by C J Klinger
The Absolute listened in silence until the reading was completed. With a wave of his hand and a clicking of his pronounced fingernails, he dismissed the temporary Minister of Defense. After a moment of silence, The Absolute spoke, cutting off all the silent speculation going on in the group of nine. “Who did this?” he asked softly.
Merkalomal was the first to answer. He had the least to fear because it was his responsibility as the Minister of the Gathered Worlds to finance the cost of replacing the destroyed fleet. Part of the success the Khruellians had in managing such a large Hegemony was because the annual tithe they gathered was low enough to be bearable by the subject empires. It usually was the amount they had previously spent on maintaining a defense force. The tithe was bearable because it did not severely impact the subject worlds’ standard of living, only their ability to finance a war fleet of their own. Now the Hegemony maintained the peace. They subject worlds grumbled, but paid it; the alternative was a devastating visit by one of the Hegemony’s enforcement fleet.
Merkalomal only concern was the effect an increased tithe would have on that harmony. If he were forced to increase the tithe to pay for the replacement fleet, the conquered population would suffer, and when the conquered suffered, they tended to plot revolution, something the Hegemony did not want to deal with because it detracted from their efforts to fulfill the Legend.
Merkalomal looked directly at the Absolute and said, “My Lord, none of the gathered worlds in the Hegemony have the fleet or the type of weapons used in this attack. It was carried out by an enemy from beyond our borders.”
The Absolute returned his gaze. Merkalomal’s life would depend upon the accuracy of his report. In the same soft voice, he said, “You are certain of that, Merkalomal?”
“I am certain,” the Minister of The Gathered Worlds said confidently, but still not able to control the little knot of fear he felt. The fact that Karsolomal, the current Absolute was his nest-brother and had spared his life in the intra-sibling battles to determine the next leader was no guarantee that he would not kill him as he had killed his own twin brother to become the next Absolute.
The Absolute accepted his assurances and turned to stare at Bukal, the Minister of Expansion who was directly responsible for the military forces charged with fulfilling the Legend. While not a direct sibling, Bukal was a product of his sire’s second nesting and as such an heir to the Absolute’s chair if disaster should befall his own brood. Bukal knew he was under constant surveillance because of that possibility and spent most of his time away from the homeworld, hopefully away from the intrigue surrounding the Absolute’s aura of power.
“What can you tell us, Bukal?” the Absolute asked, continuing with the same soft, deadly tone.
The Minister of the Expansion was used to danger. He had a reputation for occasionally taking part in an invasion when he should have been far removed from the action. His fleet commanders tended to reflect his attitude and looked for reasons to fight instead of negotiating for the surrender of the targeted worlds. He stared back at the Absolute without any evident fear and said, “I cannot add to Merkalomal’s statement, my Absolute. My staff and I have examined the record of the attack very carefully and compared the ship and the weapons used by any know species we have conquered or have under surveillance. We have not found any species with ships and weapons to match the ones that attacked our home.” Before the Absolute could respond to this negative news, Bukal continued, “Since we found nothing in the Hegemony or in the area of our immediate interest, I have ordered a massive search in the direction the evidence suggest the attacking fleet originated.”
As Bukal spoke, the Absolute’s vestigial feathers settled back against his skin. He seemed to have his anger under control, and everyone at the table relaxed slightly. His head nodded in approval as he said, “I commend your prompt action, Bukal. You are authorized to expand your search to any area you believe might be the source of this plague.”
Bukal understood the Absolute’s desire for revenge, but he wanted his half-brother to understand the cost of such a search. “It shall be as you order, my Absolute. I shall divert some of our expansion forces to widen the search inward.”
The Absolute grimaced and asked, “Is that necessary, Bukal. The Legend demands that we continue to expand the Hegemony.”
“And we will, my Absolute,” Bukal said. “But the damages to the fleet here on Khruel and the unexpected losses in Mokrien-Dulak’s squadron will make it difficult to be as aggressive as the Legend demands.
