What Has Gone Before: On a mission to rescue the crew of the distressed freighter Koto Maru in the uninhabited system NGC-6849, the Confederation frigate Montgomery incurs great damage and loss of life. With the command crew dead, Commander Lyda Cottrell assumes control of the warship. She and other Montgomery officers accompany an onboard SEAL team on an excursion to the Koto Maru and find that the crew of the freighter is already dead. They also find evidence that the force responsible for the deaths is identical to that which had attacked the Montgomery.
The SEAL leader, Commander Marcus Quinn, refuses to share critical information about the freighter and its intent, so Cottrell directs her officers to perform their own investigation. Then she learns that Quinn plans to equip the Montgomery with tractor beam units--with the purpose of dragging the Koto Maru back to inhabited space...
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"Chief Johansen," Lyda Cottrell said quietly, "Commander Quinn and I need a moment alone."
"As you wish, ma'am." The stolid chief engineer of the USS Montgomery rose from his chair and moved to abandon his own office to the two commanders. He paused at the door to cast a baleful look back at Quinn. "I'll be nearby," he added ominously, then left the room.
Cottrell sat on the edge of Johansen's desk and folded her arms. "Even for a SEAL, your arrogance is breathtaking," she said to Quinn. "Or did you really believe you could try to suborn one of my people without my hearing about it?"
"One of 'your' people?" Quinn echoed. "Very amusing--considering that you essentially backed into command of this ship."
"And to think I have you to thank for that," Cottrell replied.
Quinn did not reply to that oblique reference to the rescue mission that had brought the Montgomery to this remote system--and had cost the lives of the frigate's command crew. Instead, the SEAL leader drew near the forward wall and stared through the office's wide windows. He raised his chin slightly as he surveyed the sprawling engineering deck below.
"Let's clear the air between us," he said. "Your
personal animosity is wasted on me. Your opposition to my mission has been obvious from the very beginning. And your attempts to influence the crew against me--as with your chief engineer--are nearly as laughable as your efforts at security deployment." He nodded toward the lower deck, but Cottrell knew without looking that he had spotted the guard detail posted--by her order--in Engineering.
"Believe me, Cottrell," Quinn added, "if it was actually my intention to take this vessel, your security force would pose no obstacle whatsoever. Count yourself fortunate that I have other objectives."
Cottrell gave Quinn a long, measured look. "I don't know what kind of people you're accustomed to dealing with," she replied, "but if that speech was meant to intimidate me, you fell short. My personnel file says that I don't respond well to bullying."
"So you say," Quinn said, smirking.
"Let's get back on topic. If I remember correctly, you were under the impression that you could force Engineering to mount tractor beam units on the Montgomery."
"My orders are to retrieve the Koto Maru. The crew may be dead, but the vessel is salvageable. ConfedCom Beta wants that ship. When your engineers finish repairing the hyperjump, we will tractor the freighter and return it to inhabited space. It is that simple, Cottrell, and you have no say in the matter."
"I have more say than you think. It is my opinion that the Koto Maru represents a danger to sentient life. Naval regs give me the latitude to reject your mission-- and Beta's directives--in the absence of compelling reasons to the contrary." Cottrell slid off the desk and stood in front of Quinn. "I don't feel particularly compelled."
"Not that old dance again," scoffed Quinn. "I'd credited you with a bit more imagination, commander. Appealing to regulations served you once, but that loophole closed the moment we learned that the crew on that ship was dead. No medical emergency, no more excuses for you to interfere."
"Your grasp of the Confederation Code of Conduct leaves a lot to be desired," Cottrell replied. "Let me fill in the blanks for you. A commanding officer's primary responsibility is to protect civilians from dire hazard. In my judgment, transporting the Koto Maru to an inhabited system represents just such a hazard. The CCC spells it out, Quinn: 'reasonable concern.' If I'm not satisfied that the mission objectives outweigh that danger, I'll point this ship toward Sol and leave that precious freighter of yours here to rot. And if you call for a board of inquiry, I'll say 'bring it on.' Your superiors at Beta won't care for what happens next."
"Am I supposed to quail at that?" Quinn eyed her with a flinty stare. "Threaten all you like, Cottrell. I won't be moved by a transparent bluff."
