BIRTHRIGHT 2 – THE GATHERING
by Soledad
Author's note:
For disclaimer, rating, warnings, etc., see the Prologue.
A few lines of dialogue are modified versions of what was said in The Mathematics of Tears. The indigenous species of Ornithrone – with the exception of the canonical mandelbrots are my creation. The looks of the mandelbrots were inspired by the Aldebaran shellmouths from the original Star Trek series.
CHAPTER 14 – THE GHOST SHIP OF TAU CETI SIX
A week after Tyr's departure, the mood aboard the Andromeda Ascendant was still beyond rotten. Dylan was still fuming silently on the command deck or in his own quarters. Beka still ignored him pointedly, using the uncommon length of free time – not disturbed by any life-threatening emergencies, for a change – to flirt with Iason Havila, whom she found absolutely gorgeous. Havila showed equal interest for her, and after they agreed to avoid such sensitive topics and musical taste, they went along rather amiably. Beka even learned to enjoy seafood.
Harper missed Trance, but found the continued presence of the two Perseids more than inspiring. As he'd never received a proper education, picking up bits and pieces of useful knowledge wherever he could, he benefited greatly from Höhne's willingness to fill the gaping holes in his theoretical education and the Perseid's talent to teach. Harper assumed that he'd absorbed about three semesters' worth of university teachings since Höhne came aboard. Besides, Rekeeb was an enthusiastic partner in coming up with a new and exciting – and completely hair-raising – scientific theory every other day. With other words, aside from the lack of female company, Harper was having the time of his life.
Rev Bem enjoyed the quiet time as well. Unlikely as it seemed, he'd managed to build a semi-friendly relationship with Arkazha, the Castalian representative, talking with her about languages and philosophy – through the intercom system, as he disliked getting his fur wet. His human companions tended to complain about the stench.
The Than, as always, mostly kept to themselves, although they still appeared to duty on the command deck, and the Workers continued to work for Harper in the machine shops. Born to Starfire barely left her quarters, indulging herself in long, intricate diplomatic correspondence with various Than worlds and foreign governments.
All in all, it had been a peaceful week – at least on the surface. Tensions kept brooding below, though, and finally Beka decided to extend the proverbial olive branch, since it obviously couldn't be expected from their self-righteous captain to make the first step. Even though she was right and he was wrong.
From her point of view anyway. Dylan would never admit that, of course. Fortunately, she knew just the thing that would – hopefully – get him out of his brooding mood again.
When she reached Dylan's quarters, he could hear him rant to Rommie right on the other side of the door. Soundproof modus wasn't on, apparently. Even though she couldn't hear everything, she caught a few stray words like 'my mission', 'civilization', 'order' and 'progress', which gave her a fairly good idea about the rest. Dylan was venting about crew performances again, it seemed.
She suppressed an irritated sigh – for the time being, she wanted to stay on the Andromeda, and that meant she had to make certain sacrifices, like restraining herself from throttling the captain – and pushed the door buzzer.
"Dylan, may I come in?" she asked over comm.
There was no answer, but the door opened almost immediately. She stepped in, glancing at Dylan's clouded face.
"What is it?" Dylan asked.
"And a nice day to you, too," Beka replied blithely. I got an idea, Captain mine. Since we're on our way to Ornithrone anyway, you might want to look at this in your spare time."
She handed him a flexi, which Dylan eyed suspiciously, as if expecting it to bite him.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Gerentex' list of derelict High Guard ships," Beka explained. "Or suspected ones, anyway."
For the first time in a week, there was a sparkle of interest in Dylan's pale eyes. "More ships like the Andromeda?"
"Ships of various sorts," Beka shrugged. "Salvaging a High Guard ship of the line was an obsession for him. We looked at five other possibilities before we found you, but there are over thirty more leads."
A captainly eyebrow climbed slowly higher. "What were those five possibilities?"
