Beyond Kuiper: The Galactic Star Alliance

by Matthew Medney

  Bor nodded appreciatively but wondered if the Kalean was mocking him. Was Kruk’s face under that scarf, or his? Resisting the urge to stare, he turned back to the Mediators daring to believe they might as well escape with no consequences.

  As he looked up and saw the impassive judgement in Brooznoor Ren’s eyes, that hope died. The Prime’s prehensile trunk reached up. A beam appeared above him.

  “Prime KruktuskenBor, while your logic may be impeccable, your arrogance is itself damaging to this body, and your lack of wisdom clearly does not meet the expectations of Havlangar. While I admire your honest desire to clean your own mess, since both of you refuse to name your co-conspirators, once your tenures are concluded I call for exile.”

  Bor’s heart tumbled into his stomach. The present-day world began to recede; his Recall offered a tantalizing escape from this nightmare. This time, there were no shouts. No opposition. The talismans danced at a wild tempo, and when enough shimmered as green as the Valkürin forests, Bor realized they were being sacrificed to keep the morality of the Council intact.

  Pias’ expression, as usual, was stony, save for the single tear falling from his eye. What hurt worst was knowing that while this punishment was necessary, it would do nothing to stop the fracture of trust eroding the very fabric of government.

  Barulka raised his voice at the lumination of verdant talismans. “151 to 20, so be it. Prime KruktuskenBor, Prime Pias Abbotkrine when your terms are at their ends, you will both be exiled from the GSA to live out the remainder of your lives on Ramur 78 in the Distant Zones.”

  Bor turned to Pias and the flicker of a moment said all that was thought. They would die alone in the cold void far from the warmth of any familiar star, never to rest by the sea.

  Bor slipped into a moment of Recall. From the first time he was selected a Prime to the last, he never thought himself deserving. He didn’t even campaign for himself, but the system chose him again and again. It was only in defeat that the Effective Communications Prime of Sector 2 finally felt his worth was not in question.

  Bor stood tall. He felt a myriad of strong hands on his shoulders.

  Pias stepped forward. “Very well. When the computer deems us finished, we will fulfill our sentence.”

  There were squawks of disapproval but not many, and they quickly died when neither’s crystal struck him with nerve-gouging agony for lying. Instead, they burned bright and true.

  The Mediators responded in slow unison. “Indeed, you will.”

  Enough about us, Bor thought. The meeting was supposed to be about fighting the Creators; instead, they’d used it to hurt them.

  He cleared his throat to indicate he wasn’t quite finished. “Until that time, I believe our skills, knowledge, and experience, like those of everyone here, will be crucial especially in light of the discovery that the Creators of Space have been recruiting from uncharted worlds in the Distant Zones.” The irony.

  His crystal, yet again, remained white. The superior looks dropping from faces all around provided a grim satisfaction enhanced by the ironic juxtaposition of Tordok’s relief. It was a monumental card to play, but the right timing had presented itself. No gossipy chatter about his exile could overwhelm the revelation’s importance.

  As indicated by the uniform color of the talismans, there was only one question on everyone’s mind. Prime Nimitz gave it voice. “Would you please...um, elaborate?”

  Bor nodded at Pias. “If the Council permits, I respectfully defer to Effective Force Prime Abbotkrine, who is far more learned regarding Creator strategy.”

  The talismans green, Bor turned to depart the central floor. Passing Pias, his grimace filled the emotional void as he whispered, “That should give you plenty to work with.”

  Pias’s fluorescence gave the appearance of a happy Anduuzil. “Why, you sly puppeteer...”

  I’ll be there soon, Kruk, Bor thought. The hard part really is over... for now.

  Far below the Valador and its guarding circle of Raa’Tiki, Kruk sat alone in a small chamber weighing his choices. Running his fingers along the luminous crystal floor, he scoured his Recall for some familiarity but found none. The place truly alien, he’d never felt so far from home.

