Chapter Two

Chapter Two


Date unknown

Time unknown


Kalar System

Akaarist Quadrant




HOW UNIMPRESSIVE it looked now. How trivial and overstated. As Svetlana floated in microgravity in the center of the Noboat’s prison cell—the very one in which she’d shared wall space with Tauthin—she rotated the dried out, shriveled piece of flesh that had once been her nose in her fingers. Dainty, her human comrades had called it. Supposedly upturned at that perfect angle that made it look delicate and refined. She used to crinkle it without even trying. For a woman with golden hair and eyes as blue as the ocean, that it was her nose that people noticed said something of significance. Or at least, that was the way she’d always seen it. But times change. Flesh dries out. Some things, when lost, never return.

Svetlana maneuvered the shriveled nose to the middle of her fingers. Jaw setting, she pinched them together. As the dried-out nose was squished, what little moisture remained were pushed up through its surface. It wasn’t even enough to form a droplet—it just glistened and got on her fingers. There was a morbid allure to it, a fascination with the act of mutilating one’s own severed, rotten flesh. Macabre, perhaps, but part of her was sad when there was no liquid left to squeeze.

Opening her fingers, Svetlana released it, and with a flick, sent it drifting across the room. With Nagogg’s spear firm in her left hand, she pivoted around in the air. Blood from Nagogg’s body still stained the hall behind her—it still stained her. As for Nagogg’s corpse—and the corpses of his followers—they were now safely disposed of inside Mishka’s stomach. Sick pleasure aside of seeing a crew devoured by their own pet, it was the cleanest way to get rid of the bodies. Watching Mishka eat them had been almost therapeutic.

Master?

Ei’dorinthal’s voice came to Svetlana’s mind. Her pupils shifted to look at the wall. Though she didn’t reply with a direct thought, her mental openness prompted the Ithini, who was still in the bridge, to continue.

We are here and waiting.

With a small dip of the head, she answered in her mind, I will be there in a moment.

There came a sensation of affirmation, then the mental link was closed.

Closing her eyes, Svetlana drew in a long, labored breath—one made much more difficult without a nose. She’d never considered the importance of it as a funnel for air until now. But she’d suck it up—literally and figuratively. There were important matters to tend to, and she didn’t want to leave her crew waiting.


Never could Svetlana have conjured up a nightmare as hellish as the one she’d experienced on that ship. To be stripped of her garments, to have her nose cut off, to be clasped to the floor next to Nagogg’s chair and christened with canrassi urine and drool. She’d once considered Novosibirsk hell on Earth. She’d had no idea how good she’d had it.

After the mutiny, Svetlana had ordered Tauthin to take the Noboat to the edge of the star system—to a place where they could drift undetected while she sorted things out. For some reason she was yet to understand, a Noboat could either dematerialize from view or have artificial gravity, but not both at the same time. She preferred being undetected, so dematerialized they remained. There was much she needed to learn about the way this ship worked. That was one thing on the agenda, though her understanding of Noboat mechanics was far less important than her decision as to what to do next.

One of Nagogg’s most heinous acts had been the destruction of an alien vessel—one belonging to a species called the Kalarael. Two Kalarael had been captured by the Bakma, one of whom Svetlana had “met” via Ithini connection. The being—a female—referred to herself as Yigôzien, invoker of custom, whatever that meant. Aesthetically, the Kalarael were magnificent. Their skin was smooth like white porcelain, and their down-feather hair was vibrant and colored like a peacock’s. Their eyes were dark-lined, their ears vulpine. Beneath sharp, canine noses were whiskers, and beyond those, freckles. They were a mishmash of beautiful features—a workmanship that could only be crafted by a God that loved its creations. Svetlana wondered how many of those beautiful features Nagogg would have mutilated had he not been overthrown. She shuddered at the thought that the same God who made the Kalarael made the Khuladi and the Bakma, too.

Yigôzien and her unnamed male counterpart needed to be returned to their homeworld. Svetlana’s first attempt at communication with Yigôzien had been a harrowing affair, the being’s sheer openness overwhelming Ed’s connection and rendering the Ithini unconscious. Whereas humans tended to guard their thoughts and emotions, Yigôzien’s flowed like a raging river. Thankfully, their second attempt went much more smoothly, and Svetlana was able to communicate enough to convey that she, too, was a captive. Now that the Kalarael—like her—were free, something needed to be done with them. Returning them to their homeworld seemed the only proper course of action. She’d certainly want that if she was in their shoes.

Which, as a matter of fact, she was.

Svetlana didn’t know the logistics of a return to Earth. Time scarcely had meaning anymore, so she wasn’t even sure how many days or weeks she’d been a captive. She knew enough about the physics of the universe to know that time, like all things, was relative. To some extent, interstellar travelers like the Khuladi must have found a way to work around that. But even if they did, what if there were small deviations? What if one day to Svetlana now was one-and-a-half to Earth, or the other way around? There was only one way to find out, and that was to make her return. Whatever tricks time dilation had in store would have to be experienced firsthand.


As Svetlana drifted toward the bridge, she ran her fingers along the hallway’s cold, metal walls. There was a warmth to it, not in temperature, but in familiarity. Much as the frozen wasteland of Novosibirsk had been home, so now were these frigid walls in the vastness of space. There was a pulse to this ship that she’d never noticed until recently. One she’d never appreciated. She felt it in her fingers and in her cold, bare feet. Almost a sentience.

Passing the threshold of the antechamber, Svetlana floated into the bridge. Tauthin was there, drifting next to the blinded elite, Kraash-nagun, at helm control. Ed was positioned subserviently next to the captain’s chair along with Mishka, the brown-furred canrassi that had become Svetlana’s personal pet. The beast was attached to the floor via a magnetic harness. At a console along the wall was Wuteel, the coward disguised as a zealot, whose betrayal of Svetlana was part of the reason she’d been captured and tortured in the first place.

