Theirs_Found and Claimed

by Ashe Barker

  The metallic monotone fills the control deck. “Affirmative, sir. New coordinates input. Estimated journey time to new destination, point three seven helio-cycles.”

  * * *

  Kellgaric is a moon orbiting the much larger, uninhabited planet, Arfen. Our scans tell us that the atmospheric and gravitational conditions on the moon’s surface are near enough identical to those on Fyorli. The population numbers something in excess of seventeen thousand humanoid inhabitants, and whilst Fyorlian markers can be detected in all populated locations, there is a clear concentration in the region close to the northern pole of the small world. Luca takes over the controls and guides the Zephyrean into a high orbit as we assess how to approach this.

  “Will they know that we are here?” I clutch Luca’s shoulder as he manipulates the controls. “What if they open fire? They might think we intend to attack them.”

  He frowns at the screens on the control panel. “There’s evidence of advanced technology, communications in particular, but no space presence. No satellites, and no weaponry capable of doing us any significant damage.”

  “Well, not from here anyway,” observes Sylvan. “But we’ll need to get in close to make contact.”

  “Can we transmit a greeting sequence, ask permission to land?” I wonder. “They might be happy to see us.”

  “Worth a try,” agrees Luca. “And they have an abundance of digital traffic down on the surface so they probably have equipment capable of receiving our transmission. I suggest you configure it in your native language, since there’s a possibility they may recognise that if they’re Fyorlian.”

  “What should I say?” Now that the moment is here I have no idea how to start.

  “Well,” he grins at me, “the traditional greeting is ‘We come in peace. Take me to your leader.’”

  That sounds perfect to me, just right for this occasion. I take over the communications array and transmit that message.

  Please identify.

  The two words appear on our screens almost immediately.

  “So far, so good,” mutters Sylvan. “At least they’re not firing arrows at us.”

  “Arrows? What are these?” I ask, bewildered.

  “Never mind,” Sylvan replies. “You need to answer them.”

  I consider for a few moments, then transmit another message.

  This is the Zephyrean. We originate from Earth, in the Virgo cluster, and from Fyorli, in the Patreaos Quadrant. We are in orbit around your moon and request permission to enter your atmosphere and land.

  The response is almost instantaneous.

  For what purpose?

  I think for a few moments then send our response. I hope they will be reassured. We have no hostile intent. We are seeking information.

  What information?

  I start to formulate another response but abandon the attempt. Instead I settle for something simple.

  Please, we just want to talk. Please.

  Long moments pass. The screen remains blank.

  “Should I send another message, try to explain about Fyorli, and—?”

  Permission granted. Welcome to Kellgaric.

  * * *

  “A penal colony? You were all convicts?” I gape at the governor, a small, mild-mannered individual who has extended to us the hospitality of her residence for the duration of our stay.

  There were a few difficult exchanges when Sylvan, Luca, and I first emerged from the Zephyrean into the muted solar light of this planet to be greeted by a crowd of curious Kellgarians who fired questions at us in a tongue we could not decipher. Luca was on it straight away and our on-board translators were brought into use. Luca was able to implement a link to the existing communications technology on the planet and we understood each other perfectly.

  The governor’s Fyorlian heritage is evident in the metallic sheen to her hair, and the prominent markings that adorn her neck and shoulders. Her irises, though, glow with a soft lilac, the more common eye colour among Kellgarians.

  She smiles at me. “Some of our ancestors were, certainly, though several generations have passed since then. Now, we prefer to consider ourselves a peaceful and harmonious community.”

  I cannot disagree with her assessment. All that we have seen of this world bears out her claim. Though not especially isolationist and clearly not unaware of other species beyond their own world, Kellgaric is a self-sufficient planet, fertile soil and some apparent skill in agriculture yielding abundant resources to keep the population well fed. They have mineral deposits and sufficient technical ability to create the tools to make their labour light and their produce plentiful. Many individuals bear the features that speak of their Fyorlian ancestry, though the customs of my home world have not, it seems, been adopted here. The community mixes freely, and they are a sensual, uninhibited race. Children are everywhere, their high, shrill voices to be heard from every direction.

  I am baffled, my head whirling with questions. I settle for the one uppermost in my mind. “Tell me, if you would, how did Fyorlians came to find this planet?”

  The governor bestows her quiet smile on me. “That history is recorded, and we have images of those original Arrivers if you would like to see those.”

  “I would, yes.”

  “Come, we shall go to our Remembrance Hall.”

  Luca and Sylvan accompany us in the swift little surface craft that transports us from the governor’s residence to an imposing edifice several kilometres away. She explains that it is the tradition on Kellgaric to immortalise the dead by preserving an image of the deceased person. These are kept in a revered location and the relatives of those who have passed may visit to remember their lost loved ones.

