“Your flagships are weak, Sorth,” said the Vindicarn, slurring his words with disrespect. “Two of our disrupter ships are about to engage the probe. They will stop it.”
“They will be destroyed,” said the Arellen.
That statement, delivered with earnest regret, elicited a scowl from Cherzta. Byron tightened his grip on the table’s edge, annoyed with man’s reaction.
“You think our disrupters can’t disable the probe?”
“We sent six ships to meet the alien vessel, all armed with the Blueseth weapon,” said the Arellen. “Three were destroyed instantly, another while trying to escape. The remaining two were severely damaged. Our weapon did not even mar the surface of the ship.”
The Vindicarn leaned back in his seat, his fists on the table. Byron watched his reaction, amazed the man continued to cling to the belief his disrupters could stop the probe. The Arellens’ Blueseth weapon was the most powerful in the galaxy and they did not employ it often. If it hadn’t stopped the alien ship, no amount of firepower would make a difference.
“Cherzta, you will only be wasting resources and lives,” said Sorth, gesturing with both hands.
“We shall see,” the Vindicarn said, a smirk on his rough face.
Damned fool, thought Byron. Let the probe blow those vessels to bits. Two less Vindicarn ships we have to worry about.
“Listen to them, Cherzta,” said the Torbeth leader. “We lost a dozen vessels trying to destroy the probe.”
The Vindicarn dismissed the warning with a flick of his hand. Bile rose in Byron’s throat. If he could reach through the screen and strangle the man, he’d do it.
“Besides, we don’t know if declaring peace will stop this thing,” said the Narcon. “And the implication that our races are all connected in some manner? Preposterous!”
“The technology of the ships match,” said the Fesell leader. “We were all seeded and by a single race. They might even be our ancestors.”
The Narcon crossed his arms. “I still say it’s a ploy by the Cassan-Tgren coalition to get us to surrender.”
Beside Byron, Ubarce shifted in his chair and leaned forward.
“Considering the next target is Tgren, I hardly think so.”
“And how do you intend to stop the probe, Tgren?” said Cherzta, licking his lips in anticipation of the answer. “You don’t possess any weapons. You’re at the mercy of the Cassans.”
“We do possess one thing you don’t,” said Ubarce. “The response code to the probe.”
“That alone won’t stop it,” said the Narcon. He fidgeted in his seat and glanced at the others. He didn’t appear too sure of himself.
“It might not. But since the transmissions from both Tgren and Cassa are slightly different from the others, we might have a chance.”
The Vindicarn slammed his fist on the table. “And just how did that occur? Why would your ships transmit something different?”
Ubarce straightened his shoulders. “Because the code was downloaded into someone who proves the races can both coexist and intermingle. Someone who might be the beginning of the eleventh race.”
“And who might that be?”
I will let you answer that, Commander, Ubarce thought privately.
Clearing his throat, Byron leaned forward and rested his arm on the table. “A boy who is half Cassan, half Tgren.”
Several leaders recoiled in surprise. The Vindicarn’s sneer deepened.
“A half-breed child…” hissed Cherzta.
Anger swelled in Byron. Ubarce came to his rescue.
“We have seven children from Tgren-Cassan pairings,” said the prefect, “and I imagine there are many more from mixed parents across the galaxy. But what matters now is this one child, from two different races, who possesses the response code that can save all of us. But only if we can end these hostilities!”
Ubarce’s final words came out with great force. It had the desired effect of silencing the Vindicarn.
“It’s too late for some of us,” said the Torbeth leader. “But we will agree to end the fighting.”
The Narcon launched into another tirade, claiming peace was a veiled act of surrender. Byron ignored the man, his gaze focused on Cherzta. The man tilted his bald head to allow another Vindicarn to whisper in his ear. His eyes grew wide and he turned away from his screen, speaking quickly to the man at his side. Cherzta rubbed his brow and leaned forward. Balling up both fists, he brought them down on the table.
