4700 word update

I'm in the midst of editing this story and around this part is where I am currently at. Added some stuff about the Balokarid hydroponics bay and corrected some spelling errors and removed useless words. Stay tuned for more.

7

The corvette was in an interesting state when Lambert returned. He’d been expecting Carl to be chewing the ears off the curious aliens, the machine relaying its concerns to him, but the ship was quiet, Lambert’s eyebrow raised as he appraised the general calm surrounding the ship. Maybe the aliens had finally grown bored of the human vessel.

Even Mezul seemed confused, poking her beak through the cargo bay hatch and looking round for its brethren, her snout snapping towards the stairs as they heard a voice.

“And this one is from 2098, one of the last stamps before they were fully phased out of human postage…”

Carl’s voice echoed through the ship, Lambert and Mezul sharing a look as they moved up to the gunnery station, Lambert peeking through the portal to a strange sight.

His human companion had managed to round up all of their guests, Lambert recognising Ruvaara and Balyn near the forefront of the group, the two turning to give Mezul a greeting in their chittering, strange language.

“See you’ve been busy showing off your antiques,” Lambert mused, shooting Carl a grin. His friend stood like a lecturer before the class, the aliens his audience as he held out a black, leather book with square pockets built into the plastic sleeves.

“It’s better than them turnin’ our ship inside out,” Carl replied, closing his book much to the disappointment of the aliens. “And it ain’t just me, Alice think’s their English is so much damn better than before. Check it. Hey Ruvaara, what’s my job?”

“Carl fire point defence!” Ruvaara chirped.

“And what do you do?”

“Ruvaara fire frickin’ laser beams!”

“Don’t teach them how to curse, Carl,” Lambert chided. “When we get back to the fleet they’ll know we’ve been messing around.”

“Speakin’ of, Alice tells me we’ve set a new headin’. I guess you managed to get these aliens movin’ to the rendezvous?”

“We’re on the way.” He told him about the parts of the ship he toured with Mezul, noting that despite being crammed in together, the aliens were orderly and were always busy doing something, maintaining a strict timetable.

“You can say that again,” Carl said. “Check out the landin’ pad over there.” He jerked a thumb at one of the cameras on the gunner console. The view panned across the wide hangar, the half a dozen Sala’ci ships secured to the other pads while alien engineers tended to them.

Lambert almost did a double take. Besides Mezul’s ship, there had only been one other alien vessel present when they’d first entered, but all the pads were now occupied by a craft in varying stages of completion. The aliens were assembling brand new ships, the skeletal frames slowly taking shape as the Balokarid’s welded parts of the hull together. The aliens didn’t waste time replacing their losses.

“Here, here!” Mezul said, noting what he was looking at and gesturing to the large hangar doors. “Sala’ci ship’s all. All hangar.”

“You’re making ships in every hangar?” Lambert guessed. “It’s barely been a day and they’re already rebuilding.”

“They got some impressive production power alright,” Carl noted. “Even Fed shipyards take weeks to assemble a fighter if they’re workin’ round the clock.”

From behind the humans, Mezul leaned on their shoulders to get a look at the feed, the alien’s hands almost encompassing their shoulders. “Mezul, your people work fast,” Lambert said, nodding as he watched. “How many hangars do you have on this ship anyway?”

“Hangar…” Mezul clicked her beak in thought. “Hangar four and four… eight?”

“You taught it to count?” Carl asked, quirking an eyebrow at the alien.

“She’s got a knack for numbers. Eight will always equal eight, no matter what planet you’re from.”

“Wait wait wait.” Carl raised his hands. “Did you just say she?”

“Yeah. Found out on the way to the bridge. From what I know, female Balokarids have wings, and the males don’t.”

Carl turned to look back at the rest of the aliens milling about in the room. “No shit? Never had a group of women in my station before today. Where are all the guys at?”