"Well," Beka started to count it off on her fingers, "first of them was the ghost ship at Herodotus, of course, the ultimate goal of every insane treasure hunter. It has become something of a legend among salvagers for being a place none had ever returned from. I managed to persuade Gerentex that it wouldn't be such a good idea. Then there were the slipfighters in the asteroid belt in Mitalbo, which proved a dead end, just as I'd told Gerentex, but he insisted that we try anyway, hoping to find their nonexistent mother ship. Then there was the Clarion's Call, a Lancer Ground Troop Transport that assumedly made it out of the Tartarus Shipyard, but got captured again, this time by Nightsiders, and became a casino. Not to mention the Tartarus Shipyard itself, which is supposed to hold enough High Guard ships captive to make up two complete battle groups…"
"Really?" Finally, Dylan was showing true interest. "Now that would be a catch in a century or so."
"Yeah," Beka snorted, "the only problem is that nobody knows where in the three galaxies Tartarus is, since no star chart anyone has found has such a place listed."
"Well, that's too bad," Dylan scowled. "A few more High Guard ship would be very helpful in our quest to restore the Commonwealth. And what was the fifth possibility?"
Beka shrugged. "It's probably just a myth. There were rumours about a huge and extremely dangerous starship the Free Trade Alliance was having trouble with. Unfortunately, nobody ever lived through such an encounter to tell the tale. So we didn't even bother to look – the Maru is no match for a warship. And that was when Gerentex decided to go after the Andromeda."
Dylan shot her a suspicious look. "Is this an attempt to make nice?"
Beka bit back a remark about not needing to make nice with him just in time. She did need to make nice with him, at least until something better came along. And the Andromeda could be very useful for finding that better opportunity.
"Did it work?" she asked back brightly. Dylan nodded slowly.
"Yeah, it did. And I already know which one of your leads we're going to follow."
Harper glared at them as if they had told him they were about to visit Brandenburg Tor.
"You want to go hunting for the ghost ship of Tau Ceti Six?" he asked incredulously. "Have you lost your mind, both of you?"
Beka rolled her eyes. "Harper, we spent four months checking out those old wrecks. What's wrong with that ship?
"You're asking me?" Harper retorted angrily. "Every salvage mission that's been to this system has disappeared – even those old pirates out at Winnipeg Drift say it's cursed."
"Cursed," Dylan repeated blankly. Talking to Harper was sometimes like trying to wade through muddy water: one never knew what would resurface to bite one's flank.
Harper shot him a defensive yet unyielding look.
"Yes," he said stubbornly. "Cursed. It glitters like gold, but if you see it, you never come back."
"Harper," Beka said with forced patience. "That's a myth!"
"Andromeda was a myth!" Harper reminded her seriously.
"And one with a happy ending," Dylan said with his professional optimism. "Now maybe lightning will strike twice."
"That is exactly what I'm afraid of," Harper pointed out. "I could live happily without ever finding that cursed ship. Especially now, that my life standards have gotten so dramatically better. I'd hate to give up all this, you know."
"But Harper, you should see the scientific possibilities here!" Höhne intervened, while Rekeeb was busily nodding in agreement. "We'd get the chance to study Commonwealth technology first hand, to compare it with Andromeda, maybe to learn how to make modifications or even improvements…"
"I can make improvements without getting in the way of a cursed ship, thank you," Harper was not persuaded at all. "I really, really don't like this idea, Boss."
"Don't worry, Harper," Beka replied with a grin, "we won't start this mission before Tyr gets back from visiting his relatives."
"And that should put me at ease?" Harper asked with a demonstrative eyeroll. "Cursed ghost ship on one side, homicidal, psychopathic Über on the other side – that's gonna be a jolly good ride... not!"
"Amazing as it sounds, I tend to agree," Radiance of Wisdom, currently manning the scientific console, commented dryly. "But I fear we have no chance against two excited Perseids and one determined High Guard captain. Nonetheless, I suggest that you talk to the representatives of your allies on board before you start this little quest, Captain Hunt."
