Ghosts of Our Saints: More Theology of Humanity in the Universe

By Richard K. Perkins

Humanity, obsessed with materialism and devoid of spirituality, is in trouble. Seeking a path around territorial restrictions imposed in a shaky peace with an unseen race humans call the Necromancers, Task Force RF-19.2 has twice blundered into the path of a second alien species’ invasion force on its way to Earth, answering a challenge of honor by mortal combat from its own enemy. Now, beaten and seriously mauled, the remnants of Task Force RF-19 and its fleet have retreated to a pre-established emergency rendezvous, a planet known as DeGeller 5, only to meet other human forces fleeing Earth after this new enemy’s cleansing bombardment of their Ancient Battlefield. Regrouping at DeGeller, the situation deteriorates further when a second invasion force crosses their path on its way to Earth also. Physical appearances aside, the two enemies are almost total technological opposites, one side wholeheartedly embracing technology, the other wholeheartedly rejecting it. The situation becomes even more convoluted when the human refugees receive a request for military assistance from a third race, enslaved to one of the two enemies. Against this backdrop 2nd Lt. Zhou Wen discovers he is the only heir to humanity’s imperial throne; he must face a rebellious Mother Church, the suffocating imperial bureaucracy, his doubts about the succession and his claim to the throne, all while returning to Earth to confront two mortal enemies hellbent on destroying each other. In doing so, Zhou Wen discovers the eternal secret of humanity the two combatants are fighting over.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Aug 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781490796635

Richard K. Perkins

Richard K. Perkins is a registered architect living and practicing in Virginia. A lifelong devotee of literature in general and a fan of science fiction in particular, he counts as his earliest formative influences in the genre the works of Andre Norton, Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac Asimov, and Robert Heinlein. Admiring the ability and determination of authors to write, at the age of twelve he felt compelled to set pen to paper for his first science fiction short stories. His personal philosophy is rooted in the tenet that much of what humanity holds dear in the way of beliefs, dogma and motifs are based in long lost, forgotten, or misinterpreted fact, and that because of this it is entirely possible for religion and science to not only co-exist together but to thrive, confirm, and stimulate each other. His science fiction writings are expressions of hope, fear, belief, and faith.

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Copyright 2019 Richard K. Perkins.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9662-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9661-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9663-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019910857

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Contents

Chapter 1     In aeturnum, Domine

Chapter 2     In Domine convertendo

Chapter 3     Appropinquet deprecatio

Chapter 4     Iniquios odio habui

Chapter 5     Retribue servo tuo

Chapter 6     In quo corrigit

Chapter 7     Non nobis, Domine

Chapter 8     Domine posuit flumina

Chapter 9     Domine, exaudi

Chapter 10   Deus ultionum

Chapter 11   Misericordiam et judicium

Chapter 12   Eripe me de inimicus

Chapter 13   Verba mea auribus

Chapter 14   Benedicam Dominum

Chapter 15   Omnes gentes, plaudite

Chapter 16   Exaudi, Domine

Chapter 17   Dominus illuminatio

Chapter 18   Deus noster refugium

Appendix No. 1     Task Force and Fleet Compositions

Appendix No. 2     Abbreviations and Acronyms

Appendix No. 3     Who’s Who

Appendix No. 4     The Line of Emperors

Appendix No. 5     On the Design and Construction of Ships

Appendix No. 6     Systems and Planets

Appendix No. 7     On Gravity

Appendix No. 8     The Hierarchy of the Enemy

Appendix No. 9     The Military Order of the Enemy

Appendix No. 10   Angels and Demons

Appendix No. 11   The College of Cardinals

Appendix No. 12   Salutations and Lamentations

To all my readers, who have waited far too long for this;

To Heywood and Charlotte, my in-laws, who I truly loved and who truly loved me and my family;

To my mother, whose journey into the long dark night of Alzheimer’s was far more peaceful and graceful than it could have been, and to my father, who cared for and mourns for her with a love and devotion I can only hope to live up to;

And most of all, to my dear wife, whom I love very dearly, who loved and unfailingly supported me in this last year when both our worlds fell apart, and because she knows I am crazy.

For this, and for so much more, I am undeservedly fortunate and eternally grateful.

Chapter One

In aeturnum, Domine

Centenary held the distinction of being the first human out-system settlement established following the discovery of warp travel. Centenary also held the distinction of being the farthest human settlement from Earth. Warp travel was peculiar that way. Although somewhat localized within Earth’s particular arm of the galaxy, activating warp drive without mathematically understanding exactly where you wanted to end up was a bit hit or miss. It was much easier to get back to where you had come from once you had gotten somewhere.

Several expeditions had sallied forth into the unknown. Three vanished silently into the black depths of space; two had returned maimed and mauled, bringing back with them horrifying tales of incredibly hostile alien races and pitched battles to escape with their lives. Eventually, human astronomers discerned a pattern and modified star charts, marking sectors of the sky off-limits to warp travel; anyone proceeding in those directions was not likely to return. The one exception was Centenary, which routed straight through the center of forbidden space.

Not that the sector was exactly forbidden; it was more of an educated suggestion or travel advisory, with the added caveat that anyone making for this region of space could not expect assistance from the Earth military, with Centenary being the exception. Trade, travel, and communication with Centenary continued unhindered, even after the Treaty of 2150 in which Emperor Juvenas had negotiated a truce with the Necromancers. The Necromancers had insisted on the demarcation; again, Centenary had been the one exception. Oddly enough to human ambassadorial and military negotiators, the Necromancers had expressed no desire for Centenary whatsoever; they seemed almost relieved to be rid of the place. Not that anyone had actually ever seen a Necromancer or had even talked directly with one. Their native language could best be described as rubbing rocks together. Somehow, they, the Necromancers, had contrived mechanical translation of human speech, and negotiations had progressed lurchingly despite syntax and semantic differences, which, at times, had bordered on insurmountable. Throughout it all, however, more than one negotiator had sensed via the ship-to-ship communications the mood of their enemy toward Centenary, feeling strongly enough about their perceptions to comment in personal diaries.

