Superdreadnought- The Complete Series

by C H Gideon

  And unlike the dreary and drab existence of the Grindlovian part of the planet, where Ka’nak had struggled to tell one district from another, one person from another, the Telluride were individuals, each distinct, each vibrant, and each unique.

  Though they dressed in a subdued manner when venturing outside their designated area, toning down their natural inclination toward outrageousness, here they were themselves.

  San Roche wore a gaudy yellow shirt with a collar and short sleeves. Images of orange, red, and green fruits Ka’nak couldn’t identify were splashed across the shirt haphazardly, as if the printer had had a seizure while designing it.

  There was no rhyme or reason to the style. San Roche’s pants were little different, save that they were an incandescent purple and did not even remotely match the sea-blue boots he wore.

  And San Roche was one of the tamest of the Telluride Ka’nak could see.

  They wore colors almost as a badge of honor, a gleaming defiance of the plain nothingness of the Grindlovian world that surrounded them.

  Ka’nak thought it was a bit much but appreciated the active defiance against the gray and bland Grindlovian area. He respected the tenacity with which the Telluride clung to their differences.

  A loud bell rang, and Ka’nak watched in awe as the aliens stopped to listen raptly. Once its resonance had faded, everyone dropped what they were doing—be it shopping or simply chatting with one another—and marched in the same direction.

  Before Ka’nak could ask San Roche what the bell meant, the alien took him by the arm.

  “It is feeding time, my friend,” San Roche announced. “Come, eat with us.”

  “I never say no to food.” Ka’nak smiled broadly, licking his lips in anticipation. “Lead the way.”

  San Roche chuckled and did just that.

  They wove deeper into town, and Ka’nak couldn’t help but stare. The farther they got from the edges where the Grindlovian and Telluride societies met, the more artistically chaotic the town became.

  Splashes of paint marked the walkways and windows and everything else that hadn’t been taken up by the murals or individual works of art that adorned nearly every surface.

  It was as if the Telluride had handed each member a bucket of paint and a brush and turned them loose on their world.

  “This is…amazing,” Ka’nak told San Roche, unable to think of a better word to describe the overload of artistic expression.

  “We have perhaps gone a bit too far,” San Roche admitted, still grinning, “but it is who we truly are. We cannot be bound by the bleakness of Grindlovian society.”

  With brightly dressed Telluride milling around them, San Roche led the Melowi warrior into a great hall. They found a seat easily despite the crowd; Ka’nak was surprised to see how polite and kind the people were.

  There must have been hundreds of aliens in tight-knit groups around him, yet he heard no complaints or angry voices rising in the midst of the friendly chatter and pleasant conversation.

  He’d bumped into several of the aliens as he found his seat, yet not a single one said a foul word or even glanced in his direction with anything besides kindness.

  They apologized and smiled, hands petting and patting for emphasis, and each found their place without conflict.

  Servers ran among the tables, a system as precise and accurate as any Gorad could devise, and soon there were plates in front of everyone. A young female smiled at Ka’nak as she served him, setting a bright pink drink next to his plate and running a hand across his shoulders as she passed.

  He sat there a moment after she’d gone, watching as the mass of aliens began to eat.

  There was no dimming of the low roar of friendly conversations. The Telluride conversed without pause as they ate, the clank of utensils adding to the miasma of sound.

  “Eat, my friend,” San Roche told him. “We have plenty, so do not hesitate to ask for more.”

  Ka’nak turned to his plate. It overflowed with a variety of food, its freshness both surprising and daunting.

  He couldn’t remember ever eating such a fine meal.

  He dove in with gusto, matching the gleeful noises around him, and before long he realized his plate was empty and his glass was dry.

  The young female returned as if she’d been watching, and refilled his glass and set another plate before him.

  “Eat, friend,” she told him, offering a pleasing smile. “We rarely have guests, so we would like to make sure you have had your fill.”

  “This is delicious,” Ka’nak replied, “and quite generous. Thank you.”

