Vinium (The Silver Ships Book 10) Read online

  Svetlana furrowed her brows, working to understand Reiko’s message. It was at that moment, that she heard the laughter of the front table, Alex’s bass, Renée’s treble, and Tatia’s mellow contralto.

  Reiko quirked an eyebrow at Svetlana, when her captain’s eyes lit in understanding. “And that’s why I need you as captain of the Liberator, Svetlana. One day, when we watch our best-laid plans crumble in our holo-vid display and the enemy comes for us, the last ship, I’ll need your skills to get our leaders to safety. Our traveler pilots might be sacrificing themselves to buy you a narrow window of opportunity to escape destruction, and I’ll be counting on you to take advantage of it.”

  Svetlana had reached a hand across the table, which Reiko took. “I’m your captain, Commodore,” she said simply.

  * * *

  Ellie Thompson listened to Reiko’s orders, while she eyed her ship’s holo-vid display. Z had uploaded the maneuver into the controller, and she focused on the final sequence.

  When Reiko finished her review of the squadron’s maneuvers, Ellie linked to the commodore even as her ship, the OS Redemption, responded to the controller’s demands and accelerated on the course that would take it under the ecliptic.

  Ellie asked.

 

  Ellie said, closing the link.

  Ellie studied the maneuver, trying to anticipate Alex’s intentions. One ship to intimidate the Vinians, or was that the wrong word? she thought.

  “Yumi, I want a change to our final maneuver,” Ellie requested. “When we pop up in front of that Vinian warship, place us bow on at 10 kilometers out. Then decrease the distance at the rate of about a kilometer a minute.”

  “Until how close, Captain?”

  “I think 25 meters should do it,” Ellie replied nonchalantly.

  “Yes, Captain,” Yumi acknowledged, grinning.

  Ellie regarded the slender young woman, who was about her age when she was sent into exile on Libre. She recalled the conversation with Alex and Julien when her new crew list was being reviewed a month before the launch of the Redemption.

  “You’ve chosen an extremely junior lieutenant for a pilot,” Alex had commented.

  “True, Alex, she’s young, but she distinguished herself in training at Haraken’s naval academy, in three years of piloting a traveler, and I like her style.”

  There was a pause in the communication, and Ellie expected Alex to object. Instead, he said, “Yumi Tanaka … please tell me this isn’t Miko’s daughter.”

  Without the structure of Méridien Houses, Haraken parents, who were once declared Independents, had adopted the habit of gifting their sons with their fathers’ surnames and their daughters with the mothers’ names.

  “If you prefer that I start lying to you, Alex, I will, if that’s what you want,” Ellie replied, struggling to keep a smile off her face.

  “Has it been that long that those who fought with us at Libre are now supplying their children to continue the pursuit of our enemy?” Alex asked, his eyes reflecting pain.

  The conversation had taken an unexpected turn for Ellie. She had thought of Yumi Tanaka as the daughter of Captain Miko Tanaka, not as the niece of Lieutenant Tanaka, who had sacrificed his life to save Alex. Ellie had been a junior pilot that day over New Terra and witnessed the lieutenant’s efforts to absorb the missiles targeting Alex’s ship.

  “Your conversation about time passing, Alex, reminds me that I should investigate the newest avatars. Could be time for an upgrade,” Julien interjected. “How about you, Alex? Oh, sorry!”

  Ellie’s mouth had fallen open at what she construed a cruel jibe.

  Alex had squinted an eye at Julien and fired back, “One of these centuries, you’ll miss me,” and then he had laughed.

  Ellie thought that was the end of it. She never knew Julien’s reaction to Alex’s comment. The SADE had imagined that terrible final day, thousands of times, and it had crushed him every time.

  The ship’s controller signaled the initiation of the squadron’s final step, and it pulled Ellie out of her reverie. She enlarged the holo-vid’s display of the Redemption’s telemetry to focus on the Vinian warship and her Trident, as the two ships closed.