"My personnel file also says that I don't bluff. Fascinating reading, my personnel file. Nearly as interesting as the report that I'll deliver back on Earth." Cottrell stepped closer. "Item number one will be the fact that the Koto Maru was in direct contact with Beta until the moment her crew was killed."
"What in the world are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about a constant stream of chatter between that freighter and an endpoint anchored in Sol. Comm node gamma-epsilon-two-seven-seven, to be precise--the Deimos relay orbiting Mars. That relay unit is a Beta asset, as I'm sure you know."
"I only know that this so-called intelligence of yours is entirely off-base." Quinn glared, but his tone was less than certain. "We received a distress call--"
"Come off it, Quinn," Cottrell snapped, finally at the edge of her patience. "My information comes directly from the comm log of the Koto Maru. I can prove that Beta was in touch with that ship from the outset. I can draw up a timeline showing that the freighter was overcome so quickly by whatever crippled her, no distress call was possible. And the comm log shows that those transmissions were encrypted in Navy code, Quinn. Both ways. That alone proves military involvement."
The SEAL leader passed a hand over his chin as he regarded Cottrell. "This is all guesswork--nothing more," he said. "There's no way you could know. The computer on that freighter is completely blocked off by wreckage. The data is totally inaccessible. Even my men couldn't get to it, so how could you?"
"Don't dwell on it, commander," Cottrell replied with a sardonic smile. She had no intention of telling Quinn how her own technician, the capable Donna Caine, had exploited a data source aboard the Koto Maru that the SEALs had overlooked. "What should concern you just now is that I am fully prepared to expose your covert operation. And I will do exactly that--unless you tell me why we're really here."
Quinn studied her for a few seconds longer, then abruptly shook his head. "No deal," he said in his usual assured tone. "From where I stand, all my superiors have to fear from you is a minor case of embarrassment. Maybe you can prove that we were in contact with the freighter. What of it?" He smiled unpleasantly and added, "Unless you've got something more than patchy comm records--and I'm betting you don't."
"Before you bet your pension on that, Quinn, you'd better hear me out." Cottrell knew fully well that her digital evidence consisted of sketchy message headers, inconclusive in themselves. But she had other weapons in hand. "The Koto Maru was obviously on some kind of prospecting expedition. The top-grade mining equipment in the aft cargo bay gave that much away. But I know where that prospecting took place. Beta sent the Koto Maru to do its digging on Hikeeba."
"You can't prove--"
"Of course I can. We retrieved soil samples from the excavating equipment on the freighter. It contains alkalines that exist on only three worlds in the known galaxy--and silicates that can be found on only two. The intersect narrows it to one planet and one alone: Hikeeba. My people can even pinpoint the soil origin to a specific valley in the southern hemisphere. Does that sound like proof to you?"
When Quinn did not reply, Cottrell continued: "Those 'patchy comm records' can prove that the freighter was in contact with Beta before, during, and after the landing on Hikeeba. But it's the after that will interest people, Quinn. The crew of that ship obviously found something that was both important and dangerous. Important because Beta sent them to look for it--or at the very least, Beta knew that they were looking. And dangerous because the crew didn't dare bring it back to Sol. Or maybe Beta wouldn't let them bring it back. So instead they brought it here--to an empty, backwater system where they could run tests and send reports back to Beta and no one else would be the wiser. All well and good--until whatever they found turned around and killed them."
"You've spun conclusions out of sheer vacuum," Quinn said with a stony expression. "This is all supposition."
"Call it whatever you like--but something crippled that freighter. Something attacked the Montgomery the moment we arrived. Something struck at our warp fields and damaged vital ship systems." Cottrell's voice was low, freighted with anger. "The bottom line is that Beta knew about that danger--or had reason to know--before sending us out here. That knowledge was deliberately withheld and twenty-five people here died as a result. Beta's directives could cost even more lives--military and civilian. That's a textbook case for reasonable concern, commander, and you had better believe I can sell that at Sol. As of now, this mission is over unless you tell me everything. Make me understand why this should go one step further. Right here, Quinn. Right now."
Cottrell's words hung in the air for moments after she had spoken. Quinn stared back at her, silent, lips pursed as though he was contemplating something rather unpleasant. A full minute passed before he spoke.
