Ice Cream and Cake

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is mystery. Today is a gift—Eleanore Roosevelt

 

It was a significant day.

The Day of Adaral. The first day of Summer. The first day of the Arrassian year. The beginning of a month of festivities. It was also Queen Alea Zormna Clendar Tarrn’s sixteenth birthday.

Zormna awoke in her uppercity queen’s chambers feeling, as always, troubled about her nightmares. It seemed as though not a day gone by that she did not dream about war. It was as if the revolution and ousting of the High Class awoke her to the sense of her prophetic duty, and she could not shut it off. It was one thing getting informed by Jafarr Zeldar, her bodyguard and good friend since living on Earth, about the prophecy—but now that she had enough grasp on the Ancient language so that she could read about it herself, the dreams came more fully.

What she knew of her supposed foreseen duty, as the last Tarrn, was that she was to be a savior to her people. She was to save them from tyrrany—which she did when they unseated the High Class and then exiled them to live without technology in a word in the Aloean solar system, light years from there. Of course, with Arrassian technology, the trip was a hop, skip, and a jump. They could fold space and jump from one point to the next, as long as it wasn’t too far away. But exiled to a world where they had to live without the ample technology they had been used to; given primitive, manual tools to survive with basic shelters and a starter supply of food and seed, the High Class had been rendered harmless. It was a better cage than if her army had simply locked them up in prison after all the murders they committed. It was Zormna’s mercy that had sent them there. Many of her supporters had wanted mass executions. Yet, in her dreams, Zormna saw Dural Korad’s face, the People’s Military officer who hated her and Jafarr so severely he personally sought to kill them. He looked ragged, beaten, and not where she had left him. It unsettled her.

Zormna pushed out of her covers, rising to her feet, and shook her head, trying to clear those images from her mind. Since she had gotten to know Jafarr Zeldar better (more than an antagonistic rival and irritant but as a true friend) she had learned and (she thought) acquired some of his skills and curses. She used to only dream of the past, which was horrid on its own. But now she dreamed of things in the future that she didn’t want to see. At times, she could see far off images of places she did not know, and they frightened her.

All she had ever hoped for, Zormna mused as she abandoned her nightgown and climbed into the shower before the royal servants could show up, was for some peace and a bit of fun. She showered, running her hands through her wet fiery curls to scrub her scalp, thinking about what she had to do that day. Her nightmares sifted out of her thoughts like sand and washed away down the drain.

Her shower went swiftly. She was climbing out and drying herself off before all her tense thoughts entirely vanished. Only one of those thoughts remained in her head—it was the second real celebrated birthday she would have in ages. She was sixteen Parthan years old that day, her first birthday as Queen of Arras. That meant a formal gathering rather than the nice private Earth-style party like she had the year before when she had turned fifteen. It was the beginning of her ninth Arrassian year, the end of her eighth and the first real birthday party she would have on her home world.

When she was a young child, before her parents were murdered, she remembered how they held small family celebrations where they ate their favorite foods and she received one really nice present—usually a puzzle toy that she could play with but would not indicate that there was a child in the house. When they were killed and she lived with her uncle, her birthday had been sparse. Not that he didn’t love her, but that he did, and he wanted to keep her safe. She received her last birthday gift from her uncle, the last for many years—a puzzle cube. Since he was killed, while she lived in the Surface Patrol (their national orphanage that raised children as soldiers), she had no birthday celebrations at all as it would indicate whom she was—the only living child born on the day of Adaral.

Not one child living had a birthday in that month because the government had slain each one on the day of their birth, in fear of the prophecy—the prophecy about Zormna, which said that a child born on the day of Adaral would unseat them and banish them. Of course, Zormna had fulfilled that prophecy—no matter what they did. A typical result in such cases.

But that was all old news and here she was, having a birthday again. 

Zormna dressed in one of her nicer suits. All of these had a uniform style akin to the military she had been raised in, yet with a slight feminine flair in the suitcoat to satisfy her attendants who did not like Zormna dressing plainly. She would have preferred wearing plainer pants and a nice, comfortable t-shirt from Earth, but that day Zormna knew she had to look dignified for the public.

“Are you decent?” the voice of Zor, her maidservant called into the room.

Smirking, Zormna replied, “Occasionally.”

Zor laughed and entered the room. Zormna never liked the idea of having servants, but she had acquired good allies and friends in some of them. Zor was one. A typical Servant Class[1] woman in her late twenties with a good sense of humor and a strong sense of loyalty to her, Zor was a comfort. Zormna found the company of Zor the best to be chosen for that unwanted task, and Zormna was reconciled to being waited upon, though her independent nature revolted at the thought.

“I brought your breakfast. It is in the kitchen as you ordered, though I don’t understand what it is,” Zor said with a shrug. Her periwinkle eyes rested upon Zormna curiously.

Zormna smiled and hopped towards the door, pulling on a boot. “If they made what I ordered right, then you can have breakfast with me and try some.”

Zor lifted up her hands and shook her head. “Oh, no. I already ate. Besides, some of that food looks cagey.”

Strapping up the boot and clipping them in place, Zormna stood up straight and strode through the door to the kitchen counter where the tray of food, covered to keep warm, sat. Lifting the huge brass cover off, Zormna gazed over the plate of food and smiled.

“It looks right,” she said, picking up a fork that lay next to it.

Nodding, Zor followed her and peered over her shoulder. “They even brought you those Parthan eating utensils—special order. But what is that? It smells strange.”

