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[Baroka] First Contact

Moogle

Moogle

Retired Member
Code: 
Note: Barokan day is 33hours, Barokan year is 411 days. 6months=205



A small flash of light signaled the arrival of the small prospector vessel. Its rough and industrious hull pitted from micro impacts and general use. It sat in place for a day observing the planets passively, and then quietly took off for its journey through the solar system.


Code: 
Observation Log - 27~40~Y
Most strange thing came into sight! Standard observations of orbiting bodies interrupted by . . . crossing object? Might have been a fluke, but requires further study. Recording was catalogued, will study further.

Code: 
Observation Log - 61~40~Y
Upon further study, object had a trail behind it. Not like a comet. Comets have long trails. This had multiple, short trails of brightness. Could be heat exhaust, if somebody got a vehicle up there. Note: ask on telecomm about potential skyward research.

Code: 
Observation Log - 113~40~Y
Returned from Three Brothers personally. Initial report was turned down as a fluke. No such endeavors. Waste of time, she says. Saw it again recently, this time it came closer. Not that much, though. Clear heat patterns in emission, flare, etc. Object was metal and flying.

Code: 
Observation Log - 180~40~Y
Certainty is 100%. No doubt. This is a VEHICLE. Sent extended report to Proclaimant, but no response has come. The usual check-in from Behemoth did not come. The worries are about the beasts tampering with the cables again. Note: Send a search party with repair equipment and armor. Keep wildlife-wrought casualty to a minimum.


"Looks like we've found a good one, skipper." The chel manning the sensor console reported from his seat, the captain leaning over her shoulder.

"A couple of habitable planets with good traces on copper. Even a gas giant with quite a collection of moons. "

"Only three? What about the fourth?" The captain asked.

The sensorchel shook her head. "Not feasible, even the works on Xiphan would pale in investment needed to take advantage it."

She leaned closer to her array slightly. "That's odd, looks like one of these was is a post-paradise class. Frozen now, no radio waves or signs of life. Gravity is slightly heavy, but it should have large deposits of fossil fuels from the wildlife that died out."

"Poor buggers." The captain said before turning away to stand looking important on the bridge, "Welp, at least that means we won't have to deal with any natives. Chart it, leave a surveyor, and then move on to the next system, we'll report it on our return to port."

There was a small flash as a torpedo-like object was launched from the ship, it powered away into high orbit around the planet. With that, the ship quietly slipped away without fanfare, thinking it had been witnessed by none but the stars.

Slowly the "torpedo" opened up on one side and three smooth objects silent flew out and headed towards the planet.


"Everybody ready?"

The Marokan in the driver's seat peered back to see his suited-up subordinates. The question was unnecessary. Once they got in that van, they were always ready. Especially out there. It still felt natural to ask, anyways. With a sigh to counter the silence, the horned creature started the vehicle, setting out on the repair journey.

~~Some time later~~

Following the line was a tedious task, but it was simple in nature. Every 100 yards or so, the van had to stop, connect up with an onboard computer, send a message back to the Observation computer, and see if there was a connection. If there was, then that area was fine. If there was no connection, then somewhere in that last 100 yards there was a break. This time was fairly ordinary. Some ways out, the disconnect was made. Simple enough. The party exited the vehicle, the Astronomer included, armed with their toolkits and mining lasers (the best deterrent for those beasts was, of course, the most powerful thing to cut through rock to date). What they weren't expecting was what caused the break. The group came upon. . . a thing.

It first announced its presence when one of the crew was sprinkled with a lump of half-frozen soil falling on him. Looking up there was nothing. But then another clump of soil was violently expelled up from a distance and landed amongst them.

"Careful!" The Astronomer, Tera'be commanded the others, using his telepathy rather than his mouth. After all, their maws were effectively muzzled in protective gear, so the next most efficient method was their mental connections. The team, clothed in more leather than the average civilian as a protective measure, spread out slightly, forming a line to approach the mound with. If it was some beastly trick, they would be ready.

Walking towards the source of the eruptions, they came upon what looked like a mound of snow with a tube sticking out of it, as they watched, yet another clump of the soil was fired out of the tube with a small pop of compressed air and carried away by the winds.

A psychic message began to relay among the group. Mostly it was confusion, because the only things they’ve known to tunnel were molebeasts and themselves.

"Well, don't just stand there! Melt the snow!" Tera'be hissed at his subordinates, gesturing with an axe for the team to begin. The others shrugged at his words, firing pulses into the snow in order to carefully excavate whatever it was that was drilling into the soil.

As soon as they fired, a light turned on from within the snow mound, dulled by the covering over it. It swung around towards them, shaking over its covering as it did so revealing the light source on the tip of a long limb.

A simultaneous gasp came from the group, alarmed at the. . . thing. Before Tera could even give an order, the lasers lanced out into the metal creature (they had hardly dealt with sentient machines before).

"No, no you fools! It's not a snowbeast!" the superior cried, only to be answered by, "Better it than us!"

Quickly the thing under the mound of snow shifted, as though trying to escape, but as the hot cutting beams sliced into it, something glowed, and then there was a violent explosion of air and the occasional little piece of metal. Snow was thrown everywhere in a miniature blizzard.

As the mist cleared all that was left were the quickly cooling remains of an unknown creature thrown over two meters away from where it had stood, shattered into bits and pieces.

Tera'be, thankfully, was not close enough to get knocked back, but two others out of the party were. Shards were actually embedded in the leather of those two, but none pierced the bodies - a fact they were thankful for. If the Astronomer could leer at them, he would. But, they all were wearing goggles, so he ran over to the various pieces of scrap, gathering them up.

The horned one commanded, "You two, on your feet and repair the wire. And as for the others, you can help me collect the pieces. Something different is around here, and I'm going to figure this out, damn the Proclaimant."

There were plans to be made. Yes, many plans.

