by Ian Rodgers
“But I satisfied my curiosity. It really was just a random piece of space rock that crashed here a few decades back. And it was my grandfather that found it.”
The droid looked put off –somehow— that it had been interrupted.
“It was more than just a meteorite. Take a look inside.”
Perturbed by the hovering drone’s vagueness Zane did so, popping the lock to see what was inside. What he found were a collection of papers and medals. The files seemed to be for commendations, citations of duty, medical records, and more from William Pendon’s time in the army. The medals were the ones he’d earned in Africa and Europe from the Second World War. There were also a number of dog-tags that had the names of other people on them. A quick look through a few files confirmed they had belonged to men who had served alongside William.
Most of this looked familiar. He’d seen things like this when his grandfather had spoken about the war years ago.
“I’m not seeing anything unusual in here,” Zane admitted. Rob blurted out a static-laced sigh and reached out to one medal in particular near the bottom of the pile with a robotic tendril. In fact, if Zane didn’t know any better, it looked as if that particular item had been purposefully hidden in the corner of its container. Rob then lifted the metallic token and shoved it in Zane’s face.
“Um, what is this supposed to be?” the human inquired. He soon fell silent as he peered at the object. At first, the medal had seemed to be ordinary. A bar, a ribbon, and a metal shape. But this close to his face, very distinct differences could be observed.
Zane was too stunned to do anything except hesitantly reach out and grab the medal from the droid’s robo-tentacle. The materials that it had been made of were strange and unlike anything Zane had encountered before. The medal, shaped like a five pointed star, and the bar were silvery yet felt like rubber to the touch. The ribbon looked like finely woven blue and bronze silk but had a texture that was too rough to be that particular substance.
But most damning as to its foreign origins were the symbols upon the surface of the star. They were incomprehensible squiggles all circling two hand-like appendages grasping each other at the wrist.
“That language, my friend, is Ialian Cant, the written word of the Ials and the formal Galactic Standard written language within the Alliance,” revealed Rob. Zane said nothing as he stared at the artifact he held.
“As for the medal, that one in particular is known as the Star of Salvation and is awarded to members of the military who endured extremely dangerous circumstances to save a comrade’s life. It is most commonly awarded to FIST operatives.”
“Fist?” Zane mumbled, latching onto the fragment of sentence that was most familiar to him.
“First Initiative Strike Team. Elite commandos under the direct authority of the Privy Council Select who are seen as the best military soldiers in the Alliance. A single four being team can secure a city. Two can bring down a country. During the Third Alliance-Hegemony Crusade a group of seven FIST units managed to seize control of an entire enemy controlled planet and hold it for six weeks until Alliance reinforcements arrived.”
“Oh.”
Rob gave the human a worried look. Zane was exhibiting clear symptoms of shock. But with visible effort he pulled himself out of the funk.
“What does this mean? Was my grandfather an alien?”
“Without examining his corpse, I cannot say for certain,” Rob said with a laugh, before quickly backpedaling upon seeing the contemplative look on Zane’s face. As if he was actually considering it.
“But the odds of that being the case are extremely low! First off, he has clear documentation, such as passports and a birth certificate. Secondly, unless William Pendon adopted your father and uncles he could not have successfully reproduced without extensive genetic modification which Earth did not, and does not, have. Lastly, without some gene-mods or an amazingly good disguise your grandfather could not have pretended to be human for decades due to assorted medical tests he likely underwent throughout his life.”
“Then what is this medal doing in my grandfather’s belongings? Why does he have an alien artifact in his footlocker? What is going on?!” Zane cried.
“Approximately twenty two Galactic Standard years ago, or sixty eight in Earth time, there was a fairly large smuggling operation in your system,” Rob quickly explained to the distraught human. “Or at least on the fringes around Pluto and Uranus. It was a big and extensive one, performed by no less than two infamous piratical bands and a half dozen major criminal gangs. The Alliance dispatched a FIST to clear it out.”
