Test of Magnitude: The Torian Reclamation, #1

By Andy Kasch

Revenge is only justice when it can be administered without hatred.

Book One of The Torian Reclamation. Welcome to the Tora star system, home of the spectacular Cardinal-4 space station overlooking Amulen and Banor, twin worlds that share the same orbit. One visit and you'll understand why this station is the pinnacle of Torian achievement and a wonder of the Erobian Sphere.

Unfortunately, your timing isn't great. Many centuries of peace and prosperity are on the verge of collapsing for members of the Erob coalition, as signs of the first interstellar wars loom. The half-breeds tell us it is because we are now forsaking the ancient law, and have thus allowed an evil infection to begin spreading through the galaxy. But those Erob half-breeds have always been a little over-dramatic, haven't they?

Brandon Foss, an unhappily married Virginian in his early thirties, awakes from a strange dream to discover he has been abducted from Earth and kept in cryonic preservation on Amulen for two decades. One other resuscitated human is with him, a knucklehead who almost seems as alien to Brandon as their reptilian captors. A friendship of convenience forms as the two Earthlings soon become unwittingly intertwined in Torian politics and military affairs--at a time, it turns out, when the Torians desperately need just such intertwining.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy Kasch
• Release date: Jan 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781386183112

Book preview

New Year’s Eve 2012, Earth

Brandon hated it when she got like this. All it took was a little alcohol, and suddenly his wife was interested in every other man but him. Usually, he could keep her away from booze—but tonight was New Year’s Eve, and the hotel ballroom was set up to make sure no one ever had an empty glass. Sheri was refilling hers too often. Brandon knew he would have trouble with her tonight from the moment they came downstairs. He did manage to keep her up in the room until after nine, which was a pretty good coup.

Once loose, though, Sheri quickly made up for lost time. She was highly skilled in giving him the slip at parties. Every time Brandon took his eyes off her, even for a moment, she became instantly lost in the crowd. By the time he found her again, all too often it was with her hand on the arm of some guy who seemed surprised when Brandon walked up to claim her. This was getting to be too much work. At least it would soon be midnight. Hopefully, the place would thin out soon thereafter and he could get her back to the room without a lot of resistance.

Sheri was too young when Brandon married her. He knew that now, and had come to the conclusion that you don’t want to be your wife’s first love. Let them get that out of their system first. Otherwise, you end up looking like a fool when they get bored and start looking around at everything the world has to offer a hot, young party girl.

Honey, Brandon said, would you like to go outside and get a little air before midnight?

Sheri looked at him like he had just grown a third eye. Go outside? What the hell for? The party’s in here.

Well, it’s nice outside, and fresh air is good for us, especially when we’ve been drinking. Brandon was being careful with his words, making sure he didn’t refer to her drinking, as he knew all too well how that would make her rebel.

Oh, you want to smoke your cigar, don’t you? she said. I’m sorry, Honey. You go ahead. That’s a good idea. I’ll see you when you get back.

Before he could stop her, Sheri turned sideways and slid through several layers of people. It hurt, but Brandon was starting to get used to it. She was simply uncontrollable. He spotted her again halfway across the room sidling up to a man Brandon dragged her away from earlier. Brandon watched as Sheri grabbed ahold of his arm to whisper something in his ear. The two of them started laughing. Brandon was near his breaking point.

Perhaps the best thing to do was go outside and smoke that cigar after all. He needed a break from the battle. There probably wasn’t much point in it any longer, anyway. Maybe he should just give up and see what sort of a mess she gets herself into. Of course, she would probably get his Corvette in the divorce. That factor alone may justify his continued attempts to keep a tight rein on her.

Brandon pushed his way out of the ballroom into the hotel lobby. He stepped out the front door into the parking lot, and then meandered over to the park adjacent to the hotel. There were a lot of people coming and going, some of them in costume. He almost bumped into Elvis on the walkway leading to the park.

As he lit his cigar, Brandon tried to think of a unique personalized license plate with the word whore in it that he could put on the Corvette after some liberal divorce court judge awarded her his car. It would probably be months before she even noticed it. Some of the names he came up with made him smile. The fresh air did feel good on his face, and his special Cuban Romeo and Julieta that he had been saving tasted wonderful.

