by Doug Farren
“What happened?” he yelled at Trink.
Trink spun around at the sound of his supervisor’s voice. “You don’t have to yell,” he fired back.
He was right. With no atmosphere, the suits had automatically switched from using their external speakers to short-range radio. Lowering his voice to a more conversational level, Masthuma repeated his question.
“I think we just broke through,” Trink replied, turning back to the console. “I’ve lost contact with the rig. It must have fallen into the hole.”
“I should have planned for that,” Masthuma replied. “Come on, let’s take a look.”
Trink grabbed a flashlight and followed Masthuma through the dust barrier. The transition piece between the vertical bucket scoop and the horizontal conveyor lay in ruins next to the top of the shaft. Trink and Masthuma carefully picked their way to the edge of the hole and looked down. The vertical portion of the tunnel appeared to be about seven meters deep. The wreckage of the drilling rig and the repair drone it was attached to could be seen laying on something only a few meters beyond the end of the shaft.
“Can you make out anything?” Masthuma asked.
“I can see the rig,” Trink replied, “But I can’t tell what it’s sitting on.”
Masthuma touched a key on his suit’s wrist-com. “Operations center,” a voice answered.
“I need to speak to Commander Choback.”
“Standby.” There was a moment of silence then the Commander’s voice said, “Choback, what have you found?”
“We’ve broken through into an inner chamber,” Masthuma explained. “This section of tunnel is at a vacuum. The drilling rig can be seen sitting on top of something just beyond the shaft but we can’t make out what it is. The chamber appears to be quite large.”
“Do you think a drone can fit down the shaft?”
“Yes Commander. The rig, along with the drone it was fitted to have both fallen through. The drone is no longer responding.”
“Return to the airlock,” Choback ordered. “I’m sending another drone down to you. After getting it through the airlock report to the operations center.”
Trink and Masthuma made their way back to the airlock and cycled through. A small repair drone designed for doing work inside a ship was waiting for them on the other side. “You go back in with the drone,” Masthuma said. “I’m heading to operations.”
“Yes Sir,” Trink replied, stepping back into the airlock.
Masthuma flipped open his helmet then began removing it as he headed down the tunnel. A few minutes later, he walked into the operations center in time to watch the video from the drone as it emerged from the end of the vertical shaft.
“Set the drone to map the contents of the entire cavern,” Choback ordered.
A technician at a nearby console typed a command into his keyboard. “Programming initiated,” he reported.
Powerful lights illuminated the wreckage of the drilling rig. It appeared to be sitting on top of a dull, metallic surface. The drone paused for a moment as its internal computer calculated the most efficient way to map the cavern then began to work its way along the object maintaining a distance of about two meters from the featureless surface. Choback, Zathkra, and Masthuma stared at the image on the screen without saying a word.
As they watched, an object came into view. “Stop!” the Commander ordered. The technician jerked his hand forward and struck a key causing the probe to instantly stop moving.
“Masthuma, what is that?” Choback asked.
The chief engineer leaned forward to get a better look at the display. “It looks like a weapon turret. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re looking at a point defense module.”
“That’s a ship!” Choback exclaimed.
“Not just any ship,” Masthuma said, “It’s a warship.”
Chapter 9
Glish: A Shandarian-managed world located 121 light-years from Earth. It is the fourth planet of an 11 planet system orbiting a type-F star which also has a distant type-L binary companion. Glish has two, small, tidally-locked moons and a mild axial tilt giving it a relatively uniform climate throughout its 614-day year. The equatorial region is extremely hot and dry and is generally unsuitable for colonization. The planet’s habitability zones are located in a narrow band near the north and south poles. The planet offers little in the way of natural resources. Glish is a popular tourist destination for many races.
Lashpa was waiting at the end of the ramp as Tom exited his ship. From the moment they met three years ago at the peacekeeper academy, there had been a special connection between them. Like himself, she was cybernetically enhanced. She stood at the bottom of the ramp, patiently waiting, looking like a wingless black-armored dragon.
Excited to see her again, Tom jogged down the ramp. He opened his arms and wrapped them around her thick neck. Lashpa’s arms wrapped around him and briefly lifted him off the ground. The embrace lasted only a moment before she set him down and they disengaged.
Tom tilted his head slightly. Lashpa’s tongue flashed out and gently touched the exposed skin. Tom gently placed his hand against the underside of her jaw and looked into her eyes.
An observer might wonder what sort of odd relationship these two very dissimilar species were engaged in. But then again, this was Glish–the porn planet–and scenes like this were all too common. If they had met on any other world almost anywhere else in the Alliance, someone would undoubtedly have said something.
Tom was used to hearing people talk behind his back, forgetting or not knowing he could easily hear even a whispered conversation with his enhanced abilities. Some had even gone so far as to say the two were in love, joking about how a Terran and a Rouldian could have sex with each other.
At first, such comments bothered him and he confronted those responsible. But ignorance and blatant rudeness were difficult things to correct and he eventually gave up trying. Tom and Lashpa were connected by something far more mysterious than what humans call love. It was a force of nature understood and accepted as an integral part of Rouldian society. They were gragrakch.