“Enough!”
Everyone grew still. Byron seized the moment and tapped his computer pad for the latest update. Several new bits of information appeared.
His disrupter ships were just destroyed by the probe, he thought to Ubarce.
The prefect cast Byron a quick glance before returning his attention to the leaders. Cherzta composed himself, his dark eyes full of resignation.
“Our disrupter ships,” he said, gaze on the table in front of him, “have met with failure.”
The Narcon leader shifted in his seat while the representative from Lorvendera gasped out loud. The others glanced around the room, their expressions reflecting anxiety. Only the Arellen remained collected and unaffected by the news.
The Vindicarn raised his chin, his face drawn tight and ridged. He flexed his fingers, the long digits reaching forward as if to grasp an enemy. Clamping his hands into fists, Cherzta uttered a growl.
“What are the conditions for this declaration of peace?” he spat.
Byron’s muscles relaxed. At last they were getting somewhere.
The leaders deliberated the terms of a peaceful ceasefire for another hour. Byron prompted Ubarce when necessary, but the prefect handled his responsibility with ease. The man knew how to make smart decisions. Although his junior by more than twenty years, Byron watched Ubarce with a new measure of respect. The youngest of Tgren’s leaders had earned the title of First Prefect tonight.
When a vote was taken, Byron sighed as the leaders made a unanimous decision. Now they possessed all the necessary elements to stop the probe.
“Tomorrow morning,” said the Fesell leader, “we will confer with the other scientists working on this project. We should be able to provide the steps for stopping the alien ship after that.”
“Steps?” the Narcon inquired.
“The proper procedure for conveying our declaration of peace to the probe, as well as the transmission of the code.”
Once satisfied with that decision, the screens went black one by one. Ubarce grasped the edge of the table and sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. Byron grinned at the man’s reaction and then noticed one screen remained active.
“Prefect Ubarce,” said Sorth.
The man snapped to attention at once. “Yes, sir?”
The chancellor’s face muscles relaxed into a fatherly smile. “You performed well tonight. Commander Byron informed me you were quick on your feet and strong enough to lead all of Tgren.”
“Thank you, Chancellor Sorth.”
The screen dimmed. Byron rose to his feet and prompted Ubarce to do the same. The man moved as if in a daze, his stride slow. Their escort led them into the telepod, and Byron reached out to the prefect.
You did well, he thought, patting Ubarce on the back.
The prefect smiled and held up his shaking hands. Wasn’t sure I could do it. Didn’t want to let my people down.
Byron chuckled. No, I’d say you put Cherzta in his place.
They returned to the planet’s surface and the shuttle landed at Ktren’s base first. Byron unfastened his harness and turned to the seated prefect.
“I’ll forward all reports directly to you,” he said. “Hopefully the Fesell are quick to send their findings tomorrow. I want to put this situation behind us soon.”
“As do I, Commander,” said Ubarce, gripping his harness tight. “And thank you for the opportunity. I hope the decision didn’t cause you hardship.”
Byron held his tablet closer, aware of the messages with
in that still required a response. He would be up half the night putting out fires. Considering the results of the conference though, Byron didn’t care.
“Nothing I can’t handle, Prefect Ubarce,” he said. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Explain this to me again!” demanded Byron, slamming his fist on the table. “Why does Bassan have to travel to the Vindicarn’s home world?”
Mevine jumped and reached behind him for something to grasp. The science officer’s mouth fell open and his lower lip trembled. Through the fury that beat at Byron’s chest, he caught Mevine’s genuine fear. At this point though, he didn’t care.
“S-sir,” Mevine said, pressing his body into the corner of his workstation. “The Fesell stated the delivery of the code had to come from the original source. It has to come from Bassan.”
Byron, what’s happening? thought Athee, her trembling words resounding in his head.
Furious with the situation, Byron slammed shields around his mind. I’ll let you know in a minute, he thought with more force than intended.
