Admiral Counter Van Alt of the Pleiades Federation was the chairwhatever of the subgroup. His home world Deplaciow was one of eleven sentient systems in the open star cluster. If one asked him, Van Alt would state with pride that his particular species, for there were three independently evolved sentient species on Deplaciow, was the most advanced on the planet. The other two naturally proclaimed the same standing. But that would not be relevant in the narrative at hand, so it need not be a center of focus. The admiral's race, the Quantsor, were the only terrestrial sentients of Deplaciow. The other two were oceanic.
Quantsors were very small and improbably constructed creatures. There were four sexes, two male and two female. Seriously. The details of that physiology were obscure and changed frequently, so were best ignored completely. A mature Quantsor was like a Russian nesting doll. A Male-1 was constituted as one each of the other three sexes inside him that were technically separate. To be consistently confusing, a Male-2 had the three sexes that were not the same as his inside him, and so forth. See, very confusing and malleable. They clearly existed, so their bizarre system worked. But don't even ask what happened or was culturally opined if, say, a Male-2 had three Female-1s inside him. Oh the blasphemy. But that would not be relevant in the narrative at hand, so it need not be a center of focus.
The important point concerning Quantsor anatomy was that all other members of the JCIDC Senior Security Subgroup were physically much larger. The tiny admiral had to stand and sit atop a tall tower at meetings. Behind his tiny back the other members referred to the elevated platform as the Napoleonic Pedestal. Politicians, right? Admiral Counter Van Alt's additional challenge to his credibility was that he needed to speak into an amplification system to be heard. Also, when addressed with any significant volume his body, filled with three others as it was, would rattle like an infant's toy. There was little wonder that outwardly he was a male of very little humor and he brooked no disrespect.
A final note would be helpful in placing Admiral Counter Van Alt and his race in their proper perspective. Though they brooked no disrespect they never received one iota of it. That was not xenophobic, racist, or inappropriate on the part of all other alien species. No, the Quantsors were repugnant, effete, and fully condescending to a unit. They were xenophobic, racist, and inappropriate. But they possessed two factors that made their participation in the galactic community tolerable. First, the Pleiades cluster turned out to contain most of the Helium-3 created in the Big Bang. No one had any idea why that rare and useful isotope chose to concentrate itself there. But if a creature were to exist that floated in Helium-3, it could have swum from one side of the cluster to the other with ease.
The second factor was that Macher lay inside the Pleiades Federation's space. To control Macher was to control the divine. It was a stable wormhole with properties that bedeviled belief. If an unmanned probe was sent in to Macher and the AI instructed to return, the probe always did. It would report various findings depending on how long it was allowed to explore whatever realm existed on the tunnel's other side. Stars, planets, and lots of empty space were documented. The usual suspects. But if an expedition of living, breathing organisms went through, they never returned. Their crews were never found by the unmanned probes, nor were any signs of the spaceships. No matter what races went in, none came back.
There were two reasons generally agreed upon as to why such an unclear outcome might happen. One was that a mechanical device could survive the round-trip journey. If, however, living matter was in contact with the mechanical system, the combined unit was annihilated in transit. The party would never make it to the far side to leave traces.
The other notion was that there existed something so wondrous, so transfixing in that new cosmos that any and all visitors experienced an immediate and perpetual rapture. Those then-blessed souls not only never reported back to those that sent them, but they made it a point to be absolutely invisible, fearing that their enduring bliss might be interrupted by visitors from back home. It was interesting to annotate that no evidence, theory, or remains were ever discovered to support the second theory. The second theory, the so-called Serenity Always Proposition, or SAP, was, however, so alluring that an endless stream of paying customers passed thought the star cluster to assess Macher. The unlimited wealth of the Pleiades Federation could not be overlooked by any society in possession of functioning brains. Thus the federation had indelible influence.
The bottom line? When the Pleiades Federation announced that they wished for their representative to be given the rank of admiral and that he or she be the permanent head of the JCIDC Senior Security Subgroup, it easily came to pass. Quantsors were fortunately so self-absorbed and narcissistic that they never involved themselves in the workings of the subgroup. To lead it and garner self-proclaimed respect was their single endgame. The JCIDC was free to plunder the Helium-3 and shovel out their treasury while still being in complete control of the subgroup's critical functioning. The arrangement defined the concept of win-win.
“The Kaljaxian female who formally resides on Azsuram but who lives on Kalvarg wishes to address the subgroup,” boomed from the speakers amplifying Admiral Counter Van Alt of the Pleiades Federation's voice. He did that a lot, the turning up of the volume. Pissant. “If there are no objections I, Admiral Counter Van Alt, firstborn of Hathorbas the Significant, will permit her to do so if only briefly.” It was hard to tell from any distance, but Van Alt then sat down.
“I … if only …,” stammered Sapale. “The living of the universe are about to die. I have critical information to share. And I … I must be brief?” She began to rise. She wasn't certain if it was to storm out or crush the chairwhatever. Possibly it was to do both.
“Be assured, honored guest,” began MumMunMur. “Our time is your time. You may speak as long as it pleases you.” MumMunMur was vice-chair and actually did all the steering of the committee after Van Alt made his first hostile and universally offensive remarks.