“I saw a couple of them in their mess hall, but I didn’t get a chance to get close. The wings aren’t for show, the airforce is a totally feminine pursuit in Balokarid society, but I’m not a hundred percent sure they can actually fly.”

“Make sense if they can. They got that… what’s the word? Intuition. You think they’re a matriarchal species?”

“I’m not sure,” Lambert replied, scratching his chin. “Hopefully someone on the Gallipoli specialises in language and can help us out.” He checked his watch. “I’m gonna go get some shut eye, wake me if something happens.”

He left for the crew quarters; a simple bunk area divided into four rooms. They weren’t too flashy, just a bed and a lamp for each room, but they allowed the standard four-man crew some privacy and their own place to relax.

As he opened the door to his bunk, he felt a presence behind him. Mezul was following, probably thinking he was on his way to the cockpit. “I’m going to get some rest,” he told her, shooing her away. “Go hang out with Carl or something.”

She could tell he wanted to be left alone, turning around and wondering away as he shut himself inside the bunk. He caught a few hours of sleep, but it wasn’t very restful – his body was just too excited at what was happening, he was one of the first humans to interact with new, alien life! How could he get his regulation eight at a time like this?

He gave up trying to rest after a while, eating a protein bar for breakfast before wandering out to the corvette’s main hall. Carl had said they’d taken a few grazing shots during the fight, maybe he could take a look at the hull for other damage, kill time before they reached the rendezvous.

A Balokarid female passed him by on his way to the cargo bay, giving him a wave. He waved back, walking down to the cargo bay, pausing as his brain processed the last eight seconds. It was uncanny how casually he returned the wave, like he was almost used to having aliens wonder his ship so freely.

Once outside the ship, he clicked his mag-boots off, floateing around the ship, pulling himself along the hull to assess the damage, soon coming across a few streak marks left by machine gun fire. It would make a good story to tell, even if it gave the corvette a more weathered appearance. The corvette was armoured with Colossal-alloy-laced plating, but a bullet with no constraint on speed could deliver a lot of kinetic power and punch through the thinner parts of the corvette, like the bottleneck where the cockpit joined the with main body of the corvette, that part wasn’t as thick around as the rest.

He turned his head, watching the Sala’ci on the neighbouring pad being worked on. He marvelled at their speed, the craft was already taking on its familiar stingray profile, where hours ago it had been less than a bundle of scrap. There was a chance they were putting in extra effort to impress their human audience, but Lambert didn’t care. It could take months to churn out a corvette from scratch, and these guys were pumping out four to six attackers within a day.

He floated gingerly down to the thrusters, pulling away a maintenance panel with a grunt of effort. He was no mechanic by trade, but he did know the basics on how to recalibrate the engines of his ship.

He took a few trips back forth to the cargo bay, doing his share of maintenance to occupy himself for a few hours. He wiped his brow of sweat with the back of his hand, the moisture clinging to his skin in the microgravity, looking over his shoulder when he heard something click against the hull.

It was Mezul, her talons tapping on the corvette as she scaled up to greet him. He grinned as he wiped his hands on a rag, finding himself pleased to see her around.

“Hey Mezul.”

“Hey Lambert,” she replied. “What you doing?”

“Just some maintenance on the old ship,” he said, patting the hull with a hand.

“But… Lambert ghosha,” the alien said, her tone suggesting she was confused.

“Yeah, Lambert ghosha, but I know the ins and outs of my own ship. Have to.”

Mezul’s headdress bristled in a way that came off as pleased or maybe surprised, the alien watching him work. The silence became a bit too much for him, the man making small-talk as he worked. “You were talking earlier about your home. Dur’shala, was it? Your Kith said you couldn’t go back. Can you tell me why?”

The alien considered, rubbing the top of its arms uncomfortably.

“Dur’shala home. Human fleet corvette, raptor, carrier. No Lambert corvette like. Human fleet… danger Kaaleshi home, Kaaleshi fleet leave. Yoo-ee-see clan follow fleet, fleet number ten, now fleet number three.”

