Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2)

by Gibson Michaels

  “Differences always generate conflicts,” said Mral. “Unless dominance is established between the differing parties, how then may future conflicts between them be avoided?”

  “You fight… to establish dominance… to avoid further fighting, is that it?” asked Thorn.

  Mral turned again towards Thorn and answered, “Exactly… it is the way of nature. Without the establishment of dominance, all degenerates into chaos.”

  “So,” replied Kalis. “How is it that the Raknii establish dominance amongst themselves? With so many of you, surely you can’t have all fought personal dominance combat with everyone around you… there’d be no time for accomplishing anything else.”

  “No, you are correct in that assumption. Long ago in our pre-history, the Raknii struggled amidst the chaos created by our predatory natures, just as you have surmised. Fortunately our god took pity upon us and established the ranking system among us that overrides the bestial, competitive natures of our males that has allowed us to advance beyond tribal barbarism and progress to where we now fly amongst the stars.”

  “I take it then, that each individual’s specific rank is denoted by the variety of gemstones we have noted being worn upon the foreheads of most of your people?” asked the one called Stillman. Mral interpreted this one’s name as meaning “one who does not move” — obviously indicative of a hunter of infinite patience.

  “Yes, that is correct. Perhaps it would be helpful for you to have a better under understanding of how our ranking system functions, so I will forward papers, translated into English, of course, which denotes the meaning of each rank stone worn by my people.”

  “That would be most helpful, thank you,” said Kalis.

  Mral still had no idea of the implied meaning behind Kalis’ name. Perhaps it derived from one of the other human languages he’d heard about.

  “Now,” Kalis continued, “could you please tell us how it was that you came to be placed in command of this entire planet?”

  “I was elevated from my former position of Planetary District-Master by the express command of Quadrant-Master Drix.”

  “I see,” said Kalis. “And what exactly did that elevation in rank entail? Was there some sort of ceremony or rite involved?”

  “Yes, I underwent the rite of ascension.”

  “And what exactly did that entail, that allowed you to function in this new level of authority which you had previously been subject to?”

  Mral hesitated and then admitted, “I honestly do not remember. I partook of the holy elixir and apparently lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was wearing the rank-stone of a planet-master and no longer felt the compulsion to obey holders of similar rank.”

  Compulsion… Damn if that doesn’t sound like hypnosis. It appears that Bat was right about that one too, thought Turner. How the hell does he do that?

  * * * *

  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin

  August 4th, 3865

  “I’m told they’re synchronizing the data speeds coming in from multiple comm lines and starting the initial handshaking routines to establish communications with the package… er, I mean stasis chamber, as you called it.”

  Noreen glanced up at Mr. Torn Jeans, who had come up beside her while she’d been woolgathering. “Comm lines? You mean they’re not loading directly from memory cubes, as is usual?” she asked.

  “No, I’m told there’s way too much data required to do it that way, so they intend to download from a remote computer in real-time.”

  “Remote computer?” Noreen was startled. “There are only two computers on Massa that I’m aware of that are sophisticated enough to outperform locally loaded memory blocks for a bio-computer programming operation… that big Crayfish monster over at the Massa Institute of Technology and the military’s local version of CLOWNEMS… their Command, Logistics, Operations, Weapons, Navigation & Engineering Master System, which is slaved to the United Stellar Alliance Fleet Defense Command Master Computer in Waston.”

  The rugged T-shirted one merely shrugged and said, “Beats me, but the eggheads tell me this part of the operation should take them another hour or two, while they finish running total system diagnostics, before they can even attempt to start the download.

  “Could I interest you in a cup of nasty machine coffee from your cafeteria in the interim? I’ll buy.”

  Noreen snorted. “Sure you can afford it, sport? Actually, I really should go back to my office if we have some time… I have work that I should be doing.”

  The bearded-one gave her an obviously patented little smirk and said, “Well, how about I up the ante and throw in a 3-day old tuna sandwich and a bag of stale chips?”

  Blue… his eyes are blue. Bedroom eyes.

  Noreen gave herself a little shake and said, “Ah… no thank you. I really should get back to work.”

  “You sure that I couldn’t entice you with an egg salad or a dried out ham and cheese? I might even spring for a petrified meatball hoagie, if it became absolutely necessary. I really hate to drink alone.”

  Noreen couldn’t help giving in to a small chuckle.

  It’s been a long time since a man made me laugh.

  “I really wouldn’t recommend that battery acid that comes out of our cafeteria machine, to anyone. But if you really want coffee, I have a pot in my office, where I can make you some of the real thing.”

  “Oh, be still, my heart… that’s the best offer I’ve heard in a long time. Lead on, pretty lady.”

  Noreen turned and walked towards the elevators.

  Pretty lady.

  “You know, in some circles that kind of comment could get you slapped with a sexual harassment suit.”

  “Sorry… I don’t associate with the chronically anal-retentive crowd very often, so my ‘political correctness’ revisions are likely to be hopelessly out of date. Feel free to provide necessary updates, as required.”

  Why in the hell did you invite this guy to your office and volunteer to make him coffee? This was definitely not one of your better ideas, Noreen.

