Extinction Wars: 02 - Planet Strike

by Vaughn Heppner

  The truly monstrous size of the dreadnought became more apparent as we approached. It began blotting out more and more stars, becoming like a portable world to us. How many decades of construction had gone into making the thing? How many Lokhars lived aboard it? Hundreds of thousands of mechs and techs must be employed keeping it running. No wonder a High Lord Admiral commanded the dreadnought.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” I told N7. “Why build something so big? I don’t think it’s a military reason. Instead of putting all of one’s eggs in a single basket, a thousand battlejumpers would be wiser.”

  “Agreed,” N7 said. “Perhaps it relates to its primary function: that of an exploratory vessel.”

  “I don’t buy that either. The whole thing is weird, if you ask me.” I shrugged. “Maybe the Lokhars are into impressive stuff and somewhere down the line they got carried away. You saw the High Lord Admiral’s uniform. Hah, listen to the title. Maybe they think bigger is always better. So after giving themselves long titles they went and built the granddaddy of all starships.”

  N7 concentrated on piloting—not that he needed to. There was so much space. We passed through a monstrous portal with blinking green lights shooting along the sides of the oval opening. It reminded me of Christmas Tree Lane back in my old hometown. The vast entrance made our assault boat seem like a fly buzzing into a house. Soon, we flew over a hanger deck kilometers upon kilometers in circumference. If that weren’t enough of a kick, on the deck below parked wingtip to wingtip were thousands upon tens of thousands of alien fighters. They were bulky with stubby triangular wings. I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone informed me that I looked at more aircraft than the combined total of the U.S., China, Russia, Israel, heck, the entire Earth’s air forces in any given year—or what Earth used to have.

  A Lokhar spoke to N7 over the comm, guiding us over the hordes of assault craft. Finally, I saw a neon-red outline down there, a place for us to park beside all the fighters.

  We went down and landed with a clang, N7 jostling us in our seats. I was too wound up to ask him why he’d made such a poor landing. Could androids be nervous?

  N7 twisted in his seat, looking up. I did to, noticing he watched a video feed of what went on behind us. Oh. He watched the outer portal slowly slid shut. Is that how flies felt when I’d closed the door to my house as a kid?

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  The answer came in the form of military hovercraft, twenty of them. They raced across the hanger deck, with turret cannons aimed at our assault boat.

  “Trusting tigers, aren’t they?” I said.

  We suited up in regular vacuum gear and exited the boat. Good-bye Jelk tech and hello Lokhar. I hoped the tigers were honorable. I admit it was difficult walking toward what could be my last hours before horrendous alien torture.

  At least one hundred battle-armored Lokhars filed off the hovers. The vehicles were bigger than any Earth tank, more like a Coast Guard patrol boat in size. The soldiers or legionaries marched in unison and carried laser rifles. They created a lane for us to walk down, with legionaries on either side of us. I felt like Moses walking through the parted waters of the Red Sea. The tigers towered over me as if each one was an NBA superstar. I noticed a range of Lokhar sizes, starting with seven feet and going up to eight.

  Finally, N7 and I reached a ramp leading into a hover. With more than a little trepidation, I climbed the ramp. Would I regret this for the rest of my short life? Why did they want me anyway? I wasn’t anything special, just one angry Earther willing to take a wild chance now and again.

  I refrained from muttering a radio remark to N7. He likely wouldn’t understand it anyway. He had Ella’s disease: simian curiosity about just about everything. I imagine our android loved every minute of this, drinking in the details. That was one of the reasons I’d brought N7 with me. He had a photographic memory, storing the images.

  We entered a narrow chamber with seats. Five armored tigers followed us, squeezing through the hatch in their armor. We all sat down and strapped in. I squirmed as the hover engine revved, and then we were moving.

  It took an hour, if you can believe that. No tiger talked to us during the entire time. We drove, walked down kilometers of corridors and rode several different lifts. Forget about the feeling of moving through a city. This felt as if we moved through countryside and passed through several cities.

