by GARY DARBY
“Good,” Tor’al grunted.
He paused and his eyes met Dason’s in a direct stare. “We have fought the Mongans for more than two-thousand of your years. It has become our way of life, to search them out, and destroy them wherever possible.”
“Two-thousand years!” Dason stammered before asking, “But why?”
Tor’al held up a hand while saying, “I will explain at the proper time.”
He settled himself to get more comfortable and said, ““Several days ago, we detected a number of Mongan warships in this sector. We had only one battle cruiser nearby. Nevertheless we engaged them in battle.
“We managed to damage one of their craft, and the others fled. The crippled Mongan vessel set down on this planet, somewhere nearby, we believe.
“However, in the fight, the Mongans severely damaged our cruiser, so much so that we all but crash-landed here.
“We lost much of our equipment and supplies, including all of our sensators, which we use to communicate with other species. It is but recently that another of our ships was able to partially resupply us.”
“Last night,” Dason replied knowingly, “that was your vessel that flew over the valley.”
“Yes,” Tor’al answered. “The Sar’kasi. But it only had time to offload a few things before several other Mongan ships entered the system, most likely to try and rescue the others of their soulless kind, and had to leave before it was caught on the surface.
“However, before that, we had sent out as many warrior groups as we could, searching for the downed Mongan vessel. One of those groups saw your ship crash into the forest and went to investigate.”
Dason leaned forward and asked, “Did by any chance they see a second craft crash about thirty or forty kilometers away from the first?”
Tor’al slowly shook his head and said, “That I have not heard. We saw only the one.”
Dason let out a sigh. For a moment, his hopes had been high that Tor’al’s people knew where the scout transport might have set down. But like most everything else over the last few days, it was not to be.
Tor’al leaned forward and asked in an understanding tone, “Shall I continue?”
“Yes, please,” Dason responded.
“It was in our search for your craft,” Tor’al said, “that we came upon the Mongan triad and your clan warriors.”
Tor’al furrowed his bushy brows in deep grooves and his eyes narrowed almost to mere slits. In a low growl, he said, “You must understand. The Mongans rarely leave the safety of their ships. There must have been something of enormous importance to them to do so.”
Tor’al’s speech became fast and furious as he held up one of his swords, the light in his eyes almost matching the blade’s sheen. “To find three of our hated enemy in the open like that, is almost indescribable to another species.
“Our battles have always been in interstellar space, ships against ships, never have any of us had the great privilege of bringing an honor blade against our foe.
“It took the utmost willpower of our warriors not to slay the evil ones on the spot, but instead to take them prisoner.
“Unfortunately, Na’di the Sho’tun leader of that particular group is young and impulsive, though I give him credit for controlling his warriors in their blood lust.”
Tor’al let out a sigh of resignation. “Nevertheless, mistakes were made, errors in judgment that led to the mishandling of your clansmen.
“You see, when we took your people, we had no way to communicate with them, to warn them of the danger, to tell them that the Mongans would attack and capture those on the surface as surely as they had captured your orbiting ship.”
Dason’s head jerked up. “The Mongans took the Queen?”
“If that is the name of your ship,” Tor’al replied. “Then yes.”
Tor’al paused and again moved his large frame as if seeking some measure of comfort from his wounds. “To prevent all from being destroyed if the Mongans returned in greater numbers, we split into several groups.
“Na’di took the Mongans and your comrades. Our crash landing had destroyed or severely damaged all of our planetary craft, so we had to march the Mongans and your clan mates through the forest.
“We only managed recently to get one of our damaged Rau’ver ships working, though only in a very limited fashion. Our misfortune mounted as it too only lasted a short while before its propulsion system ceased functioning forcing us to do everything on foot.”
“We saw it,” Dason interjected. ‘It came very close to where we were hiding, in fact. But I guess those on board didn’t see us.”
Tor’al shook his head at Dason’s comments. “That is too bad, if they had it might have saved us all some unnecessary grief, I think.”
“Yes,” Dason let out in a long sigh. “If only . . .”
Tor’al nodded in understanding before resuming his story. “Whether it was by design or not, the Mongans traveled very slowly. Too slowly, as it turned out.
“Na’di sent runners ahead to try and find Joh’el, who has had some experience in communicating with other interstellar civilizations without a sensator, though we weren’t sure if your race was among those he has spoken with.”
“Wait,” Dason responded, sucking in a breath. “There are other interstellar races in the galaxy?”
Tor’al’s response was a grunt that translated into a deep laugh. “Did you think that there were just three, human Dason? Your people, the Mongans and mine? No, there are many, many, intelligent species spread across this galaxy.”
He paused to say in a thoughtful tone, “Though not so many in this part of the galactic spiral, which to my mind may be a good thing.”
“I don’t understand,” Dason replied. “Why is that a good thing?”
“That is why we were protecting you,” Tor’al declared. “The Mongans are life takers, human Dason. Many, many races have died at their hands.”
