by J Battle
‘There is an 87.6 percent chance that you stole this ship from Mr. Thompson; it was my duty to report the matter to the local authorities.’
‘Despite clear instructions?’
‘The flight plan stated that there could be no communications during the journey. We were in orbit around Tau Ceti E and consequently the journey had ended.’
‘And the delay in deactivating the ZTC?’
‘For safety’s sake, I decided to complete a full orbit before taking that action, to undertake a full systems check to ensure that all life support functions were at optimum levels. None of these actions breached the letter of the flight plan, I think you’ll agree.’
Dan nodded, and floated over to the control deck.
When he was safely strapped in his chair, he instructed the ship to put a call through to an old acquaintance.
‘Do not listen in to this call, and do not make any type of recording, and delete any record of this call from your memory, is that clear?’
‘Perfectly clear, Sir.’
The connection was made instantaneously and, seconds later, Dan heard a familiar voice.
‘Hi Andreas; I’m back.’
**********
‘Regret, but imperative; duty answered and honored. Choice on a wish horizon.’ The words were slow and considered; the second syllable of each emphasized and drawn out until the speaker lost the breath to speak.
Jashna understood the symbology of the traditional form of speech, and he felt fully cognizant of the sub-text; but that didn’t mean he was happy about the imposition on his time and the disruption to his own plans.
‘If instructed, those instructions will be followed, your majestic one, but deep knowledge of facts and intentions would facilitate success.’
His superior bent her long neck and twisted her head to one side, as if to view him from a different perspective.
Jashna was close to three meters in height, with a long tan fur covered body, short legs with reverse knees and long sinuous arms. His head seemed almost cartoonishly large, perched on his long neck between his broad shoulders.
‘Hesitation does not meet our expectations, Jashna-del. Obedience brings warmth and satisfaction.’
‘Obedience is a fact, Heldon-del; absolute and unequivocal. I see it there before me. But full understanding would abrogate failure.’
‘Questions will be answered.’ Her head moved closer and her great nostrils flared. He held himself rigid, trying to avoid an involuntary reaction to the possibility of an assault.
Then she reared back; towering above him as her tentacles danced in the cool aerated water of the reef.
He made no defensive move; if she came crashing down on him, even he would be lucky to survive the impact. But she held her position; her belly decals indicated calmness, but they were delineated by a sharp line of bright orange, suggesting that her patience was not unlimited.
‘They are attacking one small, unimportant world under the auspices of the High Council, with due restrictions imposed; why are we so interested?’ He risked the question.
‘The High Council? Nothing more than a gathering of ineffective fools. They love to speak, but actions? That is altogether beyond them. Their restrictions will be evaded. This is no more than the first step in the dance; believe my words. The next step will be the rest of that small empire.’
‘And that will change their status in the Confederation?’
‘It will inspire conflict. The timing is inopportune.’
‘Why?’
Heldon hissed her anger at the one word question; an unintended insult.
Jashna carried on; not oblivious but determined. ‘Does it really require the presence of a being of my status? Surely a Dorson, or perhaps a Sullibubble, would seem to be more appropriate for the task at hand?’
‘Questions incorrectly asked. No mission supportive information is being requested. Have you others?’
Jashna gathered his shudder-wings about him and flicked his tail, trying to control his anger. He could already feel his simmerglow building up inside him. It was time to leave before the destructive impulse became too strong.
‘Your majestic one,‘ he spoke calmly, ‘your instructions will be followed. I will go with the Hru-argh ship and ensure compliance’
Heldon lowered her head closer.
‘Urge to kill, ever-present, must be resisted, or failure will exist; absolute and unequivocal.’
Jashna made no answer. He spun away from her and surged upwards, through the star dappled water, to the surface and beyond. As his long body left the water, he raised his shudder-wings and flew low over the tiny rippled sea as it folded around itself, his mind still in turmoil and his simmerglow already leaking from his pores and heating the thin layer of air around him.
He could dive now and even her great mass could not withstand the force of his fully realized simmerglow, but no; not now; not today. He fought for and regained control of his body, and felt the power of the simmerglow being disbursed harmlessly as he flew; the only evidence was the high pitched scream of molecules of air being ripped apart as he passed.
Heldon's words rang in his mind.' The timing is inopportune,' she had said.
What did she mean? Conflict between empires was not unusual and Confederation heavyweights such as Heldon would hardly be interested enough to consider interference.
So, what had changed? Was there something special about this apparently insignificant little empire, run by a race calling themselves Humans? Or was it something else entirely?
It he had known the truth, on that day, of what was to come, then, perhaps, he would have spread his wide shudder wings and raced for the stars, and not cared to look back.
Instead, ignorance shielding him from the dreadful truth, he made his way to rendezvous with the Hru-argh warship.
Behind him, floating in the artificial bubble of water and air she had created for her own comfort, Heldon watched him go. She knew the truth of the external threat to the safety of the Galaxy and that the time before them was a double-edged sword. Yes, she had plenty of time to act before the full effect of the danger was felt; but the longer she took to solve the problem, the more damage would be done.
