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Arsun's Run

Thezki Nuaerrdo was in construction. I cleared up to get a better picture from his memories. He had the psionic power of heat kinetics. He could EShift a personal-range target enough for welding. I was impressed at his memories of doing so repeatedly in a single day. He used this aptitude to avoid renting machinery that he did not need because of this power. Pyrokinetic welder was the term I decided for him. Moving to where I could see him better in the dawn light, I saw that he wore a work safety overcoat, the kind that protects against fire and welding sparks. I’d wear that kind of heat protection too if I were a pyrokinetic.

Our mission required a level of secrecy, security clearance. We could not travel through space while declaring that Something Wicked this way comes. More of the chaos would ensue. But our ship still needed money and the eighty Vargr on Tsadzguez did not make a market. It did not rate even a weekend swap meet. But I begged off to go use the fresher. While doing business there I became wary of the Freight. As an Agent, I can get a little paranoid at times. It is the nature of the beast when it comes to Tradecraft even among the Emissaries. And this went doubly so when I was out of sight of Thezki Nuaerrdo. It is akin to temporarily losing a sense while making important decisions.
 
* * *​



I signed for the machinery to be returned. Mr. Nuaerrdo insisted on paying up front in full. Happily, he clasped claws with me and I saw his blackened fur of his right claw. Conscientious of his state, he thrust the claw into one of the big pockets of his flame-retardant overcoat. Was he a firefighter then? Did emergency crews rent such equipment as on the list that he gave me?

“Here are the numbers I need punched in for the gear when they’re turned in at the rental outlet,” Thezki said. “It’s only five tons as my team is small and independent.” That ruled out firefighter. I signed for the cargo and sent the flame-proof Thezki on his way back to the concourse.

Overhead as I read the manifest, an 800-ton Vargr Frigate was arriving, slowly dipping down tail first, its nose imperious. With only one term of Naval Spacer, even I can name more than a few classes of military vessels. That was when Arsun Unrralarr came bouncing down the steps from the airlock. He looked anxious.

He wanted to hold off on the Freight, but I told him that I had already signed for the haul. I saw him then wring his claws a little, his ears twitching. What did a telepath see that I did not? With Thezki Nuaerrdo already across the tarmac and Spacers disembarking on the marked tarmac next to us, Arsun looked worried but caught like a living lure on a fishing hook.

“Okay,” acquiesced Arsun, “but you get to load what you sign for.”

“Me?” I said surprised, “You started talking to the Akumgeda. What did your lizard brain read off him?”

“He’s a pyrokinetic, Donrairr. He can weld quite literally with one claw out and one claw behind his back.”

I had to go down my memory list of psionic aptitudes to translate ‘pyrokinetic’. I am a Medic not a Psioncologist. “Fire?” I asked.

“Yeah,” nodded Arsun. “Safety regulations must come down on his construction crew hard because of him. He can make it extremely hot between his claw digits, hot enough to weld construction grade metals. But his aptitude limit is that it is small and focused not grand or showy like in the holoproductions.”

I described Thezki’s black claws when he shook mine. Nodding again, Arsun continued to wring his black claws. I guess that being psionic in some aptitude does not mean awareness of all the aptitudes and their applications. Arsun nodded at my thought which almost peeved me again but for his worry.

“I took at least one course in Psioncology in college,” declared Arsun. “I had to read his memories of his occupation before I figured out that his operation may not be the safest work detail.”

“Well,” I said, “you should have held it a little longer before running off to the little Vargr’s room.” For extra measure, I added the mental imagery in my head of a younger Arsun with his claws between his legs, padding off to the fresher in a mad dash. It had an effect.

“Okay, whatever,” Arsun gave up. “I’ll load the machinery. Five tons, right?” I confirmed it on the manifest before nodding.

“Maybe you can get Roull to help you,” I suggested.

It was only later, during pre-flight checks that Roull came to me privately on the Bridge while Arsun was outside and finalizing our departure with the local authorities. The Emissary tends to cover all his bases when in the presence of authority backed up by nearby military. The whole of the tiny Downport surrounded the Naval Base. And with a Naval Frigate parked next to us outside, Arsun took his time with the bureaucracy. Roull looked like he had seen a supernova too close up. I pulled the earbuds from my ears and stopped the music I had been listening to through them.

“Did you know that the Emissary is also a telekinetic?” asked Roull. I shook my head in the negative but then remembered that the Emissary had impressed Roull without touching his precious Engineering kit tools by using small-time, single-object telekinesis. Looking at Roull Arzra, I saw his concern and stopped my checklist to give him my full attention. “Well he just saved me from a crushing death in the cargo hold not ten minutes ago. I just came from the fresher to wash my face and check my pants.”

Roull described to me that he had been cramming four of the five tons into the small cargo hold on the Ninth Square. Utilizing a powered grav-jack, Arsun had been delivering the cargo cubes, twenty of them from the concourse, across the field and into the ship. He had the first of the cubes from the last ton of machinery at the hatch down from the main deck. Roull was below him to guide the cube through the hatch with Arsun above him and controlling the jack. Roull heard the warning sound from the control unit Arsun carried but was too late to speak up. The power gave out on the grav-jack. The cube immediately fell through the hatch and toward Roull.

“The cube of heavy machinery would have crushed me, Donrairr,” reported Roull to me on the Bridge.

But instead of the cube squishing Roull, he described that the cube and the grav-jack had stopped in mid-air. Roull had heard Arsun grunting and moan, “Move!” It gave the Engineer the second or two to scramble out of the way before the cube again fell the rest of the way down onto the cargo hold and spill machinery onto the deck. Roull told me of his adrenalized panic and shock to see Arsun had passed out on the main deck next to the hatch.

As a Gvegh who has spent time living and working with the Akumgeda, I know that when an ‘operator’ of the Extra-Corporeal Manipulation aptitudes pushes himself too far, as Arsun Unrralarr had, it can clock them out temporarily into unconsciousness, usually for a small span of minutes, sometimes longer. Roull had to recover himself and check on the Emissary. Then when the Engineer was sure that Arsun was only in a deep, sleep-like unconsciousness, it was confirmed that the big Vargr had overstretched his aptitude and it put him down for the count.

“The Emissary saved my life, Donrairr.”

“Interesting,” I said aloud. I could have emoted better, but I kept my Medic-Counsellor objectivity on my face.

“Spectacular, Donrairr, since I’m still alive.”
 
* * *



16.​

325-1073

Tsadzguez / Subsector B (Ksinanirz 1601) A754105-9 Lo Naval

It was my own snoring that woke me before the migraine began punishing me. My sinuses were clogged from contributing to the small nosebleed pool of my blood on the deck above the cargo hatch. The pain blossomed, and I curled into fetal position to get my bearings. Then I remembered Roull below me in the hold. Fighting the pain in my skull I craned my head over the side of the open hatch and saw that the Engineer was gone. Good. Slowly, I struggled my way to all-fours. I felt whupped, but not physically. The best I can describe it was like having a mental hernia blossom and become evident in my head. It took the form of a migraine and the nosebleed. I had never TK’ed that much mass before. And it was not just the mass, but multiplied by its falling speed downward that really did me in.

Groaning, I crawled forward, through the Clinic, past the Med Console, (I knew what was wrong with me) and into the Galley corridor. I wanted my bunk. Since Roull was not crushed obviously, it was time to take care of me. Not because of physical pain aside the killer migraine, there was this disconnect or delay in my motions from my desire to move. It was like the two, mind and body, were no longer on good terms. But eventually, I crawled still dressed into bed.

It could have been five minutes or five hours after I hit the sack before I registered Donrairr Zuutig standing just inside the door to my stateroom. The smells of dinner from the Galley had followed her into my room. She had her Medical kit before her and in both claws. I blinked a couple of times to reassure myself that I was seeing straight. I groaned when another throb that I could not take threatened to crush my brain from inside my skull.

“I heard from Roull what you did for him,” Donrairr said softly yet audibly. I looked like a migraine sufferer and she had purposefully kept her voice low and neutral. “Want help?” she asked me. I nodded and grunted some more. Coherent language for me consisted of paralanguage and bellyaching.

Donrairr took her revenge, in a merciful way thank the Ancients. She laid out a small water bottle and some pills. However, she did so in a way that was out of my reach and required me to get up and move toward the Galley door from my cabin. Seeing her mind as she did the dirty deed of luring me out of bed, I had to give it to her. This was for showing her up in the Infight. She was forcing a choice upon me: either get out of bed, take the pills, smell the prepared dinner, go eat and become social or lay there in misery and seclusion. It would also make me have to accept Roull’s thanks for saving his tail which was not necessary in my eyes. “Take these for your migraine and this one to clear your mind and lay off the psionics for the rest of the day, until you’ve slept at least six full, uninterrupted hours.”

“Ugh. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Medic.”

“Whatever.” I felt like I’d been kicked in the head by a passing heard of groats, each one taking its turn to take its frustration out on my brainpan.

