Down A Peg

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 64

Thueknorrurr (Knoellighz 1127) B679000-A Di VAsP
http://wiki.travellerrpg.com/Thueknorrurr_(world)

The text message came over the Portable Controller to Kakhskha. It was from Dead-Hex who had locked himself in his cabin and was busy with the Darknet hack. Captain, are we leaving? I need to keep a Comm connection if this going to work. I can feel the Drives powering up from in my cabin.

Kakhkha sat on the Bridge and typed a response back to the Duelean male once she saw Prof. Zannun and Lt. Anghal enter through the iris valve and take up stations with the Captain. Don’t worry, Dead-Hex. The Prof has a plan. He and Anghal have been sneaking through the station this morning. We will be able to maintain a connection. Just do whatever it is you are doing back there.

Since there was no answer, the Pact female had to guess that Dead-Hex had gone back to work at his cabin desk. With no Passengers, Freight or new speculatives, Kakshkha had loaded only a single Mail canister released to her by the duty officer of the local Admiralty. With a shrug, the male naval Vargr had given over a very dated Mail canister six years old. She had explained to the Lieutenant that it would serve historical archives if brought back home to Roethoeegaeaegz. As there were still quite a few Mail canisters left, the male signed over one for distribution. Kakshkha also knew that it would be welcomed at the next waypoint world as Utogagzae would mistake it for a current Mail update and easily take in the shared information, with the embedded and hidden info-virus. Given that the next world was significantly lower-tech, Kakhskha was confident that the hack would be missed as the Gatherer passed through as just another innocent, civilian Merchant vessel registered at her homeworld.

It had been twenty-four hours and the local Admiralty Vargr were starting to get anxious for the Gatherer to depart. If the Surveyor had been caught on Sensors by the patrol fleet, the local duty officer would have to produce a more detailed report on the Gatherer’s business at the station.

“Report,” ordered Kakhksha who was seated at the Helm. Lt. Ardell was helping her with the Sensors boards but only so she could look at them when she needed.

“Mission complete, ma’am,” said Lt. Anghal crisply. “Professor Zannun and I have the components in place, hidden and online. We can leave.”

“Well done you two,” nodded Kakhskha. “I now need Prof. Zannun to run the Astrogation numbers for jump to Utogagzae. If this works, there will be no rush to jump from this system. So take your time, Zannun. Don’t be hasty like Dead-Hex always flaunts his math skills.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the eldest Vargr. The black-furred Seruean then sat down at Dead-Hex’ usual spot at Astrogation and began working. “Comms?”

“We won’t need them until the final upload commit just before jump,” explained Kakhskha. "But we do have to be away from the station and out of Sensor contact. So, I have to engage the Stealth Mask and we will run silent until that time.”

“Internal power online, Lifters active and Maneuver Drives available, ma’am,” said the Chief Engineer. Inwardly, Kakshkha was glad the chocolate female was the least stressed about this maneuver Kakhskha was about to attempt. It concerned technology beyond both the average League and Pact Navies.

The SJL-3A32 Gatherer pulled from the opened hangar and proceeded to lose itself amid the thin ring of debris and wreckage as it made a quiet circumnavigation around mainworld Thueknorrurr. Kakhskha took her time and ordered the ship to expend minimal energies and observe a communications silence though she knew that Dead-Hex would need that connection when he finally pressed the COMMIT button from his spot in his cabin.

Twelve hours earlier, the Duelean had taken food, coffee, water and his Portable Controller into his cabin. Killing his lights as the door shut in Kakhskha’s face, Dead-Hex locked the door between them. It was a weird thing to happen to her, on her ship, but the Captain shrugged. Hackers were shut-ins it seemed. She had returned to the Bridge to await Anghal and Zannun. In that time, she had chewed both her thumbclaws down to the quick in her habitual patience.

“How is this going to work, Kakshkha?” whispered Marine Lt. Ardell as the two newcomers continued work on the Bridge. “I don’t understand how we can keep silent, transmit the data and maintain stealth from the backside of the planet.”

“Don’t distract me,” whispered the beige female. “That’s a lot of junk out there that I have to dodge.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 65

The stealthy ring travel was not as bad as Kakhskha had made it out to Lt. Ardell. The difficulty lay in having to pilot the 300-ton Surveyor through the debris field for an extended amount of time and while constantly changing the vector as the ship circumnavigated the mainworld of Thueknorrurr. Larger wreckage was simple to avoid. Having to make decisions in seconds as to whether a floating and shattered hull plate or frame was too large for the Gatherer’s armor was harder. To keep the Stealth Mask’s concealing properties, Kakhskha could not charge the plate armor as it might create a footprint signature that the patrol fleet might pick up on Sensors. However difficult and long the hunter-hunted game lasted, Kakhskha at the helm had assistance from the Model/6 ship’s Computer Cells and was fed continual warnings from the Seruean Visor Sensor. Each chunk of starship wreckage and floating debris was targeted, measured by the densitometer and highlighted in red if it was too massive to approach safely. Then the computer fed a suggested course to the heads-up display on the helm.

The hours plodded onward with random and minor scrapes and screeching, metal-on-armor sounds of the glimmering ring on the ship’s armor sounding through the ship. Already Marine Lt. Ardell had complained that the ship would need a new outer paint job to go with the overdue maintenance and life support bills. So long as the armor held and the Stealth Mask was still effective, the Gatherer was just another floating piece of junk in a battlefield graveyard high above Thueknorrurr.

“Lt. Anghal,” Kakhskha spoke up.

“Yes, ma’am?” asked the standing, Duelean Naval female.

“Take the con while I run to the fresher and check on Dead-Hex.”

“I have the con, ma’am.” The Chief Engineer stepped to the helm position and sat down as quickly as Kakhskha rose.

“Captain,” interrupted Lt. Ardell as Kakhskha made for the iris valve. Coming up to Kakhskha, the Marine whispered, “Do you trust her in this junkyard?”

“Do you see another rated ACS Pilot in here, Ardell?” asked Kakshkha. “I have to trust my crew sometime, Counsellor, but right now I gotta go.” At that Kakhskha exited the Bridge via the iris valve.

A few minutes later, Kakhskha stopped before the door to Dead-Hex’ cabin. Rather than risking knocking on his door or ringing his door, she spoke up from the corridor, “Dead-Hex? We’re almost there. We’ll establish a Comms connection as soon as you call, okay?”

There was no answer. The beige female had just come from the communal fresher, so she knew the Duelean male was not there. She remembered that he had taken food with him into his crew stateroom. Was he asleep at the terminal? Rather than give in to the urge to interrupt such a risky and dedicated hacker, Kakhskha turned slightly to depart for the Bridge. But Dead-Hex’ door slid open.

The mottled gray and black male poked his head out of the cabin and surprised her with a genuine lick. “You guys are amazing!” he said hushedly. “Great idea, by the way.” And just like that, he ducked back into his cabin and locked the door again. It had happened so fast that the Captain was wide-eyed, stunned and still facing down the hall leading back to the Bridge.