Adm. Henri Guilloche contemplated all this. Settled comfortably into the brown leather jump seat of the shuttle, Admiral Guilloche found himself with little to do aside from studying the landscape through the window or trying to sleep, neither of which appealed to him. The shuttle was responding to an urgent call from an outlying settlement, one of only three settlements in Centenary’s southern hemisphere. Admiral Guilloche was also a man who found it impossible to read or use a computer screen during flight, the result being embarrassingly violent motion sickness, and it just would not do to have an admiral puking in the passenger head. Inevitably, he found himself focusing on history or other mental games and consciously managing his vertigo.

Banking a few degrees to port, the shuttle altered course to run alongside the range of gentle mountains, which worked their way down along the coast into the southern hemisphere. Lush green jungles grew upslopes worn smooth by millennia of erosion and tectonics. The mountains rolled with only the rarest crag or rough outcropping. Guilloche looked forward into the cockpit; the flight crew understood the travel concerns of Centenary’s governor and were doing their best to give the admiral a smooth and undisturbed ride, balancing speed against motion. Nonetheless, Guilloche felt the motion. He would have to compliment the flight crew once they landed; difficult VIP passengers could be highly stressing. He leaned back in his seat, trying to appear nonchalant, and toggled the comm button.

How are we doing, Captain?

Fine, Admiral. No weather to speak of, the pterenaptors have almost completed their westward migration, and there is no other traffic. ETA twenty-two minutes current speed. If you want, Admiral, I can slow it down a bit, sir.

Guilloche smiled. No thanks, Captain. I’m doing fine. The ride has been quite agreeable thus far, all things considered. Will we approach from ocean side or land side?

It’s early morning, Admiral. We’ll have a smoother descent approaching from landward.

Thank you, Captain. Guilloche turned to the landscape outside his window as it raced by at almost a thousand kilometers per hour. Centenary was a paradise planet, an evenly balanced planetwide ecosystem with few natural dangers, virtually nonexistent virulent microorganisms, and perhaps the most agriculturally agreeable soil in the universe. And that, thought Guilloche, was the planet’s big problem. The agreeable soil conditions promoted jungle growth everywhere, almost right up to the edges of the planet’s abnormally small ice caps. That, of course, created the planetwide wonderfully enjoyable ecosystem, but a man could clear a patch of jungle one day, come back the next, and the jungle had taken over again. Clearing land took months of hard, backbreaking repetitive work until the jungle took the hint and stopped reclaiming the cleared land. Other than two polar ice caps, the entire planet was essentially one massive jungle. Despite being a geologically old planet, there were few large life forms on land, in the air, or under the oceans, the pterenaptors being the exception to that rule. The flying herbivores were huge; mature specimens weighing in at almost three metric tons, and what few large bones they possessed were built like steel. A natural curiosity made them dangerous for flight operations as they tended to try and tackle any flying object.

Willing himself to force back the nausea created by simply looking at the printed page, Guilloche diverted his attention to the message flimsy, which had persuaded him to take flight in the darkness of early morning. Its content was short, terse, and enigmatic. The message had been transmitted in extremely secure combat code. All somewhat melodramatic; if Guilloche had not personally known the marine lieutenant transmitting the message, he would have ignored it and sent an adjutant to look into the situation. Without his glasses, he held it out at arm’s length and read it again; the effort did his vertigo no good.

REQUEST IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE/REPRESENTATION PLANET GOVERNOR/MILITARY COMMANDER. MATTER MOST URGENT/SENSITIVE. NO REPEAT NO SHOW OF FORCE. RQDB GARRISON COMMANDER NEW ORVILLE.

Five minutes, Admiral. Beginning final approach in two.

Thank you, Captain. Guilloche strapped himself in, snugging the shoulder harness down tight. That was all the message said. Very mysterious, so much so as to almost not be taken seriously, yet something between the lines had persuaded Guilloche otherwise. He had cautiously placed a flight of fighters on standby alert back at Orville, Centenary’s capital, and had ordered the Sorcerer class heavy cruiser under his command back posthaste from its research patrol near Centenary’s Oort cloud. In fact, HMS Osiris should have resumed station keeping in orbit above by the time Guilloche had landed at New Orville.

Guilloche was still contemplating the message and its implications when the shuttle banked hard to port, throwing him into the hull bulkhead while diving for the deck, dual engines screaming in protest from astern. Guilloche found himself staring down at the bulkhead separating passengers from the cockpit; excited and nervous talk emanated from that cockpit. The shuttle leveled out only two meters above the jungle canopy. Through the forward windows, Guilloche could see the extinct volcano of New Orville between them and the settlement. Wind currents, unsettled by Centenary’s rising sun, buffeted the shuttle more than Guilloche would have preferred.

What the hell was that? Guilloche recognized the copilot’s born-on-Mars twang and the pilot’s soft-spoken Sneaper’s Moon response.

I don’t know. Where in the hell did it come from? One second it wasn’t there, the next second it was. Just poof. The pilots argued excitedly, failing to calm themselves with conversation. Guilloche toggled the comm.

What was what, Captain?

I do not know, Admiral. I think it was a ship of some sort, parked on New Orville’s landing strip, but it was huge, definitely not human. But, Admiral, sir, one moment the strip was clear, and then the next second that ship was just there. I thought it prudent to wave off, sir.

Were you in contact with New Orville control, Captain?

Yes, sir, Admiral.

Did they give you any cause for alarm or suspicion?

No, sir, Admiral.

And New Orville is still there and intact, correct?

Yes, sir, Admiral. The captain commanding the shuttle had settled his nerves somewhat.

Guilloche thought it all over for a moment. OK. Well, Captain, since New Orville is still standing, why don’t we go determine what the situation is?

Yes, sir, Admiral. The shuttle rose shakily, steadied in the thermal turbulence, and turned slowly, cautiously coursing around the dormant volcano’s fourteen-thousand-meter height on an approach vector to New Orville’s landing field.

Guilloche stared at the message flimsy, mumbling to himself. Well, David, what the hell did you drag me down here for in the middle of the night? What have you gotten me into?

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Second Lieutenant David Guilloche shivered under the shadow of New Orville’s volcano, a fourteen-thousand-meter plus cone of long-dead rock offering no warmth from its geological heart. Laying out New Orville, the original settlers had not realized Centenary did not wobble on its vertical axis, hence its almost perfectly uniform climate. Whether by choice or accident, planners had unfortunately aligned New Orville’s landing field with the volcano and Centenary’s plane of rotation. The volcano’s long shadow did not recede until hours after the surrounding jungle had warmed.

