So It Begins (44 page)

  Some say that it even looks like Vanner—well the
new
him anyway.

EVERYTHING’S BETTER WITH MONKEYS

C.J. Henderson

 “What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the work! The paragon of animals!”

William Shakespeare

 “Were it not for the presence of the unwashed and the half-educated, the formless, queer and incomplete, the unreasonable and absurd, the infinite shapes of the delightful human tadpole, the horizon would not wear so wide a grin.”

F.M. Colby

The
Roosevelt
was the first of the long-awaited Dreadnought class, a single ship stretching for nearly half a mile, inconceivable tons of metal and plastics, crystal and biomechanical feeds, brought together from Earth, the Moon and the asteroids that, when ultimately combined into an end product, became something unheard of—something utterly incomprehensible. And thus . . . so the thinking went . . . unbeatable, as well.

  She was, in the end, a sum far greater than her parts. The
Roosevelt
was known as “the cowboy ship,” for it had been that cocky gang of rocketeers labeled as the Moonpie Prairie Riders who had built her. They were the wildmen of the mightiest nation in the system’s Advanced R&D Team, and it was their spirit that infested her—as well as programmed her still not-quite-understood artificial mind.

  The
Roosevelt
was the opening number of a new kind of show, the all or nothing-at-all first born of the Confederation of Planets—big, because she had to be. The first ship with functional energy shields, she needed room for the massive protonic engines essential in powering such revolutionary devices. And for her thousands of attack aircraft, hundreds of them merely hanging off her sides. And for her extensive guns, her big ticket—the whisperers and the pounders—and all her hundreds of thousands of missiles and bombs.

  She was the solar system’s first spacecraft carrier, a mobile prairie outpost, a relentlessly strong, self-determining fortress in space. Capable of housing as many as 10,000 sailors and marines, the great ship was meant to explore the galaxy, to chart the universe, and to bring prestige and riches to the human race in general.

  But, that had been when that particular track meet had thought it controlled the only runner on the field. Reaching the edge of the system’s outer planet’s orbit, the
Roosevelt
was hailed, in English, Spanish, Dutch, Jamaican, and eighty-three other standard languages, by a small, obnoxiously shiny craft commanded by a small, and equally obnoxious alien life form that was all too happy to deliver its news.

  The quite unexpected messenger announced to the finally-capable-of-interstellar-traveling human race that this accomplishment had gotten them an invitation to join the awe-inspiring Pan-Galactic League of Suns, an organization of worlds begun by the Five Great Races. It was an announcement that, essentially, the party was over before it had begun, that all the planets worth anything were all sewn up, all intelligent species discovered, all franchises in all the marketplaces possible well-established and even better protected.

  The news came as a crushing blow to the adventure-craving crew of the
Roosevelt
, and for their first two years, eight months and fifteen days in space they showed their resentment in many a creative and colorful manner. And then, suddenly, all the rules changed. Thanks to that first, bold human crew in space, the entire galaxy discovered the League was a sham, that their claims to have everything under control were simply so much eye-wash, and that there was still plenty of unknown universe out there, teeming with mysteries and excitement—enough even to satisfy the collective curiosity of the crew of the
Roosevelt
.

  Within weeks of that revelation, more than a dozen trans-galactic federations had begun to struggle into existence, including the
Roosevelt
’s hometown group. Once made up of only six of the Earth’s neighboring planets, because of its pivotal role in pulling the Pan-Galactic wool from the galaxy’s eyes, the Confederation of Planets had already expanded to a membership of some seventy-eight worlds, proving, quite nicely, the old adage that everyone does, indeed, “love a winner.”

  Which is why the crew of the
Roosevelt
, one fine galactic star date, from its stalwart captain down to the lowest chef’s assistants and protonic bolt tighteners, was in a rousing, near giddy, mood. They had started their space-bound careers in defeat and through a luck understood by only the most perverse of gods had rolled it over into unbridled victory. So recent had their triumph been that, truthfully, most on board were still at a loss for words when it came to explaining exactly how their good fortune had come about.

  “I’m tellin’ ya, Noodles,” announced Chief Gunnery Officer Rockland Vespucci, more commonly known to bartenders and military police officers across the galaxy as Rocky, “there ain’t nuthin’ that’s gonna trip things up for us again.”

  “Incautious words,” answered the aforementioned Noodles, better known to top notch wire-and-screw jockeys everywhere as Machinist First Mate Li Qui Kon. “As Confucius said, ‘he who stops watching for falling fruit will be first to get bonked by an apple.’ ”

  “So, we just reinvent gravity.”

  Both sailors turned at the sound of a new voice indicating their being joined on the observation deck. As they did so, Technician Second Class Thorner and Quartermaster Harris came into view. As Noodles took exception with the tech’s off-handed comment, accusing him of not taking theoretical physics seriously enough, Thorner spread his meaty hands wide, answering;

  “Hey, it was just a joke. But com’on, really, look at the way things have been cruising for us. Earth is out in front. We’ve got the edge. It’s our game from now on.”