"I intend to," Dylan said. "And I'm sure they'll agree with me that the advantages of finding another intact High Guard ship are outweighing any potential risks."
Harper found Ornithrone the most beautiful planet he'd ever visited – well, right after Infinity Atoll, of course. It was almost entirely covered by a turquoise ocean, with only a few large islands poking out of the water. It had four indigenous species, the dominant one of them a race of highly intelligent avians, who, when not travelling in the air, wore their great wings folded on their backs like a shiny cape, and whose heads were covered with fine, fluffy feathers instead of hair. The feathery bows and lashes gave them a decidedly exotic touch.
The other three species were: a race of sentient sea-mammals that vaguely resembled of the now-extinct Terran seals, and whom the others called the Singers; a race of small, but very aggressive insectoids that served as the planetary defence forces and were known to have given both Nietzscheans and the FTA a bloody nose on several occasions; and, of course, the Mandelbrots themselves. Mandelbrots were, despite the silly nickname given them by some unknown researcher, a race of sentient, extremely long-living amphibians. With an expected lifespan of six to seven hundred years, it was understandable that they only spawned once in a century.
As they still had to wait for Tyr's arrival, Harper used the time to go planetside and enjoy the sun and the sea. He'd have welcomed the chance to surf, but with all the strands covered with glittering Mandelbrot tadpoles squirming free from their cradles deep under seawater and sand, that was just not possible. The adults – disturbingly large, mollusc-like beings with sad, bulbous eyes and wide, fringed mouths – would have quite literally killed anyone who'd tried to enter the water and thus harm their spawn.
It was a pity to waste such perfect waves, but Harper didn't mind too much. The sight of the turquoise water, the light of the twin suns reflecting on the white crest of the waves, the slow and heart-achingly beautiful, wordless song of the Singers over the water was more than enough to compensate him for the lost opportunity to surf.
"A beautiful world, isn't it?" a soft, purring voice asked, and Farrendahl lowered herself onto the sand, gingerly avoiding wet places. Her sleek, black fur shone in the dual light of Ornithrone's suns like polished metal. "I've been looking forward to visit it for quite some time."
"I thought Makra don't leave their homeworld often," Harper said absently, his attention captured by a flock of Avians circling above the ocean in tight formation. They wore form-fitting jumpers and leggings in the same colour as their wings and really looked like large, brightly coloured birds.
"Usually, we don't," Farrendahl agreed, "but I'm a researcher. Researchers do visit other worlds – to learn, to teach, to exchange knowledge. I've been to dozens of worlds. But not one of them was as untouched as this one."
"Well, Makrai VII isn't so bad, either," Harper offered, a little uncertainly. He had only visited the lush jungle world of the Makra once, and though he'd found it pretty, his impressions were mixed at best.
"Not bad," Farrendahl replied bitterly. "It used to be a marvel, a virtual paradise. Our people have kept it in perfect balance for countless centuries – until the FTA began strip-mining it. Now the natural balance is at the verge of collapse, and if nothing happens o make them stop, all we'll have left would be a polluted dung heap of a planet."
"The FTA is a pack of sharks," Harper agreed. "They're almost as bad as the Nightsiders… and that is saying a lot."
"And many of us sink low enough to sell out heir services to our oppressors," Farrendahl added darkly. "Spineless collaborators who are more concerned about their own survival than about that of the entire planet."
"Tyr would highly recommend such an attitude," Harper tried to lighten the mood with a lame joke.
"He's a Nietzschean," Farrendahl rose gracefully, "and Nietzscheans are the most self-centered and ruthless beings in the galaxies."
"No argument from here," Harper said. The Makra stared at him from intense yellow eyes.
"Then you should be smart enough to never trust them," she replied.
"I don't," Harper said. "No Earth-born kludge in their right mind ever would. But I kinda like Tyr," he added with a helpless shrug.
"And therein lies the danger," the Makra warned. "Liking him could easily lead to trusting him. And trusting him would get you nothing but a messy death, sooner or later."
