by S. H. Jucha
“Telemetry reports an explosion at our shuttle landing site, Commander,” Captain Gregich reported.
“Status of the shuttles?” Daminich requested.
“Gone, Commander, and we can’t raise any of the crew,” Gregich replied.
Stasnich, who stood beside Daminich, regarded the commander.
“Three shuttles and three crews lost in a massive explosion and reports of a monstrous beast,” Daminich summarized. “This planet is not for us.”
“I hate to give up on this planet so quickly,” Stasnich said.
“With respect,” Gregich interjected, “the reports of the enormous reptile are throughout the fleet. Officers and crews aren’t anxious to land on the planet. The predominant opinion is that where there’s one of these creatures, there’ll be many more.”
“This topic’s decision isn’t subject to the opinions of fleet personnel,” Stasnich barked. “I lead this fleet.”
“But only as long as the officers and crews are willing to follow,” the commander reminded Stasnich.
Stasnich stared at the commander and the battleship’s captain. He knew the fleet’s crews were loyal to their captains and commander, not to him. He was an appointee.
“Then let’s move on,” Stasnich said reluctantly. Then he added angrily, “But I want this system destroyed as we exit. You can start with this planet!”
Gregich glanced toward Daminich, who said, “A wiser choice would be to leave quietly.”
“Are you refusing my order, Commander?” Stasnich demanded.
“Merely pointing out your options, Leader Stasnich,” Daminich replied evenly. “We’re a long way from home. We won’t be getting resupplied. If we start throwing armament at a planet, stations, ships, and other passive locations, we might find ourselves wishing we had those missiles if we encounter robust forces.”
“There’s another thing to consider,” Gregich offered. “We don’t know this area of space. What if it’s heavily populated with races that possess more powerful ships and advanced technology? If we destroy a system incapable of fighting back, there’ll be no offer of retreat for us. We’ll be decimated in an act of revenge.”
Daminich nodded in acceptance of the reasoning, which irritated Stasnich.
“Get underway,” Stasnich ordered. “I’ll consider your advice.” He made sure to emphasize the word advice before he whirled about and stalked off in a fit of pique.
“Where to?” Gregich asked.
“Let’s examine what our telemetry has to offer,” Daminich replied.
Stasnich didn’t come out of his well-furnished cabin for days. Food was brought to him. Under those circumstances, Daminich and Gregich assumed it meant that Stasnich wouldn’t be insisting on the system’s destruction.
On the planet, Denthra received the report of the fleet leaving orbit and making for the system’s periphery.
Crocians held their collective breath to see if the invaders planned to exact a measure of revenge. When the fleet exited quietly, the population sighed.
Denthra ordered two more cube messages be sent. He updated his earlier message with the most recent events and added the vector by which the fleet left the system.
The invaders’ shuttles weren’t seen to leave the planet. It was assumed that they were destroyed in the explosion that took place in their immediate vicinity. No investigation of the site was planned. The shuttles had landed deep in the wetlands, and no Crocian was suicidal enough to venture where Dorgatha lurked.
-25-
Archivist
Fistonia led the council’s guests to an expansive chamber. They could go no farther than a gallery that overlooked a three-dimensional projector in the center of the room. A console was near the projector, and a half circle of networked data conservatories ringed the room.
“This is where the committee convenes?” Olawale asked, in confusion.
“There isn’t a committee,” Fistonia replied. “You requested data on recent and historical events. This is where those records are kept. I’ll send the archivist to you.”
Esteban and Juliette slipped around the end of the gallery and investigated the data banks.
“Machine intelligence,” Esteban pronounced, after connecting to one of the data ports. “Sophisticated programming, clever storage routines, but not sentient.”
“You should be in the gallery,” the archivist remonstrated the SADEs. He’d appeared from behind the data banks. Belatedly, he saw Esteban disconnect a finger from a data port. “Yes, I’ve heard of your coming,” he said, eyeing Esteban. He gazed at the gallery, and added, “I’m Pardus, a Veklock.”
“Where are your mates?” Tacnock asked, with concern.
“They’ve passed, and I’ll join them in a few more annuals,” Pardus replied.
The archivist’s age was evident. He was molting, here and there. He wore a cumbersome pair of aids for his weakened orbs. The edges of his beaks were chipped, and their usual bright orange color was dulled.
“I’m sorry for your losses,” Tacnock said.
“Enough about my sorrows,” Pardus said. “What do you request from my archives?”
“I’m Captain Jess Cinders, Pardus. We wish information on the lost domes. Specifically, we need to know their number of gates and the connecting worlds.”
“It’s an honor, Captain Cinders,” Pardus replied, tipping his beak. He eyed the gallery with renewed interest, gazing at the collection of races and faces.
“Clever,” Pardus said. “The visitors travel by way of the stars, but they must have destinations, and our domes have none. So, you must find a way to separate the lost domes from among the many stars.”
The beak lowered, and Pardus seemed lost in thought. “But my data won’t get you that information,” he objected, when his head came up.
“The starscape displays in the dome will be matched to your data,” Kasie said.
