Dark Matter

by S. W. Ahmed

  “Oh, my God!” Marc cried in shock, ducking to avoid getting hit by the heavy fire exchange in both directions. “Oh, my God! Sibular, are you… are you alive?”

  Sibular turned his head ever so slightly to face Marc. “Yes,” he whispered. “I… will… be alright. I… think.”

  Marc cried out frantically for help. A Mendoken trooper came over and helped pull Sibular to the side of the corridor, propping him up against the wall. Then the trooper quickly analyzed Sibular’s wounds.

  “He will survive,” the trooper said, taking out a small device and spraying something from it over Sibular’s broken casing to stop the bleeding. “Provided we can get him back to our ship quickly. His organic-mechanical balancing system has been damaged.” Without another word, the trooper went back to fighting.

  Marc sat in a crouching position next to Sibular, wondering how he could possibly help Sibular stay alive. If only he had more knowledge of Mendoken anatomy!

  “Marc... you must... continue fighting. Time… running out… Imgoerin.” Sibular’s voice was getting fainter by the second.

  “But I can’t leave you here like this!”

  “Nothing… you can do… for me here.” Sibular’s right front limb lifted off the floor and pointed at the door to the grand hall. “Imgoerin… you… must… show him… truth. My life… everyone’s life…. depends… on it. Go… Marc. Take… this.” He pointed to the translator device clipped to his shoulder. “Will… need.”

  Marc reluctantly picked up the translator, but refused to get up. It took Osalya, who had seen what was happening, to come over and change his mind.

  Osalya took a quick look at Sibular. “Not to worry, Mr. Zemin. Sibular will be fine. Once we break through that door, all fighting will stop, as the Aftarans will not dare fight in front of all the prominent political figures and media representatives inside the grand hall. And then we will be able to take Sibular back to our ship for treatment.”

  Marc got up and began firing again at the Aftaran soldiers blocking the way. As he kept firing, anger developed inside him, anger directed at those Aftarans and their alien overlords for what they had done to Sibular. He shot harder, faster, taking down as many of the enemy as he could, all the while counting the minutes his friend probably had left to live.

  Lord Wazilban stood inside the grand hall of the Bara Dilshai resort, completely unimpressed by what the hall had to offer. As far as he was concerned, what made this hall grand was neither its large size nor the fact that its transparent walls gave a magnificent, unhindered view of the supermassive black hole in the distance. No, the only thing grand about this hall was what was taking place inside it at the current time.

  Wazilban had just finished giving his speech to an audience of many important figures. There were media representatives from most of the major news carriers in the Dominion and the MendokenRepublic, as well as leaders of the Aftaran military and regional governors from across the Dominion. The key Aftaran positions of authority he had, of course, replaced with associates of his choice after rising to power, most of them members of his own kinfolk in disguise. Such a move had been necessary to keep advancing the master plan. Otherwise even the simplest of steps would have required fabricating a whole story around, just to keep these righteousness and virtue obsessed Aftarans from raising questions.

  The most important figure in the hall for Wazilban today, however, was no Aftaran or anyone of his own kind. It was the leader of the most populous and technologically advanced civilization in the galaxy, the Mendoken Imgoerin himself. His eyes were keenly focused on the Imgoerin, who was now speaking on the stage. He wasn’t particularly concerned about the content of the Imgoerin’s speech, though. Like his own carefully crafted speech praising the benefits of this new military coalition, the Imgoerin would likely have similar words to say, albeit probably more fact-filled and less emotional.

  What Wazilban was more concerned about was the Imgoerin’s body language, especially his facial expressions and limb movements, as difficult as such language was to discern on the robotic Mendoken. Although Wazilban had purposely arranged for a complete blockage of all information transmission into and out of the grand hall during this meeting, he was still worried that the technically savvy Mendoken might find a way to get through to the Imgoerin from their ship. And if they did, then any disruptive news would possibly cause the Imgoerin to stomp on his speech or at least show some flicker of uncertainty in his single, 360 degree vision eye.