Unable to sleep after Donrairr left my cabin, again letting more of the dinner aromas waft into my cabin, I rolled off the bunk and walked in a crouch to the pills and water. The events of the Move, the term that telekinetic folk learn during Third Stage psionic training, played again in my head. When the power cell in the grav-jack failed me in the middle of suspending the cargo cube over the hatch, I had zero time to drop the control and physically grab it. It was full of heavy metal machinery, really heavy. I may be a big Vargr, but no one is that strong. And it was falling under 0.89 gees, the local gravity since our ship gravity was turned off while in port. That was still more than nine meters per second per second put upon that entire cube of metal, container and the depleted grav-jack. That Roull was underneath that much mass coming at him meant I had just over zero time to act. I thrust out my claws in a grasping motion. It is a gesture that, like a mnemonic enhances the will to ‘grab’ the mass with my puny telekinesis. Then there was the fact that the machinery pieces were loose in the container making the center of gravity shift inside it. Telekinetic folk like to target the center of gravity when Moving, but for mine which changed as it fell toward Roull. Finally, there was the duration for which I had to nab and hold the entire lot, long enough to let the Chief escape harm. I was already tired from the back and forth of loading cubes, skipping a meal and hung over to start off the right kind of day. (And now I aim sarcasm at myself to the tune of a migraine). All these elements took me down for the count.

I took the pills with the water and ambled out of my cabin by bracing against walls as I emerged. The pill bottle must have told Donrairr that the patient was to take the meds with food or else why did dinner look like it was prepared for just myself?

“We already ate, Arsun,” said Donrairr who, with Roull was waiting in the Galley.

“Thoughtful,” I managed to say while sitting down at the small, two-person, fold-down table and stools.

The smells and tastes of the meats and fruits were to distract me from the migraine. I Listened to her even though she told me to stop all psionics for the day. To better obey my new physician and psioncologist, I averted my eyes to the meal.

Donrairr turned to Roull and whispered, “Go ahead. He’s trapped now.” What did that mean?
 
“Agent Arsun,” began Chief Engineer Roull who flattened his ears and curled his tail, “that load would have killed me at that mass and acceleration. I-…I thank you for my life. Donrairr and I have had our doubts about an Emissary captaining a Scout, this mission aside. I can see now that I at least was wrong about this judgement. It was Career ego and an insular habit to partition us Explorers from others. Anyone who is willing to step outside their home and travel into the unknown can be an explorer.” Roull stepped up to me as I filled my third mouthful. With my eyes down so as to not fall into the habit of reading minds, I saw his claw enter my peripheral view. He wanted to clasp mine. Only then did I return the gesture and our claws joined in a shake of friendship. I physically felt his grasp to be sincere. I closed my eyes, lifted my muzzle up to point at him before opening them again and look at my fellow Akumgeda.

Willing myself not to Listen to Roull, I said, “You’re welcome,” the only decent thing to say when someone thanks you. No pride. No Vargr charisma. His eyes were as sincere as his touch.

Mutually nodding at each other, Roull retired and left the Galley. Donrairr stayed to sit across from me. I went back to eating and not Listening to her. With a meal filling my belly, a vitamin fruit drink on the side, the migraine was subsiding if it wasn’t the meds.
 
17.​

326-1073

Tsadzguez / Subsector B (Ksinanirz 1601) A754105-9 Lo Naval

Donrairr, acting as ship’s Medic insisted that I take my time to recover. But that second pill that was not a painkiller put some pep back into my step. Whatever it was, I was wide awake and itching for the Ninth Square to lift. The flight outbound was uneventful as we left behind the rickety Downport crossroads and the Vargr Frigate parked just outside. Wispy stratocumulus clouds soon concealed the only sophont structure on mainworld Tsadzguez as we took an easier ascension time attaining orbit.

It was time to attempt to cross over and avoid Something Wicked. As the Far Surveyor made for the jump point, I turned to Roull who wrenched his eyes from his virtual boards look at me.

“I’m going to begin calculations for a safe breakout on the safe side of the event barrier,” I declared. “Any suggestions?”

Roull looked at Donrairr and both then spoke simultaneously, “Coreward edge.”

Their suggestion was cautious. If whatever had silenced that part of space was spreading rimward, it stood to reason that any further damage Something Wicked could do would be least or mitigated somewhat on the far side, the coreward, of the system. Nodding, I turned to the Astrogation boards at my station and began pathing.

Kiden was also the name of the subsector named after the system. It had no Gas Giants with which to refuel in the wild and that F5 main sequence star had a wider 100 Diameter disc of reach. Luckily for me, Kiden mainworld was just outside that gravity well, so breakout coreward of both the primary and the mainworld wells would be easier. Additionally, Kiden Subsector was only 13% dense of systems. This made the jump pathing easier. These factors made me glad to have consulted the others. I could have put us on the closer, rimward side until they reminded me with their answer that we had no idea how thick, back coreward Something Wicked was. They were erring on the side of caution. It was now up to me to find that path around the star and coreward of mainworld Kiden. The pathing went well enough and thanks to those easing factors, I had a vector submitted to the ship’s computer.

Twelve hours later as we approached the 100 Diameter jump point, all three of us breathed a sigh when Grandsire Computer reported, “Jump pathing confirmed – Green for jump.” Accompanying the announcement from the elderly male voice was the physical Green light indicator which lit up. The computer agreed with me that my pathing was sound and on target. What it did not say was whether it was beyond the touch of Something Wicked. With the pep pill metabolized, I was in need of normal, pain-free rest. I slept the other twelve hours it would have normally taken to confirm the jump pathing.
 
* * *

​

The Ninth Square came equipped with a top-of-the-line, Tech 14, Deep Space Telescope. It was a surface mount, so I counted my blessings that the Kechk United had spared no expense on this flight, even if it was the second ship sent. I had decided to try the passive Sensor out while Arun Unrralarr took his rest. He would have first watch the next day now that he was racked out. Roull heated a meal while I fiddled with the Telescope. I looked back at Tsadzguez and saw its night-side turned to us. It was a dark planet with no civilization lighting up the continents. I took stills and a little footage for inclusion in the mission report Arsun would likely file upon our return. The planet looked innocent backlit as it was by the fading, yellowish star.

That was when I saw the tiny flashes on the surface of the mainworld. I zoomed in as far as I could and began extending the EMS antenna to be sure of what I was seeing in another spectra. Sensors is my MOS and I am certified in them, but weather patterns threatened to thicken the clouds and hide the flashes. My claws flew over the holocrystal boards as Roull entered the Bridge with my portion.

“What’s wrong, Donrairr?” asked Roull.

“A second,” I answered. I had to be sure of what the Sensors were telling me. “Tsadzguez was just bombed minutes ago. Exchanges of fire above the Downport, likely between that Frigate and something else.”

“Does Arsun know yet?”

“Arsun Unrralarr!” I called over the ear-hoop Comms synced to the ship intercom. “Get up! Tsadzguez is under bombardment.”

The big Akumgeda ambled from his cabin onto the Bridge. I slid the images and recording over to his boards as he sat down. Explaining the attack and the explosions, he watched with some amazement. I saw him look over to Engineer Roull just then. “Chief! Take a scanner down to the cargo hold and go over every cargo cube we are hauling.” Roull nodded and un-jacked from his station and departed. Arsun then spun again and pointed at me. “Donrairr, are we emitting any signals?”

I targeted our Far Surveyor with the extended EMS antenna. “No signals, Arsun. Wait. I’m reading radioactivity in the cargo hold with the Radiation Sensor. You don’t think that Mr. Nuaerrdo knew about this?”

“If he knew, I would have known,” growled Arsun. “We were tagged and released so the assault knew where we were before attacking the Frigate and the Downport while it was dead of night. I’m betting Corsairs.”

“Corsairs?” I felt my ears perk automatically to hear Arsun.

“Two pirate bands have been sighted in this subsector in the past years. Raiders, since they’re attacking ground targets.” I saw Arsun flex his claws and rub his temples. “Nuaerrdo was a patsy while they slipped a hot mess in his gear. Tell me that you are recording all of this. Dammit! Donrairr, never let me load another cargo without mentioning the need to scan it first.”

I nodded just as the intercom beeped and Roull spoke from belowdecks, “Found it, crew. It’s contained but still thin enough to be detected with a good Radiation Sensor.”

“Jettison it immediately!” ordered Asun who turned to put claws on the Helm controls. “Donrairr, do we have any contacts on Telescopes, EMS or Radar?” I saw him press for maximum acceleration on the ship’s throttle. A red-line 3.3Gs flashed at him from his console.

I checked and then double-checked the Sensors before saying, “No contacts on passive-”

“Not good enough!” barked Arsun Unrralarr. I never saw him this focused before now. “I’m activating Stealth Mask. Roull, kill the M-Drives and rig for low power consumption.”

“What’s going on, Arsun?” I needed an answer.

“First they tag us,” explained the Akumgeda brute, “so they can watch us leave. Then they hit their target. Shortly after that there will be mop-up. No survivors and no witness-…" Arsun’s eyes went wide. “Ancients! They’ll blow right by us with no intention to intercept us!”

“But I don’t see anything yet.” I protested. His paranoia was working me up now too. My tail was sweeping the air behind my chair.

“You aren’t meant to see anything, not on passives,” growled Arsun. “They’ll blow by us at four, five or six gees, pass us and drop a salvo of missiles to try and disable us. If we haven’t jumped, they will swing around whoever they are, and finish us off.”

