First Contact

Chapter 468

The waves lapped against the dock and the hydrofoil moored at the end. The night was dark, the ocean water almost a dark indigo, stars were in the sky, and the last rays of the day were gone. The breeze was brisk, cool, and smelled of fresh seawater.

Ba'ahnya'ahrd stood at the end of the dock, staring at the slow moving waves off the dock. His hydrofoil was being gone over by mechanics, the hidden missile launchers and machineguns needs maintenance.

It wouldn't do to have them jam or misfire in the pursuit of his villainous plots.

He turned away from the water, facing Chrome Cortez. He stared at his minion for a long moment.

"It has been a good game, Cortez," he said, buffing his nails on his vest as he stroked his fabulous purrboi with another hand. "The feints, the ripostes, the subterfuge," he said. He looked back at the ocean. "The careful balance of aggression and camouflage in your actions. Your misdirection and obfuscation."

He looked at Cortez closely. "But we both know the game is over. There is only one logical conclusion now, only one available thing to do."

Cortez nodded slowly, his hand moving slowly.

"Make your move, Cortez, and let the world know how this game has played out," Ba'ahnya'ahrd challenged.

Cortez reached out, touched the mounted knight, and moved it.

"Checkmate," Cortez said.

Ba'ahnya'ahrd nodded, leaning back and lifting up a glass of wine. "An excellent showing, Cortez," he said. He looked back at the board. "A fascinating game. Easy to learn rules, but amazingly complex," he looked up at Cortez. "Thank you for teaching it to me."

"Of course, sir," Cortez said.

"And thank you for not going easy upon me. One does not hone their skills against poorer players, one hones their skills by playing a stimulating and skilled opponent," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. He turned and looked at where the missile launcher was being taken apart.

"Another game, sir?" Cortez asked.

"Yes, please," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. He looked out at the ocean, which moved slowly. The massive moon, in such a close orbit, created large gravitational pull upon the ocean which covered around 70% of the planet. At first Ba'ahnya'ahrd had been alarmed by the massive gravitational pull, but now he had come to appreciate the visual appearance of the moon as well as the waves.

"How goes your plots, sir?" Cortez asked as he set back up the chess table. He had been surprised that Ba'ahnya'ahrd had preferred real pieces instead of holographic pieces, but in retrospect, it made sense.

"Moving forward, as all complicated things do, quite slowly," the Lanaktallan said. The moon was rising slowly, spilling silver light across the waves. He watched as several birds dived into the water and then surfaced, their large wings beating as they rose into the air.

Like all things on Terra, it is eat or be eaten, Ba'ahya'ahrd mused. An exciting place, full of such sights and experiences.

"With my people's unsuccessful invasion, my work has slowed," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said softly. "Then I watched the lemurs of Terra, no offense,"

"None taken," Cortez said, putting the pieces in their proper places.

"Expend great effort and resources toward saving even the lowliest crew member and soldier," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. "I admit I know that my people would have expended nothing more than the fuel for the incinerators on those unfortunates."

An uneasy silence fell over the pair.

Ba'ahnya'ahrd moved his pieces slowly, examining the board carefully before each move.

"My people are at war with yours," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said at last.

"That they are, sir," Cortez said.

"A war we have already lost," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said, turning and looking at the ocean.

Cortez moved his bishop and looked at Ba'ahnya'ahrd, raising an eyebrow.

"How so, sir?" he asked.

Ba'ahnya'ahrd stared at the silver light on the surface of the ocean.

"Militarily, we cannot prevail. Your society is multi-layered and complex, your culture is deep, even though it is fractured, and you are emotionally capable of losing your genesis world without it doing much more than galvanizing you to greater and greater feats. You do not die permanently, and even if you are threatened with permanent death, it only seems to cause you strive for greater and greater impact upon your surroundings," Ba'ahnya'ahrd's voice was soft. "I have destabilized governments, brought down corporations, hunted serial killers, assassinated diplomats and corporate officers," his voice did not get any louder, any more intent, just an empty recitation of facts. "Yet there is nothing for me to strike at. Any government I strike at, half of humanity will be cheering me on. Any corporation I destroy, a large segment of your population will point and laugh. Assassination does no good when there are legions to step into the deceased's place or the deceased just shows back up later in the day laughing about how he got assassinated."

He shook his head.

"I spent weeks crafting a meme that my experience told me would destabilize your people's morale," he said. He laughed, a soft bitter thing, saltier than the ocean water. "The memes mocking my meme are more popular and widespread within hours than my meme was in a week."

He turned over his upper left palm, the holo-emitter embedded inside throwing up a picture of the meme.

On the left was a Lanakallan dressed in vest, sash, and flank covering. Wealth and awards festooning everything. The whole thing was covering in scrolling words, showing all the advantages there was to being Lanaktallan and part of the Unified Council.

On the right was a human asleep in a garbage can with the only words being "HUMANITY" above the picture.

Ba'ahnya'ahrd flicked the hologram to the table as it kept playing.

When Cortez yawned Ba'ahnya'ahrd shook his head. "Yes. That's the reaction."