  “I’ve got to agree,” chimed in Harris. Taking a deck chair, he leaned back, putting his hands behind his head as he added, “Fate keeps lobbing us softballs, and we keep knocking them out of the park.”

  “He’s right, little buddy,” added Rocky. Grinning from ear to ear, staring out into the vast black, Rocky cavalierly added, “Criminey, it’s almost enough to make a guy wish for some trouble.”

  And, it was at that moment that Fate, as she so often does when those bound to her decrees begin to act as if they had somehow negated her sway over their existence, chose to prompt the commander of the good ship
Roosevelt
to broadcast an announcement.

  “Attention, this is your captain speaking. We’ve just received orders to proceed to the Kebb Quadrant to begin negotiations with the inhabitants of the planet Edilson. More information will be zimmed to us shortly, but we’re to make best possible speed, which means, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to once more bend the fabric of space and time and be on our merry way.”

  “Edilson,” asked Harris, “where in the wonderful world of color is Edilson?”

  “And so it begins.” All heads turned to the latest voice to join the conversation. As they did, one of the thinnest individuals to ever muster enough soaking-wet-weight to make it into the Navy added;

  “The MI boys are just beginning to appreciate galactic rotation. Which meant that mudball was absolutely destined to hit our radar.”

  The speaker was Mac Michaels, a balding, bespectacled razormind out of the science division. As the others continued to stare at him, scratching their heads, he spread his hands like a high school math teacher about to share the wondrous joys of algebra as he said;

  “Right now Edilson is nowhere, a low rent piece of real estate totally off the charts. But, if you calculate the rotation of the galaxy’s set pieces, four hundred years from now, it’s going to be in the veritable center of everything.” Noting the group stare of complete lack of comprehension slamming at him from every angle, Michaels sighed, then added;

  “It means that those who are far thinking will want to strike an alliance with Edilson now, so that when the time comes, they’ll have an ally situated smack in the center of everything.”

  Michael’s words made sense. Earth was expanding, making friends and teammates everywhere its representatives went. Enemies as well. If the Confederation of Planets was to maintain its presence, to continue advancing in power and prestige, let alone to be able to handle itself in the political and economic arenas of the universe against the likes of the Pan-Galactic League of Suns and others, this was just the kind of advanced cogitation they should be pursuing.

  And, as the gobs headed off cheerfully to their various posts, their pride in the planet of their birth swelled. They came, after all, from a forward-thinking world, one clever enough to send them off to negotiate with a solar system that would not really be worth having as a pal for centuries. That, they knew, whistling merrily as they took up their duties, took foresight. It took brains.

  If they had possessed the brains to realize just how much desperate luck they were going to need to survive their upcoming expedition, however, they might have thrown in a few prayers in between all the whistling.

  “All right then,” growled Captain Alexander Benjamin Valance, as he reached for what was to be the first of several large drinks, “tell me someone has discovered something to explain whatever in hell that was.”

  The
Roosevelt
had arrived at the Edilson Well far in advance of the time required for their diplomatic team’s meeting with the planetary council. In their best dress uniforms, the captain and his senior staff along with the ship’s resident diplomatic officers had disembarked, prepared to put the Confederation’s collective best foot forward. “An unmitigated disaster of incalculable proportions” was the phrase one might use to describe their meeting with the Edilsoni who came to greet them—but then,
only
if that one were trying to put the best spin possible on the most unfortunate encounter between dissimilar species since the Log Cabin Republicans first came across the D.A.R.

  “Ahhh, if you’re willing to consider some non-sanctioned information, sir . . . ”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” answered Valance’s aide in a slightly lowered voice, “data acquired from outside official circles.” When the captain only stared, the look in his eyes indicating his aide should just simply speak, the woman cleared her throat, then said;

  “I did a records swap with a Chambrin starsweeper a few months back. Running a search through those files, I’ve managed to pull up some records from a couple of freelance Embrian traders who passed through this sector a few years ago—Iggzy and Cosentino Shipping.”

  At first, everything had seemed swell. The planet’s inhabitants turned out to be an semi-amorphous life-form. Neither male or female, the Edilsoni could, with some difficulty, stretch and remold themselves into any manner of shapes if they desired. Normally, however, they were rubbery, blue-skinned, watermelon-shaped folk who walked on three appendages roughly two to three feet in length. The melon of them—their torso as well as skull—was surrounded by three tentacle-like arms, as well as three eye-stalks, their disturbingly large mouths sprouting from the center of their heads.

  “And what did these shippers report?”

  The captain and the others, of course, were no strangers to aliens. They had encountered all manner of varied life forms since hitting deep space, and not once had any of them so much as raised an offending eyebrow at anyone or thing they had met. Not when they had watched the Georgths groom each other and subsequently devour their findings, or when they labored to decider the language of the Mauzrieni, the only race in the galaxy to communicate through farting. But the Edilsoni, they . . . well . . . they were different.

  “Their report tallies pretty much with what we just crashed through.” As the aide read through her findings, the captain and his diplomatic squad fell further into the abysmally deep funk they had brought on board with them. For a while they had been able to hold onto the hope they had simply not understood what had been happening. But, sadly, they had.