Nearspace Trilogy

by Sherry D. Ramsey

  She nodded and smiled. “I’m sorry to delay everyone.”

  “Not at all. We’re just glad you’re all right.”

  The flight back was as pleasant as the one to the hospital, and I watched the intriguing and unfamiliar city unroll beneath us. No-one waited outside for us this time, although citizens crossed the square on various errands. Cerevare and I walked alone to the building. Inside, a few Relidae moved around the room we’d passed through last night, obviously preparing it for the reception later. They greeted Cerevare but didn’t make conversation. On our foray to the hospital I had begun to understand the wide range of colourations Relidae could have, and it was borne out here as well. One had caramel-coloured skin peppered with small bluish dots, and one a slightly deeper mauve than Den-Aldar. A third was shorter than the other two, with deep brown skin and an impressively elaborate bone-crest that flared upwards and out to each side. A fourth, teal-skinned Relidae emerged from a door in the back of the room, bearing a tray full of glasses, rounded like the bowls of wineglasses but without the tall stems.

  The door to Den-Aldar’s office was closed this time, but swung open as the professor raised her furred hand to knock. The tall alien smiled a greeting and motioned us inside.

  “Admiral Mahane has his translator,” Cerevare told him, and Den-Aldar smiled and answered. After only a slight delay, the professor’s voice in my ear said, “Excellent.”

  The Legate motioned us to a grouping of chairs in one corner. They clustered around a low table bearing a tray set with glasses of deep amber liquid. I looked to the Lobor historian with a question. She nodded and a smile stretched over her muzzle.

  “It is both safe, and generally agreeable to humans,” she said. “Not so much to the Lobor palate, but we have discovered other drinks that I can enjoy.”

  I raised one of the glasses to my lips, sipping tentatively at the drink. It was surprisingly warm, and held hints of peach and mint, along with a flavour that was unlike anything I’d tasted before. It was, as Brindlepaw had suggested, quite agreeable. Den-Aldar poured a pale raspberry-coloured drink from another carafe and handed it to Cerevare.

  “Admiral,” Cerevare said, “the Legate and I agree that it is vital for the safety of Nearspace that you understand what is happening with their Chron counterparts, the Pitromae. They currently pose a grave threat to Nearspace.”

  Den-Aldar clasped his long-fingered hands in his lap and spoke in a rapid string of Relidae. The translator lagged only a few seconds behind before feeding the Esper translation into my ear. “Jk-kaa’lin Mahane, we are gravely concerned about the actions and intentions of the broken ones,” the voice of Cerevare Brindlepaw said into my ear.

  I nodded. “Please tell me more.”

  “We intercept some of their transmissions,” Den-Aldar continued. “That is how we knew of the plan to attack the Corvid station.”

  The alien’s use of the word “Corvid” startled me, until I realized that Cerevare Brindlepaw would have provided it.

  “We also knew from their chatter that your envoys were present and could be in danger, so Honoured Cerevare was concerned for their safety. Although we could do nothing to thwart their plan, we knew that if we were present, we could assist in the defence of the station and possibly be of other assistance. As we ultimately were,” he said.

  Cerevare looked at me, obviously anxious to know how the translation system was working.

  “We are very grateful for your help, and the kindness you have shown our people,” I said. “We will be relieved to bring them home with us. But we do fear for the continued safety of Nearspace.”

  He nodded. “As you should. The broken ones have plans to further harass your worlds, but the true threat comes from within your own borders.”

  “What do you mean?” I felt a prickle across my scalp and the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

  “The broken ones work in concert with the first explorers. They have made ink-luk’cha with them.”

  I shook my head as the word failed to translate and the Relidae’s voice filled in the spot where no word of Cerevare’s matched. I also didn’t know who the “first explorers” were.

  Cerevare asked, “What is it?”

