Tempest: Book Two of the Terran Cycle

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  From somewhere above came the sound of a single burst of applause. The singular clap sent a chill through Kalian’s body. It was the sound of a person who had no problem being in the spotlight, despite the danger the four humans presented. This kind of confidence could only come from The Laronian. The clap was soon followed by a deep laughter that sounded as if it had been produced by a robot.

  “Of all the bars on all the planets in all the galaxy... welcome, welcome auspicious guests! Everybody OUT! ” The balcony on the opposite side of the club was occupied by a row of thugs, with one individual in the middle, his arms outstretched.

  The man was dressed in an expensive white suit with an unusual helmet covering his entire head and face. It was smooth and sleek, matching The Laronian head shape, only it had no space for eyes or a mouth, but was instead one whole piece. Its most hypnotic feature came from the display that danced across the entire dome. Looking at the Laronian was like looking into a swirling spiral galaxy, made to appear in the centre of the head, surrounded by stars.

  Esabelle landed next to Li’ara without a sound, having jumped from the vertical walkway. The unusual welcome from the crime-lord was off putting, forcing the small group back together.

  “Out, out, out, out, out, OUT!” His voice was filtered through the helmet, disguising more of his identity. With that, the Nix DJ pushed the Laronian off his platform with one of its many pointed legs, and scuttled over the bar. “Why are people still HERE?” The Laronian slammed both of his palms onto the rail, as the occupants scrambled over each other to leave as quickly as possible. “Come, won’t you join me for a drink?”

  “This is unexpected,” Esabelle commented to the group.

  “Not really, he’s not exactly what you’d call... stable.” Roland downed another drink off the bar.

  Telarrek stood, mesmerised by the beautiful colours of the different nebulas that played out across Gommarian’s observation deck. The old Novaarian had programmed the holographic walls to display some of the systems the ancient ship had passed through, on its long journey searching for Earth. The alternative was to stand and observe the abyss of sub-space they were travelling through.

  Without a sound, his youngest hatchling appeared by his side, solemn and grave as ever. Naydaalan was half-a-foot smaller than his father, but most certainly faster and stronger having gone through the vigorous training to become a Protector.

  “We’re approaching the Ch’ket system, Ambassador. Ilyseal is helping to gather the humans and pack up their belongings.” The exotic nebulas failed to capture the young Novaarian’s imagination, it seemed.

  “Formality is not required here. We are alone, hatchling.” Telarrek noticed his son’s hesitation to speak freely, not as Protector to the Ambassador but as a son to a father.

  “What do you see in them, father?” Naydaalan looked up at him. “Why would you do so much for the humans?”

  “They are fresh eyes in an old kingdom...” Telarrek watched as new stars were formed inside the ancient purple nebula. “They have questions about our way of life that we should be asking ourselves. The Conclave is not perfect, hatchling. Its foundation is built on equality and transparency between the races. But we both know it is not. We are governed by five of the twelve races because we have deemed ourselves the rightful rulers on account of our contributions.” He stopped talking after that, aware of his inner most thoughts rising to the surface. It wasn’t fair to expose his hatchling to rebellious thoughts and it certainly wasn’t appropriate for an ambassador of the Highclave.

  “You believe the humans can bring about change?” Naydaalan remained fixed on his father.

  “I don’t know. I only know that change is needed, and we have both witnessed the power of Kalian and Esabelle. Humanity’s potential is overwhelming...”

  “Some would see it as threatening,” Naydaalan countered, his eyes following a streaming comet.

  Telarrek felt a moment of pride swell within him. He had left his family for centuries in his mission to observe Earth, but he could see now that Naydaalan had become everything he dreamed. The young Novaarian was starting to see the board from all sides. The politics of the Conclave could swallow most whole with its intricacy.

  “The humans have a saying, ‘we fear what we do not know’.” Telarrek let the words sink in before continuing. “It would appear we have more in common with them than we thought. Whether we like it or not, the nature of the universe chose their species to thrive before any of ours. That has to mean something, Naydaalan. I believe there is something coming for us, something worse than the Gomar. Our people need shaking from their apathy if we are to combat it. If we are to survive.”