The two on hole fixing duty exchanged their own personal ridicule of their funny, short-tempered leader as they observed the hole the device had made. It was an inconvenience, but something like that could be filled with packed snow.
 
~~~Several days later~~~

Code: 
Observation log 207~40~Y
The Proclaimant will eat her tongue for dessert. Recovered pieces were mostly damaged, but there was a unique module in it. Upon further inspection, could be used as a sort of broadcast mechanism. Begun sending a numeric sequence pulse after it was repaired enough. Foreigners might not speak our tongue, so number sequence is best choice.



Meanwhile, in high orbit.

Motherbird fired another shot of its thrusters to avoid another piece of debris on a possible intercept a few thousand kilometers away. It quietly suspected a destroyed moon in the past within its warmly glowing circuits. It had lost contact with one of its explorers, but that was not totally unexpected on a new planet. It would reroute one of its two surviving explorators to the last known location of the dead one. It could be a simple machine failure. It had found no trace of life beyond some dumb creatures easily frightened with bright light.

The prospecting and discovery would go on.


Code: 
Observation log 216~40~Y
Signal picked up, reacted. Pulse pattern switched to receiving. Incompatible data on computer, but comes in pulses speeding up at a rate of 1/2 per 100 cycles. Suspect approaching target. Rigged a small device that may track this signal. Worried it might also be sending a signal back, one that isn't understandable. Hope for the best.

Tera'be pulled back from his keyboard, grunting a sigh. This was dangerous stuff. If the intruders were hostile, they would have attacked long ago, or maybe not. He began mumbling philosophy and analysis to himself.

"Too many variables, not enough constants. Wildbeasts form pack society, but they don't have technology. Therefore, by this logic, the makers of this technology is less likely to be inherently hostile. But why would it be disrupting our communications line specifically? Have they bee- well, they have been present for a while. But if they were powerful, why not attack? Therefore, they are not hostile and it would be prudent to establish contact WITHOUT those buffoons aiding me. Well, maybe one - no, even one is too difficult to dissuade from shooting. I will go on foot."

The Marokan habit of talking to oneself, while a little odd to other creatures, was advantageous for them in that they had complete dialogues with themselves. Given that their counterparts were less inclined to such lofty ideals, this saved them much hardship when it came to socialization. Tera'Be was no different, and once he had reached his conclusions, he donned his furs, grabbed his equipment, and set out. Just in case, this time, he took a laser for himself. The wilds were dangerous, after all.


The explorator checked its tethers visually once again as the roaring wind ripped at it. Its humble shelter in the crag of a cliff wasn't perfect, and the poor prospector had to almost totally deflate its gas bag to help weigh itself down. The bag could be refilled from molecules pulled from the air, but it would cost precious time. Meanwhile it sat and waited for the storm to subside.

The amount of ice particles flying around caked onto its hull, it would have to expend power heating its surfaces once this was over to make it light enough to hover once again. The solid water flying in the air also played havoc with its radio signals, barely was it in contact with the mothership while it had been overhead, but by now the motherships high orbit would have carried it over another continent. It would make contact again during the next pass.

Sulkily it turned off its lights and camera and listened intently in case anything did carry through.


The vehicle trudged along in the freezing weather, cutting through the snow like it was made for the job. Incidentally, it WAS made for that particular job. Tera'be was alone, with naught but himself, a pulsing screen, and a metal box that withstood the elements like a brick.

"Recorder. . . recorder. . . ah!" He exclaimed, pressing a button among a wide array in front of him. An added benefit of these things was that they were primarily made for observations, so recorders were built in. "Testing. . . testing, ah. Levels are good. Active observation on day 216 of year 40, cycle Y. The pulse is getting faster, but slower at times. I have to correct course every now and again to get back on track, but the pulse is getting exponentially faster now that I am seeking it, rather than the other way around. Going by this metric, it should not be much longer than an hour before I reach my destination, whatever that may be."

He paused for a moment, then added, "And then I get to prove the Proclaimant wrong."


The prospector floated along in a stately manner over the uneven terrain. The extreme distances involved would wear ground transport, so for long distances it used its gas bag to float up to 100 feet from the ground and push itself in the direction it needed to go with two small propellers, saving effort. It scanned its surroundings lazily as it floated around. It hadn't seen any flying creatures, and nothing seemed capable of even throwing a spear up at it on this planet so mostly it had simply been scanning for anything interesting in the largely barren landscape.

It seemed most life really had gone, and the wild species that remained were the rugged survivors struggling to hang on as the planet got colder and colder through millenia. That's when it noticed something interesting on the horizon. Snow was. . . moving, almost tunneled but not quite.

It hated this bit. The snow made size reference almost impossible, and laser rangefinders just bounced right off. Instead its vision split into two overlapping images of the moving snow, it adjusted so the base of the snow start just above top of the other one. Its findings:

It was pretty far away.

The wonders of modern technology. Its creators had never quite dealt well with snow, prefering to stay in the more tropical regions of their planet. Having been told by the motherdrone to take greater risks in its search of its missing brethern, it turned towards the tunnelling slow. It's stately float turning into a slightly ungainly push.

It could be the missing explorator, possibly with its gas bag ruptured and using ground transport. The drone sent a hailing radio signal to the object ahead.


The vehicle stopped, but the pulse was practically constant at this point. And still rising, it seemed. Tera'be took a moment to record these findings when a random burst signal interrupted the pulse, coming out as garbled communication.

"What. . . It's a thing!" he exclaimed, observing the device. He knew he was close, so the next course of action was to search out whatever this was on foot. Only, he would have to be careful. Since the storm was over, those creatures were also likely to be around. Donning his gear, with a bulky laser in one hand and the device in the other, he popped open the back of the van, then climbed up a ladder that was just outside onto the roof of the vehicle. What awaited his eyes was a bit larger than a dot. But it was a thing. And it was flying.

Flying! He shouted with telepathy (accidentally), deciding to go for a different approach. If this thing weren't hostile, then there would likely be a language barrier before they could understand eachother. He opted for a simple approach - firing the laser into the snowbank that the van had not yet disturbed, marring a near perfect surface. He fired once, turned, fired two times right next to one another, then one last time for a row of three. So, logically, if this alien followed a numeric system like their own, they would see the one, the two, and the three and realize similarities in math.

Or so he hoped.

Whatever it was wasn't moving particularly fast. But soon he saw a smaller dot appear and head towards him much faster. It skimmed along the ground towards him, slowly he could make it out as a disk-like shape hovering above the snow. With great agility came up to him and then vaulted up about twenty meters above him, hovering there for a moment before slowly descending.

As it slowed and descended Tera'be could start making out more details. Something was spinning inside its circular form and what seemed to some sort of eye peered at him neutrally. The little device seemed skittish, occasionally zipping a few feet to the side before stopping and peering closer again.

The Marokan's eyes followed it, royal blue meeting the technology's pace. He aimed directly upwards with the gun, making sure there was nothing above first, then fired once, just to see what would happen. Perhaps it would recognize that he had suitably advanced technology. Perhaps not. In any case, the creature, covered in leathery armour, furs, and a face-mask with a hood, certainly looked odd.


The explorator stared at the creature through the view of its scout disc, the scout wasn't entirely thrilled to be hovering so close to a weapon wielding native, but the explorator overrode its complaints easily. It watched as the again fired the laser-based device.

Tool use. Trigger mechanism. Laser technology. Large size meaning either power, or technological limitation.

The explorator did a machine equivalent of blinking, and churned its processors. This could be a territorial display, but the creature hadn't appeared to aim at the scout at all. Why did Motherdrone have to be under the horizon at this time? The remote assistance would have been invaluable.

Quietly it powered up its engines again and sluggishly powered towards the vehicle. The weak radio signal it could detect was coming from somewhere on the native. It was the only natively originating radio signal known on the planet. Not even the third active explorator signal was reaching here.



Marokan and machine stared at each other for a moment.

Tera'be watched the disk, setting the laser down on the roof of the van while holding his transceiver out for the world to see.

Now we will see what happens. . . He mused, squatting down before taking a sort of cross-legged seat on the roof.

The little disk peered closer at what was in his hand, bits moved in circular motions behind its transparent covering it seemed to see through. It hovered for a moment, and then gently nudged Tera'be's hand. It was interested in the transceiver.

It nudged again, a little more strongly a few times before slowly hovering around Tera'be in a circle.

The Marokan placed the device on the roof, pushing it forward so the drone could inspect it. His hand retreated back, pushing itself into the folds of his clothing.

It recognized the signal. . .

The disk hovered as close as it could, peering at the jury-rigged receiver.

Inside its head, it recognized parts from the radio equipment of an explorator probe. So, the missing probe had been destroyed after all. And, presumably, the thing that had destroyed it was standing right there.

Explorator probes weren't designed for this.

The sensor disk zipped away over the snow, its previously repressed flight instinct allowed to take hold as it darted back to its holding recess. The explorator itself sluggishly began an about-turn and ponder away.

"Is that it?"

Tera'be sighed, watching the drone buzz off. He mused the possibilities. "Could it be like a messenger for that bigger one? Or maybe it needs to connect to the bigger one to share its findings! The options are endless!"

The Marokan continued to sit there, awaiting further action from these. . . things.

And then got a brilliant idea. Leaving the gun on the roof, he swung around into the back of the vehicle, activating a lens-based monitor, that swiveled a tiny dome on the front of the vehicle. It clicked several times, taking pictures of the devices in the distance.

"Not the best photos, but it will do."

Finally, the big machine disappeared over a snowbank out of sight.


Code: 
Observation log 209~40~Y
Prepared pictures. Attempting to make contact with Proclaimant. Again.

The phone line buzzed. Twice. Three times. Fo-

"For the hundredth time, I don't care about your meteors, we have a bit of a problem with the beasts right now-" The voice on the line babbled, only to be cut off by the caller.

"Suqe'ro, listen to me! They came! Or machines came! Flying machines! Because-" The Astronomer excitedly proclaimed to the Proclaimant, but then was interrupted himself.

"I'm sure they did. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go maintain communications with important people!"

"Don't you dare hang up! I sent you a package, and I'm going to keep calling until you listen to me and open it!"

An agitated sigh, then a crinkling noise.

"What is. . . what am I looking at? You sent me a phone? Where's the hardline connector?"

"Just pick it up."

And in that moment, the first wireless transmission between Barokans occurred.
 