  Finally, the Lokhar escorts brought us to our destination, stopping before an elephant-sized hatch. Within the massive door was a smaller man-sized portal. It slid up and N7 and I walked toward a lone tiger, a thin and recognizable one. Instead of armor, he wore a black uniform with silver trim. I was grateful to see we approached the Alien Contact Officer that had talked to the High Lord Admiral on the screen before.

  The portal slid shut behind us, leaving us alone with the Lokhar. I take that back. The room was big, the size and volume of a football stadium at least. Along the walls in layered tiers one row above the other, sat hundreds of tiger technicians at their stations. Each of them monitored something, constantly adjusting and twisting dials.

  You heard right: dials. Just like an old 1950s science fiction movie.

  I looked around. So did N7. I spied various antennas on the ceiling. One dish twisted up there until it aimed at me. The massive room lacked any other furniture, just lots of open space and deck plates.

  “Okay,” I said. “What’s going on? Are we zoo specimens or guests of the Lokhars?”

  “You are Commander Creed?” the Alien Contact Officer asked.

  I noticed he didn’t use a translator, but spoke tiger-accented English. That was interesting. There wasn’t any time lag between his moving lips and the sound.

  “Yes, I’m Commander Creed,” I said. I admit that the approach to the giant vessel, the interior journey and my predicament had cowed me. I wasn’t feeling as aggressive as normal, and decided on a more cautious approach. First clearing my throat, I asked, “Is it against Lokhar protocol if I ask you what your name is?”

  More of the antenna dishes on the ceiling swiveled toward me. And although we were too far away from them to know for certain, it seemed as if some of the monitoring tigers in the tiers moved their hands and arms more rapidly.

  “I am Doctor Sant,” the tiger told me. “Among my various duties, I am the chief xeno-psychologist aboard Indomitable.”

  Doctor Sant was the first Lokhar I’d seen who stooped a bit at the shoulders. He looked thinner than the legionaries I’d slain in battle. He had white in his facial fur and the eyes were a faded yellow. His uniform was a silver and black as I’ve said, with orange chevrons on the sleeves. He lacked a blaster on his belt, although he had what looked like an old telephone receiver hooked there. He also wore a ring, a gaudy, plastic-looking thing a little girl might have bought in a big bubblegum dispenser.

  “The High Lord Admiral said you were the Alien Contact Officer,” I said.

  “I hold several titles,” Sant said, and to my ear, he spoke with pride. “I am the most learned Lokhar aboard ship and hold several…hmm… I believe you would call them diplomas.”

  I found his vanity odd, and it struck a funny bone with me. Imagine the old time alien aliens in their silver saucers who picked up people and ran tests on them. Imagine if the first words they said were, “I am a pointy-headed university professor who lives in an ivory tower,” and if he said that proudly.

  I realize I didn’t know enough to make judgments about the Lokhars. Still, Sant’s words helped shake me out of my depression. They hadn’t beaten me yet even if I stood inside the belly of the whale.

  “You’ve been to school a long time, have you?” I asked.

  Sant leaned a little closer as I spoke, as if he needed to in order to hear my words. He was over seven feet tall, making the movement ominous. Then he smiled, showing fanglike teeth, the kind vampires have in the movies. “Yes,” he said. “I have studied longer than any aboard Indomitable. Despite my many duties, I am als
o taking a correspondence course from Regal Theology Cathedral.”

  “You’re a religious man?” I asked.

  He unhooked the old telephone receiver from his belt, clicked a button in the center and put the phone against his right ear. He spoke quietly and then listened.

  “I see,” Sant told me, as he hooked the receiver back onto his belt. “You’re asking if I believe in supernatural phenomenon.”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “What do they teach at Regal Theology Cathedral?”

  “Higher criticism concerning the Creator and various alien holy books,” he said, promptly.

  “That’s all very interesting.”

  “Yes, I think so, too,” Sant said. “It is good we have a similar reference point. That will help us considerably.”

