Jeopardy Chap 9

This chapter needs a lot of work, remember: very raw first draft. 

Captain Jackson, Engineers Kym Byrd and Ron Painter, Security Officer Shellie Barone, and Zoe Stone, acting as a yeoman to record their visit and the technology they offered to share, all climbed aboard the Osprey. It seemed odd to have to shuttle to their ship while their transport was attached to Maria Mitchell, but other than space walk along the tether he didn’t know of any other way.

Four Zlōgers had arrived on Maria Mitchell shortly before the team departed. Quixote greeted them with customary diplomacy and a bit of suspicion. Xe felt it was unnatural to be utterly benign, even if Draconians were the definition of the word. The bluish green creatures reminded him of a similar class of reptiles on his own world, something akin to chameleons. Their eyes swiveled independent of each other to get a 360-degree view of their surroundings.

 They handed Quixote a translation device, which Quixote hung around his neck with a lanyard.

“We want see engine, metal machine.”

“I was asked to show you our astrometric lab, first, if you will come this way,” the reptile said as simply as he could for the translator device. Heading the party to Deck Two, Security Chief Bowen kept them from straggling behind. Quixote could hear the single claws of two dozen legs clack-clacking on the deck plating.

“In this room, we map the skies and record all the celestial bodies that we can.” Dr. Gregory, sitting at the console before the giant flat screen, looked up but didn’t speak to the guests. “We’re currently tracking a large asteroid that we expect to impact the fourth planet of this star, Beta Hydri, in the next week.”

“You will record data from explosion?”

“There is a large population on the planet. We will try to avert the space body before it impacts the planet, and then depending on our success, will be going to assist with the after effects as soon as we get you on your way.” The blues waggled their blobby head-bodies.

“We like see metal machine,” the leader of the small group reiterated. Quixote didn’t quite know what he meant by ‘metal machine’. Xe cocked xs head to one side as if that might help, but reading them was harder than reading humans. He probably just didn’t know them well enough. They were not warm blooded; their body temps appeared to his infrared visual receptors as 22 C – the same as the environment inside Maria Mitchell.

“Metal machine?”

“Jackson told to us your ship has a machine that makes things, alloys and polymers.”

“I think they mean the EBM,” Gregory interrupted without looking up from his console.

“Our manufacturing unit! The EBM. It’s an electron beam melting additive production apparatus.” Quixote purposeful language instilled confusion in their eyes, which darted in several directions. “The EBM. Come this way, please.” The party moved on to the starboard side of Deck Two. The clacks resumed, almost drowning out shrills and shrieks and calls as they spoke through their gills.

Quixote had been informed that on Earth, at least, or among humans, speaking so that some in a party were excluded was incredibly rude. Engineering called, but Jackson had asked xe specifically to keep an eye on the Zlōgers. At least the EBM tour would occupy a significant block of time while demonstrating its function. (I'm not sure why this paragraph is here... it may need to be deleted). 

“Hello, Commander,” Mr. Chin greeted when they entered the generous room. His eyes widened when the four aliens followed behind the saurian.

“Good morning. Our guests from the distressed ship, Zlōgers, are interested in seeing a demonstration of our EBM. What are you working on today?”

“The captain asked me to start producing emergency supplies for BH4. Oxygen masks, blankets, canteens; he gave me a long list.”

“For the entire population?”

“I don’t assume so, Commander. More like townships – not personal canteens, but 100-liter barrels, tent filters, not individual masks. Take a look,” the junior engineer offered, leading the party to a bank of large machines all whirring, extruding, rolling the assorted finished items into bins. Quixote turned xs attention to the bulgy, golden eyes fervidly rotating in eight different directions. It was somewhat disturbing, even to Quixote, who had seen dozens of species in his 70 something year life.

“This is where we load the material,” Chin pointed out. This machine we reserve for alloys and recycled metals, copper, titanium, cobalt, nickel, depending on the component we’re making. This machine here and the one next to it we load recycled polymers. Lots of recycled textiles, assorted waste products, plastic, and with these we can make clothing, blankets, EVA suits, dishes, whatever the quartermaster requisitions.”

“The machines, remarkable.”

“Now this one,” Chin indicated with almost personal pride, “is my powder bed fusion unit. Top quality, precision production.” His object of affection was a desktop model, not a room sized floor model. The Zlōgers took additional interest in the small machine.

“This one makes engines?”

“No,” Quixote said. “It makes very fine, precision components such as fuel injectors, micro filters, medical components.” All the eyeballs focused on the machine.

“I have a big quota, Commander, and I’d like to ramp up now. It gets pretty noisy.” Chin nodded toward the Zlōgers.

“I think they can take it,” Quixote told him. Leaving the machine room would mean they’d just spend more time in the engine room.

“Well, see here, uh, fellas,” Chin stammered. “We program what we want it to do. We upload a schematic, or, we can scan the item with this laser, and the machine does the rest.” Before the group the image of one of those 100-liter barrels floated. Chin tapped some icons and the holographic image rotated in several different directions. He started the polymer machine, checked the material feeder, then went on to another project while another water barrel formed before their eyes within minutes. When the machine stopped, a fan kicked on to cool the product, and a half a minute later the barrel rose up on a platform and was tipped off into a big bin with a dozen others.