“This is not a combat-worthy ship, Arsun.”

“What’s our D?” asked Arsun quickly. I had to toggle a Sensors board to the system map while he called Roull again, “Roull get the Barbette warmed up and manned. I’m going to Engineering to prep for jump. Donrairr, you have the conn. There’s no time for maneuvering and they already know our vicinity. Get a lock if you can but take the Helm too.” The big Vargr got up and I thought he would leave his spots behind in the acceleration chair as he ran to the door.

I managed to call out “89 Dee!” at Arsun’s tail as he left the Bridge.
 
* * *

​

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why do I do this? I get a gut reaction, call it paranoia and then trust to my telepathy instead? Nuaerrdo was legit, but his gear had been impregnated with the hot-box so we were pinging without pinging. And we didn’t have an Anti-Rad Layer on the armor. Even if we had a Stealth Mask, had shut down the Maneuver Drive and went on dormant, battery power, we would still have registered on any decent Radiation Sensor. My teeth bared as I ran past Roull and barked at him. “Seen this before, Chief. They’ll blow past us and drop missiles. Expect incoming.”

“But-”

“They don’t know we are armed with long-range Particle Accelerators! Point defense first and then put some pain on them if you can.” I then left him to run for the Bridge and his gunnery station.

I did not have time to register the scent of cleaners at the cargo hatch. Had the others cleaned up my nosebleed? No time for that! I ran through Roull’s cabin and into Engineering.

During my undercover mission as a Navy Petty Officer First, I learned Jump Drives. I just had to charge up the zuchai crystals to funnel the burning fuel through the field and execute a jump while Roull began firing at our pursuers.

I was not 100% sure that we had a pursuit, but there was that gut reaction. Nuaerrdo was a patsy. Why tag the Ninth Square if not to keep further tabs on us. The Navy mission I was on had plenty of intel about Corsair activity along the Kechk Pact and Reversion borders. This maneuver was known to me though I could do nothing but stay on mission at the time and arrest that sloppy, midshipman punk I had sat on.

Over the intercom as I searched for the jump control boards came Donrairr, “Roull, I have a lock on inbound ships, size unknown and vectors confirmed. I’m sending you the lock.” Making the board I lit it up and began the transfer of power, the flow of fuel.

I called back over the intercom, “Fire at will.”

A high-pitched but heavy rumbling sound reverberated through the hull as the Particle Accelerators unleashed radiated, high-energy particles from the huge Barbette turret. I remembered wondering why we needed such a huge starship weapon as I confirmed and locked the relays from fuel tankage to the Jump Drive. “What’s our D now?”

“Ninety Dee!” yelled Donrairr in my ear before I heard her call across the Bridge to Roull at Gunnery, “Fish in the water!” Navy jargon. Missiles were released and incoming as the enemy ships passed us by at velocities we could not match.

“Evasive!” I growled. “Use the Operations fuel if you have to!” There! The jump board was ready for me to hit the COMMIT button. We should have had plenty fuel left over I thought after I had spoken. We were only to jump three parsecs, not four which would have emptied us but for Operations fuel for onboard systems. Though the ship had grav-plates and compensators, I felt Donrairr at the Helm wrench the Ninth Square in ways that should have been insane to try.

Shuddering vibrations rocked the armor layers and transmitted the energies into the inner compartments. A missile that had missed tried to detonate close enough to cause damage.

“Shoot their tails off!” I heard Donrairr say to Roull over the intercom once her evasive rolls and yawing had done their part.

“Hit! On their aft of Bogey Two,” called Roull.

Fight or flee? That was the question, but it was out of the question. Two against our Far Surveyor? Missiles against our single Barbette? “Rig for Jump, crew” I called. “Ready. Steady. Jump!” I mashed my thumbclaw on the COMMIT button and got a close up, front row, symphonic seat to the whine of the ship’s Jump Drive. I heard the flush of ejecting L-hyd fuel.

“Smile for the birdie!” I growled at the top of my lungs. Our exit jump flash burst outward to blind the Sensors of the unidentified ships that had almost blown our doors off.
 
18.

​

327-1073

Jump Space to Kiden / Kiden (Thaku Fung 1739) B874777-9 Ag Pi Co Tu Naval NaVa

“Oh, it was a lightshow on my boards,” huffed Roull Arzra. “They opened up with beams as soon as I had started firing. I landed one on the aft compartments, but I don’t remember if it was their hotspot.”

“It is unlikely that they will follow us directly into the Something Wicked,” I reassured the two Explorers. “They don’t have the intel we were given by the Humans of the Solomani Preserve.” I turned to Donrairr and said, “That was some interesting flying at the last. I felt it back in Engineering.”

“Thanks,” said Donrairr. “Flight School back home was rigorous. Can we please have the controls doubly-labeled in Gvegh?” All laughed. The maneuver was unplanned and Listening to her, I got the sense of her wrenching and twisting on the controls in random pitches.

“What’s the damage?” I asked Roull.

“Well, I won’t be sure until we’re out of the hole, but none of the compartments are even Yellow. I get the sense that the first layer of armor was shredded by that exploding missile that missed us. I didn’t even see it shoot past us in a miss.”

“All missile and no Brain,” I nodded. It was operator guided. If a Brain of any kind had been loaded, as military ordinance has in the past, we would not have made it into Jump Space and be talking just then.

I took the rest of the jump transit to try and rest. And when I could not rest any more, I walked the ship and listened to it. Was there any sound present that seemed out of place? Chief Roull was probably better at this behavior than I, but I needed something to do. I worked out in the cargo bay, took computer-based lessons in jump pathing as an Astrogator. I had found that Jump-4 was approaching my limit of accuracy. Beyond that, I resolved to talk more with my crew rather than Listen to their minds.

Listening to another sophont through telepathy while they are not addressing you is like querying a computer Library, a very advanced and vast computer Library. But in doing so, the telepath receives nothing but emotions, mind and memories. During conversation and Listening, I get the person’s personality. I Hear their sparks of intuition should they happen as I’m engaging them. I receive too their flashes of inspiration and mesh that with their next words. But unless I’m Listening to them while they are speaking or otherwise expressing themselves, there is no core, no soul behind the mind. I’m sure it’s there, quiet and watching me intrude. But when someone is contributing, that core comes forward and uses its mind, shaping what it wants to communicate into a form, a language if needed. This is why it is so dangerous to deal with sociopaths. They can lie to you, believe it and fool even a telepath. Then there is the ugliness of one’s memories and life that Listening can feed you. And believe me, there are minds that served up a full platter of horrid life that I have had to see Counsellors to separate from. Telepathy then has its pitfalls as well as gifts. The mind therefore is a tool rather than the core person using it to interact with sensory input and the world around the sophont. It is a powerful tool or else we would not have all the inventions we have used mind to create. It is something special to be Listening to a sophont when creativity is active, the perfect interaction between that person’s core and the filtering of their spark of creativity through mind.

This is not to say that all telepathy is the same. I am stating my own proficiency and that other telepaths of differing strengths have reported to me different results. No two sophonts, tested and trained through all the Stages are going to be exactly alike. It’s rather like a digit print or like DNA in genetics. Each Listens to however they can open themselves and however they can penetrate the target’s walls.

It was for this reason that I wanted to get to know Donrairr and Roull on that mission. Listening to them was only getting me so far. I wanted not only to Listen but know them from their own unreachable cores. And a telepath knows the best icebreakers though we hardly needed introductions now as crew on the Ninth Square.

Over dinner the day before jump precipitation I asked, “What did you two ask for when they came headhunting for Explorers?” I kept my eyes on my plate so as to let them speak. Roull looked at Donrairr and spoke first saying, “Well I asked for my Land Grant to be paid off and a number of years reprieve from property taxes.” I nodded without looking up and pretending that the food on my plate held more interest for me. Land Grants were a means of paying off an Explorer in exchange for the long weeks of secluded exploring, sanity-draining tedium of starship operations and turning in potentially valuable discoveries or completed surveys. Roull was thinking of his future I guessed. I wanted to guess.

“And you, Donrairr?” I asked while resisting the urge to look up at her. Instead I occupied myself with my drink.

“Well,” began the Medic, “I have not yet met Mr. Right. But Mr. Right does not have to be Mr. Right Now. So, I too am prepping my Land Grant with planning, construction and decoration to lure in that special Gvegh.” There was a hint of romantic in her voice, but to keep from Listening, I stuffed my mouth with food as the two Explorers compared their Land Grant worlds, acreage and potential income by listing the Trade Classifications each featured. Donrairr had Roull in the short term, but Roull wanted the financial side taken care of first. The two could have made a pair but for the Gvegh and Akumgeda thing.

Relationships across the two Vargr sub-species started out taboo when the Gvegh expanded along their Coreward Arm to re-contact us Akumgeda. Back then, we were just the Kechk Pact before the Reversion happened due to said contact. Later, Vargr started being merely inclusive in Pack memberships such as charisma allowed. In recent times, some brave Gvegh were crossing the lines. I had heard rumors of dating and a political push for legislation allowing the two Vargr ethnicities to marry. This was harrowed by purists on both side, psychologists and of course psioncologists who warned of one-sidedness in favor of the Akumgeda in a mixed couple.

