by A. K. DuBoff
“You mean they grow stupid when their children are born?” Ramsey turned his gaze from Gabrielle to the admiral and back again. “What sort of evolutionary adaptation is that?”
“An effective one, it would seem.” Gabrielle turned to the next image in the dossier. It showed what looked to Ramsey like a twelve-by-twelve-foot blue honeycomb. “We’ve received conflicting reports from several of our second-party friends, so this next bit might contain errors, but they claim only Pluhron females possess a true sense of self. The males are perhaps on par with a baboon or wild gorilla.”
“They’re studs?”
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “I prefer the term sires. They have far shorter lifespans than the females, just a century or two.”
“Enough to help defend the offspring.”
Gabrielle nodded. “I imagine their wild period is key to defending their nests, but as their children age toward adulthood, the parents—at least the females—grow more intelligent with their brood. Once they’re all self-aware, they become peers.”
“That might make sense on a planet where other creatures are long-lived.” Ramsey tapped his ample chin in thought.
“And that lifespan is integral to the Pluhrons’ claim on Earth. Mezzrel insists representatives of her race negotiated the fair purchase of Earth from a female shaman named Lowk about twelve thousand years ago. According to her, that was during her grandmother’s lifetime.”
Ramsey sat back with a huff, his mind whirling. “You’re saying these aliens—”
“The Pluhron.”
“These Pluhron perpetrated a Louisiana Purchase for the entire planet with some primitives long before humans could even write? Let me guess, they gave them a few beaded necklaces and some blankets in exchange?”
Gabrielle shook her head. “No, they didn’t trade for baubles. If we’re to believe Mezzrel, her people gave us agriculture.”
—
Location: Earth Orbit/Sol System
“I’m glad to see you’ve kept the old girl in top condition.” Gabrielle, sitting in Silver Sparrow’s copilot’s chair, worked a dial to adjust their vector toward the Pluhron flagship. She moved with aplomb, having mastered the console back when they were dating.
Unwilling to show how much her presence pleased him, Ramsey avoided looking into her green eyes. “She’s a good ship, always there for me.”
Silence fell between them, and Ramsey found himself biting the inside of his cheek. Stupid. He hadn’t meant to reference their breakup, not intentionally. He had thought himself healed from that pain, but some deep-seated part of him still felt the sting of it.
For her part, Gabrielle busied herself with the microphone dangling from the computer board. She twisted its dial to adjust the Sparrow’s communications antenna. Once she had it oscillating in time with the Pluhrons’ main frequency, she held the bulbous end to her red lips.
Ramsey swallowed.
“Calling Pluhron spacecraft, this is Colonel Gabrielle McGovern. My partner and I are here to rendezvous for our arranged meeting with High Armored Attack Wing Commander Mezzrel.”
A low, buzzing voice issued from the communications console. It sounded to Ramsey like a cross between a wad of paper stuck in a fan and kazoo. Gabrielle flipped a couple of switches on her control board to convert the speaker’s words into English.
“—offer you a pleasant negotiation with all due safety. Follow the light displays to pilot your craft into hanger bay gamma.”
“From everything we’ve observed, all the smaller ships follow this one by rote,” Gabrielle said after switching off her microphone. “We believe they’re slaved to follow it through a radio signal tether, which acts like a hive mind.”
A port slid open on the side of the beetle-shaped Pluhron ship, its entrance outlined in green light. Ramsey piloted Silver Sparrow inside and landed amongst a crowd of sleek black ships lined up in perfect order inside a bay that easily contained a hundred thousand square feet of space. Even the Trans-Solar Union’s largest space stations couldn’t hope to match it for sheer scale.
“Remember what I said in the briefing, the Pluhrons have become increasingly antsy every time we meet.” Gabrielle stabilized the ships’ pressures as she spoke. “Don’t be surprised if they get testy with us. I swear, it’s as if they’re on a timetable and the end is drawing near.”
“I’ll keep a level head.”
