Befriending Aliens

By Norma Druid

Years ago, my son asked me to write him a Star Trek story. I was working on Civil War fiction and found it liberating not having to work around actual events or worry where railroad stations were in Nashville in 1862. For years, I spun fiction as a family game with my son and a cousin. Finally, I decided I wanted my own universe, as complicated and practical as my life in insurance made me believe the future must be. Having invented one, I filled it with characters I like to read about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462888405

Norma Druid

Years ago, my son asked me to write him a Star Trek story. I was working on Civil War fiction and found it liberating not having to work around actual events or worry where railroad stations were in Nashville in 1862. For years, I spun fiction as a family game with my son and a cousin. Finally, I decided I wanted my own universe, as complicated and practical as my life in insurance made me believe the future must be. Having invented one, I filled it with characters I like to read about.

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Prologue

Paradise Lost

The Planet Avonlea, Hansa Year 530,

Day 200, 0900 Fleet Standard Time

T en-year-old Licinio was weeding a flower bed while keeping a wary eye on his year-and-a-half-old cousin. Hilde did have a tendency to get bored and wander. Now she was still happily digging in the dirt. She would never know how her mother had rejoiced in digging similar dirt and making it produce foodstuffs and flowers.

Licinio remembered though. On nice days, he had often helped Aunt Marina, Hilde’s mother, with the weeding; and sometimes in the afternoon, his own mother Magda would join them when she needed a break from her coding. But those days were gone, and now he and Hilde lived at Duke Emil’s Camp Versailles with a ducal caretaker and a guard of Fleet marines to protect them from the tender mercies of Aunt Marthe Schwartzenberg, their mothers’ older sister.

Aunt Marthe was now sitting in one of the duke’s lawn chairs under the big oak tree, listening to the news on her maxipod. She pulled off the headset irritably. Those filthy Varangians are still insisting it was their outlaws who destroyed Dev Boylun. They say that’s why they destroyed half of one of their outlaw planets. A typical cover-up, and I shall denounce it on my next broadcast. Just then, Licinio pulled up a huge clump of weeds, spraying dirt. She glared at him.

You filthy boy! Marthe scolded. Why do children have to play in the dirt all the time, anyway? You can’t even keep them in clean clothes.

It’s natural, Ms. Schwartzenberg, psychologist Anna Green, the duke’s caretaker, responded. Hilde’s no trouble to clean up, and Licinio’s actually helping Dobbin, the gardener. Somebody’s taught him how to weed a flower bed. Dobbin was telling me about it only the other day.

Has the boy spoken to him? Marthe turned to her companion.

Oh no, Ms. Schwartzenberg. That boy says a word, we’re to tell you and Duke Emil immediately. The duke’s terribly upset Licinio hasn’t recovered from his trauma.

I bet he is, Licinio Ekeroth thought. Aunt Marthe wouldn’t believe how much—or maybe she would. She knows more than he does. Well, they can wait for me to talk ’til hell freezes over. He felt free to use adult language in his thoughts.

When I was ‘allowed access’ to my sisters’ children, Marthe continued to complain, I had hoped to have some influence on them. But Hilde’s too young to be teachable, and Licinio is a mental cripple.

He does well enough in his studies, Anna responded, though he is slow to overcome his trauma. Anna was being diplomatic. She knew well enough why Licinio had not even tried to respond to Marthe; no normal child that age would. Little Hilde, of course, was quite amenable but of limited understanding.

I wanted to teach them the precepts of their grandfather. Marthe was mounted on her hobbyhorse now. They listen to the Supreme Shepherd’s children’s sermons, but Hilde doesn’t understand, and the boy just stares.

Pwetty! The inquisitive Hilde had just picked up an adder from the overturned soil. Anna rose in swift silence, but before she could move, a flying pebble took the snake from the child’s hand. Then Licinio was in front of his cousin, stoning the reptile with fierce accuracy. Anna ran up and grabbed the little girl.

You saved her, Licinio, she exclaimed breathlessly, hugging the suddenly frightened Hilde to her chest.

Licinio turned, a relieved smile on his own face. He gave the housekeeper a fine courtly bow and returned to his weeding.

Marthe came up and kissed her niece. Bless you, child! Maybe I’m getting discouraged too soon, Anna. He may defy my understanding, but at least he cares for his cousin.

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Marthe had actually seen the video of Licinio’s last effort at speech. Duke Emil had given her a private showing to explain what had happened to her siblings on the tiny planet Dev Boylun.

