[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The adrenaline of combat was such that it took a moment for the man to realize where he was. One minute Ryan had been giving the command to charge, the next he was on the bridge of Saar'floe with a bird's eye view of the battlefield. And he was furious about it!
"Get me back down there!" he roared at Charlie, who just gazed up at him stupidly. So he repeated the order, "I said put me back down there!" This time he advanced menacingly on the little old man.
Charlie would have none of that. He extended his arm out toward Ryan, palm outward as if straight-arming a tackler in football. The effects were immediate, completely debilitating; it was as if all of the bones in Ryan's body had turned to Jell-O. He slumped quietly to the deck and lie there, immobile.
Charlie quietly returned to his console, flying the ship. Soon Saar'floe had entered one of Pella'agre's lakes, as indicated by the sharp impact of entry, the subsequently dimmed lighting. The glow of searchlights followed, verifying his suspicions: Charlie was fishing! Ryan had been rudely yanked from a battlefield where his people were fighting a battle for their lives, and this little snot had the temerity to go fishing? As much as that fact infuriated Ryan, he still could not move. So, he just lie there seething...
It took the prone man several hours to simmer down... he was that mad! But it happened gradually. As it did, he could feel motor capacity coming back to his limbs. Before long he was able to function as normal. He sat up on the deck, looked over at the figure of the silver-haired gent sitting placidly before the console.
"Want to tell me why you jerked me up out of the battle like that?"
"Ah... Ryan, I see you have come back to your senses."
"Yeah... sorry about that, but can you give me an explanation please?" Ryan stood, being careful not to appear menacing. "And just where the hell have you been anyway?"
"Why, I was here on the ship. I might ask you the same question. Rule number one: always stay with the ship unless I give you instructions to the contrary. I could mark you as a fugitive."
"The ship was wrecked. There was nothing on it but some weird little alien who looked dead, or near enough. Why on earth would I stay on the ship?"
"Calm down please. I was that alien... and, thank you very much... I was not near enough to death for you saved my life by wrapping me in the webbing. Secondly, you should know that Saar'floe is self-repairing. As long as she is still intact, never leave her. And last, but certainly not least, you were operating illegally down there. As I explained earlier... this is a class two world..."
"And just exactly what the hell does that mean?"
"Class one worlds are devoid of sentient life," he said, holding up a single finger in illustration, adding to it as he ticked off the classifications. "Class two worlds have sentient life with a rudimentary civilization. Class three worlds are capable of flight. Class four worlds are capable of space flight. And class five worlds are starflyers."
"And who says these people are not worthy of help simply because they can't fly?"
Charlie once again looked at Ryan in confusion. "Why, the Federation Council, of course."
Ryan was starting to get upset again. Then he recalled what happened last time he had and worked internally to control it. "Can we petition the council for a permit to help them?"
"Why would we want to do that? Where is our advantage there...?"
"Is that all you're about?" Now it was Ryan's turn to be amazed. "These are people. They are the survivors of a starflyer culture. They are like castaways on a desert island. Don't you feel any responsibility to help them out?"
"None." Charlie admitted with not the slightest hint of sympathy in his voice. "They are developing quite nicely on their own technology-tree. We would only intervene to keep another starflyer race from taking advantage of them. It would not be fair to them to interfere otherwise... which you have already done, by-the-way."
"And if I had not that entire village would have been slaughtered!"
"It is the way of life, Ryan. You know this..." and he raised a hand, indicating a conclusion of the topic.
His apprentice, fuming silently, stomped off the bridge, looking for his cabin. He needed a drink badly, concurrent with a good, long soak in his hot tub. But the discussion was far from over in his mind.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Ryan was still iritated by the turn of events when he appeared back on the bridge the next morning. He pulled a chair up and sat staring out at the stars sullenly. Apparently, his master had filled his quota, had left the planet. Ryan felt a strange sadness at that.
Finally, Charlie spoke. "I know you became attached to your new friends back on Pella'agre but you must learn, my apprentice. There are inviolable rules that govern this federation. And neither you nor I are in a position to change them."
