August 4th, 3865
Planet-Master Mral was nervous. Three turns had passed since the ordeal of his formal surrender of the planet to these incomprehensible giant aliens on the main deck of their monstrous armored warship... directly beneath the tubes of those massive energy weapons, which had only recently torn gaping fissures through the massed Raknii fleet. The ceilings on Rak buildings were much too low for the aliens to navigate comfortably, and so they erected prefabricated buildings of their own, in an amazingly short period of time, here at the former prison camp where the Raknii had kept their human prisoners.
Now he found himself summoned to the new building the aliens were using as their headquarters, and he was invited to sit in a Raknii-style chair in front of a tall, long table. Behind this table sat the human’s gray-bearded commander and his four fleet-masters… those the humans called “admirals.” Although the aliens were not seated on a raised dais, as would have been the case in a Raknii judgment chamber, at nearly twice his height, their stature alone forced him to gaze upwards at them, and so induced those same feelings of smallness forced to give answer to greatness.
“Planet-Master Mral,” growled the translator at Mral’s side, in interpretation of the old one’s voice …the commander called Kalis. “Please be at ease here, as this meeting is merely an attempt to gather information to promote better understanding between us, so conflicts arising from misunderstandings between us may be avoided in the future.”
“Avoidance of conflict arising from misunderstanding is an understandably worthy goal, which I share completely, Fleet Admiral,” responded Mral. “But already I am not sure that I fully understand one of the words that you just used.”
“Which word would that be, Planet-Master?” asked Kalis.
“The word… ‘please.’ I am familiar with its usage meaning ‘to give pleasure,’ but it does not seem to fit within the context of your continued statement.”
“Good, this is exactly the kind of thing we wish to learn from this,” said Kalis. “In our language, the word please can also be used as a derivative of the word plea, to indicate a humble appeal. The difference is in the context.”
“Ah, I will note that for future reference, thank you.” replied Mral. “But I’m not sure I understand why you would choose to use such a word in this context. As conqueror, you have no need to make an appeal to the vanquished. You command and we obey.”
“The admiral was just being polite,” stated the one called Thorn. An appropriate name for such a tall, thin warrior with such a penetrating gaze.
Mral turned to face the one called Thorn and said, “Thank you, Admiral, but I’m also not sure that I fully understand the meaning of your word, polite.”
“In our culture,” replied Kalis, “within conversational settings, use of abrupt command language unnecessarily is considered abusive, so we normally soften the harshness of the impact of our words by flavoring our speech with words like ‘please’ to indicate respect for the other person and a courtesy to the listener.”
“So, if I understand you correctly, you’re saying you regularly add words such as these to enhance the flavor of your conversation to make it more palatable to the listener, much like adding salt will enhance the flavor of bland meat?”
“Exactly.”
“But why should you care whether your words are palatable to your underlings or not?”
“We find that others will put forth greater effort with enhanced focus when they feel appreciated and respected by their superiors and coworkers,” replied Kalis. “It costs little to voluntarily make such minor modifications to one's behavior and speech, but it often produces great benefits in value added to the results of team goals. Besides, it is surely better to be thought well of for courteous speech and actions, rather than reviled as chronically rude.”
Mral weighed the logic of these alien thoughts and immediately saw the wisdom there.
“Is there a word that describes this overall philosophy of intentional actions designed to prevent friction amongst you?”
“Yes” replied Thorn. “The word is manners.”
* * * *
The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin
August 4th, 3865
About an hour past local noon, a convoy of armored ground vehicles passed through the perimeter fence at the rear gate, on its way to the loading dock at BioCom’s Research and Development Lab. A message was flashed to Noreen Lucado by BioCom security, informing her that fate had just arrived. With butterflies the size of condors in her stomach, Noreen left her large, but relatively Spartan corner office and headed down to the dock to meet it… him, head-on.
The lead vehicles were just pulling up just as she arrived, and she was startled to see at least a dozen men wearing dark combat armor and carrying automatic weapons pile out. They established a defensive perimeter, one even ordering her to step back from where she’d been standing on the dock itself. Startled, Lucado stepped back to where the armored commando indicated, and watched wordlessly as the largest vehicle swung around, and backed up with its rear doors facing the loading ramp.
When the doors opened, two more commandos hopped out and one hand-signaled another of his compatriots standing next to a lift on the dock itself. The second man nodded, shouldered his weapon and then jumped onto the lift, as four others moved to assume defensive positions, facing outward on either side of the loading ramp. The commando on the lift fired it up and expertly moved it down the ramp and extended the forks into the interior of the vehicle. Moments later, as the lift slowly backed out, Noreen could see a bulky, custom-made stasis chamber, sized and shaped large enough to enclose a full humanoid-shaped body, begin to emerge from the vehicle’s interior.
