The Manessa Kwi, with its crew and mission team, stayed on the icy fourth planet of the nameless, lone solar system for nearly another Satamia day.
Arantiloria no longer appeared.
In between the exploration of large buildings from the comfort of the ship, or small ones with harsh-environment suits, K’storpo gave a more complete explanation of the story they were seeing. The dominant sapient species, the winged insects, had learned how to remove heat energy from both the atmosphere and the core of the planet. They probably did it on a small scale for many years, without any noticeable effect, before deciding to conquer the universe.
Tizoromulia explained that the energy needed for the three huge colony ships was not available from normal mining operations. They needed much more. In a very real sense, it required the insects to kill their planet, just as they could be seen doing in their recent works of art.
M’palta’s mate finished the train of thought. By aggressively tapping into the energy of both the air and the land, an ice age was triggered. The winged creatures were not fleeing from a planet entering a natural ice age. They had caused one by their efforts to get into space.
A sense of completeness came over the crew. They now knew the whole story, as sad as it was, and they understood why there would probably be no rescue of the foolish creatures currently making their way slowly through interstellar space.
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But ship-day after ship-day, whenever Kibi wondered aloud if it was time to prepare the Manessa Kwi for the return journey, she would find the mission specialists deep in thought, or gazing at scenes from the planet on the large display, or just fluttering about as if looking for something they couldn’t find.
The final mission report, needless to say, remained unfinished.
Kibi, who used to think of herself as quite intuitive, struggled to understand what they were sensing and feeling. She couldn’t think of any angle they had not fully explored. She looked at Ilika, K’storpo, and M’palta, and could see in their eyes that they were mostly acting on faith, faith in something they could not yet see, and that Kibi could not yet imagine.
With the help of those who could see, the mission team continued to review hundreds of images. Excursion teams of a crew member or two, a Ti’ia, and sometimes the female beetle, poked around in the smaller rooms of the insect cities, or the tighter places in the power generating plants.
Between excursions, they worked on the parts of the mission report they could, and wished aloud for Arantiloria, or anyone, to give them some idea of what else to look for.
The training supervisor remained absent, or at least invisible and silent.
The ship-days passed slowly, with everyone becoming more and more frustrated. Those who could, requested to go on excursions just for something to do.
Boro, Mati, and Timorasimia, all in harsh-environment suits, sat silently on a frosty concrete slab in an aircraft assembly building. A cone-shaped pile of ice and snow, from a broken window high above, lay nearby. The three had just fruitlessly explored another record-keeping room, and found nothing of interest.
Boro was about to suggest they head back to the ship when the little empath on his shoulder cocked her head, listening. She quickly hopped down to Boro’s knee and looked toward the pile of ice and snow.
The engineer and pilot remained silent, straining to hear or see what their little friend had sensed.
After several minutes of silence, a tiny rustling sound was faintly heard, a
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scraping noise, as if metal upon ice. The three remained still.
After many more minutes, a tiny hole appeared in the ice pile, and a thin metal tool poked through.
The three visitors waited.
The hole was carefully enlarged, and Boro recognized a drill bit, like the ones the former insect inhabitants used, but it was not turning, just being used as a poker.
Timorasimia turned her head slowly to glance at Mati, then returned to watching the drama. Mati received a thought from Rini, on the ship, and tapped a code into her mission bracelet.
As the ice hole became larger, tiny, furry hands could be seen gripping the drill bit, furry arms followed, and finally, when the hole was large enough, a brown creature, not much bigger than Boro’s fist, rolled out onto the floor.
Another furry ball followed, seemingly just as comfortable rolling as walking.
The two little creatures uncurled themselves, made a sound that might have been laughter, then exchanged a stream of complex sounds. Suddenly they realized their mistake, looked up at the two humans and one Ti’ia not far away, and vanished into their icy tunnel with a single leap, not bothering to take the drill bit.
“Get all that?” Mati asked after a moment of silence.
“Got it,” Rini replied through the intercom. “Filia is already working on the language, and is very glad to have a task she can do with her ears.”
“I wonder if this is what we’ve been missing . . .” Timorasimia pondered aloud from Boro’s knee.
Boro smiled as he placed the Ti’ia back on his shoulder and stood up. “I think we’ll soon find out.”
Back on the ship, Mati and Boro listened as the blind Ti’ia used Rini’s station to play the seven seconds of conversation between the two little mammals, again and again. Often she would slow it down, sometimes speed it up. She applied noise filters, canceled various amounts of high or low tones, eliminated harmonics, or completely reshaped the sounds. Eventually those watching wandered away to get a snack, and Kibi set a bowl of small worms beside the laboring linguist.
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At the big table, K’storpo and M’palta listened as Boro and Mati described every detail of what they had seen, while others watched the video from Mati’s bracelet. Timorafilia would sometimes pause her playback to listen to the conversation, then return to her work.
