Actually, she’d been wondering about it for several years. When would this governor sent by her great-grandfather rise up to take her down? At first, that was what she expected, someone to cut her off and substitute his mature judgment for her youthful exuberance.
Of late, as Captain Drago followed her orders more and more, she began to wonder if there ever would be a time when he would cut her off, or had she come into herself? Come to her command?
That time had come, and, for better or worse, the crew of the Wasp would follow her through hell and, with any luck, back out again.
She shivered. That was a heavy burden to bear. If she’d followed a normal Navy career, at some point the Navy would have assigned her a ship, and she would have had orders promoting her to god for that ship and its crew.
Nothing about Kris’s life had gone normal.
She smiled to herself. She had a ship, and they were her crew.
And after that wonderful moment, Kris found herself with time on her hands, where each minute seemed like an hour, and each hour flew like a second.
She was already familiar with the irony of time in these situations. In a few days, lives might be lost for the lack of a few seconds. However, for now, they had to wait. Wait for others to do their job.
And waiting took forever.
Kris checked in with Nelly every hour to see how things were going on the translation effort. Every hour Nelly told Kris to hold her horses and not juggle their elbows.
The first time it was funny. By the twelfth time it was starting to bother her. Checks with the Vulcan showed the usual problems, none a showstopper. Those who had work were lost in it. Those who had duties went about them, checking and rechecking systems, weapons, defenses.
Kris would make the final decision whether many of them would live or die, but for now, she waited. Waited to verify that the mother ship shared a common ancestry with the space raiders. Waited to see if they had weapons that could make a difference.
Waited. Waited. Waited.
Reports came in from the other ships of PatRon 10; they had also built up their supply of antimatter during their walk-around. How should they distribute the antimatter?
Kris ordered them to load antimatter warheads for their 12-inch high-acceleration torpedoes, but not a double load. The torpedoes would help the corvettes fight their way out of the close quarters she was about to order them into.
All their other extra antimatter would juice up the neutron torpedoes. Those were her only hope of crippling the mother ship. If they could pull that off, they all just might live to tell their tales.
The captains accepted her orders without question.
To have such godlike power over other people’s lives sent a shiver up Kris’s back.
Eighteen hours into the wait, Nelly interrupted Kris and Penny from another discussion of the right and wrong of their options.
“Kris, Professor mFumbo wants to talk to you in person. He suggests you get the admirals on conference.”
“Make it so, Nelly.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
32
“I have pictures,” Professor mFumbo told those gathered in the Forward Lounge and observing on net. “Considering all we had to go through to make them come out, I’m amazed at how clean they are.”
“How did you translate them?” Kris asked.
“There is not enough time left in my life for me to explain it to you. Please accept my word. These are complete and accurate video readouts of the data.”
“We may see about that,” Admiral Krätz grumbled.
“Could you please show us what you have?” Admiral Channing asked.
“Chief, have your computer run the video,” the professor said, and Chief Beni said something softly to his computer, Da Vinci.
A new window opened on the forward screen. It was a close-up of what looked like a male choir. The voices accompanying the video were deep and powerful, the tonals of their song made the hairs on the back of Kris’s neck stand up.
This was not human music.
The singers, though, looked very human.
They’d been referring to the occupants of the huge mother ship as bug-eyed monsters. That would have to change. These people looked as human as the next person.
So had the bodies from the ship that attacked Kris with no provocation.
The camera zoomed out, showing how huge the choir was. Then it panned to the listening crowd in the audience. They were crammed into seven balconies, layer perched upon layer, leaving Kris to wonder how those in the back could see anything.
The audience listened in rapturous silence.
When the song ended, there was applause. However, the conductor did not take a bow; nor did he offer for anyone in the choir to do so.
The applause grew, and the camera zoomed back down front to a single man taking his place before a podium. As Kris took him in, she realized that all the singers and most of the people in the crowd wore the same dark uniform. They were identical except for minor silver markings, which Kris suspected identified rank and maybe honors.
The man at the podium wore the same clothing as the rest, but his uniform displayed much more silver, red, and gold. As he stood there, waving his right arm stiffly at the audience, the crowd went wild with cheering and clapping.
It went on and on.
“How much of this do we have to sit through?” Kris asked.
“Five minutes, thirty-four seconds,” the professor said. “We timed it.”
“Can we skip to the chase?” Kris asked.
The chief muttered something to his computer, and the screen blinked. Then the man began his talk. One moment he shouted. The next moment his voice was little more than a whisper. Then he was shouting again. Sometimes the crowd shouted back.
“Do we have a translation of what he’s saying?” Kris asked.
“Sorry, Your Highness, not a word,” the professor said. “He goes on like this for three hours and ten minutes. He doesn’t even take a break for a drink of water.”
“That’s better than my dad ever did,” Kris muttered. “Are there more pictures?”
“As we speak, we are translating several hundred hours of video,” Professor mFumbo reported. “Much of it appears to be more speeches by this man although a lot of it is similar choir efforts. No evidence of musical instruments accompanying the choir, but a lot of singing, always in large groups.”
“There was also a lot of what looked like news reports,” Nelly added. “Since there was little or no visual backup to the person looking into the camera, it’s hard to tell what he’s talking about, but he is very earnest about whatever it is.”
“You didn’t get any DNA off the video, did you?” Kris knew it was a stupid question, but she had to ask it.
“Obviously not,” the professor said. “We also found no pictures of anyone with their clothes off, no porn, so there’s no way for us to tell for sure if these are the same people we found before. I do admit they look like them.”
“They look painfully like us,” Kris admitted before someone else could point that out.
“So, what do we do, gentlemen and ladies?” Kris asked those gathered with her.
“Go home,” Admiral Krätz snapped immediately. “We should inform our governments what we have found and defer to them. Let wiser people than us decide what all of humanity will do.”
Vicky rolled her eyes.
“If we do that,” Admiral Kōta said softly, “the planet they are heading for will likely be plundered down to its bedrock.”
“That is not our problem,” Krätz shot back.
“If it comes to a fight with these people,” Admiral Channing put in, “we might want all the allies we can get our hands on.”