The only ones who weren’t present were the two Kalarael. It was Svetlana’s decision not to include them in this meeting. The two beings had been through too much. Svetlana wanted to give them time to themselves—time to reconcile everything they’d been through, not the least of which was encountering extraterrestrial life for what was quite possibly the first time. Having long grown accustomed to not being alone in the universe, it was hard for Svetlana to put herself in that mindset now. But if this was indeed first contact for the Kalarael, the entire experience must have been reality bending for them.

Clearing her throat, Svetlana turned to the Bakma and addressed them in their native tongue—its fluency siphoned from the mind of Nagogg. “Before I discuss anything else, I need to know the status of this ship. Are all systems functioning the way they are supposed to?”

Tauthin’s gaze shifted to Wuteel, as did Svetlana’s. Her eyes narrowed. The engineer held a special place in Svetlana’s heart among those she wished to impale. Of all the atrocities against Svetlana that Nagogg had committed, at least his could be justified—however sickly so—by having never experienced kindness from a human. But Wuteel? She had treated his wounds on the battlefields of Earth. He had no excuse for what he was complicit in. She would not soon forget that.

Wuteel’s black, bulbous eyes looked at Svetlana briefly, only to be averted to the floor shortly after. His shame was evident. “We have enough energy to traverse the Akaarist Quadrant, but no farther. Not until our fuel cells rejuvenate. But all ship systems function, my lord.”

Lord. She’d caught that, and she sensed that her catching it was Wuteel’s intent. Tilting her head, she scrutinized his expression. His pupils—barely discernable in the middle of his near-pitch-black irises—were flitting between her and the floor, as if he wanted to look at her, but couldn’t quite muster the courage. “Nagogg’s title,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You are as he was,” said Wuteel back to her.

Ed’s voice emerged in her mind. Lord is the Khuladi designation for the leader of a military unit or vessel. It is the equivalent of the Earthae word captain.

Lifting her chin and with her eyes solely on Wuteel, she said to the engineer, “Lord is a title for a man. I am a woman, and you will recognize me as such. I am to be called lady.” She wanted them to acknowledge that difference. To remember, every time they spoke her name, that the female they underestimated now ruled them.

Dipping his head, Tauthin said, “Lady.”

“Lady,” said Kraash-nagun, a tad begrudgingly.

As Svetlana’s cold gaze returned to Wuteel, he bowed his head. “Lady Setana.”

Lady Setana. She could work with that. “What must be done to rejuvenate the ship’s fuel cells?”

“We must orbit close to this system’s star,” answered Wuteel, his gnarled talons working the console in front of him. An image of the system’s yellow star appeared on the view screen. “But if we do so, we run an extreme risk of detection.”

“Then I assume we must materialize in order to charge these cells?”

Wuteel nodded. “That is correct. No cells can be charged while a vessel is in the Zone.”

“The Zone,” she repeated. The word made her think of the term Zone Runner, the Bakma designation for what humans called a Noboat. Drifting down into the captain’s chair, her fingers disappeared into Mishka’s thick, brown fur. “Explain to me how this ship works.”

Tauthin and Wuteel swapped a look, their animosity momentarily replaced by shared hesitation, as if both understood the question but neither wanted to answer. It was Tauthin who finally cleared his throat. “If you are asking for technical information, you must understand that there are many working parts to this ship. Perhaps if you were more specific, an appropriate answer could be provided.”

“Explain to me why this vessel cannot have artificial gravity while it is dematerialized,” she said. “And what Nagogg meant when he used the term, ‘gravity wheel.’ And where this vessel dematerializes to in the first place. Why do you call it a Zone Runner? What is this Zone?” Leaning back, she waved a hand nonchalantly in front of her. “Is that specific enough for you?”

Several seconds passed before Tauthin responded. “This ship is called a Zone Runner because when it dematerializes, as you call it, it skims the surface of what we call the ‘Zone.’”

“And the Zone is…?”

“A temporary parallel universe created by a quantum resonator. It is an in-between layer that affects this universe—realspace—but is not a part of it.”

Svetlana tilted her head. “So, you make your own parallel universe?” Not that she was an expert in quantum physics by any stretch, but that explanation hardly seemed feasible.

Drifting toward her, Wuteel asked, “May I have a piece of your clothing?”

Reaching down, she ripped off a washrag-sized piece of sackcloth, its dusty filaments drifting in microgravity. She handed it to Wuteel, who drifted closer to take it.

“And the key to your shackles, my lady?”

Retrieving the key from the small compartment in the captain’s chair where she’d stored it, she handed it to Wuteel. As soon as the engineer had it, he drifted toward the nearest console, holding the key down flat on its surface. Ripping the piece of sackcloth into one larger and one smaller piece with his teeth, he placed the larger piece of cloth atop the key, pressing it down so that it conformed to the key’s shape.

“Imagine that this key is a Zone Runner and that the piece of cloth atop it is realspace.”

Easy enough.

“In this example, realspace is directly affected by the Zone Runner. It touches it. They are connected. Now,” he said, lifting the larger piece of sackcloth off the key and replacing it with the smaller piece, “imagine that this piece of cloth is the Zone, created by the quantum resonator.”

“The large crystal in the engine room,” Tauthin politely interjected.