Two guys in extremely bizarre costumes passed by, coming from the direction of the hotel going into the park. They were both tall, thin, and covered from head to toe in bright leathery skin. As far as Brandon could tell, it looked like polished silver-colored alligator skin. The eye-holes were barely more than slits, and the bumps for their noses were strangely small. Maybe this was a new variation on those stretchy-bodysuit things you see some snowboarders wear on the ski slopes.

There was something alluring about those bright leather costumes. They were real-looking, and, he had to admit, pretty cool. Brandon casually followed the two alligator men into the park, keeping his distance while puffing away and taking in the nighttime scenery.

The cigar was a slow burner. If Brandon were to stay out here and finish it—which is what he felt like doing—he would miss midnight and Sheri would doubtlessly get into all kinds of trouble. This was so stupid, a man not being able to trust his own wife. He didn’t really want to go back in there. Brandon was enjoying himself now, for the first time all weekend.

He decided to stroll through the park and keep at the cigar. Maybe he could get a better look at those alligator men, who had vanished behind a grove of trees as the walkway veered to the right. Brandon continued in that direction, staying on the well-lit path.

As the walkway turned, the hotel fell out of view behind the trees. There was a pond on the left side, and a wide expanse of field with large patches of tall brush directly ahead. The path followed the shore of the pond. Brandon couldn’t see the alligator men anywhere. Maybe they were off in the bushes smoking dope. He stopped and surveyed the night view of the park, then turned to head back toward the hotel.

Two sets of arms suddenly grabbed him from behind. Before Brandon could shout, an abrasive hand covered his mouth. He struggled, but was lifted off the ground. Another hand was on his left ear, and what felt like a leather finger inserted itself into his ear canal. Brandon kicked and squirmed and let out muffled yells, but quickly became dizzy and started losing energy. In another moment, his body went limp.

He was barely conscious now, and the two men who had grabbed ahold of him were dragging him through the trees like a ragdoll. The last thing Brandon saw before passing out were tiny sparks flying from the cigar ember as his precious Romeo and Julieta rolled down the hill and into the pond.

Midnight came with all the usual fanfare back at the hotel. They played the scene from New York City on the big screen, and everyone counted along as the ball dropped. When the air horns started blowing, Sheri grabbed the man she was with by the neck and engaged him in a long, passionate kiss.

Then the fireworks went off. Ooh’s and ah’s filled the ballroom as the guests gazed out the plate glass window to watch the colorful explosions over the park. Sheri noticed one particularly bright firework that kept rising, seemingly forever, without ever exploding. She sighed and rested her head on the man’s shoulder while tightly grasping his arm with both of hers.

The man looked around nervously and said, Um …where’s your husband?

Sheri didn’t move. She just kept looking up at the night sky.

Far away, I hope.

Twenty Years Later, Tora Star System

Chapter One

The view is spectacular. We haven’t seen anything like it.

Glad you are enjoying it, Ambassador. In truth, Mip7 wasn’t glad about anything. He didn’t especially like the Azaarian ambassador, wasn’t thrilled about him being here, didn’t trust him, and he certainly wasn’t happy he liked the view. Everyone who ever came to the Cardinal-4 Space Station was always astounded by the view. They all reacted the same way, and it’s about all you ever heard visitors talk about. The residents who handled visitor relations were understandably less than enthusiastic about it.

No, the ambassador continued, there is nothing else like this in our region of the galaxy. But then, twin worlds sharing the same orbit are rare.

We know of three other star systems like ours, Mip7 said, and one of them actually has three planets in the same orbit.

You mean, with inhabitable worlds? Hydrosphere planets?

Yes, Ambassador—although, only one of those systems currently has a native population of intelligent life. At one time, we had actually begun to colonize one of the others, but respiratory implants were needed because of the thin atmosphere. There is a short video presentation on shared orbit star systems in the amphitheater on Forward Visitor Deck 57. If you would like to see it, I can walk you there.

Yes, I’d like that.

Very well then, come with me.

As they walked the corridors of the famous and fabulous Visitor Deck 60 alongside vivid works of art collected from dozens of distant worlds, the long-robed, thin-whiskered, white-haired Azaarian ambassador began rattling off questions—the kind that always made Mip7 nervous.