Harper glared at her in suspicion. "You know something, don't you?"
"Me?" Farrendahl flicked her tail in a negative gesture. "No. But he's definitely hiding something – and Captain Hunt would do better to find out what that is."
"We're all hiding something," Harper replied with another shrug. "You as much as the rest of us, Ms Catwoman."
"That's true," Farrendahl admitted, one tufted ear twitching in amusement.
Harper was just warming up to try getting more information out of her when Trance came running up enthusiastically, purple tail meandering after her like an agitated snake.
"They're here!" she cried out happily.
"Who are 'they'?" Harper asked patiently. Trance's eyes widened at the obvious stupidity of the question.
"Why, Tyr and his people, of course," she replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Dylan Hunt's mood hadn't improved a bit in the recent days. He'd tried to talk the planetary council of Ornithrone into joining the New Commonwealth – and failed, since he couldn't promise any immediate protection that would have been better than the defences the inhabitants of this world already had. To his utmost annoyance, Born of Starfire, on the other hand, had managed to negotiate a treaty between Ornithrone and the Than Hegemony – albeit a temporary one. The insectoids wanted better weapons to protect their world, and the Than could provide those weapons. All Dylan could offer was a vague alliance of some insignificant backwater planets – well, aside from Sintii IV, that is. The choice between the two offers was depressingly obvious.
Arkhaza and her attaché were off visiting the Singers in their underwater dwellings, and there could be no doubt that Castalia would count Ornithrone to one of their allies in no time. That, at the very least, gave Dylan some hope. Castalia was a member of the New Commonwealth – perhaps its allies will follow one day.
He didn't go down to the planet again. He wasn't interested in the over-crowded beaches; in the spawning giant molluscs with that ridiculous name; in the flying skills of the Avians; in the concerts of the Singers... or, to be honest, in the enthusiasm of his own crew. He preferred to remain aboard the Andromeda and brood in peace.
Consequently, he was the only one present to witness Tyr's return – save from Rommie, of course, but that was a given.
"Tyr," he said with forced joviality, while his cold, pale eyes measured the beautiful pair of youths flanking the Nietzschean. "How good of you to join us again."
"I'm well within time," Tyr replied with a shrug. "I can't see any agitated crewmembers eagerly awaiting start here."
"You are unusually cheerful today," Dylan said, his suspicion clearly visible. "I guess you were able to settle your... family matters, then."
"Indeed, I was, Sir," Tyr suppressed a grin, seeing the captain's annoyance. He wouldn't offer any bits of further information without being asked first. Hunt would never be able to make him talk, unless it was absolutely necessary.
"Care to introduce your... entourage?" Dylan asked after a moment of silence, as expected. Humans were so predictable.
"Certainly," Tyr replied amiably. "Arjuna, Amritray, this is Dylan Hunt, captain of the Andromeda Ascendant. Captain Hunt, these are two orphans from Völsung Pride; siblings, as you can surely see. I've brought them with me, as they have no living relatives left. They are to provide company and protection to my wife."
"I see," Dylan's eyes narrowed. He was no fool and can recognize a warrior when he saw one. "And it never occurred to you to ask first?"
"No," Tyr said matter-of-factly. "They are family. And they won't be any trouble. They'll keep to themselves, unless you want them to help out with duty shifts. Both are skilled pilots and know their way around an engine room."
"That won't be necessary," Dylan said. "We've got enough pilots, and Harper gets the work done just fine. He's got the Worker bugs and the Perseids to help him, if necessary."
Tyr raised an eyebrow. "Congratulations. You've begun to develop some survival instincts, after all. I'm proud of you. Nevertheless, the offer stands."
He gave Dylan a nonchalant look and left, the twin warriors in trail, their beautiful, identical faces unreadable. Dylan glared after them uneasily for a long while.