“What did our Emissary ask for when before the illustrious Board, Arsun?” asked Donrairr who was not going to let me get away. Hardly, since I was pinned against the wall as we ate at the fold-down table and stools in the Galley.

“Nothing so rich,” I responded. Looking at the bulkhead wall and away from the two, I said, “Life Insurance was the first thing I could think of that came out of my mouth.”
 
Donrairr laid a claw on my shoulder and asked, “Cloning and not some credit account for your family, right?” I nodded affirmatively as I registered her touch.

“Eww,” reacted Roull. “A teenaged Arsun running around.”

“Not until Arsun here is confirmed deceased,” corrected the Medic. “Relict Clones are not supposed to be iterated until then.”

With my head turned, I could not see their faces, but I did feel Donrairr get up from the table. Was she too disgusted by cloning, even as a Medic?

A sweet smell came from the heater oven which quickly took on a burned element. “Something’s burning,” I said as I eased from stool and folded it back in place on the bulkhead wall.

“My pie!” called Donrairr. “I forgot!” She quickly stepped back into the proper Galley and was rewarded with a splattering action from the dessert in the oven upon opening the door. The Gvegh was covered with the pie. I thought it smelled okay to have been a little burned aside from it being fired from the oven to her.

Roull stood up to help Donrairr clean up. I heard him say, “You’re supposed to ventilate a corner of the package.”

“I don’t read Akumgeda.”

I made my escape. Pup steps for tonight, concealed by the dessert mishap.
 
19.​

328-1073

Kiden / Kiden (Thaku Fung 1739) B874777-9 Ag Pi Co Tu Naval NaVa

Roull was EVA outside the Ninth Square, walking along the hull while I reviewed all the initial data from Donrairr’s Sensors. We had just broken out of Jump Space and slowed to a station keeping in order to survey the damage to the ship from the Corsair attack. This took some time as vessels going into jump transit tend to keep their velocity and vector going into jump. But once we were at a coasting and constant speed toward mainworld Kiden, I looked at the data while Donrairr monitored the Engineer making his way to the port side of the fuselage.

“Well, I can see that the missile put a crater in the armor from up amidships,” called Roull stepping from the portside airlock.

Kiden was touted as the Gateway to Cheaters’ Route. A good Starport that focused on markets rather than starship construction with a healthy and mixed, Pre-High population of Akumgeda and Gvegh Vargr. The system was hosted by a yellow white, F2, main sequence start. The F and main sequence meant that it had a greater than normal reach from its gravity well than other stars. Nine planets encircled the stellar primary and Kiden’s tourism had advertised that the mainworld in Orbit 6 sat just outside that gravity well. This would have normally made the breakout and in-system transit easier as the jump shadow fell just short of Kiden. But with the unknown thickness of the Something Wicked, we had elected to breakout on the coreward side of Orbit 6 and commute from there to the mainworld. Sitting on the closer side of Orbit 6, mainworld Kiden was still rated as a Cold, Tundra world that saw some warming summers and long winters, which was just fine for us Vargr. The thick pelts of the Gvegh were more comfortable on Kiden than us Akumgeda but then there’s always putting on a coat before going outside with a Filter mask on. The only thing that kept Kiden system from being rated as an Industrial world was the listed, star chart population under one billion sophonts. This was rumored to be a goal of Kiden as the capital of Kiden Subsector. The world stood to make the most of its mercantile peninsula location to the distant Solomani Preserve.

“Roull,” said Donrairr from her acceleration chair, “watch those damaged edges. They’re likely sharp and could open your suit easily if you slip up.

Mainworld Kiden had no moon and thus no tides or satellite to mark off months. I noted the fifteen-degree axial tilt of the planet. Not much of variation in the seasons was Kiden. Because of the gathering pollution, the climbing population was slowly edging out the Agricultural rating. The world was going to need imported food if the numbers climbed above a billion. But that was likely not to happen anytime soon now that we stared at a quiet system, silenced by Something Wicked.

“Okay, so the missile shredded the outer armor layer, but only singed the inner,” reported Roull whose magnetized boots held him to the shell armor hull. “I recommend a Slow reentry and with this damage as far from the hot zones as possible.”

Indeed, there was no Comms signals, no jump flashes other than our own arrival and no starship drive signatures of any sort. No traffic was a big indicator that Kiden had been struck and passed over by the strange phenomenon. We were lucky though to still have the planetside navigation Beacon, an automated feature somehow still powered that would guide our reentry and final descent to the Downport. But otherwise the system was likened to a ghost town. I immediately wanted a few survey orbits before reentry, so that we could scan the Downport for signs of life. Clearly there was something as the green on the land masses could be seen as we closed the gap to the mainworld.

“Hey, Emissary,” said Donrairr in my ear as she nudged me with a claw. She had gotten up to get my attention. “Did you hear Roull?”

“Um.” I did a fast read on her upon looking up from the data gathered and nodded falsely, “Just tell Roull to shave off anything not aerodynamic as it won’t protect us anyway. I’ll take reentry Slow. But I want Life Scanner, Radiation and Activity once we reach the cloud deck.”

“Sure, boss. Pay attention to your Engineer next time.” I flattened my ears. Donrairr was not fooled. The Gvegh Vargr female had spent too much time among us Akumgeda Vargr.

While lining up the modified, planetary reentry vector, I saw the shared image captures Donarirr was taking for the mission archives. Ships in orbit were energy-dark but continued to revolve around mainworld Kiden. But a few did not have stable orbits. She recorded their fiery and uncontrolled reentry before breaking up into thousands of pieces. And still, we registered no signals on Comms of any kind. No active Sensors pings struck our ship.

“A graveyard,” I mumbled aloud.

“Why isn’t anyone answering?” asked Donrairr who kept signaling, hailing each ship or orbital platform we passed.

“No contacts on Comms?” I risked. The SensOp shook her head in the negative. Listening to her, I got the mental image of Sensors boards that repeatedly came up with zero life signs on each sophont-made structure, smallcraft, spaceship and starship she could target in range.

We began a slow, controlled reentry. I kept both claws on the control and the ship rolled such that the damaged armor was turned somewhat away from the atmospheric friction as it heated. A capital lettered, Slow reentry consisted of crawling laps turned about the mainworld which took taking turns at the Helm with Donrairr and Roull. Forty hours into the clouds with minimal friction put us under the cloud deck of Kiden. I sat down to give Roull his break and settled into final approach. And still the System Traffic Control Tower did not hail us. The Beacon was there and pinging automatically, but no one seemed home.

The Beacon was highlighted on my Helm boards as I closed in on the west coast of the largest continent. Peaks of mountains slipped by under us as we left behind the oceans. The yellow-white star above us lit the midday over the land.

“Anything?” I asked Donrairr who was fresh from a nap and back at the SensOp station.

“Lots of life down there,” Donrairr answered. “Plant, animal forms...aha! I’ve got some passing shots of Vargr. Look.” She slid the images over to a side board to Helm. “Someone is down there and they’re alive, Arsun. But-“

“But what?”

“There’s no aerospace or ground traffic at all,” reported the Gvegh. She looked at me and I met her retinae exactly. Her pupils widened a little. I Listened directly as her mouth hung open, her muzzle in a questioning look. In her mind I saw the shots and footage she had just viewed. The city Startown, suburbs and the Downport were in various states of chaos. Plumes of smoke from fires, wreckage from crashed flyers, masses of gravcars dotted the landscape as they had all crashed to the ground at once. Groundcars were locked in snarls of motionless traffic as if rush hour had had never ended. But worst of all was the fighting as I descended in final approach to the Downport. Vargr Packs and individuals were Infighting and doing melee upon each other openly in the streets as we passed over the city.
 
Civilization had lost its mind it seemed to me from the images Donrairr had fed to my station and from what I saw in her mind. This was not some war. Wars have uniformed Vargr, ranged weaponry and at least some machines involved. This was civilization-wide gang violence at best, barbaric or tribal skirmishes on some lower level at worst and the spectrum delved lower than that or I was no telepath.

I rolled the ship to circle the Downport. We saw ships of all classes on the ground. Cutters, Frigates, and Destroyers were arrayed around the Naval Base and looked like no alarm for this chaos had been given. There was activity as Donrairr picked up Vargr movement on the world range Sensors, but no vehicles moved. No machinery was in use. No signals. Just groups of Vargr prowling about and occasionally fighting each other.

Midday was turning to evening as I set down the Ninth Square some distance from the terminal concourse. I ordered Roull to find umbilical power and drag extensions all the way out to this distant landing pad. But I wanted to be able to eject Downport power in a moment’s notice.

“I’ll keep the drives warm,” the Engineer nodded.

“Are you actually going out there?” Donrairr asked. I nodded. The mission stated that I needed to learn as much as I could about the Something Wicked and the chaos we saw from the sky was telling but not truly informative.

“Weapons and protection, you two,” I ordered. “I’m taking point to go shopping and get a read on these…throwbacks?” I belted on my so-called Great Big Knife and accelerator pistol and checked the safety. I wore my Vacc Suit with the helmet off yet tied to the belt. Who knew if the crazy was transmittable? “Donrairr, you’re on watch until Roull gets us hooked up, refueled and turns in that gear at the rental facility. Then he can sit on the dorsal hull with that accel-rifle of his. Anyone comes close that looks less than talkative is a fair target.”
 