Motherbird woke up in orbit. Woke up wasn't quite the word, but it certainly became more active. It's equipment listened intently to the weak signal.

Radio signals.

Not one it recognized.

Where there had been none before.

This was bad.


"How is this possible?" One Proclaimant asked into the mouthpiece of the phone, connected by cord to that strange little box.

"About as possible as a mining laser," the Astronomer responded. "It manipulates these waves and converts sound into a more mobile wavelength, then back out. Like our landlines do, but instead of energy, it's a wave."

"And your 'aliens' brought you this?"

"Not bring, per se. My dregs just happened to shoot first and ask questions later."

Silence came from the other end of the line.

"I was right, you know. There was something in the sky, and that was these things! They FLEW! Even more than that, they. . . ah, words do not exist for the motion! They sailed around as easily as we travel on foot!"

"There's a bare handful of things that can fly, and you mean to tell me that these-"

"If they came from the stars, sailing through the air is probably the least of what they can do!"

"And they didn't seek retribution?"

"Not like Exiles, no."

"Curious indeed. As much as I am loathe to admit - and I really do mean that. The loathing part, you were right. We're going to need every report you've-"

"Already sent. Besides that, all the technology we recovered went into the salvage of the dev-"

Tera'be was cut off by a series of shrill squeals and hissing coming from the ear piece. Loud enough to to make him recoil. The noise lasted only a few seconds and then stopped. A small silence followed and then a series of clicks came.

Finally, as he put his ear back to the phone, there was a faint, scratchy replay of the Proclaimants voice. "Aliens."

The higher pitches themselves weren't much of a problem. The volume, however, was, and both Tera'be and Suqe'ro shuddered in pain. Neither was used to working in loud situations, so the noise was off the norm.

"What in the name of the Sky Mother was that?!" The elder of the two demanded, his stargazing counterpart replying, "It wasn't me, and it wasn't you. It's obviously them."

"I swear, if you're playing a trick-"

"Have some insight, for Mother's Sake! Now then,, how do we. . . make return cont-"

"Amplify the strength of the signal, fool!"

"Name-calling doesn't help either case!"

The scratchy signal returned with a sharp squeal and then three long tones played, then two higher tones, then one lower tone. It was clear the signal was getting weaker as the call progressed.

"Patterns. There are patterns," the Astronomer remarked.

"That doesn't help us if we don't figure out their significance!"

"It gives us something. And it appears to be petering out. Pass it on to the Disciple!"

Two weeks later

"Effectively meaningless!"

These were the words of the Disciple, the Sky Mother's chosen one to lead, to the Astronomer.

"Effectively?" Tera'be asked, confused as to the use of the word.

The Disciple ran about the room, far more actively than any Baroka has any right to be. His energy, boundless. His ingenuity, unparalleled. he was just a little hyperactive for most folk's tastes. His guards would remark that they reminded him of a spinning top that got let loose on a poor, unsuspecting creature.

"Well, they may have found our transmissions. But not understand. So then they have options. Send a new message, one that may be either codeable or uncodeable. Codeable message would rely on some common experience. Uncodeable would rely on more realization. This isn't a codeable message. We share nothing in common, other than technology-"

"Please, slow down! My senses can only take in so much information at once!" The Astronomer pleaded.

"No common language, but common technology! Either they send a message of a common language, or they send a demonstration! Oh, how I LOVE new things! So exciting! They sent a demonstration! They're smart enough to do that first instead of doing the same wretched thing over-and-over-and-over-and-"

"I get the meaning, Holy One."

The Disciple's running about ceased, his ferrying of papyrus scrolls and bits of scrap metal ceasing, to turn about and face the Astronomer directly for the first time since he entered the room. His neck hunched forward, eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened to ask one thing.

"Are we still broadcasting?"

"The recording is reset once an hour, on the hour, monitored every moment by one of the Keepers. No responses have been heard, so far."

"Well, there's not much we can do until then! Keep monitoring! And watch the skies, too!"

"If it is the Mother's Will."


Motherbird’s processors steamed in space as the large satellite tried to think of a course of action. Since it had reappeared on that side of the planet from its polar orbit the inhabitants had been playing a barrage of noise over radio, repeating it constantly. Flooding the airwaves with the sound of chanting.

It had gathered all its recordings of the alien language from the earlier conversation, and now the hymm being sung unto space, and it realized its functionality did not extend well into xeno lingusitics. It steamed through, gathering up what few words it could decipher as it processed its next move.

It quietly reconnected with its remaining two explorators and put them on a course to the origin of the signal. Glare from the snow made it impossible to see anything clearly, and with the temperatures its drones were recording on the surface it would not be unexpected if the inhabitants lived primarily underground.

It checked in with its two remaining explorators.


"We've got something!" a Keeper with nubby horns called, gesturing over the Astronomer with blue-splotched hands. "It's noise, but it seems to have a few patterns."

"Can you measure distance?" Tera'be asked, moving over to the station of computers, wires, and other miscellaneous parts.

"No, but the strength is getting stronger - like in your report."

"Well, I've got to go tell the Disciple about this. Keep monitoring, and send a message if there's any significant changes."

Suddenly the earphones over Nubby Horns ears flew apart from each other and off his head at the level noise from the signal strength as something much closer replied, causing the young Keeper to scream in pain and clasp his ears.

Even with them on the floor you could hear the harsh scratchy noises of some intelligible language, it sounded very close to nails on a blackboard. The Keeper flung the headphones across the table, the overall noise alerting the not-quite-yet gone Astronomer.

"What the hell was that?"

"I. . . It just got LOUD! And painful!"

"Was it a reply?"

"We didn't do anything different!"

"Keep broadcasting. NOW I'm going to go alert the Disciple!"

Not-so-quietly the earphones vibrated across the table and over the edge.


"Yup, there's your problem." The technician announced from beneath the table. "Let me guess, you plugged in an amplifier unit from the hardlines and used it here?"

A fist-sized glass bulb rolled from under the table, followed by two more, they clinked against each other with the sound of hugely delicate items on the verge of being broken to pieces.

"Vacuum tube amplifiers are meant to pick up signals from half a continent away along a wire. That little box you've got is picking up a signal much better than anything we have on the networks."

A friendly face peeked out from under the table, examining one of the bulbs thoughtfully in a hand. "That should stop any bleeding ears..."


Three days later, a junior Keeper sat at the horn-like device, snoozing gently, the pervasive quiet of the machine causing the excitement of possibly listening to alien contact to fade away.

Quietly, the scratching noise from before built up in the horn, the noise in the otherwise quiet room caused the assistants eyes to flicker open and he turned to look at the new fangled device. He just had time to note the time when suddenly the horn screamed at him in the scratchy tone, pushing itself over backward and vibrating violently for less than a second before a series of small cracks and popping underneath the table announced the vacuum tubes breaking into pieces.

The assitant was nearly oblivious to all this, having fallen back onto the floor on the verge of a heart attack.


With a palpably disappointed and somber twinkling noise the broken pieces of highly delicate and expensive equipment were being swept up after the catastrophic failure of the machine. By this point half of the junior staff were convinced that it was designed to kill assistants, and the other half hadn't seen the near tramuatized Keeper being carried away to recover.


Two days later, a new machine was fixed up and ready to go, covered by solid stone plates that were secured and measured by Architects for structural integrity in event of internal explosion. They had hoped that it would not explode like the last one.

They hoped.

Just in case, they'd also bolted it to the desk. And the desk to the floor. The junior staff had advocated making the building doubly, even triply earthquake resistant, but were quickly beaten into submission.
 
Motherbird did the machine equivalent of snoozing in orbit. It was on the night side now, having had to adjust its polar orbit to continue crossing over the zone where the alien transmissions were occurring more often and to check up on its approaching explorators. The poor machines were starting to get worn out in the harsh conditions, and it was becoming obvious they would need to be serviced once the recovery was complete.

Oh, and the one that had been destroyed. That was something Motherbird was still disgruntled about. Primitives. Destroying something without understanding it..

Suddenly a signal reached it. Not from the planet, but from space.

The mining fleet had arrived at the edge of the system and was steaming towards the inner planets, refueling on the way at a nearby gas giant. Motherbird knew that FTL travel released a lot of energy, but its sensors were designed for planetary exploration, not travel watching.

After the customary handshake with Papa Wyrm's own computers, this took over ten hours with the speed of their comunications though the void, Motherbird inquired into the unscheduled arrival. Papa Wyrm told it the previous site hadn't been as rich as anticipated, and the barge column was piling up behind the mining rig ready to shuttle its goods back down the pipeline to the home world.

The operation would have to be set up quickly.

Motherbird went from lazily snoozing to powering bolt upright. It hadn't done more than cursory coring for anything more than a few specific parts of the planet, and had nearly abandoned it all together when the prospect of sentient native life emerged. But it couldn't prove there was civilization, it could only suspect.

It couldn't report native life without confirmation, it was against its programming to speculate, only report facts. Too many expeditions had returned bankrupted because explorator probes had been overconfident. Now when it went wrong pointing the finger at a machine wouldn't cut it because of such safeguards.

One life form with a laser wasn't enough to confirm a planetary claim, and it knew the source of transmission from the planet was from one of its own dysfunctional explorators. Oh it whirred a cooling fan at its hard-coded restraints.

It still had a week to report for sure if there was a native civilization on the planet, it would take that long for the mining group to reach the interior.

It quietly turned its transmitter and radioed for its explorators to hurry. Greater risks were allowed.


A half-awake Keeper sat in his chair, treading that line between waking and sleeping. The lights on the machine flickered in their various patterns, tracing their usual routes. The headphones perched on the young assistant's ear-holes as he yawned, reaching for a sheet of dried Yalla to munch on.

The noise changed. It was different than the previous recordings the Keeper had studied before he came in to relieve the last one.

It took the Marokan a few minutes before he realized this difference. A frantic claw scrambled for the intercom, knocking his little plate of munchies to the side as he pressed the button.

"Disciple!" He cried, "We've got a CHANGE!"


"Amplification effects!" the wild-horned Marokan declared, gesturing to a dishlike device on the roof. "Based on echoes of caves! I love it, it's so new! Why didn't we make one of these before? It could speed up communications so very very very-"

"The technology wasn't there." Tera'be replied, nervously observing the dish.

"Right you are! And here we are! Oh, this is exciting! We might be able to broadcast back with it too~! But for now, let's focus on listening! Our machines can only take so much!"

"As the Mother wishes."


The observant Keeper scribbled in his diary, glancing at the new wire running through the ceiling.

Code: 
Observations - Second Night