He stared at Dason, his eyes hard and penetrating. “They are world destroyers, and it is very possible that they have come here to obliterate more worlds, perhaps even your own.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Star Date: 2443.064
Unnamed planet in the Helix Nebula
Staring wide-eyed at Tor’al, Dason’s mind reeled in horror as he tried to comprehend the dire pronouncement from the alien. World destroyers?
He took several deep breaths. His head spun with a thousand thoughts before he stammered, “They—they can do that? Destroy a whole planet?”
“Yes,” Tor’al replied in a flat tone, his face and eyes like stone. “And more.”
Tor’al’s voice was a low rumble. “The Mongans are an old, old race. In many ways, they are a puzzle. Their technology is very advanced, but as a people, they are barbaric, almost primitive.”
He brought out a shiny, purple, triangular-looking device that shone and glistened in his hand. After Tor’al touched a spot on top, the machine unfolded into four sections.
Tor’al tapped on several small flat caps in the center of the apparatus and a holographic image of three stars hovered in the air.
The view moved from the small star cluster to show the individual stars, each with its own system of planets.
Tor’al spoke, deep sadness evident in his voice while he gestured toward the hologram, “These were our home worlds. The Three Free Planets.”
Dason stared at the large alien before saying, “Were?”
The XT nodded his head. “Before the Mongans came.”
He sat back and said, “In those days, we were a peaceful people who had colonized these planetary systems. We had even made contact with nearby star civilizations, conducted peaceful trade, and exchanged emissaries, technology, and knowledge with other intelligent races.
“When the Mongans entered our space, we sent unarmed diplomats to meet with them. Those that went never came back.”
In a harsh tone, he said, “And then came this.”
He touched th
e device’s center again. The hologram changed shape. Two stars erupted in a glowing, supra-heated contortion of expanding gas. The cloud churned in colors of deep reds and oranges. Afterward, one forlorn sun stood alone in the blackness of space, devoid of its companions.
Tor’al thrust a hard finger at the glowing center of the red-hot gas. “Twenty billion of us—two inhabited worlds . . . gone.”
Dason gaped in shock at the holographic image. “But why?” he cried out.
Tor’al’s wide shoulders slumped, his mouth curved in a frown. “Even after so many years of war between us, more than two dozen generations, we know far too little about why they would do such a thing or how. However, this is what we both know and believe.
“The Mongans are dying, this we know. They grow fewer and fewer with each passing year. We have killed countless in battle, but not so many that it would account for the loss that we see.”
He massaged a forearm, wincing in pain, before continuing. “Our scientists have examined the bodies of some that we killed.
“We cannot be sure because their physiology is so much different from ours, but it appears that their cells are mutating, changing to where they cannot reproduce in the numbers needed to replenish their losses.”
Pausing, he then explained, “And the mutation is most pronounced in the female of the species. In time, they will become extinct.”
He chopped at the air in anger and growled out his next words. “But not soon enough, I think.”
Reaching up to rub at one of his hairy ears, his face took on a perplexed expression. “I am not sure that my words will be enough to explain what I tell you next, but I will try.
“Our scientists say that there is evidence that our universe is not alone, that there are many, many, other universes. Like a child that blows one bubble on top of another, our universe is surrounded by other universes.”
“Yes,” Dason replied. “We too have theories about the existence of multiple universes.”
“Good,” Tor’al replied. “Then you will have some understanding of what I say. It is possible to cross over into these universes through what our scientists call trans universe juncture points or perhaps portals would be a better term.
“Where these sites are and how and when it is possible to pass through these portals is something we are still trying to comprehend.
“However, we think the Mongans are attempting to reach these other universes, seed them with their DNA, possibly even with their own people, through the connecting points.
“Why? It may be that there is something in our universe that is causing their cell mutation, and they are trying to escape from this danger. But what is the agent of change in their bodies we do not know.
“But to pass from one universe to another requires enormous amounts of energy. Power of such magnitude that we are aware of only one place where it exists.”
Dason immediately saw the connection. “In a star!” he blurted out.
Tor’al raised a hand in answer. “Yes, exactly.”
He pulled at his chin whiskers as if considering his next words and then said, “At the instant that the Mongans explode the star, a rift in space occurs. We believe that this is when a portal opens to another universe.
“It may exist only for a mere instant in time, but that may be all they need to accomplish their purpose.”
Dason felt his own head was about to explode with Tor’al’s explanation of the Mongans’ actions. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the titanic forces at work in such an event.
Dason eyed the big XT. “Is this guesswork or do you actually know this?”
Tor’al’s mouth went down in a grim frown and he sighed. “Perhaps a little of both, but I will tell you this. In my youth, in another planetary system, far, far distant from here, we detected several Mongan ships. We sent our own ships to intercept.
“Before we could engage them in battle, they launched two large asteroid-like rocks straight at the star. The two sped through the star’s plasma field and into the heart of the sun itself and then the star exploded.
