History of the Galaxy II

[geoschmo]

2402.7

The Hive had been busy. In under three years it had used the Warp points it found to expand its reach in search for the warp point creators, or at least signs of other intelligent life forms. It had used the network of stellar phenomena to visit twelve different star systems already. And had planted permanent settlements in half of those. In fact, in its curiosity and single minded purpose had nearly run out of resources on the planets in the home system with which to build and maintain the Hive ships.

It had developed logistical techniques with which to return resources from the colonies in other systems to the home planet to keep the construction facilities turning out more Hive ships. But this infrastructure took time to develop for each system, and the Hive was impatient.

Rather than face the shutdown of the Construction yard on the host Homeworld, the Hive decided to attempt to extract resources from the asteroids and several uncolonizable planets in the home system. The attempt was not entirely successful.

The Hive was able to build a remote mining ship easily enough, but its technology in that area was not very well developed at the time. The ships it could build were too small to put more than one automated remote mining array on, and because of the complexity of the extraction process, only one mining ship could be assigned to any particular planet or group of asteroids.

The Hive quickly realized the amount of resources it was extracting were not sufficient to even make the effort worthwhile except of a very short period of time. After four months on station the mining ship was returned to the Homeworld and mothballed until the Hive could decide on another purpose for it.

The host in charge of monitoring orbital traffic was watching its computerized displays when an alarm softly chirped. The telemetry link to the mothballed mining ship had been lost. Standard mothball procedures had been followed. Once the final shutdown crew had debarked the ship had been towed to a high stable orbit and left. The only systems left functioning were the guidance systems and enough retro rockets to allow the ship station keeping. This process was handled almost completely by computer, and the telemetry link to the planet was normally only a formality.

The Hive searched for debris, and found none. The only anomalous readings at all were some gravitational fluctuations in the Last reported position of the ship. And these subsided over the next few minutes until they were completely gone. The ship had disappeared as neatly as if it had never existed.

The Hive assigned a few host scientists to explore the evidence and develop a theory about what had happened, and then went on about its tasks. The ship was of minor importance after all.

Meanwhile, onboard the mothballed ship....

Error 610: Orbital position incorrect. Begin correction subroutine

Error 1200: Unable to process Last command. Positional telemetry signal lost. Reacquire positional telemetry signal

Error 750: Unable to comply with Last command. No carrier. Run downlink system diagnostic.

Return 0: Downlink system diagnostic ok.

Return to subroutine 750. Reacquire positional telemetry signal.

Error 750: Unable to comply with Last command. No carrier. Run backup subroutine. Stellar position check.

Error 1550: Data outside of expected range. Stellar position does not match with Last known position. Crosscheck with stellar cartography database and recheck position.

Working.

Working.

Working.

Working.

Working.

Stellar position determined. Present location Mirach Star system.

Primary Command: Reestablish previous orbital position. Bearing known, calculate distance to previous position:

Working.

Distance calculated. Distance to previous position 3169248453331200.7 Km.

Analysis: Main Propulsion system offline. Insufficient reaction propulsion to reacquire previous position.

Secondary command: Contact Orbital command for assistance. Begin automated broadcast to orbital command. Request maintenance team to reengage Main Propulsion system. Repeat message until acknowledged.

Estimated time for Orbital command receipt of maintenance request: 314 years, 6 months, 14 days, 14 hours, 12 minutes, 41 seconds.

[Unknown_Enemy]

