Sentience 1: Storm Clouds Gathering

by Gibson Michaels

  Maaz well understood that he owed his own meteoric rise to the top of the fleet ranks to his talented littermate Raan. There was no sibling rivalry here. Maaz understood his own limitations, and accepted that he had risen as high as he ever would. But instead of constantly wanting something more, he was grateful and content to be exactly where he was. Maaz was totally loyal to his littermate.

  Raan sometimes wondered if he hadn’t made an error in helping Maaz get promoted beyond his talents, but Maaz had shown excellent judgment and done a remarkable job at keeping the lid on such a momentous discovery, so perhaps that familial weakness wouldn’t come back to bite him on the tail after all. Maaz had also judged Tzal correctly. Tzal had indeed showed incredible forethought and amazing discipline of mind in his handling of the situation, as well. Raan was impressed with both of them.

  “Squadron-Master Tzal,” Raan inquired, “do you foresee any problems with any of the group-masters within your squadron due to resentments arising from their having been passed over and your double-promotion suddenly vaulting you from beneath them to above them?”

  “None that I cannot handle, Region-Master,” Tzal replied. “I expect only similar reactions to those Drik experienced when Region-Master Glan first placed him in command of the squadron, just prior to our assignment to the imperial fleet. Many thought his affiliation with Glan’s pride to be favoritism and his only qualification for the position. I have Drik’s excellent example to follow.”

  “What was it specifically that Drik did to alleviate the grumbling when he first assumed command, then?” asked Raan.

  “He offered stoneless personal combat to any group or ship-master in the squadron who thought him unfit to command them.”

  Another of the ancient customs… interesting. “Did any of them challenge him then?”

  “All of them… except me,” replied Tzal.

  “All of them? Drik defeated his entire senior master corps in single combat?”

  “Yes, Master... all except me,” responded Tzal.

  “Why was it that you didn’t challenge him as well?” asked Raan.

  Tzal gave the region-master an enigmatic smile as he answered, “I became Drik’s primary sparring partner when he first entered Fang & Claw training.” Tzal smile widened at the memory. “I was two cycles ahead and nearest in age. I was his teacher for just over a cycle, but after that, he became mine. Drik was amazing. It was almost as if he had a completely different Fang & Claw teacher, besides the one we shared.”

  Raan snickered inside. If only he knew about Varq!

  “We were both awarded our combat-mastery the same turn, so I knew all too well what Drik can do in unarmed combat,” continued Tzal.

  “Ah, so you have no fear of any similar challenges, then?”

  “No more than being challenged to single combat by a herd beast, Master.”

  “It has been a very long time since I have met another Master of Fang & Claw. Perhaps you would do me the honor of sparring some time, keeping in mind, however, that I no longer have the advantages of youth on my side,” said Raan.

  “I would be very honored, Master.”

  Like Drik, Tzal had no difficulty in quieting the grumbling of group and ship masters of his squadron, as they arrived back at Troxia from their explorations to discover they had a new and undesirable squadron-master. Unlike Drik, he dealt with the ultra-orthodox and vindictive Skor and Klag on a rather more permanent basis. At the first sign they were truly intent on killing him, Tzal unleashed the most deadly attacks in a combat-master’s arsenal. Tzal was nothing if not practical at dealing with reoccurring problems. He had neither Drik’s patience, nor his compassion.

  Tzal sparred with Region-Master Raan, as requested, and he had been quite surprised at how dexterous the old Rak master remained. While not quite as taxing or challenging as sparring against Drik, Raan was still a very dangerous and deadly opponent. Tzal enjoyed their sessions together immensely. Raan evidently enjoyed the exercise too, as he always scheduled another session at the close of each they had together.

  Raan often engaged in small talk during their match. Sparring matches between two Masters of Fang & Claw mostly bypassed actual thought processes. It was ingrained move-countermove on an instinctual level, so small talk was no problem, as Tzal wasn’t using his conscious mind anyway. The first really poignant question Raan asked had startled Tzal enough, that the old master almost managed to gut him with a deadly claw rake. Tzal recovered quickly enough to avoid a deep wound, but he noticed Raan’s satisfied smile when Tzal’s middle began seeping blood openly from multiple claw marks. What the old master might have lost in speed, he more than made up for in cunning.

  That first question that resulted in Tzal’s near-death experience had been about his opinion of the changes that had occurred within Rak society since interstellar travel had been discovered in general, and their hunt of the Trakaan began in particular. Tzal loved the old tales of life on Raku before space flight. It was a simpler time, when one knew one’s place within his pride. The pride was family, a tribe that represented security and gave one a sense of identity and belonging. There had been far less compulsion to increase one’s rank and standing at the expense of another, whom one had known all their life.

  Today, the entire concept of one’s pride was much weaker. Society was now more concerned with the “greater pride” (whatever that really meant) and one never quite knew his place within this greater pride. One left the family pride to travel amongst the greater pride. One rarely knew the members of this greater pride as intimately as one had during the old days. This led to competition for rank and status reaching truly cutthroat proportions. Who one knew... whose favor had been gained, was now what led to advancement, while actual accomplishment and mastery of one’s vocation faded in comparative importance. Politics had become the paramount attribute necessary to success in modern Rak society. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to master one’s occupation and become a master politician in the same lifetime, so vocation mastery usually suffered greatly.

