Test of Servitude: The Torian Reclamation, #5

By Andy Kasch

A true leader must cultivate a heart of service rather than authority.
 
What will Earth be like? That's the question on every Torian human mind. Some, a minority, remember it with fondness. But the majority dread the long-delayed Earth relocation mission. Brandon Foss, their unwitting leader, hardly blames them for their fear of the unknown. Unfortunately, he has too many logistical problems just trying to get them there to deal with that—some of which only validate their fears.
 
It's been 39 Tora years since the first of 372 Earthlings were revived from cryonic preservation. More than half a century has passed on Earth since their individual abductions. The human population on Banor has grown to more than two thousand, including 348 first-generation survivors. The bulk of these people will be forced to leave the only home they've ever known to move to a place with unfamiliar hazards and a shorter life expectancy, where they do not know if they will even be welcome. Then again, they have not exactly felt welcome on Banor the last few years. When a new alien attack coincides with a sobering shave from a cosmic natural disaster, most of the Earthlings finally realize they belong on their home planet, come of it what may.
 
No big project is ever easy, and that's without the endless chain of sinister roadblocks which seem to plague Brandon's final mission. Ultimately, the entire human population will have to test the old prophecies about the true identity of their worst enemy if they are to reach a safe harbor where they can build a promising future.
 
This is Book 5 of the Torian Reclamation and the final installment of the series, which took more than eight years to complete. The author hopes the conclusion prompts a rusty old gear or two in your mind to start turning. Enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy Kasch
• Release date: Nov 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215519950

Book preview

Sol Star System, Earth Year SA32

It must be faulty navigation data, Admiral Farenbert said leaning over his senior navigator’s rumpled shoulders. Handling unexpected problems was not Farenbert’s strong point. This one made him especially nervous. It was, after all, the first time any Mparian vessel had ventured outside the Erobian Sphere.

The data may be faulty now, Captain Norindack replied, but it wasn’t before we arrived. I believe this is the right system.

Then where is this Earth, Captain? The third planet is red and dead, as you can plainly see. Our scans return no sign of a hydrosphere world.

I don’t trust our scans, Admiral. Norindack pointed to one of his station screens. Something happened to our sensors when we dagged in. The space here is unstable, in my opinion, and possibly hazardous. We should head out to a nearby dark zone. At this point I’m all for recommending aborting the entire project. But…

But what?

I think we are at the fourth planet. It’s a little far from the star to have ever provided an ideal atmosphere for warm-blooded species. And the orbit of the second planet is so far away, it leaves a conspicuous gap.

But there’s nothing in that gap.

Maybe.

Farenbert straightened. Is there something you’re not telling me, Captain?

Norindack turned to him, frowning. When we first arrived, I watched as the navigation system went buggy. If I didn’t know better, I’d be suspicious of a cyberattack. Our screens blipped and the readouts kept surging well after the distortion effects had fully subsided. During that time I was certain I saw another planet, larger than this one, in the gap on our initial scan.

Well it’s gone now, Farenbert said.

Yes. Norindack tapped the screen. It’s gone now, from our detection at least. I’m betting it’s there regardless. Only … I don’t want to go to it.

Why not?

Norindack hesitated, and appeared to carefully consider his next response. That wasn’t like him. It also wasn’t like the other officers on the bridge of The Advocate to keep silent and refrain from chiming in with observations and opinions, especially with no merchant crew on board. This assignment was a pure reconnaissance mission, something unique which the military personnel found refreshing.

Farenbert knew they wouldn’t be on this voyage, though, unless a promise of substantial gain had been made to Mpar. Belle-ub, the half-breed High Chancellor of Tora and leader of a four-world confederacy had undoubtedly made some tantalizing offer to the Mparian Prime Minister—probably exclusivity on a major commercial trading contract—for providing transportation to move their Earthling population to their ancestral home world. It was an uncomfortable mission because the star system was located outside the sphere, and thus outside all Mpar’s known interstellar routes. That didn’t mean much on the surface. Space was space, and the distance was no farther than the outer reaches of the sphere in opposite directions where the Mparian trading fleet now had regular operations.

