Odyssey One 5: Warrior King (5 page)

Eric grimaced, recognizing that Central was just playing with him at this point.

“Why, yes. Yes, I am.” Central smirked, somehow. Eric wasn’t sure how, given the lack of features he could consciously perceive.

But Central seemed to become more serious in the next moment.

“I’m not certain what to tell you,” the entity replied. “Are my people hiding information from you? Certainly, though not what you might consider
intentionally
.”

“What?” Eric blurted. “That’s ridiculous! How do you hide anything unintentionally?”

“Many ways,” the entity said. “You can forget it, you can not realize its import, or you can simply assume the other person already knows it.”

Eric locked onto the last one. “Assume we know what?”

“You’ve already heard that answer, Capitaine.” Central laughed, his accent shifting from the normal flat tone into something familiar.

“I need to know more . . . ,” Eric said, only to feel the world whirl around him again. Suddenly the mystical sensation was gone, and the walls of the shuttle were simply the walls of the shuttle.

Three loud knocks on the hatch caused him to turn his head.

“Captain? Are you alright in there?”

“Fine. I’ll be out momentarily,” Eric said.

Eric really didn’t know what to make of the two entities he’d met, Central and Gaia. They were something
more
than human, yet they didn’t seem to act much on their apparent power. Of course, for all he knew they could be constantly pulling strings, but somehow he had the feeling they didn’t.

Central was analytical, logical, cool, and distant. For all his thoughts on the matter, Eric had no problem understanding how the Priminae could have mistaken the entity for a computer system. Gaia, however, was wild and fierce, more a force of nature than anything resembling a calculating machine. Eric didn’t know if Gaia had taken the name of the Earth goddess, or inspired it, but either seemed likely to his mind.

Of course, the big problem with either of them was obvious and frustrating.

How the hell am I supposed to maintain any sort of operational security when there are mind-reading alien entities floating around the universe?

Not that he could really tell anyone. Even as weird as the real universe was, talking about all-seeing alien gestalts that could read minds and warp reality would basically ensure he picked up a medical discharge, mental category.

Someday I’m going to write a book. It’ll have to be fantasy though, ’cause sci-fi fans will never buy this crap.

Eric sighed as he undogged the hatch and stepped out of the shuttle, nodding to the Marine who was waiting.

“Call back everyone,” he ordered. “We’re shipping out early.”

“Yes sir!”

►►►

AEV
Odysseus

► Footsteps didn’t echo on the
Odysseus
as they had on the
Odyssey
. Something in the acoustics of the ceramic decks and walls baffled sound, but the steady tap of a marching boot still traveled well along the length of the many long corridors, at least until a crew member encountered a corner.

Steph paused upon hearing that tapping speed up and approach, and he turned to see Milla hurrying toward him.

“Evening, Milla.” He smiled at her. “I expected you to have leave?”

“Ranquil is not my home,” she said with a hint of sadness that warned him not to ask any further questions.

Milla wasn’t one to chat about where she’d come from, and Steph had a good idea of why that was. Too many had lost far more than soil, water, and air during the Drasin incursion, but there was something about the loss of a home that struck true no matter the scale.

“Ah,” was all he said. “So what has your attentions today?”

“I was wishing to acquire . . .” Milla frowned, looking for the words. “Flight certification, yes?”

“Yes, I suppose. I thought you were checked on Priminae shuttles?” Steph asked, puzzled.

“We do not have many of those on board,” she reminded him.

“Ah, good point. So are you looking for lessons or an examiner?”

Technically he was qualified to do either, but not both, by current regulations.

“Examiner,” she answered. “I have been taking lessons for some time.”

“Really?” Steph was surprised. He would have thought he’d have heard about that through the rumor mill. “Going well, I assume?”

“Your shuttles use very crude controls,” she told him with pursed lips. “However, there is something . . . exciting about flying one.”

Steph nodded. He’d flown with the Priminae a few times on their own shuttlecraft, and he knew where she was coming from. Priminae small craft relied heavily on computer-controlled systems, far more than even the most automated vessel in Terran service. Their technology allowed for extremely precise flying, but very little of it had the seat-of-the-pants thrill of putting your own hand physically on the stick.

Computer-based piloting was beyond impressive for many types of maneuvers, but it never quite matched up to the best intuitive pilots. And such systems were almost inherently predictable if your opponent had enough flight data from which to derive pattern recognitions.

“When will you be ready to test?” he asked her.

“Very nearly there,” Milla answered. “I need a few more hours of stick time, yes?”

“Alright. Let me know, and I’ll put aside some time and we’ll get you certified.”

“Thank you, Stephan,” she said gratefully. “I look forward to it.”

“So do I.”

