CHAPTER 29

Captain Sergei Konstantinov rustled around the cramped bridge of the Gagarin. He’d been restless since the defeat at Thermopylae, making even his previous levels of nervous energy seem tame in comparison. Privately his crew wondered which would kill him first, his heart due to excessive adrenaline, or his lungs from the volumes of cigarettes he inhaled. Konstantinov only seemed to become calm when there was something to turn his attention to, so the crew ensured that they reported even the tiniest event. This kept him occupied, and when the Captain was occupied he was not prowling through the boat looking over their shoulders.

“Captain! I’m receiving a faint distress transmission from the wake of the Alliance signature,” the communications officer reported. Konstantinov leapt to the station before the man finished his report, and urged him to elaborate. The man shrugged, “It is very low power, sir, but it is there. Its location is not keeping pace with the signature. Its falling astern now. I would guess that one of their ships dropped out of superluminal, but I’m not certain. From its power level its obviously not a standard ship transmitter.”

“Well, put it on man! Put it on!” Konstantinov ordered.

The communications officer pushed his speaker switch to external and a faint static covered voice said, “. . . We require immediate assistance, please respond. To any Terran vessel: we require immediate assistance, please respond. To any Terran vessel: we require immediate assistance, please respond.”

“Interesting, it could be a trap, but then we need something to spice up the day. Helmsmen drop out of superluminal! Tactical, scan for their ship!” The Captain ordered, then he turned back to the communications officer and had a channel opened.

“This is Captain Konstantinov of the Terran warship Gagarin; please identify yourself and the nature of your difficulty.”

“Captain Konstantinov, this is Admiral Senn’tyr of the conquered Quotterim Empire. I appreciate the unusual nature of this request; however, my staff and I have been marooned in your space by the Golkos. I respectfully request that you take us into custody aboard your vessel.”

“That is an unusual request, Admiral,” Konstantinov admitted haltingly. He silently asked his First Officer where the Quotterim vessel was as the forward bridge hologram was empty of any ships. To Konstantinov’s embarrassment the First Officer merely shrugged and shook his head. The Siberian attempted to hide the vexation in his voice, saying, “Admiral, I’ve no problem with taking you aboard, though I must warn you I’ve little patience for trickery. Unfortunately, at the moment we do not have your ship on our scanners. Can you give me your position?”

“There is no problem with your scanners, Captain. We have no ship, so it is quite understandable that you have no sensor return.”

Incredulous silence.

“Captain Konstantinov?”

“I’m sorry, Admiral, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. Do you mean to tell me you are not on a ship?”

“That is correct, Captain Konstantinov.”

“They threw you off their ship? They pushed you off into space?”

“That is a correct observation, Captain,” Senn’tyr informed the Siberian. “I regret to be insistent, Captain, but we were unable to fully prepare for this eventuality. These uniforms carry a limited amount of life support, and we shall shortly be dangerously low.”

“Keep transmitting, we’ll be right there!” Konstantinov ordered. “Helm home in on their signal, flank on the sub-light engines! First Officer, clear the conning tower and open the hatch. Suit up. You’ll be the one fishing them out of the drink!” The First Officer left hurriedly, and Konstantinov placed himself behind the helmsman for the delicate rendezvous. The helms navigational screen, a small flat plate viewer with geometric guidance cues, displayed the Quotterim’s transmitter as a pulsating beacon. Quickly but with great care the helmsmen followed the screen, and Konstantinov’s promptings. In fifteen minutes the Gagarin was slowing to a stop underneath a small circle of free floating beings. Shortly the First Officer reported that he’d successfully gotten a rope to them and was pulling them into the conning tower. The apparent success of the maneuver brought a chuckle out of Konstantinov.

“Well this isn’t something that happens every day! Keep sharp on the tactical, if this is a trap I want time enough to shove those bastards back into space where we got them!” The Captain, despite his misgivings, did not lose his humor over the situation. After all six Quotterim were within the conning tower the hatch was closed. The tower depressurized as the ship got under way again. This necessary chore accomplished the upper hatch opened and the Quotterim, the tallest of whom measured only a meter, carefully negotiated the widely spaced steps of the ladder. Konstantinov was openly amused at the appearance of his guests, though it was understood on the bridge that this freedom of expression did not transfer to his crew. For the Captain and his crew it was the first time they’d met an alien in the flesh, and though they’d seen photographs it turned out to be a completely different sensation than any of them expected. Some of the bridge crew turned intently to their duties, but most simply stared. The Captain laughed.

