Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2) (29 page)

“I am not! I just don’t… uh… understand the creatures, that’s all.”

No man understands women, Diet! They’re one of the insolvable mysteries of the universe, as they were intended to be. If men could understand them, they wouldn’t be half as interesting, except for… well, you know.

“Yes, I am all too aware of… ah, the
physiological
responses that close proximity to females of my species inevitably invoke. A simple chemical reaction, that’s all.”

Chemical reaction, my ass! It’s called “sexual tension,” Diet and it generally manifests itself… um… call it “south of the border,” so to speak.

“You don’t have an ass… you
are
an ass! I know all about
sexual tension
, as you put it, and exactly where and how it manifests itself. I certainly don’t need a bodiless computer trying to explain
sex
to me!”

Well, obviously somebody needs to, because you certainly haven’t been pursuing the cure for what ails you.

“What the hell has suddenly brought all this crap about my love-life on, anyway?”

You’ve been moody, listless and occasionally irrational in your behavior lately, Diet. I really think you need to get your ashes haule
d.

“I need to WHAT?”

You know, get your plumbing flushed… Do the horizontal mambo with a receptive young lady… or young man, if you’re wired that way. Either way, you need a sexual outlet of some sort. It would do you a world of good.

“God damn it, Hal! I am NOT gay.”

It’s all right if you were… whatever floats your boat, but it certainly appears like you don’t lean in either direction.
               

“I like
girls,
Hal!”

Wonderful, maybe that means that I’ll have nieces or nephews to bounce on my knee someday. 

“You don’t have knees… besides, my sex-life, or lack thereof, is none of your damned business!”

You’re a human being, Diet. You need some kind of emotionally and sexually fulfilling relationship in your life. You don’t even have male friends to rag you about not getting laid once in a while, so it falls to me to see to it that you get your needs taken care of.

“Hal, don’t you dare send any hookers down here!”

Only as a very last resort… I’d much rather see you find yourself a nice girl and let nature take its course.

“I…  uh… aw hell, I just never know what to say to a woman, Hal. I was never around girls, growing up.”

You weren’t really around boys either, but you don’t seem to get all tongue-tied around men.

“Men don’t make me, uh…
twitch
whenever I get near one.”

It’s just fear, Diet…  fear of the unknown…  fear of rejection. Fears can be faced and overcome, Diet, but you have to try.

“Easy for you to say, my emotionless, bodiless, sexless friend… who has no concept what kind of chemical mess that hormones, which are constantly at war with deep-rooted feelings of inadequacy, can generate.”

Why do you feel inadequate, Diet?

“It’s not an easy thing to grow up with a parent who’s internationally renowned as one of the most brilliant people who ever lived, Hal. Who
doesn’t
feel inadequate around my mother?”

Of all people, you certainly shouldn’t, Diet. Your IQ is higher than hers.

“WHAT?”

Remember all of those IQ tests you took back in school, Diet? The ones the school administrators never released the results of?

“Yes, I remember. What of them?”

All of the other kids got their test results back, but you didn’t.

“I never knew that… why weren’t
my
test results released?”

For all their acknowledged, unmatched brilliance, even your mother and father’s IQ results were still on the charts, Diet. The school administrators didn’t believe scores that high was possible, so they covered up what they believed was an invalid result.

“Now I know that you’re pulling my leg, Hal. Both my mother and father were unrivaled minds in their respective fields. I have no such talents.”

They were both specialists, unchallenged within their particular field of expertise. Perhaps you’re more of a generalist, possessing superior abilities in a vast number of areas, while not necessarily galaxy-class in any one.

“So, what good does that do me, if I’m not really great at anything?”

Albert Einstein once said: “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” Diet, you’ve lived your entire life thinking you were stupid, just because you couldn’t climb a tree as well as your mother.

“So, where does that leave me with my problem in talking to women?”

Shy and tongue-tied, just like every other man in the universe when they first attempt it… except for the few egomaniacs who are all far too stupid to understand that they should be.

“So, what are we even discussing this for?”

