First Contact

Chapter 187: (Del'Var)

Del'Var wasn't sure what he had expected when a Confederate dropship had landed by the battered cluster of rocks he and his squad had hidden in until the Treana'ad infantry had taken them prisoner.

The Treana'ad were intimidating to Del'Var and his squad. Massive insects with blades on their upper arms as long as Del'Var's leg. Wearing heavy armor and armed to the teeth, some carrying anti-armor or anti-aircraft rockets, some carrying heavy weapons. They mostly moved around in silence although Del'Var suspected they were talking to one another through their sealed helmets.

The dropship was battered, battlescreens flickering in the dust cloud it plumed up landing. It had a look of age and wear on it that seemed strange to Del'Var.

"All right, you six, let's go," one of the massive insects said. "We're setting up an EPOW camp and the boss has said to go ahead and bring you in."

"What is an EPOW?" Kle'Var, Del'Var's cousin, asked the big insect.

"Enemy Prisoner of War," the insect said. "Which means we have to take care of you until you are repatriated to your own side or the war ends or you escape or someone assaults the camp and liberates you."

"Oh," Kle'Var said.

"I'm hungry," Tre'Var said. Nutripaste wasn't very filling even if it did have everything a being needed to survive.

"We've captured a bunch of your rations. You'll get something to eat as soon as you inprocess at the EPOW camp," the Treana'ad said. He waved at the open side of the troop transport. "Let's go, guys."

Del'Var and the others walked up the ramp to see dozens of N'Kar sitting on the benches. Many of them were unmarred, their armor in perfect condition. Over a dozen had pulled their knees up and were rocking slightly back and forth, holding onto their legs.

"Busting up your moon kinda freaked some of you guys out," a big insect said, moving up to the middle of the troop space. "Had to do it though."

"Why?" Jo'Kar asked.

The insect turned and looked at him. "Space Force made the decision, not us."

"Oh," Jo'Kar said.

During the ride the majority of N'Kar were silent. Del'Var realized that the Treana'ad were using his suits channels to talk to him, overriding the Overseer frequency. Twice the dropship shuddered and once it tilted and seemed to just drop off to the side, making everyone's stomach rise up in their throats.

"Don't worry, they can't actually hurt us even if they ram us, but it's our duty to ensure your safety right now," one of the Treana'ad said. "You are officially non-combatants and by the Terran Laws of Land/Space Warfare it is our obligation to ensure your safety."

"Why?" a N'Kar asked. Del'Var could tell by the accent the N'Kar was from the northern islands.

"Because decency prevents atrocity," the Treana'ad said simply, as if that explained everything.

The rest of the ride was silent. When the ship finally dropped down and then stopped with a slight bump the runes for "PAY ATTENTION" flashed on the inside of Del'Var's visor.

"All right. Listen up. You're going to be taken to inprocressing. First, we'll get you out of that armor and into something comfortable. Then we'll do name, rank, serial number, place and planet of birth, service status, citizenship status. Then will be medical and dental checks," Came over the armor's comlink. "If you are unable to move due to psychological impairment or physical injury remain where you are and a medic will see to you immediately."

The runes vanished.

Del'Var stood up and was proud of his squad for standing up with him. The ones that were rocking back and forth stayed in their seats as Del'Var led his squad off of the dropship.

He wasn't sure what to expect. Maybe rude shelters or bombed out buildings.

Instead it looked like inflated tents draped with some kind of hexagonal patterned cloth that was various shades of red. There was passages between the larger half-circle tents and Del'Var could see machinery getting hooked up here and there.

"This way right here," a voice in Del'Var's helmet said. A blue arrow appeared inside his visor and he followed it.

It was an airlock that led into a room where bipedal primates in some kind of odd camouflage were helping N'Karrian out of their armor, tossing the armor into boxes according to piece.

It was strange, having the Terrans help him out of his armor. He was surprised and got a little anxious over the strength in the hands and fingers of the females and the males. They stripped his armor from him and left him standing in line with his hands covering his genitals.

The line moved down a hallway, with Terrans wearing breathing masks were on either side of the hallway, where warm air was blown on him and a light blue powder covered him. Terrans helped rub it into his short fur down his spine then the air blew it out. After that he was given a jumpsuit to wear.

