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The Pulurtans - Chapter 1 The worst nightmare came again. As before it started outside the main estate building. Fire was lapping out from a second-story window with smoke billowing from a large hole in the roof. Multiple bullet and laser impacts were visible on the front exterior wall, and every window was shot out. Both front doors, thick and heavy, were blown off by explosives. Had anyone been in the foyer at the time then they would’ve been killed. A Fendalen solider, dressed in battle armor, rushed into the wrecked foyer. Several dead Isset were on the floor, killed by laser fire judging by the wounds. He was also confronted with the sight of the majordomo’s body splayed on the far wall. Several door fragments had him pinned like a dissection specimen. The solider couldn’t spare a moment for the senior servant, not while the Isset were still inside. Both the living areas and entertainment dens on the first floor showed signs of weapons fire. Several more servant bodies were evident, riddled with far more hits than necessary to kill them. At least one Isset had fallen, dead from being almost decapitated by a kitchen cleaver. Something told the solider that he should go upstairs immediately. Along the main stairs there was a trail of blood, ending at the top in the form of the soldier’s aunt, a duchess. An infrared scan showed that the laser pistol the duchess still held in her dead hand had been fired recently. Down the hallway he heard sounds. It was the yipping and guttural barks that typified Isset speech. With tri-barrel ready he headed for the source. Suit sensors told him that there were at least three of the traitorous beasts in the nursery, and his heart sank as he saw that the nursery doors, every bit and study as the ones at the front of the house, were shredded. Now was not the time for subtlety. He dove through the door and rolled, bringing the tri-barrel squarely in line with one Isset’s chest. Three rounds fit enough to penetrate a lightly armored vehicle made the beast explode in a ball of gore. As for the second Isset he barely recovered his wits, raising a gun only to join his companion on the floor. The solider didn’t immediately see the third one. He stood up on his four adrenaline-pumped legs, more suited to charging that the few steps he needed to see into the egg basket. He raised his visor for clarity, and with a will he kept himself from gagging. All the eggs were smashed; bits of legs and arms fit for a newborn were strew across the ivory-colored shell fragments. Then he saw him. The third Isset was coming from behind a partition. In his left hand he held the remains of a Fendalen hatchling, torn from its egg as it was still glistening with nutritive yolk. From its mouth protruded an immature rear leg and he was chewing on. Such a barbaric scene made the solider pause every so briefly, but it was enough. The Isset raised his other hand. In it was a hand flamer, and it discharged directly into to open visor of the soldier’s helmet. Lugan broke free of the nightmare and woke with a start. He was not on his padded mat, but had during his dark dream moved into the center of his regal bedroom. Furniture had shown signs of being pushed around. Monarchal accoutrements, engraved and decorated armbands and leg armor plates, were scattered about, thrown, like missiles. A bruise on his left forearm made its presence known by a throbbing pain that finally registered in his brain. He knew it was a particularly potent nightmare to make him sleepwalk and throw objects at imaginary assailants. A cold shower brought him to full consciousness and he donned his crown before leaving for breakfast. The royal staff silently entered the bedroom just moments after Lugan left. It would be back in order before he returned, and he could count on them to be discreet and not discuss what they heard or saw to anyone else. The children, both young and adult, had already eaten and left for their exercises and studies. Only Queen Aythes remained in the dining hall. The despondent air that surrounded Lugan made Aythes stand up. She had come to know that her Lugan suffered less and less from reoccurring nightmares. When they did occur more often than not they were particularly strong. From the way the king’s antennae drooped over his crown this current incident was indeed bad. She went to him and guided him to his seat at the head of the expansive dining table. A bowl of sweet fruit, Lugan’s favorite, which would’ve been set upon immediately was left alone by the sullen monarch. “Was it the city dream?” Aythes asked. It was the most common of the king’s nightmares. In that one Lugan was perpetually chasing a band of Isset laying waste to Pulpolis, a city on Isset Prime built and populated as part of the family’s demesne. Anyone that saw the carnage wrought by the Isset would’ve been disturbed if not sicken outright. Lugan