One thing she did not need at this moment was a long internecine war.
Chapter 7
The warship was a crude, bulging egg; mottled in all of the ugly colors and lacking much in the way of aesthetic value. It did carry a very impressive arsenal of weapons and was surprisingly agile in battle. And it was commanded by the most decorated captain in the whole of the Hru-argh navy.
Tindyll stood on all four of his thick legs in the center of his control deck. It was the exact center; he'd had it measured and was sure of his facts. On each side of him, but a few paces back, were his sub-dubs. His station required that there be two of the creatures, and forget about the expense. They hovered behind him, ready and willing to clear up after him.
As he chewed on the remnants of an Ack-Ack bird, he checked his timepiece. They were late already, and their so-called guest had not yet arrived. The annoyance caused him to release a cloud of foul smelling methane that seemed to cling to his haunches, causing one of his sub-dubs to take a surreptitious step backwards. The other snorted, and stepped closer.
Tyndell tossed the last of the bones over his head and called for his second in command.
'News from him?' he asked, with a grunt and a flick of his tail that knocked the closest sub-dub off his feet.
Second officer Ardylle rushed to be closer to his commander, followed by his own sub-dub.
'Nothing has been received, Sir, even if sent.'
'If his arrival doesn't occur within the space of an hour, we'll not stay longer.'
Ardylle kept his own council, which was usually the best option to take with Tyndell. He saw his second officer as someone to listen to him and pass on his orders, not as a part of the decision making command structure.
'I believe he is here now, Captain.' A
rdylle had received the message directly from the ship's AI, who insisted on being addressed as Ship's Tertiary Endeavour Practicality Handler, or STEPH, for short.
The only response from the captain was a rather impressive pile of droppings, which his sub-dubs rushed to clear up.
Jashna strode from the ships airlock as much as his short legs would allow; more of a pitter patter than strides to be more accurate. His luxurious shudder wings were phased out to invisibility which was something of a shame as they always caused appreciative comments when he met strangers for the first time. Still, they were of no use within the ship’s confines. He’d also taken simmer glow suppressants to reduce the risk of accidental death to his hosts, which he felt would be seen as bad form by any survivors.
‘Our ship welcomes you, honored guest.’ Ardylle released a warming blast of foul methane to support his words.
‘And the crew; do they join in the welcome? Or is it just the ship?’
‘Most assuredly, Sir. The crew leak happiness at the very thought of your presence on our undeserving ship.’
Despite the suppressants, Jashna felt a little surge of annoyance inspired simmer, but this was not the place to allow its display.
‘Your captain?’
‘Waiting in the control room; careful and considerate of his great responsibilities; a great weight rests on his broad back.’
‘Take me to him, and if you could be a little less generous with your words, that would smooth this meeting along.’
‘You have not eaten since you left the airlock; you must be hungry, and you have no…’
‘I’ve only been on-board six minutes and I ate several hours ago. I need no further sustenance now. And I have no need of a sub-dub. I find I can manage my bodily wastes well enough myself. What is that smell, anyway?’
Whilst Ardylle tried to work out if he was being insulted, he evacuated profusely, causing his guest to step back, and his sub-dub to spring into action, bucket in paw.
They met the captain in the forward meeting room, along with the arms-master, a diminutive creature with only a stump for a tail. His sub-dub had been mutilated to match his master.
‘Welcome honored representative of the Galactic Confederation; your presence dilutes the stink of our unworthiness; it raises our potential to greatness, and fills our bellies with the beneficence of the Federation’s generosity.’
Tyndell reared his head upwards and to the side, exposing the soft unprotected flesh of his throat.
Jashna hesitated for a moment, then moved forward and gently gripped the captain’s skin between his teeth.
When enough time had elapsed, he withdrew and following the ancient Hru-argh tradition, presented his own neck in a similar fashion.
The captain leant over and tried to take a portion of the bald skin covering his throat between his own massive teeth, but Jashna’s skin was never going to allow that. It tightened and hardened; resisting the pull of the captain’s teeth. In the end, he had to open his jaws a little wider and take Jashna’ whole neck gently between his jaws.
Jashna tried his best to control his body’s defensive reactions, but he could not prevent the jet of foul tasting ink that shot from his roused skin deep into the mouth of the captain.
Fortunately, Hru-arghs have no sense of taste so there was no danger of the captain taking offence.
‘Business now to be settled,‘ said Jashna, glad that the civilities were now over. ‘As you already know, only this ship will take part in the attack, and the action will be controlled and appropriate. Therefore, only level one and level two weapons will be used. Unless the defenders respond with level three ordnance, in which case level four will be deemed appropriate. Any questions?’
‘If they have level three weapons, we might not be in a position to use higher level weapons; we may be already too badly damaged.’
‘I’m sure this fine ship is proof against even level three weapons.’
‘What casualty levels are we restricted to?’
‘You have leeway here. You can have an absolute figure, or a plus percentage on top of your own casualties.’