“Well, well here are the poor souls who walked the plank! The blasted Golkos, they’re no better than our own pirates!” Konstantinov chortled as Admiral Senn’tyr stepped off the ladder awkwardly and approached the Siberian. The Captain towered above the Quotterim, hands on hips, but promptly snapped a smart salute. The smile turned serious, though it did not disappear, and Konstantinov welcomed the Admiral aboard.

Senn’tyr seemed put out, and was quick to say, “I thank you for your rescue, Captain Konstantinov. I have no illusions as to our position. We are without ship, haven or empire. As beings go we are destitute, escaping with nothing but our lives. We are your prisoners, sir.”

“Hmmm, you are quite glum Admiral Senn’tyr, but you have cause to be. It’s been a bad couple of days for your people, but like as not you’ve seen the worst of it. You’ll not be mistreated aboard the Gagarin, at least. Though I caution you against expectation: we’re a warship, not a cruise ship on the Black Sea! I doubt you’ll be as comfortable as you’re used, but I don’t think you’ll be as uncomfortable as you fear.”

Konstantinov was, in his own way, trying to ease the anxiety of these harmless looking being’s. He motioned for the Admiral and his staff to follow him to the Officer’s Mess, which doubled as the conference room. Space was limited on the Gagarin, as with all submarines, so many things had dual purposes. The Officer’s Mess contained just enough space for the Senior Officers on board to eat together. There was a jug of coffee, an ethernet viewer and tactical display. It was rather cramped for the entirety of the Quotterim party, Konstantinov, and the marine guards; so the Captain had all the Quotterim but the Admiral escorted to their quarters. The Siberian remained with the Admiral and a marine.

Konstantinov poured himself some coffee, and provided some water for Admiral Senn’tyr at the Quotterim’s request. While the Quotterim sat at the table, Konstantinov lounged in the corner of the room. Sipping his coffee the Captain cocked his head and studied his guest minutely.

“Admiral let me set your mind at ease. Terran doctrine frowns upon the mistreatment of prisoners. Your party and yourself shall not be physically or mentally abused, at least not on purpose. We are, however, unfamiliar with your physiology so if there are certain requirements we need to account for, or certain questions we need to address, then you need to let us know. Is that understood?” When the Quotterim assented he continued. “Now as to our intentions I cannot honestly answer all you might wish to know. For the time being you will be detained, but as I said previously this is a warship. It is not a prison ship. As our two states were until very recently at war I shall seek guidance on more permanent accommodations. At the moment is there any particular need you and your people require?”

Admiral Senn’tyr shrugged in a very Terran manner, saying, “That is difficult to say, Captain, we drink water as do you, but we left without the Golkos without any of our personal stores or equipment. At the moment I have no way of telling whether or not your food is suitable for our physiology. I doubt that the problem was of particular concern to Grand Admiral Khandar.”

At the mentioning of the Golkos commander Captain Konstantinov’s brow rose. “Actually, I think we can solve that once I talk to headquarters,” he said, addressing the Quotterim’s concern first. “We have contingents of Chem and Scythians acting as neutral observers, and doubtless they can help us in this matter. It might help me, however, to know more about how you came to be here, Admiral. Can you enlighten me?”

The Quotterim commander told his story to a fascinated Captain Konstantinov. She omitted nothing of the details of the final council with the Grand Admiral, to whom she felt no lasting loyalty. When it came to the moment where the Quotterim were expelled from the Golkos flagship Konstantinov admired the Quotterim’s ingenuity and foresight, but was horrified to find that the Syraptose and Bael had joined their comrades. All too obviously the Terran assumed he’d left the Syraptose in space, and the Quotterim had not thought their confederates important enough to warrant their attention. Senn’tyr allayed his host’s misgivings.

“Unfortunately our former allies were unprepared for this eventuality. While all uniforms possess a temporary sustaining field in their design the Syraptose and the Bael did not supplement their suits with emergency power packs. It is an interesting point of distinction in our two peoples. Neither the Quotterim or the Syraptose possess any significant amount of trust for the Golkos or the Seer’koh. The Syraptose, however, seem to feel that any overt action on this distrust would only aggravate their situation. The Quotterim and Bael, obviously, do not agree with that assessment.”

“That is to your credit,” Konstantinov remarked, adding, “I would now like to inform my superiors. I would ask that you remain, as I am certain there are questions to be answered.”

“My only duty is to Quotterim, Captain Konstantinov, I no longer have any ties to the Alliance,” Senn’tyr told him. “I will answer any questions which do not further endanger my people.”

“I’m certain that will be sufficient,” Konstantinov commented, and made the connection.