by C M Dancha
The palace was huge and getting to the communications chamber took over thirty minutes. As he saluted to underlings and swerved to avoid hitting others, the Lead Trifect wondered, “What the hell do all these Yandans do?” There were thousands of them filtering in and out of offices and scurrying though the hallways. Certainly, many of them were the rear echelon for military operations. They made sure the soldiers had the equipment and provisions needed to kill the enemy and stay alive. They were an absolute necessity considering Yanda's business was war. A sizable number of the others ran the government's assistance programs. The average, non-military Yandan was a ward of the State relying on the government for all the basic necessities of life. That accounted for many of these beings, but he couldn’t shake the question. “Does it really take this many Yandans to run the planet?”
As he turned the last corner into the communication chamber, he made a mental note to look into this question. It was about time to have a committee evaluate the government’s payroll budget. It needed to answer some simple questions. Was there a duplication or triplication of work by different government departments? Had some jobs outlived their need or usefulness? Were new jobs created for good or frivolous reasons? He suspected that too many employees was one reason why the planet had a tough time making ends meet.
There were five Yandans in the communication chamber. The other two Trifect stood in a corner whispering to each other. They had sheepish and dour expressions on their faces. The three communications experts sat at the control panels pretending to play with the digital dials. All of them tried to avoid the Lead Trifect’s piercing stare. It didn't take a genius to know he wasn’t going to like the impending conversation topic.
“Brothers, what the hell is going on?”
“Sir, we can’t locate Morg’s transport. It simply disappeared. No one from their ship will respond and the auto response from its control panel isn’t working.”
“What about their flight signature. Can we pick that up?”
“We’ve tried, sir, but nothing so far.”
“Have any of our outposts or alliance planets reported contact or sighting the transport?”
“The last sighting was when the Feltte Six Interceptors made contact with the transport. That was before Morg vaporized them."
“Have you hailed Morg on his private comm channel?”
“Yes, sir. He’s not answering. To be honest, we’re not sure he took his private comm channel on this mission.”
The Lead Trifect rolled his eyes and responded, “Wonderful. That’s just great.” He was running out of questions and ideas. “Is there any evidence of an explosion near the last reported sighting of the transport?”
At first, the other two Trifect didn’t understand the implications of his question. One of the communications specialists butted in and offered an answer. “I checked on that, sir. The transport did not explode nor was it vaporized. Except for the five Feltte Six Interceptors, there hasn't been an explosion in that sector for many years.”
“Did you contact Morg’s offspring and mate to determine if they heard from him?”
One of the Trifect slumped in his chair and let his head fall an inch or two from his chest. The Lead Trifect hit a sensitive subject, one his peers didn’t want to answer. “We haven’t done that yet, sir, but …. but..."
The Lead Trifect was getting irritated. He couldn't wait for his underling to get to the point. "But, what, Trifect?"
"We found out that the remains of Morg’s mate were picked up by a sweeper approximately two light years from Yanda. We’re not sure what to make of that. We haven’t had the time to look into it further.”
The Lead Trifect glared at his co-council mates. He didn’t know whether to criticize them for poor leadership or classify this as a gross error due to an over-stacked bureaucracy.
“Did the sweeper pick up the remains in the approximate area of the transport’s flight pattern?”
“Yes, sir.”
The Lead Trifect turned and paced the room, thinking about what he learned so far. With his back still to the other Yandans in the room, he began talking to himself. “So, Morg’s mate was on board the transport when it left Yanda. Was she alive or dead at departure and what the hell was she doing on the ship?” After a couple more steps, he began talking to himself again. The other two Yandans moved closer so they could eavesdrop on his thoughts.
“Maybe, Morg hid her on the ship as a stowaway.” After thinking about this possibility for a few seconds, he continued. “No, that doesn’t make sense. If he went to the trouble of sneaking her onboard, why did she end up dead? Something very odd is happening on that transport. I wonder where it is now and who is in charge? I knew things were going too smooth and it was about time for some shit to come crashing down on me. I got the Feltte Six authorities calmed down about Conway’s kid and paid them for the Interceptors and crews. Now, this happens.”
The Lead Trifect shook his head back-and-forth and started to chuckle to himself. He couldn’t help thinking about the stupidity of the entire situation.
“Brothers, if the transport is still flying, where do you think it is?”
“Sir, we think it’s headed for Yanda. After all, Morg did acknowledge our command to return to Yanda, so we have no reason to believe it’s going anywhere else.”
“How do you know it was Morg?”
“Well, he acknowledged the command with his personal security code.”
“Brothers let me tell you what I think. The transport isn’t heading to Yanda. I don’t know where it’s going, but it definitely isn’t coming here. Oh, before I forget, make sure you cancel the Feltte Six Look-For bulletin on the transport. No, wait a minute. Keep the Look-For bulletin active. With a little luck, someone might spot our transport and report it.”
The Lead Trifect turned and started to strut toward the door.
“Sir, what are we going to tell Prefect Conway?”