* * *

​

The sun was setting in the west as I watched our Agent-Emissary dash off like some, one-Vargr army. I turned to Roull. Since there were no automatic nightlights, I decided that the external access lights needed to stay off as well. If what Arsun called throwbacks were acting like insane chasers we Vargr were Chosen by the Ancients from then it stood to reason that a Pack could be attracted to any activity out of place in a hunting territory. There was no way to determine what turf or territory was claimed and where lines were drawn. It was best to lie low and in the dark.

Inside thirty minutes, Roull Arzra had a Downport Services gravcar pulling a long, umbilical power cable from the nearest gate terminal to the ship and was connecting it to the external port on the Ninth Square. Since he informed me that refueling would take a few hours, I nodded to him and took my assault shotgun on a dusk sortie into the concourse. I too wanted more information on what had happened to Kiden and the System Traffic Control in the Tower was a good place to start. Keeping the headlights of a procured groundcar off, I rolled off into the coming night toward the distant but visible Tower.

The Tower, at it is commonly called, is actually the Control Complex. It houses a wide and powerful array of Sensors and communications systems peripheral to the Downport central computer. It loomed like a tall skyscraper over the fields of landing pads, runways, hangars and the other buildings that comprised the Downport. Everywhere around me was dark as the stars began twinkle in the fading sunlight. There were no landing lights, strip lights or parking deck lights. No lights at all to illuminate the dark silhouette of the surrounding metropolitan Startown about Kiden Downport. It was eerie to see such a huge swath of civilization quiet of traffic and night activity. The sparse clouds over the city did not glow from below as they should.

What did catch me off guard as I pulled into the abandoned parking lot outside the Tower was the few glows from fires coming from blocks outside the Downport. Campfires or battle fires were lighting up. So, it seemed to me that the crazed Vargr on Kiden still knew how to survive at a stone age subsistence despite being what Arsun called throwbacks. In my Tech 13 Vacc Suit for its armored protection, I found the front entry of the dark Tower unlocked and the place abandoned as far as I could tell. I passed a Starport Defense Establishment desk and checkpoint inside the entry. Since there was no immediate power to the building, slipped past the weapons detectors without walking through them. I felt like a burglar that was breaking in and entering except that I was not breaking anything and evident in my entry through the front doors.

To avoid damage from bombardment, a Downport central computer is usually underground. I learned that in my term in the Navy. My only assignment was Shore Duty at a Naval Base like Kiden’s Naval Base. In those four years, I learned the general layout of most Downports and the flavors of Startowns outside the extra-territoriality fence. In essence, I was a Base Medic rather than a posting on a starship. Hefting my shotgun, I advanced into the building and quickly found the fire escape stairs down into the bowels of the Tower. The air was cleaner inside, clean enough that I was able to pull down my Combination-A mask which had been filtering pollution contaminants from the city and port.

There soon came the smell of rotting meat as I descended to the computer bunker level at the bottom of the stairs. I wrinkled my muzzle at the strange smell because it did not come from a Vargr. From under the last flight of ferroconcrete stairs came, “Mew, mew,” a tiny, animal cry. I had reached the door to the computer floor and spun at the noise. Sniffing the air, I heard the small animal step on all fours from under the stairs. The scent of blood was not fresh but not fully dry either. I crouched lower as the mewling continued. The animal was pawing at something. I risked activating my Vacc Suit light to illuminate the stairwell.

In the corner was a small kitten who squinted at my light to adjust its sight. It was a Terran feline kitten, a youngling. It could not have been older than a few weeks. But beyond the gray kitten was a dead cat. I beamed the corpse with my light. It had been savaged and largely consumed by what I had to assume was a crazed and hungry Vargr. The little orphan kitten wanted me to do something about its dam cat. Maybe it was hungry too.

“Come here, little one,” I whispered. “Your dam is gone. Come here. That’s right. I can talk, not like the crazy Vargr outside.” The kitten seemed cautious but then I was speaking in hushed, cooing tones. I tried Akumgeda language and got better results. The cat and its kitten must have been pets of the Akumgeda here on Kiden. Maybe the dam was just as bonkers as the Vargr. The chaos we had seen was city-wide, possibly planetwide or even across the entire system.

A closer look at the dead adult cat revealed a collar with an identification tag. The inscription was in Akumgeda and I could not read it very well. But it was a sure sign that the animal was domesticated here on Kiden. I unclipped the collar and tag and the scooped up the kitten which was rubbing on me. The collar and tag went into a thigh pouch on my Vacc Suit. “Come with me, kitten. Your dam is gone. I’ll get you off this crazy rock. I bet you were born after Something Wicked came this way. Maybe your dam was hit with the insanity like the mean Vargr who ate her.” And for some strange reason, the kitten let me pick her – it was a her – and carry her. I needed to find sustenance for the little pouncer. The kitten did not seem to be acting fully wild or feral, but it was still too young to rate as domesticated. So why was it so comfortable with me a Vargr, the same as those who had eaten the adult?

I took the kitten, which needed a name, with me into the computer databanks. In memory of this maddened system, I told her, “Your name will be Kiden. This is to remind us that there is life on the backside of Something Wicked.” The tiny animal purred as I threw a backup power main switch. Power came on in the subfloor room as huge computers booted up. Why had no one thought to use the switch? Too crazy to think beyond teeth and claws?

My meager skills as a SensOp allowed me to locate the Downport Sensors log files. I backed up the dates until Kiden looked normal for a day’s aerospace and starship traffic. Then I slowly moved forward on the timeline until everything went insane. Adding in Comms channels, I heard emergency after emergency light up on the main board. Computer nodes from across the world and pings of emergency come from other planets in the system. Starting with the Remote System, planet by planet chaos spread as ships became unguided and fell out of orbits or just wandered off into the black and off course. In just a week, the entirety of Kiden world-system had gone mad. Traffic stalled as mad Vargr exited groundcars and began either fighting or fleeing like excited animals. Anything in the skies crashed into buildings, ground structures, or onto open land. Ships fell out of orbit and burned up. If a vessel made it to the ground, it was a crash landing if it could be called such. Each recording by the computer defense protocols captured impact after impact of ships striking the planet surface in burning craters or long gouges of earth and stone. I thought I was going to go mad just watching civilization crumble under the invisible and sudden touch of Something Wicked. After fast-forwarding through the recorded chaos, I saw buildings lose power, entire city wards fall offline. This was likely due to unsupervised power grids cutting off in fail-safe protocols controlled by local CPU subroutines. The Tower was the last structure to lose power and stop recording. After that cutoff time, all data was blank. The computer had to query me for an input as to the date and time. I input that it was Kiden Regrowth, (Spring in Anglic language), of 1073 and punched the date in. A year had gone by of the chaos on Kiden brought on by the calamitous phenomenon.

I saved the pertinent dates recorded before, during and after the Something Wicked arrived on Kiden to a Data Storage Wafer and took the young kitten Kiden with me from the computer room. I had some answers that Arsun’s Agency was looking for. Now I had to make it past killer Vargr hiding perhaps on the Downport still. “Shh, Kiden. Your new dam’s gotta get us back to my ship, okay?”
 
* * *​

I am amazed by how much Self and Psi-Shielded throwback, Akumgeda psions can be. Ever hacked a computer? I bet Roull Arzra has, what with that Wafer Jack of his and some intrusion programs at his disposal. Well Clouding Another Mind is like hacking a very responsive and vast computer made even worse by the defensive measures taken by one tested and trained even in Stage One psionics. Since us Akumgeda are culturally tested and trained if rated significantly on our Universal Personal Profile, the mad Vargr I encountered were on full survival mode and their sense of Self was helping defend them against merciful Clouding.

Clouding, like hacking a computer, is the temporary separation of mind from body, like gaining access to the guarded data by telling the CPU to go to sleep. The Aptitude has two, gauged power levels and I was top of my very small class of telepaths in Clouding Other Minds. The other cubs would no longer play with me inside of, oh Line of Sight. Seems I could clock the other kids out at one-thousand meters if I had a direct bead on their craniums. Hence the gang bullying against me as a cub. Clouding Tag supposedly was a gentle, practice game. But the other cubs hated me for my proficiency.

The barbarians that saw me glide by in a stolen gravcar did not get long to worry about intrusion into their territories. Lizard brains like to hibernate too. I drove down aerial thoroughfares and Clouded the throwback Pack Alphas before they could rally their Vargr members. This confused Packs long enough for me to be downfield and out of reach of the insane victims of the Something Wicked. With no guide beams, no airspeed limits, no traffic, no law enforcement to pull me over, I chose direct paths over the city without protest from grids or anyone else.

The jerk who must have owned this gravcar was a peeping tom. Plugged into a port was a Data Wafer full of shots he had taken of female Vargr by using his vehicle Sensors. Stills of females ranging from every day, slice-of-life, to downright intrusive nudes filled the Wafer. I put the means to use while deleting his treasured visual stash. Instead, I took stills of the various Packs of maddened Kideans, the dead city, and the Decay colors of the trees. Humans call it Autumn, I think. Yellows, oranges, browns and falling leaves of the deciduous trees in down colored the landscape. The weird of it was that on final approach, Donrairr and I had noted that it was Regrowth, or Spring in Anglic. The plants were confused just as much as the Vargr on this world. And that was when I saw too that the animals were just as mad as the plants and sophonts.

