Omorti's Children: Book Two

By David Short

Second book in the Omorti trilogy. Earth’s only off-world colony is rebuilding after an attack that nearly destroyed it. Newlyweds, Kat and Terry O’Neal have created a retreat for themselves far enough from the colony that their telepathic abilities will not cause paranoia among the “deaf” colonists, but it is not to last. Relatives of the cat-like alien Terry killed defending the colony, have returned looking for vengeance. In the meantime, Terry is drawn into the politics of the Bak, a race he suspects of seeding Earth with humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781329110274

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Omorti's Children: Book Two

Omorti’s Children

Book 2 in the Omorti series

A Novel

By

David Lee Short

Copyright © 2012 David Lee Short

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-329-11027-4

This is a work of fiction.  Any reference to actual people, places or events are used in a fictionalized setting.  Other names, places, characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, places or events is purely coincidental. 

Part 1

Chapter 1

Terry O’Neal awoke with a start.  At first, he couldn’t tell what had wakened him.  Slowly, he identified the complex contrabass rumbling at the lower limit of his hearing.  He opened one eye far enough to see his bride of six months was sleeping soundly, then arose softly, making as little sound as possible.  He tried his best to control the mixture of irritation and excitement storming in his breast.  One year! He thought, I told him one year.  He slipped into a gray jumpsuit, and then picked up a small Andorran sidearm on his way to the door. 

Outside, a small ship, a captain’s gig, descended slowly through the gray morning mist, searching for a safe landing spot.  Finding one would depend on the pilot’s definition of safe.

Terry and his bride, Kathryn, had erected the tiny house, an 800-year-old prefabricated dome of Andorran manufacture, on the forested brink of a low cliff overlooking the sea.  A landing pad set next to the house, but his own little runabout sat there.  The nearest natural meadow was slightly less than 5 kilometers inland, and lacked any sort of road connecting it to the house.  It was a honeymoon retreat; they had not made provision for uninvited guests.

The narrow beach below might possibly be wide enough if one had the skill to land next to a rocky sea cliff without damaging the craft.  After a moment of hovering, the gig dropped smoothly to the lip of the cliff, turned to face the sea, and extended a gangplank-like landing ramp from its stern onto the soft moss of the forest floor.  The ship’s pilot system held the gig motionless while a solitary individual walked down the ramp.

Captain Ethâm Gannâb had changed.  Terry remembered him dressed in his Trilateral Alliance service uniform.  Now a civilian, and co-president of Eden Mining, he was dressed well, but casually.  A slight limp was the only reminder of the violent events surrounding the formation of that young Caldian corporation—the same events that had cost Terry first his father, and then his mother.  The large dark red splotches typical of his race had regained their depth of color.

I’m almost sure I said we could talk about it in a year, not before, Terry said in a level tone.  His Caldian was flawless, if slightly accented.

I believe your last words were, ‘Look us up when you get back.’ but you have jumped to conclusions.  The offer, of course, is still open, but that is not why I have interrupted your sacred year.

Kat’s asleep.

"Then, perhaps you would be more comfortable onboard.  You will find everything about the Eden better than Conquest in every respect—even this little gig."

No cats?

Someday you must show me what you did to my late security specialist’s murderous relatives.  Have a cold ale?  Caldian ale is widely prized.

Terry shrugged, and stepped onto the ramp.  He slid the little cylindrical sidearm into a pocket.  "Eden is your ship, I gather?"

On her shakedown voyage.  It’s nice to have a ship where everything works, and the Systems speak Caldian by preference.

How’s Çêt Tâcher?  Terry asked, referring to the other co-president of Eden Mining.

He is well.  We do not see each other often.  If I am here, he is on Caldicot.  Such is business.

The interior of the gig was sumptuous compared to the one Trilateral Alliance ship Terry had known.  It had a new smell of glues and upholstery that seemed unchanged even on alien worlds.  The Earth ship, Orion, which had brought him here, seemed downright primitive by comparison.  The floor was smooth, but soft underfoot.  It was small—the main compartment served as both bridge and salon.

