Moving Earth

by Dean C. Moore

  Solo had resumed his pacing, taking all this in, as Mother wove her web of rhetoric about him. He felt as frustrated as any butterfly looking to emerge from that silk-web chrysalis, pushing against it, knowing that on the other side, should he emerge with his life, was a better, smarter him, if he could pardon himself the mixed metaphors.

  “The boy or girl will be able to bond with the Creams’ oligarch husbands in ways the mother can’t. He’ll think his progeny more prone to grapple with how best to employ their war machines when diplomacy fails. That will give the child a way to steer the father toward maintaining his alliance with Leon.”

  The idea was growing on Solo. “If Leon is less concerned about watching his back, he’ll be better able to focus on his expansionist schemes, as he seeks to police bigger and bigger swatches of the heavens. Interesting that a man of war is so keen on bringing peace to the cosmos, while letting free-thinking reign, mind you. Very well, Mother. I’ll let the Creams know.”

  Solo realized the Creams would hardly need to be lectured on the value of his directing them to self-inseminate by splicing Leon’s genes to their own; they were too good of diplomats for that. Many would have seen him making this move already, and may have been psychologically preparing themselves for eons.

  Connecting with the Creams psychically would create a tremendous burst of energy necessary for their self-insemination to take place; without it, procreation for the Creams was impossible. Their husbands would have married them thinking their barrenness but a small price to pay for their political acumen. The oligarchs would be only too happy to find out there was at least one exception to the rule. The burst of energy from feeling connected to Solo once again would also allow the Creams to reach out to alternative timelines for the information he needed even within the constricted timeframe. And at the moment of insemination, and in the incubation period to follow, they would be at their most powerful psychically, further enhancing their research work for him.

  Solo reached out to them all at once.

  ONE HUNDRED TEN

  THE COLLECTORS’ MENAGERIE

  THE PLANET HARRI-DAN,

  NO GALACTIC CIVILIZATION AFFILIATION

  The Marauden had picked now to attack, when Leon’s back was turned, focused on The Collectors and getting past them. With his coup in progress, there were still many worlds with scores to settle against one another, figuring now was the time to slip under the radar, the skirmishes too small for galactic civilizations to police at a time like this.

  So far, their enemies had been right.

  Bellona had been fighting tirelessly by her wife’s side for hours, and Bellona’s inner circle of her most loyal and best-trained fighters had helped her maintain the perimeter about Egeria. Forget that she was the love of her life, the Cream Umbrage was too valuable to lose. Her timeline parsing had predicted this war, and so far it was going down just as Egeria had prophesized. Pity Bellona for not listening to her, for not thinking the Marauden, typically cowards, could ever be so brash.

  Bellona, not being a total fool, had seen to it that several battalions had accompanied them across Harri-Dan to attend to business Bellona felt more pressing—interspecies negotiations on Harri-Dan to keep her own hot-headed peoples from erupting into war again—on the off chance Egeria was right. But these soldiers were not enough to push back the Marauden hordes.

  Egeria, no warrior, just pure diplomat, to her praise had held her own dispatching anyone about to deliver a kill strike to the inner circle guards. Her tongue lashed out mercilessly, beheading the deliverer of doom before he could dispatch his dark fortune. But if Egeria wasn’t tiring—if anything, she seemed stronger than ever—the guards were. And though Bellona hated to admit it, so was she. All the fury in the world for anyone daring to make a move against her lover wasn’t going to push back these kinds of numbers indefinitely.

  She glanced back at Egeria, to make sure she was still okay, and there were lasers coming out of Egeria’s eyes—tearing through the hordes moments away from collapsing the inner circle! What the hell? The Creams were not weaponized like the Blues. Could it be? Could the legends be true? Was Egeria with child? Or was she merely powering up in anticipation of insemination.

  Over the fury of battle, her scream pierced the air, crawling over the din.

