“One jump per hour?”
“Yes, sir.” Bassan fidgeted. He knew the commander wanted a different answer. But based on the size of the ship and the teleporter, he couldn’t jump it more often. Unless his powers exceeded his father’s.
Which I seriously doubt.
“I’m sorry it’s not more,” Bassan added.
Cartent dropped his tablet on the console in front of him and stood straight. “It’s more than we expected. With no ability to teleport, we intended to run hard and fast. You’ve given us another option.”
“I…I won’t be able to jump far. And I’ll need to see clearly where I’m going. Especially since I’ve done it only once.”
The commander leaned back and crossed his arms. “Only once?”
I didn’t mean to say that.
Bassan shrank back. He tried to swallow, but his throat went dry. Unable to speak, he resorted to mental communications.
The Panvet was the first ship I’ve ever jumped.
Cartent’s expression remained firm. “Hetz said your parents are jumpers. Were you not also trained to jump?”
Bassan’s shoulders dropped, along with his composure. “No, sir. My studies were on the Kintal ship. We never tested my ability to jump.”
“The son of two jumpers? I find that hard to believe.”
Hoping the floor would swallow him whole, Bassan grappled with the truth. “It didn’t matter if I was, because I…I hate to fly.”
A bark of laughter startled him, and Bassan glanced up. A ripple of curiosity stirred in the minds of those present. He remained still, focused on the commander and ignoring the inquisitive minds around him. Cartent brought his hands to his head and ran fingers across his scalp, effectively spreading the grease more. The man shook his head and grasped the console, leaning against it.
“You hate to fly,” he murmured. The commander lifted his chin and gazed hard at Bassan. “The son of two talented pilots and jumpers has an aversion to flying?”
Heat rose to his cheeks. His fingers stroked his tablet, hoping to summon a suitable answer. “That’s not where my talents lie.”
Cartent smirked. “You are talented in too many areas to know where your true talents reside.”
The commander’s response confused Bassan. While he struggled to find a suitable response, his mouth open in hopes one would emerge, the man cut him off.
“Well, I think my final assignment for you will determine your true talent.”
“Sir?”
“Our most pressing need awaits you,” Cartent said, stepping away from the console.
“Wasn’t life support your most urgent need?”
The commander shook his head and gestured for Bassan to follow. “It was, and your ability to jump will certainly fill in the gaps, but we have one more concern when it comes to getting off this planet and safely away from the Narcons.”
Curious yet wary, Bassan trailed after Cartent. They exited the control center and walked past the teleporter. Bassan focused on the panel, now keenly aware of his connection to the device. The commander led him to a steel ladder extending down to the next level. Bassan secured his tablet and followed him into the depths of the ship. He reached an alcove and realized it fed into a central tunnel running down the center of the ship.
I wonder what’s down here?
His stomach growled. Bassan regretted working through the midday meal. He hoped he wouldn’t miss the evening meal as well.
The two moved toward the prow of the ship and Cartent led him into another small control room. A dozen men worked on various components, including Barnenden. They all looked up and stood at attention.
“We’ve worked long and hard to assure this ship has the strongest weapons possible. We need to beat the Narcon drones waiting to blast any ship that tries to escape Ugar. We’ve achieved that. At least by our best calculations. But”—the commander turned to Bassan—“there is one more threat we must manage during our escape. And you are the key to finding the solution.”
One more threat? Bassan pressed his tablet to his body.
“Barnenden?” Cartent said, swiveling to face the engineer.
The man cleared his throat. “According to our calculations, at the time of our departure, the Tgren probe will be in this sector.”
Bassan fumbled with his tablet. “What?”
“The probe will be making a long and leisurely sweep through this sector during our projected departure.”
The probe! The ship that nearly wiped out Tgren before he was born. And then returned to systematically destroy all the races when he was ten. The probe that required the code stuck in his head to dismantle the annihilation order, almost killing him in the process. Bassan’s mind reeled.
“Well, you have to change your departure time, then,” he said, blurting out the first thought in his mind. “No weapon exists that can counter what the probe can do.”
“Bassan,” Carteret said, his tone demanding attention. “The probe will be in this sector for weeks. We are days from departing. If we delay, we might not get another chance.”
“What do you mean?”