“If you’d like to see the engine room, just follow me. But I would like to invite you to the mess hall for refreshments, yes?”

“We will like to eat your food,” came the translation.

þ

“There’s just nothing wrong over here, Captain,” Ms. Byrd repeated. “I can’t find a hull breach to save my life. We’ve confirmed polonium residue, there must be something. That purplish one said it’s in this cargo chamber.”

“Let's get him back here and have him point it out specifically. Barone!” Jackson shouted for his security officer. “Find that short, purple Zlōger and have him come back with his equipment.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Stone, come in,” he called using the com button on his cuff. Since their last fiasco with lost buttons, Ms. Byrd had affixed every button with a permaclip to attach to uniforms. It certainly made it much easier to contact someone, and less easy to lose the things. Why anyone hadn’t constructed them that way in the first place he couldn’t fathom.

“Stone here.”

“Status?”

“I’ve downloaded about a gigaquad of information on their ship and propulsion, astrometric charts, their home world, and languages.”

“Isolate their telemetry for the last thirty days and hustle back here on the double. We’re leaving.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Barone returned with the Zlōger that had led them to the breach. He was an incredible shade of indigo, with lavender mottling, as if he were in a shallow lake and the sun reflected surface ripples through the water onto his skin. When Jackson caught himself marveling he shook the image from his head.

“We can’t locate any breach in the hull,” he told the Zlōger.

“Breach small crack at floor.”

“The integrity is intact,” Kym said.

“I show you radiation detector,” he said, and scuttled across to aim a device at what would be the deepest and farthest corner of their ship. His tentacle was surprisingly elastic, molding around the outside of the handheld metallic box like putty. The single claw hooked over the top.

The meter showed some characters, Jackson guessed they were zeros, that changed as the meter got closer to the chosen spot. Kym picked up a Geiger meter and also pushed it into the supposed area of damage. It showed zeros. She looked at the Zlōger expectantly waiting for an explanation. Stone came in and joined them.

“Your equipment not work right,” the alien declared. He blinked his huge eyes.

“Mr. Painter, bring your lasers and repair whatever this guy says is breached.

The humans clustered around Ron Painter as he began to repair what the Zlōger said was there but none of them could see or detect. Jackson sat down on the deck, raised a knee, set his elbow there and propped up his head with his palm. The cargo bay didn’t offer a lot of lighting but he could still make out objects and the dusky silhouettes of his crew and the Zlōger.

“Do you want more help from us?” the Zlōger asked.

“No, we don’t need any help. In fact, we’re all finished here.” Jackson shot Painter a hard look to stop his lasering and wrap it up.

“Please stay,” the purple one said. A turquoise Zlōger stood at the door on its eight tentacles, the shorter two holding each other at the claw. Its finger sized appendages that helped food into its mouth wavered slightly.

Jackson’s heart escalated into his throat. He scrambled for the door, the team following. The purple alien joined the greenish one at the door with amazing speed on their eight long legs. They both stepped into the corridor and the heavy cargo bay doors slammed together.

Jackson smashed his fist against the doors knowing full well it was fruitless. He turned and faced the crew.

“Don’t say it.”

Jeopardy Chap 8

“Bowen to Captain Jackson.” He stretched from his seat at the head of the table in the captain’s mess to reach the intercom button.

“Jackson.”

“I have some interesting findings, sir. You might want to review these as soon as possible.”

Jackson looked at Rianya, Adams, and Ferris seated around the table. The afternoon meal was almost over.

“Meet me in the doyen’s office in 20 minutes, Mr. Bowen.” He turned back to his guests. “At least I got through the entrée,” he chuckled and excused himself from the party.

“Mind if we tag along?” Adams asked.

“If you’re interested in engineering analyses, you’re welcome to join me.” All three followed Jackson out the door and up to the bridge level. He pulled his jacket on while he made the journey along the corridor and buttoned it in the elevator.

“What do you think Mr. Bowen found?” Rianya asked. She had to hustle to keep up with the captain’s stride, as did the two doctors.

“These days I don’t even try to guess. It’s rarely what I expect so I just suspend my imagination anymore.” He smiled at his attendants and shook his head slightly.

“Good evening, Captain,” Lieutenant May called out.

“Nice to see you, Jay.” The small party passed through and into the doyen’s office. Mr. Bowen hadn’t arrived yet. “So, everyone please take a seat.”

“They haven’t indicated any medical issues?”

“No, Doc, seems it’s only their ship.” Jackson chuckled. “Would you know what to do with them?”

“No, but I bet these two might,” Adams said, nodding at the women. “You have a biologist and a veterinarian sitting right here.” Rianya and Dr. Ferris looked at each other.

“We haven’t met them,” Rianya told Adams.

“I think they’re highly sophisticated amphibians.”

“Frogs?” Dr. Ferris said with a smirk on her face.

