by Orion, W. J.
Understand that statement in its entirety: the crabs by themselves are a military equal to the combined might of all the other allied races in the galaxy.
We observed for decades as they slowly crept from one system in their region of space to another, taking the water to replenish their world, or flat out occupying other worlds if they saw fit. At first, they stayed in their own region of space, uninterested in obtaining use of our transit abilities. But soon they crept further and further towards an existing wormhole anchor, and eventually they occupied space there. We could no longer ignore them and isolate them. They were knocking at the door.
We gave them access to the wormholes on a trial basis, and they behaved for… perhaps another fifty years. Then their predacious nature overtook them, and they were forced to take another world for its water. This world belonged to a race that had negotiated for Nexus travel as well as for protection in the court, and that brought them under our banner. We shut off travel for their ships.
The crabs responded by razing a dozen worlds in mere months. Their weapons are so powerful, and they need so little support to do war… no supply lines, no fuel, no ammunition. And they live a very long time, and their experience adds up, and up, and up. All warriors in the crab empire are veterans. The Triumvirate was forced to bring war against them, and we fared poorly. The Galon and Irib lost hundreds of ships in the first years of the confrontation, and it wasn’t until we Beru’dawn applied our full potential that the war came to an end.
As I have inhabited this store mannequin with my presence, so too can some Beru’dawn inhabit the minds of others. Not the bodies of others. The minds. We had always suspected we could do this, but we never tried until the crabs came. We respected the space of sentient minds far too much for the intrusion and damage we could cause. But, in this case, we had to protect the galactic population. Such was our sworn duty. We had brought these species together, and then allowed the threat of the crabs to damage them.
So, many of my kind gave up their own lives, and entered the intelligences of crabs, one at a time, all across the war front. When the crabs returned to their ships, we Beru’dawn eclipsed the minds of our hosts, rendering them null and void, then jumped to the next crab colony. So on and so on we went. Erasing their minds and leaving them as vegetables. Don’t be worried; I cannot do this thing.
Millions of crabs went into a coma with no return at the hands of just a hundred Beru. Entire crab fleets—emptied of the little creatures that powered them—drifted in space, dangerous no more. We were winning. We had to win. So we pressed on. Hundreds more Beru’dawn insinuated into the minds of the crabs, eating away at their kind until the crabs no longer congregated. Contact with each other spread our infection in their people, you see. But, separate, they continued to strike, and became more and more violent to stop us. We had made them desperate.
After wiping out two Nexus race’s home worlds with plasma bombardments of unparalleled power, they offered a… let’s call it a truce: if the Beru’dawn removed themselves from the equation, they would no longer target the worlds of Nexus-using races or sentient races–they instead would only harvest their water from unpopulated worlds, they could not transport any water they obtained using our gates, and most crucial for us at the time, they would make no more acts of aggression against intelligent species regardless of their alliance with us.
We Beru’dawn decided this was an acceptable pact. We depart from what we had built, and the crabs would no longer target the races we protected. It also allowed us to keep an eye on them through the eyes of the Irib’dirari and the Galon. Again, the Nexus provided value to the galaxy.
The crabs have followed the pact for the most part. They have made no acts of direct aggression against Nexus races for three hundred years, though they are targeting worlds with inhabitants of increasing intelligence, or the capability of intelligence. They brazenly crush and consume with vigor while all others do their best to cooperate. What they did to your world, Yasmine, is a direct attack on the terms of the Accordance they entered into. They are now in breach, and perhaps we can use the suffering of Earth to take the battle to them again. We must return to the Nexus and present what happened to the Interstellar Court.
I digress too soon.
My people returned to our nebulas, and we have kept watch at a distance, leaving only at times to do as I have in secret: repair the damage the crabs do, and to keep tabs on them without causing any harm to the Nexus or the races we have contacted. We have tried to maintain balance, but I think, perhaps, we have been naïve. You cannot negotiate with sharks to never feast when there is always blood in the water.
So there, that is the story you’ve sought for so long. I am sure you have endless questions, but that is the nature of sentience, right? To question everything we encounter, and to remain curious, and to seek out life, and connect with it, to grow.
So, my friend, you and I have met, and connected, and grown. And we have done the same with Trey, and this is a special thing. Your friends, and your uncle, they are incredible beings.
We’re going to change the galaxy, Yasmine. We’re going to save a lot of lives. They will celebrate what is coming for years.
Make no mistake: there will be war, and we will win that war.
But first, we need to dock with the larger crab rebellion ship.
Chapter Twenty-Six
One Last Rendezvous
“It’s ten times the size of Luminous,” Trey explained to the isolated passengers inside the ship with no windows. “But it’s otherwise exactly the same visually and in design.”
“So what’s going to happen?” Yasmine asked. “We can’t enter their ship, right? It’s all water.”
“Correct,” Indigo answered. “Crab ships dock with each other easily. Three of our maneuverability tentacles are equipped with male/female locking passages that can link to other ships. They’ll reach out with one of their tentacles and mate with one of ours. All of our back and forth will occur as such. It’s pretty steak.”
