Chapter Four (1/2)
Tubaven was dying.
It had never been healthy. It had been a risk, a chance taken by scientists looking for answers that had already been discovered centuries before. It was nicknamed ”The Asylum” by more established scientists, and even the Unified Scientific Council listed Tubaven as ”The Asylum” in official records now and then.
The planet had old PreCursor ruins on it. Even with a dead core, there had still been earthquakes. The atmosphere and ecosystem had destroyed what the earthquakes left behind.
It was the ecosystem that fascinated the scientists. That a mere hundred million years after being razed to dust and boiled seas, life had returned.
Life like the scientists. Familiar life.
The Civilized Races, like all the living, required several things to remain healthy and part of the living.
The planet that Tubaven orbited normally provided those things.
Then the comet hit.
Normally, this would not have caused Tubaven too much trouble. After all, it was a society of scientists, even if their peers considered them crackpots. Except that budget shortfalls had meant the shuttles had not all been repaired and when the comet had hit it had destroyed the extraction fabrication units and the only usable shuttle.
Along with five of the scientists.
Tubaven was dying the second the plasma shockwave from the comet hitting the planet began to ripple into the atmosphere.
The scientists had watched in horror as the ecosystem they had been studying, not finding any new answers to any of the old questions, but studying all the same, died to a comet of methane, carbon dioxide, ammonia, carbon monoxide, hydrogen, and oxygen.
Five scientists lost hope, dying, as the atmosphere burned, the oceans boiled, and the ecosystem was reduced to memories and recordings.
The GalCom no longer worked. The geothermal power plant no longer beamed up power and the solar array had been blasted apart when the comet had struck it.
That meant nobody was going to hear the remaining scientists cries for help.
One by one the scientists left the mortal coil. Each taking their lives privately, quietly, many hoping their demise would allow the environmental systems to last a bit longer for their fellows.
Even those who devote their lives to science care for others.
Each missed meal was a battle. Each gasping breath was a skirmish. Each dehydrated swallow was a blade stroke.
But those that could held on.
Dutifully recording what they went through even though the science of the dying brought no answers to the old questions.
They were ready to die, prepared for it. After all, it was basic science.
Tubaven was dying and when it died.
They would too.
Shakhan knew this. Knew this as well as he knew his own death song, which he had sung in the privacy of his chambers. Knew it as well as he knew the sound his own barking-sack made. Knew it as well as he remembered his mate's scale pattern on her tail, left behind on beautiful Argassa.
Still, science gave hope. Which is why he was hooked into the jump beacon, trying to repair it. They had been sending a signal when the communications array had been destroyed and since then it kept repeating the same signal over and over.
Three short bursts, three long bursts.
Over and over.
The incoming buffer was unresponsive. He could lase it. He could ping it. But it couldn't hear him.
Three short. Three long.
Over and over into jump space.
To top it off, it wasn't even pointed back at the Civilized Worlds. It was pointed deeper into the Great Empty of the Precursor War.
Three short. Three long.
Shakhan was about to disconnect from Tubaven's systems when he saw it.
A sparkle. A weird sparkle. High particle energy sleeting from empty space. On the sensor array he could still access it appeared as if someone was lighting fireworks off in empty space. Multicolored streamers, sparkles, and even electron cascades.
Shakhan was looking right at it when it happened.
Space went... well... blue. Right in the middle of the sparkle. It went white to the sensor array, then back to black.
Blaring sound came over the sensor array, gibberish, but mathematical.
Musical?
A signal reached out Tubaven and nudged it. Once. Twice. Three times. Then Shakhan saw it.
A massive ship. Shaped like a slightly flattened egg, or a seed, with blisters and bubbles all over it. Large enough that Tubaven could fit inside easily. The engine propelled it toward Tubaven and the craft kept signalling.
I have nothing to lose, Shakhan thought. He opened the buffers and allowed the signal to communicate with Tubaven's dying mainframe. It took him a second to realize what was loaded from the other vessel. Pictures. Basic math. Advanced math.
A lexicon? Shakhan engaged the remaining lobes of the mainframe, shunting as much of the liquid helium as could be spared and letting them grind through the data.
It took less than a tenth of a cycle, before the strange ugly ship had gotten halfway to Tubaven. Two of the lobes gave up their electronic lives, but it was done.
Shakhan would be able to talk to them.
Praying to the Forgotten Ones, Shakhan opened a communication channel.
The screen popped up, showing a short, squat, almost dumpy looking hairless primate sitting in a furry reclining couch. Streamers and coins poured down around him and cartoon animals frolicked across the bottom of the screen.
”Never fear, Max Yo Ngyn here!” The primate cried out. All of the cartoon animals jumped and squealed. ”I got your distress call, buddy! I'm oooooon my waaaaay! Hang tight! Thirty mike mikes and I'll be knock knock!”
Shakhan quailed slightly at the disruptive and unorthodox communication, but he was too weak to protest. He merely opened his side, allowing his camera to show him.
”Situation desperate,” Shakhan said.
”Holy crap! A lizard dude!” The primate seemed excited, or at least Shakhan guessed it was excitement. It was hard to tell with primates. ”First Contact, baby! Max Yo Ngyn with the sco-ore! Seeing as you're a new customer, play some slots, see what you win! Hell, you can have the Winner Wheels since you're in distress, baby! Max Yo Ngyn is the firstest with the mostest and the tradest!”
The screen suddenly had three wheels overlaying ”Max” and a button at the bottom that said ”EVERY PRESS A WINNER!”
Curious, tired, and frankly glad for the distraction, Shakhan pressed the button. The wheels spun, the little cartoon animals capered, and the wheels settled on three drops of water.
”YOU WIN! 20 LITERS OF WATER! WINNER WINNER WINNER!”
Shakhan frowned. Gambling? Now?
Then he realized, it was a distraction from dying. There's no way the primate could help him. There were only two other primates in the Civilized Races, and both of them could barely pilot a scout ship.
Soon Shakhan had forgotten his depression, completely entranced by the gambling wheels, the little cartoons, the bouncing singing cartoon animals, and the fact that he just. kept. winning.
Suddenly the wheels vanished and the primate was there. He was dressed in some kind of cloth, or maybe armor, that shimmered and sparkled and showed off rainbow color. He had a clear face-shield on and Shakhan realized that the suit kept spelling out ”Max A Millions! Registered and Bonded Junkman and Trader! Ngyn Junker LLC” in a scrolling pattern down the arms and legs.
It was an upright biped.
”Hey, baby, you still OK?” The primate, Max, asked.
”Yes. I am here.”
”My scanners show there's about two dozen of you left. Ouch. Your station has habs for sixty. My condolences, baby. That qualifies you for a bereavement and grief discount, by law, and Max will totally hook you up. Hey, um, do you breathe oxygen?” Max asked.