Mata Hari’s holo smiled. “Yes, Bogean Harmony, we do mindLink in a similar manner, though we use artificial means. As to your prior question, the social group that rules our home galaxy is called the Anarchate. One part of this social polity employs large spaceship globes to enforce its Rules. One Rule is that any Nova battleglobe that loses its organic lifeform contingent is required to destroy itself. Your stasis beam made it appear there were no living organics on the later ships. That tactic is due to the combat nature of the Anarchate, which tolerates no other authority within our home galaxy. We are . . . refugees from that authority, on our way to the home of one of our party that lies in a nearby galaxy. We call it the Small Magellanic Cloud. Images accompany these polities and locations. What was your intention in contacting us?”
In the viewscreen, a side image of the silver octahedron appeared beside the lines of text. “We seek knowledge of other lifeforms, but we do not enjoy leaving our home star cluster. There are other thinking species in our cluster, and we have long enjoyed relations of trade with them. Perhaps, if someone from your home galaxy was interested, we could establish a trading agreement with them? Something of ours they wish to acquire in return for something of theirs? It could be data or histories or rare minerals and gases that are less common in our cluster than, perhaps, in your galaxy?”
Matt smiled. Perfect! “Mata Hari, ask them to wait a moment. I have the perfect solution to this encounter.” He looked left at Gatekeeper. “Would you go and bring back our Meligun guest, Gatekeeper? I think Rak tho-mesk will enjoy chatting with this Bogean person.”
Eliana and Suzanne laughed softly from the accel-couches and George leaned forward to chuckle loudly. “Yes! Maybe we can convince these Bogeans to take him off our hands. Uh, our starship?”
BattleMind flapped its black wings. “Losing one more organic pest is always a welcome event,” it muttered. “But this trade matter has no value to me. Will these Bogean aliens interfere with my harvesting Remotes?”
Mata Hari nodded to the dragon looming beside her, then gestured at the forward holo. “Bogean Harmony, we have sent for a fourth organic lifeform on our ship. It claims the solo identity of Rak tho-mesk of Clan Klickjo. Its lifequest is directly involved in this trading that you describe. And regarding items of value, how did you arrive here so quickly, with no evidence of an Alcubierre space-time drive, or a fusion pulse space drive?”
The alien response was almost instant. “You still use that ancient technique for star to star travel? We do not use that mode. We harness the Dark Energy that is forcing the expansion of our universe, sometimes at faster than light speeds. It works well to move both within a star system and to go star to star. If we wish to land on a planet surface, we employ a magnetic repulsion method. Do all your species use such antique transit methods?”
Mata Hari crossed her hands over her embroidered bodice. “Most do, though there are areas of our home galaxy that the Anarchate has not entered, for its own reasons,” she said. “They may harbor lifeforms as advanced as you. But our other trade goods are rich and varied and—”
“Send them Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony,” Matt told her, thought-imaging a recording he’d heard so many years ago, when he still lived with his Mom, Dad and sisters. He blinked, then thought hard. Behind him the Spine slidedoor opened and merchant Rak entered in company with Gatekeeper. “Merchant Rak tho-mesk, the aliens in that octahedron ship out there control a star cluster that lies south of the central Core and next to the Magellanic Stream. We now lie 9,421 light years south of the galactic plane. They want to trade, but not travel into the Anarchate. Are you interested in working with them? Oh, they have a stardrive better than the Alcubierre Drive that everyone uses.”
“Whaaat!” stuttered the black-furred alien bear. In his mind’s eye Matt saw the four armed alien approach him, then sit down beside his Interlock Pit and lean forward, his stance one of intense interest. “Of course I am! The Melikark Conglomerate and I will treat these aliens to pleasures they have never—”
“Good,” Matt interrupted. “But we have a price before we allow you to negotiate with these aliens.”
“Price?” it muttered, then gave a bearish sigh. “Well, a price for services performed is normal. What is your price?”
Matt glanced over at Eliana, whose green eyes seemed amused by his word byplay even as Mata Hari held off from further chat with the Bogean Harmony. Good. He looked directly at the bear’s pink eyes. “My price is a change in the Melikark terms of bondServant contracts. Your conglomerate must agree to allow any indentured bondServant to leave their contract within a year cycle if they desire, with free transport to another merchant world. Even if they still owe you a debt. Agreed?”
