Jackie, sitting up, pointed to the display. “Green! They are starting to turn green!”
Cuddy followed her pointing finger to the Viewscape display. Sure enough, one by one, the individual frames around the eight video feeds were changing from blue to green. He hauled his body across the deck to get a closer view of the one pair still showing blue. Working as a team, the orb pair was in the process of prying open the Maurader’s access panels, using their powerfully clawed digits. One orb did manage to pry up a small corner of a panel, but as the panel began to curl back on itself, the orb very quickly managed to open it far enough for the second orb to extend its articulating arm deep inside the breached cavity. Although out of view, Cuddy knew the orb was probing the interior of the space, seeking a specific, thick conduit bundle that supplied power to each of the warship’s major systems—including tactical/weaponry, navigation, and the propulsion drive regulators. The feed frame suddenly changed from blue to green as the orb withdrew its articulating arm. It had severed the conduit bundle successfully.
In a matter of seconds, all but one Howsh warship had been deactivated—each floundering uselessly about in space. That one command ship, though, was traversing through space with astonishing speed. With each pass, it fired off another volley of devastating plasma fire, causing the Evermore to violently shake.
“We’re going to die … we’re going to fucking die!” Tony yelled.
Cuddy could see the fear in Jackie’s eyes, too. He knew the Evermore couldn’t withstand another hit like the last one.
“Shields are decreasing with each strike, Captain. Down to thirty-two percent,” the orb reported, which was Cuddy’s cue—time to implement phase three. With difficulty, he pulled himself up to his feet and went over to the forward console. Standing beside the AI orb, he stared out the forward observation window. “Go ahead, Bob. Order the orbs still operational back to the Evermore.”
Cuddy watched as the Howsh command ship swung around for another fly by, then closed his eyes. Inhaling a deep breath, he opened them, his mind concentrating on a singular component within the command ship. A few days earlier, Bob provided him with numerous diagrams of what the Marauder’s forward emergency escape hatch looked like. Technical drawings—as well as a myriad of technical data Cuddy didn’t completely understand. But what he did know was how to blow the hatch. While he didn’t have the mental kinetic dexterity to do what the eleven orbs had been tasked with, he knew he could manhandle those three thick metal levers. Each one needed to be flipped over—one hundred eighty degrees—into its opposite seated position. A simple brute-force action that was easy to accomplish—if you were a Howsh standing within the ship.
“Do something!” Tony yelled.
Cuddy, aware the others were now rising to their feet, did his best to concentrate. Again, he mentally pictured the emergency hatch, situated in the forward section of the Marauder. He visualized it in his mind—all its detail. The approaching ship was mere seconds from firing at them again. Cuddy raised a hand, miming the action of someone grabbing on to the cold hard metal of the first lever, then swung his arm over in an arc, feeling the first of the three levers pivot around and slam into its opposing position. He then did the same with lever number two. It too slammed down into position.
The Howsh command ship decided, it seemed, to move in closer proximity before it fired its three powerful plasma cannons. Its purpose, undoubtedly, was to bring the battle to a quick, definitive conclusion. But those two seconds of added time cost them dearly.
Cuddy mentally gripped the last metal lever. With another swing of his arm, the lever pivoted around, and he felt it too slam home.
By this point, the Howsh command ship was close enough for Cuddy to view a remarkable level of detail: the wear and tear on the warship’s hull from three-plus years traversing the cosmos. Also, the forward starboard emergency escape hatch, which never was to be opened without first closing every internal adjacent hatchway.
A small explosion erupted near the bow of the approaching command ship. Fairly insignificant, compared to their blazingly bright plasma bolts that had been coursing through space only moments before—but effective nevertheless.
The Howsh command ship did not return fire but passed right under the nose of the Evermore. Cuddy tracked the ship’s passing with his eyes as long as he could, before it too became nothing more than a white speck in distant space—like so many others.
“What’s happening … why did it leave?” Jackie asked.
Bob said, “That Howsh command ship has currently lost atmospheric integrity. The vacuum of space is pulling all breathable air out through the blown hatch.”
“So they’re all dead?” Jackie asked.
“No …” the orb told her, “but crewmembers are certainly scurrying around trying to save themselves. Environmental suits have been deployed, their hatchways secured, as damage repair teams assemble. The Howsh command ship is now out of commission, at least for a while.”
Kyle asked, “So what’s been accomplished then, since all their ships can be repaired? They’re still a threat. Maybe not right now … but eventually. Soon.”
Cuddy smiled. “True. But we’ve done something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Kept in alignment with the way of the Pashier,” Jackie said, answering before Cuddy could respond.
Cuddy said, “Look, for the Pashier all life is deemed sacred. If they are to make it safely to their new home world … Primara … it cannot be at the expense of others’ lives.”
“Not even the Howsh’s?” Tony asked.
Kyle’s expression changed. “Actually … especially not the Howsh.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Tony replied back. “We killed a bunch of those fur balls back on Earth.”
Cuddy and Kyle exchanged a knowing look.
