by Andy Kasch
A large structure with an open top could be seen in the middle of the valley, to the west of all the spaceships. It was new construction and not quite complete. Hover trucks and rotorcraft were parked all around it, between piles of building materials and heavy equipment such as beam cranes and dozers.
At the far eastern edge of the valley sat a rural township that had all the familiar distinctions of a Sheen village; small wooden shacks and thatched huts with a smaller number of modern-looking buildings interspersed. Additional construction activity could be seen at the northern end of the village, and there was a small rotorcraft airfield beyond that.
A thin line of woods separated the village from sloping ground that extended to the Northern Region plains northward and the Sinlo Mountain range in the east. Large greenhouse tents covered the plains as far as the eye could see to the north. Smaller residential tents were erected between the greenhouses and the woods. At the southern end of the sloping ground was a force-field fence that ran from the end of the woods all the way to the foothills of the mountains.
Brandon made a circular survey of the area, looking for a proper place to land the shuttle. Dusk had fallen and the village was beginning to illuminate, mostly from torches being lit between the huts.
Four rows of orange lights came on at the southern end of the village. A slightly larger half-star shaped craft was parked between two of those rows. There was an empty space between the other two, which made for an inviting spot to put the shuttle down. But was it?
As Brandon circled around again, two figures waving signal lights appeared at the head of the vacant space. That was invitation enough and Brandon landed.
Brandon exited the shuttle and followed the two Amulens who had been waving the signals. A short distance away, three smaller figures stood waiting for him. One wasn’t much taller than Brandon. They wore cloaks. They were Sheen, but unique in appearance. Their skin did not shine so brightly and their cloaks were red in color.
Brandon came before the three Sheen, exchanged greetings, and began talking. He then turned around and waved his arm at the shuttle.
“Okay, that’s us,” Jumper said. Alan opened the cabin door and stepped out ahead of Kayla and Jumper. The three of them walked towards Brandon and the Sheen.
“I still think we should bring the rifles,” Alan said.
“Uncle Brandon said no. Only the hand weapons, and keep them concealed.”
Jumper felt Kayla grab ahold of his arm as they surveyed their surroundings. Jumper didn’t mind. Kayla rarely ever got out of the cities. This must be so new to her—and doubtless a bit scary, with all the alien ships around, and this strange new Sheen village looking so disenchanting. Maybe she would think twice about asking to come along with Jumper and Alan in the future.
Jumper then felt a strong pull on his arm, causing him to stop. Kayla had one foot bent up in the air and was picking at it.
“Sorry,” she said. “Had a rock wedged in the bottom of my shoe.” Kayla let go of his arm and jogged ahead to catch up to Alan. Jumper was the last to arrive at the gathering.
They stood before Belle-ub and his same two companions. Belle-ub and Brandon were talking. When Jumper wedged his way into the circle, Belle-ub turned to him.
“So, you are ready to complete that small mission for me?”
Jumper looked at Brandon before answering. “Yes,” he said. “My two friends and I will act as messengers for you, to the mountain dwellers. We would like your permission to bring our own weapons along.”
“You are already armed,” Belle-ub said, glancing at their midsections.
“Rifles, I meant.”
“Laser rifles only?”
“Yes.”
Belle-ub rubbed his chin. “One only, please. Your escorts will also be armed, and if the Sinlo inhabitants see too many weapons approaching them they may get the wrong idea. I do not wish to provoke them, only to extend an invitation.”
Jumper reluctantly agreed. Belle-ub had a point, but Jumper was just as concerned over protecting themselves from their “escorts” as the mountain dwellers.
“I’ll get it,” Alan said. He jogged back to the shuttle.
“Also,” Jumper said, “seeing as I am performing a favor for you, upon completion I hope to receive a favor from you.”
“The escaped contract worker who was brought back with you,” Belle-ub said.
Jumper cocked his head. “Yes, in fact.”
“Naturally,” Belle-ub said. “Favors merit recompense. You didn’t need to ask in advance.”
Belle-ub turned back to Brandon. “It is justified—and commendable—for you to have concerns about them. They are strong and agile, and their escorts are well-trained militia leaders. I can feel the continuance of their life force, and offer you my personal guarantee that no harm will come to them, as long as they stay true to their task.”
“Trusting in the personal guarantees of those you don’t know is an act of great foolishness,” Brandon said.
“Your reputation for wisdom and intuition precedes you here,” Belle-ub responded. “You would not have brought your young ones into what you believe would be hazardous conditions for them. We are very much alike; you and I. Things will soon be changing on Amulen. I perceive that you would make a desirable political ally. I hope this is the beginning of many things we will be working on together.”
Brandon glanced at the alien shuttle parked next to his. “Let’s see how these peace talks go first.”
Belle-ub bowed. “Certainly. Peace is the objective. Not only between Dirgs and Latians, but between all worlds in the Erobian Sphere. What we are doing here, what you see all around you in this place, is a beginning towards that end.”
“Interesting,” Brandon said. “Do you seek a unified Amulen government?”
“If not centrally unified, then at least cooperative,” Belle-ub replied. “The current situation is unsustainable.”
