Chapter: Flowers
4301.05.09 1448
Unknown Starship: Crimson
“What the hell just happened?” Matt asked, lying on the cargo bay floor in a foetal position, shivering. One of the maintenance drones injected him with something.
You have minor burns, major lacerations, two broken ribs. Seventy-six percent of your tendons have been hyper-extended. Your ankles are sprained, your knuckles are broken—
“Shut up for a second, please.”
The NI was echoing the status report. He didn’t quite know how to understand the more complicated read-outs, or focus on them properly, for that matter. This entire damn interface was utilizing a part of his brain that he had never used before.
“I can’t do this. I want to go back to Earth.”
You can, after we find my mother. We’ll go together. I’ll settle on Mercury, it’s nice and warm there.
How do you know so much about where I’m from?
I know what you know.
I didn’t know Mercury was warm.
Well it’s the first planet from your sun, and your sun looks reasonably warm.
“I’d like to sleep, Crimson. I want a bed, a bathroom, a shower.”
Crimson inverted his distortion field, making sure the neural interface kept Matt’s biological gyros oriented with Matt’s ‘true down’. Raumenoids were such fickle creatures. He slowly began to lift him up off the floor where he lay and carefully manoeuvred him up the ladder and through the hallway into the bridge.
I’ve had a few weeks to redecorate.
Matt didn’t look with his eyes, but noticed that most of the consoles were gone or covered. There was also a very comfortable looking manager’s chair to the right of the command pedestal. A small corner-block of the bridge was cordoned off with newly placed bulkheads.
I found the array of consoles and that door redundant, so I made it lead to your room, and ran most of the console functions through the interface terminals on that chair. It won’t give you an intimate a connection as the command pedestal, but your media dictates that captains love their comfortable chairs.
Whatever Crimson had injected him with was making him feel a lot better. He was able to stand on his own two legs now. The gravity slowly returned to normal.
Matt looked over at his room. It wasn’t that big, but looked like it would be able to fit a bed and maybe even a dresser…
Well stop pondering, check it out. You’ll notice you can’t see it with my eyes. I made it completely private. I know you humans value your privacy—
Or you just turned off whatever sensors you use to make me think it’s completely private.
–and are very paranoid. Crimson was glad to have Matt returning to his old self again. The satisfaction seemed mutual, and the emotional feedback loop it created in the neural interface was very calming.
Matt was elated when he opened the doors and saw the room. It was a dim carmine, abiding by the color scheme of the rest of the ship. There was a bed along the wall to his right perpendicular to the door, and at the head of the bed there was a small strip of glass that looked out Crimson’s starboard side.
“I didn’t know we were that close to outer space.”
That glass is several meters thick. I had the schematics for it in the database. Most of the room schematics I have are for space-view rooms.
“How do you build all this?”
I transmit the schematics to the drones and they do all the work.
“Where does the stuff come from?”
–
Tier Zero is the industrial core inherent to every beems in existence. It consists of a neoplastic layer of skin inside the beems’ ventral carapace. Situated in front of the reproductive organs and behind the neural cluster, it is directly and indirectly responsible for all the growth a beems will undergo in its lifetime. After a schematic is uploaded into the beems’ Drone Management Array, the DMA removes a portion of the neoplastic compound and guides it through several different chambers for manufacture and preparation. The different chambers may vary, though most beems have a civic chamber, for the production of furniture; a culinary chamber, where the material is laced with nutrients and grinded into different types of foodstuff; and a growth chamber, where the material is infused into the beems’ superstructure, allowing it to mature into an adult beems. The growth chamber later becomes a vestigial artefact, replaced with more specialized chambers depending on the gender and the specific class of beems – an excerpt from ‘Your Biomechanoid Starship and You.’ Section 447-1-A. Uploaded 4301RY. .
–
“And that just brought up another few dozen questions.” Matt sighed.
You have a lot to learn, a lot. But there’s only so much your brain can comprehend at any given time. It will take time… you’re also going to have to learn about physical maintenance, proper nutrient intake, regeneration cycles, weapons control.
“Can’t you take care of yourself, Crimson?”
I meant you. I had to do almost everything in that little scuffle, and that will be nothing compared to the Coalition.
“Oh. Well I guess I’ll just… leave then, you can get someone more qualified for this position.” Matt said with a sickeningly exaggerated despondence.
I’ll drop you off at Zemoria, where I’ll requisition for a new, well trained captain.
“I was only kidding. I wouldn’t leave! I have nowhere else to go! I can’t find Earth on my own! And what will I buy another beems with? I don’t exactly have any qualifications! I can’t get a job! I can’t believe you’d abandon me! After all this?! Don’t you have any sense of loyalty or nobility; of honour? And to think that I was beginning to like you, you selfish, ignorant—”
I was joking.
“Oh, ha, me too! Is there a bathroom too?” and then he fainted.
–
Matt woke up a few uncountable hours later. With the first image looming in his mind being the sanguine streak of a nebula visible across the pitch black patch of space Crimson was currently residing in.
Slowly he opened his eyes again, assimilating his surroundings: The red ceiling; the dim red room; the red sheets. Crimson seemed to be keeping his distance mentally, either because he was distracted or just idling. There was a subliminal serenity surrounding this situation that seemed to proliferate peace and tranquility, though it was probably just the drugs Crimson had injected him with.
