Altered Children

The Royal Air Force duty watch for the small unit of Neatishead was jarred out of what had been an uneventful, quiet night. Based within the Norfolk Broads close to Norwich in East Anglia, this unit provided radar, ground-to-air radio and data link coverage as part of the United Kingdom’s Surveillance and Control System that supported national and NATO air defense.

Sergeant Bradley had just noticed a blip at ninety thousand feet inbound from a southerly direction. He watched it settle at seventy-five thousand feet over Harrogate in North Yorkshire. “I say, Captain Stuart, this UFO just appeared and it’s not moving.”

“Could be an inversion, eh,” the captain suggested.

“No, sir. Straight up it’s a solid signal and it came north from a much higher altitude.”

“Hmm . . . just sitting there. Right, scramble a flight from RAF Leeming.” The Royal Air Force Station at Leeming was located in the beautiful English countryside with the Yorkshire Dales to the west and the North Yorkshire Moors to the east. Its primary role was to operate a front-line air defense squadron of Tornado Eurofighters.

The flight of Tornados from RAF 25 Squadron left the runway less than ten minutes after being scrambled. Captain Stuart put the phone down and glanced back at the radar screen. “Sergeant, where is that ‘sodding’ blip?”

“’Blimey’, Captain, I just saw it head easterly and increase altitude at over five thousand MPH. It’s already out of radar range. Should we cancel the intercept?”

Captain Stuart lifted the phone again, and spoke to the wing commander at RAF Leeming. “No, Sergeant, vector the flight to search on the object’s last heading. I’ll notify other NATO units.”

The trackertech on duty in the shuttle command center onboard the Silkar Union’s assault spacecraft carrier Rostvar Cluster shifted in his seat. The carrier had recently begun a five-year tour when it replaced the previous flagship for the Jeritha Study Group’s flotilla and continued its covert role as Operation Pacify’s flagship and laboratory. The trackertech tested the signal from the phased biotronic locator in four-year-old Ingrid Burgdorff’s brain to verify the tracking device was working optimally and to maintain an accurate fix on her location.

The ultra-high frequency, low energy tracking signals were picked up by one of the many small, unmanned satellites stationed high above Earth in geocentric orbits. These signals were boosted and transmitted to a similar satellite in position along Earth’s solar orbit midway between Earth and the Rostvar Cluster, in a direct line-of-sight of both the Earth and the carrier.

Then the signals were relayed to the carrier, also stationed along Earth’s solar orbit, but at the opposite side of the sun—where it could not be seen from Earth, even at its dimensions of 1000 feet long and 125 feet high at its tallest point.

Every few minutes, the trackertech confirmed Ingrid and the other three children still to be collected were present in their expected locations. He kept the shuttle’s commander—also its pilot—informed of the next child’s status. The command center’s computer aboard the carrier kept the redundant tracking system on the shuttle updated via the orbiter relay. Shuttle SC1’s onboard system tracked the children’s locations independently and had to match what was downloaded from the spacecraft carrier.

The spacecraft arrived and hovered at a position seventy-five thousand feet directly above their objective. The Burgdorffs’ small house was near the city of Bremen, slightly over twenty-five miles from Helgoländer Bucht (bay) that bordered the North Sea.

The SC1’s pilot switched on his transmitter. “Shuttle Command, we are in position.”

The trackertech on the carrier confirmed Ingrid’s location one last time and downloaded the coordinates to the shuttle’s computer for synchronization. “Execute pickup.”

The co-pilot set the mission timer to zero, and said, “Pickup starting . . . now.” He started the clock, which also started the synchronized mission timer in the shuttle command center.

The corporal yawned as she watched the radar screen at the German air force base in Jever, home of the 38th Fighter Bomber Wing. She stared at it intently for a bit, then looked up. “Lieutenant, would you take a look at this?”

The lieutenant stepped over and glanced at the screen. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, sir. It’s a solid object at seventy-five thousand feet to our northeast over Bremen, but it’s not moving.”

The lieutenant called the wing commander’s office and described what they saw.

“Well, Lieutenant,” the duty officer, a major, declared. “It must be one of those UFOs. We just received a flash message from the Brits about a contact they had and lost headed our way. You know the standing orders. Scramble a flight to check it out. I’ll be right there. A flight from RAF Leeming is already on intercept and will be here soon.” The NATO rules of engagement provided for overflights when appropriate and permission was granted.

