by J. S. Fields
The girl reached out for Neek again, but the pilot retreated towards the cockpit. She had to get out of that room. Getting off the ship, too, would be a relief.
“Would you take her to the cargo hold, Nicholas? I’m going to take a look at the ship’s laser and see if I can tune it or something. It’d be nice to have a reliable means of defense if anything happens between here and Craston.”
Nicholas nodded and carried the girl out of the room. Neek watched them go, the wide eyes of the child full of questions Neek wasn’t ready to answer.
Chapter 6: Outside the Minoran Wormhole
You are not going to believe what these beasts can do. We need to start retrofitting our electronics immediately. Cellulose isn’t just the polymer of the future—it’s the tool that is going to help us finally bring about peace.
—Transmission from Cell-Tal to the Risalian Markin Council, date unknown
Captain Ran stood, motionless, as Cutter 223 raced through the Minoran Wormhole to intercept the Mercy’s Pledge. Dark, starless space filled the viewscreen and made it appear as if the ship were not moving at all. A tremor ran through Ran’s right hand. In a well-practiced motion, the captain moved hir left hand over the right, smothering the shake, and then straightened hir pale yellow tunic. Xe had lost the stasis chamber. Xe had lost the stasis chamber to the Mmnnuggls. Sitting on the board of directors for Cell-Tal had not been enough to protect Captain Ran from this failure, nor was hir invention of Dulan Field technology. The time of preferential treatment was over—the Markin Council had made that very clear. But hir time in the Reeducation Center was over as well. Xe had paid in full for hir mistakes, and now it was time to rectify the situation that xe had caused.
Hir hand shook again, and this time, Ran steadied it by placing it on the containment gun at hir hip. Dulan Fields were so simple to incorporate into a standard laser pistol. Print the pistol with biometal manufactured with over fifty percent cellulosic content, and you had a pistol capable of handling an enhanced beam. Integrate andal cellulose into the ruby from which the laser emanated, and you created an amorphous barrier so utterly confusing to Ardulans that they could not break free. The field functioned not only as portable containment, but when reversed, as protection for Risalians in the unlikely event an Ardulan became out of control. A containment rifle was a sturdy weapon, a comforting weapon—especially considering all the Ardulans Ran currently had onboard.
The young male sitting in the chair next to Ran, however, was far from warranting concern. He was early into his second don—just over twenty years old—had red-tinted, translucent skin, and bore the marks of the Mind Talent. The male was currently not in use, as the automated skiffs docked within the cutter currently required no direction. His hair was short and deep black, and he wore no clothing. His slight build, especially juxtaposed against the musculature of a grown Risalian, spoke of emaciation, although the way he sat in his chair—with his back hard and straight and eyes fixed directly ahead—made him appear larger than he was.
Ran stifled a gag and pulled hir long, black hair behind hir back. Research projects aside, the beings were hideous to look at, especially juxtaposed to a cutter as lovely as this. Xe had personally worked on the genetics of the Ardulans currently housed on hir ship, which made them slightly easier to stomach, but still—translucent skin and persistently breaking veins was a terrible adaptive strategy. How the creatures had managed to evolve to this level of functionality, Ran couldn’t even begin to imagine. They were a genetically mutated, albeit highly useful, sexually trimorphic race of mute idiots. Hir offspring’s pet titha had more personality.
Ran’s disgust was threatening to make hir vomit. Xe rubbed at hir neck slits, which felt troublingly warm, and then turned away from the Ardulan male and instead addressed the crew, currently a mixture of first, second, and third ranked pilots, who sat dotted along the convex platform of the bridge. “Do we have an ETA on Mercy’s Pledge?”
“Yes, Captain,” a third pilot responded. Xe adjusted the height of hir chair and swiveled to look at Ran. “We estimate they will be at the entrance to the Minoran Wormhole in approximately three minutes, based upon their departure time from Craston. They weren’t there long—only an hour. It is unlikely they transferred the cargo in such a short period of time.”
