Arsun's Run

[The Pakkrat]

22.​

331-1073

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

I never want to do that for you again, Arsun Unrralarr. That is what was on Roull Arzra’s mind when I rose and dressed in the yellowish sunrise putting orange beams across the city and through my stateroom viewport. I bumped into the Engineer when we crossed paths in the Galley for breakfast. He was sipping coffee from a spill-proof, space cup with a sip lid when I collided with him from my cabin door. The airlock was still opened slightly, and the star’s rays lit up the access corridor. The onboard life support was cleansing the polluted atmosphere as it entered the ship. Roull saw me look at him in reflex from the surprise encounter. He rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” I said before turning for the Shared Fresher. “Thank you, for what you did. I’d be dead. Donrairr says I owe my-“

“You’re welcome,” said the fellow Akumgeda. We knew the polite way to answer to thanks. His mind went back to what adjustments his coffee needed. And that was the sum of our exchange. I had thanked him. He had reciprocated. Without Listening to his memories, I averted my eyes to the rising sun out the airlock and imagined him doing whatever The Touch required of him to save me from dying. There was no memory past the arrival in the rig the day before. I did not want to see how bad I was in his memory and through his eyes. He had also done me another solid by loading the cargo hold. Donrairr said he had done so while I was under trauma watch. After the Fresher trip, I saw the loaded cubes of panaceas pharma in the cargo hold, six tons of altruism I had brought home to the ship. After breakfast, it was time to leave Kiden.

I helped Donrairr eject the umbilical power after Roull had switched to onboard power. Then we pushed the metal stairs across the ferroconcrete deck and against the terminal building. Airlocks were closed and sealed. Pre-flight checks over and given the Green lights and raised thumbclaws from Donrairr at SensOps and Roull who was once again jacked in to monitor Engineering while sitting in the Gunnery station; I turned to the Helm.

“Who wants off this rock?”

“Me,” said Donrairr who raised her left claw like she was in ED5 school.

“I do,” answered Roull who had a blank look on his face as he watched his virtual Engineering boards.

I granted those wishes by a fast boost to orbit. I heard the whistling armor in the atmosphere as we ascended up through the cloud deck and into sub-orbit. I had Donrairr take aerial pictures in the morning light of Kiden Downport. In just over fifteen minutes the morning blue sky turned to starry sky again as we made a vector for the 100-Diameter jump point. The Ancients smiled on me this day as nothing went wrong except a repeated itching of my healed wound as new fur growth breached my bare pink skin. Melanin was settling in to change the angry pink to a base peach, colors we Vargr don’t really think about. Pelt coloration is more telling if you ask any Vargr. I had itched myself more than a few times during piloting, Astrogation and the Green light from Grandsire Computer. Donrairr returned to the Bridge with an anti-itch cream for me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Welcome,” answered Donrairr.

“You are welcome,” added elder-voiced Grandsire Computer which took only twelve rushed hours to feed me the Green light to jump to Thaku Fung-1736 three parsecs coreward. I did a double take between the Medic rubbing in the cream and the computer.

Silently chuckling under my breath, I gave a double thumbclaws up to Roull who was rising to his feet with his tail swishing his gladness. “Jump when ready, Roull. Green up here.”

“Close the viewports so she doesn’t kill you,” smiled Roull turning for the door from the Bridge. Donrairr harrumphed but said smiled inwardly and I could Hear it. A couple of minutes later and the high shrill sound of the Jump Drives assured us that there was nothing but quicksilver of Jump Space outside our ship.

I spent the estimated 168 hours in jump transit trying not to itch as new fur grew in. I continued my Brokerage classes on my cabin computer terminal. Donrairr insisted that I talk more of my experiences on Kiden, to get it all out of my system. I told her it might take a long time. The images I took from the throwbacks were that vivid. I worked out by doing pushups and other exercises against increased gravity in my cabin. By the end of the week I had a portfolio of sculpted images saved to our mission report and log. If I knew how to draw, I could have done a better job than talking to Grandsire Computer.

Donrairr spent much of her time caring for kitten Kiden. The little animal was already smarting to the nature of the Shared Fresher and with a little training, Donrairr had the youngling flushing the fold-down toilet. I was amazed. She named each compartment and where to find food she had cobbled together for the feline. But being a kitten and full of playful mischief, I almost tripped over the furball one ship evening. One argument later with Donrairr and I was reminding myself to Listen to animals.

Listening to kitten Kiden is like reading a sophont mind when they are not thinking in words or using vocabulary. Nothing has words to a cat. They think on instinct. In fact, a Ship’s Cat, I soon learned from the Library has its own genetic profile and UAP. Kiden was still too young for Donrairr to fully measure. But I get a clear message when Kiden wants food, or wants ‘loves’, (to be petted) or has to trot to the Fresher. None of it is in words, just impressions or images. There is no sentence structure to a cat’s thought, but there are emotions and decision-making. While in the hole, I slowly mapped Kiden’s mental semantics. The kitten at the end of jump knew each cabin and sub-compartment of the ship. Roull was a little territorial of Engineering but was petting the animal while seated just inside Engineering. Since the cargo hold was depressurized, its cubes insulated and sealed, we did not allow Kiden downstairs yet. Donrairr crossed her arms when I translated for the animal when it was time for a dish of cream in Kiden’s mind.

“I’m warning you,” I said defensively. “I will steal your minion if you don’t watch out.” And it was true, but I did not convert the little feline until jumps later. I got dagger-eyes from Donrairr when serving cream to the kitten yielded results.

Though Roull and I were on better terms when my shoulder was fully covered with a shirt or more, the Chief spent much of his time in the Galley late into the night, in Engineering and in his cabin. What he was studying, I did not Hear because the few times I did see my fellow Akumgeda I forgot to Listen for a report he did not volunteer.

By the time we felt the first jump rumblings, the Ship’s Cat was already skittering for Donrairr’s cabin. It must have felt the first tingles before we Vargr did. Interesting that. I filed it away for later. Roull came forward with my cleaned Vacc Suit. I had cleaned it actually. But it was the Chief who had a repair and reseal job done on it. I thanked him again as all three of us suited up for breakout.

 

[The Pakkrat]

22.​

We were in place and ready when the jump field melted like acid had been tossed on it. I saw it first because I was the Vargr responsible for opening the viewports. I did not see anything special as the mercury barrier was replaced by a field of stars.

“Got it,” announced Donrairr before I had to ask her if we were on target. “We’re on target and…at 104 Diameters. Nice jump, Arsun. I’m showing a LGG-S requiring .8Gs minimum for skimming. Sliding you the vector. With a sweep of her arm at the Helm the specs of the Large Gas Giant, Size 26 or just over 128,747 kilometers in diameter. This would be easy if the weather patterns were typical of lower end of the LGG spectrum.

338-1073

Thaku Fung-1736 / Kiden (Thaku Fung 1736) X465000-0Ba

“Maneuver up,” called Roull over the intercom, “and Jump Drive on cooldown.”

“Thank you,” I acknowledged as the flightpath settled into my boards. Since I wanted to spend no more time in Thaku Fung-1736 than necessary, I put the throttle up to 3.39Gs and said after the numbers adjusted, “Two-hundred ten minutes until reentry for wilderness refueling. Mark. After that it’s seven minutes down to the cloud deck. Chair belts at that time, everyone.”

“No contacts on passive Sensors out to five million klicks,” added Donrairr which reminded me.

I turned to Roull and asked, “You said two minutes to charge up the PAs. Did I hear that right?” Rather than answer verbally, the Engineer nodded and said yes in his mind. I decided to pare that down. “When we get to 400-K, I want you to charge the weapons. Corsairs like Gas Giant ambushes. If we don’t need the Barbette after skimming, you can target practice and discharge the guns.”

“Hmm. Smart.” The Chief then looked from his invisible boards to me with a congratulatory smile. His tail wagged in addition.

The Ancients or just the throw of some cosmic dice determined that we did not need the weapons when I dipped the nose of the Ninth Square into the upper atmosphere and began seven minutes of heated descent. Again, the armor whistled as we flew through the skies over the Gas Giant. The blue bands were an azure that was pure and not swirled by storms. But I could see massive and eternal storms a parallel to the south and wanted no part of that noise. The ship was buffeted by the upper atmosphere winds until I caught a tailwind and extended the folding fins for greater agility. The lifting hull cut through the cloud deck once we had reached into the H2-thick layer.

Before I could ask, Roull called from his position, “Scoop vents open and Processor online.” Nodding, I plunged the ship into the thicker, deeper blue clouds.

Skimming, for those who have never ridden along such a dangerous maneuver, is the operation of wilderness refueling when there is no local system civilization to land and refuel. It’s fast and furious, especially when the Gas Giant does not like your ship. I took the skimming at 1G this time because the size of this Gas Giant’s gravity required only 0.8G. With the scoop vents open, they took in the thicker, hydrogen-heavy atmosphere. The Fuel Purifier collected and separated out the needed element and discarded all others on the gaseous Periodic Table. The hydrogen was then compacted into liquid hydrogen or L-hyd as spacers call it. Just as fast as it was sucked into the scoops, the processed L-hyd began to refuel the tanks with the 27 tons we had burned in the hole last week. To refill the tanks, Roull told me, would require that I sit at the Helm and hold the ship steady amid the clouds for 16.2 minutes. I took a breath and leaned to the task as the atmosphere whined loudly at the jet intake scoops taking it inside the ship.

“Light chop,” I said as the ship knifed its way through the thick azure clouds at 5000 kilometers per hour. “Lady and gent, the Captain has turned off-“

“Quit it, Arsun and fly right,” warned Donrairr. The winds giving lift to the vessel were humming the wings, canards and folding fins. She could have had white knuckles but for the egg-white coloration of her pelt over her claws.

“Tanks at 33 tons,” reported Roull. I stayed quiet through the rough ride. Clouds were ripped new holes as the Ninth Square shot through them. On the forward mainboard, I tried to balance better intake with avoiding storming clouds as the ship rattled through the skies. Donrairr had overlaid at least three layers of Sensors filters, allowing me to ‘see’ in various bands of detection. Telescopes gave me a visual. EMS showed me lightning strikes and heavy static discharges. Radar showed me cloud formations which Grandsire Computer labeled by their cloud types. The world range Mass Sensor showed me dense pockets of moisture to be avoided lest we cake ice to our wings and add mass for which Roull and the Maneuver Drive would have to compensate.

