Authors: Maxine Millar
Alien Alliance
Maxine Millar
Copyright © 2016 Maxine Millar
All rights reserved.
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This book is dedicated to Elizabeth Clare Collingwood
Roxburgh who was going to collaborate with me on it but died before
she was able to.
As always, several people assisted me
enthusiastically.
You can’t manage without your friends
Many thanks go to;
Carolyn, the computer expert for wood processor and
computer work
Lynn, for encouragement and feedback
Carol, (the doctor), for encouragement and checking
the medical facts
Mary, for encouragement (lots), and proof reading
(several times!)
Stephen Stratford for the first edit.
Alasdair and Luke for helping me to convert it to
Office
Samantha who helped with the second edit
Vila Design for the book cover
And lastly a complaint from my cat who had to put up
with the laptop when she considers her staff should be ever
available warm blooded furniture, not sitting there writing and
ignoring her!
Table of Contents
Contact
Paswalda was peeved. Worse, he didn’t know
where he was. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He knew he had come
from Oberterk but it would be inadvisable for his life expectancy
to return that way. His computer was trying to find out where else
he could go after his headlong flight from the Nashi. He was
decidedly miffed. There was no need to chase him clear out of the
galaxy. That was downright petty and a waste of fuel and months of
time. Just because he’d stolen a few slaves that they had stolen in
the first place. He took inventory. His holds were almost full but
his ship was able to take more yet. His destination was Torroxell
and he was now going to be very late. He didn’t want to think of
the penalties. He had no passengers, no paying ones at any rate.
But he had only the minimum crew of twenty-one. Any more reduction
in staff would mean working one shift on and one off. No down
time.
Hmm. He scrolled through the charts which
were very incomplete in this region. They were well away from all
standard shipping routes due to that little misunderstanding with
the Nashi. He thought, he calculated, he looked, he had an idea.
There was no discussion. What he decided was law. His crew quietly
and efficiently ran the ship while he did what he generally did
well; work out how to increase his already substantial wealth.
Most People with his degree of wealth lived
in luxury on planets. But there he was just one of a kind. Paswalda
liked to run things. He liked to be the king of his castle. He
thought he would be cheated if he didn’t supervise. He was
right.
He did some more calculations. According to
his information, which he had paid a great deal of money for, there
was an ancient contact here, on the third planet. He called the
Navigator over. The course was changed. He left the bridge with
instructions to call him as the ship neared the system’s sun. He
was amused at the thought of the Nashi waiting, almost certainly,
in ambush for him. How disappointing for them.
Some weeks later, the pilot informed him
they were near to the sun. He entered the bridge.
“Minor alert. Check weapons, check shields,
organize warriors.”
He watched in satisfaction as crew scurried
into position, lights flashed, alarms sounded.
All this had already been practised while he
was in his sleep cycle. Quietly, of course. The crew knew what
happened if things didn’t work efficiently. All was checked. The
alert was eventually cancelled. All quietened down. But the
atmosphere was charged. All knew this was risky. It was also
illegal, hopefully lucrative, definitely interesting. Life on a
ship was very boring. Having several races on board didn’t help.
Tempers get frayed, misunderstandings are common, fights occur,
minor injuries are insignificant, except for the possibility of
revenge, but major injuries could wipe out a crew member’s profit
margin. Or prove fatal if the crew member had no credit left for
treatment. That was better. Less crew with which to share the
profit. So far this voyage three crew had ‘left’.
Three shifts later they neared the
atmosphere of the third planet. Entering the bridge, Paswalda went
over to the weapons board looking enquiringly at Kisilodsak, the
Attacker.
“Many satellites, possibly communications,
three look like telescopes, four could be weapons platforms.”
“Oh?? They’ve been busy educating themselves
I see. Weapons aimed at space?”
“No, at the planet.”
“Really!? Interesting.” He glanced around.
Shields were up. The linguists were working hard. All the crew had
multiple jobs and training. “Where are the major technological
areas?”
“Several; one large one here, one here,
sporadic ones here and here, so much of this planet is ocean. No
climate control. It’s a water world; about ninety percent
uninhabitable. They have various forms of power including nuclear.
The scans are confusing. There seems to be only one race here, but
they are all over the planet, on land, ice, on water, in wildly
fluctuating temperature zones, this doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe the ice and water are prisons.