TYREAN HISTORY : PART 2 introduction

2402.8

Monthly entry of Commander Ostaliat's Diary

“Tonight we shall pray by the lights of past dramas”
That sentence was in a book. I do not remember which one. But fiction has blurred into reality. As I do not remember the story, I will stick to reality.
Tonight we shall pray.
Tonight, the light generated by our dying homeworld, 6 centuries ago is about to reach us.
Tonight we will witness the death of 7 billion Tyreans.
Tonight we will witness the death of a small, overpopulated and polluted world.
Our world.
But I will not pray. I have lost faith 2 years ago.
I was then a rising star in his Holiness Space Research Institute, a trusted Inquisitor, but when two of my own children started showing advanced signs of the New Death, I have lost faith.
I have lost faith in God.
I have lost faith in the Churches.
Then the AI Consensus proposed me the leading position of the Magellan Contact Project.
Nearly 200 shuttles/tugs/service craft working around two central ships. One is the population ship, the second is nothing more than a supply cargo, the biggest our technology could afford. 34 millions people waiting in stasis, while a crew of 14000 attend to the daily life tasks. Our mission was to find the originator of the hyperwave signals that we detect on a regular basis and establish a science mission not too far from them. The signal we detected was just the random distortions created by two or more unknown hyperwave devices linked together. This is no radio. You have to build the two devices together, so when you separate them, they will stay in resonance. Then if you apply a particular magnetic field to one part of the device, the second part will share the same reactions whatever the distance separating them. Thus enabling instantaneous communication. Each colony ship is sent with an hyperwave device, so when they settle down, they can start building the fusion power facilities needed to operate it. In less than one year, they get a permanent and instantaneous comlink to Tyran Secondis. Until that point, there are no contacts between out-system colonies and the homeworld.
We have such a device. But we do not intend to settle down as long as we have supplies left.
The Magellan Fleet is now 600 lights years away from the place of our birth.
We left our world 14 months ago.
The equations that gave our fleet's bearing have proven false. The xeno are nowhere our science teams told us they should be. We never had sufficient supplies to come back.
No return.
We will never see again the place of our birth. And I don't care about it.
No comeback.
I had long conversations with some AI that are on board with us. They intend to help us building a new society, in which the Churches will not rule our life. Religious faith will be separated from political power. Their analysis is that when our homeworld's technology will enable it to reach us again, our sin will be irrelevant. I did not really understand that Last part, just enough to get that we won't be punished for what we will set up. This is why we are cruising at full speed toward the center of the galaxy. To get out of reach of Tyrean's near future.

We are The Damned.

[ October 22, 2002, 18:27: Message edited by: Unknown_Enemy ]

[capnq]

The maiden voyage of the _Speculation_ had been more successful than even the most optimistic projections. Before it set course to return to Eifra for refuelling, it had visited nine systems and found eleven colonizable worlds, five of which had breathable atmospheres. The Eifralo Conglomerate now had subsidiaries on eight worlds in three systems, with three colonizers in transit to two more systems. Pilda Shipyards had added an orbital facility to increase production, and the Masters' ancient construction yard on Jalwu had been refurbished far enough to start operations, as well. Work was in progress on two new colonizers, plus a prototype for a new scout design. The _Investment_ would be sturdy enough to handle the stress of a sixth engine, and would have an even longer range than its smaller predecessor.

Things were going so well that Cunsi Davdi rarely had time to think about Talro. When she had left on the _Consumer Confidence_ nearly three years ago, he had missed her terribly, but as the months wore on without any reply to the Messages and gifts he sent her, he had tried less and less often. He hadn't yet given up on the relationship entirely, but in the few idle moments when her memory resurfaced, it mostly just bothered Davdi to realize how long it had been since he'd Last thought of her.

This was one of those idle moments, as Davdi waited for Soctu Timho to arrive for the appointment he'd requested. Timho had been maddeningly vague about why he needed to talk to him, saying only that it was about the research on the semi-functional computer system that had turned out to be the biggest discovery in the Masters' abandoned city.

When Timho finally bounced into his office, Davdi was shocked at his pale, puffy-eyed appearance. "By the Masters, Soctu, are you all right? You look like death warmed over!"

Timho waved off the question with the bulky envelope he was carrying. "It's just fatigue; I haven't slept at all in the Last three days."

"What's the problem? Feel free to squat, if it helps."

"Thanks, I think I will," Timho replied, sinking into the folded-knee position in which Eifralo relaxed. "The problem is what we've been finding out from the analysis of Node-25. That's what the Masters' computer calls itself."

"'Calls itself'? You say that as if it were a person."

"In a way, it is. It's an artificially intelligent expert system. The fellows who managed to activate it nearly jumped out of their skins when it started talking to them."

"I can imagine! It's amazing that it works at all after so many millenia."

"It certainly is. According to its own diagnostics, more than a sixth of its memory banks have failed, but there was enough redundancy and unallocated space for it to still function somewhat, and even partially repair itself. But most of the systems it was supposed to manage weren't ever installed."

"What was it supposed to do?"

Timho took a long, slow breath before he replied, seemingly searching for words. "It was designed to enhance a starship crew's actions in certain situations, and sometimes even take over the ship's systems itself if necessary."

"So it was some kind of safety system? For emergency response?"