The shocked crew of the Agile Alice, which had been hired to retrieve the Fleet colonists, had shared their findings with everybody who would listen. Something had gone horribly wrong, and they didn’t want to be blamed.

Instead of the eager adults with piles of luggage, they found a rumpled, haggard boy sitting in a wild, rocky landscape. He spoke into a microphone. "You are the Agile Alice?"

Yes, son, we gave you our call sign, The captain spoke patiently. Where are your parents?

The communications camera zoomed in on the boy’s face. The adults are all dead. Scan the planet if you don’t believe me. We were attacked by Varangian outlaws, but we got enough warning to save the three babies and me to take care of them. Can you get a shuttle down here on this signal?

Roger that. The captain’s voice was clipped by shock. Keep it going. ETA fifteen minutes.

The video then skipped to a planet scan, showing a blasted, burned-out area. Then it returned to the boy, who could be seen crawling into a small hole in the rock and pushing baby carriers through to the waiting crewmen.

He could at least have been a little bit polite, complained Marthe.

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Part I

The Road to Dev Boylun

Fifteen Years Earlier—

The Misadventures of George Schwartzenberg

Aboard the Bernstein, Hansa Year 515,

Day 20, 0800 Fleet Standard Time

Y ou do the damnedest things to look after your family, Duke Emil de Guiscard thought as his shuttle docked in the Bernstein . George had always been a difficult bastard, but no other noble bastard had ever managed to anger a Fleet admiral and a potentially dangerous alien. Putting on his confident official face, he followed a crewman to the conference room. Once there, he took the initiative.

I am not going to ask why you send all your madmen to my territory, he told the glowering Admiral Lionel Bradley, joining him at the conference table.

Since you insisted the Fleet Academy take your illegitimate half brother despite his having a borderline personality, we returned the favor by posting him on your boundary, Bradley retorted. My colleagues, who admittedly made good use of your largesse, keep telling me it was a million-to-one chance he would ever encounter a Varangian ship in that particular area.

The Taryn Principalities were on the League border thatwas mostly open space, sharing only a small border with Varangia and the human Outlaw Zone. Nevertheless, shuttle pilot George Schwartzenberg had managed to encounter a Varangian ship, which he had promptly tried to ram.

What was his problem with the Varangians, anyway? the duke asked. I knew about his obsession with the chastity of women, but I don’t see where the Varangians come into it.

Bradley glared at him. You were aware that he belonged to the religious group the Servants of the Supreme One.

Yes, but that’s the League-friendly version, not the nuts. They have a girls’ school just a few miles outside my capital, and they help with all my charities.

If only it had been! Bradley exploded. The Boundary Fleet on your border was the safest place we could put Schwartzenberg, but unfortunately, this gave him access to the nut broadcasts from the Elect Empire. Our shuttle radios pick them up, since we have to monitor them. Lately they have been preaching that Varangian outlaws have been defiling human women in the Outlaw Zone.

"Oh ye gods, George would go for that crap. Duke Emil slapped the table in disgust. It’s an Outlaw Zone, dammit—they’re not supposed to be nice guys. I never did understand why George made such a big fuss about being illegitimate anyway. Half my civil service is composed of noble bastards. Don’t know what I’d do without them. They know how to do things. The problem from the de Guiscard standpoint was that George looked more like my old man than I do. That’s why we wanted him to have a career in the Fleet."

And you have continued to cover him like a blanket, Bradley accused, even after it became obvious he could be violent. We tried to have him institutionalized when he nearly killed his wife, and again when he assaulted his two younger daughters. But there you were with your lawyers and your bribes. Dr. Wentworth has confessed he kept Lieutenant Schwartzenberg tranquilized on your orders.

And it wound up not doing any good. The duke wrinkled his nose in disgust. We de Guiscards have always gone all the way to protect our family. I’m sorry, sir. How upset are the Varangians?

Fortunately for all of us, they immediately assumed the man was insane, the admiral replied. "When they warned him politely that he had strayed into their territory, he started shouting obscenities and rammed his shuttle into one of their battleship’s(just one ship) impaling spikes. They contacted us when they got to their nearest port to remove and bag the bits and pieces for return. The Sogdia will be rendezvousing with us shortly, and their human affairs officer will confer with us."

I came prepared to make my best impression. The duke reached for the dispatch case at his side and retrieved a fly plaid and impressive broochwith the crest of the Taryn Principalities. He stood to don them, while Bradley watched with a sour face. The admiral himself was already in full dress uniform.

"Ahoy, Bernstein, the external hailing system interrupted. This is the Varangian Planet Defender Sogdia requesting an interview under flag of truce."

