Arsun's Run

[The Pakkrat]

Author's Note: This solo-play adventure log was never finished. Rather, its conclusion can be assumed. The author ran out of steam in the last chapter and never finished the campaign. In any case, the story is more about the journey than the destination. Without antagonists, the theme is Vargr versus Environment and may be lackluster to those seeking space opera style content. Your parsecs may vary.

Arsun’s Run

By Pakkrat



Arsun’s Report​

What follows is not a story or a tale or some Edutainment Wafer submission. Instead, I put down this report as a journal of that mission. Quite simply, at least in my eyes, it is just an account of my experiences that year. I suppose it could be rated as my fourth term in the Kechk Reversion Agency except that it was not, not in the normal sense. I don’t expect that I will hold anyone’s attention. I’m not all that important an individual. But this is what happened. I had a job to do and this report is how I saw it.

Donrairr’s Account​

As an Explorer, I feel the need to interject a few times in Arsun’s Report as the Emissary could not be everywhere during this mission. Additionally, Roull has asked me to speak for him as the Engineer and had even less opinion of Agent Unrralarr than I. We two Explorers objected to the Emissary’s assignment from the start and yet we and all of Ksinanirz Sector owe him our continued survival after the events in this journal.

 

[The Pakkrat]

300-1073

Forraroekou / Subsector B (Ksinanirz 0908) A629500-E Ni Naval



The technologist working the scanner had not adjusted the mirror which should have allowed me to see out of the claustrophobic tube in the huge machine. Instead, the mirror hung down flat and reflected my face back at me as the scanner vibrated to the series of noises it was producing. I was also fighting an urge to reach up and itch my muzzle. When my right claw became impatient, the female tech keyed her intercom, “Remain still, Agent Unrralarr. We’re almost done.”

I lay inside the tunnel and looked at myself, my head cradled and strapped in position. I saw my amber-orange irises trapping my pupils. I can get some pretty dumb looks on my face such as I was making now with the urge to itch. Luckily, I still have all my teeth. I got into some pretty bad fights when I was a cub, mainly for not being smart enough to keep my mouth shut. That spotted, Akumgeda yellow-beige fur with a black muzzle was pretty typical for this sector of Charted Space. I mean, what other sub-species of Vargr has spots I ask you?

Laying in the scanner for the last series of ‘cuts’, (I believe that’s what the technologist called them), I had a thought. How would I know if I was my original self or a Relict Clone? That is what this machine was for. It was a brain scanner meant to record my personality, memories, reflexes and many other aspects of what made me me.

“All done, Agent,” congratulated the cute technologist. As I slid out of the scanner on the moving table, I scratched and scratched on my muzzle as she undid the Velcro straps over the bridge of my long nose. I put the question to her.

“How do I know if I am the original or a Relict Clone?” I asked.

“Well, Agent Unrralarr,” began the cute tech with an inordinate number of spots on her Vargr pelt. “For one, your Relict Clone will not be waking up here in the scanner room. Rather, you – or he – will iterate in a cloning facility. Your scan results will be on file there and that is where they will use Force-Growth on your DNA samples we took earlier. Additionally, your Relicts will have a visible mark somewhere on the body, likely a stripe on his pelt or other distinctive indicator that you’ve returned in a new body made of your own genes and chromosomes. You, the original need only return here for a new scan to update what new experiences and memories we have on file for your pattern. Does that make sense?”

About as much sense as bank account, I thought. Nodding to the tech, I let her usher me out to the dressing room where my clothing and gear was stored in a locker. I had negotiated for this. I checked the time and date on my Comm with a voice command just to be sure I was the original pattern donor. I did not embarrass myself by turning and looking at my tail or legs for some out of place stripe or wrong-colored spot on my hide. As I dressed, my thoughts went back to the mission briefing meeting and confirmation.

 

[The Pakkrat]

2.​

299-1073

Forraroekou / Subsector B (Ksinanirz 0908) A629500-E Ni Naval

“You said to dress casual on the comm,” I said to my handler, a case officer with pretty red-brown eyes and a phone voice that put 900-comm number females to shame.

“I said to show up in business casual, Arsun,” answered Anael Kheng an Akumgeda of the Reversion Agency like myself. She was far smarter than me. It was probably why I was pushed out into the field instead of her. As she was in front of me, I heard her other, hidden answer being that I am what they call a power telepath. Yeah. I read minds like one reads a hardcopy publication. If I can see you, I can get a read. Not as fun as many believe. That is why I fought a lot in my cub years. Telepaths have to learn to keep their mouths shut when they tune in on a sophont’s inside voice.

You never listen to me, Anael thought before she saw me Listening to her surface thoughts. “Come on. Tuck in that and slide that piece behind your back. Stand up straight. Can you put that knife somewhere out of sight? Ancients, Arsun, you look like a backwater, Desert world bazaar hawker.” Anael continued to fuss with my tank top and military cargo pants. I aided her by sliding my UlVhAcPV-13 on my belt to the small of my back. It was the largest accelerator pistol that happened to fit my right claw better than any other at the Agency. I rotated the holster so that the weapon lay flat with its handle upwards and behind the small of my back. As an ‘asset’, I don’t have any medals or ribbons. Agents are unsung heroes compared to the military sector of the Kechk Reversion. Instead, I held in my three Commendations letters in my left claw. The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to the lobby hallway. I stepped out after Anael who was in her Agency best. Now I felt like a bumpkin as I towered over her. This is casual dress on Kengllunar my homeworld just a parsec away coreward. And Kengllunar is a Desert world by the way.

Marble and carpet floors could be felt under the foot pads of our feet. We Vargr do not wear shoes if they are not necessary. Anael and I passed a receptionist desk. I tried to look like I belonged there but was still shadowed by Anael’s formal importance. For our trouble, we were awarded visitor badges with our names and affiliations in the Reversion Agency. The receptionist printed off the cardstock and slipped them in plastic badges as if it were a practiced discipline to itself. Identified and labeled then, Anael and I were permitted entry to a large meeting room through two heavy doors at the end of the lobby. The receptionist pulled open both doors before I could put my own, larger muscles to use. Maybe she didn’t want me to touch anything since I looked like a backwater, Desert world bazaar hawker. Try saying all that three times in Akumgeda.