  All the original ‘Arrivers’ as the Fyorlian newcomers were termed by the indigenous people are long dead, but they were liked and respected on this planet. Their memory is honoured and their descendants remain. She requests that we speak in hushed tones whilst in the Remembrance Hall, and gestures us to precede her through the ornate entrance. Once inside our host guides us to a chamber where holographic technology displays the images of perhaps three hundred Fyorlians, all males. I wander among them, peering up into faces so familiar yet alien to me. It has been many helio-cycles since I last saw a Fyorlian male.

  “How many…?” I ask.

  “Three hundred and fifty-four,” replies the governor. “Or that was the number by the time they arrived here. I believe there were almost double that number when their journey commenced. They arrived on our planet perhaps fifty seasons ago…” She pauses, and does a rapid mental calculation. “I believe that would be approximately one hundred and thirty-four helio-cycles in your timekeeping system. They had been travelling for several years following the destruction of their world.”

  “They told you about that?”

  She bows her head in assent. “The majority had been found guilty of violent crimes and banished to a small prison world which narrowly missed being destroyed in the meteor strike. From there they witnessed the death of their home planet, and knew that their own end would soon follow as their colony had no natural resources. They found themselves trapped on a barren lump of rock from which they had to escape, or perish. There were guards, and some of those resisted the escape plan, though most threw in their lot with the prisoners. They all faced the same predicament, after all. They used what transport they had, small supply ships I understand, and used those to mount raids on Krysorian outposts. That was a neighbouring world, enemies of Fyorli.”

  “Yes, I know of Krysorus. Please, continue.”

  “The ex-prisoners were both violent and ruthless, and their guards heavily armed. By joining forces they were able to seize weaponry and more spacecraft from the Krysorians, bigger, capable of extended flight. As soon as they acquired the necessary resources they left the Patreaos Quadrant in search of a place to settle, a host community which they might colonise.”

  “And they found you?”

  “Yes, eventually, though they
suffered much hardship on the way. They encountered many hostile races, some of their number perished, but half of them managed to survive. By the time they found Kellgaric they were much weakened, their numbers depleted. They wanted to stop, to settle here.”

  “So, they conquered your planet?”

  The governor shakes her head. “No, there was no bloodshed. Rather as you did, they asked if they could land here. Then they requested our agreement to remain, promising to inhabit territory far away from our settlements in the more remote areas of our planet. We saw no reason to object as there is ample room for all of us here and plenty of food, and at first that arrangement worked. But before long the Arrivers were mixing with our population, in particular the females. They were attractive males, soon the offspring started to appear…”

  “Attractive males?” I gaze around me at the images that fill this entire hall. “Yes, I can see that. And, they were interested in mating with your females?”

  “Oh, yes,” agrees the governor, “They were exceptionally interested in that. It did not take long for them to become fully integrated into our communities.”

  Sylvan looks thoughtful. He has something to say, I know it. I raise my eyebrow enquiringly.

  “Do you recall when you described to us about the phase, and the reactions of other Fyorlians to your sexuality?”

  I shift, uncomfortable to be discussing such a thing before the governor, though she does not seem unduly troubled by the turn the conversation has taken. I manage a brief nod, and Sylvan continues.

  “You said that males who behaved ‘inappropriately,’ by which I take it you mean those who displayed any sort of sexual response, were considered to be criminals and confined in penal colonies. Right?”

  “Yes,” I agree, his meaning now starting to dawn on me. “You think these males, the Arrivers, were of that type?”

  “Well, yes. It does sound like it. On Fyorli they were considered abnormal, deviant, but when disaster struck they were the only ones to survive. That was pure chance, but what happened after wasn’t. They were determined and resourceful, and possessed the right biological configuration to enable them to continue the species. I’d say that because of them the Fyorlian race is not so much extinct as it has evolved. Your species survived in a new form. It’s here, and it’s thriving.”

  I gaze at him, my eyes brimming with tears. He is right. Kellgaric became the new home for my species. They will always be here.

  “Governor, you say that the Arrivers became integrated into your society? There was no tension? No discord?”

  “I do not say that it was always easy. Their ways were very different from ours, but they were determined to be accepted here and Kellgaric has always been a peaceful society. They compromised, as did we. We learned to live together and the Arrivers became established across our world though the majority remained in this vicinity. It was a good arrangement, better than the initial segregation. They were able to find the safety they craved, build a new home for themselves, start new families. The Arrivers were happy here, I believe, and we were pleased to welcome them. They brought with them technology, especially engineering, which aided our industries, and communications. Our health care now owes much to the knowledge they shared with us. They had many skills and fine qualities and proved an asset on our world. They could have shared their space flight capability too, but we did not desire that. Perhaps, someday, we will explore what lies beyond our skies, but the time is not right for that, not yet, not for us.”

  “What happened to their ship?” Sylvan asks. “The one they arrived here in?”

  “It is still here, sited a few kilometres from the city in the spot where they landed. We have never sought to move it, and now it remains, preserved as a monument to their history and to ours. Would you like to see that also?”

  “We would. Thank you.”