  “Approaching the ecliptic, Captain,” Yumi intoned. She rattled off the steps the controller executed that converted the Trident’s drives. “Main engines shutting down. Clamshell doors closing. Grav drives engaged.”

  Much later Yumi added, “On a reciprocal course to the Vinian warship, Captain.”

  The Redemption’s bridge crew tensed as the ships closed. The Trident decelerated and then reversed course until the distance from the Vinians held at 10 kilometers. Thereafter, Yumi signaled the controller to reduce the separation between the ships at the pace of a kilometer a minute.

  Ellie had ordered the beam gunners to be at the ready. The outboard hulls of the Tridents were shaped in the traditional elongated gourd or seed, as was the central hull, enabling all three hull shapes capable of collecting the energy of gravitational waves to charge their enormous power crystals.

  As opposed to a traveler’s beam, which was aligned with a fighter’s shell and necessitated turning the ship to direct the beam, the SADEs had cleverly set a crystal lens at the bow of each beam hull. This enabled the gunners to swing the beam in a limited but useful 8.5-degree angle from true center.

  The gunners kept their eyes glued on their telemetry, anticipating the opening of undetected armament portals in the Vinian warship’s bow. They were linked to their boards’ controllers and adjusting their beam lenses to pin the warship, as they closed.

  Trident’s procedures for beam operation began with the captain, who was required to release the safety locks on the ship’s controller before the gunners could respond to an order to fire. If Ellie was incapacitated, their young lieutenant, Yumi, would assume command.

  Before the Redemption began its final run from below the ecliptic, Ellie had signaled the ship’s controller to release the beam locks, and the gunners had seen their board’s ready lights switch from red to white.

  Anxiety on the bridge ratcheted up with every closing minute and spiked when Yumi announced, “Twenty-five meters distance, bow to bow, Captain.”

  “Well done, Yumi,” Ellie replied calmly, despite feeling mortally frail.

  “And we’re still here,” the young pilot murmured, which caught the attention of the gunner crew members seated left and right of her.

  -2-

  Seedling

  Olive Tasker hurried to the recovery room as quick as stalks could move. Fronds along the ridgeline were tightly closed and vibrated gently. Poor Olive Tasker would have wished this errand on any other member of the ship. Scarlet Mandator had only recently retired to the recovery room to receive the benefit of the light. Unfortunately, it would be Olive Tasker’s duty to interrupt the session and urge the mandator to return to the ship’s operations center.

  Olive Tasker cycled through the portal, which preserved the recovery room’s moist atmosphere. Stalk pads adhered to the decking through the thin film of water, which contained life-sustaining minerals. Olive Tasker was momentarily excited. An opportunity to recover was less than an eighth of a cycle away.

  Silently, Olive Tasker slipped past the others enjoying the brilliant light, their fronds fully displayed, and their stalks sipping at the shallow bath.

  In front of Scarlet Mandator, Olive Tasker paused. The mandator’s bloom was tilted upward, and the light had transported the leader into a somnolent state. At the end of a full-length recovery session, the lights directly above the bloom would blink to waken the mandator.

  Reaching out a tentative stalk, Olive Tasker tripped the lights prematurely and scuttled back to wait. It would take some time for the leader to revive, especially after such a foreshortened period of recovery.

  Finally, the mandator’s
brilliant scarlet bloom tilted down to regard Olive Tasker, who signaled the request. The mandator’s bloom tilted up and down once, and Olive Tasker hurried from the recovery room.

  Scarlet Mandator slowly followed the tasker out of the room, while stalks regained their equilibrium. Reluctantly, the mandator closed fronds when passing beyond the recovery room’s portal and losing the bright light. By the time the leader reached the operations center, stalks were responding normally.

  “Report,” Scarlet Mandator requested of Golden Executor, who was responsible for directing the ship’s bridge operations in the mandator’s absence.