Poking the yellow and brownish square that steamed upward towards their noses, Zormna drew in a breath and smiled. She let out her breath and said, “This, Zor, is French toast.”

The woman made a face and shrugged. “Parthan food… it looks so….” She couldn’t finish.

Zormna nodded. “I thought it looked very squishy and slimy the first time I saw it too. You should have a hamburger some time. Eating that is a feat the first try. Sandwiches and pizza… Jell-O….” Zormna laughed and cut the toast with the side of her fork. Stabbing it, she held it up to Zor. “Try it. I’m positive you’ll like it.”

Zor made a face and eyed her queen. “This isn’t one of your pranks, is it?”

This made Zormna laugh again and shake her head, her green eyes shining with mirth. “No prank. It actually is good. I personally hope Parthan restaurants set up here. You have no idea what we have missed out on. Our pride and joy may be tsilk and kalger—but they have granola bars and ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Zor said, still grimacing as if anything other than her own food would not be good.

“And chocolate,” Zormna added with an earnest nod.

“Didn’t you order this ice cream to be shipped here for the party?” Zor asked, taking the bit of French toast from off Zormna’s fork and holding it gingerly in her fingers. She was not used to forks.

Zormna cut off and stabbed another piece of the moist eggy bread and stuck it into her mouth, chewing as she nodded.

Still looking uncomfortable, Zor opened her mouth and stuck in the now cool piece Zormna had passed her. Trying not to taste but just to chew and swallow, Zor handled her bite as quickly as possible. When she did swallow, she straightened up and blinked. “Did I taste egg?”

With a laugh, Zormna cut another piece for herself. “Yes, and I know you like egg.”

Zor nodded and then bit her lip. She blushed. With caution, she asked, “Could I have another bite?”

Still laughing, Zormna shoved over the plate, which had about five pieces of French toast on it. She picked up another fork off the tray, lifting it towards Zor to take.

“Have more than a bite. I ordered plenty for both of us,” she said.

Blushing with embarrassment, Zor took the fork and watched how Zormna cut the toast, mimicking her. And together they ate breakfast, chatting and laughing about how good this Earth dish was, like friends rather than servant and queen.

Jafarr Zeldar had an apartment next to Zormna’s. He awoke around the same hour she did. He had no servants, as he was merely the elected President of their new government, and not of the direct royal line as Zormna. Three years older than Zormna, he was of royal blood—the only other descendant of Zeldar Tarrn on the planet besides the Queen—but his lineage were not heirs to throne as Zormna’s line was. However, he was rather content with his private life. He washed, dressed, and ate breakfast at his own pace with no one to bother him or tell him he was not doing things to protocol. Of course, he also had not forgotten it was Zormna’s birthday. He was the major mover in organizing a real birthday party for her, mixing both Arrassian traditions with the Earth traditions he and Zormna had become fond of, specifically the American traditions they followed when they both had been in that country less than a year ago. Their friends were invited; and diplomats from the foreign countries of Earth had also invited. It was a diplomatic and friendly home celebration for the girl that deserved a party to make up for the all the misery she had experienced in her life. Not that a party could do that in reality, but Jafarr believed that Zormna deserved better treatment than she had gotten in these last few years. That, and she needed a break.

Pulling on his own suit coat, a red one that matched one of Zormna’s suits, as many of theirs did to show solidarity in their national ruling, Jafarr adjusted his collar and peered in the mirror to make sure he looked ok. His blacker than black hair needed a slight trim. It fell long into his eyes as always, but the back was now longer than he liked. Stroking his chin to feel the stubble that was forming there, Jafarr contemplated how long it would take for him to grow a real beard, or possibly a villainous goatee so he could look like all those sly characters in Robin Hood movies.

Smirking, he picked up his shaver and proceeded to cut off all the stubble, which was still really sparse despite his more mature growth and broadening of shoulders. He had been looking less of a kid these last few months, and he actually had to get the tailor to adjust some of his suits to fit him better.

He had nearly finished his dressing routine when Zormna and Zor strode into the room, both holding out a tray and grinning as if they had been laughing a bit much and were ready to burst out laughing again. Jafarr turned and blinked at them.

“Hello. And what brings you this way so early?” he asked, eyeing the tray and then looking up at their faces.

“Breakfast,” Zormna replied, still grinning. He liked how her green eyes glowed when she was happy, and she looked happy today.

He looked at the tray and said, angling his head and lifting his eyebrows, “You didn’t poison it did you?”

With a derisive snort and a roll of her eyes, Zormna strode over and set it on his kitchen bar. “Don’t be stupid, Jafarr. I merely wanted to wish you a happy birthday and give you a treat.”

Jafarr laughed and walked over to the breakfast tray. “Uh, Zormna, it usually works the other way. I wish you a happy birthday and give you a present—remember?”

“Really?” she smiled, feigning innocence and a mindlessness not usually associated with her. “Well then, thank you. Where is my present?”

“You sly dog.” He laughed harder. “I told you; you’re not getting it until the party.”

Zormna slumped into a fake pout and lifted the breakfast tray lid. Under it were three pieces of French toast.

He opened his eyes at it in amazement. Looking to her, he gasped. “How…?”

“Todd,” Zormna replied with an innocent shrug. “He told my cook how to make it, and I had him make enough for three. Zor and I already had ours.”