  I told her the word problem, repeating what I’d heard inexpertly but well enough that she nodded. She pulled out her datapad and consulted it, flicking through a few screens, and scanning them intently. “It means a reciprocal agreement, I believe, but it’s more nuanced than just a ‘deal’,” she said finally. “It’s a deal between equals, where there’s no power differential.”

  “So, who are the first explorers?”

  She exchanged a few words with Den-Aldar in the Chron language, tapped her screen again, and showed him the display. He nodded. The Lobor turned the datapad so I could see the PrimeCorp logo displayed there. The letters P and C bracketed a stylized atom with a red nucleus, underscored by a dark red line.

  “The first explorers are the ones who made first contact with the Chron back before the Chron war in Nearspace,” Cerevare confirmed. “PrimeCorp.”

  I swallowed. There it was. First-hand confirmation.

  I turned back to the Relidae. “And what have the first explorers agreed to give them in return?”

  “We know of only one thing for certain.” The tall Relidae looked grave, the chitinous plates on his face cast in sharp relief. “Us.”

  DEN-ALDAR’S ANSWER momentarily confused me. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said slowly, giving the translation program lots of time to keep up with what I was saying. “PrimeCorp is going to deliver you to the—broken ones? The Pitromae?”

  The tall Relidae nodded again. I set my drink down on the table between us. Pleasant at first, after a few sips it had tasted overpoweringly sweet.

  “You may know that our society suffered a break—a rift—many years ago,” Den-Aldar said. He spoke with care, allowing the translation program time to work. “It became increasingly clear to some that the aggressive intentions of many in our culture was damaging to us as a whole—many needs of the larger society went unmet to fuel ongoing conquests. There were those who did not share the desire or need to participate in the conquest of other worlds and peoples.”

  He sighed, a very human sound that needed no translation. “I will not bore you with a long tale of how our people foundered on these shoals of discontent and strife. There was war among us—civil war, you would call it—and for a time all that aggression and need for conquest was directed inward, to our own people. Eventually, a portion of the society, calling themselves Relidae, or ‘seekers after peace,’ left the homeworld in search of new places to settle. They thought that, if they could not change the minds of the broken ones, at least they could remove themselves from that life.” He swept a hand outward in an encompassing gesture. “They were the ancestors of all who live on Tabalo, and some other planets as well.”

  “And that was only a small number of the Chr—of your people?” I asked.

  “Somewhat less than half the population of our home world left it when the rift occurred,” the Relidae said.

  “But your population has grown. The colony on Tabalo seems large, and my sister mentioned the orbital station you’ve built, as well.”

  He shrugged. “The population of the Pitromae has grown as well in the time we have been separate. And they have not forgotten us, as we might have hoped.”

  “Sometimes problems aren’t left behind—they follow you,” I said.

  Den-Aldar nodded. “The Pitromae eventually couldn’t abide the notion that we had separated ourselves from them. We were no longer true to our species, in their eyes, and the same compulsion to overcome other beings drove them to come after us again.” The Relidae smiled, the chitinous plates on his face sliding and shifting. “I believe your colloquialism is ‘a thorn in the side.’ Our existence, apart from them and pursuing a different way of life, irks them, and now they have determined to do something about it.”

  I frowned. “B
ut there’s still something I don’t understand,” I said. “The Pitromae seem determined to attack Nearspace again, maybe even start another all-out war. The Corvids say they can hardly hold them back any longer. Why would they take on two enemies at the same time? It would make more sense to unify themselves—or deal with your people in whatever way they plan to—before taking on Nearspace, too.”

  Den-Aldar sipped his drink. “But that is the thing,” he said. “Once we realized their threat to us was real, we took action to defend ourselves. We have infiltrated some of their ships; we monitor their messages. That is how we knew to go to the Corvid system and help the aliens there. How we knew your people were there, apparently consulting with them. It is also how we know this: the war against your Nearspace may not be what it seems.”

  “In what way?”

  The Relidae canted his head from side to side. “I cannot say for sure. On one hand, it seems to be a plan of harrying attacks only, mounted in order to fulfill an agreement with the PrimeCorp.”