Admiral Bradley pressed his speaker button. "Sogdia, this is Admiral Lionel Bradley of Hanseatic Fleet Intelligence. I am willing to conduct a discussion with the Sogdia under flag of truce."

The video screen hanging from the ceiling came to life, showing one of the pale, horned aliens who called themselves Varangians. A young one, Bradley thought, but human affairs officer wouldn’t be a title coveted by senior officials.

Good morning, Admiral, the figure said. I see you have also summoned Duke Emil of the Taryn Principalities, the unfortunate Lieutenant Schwartzenberg’s native place. Quite appropriate. I am Valknar the Cunning, human affairs officer for the Varangian Council of Ten.

Good morning, Human Affairs Officer, Bradley replied. I am sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. I trust you have confirmed that Lieutenant Schwartzenberg was in no way acting under Fleet orders.

"Lieutenant Schwartzenberg was ordered to transport a shipment of medicines, sanitary supplies, and plant items called pineapples to your light cruiser Bosnia, Valknar replied. We have read his orders and tested these plant items. They appear harmless."

Captain Couzzens assures me you may consider the pineapples a gift, though no adequate compensation for your inconvenience. Bradley was trying to keep appropriate eye contact with the alien and finding it hard going, since Varangians’ eyes are solid black with no whites. I am extremely pleased you have determined the incident was not a deliberate assault.

The look that crossed Valknar’s face could only be called amusement. It is my assignment to study you humans, Admiral. I am well aware Lieutenant Schwartzenberg was a misfit your Fleet was trying to warehouse safely. He turned his head to look directly at Duke Emil. There are times, Your Grace, when even a relative must be put away for his own good.

Duke Emil reddened. You know an awful lot about us, Human Affairs Officer.

Now the alien was obviously grinning, with just a hint of fang. As I said, you are my assignment. He turned back to the admiral. "The lieutenant had his radio tuned to some of the religious broadcasts from your Elect Empire. Now, those humans are content just to denounce us, they have tried no attack."

It is their pleasure to have you always available to be preached against, Bradley told him. Since I have the honor of speaking to you at this time, I should tell you the Fleet is well aware we know very little about the vast empty space that borders our Southwest Sector. Within the next ten years, we hope to put a small scientific colony on the planet Dev Boylun near your border to make accurate space maps, weather observations, and perform similar projects. Would this be a problem to Varangia?

No. Valknar still seemed amused. More accurate mapping of this area would prevent miscalculations such as Lieutenant Schwartzenberg made. We would welcome this. You will listen to us, he thought, and I shall listen to you.

Now, what about Lieutenant Schwartzenberg’s body? Duke Emil was impatient. His older daughter works in my tax collection department. She wants to be able to have a funeral.

Indeed. Valknar nodded. It will have to be closed casket, I fear—the body was badly broken up. It has been handled with what reverence we could and will be teleported to you, along with the shuttle contents, when Admiral Bradley gives the order.

If you have no more questions or concerns, Bradley responded, I will give that order now.

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Aboard the Sogdia, Hansa Year 515,

Day 20, 0835 Fleet Standard Time

Valknar the Cunning was pleased when he left the external conference chamber. At last, he had been able to speak face-to-face with humans. As he had suspected, their motives and emotions were similar to those of Varangians and their serf peoples. There was one great template for sentient, intelligent beings, and it was only necessary to learn their different cultures and nuances. He descended to the level occupied by the ship’s laboratories.

The humans have given us these ‘pineapples’ as a courtesy gift, he told Healer Trotula, the biochemist. What more have you learned about them?

She turned from her computer. It is a truly interesting ‘fruit,’ as the humans call it. They cannot eat the spiky shell, but they use its meat and juice in a multitude of ways. I’ve been studying their public information channels to determine if we can use them as a food supplement. Varangians, like humans, found replicated and preserved foods a pallid substitute for what was available in nature.

That would indeed be a treat. Valknar picked up the handwritten note that had been affixed to the box. From my hothouse. Will keep refrigerated for two months. Cheers! Couzzens. Apparently these humans create artificial climates aboard their ships.

Since humans had to live on ships for many years, it is not surprising they have developed this technology, Trotula remarked. It would not be difficult for us to create areas for growing fresh grains and seasonings here.

Yes, I shall suggest the experiment to Captain Tarkash. The ship can support a couple of garden serfs, Valknar ruminated. In the meantime, how may we best use these pineapples?