Nevertheless, there was still something daunting about leaving the sphere. Everyone felt it, whether they admitted it or not. It was a journey into the unfamiliar. Now that the first such trip arrived at the intended destination, the irrational fears were beginning to feel validated.

Norindack finally issued a reply, in a more official-sounding voice than he’d been speaking in thus far.

It is this navigation officer’s opinion, Admiral, that whatever is masking Earth from our sensors, from this close a distance, is potentially dangerous. It could be something technological, or perhaps a natural disturbance, but it must be coming from a powerful source to hide an entire planet from us.

Farenbert nodded appreciatively. He took a long minute himself to arrive at a decision.

So noted, Captain. I do tend to share your cautious instincts. Unfortunately, we can’t go back and make such a report without investigating further—especially now that you’ve advised me you actually think it is here.

I was afraid you’d say that.

We’ll do it your way, Captain. Farenbert straightened. Take us to a nearby dark zone as you said, to get a different perspective.

Yes sir.

The short trip didn’t take long. Admiral Farenbert found himself leaning over his navigator’s shoulders again. Sure enough, the sensors picked up something new in the Earth system which did initially look like another planet in the gap, closer to the second planet than the red one they were just at. It again blipped off the screen, but not before Farenbert saw it this time.

Strange, Farenbert muttered.

Wait, Captain Norindack said. There it is again.

Where?

It’s gone again. No wait, it’s back.

I see it now. Try to get a fix on its orbital path and take us there—a healthy distance away, of course.

All right, Admiral. I think I can do that.

Norindack had to work at it, but he eventually plotted an orbit from the elusive planet’s blips. Some of the crewmembers made disgruntled sounds when the distortion course was laid in. It seemed that everyone had a bad feeling about it. Farenbert gave the order to proceed.

From the moment they dagged back in, it proved a bad decision. A beautiful blue planet was indeed there—Earth, no doubt. At least most of it. Part of its shape was blocked on the viewing screens by a dark mass which immediately played havoc with Farenbert’s ship. Half the bridge crew suddenly yelled about failing systems and haywire instrument readings.

Propulsion! Farenbert ordered. Get us away from this spot!

The ship struggled, but managed to move. Soon the full planet could be seen.

What’s the problem? Farenbert asked anyone who could answer. Are we damaged?

No Admiral, a science officer replied. It’s a severe gravitational pull. Like a massive tractor beam is on us.

Coming from the planet?

No. From that local dark spot next to it.

Magnify it for me, Farenbert said.

The main screen changed views to what was mostly utter blackness, with a sliver of Earth on one side and a faint starry backdrop on the other.

What in Erob is that? Farenbert asked.

A different science officer answered. It appears to be a singularity of some type. Like a miniature black hole. Its pull is strong, Admiral. Our engines can’t hold out against it.

Farenbert turned to Captain Norindack. I’ve seen enough. Get us out of here, Captain.

Dag plotting controls malfunctioning, Norindack said. Too much interference, presumably from that singularity.

Are we at maximum thrust? Farenbert shouted.

Darn near, the local navigator replied.

Well give it all we have, then. Reduce the magnification on the main screen.

The ship then began shuddering as the engines stressed to maximum output, causing some bridge officers, including Farenbert, to grab ahold of a station rail to steady themselves. Earth became fully visible on the screen again as The Advocate made headway against the sinister gravitational vortex. Farenbert breathed a sigh of relief.

Status, Captain? he asked Norindack.

Dag plotting controls still out, sir.

What about the distortion field generator?

That appears to be in full working order. We can dag away any time, but without plotting instrumentation we can only go to a completely random location. I can’t even define a distance or direction, so local jumps are as dangerous as long ones. We could end up on the surface of a planet, in an asteroid belt, or even inside the core of a star. Recommend we keep trying to pull away here.

