Prologue

Second Contact

The 2212 first contact with the Grugell Empire was indeed one of the most significant events in the history of mankind.  Humanity’s first contact with another intelligent species, leading as we have seen to the founding of the first Confederate government, was an epic event of massive impact.  First contact was not only made with a space faring race whose technological development was, in most ways, on a par with that of the Confederacy, but also with an aggressive, hostile race. Relations between the two cultures quickly degenerated into open warfare and remained tense for decades after what is now known as the First Galactic War ended in the Confederacy’s favor.

The second such contact with an intelligent race was little known, little publicized; ten years after that contact fewer than a hundred people knew of the existence of the enigmatic race that became known as the Hive.

In part, the silence around the second contact was due to the primitive nature of the Hive.  However, even more than the Stone Age development level of the Hive, it was their fundamental nature, that of a swarm or group mentality rather than the individual development shown by both human and Grugell, that led to the home planet of the cephalopod race being listed as off-limits to Confederate travelers for many hundreds of years.

Perhaps it is in keeping with the libertarian nature of the Confederacy that second contact was made not by an exploring ship of the Confederate Navy, but rather by a privately-owned charter vessel.  The details of that second contact are still a closely held secret, but the ship is known to have been the armed privateer vessel Shade Tree, whose Captain and crew were veterans of the then-recently concluded Grugell War.

– Morris/Handel, “A History of the First Galactic Confederacy,” University Publications, 2804CE

One

An unmapped planet

Evening always brought a chill, making it necessary to start a fire. In the deep forest, six creatures drifted into a small clearing, moving together, silently, simultaneously.  One of them carried a small pouch of tinder and sparking stones; that one started a small pile of twigs burning while several others gathered dry brush and wood.  None of them said anything; none of them had to; all roles were well understood.

In a few minutes, the fire was going well, casting flickering shadows on the six creatures gathered around.  They gazed quietly into the flames, saying nothing.  Around them, the small creepers and crawlers of the forest chittered softly as they went about their business. 

The six creatures were all genetically related, but it was less than accurate to call them a ‘family,’ any more than that term could be applied to a colony of ants or bees.  They were a collective, a single consciousness melded among several physical forms, a gestalt.

Another fire burned quietly nine kilometers to the west, with another five creatures gathered around it.  A third group, this one of eight, gathered around a fire over a ridge six kilometers south.  All the creatures were keenly aware of the others, even at the distances involved.

The six creatures did not sleep but simply sat, watching the fire as the night gathered around them.

***

Avalon

“Captain?”

Jean Barrett snapped awake. Dozing in your Bridge chair, she chided herself. Not good leadership, old girl.  “What?”

“We just passed the space buoy,” her second-in-command, Indira Krishnavarna, reported. “Coming in on the Avalon Skyhook. We have our berthing assignment.  We’re in Pier Eight, Level D, coming in on docking course now.”

Barrett shook her head. “All back one-third,” she ordered.  “Initiate docking procedures.”

“All back one-third,” Paolo Guerra answered from the Helm.  “Matching course and speed with the ‘Hook. We’ll be docking in ten minutes or so, Captain.”

“Very well.”

“I suppose you’ll want to head straight down and see if this Amole character follows through on the meeting?”

“Honest work for once, Indira,” Barrett smiled at her Executive Officer.  “At least, I hope it is.  Anyway, it’s nice to deal with straight-up clean people – and besides, Hudson Amole is stinking rich.”  The post-war economic slump was making times hard for most people; the Tarbosian entrepreneur Hudson Amole was an exception.

“He is rich enough to be founding a private colony,” Indira Krishnavarna agreed.  She ran a slim hand through her thick black hair. “Still, you’ve got to wonder why he wants to found a privately incorporated world outside the Confederacy.  Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious?  And why hire an armed privateer to take him out there?  A scout or a light freighter would cost him a lot less.”

“Beggars,” Barrett pointed out, “can’t be choosers.  We haven’t had any paying work for a while, taxes are due at Tarbos on the first of next month, and in case you don’t remember, we need repairs – expensive repairs.”

“True enough. Thanks to that smuggler off Wilson.”

“Well, he may have got a shot off at us, but he’s planet-bound now for a while.”

“I suppose.” Mostly because we reduced his ship to drifting wreckage, the Exec thought but didn’t say.

 “Call Gomp,” Barrett ordered the tech at the Signals station. “Tell him to meet the Exec and me at the sally port.  Concealed side arms only.  Let’s be discreet.” She looked back at her cautious Exec. “We’ve got some business to arrange.”