Ryan nodded. He was right of course. But he was not used to the notion of not having at least a nominal voice in the government. He had been taught to question authority all of his life, taught that might does not necessarily make right. This was a hard pill to swallow.
Charlie must have sensed his continued dis-ease with the situation. He patted him affectionately on the shoulder and spoke again. "It is time I told you who you really are, my man."
"What? What do you mean?"
"You are also one of the survivors."
"Of what?"
"Let us begin back about ten thousand years ago, shall we?" Ryan nodded vaguely and Charlie went on. "A race of humanoids were seeded on a lush world of perfection. Everything was as if made specifically for their life form. It was an absolute garden of eden. These people immediately began to multiply and build a remarkable civilization. For nearly 1600 years they flourished unabated. They reached the stars, colonized far worlds, explored freely... with not constraints.
"Then one day a cataclysm occured on their home world. A set of undersea earthquakes erupted that were so devastating that they rocked the very core of the planet, actually tilting it off its axis. This precipitated a series of monstrous tsunamis that swept across all the lands, covering it in seawater for months to a depth of fifty feet and more. Nearly ninety percent of the population perished in the first few days of the incident. The rest died within the following year. The only survivors were those off-planet; colonies, supply-stations, mining camps, ship crews...
"My people were on one of the colonies... the people of Pella'agre... well, they were a small resupply base and mining camp."
Ryan nodded his acknowledgment. "Then why won't you help them?"
"There were only a handful of colonies that were self-sufficient when the catastrophe occured. All lost headway on their technology-trees. All but three plunged into a severe dark age, eventually losing all but the most rudimentary elements of civilization. When the three great powers were once more capable of reaching starflyer status they met each other in the stars, barely remembering their distant kinship, for over a thousand years had lapsed. Initially they fell into conflict, then they determined to forge a federation with rules and regulations that they could all live by. Each in their travels were encountering remnants of the ancient starflyer race that had seeded all our worlds... and many unscupulous agents were taking advantage of these lessor civilizations for their own benefit. That is why the rule is now in place.
"Ryan, one other thing you should know... the ancient race of starflyers from whom we all sprang came from Earth... they were your people..."
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Ryan sat stunned for awhile. His master allowed him time to digest this new revelation, sat patiently fully expecting to answer those questions that would inevitably arise. He didn't have long to wait...
But, how could my people be survivors of a cataclysm...? You said all the ancients died.
That is what we thought at the time. That is what was reported by the ships that brought us the news. After we rebuilt our starflyer technology we were able to revisit Earth. We found that there had been survivors after all. In fact, we were quite impressed with the numbers of people that were actually flourishing there. This was the time of your ancient Egyptians, Babylonians, Phoenicians. We were thrilled to know that our ancestral birthplace was rebounding. The Federation immediately put it under its protection to safeguard it while it developed. Then, of course, we discovered the existence of other starflyer cultures operating in this sector of space; they had their own plans for Earth.
Ryan nodded. He would need a lot of time to process all this new information. And he had not given up the notion that he had acted appropriately back on Pella'agre, but he was willing to give the old man the benefit of the doubt... for now. He sighed and tried on a smile. So, what's on the agenda for today?
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]“Ryan... do not wrestle with the ship,” the master starflyer instructed, “approach it as if it was rather a part of your body. Do you wrestle with your legs to get them to walk?”
“No, but...”
“...just think what you want it to do then Saar'floe will do the rest. There is no need to fight her.”
Ryan sighed. Yeah, yeah... it sounded easy but this grabbing a-hold to the console and just thinking about what the ship should do was completely foreign to his Terran mind. There was no analogous process on Earth for him to cross-reference it to. Fishing had been easy, nothing to it, but this was something else.
“Wait,” Charlie suddenly demanded, “give me the controls.” Then he slid into the spot that Ryan had vacated and began analyzing the sensor grid with sharp interest.
“What's up, boss...?”