Dead-Hex had deduced from inside his cabin what Professor Zannun and Anghal had planned and implemented. It was their idea. Yet, Kakhskha was not going to complain that her impromptu mate-husband had taken time from a critical task to lick her as one. It made her breathe calmer and curl the edges of her mouth in a smile as she continued foreward to the Bridge.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 65a

Anghal caught a glimpse of the Sensors board as she passed it on her way back to the Engineering station. There were incoming fighters from the large, Ascendancy Pact cruisers ahead as well as a planet-to-orbit barrage from below.

Anghal spotted the next chunk of debris to avoid on the Visor board which was pushed forward where it could be seen in glances to her left.

“Lieutenant, evasive action!” her Captain had called out.

“Lieutenant! Evasive action!” called the female Vargr beside her at the helm.

“More power to the Drives!” Anghal had scrambled to her boards to comply with the Captain’s order. The barrage from the planet surface struck many of the Infinity League ships at once as the enemy fighters slid past the forward firing arcs. The ten-ton fighters were just too fast for larger Barbettes and Bays. Beam lasers made nets of the space between the opposing fleets.

“Faster, Anghal!” called the female who was shaking her from somewhere. She reached for the throttle.

The barrage struck her ship. The gravity plates failed and the hits launched Anghal across the Bridge as her board exploded with sparks of electricity making a death throes lightshow. A pain blossomed on her skull, right where she had been inj-

“Annghallll!” cried Lt. Ardell.

Anghal returned in time to throttle the Gatherer’s Maneuver Drive and bank the ship to a side. With a deft pull and a twist upon the helm controls, the Lieutenant whisked the ship by the massive, mangled wreck at an odd angle to its mass. Proximity alarms that had mimicked the incoming fire on the naval cruiser continued to sound.

“I see it, Ardell,” responded the Navy female through gritted teeth after the fact. She had spaced again. Ears flat and her brow furrowed, Anghal became angry with herself. Her claws tightened on the controls. For too long she had stood and watched that Sensors board on the Bridge. If she had only already been at her station…

Kakhskha appeared to Anghal’s right, “Hun, it’s okay. You’ve cleared the hulk. I relieve you. Go sit at Engineering. I have the con.” A small screech on the ship’s outer hull punctuated the beige female’s words. All three female Vargr cringed involuntarily at the sound’s high pitch and volume.

Anghal rose with a blank and hidden expression and nodding her head. “You have the con,” she mumbled and padded quickly to her station at the Engineering Console. Her tail curled as she sat down. There, she fixated on the boards’ indicators and sobbed quietly and privately in a tearful silence with her back to Captain Kakhskha and Lt. Ardell. She leaned to the Console to further hide her face.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 66

Thueknorrurr (Knoellighz 1127) B679000-A Di VAsP

The hack took a fraction it had when Dead-Hex had searched, purchased and set up the drop site for the Urzaeng Rage-5 Talent Wafer. This time around, the Vargr from Duelunogorrzuez was not up against any government laws or law enforcement of any kind. Instead of a year that he had to wring out of his last term as an employed Merchant before mustering out, Dead-Hex was able to write the codes (with e-mailed input from Prof. Zannun), encrypt all the compiled reports submitted by the Captain and the other crew plus his advertisement for the very illegal Rage Wafer, compress it into a compact Mail file and embed it in with the Mail canister. Additionally, the hacker was to transmit the entire package to the local Highport without alerting the skeleton crew at the Naval Base. From there the package would travel as Mail canisters and spread.

Dead-Hex chose a widening spiral travel route for the packaged hack. Instead of straight lines shooting in all directions from Thueknorrurr, the hack would spiral outwards and change world ‘vectors’ as it spread. Since it would do no damage to systems nets and eventually settle into the Darknets of worlds it arrived, all would be forgiven and forgotten. That is, until the package unfolded into the reports made available. By simple curiosity of those actively and illegally using the Darknet, the various reports and his advertisement would be made public to the underworld. From there, the data would seep into the legitimate world nets and collect in Library data vaults and be available to anyone curious enough to run a simple search. Because of the spiral pattern, only another hacker had a chance of spotting the source world from which the package came. Though he was not limited by government strictures or tight law enforcement, Dead-Hex wanted to keep himself safe and anonymous through the entire dissemination and into the future. Once one is seen as a hacker, they are forever branded as one, dangerous and sought after by law and by the underworld for those skills in action or used in prevention. It was similar to cryptography specialists in the military intelligence community who are never truly mustered out and are watched for the rest of their lives. Dead-Hex did not need that kind of attention.

In the shadows of his cabin aboard the Gatherer, the Pilot-Astrogator sat back and watched the flatscreen of his terminal. On the monitor was a visual representation of his hack. It was simple, elegant and beautiful to him. Zannun was to be congratulated. It was the Scholar’s algorithms, included in the encryption phase, that made the hack look like scientific gobblety-gook and technical jargon that no mundane Vargr has the time to sit down and make into sensible data. Ever since he had first locked his door, the Duelean had eaten, drank, slept and showered in the shadowed light of his terminal. Chuckling to himself, he supposed it was holovid material.

A retracted border that only the Zhodani subsector administration knew about. The populations relocations that would see some upheaval if the Tavrchedl’ was not overworked and kept their operations quiet. Fleets of military and support ships being reassigned to Ziafrplians Sector in preparation for what could only be another war with the Third Imperium Humans. Abandoned systems and their mainworlds which were now up for grabs by the cunning, and swift Vargr of Knoellighz Sector. The policy upheld by the Zhodani could be tailed by the shadowing Vargr lying in wait for a world to be declared a failed colony and abandoned. That was a vastly valuable bit of knowledge. With a little sabotage or rerouting, even a hacker such as Dead-Hex might try to alter the destiny of a world simply by playing with or falsifying numbers of current populations to produce a ‘fail’ result and report it to the subsector administration.

There was the Fien-thing. Dead-Hex could pronounce the Yonder Chilling Thought in Gvegh. Even though he spoke Zdetl, the translation had far more weight. In a single word, the Zhodani had spelled out the future collapse of their way of life and governance. But Vargr to Trailing were threatened by the same phenomenon, if only to a lesser effect with so few Psions among them. Civilizations would suffer the propagation wave’s insanity. However, the Vargr would recover faster simply because they ruled themselves on a small-unit system called Charisma. The Ancients were probably having a laugh right about now if they still existed.

Dead-Hex had copied the report that Kakhskha had meant to bequeath to her Matron Sangthaghlla. This was to ensure the Matron received it in case turning in her version of the report was seized upon by anyone opposed to the findings of the Gatherer. Not only was Kakhskha to deliver the report, but she had decided to include every speck of information the Surveyor had discovered since crossing the so-called Crystal Wall of Knoellighz. Merchant fleets movements, market trends, culture and castes, Starport and Startown procedures, war fleet maintenance. All and more had been witnessed by the crew as the SJL-3A32 Gatherer sat in hangers and on landing pads. Soon enough that barrier was going to come crashing down and rebuilt further Spinward into the Zhodani Consulate. The Tavrchedl’ might be able to control its populations, but certainly not the entire Vargr Extents and especially since the psionic Humans still could not grasp Charisma the way the lupine race understood it. To try would provoke the various blends of Vargr across Charted Space.

