by S. H. Jucha
Wombo sat behind his desk, which was much too small for a man his size, and his six visitors — Yoram, Storen, Edward, Priita, Nema, and Boris — occupied every other available space in his cramped cabin: the bunk, the single chair, and the deck. For hours, they questioned him and formed conjectures about his observations.
“One thing I surmise is that Ser Racine and some of his people are not Méridiens,” Olawale said. “And what bothers me is that I suspect the speaker has the same suspicion.”
“But you believe they’re human … I mean of Earth ancestry?” Storen, the xenobiologist, asked. When Olawale nodded, lost in thought as he reviewed his observations, Storen continued his train of thought. “Would that mean a second colony ship landed out here, near the Méridiens, and somehow met them later, or might that mean the original colonists managed to populate two worlds, which developed separately for centuries?”
“Regardless of which option might be correct,” Edward, the lead physicist and mathematician, remarked, “if we follow this line of thought, Ser Racine and the people like him must have developed on a much heavier world than that of Earth. And then there are the differences in faces we have seen on the visual logs of Ser Racine’s first contact. It would seem logical to assume that one group of his people are of Méridien descent since you say they are similar to those you saw in the orbital’s corridors. Those individuals have a beauty that seems impossible. You only have to look for their exquisite visages and slender forms to recognize a Méridien. On the other hand, while Ser Racine and Ser Tachenko are handsome individuals, they do not have the superlative face and form that I believe comes from genetic tinkering.”
Olawale thought for a moment and began laughing. “Priita, I thought you and I made a strange pair. It seems that Ser Racine’s partner is Ser Renée de Guirnon … such a beauty,” Olawale said, quietly mumbling the last phrase.
“According to the logs, Olawale, our colony ships were launched nearly a millennium ago, and they would have lost centuries in travel. Do you judge that there has been a sufficient amount of generational time to develop the changes in stature you’ve observed?” Nema asked.
“It must be so, Nema. Ser Tachenko is Ser Racine’s twin in female form, heavy-boned, blonde, and quite robust. On first impression and to the casual observer, she might appear considerably overweight, but everything about her says predator. She moves like one of those great African cats of old.”
“What is your overall impression of this world and these people?” asked Yoram.
Olawale looked thoughtfully at his friend, who was known for his serious personality and philosophical side. “We are definitely dealing with multiple worlds, which I don’t believe are that well-integrated. We arrive at a world called Méridien, which does not wish to talk to us. A ship arrives from outside the system, and the people aboard are eager to engage us. They present themselves as happy travelers, but that’s a façade. Why didn’t this group originate from the populated planet below and present themselves as government representatives? Why? Because they are from a different world and unlike the Méridiens, they are a more proactive people, who confront adversaries such as us. Furthermore, these people from the Rêveur are a mix of three physiological types. Ser Julien and Ser Leyton are the third type. They bear no resemblance to the Méridiens or Ser Racine.”
“Speaking of Ser Racine, you seem intrigued by him. What do you make of him?” Yoram pressed.
“Now, there’s a good question, Yoram,” Olawale said, his eyes rolling to the cabin’s overhead while he considered how to answer. “What I find intriguing, Yoram, is that Ser Racine, despite his physical differences that mark him as non-Méridien, has collected an interesting mix of Méridiens and others in his sphere, and despite their bon-vivant style, his people are extremely attentive to him … one might even say they form a protective ring around him, which betrays their presentation.”
“Does not that make them a duplicitous lot?” Yoram asked.
“And who began this game of duplicity?” Olawale replied. “I believe that Ser Racine and his people are seeking to discover our speaker’s intentions, just as the speaker is seeking to uncover the truth about Ser Racine.”
“It makes one wonder if humans will ever develop a nurturing society that will welcome all with open arms,” Priita mused.