How are the defenses on this station coordinated?

It’s all done by fighter craft. There are no weapons mounted on the station itself. Mip7 knew that wasn’t exactly true.

How many fighter craft are kept in the station hangars?

Fifty or Sixty. The bottom three decks are all military.

The ambassador nodded. It seemed to Mip7 that he might be doing mental calculations.

Of course, the main fleet can get here quickly from the ground bases in the case of an emergency, Mip7 added.

Yes, yes, of course, the ambassador said. Are they evenly deployed, then, across both of your worlds?

Essentially, yes. Another lie. Mip7 knew all too well the main fleet was stationed almost entirely on Amulen. He also knew his instructions were to give the ambassador honest answers to anything he wanted to know. There had never been an interstellar war, and the Torian Military didn’t think an invasion was even plausible. The government was more concerned about being gracious hosts and showing off Cardinal-4 to any advanced race who initiated contact with them. Mip7 could get into real trouble as a consequence of being less than honest with the Azaarian ambassador, but he couldn’t help but follow his instincts. Still, he was careful not to give any false information he couldn’t claim ignorance on if questioned about it later.

The two of them stepped into the lift and headed down to deck 57.

The size of this station is perhaps the most impressive construction feat we have come across, the ambassador said. We can even see it as an object on our scopes back home.

Yes, Mip7 said, it is the only space station in this section of the galaxy that can be seen on long range scopes, as far as we know—unless, of course, the Erobs have something like it.

The ambassador’s expression turned into one of concern. They arrived on deck 57 and began walking down the hallway.

You have communication with Erob? the ambassador asked.

No. We have the half-breeds among us, who teach the law in our universities. As I’m sure you do.

The ambassador shook his head. No. We exiled our half-breeds to Milura several generations ago.

Mip7 was now more alarmed than ever. You have no half-breeds? Who teaches Erob law on Azaar?

It is only taught in anthropology classes presently. All our current laws have evolved from our own cultural developments and have superseded the old Erob law, which is no longer taken seriously on Azaar. There are some political movements within our younger generation that are attempting to inspire a new interest in it, and wanting to bring about a return of the exiles, but they are a minority. Their efforts are mostly regarded as the misdirected passions of idealistic youth.

Mip7 had no response. The very thought of an advanced race in the Erobian Sphere rebelling against Erob law, as ancient as that law may now be, was shocking.

Tell me, the ambassador said, have any recent prophets arisen among your half-breeds?

No. Not for hundreds of years now, before we started work on this station. The last recorded prophecy was of a ‘destructive imbalance’ of some kind that would begin in space in the distant future.

The ambassador appeared to relax again. I see. How many other operational space stations now orbit Tora?

There are maybe a dozen small military stations here, but that’s all. Nothing else of any size, and no others with civilian residences. We put everything into this project, and the maintenance on it alone employs over seven percent of the Torian population.

I can see why, the ambassador said.

They came to the amphitheater and went inside. The ambassador, being rather large, sat in a big, plush-red seat in front of the main screen. Mip7 queued up the proper video and left him there to go check on their meal arrangements.

* * *

Mip7 was tired. He just spent an exhausting ten hours entertaining a suspiciously inquisitive representative from a planet of lawless rebels, and he needed some down time. It was, in fact, required that he should now have a balancing rest period—but Governor Stugin2, the governor of Cardinal-4, had just summoned him. Mip7 was in no condition to see the governor. He had only even met him twice before. It must be something important, probably about the ambassador’s visit. Mip7 regretted ever volunteering for a foreign relations position.

Hopefully, the governor just wanted a briefing and hadn’t somehow found out about the false information Mip7 had given the ambassador earlier today. Perhaps the newly-formed Azaarian relationship was more important to the government than Mip7 realized. Whatever the case, he decided he needed a drink first.

Mip7 poured himself a tall tube of Redflower-20, the strongest libation allowed on the space station. It was also the strongest libation allowed by Erob law, but down on Torian soil that particular law was beginning to become somewhat obsolete, as stronger drinks were now purveyed in many lounges. You still couldn’t purchase anything stronger than Redflower-20 to take home, though.