Lieutenant Guilloche glanced over his shoulder, considering the alien ship settled in the middle of the landing field. Small wonder, he thought, that the admiral’s shuttle had waved off. The kilometer-high vessel had been parked there for hours now, and he still was not comfortable to seeing it.

From beneath the terminal building shadows, his master gunnery sergeant double-timed over with a squad of grunts; positioning his charges to face where the admiral’s shuttle would set down, the gunny stomped over to his lieutenant.

Spooked ’em, huh, sir? The gunny liked this lieutenant; the kid had enough sense to ask questions and take advice.

Spooked all of us, didn’t they, Gunny? I’m still spooked. Imagine flying up and seeing that thing for the first time with no warning whatsoever. Lieutenant Guilloche jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the alien ship. Wait until he meets them.

Any of ’em say yet what they want, by any chance, sir?

Nothing yet. Just the request to meet with the senior human on planet. Took them a while to get that out. Standard English obviously is not their first language. One thing for certain, though—whatever they want, they’re all nervous as hell about something.

Yes, sir. They ain’t the only ones, sir.

56386.png

The shuttle orbited the volcano slowly, deliberately, skirting the length of the landing field before turning back onto final approach, its pilot allowing himself running room should situation head south. Admiral Guilloche had squeezed his bulk between the pilots for a better view from the cockpit dome. The alien vessel rose up from the field at an angle, a long cylindrical shape tapering to a point at each end like a giant Christmas tree ornament. Its center section was almost two hundred meters in diameter; its smooth symmetrical profile tapered in an elongated ogee to sharply pointed ends a kilometer apart. A pair of small gossamer-like wings bisected the shape parallel to the ground. The vessel’s only exterior fenestration was a small pair of landing struts where the vessel touched ground, forming, with its lower pointed end, a tripod arrangement, but a tripod obviously incapable of supporting the vessel. From an open hatch between the two legs, a small ramp extended.

The shuttle’s pilot spoke first. It’s weird. If you look directly at it, you sort of can’t see it. You have to look at it from out the side of your eye or something like that.

Yeah. Looks like it’s made from glass, but different.

Look up at it, against the sky. You can see it against the sky, but you can’t actually see it.

It’s sort of a purple color when you look at the whole thing out the side of your eye.

Gentlemen, I agree—it’s fascinating, Admiral Guilloche interrupted, And no doubt it’s the reason, or more likely its occupants are the reason we are here. So let’s not keep the reception party standing in the morning cold, or they’ll catch their deaths. Set us down over there in front of the marines.

Aye, sir. Down in thirty seconds. The pilot skillfully banked toward the reception party, directing the shuttle’s thrusters away from the group, flaring at the last instant to horizontal. Guilloche felt the landing gear bump gently as the shuttle’s twin engines wound down their long decreasing whine.

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Adm. Henri Guilloche strode down the shuttle’s stern ramp, halting at its lip; 2nd Lt. David Guilloche stepped forward and saluted. Guilloche stepped off onto the tarmac, returned the salute, and then father and son shook hands and embraced. Both stepped back a pace to look at each other.

Lieutenant, a pleasure to see you again.

And you, Admiral.

The elder Guilloche jerked a thumb over his shoulder. I presume that thing is the reason you dragged me out of a nice warm bed and down here in such an all fired hurry?

Sort of, but not exactly, sir. The real reason is inside the terminal. David Guilloche jerked a nod toward the low, flat, bunkeresque concrete building behind him. They’re in the terminal conference room, four of them in all.

Four?

Yes, sir, four, sir. I think, although I have no valid reason to do so, they are the entire crew, sir.

Did they say what they wanted, David?

No, sir. They have been rather closemouthed, sir. But they did request you, sir. They specifically requested the ranking human on the planet.

Really. Guilloche turned toward the terminal building. Didn’t happen to say who they were either, did they?

No, sir, Admiral. There’s one more thing, sir. They’re, uh, rather unusual, sir. They’re humanoids, but different.

Turning toward the terminal building, father and son engaged in the idle conversation of family. The marines respectfully forming an escort on either side, the admiral’s aide followed behind at a respectful distance.

You’ve been doing OK, David?

Yes, sir, the assignment agrees with me. Just enough trouble to get into without being able to do real damage. The gunny here looks out for me, teaches me the ropes. And you, sir?

I’m OK. Riding the downhill slide toward retirement, you know.

David Guilloche chuckled quietly. His father did not want retirement but was being forced out by regulations. Understood, sir. I can only hope my career equals up to yours.

By the way, David, have you heard from your mother lately? I was expecting something in the last drone from Earth, but nothing.

"No, sir, me neither. But you must remember, she and HMS Sakharov are way the hell out at someplace named Canatalus, a relatively new system as I understand it."

Yeah, I remember. David Marsters and Charlie Beatty are out pushing the frontier. Marsters has probably already found himself a new warp point and transited even further out. We may not hear any news from her for some time.

Ain’t that the truth. At least they don’t have an alien vessel parked in their front yard. Reaching the terminal’s main entrance, Lieutenant Guilloche held the armor glass door for his father.

Well, let’s go meet the new neighbors, they each said simultaneously.

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New Orville’s terminal building was cool, dry, and much more comfortable, the conditioned air settling to Guilloche’s equilibrium after his three-hour hell for leather shuttle flight. Centenary’s surrounding jungle steamed off humidity, which could be thick enough to obscure vision at times; describing it as oppressive failed to do it justice. David steered his father through unfamiliar surrounds to the conference room at the back of the single-story structure, avoiding small knots of terminal employees keeping their distance despite obvious curiosity. The small squad of marines maintained a tactful but close presence. Halting before a set of double doors, the elder Guilloche waved his adjutant over.

"Felicity, get yourself to this terminal’s communications center. Establish contact with HMS Osiris, determine their readiness status. Ask Captain Parker why the hell none of her squadron noticed this thing landing at New Orville. Then get up with the command center at Orville. Order them to prepare a pair of warp drones for Earth. Once we find out what the hell’s going on, I have a feeling we are going to need to involve the emperor."