He almost didn’t want to say anything, afraid to break the silence, but then Crimson’s ‘presence’ seemed to loom over him and he was immediately bombarded with information again. He let a bit of his euphoria seep into the data-stream, which seemed to calm the now-buzzing ship down considerably. He reviewed their memories and saw that he had been asleep for ten hours. The bemicytes had repaired virtually all the damage he had sustained in the firefight, and a few of the bots had applied an interesting type of salve to his joints that seemed to loosen them significantly. They were a part of a subdermal pad, he realized, which were also laced with this miracle microbe that seemed to be particularly proficient at restoring him to his youthful self.
With a bit of effort, he was able to get back to that calm emotional state he had been in before. All of what had transpired was too much to take in anyways. A month ago he had been going to high school for God’s sake.
“I’ve found a solution to our nutrient problem.” Crimson chirped quietly.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He showed Matt a simple picture of a lush green planet, and with Crimson’s expert spatial awareness, he saw that it was four light-years away.
They traveled to the planet like a submarine, as far as Matt understood. They weren’t actually in real space, and were instead generating some sort of wormhole ahead of them continuously, allowing them to remain in what Crimson now very often called ‘beemspace’. But they weren’t really in beemspace, Crimson tried to explain once, but were instead in the process of falling into it. This continuous fall allowed Crimson to reach speeds of nearly five hundred times the speed of light. Matt was starting to realize how big the galaxy really was, however, as even at that speed it would take them three days to get to their destination.
Matt arrived at the planet refreshed and very happy. Crimson was notably tired but confident.
“After I land.” he transmitted while Matt showered for the first time in almost a month. His chirps reverberated through the shower, inaudible over the sound of warm water cleaning all the grub of Matt’s body. “I’m going to sleep for a few days.”
“A few days?” Matt asked.
A few days? He thought.
I think so. I’m pretty critical in… everything. I’m sure you’re barely functioning either.
I feel fine.
You don’t look fine. Your skin is flaky, your eyes are bloodshot. You’re very pale too, and skinny, you’ve lost a lot of weight, more than is healthy for a biped your length.
You sound like my mom.
I will send drones out to gather some food when I land. You should go outside too. The sun might be a little hotter than what you’re used to but the vegetation negates that. It’ll be a comfortable tropical climate. The entire planet is a massive forest.
Ok. Matt transmitted, putting on a dark red shirt and pants. Both had a black stripe down the side of them and were noticeably soft. Upon closer inspection, Matt saw that the black stripes had symbols silhouetted in them. The interface notified him that it was an ancient Raumen pledge of allegiance, as well as a Coalition certificate of authenticity, as the symbols could not be fabricated.
–
Crimson’s landing was a sight to see. The deafening whoosh of the tormented air from Crimson’s distortion field created a cyclone of sorts, reversing the gravity in that area and sending things airborne. Branches snapped and bird-analogues twittered angrily. Entire sections of the soil were shot up above him as he cushioned his descent, raining mud down on him when he finally came to rest on the soft wet ground, sinking several feet before stabilizing.
I’m really going to have to work on that. I can localize the distortion field much better.
You panicked. Matt said observantly, When you realized you were falling too quick, that’s when you ripped everything apart.
Oh thanks, I couldn’t have figured that out all by myself.
The ambient buzzing sound of the distortion field interacting with the air around them faded away as Crimson powered down his gravimetric lens. His relief took Matt by surprise, and only then did he realize how much his companion had been straining himself.
Umbilicals immediately shot out of maintenance ports dotted along Crimson’s ventral side, digging into the now uprooted soil and filtering out the nutrients.
So this is what baby Beems do? They plant themselves in soil.
Sometimes, I read it in ‘Your Biomechanoid Starship and you’.
A voice in the back of Matt’s head told him that maybe he should be the one reading that book.
I’ll get you some food—
No, no! I’ll go. Just tell me if what I find is edible and I’ll grab it. I can use the sunlight, and you’ve already done so much.
If you want, but it’s really no problem, some of my drones have legs for environments just like this one.
Matt walked out his bedroom and into Crimson’s main corridor and started to walk down the ladder when Crimson interrupted him.
That won’t work. I’ve sunk too deep for you to be able to disembark through the ventral cargo bay.
Matt nodded and instead went through the corridor that contained all of Crimson’s ammunition. The fact that the corridor entrance opened to him immediately was a personal victory, knowing he had now earned his friend’s trust somewhat. Loading arms flew inches by him as they busily stacked shells on either side of the corridor, clipping them together with a strange adhesive goop that solidified on contact with the shells. Crimson told him they were standard kinetic shells. They needed no power from his main generator or his koveran chambers. The limit to how many of these he could fire was dependent on only his build speed and carrying capacity. The shells came from a division of Tier Zero that was most definitely not mentioned in ‘Your Biomechanoid Starship and You’. Beems didn’t have weapons.
The corridor ended by a curved bulkhead.
Open up.
The curved bulkhead slid back, revealing the AHC. As he carefully squeezed in beside the large cannon, he heard the hydraulic whir of the bulkhead sealing him off from the corridor. There was a hiss as something pressurized and he was immediately hit with humidity from outside. The dorsal carapace had opened, and the sunlight shone down on them, illuminating everything but the AHC, which seemed to absorb the light, reflecting only a tiny bit of color in return. In fact, as he rode the AHC’s platform up to Crimson’s hull, he noticed that Crimson had still retained his near-black color, with streaks of vermillion apparent where the sun glinted off him, fading into his signature crimson before being absorbed into blackness by his dark, chromed hull.