A myrmidon, a normally docile and armored pachyderm grazer, was doing battle on the ground with a Pack of Kideans trying to kill it for its meat. I took stills of the fight as the gravcar did not have Sensors for footage. Enraged among hungry and frenzied Vargr, the beast had already trampled three of the Pack to death. With the gravcar external lights off, I watched from a hover far overhead. I had captured the throwbacks trying to survive, defend against the myrmidon without much luck. They had no weapons and were relying on pack tactics alone. I watched as what I could only term as nature take place. Kill or be killed was the scene below me. Before I could determine who the victor or victors were, I sped away. I did not want to watch the end result of nature, a fault of Something Wicked.

Knocking over a regional pharmaceutical distribution center in town seemed poetic justice. I had thought to loot, appropriate unwanted radioactive industrials, but the solar flare was a foreshadowing that I could not shake. Asking myself what would Donrairr would appropriate from Kiden, I came up with medicines. While it would not be philanthropic to sell six tons to the Solomani Preserve, it would at least say that we Vargr were thinking of the people as we haggled over a price. It was also a category of cargo that was safer to transport, had that public relations quality, and in recovering from Something Wicked, would be in demand. I pulled into the distribution center and parked the gravcar. I yanked the Data Wafer containing the earlier battle and pocked it. I did not return to the vehicle. The return trip required a larger transport for six tons of pharma.

Throwing the emergency power breaker switch only rewarded me with an hour of backup generator lighting. After checking the warehouse computer manifest files for the right aisle and shelf stack, I moved quickly through the warehouse seeking pharma that would both fill six tons, be of the same type and net the best payoff in the Solomani Preserve. Sadly, this warehouse did not have anagathics although I did not know if Humaniti could tolerate Vargr-made life extenders. But I did find eight tons of panacea drugs. Six would do. I checked each label for the latest dates and chose those. Using a manual floor jack, I then hauled three cargo cubes at a time to the loading dock, out to a fossil fuel burner, semi-tractor trailer rig. Once I had all 48 cubes on the truck the power failed as the generator mechanically failed me. I slid closed and latched the rear door of the trailer and jogged around the truck to hijack my way back to the Downport. The way back was going to be difficult due to the ground highways clogged and jammed with groundcars. I would have to risk a trip through downtown Startown to return to the Ninth Square.
 
A grid comm inside the rig greeted me when I started up the engine with a long, cold-cranking amperage fight with the very cold block. But the rig at last flared to life.

Hello, darlin’
It’s with me that you’re starrin’

After the show
Let’s go out barrin’


Oh no. I hate provincial music. I cut that off quick. But the transceiver gave me an idea to test the regional Comm grid. “You’re listening to the Arsun Unrralarr Show,” I announced into the microphone corded to the transceiver, “at Kiden Downport or whatever its real name is. Any Vargr got their ears on, comeback?” And that was the extent of my trucker lingo.

As the truck warmed, the lights turned from yellow to green and gauges settled, I listened to static. The grid must have been down. The truck could only contact or receive signals within its range without the regional Comms grid. Clutching and unlocking the parking brake, I put the rig into gear and began pulling away from the loading dock. At the opened gate, I repeated my shout out on the transceiver.

The distribution center lights must have drawn a new Pack of throwback Vargr. They milled about in low crouches and bared teeth at the rig’s external lights. I had to have the lights on to see the driveway and the street beyond. They were blocking me in. Braking and not risking the rig, I put her in park and exited the cab.

It was by paralanguage alone that I picked out the biggest, ugliest Vargr Alpha. This was one of those guarded minds that I actually failed to penetrate. When I tried, it was like hitting my own Vargr head against a cinderblock wall, so defended by his sense of Self and his own half-remembered psionics. I was momentarily dazed and reeling from the attempt. As a throwback, he likely did not have use of his ECM Aptitudes, but that did not stop him from putting up as many mental barriers against my telepathy. I was not going to get as second chance to Cloud his mind and order him to sleep.

To the animal howls (which was of no Vargr language) of the gathered Pack, the Akumgeda Alpha charged me. I barely got my accelerator pistol out from its holster when he shoulder-checked me like a grav-ball lineman to the ground beside idling rig. The Infight began but it was not civil, nor were there any terms of charisma. This was survival. My back struck the ground and I accidentally fired off a round. Zip-PIZZ went the wide shot into the night air. An accelerator weapon fires a self-propelling round after it is ejected from its barrel. Not much of a sound and no recoil. Thus, my right claw did not get kicked by the weapon the way chemical discharge firearms do.

Having obeyed my own command of personal protection and weapons, I felt Alpha Ugly slashing at my Tech 13 Vacc Suit. Its medium armor was being scratched and scraped by claws that were honed over a year’s worth of survival in an insane world after Something Wicked passed the planet. I tried to fend off his bite attacks with my free arm while trying to kick him off his straddling position atop me. He must not have understood the danger of the accel-pistol, so thrown back was he. I snarled back to try to push my own Vargr charisma upon him. It was answered by a chorus of challenging Pack howls. But the madness from the phenomenon had erased all higher mind registration of civilized charisma. The only thing this Alpha now understood was brute strength, survival and instinctual dominance. But he understood a good pistol whip to the face. He fell off of me to recover before springing back. I pulled the trigger, zip-PIZZ and blood shot out his front entry wound and out his back. As I have said earlier, it was the biggest pistol the Agency could find that would fit my claws. And the Alpha felt it. Holding his stinging and bleeding chest, he pounced in a frenzy of teeth and claws. He caught me surprised that he was still standing.

I took aim for my second shot with my right claw but never got it. With his free claw, Ugly batted my pistol sideways and the weapon landed on the outer footstep to the rig cab. We both bit each other at the same time. He clamped down on my disarmed shoulder as I went for his neck. I did not penetrate to taste blood, but he somehow got beyond the plating of my armor and sank a fang or two into me. I had his neck but not his life I my own fangs. His bloodied hand, the one that held his stinging wound he could not understand, smacked me across the face in an attempt to dislodge me. My left claw came up with my Great Big Knife glinting in the rig’s lights.

Howls increased in pitch as the Pack watched in numbers when the Alpha worried me with his bite. It’s an Infighting tactic. Shaking his head and muzzle of teeth, he ran his cuspids, bicuspids and razor molars over my shoulder to aggravate the wound. It hurt a lot. The pain shut me up, but only so I could go to town on his neck with my metal blade. Stab after stab was traded across from his shredding worrying. The Vacc Suit armor took the brunt of the teeth, but I was bleeding. Arcs of blood from the Alpha’s neck shot out with every withdraw of my Great Big Knife. Adrenalized as we both were, it took the lack of blood to his brain before he collapsed on top of me, dead.
 
The Vargr reeked of some kind of oil or grease or other industrial fluid smeared over his pelt. His final exhale was enough to make me gag and scramble to get out from underneath him. And I’m a big Akumgeda! The Vargr crowd came to a silence at the fall of their leader. I crawled to my pistol and pointed it at the crowd. The next highest Vargr to take his place was already swishing his tail for his turn at Alpha. The eyes watched for any movement of Ugly. When there was none, I saw Beta look at me. I put my sights on his forehead as I took a step to the cab.

I Listened to the Beta as he considered whether to be the next to step up to me. The mission required that I learn more about the Something Wicked. What in the throwback’s memory happened when the front passed mainworld Kiden? It was obvious that I could not simply ask for answers to questions. I reached back into the mind of the Beta.

Though it was devoid of any core spark from the male, I saw graying memories of normal workday and Vargr society from this victim of the madness. Cubs and a mate-wife. Routines and schedules. Traffic. Dislike for the decaying Agricultural economy and the rise of the Pre-Industrial. Then, one day, there was a silence of the birds about him. Groundcars came to a halt ahead and the Beta braked on the highway. He had heard howls of other Vargr exiting their vehicles and he too got out to see what the commotion was about. Then Something Wicked this way came. It was a final moment before stepping over the abyss, a short span of silence, dwindling bulwark against gravity and sanity loss before the mental fall into instant need for survival struck. Flee! Fight! The memories of Vargr howling in great numbers on the morning highway was unnerving to me. Civilization died instantly under the rush of the psychic phenomenon, for psychic was all I could describe it as. Instinct, long forgotten by the Vargr, overtook everyone.

At the core of these memories was the Beta’s mental image of a towering Human Woman In Black. To me, she looked like an Alpha female, a Queen or an Empress. She stood imperious with a black staff or rod in her hand. A wind brushed on her long dress robes. The city behind her was of alien architecture. The structures were of odd shapes and angles while the sky was replaced with the quicksilver of Jump Space. I stood there dumbfounded for seconds as I beheld the dread image in the Beta’s memory. This, this was the Something Wicked that had driven everyone insane and had caused the interstellar silence of worlds. Gravcars fell out of the sky around the Beta’s memory of that day. Starships descended from the sky in smoking tailspins to crash into the Startown skyscrapers. I was so frightened that I backed out of his mind lest his memories be somehow communicable. In all my life, I had never experienced true madness from a single mind, the kind that threatened my own just Listening to it. Worlds, systems, subsectors and sectors of space were being driven insane by this dread mental image somehow carried by the wave that was Something Wicked. A chill ran down my spine. My tail curled in fear. I shivered. I had tears in my eyes, threatening my vision. But I was not going to give in to the Beta, no matter what had happened to these people.