Sapale recalled that she was warned in advance of the politics involved, and she forced herself to sit and calm down. It was very much against her nature.
“Thank you, Commandant MumMunMur. Your words are reassuring and most welcome.”
MumMunMur bowed her long thin neck. She was Pred. They were an avian-like species with the outward appearance of a stork or crane. The Pred were renowned for their thoughtful, kind, and inquisitive nature. Only the Quantsors were on record as despising them.
“As most of you know, I spent a while in the universe of the ancient gods. My brood-mate and Dr. De Jesus were with me, as was our ship Blessing. Since my return I have assembled a team to help in our struggles with the Cleinoids. That is how they generally refer to themselves by the way, not as ancient gods. That tern is meant only to frighten their victims.”
“I believe it does,” replied MumMunMur with her species' version of a wry grin.
“Yes,” hissed Van Alt. “I have come to learn that you brought a sex slave back with you, one of these Ancient Cleinoids. She's a spy, I say. You are both spies.” He then returned his full attention to his handheld unit. He was in the middle of watching holos of dubious moral integrity. Why he chose to speak an unprecedented second time during a meeting was never determined.
All others present repeated in their minds the sustaining mantra. Helium-3 and money, money, money.
“Is the JCIDC aware of any victories or even partial defenses against our enemy?” asked Toño.
MumMunMur swept her small head along the horizontal. “Nothing of note. Naturally we cannot know where in the infinite universe they may or may not have struck. Our scientists have documented a good correlation between their activities on a large scale and significant quantron-radiation bursts.”
“What's quantron radiation?” asked Sapale. “Never heard of that one.”
“Er, it's an extremely energetic form released when larger atoms are basically crushed into their constituent parts. Mesons, bosons, protons, theoretic
ally even quarks if the fission impact is great enough,” she replied.
“Translated into non-technonerd?” Sapale chided.
“It forms when a lot of matter is being pounded out of existence,” Toño replied.
“Since we already knew these guys were badasses, what does this observation of quantron radiation add to our database?” Sapale asked with mild annoyance.
“It can suggest where they are active,” replied a neutral MumMunMur. “Monitoring stations set up widely detect it and the information is sent to us by subspace data pulses. That way we have real-time information of their activity.”
“Um,” grunted Sapale. “And what have we learned?”
“That we are in big trouble,” answered Pow-Don-22, one of the three representatives from the planet Oberon. Liptalisions always did things in three. Three mates, three jobs, three meals a day, and three deaths. The last was assumed to be allegorical, but outsiders were reluctant to press the Liptalisions for details on account of their foul and hyperaggressive general tendencies. Their famous joke, which no off worlders found humorous, went thusly. Someone asks you what time it is. Your response? Time for you to die. It was then customary to try and kill the individual asking the time of day. Odd race, and one best avoided in most social contexts.
“Didn't we already know that?” snapped Sapale, who was only vaguely aware of the Liptalisions' ill temper.
“So what we say in answer to her highness's question was a waste of our effort. We are stupid and out of touch? Maybe our species is so much stupider than yours that we just can't keep up? Well, lucky for us all we're good at dueling. You choose, bitch of Jon Ryan. We slay you here and now, or we duel outside where we slay you then and there.”
“Hmm. May I have three seconds to think of a funny answer?” Sapale shot back with a war growl.
“Now, Sapale, please,” pleaded Toño. “Let's leave the killing for the Cleinoids.”
She gestured to the three humanoid Liptalisions seated in a row. “Ya, sure. But a little practice will help keep me sharp.”
The toleration of the challenging Liptalision and his two associates evaporated. They leapt up onto the table and sprinted toward Sapale.
For her part Sapale sat passively with folded hands, seeming to barely notice their charge. When the line of Liptalisions was a meter away, Sapale's probe fibers burst out in bundles of three. Each set wrapped around the head of an attacker. She then slammed the heads against the ceiling very hard. So there they were, suspended and dazed, legs flailing and muffled curses struggling to enunciate themselves from overhead.
“Sapale,” MumMunMur asked respectfully, “was that necessary?”
“Probably not.”
“But you enjoyed it?” MumMunMur added.
“Oh yes. Very much so.”
“Then let me know when you're ready to release them. I'll summon some guards in the meantime.”
“This happen often?” Sapale asked matter-of-factly.
“Every single meeting. Every damn single one,” the vice-chair bemoaned.
“You'd think they'd learn,” Sapale responded, staring up at them.
“One would hope. Actually I think they have learned. They simply cannot resist their lesser nature.”
“I'm happy to help. This is what I do.” Sapale beamed back.
Five minutes later Sapale not so softly dropped the Liptalisions onto the floor at the legs of six guards. The Klackmass males were basically two-legged snails that walked upright. Their shells had evolved to be more like a turtle's but the rest of their anatomy, all four hundred pounds of it, was pure escargot. In place of individual arms, they sported a circular muscular membrane that was able to manipulate objects with excellent dexterity. That particular species was routinely used to restrain the Liptalision representatives because the slimy residue they left behind drove the OCD race crazy.
