by Michael Orr
It really is slipstream, he realized, watching local stars amble across his view. I’ll hafta report this t’the Admiralty when I get back.
The Orion nebula swept in on him from starboard and engulfed the ship in its florid colors. Stunned by their vividness, he spent most of his time gazing into their depths, punctuating his musings with adventures at the shuttle’s food generators and in conversation with Tivya. But as they reached their destination he took up position in the chin observation lounge to watch the approach to Alliance Central.
Skirting the nebula’s inner trapezium of stars, the shuttle’s progress was marked by clouds of superheated gas streaming by in vibrant greens and pinks and indescribable colors not visible through the lens of a telescope. The space around them took on airy atmospherics as they pierced the nebula’s heart.
A shimmering patch in the far distance caught his eye, but it seemed more mirage than matter. There was no telling at first if it was anything more than the nebula itself, but pulse-by-pulse the patch evolved into the massive heart of Alliance administration.
The Orion Alliance had long ago abandoned planetbound headquarters in favor of a neutral station on which all members were equal. And damn, what they came up with. While Earth’s engineers worked at a scale of kilometers, the Alliance worked in hundreds. Even at forty klicks tall, EarthFleet’s massive Furlough Station would be nothing but a pebble in this station’s shoe.
“This Central is nearing three hundred millennia,” Tivya told Nash. “The latest of many.”
He had no way to process such deep tracts of time meaningfully, but he could admire the longevity of such an enduring government. How better to differentiate unruly Humanity from the impeccably civilized Alliance races that had watched over Earth for so long.
And still do. His mood wavered in the moment before the station’s details stole his attention.
A central column of varying widths was intersected by twin vertical rings at right angles to each other. The outer reaches of the rings broadened into thick masses that housed bays, hangars and maintenance shops to service the constant flow of vessels from across the Alliance and beyond.
At this moment the station was orbited by an immense Betan-class heavy cruiser and three Kelleth-class light cruisers. Nash was familiar with both types from their spec sheets, but seeing them in person was a thrill. The Betan was designed like an elaborately-tooled awl sheathed in gray-purple bioskin, and was half-again larger than an EarthFleet cruiser.
The Kelleths looked something like muscular military tuning forks in metallic-green bioskin, and were about two-thirds the size of an Earth cruiser. Both classes were advanced far beyond EarthFleet ships in every conceivable way, and Nash savored the moment. Most fleet men never saw either type over the course of a full career.
6
* * *
ALLIANCE CENTRAL – MAR 6, 2371
Jerrett was studying a Kelleth when the landing bay commandeered his view. This was a momentous occasion for any human — almost a homecoming of sorts, given that Humanity had been conceived under the Alliance’s umbrella. But he was deep in alien territory and still had little idea what to expect. Twinges of anxiety mingled with excitement as his shuttle reached its assigned entry point, but Nash forced it all down for the sake of his career.
Time to focus.
The overwhelming bay engulfed his ship like a whale swallowing a single krill; and the scene inside completely disoriented him. Unlike Earth bays, which were basically straightforward industrial boxes, here everything flowed with supple organic curves, swooping buttresses and jutting peninsulas that reached outward into the open air. The Alliance made inventive use of G-tech, placing ships wherever they fit, whether that meant on a wall, on the stalk of an outcrop or at the apex of some throat-like archway. To Nash’s Terran sensibilities there seemed to be no order to it.
Then he glanced overhead.
Up soared the bay into a hazy distance, klick after klick of it decorated by ships of every make and size occupying the available space like gargoyles on a cathedral. Up and up it stretched until his eye lost all sense of scale and it blurred into meaningless chaos.
“Holy Mo!” he exhaled, grabbing at a bulkhead to keep from tumbling over. This was the true heart of the Alliance; the most ‘Alliance’ one could get.
“Quite different than you’re used to.” Tivya smiled at him. “It must seem random, but you can be certain it is well planned and organized.”
