by Don Foxe
Coop could only hope no opportunity allowed Canedee to make contact with his superiors. He turned his attention to the present. “Genna, you, Storm, and Sky need to return to the palace and the party. Cover for me. Storm, when someone like Canedee hears a translation via the rings, do they hear everything as if someone from their own race was speaking?”
“Of course,” Storm answered. “They would be pretty lame otherwise.”
“At some point, you must return for the party. It is poor diplomacy to ignore a festivity held partially in your honor,” Genna told him.
“With Storm and Sky wearing those outfits, no one will notice my absence,” Coop half joked. “I understand Star has a similar outfit, and plans on joining you. I would say I’m safe. Relax, Counselor. I will join the last group to shuttled down. I promise.”
Singh entered the hallway, and signaled the Captain.
“I have to go. Please, try to enjoy a bit of fun. You’ve done incredible work since leaving MSD, and this party seems a pretty sweet reward. Save the last dance for me.”
Dr. Singh informed him, “I gave him what I thought best. I’m using an IV drip, and adjusting according to his readings. His physiology is close to human. If I’m reading everything correctly, you should find him in a receptive mood. I cannot tell you a length of time he will remain under the influence of the drugs, or if he will even respond.”
“Is he conscious from the hit?” Coop asked.
“I brought him to consciousness, before taking him back under. Even then he was groggy, and disoriented. He probably has a concussion.”
“Thanks, Doc. If you need to tell me anything, please rap lightly on the window. Once I start, I do not want anyone to disturb us. Understood?”
“Understood, Captain. In spite of my reservations, good luck. I do realize how important this is.” The field surgeon left to monitor from another room.
Cooper walked over and behind the Mischene, who lay strapped to the bed, his head slightly raised. From there, out of the Mischene’s line of sight, he said, “Captain Canedee, report.”
“What?” The Captain’s speech slurred.
“Captain Canedee, you have been absent. You had a mission. A vitally important mission. Report.” Coop placed every ounce of authority he could into his voice, and hoped it came through in the translation.
“My mission was to gather information from the captured aliens,” Canedee said.
“And did you?” Coop asked.
“Yes, sir. And more. Much more. Humans. A planet called Earth. We must destroy the [?]. They are as bad as the rest. Non-believers. Pathetic." The drugged Mischene drifted through a slow, slurred rant about humans, and alien infidels in general.
“Captain, is our original mission still actionable. Do these humans represent an obstacle?”
“An obstacle, sir? Maybe. They have weapons we need. They have space-fold engines, and tachyon cannons, and blue women with big tits and, no, wait, the Fell have blue women. They have the biggest tits, sir. They make you want to defile them. They are evil. We need to defile them.”
“The original mission, Captain. Do you remember the mission?” Coop held his breath as Canedee hesitated. He looked to the window, but Singh made no indication the drugs were wearing off. Then Canedee began talking.
Thirty minutes later, Canedee ran down, and the drugs finally put him under. Coop walked out of the room and into the hallway. He placed his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the deck.
Singh walked out, and looked down at his Captain. “If I ever question your methods in the future,” he said, “remind me of this night, and what we learned. What do you plan on doing?”
Coop took a cleansing breath. He used the powerful muscles in his thighs to bring him up the wall to face the surgeon. “I plan on going to a party. It may be the last party we attend for a long, long time. I suggest you make sure Canedee remains unconscious, and then join me in the shuttle bay.”
Coop left to change into something more proper. He desperately needed a shower.
CHAPTER 31
Captain Daniel Marcel Cooper exited the LBJ. He brought Patric, Silla, Sparks, Stacey and Sarah with him. Prior to departing the 109, he introduced them to the crew members traveling with them to the surface as Sky’s family. He did not explain their presence, and no one asked.
They entered the massive hedge garden holding the majority of the party’s activities. Star the first to see them. She grabbed Sky and Storm. The three ran to meet them, followed closely by Elie and Mags.
The family reunited once more, this time under much better circumstances. Mags snatched Sparks, and walked him away, arm in arm. Star took control of Stacey and Sarah. She promised to keep them safe, but able to enjoy the party. Coop asked Storm and Sky to stay with Patric and Silla.
As the Fellen left to enjoy real food and drinks, music, dancing and fireworks, Coop asked Elie, “Do you know where I can find Genna?”
“Inside with Tasha and Tista. Queen Navina is giving them the grand tour of the castle,” Elie said. “Did you find out anything from Canedee?”
“If you help me locate Saharri, and I can get him alone for a few minutes, you can listen in,” he promised.
“Done, he’s holding court at the big bar on the castle patio. He considers himself quite the bartender.” She took Coop’s arm to lead the way.
The King of Rys might or might not make a good cocktail, but those around the bar obviously enjoyed his stories; everyone laughing. It did not appear as laugh at the King’s jokes or lose your head laughter, but honest good cheer.
“What can I get you, Captains?” He asked, as Coop and Elie walked up to the bar.
“I need a few minutes of your time. In private if we can,” Coop said. The King recognized Coop’s serious tone and manner. He returned the drink stand to the real bartender.
