First Contact

Chapter 221: (The War)

The day was almost perfect. Warm but not hot. Humid but not damp. A steady breeze that came from the south, across the forest, to curl around the base of the bluff before slipping up past it. It had rained that morning, but by noon the dampness had all burned off.

Off in the distance a ship lifted off from the spaceport, too far away to feel or hear the rumble but close enough to see the twinkle off the metal as well as the contrails as the ship made for space.

It was the last days of spring before it would become summer. The trees were fully green and purple, the leaves having opened and grown from the buds.

At the base of the bluff, beyond a short strip of trees, was a village. Smaller than most settlements on the planet, it had the distinction of being the first. The buildings were rude by most standards, quick-shelters put in place by nanites under the guidance of beings working in a hurry. The plas was painted rather than formed with color, the glass nano-forged smartglass rather than properly manufactured, the doors plasteel rather than the carved wood of the other doors of the world's houses.

The people that lived there were proud of their homes. They had been the first of the people on the planet, like the village the houses were the first of the houses built. They had taken the risks, left their world, and stepped from the massive converted cargo vessel piloted by a crazed primate with the unlikely name of Max-o-Milliions to the firm earth of the world.

One house was slightly apart from the others. Not because the being who dwelled within it was shunned, not even disliked. As a matter of fact, the owner of the house was quite popular and many who dwelled on the planet, and the other planets that were part of the planet's alliance, viewed the owner of the house as one of the most important of their people.

Not that the owner of the house felt that way.

She was a solitary being. Content to watch the hatchlings exercise their wings, watch the pubescent play, watch the adolescent dance, and watch the adults go about their lives. She lived a quiet life, with only a few visitors now and then.

One was feared by everyone in the small village. Grey of skin and sharp of tooth, with eyes that never blinked and bore directly into another's soul. A predatory creature feared by all, of the genus homo-litigatus, that was avoided by all. The being often visited the small village to meet with the solitary figure that dwelled within the modest house. Occasionally laughter was heard and many of the village wondered what could be so amusing to such a fearsome being.

Another visitor was a Terran, of the genus homo-sapiens, a recruiter for the Terran Confederacy's military. It was infrequent, but the villagers noted it always seemed quite formal.

The last visitor was Dulcet, usually in a robot body fashioned to appear as a Terran. She was of the genus homo-digitalis, a digital sentience that acted as the village's doctor. Many had noted that Dulcet often visited the little house late at night, or early in the morning, staying for an hour or more before leaving quietly.

The solitary being was often seen planting flowers, kneeling down in the dirt to coax living things to grow as if it wasn't their nature. Her feathers were in good condition, which relieved those who worried about the solitary being, and she moved with a certain surety that showed confidence.

But she seemed sad to the chicks and hatchlings.

The spring morning was a nice one, almost perfect. Adolescents were challenging each other to jump from the top of the bluff and soar on the warm breeze, adults were chatting in the village market square, and the chicks and hatchlings were all peeping.

A car moved up to the solitary house, the electric engine a soft hum that went virtually unnoticed although many of the adults stared at it. It had Terran Confederate Space Force markings with two uniformed Terrans driving it. Hatchlings, chicks, and moltlings all stared as one of the humans got out, tucking a folder under its armpit, and moved to the door. The human knocked, the sound loud in the quiet, rather than ringing the bell.

To some of the adults watching the three spaced knocks seemed almost ominous.

When the door opened many more turned to look.

The solitary Akltak, known for planting flowers and living alone, was dressed in military formal wear. Those watching could see medals and adornments on her uniform and several matrons were startled at the fact she wore a pistol belt rather than a sash or belt around her waist, the belt weighted down by a mag-ac pistol.

The Terran handed the solitary Akltak the folder, opening it up and holding it in one hand. With the other the Terran provided a writing implement which the Akltak took with a strange formality, signing the folder. The Terran took back the writing implement, closed the folder before tucking it close to his side, then stood up straight and saluted the solitary Akltak.

The female Akltak, all knew her name, stood up straight and returned the strange salute. She then moved to the back of the car, waiting for the Terran to open the door before getting inside.

The Terran got inside the car, which turned around, and drove back to the spaceport.