***

Three hours later

The Shade Tree had visited the Avalon system only once before and never made it to the colony itself; their purpose at that time had been to recover two lost crew, and they ended up breaking up a slaver ring in the process.  Jean Barrett was certain that the Navy would still be interested in knowing who set off a thermonuclear warhead on an inhabited moon around the system’s big gas giant, but neither she nor anyone in her crew was saying anything.  Their collective reputation was on shaky ground as it was.

Now, at last, the privateers were seeing the world known as the Jewel of the Confederacy first-hand.

Avalon was, almost everyone in the Confederacy agreed, a beautiful planet.  The three continents formed a belt around the equator; ocean currents kept the climate mild.  The terrain consisted of rolling hills leading to low mountains, densely wooded and gentle. The Earth-sized world’s flora was verdant and riotous with flowers, the fauna small, colorful, and inoffensive.  Easton, the continent hosting the capital city Camellia, was the largest of the three landmasses, an emerald jewel surrounded by white sand beaches and warm ocean waters.

Captain Barrett was finding it hard to pay attention to the prospective client.  Outside of the small café, wealthy tourists walked past, enjoying a mild afternoon.  The locally blended tea she was drinking was making her feel a trifle lightheaded.  She shook her head and forced herself to concentrate.

“So,” the Tarbosian entrepreneur Hudson Amole was just concluding, “All I need is transport for me, my scouting party, and three containers of equipment.  We propose to examine three systems I have examined with long-range probes.  I already have three heavy freighters arranged to bring in colonists and equipment once we have located the right planet.”

Amole was not what the privateer captain had expected.  She knew Hudson Amole only by reputation.  Her research, conducted after Amole had contacted her by hyperphone, told her only that the man had made a vast fortune speculating in property development on three new colonies.  He had trebled that fortune developing several mining claims.  She had expected a hard, competent executive type.  Instead, Hudson Amole came across as a used-skimmer salesman, perhaps a game-vid host. 

He was a small man, pale-skinned, with black hair combed neatly into a comma on his forehead.  His clothes were expensive, well-tailored, but shiny and ostentatious.  His hands never stopped moving.  He gestured as he spoke, and fiddled restlessly with his teacup when he was silent, which was not often.

Jean didn’t like his looks or his demeanor.  But, she reminded herself, as long as his money’s good, he can look like the bloody Sphinx, for all that it matters.  She sat back in her chair.  Around her, in the coffee house where Amole had arranged to meet her, glittered thousands of crystals; refractive and reflective crystals were Avalon’s chief export, and the main source of income for the beautiful planet – after tourism.  Outside the café’s open door, a balmy wind blew gently, rattling the stiff fronds of a large, vaguely palm-like plant.  A mountain range was visible in the distance.  The air was warm and the gentle breeze carried a faint but pleasing spicy odor that most people found mildly euphoric, a fortunate side effect of some of the major plant forms on Avalon.

“How many passengers are we talking about?” Indira Krishnavarna asked. “We’re not a very big ship.”

“Five,” Amole said. “Myself, my executive assistant, and three scouts.”

“Scouts,” Barrett repeated.

Amole looked at Barrett pointedly, meeting her eyes over the rim of his coffee cup. “Scouts,” he said evenly.

“Will you be transporting weapons?” Barrett asked.

“Obviously,” Amole agreed. “Once we find a planet to our liking, the five of us will have you send a pre-arranged signal Tarbos for our freighters and remain on the new world to wait for them.  Your task will be over at that point.”

“There is the small matter of payment,” Barrett said. “This is a risky business, Mr. Amole.  Uncharted, unmapped worlds can be dangerous.  We don’t know much about what lies outside the Confederacy’s boundaries, and it wasn’t all that long ago that the Grugell Empire handed us a nasty surprise on Forest.”

“Which is why I came to you, Captain,” Amole said. “You have a reputation for being, shall we say, resourceful in tight spots.  I’m confident you can handle anything we encounter, and I expect to pay you enough to make it worth your time.”

Barrett looked at the wealthy Tarbosian closely for a moment, calculating. “Five of you, tour of three planets, outside the Confederacy…  Six million dollars.”

“Four,” Amole offered.

“Five and a half,” Barrett countered.

“Five point two.”

“Half now, half on delivery at your chosen colony planet.”

“One million now, one when we find our chosen planet, the balance when we signal for our freighters.  I have an encoded transfer chip for one million dollars with me now, it’s as good as cash anywhere in the Confederacy.  The rest will be transferred directly from my account on Tarbos, by hyperphone, directly to any account you name.”  He reached into a pocket and tossed a bright green transfer chip onto the table.