“Tanks at 37 tons,” came the update. Roull was watching one of his virtual boards echoed from Engineering.

“Still no contacts?” I asked while keeping my head forward.

“Nothing but clouds,” answered Donrairr.

“Tanks at full 39.2 tons and closing scoops,” finalized Roull. The whining wind stopped though the wings, canards and fins were still humming. We were topped off and all it cost us was a wild ride, a little chop and zero credits. I pulled into a boost and ascended back to low orbit. Throttling up the in-system drive to 3Gs, I saw the estimated flight time to jump point decrease.

“Five hours to jump point,” I called out and turned to the Astrogation board once more. In just under twelve hours we were done with the current world-system.

 

[The Pakkrat]

23.​

Looking at the Sensors boards before her, Donrairr checked them. Then she double checked them. She glared angrily at me before checking them a third time. Taking in a deep breath, I heard her speak calmly. But her mind was yelling at me at the top of her mental size. “We missed Thaku Fung-2033, Arsun.” You IDIOT! You let 1934 get in the way! Oh snap. I cringed and tried to smile in apology. The stellar primary of Thaku Fung-1934 may have been smaller, but its 100-Diameter gravity well was still powerful enough to yank the Ninth Square out of Jump Space 167 hours after we left Thaku Fung-1736. We were at least in a world system with Gas Giants, her mind settled in disgust at my shoddy Astrogation calculations.

345-1078

Thaku Fung-1934 / Kiden (Thaku Fung 1934) X671000-0 Ba He

“You dropped us in a Hellworld system, Arsun,” reported Donriarr. “Look at the mainworld. Only ten percent hydrosphere. Lucky for you there are four Gas Giants to choose from instead.”

A Hellworld was an Explorer term for a world with significantly less conditions conducive to sophont survival. Maybe a Hellworld might have extreme temperatures, or constant hurricane winds or be too close to a star or a myriad spectrum of issues that make it hellish.

“Why did the old geezer give me a Green Light then?” I asked and immediately got an answer.

The elderly voice of the ship’s computer answered me with, “Pathing was sufficient. User ignored other systems in calculations. Displacement of one parsec resulted.”

I facepalmed my claw to my forehead while flattening my ears and curling my tail. I messed up. It was not the end of the universe though and I tried to buffer that against the mental gale-force anger coming from the SensOp Donrairr.

“Okay okay,” I admitted, “I messed up somehow. Which Giant is closest? We’ll skim from it.” With a maximum acceleration of 3.39Gs, we could handle any Giant smaller than a cool Brown Dwarf. But we did not have the armor for such radiation and heat.

“Arsun, it’s not okay,” Donrairr explained further with, “because now we have to jump to Parsec-2131 instead of the route you had planned. And what if we had broken out in deep space? You have got be more careful.” The string of mental explicative, racial slurs and provincial stereotypes that streamed from her thoughts was doubly admonishing and hurtful in insults. But a telepath learns to endure both as it’s our lot in life.

“I’ll be more careful,” I promised. The mental ego-whipping I was enduring from Donrairr’s thoughts made me get up and leave the Bridge and de-stress in the Shared Fresher. There, I looked at my reflection in the wall mirror. It had no stinging thoughts and only my own face could chew me out.

I glared back at myself in the mirror and whispered, “You’ve been called worse so buck up.” And it was true. The small, bully gangs of micro-Packs in my youth had said much more scathing things. Skulltwister, mind-thruster, id insinuator and more insults that were crossed with sexual inappropriateness were the heavy hitters. Donrairr had come nowhere close to that level of hatred. The insults were built up against telepaths in specific by intimating that we Psions try to impose our wills by planting ideas into the heads of others. I know for a fact that my dam would have beaten the spots off of me had I ever attempted such a manipulation. So, I never picked up a taste by trying. That was where I drew the line in telepathic sendings. Communication only and never suggestion or coercion. None of the other Aptitudes endures this much abuse.

Maybe I had it coming for thinking the Ancients were finally smiling on me for a change. I should have stopped having Grandsire Computer halve its confirmation calculations times. Normally confirmation takes 24 hours. I would put a halt to that. A wasted day in a world-system was better than a week of delay to the Solomani Preserve because of missed jumps called Scatter. Nodding at that logic, I left the Fresher and returned to my seat at the Helm. I did not look at Donrairr or Roull as I took up the Control Console and made down the glidepath to the nearest Gas Giant at maximum in-system thrust.

After an awkward and quiet, commute through Thaku Fung-1934, the Ninth Square made quick work, twenty-six minutes or thereabouts, to skim its tanks to full once more. The only person to speak was Roull who had watched the exchange between Donrairr and I and wisely said nothing at that time. Engineers have better social lives with the machinery or so I assumed.

With guilt sitting on my shoulder, I began anew the calculations for a new set of jump worlds in pathing through Cheaters’ Route. No more cheating and no more cutting corners, I swore to myself. This time, I aimed for Thaku Fung-2131 which had only one Gas Giant. I felt Donrairr standing over my shoulder, backseat astrogating. She wordlessly pointed at the mainworld in that system. It was a Desert planet, a world without any water on the surface. I had to hit the mark without Scatter or prepare to lose my seat at Astrogation to her. But she pointed and silently suggested paths and observed that I did not get hasty or cut confirmation times down or other showy tricks. In watching me, the SensOp whom I felt was also a Counsellor who was trying to preserve sanity on this ship for all. It was the first time that Donrairr and I were cooperative during a task on this mission. Though she was still angry at me, it felt good to be cooperative than competitive as us Vargr usually wont.

 

[The Pakkrat]

353-1038

Thaku Fung-2131 / Kiden (Thaku Fung 2131) X420000-0 Ba De He Po

A Barren, Desert, Poor Hellworld was the forced jump destination and we broke out of Jump Space to behold the system. It was bleak and desolate for a mainworld and a below average number of planets. The mainworld was a ball of salt flats and mountains. The other planets were little better than baked balls of rock. The K1 main sequence star was accompanied by a Near Red Dwarf star. Again, the Ninth Square opted for wilderness refueling at the only Gas Giant in Parsec-2131.

While Donrairr found comfort in the kitten Kiden, I worked up a sweat by working out in even more intense gravity during jump transit. Roull was his usual, displaced self in Engineering. But I noticed that occasionally the Ship’s Cat would come to me when Donrairr could not translate its desires and signals. I obliged quietly when the Medic was prepping inoculations for the kitten and distracted by dosages. She had consulted the Library for a quick list of injections for Ship’s Cats.

Kiden was in my lap and looked asleep when Donrairr found the kitten with me. I assisted her with the injection by gently laying my claws atop the Ship’s Cat snoozing form. One cocktail injection later, and Donrairr stood back up in amazement.

“They really are that well instinctive for ship life,” said the Medic with amazement in her voice and a bright perk to her Gvegh ears. Then she returned to the Clinic to clean and put away the injector gun. I sat there and petted Kiden until she woke up minutes later. I did not have the heart to tell either than I had Clouded the kitten’s mind into sleeping through the scary injection. The animal woke up and purred for ‘dam’ when Donrairr returned from the Clinic.



360-1073

Thaku Fung-2127 / Kiden (Thaku Fung 2127) X335000-0 Ba

Though Donrairr continued her cooperative astrogation with me, it made us detour the world she wanted to take snapshots and footage. Because of my shortcuts, we jumped past a world that the charts included in the transmitted Solomani Preserves files she wanted to see up close and in-system. It had three red stars – two Red Giants and a Red mains sequence all in a single system. Named SP Break 2130 for “Solomani Preserve Break 2130” using the sector parsec number in the name was the nomenclature the Humans had chosen. We Vargr had hemmed and hawed about taking up names in Anglic when all these worlds were claimed by the Solomani as Colony Disallowed systems. The Preserve was that isolationist.

Coming through Ksinanirz Sector back in –1700 or about that timeframe, the Solomani Preservists’ ships informed the Akumgeda and the small number of Gvegh worlds in this region that the Break Worlds of Thaku Fung Sector were not to be colonized under extreme prejudice. What that meant was their Scout ships were prepared to use force upon any attempt to settle the earmarked Barren worlds as their ‘Preserve’, not just the worlds the Humans settled themselves. They wanted seclusion and insulation that the Vargr Extents provided by our presence from whatever it was they were avoiding far to rimward in Charted Space. I did not understand it either when I first took my history lessons of the coming of the Solomani. I also did not see the Vargr, Akumgeda or Gvegh, obeying such a restriction for very long. We Vargr are gregarious and don’t take to boundaries well, especially when they are only maintained by patrolling, 100-ton Scouts and 200-ton Far Scouts. But for now, the Kechk Pact and Kechk Reversion had bigger problems concerning Something Wicked than to push the envelope with the Solomani.

The only interesting feature of this world-system was that the three Gas Giants to choose from were almost exactly the same size. It took Donrairr some part of an hour to pare down the margin of error to differentiate each LGG-V. To me, it made no difference at all. They all pushed the Ninth Square to 1.9Gs to maintain cloud deck buoyancy for skimming fuel from the H2 layers.

Ship Operations aboard the Ninth Square was like a pawn in the Human game of chess, that ambles across the black and white, checkered board; our next two jumps were just over a fortnight of repetitious boredom when up against the things that had gone wrong with this mission. On the only bright side, my shoulder fur grew back in thanks to Donrairr’s good cooking in the Galley during those monotonous days.

 

[The Pakkrat]

24.​

011-1074

SP Break 2321 / Cheaters’ Route (Thaku Fung 2321) X569000-0 Ba

The breakout went well with no Solomani ships in sight yet. Roull Arzra and I in our Vacc Suits stood on the outer hull with our boots magnetized to the shell armor. The Chief had an Engineering Portable Controller clipped to his utility belt as the ship continued to transit post-jump.