  “I should have gone with her, with them I mean...” Naydaalan dropped his head.

  Telarrek closed his mouth before the question could be asked. His hatchling had shown little love for the humans in the time he had spent with them, but now it seemed his attachment to their kind was perhaps down to one individual. He decided to drop the subject and leave Naydaalan to make up his own mind.

  “Whatever they do next will have a ripple effect for those aboard this ship. We must remain by their side to offer guidance to Captain Fey and Uthor. They will be scared by this new move, on both sides. For now our place is here. We must trust Kalian to do what must be done for the benefit of us all.”

  Telarrek felt guilty for his open affection towards mankind. He knew it was affection he should be giving to his family and the society that raised him. But he had always known the system was flawed and in need of renewal. Perhaps that was why he got into politics in the first place; who knew?

  “What can be done about High Charge Uthor?” Naydaalan asked.

  “If I know Uthor he is already looking into this from every angle. I believe the Highclave would like him to be a blunt instrument through which they wield Conclave security. But Uthor did not rise to his rank without a great deal of intelligence. He has an investigative mind and a deeper curiosity that most would not suspect in him. We have given him our theories and what evidence we have but, more than that, I believe Kalian’s recent actions have shown the humans to have an unwavering resolve and belief in what they are fighting for, something every Raalak has forgotten in our age of accomplishments.”

  “Well said.” The familiar yet alarming voice of ALF came from behind the Novaarians. The A.I. stood in the centre of the observation deck as if he had always been there.

  “You are here..?” Naydaalan sounded confused.

  “Correct.”

  “But you are with Kalian...”

  “Correct again, Naydaalan. Such are the benefits of not being tied to one body, though I am more of an echo to what remains with Kalian.” ALF stood perfectly still. There was something missing in his demeanour. The image before them lacked the flair and animation that usually accompanied his every word. It was often hard to remember that he wasn’t a real human when in his company.

  “What are you doing here, ALF?” Telarrek closed the gap between them.

  “What is left of my makers is about to be relocated without the protection of this ship. I felt it only prudent that I take steps to ensure they are well taken care of.”

  “What you are really saying is that you want to maintain control of the Gommarian.” Telarrek’s assumption had no effect on ALF.

  “Being any part of this ship is the last thing I wanted, but I will do what I must to ensure the completion of my mission, Ambassador.”

  “And what is that exactly?” Naydaalan had the same scepticism in his voice as Li’ara when she spoke to the A.I.

  “The same as every species,” ALF replied. “Survival...”

  Doctor Bal took one last look at the clear blue sky, knowing he wouldn’t see it again for some time. The Trillik whipped his twin tail, not entirely comfortable with the confines of his new lab. He stood on the square platform, the only artificial construction on the planet, and listened to the ocean lap against the solitary landing pad. The whole w
orld was consumed with water, its only land in the form of two polar icecaps. Doctor Bal was aware of the storm coming in from the west and knew he wouldn’t survive if he stayed out to greet it.

  The Translift rose out of the flat platform behind him with his assistant inside, waiting for him. The young Atari presented him with a tablet displaying the live readouts from the eleven stasis pods. All the occupants were now in their new cells, sleeping in their Terran machines, blissfully unaware of the prison in which they resided.

  “Thank you, Gelda.” Doctor Bal watched the numbers plummet on the Translift wall.

  The unnamed base was a simple cylinder that connected the surface of the ocean to the inhospitable bedrock. Every level had been fitted with enough explosives to obliterate the structure and everything inside it. The pressure of the depths alone would crush the majority of the base if it was ever compromised. Not that it mattered, Doctor Bal thought, for the planet had been chosen because it was an island in the ocean of the galaxy. Even if the prisoners escaped and survived the destruction of the base, the water planet would entomb them indefinitely.