►►►

► Miram Heath looked over the orbital telemetry from her station on the command deck of the
Odysseus
and permitted herself a curt nod of satisfaction.

Her specialty, pre-Drasin, had been astrometric analysis with an eye to deep spatial anomalies. After a decade of studying the most obscure pieces of data in known space, from black holes to gamma ray bursts, the nuts and bolts of navigating a starship were
almost
mundane.

Almost.

Like most people who delved into the space sciences, she’d spent her formative years dreaming about the great void. While in school, she’d desperately wanted a shot at the Mars mission, but war had broken out before she’d graduated, and by the time the dust had settled, she had been considered too valuable on the ground in Houston.

When the
Odyssey
’s mission had been announced, she’d made her application, but it was a Department of Defense project, and she had been a civilian at that point. Aside from the short-term jaunts to Space Station Liberty, she had all but given up on the idea of getting into space—into the deep black.

The Drasin changed the rules.

Suddenly, the budget for deep black exploration was all but unlimited, and the new Confederation-Block Alliance was
screaming
for qualified people to man starships. She’d put her name in immediately, had her commission reactivated, and gotten her pick of the new ships.

Miram had selected the
Odysseus
without hesitation.

Eric Weston had become a symbol on Earth—many symbols, in fact. Some people saw him as a war hero, others as a war criminal. More than those labels, however, he’d become the man who had introduced them to the stars, to the Priminae—and to the Drasin.

He was perhaps the most polarizing man on the planet, or off it, she supposed.

That was one reason the Confederacy had put him back into the black as quickly as they had. Weston was off the planet where most of his detractors were focused and thus out of the public eye. Giving him the
Odysseus
, the spiritual successor of the
Odyssey
, kept his supporters happy, and he was a beloved figure in the Priminae system, which made him a boon to diplomacy.

For Miram, and her community, he was the man who had proved that humanity was not alone in the universe. He had gone out into the stars, found intelligent life, and risked his own ship, crew, and well-being to save theirs.

Eric Weston was every sci-fi captain she’d ever watched on TV and in the movies growing up. Despite her very disciplined demeanor, she was
thrilled
to serve on his ship.

Showing that was out of the question, of course. Even in the early twenty-second century, science was a shockingly male-dominated field. Not as much as it had been traditionally, particularly in the aftermath of the Block War, but enough so that she’d built a professional demeanor that had charitably been called “icy.”

Now that Miram held a top post on what basically amounted to the flagship of the Confederacy and probably the most visible starship on Earth and beyond, she couldn’t even imagine dropping that persona.

Maybe it’s for the best.

“Inbound track, Commander. Reads as a Heroic.”

Miram raised a single eyebrow. “One of ours?”

“Negative. Priminae for sure,” Ensign Sams said firmly.

Now Miram turned her full attention to the instrumentation station. “How are you so sure?”

“Acceleration curve is different from Confederation procedures, ma’am. And we’d never choose violet, green, and puce as our light code.”

Miram hid a wince but nodded. “Good enough, Ensign, good enough. ETA to arrival?”

“Twelve hours at current track. They’re not rushing.”

Miram patted the ensign on the shoulder. “Good job. Stay on them. Let me know if anything happens.”

“Aye ma’am.”

The space around Ranquil wasn’t what Miram would call terribly busy, but there was more traffic than in Sol space. Most of it was freighters now, big and slow with power curves a tad below a quarter of a planetary mass. They affected local space-time like a reasonably sized moon when on full power and not masking their gravity.

Heroics, on the other hand, were like rogue planets blundering through a star system, impossible to miss, even if you were half-blind. When dropping into the orbit of an inhabited world, or really any world, a Heroic Class ship had to mask its gravity carefully. If they weren’t careful, they could cause a tidal surge in the best case or sling a planet out of its orbit in the worst.

That last bit was more theoretical than anything else, but the point remained that Heroic Class ships were flying weapons of mass destruction, even without counting the actual weapons they packed.

CHAPTER 5

IBC
Piar Cohn
, System Approach

► “Drasin trace readings, Captain.”

Aymes looked up from his station. “How old?”

“Two rotes, Captain. Maybe two and a half, not three.”

Aymes nodded slowly. “Well, it is a beginning. Redirect our course: standard sweep around the system. Keep us in line with the planetary plane. Look for warped space and time.”

“Yes Captain. Course adjusting now.”

The
Piar Cohn
shifted from its entry track, moving to a planar orbit around the system primary well outside the planetary orbits. Aymes turned his focus to the long-range scanners, watching as the ship moved. Reaching out over eight light-fractals, the scanners were looking for any unexplained gradations in the local dimensional fabric.

