The Commodore’s Clock

OUR RIFFIAN FRIENDS, AGAIN

Magister Sir James of Cooper smoothed and adjusted his kimono while he waited for admission to the Commodore’s quarters. He quickly restored the cranes to poise and the volcanoes to quietude. When he was admitted he found the Commodore in his pyjamas. Neatly buttoned-up, monogrammed, all crisply ironed cotton with military creases.

“Well?” The Commodore was grave. He didn’t much care for Cooper but he knew him to be a serious practitioner of his art.

“Something is coming. It’s interesting. I do not sense any malice or any real intent other than to arrive…. somewhere, soon. It doesn’t feel alive. Very strange.”

“But you don’t know what it is?”

“No.”

The Commodore activated the bridge intercom. “Officer of the Deck, sound general quarters, this is no drill.”

Moments later he stepped onto the flag bridge. He took a moment in his quarters to change from his pyjamas to his undress uniform. He had also gathered-up his sword, which he thought should be with him even though it wasn’t worn with the undress uniform. He carefully placed it on his chair close to his clock. His sword and his clock. A surety of good fortune.

“We’ll have to intercept this thing in super-luminal space. Tell me, admiral, are we close enough? We’ll use The Scouts’ original drive, as we have to be there for more than an instant.”

“Optimum interception on this heading in about ten minutes. Commodore.” Cooper seethed at being called ‘admiral’ yet again. But there was no time for temper here on the flag bridge.

“Scout.”

“Sir.”

“As soon as we transit, release the gunboats. Have them form the Web search formation. We can maneuver quickly from that one.

“ETA?” he asked calmly.

“Three minutes,” Scout replied.

“Very well, we’ll give ourselves a few moments to get organized.

“Scout.”

“Sir.”

“Execute.”

Having shifted into super-luminal space, the gunboats immediately detached from The Scouts and began to scan the target which had instantly become apparent.

“Geez Louise,” murmured Lieutenant Kerlew, captain of HMS Ladybird. “She’s gi-normous.” Lieutenant Kerlew happened to be tall and athletic, a crew cut blond with apple cheeks, a ready smile with a certain air of innocence about him despite his considerable experience. Somehow, for him, it was quite alright to say ‘gosh’ or ‘golly’ on the bridge or in the wardroom.

“Fuck,” contributed Alan St Marie somewhat more graphically. “Where would we even start attacking that thing.”

Alert tones sounded over the communications net.

“Do Not Attack! I say again: Do Not Attack! This is the Commodore speaking. Do Not Attack!

“All gunboats! Formation Xray on flag. Formation Xray on flag and stand by for further.

“This is the Commodore. This ship is a Riffian transport. It will not attack. We are preparing a boarding party. Maintain Xray. Stand by.”

+++++

It only took an instant for Bing to don his special space suit; the one he had used when he boarded the catastrophically damaged space frigate 2-0-1-0 back at the start of the Riffian War.

Ma’am provided all the necessary schematics and locations and in less than five minutes, Bing had done his job and the drone freighter dropped into normal space with the squadron in formation around it.

HMS Ladybird and HMS Sparrowhawk remained mobile, examining the entirety of the Riffian vessel. Everyone else repaired aboard the flagship for a conference.

“Ladies, gentlemen, familiars,” the Commodore began. “Ma’am is going to provide us some information on this vessel. Ma’am, please proceed.”

“First, this is just one of the Riffian long range supply ships they use to connect Riffia to her colonies. There are no Riffians aboard. She is not aware, she is under our complete control, Bing is on her bridge. Soon we’ll be able to control her from here. There are some preliminary tasks to finish and then we’ll get her manifest. This will be important.”

Ma’am went on. “The destination is important. Remember, the Riffians have some worlds that they have rendered safe for Riffian life; there are other planets that they may be in the process of colonizing. These may be vacant, or they may be occupied. When Riffia moved against Earth Prime, they knew there was intelligent life on Earth Prime. Yet they came prepared to conquer. We know that they were prepared to colonize Earth Prime, and possibly Mars Prime. With, or without, our cooperation. Happily for us, they were not successful.”