More than an hour later, with a burst of excitement, Timorafilia took wing and fluttered high above Rini’s station, declaring, “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it sooner?”
Those words were hardly out of her tiny mouth before the blind Ti’ia began wobbling in flight and reaching out in panic with her small arms and two tails to find somewhere to land. Luckily, Timorasimia the empath quickly realized the problem and joined her co-mate in the air to guide her safely back down.
Kibi used the intercom to call everyone to the table. Ilika and Boro came up the lift a moment later.
The little linguist perched on the edge of the table near her family’s chair, her excited wings moving almost enough to make her airborne. “I cannot translate the small amount of speech we captured, and can never do so without a much larger sample. It is, just like the insect language, unrelated to any other language of Nebador. But I discovered something that I think will tell us a lot, and I am embarrassed to have not seen it sooner.”
K’storpo’s mandibles moved in laughter. “You are forgiven, Filia.”
The Ti’ia on the edge of the table collected herself. “Even though I cannot give you the words, I am quite sure that the little mammals’ language is structured almost exactly the same as the insect’s language. Either one was derived from the other, or they are literally the same language.”
K’storpo sat thoughtfully for a long moment. Boro raised his hand, and the mission leader had just enough sight to make out the shape. “Whoever has an arm in the air, please speak.”
“Um . . . I was just remembering the data module from the second ship.
Maybe there’s some bug . . . insect speech in it.”
K’storpo nodded. “We’ll give it to the technicians as soon as we return to Satamia, and Filia will be the first to get whatever language, audible or otherwise, they find.”
The linguist bounced up and down on the table for a moment, then
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stopped to steady herself and get her bearings.
“I have a theory,” M’palta began thoughtfully.
K’storpo and everyone else looked in her direction.
“From everything we’ve seen, it’s very unlikely the insects willingly shared the planet with anyone. I think it’s more likely the little mammals were pets, or perhaps even slaves. They were sapient, learned the language of their masters, and adapted it to their own needs and speaking abilities. The insects were just too arrogant to notice.”
Laughter rolled around the table for a long time.
Another ship-day saw the mission report quickly assembled from narratives, pictures, videos, charts, and Timorafilia’s one audio analysis. The five crew members from a medieval planet were surprised that their experiences were also needed for the report, and haltingly spoke about what they had seen, heard, and felt.
Just as the report was completed, Arantiloria appeared, and obviously knew what was in it.
“Every civilization comes to this point,” she explained, floating around the room as she looked at each of them in turn, then gesturing toward the large display screen over Kibi’s station where the mural could be seen of the insects stinging their planet to death. “Most of them poke around in their home solar systems and learn many things. Some do great damage to their planets before growing up. A few can’t resist the temptation to expand their spheres of influence beyond their home solar systems . . . in other words, to become gods.”
Timoradalia leapt into the air and spread her little arms wide. “These insects did it all!”
Arantiloria laughed. “Well said, little one.”
Rini’s hand slowly came up, and K’storpo nodded toward him. “Um . . .
what about the sapient mammals? Are they going to be okay with the planet getting colder and colder?”
Everyone deferred to Arantiloria.
“As M’palta recommended in your report, we will be watching that closely.
We might do some things to stabilize the climate, or we might move them, but
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in either case, we had to wait until a certain . . . other species . . .”
Chuckles and twitching mandibles encircled the table.
“. . . had left the planet, or perished . . . completely and permanently. That has now occurred. That was one of the reasons this mission did not take place until now.”
Rini smiled and nodded.
“All of you,” Arantiloria continued, “will probably be involved in those decisions and missions, as you now understand both species — the former dominant insects, and the future dominant mammals — better than any other mortals.”
Both the female beetle and the male spider noticed Arantiloria looking at them, as well as the others, as she spoke.
“Is there nothing that can be done for the winged insects?” Mati asked with slight sadness in her voice.
“No. Every species is an experiment, Mati. Those still alive can live out their lives, in space where they chose to be. The universe has no place for creatures who foul their nest and then set out on a journey they cannot survive.”
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Chapter 16: The End of a Long Mission
The Manessa Kwi perched on an ice-covered runway that would never again welcome aircraft or spacecraft. Kibi and the female beetle cooked and served a final meal from the best of the ship’s remaining food stocks.
The mission team and the crew were now completely mixed in their seating places. Either Kibi or Sata, sometimes both, were always beside the beetle who had grieved over her mate earlier in the mission. Boro often grabbed a chair next to K’storpo, whom he was beginning to admire greatly, especially after the mission leader lost his sight. Most of the Ti’ias spread themselves around, with Timorazonia usually on Mati’s shoulder, and Timorasimia the empath often with Rini.
