by C H Gideon
“Thank you, General.” Jenkins nodded, standing and making his way to Bahamut Zero’s exit ramp.
“We need to know,” Xi said urgently after receiving an update from Colonel Jenkins regarding the importance of solving the mystery of what the three alien races were looking for on Shiva’s Wrath, “why did the Zeen, the Vorr, and the Jemmin come here?”
“Symmetry,” the Zeen replied simply.
“Yes, I understand the reason was the same,” Xi said, working to suppress her mounting frustration after nearly three hours of circling this particular question. “But we still don’t know what that reason is. What is the purpose of your coming here?”
“Terran and Sol not symmetrical,” Zeen said matter-of-factly.
“I understand,” Xi said with growing impatience, “but why did you come to this world?”
“Terran and Sol not symmetrical,” the creature repeated.
Xi chewed her lip, stifling a scream of frustration as Styles sat down on the bench beside her.
“I think,” Styles mused, “that there’s something we’re missing about its transmission. I’ve noticed that it doesn’t use the terms ‘not symmetrical’ and ‘asymmetrical’ interchangeably. They seem to mean different things.”
“I noticed that, too,” she said irritably, “but how does it help?”
Styles produced a handheld scanner capable of detecting myriad types of radiation and pointed the device at the Zeen. “Ask it again. We have to be missing something fundamental here.”
Xi drew a cleansing breath. “Why did Zeen come to this world?”
“Terran and Sol not symmetrical,” the Zeen repeated, and Xi looked over at Styles as he flipped through screen after screen on the scanner’s interface.
“Anything?” she asked hopefully.
“Not yet…” He shook his head after scanning through the scanner’s settings.
“Wait…” she said, pointing to the translation device. “That’s Vorr, right?”
“Right,” Styles absently agreed.
“Don’t Vorr use a combined audio-visual communication system for person-to-person interactions?” she asked.
Styles stopped fidgeting the scanner instantly, his eyes snagging on the translator. “That’s right… They’re like octopuses.”
“Octopuses use skin pigment changes to communicate sensitive information with each other, and audio to communicate more publicly,” Xi continued, thinking they might finally be onto something. “What do we have on file for Vorr translation programs?”
“Hold on…” he said, switching over to a data slate and working to access Roy’s main computer. “There it is,” he said, pulling up a program designed to translate individual Vorr visual displays. “Help me link these things,” he urged, and Xi did as bidden. It took them nearly five minutes to establish a makeshift translator out of the two nearly-incompatible pieces of equipment, but when they finished, Styles pointed the scanner at the Zeen and said, “All right… Ask it again.”
Knowing they were near the end of their rope, Xi drew yet another steadying breath. “Why did Zeen come to this world?”
“Terran and Sol not symmetrical,” the Zeen replied, and as it did so, the Vorr translator pulsed with the same rhythmic, blue light.
Except this time, Styles’ scanner recorded every pulse and wave shift, which came back as a perfect match for short-range information burst codes employed by Vorr to communicate highly-sensitive information.
“Holy shit…” Styles muttered as hundreds of megabytes of data, pre-arranged to be easily understood by humans, streamed across the data slate.
“Are you saving all of this?” Xi asked breathlessly.
“You bet your ass,” Styles assured her as a stream of visual images populated the screen. “Wait…” he said in surprise. “Is that what I think it is?”
At first, Xi didn’t know exactly what he had seen, but then a schematic flickered across the screen almost too fast to register.
It was a diagram that any self-respecting nerd born after the mid-twenty-first century would recognize.
“I have to show this to the Colonel,” Styles said urgently, using his wrist-link to discretely contact their CO.
While waiting for the CO, both Xi and Styles had time to peruse the Zeen’s information-rich transmission burst. A few minutes later, Colonel Jenkins arrived at the APC’s outer door.
“What have you got?” Jenkins asked, causing Xi and Styles to share a brief but meaningful look. “Captain?” Jenkins pressed when the duo made no reply.
Xi was so utterly dumbfounded by what they had just seen that she could hardly clear her throat.