Unlikely, but still possible. Ran felt the warmth on hir neck and rubbed hir slits again, hoping to ease the purpling away. Four days ago, xe had found the pod frigate that had attacked hir cutter. Upon questioning, the Mmnnuggl captain had spoken of a meet-up with the Pledge and a transfer of the chamber, which was an absolutely ridiculous course of action considering how much work the Mmnnuggls had gone to acquire it in the first place. Logic was clearly not their best species feature. Regardless, Craston was a large planet, and it would be best to deal with the Pledge now and worry about other possibilities later.
The regular starfield slowly grew in the main viewscreen as the cutter stretched through the end of the wormhole and returned to normal space. Watching attentively, Ran frowned and fidgeted with the computer controls to nonessential systems. Patience would be the key with the Pledge. Terrans and Neek were such skittish species, and, according to Markin Kelm, Captain Kuebrich already had a distrust of Risalians that stretched to the previous Markin Council and some poorly handled andal deliveries. Ran had only dealt with the other captain indirectly, but knew enough to avoid angering the Terran. A misstep could end with their interaction splattered across the Galactic News Network. That needed to be avoided at all costs.
Ran ordered the cutter to maintain position just outside the wormhole and wait. Xe considered their cargo hold full of diamond rounds, enough to buy a brand-new skiff, including one of Cell-Tal’s latest model ships—a model xe hirself had designed. The sleek edges and revolutionary cellulose content—almost eighty percent—made the new line unsurpassed in speed. It’d be ideal for the barely tolerated smuggling Kuebrich performed, potentially making Ran’s life more complex in the future, but a strong bribe for the present.
“Captain,” the third pilot called out. “A ship is approaching. It’s a Terran shuttle of unknown class with a laser turret that qualifies under the antique protections laws. Her beacon isn’t transmitting any code.”
“That’s them,” Ran said, hir voice a little higher than intended. “Third, please hail the ship.”
“Yes, Captain,” came the quick reply. A moment later, Captain Yorden’s scruffy, unkempt face filled the large viewscreen in front of the bridge.
“Yeah?” Yorden asked, his eyes narrowing. “What do you…?” He paused before he registered what he was seeing. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth gaped slightly. He took a step back from the console. “What can we do for you, Captain?” he asked hoarsely. “We don’t want any trouble and certainly aren’t causing any.”
Captain Ran tilted hir head to the side and regarded the other captain. When Ran spoke, hir Common words came out slowly and heavily accented, but the tone was even and unwavering. “Honestly, Captain. I find other species’ hostility towards Risalians utterly confusing. If I wanted to take something from Mercy’s Pledge, I would have done so the moment she appeared on our sensors. The very fact that I am waiting for you and bothered with a hail should tell you that my crew and I mean you no harm. We are only here to conduct a business transaction.”
Yorden’s eyes narrowed. “Business with Risalians never ends well. The Markin still owe me three hundred rounds from the Missotona run. I delivered all those trees alive. I don’t care what the Alusians say.”
Ran attempted a reassuring smile. “I have your back payment here for Missotona, as well as any others you think we may have missed.” Xe clasped hir hands behind hir back. “In addition, I’d like to discuss your assistance of a Mmnnuggl pod some time ago. They gave you cargo. That cargo, however, did not belong to them. It is Risalian property, and we would like it back.”
“Why would I give you my reward? If you want to pay me hush money for the dogfi
ght the Pledge stumbled into, just do it. Drop the façade.”
Ran sighed. This was why Cell-Tal didn’t like to employ Terrans. “Captain, whatever your past dealings with the Markin, let me assure you that this is an unrelated matter. A delicate matter. The cargo you received was stolen from us and is an integral part of our ability to keep the peace. You are risking the safety of the Charted Systems by harboring it.”
Yorden scoffed. “An integral part of peace is an empty stasis chamber? I thought Risalian tech was supposed to be the best in the Systems.”
Ran’s smile grew stiff. “Empty?” That tingle in hir neck—the same Ran had felt when the Mmnnuggls took the cutter during the battle—was back. It was the same tingle that turned Ran to shaking when the Mmnnuggls burned the three hundred andal saplings hir cutter was carrying, the tingle that singed hir neck when all the Ardulans onboard were systematically executed by the spheres and the cutter left to drift, dead in space.
