Trained to be wise, the Gee said nothing.
“Do they have any new recipes for dried proto yeast?” something asked from the rear of the room.
The 3000 forced himself to smile politely. “We are getting away from the main issue. These criminals—"
“What is their opinion of the Thurstd problem?” asked a translucent balloon creature who was strapped into his chair by elastic bands to prevent him from drifting away on the morning breeze.
“But they don't know anything about it!” the Gee stormed starting to lose control. “How the Hot Void could they!"
“New race pleads ignorance to the plight of the Thurstd gik,” spoke the reporter into the soft plastic recorder on its clear pudgy wrist. “Plus, are partial to foul language."
The 3000 tightened his jaw and in a practiced motion he drew a wide barrel pistol from inside his tunic. Ruthlessly he swept the assemblage of reporters about him with the weapon's invisible rays. Instantly, the news gathers froze motionless, and even more importantly, quiet, as the telepathic command to SHUT UP reverberated in their brains. The psionic pistol was a special modification of the STOP THAT cannon and was authorized by the Gee Security Council solely for use at these infamous meetings.
In the ensuing still, the wall behind the Gee swirled with color and changed from a holographic view of the galaxy into a magnified picture of the Galactic League herself. The regal reptile smiled benignly at the crowd and every reporter in the amphitheater saluted the video monitor in their own way, even the metal globes in the air did a little dip of respect.
“Your Excellency!” The 3000 gasped in surprise. “I'm honored!"
“Thank you, 3000. It has been a while since we last attended these gatherings.” With royal dignity, the impious female gazed over the assembled thong. “Now are these dangerous primitives flying blind through space, or do they have a Hypernavigational cube?"
“Yes! They stole it!” the golden male said in righteous fury.
“Indeed. From whom?"
Oops. He had not been expecting a cross-examination. Especially by the League. The 3000 mumbled something that was unintelligible.
Daintily, the amphibian lifted an eye ridge. “Could you repeat that please?"
“Us. They stole the cube from us,” the Gee admitted, with a woebegone look. “They raided the superdreadnought orbiting their world, stole a cube and the crew."
A silence more hushed than before filled the room. Primitives took over a Gee superdreadnought? Zow! Holy cow! Wow!
“How?” the League asked, getting to the heart of the matter.
“That information is not privy to public consumption,” The 3000 said stiffly, placing both hands behind his back.
“Understandable,” the scaly female said on the monitor. “Still, they must be fairly advanced to build starships, even ones without cubes. Perhaps they are advanced enough to join the League."
“But they didn't invent it,” the golden male hotly denied. “They stole the engine design!"
“From whom? Not you again?"
The 3000 had troubled getting this out. “L-leader Idow."
A shocked gasp was heard from the reporters, and the League narrowed her bulging eyes in anger. “They are aligned with Leader Idow? Then I authorize the immediate destruction of their entire solar system, from the primary sun to the Oort cloud."
“Well, they're not exactly aligned,” he hedged.
“Then what?"
The Gee was trapped and he knew it. Before the near hypnotic gaze of the Galactic League it was worse than useless trying to lie, or even shade the truth. The story of X-47-D's incompetence could no longer be kept secret. “The humans killed him and copied the engine design before we could stop them."
The reporters wrote furiously. Leader Idow was dead? This was real news!
“When is the parade?” a catish reporter called out.
“How much is their reward?” asked a news hound.
A mass of granite raised its stony head. “Where will the monument to them be built?” a Choron boomed. Rocks were his people's favorite subject to read about.
“How do you spell human?” the spideroid queried.
“Interesting,” the Galactic League mused, her throaty tones echoing over the amphitheater's PA system. “They destroy the greatest threat the civilized galaxy has ever seen, and you blockade their planet. Why?"
Smelling spilled life-fluid, the assemblage eagerly leaned forward. A good question that. The League could have been a reporter. The newsbeings waited, stylus in manipulator appendage.
“They are dangerous primitives, Your Excellency,” the Gee officer decried. “A threat to the peace of the galaxy!"