The gas canister materialized in the Burgdorff living room at 12:10 a.m. on a Monday in mid-October 2022. A sufficient amount of gas dispersed throughout the home to ensure everyone in it would remain unconscious long enough for the team to inject stronger anesthetics into everybody on the premises. The gas broke down and became inactive ten minutes after the dispersal began.

Two Silkaran crewmen from Shuttle SC1 coalesced out of thin air. One collected the empty gas canister. They moved quickly and quietly to each of the bedrooms and injected the anesthetic into Ingrid’s parents and sister, and a different anesthetic into Ingrid. Then the Silkarans activated a signal, and within seconds they and Ingrid had disappeared and were in the shuttle. Only seven minutes had elapsed from start to end.

The flight engineer strapped Ingrid into one of the bucket seats against a bulkhead. She was the second of five altered children the SC1 was scheduled to collect. They would be in the next shift’s test group. An English girl was already in the first bucket seat in front of Ingrid.

Within ten minutes of the alarm, a flight of three Tornado fighters took off from Jever and rose into the darkness. With less than fifty miles separating Jever and Bremen to the southeast, they expected to intercept the unknown in five minutes. A minute later, the RAF Leeming flight crossed the German border.

“Intruder Leader to base,” the pilot of the lead plane from Jever said a minute later, “we are approaching sixty-five thousand feet, but don’t see anything.”

“Target is just ahead,” the radar observer insisted. “You should see it soon.”

Moments passed: “Base, Intruder Leader. I’ve got it on radar, but still can’t see . . . wait . . . there it is.” Speaking to his two wingmen, he exclaimed, “Mein Gott! Do you see that?”

The aircrews in the three fighters could now see it. As they closed on the UFO, now thirteen hundred feet distant, the craft shot up and away with incredible speed.

“I don’t believe it!” the pilot of Intruder 2 said; followed by, “Gott in Himmel!” from Intruder 3’s pilot.

Flight Lieutenant MacTavish, commanding the RAF fighters acknowledged seeing the shuttle climb at an extremely rapid rate when they were still at a distance of nearly a mile.

Onboard radar lost contact within two seconds. Ground radar lost contact a short time later when the UFO exceeded an altitude of one hundred miles, past the recognized sixty-two mile boundary between Earth’s atmosphere and space.

The two flights returned to their respective bases. Crews were debriefed by special teams. Team leaders stamped their reports ‘SECRET’, made two copies and filed the original in locked cabinets. They dispatched copies to their military headquarters, and to the duty officer for the Advanced Aviation Threat Identification Program (ATIP) at the Pentagon. ATIP had been started by the Defense Intelligence Agency in 2007 following an unusually large number of UFO sightings around the world; it was the successor to Project Bluebook, active between 1947 and 1969. And now, four years since the last period of mass sightings in the first half of 2018, the UFOs were back.

Shuttle SC1 dropped back into the atmosphere. They repeated the collection procedure thrice more to collect two boys and a girl from separate locations within a swath from Great Britain, to northern France, across western Germany, to the southern portion of the Scandinavian countries. Military aircraft scrambled once again with even less success. Thirty-nine minutes after entering Earth’s atmosphere for the first pickup, the shuttle left the atmosphere and headed back to the Rostvar Cluster.

Forty-five minutes at its cruising speed of one percent light speed put them at the first hyper-jump point, five million miles from Earth. They could not safely enter or exit hyperspace closer to Earth due to the spatial distortion resulting from Earth’s mass.

The crew aligned the shuttle for the first jump. Hyper-jump completed, the craft burst into normal space-time. Flight-path readjusted. Hyperspace entered. Hyperspace exited at a distance of five hundred thousand miles from the spacecraft carrier. The fusion-powered plasma engine drove the vessel through the final fifteen-minute leg of its hour trip.

The Silkaran cruiser geKorshat and its two destroyer escorts from the Jitzan Coalition arrived at Earth’s orbit, but on the opposite side of the sun from Earth, and only two miles from Rostvar Cluster. An hour and a half later, the flag shuttle departed the cruiser and made its way to the carrier, where it docked at forward docking station two on deck one.