Aye, sir. The young redhead turned smartly, deliberately marching foot across foot down the corridor. Henri Guilloche watched for a second, turned to grin at his son, and reached for the door handle. The father had brought his adjutant along just to irritate the son. Ensign Felicity Redlocks was native born to Centenary, third generation, and the planet had the reputation of being extremely kind to its native-born children. With Ensign Redlocks, this was an understatement, and Henri Guilloche knew his son was head over heels infatuated with the girl from the first time he had laid eyes on her. Unfortunately for Lieutenant David Guilloche, the feeling was not mutual.

You’re positively evil, you know that, don’t you? David half joked with his father, elbowing him in the ribs.

Admiral’s privilege, father’s sense of humor. He gestured toward the door. Shall we? The conference room lighting had been dimmed enough that Admiral Guilloche required a moment to locate their visitors. His first impression was of ancient Roman centurions in full battle dress but modernized. The visitors were humanoid, shorter than the average human by about twenty centimeters, extremely muscular and stocky. Each was dressed in honest-to-god fine mesh chain mail with what appeared to be leather panels and metal adornments, sporting a short swordlike weapon on their belt. Garments of linen like cloth underlay the chain mail, grayish black in color, offsetting the polished interlocking rings. Four helmets rested on the conference, each with a row of stiff fur bristles cresting down the center. The helmets were equipped with what appeared to be small antennae, wire microphones, and a short tube like a video pickup. The visitors stood as father and son entered, unconsciously ordering themselves in apparent rank. Each bowed slightly for a long second.

Admiral Guilloche returned their bow and then gestured them to sit before he noticed the massive wood slab bench behind them. David, we can do better than this for our guests, can’t we?

Lieutenant Guilloche cocked his head to one side. We did, sir. They broke the first set of chairs. We estimate they weigh approximately three hundred kilos plus each. Our base carpenter rigged this up in a hurry. They seemed to be grateful when we offered it.

OK. Hope I never have to wrestle one of them. Is there any coffee?

I’ll send for some, sir, and some fruit and pastry also. Our guests have already partaken of our hospitality. They have prodigious appetites.

Curiouser and curiouser. Admiral Guilloche felt awkward discussing his guests in front of them. You say they speak standard speech?

Yes, sir, they just speak slowly. A fair modicum of patience is required.

Well, your mother and I managed to raise you without killing you, so I must have a reservoir of patience somewhere in my gray matter. At this remark, the lead visitor jerked his head in what seemed a slight smile, making a chuckling sound. The other three laughed also, dissipating some of the tension in the room. Guilloche extended his hand.

I am Adm. Henri Guilloche, governor of His Imperial Majesty’s human colony on this planet. I am honored to meet you. The lead visitor gripped Guilloche’s hand gently; Guilloche nonetheless winced inwardly at the strength of his grip. Withdrawing his hand, the visitor stood stiffly to attention, enunciating carefully, slowly, obviously with great difficulty.

First Autrere Ari-Slev I am, general rank yours equivalent I am, sector this commanding of our republic am. He gestured to his companions. Second Autrere Ari-Slav is this, my son also, colonel rank yours equivalent he. These is Natrum Ban-Hloy and Natrum Tod-Marz. They lieutenant rank yours equivalent are.

Each visitor bowed as introduced and then sat. Ari-Slev gestured for Guilloche and son to sit also and then continued speaking. Hospitality yours are for grateful we, as your welcome for we are. Your credit to you is greet us weapons with not you did.

Guilloche leaned slightly over the table. He was having trouble following the syntax; something about the alien’s conversation was disturbingly familiar, although he could not put his finger on it. He continued, It is our habit and custom to learn first—weapons may not always be necessary. Do you not agree?

Agree we yes, ironic fact that find you will, as say you.

What can we do for you, First Autrere?

Ari-Slev closed his eyes slightly, gill flaps on each side of his neck flaring, fluttering as he drew a deep breath. He trembled slightly. Guilloche noted his three companions stiffened almost imperceptibly, thinking to himself their emotions seemed very human. Ari-Slev opened his eyes, concentrating intensely, composing his words before speaking.

We diplomatic mission are Uul Republic representing, those whom you refer to as Necromancers. Charged we are to seek military alliance with humanity. Our civilization requires your assistance, as require ours do you. Finishing, Ari-Slev almost gasped from the effort.

Silence overwhelmed the conference room for almost a minute. Then Guilloche quietly whispered, Son of a bitch.

David turned, but the gunny had beat him to it, herding his marines out of the room. The burly, no-nonsense sergeant stood guard at the door, ready to challenge anyone attempting entry.

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A thousand kilometers above in orbit, Capt. Emily Parker, commanding the Sorcerer class heavy cruiser HMS Osiris, was dealing out a severe tongue-lashing to her graveyard watch shift. Somehow, a rather large alien vessel had made transit, searched the planet from orbit, and made a safe and purposeful landing at New Orville, under the noses of her crew who had detected nothing. Forty-eight years young with steel-gray hair and a withering glare, she was demonstrating to these errant officers and ratings her legendary incendiary temper. This played out behind the sealed hatch of her ready room, making HMS Osiris’s first officer all the gladder he was standing morning watch and not his usual graveyard shift. Halfheartedly signing morning status reports, halfheartedly listening to his captain’s tirade, he sensed more than heard his tactical officer stiffen.

Sir, sensors indicate a pending warp transit.

Must be the mail drone from Earth. It’s late this month.

No, sir, wrong warp point. This is from the out-system relay at Kostos.

Interest piqued, Comm. Leonidas Jones set aside his status reports. Verified, Ensign?

Aye, sir. I have transit signal. It is a drone, inbound from Degeller Five via Kostos and transmitting an imperial alert code, sir.

Which code, Ensign?

Code Omega Zulu to be precise, sir.

Say again?

Code Omega Zulu, Commander.

I’m not familiar with that code. Hold on just a moment. HMS Osiris’s first officer switched displays, keyed in his command access code, and waited for the computer to respond.

Shit. Sound general quarters. Bring the ship to full combat readiness. Get the captain out of her tirade. Lock onto that drone the instant it makes transit.