Dead-Hex showered himself of the hack. Stepping from his fresher, he looked again at the monitor awaiting him to press the COMMIT button. He had only to alert Kakhskha that he was ready. His room was a disaster area. He could clean it later, during jump transit perhaps. Shampooed and blown dry, he touched the amethyst stone mounted on the silver torc he wore. Her torc. He smiled a toothy grin as he dressed in his Seruean bodysuit. Now broken in, it was not so snug as it had been when he tried it on for the first time.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down a Peg pt. 67

Thueknorrurr (Knoellighz 1127) B679000-A Di VAsP

The Astrogation calculations were completed and locked in. The vector was confirmed with the intended jump point before that. Zannun had given his fifth warning that the Collector Drive was holding onto a jump charge for longer than his specs suggested. The eldest Vargr on the ship sat at the empty seat at Astrogation and monitored the Comms-8 traffic between the arriving patrol fleet and the local Highport’s skeleton crew welcoming them. Lt. Anghal had the Maneuver Drive on standby. She was just now returning to the Bridge after taking her turn at the communal fresher, showered and ready for the order for maximum acceleration. The ship’s Medic, Marine Lt. Ardell was still pacing back and forth across the Bridge and it was driving Kakhskha bonkers. The valkyrie was pretending to check each of the boards even though she had a Portable Controller under one arm. Kakhskha could hear Ardell’s limp getting worse by the timing of the Nouon female’s steps across the deck. For her part, Kakshkha sat at the helm and watched the boards pertaining to the passive Sensors. She was vigilant for any starship contacts. But with the Size-5 mainworld between the Gatherer and the Highport, there was not much the Improved Visor-15 could see from the debris ring of space wreckage. Everyone was waiting on Dead-Hex and his cue to establish communications for the transmission of his hack.

“Zannun?” asked Kakhskha to get his attention.

“Captain?” responded the Professor. He removed one headset earphone from his left ear and looked to the helm.

“When he gives us the Green Light, don’t trying anything odd, like jamming the traffic or anything unusual. Just establish the connection, patch Dead-Hex through and route his package to the Highport’s Comm Tower.”

“Like we planned, Capt. Kakhskha,” nodded the Seruean. “This is going to work. I watched Lt. Anghal make the connections properly myself.”

“What connections?” demanded Lt. Ardell. She had stopped pacing across the Bridge to rub her injured leg. Kakhksha wondered if she had strained her war wounded leg again somehow. “I mean, you guys have told me nothing of this ‘plan’.”

“Well, now is good a time as any to explain it,” conceded Kakhskha. “But this is for Anghal and Zannun to tell. It was their idea. I only signed off on it.”

That confession perked up Lt. Anghal. To Kakhskha, the chocolate-furred female needed a boost after her near-miss earlier today while at the helm with Ardell distracting her. Anghal stood and addressed the Marine.

“The Gatherer isn’t equipped with just a Comms-8, Lieutenant,” the Duelean female began. “We had a full CommPlus-15 unit. Early, yesterday morning, Prof. Zannun and I found the local CPU for the Comms Tower at the Highport while the navy guys were busy with policing the corpses we had pinpointed for them. With our need for departure and the coming hack, we decided to un-bolt the receiver half of the CommPlus from the Gatherer. With Zannun’s Comms experience and my Electronics training, we took the receiver back up to the Tower.” The female then gestured her claw to the coal-black male who stood up.

“Ahem, well. I only watched and pointed out the connections to the Tech-15 unit so the Lieutenant could hook up the receiver to the Highport dish antenna at its base inside the station. With the remaining transmitter half of the CommPlus-15, we can transmit a meson communications signal to the Comms Tower. Anghal and I made sure to hide it among the Comms-8 gear. So long as the lower-tech unit was functioning properly, we knew the locals would have no reason to check the dish until annual IROARNs. After Anghal finished the connections, we stealthily returned to the hangar and the ship.”

“And I have never seen someone so able to hide such as our Zannun,” added Lt. Anghal. “Captain, he was like an assassin like in the holovids. Where did you learn to move like that, Professor?”

If a black-furred Vargr could blush from under his facial hair, Zannun might have been embarrassed. Instead, his blue eyes accented his lolling tongue under the praise. “I learned on the surface of Serue as part of the Hostile Environment, Survival and Survey training that is core curriculum in College. Our instructor was military and did things the grunt fashion. No offense, Lt. Ardell.”

“None taken,” answered the valkyrie. “But how does this help us? We could have had a connection anyway under normal channels.” Ardell’s tail wagged impatiently as she massaged her leg and listened.

Anghal took her turn again. “With a meson communicator or CommPlus-15 as we call it, we can signal from the backside of the mainworld from the Highport. The planet is no longer an obstacle and neither is the debris field. And since neither the Ascendancy Pact or the Infinity League mount meson communications because of its Seruean high technology, (at least that I’ve ever seen), we can transmit Dead-Hex’s hack right under the local Admiralty’s noses. Both the Highport and patrol fleet don’t have ears for this kind of communication. The Tower will receive the hail, a connection will be made through the dish to our gutted receiver and routed into the computer. Best of all, Ardell; Zannun and I made sure that it bypasses the logger so that the package isn’t time-stamped. It will be as if the information was part of the local Library, the Mail and Dead-Hex’ so-called ‘Darknet’, all the way back to the last annual inspection of the station data vaults.”

Kakhskha spoke then just as the Chief Engineer took a breath, “As soon as Dead-Hex is ready, we’re Go on Astro, Green on Fuel and Drives, Go on the helm and the package slips under the radar while the patrol fleet is watching us accelerate to the jump point. The Highport guys won’t say a thing because they hosted us before the fleet’s arrival. The Admiralty will just have to take one for the Pact and we’re on our way. Best of-"

Everyone’s Portable Controllers lit up with the in-ship e-mail. It was Dead-Hex from his darkened, smelly male stateroom. We’re good. Go. Go. Go. Hitting COMMIT in 30 seconds.

“Go! Go! Go!” shouted Kakhskha to Zannun, then Anghal and then at her own helm station. The only Vargr not going anywhere was Lt. Ardell who was still puzzling out the plan when the Maneuver Drive pushed her to the back wall of Bridge because the grav plates were not ready for a station-keeping to jump to three gees in five seconds.

Outside the thin, belt-like ring of battle debris, one large chunk the shape of a 300-ton Surveyor ship leaped from the ring, eccentric to its plane about the mainworld and shot for the distant, 90 Diameter jump point. Because the stretched trader was not detected until it had lost the planet’s blockage, decisions on whether to hail, pursue with 6G fighters or take any other actions was delayed too long. Assuming that the strange blip on their Sensors was a ship that would jump a 100 Diameters from Thueknorrurr was another mistake the patrol was not the first to make. At 90D, the Gatherer flashed from the universe.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 68

Osathasa (Knoellighz 1527) C561345-3 Lo VAsP
http://wiki.travellerrpg.com/Osathasa_(world)

Merchant Captain Zevikh sat in Turret #1, the dorsal turret located just above the Bridge deck. The charcoal gray, female Vargr came up here frequently to get away from the other crew aboard the 2JF-SU22 Arrkolltsue. The name translated to Anglic as “rough gem” to indicate that the Armed Junker selected its salvage from the chaff and turned the second-hand finds into polished gems. The scavenger ship sat just above the ice ring of the Bigworld in Orbit 2 about the Yellow-White Dwarf stellar primary of Osathasa (Knoellighz 1527). As the crew used robotic arms to draw ice chunks from the ring for their Cutter’s fuel bin to slush for the purifier and thus refuel the 500-ton Junker, Zevikh sat and watched the Gunnery boards. She had ordered them linked to the passive Sensors.

