Lost Valyr: Project Enterprise 7 Read online

  Rachel skirted a small seating area in the square. “Like a course?”

  “It is the most likely scenario. A natural object would not change course.”

  “No,” she agreed, “it wouldn’t.”

  Sir Rupert shifted on her shoulder, his claws gently contracting and retracting as he moved one direction, then back the other. His feathers brushed her cheek. It would have been nice to be in the inner circle on that. Rachel lapped up knowing things like a sponge. But to get cleared to that level, she’d have had to admit a lot more than she had about what she could do. She’d gotten in the habit of hiding things after her parents died and now she didn’t know how to get out of it.

  Rachel was quiet until she reached the outpost’s ancient aboveground transport system and palmed open the door. She glanced at the parrot and found him looking back at the empty square still drowsing in the early morning light. Later it would be busier as scientists and soldiers moved around. This was her favorite time. Quiet. Peaceful. No wondering. She hated that awkward moment when a half hi and half smile died from lack of attention.

  Something about the parrot caught her attention. Perhaps it was a stillness or an intentness to the tilt of his head. As if he saw something she didn’t see in the pale light. She could still smell the pungent tang of alien plants and dirt deepened by the recent drenching. Even here, light years from home, there was post-storm crispness that made her feel as if anything were possible. Perhaps today…

  The parrot’s head turned her direction as if he felt her watching him. Somewhat tentatively she arched her brows in the question she felt she couldn’t ask.

  “Do you believe in ghosts, Dr. Frank?” he said, ruffling his wings a bit, then settling down.

  Not the question she’d been expecting. As she stepped into the opening, she took a look back before the doors shut off the square.

  Were they talking ghosts in the scanners or woo-woo type ghosts? She couldn’t decide, but it didn’t matter. “I,” she hesitated, but she was a rotten liar, “I believe in what I can see.”

  “As do I,” the parrot said.

  That sounded like agreement, but it didn’t feel like agreement. She pressed a location on the interactive map on the wall and felt her tummy lurch as they shifted location in a blink.

  Xaddek blinked all eight of his eyes as they studied the human shifting nervously in front of him. The smell of his fear and sweat was potent. It was a pity not to eat him. Xaddek was hungry for fresh meat, not the rations sitting on the desk in front of him. Restraint was not easy for his species. But scientists of this human’s qualifications were not easy to come by, in or out of the system. This human did not know his value, Xaddek decided, hence the siren call of fear teasing his spider senses.

  Fear could be useful, but in this case, it might have prompted precipitous action. The human had attempted to defrost one of the artifacts with, apparently, uncertain success. Xaddek half frowned as he recalled the Bosakli artifact that Trajan Bester had, so far, failed to secure. Xaddek realized he still had hope that he would appear, though nothing had been heard from them since they passed through the Stimsa jump gate. There was information that the Mycterian fleet had passed through ahead of him, which could explain his disappearance. There was no intel to explain why either had chosen that jump gate. All Xaddek knew is that Bester had been on the track of the artifact.

  Why had this particular artifact not been frozen like the others? Did this make that artifact more or less important? Without the artifact, how could he know? And how serious was the loss of this artifact? Were all the artifacts useless, too degraded to use? Had the expense and risk been for nothing?

  “So they are dead.” If the artifacts were useless, maybe he would eat this human after all. What was the point of a scientist with no work?

  The man tugged nervously at the knotted string around his neck. Necks were vulnerable places for humans, tasty spots. All of Xaddek’s eyes lingered on the human’s neck.

  “No, not dead, precisely.” Now the human frowned. “This one is…empty.”

  “Empty?” At the present moment, it was his stomachs that were empty.

  “There is no indication of the right type of brain activity.”

  That sounded like dead to Xaddek. “Then it’s dead.’

  The scientist shook his head. “It breathes. Its heart beats. It feels pain.” He hesitated. “There is minimal brain activity, enough to keep it alive. It is like a vessel waiting to be filled.”

  “Filled?” Xaddek used a front leg to scratch a spot above one of its eyes. “With what? How?” Was that possible? There were always those who claimed that it was possible to transfer personality and knowledge to another vessel. He’d eaten them when they turned out to be wrong. For the most part, wrong tasted the same as right, with some variation based on species.

  “There was technology integrated into the storage pod that could have been meant for the transfer of…information…” His voice trailed off.

  “Or it is the technology that failed in this process.” Xaddek’s tone could not change, but his minions always knew when he was angry. Had this human botched the process?

  The man paled. “Perhaps. Although, I can find nothing connected to the pod that appears to be large data storage. Everything I have been able to assess is wholly dedicated to sustaining viability.” He eyed Xaddek uneasily as he proffered this information.

  Xaddek felt impelled to accept this possibility, even though it seemed more hope than reality. Whoever had created the pods might have separated the contents from complete reanimation data in case they fell into, well, the control of someone such as himself. It annoyed, but this was not the human’s fault. Which did not make him appear less tasty. His thoughts returned to one of Bester’s reports, more specifically the one where he’d lost the artifact to another ship. Was it possible that this ship had contained the necessary data? He’d assumed it was another such as himself, but it was unlike anything he’d seen in all his travels through many years.

