Mech Zero: The Dominant (5 page)

The Dominant class of offspring was something of an experiment at best. They had been designed by Savants and Parents working together during the long war with the Tulk. Mistakenly believing the Tulk were a true telepathic species that controlled their hosts through mental projection, they came up with their own counter-being: the Dominant.

Unlike the Tulk, her kind did not reside inside the braincase of an alien. Instead, it clutched to the body of its host, usually riding upon the back in the case of vertebrates. From there, the spines could be deeply inserted for maximal contact with the nervous system, thus affording direct interaction with the host brain.

The difficult part, of course, was the initial mounting of the host creatures. They tended to resist, and that was where the Dominant’s probing became critical. By reaching out with her mental senses, she could locate and analyze suitable nearby minds. Matching the engrams of her victim precisely, she could transmit her own thoughts to the subject brain. Overwhelmed with impulses that seemed to come from its own consciousness, the victim’s mind accepted the incoming engrams and acted upon them. The Dominant was thus able to temporarily alter the behavior of inferior creatures in simplistic ways. Full control required a mounted host, but she could achieve partial control from a short distance.

She probed now, seeking a nearby creature of suitable mental weakness. She found several, and chose the closest. She reached out to this being seated in the ship, halting the distress call it was in the act of sending. The creature rose from its seat in confusion. It stumbled, slackened and fell to the deck plates, convulsing violently.

The Dominant entered the mind and learned some of its purposes. The surface thoughts were chaotic, but all of them were concerned with the gas valves controlling the chemical composition of the hot, simulated atmosphere these beings seemed to require. The Dominant gathered these tidbits of input and surmised the creature she had chosen was not the one in charge, but right now she didn’t care. Time was of the essence. Soon, the airlock hatch would open and she would be exposed to the crew. In her weakened state, she doubted she could overcome them all with direct violence—especially if they had weapons.

The creature she’d assaulted had assumed a fetal position on the prime deck. She forced the crewman to stand erect. She could see through his eyes vaguely, but only in pulsing flashes. Much of the host’s brain seemed to be designed to process visual input from two exposed, optical-input organs. The organics were poorly designed and oddly arranged at best, and the Dominant was left wondering how this soft species had ever managed to achieve spaceflight. She urged the creature to stumble toward the airlock as fast as possible.

Things were going smoothly, and the Dominant had begun to believe she would be happily sinking her spines into a host at any moment. To her horror however, the airlock interior hatch swished open before her servant could reach it. An ugly being stood there, staring at her and emoting disgust that matched her own.

The new creature made a high-pitched cry. It was smaller and appeared to be female. After a staggering a step back, however, it regained its composure and reached for its sidearm. The Dominant gave her own shriek, sending a sickening wrenching sensation into the minds of every human in the vicinity.

The being she had dominated first responded quickly, coming to her aid. He rushed forward, grabbing the smaller female’s arm with both of his. The Dominant felt she might live yet, but the female was surprisingly strong. She yanked her arm forward, and although the dominated male was slavering and berserk with adrenalin to save its master, he was yanked off his feet. He still clung to the female’s arm with both of his, while she raged at him. She turned on her own crewmate and reached for him with her second hand. Claw-like, it clutched his face and squeezed. Blood, teeth and a squirming tongue protruded from his broken jaw and crushed mouth. Still he hung onto the female’s arm, but he could not pull her down.

The Dominant saw her opportunity. It had been too long since she’d felt the quivering muscles of a host beneath her spines. She darted forward and scuttled up the female’s back. She had seen enough. As weak as their males were, the females were clearly the warriors of this odd species. She happily sunk in her spines…to her shock, however, they struck no soft sheaths of nerves. It was as if the being wore a coating of thick, flexing skin, with a shell of metal underneath that.
Metal?

Terrified, she realized she might be facing the one monstrosity she could not deal with effectively—a robot. She reached out with her mind, dropping control of her damaged initial conquest. He flopped onto the deck plates for the second time in five minutes, left in keening agony now that he felt his destroyed mouth-parts fully.