Thankfully, Styles was better prepared to convey their findings, though his voice trembled with anxiety as he said, “We found what brought the Vorr, the Jemmin, and the Zeen here, Colonel.”
“Let’s hear it,” Jenkins said, giving Xi a muted look of concern as she anxiously rubbed the back of her neck.
Styles handed the data slate to Colonel Jenkins, with the display prominently featuring a handful of nearly-identical images.
“What am I looking at?” Jenkins asked after perusing the series of images.
“One is a technical diagram of humanity’s first-generation quantum processor, which has not undergone serious modification since its inception,” Styles explained tremulously. “It was first mass-produced two full decades before humanity cracked FTL. It has only seen minor changes made to its supporting architecture over the last two centuries.”
Jenkins narrowed his eyes before looking back down at the slate. “The one with English lettering in the top-left is obviously the human schematic,” he mused.
“Correct.” Styles nodded, and Xi could hardly believe what she was about to hear him say in reply to Colonel Jenkins’ inevitable follow-up.
“Then what are the other three images?”
“The others…” Styles trailed off, causing Xi to step in.
“The others were reportedly found in a data storage device,” Xi explained, “which, until recently, rested below fifteen kilometers of water and ice beneath our feet.”
Jenkins’ brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would anyone care about schematics for two-hundred-year-old human technology?”
“That’s just it, sir,” Styles explained, regathering his wits in time to deliver the most crucial piece of the puzzle. “A header on the Vorr file which those images were packed inside show that at least one of the other three schematics pre-date humanity’s first FTL flight by over six hundred years.”
Jenkins seemed not to take their full meaning, so Xi clarified their findings in a tremulous voice. “Humanity didn’t invent the most fundamental piece of technology which ultimately became the backbone of our species’ virtual architecture, Colonel.”
Colonel Jenkins’ brow rose in surprise, suggesting he now understood the full meaning of what they had just learned.
“Put simply, sir,” Styles reported, his voice once again steady as he pointed at the data slate, “someone surreptitiously gave humanity that technology, and it looks like our species isn’t the first one to receive such a ‘gift.’”
“There’s also bits and pieces of the technology that weren’t incorporated. We were given a dumbed down set of keys to the galaxy, or humanity adopted a more restricted version. In either case, we can take this six-hundred-year-old technology to improve our current understanding of FTL engineering.”
Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins looked over at the serenely-situated Zeen insectaur while Xi could barely contain her disbelief at the magnitude of what they had just uncovered.
“You knew about this?” Jenkins asked the insect-like creature.
“Symmetry,” it replied in apparent agreement.
“Humanity didn’t reach the stars on our own feet, sir,” Xi said, flushing with anger at the reality of what she said next. “We were technologically uplifted.”
Colonel Jenkins’ brow lowered thunderously as he gave voice to what Xi conside
red the absolute worst revelation of all. “And we didn’t even know it.”
It was a stunning revelation. One which, if true, would re-shape the way humanity viewed the cosmos and their place in it.
“Zeen leave now,” the Zeen declared. “Zeen help Terran. Terran help Zeen.”
Colonel Jenkins nodded slowly. “Thank you for this.”
“Zeen help Terran,” the insect-like alien repeated, turning to Xi. “You brave Terran. Take.”
The thing’s frontal carapace slowly spread apart, revealing wire-thin tendrils that produced a small, spiral-shaped object very much like an elongated snail shell.
Xi bent down to examine the object closer before looking to her CO for approval. Colonel Jenkins nodded, prompting her to reach out and pluck the five-centimeter-long object from the Zeen’s grasp.
“Show to Zeen,” the creature explained, gesturing to the shell-like thing in Xi’s hands. “Zeen help brave. Zeen know brave. Zeen leave now,” the Zeen insisted. “Return us to Zeen.”
Colonel Jenkins nodded approvingly. “Chief Styles, conduct our guest back to the site of Xi’s…cultural exchange,” he finally said after apparently fishing for the right words. Frankly, Xi couldn’t think of a better way to describe their first contact situation with the bizarre species. “Captain Xi,” Jenkins said, looking down at the shell pointedly, “I suggest you make no reference to that in your logs.”