“Frogs that are more like octopus,” Adams explained. “Or maybe squid.”

“Amphibians are famously adaptive animals,” Ferris said.

“I’d say space faring is adaptive,” Jackson said. The doorbell chirped. “Come in.”

“Captain, doctors, Rianya,” Bowen said, nodding at the party. Since Rianya didn’t hold rank or another title, the crew usually referred to her casually as opposed to calling her Ms. Jackson. The captain had considered finding an honorary title for her but hadn’t quite thought of something appropriate.

Bowen handed a data reader to the captain, standing at the edge of the table. Jackson scanned the data then looked up at Bowen with a question on his face. He nodded to a chair; Bowen sat and joined the pending discussion.

“Alpha particles? But only a one kiloton TNT blast?”

“Yes, sir. Still hot with decay.”

“It hasn’t reached its half-life mark,” Jackson muttered.  He looked at each person around the table, briefly, a solemn alarm reflected in their eyes. “Polonium. Pegasi use polonium in their short-range torpedoes. It was all over Maria Mitchell’s hull after the accident.”

“No one else uses it?” Adams asked.

“It’s rare everywhere but the Iota Pegasi system. Only about 10 kilograms are produced on Earth each year.”

“The Pegasi attacked them, too? Why didn’t they say anything?” Adams asked.

“Good question, Doc. Let’s find out.” Jackson stood up and the rest followed his lead. Jackson and Rianya stayed behind after the room emptied.

“Quixote here.”

“Commander, I need one of your engineers to join my scout party. I’m going to the Zlōger ship and I need someone who can substantiate the Pegasi weapons signature on their hull.”

“Kym Byrd is currently on shift.”

“Have her report to the shuttle bay at 16:00.”

“Pegasi?”

“I’ll explain later. Jackson out.”

“You’re going back over there?” Rianya asked. Her soft eyes and lack of smile made Jackson take a second thought.

“Come on.”

In their quarters Anne Wallace greeted them. The girls were glued to an entertainment module. “Goodbye Captain, Rianya.”

“Thank you, Anne,” Rianya said, walking her to the door.

While she managed an appliance to heat water for tea, Tom sat in the overstuffed chair to think about the Zlōgers’ deception. If they’d been hit by Pegasi at close range, there’d be no doubt as to the cause of their hull breach.

“Here, Mylan,” she said handing him a cup of strong tea. He took it, realizing his jaw was clamped tight with retrospective irritation at his own credulity.

“Remind me to stop helping people,” he said with a small measure of sincerity but mostly with fallacy. He took the tea, wishing it was coffee, but keeping the grumble to himself. Less caffeine, less sugar, less taste, but fewer health disorders, so he was told. “If you were the Zlōgers, why would you lie about being attacked and pretend it was something else? Why send a distress signal? Why fire on us to ask for help?” Rianya was quiet, her eyes closed, tiny muscles flickering across her face. 

“They don’t trust us? They don’t want us to know they had a fight with someone? Maybe they think it will show their weakness in defense? Maybe they initiated the attack on Pegasi like they did on us?” Tom tasted the tea but it was still too hot. He thought about her words.

“They don’t trust us.”

“Maybe the Zlogers think we might be pirates that want to take something from them, not help them.” Tom glanced up at the woman, the teacup at her lips, and inhaled sharply.

“Pirates don’t play games, they just take what they want and don’t waste time.  If we were pirates we would have taken the booty already. We didn’t stop to help them, they stopped us to help them.”

“Maybe the Zlogers think we are friends with Pegasi? Maybe it’s another alien with the…po-low chemical, not Pegasi?”

“They’d have no reason to suspect we’re allies.” Tom tried the tea again. “As for the polonium, that’s possible. Either is possible.”

Rianya revisited the kitchenette and returned with a shallow bowl of crispy, yellow cookies, lemon flavored with a white, powdery, sugar coating that were irresistible, sugar be damned.

“The weapons or attack might be valid, too," he muttered. Meager weapons would be a good thing to hide, and so would be their aggression if they initiated a battle with the Pegasi.

She left the cookies on the chair-arm, touched the top of his head, then drifted away. Tom heard her words but he wasn’t listening. His thoughts rumbled with blue amphibians tottering behind Quixote in his engine room.

“Rianya,” he called.

“I’m still here.” He broke his attention away from nothing and focused on the woman who filled an integral part of his life, a part he’d never known was empty before he’d met her.

“Thank you. Your … insights are unique on this ship.”

“Everyone on the ship has a unique perspective to offer. Even the two in the next room.”

“Yes, but I trust you more than anyone else on this ship. You tell me your honest thoughts whether I’ll like to hear it or not, and always kindly.” He blew her a kiss as she walked away.

þ

Jackson was ready to face the Zlōgers at 16:00 as scheduled. Their ship was still in tow, tethered to the Maria Mitchell on the way to the outermost planet of the nearby white, F class star.

“Still point nine hours from planet orbit, sir,” Ensign Rougeau answered from the bridge.

