by Doug Farren
Following through on his promise, Ken had gone to the Captain's stateroom and had apologized for challenging her authority as Captain. “I should have asked to speak to you in private,” he had concluded. “It was wrong of me to speak out against you in front of the crew like I did.”
“I appreciate your coming here,” Sheppard had replied. “The crew will get over it. To be honest, I thought about it afterwards and the more I thought about it, the more I felt I was in the wrong. We are not Chroniech. We don't kill the innocent if we don't absolutely have to.”
Ken had been speechless. He had turned to leave but was stopped when Sheppard had said, “Sit down for a moment Ken. Do you know why I hate the Chroniech so much?”
Ken had reluctantly taken a seat and replied, “I know you lost most of your family during the war, but that's all.”
What had happened next shocked Stricklen even more. The Captain pulled out a bottle of bluish liquid and poured two glasses. “I understand you like rum,” she had said. “This is a Rouldian liquor. It has a bit more kick than rum but tastes damn near the same. Please join me for a drink and I will tell you about my own troubling past.”
Four hours later, Stricklen, slightly drunk from the strong Rouldian liquor, had bid his new friend good night. He had returned to his stateroom and fallen fast asleep. The bad dreams never returned.
“Sensors are still clear,” Commander Tobunga reported from CIC. No contacts whatsoever near our destination.”
“Perhaps they’re not here yet,” Scarboro conjectured from behind the Captain's chair.
“I still don’t like it,” Stricklen, standing next to Scarboro, replied. He was nervously tapping the outside of his empty coffee mug with the nail of his right forefinger. “We are 25 light years from the Chroniech home world and I’m sure they patrol this area on a regular basis. We’ve probably already been spotted by a cloaked tracking station and even now a fleet is on the way to dust us.”
Scarboro was a bit less nervous and replied, “The Chroniech are bottled up in their own little world. Other than the Kyrra, there are no other races for them to contend with. If I were in their shoes I would have drastically reduced the number of patrols.”
Captain Sheppard divided her attention between the long-range and the short-range tactical displays. Without taking her eyes off the monitors she said, “Perhaps a cautious approach would be wise. Chief Corder, take us to battle stations. Mr. Barnes, slow us down. Take us in nice and easy.”
In response to her orders the tactical station operator touched a button on his console activating the ship’s alarm klaxon while the helmsman began the process of slowing the cruiser’s furious pace through space.
Six minutes later the executive officer, Commander Tobunga, reported from CIC. “All stations report manned and ready. Still nothing on the sensors.”
“Very well Commander,” Sheppard replied through the open com channel.
Thirty minutes later the helm activated the ship’s announcing system and said, “Dropping to normal space in twenty seconds.”
The familiar, twisting sensation that accompanied the transition to normal space passed through the crew almost unnoticed. “Full sensor sweep – maximum sensitivity,” Sheppard ordered.
The rendezvous point chosen by the Kyrra was an empty expanse of space located far from the nearest star. Nothing existed here except the hard vacuum of space. The Dragon’s sensors continued to show nothing. Seeing that the tactical display remained utterly blank, Sheppard looked up over her right shoulder to get Doug’s attention and said, “Your call Commodore; what now?”
“We wait,” Doug replied. “I’ll be in my state… ”
“Contact!” Commander Tobunga’s shouted exclamation blared from the speaker embedded in the command console. “Unknown craft bearing zero-six-one mark five-eight, range 20,000 kilometers.”
Ken’s eyes flicked to the tactical display and took in the ship’s specifications at a glance: Mass – 114 kilotons; Construction – globular measuring 310 meters in diameter; Weapons capability – unknown with no indication of active weapon systems or shielding. “It’s a Kyrra ship,” he said
“Weapons hold!” Captain Sheppard ordered. “Communications, hail them. Let's see if they respond.”
“That has to be them,” Doug remarked. “Who else could park a cloaked ship so close to us without our being able to detect it.”
A section of the main screen transformed itself into a video display and the furry face of a Kyrra appeared. “I am glad to see you again Ken Stricklen,” the Kyrra said in galactic standard. “In case you do not recognize me I am Norgoola.”
Fifteen years had passed since Ken had last set eyes on a Kyrra. It had required many days of close contact between him and the group of them he had released from stasis all those years ago before he had developed the ability to recognize a particular individual. Time had erased that ability and Ken was relieved that his old friend had remembered the limitations of the Human mind.
“It is good to see you again,” Ken replied. Motioning towards the Captain he continued, “This is Captain Francine Sheppard – she is in command of the Komodo Dragon. You, of course, remember Doug Scarboro?”
“I do. I am glad to meet you Francine Sheppard. We have much to discuss and time is short. Our shuttle is ready for immediate departure with four individuals aboard. May we come aboard your ship?”
“Of course,” the Captain replied. “We will meet you in our shuttle bay. Dragon out.”
Sheppard got out of the command chair and stretched. “Guess they were here after all. Cancel battle stations and open the bay door. Mr. Barnes, you have the bridge.”
