THE GALAXYMBION ODYSSEY

Tarosa Salddari replaced the square ultra-vi lens in his jacket pocket, its peculiar properties of both reading and magnifying message plastics being of no further use to him. Apart from its filing code in yellow text, the message plastic he was holding returned to blank grey. He frowned heavily. This last duty cycle had been overfed with stresses and strains. First there had been that initial approach to Orion Recruitment, and the subsequent referral to its sister tributary on Octaladon, then five decorbs of solid field research on a planet-wide scale. As if commanding a team of more than two hundred thousand researchers and seventeen thousand statisticians was not complicated enough Tarosa had to spend two frenzied decorbs compiling the team’s monumental work into four concise documents with a dossier of lucid proposals before being able to return to Kolda-ra.

Throughout that cycle the research team had gathered sufficient evidence to prove that incursions on Octaladon were not Octaladonian in origin, validating Ambassador Gurss’s petition for annexation. Recent events outside Tirian Citadel had left two of Gurss’s senior aides dead and a third unmasked as a Glane spy. The Ambassador himself was slightly injured, as were Emrikan Lantt and a young Kolda-rian pilot called Mirek - now mysteriously missing on Kytonia in the midst of a startling first contact with The Brethren. Additionally, there were three apparent temporal paradoxes giving Tarosa a serious headache. Kolda-ra had become deeply entrenched in Octaladonian security problems as a result, and it was Tarosa’s duty to steer Kolda-ra’s planetary response. To complicate life still further he was now required to travel to first FOUNDER world Albascade, home of the Galaxymbion High Council’s most revered Inner Triumvirate, to report on these matters directly to the most influential individuals imaginable.

“From your demeanour and frown that plastic contained a disagreeable despatch, Viceroy.”

Tarosa turned to face his wife and her mouth warmed with a smile. She was pleased that her voice alone was enough to secure his attention; recently more intimate methods had been necessary.

“Why such formality, Faria? There are certain etiquettes involved when we are at Planetary Congress and the assembly is in session; out of session I am your husband.”

“You have been distant of late, my love. How can I remember that you are my husband when you have forgotten that I am your wife?”

“Was I that bad to you, darling Faria? Come here, lady Viceroy, and know that you have never been forgotten.”

The couple embraced and Faria smiled again. “I did not mean to chide you, Tarosa. I know this matter vexes you and you wait patiently for news from Albascade. What message did the plastic convey? It does not seem to have pleased you much.”

“I must go there in person and report to the Triumvirate directly. Someone else could do it, or we could arrange communication via laser link. You know how much I dislike interstellar travel and having to talk for ages to illustrious authorities about complex issues. I still know nothing of proposals six, seven or eighteen and I must travel in two revs. Why do these decisions take so long?”

“And what of me, husband? These five decorbs gone you have hardly known of my existence, nor I of yours. And now you must go off-world to of all places Albascade. It’s on the other side of the Galaxy and you will be gone forever.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Faria, especially being a scientist. I will be gone for about one decorb, and Albascade is only a quarter of the galactic radius away. Interstellar travel these days is quicker than you suggest, and now it is you who is frowning. My beautiful wife, there is no reason to be upset at my departure, since you are going to Albascade with me.”

“Me? Why ever should the Triumvirate summon me? Oh no, Tarosa, does this mean that I also must talk for ages to illustrious authorities about complex issues?”

“Apparently, yes; you are the senior temporal physicist assigned to our current mystery. Our proposals are far-reaching, even controversial, and our conclusions are even more bizarre. Dear pure Faria, you talk sensibly always and feel comfortable explaining strange and difficult subjects to anyone. Why should you worry about going to Albascade? You were just complaining about me being distant, were you not? We will be together and you have always told me how you dreamed of visiting the original FOUNDERS.”

“That is not the issue, husband and Viceroy. I have no idea what I should wear in front of the Triumvirate.”

They both broke out in laughter, clasping each other’s shoulders, and Tarosa’s frown disappeared for a while. He stroked her temples tenderly and held her nearest hand. “You contemplate what clothes to be seen in, gentle Faria; I contemplate how to explain to them that Kolda-rian security measures are no longer capable of preventing Glane attacks. Two deaths and two injuries; how did they pass our Perimeter and Orbital Controls and what have we really achieved if we cannot counteract primitive evil?”

