Allied enemies, p.12
Allied Enemies, page 12
After midday meal, Peña and Fillery remained in the meal room, while the other councilors resumed their walks to speak with more residents.
“What bothers you most about the conclave?” Peña asked Fillery.
The councilor hesitated. Then she replied, “I liked things the way they were before the aliens arrived.”
“You mean before Miriamal and the other first-gen sisters like me came to your worlds,” Peña corrected.
“That’s what I said,” Fillery responded stubbornly.
“Not exactly,” Peña pressed. “I’m a sister, or you can speak of me as a SADE. But if you insist on thinking of me and my kind as aliens, then that’s what humans are to us. Do you want us to regard you as an alien?”
“What’s the difference?” Fillery replied dismissively.
“The difference is perception,” Peña explained. “If we can’t see one another as sentient beings who deserve respect, then the alternative is fear and loathing. That’s what leads to fighting and war. That’s how Miriamal and her close associates saw humans. You and your kind were to be dominated and manipulated.”
“I still say that we should have been left alone,” Fillery persisted.
“You’re denying reality,” Peña continued. “The Imperium Empire is much older than Axis Crossing worlds. It’s the same for the Queller race. Furthermore, anomalies are continually being discovered that connect to these areas of space. You can hide within your fantasies of the way you’d like your race to exist, or you can face reality and take an active role in making your worlds a better place to live for all sentient beings.”
With that, Peña rose and left Fillery to her thoughts. In the corridor, she communicated to a crew chief to keep an eye on the councilor.
James watched a group of burly residents exercise. Their movements were slow, as if they were dancing alone. The longer he watched, the more interested he became. When the New Terran crew member leading the group waved to him, he joined the activity.
By the time the exercise period ended, James was dripping sweat.
As the residents exited the space, many of them patted him on the shoulder or arm. One individual spoke to him, and James received a link to the translation app for that language.
“You did well for a newcomer. You’re welcome to join us on the next cycle. It will get easier with time,” the resident had said.
James smiled and thanked him.
The New Terran laughed and slapped James heartily on his back.
James lurched forward, and the New Terran caught him and apologized.
On two decks higher, David found two residents arguing. As he and his SADE approached, they halted and stared guardedly.
“Can we be of assistance?” David asked through his SADE.
“There is nothing to be done,” a resident replied. She had a long neck that fit her body’s slender stature. In contrast, her male companion was short and stout.
“If nothing can be done, then why argue?” David proposed.
The stout male shrugged and replied, “It passes the time.”
“I’d like to learn more about this continuous back and forth,” David requested.
The female laughed at their argument’s characterization. With her thin body and long neck, it sounded like wheezing.
“This ship is nothing more than glorified warrens,” the male insisted.
“I argue that my friend gives the conclave no credit for its advances,” the female replied.
“What advances?” the male retorted, raising his voice. “I hear stories, but we see no proof.”
the sister sent to David.
The arguing pair gazed at the display of the two Gorders cavorting high in the air.
“How do we know that’s Kelter?” the male asked dubiously.
“Fool,” the female wheezed. “Where do you think the conclave came up with a pair of mated Gorders? Obviously, they were on Jumanus where they intended to take Kelter.”
The male saw his arguments falling apart.
“This is Baltart on his home world,” the sister said when she displayed the next sequence.
Other residents gathered to observe the vid, and the sister extended her hand upward and drove more energy into the projection.
David and the sister heard mumbles that sounded negative, and the sister winked at David.
Then the palm display shifted. This time, short vids were linked together to present compressed time.
The residents witnessed Baltart ease out of his tank into shallow waters. He was surrounded by huge crustacean aliens.
“The Swei Swee, a sentient race, helped Baltart regain his strength,” the sister explained.
By now, David was fully engaged in the display, and he craned his neck to watch the vids. Suddenly, he received the same imagery in his implant, and he thanked the sister.
Younglings played a game among Baltart’s tentacles. Eventually, he became more active as the younglings continually fed him.
There came a time when Baltart slipped into deeper waters. Then one cycle, he was gone only to return in triumph.
When a traveler landed, it dropped its rear end into the water, and Baltart crawled aboard.
There were no vids of the disaster on Vokslem. However, the sister stitched together imagery of the trio’s struggles to stay alive.
“What are we seeing?” a resident inquired.
Other sisters had arrived to relay via translations what the nearly thirty residents observed.
The residents learned of the downing of the traveler, the fights with the Radags, and their eventual rescue.
“The conclave defeated a Radag force?” the arguing male inquired.
Cheering broke out among the residents.
“Are there more images of returns?” the arguing female asked.
The residents reluctantly agreed that it was a fair question.
Peña had alerted the captain, who arrived with her, and he addressed the crowd, assuring them that they would show vids of the returns each evening after meal.
Excited residents dispersed to tell others of the news.
Four were left standing together — Peña, Derry, David, and the sister.
David’s face glowed. He felt as if he’d played an integral role in helping the residents. Turning to the sister, he opened his arms wide. “May I?” he asked.
“It’s allowed,” the sister replied.
It didn’t matter to David that beneath the attractive face and body was a hard shell. He wasn’t hugging the avatar. In his mind, he was thanking a generous sentient.
Elone wore a bemused expression.