“I have no doubt.” He nodded without looking over. “No one accuses the Alliance of being haphazard.”
Their ship settled on one of the outcrops deep within the bay and Nash cautiously made his way out into the open expanse, forcing his inner ear to trust the gravity here despite the off-kilter view. But the first thing to hit him was the aroma. Nothing toxic, but distinctly non-Terran. It bore metallic traces mixed into a heavy...
Brown, was the best he could come up with. If the color had a scent of its own, this was it. Not woodsy like dirt; just plain brown. He hoped it wouldn’t follow him everywhere on the station. It was already becoming oppressive and he felt a trace of claustrophobia that required conscious management. He needed his mind clear and ready, not preoccupied with maintaining composure.
Tivya guided him through an oval gateway into the main station, which at this point consisted simply of corridors. They were much taller than Terran corridors to accommodate larger races, but the general shape and feel were familiar enough. The brown here wasn’t as strong and he loosened his grip on the claustrophobia.
Tivya touched a bulkhead close-by and an orifice opened. “I’m told the odor weakens the farther we get from the landing bays.” She entered the chamber and waited for him. “I expect this will be disorienting.”
Nash braced himself for whatever was coming and Tivya ran her hand across a patch of the bio-skinned wall. The world took on a malleable, stretchy feel.
Before he could process the sensation, the front of his body was pulled across an infinite chasm. Part of his identity went with it while the rest of him remained behind. Then the rest of him snapped forward as if he were made of elastic. But the sensation wasn’t merely physical. Even his awareness snapped.
The front part of him waited anxiously for the lagging part, but even once he was back in one piece the uncertainty didn’t fade. He leaned against the flesh-soft wall to get his bearings as the world returned to its normal rigid state.
“Alright?” Tivya inquired.
He opened his eyes and realized the chamber was different now. “Just...making the adjustment.”
He kept testing his consciousness to make certain it was where it should be. “What exactly was that?”
“The Terrans I know refer to it as ‘spaghettification’. An odd term, but I believe it captures the essence.”
“So, we just traversed a black hole.” Nash passed it off conversationally.
“Commanderrr...” Tivya thought he was teasing and he roused a smirk to maintain the facade.
“Have you had many Terran visitors?”
She nodded. “There are many Terrans here at any given time. Earth maintains a constant presence in the Alliance.” She tapped the wall and the orifice opened onto an immense plaza the size of a full city block or larger.
Nash steadied himself against the sight of tens of thousands of aliens from across the Alliance, all swarming the business district. A jabbering noise troubled his ears and he finally realized it was the blubbering of walrus-like Bouskhans haggling somewhere in the mix. There was such a variety of species that his eyes gave up and refused to focus.
Seeking relief in the architecture, he noted the way some of the upper floors were stacked to one side or the other. They seemed to hover in mid-air without a noticeable support structure, leaving the central space open and breezy. The higher floors were transparent, adding to the openness and reassuring their pedestrians solely by means of striping or other geometrical patterns inlaid into the invisible surfaces.
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There were walls, of course, but they were obscured by all the structure supporting the ongoing business. There was also no particular color scheme, though he saw plenty of glittering gray that smoothed what would otherwise have been quite jarring.
In the midst of all this, a number of knife-edged spires grew from the floor like taffy that had been pulled up to harden in place. Some of these were modest — about two or three stories tall — while others were closer to ten stories and quite impressive. He figured they must be decorative like the pillars on neoclassical buildings. They didn’t seem to have any specific function that he could discern, but leant dramatic flair to the already bewildering scene. So far, Alliance Central was proving to be well worth the eleven-day trip.
“Is this the main atrium?” he asked, welcoming the fresher air.
“Only a minor one.” Tivya was searching the plaza for something, or maybe someone. “The main atrium is many orders larger. I thought it best not to overwhelm you on your first encounter.”