  “The new labs are almost complete, sir.” Gelda highlighted a new tab on the display.

  Extra labs and workshops were currently being retrofitted to accommodate the new prisoners. It had originally been designed to hold only one occupant, and even then they had been unsure as to how much experimenting they would be able to do. But these new occupants were unconscious and would offer no resistance.

  “Excellent!” Doctor Bal rubbed his green hands together. “We have work to do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A black glove covered The Laronian’s slender hand as he massaged the side of his unusual mask, creating a vibrating hum with every flex of the fingers. He sat with his legs crossed on one of the many sofas sprawled throughout the expansive platform. It was impossible to tell what he was looking at as he surveyed the four humans standing on the other side of the low table.

  Kalian could practically smell the fear coming off the surrounding guards, their weapons held tightly in their hands. Their nervous trigger fingers kept him alert and ready for any surprises. With the flick of a finger, Kalian knew he could disable all the electronics in the room, including their guns.

  The humans looked at one another in confusion as The Laronian sat in awkward silence, making no attempt to communicate.

  “You mentioned something about a drink,” Roland said expectantly. He was the only one who took the offered chair.

  The Laronian’s head tilted, turning on Roland with an unknown expression, “Don’t tell me you came all this way just for a drink, Mr North.” The crime lord had taken a serious tone, putting the group on edge. “I thought you wanted to know about Protocorps...”

  “What can you tell us?” Li’ara asked pointedly.

  After Roland’s description of the crime lord, it came as no surprise that he already possessed many of the facts.

  “Why would I tell you is a better question.” The Laronian placed his feet across the hovering glass table. Kalian could feel the composition of the material and was shocked to discover the shoes were made from Brenine.

  “What do you want?” Esabelle appeared casual in her body language, but Kalian could feel the dense atoms covering her body like a suit of armour.

  The Laronian jumped out of his seat and stalked round the group of humans, his gloved hand slipping over Kalian’s armour before running it through Li’ara’s hair. When he reached Roland The Laronian took a step back, drawing his hands into himself.

  “Does that exceptional vessel of yours possess a shower?” The Laronian turned to the nearest guard. “Get him a drink and burn the chair when we’re finished.”

  The Novaarian nodded and disappeared behind the private bar at the back of the room.

  “What do I want, what do I want?” The Laronian scraped his fingers over the top of his mask as if he were putting his hand through hair. “I want to know what the big deal is with these cubes that keep getting everyone’s pants in a twist. I want to know why there’s one inside the A.I. mainframe. I mean seriously, what’s it doing in there? I want to know how the Gommarian cube turned a puny human being into a killing machine. But most of all, I want to meet him.”

  “Meet who?” Esabelle asked.

  “The oldest guy in the room, of course!” The Laronian’s hands flew into the air.

  Kalian looked at the others with more confusion. He was clearly talking about meeting ALF but how he knew of the A.I. was a mystery. They had only recently divulged his existence to the highest echelon of the Conclave.

  To Kalian’s annoyance, the ancient intelligence projected himself into the room. Kalian promised he would find a way to control that aspect of his suit later.

  The Laronian’s hands dashed out as if to probe the hologram. It was clear to see his excitement without actually seeing his expression. ALF remained quiet while the crime lord made a circle around him, distorting the image for a moment as he came between Kalian and ALF.

  “How old are you?” The Laronian asked.

  “It’s a number you’ve never thought of.” ALF was showing off again.

  “Ha, he’s got attitude. I LIKE it!” His domed head turned to Kalian. “How do I get one?” The Laronian practically danced round the A.I. “Oh, the things you must know, the knowledge you possess must be infinite! Together, you and I could accomplish wonderful things Mr... ALF is it?”

  “I’m going to be honest,” ALF replied. “I can’t tell if you want to rule this galaxy or cripple it.”

  The crime lord laughed. “I already rule it. I just want to have a little fun!”

  “We don’t have time for this.” Li’ara stepped forward. “Every Nova-Class battle ship in the galaxy will know we’re here by now!”

