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  At that moment Colonel Morrison arrived on the bridge. I was somewhat surprised that it took him this long to get here. He too was in civilian attire. Based on the quick look he and Commander Shelby shared, I suspected I knew who the hapless victim had been. The poor Marine never had a chance.

  “Number One, try hailing them one more time. This time warn them off or we will defend ourselves.”

  I swiveled my command chair to address the Colonel.

  “Mike, I want a plasma beam ready to fire. One percent power level. If I give the order fire a shot across the lead ship’s bow. Let’s see if that doesn’t get their attention.”

  “Sir, there are two ports opening up on each of the ships. They could be weapon’s ports,” Lieutenant Daniels said. He attempted to enhance the resolution and managed to zoom the display slightly on the ports in question.

  “Mitty?”

  “Confirmed, Admiral. They are weapons ports.”

  “Mike, let them know we are serious. Commander Shelby continue to attempt to hail them.”

  “Roger, Sir,” the two echoed as one.

  A bright blue plasma beam flashed out from the Gilboa. There was no reaction from the advancing ships.

  “Shelby, patch me into the ship-to-ship comms.”

  “You are ready to go, Sir.”

  I straightened in my seat.

  “Attention Tas fighters approaching my position. I am Admiral Riker of the Galactic Order Battleship Gilboa. We mean you no harm, but we will aggressively defend ourselves. Please close your weapon ports and cease your advance on our position.”

  I turned towards Shelby. I did mention I was glad Lori wasn’t on the bridge?

  “Any reaction?”

  “Yes Sir. They have accelerated,” she reported.

  “Mitty, I need answers. Why would a supposedly peaceful race be hell-bent on attacking us?”

  “Unknown, Admiral. I have asked Shella to join us. She may have insights that I lack.”

  No sooner had he said the words then the lift door opened to emit the Mitty’s spouse.

  “Admiral,” Shella began forcefully, “I would strongly encourage you to engage the Skip Drive at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Lieutenant Heinz, plot a course for our next jump destination. Lieutenant Daniels, be ready to execute the jump on a moment’s notice… but not before I give the word.”

  “Belay that Mister Daniels! Jump as soon as you have a jump solution,” Shella ordered.

  Chapter 17: Teaching Old Dogs New Tricks…

  You could have heard a pin drop. Not a breath was taken by a living soul on the bridge. I turned slowly to face the Archon. There was unrepentant fury in my eyes. Shella must have seen it because she took a step back.

  “No one… and I do mean no one… gives an order on this ship that countermands one of mine. Explain yourself or find yourself in the brig. Am I clear?” I said in a surprisingly calm and quiet voice.

  “Admiral,” Shella pleaded. “There is only one reason a race like the Tas would be engaging us. If I take the time to fully explain it to you, we may well all be dead. I’m asking you to trust me.”

  “Lieutenant, execute the jump as soon as Sandy has some numbers for you.”

  “Aye, Sir. I have the numbers… jumping now,” Daniels responded.

  I felt a familiar pressure at the base of my teeth and then the ship entered Skip Space.

  “OK, Ambassador. Let’s hear why you felt it was necessary to usurp my authority in the middle of a crisis situation. And to be clear, your continued freedom of movement on this ship is completely dependent on what I think of your answer.”

  “Understood, Admiral,” Shella said. “Can we retire to your Ready room?”

  “Negative,” I said. “You challenged a commanding officer in front of his crew. You will explain yourself in front of that same crew.”

  Shella nodded.

  “Sir, the Tas are a peaceful race, unless attacked. Therefore, the only reason they would attack a…”

  “Galactic Order ship… is if they had been attacked by the Galactic Order,” I finished for her when it became obvious where she was going.

  “Exactly, Sir. You have to understand; the Tas are a bit of a mystery to the Galactic Order. We know they are primarily miners that trade what they mine. We also know that they have access to very advanced technology. Technology that they did not develop on their own.”

  “When you say advanced… was the Gilboa in significant danger?”

  Shella looked at me with eyes wider than I had ever seen on either of the Archons.

  “Admiral, those missiles that they were going to launch would have come at us at a sizeable fraction of the speed of light.”

  “OK, I understand that. Our HVMs do the same thing. Our point defense lasers are designed to target incoming missiles traveling at those types of speeds.”

  Shella looked at Mitty.

  “He doesn’t seem to understand,” she pleaded with her husband.

  The hologram stepped forward.

  “Sir, if I may?”

  “Go ahead. What is it I don’t understand?”

  “Admiral, the neutronium tips on their missiles are almost a centimeter thick.”

  “And this is important because?” I prompted.

  “The neutronium on each of their thirty-two missiles represent about ten times the entire mass of the Gilboa.”

  I sat back and looked at the two Archons.

  “Each missile has ten times the mass of the Gilboa? How in the hell do they fire the things? How do they keep the recoil from blowing them backwards? How does a ship that size manage to even carry one of the damns things… much less two?”

  “As I say,” Shella replied, “They have access to some very advanced technology.”

  I stood up and offered a hand to Shella. The Archon had become familiar with the human tradition of handshaking, so she reached out and shook it with a padded paw.