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my legs. This was what Harle had suspected, but I wanted the Relidae’s take on it. “What would be the point of that? PrimeCorp stands to suffer as much as anyone if Nearspace comes under attack. Why would they orchestrate such a thing?”

  At that, Den-Aldar had run out of answers. He lifted his hands, palms up. “That, we do not know. The PrimeCorp must have reasons for wanting to cause fear and distress among your people. They have recruited the Pitromae to their cause. To all appearances, the PrimeCorp intends it to be only a minor incursion. Almost, a distraction. The Pitromae will leave Nearspace alone once the terms of the agreement have been met.”

  “When PrimeCorp helps them defeat you,” I said.

  He sucked in a breath. “There is more than that—some technology exchange is hinted at. But that is all we know.”

  I wanted to race back to my ship and head to Nearspace to tell Harle he was right and let Regina know that maybe the threat was not as dire as we feared. But that flash of relief faded quickly. If the safety of Nearspace was built upon the destruction—or at the very least, subjugation—of these Relidae, who had shown themselves more than once, now, to be our allies, it was not acceptable. No matter what technology PrimeCorp was getting from the Chron, even if it would be positive for Nearspace, the price was too high.

  Before I could say anything, the Relidae went on. “But understand: the Pitromae cannot be trusted. Their word, even in ink-luk’cha, is suspect. They will alter their plans without notice if they have reason to change their minds. Whatever agreements the PrimeCorp has made with them—” he spread his hands again. “They may find things do not proceed as they planned.”

  I thought it might serve PrimeCorp right to be double-crossed, but not if it meant Nearspace suffered.

  “I’ll be ready to testify against PrimeCorp when I return to Nearspace,” Cerevare Brindlepaw said, her dark eyes flashing. “I know all the individuals involved in starting the Chron war are long dead by now, but there must be some way to hold the corporation accountable—”

  “Whoa,” I said, holding up a hand. “Den-Aldar said PrimeCorp made first contact, but starting the war? Luta said you thought something like that, but—” I felt myself almost start to rise from my seat, an involuntary motion, and made my body settle back. Honestly, I’d discounted the idea as too far-fetched. Something that Cerevare had misunderstood. If I’d thought myself immune to surprise about anything PrimeCorp might do, I’d been wrong.

  Cerevare flicked her left ear in agitation, reminding me sharply of Harle Southwind. What was my old friend going to think of all this? He’d wanted information about PrimeCorp—well, I was certainly going to be able to deliver on that request.

  “The Relidae have been remarkably open in letting me study their historical documents since I’ve been here,” she said. “Although it’s been slow going, since everything has to be translated as I go. I suppose,” she said with a hint of irony, “I do have to thank PrimeCorp for that. Without them, we wouldn’t have that handy dictionary that has made it possible for our communication attempts to progress so far, so quickly.”

  “I doubt they ever intended it to be used by anyone but themselves,” I said, “so you probably don’t have to feel too indebted to them.”

  She smiled. “True. At any rate, in the documentation, it’s plainly recorded that the Chron war with Nearspace was a direct result of PrimeCorp’s contact with the Chron. An interaction that was outside Nearspace’s accepted rules for first contact.”

  “They were directly responsible?”

  Cerevare Brindlepaw nodded. “According to the records—and what Den-Aldar and his people have always known or believed to be true, PrimeCorp was the first to make contact with the Chron. It happened in a system PrimeCorp had discovered and explored, but obviously never reported to the Council.

  “We didn’t know, however, that there was some experimental trade between PrimeCorp and the Chron,” the Lobor professor continued. “It was apparently a tentative relationship, although there was enough communication to allow the development of the dictionary. I don’t know what the Chron would have wanted from PrimeCorp, and the records don’t say. But it doesn’t take much imagination to see what PrimeCorp saw—the vast possibilities of alien technology.”

  I laced my fingers together tightly, fighting down my anger. “I can’t believe they could do something so dangerous. They put all of Nearspace at risk.”

