"Ancient
Samarians of Earth called them the Anunnaki: 'those who from heaven to Earth
came'. They brought civilization to the lives of humans and they were
worshipped as Gods for it. But, they were not the Anunnaki. Nor were they gods nor
civilized beings. They were Obolid slavers - cast away from all of the Alliance
territories for their horrid abominations."
Lord Kelnor Din, "Legacy of the Obolid"
Chronicles of the Visitor, 2382 TS
CHAPTER I
"Zebra
Squadron, Auxi 4 security is requesting backup on a Code 9 in progress,"
the feminine voice said through the airways.
"Roger,
Dispatch," a deep male voice responded. "ETA 04.30 minutes. What are
we looking at, Neila."
Neila sat at her
half of the circular command console watching three needle nosed Halberd
Fighters dip and yaw before speeding away to Transport Central. "TCS
reports active viper exchange. Both pistols and a short range canon, Tom,"
she cautioned, "two troopers down, medics en route." It was her first
hot zone dispatch and the pilots smiled at the caution in her voice.
"Copy on the
canon, dispatch. Is there a make on any of them?"
"Affirmative.
Positive ID on two of the eight escapees from Mental Barge."
"Copy that.
How many of them are on TCS?"
"Five that we
know of, the others could be on the shuttle. All of the escapees are with
ECOS." ECOS was the anagram for the Earth Colony One Society, a rebellious
group determined to defy the Primary Proviso and colonize Earth. They had been
around for decades, but lately they'd been causing a great deal of trouble
raiding stores and stealing weapons and artifacts to support their cause.
Several members had been captured two weeks prior, and successfully escaped
from incarceration on the Mental Barge nearly an orbit ago. The e-force weapons
they were using to steal the shuttle had been heisted from the Star City VII's
local security hold where they'd been captured.
"Roger,
dispatch. Have Tiger Squadron stand ready for second backup."
"Copy that,
pilot," a new voice interjected, "The Tiger are airborne and standing
ready."
"Okay,"
Tom acknowledged. "Well, just dispatch the Security Shuttle, then. Tell
the pilot to hover until we get the cuffs on them."
"Roger on that
hover order, Zebra Leader," another voice cut in, "Security Shuttle
copies your instructions and is en route to TCS perimeter."
"Well hell,
Neila, you've got to let your officers give an order once in a while. It makes
us feel useful and important."
"Sorry,
Captain. It's my first real dispatch, maybe I got a little excited."
"Guess I could
stand a little excitement now and then. Just don't be making it a habit or I
might develop a complex," he chuckled. "Okay, I have visual on TCS
docking bay." All fighters dipped down below the hanger entry so the
pilots could get a full view of the bay inside. They saw the blue, red and
yellow bolts of focused energy particles flash from the viper weapons fire,
lighting up the whole area in and around the hanger opening. "Hm. Looks to
be a tad on the busy side up thar, boys. Nalon, position your squad around the
launch tube aperture. Just in case."
"Just in case
of what, Captain?"
"Just in case
I screw up and that shuttle pilot makes a break for it, that's what."
"Roger on that
screw cover."
"Right. Zebras,
reduce vipers to short-range sting setting, no need to blow their heads
off," he order his squad, then directing his next remark at Neila, said,
"Okay, my exciting little dispatcher, The Zebras are going to work."
"Roger,
Captain," she acknowledged, "Dispatch is monitoring your
progress."
"Very good,
dispatcher." For the next several minutes Neila sat with her eyes glued to
the video screen. The fighters were bombarding the docking bay with energy
particles before veering off perilously into space. She saw them make four
strikes at area near the shuttle. When they glided into the bay and hovered
around the shuttle, she unconsciously leaned forward and scooted herself to the
edge of her chair. Her whole body was tensing up, as if she was in the middle
of the fracas. Suddenly, an explosion lit up her screen, startling her back
into her seat. She quickly recovered and bolted forward to her previous upright
position just as the screen went black. "Oh, shit!" she gasped,
"I lost them! I can't see anything!" She listened to one pilot
swearing on comlink. A wild energy particle from the viper canon had struck a
fueling rig, compromising the hull and igniting its contents. The tremendous
blast sent a section of the shattered fuselage hurling into the primary sensor
monitoring the area. She shifted to the minor sensors positioned around the bay
and split her screen to view several simultaneously. At last she heard Tom
summon the security shuttle to the bay. The skirmish was over in less than
twenty minutes and the suspects were apprehended. She felt her body instantly
relaxed and fall hard against the backrest of her chair. The stress of the
moment had all but exhausted her. "Thank God that's over" she sighed
heavily.