“Ah,” the Commodore murmured. “So as soon as we know the destination of the probe, we will know the location of a Riffian colony, or whatever they’ve got going.”

“Just so,” Ma’am concurred. “Plus, when we get the manifest, we might have a good idea as to what’s going on there: is it bulk freight for an established colony? Is it military? Military for a base? Military to conquer the natives? Commercial? We’ll at least get an idea from the manifest.

“The actual ship is only a little larger than the standard colonial transport. What makes this one much longer is the storage modules attached. These are readily detached and can be offloaded at different locations as required. It’s really pretty handy.

“Pretty great reading, these manifests,” Ma’am continued a short time later. “Three modules contain military hardware, ground-based light attack cars, and atmospheric fighter/scouts.” She glared at the table. “Don’t look at me like that! That’s what they call them! Then there are military supplies, foodstuffs, ammunition, all that sort of thing in another two modules. That means that five of the seven modules are devoted to military hardware and support.”

“And the remaining two,” queried Carlos. Carlos had worked a number of missions with Colonel Young back when he was a commando. Surprises were seldom a good thing on operations. He expected them but he didn’t like them.

“Please be more specific. Remember Mars Prime. We thrashed their military pretty handily, but their civilian population was inventive and capable and did not come to surrender easily. They performed remarkably well, all things considered. We really do need to know as much as possible.”

+++++

Joltin’ Joe Flowerdew emerged from the kiss. It was everything a kiss could possibly be. He hugged Alicia gently. They resumed the kiss.

It had been a busy week. They had determined the transport’s destination. They had plotted the three jumps it would take to reach the system. They had planned their arrival. They had planned for something to go wrong. Then there had been some minor alterations to The Scouts so that they could include the transport in the pending jumps.

They had planned for the possibility of retreat. A rendezvous had been selected a short distance from the point of entry so that any of the familiars could easily make the jump if necessary.

There was a sort of tranquil passion with these kisses. A truly enjoyable promise building.

“You’ll want a nightcap, won’t you.”

“That would be very nice, indeed,” Joe whispered.

In Alicia’s cabin they had chilled black cherry soda served in crystal flutes.

“Say, this is pretty good stuff,” Joe commented, setting his flute on the nightstand. “And so is this,” the kiss resumed. They snuggled.

They’d have more work to do in the morning.

+++++

Bing had remained on the bridge of the freighter until he had replaced the almost casual, semi-vacuum that had pretended to be atmosphere, with Earth Prime-normal atmosphere throughout the command cabins of the freighter.

“I say, old man, what’s with all these repair bots scurrying about?” Bing wondered to Scout. Bing was a decorated veteran of the British Army before becoming a familiar. He had something of the posh about him. He also had a lot of the commando about him. He liked knowing what was going on. “So they’re rebuilding the ship. Or what?”

“I’m not sure exactly. The missus said something about ensuring the temperature stability of all the computer spaces. She has a thing about ‘bit rot’ dontcha know?”

“Good on her,” Bing commented idly as he repacked his special suit and prepared to return to The Scouts. “Still, seems a bother of work for the fridge.”

Shortly thereafter, they made the first jump. It went smoothly. They were a very experienced crew.

+++++

“I’m just wondering,” the Commodore was musing with Babieca. “About artificial intelligence. I mean, can intelligence ever even be ‘artificial’? What was going on before was certainly not ‘intelligence’ though it was man-made so ‘artificial’ at least in one sense. You know, intelligence is intelligence. Once you’re there, well, that’s pretty much that.”

“That’s not what it’s about, I think. First off, it’s new. So that’s suspicious just by itself. You folks can really do suspicion. When I was just a yearling, suspicion was everywhere. Then the Cid came along and proved you could put suspicion aside. With him, it was all individual. He could easily put suspicion aside based on what he knew of you. But he was a genius. He was a social genius in his own way.”

“But still, suspicion can be a good thing. Where would we be if we had not been suspicious of the Riffian approach back in the day. Conquered is what.” The Commodore looked triumphant.

