by Ian Rodgers
The Alliance’s government offices were based here, as well. City-spanning administration complexes and sprawling data banks littered most of the surface. Billions of government workers lived on Hion with their families, ensuring that the cogs of the galaxy spanning machine never faltered. The Planetary Council met here alongside the Senate Sapient. House Goodwill had embassies from every known government, even from the Hegemony and a few Isolationist Enclaves.
Most important, and pertinent to Aunlood, was the headquarters for the Privy Council Select. The most powerful beings in the Alliance were down there, and the most influential of them all was waiting on Crown Corps’. representative.
Aunlood’s shuttle trembled under the sudden differences in atmospheric pressure, that is none to some, before auto-correctors kicked in and the shaking vanished as soon as it appeared.
Below, the Ranga could see starscraper buildings and fortified government sites all looking like toys. But they grew larger and larger until they loomed ahead. Rather than landing at the main hub for interstellar arrivals, Aunlood’s shuttle swerved and headed for a smaller building. Built like a palace but defended like a fortress, the Private Parliament Building, which housed the Privy Council, awaited him.
The shuttle touched down amid soft blue grass that carpeted the lawn, yet remained undamaged by the thrusters. A marvel of Iali genetic engineering. Not far away Aunlood could see the Parliament building. There were a number of people waiting for Crown Corps.’ president, many of which were visibly armed to the teeth. The rest probably were just as deadly, but hid their weapons better.
“Welcome to Hion, Chairman Aunlood. The Chairperson-Elect is waiting for you.” A soldier clad in form fitting armor stepped forth to greet the CEO of Crown Corp. as he exited his shuttle.
“A pleasure. Please, by all means, escort me,” Aunlood graciously said, placing his knuckles together in his people’s traditional greeting. A brisk nod was all he received before the FIST sent to escort him hustled him off.
Inside the Parliament building Aunlood barely had a chance to view the stunning art and décor before he was told to wait in a tiny room. He hardly had time to twiddle his thumbs before someone came to get him however, and after a few more stops and security checks was allowed to enter a fabulous office.
Wooden furniture was everywhere with a simple crystal glass window showing a well-maintained lawn. Art and artifacts from every planet in the Alliance rested on whatever surfaces were available, impressing any visitor with regal disposition. Everything in the room was a priceless luxury, fitting for the most powerful being alive.
“You wished to see me, Chairperson-Elect?” Aunlood was a bundle of nerves as he stepped into the center of the room and faced the desk and being behind it.
Xenovida Zanic, Chairperson-Elect of the Solar Alliance of Independent Planets. Six feet tall exactly and without an ounce of wasted flesh, her body still toned even decades after her tour of service as a member of FIST. A member of the Kanir race, her skin was a rainbow of swirling colors, the brightness enhanced by her pure white suit. Aunlood had to squint in order to see her.
“I did. Please, be seated.” The Ranga gulped back his fear and sat down in the offered chair. He fidgeted as it was just a little bit too small to fit his bulk, and the cushion rode up his backside creating an annoying itch with every movement.
“No need to be so nervous, Mr. Aunlood. We’re both busy beings so I will try to avoid taking up your precious time.”
“Oh, no matter! Please don’t worry yourself, Chairperson-Elect!” The CEO then slapped himself mentally for allowing the terrifying creature in front of him permission to keep him as long as necessary.
The Chairperson-Elect gave a knowing smirk before settling back into a neutral expression.
“Please, call me Xenovida. This isn’t a formal hearing or inquiry. Even though some of my peers would ask it of me.”
“Yes ma’am, I mean, Xenovida. May I ask what you wanted to discuss with me if it wasn’t about litigations or diplomatic issues involving our misplaced droid?”
“I wanted to know if you knew anything about the planet it has landed on in particular. Habitat, biospheres, the like.”
“No, I’m afraid I do not know anything about the world it landed on. Just that it has a Class C civilization,” Aunlood admitted. A disappointed look flickered through Xenovida’s eyes before she gave a placating smile.
