Messinants (Pyreans Book 2) Read online

  “Aha, there,” Tiknock exclaimed, pointing at the display. “Kractik, if you would? I need a close view of the console.”

  Kractik manipulated the dome’s imagery. This was one of the many incredible features of a Messinant dome. When activated, the hemisphere recorded all motion within it — from every perspective point of the dome. It was also one of those secrets that the races who used the gates had been unable to unravel.

  Kractik sought an eye-level view to the left of the alien, who was investigating the console. She froze the image and glanced at Tiknock, who bobbed his head in appreciation.

  “See there!” Tiknock said excitedly. “A telltale double spiral. The Messinants know this species.”

  “This is perplexing,” Jaktook said.

  “Isn’t it?” Tiknock agreed.

  “Explain,” Tacticnok requested.

  Tiknock graciously indicated with a hand that Jaktook should go first.

  “We can see that this young race has no experience with a Messinant dome,” Jaktook said. “Yet, the console holds a record of their genetic identity. Otherwise, the dome’s egress-ingress panel wouldn’t have activated. But, if the Messinants knew of this race, why didn’t they build them a Q-gate?”

  “It’s possible the Messinants never uplifted this race,” Tiknock proposed. “These aliens might have been discovered by the Messinants after they exhibited sentience.”

  “Considering the length of time the Messinants have been gone and this species’ weak technological achievement, wouldn’t there have been ample time for the Messinants to build them a gate before they could have been observed?” Pickcit asked.

  “Difficult to say, Master Pickcit,” Jaktook replied. “Perhaps the Messinants observed traits about these aliens that caused them to have reservations about building them a Q-gate.”

  “It could have been as simple as the alien’s home world had no available satellite on which to build,” Jittak offered.

  The group murmured their agreement of the possibilities. They were developing many more questions than answers.

  “If this race has no experience with Messinant domes and they are now at Gasnar, how did they get there?” Tacticnok asked.

  In the next room, Rictook leaned forward in expectation of the answer to that question. This was one that he wanted asked, and he commended his daughter for thinking of it.

  “I believe, Your Highness, the only plausible answer is that this race has found a means of traveling between the stars without gates. In which case, it means they have ships that can make the journey,” Tiknock reasoned.

  “Kractik offered us this very concept,” Jaktook said, nodding toward the tech. “However, I would qualify your response, Master Tiknock. If this group were to possess ships that could travel between the stars at will, then their technology should be much further advanced. I believe you’re correct about your assumption that they’ve accomplished the arrival at Gasnar by ship. But, do you recall the proposal by Gitnock?”

  “Yes, Jaktook,” Tiknock replied. “If memory serves, Gitnock offered the concept that we could expand our civilization to other star systems by virtue of colony ships. It would be a costly construction project, and the effort’s outcome might never be known.”

  “Explain in more detail, Jaktook,” Tacticnok requested.

  “Colony ships would have been huge vessels. They would have sailed to another star for centuries. The Jatouche would have lived aboard for generations or be kept in some form of hibernation until they arrived. Then they would have attempted to develop a new world.”

  “What happened to this idea? I don’t recall it,” Tacticnok replied.

  “The concept was proposed hundreds of years ago, Your Highness,” Tiknock replied. “It’s commendable that Jaktook has knowledge of it. Essentially, the idea went nowhere.”

  “The concept was fraught with multiple problems,” Jaktook explained. “We had the gates and could travel to the stars without risking our people aboard ships that might never safely make landfall.”

  “It sounds incredibly dangerous,” Tacticnok said. “And this is how you’re proposing these aliens arrived at Gasnar?”

  “My concern,” Pickcit interrupted, “is why these aliens would have chosen to take on such an incredible gamble with their futures? What conditions existed on their home world that they would build these ships and launch them into the unknown? More to the point, if those conditions were extremely unsettling, a society in turmoil, did they bring those difficulties with them?”