It sounded to the League like the Gee was desperately trying to cover up a monumental blunder. The Great Golden Ones had been making quite a few of those lately. “Dangerous, you say? Did they kill the crew of the ship they raided?"
“Well, no."
“Then what happened?"
The 3000 sighed in resignation. Hot Void, you couldn't get anything past the Galactic League. “They left behind a big bag of thulium. Two hundred kilograms."
Startled mumblings came from the crowd.
“Only a most unusual thief leaves behind enough to buy what they steal,” the League noted pragmatically. “It is our opinion that before any further punitive measures are taken we wish to speak to these humans. Find that ship, 3000, and bring us the crew, alive and unharmed."
Properly formal, the Gee saluted. “I will do my best, your excellency. We want them too."
“But we want them alive. Remember that."
As the picture faded from the wall, The 3000 touched his forehead and in a blinding flash of light teleported away. Nigh instantly, the reporters burst from their seats, fighting to reach the doors. The dignified amphitheater quickly resembled a video theatre in which somebody had shouted the words radiation leak.
But remaining seated in the front row, seemingly unaffected by the clamorous departing of his fellow news gatherers, was an aquatic creature whose prominent dorsal fin was covered with telecommunication devices. Crimson colored, the fishy biped was dressed in a wide assortment of clothing, none of it coordinated, except possibly against each other.
His name was Bachalope Thintfeesel, (Bach to his friends, which were few, rarely sober and mostly wanted by the Gees. Just like the friends of any good reporter). He was a freelance news writer who made his living by being the first with the most at every major event. And this was just about as major as they come. Piracy! Kidnapping! Blockade running! The death of Leader Idow! Now an interstellar thing hunt under the direct order of the Galactic League.
Surreptitiously under his feathered rhinestone cape, Bachalope used a four fingered hand to check on a sophisticated sound recorder disguised as one of his less flamboyant belt buckles. Good. He got the entire discussion on wire, including the mass exiting. Now if he could just locate the primitives before the Gees did, he would have the story of the century! But with an entire galaxy to search in, how could he possibly find them?
Then he smiled toothily. Yeah, that ought to do it.
* * * *
Back at Earth, squadrons of Gee superdreadnaughts sent by The 3000 were supervising the positioning of an armada of drones to englobe the planet, and strategically placing a flotilla of mobile space forts whose batteries of antimatter missiles could easily stop any conceivable mass escape.
The UN fought back by grounding every aircraft, docking every boat, and stonewalling any Gee attempt at communication by filling the entire radio spectrum with gigawatts of rock songs, canned laughter and the song of the humpbacked whale; which the aliens translated as, “Oh baby, I'm so hot tonight! Hubba-hubba. Let's do it. Let's do it now. Oh baby, oh baby. Want a fish?” Which seriously annoyed them. Everybody hates muzak.
Meanwhile in secret locations around the globe, the remnants of the FCT were hard at work. Generals Nicholi and Bronson were at Star City in Russia assisting the pro
letariat to design a superfast, anti-drone ICBM. Dr. Wu was in Australia at Port Woomera, aiding and abetting the construction of Earth's first starfleet. Dr. Malavade was in the desert of New Mexico busily adapting the gigantic radio telescopes there into a battery of quasar-grade pulse transmitters which humanity would use to try and communicate with somebody out there other than the damn Gees. From Rockefeller Plaza in New York City, Sir John Courtney was constantly bombarding the masses of the world with carefully worded news announcements (propaganda, actually), that kept the populace at a fever pitch and insured their full cooperation.
Humanity was doing everything it could think of; from trying to improve Deflector Plating and flashing searchlight beams into space in a hypnotic GO AWAY pattern, to sticking pins in golden voodoo dolls.
But the Great Golden Ones were also unleashing the full might of their peacekeeping forces, and that was nothing to loudly exhale through your nasal passages at either.
* * * *
Meanwhile on the planet Darden, the crew of the Ramariez were sadly informed by the farmers that no HN cubes were available, but they were invited to wait a planetary rotation or so, when a drone cargo ship from Big would land to take on their yeast harvest. The locals felt sure the robot crew would have no objections to signaling the Great Golden Ones and asking them to bring a replacement. Captain Keller politely declined the offer and the Ramariez left post haste, only seconds ahead of the landing of an Emergency Data StarCapsule which brought the news that the humans were wanted criminals to be held at any cost.