"There is a department of ConfedCom Beta whose existence is known to only four outsiders--including, now, yourself," he said finally. "For the sake of conversation, we'll call this office Enigma. For the last twenty-seven years--ever since the end of the Great War--Enigma's sole task has been the translation of comm transmissions recorded during the war." Quinn paused. "Alien transmissions."
Cottrell's eyes narrowed. "If you're going to lie, Quinn, at least get your background right," she said. "It's a matter of historical record that no alien comm traffic was ever detected during the Great War."
"The Navy chose not to share this discovery with historians," sneered Quinn. "The alien chatter was discovered completely by accident--it manifested as anomalous readings on sensor logs. The transmissions took place at the extreme short end of the EM spectrum, beyond even gamma-ray range. But the language was utterly foreign--no framework, no common references. Decades passed without much progress on translation.
"Then about a year ago, a stroke of luck occurred--disguised as a catastrophe." Quinn lowered his voice, even though he and Cottrell were the only people in the room. "Over a five-month period, a number of naval vessels went missing in the Risa system. Naval Command first suspected some kind of Rebel activity, but the truth was much more frightening: an alien battlecruiser had somehow survived the Great War. We learned that the Rebels were tracking the vessel out along the Fringe, but apparently were unable to stop it. Command decided to take a hand; the stakes were much too high to leave matters to the likes of the Rebellion. Assets were tasked and, with the assistance of a freelance adventurer, the alien cruiser was destroyed."
Cottrell felt a chill as she envisioned an alien battlecruiser skulking about the galaxy. She thought briefly of her father, whose defeat of two such dreadnoughts--at the cost of his life, his ship, and his crew--had become a legend of the Great War. "There were rumors," she said. "Another one of those events that never made the history texts, I suppose. The Agamemnon was pulled from deep-space patrol to assist, wasn't it?"
"I won't ask where you heard that," Quinn replied dryly. "New contact with an alien vessel was a chance to record fresh signals--now that we knew what to listen for. After the incident was concluded, the sensor logs of the Agamemnon were analyzed for chatter between the alien cruiser and its fighters. Enigma listened for patterns of communication that you'd expect to hear between ships in a dogfight scenario. This was a chance to create a 'Rosetta stone'--to establish a key to deciphering the alien language--and it worked. Over time, the decoders had some success with the original set of recordings. It was eventually determined that these particular transmissions were astrographic: coordinates in space, locations on planets. After careful consideration, my superiors authorized an independent investigation."
"Translated: Beta thought it could get its hands on alien technology," said Cottrell. "And it didn't feel like sharing the good news with Command or Naval Ops."
Quinn ignored the observation. "The decision was made to send a highly skilled exploratory squad to Hikeeba," he said. "The mission required an extremely low profile--there was no question of sending a naval vessel. A light freighter offered appropriate cover; it could also be operated by a minimal crew. The fewer people involved the better.
"The Koto Maru was on Hikeeba for two solar days, excavating at a location specified by Enigma, before its crew made the discovery. A device--no, scratch that. Not a device. An artifact." Quinn chose his words with care. "By all accounts, it was composed of both organic and inorganic elements. That tallies with what little we know of alien technology. The device seemed inert--no electrical activity or detectable radiation--but the potential dangers warranted caution. The exploratory squad was directed to jump here to NGC-6849. An empty, backwater system, just as you described it. The team could perform analysis here and pipe the data back to headquarters, all without endangering others."
"Or without calling attention to what they were doing." Cottrell looked closely at Quinn as she spoke. "Assuming that this story is even halfway truthful, I still haven't heard the heart of it. What did they find on Hikeeba--and why did it kill the crew of the Koto Maru?"
"Your're asking questions I can't answer. All we know for certain is that the artifact is somewhere aboard that ship. Everything depends on its successful retrieval." Quinn looked away for a moment, then glanced at Cottrell. "I'll tell you this much, and nothing more," he said. "If the data we received is even close to accurate, then that artifact represents our greatest hope for triumph over the Rebellion. Total, unconditional victory. Understand me, commander--I'm talking about an end to the Galactic War."
Now it was Quinn's turn to leave words suspended between them. The only sound in the office was the quiet hum of instrument panels. Cottrell looked at the SEAL leader for a moment, then turned. She walked slowly away from him, pacing along the length of the conference table.