That’s not likely to succeed, a science officer chimed. There is no sign of the pull weakening, and we are over-stressing our engines.

Farenbert stood silent for a moment as the full weight of the situation fell upon him. It was looking as if the entire ship and crew were about to be lost unless they took their chances on a completely random jump through space.

Begin launching interstellar message pods, he ordered. To our fellow Mparians, and anyone else for that matter. Compose a quick warning to stay out of this star system, and by no means attempt to transport any Earthlings back to Earth!

Admiral, Norindack began to repeat, the dag plotting controls are not—

Take some random shots, Captain. Use your training and instincts to your full ability, knowing you are probably practicing for our own desperate attempt to break free. Put a couple locally as well, in case any ships come in at a safe distance the way we first did.

I’ll do my best, sir.

Cardinal-5 Space Station, Tora Star System

Chapter One

Extat! was all Brandon heard from the corridor in an unmistakable voice. He couldn’t help but smile as he stood to pour two servings of Redflower-20. Before he turned back around, the voice had joined him in the conference room.

Better keep the bottle handy, it said. I’m in a particularly ugly mood today.

Brandon turned to him, holding the full tubes. Have you ever not been, General?

Not lately. General Olut6 accepted a tube and sat down opposite Brandon at the end of the long moriglass table. Two silver-skinned armed guards stood outside the soundproof doors.

Tulros, Olut6 said. He promptly drained the tube in one swallow.

I’m afraid I’m getting too old for that. Tulros. Brandon drank only half his tube.

Age is an illusion, my soon-to-be repatriated Earthman. Ask your friend the prophet. Whenever I meet with you now, I always wonder if it will be the last time we ever see each other.

Brandon frowned and took the rest of his drink. It stung less than the first swallow, but produced enough euphoria to rewarm his expression and soften his speech.

I do appreciate the respect you show him, General, by referring to him in that manner. I know it’s never exactly been your thing. Brandon produced two cigars from his jacket pocket.

Olut6 reached for one with a large leathery arm. You’ll forgive me if I cannot bring myself to use the same term when referencing you. Even if you make a public proclamation describing yourself as such.

It wasn’t public. Brandon pointed the cigar in his face before placing it in his hand. And shouldn’t a friend be the first to forgive a hasty emotional remark made six years in the past? Especially one directed at Belle-ub.

You have got me there, Earthman. Olut6 jammed the cigar in his mouth and appeared poised to say something else, but was interrupted by the door to the room sliding open.

They both turned to see Dan-rar walk in. He bowed not quite low enough for his red hood to cover his face, saying tulros without looking directly at either of them.

What do you want? Olut6 growled.

Dan-rar squinted at the High General. Should not a guest return a proper greeting from his host, Colonel?

Not as long as you continue to insult me by addressing me with a false rank.

It is your official Torian rank now, Colonel. I cannot address you otherwise without being disloyal to the High Chancellor.

Please just go away. You are rudely intruding.

Dan-rar stood still and said, The High Chancellor requests an official report from your latest interstellar patrols. How shall I tell him it will be delivered?

By zaboar.

Brandon burst out laughing, nearly dropping his empty drink tube. Dan-rar only cocked his head.

Olut6 spoke again. Your boss may be able to promote and demote you according to his every whim, but he has no authority in the STPF. We remain a sovereign entity, even if that red-hooded mongrel did manage to rig himself a second election.

If that is the case, Dan-rar replied, why did you surrender the space station, along with the primary Banorian military bases, in obedience to the High Chancellor’s orders?

To prevent a civil war! It sure as extat wasn’t out of obedience! My highest sworn duty is to my own people, always. Olut6 took a moment to recompose himself before continuing, waving his unlit cigar in more casual hand motions.