The heraldry sewn on or pinned to each formal outfit of the Akumgeda and Gvegh Vargr seated in the meeting room made me feel even smaller though I was easily the largest Vargr present. Females and males stood to greet my handler Anael Kheng. She was addressed with a handful of titles from different peoples as Tradecrafter, Minder, and Handler among others. I was the Asset, the Singleton, the Emissary and Agent depending on who I clasped claws with. In the meeting room were Representatives from the Kechk Pact, the Kechk Reversion and the Gvegh Rep from the non-aligned Gvegh Coreward Arm a loose collection of ethnic Gvegh in Ksinanirz and neighboring sectors of space featuring them. Their visitors’ badges had their names and titles, but I let them be introduced formally as if I could not pull their base identity from their heads. There was Med/Psi Counsellor Dr. Teng whom I had met before between my three missions to make sure I was debriefed in mind as well as formal mission closures. He nodded at me as we clasped claws and met minds in a mental, mutual acknowledgement. He too was an Akumgeda telepath, just not as acutely sensitive as I had admitted to the shrink. A Kiden Emissary was present, an Akumgeda with very little about him on the visual surface other than a pin in his suit lapel of that world. He appeared downtrodden and looking at him I knew instantly why. My homeworld is lost, Agent, he thought to himself though I was Listening. His thoughts appeared in his personal charisma and how he carried himself. His tail did not wag or even sway upon greeting me.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Forraroekou Starship Architects is pronounced with far many more syllables in Akumgeda, but the Foreman Voughthue before me was able to rote it off his tongue easily enough. Instead of repeating it to him out of courtesy, I took it from his surface thoughts, so I could confirm that I had heard it properly pronounced. His charisma was proud of his company here on Forraroekou and they stood to make a spike in credits this quarter for this meeting and the project I learned of through Anael Kheng my case officer. Six Vargr, male and female, welcomed me into the meeting though almost all of them were doubting my personal charisma based on how I was attired. Though I am a huge male, I regretted not dressing up properly to the occasion. The claw clasps were of various strengths, the males and females, based on their personal charisma and how important they felt their offices were to this meeting. I let them think their thoughts. What was important came out of their muzzles as far as this interview went.

Since these Akumgeda and Gvegh vastly outranked me in charisma and positions of power, the meeting came to order with the group again taking seats. Anael and I remained standing, handler and asset, topics of the interview. There were standard questions aimed at Anael. Had we read the sealed, hardcopy files sent us? Yes, answered Anael. I had not. So, while she did the talking for me, (none addressed me directly just yet), I took the mission in sections from each of their memories and mentally unpacked them as fast as I could handle. I may be a power telepath but making sense of the size of those mental downloads – to use computer geek words – takes my middling brain time to process. Questions of my capability as an Agent in the Emissary role were brought up and I handed my Commendations letters to them through Tradecrafter Anael. She outlined a short synopsis of my three term-missions in the Reversion Agency while I mentally chewed on the job this group of big-wigs had for me.

There was that first mission where I went undercover as a Chef, my most successful mission thanks to having pulled a family recipe for barbecue sauce out of my granddam’s head, may she rest in peace. Thank you, granddam. That recipe was mouthwatering and made any meat plate special. The recipe allowed me to slip a sedative in the target’s meal and maintain my cover. The Alpha-Baron mission I cheated. Everyone in that family knew that the Alpha was barely Psionic. But being that he was such a recluse, they did know his exact appearance. Enter myself. Portraying the Alpha-Baron, I was able Listen to the thoughts of the hired assassin in the court and point a claw before an attack came at me rather than His Lordship. Lackluster, and it appeared that way on the Commendation-2 without any charismatic heroics involved. The Naval Petty Officer cover was barely better. In that mission, the saboteur was just sloppy. Sloppy and so clumsy that it took minimal effort to pin the Pact Vargr down so the ship’s Marines could haul him off. I just sat on the guy. I'm that big for an Akumgeda. So yeah. As an Agent, I’m not some novel-worthy power telepath. These events were in my reports and before the Vargr in this meeting. I did not Listen to their reactions as I was still opening segments of the true mission from their heads. My tail drooped a little for not taking the time the night before to open and read the hardcopy. Anael noticed and though stoic, she admonished me with her eyes.

 

[The Pakkrat]

While Dr. Teng stood and gave his assessment on me to the meeting, I tuned him out to review what I had heard in everyone’s minds. To pull their memories of the mission, I had to look at each with my eyes. A retina-to-retina connection presents the best - um, bandwidth to use another computer term. Teng gave off my physicals, mentals and charisma found easily in my Universal Personal Profile or UPP if anyone cared to look at my file as an Agent. I considered the mission from those gathered here. Dr. Teng had nothing to hide and did not try to block me when our eyes met. He just gave me a less-scathing, half-second lecture on being prepared when I inquired his memories. Though we are both telepaths, he still does not know just how truly sensitive I am. In that realm as a cub, I learned to keep those cards close to my chest.

The mission in essence was a command and pilot-astrogator position aboard a 100-ton Vargr Scout ship. I was to take the ship coreward all the way to the Solomani Preserve a federation of isolationist Humans who had passed by the Kechk Pact back in –1700 Imperium-reckoning or sometime thereabouts. The different Vargr before me had various years in their memories depending on how well they internalized their history lessons in primary and secondary education. But the awkward detail was that – and I quote - Something Wicked was coming and devouring interstellar communications and trade with the Preserve and every world between them and the two Kechk polities. Some form of psychic phenomenon was silencing all returning activity from the coreward worlds beyond the frontier world of Kiden. And just last year, Kiden too had gone silent from the advance of this Something Wicked assumed to be a propagating line, border or wave (depending on the mind I queried) definition of the thing. Ships that jumped coreward, into the current position of Something Wicked did not return and in less than two months were declared missing. Worse yet, was that no interstellar mail, trade goods or contracted resources had come from Kiden in all of that time. I was going to be ordered to take the Scout ship and try and leap this Something Wicked since Jump Space is theorized to be completely separate from the normal reality of our Charted Space universe.