scratching has now turned to various squeakings and squawkings but nothing is what we recognize yet i think this might be the real deal too but it is definitely some form of language the disciple has me recording it but can’t translate without a codex of some kind


Meanwhile, far across the solar system, approached a dire fate for any planet deemed worthwhile for its attentions. The mining rig was never made for looks. Imagine if you took a nuclear submarine, and strapped dozens of those giant bucket drills that look like cranes to the bottom it would resemble that. On its sides were blisters of ancillery equipment, sensors and support vessels. On the nose was a support beam, holding a giant armored shield plate, heavily pitted from micro impacts that the ships magnetic field hadn't been able to divert.

Already a selected victim was being dragged towards the hungry maw of those perverted diggers from the systems own selection of comets. Another support ship was cruising its way towards the gas giant to skim some hydrogen fuel and other gasses for the flotilla to use.

Onboard the vessel the corridors were cramped, windowless and usually half-lit at best when the engineers had time to stop fixing the important things that never seemed to stay fixed and got some time to renovate the interior. The command deck was one of the few places left dim by design rather than neglect, with just the right amount of light level to make the job of staring at screen monitoring things and waiting for something to go wrong more bearable.

Several of the crew were doing this right now, a few monitored vital ship systems, while the rest either plotted a course for the ship, or were cataloguing all the data being sent from their explorator probes and their drones.

On a raised platform behind the dully busy work that took place here were two chelti staring at a large holodisplay in the center of the platform. On it was the local star, unnamed to cheltikind, but known to the locals as Tiig'Riiba.

Around it lazily floated Lorakaa and Torakaa, too close to be entirely comfortable, next was Barokaa only recently falling off the edge of a more temperate zone in its orbit, and lastly came Sorakaa herding its gaggle of little moons and stray planetoids.

The two chelti stared in thoughtful silence as they watched the spheres tumble and turn around the star. By his dirtied orange void uniform and the stripes on his arm, one was the Captain of the ship. The other wore more earthly tough trousers and a light shirt, recently sweated from manual work on the heavy equipment needed for a planetary landing, his only sign of rank was the traditional whipping cord he wore tied around the ridges of his forehead, signifying his rank as the mining Foreman.

"Planet Three's probe has been unusually unhelpful this time." The captain said, examining some information as it popped up in front of him in the display. "Very limited samples taken from only a few areas, but so far it looks remarkably similar to Planet Two."

"Could be some interesting planetary formulation there." commented the Foreman, hand on his chin, one claw tapping a patient rhythm on his cheek. "Still, we'll start on Three. It's closer and has a more breathable atmosphere."

The captain smiled. "Not going to a tropical holiday on Two?" he jested.

"Not unless you like breathing radon. I'm radioactive enough just from the microwave." replied the Foreman, taking it on the chin. "Three's a snowball, but at least it seems to have better oxygen content than Two."

"That's it then, we'll put the Land Carrier on Three first. Try not to lose a claw or anything down there from cold."

The Foreman grumped good naturedly and turned, "I'll apologies to the tree we'll be collecting your fresh oxygen from for you."


The noise on the scanner had been getting louder in volume each day. Meanwhile, several days into the steadily rising volume, the Astronomy noticed several shapes partially blocking out sun rays some distance away. Sure, they weren't enough to affect light on their beloved world, but they were coming closer, and FAST. Which, now, is why he spoke to the Disciple again. Suqe'ro was also in attendance, but she looked quite sullen about the whole ordeal.

"It's unprecedented. Larger than any asteroid that's ever come. And, it's appearance and approach coincides with the new readings from the dish." Tera'be explained to the duo, pointing out some photographs. "I expect it will be here very soon. Whatever they are, they've sent a big one."

"Then move the transmission! There isn't anywhere for them to land in this mountain range!" the Proclaimant spat, glaring at the youngest of the trio. "Maybe even to your little outpost! Last I recall, you lived in a hill!"

"Ah yes, excellent idea! We shall move the transmission to your settlement! We'll send a few of the Keepers with our guards as well, seeing as you've got a smaller crowd there! I'll go too! It'll be a momentous occasion!" The Disciple cheered, Tera'be attempting to cut in.

"What about the risks? If they are as violent as the wild-"

"If they were violent, they would not have formed civilization! Our own example has taught me such, as are the examples of the other creatures of this world!"


One week passes.

And an object that looks like a giant crate with four huge jet engines strapped to the corners descended through the atmosphere, fire licking at the underside as it started to gain more speed the thrusters suddenly ignited, controlling its descent remarkably well for their inelegant look.

Two much smaller shapes followed it down. These two looked almost like conventional aero planes, but attached to their fuselages were large scaffold-like assemblies with an array of additional engines and folded wings. On the undercarriage each was a giant ceramic shell slowly scorching black in the heat.

As the three objects began to bleed off speed, the ceramic shells on the two aircraft fell away and plummeted to the ground, the fires on them slowly spluttering out as they cooled. The two aircraft pointed their noses to the ground and began diving, the struts detached from the fuselages and began spreading their own set of giant wings, pulling away to glide in high atmosphere.

The two aircraft slowly pulled out of the dive and spiraled around the descending crate, almost dwarfed by it. The parade slowed as they all neared the ground, the craters left by the two discarded shells left far behind. The crate's engines flared briefly just above the ground and then the crate settled with only a mildly large thunk into the by now half melted snow, a trail of which extended behind it for about half a kilometer.

The two aircraft skimmed and slowed, before finally gracefully settling into the snow, and sinking into it up to their bellies. As the glowing crate quietly sizzled in steam from the melted snow around it, the rear of the aircraft hinged down and the rear doors opened to form a loading ramp out the back of the aircraft.

Three figures in heavy white snowsuits stepped down to the end of the ramp and stared at the thick snow for a moment.

"So, who wants to take the first step?"



After a few hours of hard labour and the obligatory flag raising in the frigid condition some basic shelter had been set up and the crate was ready for lift off again. The two drop ships had since disappeared, mating back with their partners still circling at high altitude and boosting out of orbit. They had been replaced by two even larger examples of their kin who landed on now pressed snow.

The crews huddled behind them for shelter as the massive engines on the crate sputtered, then roared to life, it sulked on the ground for a few moments, then slowly heaved itself up and finally smoothly pulled away, and rocketing back up.

As the crews left below dusted powdered snow and slush off themselves they were given the sight of a giant set of tracked suspension, the tracks triangular in shape and connected by drive shafts and suspension bars the height of a man.

Over the next few hours parts and equipment were flown in and assembled on the ground, before long the modular parts of the massive vehicle were being assembled with a mixture of large hammers, and precise placement.

Soon the superstructure was done, and all that was left was some internal fitting work for crew quarters around the drilling and power plant sections. The construction crew danced upon the top deck of the newly built Industrial Platform enthusiastically until a cool wind blew across the high, exposed deck and drove them all hurriedly inside as super-cooled air stuck to them vengefully.

The platform itself had first been designated Piper Niner, after its first assignment running the vast transport pipes across the storm-wracked equator of the home world. The paint had survived the worst of the sand and snow storms beyond the sunward side of Seloca, and so too had the name stuck across the vehicles epic voyages throughout the stars. It had seen a multitude of planets and environs, and now it was here.

It was ugly, its large tracks could flatten whole forests and climb mountains. Inside it sat a large drilling platform with its own fusion reactor, bought from a navy surplus yard, as well as over one hundred standing crew ready to service and operate it at all times. On a tower over the side of the platform, known as the Island, sat the command deck and the technical operators for it. To the rear was a vehicle bay designed to store its array for scout vehicles and ground support. The flat top deck doubled as a landing platform with an elevator to shelter aircraft that would become longer term residents.

Its top speed was about five kilometers per hour, but no maniac was crazy enough to drive it that fast. With a squeal and a growl the reactor ignited and began powering the rest of the large vehicle and the tracks turned over.

The drop ships that had rotated around to get it mobile took off back to their roost in space, while one landed on the deck of the behemoth and was swallowed inside to protect it from the elements. Even now engineers hurried about completing final tasks as Piper Niner got underway.

Its destination: A copper deposit specified by the prospector drone in orbit. A small one, where one of the explorators had gone offline.
 
"The signal's changed," Tera'be pointed out to nobody in particular. Some time had passed since they left to the settlement, and at the moment the Disciple was busy stargazing. "It was one type of noise, and now another. And it's started moving again. . .


The command deck was quieter than usual, third quarter was like that. Minimal crew meant not all stations stayed active all the time, so only a few personnel were operating in the room right now.

One of those unfortunates was boredly cataloguing all points-of-interest collected by the explorators in the system and collaged by their mother ships. If you could call them ships, the self-directive capabilities of the minute explorator probes were shoddy at best and dick-punchingly moronic at worst.

He flicked through the images on his array of displays in front of him. It was easy to see what the explorators considered interesting by the contents of the albums.

Rock. Flick. Rock. Flick. Rock. Flick. Vehicle. Flip. Roc-wait.

He flicked back and looked at the vehicle in mild amazement. It was squat, and seemed to crawl through the thick snow with ease. Next photo. A figure standing on top of the vehicle. Next. Some sort of explosion. By this point the operator was leaning closer and closer towards his screen in amazement.

It was...an alien.

The operators bum finally ran out of seat and his face smacked onto the metal desk as he fell with a loud thunk.


"Oh? You figured a new way of analyzing signals?"

"Not really. I think I just increased the quality. I had to scrap one of the drills to get the metals necessary for this, but now I'm getting more. . . ah, the word. . . it's clarity. It's more clear. When the signal got different, it wasn't because it changed - it was just the location. It was a change in quality. It's. . . the difference between shouting at somebody from on top of a building to shouting at somebody from across a snowdrift."

Tera'be explained his thoughts to the Disciple in the observatory.

"You mean to tell me they've landed?"

"It's a theory. It's in the general direction of where we made first contact. And that's not all. The signal we have been receiving from out there is still present. So we have two sets of signals."

"Excellent! We shall mount a search party imme-"

"It is in my belief that we need to send a message to the Proclaimant first."

"Of course! That is a given!"


"This..."

A light suddenly appeared in the middle of the room showing a close up view of a large...round creature appeared.

"-is our specimen."

The speaker paused in what it obviously hoped would be an impressed silence.

"You make it sound like we're going to dissect him." Came a voice in the dark room.

"Why? Does alien taste good?"

"Of course n-uh, well maybe, but..."

"SHUT UP!"

There was deep breath and the atmosphere of someone trying to rub the bridge of their nose and wincing as they ran against the bandage covering a rather furious bruise.