Ethâm led to a ring of five large comfortable chairs covered in a soft smooth substance that could have been leather, or not.  He pressed a spot on the near wall, and a compartment opened.  Cold fog curled out.  He returned with two silvery pressure containers, which he deftly opened.

It was not the fermented malt beverage Terry vaguely remembered from stolen sips—he was 14 when they left Earth—but it was good.  He shortly realized it was also potent.  He mentally set for himself a limit of one of these.

Terry pressed comfortably into the chair and looked through the bridge area to the view screen covering the entire forward bulkhead.  The image was perfect, as though the end of the craft was open.  The sea rolled to the horizon, rippling gently in the early-morning light.  I assume you will get around to telling me why you’ve come.

I assumed you had read my mind by now.

Not polite.

You are not going to try to tell me you never do it.

Of course not; there are times when it’s necessary.  Satisfying vulgar curiosity doesn’t rise to that level.  He took another sip.

Your own Captain Condon asked me to come.  As you predicted, exposure to the indigenous nations—I believe you called them ‘gumdrops’—has developed the telepathic abilities of several others in the colony.  The colonists are dealing with it better than they did with you and your mother, but it is still a strain.

All four of them?

Five, actually.

Terry raised an eyebrow.  Dr. Horowitz had only identified four others with the genetic anomaly that allowed full communication with the circles—the villages of short furry creatures Terry had, indeed, dubbed gumdrops because of their shape.

And Condon would like me to do what?  Once that particular tube of toothpaste is squeezed, there’s no putting it back.

Toothpaste? the Caldian asked.

Terry shrugged.  Pick your own substance.  You understand the analogy well enough.  Once they can hear, they can hear.

With your mother gone, the five of them would feel more comfortable here.  The colonists generally agree, close friends notwithstanding.

Here?  Look around.  We have one tiny Andorran shelter, and Kat would resent house guests even if we had room.

If you agree, Eden Mining will build a permanent village here or any other place you desire.

A sly grin crossed Terry’s face as he quoted one of Ethâm’s favorite sayings, Where’s the profit in that?

The contract you wrote makes it almost universally profitable to keep you happy—you, the sentient inhabitants of the planet.

Terry drained his ale.  A second colony, he mused aloud.  He studied the tiny waves as he let the idea sink in.  He remembered the deep distrust and outright animosity he, and later his mother, had experienced.  When he and Kat had married, and left the colony after his mother’s death, the problem was swept under the proverbial rug.  Apparently, it left a visible lump.  It’s probably time to wake Kat.

Kat’s already awake.  Her thoughts in his mind had become the norm rather than a novelty.

Did you follow that?

Yes.  Why don’t I come down there and join you?

Sounds like a plan.  She’s coming here, he announced to his host.

Ethâm rose to get another ale.

We find alcohol dangerous for pregnant women.

Ethâm’s head snapped around.  After a short beat, he said, Congratulations.

A welcome complication to our lives.  If we have five new people it will become even more of a complication.

Kathryn had pulled on an issue orange jumpsuit, and run a comb through her short red hair.  The days of her belly fitting into the jumpsuit were clearly numbered.  At seven months, she had begun to waddle, and much of her famous bounce was gone, if none of her spectacular size.

She eased her abdomen into a chair beside Terry and curled her bare feet under her.  Who was the fifth?

I have a list of the five names, but I have no way of knowing who the original four were.  Ethâm withdrew one of the thin plastic sheets the Trilateral Alliance used for written communication.  The names are, Andrea Lindsay, Kenneth and Moira McGregor, Dakota Whitefeather, and Aaron Pedersen.

I don’t think I know Andrea Lindsay, she said.  The McGregor twins, Dakota and Aaron were the four we knew about.  To Terry she said, Do you know her?

"Ag specialist.  Tall, big boned, sandy hair braided down her back.  Sort of looks like a farmer."

Ah, her.  Now I remember.  Came from Minnesota, didn’t she?

Terry shrugged, If she wasn’t on my deck, or around the physics lab I wouldn’t have noticed.