  Egeria had shielded Bellona from the pain she was experiencing—which ordinarily would be psychically projected straight into her head—making Bellona even more furious; they had an understanding—to share everything.

  Egeria was holding her stomach, and attempting to lift herself back to a standing position, one knee on the ground. When she stood, Egeria looked stronger and angrier than ever.

  So the legends were true.

  Bellona just smiled. Nothing like a mother spurned.

  The war had come to a complete standstill for miles. Everyone on both sides heard that shriek emanate from Egeria. Knew what it meant.

  The Cream Umbrage had been inseminated.

  And just how that impinged on everyone’s fates… well, that worrisome thought was coursing through many a mind right now.

  But the fighting soon resumed, more furious than before. More was at stake than ever. Now it was the Cream and her child that had to be taken out. Before an already extremely formidable adversary became unstoppable.

  Her sword’s arm failing her—the broadsword too heavy for most men of her species to even lift far less swing—Bellona felt her knees give out at the same time. Saw the blade coming for her neck that would send her head rolling toward Egeria. At least she would die with her last sight being her lover and not this mangy troll-like creature wielding the blade.

  But Egeria’s tongue relieved him of his head before he could swing his blade.

  It didn’t matter. That body was already in motion.

  The blade was still headed for Bellona’s throat.

  Egeria’s laser-firing eyes removed the arm from the Marauden’s body, giving Bellona just enough time to catch the sword. She was now fighting with two swords. A moment to catch her breath, and Bellona was back on her feet again. Like her lover, fighting even madder and harder than before.

  Egeria could no longer sift timelines fast enough to know what blade was reaching the guards necks next in the inner circle. Which was saying a lot. But they were clamoring more than ever to get to Egeria. And technically speaking, wartime in-the-moment timeline parsing was a Blue’s specialty.

  Bellona had never faced an all-is-lost moment like this before. Her brilliance with military strategy combined with her wife’s psychic acumen was always enough to fend off superior enemies who just had more numbers to toss at them.

  Bellona’s genius was limited to being a field general. Beyond any one battlefield, she was really out of her league. Which is why she left space fleet command to others. She preferred to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground, and the horizon in sight.

  It would be seconds now before it was over. Bellona retreated to Egeria’s side. Worse than Egeria’s death would be for her to be captured. That kind of power in the enemy’s hands… not an option. If it came to that, Bellona would kill Egeria—and her child—herself.

  She fell back as the guards closed the circle about them each time another guard fell to the sword or a battle axe.

  By the time Bellona reached Egeria’s side the protective circle had shrunken further about them; the guards falling faster even with Egeria to lend support. They had become just too depleted to hold their own, with or without her assistance.

  And then the unmistakable sound of ships decloaking.

  It was the kind of sound that sent shivers even up Bellona’s back.

  The sky was thick with Starhawks.

  So, Egeria’s outcry had served double duty, Bellona thought—tearing through time and space as well.

  The Marauden were already retreating to their ships. It was doubtful they were looking to take the fight to the air, but to get the hell out of here. The odds were now too even for
them. Any hint they would lose a confrontation, however small the chance, and they would retreat. It was their way.

  “The Marauden started this!” Egeria shouted in Bellona’s head. “On the day I was to give birth. I will have my revenge!”

  “Techa, darling, it’s not like I haven’t been trying.” Oh shit. She isn’t talking to me.

  Bellona craned her head skyward as the Starhawks opened up, destroying the Marauden ships. They were not being allowed to retreat.

  The battle on the ground resumed. The Marauden may have been cowards, but they didn’t surrender either. And now they had no choice but to fight.

  They still had superior numbers.

  But the Starhawks had deployed their fighter jets.

  They fired with surgical precision. The Marauden could be locking swords with Bellona’s clansmen; it didn’t matter. The pilots of those fighter jets could direct their lasers without missing even with fighters in a clinch. Fighter jets with AI onboard? Bellona thought. What self-respecting pilots would permit their control to be usurped like that? No, this was something else. This was Alpha Unit she’d heard so much about, humanoid teens who played war games twenty-four seven, when the older ones comprising Omega Force retreated to their tents or their ships to party, to sleep, to carouse.