"What does our xenobiologist have to speculate about this image?" Asked the original speaker more of out hope than expectation.

"Uh, well, actually I'm a microxenobiologist. You know, like the little single cell-ed things that live in rock-"

"Alright!" There was an angry sigh. "Any others."

Someone stood up. "Our sensors have been detecting unusual eletro-magnetic activity from the planet, at first we assumed it was simply part of the planets own magnetic spectrum, particles of radon gas and such, since this came out we've reevaluated it all and discovered this."

There was a click, and garbled audio of what sounded like a chorus, particularly one with a more hard-consonant based language, began pouring from the speakers. It sounded more like hymns than entertainment singing.

And then there was silence. A sickly awkward silence as all the participants in the room had no idea how to respond to what they had just heard, except with:

"What the fuck did we just listen to?"


The wind whipped across the snow plains, leaving trails of tiny frost particles across the crew leaders thick jacket as his small team stared down into the pit they had just dug to prospect for a small copper deposit listed by one of the explorator drones. What they'd found had left them all dumbstruck.

Finally, the crew chief decided to take affirmative action! He telephoned his boss.

He waded through the deep snow to the large rover they'd used to drive out from Piper Niner, he pulled open a flap and grabbed a large earpiece and a direction microphone from within, placing them against the appropriate spots next to his ear and mouth.

"Yeah?" Came a voice over the earpiece.

"Connect me directly to Piper Niner, Island." The crew chief ordered stoically.

There was a click, a small stint of static and another click.

"This is Piper Niner." The officer on watch always identified himself by the name of his charge.

"Yeah, this is Lyco One," The chief was having to yell now above the gusting winds. "We've hit something."

There was pause. "I hope you mean you've dug up something good, and not that you've wrecked my last Lycosidae rover in some stupid flying stunt." Came a deadpan voice.

The chief turned back towards the hole. "Well, we've dug up something we didn't expect to find!" The chief shouted, turning back to the shelter of the vehicle. "If I had to guess I'd say it was some sort of pipe, or wire!"

There was a stunned silence at the end, as such silences are easily detectable as it is a very loud type of silence that the other party broadcasts. Finally.

"Chief...We just got word from the mothership, and I'm afraid you're not going to enjoy what I've got to tell you..."



"No response. Queries from the computer are negative as well. It seems like we've been cut off again. . ." Tera'be sighed, loading equipment into one of three vans preparing for the voyage out.

"Some manner of metal detector, then! Not many resources lie near the surface, and so if they looked for some, then they'd head for the clearest source! It's child's play!" the Disciple giggled, tossing a small glass sphere up and down in the air.

"Supplies are almost loaded. We'll leave within half an hour."

"Good! By the Mother's will, we shall find out exactly what we are up to find!"


The massive bulk that was Piper Niner was stationary. In front of it in a line of stunned amazement stood most of its crew, staring down at the line in front of them. Excavations had started following the path of the wire for a good few yards and finally someone had mustered the courage to take a segment of it to study the inside.

In the Island the heads of staff had convened to discuss.

"Copper."

"It's fairly simple technology, what's the big deal?"

"Well, there's no repeater unit. Technically the lengths they've managed to achieve without reinforcing their signal break the laws of physics as we know them."

There was a pause.

"I'd be more surprised, but then, we have fucking faster-than-light travel now. Still, impressive. But before this we detected no radio signals from the planet."

"Maybe they just kept refining the telegraph without ever discovering radio? Just kept on perfecting insulators? With no competing radio signals or microwave emissions it could be feasible."

Again, a pause as everyone in the room thought.

"If that's the case, wouldn't our radio traffic already have disrupted their communications?"

"If us taking a slice of the cable didn't alert them, then any basic radio receiver would suffice, which means..."

"They already know we're here."


The three vans, fifteen members spread across them, scruttled along in the snowdrift. Fortunate it was that the sky did not decide to pour on them that day.

"- and since there are multiple frequencies, we can have this conversation without competing for the airwaves with these aliens," The Disciple's voice chattered away on comms while Tera'be monitored the cable. Regular pings sent out would go along the cable until the break. The amount of time it took before the signal was silenced by the break would tell them how far they were from their objective. But how would they handle these creatures once they met?


Meanwhile at Piper Niner was a scene of panic, this was the first alien contact since the failed invasion of the home world and the pact with the Benefactors and the captain had expressly ordered the Foreman not to fuck this up. Crew rushed about trying to look busy as nervous officers snapped orders and fidgeted with their collars. Already the parts of the crew were preparing for a possible emergency evacuation.

"How do I look?" Asked the Foreman of his Chief once more.

"To be honest? You look like you've worn the same set of clothes for two rotar and you're sweating like a mucus-slug, but apart from that, just fine." the chief replied, adjusting the intricately folded lace at the Foreman’s collar once again.

"Encouraging." The Foreman countered, deadpan.

"Buck up, chap. Have some courage for ya." The Chief answered, handing his boss a bottle of alcohol ration, which the Foreman gratefully took a swig of before it was placed back on the command table.

"Now, all you have to do is not cause them to shoot us and you'll have done just fine." comforted the chief, patting the Foreman on the back. "Go get'em."

One of the faceless operators at a screen looked over at the two huddling middle-managers. "Radar's picking up something, looks like they're coming."


"Now this time, for the love of the Mother, DO NOT SHOOT unless they actually attack. I don't want a repeat of last time," Tera'be commanded, using his telepathy to his advantage. Radio was fun and all, but it was far less reliable than his mind's eye provided.

"Sir, look out the front. Something in the distance."

The Marokan stepped through the van aside the driver to view out of the relatively narrow viewing space to see something. . . dark on the horizon. And big.

What in the. . . we've never made anything that big. Is it a ship? It doesn't look very mobile. he mused, watching as the object grew closer in his vision.

"Park just outside of laser's range. "


The crew watched as the blips on the radar slowed, and finally stopped. The Foreman silently waggled a finger towards the controls behind him as he leant fully towards the screen, one of his more helpful underlings detached himself from his own console and yanked the throttle back from Cruise to Neutral, and then pushed it forwards to Halt.

With a screeching of dinosaur sized brakes pressing hard to avoid a car crash of titanic proportions the large mobile platform not so much stopped as leaned at an alarming number of degrees forward until finally it settled into a sort of grumbling squat. Steam gently wafted out from the sides and the faint glow from the tracks slowly dimmed as it came to rest.

There was a long, high-pitched belching of gas that sounded remarkably like flatulence as some pneumatic pressure somewhere on the platform was released.

Meanwhile, on the command deck, the radar screen had newly acquired the impression of three faces on its surface from the sudden braking. As the Foreman stood up, running his snout tenderly he grabbed a pair of field glasses and stared through them in the relative direction of the blips.

"Yup. Those are trucks." He said to no one in particular yet everyone, automatically passing the glasses over to his Second, who also took a moment to stare dumbfounded at the sight. "But not as we know them."

"How does anything live on a place this cold?" the Chief asked, unbelievingly.
 
The fur-and-leather coated patrol's progress halted as the thing before them did. Some of the guards visibly stumbled at the sight of the enormous machine hissing with steam - but Tera'be simply breathed heavily under his mask and goggles with anticipation.

"There's something in that machine this time. I'm certain of it. . ." he told himself, flagging the others on with a gesture. Slowly, they approached the digger, carving a path through the snow and ice until they had reached the side of it. The Marokan tapped lightly on the metallic sides, shortened breathes catching in his throat.

"Fantastic."

Slowly, at first a few, and then more, shadowy heads began to peer from the edge of the massive machine. Slimmer, alien outlines that watched that watched the patrol watching them. At this distance it was hard to make out details, but they all appeared heavily insulated against the weather, and some had masks with tubes that extended behind their shoulders to some sort of filter or heat exchange.

If Tera didn't have a mask on, his jaw would have hit the ground with the speed of sound. Thinking about it was one thing. Seeing other intelligent life. . . That was a different cavern altogether.

One of them shyly raised an arm and waved at the party, slowly at first but then speeding up to a casual waving of the arm.


"What are those morons doing on the operations deck?" The Foreman growled angrily as he saw the groups of workers peeking over edge of the top deck of the massive land carrier.

One of them even started waving all things. This caused the Foreman to growl even deeper.

"Shall I go down there and have them flogged, sir?" The Chief asked sarcastically, raising and eyebrow at the scene himself.

"Well, if they take that for a hostile action we'd probably never survive anyway." He grunted in anger and then sniffed through his four nostrils to further indicate his disapproval. "First fucking alien contact since our so-called 'Benefactors', and the idiots want to take a look..."

The Chief watched the large figures in the snow below them watch back at them for a moment, before eyeing his Foreman quizzically. "So, you going to go down there?"

The Foreman turned back to the Chief and looked down at his rather frilly attire of a silk dress shirt with a lacy neck, fine black cotton shorts that billowed out leaving plenty of airy space between skin and fabric and tied under the upper knee. Certainly not cold weather gear by any means.

"Get your head out of it, Chief." the Foreman snorted in humor. "You're not taking my job that easily."

"Well, we better let them aboard then..." The Chief replied, stepping back from the windows and taking another look the consoles. "We mustn't keep our guests waiting."

"No." The Foreman took a moment to think, his fingers going to his chin, short-cut, filed to chisel-like claws scratched against his face. The short, utilitarian claws of a worker, certainly not the long, manicured length in his bottom claw of a bureaucrat or an upper-class clan. Diplomacy was not his domain, he drilled rocks, liquid and gas for a living. Rocks didn't talk back.

"Open the rear loading ramp." He ordered finally. "Have a man with a flare stand outside to guide them in."

The Chief pointed to the appropriate worker bee behind their console and there was a hydraulic creaking that could be heard even high up on the tower.

The Foreman turned back to the rest of his crew. "Let’s go say hello."


Outside in the cold, the party suddenly heard a loud whining sound, from their angle they could barely see parts of a large door fold down from the rear of the hulking...whatever it was.

Slowly an orange glow began emanating from that area, and one of the aliens walking out from the rear of Thing. The small shape held the orange light in his hand about its head and took a step off the ramp, and immediately ended up waist deep in snow.

"A phosphorent light source?" the Astronomer remarked as he observed the pulsating flare. "It's a signal, then. . ."

"Two come with me. . ." he projected, getting two of the leather-armoured Barokans aside him to follow his movements. "The rest should be on the lookout for any Beasts."

The horned creature strode through the snow and ice, carving his way through the knee-deep drift with his armed companions to the opening in the Thing where that alien was. Thank goodness the goggles the Baroka wore were also sunglasses, because the flare would have hurt their eyes otherwise.