looked upon his wife with a sense of relief. Not only did the Queen kept the royal court in order she also made sure her King was portrayed favorably in the Realm. She had the strength, attitude and selflessness that made the difference between a great monarchy and a mediocre one. Moreover Aythes was the only one, indeed, could only be the one Lugan could confide in completely. “No,” he said distantly, “it was about the house, about Curgan.” Aythes winced. Curgan was Lugan’s brother, just a year younger when the Isset Rebellion erupted amid the chaos of the civil war. Curgan was performing a battlesuit drill in the estate’s gymnasium when he got the first frenzied message from the main house. The suit’s recorders were left running as the young Fendalen ran back home and saw what the Isset had done. Two years past before Pulurtan forces, lead by Lugan, reclaimed Isset Prime. Scenes of desecration and defilement of the dead and property was fit enough for nightmare fuel. Then there was the estate. Apart from the toll wrought by fires and weather the main estate house was as the Isset left it. For Lugan it was bad enough to see the remains of a two year old massacre. Forty-five members of his extended family, uncles, aunts, and cousins, were killed. Hardest of all was seeing the wrecked nursery, broken eggs and the carcass of his brother, still sheathed in a battlesuit. Curgan had been killed when a flame pistol was discharged directly into his open visor. That image, and everything that lead up to it, had been electronically preserved in the suit’s memory, a horrifying point-of-view that gave birth to Lugan’s strongest nightmare. The Isset had already been consigned to extinction for their deliberate campaign of genocide against the Fendalen race. What Lugan felt for the furry monsters was well past murderous rage. It was none other than the leader of the Isset, Pack Alpha Serret, that Curgan had recorded eating one of hatchlings. With great vindication Lugan tracked down and utterly destroyed Serret. Lugan’s only regret was that Serret only had one life for him to extinguish. Following
the war not a year has gone by that Lugan didn’t
experienced several nightmares based on what he saw on
Isset Prime. The difference was the intensity and, in
the Curgan dream, significance. In two previous
episodes news of a discovered race was brought to
Lugan’s attention the morning after. Both races were
primitive and posed no threat to the It was a long enough silence that Aythes finally broke. “You may very well be receiving news this morning, Darling. Perhaps this time it will be about the Gyst.” Hearing the word ‘Gyst’ broke Lugan from his gloom. It had been years since he consciously registered that word. It was his pledge upon being crowned king to find and defeat the Gyst loyalists, but in the intervening decades Lugan had been totally immersed in restoring the Kingdom and raising a family. Only in the past five years had expeditions been sanctioned to go beyond the established boarders to locate the Gyst. The Sauna warp point still remained inviolable to entry for reasons of cosmic dynamics for over forty-one years. Unless the warp point had…. Lugan’s antennae no longer drooped over his crown. Perhaps Aythes was correct in this instance. “If my nightmarish premonition comes true a third time we’ll know in an hour, during the daily briefing. It remains whether if Sauna is now open, the Gyst have been found or just another primitive race.” Nine days earlier.... Commander Gathyl, captain of the High Navy Claim class survey destroyer Reagent, was excited. His survey squadron of six ships had, just after four days surveying a new system, clearly detected the presence of an alien high-tech population. The planet in question orbited ten light minutes from its yellow sun. Judging from the amount of electronic emissions the population was large, at least numbering one billion. Under the rules regarding contacting high-tech aliens Gathyl was to establish contact and gage the threat level of said race would pose to the Kingdom. A drone carrying the news was sent back to the entry point. No other drones were to be launched until successful first contact or the squadron faced imminent destruction. Gathyl, born after the Civil War and Isset Rebellion, had grown up hearing stories from his veteran father and his friends. Like the rest of his race, Gathyl agreed that the prospect of an alien servant going from decades of docility to ferocity in an instant was unacceptable. However, he felt that if primitive races were not to be integrated into the Kingdom then they should be left alone. After all, it would be hundreds if not thousands of years before such races could achieve space flight, let alone warp travel. That thought lead Gathyl to another. What would the King decide upon when a high-tech alien race was discovered? With the Kingdom restored to it pre-war boarders any conceivable