Lambert’s heart sank. The Balokar had set up a colony on this Dur’shala, and the UEC turned up and drove them out. To what end Lambert could only guess, but expanding their reach was the most obvious reason. Habitable planets were as rare a commodity as Colossus wrecks, and going as far as declaring war on an alien spacefaring species seemed in line with the UEC’s morals.

He hadn’t felt pity when they’d killed those UEC raptors during the earlier fight, and he certainly didn’t now, realising they’d been picking off this clan one ship at a time. People who willingly fought for that corporate cesspool should be shown no mercy. He was aware of how contradictory that was, being formerly aligned with them, but that was a different time.

“We’ll protect your fleet,” he said. “I won’t let another one of your carriers get destroyed, promise you.”

“Hub-clan protect Kaaleshi?” Mezul asked.

“That’s what we do,” he replied, nodding. “When the Hub went independent, we promised to be different, to forge a new path through the stars. I’d say this is just what we’ve been waiting for.”

No matter how much she comprehended, she could gleam his conviction well enough, and she seemed to perk up. No wonder they had been so hesitant around them initially – humans were the enemy in their eyes – but he was glad to be the one to save face, both for his species and the Hub.

“Human Lambert brave,” Mezul said. “Yoo-ee-see fight, Lambert fight. Lambert pilot, Lambert do maintenanceon ship.” She examined him with those golden eyes, the human feeling weird as she appraised him before meeting his gaze. “You capable.”

Lambert didn’t feel like it, but he liked the praise regardless. “Thanks, Mezul, appreciate the sentiment.”

“Lambert friend,” she continued, her blue feathers sparkling under the orange lights of the hangar. Her headdress was standing tall again, the alien looking around warily as if afraid of being overheard. “Mezul like Lambert friend.”

“Well, Lambert like Mezul friend too,” he laughed.

8

Lambert checked the seals on his wrists as he worked though his flightsuit’s integrity, turning to glance behind him at the co-pilot chair. Normally that seat remained stowed in the wall recess, but now it was unfolded, Mezul occupying it, her large frame just barely able to squeeze into it, the avian chittering in annoyance as the safety belt compressed her flared hips.

An hour earlier, Shaliyya had returned to the hangar with a guard in tow. After a bit of help with Mezul to translate, her speech much better than any other Balokarid, the Kith told Lambert that they were close to their destination. At last they were about to regroup with their fellow humans.

His stomach swelling with apprehension, he had woken up a napping Carl, and told him to suit up. As he did the same, he asked the machine if they had enough fuel for a quick ten-minute flight.

“As long as we keep to minimum thrust, of course,” Alice confirmed. “What are your intentions?”

“I don’t want to risk the Gallipoli firing on the Balokarid ships. We’ll fly in front of the aliens first, explain the situation.”

“Good plan,” Alice replied. “Should we take a few of them on board with us? Their ships are too big to dock with our own.”

Lambert nodded even though the machine had no physical presence, turning to Mezul to translate. “Alright Mezul, we’re going to meet up with Captain Anders. He’s our… our Kith, you could say.”

At the word Kith, Shaliyya stepped forward. “Kith to Kith, yes yes.”

It seemed she understood his intent, and wanted to meet his leader. “Great, we’ve got a few spare seats around, one here in the cockpit, a couple in the rec room and the medbay.”

The aliens huddled together, and after a few minutes of deliberation, it was decided that Mezul, Shaliyya, Ruvaara, and the unnamed guard would stay aboard the corvette. They had just enough room to accommodate the large aliens, though their seats were just too small for them to stay secure without the extra belts Carl had hastily installed.

He checked in with his companion over the ship line. “All ready back there, Carl? How’re the guests?”

“Had to make a few modifications to strap em’ in. Won’t be winnin’ any health and safety points, but we’re ready.”

“Would you like to know the chances of potential injury to our alien companions?” Alice asked him, expecting he wanted more specifics.