Blinking, with a grin spreading across his face, Jafarr looked up at her and back to his breakfast several times. Honestly, he had missed French toast. He missed bacon, and wished they had some of that too, but beggars can’t be choosers. With a dazed expression as he gazed at her, he sat on the kitchen stool, shaking his head. “Sometimes I am amazed by you… but others….” He laughed. “You really out did yourself this time. It looks great.”

Zormna shrugged again, modestly. “I figured you’d appreciate it.” Then she hopped up and moved towards the door, beckoning Zor to come with her. Waving back to Jafarr, she called back, “I’ll see you at the Great Hall.”

Jafarr nodded, watching her leave with a smiling sigh. Indeed, she deserved a great party, and he would make it happen.

 

 

“Alea!” the young Beta district officer called, turning from his radio and scanner. “Alea Grenn! Look at this.”

A middle-aged blond-haired man with red streaks in his hair strode across the room to where the anzer was operating the far-space surveillance equipment. He leaned near to peer at the screens where the young soldier was pointing.

“What do you think this is sir?” the young man asked. “It’s been flying this way at high speed. It has already passed Dannpros[2] and is approaching Larrs.[3]”

“When did you start tracking it?” the alea asked.

Swallowing, the soldier informed him, “It appeared outside Zantha[4] a half hour ago. I think it is a ship.”

“A ship?” The Beta district leader drew in a breath. “Did you notify Zeta about this?”

“I was just going to sir,” the anzer replied with a stout nod.

“Do so,” the Beta leader ordered. “I’ll notify the Kevin. If it is a hostile entity, we might need the whole fleet to take it down. Our domes don’t have the security grid set up yet, and I dare say if they were destroyed, it would be bad for Arras[5] and Partha[6].”

“Yes sir.” The anzer tuned in the radio frequency at once, calling in. “Zeta thirteen, Zeta thirteen, this is Beta seven. Reply. Zeta thirteen, this is Beta seven on urgent business, code Damor Waz three. Reply.”

He waited.

<< This is Zeta Thirteen, Beta seven. What’s the problem? >> the other end buzzed through the com.

Taking a breath to calm himself, the anzer said, “We have been tracking an unidentified object heading hastily into our solar system on our scanners. It is coming nearer to Arras at an accelerated rate. We fear hostile intentions.”

<< Copy that Beta seven. We also just spotted it. Alea Salvar has sent ships from the Larrs station construction site to intercept it. We are waiting now to see if it is a hostile ship or an incoming asteroid. >>

“We’re notifying the Kevin of the object,” the anzer replied.

<< Copy that, and tell him that Alea Salvar is right on it, but he wants a standing fleet ready. >>

“Copy that Zeta thirteen, over and out.” The anzer turned and examined the scanner again. He watched the screen as the object flew on towards the huge ringed gas giant also known as Saturn on Earth.

 

Out in space, the Zeta district ships waited in the rings of Saturn, watching for the object that was zipping through their system, slower than light but fast all the same. From the space station they were building within the rings, they sent out a general message in Arrassian to the craft, telling them to slow down. It broadcast: << This is Arrassian space. Slow down and identify yourselves. >>

And they waited.

But the object did not slow. It whipped past Saturn.

All the Zeta ships in the rings witnessed the elongated, ancient-looking spacecraft soar by. For a moment they all watched with stunned faces. It was an ancient Arrassian craft—the kind they had long since scrapped once they entered the underground city ten thousand years ago, large enough to hold an eighth of the population of the city—or possibly an army.

“Aloea,” breathed out on many lips. Their ships shot out of Saturn’s rings immediately to intercept the large spacecraft.

<< Identify yourselves. >> Their radios transmitted to the huge craft.

At once the enormous ship slowed. The Arrassian fighters zipped around and encircled the hulking space vehicle, surrounding it and sending out warnings, waiting for a reply but bracing for an attack.

Their coms buzzed. A human-sounding voice replied, but in a tongue foreign to them. << Del’liin ngandal’qa. Em snachaw’am iin ngaleq. >>[7]

“What do you make of it?” One pilot murmured to another, watching the giant ship.

<< Em pliivaw’am vang miisaw. >> Their radios buzzed with this foreign voice again.

“It doesn’t sound like Arrassian,” another pilot murmured.

But then the voice spoke in a tongue they did recognize. It was Ancient Arrassian. << Em preeval’en vang meez’oll. >>

No one could understand it of course, but right away they knew it was the Aloeans.

An alea and head of the Zeta Saturn fleet commanded the ships to escort this spacecraft to Arras. He replied to the ship, hoping they would understand, “Come with us.”

Straight away they started their flight. The head Arrassian ship folded space. Ships around the gigantic craft vanished into nothingness, reappearing around Arras where they awaited the strange new visitor. The ancient ship started once again and sped up, zipping again towards the center of the solar system.

 

 

 

[1] The society is an ancient caste system, one which still lingers despite the reforms of the new regime.

[2] Uranus

[3] Saturn

[4] Pluto

[5] Mars

[6] Earth

[7] Do not fire. We mean no harm.

Unexpected Guests

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

“I’m only paranoid because they want me dead.” –Conspiracy Theory—

 

The approaching ship became common news among the Surface Patrol of Arras. The Kevin had all pilots ready for combat in the bays and several in their ships and on the launching platforms, all waiting. They had not notified Queen Zormna or President Jafarr yet, but were coming to it, as they feared an all-out assault on the city despite the peaceful reception at Saturn. But the largest reason they held out was that Queen Zormna was happily directing the decorations for her party in the Great Hall and they just did not want to ruin her birthday.