* * *
Late on the previous night, Cuddy, feeling exhausted, left the bridge and made his way into the main cabin where he found Kyle, sitting alone, watching something on the holographic display. “Where’s Tony?” he asked.
“Asleep … everyone’s in their bunks.” He’d replied without looking up.
“What is that?” Cuddy asked, surprised to see Tow speaking into the camera. “Can you make it so it’s understandable?”
“Yeah … wait … there’s a million damn menu settings with this thing.” Leaning forward, Kyle began tracing his finger along the top of the donut–shaped whoopie cushion—like using a giant mouse pad, much to Cuddy’s surprise. Suddenly, Tow’s words were now understandable.
“It just popped on the screen about ten minutes ago … that’s Tow talking, isn’t it?” Kyle asked.
Cuddy sat down next to his brother. “It sure is. He looks a bit younger there, but it’s definitely him.”
“Wait … I’ll restart it for you. I think you’re going to find this interesting.” Kyle quickly restarted the film.
Watching the three-dimensional image of his recently departed friend, Cuddy felt that Tow was looking right at him. As he walked about speaking, Tow smiled and said, “As we discussed in the three previous segments, the Pashier’s evolutionary story is both an exciting and complicated one. And one aspect, which we have only recently discovered, is filled with irony. What I’m about to show you has been buried within the vaults of Calirah, on the nearby planet of Darriall, for over eight thousand years. Our ancestors—both recent and old—did not want any of this to become public knowledge. They went to great lengths to bury the data … both figuratively and literally. Surprisingly, this fateful information was locked away by our own kind, and not by the Howsh. But things on Mahli have changed. Our forefathers are no longer. Our planet has been decimated. The Dirth plague has taken so many of us that very few now remain, outside those abiding in heritage pods. But soon, as the first officer on board an interstellar spacecraft, I will be part of something truly magnificent—a mission to bring us all home … home to a new life. But we cannot repeat the failures of
the past. The secrets of the past must now be revealed. As our fleet of fifteen spacecraft await us above, we leave here not knowing if we will be successful. Our future is unknown. Either way, our contributing collaboration, leading to the demise of the Pashier, our wonderful species, must be exposed, for any and all to witness … to learn from. When the time is right … all will be revealed.”
“What’s he talking about?” Kyle asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but it obviously was important to him. He most likely would have been in deep trouble … publicly exposing whatever he’s eluding to here.”
The homemade movie next revealed a series of ancient-looking, highly detailed illustrations on spread apart scrolls not made of paper or parchment, but more likely on old animal hides. The scenes were beautiful—almost photographic in their depth of color and level of realism.
“That’s … that’s a Howsh.”
Cuddy nodded, studying the image. He certainly looked like a Howsh, and if so, those beings were once magnificent-looking creatures. His fur, appearing more like hair, was both long and lustrous. It cascaded down his elongated torso and down his arms and legs. To Cuddy, the flowing hair was similar to the long manes and tails on impeccably groomed show horses he’d once seen, trotting past crowds in Woodbury’s 4th of July parades.
The film image changed to another opened scroll, where six, equally magnificent-looking Howsh were illustrated. Each kneeling down on one knee, they were looking skyward, their arms raised—palms out—as if giving reverent homage to something above. What most was noticeable to Cuddy was the brilliant glow, emanating from each one.
The image changed again, to another open scroll. Tow was speaking in the background, like a narrator, but Cuddy ignored him, staring at a disturbing-looking image instead. A lone, glowing Howsh figure was seen standing at the water’s edge—perhaps a lake or a large river. Again, the arms were raised high. In front of him, suspended above the water, was a giant boulder. Still wet, streams of water flowed down its sides, dripping into the water below. Clearly evident, the Howsh, somehow, had levitated the huge mass out of the watery depths below. But more disturbing about the image was the three savages concealed behind him. Keeping low, their spears raised, their intensions were quite clear: Kill the lone Howsh.
“Those are … Pashier,” Kyle said, his comment more a statement than a question.
“Yes,” Cuddy acknowledged.
Tow was back on film. This time he looked somewhat older; more tired and thinner. Evidently, the entire filming had been one long ongoing work in progress.
“Hundreds of these scrolls have been unearthed from the vaults of Calirah. They tell a chilling story,” Tow said. “That things are not what they seem. That the Howsh, actually, were once a great and wonderful people … highly spiritual in nature, and also benevolent. Over the centuries, primitive Pashier tribes were instructed in the ancient ways of mind and spirit. The Howsh were kind and asked nothing in return for their guardianship. But as the Pashier evolved over time … becoming more powerful … they turned on their mentors. Hunted them down … eradicating many of them.”
The film image changed again—to an illustration of a large heritage pod that was far larger than the one below deck now on the Evermore. Male and female Howsh figures were frantically running toward the open pod, while Pashier males, each holding a lit torch, were seen already setting fire to it. Dark smoke billowed into the air. It was a horrific image, one that evoked an immediate emotional response in Cuddy. How barbaric were the Pashier?