“But, but . . . I am a low level manager for the conglomerate. Surely you don’t think I can speak for the entire Melikark Conglomerate?”
“You spoke for them when your recognized my combat suit in your Trans-Galactic office, didn’t you?” Matt said, working the guilty-as-sin mode that affected some species. “I believe you managed to send off an Alert signal to the nearby space fleet of your business partners. And also sent a tachlink message to the Combat Command of the Anarchate. Yes?”
“Yes,” muttered Rak tho-mesk. “I commit to strongly urge such a contract change, in return for our sole access to these Bogean Harmony aliens you have met. Satisfactory?”
Better and better. “Satisfactory.” Matt looked to Mata Hari at the same time he PET image-thought his idea of how to win-win by getting this alien off their ship while also helping millions of other lifeforms now serving bondage duty to the Melikark Conglomerate. “Can you convey this situation to our Bogean friends?”
“Yes, Matthew,” she said with a big smile. “Doing so now.”
In the holo there appeared the image of a Bogean. It resembled no lifeform Matt had ever encountered, though the two brown eyes that adorned its eyestalks looked compassionate. Somehow. The rest of the creature suggested an amphibian lifestyle. Its body lay low to the ground, had ten legs in five pairs, while four armhands sprouted from the area underneath a wide, frog-like mouth. The head titled to one side, then the other.
“I hope my appearance is not too shocking,” the Bogean said. “My solo identity is that of Eli dork-methusel, from the Nadder clutch, of planet Restful Joy. And that grouping of sounds resembles the evening serenade of the young females of our species. We like it. What is the cost?”
Matt resisted saying free. “Eli, my solo identity is Matthew Dragoneaux. While my species is limited in mobility, as you can see, our composers of acoustic sequences made both by voice and by instrument are very talented. You just heard the Fifth Symphony by one Ludwig van Beethoven of Vienna, Austria, planet Earth. He died more than 300 year cycles ago. But his music lives on.” Matt smiled, but hid his teeth. “If you wish to offer a trade for that music, you could provide us with the details of your Dark Energy stardrive, for our use only. Or perhaps your stasis beam device? We are not able to project a stasis effect, though we use it for long travels by organics.”
“You say you are refugees from this Anarchate polity and are heading outward to this Small Magellanic Cloud. Will you be returning this way?” Eli said in printed words.
“Yes,” Matt said, ignoring the growl of BattleMind. “We plan to consult with our T’Chak . . . friends over conditions in our home galaxy. We will likely return to debate this Anarchate polity. But whatever we do, trade relations will not be disrupted.”
“Good. When you return, stop at this space-time locus. Both devices will be awaiting you. They will only respond to the life-tech signature of your starship. Is this satisfactory?”
“Yes!” Matt said, happy to accept a future gift while leaving behind a present bother. He eyed Rak. “Why don’t you continue this conversation in your stateroom? Our Mata Hari will monitor your negotiations, of course. Oh. If you are pleasant to these Bogeans, they may allow you onto their ship. They might even return you to the nearest Anarchate s
tar system. You like?”
“Of course!” boomed the bear-like alien, standing up. “I depart to render my services to these . . . new trading partners.”
Matt focused back on the Bogean alien, meeting its eyestalks. “Please negotiate these trade issues with our companion Rak tho-mesk. And please remain near us while we harvest hydrogen isotopes from the nearby stream of neutral hydrogen. In three day-units we will depart. Before then, you are welcome to invite our companion to visit your ship, perhaps even to travel with you to a nearby Anarchate star system.”
“Appreciations for your understanding, Matthew Dragoneaux. You and your companions are welcome to visit our star cluster at any point in the time stream. I transmit a code emission that will tell any ship of ours that you are a friend. We are now friends, do you agree?”
“I agree. Happy negotiating.”
The image of the Bogean, its text speech and its starship vanished to be replaced by a view of nearby space and the silvery glint of the Bogean Harmony starship in the distance. Matt sighed and sat back in his Pit chair.
“Anybody up for a game of checkers? I need to relax after all that!”