Wuteel nodded. “Yes, the crystal. As you can see, the created Zone is much smaller than realspace—it is barely enough to cover the Zone Runner. But cover it, it does.” The engineer placed the larger piece of sackcloth atop the smaller piece, pressing it down so the key’s bulge could be seen beneath both pieces. “This represents realspace atop the Zone. Both pieces of cloth are separate. They are different pieces.” With wobbling fingers, he pressed down harder so that the key’s shape became more definable. “Though the Zone Runner, which is in contact with the Zone, is not touching realspace, the shape it occupies is still shared. The Zone Runner’s mass does not touch realspace at all, just as the key does not touch this larger piece of cloth. The bulge you see is due to the physical presence of the Zone, not the Zone Runner. The Zone Runner is there, yet it is not.”

“This explains,” said Tauthin, “why Zone Runners are susceptible to attack even while they are shifted. If that occupied space is intruded upon by one of your aircraft’s missiles, that space is affected both in realspace and in the Zone. If you touch a shifted Zone Runner, you are touching shared space, not the Zone Runner itself.”

“Shifted?” Svetlana asked.

The Bakma leader grunted. “Dematerialized is a human term and not an accurate depiction of the way Zone Runners function. The correct term for ‘dematerialization,’ as you perceive it, is a dimensional shift. The quantum resonator generates a rift, which the Zone Runner travels through to reach the Zone.”

She was wrapping her head around this as best she could. So Noboats, or Zone Runners as the Bakma called them, created pocket-sized, temporary parallel universes that shared occupied space with realspace. This meant that, just as in the real world, no two things could exist in the same place. Wuteel’s explanation that a Zone Runner is “there, but not,” was about as good as Svetlana could have understood it.

“You asked about a gravity wheel,” said Wuteel. “A gravity wheel is another manifestation of the quantum resonator. It creates a wheel-shaped Zone that exists vertically atop a Zone Runner. The wheel spins forward in its own temporary parallel universe, constantly asserting pressure on the downturn upon the vessel and its crew. In effect,” he said, gesturing, “it creates a sort of artificial gravity. It is a different kind of process for a quantum resonator, not completely identical to rift generation for the purpose of travel to the Zone—but it involves the quantum resonator just the same. This is why a Zone Runner cannot shift into the Zone and maintain artificial gravity. The crystal can only handle one or the other at any given time.”

And thus, the most nagging question she’d had about Noboats was answered—why there was a constant shift between artificial gravity and microgravity. Between walking and floating around. “What an incredible inconvenience,” she said.

“It is,” said Tauthin, “but one that is greatly surpassed by the many benefits that Zone Runners provide—capable of travel in both atmosphere and space, able to create artificial gravity, and then of course, disappearing from detectability. No other vessel in the stars is as deadly.”

Wuteel rasped in agreement. “They can even engage human airships while in the Zone—their weapons are just not as effective as they would be in realspace. You will often see Zone Runners popping in and out of realspace as they fire their plasma cannons. This is done to maximize weapon efficiency, not because the weapon cannot be fired while shifted.”

The more Svetlana listened, the more different aspects of the Noboat’s functionality began to make sense. The recharging of its fuel cells, for example. It made sense now why the ship couldn’t recharge whilst in the Zone. Just like a Noboat needed to materialize for its weapons to have any sort of effect beyond occupying the same space as their targets, it would have to be materialized to absorb whatever solar energy it needed to recharge.

This conversation was a good one. This would help her plot their next course—or at least, how to go about it. Her eyes shifted to Mishka. The beast’s fur was almost bristled when in microgravity. Leaning over in her chair, she looked down at the massive beast’s feet, both of which were tucked into sleeves on the floor. Every time the Noboat shifted between realspace and the Zone, Mishka went right for the sleeves, which worked in conjunction with a harness to keep the beast secured on the floor. He was trained to know exactly what to do and exactly when to do it to avoid floating off uncontrollably throughout the ship. “There are so many systems in place here,” she said, just as much to herself as to the Bakma. “I suppose there must be.”

“We have all grown used to the switch between gravity and weightlessness,” Tauthin said. “All of the Khuladi slave species are trained on Zone Runners long before beginning their official service. Oftentimes we do not even think when preparing for microgravity. It is ingrained in our minds as if instinct.” He nodded toward the canrassi. “Even they are trained in such a way. I am sure you have noticed the change in interior light color when a Zone Runner shifts.”

Indeed, she had.

“White lights are for operating in realspace,” Tauthin said. “Dark blue indicates a shift is imminent. When shifted, all lights in a Zone Runner are red. This has nothing to do with the operational aspect of a Zone Runner. It is a visual cue. When your companion,” he said, indicating again to Mishka, “registers those dark blue hues, he knows to prepare either for a sudden loss or gain of gravity, as do the rest of us. For the most part, Zone Runners engage their gravity wheels automatically when they shift into realspace. Many elements of this spacecraft are automated in such a way.”

She’d noticed that herself. The trough in Mishka’s pen shut automatically when the Noboat shifted. Certain pieces of equipment seemed to become magnetized, too, clinging to whatever metallic surface they happened to be sitting upon when microgravity engaged. In addition to that, there were straps and handrails everywhere. Everything in the ship, it seemed, was designed around the Noboat’s central function—the ability to enter the Zone at the cost of walking on two feet. A curious look came over her as she remembered another detail of their attack on the Kalarael vessel. Looking at Wuteel, she asked, “When Nagogg attacked the Kalarael, he asked for the Noboat to leave the Zone and place the Kalarael in the ‘updraft’ of the wheel. Was he talking about the gravity wheel?”

Dipping his head, the engineer answered, “Correct, my lady. Just as a gravity wheel can be a benefit to a Zone Runner’s crew, it can be a devastating weapon against an adversary.”

“Explain.”

