Chapter Four

August 13, 2940

“Anything?” Bastien quietly asked as he stood next to Specialist Ivanov. The two were huddled on the Bridge behind one of the non-critical stations, the display programmed to provide data from the science lab five decks below. Natasha, of course, didn’t respond but Bastien didn’t mind. She was in the zone and he was nothing more than a distraction. As her hands purposefully swiped through menus while her eyes read over large blocks of rapidly appearing and disappearing information, Bastien tried to catch a glimpse at the analysis. He knew approximately sixty percent of the terms. “What’s an Adrionac Protoplasmic Curve?” he muttered while frowning at the word salad on the screen.

“It’s a mathematical representation of spacial warping based on the galactic radiation’s interaction with atomic decay,” Natasha said flatly without taking her attention from the screen. “This would be easier if you weren’t looking over my shoulder, Bastien.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Bastien said, taking a step back and putting his arms up in surrender. “Just curious. Didn’t mean to distract you.” Bastien looked around the Bridge, seeing that it was mostly empty. Beta shift had been quiet and several of the crew stationed on Deck One were currently eating in the galley. Bastien had almost gone with them, his stomach rumbling with hunger, but he’d seen how focused Natasha was and had decided to stick around on the Bridge to see if she made any breakthroughs. Specialist Cellar, at Bastien’s request, would be sending something up soon.

Looking up from her console, Natasha sighed and Bastien could see that her eyes were a bit unfocused as she stared off into nothingness. “It’s alright,” she said. “Just more dead ends.” She squeezed her eyes shut and, when she opened them, looked over to Bastien. “I’m getting tired of dead ends.”

“Maybe you just need a break?” Bastien asked as he meandered over to the operations station to check its readings. “You’ve been focused all shift.”

“A break sounds good,” she said with a roll of her head. “I’m starting to think that getting home is going to be a bit of a challenge.”

Bastien snorted at her deadpanned delivery. “You and me both.”

“What I can’t figure out is why there seems to be no hint of inter-galactic interaction. We’re here. The huge distance between the galaxies has been crossed by the Grace. Yet, none of the records provided by the Syndicate of the many thousands and thousands of species they’ve met or the many millions of systems they’ve visited suggest any technology or natural phenomena to explain our situation.” Natasha rubbed her temple, her frustration obvious.

A frustration, Bastien knew, shared by all. Since learning that the Grace was not in the Milky Way, a substantial amount of time and energy had been spent in trying to understand how a military transport vessel from a distant galaxy could suddenly find itself so far from home. No answers had been forthcoming.

“Let’s start from the beginning, alright?” Bastien asked for no other reason than to think through the problem himself for the millionth time. Natasha, eyes closed and with one hand still massaging her forehead, nodded. “What do we know?”

“We woke up from cryogenic sleep in a vessel suffering from significant damage,” Natasha answered. “There was no crew on board and it was up to us, a group of cadets, to try to make as many repairs as we could. The Grace was in a relatively unremarkable nebula at the time so we were not aware of our location. When we made enough repairs to leave the nebula, we discovered that we were not in the Milky Way galaxy.”

“Right. So, how do we get home?”

“Well, crossing the distance between galaxies is a fool’s journey. It would take millions of years at our fastest speed. We also don’t know where the Milky Way is so we can’t even plot a course.”

“But if we figure out how we got here?” Bastien prompted.

“If we figure out how we got here, we might be able to use that same method to get home.”

“So how do we figure out how we got here?”

Natasha opened her eyes and glanced over to Bastien. “We have, as we’ve determined, three avenues of investigation. First, we can see if one of the sentient species here in this galaxy knows of a technology or a natural phenomenon that could do it. The data given to us by the Syndicate is helpful there, though their data is woefully incomplete since it’s far more focused on economic concerns rather than technological or scientific concerns.”

“Right, that is a problem,” Bastien responded. “The more we travel around and meet people, though, the more information we can gather. Access and download a species library, for instance. Maybe consult with scientists. See if we can learn of a solution to our problem that way.”

“The second avenue of investigation,” Natasha continued, “is to gather our own scientific data. We have sensors and engines and a fully functional science lab. Knowing what our end goal is, we can investigate natural phenomena on our own. We might see something that a species native to this galaxy missed. A wormhole. A galactic fissure. A Chimes-Hornman Paradox.”

“Again, our travel helps us here.”

“Third, we can try and figure out how we got here by looking at the state the Grace was in when we awakened.”

Bastien nodded. Once the Grace had realized she was not in her native galaxy, the crew had begun evaluating the state of the ship to see if there were any clues within that might shed some light on their intergalactic mystery. Where was the crew? While very damaged, why hadn’t the ship been even more critically injured or even destroyed? Why was there a rather unremarkable shuttle – the Blackbird – sitting in one of the cargo bays and why did their attempts at hacking into its computers keep failing? All of these could be clues that the crew might use in answering the question of what happened. “And that third avenue is being pursued by Dante and Brice?”

