by T. R. Harris
“And Adam Cain?” Rodoc asked.
“That is unknown,” Morlon answered. “Yet it would make sense that the Kac’s greatest player would make a move on our home ground.”
One of the others at the table laughed. “It is but one ship,” said Grand Master Hant (122) Lindon-Ca. “I hear concern in your voice regarding this threat.”
Hant was one of the oldest in attendance, and Rodoc noticed a slight frown appear on the face of the Cadre officer following his statement. It almost implied fear on the part of Morlon.
“It is not concern you hear, Master Hant, but curiosity,” Morlon replied evenly, maintaining his composure. “The players of the Kac operate according to purpose, just as we. Therefore, there must a purpose for this incursion. The fact that the ship is here would indicate so. It could be merely for reconnaissance, or more tactical in nature. It is our challenge to find the true mission of the vessel, whether it be manned by Adam Cain or some other player from the Kac.”
“Morlon is correct,” said Rodoc. “This single vessel risked much—even with its capacities—to come here. Yet I doubt it is for reconnaissance, otherwise it would not have appeared in the middle of our fleet for all to see and note. So what other purpose does a single ship operating beyond enemy lines serve within a game plan?”
The question was voiced rhetorically, and the master players in attendance knew the answer as well as Rodoc. Still, they deferred to his position for the reveal.
“They are on a mission of sabotage, employing a stealth vessel capable of entering areas under strict quarantine. They care not that we know of their presence, because they believe their technology to be superior and unstoppable.”
“I must concur with them on that point,” said Dasic. “So the next questions become: What is their target and what can we do to stop them?”
Any number of the guests could answer those questions. They were the most-experienced players of the Nuorean race. Tactics and strategy was their life. Yet, again, they deferred to their leader.
“Even without an extensive knowledge of our social, military and industrial structure, our opponents would know that our system must be diverse and wide-spread. Even if the alien ship carries some form of super-weapon capable of destroying an entire planet, to eliminate Nuor would do little to stop our activities in the Kac. The only way to do that would be to destroy our ability to reach them.”
“Yet to reach LP-6, they would have to transition through the LP-5 portal,” said Grand Master Hant, stating the obvious.
“Exactly,” Rodoc replied. He placed another holographic display above the table. It showed the two galaxies, with the Suponac twice as large as the Kac. In the void between was a pulsating blue dot with a white line connecting the two galaxies. There was another blue dot, halfway between the Suponac and the larger flashing blue dot. A line joined the galaxy with the midpoint station—LP-6.
“It took two hundred years to reach into the galactic void and build LP-6. We did it in stages, building other generators that would allow us to extend farther out. The LP-5 is our link with LP-6 and its only access.”
“Then we should shut it down,” Hant said. “Do not allow the aliens even the chance of reaching LP-6. And destroy the Human vessel at the earliest opportunity.”
There was a nervous silence around the table. Rodoc knew what the others were thinking: Grand Master Hant was growing senile. He had lost his instincts, those that had allowed him to reach such a lofty position within Nuorean society. This happened from time to time. Minds atrophied and memories faded. Rodoc made a mental note to exclude the senior Grand Master from any further strategy sessions. It was no disrespect; if Rodoc ever reached such a point in his life, he would wish others to place him in a comfortable place to live out the remainder of his life without endangering the society.
“If I may, Grand Master, I might suggest an alternative strategy,” Rodoc said to Hant. “I do not feel LP-6 is in real danger. The obstacles the Human must surmount to reach it would be considerable. Rather, I say we hunt down this intruder and capture their ship. With such cloaking technology, our fleets could move throughout the Kac with impunity. We could achieve so much more with less effort and fewer casualties.”
No one looked at Hant, except Rodoc. The elderly Grand Master mouthed something silently before nodding. “Yes, that is a much more sensible plan. I defer to you, Rodoc. There is reason you lead. I spoke before considering the best course of action.”