“Oh please.” Babieca glanced heavenward. “You're mixing prudence with prejudice, there. It’s one thing to be concerned when something goes bump in the night; it’s right to be prudent as you go to identify the bump. But once you discover it’s just your nephew, slightly inebriated, you can wind him up a bit and get on with it. You are two intelligences moving through life together. Nothing complex about that. But what’s happened here is greater by several orders of magnitude than anything our ‘computers’ were doing before. Also, while clearly evolutionary, it happened virtually overnight, which is unusual in evolution. A big bump in the night, like I said.

“No.” Babieca was firm. “It’s right to be prudent. You're a command officer. Lives depend on you. So get on with it. But let me tell you what I think you need to be concerned about.”

The Commodore looked the question.

“Genius. When I heard Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus the first time, it was as if my senses had been assaulted. You didn’t even need to know the words. It was power. It was magnificent. It was genius. But it was a singular genius. A plural performance, to be sure, but the product of a singular genius.

“And how about Newton inventing calculus because he needed a tool?

“There will be genius, but it will be an individual intelligence that demonstrates it. You need to watch for that. And you need to remember that all genius is not necessarily good.

“Keep your prudence dry,” Babieca laughed a very horsey laugh.

+++++

The Elven Squadron emerged into Prime space ten AUs from the system they believed to be their target. The four scout gunboats moved slowly forward to reconnoiter while The Scouts and the freighter remained behind.

It took some time. The gunboats moved slowly and systematically through the system. There had been some considerable mining taking place on several large asteroids in orbit, but nothing was going on now. It was as if the miners had all just put down their tools and left.

“I’m thinking,” the Commodore mused, having considered the most recent reports. “They’re having trouble of some kind. Some of these mining operations have been left in a hurry.

“And there’s the military nature of the freighter’s cargo. I bet there’s problems on the main planet.

“Staff.”

“Sir.”

“Alert all units that we suspect trouble on, or near, the primary world.”

“Sir.”

The Commodore was quite correct. In orbit around the planet were three Riffian scouts. He would have expected a scout frigate, or two. A more serious force. These appeared to be local system ships without super-luminal capacity.

Captain Kerlew’s Ladybird used the polar approach and then inserted probes onto the planet from the safest possible range.

There was indigenous life on the planet and the Riffians had been attempting to subjugate this life. It was a fascinating civilization. In common with all the life they had so far encountered, it was quadruped and relied on an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere. Perfectly compatible to Riffians and the Elven peoples.

So far, there had only been probes, no actual contact with this civilization. But even so, it was clear that they were in a state of armed resistance to the Riffians and that this conflict was fairly recent. The Riffians had had time to contact Riffia and request assistance, as the presence of the freighter attested. But that freighter had not included personnel.

This seemed to imply that the problems were recent, but that the local Riffians thought they were capable of handling it with some additional hardware.

The Commodore’s crew were piecing together bits and pieces about the indigenous civilization. They called themselves the “Yrr” and their society appeared to be matriarchal and polyandrous. It was estimated to number approximately twenty million, planetwide. The Riffians appeared to number four or five thousand. They were losing. Even if it cost the locals one hundred casualties for every one they could inflict on the Riffians, if the locals could sustain the fight, the Riffians would lose. If they could not sustain the fight, they would; be enslaved, or worse, and they seemed to appreciate this fact. There had already been a great deal of death.

+++++

“Well, Simon old chum,” the Commodore smiled. “Are you ready for another adventure? Good sleep? Good breakfast? All set?”

“Don’t be too fierce,” Copenhagen counseled.

“Yes. As soon as you know what they like, offer them something nice to eat. I’d say a bunny, or some such, but they may not even have bunnies; or if they do, maybe they don’t eat them. Best be careful. Perhaps a pastry,” Wilde concluded.

Simon smiled and nodded. He was outwardly calm, but really on tenterhooks. He’d had many missions, but never a first contact before. He rather wished that Oliver Winn was here; but Winn was a major general now and preparing to move into government. But he’d been a great commander.

“Mummy,” Interstellar Transport D00101 called plaintively.

NEXT CHAPTER

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