Trotula rose and went to a cooler unit. I pulped one yesterday for its juice. Humans use this juice in many ways, and it contains a number of beneficial elements. I tried it on our test animals, and my little Raki loved the smell so much, he begged to taste it. Since human children drink many such juices, I let him have a little an hour ago and drank some myself. It is indeed a new taste for us. Would you try some?

Valknar drew a test tumbler from its bracket and allowed her to pour a measure. He tasted. This is a pleasant drink, and you say it contains beneficial elements for children. He drained the tumbler. Very well. If we are all well at this time tomorrow, I will have Anike give some to my little one.

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Valknar went quickly to his own quarters. His little one—the infant daughter who was his only family now that an enemy had killed his beautiful Kyrene. The druids had always warned that a leader maintained his honor at great cost, but he had not expected the deep personal anguish that sat upon him whenever his mind was not occupied with business.

Valknar had been surnamed the Cunning because he had an instinctive understanding of Varangians and serfs alike. He quickly comprehended their motives and was often able to offer acceptable compromises. This ability and his apparently insatiable curiosity had made him human affairs officer at an early age. If only he had brought Kyrene aboard Sogdia! But she had wanted to give birth on Sarmatia.

Entering his suite, Valknar went immediately to the nursery. She sleeps, lord. Anike rose to meet him. She ate well and played with her musical toys, but now she sleeps.

Valknar went silently to the crib and stared at his sleeping daughter. She is within the parameters of the parenting guide, then. He stroked the tiny hands. So dear and precious. Healer Trotula will see her this afternoon, as usual. Continue your watch, Anike. He went to his own office and immersed himself in his work.

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City of Taryn Regis, Hansa Year 515,

Day 22, 1035 Fleet Standard Time

Whatever else may be recorded of him, George Schwartzenberg was a man who remained true to his principles, the minister concluded.

Yes, even though they were barking mad, Captain Glen Couzzens thought. As was his duty, he was sitting in the front pew of the Servant Church next to young Marthe Schwartzenberg, the only family member present. The black veil Marthe wore was fortunate, Couzzens considered, since it masked the fact that her profile echoed that of Duke Emil on her other side. She was not bad looking, but the captain felt uncomfortable in her presence. Here was a true disciple of George Schwartzenberg.

Then there was the procession to the Servants’ Cemetery and the placing of the urn in a small vault. It’s all so damned utilitarian, Couzzens thought. All duty and wait for the pie in the sky. Typical George Schwartzenberg, provided the duty was complete submission to him.

Duke Emil took charge as soon as the final amen was pronounced. Ms.Marthe, allow me to escort you to the private chapel. Captain Couzzens must proceed to his other duties once he has presented your father’s will.

Once in the chapel, Marthe faced Couzzens squarely. All right. Where is it?

Couzzens was unfazed—like father, like daughter. He produced a document case. Here. The attachment is the certificate of divorce from your mother, with her waiver of any rights in the estate.

Well, I should hope so. Marthe snorted. Most women don’t divorce their husbands just because they have a nervous breakdown.

Couzzens firmly squashed his temper. "Since your father’s nervous breakdown expressed itself as a violent attack upon her, she assumed divorce was his intention and took the action herself, since he wasn’t compos mentis."

Oh, like that time he attacked the twins. Marthe took the documents. Understandable. Flushing a little, she sat down and opened the envelope.

Truthfully, Marthe still felt guilty about that little episode. She had never guessed her father was that near a nervous breakdown, or she wouldn’t have told him the girls had been punished for breaking an orphanage school rule. She had thought he would forbid them to go to the Fleet Preparatory Academy, which had just accepted them. Instead, he had knocked Marina into a china cabinet. When he had turned on Magda, she sprayed him full in the face with the pepper spray she carried for protection on cross-country runs. Marthe could still see Marina running from the room covered in blood while Magda stood over her father with her weapon. She concentrated on reading the papers.

Duke Emil took them from her. It’s a nice little bequest, Miss Marthe. The only stipulation he made is that you pay whatever school fees your sisters’ scholarships won’t cover.

And I shall save the rest and continue in your tax collection office, Your Grace, she replied. Thank you for handling the matter so promptly, Captain Couzzens.

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Sandhurst Point, Erdistan, Hansa Year 515,

Day 28, 1035 Fleet Standard Time

The other duties Duke Emil had mentioned so tactfully were really a recall to Sandhurst Point for extended debriefing and psychological brush-up. This was the fate of all captains whose ships became involved in an incident. Couzzens had long realized this would probably happen to him, burdened as he was with a crewman like George Schwartzenberg.

But now he had a more immediate duty.