You have no idea how much you still need me, do you, Dan-rar? Well, go ahead and have fun playing space station governor while I continue trying to keep you and it from being blown to bits by enemies you don’t even know you have yet. You can thank me later, if you are able to bring yourself to do so after banishing your most loyal protectors to a desolate cave.

Moment of silence while Brandon reached to light Olut6’s cigar, and then his own. This was beginning to be fun.

Colonel, Dan-rar said. But when Olut6 didn’t look away from his cigar he lowered his tone and said, High General.

That earned a surprised stare from Olut6.

Perhaps if you address the High Chancellor properly, Dan-rar pleaded, he will return the courtesy and officially restore your former rank in the annals of his own confederacy.

Olut6 leaned forward. You may tell the ‘High Chancellor’ that a full intelligence report will be sent to him over the usual secure channel after we’ve finished investigating a security breach—which he is likely responsible for anyway. If he wants it before then, he can put on a weather suit and come visit me himself.

Thank you. Dan-rar bowed and left the room.

That was unexpectedly civil, Brandon said taking a puff.

You mean from me or from him?

I meant from you, but now that you mention it…

As soon as I realized he was intentionally provoking me I cooled down. A game strategist like you should get it, Brandon. I’m sure not going to be manipulated by the likes of him. If I let him irk me, he wins.

Brandon nodded. I’ll have to remember that one. So how are things going up on Continent-1, anyway?

Cold. Too cold for natives to be exposed outside. We get instantly sluggish and walk in slow-motion. We have to keep full environmental support systems running, as here on the station, inside all our excavated structures and hangars. How’s the relocation project coming?

Brandon made an exasperated motion with his hands. Postponed four times now, and many of us are understandably losing faith in it ever happening. Plus a dissension movement has started.

Dissension? As in refusing to go?

As in.

How many?

Brandon thought for a second. Counting children who have no vote in the matter, several hundred, I believe.

Olut6 frowned. You will, of course, inform them that none of them actually have a vote in it. Not anymore. The matter was settled six years ago.

I’ll try, General, but I’m not going to physically push anyone up a boarding ramp. Especially since I don’t really blame them. You can’t expect our enthusiasm to hold when it takes this long to orchestrate.

Something tells me there will be no further postponements. Olut6 blew a smoke ring. You should come up to C1 and see our operation before you go. Let me know first, so I can program an exception in the security system.

Brandon smiled. You weren’t expecting any Earthling visitors?

No. Have any of you performed any nuclear light tricks lately?

The only one I’m aware of happened when Belle-ub ejected Chet Miller, the last human on Amulen, out of the barter marketplace and off the planet. Chet’s the oddball who conspired with Belle-ub and Noor against us in that Babulian incident. I hear he lit up like a supernova when Belle-ub came to get him, but Belle-ub remained unfazed. Guess he isn’t afraid of us anymore. Also, the Banorians don’t seem to mind us in their public facilities again. Looks like everyone finally accepts us the way they do swamp amphibians who inflate their throats to scare off predators.

I wish we had something like that these days to scare off attackers, Olut6 said staring at the ceiling.

Are there really any new enemies to worry about? Brandon asked.

New enemies and old ones. The Erobian alliance is anything but an alliance anymore. And Belle-ub’s confederation is only a confederation as long as its members don’t think they can gain more by turning against us. The whole extat galaxy has gone mad with greed, thanks to Belle-ub’s currency exchanges and Mpar’s interstellar commerce trade. I miss the days when our enemies were motivated purely by jealousy over this space station, and just wanted to take pot shots at us.

So who are you currently worried about, General?

Olut6 sat forward again. That is no longer any concern of yours. Not to mention highly classified information.

Brandon frowned.

Of course, he said waving the cigar, you still enjoy high clearance status, Brandon, so come on up if you want to know that badly. I no longer trust security on this station.

He paused. You sure are taking your time pouring us another drink.

