Beyond Kuiper: The Galactic Star Alliance

by Matthew Medney

  Its strange journey began when the black hole passed through its native system killing the sun and shattering its worlds. Fifteen billion died as the planet Xaraka1 cracked in two. One half was dragged into the dark—gone—but the rest locked into an orbit so close to the black hole, time slowed down.

  At the Threshold2, one can see the galaxy change.

  General Odian Spek, the Valkon who learned the secrets of phasing, who led with an iron fist and an immovable will, had become an aimless fugitive in the aftermath of the Saaryki Incident: his family murdered and his Creators too scattered and weak to fulfill their mission. He fled beyond the protected quadrants hoping only to be reunited with the fallen House of Spek.

  Instead, a gravitational anomaly caused his ship to patch-out unexpectedly. As the growing blackness swallowed the stars in his path, an onyx shimmer illuminated his viewport. A vantablack sphere christened only by the cracks of molten lava protruding from its every crevasse devoured the opaque space. But in its shadow he found the will to live as he transversed from reaper to explorer. Fifteen prikes later, he found the remains of a once subterranean city forever left facing the cosmic sea when the land above it shattered.

  The moment he opened its doors, he decided he hadn’t found this place by happenstance. No, it was a sign from his wife and child that he still had a job to do. The fractured world would become a home and fortress for a rebuilt army: a base from which to find and strike at lower species unworthy of equality or mercy.

  He dubbed it XXX.

  For his followers, knowing his obsession with duality and with balance, his words became a rallying cry. “Only those who’ve failed in every possible way can learn how to lead in every successful way.”

  It wasn’t difficult to find those who shared his vision; Soldiers, doctors, engineers, artists, politicians, parents, pariahs, deserters, dissidents, anarchists, heroes, villains, people of science, and more. Recruited over hundreds of turns, they sacrificed their ties for the cause leaving loved ones to grow old in the faster time beyond the Threshold.

  The Creators were a small but clever group. Their advanced custom stealth ships were designed from the original Voidwhisperer fighters. Numbering no more than 16,000, with over half deployed at any given time, they leveraged bleeding-edge technology to enhance their troops ten-fold with drones and artificial life such as VIRGL3. Odian’s voice united more than the GSA would ever publicly admit.

  Once they began to journey out again, before each mission Spek would say, “Those who allow conquerors to exist allow themselves to be conquered.” To him, the GSA’s inability to do what they must posed risk to the galactic civilization as a whole. Species with violent tendencies should be eliminated—not quarantined and not put under some review board. Extirpate their infestation before they erode the fabric of the Alliance.

  The Valpax4, the only remaining ship from the Nova System attack, had returned. It slipped gracefully around the asteroids barricading the dark planet’s surface. As a chime echoed through the fissures signaling its arrival, the ship skimmed sundered mountains and onto a scarred, fossilized ocean bed that appeared to stretch forever.

  A balanced view of faint stars and pale sand shifted until the stars threatened to consume all. But they, too, dropped away completely as the ship dove over the massive cliffs marking where a quarter of the planet used to be. It drifted into the chasm to their fortress. No signals were transmitted, no security codes requested, yet the railguns and plasma nets stood down. The starlight, diminishing the already dark rock, faded to a void-like blur.

  Bearing its hard-won cargo, the ship slowed. Threading between three mountain-sized slabs, it curved in and around to avoid being hit. Emerging into open space, it was met with a strange vista. Near the chasm base, the broken rock revealed a perpendicular cave a full rudon tall. In it, pyramids hewn by ancient Xarakan workers reached floor to ceiling overlapping in a huge hexagonal network. The first Creators had found others like it still sealed deeper within.

  The Valpax passed among these columns, moving on and on, guided only by radar until a beam of light made the high walls glimmer. The hangar bay blast doors slowly opened. Entering, the starship passed through the forcefield holding the atmosphere and was briefly surrounded by a purple nimbus.

  As its thrusters adjusted to the artificial gravity, technicians vaulted from sliptubes and flew down from balconies. The landing gear hissed; the primary cargo hold creaked open.