Sub-Admiral Fondro teReevat, Operation Pacify’s commanding officer, and Captain Spuvi teDanon, the carrier’s commanding officer, greeted the inspection party of four senior officers and their aides-de-camp. Included among them was First Admiral Vesqar geFramex, Chief of the Silkar Defense Forces General Staff and Senior General Dova Blogg, the new chairwoman of the Jitza Coalition High Command. This was their first inspection tour in nearly two standard years and they were anxious to see first-hand how the mission was progressing.

Close to seven feet tall. Muscular. Dark red skin. Green hair trimmed short. Sub-Admiral teReevat looked every bit like the man in charge, much more than the shorter, first admiral with blotchy red skin indicative of his aging.

The senior general looked uncomfortable wearing a breathing backpack instead of dragging the device behind her on wheels, as did the other Jitzan officers. The general was not especially impressive to look at, being slightly under five feet tall with greenish skin and large purple eyes embedded in a bald head on her very slender body.

Senior General Blogg thanked Captain teDanon for lowering the artigrav setting for them, which had been set between Silkar’s higher gravity pull and Jitza’s lower gravity. The Rostvar Cluster’s CO then took the visitors on a brief tour of the ship, passing numerous members of the crew’s complement of 448, who immediately stopped their assigned tasks and snapped to attention.

They finished with deck four after viewing the two primary hangar decks containing shuttlecraft and three classes of fighter spacecraft, and the shuttle and combat command centers. Captain teDanon led the inspection party through the light gray colored passageways, past engineering, into the nearest lift and took them to deck two.

They strode through pastel green passageways and passed the unmanned secondary bridge on their way to the classroom areas. When the visitors entered the classroom, the instructor called, “Attention on deck!” The nine officers who had just rotated to duty aboard the spacecraft carrier sprang to their feet and stood at attention.

“As you were,” Sub-Admiral teReevat said sharply. He nodded to the instructor. “Please present these fine officers and explain what is being taught here.”

“Yes, sir.” The instructor introduced the six officers who were assigned to shuttle duty, replacing pilots, co-pilots and engineers who were rotating home. He then presented the newly arrived neurophysician and two exopsychologists.

“This class is the third session of the final two-week course in the practical application of what they have learned about the languages and cultures of the Jerithan children with whom they will be involved and may need to communicate.”

“The training is also necessary in case a shuttle malfunctions and crash lands on Jeritha,” Captain teDanon added in his raspy voice. “It does happens, but rarely. Forty-two standard years ago, my father’s scout craft crashed in the geopolitical entity Jerithans call the United States of America.”

As he spoke, he fingered the edges of the amulet his father had given to him, which he wore as a pendant. The amulet was a platinum triangle with their family motto “Integrity, Honor, Service” engraved across the four-centimeter sides and had a cabochon cut cat’s-eye stone in the center.

“That was tragic to lose a father so young,” Senior General Blogg sympathized.

Captain teDanon’s voice notched up a pitch. “They sent a message that two of them survived the crash, and then must have been taken captive.” He managed to stop his voice from catching. “If the Jerithan authorities had allowed the survivors to communicate with us further, we could have helped and made some accommodation with them.”

The carrier’s captain noticed everyone staring at him. “Excuse me for digressing. I do have strong feelings on this subject.”

“How many languages and cultures have you integrated into their training?” the Jitzan senior general asked.

The instructor flashed a map on the screen at the front of the compartment. He set his laser pointer for a wide spread and directed it to the area of France, Spain and Portugal, Switzerland, and Italy. “Ma’am, my class is assigned to the five separate nations you see here, which have consolidated with others on the continent into a super nation. These nations still have different, but similar cultures, and four related languages. We found a single language from one of the nations in the super nation has been learned by almost all the inhabitants, and serves as a common means of communication. Many of them speak multiple languages.”

“How much does this complicate your training?” Admiral geFramex inquired.

“Sir, only marginally,” the instructor said. “They each master the culture and language of the nation to which they are assigned and enough of a second language and the commonly used language for whatever basic communication they may find necessary. Following their in-depth training using the hypno-tutor, we hold these practice sessions in which the students apply what they have learned to simulated scenarios.”

“Please have the class give a short demonstration of their new skills,” Admiral teReevat told the instructor.