“Understood, sir,” she said, uncertain as to the meaning the token was meant to convey. She turned to the Zeen, holding the shell out between her palms. “Thank you for this.”
“Symmetry.”
“Are you fit to escort our guest back to where you found it, Captain?” Jenkins asked.
“I am, sir.” Xi nodded.
“Good, then do so,” the colonel ordered before adding, “and then report to Doc Fellows for a full physical.”
She resisted the urge to groan at being ordered into Strange Bed’s clutches. “Yes, sir,” she acknowledged.
A little under an hour later, the Zeen disembarked the APC and rejoined its comrades aboard one of their large, living transport vehicles.
An hour after that, Xi reported to Fellows and survived the exam with her dignity mostly intact. But rather than succumbing to exhaustion as every cell in her body screamed for her to do, she made her way to Lu’s bedside where her Wrench-turned-Monkey was engaged in a critical battle for his life.
18
Tight Wraps
“Colonel Jenkins,” Sarah Samuels demanded after somehow escaping Doc Fellows’ watchful eye and finding Jenkins in the mess hall, “where are my video drones?”
Since the last of the Jemmin forces were confirmed neutralized, battalion HQ had transferred fifteen hundred kilometers from the irradiated ice-field. As a result, radiation protocols had been relaxed, and free movement was once again permitted throughout the camp.
“I already answered that question, Ms. Samuels,” Jenkins said, sighing in frustration at his half-eaten platter of food since he doubted she would let him enjoy the last of his meal.
“I don’t need answers, Colonel,” the reporter snapped, her head still wrapped with a bandage after sustaining a serious injury that had nearly cost the woman her ear. “I need my cameras. Their data integrity is covered by freedom of the press, freedom of speech, freedom of information, and by my charter approved by the Joint Chiefs of Staff!”
Jenkins closed his eyes, pushing the platter of food away. A soldier got precious little enjoyment on deployment, and Jenkins had worked hard to secure a talented cook to add some vitality to the otherwise-bland foodstuffs. As dozens of his fellow servicemen would readily attest, messing with Lee Jenkins’ food was a sure way to find out exactly what his bad side looked like.
Still, it seemed that Ms. Samuels’ efforts had been integral to saving Chief Lu’s life aboard the crippled Elvira. As a result, Jenkins grudgingly thought she deserved a little slack.
But only a little.
“Ms. Samuels…” He opened his eyes and stood from the table. “Most of your equipment was destroyed in the fight. Including a pair of cameras you had fixed to Elvira’s hull without requesting authorization to do so,” he added pointedly. “And I can tell you that most officers in my position would consider bringing formal charges against you for doing that. In combat, information security is critical. Your recording devices were not hardened against enemy takeover attempts, were they, Ms. Samuels?”
Her jaw muscles bunched angrily. “The people have a right to—”
“Again,” he interrupted, “I can assure you that most officers in my position would, at the very least, consider your deployment of those data-recording devices to be one of the worst breaches of trust imaginable. And at most,” he added casually, “they would recommend the charge of treason be brought against you for knowingly aiding the enemy.”
Samuels reared back incredulously, wrong-footed by that last bit. “Are you suggesting I was in league with the Jemmin?” she demanded, quickly regaining her composure.
“No, I’m not.” He shook his head firmly. “But there’s a saying about stones and glass houses that applies here, Ms. Samuels.” He relaxed, giving her a sympathetic look before tapping a series of commands into his link which would summon Styles. “Look, you’re here doing your job, and you’re doing it as aggressively as you can. I understand that,” he said seriously. “But you need to understand that as long as we’re on this rock, I also have to do my job, and right now my top priority is safeguarding this battalion while we prep for extraction to the Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Once we’re in orbit, I assure you that all of your materials will be returned to you along with a verifiable chain of custody which you will be free to formally review with my full cooperation. In the meantime,” he continued as Styles made his way through the soft-airlock of the mess hall, “I’ve had Mr. Styles prepare several items you might find of interest. Included among those items are high-fidelity images of Jemmin war vehicles taken during this engagement. I’m breaking several regs by offering these to you before they get declassified through proper channels, but in my opinion, you’ve earned them.”