Ramsey got his first glimpse of the Pluhrons as he and Gabrielle waited for the Sparrow’s rear exit to open. Six of them, captured by the ship’s external cameras, stood as a greeting party, their multi-faceted black eyes staring up expectantly.
“Be ready,” Gabrielle said. “It’s loud.”
That was the understatement of the decade. During their briefing, she had warned Ramsey that the wasp-like aliens used their wings for communication, but nothing could have prepared him for the infernal buzzing that met his ears as the Sparrow’s rear exit ramp descended. Pluhrons shot overhead in every direction, some flitting up to the bay’s high roof, others clinging to handholds built into the walls. It was like walking into the galaxy’s largest beehive. And it wasn’t simply buzzing that filled the space; the aliens supplemented that sound with a sort of squeaking tone produced by rubbing portions of their exoskeletons together.
One of the Pluhrons, taller than her companions, stepped forward to flutter her wings while simultaneously gyrating four of her limbs, producing a shrill stridulation.
“Greetings, Colonel McGovern and Captain Ramsey. Welcome aboard the Dominance.” Ramsey’s collar interpreter dutifully translated the alien’s speech, though he struggled to hear it over the din.
“Hello again, High Commander Mezzrel.” Gabrielle bowed low and Ramsey followed her example. “Could we speak elsewhere? Perhaps in the conference room we shared last time I was aboard? The sound here is distracting”
Mezzrel fluttered her wings for several seconds, a motion Ramsey’s translator didn’t interpret, but one he interpreted as agitation. At last, she gestured toward a round portal at one end of the bay. “Very well.”
Mezzrel ushered them into a narrow, dimly lit corridor. It felt blissfully quiet after the bay, though Ramsey could hear Pluhron squeaks and buzzes echoing from somewhere in the distance. Muted red lights painted the hall in sinister tones. Ramsey chided himself for thinking that way. Alien meant alien. He knew better than to interpret aesthetic choices from a xenophobic perspective, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The shrill noises the Pluhrons made set him on edge.
Mezzrel guided them to a closed door. She brushed one of her wings across a black rectangle set into the wall next to it and it slid open. The room beyond contained no table, but it boasted a dozen large objects Ramsey at first mistook for high desks. He realized his mistake when Mezzrel and three of her companions each squeezed into one of the contraptions. Structured to accommodate the Pluhrons’ many legs with padded shelves set at varying positions and open backrests designed for unobstructed wing movement, the aliens’ chairs fit them perfectly. A pair of much smaller, human-style chairs stood at the center of the room.
Ramsey eyed the three Pluhrons who had remained standing, warning klaxons going off in his head.
“Stop staring,” Gabrielle whispered as she brushed past him to sit.
“Commander?” Ramsey dragged his gaze away from the Pluhrons by the door to address Mezzrel.
“Yes?”
“Are there many robots like these on your crew?”
Mezzrel’s wings buzzed. Was that a sign of surprise or agitation? Either way, Ramsey felt certain he had caught the Pluhron leader off-guard.
“Robots?” Gabrielle leaned forward to stare at the Pluhrons in question.
“The number of our automatons is no concern of yours,” Mezzrel said.
“Of course.” Ramsey took the seat next to Gabrielle. “It was idle curiosity. I withdraw the question.”
“Again you come to speak with us, Colonel McGovern,” Mezzrel said. “May we
assume your people will soon abandon our property?”
Ramsey bristled at the suggestion, but kept his mouth shut. He had agreed to let Gabrielle start the negotiation.
“I’m afraid our answer is still no, High Commander.” Gabrielle pinned Mezzrel with an unflinching gaze. “We will not abandon our ancestral home simply because your people negotiated an unfair treaty with an ancient, unknown human.”
One of Mezzrel’s companions held up her center right arm. “Our agreement with the human known as Lowk is legally binding under our laws. You have viewed our recorded proof, yes?”