He was surprised that it was cloth. Warm, soft, pleasant against his fur. To be honest, he expected it to be rough paper. The cloth was slightly stretchy, even felt pleasant when he rubbed his short sharp claws on it. He hadn't realized how cold he had been before he put it on.

After that he stepped into an open area with chairs. Following the orders of a Terran primate he sat in the chair and waited. After a minute another primate, this one a female, stood up at the front of the room.

"Good morning, gentle-beings," she said. Del'Var could tell she was using a translator. "No need to answer. Now, first of all, we're going to make sure you're properly registered," she made a motion and a small see-through piece of macroplast rotated up in front of every being at the desk. "Don't worry, it won't hurt you. Just lean forward and put your nose on the dot until you're told to move back."

Del'Var followed the instructions, startled that it only took about five seconds. When he looked he was surprised. His height, weight, the veins in his eyeballs, a dental scan, his skull shape, how he looked, were all categorized.

"Now, each of you face the device and state your name," the woman said.

Del'Var followed the instructions.

He felt a little sad when "N'Karoo Not Found" came up.

"All right. It appears your rations were contaminated so we're having Space Force drop us a few food forges," the Terran at the front said. "We'll get you medical scans, assign you to some living quarters, then give you a tour. After that you'll be meeting one on one with a representative.

"Does anyone have any questions?" She asked.

None of the N'Kar said anything.

The Terran sighed. "It's OK to ask questions. I promise."

"What will happen to us?" A N'Kar with the accent of someone from the spice islands asked.

"Well, right now, we're organizing the lift capacity to get all of you off of this planet and to somewhere that has a livable biome for you," the Terran said. "Once you are repatriated or the war ends, you can go home."

"You are not going to hurt us for fighting against you before surrendering?" Another one asked.

She shook her head. "No. Once you surrendered you became a non-combatant."

"What is that?" another N'Kar asked.

She heaved a sigh. "It means you are no longer part of the war. You cannot be forced to fight, forced into labor beyond gardening and upkeep of your living situation and providing your own fellow prisoners food and other essential services. It means you no longer can fight and you are not expected to fight."

"Oh," the N'Kar asked. "I don't want to fight any more."

"Then you do not have to," the female said.

"Can we go home?" another N'Kar asked. There was a lot of mumbling in support of the question.

"When the war is over or your people surrender," the female said. "We may even enter in an agreement with your people and send you back home."

"I would like that," another N'Kar said. "I miss my wife and children."

"I don't like it here," another said.

"I want to go home," several said at once.

"All right, all right. I understand your concerns. Let's get you to medical," she said, authority suddenly returning to her voice.

Del'Var expected the invasive 'stick probes into your orifices' type of medical check. Instead he just stood between two opaque pieces of smartglass, felt a slight prickling under his skin, and was told to move on.

He was asked three times if he consented to have his blood drawn and his genome examined as well as his genetic code used to identification.

He was a prisoner, he didn't understand why they kept asking for permission.

He was given an earpiece with an eye retical that he was supposed to wear at all times. It would translate speech and written word as well as inform him of important announcements.

The living quarters they were shown were luxurious. Separate beds, a stand up locker for their clothing and personal effects, soft looking blankets and a rectangle made of cloth that appeared full of stuffing. There were showers, drying stations, an entertainment room, even a room full of displays where a being could watch videos or write stuff down or play games.

"You are allowed to write to your relatives and family. At the end of the tour you will be provide a 'postcard' and be allowed to write a short message in your native language to your family. It will be delivered as soon as a neutral party or authorized department of the Council Military Forces can be contacted," a male primate said.

"Why?" a N'Kar asked.

Another N'Kar looked like he was going to smack the one who had asked the question, raising a clenched fist.

"No!" the male primate barked sharply.

The N'Kar all flinched back.

"Violence between prisoners is not permitted," the Terran said.

The N'Kar with the upraised hand slowly lowered it.

The Terran looked at the N'Kar who had spoken. "You are asking why you will be given the postcard?"

"Yes," the N'Kar said, glancing at the one who had been about to strike him.