Not his entire hull was like that, Matt realized as he walked along it. Parts of his hull had pale scarlet spots, indicating his malnourished state. The absorbent properties of his hull were less apparent here, as well, and even seemed to feel more tender as Matt walked over them.
Matt nearly fell off the edge of Crimson’s hull when the relief of the filtered nutrients washed over his mind, forcing him to sit down as Crimson hungrily sucked as much as he could from this section of the earth. They sank slightly deeper as it was happening too, the shudders of the slow descent knocking Matt off Crimson’s hull.
There was a blinding flash as Crimson’s skids sparked, re-igniting the gravimetric lens and focusing it directly at Matt, cushioning his fall and sending a torrent of mud raining down on him. Since the lens was slightly below the surface, the pseudo-electric fabric of the lens reacted with the soft soil around it, incinerating a good portion of it and sending the rest flying several meters up into the sky. It was as if a bomb had gone off, knocking Matt farther into the ground and sending him into a state of shellshock.
He was now covered in mud, barely able to breathe, with his ears bleeding.
I give up Crimson. I think I’ll just lie here for a few days too.
Sorry! I forgot that I was submerged! That was so stupid! Bemicytes are repairing your eardrums.
So tell me Crimson. Matt transmitted, wiping some of the soil off his face. He may have passed out for a while, he wasn’t sure. His hearing had returned slightly. Koverans, you said they were keeping us alive?
Yes.
How?
The particles don’t exist in realspace. Only their trace-elements do, I find them and siphon them, subconsciously usually. It’s like breathing.
And how does that help me.
When I embedded the neural interface into the base of your skull, it immediately began to alter your growth ‘path’. Honestly I didn’t think you would be able to last this long off koverans this early into the bonding. The book says it takes years for something like this to happen. Sometimes it never happens.
So in a few years I won’t have to eat?
Maybe—
What else will change?
I don’t know. The books says fourteen Raumen years is the optimal age – anything younger is too dangerous, anything older doesn’t reap as many benefits. You humans seem to grow the exact same way as Raumens do.
And how does someone acquire a beems?
I don’t know.
A small mechanical arm appeared a few centimetres above Matt’s face. It was holding a biscuit of some sort.
My first ration, now that I’m absorbing nutrients again.
Matt took the ration out of the spider-like drone’s extended claw and took a bite out of it. It actually had a sweetness to it, pretty good actually – and not too hard.
Matt sat up, noticing a faint crimson pattern webbed across his ship’s dark hull, giving him a much more volcanic appearance. He faintly remembered seeing it when Crimson had first crash-landed on his planet. The crimson lines hissed steam as they interacted with the environment.
Your body’s glowing crimson, Crimson.
I’m probably just venting.
Venting? I was sitting on you a moment ago.
I’m venting because you fell off me and I had to activate my distortion field. I generate heat, you know.
Like a computer.
You generate heat too!
Yes but I don’t glow red.
You sweat – and smell bad.
You smell like iron.
That was one time! I was just born! There was blood and things!
They stopped jabbing at each other mentally for a moment to notice it darken significantly, the sun was leaving the section of the tree canopy they had blasted open and was no longer directly over them.
A silly primal sense of fear seemed to engulf both of them.
Crimson let out a sensor pulse, they both followed it as it returned a myriad of information, most of which Matt couldn’t understand.
There are no bi-pedal life-signs anywhere near here.
Are there anywhere on the planet?
I don’t know, I can’t exactly look through the planet to the other side. It’s pretty big.
I’m sorry Crimson but I have almost no idea what you can and can’t do.
We’ll learn.
Some more idling. The mud was beginning to itch.
You know Crimson, for being a baby you’re pretty mature.
You too.
–
–
4301.05.10 0642
Zemoria
CMBT had given her a room in one of Zemoria’s primary habitation complexes on Signus, which was located on Zemoria’s industrial, or dark, side. Since the massive planet was tide-locked, all industry had moved past the terminator, while the big, beautiful cities thrived in indefinite sunlight.
Zemorian government still followed the Raumen twenty-four hour clock, but most Zemorian homes were set on a fifty-eight hour clock, with only eight hours of darkness needed for sleep. They had this much energy because Zemorians had evolved a photosynthetic trait: The more UV radiation they absorbed (artificial or not), the longer they were able to stay awake. Marina hadn’t even known this until she arrived, and had wondered why everything was so painfully bright during their day-cycle. This gave their public buildings a blue intonation, rather than the gradients of red that the Coalition was so fond of.
The door leading out of her single ergonomic room opened immediately, branching into a long curved hallway littered with several more doors leading to several more single ergonomic rooms. The lights were a bright blue, blindingly bright compared to the dim pale blue she had programmed her room lights to emanate.
A few aliens walked by, she recognized them as Nyewilians: A raumenoid offshoot, save for their noticeably tiny noses. She tried not to stare. She wasn’t used to aliens. They were wearing the standard orange full-body jumpsuit that represented the lowest working class, they were off to a fabrication center somewhere most likely, doomed to toil away endlessly among automated machinery.