Jumping to the burned out cinder of Oh Yeah?, the starship crew found numerous Hyperspace Navigational cubes in the riddled hulls of blasted vessels circling the dead planet. But every piece of equipment aboard the spacecrafts was so highly contaminated with atomic radiation that the cubes were useless.
As the Ramariez left the ominously silent planet, her captain was forcibly reminded by the grim specter of ruin that theirs was a mission of peace, and violence was to be used only as a last resort.
A short hop through hyperspace later, as the Ramariez approached the third choice on their short list, the crew was struck by the similarities of this unknown planet and Earth. Roughly the same size and distance from the sun, both were mostly water and had a single moon.
“Just like home,” a crewmember said wistfully.
Dr. Van Loon agreed. “The inhabitants will most likely be very similar to us in general build."
“Or dinosaurs,” Chief Petty Officer Buckley noted, his Royal British Marine moustache stiffly a bristle, but still cut short enough to fit into a space helmet. “They were on Earth long before us."
Hiding a smile, the physician stated that the possibility was extremely remote.
“Captain?” Ensign Hamlisch called out from the Sensors console.
Keller turned from his examination of the internal circuitry of the Hydroponics station and lowered the console top into place. “Yes, what is it?"
“Sir, scanners indicate that there's a golden egg orbiting this world."
“A what?” Keller asked, the Swiss naval officer joining the pale bony man at his board.
“An egg, sir,” Hamlisch stated. “Honest. It's of very advanced design. Beyond the abilities of my instruments to analyze."
Scowling over his shoulder, Captain Keller peered at the tiny fourteen inch monitor. “Put it on the main screen, please."
“Aye, sir.” The picture of the blue/white planet before them zoomed in close. Filling the screen was a tapering, oval spheroid, yellowish-brown in color, twirling about its vertical axis. Data about construction, size and speed, scripted along the bottom of the screen. Twenty eyes scrutinized its form and shape.
“About the size of a refrigerator,” an ensign muttered.
“The bridge is no place for levity, mister,” Keller snapped making the woman flinch. “Your opinion, doctor?"
Van Loon stepped closer to the viewscreen, carefully studying the rapidly rotating object. “None worth mentioning, sir."
Captain Keller squinted an eye. It was time to call in their resident expert. “Ensign Lilliuokalani, summon Trell, please."
“Aye, aye, sir.” The Hawaiian Communications officer pressed a button on her console and spoke into a fixed microphone. “Master Technician Trell to the bridge, Master Technician ... sir, incoming signal!"
“From the planet?” Keller asked, climbing into his command chair.
“No sir, the egg."
The captain buckled on his seat belt. “Translate and put it on the main speakers, mister."
“Aye, sir.” Deftly linking relays, the astronaut flipped switches and the ceiling mounted speakers crackled to life.
“ ... ARNING TO ALL STARSHIPS. LEAVE THIS SYSTEM IMMEDIATELY. STATUS OMEGA. REPEAT: STATUS OMEGA. WARNING TO ALL STARSHIPS.” The speakers went silent.
“Its a closed loop,” the ensign reported.
As Keller chewed the information over, the doors to the elevator opened and Trell walked in. Or rather, he started to enter, but when the alien saw the planet on the forward viewscreen, the little alien gasped and went light green.
“Something wrong?” Captain Keller asked, swiveling his chair about at the sound.
“Leave,” Trell somehow managed to say. “Now. There is nothing for us here. Go. Depart."
As in a daze, Trell stumbled forward and the human kept abreast of him by slowly rotating his chair.
“You said you knew nothing about this world,” Keller noted.
“I didn't recognize it from the coordinates,” Trell explained starting to shake. “Let's go. Please?"
“Sir,” the Communications officer called out. “Message from the planet."
Keller nodded, and the overhead speakers crackled once more.
“SO POND SCUM, YOU RETURN,” thundered a voice dripping with hate. “WELL, YOU WILL NOT TRICK US THIS TIME, IDOW. PREPARE TO DIE!"