Interesting form of barrier. The information I have indicated two
races, similar. Maybe they killed one off.
“Have they detected us yet?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Let me know when you think it safe to try a
landing.” He left and headed for the mess.
Several sleep cycles later, the scientists
and linguists thought they had reached some conclusions. Paswalda
listened while they discussed levels of technology and the
possibility of nuclear weapons but Paswalda disagreed,
“No People would be foolish enough to build
something that would destroy that much. Warfare with nuclear
weapons would destroy what you wanted to conquer. That’s stupid. If
they have brains enough to build nuclear power they have brains
enough to stick to sensible warfare if they have warfare. Besides,
they would poison the planet.”
As usual, he won the argument. It was
logical. No people were idiotic enough to use nuclear weapons on
their own planet or on any they wanted to take possession of. He
continued,
“Any indications that their level of
technology indicates a potential problem?”
“It doesn’t seem so.”
“Any signs they have detected us.”
“No.”
He looked over the screen and through the
data.
“Try a landing here at the biggest
technological area.” Paswalda looked over at the three linguists.
Edkajil said,
“There are a huge number of languages there.
This area has over 30.”
As they neared the land there were two main
problems.
“The ground temperature is freezing and they
have no climate control. Also they have launched what look like
military interceptors,” said Kisilodsak.
“Alright, try over here,” Paswalda said
indicating the second biggest area.
Edkajil spoke up, “That area has 72%
speaking one language, the same language that is the language of
the air traffic. That should be the universal language.” But some
time later, they had better temperatures but an even faster
launch.
“Could these be a problem?” Paswalda asked
indicating the aircraft climbing towards them.
“Impossible to know what they have.”
“Take an educated guess.”
Kisilodsak was apprehensive. It would be his
profit or his life if he got this one wrong. He thought quickly. “I
wouldn’t chance it. How about over here? The weather is good, low
population and the technological level is less. Also it’s isolated.
It would take time for its allies to get there. And the air traffic
has no military seeming aircraft.”
“They speak mainly the universal language,”
Edkajil added. “So does that land just above it and the bigger one
beside it. But at their aircraft speed, from this bigger area, they
are nearly three hours away at what seems to be their average
flight speed.”
“How are you going on that language?”
“We have a small vocabulary in the
Translator. I am unsure how accurate it is. Their transmissions are
very confusing. We are using what seem to be news programmes and
children’s programmes.
Paswalda decided to chance it. They would be
less vulnerable on the ground where their shields had less to cover
and they could get power from the ground. “Where is a good landing
space?”
“Here.”
“Anything around that we should be worried
about?”
“No, I don’t think so. That very large
aircraft looks like a freight carrier. It’s being loaded. Incoming
aircraft are all passenger type.”
They moved at full speed, braked heavily at
the last moment and were on the ground in minutes before the Aliens
had much time to react. Paswalda activated the ship’s land shield
and left instructions it was to be left on. The power drain would
be a pity but it was best to be safe. The few seconds it would take
to power it up might be too late. It was unlikely, but always a
possibility, that these Aliens had something unexpected. Paswalda
powered up his shield. It was the best one available. The door
opened and he shambled out and moved towards the main building. As
he moved on, he noticed that his robots were scurrying about,
collecting samples. He loved this part. The Aliens were, as their
communication showed, bipedal, multi coloured, clothed and… not
running away. Curious. They’ve seen People before. Naughty,
naughty. So he wasn’t the only one breaking the rules. They were
not trying to stop him either. That lesson they had obviously
learned.
He entered the doorway and looked around. He
moved over to an Alien that was acting as if it was in control, by
the door. He switched on the Translator.
“Hi. I Paswalda. I come see yous. I need
learn speaking. You teach.” The Alien didn’t run away. It turned
and said something. Some of the Aliens close by moved away,
especially the ones with children. Several Aliens were aiming
things at him. Oh, they would get a surprise. Nothing happened.
They didn’t shoot anything at him. Recording devices, scanners?
There were a lot of them! One of the children close to him aimed
something at him. He moved forward, pointed and held out his hand.
The nearest Adult Alien unstrapped it from the child’s wrist and
handed it over. The child made a loud noise but the adult quickly
moved away towing the child. He looked at the thing. There were
lights, colours and noise. He’d thought it was a weapon or data
bracelet but it was neither. He handed it to the Alien in charge
and the Translator said, “Where, what?”