Days ago, the Cleaners Corsair headhunters had jumped into Osathasa to signal the list of incoming vessels that had declared their destinations at various Starports of the surrounding, Jump-2 neighborhood. Upon receiving this week’s update, the Arrkolltsue had maneuvered itself into position here above the larger, inner planet both to refuel from the ice ring but also to use its Sensors to watch for a breakout flash from the 100 Diameter limit at Orbit 3 in the system.

Though technically Corsairs, Capt. Zevikh had always seen the band as posers who had no taste for blood. The Cleaners were “space vultures”. Scavengers, junkers and miners true, but their real prey as Corsairs, were ships in distress. Like carrion eaters animals, the Arrkolltsue would hold position at a location in the system and pretended to mine from one of the two belts or refuel from the ice ring with its mining lasers. Innocently, the Junker would sit passive and wait out a vessel in distress. Often, the system would resound for days as vessels who had misjumped, run out of fuel or had a Jump Drive malfunction awaited for rescue. In this part of the polity, there were no search and rescue operations in place. It was the Cleaners who waited for the crews to die off before circling in for the salvage. Once the derelict crew was surely dead, there was never a boarding action battle. No exchange of fire or combat of any kind. Easy as you please, the Cleaners would cozy up to the derelict and its deceased crew and begin an illegal and unclaimed salvage operation. All neat and clean and none of Zevikh’s crew ever was hurt in the picking clean of hulks. Though armed, the Junker had no reason to fire its weapons. Outside of closing in on a distressed derelict, there was no need to fight. To Zevikh, it was a boring life for such a Corsair laundering their loots. The spacelanes were clear thanks to the Cleaners.

The Cleaners Corsairs were nothing like the pirates of the holovids. They preyed on the misfortunes or poor planning of Free Traders, Far Traders, the occasional Fat Trader, Bulk Haulers, Couriers and even VIP Yachts. Their victims had nobody to blame but their Captains, Astrogators or their Engineers for their misfortune. There were no daring space battles, no sieges or boarding fights in the Cleaners. It was a dull, safe, and occasionally lucrative life as a “carrion Corsair” as Zevikh was coming to describe her fellow scavengers. She reclined in Turret #1 and listened on the headset for Comm signals and glanced occasionally at the synced Sensors boards from up and away from the uncouth males. Thus, the “Rough Gem” sat at the ring, refueling and with its solar panels extended in a minimal power consumption mode. With but passive sensors and listening for the inevitable call, Zevikh was the Vargr to see the estimated arrival of the Gatherer, the reported Surveyor incoming from Utogagzae (Knoellighz 1327).

There were no Gas Giants within two or three parsecs of Osathasa. If a ship didn’t have the ability to land on the mainworld and tap its 10% hydrosphere or an ice bin to grind down ice, as the Arrkolltsue was doing now, it was going to run out of fuel if it was a shorter, Jump-1 or Jump-2 ranging ship. Such vessels were the scavengers' favorite prey. This was a desolate arm inside the Ascendancy Pact. The headhunters were to jump into the system, signal the Cleaners of potential prey by detailing the soon-to-be doomed vessel and then move on. The tip-off would earn them a small percentage of any hulks, derelicts, jump wrecks or other salvage opportunities that the Junker would then chop up and process for second-hand markets in Utogagzae or its Corsair sister Base at Othendough (Knoellighz 1528) just next door to Osathasa. The Cleaners merely had to be patient for the unwise to try and cross the polity through this arm without proper planning or checking their systems.

Only once had Capt. Zevikh heard whispers of the Cleaners conducting sabotage of a target vessel docked at a Starport, so what was left of her conscience was clear as she noted and targeted the jump flash of the SJL-3A32 Gatherer fresh out of Jump Space from Uthogagzae. The 300-ton Trade Surveyor should be running on fumes. Zevikh had never heard of a ‘stretched’ Trader or large Surveyor with a range further than two parsecs per jump. It was then safe to assume that this Gatherer would be low on fuel and unable to jump without some form of refueling. The Vargr female watched the Sensors boards capture the tiny flicker of a ship as it appeared at 100 dee from the F0 V star.

“Contact!” called the Captain. “It’s the Gatherer the squealers updated us with. They came this way, just as predicted. By the looks of her hull and the manifest copies they gave us, she doesn’t have fuel to jump again. Are we refueled yet?”

“We’re good to go, Captain,” called the Chief Engineer of three Drive techs. “We can let the processors chew on the water, but we’ve fuel to start circling the prey. What does she look like?”

“It’s a Seruean vessel alright,” answered Zevikh from inside her Turret. “She’s sleek, high-tech, wings, fins, and-“ The female checked her Sensors boards again. “She’s not even moving. Just a vector change to face her nose to the primary, is all.”

The first mate, a light brown male Zevikh was beginning to have hope in salvaging as a potential mate, called from his station on the Bridge below her, “Not moving? Are they trying to decide how to possibly refuel? Mainworld Osathasa is in Orbit 5 and that’s hours away. The Worldlet in Orbit 4 is just cold rock.”

“Well they aren’t moving except to change facing to the star,” confirmed Zevikh.

“Are we gonna watch from here or run a fly-by and wave at them?” asked another crewmember of the Arrkolltsue.

“The Admiralty already blew through here on their way to the border three weeks ago, so we’re safe from patrols. We’re just belters after all, refueling and returning to the C-Belt to continue mining,” shrugged Zevikh. “Let’s see if they whine for help as we cross 100 dee on our way out. We’re too far away for our Densitometer. We can take a reading on their fuel tanks as we coast by. Everyone act like good, little, entrepreneurial, belter lads.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 68a

At a single gee of acceleration, the Armed Junker Arrkolltsue slowly closed in on the vicinity of the idle Gatherer. With curiosity, Capt. Zevikh watched the Trade Surveyor. She did not want to give away just yet her starship’s true in-system acceleration capability. The Cleaners had gathered on the Bridge to have a look at the zoomed images of their eventual prey. The sleek, curved lines of the streamlined hull featured wings, fins and a “roll bar” sub-wing dorsal and in the aft section. To Zevikh, it looked fast. But as of yet, the SJL-3A32 Gatherer had not moved from its station keeping position it had occupied upon breakout 100 Diameters from the F5 V primary of Osathasa.
“What are they doing, Captain?” asked Zevikh’s first mate.

“Look!” said the ship’s RadTech Engineer who pointed at the largest Scopes magnification. “It’s inflating multiple ballutes around its hull plates. See the panels opened so each can inflate?”