  What Bellona would give to have an Alpha Unit at her disposal. At least now she knew what it took. Pissing her wife the hell off. She’d never seen Egeria like this. She was typically unflappable. The ultimate in political poise. She never let her adversaries know what she was thinking or feeling. Ever.

  They would be updating the legends after today about the altered behavior of the Cream Umbrage when pregnant—and the races all too happy to do her bidding would be updating their behavior accordingly.

  Bellona didn’t even bother to wield her sword anymore, returning it to her sheath, and turning her back on her enemy determined to skewer her at the end of their blades. That’s how much confidence she had in Alpha Unit.

  Instead, she made her way to Egeria’s side, stunned to find that she looked as if halfway through her pregnancy cycle.

  “How is this possible?” Bellona asked.

  “Umbrage children are born ready for war. And they cannot afford to take any more time in the womb than necessary, as it makes them vulnerable.”

  It wasn’t even Egeria doing the explaining! It was their unborn daughter! Holy shit! How is that possible?

  “Never mind that,” the child replied. “The Marauden did not come here alone.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” Bellona growled, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword in a useless gesture.

  “The ships surrounding this planet are intent on destroying it.”

  Before the child could finish explaining, the ground was erupting in phaser blasts like the ones that had destroyed the Marauden ships.

  The Starhawks were already swooping out of the sky and up into low orbit. Before the first phaser blast from ships in low orbit had hit, they were redeploying. The ones staying in atmosphere to finish the mop up down here had raised their shields to full intensity. So, the child had managed to alert each of the Starhawks in time as well, Bellona thought.

  “The Starhawks will handle the Marauden,” the child explained. “And when my mother is done extracting concessions out of them for this treachery, I assure you, they will not be contemplating any again soon.”

  “She’s not wrong,” Bellona heard Egeria say in her head, sounding calmer now.

  Bellona and Egeria locked eyes on one another. “What will we call her.”

  “I am called Hera, whose job it was, according to Greek legend, to choreograph the ballets of the gods, playing them off one another as superior beings are now playing Leon off The Collectors,” the child said with a hint of ominousness.

  “There are beings more advanced than The Collectors?” Bellona could hear her own voice cracking.

  The child made a pffing, dismissive sound in her head. “The Collectors are nothing.”

  Bellona didn’t like the sound of that. Her self-esteem hinged on ensuring no one got to Egeria, ever. But there were limits to what Bellona could do.

  “Not anymore,” Hera said in Bellona’s head, picking up on Bellona’s private thoughts. “Not now that I am with you. I’m a genetic hybrid of my mother’s genes and Leon DiSanti’s.”

  Bellona gasped. “You let a man’s genes inside you! Egeria! This is a complete betrayal…”

  “Silence.” Egeria’s tone put a quick end to the discussion. “Without our daughter, no future is possible for any of us. All the Creams are now with child. Hera can defend the Gypsy Galaxy and its allies in ways the rest of the Cream progeny cannot.”

  Bellona groaned as she bit down on her tongue so hard she chewed right through it, and spit it out to telecast just how she felt about this to Egeria and their child. The tongue would grow back. No great loss. But would her self-esteem? Still, Egeria was right. With their child they had a way into the big leagues. And, like it or not, even with Egeria’s help to detect political subterfuge, if Bellona couldn’t understand war gaming played entirely over her head, she couldn’t fully protect Egeria. This was a day for celebration, and she had damn well get her mind around that before she ruined her wife’s best day of her life, and her daughter’s birthday. Egeria might well never forgive her. Even if she had taken a more circuitous route to get there, Bellona rubbed Egeria’s tummy, smiling. “The future is calling, and it waits for no one.”

  Egeria smiled at her, accepting her peace offering.