Tera'be bowed lightly to the strange creature as he entered, his two companions following suit. The goggles were removed in favour of observation.

He wasn't disappointed by the sight.

Presented before him was obviously some sort of artificial cavern thirty meters high and extending almost further than he could see through the clutter, this large space sheltered a small fleet of diverse vehicles, some of them bigger than any snow truck he'd ever seen. There were strange contraptions that seemed to have no particular purpose that he could see. Some of the trucks had panels open with tools beside them and dirty rags around, but no workers, they must have dropped tools for his arrival.

"The Disciple would give his left hand just for a minute in here. . ." the Astronomer mumbled, ambling along the bay.

The door behind them slowly shut, the alien that had let them in was standing my some sort of control, watching it slowly narrow carefully. Tera'be could feel a small gust of warm wind against his face as it began closing. They must regulate the temperature inside somehow to prevent everything freezing.

As the icicles began to thaw on his heavy coat the party that was obviously there to be greeting him emerged, walking towards the three of them at a relaxed pace. There were four of the aliens, three were wearing grimy looking utility uniforms, two of them even still had their tools strapped in harnesses around their bodies, the third was much cleaner and had a cord tied around its head.

The last one was the most interesting, it was obviously leading the group, two steps ahead. It's clothes were completely different. Thin, loose, the material obviously chosen for its looks more than practicality. It still bore the signs of work, and one of its arms was covered in old scars, all different patterns and signs that must hold some significance to them.

The creatures walked up on their strange spindly legs, even in this relative warmth the finely dressed one shivered slightly from the cold until the door closed fully behind the trio with a small thump. Then the aliens had halted in front of them, the two groups looked at each other.

The fifth alien that had let them in awkwardly stepped off, directed a finger shyly further into the large space and walked quickly behind the nearest large vehicle, trying to clear ground zero.

The alien in front of Tera'be looked him up and down, they were surprising about the same height, but the girths were far different. The warm, insulated Barokan barrel shape contrasted completely with the lean build of the aliens.

The alien leaned forward and sniffed the Barokans, four nostrils up its short snout expanded as it breathed in their scent. Once done it stood straight again and made some chirping sounds at them.

The slightly less dirty of the three behind it made a strange sound from its chest, its cheeks filling as it did so, as if reminding the leader of something.

The leader nodded and raised a strangely clawed and to its chest and then swung it around to the group behind it, in a much more understandable dialect it said one simple word.

"Che'el'ti."


An introduction, perhaps? Well, it is common courtesy among our people. . . but is that its name or the creatures race itself? It did gesture to the whole group, so it is more likely to be the latter. . . Tera'be judged, processing the raw social data before him.

After a minute, he finally reacted. A gesture to his two companions, then to himself. Three, simple, guttural syllables were uttered.

"Bah-roh-kah."


"Well, at least they can talk civilized." The Chief said in some relief, "Imagine if they spoke in ultrasound or something."

"Serendipity struck once again." The Foreman replied, not taking his eyes off the big alien in front of him. "Bring drinks. And paper. Lots of paper."


Soon enough bottles of booze were arriving and offered to the guests, it was amazing how much whiskey was used to ensure the smooth operations of a chelti mining group. A low table had been brought out and set between the two groups along with a few stacks of paper and writing utensil, even on charcoal stick.

The Forman sat down behind the table and poured a clear liquid into a set of tiny glasses, pushing one towards Tera'be in offering.

The Maro official took the glass and observed it. Presumably, it was a drink. He had no way of knowing if it was toxic for his biology, but it was such a small amount, and it would be rude not to partake.

He sipped the drink thoughtfully, slightly wincing at the strength and potency. It was similar in effect to one of the Yalla-produced beverages, but with a certain kick that was much stronger than what he was used to.

Tera'be winced.

Matching the Maro, the Foreman tilted back his own drink and took down the unholy brew, sighing afterwards from the alcohol burn.

Finally the Foreman took the charcoal stick, showed it to the trio and then began drawing on a piece of paper with it. First there was a square, then two triangular shapes. A crude representation of the aliens massive vehicle, perhaps?

In the square was drawn a stick figure, the Foreman circled this figure and then pointed at himself. Underneath smaller stick figures were drawn.

A simplistic representation of this large vehicle and himself? The Barokan representative wondered, observing the Foreman draw his pictures.

With that the Foreman offered the charcoal stick to him and a fresh blank piece of paper for him to draw on.

Tera'be took the two objects, taking care not to crush either of them. The paper was of a much thinner quality than he was used to, so he took care to write lightly.

He drew a circle, with several concentric circles inside it, then drew short lines coming straight from it. Then, in sequence, he drew two smaller circles and a two larger ones, appearing to vary the sizes at random. Several words were written below, with arrows connecting them to their respective shapes. The third circle past the detailed one he drew a little blocky stick figure standing on.

"Ba-ro-ka -> Baro-kaa," He explained, gesturing from the stick figure to the circle. Then, he gestured from himself to the ground.

"Aaaa." Responded the Foreman, making sure he got the sound right. He pointed at Tera'be. "Ah?"

And then he pointed to the picture. "Aaa?"

This was going to be a long day.
 
It took many many hours of both sides of the table staring dumbly at each other and both of them (or the Foreman, at least) getting slowly more intoxicated as the bottles emptied. Slowly absorbing knowledge about the other.

Tera'be learned that the aliens called their own planet Se-lo-kah, and that they had come from a completely different solar system. The reason for their visit was still clouded, but the alien had managed to communicate that there were more of their kind above the planet still. It seemed obvious they had not expected to find the Barokan here.

Their entourages meanwhile had started with staring awkwardly at each other, to boredly avoiding the others gazes to playing a cross between dancing and movement matching with each other as both cultures enlightened each other on the dance of their peoples.

Soon enough Tera'be felt fatigue set into his body, and the Foreman's posture on the other side of the table was more slouch than rigidity. The two awkwardly managed to agree to part ways for now, the Chief giving one of Tera'be's guards a few of the flares they had seen used earlier. Also demonstrating how to use it and that the aliens would open the door if they did. With good-byes in two, the Barokans parted from the Chelti visitors to head back to the base. There was much to report and too little time to do it in.


After a long, restful four hour sleep the Foreman returned to the command deck, rubbing his temples from a mild hang over. Out the large windows he could only see the white of a blizzard and little more, even the top deck below them was only a dark shape.

"Report." Was all he said as he walked in, closing the hatch behind him.

The chief turned, the dark rings under his eyes showing his fatigue. "After their departure those Ba-ro-ka's seemed to have returned to wherever they came from. Piper is currently inactive so they can find our position again."

The chief turned back to his console in his chair, looking at some of the displays that popped up. "Engineers suspected ice might be forming around the links in the tracks and suspension from the wind. We've flushed air over the starboard reactor to heat it and vented it over the suspension to try and alleviate the icing issue, but the storm is making it difficult to send a crew out to check."

A meteorological satellite photo from the drone in orbit appeared on the main console in the middle of the room. "Forecast is white out for the next few days, eggheads reckon on some type of geological activity causing a storm cell."

The Foreman watched the data scroll along the table as the hollow mounds of light showing cloud layers morphed and transformed in fast time. He leaned on the edge of the table and stared down thoughtfully for a few moments.

"What news of our little first contact?" He asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Fleet boss has sent out a messenger drone, we expect to hear back in a few hours." The chief replied, tiredly.

The Foreman took a deep breath and stood straight again. "Foreman has the con."

"Confirmed, you have the con." The Chief replied automatically.

"Go get some sleep, Merva, we'll have precious little if this carries on."


A few hours later.

The phone rang at the foreman’s console. Not the harmless black phone for crew reports. The deadly Red phone, used for a direct line to the Fleet Boss in orbit and nothing else.

All eyes in the room stared at it as it make a high-pitched beeping sound, demanding attention. All breathes were held, attention riveted to the piece of plastic and wire.

In what seemed like an eternity the Foreman picked it up, silencing the beeps, and brought it up to his ear.

"This is Piper Niner."

On the other end came a crackling voice. "You fucking idiot."


Meanwhile, the Hierarchy was in an uproar. An alien species - one that actually came from the stars, had landed, and First Contact was already made? The Disciple was in complete overexcitement mode from the whole ordeal, ranting for hours on end about what could happen next, though nobody could actually say for sure.

The Behemoth took matters very seriously, given that it was happening in his territory, and had sent some of his extra Keepers to aid those at Tera'be 's settlement. Something that both the Astronomer and the Disciple were thankful for.

There was much to work on, and not enough time to do it in.

One group would work on a codex of the current knowledge exchanged between the two groups. Another would make an effective Rosetta stone for the two groups, with both phonetic and written spellings of both languages (as they have been explained, so far). A third would maintain the entire place and make sure the other two stayed on course.

"It takes starfall for me to get any resources and suddenly I'm swimming in assistants. . ." Tera'be would remark at the sudden increase in activity.


"Well, sir, if the survey team didn't any evidence of life and the explorator drones didn't prioritize it then I don't see how I was supposed to see it coming. It's your geologists jobs to categorize all our findings, and now thanks to our rush-"

The Foreman stopped his rant, pinching the top of his muzzle in frustration as he listened to the voice on the other end. "You know it will take a week for that messenger drone to arrive back on the homeworld at least. What am I meant to do in the meantime?"

A few more seconds for a reply.

"Yes, I'll send you the report on our meeting tomorrow. No, quite peaceful. Came with two even bigger brutes who looked like some kind of goons."

Another wait. "No, not possible. Not with the storm. Probably cold enough to snap any man frozen that I'd try to put out there. Don't want to risk any of the rovers, either. Not in these winds."

"Very well. Good day."

The redphone was placed back in its cradle. "Wanker."


In orbit.

The captain placed a red phone down. "Bastard."

He took a moment to put his palms over his eyes, trying to clear the vision in his mind more than his physical eyes. Deep breath in, deep breath out. He unblinkered his eyes almost reluctantly, before him the array of planets serenely spun and danced around their star on the table.

The green dot of the messanger drone drifted slowly towards the edge of the system, and then suddenly blinked out. A small Contact Lost notice appeared somewhat sadly. It was done, the message was on its way.

Soon this whole mess would be out of his hands entirely.


For three days the storm raged around the large vehicle, one side of it piled with snow. The crew inside comfortble and insulated inside it, but constantly reminded of how dangerous it was for them outside right now. Two of the crew had almost been killed doing some menial work on the flight deck, the strong wind gusting enough to nearly blow them off completely. Saved only by their lifelines.