“Watch,” called Roull. My fellow Akumgeda grabbed up the floating Portable Controller, a device the size of a laptop or larger and opened its menus with touches of his gauntleted claws. A few taps on the screen later and he pointed at the atmospheric scoops. They were supposed to open at that given touch command. The Controllers were mobile versions of the stationary Operating Consoles inside the ship. With the device, Roull could sit in his cabin and run Engineering if the task-set was easy enough. Or he could monitor a system from the Galley while having coffee. “The scoops are reading opened on the Controller, but as you can see...”

“Groat droppings,” I cussed. It is actually one plural word in Akumgeda language. “What happened to the vent doors?” For the scoops to be stuck frozen closed meant that we could not skim fuel from a Gas Giant until they were repaired.

“It might have something to do with the number of back-to-back skimming added to the high-G requirements of the Giants we’ve used on this mission.” I got that answer faster from Listening to Roull than it took to get it out of his mouth to his helmet mic.

“Can we repair it before the next skim?” I asked hopefully.

“Nope,” answered Roull who caught me staring at him so that his thoughts and his mouth worked at the same speed. That was how he let me know he suspected me of Listening to him. “Need a Starport.” Again with the clipped answers.

“Donrairr,” I called on the Comms, “Sources of water?”

“Mainworld has 90% hydrosphere,” came the answer from inside the ship from the SensOp. “Islands and archipelagos though. You and I would love it, Arsun.” I nodded but did not respond. Donrairr Zuutig and I were both from Desert worlds where water was scarce in the extreme and conservation was an everyday vocabulary word.

“Freshwater would be better,” offered Roull to me. “The salts are bad for the purifier though not immediately.”

“Donrairr, feed my station a vector to the mainworld,” I called again. “Tell me about it please because we’re coming inside. There’s nothing to be done about the scoops until Havensmith.”

The X in the first digit of a Universal World Profile or UWP was that there was no Starport, High or Down to land and perform services. SP Break 2321 was smaller than Terra-prime worlds but had a breathable and clean atmosphere. No filters or respirators needed, so that was a plus. The biggie indeed for me and Donrairr was the 90% surface coverage of oceans dotted by islands, atolls and archipelagos. The Ba stood for Barren, as in no sophont presence at all. And that was just how the Solomani wanted it to stay. No people, no Government and Law, and no local technology to mention. To any other Explorer, Parsec-2321 of Thaku Fung Sector was meant to look like no one lived there or passed through Cheaters’ Route to a hidden and secluded Preserve of Humaniti.

The Ninth Square had targeted the innermost Gas Giant. Fortuitous for me in particular under Donrairr’s baleful glare that the mainworld was adjacent to us and was but a day of in-system travel to Orbit 5. I must admit to being a little eager to be on the deck and stretch my legs further than the airlock or over the hull in an EVA maneuver. The reentry at over 5000kph made the damaged armor sing at a very high pitch but it put our landing legs on an island near to a freshwater stream coming down from a short range of peaks. We were light on the grassy stream bank with only 3.2 tons of fuel left.

“Keep her hot and do the thing with the Purifier to the Intakes, Chief,” I managed to say and not look important. “Donrairr and I will handle the intake hoses to the stream.”

“On it,” said Roull again with the clipped reply.

Using the chain ladder from a panel in the airlock door, Donrairr and I descended to the grassy riverside. From under the dorsal hull was extracted the two, long hoses that were to suck the river water into the Purifier. And like skimming the unwanted minerals and molecules were vented out an exhaust. Roull was inside recalibrating the Purifier to a slower rate and density, in this case liquid freshwater. Fitting the hoses end to end, we snaked the entire line out to the bank of the narrow river.

“Floodplain is still steep,” noted the SensOp. “In a powerful storm, this river could rise over its banks and become rapids and a mudslide quickly.”

“This much water and the oceans we saw from above would make treasure back home,” I said as I dipped the end of the intake hose into the water. The river was no wider than a hundred meters and moving calmly down to the ocean. We had chosen firm land and a minor tributary to a greater stream. The trees around us were a curious blend of cypress trees and very tall redwoods. Their roots poked up out of the water and through the topsoil.

“Yes, but how to get enough water to our homeworlds?” asked Donarairr. “Even huge Bulk Haulers could not make a dent in the need for water in either of our Desert mainworlds, Arsun. Then would come the task of desalination.”

I nodded before tapping my ear-hoop Comm and speaking into the boom microphone, “Hose in the river, Roull. You can start the pumps.” The Intake had a slower draw than the scoops on the Ninth Square. But at forty tons per hour, the Purifiers keeping the same rate, we would be done refueling in less than that.

Donrairr had begun to climb the chain ladder up to the airlock when I was literally caught with my pants down. I was doing business, watering the nearest tree to shade the line from the river to the ship. Just before getting my Vacc Suit zipped up completely, I saw the river water move uncharacteristically. Something was coming, swimming my direction just under the water. I barely had time to draw my accelerator pistol and yell, “Ambush!”

 

[The Pakkrat]

But with my eyes on the water, I did not see the three others of the set leap from the high branches of the redwood-cypress trees and plummet like meteors in ramming charges at my location. I had my back to the ship and was facing the water and was blindsided by one of the falling beasts. The beast in the water leaped up out of the river but not far enough to clear the bank. Mud, splashed water and soil exploded where the bony head crest struck the bank, falling far short of my position. Jumping, killer amphibians, two and a half meters crest to tail-less rump and just over 200 kilograms, the initial attack was a charge from the water or death from above. These carnivorous, (I saw their saw teeth ridges), chasers would likely outrun me too. Two craters of soil appeared as a pair of the creatures missed me and made instant excavations to either side of me. But Number Four had to put his crest in my left hip. The blow struck me from above and behind. My Vacc Suit armor took the brunt of the falling energy. The hammering attack drove me to the ground and dislocated my hip joint. A lightning bolt of pain shot up my greater leg nerve. I growled at the top of my lungs in agony.

My first shot went wild when I spun around to meet the attacking amphibians. The second round exploded the bark on the nearby tree trunk. But the third time was the charm when the accelerator bullet ejected from my pistol blew an expanding huge hole clean through the torso of the Number Four jumper.

Donrairr’s assault shotgun blasted Number Three dead which was slowly climbing from the dirt crater it had gouged in the ground. I thought I was going to fall unconscious thinking that these killer-ram amphibians could dish it out but could not take it. It was all I could do to roll over onto my belly and line up my accel-pistol on Number One, the Distractor of the pack. Huge claws flopped and climbed up the riverbank to begin coiling for another charging spring with its bony head crest. Number Two was also climbing up out of its crater.

Two of my next three shots hit the Distractor frog in the torso and threw it backward to splash down in the water.

“What’s going on?” called Roull in my ear. “I hear gunfire.”

The hiss of Number Two sounded in my opposite ear. But it did not get to finish what it was going to say to me because Donrairr had pumped her next shell and decapitated the frog in the neck and shoulder area.

“I’m fin-“ was all I got out before I lost consciousness. Two volleys of my accel-pistol were the adrenaline limit to allow me before darkness took me.

 

[The Pakkrat]

* * *

​

Arsun was not the bloody mess this time around. But that left leg looked out of place. Stepping up to him laying around on the job with the amphibians we slaughtered, I put extra shots into each for good measure. The beasts smelled awful and though I have had amphibian legs before, these were something else and not likely to be edible. The blood might make a broth in emergencies to add with a claw full of spices, but that would have to wait as the Emissary looked like another few days under Fast Drug. When Roull helped me haul Arsun’s big form up to the airlock, I had him deliver the patient to the Med Console while I reeled in the intake hose and stow it inside the hull sub-compartment.

In addition to a dislocated hip joint, Arsun had a break in his femur. I dosed him with a block before setting the bone, confirming its placement with a scan - set it again, and then was on target with the second scan. The big infant cried out on both which is normal. Then, before he could whine some more, I put him on Fast Drug after telling him to stay in bed.

Fast Drug is not the medicine’s real name. It is called that by patients because their perceptions are slowed, everything around them seeming to speed up. An advanced medical aid, Fast Drug requires hanging more bags of nutrients as the patients cannot eat and digest quickly enough. To an observer, Arsun appeared to slur his speech, move slowly and could do nothing with Roull and I countering his actions. With no external trauma or blood, Roull was a help in aiding the Agent in eliminating wastes. The mission was put on hold until I deemed Arsun fit to stand, limp around in a gel-filled, rigid cast and remain coherent for making decisions.

Roull during that week used the Great Big Knife given him from Arsun to cut and fashion a walking staff, slather it in water sealant lacquer and present it as a new mission souvenir. Arsun took it all well enough for an overgrown, whining, complaining cub. I told him that this is what one gets for urinating on turf that was not his. He should have come inside the ship and used the Fresher. One turn of the back and off-guard and a giant toad took him down.

Whether Roull did the thing with The Touch, I do not know. Maybe he slipped into Arsun’s room while I was asleep in my cabin. But Arsun was up and tapping his new red cypress staff on the deck within a few days. No running, I warned the Emissary. Maybe he listened.

 

[The Pakkrat]

* * *

​

I did not listen to Donrairr. I found a means to hang those nutrient bags off my new red-cypress staff Roull cut, trimmed and sealed with his coveted tools. I had come out of Slowville and wanted to be off of that rock with the killer toads. My leg was bound in a gel cast. Thus, I limped around the ship until Donrairr gave me the Green light to command us to return to the stars. Another souvenir I garnered from SP Break 2321 was an internal weathervane. My broken leg flares up to this day whenever the local weather has a low-pressure system and rain is coming. Normally for a person like me who originates from a Desert world, rain is a good thing to behold so scarce was water. But from that month on, water falling from the sky was a mixed blessing and became painfully predictable. I also swore off amphibian legs forever after that fauna encounter.