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Adm. Henri Guilloche found himself facing a preposterous dilemma of culture-shattering implications. No human had ever actually seen a Necromancer. Now four beings claiming to be Necromancers, or as they called themselves, the Uul, sat before him, politely requesting military assistance from the same humanity with whom they had been at war 150 years before, a war that had lasted for nearly a century and cost untold thousands of casualties. As if that wasn’t enough, hostilities technically continued.

Reminding himself to breathe, Guilloche reached deeply into his years of diplomatic experience, enunciating carefully for the benefit of his syntactically challenged visitors. "Ah, First Autrere, yes, well, it is obvious that this situation is uncomfortable for you, as I can only imagine. And I do hope you understand if we do not instantly jump for joy at the opportunity with which you have presented us.

Respectfully, First Autrere, as Necromancers—I mean, the Uul—surely you must realize we consider you to still be a hostile enemy. Why, I mean, the last skirmish between our forces was only twenty or so years ago? Something to do with another warp tube crossover, if I remember correctly. Yes, there is a treaty in effect, but as with all such agreements, there are and will continue to be minor incidents. Over a billion humans perished in our war with your civilization, and never once did anyone from your side stop and suggest we should be friends. Humanity was simply attacked, without warning, right out of the blue, so to speak. We didn’t even know your civilization existed until you vaporized our experimental station outside of Pluto orbit. I don’t even know for sure if you are Necromancers—I mean, Uul. No human has ever actually seen one before. And if nothing else, simply showing up here unannounced and presenting me with this request requires really big cojones, sir.

Ari-Slev consulted with his companions, the discussion brisk and heated. Guilloche listened intently to the raspy rapid-fire singsong cadence of their native language; the sounds reminded him of small stones clacking together. He waited for a lull in their discussion. I stand corrected, First Autrere. I have heard recordings of the Necromancer language made during the original treaty negotiations. I am satisfied you are Necromancers—I mean, Uul.

We understand your misgivings, Admiral Guilloche. Second Autrere Ari-Slav took up the conversation. Forgive us you will if totally familiar with some of your references we are not. Much we should explain so understand you will.

Arms crossed, Guilloche leaned back in his seat. I’m listening, gentlemen.

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HMS Osiris held station as the warp drone made transit; her first officer considered themselves fortunate when nothing followed the drone through the warp point.

Communications, download and decrypt the drone’s message files for transmission planet side.

No can do, Commander. Osiris’s communications officer cringed inwardly, the words leaving his mouth just as Captain Parker entered from her ready room.

Why not, Ensign? Captain Parker’s bark inspired people to never experience her bite. Emily Parker wasn’t a tyrant, but she was a commanding officer who demanded and expected performance.

The message is multiple encrypted, ma’am. First layer is a standard transit encryption. Second layer is an eyes-only fleet commander encryption without message or explanation. I opened that one based on orders of the day, ma’am. Third layer is designated for the system governor/military commander. I can’t even see the fourth layer, only that it says it’s there.

Captain Parker stood, leaning heavily onto the back of the communications officer’s seat. What is the drone doing?

"It has established synchronous orbit alongside HMS Osiris, per standard procedure. It’s an orbital drone, not equipped for reentry or landing."

Very well. She took her place in the command chair. Alert Admiral Guilloche’s HQ and transmit everything to them. Advise the admiral I would be interested in knowing what the hell is going on.

That may take some time, ma’am. Admiral Guilloche’s HQ advises the admiral is on a mission to New Orville on request of the commander on scene.

I see. In that case, stand down from battle stations, maintain general quarters. And somebody get some high-test coffee in here.

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You see, Admiral, understand that I tell, one must the Uul understand. Second Autrere Ari-Slav was struggling to diplomatically explain something obviously very sensitive and delicate. A race ancient and proud the Uul are. History we share, history most ancient, history which you yourselves believe not.

The admiral turned to the lieutenant, who shrugged his shoulders in response. Neither knew what their guests were alluding to. The admiral interrupted Ari-Slav. I understand you are attempting to explain something very difficult, and I appreciate our language is not easy for you to comprehend or speak. Unfortunately, we were never able to teach your Uul language to humans. Believe me, there were many concerted attempts. But honestly, Second Autrere, I am not following you very well. Perhaps if you were more direct.

Perhaps, Admiral. Your difficulty understand I. A moment give us, please. The four Uul put their heads together in very human fashion. Many of their mannerisms were reminiscently human, something both father and son Guilloche found unsettling. The huddle lasted for ten minutes, during which the raspy singsong cadence of their native speech was occasionally interlaced with words and snippets of human colloquial speech; their guests were obviously assembling a statement of some manner. Guilloche was about to stand and stretch when they broke their huddle. We will endeavor to be more direct, Admiral. Certain are we questions you will have after. My father asks listen first you do, then questions.

Agreed.

Good. Ari-Slav took up the explanation, speaking even more slowly, uncomfortably selecting words and syntax carefully. War between humans and Uul, you phrase would, mistaken identity case of was. Conflict meant to be never was.

Guilloche’s mouth dropped open.

When first we encountered humans, the unfortunate incident with your crossed warp tubes was interpreted as an attack, as a type of weapons system. Our races were not meant to be enemies. We did not discover this until approximately fifteen of your days ago.

Reaching to the side, never taking his eyes off the Uul delegation, Admiral Guilloche found his coffee and swallowed an enormous gulp without noticing its scalding temperature. Lieutenant Guilloche leaned forward as if doing so would make the explanation unfolding before him more believable.

Ari-Slav sighed deeply, gill flaps rattling as he took in a long breath, and then continued; the mental effort of maintaining proper human syntax and speech was obviously taxing. The power and nature of the disaster humans created, assumed did we disaster was attack by Ancient Enemy ours, oppressor race possessing power humans demonstrated. Suffering, death, pain, misery, destruction this race enjoys, thrives on. This race Uul held at bay for eons upon eons. Our freedom wrested from them was. Tribute we paid—call it military logistics humans do. Torment still Ancient Enemy did. Disaster, evidence all, albeit circumstantial, indicated Uul initial assumption correct. War make Uul did, Ancient Enemy defeated. Ancient Enemy vowed to eternally avenge their defeat, to enslave Uul again—cruelty and vindictiveness drives them to do so. Other emotions know not they do. Desire burns unquenchably within them—exist only for destruction and dominion do they. Thus now leaders ours decided with heavy heart war make again, to avoid enslavement even at cost of our very existence. Early in war battle group ours chanced upon human vessel adrift, damaged engines repairing. Vessel captured, human prisoners taken. Imagine Uul’s shock and dismay when discovered humanity bore great physical resemblance to our Ancient Enemy lower orders. Discovery this affirmed rightness of Uul decision.