“Yeah,” Yorden responded, seemingly now disinterested with the conversation. “We’ll sell it to you, but not cheap. If it’s worth enough to send a cutter for, you’re going to pay dearly for it.”
“You wouldn’t…” Ran began, trying to keep the waver from hir voice. Hir hand began to shake once again, and xe hastily shoved it into hir pocket. “You wouldn’t happen to know what became of the contents, would you?”
Ran sincerely hoped Yorden was lying, that he was perhaps too scared to mention that the thing inside was dead because they’d tried to open it. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter much to Ran. Cell-Tal could clone new offspring easily enough. But if that wasn’t the case—if the Mmnnuggls had emptied the cylinder before giving it to the Pledge… How many hours had hir team put into making that thing? How many generations of breeding were involved? Xe had dedicated hir life, as did many others, to working out its genetics—only for petty pirates to snap Risal’s greatest triumph away. Now the beings of the Charted Systems might never know how close they had come to securing the peace for good. They only knew kindness. They only knew trust. Who was going tell them what had happened? Who would explain the implications?
Yorden shrugged and sprawled back into his padded, brown chair. “Nope. Came to us empty. Looks like someone cut it open with a laser scalpel.”
Ran tried to think quickly. Xe had to be smooth. Xe had to be nonconfrontational. Ran could not make confronting the Pledge Systems-wide news. “Hypothetically,” Ran said slowly, trying to give hirself more time to think. “If you had found something in the cylinder, and it was now dead…we would certainly not hold you responsible. It is the genetic material we are hoping to recover. Vitality is not required.”
“Sorry. Nothing in it. Maybe there are a few cells you can scrape from the bottom or something.” Yorden leaned into the screen. “How many rounds do you have on that ship? Enough for me to establish faith in Risalian leadership?”
Ran refused to take the bait and remained calm. “Would fifty thousand be sufficient?”
“No,” Yorden responded smugly. “But it’s a start. I’ll have my pilot align our ports and extend the bridgeway.” He pointed to Ran’s left. “Have one of your thirds bring your captain’s chair. It looks big, and I could use an upgrade.”
* * *
Yorden nodded and terminated the communication. “Neek, get the ship lined up properly.” He turned and yelled up into the gun turret. “Nicholas! Go grab the girl’s capsule and bring it to the docking pad. I’ll meet you there.”
“Captain…” Nicholas trailed off.
“We can debate your morality later,” Yorden said. “Get the chamber and get it to the docking pad. I don’t have time to argue with you right now.”
“Dangerous game you’re playing, Captain.” Neek took a moment from aligning the ships to raise an eyebrow at Yorden. “Hoping to buy our exoneration with a broken stasis chamber?” The ship lurched as the two docking pads aligned, and the bridgeway extended from the Risalian cutter.
“Exoneration, and maybe a blind eye to transgressions of the future.” Yorden looked smug. “We could do a lot more work if we didn’t have to constantly worry about getting our wrists slapped. Besides—” He pointed to the turret room. “—we don’t have a shot in hell of beating a cutter with that rusted BB gun. And since you’ve decided to try begging your planet’s forgiveness with the aid of our youngest crewmember, we need the Risalians off our tail.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I’m not just going to hand them the kid. Anything I can do to dismantle the network of passivity the Risalians built, the better.” Yorden clasped Neek’s shoulder, the weight heavy but not unbearable. His voice softened. “I see your stuk trails, Neek. I’d not hand a kid over to executioners. Calm down. I know you want to get home. I always said I’d help if I could. You just have to have a little faith.”
“You demanded the captain’s chair,” Neek countered, rolling her eyes at the captain’s word choice. “That’s sure to put Ran in a good mood.”
Yorden chuckled. “I’ve done enough ‘delicate’ runs for the Markin over the decades to know when things are serious. If a captain is still involved, there’s wiggle room. Besides, they have nicer furniture.” He pointed to the indentations in his chair.