The Lead Trifect was out the door and headed down the hallway when his answer echoed into the communications chamber.
“I have no damn idea, brothers. FIND MORG.”
7
“Morg, we have to cut back the shadow drive to twenty percent.”
“Why? That’s the initial phase for docking. I don’t see anywhere to dock.”
“Look at the navigation screen. Do you see anything?”
At first, Morg saw nothing but open space; certainly no place they could dock the transport. He was ready to tell the kid he was making a mistake slowing down when in his peripheral vision he saw a glimmering, outlined image on the screen.
“What’s this?” Morg pointed at the screen with one of his pincer fingers which was long and slender with four knuckles.
“It’s a cloaking star. It’s called Ziptowtheon. That’s where we are going to dock.”
Morg looked over at the Earthling in the co-pilot’s gyro chair. He wondered for the first time, “Who exactly is this Earthling? He’s not the immature simpleton I have mistaken him for. He knows too much about almost everything. Every time he acts like a flake, he turns around and displays an incredible amount of knowledge. Knowledge which a moron wouldn't have stored away. I thought he was lucky when he pulled off one of his escapades by dressing as a woman to escape from Feltte Six. But that wasn’t luck. It was a finely conceived and executed bit of espionage to slip through the grasp of the Feltte Six authorities.”
Morg continued to watch the Earthling. He thought about other incidents where the kid pretended to be a dunce who stumble-bummed his way through elaborate solutions. Then, the most obvious example of the kid’s hidden talents struck Morg square in the head. Where did the kid learn to fly a transport? Morg refused to believe the kid’s explanation. There was no way he learned to pilot space vehicles from playing holographic entertainment games. He might be bright but no one in the universe could become a qualified pilot from only computer-generated simulations.
“What is a cloaking star and how did you know a
bout this one?”
“Morg, you know what a ship with cloaking is. This is the same thing except it’s a small planet.”
“How is that possible? The energy needed to cloak an entire planet is … is, inconceivable. I know Krytonium can cloak a large object for a couple hours, but nonstop indefinitely is impossible.”
“Morg, I’m not sure how they do it, but they’ve figured out some power source which keeps the cloaking up around-the-clock.”
“So, how do you know about this place?”
The Earthling turned toward Morg and winked. “I have my ways, good buddy.”
There was another one of the kid’s facial expressions which had a hidden connotation. Morg ignored these expressions thinking they weren’t important. However, his opinion was changing, and it was time to learn what these signals meant.
“Well, how did you make arrangements to dock here without a working communications system?”
“I contacted Ziptowtheon before the communications panel fire. I knew the Feltte Six authorities were after us, so we had to find a place to hide while we considered our options.”
Morg turned in his chair and looked straight out through the viewing portal. Not only did the kid’s answers fit together well but they were much too slippery. He had an answer for everything. Even though he believed the kid this time, he couldn’t help thinking his answers were only a small piece of a larger explanation. There had to be more than what the kid was telling.
Morg needed a solid hour or two, without interruption, to interrogate the kid. His list of questions was growing daily. It had reached such an enormous number he was having difficulty keeping them stored in his memory in a logical sequence. He wanted to know more about his mate’s death, the fire, dressing like a drag queen and pursuit by Feltte Six Interceptors. To this list, he now added another series of questions about the cloaking star of Ziptowtheon. Who were its leaders and what was their relationship to the Earthling?
He thought it might be an appropriate time to start his questioning. With the kid preoccupied with docking procedures, he might slip up and tell the entire truth or more than he should.
“Earthling, can you tell me why the Feltte Six interceptors were…?”
That’s as far as he got when the ship’s Roboland system cut him off. The docking announcement started. “Please return to your gyro chairs and buckle the harness straps. Arrival at Ziptowe…Ziptooth…Ziptown.” The Roboland system paused for ten seconds before continuing with the landing instructions. “I’m sorry, I cannot pronounce the name of the destination planet. Our next destination will be in twelve minutes. Docking has been approved at gate two. You will be met by a representative of …. ah, of the planet.”
The kid broke out laughing. “Did you catch that, Morg. The computer couldn’t pronounce Ziptowtheon. Now, that’s funny.”
Morg understood the concept of comedy but saw no humor in a computer’s inability to pronounce a word. It was another example of how little he understood the Earthling.
Ten minutes later, the shadow drive system slowed to two percent in preparation for a safe approach into Ziptowtheon’s docking bay hangar. Morg could see the planet’s image intensify on the navigation screen but still could not spot the planet through the bridge viewing portal.
“Prepare for lock-on. Ten, nine, eight, seven….” Six seconds later, a shimmering harness beam appeared out of nowhere and locked onto the transport. Within two minutes it pulled the transport to rest in bay two.
The Earthling was up and out of his gyro chair before Morg could yell, “Don’t disappear on me, Earthling. I want to know where you are…”
As Morg performed last-minute shut-down procedures, he spotted the Earthling through the viewing portal. The kid was already out of the ship and hustling toward a group of beings standing thirty meters away near the hangar entrance door. From this distance, Morg couldn’t make out what planets were represented by the members of the reception group.