Mip7 stood in his small residential compartment and looked at his drink. He wondered if the Tora worlds would become like Azaar in the near future, completely forsaking long-established galactic law simply because of a lack of enforcement. The availability of stronger recreational drinks than Erob law provided for was perhaps evidence their culture had begun to move in the same direction.

He consumed the contents of the tube in one swallow. A stinging bitterness exploded in his mouth, before yielding to the familiar smooth, euphoric semi-sweet aftertaste. That Redflower-20 was very special liquid indeed. He made an entry on his lightpad to request another bottle when the next supply order was pulsed.

Feeling better, Mip7 left his compartment. The governor’s manor was on the 77th deck, which was the uppermost inhabited deck and located at the base of the observation tower in the middle of the station. The floors above that were strictly for maintenance and moving traffic to and from the tower levels. Everything above the 63rd deck was government-access only, except for the public lifts to the upper spaceport and observation tower. Mip7’s compartment was on deck 64, which housed most of the locals assigned to low-level government posts. His transmitter implants allowed him free access to the lower government levels, but to get to deck 77, he had to pass through security clearance and wait in a lobby to be announced. After waiting there a short period, he began to wonder if the summons was a mistake.

Mip7, you are clear to pass, the station guard said. The governor is expecting you. Please use the center lift.

Mip7 was partly relieved, but still a little nervous. Not many Cardinal-4 residents had ever been in the center lift on the top decks. That was for the governor and his guests. It led directly to the governor’s manor.

Mip7 walked back to the lift. The door opened and he stepped inside. The door closed behind him and the lift began moving, ever-so-gently. It was much wider than the standard lifts, and adorned with scarlet wall covering and exotic artwork. There were no hand controls or buttons. The governor’s lift operated purely on the information transmitted from your implants, or from special wristbands important guests were issued. If you were not supposed to be there, that lift wouldn’t take you anywhere.

The door opened again on deck 77. The lighting was bright and there were large plants growing in the reception area, surrounded by a gem garden which included a pool and fountain. Expensive chairs of different types and sizes were positioned between the gem garden and the front desk, where a guard was stationed. Mip7 figured he would now have to wait in this upper lobby some more, but the guard stood up and immediately came around to greet him.

Mip7, follow me please.

He was led down a corridor to a doorway where another guard was waiting, who also greeted him and then escorted them both into a large office. The governor was sitting behind a neatly-arranged desk made of spacecraft-grade sentium metal. Behind him was an impressive moriglass window where the stars provided a backdrop for the moored Azaarian transport ship. The governor looked up and nodded to the guards, who then turned and left.

Sit down, Mip7.

Mip7 took a seat. The governor was studying something on his lightpad, and kept looking over to the video screen on one of the side walls which displayed names and figures Mip7 didn’t recognize.

I understand you spent a long day with the Azaarian ambassador, and that he had many questions about the architecture of Cardinal-4.

Extat. He must have found out about the lies.

Yes, sir. That’s true. Is something wrong?

I met with the ambassador just after you two parted. The governor kept studying his lightpad as he talked. His speech was calm and steady, as if he were concentrating more on what he was reading than what he was saying. That could be a good sign.

The governor continued. He was very surprised to learn about, what he termed, the very light defenses we maintain here.

Extat. Here it comes.

You didn’t tell him about the REEP system installation, did you? the governor asked.

Mip7 hesitated before answering. No, I don’t believe I did.

Did he ask you about stationary defenses?

No. That much was true.

Mip7, the governor looked up at him now, did you say something to him to make him believe there were no stationary defense weapons mounted here?

A long, uncomfortable silence ensued. Mip7 tried not to blink. The governor was studying him, showing no emotion whatsoever. But then, Continent-2 Amulites were known for that, which is probably why they usually dominated the Torian elections. Governor Stugin2 had the dull gray complexion typical of C2 Amulites. All practicing Amulen politicians had that dull-gray look, as once they moved to the central government buildings on Continent-2, their skin soon took on that shade.

Mip7 looked back at his own leathery skin, the bright bronze color that so easily identified him as a C4 Banorian. He had been working on this station for over a year now, and the shine to his skin had only dimmed slightly, as far as he could tell, which still made him the target of rookie jokes and occasional silly hazing rituals. It would be a shame if he lost his assignment over this matter before his skin even had the chance to dull.