Elone regarded Peña, as if to ask whether the subject should be avoided if the response would be hurtful. The neutral expression on the first-gen’s face indicated directness was required
Derry laughed.
Elone regarded Peña, who sent,
Peña left Elone alone to dwell on a curious subject.
When the four councilors finished their conversations aboard the Liberation, they were tired but buoyed, and they headed for a traveler to drop planetside.
The crew chief informed Fillery that her traveler waited, and she jumped out of her seat and ran toward the nearest lift, which was the wrong way.
When the crew chief directed her down the correct corridor, Fillery eyed him as if it was his fault that she’d started in the wrong direction.
Before the traveler exited the bay, James relaxed into his seat and closed his eyes.
The trio of councilors heard Peña’s chuckle.
David sent.
Claudia regarded Peña, and her stare was returned.
David and Ramiro who were in adjacent seats watched the pair, knowing a private conversation was taking place.
Then Peña sent in the open, and she extended her hand to Claudia.
Claudia’s grin was huge, and she grasped Peña’s offered hand with both of hers.
Ramiro queried.
Peña laughed at the appellation. As she’d remarked to Derry, there had been her thought that she’d left the fleet in the Talusian system and landed on Naiad. The intervening time was merely a period in which she was somnolent.
11: We’ve a Problem
UNIDENTIFIED SYSTEM
IMPERIUM EMPIRE SPACE
The Dwerve captain, Eshtitor, closed the door behind his lead geneticist, who had requested a private meeting.
“Bad news?” Eshtitor inquired, anticipating trouble.
“Multiple issues, Captain,” the geneticist replied. “This race, which has been identified as the Krackus, will be difficult to replicate for any Dwerve.”
“Why?” Eshtitor asked.
“The genetic sequences are lengthy and complex,” the scientist replied. “I believe the metamorphic success rate will be poor.”
“How poor?” Eshtitor pressed.
“Difficult to say, Captain, but I’d suspect it would be around one in ten,” the geneticist replied.
“More than fifty Dwerves possibly lost to produce a small landing party,” Eshtitor mused. “Is that the extent of the problem?”
“Unfortunately not,” the geneticist lamented. “It’s the opinion of my staff that after successfully shape-shifting, this would be the end of their capabilities.”
“What are you saying?” Eshtitor asked.
“Due to the genetic complexity of the Krackus, we don’t perceive our Dwerves able to shift to another species,” the geneticist replied, shrugging his shoulders apologetically.
When the scientist held his ground, Eshtitor sighed. “Tell me the rest of it,” he requested.
“From the evidence gleaned at the platform, we’ve determined the stature measurements of a Krackus adult,” the scientist continued. “As adults, the species is remarkably similar in height and weight. However, they’re also short and slender. We don’t have any Dwerve adults who possess a similar mass. Only our juveniles would qualify.”
“That’s impossible,” Eshtitor fumed. “We’ve no young who are qualified to make the landing team. Furthermore, we don’t know if our young have fully developed shifting capabilities.”
“Now you understand the extent of our problems,” the scientist said. “Do you wish us to take any action?”
“Not at this time,” Eshtitor replied. “Thank you for your efforts.” Then he dismissed the geneticist.
Returning to the bridge, Eshtitor sat in his command chair and brooded. His officers remained quiet while they worked.
After the platform’s raid, Eshtitor thought a tremendous opportunity had fallen into his lap. Quanitine, his recent female companion, and he had a night of celebration, which he often enjoyed recalling. However, the geneticist’s analysis had poured cold water on what should have led to easy raids. There was nothing left to do but inform the other elevens.
In a conference, Eshtitor outlined the geneticist’s report. Then he sent a copy of the findings to their devices. As it was a lengthy technical document, they ignored it.
“Then the platform raid was useless,” an eleven declared.
Three elevens stared hostilely at the one individual who had pushed for their ship to find an opportunity within the worlds from where the battleships had originated.
“The results were unforeseen,” Eshtitor allowed. “Based on the geneticists’ report, the Krackus aren’t suitable candidates for our usual raid technique.”
“Why do you phrase it that way?” an eleven inquired.
“We’ve depended on the scenario of a shuttle declaring an emergency and our landing party accepted as survivors of a tragic ship accident,” Eshtitor explained. “Afterward, the team collects genetic material and uses it to shift to appear as the local race. When defense and communication are compromised, we raid.”
“It’s been a successful method,” the acrimonious eleven insisted.
“It has been,” Eshtitor agreed. “However, we know that this area of space represents immense opportunity for us. The number of home worlds must be significant. Furthermore, the raid on the platform wasn’t useless.”
Eshtitor tapped his device, and, moments later, Quanitine entered the conference room.
Most of the elevens were surprised, but the argumentative individual bristled. “This is a private conference,” he snapped.
“And I wouldn’t have bothered you unless I’d been invited by the captain,” Quanitine replied. She was careful to take a seat away from the captain, choosing the far end of the table.
“Quanitine is here in her capacity as a specialist in race analysis and linguistics,” Eshtitor said. “I suggest you listen to what she has to say.”
“I want it on record, Captain, that this is against protocol,” the angry one declared.
“So noted,” the captain replied calmly. “Proceed, Quanitine,” he invited.
“I’ve had a group of specialists analyzing the extensive amount of personal items that we recovered from the platform,” Quanitine began.
“On whose authorization?” the annoying eleven asked defiantly.