“It is,” Natasha answered, “and they’ve not had much more luck than I’ve had digging through sensor data and Syndicate records.” A door to the Bridge opened, then, and Spencer entered pushing a small serving cart.

“It could take time,” Bastien pointed out honestly as he left the operations station and drifted toward the food, “but they’re working on it. And we’re one ship. Even if we act the trader and bounce from system to system, we won’t ever visit more than a tiny fraction of this galaxy. But we plan on staying relatively near where we found ourselves after waking and it’s a good bet that doing so is going to lead to answers. Someone around here knows something, I’d bet, and we just have to find them.”

You’re right,” Natasha said with a deep sigh. “It’s still frustrating that answers seem so elusive.”

“I’m not worried,” Spencer said with a grin as he handed a bowl to Bastien. Bastien accepted it gratefully and began to scoop up the contents of the serving dish – some sort of shepherd’s pie – while mentally deciding if he would eat a brownie or a blondie for dessert.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“You’re not?” Natasha asked as she, too, approached the meal.

“Nope,” Spencer said. “We may not have any answers right now but all it would take is for us to get home is to find the right species with the right technology or to stumble upon some wormhole or something. That could happen tomorrow, for all we know, and we might be in AVAL territory within the week.”

“That’s a bit optimistic,” Natasha said as she helped herself to the meal.

“I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy,” Spencer responded with a shrug. “Besides, that’s the prevailing opinion on the ship.”

“That we’ll get home quickly?” Natasha asked, sounding a bit surprised. Natasha wasn’t one to socialize much, Bastien knew, so she likely wasn’t aware of the rumor mill.

“It is,” Bastien acknowledged. As both First Officer and one of the two officers on board with certifications in psychology, Bastien spent a great deal of time speaking with the cadet-turned-crew. Many had adopted Cait’s message of hope shortly after they left Freeport Mauve and were convinced that this cruise would serve only as an extended training exercise. Some of the most junior members of the crew had even wagered on when they would make it back to the Milky Way, with none selecting a date past Christmas. Bastien felt optimistic as well, despite the obvious challenges, but he also knew that nothing was certain. Still, if he allowed his optimism to wane, his own mental health might just suffer.

“I see,” Natasha said with a contemplative look. “Good to know.”

“So, what are you working on today?” Spencer asked as he cleaned up the tray and meandered over to the tactical station. He tapped a few keys and Bastien watched in amusement as the most junior of the senior staff nodded at the results in approval. Spencer had the strangest assortment of certifications – he was a bit of a jack of all trades – and Bastien recalled that the younger officer did know a bit about the security division. “Things are slow in the galley right now and I’ve already finished my cataloging of our cargo and personnel reviews for the shift. Anything interesting going on up here?”

“We are talking through how we are going to get home,” Natasha said. “Thinking through the issues.”

“Any solutions?”

“Not really,” Bastien said. “I was going to say that I think utilizing our cargo space to take on the role of a trader is the right way to go about looking around this area of space. Let’s meet new species and check out potential leads.”

“The Syndicate’s term is Skimmer, right?” Natasha asked. “Fast independent ship that is unbound by recurring contracts?”

“Yes,” Bastien responded. “And it’s a good thing the Syndicate’s vouched for us. I was reading about some of the trade laws in this area of space and I don’t think we would have been able to buy any bulk goods, let alone move them between systems, without being named associates of the Syndicate. We got pretty lucky.”

“We would have had to take on the role of our namesake,” Spencer said as he continued to look over the tactical display.

“Our namesake?” Natasha asked.

“Grace O’Malley. She was a pirate queen back on Earth. If we weren’t able to trade, we’d have to resort to piracy,” Spencer stated bluntly.

Natasha’s eyes rose but Bastien knew the other officer was joking. “So long as I get to wear a cutlass,” Bastien added, delighting in Natasha’s shocked expression. “I’m teasing, Natasha. So is Spencer.”

“I wasn’t,” Spencer responded as Natasha glowered at the two of them. “Alright! I was! But could you imagine it? We’d be sailing the stars, taking what we want and fencing it in secret pirate bases throughout the galaxy. We could—” A communication chime sounded and Noah’s voice came over the comms.

“Commander Devereaux?”

“Yes, Noah?” Bastien answered while sharing a grin with Spencer. “What’s up?”

“Do you mind coming down to Cargo Bay Gamma for a moment? I’d like to show you something.”