“Imagine the wheel in full. We are at the front of the wheel, with force being exerted down upon us. But that wheel has a backside.” He outstretched his hands to demonstrate the position of two different spacecraft. “If we position our Zone Runner so that the backside of the gravity wheel catches the enemy vessel, then they will experience force being exerted in the opposite direction. The effects can be, if not devastating to the crew, very disorienting. We call the backside of a gravity wheel the ‘updraft.’”

Svetlana could understand why such a tactic could be devastating, especially if it came unexpectedly. Imagine minding your own business on a spaceship when suddenly gravity throws you to the ceiling. And then right after that, aliens board your vessel and attack. A gravity wheel attack would only have to last a second—just long enough to literally turn everything in the ship upside down then send it all crashing back down to the floor. A one-second flipping of the world. The Kalarael had probably still been peeling themselves off the floor when the Bakma attacked them. What a ruthless, diabolical way to weaponize the Zone.

She’d have to remember it.

“Is there anything else you would like to know?” Tauthin asked.

Raising her forefinger, she said, “Just one more thing. How long before the fuel cells recharge enough to take us to Earth?”

Wuteel answered, “It may take several Earth days, and we would require an additional recharge at another star while en route. We are, by Earthae standards, a week away.”

“Zone Runners come equipped with two drives,” Tauthin added. “A jump drive and a skip drive. A jump is a bending of spacetime—essentially, a momentary wormhole—created for the purpose of traversing long distances instantly. We are many jumps from Earth, and each jump requires a large amount of energy.” Turning back to the helm control, Tauthin brought up a map of whatever section of the galaxy they were in, with the location of the Noboat clearly indicated by a bright red marker. After inputting several commands, a path of connected dots appeared, leading all the way to the bottom of the screen. Halfway through the connections, a yellow circle pulsed. “That star is as far as we can go without a recharge. We must stop there to absorb solar energy before finishing the journey.”

Once again, Tauthin manipulated the controls. The view screen zoomed in rapidly to the solar system they were in. Another path of connected dots appeared, this time leading to the Kalar system’s yellow sun. “A skip drive is a smaller incarnation of a jump drive, intended for inter-system travel. While a jump drive can be used within a system, it is a great waste of energy. It is far too powerful a ship component to be used to traverse such a small distance.” He turned back to Svetlana. “Jump and skip drives are the innovations of the Ithini, before a portion of them were enslaved by the Khuladi. This is why you will find jump drives used by both the Khuladi slave species and the Golathoch. Both sides have borrowed this technology from the Ithini.”

For the first time in that conversation, Ed chimed in. It may be we who are to blame for the Khuladi threat. By visiting them and consequently giving them this technology, we may have given them the ability to traverse the stars as we could.

“May?” Svetlana asked, raising an eyebrow. “It sounds pretty clear cut to me.”

These events happened eons ago. Slave species are not given access to Khuladi historical records. But we are certain it was we, the Ithini, who provided the Khuladi with the ability to jump through spacetime. It is the only plausible explanation as to why both the Khuladi and Golathoch possess identically functioning technology. It is the same logic that applies to the canrassi, which must have come from one of our worlds.

Tauthin grunted in affirmation before going on. “Jump technology is the only technology that allows for practical traversing of the galaxy. Though engine-based drives that can accomplish such things are possible, they are impractical due to the effect mass and speed have on time. To fly fast is to fly into the future—who knows what one will find, or what will be different, when they arrive at their destination?”

“Do you think time between ourselves and Earth has changed at all?” Svetlana asked.

“It is impossible to say. Traditionally, Zone Runner lords keep vessel movement to a minimum for this reason. Nagogg kept with this practice. Just the same,” he said, tilting his head a bit, “this vessel does not possess thrusters nearly powerful enough to approach the speed necessary to cause a vast time differentiation.”

That was good. Svetlana didn’t want to stay away from Earth any longer than she needed to. The last thing she remembered was EDEN attacking Novosibirsk—who knew what had happened between then and now? She wasn’t even certain how much time had passed, much less how much time dilation had occurred. It felt like she’d been in space for weeks. The lack of a consistent sun schedule to give her a reference was causing all sorts of problems with her internal clock. When she’d slept as Nagogg’s captive, she had never known if it’d been for two hours or twelve. “I want to return the Kalarael to their homeworld as quickly as possible, then recharge our fuel cells. If we are a week away from Earth by our standards, then we have no time to waste.”

“As you command,” Tauthin said, “though I must warn you: this vessel was undermanned before Nagogg fell. The responsibility of operating this vessel has fallen to Wuteel and myself, when normally six Bakma would be required to run this room alone.” His voice fell low. “I humbly request your patience, particularly for Wuteel. He must be in two places at once.” Teeth baring slightly, he said, “My disdain for him is as fervent as yours in light of what he has done to you.” As he was openly discussed, Wuteel lowered his head. “But he is not in an enviable position as engineer of this vessel. An engineer typically remains near the quantum resonator at all times. Please afford him your leniency.”

She huffed. She’d give Wuteel all the leniency that Nagogg had given her. Her eyes narrowing, she looked at the shamed engineer. “I will afford what must be afforded, but no more. I gave you mercy once on my homeworld. It did not pay dividends.” Looking sidelong at Kraash-nagun, who’d been silent throughout the discussion, she said, “What can he do to help shoulder the burden?”

Seemingly aware that she was referring to him, the blinded elite grunted and answered, “Without eyes with which to see, what use could I possibly be on this bridge?”

“Lazy excuse.” Svetlana spat out. “Weak.”

“Weak? Do not forget, Earthae, that I played a part in your rebellion.” Kraash-nagun spoke through clenched teeth.

Svetlana’s nostrils would have flared, had she had them. “You joined my ‘rebellion’ only when it became apparent it would succeed. That is not heroism—it is the mark of an opportunist.”

