Dark Planet (6 page)

I watched Gun Maid’s expression. It remained interested, concerned, but otherwise unchanged. I sampled her emotions and found no undue excitability, no particular feelings of guilt. If she were the sleeper, she was very good at hiding it.

I locked into the others one at a time as the staff colonel continued with how someone on post had been bribed to cooperate with the Homelanders. I found nothing particularly incriminating.

“We will uncover the traitors and punish them to the full extent and power of the law,” the colonel roared, growing red-faced. “We will not be despoiled by a Fifth Column within, and we will not succumb to forces outside. Now, listen up to the mission briefing.”

He stepped back. The General took over. The OpOrder consisted of five paragraphs: Situation, Mission, Execution, Service and Support, and Command and Signal.

“We don’t know where the Tslek originate,” General Numb Nuts said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his hands clasped behind his back. All he needed was a riding crop. “Certainly they must hail from outside the galaxies of Tau Ceti and Earth. We know they apparently have no need for clothing, as they seem to shape and re-shape their bodies for environmental protection. They practice a form of mitosis — splitting and dividing themselves like giant cells to duplicate additional forms. However, they appear to have biological needs similar to other life forms with which we are familiar — food, water, oxygen, fuel for their ships, raw materials, perhaps other things.

“From Napoleon and Hitler in the old Earth histories to Chien-Li and Dama-San of the Hadathranal and Ramaedan Empires in modern interstellar histories, there is truth that would-be conquerors have often been defeated by their supply lines. By the inadequacy of their resupply lines. While small units of Blobs might scrounge along the way, an actual invasion force will have to shorten its supply lines by occupying a forward base, an uninhabited M-Class planet with a carbon-nitrogen life support system capable of growing food and providing other resources, a biospheric atmosphere to cloak their activities, and ready access to transit lanes. Once the Blobs establish a forward base of operations and solve their supply challenge, Galaxia and her neighbors may well face the same fate Earth suffered during the Proton-Nuclear Wars of a thousand years ago.”

He paused. He looked as though he might be standing on his nuts.

“Our Intel believes the Blobs are constructing such an advance base. The last two Deep Recon Teams sent to the area to investigate never came back. It is vital to the security of the Galaxia Republic that this Blob advance base be located and neutralized before the enemy builds itself into a power impervious to attack.”

DRT-213’s mission: blast off for this planet, recon the suspected Blob base without making contact or being detected, return with the information to the recovery ship. Sensor bots, previously inserted, had sniffed out faint energy emissions and hyper tracks. They performed a cursory biosphere sweep and managed to localize the emissions to a range of mountains before they inexplicably went silent.

The same thing — inexplicable silence and presumed destruction — befell the two previous DRTs sent in to recon. It was now DRT-213’s turn.

I clearly read Blade’s single simple thought:
Fu-uck
.

By a fortunate twist of luck, considering the immense distances in the Tau Ceti Tail corner of the cluster, a survey ship had discovered a heretofore unknown open transport tunnel to the planet which should enable an undetected approach. DRT-213 would depart in two days aboard a small Stealth craft piggybacked to a dreadnought. Once the huge warship reached destination, it would hurl the Stealth into orbit, where it would remain while the team inserted in a landing pod, conducted the mission and returned.

The dreadnought and a Republic Starship would cruise the region to provide cover support, while a battle fleet waited, prepared to annihilate the Blob base as soon as it was pinpointed.

“It’s up to you to find it, fix it, and report back,” General Numb Nuts said. “We think Blobs use extrasensory perception, telepathy, as a normal means of communication. That’s why you have a Sen assigned to your team. Your Zentadon should be able to detect and intercept their thought waves.”

My ears twitched.

General Numb Nuts turned the briefing back over to the staff colonel.

“With the exception of Zentadon Sens,” the colonel said, “it appears we Humans are in this fight alone. The Indowy have gone soft. They are attempting to establish commo with the invaders and plead for peace in our time.”

He shifted around the rod up his ass and made a painful sound. “Peace in our time!” he scoffed. “The Blobs appear to utilize the same general logic as Humans … and some Zentadon. We should therefore assume that they will expect a reconnaissance, especially after the vanishing of the two previous teams. You should remain on a heightened state of alert and expect the unexpected.”

