by Doug Farren
Peacekeeper Morris remained with Monder as ship after ship flashed on the screen before him. Each vessel was displayed for two seconds while the sophisticated web of sensors built into his hospital clothes monitored his reaction. The rapidly changing ships would automatically pause if his attention wandered but would resume as soon as he returned to watching the display. Pushing himself to stay focused, Monder kept at it without taking any breaks. After nearly three hours, the computer indicated it had exhausted its supply of photographs.
Monder looked at the blank screen for a moment, blinking his dry eyes. He then turned to Peacekeeper Morris and said, “Nothing. How can that be?”
Morris started pacing the room. “There’s a possibility the ship you saw is of an unusual or even a new design. It’s also possible you’ve buried the memory too deep.”
“But I want to remember!” Monder replied, rubbing his eyes. “Someone has to be held responsible. Are you sure you showed me every possible ship?”
“Computer,” Morris said into the air. “Have all possible ships been displayed?”
“All known Alliance vessels built within the last 20 years have been displayed,” the machine replied. “There are several non-Alliance ships as well as older vessels that were excluded.”
“Show them.”
A ship appeared on the screen. It was followed by more. When the seventh ship appeared he dug his fingers into the arms of his chair as he yelled, “There! That’s…” Monder grabbed the display and with surprising strength picked it up along with the attached stand and hurled it across the room.
“You killed my family!” he sobbed, staring at the still working display. “You killed my son.” His voice trailed off until it was a whisper. “You killed my son.”
Monder looked at Morris and with trembling lips pleaded, “Find them. Make them pay. Make them pay.”
Doctor Arsta had rushed to Monder’s side expecting him to slide back into a state of catatonia. Instead of doing so, however, he sat down on the bed and buried his head in a pillow.
“He’ll be fine,” Doctor Arsta said. Looking down at the display, he asked, “Do you recognize it?”
Morris slowly nodded his head. He felt as if the room had suddenly become very cold. His stomach felt like it was trying to curl in on itself. “Indeed I do. It’s a Chroniech battleship.”
Chapter 16
Fanish: Habitable planet located near the edge of what is commonly thought of as Alliance space. It’s the fourth planet orbiting a type G3 star and has a surface gravity of 1.6 times greater than Earth’s. The planetary axis is tilted at an angle of 19.8 degrees giving it a variable climate. Two small, tidally locked moons provide a complex pattern of tides. Eighty-three percent of the surface is covered by water. The planet boasts an extensive variety of marine life as well as a diverse collection of land-based plants and animals. Fanish was colonized by the Rouldians a little over 40 years ago. Its primary export is seafood.
As much as Tom enjoyed spending time with Lashpa, he was relieved when they entered the Fanish system. The standard Rouldian diet relied heavily on seafood and he was getting tired of the smell of fish at nearly every meal. As soon as they received permission to land, he instructed the Orion to find a spot as close to the Krish as possible. Earlier, they had adjusted their speed in order to arrive just after sunrise. The air outside was a crisp three degrees Celsius and a stiff wind was blowing making it feel even colder.
“I’ll be ready in about an hour,” Tom told Lashpa as he headed for the ramp.
“Take your time,” she replied. “My family isn’t expecting us for several hours.”
Cognizant of the higher gravity, Tom carefully walked down the ramp. Even though his cybernetics easily compensated for the extra weight they were now carrying, his brain was wired for maneuvering in a significantly weaker gravitational field. A fall by a normal human in this gravity could easily result in life-threatening injuries. Tom wouldn’t be injured, but he would be embarrassed.
As he dropped below the undercarriage of Lashpa’s ship, the wind and the light snow it was driving stung his face causing him to activate his face shield. With the shield in place, the cold no longer bothered him. His cybernetic limbs felt as if they were cool, but not uncomfortably so and his torso was kept warm by his body armor. Unlike most other starports, the tarmac here was unheated and the snow was beginning to accumulate. To make certain he would not fall, Tom directed a thought at the biolink causing a group of tiny pins to extend from the bottom of his feet.
The short trip to his own ship was completed without incident. He immediately went to the kitchen where he prepared a meal of steak and eggs. He’d been living on quick rations and soup for over three weeks and the smell of frying eggs and steak made his mouth water.
While his food was cooking, the Orion said, “I have received an update concerning the missing cargoliners.”
“Show me.”
The ship created a virtual piece of paper with writing on it dangling in front of him.
“A Chroniech battleship? I thought all of them were destroyed.”
“Fourteen Chroniech warships are known to have been trapped in Alliance space after the Kyrra established the transdimensional barrier,” the Orion replied. “All have been destroyed. It is remotely possible a few may have eluded our sensors and are still at large.”
“See if Lashpa has a moment to talk.”
Thirty seconds later, as Tom was sitting down to eat, Lashpa’s face appeared in front of him. The illusion created by his ship was so perfect that Tom could swear she was sitting at the table with him.
“I just read the report,” she said. “The barrier has been in place for over six years now. I wouldn’t think any ship would have enough fuel and consumables to…”
Lashpa’s voice trailed off as a new thought suddenly struck her. Tom thought of the same thing and, through a mouthful of food, stated it before she could. “That explains why they’ve been attacking cargo ships! They needed the consumables!”