  “This species might be technologically inexperienced, but they managed to cross the vast distances between stars. That makes them a most resolute species,” Roknick added, “which could make them more dangerous than the Gasnarians.”

  “I take your meaning, Roknick,” Tiknock remarked. “Here are these aliens, investigating a foreign site, with their bodies festooned with weapons, and they evince no concern for their ailing comrades.”

  Roknick glared at Tiknock, but the master scientist merely chuckled in reply.

  Kractik hurried the imagery forward. They watched the aliens converse with their arms and digits, rest, wait, and converse some more. Eventually their comrades gained entry to the dome, and the entire group left. Soon after, the dome’s recording of events ended.

  “Kractik, confirm the timing of these recordings,” Jaktook requested.

  “The dome was activated and, within a few rotations, it was abandoned some four-fifths of an annual ago,” Kractik replied. “Without any more activity, the console contained no further recordings.”

  “The aliens have been waiting and watching, all this time, to see what activating the dome had initiated. I wonder what they think of what they’ve just witnessed with our visit,” Jaktook mused.

  * * * *

  “I would hear your thoughts, daughter,” Rictook said.

  The meeting’s participants had returned to their work or homes, as the case might be, and Rictook and Tacticnok had retired upstairs to the royal chambers.

  “I was wondering, as we came up here, what our reactions might have been if we had discovered what these aliens found,” Tacticnok said, reclining on a comfortable pallet that was raised above the floor and which offered an armrest and pillow at one end.

  Rictook eased onto his pallet, taking a few moments to adjust his position. When supported, he sighed, regarded his daughter, and said, “You’re referring to an inactive dome, undoubtedly covered in hundreds of annuals of stardust, with the dead of two different species on the deck.”

  “That’s what I’m imagining, father,” Tacticnok replied.

  “Probably not much different than what you witnessed in the console’s recordings. The true question is: Would we have had the ingenuity to reactivate the dome?”

  “I can’t help thinking of the incredible fear they must have felt when the dome was energized, and they realized they were trapped inside. Yet, they remained calm and found a way to exit themselves through the use of the console and with the help of their comrades,” Tacticnok said.

  “You admire them,” Rictook remarked, and Tacticnok tipped her head in agreement. “Give me your advice, daughter. What should we do?”

  Tacticnok had been thinking on this ever since she set foot on the base of the Gasnarian dome. Every piece of evidence added to her conviction that there was only one possible course of action. But Tacticnok was her father’s daughter, and he was the ruler of the Jatouche. As such, he must be presented with all viable options.

  “I see three courses of action, father,” Tacticnok began. “We can wait and hope that the aliens never realize the purpose of the gate and never learn to operate the console. There is every reason to think they’ll be satisfied with monitoring the dome for fear of what it might represent.”

  “Do you think that is a viable option, daughter?”

  “No, father. These aliens are adventurous and curious, and they’re not without skills. Eventually, they’ll overcome their fear, and they’ll
learn to activate the Q-gate. Then they’ll appear here at Na-Tikkook, and we’ll be forced into a reactive posture. I don’t recommend that.”

  “And the second?” Rictook asked.

  “Master Roknick holds a hostile opinion about the aliens. If we trust his instinct, we should command the Gasnarian dome, while we are able.”

  “And your opinion of this line of action?” Rictook asked.

  “In the short term, it would guarantee there would be no intervention from these aliens into Jatouche space. In the long term, they’ll see our actions as an invasion of their territory. They might not have weapons now, but our incursion will guarantee that they develop them. By the time they come for us, their anger will run deep, and they’ll attack with a vengeance.”

  Rictook leaned back, considering the potential outcomes of such an option. “My primary concern would be that if the aliens attack the Gasnarian dome with sufficient weaponry power, they might destroy the Q-gate. I fear what the energy flashback might do to our end of the gate. We could lose our entire dome and the links to the alliance worlds,” he mused.