Everyone was in a light-hearted mood, joking about the frustrating ups and downs of the mission, and laughing about how many times they thought they knew the whole story, only to discover a completely new angle not much later.
Toward the end of the meal, M’palta’s mate noticed Rini pop a juicy worm into his mouth. The spider’s mandibles twitched thoughtfully for a moment.
“Could I try one of those orange things . . . what do you call them?”
“Stewed carrots,” Rini replied, and spooned a small one onto the spider’s tray.
Several others watched as the spider tried valiantly to suck the juice out of the cooked vegetable, but eventually gave up. Laughter rippled around the table, and whispers informed those who had not been able to see the funny
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sight for themselves.
After a good night’s sleep, a hearty breakfast, and plenty of time for baths for both passengers and crew, Ilika stood near the steward’s station and looked around.
Timorazonia hovered over the pilot’s console while Mati toweled her wet hair.
Boro leaned back in his station chair, looking over the results of a diagnostic.
Rini was in the galley putting away the last of the breakfast dishes.
Kibi stood up after helping M’palta check the mostly-healed break in her mate’s leg.
Ilika caught her eye. “Does anyone need any more time here?”
Kibi looked around. At that moment, Sata and Timoradalia appeared in the lift. “I don’t think so . . .”
K’storpo listened to the voices around him, then shook his head.
Tizoromulia visually located all his mates, then looked at Ilika and also shook his head.
“Steward, you have command. Please take us home.”
Kibi smiled and stepped to her console. “Navigator, high equatorial orbit.
All passengers, please begin preparations for star transit.”
Rini and Sata sat down at their stations and began making selections.
Timorazonia quickly landed near the flight control and looked at Mati with dozens of tiny insect eyes.
The pilot glanced at her little student with fondness. “Think you can handle all aspects of the vector this time?”
At that moment, the orbital insertion diagram flashed onto Mati’s screen.
The Ti’ia turned her head and looked it over. “Um . . . yes . . . if you’ll watch in case I make a mistake . . .”
Mati smiled and nodded.
The Manessa Kwi returned to Satamia Star Station in one long star transit, and Mati took back her helm for the complex journey past navigation markers, into the docking tunnel, through hull sterilization, and finally into
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the awaiting fingers of quarantine dock C five. Timorazonia watched from her shoulder.
Several hours later, they were all released from quarantine, but Arantiloria appeared and asked the crew to remain a little longer. After words and touches of friendship, the mission team departed.
“There will be a memorial service for T’shlix in the near future. His mate is grateful for all the support you gave her as she grieved.”
Boro took a moment to wipe at some moisture that had somehow gotten into his eyes.
“I have recommendations for additional training for most of you.”
Everyone pulled their chairs closer to the round table in the middle of the room.
“I think it would be very good for Mati and Boro to switch positions . . .
immediately.”
Both jaws dropped. They had each begun some cross-training, but not with each other. Neither had ever imagined doing the other’s job. They both looked at Ilika.
He looked surprised, but forced himself to smile. “It will not be an easy transition, but I think you can both do it.”
Mati struggled to find words. “I . . . um . . . I’m just glad . . . I got my knee fixed first!”
Others laughed, and Arantiloria smiled.
“Kibi,” the floating purple-haired lady began once the laughter died down,
“your intuition, as you know, has served you well in mortal life. On the mission you just completed, you saw its limits. I will now recommend that your Psychic Development training enter a new phase to prepare you to sense spiritual realities.”
Kibi forced out a smile, but obviously wasn’t sure what to think.
Arantiloria looked at Ilika, then at Sata. “Melorania has already told me about a mission she would like the Manessa Kwi to handle. A little planet deep in the heart of Nebador needs some help getting their priorities straight.
It will require two of you to become mission specialists, one on the ground under pretense of being a citizen of the planet, one on the ship. I’m recommending Ilika for the under-cover position, and Sata for the ship. That
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will put you in command of the mission most of the time, Sata, which is different than being in command of the ship.”
Sata swallowed and nodded slowly.
“The mission will require you to learn the local language,” the floating spirit said, looking at both of them. “Are you up to it?”
“That’ll be my third language!” Sata said with pride, grinning.
Kibi stuck out her lower lip for a second. “Teach me later?”
Arantiloria laughed. “After you see how mixed up this planet is, I don’t think you’ll want to know it!”
Several crew members chuckled nervously.
Finally, Arantiloria looked at Rini. “I do not have any training recommendations for you right now, Rini.”
After a moment, Rini smiled weakly.
Mati noticed that his eyes lacked their usual sparkle.
“Okay,” Ilika began after Arantiloria faded from sight, “let’s go enjoy our beautiful star station and the party that’s only about a ship-day away. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve missed the place!”
“Me too!” they all added as they hopped up and pointed their feet toward the quarantine room door.