The Simpleton QUEST

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Spilor’s head suddenly spun in his direction—surprise exhibited on his projected face. “What is the situation with the Farlight’s crew, Spilor?” Cuddy quietly asked.

  “They are anxious. Unsure what you will do with them. Perhaps replace them with humans.”

  “What humans?”

  Spilor did not answer.

  “We have a new…important directive. Are you familiar with Camilli-Rhine 5?” Cuddy asked.

  “I am not, Captain Perkins.”

  Cuddy then relayed the spatial coordinates that Tow had provided him. “I need the crew of the Farlight back at their posts. Look…in time I’ll be able to speak with them individually. But now is not that time.”

  “I understand, Captain.”

  Within minutes, Howsh bridge crewmembers began to trickle into the compartment. They looked even less excited, seeing Cuddy standing at the red railing—at the center point of the bridge—than the other two. But Cuddy was encouraged, seeing Marzon’s arrival, although his ambivalent expression made it clear that he, too, wasn’t thrilled walking onto the human captain’s bridge.

  Joining them at the railing, Cuddy breathed in the giant Howsh’s foul animal scent. Marzon caught the eyes of two late stragglers then gestured for them, with an upward motion of his jutting chin, that they needed to hurry and get to their posts.

  Cuddy recalled how Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph addressed Marzon when they were on the bridge together. “Get us underway, First. Take us into FTL…push the upper limits of the Farlight’s propulsion system. I suspect we’re in a race with the Pintial. A race we cannot lose.”

  Marzon, grunting in acknowledgment, moved off toward the Helm station. Cuddy watched as Marzon conversed with the officer posted there. Although he couldn’t hear them, it was obvious a heated discussion had ensued. Marzon returned, fuming.

  “Is there a problem?” Cuddy asked.

  “No, Captain. No problem at all.”

  “Um…what do you want me to do?”

  Cuddy turned to find Jackie now standing behind them. She looked about the bridge, “Seems you already have a full crew complement.”

  “How ‘bout you spend a little bit of time at each station, Learn from the bridge crew…perhaps start with Tactical, okay?”

  She eyed the Howsh, sitting solemnly at the post. He was particularly unkempt-looking, his mud-colored fur matted. Jackie did a lousy job hiding her displeasure at the idea, but she moved off, sitting down next to the tactical officer. He looked less than thrilled that he’d be sharing his post.

  The forward window brightened, as the distant star field blurred into elongated streaks of light. They had jumped to Faster Than Light—FTL.

  * * *

  Cuddy, Kyle and Tony stood at the Espy Table, each playing with its various controls. Two red-giant sister stars, along with their encircling planets, took form before them—all in glorious 3D realism. Cuddy twirled the controls around—first one way then another—getting different perspectives on what he viewed.

  It had been a four-day journey across space. They’d entered the system less than an hour earlier. The sixth planet of the system, called the Kwo System, was Camilli-Rhine 5. One by one, the bridge crew found their way to the Espy. Cuddy could understand their interest in, what was up until today, a totally unheard of world. If their roles were reversed, and he was about to make contact with a sister world of Earth—a world with other humanoids—he too would be drawn to learn more. Only natural. Like learning about previously unknown family members.

  Spilor moved to the opposite end of the table and stared at the planetary system. “Very little technological capability. The Camilli have not ventured into space. Do not possess advanced means of travel…not by land, nor by air.”

  “You’re suggesting they’re pretty much barbarians,” Tony said.

  Spilor said, “Barbarians that do not go to war with others. Barbarians that live in relative constant harmony…where there are no signs of poverty or deprivation.”

  Tony ignored Spilor’s cheeky reply. “Well, they don’t sound all that dangerous to me. What’s the plan for getting down there…for rescuing Brian?”