  The last thing Wazilban wanted or needed after all this planning and preparation was for the Imgoerin to feel uncertain about this coalition. At the slightest sign of hesitation on the Imgoerin’s part, Wazilban was prepared to insist on and accelerate the signing procedure. He knew only too well that once the Imgoerin willingly signed the covenant, the Mendoken would be bound by law to uphold the terms of the coalition, regardless of whatever information the Imgoerin were to receive after that. Given Mendoken nature to abide by the rule of law no matter what, the Imgoerin would have to keep honoring the covenant until both sides reached a consensus to break it off. And Wazilban had no intention of ever providing the Imgoerin that consensus.

  But Wazilban also knew he had good reason to be worried about disruptive news. His army had so far been unable to capture the fugitives who had escaped from his clutches, or any of those pesky Aftaran rebels they had likely joined forces with. That individual from the hitherto unknown, advanced species known as Humans, with his unique ability to see through the carefully designed disguises Wazilban and his associates had adorned for so long, was clearly too much of a danger to remain alive and free. The repeated failures of the Aftaran military commanders to catch this Human and the other fugitives had been intolerable, and he had personally decapitated the heads of several of them to send a clear message to the rest that such failure was no longer an option they could live with. There simply was no greater motivator than fear, as he and his associates well knew.

  Since a Mendoken was among the fugitives, Wazilban had deemed it only logical that they would try to make contact with the Imgoerin and his crew during his visit to the Dominion. The visit had, after all, been widely announced well ahead of time, something Wazilban himself had felt compelled to arrange for the sake of rallying the wavering Aftaran public back onto a solid war footing. So now, at the meeting, he was taking no chances. Not only had he taken extra security precautions to tightly restrict all access to the resort, including banning any Mendoken troopers from setting foot on the asteroid, he had also seen to it that all communication into and out of the grand hall was blocked during the event. That did mean no live media broadcasts of the ceremony, but that was a price he was more than willing to pay. Once again, he had applied his principle of prioritization. A couple of hours delay in getting the news out to the public wasn’t nearly as critical as preventing any news about the fugitives or rebels getting to the Imgoerin’s ears before the signing of the covenant.

  There was, however, one major drawback to this total communication blockage. The event had been going on for a good hour and a half, first with a reception welcoming the Mendoken delegation, followed by detailed reports from both the Aftaran and Mendoken sides on how badly their individual wars were progressing. Then Wazilban had taken the podium for a while to explain why this coalition was necessary. And now, finally, the Imgoerin was delivering the very last speech before the actual signing. But during this whole time, Wazilban had not been able to communicate with anyone outside the hall, not even his own forces guarding the resort.

  This was a major bother for him, because he hated to be kept in the dark about anything. He had no idea if the fugitives and Aftaran rebels had attempted to make it to the resort or make contact with the Mendoken ship, or whether they had been able to break through the barricade his forces had erected around the perimeter of the resort. The view outside from the grand hall had shown nothing unusual, but this view was restricted to only one side of the barricade and the Mendoken ship was p
arked on the other side.

  He did deem it unlikely that they would be able to pass through the barricade. Even if they did make it to the Mendoken ship, he thought it even less likely that the rational thinking Mendoken would attempt to risk landing on the resort or forcibly try to gain entry to the event while their leader was there inside the grand hall, exposed and defenseless. But then again, nothing could be discounted. The Mendoken had surprised him before with their consar attack on Volo-Gaviera. Fortunately he had successfully turned that event into his favor, unleashing a series of events that had eventually led to this meeting today. But the Mendoken could easily surprise him again, and this time with less desirable consequences.

  Wazilban had also made it clear that no Aftaran soldiers were to enter the grand hall during the event, nor were any boryals or other weapons to be allowed inside. Broadcast images of firearms, armed guards or any conflict at what was supposed to be a meeting between two friendly allies would send the wrong message to the masses. In any case, there was only one main door into and out of the hall, which, surprising as it was for a hall this size, was necessary to maintain the clear view of the black hole through the transparent walls. That door was going to be well guarded from the outside, so he had felt comfortable with this decision to keep the guards out of the hall.