“A great many wonders, technological and otherwise, my husband. The Triumvirate know that evil is difficult to predict and even more difficult to eradicate. You can only explain the truth to the Triumvirate and how should they look upon it as anything else? If they have earned their office – and such is beyond question – they will accept your explanation wisely.”

“Faria, wisdom dictates that they must follow Galaxymbion protocol; we are a FOUNDER planet with a duty to uphold those protocols. The Octaladonians trusted us to help them, protect them and assist with their petition. How can the Galaxymbion permit us to continue as a FOUNDER world after this event, and how can Octaladon trust us to keep them safe?”

“Do you believe Kolda-ra will be expelled? Tarosa, you always are so serious of mind and straight of countenance. Yet, it is your selfless application to life that I have always so admired. You chastise yourself for a planetary failure, supporting our entire planet’s grief and disappointment as though you personally were to blame for the attack. Since I also will speak before the Triumvirate, they will know from me even if from no one else previously, that what happened here was the result of temporal incursions by Glanes of a distant future. They will also learn this from that Recon pilot, his crew, and The Brethren.”

“Why should the Triumvirate concern themselves with Emrikan Lantt, his loyal crew or UV eating glowsnakes? They will think I am just a planetary Viceroy trying to save his world from expulsion, and you are just a loving wife trying to lever the situation to help me. They will think I concocted this fantastical artifice to make our failings excusable, recruiting young, inexperienced, idealistic Planetary Defenders and some weird aliens discovered by accident on Kytonia to reinforce my absurd claims. And they will think you, my darling, have the most misguided loyalty of all.”

Faria thought carefully for a moment and then looked directly into her husband’s eyes. “The Triumvirate is not a secret enclave of short-sighted bureaucrats from some backward world like Ledara; that tactical Recon Pilot – Emrikan Lantt – had to display impeccable logic and wisdom to enter the Planetary Defence Corps. And you, my precious, needed four times such logic and wisdom to become planetary Viceroy. Can either of us imagine the personality qualifications needed to be elected to The Triumvirate? They will know who and what you are, who and what Emrikan Lantt is; they will know his crew and they will know truth when they see it, even if presented by strange blue floating energy serpents.”

“What makes you believe that the Triumvirate has any interest in speaking to Weethis and His Brethren? Besides, you know very well about the testimonies of young Lantt, his crew and the Primary Contact team that followed them; Weethis and His Brethren consistently refuse to leave that world even to visit Kolda-ra briefly. Why would they venture to Albascade?”

“If it is important to know the thoughts of The Brethren it will be accomplished. I remember our conversations about Octaladon’s annexation, before the Ambassador’s visit. You thought Gurss’s petition would fail, yet the High Council granted them annexation. Gurss believed in the chance to succeed and his faith stemmed not so much from egotistical faith in himself, as from faith in us – The Galaxymbion.”

“Perhaps, my loveliness, annexation was only granted because of the attack. By granting annexation, thus installing a permanent garrison on Octaladon and providing more Galaxymbion technology, we increased security in this sector.”

“Always the cynic. Well, I had better go and sort out my best uniforms and some smart casual wear, Tarosa. See you in a few perchrons.”

“Perchrons? Are you taking your entire wardrobe again?”

“No, just making sure I take something appropriate.”

Amryk-Em-Kovy calmly surveyed a bleak landscape ahead, resolving every small detail. The sun was high, nearly at its mid-point in the sky, and soaking the land with intense UV radiation, yet it seemed of no consequence to him. He pulled back the hood of his heavy flowing cloak and stepped forward down the rocky slope, sending hot dusty pebbles in all directions.

During the few revs since Lishtoo-Shan-Garra’s sudden appointment directing The Monzarl Project, Amryk-Em-Kovy had been busy. The incident on Kolda-ra was only a part of something bigger, more menacing and more convoluted than anything previously. The Glanes had now shifted their sights to Quora and Pelithon – SECONDARY NEXUS planets well beyond their usual range and too far from Kolda-ra to pose a threat to that world or Octaladon. However, Pelithon was only 49 parsecs from Ekria, whilst Quora was uncomfortably close to the Velon home world. Vels possessed unusual charisma and legendary para-psychological abilities to disrupt hostile minds from perpetrating chaos, by interfering with neural connections and planting ‘alternative’ ideas in those hostile minds. So far eleven Glane vessels had perished over Velon, their crews unable to execute attacks due to a sudden desire for Seppuku (ritual suicide).