  Jackie headed their way, coming from her shared post at Tactical, located at the forward part of the bridge. She glanced toward Tony. “Maybe they’re not that technologically advanced, but there are massive amounts of energy rising up from various points on that planet.” Bumping Cuddy out of the way with her hip, she took up the Espy controls and zoomed-in on a particular area of the emerald-colored world. From that closer-in view, it was evident the planet was Class A. Lush with forests, expansive lakes, and flowing rivers, there were also five oceans—each pristine, in varying brilliant shades of azure. “Let me show you the specific site coordinates provided by Tow.” All eyes were on the Espy and what appeared to be a view of a small community—from a 5,000 foot high-up vantage point.

  “What did I just tell you? See, barbarians,” Tony said, smirking. “What are those…huts? Some kind of shanty-shacks?”

  To Cuddy, they certainly did look basic. No less than one hundred similarly sized and shaped structures, made of natural substances. Probably, clayed brick walls—with timber roofs—neat and orderly in their design.

  “There,” Kyle said, pointing to the farthest corner of the community. At the tree line was the familiar shape of a heritage pod. “Can you zoom in a bit more, Jackie?” he asked.

  “I think this is as far as it goes. Looks like it could be a pod…if it’s similar to a Pashier pod…no way to tell yet.”

  “So…you think they’re expecting us?” Kyle asked.

  “I don’t know, but I think so,” Cuddy replied. “Looks like some movement below.” Squinting, he leaned over the Espy. “An assembly of sorts. We better get down there.”

  “Could be something akin to a Shain Ritual of Awakening?” Jackie said hopefully optimistic.

  Chapter 41

  Seven years ago… Leaving Nashville, Tennessee

  Cuddy wanted to say a proper goodbye to Slatch. You always say goodbye to your friends. Why was Slatch so upset? Was it because Momma came and took him home? She’d whisked him away in a hurry, just as lots of police cars and fire trucks arrived at the Lucky Apartments.

  “Buckle your seat belt, Cuddy,” Momma instructed, her left hand on the wheel and her right resting firmly on his left shoulder—as if he might float away if she removed it. “Let’s think of something good. Something happy…how about that?”

  Cuddy frowned at her. “I’m forgetful…not stupid, Momma.” Taking her eyes off the road for an instant, she glanced at him.

  “I can still remember Pa, hanging there, all blue in the shower.”

  Momma blinked several times in quick succession. Cuddy knew what that meant—she was fending off tears.

  “Honey…there’s no reason to remember that. No one should have to remember something like that. Perhaps it will be a blessing…soon…a few minutes from now—”

  “I don’t want to forget it!” Cuddy yelled, uncertain why he’d lashed out at her. Perhaps he knew, on some deeper level, that something important had just taken place. Something, whether good or bad, that should remain a part of his life. But he knew his faulty memory wouldn’t allow him to hold on to it for long. It wasn’t fair. No—he wouldn’t let it fade away. Not this time. He’d keep talking about it, keep thinking about it—forever, if he had to. At least until he understood what happened to Pa. “Why did he do it, Momma?”

  “Let’s wait till we get back onto the highway. All these cross-streets, it’s easy to get lost in big cities. I have a terrible sense of direction.”

  Drip…drip…drip as the water trickled off his chin. One of his eyes was open, glazed and unfocussed. “Pa was all dressed up. You saw that…right?”

  Momma hesitated and then nodded. “Yes…that was nice of him.” Her lower lip quivered. “I don’t know why he did it, Cuddy. All I know is that he suffered. Always had. I knew your pa when I was your age…seems
I’ve always known him.”

  “Why did he leave us, Momma? Was it because I’m a retard?”

  Momma’s eyes flared instantly with anger. “Don’t you ever use that word…not ever! You know better.”

  “Well, was it?”

  “Of course not! He just had issues. Swings of temperament, that didn’t have a name when he was younger. Then, after the accident…oh, do we really need to talk about this now, Cuddy? Let’s just wait. Talk later…I’m almost at the highway.”

  Cuddy briefly remembered Slatch saying something—something about when he was a kid in Woodbury. Frustrated, Cuddy made a fist and pounded his thigh. What was it he asked me? Ignoring the concern showing on Momma’s face, he asked, “Did you know Slatch…like when you and Pa were kids?”