  The odd, funny feeling departed. I was a fool if I thought Sant was amusing. These creatures had practically annihilated us. I needed to get my head in the game. Doctor Sant was an alien in form, feeling and thought. An entire football stadium of Lokhars was absorbed with the task of monitoring me. Why go to such lengths if they were simply going to kill me?

  “Are you studying us?” I asked. “Are they studying us?”

  “Yes,” Sant said. “That is correct.”

  “I take it you’ve never met a human in person before?” I asked.

  “No, no, I’ve met several.”

  “Are they aboard your ship?”

  “I’m afraid the High Lord Admiral did not permit that.”

  “The admiral had them killed?” I asked, with an edge returning to my voice.

  “Yes. That’s right. You are quite perceptive, which you might be interested to know I predicted would be the case.”

  I refrained from grabbing my Bowie and attacking the smug tiger. Other than the knife, I had no other weapons with me besides my fists and wits. I’d expected them to notice a gun, which is why I’d left mine behind.

  The receiver at his belt made a loud hum. Sant picked it up and listened. His eyes latched onto me as he did. Warily, he hooked the receiver onto his belt and took several steps back.

  “I would like to warn you, Commander Creed, that several sharpshooters even now aim at your chest. If you make any sudden moves at me, you shall die. That would be most unfortunate. So I suggest you contain your anger.”

  “I get it,” I said. “Your monitors just saw an emotional spike and called to warn you. Yeah, you should know that I get unhappy hearing about Lokhars murdering more people. It makes my blood pressure rise.”

  The receiver gave off its tones once more, but Doctor Sant ignored it. Finally, he turned toward one section of wall and waved his right arm. The tones stopped.

  “I perceive your outrage,” Sant said, turning back to me. “From your perspective, I understand that you believe you are being reasonable.”

  “No! I know I’m being reasonable in hating the fact that Lokhars murdered humanity.”

  “Commander Creed.”

  “Just Creed will do,” I said.

  That brought the doctor up short. He appeared puzzled. “Are you not the commander?”

  “I am.”

  “Then why would you prefer me to call you bare.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Bare,” N7 said. “The Lokhars are a formal race. They enjoy their titles and prerogatives. He cannot understand why you want him to call you your bare name. It would be like you stripping and walking around naked.”

  Doctor Sant nodded. “Clever, clever, you are a clever beast. Excuse me,” he said, as I began to bristle. “I realize you are not beasts. You are people, albeit hopelessly mired in a primitive stage.”

  So I had to go through this again. Okay. I’d use their arrogance against them just as I once had against Claath.

  “Why do you think I’m so clever?” I asked.

  “I’ve had you brought here for study,” Sant said. “I mean this chamber, of course. Yet even as I study you, you study us, having brought a portable analyzer with you.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Do you mean N7?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “N7 is my friend. He’s not just an analyzer.”

  Doctor Sant glanced sharply at N7. “It is a machine.”

  “With a bio brain,” I added, “and with enough upgrades to have changed him.”

  “He is still a manufactured product,” Sant said. “He was never born.”

  I didn’t want them taking N7 away and dismantling him. If they called him a machine, they might not feel honor bound toward him.

  “Let me say it again,” I told Sant. “N7 is my friend, a friend to the human race.”

  Doctor Sant squirmed uncomfortably. “Commander Creed, let us reason this through.”

  I held up my hand. “Why do you care what I believe about him? What difference does that make to you?”

  Sant twitched his whiskers and took a step closer to us. He lowered his voice, as he said, “You mustn’t say such things in the High Lord Admiral’s presence. To grant a machine sentient being is a primitive’s response or the response of someone hopelessly superstitious. Neither of those will persuade the High Lord Admiral to commit to the experiment.”

  “What experiment?” I asked.

  “Allow us to take one step at a time, Commander.”

  “Look,” I said. “If you guys dismantle N7, I’ll take it as if you’ve murdered my brother.”

  “Please, Commander, contain your emotionalism and primitivism. Neither will help me nor help you or your race in this grave situation.”