“What do you expect from me?” Kraash-nagun snarled. “Shall the blind warrior pilot this spacecraft? Shall he chart a course? Enlighten me. Prove your worth as so-called lady of this vessel.”

She’d already proven her worth. There was nothing so-called about it. He wanted to cite a lack of vision? Not on her watch. “Ed, give him my eyes.”

Caught off guard from being thrust into the discussion, Ei`dorinthal relayed to her, Your eyes?

“You can read minds, bridge language barriers between species you scarcely know. You relay images, entire journeys through the subconscious. You can siphon.” She angled her head. “So, siphon what I see and send it to Kraash-nagun’s mind. Let him see himself as I see him now.”

Svetlana closed her eyes as she felt the swirling in her mind—the pressure in her brain, behind the very eyes she wished to share. Ed had found the way into that pathway of her mind. Svetlana opened her eyes just in time to see Kraash-nagun’s face when the siphon went into action.

The blinded elite’s mouth dropped as he stared ahead with his vacant sockets as if they were actually looking at something. Svetlana knew what they were seeing. She asked him about it, anyway. “What do you see, Kraash-nagun?”

Reaching forward, Kraash-nagun’s body trembled as he waved his hands back and forth slowly in the air in front of him, like he was feeling his way through something. In truth, that was exactly what he was doing. What he saw was what she saw. Himself, slowly waving his arms. Mouth still hanging, he uttered, “I see.”

“You see what?”

“I see myself.”

Angling her head again, she asked, “Would you like to know what I see?” She leaned forward, allowing him to more clearly see himself through her eyes. “I see a functional member of the crew—one who should have no trouble operating a station once he relearns how to move.”

Had the situation been less startling to Kraash-nagun, Svetlana might have expected a snappy retort. Instead, the blinded elite only stared at himself in wonder. Svetlana had had no idea if what she’d asked Ed to do was possible. The thought had popped in her head, and she’d just gone with it.

“Sever us,” she said to Ed. The mental pressure behind her eyes dissipated. Ahead of her, Kraash-nagun flinched as his world was plunged back into darkness. The expression that came to him was one of the saddest from a Bakma she’d ever seen.

Ed’s voice came to her. How did you know that was possible?

I didn’t. I just believed that if anyone could do it, it would be you.

The sensation that emanated from Ed was unlike any she’d felt from him before. It was a blend of apprehension, elation, and nervous energy. For the first time in his life, the Ithini was tasting pride.

Svetlana turned to Tauthin and Wuteel, both of whom stared at her in wonderment. Without missing a beat, she said to them, “Find a station that Kraash-nagun can operate that will relieve pressure on the two of you. When Ed and I return from our talk with the Kalarael, I will instruct him to stand behind Kraash-nagun to serve as his eyes.” She glanced at the Ithini. “I assume that you can relay your own sight to him, too, correct?”

Dipping his head, Ed answered, I am sure that I can.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “Now if you will all excuse me.” After unstrapping herself from the captain’s chair, she drifted up in microgravity. “I must speak with the Kalarael about returning them to their homeworld. Ed, please accompany me.”

Yes, master.

Svetlana gently pushed herself through the air toward the bridge door with Ed in tow.


As Svetlana drifted down the Noboat’s hall, she sucked in hard to get a breath through her nasal cavities. Beyond all the other things she was dealing with, there’d been a peculiar development unfolding as it pertained to the injury, namely in that it hadn’t become infected. Her nose had been sawed off with an unsanitary blade, left untreated, then drenched in canrassi urine and drool. It should have been red, swollen, and causing fever and chills. But while she couldn’t see the injury, she could most certainly feel it—and it felt totally normal. There was no pain, no heat, no touch of fever at all. Her body certainly wasn’t strong enough to fight it—not in its malnourished state. Something else was keeping infection at bay.

There was the folk belief back on Earth that animal saliva—particularly that of dogs—was a natural antibacterial agent. Svetlana had no idea if it was actually true, but one thing was for certain: she’d spent days with her head literally under a fountain of canrassi drool. She’d counted the slime as solely humiliation until the thought crossed her mind—only recently—that it might have been saving her life. That was, if old wives’ tales about dogs also applied to alien beasts. All she knew was that, when it came to Mishka’s tongue, she wasn’t going to change anything. The beast could drool on her to its heart’s content.

As Svetlana drifted toward the kitchen, where Yigôzien and her companion were waiting, she prepared her mind for another Kalarael conversation. “Are you ready, Ed?”

His answer came immediately. I am, master.

Rounding the corner of the kitchen, Svetlana sought out the Kalarael.

Yigôzien and her companion were clinging to a bench at the far end of the kitchen, their legs wrapped around the table legs to keep from floating off. As Svetlana made her way inside, the two Kalarael turned her way, their large eyes settling on her. Next to Svetlana, Ed’s oval eyes widened. In the second that followed, the connection was established. “Hello, Yigôzien,” Svetlana said.

Yigôzien’s whiskers twitched and her fox ears turned in Svetlana’s direction. As it had before, a wave of emotion washed over Svetlana—one of pure, unbridled appreciation. So overwhelming was the feeling that Svetlana had to catch her breath. With eyes shifting to the brightest of blues, Yigôzien addressed her. “Earthae Setana.”

Despite the connection that Ed had placed between them, Svetlana could hear the Kalarael’s language as Yigôzien spoke it. It was precise—clean, crisp, and purposeful. It was far more discernable than Bakmanese, which could be mimicked but not wholly duplicated by Human vocal cords.

Not wishing to extend the conversation any further than she needed to, Svetlana said, “I wish to return you to your homeworld.” Immediately following the statement, she thought to Ed, Are you going to be able to translate that accurately? The few “conversations” she’d had with Yigôzien had barely been conversations at all. They’d consisted more of emotion-swapping than the actual transfer of thought and intent.