Eyes popped across the bridge crew.
“Idow!” Van Loon gasped in horror. “Why would they think we're Leader Idow?"
Captain Keller whirled about, grabbed Trell by the collar and lifted him off the floor. It was a practice the little alien was starting to get used to.
“You've been here before, haven't you?” the starship officer growled.
The Technician bobbled his head yes. This was a planet Leader Idow had visited when Trell was a new member of the crew. Thousands of days ago. That was why the coordinates hadn't been immediately familiar.
Captain Keller released the alien with a curse. “Red alert!” he barked frantically. “Shields, full power! Navigation, dead stop! Communications, tell them this is not the All That Glitters. We simply look like them."
“Incoming!” the Weapons officer shouted, as from an orbital platform about the world there lanced out a blue-hot plasma bolt. Seconds later it struck the ship with triphammer force, bouncing the bridge crew out of their seats, but no consoles shorted and the lights did not dim.
As the humans scrambled back into their chairs and buckled on safety belts, a black cloud of missiles rose from the surface of the planet, leaving no doubt as to their destination.
“Shields?” Keller demanded.
“Holding, sir,” CPO Buckley reported, fighting to keep his voice steady. “But not against many more of those."
The missile salvo drew closer and another plasma bolt was fired in their direction. The starship captain made a fast decision.
“Reverse course!” Keller shouted, then did a double-take as he saw the moon near them split apart and its hollow interior disgorge millions upon millions of fighting ships that charged straight towards the innocent Ramariez.
“GET READY TO DIE, IDOW!” the voice on the speakers screamed. “YOU SCALELESS, EGG EATING—"
“Shunt!” the captain bellowed.
The helmsman stabbed her finger on the proper button and in a burst of light, the Ramariez jumped into hyperspace only moments before countless missiles, plasma bolts, lasers beams and nuclear mines f
looded their previous location, exploding with such horrific, space twisting, mindshattering force, that even in the non-dimension of hyperspace the Ramariez felt a slight tremor and the lights momentarily dimmed.
“Ship's status!” Captain Keller snapped, as the room brightened and telltales began winking on every board and console.
A few minutes passed while information was hastily gathered and processed. As the reports came in and Keller became satisfied that his ship was undamaged, he dropped their status to Yellow Alert. Then the captain ordered the forward speed cut to dead slow. In essence, the Ramariez was now drifting in hyperspace.
“The Gees are going to have real trouble with those guys,” Van Loon remarked dryly from the Medical console. Sick Bay was fine, and nobody hurt. Avantor and The 16 were both undamaged and resting comfortably.
Keller agreed with the physician wholeheartedly. Those folks had a real bad attitude problem.
“They probably don't have a Hypernavigational cube, either,” Trell noted pragmatically.
Lost in dour rumination, Captain Keller reclined in his chair and rubbed his dimpled chin. The operating perimeters of the situation were rapidly deteriorating. As a duly appointed officer in the United Nations space navy, he had taken an oath to obey galactic law to the best of his ability. Dag grunted. Unfortunately, the only course left open to them now was totally illegal plain and simple, and no amount of bickering or word twisting, could change that fact. So what he had to decide was, should the Ramariez commit trespass or receive stolen goods? A misdemeanor, or a felony? Hell, no contest there.
“Helmsman, set course for RporR,” Keller commanded. “We're going to see how well this crew can run a fully established blockade."
“Aye, aye, sir!” the officer replied crisply.
The following noise everybody heard proved only to be Trell fainting.
TWENTY-ONE
“Queen/Mother! Queen/Mother!” the RporRian guard cried out, pushing aside the beaded curtain and dashing into the throne room.
The excited insect paused only for a moment to toss a silver piece into a simple clay pot already half-filled with the coins, that being the standard surcharge for delivering a message to Her Most High, Divine Loveliness, Gather Of The Taxes, Guardian Of The Treasury, Master Breeder and Expert Penny Pincher, (squeak-squeak-thromb-squeal-chatter-gnash-grunt), the fourth. The absolute ruler of RporR.
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