Catherine Kimbridge Chronicles 7: Renegades (7 page)

Chapter 8: Hupenstanii Space

Across the bridge of the
GCP Yorktown
countless warning lights flared and consoles sparked and smoldered as they overloaded. The cacophony was augmented by the sound of emergency klaxons warbling throughout the ship. It seemed a perfectly timed hyperfield jump combined with a decoy nuclear explosion had worked.

“Report!” Ken Kirkland barked. “Where are we? And kill that damn klaxon!”

Sassi straightened up in his special control nest. The Ashkelon navigator had huddled deep within his restrains as the ship got ready for its second experimental unconstrained hyperfield jump. His race’s physiology made him especially vulnerable to harm should he be unprotected during extreme turbulence.

“Sensors show we are in the Hupenstanii home system,” Sassi confirmed.

“Astrometrics confirms our location and Yorky is reporting the ship’s AI and personnel were unconscious for roughly three seconds,” Ben added from the First Officer’s station.

“That would explain why I still have a headache but it’s not nearly as bad as last time,” Commander Martinescu said from his weapons console.    

Cat scanned the bridge. “It’s bad enough. Three seconds is a long time to be defenseless after a jump.”

“That’s true Admiral but it’s a big improvement over our first jump,” Ben said.

“And as we get more experience we can refine our calculations. We may be able to do even better in the future,” Sassi added.

“Let’s hope so,” Ken said. “I’m with the Admiral on this one. An adversary can do a lot of damage in three seconds.” He straightened in his seat. “Ben, get repair teams going on all systems. Helm, set a course for the home world. Sensors, I want a full but passive sweep of the system. If there is anything out there I want to know about it without broadcasting our existence or position. Yorky… cloak the ship as soon as your systems have recovered enough to do so.”

“Aye Captain,” was echoed by the various stations around the bridge.

***

Forty minutes later Admirals Faragon and Melbourne along with Ken Kirkland and Ben joined Cat in her conference room.

Sensors showed the Yorktown was about three days from the Hupenstanii home world at maximum sublight speeds. Cat would have preferred to emerge closer but there was nothing to be done about it.

“So,” Sherry Melbourne said. “Our little trick seems to have worked. Imera believes us to be vaporized and Sharn Drago’s ships chased his taskforce out of the area before they could spend too much time confirming the kill.”

“It would seem so,” Cat agreed. “The real question is ‘What are we going to do about that?’” Cat said pointing to the floating holographic display in the center of the conference room table. It showed four massive orbital defense platforms guarding the Hupenstanii home world.

“Do we know whether or not they belong to the Hupenstanii or the GCP?” Ben asked.

“There is only a very limited amount of traffic between the platforms and the larger of the two moons. As far as we can tell there has been nothing traveling to or from the home world and the platforms,” Sherry answered.

Bud Faragon rotated the display with his hand. “I don’t know about the rest of you but if these were Hupenstanii platforms you’d think there would be more traffic with the home world... shore leave, supply runs and the like. I suspect these are GCP platforms intended to guard the high orbitals and keep our Hopper friends planet-bound.”

“I agree,” Cat said. “Notice how they are positioned. Between them they have a complete and overlapping view of the planet’s surface. They are an interdiction force. The good news is they are focused on looking down. Even if they are watching for approaching ships, we emerged nowhere near the systems only jump point and we are cloaked.”

***

Triska’nar focused on the entertainment screen in front of her. It was playing some sort of game show that involved abnormally high amounts of physical agility in order to avoid being soaked in
faarna
beer. The fermented grain alcohol would bleach the unfortunate contestant’s plumage – turning it pink should they be too slow navigating through the ever more difficult course. The final contestant could look forward to a rent-free apartment for a family of three on Worldview 10, the newest of the low-orbit orbital habitats. 

The shuttle Triska’nar was traveling on was headed towards another of the orbiting habitats, number six. She was traveling with false travel documents. For the next few hours her name was Baska’nar.   Supposedly she was visiting her uncle Elder Trifano for a few days of well-deserved vacation. In actuality, she was reporting to her mentor. The information she was bringing him would literally redefine the world they lived in.

The shuttle shuddered as it docked with Worldview Six. For a moment she thought she was under attack again. The GCP agents monitoring the Hupenstanii had learned of her discovery and attacked her research team on the planet’s surface. She hoped they had assumed she had been killed along with the others but one could never be sure.

She held her gift close to her breast. The gift was not unlike the gifts that almost every other passenger brought with them… a small urn of top soil. It was customary to present a host family with a little bit of home when visiting the orbitals. Despite appearances however, hers was far from ordinary.

Small microorganisms had been added to the soil. They were in and of themselves quite unremarkable save a snippet of specially encoded DNA embedded in their genome. That DNA formed a quad-nary code that could be decrypted into a four terabyte data stream. That data stream contained her research and the proof that the contagion was curable and completely artificial. The Hupenstanii people had been duped for generations by the GCP. The question was
why
and
what to do about it
.

Worldview Six was the last of the original orbiting habitats built before the quarantine had gone into effect. It was unquestionably the most luxurious. Small gardens and colorful feathered flying insects graced large sections of each habitat ring. As she exited the shuttle a stranger approached her with a broad grin and open arms.

“Baska’niiti! My how you have grown! I remember when you were knee high to a Looper… now look at you… all grown up!”

‘Niiti’ was a term roughly equivalent to what the humans called a niece. That meant this man was playing the part of her uncle but the question was ‘uncle who?’ The older man seemed to realize her predicament and came to her rescue.

