by Aer-ki Jyr
“I’ve been working on that on the way out here, and we’re got a few options. Depends on what they have to say.”
“Indentured servitude is off the table I assume,” Eric said, referencing one of the offers made by the Mssot, who were desperate to secure some sort of arrangement that would allow them to survive.
“I don’t want Star Force to get a Santa Claus reputation, but we’re not making demands solely for our benefit here. Putting them to work in some fashion would seem better than just having them sitting around getting fat off our generosity.”
“If these are the first of many to come knocking on our door, are we going to have a refugee protocol or program established?”
Randy smiled. “You read my mind.”
“No, my Ikrid hasn’t progressed that far,” the acolyte joked. “I’m just wondering if Star Force is going to turn into the galactic lifeboat when the lizards start rolling over the Alliance and everyone else in the way.”
Randy’s expression blanked. “It could very well go that way.”
“Operation Conduit is still under wraps, I assume?”
“As much as we can control, yes.”
“How long do you think that will last?”
“You mean once they hear we’re harboring the Calavari others will start running to us?”
“Apparently they already are,” Eric pointed out. “The Mssot also referenced the Kiritas and how we absorbed them, asking if that was an option. If an empire as large as the Calavari joins us…”
“I know,” Randy said, already having thought down this road many times. “I know.”
When the pair of Archons got to the part of the city that held an open air park, one that was actually open to the planet’s atmosphere, it was lit up with a splendor of lights hidden amongst the greenery. A scattering of Kiritak milled about with the occasional Human passing through, but otherwise it was empty, and the pair made their way to a pavilion that contained four Human security guards and one cloaked figure that stood a few inches taller than them.
Randy stretched out his Ikrid link and connected to its mind, getting an altogether new feel. The complexity wasn’t as high as some of the other races he’d come into contact with, but this one felt more alien than the rest. At first he had trouble making anything out of the incoherent mess, but as he’d done before he held the link and tried to match up pieces of what he knew and what the newcomer was familiar with.
The Nestafar were the common ground that allowed him to break through, after which he had an easier time of sorting out its mental ‘language,’ though he did gently land a hand on Eric’s shoulder to slow their pace, giving him more time to poke around in its head before they got to the pavilion.
When they did the cloaked figure turned to face them underneath a series of dull lights that provided ample illumination from the underside of the pavilion roof without glaring. Randy saw the oily black skin scales referenced in the racial file Star Force had, but they were even more intimidating in person, bracketing its single red eye in the center of its head, underneath which was a mouth slit, but no nose. Beyond that he could see nothing, for the cloak hid the rest.
That was until Randy flicked on his Pefbar, expanding his psionic energy field out to penetrate the cloth and the alien. Underneath the robes that gave the appearance of a humanoid figure was a hunched over mass of collapsed limbs tucked inside to conceal its true size and shape.
“Hello again, Mssot,” Eric said in greeting, using their race’s name in lieu of a personal one that their representative had never given.
“Greetings and thanks,” the alien offered back in the trade language, its robes swaying in the air a couple inches short of touching the ground.
“This is our leader,” the Archon said, gesturing with his hand towards Randy as the acolyte walked aside and took a seat on the railing that encircled the small pavilion, extricating himself from the conversation.
“Speak your request,” Randy said bluntly, which surprised Eric a bit by the abruptness of his opening words.
“I represent the few remaining survivors of our race, who are now living in orbit amongst a small fleet of cargo ships. We are short on supplies and have no worlds to return to. We seek any aid you can provide, and thank you for that which you have already given us. We also seek trade, if we have anything you wish to possess, including our services in any form you shall name. We seek sanctuary if you are willing to offer it, or a business arrangement. Our future is bleak with few options for survival, so we offer you many in the hope that we can be of value to you, and in that value we survive and preserve our race.”
“So I have heard,” Randy said, throwing a glance towards Eric. “First, tell me why you are concealing yourself.”
The Mssot did not speak, but stared back at Randy for several seconds.
“Most races’ structures are not built for us. We find it best to interact with others in this form. Have you met other Mssot?”
“No, but I know how constricted you are right now. Feel free to assume your normal form here.”
“I cannot. My clothing is not of the proper shape.”
“Tell me of the atmosphere you breathe,” Randy said, pressing on and again startling the alien with the question.
“You know much of us. How is this possible?”
“I know little about you,” Randy countered, “which is why I am asking. You do not respire through your mouth as we do.”
“We do not,” the Mssot confirmed. “Your atmosphere is poison to us. The oxygen you breathe would be the death of us with only a few breaths.”
“What do you breathe then?”
“Nitrogen.”
“Are you wearing a filter or a contained supply?”
“It is both. We can exist in your atmosphere indefinitely without resupply.”
“What skills do you have that we might find valuable?” Randy asked, mentally probing the alien simultaneously, with Eric doing the same. The trailblazer could just barely detect the other’s Ikrid connection to the Mssot, but figured the same wasn’t true in reverse.