“Our scientists observed a rift in space that opened and closed almost instantly. Of the two Mongan warships left, one had gone to hyper light speed and disappeared. The other was left drifting in space and then destroyed in the blast wave from the star’s destruction.”
“We believe that the Mongans were inside at least one of the asteroids that went into the star and then possibly through the space-time rift.”
“Incredible,” Dason replied. “But, how can an asteroid survive the tremendous heat and gravitational forces of a star?”
“How, indeed,” Tor’al countered. “It’s a question to which we have no answer. Why do they use asteroids as transit vessels? Why not one of their own ships? How do they propel it into a star and protect it from the enormous forces at work within a star?
“None of which we can answer. However, we saw the asteroids launch from the Mongan craft that they abandoned. And it cannot be mere coincidence that the star exploded at almost the same instant that the rocks penetrated its core.”
Dason rubbed a hand across his forehead. Sweat and grime formed a film on his palm that he stared at while he pondered the enormity of what Tor’al was saying.
Tor’al reached down to adjust the hologram. A swirl of innumerable stars appeared, like a gigantic pinwheel. “Our galaxy,” Tor’al said. He changed the image so that it focused on a small section of the galactic mass.
The image then dissolved into a series of giant luminescent balls of glowing light strung like pearls hundreds and hundreds of light-years apart along one of the galactic spiral arms.
“More of their foul deeds,” Tor’al stated as he gestured at the scene. “A series of star detonations where several civilizations died in the holocaust.
“And that is why I said that it was good that there are so few sentient civilizations in this part of the galaxy, for if the Mongans wreak their havoc here, perhaps no other races will die.”
The alien leaned back and let out a low rumble, coming deep from within his throat and mused aloud, “We know of many star systems the Mongans visited. Some they do not touch, others, completely ruined from their star’s destruction.
“Why they pick one star to destroy and not another—we do not know. If we understood that, it could well be that we would meet them beforehand and deny them their designs.”
Dason shook his head. He was bewildered, stunned, and angry. “If they are dying, why don’t they just ask for help? I know my people wouldn’t hesitate for a second to render aid.”
Tor’al snorted and blew out a breath. “A reasonable, logical approach. Others have tried to do exactly that. Their peacemakers met the same fate as our emissaries. The Mongans don’t ask for help—that is not their way.”
“And now they’ve come to this part of our galaxy,” Dason stated.
Tor’al nodded. “Yes. And they have destroyed very recently.”
“What!?” Dason exclaimed.
Tor’al caused the hologram to change again. Giant mounds of crimson-colored glowing gasses surrounded a single piercing dot of light. Dason peered at the image. His head jerked a little at the sight.
“Why, I know this,” he declared. “It’s called the Cat’s Eye. But it’s an old supernova, not new, and one of the biggest in this part of the galaxy.”
He cocked his head to one side because the image didn’t appear quite right. Then he realized what was odd—before there had been a remnant of one supernova, now there was a second, just visible through the glowing, hot gas.
“And with it died a planetary system that was the home of a presentient race,” Tor’al concluded.
“Do you know how they cause a star to explode?” Dason asked.
“No,” Tor’al replied in a flat voice. “It is a technology much beyond what we have. We have tried to understand, but so far the answer has eluded even the most brilliant of our scientists.”
Dason sat very still for s
everal minutes, staring at the Cat’s Eye, digesting what Tor’al had explained to him. Did he believe the big alien? Was all that he said actually true?
Could the little aliens who appeared so hapless to the humans actually be from a race whose superior technology could explode a sun and send their own people through a space-time rift?
If so, why hadn’t their fellow Mongans used their superior technology to rescue those three instead of leaving them stranded on the planet and in the hands of their enemy?
He said as much to Tor’al who quickly replied, “Because we have kept more of them from this planet though in doing so, our own people have been unable to help those of us stranded here.”
Dason blinked hard several times. “I saw what looked like a battle in deep space last night, is that what you’re talking about?”
Tor’al nodded affirmatively while saying, “One of several battles, in fact. Even now, several of our battle-cruisers patrol nearby. We’re hoping that one of them will be able to break off and render not only aid but locate the Mongan ship.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “We would love nothing more than to capture it and more of the despised ones. Only once in all of our years of battle have we been able to board one of their craft and then only for a moment before it self-destructed.”
Dason went silent and quiet, thinking over Tor’al’s explanation of this and his other revelations. The more he thought, the more he felt that the big alien was telling the truth.
Unlike the Mongans who seem cold and distant, there was a mutual rapport with Tor’al that Dason felt deeply. He couldn’t explain it, he could only knew it felt right.
“So,” he sighed, “when we raided your camp, you weren’t holding my people to harm them but to protect?”
“Yes,” Tor’al replied. “When your band found our camp, Na’di was waiting for word on what to do with your people. We did not wish to keep you captive, but at the same time, we could not guarantee that you would be safe from the Mongans if we set you free.
“And we did not know there were others of your kind on the planet. That came as a complete surprise to us; the severe storms must have masked your landing.”