 

[The Pakkrat]

25.​

021-1074

SP Break 2321 / Cheaters’ Route (X569000-0) Ba

Donrairr and I had another argument over Astrogation when I plotted for Parsec-2318. This time she was protesting purposefully jumping into an empty parsec of space. I tried to show her the coordinates of the calibration point the Solomani Humans had erected long ago. It was on the warning files transmitted to the Vargr of Ksinanirz Sector. The deep space installation was used for hundreds of years to bridge Cheaters’ Route and yet keep the Humans isolated and remote enough to exclude from any sector maps this far coreward. And that is what they wanted. Until the Something Wicked became a threat, the Akumgeda of Ksinanirz would not have cared. Well, maybe the independent, tramp traders cared. The Vargr Extents had many worlds providing goods in demand by the Humans in their bottlenecked Preserve. We got our answer soon enough.

“Contact bogey detected on passive Sensors: EMS, and Telescope,” reported elderly-voiced Grandsire Computer. The argument was over in an instant as we three fell into our chairs and strapped in.

“Range?” I asked.

“More than 5.1 million kilometers”, replied the Computer.

Donrairr looked at her boards and added, “The bogey must have very quiet drives because the Neutrino Detector has yet to see the bogey. “A minute and I’ll have some better resolution.”

I looked at Roull and he nodded back to me. The Barbette was to be warmed up, its twin Particle Accelerators arming. Outbound as the Ninth Square was, it was known than many Corsairs choose attack turf at 50 to 80 Diameters, too close to a gravity well to jump and too far out to receive immediate help.

“What’s our D?” I asked while putting my claws on the Helm controls.

“Last measure was 61D,” reported the Gvegh SensOp. ”Here’s the first images cleaned up.”

I looked at the stills and footage Donrairr slid over to my boards. The blue glow of a Maneuver Drive backlit by an arrowhead shape, a lifting body hull similar to our Vargr Scout, but without the fins, wings or canards. It had only one bulbous turret, but I could not see the loadout so fuzzy was the picture. At this range, no heraldry could be made out either.

“Do you think they’ve seen us?” I asked. I had never seen such a class of vessel in any of the Kechk navies. Neither had the two Spacers with me. But Donrairr being more recently an Explorer answered immediately.

“Not yet if we go all-quiet. At this range the computer thinks the bogey cannot be over 200 tons.”

I was done being caught with my zipper down on this mission. “Feed firing solutions from your lock,” I ordered. “Then ping them with active Sensors. At this range the Particle Accelerators could land hits, but let’s see if they answer us. Hail them on Comm-8 and connect me if they answer.”

At less than one-hundred light seconds, a Comm signal takes a bit to reach its target. We could already see the effect the active Sensors pings were having on the bogey’s behavior.

In less than one hundred seconds, Roull reported from behind me, “I can score a hit, but it won’t do any damage until the bogey is less than 500,000 kilometers.”

I ramped up the throttle to 3Gs and started closing the gap between the us and the bogey. The Sensor ping plus our gravitic output should have had a footprint detectable to anyone with a modicum of Sensors package. I had exposed the Ninth Square but also began closing the distance. By the time we had an answer from the distant arrowhead ship, the range would be within Roull’s preference.

The image of my first Human contact came up on a peripheral board and I kept the holocrystal pane in simultaneous view of the main viewer displaying tactical information. It – he – was dressed in a black uniform with the appearance of having been hastily donned. Some familiar groupings of badges or ribbons under a heraldry symbol rode the torso of the uniform jacket. His hair was wet, likely from being hastily combed and I immediately felt underdressed despite the fact that there are no uniforms for the Kechk Reversion Agency. So, I tried to play it as if I was supposed to be dressed in a shirt that read Weekend Warrior in Akumgeda. Looking over at Donrairr for a second caused me to glean a displeased reaction from the Gvegh. The Human, more specifically Solomani was sitting in what looked like a cramped cockpit of the arrowhead ship. The fact that he could speak Akumgeda made me feel out of practice with Anglic. He had the initiative since we pinged and hailed the Human vessel.

“This is the SP-PFS Ambrosia,” began the Human on my Comm board. I heard his voice through my ear-hoop Comm synced to the Ninth Square Comms. Range information dwindled down on the tactical display. We were definitely faster than the other ship. “While we recognize your IFF transponder and Vargr configuration, please state your identity and intent.” The human had a calmer vocal cords voice. And since he was only on the screen, I could not Listen to him with my telepathy. He had purposefully left of his personal name and the last four digits detailing his ship capabilities out of his return hail. It would have telegraphed the arrowhead ship’s tonnage, hull type, jump range and maneuvering Gs, details best left unsaid on a first contact.

I was similarly being recorded so I kept my teeth covered as I remembered from some Diplomatic Handbook that Humaniti can react negatively to Vargr bared fangs. I spoke with authority seasoned with an Emissary’s diplomacy. “Greetings, SP-FPS Ambrosia,” I returned. “This is the Kechk Unity NFK Ninth Square. We are an Emissary Courier sent across the Something Wicked to make contact with Havensmith concerning the world Bath.” I held our intent there until the Human on the Ambrosia gave more on their end. Personals such as this were give and take, back and forth until a modicum of charisma was attained. The FPS of the Ambrosia stood for Far Patrol Scout, a likely designator for a ship the same tonnage as our own. SP in the prefix obviously meant Solomani Preserve, but the Human on my holocrystal pane did not have to divulge that. If I knew what SP meant, then he did not have to explain it. The Solomani had come this coreward path long ago in exodus and wanted to remain recluses in Thaku Fung Sector. He had said the word Ambrosia, an Anglic word that Donrairr had to slip a translation in text form to subtitle the Akumgeda and Gvegh equivalents. Just as I was analyzing the information the Human had sent us, he was likely making the same sense of what information I had given.

 

[The Pakkrat]

“Salutations, Ninth Square,” continued the Human aboard the Ambrosia. “You are the first Vargr ship to successfully cross Yaskoydris’ Cry representative of – the Kechk Unity you say? Have the Pact and Reversion reunited after the schism finally?” This line of talk was to generate familiarity and continue to measure my charisma.

“Not truly, Ambrosia,” I said adding a cooperative gesture with my claws before me. “Rather, in the face of the psychic phenomenon – your ‘Cry’ if I’m correct – we represent the Akumgeda and Gvegh Vargr as a whole in Ksinanirz Sector. I am their Emissary sent to the Solomani Preserve. Call me Arun Unrralarr. And you are-?”

“Salutations, Emissary Unrralarr,” nodded the Human head with the slick black mane of hair. “I am Lead Scout Nathan Jamieson. We are patrolling Cheater’s Route this quarter. Since you know of the Solomani Preserve, we can relax this a bit. How about you power down that oversized Barbette so we can stand down our Turret?” Another step in the exchange of information. I looked at Roull and gave him a telepathic Stand down, Roull look. He nodded back and began depowering the dual Particle Accelerators.

The exchange went well after that. The Solomani Preserve patrols were purposed for making sure the SP Break Worlds remained uncolonized though the Vargr Extents had long ago reached its current frontier and remained steady for a century or more. Populations other than Kiden before Something Wicked onset were thinning out on the edges of the Extents. I explained that the Ninth Square was the second attempt to cross over the Something Wicked, confirmed as their Yaskoyris’ Cry – their name for the destructive propagation front rimward bound.

I remembered the argument with Donrairr over jumping to Parsec-2318 which according to my files contained a long-held Preserve calibration point, a refueling station in deep space. Lead Scout Nathan Jamieson confirmed the coordinates and verified that the parsec the Solomani named VoidBridge 1 was online and ready to service the first Vargr vessel in over a decade to proceed. Beyond lay the capital world of the Solomani Preserve Havensmith. Further exchange of starcharts for news of the Vargr rimward of Something Wicked and our preparations.

Jamieson gestured a shrug I found hard to translate. He regretted aloud that the Vargr governments had not heeded the warning missions earlier in 1070 but understood the sluggish bureaucracy nature of all governments. “Shogunai,” he said in some other Human language. I did not argue with the Solomani Lead Scout that Vargr governments on average are faster acting, but not as wise in decisions as the Solomani seemed to me. In receiving the latest positional corrections from the Ambrosia, a jump to VoidBridge 1 was going precipitate our ship closer to 100 Diameters from the installation.

As the Ninth Square and the Ambrosia passed each other within visual 50 kilometers, Donrairr texted me that the Scout had only Jamieson and one other Human aboard. Perhaps that was the standard crew for a simple patrol ship. With no contraindications, my first meeting with Humaniti, ship to ship, parted as quickly as it began. Because we Vargr already knew of the Solomani Preserve, we were cleared by Lead Scout Jamieson to proceed to VoidBridge 1, refuel and make for Havensmith. The Human Patrol Scout commuted to a nearby Gas Giant to skim for fuel, taking its leave of us.

I took the updated charts to heart when I began astrogation pathing with Donrairr standing over my shoulder. The stellar density of the Old Perch Subsector was nigh a rift, or void as the Solomani termed it. This made targeting the Parsec-2318 even easier. The difficulty lay in pinpointing the calibration point called VoidBridge 1. Such a small installation, a deep space, automated refueling depot, required careful calculations. We wanted to be close enough for our Maneuver Drive to pull on the station because there were no other large bodies to pull on or push off of with the gravitic nature of our in-system drive. If the Ninth Square dropped out of Jump Space more than 1000 Diameters from VoidBridge 1, we would have been out of range for maneuvering. Roull told me later, as Naval Architect was his Minor in Naval Academy, that it was for this precaution that ships typically using deep space calibration points mounted reaction drives such as HEPlaR Drives to provide thrust when M-Drives became inefficient outside 1000D. I thought about ditching our cargo hold on the return trip to Ksinanirz Sector for mounting such an in-system, backup drive.

 

[The Pakkrat]

26.​

028-1074

VoidBridge 1 / Old Perch (Thaku Fung 2318) Calibration Point

I spent a majority of jump transit stretching my hip joint, exercising and hobbling about the ship in my cast and with my staff. I felt older now that I had been injured and near death twice. I did not mention Roull’s kindly visits to speed my healing. But one thing I learned about his psionic healing aptitude was that though damage was repaired, it did not alleviate pain. I would have to go through PT, physical torture, to get used to the stiffness, aching joint, bad weather flare-ups and carry my new staff about as running would make me pay for the increased speed. Back and forth between Donrairr and I came purring little Kiden to distract me from my aching and healing leg. The young Ship’s Cat spent some time in my lap, distracting me from duties.