  “Ships have appeared from beyond, Mandator,” the executor replied, “They arrived, as did the great orb, as if from nothing.”

  “What of their shapes?” Scarlet Mandator asked.

  “Similar to the seedling we hold in our grasp,” the executor replied.

  The mandator’s stalks relaxed. The great orb, which came from beyond, had devastated many ships of the Worlds of Light and a multitude of the Life Givers’ offsprings before it relinquished its quest to partake of their worlds.

  “The progenitors have come to collect their wayward offshoot,” the mandator surmised. “How many ships?”

  “We saw eight, but only seven approach us now.”

  “Weapons ports?” the mandator asked.

  “The ships are smooth like that of the seedling. Truly a superior design, Mandator.”

  “As only flora can create,” Scarlet Mandator acknowledged.

  Despite the many criticisms the mandator had received during the intervening cycles since first capturing the wayward seedling, the leader insisted that no force should be employed against it. The argument put forth by the mandator was that the essence of the captured ship, shaped as it was in the timeless and eternal design of a seedpod, indicated a superior flora was aboard, albeit a race’s junior members, who had wandered far from its progenitors.

  In support of the mandator’s argument, the seedling never once fired a weapon at the ship. Grasping the pod as the mandator had ordered created anomalies in multiple operations systems, but that was to be expected when dealing with a superior floral species resisting treatment.

  “Locate the eighth ship,” the mandator ordered.

  “We’ve searched, Mandator. The ship is nowhere on the horizon,” Golden Executor replied, fronds trembling at the thought that the leader might be displeased by his response.

  “The seven ships of the progenitors have ceased their approach, Executor,” Teal Monitor, who oversaw the navigation board, announced. “They remain motionless at a great distance from us.”

  Teal Monitor’s bloom hovered over a telemetry board that no human could read. A SADE would be required to detect the unusual wavelength of energy emanating from the board, but, even then, the SADE would be required to spend some time learning to decipher the output.

  “The eighth ship has arrived, Executor,” the monitor reported. “I believe it came from below the horizon.”

  “Distance?” the executor asked.

  “Forty manels, but it’s slowly closing on us, Executor. It’s approaching us bloom first.”

  “Impossible,” Golden Executor declared. “Coming at us from forty mantels, we would have passed each other before fronds could be folded.”

  Scarlet Mandator leaned a bloom over the monitor’s board. “The readings are accurate, Executor. The ship before us faces us and is slowly closing the distance.”

  “Could these progenitors be seeking to ram us for capturing their seedling?” Golden Executor asked.

  “Doubtful, but the better question might be asked as to how the progenitors knew their seedling was here and under duress,” Scarlet Mandator replied.

  “Do you think the seedling is capable of communicating to these ships even when they were in the beyond?” the executor asked.

  “Undoubtedly, Executor, and they are communicating with it now but in some manner unknown to us,” the mandator replied.

  “Truly a superior floral species,” the executor marveled.

  “The eighth ship is no longer closing, Executor,” the monitor reported.

  The two leaders noted Teal Monitor’s tightly closed fronds. The petals, which surrounded the circumference of the bloom, were tightly curled under. Both leaders leaned their blooms over the telemetry board, and their reactions were similar.

  “How is that possible?” the executor asked. The board indicated that the progenitor ship was less than one-seventh of their vessel’s length from their warship.

  Scarlet Mandator turned a bloom toward the executor and then back to the telemetry board, unable to believe the evidence too. “Release the seedling,” he ordered.

  Golden Executor scurried to the right, and a stalk pad depressed a set of icons on a board, shutting down the ship’s grasp on the seedling.

  “And now?” Scarlet Mandator asked.

  Teal Monitor rudely held up a stalk, requesting more time. “The seedling has fallen off to a position next to the progenitor ship.” Moments later, the monitor added, “The two vessels are retreating.”

  With that announcement, petals uncurled and fronds opened.

  “By the Light, I believe we might have escaped annihilation,” Scarlet Mandator announced.