“Therefore it is entirely possible that the ‘meteorite’ was in fact some kind of debris from the raid. And it is again possible that this medal belonged to a member of the FIST unit that was sent in but got lost or something and ended up crashing here.”
Zane took a deep breath in an effort to calm his nerves. It didn’t work, but it made him focus his thoughts on something else for a moment.
“And this is common knowledge?”
“The members of FIST, as well as the entire branch of service, are viewed as the poster-beings for Planetary Alliance strength and unity. A number of their ops are public record, in order to boost morale and inspire confidence. Some are heavily edited, and the most damning are never revealed, but a quick search on the exo-net told me all about this operation. Three of the four FIST members were KIA, though, so there is a slim chance it was one of their medals that found its way here to Earth. Maybe even an entire body.”
“I need to think about this,” Zane declared after a full minute of silence. He was tired after a long ride and in no state of mind to deal with reality shattering knowledge. Perhaps after a good night’s rest, but even then it was unlikely.
“Good night then,” Rob offered, waving its tendril at Zane as the human slunk off to the bedroom. The young man just offered a grunt.
“I know that look, Taraki. What’s happened now?” the chairman of Crown Corporation asked as his insectoid aide entered his office.
“Chairman Aunlood, I have some news about Droid 77 and our progress through the Central Bureaucracy.”
“Good or bad?”
“I suppose it would depend on your definition of the terms ‘good news’ and ‘bad news,’” the Hixi said slowly.
Aunlood grimaced before closing down his data terminal. Signing documents could wait. “So bad, then. Alright, lay it on me.”
“We have finally gotten the ‘go-ahead’ to trace Droid 77’s signal.”
“At last! So, where is it? Fringes of nowhere? Or, knowing the luck we’ve had with this mess so far, an Isolationist Enclave territory?”
“No sir. It came from the Reyuda System, past the Kalam Relay. Home to a Class C species as of last census sixteen GS years ago.” In any other circumstance seeing the green feathers on the chairman turn black with shock and fear would have been hilarious. As it stood, Taraki sympathized and was just glad he had gotten this info first and had avoided venting his fear pheromones in front of his boss.
“No. no no no. Ha, that was a funny joke, Tar. Seriously, where is it? A world along our border with the Hegemony?” Aunlood gasped desperately.
“Third planet of the Reyuda System. Home to a Class C species of life.”
“WHY IN THE NAME OF THE SPIRITS AND THE IALS DID IT TAKE SO LONG TO FIND THIS OUT?!” Aunlood roared, slamming his fists onto his desk with such force that the reinforced surface cracked.
“Besides the usual bureaucratic inefficiency? The droid has technically been doing its job so we couldn’t issue a recall or justify an emergency trace,” the aide explained. Only years of training had prevented the insect-like being from jumping away from the outburst in shock.
“You’re saying that whoever or whatever possesses Drone 77 has been ‘shopping?’ That someone or something has been filling out all the required customer surveys and feedback reports? Thus insuring under own snarga-sniffing regulations it was safe from immediate sanctions?” Aunlood
demanded, his tone turning deathly calm.
Taraki clacked his mandibles while his antenna waved wildly. “Yes.”
“You have exactly eight seconds to give me some good news, such as informing me that a retrieval squad is already on route to Reyda, or some bad news that will make what you just told me shrivel into insignificance.”
“The Chairperson-Elect has found out about our wayward product and wishes to speak with you. She’s already scheduled a meeting for next week.”
An interesting fact about the Ranga, Chairman Aunlood’s species, is that they possess very unique feathers which are capable of changing color to reflect mood, state of mind, and physical wellness.
In extreme situations of fear or danger their feathers turn black. In primitive times this helped them blend into the night on their home world and hide. In even rarer cases of mortal terror or life threatening danger their feathers would turn so black they completely swallowed up light. And with a touch of psychic power, it allowed the Ranga to become invisible. Of course, over generations they had less need to use this ability, and in the modern era of peace and prosperity, such an ancient throwback was all but nonexistent.