Marina had decided that the best way to assimilate into Zemorian society at the moment would be to get a desk job as a registrar office secretary. She was to take calls and lead people to the right people, as was generally expected of secretaries. She hoped that – due to her age and sad fabricated history, she would be able to make contacts with some more prominent Zemorian managers, and ultimately make her way over to the light side of Zemoria. There was no rush, after all. If the Hybrid really was going to play in the outer rings instead of head straight for Zemoria, it wouldn’t be due for another few years, which would be plenty of time for her to advance into a position where she could greet them wholeheartedly. The encounter on Fort VI had been a mistake. “Patience.” It was what instructor Finnigan had always said. “Time filters variables.”
That would be a while from now though. And – with as much humility as she could muster, she made her way over to junction 49-alpha, where Zemoria’s primary Registrar Office was located.
The interview was easy, but getting there was difficult. Public transit on the Dark Side was overcrowded and dirty. Many people gave her weary looks because of her age, knowing what her history was. You didn’t get out of school at fourteen unless you were a Coalition elite, and you didn’t end up out here unless something had gone horribly wrong.
There was a subliminal sense of intrigue, though. She enjoyed the work, tedious as it was. Her entire life she had studied social manipulation, biomechanology, neurology… everything was critiqued; everything was a lesson. Here, she worked at her own pace. The applicants waited on her: Her decisions. Her responses. Her attention.
Her workplace was great, too, a window into the Light Side of Zemoria, with bright blue lights and a mostly Zemorian staff. Oh the staff! It had taken her weeks to get used to their probing black eyes, their pale faces. Even after the first month, they still all looked the same to her. She sometimes wondered how she looked to them.
The routine eventually became better than she thought, however. She would wake up, brush her teeth, shower, put on some light make-up and an azure uniform. She’d leave her home at 0700 and arrive at the registrar’s office at 0745, at which point she would check her mail, sit down, read the news, and register anyone that immigrated to Zemoria, attaching as much information to each profile as possible. Though it wasn’t uncommon for people to register with nothing but their name, nor was it uncommon for Zemoria to accept these people for basic labour. A lot of people came here to hide.
But no, that wasn’t why it was better than she thought. Her day didn’t get much better until she came home that evening at 2000. Somebody had left her a package labelled Flowers. She used her datapal to scan it and realized the locking mechanism was Coalition encryption. Whatever this was, it was important.
“Privacy mode.” she said passively.
The datapal beeped to confirm the room was now secure.
She put her thumbs on the locking mechanisms of the long light case, and after a whir and click, it released, allowing her to open it. There were flowers. This surprised her. Next to the flowers was also something equally surprising: Writing.
“Black Nova. 0900ST.”
This intrigued her. When she was living on Falshmir, her friends often sent letters to one another on these small ink retaining sheets called paper stolen from the Calligraphy Department. The Coalition cameras, although all-seeing, couldn’t read hand writing. 0900 Ship Time would be around 2200 Zemorian Time.
Black Nova was a club near her residence, a very popular Zemorian nightclub in fact. It was named after a fabled messianic creature that would free the beems from tyrannous oppression and strike swift vengeance upon the oppressors.
She had bought a small Tyrus to get her around the city, but decided to walk now instead. She wouldn’t be able to drive drunk, and the vehicle’s altimeter was broken anyways. Not that she was expecting to get drunk… or expecting anything at all. A small pistol was still a justifiable choice.
Security in the nightclub was strong, but not strong enough to detect the slumbering pistol wrapped around her ankle, or to protect her if this was a trap… Couldn’t be a trap though! Someone touched her shoulder gently and she jumped. She hadn’t seen anyone come in behind her on her way to the upper level lounge.
“David…” she didn’t know if she should be disgusted or amused. His smile seemed sincere.
They sat down by a table that overlooked the dance floor and David ordered them some drinks. He was wearing a very expensive looking bright blue suit, obviously terrestrially made.
“What brings you here?” she asked, eyebrow raised. It was a resting day tomorrow so the club was wild and crowded. He must have made reservations.
“Do I need a reason to visit a friend?” he asked smoothly. “Do you like the suit? Got it from Lubie’s at Beta.
Beta was a massive city on the light side of Zemoria, and Lubie’s clothing cost a small fortune.
“I see you’ve been doing well then.” she said.
“How about you? Did the Coalition give you anything interesting to do?” he asked.
“No.” she wasn’t sure if she was lying or not.
“That’s unfortunate.” he replied in a tone that touched on sincerity. Pending told me about what happened. He was pretty mad, but he believes in you. He knows you won’t let us down.”
“You always were such a tool weren’t you?” Marina scoffed.
“What do you mean?”
“Licking everyone’s boots…”
“It’s not like that. I believe in the ideal of the Coalition.”
“What ideal is that?”
“Unity.”
Marina laughed, “Unity?”
“Yeah! Once we unite our part of the galaxy we could finally stand up against the Vorchans.”
Not this again. “The Vorchans don’t care about our half of the galaxy. They probably have several more galaxies they have access to.”
“That’s all theory. I don’t think any of it is true. I think the Vorchans are on the brink of reaching critical mass.”
“Why did you come here? To talk about Vorchans?”
“No.” he said, closing his eyes and leaning in to kiss her.
He kissed something else’s mouth. The pistol let out a charging whine as Marina flicked the safety.
Nobody had noticed yet, “I’m not like that.” she said quietly.
He knew not to argue when staring a weapon in the face.
With David having finally decided to leave, she holstered her pistol inconspicuously and left out the back door.
–
–
4301.05.13 0631
Starship: Dauntless
“David is loyal – to the letter; he’d kill his own family if we told him too.” Pending said with a laugh, looking out the Dauntless’ briefing room window. This chamber was becoming increasingly familiar, with the three of them making ritualistic visits every morning.
“Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” the Admiral asked.
“It was on a need-to-know.” Pending replied succinctly, still pondering.
“Doctor.” Bombard interjected, breaking Pending’s train of thought. “What you just told us is pretty monumental, if the media gets a hold of this—“
“The media will be clueless, I told Marina to ensure all traces of a Hybrid in the network are to be erased immediately.” Zemoria was literally the media epicentre of the Galaxy. The koveran network around it giving it a superfluous amount of access to beemspace, which the Galactic News Network had immediately taken advantage of, reserving weekly slots to spew their propaganda, either for or against the Coalition depending on how they felt that morning. Zemoria gave them a sickening diplomatic immunity.
“You’re going to tell Marina about the second Hybrid?” Bombard asked.
“Hell no, she has been enough of a liability as is – the epitome of incompetence.”
“And if Zemoria finds out we’re sabotaging their—“
“They won’t, they don’t like the GNN either. Their systems are independent.”
Doctor Pending’s plan had been relatively simple: after the shock-factor of there being a second hybrid wore off. The second hybrid would be used to intercept Crimson and seduce it back to the side of the Coalition. Giving it perspective on what was most likely a very confusing world for it.
Bombard didn’t like the idea. He didn’t have a doctorate in beems biology but he was pretty sure that ‘seducing a hybrid’ back to the Coalition wasn’t the best idea.
“Why?” Bombard asked.
“They don’t like the GNN because they’re snivelling–“
“No, why two hybrids? Can they breed?”
“I assure you they can.”
“You’re siring a new race.” Bombard observed.
“You make that sound as if it were a bad thing. The Coalition needs change. The beems are becoming increasingly difficult to control. You know how much they abhor violence and aggressive expansion.”
“So your solution is a violent and aggressive Beems?”
“Yes.” he said simply.
Leyton leaned forward, in his usual spot a bit farther from the two of them. “It’s too dangerous, Doctor Pending.”
“What? How?” he gibbered, his face heating up. Leyton – being the military executive here, could call this entire thing off. Or – even worse – let the rest of the Coalition know. Pending might theoretically be a well renowned and influential individual, but he was dependent on the silence of his colleagues. Bombard knew Pending didn’t like being this dependent on others, which gave both him and Admiral Leyton a uniquely influential position in this matter.
“The Admiral’s right, Doctor.” Bombard added, nodding supportively.
“If one hybrid could escape this easily,” Leyton continued, “What’s to keep more hybrids from going rogue? How are we going to control them? And their offspring? If that can even happen. How are we going to control ships with a genetic variance like that? What if recessives pop up, we start getting half-beems half-hybrids, or full hybrids, what would a full hybrid even be?”
“Don’t even begin to pretend you understand the complexities of a beems. It took me over ten years to perfect a gamete that was compatible with a beems. So many failed attempts…”
“Yes, nearly twenty percent of our logistics chain went up in flames because of your failed attempts.” Leyton retorted.
“You have no idea how important this is to the Coalition. No idea! If I don’t make a beems that is passive to our aggressive nature – The Coalition will die! We rely on aggressive expansion to sustain ourselves.”
“I had always assumed that was the case.” Leyton said, sighing. Though he had never heard it said so bluntly.
“Exactly. If High Command realizes I failed – we failed – they will take as many of us down as possible to mitigate their share of the blame. We’ll be mining on the dark side of Zemoria, no, one of their asteroids, for the rest of our lives!” He had a towel out again, wiping the sweat off his brow.
“How will that help them? Or the Coalition?”
“They’ll disappear, live a quiet life while the entire Coalition dissolves, splinters into separate factions. There will be in-fighting, complete chaos.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as the three of them thought about this, the ambient hum of the Dauntless’ generator reverberated through the chambers. Leyton wondered if what Pending said was so bad, after all. He wouldn’t have to listen to people hundreds of light-years away anymore. He’d be able to do what he wanted; free to control his fleet the way he wanted. But what would make his subordinates follow his orders without a Coalition? How would he keep his fleet supplied? Leyton didn’t have much faith in Pending’s attempts at creating this mystic ‘passive to aggression’ beems.
“Do you seriously think this new hybrid will be what High Command needs?” Admiral Leyton asked.
“Consider the new hybrid’s recovery mission a shakedown cruise.” Pending explained. “It’ll be young, naïve. It won’t even know life without an inhibitor. It will assume this is the way things are, as do most of the beems that are born into captivity.”
“But then what if something goes wrong?” Leyton asked, “What if they start talking to one another—“
“And how exactly are you going to stop our hybrid from doing that?” Bombard snapped.
“I’m not, BUT, imagine how excited it will be to be to meet another hybrid—“ Pending replied, twisting his towel.
“They’ll run off together—“
“The inhibitor will prevent that.”
“How do you know? And then we’ll have two hybrids, gone, and High Command on our asses.” Leyton exclaimed.
“David won’t let that happen. The hybrid will link with him, they’re both very young. David’s loyalty will rub off on it. I’m sure of it.”
“What if the hybrid’s rebellious nature rubs off on David instead? What if he’s sequestered by the hybrid’s interface?”
“He won’t be, the inhibitor will prevent that. The hybrid will never even know it has the ability.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just use the inhibitors on our current beems?”
Pending felt like he was back at that board meeting eleven years ago when he had joined CMBT.
