by Don Foxe
“Not yet. First, we lull them into a sense of false security. Our new strategists are devising plans to invade worlds not originally on our list of objectives. These worlds lay in the opposite direction to the solar system in question. While the misdirection happens, we will slip stealth ships into the system to monitor communications. We need to discover as much as we can before mounting an invasion. Mischene culture has existed for thousands of years, General. It is time to bring all of our assets to bear.”
“All of our assets, Governor?”
“Including our political savvy, and our prowess at making trades,” Soren replied. “The best way to outmaneuver an opponent is to make them question the value of their own goods. In politics, you make them doubt what they believe true.”
Soren’s face suddenly morphed from furrowed brow and deadly stare, to relaxed and calm. He often displayed mercurial changes. A sign of a person with multiple responsibilities, or symptoms of personality disorder?
“But, I suppose, the first thing I must do is round up another few thousand women, and have them delivered to my son, the Prophet. We need the Zenge following orders, and while the shock collars help, keeping them docile, and in service to our Prophet is best. You will need to disguise your disgust for Atticus a bit longer, General Tomas.”
“In the service of the Mischene Empire,” the General rose, and came to attention, his right fist over his heart. “In the service of the Fist of Tahbita, I will do whatever necessary to insure our manifest destiny is achieved.”
CHAPTER 36
Colonel Kasper Trewellan sat with one leg crossed over the other. From the sofa located in the throne room of the Sacred Prophet, he mindlessly studied the golden inlaid pattern of stars on the high ceiling. The Prophet, Atticus Soren, stood a few feet away before a credenza doubling as a bar, pouring a drink.
“Would you like something?” he asked the Colonel.
“Thank you, Prophet, but no” he replied. “I’m fine.”
“Where is General Tomas?” Soren asked.
“Aboard a newly arrived battlecruiser. He intends to inspect all six. He enjoys the company of the officers aboard, and stories of the Mischene conquest of our home system.”
“It would appear our General enjoys staying off world more than he does staying in his rather beautiful home here, on Zenge Prime,” Atticus said, sweeping his kaftan under him, as he took a seat upon an ornately carved chair, across from the Colonel. “One might think he does not like our little world.”
“He does tend to distance himself from the people here,” Trewellan agreed. “He spent plenty of time with my Father while he was here,” Atticus said between sips. “Actually, he spent more time with my Father, than my Father spent with me. My Father believes he is still my superior, and, I fear, the General feels the same way.”
“It is difficult for your father to accept his son as the chosen prophet of the Creator,” Trewellan said. “He sees a son he raised, not the voice of the powerful and loving creator. The General regards Governor General Soren as the top in the chain of command. It is difficult for military people to recognize other authorities, not directly part of that chain.”
“You are a faithful officer,” Atticus said, and raised his glass in a toast, before draining the contents. “Thank the Creator, I know you are most faithful to me.” The younger Soren set his glass aside. “My Father is a spiritual liar. He gives his oath to the Tahbita as a means of gaining wealth and power for himself. Because he placed me on this world to convert the Zenge, he considers me a false prophet. He was simply the tool used by the Creator, to make sure I was sent to teach these childish creatures.
“General Tomas is another puppet in my Father’s show. He is here to spy on me, and to send my children to do my Father’s dirty work. He abhors me, and despises the Zenge. He hides aboard the Mischene battleships with other Mischene supremacists. Supremacists who are no better than the scum they subjugate. Present company excluded,” the Prophet added.
“Not needed, Prophet,” Trewellan said with a slight bow. “I am a Mischene, but I am a follower of the true laws of the Tahbita. You are the chosen voice of the Creator, and only you may interpret the truth written in the Tahbita. My allegiance is sworn to you.”
Before they could continue their conversation, two Zenge females entered from a side door, half carrying, half dragging a young humanoid woman between them. She had reddish hued skin, and black, greasy hair hanging to her shoulders. Her eyes deep set, and nearly lost in bruises. She was thin, but from youth or hunger, Trewellan could not say.