If they were going to terminate him, though, that could easily had been done through his immediate supervisor, or even via a lightpad message—unless the transgression was so serious the governor himself wanted to scold him for it first. Were they going to enforce the ‘honesty in foreign relations’ policy to such extremes?

Earlier in the day, Mip7 figured he could plead ignorance if he were confronted on the matter. Now, however, facing the reality of the consequences, he realized that was a foolish miscalculation. His instincts—the same ones that got him into this mess, unfortunately—told him to keep his mouth shut at the moment. If he waited for the governor to speak again before answering, maybe the governor would graciously offer some kind of a way out of this. Mip7 knew he couldn’t lie to the governor. There was a time when he thought he could lie to Amulites—never his fellow Banorians—but now he understood he could not lie to any fellow Torian. Extat, he didn’t even understand why or how he had lied to the Azaarain ambassador today. That was reckless and uncharacteristic of him.

The governor, mercifully, did speak again first to break the silence.

You don’t want to perjure yourself, I see. That is probably wise.

Sir, I apologize for any improprieties in my work performance today.

It’s not like a Banorian to lie, the governor said. Especially one not involved in politics. Perhaps government work is having a bad effect on you. He began writing on his lightpad.

Mip7 spoke in a less official manner now, in a lower tone of voice, as one speaks to a friend.

How much trouble am I in, sir?

Well, I’m making an entry in your file, and a personal note about you for my own reference.

I’m getting a demerit in my file?

No, a commendation.

Mip7 was taken aback.

Not for lying to a visiting dignitary, the governor said. That will stay between you and me. My commendation in your file is for a job well done under special circumstances, and marks all your future government applications with my personal recommendation. In my own journal, I have made a notation that you have displayed good instincts, rare courage, and seem to handle yourself wisely under stress. I have a rather short list of Torians I feel I can really trust as of late, and you just made that list.

I don’t understand, sir.

The governor set down his lightpad. Not everyone in top-level government agrees with the open-book policy in foreign relations. This is one issue the Banorian Chancellor and I happen to concur on, along with several of the continental governors. We are not able to make a public statement, you understand, which would be in opposition to the stance of the High Chancellor and the Amulen Chancellor.  That would be political suicide—and poor public relations, as well. After thousands of years of nurturing a culture that prides itself on truth, we can’t very well explain to Torian society how selective dishonesty suddenly figures to serve us better in government.

Only in foreign relations, of course, Mip7 said, not certain if he had phrased it as a statement or a question. Either way, he felt a great sense of relief.

The governor gave him a solemn look. Of course. Now, let’s talk about why I summoned you.

Mip7 was right back to being confused again. It’s not about the ambassador?

No. Mip7, have you ever had any special relations with any of the Sheen?

He thought for a moment before answering the governor’s odd question.

The usual. At the university, levels 13 and 15, the required courses. Basic education when I was young, for two weeks in level-3, and then the week-long camping trip in level-6.

Nothing more?

I talked to one briefly in a park one day, when I worked at the hydrogen station on Banor before coming to Cardinal-4.

What did you talk about?

Mostly the landscaping and clouds, I think. I remember he did start to talk a little about public transportation projects, but then I had to get back to work.

Did you give him your name?

I don’t recall. I doubt it. There was no reason to.

All right, the governor said. Well, I don’t know why, but a Sheen is arriving here tomorrow and has requested a meeting with you, and he requested you by name.

Why would a Sheen come here? What would he want with me? I don’t even know any Sheen.

I don’t know, but this is some kind of special Sheen, because he managed to get successive meetings with higher and higher government officials, and the last one was with Chancellor Renal5, who arranged this meeting personally.

Extat. Just when Mip7 thought he was off the hook and things were going well with the governor. The Amulen Chancellor himself was sending a Sheen out to Cardinal-4 to meet with him? What could this be about? High government officials don’t get involved in paltry matters.

Mip7 fidgeted in his seat. You think this Sheen is a seer or something, and knows about what happened with the ambassador today?

