“An outside third party wants the secession of Summersun…” Kantian taps his index finger on the console. “I need regular reports.”
“I’ll report what I learn when I’m able.”
“If conflict initiates…”
“I’ll inform you, Captain. It will be soon. Too many bored mercs leads to its own problems.” Sergeant Yaren flips off his view screen.
“I’M HAVING TROUBLE with this translation,” Nytalyan admits.
“You’re doing so well with apples,” Saltāl encourages her.
“The Mokarran have no word for apples. They’re an aquatic species. Apples are a dry land fruit. It was just an example.”
“Still, you’re understanding the language.”
“Not as well as I thought.”
“Try explaining it to me,” Saltāl says.
“In their prayers the Mokarran use the phrase over and over again: To cleanse, have cleansed, need to cleanse. I’m not sure which it is. It changes meaning in some of the text.”
“We know the Mokarran want to cleanse the unworthy.”
“It’s not translating right. I never thought this would be so difficult.”
Saltāl grabs a bound book from a drawer. “I was reading some text on recovering dead languages. Treat the Mokarran religious speak as a dead language and piece it together.”
Nytalyan’s impressed with her cohort. “It might be viable to explore. How’d you consider this?”
“I was using some archeological research to locate the Mokarran’s origin planet.”
“I’m not even sure the Mokarran know. I assumed it was an oceanic world with an expanding sun,” Nytalyan speculates.
“What drew such calculations?”
“Evolution. They’re shark creatures in transition to land dwellers. Significant physical transition means the oceans were drying up enough to drive them towards land. They breathe air both from water and gas. The evolutionary process seemed to have halted once the Mokarran left their planet and explored the stars.”
“A reasonable deduction. Should we bring in an evolutionary biologist into our group?” Saltāl asks.
“Only if they could lead us to a home world and the planet has original material to translate.” Nytalyan considers for a moment. “Actually, if you feel we need another co-conspirer, I would feel comfortable with someone inside the communications department.”
“If you think we need one, I’ll investigate for a trusting soul. We must keep our sedition small—I figure.” Saltāl digs the edge of a coin into the nearly invisible seam of the wall panel. The panel pops from the seal. “I discovered much of the command base was not constructed by Mokarran, unlike the new fleet being built at the Engal IV shipyards.”
Nytalyan lowers her computer pad. “Changes the dynamics of the ships?”
“The Mokarran are so massive they physically won’t fit inside some of the narrow maintenance tubes sometimes necessary inside a star ship. The new designs forgo such hatchways to eliminate the need for smaller species on the ship. This base has still a string of tunnels too small for any Mokarran to fit.” Saltāl lifts the panel from the wall.
“Explains why the Mokarran are sending older vessels with those they consider lesser species into battle on the front lines. They use up the resource and eliminate those they consider unworthy without hurting their war machine.”
“Where do you get unworthy?” Saltāl questions.
“In what little I’ve been able to translate of the religious speech, ‘unworthy’ is a constant in the lectures. All, but the Mokarran, are unworthy.”
“Most religious dogma creates scapegoats.”
“It’s more than finger pointing at the cause of problems for the Mokarran. It’s something else. Sometimes it scares me.”
“I’ve been utilizing this maintenance tunnel,” Saltāl steps aside.
Nytalyan climbs in. She brushes her fingers over a silver insulation covering a small section of tunnel. “What substance covers these walls?”
“The padding prevents radiation from penetrating a spacecraft,” he explains.
Her fingers stroke the texture of lots of seams. Fragmented pieces shoved and glued together to make a larger piece. “You put this here?”
“I’ve a friend who works on the shuttles who enjoys sporting events from Circtrus IX. So I pirate record them. He smuggles me the scrap insulation from the shuttles he builds.”
“The Mokarran will kill you.”
“If they catch us, but like you said, we’ll need proof—recorded proof. I’ll need a place to store the information. They scan and find nothing. The insulation hides whatever’s in the tunnel.”
“Are you sure?” Saltāl seems unconvinced.
“I’m sure. You stash your recording equipment in here. Less chance they find it.”
“They find it; they will kill you.”
“You’re recoding the Mokarran because you fear what they are doing. I memorized the death reports of non-Mokarran and constructed this chamber for the same reason.”
“You think there are more of us?” Nytalyan asks.
“Others have to notice what the Mokarran are doing, but fear speaking out.”
“How do we know who to trust?”
“We don’t,” Saltāl admits. “We find those suspicions and we bring them in. Pool our information. We’ll need a communications officer.”
“Once it’s collected, what do we do with this knowledge?”
“The Throgen Empire lacks interest in the citizen of the planets it rules. The United Confederation of Planets could be our best option with the intelligence we gather.”
“THEY REMOVED YOUR tenure when I left Zayous?” Confounded by this news, Maxtin’s unsure what to say to Professor Emuukha.
“They felt I would inspire others to rebellious behaviors.”
“I cost you your career.”
“No. I cost myself. I spoke to you about the galaxy in such a way to inspire you. If the current administration considered it an unfavorable position—I must have been doing my job. They want teachers to open the minds of the youth, but as soon as we lead you to question the status quo, they’re unable to handle it. Progression is only for those seeking power. Once they have it, they don’t want anyone to question what they have and no one else does.”
“On the surface, you’re able to influence so few.”
“I would be complaining about such cramped quarters on one of those star cruisers when they are perfectly good planets to colonize in the galaxy. Placing me on the surface prevents