In the first days after the Pluhrons’ arrival, they had provided the Union with several magnetic chips loaded with recordings of ancient humans working alongside Pluhrons to plant crops with pointed sticks. Later sections showed the aliens teaching their human students more advanced techniques. Sharp as the images were, Ramsey found it hard to believe Pluhron documentarians had recorded them so long ago, and yet he couldn’t deny what they showed. Early humans had learned farming from Mezzrel’s people.
“Yes,” Ramsey said. “We’ve seen it.”
“Indeed,” Mezzrel said. “As I have thoroughly explained to Colonel McGovern, we trained Lowk and her tribe in the art of agriculture for the better part of five Earth years, and remained to supervise training many others over the course of the next century. Our debt, as negotiated, is paid in full.”
“And as I have explained to you, ma’am, our people have no knowledge of these events.” Gabrielle kept her tone professional, but Ramsey could hear the frustration underneath it. “How can you expect us to uphold an agreement made by someone wholly unrelated to us?”
“Is ignorance of the law a panacea against punishment in your society?” Mezzrel tilted her triangular head to one side. “Might one kill another and claim they didn’t know it was an offense to do so, and thereby fly free?”
“You must see how this situation differs from murder?” Ramsey said.
“No. We do not,” said another of the seated aliens. “A society that fails to uphold its laws is no society at all.”
According to one of the briefings Gabrielle had penned, she found reason to believe the Pluhrons favored strict adherence to law, almost to the point of religion. Ramsey could see what she meant.
“How can you justify removing us from our home when we have nowhere to go?” Gabrielle tossed her hands up in a gesture of disbelief.
“When a tenant has overstayed her contract and refuses to pay her rent, do you allow her to nest in your property for a thousand years while you are refused the use of your rightful possession?” Mezzrel’s buzzing and clicking took on a decidedly agitated sound as she spoke.
“No,” Ramsay said, “but neither would I toss a child out on a cold night. Humanity lacks the resources to lift our entire race off the planet. And even if we could, where would you have us go? Mars has one city that barely sustains the five thousand people already living there. The few habitable planets we’ve discovered in our explorations are all occupied. Would you have us go traipsing around the galaxy like vagabonds for generations?”
“We are sympathetic to your plight,” Mezzrel said. “That is why we have decided to offer you favorable rental rates on the Australian continent or the Sahara Desert.”
“You want us to squeeze five billion humans into North Africa?” Gabrielle looked from one inscrutable insect face to another, her lips parted.
“At reasonable rates.”
“Out of the question.” Ramsey had had enough. He stood, slowly to avoid alarming their hosts, and stretched to his full six feet, five inches so that he over-topped the three Pluhrons who had elected to stand. He drew in a deep, cleansing breath. “What will you do if we refuse to leave? Kill us all?”
“Not all.” Mezzrel retorted without hesitation. “We will, of course, neutralize your rudimentary space fleet and planet-side defenses. Please understand, we would do so only as a last resort. We prefer to assist you in leaving as quickly as possible without bloodshed. We are not a savage race.”
Something of the ancient warrior in Ramsey’s genetics yearned to take up the Pluhrons’ challenge—to spit defiance in the face of their overconfidence. Except, it wasn’t overconfidence. From what Gabrielle and the Union had observed, a fight between them would be a walkover in the Pluhron’s favor. By even the most generous estimates, such a conflict would last less than a month, and result in catastrophic losses for humankind. Ramsey glanced at Gabrielle who shook her head, her expression as defeated as he had ever seen it.
“Clearly,” Mezzrel said, buzzing her wings with less agitation than before, “you are out of arguments. Do not think us a cruel people. We are willing to give you assistance in leaving.”
Assistance. The word rang in Ramsey’s mind. With it came an idea.
“Your people taught ours agriculture?”
“Indeed, we did.”
“And you consider that a boon to us?”
“Every sentient species can trace it’s ascendancy back to farming by one means or another.”
“But look at the damage your gift caused.” Ramsey spread his arms wide as if to encompass the last twelve thousand years of human development. “Farming allowed humans to settle into villages, and later nation states. It fed armies and resulted in strife and plunder and the avarice of ownership. Every war our people ever fought was buoyed by the food that fueled it. How can you call that a gift?”