Alea Arden, the head of Alpha district and a young, fair-haired man in his mid-twenties, walked around tense, wringing his hands as he contemplated telling her what was going on in the Surface Patrol. He was supposed to help her put up the security for the banquet in her honor, but he was distracted with the fear that she was in danger. However, he was feeling even guiltier that he was also ordered not to tell President Jafarr, who was, after all, her private bodyguard per the prophecy. The Kevin had given strict orders to save the information until absolutely necessary.

“You look tense,” Jafarr said, his voice making Alea Arden jump.

The head of Alpha turned around to see him standing there.

The young Arrassian President broke into a laugh. “You are tense. What is wrong Arden?”

Jafarr was intimidating to begin with, with dark, fathomless eyes that could bore into your soul. But also, being someone significant to prophecy, it did not help Alea Arden’s nerves at all. Still wringing his hands, Alea Arden gave into his greater instincts and said in a lower voice, “There’s a problem.”

Jafarr read Arden’s sober face and blinked for a second, his smile evaporating. “Not a problem with the decorations I gather. What is it? Are there stray PMs loose nearby, or did you discover a bomb?”

Arden could tell Jafarr was being serious. He had a crazy sense of humor sometimes and often spoke facetiously, so he wasn’t always sure. Alea Arden shook his head and pulled Jafarr over to a corner so Zormna wouldn’t see them talking.

“No. It is an external problem. Beta and Zeta tracked a spaceship traveling into our solar system. It looks like one of the old ships Aloea took with him. The Patrol is on alert for an attack, and all of the Surface Patrol is waiting for their arrival. They have already reached Torgan[1] and they are heading for the asteroid belt as we speak.”

Jafarr stared in disbelief. He blinked then glanced over his shoulder at Zormna. Averting his eyes to the ground, he said, “What a day for them to come. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Jafarr? What should we tell Zormna? The Kevin told me not to even tell you, but I think as her protector you ought to know.” Alea Arden leaned in, sneaking a peek at Zormna. “I have no doubts that if they are hostile, they’ll bomb the domes. We are quietly evacuating them right now.”

Nodding in agreement, Jafarr also glanced to Zormna again, who was now eyeing them, looking ready to cross the room to find out what they were up to.

“I’ll let her know. She’ll want to know,” Jafarr said.

Alea Arden grabbed a hold of his arm, hissing in his ear, “Don’t tell her just yet. Wait a bit.”

Making a face, Jafarr turned from him just as Zormna arrived to their side.

“You two are way too serious on my birthday. What’s wrong?” she asked.

Jafarr lifted his eyebrows and glanced at Alea Arden. “Tell her.”

Arden flushed with shame and bowed to his queen. “The Kevin told me not to alarm you, but…” He glanced at Jafarr and realized it was indeed her right to know. “Queen Zormna, we think your broadcast to Aloea was answered. There is a ship coming this way and very fast.”

Zormna blinked at him and stepped back as Alea Arden rarely addressed her as ‘Queen’ unless it was official business. “This better not be a birthday joke, because it is not very funny.”

Alea Arden shook his head. “I wish it were a joke. But one of those ancient city ships is heading this way. We expect it to reach Arras in the next two hours.”

Jafarr wet his lips, thinking with his eyes staring into the empty space in front of him. Zormna glanced at him and then at Alea Arden. She could see it was real.

Arden wrung his hands. “I don’t think the Kevin wants you in the Surface Gate at this moment. And I’m afraid he’s right, because if there is a conflict, we’d have to lock down the Surface Gate to protect the city. And if the Surface Patrol gets destroyed, we don’t want to lose you with it.”

Shaking her head, as this annoyed her, Zormna said, “Arden, if I even went to Patrol compounds, do you actually think I’d sit back and watch?”

“You’re not going out to fight,” Alea Arden protested immediately, seeing now why the Kevin had given his order. As the former head of the Zeta district and outstanding pilot, Zormna was not one to sit back and let others fight for her.

She glared at him.

“Arden’s right,” Jafarr said.

Zormna spun to glare at him too, but he continued.

“Besides, I don’t think they came for war. We wanted contact with them. And that ship, however modified, would not have the firepower to defeat the entire Surface Patrol. One rickety old ship against our modern tech? It is ridiculous. They’re not here for war. If they were, don’t you think they would have folded right into our space and attacked straight away, and not flown in straight from the edge of the system where we can see and track them? Even the old ships had that capacity. They could have folded in and out of this system if they wished it. They wanted us to find them.”

Hearing his logic, Zormna blinked. Then she slowly nodded. Jafarr had a point.

Turning to Alea Arden, Zormna said, “Have our ships meet them in space, but no firing upon them… unless Jafarr is wrong and they move to attack. I don’t want them seeing the entrance to our city unless we are planning to destroy them. Guard the domes.”

Appreciating this, especially that their young leaders were indeed the kind of people prophesied about—intelligent and clear thinking—Alea Arden nodded and strode at once out the door to follow their command.

Jafarr turned, drawing in a breath to clear his head to think. He let the breath out again, bracing himself. He looked to Zormna who stared back at him with wonder at what kind of ‘birthday gift’ this would be and how to receive it.

Patting her on the shoulder, Jafarr turned at last and headed for the door. “I’m going to visit my cousin. The Patrol will need a person who can speak Ancient to talk to those Aloeans and translate for them—a battle to come or not.”

She watched him go. As he and Arden went out the door, she let out a sigh that sounded more like a huff. Glancing back at the birthday banners that spread across the back of the Great Hall that said ‘Happy Birthday. Sixteen Years and Counting’ in English and Arrassian, she closed her eyes, hoping and praying that this confrontation would not lead to the war in her dreams.