  On one level, he was astonished to be at the famed seat of power and judgement. Trillions dreamed of seeing the Anador but only a handful did. Then again, here he was effectively a prisoner. At least he wasn’t restrained, not that there was anywhere to run.

  Well, if they kick me out of government, at least I got to visit, and I didn’t even have to be a Prime.

  Speaking of which, his father must be here too. Why hadn’t he seen or heard from him? Kruk’s first direct message had been their sole communication.

  A bizarre hologram was imbedded in one of the walls. A guard explained that it was a clock displaying the relatively faster time passing within the Valador. If Kruk read it correctly, there had already been a considerable debate—nearly 93 prikes. How much of that was devoted to his fate? He wanted proper consideration, but not so lengthy as to unduly burden the Council.

  A faintly familiar smell snapped him to his feet. He spun to face whoever had entered so stealthily. Initially, this quiet guard appeared to be one of the Fandaxians that accompanied them from Mijorn. But then, their body spread out shifting into a new form.

  The biomorphic armor adjusted to suit its altered occupant. A vaguely familiar smile was visible beneath the helmet, but removing it revealed a face he’d seen over hundreds of gobbletek matches. “Maruk?”

  The Station 19 suppressor pilot laughed. “Hey, Kruk, remember all that complaining about how bored you were? Look at you, now. I think this is what humans call karma.”

  Maruk might not be perturbed by the strange reunion, after all, the Drotean could impersonate anyone, but Kruk was stunned. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? I am so rooka’d happy to see you.”

  As they embraced, Maruk let out a full-blown cackle. “As you know, my physiology provides some unique opportunities to move undetected, so I came to check on you of course. Couldn’t miss the chance to be Luke and save Han from Jabba. But what happened? I was told you helped save the day, and then—boom—you were gone.”

  They sat. “This will sound crazy, but my father told me the truths about the Creators of Space; I recognized them as the attackers at Nova.”

  Maruk was incredulous. “The myth? The ones who live on the planet no one can find?”

  Kruk gave a hollow laugh. “It sounds way more ridiculous when I say it out loud like that, but as it turns out, not only are they real, the government’s been covering up their existence for a very long time. The GSA thought they were gone, but they were wrong.”

  For most of Kruk’s life, this information seemed insignificant, but Maruk hung on every word.

  “They took me to Mijorn for a debrief because I used an override. At least that was the official story. Once I mentioned Loronzon, the department investigators took an alarming interest. The funny thing is, it felt like they were fishing more than debriefing.”

  Maruk stared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, I think they didn’t know as much as I did. I think my father was part of a high-level conspiracy.”

  Maruk scoffed. “No way. How could they pull that off? Even if they could, how could the whole government not be in on it?”

  Kruk sighed. “I don’t know. It seems impossible, but the Galactic Star Alliance has been around for 8 million turns. That’s plenty of time to get good at all sorts of things.”

  His friend nodded. “So, where does this leave you? If they already interrogated you on Mijorn, why bring you here?”

  Kruk shrugged. “My best guess is that I’m a living, breathing, information breach, so they all want to analyze me personally. The better option is that Pias brought me to convince the Council that the Creators are a real threat.”

  “The EFP of Sector 9? You know him?”

  “Not really. He and my fath
er go way back.”

  Maruk made an impressed trilling sound. “Well, after seeing how the Creators or whoever got through a quarantine shield, consider me convinced.”

  They sat in a reflective silence. Kruk occasionally checked the Valador clock. What would he do if he was kicked out? Return to Dragsa? Would his family even accept him now that he’d tarnished the long, prestigious, Tusken lineage?

  Apparently sensing Kruk’s dark inner turn, Maruk patted his knee. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Kruk studied his bare quarters. “Nothing I can think of. You’ve already done a lot just by being here. No way they won’t punish you for being AWOL. You’re a great friend.”

  Maruk’s claws clasped his shoulders. “You might not want to, but when this is over, come back to the Nova Station. I miss our gobbletek matches. Plus, you owe me a drink.”