  * * * *

  The Planet Kitty Litter

  August 4th, 3865

  “We humans evidently have somewhat better personal self-control over the bestial side of our natures than do the Raknii, which has allowed us to discover methods of resolving conflicts among us through negotiation,” stated Kalis.

  “Negotiation,” said Mral. “I have heard of this concept. How differs this term negotiation in definition, from the word argument?”

  Good question, thought Kalis. I’ve known a lot of politicians who didn’t understand the difference between them either.

  “The word argument denotes a verbal conflict where neither side is really listening to the logic of what the other side is saying, and is attempting to coerce a consensus between them through sheer force of will,” answered Kalis. “Negotiation is where the two sides enter into discussions in the spirit of mutual cooperation and are prepared to make concessions to portions of their position to arrive at a mutually acceptable compromise.”

  “Compromise… does this not imply a situation where neither side fully achieves its goals and therefore, neither side can be fully satisfied when the final result is a mixture of contradictory or conflicting parts?”

  “That can happen on occasion, but often those kinds of less-than-desirable agreements are reached only when the result is better than continued conflict, or nothing at all,” Kalis replied. “Often, an agreement can be discovered through the process of discussion that is actually better than either position alone… where the result is greater than merely the sum of its parts, such as metallic alloys that result in achieving materials stronger than any of its components alone.”

  Or Trakaan trading multiple virgin planets and agreeing to share information about these humans, for the return of their relatively useless worlds that are already filled with aliens, thought Mral. Yes, I see the logic in this. Not always workable of course, but definitely worth
pursuing when the alternatives are mass death and extinction.

  * * * *

  Chapter-31

  In Appalachia, children were stunted by poverty.

  In Affluencia, children are stunted by wealth. -- Steve Blow

  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin

  August 4th, 3865

  Diet followed Noreen Lucado into the elevator and, after a few seconds of awkward silence as it rose to the top floor of the facility, again down the hall towards her office. He couldn’t help but admire the very feminine sway of her hips as she walked. Diet’s inherent awkwardness around women was spiking around this raven-haired beauty. Intelligent, beautiful, sexy… Diet couldn’t imagine a woman like her ever having the slightest interest in a tongue-tied klutz like him. But he was glad he’d taken off that Italian suit on the plane and worn his grubbies for this part of Hal’s mysterious project. He certainly hadn’t known he’d be meeting a tongue thickener like her, but he liked the idea that she had no idea of his true identity. If he ever really did get the opportunity to establish some kind a relationship with a woman, he wanted her to like him for who he was as a person… not simply because he was the richest man in all humanity.

  Money did strange things to people. Many succumbed to the seductive lie that having full access to all of the finer things in life somehow made them superior to those who did not. Diet had never felt tempted to buy himself an entourage of artificial “friends” or indulge in toys, mansions, yachts or any of the other common trappings of the idle rich.

  Rich yes, but not nearly “idle” enough for that kind of nonsense.

  Diet certainly had access to all of those things if he needed them, like the palatial corporate spaceplane he’d used to go to Io and fetch Hal’s package back here to Massa. But he saw them merely as tools that helped him get things accomplished… like that $5 million a bottle cognac he’d shared with J.P. Aneke, when he’d blackmailed the most powerful man in the Alliance into selling him those Starquest Aerospace facilities at Joja that they’d needed to begin production of the Ghost-class intelligence ships for the Confederacy.

  Diet had never became a slave to his possessions, or even really thought about anything that he “owned” very much, as he’d remained free of the day-to-day concerns and responsibilities of owning and operating a corporate empire employing hundreds of thousands of people. Hal took care of all that for him, so none of it had detrimentally affected his personality in any of the normal ways. It was “all on paper,” and therefore unreal as far as Diet was concerned… much like “the baron,” who was merely a paper persona whom he donned on occasion, as the need arose. Yes, he was definitely glad that he hadn’t worn that Italian suit and been stuck in his artificial “baron” persona, when he’d first met Noreen Lucado. In his comfortable grubbies, he could just be himself… the self that he’d really like Ms. Lucado to think well of.

  Diet followed the luscious Noreen Lucado into her large, but surprisingly Spartan, corner office. As he quickly scanned the room he remarked, “I take it you haven’t had time to personalize your office yet.”

  “No, this place was a complete financial mess when I got here, and decorating my office didn’t seem like a high priority item on my ‘to do’ list for a long time,” she explained, as she opened a large oak credenza against a sidewall to reveal a complete menagerie of various expensive coffee-making systems.

  “All this was left behind by my predecessor after they shipped him off to federal prison,” she said. “He apparently fancied himself some kind of coffee gourmet, so there’s a bit of almost everything in here: Espresso, Espresso Con Panna, Espresso Macchiato, Cappuccino, Caffe Mocha, Caffe Latte or any one of dozens of exotic flavored coffees… just pick your poison.”

  Diet looked like a deer caught in a vehicle’s headlights, with the confusing array of unfamiliar choices before him. “Uh… honestly, I have no idea what most of all that swanky stuff even is. I guess I’m just more of the simple coffee-coffee type. What do you normally have, Ms. Lucado?”