“A ship formation... see here, there is a mass of radiation signatures tracking in from across the far side of the system...” He jabbed his finger at a small screen on the console. It had five alien ideograms lit up over the top of it. He fiddled with something on the console then announced, “...point of origin near the vortex to the Kerra'arrene System, an area the Szearfetti have been known to operate in regularly.”
They were two days out from Pella'agre, had paused periodically in their leisurely journey across the system for Ryan's flight lessons. Up ahead was a small asteroid field concentrated in the area of the vortex toward which they were heading.
“Let us play it safe. Let us hide in the asteroid field and watch what they do. We can shut down the ship's engines and drift into it. That way we will in no way give away our position. I have a bad feeling about these ships.” Charlie did as he had said he would, shut down the engines and coasted into the asteroid field. Then they waited and watched...
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]They watched the flotilla of spacecraft audaciously enter the atmosphere of Pella'agre and disappear from the sensors. Ryan turned to the master.
What is all this about?
I do not know, Ryan. Those are Szearfetti ships. It now appears that the one that attacked us was not operating alone, he was probably a scout. They may be attempting to expand their area of influence into this system. This is something Federation authorities will want to hear about.
With that he locked in on the vortex, sent out the probe. A moment later they were traversing out of the Pella'agrene System, heading for Charlie's home world...
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The planet Dalca'odge was a wonder to behold, unique in all aspects.
Roughly a third the size of Earth, it was the color of polished ivory, which Ryan discovered was due to an omnipresent mask of cumulus clouds that hid the face of Charlie's home world entirely from space. That was not the most remarkable feature however. There was a persistent aurora borealis hovering across either pole, displaying an amazing undulating light show of gold and chartreuse and rose hues. The starflyer said it was just one of the ancillary effects of Dalca'odge's extraordinarily strong magnetic fields.
They dove into the cloud cover without pause or interruption. This amazed Ryan, for he expected that they should be hailed by authorities before being allowed to proceed. Charlie explained that they had been scanned, analyzed, watched by a multitude of spy satellites from the time they had first entered the system. If there had been any reason for concern they would certainly have been prohibited from proceeding. The Dalcachene System was the most secure in the sector. That's why it was so important to Charlie not to be marked as an outlaw. It meant never being able to return home again.
As the wisps of white feathery tendrils flitted past the bridge window, Ryan looked at his boss and grinned. “Okay, I gotta ask.”
“Ask.”
“Why the subterfuge?”
“I'm sorry...?”
“Why are you hiding your appearance from me?”
Charlie put on a mildly deprecating smile. “You know the answer to that.”
“You didn't want to scare me...? How sweet...”
“I have found from experience that you Terrans don't accept the way we look too easily. It tends to cause less problems on the front end,” he explained. “Why? Would you like me to drop the subterfuge...? Allow you to see me as I truly am?”
Ryan shook his head absently, “nope, I've gotten used to you like this. Just wanted to hear what you had to say on the subject.” They were now coming out of the cloud cover and his attention was drawn away from idle chatter to more important matters; he was dying to see what the surface of Charlie's world looked like.
His first thoughts upon seeing it was that of alarm. Impossibly tall stiletto towers thrust upward into the sky, several actually brushing the clouds. They looked like nothing less than a phalanx of threatening lances! (His thoughts flitted momentarily back to his people on Pella'agre, wondered how they had fared...) These were all made of a uniform polished silver, an apparent duplicate of that which went into the construction of Saar'floe. Gracefully arching bridges connected the towers, whereupon now he could make out the minute figures of alien creatures like the one he had seen on the bridge, the one he now knew to be Charlie. Beyond this ethereal cityscape he could make out the surface of the planet far below. It was verdant and veritably laced with a complex network of canals.
Now they were banking right, missing one of the spires by what seemed to Ryan mere inches, merging with other ships of various sizes and shapes. No colors, though, Ryan noticed; Charlie's entire world consisted of the same polished silver. Later he would discover why. Charlie's people were all born color blind, another of the ancillary effects of the planet's strong magnetic fields. For some reason this fact saddened Ryan.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]After delivery of the cargo to some type of warehouse at the base of one of the larger towers, Charlie launched and headed toward a smaller one in the distance. About two-thirds of the way up this tower Ryan could see an opening suddenly appear in the smooth surface. Saar'floe slowed and entered, the opening disappearing behind her.
