“What just happened, Warrior Commander?” David Ray asked. “Was
Knossos-ship attacked?”
They waited for the answer while Warrior Commander appeared to evaluate
what the console was displaying.
“Someone violated the 2092 Weapons Testing Treaties by sending a
temporal-distortion wave into what you call nous-space. Do you know the violators?” Using a
rougher voice than before, the tall Minoan took a long step toward them.
Matt’s mouth opened in surprise. The warrior, big and covered in flowing
black, was
so
much taller when it came within arm’s reach. Matt
quickly stepped back. Temporal-distortion wave? Only TD weapons generated those and if someone
had such a weapon here in G-145—
somebody’s in trouble, by the looks of
things
. He didn’t want to think about what the Minoans might do about a treaty
violation.
“We don’t know anything about a TD wave. Do we still have the buoy?”
David Ray was thinking faster than Matt.
Matt closed his mouth and berated himself silently. He hadn’t realized
they might be the next Ura-Guinn. TD weapons were the only way humankind could destroy a Minoan
time buoy—not that any sane person would want to do that.
“The buoy cannot be assessed until we can run diagnostics. It may still
be operational, because the violators pushed most of the temporal distortion into nous-space,”
Warrior Commander said, after a pause.
“Where’s Contractor Adviser?” Matt asked.
“Contractor Adviser will not be activated until Pilgrimage-ship is
secured.” Warrior Commander reached into the wall and withdrew its baton.
Matt tried to remember where Warrior Commander’s baton had been when all
the weirdness started. He looked around, puzzled, as the Minoan stalked toward the wall, which
sighed and opened.
“Wait! We have to go with you.” David Ray’s plea, plus scuttling close
behind the Minoan and jumping into the opening, stopped Warrior Commander.
When Matt saw that the opening held and the wall didn’t squeeze David
Ray, he stepped forward to stand beside the counselor. Looking past Warrior Commander, he
expected to see the hallway by which they’d first entered. Instead, they entered a semicircular
room on the rounded side. It was large enough that the eight waiting guardians took up half the
room’s volume. He shook his head. He’d lived on habitats and ships all his life, but
Knossos-ship confused him. It obviously had the capability to alter itself.
Warrior Commander looked down at David Ray. Matt thought the Minoan
seemed a bit peeved by the delay. If so, there was nothing to lose by pushing for
everything.
“We’ll need weapons too.” Matt pointed at the batons held by the
guardians.
David Ray made a disapproving sound in his throat.
“Might as well ask.” Matt shrugged. It couldn’t hurt, could it? He
squirmed as the silence grew, however, and when he looked up at Warrior Commander, he wished he
hadn’t been such a smart-ass. They waited.
“This will work temporarily, and only on Pilgrimage-ship. It will harm
only evolved, multicellular organisms. If you wish, you may use it in hand-to-hand combat.”
Warrior Commander reached into the wall, withdrew a baton of the size used by the guardians,
and handed it to Matt. “Knossos-ship will not be responsible for your safety, or the safety of
the Pilgrimage-ship crew members.”
“What about me?” David Ray raised his eyebrows.
“You are not qualified with projectile or stun weapons, and you have no
hand-to-hand training. What can I provide you?”
“Then I’ll stay with—er, Owner of Aether Exploration.” David Ray looked
at Matt, who shrugged again. He’d taken training classes, at Ari’s recommendation, but he
wasn’t placing much hope on two-year-old instruction. He wondered how the Minoans knew about
the training.
The warrior turned toward the guardians. Without any overt
communication, the Minoans lined up and strode through an opening in the wall.
“That’s not the same Warrior Commander. It even sounds different than
the one we first met,” Matt said softly.
“I noticed. I’m wondering if the first one got killed or destroyed—but
right now, we’d better follow.” David Ray ran for the same spot where the last guardian
disappeared.
Matt winced, expecting David Ray to rebound off the wall. Instead, the
counselor disappeared into something with the same consistency as the gelatinous goo they swam
through to get into the ship. He sighed and followed.
“This sucks. As weapons officers, we should get the exciting jobs during
boarding missions—but because this is a civilian habitat and we have all these commandos
instead of our normal personnel, we have to sit around and do nothing.” When Lieutenant Maurell
sulked, his face looked disturbingly like Oleander’s youngest brother, who was twelve.
“I’m kind of tired after doing
nothing
,”
Oleander said mildly. She queried her implant with her slate, noted the level of bright was
falling in her bloodstream, and opted to take her next dose early.
“Oh. I meant that
I’m
doing nothing.” He
looked sideways at her. “Sorry, forgot you’ve already done a shift. But if we were boarding a
military vessel, one of us would be on the bridge and the other would be leading—”
“Lieutenant Oleander?” boomed a fully armored commando who moved to
stand at attention in front of her. She looked up at his faceplate, a good thirty centimeters
above hers. His equipment, a self-sealing environmental suit with armor and exoskeleton, helped
him tower over her. She and Maurell were equipped with standard AFCAW-issue suits, which were
tougher than civilian, self-sealing environmental suits but had armor only in the torso
area.
“Master Sergeant Pike?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The commando pushed controls on his forearm and the
faceplate swiveled back. His face was hard, with lines down the sides of his mouth. He had
squint lines at the corner of his eyes that she thought could be laugh lines, under other
circumstances. Right now, Sergeant Pike didn’t look like he ever laughed and his expression
discouraged even the suggestion of frivolity.