“Reduce speed to zero point eight of ISS.”

“Captain?”

“Zero point eight of ISS.”

“Aye, sir.” As the ship slowed, the momentum from the Zlōger ship slackened the cable briefly, tugging on Maria Mitchell like a trailer without brakes. She stabilized momentarily and Jackson nodded.

“Captain,” Watson said. “I’m getting an incoming message from Space Admin. This is coming in oddly, sir. It’s not streaming in real time, it came in a text file.”

“Route it to the doyen’s office, Mr. Watson.”

Good morning, Captain.

You are no doubt wondering why you got this message, but I think you can appreciate that it is being sent via quantum transport to your transceiver via a booster in place around Tau Ceti at a distance of three astronomical units. Please check your chronometer. It should read about 16:10 2166 June 04.

Please confirm the exact time you received the message. It was sent at 17:00 2166 June 3. Of course, we know you don’t have the transmitter to respond at the same speed, but we nevertheless await your reply.

In the meantime, the BH Four Science Team has requested your immediate arrival. They discovered a an asteroid is on collision course with the planet. They don't have the equipment to make a satisfactory survey. You're hereby directed to proceed at best possible speed with orders to divert it, if at all possible. The camp coordinates have changed from the original location of the colony, the beach where you were marooned, and are at the end of this file.

Please tell my daughter that her mother and I miss her. Godspeed, and good luck as you start the new assignment.

Sincerely,

Admiral J. P. Wallace

Jackson wasn’t sure he’d read the date stamp correctly. The file had arrived in 23 hours. That was impossible. They were 23 light years from Earth. A light year in an hour? Granted, it was data, not people, but a light year in an HOUR? Jackson opened a visual com to the bridge.

“Mr. Watson, when exactly did that file arrive?”

“It came in at 08:02.”

“What’s the transmission date?”

“It’s stamped 2166, June … third?”  The officer turned his head, slowly, and frowned at the captain. “Yesterday?”

“I was expecting Wallace to be pulling a joke but it seems to be true. He hasn’t received our communiqué about the Zlōgers, yet.”

“Captain, 23 hours to receive a message? It should take 23 days at this distance. What’s going on?” 

“Apparently, quantum data teleportation. We can’t reply back so fast, obviously, but I’m guessing we’ll be seeing a retrofit when we get back home.”

Jackson headed for the shuttle bay to lead the repair team assigned to the Zlōger ship, but the gravity of the accomplishment was almost unimaginable. Had that quantum technology been available just five years ago, his life might have been completely different today. They would have known quickly, in a few days, if a rescue ship would be sent, and when. The uncertainty would have been replaced with knowledge that they weren’t forgotten, stranded, perhaps forever, on an unexplored planet around Beta Hydri. 

He might never have met Rianya, probably not married her, Zalara wouldn’t have been born, the genetic disaster on Earth would perhaps still be raging away, killing adolescents by the thousands. Faster than lightning communication across vast distances would have been a boon at the time of the shipwreck and, paradoxically, a tragedy, for him personally, and for all of humanity.

Jeopardy Chap 7

“I always wanted to fly interstellar,” the captain overheard Ensign Rougeau telling Lieutenant Lee. The S. S. Maria Mitchell maintained its course to the planet with the Zlōger ship in tow.

“I would have been okay with inner-system shuttles, cargo runs, moon routes, tourist cruises, but it was hard to resist applying for this mission.”

“Regrets?” Jackson kept an ear focused on their conversation but continued to examine some documentation on a portable.

“If I did, I wouldn’t talk about it where the captain could hear me,” the young man said with a nod to Jackson and a glance at Lee. Jackson smiled but still didn’t take his eyes off the reader.

“Estimate to planetary orbit, Rougeau?”

“Two point two hours remaining.”

“Did you ever consider Earth Orbitals Retrieval? There’s job security.”

“Space junk? Catching old orbitals for scrap? No thanks.”

“Lucrative business opportunity,” Jackson said. “Last I heard Musk, Inc. was looking for independent contractors. I think there's still a reward out for the car.”

“I wanted to join the Space Corps,” Rougeau said.

“Captain,” Watson interrupted. “I’m getting a transmission from the Zlōger ship.” Now Jackson looked up.

“Put ‘em on.”

“Captain Thomas Jackson,” the robotified voice began. “Some of my crew hope for an invitation to tour Maria Mitchell, and offer gratitude for assistance.”

Jackson didn’t immediately answer. He remained seated and formulated a reply.

“Commander Gug-nich'-a-crik? Thank you for your interest,” he began, looking at each officer in turn. He didn't want to butcher the alien's name. “I would be happy to give you a tour of the Maria Mitchell, if you would be willing to offer the same opportunity for my crew. My engineering team and officers are understandably curious.”

“Exchange of technology welcomed,” the alien said. Jackson hadn’t mentioned an exchange of technology, but that only meant condoned espionage. “We have nothing that hides.”

Where had Jackson heard that before? If it had to be declared out loud, he was certain there was, indeed, something to hide.