Belle-ub then launched into a speech about the necessity of cooperative government which lost Jumper’s attention. He found himself tuning out and watching activity at the alien shuttle. Its lights turned on and the cabin door had opened. Natives were all about it, some inspecting portions of the craft. A group of alien beings then came into view from behind it. Two of the aliens were armed. Their limbs were large and round, as were their torsos and heads. From the light of the shuttle they appeared to be green and yellow in color, with outwardly pulsing bodies that telegraphed their breathing.
“We’re ready now,” Belle-ub said. He waved his hand in the air and two native Amulites hurried over from a nearby hut.
Belle-ub turned to Jumper. “These two will show you to food and lodging for the night. They will also be part of your escort in the morning. Is it acceptable that all three of you sleep in the same quarters?”
“Yes,” Jumper and Kayla said in unison.
“Good,” Belle-ub said. “Food will be served at dawn again, and your expedition will commence shortly thereafter.”
Brandon turned and laid his hands on the shoulders of Kayla and Jumper. “Be of good courage,” he said to all three of them, “and perform your chosen service well. Don’t try to do more than what you are called to do. Hopefully, we’ll be back by the time you return and I’ll be waiting for you here. Tulros.”
Jumper, Kayla, and Alan took turns shaking Brandon’s hand and saying tulros. Brandon then turned and walked with Belle-ub and his assistants to the alien shuttle. They joined the aliens there, exchanged greetings, and climbed aboard. A short while later, the alien shuttle launched, hovered, and quickly sped away into the night sky.
Jumper and his two friends were now the only humans in the camp.
“This way,” one of the escorts said.
Chapter Six
Director Markin1 was standing on his own power next to his open cryonic chamber. His arms hung at his side. It was an impressive feat, this soon after being resuscitated. His muscles looked to be buckling under the stress, though, so it mus
t have been sheer willpower holding him up. Tun2 stood across the room from him with one hand hooked on his rifle strap and his head slightly cocked.
Yob3 dragged a chair over and placed it next to Markin1.
“How long?” Markin1 said.
“You should sit down before I answer that, Director.”
“I see you still address me as your superior. You can stop that. Your employment here is terminated.”
Yob3 cracked a smile. “I no longer work at RL-71.”
“When I’m through, you will no longer be a scientist, either, and may well find yourself in exile. I admit I did not anticipate your baffling behavior. When you chose to oppose me, you were treading on dangerous ground to be sure. But when you actually aided in my assault, you left the realm of reason entirely. You must have realized you were making a powerful enemy.”
“Your blatant disregard for the lives of intelligent beings under my care forced my actions, Director. I feel it is you who abandoned sound reasoning.”
“And you think that defense can save you? I’m not the one who betrayed the call of scientific research. I am the one who preserved it, and managed to do so under adverse conditions. My eyes are yet blurry, but I see the preserved network through the doorway.”
“Is that what you call poisoning?” Yob3 asked. “Preservation?”
Markin1 ignored the question. “I suppose you and your bleeding-heart entourage have revived all the other subjects, and littered Torian society with them. Only now do you free me, thinking you have ushered them to sanctuary. I don’t know how you managed to hide me from those investigating my disappearance, but I take solace in knowing a network of research subjects remains safely intact, and look forward to seeing swift justice administered upon you.”
“Director, I regret to inform you that no investigators ever came looking for you. If they had, you probably would have been freed much sooner. Perhaps you then would have had the opportunity to pursue revenge—or as you put it, justice—on me. As it stands now, it’s too late. Unless you are determined to administer it with your own hands.”
“How long?” Markin1 said.
“Twenty five.”
“Days or months?”
Yob3 cocked his head. “You have no sense of that within you? The alien research subjects all innately knew they had been sleeping a very long time.”
“No matter,” Markin1 said. “Even if it has been two and a half years, things could not have changed that much. I will still have friends in high places, many of whom you do not know of. You will face the consequences of your crime.”
It then dawned on Yob3 what Markin1 had inferred about the infected network.
“Sir,” he said, “about the network.”
“Yes?”
“You believe it is safely intact?”
Markin1 smirked. “I have the formula for the counteragent to the preservation agent I administered, of course. It would have been an act of destruction otherwise. You seem to forget that I too am under a scientific oath.”
Yob3 pulled another chair over and sat down. Only then did Director Markin1 finally show mercy to his weakened muscles and sit.
“Sir, nothing operational is left of this former research facility, or of the entire Science Complex for that matter. Our profession as you knew it no longer exists. The only technology-based industries which remain on Amulen are at the twin cities of C4, and no current demand for scientists or researchers exists there, as they mostly produce ground transportation parts and construction equipment. The rest of Amulen has regressed to a simple rural existence. When you leave this place, you might think you have been transported to the Amulen of 2500 years ago. Only Banor continues in the modern, culturally-advanced society you and I took for granted when we worked here.”
Markin1 was observing Yob3 closely as he spoke. He reached out and touched his arm at one point, then cocked his head as he focused on Yob3’s face. Yob3 knew Markin1’s retinal capacities were returning. He was probably noticing Yob3’s aged condition.
