Peacekeeper Pathogen (Galactic Alliance Book 6)

by Doug Farren

  “Thank you,” Lashpa said, gently placing one of her hands on the side of King Syan’s face. Looking at Tom, she said, “I’ll be in my ship. Would you care to play a game of chess after the king has left?”

  “I would love to,” Tom said. “King Syan, this way please.”

  The king started to turn but stopped and looked at Lashpa. “You have learned our customs. It would be rude of me not to ask about yours. How do your people greet each other?”

  Tom turned around and faced Lashpa. Holding out his hand, he said, “Terrans typically greet each other with a handshake.”

  Lashpa reached out and grasped Tom’s hand, demonstrating how to perform a handshake. “Terrans also use a handshake for many other purposes,” she said. “It took me a long time to figure out when to properly apply it.”

  “And your people?” King Syan asked.

  Tom lifted his head slightly. Lashpa’s tongue flicked out and gently touched the side of his neck. King Syan’s ears practically vibrated as his eyes grew large.

  “Obviously,” Tom began, “I don’t have a long enough tongue to return such a greeting.” Reaching out, Tom touched Lashpa’s neck with two of his fingers then placed them on the tip of his tongue. “Lashpa can tell a great deal from what she tastes but I don’t have her sensitive palate. For us, it’s more of a cultural exchange.”

  King Syan lifted his head, turning it slightly towards Lashpa. Her tongue once again flicked out, touching the king’s neck. Following Tom’s example, he returned the greeting then turned to Tom and stuck out his hand. Tom grasped it and after a bit of awkwardness, they managed to shake.

  “Thank you,” King Syan said. “I have many friends among my own people. If it is permitted, I would like to say that you two are friends as well.”

  “Of course it’s permitted!” Tom said. “Why would you even have to ask?”

  “Friendship is not something to be taken lightly,” the King explained. “It’s almost as important as finding one’s mate. I would be honored if you would accept my offer of friendship.”

  “Accepted!” Tom said.

  “I accept as well,” Lashpa replied, reaching out and gently touching the side of King Syan’s face. “Enjoy your tour of Tom’s ship.”

  Tom took the king down to the Orion’s engineering section one deck below the living section. Since it was not designed for occupancy, the engineering section of the ship was cramped and packed full of equipment. The smell of ozone and the hum of operating machinery permeated the room. Tom pointed to a large flattened spherical machine tucked away in the far corner.

  “That’s the machine that provides the main power for the ship’s propulsion system,” he explained. Pointing out a spherical device with thick cables connecting it to the first machine, Tom said, “And that’s the ship’s main propulsion unit.”

  Directly above the stardrive was another spherical device suspended inside a collection of heavy shock absorbers—the shield generator. Tom did not point it out and was glad the king seemed to assume it was part of the stardrive.

  “It’s much smaller than I thought possible,” King Syan said. “How can a ship this small travel between the stars?”

  “I’m sorry,” Tom replied, “It’s not possible for me to explain it to you. Your people should not have been contacted for many years. Giving you too much information too fast could harm your people’s cultural development. But you are a unique species and we could very well be wrong.”

  “I understand,” King Syan said. “Someday, Mowry will build ships such as this.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt. Shall we head back?”

  “Yes. If I’m to make good on my promise to you, I have much work to do. I will let you know when my people are ready to be taken to the other continents.”

  Twenty minutes later, Tom sat down across from Lashpa and pushed a pawn forward to begin the game. Picking up the mug of coffee Lashpa had set out for him, he said, “I get the impression you did not believe I should have shown my stardrive to King Syan.”

  Without any hesitation, Lashpa pushed a pawn. “Had the Purists not intervened in their culture, the Mowry would still be ignorant of the Alliance. I believe we have a moral obligation to limit the damage that has already been done.”