Learning that Dylan had decided to go hunting for 'the ghost ship of Tau Ceti Six', as Harper called it, almost made Tyr revive his decision not to erase the core AI on the spot and take command over the Andromeda. Of all the suicide missions Hunt had appointed himself and his crew already, this one was by way the most insane one.
"If that ship is more than a mere myth, we're flying straight into a death trap," he said to Höhne angrily. They were sitting in the mess hall of the Maru, the freighter being the only place where the Andromeda's internal sensors couldn't monitor them.
Höhne nodded. "We could be dealing with a High Guard ship there, the AI of which has gone mad," he said. He was uncharacteristically serious, which made Tyr even more uneasy. A serious Perseid was a very worried Perseid – and Perseids, as a rule, didn't panic easily.
"Have you heard of such a thing to happen?" he asked.
"There were a few recorded cases, yes, "Höhne answered thoughtfully. "All of them happened when a ship had to spend an unusually long time without a crew -- or at least a commanding officer. AIs can prevail an unbelievably long time, but without a purpose, they tend to become unstable. Even the best models. And a battleship with an unstable core AI would be a death trap indeed."
"Would you be capable of reprogramming such an AI?" Tyr inquired.
"I'm not sure," Höhne replied with an uncertain shrug. "I'm not an experienced programmer -- my main area is the invention of new technology. But with proper help and enough time to study the ship in question... perhaps. I cannot guarantee the success, though. I'm sorry. Maybe if the core AI would be completely erased, so that we could program anew one from the scratch..."
"What if I could get that done... theoretically?" Tyr asked. "And, still theoretically, what if I could also provide you with the help of a highly skilled programmer? Would you be interested in cooperation?"
Höhne's dark, intelligent eyes glittered in the most calculating way.
"It depends. What would be in it for me?"
"Unlimited access to study the ship's database and technology," Tyr answered promptly.
"But he ship itself would be yours... theoretically," Höhne said slowly.
Tyr nodded. "Of course. My family needs a home. A safe one."
"Your... family," Höhne repeated. "I assume it is large enough to man the stations of vital importance."
"I can bring up a skeleton crew," Tyr said. "No more than the Andromeda had at the beginning of our journey together. Not before I call in... allies."
"Enough allies to run any ship we might find?" Höhne asked, one hairless eyebrow raised. Tyr nodded again.
"If necessary. But I'd prefer an engineer who doesn't owe them any loyalty. Would you happen to know one?"
"Perhaps," Höhne said noncommittally. "If you managed to persuade me that helping you to get your hands on that ship would be more advantageous for me – and for Sintii IV – than giving it, in case it does exist in the first place of course, tot he New Commonwealth. Why should I wish to help you?"
"Perhaps because that way you wouldn't have to share it with Castalia or other backwater planets?" Tyr suggested.
"Only with you and your... allies," Höhne said. Tyr began to lose patience with him.
"Listen... Director," he said. "I don't know how much intelligence you get on Sintii IV, but Magog activity has been increasing for a while. The destruction of the Dyhedra System only brought us temporary relief. They will come. And when they do, your pathetic planetary defence system won't be much help. Not against them, not against the Restorians, and not against the FTA, should they decide to take an interest in your world."
"And you are offering protection in exchange for technical knowledge?" Höhne asked, his tone highly doubtful. Tyr shook his head.
"No. I'm offering an alliance against a common enemy. An alliance that would ensure the survival of both your planet and my family. I need your knowledge. You need my strength. It's that simple."
"What could one ship do?" Höhne shrugged. Even if it were a Siege Perilous class starship killer, it would only be one ship. It couldn't be everywhere."
Tyr hesitated for a moment. Then, slowly, emphasizing every single word, he said. "We. Are. Not. Talking. About. Just. One. Ship."
"I see. Höhne said, understanding that the Nietzschean couldn't reveal more. Not yet, at least. "Let's consider this an... unofficial agreement between the two of us. A... one-time thing. But I want the blueprints of that ship – still assuming there is one to begin with."
"You'll get them," Tyr said. "By the bones of the forefathers, I swear this."