Jafarr and his cousin Rannen Yiiaz, a Seer Class man a year older than Jafarr, rode into to the Alpha district aback Jafarr’s flight scooter and knocked on the door directly to be admitted. Anzer Tellovii, the gate keeper who regularly maintained a vain expression on his face, a lean man who wore his shocking red hair styled long in the back yet spiky-short up top, answered it and let them in. He shook his head at Jafarr while peering narrow-eyed at Rannen as they proceeded inside on the junky machine Jafarr had made.

“Alea Arden said you might come,” Tellovii remarked, shaking his head still with private disapproval at their presence, but could not stop them—even though he did control the gate and was often a tyrant about who came in and out. “Is he our interpreter?”

“Yes.” Jafarr nodded, as his cousin climbed off and smoothed down his seer robe and pants. “Can you direct me to where Alea Arden is? I need to get to a radio room.”

Anzer Tellovii pointed down a wide hall. “Take that route. You’ve been to the Kevin’s office. That’s where he was seen last.”

“Thank you.” Jafarr then steered his rickety-looking flight scooter down the hall, parking it alongside the few other military-issue scooters there.

The Alpha district always had a great deal of traffic. But with the coming ship, the orphans that resided there at the school for military training were scurrying to places to hide and brace themselves. Jafarr saw one he recognized and stopped him.

“Skiinas, have you seen Alea Arden?” 

The boy shook his head. “No. We’ve all been ordered to our rooms. None of us has seen Alea Arden since the briefing.”

Jafarr nodded and let him go. Skiinas dashed down the hall and scurried into a room, closing the door.

“Maybe we should ask where the radio room is?” Rannen suggested with a shrug.

Nodding, Jafarr looked around. “Maybe you’re right.” At once, he grabbed the attention of another kid that was running down the hall and asked, “Where is the main radio room?”

The kid blinked for a moment, realizing who was talking to him. He stammered and pointed down the hall. “O… o… over there, Mr. President.”

“Thanks,” Jafarr said, letting him go.  He rushed in that direction upon the child’s word. His cousin followed him quickly, hurrying through the passage together.

After running several yards, they came to a wide junction in the halls where five halls converged. One hall was larger than the others. Jafarr peered down it to see if this was where they needed to go. It was wide and somewhat dark.

“Jafarr! It’s this way,” his cousin said, pointing down another hall. It was narrow, but there was a sign on the wall pointing the way saying ‘Coms Room’.

Both of them strode down that hallway, and hit another corridor. However, they also saw the door to the communication room. Avers and anzers were going in and out at a hurry. One looked right at Jafarr and his cousin, blowing out a breath of relief.

“Thank heaven, a Seer.”

The soldier dashed forward and seized on Rannen’s arm, pulling him through the door. Jafarr followed them in, anxious to see what the situation was.

The room was built in a semi-circle with flat panels on the high walls showing views of the canyon and of the space above it. Gazing around, Jafarr never saw so many vis-panels together before. He wondered how many escapes to Partha had been thwarted by this com room spying on the surface. On the farthest view screen, he recognized the Zeta fleet floating in wait for the foreign ship to come.

To the side, he heard a man mutter, “But what if they’re not coming this way? What if they are going to Partha?”

An aver shook his head. “No, they’re flying in a direct course for Arras. The moon base and Beta both have tracked it. For it to go to Partha, they’d have to stop and turn.”

“Where are they now?” Jafarr asked, stepping towards the view screen in the middle.

An alea rose up from his seat and gestured for Jafarr to sit. “Look here, Mr. President. This screen shows their path.”

Jafarr peered down at the screen on the operations panel. It was a small window, charting the solar system. The alea pointed at the moving line that was passing out of the asteroid belt. They were B-lining right for Arras.

“They’re blazing quite a trail for us to see, aren’t they,” Jafarr murmured, staring at the blip on another screen.

The alea nodded. “Either it is a challenge, or they want us to meet them. One way or the other, they’re letting us know they are here.”

“Maybe they can’t fold. You know, lost the technology?” another alea suggested.

Both the head alea in the room and Jafarr shook their heads.

“The planet Aloea is several thousand light years from here,” Jafarr retorted. “It would take them over a several thousand light years just to get here.”

But another alea shrugged and interjecting, “Well maybe that’s why they’re using that ship. They lost folding capability, and they flew back the conventional way.”

“They would have lost fuel and supplies long ago. When Aloea left Arras, they had little with them to begin with,” Jafarr countered, a bit annoyed that operator had not done the math. “Besides, didn’t Alea Salvar say that when they passed by Aloea to the sister world to deposit the exiles that they saw cities and space stations orbiting around the planet? Zeta tried to contact them then, remember? Aloea was thriving when our ships passed by. They simply ignored us.”

The room drew silent, listening to him now.

“Then what do you suggest they are doing here?” the Kevin asked, who apparently had just arrived.

Jafarr turned around in his seat and stood up. Bowing politely to the Kevin, as he was the head of the entire Surface Patrol and a venerated man of heavy reputation, he replied, “I purpose that they are here to make a statement. They are here on the day of Adaral. The Aloeans had a copy of the ancient records with them when they left, so they should know the significance of this day.”