“Steak?” Caleb asked from his floating spot near the back of their tiny compartment.
“Slick,” she corrected. “I intended to say slick.”
“Easy mistake,” the Baron replied. “What is it with you and Trey? All your miss-slicks revolve around food.”
“We are predators,” Trey explained. “Even in our advanced level of evolution and development, deep inside on some level we are always thinking of our next meal. The translator I built reads our surface thoughts and translates them, but sometimes it reads a little deeper or our subconscious thinks a little too loud. At least, that’s my theory.”
“Sounds good,” Yaz added.
“So we’re not going to see this ship?” Michelle asked. “That’s a bummer. First time humans ever get the chance to connect with aliens in space and we’re locked inside a submarine.”
Trader Joe sat up and Yasmine knew he was about to offer her a view, but then he sat back, thinking better.
“I’m sorry. If I had more time and materials, I would’ve installed some kind of window,” Trey said.
The ship vibrated as something connected with it.
“What’s that?” Yaz asked.
“Our tentacles have connected,” Indigo answered. “And the whooshing sound you might be able to hear is our mutual life support systems connecting and stabilizing.”
On cue, the sound of rushing fluid grew in their room accompanied with the fast movement of the blue lights flickering behind all they saw. The motion in the glowing slowed and the sound abated.
“It is time for me to say goodbye,” Indigo said. “I will be transferring to the other ship so we can return to Earth with food and supplies for Sturgeon Bay. It has been an honor and a pleasure to have been a part of this.”
“Trey, you’re rocking solo?” Caleb asked. “You got enough juice to get us to this grand central place?”
“Delta will remain with us,” Trey said. “He’s a much larger colony
than I am: a thousand strong, give or take. Between he and I we are able to get Luminous to the wormhole.”
“Thank you, Delta,” Yasmine said.
“You are welcome,” his flat, robotic voice replied.
You need to ask Trey what his plan is for paying for passage, Trader Joe messaged Yaz. But make your question innocent. Don’t seem like you expect a dollar figure.
Got it. “Trey, when we get to this gate, are they just gonna let us through?”
“Good question. We will have to negotiate payment for transit.”
“Say what?” Caleb blurted.
“Wormholes don’t operate without cost,” Trey said. “The Nexus operates on a common currency called hub credits. Non-Triumvirate races secure quantities of credits through service to the Nexus, or through offerings of materials the Nexus can use to support itself or galactic trade as a whole. Pitch in, get money, travel the stars. Crab vessels are no different than any other, so we’ll have to pay to get through.”
“We have some of these hub credits?” Michelle asked.
“Indigo’s friends aboard the vessel we’re docked with are loaning us enough to get through and then cover expenses on the station for a week. One hundred thousand credits. It’s a large loan, and it’ll be work to earn it back.”
“We’ll help. I refuse to owe anyone anything,” Yasmine said. “Whatever it takes.”
“Don’t worry,” Trey said. “We’ll figure it out. Right now, just know that we can arrive safe and sound at the Nexus, and then take it from there.”
“I’m gonna worry,” she said. “Until I’m square with people, I can’t sleep. People and aliens.”
“It’ll take us months, maybe years, before we’re going to be able to get ‘square’, as you say,” her crab friend replied. “So try and get some rest in the meantime.”
Yaz sighed.
The ship vibrated a touch as the tentacles that had connected the two starships disconnected. Another surge of motion grew as Trey and Delta powered the ship away towards the wormhole. The humans held fast and exchanged a flurry of emotions. Excitement, dread, thrill, and worry all passed by, but in the end, smiles won out.
“What are we going to eat when we get there?” Bernie asked. These were the first words he’d uttered since the ship had left Earth.
“Um…” Trey said. “We’ll have to figure that out. I’m sure there are species with very similar nutritional needs as yours.”
“Should we be worried about germs?” Caleb asked. “Bacteria? Alien microorganisms? Dangerous enzymes?”
“Hurt your brain saying words that big?” Yaz shot at him. He narrowed his eyes at her in return.
“No,” Trey replied. “The Nexus has technology that will protect you from stuff like that. More nanites, essentially.”
“What about communication?” Yaz asked. “How will we talk to… people?”
“The Beru’dawn of the Triumvirate have invented a neural mapping system that will learn your language in just a few hours. It reads your mind as you see and hear things and measures your physiological responses to learn. Once it has a large enough sampling of thoughts and responses it can then translate your tongue into the Nexus common language. You’ll have to wear a device, or speak to people wearing one, on the station to communicate.”
“Bad. Ass,” Caleb said. “How much longer?”
“We’re going to accelerate for three days, then decelerate for four. You’ll feel it as we step on the gas. Seven Earth days to the gate, roundabout,” Trey answered. “On the other side, we’ll be docked at the station in an hour or less. So dig out those playing cards. You’ve got some time to kill.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Nexus
To pass the time as Luminous hurtled through space, they played cards, then they played tic-tac-toe, then several tiny, travel-versions of board games, but in the end, simple conversation won out. Yasmine listened more than talked, which was her way. She learned about everyone’s past, present, and hopes for the future: hopes beyond whatever would happen to them in the next few weeks, and months in space.