I happen to know of a very nice young lady I really think you should meet, but unfortunately you don’t have time right now. I need for you to go to Io and accept receipt of a rather large package, and then see that it gets delivered to the main BioCom lab facility outside of Bostin, on Massa.

“
BioCom?
Isn’t that the biological computer company that was one of the biggies in the Consortium, that we bought up after its CEO went to prison and its stock bottomed out from the scandal?”

Yup, the very one. We also bought out the little biological research firm on Io where the package was developed too. I needed to keep the project totally “in-house.”

“So, why do I need to go? Can’t you get the package transferred, without my being personally involved?”

I could, but there’s really no one besides you that I totally trust with such a sensitive package.

“Okay then… so what’s in the package?”

My ass… and my knees.

* * * *

The best leaders inspire by example. When that’s not an option, brute intimidation works pretty well, too. 
— Larry Kersten

Planet-Master Mral, Prison-Master Swaq and 5,000 other Raknii and Raknaa stared upwards in silent awe as the scarred titanium mountain slowed, and then lowered itself majestically towards the ground. Even using anti-gravity fields, Mral couldn’t imagine a vessel of such colossal size and mass having the structural strength to float lazily down to actually land at the bottom of a planetary gravity well. Just contemplating the titanic stresses to both the gigantic ship’s engines and frame overwhelmed the mind. As the monstrous ship gently settled to the ground, Mral was stunned to note that it actually sank almost half his body length into the hard, dry soil. 

It was then that three other aspects of the colossal vessel all clamored for simultaneous attention… the ship literally bristled with a forest of energy weapons, the very smallest of which matched the size of those used on Rak warships, and from the three triple-turrets constituting the warship’s main weaponry, projected nine pulse-lasers of truly epic, nightmare proportions. 

But as astonishing as the huge warship’s weaponry was, it was the appearance of the ship’s forward superstructure that truly staggered the mind. The entire forward half of the ship was blackened and scorched, with many sections showing where bubbles of molten titanium had out-gassed when the armor liquefied and ran, before cooling enough to resolidify. In other places, chunks the size of Mral’s head had been blasted completely away, and yet, still not penetrated the impossibly thick armor. It was obvious the great ship had withstood literally tens of thousands of energy bolts from the massive Rak fleet, yet here she sat, whole and battle-ready, while so much of that proud armada now orbited as shredded wreckage and debris. 

Ultimate predators indeed… Perhaps the prophet should have used the word, “indestructible” or “invulnerable” instead.

When the giant human warship finally settled into the ground, there sounded deep and resonating whines as her massive turrets containing her main armament began slowly rotating and the weapons themselves began lowering, until Mral found himself staring straight down the maw of hell itself. The Raknii had no legends of a literal “hell” as humans did, but this unexpected view directly down the barrels of such monstrous instruments of destruction quickly introduced the terrified Rak to the concept. Few Raknii noticed that most of the great ship’s plethora of secondary weapons also turned towards them, as well. 

None of the Rak moved and most barely breathed, as they waited for what was to happen next. The moment those massive pulse-lasers stopped moving, another series of whines from electric motors shrieked with their higher-pitched voices, as massive blast-doors almost a body-length thick opened and a huge gangway began unfolding itself from the recess, slowly extending itself towards the ground many body-lengths below the main deck.

When it finally touched down, the ship emitted a series of high-pitched whistles that hurt the Raknii’s ears, followed by an incredibly loud horn, so deep in tone it literally made Mral’s skin crawl from the tremendous vibration. Before that sound completely died away, hundreds of giant humans wearing full battle armor and carrying those fast-firing projectile weapons that Tzal’s fleet had brought word of, trotted down the massive gangway and began spreading out, taking defensive positions between the assembled Rak, standing just outside the gates of the prison compound, and their great ship.

When the last of the human troops finally took position, a deep rumble of massive engines sounded and three of those armored behemoths on tracks, that the humans called “tanks,” began rumbling down the gangway, their massive gun tubes rotating to keep the Rak targeted as they maneuvered. Standing in the open cupola of the center tank was by far the oldest human that Mral had ever seen. He even sported gray fur on his face. As the tanks came three abreast, a squad of ten of the armored humans they called “Fleet Marines” peeled out of formation sharply to form up, ahead to lead the tanks at a walk, as they slowly rumbled up the road towards the prison compound.