  Cerevare sighed. “I’m sure they didn’t envision their actions posing any threat to the safety or security of Nearspace. They saw a golden business opportunity; a chance to pull far ahead of any of their corporate competition. But that’s PrimeCorp—thinking they are always right, can do no wrong.”

  “What did go wrong? Do we know?”

  Den-Aldar took up the narrative. “We do not know for certain what happened between the two parties—in some accounts the PrimeCorp caused the destruction of one of our traders and all aboard it; in others, it was an accusation by our people that they were being cheated. Whatever the truth, it led to hostilities between the sides, and when your people retreated to Nearspace, our ancestors followed them.” He made that odd head shake again. “And then there was no stopping them. They saw the wealth and resources of your worlds and their aggressive, conquering nature took over. Only when they were physically stopped from entering Nearspace would they give up the fight. That is when the Relidae knew for certain they had to remove themselves from the larger society.”

  A knock sounded at the door of Den-Aldar’s office, and I realized we’d been closeted in here for some time. I became aware of the faint hum of conversation and the clink of dishes from beyond it. Apparently, the reception had started without us.

  As we moved to join the others, I wondered what Regina Holles, Harle Southwind, and Mother were going to make of all this.

  Chapter 12 – Luta

  Departures and Arrivals

  AS I GRIPPED the arms of my command chair and watched the attack unfolding outside the front viewscreen, I was struck by the utter silence on the bridge. I wasn’t sure when the Tane Ikai had been so quiet with so many people on board.

  A Chron ship, larger than the others, loomed up from below my line of sight and launched a pounding assault on the main station hub. The impact caused the shields to flare a deep blue, but the colour shaded to an angry red and dissipated. I quickly counted levels and thought it must be nearest the administrative level. The only thing that saved us was that the shields had absorbed most of the impact before they failed. The remainder of the jolt affected the Leighzing stabilizers, because the whole station jerked and wobbled, suddenly affected by the movement of every ship pulling away from it, every impact from a weapon. Without the stabilizers, it couldn’t hold a lock position relative to everything else. We lurched dockward and I reflexively clutched the arms of my chair even tighter so I wouldn’t be thrown from it. A creaking screech sounded from the airlock, where the flexible
dockway strained to its limits as the docking arm pulled the Tane Ikai after it.

  “Release the dockway,” I almost shouted, and Rei’s fingers flashed on her board. The ship righted itself, but out the forward screen, the station continued to sway. For the people inside and the stationary ships still docked, the station would seem wobbly until they got the stabilizers back online and stopped the motion with maneuvering thrusters.

  “Take us away from the station,” I said, more calmly. “Try to keep away from the worst areas of fighting, but get us clear. We don’t want to be in the way.”

  “Are you going to—” Jahelia Sord began, but I cut her off.

  “Hirin, all weapons on standby. If we’re engaged, we’ll fight back, but only in defence. Sord, reroute everything you can to our shields.”

  She bit off whatever else she might have said and concentrated on the board. Sord taking orders without comment? That was a surprise. I hoped she was as good as she claimed to be at the engineering station, and that I wouldn’t regret installing her there.

  “What’s happening?”

  I turned to see Farro and Neive standing at the entryway to the bridge. The girl clung to her father’s hand, but she looked around the bridge wide-eyed with curiosity, not fright. Her curls framed her face like a dark halo. The young man, understandably, sounded worried. I left the command chair and crossed to him.

  “We’re not going far,” I assured him, “just trying to put some space between us and the hostilities.”

  “Who is it? The Chron?”

  He was looking past me at the viewscreen, his own eyes as wide as his daughter’s.

  “I think so. They look like Chron ships. But the Protectorate is taking care of it.” I didn’t think the girl should be here watching any longer than necessary.

  Farro nodded, swallowing hard and licking his lips. “I’d heard rumours . . . so this is it. Another Chron war is beginning,” he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.