"Well, I do
believe the Zebras have earned their leave today. We are coming home, little
miss," Tom declared.
"There's a
case on ice in the bullpen," she replied. "I think I saw your names
are on it."
"A woman after
my own heart."
Neila's dispatch
partner, Max Reardon, sat directly behind her at an identical command station.
The two back to back stations formed a complete circle which allowed a
supervisor free access to monitor personnel, or one person to handle both sides
at once in an emergency. From this vantage point, the two technicians could
observe all nine Star Cities and five Auxiliary Stations in the system. Each
console was composed of four sensor monitors with split screen options, a
computer and master terminal, and a colorful array of illuminated dials,
buttons, knobs and switches. In a crisis, a technician could override controls
on any satellite from these consoles to maneuver them into safe orbit lanes
during a meteor shower or to avoid the path of a comet. Like Neila, Max was
reassigned to dispatch four years earlier. He was considered one of the best
pilots in the fleet back then, back before a shuttle explosion ripped both of
his legs off at the sockets. He received the coveted Scarlet Saber for
sacrificing his legs to save his wingman; but the medal was poor compensation
for his missing limbs. The medics replaced them with mechanical prosthesis,
which were wired through electrodes directly into the spine. The legs
functioned admirably once his brain learned to recognize the electrode
messages, and even responded to pressure and temperature variations associated
with pain. Unfortunately, they were never quite sensitive enough to detect
subtle vibration changes that allowed him to manipulate the foot controls
effectively when docking the Halberd. After two aborted attempts and one near
fatal crash, he was asked to choose his new assignment. He piloted the prisoner
shuttle for a time, which had an automated navicom to prevent a hostile
override if the prisoners attached the pilot; but twiddling his thumbs while a
computer did all the work was too degrading for the twenty-three year veteran
fighter. Six months later, he put in for a new assignment.
"Dispatch!" he'd retorted, "The reject pool? You've got to be a
thruster shy." In the end, it was his wife who pointed out the advantages
of the post. "Well, at least I can keep in touch with my old squad if I'm
there," he'd consoled himself to her, and was soon piloting the stationary
cockpit with the same precision as the fighter.
Max always kept an
ear cocked toward Neila's console to help out when a situation demanded more
skills, but for the most part, he left her to figure things out on her own.
Since this was her first Code 9, he was listening in from start to finish, and
liked the way she had dealt with the pilots. "That was well done, Ms.
Winters," he chided, when it was over, Couldn't have pulled it together
better myself. I was particularly impressed with the payoff; you'll have them
eating out of your by morning.
"Gee,
thanks," she sneered sarcastically.
"I'm serious.
Pilots are genetically gifted with enlarged egos and shallow brainpans. That's
why they're so easy to please and even easier to piss off. Didn't they teach
you that at the Institute?"
"I must have
been late for class that day. I do recall missing fifteen minutes of a lecture
on rodents."
"My, my,"
he raised his eyebrows, "aren't we feeling uppity. What's the matter babe,
job getting you down?"
"Well, it's
not exactly what I thought I'd be doing at this time of my life - or at any
time, for that matter."
"You never
know. The Council could still reinstate the research," he encouraged.
"I'll refrain
from holding my breath for that one," she retorted just as the portal slid
open and Zebra Squadron stomped in to share two beers with the dispatchers.
They were all very loud and boastful, bragging about the little adventure on
TCS like it was some kind of major victory in a galactic war zone. They filed
the reports into the computer between stories and stomped back out, again,
still rejoicing the glory of the battle. Neila noticed that Max's attitude
always changed dramatically whenever the pilots came into the dispatch arena.
It only took them a moment to bring the old cocky fighter pilot out to the
surface.
"I knew those
nuts from the Mental Barge would try and grab a shuttle sooner or later,"
he stated with a new air of hyper- confidence.
"Yeah, that
does make sense if they're going to colonize a planet. I don't think they'd get
too far if they jumped."
"No, I mean
the prisoners must have been planning it out weeks ago. It was all too smooth,
to well executed for it to be a last minute gig."
"They might
have even made it if that controller had waited to alert us about the
crew."
"Nah, the
computer would have spotted the shuttle as soon as it left the orbit lane for a
window. It would dispatch fighters automatically, before you could even push a
button. But what I can't figure out is how they thought they could get past the
security system. Those cargo shuttles are only shielded for the slow decent;
fighters have a high intensity heat modifier, they'd be down there waiting for
them when they cleared the window."