“That’s quite alright. But let me ask you a follow-up question then: Have you heard rumors about the Hegemony moving supplies around near their border with Enclave territories?”
“Of course. I am a business being after all. I have to keep an ear to the group to understand the market and any future shifts,” Aunlood declared proudly.
“Then you know that the Ial are thinking of doing something that has not been considered in over seven hundred years? Not since the last time we butted heads with the Hegemony?” Xenovida asked, a gleam in her eyes.
Slightly unnerved by the unblinking gaze of the Chairperson-Elect, Aunlood cast his mind back to think of what she was speaking of. A memory from his school days rose to him and he gasped, feathers turning a darker shade.
“Uplifting?” he whispered in surprise.
“The Ial foresee a large conflict with the Hegemony approaching. Perhaps not in this lifetime, for that immortal leader of theirs is content to play the waiting game while building his forces, but troubles will come eventually,” Xenovida said, all but spitting as she spoke of the undying master of the Hegemony.
“This fear is what is driving the Ial, and by extension the rest of the Privy Council Select, to consider giving a lesser race the chance to join our glorious Alliance.”
“And you want to use this world that the droid stumbled onto,” Aunlood said as he put the pieces together. “A buffer force to make the Hegemony stay their hands and to allow us to build our forces!”
“The others want to use that planet and its resources. I do not. In fact, I would very much prefer to Uplift one or two of the more open Isolationist Enclave species. I do not want to have to deal with bringing a primitive race like the humans into the greater galactic fold at this time.”
The Ranga flinched back at the tone of bitterness Xenovida displayed.
“But, regardless of my wants, your product landing on a Class C planet has given the Uplifter faction a reason to go ahead with their plan. Their argument is that it is better to approach them now so we can run damage control and obtain a new pawn. Still, the one positive side on my end is that Central Bureaucracy continues to drag its feet when it comes to getting anything approved, and for now we all play the waiting game.”
Xenovida stood and held out her hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Aunlood. I hope to have you and your company’s continued support in dealing with this matter. In the event we are forced to mobilize a response of any kind, I look forward to working with you again.”
Aunlood rose gratefully from the terrible chair his posterior had been trapped in for the last ten minutes or so. He shook her hand and bowed before leaving the office his mind whirling with thoughts. This whole situation had just gotten bigger, and now he had politics on his hands even worse than before.
Still, one question kept dancing through his mind: how did the Chairperson-Elect know the name of the species the droid was with?
Chapter 14
“And in entertainment news, Charma Karzenk’s latest single, ‘Nebula Lovers,’ hit number one in the charts despite the song being significantly different from the usual upbeat and peppy material the Angel of Sound has produced before. However, most beings claim the mournful and longing tones and nature of the song about two lovers separated by fathomless distance deeply touched their emotions, and many critics are saying this is her best work in a while.”
“At the moment, the idol has been unavailable for comment, citing a need to prepare for her next event…”
The fish-like reporter on the vid-screen continued to blabber on
about her next appearances, possible lovers, and a slew of other relatively inane prattle. The noise filled the luxurious penthouse apartment like a backdrop, or a piece of furniture. Charma could barely bother to keep her attention on it, and only her manager seemed to be listening intently.
Like a cross between a weasel and a lynx with pinkish fur, the Myunen grinned smugly as beings discussed Charma on the exo-net and vid-channels.
“You’ve done it again, Charma! I was worried that your vacation might have dulled your work ethic, but my concerns were unfounded! You’re ratings haven’t been this high since you won your first Stellar Song award.”
“Uh-huh, really? That’s good,” the Dren murmured. Her manager looked up to examine his client.
For a while now she’d had a distant look and a dreamy aura clinging to her. This had helped her publicity following the release of her song, but it was clear to the space cat that Charma’s mind was somewhere unrelated to her job.
Kathur frowned. Charma was a good girl and an even better client. No drugs, no illicit sexual adventures or major scandals. She lived clean and was marketed as a role model for young females across the Planetary Alliance. Even when her numbers dropped she was still a popular figure for upstanding moral conduct.