But the surprise that I had to choke down and hold from my face was that these people knew about the Something Wicked before Kiden’s silencing. They knew and did not believe the warning files transmitted by a Solomani Scout-Courier that had miraculously leaped the rimward-advancing front and transmitted a packet of files on the Something Wicked. But the files went unheeded because the Humans had left each world-system so quickly, presumably to get their warning out to as many governments that would open the files as possible. I breathed in as I learned from their thoughts that the warnings went ignored, collecting digital dust, until Kiden was engulfed and had gone dark. Everyone knew that news only traveled as fast as the ships that could carry it. So that was why the Kiden Emissary was so full of hopelessness. Much of what I pulled from their heads was repeated in the briefing which only separated what they wanted me to know and remain ignorant. I was to take the Scout-Courier, a current-year ship that had been specifically commissioned for this mission. At least the higher-ups were preparing for the coming of this Something Wicked even if they let the masses remain calm and ignorant. However, Dr. Teng telepathically let me in on a little more. Much was being secretly done to prepare for the worlds soon to be overrun by the Something Wicked. Sleeper Transport starships were being outfitted with as many Low Berth cryo-sleep capsules as could fit in each. If my mission was a success and at my return from a distant refugee world named Bath – yeah, Bath – the exacting position and rate of propagation would be further measured with finer accuracy. Still, in just two years since the Solomani warnings were received by confused System Traffic Comms operators, not enough ships and Low Berths could ferry the entirety of Ksinanirz Sector over the Something Wicked. Another tactic was being tried.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Underground chambers called Vaults were being layered with lead lining, psionic shielding and some super-thick and locking doors. These Vaults, like the Transports, would be lined with cryo-sleep capsules, priority given to the most powerful Psions first, (for security reasons?). It was the hope of the Kechk Pact and Reversion and the Gvegh Coreward Arm that such Vaults would protect those interred for a good decade or more per the duration suggested in the transmitted Solomani files. My ears flattened to the revelation that again this was not enough Vault space and sleep chambers to save every Vargr in the Sector. We were simply too many. The estimated percentages of silenced casualties varied mind to mind that I had extracted.

The minds of the three Representatives of the Pact, my Reversion and the Gvegh Arm were not in agreement as to how many would survive. Worse yet, information was being leaked by spacer-types who let fly with wild rumors of their take on the phenomenon coming. This was causing the sprouting cults of Enlightenment Coming and the Doorstep Doomsday conspiracy theorists on the computer networks. Digital, online claws were being pointed at the governments, the mainworld administrations and anyone in the know. Somewhat true from what I could read of the minds before me, as an Agent I knew the alternative. Chaos would reign and help no Vargr anywhere if full disclosure of Something Wicked coming our way was announced. I resolved to ask to see the Solomani files later if I was confirmed by this board of contributors to funding this mission. This was a threat to all Vargr, indeed all life before the coming front. And when us Vargr are confronted as a whole, our race can come together quickly with the right leaders making sound decisions. This time they made the right call. Save as many as possible and apologize later, after the Something Wicked had passed. This thing was nobody’s fault.

The shocking part for me, despite the prior knowledge these Vargr possessed was the fact that they wanted me, a telepath to scan any survivors on Kiden, the so-called Gateway to the Solomani Preserve. Confirming survivors and their silence was high on the priorities, especially the mind of the Kiden Emissary who was building hope for my abilities as they conferred with each other and my Handler Anael. She championed me better than I ever could have. Bless her, she deflected my past errors and accentuated my successes in previous terms. Even prisoners from the Chef mission were still asking for bottles of granddam’s recipe sent to them. Whatever. Anael had confidence in me in word and threatened me mentally to produce results as she felt this to be my biggest mission to date. More than just charisma and another Commendation were at stake.

The Kechk Reversion Representative in this meeting concluded with, “After Kiden, Agent Unrralarr, you are to proceed through Cheaters’ Route to the Solomani Preserve to Bath and confirm that their Vargr homestead world is ready to receive refugee Transports. Once done, return to us with all the collected data. Any questions?”

 

[The Pakkrat]

I looked at both Anael and Dr. Teng. Both nodded to me. I then had to agree that I looked like a backwater, Desert world bazaar hawker as I asked, “Why me?” Though the Reversion Rep answered me, I Listened to everyone's unspoken answers.

“Arsun,” hissed Anael. That was not the kind of question asked of one’s superiors in her mind.

The Gvegh Representative answered first with, “You have the Agency and Emissary skills we need for this mission, Arsun Unrralarr.” Because you are a telepath, thought the Gvegh. The Gvegh Vargr had just as much to lose even if they were not culturally psionic a sub-species as the Akumgeda.

Because you are the only telepath left in the Agency, answered another Vargr.

Because I need you learn if Kiden is still there, mentally whimpered the Kiden Emissary. Doubtless long-range telescopes would confirm that Kiden’s stellar primary was still in the night sky years from now. An interstellar jump to that system would only take a few weeks at most. Fear and desperation oozed from the worried Emissary. He had loved ones back home. Just how many Kideans were on Forraroekou or in other worlds not yet struck by the Something Wicked?

Because you are the most powerful telepath I’ve detected, Arsun, answered Dr. Teng who purposefully projected his answer to me and thus was the loudest answer. There was no one else that he knew of with my estimated sensitivity in the discipline of telepathy. And he certainly was no Emissary, he added before I looked to another answer.

Because all the other telepaths have fled the Something Wicked already, answered the Kechk Pact Representative in his private mind. Her mind was imagining telepaths being laid down in Transports or inside Vaults or taking interstellar passages rimward in exodus. More fear.

Because they said so, was the simple answer from the Foreman of the company constructing the Scout-Courier ship in the drydock at the Downport. Less understanding of the situation and focus upon making profits.

Because you are expendable, Arsun, was the answer from Anael. That thought surprised me the most since it came from Anael Kheng whom I thought valued me more than that. Then I remembered her professionalism and frankness in surface thoughts. She too knew by our past operations that I was telepathic. When you ask a question verbally, most Vargr do not have the discipline to keep the answer from appearing in their surface thoughts. But Anael had some practice in our terms as Handler to Agent. She fed it to me straight though she did not know I was Listening. This is one of those times when it really bites to be a telepath of this magnitude.

“I am an Agent and have done Emissary work,” I tried to defer to the collective charisma in the room, “but why me?” The stream of answers from the surface thoughts came at me again in a small mob and I had to step back once. They wanted me to Listen to those affected by the Something Wicked, if there were any left.

“Reluctance is expected, Agent Unrralarr,” said the Reversion Rep. “We have full confidence in you.” But his head warned me not to back out of this as it would look bad on not only my record, but Anael’s and the Reversion Agency reputation and charisma too. I thought the Kiden Emissary was going to cry in whimpers so great was his emotions in the room. Though others near him were beginning to clue into his paralanguage, his desperation was so loud to me.