“Its IFF transponder says it’s a Surveyor,” said someone else on the Bridge. “Are they star-divers or something?” It was one of the three Pilots who spoke. “I’ve heard of ballute shields used so a ship can approach close to a star’s heat to take readings. Is this a science vessel?”

“Since it’s Seruean,” guessed Zevikh, “that may be what they are doing. But we’re still too far out to see if they are without fuel to jump. And they’ve yet to call any sort of distress or any signal for that matter. This may be a no-go, lads.”

“The Neutrino Detector,” reported a backup Pilot, “shows their Power Plant is still hot. They’re burning something. On fumes maybe?”

“With that high-tech,” added Zevikh, “It’s a surety that they’ve seen us. Let’s risk a friendly fly-by in the night.”

* * *

“Shouldn’t we be manning our Turrets, Captain?” asked Dead-Hex who sat at the helm and twiddling his thumbclaws.

“They’re Cleaners,” answered Kakshkha. The beige female from Roethoeegaeaegz was snapping stills and taking footage from the Visor and the Scopes at the 500-ton Armed Junker. She wanted to report the Corsairs she knew them to be. “They’re just having a looksee. The most we can expect from them is a few scans. They’re vultures.”

Professor Zannun lifted the headset from his ears and warned, “That ship has four armed hardpoints, Captain. If they open up on us while our Canopy is deployed our charge will be lost. And we won’t be able to return fire until it's retracted.”

“I am aware of that, Distinguished Professor,” answered Kakhskha. “If the vultures become hawks then Ardell will turn the tables on them. See their beam lasers and hybrid missile racks? They’re closing too close for proper missile use. They wanna have a close look and see if we strike our colors in distress. They think we’re low on fuel or doing something scientific. With their Tech-12 beams versus our Tech-15 Fusion Guns, the Jump Damper, DataCaster and a mining beam of our own, we’ll slag them before they slag us. At this range, it’s expressly about armor attrition. They won’t be able to jump and we’re faster than that boxy tub of a Junker. But these are Cleaners Corsairs. They don’t fight. They mop up fights or cherry-pick derelicts, is all.”

* * *

The Arrkolltsue passed within fifty kilometers of the Gatherer hours later. Capt. Zevikh sat in Turret #1 and watched as the ballutes were slowly deflated, their strange material pulled back inside the paneled hull of the Surveyor. The crew had guessed that this Seruean vessel had lost its nerve to approach the star. Now this close, Zevikh was not so sure the inflatables were solar wind shielding. The Neutrino Detector was spiking a reading of exotic particles in one of the unidentifiable Drives of the 300-ton ship. It was very strange to watch on Sensors.

A Vargr appeared in one of the port side viewports, perhaps the one to the Surveyor’s Common Area or Galley. Zooming the Scopes, Zevikh could see a beige female dressed in a tight-fitting, black bodysuit. The female was signing in Merchant S-lang! Being a former Merchant herself, Zevikh acknowledged the gestured hail from the female in the viewport. With each ship’s Sensors no doubt zoomed on each other, a non-verbal dialogue ensued.

The two Captains greeted each other by digit-spelling their names. Polite pleasantries were exchanged. Zevikh was a little unnerved at how calm Capt. Kakhskha seemed on her magnified Scope. The Arrkolltsue had the Gatherer by two-hundred tons, an extra turret and more crew. Yet, that expression on the distant female’s face told Zevikh that the beige female knew something that Zevikh did not. Was it the Seruean technology?

What is your destination, Kakhskha, signed Zevikh.

The answer caught the Cleaner Captain off-guard. Home port of Roethoeegaeaegz, signed Capt. Kakshkha.

“Captain Zevikh,” called the backup Pilot now acting as the SensOp on the Bridge. “They’re charging their Jump Field somehow, but not with fuel. I don’t understand.”

A bright, friendly but easily sarcastic smile erupted from the beige female some fifty kilometers distant. She mouthed something to someone unseen, likely her crew. A safety feature of Turret #1 viewport went dark as the polymer polarized until opaque. The Gatherer was jumping right in the faces, (and Charisma) of the Cleaners.

“What just happened?” asked the first mate of the Arrkolltsue. There were voices of surprise behind his on the intercom.

“We just got dumped on,” answered Zevikh over the ship intercom. “We have to change system stomping grounds for a while, lads. They could have jumped at any time since breakout. Something to do with that ballooning action they did. They purposefully let us come close, so to record every detail about us that they could and report the Cleaners to that matriarchy, Roethoeegaeaegz. We’d best clear off.”

The Arrkolltsue moved within the week to camp a new hunting ground to Agaeors (Knoellighz 1628) and stayed there for the rest of 1105.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 69

Jump Space inbound to Roethoeegaeaegz – Day 4

“Anghal! Anghal where are you?” Kakhskha waved her arms in front of her to clear the obscuring fur that floated in the air in the corridor. “The scrubbers are down, Anghal!” Throughout the used sections of the Gatherer, Vargr fur was floating in the air or settling on surfaces instead of being caught by the filters in the Adaptable Life Support system. As soon as she had complained, the female from Roethoeegaeaegz coughed when a furry wad of what smelled like Dead-Hex clogged her throat. And her shift in the Galley was almost up too. As Captain of the ship, there was no way she could go to bed with the fur flying all about.

The Adaptable Life Support system section closet was immediately aft of the Bridge. The cloud of fur was thickest there and in the twin, axis corridors outside it. Coughing again, Kakhskha saw Lt. Anghal step from one of the unused Luxury Staterooms. She wore her fully-enclosed Seruean, armored bodysuit. The headpiece enveloped her face and head, the filter attached at the muzzle. Air tanks were strapped to the Lieutenant’s back. An enclosing sleeve was wrapped and sealed about the female Vargr’s tail. She looked like a flat black, rubber mannequin the shape of a short Vargr. Armored Anghal immediately crossed the corridor, waving at the Captain as she opened the offending closet’s panel.

“Is - *cough* - Dead-Hex not brushing enough after showers?” asked Kakskha choking in the furry air.

“I’ll have a new filter in place quickly, Captain,” reported the Chief Engineer.

“Anghal-“

“I get a Get Out Of Barking pass, remember, Captain?”

Caught lame, Kakhskha couldn’t say anything else as the Duelean female worked the panel off the closet with a powered driver. Fur fell from just beyond the panel like a thick carpet and covered Anghal. The sight was humorous if it wasn’t choking the life out of the beige female.

“Go into one of the unused Luxury cabins and put the entire bodysuit on fully, Captain,” suggested Lt. Anghal. “The air is clearer where the air has been least used.” Kakhskha could only nod while holding her claw over her face as she ducked into a Luxury stateroom as Anghal had suggested.

Later in the Galley and Common Area of the Surveyor ship, the crew assembled. All were wearing their full bodysuits sealed against the furry buildup in the air. At last, Lt. Anghal came into the area and closed the door behind her.

“So, who is the culprit, Anghal?” asked Dead-Hex from inside his own full-body enclosure. “There’s money on this one.”

Shortest of the Vargr on the Gatherer, Lt. Anghal looked at each of the suited others. Putting her claws on her tool belt on her hips, she leveled her eyes at the Pilot-Astrogator. “Money, huh? Well, while the greatest reek comes from you, smelly male Dead-Hex; the majority of the hair is from Captain Kakhskha.”