“Y’know,” Nash shook his head, “ordinarily I’d ask you not t’concern yourself, but I think I’ll rely on your judgment.”
Tivya nodded to the compliment and led him onward, having found whatever she was seeking.
ESS ASHERAH – EARTH ORBIT – MAR 6, 2371
The Asherah was jaw-dropping.
After a week shuttling to and from the astonishing ship, Trish was getting a feel for just how extraordinary her new life was.
The Zodiac Lounge was entertainment heaven, with levitating Saturn’s-ring dance floors and color-shifting ‘abalone’ walls. Her stage was just as magical, encasing the free-floating platform she danced on in a spherical gravity cage. When she was being wild, it would swing and pendulum dizzyingly, turning her into a tumbling flesh-colored whirligig.
Above her, the club’s transparent dome opened up to Mumbai district’s central skyline, with glowing half-kilometer-tall buildings reaching up at the passing stars.
Zodiac tower bullseyed the center of Zodiac Plaza, which spanned five acres at the heart of Asherah’s metropolitan Mumbai district. Arching, bright-lit footbridges sprouting outcropped overlooks shared square footage with thickets of palm trees and tropical brush, all supported by dramatic platforms of sparkling white crycrete that seemingly levitated above the rippling surface of a central lake.
Beyond Zodiac Plaza, Mumbai’s towers glittered at their base with the colors of countless restaurants frequented by black-tie couples. And as the district stretched away from Mumbai’s centro, the elegance of downtown gave way to a more touristy feel, with casual dining, dessert parlors, holosuites and immersion theaters taking the place of regal dining, opera houses and philharmonics.
Behind the city waited the sprawling fun zone, and at the far stern was a jungly 18-hole golf course. All of this was carved up by meandering canals and waterways, always with more sweeping footbridges.
Trish was so busy prepping her act that she had no time to explore Asherah’s three other districts, but they called to her. Lying just beyond the horizon like mystical fairylands, she salivated to explore them. Each trip down to street level put more stars in her eyes.
At the same time, her days were grueling. Endless practice with the G-tech stage, planning out her lightshows, mixing her dance tracks, working with the techs to make sure every aspect of the club worked the way she needed it to...she went down to her ready room at the end of each day to pool herself into bed like a puddle. There was no time to make any friends, or even meet up with Saia for that matter.
“It’s gotta ease up once we leave. Right?”
But the ethers weren’t talking.
7
* * *
ALLIANCE CENTRAL – MAR 7, 2371
Nash was in the thick of it now.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, Ambassador, we’re invested in maintaining as thorough a database of Alliance information as possible. Our hope is that such a library will help us avoid breaches of diplomacy and expected conduct so we can assimilate into the Alliance should we be given the opportunity.”
Ambassador Ran listened impassively. She was Udoran, and Nash had a hard time interpreting her facial expressions, if there were any. Udorans were tricky for human sensibilities. There were two compound eyes and one main mouth, but their faces came with other features that took the human eye by surprise. For Nash, it was like getting caught staring at a girl’s cleavage. Not only could you not help it; you also couldn’t explain it away with any grace.
He’d already apologized to the ambassador, blaming his lapses on a lengthy journey and begging her patience. Ambassador Ran seemed not to care, and he continued in the absence of a response.
“We also understand the Alliance’s practice of limiting the data it shares with us. Prudence would dictate exactly such measures, so I hope to allay any concerns you might have that this is an appeal for increased disclosure.”
“You’re suggesting it is not?” she said at last. It was odd watching her mouth move and hearing the guttural alien sounds a split second before receiving the translation through his earBabel. There’d been no such delays with Tivya, and he made a mental note to praise her command of Terran Global.
“My visit concerns one specific gap in our knowledge only, Madam Ambassador,” he insisted. “We doubt it involves the Alliance as much as it does ourselves, but I’m here to make sure assumptions don’t govern our relations.”