 

[The Pakkrat]

I stood there and thought even though I had retreated a step and telegraphed my own body language to the gathered. This was no ordinary mission for the Agency. All these important people were before me and were not going to take no for answer. This was because they were thinking, the first ship has not yet returned. Ancients! I’m the second attempt crossover of this Something Wicked? Staggering as that revelation was, I cringed inside my mask of minute reluctance as the Rep had noted aloud. Someone or someones had failed this mission earlier, as recently as...last year. Just who was I dealing with here?

This was my life, a life as a power telepath. My innocence and naivete was constantly being stripped away by the thoughts of those in my line of sight. I was second-string to a previous mission, a failed mission that had yet to return from across this great unknown called the Something Wicked. Stepping into this room, this building had trapped me and Anael into accepting this mission. I resolved to muster out of the Agency after this mission right then and there. In that meeting room, I nodded in acquiescence to the assignment. But I brazenly spoke up with a half-voiced request.

“I’m gonna need Life Insurance as payment for this mission.” Such a request would cost in excess of a million credits on the only world that could perform such an act of a high-tech brain scan and sampling of my DNA.

“Done,” said the collected Vargr in the room. And they meant it in thought too. Papers were passed around and seals were pressed to them by all the signatories. Just like that, I was committed to a headlong collision with a strange, psychic phenomenon I had only been halfway briefed upon. I had to retire to the shared hotel room with Anael and re-commit to internalizing everything in the dossier and the Solomani warning files.

 

[The Pakkrat]

3.​

300-1073

Forraroekou / Subsector B (Ksinanirz 0908) A629500-E Ni Naval

I snapped back to the present just before leaving the technologist to recalibrate her scanner. I asked,” So, if I’m reiterated, I’ll only remember up to my last update, right?”

“That is correct, Agent,” nodded the technologist’s muzzle and nose. I would likely never see this one again. “Of course, you might send messages or other journals to your Relict Clone which will inherit everything you own, possessions, land and titles.” Bowing so as to indicate I was to leave further questions to the cloning facility; I took the hint by her gesture and her surface thoughts. I felt like I was exiting an aerospace vehicle with a flight attendant shooing me out the craft exit.

It was then that I decided to journal this report, for myself, my Relict Clone if ever needed and for anyone doubting my sanity and incentives to this mission. The thought had merit. It might be worth a publication someday after I have retired from the Agency and all the Travelling. This was also when I realized my new situation as a Traveller. I had no such compulsion, but the mission was not presenting me with the opportunity to become a Traveller so much as demanding that I answer its call rather than some inward wanderlust. Having come from Kengllunar, I have taken passage aboard starships before now. The difference was that now I was the one in command of the mission. The signed documents said so. The word responsibility creeped into my conscious when I was met by Anael Kheng who drove me back to the Downport drydock to see the Scout-Courier I was so suddenly put in command.

We rode in silence in the contragravity car which glided along an unseen and set flight path for all such traffic. Anael knew to stay on the guide-track displayed by the gravcar’s navigation board. I did not look at her so much as her reflection in the transparent polymer view pane. Reflections I learned cannot be read. Neither can I read myself in the mirror, so that is another misconception dispelled. I can still lie to myself. Believing my lies would make me a sociopath, right?

I opened with a question to my Handler, “What did you ask for, Anael?” I kept my eyes on her reflection in the view pane. I wanted her public answer, not the truth. There is some comfort in lies I have learned.

At the controls of the gravcar, Anael looked at me and then my own reflection in the polymer glass before answering, “I am going to sleep as soon as you depart, Arsun.”

“Why so soon?”

“We’re Agents, Arsun.” Anael frowned at me from across the gravcar. “Do you really believe that our governments will honor any promises when that, whatever-it-is that finally strikes Forraroekou, we will get our guaranteed safe passage or safe deposit?” She did not let me answer and added, “Forraroekou is my homeworld, Arsun. It’s still trying to ratify a government and a penal code. We aren’t even rated Balkanized by Factions so incoherent are the local Packs. What makes you think the Law Level here is going to Vault me away just before the Something Wicked comes? I’m not stupid.”

“For how long?” I asked after a moment or two. I had read the dossier the night before the brain scan today. It had a round figure of a decade or more on ice estimated for sleeping through the projected effects of the Something Wicked. If Anael was going to a Vault early that meant more than a decade without my Handler. It also meant that death due to long cryo-sleep was a very real risk.

“Don’t worry about me, Arsun,” said Anael. “Forraroekou is the most technologically advanced world in the Kechk Pact or Reversion. I’ll be fine and still in my thirties. I’ve already accepted that you’ll be in your late forties when I wake up.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

That stunned me. Anael was right. She would not age while in cryo-sleep inside a shielded and locked Vault. I might never see the spotted beige pelt of my Handler after departing on this mission. I thought of a few nice things to say to her then. My paralanguage must have given me away.

“Just don’t fail, Arsun,” Anael said to stop me from gushing. “Let’s keep this professional and call it just another chapter in our respective Careers, okay?” I then looked directly at her. She gave me that stonewalling look when she knows I am Listening to her. Don’t, Arsun, was her surface thoughts, but her emotions were trying to stay sublimated. We truly might never work together or even see each other again. A silence fell over the gravcar as if the Something Wicked had struck us both on the way to the Downport.

Forraroekou Harbordown concourse is shaped like a long hairpin when seen from aerial imaging or flying overhead. I first saw it coming to this world from my homeworld to recruit into the Reversion Agency. Gate gantries stretch outward from the concourse which is accesses by a two-path, ground and grav, accessway to the entrances along the inside of the hairpin structures. The Traffic Control Tower sits in the center of the eye at the end of this formation and like a sentinel watches over the ground, aerospace and low orbital space. As we descended in the guide-path, I saw the hangars, hotels, upper-floor malls, landing pads and STOL runways. There was less traffic today than when I first arrived on Forraroekou. The skies above all were a crystalline lattice of cirrus clouds on this mainworld. The Very Thin and Tainted, meaning low pressures and polluted atmosphere could manage little else. Coming from a Desert world with no standing water, I tried to distract myself with the cloud forms upon final descent to a sealed garage for vehicles. I had seen the vast oceans dotted by the archipelagos of this planet with my canine jaw hanging open the first time. Passing the airlock entrance sized for delivery vehicles outside Trade Security, Anael slid the gravcar to a parking space to which she would return, minus me.