threat would either have to be more advanced and/or considerably more productive. It would eventually depend on the race, Gathyl concluded. Preferably it should be one that desires to have very limited or no contact at all. Besides, the prime reason for the survey expeditions is to find the Gyst family and their band of loyalists. Any habitable worlds and mineral wealth found in the process would be considered a bonus. The Commander, having studied the holo image of the system for the last ten minutes in the Reagent’s bridge, consulted with the squadron’s chief mission specialist, Lt. Commander Sphyral. Stationed on frigate FSY-022, Sphyral was a reservist: in civilian life he was a professor of linguistics and xeno-anthropology. Before the Civil War he had studied the pre-contact histories of the Barsat, Ohaj, Tekkel and even the Isset. At the age of 82, Sphyral was the oldest Fendalen in the squadron and currently the oldest reservist on active duty. His knowledge and insight would be very helpful now. “Professor,” the Commander said over a tight beam coded commlink, “do you have anything definite to report?” With his back pair of antennae fully raised (indicating satisfaction) Sphyral made his reply. “As you may know, we’ve been able to listen to what is obviously civilian radio chatter for the past three days. Now my team has figured out their video matrix. There are at least five hundred broadcast channels. We now have a more than adequate sampling to begin a preliminary xeno-cultural study.” “Excellent! What do they look like?” The very pale green Fendalen stroked the back pair of antennae thoughtfully with his left hand. “They’re bipedal, similar in height to the Isset but with five digit hands like the Ohaj. As for their specific appearance… Well, either the whole race wears metallic masks for cultural reasons or….” Gathyl was perplexed. “Or what, Sphyral?” “Or we’ll be dealing with some fashion of cyborg race that really likes posh clothing.” Captain (1st Gear) Cogsworth of the Mechanized Space Navy, Reserve Corps, gave the bridge display a basilisk gaze. The source of his ire was an unidentified drivefield signature some 50 light-minutes from the Bian world of Heavy Melder. Just three hours earlier he was a guest on a home improvement show, exhibiting a new spackle that used the bark of a native Heavy Melder tree as the main component. Of his own creation, Cogsworth expected to handle the resulting influx of orders for his spackle. Then the call came from fleet base commander. So instead of raking in money, as was any Bian’s birthright, Cogsworth was ordered to investigate the alien drive field contact. On reflection Cogsworth admitted he was the only logical and readily available choice. Well over six hundred years ago, when Cogsworth had a different name and was of flesh and blood, he was a historian and archeologist. Those skills still served him, especially when it came to rare art from before the civil war. His collection was impressive; only Queen Vulcana outdid him in value and number. When the Floggol were conquered and exterminated Cogsworth added artistic examples from that alien race to his collection. After writing the official history text on the race Cogsworth again partook of the luxury lifestyle for another century. Only twice more were his services called upon, when the slowly expanding Bios Registry encountered two primitive races. With artifacts collected from those now extinct unfortunates the correctly labeled art scavenger built a small museum to display his goods. So it was for the last two hundred years Cogsworth employed himself as a professor, museum curator, and naval reservist. Only recently did he branch out to interior decorating, turning a hobby to yet another form of revenue generation. But these aliens changed everything. While MSN task groups were mobilized to defend Heavy Melder Cogsworth took command of the survey cruiser Refractor and two corvettes. While the Refractor had a normal crew the corvettes were manned by what Bians called androids. It was a reflection of the race’s elitism since the only difference between a Bian and their android constructs was the sophistication of their artificial brains. Only Bian ‘children’ received the required neural net hardware that would allow the development of true self-awareness and distinct personalities. Because of this fact android crews, while capable, did not have the same level of initiative as normal crews. Even so, if exposed to actual combat conditions long enough, the androids would become as skilled as normal crews. Cogsworth calculated that if the alien contact kept heading towards Heavy Melder and didn’t deviate from his squadron contact would be made in less than seventeen hours. The system, population of 1.2 billion, was on the frontier of the Registry. Of the three known warp points two headed back into Registry space while the third lead to Metric, an uninhabited and