  “I owe you an apology Ambassador. It seems you might well have saved the ship.”

  “Negative Admiral. I was the one who put the ship in danger by not being here to share what I knew about this species in a timely manner.”

  “Ambassador, my parents weren’t able to teach me much, but they taught me this much… to embrace my mistakes and learn from them. It’s a simple fact that the best command decisions are made with the best and most complete information is available. Sadly, that isn’t always possible.

  “Today was an example of what can happen when the needed information is delayed in getting to the person charged with making the command decisions - me. Had you not been willing to stand up to me and force the issue… you and I might very well be having this discussion in the hereafter.

  “In this particular case, I should have anticipated that I would not know… what I did not know… if that makes any sense. Effective immediately, during ship-wide alerts your duty station is on the bridge to function as a cultural advisor.

  “If, in your opinion, I am making a decision based on incomplete or faulty information… you are to ‘suggest’ a different course of action. The only reason we are here today is because you said… and I’m quoting you… ‘I’m asking you to trust me.’”

  Shella wrinkled her nose.

  “Thank you, Admiral. I promise I will not abuse your trust.”

  ***

  The next four hours were spent in the Ready room. There were a lot of unanswered questions before we left the Sol system. Now it seemed as if there were several more.

  “So, tell me again,” Whiskers asked. “Where do ya think the Tas got their pretty toys?”

  Mitty swiveled his chair to face the Chief Engineer.

  “They are not toys and as to their beauty… the Tas do not allow visitors for any reason. No one has actually been able to see the technology they use to power their ships or mine exotics like neutronium.”

  Whiskers waved with the back of his hand.

  “Ya know what I mean. Tell me about
them ‘Ancestor’ guys.”

  “In life, I knew next to nothing about them. The Gilboa’s archaeological database makes reference to eight discoveries of ancient technology on various worlds within what you refer to as the Beehive stellar cluster. Most of these worlds are barren and orbit suns that have entered the final phases of their lifecycles.

  “In almost every case, the technology was damaged, incomplete or otherwise inoperable. We believe these artifacts are remnants of an older civilization that migrated out from the core of our galaxy. It is possible that we are their offspring… and it is equality possible that they are extinct or have moved on. In any case, the technology in question is referred to as Ancestor technology,” Mitty answered.

  I leaned forward. I had heard something this time that I had missed before.

  “Mitty, you said… ‘In almost every case.’ Does that mean that functional Ancestor technology has been recovered?”

  “Sadly, no, Admiral. In one case, an object was found... A small one… no bigger than your hand. It still had a functional power-cell. A J’ni that was part of the recovery team attempted to activate the device. The resulting explosion destroyed the entire excavation site and any other potential artifacts that might have been found there. The crater that was formed was four-point-eight of your kilometers deep.”

  Note to self… don’t fiddle with Ancestor tech without a reliable user’s guide.

  Shelby, who thankfully had taken the time to change back into her uniform, spoke up.

  “It’s your thought that the Tas have access to working Ancestor technology. With that sizable of an advantage… why aren’t they running the show? Why aren’t they in charge?”

  I looked over to Shella. As I suspected, this was a question she was prepared to answer.

  “The Tas are miners and traders. They have no desire or interest in ruling or being ruled. Honestly, if there was a single race in or near the Galactic Order that I would trust to have Ancestor technology… it would be the Tas.”

  “Maybe that’s why they have it,” I said.

  “Beg’n the Admiral’s pardon,” Whiskers said, “But how do ya figure that?”

  “Imagine you were the Ancestors. Your race has lived through the birth and death of stars. You are curious and inventive… as a result, your society is advanced beyond the comprehension of most other intelligent races you encounter. You move out of the galactic core and start exploring and inhabiting worlds nearer the fringe of the galaxy.

  “You bring your technology with you. At some point, you’ve seen all the sights and you move on again… maybe to another galaxy perhaps. The point is, you don’t want to take everything with you… but you know that leaving matches for the kids to play with is a good way to burn the house down. So, you hide the matches - metaphorically.

  “What better race to hide Ancestor technology than peaceful race of miners. You make a covenant with them. Bury your dangerous technology where it can’t be found, and we’ll give you some of the best tools for mining that you can imagine.”

  Mike shook his head.

  “I don’t buy it JD,” the Marine said. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

  “That may be true for most of us… but what if the Ancestors could build a genetic imperative into their servant race. Certain species on Earth seem to exhibit genetic memory. Even human babies know how to suckle without being taught,” I responded. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced I was on the right track.

  I stood up and walked around the conference table to gaze out the simulated window. The now familiar pattern of stars streaking by was captivating. Shella had told me that what I was seeing was a simulation. If I was actually about to see out the walls of the Gilboa; the discordant nature of what I would be seeing would likely drive me insane. Creatures from our space-time frame were not designed by the Creator to handle and perceive five-dimension space.

  I used the moment to think. “Question,” I said. “Is it possible that whoever or whatever our adversary… our enemy is, that they have access to Ancestor tech?”