You noticed me, she teased.

You were…spectacular.  He found himself blushing.  And we met in the physics lab.  Anyway, what about this proposal?

You were the one who wanted to leave.  If you remember, I was against it.  I’ve had time to think it through, and I’ve talked it over with Odanta both times she examined me.  I believe I was wrong.  There will always be a level of distrust, if not fear, with those who can’t hear as we do.  Ethâm, your profits are secure here, please be frank.  How do we make you feel?

The question itself makes me most uncomfortable, he answered slowly.  I remember being absolutely dumfounded and pretty much terrified of Terry.  As I began to grasp what he could do, it got worse.  As an ally, he is an asset beyond value.  If he were my enemy, I would seek his death.  I’m not Bak, but even Caldians know how to eliminate what they cannot fight.

Terry considered this convoluted semi-answer for a long time.  It was Ethâm’s best attempt at open honesty.  He had little experience in that area.

At last, he turned back to Kat.  So, you’d be fine with five extra people?

It’s not my first choice, but there are some things more important than my first choice.  This is one of them.

Ethâm stood to his feet.  In that case, I have presents fit for the occasion.  He touched the wall somewhat to the left of his source of ale.  A narrow, full-height door opened where no apparent opening had been.  He withdrew two wooden boxes, one long and thin and the other flat and square.  He placed them both on a low, free form table at the center of the circle of chairs.

This will be the first step toward integrating your race into Eden.  While you did not originate here, you have adapted.  You speak the language.  You understand the culture.  It is appropriate for you to have things to show that melding.

He opened the long box and removed a staff.  Little else would describe it.  He handed it to Terry.

It was wooden, almost black with lighter streaks running its length.  It was as tall as Terry’s head, and no more than 20 millimeters in diameter with a surprisingly solid feel to it.  At the point where Terry’s hand would naturally fall, a silvery metallic section increased the diameter to about 30.  It was the head of the staff, however, that was startling.  A natural tranthium crystal the size of a hen’s egg nestled in the natural roots of the original sapling which formed the staff.  It was stunningly beautiful.  Terry found himself speechless.  At last, he gasped, It must be priceless!

Any Caldian schoolchild will tell you everything has a price.  Think of it as the first fruits of our joint mining operation.  Grasp the staff on the metallic section, and stand perfectly still.

Terry did as he was told. 

After a few seconds, a male voice said, Please state your full name.  It spoke flawless English.

Terry’s eyebrows shot up, but he said evenly, Terrance Eugene O’Neal, Jr.

Thank you, encoding is complete.  How do you intend to address me?

Who are you?

I am the voice output of your personal System.

System?  As in Pilot or Navigation?

An analogy could be drawn.

A small grin spread across Terry’s face.  Then you are my Chief of Staff.  I will address you as Chief, if that meets with your approval.  Are you contained within the staff?

Chief is acceptable.  Yes, I reside within the metallic section of the staff.

Terry turned to Ethâm.  What can it do?

Chief of Staff is a pun, is it not?  A form of humor I am barely able to recognize, and do not pretend to understand.  Chief is best qualified to teach you about himself.

Terry turned serious, Ethâm, this is too much.

It is no more than appropriate for the new staff bearer of this colony.  He turned, picked up the other box and handed it to Kat.  It contained a necklace, a heavy chain supporting the twin of the staff’s tranthium crystal.

Kat sat quietly and cried.

****

Kat was on a long walk in the forest—her way of dealing with what she considered a stressful and inevitable turn of events.  The trees were enormous, the ground soft and green.  She was ready for a child, but the thought of having a gaggle of adults around her once again was disturbing.  She had grown to appreciate solitude.  With these adults, solitude would be out of the question.  The gumdrops didn’t even understand the concept, and died if isolated for long.

Ethâm Gannâb had been gone three days.  With any luck, he had assembled the advisers Terry had requested, and should be returning soon.