  “In the afternoons, I generally have green tea, but as I know you macho types aren’t into that kind of girly stuff, perhaps a cup of my usual morning brew will be more to your liking,” she said as she closed credenza and opened a door in the large cupboard located behind her desk. There in a darkened recess stood one of the rattiest old coffee brewers that Diet had even seen.

  “I guess I really should replace this dinosaur with something more presentable, but I’ve had it since my freshman year in college and just became accustomed to the taste of the coffee that comes out of it. I’m really rather surprised the poor old thing hasn’t died of old age before now.”

  “Now that’s my kind of coffee pot!” Diet exclaimed in delight as he viewed the ancient thing.

  Noreen smiled and said, “Yes, I kind of thought it might be.”

  Ten minutes later, the coffee had finished brewing and Noreen handed him a heavy stoneware cup, brimming with aromatic blackness. “Have a seat Mister… uh… what is it that I should call you anyway? I don’t believe you gave me your name.”

  “Oh, sorry. You can call me… ah… John.”

  Noreen grinned at the obvious lie and said, “Well, ‘ah… John,’ tell me, have you worked for the baron long?”

  Is he blushing?

  “Ah… yes, I’ve been with the baron for quite a while now.”

  “And just what exactly is it that you actually do for the baron, ‘ah… John?’”

  “I… well, I guess you could kind call me of a jack-of-all-trades. I just do whatever needs doing, whenever something comes up.”

  “So you’re the baron’s right-hand-man then, I take it?”

  “No, not really. The baron’s primary associate doesn’t get out much… way too valuable to keeping everything running smoothly. I’m, well… less necessary for day-to-day operations, so I get most of the field assignments.”

  “Ah, so I take it that you do a lot of traveling around, taking care of the baron’s business then?”

  “When necessary.”

  “All of that traveling must take its toll on your personal life.”

  “Not really. I… ah… actually don’t really have much of a ‘personal life’ to speak of.”

  “No special lady friend? Or are you the girl-in-every-port type, so to speak?”

  “Ah… John” flushed scarlet. “NO… to either. I’m... uh, usually not in any one place for very long, so I rarely meet people in any kind of social setting. I’m — well, I guess you could call me a bit of a loner.”

  “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, ‘ah… John,’ or if my questions were too personal or intrusive.”

  “No… no need to be sorry, Ms. Lucado. I’m, ah… just feel rather awkward around women. Especially around beautiful women, that’s all.”

  He’s pretending to be shy? That’s certainly a new approach. Never seen that one before.

  “Oh, pooh… how could an attractive man your age possibly feel awkward around women? And it’s ‘Miss’ Lucado actually, but I’d prefer it if you called me Noreen.”

  “You’re not married?”

  “No… and I’m not a lesbian either, although most of the men that I refused to sleep with over the course of my career probably preferred to think that I was, rather than admit their raw animal magnetism might be on the blink.”

  “Divorced?”

  Noreen sighed. “No, I just never seemed to have time to get involved or think about marriage and babies, as I clawed my way up the corporate ladder. Now that I’ve finally made it to where I wanted to be, most men are too intimidated by my title and pay grade to feel comfortable around me. Too ambitious for my own good, I guess.”

  “Did you really say that you think I’m attractive?”

  Noreen laughed. “Obviously you haven’t looked into a mirror lately, ‘ah… John.’ Perhaps you should. Do you always dress up this nice when you’re conducting the baron’s business?”

  Ah… John” flushed scar
let again, bordering on purple this time.

  “If I’d known ahead of time that I was going to be meeting an attractive woman like you, I’d have certainly worn my best Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes. But it’s normally just a bunch of ugly guys and old hags that I get to deal with, so for once I decided to wear something comfortable and evidently it’s bitten me in the ass. Thank you for the coffee.”

  Visibly upset, “ah… John” started to rise to leave, but Noreen stopped him. “Wait! Look, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but honestly… one of the first things I learned in business school was the importance of always wearing proper business attire. I was frankly very surprised when a personal representative of the baron showed up here looking like a motorcycle bum.”

  “I never went to business school.”

  “Obviously… I really can’t imagine your employer allowing you to traipse around dressed like that, while on important company business. When you’re on the baron’s business, you’re representing him and I’d certainly be remiss in my duties as another employee of the baron, if I didn’t speak up to try to help correct this situation.”

  Surprisingly, “ah… John” suddenly chuckled and shaking his head, broke out into a big, boyish grin.

  “Did I say something you found funny, ‘ah… John?’”

  “No… not at all. I just found it somewhat amusing to see you getting all indignant and everything, defending the dignity and image of a man you’ve never met, nor really know much of anything about.”

  “I don’t need to know him to understand that image is everything in business.”

  “Image is just that… an image you want conveyed. Most are phony, carefully orchestrated by public relations consultants to hide the blemishes. If image is everything in business, then business is based on pure bullshit.”

  “Agreed, but that’s how the game is played,” said Noreen exasperatedly. “Look ‘ah… John,’ can’t you see what I’m saying? If you don’t look like a professional, people won’t respect you as one, and they won’t give proper credence to anything you have to say. A slovenly appearance can drastically undercut your abilities to succeed.”