“Yes, sir.” The instructor twisted a dial and pressed a button on his remote control device. A computer generated hologram of a Jerithan male attired as a Portuguese farmer appeared in front of the class. “São você (Who are you)?” the image said.

The instructor pointed to an officer assigned to the shuttle designated for Portuguese and Spanish duty.

He stood and replied “Sou um estranho (I am a stranger). Pode ajudar me (Can you help me)?” The instructor nodded his head to the officer and then pressed a different button on the remote, which caused the hologram—starting to speak again—to dissolve.

The first officer sat down. The instructor pointed to another officer, who rose and was asked a few questions regarding his assignment with the French children and the local French government structure. The officer responded correctly and retook his seat.

The demonstration continued for an additional five minutes, interspersed by questions from the inspection party. The instructor finished by saying, “If a craft has to land and the crew must communicate with indigenous people, the officers are trained to explain they are on a survey of the planet from a nearby star system and need assistance.”

“What happens if children are on the shuttle?” an officer in the inspection party asked.

“First,” the instructor replied, “we try to get everyone aboard teleported to a backup shuttle and destroy the one on the surface. Transponder signals are constantly being sent from shuttles and if a craft is disabled, the signal may cease transmitting. Assistance can be directed using the crew’s personal communicators or to the craft’s last known location.

“If this is not possible, the children will be teleported away from the scene. The crew will use a satellite view to determine where to deposit them so they can find help when they awaken.”

“We prefer not to lose even one test subject,” Admiral teReevat reminded the inspecting officers, before clearing his throat. “The procedure preserves them for later acquisition.”

“And if none of that can be done because of damage to the ship and assistance is too far away?” Senior General Blogg asked.

“The crew activates a self-destruct mechanism or destroys the craft manually if they are able,” Sub-Admiral teReevat said quietly. “Questions?”

Hearing none, Admiral teReevat turned to the instructor. “Thank you for your time. Please continue with your class.” He opened the hatch and asked rhetorically, “Shall we continue our tour?” as he led the inspection party out.

“We have prepared a meal, and considering the time, I think we should eat before we visit the laboratory sections,” Captain teDanon proposed as they strutted down the passageway.

They had been touring for three and a quarter hours and had grown hungry, so his suggestion was well received. It gave them an opportunity to relax in comfortable surroundings in the wardroom. A dozen officers were present when they entered, three drinking cups of stimbrew, and others were eating. Two were playing the popular Knight’s Challenge at the port side game table.

The inspection party left the wardroom and entered two compartments divided by metaglas, Silkaran in one and Jitzan in the other. They enjoyed a lunch of appetizer delicacies from their home worlds, an entrée of stewed fleezian (a crustacean) for the Silkaran officers and a silga paté—similar to barnyard manure found on Earth—with a spicy sauce for the Jitzans.

The Silkaran officers delighted in a Cordecha amber wine from the verdant, temperate hills of the Dakonian League’s primary planet. The Jitzans drank water. Upon finishing lunch, they thanked the stewards and continued the tour.

After his retinal scan unlocked the entry, Sub-Admiral teReevat led the inspection party through the two-door hatch. “Testing Room One is the final stop on your tour. I saved the most important one for last. Commander Pomel kaBether, our medical officer in charge of the study team, will show you around the facility and describe what we are doing.”

Admiral teReevat brought the commander to face the group and made the introductions. “Commander, please take over.”

As thin as he was, Commander kaBether had no difficulty squeezing between pieces of equipment as he led the way to a console in front of a group of six video screens. He slipped his computer notepad into a pocket and removed his spectacles, which did not help his frequent squinting.

In a soft voice he announced, “You are in Testing Room One. We examine unmodified Jerithan children here as a control group, while modified Jerithan children are examined in Testing Room Two as our test group. Both compartments are identical and were temporarily converted from cargo holds. We are running tests in both of them. All of the twelve isolation chambers in each compartment are occupied—or soon will be.”

“Where are these young ones from?” a member of the inspection party asked.

Sub-Admiral teReevat cleared his throat before responding. “They are from Area D4. Look at this screen.” He showed them a screen with a map displaying northwestern Europe.

Senior General Blogg turned to the medical chief. “What tests are you giving these young Jerithans?” she wanted to know.