This took Kakhskha aback. She believed her grooming was on par for ship crew specs. “I thought I was brushing just fine.”

Lt. Ardell, the timber wolf gray snickered, “No, hun. It’s that you brush too much. I’ve been watching you run your claws through your mane and ruff more than usual.”

Surprised, Kakhskha looked at her right claw, the one that she usually held her brush with. “Since when?” she asked the ship’s Medic.

“I didn’t think it was a problem until the scrubber clogged,” explained Kakhskha’s friend. “But you have been brushing and clawing at your mane and ruff more since….” The Nouon female rolled her eyes before continuing, “since Arrtha. Since you slotted that demon Wafer.”

“What do you mean? We sent him into a star. He’s gone forever.”

“You’ve picked up a male’s habit of brushing and have added it to your own. You’re double-brushing and running your claws into your hair, especially when alone or thinking on a decision gate. There’s something else too.”

Kakhskha felt the past catch up with her. How could whatever of Arrtha was lingering in her cause such an unconscious behavior? “What? What else?”

Humorously chuckling, Ardell stood up and limped up to her friend. The two females left the Galley together. Once they were alone in the Clinic amidships, the Medic pulled off her head piece and dropped it on the bench console so she could speak with full authority as the ship’s Medic and Counsellor. With her tail swishing in a gesture of knowing something Kakhskha needed to know, Ardell lowered her voice and her tone. “You’re in estrous, Kakhskha. Dead-Hex showered less during the hack; we haven’t had ship Maintenance in more than two months. His scent is triggering your mating hormones, hun. You may not have married him, but your body doesn’t know that. You’ve begun to shed more and Arrtha seemed to bequeath you one of his ticks when he was alive.”

“I don’t want anything of that demon, Ardell,” complained Kakhskha who was also about to deny the pheromone reaction to the Duelean guitarist. “I’m just under a lot of pressure on this last leg.”

“Uh-huh,” nodded the Medic incredulously. “Hypnosis therapy can help decrease Arrtha’s tick, but you need to decide whether Dead-Hex is your mate or not. The rest of us are gonna suffer, (fur and worse), if you hold out in indecision. Until then, try adding the bodysuit’s gloves to remind you not to run your digits through your ruff and brush a little less often. Come to me for the hypnotherapy when you have time.”

“That’s not psionics, is it?” Kakhskha had only rumors about hypnosis and no direct experience with the treatment.

The Medic tilted her head. Her eyebrows raised as she said, “If I was a Psion, I’d be Captain by now, hun. No, it isn’t psionics.”

The scrubbers took the rest of the day to remove the floating fur from the inhabited sections of the Gatherer. Ardell had won the bet and scored 200Cr. Kakhskha felt the Medic had stacked the odds with her knowledge, but paid her ante to her best friend.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 70

292-1105 Roethoeegaeaegz (Knoellighz 1726) A5009ED-C Hi In Na Va An C:1927 Cp Pz VAsP

Captain Kakhskha was glad to have spent the time recharging the Collector Drive for the jump from Osathasa to her homeworld of Roethoeegaeaegz. It meant she would have enough L-hyd fuel to hopefully escape the ire of System Fleet Admiral Aksdeks. The breakout from Jump Space was uneventful as was the inbound flight to the mainworld in Orbit 5. Contemplator, the F5 V stellar primary of the system was a bright yellow-white as ever. System chatter on the Comms was healthy and newsworthy. Traffic seemed normal for a busy day in outer space.

“Recovery to you, Traffic Control,” announced Prof. Zannun. “This is the SJL-3A32 Gatherer inbound from breakout at 100D. We request corridor to the Highport. Captain Kakhskha sends her regards.” Kakhskha smiled at the Seruean as the Highport returned the male’s hail. Pleasantries were exchanged.

As the Gatherer coasted toward the Vacuum planet, Kakhskha’s homeworld, an in-system Defense Boat of 600 tons matched vectors alongside and very close to the Surveyor ship. One could see both the Ascendancy Pact emblem and the local symbol for Recovery, a small honeycomb of golden hexagons, on the armored hull beside them. Dead-Hex at the helm looked up and over his left shoulder at his Captain. “Captain?”

“It’s an escort, Dead-Hex. Just fly casual. We’re coming home and to the end of this fiasco, hun.” The Pilot-Astrogator’s tail wiggled a little at being addressed with ‘hun’. It made Kakhskha feel warm and matronly as she stood over him and watched the Sensors boards.

With permissions given, the Gatherer pulled gently into a Highport hangar. Seeing the massive, orbital Starport, Kakhskha thought aloud, “If only we had been able to dock here instead of being diverted-"

Dead-Hex interrupted with his take, “We might never have had the adventure we had.” His gray eyes were on Kakhskha. She nodded and wagged her tail contentedly.

Upon docking, with gears down on a hangar deck and umbilical power lines being clamped, the crew of the Seruean vessel stood down the Bridge and other sections of the ship. Before the portside airlock was opened, everyone gathered in the Commons Area and Galley.

Armored in their tight-fitting bodysuits and draped in the Seruean desert robes, the only thing that was not worn was the Psi-shield shemagh loaned to the crew. Kakhskha purposefully excluded them from the return garb worn by her crew. Instead, the head-scarf wraps were once again folded and carried openly. Though she warned the males, they were allowed to holster their laz-pistols while aboard the Highport. Extra-territoriality was assured on the orbital facility.

Captain Kakshkha looked at each of her crew and said, “Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I have thoroughly enjoyed this mission and each of you has performed beyond expectations. Hold your heads high as we meet with the Matron. Do business like Merchants. See to our Maintenance like Engineers. Hold our colors like Marines. Know that we are also Serueans who won’t give up Serue without a fight.”

Professor Zannun’s blue eyes widened as he smiled. The Gatherer was a Seruean ship, with that world’s systems and Drives. The crew were about to step from the ship, dressed in desert wear and encased in high-tech armor from Serue. To Kakhskha, the black-furred male stood taller and swished his tail with pride. His Collector Drive had made this mission possible as did the other innovations from the technology capital of Knoellighz Sector.

When the docking gantry mated with the outer door of the Gatherer, Marine Lt. Ardell stepped up and tested for pressure seal. Kakhskha felt Dead-Hex’ claw grasp her gloved claw and squeeze firmly. They stood just behind the valkyrie dressed in a tie-dye burst of colors robe. At the hiss of the freed outer door, the crew stepped from the Trade Surveyor and walked down the swing-arm gantry to the concourse adjacent the hangar.

Throngs of mostly-male Vargr were sitting on the floor of the circular concourse, purposely avoiding furniture. Roped off in ruby red partitions, they chanted and protested. Signs in Gvegh read Free the Jewels and Equality in Careers.

“Ancients,” huffed Lt. Ardell. “Not another sit-in protest.” Though the protest was peaceful and overwatched by law enforcement paladins in combat armor and cradling longarms, the crew of the Gatherer was forced to step around and between clusters of people protesting the matriarchy-based Church and State. None of the protestors made sudden moves except to howl their frustrations at station security cameras and whine to State-run Roethoeegaeaegz media correspondents covering the sit-in.