Yet something had changed since her trip to the spa in the Kalam System. She came back lovesick; he had no idea how to handle her when she was like this.
“So, Charma, I’m curious about this person you keep thinking of. Must be someone special to captivate you so,” Kathur said, hoping to get her to open up.
“What? Why would you imagine I was thinking about him?” Charma demanded, crest flaring indignantly. The Myunen raised an eye ridge. Interesting.
“I never mentioned gender, Charma.”
The Dren blinked rapidly while her crest flattened down to her head. “I mean, um…”
“It seems I was correct to assume you met someone while on vacation. And they’re clearly in your thoughts given how you’ve been very distant and aloof recently.” Kathur leaned over to Charma, folding his paws in front of him.
“Is your mystery lover a celebrity you encountered there? Or perhaps one of the workers at the spa? I only ask because I’m worried about you, Charma.”
“Yes, worried,” the idol said with a roll of her eyes, a trait she had picked up from Zane. “Don’t worry, Kath, so what if I made a close friend?”
Her manager’s whiskers twitched in surprise. Only a few species did that particular gesture with their ocular orbs. Most of them mammalian. His people could not, the eyes of the Myun being too large to do so, but neither did the Dren. They could, it just wasn’t something they did.
“Close enough to copy facial tics?” Kathur inquired. The look of astonishment on his clients face was priceless. He discreetly took a snapshot of it with his personal multi-pad for later use. The marketing team could do something with it. Perhaps one of those commercials where a being is really surprised by a product? Yes, that sounded like a good plan.
“I don’t know what we are,” Charma admitted at last, slumping on her specially designed couch for quadrupeds. “We met completely by accident, and hit it off. I really can’t explain our relationship, and I doubt he can either. My parents think it’s love. I personally am not sure.”
“Yes, I can see why you’d not take their advice to heart,” Kathur said with a sympathetic frown. Charma’s mother could be excitable when it came to her daughter. Not to mention she seemed the sort to demand grandchildren.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter too much,” her manager stated after some thought. “While you’ve been more flighty than usual, it has not affected your work. Rather, it’s made you surprisingly more creative. Still it would be remiss of me to not do a thorough background check on any potential love interests. For the sake of your image, of course.”
“That might be hard,” Charma said slowly.
“Oh dear. Please tell me they aren’t an illegal immigrant from the Hegemony, or an intergalactic criminal.”
“He’s kinda-sorta living in an Isolationist Enclave?” Charma replied sweetly, flashing her manager a forced smile.
“Of course he is. Why would he be anywhere else?” Kathur grumbled. “I assume you have some method of communicating with him, correct? I’d like to speak with him soon. At their convenience, of course.”
“I’ll see what I can do. His system doesn’t have a comms-relay so he has to rely on his droid,” Charma said.
“Droid?” the Myun asked, tilting his head.
“He’s a beta-tester for Crown Corps.’ latest stuff. You know, the personal droids and automated intergalactic delivery service?” Charma explained, waving a hand at the vid-screen which was now conveniently playing a commercial for the latter.
“Interesting.” This raised some questions, but also opportunities. This lover was definitely somebeing to look into.
“Achoo!”
“Say it, don’t spray it,” Rob uttered, having barely dodged the sneeze from the human.
“I don’t think that’s how the saying is supposed to work,” Zane replied, sniffling a bit. He’d felt sluggish earlier and his head felt like it was full of cottage cheese.
A quick zap from the medi-scanner confirmed his suspicions. The dreaded common cold had struck again!
“Don’t care, I still find your organic frailties disgusting,” the droid retorted.
“Love ya too, little guy,” Zane snarked, rolling his eyes. “Still, kind of sucks that not even your futuristic space medicine can cure this illness.”
“I still cannot understand that! There are millions of illnesses that exist, and only a few remain incurable. Even cancer is slowly dying out as Star-Helix keeps improving their gene therapy! Deaths from contagions are common only on frontier and colony worlds that have yet to fully establish proper medical facilities! And yet in all the universe no other species suffers from such a bizarre ailment as this ‘Common Cold!’ And it never fully goes away, it just nestles inside you and pops out whenever you get weak! It’s like your species has gained a form of symbiosis with this constantly evolving yet mostly benign sickness! How?! It makes no sense!”