Her uncle’s favorite kind of music was bluegrass, and one of his favorite things to do was go to concerts. Explained why he bought her mom and dad tickets for their first date. He hummed in his sleep. Sometimes whole songs start to finish. His humming helped lull Yasmine to slumber more than once.
Michelle’s real hair color was blonde. She hated the color, and had a habit of dying her hair whenever she could find something she could color it with. By their journey’s end, her roots were showing and she didn’t seem to care. She missed her brother but kept saying how happy she was that he was at the Tower being taken care of.
Bernie liked to knit. He brought enough yarn to knit everyone on board a scarf, and he did that–mostly in silence, as was his way. Yasmine couldn’t help but catch how calm his hands were and how steady his breathing became as the needles danced in his fingers. He knitted her a blue scarf, each with two red socks crossed on them. He had overheard her mentioning that her dad was a Red Sox fan.
Knox brought about fifty comic books with her. She shared them with everyone, especially Yasmine, and then they’d chat about what they’d read and drawings they’d seen. Knox talked about her parents a fair bit. They’d owned a shop at a strip mall selling flooring. They’d worked long hours, and after school the bus would drop her off there. Next to her parents’ store was a comic book shop, and that explained a lot about her. She spent a lot of time tending to the stump that led to her missing limb, and talking about how she could still feel it there.
She’d hold her leg u, and tell everyone with a smile that she was wiggling her nonexistent toes. Late at night, Yaz sometimes heard her fighting off the pain the missing limb still gave her.
That didn’t help Yasmine sleep.
Trader Joe danced around conversations that strayed too close to anything that could reveal his true nature as a Beru’dawn, or the fact that he was a telekinetically animated store mannequin. Even with only Delta as the last soul in the dark, he kept his secret. He showed a consistent ability to turn conversations aimed in his direction away, or even make those conversations about whomever it was that tried to learn anything about him. He had a gift.
Trey gave them a history lesson about the crabs. How they’d evolved on an oceanic planet and developed pack hunting tactics that drove them to develop their telepathic bonds which grew into their colonial personalities. He tried to explain how the crabs harnessed their own bioelectrogenic energy and amplified it with crystals and metals that formed on their world, but the science of it all escaped them. Yasmine understood it as a reversed version of how power transformers on power poles conditioned high amp power to be usable in homes before the war.
Trey explained the politics of the Core Collective and how the crab fleets searched the systems of the Milky Way, foraging for more water, more resources, and more, more, more.
They learned and they bonded, and then, not long after they woke on the seventh day in space, Delta finally said something.
“We are at the gate.”
Yasmine looked at Trader Joe, and when his goggled gaze passed to her she mouthed two words at him: show me.
She closed her eyes and saw… the unreal.
The sheer vastness, emptiness, and brightness of the dark reaches of space struck her just as if she’d been hit in the head with a hammer. Up, down, front, back, left and right as far as the ship’s sensors could see was an endless ocean of universe filled with the bright pips of stars, and giant strokes of color made of seas of constellations and gasses. The beauty in the emptiness made her heart skip, and she found her mind unable to put words to the feelings she had.
Then she saw the gate. Then she realized the gate.
Since learning about the wormhole portal and for the entire journey there, she’d had a preconceived notion of what to expect: a giant ring they’d fly through. A stellar Hula-Hoop floating in space, covered with lights an
d arcane symbols, all thrumming with ancient alien power.
The gate wasn’t that. Not at all.
Hanging in the void where the gate existed was a deeper, darker entity that warped all the light and space around it, pulling existence into an invisible drain that disappeared into somewhere else. Some… time else. The longer she allowed her senses to linger on the swirling hole in space-time, the more uncomfortable she became, the more she felt her own awareness slip away into the swirling maelstrom, and the deeper the drain seemed to go.
All that craziness had a cherry atop it–sitting on the doorstep of the wormhole, and the madness it created that joined two distant parts of the galaxy, were five alien starships. Three were shaped like old Earth naval warships: long and narrow, covered with antenna and bulbous turrets sprouting barrels that threatened to spit out a hail of danger at any who threatened the trio.
Mulgorod ships. An alliance of several races named after the founding race, horned simians called the Mulgorod. From the galactic east of the Archelian Gulf, Trader Joe explained.
A comfortable distance aside, another ship seemed more like an organic growth, as a creature born to the stars, than a construction made from intelligent will. To Yasmine’s eye it bore the shape and design of a nautilus, though its surface wasn’t a smooth shell; instead it was covered with intersecting plates of armor that could’ve been the scales of a dragon, and those pieces were broken apart again by dots of light piercing through from the inside out. Windows in the hull of a ship that seemed grown, not built.
A Myrne city-ship. Fifty thousand tiny snail creatures are inside that vessel. They communicate with chemical secretions and build their ships organically, like coral.