“Ma’am, they are anesthetized and given sensory stimuli corresponding to the hypnotic suggestions of a number of scenarios we have designed to elicit a violent reaction. They believe they are in a playground and are being accosted by a bully who berates them, asks for their money and pushes them numerous times.

Each scenario presents a different bully. In one, a bully is larger than they are. Another has a bully approximately their size. The third scenario uses a bully of smaller stature. We also run a follow-up scenario in which each subject child approaches a smaller child after the bully leaves. The very last thing we do is question the subjects under narcohypnosis about their experiences.”

“How long do these experiments take?” One of the visiting Jitzan officers asked.

“Sir, they are all completed in one and one half hours,” Commander kaBether replied. “Here let me show you what is happening right now. These six screens show the subjects inside of those chambers on the left side of the compartment.” He paused while the visitors glanced at the chambers and around the three thousand-square-foot compartment. They saw technicians in lab coats monitoring various instruments attached to the chambers and video screens built into the console. A few were making notes on their individual recorders and computer notepads.

Commander kaBether continued. “We have moved to the second scenario. If you look at these screens, you can see that seven of the control subjects are experiencing a violent reaction.”

The group examined the screens and watched four children grimace and clench their fists. All the children were sweating. None looked relaxed or serene.

“I see their expressions. But how can you be sure of what they are experiencing?” Admiral geFramex asked.

Commander kaBether pointed to several monitors. “Please, if you all would look at these screens. We can tell which locations in their brains are active by the colors appearing in their brain scans.” He then pointed to another set of monitors with running graphs. “These indicate the electrical output from various areas of the subject’s brains.”

Admiral teReevat added, “Since we know from previous studies which regions of the Jerithan brain involve violent behavior, both in their higher cortical centers and their primitive lower brain centers, we can determine the level of violent reaction in each child.”

“Have you reached any preliminary conclusions?” a visiting officer from Silkar queried.

“Yes, sir, we have,” Commander kaBether replied. “The short answer is that our genetic modifications seem to be working as expected.” He paused while he noted the smiles on the visiting officers’ faces. “Many of the control group will react violently when confronted by a bully their size or smaller. Some will take out their frustration on a smaller Jerithan though they fear to react against a bully. The majority try to argue their way out of a confrontation before they take violent action.”

“The test group is reacting quite differently,” Admiral teReevat interjected. “A much higher percentage, nearly three-quarters, take no violent action, and if they do, it is often much more measured than what we see in the control group.”

Admiral geFramex grinned and stood even straighter and taller than seemed possible. “Then our gene modifications seem to be having the desired effect. Very encouraging.”

Commander kaBether coughed to get everyone’s attention. “One more interesting note. We have detected neurological activity in an area of the study group children’s brains that shows little or no activity in the control group.”

Admiral teReevat tapped his foot. “Have you any idea what that means?”

“No, sir. We have discovered no reason or purpose for such activity.”

A pause ensued for a few minutes, while the visiting officers meandered around and watched the technicians and medical personal going about their business. As they regrouped at the hatch where Admiral teReevat and Commander kaBether waited, a claxon sounded with a loud buzz-tweep, buzz-tweep. It ceased, and then repeated several times. The visiting officers looked around the compartment, where work had stopped, and then at Admiral teReevat.

“By the fist of Prax! What is the alarm for?” First Admiral geFramex asked.

Sub-Admiral teReevat raised his hand. “Please wait a moment.”

A voice from the ship’s intercom said, “Commander kaBether, please report to Testing Room Two.”

The commander pushed a small button on the communicator on his lapel. “I am on my way.” He turned to the inspection party. “Please excuse me,” he said as he exited.

“That claxon indicated an emergency occurred in one of our testing rooms,” Admiral teReevat told the visiting officers. “The alarm can sound for a number of reasons. I will find out what is happening. Please wait here.” He left the compartment and followed the medical officer to the number two testing room.

First Admiral geFramex had no intention to stand and wait, so he led Captain teDanon and the inspection party to follow Sub-Admiral teReevat. When they arrived at the open hatch to the testing room, they could see a dark-haired, female child struggling to get out the open hatch in the third isolation chamber.

“Wo bin ich?” the German child, Ingrid Burgdorff, demanded. She had a frightened expression as she looked around. “Wer sind sie?”