Carteret assumed a commanding posture. “Our intel says the Lethan intend to attack us and soon. We need to be gone before that happens, and before they discover the ship we’ve built. Otherwise, everything we’ve worked for over the past seven years will die here on this planet.”
Bassan’s empty stomach churned. If they could escape without conflict, the probe would ignore them. But if they drew the fire of the Narcon satellites guarding the planet and engaged, the probe would come to investigate and destroy them because they broke the treaty of peace now programmed into it.
“You—you don’t realize what you’re asking,” he said, fumbling for words. “The probe is set to enforce peace. It will attack any ship defying that.”
“Which is why we need you to access its designs and come up with a plan or a weapon to counter the probe.”
“Counter it? Do none of you remember when it threatened to destroy all the races? The one thing that countered it was a code in my head. And it’s long gone.”
The room fell silent. No one moved. Blood pounded in Bassan’s ears and he gazed with stunned belief at those gathered. Barnenden stepped forward.
“But your connection to the ancient technology is still intact. You can access the database and find the Tgren schematics on the probe.”
“No one’s come close to finding those plans though.”
“Because they haven’t accessed you,” Cartent said, his low voice carrying tremendous weight.
Bassan staggered back. “Me?”
“You have a direct contact with the basic technology of all the races. Hidden within the Kintal database is the schematics for the probe. And you can find it. Your ability will find it.”
Dread gripped Bassan’s innards so tight, he couldn’t breathe. Access the designs for the probe? Impossible! Even if they existed, finding them changed everything. The probe enforced peace on all the races. No more wars. But if another entity came along that matched the probe or disabled it…anarchy.
“It would destroy peace among the races,” he said, wheezing for breath. “We’d be open to wars again.”
The room fell silent.
“Only if we had to use it,” Barnenden said in a soft voice.
Bassan spun away. But if they used it…
“It’s a risk we have to take,” Cartent said.
Bassan turned to the commander. Hands behind his back, Cartent exhumed total confidence. Bassan’s exasperation melded into pure shock. “You’re willing to risk a galaxy-wide peace, millions of lives, to get off this planet?”
The man’s eyes drew to slits. “Peace? There is no peace here. This planet’s inhabitants have warred for centuries. Lives taken on a grand scale. Where is our protector? Where is that peace everyone else was promised?”
Cartent’s words came out controlled and logical, but a hint of resentment flowed from his mind. It echoed throughout the room, assaulting Bassan’s head. He shielded his mind to block the charged emotions in those around him.
I know it’s not fair you’re trapped here. I get it. But you have no idea what you are asking for. Most of you didn’t experience the war fifteen years ago. And I nearly died bringing it to an end.
Grappling with his own anxiety, Bassan shook his head. “Even if I find it, you said we have days. There wouldn’t be time to build a weapon or anything.”
“Not from scratch. This ship is equipped with several unique and powerful weapons. If we knew how the probe operated, we could adjust ours to match. A long shot, yes, but if we don’t have a proper defense, we fail. And if we can’t, perhaps knowing how the weapon works will show us a way to disable the probe. We need every advantage at this point.”
A hush settled over the room. Bassan glanced around. The group watched him, faces drawn and solemn. He rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to forestall the coming headache. So much at stake…
If we damage or disable the probe, it will change everything. And in the aftermath, every race will be after this ship. If they discover how the information was obtained, they’ll be after me. But what if I can’t even find that information? The probe will destroy us.
Even worse, what if there’s another reason they want to know how the probe works? What if this is just another lie?
No matter what, I’m screwed.
Bassan sighed. “This is the real reason Zendar brought me here, isn’t it?”
“The primary reason,” Cartent said. “Once we realized we couldn’t get life support online, that function became equally important. And you’ve also solved the issue of no teleporter. Now we need you to access that weapon. Find out how it works. Find a way to deactivate it. Ultimately, we need a solution.”
Resigned to his fate, Bassan nodded. Cartent departed, leaving Bassan surrounded by anxious engineers. He pressed his tablet firm against his chest and studied the men around him.
“How do I access the database down here?” he said, trying to contain his agitation.
“Over here.” Barnenden gestured to an oversized console. It didn’t look Kintal, but once Bassan drew closer, the controls matched the one on the upper level. Annoyance simmered faster in his mind.
“Did the Narcons throw out all of them?” Bassan spat. “The fools.”