picketed system with one unexplored warp point. A heavy fleet presence in Heavy Melder ensured the safety of the system and acted as a reaction force against any alien incursion in Metric and nearby systems. As for the Captain’s orders, they were simple. Engage in a parlay with the alien ship or ships, delaying them while squadrons surround them at a range of twelve light minutes. Any drones launched by the aliens were to be tracked to their point of entry. On the remote possibility the aliens were machines themselves the talks would be allowed to advance. If, and most likely, the aliens were organic then they would be destroyed. Preferably prisoners would be taken as well as any ship that could be captured. Had he a mouth Cogsworth would’ve smiled. Capturing an alien ship would do wonders for his prestige. In MSN regulations any ship captured, after be examined and studied, would become the property of the senior officer responsible for its capture. It was in this state of mind, while the squadron closed on the aliens, that Cogsworth imagined turning a captured alien ship into his own private yacht. The looks on the figurative faces of Heavy Melder’s elite would be priceless.
“Top notch work, Sphyral,” commented Gathyl from his ship. He just finished reading the report prepared by the specialist. “You’re confident you can read this ‘Bian’ language?” On the video panel the elderly Fendalen flexed his antennae in agreement. “Oh yes, Commander. Four of those video channels I mentioned earlier are devoted to elementary education. These Bians teach their young much in the same way as we do. Some programs were of word association, spelling, and pronunciation. However, our vocabulary is very limited until we get a dictionary.” “Perhaps sending a message to these Bians will make them more curious and less likely lean on their firing triggers.” Gathyl looked at the system display with some concern. The approaching group of ships would be in positive identification range in 44 minutes. Additional drive contacts were traveling well behind the first. Conceivable these contacts would surround his squadron at some distance to cut off avenues of retreat. If the Bians have a sense of curiosity that matched their observed obsession with luxury then first contact could very well be peaceful. Otherwise the prospect of leaving the system alive was very much in doubt. “I believe we can do that,” offered Sphyral. “We can send a simple message to the approaching ships. I have enough Bian words to work with, and the grammatical structure is fairly straightforward.” Gathyl thought for a moment. “You have permission to initiate first contact procedures, Sphyral. The earlier we can get them to talk the better.” “A simple and straightforward message. They must have a talented linguist in their ranks,” Cogsworth commented to Stembolt, his executive officer. “Though saying ‘Hello, let’s talk today’ is more something befitting a child.” “It does show some initiative,” offered Stembolt. “The two primitive races we terminated did nothing but wave their arms and grovel at our feet when our first teams landed on their planets. If these aliens are learning our vocabulary by watching our video feeds then perhaps more can be learned by sending them word association files.” “Agreed. Send them a ‘pictionary’ of 10,000 words. That would be more than enough to hold meaningful conversations.” “Yes, Sir.” “Are you certain, Sphyral?” Gathyl asked over the comm link. The old professor nodded his head affirmatively. “I’ll bet the worth of my insurance if I’m wrong. The computers and my team have exhaustively reviewed the video streams. At no time have we seen any actual eating or reference to eating, such as ads for food and dining. We’ve also seen what obviously are ‘health’ shows for androids, right down to self-repair of limbs and digits. Judging from their sports, I doubt very much if the Bians have any organic parts. I watched what could be called sport documentaries. The athletes involved were heavily injured, and yet the medics were more like mechanics. At no time was their anything like blood or other bodily fluids, much less organic parts, used in treating these injured Bians.” Gathyl scratched his head. “So the Bians have no need for food, replaces limbs like we would a broken bulb, and, judging from their videos, are intensely materialistic. What does this tell us?” Sphyral shrugged. “The casualness in which they engage life may mean they’ll treat us as quaint curiosities.” Then his tone turned a shade darker. “Or they may see as walking slabs of animate meat. I must add that among those videos are ones depicting Bians viciously killing obviously organic beings. Messily, I must add.” The Commander thought hard for a moment. “Very well. Let’s play up the similarities we do share. Spice up our messages with phrases that include ‘gold’ and ‘rich goods’. Money is the second language after mathematics.”
