by S. H. Jucha
Clapping and stomping accompanied Tatia’s statements, and Renée rose, hushing the crowd with upraised hands.
“I don’t want to delay your enjoyment of these meals,” Renée said. “Therefore, I’ll tell you a short story of your choice.”
The crews took up a chant of “Mist Monitor.”
Renée smiled at their choice. “Well, my story might have been much longer and more exciting, if my partner hadn’t hustled us off the planet so quickly,” Renée said, with a grin.
“Alex was afraid of the competition,” a crew member yelled from deep in the room.
“The possibilities of that are strong, Ser,” Renée replied, and Alex grinned at the supposition.
Renée related the story of her encounter with the Ollassa, enthralling her audience with her desire to touch Mist Monitor’s entrancing petals and the entity’s reactions to her fingers. When she finished and sat down, the crews were quiet, absorbing the concept of intimately interacting with an alien, who resembled a walking plant.
Plates were cleaned of every scrap by the hungry crews of the squadron and the city-ship. Thé and aigre, a favorite Méridien drink, were consumed. Eventually, the room quieted, except for the sounds of Alex and Ben finishing their meals.
Tatia waited respectfully for the two huge New Terrans to drain the last of their thé. When their service was removed from their tables, she stood again. “We have one more request for a story. We would hear from Julien about his contact with Scarlet Mandator.”
Alex was one of the first to lead the applause and stamping, doing both. Over the noise could be heard an assortment of unusual, but entrancing, sounds issued by the SADEs. Over the course of time on Haraken and Omnia, no one could remember when the courtesy of a story had been requested of a SADE.
Julien rose and projected from his synth-skin an ancient, pointed felt cap, with a long feather that swept rearward. Crew members trapped images in their implants. Immediately after their meal, they could compete to see who could discover first the historical source of Julien’s choice of haberdashery.
“The Ollassa see the creatures of their Worlds of Light as falling into the categories of either flora or fauna,” Julien began. “Humans, to them, appear as the latter group. Animals, they called our biological friends. I must admit that after conversing with Scarlet Mandator for a period of time and discovering the Ollassa’s superb sensitivities on many subjects, I was torn between keeping this human-style clothing or wearing a covering of leaves.”
Much of the audience was stunned by Julien’s opening, but those humans who knew the SADEs best howled and whistled at his jest. Other crew members applauded timidly.
Alex replied,
“However,” Julien continued, “the latter direction appeared to be fraught with a number of challenges. For instance, if one was to be true to the Ollassa’s example, should my foliage be real, or could it be faux?”
The audience chuckled and tittered at the idea of Julien wearing dirt and leaves, which would require diligent maintenance, and Julien warmed to his subject.
“Then, there was the question of accommodation. Surely, if I was to produce a live garden for my covering, then it would most likely attract an assortment of birds and insects. And, I wondered if that would make me their host. Was I now responsible for their well-bring?”
By now, the audience was roaring with laughter, and Julien hung his head, as if the weight of the decision was too much for him.
“In the end, I admit the choice was beyond my limited capabilities to decide. I realized that I must relent. I was neither plant nor animal. I’m just a SADE.”
The crews rose from their seats, applauding and stomping. Alex’s whistle pierced the noise and joined with the cacophony of tones produced by the SADEs.
Cordelia sent Julien an algorithm snippet for Julien’s synth-skin to display, and, in a single tick, he installed it.
As Julien bowed from the waist, he reached for his feathered cap, transferring the projection from his crown to his hand. It appeared as if he swept the virtual cap from his head in a broad flourish.
Whistles and renewed shouts demonstrated the crews’ hearty approval of the trick, and Julien extended a hand toward Cordelia, who rose and accepted the audience’s appreciation.
* * *
Renée woke in the early hours of the morning and stretched an arm across Alex’s chest only to discover he wasn’t beside her. “I know I had a man when I went to bed,” she muttered. A quick check of Alex’s location by her implant app located him on the city-ship’s bridge in the company of Tatia and the SADEs.
“As if the calculations couldn’t have waited until a decent hour,” she said, annoyed with her partner, and snuggled deeper into the welcoming bedclothes.
On the bridge, Alex examined the SADEs’ projection of the Ollassa system in the holo-vid. Overlaying the star and planets were the vectors of the Nua’ll sphere.
“The vessel entered the system’s space on one trajectory and immediately changed course to intercept the Ollassa home world,” Tatia said, eyeing the display.
“Executing an 83.5-degree port turn on the horizon and a 23.7-degree swing upward toward the ecliptic,” Z added.
“Which gives us no idea of their prior destination,” Alex said. “I’m more interested in their final moments in the Ollassa system.”
“From the time the sphere collected the remaining bullet ship, its course never varied, as it left the system and continued on,” Julien said.
“What is a notable point, Alex,” Miranda added, “is that the sphere didn’t take the shortest route to exit the system or evade the Ollassa ships. The Nua’ll might have chosen a course directly above or below the ecliptic. They could effect a transition much quicker and more safely that way.”