  But now, during the event itself, he felt anxious, counting the seconds as the Imgoerin’s speech came to an end. A couple of times, he thought he heard muffled noises behind the main door. But he dismissed the idea, attributing the sounds to his own nervous imagination. The walls and doors of the hall were far too thick to allow any noise to pass through anyway.

  Finally, the Imgoerin uttered his last words, and a brief applause rippled through the audience. Relieved, Wazilban walked up to the stage to stand next to the Imgoerin. All those years of thoughtful deliberation and tactful, secret execution were about to result in a major step forward for the master plan. It was going to be a great moment for him and his people.

  Both leaders faced the audience together, as two large screens appeared above them in the air. Both screens scrolled through the text of the covenant, one displaying it in the Mendoken language and the other in the Aftaran language of Mareefi.

  One of Wazilban’s aides addressed the audience. “Fellow Aftarans and Mendoken, we will now proceed with the signing.”

  The audience applauded as Wazilban lifted his hand, allowing his face to be scanned by rays from the screens. A holographic image of his face then appeared in the lower right corner of both screens, indicating that he had signed the covenant.

  The time had come. “Franzek, your turn,” he said to the Imgoerin.

  The Imgoerin got ready to raise one of his front limbs. But at that very moment, a powerful explosion suddenly rocked the grand hall. The ground shook violently, causing many in the audience to lose their balance and fall to the floor.

  Struggling to keep his own balance, Wazilban turned to look at the main entrance. As the smoke and dust around the entrance gradually dispersed, he realized to his dismay that the large, heavy metal door blocking all access to the grand hall had been blasted away. Despite all the precautions he and his associates had taken, his worst fear was about to turn into reality.

  Chapter 33

  Marc followed Osalya into the grand hall, only too glad that the fighting had come to an end. After a long, raging battle, the Mendoken contingent had overpowered the Aftarans blocking the entrance, and had then blasted the door open with explosives. Almost immediately, the Aftaran soldiers advancing from the rear had stopped shooting and had retreated out of sight. Just as Osalya had predicted, the Aftarans would no longer fight once the door to the grand hall was opened. A battle scene with the Mendoken would be too major an embarrassment for their leader in front of the Imgoerin, especially while their two civilizations were about to embark on a new alliance of military cooperation.

  Some of the Mendoken troopers had then carried their wounded to the shuttles and transported them back to the mother ship. Marc had felt the strong urge to go back with them and make sure Sibular received adequate medical attention, but he knew he was needed far more urgently here, now.

  “How many of them do you see?” Dumyan whispered into Marc’s ear. Both he and Sharjam were right behind Marc as they entered the grand hall.

  “The aliens?” At first, all Marc noticed was the mesmerizing view of the supermassive black hole through the transparent walls on the far side. He forced his eyes to focus on the inside of the hall, and found a wide seating arrangement similar to that of a semicircular amphitheater. He had just entered at the very top level of the amphitheater, and a long flight of steps in front led the way down to the main stage. The audience rows were filled, mostly with Aftarans, some Mendoken, and a surprisingly large number of the aliens. Different kinds of equipment were spread across the hall, probably being used by media representatives to record this historic event.

  Marc could see two figures standing on the stage. One was an alien, undoubtedly Lord Wazilban, and next to him was a Mendoken who had to be the Imgoerin himself. Above their heads were two large screens suspended in the air with no visible supports, displaying text for everyone in the hall to see.

  “The aliens are everywhere!” Marc whispered to Dumyan. “I’ve never seen so many of them in one place before.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Dumyan replied. “We’re surrounded by the cream of Aftaran leadership. These aliens have clearly gained hold of all the key positions of power in our society.”