“True. But the cargo ships didn’t start disappearing until about two years ago,” she said. “Where did they get their supplies before then?”
Tom cleared his mouth before replying. “They might have had a hidden supply base or just scooped up the supplies from their ships that were destroyed during the war. There were plenty of them floating around until we started clearing them out.”
“I can’t imagine they’ve been living aboard their ship this entire time. They must have a base of operations somewhere.”
“That’s probably where they took those cargoliners,” Tom said, stabbing a hunk of steak.
“They must’ve figured out how to fly our ships,” Lashpa suggested.
“Makes perfect sense to me,” he said. Waving his fork in the air, he added, “They kill the crew and passengers then just fly the ship to their base and pick it clean at their leisure. When it’s no longer of any use, they get rid of it by tossing it into a star.”
“At least part of the mystery has been solved,” she said.
“Now that we know there’s a Chroniech ship running around, I’m sure sector command will be coming up with a plan to find them,” Tom said. “I wonder how many ships they’ll call in.”
“If I were in charge, I’d call in anything and everything within a hundred light years that could be used. We can’t afford to have them attack another civilian ship.”
“They’ll have to start providing military escorts as well,” Tom added. “If they’ve managed to avoid detection this long, finding them is going to be a difficult task.”
“It might take years. Let me know when you’re done eating and I’ll meet you outside my ship.”
“See you soon,” Tom replied. After her image vanished, Tom asked, “Orion, is it my imagination or have you gotten better at generating a virtual Lashpa?”
“I’ve been working with the Krish to improve the level of detail in our virtual reality simulations,” the ship replied.
“You guys are doing a wonderful job!”
“I shall relay your comment to the Krish.”
“You do that,” he replied, then devoted his full attention to finishing his steak and eggs.
* * * * *
There were very few vehicles on the road as Tom followed Lashpa through the wide streets. Rouldian cities were very different from those of most other species. Because of the higher gravity, Rouldian structures rarely exceeded three stories. With their alligator-like bodies, they used ramps to move from floor to floor instead of stairs making shorter structures a more logical choice. The tallest building Tom saw as they drove through the center of the city topped out at five stories.
It didn’t take long for him to notice he was creating quite a stir as he drove down the street. Despite the cold, there were a fair number of people walking down the sidewalk. Most were wearing a heavy blanket that covered their head and back. Their legs were protected from the cold by long leather boots that disappeared under the blanket. Nearly everyone he passed stopped to stare and point at the obviously off-world vehicle moving through the city.
The wind had subsided and the snow was now coming down in large flakes from a gray sky covering the unheated streets with a layer of dirty whiteness. There was little traffic as he followed Lashpa into a parking lot next to a large building located near the center of the city. The parking lot, however, was packed. Lashpa pulled her car into an empty spot near the building’s entrance. Tom parked next to her.
“This is the central administration complex where the Fanish government resides,” Lashpa explained as they exited their vehicles. “The genealogical registrar is inside.”
Tom glanced around and noticed that the spots their vehicles now occupied were marked by signs. His ship translated them for him, overlaying the Rouldian writing with Galactic Standard. “They reserve spots for gragrakch?” Tom inquired.
“Of course,” she replied. “Today, we are honored guests.”
Tom and Lashpa entered the building together and, side by side, walked down the exceptionally wide and curiously empty hallway. The inside of the administration building was a shock to Tom’s senses. The floor was covered in a strange-looking springy carpet that reminded him more of a straw mat than carpeting. The walls were adorned with pictures of government officials stretching all the way back to the day the colony was founded. The hemispherical ceiling was made of some sort of transparent material that must have also been heated. Although it was still snowing outside, none of it was accumulating on the roof and he could clearly see the sky.
The inside of the building smelled old—very old. After a few seconds, Tom changed his opinion. The smell wasn’t that of a musty old building; it was the scent of the large numbers of Rouldians who passed through the halls every day.
Near the center of the building, Lashpa turned and walked into a very large conference room where they encountered a large crowd. The smell was almost over-powering. An older male standing just inside the door saw them come in and yelled, “They’re here!”
The rumbling of conversations slowly subsided as those who were gathered moved into position. There seemed to be some confusion at the far end of the room. Several people were huddled together but eventually joined the others.
Provided everyone arrived on time, there would be 23 guests in attendance. Tom felt a little overwhelmed. He was the only human standing in a room filled with Rouldians; a species most humans thought of as being very similar to the mythical dragons of their ancient past.
The heavy thumping of feet quickly became a profound silence as the guests lined themselves up in a single column from the doorway through which they had just passed to another doorway on the far side. A single person stood there, patiently waiting. Had this been a typical ceremony, Tom’s family would have formed a second column facing Lashpa’s, creating a narrow corridor through which the two would walk.
Turning to the first person in line, Lashpa said, “Thomas Allen Wilks, this is my mother, Shava Anluth Krish.”
Tom slightly tilted his head to one side making it easier for Shava to access his neck. Confused as to whether or not it was acceptable for her to taste him, Shava looked at her daughter for guidance. “He will not be offended,” Lashpa gently replied.