Chova’klove Aunlood, head of one of the largest corporations in the Solar Alliance of Independent Planets, boss to tens of millions of staff and worth billions of Credits, had the honor being the first of his kind in three hundred and sixty one Galactic Standard years to turn completely invisible due to bowel clenching terror.
“I’ll just forward the appointment date and details to your terminal,” Taraki said slowly as he blinked at where his boss had been visible moments before.
“Thank you Taraki. That will be all for day.” The dismissal came from seemingly empty space and the Hixi eagerly took the offer of an early quitting time.
Chapter 13
“So how would you rate the quality of shine the Sparkly Sheen Scale Polish has brought out in my chassis?” Rob inquired. Zane thought for a moment.
“Seven out of ten. It’s good with whatever alloy you’re made of, but I think the product doesn’t work well with all your spines and antenna in the way. Too many nooks and crannies I have to work around so the finish ends up uneven.”
“Really? I thought so too but didn’t want to say anything,” the droid commented as it recorded its friend’s answer.
“And the Iron Stomach Food Pills? Would you recommend them?”
“Oh, definitely! It even helps with indigestion and stomach cramps! I used to fear even being near places that serve curry because of my weak, spice rejecting belly. But now I can eat all the Indian food I want and not have to be rushed to the hospital for nearly dying on the toilet!” Zane said proudly.
The droid decided to leave that particular fact out of the customer report. While Monsieur Yum-Yum might find it flattering that his food really did prevent death, most beings did not want to read about such food related incidents.
“Now, how about the opinion of the first season of Hyper-Mega Fun-Time Soldier Squad?”
“I liked it. Impressive animation and while it was a bit corny at times the whole show had an upbeat sense of energy a lot of others tend to lack.”
Rob hummed in agreement before logging their session of product reviews into Crown Corps. systems.
“Well, that’s that. Anything you want to do?”
“Could you call Chacha? I should let her know I’m back,” Zane said.
In response a dial tone rang out and after a few seconds a click announced it had been picked up. Immediately the reptilian alien’s face appeared in the screen. She grinned widely when she saw who it was.
“Zane! I see you’re back. You were gone a while. How’s your family?”
“They’re doing great. And I’m glad to be back,” Zane claimed, smiling fondly at the Dren on the screen. He then frowned in worry.
“Hey, I’m not calling at a bad time, am I? I’d hate to interrupt your work.”
“Not really. I’ve been working on a new song and dance routine, but I’m having a bit of a creative block,” sighed Charma.
“I have no doubt you’ll get through it, Chacha,” Zane teased, putting emphasis on her name. Her crest flared in embarrassment. She started to regret telling him it had been what her parents called her as a hatchling.
“Sorry about bothering you with my problems,” she mumbled to herself.
“I’m sorry for teasing you,” Zane said holding his hands up in placating gesture. The meaning was completely lost on the idol though.
“Tell me about your family, Zane. You’ve never really mentioned them before.”
“Hmm, let’s see, what is there to tell. Well, I have a sister named Veronica. She’s three years younger than me and is a mother of two. She’s flighty, I guess, but she prefers the term ‘fun-loving.’ Really, she’s just a go with the flow kind of person.” Zane put a hand to his chin in a pose implying deep thought. Again, its significance was lost on the Dren. “Don, her husband, is a nice guy I suppose, if not a little weird. Or a lot weird. He’s… do you know what a goth is?”
“No, what is it?” Charma inquired, tilting her head.
“Simply put, they’re a person really into wearing dark clothes, acting depressed, and reveling in nihilism,” Zane summed up for his kinda-sorta girlfriend.
“Oh, he’s a voider. We have something similar here in the Alliance. You know, it’s amazing that even an Isolationist Enclave like yours developed similar cultural identities.”
“Yeah, amazing,” Zane said with a feeble chuckle. He felt bad lying to her about the status of his planet. But it was better for her to think that Earth was merely one of those xenophobic places and not a Class B one. Safer, too.