Two of the medical staff held her arms while Commander kaBether brought a hypodermic syringe toward her arm and then froze, his eyes staring blankly. As she struggled, one of the staff slapped her face. Blue eyes wide open in shock, her struggles eased and the commander injected her with a dark liquid. “Was machen . . . sie . . . zu . . .?” she cried before she went rigid, then fell limp and hit her forehead on the hatch cover.

As the medical staff removed her from the chamber, Commander kaBether approached the group of officers. “I am sorry for the interruption. Normally, my staff is fully capable of handling the situation if one of the children in the test group wakes prematurely. In this case, however, the female somehow opened the chamber hatch.”

“What did she say?” the Jitzan senior general asked.

The medical chief called over one of the medical technicians and asked him. “About what you would expect, ma’am. The subject wanted to know where she was, who we were and what we were doing to her,” he explained before being dismissed.

“Have subjects awakened unexpectedly before?” Admiral teReevat inquired.

“Once, a few months ago.” Commander kaBether explained, becoming wet under his arms and wiping the dampness from above his brow crest. “We attributed it to the hatch not being securely shut. Then more recently, a few test subjects have been less affected by the anesthesia and hypnosis. Two of them have fully awakened before the testing started. But now, with these latest, our assumption may not have been correct.”

“Why have I not received a report of this before now?” Admiral geFramex demanded.

“This has become a significant issue only recently,” Sub-Admiral teReevat explained. “A full report is being prepared.”

“We cannot have these children returned to Jeritha with their memories intact,” the Jitzan senior general asserted. “What have you done about it?”

“We try to disrupt the short-term memory centers of their brains,” Commander kaBether replied. “When it works, they are returned with that one change. When it does not, they . . . they . . . are—”

“—injected with a chemical which induces heart failure and is extremely difficult to detect,” continued Admiral teReevat with a glare towards the medical chief. “Their bodies are then returned to their beds.”

Captain Spuvi teDanon nervously reached his right hand under his tunic to feel the amulet his father had given him.

Senior General Blogg took First Admiral geFramex aside and they whispered for a moment, the Jitzan officer gesticulating excitedly. As they returned to the group, the senior general was heard to say, “. . . won’t be happy with this lack of control.”

“You were instructed to inform me of anything unusual,” Sub-Admiral teReevat said, rubbing his forehead crest, dressing down Commander kaBether, “anything at all. Why was I not advised about the first incident?”

Commander kaBether stood at attention, his red skin developing a slight orange tint indicative of a Silkaran’s nervousness. “I am sorry, Admiral. It will not happen again. As I told you a short time ago, the first time it happened we thought it was due to a mechanical failure or carelessness. I will let you know immediately when something unusual happens.”

“Make certain you do,” Sub-Admiral teReevat demanded. “We will discuss your indecisive attitude in my quarters later. Return to your duties.”

As the medical officer turned to leave, Admiral geFramex said, “Wait a moment, Commander. I noticed the female hit her head quite hard. What will you do if she is bruised?”

Commander kaBether stopped and faced the group again. “Sir, if she is not seriously injured, we will return her to her home as is. Otherwise, well . . . ah—”

“Sub-Commander geWaxted,” Admiral teReevat interrupted, “answer the question.”

The assistant medical officer spoke in a high pitched voice, “If seriously damaged, the female will be terminated. Her body will be autopsied and then ejected into space.”

“Notify me as soon as you complete the evaluation and decide what to do,” Admiral teReevat instructed his medical chief.

“Yes, sir,” Commander kaBether replied.

First Admiral geFramex put a hand on Sub-Admiral teReevat’s right shoulder. “Keep on top of this, Admiral. I do not like unknowns popping up—they frequently become problems with dire consequences.”

Sub-Admiral teReevat gave a quick nod of his head. “Yes, sir.”

First Admiral geFramex looked at the other members of the inspection party. “I believe it is time to depart, unless you have questions or want to see anything else.” Hearing no requests, he faced Sub-Admiral teReevat. “Admiral, we are done here.”

“Yes, sir. If you will excuse me, I must ensure this problem is taken care of properly.” Sub-Admiral teReevat turned to the carrier’s commanding officer. “Captain teDanon, escort these officers to their shuttle.”

The captain led the visiting officers back to beige-colored deck one, where they made their way past astrogation and the wardroom to forward docking station number two.

The visiting inspection party went through the airlock into the flag shuttle awaiting them.