“We are few in number, but large in knowledge. The Calavari engaged us for our biological analysis.”
“Analysis of what?”
“Detections of genetic anomalies, corrections, and enhancements of themselves, their biotech, and their foodstuff production.”
“They had a disease that you cured for them?” Randy asked, pulling the memory from the other’s mind.
“I mean no offense, but I cannot answer that question.”
“You’ve made modifications to your own genetics, I assume?”
“We have.”
“And created bioweapons?”
“Yes, and we can do the same for you if you wish. Our knowledge of the code of life is extensive and applicable to most races we have encountered in some form or another.”
Randy pulled up a lot of memories when the Mssot referenced the bioweapon research, and while it was a mess of alien thoughts, he was able to pull several key pieces out of what was coming together to be an interesting puzzle.
“The Nestafar have a grudge with you because you helped the Calavari thwart the bioweapon they employed against them, and now that the military protection they offered in return isn’t available, the Nestafar have exacted their revenge.”
“You know far more than you should. How?”
“The Calavari are our allies, and we are engaging the Nestafar on their behalf in several systems. You will betray no trust by answering my questions, and I need honest answers if I am going to be able to offer your race any…options.”
The Mssot bristled, though Randy only noticed through the mental link, because its body didn’t so much as twitch. It didn’t want to break its race’s word to the Calavari, but was heavily conflicted with preserving the lives of those it was entrusted to negotiate for.
“What do you wish to know that you have not already learned from the Calavari?”
“What restrictions did they place
on you in the terms of your defense pact?”
“That we only engage in defensive alterations. They believed offensive assaults on a biological front were an unacceptable battlefield practice. We did not concur, but obliged their philosophy, as we will for you on whatever terms you see fit.”
Randy knew what that meant, even without the psionics…but the images that came with the offer thoroughly disgusted him. Images of past projects and ‘research.’
“Star Force concurs with the Calavari. We have no use for your bioweapons, but your genetic knowledge may be of some limited use if it is greater than our own. What other value can the Mssot provide?”
“We will aid you in whatever way you deem necessary, so I shall ask you, humbly, what is it that you require?”
“Honesty,” Randy said with considerably more iron in his voice. “You are unscrupulous bastards who tried to play one power off against another and got burned for it. Most of your biotech is unethical, as is your civilization…which is now almost entirely destroyed, or so you fear. You ran away from the fight before you could see its conclusion.”
“You’ve tried to bargain,” Randy continued, “and cajole your former associates for mercy now that you’re on the edge of destruction, and knowing your reputation they refused. Others weren’t in a position to help, while most simply chose not to do so, seeing that you had little to offer them in return other than weapons that obviously didn’t save you from the Nestafar.”
“So what you’ve really come to me for is a last chance, banking on our good will to save your despicable race so you can regrow and one day take back the worlds you’ve just lost or start over on a new one…where you will pick right up on your bad habits that you’re willing to suppress for now in order to ingratiate yourselves with whomever you need in order to survive.”
“I will not facilitate your request,” Randy said before the Mssot could speak in protest, for he could feel the diplomatic cunning of the alien working in overdrive to try and stay on top of the conversation by anticipating where Randy was going and attempting to steer him towards an area of need or greed that they could exploit. “But I will offer you sanctuary…at a price.”
The Mssot completely ignored the insults, considering them to be the Human’s version of a negotiation tactic. “What is it that you want?”
“Your younglings.”
8
The Mssot visibly shifted, suddenly growing a few inches in height beneath its robe, and Randy could sense the first strains of anger from the alien, mixed with cold calculation.
“Explain.”
“I’ll make it very simple. If you want to continue living, you will do so as our slaves.”
Eric turned his head and threw Randy a confused glance, but he didn’t say anything, vocally or telepathically, waiting to see where the trailblazer was going with this.
“What do you require of your slaves?” the Mssot asked, making it clear that such an option was on the table.
“Your people will be sustained and confined to a single location where you will live out the rest of your lives away from harm and without the ability to harm anyone else. You will survive, but your civilization will not. You will be absorbed into our empire and assist us with projects of our choosing, while operating none of your own. Your freedom will be gone, but your lives will continue…and your offspring will be delivered to us to do with as we please.”
“Your numbers will dwindle over time,” Randy continued, and Eric was surprised by the cold honesty in his words, “and your civilization will die even as you continue to produce more offspring for us. That is the bargain we offer. You can choose to live as slaves or leave this system and take your chances elsewhere, which you know will lead to your imminent deaths.”
“You ask much of us,” the Mssot said slowly, with the anger that had been spilling out before now thoroughly clamped down, “but your terms are not wholly unacceptable, though they will require clarification on some points.”
“Ask,” Randy prompted, his demeanor still icy.