  “You believe an outside source is required?” Xaddek’s tone lowered to a soft hiss. “Where do we find this source?”

  “Some of the technology had characteristics that have been attributed to a race, or people or entity known as the Garrads, or Garradians. No one really knows. But my sources believe they were a highly technical race.” The human looked away and tugged at his neck string again. “If they created the, um, artifacts, then they might hold the key to reanimating them.”

  Xaddek considered this. The names were not unfamiliar to him. If this human had led with this information, he’d have looked less tasty. He’d been following links to the Garrads or Garradians when he’d stumbled upon the information about the artifacts and their possible purpose. Xaddek did not entirely believe in the Garrads or Garradians. The tech he’d collected was not pure. There’d been traces of other tech sources that muddied provenance certainty. But the reports persisted. And had increased in the last few years, the rumors interesting, but so far just that: rumors. If the Garrads had created his artifacts, well, that might be interesting.

  “You are familiar with Garrad technology?”

  The human cleared his throat. “I did some research for the former Dusan—well, for them.” He gave a nervous smile. “On an outpost reputed to be Garradian. Nothing came of it. The technology was completely dead, but there are similarities.”

  “Similarities?”

  Now the man frowned, his fear fading as he considered the question. “Similar, yes. Better.”

  Better. Xaddek liked better. But the Dusan. No wonder this specimen smelled off. The Dusan were a nasty bunch. Even he wouldn’t eat one. There weren’t many places he wouldn’t go, and that was one of them.

  The human shifted nervously once more and rushed into speech. “I ran into a trader who heard a story about the technology being unlocked by some ancient key that had been discovered by the Gadi.”

  “The Gadi.” Xaddek allowed a slight question to enter
his tone.

  “There are stories, more than rumors,” the human insisted, though Xaddek was not able to look skeptical as he felt, “that the Dusan have been defeated. That ships have ventured into that region and returned.”

  When a region had been torn by war for as long as this one was reported to be have gone on, there was not much left for a collector such as himself. Gadi. Garradian. Was it possible they were linked somehow? Time altered so many things, it was hard to know without…testing. If his artifact was, indeed Garrad, then it should be possible to find trace similarities between it and these Gadi. One would need one, of course.

  He’d collected a Dusan once. He believed he had a sample saved since he hadn’t wished to consume it. If the Dusan and the Gadi had occupied the same space, they might be connected, as well. It was his experience that all human wars could be traced back to very personal quarrels. They must have something in common to fight so bitterly for so long.

  “Compare the samples of the artifact with my stored sample of the Dusan.”

  The human nodded, managing to look interested despite his unease.

  Was the war truly over? Rumors were so unreliable, particularly rumors of ships coming and going.

  Xaddek flexed his front legs. “Do you remember the location of the outpost where you conducted your research?”

  For the first time, the human looked confident. “I remember, sir.”

  “And my artifact? Will it expire without an infusion of data?” He was still hungry, and fresh meat—even if it had been frozen—was scarce on a space vessel.

  The human’s brows arched. “I put it in a chemical coma. But it won’t last forever outside the pod.”

  “Refreezing is not an option?”

  “I doubt very much it would survive that,” the human admitted, wariness once more altering his posture.

  “Well, if it begins to fade, contact me at once.” If the artifact were Garrad, or somehow related to the mythical species, then it would make a rare meal. He did like sampling the rare. He waved a claw at the human. “You may go.”

  The human left with an attempt at a dignified retreat, but he could not hide his relief. Xaddek tapped his controls, searching for Bester’s report on Bosakli, in particular, the scan data attached to that report. He considered it and decided it was interesting and yes, as unusual as he recalled. But, if it was a data repository, was it for all the artifacts, or just the one that Bester had mislaid? There were seven artifacts, according to his research. Could there be seven ships, one for each? It was a stretch, but it would not hurt to get eyes out looking for similar ships. And the newly opened Garrad space? If it was open, was it possible this was the source of the artifacts?

  If it were, he would need to know more than rumors if he were to risk himself by going there. It might be worth repositioning the ship. But, if ships were going in and returning, perhaps one of these ships was known to him. He had his own way of finding out about ships that were useful, or ships he wanted to possess. He turned to his data, scrolling for any indication—what was that? The Najer? He sighed at the name. It was the only ship whose crew he’d not want to taste. He laughed at his mild joke. Robots. Clever, very clever robots. The bounty on it, and its crew was the most ever offered. Of course, one would have to trust the Quh'y to pay up and not turn their reclaimed mercenaries on him. He had not seen or heard of anyone who had seen the Najer lately.

  What were they up to? He smiled as much as he could. He scratched under one leg with another leg. It had been too long since he talked with Savlf. Oh, Savlf. She smelled so tasty, but she was too brilliant to eat. Though he might change his mind if Savlf had lost the Najer.