“A Hana Kay from Aster Farum 1,” Atticus said. He walked over to lift the girl’s head, to see her better. “Colonel, did you know the Hana Kay have two cardiovascular systems? Of course, you know. Everyone knows the Hana Kay’s ability to work extreme hours, with little fear of collapsing. Did you know my Father has taken Aster Farum 1? The Hana Kay labor every hour, of every day producing the materials to build more ships for the Mischene fleet?”
“I heard Aster Farum 3 took control of the other planets, as well as the five moons,” Trewellan said.
“Yes, they did,” the Prophet said, reaching to fondle the girl’s breast through the thin, dirty slip. “The idiots who run Aster Farum 1 and 2, and those in charge of the five moons, accepted the Mischene’s generous offers of free system upgrades for varying types of technology. They accepted the Mischene’s fleet as the sole protection for the system. When my Father was ready, he simply turned off their systems. He sent the fleet to blockade the planets and moons, preventing anyone from escaping.
“The Mischene dispatched warnings to the rest of the galaxy. They claimed the system was under attack by the Zenge. They declared Aster off-limits, while pretending to mount a valiant resistance.”
While talking of his father’s actions, Soren continued to roughly fondle the Hana Kay.
“Parrian cargo ships haul materials from AF1 and 2, to shipbuilders on three moon bases. All non-Mischene races work for the greater glory of the Tahbita, and, of course, the Mischene. Or they die. Or perhaps get sent here, to me, like this one.”
He turned to the female holding the girl’s right arm. “SHHHapitta, wash her, oil her, and tie her to my bed.” As they hauled the girl away, he added, “SHHHapitta, tie her face down.”
The younger Soren returned his attention to the Colonel. “I was thinking, waiting for my Father to send us fresh women, and I do hope he remembers the boys this time, well, seems a waste of time. We should institute our own raids occasionally. They would constitute good practice.”
“I do not think General Tomas will allow raids unsanctioned by the Mischene government,” Trewellan said.
“No, of course not,” Soren agreed. “Do you know why the Zenge do not rape the women your men give them?”
If the Colonel was surprised by the non-se-quieter, he did not let it show. “I always thought they were taught, as messengers of the Prophet, sex with a non-Zenge was unlawful.”
“No, nothing so profound,” Soren answered, rising to fix another drink from his hidden bar. “They have tiny penises. In the beginning they tried, and it infuriated them. They would fly into blood rage. Now, they do not even try. Getting them to cook their meat before eating, now, that was a challenge.”
The Prophet finished mixing his drink, and returned to his chair. “Zenge females have an extending vagina,” Soren said off-handed. “It’s quite pleasing,” he added, and watched for Trewellan’s reaction.
The Colonel, a lifetime of military honed self-discipline, did not blanch, but simply replied, “An interesting biology.”
“I’ve been working with Dr. Steingar, our medical director, on race-identity concepts. We know the Mischene are the chosen race, but what if we could improve other races? Instead of exterminating entire species, or simply subjugating them, what if we enhanced them?”
He finished his drink. “If we could blend the Hana Kay’s duo cardiovascular system, with a Fellen female’s body, and adde
d a Zenge’s vagina, we might create the perfect mate.”
“And Dr. Steingar thinks this is possible?” Trewellan asked.
“He’s willing to begin trials,” the Prophet confirmed. “Currently he’s dissecting diverse species, determining which have the best organs.” The Supreme Profit of the Tahbita, Voice of the Creator stood, somewhat wobbly. “I have someone waiting for me. I’ll make sure she is sent to your cabin afterward, Colonel. Keep her as long as you like, and then give her to someone you think deserving. By the way, Colonel, I will need to see you in the morning.”
“Yes, Sir. About anything in particular?” the Mischene asked.
“I’ve sent my personal launch to the battlecruiser to collect the General for an important meeting. My personal Zenge pilot, and guards will escort him back. I am afraid I foresee an accident. Tragic. Something mechanical forcing a crash landing, and no one survives.”