  Three figures stepped out, each wearing sleek, black vacuum jumpsuits adapted to their physiologies. They removed their helmets revealing a rocky, broad-backed Tragdor5, a humanoid Dragsan male, and a beautiful, orange-scaled Fandaxian traa-female6 who deftly balanced on two legs with a long, powerful tail.

  The crowd pushed in eager to set eyes on their prize.

  A repair jockey cried. “Come on, let’s see it! I bet it’s funnier-looking than that pathetic ship from Nulusoorg III7.”

  A gleeful technician nudged a Kitta medic beside her. “Took eighty prikes to decode the last one. Bets on over-under?”

  A Baleen pilot turned to his gunner. “Remember how polluted the oceans were on the last mission out there? Those creatures were savages.”

  The loud agreement grew louder until a tall Zundrillian in a modest, green uniform shouted, “Creators, enough!”

  Despite her unassuming appearance, the crowd quieted separating to allow her easy passage. The crew snapped to attention at her approach. The Zundrillian gruffly directed a question at the Fandaxian.

  “Creator Velora, was your mission a success?”

  After a tail-salute, Velora addressed her reply properly. “Affirmative, RuCreator8 Maroona. Primary objective completed. Our intel was solid. The native probe was retrieved unharmed.”

  Maroona peered over her eye shaders. “Twenty-six ships were sent, yet you return alone. What are our losses?”

  Velora stiffened. “Heavy, RuCreator. Twenty-four ships destroyed, one captured.”

  There was a sharp, collective intake of breath and many looks of disappointment and anger. Maroona, at least, appeared to be withholding judgement. “Why?”

  “They had Voidwhisperers, as NüCreator9 Spek anticipated, and the Quarantine forces were unexpectedly aggressive sacrificing their own fighters to block our field breakers.”

  Maroona’s voice flared. “The GSA is willing to send its own to their deaths to protect these savages?” She shouted so all could hear. “It was a steep cost for a victory that could not have been achieved without our machine friends. They shall be remembered in the stories; their code copies shall live forever in the Halls of the Created10!”

  Cheers erupted.

  A levitated stasis field generator floated from the cargo bay to the brightly-lit hangar floor. Its burden looked primitive, as old as the dead city but far cruder. Maroon’s hand gently skimmed the field holding the Voyager 2. Pale, blue ribbons flowed where she touched the invisible barrier.

  “Fascinating,” she crooned.

  Velora interjected. “Unfortunately, RuCreator, its power source is a primitive radio decay generator. Largely depleted, but still harmful. We’ll have to contain and remove it before analysis.”

  Maroona retracted her hand. “Then the humans are nuclear-capable. There’s less time than we thought. Interpreter Roliath, take this to the labs.”

  A Metawing wearing an academy faculty uniform saluted and retreated with the probe.

  Maroona turned to the crew. “NüCreator Spek is expected back soon from a recon mission. Once he arrives, you will provide him with a full mission debrief. I suggest you grab some food and make your way to the Matüridan11.”

  They saluted, each according to their custom. Maroona returned the salutes, then departed. The throng dispersed, many heading for the inner blast doors as the trio made its way into the fortress proper.

  In the hexagonal hallways, combat troops marched, flew, or crawled past them. Sliptube occupants, a luxury in remote space, periodically zipped o
verhead. Luckily, once the Creators patched the ancient power relays and installed their own fusion generators, the original luminary system functioned. An approximation of warm daylight emanated from two upper angled walls leaving the ceiling a detached strip. The other walls were more smooth stonework, like the entrance cave. Now illuminated, they were revealed to be stunning, pale, green granite swirling with veins of gold and purple amethyst.

  “What now?” Bluuimpus said.

  Velora shrugged. “Beats me. That was sorta anticlimactic after all we’ve been through.”

  Marriko’s usual optimism was unaffected. “I can’t wait to see those new episodes of the Epiko Entertainment shows. It’s crazy, each time I return to XXX, there are so many new seasons available. What about you two?”

  “I’m going for a quick scale-scrub,” Bluuimpis replied. “Then I’ll meet you at the dining area. Velora?”