Indira Krishnavarna picked up the chip and inserted it into a port in her personal datapad.  She looked over at her Captain and nodded.

Barrett slapped her hand down on the table. “Done.  Mister Amole, you’ve got yourself a ship.”

“I’m so glad we could do business, Captain,” Amole grinned. “I’m looking forward to seeing your ship – the famous Shade Tree!  Perhaps, on the voyage, I could trouble you for some stories of the war?”

“Perhaps,” Barrett agreed.  “One condition I insist on, Mister Amole…”

“Call me Hudson,” the entrepreneur insisted.

“As you wish, Hudson.  My condition:  All weapons remain sealed in the ship’s arms locker until we make planetfall.”

“You don’t trust me, Captain?” Amole managed to look mildly shocked.

“Outside of my crew, I don’t trust anyone,” Barrett replied.  “Part and parcel of being, as you put it, resourceful.”

“Very well,” Amole conceded. “When may we come aboard? Our gear is packed and waiting at the Skyhook.”

“I’ve given overnight leave to most of my crew,” Barrett said.  “We don’t get to see fancy places like Avalon all that often. Come up the Skyhook, Pier Eight, Level D at 1200 tomorrow, we’ll be ready for you.”

Amole stood up.  Behind him, his thin, cadaverous ‘executive assistant” stood as well. “Captain,” Amole said, extending his hand to shake hers, “I will see you in the morning, then.”  He smiled briefly at Indira Krishnavarna and Barrett’s Security Chief, Hector Gomp, who had watched the whole exchange impassively from a stool at the coffee house counter and left.

“I don’t like him, Cap’n,” Gomp observed. “There’s something about his eyes.  Comes off too much like a used-skimmer salesman.”

“Nobody is ever what they seem in this business,” Barrett agreed.  “Besides, you don’t like anybody except your shipmates and the occasional floozy.  That’s why I keep you around.  Don’t worry, Gomp, I’m not interested in his eyes, just his bank account.  And that,” she held up the transfer chip, “we’ve already verified.  This job will keep us eating for a good six months.  Who cares if he’s up to no good?  As long as his money is good, and this says it is.  Come on; let’s get back to the ship.”

“Here we go again,” Indira Krishnavarna muttered as they got up to leave, “walking on the shady side of the street.  So much for honest work.”

“As always, Exec,” Barrett agreed easily.  “As always.”

***

The unmapped planet

Food was needed that morning.  Three of the six creatures had gone quietly into the forest, each carrying a pouch full of rocks pecked round by hours of patient tapping with a pebble.  One carried a long stave, made from a native bamboo-like plant, sharpened to a point, and hardened in fire.

They drifted silently through the forest, their dappled brown and gray coats blending in with the forest where the pale sunlight of the blue-white star struck down through the giant fern-trees.  Ahead somewhere, a snuffling sound betrayed their quarry, a small herd of eight-legged browsing creatures.

The three paused at the edge of a small clearing.  The one carrying the stave stepped forward, moving partly into a beam of sunlight.  He was somewhat larger than the others and gave the appearance of an upright version of an Earthly octopus, with tentacles reduced to six from eight and given a coat of mottled brown and gray fur.  His lower four limbs were thick and flowed forward one after the other as he moved; the upper two were longer, prehensile, one holding the stave, the other wrapping around a tree as the creature leaned forward, extending three eye-stalks each bearing a large, round eye and a protruding sense-organ forward to seek the prey.  At the sides of his ‘head,’ fluttering sacks of translucent membrane covered his book-lungs.  Even though the day was warm, he wore a roughly cured skin over his head, wrapped down and around his body to the point where his lower leg-tentacles began.

The snuffling noise grew louder.

All three creatures reached into their pouches, and extracted round rocks carefully shaped for throwing.

In the clearing, the prey was coming slowly into view, four elongated cephalopod-like creatures with six sturdy leg-tentacles and two slimmer arm-tentacles, which were all engaged in plucking vegetation and feeding it into each creature’s round, jawless mouth.

No signal was given; none was necessary.  The largest of the browsers was the target.  In perfect unison, all three creatures hurled a round rock, striking the browser.  Its companions fled as the animal sunk to the ground with a dull moan.  The creature carrying the stave flowed forward and struck.

The three gathered around the fallen prey for a moment and stood quietly.  After a moment, one of them extracted a small chip of flint from its pouch and quickly, efficiently gutted the fallen animal.  When that was done, two of them wrapped arm tentacles around the fallen browser and lifted it for the trek back to where the others waited.  The others already knew of the kill and would have the cooking pit ready.

***

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