It was a tense moment for the assembled Leaders at the table. Even Bukal marveled at his on audacity at telling the Absolute that fulfilling the Legend would be affected. Krikalon-Karsolomal the Absolute had never before been told he had to wait for anything. Whatever he wanted had been instantly provided from the moment he had triumphed in the sibling nest battle. The Absolute teetered back and forth between controllable anger and uncontrollable rage at being told his legacy was going to be affected by a delay in the expansion of the Hegemony. Bukal’s practical explanation of the facts finally won, and he uttered, “Very well, but get me results soon, Bukal.”
Bukal bowed his head in understanding. The implications of the Absolute’s order were clear.
Chapter 31
Newhope
Jon was not sure what to expect when he reported to Admiral Dexter’s office after his return, but Ben King advised him the admiral was in a good mood, brought on in part by the flash-com report Jon had sent as soon as the Islandia II and her ghost fleet were clear of Khruellian space. The staff had analyzed the holographic images and had gathered valuable intelligence about the nature of the Khruellian capital world and the fleet of spaceships gathered there. The CSF knew virtually nothing about the nature and extent of the Khruellian Hegemony other than what the Alphans had provided them. The need for first-hand intelligence was paramount in the eyes of the high command. How much of an impact Jon’s raid would have on delaying the Khruellian’s rate of expansion was pure speculation, but all agreed, given the extent of the damage it would have to have some effect.
Admiral Dexter handed Jon a drink of Evian whiskey, a tradition started in the Muhyba Wars after a captain or commander gave his combat report. The admiral motioned for Jon to sit down in one of the stuffed leather chairs reserved for casual conversation. The subject matter was anything but casual.
Admiral Dexter studied the young officer seated before him and took in his air of confidence. No other young officer in the Space Force had grown up in the shadow of such power as had Captain Jonathon McKinnah III.. It was reflected in how comfortable the captain was around superior officers. That, plus the cachet of having a personal android marked the young office as special. Admiral Dexter held up his tumbler of whiskey and said, “To a job well done, Captain.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Jon said. “I’ll be sure to pass along your compliment on to my crew.”
He admiral leaned forward in his chair and said, “Give me your personal impression of what you saw on Khruel, Captain.”
Jon took a sip of his drink. He was not much of a whiskey drinker, but this was a tradition, and the drink was from a top-credit bottle, the best money could buy. It went down smoothly, and he could feel the warmth spreading through his middle as he set the glass down. “The size, Sir,” he said. “The number of ships on the field was staggering. We were on the deck for ten kilometers during our firing run, and as far as we could see, there were ships of all sizes and shapes.”
“Warships?” Admiral Dexter asked, keen to know the enemy they would be facing.
Jon said, “Based on the Alphan’s holographic images of the various types of Hegemony warships, most of them were. They should have information from their surveillance flights to let us know which ones were transports.” Jon reached for his glass and took another sip.
“They’re coming here,” the admiral said. “I’ll make arrangements for you to review the action holograms with them to get a better count of the t
ype of spaceships you destroyed.”
“The Alphans?” Jon asked, surprised at the admiral’s casual announcement.
Admiral Dexter took a sip of his own whiskey and said, “Along with the representative from five other alien organizations who have agreed to form a defensive union.”
“That was quick,” Jon said. He had only left Vice Admiral Estes three day earlier.
Admiral Dexter said, “Apparently the Alphans were far better organized than they had first led us to believe.”
“I wonder why they would do that,” Jon said, more for his own edification than for the admirals.
Admiral Dexter picked up on Jon’s tone and offered, “Perhaps it was a way to convince us to become involved.” When Jon didn’t say anything in response, he said, “You don’t trust them, do you?”
“Not completely, Sir, but I can’t put my finger on any reason why I shouldn’t,” Jon said candidly.