Satisfied, Shava’s tongue flashed out and gently touched Tom’s neck. “Chuloogranack,” she intoned. The automatic translator residing in the small computer that had taken the place of his right lung whispered the translation into his ear, “Two bodies, one soul.” The concept of gragrakch was such an integral part of Rouldian custom that the ritual saying had been condensed down to a single word.
Taking a step forward, Lashpa and Tom presented themselves to the next person. “Thomas Allen Wilks this is my father Kirth Shykrith Krish.”
Kirth did not hesitate to taste Tom’s neck. “Chuloogranack,” he said.
Another step, another introduction was followed by a quick touch of a tongue on his neck. Before they had gotten to the half-way point, Tom’s mind was a confusion of very similar sounding names. Rouldian names were driven by tradition. Male children were given an individual first name followed by the father’s first name then the family name which was, by law, the father’s family name. Female children were given an individual first name followed by the mother’s original family name then the family’s common last name. For Rouldians, this naming convention made perfect sense but it was very confusing to Tom.
Near the end of the line, Tom was introduced to Quinth Shykrith Krish whom he recognized as the Rouldian captain he had met almost a year ago while tracking down the location of the Army of Humanity’s base of operations.
The last person in line was introduced as Heshgerv, Lashpa’s first cousin. She looked at Tom and for the first time he felt a sense of foreboding. Although he offered his neck, she refused to taste him.
Looking at Lashpa, Heshgerv said, “I’m sorry, I cannot accept that a Rouldian soul lives inside an alien’s body! He looks like a sharooth. I cannot support this.”
Lashpa’s tail looked like a rapidly slithering snake that was desperately trying to escape but couldn’t get a grip on the floor. “It’s not for you to decide,” she said, her voice dropping almost an entire octave—something Tom had never heard her do before. “It’s our choice.”
Activating his vocoder so everyone could understand him, Tom asked, “Does a soul have a choice as to where it ends up after it’s split?”
Heshgerv looked at Tom with an intensity that was almost tangible. She took a step back and replied, “This is an abomination and I will have no part of it.”
Quinth stepped out of line and raised his head. Tom’s normally expert ability to read Rouldian body language failed him for a moment. But, from the position of Quinth’s tail, the pinned-back look of his ears, and the exposed teeth, Tom concluded he was witnessing an emotion he had never before seen in a Rouldian—rage.
“You will not bring shame to this family by being rude to our guest!”
Heshgerv extended her neck to put her head at the same height as Quinth’s. “I will not support this!” she shouted.
“You’re not required to,” Quinth yelled back, taking a step closer to her.
“Enough!” a loud, authoritative voice boomed. Tom turned and saw Kith walking down the line of family members heading in his direction. The room became completely silent except for the dull thud of Kirth’s feet landing on the thick floor.
Quinth and Heshgerv both lowered their heads as Kirth approached. He stopped in front of Heshgerv and put the end of his nose so close to hers Tom thought they were going to touch.
“Tom Wilks is a guest of our family,” Kirth said just loud enough for Heshgerv to hear him. “It is your right not to endorse gragrakch. But you will not be disrespectful to our guest. You will apologize. Now!”
Heshgerv looked at Quinth, lowered her eyes, slightly bowed her head, then turned to Tom and said, “Please pardon my rudeness. I’m honored to meet you Peace
keeper Wilks.”
Tom was keenly aware of the fact that Heshgerv had addressed him using his formal peacekeeper title and not by his first name. Tom didn’t bother to make his neck available as he replied, “Apology accepted. It’s an honor to meet you as well.”
Tom turned and looked at Kirth. Their eyes locked for a moment before Kirth looked at Lashpa and said, “Continue.”
Tom waited until Kirth had resumed his original position then turned so he could face the assembled family members. Raising the volume of his vocoder, he said, “I’m honored to meet every one of you. I’m sorry that what little family I have could not attend. The gravity of your world would have presented too great a challenge for them. My sister, however, has recorded a message. I would like to share it with you at this time.”
A large video screen mounted on the wall on the side of the room where Tom’s family would normally have been standing came to life. Cassandra’s image appeared. “I am Cassandra Wilson, sister of Tom Wilks,” she began. The audio had been altered, her words translated into Rouldian. “I met Lashpa some time ago and I have personally observed that she and Tom are one soul in two bodies. Both of our parents as well as all of our aunts and uncles are deceased. I am Tom’s only surviving sibling.”
Stretching out her hand, she paused as a man stepped into view. “I am John Wilson, Cassandra’s husband. I do regret not being able to be present at such an important event. I would like to extend an open invitation to any of Lashpa’s family to visit us at any time. We would both love to meet you in person.”
Two young adults stepped into view as Cassandra once again took up the narrative. “This is Debbie and Laurence Wilson, Tom’s niece and nephew. All of us standing before you in this video represent Tom’s surviving relatives.”
The video froze allowing the assembled guests to get a close look at Tom’s family. Lashpa turned to face the person who had been patiently waiting at the back of the room. “Are you the chief recorder of the genealogical registrar?”