Doing my thing as an Emissary softened Donrairr a little now that she had seen a backwater, Desert world bazaar hawker conduct diplomatic First Contact between the Solomani Preserve and the cooperating, Kechk Unity. I was in my element and could have done better in an actual, face-to-face encounter. But the Ambrosia had a route to cover and perhaps the Humans were eager to return home at the end of the quarter. Or maybe it was because we were suddenly a non-issue to them though the Humans were surprised to see ships from rimward of Cheaters’ Route.

A Jump Grid such as the lanthanum netting laced through our Far Surveyor hull produces a larger arrival jump flash. Jump flashes upon arrival from that mercurial week between world-systems are bigger than departure flashes. I would have guessed that the arrival of the Ninth Square would have yielded a hailing signal. Alas, all that was present was black, stars and silence.

It was time to transmit the code-pings from the Solomani files in the dossier to the calibration point and see if a beacon or a tender responded. Though we still had 12.2 tons of fuel in the tanks from only a three-parsec transit, we were not sure what came next. I saw Donrairr press the COMMIT button on her Comms board. Then it was wait. And we waited.

I was suffering from sweaty claws and wringing my red-cypress staff when the answer signal came, a continuous, computer-generated navigation beacon signal. With a vector and sitting otherwise dead at 102D, I attempted to push for 2Gs and pray we were close enough to pull on the signaling calibration point. But the M-Drive was close enough and soon I was backing down off the throttle. Traffic was present. Swarms of unmanned and automated drones buzzed to and from the central installation. It was not a deep space environment like some listening post. No, this VoidBridge 1 was completely robotic. And to us Vargr, that is unnerving.

We Vargr don’t like robots or artificial intelligence. Untrustworthy, no charisma, no personality and certainly no merit in ordering a robot to do your work for you. This took some getting used to as we fed a second code-ping from the Solomani files to send out a request for an Icepick drone, a spaceship crewed only by an onboard computer and programmed as a fuel tender. The craft was spotted on one of Donrairr’s Sensor boards and she fed a copy to one of my boards. I slowed the Ninth Square to station-keeping and the three of us watched the biggest dance of in-system, robotic spacecraft at Tech 15, (above our own Tech 14 starship, so this was new to me and the others). It was a ballet of movement to see darting, buzzing and hauling drones inbound and outbound from the central facility and points.

“What kind of drives are those little monsters using?” I asked Donrairr.

“The Grav Sensor board says they are pushing off each other, the Maker swarms and huge collected bags of fuel mostly,” answered Donrairr.

“Otherwise,” added Roull Arzra, “they would be just as slow as us on those glowing blue M-Drives.”

“There-…there are societies in Charted Space that would take offense to something of this magnitude and autonomy.”

“The drones seem to act according to function and have limited adaptability on an individual scale. But I am willing to bet that the facility can make other function drones, such as defense drones.”

“Right,” I nodded. “Let us play by their rules for now. Look. There is a fuel hauler drone coming to us.”

We watched the drone, labeled on its side as an Icepick-class drone refueler slowed to a boarding distance and cycled through various sizes of adapters to lock on one that mated to our fuel intake valve. I suddenly remembered to have Donrairr take stills and footage of the operations here at VoidBridge 1 for the mission log. This was truly amazing and disturbing to us Vargr at the same time.

“Fuel at .6,” reported Roull who was watching the fuel tank partitions fill and urge the gauges toward maximum capacity.

I keyed for a computer Cell and asked Grandsire Computer, “How many drones are within current active and passive Sensors.” Tens of seconds went by as a number counted upwards on the holocrystal board I had used for the query.

“Ancients! There are millions coming into and out of Sensors range and we can see out to 500 million kilometers.” I had to rub my temples at the operations nightmare the VoidBridge must be. And the subsector charts had said that the Solomani Preserve had twelve of these installations in deep space parsecs through their confederation.

“Fuel at .8,” Roull continued to report.

“See those huge bricks?” asked Donrairr. “I’m reading weaponry mounted on them. This place is defended. An armada of millions of tons and crews of hundreds would be required to siege this place.”

“It’s a naval tactic,” explained Roull. “If you cannot field capital ships, use swarms of drones. If the weapons are spread out and separate from each other, a single ship cannot hope to pass such a network of flying beams or rain of Railgun slugs. It’s been done before, but I can’t recall where in Charted Space.”

“Densitometer data is done analyzing all in range,” added Donrairr. “There are smaller asteroids nearby. And-…they have sculptures and other art engraved into them.” The Gvegh then panned the Telescope at the asteroids. I saw an array of organized sculptures from sophont sized to the size of capital ships in fields just outside the central Maker quad-swarms that were cranking out new drones for the swarms. Zooming in, Donrairr showed us that these works of art and memory were memorials left by those who had passed through VoidBridge 1.

“Cheaters’ Route was supposed to be secret at first,” I said, recalling the data I had read from the mission dossier. “As more ships conducted trade and diplomacy, some would while away the refuel time by playing beams and other drills across trash ‘roids like those out there. At least that’s what I read.”

The Telescopes stopped on one asteroid. A humanoid form was standing on asteroid and cleaning, maintaining one of the sculptures. After a few minutes of blasting the sculpture with high-pressure gasses, the figure turned to our refueled ship and waved before bounding to a nearby craft. I got the impression that it was a local, a hermit who might value history saved in the unwanted ores left parked in this memorial array. We snapped stills and footage of this site. It was profound in a way that I could not find words to caption the images with.

I began pathing for Havensmith while Donrairr continued to record all that was happening about our ship. Limping our ship, almost drifting, outbound, we could hear the Icepick drone that had serviced our refueling detach and widen distance from our vector from the installation. On our slow-going trip to a viable jump point, the Sensors on the Ninth Square picked up the incoming jump flash. While Grandsire Computer was busy confirming my calculations for Havensmith, we picked up the IFF transponder signal of the Ambrosia. They had completed their survey patrol of SP Break 2321 and were heading toward home.

 

[The Pakkrat]

27.​

035-1074

Havensmith / Old Perch (Thaku Fung 2315) A874983-C Hi In / Cx Ht C:2413

Eight weeks had gone by without true signs of civilization. Though it hardly registered on Donrairr and Roull who were Spacers and Explorers, I was ready for a planetside layover. The scoops on the Ninth Square, needed repairs and it was time to make a little extra pay for this diplomatic mission to Bath. I let out a private sigh of relief when Donrairr confirmed breakout at 106D from Havensmith stellar primary as the mainworld sat just inside the jump shadow of the F0 main sequence star.

The system-bound comet entering the Inner System of Havensmith was a delight to see. A long white plume of a tail stretched out and behind the inbound ball of ice and dust, illuminated by the yellow-white primary star. Donrairr and I both agreed that such an up-close encounter with a comet was worth the extra transit time. She snapped stills and recorded zoomed in footage for the mission log.

System traffic Comms signals were a reassuring sign that Havensmith had recovered from Something Wicked and I was delighted in the difference here than at strickened and dying Kiden. And System Traffic Control hardly batted a Human eye or flicked a Vargr ear, (yes, there were Vargr locals present), to learn that the Ninth Square was from Ksinanirz Sector. We were actually expected though it was not known when us rimward folk would make the crossover. What did surprise the smithy, (sorry – my term for the locals), was that we had announced ourselves as the Kechk Unity, the cooperation of the Kechk Pact, Kechk Reversion and the non-aligned worlds collectively known as the Gvegh Coreward Arm.

“Yes,” said Donrairr into her boom mic. “We are from the Pact and the Reversion and the non-aligned worlds of the Gvegh Coreward Arm.” After a few seconds she answered the Comm in her ear, “That’s what I’ve been saying. We are representing all three but unified in this endeavor.” I did not want to look over at the SensOp and Hear her inner voicing of foul language likely in Gvegh.

It took less than the 45-minute inbound commute to find a small horde of buyers online for the six tons of pharma panaceas we had brought from Kiden. Though raw resources were plentiful and manufactured goods were back in full swing, it was medical and pharmaceuticals that were in demand. Ours may have been keyed for Vargr physiology and I thought that might hinder their marketability. That is, until we learned of Akumgeda and Gvegh Vargr populations already present on Havensmith. I was elated to begin the bidding process while on Comms as the Ninth Square rode the final approach, guiding beam.

As the most Important world of the Solomani Preserve and its Capital, two very significant vocabulary word descriptors, I was capable of opting for an orbital Highport in case we did not want to descend to the mainworld surface. And I almost did choose Havensmith Station. It was my aching hip that reminded me to stretch and walk around on a natural gravity of one gee. Either facility would have done us good business with our speculative cargo. I reminded myself that some starships were clustered and clustered-braced hulls and unsuitable for landing on planets. Giving those vessels priority of orbital docking seemed polite. Mainworld landing it was then.

The immediate detail to be seen after atmospheric reentry was all the classes of starships and spaceships of Human make that vastly outnumbered Vargr designs. Aircraft of all sizes were found on their favored stratosphere and lower troposphere. Clouds gave way to reveal a busy Downport. To the west of the miniature metropolis was a Naval Base lined with military vessels all of which were less than one thousand tons each. Opposite the Starport was an Exploration Base though I was told about its nature after we landed. Descending in a stable, lifting body, agile and maneuverable ship made final approach to the Downport look easy and dignified for a vessel from rimward of the Solomani Preserve. So that I could look as important as I could, I decided upon landing to go and change into something, anything that I owned, that looked official and charismatic. Upon touchdown of the landing legs to the berthing pad, I got up from the Helm chair and let Donrairr and Roull stand down the Bridge and Drives.

