Manxome foe john Ringo &

19

"Fleet Master, we are receiving a transmission."

The fleet was thirsty. The massive helium fusion reactors of the ships required enormous quantities of fuel and while any gas giant would do, gathering it was time consuming. But they had three extractor ships working on it full time as the few remaining corvettes watched in trepidation for the Dreen.

"The Caurorgorngoth?" Lurca asked hopefully.

"No, Fleet Master," the communications officer said. "An alien race. They are sending over not only sound but also a translation program that they appear to have gotten from the Caurorgorngoth as well as a message from Ship Master Kond. Shall I pulse their words?"

"Show me the message from Kond, first."

"Greetings, Fleet Master. If you are receiving this then our new acquaintances have been true to their word. We received damage to our unreality generator in the last battle and with their help have completed repairs and are preparing to enter unreality. These humans are friendly but primitive in their technology. The exception is their ship drive which they claim is an artifact that they found. Having pulsed their other technology, I believe them. Their ship is very fast and very quiet, though, so they have scouted our back-trail. One dreadnought, at least, remains. It will be to the unreality point in forty. With the help of the humans, we will be gone by then. We will meet you at the rendezvous in six hundred kleng. By then, if you're sounding this, the humans will have arrived.

"This is the first potential ally we have found. It is to be hoped they can assist us but their ship is so unbelievably primitive I fear they will be of little use."

"Where are they?" Lurca asked. "Why have we not detected them?"

"We have, now," Fleet Strategy Master Matulain replied. "The Laegr picked up their transmission. But their signature is very low and they are stopped ten scrick away. I think they do not want us to fire upon them."

"Let me see their transmission," Lurca said.

"Greetings, Fleet Master Lurca. I am Ship Master Spectre of the Sharp Sword. We are humans, enemy of the Dreen. We have assisted Kond in repairs and now await his arrival as do you. We wish to open communication and friendly relations and to communicate about ways that we might battle our mutual enemy. We also have three survivors from the Klingoddar. We are aware that you have minimal supplies and cannot take on extra passengers. But we are in need of experts in technology and advanced battle to assist us in fighting the Dreen. We are wondering if you could wake up some experts and replace them with the passengers we have. We await your response."

"It's taking a while," Spectre said, looking at the viewscreen. They hadn't even gotten a "we got it" reply. The screen just showed a speckle of dots clustered by a Jovian. "What do you think they're doing?"

"Refueling," Weaver replied. "Pulling hydrogen or helium out of the atmosphere to refill their bunkers. And it's a lot for him to assimilate all at once. They'll get back to us."

"The transmission included one of the Caurorgorngoth's security codes," the communications officer said.

"And if they have been taken over by the Dreen, the Dreen could own all their security codes," Matulain pointed out. "This could be a ruse."

"The Dreen used no ruses," Lurca said. "They used naked power. We will take them at their word. We must discuss what we can do to aid them as well. Matulain, you will communicate with them on this. If they can help us shake the Dreen from our tail, that will help much."

"I will wake Scientist Rimmild as well as Combat Master Dugilant," Matulain replied.

"Wake Philosopher Baelak as well," Lurca ordered. "She is a great thinker of the possibility of other races." He looked at Matulain and pinged a note of humor. "And a great pacifist, yes?"

"I did not disagree, Fleet Master," the strategy master replied. "I had long converse with her before she went into sleep. She was already adjusting some of her notions of other races."

"Having whole worlds wiped out will do that," Lurca said. "Communications Technician, open a channel to these humans. Let us talk of peace and war."

The ship the Blade was parked by was, if anything, larger than the Dreen dreadnought. But it wasn't a warship; it was a converted bulk freighter packed with Hexosehr in hibernation. Three of whom were headed for the Blade as their previous three passengers swarmed across to the freighter.

"So what are we getting?" Spectre asked.

