Trek It!

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "And download the ship's logs into a beacon," said Martin, marching toward the helm. "Tanner, get it ready for launch ASAP."

  "Aye, sir," said Tanner, touching controls on the console in front of him.

  Martin's next stop was the tactical station manned by Ensign Lopresti. "Now let me see those battle plans," Martin said briskly, swooping around the console to stand beside Lopresti.

  The ensign didn't move an inch. "What battle plans?" he said.

  "The ones for breaking us out of this blockade and getting the hell out of here," said Martin. "I'm dying to see them."

  "Just a few more minutes, sir," said Lopresti, looking up nervously out of the corner of his eye.

  "Excellent," said Martin, clapping Lopresti on the shoulder and heading back to the command chair. "We'll get through this yet. You'll see."

  As optimistic as he sounded, however, he didn't much believe his own words.

  The Exogenesis was immobilized, outnumbered, and outgunned. The damage to the ship from the suicide bombing still was not completely repaired, and her physician and chief engineer were incapacitated.

  And the only people who still had the power to carry the day were on the surface of the planet, at ground zero of an overpowering alien invasion of an already volatile world.

  The odds did not exactly favor the success or survival of the Astrofleet crew. That was all the more reason for Martin to keep them as busy as possible.

  As involved as they were in their tasks, however, everybody dropped everything a few minutes later as a comm channel opened over the bridge speakers.

  Martin caught his breath. Before he even heard the words, he knew that the verdict was in on Commander Zeke Turner.

  *****

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  We have your ship.

  Though the words on the multiterpreter's display had been perfectly clear the first time he'd read them, Swift reviewed them a second time…and a third.

  The message left no room for misinterpretation. It was so simple, he was certain that the multiterpreter had correctly translated it from the latest arrangement of symbols on the wings of the Mazeesh.

  We have your ship.

  Just in case there was a shred of doubt, the manta creature proceeded to offer proof of its words. The symbols on the underside of one wing melted away; a grainy video image coalesced in their place, familiar and disheartening.

  Instead of being amazed at the creature's ability to receive and display a video feed transmitted from orbit, Swift felt a surge of worry and disappointment.

  At the center of the flickering circle on the wing of the Mazeesh, Exogenesis hung against the backdrop of space. The ship was surrounded by a swarm of needle-nosed fighters and boxed in at both ends by mammoth golden warships.

  The image could have easily been manufactured, a counterfeit meant to put him at a disadvantage…but Swift could not afford to make that assumption. Unless proven otherwise, he had to treat it as authentic.

  In which case, the stakes of the game had just gotten higher. If Swift couldn't sort out this mess, no one but the Mazeesh was getting out alive.

  And the clock was ticking. He could tell from their increasingly restless movements that the Mazeesh were growing impatient; their capture of Exogenesis certainly didn't indicate a willingness to drag things out any further.

  He couldn't say he blamed them. Other than J'Tull and Lyra's efforts to set up the wall projection system, activity in the ministry had been at a virtual standstill for quite a while.

  As for conversation, it had been one-way only. The Mazeesh had done some talking, but the Vox couldn't understand the written language they used…and Swift was waiting for the projection system to make his multiterpreter-generated replies more readable. Text on the tiny display of the multiterpreter had gotten no reaction from the Mazeesh when he had shown it to them; he hoped that reproducing it in a larger format would enable them to join in a dialogue.

  If he was still alive by the time the system came on-line, that is.

  The message on the Mazeesh's wing changed, and the multiterpreter quickly generated a translation. As the device became more experienced in working with the Mazeesh symbols, its processing time grew progressively shorter.

  "We will destroy your ship," read the translated text. "We will destroy this world."

  The symbols on the creature's body shifted, followed by the words on the multiterpreter display.

  "We will start with you, accomplice," read the Mazeesh's words. "You have delayed us long enough."

  As the creature swung up the weapon wrapped in its tail, the orbs on either end brightened.

  At that moment, a familiar voice spoke up from behind Swift, so close and unexpected that he jumped.

  It was J'Tull, mysteriously conjured up without a sound. "Captain," she said calmly. "We are ready."

  Immediately, Swift shot up a hand. "Wait!" he said to the message-bearing Mazeesh. He pointed in the direction of Lyra and the projection setup across the chamber. "Over there!" he said. "We can talk!" He pointed to his mouth. "Talk!"

  The Mazeesh hovered in place, staring at him with its tiny, obsidian eyes.

  Swift started forward, and the creature slid out of his way. He waved for the Mazeesh to follow, but it wasn't necessary; the entire group that had encircled him glided along in his wake.

  Though he marched ahead with a confident gait, he fully expected to take an energy bolt in the back at any second.

  As he passed the captured ministers and regent, Swift waved for them to follow, too. "Come on!" he shouted. "Everyone come with me!"

  Not a single one of them budged. The Vox leaders just continued to cower in the heart of their own ring of Mazeesh captors.

  Swift turned to J'Tull, who had fallen in step alongside him. "Go get them, Subcommander," he said. "They're invited, too."

  Without a word, J'Tull broke away and headed for the cluster of Vox and Mazeesh.