* * *

Whoa little star, slow down! Derek reached to grab his grandson before he could tumble his way into the first trench of the obstacle course.

Rachel3 giggled and ran straight into both of them, knocking Jumper2 down.

Easy Rachie, Derek said. Your cousin may be almost your size, but he’s only four years old and you’re six. The boy formed a perturbed look that Derek refused to believe came from his side of the family.

Here little star, play with this. Derek handed him the children’s fishing pole he’d grabbed in the camp store before they went out back to play.

Jumper2’s eyes lit up as he accepted the mini tractor-beam device and began lifting small rocks off the ground with it.

You’re the best grandpa in the universe, Jumper said. The delight showing in his grin was somewhat hindered by having to keep one eye on his child still playing near the trench. Derek knew there was a part of him which actually wanted to let his son roll into it and learn how to be a rough-and-tough adventurer like his dad. It was a conflict within Jumper to be sure. At long last he’d discovered the torments of parenthood—which, Derek was discovering, were a source of amusement for grandparents.

I’m still disappointed you sold out to the numbered name system, Derek said.

You’re the only human who hasn’t, Dad. How do you think I felt growing up as the one lone kid who didn’t have a number in his name?

Special! Like your old man. And if you really wanted to adopt the Torian tradition in regards to naming offspring, you could have given your boy your full birth name.

If I wanted him to get beat up at recess every day. Let’s not go through that again.

Derek laughed. Well, perhaps I was still a bit goofy when I named you. Blame your mom for not stopping me. But you have to remember, we all went through a traumatic experience waking up in this world. Or, I should say, the world next door.

I know, Dad. And the promises of righting that wrong are starting to look empty.

Brandon says we’re going. That’s enough for me to keep believing. Please don’t tell him I said that, though.

Jumper’s expression turned sad.

What’s the matter, son? It’s not like you to stress out about anything.

My wife isn’t happy. I find I can’t be happy unless she is.

You guys aren’t fighting, are you?

No. I’m smart enough not to challenge her on anything minor. It’s why our marriage works, I think. But she’s been off in her own world lately. I foresee a battle over something major looming.

Is this about your cat?

Yeah. Pretty sure that’s what it’s really about. Casanova hasn’t been the same. The kid demands all our attention. Kayla thinks Casanova feels neglected, and she’s guilt-ridden over it. That’s why she’s out there looking for him today. He’s been hiding in the obstacle course more, and hanging around us less.

How long do felidors naturally live? Derek asked.

According to a zoologist at the university, fifteen to twenty years on Amulen. But he thinks Casanova may have a shorter life expectancy here, away from his natural habitat. He’s almost fifteen, best we can figure. And he hasn’t exactly had a normal life. Kayla is not going to abandon him if the Earth move finally happens, and she won’t take him with us even if we manage to get permission, because the trip would be too agitating for him now.

And that’s what your fight is about? Her refusing to go? Which in turn means you can’t go. Your mom and I won’t go without the whole family together, either. Look how many dominos are starting to fall.

I know, Dad. She’s rationalizing it saying things like there is no disease on Banor, and we have such a long life expectancy here while Earth is full of sickness and other hazards—and we’ll all be dead, or old and decrepit, in a few short decades there. Plus the fact we may not even be welcome and might have to live primitive lives in some jungle. But as you surmised, it’s probably really about Casanova.

Derek scratched his freshly-shaved chin. Casanova came from C5 Amulen, right? Near Landen?

Yes.

I’ll bet we can get my Sheen friends at Landen to take him, and give him a good life the few years he has left—which will be longer there, and healthier. He’d be in no better hands than Porla8’s, not even Kayla’s.

Seriously, Dad? She might go for that!

Derek chuckled. I’ll talk to Arkan9 about the arrangements. I’m sure Brandon will be willing to transport him for us.

Jumper formed a genuine wide smile and picked his son up in the air when he tried to run past him. He then positioned the squirming boy on top of his palms to fly him over his head like a spaceship.