  Colonel Braedon Carey stood at the back of ops waiting for his briefing. It didn’t look like it was coming any time soon. Not the geeks or the sensors fault. This was about the distances in space. And so far their bogey, if there was a bogey, was keeping well away from Kikk and the outpost. At first, everyone thought it was a problem with the sensors, but there’d been a growing sense of unease as the ghost track continued to appear at regular intervals. A ship? It had to be, but how was it avoiding most of their scanning? There were coverage gaps, the geeks admitted, causing Carey to exchange a worried glance with the Old Man.

  This outpost was the region closest, with air quotes, to Earth and where the first Project Enterprise ship had arrived. And immediately got into a fight with the Dusan. While Carey was not a proponent of annihilation, the Dusan had been a particularly nasty bunch who had sought the complete destruction of the expedition and everyone in this galaxy. No question this was a small galaxy, but that still added up to a lot of humanoids. So no regrets there. Now that the Dusan had ceased to be a threat, pirates had started to move into that region of space. The remnants of Garradian technology, which the Dusan had been unable to use, was a huge lure as war worries faded and old-timers began to recall more and more of the old legends about the lost people and their technology.

  Since the outpost could shoot back and was guarded by two Project Enterprise ships, Carey wasn’t too worried about that bogey. The geeks were freaking out over how hard it was to track. He couldn’t tell if they were for or against it—as in worried about it or excited about it. Probably both, he decided. Geeks were both useful and a little crazy, in his estimation.

  While everyone assumed the Garradians were long gone, there were…indications…that they might be gone, but not gone. With time travel in the mix, it was not beyond the realm of possibility for one or some of them to return and want their outpost back. Not that he’d thought about it until Doc and Robert had brought it up after Olivia asked them about the Garradians.

  He would have liked to ponder Olivia because his wife was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but he didn’t ponder anything when he was on alert status and with a deployment looming. His goal was always to get back to his wife.

  The big screens updated with info as other outposts began to send scan data to the Kikk Outpost. The network of outposts was a definite benefit—even with the holes—but also a worry. Their expedition didn’t have the resources to occupy or even monitor all of these remnants of Garradian power. The Gadi were slowly sending resources to occupy and protect them, but they were all counting on the fact that the outposts could only be activated by someone with Key DNA. Which is what had prompted Olivia’s question.

  And the next one: would they know if someone with the Key DNA, which was not as rare as assumed, penetrated an outpost and started using it?

  No one knew the answer to that question because, as far as they knew, no one had done it.

  It was the as far as they knew that bothered Carey. Scientists like to assert things and then qualify them in ways that could get you sent back in time. As he’d learned. And even though he’d brought back a wife, he was still a little bitter and distrustful. He never took anything they said at face value anymore, that was for sure.

  Waking up with a buzzard on your chest, in a remote desert, in the 1940’s, did that to a guy.

  He studied the locations involved, trying to stay ahead of the updates, in case he got the order to deploy. His squadron had been updated with Garradian technology, so their intercept wouldn’t take as long as it would have before, but it would still take longer than he’d have liked. He’d have waited to deploy his squadron until the bogey was a possible threat to this outpost, but he wasn’t in charge. Not that he wanted to be in charge. He wanted to be back on the Outpost with his wife—

  More data arrived.

  An argument broke out. Was it or wasn’t it a ship? General Halliwell stood in their midst, an island as the debate waged around him.

  “Let’s—” his voice cut through the babel, though he did not raise his voice, “—assume it is a ship. Based on its present course, can you predict where it is headed?”

  That made them all pause, look at each other, then jump onto their keyboards in an attempt to be first. After they all had a projected course, they compared. Then th
e head geek cleared his throat. “We think it will show up on our sensors again here, sir.”

  A projected course popped up on the screen. It had been provisionally upgraded to an “unknown bogey.”

  That was the trouble with bogeys. They were unknown for too long. When knowing happened, shooting tended to follow quickly. Would the Old Man send them in cloaked? It was his preference. In his estimation, it was always better to be the one doing the surprising, rather being the one surprised.

  “How long?”

  Another geek answered. Halliwell looked at the clock. He glanced back at Carey. “Get your birds ready to deploy, Colonel.”

  “Yes, sir.” Carey saluted and turned on his heel, tapping his radio as he headed for the lift.

  2

  Darkness. Cold. So much cold. Sharp teeth of cold biting deep into bones, drilling down to marrow. He floated in cold waters, lost and alone. Why? Where? How? Questions exhausted. He tried to sink back into the dark cold, to let it close back over his mind, but a sound nagged. Persistent. Relentless. His brain grabbed the sound, would not let go. He tried to brush it aside, to push it away. Dark beckoned, promised to free him from the cold.

  The sound pulsed louder, echoing in the dark. Echoing inside his head.

  It mattered. Reminded of…what? It tugged a something buried, something old. A need…someone needed him…

  A pinpoint of light pierced the darkness, blinding, merciless and yet, with the faintest wisp of warmth. He huddled in it, felt the edges of bitter cold ease. Like old, slow gears, his mind began to turn, to sluggishly churn. Who needed him? Who called him? The sound gave no answers in its persistent tap, tap.

  The light grew, digging into his eyes.

  Pain. Different from the cold pain. Muscles clenched, protested waking.

  Waking? From what?

  The light grew, the pain growing with it.