“Excellent. Thank you, Captain.”
The comm fell silent, and Grady straightened his flight jacket. “Sounds like our newfound alien friend is about to tell me why he wanted to meet with our leadership so badly.”
“Oh joy,” Zoe said, her tone growing dark as she scrubbed her hand through her lustrous crimson locks. “More peril. It’s not as if our situation isn’t already dire enough.”
“We call them Manteku,” said the alien, his thin, lanky frame perched on the edge of the bed. Grady slowly sipped from his stainless-steel mug, giving himself an opportunity to collect his thoughts before responding. It seemed he’d been right. Fidelon was going to explain why he was so desperate to warn the IC’s governing council of impending danger. There was so much he wanted to discover regarding the threat, but instead found himself asking: “What does the word mean?”
“Vampire.”
Of all the answers Fidelon could have offered, the single word—spoken in a grave voice—was among the least likely Grady would have expected. He frowned, wondering if the alien’s grasp of English was incomplete and he had picked the wrong word. Then he remembered that, thanks to the advanced AI on Fidelon’s mother ship, Epsilon, the alien had acquired a full understanding of English. He struggled to wrap his mind around Fidelon’s declaration and, to buy himself more time to think, said, “Come again?”
“Vampire. It is the closest approximation in your language.” Fidelon’s bleak demeanor matched the gravity of his words as he continued. “They are ancient enemies of my people, the Escorge. Just like us, over the course of millennia, they gradually spread across many galaxies. Unlike my kind, their arrival in a galaxy is not benign. No, for in their wake, they leave behind nothing but death and ruination. They are the ultimate harbingers of genocide—the scourge of all living creatures.”
It took Grady almost a full minute, and another generous jolt of caffeine, before he found his voice again. “That’s quite a dramatic, and troubling, revelation. I think you’d better explain.”
Fidelon’s long fingers caressed his prominent brow as he said in a soft voice, “There is insufficient time for a lengthy description. Suffice to say, the Manteku are semi-corporeal creatures, existing in a twilight zone between physicality and pure energy. They travel the cosmos seeking fresh feeding grounds.”
A frigid chill lanced down Grady’s spine as he cradled the coffee mug in both hands. “Feeding grounds?”
“It is the best description I can conceive of,” Fidelon said, his hands absent-mindedly brushing the front of his forest green robe. “They consume the electromagnetic energy generated by all living creatures, including your species and mine. Think of them as bio-energy vampires, except they do not require physical contact to feed on their victim.”
Grady’s brows shot up. “Forgive me, but this sounds too strange to be true, like something out of a science fiction vid.”
“I too was skeptical when, at a young age, I learned about the nature of the primeval foe we face. But, believe me, I have witnessed at first hand the results of the devastation the Manteku cause.”
“Let’s say for argument’s sake, I believe you,” Grady said, thoughts teeming through his mind, none of them encouraging. “I’m guessing the result of this biological feeding is not beneficial to the victim. Am I right?”
“Correct, Captain. The target of such an attack—if it is pursued until the subject’s energy has been completely drained—loses corporeal coherence.” At Grady’s puzzled look, Fidelon added, “Their bodily form disintegrates, losing all physical consistency, and melts into its constituent cells. It is not a pleasant, or painless, way to die. Nor is it always swift.”
Grady shivered and wished he had something stronger in the mug than coffee. He could see the alien was deadly serious and began to dread where this briefing was headed. “Assuming such creatures exist, why haven’t we heard of them before?”
“Like any predator, the Manteku gravitate to where prey is most abundant. There are many highly populated regions of space—unknown as yet to your kind—that have suffered from their depredations over the centuries.”
“If I understand what you’re telling me, Earth’s isolation—a solitary planet in the arm of an unremarkable spiral galaxy surrounded by numerous other galaxies—is what’s kept us hidden from these creatures, is that it?”
“Exactly.”
“So what’s changed? Why the urgent need to confer with our leaders?”
“Because, thanks to the benefits of faster-than-light space travel, humanity’s presence among the stars has expanded exponentially. And your population has grown at a rapid pace, spreading across an ever-growing number of colonies, stations, and other settlements, flowing farther and farther out from your core world.”
Grady clicked his fingers. “You told me before that your role is that of a sentinel, to monitor your designated sector for new species whose use of FTL brought them close to the boundaries of your people’s territory. That’s why your people established outposts, like the one Zoe and I discovered on the planetoid. Your assignment is to make contact and warn species like ours of the danger represented by the Manteku.”
“That is so,” Fidelon said. “Along with acting as an observer, to notify my superiors of fresh incursions as the enemy extends its insidious manifestation into yet more galaxies and sectors.”