****

Terry sat with his legs dangling over the cliff’s edge.  His hands turned the new staff this way and that.  Except for the staff carried by the head of Omorti’s circle, with its goose-egg sized sapphire, he arguably held the most valuable manufactured object on the planet the humans chose to call Eden.  Despite Ethâm’s modesty, the crystal alone would have bought the ship that delivered it.  Terry had no way of estimating what a self-contained miniature bioinformatic system might be worth.  Molecular machinery linking biology, computer science, mathematics, chemistry, physics, medicine and engineering was still a theory on the earth he had left.  The pilot system on his little runabout was amazing, and it was at least 800 years old.  This, obviously, was new.

Chief, Terry said a little tenuously.

Ready.  The voice was well modulated—not the least mechanical sounding.

Tell me about yourself.

What would you like to know?

For starters, who taught you to speak English?

Captain Roy Condon personally supplied the synapse patterns for the English language routine.

Terry’s eyebrows shot up.  Truly?  I would have never guessed.  I suppose I should ease off on the old man.

I’m told Captain Condon offended you at one time.

You do have a flair for understatement.  What else can you do?

I speak most known languages.  I carry the history and customs of the Trilateral Alliance and its trading partners.  It is my chief function to advise you on these matters.

My original staff was an Andorran field piece.  Nasty weapon.  It’s a shame you’re not armed.

I have a low-power, particle beam.  It is intended to be a cutting tool.  It would, however, be lethal to most living creatures.

I don’t suppose you’re telepathic.

I am not.

Pity.  What do you know of the stuff the Andorrans left behind?

Are you referring to the location the indigenous people call the Rock of the Sun, or sometimes the Stem of the World?

Yes.  Did the Andorrans leave stuff anywhere else?

There are two other locations listed in the records of the time.  It has been eight centuries; they may, or may not have survived.

Can you talk to the Pilot system on my ship?

Of course.  For a machine, the tone sounded a trifle condescending.

Terry ignored the tone.  Please show the locations to Pilot.  I expect the village planning commission any time now.  After that, I’d like to see those locations.  I think Kat will want to see them as well.

The data have been transferred.  Ethâm Gannâb’s gig is less than one minute out.

I believe you’re going to be useful.

That was what my designers had in mind.

Chapter 2

The forest canopy averaged a hundred meters above the little dome shelter.  Its dominant species, a great, branching tree with thick, succulent leaves shaded out most undergrowth.  The forest floor was a mossy park.  The ad hoc village planning commission stood under the trees, and plotted changes.

Aarian, the chief, or staff bearer, of the island circle of gumdrops was there with Odanta, his healer.  Captain Condon had come himself, as much to smooth relations between himself and Terry as to give advice on design.  He’d brought Alan Witherspoon to advise on security issues.  Andar, son of Jordan, represented the circles in the Great Rift.  A young Andorran named Hyo Ree was there to act as engineer and architect.  The seven human telepaths rounded out the commission.

Ken and Moira McGregor had the ruddy complexion and sturdy build of their Highland ancestors.  Classified as settlers, meaning breeding stock, they had been just old enough to assure the project scientists of their fertility when Orion left Earth.  Aging retardation had prevented their arriving as senior citizens, but physically they were early thirty-something.  Emotionally, they were still 15. 

Dakota Whitefeather had left the Itazipco band of the Cheyenne River Lakota Nation and the rolling grass hills of the reservation and enrolled in the University of North Dakota at Grand Forks at age 16.  She shocked the university by completing her MS in nursing in three years.  She was already accepted in the space colony program by the time the degree was awarded.  She was petite; she thought of herself as short.  Typical black hair, cut ungracefully short, framed an angular face.  She had assisted Dr. Horowitz ably through the dark days following the disastrous storm unleashed by Ethâm’s late security specialist.  Her time with Odanta had awakened her abilities.

Aaron Pedersen, also classified as a settler, was born in the San Joaquin Valley.  His father owned 8000 acres of Roma tomatoes, and his playmates all spoke Spanish by preference.  Besides English and Spanish, he also spoke passable Yiddish from his mother’s side.  His father’s Norwegian genes had dominated; he was blond, blue eyed, and thick muscled.