Admiral Dexter said, “I’m going to temporarily assign you to my staff, Captain McKinnah.” He saw the look of alarm on Jon’s face and moved quickly to reassure him. “You’re not losing your command, Captain. It’s only a temporary assignment while the allied conference is in session.”
Relieved that he was not losing the Islandia, Jon said, “I’m at your disposal, Sir.”
“Good.” The admiral said getting up from his chair. “I want you to meet the CSF Enderson. She is due this morning. The Alphans will arrive this afternoon with representatives from the five allied star systems. Some will require special atmospheric needs, which the Alphans were already prepared to provide.
“That was quick,” Jon commented, repeating his earlier observation on the Alphans’ speedy reaction to the humans’ willingness to participate in the in their defense alliance.
Admiral Dexter shrugged his shoulders and said, “Vice Admiral Estes reports the Alphans told him they have been planning for this day for a thousand years.”
Jon was intrigued by the idea that the Alphans would plot for a thousand years to form an alliance. A thought occurred to Jon. “Are we humans the key to the success of this alliance?”
Admiral Dexter paused for a second before answering. “I’m beginning to think so, Captain McKinnah. I would like for you and Talor to give me your impression of these ‘allies’ we’re about to meet. Specifically, are they going to be an asset or a liability?”
Jon considered what Admiral Dexter wanted them to do and had an inspiration. He asked, “Are any of the Vajrashilans still here on Newhope?”
Admiral Dexter said, “I believe Cleric-General Bradley-Kinsley and his staff are still here preparing for admission to the Confederation.”
“With your permission, Sir I would like to involve them in my assignment.”
A light of understanding appeared in the admiral’s eyes. “By all means, Captain McKinnah, that’s an excellent idea.”
Later that morning Jon watched as the CSF Enderson, settle onto the field at Command Central. Jon craned his neck like a kid trying to see Annika among the personnel coming down the ramp from the CSF Enderson. As soon as she cleared the hull, he heard her mental call asking if he was in the crowd.
“I’m here, Baby. I’m the idiot jumping up and down waving his arms,” he said.
“I see you, Jon, but you’re not jumping up and down,” she said excitedly.
“Well, I am in my mind. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms.” He sent her a racy image.
She sent him one back equally racy.
Talor followed the crew down the ramp and Jon immediately felt the Ares presence in his mind. “Welcome home, my friend,” Jon said.
Talo responded, “I am pleased you were able to conduct your mission to Khruel without injury.”
“Was it scary, Jon?” Annika interjected.
“Scary enough. I’ll tell you all about it when you’re dismissed.”
Annika’s disappointment was evident when she said, “Not until this evening, Baby. I’ve got the day watch while Vice Admiral Estes reports to Admiral Dexter.”
“Might be just as well, Honey. Admiral Dexter has asked Talor, and I to scanned the incoming allies for potential problems.”
“Scan the? How do you intend to do that?”
“I’m going to ask Cleric-General Bradley-Kinsley to help us,” Jon explained.
“Ah, that’ll work. I’ll see you this evening, Jon. I’ve got to get to work.”
Later, Talor and the surprised Cleric General were among the crowd gathered to watch the alien spaceships land.
“Why exactly am I here, Captain McKinnah?” the Cleric-General asked, still not certain why he was included in the official greeting party.
Jon liked the odd human-alien. The Vajrashilans were the ultimate survivors and had something of a jaded view of most human endeavors, which was usually expressed as dry wit. Jon was never quite sure if the Cleric-General was serious or kidding him when they talked.
Jon grinned and said with a straight face, “I want you to pick some pockets, William.” He much preferred the Cleric-General’s first name to his elaborate title.
Bradley-Kinsley looked confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand that expression, Captain.”
Talor stepped in and said, “Captain Mckinnah is making a poor attempt at humor, Cleric-General. He wants you and me to scan the minds of the alien visitors to measure their reaction to what they see on Newhope. He wants to measure their physiological compatibility to humans.”