  “It may also be that they are seeking additional Ancestor technology and attempted to acquire it by force from the Tas. When that didn’t work they decided to explore Galactic Order space,” Shelby added.

  Shella and Mitty wrinkled their noses in unison. I had begun to suspect that the gesture might have a host of meanings depending on the situation. In this case, it meant they were thinking about something.

  “It would seem to correlate with the available facts,” Mitty speculated. “It is possible that they discovered and managed to utilize a small artifact that caused them to thoroughly explore whatever region of space they occupy. Having exhausted that avenue of investigation they broaden their investigation.”

  “I suspect,” Shella added, “that the Commander might have the order of advance backwards.”

  “It’s certainly possible,” Shelby admitted. “You’re thinking that because the Tas attacked us that somehow the Galactic Order has been coopted into joining the search?”

  The Archon nodded. “The Tas are a peaceful - if reclusive race. I think it is unlikely that they would suddenly attack any and all ships showing up near one of their dig sites… Especially as we have enjoyed peaceful relations for hundreds of years.”

  “And they would still want and need trading partners,” Whiskers offered.

  “Good point,” I said. “It does bring up another issue. Mitty mentioned that the Tas were not known to be in the star system we just visited. Either is was just random chance that they were there or there is something there that they wanted to protect.”

  “Which means,” Shella added, “that if you are correct, Admiral, their attack on the Gilboa may not have been motivated by animosity towards the Galactic Order but rather a desire to guard their charge against all comers… much like a mother Mutic guards her chicks.”

  “OK,” I said. “We have a working hypothesis based on some rather sketchy facts and more speculation than I am comfortable with. Let’s do what we can to gather more information to fill in the gaps and either prove our hypothesis or replace it with a better one.”

  We spoke for a few more minutes but eventually the meeting broke up.

  ***

  A week later we approached our next Skip Space exit. In a way I was glad we had run into the Tas. The experience taught this old dog new tricks. It turned out we would need them sooner than I had hoped.

  Chapter 18: Dog Cage…

  “Red Alert!” I yelled. The Gilboa rocked as a series of recently cloaked weapons platforms lit up her enhanced shields.

  We had exited Skip Space on schedule. The system we were entering consisted of a trio of G-type stars orbiting a distant black hole. It was this massive black hole that required our dropping out of Skip Space. A gravity well of this magnitude disrupted the space-time waves used to travel in Skip Space much like a reef disrupted ocean waves.

  Our intent was to use the nearest of the orbiting suns to provide a gravity assist to propel us far enough from the black hole to safely reengage our FTL drive. What we hadn’t anticipated was that a system with a black hole was the perfect place for would-be attackers to lay in wait.

  Shortly before we engaged our VASIMR drives to begin our sling-shot maneuver, the weapons platforms decloaked and began firing on us. Had the Gilboa not had significantly enhanced shields there is no question in my mind that the power and intensity of the attack would have doomed the ship. It was clear that the Beehive had become a very dangerous place.

  “Weapons, lock onto the nearest platform and give it a full spread of our plasma beams. Take them out. I need them to know that we mean business.”

  “Aye Admiral,” the young ensign replied crisply.

  I would have felt better if Colonel Morrison was at the firing button, but he was running his Marines through yet another series of boarding simulations.

  Twelve Plasma beams lashed out. Each one operated at one-hundred and thirty P
etajoules. They hit the targeted platform. Its own shields lasted for a fraction of a second before they turned from amber to bright white and then failed. The weapons platform itself lasted only a fraction of a second longer before it essentially disintegrated.

  The remaining platforms ceased fire.

  “Sir,” Mitty said. “We are being hailed. The sentient calling is a Rohar. Its title is Supreme Guardian. They are an androgynous race that are highly territorial. Their function within the Galactic Order is that of picketing and planetary guards.”

  “We are being attacked by members of the Galactic Order?” I asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does if the Galactic Order has fallen and is now fragmented,” Mitty relied. “Shall I answer their hail?”

  I turned to Shella. “Ambassador, anything I should know?”

  She wrinkled her nose before answering. “As my husband indicated, they are a highly territorial race. They are also considered somewhat harsh and lacking in anything even remotely like a sense of humor. They take offense at the littlest affront. I’m baffled as to why they would attack a ship of the Order… unless, as it has been suggested, the local political environment has shifted. I would talk with them but be prepared for more hostilities.”

  “Mitty, open a channel – audio only.”

  Immediately a harsh voice pounded out of the speakers on the bridge.

  “…interlopers must leave. Our battle fleet approaches. We will destroy you.”

  I straightened in my command chair.

  “Attention Supreme Guardian. I am Fleet Admiral Jeremy Riker of the Galactic Order’s Battleship Gilboa. Your attack was unwarranted. We mean you no harm and only wish to use this system to transit to our next jump point. We will, however, defend ourselves. Please acknowledge.”

  “What nonsense it this? There is no more Galactic Order.”

  “That’s news to us. Care to enlighten us as to what has happened?”

  Rather than answering my question, the Rohar on the other ship made a barking noise that was very guttural. The Gilboa did not translate it so I wasn’t sure it was even intended to be speech.