Cortez checked his watch. "It's been twenty minutes," he said.

"It's almost a fifth of the way through," Ba'ahnya'ahrd admitted. He pointed at the words. "This should have completely demoralized any lemur who read it."

He lifted his hand up and the meme showed Ba'ahnya'ahrd's meme in a box on the right with a cobweb draped skeleton on the left looking the meme with the words "Me waiting for my girlfriend to put on her makeup." Another one popped up with "Doctor, we're out of anesthesia!" being said by a nurse and the patient being shown Ba'ahnya'ahrd's meme. The last one read "We have to defuse this bomb before this meme ends!" and everyone going home for the night.

Ba'ahnya'ahrd's mournful expression almost made Cortez burst out laughing.

"It was perfectly crafted to destroy humanity's moral, yet," he sighed. "It did nothing. It was then I decided that I would be forced to use a meme of such power and danger that it is illegal in Council space and must be carefully recreated."

The hologram changed to a picture that slowly scrolled up. The Lanaktallan military, their spaceships, examples of their cities, how many worlds they had, how many races they had conquered. Then went into how they had defeated the other Precursor species and then gone on to dominate the base of the galactic arm spur, showing how Lanaktallan society and culture were a perfect machine that dominated all that it encountered.

"It lasts four hours," Ba'ahnya'ahrd admitted. "No species has ever withstood it."

"It didn't work, sir?" Cortez asked, moving a piece.

"Some devilish reprobate set it to music," Ba'ahnya'ahrd sighed.

"What happened then, sir?" Cortez asked.

"It won a Cannes Movie Festival Award for 'most auteur movie of the year' and came with a prize of two hundred thousand credits. It's going to be shown at theaters across the world as 'a triumphant look at the Unified Council and Lanaktallan Society' and has critics expounding upon its unflinching look at a 'bankrupt and empty society that only exists to consume'."

Ba'ahnya'ahrd sighed and made a move.

"But that was not the worst," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. He turned and looked out at the waves again. "The worst part was when I found myself laughing along with the memes memeing my meme, when I find myself considering what to wear when I go to accept the award next to the female Rigellian composer who set my work to music."

Ba'ahnya'ahrd picked up his glass and sipped at the spiced bourbon.

"Your SolNet is designed to connect to other species information networks in such a way that it can be accessed easily without taking over the other network," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. "Meaning the people in Council Space have had access to SolNet since before even the war started."

"Mm-hmm," Cortez said, pouring both of them another drink.

"Meaning, your people's memetic warfare will have overwhelmed my people's by the simple virtue of being humorous and brief," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. He sighed. "The Black Ice Nebula Coalition, in your history is my people's rise, stagnation, and fall, compressed into only five hundred years."

"They destroyed themselves through interplanetary nuclear war," Cortez said without even checking his implant.

"Replace the nuclear weaponry with memes," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. He made another move, taking Cortez's bishop. "My people are hilarious outgunned to the point where it makes me want to laugh at our pathetic attempts to resist you."

He looked back out at the ocean. "But I, Cortez, am a loyalist. Not just to Unified Council, but to the people of the Unified Systems. The Tnvaur, the Telkan, the Lanaktallan," he sighed, like a bagpipe slowly deflating. "My duty is clear, and it will be a heavy burden."

"What is that?" Cortez asked, feeling himself tense.

"Someone must keep watch for the best interests of those who have sought refuge here, who are prisoners of war, who fled here from the war against the war machines. Not someone obvious, but someone who understands how to keep track of public sentiment and the true desires of governments that lie behind their words," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. "I am a patriot, Cortez. I believe in my people, all of my people."

He sighed again, taking another sip from his warmed bourbon. "I have decided to remain in the shadows, to turn all my nefarious schemes into watching over the people's of the Unified Civilized Species and Uncivilized Species alike."

He made a move then watched as Cortez took his knight and checkmated him.

"A good game, Cortez," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said, standing up. He looked around. "Summon the men," he pointed at the hydrofoil when the mechanics were climbing down the ladder onto the dock.

"The first thing we're going to do, is ensure that Yu'umo'o does not betray our people," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said. "I have been informed of a plot."

"Oh?" Cortez asked, summoning up Ba'ahnya'ahrd's preferred strike team members and firing off a quick memo to Lone Star Security LLC.

"Yu'umo'o intends on fostering discontent and strife in one of the larger civilian refugee centers. I plan on stopping him," Ba'ahnya'ahrd said, trotting toward the lift that would enable him to board the hydrofoil. He looked at Cortez. "Bring a hat. I hear Siberia is cold."

As the lift carried up to the level of the deck Ba'ahnya'ahrd examined his eight round rotary magazine 40mm grenade launcher.

"We shall dine on potatoes and vodka, whatever they are, when we are victorious over that plotter Yu'umo'o."

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Lu'uvako'o was one of the longest settled planet in the Unified Civilized Council territory. Often referred to as one of the original nine settlements, it was only behind the Capital System in regards to lavishness, wealth, political power, and perfection.