The little house sat empty. Rather than seeming abandoned or forlorn it seemed to wait, as if it knew its owner would return.

The people of the village wondered why the owner of the house had left. Why it had seemed to so formal.

And why she had been armed with a pistol.

A moltling asked Dulcet, who simply replied: Citizenship is a heavy burden.

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

"Captain on deck!" the Terran called out.

"At ease," the female Terran snapped out. She turned to the lift and made a motion. "Join me if you would, Commander Longflight."

"I thank you, Captain Drakovich," the Akltak female said. She was no longer in her dress uniform but rather she wore a standard adaptive camouflage armored vac-suit. At her waist was her mag-ac pistol, the same as the Terrans on board the TCSFN West End Girl, which Cheekeet touched with her fingers to remind herself of its presence.

When she had first been aboard a Terran warship he suit had to be built by the fab units on the ship, all non-standard, made by the ship's engineers. Now it was a standard uniform for Akltak service members.

And, she had to admit, a lot more comfortable.

"I was a little nervous about taking the position, Captain," Cheekeet said honestly, staring around the bridge. The lights were muted, the displays were simple and precise with very few buttons or switches. She noted quickly that there were backup controls if the touch-sensitive console failed as well as locked slide-out keyboards and controllers.

Backups for the backups before the backup bridge takes over, she thought. I learned the hard way why that is needed.

"Well, the West isn't like your last volunteer posting, I'll admit, but she's a fine ship with one of the best crews out there," Captain Drakovich said. "You're record as a Gunnery Officer speaks for itself. Although, if I may ask, why did you select returning to the military when the Citizen Recall went out?"

Cheekeet thought for a moment. "I want to help. The Lanaktallan, the Overseers, they were a bad enough threat with their boot on everyone's neck, but the Dwellers, they consume entire races, destroy entire planets," she shivered. "I imagined that happening to the little worlds I managed to acquire for my people and could not sleep."

"A good reason," the Captain gave a laugh. "A better reason than why I joined up in the beginning to be honest."

"Oh?" Cheekeet asked. She noticed that several of the bridge crew had a knowing smile as if they were anticipating a joke they enjoyed to hear.

The Captain laughed again. "My mother said I'd never be anything in life even if I did sign up for Citizenship, my father said that he'd rather be lashed in the town square than watch me waste my life in as some faceless bureaucrat. Jokes on them, I joined the Navy."

Cheekeet didn't quite get the chuckles.

"Well, how about I give you a tour of the West and then show you to your cabin, Commander," the human smiled.

Cheekeet just nodded.

The holo-pic in her pocket, an image of the little moltlings flapping their wings to strengthen them aboard the Dulcet forever ago, seemed to feel warm and heavy as she followed the human back into the elevator.

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

Cheekeet moved into her quarters, unsealing the front of her duty-uniform. She had to press the tab at the top three times to let it know she wanted it to unseal, a safety precaution that Cheekeet wholly approved of. She shrugged out of it and took a moment to fluff up her feathers.

That was something she found gratifying. For the Unified Military Council any avian species had to submit to having their feathers chemically and surgically removed.

The Terrans said "Here, try this on" and, to use their worlds, cruised with it.

She stripped down then stepped into the fresher, enjoying the sonics, then stepped out to move next to her bed. As a Commander as well as the Gunnery Officer she rated a slightly larger than normal room. While many might have found it cramped, she found the sheer luxury of the space almost unbelievable.

Terrans build everything massive, she thought to herself as she slowly used the cleaning tool on her feathers.

She had to admit the ship was impressive. Listed as a heavy attack frigate, the ship boasted missile launchers, C+ cannons, mass drivers, torpedo launchers, heavy energy weapons, and, of course, meters thick warsteel armor. Heavy sublight drives, three different types of superluminal drives, and, of course, graviton drives.

Cheekeet hated to admit it, but she found the vibration of a deck under her feet, specifically the vibration of a warship, to be comforting.

She knew she should feel bad. She was going to be fighting her former home civilization.

But it had been a civilization where moltlings were hatched into debt and poverty, where their own culture was illegal, passed down through oral histories and quiet tales rather than any way it could be traced.

She queried the ship's computer and when she found the media she wanted in its library she had it display it in midair in the middle of her small room.