Laughs sounded from Eliana, George, Suzanne, Mata Hari and Gatekeeper, while BattleMind did a dragon version of a ‘huff’ that involved bunching up its spinal armor plates.
Matt reminded himself that the T’Chak aliens, while appearing in dragon form to him, were sexually trimorphic, omnivorous, and their sexes came in male, female and neuter versions. Perhaps the dragon’s clasping of its two manipulator hands to its yellow-scale chest signaled a need for contact with a fellow T’Chak? A female perhaps? After all, even an alien with three brain clusters could feel emotions.
Maybe, just maybe, Mata Hari’s emotionality growth was affecting BattleMind? He knew that months ago it would never have made any effort to shield him from its thunderous thought-flow. And while it spoke with disgust of its infestation by organic lifeforms, he knew that his actions had helped it perform its Task assignment better than it could do on its own. After all, a single battle won does not make for success in a long-term war. But would there be any organic T’Chak still alive, perhaps in stasis, somewhere in the Small Magellanic Cloud? BattleMind had made that claim right after its defeat of the Anarchate battleglobe in Halcyon system. Perhaps there were survivors in the Large Magellanic Cloud? They would traverse the outer portion of the LMC on their way to the SMC. Perhaps they could visit a world inside the LMC and discover, what? Well, they would see whatever the future held for them.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Two months later, Matt sat in the Interlock Pit with his organic and AI friends nearby, gazing at the incredible majesty of the Large Magellanic Cloud. Oblong in shape, measuring about 14,000 light years across, the cloud’s central bar and single spiral arm remnant were anchored by the red-glowing Tarantula Nebula at the far end, with a scattering of stars ranging from blue supergiants to red giants and millions of F, G, K and M-type main sequence stars at the near end. It had been a long trip along the Magellanic Stream, a journey of more than 160,000 light years to reach this outer edge of the cloud, before later following the neutral hydrogen gas bridge over to the more distant Small Magellanic Cloud. For now, though, he just wished to soak in this giant jewel box of whispy red clouds, blue supergiants, yellow Sol-type stars, white and yellow F and G stars, and the deep red of cooler, older M-type stars. While all such stars, gas clouds and nebulas could be seen in home galaxy, to see them in an array like this was truly magical.
“Beautiful,” whispered Eliana from her accel-couch nearby. “Does anyone know where in that immensity we will be heading? Where the T’Chak outpost is located?”
Mata Hari moved to stand beside Eliana, holding hands with a mellow-acting Gatekeeper. “We do. Gatekeeper and I, we know the location. BattleMind shared it with us just before we left Translation. It is presently focused on trying to detect tachlink messages from T’Chak worlds here and in the Small Magellanic Cloud.”
Suzanne brushed her yellow curls back from her freckled face. She squinted thoughtfully. “I thought the T’Chak only lived in the Small Magellanic Cloud. Is that wrong?”
“You are both wrong and right,” Mata Hari said with a soft smile, clearly enjoying her new dress design by Suzanne that was based on a Croatian block-in-block motif. “Right in that the Cluster Prime of the T’Chak lies in the small cloud. Wrong in that the T’Chak Imperium expanded their colony worlds to include many inside the large cloud. When you are the sole intelligent species in the two clouds, it takes time to occupy millions of Earth-like worlds.”
“Sole species in the clouds?” George said, stroking his beard. “That sounds unlikely. Mata Hari, what is the source for that data?”
Matt’s AI partner looked to her newfound partner Gatekeeper, who had become more and more ‘people-like’ in his behaviors since joining their trek. “Maker of parks, I know only what BattleMind has told me. But you have studied the Anarchate memory crystal and also the backup memory module for our . . . director, the item BattleMind kept hidden from all of us until recently.”
The holo of a middle-aged Greek man who was clean-shaven, with grey head curls, a squarish face and light brown skin, looked down at Matt then out to include everyone. “As Mata said just now, she is both right and wrong,” he said, his look that of an evening companion happy to be among friends. “The history modulus of the 94th Imperial Dynast of the T’Chak Imperium claims there are no other space-faring species in the two clouds. But it seems likely their definition of ‘intelligent species’ did not include alien lifeforms that existed only on a home planet. If they did not travel the star lanes, they did not exist.”
Suzanne sat forward in her accel-couch. “Did they kill everyone off?”