“Not prey!” I thought and yelled at him using my telepathy again, risking the strain to stay conscious. My belly ached now from the expended adrenaline. My knees and ankles trembled. Beta’s mind was not so shielded with Self, and he somehow got the gist of my mental sending, near a nervous breakdown as I was. After what I saw, I am not afraid to admit I was emotionally disheveled. Two barks from him and the Pack was retreating.
 
Climbing slowly up into the cab, I pulled on the horns to blare the vehicle at the throwbacks. My stinging deltoid muscle and biceps managed to put my accel-pistol away as I put the rig in gear. The Pack scrambled into the Decaying, autumnal forest adjacent to the distribution center. I drove through the Startown night by alternating holding the wheel, shifting and trying to ease my bite wound. The Mentation exhaustion, the fight, the blood loss was stacking up on my Personal Day. Would I make it back to the ship?
 
* * *



20.​

329-1073

Kiden / Kiden (Thaku Fung 1739) B874777-9 Ag Pi Co Tu Naval NaVa

Arsun was overdue. I checked the time to be sure I could chew him out for not contacting us, informing us of a delay. 0330 on the chronometer. Where was he, I asked nobody as I paced laps around the Ninth Square. The ship was fueled, the frayed armor on the portside aft was hammered down or shaved off with a cutting torch. It was not like Tower was going to delay our window. It was still shadowed and standing tall above the Downport.

“Anything?” I called to Roull. He had been stationed up on the dorsal hull with his sire’s accelerator sniper rifle and munched on a meal I had given him before climbing up there.

“Nothing yet,” answered Roull on the ear-hoop Comms we wore.

I had returned to the Far Surveyor with the kitten I had named Kiden. Feeding the hungry feline in my cabin with a packaged fish and a small bowl of milk, I had grabbed my assault shotgun to take up a patrol around the ship. And now in the early hours of the next day, Arsun was the one who was late to return. A few hours, he had said.

Explorers have a limit to waiting. Casualties of surveying happen. Fall too far behind and the Explorers are minus one. It is the nature of the beast and the reason why so many of us burn out and get reassigned to the Couriers. I was the Vargr present and I was the one losing my mind in waiting for Arsun Unrralarr. To me, it did not feel right to think of leaving another Explorer behind, despite Arsun being a government Agent and an Emissary. I knew he was a bad choice-

The discordant sounds of a vehicle horn winded as the beams of light off an eighteen-wheeler rounded the corner of the Downport terminal of reaching gates. I spun to face the vehicle straightening from its leaning turn. It was not fast, not compared to contragravity vehicles, but it was lit up like a Holiday decoration or a parade float and loud. I whipped out my shotgun just in case it was not Arsun at the controls.

The zip-crack of Roull’s rifle almost muffled his call on the Comm, “It’s the Emissary! He’s got a Pack of maddened on his trailer.” I slid the first shell into the chamber and took cover behind a landing leg of the ship. Before me and to my right was the stairs up to the airlock. No loony Vargr was getting on our ship. I keyed the safety to my weapon. Roull took several more shots before the semi rolled to a coasting stop. Arsun had shot every one of his throwbacks that tried to siege the cab of the vehicle. Either these mad Vargr could not conceive of firearms or were too insane to care. Perhaps they only saw a great metal beast in their territory that needed destruction.

We started slaughtering frenzied Vargr in those last moments. I took no pleasure in it. The last few had yanked Arsun out of the truck cab. Roull picked off one and I took down a second with my shotgun kicking me in the shoulder. Claws and fur flying, the Agent had to knife melee with the last assailant as they rolled around on the tarmac. At this range I could see that Arsun had been bleeding at the shoulder of his armored Vacc Suit.

All too soon, the fight was over and Arsun lay panting on the pavement. I rushed out to help him.

“I’m gonna be sick,” called Roull Arzra. The Engineer slid down the curved portside hull and onto the stairs before darting inside the Ninth Square. I remembered that the smaller Akumgeda had a thing against seeing blood and gore. It made me wonder how he coped with sniping Vargr with that rifle.

“Empress...black,” murmured Arsun Unrralarr between panting as I rolled him around to find he had only been bitten and worried once. Blood loss and he was nigh delirious. I must have had adrenaline flowing full force when I hauled him up the stairs in a firefighter’s carry. Ancients, he was heavy up those stairs! To this day, I cannot fathom ever doing that feat again. I flopped his muscle-bound hide on the Med Console and began stripping him of the beaten and dented Vacc Suit. He smelled of blood, sweat and machine oil. I was so glad he followed his own advice and wore protection. Some dirtsiders scoff at us space workers for wearing our Vacc Suits off our ships and into Starports and Lone Star lounges. It is because we know how dangerous space travel and ground sorties, in the field or among civilization can be. And it proves more effective when worn than not.

The big brute was still in a light shirt and it was shredded at the shoulder. Surgical scissors and it too was off of Arsun Unrralarr. Then the vitals readout went to a deep orange-yellow and a warning alarm sounded. “Ancients!” I yelled. Blood loss was about to cause shock, to be followed up with a full code. “Roull! Roull, get in here now. I need you!”

“But-“ said the Engineer from down the Galley corridor from the Shared Fresher.

I cut him off by yelling, “Now, dammit or Arsun dies!” I threw every bit of charisma behind the order. Roull came into the Med Console with his eyes closed.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

I worked frantic to start an intravenous line. “The wound isn’t life threatening, Roull. But the computer thinks he’s lost too much blood in driving back to the ship. Help hold pressure to that gauze. Put on gloves if you have to!”

Roull slipped on gloves and reluctantly laid his claw on the thick, white bandages I had unpacked and laid over Arun’s worried bite. “Ewww,” I heard him murmur.

“Harder, Roull,” I ordered. “I said hold pressure not give him moral support. Lean on it!” It got two claws with Roull standing his full weight on Arsun’s shoulder. I meanwhile got the I.V. in and hung blood from the Clinic and mixed it with extra fluids on a fast drip.

The vitals board turned red. I was too slow. “He’s crashing!” I turned back to the Clinic to yank the crash gear off the wall. But when I turned back around to lay the patches, paddles and ready the crash pen, I saw Roull do something I had only heard rumors of back home among my Gvegh Vargr kind.

Roull had The Touch. He never spoke of it. By “laying on claws”, usually in direct contact with a living, biologic lifeform, Roull could psionically encourage healing or interrupt health to cause harm. “What are-,” I managed to ask just before I had the cap off the epi-pen. The blood was flowing at an alarming rate from the bag, down the line and into Arsun.

Roull had his eyes closed and was frowning in both visceral disgust but also on the edge of tears. This was grossing him out and yet he felt the need to act. The Akumgeda Engineer was still atop the unresponsive Agent, holding pressure and whimpering to himself. “Repair the fluidics and electronics lines, secure the insulation, re-knit the actuator fibers, seal the covering…” He repeated mechanic-speak over and over as I watched with my jaw on the floor as the whining vitals board ceased its noise and the red-line readout return to a vibrant yellow. I held the pen ready and broke out more gauze to be ready to change position with Roull should he run for the Shared Fresher. Slowly but surely, the lines returned to normal numbers and ratings. I was dumbstruck. Even if I had to use the pen, Arsun was not guaranteed to rebound.

“R-restart the Drives, let power flow, reboot the computer and bring up the interface,” chanted Roull Arzra. He was using euphemism to keep from losing his cool as he continued to apply The Touch. I heard him repeat the chant again. After the second, imagined mechanic analogy, Roull opened his eyes to a squint and looked at me. “More good stuff, Donrairr. Give his body what it needs. And hurry before I throw up again.”
 
I turned and produced two more bags of various nutrients and hung them connected to Arsun’s lines. Then the big oaf was coughing and gasping. I threw my arms over his to stop him from thrashing. “Arsun! Stay still and breathe! Just breathe, Arsun! You’re gonna be okay.” I kept talking down the patient while Roull maintained contact with the shoulder and chanted quietly some more. I slapped an oxygen mask over his muzzle when he stopped squirming. “Just stay still, Arsun. You’re back aboard the ship. No, don’t tug on that.”

“Th-throwbacks!” exclaimed the Agent. “Empress. Black.” He wanted to talk, so make us understand something. I jabbed a sedative into his line along with the nutrients.

“Hush! No talking. You’re fine, Arsun. Tell us later. Rest.” I petted his head and rubbed on his ears as a dam might to calm a cub. He was asleep in seconds.

Roull then fell off his perch above the Med Console, staggered back and fell on the floor. He was dry heaving but had nothing left to spill on the deck of the Galley corridor. “I-…I’ll be okay,” he moaned as he crawled back to the Shared Fresher. I could hear his voice gurgling to fight more heaving. I pitied the irony of his situation. No wonder why he had chosen the Engineer task-set if he was this adverse to blood and trauma. I stayed with Arsun and strapped him down to keep him from falling off the fold-down treatment bed. I was suddenly thankful to the Ancients that we had Roull along. Arsun owed his life to The Touch. I had to grasp the implication of what might have been mistaken as a miracle from the Ancients that Chose the Vargr.