The young Akltak female, performing the Dance of Sorrow of Summer's End, would have been quietly disappeared had she performed it in her homemade costume and uploaded it to GalNet.

Instead, she had uploaded it to SolNet and been an instant celebrity. Billions of beings watched the young Akltak's SolNet three times a week shows on how to perform dances, how to make hand-made costumes, and how to sing songs taught to her by her great-grand-mother.

Cheekeet watched the video, watched the young Akltak dance, and reached down onto the bed and touched what she had sat there. What she had kept under her pillow since she had moved into the little house.

"I'll keep you safe, little one. I'll keep all of you safe," she whispered.

Beneath her wingtip feathers the legend CNV Jesse L. Brown gleamed on the barrel of the mag-ac pistol she had kept under her pillow.

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

Ast'Lar, the Postal Most High of N'Koo, was well known to be a clever N'Kar female. She stood on the starport landing pad, shielding her eyes from the sun, and watched as the lethal looking black Terran ship landed and cut off its engines. She rather liked the sound the engines made, they were pleasing.

Behind her stood her assistants, nearly two dozen female N'Kar, all wearing their Postal Service hats and anxiously waiting for the ship to open up. The ship would contain grav-pallets loaded with bags stuffed with correspondence.

Literally millions of letters would be on the ship.

The cargo door on the ship slowly lowered, revealing one of the tall Terran primates in the oddly patterned uniform.

Beside her the former Overseer, a Lanaktallan by the name of U'urmo'ot, shuddered nervously. "You are sure he isn't going to suddenly attack and devour me?" the Lanaktallan asked, his voice quivering.

Ast'Lar had discovered that U'umo'ot was not a brave person.

"No, U'umo'ot, he has come to peacefully deliver the mail," Ast'Lar said.

"Are you sure you need me to stay? I could return to Unified Council Space. I had only arrived a few weeks before you started to receive mail," the Lanaktallan said.

"No. You must be present to witness that the Terrans are delivering the mail from the prisoners they have taken," Ast'Lar said. She sighed again. "You are an important part of this system, U'urmo'ot."

The Lanaktallan made a quiet noise of distress as the Terran walked down the ramp with a datapad. U'urmo'ot was proud of himself for holding his patty as the Terran walked up and held out the datapad with a sudden motion that surprised U'urmo'ot and made him want to scream.

"Put your thumb here, sir," the Terran said.

U'urmo'ot shivered for a moment then jerkily pressed his thumb. The dataslate beeped and U'urmo'ot made a noise of fear as the dataslate showed his face, his thumbprint, and his identity.

U'urmo'ot - Lanaktallan - Unified Council Witness -VERIFIED

"May I go?" U'urmo'ot asked. Being this close the Terran frightened him.

"You have to witness the mail being taken off the ship and then being loaded back up and sign that we loaded it all up," the Terran said.

U'urmo'ot made a noise of distress but stayed where he was.

"Pardon Mister U'urmo'ot, Terrans make him nervous and he is afraid that you will punish him for the actions of his people before our planet surrendered," Ast'Lar said, staring up at the Terran as she pressed her own thumb against the dataslate.

"If you would like to wait in your office, Mister U'urmo'ot, and watch from the window, I understand," the Terran said.

"I would rather hide in my closet," U'urmo'ot said quietly.

"You have to be able to see us move the mail, sir," the Terran said.

"May I watch through a drone from my closet?" U'urmo'ot asked.

The Terran sighed and looked at Ast'Lar who nodded. "Very well, sir. I can make that accomadation."

"Thank you, Terran," U'urmo'ot said and galloped away. Personally he was proud of himself for not letting go of his patty until he was safely in the bathroom.

"He seems nice," the Terran said conversationally.

"He bribed his way into this posting as Most High so he could stand on the dock and fish," Ast'Lar said, shaking her head. "He is not a brave being and offered to leave, but he is the least objectionable of all the Lanaktallan who were here before we surrendered."

"Makes sense," the Terran said. "Well, we better get to it."

"Indeed," Ast'Lar said.

U'urmo'ot watched through the drone, wishing he was down at the dock practicing his fishing, as hover-pallet after hover-pallet was taken off the ship, the bags counted, and then the bags of outgoing mail were stacked onto the ship. When it was all loaded up U'urmo'ot reluctantly moved out and pressed his thumb on the dataslate before galloping away.