“No we can’t.” he said slowly, “Capturing them is a profound pain in the ass, and breeding them in captivity is nearly impossible.”
“There has to be more to it than this.” Leyton said, “Creating a fleet of super-beems is not the most effective method of fixing our beems’ virility issues.”
Leyton was one-hundred percent right, this wasn’t just about the beems population crisis – a solution to that had already been implemented, and was working quite well. The Coalition needed more to survive, however. With more than half of the Coalition’s assets tied up in ship upkeep, bio-technology was the next logical step to avert the economic crisis that was looming over the Coalition.
“You’re right, Admiral. There is more to it than that. But we will save that for another time. For now let us focus on recovering our Hybrid.”
4301.06.01 1943
Flora
Life had become surprisingly normal after the first few weeks on the planet they had named Flora. Matt got up late every morning, brushed his teeth, took a long shower, and went up to the ‘deck’ (Crimson’s dorsal hull), where he spent his time reading over information. The deck even had a lawn chair made out of a brittle organic building block very similar to plastic, with a translucent membrane set up over the chair to shield them from the constant rain. Crimson had suggested covering the entire chair section with an electrostatic shield, but Matt enjoyed the breeze, and didn’t really want to use up energy for luxuries.
Crimson had also finished creating his first kinetic rifle, which he was busily producing ammunition for now that his AHC had all the ammunition it could store. Matt had to squeeze through the center corridor sideways due to all the stacks of ammunition located there. To accommodate the kinetic rifle, the port cargo bay was now an armoury, with the kinetic rifle stored on a rack that would be able to hold more weapons if the need ever arose. Boxes of ammunition were loaded and stacked along the stem wall, secured in place by semi-organic tethers that were able to survive accelerations of several dozen gees. There was even a targeting range with targets set up along the stern portion of Crimson’s cargo hold, the way the ceiling and floor converged to a point giving them a natural ricochet shield for extra safety.
The plant life around the ship had withered away, and there was a big hole where the gravimetric lens responsible for the distortion field had formed during the accident, creating a natural cave entrance to Crimson’s cargo bays, flanked on either side by the massive pincers that were his protruding skids. Sixty percent of the ship was now buried underground. Not for much longer, however, as the ground was beginning to harden around him, depriving him of his ability to see with anything other than his muddied ocular strips and throwing him into a state of claustrophobia. It was time to move.
A good portion of the vein-like thermal vents that streaked across Crimson’s hull like a geometric pattern were submerged in soil now. Heat generation would have to be minimal and vented later. The skids charged slowly and carefully, unable to lock into a more comfortable position. There was a deep mutual fear that they wouldn’t be able to break free, though neither of them mentioned it.
As the gravimetric lens began to form, Crimson instinctively flexed it, sending a gravimetric ripple through space-time, pinging the entire area for different kinds of masses. Several primal alarms immediately blared, and Matt saw a bright red shimmer as an electro-static shield engulfed the ship before three kinetic slugs hit it. Matt’s vision darkened as he saw the bright plasma flash and ripple across the energy-absorbent shield that was now glittering a violent crimson.
“Fuck.” he yelled, falling out of his lawn chair.
Crimson’s AHC had already deployed, and Matt immediately slid down the ladder beside it, jogging through the central corridor before being hit by another volley. The hull shook as some of the rounds hit the ground around them.
Several high-intensity tracking lasers were now focused on Crimson’s hull, their signatures giving away the identity of their attackers.
Coalition cruisers, three of them. Reaver Class. This doesn’t make sense.
What?
Reavers aren’t… They must have already been here – oh no. What!
Crimson focused Matt’s attention on a pair of transports in low orbit. This is a farming planet. That’s why there are so many nutrients; that’s why this planet was so perfect.
So this was a trap? Matt asked; dread slipping into the neural field.
It took a hundredth of a second for Crimson to respond to that query, which came across as several seconds to Matt, due to the speed at which they were conversing.
No, unlikely. Those are standard transport escorts; they are as surprised as we are.
Time returned to normal, allowing several more seconds to pass rather quickly. Matt didn’t even realize he was already at the bridge by the command chair. The screen in front of him showed him the face of a middle aged man with golden epaulettes on his uniform denoting the Coalition-equivalent rank of Rear Admiral.
To Matt’s surprise, the Rear Admiral saluted.
“I believe apologies are in order.” he said, “Your ship’s transponder code was very faint. We thought we had encountered another nest.”
“A nest?” Matt asked reflexively.
“Aye sir. Occasionally orphaned beems will leech off of our farm-planets and attempt to beem out the moment they reach maturity. We thought you were one, and, well, fired to suppress and capture you.”
Matt was frozen, not really sure what to say to this man, and infuriated that Crimson had let the hail through in such a nonchalant manner. The ship was very quiet; shamefully trying to avoid Matt’s mental attention after Matt’s anger flooded the neural field. He would have to say something.
“We’re fine.” he said succinctly.
“Yes sir, we won’t waste any more of your time. We wish COMBAT the best of luck. Long live the Coalition.”
The transmission ended.
“You transmitted an id-code?” Matt asked.
Not consciously, but Scorvan said something similar.
“We have to leave.”
Yes, they will probably report back. This isn’t good. I was hoping we could stay here longer. We’ve even converted an entire cargo bay into an armoury!
We’ll convert it back if you want, Crimson. Matt transmitted, noticing the chair as if for the first time and quickly sitting down. He let out an uneasy sigh.