His attention snapped to Barnenden, remembering his audience, and he realized his words were rather harsh. The chief engineer gazed at the console and grasped its edge.
“A few that we know of. And yes, they were fools. They tossed this console in the same drop with me. Stripped of its shell, it might’ve been missed had I not seen where it landed.”
Sorry, thought Bassan, unsure of what else to say.
Barnenden nodded. “Most of our focus has been restoring its functions. The weapons and shields are a mix, but they’re all controlled by this console.”
I’m astonished you got any of it to work at all.
Some days I wondered if we would. He offered a wink. “The memory bank suffered some damage, so if you can’t access what you need here, we’ll try with the other console. I’m still amazed at how much data these Kintal units hold. No other ship functions like them.”
“That’s what makes the Kintals so special,” Bassan said. “We are the best of all races.”
Barnenden chuckled and smacked Bassan on the back. “The result of what happens when we all work together.”
Bassan set his tablet on the edge of the console. He leaned forward, taking in the technology before him. The familiar layout offset the crude casing. The main control knob glowed, inviting him to access her secrets. He pressed his lips into a thin line, contemplating his next move. Was he ready to do this?
Bassan, Barnenden thought. I know this is asking a lot of you. And I do understand the implications. I don’t want to do anything that would bring the races to war again. But once we get off planet, the sentries will fire on us and we’ll have to return fire. Even if we jump, using your ability, there’s a chance the probe will investigate. We need to be ready when that happens.
I know. It scares me though.
It scares me as well.
He turned to the engineer. Despite his yellow skin and strange, offset thin eyes, the man’s dread showed in his tight face. He understood the implications. What Bassan was about to attempt could change the whole scenario connecting the eleven races. Forever.
“All right,” he said, his hand hovering over the orb. “Let’s see what I can find in there.”
* * *
Hours later and with next to no results, Barnenden called a halt.
“Everyone, take a break. Time for the evening meal. Go eat and recharge.”
The men murmured and disassembled. Soon only Barnenden and Bassan remained in the room. Bassan’s head ached from repeated connections with the device.
“You should take a break,” Barnenden said.
He shook off the engineer’s suggestion. “I’m so close.”
Then find it.
Bassan took Barnenden’s order to heart. Find it. Yes, he had to find it.
He pressed his hand on the orb yet again.
The connection sparked. He reached out, desperate to connect with the console’s database on the Tgrens. The link led him down the same path. Tgren history. But nothing on the probe.
It doesn’t want to connect via the normal channels.
Then try something different.
Bassan took a step back and crossed his arms.
Searching for Tgren information turns up their basic history, but that’s it. What am I missing?
He dropped his chin to his chest. After hours stooped over the console, the movement sent a jolt of pain snaking down his spine. He lifted his head and arched his back instead. His joints popped in protest.
I’ve searched for mention of the probe, but the information doesn’t cover it. Or any specifics. Just the basics about their life before the migration. Before the probe changed everything. And searching for weapons turns up Kintal devices. Impressive, but not what we need.
He glanced at Barnenden, going over data on his tablet. “What if the information isn’t there?”
The Narcon shook his head. “After everything else you’ve found? It must be there somewhere.”
“It’s not with the information on Tgren. Or weapons. Or anything else I can think of.”
Barnenden set down his tablet and rubbed his temples. “What else might they have called it? Is there a name for the probe itself? Or the events surrounding it?”
“Ironically, we’ve never found one. You’d think an extinction level event would have a name for the history books.”
“Maybe they wanted to wipe out that part of history. That’s why they sent the races out across the galaxy—so they could change it.”
Something stirred in Bassan’s memory. “Change…”
He moved to the console. He tapped on the screen and waited.
“What is it?” Barnenden said.
Bassan’s search brought zero results, which didn’t surprise him. But he knew what would help him find it.
“I’m going to try again,” he said, placing his hand on the orb and closing his eyes. He reached back for the memories of his ancestors.
Say-vee. Show me Say-vee.
The room shifted. Where was he? A control room. A large control room. Dozens of people working at computer stations. The energy in the room sparked of anticipation.
What are you working on?
Bassan approached the closest computer screen. He turned to the man working at the station. Dark hair and an olive complexion, as he’d expected.
You’re Tgren. Are you working on the probe? If you only realized what it will one day do.