  This led to an ironic situation where those in charge often knew much less about what they were in charge of, than those they supervised. In the technical areas this could be especially troublesome, as often the masters in charge often didn’t even speak the same technical language as the engineers they supervised. It made it difficult for the underlings to make their masters understand what was needed and why they needed it, so often they didn’t get it.

  Not that a pure manager couldn’t function as an effective leader in the technical disciplines, but those masters who could see and admit their own limitations enough to give their underlings the tools they needed to get the job done and then get out of their way enough to let them do their jobs properly were rare. Politically connected masters were normally promoted until finally their level of incompetence became too obvious for even their sponsors to ignore. But instead of being demoted back to a level where they could function adequately, they just stopped being promoted and stayed where their incompetence could stifle efficiency within their department’s operations.

  This then, became the new orthodoxy within Rak society — short-term goals set by short-sighted masters. No one stayed in a position long enough to care about the long-term effects of what was politically expedient for them at the moment. Political expediency of the moment ruled. It was maddening!

  Those few who were both vocationally competent and politically connected enough to rise in rank were rare indeed. That was one of the things that had so drawn Tzal to Drik. Drik was one of the single most talented masters that Tzal had ever met, yet his status as Region-Master Glan’s fosterling opened doors to advancement despite his technical competence and his innovative, unorthodox approaches to solving problems.

  Drik cared not a whit about who was recommended by whom, when it came to promotions. When someone was recommended to him for promotion, he wanted more than “because I favor them” as a reason. He demanded to know why this parti
cular warrior deserved promotion. What had he demonstratively accomplished that would serve as evidence that he was prepared to assume greater responsibility? Drik also never seemed to consider how any warrior’s promotion might benefit him personally — only whether it would fill the need in the best possible way. A very unorthodox approach and political animals like Skor and Klag hadn’t liked it, even a little bit.

  Tzal had never been politically connected, nor had he the aptitude for licking superior masters under the tail to become so. It was only dumb luck that he was in position to be assigned as Drik’s sparring partner by old Combat-Master Zurl, when Drik first began Fang & Claw training. Without political connections, Tzal had trained and mastered as many vocations as he could wrangle an assignment to. Few weapons-masters bothered with unarmed Fang & Claw training to qualify as full combat-masters anymore, so Tzal took advantage of the opportunity after he’d completed his weapons mastery, which had inadvertently led to his meeting and becoming friends with Drik.

  Drik never used their friendship as an excuse to promote Tzal to any position for which he was not fully prepared to assume, nor had Tzal ever expected him to. Drik had however, removed some of the political logjams that had unfairly stunted Tzal’s advancement.

  Tzal wasn’t sure how much of these thoughts and opinions of the rot within modern Rak society that a region-master like Raan could accept without taking offense and becoming angry, so he was reluctant to share too much, considering the great disparity between their relative ranks. Surprisingly, Raan never took offense or became the least defensive towards anything Tzal did say. Instead he continued probing with pointed questions, while reassuring Tzal that his opinions were valued and truly desired. Eventually, Raan got it all — quite an earful that a region-master rarely, if ever, heard about how things were in the “real world.”

  Inexplicably, Raan began having Tzal stay for a meal in his quarters after their sparring secessions, which inevitably led to long discussions on a variety of subjects. Not the sort of relationship one might expect to find existing between a lowly squadron-master and a High-Rak, region-master. Occasionally Raan also invited his littermate, OverFleet-Master Maaz to join them for the meal and the ensuing after dinner discussion, which invariably followed. It was very heady stuff for Tzal to be socializing so far above his station. Not knowing how he should act, he simply acted normally, just as he always had around Drik. He never once suspected that it was all part of an extended job interview.

  Turns later, Tzal once again found himself waking groggily, dressed in imperial white silks, and not fully believing what his mirror was showing him.

  Three more full fleets, plus seven additional squadrons and a paw full of individual replacement warships arrived at Troxia during the next couple of subcycles, dispatched by the supreme-master himself before Raan had even left Raku, to help with the Trakaan situation. Under orders from Region-Master Raan, OverFleet-Master Maaz formed a new imperial warfleet, designated as #37. This new warfleet was made up of Tzal’s former squadron plus a second blue Region-3 squadron, a red Region-2 squadron and one white imperial, Region-1 squadron.

  Akudavex was one of the last ships to arrive from her extended exploration cruise, intended to get her crew away from other Rak until a decision about the new alien prey was made. She had even discovered a habitable planet on her initial cruise under Ship-Master Unak. A good omen. Akudavex’ crew once again had their injunction towards absolute secrecy about the aliens reinforced, this time by Raan himself. After some well deserved and long overdue recreation time on Troxia itself for her crew, Akudavex finally joined her old squadron and new fleet towards the end of the subcycle.