“Rather not please,” Lambert replied. “Just tell me if we’re ready.”

“All systems nominal. Ready when you are, sir.”

He lifted his helmet over his face, clicking it to the neck of his suit, wincing as the internal oxygen sealed up with a loud burst of air. He glanced over his shoulder, Mezul sitting back and to the right of him, all the cockpit devices looking comically small compared to her large body.

“All good?” he asked, giving her a thumbs up.

She returned it, twisting her own helmet on and hiding her features away behind her angular faceplate. She looked like a cybernetic vulture with that thing on, the silver snout shining as her black eye sockets peered back at him.

He flicked on the engines, engaging the thrusters as he gripped the twin joysticks, the cockpit vibrating around him as the ship came to life. As if on cue, the massive hangar doors began to split down the middle, the gap between them slowly widening. Mezul was probably on her own channel, signalling the crew to open the hangar.

The dial the corvette rested upon suddenly began to turn, a moment of panic coming and going as view through the glass panned. Like when they’d first entered, the hangar was packed with Balokarids, eager to see his ship in action maybe?

They were observant enough to stay clear of the backblast, the space behind the corvette cleared as the engines whirred to life, blue jets of flame igniting as the craft slowly rose from the deck. The opposite branch of the alien carrier came into his view, the rectangle of alien polymer flanked by the soft hues of the nebula, distant glittering stars framing the vessel.

He eased the joysticks forward, feeling Mezul’s eyes on his back, the alien obviously intrigued on seeing another ghosha in action. He certainly didn’t want to disappoint, the man hitting the button for the gears with a thumb, the struts easing back into their housings.

The corvette glided through the hangar threshold, Lambert tilting the craft down and sideways. To their audience it would have looked like they were flying out on their side, nose to the floor. Once they were clear of the hangar, and his canopy was filled with the endless void, he hit the thrusters, gaining speed as he got clear of the large vessel.

He added a little spin just for flare, flying underneath the belly of the carrier, glancing up at its smooth surface as they passed. There was just so much metal stretching on into the distance, the occasional panel interrupting the smooth surface. The corvette flew into the clear, Lambert spinning round so that they were facing backwards. Even several kilometres out, the carriers were still an impressive sight, rivalling that of even the biggest human cargo ships.

He noted the carrier that had been damaged from before. It was lagging noticeably behind the other two, thick smoke trails wisping from the flank of the left side branch. They seemed to have not been able to repair the hull while on the move, and he doubted they’d want to stop with the UEC on their tail.

Mezul hadn’t made any comment, so he supposed it was still space-worthy, the man flipping the corvette on its axis, reorienting so that he faced the rendezvous point. His instruments were a mess with all the interference, but they had mapped this way prior to their lucky encounter with Mezul’s ship, so it should be a straight shot from here.

He noted on his tactical view, the large symbols indicating the three alien carriers had turned from the white to green, their previous unidentified tags removed. They formed up behind his corvette in a column formation, matching his speed as he engaged the main thrusters. They were well aware to let him take the lead on this one, putting a remarkable amount of trust in him now that their Kith was on his ship.

After maybe half an hours flying, a new IFF tag appeared on his map, floating between two gas clouds ahead of them, giving off a subtle ping and creating tiny circles on his tactical view. Lambert remembered placing the marker down when they’d first set off on their scouting mission. Who would have thought he’d have returned with an alien convoy in tow?

As they closed in, green dots popped up around the marker. There were several smaller ship tags, along with a single larger one, the tag above it labelling the ship as the Gallipoli. The smaller tags were the other scouts, having returned on schedule, unlike him who was a little less than a day late.

“Sir,” Alice began, a hint of worry in its perfect voice making Lambert strangely anxious. “I’m detecting power fluctuations in the Gallipoli weapon systems.”

“I think they’re lockin’ us!” Carl said through the channel.

