Test of Mettle (A Captain's Crucible Book 2) Read online

  He was taken aback by what he saw.

  Or rather, the lack thereof.

  eight

  Jonathan stared at the external feed. The Aurelia and Dagger floated in front of the ship. The Salvador lurked beyond them, appearing little bigger than a star in the distance—he only knew it was there because of the aReal. According to the tactical display, the comm drone was still intact, roughly three klicks off the port bow, twenty-five degrees declination. The two other telemetry drones the Marley had launched were similar distances away.

  There was no return Gate.

  “Well, at least we know what the problem was,” Robert said.

  The Grimm, Marley, and Maelstrom arrived in sequence behind the Callaway.

  “Helm, continue accelerating from the Slipstream endpoint,” Jonathan said. “Full power. Miko, relay the order to the fleet. Let’s put some distance between ourselves and that wormhole. Lewis, are we receiving any pings from the Prius 3 comm nodes?”

  “No. There’s...” She hesitated. “There’s something wrong, Captain.”

  “What is it, Ensign?”

  Lewis looked at him. “Prius 3 is a three planet system around a single Class K star. However, we appear to be located on the outskirts of a binary star system, with seven planets currently showing up on passive sensors. No signs of habitation.”

  “What?” Jonathan stiffened. “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, Captain,” Lewis said. “At first I thought there was a problem with our sensors. I’ve been in touch with my equivalents aboard our sister ships. They’ve confirmed my readings. We’re definitely not in Prius 3.”

  “Then where the hell are we?”

  “I ran the surrounding constellation and star patterns into the system, looking for any matches to the telescope data we’ve archived from different colonies and space flights. No matches. So I’m having Maxwell run an extrapolation algorithm to try to figure out our exact coordinates. The AI is also probing the entrance to confirm that the return journey would take us to Vega 951.”

  There was a way to estimate the endpoint from the opposite side of a Slipstream with surprising accuracy. The method involved measuring, among other parameters, the redshift and gravitational lensing of the star patterns at the wormhole’s entrance. Jonathan hadn’t even thought to have the scientists run that test from the previous side, as Slipstream endpoints were supposed to be immutable.

  “Evidently you were right,” Jonathan told Robert. “The aliens did in fact tinker with the Slipstream. Just not in the way you thought.”

  “No. I wasn’t expecting them to alter the destination point.” Robert rubbed his ear lobe. “How is this even possible? We received a comm drone from Prius 3 right after the aliens retreated from the 1-Vega Slipstream. Which would imply that the incoming endpoint still leads to Vega 951, while the outgoing terminates somewhere else entirely. There’s no wormhole like that in the entire galaxy. When you go back through a Slipstream, you always return to where you started from. Always.”

  “Apparently Slipstreams don’t necessarily have to work that way,” Jonathan said. “You yourself theorized that these aliens were the descendants of the Elder, Commander. Human beings have long postulated that the Elders created the network of Slipstreams that crisscross our quadrant of the galaxy. We’re starting to see evidence that both theories are true, given that these aliens seem to have the means to edit wormholes.”

  Robert shook his head. “Designer wormholes, made to spec. And tailorable after the fact.” He rubbed his ear. “So even if we were to survive long enough to build a return Gate...”

  Jonathan nodded. “There’s no guarantee it would even bring us back to Vega 951. Maxwell, have you run your analysis on the Slipstream yet? Do we know if it will return us?”

  “Data inconclusive,” Maxwell intoned. “It’s impossible for me to determine if the wormhole will lead to Vega 951. I’m sorry, Captain.”

  Jonathan glanced at Robert and raised his arms in defeat.

  “So we’re stranded here,” Robert said.

  “At least until the welcome party arrives to blow us to smithereens.” On his aReal, Jonathan activated the aft external camera and zoomed in on the Slipstream endpoint. It appeared indistinguishable from the outlying space. So innocuous, yet it would prove to be their doom.

