“There’s no cause for alarm,” this time, when he heard the voice, Ellis realized that the intruder wasn’t moving his mouth at all – but Ellis could hear his words perfectly nonetheless. “I’m here to help fulfill your father’s legacy.”
“What?” was all that Ellis could mutter in terrified astonishment.
“I represent an organization, a very powerful group of individuals, with whom your father invested a substantial portion of his vast fortunes. Now that he is no more – an act which I really must complement you on, by the way,” the young man clapped his hands softly and smiled innocently, sending chills running down Ellis’ spine, “the return on his investment will be paid to you, his sole heir.”
“What… what legacy?” Ellis stuttered, hoping for more information.
“If you want to find out, get dressed and follow me. We have a great deal to discuss. The future of Garvan Motors rests in your hands.”
“What about them?” asked Ellis, gesturing towards the dead prostitutes floating in his pool.
“Two whores and a decrepit servant? We’ll see to it that they won’t be missed. Now come. The shuttle will be leaving soon, and you wouldn’t want to miss the show,” the voice of the mysterious stranger echoed in his head as he turned to leave.
Chapter 13
As excited as he was anxious about the prospect of making contact with not just one, but a number of advanced alien species, Captain Mitchell paced back and forth on the bridge. The tow drones had already left the docking bay and the force field had been raised, leaving the Tengri firmly in the embrace of the docking clamps.
Marcus, still peering through the bridge’s forward viewscreen, could see into the adjoining bays through large windows in the bay’s walls. The bay to their left was vacant, but a medium-sized cruiser occupied the one on the right. With its hooked nose, tipped, descending wings and multi-barreled cannons, it looked menacing, as well as alien, in its design.
“What do the readings say?” the captain inquired. “Is it safe to breathe out there, or do we need to put on suits?”
“According to the scans I’m reading… 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% argon and 0.04% carbon dioxide. The outside temperature is eighteen degrees Celsius. It’s almost as if it were tailor-made for us, Captain,” Wei informed him.
“In that case, I want the contact team in the airlock in five minutes, sidearms only,” Mitchell ordered. “Going out there armed to the teeth is bound to send the wrong message. Reid, Jago, you can lose the suits.”
“Yes boss,” Jago grunted over the intercom.
“Ok, docking hatch in five minutes. Let’s move people!” Mitchell concluded, spurring everyone into motion.
* * * * *
The buzzing whir of metal on metal accompanied the movements of the servo arms as they began to open the docking hatch. As the hermetic seal ruptured, a hissing sound cut through the droning as the pressure between the airlock and the docking bay equalized. An open-sided mechanical ramp had already been connected with the ship, allowing easy access to the bay’s main platform.
Captain Mitchell ordered Taz to take the lead, urging caution as he followed closely behind, peering through the dim light of the bay. Behind him, Serena seemed overly eager to make first contact, and was pressing up behind him while Marcus, Reid and Jago brought up the rear as the team crossed the wide ramp and started along the wide walkway. Gossamer rays of light pierced the shrouding darkness between the chaotic network of metallic rafters high overhead.
The walkway stretched out for over a hundred meters ahead of them, running the length of the bay, before swerving abruptly to the right to form an L-shaped platform in the corner of the compartment, its long leg running alongside the Tengri. A wide metal doorway faced the ship’s nose on the short leg of the platform. Marcus leaned over the low metal railing to catch a glimpse of the docking bay’s floor, where, almost fifteen meters below, a team of robotic drones scurried about amongst an assortment of hoses, power lines and containers, apparently examining the ship. One of the drones projected an arching beam of emerald light across the ship’s flank, as if performing some form of scan.