The man tapped some keys. Computations filled the screen. The man nodded, hit one more key, and then tapped the monitor twice.
Schematics flashed across the screen, forming a shape that could only belong to one thing. A jolt of enthusiasm shot through Bassan.
That’s it!
The man stepped away. Trembling with excitement, Bassan willed his fingers forward. They touched the screen. A ripple of electricity emanated from the figures and image as if they knew of their importance.
Back out slowly. Layer by layer. Find out where this information is hidden.
He moved with care and closed the first file. Hundreds more, all concerning the probe’s functions, flashed across the screen.
One more…
He closed the master file. There it was. Passcode protected, of course.
But I know the passcode now.
Bassan continued to back out of the files, noting the name of each level. When he reached the primary data level, he pumped his fist in triumph.
There you are.
In a flash, Bassan disconnected from the memory. He returned so fast, he rocked back on his heels from the disconnect. A hand gripped his elbow.
“Bassan!”
Opening his eyes, the Freedom’s weapons control room greeted him. Lurching forward, he fingered the screen. I found it.
“You found it?”
Yes. Bassan typed furiously. Now to access it before I forget.
He pounded down in levels, hesitating once. At last, he hit the correct file. Passcode required to access it. Without missing a beat, he typed Say-vee.
The file opened.
“There,” he said, pointing at the screen. Files scrolled across the monitor. “That is the entire database on the probe.”
Barnenden gasped. “Everything?”
“Yes. Everything.”
“You did it!” He thumped Bassan on the back. “How did you find it? And how did you acquire the passcode?”
Bassan smiled with pride. “Tgrens have a word for change that no other race uses. Say-vee. I searched for a moment with that word and found the Tgren scientists working on the probe. It did have a name, which was also its password—Say-vee. Change.”
“It did change everything.”
“It did.” Bassan gazed at the screen. So many files. “We have a ton of information to sift through. This could take days.”
“We don’t have days. I’m calling the team back right now,” Barnenden said. “And I’ll instruct them to bring some food for us. We’ll be busy for the rest of the evening.”
Despite his throbbing head, a surge of elation rushed through Bassan.
I found it. Damn, I found it! And I bet others have searched for it for years. Bet that’s why they dumped these consoles. The Narcons grew frustrated when they couldn’t find the file.
Was that part of Barnenden’s assignment? “Were the Narcons looking for this information when you worked on the ship?” he asked before losing his nerve.
Barnenden held up his hand, his eyes unfocused. Bassan waited while the man completed his mental conversation with his team. Finished, the engineer’s body rocked.
“Indeed. We hit the same obstacles you did, which aggravated our leaders. They wanted to counter the probe.”
Of course they did. It stole victory from their war.
“Anything to destroy peace,” Bassan said, the memory of Narcon and Vindicarn ships attacking Tgren rippling through his unshielded mind.
The engineer stiffened. “I know you think the Narcons are nothing but bloodthirsty warriors, ready to go to battle at a moment’s notice. But we have spent most of our existence under the influence and domination of the Vindicarn. When Cherzta ordered his people to stand down after the probe nearly destroyed their world, it was the first time Narcons experienced any amount of freedom. While I don’t condone what they were after, our leaders wanted to find something that would prove us stronger than the Vindicarn. The secrets of the probe were certainly worthy and more than enough. That information would’ve changed our position with the Vindicarn forever.”
Taken aback by Barnenden’s unexpected raw honesty, Bassan dropped his hands to his side and stepped away from the engineer. “I’m sorry. I always thought your races were allies.”
“We were, more or less. The Vindicarn always called the shots though. And ever since their defeat at the hands of the Cassans about sixty years ago, they have pressured the Narcons to join them in any and all aggressive ventures.”
“Because two races are stronger than one.”
“Precisely.”
Bassan nodded, his thoughts trailing to his home world. “The Tgren have been guided by Cassa but never dominated by them.”
“Ah, but no one enjoys a fight more than a Vindicarn.”
Don’t think I’ll repeat that in front of Zendar. Although I still want to pound him for tricking me. Twice.
Two engineers appeared. Barnenden nudged Bassan’s arm.
Don’t worry about it. Now, let’s start dividing out these files and get to work.
* * *
Many hours later, Bassan staggered toward the hangar exit. Somewhere behind him, two other engineers shambled along, their boots scraping the floor. In the stillness of the hangar, the sound reverberated in an odd fashion.