"No, that wasn't its function. Not exactly."

Davdi was getting a bit exasperated at Timho's vagueness. "Well, then, what did it do?"

"Node-25 is something of an idiot-savant; it's very good at what it does, but has almost no knowledge outside its intended task. Just understanding the archaic language forms it uses, and training it to understand modern idiom, took over a month. We're still working out concepts from the Masters' day that modern Eifral doesn't even have words for. One of the first things we had to do was convince Node-25 that it wasn't a 'prisoner-of-war'."

"What on Eifra is a 'prisoner-of-war'? The Corporate Wars ended over two centuries ago!"

"That's what's been keeping me from sleeping. Apparently, the Masters were not the only intelligent species of their day, and they were in the midst of an interstellar war when Node-25 was built. Node-25's purpose was to optimize its crew's performance in ship-to-ship combat, in conjunction with similar systems on other ships. And the Masters' war was far more violent than anything in our recorded history. When we activated Node-25, its initial assumption was that we had salvaged it after its ship had been destroyed in battle."

-----

After reading the lengthy sealed report that Timho had brought, Davdi could understand why the doctor was unable to sleep. The Eifralo had been at peace since the Conglomerate was formed in the Ultimate Merger, which ended the historical period now known as the Corporate Wars. Historians debated whether the planetary government had allowed the corporations to run out of control, or the corporations had merely been more efficient at exploiting the government's failures, but the end result was that all government functions were eventually privatized. The Corporate "Wars" had mostly involved proxy fights, industrial espionage, and the occasional armed skirmish between corporate security forces. The heaviest casualties had occurred during employee riots after their jobs were eliminated in hostile takeovers.

The Masters' war had been orders of magnitude worse. Node-25's memory banks contained numerous records of battles with scores of spacecraft on each side, throwing projectiles and energy bLasts at each other, killing thousands of crewmen in a single engagement. Even more horrific were a handful of records of besieged planets where millions died under orbital bombardments. To Node-25, these nightmares were just a database for it to analyze, to maximize the Masters' fleets' effectiveness.

The most disturbing thing of all was that Node-25 had no idea whether the Masters were winning the conflict. It was only programmed to understand battle tactics, not the overall strategic situation. It seemed unlikely that the Masters had ultimately lost, simply because the Eifralo were still here, but Node-25 had no record of the fate of either the Masters or their enemies. The possibility that these unknown enemies were still out there somewhere was what was keeping Timho awake at night. Node-25 couldn't even tell them what the Masters' enemies had looked like; it could only identify their ship designs. That was also why it initially thought it had been captured; the salvage workers who'd activated it didn't match its template for recognizing the Masters.

That was something more pleasant to contemplate. Node-25 said that on average, the Masters were more than twice as tall as the Eifralo, but much slimmer, and pale-skinned. The height difference explained a lot about Eifral architecture; the original skycities had been scaled to fit the Masters, and the Eifalo had merely copied the designs. Their strangest feature was that they only had two legs, with both knees bending in the same direction. That explained the purpose of the odd tables found in various places around the Masters' ship; they relaxed by folding their thighs across the horizontal surface, while leaning their torso against the upright panel. Davdi wondered how the Masters told the sexes apart with only two legs.

Which brought Talro back to mind again. With her gone, his social life had been reduced to little more than Retla's dinner invitations, which turned into informal business meetings as often as not. Davdi had let his responsibilities as CEO fill the void Talro left, and now Node-25's revelations had raised the stakes. The Conglomerate had to prepare for the possibility that the Eifralo would discover hostile aliens someday, and Davdi had no idea where to start.

[ October 25, 2002, 05:02: Message edited by: capnq ]

[Jmenschenfresser]

Chapter 3--part 1
2403.0

---------
LEON
---------
God, I ****ing hate peasants. Not a thought in their spongey heads. Not a clean pair of underwear among them. Depressing, really. It feels good to be back on a space ship and out of character. Not that I really have one. The Last two months were spent trekking through the wastelands of the new Vellon homeworld keeping an eye on their discoveries. A trek led by some big shot space captain. Crap what a prick he was. Funny thing is, I think he hated it more than I did, if that's possible. The edge on his face as he exited his tent every morning and saw the boundless mud surrounding his tent and the camp never failed to put a smile on my face.