I stole glances at Anael as we approached Hangar Nine on the field outside Concourse West, the hairpin pointing north on Dagger Island. She was close to tears and her logical mind was fighting a nervous breakdown. But like a trooper, she stayed upright, did not lope and remained outwardly formal. The opened hangar doors waited to devour me. At fifty meters from the small door entrance, Anael stopped, inhaled a deep breath and temporarily took off her Combination Filter-Condenser mask to best display her personal charisma. She shook her mane out once the mask was off. Looking up at my face since I was a head taller, she said “Good luck, Agent Arsun Unrralarr. I will see you on the other side.” After a second or two, being a practiced breather of this world’s atmosphere, the case officer slid on her mask again.

 

[The Pakkrat]

“I’ll come back,” I too said without my mask, not knowing what would calm her heart. I extended my claw for a clasp as I put my mask back on. But rather than clasping my extremity, Anael fell into my arms and we hugged for a short span in silence. I released her at her patting my back. She nodded. I nodded back. She cared, and it showed in her mind, in her heart and in her paralanguage at last as Anael Kheng turned back for the concourse across the tarmac. I watched her re-enter the two-story structure before I turned for Hangar Nine.

 

[The Pakkrat]

4.​

300-1073

Forraroekou / Subsector B (Ksinanirz 0908) A629500-E Ni Naval

I could not decide if the ship in Hangar Nine was more a Scout or more a Courier. I went through its aspects, those I could identify after entering the smaller front door. Lifting body with light wings and folding fins in the aft dorsal and aft ventral portions. This Explorers’ vessel was shaped more rounded dorsally, to execute atmospheric reentry with its ‘top’ facing a planet rather than ventral-down. A long telescoping antenna with a capsule end was extended from the starboard side bow. Someone wanted an upgrade to the sensors package I guessed. Centerline and also dorsal was an ill-proportioned weapon turret called a barbette. It held a huge pair of some kind of energy weapons. What kind of mission would require such large weaponry? With the mission dossier along with the stamped orders and my Commendations letters still in my left claw, I stepped forward to call to a Gvegh male wearing work overalls and was labeled DECK FOREMAN across his back and shoulders. The foreman had more pockets than a mutant marsupial and tools poked outward from most of them. His pelt was tawny. He did not notice my approach so engrossed in the rolling diagnostics table connected to a port on the ventral fuselage.

“Deck!” I called. I’m not an Explorer but that’s what the support team lead is called.

“Yeah?” answered the Gvegh without looking up. The waveform on his monitor was far more important to him than eye contact. I gave that to him since his mind was a jumble of focused attention on the tuning of the ship’s jump drive system. His mind was concentrating on both jump ratings. Around the hangar were other techs padding about the 100 tons of starship in loading various gear, and final furnishings into the only airlock on the port side midship.

“Arsun Unrralarr of the Reversion Agency,” I attempted an introduction. Only when the foreman’s mind cleared with satisfaction at what he was scrutinizing did he look up, up to my height.

“You got Urzaeng blood, Tower?” he jokingly asked. It is hard for me to be insulted by someone whose mind is opened to me when they speak in lighthearted jest. Akumgeda are on average shorter. I blame good eating when I was a cub. Thank you, granddam.

“Nice bird you got here,” I nosed my muzzle at the Scout. It looked like a Scout ship this close up. “Orders here. I’m the pilot and lead.” I held out the paperwork.

The foreman looked at my papers and shrugged, “I don’t read Akumgeda and my translator’s not on me. Can you take it to your assigned SensOp? She’s up the steps and inside. Said she wanted to test the main antenna. Sub-lieutenant and Doctor Donrairr Zuutig is her name.”

Ex-military, Explorer and a ship’s physician was quite the generalist. I had in my paperwork dossiers for only two crew for this vessel besides myself, a SensOp-Medic and an Engineer-Gunner. Nodding to the Deck Foreman I took my hardcopy with me up the rolling metal stairs up to the open port airlock from the hangar floor.

 

[The Pakkrat]

One might think that Psions lead into new places with their psychic senses. I think that is a stereotypical misconception. I am still a Vargr even if I was tested and trained for the disciplines as a cub. If it is a stereotype, know that I led with my nose instead. Olfactory is the best physical sense we Vargr have and we use it better than just about anyone save some strange Centaur-things on the far side of Charted Space. The ship smelled new, crisp and unused. Sure, there were a few scents of other Vargr coming and going through the airlock, but by and large the entry and corridor beyond smelled only of new vehicle, the kind of aroma one gets when purchasing a new groundcar with no odometer to speak of, fresh from the dealer. The strongest aroma though was the ammonia cleaners used on the Galley, especially in the food preparation.

Beyond the inner airlock door and bolted to the corridor wall was ship’s boilerplate. It read in Akumgeda letters:

FORRAROEKOU STARSHIP ARCHITECTS

NFK-AL33 Exploration-Diplomatic Far Surveyor “Beagle”

__________________________

Keel laid down 15-1073 Forraroekou Shipyards

Forraroekhou (Ksinanirz 0908), Kechk Reversion​

There was a space for a ship name on the third line, seemingly awaiting some sense of true identity. It made sense that a ship this new had been constructed hastily after the first mission Scout did not return. I silently wagered that the Kechk Reversion slapped together the first ship right here in Hangar Nine. Power flowed, and the cabin lights were on. I passed deeper into the so-called Beagle and forewent the stateroom door in the forward wall. I wanted to see the Bridge. A left and thus forward turn in the Galley elbow and I noted the Med Console door had been left open. The Doctor was in I guessed. Beyond the small examination table was the storage Clinic door. It too was open. The shelves had been opened and left a state of disarray and seemingly forgotten. Short attention span perhaps?

 

[The Pakkrat]

The Shared Fresher door was left open. It may be sexist of me to say that all females want to check the nearest head and shower on principle. Just to follow up and add males to the list, I flushed the head, checked the fold-down taps for cold and the delayed hot water. The shower had a powerful jet with various apertures. This ship was scoring points for me and obviously for this Dr. Zuutig unless I was mistaken.