“They’re just folk not from Roethoeegaeaegz, Ardell,” explained Kakhskha. “They want to be able to visit the planet below without being caught up in the one-way immigration issue males suffer. They know nothing of the life lead by our males.”

“But we do,” said Dead-Hex. “It’s not so bad once you get used to the possessiveness and the clothes.”

“Don’t go native on me, husband,” warned Kakhskha in a lowered voice so only the Pilot-Astrogator could hear. “I didn’t come this far for you to get comfy in a harem, Dedhekhsgourz.”

“And I won’t, wife.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down A Peg pt. 70a

Roethoeegaeaegz paladins don’t escort a Merchant crew to a media field correspondent interview. So, Kakhskha let Matron Sangthaghlla Thazdhoth have her way. Nine armored, female Vargr with longarms in hand had surrounded the five crew of the Gatherer and ‘invited’ them for an exclusive interview. Before Dead-Hex could open his mouth and get them in trouble, Kakhskha nodded and said, “Yes, an interview is welcome, First Sergeant Thueghal. Please take us to there.” With the protestors both in view and within earshot, the Captain of the Surveyor acquiesced. To the Vargr on the space station’s public concourse, it would look as if a Seruean delegation had been received by Starport Authority, or SPA, security to deliver five newcomers higher up the station spire.

The elevator ride was cramped, five Serueans in robes and nine heavily armed and armored ladies pressed into one large lift cabin. Up one of eight shafts arrayed around the station’s spine the elevator ascended. Since the walls were thick and clear polymer, Kakhskha watched familiar decks and subfloors fall downwards in relation to the rising elevator. The Starport concourse sank far below to be followed by malls, entertainment levels, residential levels, administration decks, operations floors and engineering stations. The Vargr passed through the Security and Detention floor before stopping at the System Admin level. This floor was near to the VIP lounges and hotels that were aryu expensive – or at least it seemed that elite.

Doors opened as the group of fourteen exited the stifling elevator. As they passed, people split into wide swaths and hugged the walls at the metal on deck stomping of the loud footfalls of the paladins. Beyond the registration desk and into smaller elevators, the crew were crammed in two smaller groups. Kakhskha and Dead-Hex, refusing to let go of each other’s claws were guarded by four armored females as the remaining five guided Ardell, Anghal and Zannun into the second car. Again, the crew rose through the station’s superstructure.

A geodesic, domed framework displayed the sky outside Roethoeegaeaegz Orbital. It was a smaller version of the environment domes overarching the cratered biodomes on the surface of the planet below. Trees, shrubs, gardens and an artificially-cycled, babbling brook wound through this deck. Near the extreme ‘north’ pole of the space station, this dome was often seen from outside the orbital facility. But now the crew of the Gatherer was experiencing the soft grass and natural air from their exit of the final elevators in the hotel. Kakhskha and the others looked to each other in wonderment. The expense of maintaining such an environment was indeed on the aryu scale.

Similarly, weaponized and armored female Vargr stood about the dome in random positions. Some spoke into their armor Comms and gave position reports. A few turned to have a look at the arriving Serueans. Through stepping stone paths between flowering bushes Kakhskha and the others were herded. Deciduous and conifer trees were mingled in this dome. Between the trunks and bushes evidenced a house, an honest to Ancients house. It was opened to the domed sky and had no seals, airlocks or other space-age accoutrements. Kakhskha, in her time as a space-faring Merchant had only heard of such structures. Serue had its desert communities, sheltered and sand-resistant. Zhiblchins homes were sealed and lit with variable lamps and streetlights. Souo’s domiciles were built into the inside of its protective, metal domes. This was new. New and different.
Mouths hung open as Kakhskha recognized Matron Sangthaghlla Thazdhoth open the front door to the house herself. Beyond her were priestesses and attendant male squires. Outside the house were evenly spaced paladins stationed ever vigilant. The crew of the Gatherer stepped to the front porch steps to greet the older female.

“The Matron answers her own door,” spoke Lt. Ardell without thinking.

“Guys, this is Sangthaghlla Thazdhoth, Third Matron of Roethoeegaeaegz, former decorated Colonel in the valkyrie Star Marines Drop Division, Planetary Administrator and the Third Matron of the Church of the Recovery.” Captain Kakhskha gave her Merchants salute to the female standing in the front door threshold. The others saluted per their Careers, bowed or simply nodded their muzzles in greeting. Tails were low and slow. Ardell had been formal. The Leaguers bowed and only Zannun nodded his head, his thick spectacles reflecting the evening outside lighting. The curved horizon of the mainworld below began rising into view as the Highport continued to gently rotate counter to the planet’s spin.

Introductions continued as Capt. Kakhskha named her fellow crew: Third Officer and first mate Dedhekhsgourz, Chief Engineer Lt. Anghal, valkyrie Marine Lt. Ardell and Distinguished Professor Zannun. She purposefully left off polity allegiances. If the Matron wanted to probe deeper, she might already know or would ask. The attendant paladins were wordless at the mention of Ardell. The armed ground forces and the space grunts were ever in a rivalry. Instead they took up positions by stepping from the porch and arraying around the front of the house.

“Come inside, crew of the Gatherer,” invited the Matron. “There is much to discuss.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

Down a Peg pt. 71

At last, after a dinner prepared, set and enjoyed inside an actual house dining room, the Matron of Roethoeegaeaegz had broached the topic at hand. Kakhskha was not going to press the need until Matron Sangthaghlla moved first as the hostess. The mission was, after all the comforts, pleasantries and half-welcomes home, why the crew of the Gatherer had returned to give their report. When the Matron had verbally invited the report at last, Capt. Kakhksha put down her napkin cloth, stood and retrieved her hardcopy report. It had been folded inside her Psi-shield shemagh and carried with her to this meeting. With it in her gloved claws, Kakhskha presented it to the Matron at the head of the table and then returned to her seat. Male squires and priestesses shuffled the emptied plates from the table as the Matron put her full attention on Kakhskha.

“Attacking Serue will be fruitless, Matron,” began the Captain of the Gatherer. “Many will die and the world’s technologies will be taken down with the scientists there. They will make sure of it. The Church of the Recovery will look like hypocrites.” Kakhskha paused, asking with her silence if she had overstepped her intro.

“Go on,” said Matron Sangthaghlla.

Kakhskha looked at Professor Zannun once and then continued, “Our Admiralty Navy and Marines are ready to do the bidding of the Magistrates even if the Representatives ratify the decision to invade Serue. We do have the might to eventually claim Serue. The technologies of Nouon will indeed help the campaign. I know of the Ancients find there, Matron. It’s not that secret as you may believe. It will be a hollow and hard-won victory, Matron Sangthaghlla.” She saw the black-furred male remove his spectacles and pinch his muzzle bridge. He did not like what he was hearing, but it needed to be said. “Then, once we have destroyed the only Tech-15 world in Knoellighz Sector, the Ascendancy Pact can continue expanding into Etlieejibia and Riadr subsectors. But there is a problem with this.”

“What problem?” asked the Matron.