Marcus followed the beam of light up the Tengri’s flank, seeing the ship from the outside for the first time since they’d left Beta Terra. Unlike most Terran military ships, which were much taller than they were broad, the Benediction-class cruiser lacked the asymmetric over-and-under protrusions and towers that made Marcus think of magazines and pistol grips hanging from a rifle. Instead, the Tengri was an eighty-meter long block only four decks tall, slightly wider at her lowest point than her highest, giving her a trapezoidal cross-section that was only broken by two extremely short, stubby wings on each side, the bare minimum required to allow the ship controlled reentry into an atmosphere. Her nose was a blocky, squared-off construction surmounted by huge panels of toughed glass where the bridge sat on the third deck. The ship’s hull consisted of a number of segmented plates in a matte, dark-grey color.
The sound of Jago clearing his throat and spitting over the railing went unnoticed before it was too late. Just as Marcus sprang to reprimand the behemoth, a loud hiss rang through the docking bay, preceding the noisy opening of the vast doorway at the end of the walkway. Bathed in light spilling into the dimness of the bay from beyond, three figures emerged from the opening.
“I didn’t do it!” Jago muttered automatically, looking both bewildered and guilty.
Shooting him a judgmental look, Marcus turned his attention to the silhouettes. He could see that one of them was clearly humanoid, whereas the other two were different from the first but seemed to be members of the same species as each other. Serpentine, with thick, sluggish bodies, he took them for more of the aliens who had brought the Tengri from Ga’ouna.
With Mitchell whispering orders that they stay vigilant, the team advanced slowly. With the exception of Serena, they all kept one hand on their holstered sidearm, prepared to react at the first sign that anything was amiss. The figures ahead of them drew closer, apparently unshaken by their arrival. As the aliens passed beneath one of the strands of light falling from above, Marcus could see them more clearly.
The humanoid one now displayed its alien heritage: well over two meters tall, the alien’s frame was bulky with muscles under a thick-looking brownish hide that glistened in the light. Its shape was much closer to a human’s body than that of the thick-bodied, short-limbed Golan, but despite the creature’s essentially humanoid frame its muscular arrangement was completely foreign, each individual muscle standing out so prominently that it was almost as if each one were covered in its own layer of skin. Its narrow head looked absurdly small atop the huge, muscular body, a curving shield of what looked like smooth bone rising from between its two yellow eyes to cover the top of its head in a protective plate. Its body was entirely devoid of hair, and an almost non-existent chin sat below thick lips that seemed as if they’d never known a smile. As it cleared the corner, Marcus caught a glimpse of a ridge-like protrusion of short bony fins lining its spine, mostly covered beneath a loosely-fitting dark grey bodysuit.
Turning to the other two, Marcus realized that his assumption couldn’t have been more wrong. Not only did they lack the distinct heads and humanoid torsos of the Golans’ ‘gods’, these creatures seemed only partly organic. Their bodies were entirely encased in what seemed to be some sort of metallic exoskeleton that left only their heads visible through a glass dome. Beneath the head, which was inhumanly broad and featured a gaping maw lined with rows of small, sharp-looking teeth, set between beady little eyes, these aliens’ bodies resembled slugs more than snakes, albeit slugs with faces like something dredged from a primordial ocean.
They moved by pushing back against a four-pronged grip that held onto the deck as they shoved their bodies forward, repositioning themselves before pulling the end back in and repeating the process all over again. At the most compact part of their cycle, they were as tall as Taz, the shortest clone in the squad. Most unset
tling of all were the aliens’ spindly, inorganic arms: a pair of slender robotic limbs tipped with long-fingered hands, large enough to have wrapped entirely around Marcus’ head. Set above the shoulder sockets were protruding metal canisters that flashed with tiny blue lights and periodically vented small bursts of some sort of vapor.
From what Marcus could see, none of the three was armed. The humanoid one had a metallic bracer wrapped around its forearm, covered in an assortment of buttons and connectors, but it didn’t appear to pose an immediate threat. Still, he knew any of the three might be able to call upon automated defenses, and the slugs’ suits looked thick enough to pose a challenge to the stopping power of the Terrans’ sidearms.
“I do you welcome to Semeh’yone Station,” the humanoid alien spoke as it came to a standstill, its deep voice reverberating throughout the docking bay.