Ari-Slev paused, drawing in deep, ragged breaths; sweat pouring from him. View from Uul perception must you. Humanity occupies Ancient Battlefield where Ancient Enemy races first evolved, the two first evolved races of this universe in eternal hatred joined, hatred of one another, continually giving combat, neither other to defeat able. Uul presumption was humanity were servants of Ancient Enemy, in thralldom as were Uul, new caretakers of Ancient Battlefield, signal of hostilities new onset or encroachment by the other. Uul also deceived by humanity’s enthusiasm for war. Occur never to Uul humanity developed independently, accidentally. When first humanity managed to communicate to Uul desire to forge peace, Uul gladdened. Obvious evil aside, war does no good for anyone, save third parties observing from aside watching others destroy themselves. Peace made—Uul set about recovering.

Ari-Slav sagged onto the rough timber bench, the exhaustion of communicating in human thought and speech syntax emanating from every pore. The Uul introduced as Natrum Ban-Hloy laid a hand on Ari-Slav’s shoulder from behind; the older Uul appeared to draw strength from his subordinate’s touch.

That is a great deal to take in, First Autrere. Admiral Guilloche swallowed hard; decisions stood before him, and he was none too sure of which to make, much less what to decide, or even if he was authorized to make those decisions. You stated you did not discover your error until fifteen days ago. Also, when we first met, you stated the Uul required our assistance—you specifically requested ‘military assistance.’ Can you elaborate on those statements?

Natrum Tod-Marz leaned forward, speaking to Ari-Slev and Ari-Slav in Uul; the pace of their discourse reminded the humans of a bag of rocks grating against one another. Finally, each nodded agreement. Then Tod-Marz stood. Suggested to our First Autrere and Second Autrere I should in answer speak for them. Agree they did. My syntax as you say is not perfect, my stamina greater as younger I am. If follow you not interrupt you will.

First, perceive I, finding difficult to believe our speak you are. As Tod-Marz began, Henri and David adjusted to the Uul’s own peculiar syntax. Each discovered independently that if they listened sort of off-key, it fell into place and made sense, as well as maintaining consistency. A great deal asked you we have to believe on … faith. Understanding you are not in the universe your place and the discovery early in its history culture yours made.

Tod-Marz hesitated, looking from admiral to lieutenant. Admiral Guilloche chose his words, adjusted syntax, and reassured the nervous Uul standing before them. Follow you well I do, Natrum Tod-Marz. Quite good your syntax is, only rearranged from ours. Continue, please.

Tod-Marz blushed visibly beneath his reddish-purple skin, gill flaps flaring widely, seemingly the Uul equivalent of taking a deep breath. Visibly, relief swept over him as he continued. Thank you. Reassure I you have. Understand first, what I say from Uul point of perception insult I not mean but educate rather. Understand at end you will.

Humans Uul observe impatient race are, eager to exploit, slow to comprehend, unwilling to understand, self-centered, arrogant as you would say. When humanity warp travel discovered, understand not did humanity what it found. One facet of discovery yours warp transit only was—in eagerness and haste of youth time not to comprehend your discovery humanity took, considered not the good fortune humanity’s discovery availed your existence, your youth. Principles govern warp travel entire universe govern over all existence, principles are keys which all is unlocked and through which all together held by is. Itself humanity views only as in moments of time existing, not as through time existing. We, Uul, here are, see us you can, touch us you can, yet, here we are not, because in our own separate existence we are there. For a period, our existences together in the path of time flow, as rivers together flow then separate again into divergent paths. Races of universe each his allotted road in the stream of time has—some roads before other roads started, some roads before other roads will end and ended have, yet each and all the now have. Forward or backward in time travel one cannot, but lateral travel one can. Traveling lateral one the backward and forward of time their own in the existence of others find can.

Tod-Marz paused, choosing his next words very carefully. This is what has happened now. The manner in which humanity discovered and has exploited warp transit has not as you would describe it torn space or ruptured the space-time continuum—it has rather joined the continuum across one broad, all encompassing, now.

He paused, the mental effort of rearranging Uul thought into human syntax and logic obviously quite straining. Another deep breath, and he continued. Parallel universes this you describe as. Oversimplification that description incredibly is, but description nonetheless adequate be. But universe only one be. Times parallel are, times some join, times some cross, times all become one now have. Guard we time—we time guard.

The older Guilloche held up his hand to stop the Uul. Natrum Tod-Marz, believe me when I say I am not trying to pretend to be stupid. I am a reasonably intelligent and experienced man, and I think I follow what you are saying, but there is a concept just outside the edge of your explanation that eludes me. I can appreciate that humanity did something incredibly naive and obviously did not understand or comprehend the fullness of its discovery, but I am still missing something.

Natrum Tod-Marz closed his eyes, flaring his gill flaps as he drew a heavy, deep breath. Without opening his eyes, he spoke as he concentrated. Humanity has met the Uul a half million of your years before the Uul have met humanity. Unfortunately, humanity has also now met one of the enemy—the Uul has unfortunately met the other.

That time, it sank in. Sort of.

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In orbit, Captain Parker strapped herself into the jump seat of HMS Osiris’s number three shuttle. The heavy cruiser’s numbers one and two shuttles were exactly that: shuttles. Numbers three and four, however, were glorified model A-9 Ariel fighters with extended passenger cabins. Each could hold six persons plus two crew and still give a good combat accounting of itself. They were standard fleet issue for capital warships on frontier world duty, and Centenary was considered a frontier world despite having been colonized for over two hundred years. She plugged her comm cable into the console beside her.

Pilot, are we ready to go?

Yes, ma’am, just as soon as I confirm the downloads have transferred successfully. Only a few seconds, ma’am.