Rodoc smiled. “That is why we hold such meetings, my friend, to study a challenge from all angles, having heard all options.”
The sun had set into the black sea, the wondrous lights of the Suponac making their presence known across the sky. Rodoc pushed away from the table.
“Let us conclude this portion of the planning session. Food will be served on the grand balcony and accommodations made for those not wishing to return to their homes this evening. Discuss details among yourselves. In two days I will come to Indisor and view your various ideas for executing the plan. For now, relax and enjoy the beautiful view.”
Rodoc met Morlon’s eye. A subliminal message passed between the two. They would meet later. There was more to discuss.
Half of the attendees would be staying over, their bellies filled with the best meal the Nuorean race could provide their most senior leaders. The others would be heading to their own estates or back to the capital city of Indisor. The Third Cadre was headquartered on Nuor; their members had homes in the city. Morlon (783) would be staying at the estate.
Rodoc was near the railing of the balcony, lost in the soft swish of the waves below and the brilliant glow of the Suponac sweeping across the star-filled sky. Morlon stepped up to him, a drink in each hand. The leader of the Nuorean people took one of the glasses.
“You have more to say regarding this situation,” Rodoc said quietly. “Speak now; the meeting is thinning out.”
The Third Cadre officer leaned in closer to his superior. “It has to do with the cloaking feature. I believe it is more.”
Rodoc frowned. “More? In what way?”
“My suspicions come from the fate of the trailing cruiser. If the aliens had a simple means of cloaking their presence—and that cloak extended to include the other vessel—how was control of our ship obtained?”
“Control?”
“Yes. If our ship became cloaked, it could have easily maneuvered away from the influence. It did not. Add to this, the aliens still had to navigate out from the center of our fleet, all the while with a ship five times their size in tow. Yet we detected no magnetics, no gas residual, no gravity wave signatures—nothing, for either ship. The final point: We lost all communications and transponder signal with our cruiser the moment the alien ship disappeared.”
“You are suggesting a means of teleportation, similar to our transit portals, yet on a much smaller scale?”
“I do not know how they do it, yet you are right. The ship wasn’t cloaked—it shifted position in space somehow, and it took our ship with it.”
Rodoc stretched a thin smile across his face. “Then there is a possibility our problem has been solved. Our warship may have destroyed the alien vessel once arriving at their new destination.”
“We would have received word by now if that had happened—”
Rodoc waved his hand impatiently. “I wasn’t being serious, Morlon. I’m sure the aliens were quite prepared to deal with our craft, otherwise they would not have invaded the fleet. They showed an arrogant disregard for the risk they were undertaking.”
“Unless they did not consider it a risk. The aliens—and I assume they must be Human—have experienced our technology and strategies for over a cycle now. I do not believe them to be stupid or reckless. They made this journey with full knowledge what to expect.”
“And yet still they made it.” Rodoc turned back to the sea, resting his free hand on the railing. “Never in our history has an enemy taken such a bold action. Yes, long ago, fleets united again
st us, to no avail; however, this is a single ship on a singular mission.”
“Those accepting death as a final result can be very hard to stop,” Morlon cautioned.
“You believe this to be a mission of ultimate commitment?”
“You know as well as I the chances for success, on any level. And to expect a safe return to the Kac as well? The Humans may be bold and brash, but they are not stupid or delusional.”
Rodoc felt a welling up in his chest. He was growing excited with the conversation. This was what Nuoreans lived for, the challenge, the competition, and the greater the foe the better. Yes, the aliens may achieve their end goal—they could destroy LP-6. But the Nuoreans would simply rebuild the station, even if it took another two hundred cycles. Their society would not suffer. In the interim, they would draw more aliens from the Suponac Galaxy and place them in the arenas. Life would go on, even if immunity points would become scarcer.