“Bassan isn’t the original source,” he said, hovering over Mevine. “The alien ship is!”
“Yes, but Bassan is the one who carries the code now.”
“Why? Because of speculation he’s part of an eleventh race?”
Mevine’s left hand slipped and he struggled to regain his balance. “Sir, I can’t explain it. But there was a connection between the alien ship and Bassan. The code downloaded into his mind because the computer determined Bassan was an original source.”
Anger continued to ripple through Byron’s mind. He wrestled with his thoughts, determined to regain his composure. The only sound that reached his ears was his own forced breath. Byron focused on that and reigned in his temper.
“A ten-year-old boy?” he challenged, gritting his teeth to prevent his voice from rising again.
“Sir, I haven’t had time to go over the full report. We’ve been working on the ship’s response. This morning the Fesell’s proposition was just a theory.”
“You knew Bassan would have to travel to the Vindicarn home world though?”
Mevine’s hesitation rekindled Byron’s fury.
“You knew and you didn’t inform me?” he demanded.
“Sir, I didn’t want to alarm you with what was speculation at the time,” stammered Mevine. Desperation colored his words. Please sir, I didn’t want to do that to you. Not again.
And what happens to my son when he downloads the code?
Sir, I don’t know…
Byron shook his head, his gaze on the desk. At the back of his mind, he sensed Athee’s presence. He’d let his shields slip. Although distraught, she didn’t interfere this time.
Without saying another word to Mevine, he strode from the lab. It didn’t matter what logic his science officer offered–Byron needed to go to the top.
Byron? thought Athee. What’s wrong?
Grinding his teeth, he started to block out his mate’s mental voice, but he couldn’t shield his thoughts forever. This concerned their son. She deserved to know.
I just received instructions for stopping the probe, he thought, keeping his mental voice steady so as not to alarm Athee. The response code must be sent from the alien ship on the Vindicarn’s home world.
But the code is here in Bassan. There was a pause and then a flash of panic. They want Bassan to travel to the Vindicarn’s planet?
That’s how I interpret it.
Bassan can’t go to the enemy’s planet! He’s never even been off Tgren.
Believe me, I’m all in favor of letting the aliens destroy the Vindicarn. Let me contact High Command and see if there’s a mistake.
Please! Our son can’t go into such a hostile environment.
Byron stormed into his office. He dropped with force into his chair and pulled up the message again.
‘Response code must be delivered through the targeted alien ship’s central computer. The leaders of the eight unaffected races must then upload their agreement to the peace treaty. Their presence and compliance is mandatory and must occur simultaneously.’
Ignoring the remainder of the message, Byron tossed aside his tablet. Stunned they would even suggest a ten-year-old boy travel to the Vindicarn planet, he sent an urgent request for a conference to High Command. While he waited for a response, Byron took several deep breaths to regain control of his temper. He couldn’t help his son if he wasn’t levelheaded during this conversation.
The screen came to life. Byron paused as the man’s face grew clear. He gripped the edge of the desk, his fingers digging into the surface. He hadn’t expected Chancellor Sorth himself.
“Commander Byron, I assume the instructions for stopping the alien ship arrived?” the man asked, resting easy in his chair.
“Yes, sir,” Byron replied. He glanced again at the message. “I would like to clarify the first line.”
“According to the Fesell and those working on this project, the probe must receive a reply from the alien ship in direct contact. Since its next target appears to be the Vindicarn home world, the code must be sent from that location.”
“Sir, are you asking me to send my son into enemy territory?”
“May I remind you they did sign the peace treaty, Commander?” stated Sorth, raising one eyebrow.
“I know they did, sir,” said Byron, choosing his next words with care. “But can we trust them?”
“If they agree to this arrangement, we’ll have no choice but to trust them.”
“With all due respect sir, I don’t know if I can agree to this arrangement.”