As the ship sealed back up the Terran turned to Ast'Lar.

"A question," he asked.

"Yes?" Ast'Lar said, smiling.

"Have your people recovered from the medications they were putting in your food and water?" the Terran asked.

"Yes, it was difficult for us. The return of our fur was hard also," Ast'Lar admitted. She looked back at the office, where U'urmo'ot was trotting out with a floppy hat, a vest with fishing gear attached, and a pole over his shoulder. "Although, I think, the sickness was worse for him."

"Oh?" the Terran asked.

"He has no family, not as we do. He is alone, yet they made him stay here to act as the witness to this mail. He is intently lonely," Ast'Lar said. "I feel for him and I wonder about his people."

She watched the Lanaktallan gallop down the street.

"He is a prisoner here just as much as our people are a prisoner of you."

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

DEAR: Uln-Var, Revered Mother

More N'Kar have arrived, taken prisoner by the Terrans. Some of them are being specially treated as they had the unfortunate experience of fighting against the humans, who ignored their fire to wade through and take the weapons away from them and yell at them until they cowered.

According to a Terran I spoke to, they were able to discover the worlds our people have been forced into guarding and are doing something called 'surgical strikes' to free our people.

This both shames and gladdens me.

The females are allowed to spend time with us now. Not much, overseen by the Terrans, but still, we spend time with one another. Many of them grow afraid and hide behind Terrans at odd times. The huge primates are a source of comfort to these females and I worry for them.

I have finished constructing a resort for them. I had to be careful with the designs, avoiding bright colors and lavish bedrooms.

I learned what a pleasure dome is.

It was frightening to find out. I had asked a Terran, who was relaxing and fishing near us, and I saw his eyes begin to burn. A cold amber filled them, then a red fire that seemed to not only fill his eyes but his very soul. He told me, in cold terms, what it was.

Despite the red fire in his eyes he did his best to comfort me at the thought of what the females have gone through. I asked him if I could join the Terrans in crushing the Lanaktallan, in obliterating their people from the universe. He told me it was forbidden, that we are to be considered non-belligerents.

I wish I was Terran sometimes, Revered Mother. To have the power to crush my enemies, to punish those who have wronged our people, to feel their flesh crushed beneath my fists, to pull the trigger and see their lives splatter onto the sand.

I now see a therapist for these feelings.

I wish I could come home, or home could come to me.

I wish the war was over.

I have included three pictures. One of the sunset, one of the sunrise, and one of Kle'Var and I sanding the beams of the boat we are building.

I love you and miss you, mother.

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

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

Del'Var, faithful and true male child

It is with joy I write to you that our planet has surrendered to the might of the Terran Confederacy. The Overseers have left the planet in accordance to the surrender agreement, although the Most High U'urmo'ot has remained to witness the mail exchange.

The Terrans are a fearsome but emotional people. When they heard the stories of what had happened to our people, the Terran military officer we surrendered to began to show amber in his eyes.

Things are changing, Del'Var. I cannot tell you how, lest someone who should not may read this, but great things are happening. Let us just say that you and the others will not be out of place when you return home, with a full pelt.

Remain faithful, my male child. Things may be dark now, but there are glimmers of light in the darkness. Your letters are a constant wonder. Your grandmother loves the pictures you send.

I love you, my child.

Mother

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

MANTID FREE WORLDS

HOW many EPOWs?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TERRSOLMILINT

43,494,212 and counting.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TRAENA'AD HIVE WORLDS

My god, that's an entire species.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK GESTALT

What will you do with them?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TERRASOLMILINT

What else can I do with them? Keep moving them to the planet, give them medical care, and hopefully keep someone from planet-cracking their homeworld.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TNVARU GESTALT

Are you going to move them?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TERRASOLMILINT

Eventually. I mean, now they surrendered. It's a complete shitshow.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

RIGELLIAN COMPACT

How bad is their home planet?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TERRASOLMILINT

It's fucked. Not as bad as the Leebawians, but pretty bad. We're talking Elven Queen bad. The algae in the seas are dying and most of the fish are dead.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

MANTID FREE WORLDS

You'll fix it.

You always do.