“It’s good to see you again,” Tom said, rubbing his thumb along her jawbone.
“I’m very glad you finally decided to visit me,” Lashpa replied. Slightly cocking her head to one side, she studied him for a few seconds. Taking a step back, she pointed to a short, squat, bus-like vehicle parked nearby. “Come on, I’ve found the perfect place for us to spend some time catching up.”
Tom examined the bus. “I was wondering if I would fit in the back of your tricycle,” he said. “But I guess you’ve got a full-sized vehicle at your disposal.”
Unlike Tom’s tricycle, Lashpa’s was not designed to carry passengers. The space reserved for a passenger was needed to accommodate her larger bulk.
“I prefer to use the tricycle when I’m by myself,” she replied, leading the way. “But when I have guests I have to use this. It’s modeled after a Rouldian automobile but it can be fitted with passenger seats designed for every species of the Alliance.”
“Nice,” Tom replied. He was beginning to wonder if Lashpa was upset with him. He waited until they were inside the car before asking, “Is everything alright? You seem a bit distant.”
Lashpa swung her massive head around and looked at him. “It’s you I’m concerned about. I can taste and smell worry and concern as well as joy.”
Tom was always amazed at how incredibly sensitive Rouldian tongues and noses were. What amazed him even more was her ability to detect the emotional state of a non-Rouldian simply by sampling the surface of his skin or smelling the subtle odors all living organisms emitted.
“Lashpa,” Tom began then paused. He knew what he wanted to say but he just couldn’t come up with the right words. “I’ve been researching what it means to be gragrakch. I…”
Lashpa’s face contorted itself into the Rouldian equivalent of a smile. Turning her attention to the car, she entered a destination into the auto-navigato
r. “Tom, you’re not Rouldian and I never expected you to fully understand the concept of gragrakch. It’s been a part of our culture from before we began to keep records and is deeply rooted in our society.”
The car began to move. Lashpa turned her head around once again, her long neck allowing her to see directly behind her. “I can’t argue that,” Tom replied, feeling more at ease. “But the more I learn, the more afraid I am of disappointing you.”
“The fact that you’ve admitted as much, is proof you will not,” she replied. “We’ll talk of this later. I hear you’ve made quite a name for yourself. I would like to hear about your involvement in the defeat of the Army of Humanity.”
“I don’t know where you get your information,” Tom chuckled. “I was just doing my job.”
“I’ve read the reports but they’re lacking in the details. I want to hear what happened in your own words.”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“From the day you arrived on Earth,” she replied.
Tom scratched the back of his head, a habit he had yet to break even though the only thing the action accomplished was having a cybernetic hand scratch the surface of his armor. “That’s going back a long ways,” he said. “I’m not sure we have the time.”
“We have plenty of time,” Lashpa said.
Tom looked out the window. Even though he was well aware of Glish’s reputation he was still shocked at what he saw. They were passing through a crowded area of the city. The sidewalks were wide and filled with a variety of species. Terran, Shandarian, Omel, and the rare Tholtaran made up the mix of bipedal species. Interspersed among them were the eight-legged Shiltan and the six-legged Borillen. The air temperature was quite high and clothing seemed to be optional.
Every person in this wild mix of species was here for a single reason–to enjoy themselves to the fullest. If it wasn’t outlawed by Alliance law and would not cause harm, it was legal here on Glish.
Wrenching his eyes away from the hypnotizing parade of people, Tom began to tell his story. As he talked, the car left the city and entered a quiet park. He interrupted his historical narrative when they came to a stop. Glancing out the window, he saw what looked like a picnic area.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“I found this place a little over a year ago,” Lashpa replied, opening the door. “Come on.”
Tom obediently followed as she led him past the unoccupied picnic tables and down a wide trail. The rhythmic crunch of pebbles accompanied them as they walked side-by-side through stands of tall thin-leaved trees. They eventually arrived in an open field with only a few widely scattered trees planted among short grass.
Walking over to the nearest tree, Lashpa settled to the ground. “Do you remember what our favorite pastime was while we were at the academy?” she asked.
“How could I ever forget,” he replied, a huge smile appearing on his face. He sat down with his back against the trunk. Letting out a big sigh, he looked around and said, “It’s a lot like the park at the academy.” Looking Lashpa in the eye he continued, “It will never be the same though.”
“Nothing is ever the same,” Lashpa replied philosophically. “That’s why it’s so important for us to stay in close touch with each other.”
“Something I’ve been neglecting,” Tom admitted, picking a fallen branch off the ground.
“You’ve been busy.”
Tom started pulling the ends off the branch. “That’s no excuse. We’re gragrakch and I’ve neglected my responsibilities towards you. I’ve come here to fix that oversight. From what I’ve learned, we should be spending a lot more time together.”
Lashpa tilted her head. “What’s more important is if you understand why.”