  “You think the aliens herded us here on purpose?” Robert said. “To trap us so they could finish us off? And prevent us from calling for reinforcements?”

  Jonathan nodded. “That’s my working theory. I want you to put our best astrophysicists and engineers on the problem. Have them compare the gravimetric readings taken from 1-Vega six months ago, prior to the alien presence, to the readings recorded moments before we made the return trip. If there is a difference, see if someone can come up with a way to restore the wormhole to its previous state. It might be something as simple as modifying the diameter and weight of Contessa Gate to account for the gravitational differences.”

  “I doubt it will be so simple, but I’ll let them know,” Robert said. “And like we’ve already agreed, there’s no guarantee that if we build a return Gate here, we’ll even end up back in Vega 951 to try whatever solutions the scientists come up with.”

  “No, there is not,” Jonathan said.

  “Sir, Captain Rail is requesting a tap in,” Lazur announced.

  “Tap her in,” Jonathan said.

  She appeared in the center of the Round Table. Jonathan updated the permissions to involve only Robert in the conversation, and he extended his noise canceler around the two of them.

  “Why are we moving away from the endpoint?” Rail asked.

  “I’ve decided it would be prudent to put some distance between ourselves and that Slipstream,” Jonathan said. “The enemy reinforcements are scheduled to follow us through five days from now.”

  “We should maintain our current tactical location,” Captain Rail transmitted. “Ambush them. We’ll take up positions behind the endpoint, and cut the enemy down as they emerge.”

  “You’re forgetting that they like to send little probes through first to assess the situation,” Jonathan said. “When those probes identify our locations and return, the enemy will come through with all their turrets pointed at us.”

  “Assuming that their probes have the same ability to traverse Slipstreams without Gates—” Rail began.

  “Which would be a safe assumption,” Jonathan interrupted.

  “Then we shoot down the probes before the things actually return to alert the enemy,” Rail finished.

  “Then they’ll know something is wrong, and race through at maximum speed. Either way, we’re basically sitting ducks for the thirty enemy ships if we stay here. And we’d also open ourselves up to a potential flank attack if any more ships decided to show up from the inner planets.”

  “We’d have ample warning before such a flanking attack,” Rail said. “It’s at least two days to the closet planet.”

  “Even so, my previous arguments still stand.”

  “I don’t like it,” Rail said. “We should keep at least one ship back to buy the others time.”

  “I’m not interested in sacrificing ships needlessly,” Jonathan said. “Especially when any time that could be bought from such a sacrifice is negligible.”

  “We could mine the Slipstream, using the last nuke aboard the Aurelia,” Rail said.

  “We saw how well that worked in front of 2-Vega. You’re forgetting about their advance probes.”

  Rail scowled. “Fine. You want to run. I understand. Captain Rail out.” She terminated the connection.

  Jonathan shot Robert an expression that read: see what I have to put up with?

  The commander shrugged. “Guess she’s never heard the proverb: discretion is the better part of valor.”

  “Ensign, tell me about the nearest planet,” Jonathan said.

  “It’s a small, near-Earth equivalent,” Lewis said. “It should be a frozen ball of ice at thi
s range from the suns, but the fluorocarbons in the atmosphere appear to have caused a greenhouse effect, placing temperatures at a balmy minus eighty five degrees. While not currently capable of supporting life, it might be a suitable terraforming target, especially if it’s producing any significant geothermal heat.”

  Jonathan frowned. “Too bad we don’t have any terraforming equipment.”

  “Should be good for a slingshot speed boost at the very least,” Robert said.

  “Anything else of interest sunward?” Jonathan asked.

  Lewis pursed her lips. “There appears to be another Slipstream in orbit between the first and second planets. But other than that, well, we have a few gas giants; a couple of inner terrestrials with size and temperature profiles similar to Mercury; some moons that might be worth exploring. And this is moderately interesting: there are two distinct sets of asteroid belts. The tidal forces of the binary suns vying against the forces of the gas giants prevented the asteroids from ever forming planets.”