  The female went about her business with a parting wave. Ka’nak’s eyes followed her for a moment before he turned back to San Roche. His forehead scrunched as he contemplated.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course,” San Roche said, never once losing his smile. “Ask away.”

  “I don’t understand why you work for the Grindlovians.” Ka’nak had lowered his voice so as not to be overheard by the other Telluride sitting nearby. He didn’t want to offend the people with his curiosity or judgment. “They are so…different than your people.”

  “It is how it has always been,” San Roche explained. “Since Gorad came to be, the Telluride have catered to the whims of the Grindlovians. In exchange, we are allowed to live as we always have, free to create and be ourselves.”

  “Yet you have to follow these people around and do everything for them,” Ka’nak said with an exasperated huff. He couldn’t imagine catering to what he considered a race of selfish and unmotivated people.

  “Yes, but it is not a bad thing, as you so clearly believe,” San Roche argued. “We relish the opportunity, in fact.”

  “Really?” Ka’nak wondered. “To be slaves?”

  San Roche chuckled. “We are not slaves, my friend,” he replied. “The Grindlovians do not own us, and they do not tell us what to do.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, then,” Ka’nak started, “but how can you do all that you do for them and still feel as if you are free?”

  “Because we are,” San Roche assured. “We are not bound by chains or laws. We do what we do for the Grindlovians because it benefits us, too.”

  “How so?” Ka’nak wondered briefly if his questions bothered the alien, but San Roche showed no indication of annoyance. His genuine smile was still firmly in place.

  “We learn much from the Grindlovians and Gorad through our interactions,” he answered. “Our children are provided an education, and we as a people have no need of anything.” He gestured to the room around them.

  Ka’nak’s gaze drifted about of its own accord, seeing the happy, smiling faces that dominated the room. He stared for a moment, half-expecting the veneer to crack at any moment, but it didn’t happen.

  No frowns broke out among the faces, no furious arguments or complaints. The people looked happy to him. Truly happy.

  It is almost unnatural, Ka’nak thought, stifling a laugh at the thought. Who am I to judge how they should be happy?

  For a male who’d spent his life fighting, to see a species getting along so well was odd, to say the least.

  “But do you people not fight with one another?” the Melowi warrior asked. “Even if only once in a while?”

  “There are disagreements, certainly,” San Roche told him, “but we are united as Telluride. We work to overcome our differences and better ourselves. It is our way.”

  Ka’nak settled into his seat with a grunt. “You live in a damned utopia,” he muttered.

  “Hardly,” San Roche countered, “but we do not expend energy fighting against ourselves or fighting against something that doesn’t need to be changed. We are united in our betterment and our advancement. To fight amongst ourselves would only make us weaker.”

  “I admire your beliefs.” Ka’nak offered the alien a nod of respect. “I still find it strange that you submit to the Grindlovians.” He glanced about. “It seems to me as though you are the bette
r people.”

  San Roche offered a softly reproachful smile. “We are no better than the Grindlovians, my friend. We are simply different.”

  Ka’nak loosed a gruff chuckle. “You are by far a better person than I,” he told the alien. “Were I to be made to chase the tail of a lazy being so devoted to its own atrophy that it topped all other priorities, I think I’d go mad.”

  “We’re all a little mad in our own way,” San Roche assured. “We express ours in art, and the Grindlovians express their madness in acceptance. Though we travel different paths, we find ourselves in the same place at the end.”

  Ka’nak leaned back, grinning. “You are a wise person, San Roche.”

  The alien laughed. “You should tell that to my spouse,” he said. “She does not believe such.”

  “They never do, friend,” Ka’nak assured him. “They never do.”

  Chapter Six

  The talks went on and on and on…

  Jiya groaned, her eyes glazing at listening to the two AIs go back and forth about every minute detail regarding the agroprinters and more.

  Much, much more.

  The pair of AIs had strayed from negotiations into some kind of metaphysical theory Jiya couldn’t follow, nor did she really want to.