Next assignment's got me sliding along toward Rellan space, with a small stop-over in Spica. My retainers want me to pry into this business with the Invexus Corporation. Must admit, though I am far cooler than any aquatic seafruit, I have a small place, a niche really, in my ego for anthropology. Looking forward to the chance to kick around this new race a little. I've read all the briefings that have come out of the Overlord's press office...the little they allow out and into the public's eye. I suspect those bastards are keeping half the negotiations under wraps in order to maintain some power. Same logic as if you're drinking in a bar before the two or three warring parties enter through the front door, you, by default, get the pleasure to shoot holes in folk without the consequences and blood feuds that tend to make warring no fun. Clan retribution ain't nothing but a euphemism for sore loser, if you ask me.

Supposedly, and this doesn't come from the O'lords press office, the Overlord is negotiating a trade treaty between the tribe heads and the Invexus Corporation. Trade ain't nothing bad in itself, but my employers feel that such a treaty will erode certain anarchical trends which allow them to survive. Economy almost always carries a **** load of laws and consolidation. I know that. Everyone does. It's the reason why local lords refuse to sign anything with their kings or commanders. Reason why they count every peasant-****ing soldier they send to the front...to make sure their responsibilities and property don't get requisitioned on account of some phoney cause. Since the dawn of this whole space thing, half of the tribes have developed a kinda disease where they feel the need for some strong leadership. And you might say, I work for a consortium which doesn't particularly appreciate such a power grab. I mean, ****, fifty years ago, the very thought of someone like an O'lord would have set off another generation of new wars. Times is strange, but I don't give a damn. Only two things happen when times are strange: peasants die and sons of *****es like me have the sudden opportunity to make a **** load of money.

[ October 25, 2002, 18:32: Message edited by: Jmenschenfresser ]

[Dead Meat]

“Caption on the bridge. Time is 06:30 2403.2.” The ships computer called out as Caption John Bentford’s boot landed on T.C.N. George Bass metal deck with a slight thump and walked to his command chair.

“Morning Caption”

“Morning XO,” Commander Turner appeared at his right shoulder as she always did when he came onto the bridge after the night watch. “I trust all went well with the night shift?”

“Yessir, Astro has completed the scans of the system. The scanners can’t penetrate this nebula, but we’ve located the Last warp point and have been able to scan it. Astro says that it’s a normal wrap point, all gravimetric fields are within specs.”

“That’s good; we don’t want to turn into another Lucky Mishap.” Bentford thought back to George Bass sister ship Lucky as he sat in his command chair and went over the reports from the night watch. The Terran Confederation Navy’s first ship, Lucky, was lost with all hands when they tried passing through Sol’s southern most warp point. Little did they know that this warp point was different than the other ones found in the system. The R&D people said that the high gravimetric fields tore the ship apart before anyone knew what was happening.

The Terran Confederation was much different back then. Instead of consisting of the hand full of intra-system tug boats to protect Earth, the T.C.N now had five combat ship with more being built every month. Hard to believe that the Terran Confederation now controls 20 planets in 8 systems. Nope, things we very much different than they where when we left home.

“How long does Astro think it will take us to get back to the nearest re-supply base?”

“About 3 year’s sir, give or take a few months. We received our reply to our message. The Admiralty suggests that we continue our original mission sir, in spite of our lack of fuel.”

“Ah, I see. That would be the ‘…to explore new worlds, and seek out new life...’ part of their dispatch wouldn’t it. Seems to me that we have the beginning of a great holo show doesn’t it commander?”

“My guess sir, is that they are hoping that we will encounter another race and be able to get more fuel. Otherwise it would be too expansive to send out a re-supply fleet to retrieve us.”

“No doubt. But I don’t like the idea of having to beg a new race for fuel when we just meet them. God for bid that their armed and attack us.” Caption Bentford thought for a few moments, thinking about his chooses, “Hmm, very well commander. Well go through this warp point and see where it leads. Perhaps we can find a short cut back home.”

“Yessir. Helm, set course for the warp point at coordinates (0,10). All ahead one third, rig ship for warp.”

[Unknown_Enemy]

TYREAN HISTORY : Second Encounter

2403.5

Tyrean explorer “New Sense of Deja Vu”, 22 minutes after warp jump.

Officers saluted as a private yelled “Commander on Deck” on the arrival of Commander Ixial. He went directly to the Commander's station , then turned to the Navigation officer : “Situation report, please”.