“I’ll
do my best. Sphyral out.” By some unspoken agreement the two squadrons came to a halt upon reaching a range of five light seconds. The design of the Bian ships struck Gathyl as fanciful. Shaped liked ancient airships without the control cars, the blue and lavender colored vessels sat quiescent, energy emissions betraying nothing about the ships’ capabilities. With his three destroyers and three frigates Gathyl’s squadron outmassed the three Bians ships by 59%. It wasn’t mass or numbers that concerned the Commander, but the possibility of unknown weapons and Bian treachery. The Fendalens had only encountered one high tech race before, and that was the Isset. It didn’t help matters that the Isset attacked almost immediately after contact was made, leading to war and to their defeat. Gathyl knew it was a poor measuring stick to use against the Bians. Thanks to the Isset Rebellion and the racial attitudes it helped spawn and fester over the last few decades, Gathyl found himself unconsciously wishing the worst of the Bians. In contrast to this distrust was the enthusiasm of Sphyral. Compared to previous first contact situations this one was working at breakneck speed. In addition to the first contact protocols the professor also sent new messages utilizing the picture-based dictionary the aliens sent. As far as the sentences went, they were still very basic, such as ‘We are from a big house’ and ‘You have a pretty ship’. An exchange of mathematical formulas and scientific tables made for more detailed messages. Both races exhibited an interest in gold and precious stones in these messages, leading Sphyral to suggest (with Gathyl’s permission) a possibility of a trade treaty. ‘We have gold to give for your gems’ was sufficient to get the idea across. Had it been another race involved then this first contact would’ve ended peacefully. But these were Bians, and they’ve reached a far different conclusion. “Are you certain, Stembolt?” “Yes, Captain. The last message was an offer to come aboard their ship. Using mathematical measures and symbols, they asked what our life-support requirements are and any special needs we may have. Additionally, they sent us their life-support needs and… other details.” Had Cogsworth had lips then they would’ve expressed his sourness. He had hoped that the intelligence behind the increasing sophisticated yet simple messages was of inorganic origin. Now after two days of work he got the expected but disappointing answer to his unspoken question. These aliens, whose racial name was still unknown, were flesh and blood. Their last message included measures of heat, pressure, and air composition they required if they were to visit his ship, not to mention their need for water and ‘waste disposal’. Cogsworth felt a bit sick, something he hadn’t felt for centuries, when he recalled the time when Bians required facilities to handle body waste. There was only one response possible and only one acceptable to the Navy and Queen Vulcana. “Stembolt, inform the corvette captains to stand ready for orders. Hail the aliens. I will send a message personally to whoever is command over there.” “Yes, Sir.” Then a moment passed. “Comm circuits ready, Captain.” Gathyl had to remind himself that he was looking at a sentient being and not some animatronic movie prop. The Bian captain and some other officer behind him were on the viewer. Both wore dark red uniforms lined with gold trim and purple highlights. For the Captain his metallic face was totally dominated by a large recessed circular glass disk. Three small black squares were lined up where a mouth would be. As for the other officer he had two much smaller recessed disks on his face, placed where the eyes would be for an Isset or Tekkel. His ‘mouth’ was a small black rectangle. Mostly likely an audio speaker. As for a final touch the Captain was bald while his subordinate had jet-black hair on his head. Since the Bians were living machines, it was obvious that the hair had to be artificial or from some animal. Gathyl didn’t want to know if it came of an actual living being. The
Bian Captain began to talk. His speech was
untranslated, but there were two scroll lines of text
along the bottom of the viewer. The top line of text
was written in formal Bian and wouldn’t be fully
translated until months later.* The bottom line of
text was translated and simpler, but was just as
effective. ‘You go not on my ship. My
ship no air. Me visit your ship. Me open your ship