Ramsey hoped the Pluhrons wouldn’t recognize the desperation in his voice or written on his face. That hope crumbled when the three seated aliens convulsed spasmodically to produce a chirping cacophony his translator interpreted as unabashed laughter.
“What should a buyer do when the seller uses her money in a foolish way?” Mezzrel’s words arrived interspersed with her squeaking laugh. “How you squander your riches is no business of ours.”
Heat rose up Ramsey’s neck, and he knew his face was turning red less from anger than embarrassment. That had been a weak argument, but what other sort did his people have at this point?
Mezzrel sidled out of her chair to brush a wing across the door’s actuator and gesture the humans into the hall. “It has been a pleasure speaking with you, as always, but I’m afraid our talks are no longer productive. Your people have five days to begin organizing a global evacuation. Otherwise, you may expect our intervention.”
Ramsey got the feeling his interpreter was being too politic. It should have translated that last word as invasion.
—
Location: Earth Orbit/Sol System
“Isn’t there anything our allies can do to help, Admiral?” Gabrielle sat next to Ramsey surrounded by the Union’s top military and civilian leaders aboard the Unsullied. Three hours of debriefing and rehearsing Earth’s predicament had thus far come to nothing.
Admiral Leeds, sitting as chairman of the emergency assembly, shook his head, his expression grave. “Most other races are pacifists, Colonel, and even those that aren’t lack the capacity to make war on the Pluhrons even if we combined our fleets.”
The President of the United States, whose role within the Trans Solar Union was first among equals on the governing council, slapped an open palm on the table, making several of his peers jump in surprise. “I say we take the fight to these winged matriarchs! What we lack in forces, we can make up for in surprise and ingenuity.”
“I concur with my ally from America,” said the Premier of the Soviet Union. “We fought together in the second world war. Let us lock arms again for this first defense of Earth against an alien invader.”
Ramsey found himself nodding at the sentiment, despite knowing it would fail miserably.
Admiral Leeds tapped a finger on an electronic pad fashioned into his desk to reproduce the rap of a gavel that echoed through the room. “Gentlemen, the motion to declare war has been put forward and dismissed by a near unanimous vote. What we need now is solutions that won’t see millions of our people killed in the coming months.
”
“Those same millions are likely to die if we attempt to flee Mother Earth.” The US President stood, hands planted firmly on the table before him. “We lack every resource necessary to lift humanity into space, especially the ships. We are being bullied out of our homes, and you people are letting it happen.”
Ramsey voiced his agreement, which earned him a scathing look from Gabrielle.
“You know we can’t fight the Pluhron,” she whispered.
“Better to go down fighting than slink off into nothingness.”
Admiral Leeds again brought the room under control, this time by pounding the electronic gavel with his fist. He turned to the Minister of Union Intelligence. “Phillip, is there anything new your people have gleaned about the Pluhron or their ships? Something that might give us an advantage should this conflict, God forbid, result in war?”
“As some of you know, we have managed to sneak operatives on and off one of the Pluhrons vessels.” The wizened minster, who spoke with a thick German accent, adjusted his glasses as he stood, a waldo in his hand. He clicked one of its many buttons and a screen dropped from the conference room ceiling. Illuminated by a hidden projector, it lit up with images taken inside one of the aliens’ craft, but in a room Ramsey hadn’t seen.
They showed long bays filled with honeycombed egg chambers. As the perspective panned out, it became clear the eggs filled several floors running the entire length of the ship.
“There must be thousands of them,” Gabrielle whispered, her eyes wide.
“Tens of thousands.” Ramsey shook his head in wonder.
“We believe,” said the Intelligence Minister, “these eggs represent the Pluhrons’ invasion force. A generation of Earth-born aliens come to seize our world.”
A general chorus of moans and shouts of outrage followed, but died when Ramsey, his jaw firmed, stood and raised one hand.