“Yes Sir, as soon as we emerged in the Baktu system, our sensors received large amount of radio and radar emissions, whose sources seems to be the third planet orbiting this sun. Emissions come from both orbital and ground systems. We tried to understand what was said, but we cannot even figure if they are broadcasting their equivalent of Tri-video or just plain speech. Anyway it is not focussed on us, it seems these emissions are just broadcast for their own use. AI Life Is A ***** has labelled this as a genuine Xeno encounter. We are at 2 hours and twenty four light minutes from them, so they will notice our presence in less than two hours, for we didn't detect any survey satellites around our emergence point.”

“Right, first, how can we know these Xeno are not the World Killers ? They have colonised a CO2 planet, as did the dead Xeno on Memento Mori. Any clues ?” asked the Commander.

Life Is A *****'s symbol appeared with the sound of a dim chime. “I can answer that one. The ruins found first on Memento Mori and later on Calka VIII were both ice planets. This is a rock one. This indication is interesting but most important, experiment proved that the Ancients did not rely on radio/radar emissions, but probably on some sort of quantum transmissions. Here, radio and radar wave analysis tell us that we are dealing with a race approximatively of our tech level. They are not the World Killers”

“Let's hope you're right, my orders are then to decelerate to Full Stop situation. Do not respond to any communication attempt nor initiate one until then. Fetch me when we are stopped, I'll be with Science team in the meantime.” replied Ixial.

Tyrean explorer “New Sense of Deja Vu”, 6 hours after warp jump.

“We're at full stop Sir !”

“Right, Main Radio dish, transmit message one, narrow beam toward the planet. Repeat it one time every ten minutes until we get the appropriate answer.”

“Yes, Sir. We are literally hammered by radio/radar/com laser/com phaser emissions from the planet, Sir.”

Commander Ixial didn't respond. By staying at long range, he proved to the xeno he was not a treat. Then the message, it was simple enough :

low signal(0.1s long)-silence(0.2s long)-strong signal (0.1s long)-silence(0.2s long)-strong signal (0.1s long)low signal(0.1s long)-silence(0.2s long)........and so on.

If you put it on paper you would obtain :
0-1-10-11-100-101-110.....
Binary numbers.
Whatever the number system used by the Xeno, they should have mastered binary. By waiting a few hours, he had ensured the Xeno would have time to gather a team able to analyse what was send to them. As expected, five hours later, the bridge crew cheered as they received an answer to their first message. The Xeno were sending more binary numbers, and the second part of their message contained a simple addition, with two new signals representing the signs “plus” and “equal”.
Communication has indeed been established.
“We should try to approach the planet, we need to shorten data transmission time” proposed Life Is A *****. “No way as long as we do not have full confirmation they are not linked to the World Killers, the Science team has some volunteers to ride our shuttle near their world. That is all I am willing to risk. That team is moving to a position 10 light seconds from their world.” answered the Commander. Ixial then switched to private speech mode with the AI, “I guess you listened to my meeting with the Archaeologists, what do you think of their Theory of the Ancients ?”
“They could be right, there are strong indications that past wars extinguished more than one Xenoc species. It could be that Tyrean are part of a new generation of intelligent beings raising to interstellar travel after disappearance of previous races, the fact that our current xeno seems from the same technology level as us indicates they achieved space flight in the same timeline as Tyrean did. I wonder if they created some AI like us. That would be interesting.”

Tyrean explorer “New Sense of Deja Vu”, 6 days 4 hours after warp jump.

“Sir, the shuttle has successfully relocated, they are maintaining distance of 10 light seconds from the planet, Sir ! They are sending in a report, it seems they already made some progress.”

Commander Ixial read the report, which said that advanced algebra system has been defined with the Xeno, and geometry definitions was already on the way. But that was much more tricky and proved difficult. And that was only the beginning, as all that mathematical work was done to create a written language based on logic and mathematics, rather than racial history. Later, maybe some of us would try to learn the Xenocs language, but yet we have still to discover the name of their specie.

The navigation officer interrupted his reading : “Sir, our shuttle report they have detected that a Xenoc small craft has been launched from the planet, in intercept course with them, Sir. Our team request permission to let the Xeno approach them.”

Life Is A ***** reacted first and transmitted “Permission granted” to the Tyrean shuttle.

The Commander stayed silent. Some of the crew on deck were praying.