“Commander, we would be able to escort three of your crew. Do you have a working shuttle?”

“We have, and we thank you for invitation. We arrive in one-time unit.”

From the doyen’s office Jackson called the armory first, then the galley, and finally sick bay.

“I don’t carry side arms, Jack. Don’t ask me to.”

“You don’t have to keep it on you, but I want you to have resources available.”

“If you think they are so dangerous why did you invite them over?”

“Well, Doc, I’m trying to be friendly.”

“Why let them come here? Can’t you send the Osprey to get them?”

“I don’t want to waste resources and personnel.”

“Why not go to their ship?” Jackson closed his eyes then sighed.

“I can’t show them our ship if they don’t leave their ship. Do you have a problem with laser firearms? You’re still qualified, aren’t you?”

“No, I let that lapse years ago. But tell Wagner to drop one off; I’ll put it in a drawer.” That was probably the best Jackson could hope for from the medical staff.

“Just get shot with your own weapon, now. Oh, and Doc, don’t forget to alter the environment in our common areas. I’d hate for them to, uh, well, whatever you call it when a fish is out of water and can’t breathe.”

“Respiratory distress? Asphyxiation?” Jackson snapped his fingers in agreement.

“I’ll drop by sick bay before they get here,” Jackson promised. He shoved a laser pistol into its stiff holster, and put the belt on.

Jackson and Wagner stood at the airlock listening to the Zlōger ship docking with the Maria Mitchell’s hatch. From the reverberating clatters and clanks, Jackson surmised the blue guys didn’t have a lot of practice docking with another space object. The captain kept his eyes on the barber pole and green light. After the first try, surveillance showed their ship backing away from the hatch, then making a second attempt from scratch.

With a small bump and bang the barber pole snapped, locked, and a red light lit up. The pressure gauge indicator slowly rose until it reached 1000 millibars pressure, the red changed to green, and that time the doors unlocked and opened. Gugnichacrik, Pekeena, and an especially tall Zlōger they’d not met stood in the airlock.

“Captain Thomas Jackson,” Gugnichacrik said with the voice box. Jackson thought of the early, rudimentary artificial voices of AI robots from the Musee de Technologic. The voice had no accent but pronouced all the words with identical emphasis on the syllables.  “You remember medical zlo Pekeena, and this Codenayak, our engine mechanic.” Commander Gugnichacrik held a large box in two of his multiple appendages and offered it to Jackson. “Iridium.”

“Thank you, Commander. And welcome aboard. My ambassador, Mr. Wagner. Come this way.” 

Jackson led the small party toward the observation lounge where the technology was limited and the view unsurpassed, especially compared to a rectangular prism with no windows.

“You have respectable vehicle,” Commander Gugnichacrik said. The other two produced high-pitched sound directed at each other.

   

“Thank you for noticing. I’m pretty proud of her.” It seemed to take forever to get to the lower decks with the hexapedal Zlōgers in tow. Tom wondered why they moved so slowly when a tiny spider could out run him in his mother’s kitchen. “It’s not my personal vessel. It belongs to the people of my planet.” Jackson didn’t want to share too much information.

“I understand. We are private co-op.”

“Tell me, Commander, how did your ship become damaged?” Jackson asked, opening the door, and ushering his guests into the observation room. As each took a seat near the windows, no one spoke.

“We are not certain. We suspect a small space object.” Jackson couldn’t help but raise his brows in surprise that although they originally said they needed medical supplies, but then mentioned needing the tow. They’d not disclosed a cause or description of the damage.

“I would be happy to send one of my engineers over to examine the damage, perhaps get a better idea?”

“For what purpose? Damage done.”

“So, you can avoid the same problem in the future?”

 The Zlōgers looked at each other then back at Jackson.

“You think you can help yes.”

“Wagner,” Jackson turned to the armory officer. “Make arrangements for Painter or Byrd to accompany Bowen to the Zlōger ship and analyze the damage.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Can we offer you something to eat?” Jackson said, about to tap his mouth but not certain if they understood humans eat and talk from the same orifice, whereas perhaps they didn’t. He’d only met one other species of sentient, space faring aliens that were not bipedal. Mistakes were made; it wasn’t a fond memory.

The blue Zlōgers exchanged glances with their metallic gold and green eyes, blinking and chirping soft sounds.

“We like thank you, yes,” Gugnichacrik finally said through the voice synthesizer. Jackson called the galley and asked for two kinds of food – bland vegetable matter and unseasoned fish. He couldn’t help it that they looked like sea creatures. Indeed, some sea creatures in Earth’s oceans were odder looking than any alien he’d ever met.

“Aye, Captain, just a few minutes,” Bailey promised.

While they waited, Jackson relented and opened a visual monitor on the rear bulkhead. He summoned a visual display of the local star charts for a 30-light-year radius in a sphere around their current position.

“Where are you from?” he asked plainly. Codenaya scuttled up from the table and chairs to examine the image more closely with his glossy eyes. Jackson watched the pupils expand and contract several times against the mottled golden irises. At one point its eyes were nearly all black but for a slender rim of color.

