A Faded Star (8 page)

 Lashmere Space Dock engulfed all three vessels easily.
It's massive shipyards and repair facilities developed during the war were now
completely overkill with a peacetime operational load. There had been much talk
of dismantling or at least shutting down the majority of the facility to reduce
budget costs.

 Stokes stood, gazing at the forward display in the
secondary bridge. The main bridge was still out of commission and would not
return anytime soon even with the full facilities of the space dock. The damage
from the alien saboteur had been extreme. Salvaged components from the crab
ship that had not been completely destroyed revealed little thus far. Kri and
Simmons were working just about around the clock, attempting to decipher their
data storage model.

 During the return trip, Thun had been terse. He had
transferred four survivors, rescued from the mid ships weapon bay, and had
agreed to accompany the two warships back to space dock for repairs. Little
else had been said despite several attempts by both Commodore Stokes and
Admiral Vesper, who had arrived with the Bastion, to engage him in
conversation. Thun had simply said he would only speak with a civilian official
who could speak for the entire Lashmere people, and that was the only
authorization he had received from his government on the matter.

 A delegation of diplomats and politicians was waiting
to meet Thun at the space dock as soon as all three ships were secure. Boarding
tubes and moorings moved across the space between the Rampart and the space
dock. The ever present hum of a ship operating under its own power softened to
an almost inaudible buzz.

 Hanlon looked up from her status display and said,
“Done with engines, Commodore.”

 Stokes allowed himself a slight smile. “Well done,
people. I know the last few days have been rough. Secure all engines, Exec.”

 “Secure all engines, aye, sir.”

 Stokes nodded. “All department heads report your
repair schedules to the yard captain by oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. For the
moment, I expect minimum watch section and shore leave for all hands. Before we
can release all hands, we have to meet with the delegation waiting for us.
Bridge officers with me.”

 As the bridge crew headed towards the boarding tube,
Thun's ship maneuvered into the small boat dock at the same berth as Rampart.
Rampart's bridge crew met the delegation waiting on the concourse. Most
prominent among them was Lashmere's vice president, Richard Owens. The two
groups moved together to where the boarding tube from Thun's ship connected to
the concourse. Thun walked down the tube and gave all of them their first
really good look at him.

 Thun was short, not more than one and a half meters,
bipedal with short legs and arms that reached nearly to the floor and covered
with short, coarse hair that was cream and tan in color. His wide, roughly
triangular face had a pair of tiny black eyes that never seemed to rest on
anything and were much too far apart, a flat nose thrust hairlessly out of the
center of the face and showed that Thun had a pale gray skin under all the fur.
His mouth was a tall, triangular affair that tended to open and shut rapidly as
he engaged in vocalizations. He wore a gray one-piece uniform that was covered
in adornments and markings.

 Stokes nodded to Thun. “Good morning. I hope you are
ready to meet with our political and diplomatic leaders.”

 Thun wobbled his head side to side in what Stokes
presumed was meant as an affirmative. “I am. My communications with my
government have given me several directives and granted me some latitude in
diplomatic matters. Until a formal delegation arrives from the alliance
government.”

 Vice President Owens spoke. “Good morning, Mister
Thun. My name is Richard Owens. I am the vice president of the people of
Lashmere.” Thun waggled his head side to side in acknowledgment of the
statement. Owens continued, “Would you be so kind as to explain your rank, role,
and then tell us a bit about the planetary alliance you represent?”

 Thun's English was perfect with no detectable accent.
“I could never be considered a representative of my people. I am simply a scout
ship pilot. Although my government has given me the authority to negotiate with
you, it is merely a preliminary stage until a formal delegation of actual
representatives arrives.” Thun fell silent for a moment while he considered his
next statement. “The alliance I am a part of was formed thousands of years ago
in reaction to the incursion of a hostile and warlike species. The alliance is
made up of five different species. Each species contributed to the plan that
eventually defeated this hostile species. Since their defeat, we have devoted
ourselves to the exploration of scientific knowledge and gaining a deeper
understanding of the universe and ourselves.