Life Is A ***** then spoke :”I guess the Xeno will not only approach, but will try to dock to our shuttle. Which is a logical step if they also want to make any good progress toward communication. Do not confuse it as “a nice alien theory”, the way almost all radio emissions were shut down when they discovered us prove this race has a very tight grip on its members. Then all Xenoc wave emissions come from a single source on the planet, probably a single base. Which indicates a very centralised government. How ironic, it could be these Xeno are as bad as the Tyrean on the ground of individual freedom. Time will tell.”

[capnq]

Despite having known him for over fifteen years, Cunsi Davdi still felt a bit awestruck in Sinta Farki's presence. The average Eifralo retired at sixty-one, but Farki was still serving as Chairman of the Board of the Eifralo Conglomerate at seventy-three, and almost as active as someone half his age. He'd taken Davdi as his protégé, and had used his influence with the board to make Davdi the youngest CEO in the Conglomerate's history. Facing the biggest challenge of his career, Davdi had come to his mentor for advice.

"Doctor Timho certainly writes a detailed report," Farki commented as he slipped the stack of pages back into the envelope.

"That's one of the things that makes him such a good Vice-President of Research and Development," Davdi agreed. "Once he latches onto an idea, he doesn't release it until he's looked at it from every possible angle."

"A heavy burden when the subject is so serious. None of the legends of the Masters even hint at their capacity for violence, or of such brutal enemies. It makes one wonder if they deliberately hid this from our ancestors, or if our ancestors found it too terrible to remember. Or perhaps they created us after the war ended, and didn't think we needed to know."

"I hope it's that Last possibility. Soctu has had to start taking sedatives to get any sleep at night; he's worried that either the Masters' enemies are still out there somewhere, or the enemies left their own servants behind, as well. That's why I need your advice. How do we prepare the Conglomerate to meet hostile aliens, and how do I spin the preparations when the necessary budget items come up before the rest of the Board?"

"First things first," Farki replied. "We need to know what the money has to be spent on before we can draw up a budget proposal. And I know exactly whom I'd go to for help in deciding that."

[capnq]

Sanre Dorsi had never been so nervous in her life. What on Eifra could bring a minor media consultant to the attention of Chairman Farki? She had thought his "request" that she make an appointment to see him as soon as possible was a practical joke by one of her friends, until Farki's secretary vidcalled to confirm whether she'd received it. She was even more surprised when she arrived at his office, and the secretary told her to go right in, even though she'd gotten there rather early.

"Ah, Doctor Dorsi, I'm glad you could arrange to be here on such short notice," Farki greeted her. "I'm sure you recognize CEO Davdi, but do you know my other guest, Doctor Soctu Timho?"

Dorsi shifted from surprise to borderline shock. "Only by reputation, Chairman." Here she was in the same room with the two most influential people on Eifra, plus one of the corporate Vice-Presidents. She found herself at a loss for words.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we've asked you here." Farki grinned, and added, "That sounds like a bad holovid actor's line, doesn't it?"

Dorsi had to laugh in spite of her nervousness. "Yes, it does. But I've heard far, far worse in my line of work."

"Your work is what brings you here, Doctor. We have a problem, and I believe you're the most qualified person to help us."

Dorsi's eyes bulged in amazement. "You need a historical consultant? Your message implied that the matter was urgent."

"You're too modest about your achievements, Doctor. You are widely recognized as Eifra's leading expert on the Corporate Wars. If you don't know all the details of what we're looking for, you'll know where to find answers."

"I appreciate your praise, Chairman, but I can't imagine what you could possibly need me for. As much as I enjoy helping to make costume dramas more historically accurate, it's hardly a profitable enough line of work to concern the leadership of the Conglomerate."

"This matter is far more serious than any of us could have imagined, Doctor. In this case, profit isn't even a major concern. Doctor Timho is here to brief you on our situation."

-----

"In summary, Doctor Dorsi," Timho finished, "we need to prepare to defend ourselves against potentially hostile aliens. Chairman Farki believes that your expertise can help us design the first Eifral military force since the Ultimate Merger."

Dorsi was unusually slow to reply. She was still stunned at the horrors that Timho had described in his briefing; at one point the Chairman had had his secretary bring them a round of BLARG to relax a bit during a break. "I truly wish that I had the Chairman's confidence in my abilities. I could tell you the organization of the various corporate security forces, their weaponry, and tactics, but very little of that would apply to combat between spacecraft. The closest thing during the Corporate Wars would be the hovercar duels between unemployed youth gangs during the late 2100s.