The airlock hatch closed. The flag shuttle disengaged from the Rostvar Cluster and returned the inspection party to the geKorshat. Soon, they were on their way back to Silkar, where they were to meet with all the members of the Jeritha Study Group. They had barely enough time to prepare a report on the study’s progress, one which would continue to obscure its true nature. Captain teDanon stood at the airlock hatch for a moment rubbing one spot on his brow ridge.

He returned to his cabin to make notes concerning his impressions of the inspection. He pulled the desktop down from the bulkhead and rested it on the two drawer units. Then he sat back and got distracted by thoughts of what was being done to the Jerithan children. Usually he was too busy to be distracted by these thoughts.

But at times like this, when he was alone, feelings of remorse set in. Does not really seem right. Though I do understand the reasons for it all. The big issue here is if the ends justify the means. Been hearing grumbling about the mission from officers and crew, but nobody has shirked their duty—at least, not yet.

Glancing out his view port, the captain saw the two destroyer escorts of his flotilla back in position after having been shifted ten miles away to make room for the inspection party’s ships. The escorts were rotated on two year tours. One of the destroyers was always from the Jitza Coalition Naval Command.

The Jitza Coalition was their strongest ally now, as it had been four and a half years ago. The latest reports, however, suggested the next one or two elections could bring about a change in government to one less than enthusiastic in its support. The second destroyer with the flotilla was from the Haktar United Planets and would soon be replaced by a vessel from the Dakonian League, followed in turn by one from the Rhelian Alliance.

Captain teDanon reflected upon how he had first gotten into this operation four and a half years earlier. He, then a commander, had gone to the Space Defense Service’s operations center conference room where he reported the failure of their effort to have the League of Worlds quarantine this troublesome world, Jeritha.

He could see it all in his mind. There, waiting at the hexagonal table, had sat First Admiral Vesqar geFramex, newly appointed Sub-Admiral Fondro teReevat and another general officer he could not recall. He pulled up the recording on his computer and watched it again.

Admiral geFramex had spoken first. “I hope you found your tour as military attaché to the League educational, Commander.”

“Sir,” he’d said, “I learned I do not like politics. The vote on the quarantine resolution introduced by our ambassador in the Executive Council was six to three against us. We were able to convince the representatives from Dakonia and Jitza. All other members of the council opposed the resolution.

“The ambassador from the Jitza Coalition was the only one who seemed as concerned as we are. I think, because their home world is also relatively near to Jeritha. They have asked to join the information gathering missions authorized by the League so they may know first-hand what we are up against.”

“Was Ambassador geVoojin effective in his arguments?” Admiral geFramex asked.

“At times I thought he might not be trying hard enough, but if pressed I could not point to anything specific he did badly.”

The captain saw Admiral teReevat rapping his fingers on the table before asking, “Do you think any other governments are approachable for another try?”

“No, sir,” he’d replied. “I do not believe so. Those who voted against us were quite adamant in their opposition. They all seemed to feel we acted rashly by introducing the resolution without sufficient justification.”

Next, they’d informed him his father had been assigned to a special services department in a secret operation approved by the General Staff. For the previous fifty-five standard years, they had been taking captives from Jeritha and examining them physiologically and psychologically. His father had been in the process of abducting two test subjects when his craft malfunctioned and crash-landed.

Captain teDanon stopped the recording and thought, My father died for this operation. I wonder how much he knew of its full ramifications. He died for Silkar—as would any of us if need be. Even now I still think of him and wish I could have known him better. Oh well, such is life. He felt his father’s old amulet under his tunic and continued to listen. Admiral geFramex had introduced Admiral teReevat and said he’d just been given command of Operation Pacify, a follow-up operation to the one Spuvi teDanon’s father was part of.

Sub-Admiral teReevat had said, “Those examinations taught us a lot about the Jerithans. We have mapped their DNA structure and found it to be extremely close to ours. Our scientists believe they have identified specific genes which, acting together, are the primary cause of their violent nature. Only the General Staff and carefully selected senior officers have been informed of these activities and this development.”

He heard himself asking, “But do not these activities violate the League’s charter, as well as Silkar’s laws and our government’s policies?”