 “The alliance is made up of five different species, as
I said earlier. These species are Xalcek, my species, the Unam, the Yaderiedea,
the Hontoata and the Gol. Each species maintains a central political structure,
mostly on their planets of origin. My home planet, Xalcek, is where the capital
of the alliance is located. There is a separate political structure that
governs the alliance independently from the planetary government. Each species
elects representatives to the alliance government. These representatives help
to determine how the alliance and individual species interact with each other.

 Vice President Owens looked suitably impressed. “Five thousand
years is a very long time to have a government of such size endure. How do you
avoid stagnation and complacency causing overwhelming bureaucratic overload?”

 Thun considered the question for a moment. “That is a
complex inquiry. I am not initiated into the deeper understandings of how our
alliance government works, but there is one principle that has kept all of our
planetary governments from destroying themselves under their own weight. Every
one hundred years, each planetary government is required to make a clean sweep
of all laws, regulations, political offices and rebuild from the most basic of
structures. The alliance has the ability to put this off for up to an
additional fifty years if there is a crisis or need to do so, but this has
never happened. Each government starts with a set of basic rights and
responsibilities and the new representatives must use that framework to
establish new laws, regulations and principles to govern the people for the
next hundred years.”

 “What's to stop the new government from just copying
what the old government did for the previous hundred years?”

 “Many times they do, but it allows the government to
respond to the younger generation each time they are born. Often, this keeps
planetary governments from keeping old, irrelevant or useless rules and laws.”

 Owens looked surprised. “New generation? How long do
you live?”

 “The Xalcek have the shortest average lifespans in the
alliance. Usually, we live three hundred to three hundred twenty-five years.”

 “Ah.”

 Simmons broke into the conversation at that point. “Do
your species live this long naturally or did you achieve this lifespan through
some technological advancement?”

 Stokes shot Simmons a withering glance that stopped
her stopped on the edge of saying more. “My apologies, sir. Miss Simmons,
please restrain your exuberance.”

 Owens chuckled and gave Thun his best politician's
smile before glancing at Stokes. “Thank you, Commodore. I will see Mister Thun
to the conference rooms. Please carry on.”

 Stokes saluted smartly and said, “Aye, sir.” and
watched as the Vice President, Thun and the rest of the diplomatic delegation
disappeared into a lift. He then addressed his assembled bridge officers.
“Everyone is dismissed with the exception of Miss Simmons. Get your divisions
secure and release them for shore leave.”

 The bridge crew hustled back up the boarding tube to
carry out the orders. Simmons stood, watching Stokes expectantly. When he did
not begin after a moment, she said, “I apologize, sir. I was merely trying to
ascertain the level of technological advancement the alliance may have.”

 “Are you an intelligence operative now? When a
lieutenant is in the presence of the vice president of the planet, silence is
not just the best policy; it is the only policy. I meant to speak to you once
we arrived back in spaceport about your bearing before this incident, and your
actions here have only made it more important someone speaks to you. You've
exhibited a variety of poor bridge behaviors since you came aboard. Initially,
you engaged in ongoing and unprofessional conversations with Mister Kri, and
the report I received about your boarding action made it clear we're lucky you
didn't manage to get the entire team killed over there. I realize you're used
to having special exception made because of your brilliance, and I don't deny
your mind and scientific ability are valuable assets to the Navy, but as long
as you are attached to my command, you will learn to behave yourself like a
military officer. What kind of message does it send to the enlisted men and
women when you act that way in front of them? What kind of message does it send
to the other officers that a person with your reputation does the things you
do?”

 “I'm sorry, sir.” Simmons felt her face heat under the
reprimand. She wasn't used to being on the receiving end of such speeches. “I
guess I've been in the laboratory for so long, conducting research and had my
own team I felt like the cruise aboard the Rampart was a bit of a vacation. I
have no excuse, sir.”

 “I'm glad you recognize those points, lieutenant.
Please see to it you remember these things when you step onto the bridge of my
or any ship again.”