I don’t know, the governor replied. I hope not. Don’t worry—I’m on your side in that matter. Just don’t reveal it to anyone else. The Sheen will arrive in about ten hours. Get some sleep and be back in my office at 31:00 sharp.

Yes, sir.

Mip7 left and went back to his compartment. He slept well, but had strange dreams. Images of a mysterious Sheen kept appearing in his head.

* * *

Mip7 walked into the governor’s office the next day to find he was the last to arrive. The Sheen was wearing a traditional gray cloak with the hood over his head. He and the governor were both standing with their backs to Mip7 and looking out the window, watching a small landing craft approach the moored Azaarian transport ship. The ambassador was leaving.

Mip7 stood behind them and watched as well, not sure if his presence was known. The design of the Azaarian transport ship was not terribly unique, as all known interstellar transport vehicles were at least somewhat similar in appearance out of technological necessity. It was, however, quite large compared to Torian transport ships. The distortion field generator, a torus-shaped outer ring commonly referred to as ‘the dag,’ was proportionally larger to the spherical ship cabin than on current Torian models as well, which probably resulted in faster travel times.

One end of the cabin sphere opened and received the landing craft. Mip7 remained standing, silently, in the front portion of the governor’s office as the three of them watched the hangar doors close again. They waited as the Azaarian ship repositioned itself. A short time passed and then the dag began to glow. In another instant, the ship simply vanished from sight, as if it were never there.

Mip7 decided to make his presence known.

I never tire of watching a transport ship distort away, he said. The governor and the Sheen turned around.

Mip7, the governor said, this is Arkan9 of the C3 Sheen colony on Banor.

Mip7 bowed and Arkan9 returned the greeting. Mip7 could not yet make out any of his facial features, as it took time for one’s eyes to adjust to the radiant light emitted from a Sheen. He did see Arkan9’s long silvery fingers folded together in a hand clasp outside his cloak, but that was all the detail he could distinguish at the moment.

Arkan9 spoke. Technically, the ship didn’t move at all. It just pushed us away from it. And even now, it is pushing great expanses of spatial fabric behind it.

Mip7 shook his head and said, Forgive me, but I have never been able to understand how a small ship can displace the universe, moving it around to its every whim.

Neither have I, the governor said. Shall we all sit down?

They all sat.

It is not possible for us to fully grasp such things, Arkan9 said, as only the Erob truly understand the properties of the physical dimension we exist in. But it is quite enjoyable to marvel over them.

Science was not my strong subject in education, Mip7 said.

No, Arkan9 said, you were always better in arts and social skills, weren’t you?

Mip7 looked into the glowing hood of Arkan9, which was beginning to fade some to his eyes now.

Do I know you?

We have not previously met, no. I have met Mip6 of C4 Banor, however.

Mip7 remembered now how intuitive the Sheen could be.  I see. I have never met my direct ancestors.

Not many native Torians have, Arkan9 said. Yet, there is something you find familiar about me, isn’t there?

It was true, but Mip7 was now uncomfortable and chose not to answer.

Shall we start? the governor said.

Arkan9 and Mip7 both nodded. The governor picked up his lightpad and began reading.

Mip7, you were summoned to this meeting by the Chancellor of Amulen. You are Mip7, born in the Torian year 5295, approximately 31.2 years ago. You were raised in parental colony Tarrock on Continent-4 of Banor. At the age of 16, you were transferred to Odo University on Continent-3 of Amulen, where you spent six years in higher education. Upon completion of Education-2 you took a job at Odo University as an admissions clerk, where you worked for two years before transferring to Hydrogen Station-19 on Continent-4 of Banor. You were there five years before applying for a food supply position on Cardinal-4, where you were accepted. You were a food supply technician one year before being accepted to a foreign relations position here. That was approximately 1.2 years ago. Is this all correct?

Yes, sir.

The governor turned to the Sheen. Arkan9, you may begin.

There is going to be interstellar war, Arkan9 said.

Mip7 and the governor both cocked their heads in response to his abrupt, incredulous statement.

Yes, you jerk your heads as a fowl does, Arkan9 continued, and take me for a babbling fool, as did every government official I spoke to. But each of them eventually succumbed to my warning, and referred me to a higher office, until now I have reached my final destination.

Well, it doesn’t make any sense, the governor said. "There