  “Every Nova-Class battle-ship blah blah blah...” The Laronian mocked. “What do you take me for? No transmissions get off this Arc without my say so. No one knows you’re here.”

  “We need to find Garrett Jones and that cube.” Kalian tried to guide the conversation. “I don’t know what you want but we have little time and even less resources.”

  “For a being of immense power you’re awfully serious. It’s quite boring.” The Laronian intercepted the bright pink cocktail off the Novaarian’s tray before Roland could reach it. The bounty hunter ground his teeth but remained in his seat. “If you want to find him you need to follow the money, and Protocorps’ money is everywhere!”

  “How do you know Protocorps is involved?” ALF asked. “You have proof?” The A.I.’s tone suggested he was angling for information.

  “We live in a golden age of information... and receipts.” The Laronian shrugged. “I have all the right people in all the right places, perfect for following the crumbs all the way back to Protocorps’ fat accounts. A spectacular amount of money is being funnelled through shell companies into something in the Helteron Cluster. Something big...”

  “So is Jones there or not?” Roland had his own feet resting on the table. He was trying to be casual and uncaring about their situation, but Kalian could hear his heart beating faster and feel the individual cells coursing through his veins. The bounty hunter was ready for a fight.

  “It’s the one place I don’t have eyes and ears, and since I can’t find him anywhere else I assume Mr Jones has found refuge there.” The Laronian turned on Roland. “And speak again in a tone I don’t approve, Roland, and your evolved friends here won’t even move fast enough to save you.”

  Kalian held back a smile at the bounty hunter’s silence.

  “Why are you helping us?” Li’ara folded her arms tight.

  “You need to open those pretty little pink ears of yours, Miss Ducarté. Knowledge keeps my enterprise alive, and right now I feel like there’s a conspiracy going on under my very nose, and I’m-not-getting-a-cut. By helping you to expose whatever Protocorps has been hiding all these years, I am put back in control of the map, so to speak. So here’s what I propo
se; you two,” the Laronian flicked his head towards Kalian and Esabelle, “take the Rackham to the Helteron Cluster and confront Professor Jones to your heart’s content, while simultaneously uncovering whatever Protocorps are up to out there, and I will supply you two,” he gestured at Roland and Li’ara, “with a nice shiny ship to get you back to the capital, where you can destroy whatever’s infecting the A.I... and plant a backdoor in the redundancy mainframe.” The Laronian clapped his hands together in glee to silence Roland’s protests.

  “And why exactly are we splitting up?” Li’ara asked stubbornly.

  “And no one’s flying my ship, period.” Roland sat forward in his chair.

  “He has a point...” ALF continued round Roland and sat on the sofa. The Laronian paused to watch the unusual spectacle from the hologram, not that the light particles had any effect on the fabric. “If Professor Jones is in the Helteron Cluster, it’ll take both Kalian and Esabelle to stop him. If his actions have proven anything so far, it’s that humans are no match for him, whereas breaking into the A.I. mainframe fits right into your wheelhouse.” ALF crossed his legs and stared at Roland and Li’ara.

  Kalian observed Li’ara working her jaw as she considered the plan. It made sense and she knew it, but she didn’t like it.

  “No-one-is-flying-my-ship.” Roland stared back at the A.I. defiantly.

  “An element of stealth will be required if the Helteron Cluster is to be navigated without resistance.” The Laronian was leaning against the balcony edge, his domed head swirling hypnotically with the holographic galaxy.

  “What back-up mainframe are you talking about?” Li’ara turned to the balcony.

  “Consider it my price. The only way to separate whatever’s inside the A.I. hub is going to be with explosive force. There’s simply too much code to try and deactivate from a terminal; you’d be dead before you succeeded. When the hub is destroyed the back-up will come online. Now this redundant A.I. isn’t anywhere near as sharp as its predecessor, but it’ll keep the Conclave ticking over until Protocorps can make the necessary adjustments. Before you blow the hub to pieces, I want you to install a little back door for me.”