  “That has been the concern of scientists for every militaristic action taken by the enemies of the alliance,” Tacticnok agreed. “Consider this, father. If we take this option of attacking first, there’s the possibility that the aliens take back the dome without destroying it. With the bitterness they’ll hold, we’ll never be allowed to return. To them, we’ll always be their Colony.”

  Rictook shuddered at the thought of becoming a sentient race’s nightmare. “Which means, more than likely, one day they’ll learn to use the gate and attack Na-Tikkook. Then, we’ll have two enemies appearing through our gates.”

  Rictook sipped on his fruit juice drink. “I await your third option, daughter, and hope for relief from these dark thoughts your words have engendered,” he said.

  “The third option, father, is to visit the Gasnarian dome and show ourselves. We take provisions and use the dome’s facilities, while we wait,” Tacticnok replied.

  “And what would this team do, while it waits?” Rictook asked. He was careful not to speak using the same word his daughter had used. He wasn’t ready to include her in the team.

  “Our team would know they’re being monitored. Their purpose would be to gesture to the aliens to meet with them,” Tacticnok replied.

  Rictook felt it was time to discuss the one point he’d been evading. “I presume you’ll propose to me that you should lead this expedition.”

  “Father, you know this first meeting will be crucial. The encouragement to the aliens to speak with us must carry the right tone. There must be no intimidation. The greeting must be warm and cordial. Once language translation is established, communication must be clever and exacting. It would be foolish to give away too much information about our race. A careful balance must be struck between hospitality to the aliens and concern for our citizenry. Whom do you see, father, who can be responsible for those measured steps over a period of time?”

  This was his daughter’s response that Rictook feared. It was a succinct prediction of the intricate steps that would need to be taken during first contact and would require a firm but delicate guiding hand. Worse, Tacticnok was right. Rictook could think of no other to lead the team.

  -8-

  Emperion

  The Honora Belle and Jessie’s three mining ships rendezvoused at Emperion, Pyre’s second moon. The medium-sized moon was covered tens of meters deep in frozen gases, which were in great demand by the YIPS to power its processes and whose final products were critical to every ship, the stations, and the domes.

  This was the second run to Emperion for the partnership of Jessie and Harbour. During the first operation, the crews had spent weeks designing a method of sucking up the slush with heat pipes, loading transfer tanks attached to shuttles, offloading them outside the Belle’s bays, maneuvering them into the bays with small vehicles, and pumping the pressurized gases from the transfer tanks to the Belle’s tanks.

  The colony ship’s lower decks were outfitted with row upon row of dry tanks, which had held water and gases for the 50,000 colonists who’d made the journey from Earth. Those tanks had long been empty. This made them the perfect containers for Emperion slush. In contrast to Jessie’s single slush-carrying transport, the Pearl, the Belle could carry hundreds of times more product than Jessie’s ship.

  For the first venture, the primary limitation was the scarcity of supplies to keep the operation going. That wasn’t a problem now. At the JOS, Jessie’s ships had loaded extra crew, families, and supplies from the list compiled by Harbour and her people. After making Emperion, it took days to ferry the people and supplies from Jessie’s ships to the Belle. The transfers included two young teenage empaths whom security had reported to Harbour.

  When the ships had reached Emperion for the first time and restarted the six-month quarantine clock, the mood was somber but hopeful. It was the opportunity of crew to spend their downtime aboard the colony ship and enjoy the new cantina that relieved the long months. Even spacers working on the Belle considered it downtime. They could retire to comfortable cabins and relish the fresh food grown in the colony ship’s extensive hydroponic gardens.

  The enormous payout of YIPS coin in return for the delivery of the Belle and Pearl’s slush into personal accounts had transformed the crews’ expectations. Every ship was a hive of energetic activity. Once again, Jessie divided his crews between slinging slush and supporting Dingles’ ever-growing list of needs. Jessie’s spacers found themselves helping Harbour’s people open deactivated hydroponic gardens, supporting the artisans’ decorating of cabins, and performing maintenance duties.