  Tom brought a knight into play, beginning the classic Ruy Lopez. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “But the Mowry have already been seriously contaminated with advanced technology. They don’t understand how it works, yet they’ve become reliant on it for certain aspects of their society. The Purists nuked several of their cities! We have a moral obligation not to abandon them. Allowing him to see even more advanced technology will not cause them any additional harm.”

  As he talked, the two players quickly moved their pieces, automatically following one of the centuries-old classic chess openings. Instead of bringing her bishop into play as expected on her fourth move, Lashpa pushed a pawn in an unconventional deviation from the normal pattern of standard openings. She enjoyed doing this because it always caused a small amount of confusion in Tom as he attempted to identify the purpose of the move.

  “I’m worried,” she said, as Tom paused to study the unexpected configuration, “that our continued presence here will result in the Mowry becoming dependent on the Alliance. They should be allowed to develop as best as they can without undue influence from us.”

  Tom put his elbows on the table, folded his hands together, and dropped his chin into the pocket formed by his thumbs. He stared at the configuration of pieces for over a minute, then continued with his part of the standard opening Lashpa had deviated from. “The difficult part is to identify how much we should and how much we should not help. If we leave, they might resent us. If we become too involved, they might not mature as a culture. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

  Lashpa finished off her coffee then slid her bishop from its starting position bringing it to rest next to Tom’s bishop, going back to following the standard opening. “And that’s why we need to be so careful.”

  “When are you planning on heading back to Earth?” Tom asked.

  “As soon as this game is finished. The replacement hull plating means Krish’s stealth capability is compromised. If the Purists fall for our trap, I will not be able to take part in following a ship. Hopefully, Krish can be quickly repaired and I’ll be back before another case of dirt-eating is identified.”

  Tom castled. “What about the quarantine? The inside of your ship might be clean but the outside is still contaminated.”

  Lashpa castled. “I’m going to have Krish steam cleaned.”

  Tom looked up and stared at Lashpa. “Steam cleaned? How?”

  Grabbing the carafe, Lashpa refilled both their cups as she replied. “The Mowry make heavy use of steam power. They steam clean the hulls of their ships to improve efficiency. There’s a shipyard on the east coast with enough equipment to decontaminate the exterior of the ship. High temperature steam has been proven to destroy T11-N106 spores.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea!” Tom said.

  “Thank you. It’s your turn.”

  Tom studied the board for a moment, then used a pawn to take one of Lashpa’s. “Let me know when you’re on your way back.”

  Lashpa completed the pawn exchange, taking Tom’s with a knight. “And you let me know if anything changes while I’m gone.”

  Tom moved his queen from his home row, putting more pressure on Lashpa’s defenses.

  The game lasted for a little over an hour with both sides unable to gain a clear advantage. Eventually, Lashpa found a small gap in Tom’s defenses and skillfully manipulated it into a win. After saying their goodbyes, Tom stood outside in the humid air and watched as Lashpa’s ship silently clawed its way out of the atmosphere.

  Chapter 20

  “Another case of T11-N106 has been confirmed,” Tom’s ship informed him. Six days had passed since Lashpa left and Tom was beginning to get restless. Today, he was touring the now fully l
it facility near the top of The Mountain of the Gods. It looked very different now that it was properly lit. The soft echo of his shoes hitting the metal floor was joined by the quick echoes of someone coming up behind him at a fast walk.

  “Where?” Tom asked, stopping and turning around to see who it was

  “Safa,” the ship replied as Tom recognized Kitma, the head of the Omel team currently exploring the abandoned facility.

  “I’m sorry. I- - -,” Kitma began, but stopped when Tom held up his hand.

  “I’m receiving a report from my ship,” Tom explained. “Orion, give me the details.”

  “A peacekeeper assigned to Safa assisted an individual working at the starport who was experiencing unexplained sharp pains. She was taken to a hospital and diagnosed with an unknown illness. The peacekeeper followed up on the employee and learned of the diagnosis. Her ship recognized the symptoms as those associated with T11-N106. Travel records and other associated information concerning the individual’s immediate past are being obtained now.”