“We are home!” Charlie announced with undisguised enthusiasm.
Maybe you are, Ryan thought, but just smiled and nodded. He followed his boss out of the ship and into a sloping corridor that wound up and around to a penthouse room above the hanger. This chamber was unlike anything Ryan had ever seen depicted on any sci-fi program or movie.
It was of course fashioned from the ubiquitous polished silver but it was of an odd shape. The only thing that came to mind was a bullet; one end was flattened while the other was rounded at the point. There were tall, thin windows on the left and right walls, three each side. To either side of a slightly darker colored walkway that split the room in half were six flat disks on the floor; once again three either side. They were lined up facing the far, rounded end of the room.
“Please, have a seat,” Charlie pleaded, motioning to one of the disks. When Ryan looked dubious, his boss smiled and said, “just try it, Ryan... don't you know by now that all is not as it appears in my world?”
Ryan grinned, shrugged and walked over to one of the disks. It was a shade over two-feet in diameter and so flat that it almost looked painted on the floor. He sat down on it and was immediately levitated about three feet on a cushion of air. He chuckled involuntarily.
“I told you...! Uh, you can stretch out your legs if you please.” Charlie turned his back and went to an area on the left wall beneath the windows. Soon he was back at Ryan's side, handing him a pale rose liquid in a broad silver chalice. He nodded for Ryan to try it. His apprentice complied, feeling immediately happy with the decision to do so. The sweet fragrant liquid coursed through him, warming and reviving him simultaneously. He smiled and nodded.
“Now, I must beg your indulgence while I communicate with the authorities,” Charlie said, turning and walking to the far end, the rounded section of the room.
He waved his hand over the wall there and it disappeared. Now they were in an expanded room, about three times the size of the original. Ryan looked around. Three of the walls; the one directly behind him and those to either side were still as before but now the far wall – from the point at which it made its severe bow outward – had dissolved. Consequently, they were now looking out across a large room toward a single individual sitting before a tilted desk or console of some kind. Charlie began to talk to this person, giving him a string of data that Ryan took as his credentials or licensing information. The person then nodded curtly whereupon the room changed again. Now it was a tall, wide room with an open ceiling. There was a horseshoe-shaped table with three aliens of various races seated there. One was a Charlie-clone, but clothed in a black toga with silver cords strapped across his chest and a cluster of what Ryan took to be feathers over his left breast.
There was another that looked very much like a man cast in bronze, for that was the color of his pigmentation. This fellow had a strangely elongated head and a very small, rather pointed nose. His shoulders were broad to an extreme, probably nearly three-foot in breadth. He was dressed in a dark rust-colored tunic of some hairy material. His dark gray hair covered his scalp in a beard of stubble, which also graced his face. Golden eyes pierced anyone he glanced at like those of an eagle.
The last of the three was quite Terran in appearance. His face was broad, nearly as wide as it was high, with large wide-set eyes – but not bulbous as those of Charlie's people – of a dark color, either black or brown. His bluish-black hair was slicked back across his head. His chin was wide with an extreme cleft and his nose was straight and regal. His skin was the biggest departure from Earth norms, for it was very pale, nearly translucent. Ryan could actually see some of the man's veins. His uniform was the most impressive of the three by far, being a splendid affair of medals and ribbons veritably covering the chest of his dark blue tunic. A high white collar held what Ryan took to be insignia of rank on either lapel.
Now he realized that Charlie was speaking to the three councilmen, explaining his concerns about what they had discovered on Pella'agre. Ryan noticed that conspicuously missing was any mention of his little side adventure with Aerose's tribe.
“I believe that the Szearfetti are attempting to establish a presence in the Pella'agrene System,” he concluded, bowed and folded his hands in front of him.