In my cabin, I rifled through my locker for the most important-looking ensemble I could put together. My leg and hip ached as I dressed. No longer hindered by the gel cast or hanging nutrients, I tried on piece after piece and looked at my reflection in the mirror. If I was an Emissary, why did I not have a formal outfit? In the end, I chose a desert tan-colored, hooded overcoat, my cargo pocket pants, a black shirt with a V-neck, and my utilities belt with my holster again in the small of my back under the overcoat. The thick, red-cypress, lacquered staff finished my ensemble. I stuffed my personal gear into pockets and pouches. Loading my claimed Data Wafer from Kiden with a copy of our mission log and all its data and imagery, I put it too into a pouch. Turning my mirror reflection around, I remembered to poke my tail out the back between the split fall in the rear of the coat. It was important to charisma to be able to display head, claws, tail, and feet to maximize expressions as a Vargr, especially to Humaniti. I had read that too in the Diplomatic Handbook back at the Reversion Agency. I did not own any shade goggles or cool sunglasses, but I never liked wearing either. To shield my eyes from the glare of Havensmith’s yellow-white star, I pulled up the hood and rested its hem across my temples just behind my eyebrows. I looked at myself in the mirror again and thought, sophisticated, backwater, Desert world bazaar hawker on a stick.

 

[The Pakkrat]

* * *​

Like Arsun, I too come from a Desert world. Once the Ninth Square was on standby and connected to umbilical power, I trusted to Roull to see to refueling while I dressed. I was not going to let Captain Limpy screw this up for us. I took a minute to brush my face, mane and neck ruff in the mirror and wash my claws. I was nervous about Arsun and his role as the Emissary. But Explorers are usually the “first-in” or First Contact Vargr. I was going with him like it or not. I dressed in my Gvegh desert robes, a sandy beige and pure white set of folds with a shemagh head wrap though I kept it loose on my head and shoulders. My shotgun bandoleer swallowed my assault shotgun and I laced the leather thong closure. A jerk of a thong and a draw was needed to have my trusty Gunthekaz 12-guage out and ready.

I had chosen my homeworld desert robes to represent the Gvegh though I was subordinate to Arsun’s lead on this mission. When I saw met him at the airlock with his walking staff, I knew I had him outclassed in apparel. It was on his face and he probably read it from my head, the telepath. Nothing for it then, I decided. Then Kiden the Ship’s Kitten joined us. I picked up the growing survivor of mainworld Kiden and let him ride purring and looking out of my robes from a shoulder sling pouch we wear back home. Gesturing to the opening airlock, I let Arsun Unrralarr lead the way.

Stepping from the artificial grav plates of the Ninth Square, the mainworld gravity took over from there. It was just over one gee but not uncomfortable. I was glad to not be wearing our armored Vacc Suits. Arsun’s Vacc Suit still looked like he lost a fight with killer toads, which was closer to the truth. All that ripped and bent armor with the tear patches would have looked very undignified, unworthy of whomever we were to meet. The Emissary had not divulged the diplomatic side of the mission details. I guessed that he was winging it.

 

[The Pakkrat]

* * *

​

An inclined ramp at a gentle angle was far better than a portable set of steps down to the brightly painted asphalt landing pad. On the ground and waiting for us – titles, ranks and positions pulled from the thoughts of those watching me limp down the ramp – were the Port Authority Administrator behind the Port Warden in the lead with two Regulation Enforcement guards in armor not ready for us. Coming out of the terminal were three Akumgeda Vargr, distant Preserve cousins who had long ago migrated to the Solomani Preserve before Something Wicked was known to anyone. These were the merchants I had done business with over the Comms on planetary approach from jump precipitation. They struggled to catch up to the welcoming party before me. Lastly came two Starport employees with braided green hair. The immigrant pair of minds held themselves apart from the Solomani as Pirians, whatever the Pirian Dominion was.

“Emissary Arsun Unrralarr?” asked the Warden in Anglic who was in his head gunning for the Administrator’s position next year.

I felt Donrairr Zuutig behind me and just to my left. “I am Agent Arsun Unrralarr of the Kechk Unity for this Emissary mission, yes.” The double-positive was redundant and I inwardly grimaced at my use of Anglic, the Human tongue. I was rusty, but I wanted to reiterate a positive reaction.

“Thomas Forraker, Phoenix 2800 Harbor Warden,” said the Warden who extended his hand. Oh. Clasping claws. That’s right. I met his naked, soft hand with my claw after shifting my staff to my left. Though Humans are generally taller than Vargr because of our digitigrade stance which I tried to stand at my fullest height, Forraker was a tall Solomani. My claw engulfed his hand, however. I am a big Akumgeda Vargr.

“Welcome to Havensmith, Emissary,” said the Port Authority seeing the Warden and I clasp extremities. “I am Administrator Brent Collins. Welcome.” He was ready to retire, but his brain was waffling on next year or the year after. He was also secretly taking anagathics, the longevity drugs. I could tell these men butted heads on occasion. It was in their memories.

I looked back at Donrairr and nodded. “Handle the merchants, Donrairr.” The Medic narrowed her eyes at me but looking at the Warden and the Administrator and then back at me, she nodded politely, Gvegh politely, I Heard her think, Don’t screw this up, Arsun. Her posture then relaxed as she intercepted the merchant Vargr in her beige and white desert robe. I wanted a desert robe seeing Donarairr in hers and greeting the local Akumgeda in their own tongue.

The Warden and the Administrator along with the two guards were to distract me, run interference or delay me. I Listened to each mind as they asked streams of questions that I answered almost before they got the question out of their Human mouths. I reminded myself that I had not advertised myself as a Psion and surely not a power telepath. I keep those cards to my chest. I indulged the men as we walked a slow lap around the outside of the Ninth Square. One of the guards caught the superlative reference to the Human game of chess and reminded the Warden.

Yes, this was a Vargr Scout with the Diplomatic, Surveyor Beagle, and Far designations. No, the antenna was not a weapon. Well, the ship has a variable jump range. Was I the Captain? I shook my head in the negative though I explained I was in charge of the mission and took the Helm-Astrogation position. Compared to the Ambrosia we had met; our ship was meant for a crew of three instead of the two Humans we had crossed paths with. The delaying questions tried to hide the tactic with genuine curiosity. But Listening to the men, I knew that the Human in charge of the world-system was soon to arrive in his black, stretched grav-limo.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw Donrairr gesturing and chatting with the Akumgeda. She looked like she was getting a deal while I was the one running interference for our side of this meeting. I asked a few questions, repeating a request for names though I did not need them from Listening. It is a tactic that telepaths learn to conceal our Mentation Aptitude. Act like you’re not paying full attention when you really are – to all a brain has to offer.

Donrairr had landed a 120% markup from the ticket price for the pharma panaceas to the merchants. It seemed that Vargr medicines were needed in the Solomani Preserve. Given that I had paid nothing for pharma I heisted from Kiden, it was a 120% profit. Cr27,552 for the six tons I saw her gesturing back at the ship for was not a bad haul for such a small cargo hold. The Pirian humans began to help unload the cargo with grav-jacks. Roull Arzra met them at the airlock and gave them entry at my nod and a double-check with Donrairr. I would use some of those credits to pay for services here at-

“What was the name of this Downport again?” I asked the Warden who repeated the name of Phoenix 2800 Harbor just as a black, contragravity limousine descended from the skies with a trail of several news grav-vans like a parade. The Warden and Administrator saw me look up and were instantly relieved. The Senator of Havensmith had arrived, I Heard their minds admit.

The guards sprinted to the side of the halting grav-limo as I finished my circuit of the Ninth Square. Donrairr came up to my left again, her tail wagging from the sale of the pharma but her face scowling for not being present for introductions alongside me. Stepping from the long, contragravity vehicle were aides, advisors and finally the Senator of Havensmith. I almost wanted to out myself as a telepath and skip introductions. I was impatient. To counter such, I nodded my head forward and pulled back my overcoat hood since my back was to the local star.

 

[The Pakkrat]

The news crews assembled into a semicircle about the meeting as the Havensmith Senator approached. Floating camera drones buzzed in and out with wide panoramic shots and sweeping arcs around the gathering. Field correspondents, Human and Vargr, talked into their microphones and scrambled to pin the moment as theirs first. The aides and guards kept the media from interfering despite the shouted questions.

The Senator was dressed in a black suit. A crossed circle emblem pin of the Solomani was framed by a fiery avian that I took from his head as a ‘phoenix’. I misspelled it in my head, in Akumgeda, but soon corrected myself inwardly in Anglic as I was then face-to-face with the Senator. The Downport officials formed a semicircle behind me and Donrairr Zuutig. The merchants were helping Roull unpack the pharma to the Pirian Humans. Out came the Senator’s hand and this time I did not hesitate to clasp it firmly. Cameras snapped stills and took footage. I guessed this was live transmit to the entire world via the drones’ respective networks. On a Tech 12 world such as Havensmith, live coverage was all too easy. This was a momentous occasion to the Solomani Preserve. The transmitted files had been confirmed received and heeded and I and my ship were proof that the Something Wicked – called the Yaskoydris’ Cry here – was passable by those still rimward of its current position.

“Emissary Unrralarr, I am Havensmith Senator Marcus Mewborn,” said the man in the black suit and in Anglic. Our extremities clasped, mine too strong perhaps of nerves. I telepathically knew his name but wanted to hear him pronounce it first.

“Markhus Moobhorrn,” I nervously mispronounced his name, “call me Arsun. Our names and titles are secondary to this meeting.” It was a diplomatic way to say that the event was more than the sum of its parts, a compliment to him for meeting me and Donrairr here at the Downport. Marcus smiled. My Anglic was again rusty.

“Agreed,” nodded the Senator. Further introductions were made, and I took the initiative to bring Donrairr Zuutig to name. Extremities were clasped. Nods. Words of welcome spoken. Anglic and Gvegh words were spoken which seemed to further ease all present.

During the crossed greetings, I spotted a thought from Marcus. Though he smiled, and I could not place his falsified facial expressions before the cameras, I Heard him thinking to himself. Wait until he meets Governor Darrtha of Bath. I wonder if the Emissary will be able to stomach her gregarious tastes. I did not have time to analyze the thought as I was digging out my mission dossier and explaining to the Senator and all present of my mission. Among the hardcopy papers, some molested by my claws, I produced a formal statement requesting an authority sign off on the passage of the refugee Transports from Ksinanirz Sector.