Do you ever miss the adventuring days of your youth? Derek asked.

Oh yeah, Jumper replied. When Alan got to go off on those interstellar merchant tours, I was pretty jealous, to be honest. But I wouldn’t trade this for that. Not for all the adventures in the galaxy.

I think you’ll find parenting is its own adventure.

Jumper set his 4-year old back on the ground. Especially in a place with disease and a thousand other hazards, huh?

I wouldn’t be overly-concerned with that. Earth has its strong points, too. Besides, it’s not like there aren’t hazards here. Dangerous animals, wars with aliens, not to mention addiction to that game you started playing again.

Thanks for reminding me. Jumper checked his watch. And for babysitting. I need to get going.

* * *

The new argim brewpub had a pleasing appearance from the outside, though Brandon dreaded what he would find inside. The trend of brewery tasting rooms sprouting up all over Banor was one he enjoyed, truth be told. Too bad about the other new trend. This was the worst time of day to be walking into a lounge. The bulk of the intellectual work-force on Continent-4, what they would refer to as white collar workers back on Earth, had just finished their day. It was the Banorian rush hour.

It was also the Banorian happy hour. At least there was a silver lining.

The inside of the pub was visually appealing as well, from a furnishings perspective. A long bar topped with beautiful Amulen cortzye stones dominated the front section. A half-dozen lengthy community tables filled a large drinking hall in the rear. It’s what sat atop those tables that bothered Brandon.

That, and the number of natives who occupied the seats waiting for the top of the hour. Servers hurried to deliver argim in large drinking vessels there. Brandon didn’t see any smaller size mugs, and understood why. It was smart marketing. The pub needed to make the bulk of its revenue for the entire evening now, before that damn clock hit zero hour—even though they would be open the rest of the night.

A partial saving grace was the presence of only a few humans among the hundred or so patrons sitting at the tables. That was somewhat spoiled by the fact one of those humans was Brandon’s own nephew, who was so focused on the empty polwar frame in front of him—and the Amulite sitting directly across from him—that he hadn’t even seen Brandon come in.

Brandon decided to go to the bar, which was relatively empty, and attempt to enjoy a freshly-brewed argim. Before he could take two steps, a familiar voice hailed him.

Uncle Brandon!

He turned to see Alan, who’d apparently come in the door right behind him. He wore the same popular brand of green shirt Jumper had on, a wide grin, and expensive boots from the camp store.

Well, well, Brandon replied, aware of a joyful grin commandeering his own face. He forced himself to change it to a scolding frown after shaking Alan’s hand.

What in Erob brings you here? Brandon asked.

I came to support Jumper. Alan motioned his head without reducing the intensity of his smile. Did you know his opponent tonight is top-rated, and came all the way from C3 Amulen today to play him?

Despite being slightly tickled by the news, Brandon managed to maintain a sense of responsibility and put forth another serious question.

Tell me, Alan, how do you feel about this place, and all the others like it popping up on Banor?

He shrugged. Probably the same way you do. Mixed emotions. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not tempted to play. Too out of practice, anyway. But I find maintaining old friendships to be gratifying.

Brandon eyed Jumper while replying, You have got me there, Earthman. How’s Kayla doing? If you know.

Not good. She’s threatening to join the dissidents, because Casanova is getting old. He can’t even jump to the roof of the store anymore. She won’t leave him, and doesn’t want to put him through another interstellar journey to a strange world to die in. She’s going to be a problem, Uncle Brandon.

That’s nothing new. I’ll talk to her. Come, let me buy you a ridiculous tankard of argim.

Before Alan could respond, another familiar voice spoke from behind him.

Make that three, Commander.

Brandon’s eyes moved and landed on a bronze leather skin much rougher than it used to be.

Governor! Brandon said. Sorry. Old habits. How are you, Mip7?

Happy to be home.

Brandon glanced around the room.