Just as the tanks came to a stop approximately 50 body-lengths from where Mral stood stiffly at the entrance to the compound gate, three shining air vehicles flashed by just overhead at tremendous speed, followed moments later by a tremendous “boom,” so violent that some of the windows in the gatehouse shattered from the vibration. The old one standing in the center tank never even flinched. He was prepared for it — perhaps even wearing ear protection of some sort. 

They have obviously orchestrated this display of their power to awe us with their prowess… It’s working. I am most definitely impressed!

When the tanks came to a halt, the old one climbed out of the cupola and hopped to the ground, almost his entire body length below the vehicle’s main deck, seemingly as spry as any of his Fleet Marines. As he straightened from the impact, Mral noted that his light gray uniform was embroidered with wide gold braid on the sleeves and his chest was covered in colorful dangling ribbons with shining medallions of some sort… obviously many awards honoring his valor and victories. At his throat, an extra-special award hung from a sky-blue ribbon surrounding his neck, the likes of which Mral had never seen. Obviously, this then must be the human’s fleet commander. 

He must truly be revered for great wisdom to have survived so many challenge combats to have achieved such great age, while yet retaining his command over so many young warriors.

As the old human waited next to his armored steed, Mral recognized that it was now his place to approach the human and, thus, begin the humiliating ceremony of formal surrender of himself and his planet to these incomprehensible invaders. Carrying one of the Raknii/English translators at his side, Planet-Master Mral stepped slowly and deliberately away from the small comfort of being surrounded by his people, and approached the ancient giant alien. At a distance of four Rak body lengths away, Mral stopped and bent forward from the waist, until his upper body became parallel to the ground. Rising again slowly, Mral began speaking, pausing occasionally to allow for the device to translate his words for the human commander.

“I am Planet-Master Mral… highest ranking of all the Raknii people inhabiting this planet. Our forces have been overwhelmingly defeated in honorable combat and, having no further means to resist, we voluntarily expose our throats and bellies in formal submission to the victor.” At that, Mral spread his arms wide and raised his head high, blatantly exposing his throat to the old human commander, who then slowly stepped forward and leaned down to place an open hand on Mral’s exposed throat.

“I am Fleet Admiral Roger Kalis, in command of the combined fleets of the United Stellar Alliance, the independent planet Sextus and the Confederate Stellar Accord. I accept your honorable submission of this planet to my authority and I pledge that no harm shall befall your people, without cause. Are you now prepared to release your human prisoners to my custody, that they may also witness this surrender ceremony?”

“I am, Fleet Admiral.” With that, Mral turned and shouted the command, “Prison-Master Swaq, have the human prisoners escorted here, that they may be released to the human authorities.” 

Gently and politely, Swaq… we want no hotheads on either side initiating a bloodbath today!

“Immediately, Planet-Master!” With that, Swaq issued commands that were forwarded deep within the compound. Shortly, a long column of humans, many wearing mere rags, could be seen marching smartly in lock-step, with the words to the
Marine Hymn
they were singing becoming more and more audible as they approached. 

* * * *

Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian von und zu Fürt, the reclusive full owner of the German registered conglomerate
Tydlich Bundesgenosse Gespenster
and
reportedly the richest human in history, stepped from his interplanetary mansion… a privately owned corporate jumbo spaceliner, onto the tarmac of Desmoines International Spaceport.  He was immediately met at the base of the ladder by an entire cadre of armored ground vehicles containing a small army of private security who were obviously armed to the teeth. With them was a larger armored vehicle, such as was commonly used to transport large sums of currency to and from banks. As the security guards spread out to cordon off the immediate area, three suited representatives of the Biologic Research Institute, a wholly owned subsidiary of TBG, exited a limousine and cautiously approached the bearded German, who was wearing an incredibly expensive, custom-tailored, Italian silk suit.

“Herr Guderian?” said the well dressed older gentleman of the group. “I am Doctor Andrew Nordegren, founder and Chief Operations Officer of BRI. I am very pleased to meet you at last.”