‘We do not expect casualties!’ The captain thrashed his tail in anger at the suggestion.
‘An absolute figure then.
‘What about a percentage of their population? That would be better.’
‘That could be permitted. What percentage?’
’75 percent’
‘Too high. 25’
‘Split the two; 50.’
’50 percent then, but only if the Eshoon Rule is followed.’
The captain looked aghast; as far it was possible to tell from the Hru-argh’s rather less than mobile face.
The Eshoon Rule required attackers to fire once at their target, then present themselves without stealth or shields, to allow the defenders a chance to fire back at them.
‘That goes too far. Level two weapons and the Eshoon! You present an opportunity for failure. It is there before us, solid and absolute. ’
‘Nevertheless, that is my condition.’
'Without the Eshoon Rule?'
'25 percent.'
The captain snorted and defecated profusely.
Jashna took that as acceptance.
The Rule was named after a certain General Eshoon who, upon finding a weakly defended position before him had, in an unprecedented demonstration of fair play that was much to the dismay of his soldiers, commanded that just one missile be fired at the enemy. Then he led his army out into the open plain, without the support of artillery or air-force, and called for the defenders to do their worst.
Naturally the rule was named after him posthumously.
*********
Dan nursed his beer and watched the room in the broad mirrors before him. He was in the standard class lounge of the double-wheeled space station that orbited Tau Ceti E.
Business was quiet at this early time of the day, with only a handful of patrons dotted around, waiting for something real to happen to them.
Dan stared at his own reflection; he looked tired he thought, and a little bloated, the result of too much time spent in space and in bars.
He imagined his face slimmer; his eyes brighter and his head held a little higher. It wasn't imagination, to be accurate; it was memory. That was how he'd looked at his peak, at the age of 22, with the world at his feet and a golden future ahead of him.
At 21, he'd broken the athletics world record for 400 meters; not just broken it; smashed it. The only man in history to break 40 seconds for the one lap race; 39.94 to be precise. That was fully two seconds off the previous mark that had stood for nearly 20 years.
The following year, he'd taken the 800 meters record apart; 1:38.2. He was a legend already in his sport and, with his looks and easy charm, crossover would be a formality; he was going to be a star; no-one doubted that.
And for six months, he was. He travelled the world, being feted and indulged, and cash fell into his accounts by the wagonload.
Then one night, driving with too much speed, too much alcohol, and too little road, it all came to an abrupt end.
No-one else was hurt, but he lost both legs at the knees. He also lost his superman status.
He could afford the best treatment available at the time, and his state of the art new limbs were perfectly adequate for walking around and going about his business just like everyone else, but he wasn't like everyone else; he was special.
He could have got involved with Para sports, but they were not for him. He just had no way to deal with the sudden transition from superstar to also-ran.
He was still rich and good-looking, though his charm was a little less easy, and there were plenty of things he could have done. But he turned his back on those opportunities that would have required some effort from him, some desire to change.
He turned instead to a virtual reality world where he could maintain that he was still whole and that disaster had never shared a room with him.
He had the lates
t brain implants to enable him to enjoy the best that the digital world could offer him and, for close to three years, he was lost to the world that presumed to call itself real. He had people to look after his bodily needs; to clean him and feed him; to cut his hair and ensure that he was kept alive. But he knew nothing of that; he was racing again, against new opponents who threatened challenges to his supremacy; challenges that were met and defeated, and cast to one side, in preparation for the next.
Then the money ran out, and he no longer had those people.
The last one switched the machine off before she left the room for the final time; there may have been some regret in her heart, but it was surely only for the loss of her regular pay-check, not for the man splayed across the couch, twitching and grunting as he tried to cling on to the imaginary world where he was still king.
When the real world connected itself to him without any wish or permission on his part, he found himself penniless, homeless and in debt. As he squinted in the unexpected brightness, he found himself in the presence of an apparent stranger.
'Wakey, wakey, Danny boy. Time to get up and smell the shit.'
'Uh...who are...what...' He'd given up; the words were too hard to find.
'Don't pretend you don't know me, man. Don't pretend you don't owe me, man.'
The words were spoken lightly but the threat was obvious.
'Just in case you are a little fuzzy, Danny, I'm Andreas Barr, and I own your ass.'
Dan shook his head, as if that would disrupt the memory, make it less real.
Andreas Barr; the man who changed his life and turned him from a broken man into what? His apprentice, his accessory, his tool.
'You've got those implants, son, and I can make use of them,' he'd said, maybe the second or third time they'd met, in a bar of course.
The next time, he turned up with a plan, and the name of the ship they were going to steal; The Darkside.
They'd stolen the ship together and flown to Tau Ceti E, and the rest, as they say, is history.
He drained the last of his beer and called for another. There was nothing else for him to do. He'd been paid for the ship by Andreas; much less than it was worth of course, but Barr was not known for his generosity. The diamonds were in a little pouch hanging from his neck, and he just had to get through the next three days, until the ship for home was ready to leave. He smiled grimly at the idea that he would actually make it back in time for the new century celebrations.