Finally, it lifted a forelimb and tapped an area near the outer edge of the sphere, below the ecliptic plane and beyond their current position, away from Earth, almost 28 light years. When it tapped the star, the computer easily identified it. 

"HYD G8V 1237."

“Hydra, 1237,” Jackson said. “Your star is very much like our own,” he said, tapping Sol, 57-light-years in the opposite direction. 

“No bipeds on our worlds. Some live in oceans and some live on lands.”

“We have both, as well. We have been exploring space for about 200 years. Years, um,” Jackson struggled. That might be harder than hours. The imager didn’t expand more than 50 light years in radius.

He tapped the Zlōgers’ star and the image zoomed to show the planetary system. The only planet in the habitable zone had two moons. He pointed at it, and Codenaya tapped it. Another dialogue box appeared with the planet’s statistics. Its revolution was four hundred three days. “Two hundred trips around the star.”

“We in space for six centuries.”

“And you’ve never come to Earth?”

“Your star isolated by several light years but for a single trinary system and many, dead, brown dwarfs. We have not had reason to travel to where nothing to see.”

Jackson considered they were honest. Many stars were clustered with others but not Sol. Excepting Alpha Centauri A, it was the only G type star for a dozen light years in any direction. Within 100 light years, however, more than 1000 had been mapped.

“Have you met many other space traveling species?”

“Yes, but most are outside of sphere,” Gugnichacrik told him. All eyes turned to the door when Bailey came in with a large round tray of assorted food items that appeared to Jackson something like the food on Cinco, what on Earth that North Americans called sushi.

“I wasn’t certain what you might like, but I asked our galley to make some basic, plain dishes for you to choose from.” While Bailey spread out the assorted bowls and plates, Jackson and Wagner herded the Zlōgers to tables. Commander Gugnichacrik examined the spread quickly and reached out for the garnish of Cinconian seaweed leaves. They conferred with sonar sound and all of them selected the garnish rather than the fish or rice.

Jackson turned his head so Bailey and Wagner couldn’t see the smirk busting out on his face. He actually covered his mouth with one hand to make sure he wouldn’t pass on the discourtesy the same way a yawn could be contagious at a humdrum party or a colorless lecture.

“This a good serving,” their commander said, placing another thick leaf in the opening at the end of what Jackson had originally thought was a snout. Behind their blue guests, the sparkling black view of space reminded him of why exactly he had signed up for space command. His deep fascination with sentient beings, from other planets, that revolved around other stars, drove him from point to point, and this was only the current stop in a never-ending string of discoveries.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jackson said, spearing a cube of white fish in drawn butter. It was almost comical, watching his guests eat the garnishes, but a few decades of working with alien species, not to mention falling in love with one, had given him the chance to perfect at least what an appearance of nonchalance should be when he was truly caught off guard.

“I wanted to ask you, Commander, why you fired on our ship. We really didn’t expect such a greeting. We simply didn’t have time to stop. We are on an urgent mission to stop an asteroid. This delay will reduce our chances of success.”

“We need medicine supplies.”

“Yes, you told me that, but it seems that you don’t. You do seem to want a lift to the planet.” The largest one, Codenaya, could have whapped Jackson into the deck with one good crack from one of his whip-like legs.

“Captain,” Wagner said. “I should attend to the repair party assignment.”

“By all means.” Jackson was alone with the Zlōgers; he speared another butter-slathered chunk of fish with a dual-tined fork.

“Captain Thomas Jackson, we had not other means to convey our urgency. We offer gratitude for not returning fire and offering help to us.”

“I only wish we had more time for this contact. As I mentioned, we are going to attempt to divert an asteroid and time is of the essence.”

“We would like to see how your propulsion mechanism operates. We often look on other species’ technology to improve our own.” Gugnichacrik didn’t have facial features to speak of that Jackson could read. Wanting to see the engine room was better than the armory or the bridge. He stepped to the intercom.

“Quixote, here.”

“Commander, would you be willing to escort our guests for a brief tour of your domain?”

“We’re somewhat occupied with repairs at the moment, sir, but a brief visit would not hinder us significantly.”

Jeopardy Chap 6

Quixote shifted on the bench from one uncomfortable position to another while the humans, and Rianya, discussed the dilemma with the other ship.

“Sorry, Quixote. Why don’t you make a chair that you can sit in?” Jackson said. “I’m more than happy to sign off on the materials.”

“I have one, sir, but it’s in the propulsion room where I need it the most often.”

“Where you do the most loafing around?”

“Sir?” Jackson smiled and shook his head, nodded, and took a sip of coffee.

“So, Wagner or Bowen will accompany them at all times. We’ll hook them to the stern with the 100-meter anchor cable, and the planet they have in mind is about 2 hours at ISS. We’ll leave them in orbit and be on our way. It’s a small price to pay so they don’t try to hijack us again.”

“Captain, if I may say,” Quixote said, hesitating, “humans are known in the Orion Spur to be suspicious of new species. This information is spread by the Draconians because of the way we were greeted when we arrived on Earth. It’s more often than not an unwarranted fear of the unknown.”