“Instead, they selected this course,” Tatia said, highlighting the display, “which did require them to outrun the swarm of small Ollassa ships.”
“Which means, the Nua’ll had selected their next destination and wanted to proceed in that direction despite the present danger,” Alex surmised. “Now, isn’t that odd?”
“It’s certainly not smart,” Tatia commented.
“It does, however, indicate a presumption of superiority over other species, which is consistent with the actions of the Nua’ll,” Julien replied.
“I wonder how they’re targeting the systems,” Alex said quietly. “Do these spheres have the telemetric capability to accumulate data on the planet environments they need across great expanses of space, or have they been selecting these destinations over time by some other method, such as probes?”
Immediately, the SADEs dove into the accumulated Ollassa telemetry data collected by the squadron and the scout ship. They sifted through exabytes of data, searching for anomalies among the debris readings, trying to determine if they could detect the remains of a foreign probe.
A lieutenant had relinquished her command chair when Alex and Tatia had entered the bridge. The two individuals were resting comfortably, while the SADEs continued their search.
“There is another means of ascertaining your conjecture, Alex,” Z said. “It will require a request from you, Ser, to Council Leader Gino Diamanté. The Confederation will have stored, on Méridien, the telemetry data file
s that the Confederation ships collected at their colonies during the attacks of the Nua’ll sphere. The data will be extensive and will require the shipment of memory crystals from the Council.”
“Captain Cordelia, please make the request of Gino in my name. Ask him to expedite the transfer. Omnia Ships will cover the cost of delivery and return of a passenger liner.”
“What’s the advantage to us of learning whether the sphere is able to use telemetry to locate the next destination or probe signals?” Tatia asked.
“Probes must communicate, Admiral,” Miranda explained. “If we knew they existed, we would know what to look for when we examine our own data, such as that collected by our scout ships.”
“And because probes communicate,” Z added, “if the Confederation ships inadvertently collected that data, it might help us with directionality, even if we can’t understand the messages.”
“Now that would be a language to decode, wouldn’t it, Julien?” Alex asked his friend, adding a big grin, and Julien smiled in return.
“We’ll probably wind up discovering that the alien probes exist, and they point to a galaxy location occupied by a vast civilization that’s home to the Nua’ll,” Tatia groused.
“In which case, Admiral, it might be prudent to relocate our civilization before the Nua’ll come here in force,” Julien replied.
-8-
Fête
The SADE, Captain Hector, eagerly awaited the arrival of his special guests. He faced the city-ship’s central lift, which would deliver them from the landing bay level to the magnificent central garden. Hector wore the dark-blue uniform originally designed for Alex and company, later adopted by the Harakens, and ultimately imitated by the Omnians.
Subtle gold insignias on the jacket’s short stand-up collars identified Hector as a ship’s captain. A patch on one shoulder identified his ship, the Our People, and on the other shoulder was the Omnians’ adopted emblem.
Trixie, Hector’s partner, stood beside him. She had commissioned an outfit to wear that complemented her bright-blue skin and delicately pointed ears. She was as eager as Hector for the start of the evening.
Hector had kept to himself the years of suffering at the hands of the demented ex-Council Leader Mahima Ganesh, who had descended into depression and, later, into insanity, unable to cope with events she couldn’t control. A source of outlet for Mahima’s wild mood swings was her House SADE, Hector, whom she threatened relentlessly. Imprisoned in his box, deep below the Ganesh mansion, Hector was at the mercy of the sadistic, raving woman. He constantly feared that one night Mahima would fulfill her threat to open his casing and pour cold water over his crystals.
Alex knew of Mahima’s hatred for him. In the momentous agreement that freed the Confederation SADEs, he specified that Hector should be one of the first SADEs to be liberated. Sadly, Alex’s remembrance of that occasion was marred by his failure to emancipate the young SADE, Allora, who had fomented events.
Over time, Hector shared his story with Trixie, who had endured a different sort of privation. She had been left to control a moon’s mining robots and ore shipments with only occasional human contact. The two SADEs had formed a tight bond that sought to put their early lives behind them and create new ones with the Omnians.
Standing beside Hector, Trixie was excited for him — on the occasion of the first fête aboard the city-ship, which had finished its lengthy refit only months ago.
It fell to Cordelia to ensure the success of the evening, having crafted many of the successful fêtes aboard the Freedom. Cordelia’s background was steeped in artistic pursuits, including creating digital realities that viewers could immerse themselves in with the aid of their implants. Cordelia supported Hector’s efforts by assisting in lighting the grand park, programming the evening’s music, and directing the many personnel who swarmed the park and prepared the venues surrounding it.
Officers and crew from the Tridents and thousands of Omnians from all walks of life on the nascent planet were already in attendance and enjoying themselves. Cordelia had coordinated with Hector the late arrival of Alex and Renée, who were accompanying the three SADEs who the fête honored.