  Region-Master Raan wanted to know more… a lot more about these new aliens before deciding what to do about them, so Warfleet #37 was selected, quarantined and all of its masters thoroughly indoctrinated on the need for absolute stealth and cunning. They were to gather information and learn as much as possible about the new alien prey. They were to locate more of their planets, record more of their transmissions, learn more about the strange ships that seemingly moved faster than could be credited, all without being detected by the aliens. It was imperative that they return with as much information as possible without alerting the prey to their presence, on the promise that they would be honored to spearhead the first actual hunt.

  Work groups were headed by Akudavex crewmembers, after Maaz delivered the code word that unlocked their memories of the aliens on their next awakening. They told the intimate details of their discovery and what the fleet crews could expect, on a skill-by-skill basis. They studied available star charts and the ones created by observations by Akudavex’ astrogators. They identified the position of the single alien planet currently known to them and engaged in intensive training exercises to ensure that every crew member of every ship in the fleet knew everything that was known of the aliens and how it might apply to their individual job specification on the upcoming mission.

  Finally, Imperial Warfleet #37 left Troxia under command of Imperial Fleet-Master Tzal, on their way back to begin their expanded hunt at the alien planet that Akudavex initially discovered.

  Chapter-12

  Never trust a computer you can't throw out a window. -- Steve Wozniak

  The Planetoid Discol, City of Waston

  United Stellar Alliance Fleet Headquarters, Fleet Intelligence Building

  February, 3860

  “Excuse me, sir, but the admiral would like to see you in his office immediately.”

  Commander John “Bat” Masterson looked up from his computer console to see the ever cheerful face of Admiral Melendez’ secretary, Lieutenant J.G. Marilyn Fredricks, leaning into the doorway to his office.

  “Which admiral?” Masterson asked facetiously.

  “As if you had to ask,” giggled Fredricks.

  What now? Masterson thought angrily. How am I ever supposed to get anything done with the Old Man interrupting me every half hour? “Very well, Lieutenant. Please inform the admiral that I’ll be there just as soon as I secure my console.”

  Masterson shook his head at the knowing grin Lt. Fredricks gave him when she turned to leave. Marilyn Fredricks knew the admiral’s quirks better than anyone. A short blonde with a turned-up, freckle-covered nose, she had just a tad too much chunkiness in her frame and irreverence in her manner to normally be considered for a position as an admiral’s secretary. But her perky disposition, spunky attitude (occasionally bordering on insubordination) and unsurpassed organizational skills were exactly what Rear Admiral Enrico Melendez looked for in all of his inner circle of people. Most of the top brass still chose their secretaries according to an old, time-honored Fleet tradition… their looks. But Admiral Melendez cared only about performance and, as he had with Fredricks, chose all of his small, elite group of specialists strictly on ability and results.

  Melendez was officially ComFltCntInt, or in lay terms, Commander of Fleet Counter-Intelligence. After only two years, he had assembled a team that skyrocketed from relative obscurity to become one of the most effective and decorated units in the Fleet. Melendez’ group complemented his unusually relaxed command style perfectly. As intelligence operatives have been referred to as Spooks since time immemorial, Melendez’ group, which was tasked with foiling foreign intelligence efforts aimed against the Alliance Fleet, had inherited their own job-appropriate nickname: Ghostbusters.

  Masterson cleared his screen and got up. He pulled on his uniform jacket and buttoned up its single row of brass buttons as he walked down the hallway towards Admiral Melendez’ office. It always amazed him how little Fleet officers uniforms had changed over the past thousand years or more. Exactly how much farther back into history that uniform went, no one quite knew for sure. So much of humanity’s early history had been lost a couple thousand years earlier during the Great Collapse, the cataclysm on old Earth of that time. Many magnetically stored computer records had been wiped out from electromagnetic pulses generated by bursting nuclear
weapons.

  Over 90 percent of Earth’s population died of violence and pestilence during that terrible period in humanity’s history, but most simply starved. The great libraries had been burned and looted by roving mobs of starving people, angry with their plight, after the world’s economies collapsed. Occasionally archeologists found ancient texts buried among the ruins on old Earth, but only the very rich or politically connected had access to what came out of the old cradle of humanity.

  Not that there was really much interest in studying any of those ancient texts, as humankind approached the fifth millennium. History taught in the modern universities contented themselves with beginning at the great dispersion, when humanity finally burst forth from Earth into the stars. Anything earlier was considered a study of failure — a primer in creating catastrophe and of no value to modern society. Masterson had always believed that opinion was a dreadful error, for how was one to escape repeating the mistakes of the past unless one understood what they were, and what caused them? He still marveled that humanity had somehow managed to crawl back from the edge of a second stone age, to building starships in only 1,400 years.

  The door to the admiral’s office was open when Bat arrived, so he knocked on the doorframe as he entered, as was procedure, hoping this interruption wasn’t just more inter-fleet politics. Already seated in front of the admiral’s desk was Masterson’s counter-intelligence colleague, Captain James Timothy “J.T. ” Turner and Captain Alphonse Ligurri, Director of Fleet Headquarters Computer Security.