  “Doc, you’re confusing the crap out of me.”

  “Yes, that would appear to be a natural problem with our situation. Still, the oracle has spoken. The High Lord Admiral wants to believe, but it isn’t in his nature to submit to such indignities. I have had an extremely difficult time convincing him of the seriousness of the situation. You must aid me, not fight me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  “Please, do not call the machine your friend. It will hinder, not help, and it is extremely disconcerting to me personally.”

  I glanced at N7. The android pretended not to notice the scrutiny as he stared straight ahead. It made his features immobile as only a construct could do. For that moment, his face seemed to have the texture of a plastic Halloween mask, an eerie thing.

  “He has no soul,” Sant explained. “You realize that, do you not?”

  “Why don’t we forget about it?” I asked. “You leave him alone and I won’t upset you with my beliefs.”

  Doctor Sant began to pace back and forth. “I had no idea this was going to prove so difficult. The High Lord Admiral was right in many regards about your race, about you. Yet we cannot ignore the oracle. If we’re to learn the secret of the Jelk—”

  “What did you say?” I asked. “This is about the Jelk?”

  Doctor Sant regarded me. “It’s too early to go down that route. We must know more about you first.”

  I massaged my forehead. “What does the High Lord Admiral plan to do with the freighters?” I asked.

  Sant stared at me, and it appeared as if he was on the knife-edge of a difficult decision. “Do you realize our quadrant of the spiral arm is in a fight to the death against the Jelk?”

  “I don’t know much about that, doc.”

  He stiffened. “I am Doctor Sant. Do not demean my rank with your primitive informality. I cannot abide it and the High Lord Admiral…” Sant shook his head.

  “Sure, Doctor. I can see you’re…trying to understand us. We’re on the same side, you and me.” I didn’t believe that, but he seemed more disposed toward humans than any other tiger. “I don’t know much about quadrant politics. Your admiral bombed us into oblivion and the Jelk offered the last humans survival if we fought for them as assault troopers. What else could I have done?”

  “The honorable thing,” Sant said. “You could have proudly denied his insufferable offer and gone into oblivion with your human d
ignity intact. We tried to save you the ignobility of Jelk slavery.”

  They did that by killing nearly everyone on Earth? “Thanks a lot,” I said, sarcastically.

  Sant bowed at the waist. “You are welcome, of course. I hadn’t realized some of you humans understood the situation. I should have realized you of all people would know.”

  “No, you don’t get it,” I said. “That was sarcasm just now. You—”

  N7 laid a hand on my arm and shook his head. “He doesn’t understand about sarcasm. Lokhars are all but devoid of humor.”

  Doctor Sant hissed, and he stared at me expectantly.

  N7 let go of my arm.

  “What do you have to say now?” Sant asked, triumphantly.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “The machine touched you and dared to admonish you in front of others. Do you wish it destroyed? I will grant you this boon as a matter of personal honor.”

  It took me several seconds. I finally looked up at the ceiling full of antennas. The tigers were even more alien than I’d first realized. They thought much differently about many things. Maybe it was time to change tactics, to begin playing the game their way. I was in a fight, a battle of wits. Doctor Sant and his High Lord Admiral wanted to use me somehow. I wonder what the oracle had told them. I had to use the Lokhars if humanity was going to get out of this mess. I didn’t know the tigers well, but after these brief words, I had a clue as to the right way to act.

  Straightening my uniform, I spoke sternly, “Listen to me well, Doctor Sant. I am Commander Creed, the leader of the last humans. I don’t need Lokhars taking care of my honor. I will address the android my own way and in my own time.”

  “Of course, of course,” Sant said. “I apologize. I did not mean any disrespect.”

  I nodded stiffly. “I take you at your word, Doctor Sant. The matter is forgotten.”

  The tiger brought his left paw-hand near his face, and let needle-sharp claws appear from the tips—just as a real lion or tiger could do. Delicately, Sant scratched under his chin. It struck me as something a man might do in rubbing his jaw or scratching the back of his head.