“Ah, I see,” William said. “That makes sense, especially if we are going to be fighting side-by-side against the Khruellian Hegemony.” A look of understanding passed over his face. “Now I understand what you mean by picking their pockets. Very clever, Captain McKinnah, I shall have to remember that expression.”
Jon turned his attention back to the spaceships. There was some delay while special vehicles were offloaded from two of the Alphan spaceships. The welcoming announcer explained they were for some of the visitors who would not be able to tolerate Newhope’s atmosphere.
Jon focused his attention on the first Alphan spaceship where a portal had opened, and several Alphans came down the ramp. Jon recognized Ruuhr and Kreeg. Immediately behind them came a pair of dark brown, humanoid shaped, bipedal aliens with extremely broad shoulders and squat, heavy looking bodies. Their heads were round and blended into their bodies. Their Facial features were smooth with hooded eyes and a wide mouth. Relatively large, mobile ears rotated to the sounds coming at them from all sides. Jon saw that they wore no breathing mask, so Newhope’s atmosphere was compatible with their world. The two aliens rotated their entire body to take in the sights around them. Jon saw that William had taken off his protective headband and was focusing his attention on the two aliens as they walked past their location.
The crowd grew silent when the next alien delegates exited the ship. Three cat-like, humanoid aliens came down the ramp looking around at the silent crowd. They were gracefully trim wearing white, form-fitting uniforms that revealed they were mammalian, or something akin to it. Their features mimicked humans to a remarkable degree except for large green eyes and feline ears. Soft white fur graduated from their foreheads into a mane that cascaded down the back of their neck to mid shoulder. Jon guessed them to be more than two meters in height. Based on the very visible evidence, two of the three were female. The first words that came to Jon’s mind were, “Beautiful, sexy,” All three aliens turned in unison to look at him when he mentally expressed those thoughts. The lead female looked Jon up and down candidly and made what could only be a smile. There was a buzz of unknown origin in his mind.
“They’re empaths,” Talo said. “They were responding to your thoughts, which were amplified by your communication globe.”
“I suspected that when I saw them react in unison,” Jon said, fingering the small silver globe hanging around his neck.
William said, “The first female, who is their leader wants to inspect you, Captain McKinnah to see if you would be a compatibl
e breeding partner.” He put his hand on Jon’s shoulder and said in his dry voice, “You may have to submit to prevent an interstellar incident.”
“Annika would kill me,” he said, but the vision of coupling with the exotic creature lingered longer than he thought it would.
The third set of visitors fit the stereotype image of aliens fostered by the video entertainment industry, exoskeleton with six limbs. They could have been distant cousins of the Muhybas. The crowd reacted to the similarities with subdued applause. The memories of loved ones lost were too great to overcome their desire to welcome these aliens as allies.
The next two alien species could not be seen because they were aboard special containers the Alphans had prepared to accommodate for their special atmospheric needs.
Jon, William, and Talor watched as the parade stopped in front of a platform where officials from the CIP were gathered. After the ceremony, they would go to the General Assembly building, twenty kilometers distant in the heart of Newhope City to begin serious negotiations on forming a defensive coalition. His only thought was, “How are we going to make a cohesive fighting force out of this menagerie and fight an enemy as organized and as large as the Khruellians Hegemony?”
Talo’s mental voice reminded him that his thoughts were no longer private unless he specifically wanted them to be. “It can be done, Jonathon, but only if this ‘menagerie’ can agree on an absolute commander to lead the combined fighting forces.”
Jon agreed with Talor assessment but was not optimistic it would come about. “That will be a tough decision for any empire to commit their forces to fight under the control of another species, especially in the short time we have to get to know each other.”
The Cleric-General had been listening to their mental exchange. Without his headband, he heard everything around him. With intense concentration, he could block out unwanted conversation and focus his attention on specific targets. He surprised Jon by saying, “I believe they could be convinced to follow the right individual, Jon. At least I believe I could convince them.”