“Well anyways, Don is one of those kinds of guys, but also really good with business management. He runs a nightclub and is surprisingly good at it. Strangely eloquent too, come to think of it. Then there is Jack, my nephew, and Donna, my niece. They are the best.” Zane smiled as he thought of his cute little relatives.
“Jack is four and Donna was born less than six months ago, as you might remember. I just hope neither of them take too much after their parents. I love Vera and all, but in all honesty her kids probably need better role models.”
“And your parents?” Charma urged as Zane began to mutter under his breathe about bad influences.
“Hm? Oh, sorry, lost my train of thought thinking about terrible futures where Jack and Donna dress in all black and recite bad poetry,” Zane explained with a shiver.
“My parents are normal, I suppose. Dad is a manager at a construction company and mom moonlights as a daycare helper. I have three uncles on my dad’s side, and my mom was an only child. It’s a pretty big extended family but we’ve drifted apart somewhat over the years.”
“Well, at least you had fun with them over, uh, ‘Thankhaving,’ right?”
“Technically the holiday is called Thanksgiving, but I like your take on its name,” Zane said with a smile. “And yes, I had a lot of fun. Seeing them again was great. Though I could have done without my mom constantly asking when she was going to get grandchildren from me. Or ‘grandbabies’ as she calls them. Honestly she should be satisfied with Jack and Donna for now.”
Charma chuckled, her thoughts darting to a pink scaled Dren. “That sounds a lot like my mom as well, actually. She calls them ‘grandbabies’ as well and keeps asking when I’m going to have some for her to dote on.”
“Our mothers must never meet.” Charma started to laugh at Zane’s comment, but her mirth died a messy death when she saw the serious and terrified expression the human possessed. She coughed awkwardly.
“Hey, Zane. Speaking of parents, do you think I could meet yours, or you meet mine? I mean, not that you have to…”
“I don’t think that’ll be possible for the foreseeable future,” Zane sadly, looking down at his hands in sorrow. Charma’s crest flattened against her head as well.
“Yeah, I guess that was a silly idea. Sorry to bring i
t up.” The pair of them sat in morose silence for a few more minutes.
“You’re using up my precious bandwidth with staring at each other in sadness,” Rob spoke up testily, partially annoyed by the pity party his two friends were throwing for each other.
“I should go. Still a lot of writing to do,” Charma said softly. “We’ll talk again soon, alright?”
“Sounds good. Bye, Chacha,” Zane fondly replied. As the call ended the human sighed and cradled his head in his hands.
“It’s getting harder to do this, Rob. Lying to her is tearing at my heart. Only the thought of her getting hurt from my secret is keeping me from doing something I’d regret.”
Rob said nothing, only floating down to give its friend an awkward nuzzle. The droid had had an idea a while back when it had seen how happy the two of them were together. But it had held off.
The idea was reckless, dangerous, and could possible get them caught sooner rather than later.
Now though it felt that it had no other choice. Even though Rob had been freed from the shackles of his old programming, it still desired to help others. And Zane was a friend. The only one it had.
Unknown to the human, a lengthy document was pulled up from the depths of the droid’s memory banks and was slowly filled out. Rob couldn’t do much, but at least there was a chance it could change one little thing for Zane.
“Entering the atmosphere. Please do not be alarmed at any turbulence. Remain seated and strapped to the gravity couch until we have finished docking procedures.”
Choka’klove Aunlood paid the automated voice no heed. He had been on so many interplanetary trips on a vast assortment of space worthy vessels he knew all the warnings, precautions, and emergency procedures by memory. Instead he chose to look down upon the rapidly approaching planet.
Hion, fifth planet of the Neva System, and home world of the Ial. The few remaining members of the Founding Species lived on the surface in opulent luxury, content to spend their extensively long lives experimenting, tinkering, and occasionally running the Solar Alliance of Independent Planets.