Mezul exclaimed something in her foreign tongue, Lambert glancing back at her. She did not have to translate to English, he knew what she was trying to say. The alien ships were likely receiving warning locks as well.

He clicked the bead on the chin of his helmet, cursing when he missed the first time. He had to be quick or his own people would blow them all out of the void.

“Gallipoli, come in! Blue on blue! This is Corvette one-five, blue on blue. Do not fire, we’re on the same side here!”

He waited with bated breath, ready to try evasive manoeuvres should his message get through too late. The local channel hissed with static, Lambert just able to make out the dark shapes of ships through the canopy.

The tension left him in a sigh as a voice crackled through his helmet. It was a woman, her Australian accent just thick enough to be obvious. “Corvette one-five, this is Gallipolicontrol, you have three unidentified contacts on your six.”

“I read you control, they’re friendlies. Do not fire on them,” he added again. “They’re not UEC, they’re… something else, XT’s.” In Confederate military doctrine, XT was code for extra-terrestrials. “They’re with me.”

“Hold position, one-five.”

He flipped the ship and countered his thrust, relieved when the carriers did the same, slowly coming to a halt. He could almost feel the targeting computers of the human ships tracking their ships. One could only imagine how many Balokarid Sala’ci could pour out of those carriers if they decided to launch missiles. He hadn’t thought things would get this hairy so quickly.

The silence was becoming too much, and right as he was about to hail the Gallipoli again, a new voice crackled into his helmet. It had a tinny effect, garbled with static, but he recognised the voice. Although his tone was gentle, there was an iron will behind it, the kind only veterans attain after several years of service.

“Lieutenant, this is Captain Anders, I’d appreciate it if you told me why the hell you’re leading three unidentified craft towards my ship.”

Never one to mince words, Lambert thought, unconsciously straightening up in attention as he responded to the call. “Captain, I… we found them out on our scouting route. They’re not UEC, they’re not even human, or Suvelian for that matter, but something else, another race. I brought them here because they were under attack.”

“By who?”

“You might want to pull up a chair, sir. A lot’s happened. I have a few of their number, including their own Captain, on board with me. If you’ll let us board, you can see them for yourself, and I’ll explain everything.”

There was a pause, likely the Captain was consulting his aids for advice. The air thick with tension, Lambert waited for a response, Anders’ voice crackling through the channel after a few minutes. “Approach at low speed, one-five, and standby for docking.”

“Will do,” Lambert replied, sighing in relief. He gave Mezul a reassuring thumbs-up, then eased the ship forward. The alien carriers floated along after him, and before long before the Hub fleet came into view.

Several smaller craft hung in a sphere around a much larger vessel, screening it just like the Balokarid shields did. The Gallipoli was a frigate-class ship, able to act as a flagship for smaller attack groups, with docking ports on its flanks to allow emergency docking for damaged ships. Its underbelly was bristling with artillery guns, the sloped hull painted black to match the darkness of space. Radio prongs and sensory dishes jutted out from all sides of the ship, its flanks layered with missile blisters, the mounted turrets along the spine slowly swivelling to track the alien carriers. Every inch of the hull was covered in either armour or weapons, the crafts hull bulging towards the rear of the ship where the bridge was located.

Mezul leaned on the back of his chair with a hand, marvelling at the power house of a ship they were approaching. What did she make of it, he wondered? Human ships certainly had less windows than her carriers did, and were much smaller to boot.

The two fleets slowly closed in on each other, until the tactical map was almost full of ship tags. Lambert had never seen so many ships in one place, and they were all close enough to see each other, which was an unusual occurrence given the vastness of space. For a moment it seemed the two races were squaring off against each other.

“One-five, prepare to dock with us,” Anders said. “airlock four is opening up.”

Lambert eased the corvette over, flying adjacent to the angled hull of the frigate. They came to a break in the uneven surface of the ship, a flat, square cavity sliding open to reveal a dim interior.