Neek nodded and looked away. “I just fly the ship.” She took her hands off the yoke and sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Docking complete. Do what you have to do, Captain.”
“The girl will be fine, Neek. Everything will be fine.” Yorden stepped away from the cockpit before turning back to address her. “Of course, there is also a possibility we will all die. It’s hard to tell at this point. Keep the engines on, just in case.”
Chapter 7: Mercy’s Pledge
We had a rudimentary understanding of science before the intervention of the Ardulans. Our medicine was crude, our understanding of chemistry, physics, biology…all centuries behind other sentient worlds. The Ardulans sent their best scientists to work with us. They were patient teachers, going over each elementary concept until we understood it and could emulate it ourselves. They never grew angry at our ignorance, and each uncovered inability lead to an ever-greater pool of knowledge.
My great-grandmother worked on a farm just outside the capital, growing andal. She told me stories about the plantings before the Ardulans came—about how each would take fifty to sixty years before the plants could be harvested, and even then, so much of the plant was wasted in processing.
One day, an Ardulan woman came to the farm. My great-grandmother described her as a pale, short woman with red hair and black tattoos across her wrists. Her clothes were soft, gold—the color of the soil. She brought a small machine with her, so small it fit in the palm of her tiny hand. The Ardulan showed my great-grandmother how to use the machine, how to scan each plant for its lignin content and void space. She explained how the voids caused weaker wood, the lignin stronger wood, and how scanning the plants as saplings and eradicating defective individuals would benefit the entire crop.
It’s funny—it all seems so simple now. To Neek in my great-grandmother’s time, this was life-altering information. The Ardulans only stayed for two years, but even now we reap the benefits of their knowledge. Some of the plants growing now in that field were planted during the time of the Ardulans. Can you imagine? What would it have been like to work alongside a god?
—Transcribed conversation from an aged Neek male just before death, seventy-five years after the departure of Ardulum
Fuck the cockpit. It might be where the captain wanted her, but Neek had other ideas. Instead, she stood in the corner of the cargo hold, suppressing a smile, as the girl meandered and investigated the hold’s contents. Their link was thin without direct contact, but impressions still trickled into Neek’s mind. When the girl managed to wedge small fingers between gaps and pop lids, Neek delighted with her at the brightly colored textiles and smooth textures that spilled forth. The clothes were scrap, just something Chen had provided to camou
flage the smart textiles they were hauling for Cell-Tal. When the girl trampled them in her eagerness to open another box, Neek decided to let it be. What harm could a little kid do, anyway?
Neek did appreciate that the girl had found a dress to wear amongst the piles—a bright-yellow dress that ended just above her knees and twirled when she spun around. The visual was calming and made the child, well, a child. Not a god. Just a little girl in a twirly dress, secure in her surroundings.
The girl turned and waved at Neek, a blue ribbon clutched in her hand. Neek smiled and began to step forward, when pressure edged her mind. Her smile dropped, and she pushed back into the wall. The pressure eased, and the girl’s face fell with the ribbon, which fluttered to the floor.
Neek banged her head back against the bulkhead and groaned. What the fuck was she doing here, getting the kid’s hopes up? All the girl wanted was to communicate, to have a friend in the world who wasn’t trying to keep her locked up or blow her brains out. Hell, she’d even seen Yorden in here a time or two, playing some stupid Terran hiding game. Why couldn’t she just treat the kid like a kid? What was wrong with her?
There was a tug on the sleeve of her flight suit. Neek looked down into wide green eyes dripping concern, which only deepened her personal disgust. She could do this. She could interact. She could be fucking maternal if she needed to be, surely.
The pilot scooted back several centimeters and knelt down, trying to maintain eye contact. The girl watched, cocking her head to the side, grinning. Unexpectedly, she took a deep breath, jutted her chin out, and forced a chest full of air up from her lungs, producing several tortured bleats.
Neek laughed. She couldn’t help it. The sounds were so similar to a type of water fowl found on the Neek planet that the image rose within her mind without prompting. The girl scrunched her nose up in a proud grin. A light pressure returned to Neek’s mind and, curious, Neek allowed it to proceed.