They were hovering a few meters above the ground, having broken free during the adrenaline-filled encounter. With Crimson’s body free, he began scanning; stopping only when he was content that those two transports and two cruisers were making their way away from them, back to whatever facility they were going to store the foodstuffs they had gathered.
They only saw me when I activated my distortion field.
Or maybe that’s when they decided to fire.
No, I may have been unable to scan effectively in the dirt but I would have felt sensor pings. They weren’t aware of me until I activated the gravimetric lens. Young beems probably only do it when they’re about to beem out, which is why they opened fire so quickly.
I can’t believe the Coalition does that.
They have no respect for beems. I’m sure several are killed by the barrage.
Matt focused on Crimson’s physical senses, looking for any semblance of pain. There was definitely stress from the gravity field, as well as an uncomfortable breeze from the gravimetrically perturbed air. It was interesting how he could feel a slight breeze off the hull but couldn’t feel bullets hitting the bulkheads along the firing range. Perhaps there was a cut-off to prevent subtle things from inflicting pain.
Crimson hovered around aimlessly for a moment, rubbing up against a tree and rebounding off it in surprise, knocking another one over before lifting several hundred feet up into the air above them. He began scanning the terrain for a more nutrient-rich place to settle down on like a trepidant mosquito that had just been swatted at, desperate for another meal.
So we’re staying? Matt asked.
I’d like to, at least long enough to load up the cargo-bays with nutrients. We also have nine of Scorvan’s stimpacks in case we run out of food again.
Crimson landed at his new spot with the same gracelessness as his previous one, leaving an even bigger field of tree stumps as he sunk into the soft tasty soil. There was an ancient pleasure behind the act as he deployed more umbilicals and began sucking down more nutrients, blissfully ignoring his surroundings.
It took less than a minute for Matt to be lying up on his deck again. It was dawn, giving the forest a scarlet tint that reflected off of Crimson’s hull beautifully. Like Crimson, he embraced the moment, dozing off in a sea of contentment.
Maybe staying a while longer isn’t such a bad idea.
–
–
4301.06.04 1942
Flora
God, that had been close. When he awoke out of his stasis and heard the loud explosion, the scurry to the surface through the tunnel was almost animal-like, driven only by the smell of fresh air up ahead. He plummeted countless meters out of the ship’s loose hatch, froze upon landing for fear of being spotted before diving into the bushes like a feral rodent. He monitored the ship for several days, severely dehydrated by the time he concluded that the thing had fallen asleep.
His crew had already rented a building on the dark side of Zemoria when Lance’s beemspace distress beacon had them go spaceside and off with the Reaper.
It landed stealthily in the forest right next to Lance, ensuring the Hybrid didn’t see or hear them.
Cassandra was ready to meet Lance with open arms, but Lance just asked, “What kind of cruisers are working up spaceside?”
“What?” Cassandra asked.
“Reavers,” Flam said, “a few of them, transport convoy.”
“That thing.” Lance said, pointing in the Hybrid’s general direction. Got hit by a volley from em and didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even return fire. Rounds shimmered off him like fucking firecrackers. My ears are still ringing.”
“Impressive.” Tass commented. “Maybe next time you should have me handle the Hybrid. I don’t forget to arm my charges.”
“There was some Coalition chick. No idea where she is now. She could be here. Shit, let’s get out of here before the damn thing sees us, it’ll probably wake soon.”
“It won’t wake for a while.” Flam said reassuringly. “It’s probably nurturing itself through the planet.”
“What?”
“Beemsters occasionally use planets like this one to survive orphanage.”
“How the hell do you know so much about beems, anyways?” Nina asked.
“I don’t know. When I jump our ship… sometimes… never mind.” Flam said, flustered.
“Never mind what?” Nina asked.
“Do you hear their thoughts?” Tass asked, a serious expression on his face.
“I don’t know.”
“Flam is psychic?” Brock asked, having returned from the mess with some water for Lance.
They laughed at the thought.
“Here you go, are you alright?” Brock asked, watching him drink the water.
“Fine bud. Shaken.” Lance replied.
“If it’s asleep, we might be able to destroy it.” Brock suggested.
“I think the chick was looking for the ship’s captain.”
“What chick?”
“The girl I mentioned earlier!”
“There’s a girl?” Brock asked.
“Yes, young – Coalition. Wipe that grin off your face Flam you know what they’re like.”
“You got your ass handed to you by a girl?” Flam asked.
“How old was she?” Tass asked.
“Young.” Lance replied.
“Fourteen?” Tass asked.
Lance just mumbled incoherently, unsure.
“If she’s fourteen then she’s most likely a Captain. She may have been coming to take the ship.”
“No, she thought I was the captain.”
“As I said: She may have been coming to take the ship.”
“So the Coalition doesn’t control this ship?” Cass asked.
“Apparently not.” Tass replied. “Why else would they fire on it?”
“Why would they stop firing on it then?” Nina asked. “None of this makes any sense.”
The headache Lance had become aware of was getting worse.
“Yes, there’s a captain.” Flam said.
“How… do you know?” Brock asked.
“I’m psychic.” Flam replied. “No I’m kidding. I was looking over the logs. The Firefly’s captain was holding some kid hostage. I compiled all of his video footage into one little show. His moves are pretty nifty.”
“How ‘nifty’?” Lance asked.
“Nifty enough to take down several armed guards, escape a battlecruiser, and space jump over to the Hybrid.”