“Then we’ll relate that imagery to our ships’ telemetry recordings,” Juliette added.
“Inventive coupling of capabilities,” Pardus allowed. He shuffled to a console. A single wing feather detached and floated to the floor. It was a sad statement about the end of a long life of professional service.
Pardus activated the room’s projector, which coupled imagers in the floor and ceiling.
“In no order of when the dome was lost, this is the data on Norsitchia,” Pardus said. The data was in graphics form. In the center, a solid circle was labeled the Norsitchian world. Lines extended from marks on the world that represented gates to the other worlds, which were also labeled.
“Now, I understand Jarmonin’s touchiness,” Olawale whispered to Juliette. “He lost access to his home world.”
Pardus gazed across the floor to Esteban and Juliette. “I presume you’ll have no need for a data transfer,” he said.
“None, Pardus,” Esteban replied.
The archivist nodded his beak in understanding. If he was younger, he might have been fascinated by the SADEs and visitors, seeking to spend hours in discussions with them. But he was elderly, and he’d seen too many phenomenal changes in his lifetime to be excited by any more.
Pardus’s queries combed through the data archives. The records identified incursions by the Colony, but cube messages sent after the attacks proved the native races had repulsed the attacks and held the domes.
The majority of incursions that were repelled were accomplished by the younger races. Of the six alliance domes that were known to have been taken, only the Sylian dome had been recaptured.
“Those are the extent of the records within the archives,” Pardus said, when five domes and their connecting worlds had been displayed.
Some dome connections were labeled NA for non-alliance world. Those were domes yet to be occupied by developing races.
“Any information on the terminal lines connecting to these domes?” Jess asked.
Pardus lowered his beak to peer over his reading aids.
“I’ll take that a
s a no,” Jess said apologetically.
It was a distant hope that the domes extending along a terminated line would have had the opportunity to send a message through the beleaguered dome. Also, there was the possibility that the fight against the incursion would have lasted long enough to warn the connecting domes. Unfortunately, the pace of the Colony’s onslaught made both of those events less than probable.
“Pardus, we request voice samples of the race of each dome that you’ve displayed, overtaken and connecting, except for the Norsitchians,” Esteban requested.
“Will any comment or remark do?” Pardus asked.
“Yes, as long as it’s clearly a single voice,” Juliette replied.
“We’ve recordings of remarks to the council from countless petitioners. I believe they will do quite nicely,” Pardus said. He busied himself at the console, searching and retrieving snippets of the required voices.
“Do we need anything for Crocia?” Olawale quietly asked Bortoth and Daktora.
“No,” Bortoth replied. “We carry recordings of our many contacts with our dome’s connecting races.”
“To amplify my data, I’ll display the lost dome and the connecting worlds again. Then I’ll highlight a world, announce the race, and play the sample for you,” Pardus said, when he was ready. He gazed over his aids at the SADEs. Juliette nodded, and he began.
“Any other thoughts?” asked Olawale, when Pardus finished his list. When none were forthcoming, he thanked Pardus for his help.
“Your visit has been a pleasant one,” the elderly Veklock said. “I get few interesting requests. The routines have become stultifying. I wish you good fortune in your attempts to recover these domes. I’ll take great pleasure in hearing, within my few remaining annuals, that the Colony’s advance has been halted. Perhaps, I’ll live to witness their retreat.”
“Juliette, we need the shuttle to the Hyronzy dome,” Olawale requested.
Juliette led the way to the station’s shuttle services. Within a few hours, the group landed on the moon and made their way to the dome’s deck. The platforms were hives of activity, with individuals constantly coming and going but in an orderly manner.
The Hyronzy dome administrator, having been notified of his guests’ arrival, hurried up the ramp to greet them.
“I’ve been informed by the council of your coming and that I’m to give you complete control of the console,” the administrator said. “You can be assured of our complete cooperation.”
“Announce to your journeyers that there’ll be a significant delay,” Kasie requested.
“How long is significant?” the Hyronzy inquired.
“Perhaps, for a Pyrean hour,” Kasie replied, and Esteban converted that to Hyronzy time for the administrator.
The announcement dismayed the journeyers. Most were important individuals in their home worlds and held lofty positions in the Tsargit, such as delegates and committee appointments.
“If you’ll step aside?” Juliette politely asked the console operators.
The operators moved but not far. They were anxious to witness what the unusual entities intended to do.
Juliette activated the first level query.
The journeyers’ murmurs halted, when the overhead dimmed and the starscape appeared. It was naturally centered on the Hyronzy location, as the Messinants intended the query to do.
Esteban’s request for silence from everyone on the deck was unnecessary. The assembly was curious as to what came next. The voice of the Norsitchian lead councilor was heard issuing from Esteban’s open mouth.
Journeyers’ heads turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Then they watched the starscape change. It collapsed significantly, and lines connected stars that were ringed.
While the SADEs recorded the complex display that detailed the locations of Norsitchians throughout the alliance, the journeyers’ conversations returned. Each had a theory about what they were seeing.
“It appears we’ll need to execute your plan B, Captain,” Juliette said to Jess.