to outside for air to go.’ “I don’t like that tone one damn bit,” Gathyl said. “Comm…” Reagent’s tactical officer broke in with disturbing news. “Commander, the Bian cruiser is activating at least one force beam. Multiple radar and laser targeting systems are highlighting this ship.” “ The Bians were also on the move, but only at half the max speed of the cruiser and all of them were employing ECM and engine modulation. The cruiser opened fired with a capital force beam, scoring first blood on Gathyl’s command. In response the three Eagle Eye frigates fired their missiles at one corvette. Only one missile out of fifteen managed to hit, but it brought the little ship’s solitary shield down. At a range of 2.5 light seconds Gathyl ordered his ships to slow to match the speed of the cruiser. All the surplus engine power went to modulating the drive fields, making them just a tad bit harder to hit. By the time the frigates’ weapons recycled both squadrons were at one light second range. The destroyer Siphon lost her three of her engine rooms, both holds and her datalink. Revenge was swift as a Bian corvette fell to both plasma and sprint mode missiles. Both squadrons maneuvered and started to spiral around each other. The plasma guns had yet to recharge, leaving the cruiser and frigates the only ones able to fire at the current range of one-quarter of a light second. Despite the ECM involved the Eagle Eyes stripped the remaining corvette of her shield and armor while the Siphon was badly damaged, but still retained two of her recharging plasma guns. The range opened a further quarter of a light second. The remaining corvette obliterated the Siphon at point-blank range and the Reagent was pounded by the cruiser. Sprint mode missiles savaged the cruiser’s shields. In response the cruiser engaged its engine tuners and went full speed, putting distance between itself and its antagonists. This caught Gathyl by surprise; he ordered pursuit at full speed, but still the cruiser was just outside plasma gun range. In order to get back into range he had to have his ships detune their engines. Before that happened the cruiser scored another hit on Reagent, destroying the remaining armor, datalink and hold #1. He had the frigates hold their fire; they already spent 20% of their ammunition and he wanted them in close for maximum effect. After the first thirty seconds of detuning the remaining five Fendalen ships closed to within plasma gun range. Despite the degradation to fire control the Reagent scored two hits, bringing the shields down on the big Bian ship. Return fire brought down three engine rooms and hold #2. The chase continued. While Reagent fell behind its sister ship Beaker became the focus of the capital force beam, losing 80% of her shields in one hit. Now within one light second range the squadron stopped detuning and returned fire with sprint mode missiles. Only two hit, scouring some armor. At the speed the cruiser was going she could only rely on the modulation that her dedicated ECM could provide, with no help from her engines. This proved decisive. Despite losing her datalink and a hold the Beaker and her frigate consorts broke through the defenses and crippled the cruiser. While the destroyer turned away to distance itself the frigates closed in to finish the job. It took a minute longer due to unexpected sub par targeting of the sprint mode missiles. Frigate FSY-024 was hit three times, becoming little more than a mobile wreck. But the cruiser fell, and Gathyl considered his situation. FSY-024 was a lost cause. Her survivors were equally divided among FSY-022 and 023. The two frigates had expended 50% of their ammunition. Beaker still had all of her engines. With regret Gathyl had his ship abandoned and destroyed along with its pinnace and FSY-024. Time was of the essence. Reagent would’ve only slowed the squadron down, and there was no guarantee that repairs would restore her to full speed. His only concession was to search for Siphon’s survivors for one hour. Tempting as it was, he didn’t bother to pick up any of the Bian life pods. His crews had priority in the available shipboard space, and he cared not to displace any of them for the sake of talking machinery. Now commanding aboard the Beaker, Gathyl made new orders. At a speed of .117c the trio of ships would reach their warp point in three-and-a-half days. Time and speed still conspired against Gathyl. Those corvettes that had been trailing the original Bian squadron would catch up with his ships in two days. After an intense hour of thought the Commander came to a decision. On the remaining pinnace he loaded up the wounded, Sphyral and his team, all the data collected about the Bians, and all non-essential personnel that could fit. Once the