Those who lived there were among the wealthiest and most powerful beings in the Unified Systems, with family lineages that went so far back they could only be tracked by the most powerful computers.

On Lu'uvako'o was the primary city of Stu'uku'up, the wealthiest, most lavish, most well designed city in all of Lanaktallan creation. Those who lived there were the most powerful beings on the planet. They ruled over vast political or economical empires and their power could not be denied.

Which is why every single one of them hid inside their manors at night and shivered in fear.

The streets were filled with fog so thick that lights were blocked out only paces away. Strange sounds could be heard in the fog. Strange shadows moved on unknowable tasks.

And in that fog, lurked the Night Terran.

Nobody was safe, no matter how many sec beings they employed. No being was beyond the Night Terran's reach, no matter how lavish the security system. No being was spared the Terror That Blah's in the Night if they were targeted.

Even armored and armed sec-men hid inside their cubicles or their guard shacks, nervously petting their weapons and their feeding tendrils trembling as the fog began to rise as the sun began to set.

None of that was known by the beings that, at first, was hundreds of light years ago.

Lu'uvako'o had, at one time in the past or future, occupied the same stellar position as the planet the beings were currently on.

The twelve of them gathered together, joined the vast power of their minds, and reached across space and time to step from the planet they one to the surface of Lu'uvako'o.

The twelve Atrekna appeared silently in the fog. They immediately cast out their psychic net, looking for any possible herd stallions or herd matrons.

A Lanaktallan galloped by, his sash askew, his vest rumpled, his flank covering slid off kilter. His tongue was hanging out and he was staggering with exhaustion as he clattered down the street making noises of distress and fear.

The Atrekna looked at one another as they watched the Lanaktallan ignore them. They could taste the terror, the absolute horror, the desperation to escape. So deep was the Lanaktallan's distress that the Atrekna shied back from his mind.

A squeaking noise got their attention.

As one they turned, bringing up their vast mental defenses.

A strange eddy in the fog allowed them to see the strangest sight.

A doll, a crude representation of the feral primates, was upon a three wheeled pedal conveyance. Its eyes were burning bright red lights, it had red spirals painted on the cheeks. It stopped, blinked its red eyes, and slowly, jerkily, looked from one Atrekna to the next.

The lowest ranking glided forward slightly.

FWOOP!

The doll, and its conveyance, shattered, flying back to vanish into the fog.

Satisfied, the twelve turned their attention to the roaring tides of time.

Four began to reach back, to find when the Atrekna ruled the planet. Four others sought out slave spawn that had crossed the planet's trajectory.

A ring had passed this exact spot fifteen million years ago. The ring was gone, destroyed in a howl of savage glee the Atrekna had come to equate with the feral primates.

The other four cast out with their minds, looking for leaders, looking for the easiest to dominate. They would take command of those ones, prevent any signal from going out, prevent the shelters from...

There was the sound of running footsteps, a black blur, and one of them vanished.

More than just physically vanished. They disappeared from the delicately intertwined psionic web.

All eleven opened their eyes and looked around.

The fog blocked even psychic vision, even phasic senses.

"You merely adopted the night, blah bleh blah," came whispered out of the fog.

FWOOP

All of them focused mental energy, each of them firing powerful psionic blasts, capable of cracking a half inch of warsteel, toward where they had heard the sound emanate from.

None of them could sense any living creature.

"I was, blah bleh blah, created by it," the whisper came.

FWOOP!

Nothing happened except the fog rippled slightly.

Light suddenly flared in the fog. Three of the Atrekna squealed in pain as their sensitive optic nerves were dazzled. The others turned away slightly. There was a bestial roar of a petroleum driven engine.

They gathered together, moving their hands, and raising a barrier of pure phasic energy between them and the light.

And were promptly hit by a garbage truck driven by three Savashan squirmlings who were swinging back and forth on the steering wheel and making squeaking giggles at the fun game. It came from the side, roaring, the right hand blinker on, running over four of them before they could even react. One managing to get one shaking hand up in front of the windshield before he was pulled beneath the truck to bounce and tear apart against the undercarriage.

The Shavashan squirmlings jumped up and down on the big bench seat, squeaking their laughter.

The truck roared on, leaving shattered and crushed bruised purple flesh smeared on the pavement behind it. It squealed to a stop, ground the gears, and backed up with a loud obnoxious beeping. The squirmlings laughing and jumping up and down on the seat. It came to a stop.

On the back of the garbage truck, dressed in a workbeing's uniform, the Night Terran stared down at the three mortally wounded but still alive Atrekna that had only been glanced by the garbage truck.

Humming a tune, the Night Terran picked them up, one by one, and threw them in the back.

Still whistling, he ran the compactor, then slapped the side of the truck.

The still living Atrekna screamed in agony as the compactor slowly crushed them to death.

The gears ground and the garbage truck jerked into motion, the petroleum engine roaring as it vanished into the fog, trailing the agonized screams of the Atrekna.

The Lanaktallan who heard it breathed a sigh of relief.

The Night Terran had found a victim, and it wasn't them.