The last door in the corridor of the spartan Galley was labeled Bridge. It too was left open. Did this SensOp-Medic get raised in a barn? Inside the three seats crowded by consoles was another door to my future stateroom. Every decimeter of space on the consoles, acceleration chairs and ceiling were taken by instrumentation, controls, operations and holocrystal monitor touch-boards. Every board was lit up and self -calibrating to the tuning the Deck Foreman was executing outside. Opposite the XO cabin was the stateroom for the SensOp-Medic. Below each console was access panels granting windows to the ship’s computer and avionics surrounding the Bridge.

As I surveyed the area from the door that I had refused to let close by standing in its threshold, Vargr ears, head and face popped up from behind the numerous Sensors boards. She was Gvegh, with an egg-white pelt, sky blue eyes and dressed in a utility uniform with less pockets than the Foreman outside. She was well proportioned and had a hale if smallish frame finished with a long and bushy tail. A small silver hoop in each ear hugged the fur closely. Surprise was in her head and on her face when she looked at my face near the Bridge door upper frame. That surprise melted into disappointment at what she saw. I forgave her thoughts as I always have with others, until they are voiced. A mind can change on a whim, so I let her pass judgement on my outer shape.

I opened with a lie to get the female talking, “Excuse me. I am looking for this vessel’s Engineer-Gunner. Name’s Arsun Unrralarr of the Reversion Agency. I’m the listed Pilot-Astrogator for this flight.”

The Gvegh put her claws on her hips. One of them had a voltage meter in it. Her judgment of me continued to sour. Not if I can help it, she thought with a frown. Who gives an Agent command on a Scout-Courier? Her charisma tried to fill up the SensOp station. But when I stood there unfazed by her stature and thoughts of disgust, she halted her grab. Was she going to challenge me and then suddenly change her mind? If this was Sublieutenant-Doctor Donrairr Zuutig, then she mentally shifted gears with a slick flywheel. Testing the waters was the analogy that was on her mind when she answered me. “SensOp-Medic Donrairr Zuutig. Engineer Roull Arzra is syncing the drives nacelles in Engineering. If you’re looking for him, the access is past the Clinic and aft through his cabin, Agent.” No titles. Zuutig’s self-recalled memories reminded her and I both that this was a Non-Combat, commissioned vessel. She was waiting for me to call her a Doctor, (which in truth she was) or by her Navy rank of Sublieutenant. She was not going to call me Captain, such was her disappointment with me. I was glad of this reading because it told me to drop the formalities. I could can my own titles with this crew. I had just introduced myself by name only. Perhaps she was simply reciprocating in an egalitarian fashion. I did not probe her again before nodding my thanks and departing. Donrairr Zuutig watched me depart the Bridge back down the corridor then returned to digging into her station. We’re gonna die, she thought before her mind was snarled with Sensors technobabble I did not understand.

 

[The Pakkrat]

* * *

​

My official rank and title is Sublieutenant-Doctor Donrairr Zuutig, former Navy and now Explorer for the Gvegh Coreward Arm. But on a Scout/Courier such as this, ranks and other formalities are indeed dropped. It took only one term of Exploration to deprogram myself and Roull Arzra of automatic deference to rank. Sure, both the Akumgeda Ensign and I have medals for Meritorious Conduct Under Fire, MCUF for short. I tossed mine in a small jewelry box long ago. This brute at the door of the Bridge greeting me like some lost Marine had the appearance of some backwater, Desert world bazaar hawker. I was not intimidated by the large pistol behind him or the Great Big Knife riding in a sheath at his right thigh cargo pocket. And the paperwork in his meaty hooks were not going to convince me that he was the board’s choice for lead on this mission. That is at least until Roull, another Akumgeda would confirm it to me. I don’t read Akumgeda though I can speak it very well. The sentence structure is based on an earlier tongue though I am no linguist. And that is what I was doing under the SensOps consoles. I was changing the base language to my native Gvegh and confirming that the voice command interface with the ship’s computer would acknowledge me if I had to revert to Gvegh to get a detailed command across.

He was tall, muscle-bound and seemed to fake a Groat in a dinnerware shop stance and movements. Arsun Unrralarr, as he named himself then was likely some lineman from a primary school grav-ball team, an EShifter who could make himself temporarily stronger or more vigorous. Probably a team captain and had Akumgeda cheerleaders hanging on his arms after Fiday Night matches. His charisma though would not budge when I stood up to him from across the Bridge. According to the dossier the Explorers had dug up, Unrralarr had three terms in his Agency in Emissary roles and undercover missions, some of which were beyond our clearance to fully expose. Kechk Reversion Agency Personnel or KRAP has obviously dropped the grav-ball when they picked this oaf.

I decided to stay silent about this error until this brute brought Roull forward. Roull and I knew each other as we were both ex-Navy and both one-term Explorers. This mission was a last-minute reassignment. The Engineer and I were to be assigned to a “first-in” Scout. But before we could report, their mission was scrubbed on account of the other crew coming down with Akumgeda crud. Inoculated, Roull and I accepted that the Ancients had moved us to different positions on the gameboard. We merely packed our bags and walked next door to Hangar Nine while Eight was given decontamination scrub-down and the infected crew given two-weeks infirmary R & R.

Now, I know that Roull transferred from the Navy and Unrralarr from the Agency are both Akumgeda. The sub-species has a culture that accepts the reality of psionics testing and training. To the Vargr, psychic disciplines and lesser proficiencies are just tools. There is no superiority complex behind having been tested and trained. There is no stigma either, not from us Gvegh to be sure. According to the histories, when the Gvegh first found the Akumgeda way out here on the coreward frontier, they were delighted to learn that there were Vargr out this way and that they had developed psionics on their own, without the taint of Humaniti such as the Zhodani Consulate far to spinward. This purity and innocence from the Humans a few sectors of space distant delighted my ancestors and the Akumgeda seemed just as eager to “reverse course” and rejoin their long-lost cousins. We learned that the Akumgeda left Grnouf Subsector and Lair, our race’s source world, a few millennia ago during the First Diaspora. The other sub-species had ostracized the Akumgeda for some perceived imperfection. Maybe it was something stupid like the fact that Akumgeda have spots. What nonsense! We Gvegh found them again and welcomed them among our Packs though they continued to breed true among our number.