Ran was silent for a moment, leaving Nash to wonder if he’d missed a cue or gone astray. But then...
“Very well, Commander. Present your query and I will advise you as to next steps.”
“Most gracious of you, Madam Ambassador.” He offered her the holokey drafted up by EarthFleet’s Engineering corps. It showed the elevations and presumed specs of the mystery dreadnought without mentioning its attacks on EarthFleet ships.
“We recently spotted this unknown ship within Alliance space. What’s shown here is as much as we know, and we hope the Alliance will advise us in the proper approach and addressing of this race so as to avoid any political indiscretions.”
Ran studied the diagram just as impassively as she listened to Nash’s entreaty, but at length she nodded.
“I believe your visit may be fruitful, Commander. I confess I’m unfamiliar with this configuration; but as an ambassador, my knowledge of vessels is limited. Tomorrow, you shall accompany me to the Hall of Records to inquire about the design. It opens at eight. I’ll collect you then. I recommend you dine beforehand in the event our search requires determination.”
“The ambassador’s foresight is most welcome.” He bowed as Ran withdrew. Now he was back in Tivya’s company.
“Is there any possibility of a tour?” he asked her. “I have quite a bit’a time ta spend before meeting the ambassador tomorrow morning.”
“General tours must be arranged through the Tourism Bureau,” Tivya apologized. “However, as a citizen of Earth you’re always welcome in the Terran sector. Would that be agreeable?”
“There’s a Terran sector?”
“The Alliance’s interests involve all sentient inhabitants of local space, including Earth’s. We have a number of Terran liaisons with whom you may feel at home. This is their habitation zone. Their workstations and social amenities are adjacent.”
She led him through the bedroom community to an auspicious gateway that welcomed visitors into the customs and comforts of Earth. Through the gate, Nash was shocked to find not just a handful of his own kind, but scores. Apparently, the Alliance made room for a full diplomatic corps.
The sight of Tivya with an EarthFleet officer brought several of them over, mostly women of varying ages, but there were some men among them as well. Tivya greeted them all with familiarity and made introductions before retiring for the night, leaving Nash to fend for himself against their appetite for news of home.
ALLIANCE CENTRAL – MAR 8, 2371
The Alliance’s Hall of Records was nothing like Nash’s concept
of a hall. Ambassador Ran escorted him into a simple unstaffed room populated by conical viewing stations that lined the walls like stalagmites. The room was empty except for one elaborately dressed humanoid couple jabbering over whatever they were looking at.
Ran chose a station as far across the room as possible and opened a holo session, plugging the Admiralty holokey into the datastream.
There was an abrupt rush and Nash got sucked out into space to watch the approach of a fleet. The dreadnoughts in question. He intuitively knew them as Hwarak’mogk, and this was their moment — a time in the Alliance’s distant past known as The Schism.
What in god’s...?” He steeled his senses, reminding himself that this was only a record, though he had no idea how he was being made part of it.
On came the Hwarak’mogk, dark and sinister and silent with intent. Hundreds of them.
The ships instilled terror in all who faced them. They threatened a shift to a new order while the Alliance was struggling through a crisis.
A question in Nash’s mind was answered instantly, as if the machine was linked to his mind:
“Eight hundred thousand years?!” He reeled. The events he was witnessing predated sentient life on Earth. All of human history had taken place long after this event. The ship now preying upon his modern fleet was somehow a remnant of that distant rebellion. But where had it been hiding?
Before his eyes, the dreadnought fleet opened fire on the Alliance, their particle beams and flak cannons filling the space Nash occupied. He winced as Alliance ships succumbed to superior Hwarak’mogk firepower. This was during an age before bioskins; before the massive Betan and Kelleth cruisers he so admired; before the development of weapons in the Alliance arsenal that Humanity still had no intel on. The Orion Spur had indeed been as mundane as the human race once upon a time, limited to weapons Nash understood. But those weapons were trifles against the might of the Hwarak’mogk.