“You think we should let the Zlōgers come aboard? Is there something here they need?”

Quixote looked at each member around the table, tucked his chin and looked away.

“We will provide help, but I don’t need to get chummy with them.”

“Captain, you surprise me. It’s not like you.” He eyeballed the reptile.

“Something’s just not right about this and we have someplace else to be, yesterday. I don’t trust them one meter.”

“Very well, sir.”

“What’s our status from their damage?”

“The hull damages are repaired. My engine is another story.”

“How much longer?”

“Maybe another 8 hours, Captain.”

Jackson looked down at the table to block his vision from the others. Eight more hours was going to be difficult to explain without revealing their vulnerability.

“If you need anyone else to help, engineering is top priority right now.”

“The reaction is the reaction, Captain. This is nuclear, not chemical. Coulomb's Law still applies, sir. We had to repair and ensure the pressure chamber was uncompromised. It has to heat to 15 million just to start the hydrogen, 100 million--” Jackson held up one hand and nodded.

“For the D-T. * Notify the lieutenant when we’re secured and ready to depart. Dismissed.”

Adams, Lee, Quixote, Wagner, and Rianya all stood up.

“Rianya,” he called before she left the room. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“The Zlōgers. Am I being unreasonable?”

“You’re the captain.”

“You’re the alien.”

“Quixote is also not a human.” Her tone changed to reflect Jackson’s use of the word ‘alien’. He felt the chill from a meter away.

“I don’t think of you as an alien, just as my wife. I don’t think I could fall for a mottled blue octopus and they are very alien to me. So is Quixote.” He seemed to be digging his hole deeper. Distraction, he had to distract her from his faux pas.

“Why is your hair is changing color,” she said suddenly, stepping a little closer and reaching out toward his temple. “Are you sick?”

“No, just being the captain,” he muttered. At least he still had hair, even if some of it was getting a little grey.

“You weird aliens. Your hair changes colors.”

“You got me, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her by the hand into his lap. She fell on him comfortably.

“And these alien ears,” she reminded him, “grey hair, big ears…” her hand touched both at the same time.

“And you love them.”

“Maybe the blue crew look funny to you but--”

“Don’t tell me about funny looking people. They attacked us when we didn’t respond to their distress call. That’s not a way to make friends.”

“Are you sure it was an attack?”

“Our engines are damaged, our hull impaired; there are better ways to get our attention. Flares, answering hails, not lobbing a torpedo, perhaps?”

“What do you think is wrong?”

“They’re more interested in a tow than the medical supplies they kept insisting they needed. They could rob us, try to take the ship, capture us as slaves, I know nothing about them!” The two of them stared at each other, intently, playfully. “I captured you.” He lifted her off, gave his thighs a few moments to refill with blood, and he was off to the bridge.

“Captain on deck!” Lee called. Watson and Rougeau stood up; Jackson dismissed them promptly. He sat down in his single chair and leaned over to Rianya who stood adjacent.

“I wish they wouldn’t do that,” She blinked slowly and allowed a smirk to appear.

“No, you don’t.” She squeezed his arm and left him to his métier. Outside the bow window the Zlōgers’ ship hovered, filling the view with a dull golden shimmer.

“Lieutenant, we’re going to need a few hours to prepare the reaction chamber and we need all the power we have for that. Quixote will let you know when power is available to get started with the tow.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Watson, can you hail them now?” Jackson put the translation box which the Zlōgers had given him on Watson’s dashboard. “Rougeau, time to reach the planet, including the extra tonnage?”

“Without our main propulsion, on auxiliary, seven hours, twenty minutes, Captain.”

“I have Commander Gugnichacrik, sir.”

“Commander?” Jackson said in the direction of the com station.

“Captain Thomas Jackson. We prepared here to receive your taxi line.”

“It will be a few hours, Commander. Your torpedo damaged our engine’s reactor core and we need additional time to repair it. We will contact you in approximately ten hours.” Jackson wondered if standing was their normal resting mode like a horse or if they slept in tubs of water as he suspected amphibians did, although, he wasn’t certain. Rianya would know; she was the veterinarian. He’d ask her later, if he remembered.

“Ten hours?”

Jackson had only one way to describe time to an alien. He stepped to the navigator’s helm and played with a few buttons and a number appeared: c 0.00114 . He moved toward the com box.

“Zero point zero, zero, one, one, four, of light speed.”

“I understand. Contact us when you ready. Gugnichacrik out.”

“Will they be spending the entire tow in their vessel?” Rougeau asked.

“I wasn’t going to offer a tour. I’m waiting for them to ask.”

The ensign and lieutenant looked at each other, then at the chief petty officer, and back at the captain.

“I haven’t known you to treat a new species contact with such caution, before, sir,” Lee said.

“Carry on, gentlemen.” Jackson stood. “I’ll see you at 07:00.”

þ

“Quixote to bridge. We’re ready to connect.”

“Very well, thank you. Watson, notify the Zlōgers. Engineering, stand by.”