The image of the burning heritage pod then disappeared and Tow was back on camera. “So, as you can see, there is no evil nemesis here … unless we want to look into a mirror. The Howsh have become what the Pashier made them—hunters upon the weak. Savages. The Howsh and Pashier share a past that neither race is presently aware of. Perhaps the saddest aspect of all is that the Howsh are unaware their short mortal lives were never intended to be thus. That by killing the last of the Pashier, their bleak destiny too may very well be sealed.”
Tow’s film disappeared from view—replaced with Kyle’s earlier selection. Cuddy and Kyle looked up to see Bob hovering nearby.
“Did you know about this, Bob?” Cuddy asked.
“Yes.”
“You displayed it here … for us to watch?”
“Yes. And also transmitted it far into open space … out to one and a half billion communication channels.”
“So … pretty much to everyone,” Tony said.
“Did you do that per Tow’s instructions?” Cuddy asked.
“Yes, I was alerted to the movie, with detailed instructions on where and when to transmit it, as soon as I came online. All other intelligent on board systems are tasked with the same directives.”
“And those five Howsh warships, now orbiting Primara?”
“They will receive the same film within forty-eight hours.”
Chapter 48
The Evermore headed out toward open space—leaving the small fleet of damaged Howsh warships behind. According to Bob’s most recent sensor scans, there’d been no loss of life on any Howsh ship during their last encounter. With the exception of the command ship, all repairs would take several days, if not a full week. The command ship, on the other hand, undergoing minimal repair, would be ready for travel within a few hours.
Over the following days, life aboard the Evermore fell again into a familiar routine. Jackie idled the time away in the galley, concocting even more adventurous meals. Brian now could leave his compartment, if only to eat meals with the others. His swelling, over time, had diminished some, which enabled him to traverse up and down the stairs without assistance. Still a strange looking sight, his appearance was somewhat improving.
Cuddy didn’t have a formulated plan yet on how to deal with the Howsh fleet, awaiting them ahead. They certainly wouldn’t be able to pull off the same tactics they’d used on those five warships. He found he’d become far more fatalistic about their future—or what was left of it—spending his time on the bridge. Then, less and less time was spent there as they neared their final destination—Primara.
On the final two days, Cuddy hung out with Kyle and Tony in the main cabin, watching movies, playing games, and simply shooting the shit. They laughed a lot. He also spent a significant amount of time sitting in the galley, observing Jackie while she cooked. They spoke of times past, regrets of things not accomplished, and their aspirations for the future. It soon became apparent that there might not be a place for him in Jackie’s vision of a perfect life.
Jackie said, “Come on, you must have some idea of what you want to do with your life now that you’re … you know, more normal? Hey, and I get it … things are looking pretty bleak for any of us thinking long-term, Cuddy … but humor me.”
“I don’t know, let me think about it for a while. How about you? What would your plans be?”
She busied herself with completing another casserole and he wondered if they’d ever be able to eat the damn thing. He figured this was how she dealt with stress—always staying busy. She briefly looked up at him. He saw annoyance in her expression and then it was gone.
“Well, I have to finish school. I’ve always wanted to be a doctor … I can’t just let that go. My plan has always been to complete my residency at New York Presbyterian … that’s in Manhattan.”
“Yeah … I know where that is,” Cuddy said flatly. “Where Brian works … lives.”
“Yeah … but I would have wanted to be a doctor there anyway.”
“Uh huh,” Cuddly said, sounding unconvinced.
Cuddy didn’t show it, but having a future life with Jackie, if they managed to survive their current predicament, seemed more and more inconceivable.
Watching her now, bending over, sliding the casserole into the oven, he listened to her quietly humming a familiar melody. He didn’t know its name, like so many other things he was clueless about. For too many years, he had neither the interest, nor the mental capac
ity, for learning such things. In many ways, he felt like the same simpleton he’d always been. That would change eventually—though apparently not any time soon enough.
Cuddy stood up and listened.
“What is it … don’t like my singing?” Jackie asked, giving him a wry smile.
“The orb just informed me … we’re there. We’ve reached Primara.”
“No! Already?” she asked.
Cuddy hesitated for several moments, taking her fully in—the remnants of flour on her nose, the small scratch on her cheek, the odd way she wrapped her long fair hair into a ponytail at the top of her head; and her amazing, highly expressive eyes.
“I need to get to the bridge.”
* * *
Cuddy hurried onto the bridge and joined the orb at the forward console. Beyond the observation window, large and brilliant in color, was a world that easily could pass for Earth: Magnificent azure oceans; green continents, containing high-ridged mountains, as well as prairie land that seemed to stretch on and on forever.
He knew Tow would be pleased right now, seeing this world—this new home.
“The Howsh?” Cuddy asked.
“Yes, they are here, Captain,” the orb replied.
Cuddy glanced out at the curved horizon—where the planet’s blue atmosphere met the blackness of space. No way to spot something as insignificant in size as a few spacecraft, but he looked just the same. “Where?” he asked.
“Like us … in high orbit.”
“Have there been any attempts to contact us?”
“No … none.”
The Simpleton: An Alien Encounter Page 25