-13-
Alex, Renée, Julien, Miranda, Terese, and Étienne sat on the bench seats in a Le Jardin orbital station airlock, waiting for the arrival of the Reunion’s shuttle. Six visitors were all that the speaker would accept, and that number was only been allowed because three of the six were women.
Christie voiced vociferous objections at being left out, but Amelia and Eloise exerted their influence and calmed her down. For the immediately foreseeable future, the two young Harakens desired nothing more than to be quit of Earther company.
“Ser de Guirnon,” Miranda said, “if you will help me prepare my wardrobe malfunction.” The six Harakens were dressed in ship suits, functional attire for a supposedly functional ship. The form-fitting suits well-outlined each and everyone’s silhouettes, including Alex’s massive stature and Miranda’s abundant curves. The group watched Renée kneel in front of Miranda and unzip her ship suit nearly to her navel, prominently displaying much of Miranda’s full breasts. Then Renée proceeded to close the zipper partway, working to catch the fastening portion in the fabric until it stuck. Renée stood up and examined her work. “Quite believable and entertaining I might add, Miranda,” she said, adding a bright grin and a wink.
Miranda offered Renée a satisfied smile. Haraken ship suits sealed with nanites strips. They didn’t employ zippers. Miranda spotted the device on a scientist’s jacket during the fête and transferred the concept to Z, who drafted Julien and Mickey to construct one and apply it to her suit.
When the Reunion’s shuttle landed and the hatch dropped down, the speaker, the major, and a first lieutenant came down the shuttle’s steps with alacrity, which had much to do with the fact that the men knew Renée, Miranda, and Terese would be attending the event. After the most cursory of greeting to Alex, the men extended arms to escort the women to the shuttle, enjoying the views as they gallantly waved the women up the shuttle’s steep steps ahead of them.
Aboard the shuttle, Miranda found herself seated next to Major Barbas, as she expected. The major’s eyes constantly shifted from her face to the exposed curve of her breasts, which threatened to burst from the confines of her ship suit. Look all you wish, Major. It will be your undoing, Miranda thought.
When Alex and company disembarked in the Reunion’s shuttle bay, he and his people minimized their communication until Julien could determine the level of eavesdropping technology the Earthers possessed. Eyes searched out items of interest and nods indicated what they wished to share among one another.
Julien caught Alex’s eye and indicated the deck. It took Alex a moment to figure out that Julien was indicating the Earthers could deliver gravity to their ship while stationary. That’s what eleven years aboard advanced starships does to you, Alex thought. About the explorer ship, Alex noted that the speaker spoke the truth. The corridors and stairs they took, moving through the ship, were rudimentary. Unlike the uncluttered, wide corridors of a Méridien or Haraken ship, the Reunion’s corridors were interrupted repeatedly by bulkhead frames, and the overheads were strung with myriad conduits.
As the group traversed the corridors, Miranda spotted the opportunity she was looking for — a bulkhead frame was positioned just aft of a ventilation grate. She folded her arms under her breasts, pushing them up and out, and the major’s eyes tracked just where Miranda expected them to go.
“It’s quite chilly in your ship, Major,” Miranda simpered. “I would close my
suit but my fastener is stuck. Would you mind seeing if you could be of service?” She stepped to the side, placed her back against the bulkhead and opened her arms invitingly.
Major Barbas licked his lips in anticipation and reached for the offending fastener. It must be said that the major took an inordinate amount of time freeing the material. The others in Alex’s party did their best to distract the speaker’s people while they all waited for the major to finish enjoying his treat.
As the major played, Miranda sent an activation code. Her hair was coiffed on top of her head in intricate coils and pinned front and back with two tiara-like combs. On Miranda’s signal, the upper layer of the rear comb peeled off from the base, which was identical in design. The thin metal frame and joints of crystal closed up to resemble a large spider. As a single leg of the creature touched the bulkhead on which Miranda leaned, its leg and crystal joints changed color to match the drab gray of the bulkhead. By the time the tiny intruder climbed to the top of the frame, its camouflage was complete. Sensors picked up the vent’s air flow, and algorithms in its crystal brain dictated the vent as a priority direction. It flattened its body to slide through a slot, and it was gone.