And that leads to a larger issue: finding Eifralo willing to train for battle. Very few Eifralo show any tendency towards violence, and those who do typically mature out of it after puberty. The rare physically aggressive adult Eifralo tends to end up employed in the demolition and recycling sector."

"Or professional sports," Farki grinned. "Did you know that fifty years ago, I was a pro skyball pilot?"

"I doubt there's a sports fan on Eifra who doesn't know that," Davdi laughed. "I don't think your record for shortest scoring interval has ever been broken."

"You're right, and I doubt it will be. The regulation air corridor was smaller back then, when the hovers were slower."

"I don't mean to be rude," Timho interrupted somewhat crossly, "but we still have a major problem to deal with. The Chairman's skyball career isn't likely to help us build a space force."

"It might be more applicable than you'd first think," Farki countered. "I've read your full report on Node-25; there was mention of the Masters' ships having specialized weapons to defend against small attack craft. Their descriptions reminded me of the aerobatics of a sports hover."

"That is a good point, I have to admit," Timho agreed. "The craft would have to be much larger to operate in space, of course, but there are several such battles in Node-25's database. I wouldn't have thought of that. I've never been much of a skyball fan; I just don't see the appeal of watching a bunch of pilots trying to push a balloon around with the downdraft of their engines."

"It seems to me that this Node-25 has already told you more about space combat than I ever could," Dorsi commented. "The Last Eifralo with real experience in three-dimensional fighting died a century and a half ago. A specialist in the pre-Unification period might know a bit more, but I'd have to do a literature search just to find one. Vidshows about life before the formation of the planetary government are in even less demand than Corporate Wars dramas."

"As I said earlier, you'd at least know where to look," Farki replied. "That's a better idea than most of the options than we've come up with on our own."

[Jmenschenfresser]

Chaper 3--Part 2
2403.1

-------------------------
CARNAP JENGUS
-------------------------

Carnap, leader of the Rellan, sat upon his royal cushions. It was the first free moment, the first moment some logger-head lord wasn't yammering on about freedom and fair share. Those morons preached against the evils of consolidation and yet complained that they wouldn't get a fair share. It made no sense. Entitled brats propped up by society, money and name. Carnap was in no way a Republican. Like peasants can decide anything greater than the ripeness of the horse-ankle root. Carnap longed for the time his grandfather had told him about, when nobility was noble and the dynamic lords of the Rellan stood, hands raised, between the chaos of the other tribes.

The sky rumbled and he pulled a family cloak over his shoulders. Depression and exhaustion passed through his body. The sky light over his head only enhanced the gray, pregnant light filtering in. Only a few million of the other tribes remained in Spica. The Boohr occupied a nearby rock planet that had no atmosphere. BLasting out caves, they lived miles under the cold rock surface. Carnap was counting the days till they moved their leaders.

The tribes were already beginning to benefit from the new alliance with the Invexus Corporation. Carnap wondered just how long the Sa'ah would remain under this treaty. Century old mauraders don't change over night. Old warriors will tap their bare sides and with every tap you can see how it had once been a tic, a habit of making sure the short sword or firearm was still strapped to their bulging thigh. Old warriors are worse than dead warriors. The Omon had had the best luck of the draw. So far the Vellon have found only two small breathable planets. The Omon have found two large and one small one in adjacent systems. Within a decade they will be far ahead in research and have enough resource production to begin fielding a fleet of their own.

Carnap called in a short maid and asked for a cup of water. The winter was coming on.

He took up several pieces of paper. Several he was supposed to sign. Carnap looked across the room to where a grand, spralling tapestry detailing the history of his tribe and his family.

'A room full of cushions, whores and greedy lords chain me,' he thought. Light filled the room and Carnap pulled the cloak over his head. Even under the thick leather and cloth, his arms and lap were visible. A voice filled the room like fog, like deep music.

'Cease your wallowing, Carnap, Koei speaks. Your family has not finished their allotted time at the loom eternal. Stand up. Raise your people. Gather a fleet. I will go out before you. Rejoice, for this day, Koei has given a promise of blessing.'

The voice left as it came.

Carnap pulled the cloak from his head and ran from the room.