Rob buzzed angrily, the sound setting the human’s teeth on edge and the glass to vibrate.
“Careful, Rob. Don’t overheat thinking about this.”
“Your ‘Common Cold’ is not a pathogen, not in the ordinary sense. It is an intrinsic part of your nature as a ‘human.’ When you get sick, you don’t infect others with your coughing or sneezing. Instead, you pass on tiny little packets of DNA that ‘wake up’ the virus that already lie dormant in other people,” Rob lectured, still trying to process the data itself.
“This illness then weakens you drastically but upon recovery your body is better. Improved, in fact. It’s not by much, but every time a human comes down with a ‘cold,’ their genetics and body chemistry alters just a tiny bit so future infections from other sources are not as volatile and overall they’re healthier. Only a few humans get worse after a cold or obtain no benefit from this. And this somehow carries over to other, more deadly, diseases.”
“I’m still not seeing the problem.” Zane proceeded to blow his nose which made the droid wobble in stifled irritation.
“What I am trying to say, Zane, is that no other species in the Planetary Alliance’s records is able to build immunities to diseases like humans do. Immunity and resistance to toxins, yes, but somehow your species defies conventional medicine in the intergalactic community.”
“That’s pretty neat, actually. First chocolate, which the medi-scanner claims all member species of the Alliance can eat without ill effect, and now our super-bodies. Humanity is pretty awesome,” the sick human said before coughing wetly.
“Just drink your soup,” Rob instructed.
“What soup?”
A ‘ding!’ from the kitchen was just barely heard from the bedroom Zane was confined to. He looked over at his metallic friend with a knowing, and also thank
ful, smile.
“Cooking is hardly rocket science, and I believe I have done an adequate job providing a nourishing meal,” Rob declared as it floated off to fetch the microwaved soup.
“Thank you, Rob. You’re a true friend.”
If the droid could blush Zane was certain it would have. The coder chuckled at that thought but immediately regretted it as a coughing fit came up.
“Mind showing me some commercials?” Zane inquired as he sipped at the chicken flavored broth. It was an excellent canned vintage of supermarket soup, perfect for colds and the lazy bachelor.
“Certainly. But try to sneeze away from the screen, please,” Rob pleaded before projecting the holographic interface. Zane glanced over the selections before tapping one that looked like it might relate to energy.
This assumption was based on the lightning bolt icon the ad displayed.
“Do you want cheap, second-hand energy? Then look no further!”
Zane visibly recoiled from the screen as the accent of the four armed brown skinned being hit him. The male’s (gender slapped with several question marks) voice was a combination of American Deep South and a fast talking used car salesman. It was off putting in a way the coder could not fully comprehend. Was it the city slicker in him that recoiled violently from the speaker’s voice, or was it the sleaze he could practically feel dripping from his lipless mouth?
“Here at Croop’s Nukes, we stock all sorts of nuclear devices and safety equipment! From low-maintenance Sculdori Solid Fuel Injectors, to high-powered Myunen Miniature Stars, and we even have vintage collector’s edition Turgeln nuclear missiles. We have it all! Come on down to our Rad-Shielded warehouse-bunker on Janon Prime’s moon and browse our extensive selection! And if you buy a reactor-core now, we’ll throw in a Nova-Tech Mark III Radiation Suit, absolutely free!”
“What the heck was that thing?” Zane asked, pointing his spoon at the figure in the commercial as if it might back the monster back.
“That ‘thing’ was a Croon, one of the more unusual of the Planetary Alliance’s member species,” Rob explained as it accessed the Pan-Galactic Encyclopedia. “The Croon earned their membership by stumbling upon an old deep space dump for old spaceships and assorted junk. The Croon then reverse engineered all of the Alliance’s old discarded tech and essentially became the equivalent of trash raiding pirates.”