In the assignment that never happened, Engineer Roull had just finished his annual ‘birthday’ physical with me. I learned from his UPP and his history chart that he had tested for EShift and The Touch, which is why I knew about and assumed the oaf could mold his stats just as easily. As for The Touch, Roull has the psychic power to “lay hands” upon injury and psionically encourage accelerated healing. I then have to step in and remind the patient to rest and have a hearty next meal to make up for the nutrients used from stored fats and adenosine triphosphate from muscle tissues. But Roull has a catch and he admitted it to me. I was to be the Counsellor on the Scout before we were reassigned to this Beagle and its mission. Roull cannot stand the sight of blood, guts and gore up close. He let slip that it turned his stomach which is why he opted for the part of a naval vessel or Explorer ship furthest from the Medbay or Med Console. Though if he just closed his eyes and pressed his claws close enough to a wound, I bet he could work some amazing first aid. I have not seen him do it, but he is rated in Basic Life Support and First Aid. Maybe he picked it up from a Marine Medic on his Siege Operation term in the Kechk Pact Navy. Oh yeah. Roull is a Pact citizen. Seeing the Unrralarr tower of meat from the Reversion Agency, I could tell that there would be political differences of opinion between the two Akumgeda. I would later learn that Mr. Arsun was a telepath, typical of Emissary Agents or I was a Groat-hide peddler from a backwater, Desert world bazaar.

 

[The Pakkrat]

When Roull appeared on the Bridge, I was already seated at SensOps and ready to out-vote this interloper and send him back to his Agency. As you can guess, that did not happen. Roull looked like he had picked a fight with mountain and lost before the first blasting charge had been brought to bear. Roull told me later that the muscle tower had passed him several tools while standing in the door frame of Engineering, without ever touching them. This kind of psionics is termed Move or telekinesis. The team captain could manipulate at least hand-held tools with his mind. Telepathic and telekinetic, Unrralarr was two of the three major Ts. The third is teleportation but I’ve never seen him jaunt anywhere but to the Galley however without psionics. The Engineer had asked for a tool to be passed to him, but I knew he was possessive of his toolkit and wouldn’t let another soul so much as look at his collection. When tools began entering his grasp, stuck under the new drive he was calibrating, the two seemed to come to an understanding. Mr. Arsun had not touched his precious tools and yet glided them through the drives section to the Engineer. If the lineman could give me pause, Roull was a pushover when it came to Vargr charisma. Perhaps that is why the Ensign had chosen to deal with starship drives and other systems. There is nothing to compare clout against in a machine.

“Let’s have a small talk,” said Arsun Unrralarr. Then he sat in the Helm chair after spinning it to face aft and away from the controls console about it. Roull remained standing and I folded my arms in a defensive body language. If this Mr. Arsun was a telepathic Emissary, then I was not letting him in my head if I caught him so much as pointing whiskers at me. Get out and stay out, was my reaction to his gaze every time I saw him looking at me. Of course, I cannot confirm that he ever read my mind, but what telepathic other than a Zhodani Human will admit such intrusion?

 

[The Pakkrat]

* * *



5.​

300-1073

Forraroekou / Subsector B (Ksinanirz 0908) A629500-E Ni Naval

I sat down in the Helm chair and spoke while adjusting it for my height, weight and frame until it was comfy enough to at least have an argument with the SensOp and the Engineer. It was Pack-building time. I set all the paperwork I had on a console within reach. I was going to make this an inclusive discussion as possible without using telepathy and making it one-sided. I kept my eyes on the deck floor panels absent of foot claw scratches so new was the impact plastic. Then I spoke in my usual rumble voice.

“If you’ve read the sealed mission documents then you’re in,” I said. “I’ve already been paid for this mission and getting something up front was likely on your minds too.” That earned me no answer. “None of us should be on such a mission. This is a job for the Navy so big is the oncoming problem. But if they lose one of their ships to this thing not only are lot of Vargr lost, an expensive asset is also lost. Hence us little people getting tapped. I am Arsun Unrrallar an Agent from the Reversion. My MOS is Emissary. They want me to both make contact with Kiden and then fly this bird coreward to the Solomani Preserve in hopes that it is still there. If they are, then our next leg is to confirm they are still accepting immigrants – refugees in this situation – to Bath a world the Humans have reserved especially for Vargr and not just Akumgeda. They have accepted any Vargr that can play good planetary stewards and by their rules. Given what is coming, whomever goes will have adjustments to make.” I let that sink in and kept my eyes down. Donrairr was daring me with her mind to look at her. Roull wanted to go back to Engineering and pretend this talk never happened. Then I began to give them points against my presence. “I shouldn’t be on a bird like this though I’m rated in Pilot and Astrogator. I’m not an Explorer, it’s true. I’m an Emissary though I know I don’t look it. I come from Kengllunar next door. Yes, it’s a sand-ball and I grew up in a mountain warren protected from the sandstorms. But I have here three Commendation letters that detail three terms of varying success. I’ve read the mission dossier too. They need a telepath. I shouldn’t be on this mission, but I’m the only telepath they have left.”

I took a breath and continued when neither spoke. Their motionless attention still spoke volumes to me without my having to read their surface thoughts. “The higher-ups have three plans for dealing with this – this Something Wicked they call it. The Solomani Humans are thirteen years into their recovery according to their warning transmissions they did not have to send to us Vargr in Ksinanirz. And there were groups, governments, entire worlds that did not understand or buy the compacted files that were given them. Now that ships have been disappearing and the first world has gone dark, Kiden if you caught any space rumors floating about, we are to try to jump over this thing using Jump Space to protect us from the Something Wicked. The first plan is to load as many Vargr into Low Berths stacked aboard interstellar Transports. Hopefully they can make it and jump past this thing and re-settle on Bath. The second plan is to cram as many folks that won’t leave their homeworlds into Low Berths, their heads shielded by anti-telepathy helmets and locked inside deep, lead-lined and psi-shielded Vaults for the next decade or more on a timer. The third plan is a delaying tactic by sending those who don’t like the first two plans rimward in hope that this Wicked propagating barrier loses potency and peters out to nothing.”