"Maybe they
were desperate."
"Desperate! To
get to Earth? Why, so they can be eaten up by parasites?" he said
incredulously, "Anybody who would actually want to live with a bunch of
bugs and weeds has got to be crazy. We've got everything we want right
here."
"Maybe ECOS
thinks the parasites on Earth are preferable to the ones living up here."
"Right. So,
how are you and John getting on?"
"I never said
John was a parasite!" she squealed defensively. "Even if he does
resemble a couple of the bugs I had to dissect," she added with chuckle.
"I only meant that it's impossible to satisfy everybody in Terra all of
the time. The last census showed a combined population of over 59,000 men,
women and children. Some of them are bound to be disgruntled from time to
time."
"Disgruntled
is one thing, but organizing a rebellion? That's a whole n'other critter. These
people are crazy. There are logical reasons for our ancestors insuring that the
planets would never be colonized. People can't be trusted to leave well enough
alone."
"That law only
defines them as rebellious, or possibly confused, but it doesn't make them
crazy or insane. I don't know anything about ECOS, but I'm sure they have some
intelligent reason for believing in their cause; even if is a crazy one."
He gave her a
sideways glance over his shoulder, "Oh. That makes sense." Then he
warned, "You know, if you keep defending these people, your next
assignment could be a permanent post in a rubber room with your good buddies on
the Barge. You can wile away your time with the rest of the
anti-socialites." She chose to ignore the warning by simply not responding
to it, so he diverted the conversation back to the parasite. "You never
said how you and old Johnny Boy are getting along. I haven't seen you two put
on a good fight in days."
She was slow to
answer, pretending to be distracted by her monitor. "Oh, fine, I
guess,"
"You don't
sound too sure. You do still like him, don't you?"
"I like him
very much."
"Then what's
the problem?"
"Problem? Who
said there was a problem?"
"You did,
judging by your answer."
"There isn't
any problem. I just don't know if I want to spend the rest of my life with him,
yet. That's all."
"Well, have
you bothered to tell him how you feel?" he asked with a curios air of
indignation.
"How I feel
about what?"
"About
marriage. Don't you think the guy has the right to know a thing like
that?"
"Marriage!"
Neila choked on the word. "What the hell are you talking about? Who said
anything about marriage? John and I haven't even discussed the subject. Do you
know something I don't? What did he tell you?" Before he could answer a
strange blip suddenly appeared on one of her monitors. The smallest of meteors
have been known to damage the sensitive equipment mounted to the shells of the
satellites. She mentally blocked out the one-sided argument raging on behind
her and focused all of her attention on the console. She fiddled with the dials
that should have immediately identified the object, but strangely, no
information came on the screen. "Computer, identify foreign object in
sector 927 Foxtrot."
"SCANNING
SECTOR 927 FOXTROT..." a pleasant male voice calmly responded in her
headset.
"Report
scan," she said with equal calm.
"....,"
The computer offered no response.
"Computer,
report scan for sector 927 Fox-trot," she repeated, but the thing remained
silent. She'd never heard any stories about the computer failing and was at a
loss for what to do about it. "Shit," she swore under her breath.
"Okay, Neila, this is a test. This is only a test. Please do not attempt
to adjust your brain," she chanted, deliberately misquoting the emergency
test patter dialogue. "This is only a test. Computer, acknowledge."
Meanwhile, totally
oblivious to the bright red "SYNTAX ERROR, 403.016, SECTOR 927
FOXTROT...," flashing across his screen, Max was still fighting for the
rights of men, "Look, if you really don't like the guy, they why bother
going out with him? It seems to me you're just leading the guy on...,"
She decided the
situation called for an experienced second opinion. "Max...," she
attempted to interrupt.
"Women are
always doing stuff like that..." he rambled with increased volume. By this
time, he was leaning his chair back to a precariously balanced position that
threatened to flip him over if not maintained precisely.
"Max...,"
she tried again in a louder, harsher tone.
He deliberately
ignored her cry and teetered the chair even further on its already straining
pedestal. "I think women get a real kick out of having some guy fall all
over himself for her just so she can string him along and then dump him like a
. . . "
"Max!"
she yelled impatiently. "Shut up and turn around!" He heard that, and
the force of it nearly blew him off his chair. "Look at this." Once
he regained his balance after the near calamity, he leaped from the chair and
spun around to see a perfectly round dot flashing on her monitor near the Auxi IV
sensor.
