10 Light-Years to Insanity

by C M Dancha

After each Yandan sat down, Commander Fritase removed a mobile transcorder from his satchel. He spoke into it to unlock its voice recognition security feature.

  “Hello, Commander Fritase. How may I help you?”

  “Display non-comm message received this morning at zero-nine-ten.”

  A holographic beam of light leaped from the transcorder and created a worded message board which hovered three feet above the office floor. In a language the Lead Trifect never saw before, a variety of red symbols appeared on the message board. All were outlined by a bold, white background.

  Commander Fritase walked over to the floating message board and began explaining what the symbols meant.

  “Lead Trifect, these symbols might look somewhat familiar. Actually, they are an ancient dialect of Yandish. Troop commanders, like myself, use this dialect to communicate military orders to field officers. An enemy who intercepts a message in this ancient language is not only confused by it but is incapable of decoding it. There’s only one way for the enemy to understand this language. That's to capture one of our officers and torture him into decoding the intercepted message. Over the past couple of decades, we’ve lost about a dozen field officers. They committed suicide the instant they were captured by the enemy. Any Yandan officer fluent in this language is cranially pre-programmed to commit suicide when captured. This is one-half of the fail-safe measure pertaining to this language. We also limit the number of officers who can speak and read this language to no more than one hundred. This battle-front language has remained the most effective military weapon in our arsenal for centuries.”

  “Very interesting, Commander, but what does this have to do with what you want to show me?”

  “Only this, Lead Trifect. This morning I received the following message from someone, somewhere in the universe.” The Commander turned back to the message board and said, “Transcorder, highlight as I speak.”

  As the Commander spoke, each combination of symbols which corresponded to his words, turned a bright, neon red.

  “Trifect, Morg reporting. We are approximately six light years from Earth. Temporarily delayed. The transport is being refurbished at coordinates 2323565-505-897. Cargo intact. Will proceed without further delay to Earth.”

  When the Commander finished, the Lead Trifect sat in his chair staring at the holographic message board. He wondered if there were hidden messages within this communique. Or, was it as straightforward as the Commander made it seem?

  “Commander, did I hear you correctly? You have no idea who sent this message or where it came from?”

  “That’s correct, Lead Trifect. I have no way of backtracking to the sender's name or location. But I do know this. The message was sent to my private comm number which very few Yandans know.” The Commander anticipated the Lead Trifect's next question and added, “And, I did give my private number to Officer Morg before he left Yanda.”

  “Does this sound like the type of message Officer Morg would send?”

  “Yes, sir. Short, concise and to the point. This is the way a seasoned battlefield officer communicates.”

  “Interesting. Very interesting. Commander, can you spare a few more minutes? I’d like you to tell the other two members of the Trifect what you’ve told me.”

  It took twenty minutes before the other two members of the Trifect got across the Central Government Campus to the Lead Trifect’s office. While they waited, Commander Fritase and the Lead Trifect discussed ways to track down the source of Morg's communication. They considered every possible technical trick to backtrack to the source. They concluded there was a slim chance of finding out who sent the communication. It would take weeks, if not months, to complete the investigation. Before the discussion ended, the Lead Trifect decided that identifying the source wasn’t worth the time and effort. It was enough to know the Commander was confident the communication came from Morg.

  After a brief introduction, Commander Fritase repeated his explanation of the Morg communique. As he lectured and answered a few questions from the other two Trifect, the Lead Trifect studied the stellar charts. He wanted to see precisely which quadrant harbored coordinates 2323565-505-897.

  When the Commander finished, the Lead Trifect asked, “Commander, would you repeat those coordinates for me, again?” Without taking his eyes off the stellar charts he checked and rechecked the numbers. After the third time of having the Commander repeat the coordinates, one of the Trifect spoke up.

  “Is there something wrong, Lead Trifect?”

  “I’m not sure…. not sure at all.” The Lead Trifect rubbed and massaged the breathing gill on the left side of his neck. This was a long-time habit he developed as a Yandi.

  Finally, he turned and announced, “There’s nothing there. Nothing but open space.”

  The other three Yandans gathered in front of the stellar chart to make their own assessments. It wasn’t long before everyone in the room had puzzled looks on their faces. They wondered what rational explanation could explain this odd discrepancy.

  “Commander, have you ever known Officer Morg to make a calculation error like this before?”

  “Never, Lead Trifect. Officer Morg has been reading stellar charts for decades. Running planetary coordinate calculations is second-nature for an officer with Morg’s experience.” The Commander got closer to the stellar chart and fixed his gaze on the coordinates which Morg claimed was a planet.

  “This is interesting. There’s not a planet within a half light year of the coordinates Morg provided.” The Commander turned and faced the Trifect. “Gentlemen, you may think I’m crazy, but I think Morg’s coordinates are right. I can’t explain why there isn’t anything on the chart, but I don’t think he made a mistake. There’s something there even though we can’t see it.”

  “I agree, Commander. And, there’s something else that bothers me about this communique. There’s no mention by Morg that he is returning to Yanda as we instructed him to do. In fact, he states the opposite; he’s proceeding to Earth. Now, I’m sure he didn’t get our top-secret, crypto message even though someone claiming to be Morg acknowledged receipt of it. Someone else is making the decisions on that ship or, …. or, something is very, very wrong.”