Then came some bad news. “There will be folk who cannot be saved. There will be folk who refuse to be saved. There will be cults that will stand there as the Something Wicked ‘enlightens’ them, as if the phenomenon were sent by the Ancients. There will be folk who claim the governments cooked up the entire story to dislodge them from their comfy lives. There will be riots and dangerous levels of fighting on worlds that simply have too many of us to save in the short time since receiving the warning files from the Solomani Preserve. They warned us. Now it is time for us to make sure the way is clear for refugee Transports to make for Bath. That is our part in a nutshell.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

I had never given such a leadership pep talk before, but the words just came out because the truth was too bleak to just assert my Vargr charisma and dominate the two crewmembers into this mission. I am not that kind of sophont. “We aren’t heroes. We are not the military. We can’t shoot holes or escape tunnels in the Something Wicked when we don’t know what it is or what it does that causes this interstellar silence. But Kiden is a stopping point if we judge it safe to do so. They could be all dead. A Pre-Industrial world graveyard is grim thinking and I for one hope they just can’t get ships off the ground or some other technical condition.”

Now for my part in this. I put forth the stamped orders aside the Commendations letters and said, “They need me to be a mission lead, the only telepath they have left to command, and an Emissary to the Humans waiting for us. We know they are there. Their transmitted files gave us a good idea of the position and speed of the Something Wicked. The Board was quite unanimous in their answer to my question of why they chose me. I’m all they’ve got.”

Then came the shocker when I flattened my ears and my tail drooped to say, “What they did not tell me was that we are the second attempt to send a ship coreward and try a crossover the Something Wicked. Another ship, much like this one tried last year.”

That surprised them. Without looking up, I heard Roull shift his feet and lean against the wall of his Bridge station. Donrairr moved her claws to her muzzle but my peripheral vision would not let me focus on her exact reaction. I lowered my rumbling voice a little and said gently, “We are the last our collective governments can afford to send before the Transports are forced to lift and jump over, blindly without our exacting confirmations and an immigration treaty with the Solomani Preserve. They are counting on us, you two Explorers and me the big, dumb, oafish but successful Emissary to forge an escape path coreward through Cheaters’ Route to Bath. If we fail, then all those sleeper ships could jump into the Something Wicked and become silenced like Kiden.”

Neither of the Explorers moved. Maybe it was their Navy training or experience to take orders. Donrairr spoke up then with, “Can this ship make it? I mean the Sensors need tuning, but the rest of the amenities passes muster, barely.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

I kept quiet so that the two had opportunities to speak. Roull the Engineer offered, “This Beagle is very new, barely tested if you check the logs. It is hot off the deck new. But I’ve been going over the drives all morning, syncing nacelles and calibrating for their variable jump range. The manuals say she is designed for an average of three-parsecs range but has been rated for a Jump-4 if the power plant is overclocked. She has the fuel tankage for one or the other. The Modified staging-“

Seeing the two continue to trade back and forth what they had discovered onboard this ‘Beagle’, I watched as Donrairr and Roull geeked on, volleying what they had found here in Hangar Nine.

“The EMS has an extendable antenna,” presented Donrairr to Roull as the two nerded out. “They actually devoted three tons to it. No more interference from the ship like on normal surface mounts.”

“If we push the in-systems drives like the jump,” countered Roull who now faced the SensOp-Medic across the consoles from him, “we can reach 3.39Gs and that will cut down our time taken flying to a world and make just about any Gas Giant fair game.”

“They may have removed the elevator for the cargo bay,” complained Donrairr, “but I don’t think we’ll need it for this mission.”

I hazarded a question for the two Explorers asking, “What’s with the big twin guns on the dorsal barbette?”

Roull, being the Engineer-Gunner answered, “Dual Barbette and they installed Particle Accelerators. No missile ammo and it’s five tons we hope we won’t need. But it packs a punch at both space ranges and world ranges.”

“But on a Beagle?” asked Donrairr incredulously.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Understanding now, I said, “Crew, we’re going to Kiden after crossing past this weirdness called Something Wicked. If there is a silence and we successfully make it past, there might be others who are also successful, else how did the Solomani make it to us to give our worlds warning? Corsairs? Would pirates play this close to a dangerous border from which no ships have returned?”

Donrairr nodded in agreement, “Even if there are Corsairs or scavenger vessels out there picking clean the space lanes of silenced derelicts, let us hope they don’t care for a Beagle passing through.”

Roull the Gunner then spoke a quote, but I could not remember from where, “Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.”

I voiced my own quote from the bowels of my shoddy memory, “A weapon, even at rest, begs to be used.”

“I haven’t seen a Gunnery chair,” I noted aloud to Roull. “Is that it with us on the Bridge?”

“Yes,” replied Roull before adding, “but the Engineering, operating console is aft. I found it just beyond the door on the starboard side.”

Changing to what she knew more about, Donrairr reported, “The Med Console is new, smells new and the Clinic could be packed with twice as much as they gave us for the trip.”

“I’ll put in a requisition for more meds, food and I brought gifts from the Agency,” I contributed. “Modified – as Engineers say – Comms, apex-line Ultimate Vacc Suits, new Combination Breather As, and if you’d like I included a couple of service blades, Great Big Knives.” I put out another quote I dredged up from memory. “One sharp knife can feed you, clothe you, keep you warm and dry.”

Roull nodded and his tail wagged. I saw him do so from the corner of my downturned eyes. I was still not welcome to look at Donrairr who by now had uncrossed her defensive posture arms. “One of each please!” exclaimed Roull.

“Males and their toys,” said Donrairr flatly. “I suppose you brought personal weapons too, Mr. Agent?”

“Just my pistol and a knife, Doctor,” I answered. I thought that Explorers would have their own, favored personal favorites. “Do we need more? The mission dossier doesn’t say we should be fighting anyone.”

“Just don’t mess with the Medic, lead,” cautioned Roull. With a snuffling chuckle, he said in front of his fellow Explorer, “She sleeps with her shotgun, one of those Ultimate combat models that are used for urban warfare.”

“I have one, but I do not sleep with it!” protested Donrairr Zuutig.

“And you, Chief?” I looked up then as I noticed the talk was becoming more informal. The more I could hang around the two Explorers, the more they could become accustomed to me. I used ‘Chief’ because the senior Engineer on a ship of any size is called a Chief Engineer.

“I inherited my sire’s accelerator sniper rifle,” said Roull with some familial pride. “We hunted crystal serpents on Tsoeghours deep in the subterranean warrens.” That was when I realized that I had overlooked that my fellow Akumgeda was from the Kechk Pact. Tsoeghours was roughly six parsecs away. He had traveled. This brought up my next question.

“Where are you from, um- Medic?” I could tell that if I was to integrate with Explorers, using their vocabulary might score points with them even if on an unconscious level. Telepaths use that route too if you did not know.