He stretched his
long neck over her shoulder for a better look and frowned, "What's
that?" he said stupidly.
"I don't
know."
"Didn't you
get a read-out?"
"I tried, my
terminal's off-line."
"Oh, no
way!" He grabbed an old keypad and attempted to manually enter a command,
but nothing happened. Finally, he glanced around at his own flashing screen.
"Oh, shit!" He quickly grabbed a pad and scribbled down the message
just before it disappeared.
"It's
gone." Neila said from behind him.
"It's okay, I
got the numbers," Max misunderstood.
"What
numbers?"
"The error
message numbers. I got them just before they disappeared."
"I'm talking
about the object in sector 927; it just disappeared."
They looked at each
other, then at each other's monitor and back at each other's puzzled face
again.
"It's probably
just a simple malfunction," Max finally muttered unconvincingly.
"Guess you should call maintenance."
"Maintenance,
right." So strange was the incident, that it left them as confused as two
primitive computers asked to calculate to the end of pi; their brains seemed to
be flashing "TILT", making logical protocol a serious effort to
recall.
"Maintenance,"
the dull, bored voice replied to comlink.
"I've had a
malfunction in the number three terminal, I think. Please send someone up to
check into it right away."
"A
malfunction, you say?" The voice paused briefly; "I'm not picking up
any readings on it. Full systems check shows all terminals and peripherals up
and running fine. What kind of a malfunction do you think you have there,
dispatcher?" Neila relayed the event as best she could. "The terminal
went dead, you say?" he responded doubtfully, "Are you sure about
that,
"Yes, I'm
sure. 'ERROR: 403.016 flashed on another screen for several minutes just before
the terminal went down."
"Is the
terminal on line now?"
"Affirmative,
it came up when I called you."
"And you're
sure about those numbers, 403.016? Those numbers indicate a program failure. A
403 failure would effect the entire system. I've been sitting here all day and
nothing's come across my board."
Neila shut her
eyes, cocked her head toward Max and opened them again all in one sweeping
motion. He read her thoughts correctly and answered them by activating his
headset. "The system failed at a critical moment, technician," he
growled. "This is an official report of the incident. That requires you to
submit an official answer. Now we can sit here all night and argue about it or
you can get your ass up here to investigate the complaint. Unless you'd prefer
to wait for me to give Commander Decker my own personal version of the your
performance in the matter. I know the Chief will be thrilled to . . ."
"That won't be
necessary, dispatcher. I have a man on his way up."
"That's what I
thought," Max said with a rude flip of the COM switch. "Man, I hate
techs."
Neila looked up at
her partner with one eyebrow raised, "Have you always been this forceful
or have I not been paying enough attention all this time?"
"You never pay
attention to the right people," he smiled.
"That's
probably why I'm stuck in dispatch."
"Yeah, that
was kind of weird. I've never heard of anybody being told where they could
work. I thought Free Choice could only be denied criminals."
"So did I. It
wasn't insulting enough to find out my project was now obsolete after fifteen
years, they had to stick me here. All of that time and training . . . just
wasted. You'd think I could have been put someplace that was, at least, useful.
Even using my vast knowledge and education to scrape the shit off a lily in the
Water Treatment would be a remote relation to biochemistry. But Dispatching
Halberds...?"
"It's as
though you were being shipped off as far away from the Institute as possible. What
were you researching that piss them off so much, anyway?"
"Monitoring
planet recovery. Analyzing new and evolved life forms. I extracted new elements
and injected them into the feed crops in the Hydroponics Nursery, which
quadrupled the gross yield and doubled nutrient content in the cell structure.
Nothing of any real importance."
"Quadrupling
food production is not important?"
"Guess not. It
landed me here, didn't it? I don't know. That thesis should have been approved
for publication and added to the basic curriculum at the institute. Instead,
McPherson reads it and decides it's not in the best interest of Terra to
continue research. He's the one that convinced the council to terminate the
project."
"I always
thought McPherson was kind of gutless to me; I'm surprised he would take on
Senator Marshall."
"Oh he speaks
right up since his L30 cleared. That seems to have loosened his lip and engaged
his gut. Unfortunately, his brain hasn't caught on yet. It's still buried
somewhere near the anus region, I believe."
"He must have
come up with something intelligent for Owen to concede."
"I don't know.