The Maria Mitchell was the smaller ship, but Jackson suspected she was better designed and equipped. The Zlōger vessel seemed…antiquated, for lack of a better word. He was determined, however, not to underestimate them. His palms grew sticky almost instantly.

“Anchor aweigh, Captain. We have capture.”

“That’s what I want to hear. Prepare to adjust engine torque for speed and propulsion, compensate for the additional weight.” He closed the com. “Lieutenant, let’s launch.” Jackson watched as they began to turn away from the Zlōger prism. It took up a place ventral to the ship and out of sight from the bow windows. “Viewers on,” he said to Watson. The monitors displayed the ventral view of the Zlōger ship as it lurched against the taught, carbon-tube cable. A moment later it glided at the end of the anchor.

“All secure, Captain,” Rougeau said. He touched several buttons on his dashboard and kept one eye on the monitor at the same time. Jackson looked at several station readouts, walked in and out of the bow, then had a long look at the ship being towed.

“It’s going to be a long day, men. Carry on.”

Jackson left the bridge and headed to his quarters where he suddenly realized the pinch and rumble in his stomach was right on schedule: 08:00.

“You missed breakfast.”

“I know, but I don’t leave the bridge unless all is secure. Where are the girls? It’s awfully quiet in here.”

“Zoe offered to watch them today, then Bailey and Keith are taking them later.” Tom wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or pleased that the crew spent more time with his daughter than he did. “They ate early; they’re in the gym. I’m starving.”

“Zoe offering to take them, when did that happen?” he called from the lavatory.

“This morning. She’s been very helpful the last few weeks, have you noticed? She was different when we left Earth.” Tom changed into a white shirt.

“She’s a year older and wiser,” he called. He also wondered what she was up to. Being Admiral Wallace’s daughter, he thought she’d have come better prepared for a long space journey, and be less flirty with officers, particularly himself. Tom buzzed the morning shadow off his face and finally looked into the mirror. Rianya was right. He had grey hair above his ears. He hadn’t noticed it until now.

“We’re all a year older and wiser,” she called to him. Indeed. “You look like you’re going to work again.”

“Yes, after breakfast. Come on, pretty lady.” He offered her an arm and they headed for the mess hall.

“So, Zlōgers?”

“You were at the briefing. There’s not much else to tell. Big heads, lots of arms and legs, several different shades of blue and all different heights.”

“Not their physical forms. What about them as life forms? Are they social? Cerebral? Excitable? Artistic?”

“I wasn’t there even an hour.”

“My point, Tom. Don’t you need to find out who they are before you draw a conclusion on their integrity?”

Tom stopped mid-stride and gazed at Rianya. He reached out and caressed her chin.

“Your vocabulary and syntax have dramatically improved. I’m speechless.”

“That’s a first. I don’t know, perhaps Quixote’s education is osmosing to me. I thought perhaps I should be more thoughtful since the girls were starting to mimic my pidgin.”

Tom resumed their walk to the mess.

“I like your pidgin. It’s cute.”

“It’s not scientific and I need to expand my medical terminology before I make another huge mistake and someone gets hurt, or killed. You’ll tell me if I slide into my old tongue?” Tom kept walking but forgot about the Zlōgers. His mind chuckled as he played with her words.

“What are you going to do when we get to Kinnae?”

“I haven’t forgotten how to talk to my own people.”

“I didn’t get any report that indicated the science team has learned Kinnae, or integrated with your village. All reports are just about geology, zoology, botany, oceanography, I think some chemistry. Nothing about people biology that I remember.”

“I just want to see my family,” Rianya said. Tom filled a cup with coffee and handed it to her before refilling his own.

“We will, Love. We will. You have my word.”

“I think we should have gone straight to Kinnae.”

“Rianya, there’s going to be problems when we get there. Whether we get there in three days instead of four isn’t going to make a difference.”

“Then why did we increase speed when the message came in?”

“Scott hadn’t worked out the actual logistics until later. It seemed like the right thing to do, to get there as fast as possible.”

“What kind of problems, exactly, are you expecting?” She took a small bowel filled with waffle bites and sat at the nearest table. Tom heaped scrambled eggs and shredded potatoes on a plate before joining her.

“It depends if we can divert the thing and where it hits. We should expect a compromised atmosphere, to some degree. There’ll be damage to the beaches or lowlands, like a bomb going off. It is a bomb, a natural bomb. The starlight will be obstructed from the debris in the atmosphere, and the planet will be somewhat darkened.”

“What else?”

“If it’s significant, sun-loving plants and crops will begin to die in a few weeks. Fallout will affect most of the planet, if not all of it, for years.”

“Fallout?”

“Radiation damage.”

“Will this delay mean the difference between life and death?”

“It’s only for a few hours. I’d like to think we can still make a difference even if it takes a little longer to arrive. There are certain… inevitabilities with an asteroid strike. I said before, at this point, it’s a only matter of degrees.”

*Nuclear fusion with Deuterium-Tritium requires 40 million Kelvins to break the Coulomb barrier.