"It's only under duress that I've told you this," Quinn said to her. "I've done so in the hope that you'll grasp just how much depends on what we do here. Now I require an answer from you , commander. Will you give me your cooperation, and the support of the Montgomery , in the retrieval of the Koto Maru?"
Cottrell had reached the end of the conference table. She placed her right hand on the back of the armchair positioned there. This was where Johansen would sit during his usual meetings with the Engineering staff--listening to opinions, assessing, making judgments. Making decisions. She patted the chair twice, then looked back toward Quinn with a cold regard.
"Not a chance," she replied. "If Beta wants this thing so badly--this miracle weapon or whatever the hell it is--they can come get it themselves. Let them bring their own ship, and their own expendable crew. As long as I'm in charge here, the Montgomery will have nothing to do with it."
Quinn's response--far from the indignation that Cottrell had expected--was a stoic, impassive expression. "I tried to do this by the numbers, commander," he said quietly. "I tried reasoning with you. I shared confidential information. I tried to appeal to your sense of duty. But now you've left me with only one recourse."
He reached then for the breast pocket of his coverall uniform; Cottrell tensed, surprised by the unexpected movement. But all Quinn produced was a small black case, flat and circular. He displayed it briefly before her, holding it between thumb and forefinger; the case had a gray metallic strip around the edge. He then crossed the room and placed the disc on Johansen's workstation.
"Launch authenticator," he announced. At once the holographic display unit on Johansen's desk began to hum. A web of dancing colored lines appeared in midair, revolving, changing in pattern. Cottrell knew at once what it signified. Quinn had brought a message in a bottle--a sealed communiqué from Stardock Alpha.
Certain messages to warships were deemed 'most secret'--a level of sensitivity beyond even Level Four classification. Such directives could not be entrusted to the vagaries of tachyon carrier. Instead, these messages were 'hard-wired' into units and encoded with a tortuous and incomplete algorithm. The units--referred to by some old salts as 'bottles'--were physically couriered to the frigate or cruiser that was the intended destination. Only the destination warship's computer possessed the necessary second half of the encoding algorithm. Any attempt to access the bottle's message by other means would result in that message's complete obliteration.
The whirling kaleidoscope of lines--the graphic representation of the encoding algorithm--blurred with speed as the authenticator neared the end of its routine. Quinn looked on with an air of quiet confidence, but Cottrell had nearly forgotten he was even in the room. She had eyes only for the final stage of the authentication process--the four code words that would result from the resolution of the algorithm. The hologram flickered twice; the multicolored image froze suddenly, then vanished altogether. In its place appeared blunt white text against a blue field:
**AUTHENTICATOR 1.0.5
DECRYPT STAGE TWO
PASSWORDS DERIVED
scourge
ultra
horizons
destiny
PASSWORDS VALID
AUTHENTICATION CONFIRMED
DISPLAYING MESSAGE**
The text vanished. In its place shimmered the great seal of the Confederation: a stylized eagle against a blue oval, framed by three points of light symbolizing the executive worlds of the Confederation Senate--Earth, Landfall, and Capella. Then the seal was replaced by the image of a man at a desk. His brush-cut hair was flecked with gray, and his eyes were a remote blue. His features seemed cut from stone. He wore dress whites with shoulder boards and a gold three-pointed star representing Stardock Alpha--the emblem of Command. Cottrell knew him at once, though she had never met him in person.
"Captain DeCosta," said the man, "I am Vice Admiral Jonah Baynard of Naval Command. The mission undertaken by Commander Marcus Quinn was mandated by my office. You may consider this message a kind of fail-safe, captain. If you are viewing this recording, it can only be that you have elected to oppose Commander Quinn in his mission. You may well believe that you have good reason. But I tell you categorically that this opposition cannot be tolerated." The admiral's words fell on Cottrell's ears with a bitter irony, for Rafael DeCosta--to whom this message had been addressed--had died as a direct consequence of Baynard's directive.
"Let there be no misunderstanding, captain," continued the recording. "Commander Quinn enjoys my full confidence and, through my office, the support of Naval Command. The objective of his mission is of the utmost importance to the Confederation. You are directed to lend the commander your complete cooperation." In the display, Baynard leaned forward slightly. " All other considerations are hereby subordinated to the successful execution of the commander's mission. These are my direct orders, to carried out without question. That is all."