[sachmo]

Invexus Corporation

1-2404

Primidara VIII rotated lazily beneath Lucky Lady, it’s surface reflecting the light of the system’s old, orange sun. From orbit, Primidara VIII looked more like a sponge than a planet with its unique mossy surface.
I guess it is sort of a sponge. This planet soaks up cargo and money faster than any sponge I’ve ever seen, Captain Lester Quenlin mused.
Once the trade agreement had been signed between the Vellon tribe of the Heru, Invexus merchant ships had been the first thru the wormhole. Leading this initial wave was Captain Quenlin and Lucky Lady, loaded down with a huge assortment of cargo.
No one had been exactly sure what sort of goods these Vellons would pay for. It was the first alien species ever encountered by the Cherek people, and so everything was new. However, Quenlin had an uncanny knack for knowing what the customer would pay for. As luck would have it, this skill translated beyond his own species. As soon as the initial awkwardness and bumps in the road were solved, Quenlin was the first captain to sell off his entire cargo, which he did in just under six standard hours. He also, so rumor had it, made the biggest profit in the first week.
Yes, Quenlin was a lucky man, which is part of the reason his ship was named Lucky Lady. Quenlin was also a firm believer in the old adage, “A man makes his own luck.” Once the supply and demand chain became firmly established between the Cherek and Vellon people, many independent captains like Quenlin began to see their income levels start to dip. The initial rush was a great time for both sides, but consumers being what they are, certain goods were preferred over others by the respective races. For example, the Vellon, being a rigid, class driven people, had a particular fondness for Cherek art. Quenlin found that the upper crust would pay exorbitant fees for even the most mediocre pieces, partly because they could and partly because it was viewed as a status symbol to own a “visual expression of the alien mind”. Quenlin could care less if they used them for toilet paper, as long as they kept paying for it. He knew that soon the market would be flooded with all sorts of cheap art, but thankfully he had filled his hold with every piece he could find on his first trip, and made a small fortune in the exchange.
For an independent captain, this was especially fine. Since Quenlin owned his ship, Invexus allowed him to keep sixty percent of the profits from a given run. If a run was particularly profitable, they might bump that up to seventy. Quenlin made seventy percent profit on seven of eight trips to Primidara VIII so far, and on the trip where he didn’t get seventy, Invexus auditors had awarded him sixty-three. He and his crew were making excellent money. However, things were beginning to get crowded. Independents were starting to spring up as fast as Invexus colonized new planets (twelve new worlds in four years!), but the Vellon markets were not expanding to keep up, at least the ones that they were allowed to enter by the treaty. In situations like this, it was usually the captains who dared to venture into the gray area that usually came out ahead. Quenlin was one such captain, and on his Last trip he had learned about a nice gray area indeed. Rumor had it that the Vellons were able to concoct a narcotic that they once used in religious ceremonies. To them, it was a mild narcotic, resulting in a relaxed, happy state.
Invexus trader crews had discovered it, but on Cherekians, the effect was much more intense. When ingested, it fills the Cherekian brain with wonderful, dreamlike images and totally relaxes the body. To an outside observer, the subject is reduced to a smiling, babbling, immobile idiot. The effects of a gram of the drug can Last for up to five hours. The Vellons had a name for it, but it was practically unpronounceable. The Users began to call it simply Glide.
Once the news of Glide got around, demand for it shot thru the roof. The problem was, the only drug trade that Invexus was interested in was the one it controlled. Glide represented an uncontrollable element to them, and so it was outlawed. Those found possessing or consuming Glide faced fine, imprisonment, and possibly death. Those found distributing or transporting with the intent to distribute faced fine, imprisonment, financial seizure, and death.
So there it was. If a captain was good enough, he stood to make a fortune off of Glide. The risks were great, but the rewards were, too.
Captain Quenlin met his Vellon contact and bought thirty kilos of Glide for a price that would make him an obscene amount of money if he were able to sell it in Invexus space. It seemed to him that the Vellons had not quite caught on to the value of Glide, which was so much the better for him. As the Last of the product was moved into the hold of his ship, he walked outside and lovingly patted the landing strut.
“Just this one Last time, old girl. Get me thru and we can retire. I mean it this time.”
He felt the ship give a slight shudder under his hand.
He looked up, a bit puzzled. Was Lady trying to tell him something? Shrugging, he headed back toward the open cargo doors.
Quenlin and Lucky Lady would need every ounce of luck they had left.