  “Sorry,” Tom said to Kitma, who had been patiently waiting.

  “It is I who should apologize,” Kitma replied. “I was to meet you at the entrance when you arrived. Instead, I was overseeing the final disassembly of the facility’s fusion reactor. Please accept my sincere apologies.”

  “Accepted, although I did arrive earlier than expected.”

  “Still, the fault is mine.”

  Tom looked around and said, “It looks very different when properly lit. Have you learned anything about who built this place?”

  “The Purists did a very good job of taking everything from here. Every lock was broken and every room cleared of anything of interest. I’m afraid the origin of the Gwon will remain a mystery until we find out where the Purists took what used to be here.”

  Tom continued walking. Open barred doors stood silent attesting to the fact that thousands of years ago Mowry were held here against their will to be used as biological factories. It was horrifying and disgusting.

  “That’s not the news I was hoping for,” he replied.

  “I have a team looking at what the Mowry claim to be Gwon artifacts. I’ve not heard back from them yet. Perhaps their research will produce some results.”

  “I dropped Biomaster Flothir off at the residence of the Voice of the Gods on my way here,” Tom said. “Do you actually think we can learn much from anything that’s been laying around for 4,000 years? Much of this planet is wet and the oxygen content is quite high.”

  “It depends on what’s been found,” Kitma said as she walked beside Tom. “I wonder why the Mowry have allowed that once beautiful building to fall into ruin. One would assume that this mountain and the former residence of one of the Star Gods would have become a sort of religious shrine.”

  “I got the impression the Mountain of the Gods was considered as more of a place to be avoided rather than revered,” Tom replied. “Anrithna—the Voice of the Gods—did indicate that fewer and fewer people were believing the Star Gods would return. This whole belief system of theirs is going to be an interesting challenge for your psychologists.”

  Tom stopped at the open doorway leading into the operating room. Now he understood why it was so simple; the Gwon used it to extract the spores from the Mowry.

  Kitma grabbed the edge of the door and leaned in. “Personally, I’m amazed at how well they’ve been able to adapt. They were created through bioengineering to serve the Gwon. It’s obvious they were treated as property instead of sentient beings. They’ve known of the existence of off-world beings for centuries. The Purists treated them almost as bad as the Gwon and then dropped nuclear weapons on them when the Alliance forced them to leave. Frankly, I’m shocked they trust us as well as they do.”

  Tom turned away from the operating room and resumed walking. “Perhaps such trust is built into their genetic makeup,” he suggested. “They trusted the Purists until it was learned they were not actually the Star Gods.”

  “It will be an area of research for many years,” Kitma said.

  “Have you searched the surrounding area in case those who built this place also had a means to protect it?”

  “We have, but so far we’ve found nothing except the door they cut out to gain entrance to the facility.”

  “I was wondering what happened to it.”

  “We found it about 200 meters down the east slope buried in a pile of rubble it had knocked loose on its way down.”

  “Interesting. I would- - -”

  “I have received an emergency communication from King Syan,” Orion interrupted.

  Tom stopped walking. Kitma continued on for a few steps before realizing he was no longer following her. She stopped and turned around. “Is everything okay?”

  Tom held up his hand again and said, “Play it!”

  “It’s not directly from the king,” the ship explained. “It originated from a member of the Churva who was flagged down by one of the king’s assistants. He needs to meet with you and Flothir concerning an urgent matter involving T11-N106.”

  “I certainly hope this was sent via a secure channel!” Tom exclaimed.

  “It was. I’ve already informed Flothir that we’ll be picking him up.”

  Tom turned around and began rapidly walking back towards the entrance. “On my way,” he said. Looking over his shoulder, he told Kitma, “Something’s come up. Thanks for the tour. If I have time, I’ll be back.”

  “I understand,” Kitma replied.