“Thank you, Master Starflyer Erzo'acteru, we will consider all you have revealed,” said the Charlie-clone and the large room dissolved being once more replaced by the rounded wall.
Charlie turned to Ryan, a puzzled look on his face. “What is it...?” Ryan asked.
“It is odd... but I do not believe they were surprised by my report.”
“Maybe they're already tending to that problem... someone else may have reported it,” he offered.
“No... well, maybe so... but it seemed like something else... They didn't ask me any questions...” he paused for a moment, then got himself a drink and joined his apprentice on the air-seat next to him. Once there, he waved his hand at the far wall and a newscast replaced it, something about the current state of affairs in the sector.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]They stayed on Charlie's home world for a full fortnight, during which time Ryan had the chance to get quite a bit of sight-seeing done – constantly accompanied by his host of course.
Dalca'odge was a pretty planet, almost totally flat but covered with well-manicured gardens and groves nourished by deep, clear sparkling brooks. The latter, although obviously man-made, were quite lovely and a social nexus for the people. The word board-walk came to mind but he was assured that no wood went into the construction of the silver wharves that breasted many of the canals. These were fronted by various shops and boutiques and service-related businesses, which were always filled with throngs of shoppers.
The Dalcachenes, Charlie's folk, were all amiable and polite but the hardest thing to get used to was the way they dressed... or perhaps a better way of phrasing it was... didn't dress! ...for it seemed that clothing was simply an option with them; scant even when present.
Odder than that was Ryan's inability to distinguish the males from the females. For there were no sexual organs apparent on either. He didn't know what to think of it. And finally had to resort to asking his benefactor. (Hmm... he ruminated on that a moment, was he a benefactor or the opposite number...? He would save that judgment for later.)
“It is Dalca'odge. She takes and she gives as she sees fit.” Charlie had responded to his query about the ostensible lack of gender amongst his people.
Ryan looked sideways at his companion and grinned. “Oh... tell me there's more, O great philosopher of the stars...!”
Charlie chuckled, he was sincerely beginning to enjoy the Terran's quick wit. “Indeed... much more...” then he delved into the physical drawbacks of living on his planet. The powerful electromagnetic fields gave the Dalcachenes advanced learning aptitude, a heightened sense of awareness that made them better pilots, a greater memory and a stronger circulatory system. In exchange it took their ability to see colors, the majority of their physical strength, their tolerance for pain and their ability to reproduce naturally.
“Say what?!!” Ryan gasped involuntarily, his hand running down to his privates. “Hey... then where did all these people come from...?”
“They were manufactured in a reproduction facility... just as your test tube babies back on Earth,” he announced with smooth delivery, devoid of any sense of loss for the natural process. “The evolution into our present form took centuries, mind you... and don't worry, by-the-way, Dalca'odge only affects newborns. Adults are quite immune to her charms.”
Ryan allowed himself to breath, until that point hadn't really been aware that he had been holding his breath. “Good... nice to know...”
“In fact, there are several colonies of other humanoid races living on Dalca'odge. When they give birth they keep their babies in a specially insulated facility for the first two or three weeks. After that they are safe from any deleterious effects.
“Now you might wonder why we didn't do that ourselves. Well, the knowledge of what was happening to us came to my people too late. ... and while it caused a crisis for us in our distant past we were able to adapt nicely. The old, natural way seems quite alien to us now...” And he just rambled on as he was wont to do, like he had not just been talking about his goober shrinking and falling off!
Ryan shook his head. And just when you thought things could get no stranger...
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Their next mission came soon enough. It was a ferry job, toting a small party of archaeologists to a dig site on one of the moons of a distant system. It seemed someone had discovered alien ruins there.
The party of six reported aboard and Charlie busied himself with the routine of settling them and their gear into Saar'floe. Ryan, for his part, made a show of welcome and then stayed out of their way. He was still a little uncomfortable around the Dalcachenes for lack of knowing how to appropriately act, especially with big-wig scientists.
About ninety minutes after he excused himself the starflyer came onto the bridge. Well, it seems as though they are ready for the journey, he announced. Shall we get started?