“Okay, I can see why you’d want to communicate this to the IC Council. Still, since we haven’t yet come across the Manteku, isn’t the threat more potential than real? I mean, there are uncountable numbers of galaxies. What are the chances they’d pick ours as their next target?”
“Alas, Captain, for all the reasons I mentioned, humankind’s exuberant drive to colonize an ever-larger slice of space has brought your species to their attention. They are now aware of humanity’s existence, and your considerable numbers are an irresistible temptation.”
Fidelon’s countenance became solemn as he met Grady’s gaze. “I fear the Milky Way will be their next feeding ground.”
3
Without even thrusters to help it maintain position, Adventurer drifted on the cosmic winds, a tiny speck against the immense backdrop of empty space. A small but dense cluster of asteroids hung off the apparently lifeless gunship’s starboard bow.
Hidden among the metal infused rocks was a slim, silver-gray, needle-like object: Fidelon’s transport. He had flown out of the hangar bay at Grady’s request, in case the pirates who came to investigate the distress call scanned Adventurer and detected the peculiar, fighter-like craft.
Worried the outlaws might suspect subterfuge—or be tempted to call for reinforcements when they encountered the unfamiliar vessel—Grady asked Fidelon to remain concealed until the trap was sprung. He also wanted to do everything possible to keep the alien’s presence a secret. If word got out that a bona fide extraterrestrial was on board Adventurer, the captain feared throngs of outlaws would descend on the ship, far too many to defend against. His crew’s capture, or destruction, might then become inevitable.
To avoid placing his passengers and crew in more danger than necessary, Grady’s hope was the ruse would allow them to discover the location of a repair facility without attracting undue attention. One where Lian and Squirt could perform a proper fix on the fusion drive. This would enable the ship to jump to FTL for longer periods, evade pursuers—Earth Galactic or otherwise—and return to the sector of space where they last encountered Fidelon’s massive mothership, Epsilon.
With any luck, the alien’s formidable vessel would be able to calculate a trans-dimensional leap that would bring it and Adventurer back to where Grady and his crew belonged: their own reality. Preferably with as few inhabitants of the Badlands as possible becoming aware of their existence.
As the fake distress call broadcast on a loop—its range limited, aiming to only attract attention from a pirate craft at the edge of the unruly region—Grady’s thoughts drifted to Brice Cavill. As captain of the supercarrier Ganymede, his former squadron leader was a greater menace in this dimension than their own. Would Cavill perceive Adventurer as a serious threat, sufficient to justify a determined hunt for her? They had escaped with minimal damage after the earlier engagement with the heavily armed behemoth. He doubted their luck would hold a second time. Best not to risk it, he thought. A stealthy insertion into the Badlands, a speedy repair, and a hasty retreat. That’s what we need now.
The emergency broadcast announced that Adventurer had suffered severe damage in a battle against rebels and was adrift with life support failing. If more than one or two outlaw vessels showed up, Fidelon was prepared to intervene should the gunship come under a large scale, coordinated attack. Short of a major entanglement, Grady felt certain the two allies were more than capable of outgunning and outmaneuvering any hostiles who chose to open fire instead of attempting to board the stricken spacecraft.
He didn’t think that was likely, though, suspecting that greed would win out over any hostile or destructive tendencies. There was no profit in destroying a valuable warship, even one damaged and adrift. But boarding and capturing it would mean the addition of a powerful vessel to the pirate fleet, once repaired, and bring glory and riches to whichever outlaw captain managed the feat.
To make the prospect of booty and a valuable prize more attractive, Grady had Mal restore the gunship’s original transponder settings, once again appearing to be part of the Earth Galactic Space Navy. He believed the modifications would be seen by an approaching pirate as part of an overhaul—perhaps the latest iteration of the Eagle class of gunships to which Adventurer belonged—making the opportunity of capturing her intact even more enticing.
Adding credence to Adventurer’s ostensible predicament, he ordered the AI to vent plasma, making it seem that the ship had suffered a catastrophic engine failure. Squirt and Lian contributed to the deception by loading surplus equipment and worn-out parts into the airlock for Mal to disperse into space. These now mingled with the plasma, haloing the vessel in a cloud of gas and debris.
To complete the ploy, Grady told Mal to power down every system except those essential for artificial gravity and life support. From every external appearance, Adventurer looked dead in space. All they had to do now was wait for a pirate or slaver to take the bait.
Fingers drumming a gentle cadence on the arm of his chair, Grady shifted position, settled deeper into the seat, and eyed the starscape depicted on the large viewscreen wrapped across the front of the cockpit. He flicked his gaze to the copilot’s station. Tara’s legs were curled up underneath her and she lay back in her seat, eyes closed, her breathing slack. Asleep, or in a condition of calm relaxation, even meditation. He was in no doubt she would switch to a state of instant readiness the moment sensors detected a contact.