Above them the now visible monser of Papa Wyvern processed more rocks with its gigantic bucket scoops, shoveling each new victim with vigor. The contents of each rock being separated and processed inside the ship, before being packaged and slotted into on into a docked freighter, quickly filling it and sending it on its way back down the pipeline to the motherland.

No matter the cricumstance, the supplies could not cease.


Once the storm let up, the Astronomer and a much smaller entourage returned to greet their extra-terrestrial visitors once more. This time, it was just Tera'be, a Keeper, and two servants - the latter duo to protect the van from the wildlife bound to emerge to pick over the corpses of anything unfortunate enough to get stranded in the storm.

They brought a select few items, most to share their own technologies and with a recording device and a pad of solid paper.

The exchange went better than the first, given that they shared common words and the like this time around. The Keeper kept notes fastidiously, though the recording mechanism still ran as she wrote.

Soon enough, the two groups parted once more, all the more enriched for the experience.
 
One week later.

Didjabringabeeralon Admiralty House.

"-and frankly, while the mime did survive, he'll never walk again-"

"Yes, thank you, Forecommander." the admiral interrupted. Blinking away his desire to bury his head into his palm. The things voidsmen got up to when denied their alcohol ration, even for a week.

Unfortunately the last major deployment had run the colony dry for a while, so the ships arriving immediately after weren't able to provide their requisite alcohol supplies for their crews pay, and every voidsman was entitled to leave after any vogage longer than three months. The whole situation seemed to have driven everyone mad.

"Inform the mime that he'll be provided for by the force. I want the captains of those involved to make sure those voidsmen are put through the gauntlet once deployed again, and I want their workgang leaders flogged. At least five lashes. Privately."

The admiral sat back in his chair and sighed.

"Any other news."

The aide checked his tablet uninterestedly. "Priority news packet from a mining flotilla. Not an attack notice, so probably something wrong with the rocks they're chewing or something."

The admiral growled slightly and then took a deep breath. Just this one last thing and then he would go to lunch, it had just been a bad day.

"Alright, pull it up." He said, sliding his chair in. "Lets see what those rock eaters have to say for themse-" He cut himself off as he read.

Both he and the aide stood in silence as they read the report. Finally the admiral pointed at the aide.

"I-I want this confirmed. Fastest ship we have, undock within two hours. Two hours, or by the nine gods I'll flog the skin off every voidsmans back that doesn't make it. Take the Portia, no, the Vigiliant. Her captain is a cooler head."

The aide stood there for a moment, working his mouth.

"Well, off with you!" The admiral shouted, causing the aide to reboot into action, stiffening into military posture and not-quite-running for the door.

By two hours on the dot the Vigilant was pulling away from the gantry, some of the last of her crew having had to sprint aboard to make it in time. Soon she was underway and steaming straight towards the system in question.


"A basic grasp of the language is good!" the Disciple declared to the Astronomer's lesson. "The more we learn now, the less problems we'll have in the future!"

"Speaking of problems, their leader seemed a bit on edge. He tried to tell me something about their overlord, but I was not able to take their meaning."

"Meaning? It's obvious! They're coming for a visit - and it was pretty simple to figure out. You see, if he was nervous about something while the rest of the crew was pretty calm. . ."

Tera'be drowned out the rest of his superior's speech. He was not in the mood for a lenghy diatribe on the nature of investigation. That clear liquid the aliens served with every visit only exacibated his mood.


It took three days for the Vigiliant to arrive at the edge of the system at full speed. Like the ships and flottila before it it snapped back into realspace with a flash of light. It was smaller than the big industrial cagoships of the flotilla. Leaner. All that it shared with its more docile cousins was the same rough archecture.

It's central hull held the crew and engines, arrayed around the edges were two banks of weapons, and complicated and powerful looking sensor systems. Lightly armed and constructed, this ship obviously lent itself to speed and detection. A picket ship.

It took seconds for it to send a message to the large processor ship through subspace, limited bandwidth reducing the image to text.

Code: 
By order the Didjabringsabeeralon Admiralty,

You are hereby ordered to accept boarding by a military vessel and render all assistance to their inquiries. The officer onboard is placed in complete command over all assets both departing and arriving until he is relieved by military command.

You are ordered to render all assistance to them in their inquiries and commands. Operations will continue until ordered to cease.

Fore Officer,
Tovel Agripa Bab Sena - Didjabringsabeeralon Admiralty

The ship took a few minutes to drift quietly as its crew did some post-FTL checks and scanned the system themselves. Then it was off, diving to skim into witchspace at a low ftl factor, swinging around the slowboating barges and planets to avoid mass jamming until a few hours later when it popped back out a few hundred kilometers from Papa Wyvern.

It oriented itself and closed the gap slowly on the large ship and its ancilliaries. Already a new barge was docked to it, taking on precious resources. The barge train could not stop.


Soon enough to two ships were tied together with a pale umbilical cord between them. It was a small tunnel with two meter diameter on the inside, more then enough room to float across men and supplies. Soon a small party from the dimiutive Vilgilant began to cross over to the ugly bulk that was Papa Wyvern. Ants between two giant shoes.

The air locks of Papa Wyvern opened to admit the party. On one side stood the captain of the Papa Wyvern and the Flotilla Commander along with another unwilling underling just to witness the papers if need be.

Oppisite them stood the captian of the void ship Vigiliant who was an Overseer officer by the rank scars on his right arm. Beside him was a Directive officer and an unfortunate Wardshelmer wearing the customary shoulder cord. Compared to the industrial mens dirty suits, the orange and black of the Nation void force were worn, but well cared for. All three wore the customary cord headband, a traditional whipping instrument in navy ships.

The navy captain turned to his civilian counterpart. "Permission to come aboard, captain?"

"Permission granted, Overseer." Papa Wyverns captain intoned.

The navy trio took the symbolic step forward and that particular part of the ceremony was complete. The navy captain looked at the three standing before him.

"Romar Captain? My name is Zetin Overseer of Benely, son of Ketarin. Beside me are Yussar Directive and Jussin Wardhelmer."

The captain of Papa wyvern stepped up. "Yes, that is my title. With me are Gan Flottila Commander and Otto Accountant. Welcome aboard."

The two males used a palm to over one of their eyes at each other and together. "I see you as if in a waking dream. Well met."

The navy captain sighed in relief as social niceties were adhered to, it seemed their visit would be cordial, for now. "Alright, Captain, please take me up to your command deck and lets see exactly what we're dealing with here."


"So you landed a mobile platform before proper cataloguing of all data?" the navy captain asked rhetorically. "Not only that, radio scanners show that the...whatever you called them. Ba-rok-kans? They've been broadcasting for over a week, probably longer if we ever recover the logs from the survey drone."

Zetin reached up and removed his reading lenses from the screen on the arm of his uniform and scratching his snout. "How can you explain such a lapse in procedure?"

"Overseer, surely you know the pressures any delay in supply puts on both the crews and the economy at home." Gan, the commander replied. "Skipping of formal process has been neccesary to maintain barely adequate supply levels moving through the barge line. Th-this is not some one-time laxity, this is real procedure here."

Zetins eyes blinked dangerously slowly. "In the void force we just execute the criminally inept." he muttered just loud enough for them to hear, but not loud enough for them to acknowledge.

Instead of carrying out any final judgement just yet the naval officer sat forward and cupped his face in his hands, running them down over his tired skin. "What are we looking at damage-wise? Have we set an advanced alien race against us?"

"From what we can tell they are native to the planet, and have no extra-planetary experience. It seems unlikely they've even touched their own immediate orbit."

Zetin sighed in relief. "Well, at least we don't have to worry about whatever the 'Benefactors' were telling us about, yet anyway. If we pull out now, what are we leaving behind?"

"Pull out? But what about the barge line? They were already stacked up from the last failed site. If we leave prematurely again we might not hit another site in time without causing major distruption to the sup-"

"Tell me what we will leave behind if we had to leave tomorrow." Zetin repeated his question, his voice dangerously low.

Romar straightened and stepped forward to take over, running his hand over the projection table. "We've still go two explorator probes out there. It would take a few days to disassemble the Piper, but we could remove most of the support equipment and all personnel in that time."

"And the fusion reactor?"

"It can be deactivated. It's buried right in the middle out of harms way, partly so no one could nick it easily."

"Like would be convienient right now..." The naval officer ran his hands over his hard chitinious head plates.

The room was silent for a few moments as the implications of leaving behind a valuable piece of equipment such as the fusion reactor would be. Fusion reactors were difficult to manufacture, in fact of the three theortetical types available chelti only used the heavy hydrogen models specifically because of the long life-times the machinery would need to make a return on investment.

Any reactor, even an old retired one brought from the navy surplus, was a precious commodity. Some colonies would literally kill for a reactor even that small.

"This information doesn't leave this room." Zetin finally said. "If this goes bad we extracted everything of value and left only what we couldn't carry with us."

Romar nodded dumbly at the thought.

"The navy will arrange compensation to keep you operating. Continue your orbital operations until told otherwise. All orbital ferries are to remain on standby until further notice."


The red phone rang. Once. Twice. The Foreman snatched it up reluctantly. He brought up to his face slowly.

"This is Piper Niner."

There was a short moment of static on the other end. "Piper Niner, Papa Wyvern. Make tertiary preparations for evacuation. You may have to get out of there in a hurry."
 
Over his visits Tera'be had discovered many fascinating things about their guests. Such as their base twelve number system, a rudimentary outline of their own solar system, he'd even seen some of their flying machines up close. They had even provided a copy of their alhpabets, all three of them, which the keepers had painstakingly copied onto stone tablets.

But now he could see the tension in their eyes, the haste in their movements. Even as he watched one of them working on the large snowtrucks they had dropped his tool through stiff fingers. The one he had been talking with, who still had no name, looked greyer. His chitinious head plates no longer had a healthy sheen, and while he always seemed friendly, there was a now a slightly skittish nature to him.

"Friend Tera'be. You return, we are hasty." The nameless leader greeted the Barokan party in an accented and slightly broken native dialect. Both sides had started trying to overcome the language barrier, with Tera'be even learning some of their second 'Higher' language.

"If the Mother-God allows, we come," the Marokan at the table replied, adapting one of his culture's common sayings into Chelti. Of course, his understanding of their grammar was a little strange, so his phraseology was accordingly so. "What is the pace that you find yourself?"

"My people, they argue if we should stay here." The nameless leader replied, pouring Tera'be the first glass of their firewater. "This place, it is far. Too far. By staying we change you, even without intention. By leaving, you will be safe."