“Follow me,” he instructed. The three entered the castle, walked up a marble flight of stairs, and entered a private chamber. The King locked the doors.
Thirty minutes later, the doors opened. A shaken Elie exited first. Coop and Saharri stopped at the doorway and shook hands. “I appreciate your doing this for me,” Coop told the monarch.
“You practically saved my world, Captain. It appears you have a lot more work ahead of you, and I am, after all, the King. It’s a small favor, and one I am happy to do.”
“Elie, round up the Fellen. Find Anton, Genna, Tasha and Tista. Tell everyone to meet us in the room used earlier for the alliance signing-ceremony.”
“Sure, Coop,” she replied, somewhat wooden. “Is it as bad as you told the King?”
“It’s bad, Elie. But, at the moment, all we can do is make plans. Nothing will happen in the next few days, and nothing is going to happen we can’t handle,” he assured his best friend. “If you see Yauni, please tell him his father needs to speak with him, and General Postatoon as well.”
Elie left to find the others. Coop descended the stairs and entered the formal room with vaulted ceiling, stain glass windows, and crystal chandelier. He sat at the long table, rested his head on crossed arms, and considered surrendering to fatigue.
The AS tribe family members arrived first, entering in good spirits, sharing laughter that quickly died as they picked up on Coop’s grim appearance. He waved off their concerns, and asked they take seats. Storm and Sky automatically sat on either side of him; protective.
Genna, Tasha, and Tista arrived, followed by Mags and Sparks. Elie entered last, with Anton. Anton closed the double doors behind them.
“I’m going to start with the bad news, and then I’m going to finish with worse news,” he told them. “I would appreciate no interruptions, unless you have something pertinent to add. I will speak as the Captain of the SF PT-109, and not as your friend. As such, I will issue orders when I finish, and those orders will be obeyed. Is everyone clear about this?”
A pall fell over the room. The two youngest Fellen girls reached beneath the table to hold hands. No one s
poke. Everyone simply nodded an affirmative.
“Patric, Silla, Stacey and Sarah will remain on Rys with Star, her crew, the CHoenor and its crew. I have spoken with King Saharri. He will provide you with housing, and make sure you have everything you need. I have assured him you will want to work for your keep. While Stacey and Sarah continue their recovery, the others will provide assistance in improving Rys technology and communications systems.
“Star, you, your crew, and CHoenor’s crew will be seconded to Rys' space navy to provide whatever tasks needed. None of you will be asked to do anything to dishonor you, or Fell. Everything you do will help in the coming conflict to repel invaders throughout the galaxy.”
He turned to Sparks. “ASparquila, I would like you to join the crew of the John F. Kennedy. Your expertise will prove invaluable in the coming weeks.”
“I would be proud to join you,” Sparks said.
“Why are we forced to stay here?” Patric asked. “If ASparquila can help you, we can certainly do the same.”
Cooper addressed the older man. “One, because I am not asking you to join me. Two, because I am asking you to contribute by helping here, on Rys. Three, because your choices are stay [left index finger raised] on Rys, with other ex-patriot Fellen and contribute, or [left middle finger joins the index finger] take your ships, and [Both extended fingers point at the door] leave. [Hand returns to the rest on the table.] No one will make you stay here. Storm and Sky, and now Sparks have agreed to become members of my crew. I can order them to do what I say, or I can have them arrested for disobeying. The three of them have the same choices. They can come with us on the 109, and by so doing, agree to follow my orders. They can remain on Rys with you, or leave, with or without you.” Cooper allowed his words a moment to fully translate. A moment for those assembled to consider their options.
“Before I continue, I need answers from all of you.”
“I’m going with you,” Sparks said immediately, and looked at Mags. Perhaps he had more than one motive for joining the 109.
“We’re going,” Sky spoke for herself and Storm, who nodded.
“I trust your judgement, Captain,” Star said. “I will remain and assist, and I am sure I speak for the CHoenor as well.”
“We will stay on Rys and do what we can to help,” Silla said. “We can do more to help Fell from here than anywhere else. Especially if it takes the fight to the Zenge.” Patric relented to his wife.
“Zenge are not the enemy,” Coop said. “The Mischene control and command the Zenge. They are the true invaders.”
PART TWO
CROSSROADS
CHAPTER 32
The captain of the Mischene trading ship, using a newly purchased chart from a Pagoran vender, departed the wormhole into a system rarely visited. Nothing of interest in the system. Certainly nothing worth collecting for trade. The system consisted of twelve planets, with three capable of sustaining life. Only one sustained semi-sentient lifeforms.
The only reason the captain cared about the system, the wormhole brought them near a second gate within the system the chart-seller promised provided a shortcut to a world they traded with less frequently than desired. Trade delegations rare due to the time needed to travel between the systems using established channels. This recently purchased chart indicated channeling through this system would reduce time in space by half.
On this exploratory trip, the governor in charge of the trading guild accompanied the regular merchants. He planned to negotiate a more profitable exchange rate with the partner world, if a fifty-percent reduction in travel time occurred.
When they entered the system, his curiosity, and ever present desire to seek alternative ways of increasing profits, led him to order the ship’s captain to investigate the three planets. The worlds orbited proximal to one another, and the triplets currently sat near the second gate. It required only a minimal amount of time to investigate.