Following an obtuse argument with the morning duty officer at Admiral Guilloche’s headquarters, Captain Parker had decided to locate the admiral in New Orville and deliver the drone’s coded message herself. Besides, she really wanted to know what was so important that a drone would be dispatched from Degeller Five, broadcasting an imperial gloom and doom warning out of its transmitter.

Settle in, Captain. Successful download confirmed. We are cleared to launch. Mags warming—rails are hot. We’ll be off in ten seconds. No sooner had Parker settled herself into the seat than she felt the shuttle tighten perceptibly and the magnetic rail launcher grab the small craft. Five G’s of almost instant acceleration hurled the shuttle down the catapult rail and out into space, with its pilot screaming, Hoooweee!

The shuttle rolled as the pilot shook it out. Then he came back on the comm. Sorry about the hoooweee, ma’am. I just get a big rush out of launch, and it does help my ears adjust to the change in pressure.

Emily Parker smiled and chuckled; the shuttle pilot could not be more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old. That’s OK, son. Despite my reputation, I like to see people enjoying their work. Just get us there quickly and in one piece.

Yes, ma’am. He brought the fighter’s nose around across Centenary’s equator, aligning his course with the massive dormant volcano in the southern hemisphere. The mountain was easily visible from space. As the nose dropped precipitously, his voice came through the comm. Y’all hold on to your sombreros now.

The shuttle’s three engines kicked into afterburner as the nose pointed almost straight down for the thousand-plus-kilometer drop through the atmosphere.

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The admiral and lieutenant conferred in the corridor outside the conference room. The discussion was heated, each animated enough to keep bystanders at a more-than-respectful distance. Despite their efforts to keep the conversation private, bits and pieces leaked out to bystanders.

David, did he say what the hell I think he said?

Which part, sir? He said so much—I mean, the physics alone are enough to keep the scientific community going for years. I’m not even sure I fully follow the space-time continuum part of the discussion. And as for their syntax, most of it is lost on me.

I was more concerned with the part about humanity having met one of the enemy, and the Uul the other of the enemy.

Yes, sir, there was that little tidbit too. You would be in more of a position to know about that than I, sir. I’m a grunt, a lowly little lieutenant. You’re an admiral and system commander, sir, not to mention an imperial governor.

Leaning back onto the corridor’s concrete block wall, Guilloche elder relaxed his back against its coolness. There hasn’t been anything about hostilities or even unexpected contacts in the briefings, but then, the last briefing communication is two weeks old now. In fact, now that you mention it, the last briefing was sixteen days ago—it’s two days overdue, and that is very atypical.

At that precise moment, Felicity came barreling through the corridor, her lithe fifty-six kilograms shoving civilians and military personnel aside. The marine escort made to intercept her until David waved them aside. Breathing hard and sweating profusely despite the air-conditioning, she grabbed the admiral and the lieutenant by the shoulders, herding them into a corner down the corridor.

Captain Parker is on her way down here, as we speak. She blurted out between deep, ragged breaths. Apparently, there is some sort of emergency, and HQ back in Orville gave her the runaround twice and then some.

Whoa, slow down, Ensign. Admiral Guilloche straightened her up to help her breathe. Straightening out her disheveled bun of red hair, she gasped. Guilloche steadied her firmly by a shoulder. Start from the beginning and give us a proper report.

Aye, sir. She took one very long, deep breath and regained control over her breathing. "HMS Osiris intercepted a communications drone. It was making warp transit from Degeller Five via Kostos."

Degeller Five?

Aye, sir. Degeller Five. It was broadcasting an imperial alert code, an Omega Zulu code, sir.

Guilloche paled, staggered as if thunderstruck, and then recovered. Continue, Ensign.

Per standard operating procedure, Captain Parker attempted to decode the message and transmit it planet side. It was not an atmospheric drone, Admiral. Anyway, as I understand, the message was encoded in quadruple layers, at least two of which the good captain cannot decode, one of them she cannot even see.

What’s an Omega Zulu code, sir? David turned to ask his father.

Bad news, Lieutenant, very bad news. Even without reading its content, SOP gives area commanders full military authority and full release upon discretion authorization. An OZ alert code is very bad news, David. Is there anything else, Ensign? You said Captain Parker was on her way down here?

Aye, sir. Down here, not to Orville, but here to New Orville. She’s taking a drop fighter down. Should be here within the next five minutes.

Admiral Guilloche pulled a plastic card out of his wallet; the card was thicker than usual with several scan codes front and back and multiple imbedded chips. Take this, Ensign. Go back to communications and get up with our HQ. First, whoever gave the good captain the runaround, I want his butt in a sling three times over when I return. Second, I’m ordering a full planet alert to general quarters. Third, instruct them to prepare to bring up the planetary reserves. Fourth, get our fleet assets in space back into orbit, albeit a very strategic orbit. Fifth, and finally, order them to prep three drones for transit, one back to Earth, one to Degeller Five, and one on standby. Any questions?

No, sir, none, sir. Ensign Redlocks took the card and ran back down the corridor, hair flying loose behind her.

Admiral, do you think our newfound friends in there have anything to do with this?

I do indeed, Lieutenant, but I don’t think in any way we might be thinking. Let’s go ask them what the hell is going on, shall we?

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At five hundred kilometers altitude, the pilot flattened his trajectory out by forty-five degrees, banking to port in a large spiral designed to reduce reentry speed and minimize distance from their objective, as well as to get them down in a reasonably short span of time. The drawback to this style of reentry was limited visibility and forewarning as one descended.

At twenty thousand meters, the pilot kicked his engines, stretching the descent spiral out into an ellipse; he was showing off for his captain. At each end of the ellipse, the turn pulled higher G’s because it was tighter; the tradeoff was to bleed energy out of the descent without using engines and fuel. At seventeen thousand meters, he banked through the tight turn back toward New Orville, high g-forces creating red and black spots in the corner of his inboard eye. As the fighter broke out of the turn, one red and black spot coalesced into a pterenaptor less than fifty meters dead ahead and bearing straight into them. The fighter’s speed combined with the animal’s course and bulk left no room for evasive action, and the two collided in midair. The flying reptile’s hard-as-steel snout penetrated the fighter’s port wing like a lance, ripping it from its roots, stabbing into the number two engine. Fuel sprayed and caught fire, exploding the engine. What remained of the fighter’s underside port fuselage shredded into flying debris, shrapneling number one and number three engine housings. The introduction of foreign material severed turbine blades from shafts, and both engines ground to a halt in earsplitting howls of protesting metal. Bereft of power and the nominal lift afforded by its wing, suffering from the massive drag of damage to the fuselage, the fighter tumbled out of control, dropping like a rock with the pterenaptor still impaled in its wing root. The weight of the dead animal plus its broken neck swung the reptile about as if it were an out-of-control pendulum. The whole effect was a dizzyingly nauseating descent straight down.