“On my way,” Bastien responded. Linking Bridge controls to his IBP, Bastien excused himself from the good-natured argument brewing between Spencer and Natasha and made his way down to the cargo bay. He was unconcerned about leaving the command deck; Spencer would be nominally in charge should an emergency suddenly arise but Natasha would be there to assist and Bastien would be looped in through his Integrated Biomechanical Processor almost immediately. The automation on board, he considered as he made his way deeper into the vessel, was an amazing departure from humanity's early spaceflight adventures.

“Noah?” Bastien asked a few minutes later as he strode into Cargo Bay Gamma. The dim lights illuminated the various goods acquired from Falm’shma but Bastien played that cargo no mind. Instead, he focused on maneuvering through the pallets and working his way into the back of the bay. There, he could see in the shadows, was the Blackbird. “Noah?” he called out.

“Over here, Commander,” Noah responded from beside the vessel and Bastien saw that the security officer was sitting on the deck just under the shuttle’s tail. Tools were scattered about and Bastien observed that Noah had hauled a portable metallurgical deconstructing unit into the cargo bay from the fabrications plant. Odd, Bastien thought to himself as he approached.

“Everything alright, Noah?” Bastien asked. “What are you working on?”

“Analyzing the metal used to construct this thing,” Noah answered while adjusting one of the PMDU sensor pads on the smaller vessel’s hull. He didn’t look up, his face remaining centimeters from the connection. Before Bastien could ask for clarification, Noah reached back and tapped a few commands on the unit while nodding to himself as the readout on the pad began showing data. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Bastien echoed.

Noah pulled himself away from the hull and turned to glance up at Bastien. “I’ve been running tests on this ship,” he said. “Saez and Uba missed something.”

Bastien bit his tongue at Noah’s bluntness. “I… see. You mean they missed something in their analysis of the vessel?” Noah nodded before looking away to continue to read the PMDU output. Their Chief Engineer and Head of Operations had worked on the Blackbird regularly, Bastien knew, but they hadn’t made much headway. The ship was relatively unremarkable, other than the fact that its main computer was locked up tight, its navigation records had been wiped, and the vessel sported external weapons that would have been against code. Bastien frowned. “Didn’t you do your own work-up of the ship early on?”

“I did,” Noah answered nonchalantly. “But I only looked at the Blackbird to see if she was dangerous to the Grace. She wasn’t, so I left the investigation to them.” Noah didn’t offer any further explanation.

“Alright,” Bastien began as he felt his jaw tighten. “What did Dante and Brice miss?”

“As you know, they wanted to figure out where the ship came from. Why was its computer locked? Why was the navigational system wiped? Why is she armed? Unable to get that information from her systems despite their best efforts, they looked up her registration number on our computer and that showed that she’d had an unremarkable career as a VIP shuttle in and around the Thalos System. They examined her for exotic gasses on the hull and internally, turning up nothing. They did a spectrometric assessment of her engines to see if they could spot any odd radiological results and that went nowhere. They also did a metallurgical evaluation of her hull to test for unique damage indicators or malformations and, again, nothing was remarkable.”

Everything Noah said was true, Bastien knew, and had been outlined in Dante and Brice’s joint reports on their continued attempt to learn more about the shuttle. It was believed that the Blackbird might hold a clue as to how the Grace came to be in this strange galaxy so the investigation had been deemed mission-critical. Little progress had been made. “Right. So, what have you learned?” Bastien asked directly, tired of Noah’s refusal to get to the point.

“I’ve learned,” Noah said as he glanced back up at Bastien, “that this ship is not the Blackbird.”

“It’s not the Blackbird?”

“Not the one we have on file, no. In fact, this ship isn’t even an AVAL ship. It’s a fake.” Noah smiled, obviously pleased at his own cleverness.

Bastien didn’t buy it. “Noah, it’s a Supernova LXT Luxury Spacecraft,” he said while folding his arms in front of himself. “I flew in on years ago. This is the same make and model as that one. They’re made by Oxidine Industries out of the Plaquemine System.”

“Ah, but that’s not what my analysis shows,” Noah said with a self-satisfied grin. “Saez and Uba – all of us, actually – simply assumed that this was an AVAL vessel. There wasn’t any reason to suspect otherwise. Yet, there is a very slight variance in the atomic density of the metallic alloys used in the hull that proves this didn’t come from Oxidine Industries. In fact, it didn’t come from any system within AVAL space since the only way for the variance to happen in metal is for that metal to have come from a trinary brown dwarf system.”

Bastien consulted with his IBP. “There is no trinary brown dwarf system in AVAL space,” he said, more to himself than to Noah.

“More than that,” Noah said as he stood and inhaled deeply, “there aren’t any trinary brown dwarf systems recorded in the Milky Way.”