“I see,” Trewellan stammered for the first time, not sure what to say.
“If you return here in the morning, not too early, we will need to see about your promotion to General Trewellan,” Soren said.
Trewellan left the castle. Soren purposely provided him sufficient time to warn General Tomas, and prevent his murder. He also promised the promotion he coveted. The Prophet was insane. He knew. The younger Soren was also more clever than his father, the Supreme Governor General of the Aster System, gave credit. The Prophet controlled over two billion Zenge warriors. Correction. General Trewellan controlled over two billion Zenge warriors.
Trewellan decided to go home. He could get one more night out of the last girl, before giving her to a sergeant he owed a favor. Besides, he would enjoy a fresh one, if slightly used, by tomorrow night.
CHAPTER 37
Cooper walked onto the bridge of the PT-109 in the early morning hours. They departed the Quentle systems days earlier. The ship now half-way to the Mars Shipyard and Docks space station.
Lt. Isabella Dominczyk, the communications specialist, sat in the Command Chair. Ensign Fallenitsch stationed at the navigation console. Sparks sat at the communications console, his right elbow propped on the console, his chin resting in his hand.
“Captain on the bridge,” Dominczyk said. She and Fallenitsch came to attention. Sparks lifted his head to see what was happening, but, otherwise, remained seated.
“As you were,” Coop said, “and keep the chair, Izzy. I’m taking an informal walk-about while most of the ship is asleep.” He entered from his office, the navigation station across the bridge, but with the quiet, he hardly raised his voice to ask the Osperantue, “How we doing, Folly?”
This the first time Captain Cooper addressed his alien crew member by the nickname presented to her by Storm.
“Everything functioning within specified parameters,” she answered, somewhat stiffly. Things had been relaxed aboard the civilian Star Gazer, where she served with the deceased Captain Poonch. She was still getting her bearings aboard a semi-military Space Fleet vessel.
“Relax, Ensign,” Coop said. “I’m not making a formal inspection. I haven’t had much time with my crew this trip. We’ve been a bit busy,” he understated. “Are you finding your way around humans okay?”
“I rarely bump into anyone, Captain. Has someone complained?”
Coop swallowed a laugh. “Sorry, Folly. Translations are sometimes a bit literal. “Are you adapting to humans and our methods?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, more at ease. Regaining her seat, once she noticed Izzy back in the Captain’s chair. “I miss Star Gazer, and Osperantue. I wonder every day about my family, but everyone has been kind, and considerate, and have tried to make us comfortable.”
“Us?” Coop queried.
“Aliens, sir,” she replied. “It’s difficult to think of myself as an alien. All of my life, it was the other species who were the aliens. Anyway, people on Earth, and especially the people on the Kennedy have treated us like, well, like people.”
“Good to hear, Folly." Then to the other alien on the bridge, he asked, “Are you here for a purpose, Sparks? I don’t recall assigning you bridge duty.”
“Could not sleep,” the Fellen communications engineer answered. “I have this concept running though my head, and thought it might solidify if I sat near the problem.”
“You’re having a communications problem?” Coop asked, surprised.
“More of a theoretical conundrum,” he replied. “I did not know Izzy was on the bridge until I arrived. She is helping me organize my thoughts.”
“More like I’ve been a sounding board with no insight,” Izzy said. “He’s into physics, and sub-atomic particles, and theories I have no clue about.”
“Tell me,” Coop said. “I may not offer much help either, but I’ve been around a long time. Maybe experience can shed light on your problem.”
“The tachyon cannon got me thinking,” he began. “Physics is the study of energy, and matter in space, and time, and how they relate to each other. Physics also provide the laws governing action and reaction in the universe. But the laws can be broken. Wormhole travel should not be a reality. When a ship enters a wormhole, it is changed at the sub-atomic level. For those aboard the ship, because they are experiencing the change, everything appears to remain normal. If you were outside the channel, looking back at the ship and crew, you would see atomic dust blown down a tunnel at incredible speed. Speed faster than light travels.”