The three representatives were wrestled into their seats and then held in place with significant force by the guards. Before they could say a word, however, Sapale extended her probes a few inches. “Now, boys, before you go threatening me or promising revenge, I want you to know one fact. I've been killing people who said shit like that to me for two billion years. Let's not add the names of three more idiots to my ever-growing list of those who tried my patience, shall we?”
Though the Liptalisions scowled and hissed, none said a word.
“Back to the threat on all of our existences,” announced MumMunMur. “I have placed a map of the areas of current Cleinoid activity that we are aware of on your screens. As you can see their presence is over a fairly wide swath of the universe, perhaps a bit more concentrated near this galactic cluster.” She shined a laser pointer on the region she was describing.
“Likely the area they first entered is in or near that cluster,” observed Toño.
“Man they spread out quickly,” marveled Sapale.
“Any respectable pestilence would,” replied Toño.
“And there are no more pesky pestilences than the Cleinoid gods,” added Daleria.
“How can we even begin to fight them?” asked the Gorgolinian representative. They were the fish-tank sentients of Sotovir. “We know no fear, but to attack them surely would bring a swift and pointless death.”
“We begin by beginning,” replied EJ, who'd been conspicuously silent up until then. “You throw a dart at the map and we go there and kick some booty. Any questions?”
“You we do not like,” responded the Gorgolinian.
“Right back atcha. Oh, and who cares, what does what you say matter, and why even bring it up, bubble face?”
“We are an orderly species. Declaring one's contempt is orderly.”
“Do you mind if I get that tattooed on my ass? It's … it's so profound.”
“Madame Commandant, he mocks me.”
“EJ, please stop mocking our valued ally.”
“Do you have to call me that stupid name, mumumumum?”
“No. But Mirraya-Slapgren specifically asked that I do. The chair chooses to respect their request.”
“Can we adjourn this farce and go kill something?” asked a frustrated EJ.
“I will determine which target we hit and who will join out assault force,” stated Mirraya firmly.
“You do so with the full blessing of the JCIDC. You needn't clear any action with us beforehand, but we do request a full update when it's practical to provide one.”
“Thank you, Mum. We shall.”
Mirraya gathered up her stuff and left without further comment. Her team followed quietly.
It was go time.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In a place of no palpable substance the thin air gusted and blew randomly. There was no matter and there was no time. Neither had ever existed. No one and nothing inhabited that state of being. No one and nothing ever would. It did not exist sufficiently to be occupied. No universe contained it. It was so outside of reality as to make any such connection both impossible and meaningless. The domain was neither light nor dark, happy nor sad. It was, albeit barely, and that was about all that could be said of Camelot.
No, this was not the Camelot of King Arthur and Merlin and love unrequited. It was named Camelot by its sole inhabitant, though to actually consider that which resided in the realm an occupant was to abuse the intended meaning of that word. Fate had always been there. Fate knew of all other places and times, but knew no time or place for itself. And fate did not care, worry, or dwell on its state of being. Why should it? How would it? That which always was, always would be, simply was. Fate had no wants or desires because there existed in Camelot nothing to desire, aspire to, or to need. Fate possessed but two things. Camelot and the indirect control over all forces in all universes. Fate therefore owned nothing and it owned everything.
If a visitor could visit Camelot, they would see it as a place of wonder and unlimited fantasy. Dials were attached to all the surfaces. Some ran forward, some backward, and some had never run at all. Lig
hts of infinite colors and frequencies flashed and swirled at their pleasure from and to wherever they pleased. If anyone was there to witness Camelot, they would conclude that it was beautiful and mystical. But visiting Camelot was more impossible than all other undoable impossibilities. No, being there in Camelot with fate was infinitely harder to achieve than lesser implausibilities. To make a fair maiden love you. To live as a youth forever and never know pain, never know loss. To know God, to understand God's ways. To be the best person you could be while harming no one and no thing. Those quests, and all other lofty undertakings, were so much less infeasible.
But dreams did exist in Camelot. Yes, fate dreamt. Well, that was to say fate dreamt if fate wanted to dream. But fate wanted nothing. So dreams were relegated to the state that they could come to fate, they might pursue and afflict fate. But fate never wanted them, never courted them.
But the fact remained that no force of will can stop a dream that would come. Fate was at dream's mercy as much as any lord of any high castle, any pig in her mire, or you in your bed tonight.
And what dreams forced themselves on fate, where fate quasi-existed in Camelot, a land of no palpable substance?
What dreams indeed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gomenchorum, Hilazz, and Compico were not really friends. Back home they rarely hung out together. But all three were assigned to Fury. Since arriving in Prime they quickly formed a bond. Over two years they'd had quite literally the time of their lives. They destroyed planets. They consumed everything in their path. They burned any flammable material until the skies grew black and anything that needed to breathe couldn't. Like kids in a candy shop with fists full of cash was how happy they felt. And it just kept getting better. Nuances of torment, mastering the finer points of dismemberment, and the true art of affliction were slow lessons to learn, but were well worth the time based on their improved experiences.
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