  Her rhythmic tail flicks made it clear she was distracted. A faint sensation seeming to touch her shoulder pulled her mind ever further away. Her consciousness wandered trying to find the source of the feeling. Memories of warmth and power of soaring through Valkürin flickered before her.

  But those memories of soaring through the clouds, of dancing with a Valkon woman and child, of happiness—were not her own.

  “Your shower is going to have to wait, Bluuimpus,” she said. “He’s here.”

  Even her own words sounded distant.

  Marriko was skeptical. “How do you know?”

  Another chime sounded proving her right.

  Marriko stared at her. “Wow, you’re really starting to connect with the implants, huh?”

  She rubbed the metal plates and ports poking from the scar tissue on the back of her neck unable to tell whether or not she liked the look her crewmates were giving her.

  “Barely, I think he was just shouting really loudly.”

  Bluuimpus was crestfallen. “It’s really cool for you, but I’m so bummed that they don’t work on my kind.”

  “Yeah, well, you can turn parts of your body to stone and hold your breath about thirty times longer than I can.”

  The three chuckled. Marriko said, “Well, guess we’ll shower and eat later. Best head to the Matüridan.”

  They hopped the nearest sliptube access, jumped in, and flew down the hall. The vector quickly filled with fellow Creators all heading for the Rallying Fields. The hallway beneath them went into a gentle curve then rapidly approached another doorway.

  A dazzling light beyond it blinded them to what lay beyond.

  “This never gets old!”

  Marriko’s shout made Velora smile. Speeding up, they were shot into another vast chamber with more carved, vaulting honeycombs; golden light was emanating from the pyramidal columns.

  Velora, Bluuimpus, and Marriko glided over a high plateau before the ground suddenly dropped 300 tradons to a giant, flat surface. The sliptube brought them swiftly down rapidly altering their viewpoint.

  The Matüridan was nearly four rudons away. The half-planet’s sole disconnected pyramid, the Creators thought it may have been the center of some ancient, monstrous engine. It was flattened at the top with a corresponding column descending from the ceiling.

  That was where the Creators would gather not only to hear their Odian but to connect mind-to-mind, soul-to-soul, and push forward to build the bridge between them stronger bit by bit. The Voidwhisperer implant, once used to fight technological and psychic warfare, was now used to create an equal and cooperative world the GSA never could.

  Across the plain, small ships flew in from the edges. Dozens of sliptubes parallel to their own carried scores. Others jet-packed, impulsed, drove, hopped, crawled, ran, or flew to their common destination. The gathering felt primeval to Velora as if they were one of the primitive tribes of her home world, Azoeleo12, congregating by a village fire.

  At the base of the pyramid, what had appeared smooth cut stone clarified as the interior of a vast machine. Staired ramps ran along the slabs of unknown alloys that interlaced with conduits to form the whole of the structure.

  Though it looked like the sliptube occupants would slam the strange surface, they angled upward. Passing their slower but perhaps more determined fellows on the stairs, Velora flipped onto her back to better admire the incoming vessels. Near the top, the tube slowed signaling the imminent terminus. Ahead, a disembarkment ring was set up where travelers were propelled from the magnetic stream.

  Before Velora got there, she pulled herself from the rivulet with a rolling tail flick perfected by years of quazmat stunts. Gracefully passing over the top edge, she landed deftly on her feet and gave a hearty salute to the passing soldiers. Then, she ran to the disembarkment ring to meet an unimpressed, Marriko and Bluuimpus.

  “Showoff!” Bluuimpus said, “What is the point of a stunt like that?”

  “You’ve obviously never gotten a concussion from someone behind you jumping out of the sliptube hooves first. “

  “Fair point.”

  Another, stronger mental wave washed along Velora’s thoughts. She was faintly aware of others nearby responding in sync. Those on the steps and in their ships picked up speed. Those in the sliptubes flipped and rolled for better views.

  At the front of the chamber, on a cliff edge between ramps, a solitary figure stood. Even from this distance, his swagger and cool demeanor were unmistakable. All eyes on him, he leapt from the precipice plummeting countless tradons before unfurling his magnificent wings and soaring majestically.