"So that your family will know that you are alive, not dead on some battlefield. With modern weaponry pink misting anyone who takes a solid hit we have a hard enough time figuring out who's KIA and who's MIA," the Terran said. "So your status as an EPOW is important for your family to know."

"And you have to send it?" another N'Kar said.

The Terran snapped his fingers and letters appeared in mid-air. Del'Var knew it was from the earpiece.

The text appeared and it took Del'Var a minute to understand it. He had to read it three times, even then, it was kind of complicated.

"Each of the belligerents shall fix periodically the number of letters and postcards which prisoners of war of different categories shall be permitted to send per month, and shall notify that number to the other belligerent. These letters and cards shall be sent by post by the shortest route. They may not be delayed or withheld for disciplinary motives. Not later than one week after his arrival in camp, and similarly in case of sickness, each prisoner shall be enabled to send a postcard to his family informing them of his capture and the state of his health. The said postcards shall be forwarded as quickly as possible and shall not be delayed in any manner. As a general rule, the correspondence of prisoners shall be written in their native language. Belligerents may authorize correspondence in other languages."

"Why?" another N'Kar asked.

"We have rules to our wars," the Terran said. Another N'Kar raised his hand and the Terran held his hand out in a stopping motion. The Terran smiled carefully. "Because decency prevents atrocity," he said, as if he explained it all. "That's simply one part of all the rights you are due."

"All right, let's assign you all bunks. None of you have any ranks at this time, so we'll have to let something shake out," the Terran said. "We'll get you something to eat, then we'll figure out your schedules."

There was quiet for a little bit as the N'Kar followed the Terrans to an area full of tables and chairs.

"There's going to be a lot more of you," the Terran said softly.

--------------

Three days after being captured Del'Var and the other N'Kar began feeling ill. Nothing they could point out. Low grade fevers, aching joints and muscles, slight headaches and sensitivity to light, sensitivity to sounds. It started getting worse and worse, the fever rising.

Del'Var found himself in the 'infirmary', hooked up to machines when a Terran came in and sat down.

"Our doctors have ascertained what your ailment is," the Terran male said.

"What?" Del'Var rasped.

"Drug withdrawal. You and the rest of the N'Kar and the lower ranking Lanaktallan are all suffering withdrawal symptoms from long term SSRI usage as well as other medications," the Terran said. "Was it something you had all consented in? Some kind of combat enhancement regamine?"

Del'Var frowned and shook his head. "No. We N'Kar do not believe in drugs unless it is for medical reasons."

"That's what I was afraid of," the Terran said. He slowly stood up. "Now that we know what's wrong we can help ease you through it. That's the good news. Unfortunately, I have bad news."

"What's the bad news?" Del'Var said.

"We're still moving you to a new star system. The transports have arrived," the Terran said.

"Why is that bad news?" Del'Var asked, licking his dry lips.

"Because you're going to be going through withdrawal for the majority of the trip. We found out that your people can handle the mid-level hyperspace bands so it's only going to take two weeks to get you to where we're setting up EPOW operations," the Terran said.

"Why are you telling me this?" Del'Var asked.

"We're telling everyone," the Terran said, standing up. He looked down at Del'Var.

"By the time we get you there, we should have located your home planet," the Terran said.

Del'Var felt black despair fill him and he started to cry.

"Hey, hey, hey now. We're not going to harm them. We're going to ensure your mail gets to them," the Terran said. "We don't go around attacking planets willy-nilly. We go after military and industrial targets, not 90% ocean covered fishing industry resort worlds."

Del'Var snuggled, wiping his eyes.

"Don't worry, we'll get you to the new camp, you guys can all write again, and we'll deliver your mail," the Terran said. "We'll get those postcards flowing so your families know you're all right."

"Do you really send them the paper card? Why not an electronic communication?" Del'Var asked.

The Terran shook his head. "Electronic communication can be edited. The paper has the oils from your skin on it so that authorities can verify that you sent it. Your parental units can identify your hand writing. It's all to verify that you wrote that without coercion," the Terran said.

"That makes sense, I guess," Del'Var said. He pressed his hands on his stomach and moaned.

"I'll let you get back to healing up," the Terran said, and left.