  Time enough, Bellona thought, to get Hera to consider taking another name, one befitting their clan, and not some Earth goddess’s name. Techa forbid, she hated these humans nearly as much as her enemies for the change they had brought upon them in such a short while. Then again, if the Earthlings could break them free of The Collectors, Bellona might well have to settle for a love-hate relationship with them. Of course, with her people, the Harri, that’s how it was with everyone they loved.

  Egeria’s and Bellona’s day-long arguments were epic. Bellona was the only one Egeria couldn’t silence with one or two diplomatic strokes. But it made the lovemaking all the better in Bellona’s mind.

  “Ugh. Could you find another channel to run those pictures on?” Hera bitched.

  Egeria bit her lip as Bellona frowned. Bellona didn’t know how to change psychic channels in her head. Egeria, clearly, was going to have to teach her.

  Bellona switched to another conversation topic instead. Unlike so many galactic civilizations inside The Collectors’ Menagerie that had been deposited intact, the planets Harri-Dan and Marauden had been yanked out of their own galaxy and deposited in the Menagerie. She had assumed it was because their two worlds posed the greatest threat to whoever their jailors reported to. And Bellona had never allowed herself to kid herself as to why Harri-Dan posed a threat: the Cream Umbrage. The Marauden were probably just included in the deal as the best hope of harrying Egeria.

  It might not be so bad to belong to the Gypsy Galaxy Grouping, Bellona thought, to have some affiliation beyond their home world again, and to be caught up in some drama above and beyond inter-planetary skirmishes.

  And with their unborn child, once out of the grip of The Collectors, Bellona would finally know who to direct her rage against for imprisoning them in the first place. Egeria wasn’t the only one who would have her justice.

  ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN

  THE GYPSY GALAXY

  ONE OF SONNY’S SPACE STATIONS,

  THE SUMMIT,

  EARMARKED STRICTLY FOR OLIGARCHS

  AND THEIR ATTENDANTS AND AMBASSADORS

  Sacrin, his wife, Farsi, by his side, arm in arm, promenaded down the aisle dividing the crowd of dignitaries most high from worlds Sacrin could barely keep in his head any more.

  If keeping track of the oligarchs’ names and the names of their worlds and what they were each good for was challenging enough, there were the names of the dignitaries’
attendants and ambassadors to be considered … and in Sacrin’s position, it would do no good to insult any of them by making them state their name.

  Thank Techa for Farsi. She could probably name every citizen on every world, too. Screw supersentient AIs and their questionable loyalties and even more indecipherable agendas. Left to him, every last supersentient AI would be purged from the cosmos, and Farsi’s bloodline bred up to compensate. If only the Creams weren’t so damnably difficult to breed.

  Farsi shrieked, grabbed her stomach and buckled at her knees, midstride.

  The entire crowd on both sides took a very big collective step back. They knew what that outcry meant. Everyone knew what that meant. At least if the legends were true.

  The impossible is what that meant.

  Farsi had been impregnated.

  All it took was an order from a rainbow-eyed male of her species.

  None were thought to exist any longer.

  “How?” Sacrin hissed in her head while maintaining his plastic smile for the audience, and assisting his wife to her feet.

  Her stomach was already getting larger.

  “It appears the Nautilus’s Captain Nemo, who goes by the name of Solo, is a rainbow-eyed one.”

  He knew the literary reference from Earth she’d just made. His wife was fond of reading him stories as homework for future incidents that might well come to pass. He indulged her, no more. He had enough to keep track of without stuffing his mind with the stuff of fiction.

  “What does this mean for us?” Sacrin shout-whispered in her ear as if their psychic communications might still be heard, trying to keep the panic out of this voice.

  “My genes have been mixed with Leon DiSanti’s.”

  It took her husband a beat but he eventually smiled. “So, the ultimate race of politicians in the cosmos has been bred to the ultimate player of war games. We won’t just be able to anticipate the other side’s political maneuverings, but their military ones, too.”