At the moment of impact, the pilot had instinctively hit a large red panic button to one side of his cockpit. The button activated several protocols, transmitting emergency beacons and data for anyone who could hear, bringing emergency stabilization systems online to try and control the ship, and downloading all flight data and information from the ship’s computer, including the coded messages from the Degeller Five drone. The Ariel A-9 fell five thousand meters before the green light confirming successful computer data transfer glowed above the panic button; he could smell bile from the jump seat behind him.

Captain, she’s a wreck. I’m gonna have to punch us out in five. Are you able to acknowledge? He waited; counting seconds seemed to take an eternity as he ignored the New Orville ground controller screaming in his headset, concentrating on keeping his hands on the ejection loops above his shoulders. Just as he was about to jerk the lanyards, the jump seat’s confirmation light glowed green on the status board. He yanked as hard as he could.

For a split second, nothing happened, and panic swept over him. Then he heard the reassuring muffled whoomps of explosive bolts cutting and a small rocket pack boosting the forward section of the cockpit out of the A-9s disintegrating carcass. The compartment hung in midair as steering rockets stabilized its motion, ending the sickening gyrations it had inherited from the fighter. A drogue chute deployed as the cockpit lost ejection thrust and began dropping like a rock, dragging out a larger chute package, which, in turn, deployed three descent chutes. Watching as his shattered ship fell below them, the pilot marveled at the extent of the damage, wondering how they had survived the impact. Passing through the tree line elevation of the volcano’s cone, he switched his comm to check on Captain Parker, already mentally rehearsing the end of his career.

You OK back there, Captain? He felt rather than heard fumblings. Then to his relief, the comm came to life in response.

I’m OK. I’ll say one thing for you, Lieutenant. You sure know how to show a girl a good time.

Beg pardon, ma’am?

Just kidding, Lieutenant. And don’t worry, your career is safe. Those damned animals bring down a dozen or more ships a year, most of them larger than your A-9. One of the first ships I ever lost under my command out here was an old Sentinel class frigate. Damned pterenaptor just appeared out of thin air and rammed straight into the forward magazines, setting off the antimatter warheads on its torpedoes. Lost everybody on board, the entire crew of 188. Such is life, Lieutenant. Did we get full data transfer?

According to the status board, we did, ma’am. That’s what took us so long to punch out.

Below them, a large explosion distracted their conversation as the fighter with still impaled pterenaptor impacted the slope of the volcano, cratering the jungle, generating a huge fireball and clouds of oily black smoke.

Well, at least they will know where to look for us.

Yes, ma’am, he said, checking his seat side status panel. The emergency beacons are working just fine.

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Henri Guilloche contemplated First Autrere Ari-Slev, who sat silently pondering the admiral’s latest question. Guilloche was about to break the silence when he sensed the tension level in the air ratchet up several notches. Through the conference room windows, activity on the field turned to organized bedlam as he watched marines and aircrew boarded three small shuttles and lifted off, banking out of sight in the direction of the volcano. From the volcano’s far side, he observed a plume of black, oily smoke rising. Lieutenant.

Yes, Admiral?

Ask the good sergeant back there to find out what is happening. Lieutenant Guilloche motioned to the gunny standing guard at the briefing room doors.

Admiral, an occurrence perceive I has been? The Uul commander grunted, straining backward and sideways, listening to Natrum Ban-Hloy all the while facing Admiral Guilloche. The maneuver did not appear to be physically easy for the alien to perform. He continued as Ban-Hloy whispered into his ear. Your large vessel orbiting in descent a small vessel has lost. Attacked by srongdar was. Small vessel destroyed. Humans aboard escape safely did.

The gunny returned. Admiral, Captain Parker was en route to New Orville aboard an A-9 when it collided with a pterenaptor. The fighter was destroyed, but Captain Parker and her pilot ejected safely. Rescue teams are en route now to retrieve them. Ensign Redlocks will be here shortly to bring you fully up-to-date.

Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant. Guilloche shifted his attentions back to the Uul. What is a srongdar? Do you mean what we call a pterenaptor? How did he know this information?

The four Uul consulted for a moment. Yes, pterenaptor srongdar same are. To know his job is.

Yeah, we have our problems with the animals. They are sort of stealthy, sometimes just appearing out of thin air right in front of a ship or aircraft. I thought most of them were on migration to the west of here at this time in the season.

No, Admiral, Natrum Tod-Marz spoke. Srongdar not simply appear. Srongdar now is not human now—sometimes srongdar now is here, sometimes srongdar now is then. Not stealthy, just not here now always. But this now, called srongdar are, by enemy of humanity’s enemy summoned. Enemy of Uul.

In the confused seconds Guilloche spent sorting through Tod-Marz’s logic, the conference room doors burst inward, and Ensign Redlocks dashed in, almost falling to the floor. She recovered gracefully with only her flowing orange-red hair out of place, having fallen completely out of its regulation bun. Before she could speak, the Uul went into a frenzied conversation among themselves.

Did I upset them, Admiral? I apologize if I did. Felicity wound her hair back into a semblance of the bun dictated by navy regulations.

I don’t think so, Felicity, but I am not sure what they are so excited about. Whatever it is, I am sure they will tell us eventually. Meanwhile, report, please.

"Aye, sir. Where to start? OK. All planet defenses have been placed on general quarters, all fleet vessels in system have been recalled to tactical orbit. At approximately 0910 hours, HMS Osiris in synchronous orbit detected an incoming warp drone. The drone was transmitting an imperial Omega Zulu code. The drone made transit at 0912 hours. HMS Osiris began standard download procedures, but the message was quadruple encrypted, and they could not decrypt