Noreen’s eyebrows rose at the realization that there was a lot more than just a brain in that box. The cloning of human tissues, especially brain cultures to augment genetically engineered DNA strands to create unique hardware in the development of the artificial intelligences that made up the bulk of mankind’s computer systems, had been a tremendously difficult fight to get legalized in the first place. Countless objections on religious and other moral grounds had been raised. It was only after it had been proven that further bio-computer development would wither on the vine without it, that legislators finally acquiesced enough to “legalize” cloning of human brain tissues for such vital projects.
But they also imposed mountains of restrictions against the cloning of human and animal cultures beyond the single organ stage, to placate the fearful, the moral purists, and the church crowd. People had honestly been terrified of the prospect of artificially grown soldiers, and custom-designed animal monsters having artificial intelligence programs in place of a soul, guiding their movements. The potential for abuse was staggering, so the entire bio-computer industry labored under some of the strictest federal regulations imaginable. No wonder the baron wanted secrecy. If what she suspected was actually inside that stasis chamber, it violated so many federal laws, it made her head swim.
Tearing her eyes from the incomprehensibly large stasis chamber, she belatedly noticed a short-bearded man wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, denim pants with ragged holes showing near the knee and thighs and military style jump boots, climbing down out of the same vehicle the stasis chamber had just been taken out of. In his hand he carried a large manila envelope, bulging with paperwork — undoubtedly data cubes and specific step-by-step procedures and instructions for whatever it was she was to do with this mysterious “package.” Noreen would have approached, but the presence of the armored behemoth who had ordered her into this corner of the dock made it decidedly prudent for her to wait for “the bearded carpenter,” as she had mentally pegged him, to come to her. Two questions immediately contended for attention in her mind.
Just who is this blue-collar longshoreman and where the hell is the baron?
She didn’t have to wait long. The bearded one climbed the ramp and walked directly towards her as another half dozen people wearing white lab coats piled o
ut of yet another vehicle and followed at a distance. It became painfully obvious that the raggedy pants guy with the beard was in charge here, as he walked directly past the towering guard, paying him seemingly no notice at all. He stopped just outside of her circle of socially accepted personal space and said, “Ms. Lucado, I presume?
Noreen nodded and answered, “Yes… I take it you represent the baron?”
The bearded man gave her an enigmatic smile and said, “Yes… as implausible as it might appear, I have been charged with overseeing this project.”
Noreen studied this unlikely specimen the baron had sent her.
God, what was the baron thinking, when he put this neanderthal in charge?
Actually, if she overlooked the frayed holes in his jeans, she had to admit that he was rather pleasant to look at… in a rugged, outdoorsy sort of way. Certainly not the type she’d have ever chosen logically, but there was undeniably an animal attraction on a much deeper, primal level.
Oh God… one of those alpha-male types with more balls than brains. Down hormones! He’s just a piece of eye candy, as shallow as a bathtub, with the charm of a puppy, and the intellect of a green bean. I’ll bet he’s even got a snuff can in his back pocket too.
Noreen allowed herself a mental eye roll that never reached her face, but couldn’t help an almost imperceptible little shake of her head. “So, just where is the baron, himself?” asked Noreen. “I was told that he would be arriving personally,”
“Oh, believe me,” replied the lumberjack. “Baron Guderian is quite close by. Shall we proceed to your lab?”
With all of the armed guards he’d brought with him, it never occurred to Noreen to question the man’s credentials. She merely nodded and said, “Follow me, please… we’ll take the route the lift carrying the stasis chamber can maneuver.”
“Stasis chamber? Is that what that thing is?” asked the bearded one.
Surprised, Noreen glanced over at the hunk walking beside her and answered, “You didn’t know what it was you were bringing me?”
“No need. My job was to get it here and see to it that those lab rats behind us get access to your equipment, so they can work their magic on whatever’s in the box.”
“So, you really have no idea of exactly what it is that you’ve brought me, either?” Lucado asked.
“Not a clue. Outside my pay grade.”
Noreen contemplated her dilemma as she escorted the baron’s entourage towards the lab. The entire lab was deserted, as her instructions had specified that the baron would be bringing his own specialists with him, to conduct the actual work. It was only her unique equipment that was needed, not her people nor their expertise.
Odd, my people are some of the very best in the industry. I wonder who these “specialists” are?
As she walked, she wrestled with the potential ethical issues she faced here. On one hand, she strongly suspected from the stasis chamber’s shape and unprecedented size that whatever the baron had inside it was illegal as all hell. On the other, she didn’t truly know anything of the sort. TBG owned BioCom and the baron owned TBG, so technically he owned everything BioCom owned. Was she responsible for whatever the baron wanted to do with his equipment that just happened to reside in her lab?
My lab? Pfft… HIS lab, actually… He owns it all. I’m merely a custodian here.
As they proceeded down the long hall, Lucado turned to glance back over her shoulder. Behind the “specialists” marched four of those dark armored commandos holding automatic weapons in the port arms position. Noreen shivered.
With those armed goons back there, it’s not like I really have a lot to say about what’s going on here anyway. Perhaps it’s just as well that I don’t actually know any of the details. For once in your life, Noreen, check your curiosity at the door, put your moral compass away in a drawer, bite your tongue and just go with the flow. Plausible deniability might be the only thing that keeps you out of prison, if word of this ever gets out.