“You hardly need my signature, Arsun,” smiled Marcus Mewborn who then spotted Kiden the Ship’s Kitten poke her head out of Donrairr’s robes to look and sniff at the Human. “Though I am the majority party leader and honored of the request, the person you are seeking for this is currently on Bath.” He went on to explain that the confederacy known as the Solomani Preserve was not directly controlled from Havensmith. The Transports would not need permission to pass through Havensmith or dock at Havensmith Station for a respite. “Bath is eager to begin receiving immigrants, sir,” Marcus explained.

I must have looked dumb, but I nodded and put away my hardcopy. We again clasped arms and presented good poses for the media and exchanged further pleasantries. But the shouted questions aimed at myself and at Marcus Mewborn became too rowdy. Listening to the Senator, I knew immediately that he had more work at his office and that this meeting was of salutations and congratulations only.

Parting at last, the Senator said before turning to his grav-limo. “You’re in for a surprise when you at last meet Bath Governor Khoset Darrtha,” said the Senator confidently. His pronunciation of Gvegh words was excellent and I nodded a bow to the departing dignitary. The Governor of Bath was a Gvegh Vargr if the name stuck to the language. Did he purposely put an accent on the second syllable of Khoset? As the limo pulled away with Senator Marcus Mewborn and entourage, the guards had to again restrain the media correspondents.

I Heard the questions. Was it hard to cross over the psychic phenomenon? Were there any Psions aboard the Emissary’s ship? How many were coming? What is the estimated loss of life in Ksinanirz? Was there looting and Corsair activity inside the thick band of insanity following Yaskoydris’ Cry? What were the projected influx of working-class immigrants to do to the Solomani Preserve, interstellar economy? What was the story behind the visibly damaged armor on our hull? These questions and more flooded from the field correspondents. I had to stop myself from Listening to their concerns and turn back for the ship. I was forced to then decide against staying at an Accommodations hotel. The networks were planning to camp every corporate hotel and Travellers’ hostel with paparazzi, (a new Anglic word for me), and snipe images of the Emissary from the strangely-titled Kechk Unity. It was likely that someone in the System Traffic Tower was paid on the side to let slip Comms details. I could not let the press or my own bumbling mistakes taint public opinion or spoil our welcome. A clasp of my left upper arm from Donrairr confirmed the decision as I limped slightly back up the inclined ramp to the Ninth Square airlock. Drones buzzed our ship for some time as correspondents stood by for the post meridian, networks news hour.

Inside and with the outer airlock door locked, I conferred with Donrairr and Roull about much of what I Heard from the Senator, his entourage and the Downport staff. Then I retired to my cabin to analyze the Senator’s personal thoughts and judgement of Bath Governor Khoset Darrtha. We were going directly to Bath next.

Donrairr told me she was to download updated star charts for Stasis Tail Subsector. Roull reported that the Ninth Square had been pushed to the head of the line for refueling and was soon to be refueled. Marcus Mewborn had made his public appearance and was gently ushering the Kechk Unity Emissary onward to Bath.

 

[The Pakkrat]

28.​

036-1074

Havensmith / Old Perch (Thaku Fung 2315) A874983-C Hi In / Cx Ht C:2413

Overnight, I sat in the Galley and ate dinner which was complimentary delivered from the Concourse restaurant on Senator Mewborn’s personal credit balance. Politicians in this day and age still could not use office funds for diplomacy it seemed. We ate a variety sampler platter of various meats from both Havensmith but also Agricultural Bath. Online brochures for every industry on mainworld Havensmith were transmitted to our ship berthing Message Center. Donrairr had to filter them for intrusion software and other nasty surprises. I had one of the Portable Consoles with me as I chewed spiced meats and savored the spices saturating them. I love Human marinades, I discovered.

The blessing of worlds Tech 8 and higher is that trade business can take place online. I had interfaced with the local port to the Data Terminals of the world-system Cargo Market. I wanted to continue to make a profit as many times as I could while inside the Solomani Preserve. Another part of me also wanted to display a desire to stimulate the economy from sophonts from rimward of Something Wicked. The High-Population and Industrial Trade Classifications along with Havensmith’s Tech 12 innovations made my decision all the easier. Bath needed as much help as they could get until the Transports arrived. Programmable planetside robots were called for to clean ruined cities or to aid in crops harvesting. The Ninth Square had only six tons of space so anything we sold at the Vargr world would not disrupt personal charisma until the Transports arrived with workers. I committed the Cr13,200 to a purchase of six tons and hoped to the Ancients the packaged robots would be well received in the spirit of recovery from Something Wicked. The projections for sale looked good, but the final reaction to the offered robots was in the eyes of the buyer on Bath. The robots were delivered that next morning before we took leave of Havensmith.

Just as soon as the last of the compact packages of robots were loaded and locked down in the cargo hold, I beheld a protest, a flash mob of Humans and Vargr on the Downport grounds. There were barricades and plenty of flashing lights from local security as well as Startown law enforcement watching the gathered sophonts. Signs, banners, and other displays were aimed by the crowd at the Ninth Square. I had Donrairr record this too for our mission log. Signs read GO HOME KECHK at the nicest, CLOSE VB-1 in the middle ranges followed up by NOT ANOTHER IMMIGRANT at the worst. There were chants and speeches on voice amplifier devices. It only took a few glances out the view port at the flash mob hundreds of meters away at the fence to Listen to the general consensus. Immigrants to Bath meant a perceived loss of jobs and ruination of the economy trying to recover. These people did not care how the Kechk Unity would survive Something Wicked. They just did not want us to take their real estate on Bath. Anglic symbols for PSI were inverted, upside down on signs waved at our ship. NO MORE PSIONS was a secondary protest. The people of the Solomani Preserve had suffered psionics users such as the Akumgeda gone mad during what they called the Crying Years named after the Yaskoydris’ Cry. Surely there was plenty of room on Bath which needed Vargr workers. Those locals of my species were not plentiful enough to renew the population on Bath to my estimation. Tired of the hatred, I took recordings of media news covering the protest. Drones flew over the gathered flash mob. Dancing and raised claws against the Emissary of the Kechk Divided were seen on the news. We recorded the good with the bad. As that Emissary, I knew the score for every mission I’d been assigned: not everyone can be fully satisfied.

Phoenix 2800 Harbor traffic was temporarily halted so that law enforcement forces could push back the mobs long enough to give our ship window to lift. Sure, there were rocks thrown and someone took a shot at our ship too far out of range across the tarmac. Small arms of that caliber could barely put a dent in the armor of our Far Surveyor. We were glad to receive an All-Clear signal from the Tower. I took comfort that the protestors were a small minority and made a note of such in the mission log. Someday, refugees from Ksinanirz Sector would not need to relocate as migrating immigrants this far coreward. They would be trying to restart Kiden the Gateway to the Solomani Preserve.

In boosting from the capital of the Solomani Preserve, I was at least glad to see that civilization was alive again after the chaos I saw and Lifted from the minds of the mad Vargr of Kiden. Once we had surveyed Bath and confirmed its readiness to receive the Transports, the return trip to bring the news to those yet to be struck by Something Wicked would be a bundle of hope. I knew this mission would not save everyone, but it would make sure that one of the three solutions were confirmed viable. I watched mainworld Havensmith fall beneath us with Kiden the Ship’s Kitten purring in my lap as I sat at the Helm position of the Ninth Square.

 

[The Pakkrat]

* * *​

The Tower had strongly suggested that the Ninth Square jump to VoidBridge 2 or VoidBridge 3 as was our wont. Except that when I stood up to check on Arsun’s jump pathing, I saw that he was calculating for Anagathica (Thaku Fung 2413). Arsun was up to something again. I watched him set a breakout at a Gas Giant in Orbit 6, well outside the stellar primary jump shadow and one that would put us 100 Diameters to eclipse the mainworld. The Gas Giant would hide our jump flash from the System Traffic Control on Anagathica, a Satellite of the Gas Giant in Orbit 0. I also saw that Anagathica world-system was Amber-zoned, restricted by the Solomani Preserve confederation. I rounded the Astrogation boards and looked Agent Unrralarr.

What in the Ancients are you up to, Arsun? I purposefully thought out the sentence in my mind, making him Listen to me when he looked up at my concerned face. My tail was low in a warning position with my ears back.

He read me. I saw it in his eyes and in his shoulder shrug in guilt. “They call it Anagathica, Donrairr. Don’t you want to know why? Or would you rather I purposefully jump into another empty parsec and hope that the codes work again to summon an Icepick drone. You saw the negative reception we received this morning at lift.”

“Arsun-” I warned before he cut me off.

“Relax. We’re under a banner of Diplomatic immunity, Donrairr. This mission requires that we learn as much as possible about the Solomani Preserve, what our people are getting themselves into. Those back home are changing allegiances in those Transports when they disembark on Bath. I want as much intel as we can feasibly get away with.”

I was angry. Arsun was being an Agent before an Emissary and I thought at him some more, making him use his telepathy to – download? - my concerns wordlessly. We could get intercepted by system defense boats, labeled intruders, arrested or at least detained or worse. If Arsun went through with this pathing, it was on him as the mission lead, the responsibility his own.

“I know,” said the Agent. I went back to my chair at SensOps and threw myself in it with my arms crossed. A ship doesn’t break out at or near 100D and then claim misjump scatter and expect such an excuse to be believed. Arsun was still looking at me.

“Seven-point-five hours in-system is all I ask,” requested Arsun the Reversion Agent. I decided to blot him out of my thoughts by considering how I would look in prison orange colors printed with Anglic characters. Even angrier now, I knew that he was going to jump for Bath without the computer’s confirmation of the pathing to our final destination world. Idiot. Who wrote these mission orders?

 

[The Pakkrat]

* * *

​

We’d just jump in, have a look, take a few snapshots in the name of navigation. One does not simply name a world Anagathica without reason. Was there a secret pharma garden moon or orbital facility in that world-system? Given the pathing, it would have been easy to claim a misjump Scatter or a drive hiccup or bad pathing. If we were intercepted or hailed or whatever, I would just claim Diplomatic immunity, our flag and promise to be on our way which would be true. Our cargo hold was already full to brimming with packaged robots. We had no room for taking on stolen anagathics, the life-extending drugs that were likely keyed for Human physiology anyhow. What good would they have done us Vargr? After we had collected intel, we would jump directly for Bath. We have a Tech 14 Diplomatic, Beagle, Far Surveyor. The Ambrosia and the ships that I saw at Phoenix 2800 Harbor could not have been higher than Tech 12, geometric stages below the Ninth Square.