Assistants began handing out supplemental material: target folders, area studies, maps, CEOIs, videos and photos. An aide activated a holographic display of maps and charts and globes. I experienced a short burst of taa directly to my brain. I reacted the way any Zentadon would have, even one with Human blood, when confronted with that planet, the way survivors of what in Human history was called the Jewish Holocaust recoiled at the mention of Auschwitz or Dachau.

I recognized the image of Aldenia instantly, its two moons, one large and pale with a second orbiting it; the darkness of the planet, two-thirds of the surface covered with seas, lakes and oceans. Although it was the farthest planet from the galaxy’s primary sun, Ceti, it was near enough to a second sun-star that revolved with it around the outer edges of the galaxy that the climate remained predominately tropical. The two suns in opposing refractory were said to cause the eerie otherworldly lighting that had branded itself into the Zentadon collective memory.

“Aldenia,” exclaimed Team Sergeant Shiva, also recognizing it.

“Exactly, Sergeant,” said General Numb Nuts, delighted at the shock effect. “The Dark Planet.”

“Sir?” said Captain Amalfi. “Why do we think the Blobs can colonize Aldenia when all other efforts for centuries, since the time of the Indowy Federation, have ended in disaster and failure?”

“Apparently,” scoffed General Numb Nuts, “the Blobs have not heard or do not invest credence in superstitions manufactured by the Zentadon after the taa camps. I myself do not place stock in these Old Elf Tales.” He chuckled. “Contrary to popular dogma, there is nothing inherently evil about the planet of Aldenia. Would you agree with that, Zentadon?”

I snapped to attention, arms folded respectfully across my chest. “It was a dark time in Zentadon history, sir … and a dark place.”

I thought to leave it at that.

“There is nothing inherently evil about Aldenia,” the General persisted, scowling.

Blade rose to his feet. “General, sir. I have been to Aldenia. I came back.”

“Not all return,” I countered.

“Not all return from the toilet.”

T
he dreadnought
Admiral Tsutsumi
was a powerful ship and looked it. Its hull was nearly five kilometers long and covered by a maze of heat exchangers, tractor beam projectors, com pods, heavy-duty weapons blisters and other installations common to Starship class warships. In contrast, the Stealth attached piggyback to it was a stubby, black, windowless lump, like a malignant mole on a giant’s backside.

I was primarily an academic, having taught at the Interstellar School for much of my productive adult life, so could not help but be astonished at my first close-up experience with the reality of space warfare. Humans were amazing creatures, I had to hand them that. Although the Proton-Nuclear Wars wiped out three-quarters of Earth’s population and made at least that same proportion of the planet uninhabitable, there were survivors whose restless energies and nimble minds continued to long for adventure and knowledge and, perhaps, even a kind of salvation. It was they who developed eph-proton fuel and cultivated the Mini-Magnetic Plasma Propulsion (M2P2) System, an “energy wind sail” capable of inconceivable light speeds. Humankind was on its way to colonizing the universe, and no other civilization would be safe again. Beings in the galaxies were soon wearing Wrangler jeans, even those individuals with three or four or five legs, shouting, “Hey, Dude!” to each other, and forming sex clubs.

Because we were piggybacking on the
Tsutsumi
, it would not be necessary to crew the Stealth until we arrived within Aldenia’s gravity field. Captain Amalfi chose hibernation for the crew in the time couches. These were molded individual recliners with glass-sealed hoods. They were tiered one above the other in an available space on the Stealth, with a ladder leading to each.

“I had rather us hibernate and come out peaked fresh than to get fat and flabby for six weeks on a damned cruise ship,” Captain Amalfi explained.

Due to the threat of sabotage and internal subversion surrounding the launching of the mission, HazMat teams swept both the mother ship and the Stealth for unauthorized explosives before crews were allowed aboard.

