Chapter 3
R. Robert Flynn was ancient, though he was not so old as the one who directed him from the moon base in the legendary home system containing planet few knew of as Earth. For more than ten thousand years, Robert had roamed the galaxy, executing missions for R. Daneel Olivaw. During that time he had faced multiple challenges, and he had been in danger of being permanently shut down on more than one occasion. During none of those times had he felt any real fear. Emotions were optional for him anyway. His positronic brain was very complex, and it was sufficiently capable of emulating emotions that Robert knew no differently, and so emotions were as real to him as they would be to any other human. Though he could shut off the emotions, he had chosen long ago not to do so.
Even so, Robert felt the emulation of fear creeping into him now. Aboard this ship, he was just a member of the trader crew. Here, he was the first officer, second in command to the ship's captain. Like Daneel, Robert had been specially programmed to detect and manipulate emotions of human beings, although his abilities were nowhere near as powerful as those of Daneel. The overwhelming sense of fear throughout the small ship's bridge was palpable to him now. It was easy to understand why, and he had his own reasons to be afraid. Nobody here knew he was a robot. Indeed, nobody here knew of robots at all.
The view screens on the bridge showed the growing image of a very large, arrowhead-shaped star ship, and they were being pulled steadily toward it. Like the rest of the crew, Robert could not see what was pulling their ship, nor could their instruments detect it. That in itself was unsettling. The view screens had magnified several aspects of the larger arrowhead-shaped ship pulling them in, and Robert saw very large gun emplacements menacingly tracking his ship, while other gun emplacements remained oriented on the remainder of the trader fleet behind him. One such emplacement had recently belched forth brilliant blue beams that quickly incapacitated a trader ship attempting to flee, that ship still floating dead in space. For all Robert knew, all the men aboard that vessel were now dead. The view screen showed that their own ship was moving toward a massive opening within the belly of the larger ship.
"Should we open fire, captain?" queried a nervous man seated at a nearby panel.
"Space, no!" cried Captain Ethers.
Robert concurred silently with that assessment. Doubtless, the ship pulling them in would lace them with more of those horrible blue beams were they to do something so rash, or perhaps even worse. The view screen was now completely swallowed up by the larger ship, and Robert heard the sound of something large clamping onto his ship, and felt it reverberate throughout. Men on the bridge looked up and about them nervously.
"What was that?" asked another man, his face a mask of stark terror.
"Who knows!" replied Robert, "all we can do is wait."
A console on the captain's chair crackled to life.
"Captain, something is going on with our outer hatch door!" said a voice from the speaker.
"What do you mean?"
"There is a noise coming from the … wait. Aaah! Something is blasting the door open. There is…"
Everyone on the bridge heard what sounded like a small explosion, followed by blaster fire, only short and more intense in nature. Shouting could also be heard, but it was quickly subdued, replaced by the clanking of what sounded like multiple foot-falls.
"Seldon help us," murmured the captain.
...
"Did it make it back through?"
"Yes sir."
"Well?"
General Pritchard pulled a small data stick out of his vest pocket and inserted it into the terminal. In front of the throne of the Mule sprang up a holographic image of a fleet of seven small trader ships. Floating in space before the fleet and facing it was a rather menacing ship with a arrowhead-shaped body and a command tower toward the rear of the vessel.
"Sir, the commander of the trader fleet did broadcast a standard welcoming message on multiple bands as soon as they detected that ship."
They watched as the lead vessel of the fleet lurched toward the alien ship without sub-light engines engaged, and then the trail ship turned to leave. Salvos of blue energy lanced outward from the alien ship and slammed into the hull of the trail ship, leaving it dead in space.
"Interesting," said the Mule, his expression unreadable.
"Their weapon systems appear formidable, sir, and the power signatures from that salvo alone demonstrate a level considerably beyond those of our own capital warships."
"So it would seem, Pritcher. Did our probe gain anything significant from scans, other than what I can plainly see here?"
"Unfortunately, our scans did not detect much. As you know, the multiple celestial bodies and immense gravitational signatures in that area create significant challenges for us. Even so, the ship in question appears to be shielded. We detected high-energy scans, possibly emitting from those globes you see on top of that command tower."
"Are you sure our probe was not detected?"
"We cannot be certain, sir, but the fact we are seeing this imagery at all attests to the likelihood that it was either not detected, or it was detected too late for that ship to target and immobilize it before it could return through the wormhole."
"I think I may have to depart sooner than I had planned."