They began with an examination of the largest of the three. The surface teemed with flora and fauna. Giant beasts roamed the landscape. Rivers flowed from mountains. Blue ribbons stretching for miles, emptying into four oceans, or one of several smaller seas. Both polar caps deeply covered in ice and snow. Equatorial jungles with canopies densely packed, making the floor below impossible to discern. When, and if the giants died out, it would make a good world for a colony. For several colonies.
The adjacent two worlds remained in close orbit to the huge one, held near by the strong gravitational pull it produced. Classified as planets, and not moons, because they held their own paths, and did not orbit the larger sphere.
Similar to the giant, but less than a quarter its size. Similar, and with analogous plant and animal life. The governor wondered if a single world somehow split into three. Incredibly odd for three planets in a system to develop along the same timeline, and with similar biological species, and horticulture.
In many ways, this system reminded him of his own.
The Aster system, his home system, boasted three developed worlds and five inhabited moons. The Mischene believed the similarity in timelines of Aster system planets due to their ancestors developing the entire system. Other races existed on Aster Farum 3, his home world, and a variety of species and races inhabited the other planets and moons. Mischene history recounted stories of the ancient Mischene seeding these other locations. The tales meant sentient life in the Aster system owed their existence to the Mischene. Of course, these farmed lifeforms evolved more slowly than the Mischene sires.
They were inferior, even if they possessed Mischene bloodlines. They were adequate for populating, and helping to develop and manage the other worlds within the system. Mischene tolerated the other four races sharing Aster Farum 3. Someone needed to do manual labor, as well as the difficult, or dangerous jobs beneath the sensibilities of most Mischene.
Cognizant the other races preferred to deny their history, the Mischene maintained a strong military as a deterrent to outright disobedience of the laws. The governor’s guild funded the military.
On his home world, members within the lesser races protested their inability to improve their station. They craved equality. They desired greater opportunity. They blinded themselves to the facts. They simply were not Mischene.
The lesser races could choose to ignore the truth. The military would remind them.
In this little-explored system, the planet nearest the star struck the governor as the most interesting. Semi-sentient lifeforms of ugly, squat, lizard-like creatures with cold blood. They built villages, and raised animals for slaughter. Optical scans showed furrowed fields. Agriculture indicated the residents were omnivores, or raising crops as feed, or both. Either way, it suggested an agrarian society. They communicated, but only among each other. The current level of evolution included fire, and tools for hunting, building and farming. No indications of a written language.
The governor, an avid student of cultural development, recognized the signs of over procreation. More than a hundred civilizations in the known galaxy vanished because they overused the natural resources of their planet. Too many beings in too limited a space naturally led to self-extinction.
He read the scans, and watched the video feeds of the smaller planet. Within a few years, the semi-intelligent reptiles would consume the other animals. He saw evidence of skirmishes already occurring between villages. Fights over land and food. He actually witness a fierce and bloody confrontation. They would soon cannibalize the fallen.
“Governor, we need to continue to our final destination,” the ship’s captain informed him. The governor, fascinated by the system, realized a concept was taking shape in the recesses of his mind. He did not quite hold the handle on the idea.
“Of course, Captain,” he replied. “Did the long-range microphones pick up communications between the creatures?”
“Nothing the translator rings could decipher,” he was told. “One of my communications techs believes their vocal cords produce a pitch higher tha
n the rings can decipher. I can have a Fellen engineer listen to the tapes when we return to Aster Farum 3, if you wish.”
“I do wish,” the governor replied. “In fact, when we return, please relay every piece of data on this system to my office.”
Amos Soren, Governor of the guild, stood before the council of elders, called together for a special meeting. The tall, dark man, with flowing white hair, white eyebrows, and dark brown eyes wore the guild emblem, a fist with star-shine leaking through the knuckles, on a red tunic. The members told the public the emblem represented the strength of the Aster System. In truth, it represented how the guild felt about the system; it belonged to them . . . or it should.
“A recent trip provided the final piece in our quest to change history. A chance to restore destiny’s path,” he told the assembled. On the table before him, he placed an ancient tome. “The Tahbita, the sacred text of the Mischene. It recounts how the Creator took dust from the air and made a mighty explosion, turning the dust into billions of stars, planets, moons and every other object that occupies space.
“The Creator, for more than a million years, experimented with life. He seeded the universe, and watched species, and races by the thousands develop. But not until the Mischene evolved, here, on Aster Farum 3, did the Creator realized his dream. He finally produced a race worthy of leading his universe.”
The Governor walked a few steps to stand before a banner, the guild emblem blazed across the cloth. The banner dominating the meeting room.
“The sacred Tahbita tells of the Creator’s love of the Mischene. He dispatched messengers to open twelve portals around the Aster system. More wormhole gates than any other system. Aster Farum 3 would become the center of commerce in the galaxy. Aster Farum 3 would become the epicenter for art, science, and learning for the universe. In time, as the Mischene continued to evolve, and followed the path laid before us by the Tahbita, we would realize our manifest destiny . . . we would become the stewards of the Creator’s universe.