"I'm still trying to parse it out, sir," Commander Weaver replied. "But I think we're getting three experts. A scientist that specializes in defense, one of their premier generals or an academic strategist, I'm not sure on that one, and their expert on dealing with alien races. I'd translate it as a Beltway Bandit, but a good one and I used to be one, a general or an admiral, and a diplomat. They're also bringing communication devices so we can talk."

"Can they handle our air?" the CO asked.

"No, but they're bringing respirators."

"Well, I want you and Miss Moon to meet them at the airlock," the CO said. "Oh, hell, I guess I need to get down there, too. And get a platoon of Marines as honor guard."

"Damn, they're funny looking," Himes subvocalized.

Up close, the Hexosehr were covered with purple fur and had, apparently, no eyes. Other than that they looked a bit like oversized otters with hands. They only came up to thigh-height on a human, but were long and sleek.

"Their ships are better than ours," Berg replied. "They've got their own hyperdrive that they created, their computers are better than ours and they've been fighting the Dreen for a while. Treat them with respect."

One of the Hexosehr broke off from the greetings, apparently not noticing the astonished expression on the CO's face, and walked along the line of Marines. He stopped at the end and looked up at Lieutenant Monaghan.

"You are the boss man?" the Hexosehr asked. The communicator rendered the sound very high. Berg was reminded of the time the ship got filled with helium.

"I am the platoon leader of First Platoon, Bravo Company," Lieutenant Monaghan said. "The Marine commander is among the greeting party you just left. As is the commander of the ship."

"These are squee or ground fighters?" the Hexosehr asked.

"Ground fighters," Lieutenant Monaghan replied.

"They are experienced in fighting the Dreen?"

"We have two people with experience fighting the Dreen," the platoon leader said, looking over at the greeting party helplessly. "We have others experienced in fighting other species. We also still fight among ourselves. Most of these, however, are not veterans."

"Show me veteran," the Hexosehr ordered.

"Sergeant Berg, Front and Center!"

Berg stepped out of rank, did a precise right face and marched down to face the Hexosehr.

"Sergeant Eric Bergstresser, reporting as ordered," he snapped, rendering a hand salute.

"What is thing to head?" the Hexosehr asked.

"It is a salute," Lieutenant Monaghan explained. "It is rendered to a superior officer."

"How to tell him to stop?"

"Either I order it or you return it," the lieutenant said. "Are you a fighter. A soldier?"

"I am boss of soldiers," the Hexosehr replied, rendering Berg something like a salute. "You are veteran?"

"I am, sir," Berg replied, dropping his salute sharply.

"What are you called?"

"Sergeant Eric Bergstresser, sir," Berg repeated.

"No, what are you called?" the Hexosehr insisted. "What's your handle?"

"Two-Gun, sir," Berg replied, trying not to roll his eyes.

"What you fight, Two-Gun?"

"I have fought demons on the Cheerick world, sir," Berg replied. "I have fought crabpus. I am one of five survivors from our previous mission, sir. I am the holder of one of our nation's highest awards for combat."

"You fight ships?"

"No, sir," Berg replied. "I am a United States Space Marine. I fight in space, on land and sea. But I fight close up."

"You are proud?"

"Yes, sir! I'm a Marine."

"You are afraid?"

"Yes, sir. Only an idiot isn't, sir."

"But you fight anyway?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because you are Marine?"

"Yes, sir."

"You choose? You volunteer?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'll do. Go back. We talk later."

"Return to ranks, Sergeant Bergstresser," Lieutenant Monaghan said, a note of puzzlement in his voice.

"Excuse me, Scientist Rimmild," Captain Blankemeier said, confused. "What was that in aid of?"

The greetings had paused as the "Combat Master" walked away and braced the Marines. All of the humans were goggling.

"Most Hexosehr are willing to fight once," Philosopher Baelak replied. "Some are willing to fight twice. This Marine, he fights many times. Combat Master Dugilant was interested in the nature of your fighters. He is satisfying his curiosity. You seem surprised that he did this. It is a breach of protocol?"