  Luca recognises the old spacecraft. He tells us that it was a Brellian freighter, originally constructed on one of the inhabited planets in the Orion cluster. The renegade, nomadic Fyorlians must have stolen it at some stage in their epic trek across the galaxies and used it to complete their journey. It was a huge vessel, though basic. Luca describes it as a workhorse, and powered by technology long obsolete. It will not fly again.

  The governor is sanguine at this news. “That is of no consequence to us since we would not wish to use it. The Arrivers’ ship is precious to us as a memorial to those who came here. We will develop our own capabilities, perhaps more speedily now since I confess your arrival has heightened our awareness of the universe and galaxies which still await our exploration. Perhaps someday…”

  “I have a ship.” I blurt out the announcement almost before thinking about it, but once out there the idea seems so right to me, the natural course to take.

  “You do? I do not understand. Do you refer to the vessel now attracting such fascinated attention on the outskirts of our capital?”

  I shake my head. “No, the Zephyrean is not mine. At least, not wholly. I do possess a Fyorlian vessel however, and this is still in automated orbit around your planet. It is all that remains of my world, my previous existence…”

  “Ah, then you must—”

  “No!” I cut off the governor’s polite refusal. “No, please hear me out. I had thought to offer the ship for sale, but I find I have no enthusiasm for that and since I am no longer in need of the credits I might raise from the trade I would prefer not to pursue such a course. My alternative, or so I thought, was to find a location in which to store the Renascient, and I had hoped perhaps to preserve it as a memorial rather as you have done here. But Fyorli is gone, and there is nowhere else in the universe that seems the correct, the appropriate location, a place where the significance of such a monument would be appreciated. Or I thought there was not, until now.”

  I pause. The governor is peering at me curiously. Luca and Sylvan wait in silence, though I am sure they know what I am about to suggest. I plough on. “If you would agree, I would like to leave my craft here, in your keeping. Fyorli continues to thrive here on your world and I know our heritage will be in safe hands. We can leave you the technical data also, and if you wish you could operate the ship and start those explorations. Or you could use her to study the technology and adapt that to your own needs. It would aid your research, your development…”

  I allow my words to trail off as I regard the governor anxiously. What if she refuses? What if they prefer not to contaminate their utopian world with yet more Fyorlian debris? What if—?

  “We would be honoured.”

  “You would?” I squeeze my hands into fists and I beam at her. “You would agree to this?”

  She bows her head to me. “We hope to be worthy of your trust, but I can assure you we will do all in our power to safeguard your legacy. Your property will be well cared for, and she will be here for you should you wish to return.”

  “Thank you! I will, we will. I know we will.” I turn to my two human mates. “We will be back, surely?”

  Suddenly this is of supreme importance to me. Fyorli is gone, and her people too. I believed I was the only remaining Fyorlian, but I was wrong. Everything has changed, Fyorli has evolved. The handful of my people who survived the disaster moved on and despite all their hardships they found a new home on Kellgaric. This unassuming little planet welcomed them and they put down new roots here.

  I am a traveller, I know that and I will remain with my mates when we leave here. I love our nomadic existence and I love my human males, but I too have roots. I want to sink them here, in this rich soil. And I do want to come back.

  “Surely,” agrees Sylvan.

  “Oh, yes,” concurs Luca. “You bet. And while we’re presuming on your good nature, Governor, do you suppose you might be able to accept another Arriver? A four-legged one. Eric will be very well behaved, I promise.”

  Epilogue

  Llianna

  “It’s a good offer. A fucking magnificent offer.”

  “You�
�d be a fool to turn it down.”

  I look from Sylvan to Luca, then back again. They are right, I know it. Professor of Stellar Antiquities in the prestigious Academy of Intergalactic Heritage. The post became unexpectedly vacant following the untimely death of the previous incumbent, and the authorities here in the Milky Way have offered it to me.

  Me!

  It seems my unique origins, coupled with my experience of space travel and expertise in archaeological exploration renders me the perfect candidate. The job is mine if I want it.

  “I cannot.” I lower my gaze, ready for the onslaught of protest. My males never hold back when they think they know what is good for me. On this occasion, however, they seem uncharacteristically reticent.

  “Explain, if you would.” Sylvan tips my chin up with his fingers. “And make it good.”

  “The role will require that I remain here. I do not wish it.”

  “You will need to spend more time in this solar system than you’ve been used to,” agrees Luca. “But it won’t be too bad. You know you can’t spend all your life skipping back and forth across the universe.”

  “Oh. I believe I can.” I fix him with what I hope is a determined glare. It is a look I have sought to cultivate in the three helio-cycles I have been with these domineering males since rarely do I get a word in once they adopt their alpha stance.

  “Uh oh, I know that expression,” observes Sylvan, his grin unusually indulgent. I am not fooled. They will spank me for turning down this wonderful opportunity, perhaps even cane me, or they would have.

  I am to have a child, it appears, and they seem to believe me to be somewhat delicate since they learnt this news. They are wrong of course but spankings are off the agenda for the duration of my pregnancy. I do not doubt they will devise a suitable substitute in order to assert their will over me but I shall withstand their discipline. The alternative is much more terrible. I cannot be parted from them.