****

Aarian was saying, What will be your source of food and water?  He leaned on his staff with its carved shell top.  You will not want to bring in such things much longer.  The words were as clear in the minds of the telepaths as any spoken language, and had the added advantage of overlaid pictures when those helped clarify things.

Terry answered, Water shouldn’t be a problem.  We’ve been drawing from a spring just a few meters over that way.  Food is another issue.  Andrea’s the agricultural specialist here.  He nodded at the tall woman standing a little apart from the rest.  She wants at least five hectares of arable land.  We have already agreed that we’re not going to start clearing forest, so that leaves us with a little problem.  He also leaned on a staff—the new one Ethâm had presented him.  His other hand rested lightly on the Andorran, Hyo Ree so he could follow the silent parts of the conversation.  There’s a natural meadow of about twenty-five hectares roughly 5 kilometers inland, but no road.  I’d be open to suggestions.

Ree said, I don’t know your measurement system.

A sly smile crossed Terry’s face.  Chief, would you make a one-meter mark on the grass?  Almost instantly, a bluish-white beam flashed out from the top edge of the metallic section of the staff.  Unlike the thunderous weapons Terry was used to, this one only produced a slight hiss.  The sharp, lightning-storm smell of ozone filled the air.  A one-meter line smoked in the trampled moss.  This is a meter; our basic unit of measurement.  A kilometer is a thousand of these.  A hectare is an area, one hundred of these on a side.

A long pace, Ree observed.  Everything is based on that?

All linear and area measurements.

Ree removed a small device from his pocket and pointed it at the mark in the grass.  After a moment, the device beeped.  He studied a readout on the device.  I can work with that.  He walked away a few paces, and then returned to Terry’s touch.  The distance is not too great.  I can build you a working farm five…kilometers from here, and connect it to this village.  The design of the village will, in part, dictate how I make the connection.  Perhaps we should take up that issue next.

Terry stifled a snicker.  We have been discussing it.  I think we have a general design; engineering may force a few changes.  I’ve prepared a display if you all will step onboard the gig.

The view screen made the forward bulkhead seem to disappear.  A view of the forest filled it now—never mind that the ship still faced the sea.  All signs of the little dome were erased.  The morning mist lay thick among the trees.

With perhaps a little more drama than was truly called for, the mist began to coalesce into shapes.  The pace of their formation accelerated until, almost magically, a village snapped into focus.

Terry could feel the approval of the gumdrops.  The form of the village was two concentric circles of buildings whose shape was clearly suggestive of the giant mushrooms Andar’s people grew for shelter.  In the center, a low dome fully 50 meters across seemed to glow from within.  The dome had no obvious entrance, but Aarian and Odanta quickly identified a small structure set between the inner ring of mushroom caps and the dome.  This was the pattern for the island dweller’s underground dwellings.  The small structure simply kept the rain away from the top of a long winding ramp.  Lush moss covered the ground.

Terry stood beside the screen, pointing like a lecturer.  The domes are little more than skylights and ventilation.  The village is underground.  This above ground area is designated as a park.

The viewpoint began to drop, passing smoothly through the mossy plain.  An expanse of public areas and private quarters rolled by.  A bower of blue-flowering vines dominated the central dome.  Tunnels let away to service and storage areas.

The display slowly dissolved to its true picture, a view of the sea.

Well, that’s ambitious.  Ree sat on one of the large seats.  Why build underground?

Terry shrugged, Partly because the ancient Andorran records indicate rare, but truly vicious storms along this coast.  One of your challenges will be avoiding damage to the massive root systems of these trees.  And partly, of course, because it does honor to both the rift people and the island people.  A true cave seemed impossible here, and the cave people prefer their isolation.

Andar positively oozed approval.  The island gumdrops managed to control their personal feelings a little better.

Ree continued, The design is impractical as you have drawn it—the formers would surely kill the trees.  If you will allow me, I think I can produce something that will resemble this plan, and still be manufactureable.  He turned to Andrea.  Is underground access to the farm site acceptable?