  For the first time her hand left his shoulder, joining the one gripping the wheel. “We all grew up together. I grew up on the same farm…where we live now.”

  “Slatch was a neighbor?”

  “Uh huh…so was your father. Both lived on adjoining farms.”

  Cuddy wasn’t sure what adjoining meant. Something like being next-door neighbors, he figured. “I think Slatch wanted me to ask you if you remember him.”

  Momma tensed and began to chew the inside of her lip. “I don’t want to talk about Slatch. And you are never…ever…to go near that…man…again.”

  “Slatch and Pa were best friends?”

  Momma nodded twice and Cuddy clenched his eyes tight shut. Please…I don’t want to ever forget. “Did Pa want to leave, or did you make him?”

  “Cuddy…I understand that what you went through today was terrible. It’s why I came and got you away from that place…that hotel…before the police came.”

  “Why did he leave us?”

  “Where are you getting these questions from, Cuddy?”

  “Momma!”

  “I made him go. It wasn’t you, or Kyle; have anything to do with the accident. He couldn’t be around us anymore, Cuddy. That’s all there was to it.”

  Cuddy sat quietly for several moments. Slowing, Momma made a hard right turn onto the highway on-ramp. Taking-in the passing scenery out the side window, he felt his head suddenly, like water filling up a bucket, fill with a thick haze. Tears filled his eyes as the sharp edges of the important things he badly wanted to remember began to turn blurry. Memories, once within an easy reach, began to float away. No matter how hard he tried to reach out and catch them—they turned to mist and were gone. Drip, drip, drip…

  “Where are we going, Momma?”

  She turned and looked hard at Cuddy. Poised to say something, she seemed to think better of it and just shook her head.

  “Where’s Rufus?” Cuddy peered in the back seat, then back out the window. “Did we go somewhere? To the store?”

  Momma didn’t answer him for a long while. He didn’t understand the situation, why she looked the way she did. Like she was having a hard time breathing.

  With her eyes brimming, Momma said, “Yes, sweetie…just picking up a few things at the store. Rufus is waiting for you at home. You two can go out and play until dinner is ready.”

  When she reached for the radio dial, Cuddy was reminded of something. “Momma…what’s an anger alert?”

  “You mean, amber alert?”

  “Yeah. What’s that?”

  “It’s nothing you’ll ever need to worry about.”

  Chapter 42

  Deep space — present day…

  Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh was using a systematic approach to deal with the Gulk. He wasn’t surprised when he arrived at the outer reaches of the sector that any threat from these disgusting green humanoids was determined to be nominal. There was slim indication that they were the same aggressive invaders Council Member Leshand had been so preoccupied with. They were simply terraforming what previously were uninhabitable worlds—desolate rocks, drifting through space. But he had his orders, and, truth be told, his crew could use a little diversion.

  Five days before, the Pintial joined with the Stalwart Fleet, consisting of twenty-three recently built, powerful Howsh warships. As he paced his command ship’s bridge, Norsh nodded to himself. This was how it was supposed to be. A fleet of ships, each with remarkable capabilities, and manned by highly trained personnel.

  “Prime Eminence, we approach the Gulk defensive parameter.”

  “Thank you, first…” Norsh said, staring at the display—at the closest blinking outer markers. Like large sea buoys, the strobing beacons were intended to send a not-so-subtle message to any approaching vessel. Conveying: Stay back, or risk being fired upon.

  Beyond them, he saw the cluster of eight planets—each at a different level of progression in its terraforming evolution. The closest one was still in its embryonic state of change. Geo-engineering had barely altered that other world’s sheer and rocky gray surface. Progressively, the eight worlds showed signs of change—of burgeoning life. The farthest planets, that were more sustainable, were already beautiful—beckoning to be inhabited by adventuresome Howsh pioneers.