But now it was the technology of the alien ship that was the most intriguing to the Grand Master. How had they achieved such a breakthrough? And as was mentioned at the meeting, why was this technology—be it cloaking or teleportation—not being utilized within the Kac? If it had, the Nuor would have been driven out long ago. But Rodoc’s forces were still there. The logical conclusion was that the only working model of the teleportation device was within this single ship. And now it was in the Suponac.
Morlon waited patiently for his Master to speak. Rodoc turned to him.
“You admire these Humans, do you not Morlon?”
“They produce results, even without trying. You have experienced that first-hand, Master.”
Half a cycle ago, Rodoc went up against a Human in a challenge of opportunity, in his private arena and under the watchful eye of the Third Cadre.
After the Cadre officer Azon (1,901) was nearly killed by one of the unskilled Humans brought to Nuor for study, the remaining four prisoners were given over to the Grand Masters so they could acquire first-hand experience with this enigmatic race from the Kac. The contests were held in secret, with the Third Cadre looking on for any sign of danger to their Masters.
It had been four cycles since Rodoc had last met an opponent in the arena, although he still practiced every day, even at his age. The Human he selected was one with black skin, standing nearly as tall as the Grand Master. He was well-muscled and showed coordination when he moved. Morlon insisted on being at the contest, even though he’d lost the argument against such a challenge being held in the first place. It was too risky for the leader of the Nuorean race to undertake. Nevertheless, Morlon would guarantee the safety of his leader as best he could—or as much as Rodoc would allow him.
The Human player was given a sword, but no shield. Even the Grand Master entered the ring absent a shield and no armor to speak of. He wore only a wrist guard on his sword arm.
The contest began slowly, the Human scared and tentative. From his first steps and awkward swings, it was evident he had no prior training in this method of fighting. Yet even in this first feeling-out round, Rodoc experienced the power of the alien in the sword clashes. Humans come from a world with substantially higher gravity than Nuor. This made them stronger and faster. This advantage was expected and taken into account. Yet by itself, it would not be enough to overcome the skill and years of experience of the Grand Master.
Rodoc toyed with the Human at first, allowing him to gain confidence the longer the contest continued. They took a break five minutes into the contest, during which the aging Nuorean recovered from the exertion. The Human showed no signs of fatigue, another benefit of the lighter gravity of Nuor.
When the contest resumed, the Human displayed even more confidence. He seemed to ignore the imposing surroundings and the attendant Cadre guards, which numbered fifteen, each ready to act if needed. Even if the Human managed to kill the Grand Master, he would surely die, if then at the hands of the Third Cadre. On some level the Human ignored this reality and focused all his attention on the Grand Master. Live or die, he was going to put up the best fight possible.
That’s when Rodoc discovered the sheer force of will of the Humans. They were much like the Nuor; winning was everything, even if only for the moment. The alien knew he was going to die, but he wanted to go out with a victory.
The Human’s growing confidence ended up being his downfall. He knew he was stronger and faster than Rodoc, so he put all his focus on that, swinging wide and hard with his sword to wear down his opponent. Rodoc let him believe he was doing just that—which, of course he was; Rodoc was not a young Nuorean any longer. But there was more to swordplay than strength and endurance.
At one point their swords met, with the Human driving Rodoc’s blade into the dusty soil of the arena. He held it in place with his superior strength, preventing Rodoc from lifting his weapon from the ground. Through the corner of his eye, Rodoc saw the Third Cadre guards begin to move in, but he wasn’t ready to surrender his victory to others.
Instead of fighting against the Human’s superior strength to lift his sword, Rodoc simply slid it out towards him, freeing the blade. Then he spun, holding the blade out at arm’s length. The tip barely reached the Human, but it was enough to slice open the skin on the alien’s neck and left shoulder. The creature stumbled back, using his free hand in an attempt to stop the flow of blood gushing from the wound. It was to no avail.
Like most creatures of advanced evolution, the brain was fed by a master artery. The one in the neck of the Human had been severed and was now pumping out streams of thick, red blood with each beat of the heart.