The usual depressions and elevations were evident as they progressed around the rim of the system, and Aymes was an old hand at reading live charts. He noted the slight depressions of each of the major planets in the system as well as a nearby planetoid’s incline, also taking in the corresponding elevations caused by the interplay of gravity waves.

Nothing to indicate the passage of a warp field, however.

“It’s been too long,” he growled. “Any trail by now is long faded.”

The officer at the scanning station nodded, glad that the captain had said it first.

“Yes Captain.”

“Where was the next scheduled system the Drasin were to investigate?” Aymes asked finally.

“One Three Four Nine in this sector.”

“Very well. Set a new course. Least time for system One Three Four Nine,” Aymes ordered.

“Course prepared, Captain. Permission to apply?”

“Permission granted.”

►►►

AEV
Odysseus

► Eric was down the ramp before it touched the deck of the
Odysseus
, his boots ringing on the platform a split second before those of his Marines. He curtly acknowledged the two Marines as they took up positions on either side of the ramp, but didn’t slow down as he crossed the deck and headed for the lift.

“Captain.”

“Commander,” Eric greeted Miram without slowing or looking around.

“The course you requested has been encoded. We started warping space the moment your shuttle came to a stop,” she told him. “May I ask what is going on, sir?”

“Had to get away from Ranquil for a while, Commander,” Eric said simply. “We’re moving on to the second phase of the mission a little ahead of schedule.”

“Any reason why?”

“It got a little . . . stuffy.”

Miram blinked. “On the planet, sir?”

Eric stopped in place, half turning to look at her before he pivoted back around.

“Lately, Commander, I find I prefer deep space.”

She was about to ask more before he went on.

“It’s . . . quieter out here.”

►►►

► The
Odysseus
warped space as soon as they cleared the orbit of Ranquil, powering up to what would be relativistic speeds with any traditional drive system. The ship was already passing a third the speed of light by the time Eric stepped onto the command deck, standing at his post as he accessed the command station.

“ETA to system heliopause?”

“Three more hours at current acceleration, sir.”

“Good,” Eric said, sighing nearly imperceptibly as he relaxed. He found he now really didn’t feel comfortable until he was well away from planets.

Discovering Central on Ranquil was one thing. The entity hadn’t shaken his worldview all that much. Ranquil was an alien planet, after all. He expected alien things.

Gaia, however, he could admit that
she
—if that was what Gaia was—
she
had shattered part of him. He hadn’t realized that until he’d met Central again however. When Central isolated him in the shuttle, effortlessly slipping through his mind . . .

Eric
had
to discover what those things were. He just didn’t know how.

With one eye on the vessel’s telemetry, Eric accessed the ship’s database and called up the files they’d copied from the Priminae computer cores. He opened the mythological database and accessed Priminae “gods.”

Gaia apparently styled herself the goddess of Earth, if he were to take the name seriously, and Central had told him once that he was the source of some Priminae deity myths, long ago. Eric was more than passingly familiar with Earth mythology, but couldn’t think of anything that helped him make sense of Gaia. He was hoping that something in the Priminae database would cause things to gel.

Thankfully, the admiral took the opportunity to copy the Priminae cultural database as part of the exchange deal she cut with them.

The Priminae culture was one with a long history, a history that Eric knew almost no one had even begun to scratch the surface of. The Confederacy had several analysis teams dedicated to just this sort of thing, or they had before the invasion at least. Eric wasn’t sure if anyone was digging too deep into cultural nuances at the moment, considering other priorities, but for him the subject had just taken a very high place on his list.

He had to go back a
long
time to find information about deist beliefs in Priminae culture. By their standards, Earth culture was
terribly
infantile at barely four thousand years or so of reasonably contiguous written history. The first mention of anything resembling gods was over fifty thousand years before—Priminae years, actually. That worked out to almost seventy thousand, Earth standard.

The Priminae had been a spacefaring culture when humans had first begun domesticating dogs and long before anyone had started the basics of agriculture.

What bothered Eric, from all that, was that they didn’t have any prehistoric records for themselves.

According to these files, the Priminae may as well have sprung fully formed from the ether. No early history, no sign of any sciences before their current level . . . and that is practically obscene.

“How the hell does that happen?” he murmured, shaking his head.

“Pardon me, sir?”

Eric looked up, noting that Miram was looking at him with intense curiosity in her eyes, though the rest of her features remained unchanged. He pursed his lips, considering her for a moment, thinking about what he’d been reading.

“Tell me, Commander, what did you do before your commission was reactivated?”

“Astrometric analysis, Captain. Why?”

“What was that, exactly?”

“Many things, especially as your mission opened up the frontier,” Miram responded. “Mapping stellar anomalies, mostly, looking for signs of stellar civilizations . . .”

