Chapter 29: Devil Whispers

Some devil whisper curses in my ear,
And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth
The venomous malice of my swelling heart.
- Aaron, Titus Andronicus, Act V, Scene III
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The lights in Sergeant Lincoln Hopson’s bedroom snapped on with dramatic suddenness. They revealed a tangled knot of Lincoln, his heavily pregnant concubines Kimberly and Kristina, and his daughters Kerri and Sherri. They’d been celebrating Sherri’s 9th birthday the night before, July 31. All were sleeping in the nude – “Nature’s pyjamas,” Kimberly called it.

“I’m awake!” Lincoln announced blearily as he sat up. “What is it?”

“Sergeant Lincoln Hopson,” came the somewhat-rapid voice of T’klikrooz, taking things far too literally as usual, “‘awake’ is a status of consciousness that includes being aware and alert of one’s surroundings. But that is not what is important right now.”

“Huh?” the Marine yawned blearily. He looked at the clock display on the wall of his bedroom, which read “03:22”. God damn it, it was the middle of the night!

“I have a rather urgent requirement for the full attention of Cadet Sergeant Kerri Hopson.”

He glanced at his 12-year-old daughter. “What?”

T’klikrooz turned up the volume slightly. “I have a rather urgent requirement for the full attention of Cadet Sergeant Kerri Hopson.” The sentence also appeared on each wall, the door and the ceiling, lest Lincoln misunderstand it again.

“I heard you, Rosencrantz, I heard you,” Lincoln advised irritably.

“I’m here, Rosencrantz, what’s the problem?” Kerri asked as her father frowned. He was the adult here – and the real NCO, not the play one. He couldn’t fathom why the ancient freighter wanted to speak to her and not him.

“Cadet Sergeant Kerri Hopson, Sentry Drone Alpha Three Niner has detected a transient anomaly in its vicinity. It is just a whisper on a sensor reading, but it did not behave in a manner consistent with a naturally occurring body. The statistical probabilities that it is a Sa’arm scouting force are too great for me to ignore the trace.”

Her eyes flew open at that. “Send the data to my workstation,” Kerri ordered as she raced out of the bedroom to the lift.

Lincoln followed more slowly. It was, he realized, the first time he’d been on the upper level of his family pod in months. He tiptoed to the doorway of the bedroom of his preoccupied eldest daughter and was startled at the changes wrought in those months. It wasn’t really a bedroom anymore – no wonder she preferred sharing her father’s large bed.

Her attention was riveted on the largest display. On a field of stars, a handful were obscured by a dark smudge – a smudge that moved slowly across the star field until whatever-it-was vanished with a touch of a rainbow, quickly dissipated.

As the brief scene repeated, three other screens were running through a bewildering variety of hull designs. Finally, all three began flashing the words, “NO MATCH”.

Kerri bit her lip apprehensively. “Something that shouldn’t be there...” she fretted.

Her father peered over her shoulder at the image. He didn’t really worry about why the ancient freighter had called to his daughter. It was a puzzle to solve, and what had drawn him into the field of law was the desire to solve puzzles: to see a situation, derive a solution that would make sense, and making others see the logic of the situation.

“If this isn’t a single ship,” he mused alound, “could it be more than one?”

Lincoln reviewed what he’d read of Sa’arm tactics. “They like the number three, for some reason,” he ventured.

Three more screens instantly opened up on the wall. Again, hull design after hull design flashed by, as T’klikrooz’s voice responded, “Sergeant Lincoln Hopson, that is a distinct possibility. Cadet Sergeant Kerri Hopson, I have now initiated the analysis using three examples of hull designs from the Confederacy, the Dangerous Ones and other known alien species. This may take some time, as we should also investigate the possibility that the multiple ships are different vessel types.”

“Understood, Rosencrantz,” Kerri acknowledged. She turned to her father. “Daddy, I think we need to tell Leftenant Whitefeather.”

Lincoln glanced at the clock readout. Whitefeather had been off that night and was likely abed. He thought to all the times back in the Office of the Judge Advocate General when his sleep would be interrupted by the civil powers complaining about something that one or the other of two certain infantry officers had done while conducting training. His mind flashed over the incidents with the Santa Claus Parade, the jet skis, the convent – but more than anything, the incident of The Tree. Returning the favour by waking one of those two certain infantry officers right now held a great deal of emotional appeal.