pinnace was launched he altered his course by a few degrees. His intention was to have his pursuers continue to think that he was leading them to his warp point, but actually he wasn’t. With luck the pinnace will make it to the warp point without being discovered. On the other side waited the small escort group and support ships. It was a small consolation that some of his people would not die in a system so far removed from home. To put it mildly Cogsworth was irate. He had allowed himself to be blinded by naked avarice, failing to consider that his three ships had no real chance to subdue a force twice his number or scare them into running towards their entry point. The only consolation was that he and his surviving crews were picked up by a corvette of the trailing force. Now nothing more than a passenger, he waited as the twenty corvettes and slightly slower scout frigates closed on the retreating aliens. Surely and inexorably the pursuit force, guided by long-range transmissions from the trailing scouts, came within standard scanner range of the three alien ships. It would take another 12.5 minutes before the plasma guns would come into range. No engine de-tuning was invoked by either side since if one did it then the other would follow suit, and only thirty seconds would’ve been gained. At a range of 3.25 light seconds the Fendalen ships changed their course by 60° and the frigates opened fire on one corvette. Every thirty seconds the trio altered their heading by 60°, keeping the Bians in their firing arc. Three minutes of missile volleys bore fruits as the targeted corvette lost an engine room and fell behind its compatriots. It remained the focus of the frigates for another minute; now out of datalink, the small ship was more vulnerable to missiles. The fateful range of 1.25 light seconds was reached. Plasma packets destroyed the Beaker and reduced both FSY-022 and 023 to crawling wrecks. Two minutes later both frigates self-destructed. Only lifepods remained and these were picked up by the Bians. The only damage the MSN sustained was one corvette heavily damaged and another with very light armor damage. Cogsworth looked on as the prisoners assigned to the corvette he was on were processed and locked up in an unused portion of the cargo hold. There were six of them, ranging in color from pink to green. What amused Cogsworth the most was that these aliens were like insects writ large. In his eye the only difference (aside from size) between them and a leaf stalker (a native Heavy Melder insect) was that the leaf stalker had eight limbs instead of six. At that moment another thought occurred to him. In addition to interrogations, a complete physical study of the aliens had to be done. Up to and including dissection. Seeing actual internal organs would provide hours of grotesque amusement. While Cogsworth was thinking unpleasant thoughts the Fendalen pinnace reached the warp point and escaped. Despite being closed on the Bian side the Fendalens held no illusion that their exit went unobserved. In fact they were right. A patrolling frigate, one of four assigned to the outer reached of the Heavy Melder system, had the pinnace on the extreme edge of detection range for two minutes before it disappeared. With the position marked the frigate called for reinforcements. Three battlecruisers and twelve corvettes arrived and successfully made transit. Both Fendalen frigates and the buoy tender assigned to watch the warp point were able to make their escape. The 60 laser buoys, activated by the tender, damaged every MSN ship. All the corvettes lost an engine room and thus were unable to pursue the fleeing ships. It took the initial message from the survey group nine days (two by drone and the rest by ICN) to reach the Fendalen home system. On that day Lugan had his nightmare, and his premonition was again proven correct eleven days later. Xyzet, The First Space Lord, along with the Chief of the Naval Intelligence Office, Wynja, met with Lugan personally in his private study. After the initial twenty minute briefing by Xyzet there was a long pause. Lugan regarded the datapad copy he held like it was an ancient tome, and only he heard the sound of yipping Isset in the distance. “Obviously
all available naval forces in the western sectors have
been alerted when word was sent by Sphyral,” Lugan
said abruptly at Xyzet. “How many task groups do we
have at the Spice Fleet Base?” The Spice System was