  Some would consider what the Gulk were doing quite noble, even benevolent. But more accurately, it was only a means for the alien race to further their influence into deep space. Something the council regarded as a form of aggression. Norsh thought that was probably pushing it—the Gulk were anything but aggressive. A touchy-feely breed that only used violence as a last resort, such as protecting themselves against outside aggressors. The thought brought a smile to his lips underneath his snout. In nature, there was always an antagonist, and those antagonized. In the end, history would be chronicled by the victorious—not the wretched, vanquished ones.

  Norsh knew that the Gulk’s terraforming and later settlement-building enterprises would have substantial security resources in play, such as a dedicated, constantly revolving, fleet of warships. This was a bigger enterprise than others that Norsh and his fleet had visited over the last few days. Most certainly, it would have more substantial defenses assigned to it.

  “Thirteen heavy destroyers are approaching from directional coordinates 5668. Also, a smaller assemblage of ships, from directional coordinates 2144. All those are Angle-Fighters,” the first officer reported.

  “Talk to me about the worlds. Are any inhabited?”

  “Three, sire…Four hundred thousand green vermin are populating the fully terraformed planets.”

  “Good! How about we deliver them a special message: A Welcome to the sector neighborhood gift. Configure it then let’s go with high yields…say, an even hundred torpedoes. Distribute the offensive amongst the fleet. Fire at will.”

  “Yes, at once, sire.”

  The Stalwart Fleet was now passing the outer perimeter buoys. The nearest strobing beacon was so bright it was hard to look at. “Also, First, rail-gun that bothersome beacon…do it now,” Norsh added.

  Within moments, the beacon was decimated in a hail of brilliant rail-gun fire. Soon afterword, torpedoes were underway; each fleet asset sending off two, three, even five, of those lethal harbingers of death. Norsh watched as aft thrust fire, from the many rocket-like torpedoes, sped off toward their intended destinations. The projectiles would do little physical damage to the ginormous worlds, but Howsh scientists had perfected the payloads for both quick and irreversible effectiveness. The Dirth was the antithesis of terraforming—a biological scourge that would spread and kill organic life with blind abandonment. The beings inhabiting these new worlds would soon wish they’d never been born, dying horrific, painful deaths. It was a good day, Norsh figured. Perhaps Council Member Leshand did know best after all. This fiery diversion was just what he needed.

  Small explosions soon exhibited on the various planet surfaces. There didn’t seem to be any particular rhyme or reason for the frequency, or placement of the explosions, but actually there most assuredly was.

  “Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh…the enemy fleet of heavy destroyers has arrived. We are being fired upon.”

  “Of course we ar
e…proceed…engage the enemy. Return fire and bring shields up to maximum. And relay to the fleet not to underestimate those approaching Angle Fighters either. They’re wily and highly competent. A desperate enemy is an unpredictable enemy. We’ve just initiated the eradication of hundreds of thousands of Gulk. They know this…are fully aware what the Howsh have done to other enemies.”

  Norsh flinched, hearing the corresponding explosion on the nearest Gulk heavy destroyer. He took pride knowing that the Pintial had dispatched the killing ordinance.

  Suddenly distracted, he noticed a commotion of sorts taking place at the coms station—his first officer reprimanding an obviously distressed crewmember. This was no time to be dealing with inconsequential drama, Norsh fumed. We’re in the midst of an important battle, for God’s sake. Angered, Norsh strode to the coms station, which had also attracted others from around the bridge.

  “What is the meaning of this? Return to your posts! At once!”

  The bridge crew scattered, like roaches caught in sudden light. The first officer remained, standing alongside the coms officer. Their expressions were identical. Both rattled.

  “What is it?” Norsh barked.

  “Something terrible has happened, Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh.” Obviously, they knew something he did not, which, of itself, was infuriating. “Tell me…now!”

  “Your brother, Lorgue Sub Eminence Langer…has been killed, sire. I am very sorry to report this terrible news.”

  “Langer? No. You must be mistaken. He is on a special…very important mission for…” Norsh let his words trail off. Some part of him knew the report was accurate, he could feel it in his bones. His brother, the only being he even remotely cared about in this vast universe, was now gone. Oh my.