I hazarded a look at the wound under the bloodied gauze. The skin was pink and newly healed though the fur had not yet grown back in where teeth had torn open Arsun. There was no scarring or scar tissue. He still needed cleaning and I spent the rest of the hour doing just that.
 
* * *



21.​

330-1073

Kiden / Kiden (Thaku Fung 1739) B874777-9 Ag Pi Co Tu Naval NaVa

The last thing I remember was honking the horn and then all went blurry and – primal, for lack of a better word. Had Something Wicked infected me from the Beta Vargr back at the distribution center? I was laying down supine on what I hoped was a bunk in my cabin. Opening my eyes, I saw that I had somehow made it back to my stateroom and was without clothes under the blanket and sheet. My shoulder was sore. I opened my eyes. I was back aboard the ship. I could smell Vargr blood on the discarded Vacc Suit, my clothes and my Great Big Knife. So, it wasn’t some nightmare. I looked immediately at my shoulder and saw that I had patches of missing bland, yellowish pelt where I had been bitten. The skin was whole and stubbly as new hairs threatened to breach out new fur. The skin was bright pink, the color I remembered from newly healed wounds from my fighting youth. I smelled shampoo there too. I had been cleaned with something antiseptic.

My door was unlocked and Donrairr Zuutig entered my cabin. I blushed under my facial fur because I was without clothing of any kind under the covers. “How do you feel, sunshine?” she asked me with a softer voice, the kind nurses give to patients fresh out of surgery.

“Like I was hit and run over by a Makh truck,” I answered thinking of the rig again. Something must have happened to me to not be dressed up and hopped up on painkillers. Though I was sore in my muscles all over, I was not in real pain. Yeah, something must have happened.

I tried to Listen to Donrairr as she began talking so as to get a faster set of answers. That got me nowhere. My telepathy was the teenager who wanted to sleep in and not be bothered by parents.

“Hm?” voiced the Medic and added a tilt to her head in a question.

“I can’t Hear you,” I admitted with confusion.

“I said,” repeated Donrairr more loudly, “Roull has already loaded the cargo last night and that we are ready for lift when you feel up to it.”

“No, I mean I can’t Hear you.”

“It’s either your ears are ringing or that psi-inhibitor I hit you with yesterday,” nodded Donrairr assuredly.

“You hit me with-?” I had never in my life been psi-paralyzed. It was like losing my sense of smell overnight. I tried again and was met with a mental, bitchy teenager that would not wake up. The attempt caused me some short vertigo in bed.

“Arsun,” reported Donrairr Zuutig, “in order for you to properly get good rest, as the ship’s Medic, I took the liberty of dampening you for a while until fully recovered. I bet you are sore, thirsty and hungry.” I nodded my head and laid it back on the pillow.

“You almost died, Arsun,” Donrairr said growing serious.

“Thank you,” I said looking back at her.

“You are welcome, but it was Roull who saved you,” the Medic said crossing her arms. “In my Gvegh homeworld’s culture, you owe him your life until you can match the deed in return. But since you’re only Akumgeda, the least you can do is thank him. Profusely, Arsun.” Donrairr then told me about his close encounter with my bleeding out carcass and how he had reluctantly used The Touch to stabilize me. I had no recollection of this. I must have been on death’s door.

“I will thank him,” I assured her from my bunk and pillow.

Donrairr left and came back a minute later with a hearty but wet stew that smelled divine. A bottle of water was placed beside it. “You’ll get your psionics back in a few hours, Agent. For now, you’re off-duty.” Sitting down at my terminal desk and chair, she swiveled to face me and asked, “Want to tell me what you remember?”

I was torn between falling back asleep, eating the stew and reporting about what I had pulled from the throwbacks. “How long have I been in this bed?” Donrairr pushed the stew to my face when I tried to sit up after opting to talk. Okay, food first then. I began spooning the stew and recalling that I had not eaten much since jump precipitation.

“Eighteen hours,” answered the Medic. “C’mon. Spill the beans. I helped Roull refuel the ship, waited on you all night long and all I got to show for it was a new pet kitten.”

“A what?”

Donrairr had left the door to my cabin open. The ship vibrated on umbilical power, but the Drives were on Standby. Through the door she called, “Kiiidennnn! Here, kitty-kitty.” A few seconds later a small, gray-furred, ball of feline fluff peeked through the door, stopping just shy of the threshold. “It’s okay, Kiden. Come here. This is Arsun. Arsun, this is Kiden. I rescued him from the throwbacks as you call them.” Donrairr told me of how she found the small kitten. Though cute, I was about to protest when she forestalled me with, “Kiden is special, Agent. The computer confirmed that Kiden here is a Ship’s Cat.”

I had seen an article on Ship’s Cats on a random search engine mistake through a Library database once. But I had never encountered a Ship’s Cat before. Donrairr picked up the kitten she had named Kiden, after this stricken world. She explained that the kitten must have been born after the Something Wicked had passed. Likely the kitten’s dam was mad, but not this little one. She then recalled aloud the Universal Animal Profile or UAP, for Ship’s Cats. The breed of feline pouncers were valued aboard ships and were bred and sometimes geneered for heightened intelligence, skills in cognizance of ship status and if trained well enough, could dress themselves in special Vacc Suits on command or at the alarm of atmosphere loss. And this Kiden on the floor purred like a motor before being picked up by Donrairr. Ship trained for Fresher use; these cats were also valued for keeping varmints from the vessel as they could reach places sophonts could not.
 
“Kiden,” announced Donrairr, “this is Arsun. Captain Arsun, Kiden. Captain, yes?”

“Mew,” answered the small gray ball of fluff with the bright blue eyes. He was likely in his kitten coloration, much like a Vargr cub who has not fully filled out their pelt into toddler months.

“And as you are the equivalent Captain, Arsun,” declared Donrairr finishing with a question, “May I keep Kiden as our Ship’s Cat? He’s likely the only sane animal on the planet, a rescue to be sure.”

My head swam and my body ached. With no energy for arguing or pulling mission lead rank, I nodded and answered, “Sure. Whatever.” I finished off my stew and set the bowl down. Kiden went to sniff the leftovers and lick the bowl clean. Good kitty, I suppose.

“Now,” continued Donrairr, “as the ship’s Counsellor I have to interview you, Arsun Unrralarr. Tell me about this ‘Empress’ and ‘black’ you were babbling about when I hauled you up the steps by myself and laid you on the Med Console.”

It brought back a flood of memories for me to hear her say those key words. I swigged down some water and began a verbal report on my actions since leaving the ship in the gravcar. I left nothing out because without telepathy, I was without a lie detector and could not tell if a falsehood of mine was successful. Telepathy in this case is a crutch for not using paralanguage analysis. I told of my decision to loot the pharma, the panaceas for sale to the Humans of the Solomani Preserve. I had felt they would have been of better use than industrial radioactive elements. Safer too. I told of the duel with the Pack Alpha and killing him one-on-one and suffering the aggravated bite in payment.

Then I spoke of what I pulled out of the memories of the inheriting Beta of that Pack as they waited for him to take command. I described the Empress in Black and the strange city I saw under the skies of Jump Space. I described the dread terror of it all and the urge to flee from anything coreward. It was irrational, and I said so to Donrairr. I then wanted to sculpt a still or animation by voicing all that I could to the computer. But since it could wait, I instead told of the fighting Packs against the myrmidon grazer. I had Donrairr retrieve the pilfered Data Wafer from my thigh pocket of my damaged Vacc Suit.

“That will have some stills of the hunt I saw,” I nodded to the Wafer in the Medic’s hand. “Have a look and save them to our mission report records.” Inwardly, I was now glad that I had been picked to jump Something Wicked instead of trying to tough it out and go mad or try to Vault away from the wave.

Donrairr told me that the Ninth Square was safe and in the dark the next night. Keeping the external lights off and making sure not to emit any loud noises, she assured me that we would attract no new Packs of throwbacks. I wanted to be outbound of Kiden as soon as possible. But first I would have to sleep off and metabolize the nasty psi-inhibitor I was nicknaming The Teenager. Getting that verbal out of me and to another person felt lifting, lightening. I laid back after my meal and tried to go back to sleep which is not hard for me. This mission was already trying my sanity.

The Counsellor, Donrairr picked up the cleaned bowl and exited my cabin. I dreamed of the Empress in Black who kept staring those penetrating eyes and stern face at me. She wanted me to run, to escape, to flee rimward in panic without regard of what I wanted. When I woke again plus eight hours on my terminal clock, I was glad to banish the Empress to memory and from conscious thought. To this day, the carbon copied memory I had pulled from the throwback Vargr haunts me perfectly and without fading one bit. It was likened to saving a file to some computer drive or Data Wafer forever in my head. All the memory and none of the madness or uncontrolled fear was mine forever. Would madness be a survival mechanism I would need later against this memory? I soon found that sculpting imagery with Grandsire Computer aid did nothing to erode that memory. I saved what I put on the screen to the mission log as well.
 
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