-----------------

DEAR: Uln-Var, Revered Mother

I have been captured by the Terran Confederacy military after a battle. It was frightening but I survived and so did Kle'Var and Tre'Var. They are treating us well. They found that Tre'Var had cancerous growths and are going to fix them. We've been allowed to talk to a lawyer.

I miss you, mother. I miss you, my father, my siblings. I wish I had never been conscripted and I just want to come home.

Respect and Honor: Del'Var, your male child.

------------------

DEAR: Uln-Var, Revered Mother

The Terrans moved us to a planet where we do not have to live in fear of a storm or an atmospheric loss killing all of us. The trip was slightly frightening, taking place in somewhere called 'hyperspace' aboard massive ships that are apparently repurposed and redesigned cruise liners. We were all sick for a period of time but the Terrans said that was due to drugs in our food.

I want to come home. The Terrans said they'd let us go unharmed after the war is over.

The new planet is nice but makes all of us homesick. The Terran put us on several islands and allow us to fish.

Kle'Var and Tre'Var and I are all talking about buying a fishing boat together when this is over.

I miss you, mother.

Respect and Honor: Del'Var, your male child.

-----------------

Del'Var, faithful and true male child

I wept with joy when I received your two letters. We had been told by the Lanaktallan that you were all dead, killed by the Terrans while you slept. Your father secretly prayed in relief that you had survived.

Stay safe, my child. Your father and I love you, your siblings love you. Do what the Terrans demand of you, for they are a fearsome people whom none can overcome. The martial might is unstoppable as even the Precursor machines discovered. They may be harsh task masters but I have hope since they showed you mercy, took you prisoner, and ensured I received your correspondence.

Do your best to keep your cousins out of trouble. Try not to do anything that might put you in danger.

I love you, my child.

Mother

---------------

Ast'Lar was a postal worker. Before The Excitement she had just been a menial worker in the starport.

Then a ship had arrived. Protected by other ships that sat outside the system's resonance zone where the gravity shadow of the star prevented starships from exiting jumpspace within the zone. The Lanaktallan Overseers had all ran around in circles, squealing and kicking up their hind legs when the ships had been identified as Terran Space Force.

Instead of attacking a single ship had entered the resonance zone, had requested coordinates to land and a liaison with the planet's postal supervisor.

Ast'Lar happened to be cleaning the System Most High's office when the demand to speak with the planetary postal Most High had come in. The panicked Lanaktallan, who had defecated on the floor in at least three spots, had pointed at Ast'Lar and told her that she was now the Postal Most High.

The ship that landed was armored and armed, black metal, very lethal looking.

Ast'Lar had admired the lines of it. It reminder her of the fierce hunting birds of her home island that would dive into the water to grab fish even though it didn't physically resemble it.

The ramp had lowered and a Terran in dress uniform had come down the ramp, towing a mag-dolly behind him covered in cargo containers.

"You are the postal supervisor?" the Terran had asked.

"Postal Most High," Ast'Lar had said.

"Got a bunch of POW mail here," the Terran said. He held out his hand. "Major Emanual Cortez Kiklikik Wamaka, Terran Space Force Amenesty Interstellar and Interstellar Red Cross/Red Cresent Representative."

"Ast'Lar, Postal Most High," Ast'Lar said.

"Hmm," the Terran had said. "Where do you want this? I've got about twenty more dollys worth."

"Um, maybe over there?" Ast'Lar guessed, pointing at an empty hangar.

The Terran gave her an odd look. "How long have you been a postal worker?"

Ast'Lar checked her watch. "Five hours."

"Oh, well, that explains it," the Terran said. He looked around. "This is a nice world."

"Thank you," Ast'Lar said, forgetting herself and smiling with her teeth. The Overseers hated that.

"You have a beautiful smile," the Terran said. That made Ast'Lar smile even wider. "Well, we should probably get started. Do you have any workers to help you?"

"Nope," Ast'Lar smiled.

"Wow, OK then," the Terran said.

Ast'Lar helped the Terran move the mag-dollies full of the containers into the empty hangar. She was pleased with how the Terran could keep working till the job was done instead of having to take a break after every mag-dolly like the Overseers would have.

"Can I ask a question, Cort?" Ast'Lar said.