The tall woman shrugged.  Seems way harder than a road, but you’re the engineer.  I’m just a dirt farmer.

A road would bend around every tree.  It would be slow, and twice as long.  You wouldn’t like it.

It would be prettier, but I suppose you’re right.

The discussion went on another hour.  Each one had a pet section to present, argue for and compromise over.  Eventually, they reached, if not consensus, at least an agreeable tension between the builders and the prospective residents.

Kat broke out food and drink, and the conversations shifted to other things.

Terry sat on the mossy root of one of the huge trees.  He accepted a cold ale from Ethâm, who picked a spot on an adjacent root next to where Aarian had found a comfortable niche in which to lean.  An onshore breeze carried the scent of salt.

Aarian automatically reached out and wrapped a tendril-like finger around Ethâm’s wrist to include him in the conversation.

…want to thank you again for Odanta’s help with Kat.

Ethâm suppressed a moment of irritation.  He knew he would not be able to hear the telepathic conversation any other way.  The gumdrops did speak aloud on formal occasions, but he would not have understood those odd screeches either.  This way worked, even if he felt more than a little patronized by it.

Your healer is not convinced Odanta understands what is necessary.

Worry is part of Dr. Horowitz’s ancestry.  In any case, it’s not his decision.  That sort of thing is part of why we live here, and not at Mountainside.

Ethâm injected himself into the conversation.  Have you had any time to get acquainted with the staff?  Are you still calling it Chief?

Yes, and yes.  By the way, he says there are, or at least were, two more Andorran caches on the planet.  Know anything about them?

The staff has achieved the status of ‘he’, has it?  Be careful, a system is not a person.  No, I’ve not heard that.

Aarian said, I noticed you had a new staff.  I suppose it is best; the other was dangerous.  You should know, however, that a staff is intended to be passed from generation to generation, not traded at its bearer’s whim.  Who will bear the staff when you have crossed the water?

Deferring to the gumdrops dislike of referring directly to death, Terry said, I have no idea.  I’m still young.

Part of bearing the staff is knowing who will bear it after you, and training him.  You have no guarantee of tomorrow’s sunrise.

So far, there are seven of us.  My choices are somewhat limited.

Your choices will always be limited.  You must still choose, or leave the choice to chance.

Thank you for the sound advice.  I will think on it.  Terry could think of no other way to cut off this line of conversation politely.  In about an hour, Kat and I are going antique hunting in what are supposed to be Andorran ruins.  Want to come?

Thank you, no.  Aarian deliberately released his grasp on Ethâm.  He continued, In my emotions, the Andorrans are still the Ancients, my mortal enemy.  My mind knows that it was other men in another time; my emotions are unconvinced.  We have been considering memories long suppressed.  I believe there were more than a thousand circles when the Ancients came.  Now there are three.  With that, he reestablished his grasp on Ethâm’s arm.  The captain tells me we should be leaving soon.

And so we should.  Ethâm understood he had been excluded from some part of the conversation.  Tiny wisps of paranoia formed, and then melted away.

****

Pilot, normal takeoff, inertial dampers on.  Make your altitude one hundred.  Terry lifted his own little runabout from its parking cradle beside the dome. 

Kat curled comfortably in what they both thought of as the co-pilot’s seat.  They both knew the true pilot was a fat cylinder slightly more than a meter in length hidden under the floorboards, but old thought patterns die hard.

Altitude is one hundred.  The system used Trilateral standard measurements.  The unit was the span; about two meters. 

Take us to the closest of the Andorran sites Chief showed you.  Please designate that site as Site Two.

Estimated transit time is twenty-three minutes.

Terry’s mind automatically translated ancient time and distance values.  They would fly at about 200 meters for about 34 minutes.  It was complicated, but standard time calculations divided hours into 100 minutes—and the hours were a little longer.  He stood, and walked to a spherical projection of a grid map of the planet.  Most of the time, the surface of the map was dotted with symbols, the former cities, indigenous villages, etc.  Here there were only hills and trees and rivers.

Chief, are there any records of why this area was never developed?

The staff rested in an odd