  Kruk had his first genuine laugh in ages. It was so hearty and heartfelt, a tear welled in his eye. “Get out of here, you crazy Drotean, before whoever you’re impersonating returns.”

  With a flourish, Maruk redonned his helmet and morphed into a lanky Metra. With a backward glance and a smile, he darted out the entrance and disappeared. Kruk pinched himself. Apparently that had been real.

  Looking at the clock again, he realized it had stopped at 135 prikes. Was the meeting over?

  He felt the slight rumble of large, crystal machinery grinding somewhere far off. The real guards reentered. Distinct, purposeful footsteps echoed from around the corner followed by the appearance of ECP KruktuskenBor: his father.

  “Farraf9!”

  Kruk leapt to greet him. They embraced, then held each other at arm’s length.

  Still looking at his son, Bor dismissed the guard. “Leave us.”

  The time apart had brought changes. Bor looked older, weighed down by much heavier burdens, but there was also a hopeful aura.

  “How are you?” Bor asked.

  It was comically painful to hear the great communicator boil a thousand questions into one.

  “I’m well. Everyone’s really intense, especially the Investigators, but they’re not exactly treating me badly.” Kruk chuckled. “They even gave me my own room. I’m sorry about using your override code, but if I hadn’t, we may never have known it was the Creators.”

  “Don’t apologize. You did the right thing,” Bor said. “I’m so sorry this happened. I should have been more diligent. I should have better prepared you. Then you’d have understood exactly how much of a threat the Creators are. I wanted to keep you safe until you were ready to be part of the Inner Council, but time ran out.”

  “So, what happens to me, now? I expect there’ll be consequences. I know I’ll be debriefed again at the Security Council meeting but not much else.”

  The question evoked a sorrowful look. “Son, there won’t be any penalties, but you must do the GSA a great service. The Council wants you to return to your post in the Nova System to prepare for a second Creator attack and find a spy. Only a mole could have enabled such a precise infiltration.”

  It was a bucket of cold water. “Farraf, I thought you’d had me stationed at Nova because it was so far from any combat.”

  Bor raised his hand. “It’s part of the terms absolving you. I vouched for you before the entire Council, under the penalty of the crystals, because I trust you can do this.”

  Temporarily speechless, Kruk dropped to one knee, bowed his head, and extended his elbows sideways. He placed his hands under his chin, one palm up, the other down, completing the formal Dragsan salute of respect.

  “I’m sorry I questioned you, father. This is an immense honor. I will show you that your faith is not misplaced.”

  Bor touched his shoulder and Kruk rose. “I suspect the mole is someone you’ve already met. They had the same Nova probe information you possessed.”

  Kruk’s mind froze on the word met, making his father’s remaining words feel far off. Maruk. How had he gotten onto Primidious? Into the Anador? The planet was restricted—guarded by an armada. The Raa’Tiki were here.

  How much had Kruk told him? Kruk cursed inwardly... only valuable information that exposed his father. Should he tell Bor?

  “Kruk, what is it?”

  “I’m... trying to recall who was in the probe analysis program before me, but nothing suspicious comes to mind.” If he was going to brand his best friend a traitor, Kruk had to be absolutely sure first. Death was the mandatory punishment.

  If Bor questioned Kruk’s answer, he made no indication. In fact, his father’s mind had moved on. “I have to go. There is much to be done. The Council wants to use the utmost stealth in the matter. It will redirect a quiet, but substantial portion of Alliance resources to combat the Creators. There’s a plethora of side meetings going on to negotiate the logistics. There’ll be discussing new exploration missions as well. We know the Creators have been out there meeting civilizations we’ve yet to find.”

  As Kruk’s mind exploded at the idea, his father grabbed his shoulders. “But before I leave, I’m going to tell you everything you need to know to fight the Creators.”