  “Mandator, the Life Givers should be told of the truth of your reasoning,” Golden Executor said. “I can’t conceive of the enormity of destruction that might have befallen us if you hadn’t argued for restraint in dealing with the seedling. If not for your communications, urging the preservation of the small vessel, the progenitors would have arrived at our worlds and discovered the loss of their seedling.”

  A shiver went through Scarlet Mandator’s stalks and fronds at the foolish action the other mandators had urged. “Destroy it,” they had said.

  Golden Executor regarded Teal Monitor’s bloom, which faced him. “Speak up,” he ordered.

  “Full control has been returned to our ship,” the monitor replied.

  “The Light is beneficent,” the executor pronounced.

  “What more?” Scarlet Mandator asked, noticing that Teal Monitor waited.

  “The two vessels returned to the waiting group bloom first, and I was able to observe the stalk end of the progenitor ship. It too exhibits no flame, no gas output, no nothing. It’s as if they moved by virtue of the Light,” the monitor said in awe.

  The mandator and the executor’s blooms faced each other, but nothing was shared. Words failed them.

  “Return us to the Life Givers. There is a message to share,” Mandator ordered. “If the progenitor ships come dangerously close to us, disturb my recovery again. Under no circumstances are you to fire on them. If you were, it would probably mean the end of us all.”

  Golden Executor’s bloom tipped, as the mandator left the operations center.

  * * *

  “You have our sincere appreciation, Dassata,” Killian was heard to say over the Liberator’s bridge speakers.

  “All part of the service, Killian,” Alex replied, equally relieved to see the SADEs freed from the Vinian warship.

  “What are your orders, Alex?” Killian asked.

  “Take a station off this ship and link your controller to ours for flight control,” Alex ordered. “I want you to stay close to us, in case I need more of your advice on this system.”

  “We’re staying, Alex?” Tatia asked.

  “It was my thought to further investigate this system,” Alex replied.

  “The presence of a multitude of Vinian warships doesn’t deter your curiosity?” Tatia added.

  “It never has, Admiral,” Julien quipped. “I’m unsure as to why you think it would have changed.”

  “Wisdom cometh with age and all that,” Tatia replied.

  “True for most individuals,” Julien replied.

  Alex ignored the banter. He knew Julien was employing his unique skills to moderate the concerns of the admiral and her people.

  that warship headed?> Alex sent.

 

 

 

  Alex sent. His thoughts were colored with humor.

  Miranda sent, stepping into the conversation.

  It was a habit of SADE partners to be constantly linked. Alex understood and accepted that if he was communicating with Miranda or Z, the other was undoubtedly listening. Likewise, a conversation with Hector or Trixie was likely shared, at that moment, if not later. Only Julien and Cordelia, the earliest of SADE partners, were careful to partition their conversations from him so that he rarely knew what or, better said, when a conversation was shared. More than likely, all of them were eventually known to one another.

  “Killian, Bethley, and Trium, what data did you share with the Liberator’s controller?” Alex asked.

  “All that we had on our interaction with the Vinian warship, Alex,” Killian replied.

  “I presume that you were recording telemetry data on this system until your capture,” Alex said.

  “And afterwards, up to this very moment, Alex,” Bethley replied.

  “I want that data,” Alex requested. He wondered about Reiko’s logic that the Vinian warship displayed a design iteration that announced early weaponry development after an initial encounter with a powerful enemy.

  Tatia and Reiko had questions, as to what Alex was seeking, but both realized they were too late. Z, who was closest to Alex, had taken a position directly behind him. Z’s broad Cedric Broussard avatar provided a convenient post for Alex to lean against. The other three SADEs, Julien, Z, and Miranda, had joined Alex in delving into the stream of data entering the Trident’s controller from the scout ship.

  Alex stayed on the periphery of the search, as the three SADEs sifted the telemetry for anomalies, using as a base the parts of the recording that evidenced little to no material.