“Similar concept to someone who exists near a blackhole,” Coop said. “For them time is exactly the same, but from millions of miles away they appear to move in slow motion.”
“Similar, yes,” Sparks agreed. “Now take space-fold travel. With the crystal array you change space at the sub-atomic level. The ship and crew actually do remain the same, but space is compressed, and then de-compressed as the ship flows forward. The speeds are extraordinary. Time, basically, stands still. It is not clear if the ship is traveling in space, or actually traveling in time, or a hybrid of both. Either way, according to physics, it should not happen.”
“But because it does happen,” Coop replied, “physics are flexible. Actions in the universe do occur outside of the known properties of matter and energy.”
“Exactly why the tachyon cannon caught my attention,” Sparks said, warming to the conversation.
Folly moved to the pilot’s seat, to get closer, and Izzy turned the command chair to listen. Both captured by the discussion.
“I asked Dr. Hernandez how the cannon works. I never heard of a tachyon, and was totally surprised when he told me . . .”
“It’s a made up word,” Coop completed the sentence.
“Yes,” Sparks said, glad the captain was aware. “Earth scientists discovered a sub-atomic particle acting outside the laws of physics.”
“Science-fiction writers once created a fictional particle of a similar concept, and called it a tachyon. Because most science nerds are also science fiction nerds, they decided to name the real one a tachyon,” Coop said.
“Right. While the word is a construct, the particle is real. It exists within an atom, but can exist outside of atomic structure. It can bind atoms, or even the electrons, neutrons, and protons within an atom. It can interact with several atoms at once. It is faster than quantifiable.”
“Physics accepts superpositions. A particle can exist in two places at once. It also recognizes entanglement. One particle’s behavior can affect the behavior of other particles,” Coop said. “The kicker with tachyons is they appear to exist within their own time,” Coop added. “They are faster than considered possible because they change places in time, not space.”
“Humans are incredible engineers,” Sparks said. “Once tachyon were discovered and proven real, researchers immediately began attempting to harness their power. Scientists combined a centrifuge with a mercury-suspension gyroscope to control gravity. To dampen electrical interference, the construct was placed within a Faraday cage. This invention allowed them to catch a tachyon.�
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Cooper knew the history of tachyon cannon. He took up the story. “They discovered a tachyon particle in suspension will attract other tachyons. Normally, measurement of a particle’s energy, or knowing its precise position causes it to lose superposition, limiting it to one known state. Within the catch, tachyon entanglement continued.” He hesitated. The development of tachyon weapons was understandably secret, though not strictly classified. Sparks obviously knew a lot already, and he trusted Izzy and Folly.
“Particles pods create tremendous amounts of energy,” he continued. “The first time anyone released the energy, it blew a hole through a steel and carbon alloy reinforced concrete wall. A wall twenty-feet thick, and located one-hundred feet beneath the surface. The discharge created a tunnel to the surface.”
“They adapted the tachyon catch, and attached it to a modified railgun system. They calibrated a Martian crystal for power, and added a simple laser to aim the released energy,” Sparks recounted the engineering told him by Hernandez.
“The system attracts a complex tachyon, catches it, and suspends it for the time required to entangle other particles, and build energy. By attaching the tachyon-produced energy to something as simple as a magnetic beam, they created a weapon with the potential to destroy asteroids, or small moons. Most certainly, space ships hundreds of thousands of miles away in space.”
“I need to speak with Manny,” Coop said. “A lot of what you were told might be classified.” To the two listening, he said, “Keep that in mind you two. We do not broadcast the components inherent to top-secret weapons. Do you copy?”
Both replied, “Yes, Sir.”
“Dr. Hernandez did not tell me everything,” Sparks admitted. “I figured most of it out by myself. But anyone with a little understanding of physics could. The tachyon exists outside of physics, but has to act according to the laws of physics once it is harnessed, even while bending the laws at the same time. That is the conundrum.”