  Jonathan took a moment to consider the fleet’s next course of action.

  Finally: “Nav, plot a course to the nearest planet. Slingshot maneuver.”

  “Course plotted for slingshot maneuver,” the nav specialist said a moment later. “Helm is clear to engage.”

  “Miko,” Jonathan said. “What’s the maximum possible speed the Callaway can attain without leaving anybody behind?”

  “Our slowest ships are the Grimm and the Marley,” Miko said. “If you don’t want to lose them, I’d recommend no more than seventy percent thrust.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Well, at least that speed will keep Stanley happy.” He thrummed his fingers on the armrest a moment. “All right. Helm, push our nose into position and increase speed to seventy percent.” He glanced at Lazur. “Comm, instruct the task group to match our course and speed.”

  “Should we stand down from general quarters?” Robert asked.

  “I just realized something,” Miko said. “If the enemy can edit Slipstream endpoints like the two of you have been saying, then what would stop them from pointing another Slipstream to this one from a different system? One where they had reinforcements ready to send through? We might have far less than five days before enemy units arrive.”

  Jonathan once more eyed the innocuous-seeming void behind the Callaway on his aReal. Doomed indeed. “Maintain general quarters for the moment.”

  Jonathan studied the planetary objects on the aReal’s tactical display.

  If we were attacked now, how would I use those celestial bodies to our advantage?

  “Sir,” Ensign Lewis said. “Maxwell has completed a preliminary extrapolation of our position based on current sensor readings.”

  “So where are we?” Jonathan asked the AI.

  “She did say preliminary,” Maxwell returned. “It’s going to take some time to pinpoint our precise location. I am devoting approximately ten percent of my processing power to the computation.”

  “So you don’t know where we are.” It was a statement of disappointment, not a question.

  “No,” Maxwell admitted. “But based on my initial analysis, I can tell with absolute certainty where we are not.”

  “Okay...”

  “This isn’t the Milky Way,” Maxwell said.

  Jonathan glanced at Robert. “Is the AI saying what I think it’s saying?”

  “We are in a completely different galaxy, Captain,” Maxwell said.

  nine

  Jonathan retired to his private office shortly after that revelation and collapsed on the couch.

  A completely different galaxy. They were farther away from Earth than anyone had ever gone.

  He felt a nearly overwhelming sense of unease. Fear of the unknown was a factor, certainly, but there was more to it. They were cut off from the rest of the universe. Marooned. There were no dry docks. No resupply depots. They had to be completely self-reliant.

  And despite all that, he also felt a strange sense of relief. He would not have to face the NAVCENT board, not yet. He was still in command.

  Still needed.

  The thought filled him with a sudden guilt.

  I wanted to remain in command, yes. But not like this. Never like this.

  Still, wasn’t the current scenario everything he had dreamed of? He was afraid of the unknown, but also excited. His intrepid spirit had yearned for such an opportunity. To explore places so far away that it boggled the mind; to encounter beauty no man or woman had ever seen, nor likely would see; to make incredible new discoveries about the subtle intricacies of the universe in which we resided.

  The guilt came flooding back when he realized how incredibly selfish those thoughts were. While the prospect of exploring a faraway galaxy might excite him, his crew hadn’t signed up for any of it. His two highest priorities at the moment were to survive the coming encounter and then to build a return Gate. He had no time for sightseeing.

  There was another reason why an expeditious return was important: he had to warn the fleet of the alien threat before it was too late.

  Jonathan sat up. He would have to make an announcement to the rest of the crew soon before the rumor mill spun out of control.

  He activated the dictation application on his aReal and began preparing a speech.

  A FEW HOURS later, still from the comfort and privacy of his office, Jonathan called on the AI to stand down from general quarters.

  When that was done, Jonathan said: “Maxwell, do you know where we are yet?”