A few minutes later, a slim, powder white ship settled to the floor of the Dragon’s shuttle bay. The hatch slipped into the wall and a short ramp extended itself. One by one, three nearly identical Kyrra appeared in the doorway and started down the ramp. Ken’s heart nearly stopped as the forth individual appeared in the doorway.
He, or she had to crouch slightly to pass through the opening. The new arrival was covered in thick, black, wiry hair and stood just over 203 centimeters tall. It was dressed in a gray, loose fitting short-sleeved shirt and matching pants that came down to just above the knees. Its two arms and legs were heavily muscled and a protruding jaw gave its face a canine appearance.
“What the hell?” was all Doug could manage.
Captain Sheppard keyed her wristcom and said, “Intruder alert! Lock down the hanger bay.”
Stricklen broke himself free from his near catatonic shock and turned his attention on the nearest Kyrra. “What the hell is a Chroniech doing aboard your ship?”
Before anyone could reply, the ship’s alarm sounded and the announcing system blared out, “Intruders on the hanger deck! Intruders on the hanger deck! Marines man your posts!”
The Chroniech had stopped near the top of the short ramp and was calmly surveying the area. Ken noticed something around its neck that he had missed earlier – a vocoder. The Kyrra had been rendered speechless by all the sudden commotion. Stricklen’s mind was racing. He knew a lot about the Kyrra and the only possible explanation popped into his mind.
Ken took a hesitant step forward and stood two meters from the first Kyrra. He recognized him as Norgoola. The sound of running marines could be heard in the distance. Looking up Ken locked eyes with the Chroniech. “You are not their prisoner, are you?”
The Chroniech seemed to be pleased with something and Ken heard a distinct growl rumble within him a moment before he replied, “You are correct. I have been a guest of the Kyrra for a considerable time.”
The Chroniech’s language was deep and full of what sounded to Ken as snarls and clicks. The vocoder around its neck faithfully translated its language into galactic standard.
Three marines appeared around the bulk of one of the Dragon’s shuttles and raised their pulse rifles to the ready position. One of them said, “Arms away from your sides!”
Stricklen looked a
t the marine who had issued the order and said, “Hold your position for one moment.”
Confused, the marine looked to Captain Sheppard for confirmation. She nodded her head but said nothing.
Turning to Norgoola Ken continued, “I need an explanation and I need it now. Why do you have a Chroniech aboard your shuttle?”
Norgoola looked at the marines then back at the Chroniech who had complied with the order and was remaining still with arms outstretched. “His name,” Norgoola replied, “is Arukt Chaktekt. He has been with us for two years and he is not a threat. He is one of the reasons why we requested the Komodo Dragon’s presence.”
Ken took one last look at the patiently waiting Chroniech then turned around and faced Captain Sheppard. “Captain, I don’t believe the marines will be required. The Chroniech is a guest of the Kyrra – an envoy if you wish. May I suggest that we move to a conference room where we can sort this all out.”
Captain Sheppard looked at Doug for confirmation. “I agree with Ken,” he replied. “I would, however, suggest we clear a path to the conference room.”
While it was true that nobody had ever seen a live Chroniech, their physical appearance was well-known throughout the Alliance. Dozens of dead bodies had been recovered and examined and images of them had been broadcast to nearly every planet. Doug did not want to cause a panic if anyone encountered them on the way to the conference room.
Shrugging her shoulders in acceptance, the Captain canceled the alert then ordered all personnel to stay clear of the route to the conference room. By this time three more marines had arrived and Captain Sheppard ordered them to lead the way to the conference room. The other marines were tasked with bringing up the rear.
Doug and Ken stood and watched as Arukt Chaktekt walked past them. On his way by the Chroniech slowed and looked them over. Ken was aware of a sense of power, strength, and intelligence.
In the passageway Doug quietly said, “I can’t wait to hear how he came to become a guest of the Kyrra.”
Ken chose to remain silent, instead he focused his attention upon the Chroniech. It was hard to believe that less than three meters in front of him was a member of a race that was determined to destroy the Alliance. He also had a hard time coming to grips with the fact that both the Chroniech and the Kyrra were members of incredibly ancient civilizations.
At the conference room door Sheppard ordered all six marines to stand guard outside the room. Inside, everyone except Arukt Chaktekt took a seat. He remained standing since the Human designed chairs could not accommodate his greater bulk.
As they entered the conference room Norgoola spotted four tall glasses of blue liquid sitting on the table. “Blue petal fizz,” he exclaimed. Turning to Ken he added, “Thank you. You remembered.”
Ken had recalled that one of Norgoola’s favorite drinks was a fruity concoction called a blue petal fizz. Luckily, the recipe had not been deleted from the ship’s computer memory and he had ordered four glasses prepared and delivered to the conference room. He was very surprised when Arukt Chaktekt reached across the table and helped himself to one.
Ken walked over to Norgoola and asked, “How are the others?”
“All that had been in stasis are doing well,” Norgoola replied after taking a sip of his drink. “Because of our unique history we tend to stay in touch. We have all become productive members of our society.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Ken replied moving over and sliding into his own seat.
The other two Kyrra were introduced as Olincha, who had been charged with learning everything possible about the Chroniech, and Cha’nacha, a hyperdimensional field specialist in charge of maintaining the hyperdimensional field imprisoning the Chroniech.