“SETI work?”

“Similar,” she answered. “Better funded, particularly since you contacted the Priminae.”

“So you know the Kardashev scale?”

“Of course. It’s required reading,” she said. “Some consider the measure somewhat outdated, but it is still in many ways the benchmark for stellar civilization.”

“Where do you put Earth?”

“Late Type Zero, Early Type One,” she answered instantly. “Depends how you calculate the power expenditures mostly. That’s pre-Drasin. Post-Drasin . . . Captain, this ship alone qualifies as a Type One civilization.”

Eric nodded slowly, thinking about Miram’s statement. He’d actually known what she’d just conveyed, but he hadn’t really parsed the information that way. The
Odysseus
had more power output than the entire Earth could produce, potentially at least.

“Alright, what about the Priminae?” he asked.

“Mid Type One,” she answered, again without hesitation.

That had been the subject of many debates before she’d reactivated her commission.

“So tell me something. How does a civilization reach Mid Type One without developing fire? Without figuring out electricity?”

“What, sir?” Miram frowned. “It doesn’t.”

“That’s not what I’m seeing here,” Eric said, shifting his screen so she could see it. “I’m looking through the Priminae cultural database. I can’t find a reference to them discovering fire, not even archeological theories. No history of them figuring out electricity, magnetism, or any of the basic sciences.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Miram looked down to her own screen and started entering search requests.

Eric waited.

“This makes no sense. The database can’t be complete,” Miram said, shaking her head. “No culture just appears out of nowhere.”

“Nothing has ever added up about the Priminae,” Eric said. “From the beginning I didn’t know what to make of them. Genetically human, seemingly pacifists, but the weapons . . . lord, the power of their weapons . . . nothing made sense.”

“They aren’t, you know, sir.”

“They aren’t what?”

“Genetically human,” Miram answered, looking nonplussed. “You didn’t know?”

“I’ve been busy. I don’t understand,” he said. “Doctor Rame . . .”

“Was rushed. He looked for specific genetic markers that we associate with human,” she said. “Those are all there.”

“So?”

“What’s missing is the extraneous DNA that Terran humans share,” she responded. “Remnants from our evolutionary ancestors: reptilian, fish, avian DNA. We can track that DNA back to specific species in Earth’s history. The Priminae don’t share
any
of that with us. They look human, Captain, but they are not.”

Eric fell silent, considering that for a long moment. That shook his view of the Priminae significantly.

“So what does that mean?” he asked. “Some kind of parallel evolution?”

“Unlikely,” Miram said, shaking her head. “Though we honestly don’t have enough data points to truly be certain. So far we have two known intelligent species, assuming we discount the Drasin, and they both look human. Strictly speaking, it
is
possible that the human form is the inevitable end result of evolution, but given what we know and can prove about evolution, even assuming perfect Earth-type environments, a mirror-image evolution should be next to impossible.”

“So what does that leave?”

Miram shrugged. “Guided evolution?”

“Not familiar with the term. Do you mean by God?” Eric asked.

“Possible, though I have difficulty believing in the idea of an interactive God,” she said with a frown. “At least if we’re talking about the Christian god.”

“You have something against Christians?” Eric asked mildly.

“No sir. However, the Judeo-Christian god is atypical in our cultural history,” Miram said. “Most ancient gods were just . . . us, but more so. Thor, Ares, Kali: these are all people with godly powers. Even the modern incarnations of those religions share those traits. Those gods have flaws, limits. Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah: that god was different, unique really. A single deity that incorporated all the disparate gods before it, a supergod if you will.”

“I’m really not following,” Eric admitted.

“The supreme creator has an inherent . . . problem,” she said. “By definition, such an entity
must
exist outside our frame of reference. You can’t create the universe if you’re
part
of the universe, so I have a problem with the idea of such a creator getting involved on a personal level.”

“You don’t have a problem with the other gods?” Eric asked, genuinely curious.

“Not at all,” she answered. “Speaking philosophically, any of the other gods you care to name is really nothing more than a human with power. Go back four thousand years with this ship, Captain, and you could proclaim yourself king of the gods and all of us your children . . . and not a soul on the planet could argue.”

“Fair enough,” Eric conceded.

He wondered how that fit into the puzzle he was trying to figure out, but frankly didn’t have a clue.

“So, when you say guided evolution, you’re thinking something like those other gods?” he suggested.

“Yes, more or less. The theory that someone has tinkered with our evolution isn’t a new one, though it’s not really been one of the most respected of hypotheses. Mostly only fringe types believe it, largely because it’s based entirely on little more than wishful thinking and questionable pattern recognition. People don’t like the idea that they came from random chance.”