“But no Seers,” the Kevin added, the same old tension growing between them. “No Seers left with them. They could read Ancient back then, but who interpreted it for them now? I’m sure their language has changed since then, just like ours did. And for that matter why didn’t they come in the year ten thousand QZR?[2]”

With somewhat of a smirk, Jafarr replied, “Because this is the first Day of Adaral after Zormna’s broadcast to Aloea and Partha.”

Hearing that, the Kevin nodded. He then looked to the screen with a glance at Rannen. “I see you brought a Seer. You didn’t want to translate yourself?”

Jafarr flushed with a sharp look at the Kevin. It was no secret that Jafarr Zeldar and Kevin Desbah were hardly friends. Their regard for one another was strained, regardless of how reputable the Kevin was and how honorable Jafarr was. Both regarded the other with a certain degree of contempt and dislike for mixed reasons. However, with the safety of Arras and Zormna on the line, both men put aside their distaste for one another to face the greater problem.

“I figured it was best to leave Ancient translation to slightly more capable hands,” Jafarr said with a nod, patting his cousin on the back.

Rannen flushed and swallowed. The environs intimidated him, as it was his first time ever in the Surface Patrol compound.

“Besides,” he continued, “I figured it was not safe to expose myself to the coming ship, just in case they are hostile.”

Rannen reddened more, wondering if he was in any danger.

But Jafarr stepped to his side and hissed in his ear, “You do the speaking to the ship, and I’ll translate to the room.”

The seer nodded and glanced about for a place to sit while they waited.

But they needn’t wait. The hulking, ancient ship immediately flew into view. The Zeta fleet surrounded it straight away.

<< A’las ta’lengyizhii. Em pliivaw’am vang miisaw. >> buzzed a voice through their com system.

All the aleas, anzers, and avers turned and looked at Jafarr and Rannen. The cousins exchanged peeks at each other.

“That’s not Ancient,” Rannen said with a shake of his head.

<< Arras torregyiizh’ee. Em preeval’en vang meez’oll. >> The com buzzed once more, this time in Ancient.

Rannen smiled. Nodding, he hurried up to the radio and bowed to the alea sitting there. “Can I sit here?”

The alea stood up, but asked, “What did he say?”

Rannen looked at Jafarr. “You said you would translate for the room.”

Nodding, Jafarr took a breath, all eyes on him now. “They said: they come in peace. They know those ships out there are ready for war.”

Speaking into the radio, Rannen pressed the call button. In Ancient, he replied, “Aloea’rra yiizh, yor’qai tannar neez zarr ee oozh’qai vang yangrroos.”[3]

“He said for them to stop and stay in orbit.” Jafarr interpreted, smiling at his cousin. It was working.

The room waited as they listened to the reply in Ancient. It was a long reply. Rannen swallowed and glanced at Jafarr, asking, “What should I say?”

Scratching his head, Jafarr leaned over and whispered, “Tell them not to be afraid. That our military overreacted. We are very protective of our home.”

“What did they say?” the Kevin asked at once, stepping forward.

Blushing, Jafarr shrugged with a wince. “They said they are dismayed and frightened that we would receive them so after we invited them over for trade in our last broadcast, and that they came in peace.”

But this did not dent the Kevin’s uneasiness. He nodded. “Tell them the protection of Arras is first and foremost in our minds.”

“I already told Rannan to tell them that,” Jafarr replied. He glanced at his cousin who was delivering the message with some embellishments.

The other side then spoke. << Em op’nas sharthg’om trrii qwanap’en em’es yooqorderr’ree trrii neez’em tath shath Adaral pragarr’newee—le neez errz’n meng’om ne’eme. Em chesal’om Adaral qamna’or meezall. Nas neez prrav’perval’om ne’eme? >>[4]

Rannen glanced at Jafarr. “What do you say?”

Jafarr nodded. “Tell them we’ll send a shuttle to escort them over.”

“What did they say?” the Kevin asked again with a bite of impatience, clearly not liking Jafarr calling the shots.

Not caring for the older man’s attitude, Jafarr replied, “They want to send ambassadors over.”

“That’s a lot said for that little sentence,” the head of the Surface Patrol snapped, his eyes narrowing at Jafarr.

Jafarr smirked at him with a tilt of his head and replied as Rannen translated the message back, “I was paraphrasing. They were being wordy.”

The Kevin still glared at the young man, wondering how much real Ancient Jafarr truly knew.

<< Sa naswein za’or noozh’olvar. Em ‘om qwanap’om ne’eme da em’es omn’en. >>[5] the ship replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jafarr turned and looked at Rannen, who shrugged and was about to ask.

Just as Rannen pressed the button, the entire room filled with static electricity. It spun up papers and loose pens and everyone’s hair. Appearing as if by magic in the dizzying middle of the vortex were suddenly two new figures. One—a tall pale man with an oily, almost scaly sheen over his skin who was balding, yellow-haired, wearing fancy long robes with embroidery in the shapes of snakes, amphibians, and birds on them—stood next to a smaller man who was probably in his forties with orange-like skin as if he had doused himself with an instant-tan bottle. That man had on a sweater-suit thing in the tackiest combination of colors they had ever seen. The entire room blinked at these two infiltrators one second. The next, they drew out their individual lasers.

The short man lifted up his hands, crying out in Ancient, “Dewein gandor’qai! Dewein gandor’qai!”[6]

Jafarr and Rannen stood up immediately. They stepped forward, lifting their arms to signal the Surface Patrol officers to calm down.

“Don’t shoot!” Jafarr cried out. “I think these are their ambassadors.”

“How did they get in?” one alea cried after recovering himself, pointing around at the mess in the room.

