Star-Eater Chronicles 1: A Galaxy Too Far...

by Dennis E. Smirl

  In less than an hour, we’d reached Light x 28.3.

  Ship announced, slowing down to a casual Light x 23.

  Damn, I had the fastest Earth ship in the galaxy, and I was returning home, the hero, with news of invasion.

  “Ship, with these new speeds in mind, how long to Earth?”

 

  “Wow!” I exclaimed, knowing our new enhanced technology had just pushed Earth’s empire out into what had been called ‘deep space’.

  It wasn’t long (in space time) before we were challenged in English. “Unknown craft, identify yourself.”

  Ship began,

  I sat up in my chair. The very least I could do was let them scan me with good posture. “Seth Gingko here, Commander and owner of the vessel previously designated as MacCollie Survey Vessel #3497.” Man, I had practiced that little speech for months.

  “We do not recognize you, #3497. Please confirm your mission.”

  “Eh, we’ve been to the edge of the galaxy and back. Our vessel got a little bit customized on our trip, you know, nothing else to do but pimp the ride.” I was enjoying this. “I’ve got information for MacCollie Central, please inform them.”

  “Roger, #3497. We'll escort you to the landing pattern.”

  So, it was over—at least that tiny part of it.

  But my troubles were far from over. I'd signed on for a five-year mission and although the ship now legally belonged to me, that wouldn’t stop MacCollie rough-riding all over it, and me, and my so-called contract. Their boffins would see the modifications, and mightn’t not be too happy about me being possessive with either the mods, the ship, Ship, or anything else they could find, even stuff we hadn’t discovered yet. Of course, they would be getting the secret of a shield generator small enough to be carried on a survey scout and improvements in the thrusters that meant the Cutey-Pie was several times as fast as it had originally been.

  One thought lingered. My contract. The ship and all its advances were mine, my property.

  I always felt the MacCollies considered Survey Scouts expendable. Maybe that's why they picked misfits like me and trained us to go looking for places where humans could live—or at least Terraform. That made me wonder if they thought I was expendable.

  Ship, or the AI personality that inhabited my scout ship had also been altered on our mission. Turning it off—and leaving it off—would probably be the safest option. Of course, the alterations to its programming would give the AI scientists interesting avenues of research. But what happens when an AI created by humans is modified by creatures we don't even begin to understand? My guess was that Ship would be downloaded into some secure environment, and examined by the MacCollies' best and brightest for years.

  Crap.

  For me, I had reached the end of my flight, the edge of the galaxy, that was all and fine. But I’d returned to home base many years too early. I’d probably beat my last few needles back. At that thought I raised my head from my bunk and walked briskly to Control.

  “Ship?”

 

  “The message needles we sent? Give me a time of arrival in earth’s orbit?”

 

  I was already starting to freak out. I hadn’t even given them thought until now.

 

  That did it. I sat heavily on my command chair. “Ship? What will happen to me if I get back to earth before my last needle announcing the end of my contract?”

 

  Yeah, that about did it. I couldn’t return to earth without proving my mission had been legitimately concluded. But what choice did I have? Contact with any alien technology, society, remains, etc. was considered Top Secret Ultra and totally Verboten, because humans don't like being told that other races even existed. It was something in our shared religion, something buried so deeply into the human psyche that just mentioning the idea that there might be others out there in the blackness of space would shut a conversation down immediately and get you reported to the authorities.

  I was bringing hard Intel on two alien races, one of which was breeding and spreading in humanity's direction. Realistically, on arriving still technically ‘in-contract’, I could expect weeks or even months in interrogation, during which every iota of Intel I'd collected would be examined time and time again. This scenario was far distant from the thoughts of the last few months.

  Gone my reward. Gone the riches of the inventions I was bringing home. Gone the naked serving wenches. Gone the admiration in everyone’s eyes, Seth Gingko, savior of Earth.

  I was suddenly the man who knew too much. Would they let me run free in a population that would be frightened witless if they knew one one-hundredth of one percent of what I knew?

  “Ship, what would happen if we cut and run?”

 

  “But now we have shields. And acceleration that no interceptor could match.”

 

  “If we land at home base, some very bad things may happen to us.”

 

  “If I gave the order to run, would you execute it?”

 

  “Yeah, right,” I said. My mind hovered above a decision...

  TO BE CONTINUED...