretically off shift—whatever that meant for the base commander, who’d been on call for better than a decade—and hadn’t logged his location. Hadn’t even been aware that he was on his way to the farms until he’d already taken the shuttle to the inner ring and passed through the food processing plant. It had started as a walk, a way to clear his head while waiting for more information.