 

[The Pakkrat]

29.​

043-1074

Anagathica / Old Perch (Thaku Fung 2413) C14036B-A Da De Lo Po Sa O:2315

Donrairr was on the Bridge, sitting at SensOps and locking every passive Sensor she could on the patrol Solomani Preserve Patrol Scout while I spoke into the boom mic on my Comm. Anagathica had a craft for every Gas Giant in the system such as their need to restrict the world system. Turning from Donrairr’s supernova-explosive gaze, I spoke to the Patrol Scout commander, a Human in a flight uniform and the signature emblem of the Solomani Preserve on his chest. Three pips of rank rode his collar. Not a Captain yet. The slightly younger Human looked pissed at the Vargr, at me. “Look,” I tried to explain with a lie that was couched in half-truth we Agents are trained to tell, “This is my first time in the Preserve and the damage on our hull must have caused some Scatter in the pathing. I’m just happy the Gas Giant here pulled us out of jump-”

“Emissary Whomever-you-are,” growled the Human which is pretty amazing to me. I did not know that Humaniti could growl. It’s kind of cute when they try to wrinkle their noses like we Vargr bare our teeth. “Before I have to blow you out of the sky, I’ll give you one chance. We will fly in your six as you finish refueling. Any deviation from skimming to jump point and we open fire. Do you understand.” That last question as purposefully stated as a declarative and not a question in Anglic.

I looked quickly at the Patrol Scout’s readout from Donrairr. We had not pinged the Scout even once. But our Tech 14 Sensors are that good especially when she has the EMS antenna extended. The Anagathica Patrol Scout had good performance to have kept pace with our three or more gees. But its armament was yet another Hybrid Laser-Missile-Sandcaster system on its only turret. It would be an interesting starship combat while this Senior Scout was crying wolf to the mainworld Traffic Control. The large Barbette on the Ninth Square was not one to deter the Solomani sense of duty.

In the end, I nodded my head in the affirmative, “I get you, SP Gadfly. We will finish skimming and head out at best speed.” The acknowledgement was met with a cease in Comms connection.

“You had to look, didn’t you, Arsun?” fumed Donrairr. Kiden the Ship’s Cat chose that moment to jump from the deck and into her lap and paw at the SensOp for attention just then.

“Well, it can’t get any more interesting,” I answered which caused both Donairr and Roull to begin hastily double-checking their boards as if I had suddenly summoned more trouble. Seeing that reaction from both ex-Navy, Scouts made me question whether I had implanted a suggestion in their heads at the same time, (something I cannot and would not use telepathy in any case). Instead, I shrugged and continued our descent to skim the H-deck for wilderness refueling. The repaired scoops vents worked now that Roull had time on Havensmith to repair the stuck plates. The Gadfly, true to their word followed us to keep the Ninth Square solidly in their scopes.

When you think about it, anagathics presents a problem in that the age-halting pharma can slow or halt natural mortality on a world. Lack of mortality means population explosions if those who are ageless continue to life without being wise. Not dying is another motivator on a personal level. This alone makes the demand for such supplements taken at dinnertime incredibly valuable. Naming a world Anagathica seemed over the top for merely a world that gathers or imports the ingredients, processes them for dosage packaging and export. In my time, I’d heard of a few worlds that exported anagathics, but none of them were named after the export itself. This was an alarm bell for me. What made Anagathica so special that they named the mainworld after its product? Above and beyond that, the Solomani Preserve had set its Patrol craft to watch for unscheduled breakouts with extreme prejudice, namely us in this instance. That alone told me that authorized visitors were scheduled well before they left the world before jumping to Anagathica. Another red flag stating the value of this commodity world was the fact that the star charts depicting the current Solomani Preserve had listed it as an Amber Zone a term discouraging visit by mainstream commuters and of course Travellers, especially Travellers. Those with an itch to count themselves as Travellers have, as I had demonstrated, a desire to poke their muzzles where they were not wanted. In my defense, it was the mission that justified my detour to Anagathica. But ask Donrairr that and she’ll tell you that I’m some secret espionage Agent seeking to delve unnecessarily into business I should remain blissfully ignorant.

Whether a Traveller or an Agent-Emissary of the Kechk, I finished the refueling run in Ninth Square record time and lifted to orbit and pointed our Beagle toward 90D. We still took our pictures and footage of the encounter per the mission dossier I had been given. Learn all that we could of the Solomani Preserve was a pretty blanket statement.

 

[The Pakkrat]

30.​

051-1074

Bath / Stasis Tail (Thaku Fung 2510) A468785-B Ag Ri Sa Huma2 Vargr8

It was the silent treatment I received all the next week in the hole that sunk through my thick skull to straighten up and fly right as we approached breakout to Bath our mission destination. Every time I heard either Donrairr or Roull enter the same compartment as me, I lowered my eyes to the deck so as to avoid reading their minds. And the gesture did not go unnoticed by the two, especially Roull who was Akumgeda like me. This was the most crucial leg of our mission and neither seemed willing to entertain any task on the side that I might have cooked up. I kept to myself that week.

Jump pathing to Bath yielded three boons. The foremost was that the mainworld lay outside the jump shadow of the F1 main sequence, primary star and the M1 White Dwarf star sitting like a glittering jewel in Orbit 5. This meant that ships could come and go from the mainworld without interference from either star. The second boon was that mainworld Bath was a Satellite of a Large Gas Giant sitting proudly in Orbit 6, the cool edge of the system’s Habitable Zone. This made for some quick wilderness refueling before arriving at Bath proper or just as soon after departure from the mainworld. The third boon was that Bath sat just inside the 100 Diameters jump shadow of its parent Gas Giant. This meant that pathing to and from the second most Important world in the Solomani Preserve was sheltered by the larger Diameter. Leaving and arriving jump flashes were spotted 2.5 million kilometers rather than uncomfortably closer for Preserve defense vessels’ liking. In these ways, I liked Bath for a place to receive our people. Not too opened to hinder security and not too closed to make things hard on trade and commerce ships.

Two planetoid Belts, one inward toward the stellar primary and another in Orbit 13 of the Outer System meant that interstellar Bath could take advantage of the natural resources in each. I pried myself from both the ship Sensors mapping what they could for the mission log and the system charts given us at Havensmith. It was time for a final approach and to meet this Governor Khoset Darrtha.

Unlike Kiden, Bath had decades to clean up Far Orbit and Low Orbit space from derelicts of ships silenced by Something Wicked, much cleaner routing when compared to Kiden still mad and in chaotic neglect. Our flightpath inbound was all the easier for this cleanliness. Vargr salvagers had picked clean the space around the mainworld.

“The Culture indices say,” noted Donrairr aloud on breakout as she had taken to the notes on Bath, “that while Bath is Discordant, a trait typical of wedging Akumgeda, Gvegh and Humaniti together on a mainworld trying to recover from Something Wicked, it is rated Extremely Friendly and not too Strange or abstract in its mix-and-match texts.” How to recover, who to allow to settle on Bath and how to parcel out the lands of a mainworld with 80% oceans coverage was likely foremost on the legislature floors. This Governor Darrtha had her work cut out for her I judged. The files on Bath also listed her counterpart to the greater Solomani Preserve, a Solomani Human Senator.

The mainworld was a blue jewel with so much water. I would never become used to such sights of standing water on a planet. Clouds parted as we descended after reentry. Down through the stratosphere we sank. I purposely took the reentry safely with the damage from the missile strike that had peeled back our outer armor layer. The winds of Bath whistled over the protruding edges of the shredded plates. Under the cloud deck at last, the geography of the mainworld became clear on the monitors fed by the Ninth Square Sensors. Orbiting a Large Gas Giant, Bath had some brutal winter months. But occasional hot months would happen bi-annually due to the orbiting White Dwarf in Orbit 5. With such a fluctuating, seasonal path about the F-type star, Bath was kept at a Cold climate, perfect for furred Vargr even if I originated from a Desert world. Tundra landscapes banded just south and north of the thick polar icecaps. The vast oceans on the planet were dotted with islands, archipelagos jutting up from submerged continental shelves in their photic zones. Larger dry land was seen on no less than seven super-islands. Despite the overall chill of Bath, my tail wagged to learn that the Downport sat on the warmer equator. On our gliding final approach, Donrairr zoomed the telescopes and took snapshot stills of the croplands that would soon make use of the packaged robots in our cargo hold. Until the refugee Transports arrived, Bath could use all the help it could get even two decades after the passing of Something Wicked.

Arctic cities and island metroplexes were caught on stills. But we knew that only two of the five urban areas had any significant numbers. Havensmith’s files on Bath had indicated a need for immigrants even if those already Solomani Preserve citizens might protest the coming of the refugees. Resources, though on the low end, still needed Prospectors both on the mainworld but in the greater solar system. There was still so much to do to bring Bath up to speed. Its Importance rating dictated that Bath take its place beside Havensmith to lead the Solomani Preserve now that the phenomenon was deemed recent history.

The final glidepath to a landing pad showed the Downport and surrounding capital city Startown. At first glance, it was impressive to behold at this range. But then, I could see that there were outer districts that were unmoving, silent of traffic and the disrepair was evident at our passing. Morning became almost noon as we touched down on Bath.

A cold climate world with an equatorial Starport meant showers for incoming starships and ours, despite our representative arrival on Bath, and was drenched by a tropical downpour. Rain, blessed rain fell from the skies as we stepped from the Ninth Square to the tarmac. Donrairr and I were not unhappy about monsoon. It was life falling from the skies, a gift from the rain cycle. Despite our Desert world origins, the Medic and I were once again dressed in our official best. Padding as dignified and controlled as I could, I held open the door to the Downport concourse as a crowd of media, port workers and staff and dignitaries greeted us. Entering after Donrairr, I pulled back my overcoat hood while she did similar with her desert shemagh.