We entered the Stealth in the reduced gravity by merely stepping out of the lock and drifting down one by one, getting out of each other’s way in the confined areas. As all this was new to me, having only traveled as a passenger in space liners, I paid particular attention to everything. The interior of the ship was a bit disconcerting in its clutter and chaos of arrangement and utility; hydraulics and valves, instrument panels and pipes and hoses and knobs and other gear, the function of which left me guessing. It was like an old Human submarine I had once seen in a museum. It smelled musty and oily.

“Your first time aboard a Stealth?” Gun Maid guessed. She was the only one of the team who deigned to speak to me, if you discounted Captain Amalfi and Sergeant Shiva issuing orders and Blade muttering Fu-uck every time he looked my way.

“Not exactly,” I said. “I have had nightmares.”

She laughed. “It isn’t really as threatening as it appears. It’s crowded, but entirely functional and actually quite simple in its structure. We’re in the crew compartment. Aft is the M2 reactor. Forward is the control deck. The landing pod is in the nose. That’s all there is to it.”

“Maybe I’ll take it for a test drive.”

She looked at me and, after a moment, chided in that voice of hers that was both pleasing and pleasant, “You’re a real puzzle, Kadar San. You’re always wearing an expression that makes me want to offer you a penny for your thoughts.”

I gave her a dumb, uncomprehending look. She giggled delightfully.

“It’s an old, old Earth expression,” she explained. “You look a little smug.”

Zentadon are not real good at repartee with the opposite sex out of breeding season. The Human part of me couldn’t help noticing that Gun Maid might make an excellent breeder.

“I will work on it,” I said. “A lowly Zentadon must never look … a little smug.”

“A Zentadon, Sergeant, would get along better if he hadn’t such a chip on his shoulder.”

There was nothing on either of my shoulders. Gun Maid giggled again.

“Another old, old Earth expression?” I guessed.

“Can’t you read my mind? You’re a telepath.”

I thought she looked worried that I might.

“Sens have an etiquette,” I said, not completely truthfully. “It would be like rape if I read your thoughts without permission.”

“Oh? But you’ll rape the Blobs and other assorteds?”

“When necessary. But with much less pleasure,” I replied, enjoying the exchange in spite of my suspicions.

A female medic came from the
Tsutsumi
to assist the team with hooking into the time-couch life support systems. “How do you stand those things?” she asked, shuddering. “They’re like … coffins.”

She administered hiberzine. The team began stripping off their uniforms and climbing one by one into their “coffins.” The medic came to me.

“I will pass,” I declined. “The hiberzine drug does not work on the Zentadon. I’m afraid your ship has an unexpected tourist for the next six weeks.”

Captain Amalfi blinked. “I always assumed hiberzine was created by the Zentadon.”

“It was invented by the Indowy to be used on humans and employed by Zentadon.”

“Uh…?”

“About four thousand years ago.”

“I thought we encountered the Zentadon less than a thousand years ago.”

“Elves,” I said mysteriously, “have always been around.”

Captain Amalfi frowned as the glass hood closed over him.

Most of the crew opted for VR — virtual reality — entertainment hookups which allowed experiencing all kinds of true-to-life adventures while they slept. Rather like dreaming, I assumed, only closer to real life. I wondered what program Gun Maid selected.

She stripped down to bikini underwear for the time-couch. No brassiere. Her near-naked body was slender and hard and brown as she settled in for the ride. I stood next to her couch as the medic attached her to IV’s, electric muscle exercisers, and vital organ stimulator feeds. Atlas, from his coffin, stared at me disapprovingly. Warm, soft padding flowed around her body, supported by hard memory plastic.

“Penny for my thoughts?” I asked.

She smiled. “Okay.”

“I was wondering how you’d look with a beautiful furry tail.”

She was still giggling when she went under.

S
uspicion and mistrust blocked all doors wherever I went on the dreadnought during the long flight. I felt like a virus, isolated and impugned. I encountered walls of fear and apprehension whenever I released my Sen powers to explore. How could I really blame the Humans after the way we Zentadon had been used against them by the Indowy? And after the Homelander incident prior to departure? I felt the same kind of mistrust toward the Indowy. My own anxiety grew the closer we came to the dreaded Dark Planet and its latent social memories of the taa camps. Had I a choice, which Commander Mott assured me I hadn’t, I would have stayed on Galaxia and waited for the breeding season.