  “Does it really matter?” the AI returned.

  “I suppose not,” Jonathan said. “We won’t be going home any time soon.”

  “But you’re not going to tell the crew that, are you?”

  “Actually I will,” Jonathan said. “But I’m going to gild it in a shiny wrapper of hope so as not to affect morale too badly.”

  “I’ll never understand the human need for hope,” Maxwell said. “Morale simply isn’t something a machine has to worry about.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Jonathan agreed. “Which is exactly why we don’t dispatch starships fully manned by AIs.”

  “I don’t understand the correlation,” Maxwell said. “An AI-only starship would never have any of the problems associated with low morale: reduced productivity; increased chance of mutiny...”

  “Nor would such a ship have the positives that come with a human crew who are in possession of good morale: increased output and eagerness to perform. Attention to detail.”

  “Which are balanced out by the negatives,” Maxwell insisted. “Take a snapshot of an AI ship’s performance at any given moment in time, and it will easily outmatch the capabilities of a mixed AI-human crew whose non-machine members are experiencing the best possible morale.”

  “I’m not in the mood to argue with you at the moment.” Jonathan rubbed his eyes.

  “I’m trying to get you in the proper state of mind to address the crew,” Maxwell said. “By putting you in a social state.”

  “It’s not helping. You’re putting me in an anti-social state.”

  “My apologies.”

  “Just give me some quiet time,” Jonathan said. He got up from the soft couch and sat down in the firm chair behind the desk instead.

  “You do intend to address the crew, don’t you?” Maxwell asked.

  “I said some quiet time!” he snapped.

  Finally Maxwell remained silent.

  Jonathan sighed, and then retrieved the speech he had saved on his aReal. He mentally reread it one last time. He could have had his aReal act as a teleprompter while he read it, but he had always been taught that the best speeches were those that were recited from memory. The human brain was the best teleprompter there was, after all.

  “Maxwell,” Jonathan said. “I’m ready to make my announcement to the crew. Activate audio and visual, please.”

  The audio component would be played over the main circuit, while the video would appear in a dismissible window on the aReals of the cr
ew.

  “Cameras and microphones active,” Maxwell said. “Sending preview image to your aReal. Would you like me to transmit the announcement to the captains of the task group?”

  “I would.”

  The captains could either replay the message directly to their crews, or issue their own statements, at their discretion.

  “Transmission will start in five,” Maxwell said.

  “Four.”

  Jonathan straightened. He regarded his realtime image in the video preview area of the aReal, and then tilted his head slightly so that his face appeared perfectly level on the display. He quickly selected the “optimize posture” option from the menu beside the preview.

  “Three.”

  The aReal applied a 3D map to his face, and replaced the video feed with a computer-generated duplicate that would automatically keep his face centered in the frame at all times. From that moment forward, even if he slouched, to the crew it would appear he was sitting with flawless posture, his face pointed directly at the camera.

  “Two.”

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and mentally prepared himself.

  “One.”

  Jonathan opened his eyes.

  “Crew of the Callaway,” he said. “Some of you may have heard the rumors. That we are no longer in our own galaxy. That we’ve traveled through a Slipstream and somehow arrived at a far-flung location across the universe.

  “I’m sad to say, these rumors are true. But we’re not going to give up. Once we have secured this system, we will build a return Gate. Yes, I know. You’ve already waited six months to get home. And now you must wait another six, at the minimum. Probably more.

  “The hope is that the new Gate will take us back to Vega 951. When we have returned to our own galaxy, we’ll find a way to restore the properties of the Slipstream to allow us to reach Prius 3. I have our best scientists and engineers working diligently on the problem.

  “In the meantime, we’re heading toward the inner planets to seek asylum in case enemy reinforcements arrive via the Slipstream behind us. We will remain in hiding for some time, and if the enemy arrives, we will strike from the shadows and destroy them. Once the system is secure, we will return to the wormhole and begin construction of the Gate.