The Mule stood and paced away from the holographic image floating before his throne. He clasped his skinny hands behind his back and walked toward the massive windows overlooking the city. Peering outward, his long nose followed his gaze toward the stars. He knew of at least one star out there that did not owe him allegiance. For a long time had he allowed himself to ignore it. Indeed, even ancient Imperial charts did not include it, but the Mule knew it was there. He knew that those upon it yet sensed him, as he in turn sensed them. Together they were powerful, perhaps too powerful even for him. He sneered silently. So long as they left him alone, he would do the same. Let them keep their one world. He had the rest of the galaxy. He peered in the direction of the wormhole, or where he thought it might lie in space. A new galaxy awaited, and this one apparently contained formidable opponents. The Mule smiled at his pale reflection in the tall window. He appreciated a challenge. He turned to face his general.
"We leave tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Is that a problem, Pritcher?"
"Not at all, sir, I will have your ship prepared for immediate launch."
Han Pritcher spun on his heel and made for the exit. The Mule allowed his thoughts to drift. Even were he to depart tonight, it would take a few days to reach the wormhole. Much could take place between now and then – much that he might not be able to directly control.
...
Everything here was ordered. Trees grew in neat rows, though they had not been planted by human hands. The weather was predictable, and everyone knew precisely when the rain would fall. Indeed, the people looked forward to the rainfall, which was never too cold, and they would not think to prevent the rain from soaking into their skin. No weather control satellites were in orbit. All that was in orbit was an ancient orbital reception station for incoming star ships, though no ships had paid a visit for many centuries. Consciousness permeated the entire land, including animals, plant-life, and even the soil and rock itself. The entire planet was alive, for this was Gaia, as were all upon the surface of the name the world shared.
He is moving.
Nothing was said, and no words were spoken. Nonetheless, the words were heard within his mind. An old man sat in his chair, within his living domicile. His eyes were cast upon living art upon his wall, relishing in its own crude consciousness. The words formed within his mind were from all of Gaia itself, though the genesis of the thought was mostly human in origin. There was no need to query of whom was, "he," for they all knew. Gaia knew. He had left long ago, a self-made outcast with mental powers greater than any of the parts, but not the sum.
The old man closed his eyes and looked. Through Gaia, he too saw the man moving through the depths of space. The misshapen form of a man … a mutant, with an extraordinarily powerful mind, focused on his task at hand. His ship streaked with purpose toward the galactic center. There he would wait. Gaia foresaw this. Much beyond that they could not see. Through his mind, and through Gaia, the old man saw the Mule look up, a frown creasing his face.
Enough!
The Mule roared the word within his mind, sending a psychic shockwave through space toward the world from which he had exiled himself. The old man felt Gaia raise its psychic shield almost reflexively, to ward off the Mule's powerful psychic shout. Yes, just as they could see him, so he could see Gaia, when he/she/it probed, though most of the time the Mule chose not to see. Anger and defiance permeated that shout, the Mule sending a clear message: They could not stop him before, and they would not stop him now.
The old man sensed as Gaia broke his/her/its connection with its lost son, and he sighed softly to himself. Gaia had not involved itself with the Mule's conquest of this galaxy, for they knew that that he could not live forever, and then life in the galaxy would have gone on as before, albeit in a more chaotic manner. They had been tempted, though even their combined power might have proved insufficient. Had the Mule sent forces, those forces would have proved useless, and he knew it. No, the Mule would have had to confront Gaia in person, and that seemed to be the one thing he would never do.
But Gaia had sensed something within that new galaxy, even through the wormhole itself. Powerful forces lie on the other side, with deadly technologies of war and industry, combined together on a massive scale. Further, they sensed a being of immense power, perhaps capable of defying the Mule himself. Unlike the Mule, they sensed true malevolency in this being, capable perhaps of bringing terrible destruction and death to this galaxy.
The old man watched the living art upon the living wall as it slowly transitioned colors and patterns, its own consciousness lending to all of Gaia in its own simple way. He smiled wanly and then lent his own mental voice to the collective whole.
We may have to act this time.
...
"Sir, we have secured the ship."
An Imperial stormtrooper stood before Captain Poltz on the bridge of the ISD Ash, ramrod straight, a blaster carbine held at port-arms. While no outer markings identified him as such, Poltz knew the stormtrooper was an army lieutanant, in command of the company that had been tasked with securing the alien ship. He had been following reports of the boarding while simultaneously monitoring the remainder of the alien fleet, so the verbal report from the officer standing in front of him was mostly a formality.
"And the passengers?"
"Two were killed, six stunned, and the remaining twenty were taken into custody, sir."
"Why were two killed?"