Yob3 continued speaking. “Twenty five years, Director. Not months. Not days. We left you in there a quarter-century. The life you knew is gone. The Amulen you knew is in the past. We no longer have any need for the study of underdeveloped alien races. If you have the cure for the contaminant, you are now committing an act of destruction if you refuse to disclose it. My own formula has taken all this time to culture up, but failed and was destroyed when the original contaminant mutated after we finally administered it today. We rescued five subjects from the network before the mutation reached them, and we are resuscitating them now. Will you see reason at this point, and help us?”
Markin1 sat staring at the floor for several minutes. Finally, he responded.
“If what you say is true, I will give the formula. The mutation was a self-defense mechanism of the preservation agent I created. It won’t reduce the effectiveness of the counteragent. Time is required for culturing, but only a matter of additional months, not years. However, I am unwilling to cooperate—and will, in fact, do everything in my power to interfere with your current operation—unless I am allowed to leave the complex and investigate world conditions on my own. You must trust me to return. This is your only option. Otherwise, you will be forced to assault me again.” He looked at Tun2 across the room as he finished speaking.
Yob3 sighed, remained seated, and weighed his options.
Several hours later, the red force-field around RL-71 turned off. The front door opened and a solitary Amulite emerged. It was a bright night, as the light from Banor shun from directly overhead. The door behind him closed and the force-field came back on as he slowly walked away from the building.
Director Markin1 was free.
*
“Those aren’t Latians,” Belle-ub said.
Brandon tapped on his lightpad as the Dirg shuttle slowed to a drift. Six unknown alien craft had intercepted them. One fired a shot across their bow. The aggressors now settled into a formation that blocked the shuttle’s path to the space station.
“Who else would be harassing us?” the Dirg commander hissed.
“Do you recognize these fighters, Admiral?” Belle-ub asked him.
“No. They could be new Latian vessels, recently arrived, or a class of fighter they held back from our prior battle.”
“No,” Belle-ub said. “I believe they are Circon.”
“We have no dealings with the Circons,” the Dirg admiral said. “They have no reason to be hindering one of our craft.”
Brandon’s lightpad beeped to signal an answer to his message.
“The High General is sending the patrol over,” Brandon said as he read. “Whoever they are, they’re about to face off with a squadron of Torian fighters.”
“Very well then,” Belle-ub said. “You see, Admiral, all is under control.”
The Dirg admiral turned to Brandon. “Do you know who they are?”
“No,” Brandon replied. He glanced back and forth between Belle-ub and the admiral. “My instincts tell me Belle-ub does, though.”
Nine Torian fighters swooped in from the side and swung back around to take a position on all sides of the Dirg shuttle. The opposing vessels fired what appeared to be another warning shot, a large laser beam aimed below the Dirg shuttle. Their greeting was answered by all the Torian fighters returning the saber-rattle, as nine lasers shot back between the opposing ships.
That convinced them to yield the road. One by one, the unknown fighters rolled off and headed towards Amulen. Seven of the Torian fighters followed them and two stayed with the shuttle. As it approached the upper hangar of Cardinal-4, an additional squadron of fighters launched out from it.
“We have clearance to land,” the Dirg pilot said from the cockpit. “Torians approach from the right side, another backwards culture.”
Brandon looked back at the Dirg admiral, who lowered his head and said, “Thank you for your fast response. I see why the Torians keep Earthlings among them.”
Belle-ub was sitting with the Dirg admiral across the aisle from Brandon. In the row ahead of them were Belle-ub’s two assistants. Directly in front of Brandon sat the Dirg admiral’s companion. That was the sum of the occupants in the narrow Dirg shuttle cabin, but there were two additional Dirgs up in the cockpit flying. Brandon found the seats to be comfortable, as they were over-sized for him.
The Dirg pilots made a fairly smooth landing inside the hangar. Everyone exited the shuttle. They were escorted to the lifts by two dull-bronze Banorian deckhands. The High General was waiting by the lifts. Brandon introduced everyone.
One of the deckhands was instructed to escort the shuttle pilots to a lounge. The other deckhand took the two Dirg delegates and the three red Sheen to the bottom tower level in the remaining lift. Olut6 and Brandon stayed behind, promising to meet them in the conference room shortly.
When the lift doors closed, Olut6 turned to Brandon.
“There’s some kind of cockamamie trouble brewing,” he said. “Four different alien transport fleets are now positioned between here and Amulen, in significant numbers, all of them carrying fighter squadrons and who knows what other kinds of weapons. The Dirgs are fighting with the Latians and the Circons are apparently feuding with the Noors over some extat issue. Our star system has become a bomb waiting to ignite. On top of that, we’ve been told fantastic stories of new kinds of weapons of mass destruction. Tora, as you know, is not currently warring with anyone, and Cardinal-4 is not open for entertaining guests. But all these armed fleets from these different bickering races have arrived here for some reason. It’s all happening around Amulen, which means information comes slow and my decisions are difficult. The Dirgs, Latians, Circons, and Noors aren’t the only ones here, either. Mip7 has gotten intelligence reports from Amulen of representatives from several other races visiting, whose transport ships appear to have ‘dropped them off.’”