I’m so tired, I hope I can find Zendar’s again. Otherwise, they’ll discover me curled up in an alley corner somewhere.
He reached for the door, fumbling with the handle. It flung open, knocking Bassan’s hand away, and someone smacked into him. The smell of dusty sand filled his nostrils.
“Hey!” Bassan said, putting his hands up in defense.
“Oh, sorry. Wait, Bassan?”
The light outside the hangar door prevented him from seeing the face, but he knew the voice. “Zendar?”
“Yeah.” He stepped back into the light. Dirt covered Zendar’s face, blending with the sandy clothes and hat he wore. “Wow, you’re working late.”
His way no longer blocked, Bassan shuffled forward and nodded at the lone guard in passing. “Yes, and right now I want to find your place and collapse.”
“Come on, I’ll take you there,” Zendar said, falling in step with him. “I’ll probably pass out soon as well. Want to wash two days’ worth of hard trails off me first.”
The lights lining the paths between the buildings were fewer and far between. No people either, which meant it was really late.
“You just get back?” Bassan said.
“Reported in and then stopped by my place to grab some clean grubs. When you weren’t there, I thought I better come find you first. I didn’t want you wandering all over the compound.”
“I’ve been in the Freedom all day.”
“Still working on life support?”
The question ignited Bassan’s earlier agitation. “No,” he said slowly, “I’ve been working on the primary reason you brought me here.”
“Huh?”
Bassan cast a scowl his direction, not that Zendar could see it in the dim light. “The probe. You brought me here to find a way to counter the probe. Or more specifically, to find the probe’s schematics in the database and unlock her weapon’s secrets.”
“What?” Zendar glanced around after his thunderous exclamation, but all remained still. He pressed closer to Bassan. “Look, I brought you here to get the ship in working order, get the life support on.”
“And counter the probe’s weapon.”
“Is that what they have you doing now?”
“Oh, come on,” Bassan said. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
Zendar spread his arms. “I didn’t. They told me life support and a few other issues needed to be fixed. Find someone who knows where to look in a Kintal ship.”
“Find someone who knows where to look? Find someone who can dredge up details on the largest weapon in the galaxy.”
Bassan! Zendar patted the air. Crap, Cartent might not want everyone to know yet.
A retort died on Bassan’s lips. Despite his anger, talking about the probe in public probably wasn’t prudent. Bassan lowered his chin. Well, that is exactly what I have been working on for most of the day. They want to know how to disable or destroy the probe’s weapon.
I had no idea, Zendar thought, making a left. I guess the commander is planning ahead.
Planning ahead? Bassan grabbed Zendar’s arm and spun him around. Don’t you get it? If we can neutralize the probe, the Freedom will become the most hunted ship in the galaxy. All the races will want that information. Plus, we’ll destroy the one thing keeping the races at peace right now. And I almost paid for that peace with my life fifteen years ago.
Zendar shook himself free and stepped back. Despite his exhaustion, Bassan’s body trembled, pulse speeding through his veins. No one grasped the real situation. Barnenden understood, but the engineer’s drive to escape this planet negated all considerations. He supposed it didn’t shock him. Certainly, no one thought twice about luring a Kintal expert down here to fix all their problems.
Can we escape without it? Zendar thought, his mental voice hesitant.
Oh, possibly. Bassan rubbed his neck where it ached from hours spent over the console. If none of the drones fire on this ship and it doesn’t fire back. But should a real skirmish begin with the probe in such close proximity, it’s going to come investigate and shoot to kill.
But you can jump the ship. Can’t you? There’s a teleporter on board.
And we calculated I can jump it once an hour and then not too far. If at all.
But you jumped the Panvet.
One jump doesn’t make me an expert jumper.
Zendar balled his hands into fists and stared up at the sky. So, it all hinges on what you can find? I guess we either die here or die in space.
The words settled heavy on Bassan’s mind. The thoughts emanating from Zendar matched in seriousness. So much disappointment. And beat-down desperation. Everyone projected it. The weighty views wore on his conscious.
Zendar inclined his head. Come on. You need rest. So do I. Maybe it will make more sense in the morning.
Bassan rubbed a hand through his disheveled hair.
No, I’m sure it will sound even crazier tomorrow.