Rannen shrugged.

Jafarr gazed narrowly at the two and asked them himself. “Qal del’ell neez tregg’om vang tan? Em zarr naddra qootherr cahmnee sru qlas’barree.”[7]

“Neez zarr wein noowan em zharz’ell trrii, zarr neez’em?”[8] The short Aloean spoke, looking at Jafarr. He glanced past him and nodded to Rannen. “Za o’re shath noolaqra em zharz’ell trrii?”[9]

Rannen bowed to them. “Al zarr, noo nee op’qai ‘om zharz’narr trrii o’rem. O’re za Arqam’nadara Jafarr.”[10]

The Aloean looked back at Jafarr, his eyes assessing Jafarr’s most prominent scars which ran across his nose and right cheek that often made him look like a scalawag. He then spoke a different language to the tall bald man in the robe. The language was entirely different from Arrassian. Yet, Rannen and Jafarr both narrowed their eyes as if it sounded familiar.

“What are they saying?” the Kevin snapped out, putting his gun back into its holster as it was clear these were indeed unarmed visitors.

Jafarr shrugged. “I don’t know, but it is similar to Ancient. I think it is their modern dialect.”

The shorter man stepped forward and bowed to Jafarr. The taller man nodded his head in a regal fashion. Still, both men would have had to bow low to meet Jafarr eye to eye as they were both similar stature to the people of Earth. The taller man appeared smugly amused by how he towered over all those in the room, his own head higher than the doorway. Arrassians rarely hit six feet, though Jafarr was.

“Al za Yang Qwaduw, yooqorrderr’ra sru Aloea. Eee sor za KluzzXum Thssoa sru shath Th’sang Ornmarr,”[11] he said in a very polite and deferring tone of voice.

Jafarr blinked and looked up at the tall man. “Th’san Ornmarr?”[12]

The bald man blushed and repeated, “Th’sang Ornmarr.”[13]

Bowing to both men but keeping an eye on the tall one who gave off the impression of a tourist visiting pigmies of a lost tribe, Jafarr said, “Al zarr Jafarr Zeldar, wiidrrang’ech arqam’nadara sru Arras, jaq’zerra sru shath thal’arr.”[14]

He then straightened up and extended his hand for a shake. The Arrassians in the room sighed with private contempt at Jafarr’s adoption of the Earth custom. But Rannen watched his cousin as the two strangers watched Jafarr’s hand.

“Da Partha em hamnor’om sharrgee trrii widar’en rena’stanel. Op’nas neez grem’om sharr’gee d al’m?”[15] Jafarr said, still extending his hand.

The short man glanced at the tall one and extended his hand. Jafarr took it with a solid, friendly grip and smile that did not quite reach his eyes and shook the man’s hand, gazing probingly into this stranger’s face. So much was different. It was like the Aloeans had evolved into a new race of human. Rannen nodded and waited, turning toward the tall man patiently.

Jafarr let go of the short man’s hand and extended his hand to the tall man. The tall man lifted his hand, but hesitated. He spoke to the short man in that other language and the short man spoke to Jafarr as the tall man allowed Jafarr to grip his hand for a shake.

“Hang’davarr dzhosqall. Zharr del’om ne’em del’om sor tath da sa qallaqnars shrafarr?”[16] the short man asked them.

Jafarr felt the grip of the tall stranger. The stranger’s hands were clammy, and his skin felt unlike human skin—thick, almost scaly like a snake’s skin. Right away, Jafarr knew that this tall stranger, though he looked human, was not human.

Letting go without revealing his discomfort, Jafarr replied, “En rel ray thiidrar sa ein qiiornm el vang ore’s sharr’ga. Ee o’re op’nas wein hrriin’en. Rras ray charthee ne’eme hamnor’om sharr’gee ee hrriin’om—noo sa za larqov vang zhanova.”[17]

Jafarr then turned and addressed the Arrassian soldiers who had been tensely watching this. “This is Yang Qwaduw of Aloea and this man here is Kluz-Hum Th’so-ah of the Thsan Empire.”

The tall man narrowed his eyes at the mention of his name. Jafarr somehow knew he butchered the alien name, but the name itself was difficult to remember and pronounce correctly, so he did the best Arrassian equivalents he knew how.

“They will be coming to the birthday dinner,” Jafarr told them, looking to the Kevin specifically, eying him in particular to tell him to be watchful.

Despite their distaste for each other, they had a few common interests—one being the safety and happiness of Arras. The other being the safety of Zormna. Both men exchanged their similar thoughts in that room through that one glance. The Kevin knew what Jafarr was asking.

The young Arrassian President turned again toward his guests and waved them towards the door, speaking Ancient to them. “Le neez preval’qai sor rooda, em nas ooeevr’om trrii shath chamn’doth vang herngz sru sor charth.”[18]

The Surface Patrol officers stared after them, but the Kevin ordered an escort right away. Jafarr only turned back once towards Rannen to say, “I need you to stay here. I’m sorry you’ll miss the party, but I’m sure Zormna will reserve you some ice cream. She had it special-ordered.”

Rannen nodded, understanding. “I can be of better service here. Just have some sent in, and I’ll forgive you.”

“Will do, Rannen. Thank you,” Jafarr replied with a laugh, which turned the heads of both foreign ambassadors. They looked him over with a critical eye as if he were a child.