The truth was that General Akinouye had unofficially given Jenkins the go-ahead to give her the images since doing so might buy them enough time to get off Shiva’s Wrath and keep her from gathering more information on the Zeen.
She was intrigued by the offer, but she was just as versed in the art of negotiation. “You can’t brush me off like this, Colonel,” Samuels promised.
“I can assure you, Ms. Samuels, that this is no brush-off,” Jenkins said seriously, giving the ambitious reporter a knowing look as Styles came to his side and saluted.
“You wanted to see me, Colonel?” the technician asked.
“I believe Ms. Samuels was just expressing her interest in the presentation you prepared for her,” Jenkins said, turning back to the reporter with an expectant look. “Isn’t that right, Ms. Samuels?”
Samuels shook her head in resignation. “Fine… I’ll look at these pictures of yours. But this isn’t over, Colonel,” she vowed before following Styles to the airlock.
After they had left, Jenkins looked down at his platter and sighed. But just as he was about to pick up the half-empty tray, the mess hall’s lead cook emerged from behind the counter with a fresh platter balanced on one hand.
“Mak,” Jenkins greeted with relief, “you’re a life-saver.”
“Don’t mention it, Colonel,” the cook said, replacing the cold, half-eaten tray with a full, piping hot one.
Jenkins sat down at the table, and after a few bites, he managed to forget Ms. Samuels and her recording drones.
“Bahamut Zero is back aboard the Dietrich Bonhoeffer,” Styles reported late the next day. With the worldlet of Shiva’s Wrath plunged completely into darkness, getting the behemoth off the surface had not been an easy task.
“Good.” Jenkins nodded in relief after the first Armor Corps vehicle had been returned to the assault carrier.
“We’ll complete our withdrawal in three days’ time. Have the DIE installations been properly secured?”
“Yes, sir,” Styles acknowledged. “All removed or damaged equipment has been replaced, and all four facilities have resumed normal operations.”
“Good.” Jenkins nodded before lowering his voice. “How about our reporter friend?”
Styles flashed a mischievous grin. “All I know for sure is that she’s as kinky as I am.”
Jenkins snorted. “Not the kind of intel I was looking for, Chief.”
The technician chuckled. “Between our ‘calisthenics,’ I’m leaving her a trail of breadcrumbs and red herrings to run down while we’re still planet-side. She’s too smart to be fooled forever, but I doubt she’ll catch on until we’re out of here. Combined with those exclusive recordings, I think she’s leaving Shiva’s Wrath with a whole lot more than she expected she’d get. She’ll be satisfied,” he said confidently before adding on a more bitter note, “but her network’s editors are another story.”
“We can’t control every variable.” Jenkins shook his head resolutely. “We were saddled with her before we even accepted this mission, and her presence was always meant to hamstring us. The best we could hope for is to mitigate the PR damage and try to do the Metal Legion proud in the process, and I think that we did that. Keep an eye on her and let me know if it looks like she gets ahead of you.”
“Will do, sir.” Styles nodded.
“Good work, Chief,” Jenkins said with feeling, turning toward Roy’s exit hatch. “I’m going to survey the camp.”
Xi was tired, weak, and nauseated. But more than just being physically unwell, she was sick.
The fight with the Zeen had apparently exposed her to a super-high dose of radiation, and Doc Fellows had kept her on strict bedrest while he pumped her full of drugs and cleansing agents to counteract the damned stuff.
She had never really been sick before. Wounded, sure, but sick? As a nineteen-year-old woman, she was in the physical prime of her life. Even losing half of her liver during the transplant with Podsy had been relatively unremarkable. She wasn’t much for drinking anyway, so it wasn’t like she would miss out much on the diminished metabolic capacity.