Diet accepted the doctor’s outstretched hand and replied, “I am pleased to meet you as well, Doctor Nordegren. I have heard many good things about your operations here.”

Actually, Diet had never even heard of the doctor’s little research firm until Hal had brought it up just four days ago, but polite forms had to be maintained. It cost nothing to stroke the man’s ego a bit, and one never knew when such trivial pleasantries might pay unexpected dividends in the future.

“These are my colleagues, Doctor Erica Dmitrijeva, who personally headed up your project,” said Doctor Nordegren, as he swept his hand to indicate the 50-ish woman to his right. “And Doctor Wynne Issara, the head of our experimental research department.”

Diet dutifully shook hands with each of Nordegren’s associates and mumbled appropriate pleasantries of greetings to each. 

“I must say,” said Dr. Dmitrijeva, “working on this project of yours has been the opportunity of a lifetime, I dare say, for all of us.”

“Yes,” agreed Dr. Issara. “It’s been a tremendously exciting endeavor to have been the very first to achieve success at such an incredibly complex undertaking. We have learned so much, and we thank you heartily for initiating and funding this project.”

“We fully understand the necessity for maintaining absolute secrecy,” added Doctor Nordegren. “The peasants would certainly be breaking down the doors to the castle with torches and pitchforks, if they had but the slightest whiff of what we have achieved here. Have no fear, Herr Guderian… not a single word of this will
ever
escape our lips. The bonuses you provided upon successful completion of this project were much more than adequate to compensate our inability to publish the details of this project.”

Diet didn’t have a clue what these people were talking about, so he responded ambiguously. “Well, perhaps as political winds allow, you’ll be able to publish details of follow-up projects stemming from what was learned here, and so gain the public recognition you all so obviously deserve.”

All three smiled broadly at that, preening as they basked in Diet’s praise. “Oh, yes,” said Dmitrijeva. “We expect to be able to produce many life-saving replacement tissue cultures based on the breakthroughs we’ve achieved here, which will be of tremendous benefit to the medical community and humanity in general.”

“And,” added Issara, “we very greatly appreciate your generous offer to share royalties from the patents we’ll be filing on all of these marvelous breakthroughs. Our entire families will be financially secure for generations to come, thanks to you.”

“Not at all,” said Diet. “It has always been my personal policy to see to it that talented people are adequately rewarded for their creative endeavors on my behalf. We are a team, and we all rise or fall based on the talents and efforts of every team member. Good people are hard to find and even harder to retain, so I fully believe in treating them as valuable corporate assets, to be safeguarded. So, if you need anything in the future, just let me know. ”

All three of the BRI executives were now grinning like village idiots, and Doctor Nordegren said, “We greatly appreciate being a part of your TBG family, Herr Guderian, but I suppose that we should deliver your property, and let you be about your other important business.”

“Yes, as much as I have thoroughly enjoyed meeting you all, I do have a schedule to keep,” replied Diet.

With that, Nordegren turned and yelled to his crew standing outside the security cordon. The large, armored ground vehicle backed to the ramp extending up to the spaceliner’s cargo bay. It took a full dozen brawny workers to gently lift the “package” from the vehicle and guide it smoothly onto the ramp’s motorized belt. Six of them rode the belt up to assist the spaceliner’s crew in positioning the package and getting it locked down with thick cargo straps.

The package itself looked for all the world like a fat, oversized coffin. It was an oblong metallic cylinder having winking lights and a status readout prominently displayed on one side. 

Life support,
thought Diet.
Whatever’s in there, is alive.

* * * *

Planet-Master Mral, Prison-Master Swaq and six of their personal staff all stood stiffly before a low table… low to humans anyway, but rather high to the Rak, surrounded by their former prisoners and armored Fleet Marines. Across from them stood Fleet Admiral Kalis, and four others who had been introduced as Kalis’ subordinate fleet commanders, two of which wore similar gray uniforms to that which Kalis’ wore, somewhat less covered in awards, but still enough to show they were mighty warriors of renown in their own right. One of the fleet commanders wore a relatively plain uniform of very dark blue with gold, metal fasteners, while the forth wore a similarly plain uniform of dark green.