"Sure," the Terran replied. She liked him, he had said to "Call me Cort" to her.

"What's a POW?" she asked.

The Terran stared at her. "It's Prisoner Of War. People from your planet that we captured either during or after a battle that surrendered or were too wounded to continue fighting."

"Oh. The Overseers, they took half of our people's males away less than a year ago to be soldiers," Ast'Lar said. She felt a little twinge of sorrow. "I hope not too many of our people were killed."

The Terran shook his head. "I wouldn't know," he held out a computer datapad. "Here's a list of the prisoners. There's a lot of them. The Treana'ad took the system pretty fast."

Ast'Lar, with the Terran Cort's help, quickly searched out six names of her nephews, her husband, her father, her three brothers, and her two sons.

They had all survived.

She sat down and wept. The Terran sat down next to her, asking permission to touch her and then rubbing down her spinal fur. After a bit she looked up. "Somewhere in these containers are correspondence to me?"

The Terran nodded.

"Here is a question for you, Terran Cort," Ast'Lar said. The Terran waited. "You had ships, why did you not attack and take our planet over?"

"Under our Laws of Warfare," the Terran said, "We cannot use a diplomatic or mercy mission as cover for an invasion."

"Oh," Ast'Lar said. "That makes sense."

"All right, I have to go. I have other mail to deliver to other systems," the Terran said.

"All right. I should go through these and prepare to send them out," Ast'Lar answered.

"Hire someone to help you. You'll be getting these about once a month, and prisoner's relatives are allowed to send mail and packages back," Cort the Terran said. He started to walk away.

"Wait, Terran," Ast'Lar said, an idea coming to her.

"Yes?" Cort asked.

"Might I have a list of your rules for warfare? So I can show others that this is not a trick and learn them?" She asked.

Cort the Terran lifted up the datapad, made some quick adjustments to it and tossed it to her. "There you go. Lexicon, dictionary, then the sixteen different treaties and conventions on warfare. You can keep the datapad. It's got a list of survivors as well as a list of the dead as best as we could do it."

"Thank you, Terran Cort," Ast'Lar said, smiling widely.

The Terran waved as he boarded his ship. The engines made a pleasing sound as the ships took off.

Ast'Lar went and saw the Lanaktallan Overseer, who was just glad that the Terran had left without suddenly going crazy and killing everyone on the planet. The Overseer was so grateful that when Ast'Lar asked for help, saying she'd need a few dozen people to help her, he'd just reassigned a bunch of female N'Kar without even arguing or charging them. He'd even signed off on giving her an office with a phone and a shore to ship radio without charging her when she'd claimed that the Confederate legal code demanded she have those things to inform N'Kar of the status of their captured relatives.

She'd waved the datapad enough for the Overseer to see the Terran script, the Overseer had dropped had cud on the floor, told her she could have whatever she needed, and hid in his closet till dark.

Once she set the N'Kar females to sorting the 'postcards' by clan and island she began examining the datapad.

She had an idea.

It had its risks.

But the Overseers had taken every N'Kar male who was a young adult to mature from the planet.

She read all the information on the datapad. Every word. Every reference. Terran Cort had even included various case law and precedence in the datapad. She shared it with a few other matrons, telling any curious Overseer that they had to understand this.

"Not abiding by these rules means the humans won't follow any rules," Ast'Lar told an Overseer. "Which means they'll just come back and planet-crack this place or worse."

The Overseer galloped away and Ast'Lar went back to reading the datapad.

The humans even limited what weapons could be used on the battlefield, even more, they prohibited certain kinds of weapons from being used in certain environments.

She had a plan. She went to each of the various clans and islands, telling the Overseers it was to deliver the mail.

She spoke to the various clan and island leaders. She showed them a document she had created, showed them the information on the datapad, and they all agreed with her.

On Cort the Terran's fifth visit she met him at the ship. When he came down she looked at his hip.

A standard issue Terran mag-ac pistol was sitting in a holster.

She looked at the ship.

There were weapons on it.

She handed him the document and smiled.

"In the name of the N'Karrian people and the planet of N'Karoo, as duly authorized by the signatures on that document," Ast'Lar said. She smiled wide.

"The planet of N'Karoo surrenders to the Terran Confederacy."