He was excluded from the debate. I am a ward in his quad, after all. I doubt
his arguments would be considered objective and impartial."
"What? The
only totally objective and impartial members sitting in Counsel are Wiley
Roslin and Owen Marshall. The rest are all kiss ups doing and saying anything
to get through their probation."
"I know, and
I'm confident Wiley did his part to insure Owen's arguments would be heard; but
that's still only a one in six chance."
"Well,
whatever their reasons were, I'm not sorry were partners," he turned to
smile at her, then added, "if that makes you feel any better."
"It
helps," she grinned back, just as the portal slid open and three blue
coverall clad maintenance crewmen step through it. Their waists were cinched
with red utility belts and yellow tool holsters hung around their hips. Each
wore a remote terminal on their wrist and one carried a flat clip terminal in his
hand. They were all fairly small and muscular in stature, which was considered
a plus when working in remote confined areas of the satellites. They walked to
the center of the center of the two work stations and waited for somebody to
notice them. Neila pointed out the terminal that had been affected and then
linked her command sectors to Max's station so he could cover her board while
they worked.
They seemed to work
in unison, the way a seasoned fighter squad performs in battle. Every panel and
chip was scanned with the wrist remotes and the results were displayed on the
flat clip terminal. The entire process taking about twenty minutes. Then the
three huddled around the flat clip, scanning the results for a second time and
shaking their heads and snickering under their breath. Finally, the one who
carried the flat clip approached the dispatchers. "I don't know what you
think you saw happen," he directed his comment at Neila, "but there's
not a damn thing wrong with this station."
"Could the problem
be at the 927 scanner?" she asked, "Could that send bogus messages
that would effect the terminal output?"
He gave his head a
negative shake as he answered, "I doubt it. The master override would have
kicked in and showed up on the main board; but there's a crew outside checking
it out, just in case."
"How long will
that take?" Max asked.
"Not long.
They were patrolling in that area when the call came in."
"Okay, so
where does that leave us now?" Neila asked.
The crewman checked
his clip terminal briefly, then reached down and tapped a lighted switch on her
station. "Up and ready to go," he said arrogantly. "Scanners all
check out." He eyed the confused expression on Neila's face for a few
seconds, and then dismissed his crew and told her that the report would be
entered for the commander to review. He walked over to the open portal and
paused to look back at her momentarily. Max glanced up to make eye contact with
him briefly before he exited. The exchange did not escape Neila's notice.
"Techs."
Max grumbled under his breath.
The remaining two
hours were less eventful and seemed almost boring. Two squadrons were
dispatched to intercept a small meteor barrage in Sector 138 and a lunar survey
team reported that one of their rovers had been hit and sustained repairable
damage.
At shifts end,
Commander John Decker walked through the portal flanked by the relief crew,
Shelly O'Brien and Philip Casey. He walked directly to Neila's station and the
shift report up on her monitor. "What's the status on that Mental Barge
break?" he asked as he glanced over the report.
"All eight
were captured on TCS. Two local trooper were injured before we got the call.
They were transported to the Medical Frigate and haven't filed any reports yet.
Zebra's did the backup; their reports are in the system.
"Good work.
Have any of the psych team reported?"
"No, they're
still in the interrogation phase," she answered as she handed Shelly the
headset for her to take over the console.
"Still?"
John said, "Hell. They're not going to crack that bunch, they're too tight
lipped."
"Wow, sounds
like you had all the fun," Shelly giggled as they traded positions."
"Right at
entertaining," Neila retorted with a crossed eyed expression. "One
laugh after another." She pointed out meteor report to her and warned of
strays, then made a bee line for the portal. As the door slid open she heard
John's voice calling out to her before she could escape.
"Neila!
Tonight. 19:00. Okay?" Then in an afterthought, added, "Wear
something sexy."
Her face felt hot
as it took on a bright red glow, "John!" she jammed her hands on her
hips and scolded.
He immediately
scrunched up his shoulders, tucking his head in like a scared turtle.
"Whoops," he mumbled under his breath. Then he mustered up the most
innocent wide eye look he could remember from childhood encounters with his
mother, stood erect and faced her. "What?" he said stupidly.
She decided to
forgo the scene the crews were hoping to witness and just leave. No doubt they
would invent their own versions of the lovers spat in dispatch before the day
was out, anyway.
"Right,"
he smiled broadly. "See you at seven."
Max followed her
out into the hall where she'd stopped to lean against the closest wall. "I
was wrong," she said with a heavy sigh. "He is a parasite."