"We're fighters, ma'am, not diplomats," Spectre replied. They'd gotten the sexes thing straightened out before the visitors arrived. "If he wants to go over and brace one of my Marines, he can brace one of my Marines. But, yes, it was a breach of protocol."

"I will mention this to him," the diplomat said. "What is next?"

"Ma'am, I'm going to turn you over to Miss Moon," the CO said. "She is our linguist but has other talents and knowledge. Commander Weaver is going to interface with Scientist Rimmild and Combat Master Dugilant. Commander Weaver is our astrogator, an engineer and scientist as well as a naval officer."

"What are your restrictions upon our movement?" Philosopher Baelak asked.

"None," the CO said. "If we're going to work together, you need to know what we have to do it. And our systems, with the exception of the drive, are primitive compared to yours. But you may be able to make suggestions or improvements that will aid us in this and other fights. If you can and will. I'll be honest. We want access to your technology. We want to know what you know about the Dreen. In return we will do whatever we can to help you escape and to find you a world to go to. One far enough away from the Dreen that you'll be secure."

"That had better be very far away indeed," Scientist Rimmild interjected. "We have data on their spread. We are willing to share this as well as other things in return for support."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Spectre said, nodding. "Thank you. I do not know of your sleep needs. We can only base that on our previous passengers. But we have set up waste elimination facilities, we have some food that they found mildly palatable and a compartment adjusted to your air needs. So I'll let you get to it."

"You are not human," Scientist Rimmild said as the threesome entered the engine room.

"You are very observant," Tchar replied, clacking his beak in humor. "I am Adar. We are allied with the humans. Like the humans, we first encountered the Dreen as invaders through a gate. Then, later, we met the humans. Now we are allied against our common enemy. I am the engineering consultant for the ship's drive system."

"You know, we have enough problem with scientific details," Bill said. "But I just realized, we can't even show you schematics. I'm not sure how to translate our diagrams into something you can sense."

"How does your drive work?" Rimmild asked, walking around the sphere. "I am picking up electromagnetism, but that just supports this ball. And a stream of neutrinos."

"We don't actually know," Bill admitted. "The Adar found the central bit, a small black box, in some ruins. I figured out how to make it work as a drive. But it does things we still don't understand. It drops in and out of superluminal at a very high frequency. The pulses are timed so that light can filter through but that's about all. Nothing that is harmful. It shifts to reactionless normal space drive with artificial gravity close to our own automatically when we approach a gravity well. When we're deep in the gravity well, it turns off the automatic gravity and inertial compensation. How much of that is part of the theoretical basis and how much is engineering we just don't know."

"Can you fire from within it?" Dugilant asked.

"No," Bill said. "On the other hand, nothing we've run into can get through. We just did a sweep of the main Dreen ship that's pursuing you. It hit us, several times, with plasma fire. No effect."

"That would have been nice to have," Dugilant said. "How fast can you cycle in and out? Is it controllable?"

"About a third of a second to turn it off," Bill replied. "Another third of a second to get it to come on-line. But if you're thinking of flying in and launching, then warping out, it takes longer than that for our systems to launch. As much as five seconds for our major weapon. We have lasers that are faster, but they are relatively weak. I'm not sure they could scratch that dreadnought's armor."

"And your main weapons are chemically propelled rockets?" Rimmild asked, still circling the ball.

"Yes."

"Acceleration?"

"They are fired under low acceleration," Bill said. "Barely two of our gravities. Five seconds after firing their rockets fire. Those have one hundred gravities of acceleration."

"If you came in close and fired, the Dreen would detonate them before the rockets went off," the combat master said.

"They did that with our torpedoes already," Bill said. "At about two light-seconds."

"A squee," Rimmild said, still circling the ball. "If we can power it. What is your power system?"

"Stored ardune," Tchar said. "Quarks. Unique quarks."

"I'm not getting that," Rimmild said. "Unique I got. The other two terms . . . Matter negative to normal?"