Okay... I've put all systems through preflight as you instructed, but I'd sleep better if you would go back over them, Ryan stated flatly. I am still on slightly infirm ground here.
Charlie smiled and winked without speaking. He started in on the process of going back over the checks he had taught his apprentice over the course of the past week. He was delighted to find that there were no errors in his work.
Hey... I... got a question, boss.
Please... ask...
I took it for granted that you did something to me when I first came on board, to allow me to hear and speak other languages... or does everyone in the universe speak English...?
Hardly... by last count there were some three hundred some odd languages and dialects... and that is just among the humanoids.
Right, so... want to enlighten me as to how I can speak and understand them all...?
I programmed your mind before I brought you out of the stasis... after I harvested you. It gives you unfettered access to the ship system as well. Otherwise you would be of no use to me. And... he sighed in memory of a bad affair, ... it ...prohibits your harming me physically... as well as crafts your perceptions.
My perceptions...?
Yes... all of the decor in your room, for instance... and your clothing... my appearance...
Ryan suddenly began to wonder what was real. He touched his pants leg; the fabric felt like every pair of jeans he had every touched. So this is not real?
It is made of the same material as the ship, modeled to look and feel like your memory of more familiar clothing... as is the food you eat...
My food is made of fabric...?
No, no... of course not... it is made of a processed protein-vitamin supplement determined to be just what your body needs most to keep it healthy... the taste and texture is crafted from your memories of food you have eaten in the past.
Ah... okay... I think I am catching on... So, he scratched his head, what if I had never eaten a sausage biscuit before?
Then the ship's sustenance maker would not have been able to make one for you ... It is why new, exotic foods are in such high demand on my planet. The people crave ever new and diverse culinary tastes...
Ryan wondered how his clothes looked to everyone else and then decided they must look as silver as the ship's bulkheads. Interesting... then he got busy helping Charlie launch and began wondering what new and unusual things this journey would bring... One thing for sure, it would be an adventure, but then again every day was lately!
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Saar'floe tripped across five systems in four weeks. Ryan was beginning to understand a hard rule of galactic navigation. Unlike sea navigation back on good old mother Earth, things move! ... vortices, planets, asteroid fields... everything moves! So, to any starflyer it meant that the vortices connecting the systems were farther apart at some times than at others, so that the time it took to travel between these points of entry within a system varied drastically depending on the timing of the voyage. Charlie said it was because of this inescapable fact of star travel that the trip was taking twice as long now as it would have taken three months ago. But he was uncomplaining as they were being paid well; apparently the archaeologists were in a hurry to get to the site before anyone else did.
The passengers pretty much kept to themselves for the duration of the journey, which left the crew to their own devices. This allowed Ryan to continue his training sessions undisturbed so that by the time they caught sight of the gigantic gas giant around which their destination orbited, he was that much further along in his flight lessons.
All in all, it was a long leisurely journey with no contacts, no trials, no tribulations... for they were heading out into the galactic outback of space, on the proverbial path least traveled. No contacts but one very disturbing incident...
Ryan had been sent to check on something down below when upon returning he had overheard a conversation between two of the passengers.
“... must be capable of holding 30 matched pairs!” the voice whispered. Ryan froze, melted into the wall shadow as another voice answered the first.
“It will be, Caeli'allap, but we must also keep our eye on the time-table for construction. It has to be completed by the time the first ship arrives with subjects...”
At that they must have realized they were in jeopardy of being overheard for they quickly changed the subject, began talking about the ruins on the moon... But Ryan had heard enough to make him curious. Why would archaeologists be building a facility to house matched pairs? ...matched pairs of what? And what kind of subjects were the ships bringing in? ...and from where?
These were questions that plagued him the rest of the trip. He wondered if Charlie could enlighten him on it. The entire affair had struck him as highly irregular, especially couched in the hushed tones of the participants. But maybe he was once again making the mistake of filtering things through his Terran eyes, perhaps it would be considered quite normal to Charlie. He determined to bring it up on the trip back...