 “Aye, sir.” Simmons fervently hoped the conversation
was coming to an end. Three hundred years. She had to find out how they did
that.

 “Very good, Lieutenant. Now see to your duties.”
Stokes turned and began striding up the boarding tube. Simmons looked wistfully
at the elevator Thun had disappeared into for a moment. She shook her head
slightly and followed Stokes back aboard the Rampart.

 The following days were filled with the business of
repairing the Rampart. The call Stokes had been anticipating did not come until
the morning of the fourth day after returning to the space dock. Stokes was reviewing
some requisitions when his comm panel beeped for his attention. Stokes tapped
the acceptance button and was greeted by the sight of Admiral Vesper looking
out at him. “Admiral, good morning.”

 “Good morning, Commodore. How are your repairs proceeding?”

 “We are working as fast as possible. I expect Rampart
to be returned to full readiness at least a week ahead of schedule.”

 “Excellent. Please pass my compliments along to your
crew.”

 “I'll be happy to, sir. What can I do for you?”

 “I have new orders for you, Mister Stokes. The formal
packet will be arriving this afternoon, but I wanted to personally comm you and
let you know what's coming. The Rampart is being dispatched to investigate what
is now being referred to as the origin signal. The signal appears to be coming
from a system thirteen light years from Lashmere. You'll have to make three
jumps to get there, and we don't know what might be waiting for you at the
other end. I want you to exercise the utmost caution and care on this trip,
Commodore.

 “We decoded the signal from a comparison between the
signal sent by Thun's scout ship and the origin tablet. As Lieutenant Simmons'
report indicated, the signal is highly directional. The only way we could know
about it is that it is deliberately being directed towards this planet. Whoever
set the signal up wants us to receive it.”

 “I understand, sir. If I may ask, how are the
diplomats making out?”

 “They've provided me with precious little information,
but as far as I can tell, the alliance Thun is part of is even more massive
than he originally indicated. We're expecting a formal diplomatic delegation
from his government in about two weeks. Beyond that, the politicians aren't
sharing anything.”

 “Interesting. Have we learned anything about these 'crabs'?”

 “Nothing yet. I share your curiosity, Commodore. The
information has flowed almost exclusively one way thus far. Thun has been
asking many questions and answering very few. When I know, I will advise you.

 “Thank you, sir.”

 “Of course. Stay sharp, Commodore. Admiral Vesper,
out.” The screen switched back to the requisition report Stokes had been
looking at before the Admiral had called.

 Stokes leaned back in his chair and pondered how he
would complete his mission. The distance meant no other ship in the Lashmere
Navy would be able to respond or even know if there was a problem once the
Rampart arrived in this adjacent star system. Pulling his astrometric chart up,
Stokes scrolled through the nearby systems. There it was, Buckman's Star. Stokes
had no idea where the name came from, but he knew some of the system
designations were held over from the last time humans had been able to traverse
the vast distances between the stars. Three jumps. Looking at the map, Stokes
began considering how he would enter the system at all. There was a large
nebula not too far off of the projected shortest course. There may be some
value in stopping to investigate the nebula on either the outbound or return
leg of their journey. The remaining information on this system was
frustratingly vague. No planetary data, only that the system's primary was a
red giant that had gone supernova some million or so years ago.

 Sighing, Stokes rubbed his eyes with the back of his
hand. Orders or no orders he still had to get the Rampart back into fighting
trim before making any interstellar journeys. He turned his attention back to
the requisition report.

 Patho walked into the shipyard gym, ready for his
daily workout but stopped when he saw Marli Simmons standing in the center of
one of the exercise mats. She was standing perfectly still in a stylized
posture that Patho recognized as one of the advanced martial arts forms. Her
back was to him as she stood, waiting for the moment of perfect balance.
Without warning, she exploded into motion her arms and legs carving graceful
and lethal arcs of motion that sequentially focused maximum energy onto the
striking part of a hand, foot or another body part. As she finished the
choreographed set of movements, she turned and saw Aden standing there.