  When he got to the far wall of the chamber, Swift approached Lyra with a warm smile. "Hello, Lyra," he said. "Ready for the show?"

  "Hello, Swift," said Lyra. "Good to see you."

  A moment later, J'Tull joined them, the Vox leaders in tow. Their Mazeesh captors came, too…and, in fact, Swift noted that every Mazeesh in the ministry chamber had been drawn to the site.

  That was perfectly all right with him. It was exactly what he wanted.

  Everyone in one place, with the tools to communicate on hand.

  Now came the hard part: convincing one race not to destroy another race whose ancestors had killed and eaten their ancestors.

  J'Tull reached for his multiterpreter and hardwired it to the projection system terminal…really just a translucent polymer control surface like Altis' radio rig in the safehouse.

  She made a few adjustments to the multiterpreter and handed it back to him. "Whatever appears on the display will be projected on the wall," she said, and then she handed over her own multiterpreter. "Use this for Vox language translation."

  "Thank you, Subcommander," said Swift. "Wish me luck."

  "Hephaestans do not wish," said J'Tull, her deadpan expression never varying. "However, I do agree that a non-violent outcome would be in the best interests of all parties."

  "Sometimes I think I ought to use a multiterpreter to figure out what you're really saying," Swift said with a smile.

  Then, he turned to face the assembled Vox and Mazeesh.

  *****

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Swift took a moment to collect his thoughts; then, he raised the multiterpreter in his right hand, the one calibrated for the Mazeesh language and connected to the projection system.

  "We do not take sides," he said, directing his voice into the multiterpreter's audio pickup. "We are neutral. But we do want to help."

  A jumble of Mazeesh symbols blinked onto the device's display. Turning, Swift saw them reproduced on the translucent wall behind him, each character magnified to a meter in height.

&n
bsp; When he turned around again, he saw that every last one of the Mazeesh had reared back to train their eyes on the image.

  For a moment, they hovered and stared, wings rippling gently…and then, one of them pushed toward Swift. He couldn't tell if it was the same individual who had communicated with him earlier, but the dark splotches on the underside of its wings began to resolve into Mazeesh text.

  Swift scanned the text with the multiterpreter's video pickup and watched as an English translation appeared on the device's screen.

  "Help how?" read the translation. "We need no help."

  "Why have you come to this world?" Swift said into the multiterpreter. Again, his words became symbols on the screen and flowed onto the wall.

  New text on the creature's wings was converted by the multiterpreter. "To conquer," read the multiterpreter display. "To kill."

  "Why?" said Swift.

  More text appeared on the wings of the Mazeesh. "We do not need to explain our actions."

  "Please," Swift said into the multiterpreter. "I want to understand."

  For a long moment, the Mazeesh did not reply. Finally, the patterns on its wings shifted. "Our people came here long ago," said the creature, "in peace. The savages here hunted, killed and devoured them.

  "For hundreds of years, we have grown stronger," said the Mazeesh, "preparing to return and eradicate this menace. Now, the time has come."

  "I see," said Swift. "I am sorry for what happened to your people."

  When the Mazeesh did not respond, Swift checked to see if the translation had appeared on the wall. The symbols were there; apparently, the creature preferred not to address his comment.

  Swift again spoke into the multiterpreter. "I would like to tell them what you have said." He gestured toward the Vox leaders. "They should understand, too."

  "They know what happened," said the Mazeesh. "They caused it."

  "Please," said Swift. "I want to hear what they say."

  The Mazeesh did not answer. Swift took its silence for assent and turned to the group of Vox.

  He raised the other multiterpreter in his left hand and spoke into it. "They say that when they came here before, they were attacked," he said, a Vox verbal translation of his words emerging from the multiterpreter's speaker.

  Keeping a watchful eye on the Mazeesh hovering nearby, red-furred Regent Ieria answered him, limiting her reply to the pulmonic language that the multiterpreter was able to process. "It is the other way around," she said, her words appearing in English on the multiterpreter. "They attacked us."

  "Do you have records of this?" said Swift. "You have no written language, but do you have any audio or video records of the events in question?"

  "No records," said Regent Ieria, "and no question. These creatures ravaged our world, and now they have returned to do it again."

  Swift turned back to the Mazeesh. "Do you have records of your first visit?"

  "It is well documented in our historical annals," said the Mazeesh. "Every last detail of those terrible times."

  "Do these annals include video?" said Swift.

  "Words tell the story," said the Mazeesh. "Words are enough."

  Not enough for the Vox, thought Swift. Without some incontrovertible objective proof – like time-stamped video logs – or supporting records produced by the Vox themselves, he knew the Vox would never accept the Mazeesh version of history. It still came down to the Vox's word versus the Mazeesh's…and without agreement on what really happened, there could be no movement toward a resolution of the crisis.

  As certain as he was that they had reached a stalemate, though, Swift knew that he had to keep talking. It was either that or give up and let the Mazeesh destroy his ship and the Vox species.

  Once again, the multiterpreter converted his words to the Mazeesh language and projected them on the wall. "These are not the same Vox who were here when your ancestors arrived," he said. "They had no part in what happened to your people."