To which Admiral teReevat had replied, “We in the military seem to be the only ones who recognize the extent of the threat from Jeritha. The Jitzan High Command has been working closely with us, General Blogg in particular.” At the time, she’d been in command of the Jitzan Military Intelligence Directorate. Three years later Blogg was appointed head of the Jitzan High Command.

“I find it difficult to understand how our civilian authorities can ignore this threat,” Admiral geFramex had said. “The Jerithan’s social behavior has not kept pace with their rapid technological advances. We expect them to begin exploring interstellar space within a hundred years. With their endemic violence, they cannot be allowed to encroach upon the region of space Silkar has claimed for expansion.”

Admiral teReevat continued. “We hope Operation Pacify will eliminate Jeritha’s threat. The operation, however, is an even bigger violation of legal provisions than our previous activities, but it is extremely critical to Silkar’s security. The new study group established by the League can continue to observe Jeritha, while we operate without the League’s awareness.” Captain teDanon recalled how the Admiral’s eyes had gleamed.

“In Operation Pacify we will take a large number of Jerithan males and females captive.”

“Every effort will be made to take female and male companions—at the same time, from the same location—during their sleep period,” the other officer had added.

Admiral teReevat had risen and leaned forward with both hands on the table. “We have created a virus that we will use to deliver the desired genetic changes into the female’s egg cells. Then, using their male companion’s sperm, we will artificially inseminate an egg, now genetically altered to remove the influence of those violence genes.” Sitting, he nodded his head at the other officer indicating he should comment.

“Our knowledge of nanotechnology, physiology and pharmacology has given us the ability to conduct our examination and studies of each captive, suppress their memory of the entire event, and plant a phased biotronic locator tracking device hidden deep inside every female’s brain.

“It is embedded in a synthetic fatty tissue so their immune systems do not reject it. Then we return them to Jeritha, generally to the same place from where they were taken, or somewhere nearby. They never suspect a thing. And with the locator, we always know where to find them for follow-up examinations. After a child is born, when it reaches a suitable age, it will be taken and a locator installed in its brain as well.”

Then, First Admiral geFramex had said, “In order to complete our mission, we will be operating outside of civilian authority and our legal mandate. You were carefully selected for this assignment, but your acceptance is strictly voluntary. If you accept, you will be transferred from your diplomatic assignment and put in command of the flagship of the Operation Pacify Flotilla with a promotion to captain. So, take a day to think about it.”

After the initial surprise, Commander teDanon had quickly pulled himself together and accepted his new command and promotion.

Admiral teReevat had concluded. “We believe the operation can be accomplished quietly and secretly. At the end of the thirty years of observation ordered by the League Executive Council, or before if at all possible, we should have all the information we need to decide between two courses of action.

“We will either introduce the viral vector into Jeritha’s general population or make a final recommendation to our government that Jeritha should be quarantined. When we are done with the observations, and if the decision is made to do so, we will be ready and able to spread the virus by spraying it into Jeritha’s atmosphere. Do you have any questions?”

Soon-to-be Captain teDanon had paused for a second or two. “Sir, this is an incredibly long-term operation. Can we be sure it will continue to be supported by the General Staff?”

“My first term of office will end in six more years,” Admiral geFramex had said. “But I expect to be re-appointed for one more eight-year term. And we are constantly watching for officers moving up in the ranks whom we can indoctrinate into the operation.”

Captain teDanon noticed the recording had stopped and that he’d been staring at the same image for a few minutes. He sat quietly, picked up a pen and twiddled it between his fingers. First, physical and psychological examinations; next, introduce genetic modifications. Followed by more physical and psychological examinations and stress testing. Nobody seems to feel remorse for what we are doing to those Jerithan children. Even if this is necessary, I am uncomfortable with how callously some of the staff treats them. Not going quite the way I had thought it would.

The captain looked at a plaque on the bulkhead above his desk. On it was the emblem of the Silkar Space Defense Service: a depiction of the first of the service’s interstellar vessels over the Silkaran flag with the words “Loyalty, Honor, Valor” running clockwise starting on the left, then above and ending on the right of the emblem.

Our loyalty to the service has been amply demonstrated. But, I’m less certain where the honor or valor is in this operation. He removed the amulet from under his tunic and clenched it tightly. He thought briefly of his family motto “Integrity, Honor, Service” engraved on it. Where will it end? What kind of people are we becoming—or have we become?