Morg started to leave the bridge but froze in place to watch the kid bow and shake hands with the reception committee members. Two of the group’s members embraced the kid and gave him a hearty hug as though they were long-lost relatives. This was more than a traditional, friendly welcome to Ziptowtheon. All these beings knew each other. Morg wondered, “How could that be?”
By the time Morg got out of the transport and walked to the group, the back-slapping, laughter, and camaraderie had stopped. The four members of the reception group had serious looks on their faces as they listened to the Earthling.
“Oh, hi, Morg. Everyone, this is my good friend, Morg, from the planet Yanda. He is escorting me back to Earth. Morg, this is….”
Morg tuned out the Earthling as he introduced each member of the reception committee. He had no interest in their names. He wanted to know where these beings came from. That would tell more about the cloaking star and their connection to the Earthling than names which were probably fictitious.
Morg played along as though he was pleased to meet these beings. All the while, he was analyzing their appearance, manner of speaking and behavior. One of the four was definitely from Earth. He had a much darker complexion and hair than the kid, but his language and speech patterns were similar.
Another member of the group was a Crelon. There was no mistaking Crelons with their bulbous foreheads and muscular forearms. What Morg couldn’t determine was whether this Crelon was a slaver or made his living in some other borderline, illicit profession.
The third member of the group was Yandan. Morg closely examined his fellow planetarian. He looked for any clues which might identify his breeding and family hierarchy. The Yandan kept quiet, knowing he was being scrutinized by Morg.
Morg didn’t have any idea what planet the fourth member of the group was from. He had been throughout the universe but never ran across a being like this one. The coloring of the being’s outer covering changed continuously. One minute he or she was violet and then it changed to a neon yellow or green. At first, Morg thought the color change was a reaction to its surroundings like a chameleon. A closer evaluation proved this to be a false assumption. Other than the odd coloring and a third leg, this creature was unremarkable.
“Morg, I'm making arrangements to have the transport completely refurbished. Each of these fine fellows is an expert in….”
Morg looked at the Earthling as though he had lost his mind.
“Excuse me, fellow beings. The Earthling and I have to talk.” Morg grabbed the kid’s arm and yanked him far enough away from the group so they couldn’t hear what was being said.
“Have you gone insane? How are we going to pay for refurbishing the transport? And, even if we could pay for it, we haven’t got the time to waste. I’ll trade the transport in for another ship, and we’ll be gone within a couple of hours.”
“Sorry, my friend. We can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are no ships for sale or trade on this planet. It’s so small, there are only three ships and you’re looking at them.” The Earthling swept the docking hangar with a wave of his hand so Morg would look at the other ships.
“Is this another of your jokes, Earthling? These ships are junk compared to the transport. Are you telling me that their owners wouldn’t take a Yandan transport in on trade for their dilapidated antiques?”
“You just met the owners of these three ships and, believe me, they don’t want anything to do with our ship. The transport is hot and there’s a Look-For bulletin out on it. Everyone within five light years is watching for it. These guys are willing to do a refurbish for us. But, they sure as hell don’t want to take the chance of drawing attention to their planet by having a Yandan transport sitting here.”
“Well, aren’t there other ships docked off-planet or can’t they have a trade-in ship brought from a near-by planet?”
“Morg, why do you think they went to the bother and expense of cloaking this planet non-stop? They don’t want anyone to know
they are here. Having ships close by would do nothing other than draw unwanted attention.”
Morg caught himself before he asked why the Ziptowtheons wanted complete secrecy. He was sure the kid would make up another lie. A lie that sounded halfway plausible yet raised more questions. He didn’t have the time to verbally joust with the kid. They needed to get back into space and complete the mission to Earth.
“How are we going to pay for this?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve made a deal with these guys. The ship will be done within two days.” Before Morg could comprehend this latest bit of information, the Earthling re-joined his reception committee buddies. What the hell did he mean by making a deal with these guys?
Morg gave up. There was nothing he could do other than go along with the kid’s plans. He re-entered the transport to retrieve his assault rife and a few personal items, so they weren't stolen. He flung the duffle bag and rife over his shoulder and headed to the exit. He had to fight his way past the mob of technicians, fabricators and repairmen entering and crawling inside, over and under the transport.
“Officer Morg, I’m JoJo and I’ve been assigned to escort you around Ziptowtheon. Where can I take you, sir?”
Morg looked down and saw a tiny being of no more than three feet in height and covered entirely in lavender fur. The creature had an impish face highlighted by a pug nose and pouting lips. There was a perpetual smile imprinted on its face even when it talked. Its eyes were abnormally large and covered nearly half the face.
Morg had no idea what this dwarfed creature was, where it came from and if it was mature or juvenile. He guessed it might be female from its name and high-pitched voice. But he didn’t know for sure. This little being might be a male or a hermaphrodite with both sex organs.