“Was he Vorchan?” Tass asked, stretching his wings.
“No.” he replied, walking over to the bridge. He inputted a few key commands and some rasping was heard on the main screen.
“Please stop hitting me.”
“He sounds young.” Brock noticed.
“What language is that? It sounds Raumen.” Nina added.
“Yeah, it didn’t seem like they understood him at first either, but the translator chips seemed to figure the dialect out after a slight delay.” Flam explained.
“That’s not uncommon among offshoots of the Raumen race.” Tass suggested.
“The Coalition thinks everyone is an offshoot.” Nina sighed.
“You come here… with a starship that wears a Coalition transponder, and all you can say in your defence is that you wish to stop being hit?”
“Where is your uniform?”
“I don’t have a uniform, we aren’t a Coalition ship.”
“He won’t tell us the truth, kill him.”
“They’re going to—“ Brock was cut off when he heard sounds of a struggle and bright plasma flashes. Amidst the burning plasma trails, Matt and Scorvan were the only two people standing.
They were all staring in awe.
“It gets crazier.” Flam said, fast forwarding to his escape from the mess hall.
“A fork?” Brock asked in disbelief.
“Augmented by koveran particles.” Tass added. “He has an intimate connection with the ship.”
“But can he be destroyed?” Lance asked.
Tass ruffled, “Koveran augmentation was something our people feared the Coalition would begin experimenting with. Koveran particles are highly unstable unless—“
“Unless a beems is controlling it! Of course!” Flam exclaimed, ecstatic.
“No wonder somebody wants this ship destroyed.” Cass muttered.
“That still didn’t answer my question. How do we kill that thing?” Lance repeated.
“He lost his link with the ship when Scorvan activated the inhibitor. If the ship is asleep I’d imagine he wouldn’t be being augmented by it.” Flam said.
“That’s one hell of an assumption.”
“Why do you say that? You wanna go back there and finish the job?” Flam suggested.
They all looked at Lance expectantly.
“Just keep an eye out for forks.” Lance replied with a grin.
–
Flora
4301.06.05 0545
They moved out early the next day when the sun was highest. At first, they had considered a night raid, but it quickly became apparent that if this abomination did wake, it wouldn’t matter whether it was day or night.
They could hear the sonic roar of craft off in the distance, undoubtedly Coalition harvesters. Tass told them he didn’t feel any sensor pings of any sort yet. The caved-in tunnel Lance had used to escape the Hybrid wasn’t that difficult to spot for him either. Apparently the scent of his fear-induced sweat was easily noticeable.
“I see something!” Tass exclaimed, looking out at the small mound where the uppermost section of the ship was submerged.
“See what?” Lance asked, focusing his optics in the direction Tass was looking at.
The haze from the sun was making the profile blurry.
“Could that be the captain?” Nina asked, whispering.
“He looks asleep.” Flam observed, staring down his optics.
Tass’ wings swept open, revealing a plethora of weaponry.
“Wait!” Flam exclaimed, resting a hand in front of one of the plasma cannons. “If we kill the captain the ship will most likely wake. Linked beings can sense one another even through beemspace.”
“So what do we do then?” Nina asked.
Tass retracted his wings and began digging. The rest of them looked at Lance. Lance began digging. The rest of them sighed and began digging too. In a few hours the six of them had managed to dig their way all the way to the rear cargo bay. Tass’ wings swept out to either side of the group to ensure the towering cliffs of dirt didn’t collapse in on top of them.
“I smell something.” Tass said, watching Flam working on one of the cargo bay hatches. All that he had left to remove was the thin membranoid seal.
“Is it Lance?” Brock asked jokingly.
“No, a sweeter scent.”
“I don’t smell anything.” Flam said, hitting the membrane with a shockstick.
The entire group recoiled from the loud ear splitting electric crack, glaring at Flam with a hateful look that he had gotten used to years ago.
“Flam you’re an idiot.” Nina scoffed.
The membranoid seal retracted.
“What was that?” Flam asked. “See? Sound asleep! Like a baby!”
“It is a—“ A gas engulfed them, its sweet scent an overwhelming one now.
“Oh shit! Get back get back!” Flam yelled, running up the pile of dirt – it was all collapsing into the cargo bay. They were running on a natural treadmill. By the time they were back at ground level and away from the gas, all of them were giggling incoherently. All of them except for Tass, who was flushed and agitated.
“It was… it was…” Flam burst out laughing, “It was… pheralax!! Fucking pheralax!”
They recovered quickly, drudging back to their ship, defeated by nature. Flam explained that pheralax was a pleasure hormone excreted by ships in euphoria.
“I should have known feeding would induce such a sensation. We should bottle some of that shit – we’d be rich!” Flam exclaimed.
“What do we do now?” Lance asked.
Flam was already in the storage room ruffling about.
“EV suits?” Tass asked.
“Won’t matter!” Flam replied excitedly, holding several bottles. “Pheralax particles pass through everything. Filters can’t stop them.”
“That’s impossible.” Cass said.
“We’re talking about biomechanology here. Nothing is impossible in that field. The damn things feed off energy that doesn’t technically exist! Like what the fuck!”
“The effects should have worn off by now.” Brock muttered, eyeing Flam.
“The feeling will be with me forever!” he sang, running to the airlock with all the bottles.
It hissed closed behind him.
“Should we just leave him here?” Tass suggested.
“If only that were possible.” Lance sighed.