Not that he’d ever admit to anyone of that motivation. As his commanding officer, to say nothing of the single most experienced soldier in the entire star system, Whitefeather needed to know, and the sooner the better.

With his eye on the clock, Sergeant Lincoln Hopson spoke. “Kerri, I concur. Rosencrantz, call Leftenant William Whitefeather. Not now. Not right now. Right fucking now.” His concerns about the nature of this anomaly fought with an upwelling of unholy glee at the thought of Whitefeather waking at 3:49 in the morning. “For the honour of The Tree.”

“Sergeant Lincoln Hopson, I am initiating contact with Lieutenant William Whitefeather.”

“I’m awake,” an instantly alert William Whitefeather said in low tones as the lights in his bedroom clicked on – habits drilled into him by a lifetime of surviving in the middle of war zones still served the former Van Doo well. “What is it?”

“Lieutenant William Whitefeather,” T’klikrooz advised, “‘awake’ is a status of consciousness that includes being aware and alert of one’s surroundings. But that is not what is important right now.”

“Thank you, Leslie Nielson,” William growled sarcastically. “Sitrep, please.”

Around him, his four nude concubines looked around in a mixture of panic and concern. Callie was the calmest and most ready for action of all the girls.

“Cadet Sergeant Kerri Hopson has requested you be immediately advised of this situation. Sentry Drone Alpha Three Niner is reporting a transient anomalous sensor reading in its sector. While it is a mere whisper it needs to be investigated. We are still analyzing the records of the anomaly, but the possibility that it was connected to the Dangerous Ones is too great to be comfortably discounted. It is most likely artificial in nature and is not on a sector from any known Confederacy world. Cadet Sergeant Kerri Hopson is in the family quarters, and her father Sergeant Lincoln Hopson is aware of this situation and concurs with her request in the strongest possible terms.”

“Very well. I’ll come.” He turned to his concubines. “Callie on me. Your uniform please. Della, until we get back, you’re in charge. Be ready to evacuate.”

Callie had a brief thought: Evacuate to where, exactly? Not even the ships would be precisely safe refuges in the event of a full-scale invasion.

Della merely nodded as her lord and master reached for his dark green duty smock. She was quite prepared to evacuate her bladder, her bowels and her stomach right now, out of fear.

The two Whitefeathers marched through the dimly-lit corridors connecting Officer Country to the NCOs’ quarters. The few people out and about at this ungodly hour saw the look of fierce determination on both of their faces and stepped aside for the pair.

The door to the Hopson clan’s domicile swung open on their approach – clearly, Lincoln had anticipated their approach. Inside, Lincoln and his young daughter had dressed in their duty uniforms.

“Sir,” Lincoln greeted his commanding officer.

“Request permission to enter,” William requested formally.

“Granted, Sir.” Lincoln pointed to the living room wall, which had been temporarily transformed into a computer display screen. “That’s our question mark.”

The door silently closed behind the two Whitefeathers as William and Callie passed into the residence. William regarded the glowing dots gravely, trying to make sense of it.

“Coffee, Sir?” Kristina offered, proffering a steaming mug. “Double-double, as you like it.”

“Thank you,” he replied with exquisite politeness. He sipped from the mug with gratitude.

Around the main display, smaller additional screens continued to display various ships. Suddenly one screen stopped.

“Lieutenant William Whitefeather, I have a high possibility identification,” T’klikrooz announced. “It is not one hundred percent, however.”

“Define ‘high possibility’, please, Rosencrantz,” William ordered.

“Lieutenant William Whitefeather, the possibility is ninety-nine point one five seven six percent. I regret I cannot be more precise than four decimal places.”

The others tittered nervously. William was not amused.

“And what ship is that?”

“Lieutenant William Whitefeather, the target is likely three vessels. The class is code-named by the Armed Forces of the Confederacy as ‘Vacuna’.”

Kerri, Callie and Lincoln all drew breaths in as Kimberly blinked uncomprehendingly. “Rosencrantz, who uses a Vacuna?”