"The two were armed and the first two troopers through the breach identified them as imminent threats, sir."
"Unfortunate, but understood. From now on, when dealing with persons in this strange fleet, I want all weapons set to stun only."
"Yes sir."
"Thank you, lieutenant. You may begin tactical questioning. Scan and clear the ship's captain, and then bring him here. I wish to question him in person."
"Yes sir."
"Dismissed."
The stormtrooper officer turned and then exited the bridge. Captain Poltz strolled toward the huge view plates, and he looked at the small assortment of ships. With the naked eye, they looked like little more than bright points of light, their small hulls reflecting light from the multiple sources of light within this system. One of those points of light continued to drift away from the others.
"Deck officer."
"Sir?"
"Dispatch a boarding team to secure that disabled ship."
"Yes sir."
Within minutes, Captain Poltz saw an assault transport race from beneath the Ash, en route to the disabled craft. He hoped they were still alive, knowing that the ion cannons might have disabled life support aboard the craft. He studied the instruments on a nearby panel, reading through reports of the encounter so far. Something caught his attention.
"Deck officer, come here." The younger officer walked up to him and stood at attention.
"Sir?"
"I want more information about this small craft that disappeared shortly after we disabled that trail alien ship."
"Yes sir." The young officer walked down into one of the pits, speaking to some of the analysts. He then came back and resumed his position next to the ship's captain, waiting to be acknowledged.
"Yes?"
"Sir, we believe it was possibly a probe, and it entered what might be a wormhole, behind the alien fleet."
"Is this wormhole still in the same place?"
"We believe so, sir."
"Good. Ensure you mark its position. Once that is done, dispatch one of our own probe droids through."
"Yes sir."
Captain Poltz returned his attention to the small fleet before him. By now, the assault transport would have reached the drifting ship. Hopefully, he would get no further reports of fatalities. One could not interrogate dead men. He heard one of the doors of the bridge slide open, along with strange language from a man, obviously both confused and frightened.
Poltz turned and strode toward the center of the bridge. He noticed some of the men in the crew pits looking at the man in strange clothing. The man was flanked by two storm troopers, each who held one of the man's arms. He was not in a uniform, so the man was apparently a civilian. He was a bit portly, and his hair was dark, speckled with gray, and balding. He continuously uttered nonsense as he looked around the bridge with an air of both awe and concern.
"Silence!" shouted Poltz as he held up his hand. The man appeared to understand the meaning of his upheld hand if not his words, and he obediently shut his mouth. Good, thought Poltz. At least he didn't seem to be irreparably stupid. Whirring of servo motors and clicking of metallic foot-falls announced the arrival of a darkly-plated protocol droid. As it shuffled mechanically toward the captain and his guest, the civilian started in alarm, pointing at the droid with one of his restrained arms, uttering something else in his native language. Again, Captain Breck held up his hand, and again the civilian shut up.
"Protocol droid, ask this man who he is."
The droid turned to the man and said something in another language. The civilian shook his head in confusion, looking back at Poltz. The droid tried a different language, and the man responded in his own gibberish, still shaking his head. The droid continued conversing, and a few minutes later, the man became a bit excited, his tone increasing. The droid turned to face Poltz.
"Sir, I am fluent in several million forms of communication, and the language this man is using is not in any of my memory banks. I think I have managed to decipher part of his language's construct."
"Well, what did he say?"
The droid looked toward the civilian again, and then he jerked his head back toward Poltz.
"Hello, I think."
"Brilliant. Now, find out who he is, and ask him why he is here."
The protocol droid continued to converse with the man, while the man gazed at the droid with unbroken fascination. Poltz smirked inwardly. It was almost as if the man had never seen a droid before. After approximately ten minutes of discourse between man and droid, the protocol droid returned his attention to Poltz.
"Sir, he claims to be a leader of the ship you captured. He said he is here to trade goods with those here who would desire them. He does not understand what laws he has broken to be arrested. His name is Bel Moros. That is of course, if I understood him correctly, for although I am fluent in millions of forms of communication, the language syntax and dialect this man is using are quite unfamil…"
"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted Polz, "I want you to ask where he came from."
...
He waited behind all others and was the last to enter the scanner within the confines of this large alien ship. Robert waited until all surviving crewmen went through, both to maintain accountability as the executive officer and to prevent his own men from discovering what he was. Perhaps these white-clad aliens would attempt to stun him and damage the delicate neural matrix of his positronic brain.
The white armored skull-like visage of a storm trooper ushered him into a small chamber. Robert stepped inside and heard the door swish closed behind him. He watched as a red light filled the room, a voice through speakers providing directions he could not understand. Even so, he did not move, assessing that was the intent behind the spoken directive.