Jafarr’s cousin watched them go. Once gone, his smile slid off his face. He had a bad feeling looking at that tall man. It was the first true alien they had ever met face-to-face. He knew as well as Jafarr that that man was not human. But what that meant for Arras and the Queen, he did not know. He only guessed, and his darkest fears rose up inside to haunt him.

When they walked down the hall, the short man addressed Jafarr quite plainly and spoke with a frankness that was somewhat startling for the Arrassian to hear.

“You look awfully young. What is your age?” the Aloean called Yang asked in Ancient.

Jafarr blinked and decided to ignore the implications that came with his remarks, taking into account that people in foreign parts had different manners. He responded in Ancient. “I am eighteen Parthan years. Nine Arrassian years if you go by the old system.”

“Old system?” Yang repeated, his expression that of someone trying to understand, but not quite getting it.

Nodding, Jafarr replied, “Yes. It has been ten thousand years since we really measured by the old Arrassian system. We measure time by Ancient Queen Zormna’s reckoning now, following the Parthan calendar of the three hundred-and-sixty-five-day year.”

“But why?” the man asked in amazement.

Shrugging, Jafarr said, “Perhaps because we wanted to be on the same time schedule as our sister world, so that one day when humanity was reunited measurements did not need adjusting much.”

Yang snorted. “I have studied that ancient time much. That queen was a mere baby when we left. We have measured our time on a four hundred-and-thirty-two-day calendar—the Aloean year. I am forty-three years[19]. In our society no one is an adult until they have seen twenty years of their life pass by.”

This made Jafarr smirk. Here comes the culture shock for that visitor. “Well then, you and the Parthans have similar age ethics. Most of them are not considered an adult until they are eighteen years old—at least out of their teens anyway.” His smirk turned into an amused smile. “But Arras rates adulthood differently. We take a test to prove our adult capacity. If we pass it, we have all rights and privileges as an adult. If we do not, we can either take the test again or grow up with limited rights.”

The Aloean blinked at him. “A test? How can they test that? Some people are very knowledgeable at a young age, but fools in public.”

“Agreed,” said Jafarr with a smile, nodding. “But our test is comprehensive. Besides, there plenty of old fools also. The test is to limit and watch those that might, with their lack of emotional maturity, cause problems to the population.” He then laughed louder. “Of course, the test is not entirely accurate. I know some people who are capable in all arenas as adults at a very young age—but cannot deal emotionally with human affection… and there is no love category to the test—and cannot be, for how can you rate that?”

Yang smirked at him and asked point blank, “Then when, according to this test, did you become a so-called adult?”

With a nod, Jafarr replied, “I was fifteen—but I could have passed it earlier.”

By this time, they had reached the front gates to the Alpha district compound. Anzer Tellovii was staring at them while their guard escorts were moving about to get a transport for them. Tellovii had been listening to the Ancient Jafarr was speaking so fluently, but he also stared at the tall man in the fancy robe.

“He’s not human,” Tellovii murmured, mostly to himself.

Jafarr blinked and stepped over to the gate guard, at once replying in modern Arrassian in a lower voice. “He most certainly isn’t, but tone it down. At present there are no hostilities, and I’d like to keep it that way. Open the doors.”

“Zharr nee zharz’om Qnarriivwarr Arrassesh ee ne’em dewein?”[20] the Aloean ambassador asked loudly. It was a bit too loud for polite behavior in Arras. It made the man sound crude.

Jafarr called back to him, feeling somewhat annoyed, “Al’s mas el ray Maveed’ra Nich shanmaylaq—ray dalviiver sru shath Orr-ras. Iisanst sru ne’em ta’ren zarr homn zarrov Quarr-ras. Shath posmiirev qizar rel zakla zezii ‘el gardenn’el vang trrii unnliiqaq Arrassesh. Larqov shath Orr-ras dalviiveree eerzn trrengend’om Qnarriivwarr.”[21]

Yang translated into his Aloean lingo to his tall friend. The Th’san nodded, speaking back something. The language was full of Q’s and W’s more than anything else. It was a soft sounding, but that tall man gurgled when he spoke, spitting his S’s a bit more than his companion did.

Tellovii opened the doors just as the transport craft arrived. The Surface Patrol aleas opened the vehicle doors for the ambassadors. One alea stepped into the driver’s seat, adjusting his helmet. The others climbed onto flight scooters to accompany them.

Jafarr climbed inside the flight car with the two ambassadors, glancing back once at his junky-looking flight scooter parked next to the sleeker Surface Patrol models. With a sigh and a small prayer that the Surface Patrol would leave his vehicle alone, he closed the door and called for the driver to take off.

“One more question,” Yang asked Jafarr in Ancient.

The questions were tiring him. Jafarr could tell these visitors were sizing him up and finding him wanting in whatever preconceived notion they had of what a world leader was supposed to be. However, he answered as politely as possible, maintaining his temper and keeping his wonder active as he watched the two ambassadors with him.

“Why are all your people so short?” Yang said. “The Quarr-ras used to be a tall race.”

Jafarr choked on a laugh. “That is a result of the machines in this city.”

Yang blinked and swallowed. “They make you short?”

Nodding with a private smirk, Jafarr explained, “After a couple generations. It is a resulting mutation—an adaptation to help the people survive the Disease.”

“The Disease? What disease?” The man pulled back from Jafarr. The tall one hissed something, no doubt begging for an explanation.

“Don’t get anxious. The Disease has long since been eradicated and cured, but the old false gravity machines had a way of compacting our bones from the inside, making

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 02.03.2023
ISBN: 978-3-7554-7924-6

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