Translation will improve with exposure, Ed answered.

How much exposure?

The Ithini projected uncertainty. Unknown. Many variables exist. Time must be taken to acclimate to cognitive syntax and reasoning.

Then do what you must to maintain basic communication. Just the facts, just the point.

As you wish, master. Ed’s focus returned to Yigôzien, and his eyes widened. He was relaying to Yigôzien the message intended for her.

The whole while the communication process went on, Svetlana kept her eyes on Yigôzien and her counterpart to see if there were any visible reactions that would indicate sudden understanding—that the connection was working properly. She didn’t care that she’d had successful communication with the beings before. For all she knew, one mistranslated word might spark an interstellar war.

Her gaze shifted to Yigôzien’s counterpart—the unnamed male. He was similar to her in body structure, somewhat effeminate though still identifiable as a male. Unlike her black, teal-streaked, down-feathery “hair,” the male’s mane was a rusty blend of reds, oranges, and browns. Like Yigôzien, his eyes had shifted to a bright, vibrant blue color, and his whiskers were in a constant state of twitching. What a strange mix of creatures the Kalarael were. Part fox, part peacock, part alien supermodel—or at least, that was how it felt to the woman with a hole in the center of her face. There was just such a grace to these beings—an elegance, a refinement, right down to the airy, translucent fibers of their tunics. Everything about the two aliens spoke of culture and aesthetic display. And those color-shifting eyes. They were reflective of their moods in some way, that much Svetlana had determined. Blue meant good, red meant bad. She was sure there were a million different variations within that spectrum.

At long last, realization. Yigôzien’s lush lips widened, and she dipped her head in what looked like reverence. For a second time, she spoke aloud, the language of her delicate tongue wafting through the air like the swaying of wildflowers. “Eyshlia lustae, sorie’niss.”

Svetlana could sense Ed’s presence in her mind, working out the translation. There was an almost fifteen-second delay before it came. It appears to be an expression of gratitude and wonder, Ed said.

“Explain to them that I must return them to their homeworld so that I, too, may return to mine.”

A pause indicative of a delayed translation ensued, before the teal-streaked alien answered, “Yao-zin’ja sinsi lesturisha. Ti’gen.”

Moments later, Ed translated. She insists you return with her to her homeworld.

“Tell her that I would like to see her homeworld very much, but that my species is suffering at the hands of the Bakma. I must return home as soon as possible.” What an opportunity this would be to pass up—but priorities were priorities. She had a Noboat. If she wanted to return to the Kalarael later, she always could. It was a wild thought considering the limitations of human spaceflight, but in this instance, it wasn’t untrue.

As you wish, master. Facing Yigôzien again, the Ithini’s eyes swelled with focus.

As she waited for the translation to complete, Svetlana reflected on her own mental and emotional state in light of seeing this new species of extraterrestrial. The fact of the matter was, as majestic as the Kalarael were, they were just another alien species. She had seen so many now in her lifetime. Bakmas, Ithinis, Golathochs, canrassis, necrilids, then in her vision, Khuladis, Nerifinns, Dishans, and the Annihl. There’d been a time when the discovery of other intelligent life in the galaxy—any other life in the galaxy—would have captivated the masses. Now, intelligent life was nothing new. In fact, there was yet to be an instance where the discovery of a new species had been a positive development on any level. Dreams of exotic alien trade routes, or multi-species space stations, or the sharing of wisdom and knowledge across star systems crumbled after the Bakma attacked Hong Kong. Aliens were as desirable as cockroaches—and at least cockroaches were easy to squish.

Yigôzien inhaled sharply. The color of her eyes shifted dark blue, then red. Whiskers pressing against the sides of her nose, the feathery-haired alien recoiled.

Well, that was concerning. “What is it?” Svetlana asked. “What is wrong?”

Words spewed out of Yigôzien’s mouth, her canine lips curled up in something akin to a snarl. The inflection of her words was different now—it was seething, passionate. When the brief monologue was finished, Yigôzien dipped her chin and breathed heavily, her red eyes transfixed on Svetlana like she was waiting for a response. The sheer ferocity in Yigôzien’s voice made Svetlana nervous. What in the world was all this about?

Startlement swelled in her mind with the connection. For one of the few times that Svetlana could remember, Ei`dorinthal hesitated. An unforeseen development.

“Unforeseen development?” Svetlana asked. “Explain.”

She has knowledge of the Bakma.

Svetlana blinked. “Knowledge of the Bakma? Do you mean this is not the first time her species has encountered them?”

It is not. A painful pulse emanated from the connection—it was from Ed himself. I must strengthen my connection to properly translate. I apologize. She is speaking more colorfully now than when we first connected to her. It is proving to be a challenge.

Now, Svetlana was interested. What knowledge could the Kalarael possibly have of the Bakma? She had distinctly heard it discussed among Nagogg’s crew that the Akaarist Quadrant—which was apparently what they called this part of the galaxy—was unexplored. Had the crew been wrong? Was something else amiss? She needed to know.

Pain struck her mind. At the same time, both she and Yigôzien winced. Ed was tightening his grip on their minds. Through the pain, she could sense an effort on his part to assure them both that he was in control. The open-mouthed Kalarael went yellow-eyed, shrinking back as her counterpart reached over to steady her. Through their shared mental pulse, Ed’s voice emerged. Speak to her directly…

He sounded weak. Struggling. On the verge of passing out.

Svetlana needed to act quickly. Fighting back the pain, she looked at Yigôzien. “How do you know the Bakma?”