The Dominant reached out with her mind for the female creature she rode upon. She had to get some kind of control of it. Those thin-fingered hands reached back and began to crush the Dominant’s exoskeleton with fantastic strength.

There! She felt the mind she sought now—buried in a case of yet
more
metal. She found a brain of flesh and electro-chemical thought. She overwhelmed it with engrams of her own design. She felt unexpected resistance. This creature was strong-willed and determined. The Dominant relished the challenge and pushed harder, feeling certain of a quick victory.

Seven

Goddard’s massive boots clanged rhythmically as he ran down the long corridor back to the bridge. When he climbed into his high-mounted command chair, the glorious news was repeated to him in person.

“We’ve made contact with the enemy, sir,” the com-officer reported.

Goddard beamed. This was the sweet moment of conquest. He’d flown through dull space for a full year, suffering the whines of creatures like Davenport all the while, in order to reach this summative moment.

“Are we in range yet?” he demanded, leaning forward eagerly.

“No sir.”

“Can you at least give me optical, man?” Goddard asked.

“We can interpolate the data. The enemy ships are presenting a very small signature.”

“Could be a trick. Show me what you’ve got.”

The computer-simulated image of five pathetically small craft appeared on the domed ceiling of the bridge. Goddard blinked at them in disbelief. All five could not possibly face even one of cruisers. A hundred of these silly vessels would probably lose to them. He’d expected a diminutive fleet—but this was insulting.

“What other forces are in play?” he asked.

“We had another distant contact, deeper in the Oort cloud, but it dropped off the boards some time ago.”

“Ah-ha!” shouted Goddard. He slammed his fist down upon the armrest of his command chair, making it quiver in response. “That’s their real ship, then.”

“Possibly sir,” said the com-officer doubtfully.

The weapons officer looked up at him. “Your orders, sir?” he asked.

“Helmsman,” Goddard said, leaning back in his chair. “Take us straight into their teeth. Don’t let them turn and run. Assume attack formation. Fire the moment we are in range.”

The next twenty minutes were extremely tense. Despite all his natural-born self-confidence, Goddard could not help but wonder if these hedonists had somehow tricked him and lured him into a trap. He could hardly believe—no, he
refused
to believe this was all they had with which to defend themselves. He had expected an easy victory, but no thinking group of beings could be so foolish. Perhaps they had developed an amazing new weapons system that could destroy his ships with ease.

Goddard shook his head violently. Those were defeatist thoughts. The musings of a weakling like Davenport. In fact, he was convinced that cretin was the real source of his doubts. The man had the spine of a flatworm and had infected the thoughts of his betters.

A warning light flashed. A klaxon sounded. The ship’s programming had been laid in, as had that of the other two cruisers. They all fired in unison. Strokes of invisible light leapt out. A full salvo of missiles was released, with nuclear-tipped warheads.

The enemy, knowing what was coming, must be returning fire. Goddard waited a few tense seconds. The viewports of each cruiser were shielded with vast, rolling domes of metal and absorptive materials. These shields were moving now, to spread the damage over a wider area when the strikes came.

Due to the vast distances involved, the enemy beams struck before they saw their own return fire hit. In order to observe the damage their own weapons had inflicted, they had to wait several more seconds. An odd sound came to Goddard’s ears. It was like the ripping of fabric. It sounded a second time, very briefly.

“Five hits, sir,” the weapons officer reported.

“Damage?”

“Three percent on forward shield one. Seven percent on shield three. Hull intact.”

“That’s it?” Goddard demanded. He slumped back in his chair, disappointed. The strikes were laughable. He felt a growing sense of indignation. These pathetic people had made a fool of him. Combined with that coward Davenport, they had made Admiral Henry Goddard
worry
. He was disgusted with himself.

Then the optical interpolation of
Galton’s
strikes played out on the dome overhead, and he felt better. Each of the five patrol boats exploded in quick succession, flaring incandescently as they were struck with multiple powerful beams. His only complaint was he had wasted his missile salvo. The warheads were destined to explode harmlessly in space, as there was nothing bigger than a pebble out there to impact upon.