Kakhskha looked at Dead-Hex next. He nodded at her, confirming what he had briefed her. The beige female’s gloved claws came up and signed. The Pact will not be capable of holding onto the conquered worlds.

Explain, signed the Matron who was frowning now and looking between both Kakhskha and the mottled gray and black male. She leaned forward a little in her chair.

Dead-Hex cut in with his own signing claws, Your Navy and Marines will be Coreward while the Infinity League and the Democracy of Greats capture your worlds, including the Bridge of Destiny from behind. The League has been pinned by the Pact and committing assets Coreward will ensure your defeat in the Rimward worlds.

The declaration ruffled the female ruler’s pride a little to read the signs and word choice of Dead-Hex. Kakhskha wished she had been the one to sign that last statement in gentler terms. But she attracted the attention of the angered Matron with, Look at any subsector map of Irrarrdhang. More than half of the Pact worlds there are not ready for expansion. Nine worlds are Low Population. More than a few have no Government or Law ratings. The Trade lines are not solid enough to support the campaign. It is the Merchant sector that will leash the military, Matron.

“An army travels on its stomach,” spoke Lt. Ardell. Though she did not know slang, she was smart enough to know it was time for the axiom to come out. “If trade cannot follow the conquerors because the intermediate worlds are not prepared with consumer populations, there will be no channels for settling the worlds us Marines will capture. While we stand around, proud of planting our flag, the other empires, even the Zhodani, will take advantage of our weakened Trailing end. Our fleets are strong, Matron, but only as strong as they are kept supplied by trade.”

Dead-Hex spoke as soon as Ardell fell silent, “We saw with our eyes the mobilized fleets of the Humans. They’re already on alert as forces are moving Rimward to Ziafrplians Sector. They’re already prepared for war. If you move on worlds that were once theirs, they will act. Not every Zhodani Prole wants to leave their homeworlds just because the Zhodani Consulate says they must. The Pact will have to fight to take those congealing, Client State worlds even if they are outside the borders then.”

There was a pause of awkward silence as the Matron seemed to digest the verbal report, more of which she would find in the hardcopy now in her claws.
Lt. Anghal stood and spoke next when nobody volunteered. “Matron, the Infinity League is an ally of the Zhodani. They will act if the Pact attacks Coreward into former Zhodani subsectors. As the Admiralty pushes into Etlieejibia and Riadr, the League and the Consulate will sweep in from Spinward and cut your forces' lines, just like the Batttle of Ungkhou. I have no qualms about that sad truth. Spread your forces too thin and even the Democracy of Greats might look over their shoulders and become hungry for more worlds of the so-called Bridge of Destiny, the stellar main that stretches across Knoellighz.” The chocolate female sat back down immediately at the glare of Kakhskha. The rudeness of standing before the hostess Matron rose was outside etiquette.

The Matron laced her claws together and laid her muzzle chin on the combined digits. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Yes, Matron,” answered Kakhskha quickly so as to keep her crew from misspeaking again. “There are more reasons why conquest is ill-conceived for the next fifty years, Matron. But those are outside the mission, our report and beyond our right to disseminate to the Pact. Though I was born on Roethoeegaeaegz and Lt. Ardell originates on Nouon, we must speak as one, as Serueans. Please influence the Representatives and Magistrates to consolidate what the Ascendancy Pact already has. There is room for growth inside your borders already.”

“There are corporate entities and pocket empire groups that can fill in those slowly-emptying subsectors, Matron. It would be lucrative and save lives to do business with them first rather than send our fleets in military action. To do so will keep the larger Democracy of Greats’ eyes Coreward. You are sandwiched between two powerful empires, just as the Infinity League is pinned between the Pact and the Consulate. Be content with what you have, Matron. In the long term, patience will pay off or I’m no Merchant.”

The tension in the dining room was palpable. Kakhskha could feel the former Marine Matron thinking. It was on her gray and white face. The elder female looked down at the hardcopy report.

“I came to this conclusion too,” admitted Matron Sangthaghlla Thazdhoth. “Once we suffer catastrophic failure of our thinned military forces, the Pact would try to find someone to blame. The Representatives would lay the blame on Roethoeegaeaegz. The Admiralty already dislikes our female fleets. Though we hold a good third of the polity's production, it would be glazed over as claws pointed to us. Our world would lose what credibility and Charisma we’ve fought so hard to attain since the start of the Recovery.”

The crew of the Gatherer let out an audible and collective sigh. The Alpha-female was seeing the facts. They looked at each other and nodded. Kakhskha was relieved. She did not have to pull a trump card and have to explain the unbelievable Fienzhatstiavl, the Yonder Chilling Thought. She would not have to reveal the coming collapse of psionic sophonts and the maddening of everyone caught in the coming propagation wave. Her claws were sweating and trembling in her gloves, so she hid them in her lap under the table. Who knew what the Matron might privately know about the coming phenomenon already? The Psi-Map Exhibit on the far side of her homeworld was no secret from the Ancients. Surely some psioncologist somewhere was keeping a record of the glowing worlds on the planetarium projector. The wave was not something to let out into the public, risk Charisma and credibility, only to incite an interstellar stampede Rimward in fear, war and chaos.

When the Matron rose from her seat, Kakhskha waved for the others to follow suit.

“You have satisfied your mission, Captain,” declared Matron Sangthaghlla. “I must depart with your report and prepare my Emissaries for their trip to the Representatives. Thank you, all. Feel free to stay overnight. Good evening.” With her eyes on her wrist chronometer, the Matron stepped from the dining room to the salutes and bows of the standing crew. In just under two minutes, the Matron, her priestesses and squires were escorted from the house by the platoon of paladins outside.

The Serueans in desert garb did not sit back down until Kakshkha was sure the retinue had left the geodesic dome of the hotel. Dead-Hex whispered to Kakhskha, “Something tells me she is going to halt Pact preparations already in motion.”

“I got that wild hair notion too,” agreed Kakhskha. “But Matron Sangthaghlla Thazdhoth will take those males in the Reps and Magistrates down a peg for sure. Without an Important world like Roethoeegaeaegz behind the effort, Coreward expansion for the Ascendancy Pact will have to wait for another opportunity.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

Epilogue

Professor Zannun stayed at Roethoeegaeaegz Orbital long enough to act as Best Male for Third Officer Dedhekhsgourz to accept for the second and formal time Captain Kakhskha’s wedding torc. He stood over the shorter, kneeling Vargr as the bride, Kakhskha in a white tuxedo, clasped the neck-ring about Dead-Hex’s neck ruff. As the Bride’s Ladies sniffed back tears or stood stoic in military uniforms, the Seruean in laundered and pressed desert robes helped up the new groom to stand with clasped claws and forearms. He was to return soon to Serue to publish his Collector Drive performance data.

The Pilot-Astrogator had declared a surprise, healthy income the source of which Zannun was not privy. The crew would be able to afford repairs, a refit, Maintenance, Life Support and various other expenses involving the SJL-3A32 Gatherer.

Additionally, the crew was set for a vacation aside the layover. The black-furred Vargr patted the groom’s back and turned him to his mate-wife. “Take her down a peg, son.”

“Hmmm,” was all Dead-Hex could say within earshot of the females.