  Tom broke into a run—traveling at a clip that only a cybernetically enhanced person could achieve. Luckily, nobody else was in this part of the facility. The Orion began to lift off as soon as he stepped into the recently installed decontamination chamber. In his mind, the only reason King Syan would make an urgent request to see both him and Flothir would be if a case of dirt-eating had been reported.

  “Burn a hole through the atmosphere,” Tom ordered as he made his way to the control room.

  “I recommend a more leisurely trip. If the Purists are monitoring our activities, our hasty return might cause them to ask too many questions.”

  “Good point,” Tom replied. “Take it easy then. Ask the Churva if they can send someone to the king to let him know I’m on my way.”

  “Acknowledged. Flothir has signaled that he’s on his way back to where we dropped him off.”

  “Good. Hopefully, this is what I think it is.”

  “A case of dirt-eating?” the ship inquired.

  “Right. What’s our ETA?”

  “Three hours, fourteen minutes after we pick up Flothir.”

  It didn’t take long to reach the residence of the Voice of the Gods. Using one of his external monitors, Tom could see both Flothir and Anrithna standing out in the open. Anrithna had said that as recently as four generations ago, the large flat area they were standing in had once been a magnificent flower garden. Now, it was nothing but a flat field of weeds.

  Tom allowed the ship to land itself. A minute later, they were airborne again. Tom met Flothir as he exited the decontamination chamber.

  “What’s going on?” Flothir asked as soon as the door started to open.

  “King Syan has asked to see you and I as soon as possible,” Tom explained as they headed for the conference room. “He indicated it had something to do with T11-N106.”

  “A case of dirt-eating?” Flothir asked.

  “He did not say, although I can’t imagine he would send such a message for any other reason. Did you see anything interesting?”

  “Most of what I saw was either badly corroded or damaged. There was what looked like a personal transport of some type although it was so twisted and rotted it was hard to tell. I hope the archaeologists are able to get some amount of useful information out of it.”

  Tom put a cup under the dispenser. His finger hovered over the coffee button for a moment before he changed his mind and selected a cup of green tea. While his tea was brewing, he turned and said, “What
’s frustrating is knowing that an advanced culture once lived here yet we have almost no information on what sort of people they were, where they came from, or what happened to them.”

  “I’ll take a cup of coffee please,” Flothir began, pulling up a chair and sitting down. “I had a good talk with Anrithna. Most of what the Star Gods built was destroyed during the war. Before surrendering, the Gwon apparently triggered the pathogen to kill off the population. The trigger, whatever it is, must either be very short-lived or it has a short range of effectiveness. A few adults managed to survive. They raised the children that were not yet infected. Even though they believed the Star Gods would return, they didn’t have the numbers to preserve anything they’d left behind. The only real evidence of who the Star Gods were, was in the facility on top of the Mountain of the Gods.”

  “And the Purists now have it all,” Tom said. He pulled his cup out, set it on the table, replaced it with another, and started brewing Flothir’s coffee. The enticing smell of fresh coffee almost caused Tom to toss his tea but his coffee consumption had been gradually going up over the past few weeks and the ship’s AI had suggested he cut back.

  “If it is a dirt-eater,” Flothir said. “I’ll have to alert the Churva so they can prep the tracker.”

  “I’ve already done so,” Orion replied. “It will be arriving on the surface soon.”

  “How hard will it be to implant?” Tom asked.

  “Not hard at all—you swallow it.”

  Tom pulled the filled cup out of the dispenser and set it down on the table in front of Flothir. Taking a seat, he asked, “That’s it?”

  Flothir sipped his coffee then set it on the table, holding it between his palms. “It’s pretty simple. The battery will last about three weeks. It sends out a microsecond-long pulse at varying frequencies and times and has a range of roughly 400 kilometers. We’ll have to synchronize our trackers with the timing and the frequencies used.”

  “So tell me about these artifacts,” Tom said, picking up his tea and sipping on it.