When Miranda received the signal from Z’s “Shadow,” as he called it, that it was safely out of sight, she laughed at the major’s playful antics. “You are keeping the others waiting, Major. Perhaps a woman’s fingers would be more dexterous in these circumstances.” The major laughed in reply and slowly slid the fastener up the suit until it closed at the neck.
“A shame to cover such beauty, Miranda,” Barbas whispered.
“Who can say, Major? It might become too warm later,” Miranda replied and gently pushed past the major to join her companions.
* * *
The Shadow scurried silently through the ventilation ducts. At each vent, it would unroll a thin telemetry line through a slot and survey the area, recording the imagery. As it hurried along the ducts, it recorded distances and directional changes, building a map of its travels.
The Shadow’s governing directives, in order, were survival, stealth, speed, and survey. It had a long way to travel and much to discover. At duct intersections, the tiny machine paused and tested the air to discern trace chemicals, which would indicate greater probabilities for successful directions. Vent after vent revealed only more general corridors, and it began skipping vents that effused the same scent. Finally, the Shadow detected the scent of oils, chemicals, and fuel. It paused and dropped its snooper line through a slot and was rewarded with a view of a ship’s bay, a bay filled with four deadly looking fighters. The Shadow expended precious time stretching out its telemetry filament to zoom in and capture details of the fighters.
Based on its internal map, the little Shadow took a set of turns through the ventilation ducts to arrive at what it calculated would be a second bay and discovered four more fighters. It repeated its process, traveling to two more bays and recording its evidence, before it sought out its next priorities.
Its greatest adversaries were the fans inset within the ventilation ducts. There was just the slightest gap between the tips of the blades and the sides of the frames. The Shadow examined the opening and the shape of the space then flattened its body into the required curvature and carefully crawled through the gap, fulfilling its primary directive to survive.
The descent to lower decks, the Shadow’s next destination after the fighter bays, was fraught with exposure. It was forced to leave the ventilation system, access the corridors, and creep down the stairs. More than once it clung to the underside of a stairstep, blending into the metal, as boots pounded overhead — stealth.
At each deck, the Shadow ducked back into the ventilation ducts to search out the level only to discover nothing of importance. Down the decks it went, racing against time. The small crystal bead located behind its head held the energy that drove it, and that energy was limited — speed.
The Shadow discovered one item of interest not in its programmed list of targets. It passed overhead of two cabins, containing eight bunks each. That was nothing exceptional in itself. However, it noted that all the humans within the rooms in various states of dress were clothed identically. Its coding identified their coverings as uniforms. After that room, it investigated several more cabins on either side of that corridor, recording many more eight-bunk rooms and several two-bunk rooms, all containing humans in uniforms.
The little Shadow hurried to accomplish its final two tasks. On the next deck down, it lowered its telemetry line through a vent into a long space. Huge tubes were laid out in parallel, but the angle of view was heavily compromised so the Shadow squeezed through the vent to explore the room. It crept quietly along the wall, capturing details of the tubes, their rails, and the launching system — missiles, its program identified.
The Shadow left the missile room and worked to locate the final targets, which were the twin structures located to either side of the Reunion’s fuselage, tucked under each wing.
The little Shadow hurried down a set of stairs, hiding several times as humans tromped past, heavily shaking its grip, forcing it to expend more of its precious energy. Soon after, it climbed a bulkhead, gained another vent, and scurried along the duct. Its tiny steps were muffled by its choice of footing, changeable from claw tips to padded tips. A low-energy warning froze it in place. Protocols demanded it dump its captured data. The telemetry line was unrolled to stick straight out, acting as a broadcast antenna, and it stayed rooted in place while the host was contacted. Once the link was secure, its accumulated data was transmitted.