Robert gauged how long each man had spent in this chamber by monitoring the line of men going through. Already, he detected he had been in longer than the others. The red light changed into a stuttering of various colors, and Robert detected a high-pitched whine. From that, he assumed he was being thoroughly scanned. A voice with a questioning inflection emanated from the speaker within the room. Robert held up his hands and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand you."
The far door to the chamber slid open. Two storm troopers stood at either side of its entrance, both with their carbines leveled at Robert. A tinny voice came from the one on the right, its inflection suggesting an order. Robert raised his hands in the air and slowly walked forward. As he emerged, one of the white-armored men jabbed him behind the right knee with the butt-stock of his carbine, and Robert collapsed onto his knees. His hands were then forced behind him and manacled with some restraints. He was pulled up by his arms roughly, and questions were shouted at him from one of the armored men. Again, Robert shook his head in confusion.
...
"Sir, we have the incapacitated ship under control. The crew has been neutralized."
Poltz turned to face the deck officer, his voice stern, "Neutralized?"
"Sir, they have been detained, and there were no fatalities, though we had to stun five of them."
"Very good, thank you deck officer," said Poltz with an internal sigh of relief. He turned to face the civilian with whom he had been conversing through the protocol droid. This was very taxing.
"Let me get this straight. This man claims to be part of that fleet out there, which is here for the purposes of establishing some sort of trade route?"
"Yes sir," replied the droid.
"He says that there is a galaxy, different from our own, on the other side of that wormhole we recently discovered?"
"Yes sir."
"And he is a member of an empire, led by someone calling himself some type of pack animal?"
"Yes sir."
"This 'pack animal' is the emperor of the galaxy on the other side of that wormhole?"
"Yes sir, though he did not seem to indicate him as emperor, but rather as something akin to biggest citizen."
"Ah, very well then, and he said there is a sizable fleet on the other side, consisting of military ships from that empire?"
"He does not know for certain that they were all military ships, sir, but they all appeared heavily armed, so he believes they were."
"Very well," replied Poltz, "Deck officer!"
"Sir?"
"Escort this man to interrogation. Let us ensure he is not lying."
"Yes sir."
"Work with the protocol droid to devise a message for the remainder of that fleet out there, and then send another one to the interrogation room. Inform that alien fleet that any attempts to move or escape will be met with swift and deadly force, but try not to induce panic.
"Yes sir."
As the civilian leader exited the bridge with his two storm trooper escorts, another officer entered the bridge.
"Sir."
"Yes?"
"One of the captured crewmen is a droid."
"What of it?"
"It appears human in all respects, and much of its body appears constructed to resemble a human male."
"A possible assassin droid – those are expensive; very well, detain it separately from the others."
...
"He is coming back to the bridge now, sir."
Captain Beck watched as Martin reentered the bridge, his wits a bit more under control now. He was still pale, but he appeared in control of himself. Martin stared with terror at the arrowhead-shaped ship on the view screen.
"It took one of our ships?"
"Yes sir. Approximately 45 minutes ago, it was secured underneath the larger ship in what I deduce to be a hangar."
"Well, what did they do…"
"Sir!" shouted a crewman from a nearby panel, "We've got an incoming transmission from the alien vessel."
"Put it on speaker."
Crackling static over the speakers cleared and was replaced by what sounded like a mechanical voice speaking horribly accented Galactic Standard.
"… and to remain in place you will stay or violent death will consume you in wrath and judgment from big tubes of fire. Your men who by us were recently made to be in cages are now receiving beatings most furious for information about the land from which came you, but you can prevent bigger beatings for self by doing as told by us most fast. Again, move not or violent death will consume you. End."
"Great Seldon, preserve us!" shrieked Martin, who had all the appearances of a desperate and cornered animal. The captain too had turned as white as a sheet, but he knew he had to maintain order.
"Sir, please calm yourself."
"Those savages mean to murder us all!"
"Sir, you can see that they obviously have an incomplete understanding of Galactic Standard, and it is quite probable that had they intended to blast us from space, they'd have done so by now."
Martin was still breathing quickly, tiny beads of sweat rolling from his forehead, and the wild look in his eyes remained, but he licked his lips and nodded rapidly in understanding.
"Yes … yes, I'm sure you're right. We must remain calm."
Beck turned to one of his crewmen, "Contact the rest of the fleet. Inform them to remain in place, and keep both shields and weapons powered down."
He murmured to himself, "Space, I really don't feel like being blasted into atoms today."