The Chief poured himself a drink and took it down whole with a sigh, releasing some of the tension in his body.

The native took his own elixir and sipped on it softly, relishing the strength he had once winced at. If these people left, then that meant that their source of information- no, knowledge - left too. He attempted to lighten the mood, saying, "An effort in gathering, was this? Your caring is shown, at the least, in these efforts."

"My people rush everywhere, yet never leave need behind." The leader replied, it was hard to tell when they were happy, their faces were so impassive most of the time, and their similes were always awkward around those large teeth, but the leader tried. "Our knowing of races other is small, from mouth. We rush too much and stumble over you."

Two more glasses were poured. "This one hopes you say good about chelti if well met them." The Cheif said, raising his glass for a toast.

"The Mother-God will speak of your praise," replied Tera'be. The phrase was one of the first he fully translated into Chelti, considering the Astronomer wanted to keep his guest/host in his good graces. His hand raised his own glass, clinking it softly against the Chelti's before downing the rest of it in its entirety.

The Chief sighed afer he downed his own glass with Tera'be. "Radio tell others your existance. May bring safety, but also danger. In this we have changed you. But when you leave this place, we will be ready."

And the drinking coninued through the night.


"They're leaving. That much is certain," Tera'be explained to the Disciple one last time. "There's dissonance in their race. They want to leave because they're afraid they would change us - and our planet, by staying here. That was their original purpose, after all."

"Their concern is nice! It makes me wonder about how nice their ruler is! Don't you wonder?" the Disciple dithered on, launching on yet another monologue. "They're just gonna leave their little mining outfit for our sake! But I am curious! They might have other motivations! But I can't see a-"

"They also gave us a gift. It's. . . well, a <firewater> machine. We can turn Yalla into potent drinks with that," the Astronomer cut off, "And before you tell me that we can already do that, this both speeds up the process and intensifies it."


It took another day for four more ships to appear. These were larger than the Vigiliant but shared the same brutal engineering processes. But these had a meaner look, pitted armor and weapons about their hulls made these warships.

Kalahan Frigates. An old, but feared ship still fighting wars in service of many nations.

All four were painted in gaudy, jarring colors, geometric patterns of stripes and shards. The black talons painted on their hulls added to their livery.

Like the ships before they made their way at speed towards the heart of the flotilla, one of them docking at another node of the Wyvern. Across the gulf floated only two specks in the protective umbilical.


Moments later everyone that mattered was in the command deck. The Wveryns captain, Romar, the military commander Zetin, who had not has his orders countermanded yet, and the flotilla commander stood looking at the pair of newcomers as they entered.

They came through the hatch without ceremony, closing it behind them out of respect. The pair were one male with yellow spots along his crest and a slight demeanour, his more needle-like teeth marked him as from the northern tribes. His partner was a larger female with the bulk and enlarged muzzle of the southern snow dwelling clans. About as opposite a pair as could be.

The shorter one spoke up first.

"I am Parvos Agent, with me is Altus Agent. We are here on behalf of the Department of Minor Secrets."

With that he raised his hand to dramatically remove his sunglasses, completely for looks on a spaceship. "We hear you've stumbled across something."



Some explaining later.

"Gosh, big brutes, aren't they?" Parvos said in surprise as he stared at the hologram on the table. "Altus, you think you could wrestle with that?"

His female partners simply blinked her eyes slowly in what was obviously a long suffering expression. "Focus, Pravos." She grunted simply.

"Yes, yes. Well, certainly mister Zetins decision is the correct one." Parvos replied, waving a hand. "We can't have any other bugger thinking he can go around exterminating the natives however he pleases. There must be order! Proper dicussion! And then Signatures. Ah yes, signatures, lovely."

The well dressed DMS agent sighed happily at the thought. Zetin and Romar looked at each other in mild confusion and then back at the spectacle in front of them. Parvos then sighed loudly.

"Of course, none of the other countries would let us get away with such barbarity." The agent continued. "Now that they have radio, however they got it, they're covered under the treatise. Why is it they never call us in for something easy, like primitive blue people with bows and arrows, Altus?"

"Possbily because of the number of signatures you would immediately demand, Parvos." The larger female said in a low pitched voice. Completely unfazed and obviously used to this.

Zetin eyed the pair before speaking slowly. "I suppose you have authority from the council. You can authorize to start redeploying the flotilla to another site. It will still take a few days to get everything in order but after that-"

"Yeah, I'm afraid you're not going to have that long." Parvos interupted, scratching his claws together in one hand.

"You see, certain other parties have taken an interest in our proceedings here. We've had to quickly propose an accord with several interested parties to both cover up your mistakes, and see to it that others do not set greedy eyes on this place."

Altus shrugged her heavy shoulders under her heavy suit. "Needless to say, no one is doing this out of the kindness of their hearts. So it's imperative that we appear ready to leave by the time any unwanted eyes come to see just what we have been doing here."

"Ah yes!" Parvos agreed outloud. "We must keep our own eyes in the system as well. You've left the prospector probe and its explorators out, I assume? Miners are so careless. We will send a module to dock with it, and you will conveniently leave it behind in the rush."

Romar and Zetin turned to each other again before Romar finally replied for the first time in quite a few paragraphs. "We don't get much of a say about this do we?"

"Not if you wish for many more daughters and sons. No." Parvos replied flatly.


Piper Niner was a scene of furious activity over the next few days. Flights were landing or departing within minutes of each other as vehicles, equipment and personnel were loaded and secured. Very quickly was the inside of Piper Niner cleared and hollowed, the internal bulkheads and floors almsot completely removed in much of the structure, leaving only the supporting superstructure and hardened components unable to be moved.

Outside, workgangs worked and swore at frozen over stuck hull segments. Huge metal plates, wheels and bars refusing to budge under the thermal strain.

The Chief sat at his command chair, black phone at hand as he listened to a report, behind him the Foreman was hurriedly coordinating flights and the aircraft elevator on the top deck. With the call finished the Chief placed the phone back into its cradle and sighed.

"We stayed still too long." He said with finality "Too many parts are frozen or warped. If we had another day we could maybe at least pull the tracks and roadwheels off. You know how much one of those segments costs?"

The Foreman knew exactly how much one of the track segements had cost, having been told repeatedly over the course of the last twelve hours as work had begun to extract them without damage. Instead he focused on another topic.

"The workcrews trying to cut out the reactor say they're making good progress." He offered, diplomatically.

"Not fast enough, Merv. Not fast enough." The Chief replied, the tip of a claw flicking against his bottom lip as he sprawled a hand over his muzzle for a few moments. "Alright, tell them to stop working and prepare to evacuate. Better to get some of them off now rather than have a rush for the last shuttle."


Up in orbit a disk was launched from one of the Kalahan frigates, it seemed small against the bulk of the ship and the massive indusrial barges next to it, but it was obviously some considerable size. Quickly it thrusted away from the growing fleet to rendevous with the large Prospector along its polar orbit, while the rest of the fleet rested along a string of asteroids on the equatorial orbit.

It took several hours, but at least the disc slipped neatly into one of the empty docking ports vacated by the giant probes drones.

The probe studied the new piece of equipment intently. Examining its new piece of repurposed equipment. Rather than examine it externally, the probe felt around its operating systems and codes and drivers and all the bits and peices lesser machines required along the far more informative lanes of data inside it. It was a witchspace transmitter. It could now talk at faster-than-light intervals, something beyond almost all civilian ships and even some military vessels.

Motherbird was now an impromtu spy satelite it realized.


The Chief felt a soft hand on his shoulder, waking him with a start.

"Last call, Chief." It was the Foreman, smiling grimly in the otherwise empty command deck. "Make the call."

The Chief took a shuddering breath, already the inside of Piper Niner was beginning to chill as the head from the reactor slowly bled out. He reached for the red phone and pulled it to his ear.

"This is Papa Wyvern." Came the voice on the other end.

"This is Piper Niner." The chief replied and took a deep breath. "We're about to abandon the Piper. Deactivate unit from fleet orders. Out."

"Understood." Was the simple solemn reply before the click of a returned phone.

The Chief's cheeks puffed with a sigh as he placed the phone back down. He turned to the Foreman with a forced smile. "Well, lets get outta here."

Outside the dropship sat on the deck with its engines running, waiting for them. Within moments the two heavily bundled commanders of the now derelict Piper Niner boarded through the ramp. Not long later, the anxious crew accelerated off the deck.

The last alien souls had left this cold planet.


"What do you think they're like?" Romar asked, standing in the dim light of the command deck.

"I don't know." Zetin replied, staring at the holograhpic image of the planet swirling in the middle of the room. "You can review the files, but I don't think we'll be returning any time soon."

"It's not the same." Romar replied, his eyes turning to his fellow captain. "Is it really right to find them and then abandon them like this?"

Zetin sighed and leaned back against the railing of the raised command platform above the minions working below. "You would have us stay? Our people are not peaceful, and jealous hands would move to hurt them just to spite us."

The pair stood in silence for a few moments as the chatter of final operations occured around them.

"You think we came into the void too soon?" Romar asked no one in particular.

Zetin thought about that, his eyes flicked again to the sphere over the table. A claw scratching the tough skin of his throat as he made a contemplated clicking sound between his teeth.

"We could not leave later." Was all he said about that. "Those two DMS agents have taken the commander of the mobile base with them for debriefing. I was able to convince them to leave the Foreman with you."

Romar nodded his thanks. If the two agents had wanted to, they could probably have forced the entire fleet to go with them if they had the mind to. "Unlimited riches in the galaxy, and I stumble across the one that already has tenants." he said with a snort. "It never seems to be enough for me to go home."

Zetin patted the other homesick male on the back companionably. "One day you will feel worthy." He said simply. "Otherwise, the void force is always looking for experienced crewmen."

Romar chuckled at that. "You're a good elt, I look foward to meeting your sons someday."


The Chief was placed down by the gentle but firm hand of the large female agent, the bench seat was comfortable in a cramped sort of way. It seemed the two agents had commandeered the captains quaters of whatever ship they had dragged him to. Probably one of the frigates he'd seen on the way up.

"Now, my newly retired Chief officer." Parvos said in a firendly manner. "You're now going to tell me, in detail mind, every conversation you had with those poor devils down there."

THE END

EPILOGUE – Three Months Later

Tera’be looked out over the canyon, observing the work of the workers below him. The work they put forth, beautiful. In such a short time, they adapted the technology of the Chelti scrap and turned their attention to the stars. Only time would tell if they were ready for what was out there.
 
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