  The spacers’ spouses and partners, who had transferred to the Belle, found active lives, and, if the children thought they were to be spared activities, they were seriously mistaken. Several residents were engaged to open classes. There was a wealth of talent to pull from, including techs, engineers, spacers, horticulturists, and many more.

  Many of the disenfranchised, who had spent years aboard the Belle, unable to earn livings on the JOS or the YIPS, discovered they were in demand again. The list of tasks was endless — more systems online; more people to accommodate; more food to grow, cook, and serve; children to educate and provide daycare; a cantina to run; and entertainment to provide. Slowly, the colony ship was resurrected and transformed — a near derelict becoming a home.

  Unlike the first trip to Emperion, when weeks were lost to the design and engineering efforts to accommodate the slush transfer, this time the operation was fully underway in less than a week. And, the best part of all, the Belle and Jessie’s ships were alone at Emperion.

  For the most part, Pyrean mining ships were single-owner, captain ships. The captains needed a guaranteed haul. So, they chose to make for the inner belt and a load of ore, always hoping for a rich metal strike. Jessie and his spacers knew that it was only a matter of time before the other mining ships attached tanks and made for Emperion. Jessie calculated and shared with Harbour that they had one or two more runs, which would be eight to sixteen months, before the competition showed up.

  “Good thing there’s more slush than thousands of ships could carry,” Harbour had remarked.

  “Generous of you to speak up for our competition that way,” Jessie had remarked. “Now, I want you to think about the price of slush when those competitors begin offloading their slush at the YIPS.”

  “Oh,” Harbour had uttered.

  * * * *

  Harbour stood with a group of spacers in the Belle’s cantina. The spacers held drinks in their hands, while Harbour enjoyed a green, a mix of herbs, vegetables, and other ingredients that replenished an empath’s sensitivities.

  The spacers wore their odd assortments of downtime gear. Underneath the gear were the ubiquitous skins, body-fitting unitards that protected the wearer against the chill of life topside, stations or ships. Spacers often possessed basic black skins. To differentiate themselves f
rom stationers and announce their independence, they covered their skins in choice pieces of fabrics during downtime — colorful vests, a decorative hat, or a print skirt, to name a few items — and it often made no matter whether male or female which items they wore.

  Harbour’s stand-up table was surrounded by other spacers, who were accompanied by spouses or partners. Residents who had wholeheartedly adopted the spacers were in attendance too. They could be differentiated by their choice of clothing, casual layers of fabric, most of them woven from plants grown in the hydroponics gardens.

  The residents had formed a band, of sorts, for some live entertainment. The instruments were a hodgepodge of items scavenged from the ship. And, it must be said that they weren’t too bad. They maintained a lively rhythm, if not a little too much enthusiasm in their performances.

  What everyone was enjoying was the new ambient air temperature. Ever since Harbour had come to the Belle, which was as a young teenager when her powers had reached an intolerable level, she had dressed in many layers to ward off the chill. Now, with more systems coming online, coin in the general fund, and reaction mass in the tanks, there was an opportunity to raise the air temperature by seven more degrees, and Harbour took advantage of it, much to everyone’s appreciation.

  “I want us to think about this ship’s escalating need for reaction mass,” Harbour said to her group of spacers.

  “You thinking of adding more people, Captain, or are we turning this ship into one of them fancy spas like on the JOS?” Dingles asked.

  “I’m thinking of independence, Dingles,” Harbour replied. “For the foreseeable future, this ship has been permanently quarantined because security can’t figure a way to perform a blowout on it. Now that the commandant has realized we’re transferring personnel between Captain Cinders’ ships and the Belle, he’s issued another edict that all of us are quarantined for another six months.”

  “Good thing we intend to be out here for longer than that,” Danny Thompson, the Belle’s pilot, replied, hoisting his drink, and the spacers cheered and chased down some of their own.