  The Lead Trifect walked around his desk and sat on its edge. “It’s time we find out what the hell is going on with the transport and our Earthling cargo. Commander, I want you to suit up and take a pursuit interceptor out to these coordinates. I want to know what or who is there. And, after you do that, you are to chase down and intercept the transport, wherever it is in the universe. Do you understand?”

  The Commander considered challenging the Trifect’s decision for a millisecond. But he could tell by the expression on his face there was no room for discussion. Who would lead his invasion troops while he was gone? He wasn’t a time qualified pilot for the new pursuit interceptors. Why not send a more qualified pilot? He was three months away from retirement and now he was being sent on a wild-goose chase to the far reaches of the universe. How would he explain this assignment to his mate? Crap, crap, and double crap.

  Anger and rage boiled up within the Commander, but he knew it was hopeless to argue. He bowed to the Lead Trifect and said, “Yes, Lead Trifect, I understand. I will follow your directives.”

  The tram ride to the launch hanger which housed the new pursuit interceptors took a half-hour. Commander Fritase swore and grumbled during the entire ride.

  12

  “Are you ready to go?”

  Morg knew the Earthling said something but he was too engrossed to know what. He was captivated from the moment he walked into the docking bay complex. There, in bay number two was the transport. At least it looked somewhat like the ship they left Yanda in several weeks before.

  At first, he thought a new ship arrived within the past twenty-four hours and docked in bay number two. A quick survey of the docking area quashed that thought. The three antiquated ships which were in the docking bay when they arrived were still parked in their ori
ginal stalls. The remaining ship had to be the transport even though it looked quite a bit different than the vessel they arrived in.

  The entire exterior of the transport was changed to look like a cruiser. The gaudy aerial fins and stabilizer wings were removed and replaced with sleek aerodynamic extensions. The dreary blue-black color of the transport was now a burnished copper tint. It reflected exterior light and monitoring signals to help cloak the ship. The transport’s identifier number of E647 had been stripped and replaced with TED88987. The ship which arrived twenty-four hours earlier looking like a boxcar was now a sleek bird of prey.

  “Earthling, this is incredible. This is our transport, isn’t it?” Morg didn’t wait for an answer. His head was filling with so many other questions he had to get them out before he forgot what they were.

  “Is its flight response the same after these modifications? Is the flight signature the same? Has the shadow drive system been changed or updated? Is the maximum speed the same or greater?" Questions poured out of Morg. He didn't give the Earthling a chance to answer any of them. He finally stopped the questioning with, "This is unbelievable."

  The Earthling was genuinely amused by Morg’s reaction to the refurbished transport. It was refreshing seeing the Yandan get excited over a simple thing like a ship overhaul. He never would have guessed Morg could act with juvenile enthusiasm.

  The kid washed the grin from his face. "Morg, do you want to stay here all day and admire your new ride, or do you want to head for Earth?”

  Morg watched the Earthling stroll away toward the transport’s loading door. He grabbed his duffle bag but had a tough time taking the first step to follow the kid. He still couldn’t get over the ship’s transformation. He wondered how they could do such an incredible makeover in a day? He walked up to the transport’s hull and rapped on it. With each rap, there was a thunk. This ship was definitely not a dream.

  The inside of the transport looked the same as when they left Yanda. It smelled new, but nothing looked different to Morg. On closer inspection, he realized the burned-out communications sub-panel was replaced with a new one.

  The Earthling watched Morg as he walked around the bridge examining every wall, support column, screw, and fusion joint. He didn’t want to give the impression of surveilling the Yandan even if he was. He sat back and hoped the Yandan wouldn't find the eavesdropping equipment. At his request, several hundred surveillance bugs were hidden throughout the interior. Morg wouldn’t be able to say, do or think anything without the Earthling knowing about it. This was the first test to determine how well the technicians disguised and hid the bugs.

  “Morg, let’s get going, pal. We have a lot of light years to navigate.”

  Morg kept his back to the kid. Something felt different about the bridge, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. If his intuition was correct, the alteration would surface in due time. And, when it did, he could hopefully use this new information to his advantage.

  Morg slid into his captain’s gyro chair and began a preflight check. Normally, this would be a quick two- to three-minute, automated task. But, with all the new modifications to the transport, Morg wasn’t taking any chances. Who knew if any of the hundreds of technicians working on the transport made a mistake? It was best to find their screwups now while in the docking bay rather than end up marooned in deep space.

  Twenty minutes later, Morg was satisfied the transport’s systems were operating correctly. He and the kid strapped into their gyro chairs and began a slow egress from the bay.

  “Morg, put on the cloaking feature until we clear Ziptowtheon’s outer boundary.”

  “We have cloaking?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s that green switch, right there.”

  Morg looked in the direction the kid was pointing. As he leaned forward to flip the switch, Morg wondered what other features the kid put into the transport. He could have directed the Ziptowtheon technicians to add numerous modifications. And, not one of them needed Morg's approval.