The team came to a full stop a few meters in front of their hosts, and now anxiously awaited the captain’s command.
“The… Semion?” Mitchell stumbled.
“It is ‘Semeh’yone’,” the humanoid corrected. “Heart of Etherium.”
“And you are?” the captain prompted, raising an eyebrow.
“I be Ordo’nak. I make customs inspection,” the alien replied, pressing a series of buttons on his wristguard.
Suddenly, the metallic bracer produced a holographic interface hovering in midair right before the muscular customs inspector, who proceeded to select a few of the hovering icons with a stubby thumb.
“Excuse me,” said Serena, hesitantly, unable to stop herself, “how is it that you know our language?”
“Gaian is not most common language, but is on file,” explained Ordo’nak, not taking his eyes off of the holographic interface. “Work customs, must be good with languages.”
“Gaian?” Serena blurted. “You mean to tell me that there is someone aboard this station that speaks our language?”
The astonished look on her face was tinged with disappointment, as she realized that she wouldn’t be playing as integral a role in their relations with alien species as she’d hoped.
“They is called Gaian,” explained Ordo’nak, still peering at his hologram. “They like you, except…”
“Except what?” Captain Mitchell prompted when the humanoid trailed off.
“Except Gaian ambassador say he know nothing of you. Your ship not in databases. I must agree with his assessing,” Ordo’nak concluded, pressing another series of glowing icons hovering before him.
A loud thump resounded through the chamber, emanating from the docking clamps.
“I be told I must make lock down on your ship while I make you interrogation. Please to remain here so I be proceeding.”
The holographic interface suddenly dissipated, and Ordo’nak stood blocking the walkway before them as the slug-like beings raised their spindly arms and advanced.
* * * * *
The interrogation was conducted in an ante-chamber right outside the docking bay. The whole crew was made to form a line in front of the doorway in the main bay as they were brought in one at a time whilst one of the two cybernetic slugs kept watch on those waiting, a sinister glare dissuading any attempts to get past.
“Is the boss ok?” Jago murmured as he stood anxiously behind Marcus, who was next in line, and was staring, fixated, at the slimy secretion that coated the guard’s razor-sharp teeth, dripping slowly into its hideous mouth.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Marcus assured him, rather unconvincingly. “They’re just asking him some questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Jago probed.
“I don’t know Ape. They probably just want to know our intentions,” Marcus explained.
It had been over an hour and they hadn’t heard so much as a sound from the captain the entire time.
“I don’t like this,” Taz proclaimed. “What if they’ve taken him somewhere?”
“Taken him where?” Marcus asked half-heartedly, not wanting to give in to Taz’s hysterics.
“I don’t know. They could be… probing… stuff, even as we speak,” he added.
“Shut up Taz!” Marcus cut him off, then hissed at him in a whisper. “There’s no reason to think that, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t cause a panic. Everyone is nervous enough as it is.”
Just then the door to the interrogation room slid open, and a somewhat bewildered Captain Mitchell strode out to greet them.
“Captain, what did they want?” Serena burst out before anyone else had the chance to question him.
Captain Mitchell puffed his cheeks and scratched the graying stubble on his head before answering.
“Well, they just wanted to find out more about us. Although they already knew plenty from examining our ship,” he explained.
“What sort of things?” Marcus questioned, somewhat bewildered.
“Well, they know where we stand technologically, which seems to be a big deal. They believe we’re somehow related to this Gaian species, although the Gaians apparently are firmly denying any connection,” the captain recounted. “They also wanted to know why we’re here, and how we mean to support ourselves.”
“Support ourselves?” Reid asked.
“Yes. Well, we’re stuck here,” Captain Mitchell revealed. “They’ve assigned us a technological rating of zero, which means we’re restricted from trading in technology above that level.”
“Zero?” bellowed Dr. Gehringer from the rear of the group, suddenly finding the nerve to approach despite the menacing half-mechanical slug looming eerily nearby.