* * * *
The Planet Kitty Litter
August 4th, 3865
“Now, Planet-Master,” said Fleet Admiral Kalis. “We have assumptions, of course, but could you please explain to us exactly ‘why’ it was that your people attacked the human race at Minnos without prior provocation?”
“You wish me to explain why a predator hunts prey? It is our nature. It is what we are and how we live.”
“We are quite familiar with predators, Planet-Master. How is it that the Raknii came to define humanity as prey?”
“You are not Raknii. All species, other than Raknii, are viewed as prey.”
“Are there not creatures that you do not hunt, because they are known to be too deadly to prey upon?” asked the one called Hunter. Hunter was another aptly named human. With short, bristly red-gold fur on his head, he moved with the flowing grace of a hunter.
“There are instances of creatures whose meat is known to be poisonous, and therefore worthless as prey. We do not hunt those, for to eat of them is death.”
“What about creatures that are just too ferocious for Raknii to bring down?” asked Hunter.
“There are no creatures too ferocious for the Raknii to bring down,” Mral asserted. “There are some that would be deadly for a single Rak to attempt alone, so those we hunt in groups. When found in packs, they are hunted by yet larger groups.”
“That was certainly a pretty large group you had assembled here prior to our recent attack,” said the one called Turner. Mral understood that to mean “one who turns,” but he had no context for any deeper understanding of the name.
“Yes… your weaponry came as a bit of a surprise to us, so after what we experienced during our initial attack on your planet, it was assumed we would need great numbers before attempting any further attacks.”
“Now that we have demonstrated the superiority of our weapons, how might we go about pursuing a peace between our peoples, that future conflicts might be avoided?” asked Kalis.
Mral turned again to look directly at Kalis before answering. He was honestly puzzled by the human’s question.
“Avoid future conflicts? Why would you desire to avoid future conflicts? At least for the moment, you appear to be winning.”
* * * *
The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin
August 4th, 3865
As soon as the stasis unit was set down in the designated area of the lab, the six lab-coated specialists swarmed over it like worker bees. Without even taking a moment to orient themselves to the unfamiliar arrangement of BioCom’s equipment, they unerringly selected probes and connector cabling from the myriad of configurations hanging along the back wall, and began hooking them into jacks revealed when a hidden panel at one end of the stasis chamber was opened. Without hesitation, they also began connecting the opposite ends into BioCom’s brand new AIP-10K state-of-the-art “brain burner”… a revolutionary breakthrough in high-speed, asynchronous, multi-channel bio-computer programming systems recently developed by a relatively obscure German company. The AIP-10K arrived unexpectedly three weeks earlier and had just completed installation, testing and calibration by factory techs a mere week previously. Lucado originally assumed the expensive multi-million dollar system had been ordered and purchased by the previous administration, but now she wasn’t so sure.
German… hmm. I wonder if the baron owns that company too?
Noreen felt a slight twinge of disappointment when she realized that she wouldn’t be getting a peek at whatever lay inside the stasis unit, as they weren’t going to have to open it at all. The interface connections to the organic materials inside had already been made at whatever facility had grown the “package” and were routed out to the hidden access panel on the outside of the unit. They also connected the stasis chamber to utility power through the lab’s uninterruptible power unit to allow its batteries to recharge. As a tertiary backup, they also started the lab’s emergency generators and after allowing their outputs to stabilize, they
synchronized frequency and phasing, slaving them to the utility signal so that any emergency switchover would be automatic and seamless.
Whoever these “specialists” are, they certainly appear to know what they’re doing.
Mr. Macho of the ragged pants was listening intently and nodding at something inaudible, being shared in a low voice by the eldest and grayest of the specialists.
Yeah, like he really understands a word of that techno-babble the scientific eggheads speak… right!
Noreen unconsciously shifted a couple of feet to the right to view them from a slightly different angle.
Hmm, no snuff can after all… Nice butt, though.
* * * *
The Planet Kitty Litter
August 4th, 3865
“We have fought each other only because your people forced it upon us, not because we wish you as enemies,” said Kalis.
“Is it not nature's way that every species place on the food chain be determined, so that all are aware of their true place upon it? How can there be peace between different species until dominance is established between them?” Mral asked. “We are not enemies because the Raknii simply wish it, but simply because we are. Until mastery is established, how can it be otherwise?”
“That is indeed the way of nature amongst mindless beasts,” said Kalis. “But cannot intelligent beings come to recognize others as equals, and respect one another’s right to coexist peacefully without one side being totally subjected to the other?”
“You are not Raknii and I am not human,” replied Mral. “How then, can we be equals? Even amongst Raknii, there are few true equals and where it exists, conflict rages until the natural quest for dominance between them is resolved.”
Bat was right, thought Turner. He said they had to be at each other’s throats.
“Why must one necessarily dominate the other?” asked Kalis. “Cannot both live in peace through mutual respect, without one actually dominating the other?”
Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2) Page 29