“Commander Byron,” said Sorth, his voice bristling with authority, “if we do not send the code to the Vindicarn and their world is destroyed, there is a good chance the Narcons and Lorvendera will refuse to cooperate when the probe reaches Tgren. With Cassa next in line, we might all suffer the same fate as the Arellens. I am not willing to take that risk. Are you?”
Byron slumped in his seat. When he was younger, bucking authority was not an issue. In his current position though, he could not refuse to comply with direct orders. Defeat rested heavy on his shoulders as he wondered how he would break the news to Athee.
Sorth’s hardened expression vanished. “Commander, I understand your concerns. Your son’s safety is important. You will be permitted to accompany him. We’ve already made arrangements for the Litheron to escort you and your son to the Vindicarn home world. If the leaders agree to this deal, you will leave this afternoon. In the meantime, review the instructions for proper uploading of the code. When the moment arrives, your son will have one chance to get it right.”
The chancellor’s words lingered long after the screen went black. Take his son to the Vindicarn home planet? Into their enemy’s lair? Peace treaty or not, Byron didn’t trust them. Too much Cassan blood had been spilled as a result of encounters with the Vindicarn.
You took my brother, thought Byron, anger burning inside as he stared at the screen. Damned if I’ll let you take my son.
Byron…
Athee, I’m sure you were listening.
I was, she thought. Her fear pounded faster than a beating heart, filling Byron with apprehension. Byron, he can’t go…
Damn it, you know the last thing I want to do is save the wretched Vindicarn. Unfortunately, this affects too many lives. We don’t have a choice. At least I’ll be with him. Now, I need you to retrieve Bassan and bring him to the hangar. We need to go over the procedure with Mevine.
His mate didn’t respond, but Byron knew she’d comply. Her distress bothered him, shaking the dark core of emotions he never wanted to experience again. Athee required comfort, but in his current state, he was in no position to give any. Controlling the rage within was all Byron could manage.
Grabbing his tablet, he forwarded the message to Ubarce. He sent an urgent thought to his senior science officer next.
Mevine, you are to meet me in the alien ship’s control center.
&nb
sp; Yes, sir, Mevine thought, his tone meek and submissive. I’m already on my way.
Uttering a growl of disgust, Byron scooped his tablet from the desk and strode toward the door. He hit the hallway, the heels of his boots striking the floor with great force. Everyone jumped aside as he passed, giving him a clear path. If they failed to offer a proper salute, Byron didn’t notice. His thoughts resided elsewhere. He had too much to accomplish before they departed.
By the time he reached the hangar, Byron had contacted both Hurend and Mard. He needed to go over instructions for the evacuation with all of his senior officers. It annoyed Byron he would be absent during preparations. If anything went wrong, if one prefect got out of line…
His computer tablet emitted an urgent beep. Dreading more bad news, he glanced at the screen. The message originated from Ubarce.
“Commander,” said the prefect, his voice wary, “I’ve reviewed the instructions regarding the probe several times.”
Byron held the screen higher. “Did you have any questions, Prefect?”
“I’m… I’m very sorry, Commander.”
His words stung Byron with their sincerity. Glancing away, Byron let the gentle morning wind cool his face. The reality of the situation at last took hold.
“So am I,” he said, his gaze returning to the concerned man on the screen. “But it appears to be the only solution.”
“Is there a risk to your son?”
Byron’s chest tightened. “We don’t know what will happen.”
Ubarce pressed his lips into a thin line of disapproval. “I was going to send my compliance.”
“As well you should. This may be our only shot. My son and I will depart on the Litheron this afternoon. I’m meeting with my senior officers before we leave and would like you to attend, if possible.”
“I’ll be there, Commander.”
The transmission ended and Byron let the computer pad drop to his side. He stared out the open hangar doors, the glow of the morning sun bright on the desert beyond. And yet it couldn’t appear more dark and foreboding.
Damn, why did it have to be the Vindicarn? Byron thought.
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