"No," Bill said. "Not antimatter. Quarks are the most basic building blocks of matter. Smaller than atoms or protons. The building blocks for matter."

"You keep that in your ship?" Rimmild asked. "How much?"

"Over four kilograms," Tchar said, holding up two of his massive fists. "This much."

"I hope you don't land on planets!" Rimmild said.

"Unfortunately, we do," Bill said, wincing. "We're aware of the risks. Ardune, quarkium, is also what we use in our missiles as a warhead."

"All I can say is I'd like you to get this ship as far away from our ships as possible!" Rimmild said. "Insane!"

"It's necessity," Bill replied. "We need the power. And you haven't even heard the good part about the drive system . . ."

"You have much knowledge of this ship?" Baelak asked as the linguist led her forward.

"When we were on our way out here I spent time working on it," Miriam said. "I was bored so I worked with the technical crews that maintain it. At this point, yes, I have much knowledge of this ship. Every bolt, every rivet as they say."

"This seems . . ." Baelak had stopped and was running her hand down a pipe.

"That's a waste pipe," Miriam said. "You can't see the coding on it but it tells the engineers what it's carrying and which way it's going. You were going to say 'primitive' I think."

"How it is joined," Baelak said, running her hands over a joint. "I am not a technician as you are . . ."

"I saw the unreality generator wing," Miriam said. "We join material, this type, by melting metal into the joints. It's called welding."

"We join metal to metal," Baelak said, taking her hand away from the pipe. "I know of welding. It is a technology . . . we rarely use anymore."

"And we're very interested in learning how you join metals," Miriam said.

"I don't actually know," Baelak admitted.

"Well, when we get you settled perhaps your scientists can explain it to ours," Miriam said. "What else do you want to see?"

"These humans are insane," Rimmild said, stripping off the hated respirator. "Insane."

"The linguist is certainly . . . interesting," Baelak said. "And very knowledgeable. She even works as a technologist in the ship, which I'll admit I cannot do."

"Oh, they are all knowledgeable," Rimmild said. "Of their paltry technology. Chemical rockets. What good are those going to do?"

"They are willing to go into space with that paltry technology," Dugilant said. "They know that they are practically unarmed. Yet they are trying to find out how to help us."

"Because they want our technology," Rimmild said.

"There is more," Baelak said. "They have many cultures on their planet, as we once did. The culture that has created this paltry technology is . . . very giving. It can be found most strongly in the linguist. They see people who need help and try to help them, often to their detriment. I have also been accessing their information net. Primitive, yes, but functional. I hope that we make it to this Earth. It seems a very vital place."

"They do battle," Dugilant said approvingly. "Even the culture that this ship comes from, yes? This is a battle ship. Although for under water, which I find surprising and somewhat amusing."

"Yes," Baelak said, with a note of distaste. "It was created by a tribe called the Americans. They are more giving, and more battling, than any other culture on their planet. It is a strange dichotomy. We only began to explore it."

"Rimmild, you spoke of a chaos generator," Dugilant said. "You said, if they can power it. They are enormous and require more power than I think this ship can generate."

"Are you sure they are not listening?" Rimmild asked.

"No," Dugilant said. "But I also don't care. Nor should you. The Dreen are practically on our backs and clawing. The Caurorgorngoth is our last Chaos Destroyer and it is badly damaged. Who knows if it will survive another battle. If the humans can not help us, we are assuredly doomed. So tell me what you were talking about."

"There is an experimental model," Rimmild said. "We have one prototype with us. It was never put into production because it has less range than plasma guns. But it's much more powerful. And the energy budget is lower. But I'm still not sure it would be effective. They would have to warp in quite close, fire, then warp out. As fast as they are going in warp, differentials, their primitive systems, no armor to speak of . . ."

"Get me the weapon," Dugilant replied. "Figure out how to install it. Find a place for a fusion reactor if you must. That is your job. My job is to figure out how to use it."