When her words came to Yigôzien, the Kalarael’s yellow eyes widened. She looked up at Svetlana, a look of surprise washing over her—as if the clarity was unexpected. Through clenched teeth and shaking, she spoke back. “We…found…them.”

Their connection was stronger. Near-instantaneous. But it was taking its toll on Ed—the Ithini was starting to convulse. Eyes returning to Yigôzien, she asked, “Where?”

“Fifth…orbit.” Yigôzien’s shaking worsened. “Ship was…damaged. Taken.”

In Svetlana’s mind, the words reassembled. They discovered a damaged Bakma ship near the system’s fifth planet. They took it.

“Survivors…” the Kalarael said, “…captured.”

Survivors of the ship were taken into custody.

“Like…them…” Yigôzien pointed toward the kitchen doorway and into the hall. “And…another. Blackness. Violence. Form without form. Kept alive.”

When the realization struck Svetlana, she gasped through the pain. She was talking about a Khuladi. They had one.

The link between them was rippling—time was running out for Ed. Yigôzien extended her finger, shakily pointing it in Svetlana’s direction. “If they…war with you…they…will war…with us…next.”

The connection faltered as Ed’s opaque eyes rolled back. Svetlana grabbed him just in time before he could float off. To cross that language barrier, Ed had given everything but his life. It’d been enough—and now, everything made sense. Slowly, Svetlana lifted her head to regard her Kalarael counterpart. Yigôzien was already staring back at her. The fox-eared being’s eyes were bright, crimson red.

Yigôzien wasn’t just curious about Svetlana. She was trying to protect her own species. In that moment, Svetlana realized that her presence in Kalarael space went far beyond that of just being a new, visiting species. She was about to become a wartime ambassador. If they have a living Khuladi, I must see it. She’d only seen one once, and it was in a vision. To pass up the opportunity to see one in the flesh, considering the situation, would have been irresponsible. “Come,” she said, beckoning the Kalarael to the hallway. She needed to take them to the bridge, to find out which planet was their homeworld. It was the next place the Noboat would go.

Yigôzien dipped her head, then spoke to her male counterpart. After a brief exchange, they followed Svetlana, still carrying Ed, into the hall.


Though she hadn’t had the chance to ask for clarification during their shaky connection, Svetlana was acting under the assumption that the captured spacecraft Yigôzien was referencing was a Noboat, as well. Though there were a variety of ships in the Bakma—or perhaps more appropriately, the Khuladi—armada, the Noboat seemed to be the mainstay. She could count on one hand all the times she’d encountered a Coneship or a Carrier. If indeed it had been a malfunctioning Noboat that the Kalarael had discovered, what a stroke of good fortune that had been! What if it’d been a reconnaissance mission? What if a Noboat had done the very same thing in the humanity’s own solar system? What if the only difference between what happened in this star system and what’d happened back home was that here, the Khuladi had been caught? Perhaps her Bakma crew could shed some light on the situation. As she drifted through the doorway that led from the antechamber to the bridge, her Bakma companions turned their heads to regard her.

To the Kalaraels’ credit, they seemed to accept—if not warily—that the remaining Bakma on the ship were not a threat. Now that Svetlana had been exposed to Kalarael mannerisms, she could identify signs of displeasure or fear beyond just the shifting of their eye colors. Mannerisms such as pinned ears and whiskers, the slight bristling of their feathery hair. Though those things were present now, it was to a much lesser degree than she’d seen earlier.

Tauthin, Wuteel, and Kraash-nagun were clustered around one of the consoles at the far side of the room. By the look of it, Tauthin and Wuteel were indicating things to their sightless comrade, who was feeling around the console with purpose. Svetlana wasted no time as she propelled herself toward her chair with Ed in her arms. “The Kalarael have informed me,” she said in Bakmanese as the three Bakma faced her, “that her species recently captured a malfunctioning Noboat in this system.” Tauthin and Wuteel’s eyes widened. “The ship’s crew was alive and taken into custody. Can either of you explain why this would be?”

“What happened to Ei`dorinthal?” Tauthin asked, his eyes on the unconscious Ithini as he lay in Svetlana’s arms.

“He fell unconscious during a connection with the Kalarael.” Though holding him as she sat in the chair wasn’t ideal, it was better than Ed floating about the room. Once more, she directed her original question to the Bakma. “What of the Noboat in this system? What does that mean?”

“The Khuladi have never visited this quadrant,” Tauthin answered. “At least, not that we are aware. This is why Nagogg sought to come. He wished to take the Khuladi something new to curry a boon in his favor.” A low grunt emanated from deep within him. “But if the Khuladi were already here, that gesture would have been futile.”

“Why would they already be here?”

Turning from his console, Tauthin propelled himself with a gentle push toward the helm control. “It is unlikely that they were exploring for the sake of it. Everything about Khuladi culture is geared toward war.” Grabbing hold of the helm chair, he slid himself into it and manipulated the controls. The view screen zoomed out until the whole of the galaxy was visible, with dividing lines crossing paths at the galactic core.

In the back of the room, the Kalaraels’ eyes widened.

“The Khuladi divide the galaxy into four quadrants: the Unagu, the Kurriga, the Oraashka, and the Akaarist. The Khuladi exist primarily in the Unagu.” Tauthin pressed something on the control panel, causing the lower-left corner to brighten. The Earthae and Golathoch exist in the Kurriga, which is here.” Another press, and the lower-right side brightened alongside the Unagu. “What exists above the Kurriga Quadrant is the Akaarist.”

In the upper-right, Svetlana thought. The Unagu and Akaarist Quadrants only touch at the center of the galaxy.