“Apparently their scale starts at a negative. A rating of ‘zero’ means a civilization can get out of its own solar system, but to get a rating of ‘one’ we’d need to be capable of full two-way interstellar travel. The ‘zero’ allows for travel along the lines of our mass accelerators, but given that we can’t get home under our own power, I can’t exactly fault their logic.”
“It’s not like we were looking to get back home anyway,” Marcus added. “At least, not yet,” he added when Serena gave him a curious look.
“True,” the captain agreed. “But I would rather have that option available to us in case we need it.”
At that point, the cybernetic slug behind them tapped Marcus on the shoulder with its mechanical arm, and gestured to the antechamber. With a deep breath, Marcus hesitantly entered the brightly-lit room, shading his eyes until they adjusted to show him it was little more than an alcove at the opening of a wide, segmented hallway, lined with non-reflective dark metal beams. The atmosphere was close, warm and faintly damp. There, Ordo’nak sat on a portable stool behind a metallic table, across from a small, strangely-proportioned chair, whilst the other cybernetic slug kept watch from the corner. A metal unit, the size of an ammo case, rested upon the table.
“Sit,” Ordo’nak commanded as the door slammed shut.
Marcus sat down on the small, uncomfortable chair and squinted to shield his eyes from the piercing light. Ordo’nak’s bulbous yellow eyes peered down at him through the holographic interface of his wrist device.
In the corner, the cybernetic slug produced a small, rod-like device and pointed it in Marcus’ direction. Marcus threw up his arm in protest, tilting his head to shield himself. For all he knew, he was about to be blasted by a powerful laser, or bombarded with radiation, but before he could react further, device gave off a soft golden glow that produced only a mild tingling sensation as it enveloped him. A few seconds later, the slug deactivated the device and stowed it away.
“Contaminate scan,” Ordo’nak explained, without taking his eyes from the hologram.
Marcus eased up.
“Your Captain inform me much what I need. This now just short, you tell some things, I tell some things,” the humanoid continued, finally turning his small yellow eyes on Marcus. “You race call itself Terran. Is correct?”
“That’s correct,” Marcus replied. “What is your race called? Uh, if I might ask?” He hesitated, unsure whether o
r not he was allowed to ask questions in return.
“I am of the Hrūll,” the muscular alien replied gravely, his expression locked in a permanent frown.
“And the others?” Marcus ventured, gesturing towards the slug in the corner when Ordo’nak didn’t immediately continue.
“Dalapian.”
“Are they related to the ones that towed us here?” Marcus continued, pressing his luck.
“No,” Ordo’nak replied, gruffly. “Eremaran ship bring you, but enough question. You answer, I ask.”
“My apologies,” Marcus answered, biting his lip.
“Tell me, why you have come here?”
“I… We are a deep space exploration team. We were sent to make contact with other races,” Marcus confessed, unsure how much information he should divulge.
“Exploration,” Ordo’nak voiced, pressing a sequence of symbols on his holographic interface. “And what weapons you have on ship?”
“Weapons?”
“Yes, weapons. You say exploration, but your ship have cannons, and your people have weapons,” Ordo’nak pressed.
“Oh, right. Well we didn’t really know what to expect. I… our superiors equipped us with basic weaponry as a precaution,” Marcus answered sincerely, deciding it might not be best to admit that the Terran Republic was at war with the only other sentient species it had encountered.
“Small person weapons is allow on Semeh’yone, but only if have proper license. I trust when we make search of ship, we not find explosive or heavy weapons?” Ordo’nak continued.
“No Sir, only personal weaponry. At least, according to our classifications.” Marcus confirmed. “Though the, uhm, large individual’s weapon packs quite a punch, and there may be some small thrown explosive devices. We call them grenades.”
“Make certain they not removed from ship during stay on Semeh’yone station,” Ordo’nak sighed before executing another command on his wrist device, which suddenly began to give out a low buzzing sound, then ejected a thin plastic sliver from a slot on its side.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 9