  "And we are not the same people who came here the first time," said the Mazeesh, "but we take responsibility for their lives. We speak for them since they cannot speak for themselves."

  "These people have no written records," said Swift. "Their version of the story is different from yours."

  "Even worse," said the Mazeesh. "The criminals sought to erase the evidence of their crimes."

  "Why punish people who did not themselves commit these acts," said Swift, "and who may not even remember what really happened?"

  "This species stole our ancestors' technology as well as their lives," said the Mazeesh. "This species benefited. Our species suffered."

  "What if they could balance the scales?" said Swift. "What if they could repay you in some way?"

  "That will not be necessary," said the Mazeesh. "We will take what we want."

  Swift realized that he was getting nowhere, but he continued searching for a handhold. "Obviously, your people are advanced," he said into the multiterpreter's audio pickup. "You have surpassed the Vox in every way. There is no limit to what you can accomplish.

  "Ask yourselves: will genocide help you to become a greater species? And will the elimination of the Vox be fitting compensation for your loss…or the easy way out for the descendants of the people who hurt you?"

  The Mazeesh did not answer. Though he couldn't ascribe a meaning to the creature's silence, Swift took it as a positive sign.

  "And you," he said, turning to the Vox regent. "A story changes every time it is told. Isn't it possible that this story has been changed after all its retellings?"

  The regent chattered, and words appeared on the multiterpreter's screen. "Not this story."

  "How can you be sure?" said Swift. "Those who lived through the events are long dead. You have no records of what happened except word of mouth."

  "We are sure!" The regent lowered her head and bared her teeth menacingly. "These monsters murdered us! They cracked open our skulls and ate our brains! They named us mazeesh – filth, excrement, lowest of the low!"

  "Did you know," said Swift, pointing toward the manta-like creature with whom he'd been communicating, "that they call themselves mazeesh?"

  The regent hesitated, whiskers twitching…then howled. "Lies! All lies!"

  "If mazeesh means what you say it does," said Swift, "why would they have chosen it as a name? And if they, not the Vox, are indeed the Mazeesh, doesn't that suggest there could be inaccuracies in your version of the story?"

  For a moment, Swift thought the Vox regent might lunge at him, and he steeled himself. She hunched over, growling and glaring at him; though she was surrounded by Mazeesh wielding energy weapons, he thought she might actually attack.

  The extreme reaction pleased him, because it suggested that he had hit a nerve. It also worried him, because he wasn't sure if the Mazeesh would intervene and save his neck if need be. He also suspected that any act of violence would touch off a conflagration that would claim the lives of everyone in the building but the Mazeesh…and ruin all hope of a settlement.

  Though he knew that he had to keep pushing, Swift decided to ease up a bit. "Regent," he said, softening his tone. "These beings have the power to destroy your world. I believe there is a chance to avoid this outcome, but it will require flexibility."

  "If, by flexibility, you mean taking as many of them down with us as possible," hissed the regent, "we will manage."

  "I believe these people can be reasoned with," Swift said into the multiterpreter's audio pickup. "If you work together, I believe your world can be saved."

  The regent looked up at her floating captors and snarled. "You want us to make it easier for you and your partners," she snapped. "You want us to go quietly."

  "We're no one's partners," said Swift. "We have no ties to either side."

  "You've been working for them since you got here," said the regent. "You came to panic us with threats and destabilize our society by breaking our most forbidden taboos."

  "You've changed the story," sa
id Swift, Vox versions of his words emerging from the multiterpreter. "You and I witnessed the same events, and we each interpreted them in a different way. See how easily it happens?

  "Multiply the effect over generations and centuries. Isn't it more unlikely that a story would survive unchanged?"

  "Enough!" said the regent. "This is not your world! You do not know the suffering my people have endured! Suffering like that is never forgotten or misremembered!"

  Swift sighed. The regent was entrenched; nothing he said would make her change her position.

  Instead of continuing to beat his head against the wall, he decided to switch tactics. He didn't really think his new course would meet with success, but he had to try something.

  "Regent," he said calmly. "Will it matter who did what three hundred years ago if your entire species is wiped out?"

  "Of course it matters!" snapped Ieria.

  "But if the Vox are extinct, who will represent their point of view? Who will tell the story of the first coming of the Mazeesh?"

  Swift gestured at one of the hovering manta beings. "The Mazeesh will, because history is always written by the winners. The people of the galaxy will hear only their side of the story. The Vox will be remembered only as killers and cannibals.

  "I submit to you that the suffering of the past is meaningless if your species is annihilated. Perhaps now is the time to do what is necessary for survival, no matter how distasteful…and the time to talk about history will come later."

  "We are already defeated," said the regent. "The truth of history is all we have left."

  "As long as you survive," said Swift, "so does your truth."

  For a moment, Regent Ieria glowered at him with fangs bared. At first, he thought that he might have gotten through to her; even when she turned away from him, directing her attention to the other Vox leaders, he hoped that she might have taken a cue from his remarks.

  When he saw the translation of her next words on the multiterpreter's display, he realized that his hope was misplaced.