Baynard's image dematerialized; the display unit on Johansen's workstation fell silent. Quinn stepped over to pick up the black message disk. "And that, I believe, should settle that," he said as he pocketed the disk. His voice held an unmistakable note of triumph. "Now that you've heard from one of your own--from Naval Command--I assume that you see the matter more clearly."
Cottrell turned toward Quinn, but a comm alert sounded before she could speak. The two commanders looked over to see a holographic image of young Teresa Giscard, the Montgomery 's communications officer. "Commander Cottrell," she said. "We're no longer alone out here."
With those simple words, the air became instantly charged. Cottrell and Quinn exchanged sharp glances; admirals and coded messages and alien artifacts were momentarily forgotten. "Report," said Cottrell.
"Sensors have picked up two vessels, bearing four-two mark three-oh. Distance is fifty-two thousand kilometers. They refuse to answer hails."
"Identification?"
"Inconclusive, ma'am," Giscard replied. Her voice was toneless, though her gray eyes were wide with apprehension. "We're attempting to unscramble their transponder signals now. But the secondary vessel's physical profile marks it as a heavy fighter. The primary vessel is definitely a capital ship. Its ion signature is consistent with that of an Atinoda Kestrel."
"We take no chances--issue red alert at once." Cottrell was already on the move, heading for the door. "All hands to battle stations. I'm on my way. Out."
The alert klaxons began to sound even before Cottrell descended the steps to the main engineering deck. She sprinted out of Engineering, Quinn hard at her heels. Sailors dashed along the corridor outside, shouting to one another as they made for their duty stations. Cottrell listened for panic in their voices, even as she herself moved. She heard only urgency--but then, she was not truly worried about experienced ordnance technicians and engineer's mates. She had another concern altogether.
The commanders bolted into a waiting turbolift. "Deck five, forward," Cottrell ordered, and the lift began to move. Quinn took a moment to compose himself--and to raise the matter that was uppermost in Cottrell's mind. "If this does turn out to be a combat situation, we have a problem," he said. "Your command staff--"
"Is frankly none of your business," Cottrell snapped. "The team I've assembled is made up of skilled naval personnel. They've done an excellent job in place of the original command crew. Whatever battle experience they have, their training will see them through."
"They're children," scoffed Quinn. "Second-line techs, junior officers. Replacements. This isn't a classroom, Cottrell. If they can't hack it--"
"Then Admiral Baynard will just have to find another errand boy to fetch his artifact." The blaze in Cottrell's eyes matched the heat in her voice. "The people on this ship are my responsibility now. My crew. I will get them through this."
Quinn eyed her for a moment, then nodded curtly. "As you say, commander," he acknowledged. "But whether this turns out to be an actual incursion or not, you have to admit that one thing seems clear."
Not trusting herself to speak, Cottrell spread her hands in an impatient gesture.
"Your theory of some random destructive force just fell on its face," Quinn said. "Otherwise those ships out there would have been blown to blazes as soon as they entered this system." He smiled thinly. "Or isn't that right?"
The turbolift came to an abrupt halt at deck five; the door slid open with a hiss. Cottrell did not move. She gazed stonily at Quinn, willing herself not to react to his insolence, to his obvious and ongoing deception. She knew that he was still dissembling, still lying. Still hiding aspects of his mission. Let him , she thought. There were more pressing matters at hand. First she would defend the Montgomery against whatever threatened the ship from without. Then she would deal with Quinn.
"Understand one thing," she warned in a low voice. "Your orders, Baynard's authority, ConfedCom Beta--all of that takes a back seat in combat. Your mission may have brought us here, but right now you're a spectator and nothing more. You will sit. You will be quiet. You will let my people do their jobs. Is that clear?"
"Just see that you do your job, commander," retorted Quinn.
Cottrell turned on her heel; she strode down the corridor, towards auxiliary control. "Watch me," she said.
--to be continued--
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 01-23-2002).)
(This message has been edited by Phil Barron (edited 01-28-2002).)
But I'm ready to have it over, too. Just two more installments and it's done! And they'll be good. I promise. Thanks for the kind words!