“As you can see, the Akaarist is the least accessible of the four quadrants to the Khuladi. They must pass first through either the Kurriga or the Oraashka to reach it. Though they have visited parts of the Akaarist—possibly even more than Nagogg was aware—a vast majority of it has not been explored by them.” He touched the console again, causing the view screen to zoom in to the line near the Kurriga and Akaarist borders. A single star system pulsed bright yellow. “This is the system we are in now. While not near your star, it is nonetheless close to the border of the Kurriga. Our journey would have been much longer had Nagogg desired to venture into the heart of the Akaarist.” Swiveling in his chair, Tauthin faced Svetlana and the Kalarael, both of whom were still staring in awe at the screen. “The Khuladi have long desired to gain a foothold in the Akaarist. It is where they believe the Nemesis exists.”

“The Nemesis?” Svetlana asked.

“When the Khuladi declare war on a species, it is an event they refer to as judgment. Right now, it is you Earthae who are being judged, to determine how best you might amalgamate into the ranks of their slave army.” He scoffed. “The Nemesis are the only species to have escaped Khuladi judgment—to have defeated them in war. I wish I could tell you more of the Nemesis, but I cannot. The Khuladis’ war with them occurred long ago.”

As Tauthin spoke on, Wuteel’s breathing intensified. Glancing his way, Svetlana saw that his brow was lowered. It was the Bakma equivalent of a scowl. He didn’t like hearing this. Coward or not, Wuteel was a believer in the Khuladi divine mission to some extent. Svetlana returned her gaze to Tauthin.

“The Khuladi refer to this defeat as the Great Denial, and they have made it their quest, ordained by their god, Uladek, to seek out the Nemesis and exact revenge. They believe that the Akaarist Quadrant is where the Nemesis currently exist. They call this war to come the War of Retribution.” The Bakma’s tone lowered. “I spoke with the lord of your fortress about this in some detail.”

Svetlana raised an eyebrow. “The lord of my fortress?”

“You refer to him as Thoor.”

General Thoor. Of course. It made sense that the Terror would try to glean this information.

Tauthin continued. “Earth is a stepping stone into the Akaarist Quadrant—habitable worlds such as yours are not common in the galaxy. But there is no question that the Golathochs’ involvement in the judgment of your species has angered the Khuladi. Outside assistance taints the results of what they deem a sacred process. It would not be surprising, should the Khuladi be forced to reconsider their approach to your judgment, that they might seek out another world on which to establish an outpost.” He looked back to the view screen, eyes focusing on Kalar. “The worlds in this system would qualify.”

Everything Tauthin said gave validation to Yigôzien’s fears. “So, it is reasonable to assume that the Kalarael may be the next on the Khuladis’ list?”

“If they have already sent a scout, yes. They did much the same thing before visiting Earth.”

So she’d been right about that, too.

“It will be interesting,” Tauthin said, “to see the Khuladi reaction to their ship not returning. If the ship managed to get out a distress beacon, then the Khuladi may come for it—or abandon the ship to its fate altogether.” He angled his head. “Or more interestingly, still, they may wonder if the ship was destroyed by the Nemesis. I would imagine that would accelerate any movement into this system, for the possibility of finding the Nemesis again.”

On that part, Svetlana was a bit confused. “How did they lose track of this Nemesis?”

“Prior to the Great Denial, the Nemesis existed in the Oraashka Quadrant, though they have long since disappeared, abandoning their region of space before the Khuladi could return to avenge their loss. The Khuladi consider this the ultimate cowardice.” His lower lip curled up in a half-snarl. “They have spent ages searching for the Nemesis’ whereabouts. The War of Retribution will be unlike any this galaxy has seen.”

“This Nemesis,” she said, eyeing Tauthin almost suspiciously. “It could not be the Kalarael, could it? Could so much time have passed that they may have even forgotten it themselves?”

The Bakma’s answer was immediate. “No. They are far too inferior in technology. Imagine entire star systems lined with armadas. This is the kind of war the Khuladi wage. To even stand a chance against such formidable forces…” He shook his head. “No. The Kalarael could not be the Nemesis. They are of no significance.”

Drawing a breath, she pointed up at the view screen. “Bring up a display of the Kalar system—I will ask the Kalarael to show us their homeworld.”

“Yes, my lady.”

As Tauthin’s gnarled fingers worked the controls and the view screen shifted, Svetlana turned around in her chair to look at Yigôzien. “Kalar?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she motioned toward the display.

Yigôzien seemed to get it right away. Pushing herself gently across the bridge, the teal-streaked invoker pointed toward the third planet from the star. “Kalar.”

And that settled that. Looking back at Tauthin and then at Wuteel, Svetlana said to her two alien comrades, “Prepare to…skip.” She hesitated, lifting her brow again. “Is that right?”

“Right enough,” answered Tauthin in a way that seemed genuinely satisfied. Looking briefly at Wuteel across the bridge, Tauthin nodded to the engineer. Together, the two Bakmas began plotting their course.


As Svetlana returned to her chair, she held herself in place with one hand and raised her other to wipe back her hair. The motion was pure habit, for her strands were far too stuck down with saliva and blood to drift in her face. Just the same, it was the first gesture of anything resembling relaxation that she’d expressed in as long as she could remember. Blowing out a breath that sounded more like a sigh, she closed her eyes as her hand rested atop her head.

If this goes the way I think it will go, I may soon be setting foot on an alien world.

At any other time, in any other situation, the mere possibility of that would have boggled her mind. She may not have even been able to comprehend it. But with all she’d seen lately—with all she’d experienced—it felt like just another day at the space-faring office. She’d already been kidnapped by extraterrestrials and led a mini-rebellion. She might as well add, “interstellar pioneer,” to that list.

Five minutes later, Tauthin announced to Svetlana that their course had been plotted. They were ready to begin skipping across the star system at her word.

She gave it without pause.


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