The com-officer sought his attention. “Captain Davenport is calling, sir.”

Goddard snorted. “Put him through.”

“Admiral,” Davenport said. His face was bandaged, with only one staring eye exposed. “I congratulate you on your first victory over the forces of the renegade Empire of Tranquility.”

Goddard chuckled, but accepted his second in command’s perfunctory congratulations.
The Empire of Tranquility
was right out of the propaganda vids. Not even the hedonists who lived on their do-nothing planet called it that.

Captain Davenport stared at him, waiting for his dismissal. Goddard let him wait for a full second more, then spoke: “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.

“No sir, I don’t believe—”

“I expect an apology, Davenport.”

“For what, sir?”

“For your gross display of—well, let’s just call it an overabundance of caution. The enemy are pathetic, just as I predicted. Come now, let’s hear it.”

It was Davenport’s turn to stare quietly for a second. Mendelians never apologized for anything. To require such a thing from a subordinate, especially in public, was a deep insult.

“I’m sorry sir,” Davenport said at last, “for doubting your predictive powers.”

Admiral Goddard worked his lips silently, savoring the moment and considering a further humiliation, but finally he grew tired of the game and dismissed Davenport.

“Helmsman,” he said, drumming his command chair with his fingers. “Head toward the last sighting of that ghost contact. We might as well be thorough before we strike the planet.”

Internally, he hoped this entire mission wasn’t going to be as dull as the opening battle.

Eight

Ensign Theller of the
Redemption
had turned on his headset with shaking hands. He fully expected an earful of curses, orders and threats coming from Captain Beezel, who had no doubt found and corrected his pathetic sabotage by now. What he heard as he approached the ladder and the airlock was unexpected—and far worse.

Shouts, cries…random snatches of long screams that suddenly cut off. The rest of the crewmen seemed to be caught up in some kind of turmoil. He froze with his gloved hand on the outer airlock door. What if the mixtures had become poisonous? What if they were dying in there in convulsions, due to his tampering? He had another thought as he heard cries indicating injury and pain. What if there was a fire? When fooling with oxygen levels, fire was always a huge worry. In so many ways, spaceships were really flying bombs.

Theller yanked the handle and the airlock opened. He stopped himself as he heard what could only be the sounds of a human being dying horribly. Panting breath mixed with heavy grunts of exertion. Incoherent screams followed, only to be quickly muffled. A chill went through Theller. What was going on inside that ship?

He touched a button and caused the internal porthole to flip the shielding away. Through the glass, he peered at a strange scene. There were three bodies in plain sight. They lay in positions of twisted repose. One man had a wrench in his hand, but a huge hole opened his gut. The second man lay draped over the first. The third, who appeared to have died trying to get inside the very airlock Theller stood within, was missing his head. Dark blood was everywhere, and a smoky vapor filled much of the upper region of the cabin.

Theller looked this way and that, but couldn’t make out the nature of the disturbance. The porthole only allowed him to see so far. The airlock began to cycle, and the sounds from inside weren’t getting any better. Theller felt a fear overtake him such as he’d never felt before, not even when he knew he was flying into certain death against the Mendelians. He turned and hit the emergency exit on the airlock. Explosive bolts blew the hatch out into space. He hopped down, floating briefly in the low gravity. He crawled under the ship and keyed open the emergency airlock in the ship’s belly. It was a tight fit, but he managed to squeeze into the hatch. He reached out for the emergency override panel, hesitated a second further, then flipped it open and typed in his officer’s code.

He did not want to reenter the ship, but his only other choice was to sit out here on this frozen rock and die. Air, food, water, heat—everything a human being required for life had only one source on this tiny world, and it was
Redemption
.

When he got inside, he took the time to twist the oxygen valves back to their default settings. Then he quickly searched for and found a hiding place. Every ship had a disorganized storage area somewhere in the aft section: piles of spare suits, tools, adjustable webbing, emergency kits, discarded packaging and trash.