With the broadcast complete, the Shadow reverted to its priority list and scurried down the ventilation duct. Its priority algorithms drove it, while its existence hung in the balance as its energy bead drained. The tiny machine only gained another 20 meters when it froze in place again. There were no more priorities, no more directives, the energy bead was empty. Z’s Shadow would remain a permanent fixture in the Reunion’s ventilation ducts, but its mission had been accomplished.
* * *
The Harakens recorded every element of their trip through the ship as the speaker led them to a lower deck and a wide open space whose walls were lined with exercise equipment. The center of the room was covered in mats, and several men in camouflage pants and black tees were practicing unarmed combat drills.
“Sergeant Hinsdale, front and center,” Major Barbas called out.
The burly, hard-looking master sergeant, who was leading the training, released his hold on a trooper, crossed the mats to the major, and jumped to attention, “Sir,” he called out clearly, holding a rigid pose.
“This is Ser Racine’s security escort,” Major Barbas said, gesturing toward Étienne. “He has graciously consented to compare defensive techniques with one of our own. Would you care to accommodate him?” the major asked with a hint of play in his voice.
The master sergeant eyed the slender man with the too-pretty face and turned a wry grin on the Harakens. “I would be happy to educate our guests in our techniques, Major.”
“I look forward to learning whatever you care to impart, Sergeant Hinsdale,” Étienne replied graciously. His words evoked laughter from the militia troopers, who stopped their training and gathered close to get an eyeful of the visitors.
The master sergeant nodded his assent. “Very well, son. Come on. I promise to take it easy on you.”
Once on the mats, the master sergeant sought to have Étienne assume a basic defensive stance, which Étienne quietly demurred from following. “Son, if you don’t raise your hands,” Hinsdale said, frustration showing in his voice, “bad things can happen to you. Like this,” he said, swinging a meaty open hand at Étienne’s shoulder, which never connected. It momentarily threw the master sergeant off balance, but he quickly recovered. He eyed Étienne carefully. “Quick, are we?” Hinsdale said and assumed an offensive stance, a grin of expectation spreading across his face.
Following his orders to draw out the exe
rcise, Étienne danced and twirled out of reach of the master sergeant’s strikes, as the noncom tried unsuccessfully to pin him into a corner.
When the master sergeant failed to connect with his strikes, he reverted to grappling, tripping, and pinning techniques. At this point, Étienne slapped light strikes against the sides and back of the master sergeant’s head to inform him that offense was well within Étienne’s capabilities. This angered Hinsdale, who growled in frustration.
Major Barbas was hovering at Miranda’s side at the exhibition’s start but as the bout intensified, he edged closer to the mats, intently watching Étienne’s techniques, and a frown formed on his face. He assumed the matchup would be brief. Instead, it continued on, seemingly interminable. Sweat rolled off the bodies of both men, but only the master sergeant was breathing heavily.
Miranda received the Shadow’s data transmission, and she signaled Alex.
With a swiftness that defied the eyes, Étienne dropped to one leg, shot his other leg between the master sergeant’s legs, and spun his body, effectively tripping the man. A quick, sharp strike from Étienne’s stiffened fingertips into nerves behind the master sergeant’s left knee numbed the man’s lower leg. Then Étienne jumped up and danced out of the master sergeant’s strike zone to wait. When Hinsdale tried to stand, his leg wouldn’t support him, and he sat back down heavily on the mat.
Master Sergeant Hinsdale once observed a demonstration of ancient martial arts. He was surprised by the incredible feats the wizened old man performed, including his demonstrations against heavier, younger opponents. He harbored thoughts that the younger and stronger combatants held back to prevent injuring their “sensei,” as they called him. Those long-held thoughts were just erased. The master sergeant held up his hands in surrender and a smile crossed his face. When his opponent offered him a hand up, Hinsdale graciously accepted.