  Osalya was already floating towards the stage. Marc began walking down the steps behind her, followed closely by Dumyan and Sharjam. The Mendoken troopers stayed back, guarding the entrance to the hall.

  All the members of the audience seemed stunned, turning their heads to look at the four individuals descending towards the stage. Some of them quietly whispered questions to each other, while others just stared in apparent confusion.

  Lord Wazilban was the first to break the deafening silence in the hall. “What is the meaning of this unwelcome, unauthorized interruption?”

  Osalya ignored Wazilban, speaking directly to the Imgoerin instead as she floated up onto the stage. “You must not sign this covenant, Franzek.”

  Her words echoed across the hall through its inbuilt sound propagation system, and members of the audience gasped right away in surprise.

  “I beg your pardon!” Wazilban exclaimed. “Leave the stage immediately! Our two societies are about to embark on a historic journey. This is no time for games! Leave, or be forced to leave!”

  Osalya didn’t budge, so Wazilban called for the guards.

  In the meantime, Marc, Dumyan and Sharjam had reached the stage, but were waiting at its edge. Marc’s eyes met Wazilban’s, and the familiar fear shot through Marc’s body right away. He noticed a slight waver in Wazilban’s usually confident expression, as if Wazilban was a little afraid himself.

  The Mendoken troopers were evidently doing their job holding the entrance. Wazilban called again, but no Aftaran guards came into the hall. He then called on the audience to help remove the intruders.

  Several of the aliens in the audience got up to rush to Wazilban’s aid. The Imgoerin’s bodyguards, who had been standing at the base of the stage, immediately got up onto the stage to protect the Imgoerin and Osalya. Marc raised his ganvex in anticipation of the upcoming conflict, and Dumyan and Sharjam did the same with their boryals.

  “Stop!” the Imgoerin ordered. “All in the audience, please stay in your assigned positions.” His voice was deep and authoritative, but monotonous like those of all Mendoken.

  Everyone froze in their tracks, not only due to the Imgoerin’s command, but also because a number of armed Mendoken troopers had just entered the hall and were rapidly advancing to secure the stage.

  Marc looked at the Imgoerin, a tall Mendoken, who, like Osalya, was wearing shiny metal armor with symbols written over it. His skin, however, was lighter in color. On his head was a
black hat, the one and only black hat in the entire MendokenRepublic, its unique color signifying the very top of the Mendoken hierarchy.

  Wazilban seemed astonished. “But Franzek, you can’t be serious! These are criminals, terrorists! They’re trying to sabotage the creation of our coalition because they want our enemies to destroy us. Surely you can’t allow that to happen!”

  The aliens in the audience began shouting slogans in support of their leader, and called on the Imgoerin to ignore the intruders and to sign the covenant.

  But the Imgoerin was unmoved by the commotion. “Whoever the other intruders may be, Osalya is my trusted top aide, no criminal or terrorist. I will listen to what she has to say before I sign the covenant. Considering all that is at stake here for our two peoples, you will surely offer me that courtesy, Wazilban?”

  Wazilban didn’t look happy at all, but obviously knew he couldn’t force the Imgoerin to sign the covenant, especially not in front of the armed Mendoken troopers and all the media luminaries in the audience. The media would report the coercion to both the Mendoken and Aftaran populations, voiding the effectiveness of the coalition before it had even begun. So, despite all the booing and jeering from his kinfolk in the audience, he moved out of the way and allowed Osalya to approach the Imgoerin.

  Osalya and the Imgoerin hummed silently with each other for a while, barring anyone else’s translators from picking up their words. Marc waited anxiously, keeping an eye on Wazilban and the other aliens to make sure none of them attempted any sudden movements. Luckily none of them did. Perhaps they were all too tense themselves, wondering what was going to happen next.

  Finally the Imgoerin spoke. “I request the Human and his two Aftaran companions to join us on the stage.”

  The aliens in the audience now were roaring in protest. Wazilban pleaded with the Imgoerin, but to no avail.