After everyone had taken a seat, Ken said, “I never thought I would see you again, Norgoola. But, from what I’ve been able to see, things have not turned out exactly as you may have planned.”
“Perhaps it would be best,” Doug chimed in, “if you would give us a brief update on what has been happening here over the past fifteen years.”
“I would especially like to learn how he,” Sheppard said gesturing toward Arukt Chaktekt, “came to be aboard your shuttle and why you didn’t warn us that he was aboard.”
Norgoola took a sip from his drink then motioned towards Olincha with his right arm. Olincha finished a long drink from his own fizz, shook his head in approval, and said, “Although time is short a brief accounting of what has transpired since the hyperdimensional field was put in place could prove useful.”
“Our original goal had been to establish a dialog with the Chroniech so we could learn why they were so unbelievably aggressive. They refused all of our attempts to contact them. We eventually gave up and simply observed.”
Ken kept glancing at the Chroniech as if he was still having a hard time believing that he was actually there. He watched in fascination as Arukt Chaktekt took an approving sip from his drink.
“Two years ago,” Olincha continued, “a small ship was observed slowly moving through the area of space where we had deployed several of our probes when we were trying to establish communications with the Chroniech. It was broadcasting a short-range FTL signal in the ancient Chroniech language asking us to contact it. Fearing a trap, we sent a probe to investigate.”
Stricklen was thunderstruck. He turned and looked at Arukt Chaktekt who had been patiently waiting at one end of the table. “You initiated contact? Why?”
“To learn the truth,” Arukt Chaktekt replied.
“The truth? About what?” Commodore Scarboro asked.
“Our race has always believed that two intelligent species cannot coexist together peacefully. One will always rise to dominate the other. This has been proven throughout our history. Prior to our race achieving space travel there were two intelligent species on our home world. For centuries we fought each other for dominance. We won.”
“In the distant past when Kyrra and Chroniech first encountered each other, my race had achieved dominance over many other races. Our history tells the story of how the Kyrra overthrew our dominant position and attempted to make slaves of us. We… ”
“But that’s not true,” Stricklen interrupted. “I’ve read the Kyrra… ”
Scarboro put his hand up in front of Stricklen's face and interrupted him, “I would like to hear his story.”
Arukt Chaktekt again seemed to growl approval then continued his explanation. “I know the truth now. Even before the Kyrra reappeared I had my doubts concerning what our history books say of our past. It is true that our civilization was nearly destroyed. But what our history fails to recognize is that the hatred of other intelligence races became ingrained into our culture because of our even more remote past. Now, we no longer dominate any species that might threaten us – we eliminate them.”
Captain Sheppard perked up. “How many of you are among the Kyrra?”
“There were five of us originally,” Arukt Chaktekt replied. “The others have returned home.”
“You let them go!” Scarboro spat out cocking his head toward Norgoola.
“They do not know where the worldship is located,” Norgoola replied.
“Why did you stay?” Stricklen asked trying to keep the conversation civil.
“I am not sure,” Arukt Chaktekt said after a moment. “I miss being surrounded by my own kind but for some reason I have not wanted to leave. I have made many new friends among the Kyrra and I do not think anyone back home would believe my story.”
“What changed your mind about interspecies peace?” Scarboro asked.
“My hobby is history. It has almost become a second occupation for me. The friends and contacts I have made over the years has allowed me to view documents and artifacts that are unavailable to the general public. Prior to encountering your Alliance our race had only found two instances other than ours where multiple intelligent species developed together on the same planet. We did not bother to learn about the relationship that existed between t
hem. Our warships obliterated them from space.”
“I’m guessing that some records from those civilizations survived,” Stricklen interjected.
“Yes. Some records survived and were retrieved by our historians. Their historical records did indicate that in both instances the two species had warred with each other for centuries but in both cases it appears as if they had worked out their differences and were living together in peace prior to our attack. Since our primary concern was to enhance our military capabilities, most of the non-military historical records that were retrieved were ignored until many years later.”
“And now?” Scarboro asked.
“The government and the military are of the opinion that the records are incomplete and a careful analysis of what is available proves that two intelligent species cannot coexist as equals. This has been disputed by a small number of scholars. Ever since we have encountered the Alliance and heard the reports that it consists of many different species apparently living together in peace the number of people believing in peaceful coexistence has been increasing.
“And you are one of these believers?” Ken asked.
“Like the vast majority of Chroniech, I considered such theories to be the product of an unstable mind. I found the theory interesting from a purely fictional standpoint. Until we encountered your Alliance.”
“I bet that upset the apple cart,” Doug chimed in. “Thirteen diverse species all possessing advanced technology living in harmony with each other.”
“Your Alliance presented a special challenge to us,” Arukt Chaktekt went on. “It was far larger and more technologically advanced than any other civilization we had previously encountered since our race had returned to space. Our leaders decided to gather as much intelligence as possible concerning your culture while our military forces were strengthened. What I found most interesting was that nobody could determine which species was the dominant one. What confused people even more was what the Kyrra did after establishing the barrier in space.”
“You mean nothing?” Doug asked.