The SADEs ran the voices of the connecting domes to Norsitchia through the console’s queries. Then they shifted to the other four lost domes and their connections.
The onlookers were flummoxed by the speed with which the display changed. Juliette operated the console, and her fingers flew across the panels. Esteban stared constantly at the overhead display, capturing the starscapes.
Kasie and her fellow administrators smiled at one another. They’d become acutely aware of the SADEs’ abilities.
“Your turn,” Esteban said to the Crocians, when the starscape paused.
Bortoth supplied the voice for the base query, and between the two Crocians, they recovered and played voices of the races inhabiting the connecting domes.
“Is that it?” Jess asked, when the SADEs’ work halted, and they’d returned dome operations to the Hyronzy administrator.
“Nearly, Captain,” Esteban replied. “We need access to the Rêveur’s telemetry databases. Here, we’re blocked by the dome, and in the tunnels, we’re too far from our traveler and the liner.”
“But you’ll be able to determine the star coordinates of the lost domes and Crocia from the data you’ve assembled,” Jess pursued.
“Assuredly,” Esteban replied.
Jess heaved a huge sigh of relief. “I was worried that my idea wouldn’t work.” he said. He was swiftly inundated by his sister’s emanations, some pats on the arms, and two hearty slaps on the back from the Crocians, which he could have forgone.
“Well-done, Captain,” Patrice said, which Olawale and Ophelia echoed.
“Now the hard part,” said Lucia, which dampened the celebration.
“Olawale Wombo and Patrice Morris, your presence is requested in council chambers,” the Hyronzy administrator said, after listening to his ear wig.
“That was our next stop anyway,” Patrice commented. She turned and led the way out of the dome and to the shuttle.
Exiting the shuttle into Hyronzy Station, they were met again by Fistonia. It wasn’t necessary to be guided by the station director; the Omnians had mapped the route, but it was the polite thing to do.
When they entered the chambers, only a few councilors were present. The group took their seats behind the curved table and waited for the remaining councilors to assemble.
Jarmonin was the last to arrive. “Apologies for the delay,” he said. “These are proving to be impromptu times. We’ve received a second message from Crocia. The council hasn’t viewed it yet. We thought it appropriate to see it together.” He nodded at a staff member, who activated the replay.
Everyone heard Denthra’s deep voice, as he described the strangers’ shuttle landings in the wetlands, the massive explosion days later, and the fleet’s departure. He included the vector that the fleet was recorded departing the system on.
When the message ended, the chambers heard the bellowing of Bortoth and Daktora.
Jarmonin let the Crocians’ reactions die down before he asked for an explanation.
“No one wants to visit Crocia,” Daktora roared.
“We’ve heard that said innumerable times,” Jarmonin pointed out, with exasperation. “Do you have anything specific to add?”
“The answer lies in Denthra’s words,” Bortoth explained. “The invaders landed their shuttles in the wetlands. Those areas of Crocia are where the planet’s predators are most highly concentrated.”
“It’s where Dorgatha live,” Daktora added.
“Enough said,” Jarmonin replied. He had heard rumors of a Crocian’s unusual end-of-life stage.
“How soon will you know the reason for the explosion and if there are survivors?” Lucia asked.
The Crocians regarded Lucia with sympathy.
“You don’t know our world,” Bortoth said. “Unless it’s critical, Crocians won’t venture into the wetlands. It’s too dangerous.”
“More important, we don’t want to confront our futures,” said Daktora, whi
ch made no sense to the Omnians or Earthers.
“Do you have everything you need?” Jarmonin asked.
“We do,” Olawale replied.
“Then this council wishes you success in reclaiming our domes. You’ll be remembered for your efforts, regardless of the outcome,” Jarmonin said. “Your volunteers await you in a bay. Director Fistonia will lead you there.”
Immediately, the councilors broke into private discussions.
“You’re dismissed,” Lucia said laconically.
“Personally, I like a little more fanfare when I’m leaving to undertake dangerous tasks that might mean my death,” Sam quipped.
Fistonia waited at the chamber doors, and the group joined him.
Olawale sent in reply.
The bay’s airlock doors were open, and Fistonia gestured to Olawale and company to precede him.
The bay was brightly lit. As Olawale entered, a harsh bark was heard. It was followed by the stomp of hundreds of boots in unison on the deck.
“This is unexpected,” Sam remarked.
Facing Olawale and company were neat rows of Norsitchians, evident by their puggish faces and bristling rows of hair that started at their foreheads, flowed across the center of the skulls, and fell to their shoulders in short manes.
The Norsitchians stood at attention, launchers slung over their shoulders and satchels at their feet.
“Who leads this company?” Lucia called out, stepping forward and taking charge.
“I’m Commander Menous. I lead these brassards,” the Norsitchian at the forefront of the volunteers replied.
“How is it that you’re here? Your dome has been taken,” Lucia demanded.
“Councilor Jarmonin organized us, when we lost the dome. We were on other worlds. We’ve been training for this day,” Menous replied crisply.
“Can they shoot?” Lucia asked, prowling up and down the front row.
“I vouch for each individual’s ability,” Menous replied.