  1 Udari

  A rare, exceptional, silicon based lifeform. Called “The Foundation ‘’ in old Metra, they existed entirely on the planet Dumar Tar’Rain. They do not breathe oxygen, thrive in extremely high temperatures and pressures, “grow” from crystal “seeds,” and can transform into sentient structures. They possess genetic memory, with no known natural lifespan limit. Many died; they were wiped out by a fatal, unknown disease introduced by first contact during the Reclamation Era. They never joined the GSA but were peaceful and indifferent to other species. They possess highly advanced, virtually indestructible technology that remains beyond most GSA understanding and is used at the highest levels of government. They are currently protected under the “Kalean Concurrence Act” of the turn 8,006,106.

  2 The Valador

  Called the “The place without time” in Udari, is the modern meeting location of the Council of Worlds. It is a temporal chamber that resides at the center of the Anador. Time inside the Valador runs at a 200x rate in relative space. It was discovered 70 turns after the Anador was first explored, when scientists were sucked into the chamber and starved to death. The GSA slowly learned to reprogram the Anador, and The Valador was used for long duration, scientific experiments. After the Kaleans joined the GSA, understanding of the Udari construct grew considerably, and the Valador became the meeting location of the Council of Worlds. The Kaleans reprogrammed the Valador to create the voting talismans and interface with the Raa’Tiki’s decloaking.

  3 Entropless Energy Prime

  The Sector Head of the Department of Energy. They lead and oversee a department that’s operations generate and maintain power, repair planetary grids and infrastructure, as well as performing research into new methods of energy generation and capture.

  4 Onphont

  A sentient species with a prehensile trunk that walks on four legs. Native to the planet of O’Khanda located in the 4th Sector beyond the Jagged Tooth Nebula.

  5 Kitta

  A sentient herbivore species from the planet Tun’Gara. They evolved from huge grasslands that cover the planet. They have an antelope-like head and a tall, thin body with four elongated legs. Their feet contain “hooves” that can lock or split into 4 fingers. They are known for being hypervigilant but are not easily startled and are one of the fastest sentient species in the GSA.

  6 Article 47

  An archaic law in the GSA that allows a Prime to one-time interrupt a Council of Worlds meeting to present their case unobstructed. If a Prime invokes Article 47 a second time, they are automatically stripped of rank and exiled from the GSA revoking their citizenship to Havlanger.

  7 Kalean High Council

  An independent governing body that is the highest adjudicator in the Alliance due to its impartiality. It also acts as an arbiter between the Assembly of Planets and the Council of Worlds during const
itutional disputes. If no confidence is called into question by either body, the KHC is activated. It consists of 9 Kaleans appointed randomly every 3 turns.

  8 Ramur 7

  A GSA exile planet in the Distant Zones where political prisoners are left with no resources to die slowly alone.

  9 Farraf

  The personal, informal Dragsan word for “father.”

  Sixteen

  M.C.D

  At the end of the tunnel, the mouth of a vast cavern provided Bernard with a stunning view of a marvelous city of steel and futurism spread across acres. As he drove his Newton along the winding road, he couldn’t help but think, the prodigal son returns.

  For the first time in six years, the famed cosmologist pulled up to the gates of Outer Limits.

  “ID… oh my…” The guard stammered when he realized who he was.

  “Not sure I need one. I’m here to see Ms. On. I believe William Hunt and Godric Adams are already here?”

  “Your son, as well, Dr. Hubert,” the awed man offered.

  “Ah yes. Well, that makes sense. I would like to get going. Is that alright with you, or should I call Angelika?”

  Asking himself the same question as everyone else would that day, the guard motioned to his colleague to raise the gate.

  Naturally, Bernard’s return meant opening a lot of old wounds. The CERN disaster was a part of O.L.’s bones now: an extension of all he’d worked for. Accident or not, few within the inner circle here had forgiven Bernard for living.

  It is a magnificent place, though.

  To his left, an orb-shaped facility housed the nanotech labs. To his right, a towering observatory held a telescope that could pinpoint a crater on Ganymede. Ahead, past the Advanced Concepts Lab and the boundless shrubbery, laid the Tyson Planetarium, an homage to the great cosmologist of the early 21st century.