Höhne, apparently familiar with the formal mode of Nietzschean discourse and its ramifications, accepted the promise without any further questions.
"We should go now," was all he said. "I don't want to make Captain Hunt suspicious."
A few slipstream transits later, the Andromeda reached the coordinates of planet Herodotus. Radiance of Wisdom switched on the external sensors, and the image that appeared on the main viewer was – that of a large asteroid field. The various-sized chunks of dead rock were so densely together that it seemed near impossible for the Andromeda to navigate through them safely.
"Strange," the Sapphire Than wiggled her antennae; this time it signalled confusion. "Our star charts don't register any asteroid belts in the Tau Ceti system. Shouldn't we be approaching the sixth planet by now?"
"Herodotus," Beka said from the command chair. "It's called Herodotus, Wisdom. And yeah, we should. The only problem is, the planet doesn't seem to be here."
"That's because it's a ghost planet haunted by a ghost ship," Harper, currently piloting the ship, muttered self-mockingly, but there was real fear in his blue eyes. Tyr wondered what sort of horror stories the boy had been fed with, back on Earth. Mudfoots seemed to have a thing for gothic tales. As if the Drago-Kazov and the Magog hadn't been horror enough.
"Don't be ridiculous, boy," he snorted. "Ghosts don't exist."
Only in the minds of frightened kludges, he wanted to add, but decided against it. No need to antagonize the engineer. He wasn't really worried about hurting Harper's feelings – why should he care? – but he might need the assistance of the little human yet. It was better to keep their relationship amiable.
"Are you sure?" Harper asked warily, listening to the unusual static that could be heard through the comm system. "What the hell is this then?"
"Sounds like voice transmission for me," Beka replied dryly. "Wisdom, can you clear it up a little?"
"I can try," the Than worked on her station with the single-minded determination so typical for her kind. The static became louder, and she wiggled her antennae again, apparently irritated by the noise.
"Any idea where it's coming from?" Beta asked. Radiance of Wisdom shrugged apologetically.
"Afraid not. I can't triangulate its source. There are too many rocky surfaces – the signal is practically ricocheting back and forth between them."
"Try to calculate the path of the signal, based on the grade of intensity loss," Harper suggested, although he had paled considerably during the recent minutes.
Radiance of Wisdom nodded and made the necessary calculations – in her head. She only used the computer to check her results.
"That should do it," she finally said. "Harper, I can give you a course that follows the path of the signal backwards – hopefully, to its very source."
"Hopefully," Harper murmured with dark irony, maneuvering the huge starship through the narrow passages between asteroids. The voice transmission became more understandable – an eerie babbling about tears and what I the mathematics of tears… obviously the mutterings of a troubled mind.
"Oh, great," Harper groaned, rolling his eyes. "Disembodied voices and nothing to send them. It would make a good holomovie title: 'The Curse of the Haunted Starship', or something like that."
"Let's take a look at the source, then," Beka ordered.
Harper gave her a dirty look but steered the Andromeda around a particularly big asteroid obediently – only to stiffen in his chair. Behind the asteroid, there was a ship that looked just like the Andromeda itself… just gold.
"That, ladies, gentlemen and beings in-between," Tyr said slowly, "is a High Guard starship."
"Yeah," Harper muttered, looking uneasier than ever, "and it glitters gold."
"Harper, snap out of it," Beka ordered sternly. "We should call Dylan."
"Good idea," Harper nodded. "Where is he anyway? I though he wanted to be here when we make the big discovery… whatever it might be."
"He's going over security logs with Rommie," Beka told him. "They've been at it for an hour or so. I wonder what might have triggered that reaction," she added, with a sideways glance at Tyr.
The Nietzschean smirked but didn't pick up the gauntlet. Instead, he switched on the com system and hailed Dylan's quarters.
"I think you should come to the command deck," he told the captain without preamble. "It seems that we've found Harper's 'ghost ship', after all."
TBC