  They discussed astrophysics as it related to Grindlevik 3 and the Grindlevik system as a whole, and how it compared to Earth, to Lariest, and a dozen other worlds Reynolds had visited over his time being integrated into the superdreadnought.

  He’d been to multiple galaxies, apparently.

  Then they got into discussing black holes and space anomalies, arguing the smallest details based on their relative knowledge of the subject and experiences.

  The technical discourse was a wall of white noise to Jiya. Physics and engineering were not, nor would they ever be her specialty. They would never rise to the status of mildly interesting, even.

  For her, the most engaging part was when the AIs started talking about the Etheric dimension, mostly because of Reynolds’ reaction to Gorad’s bringing it up.

  The chrome body stiffened at the mention of it, and he sat upright as if he were a dog ready to pounce on a tossed bone.

  His eyes gleamed in his chrome skull, and his hands gripped the table’s edge. The slightest of creaks from the wood let them know just how excited he was before he reined in his enthusiasm and relaxed.

  Still, if Jiya had seen the reaction, Gorad damn well had. It had likely given the alien AI another bargaining chip in their negotiations, as far as Jiya understood it. The alien AI’s knowledge of the Etheric meant that the people of Grindlevik 3 had come in contact with the Kurtherians sometime in the past. The big question was whether they had left. If they had gone, where? If not, there would be a reckoning with the superdreadnought bringing the thunder and lightning.

  Maybe Gorad was a Kurtherian. Jiya had no idea what they looked like. Reynolds remained evasive regarding their physical attributes, the only descriptor being their ability to access and use the power of the Etheric.

  Reynolds dove deeply into the topic, questioning the nature of the Kurtherian influence and where the aliens had gone since.

  The Larians couldn’t keep up. They had overview knowledge only, no more than a footnote to their existence.

  And in true AI form, neither could be bothered to answer a question directly nor explain anything fully. Each held back, filling the space with a blur of seemingly nonsensical words.

  She’d been ready to pull her hair out five minutes into the discussion. She was ready to pull her whole head off after two hours.

  “Forgive me,” she finally blurted, waving her hands when she could take no more. “I think we’ll leave you two to talk things over while the rest of us go and explore a bit.”

  Reynolds glanced at her, but she couldn’t read his expression, and at that moment in time, she didn’t care.

  “Hit us up on the comm if you need us,” Jiya told Reynolds, clambering to her feet and stretching. It felt as if every muscle in her body had atrophied while she sat there.

  She wondered if that was what had happened to the Grindlovians.

  They’d been bored to flaccidity.

  She grinned at the thought, only wiping the smile away when Gorad’s android eyes locked on her. Jiya waved.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” she told the AI, then motioned to the Telluride servants. “And to you two, as well.”

  Gorad spoke to L’Eliana, “Why don’t you and San Paget show our guests around?” he suggested, though Jiya was sure it was more of an order; his way of ensuring the crew didn’t wander too far or out of sight.

  The Telluride grinned. “Of course,” she replied, coming over to stand alongside Jiya and the others. San Paget joined them. “Shall we?” she asked Jiya.

  “We shall,” Jiya answered, motioning for L’Eliana to lead the way.

  The Telluride obliged, walking smartly away as the door to the room slid open.

  “Have fun,” Jiya told Reynolds as they left.

  Outside, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, grateful to be away from the mind-numbing AI negotiations.

  The others obviously felt the same way.

  “My back is killing me,” Takal complained.

  “Can someone help me stop my brain from oozing out of my ears?” Geroux mumbled so only the crew could hear. “I mean, I love science talk, but that was more than a bit excessive.”

  “Two AIs waving their robot dicks around,” Maddox laughed.

  Their Telluride hosts led them away, and the crew followed to another hovercraft. They climbed in, and the craft took off.

  “Where are we going?” Jiya asked after a moment, realizing she hadn’t suggested they go anywhere specific. The Telluride were traveling of their own accord, or more likely Gorad’s.