“Don’t worry about your bag dearest. Your Uncle Oosar has it all taken care of. Now I would imagine you want to see your Great Grandfather. Elder Trifano is not getting any younger.”

***

Elder Trifano looked the young lady over from head to toe. She was quite attractive he had to admit. Her iridescent feathers hugged a form that was still fit and trim. Her tail nub was most enticing. If he were a younger Hopper he might have been tempted to inquire about her mating cycle but alas for him those days were long gone. Still there were worse ways to spend the day than in the company of an attractive and highly intelligent companion.

He nodded towards the gifting urn. “It that for me?”

“It is… honored Grand Sire,” Triska’nar said carefully.

The older man laughed. “This entire ring of the orbital is the most secure facility we have. There is no need for subterfuge here. You are the esteemed Triska’nar are you not?”

“Indeed I am sir.” It seemed strange. They had been talking with each other for years using a covert network of intermediaries but this was the first time they had met face to face.

“In fact, if my briefing was correct,” Trifano continued, “you hold three ‘Nar’ designations in biochemistry, geology and, I believe, genetics. Quite an accomplishment for one so young.”

Triska’nar’s feathers ruffled slightly in embarrassment.  “If I recall correctly Elder Trifano’nar… you hold four such degrees.”

“Ah yes, well I did not get mine so young nor dare I say have I done as much with mine as you have with yours.”

Triska’nar handed the small urn to the older man. “I’ve encoded the information you requested but I can summarize it if you like?”

The older Hopper nodded.

“It is as we feared. The contagion was bioengineered but the source material was a single-celled animal native to Earth. The pathogen’s original vector is called an Amoeba. It’s very similar to our rhizopods. In this case, a virus was loaded into the amoeba and it was allowed to spawn in a hot water spring near the vacation resort of Da’Lana Hiis. The virus found ample available hosts in the fauna that flourishes in the spring water.”

Trifano sat down and motioned for her to do the same. “How do we know the outbreak was anything other than an accident?”

Triska’nar folded her three-fingered hands and looked the older Hopper directly in his eyes. “The virus itself is not signed but…”

“The vector is,” Trifano finished for her.

“Correct,” Triska’nar confirmed. “Once the virus had migrated to local vectors there was no way to tell it was manufactured. In fact the only way we know for sure what actually happened was the accidental discovery of the exobiological amoeba sample collected by my team at Da’Lana Hiis. The DNA included sequences for proteins that lock up the virus in an inert state while in the amoeba. Those very same DNA sequences contain what the humans call copyright data.”

“That is pretty damning proof that this was an engineered contagion,” the elder Hopper agreed.

“Sir, it goes way beyond that. The DNA also contains encoded instructions for immunizing against the virus for both Hoppers and most GCP member races as of about a hundred cycles ago. We’ve had the cure all this time and never knew it.”

Elder Trifano reached across the small table and grasped her hand. “We have the cure but we must be exceedingly careful. There are forces at work here that would go to great lengths to destroy this information.”

Triska nodded. Her entire team had been killed by agents intent on squashing her discovery. “Sir, there is one more thing you should know.”

Trifano raised an eye ridge.

“Whoever encoded the cure was doing so in the hope that we would discover it. He or she did not want this weapon – and that is most certainly what thi
s
engineered contagion is – he or she did not want this weapon used. The encoded message includes a warning. There is a second virus ready to be released that works in conjunction with the first to make this pathogen deadly to the Hupenstanii as well. If we begin a public mass inoculation program the
powers-that-be
may very well release that second pathogen as a way to forestall our efforts.”

***

Commander James “JD” Dickerson was bored. It seemed that was always the case these days. He didn’t know what his crime had been but in his mind he had drawn the worst posting in the history of the Galactic Coalition of Planets. His command, if he could truly call it that, was the Hupenstanii high orbital station officially designated “High Ground Station One.” Unofficially it was called
Dead-Ender One
or simply
DE1
. No one that ever got posted here ever saw their career do more than die on the vine. A posting to
DE1
was the fast-track to nowhere.

JD had been here for ten years. In those ten years his most important decision was determining a maintenances schedule for the three hundred person station. The station was bristling with kinetic energy weapons commonly called rail guns. Their job was to dissuade, with extreme prejudice, anyone attempting to enter or leave planetary orbit. Three sister stations occupied geostationary orbits that established a rough tetrahedron around the Hupenstanii home world. They enjoyed overlapping fields of fire and completely dominated high orbital space around the world.

Crews rotated between the four stations in an attempt to relieve boredom but it was an impossible task. Over the many decades that the stations had been in place everything that could be done to relieve the boredom had been done countless times. It would be different if the station personnel had the opportunity for shore leave but the Hupenstanii home world was strictly off limits to all but a small team of biohazard experts dressed in Mark-10 hazmat suits. Even that team, the BioOps, was isolated permanently from the rest of the station personnel.   

He was just turning the last page of the third chapter of an antique paper novel, a science fiction by a long-dead author name Heinlein, called
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress
when the alert klaxon began to blare. It had been so long since he had heard it that it took him a moment to react.

He dropped the book and cringed as the old and yellowed pages bent and threatened to rip. His hand reached across his desk and toggled the intercom.

“Report!” He barked.

“Commander, this is Lieutenant Colden. We have an unregistered NEO that’s just been detected. The object will pass within two hundred clicks of our position in about twenty minutes.”

A NEO or Near Earth Object was essentially a rock in space that traveled in an orbit that brought it in proximity to an inhabited world. It was almost unheard of to encounter an unregistered NEO in this day and age.