“We’re ready to open the final doors, ma’am.” He jerked his head toward
the airlock, where two of his people worked to force the
Pilgrimage
’s external side open. As usual, the outer airlocks had no windows.
“We have no idea what they’ve got on the other side.”
“Where do you want us, Sergeant?”
Pike looked at her silently in a measuring manner, so she added, “Don’t
worry about asking us to stay out of your way.”
One of his eyebrows rose and the corners of his eyes crinkled a little.
“All right, Lieutenants—you can watch our backside. We need an alarm, ASAP, if we get flanked
or cut off from the
Bright Crescent
.”
Lieutenant Maurell blew his breath out audibly, sounding exasperated.
When Oleander and Pike looked at him, he reddened and looked down at the deck. “Okay, okay.
Just don’t call me ‘son,’ and I can deal with this.”
The crinkles deepened at the corners of Pike’s eyes. “You’ve been issued
combination combat rifles that do double duty as high-performance stunners, and yes, I checked
your qualification records before approving the issue. I suggest you keep the weapons set to
stunner. Orders of engagement say no firing at civilians unless necessary and
no
aggressive moves toward Minoans. We don’t know if they think we’re the good
guys.”
“Control deck is first priority?” Oleander asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
There were exclamations on the team channel and a woman’s voice overrode
them with, “Sergeant Pike, this is Greco. We’ve got smoke.”
Pike turned toward the doors and pushed past commandos waiting on the
shipside of the airlock. Most of them had been leaning against the bulkheads, bored, as their
postures suggested. Everybody, Lieutenants Oleander and Maurell included, straightened and
jostled to see into the airlock.
Pike’s team had forced their way to the
Pilgrimage
side of the airlock. Through the interior windows was an obvious
haze. If there was smoke, that meant fire, which space crews feared almost as much as
vacuum.
Matt fell to his knees after pushing through the goo that the Minoans
used to keep their ship sealed. The lingering stench made him retch. David Ray was standing,
leaning over, and gagging, with his hands on his knees. Their noses had suddenly started
working again.
Once they could move on, Matt noticed the Minoan ship had extended a
fleshy tunnel into the
Pilgrimage
, forcing open all the airlocks.
They walked out into the eerily empty docking ring. There was a light, smoky haze that might
have made Matt panic and hit the fire alarms, but when he sniffed, he smelled nothing. If there
was a sense crèche-get trusted implicitly, it was their sense of smell.
“Where’d the guardians go?” Matt whispered. “What’s hanging in the
air?”
“They went toward the control deck—fast.” David Ray looked around.
“Let’s hope everybody’s hunkered down in quarters or somewhere safe. I want to get to Lee’s
lab.”
“Let me test this first.” Matt frowned as he examined the baton closely.
It was about as long as his arm and there were two studs about three-fourths of the way from
one side. There were two little nibs on the other end, which he took to be sights.
“Be careful. You don’t even know which end fires.” David Ray looked
impatiently around.
Making sure that neither end pointed toward an “evolved multicellular
organism,” Matt arranged the baton so the studs were closest to his hand and pressed the
nearest stud. Smoke, or rather haze, gushed out the other end and expanded so fast that they
couldn’t see more than a meter down the hall. Strangely, they weren’t coughing and they
couldn’t smell anything.
“Well, that explains things, doesn’t it?”
“Come on, we’ve got to get to the labs.”
“One minute.” Carefully, Matt pressed the other stud and a thin yellow
line of light came out the other end, quite visible in the haze. He released the stud
quickly.
“Let’s go—somebody’s coming.” David Ray pulled his arm and they went
down an inward spoke hall. Matt heard the sound of boots, quite a few of them, moving at a jog
in military precision.
The footsteps passed them by, continuing toward the control deck.
Equipment squeaked and hissed in the hazy main corridor and Matt was happy to leave.
“I think the isolationists wanted something specific when they boarded
Pilgrimage
. Like our fertilization and genetic labs, our crèches.”
As he whispered, David Ray was moving quietly, pausing at corners.
The emptiness of the corridors was beginning to spook Matt. Where were
the other seven hundred people on this ship? He scuttled behind David Ray, leaning around the
older man with the baton ready. This reminded him too much of a v-play, such as
Temple of Terror
, where he felt the metal of the “weapon” from the v-play
gloves, much like this baton felt.
“My guess is that Abram wants progeny—something the Minoans denied him.”
David Ray continued to mutter about what the isolationists had planned. Matt suspected that the
counselor was worried, almost frantic, about Dr. Lee.
“So they show up with their own sperm, eggs, and TD weapon?” Matt asked.
He didn’t buy into David Ray’s theories.
They’d reached the center corridors near the wheel and had seen no one.
Matt started relaxing, perhaps too soon. He heard a boot scuff behind him. He whirled, but the
short spoke corridor they’d detoured through was empty.
“I doubt they brought eggs—Qesan always diminished the female
contribution. As for the weapon, we have to hope the buoy is still operational.” David Ray
shrugged.
Crèche-get were raised to be self-sufficient, but Matt wasn’t as
sanguine about the possibility of being cut off from the civilized worlds. He’d opted off
before he was twenty, relatively, and his comfortable years on Athens Point made him hope that
Warrior Commander was correct and the buoy would be fine.