“Unknown,” Gatekeeper said. “But it is possible that in the 207,000 years since they were last heard from, that one or more planet-bound species has now achieved spaceflight. Including perhaps the Alcubierre space-time mode of travel.”
Matt had wondered about that T’Chak claim. “So, Mata Hari and Gatekeeper, we should be alert to the chance that other species may be able to detect our gravity wave pulse when we leave Translation?”
“Yes,” Mata Hari said, turning to look at the jewel box of the Large Magellanic Cloud. “And the first place to be alert is star system TC44391, which lies just outside the LH95 stellar nursery region. It is an F7 main sequence star that is older than the stars in LH95. The system has five planets, two of which are gas giants. Planet three was colonized by the T’Chak a half million years ago.”
Eliana tapped her armrest. “Mata Hari, how far is that system from where we are now?”
“Seven hundred forty-two light years. Close in stellar terms,” she said with a shy smile.
Matt reached back and attached the optical fiber neurolink cable to the back of his neck. “Then I guess we should be heading that way. We can leave for the Small Magellanic Cloud only after BattleMind has a chance to inspect this planet and its automatons for news about his makers.”
A weak cheer sounded from his friends just before Matt submerged his awareness into that of the ship, Mata Hari and Gatekeeper, the distant purple glow of BattleMind, and the Alcubierre Drive modulus. He avoided ocean-time and stayed within his normal neurolink. With a PET thought-image he moved them all into a new space-time universe that would last for the two days it would take to arrive at TC44391. He looked forward to escaping his tech-mech rapport and going for a swim in the lake with Eliana. It might be his last chance to claim normal ‘human time’ with his love. Once they arrived in the T’Chak system he suspected things would get confused, frustrating and perhaps dangerous.
George sat tensely in his accel seat, his attention focused on the front holosphere that glowed just above Matt’s curly black hair. His hands gripped the couch arms as he tried to appear relaxed and calm for Suzanne, now sitting behind him. For her, for her peace of mind, he must be calm and confident. Like Matt.
Mata
Hari hung just outside system TC44391, its bright –yellow-white star occupying the center of the holosphere. They lay within the star’s Kuiper Belt of proto-cometary objects, stealth-shielded against all detectors thanks to the Alcubierre defense fields. After the Bogean Harmony surprise and the worry about new space-traveling species, Mata Hari and Matt had insisted on such a cautious approach. Before them the holosphere filled with endless historical readouts on the T’Chak colony world, and the ribbon of satellites and debris that circled the third planet. Once again Matt sat in the Interlock Pit, lightbeams invading his inner core.
In front of George sat Eliana, watching the display from her accel-couch. She appeared somber and not fully rested, as if her night had been as disturbed as his. But she’d taken the time to brush out her waist-long black hair, apply rose-colored lipstick and change into a Vietnamese cheongsam style dress. During their shared group breakfast, she’d been friendly enough, though she had talked only of minor things. She and Suzanne both seemed aware that new unknowns could carry unpleasant surprises.
“Do not worry, dear George,” said the holo of Mata Hari as she stood to his left, still holding hands with the Greek gardener persona that Gatekeeper preferred. “Matthew and I have entered many systems this way during our years of Vigilante work. It is time-consuming, but wise to enter quietly an unknown place.”
Eliana looked back, her albino white face appearing tense. “But Mata Hari, you two have the historical records and images from the T’Chak History Modulus. Isn’t that enough?”
George had thought book learning sufficient, before he arrived at Omega and learned how vital it was to read the body language of a species, not just know its description. Arriving here more than 200,000 years after the modulus had been created was the same. As Mata Hari patiently explained.
“My dear, this is not Halcyon or Galifray systems, where people visit often. This is an old, old star system that should be emitting a barrage of tachlink and EMF signals, like those we detected at Morrigan,” the AI said as she smoothed the chain-mail she now wore, with her sword affixed to her back. “Yet we discern no such signals. We detect no starships. There are no mobile neutrino emissions, a reliable indicator of someone moving through space. Finally, the atmosphere of the planet does not show elevated pollutants, which accumulate even on a world where fusion power is primary. That says this is a tech-dead world. But why is it dead?”
Vigilante Series 2: Nebula Vigilante Page 26