  L’Eliana smiled. “You’ve seen much of the Grindlovian experience for the day, so we figured you might enjoy some time among our people,” she answered. “The dinner bell has passed, unfortunately, but we can collect some food at one of the halls and show you around after, if that is okay.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Geroux replied, rubbing her belly.

  “Are your foodstuffs created by the devices you showed us earlier?” Takal asked.

  “All of it is,” she answered. “The agro sector maintains all of our food supplies, both for the Telluride and the Grindlovians.”

  “We apologize that we did not have the time or wherewithal to adjust one of the printers to meet your specific food needs,” San Paget told them, “but we believe what we have to offer is sufficient and hopefully healthy. Gorad has no information on Larian physiology by which to change the printer dynamics.”

  “Any kind of food to stuff in my mouth is plenty sufficient,” Geroux told the alien, grinning. Her stomach rumbled loud enough that Jiya heard it.

  The first officer laughed at her friend.

  “We better feed you before you fade away,” she joked, pinching Geroux’s thin arm. She leaned in close so no one but Geroux could hear her. “We might have to paint you blue and get you a robo-chair soon.”

  Geroux shook her head at the jibe. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  A short drive later, the crew sat wide-eyed, staring at the abrupt change in the environment. It was as if the vehicle had passed an invisible line, and someone had turned up the volume on the world’s colors.

  “Wow!” was all Geroux could manage to spit out.

  Takal looked behind them instead of ahead. “There’s some sort of distortion barrier separating the town,” he said.

  “The Shade,” San Paget explained. “It keeps our living area separate from the eyes of the Grindlovians so we do not offend them.”

  “How can this offend them?” Geroux asked, fire in her voice.

  San Paget shrugged. “We are different, after all.”

  “That’s hardly an explanation,” Jiya complained. “Your differences should be celebrated, not—”

  “Tolerated,”
Maddox finished for her, and she nodded at him.

  L’Eliana went to speak, but Jiya waved her to silence.

  “Forgive me,” Jiya told the Telluride. “We don’t mean to criticize. We simply don’t understand your relationship with the Grindlovians.”

  “Or with Gorad, for that matter,” Maddox said.

  Jiya stiffened in her seat suddenly, remembering that Gorad could likely hear them since his mechanical essence was piloting the hovercraft they were riding in. She bit back a hiss and tried to look anywhere other than at the general.

  But L’Eliana only smiled, catching Jiya’s wayward looks. “The Shade serves a second purpose,” she admitted. “Gorad does not come into our world uninvited.”

  “He respects our boundaries,” San Paget went on, “so do not fear that he is listening here. He is not, I assure you.”

  Jiya sighed with relief but didn’t fully believe him. Who was driving the hover car? “That is good news,” she started, then clarified, “Not that it’s a bad thing that he takes care of you.”

  L’Eliana laughed. “It must be an odd situation to those from the outside looking in.”

  “You can say that again,” Takal added.

  “It must be an odd situation to those from the outside looking in,” L’Eliana repeated in all earnestness.

  “No, I, uh, meant…” Takal stammered.

  Jiya chuckled. “Figure of speech,” she explained to the Telluride. “He didn’t actually mean for you to repeat what you said.”

  “It is strange that you would say something but not actually mean it,” San Paget said, scratching the side of his head.

  “A cultural thing,” Maddox clarified, “much like our confusion as to your existence.”

  “That perfectly explains why we think your culture as strange as you do ours,” Jiya continued. “We’ll learn from you, as we hope you will learn from us.”

  “We would like that,” L’Eliana replied, and San Paget nodded his agreement.

  The craft pulled up at a large hall with massive doors leading in, and Jiya couldn’t help but gawk at the swirl of colors everywhere.

  She’d gotten so used to the dull gray in the short time she’d been immersed in it, and now it was as if she’d fallen asleep and slipped into the most majestic of dreams.