the most western settled system in the “Four, your Highness. Spice is the primary base for the 3rd High Fleet. The other six task groups are within eight warp links of the system.” Xyzet had memorized the details that Lugan was bound to ask in this meeting. He had no datapads other than the one he gave to Lugan. “I’ve sent the orders for them to assemble at Spice an hour ago. The first of several automated weapon and picket forces will leave Spice once they get the orders.” Lugan nodded. “Excellent.” He then turned to Wynja. “I realize you’ve had the data for only a very short time. What do you make of Sphyral’s report?” The
dark blue senior officer blinked his eyes. “I have to
agree with the esteemed professor’s assessment, your
Highness. These Bians are aggressive. They attacked
while outnumbered two to one, and may consider the
loss of three of their ships for three of ours a fair
exchange. More important I believe they are purely
mechanical constructs. A race that doesn’t need food
and sleep can work all hours of the day. An equivalent
population can produce twice as much wealth as one of
ours. Coupled with the disturbing videos Sphyral
included I must submit that the Bians pose a deadly
threat to the Glancing back at the datapad, Lugan forwarded the report to the point Wynja mentioned. He played one of the recorded videos, and listened to what had to be sounds of glee coming from the depicted Bians. It may have been computer-driven images, but they could have been real as far as the King was concerned. If such videos were common entertainment for this mechanical race, along with the attitudes they displayed, then fighting them was the only choice Lugan could make. Just then, for a moment, he swore he saw the helmeted face of his brother Curgan looking back at him from the datapad’s screen, accompanied by the sound of yipping Isset. The King was momentarily dismayed but didn’t show it. He locked his hands together and rested his chin atop them, looking as if he was thinking deeply instead of brushing demons back into the darkness. His two senior officers were looking at him for instruction. With a start he stood up on his four legs. Xyzet and Wynja were unmoved; they were use to Lugan’s sudden movements. “Tonight I will inform the Kingdom that we are a war,” Lugan said righteously. “There will be a full mobilization. All the other fleets will send one-fifth of their strength, after necessary refitting, to assist the 3rd High Fleet. Every ship in the mothball reserve will be reactivated and modernized.” Xyzet bowed in acknowledgment. “It will be a mighty effort, my King. We shall make your will a reality.” It was indeed a heavy task. Only a third of all ships had been updated with the new advanced point defense systems and improved shields. Moreover those ships with missiles would be undergoing refit again. Antimatter warhead technology had been perfected three months ago. Exhaustive simulations and two live tests on old hulks showed that containment fields on antimatter-armed missiles tend to fail when the magazines they were stored in were destroyed. For simple survival sake magazines that held the new warheads were going to be the most protected part of all current and newly constructed ships. “Wynja, I’m making Sphyral our top expert on these Bians. He’ll be working for you for the duration of the war. Make him regular Navy and promote him to full commander.” “Your commands are law, my King,” Wynja replied with respect. Lugan
motioned with his right arm towards the doors. “You
may both go. We all have duties today that require our
full attention.” He watched as both officers bowed and
left the room. For the rest of the afternoon Lugan
worked on his speech. He was at the top of his form
that night. He spoke at the Amphitheatre, located in
the city of Lugan didn’t hear the applause of the audience. All he heard with the sound of howling Isset and the labored breathing of his long dead brother. * The complete text of Cogsworth’s message to Gathyl. “I’m unable to accommodate a visit by you on my ship. The interiors of Bian ships are only pressurized when landing on planets, and our life-support systems are only able to handle the needs of organics for a very short period of time. Therefore I will accept your offer to come aboard your ship. In order to facilitate this visit it will be necessary to vent the atmosphere from your ship. As I am very anxious to meet you, I will speed up your preparations by creating several openings in your hull with my ship’s force beam. The resulting expulsion of air should only take a few minutes, long enough for my shuttle to dock in your landing bay. If you’re equipped with a purple carpet, please have it ready to deploy in front of my shuttle’s exit hatch. This is Captain Cogsworth, signing out.” |