  Thirty minutes later, the transport cleared Ziptowtheon’s outer boundary. There was no evidence of any other ships in the quadrant so Morg decided to shut down the cloaking feature. He wanted to put the transport through some simple evasive maneuvers. Also, he wanted to know if the transport responded and handled the same as it did before refurbishment. It was still one of the slowest vessels in the Yandan fleet but that wasn’t a good reason to ignore its capabilities and limitations. In fact, its speed limitation was an essential reason to know beforehand what the ship could and could not do in a combat situation.

  As soon as Morg put the transport through several evasive maneuvers he planned to have a long talk with the kid. He wanted to question him about everything from his friendliness with the Ziptowtheon officials to his mate's body in the cargo bay. There was little chance the kid would answer truthfully but he might slip up and get caught in a lie. That’s all it would take; just one, small, intentional lie. With that, Morg could pry open the door to the total truth.

  As if the kid knew what Morg was thinking, he got out of his co-captain’s gyro chair and started to leave the bridge.

  “Hey, where you going? Don’t you want to see what this ship can do?”

  “I’d like to stay and help, but I need to get some sleep. I was up all night. Plus, I don’t feel well. You can handle it, Morg. I have complete confidence in you.”

  The Earthling sauntered from the bridge, smiling to himself about outfoxing the Yandan once again. It was true he had been up all night and didn’t feel well. Of course, that was a logical consequence of snorting and inhaling copious amounts of Cannis.

  It had been one hell of a party with his co-conspirators and Ziptowtheon officials. The drugs flowed, and sexual partners were available and willing to please for a small pittance. And, as First Comrade Joe was serviced by a foot fetish prostitute, he wondered about Beth. What was she doing to keep her job while sidestepping his old man's sexual advances?

  13

  The transport was a light year out of Ziptowtheon. The kid was still locked in his private quarters recovering from an illness. At least that’s what he wanted Morg to believe. Actually, he was listening to Motown music and fiddling around with the new video and audio eavesdropping systems. At his request, the surveillance system was hidden around the transport during refurbishment. Learning to operate the audio and video bugs was easy because they all functioned in the same way. If you knew how to control the lens aperture on one video bug, then you knew how to do it on all. Likewise, common operating procedures applied to all audio bugs. But, the difficulty with these new systems was memorizing the location of each bug. He couldn’t record their locations because the Yandan might stumble upon the list. The only safe and secure method was to store the location information in his brain.

  He spent four hours committing to memory the location of nearly two hundred bugs. His recall was at approximately ninety percent accuracy. It was a hunt-and-peck process which reminded him of the ancient Earth game Mah Jong. His grandmother, who was an expert player, forced him to play the game for hours. She goaded him with, "One day, you’ll be glad I made you learn how to play this. It will make your memory sharp as a tack.” Now, twenty years later, her prophecy was coming true. He could finally thank her for putting him through extended misery as a child.

  He was memorizing the location of the last few bugs when the system indicated a communication was placed from the bridge. He could see it went to a private comm number somewhere in the universe. He tapped into the system the closest audio and visual bugs to where the communication originated. The quality picked up and relayed by the bugs was fantastic. He could hear Morg’s shallow breathing as he spoke in English to someone light years away.

  “Sam, this is Morg. How are you and Jimmy?” The Earthling smiled to himself and almost broke out laughing. How convenient, he thought. The recipients of the communication were identified immediately by Morg. These were the same humans Morg spoke to from the communicati
ons center on Ziptowtheon.

  “Hello, Officer Morg. We are very well, thank you. Jimmy’s friend has taken good care of us. She’s a saint.”

  Morg wasn’t sure what a saint was but could tell from the sincerity in Sam’s voice it must be something good.

  “Has anyone come looking for you?”

  “Not that we know of, Officer Morg.”

  “Good. Very good. Well, I wanted to check in with you and make sure that Jimmy…”

  Sam hurriedly cut off Morg. She knew from their last communication that Morg could end a comm without warning. She wasn’t going to let him do that again. “Officer Morg. Don’t break the connection. I have a bit of news for you which might be important.”

  “Sure, Sam. Go ahead.”

  “Word on the street is that a couple Feltte Six enforcement agents are coming after you and your passenger, whoever that is. They want revenge for the killing of their fellow enforcement agent at the foot-fetish brothel.”

  “Who told you that, Sam?”

  “Luna has heard this rumor quite often in the blind pig. She’s heard it from many different sources, so she thinks it’s legit info.”

  Morg didn’t know what to think or say. He expected Feltte Six to put out a Look-For-Wanted posting with a huge reward for the capture and return of the Yandan transport. That was logical, considering he wiped out half their space force and crews. But, would they double down and send a couple agents after the Yandan and Earthling for the murder of one agent? That wasn’t logical. No matter how Morg twisted and turned the facts, it didn’t add up to the course of action the Feltte Six authorities were taking. It would be much easier for them to let the bounty hunters of the universe take care of the transport and its crew. Something else was at play in this tragic sub-plot and Morg needed to know what it was. It could mean the difference between a safe and uneventful flight to Earth or one filled with constant hound-dog, shoot-outs.