The lift doors opened, and Alex and Renée exited first, but quickly stepped aside. Killian, Bethley, and Trium walked into the thunderous applause and whistles of thousands of well-wishers, who welcomed their safe return home.
Bethley replied.
Trium had no such reservations. He raised his arms high in a victory salute that he’d seen in a New Terran vid, courtesy of Renée’s extensive library, which had been installed on the scout ship’s controller. His actions generated an even greater level of noise from the assembled crowd. Eagerly, he waded into the audience, accepting hugs and slaps on the back.
“Welcome to your celebration,” Hector said, addressing the other two SADEs. “Bethley, your demeanor indicates you’re not pleased by the event.”
“You’re generous to have made the effort, Captain Hector, but it was quite unnecessary.”
“Oh, I agree with you, Bethley, it was absolutely unnecessary,” Hector replied smiling, and Bethley was forced to consider the ramifications of that odd statement. “While unnecessary, Bethley, it’s a true pleasure. In time, you might learn that lesson,” Hector replied. “Please enjoy,” he added with a sweep of his arm.
Hector and Killian exchanged knowing smiles, as they passed each other. Then, Hector turned his attention to Alex and Renée.
“Greetings, Alex,” Hector said. His right hand covered Trixie’s, which rested in the crook of his left arm. It was a custom that the SADEs had copied after witnessing Alex extend the courtesy to Renée, many years ago.
“An attractive couple,” Alex said, complimenting the pair.
“And a happy one, Dassata,” Trixie replied.
“That’s most important,” Alex agreed.
“I love the outfit, Trixie,” Renée said.
“I wanted to be prepared for the evening,” Trixie replied, displaying her infectious grin. “Word has spread that Ser has been teaching Dassata to waltz.”
“And he has only begun to learn the steps,” Alex warned.
“Then this is a perfect evening to practice, and, as the hostess of the evening’s function, I reserve the honor of the first dance, providing Ser approves.”
“Oh, she does,” Renée replied, adding her own grin.
“I see our New Terran envoy is anxious to speak to me,” Alex said, hastily extricating himself from the group.
“Was it something I said?” Trixie asked mischievously, which caused both females to break into laughter.
Renée felt no urgent need to follow Alex and greet a woman she considered a family member. Not waiting for this evening’s formal occasion, she’d taken the opportunity to visit with Maria aboard her liner, the Rover, where the two women spent most of the afternoon catching up on current events. It was for that reason that Renée knew Alex would need time to talk privately with Maria on a sticky political issue. She watched Alex and Maria hug warmly.
“Shall we dispense with the pleasantries, Alex, and get to business?” Maria asked.
“As we usually do, you mean?” Alex replied, grinning.
“Seems to be our style,” Maria agreed.
“I think we should have Tatia join us,” Alex said, and sent a request.
Tatia homed in on Alex’s location, and the threesome navigated toward one another through the park.
“Envoy Gonzalez,” Tatia said, greeting Maria formally.
“Admiral Tachenko,” Maria replied, adding, “Does that dispense with the formalities?”
“I believe so,” Tatia replied, and the two women embraced.
“Shall we deal with the news?” Maria asked.
“Speaking of which, where is your new admiral?” Tatia asked.
“Our Trident captains are keeping him
occupied. I wanted an opportunity to speak to the two of you first,” Maria replied.
“This doesn’t sound good,” Tatia replied, locking her hands behind her back, as if her ex-Terran Security Forces general were about to deliver bad news to her ex-TSF major.
“Our new admiral, Anthony W. Tripping, is a political appointee,” Maria explained. “Originally, he was a fighter pilot, trained on the old Daggers and retrained as a traveler pilot.”
“Maria, this doesn’t make much military sense,” Tatia objected. “We’ve invested a great deal of time and effort, training as a cohesive attack squadron. If New Terra wanted a senior captain or a commodore, why not promote one of the captains who has been part of the squadron? All three have done well, but I’d recommend Captain Alphons Jagielski of the NT Arthur McMorris.
“It’s a done deal, Tatia,” Maria replied.
“I presume the three New Terran Tridents will be returning home with you,” Alex said, disappointed at losing three of the squadron’s eight Tridents.
“Well, that’s where it gets a little sticky,” Maria replied, wincing at what she was about to say. “President Grumley has asked me to request that Admiral Tripping have an opportunity to train with your squadron and provide additional command support on your foray to find the Nua’ll home world.”
“Harold Grumley surely has to know that we have no idea how long that might take, Maria,” Alex replied, disturbed at this turn in the conversation. “And I can tell you that it won’t be a foray. It will be a hunt … a lengthy, arduous hunt.”
“And a dangerous one at that,” Tatia added.
Alex and Tatia turned to regard each other, and Maria could imagine the private conversation taking place between two of her favorite people.
“I’m willing to see if Admiral Tripping can develop his skills, as a commander, sufficiently. Under those conditions, I believe he can be allowed to operate as a second in command,” Tatia finally said. “Oh, no,” Tatia added in disbelief, when she saw Maria’s face screw up in a sour expression.