  As he approached the Matüridan, he sailed over ships and dove between carriers: his speed seemingly at odds with the distance he covered.

  He rose high above the pyramid, so close to the vaulted roof he flipped and ran upside down on its surface. Detaching, he dropped trading elevation for speed as he circled the upper monolith. As he passed lower and lower, cheers erupted reaching a crescendo when, with a final magnificent swoop, he landed gracefully on the flowing mosaic-like floor. NüCreator Odian Spek was home.

  The powerful wind from his beating wings pushed back the lighter creatures. Once they folded, razor feathers still protruding mid-spine, he stood in the center of the machine posing like a hero of old. Twin laser blades13 were strapped to his back. A holster on his left hip carried a telescoping stunstaff14: the one on his right, a plasma repeater15.

  Hexapedal but bipedal, he was similar to a Dragsan replacing blue and silver feathers for jet black across the back, shoulders, and thighs: roughly humanoid, save for the large paraluar16 horns jutting from his skull. His stripped-down Voidwhisperer armor revealed that his right arm, shoulder, and a portion of his torso weren’t flesh, but woven Kalean steel neurofiber shaped into muscles and sinews that moved naturally.

  He’d made his powerful body a history of success and failure and a remembrance for the fallen. The flex armor covering his left side was covered with words, pictograms, and symbols from each species they’d cleansed. His right, held the iconography of those the Creators saved. His chest bore the symbol of his home world, Valkürin. Around his neck he wore an amulet with his family’s emblem formerly carried by his daughter.

  As he raised his fist, the cheering horde hushed. “Creators! Another world has been saved from the aggression of a T-Class planet. When we found Rivaawool far in the Distant Zones, its people were under attack from the neighboring planets species, the Boon Bonx17. Not content with their own space, they tried to take what belonged to others. But we are not the GSA. We do not allow conquest to proceed with impunity. No, we are the arbiters of justice with the courage to ensure balance across the known and unknown worlds! The Boon Bonx have been cleansed by our weapons and the Neper. Their planet is quiet now—ready for Rivaawool to enjoy should they choose. So, raise a shout for our fallen comrades. The Halls of the Created received new heroes today. Moon Mooka, Durest Ka, Coomraya, and Negaan, we thank you for your sacrifice.”

  The congregation roared in unison, Creators of Peace, Creators of Space, we salute you in your
bravery, for your sacrifice. You have made the galaxy we live in more peaceful, allowing peaceful life to flourish!

  Velora felt a pull in the back of her mind. Others connected to the collective began transmitting sending their memories of their own fallen comrades. From their fragmented memories and emotion, they wove a narrative felt by all.

  Odian raised his other hand. In it, he contained a hologram projector. As the narrative channeled through him and he added his own, all could see and hear the stories of Moon Mooka and the others play out in towering images; their childhoods, loves, battles, losses, and friendships. Some of the worlds on display were familiar to Velora, others not, but whenever a word or context was indecipherable, another mind somewhere in the crowd translated for her.

  Acidic tears trickled harmlessly down her arm glistening against her bright amber and scarlet scales. Looking around, she saw many similarly affected. Ultimately, the pull of the collective waned, its emotional storm ebbed, leaving her with a wordless longing.

  The projector stored in his inorganic arm, Odian unfurled his wings with a loud snap that cracked the air. His words echoed off the distant walls.

  “So many turns have passed out there that few on Valkürin even remember the Saaryki. But here at the Threshold, memories need not be long to know why we do what we must. Combing the Distant Zones has again shown us the aggression inherent in so many. Where glorious species once thrived, we found dead worlds ruined by nuclear weapons or invading armies seeking territory and slaves. It is time to return to GSA territory and prove the worlds they try to protect are not only unworthy, they are lethal. We will not let them make the same mistakes again. The Nova System is just the beginning.”

  Odian let a sweep of doubt and hesitation bury itself before continuing. “There will be no repeat of the Loronzon Incident. For 200 turns, we’ve inspired countless civilizations, not through fear, but hope and action. They know we are not criminals; they know we are not terrorists, and they will cheer us on because we are CREATORS!”