“Where will we be situated?”
“In a single facility,” the trailblazer said, picking up on some of the Mssot’s unspoken questions, “that will be inhabited exclusively by you. You will be confined to it and supplied with resources by us. You will be our permanent guests, and you will own nothing of your own.”
“Our ships?”
“Once you arrive at the location you will abandon them and all possessions. You will have no autonomy. You will be a subsection of our empire.”
“We will not be of use to you without our technology,” the Mssot warned.
“We’ll determine that, and give you what is required. You’ve done a lot of unethical research in the past and that will not be permitted with us. All projects will require approval by us, and you will not be cleared for any work of your own. You will be our slaves with no autonomy whatsoever,” the Archon reiterated.
“And our offspring?”
“You will clear their genomes of any genetic memories and turn them over to us. We will move them to a separate facility and that will be the last you ever see of them. What we plan to do with them is our own concern. You will have no further contact with them after handover, and handover will occur immediately after they are developed enough to travel.”
“What numbers do you require?”
“Nothing unreasonable, but a steady supply. How does your race reproduce?”
“Asexual external egg production, one per cycle.”
“Then we will require the eggs before they hatch. You will not be allowed to keep any, all must go to us.”
“Do you wish the young for a specific purpose, or simply to deny us a future?”
Randy’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he could sense just a hint of the anger returning in the Mssot. “You don’t know if any more of your race survived the Nestafar attack, so it’s possible that you are the last. Had we met under different circumstances it probably would have resulted in us killing you for your misdeeds…but you come to us as refugees, and despite your past history we choose not to turn you away, but we will not allow that history to continue. We will preserve your race in our own fashion, but your dishonorable culture must die, and I do not trust you or those with you to change your ways, thus you will be restricted and unable to repeat the past.”
“So you seek to teach our offspring what you think we cannot be taught?”
“Yes…which is why all genetic memory you’ve added has to be undone, so they don’t carry with them the taint of your civilization.”
“Our gain in this proposal is obvious, but yours is dubious. If you do not wish us to use our knowledge to create weapons, then what projects of value do you seek from us in compensation?”
“Our own biologists are quite advanced, but you have knowledge that is different from ours. You will teach us what you know and we will add it to our own. You will also provide information on every race you’ve encountered, a list of historical events you’ve been part of or witnessed, and be used as analysts when we encounter bioweapons or other types of interesting little puzzles created by others. You will do our bidding, in seclusion, for the remainder of your lives.”
The Mssot’s single eye closed its black lid and held it shut for a moment, and Randy could sense it coming to a decision. When it opened again the level of deviousness surged forth and the trailblazer could tell it had other plans than meekly fading away from galactic events.
“Your terms are plausible, but I must confer with others before official supplication can be enacted.”
“Take your time,” Randy offered. “We’re in no rush.”
“As you know we are. With permission I would like to return to orbit as soon as possible. Matters of this importance must be negotiated in person.”
The Archon looked to one of the nearby guards. “Take him back to the spaceport, directly, and allow him to board his dropship. He goes nowhere else.”
The Human security guard n
odded and gestured to the Mssot who walked off with the four guards, leaving the two Archons behind in the park as a gentle wind began to drift down over the barrier walls and filter its way in through the tree leaves.
What was that about? Eric asked telepathically as Randy sat down on the railing beside him as they watched the cloaked Mssot and guards walk off.
A bit of theatrical negotiation.
I thought we weren’t in the slave owning business.
Usually no, but these guys are as slippery and amoral as they come. Can you think of a better way to keep them contained?
Mind letting me in on what you know. I wasn’t able to pull any memories from him, just emotions.
They’re bad guys, Randy summed up pithily.
So…we just shoot them, right?
It’s not your fault. These guys appear benign enough, and it’s part of their cover, but I’ve had enough experience reading non-Human minds to pick this one apart. Their civilization is pretty much a mad scientist’s dream. Lots of biotech wrapped up in their ships, which are partially sentient. We’ll have a look, but I’m not sure even the V’kit’no’sat could undo their machinations. If the Mssot refuse our offer and go on their merry way we’re taking them captive and putting an end to their misery. I didn’t get a lot of information, but what they’ve got going is akin to Captain Keyes as a Flood bulkhead.
Eric swallowed hard, his ire rising. Now I’m really glad I called you in. What’s the angle with the younglings?
Exactly what I told our friend…we’re destroying their civilization while preserving their race.
Why?
What would you suggest?
Well, aside from shooting them, keep them locked up and unable to creep about like you said. I just don’t get the ‘rebuild the bad guys’ civilization.’
Randy sighed. Something the trailblazers have been discussing for a long time now. We kind of have a pet peeve about writing off an entire race. It’d be like the Calavari killing us because of what The Word has done.
Still not seeing it. We’re not killing the Mssot, just locking them away in a resort somewhere…by the way, where were you thinking?