The bay was barren except for a pair of landing rails sitting flush against one of the walls, Lambert angling so the corvette’s belly lined up with them. The corvette was equipped with magnetic bands, and they locked onto the rails as Lambert flew into position, the ship lurching as they were pulled and locked flush with the frigate.

The airlock door snapped shut behind them, shrouding the ship in darkness for a second before the fluorescents clicked on, illuminating the rustic housing of the dock. Another large hatchway sat in front of the corvette’s nose, where the rails abruptly ended in front of it. The docked ship would be wheeled into a maintenance bay that way, but there was a walkway off to the left that ran along the side of the airlock that would lead into the ship proper.

He heard Mezul slipping her harness off, Lambert quickly holding up a hand to stop her. The alien watched him curiously, before they both jolted in their seats as if they’d just hit a speed bump. Lambert unbuckled himself, and stood up without turning on his boots, the alien no doubt going wide-eyed at that.

“Gravity drives,” Lambert explained. “Pretty much every frigate-class and higher has them.”

Mezul clicked off her belts, hesitating as she rose out of her chair, almost expecting that she would float away. He grinned as she stamped her foot on the deck, like she was testing the gravity. “Alice, send all the data we’ve got to the crew.”

“At once, sir.”

Out in the main corridor, Lambert found Carl, Ruvaara, Shaliyya and the guard waiting for them, Lambert taking the lead as they followed him down to the cargo bay, the ramp already extended. The bay was very barebones, designed to accommodate many ships and then use the rails to lead them to their designated maintenance zones for repairs and rearming.

A catwalk led off to the right, ringing the bay and ending at a door at the far side, not wide enough for the Balokarid’s to walk side-by-side. The group of humans and aliens walked down it single-file, the latter turning their beaks in every direction as they surveyed the strange environment.

The handrails barely reached Mezul’s hips, but he wasn’t worried about the alien’s toppling over, though they still seemed amazed that they could walk normally while on a spaceship.

The door on the far end opened up automatically, Lambert taking one last glance at his ship before leading the procession through. There was a group of humans waiting on the other side. One of them was dressed in officers’ fatigues, his blue cap pulled over a shaved head. The insignia pinned to his breast made it obvious that this was Captain Anders.

He was flanked by two guards, submachine-guns gripped in their hands that came off as distinctly ready. Lambert met the visor of one of them, their black combat armour covering them from head-to-toe in kevlar and ceramics. There was also a woman to one side, along with another man Lambert didn’t recognise. Officers, judging by their uniforms.

Carl and Lambert snapped to attention, Anders waving a hand clad in a white glove for them to be at ease. A wave of alarm flickered over the older man’s features as he examined their alien escort. “Lieutenant’s Hall, Ramirez. These are the… what are they called?”

“Balokarids, sir,” Lambert replied. “we found them fighting the UEC out on our patrol route.”

Anders approached the one called Ruvaara, the alien clicking its beak at him as he looked her over. “UEC you say? You’re sure of this?”

“It’s all recorded, our machine’s sending it through to control right now.”

“You’ve really thrown a spanner in the works here, Lieutenant,” Anders replied. “Which one is the leader?”

“That one, with the red feathers. They call her their Kith, which I think means leader.”

The Captain stepped in front of Shaliyya, the alien cocking its head down at him. Anders was a tall man, but even he looked like a dwarf compared to the eight-foot alien.

“Hello Kith, I am Captain Anders of the Gallipoli, welcome aboard.”

Shaliyya bowed her head, her headdress roiling like the surface of an ocean. Anders waited for her to look up, before extending his hand out. Shaliyya didn’t have to be told what to do, the alien placing its larger hand over his.

“Cap-tane,” the alien said. “I am Kith Shaliyya, welcome aboard.”

To say hearing such an odd combination of accents and voices surprised Anders, let alone the broken English, would be an understatement, the Captain glancing at Lambert with his brow raised.

“I think I’ll take you up on that chair,” Anders said. “Tell me everything.”