“As best as I can determine, it’s because we are gragrakch; one entity in two physical bodies.”
“Not exactly,” she said. “We were once a single entity that was torn apart at the moment of our creation. We are destined to be one again after we leave our physical bodies. But for now, we exist apart from each other. Each of us lives a separate life, building separate memories and separate beliefs. If we drift too far apart, we may not survive our merger. That is why we Rouldians hold gragrakch in such high regard. When the one that is split is forced to merge, two lives must be integrated into one. If this cannot be done, the merge will fail and both halves will perish.”
“Like trying to mix water and oil,” Tom summarized.
“Exactly.”
“Why didn’t you explain this to me back at the academy?” Tom asked.
“I was advised not to.”
Tom threw the stripped twig away and focused his attention on Lashpa. “By who?”
“Athishra.”
“The cultural instructor at the academy?”
“Yes. I talked to him after you mentioned you had spoken to him following my original declaration of gragrakch. He was very frank about most Terran’s lack of dedication toward relationships and was quite worried you would fail to understand the importance we place upon gragrakch. He advised me to wait to see how you would react. Your presence here has only strengthened my belief that we are indeed gragrakch.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Tom replied. “I may not be Rouldian, but I do understand how important this particular cultural belief is to you. That’s why I’ve decided we should make it official.”
Lashpa’s tail twitched and thumped the ground. Moving her head until it was only a few centimeters from Tom’s, she said, “Do not suggest doing so just to please me. You’re not Rouldian and I’m not sure what the consequences would be.”
Tom reached out and put his hand under her jaw. “Rouldians and Terrans may be very different physically, but we have much in common. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. Gragrakch makes a lot more sense than many of my people’s ancient beliefs. I have no doubt that you and I are connected. Calling it gragrakch or soul-mates or anything else you can dream of won’t change how we feel about each other.”
Lashpa stared at him for several seconds, her tail thrashing back and forth. “Very well. I will file the appropriate- - -”
“No,” Tom interrupted. “I want to do it the right way. We’ll appear before the genealogical registrar on Fanish to make our claim together.”
Lashpa shook her head as if she’d been assaulted. Her tail rose until it was as high in the air as possible then crashed to the ground with a resounding thump. “You’ve been learning our customs!”
“I have indeed,” Tom replied, smiling. “I realize that Fanish is quite a distance from here, but since I was not born on a Rouldian planet it’s our only choice. When would you like to leave?”
Lashpa stood up and paced. Tom’s understanding of Rouldian custom and his desire to publicly and formally declare themselves gragrakch had filled her with so much excitement she could no longer contain herself. A non-Rouldian would have had a hard time understanding just how important this was for her. Tom watched in amazement as she stomped around like a mad bull tearing up huge chunks of grass in the process.
While Lashpa performed her unorthodox dance, Tom stood and brushed himself off. “Any word from the Clepter?” he sent a query to his ship via the biolink.
“The man has been identified as Elith Monder, a Shandarian maintenance worker assigned to the Spirondak,” the Orion replied through Tom’s cybernetic ears. “The pod’s log indicates he was working on replacing a faulty docking clamp when the ship suddenly dropped out of stardrive. A few minutes later, someone told him another ship was approaching. Monder decided to continue with his repairs. According to the audio log, the unknown vessel launched four shuttles. As the shuttles neared the Spirondak, several explosions breached the ship’s hull, most likely weapons fire. One of them was fairly close to the work pod. The force of the explosion damaged the pod’s external video pickup and sent the pod spinning off into space.”
“They were attacked?” Tom whispered. “By whom?”
“Unkn
own. The pod’s open com-link with the maintenance center picked up the voices of several people apparently begging for their lives followed by screaming then silence. The link with the ship was broken about 15 minutes later.”
Stunned, Tom almost didn’t hear Lashpa when she walked over to him and said, “We can leave in the morning if you wish. My supervisor will not hesitate to grant me as much time as I need to attend to this important event. In the meantime, might I suggest that you celebrate as well. I’m sure you will be able to find something fun to…Tom? What’s wrong?”
“Orion,” Tom said aloud. “Tell Lashpa what you just told me.”
Lashpa stood in silence as she listened to the voice from her own cybernetic ears. Tom’s keen ability to interpret Rouldian body language told him she had suddenly become very concerned.
“I would like to see this survivor,” she said.
“As would I,” Tom echoed.
Lashpa started walking back to the car forcing Tom to follow. “He’s in the psychological ward at the city hospital. My ship informs me he’s still in a catatonic state.”
Tom suddenly felt guilty. “I’m sorry Lashpa. I- - -”
“I am still overjoyed at your decision,” she interrupted. Putting a hand on his shoulder she continued, “But this matter has a higher priority. Civilians have been killed and a passenger ship taken. Others have tried to get the survivor to talk without success. You were involved in his rescue; perhaps you’ll have better luck.”
* * * * *
“His name is Elith Monder,” the Terran police officer said, gesturing toward the screen. “He hasn’t said a word since they brought him in.”