Rodoc stood back—as did the Cadre guards—and watched the Human drop to his knees. His face was expressionless, his eyelids beginning to droop. Rodoc knew the alien was in shock and would be turning cold from the loss of blood. Moments later, the eyes closed completely and he toppled over to his left, the top layer of dirt absorbing the pool of blood as the flow subsided, until it was a mere trickle.
On that day, Rodoc had met Morlon’s scolding look with understanding. Here was an untrained alien facing the most-skilled—at one time—player in the Nuorean race, and even though Rodoc could have ended the contest at any time, the Human had showed a remarkable ability to adapt to his surroundings. Swords were not the preferred weapon of his race, yet he took to it instinctively. Where he gained such insight was a mystery to both Rodoc and Morlon.
However, the lesson was learned. Rodoc had met a Human and experienced their craftiness, strength and temperament. He catalogued the contest within his mind, along with the one thousand, four hundred, eighteen other challenges he had won over his playing career.
From that moment on the Human race was declared Jundac—an alien species too dangerous for standard immunity challenges, perhaps too dangerous for any challenges. The Third Cadre—at the direction of Grand Master Rodoc—began devising plans for the eventual destruction of the Human’s homeworld—the planet Earth. The Human race was too dangerous to exist.
94
Copernicus Smith flew between the bent and twisted girders that had once been the main superstructure of the dead Nuorean battlecruiser. The internal gravity wells of the Najmah Fayd had been shut down, allowing the three-person repair crew to operate in zero-g surrounding the vessel. Coop, Riyad and Kaylor each wore spacesuits with small maneuvering jet packs on their backs. They also carried laser cutters with power packs strapped around their waists.
The damage to the Najmah Fayd wasn’t as bad as it first looked. Although the ship was buried deep into the broken beams of the much-larger spacecraft, only one of the redundant comm antennas had been torn off. This could have been serious—if they had anyone in this galaxy to communicate with. As it was, the surviving antenna would do fine.
The Najmah Fayd was being held in place by five arching beams, resembling the rib cage of a blanched desert skeleton. These had to be cut through before they could escape. The team positioned themselves around the base of the first stanchion.
“I’m wor
ried about Adam,” Riyad said through the helmet comm.
“How so?” Copernicus asked.
“He seems to be saving our hides at an accelerated rate these days.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
A brilliant beam of light lit up the tangled mass of metal, wires and floating conduit tubes—along with a few frozen Nuoreans. Kaylor had set to work on the other side of the huge beam with this torch. Riyad ignited his and the pair began cutting through from opposite sides.
“I’m jealous,” replied Riyad. “We used to share the glory. Now he’s hogging it all for himself.”
“He’s always been like that,” Copernicus said. “Still, I know what you mean. He’s done some pretty nifty piloting recently. I still have the bruises to prove it.”
“I could have done the same,” Kaylor countered over the comm line. “Opportunity is often the precursor to glory.”
Riyad and Coop looked at each other through their faceplates and smiled. An alien with an inferiority complex.
“I’m sure by the time this mission is over, you’ll have plenty of chances to be the hero, Kaylor,” Riyad said.
“That is not what I meant. I was simply—”
“That’s okay, my friend. At one time or another, we’ve all been overshadowed by the magnificence that is Adam Cain.”
“You know I can hear you?” Adam said through the helmet speakers.
Copernicus checked his comm controls. “How…we’re on a private link?”
“You forget about my little gift from the Formilians,” Adam replied. “The ATD can pick up all nearby transmissions, as long as the equipment is controlled by their technology.”
Riyad chuckled. “It was a compliment, my friend.”
The first beam was cut, and the Copernicus helped guide it away before giving it a strong shove. The arching piece of metal—fifty-feet long—began to drift away. Kaylor was already at work on some of the smaller entanglements before moving onto the next huge beam. They had four more to cut away.