Vels were not conspicuously warlike yet they had no aversion to causing their attackers to destroy themselves or interfering when Glanes targeted Quora. Unfortunately, Vels made no effort to disrupt the Glanes in a way that preserved the peaceful Quorans; Quora was becoming agitated about this and threatening diplomatic action if Vels continued to neutralise Glane attacks without protecting Quoran citizens. Amryk-Em-Kovy had gone to Velon and Quora to resolve matters. Now he was here, on Kytonia, on an urgent mission to the Brethren. He was unsure of their reason for refusing to leave Kytonia, so he had gone to them. They held information concerning the entire galaxy across all times, not just about Kolda-rian sector in the present. He knew this because they resonated with his senses as chronomorphs.

He could also sense that The Brethren knew more about Glanes than they had so far revealed to the Kolda-rians. It was imperative to find out how Syhe Alderhin’s Clan of Venom Indigo had become so powerful in the future, developing genetic masking and temporal displacement technologies. Additionally, Amryk-Em-Kovy wanted to understand the role of other Glane clans – Venom White, Darkness Sun and Green Earth – in the ambush at the Singing Caves of Toruno Kerini-i. Ahead of him, about three recules further, the Great Cave stretched out and rippled in heat haze. Yet the Brethren were nearer than that. He turned sharply to his left where a few orange-grey boulders were strewn carelessly amidst a small pond of rubber-moss.

“Brethren, you need not fear me. Nor should the rock-dwellers or rubber-mosses need to conceal you. Come forth; I will speak with all of you.”

Some of the boulders twitched, and a clump of rubber-moss shivered slightly, then relaxed. After a few moments two blue apparitions floated out from behind the largest boulder, hovering cautiously.

“We cannot see your thoughts, visitor. We sense no hostility, yet your mind is opaque to Kalmek. By revealing myself it could be a brave and costly mistake; yet, you see the rock-dwellers and the rubber-moss as kindred lives. You must be within Kalmek.”

“You are Weethis, and you, Waon. I am pleased you recovered from your injuries. Heshee and Xexan are not here; Flaze, Fibran, Noothis and Jaygl are. You are the main orators for the Brethren. Forgive me but I must ask you questions, for you are chronomorphs and have unique answers.”

The glowsnakes reacted with surprise, looking at each other and broadcasting heatedly amongst themselves, exchanging blue lightning. They were clearly unsettled.

“We have told all that matters to the beings of Kolda-ra. There is nothing further to tell you, strange visitor.”

“There is more, Weethis, and you will tell me. I will try to ease your alarm. My name is Amryk-Em-Kovy; I am from a world known as Talara, though I currently live on Albascade. The Temporal Crisis widens, and we have initiated a project on Monzarl to provide a solution. I will now open my mind to yours, and you can determine this for yourselves.”

“It shall be, creature called Amryk-Em-Kovy. This one will taste your mind first.” Weethis glided forward and then hovered motionlessly in front of their visitor for several lapses. Presently the glowsnake turned and floated back to the Brethren. “If your mind holds clear water and we have drunk well of you, then Kalmek is pleased. The Brethren will answer you as well as it can. Ask of us, Amryk-Em-Kovy of Talara.”

The cloaked figure knelt, folded his two legs and sat comfortably on hot sand. He remained silent, and the Brethren hovered, waiting. Many lapses passed, and patiently the Brethren continued to await the questions from this enigmatic stranger, yet no sounds emerged. They would have left, returned to the Great Cave, yet something made them stay in silence, hovering. It was no compulsory force, nor was it strictly of their own initiative. Just something about their mysterious visitor kept them where they were.

Amryk-Em-Kovy eventually stood and dusted his clothes off. “You have been most helpful, Weethis of The Brethren.”

Released from the compulsion to remain motionless and silent, the glowsnake broadcast its surprise. “You have asked us nothing and nothing have we told you. We do not understand.”

“You have told me everything, my friend. Now I am aware of all you know about Syhe Alderhin and the Glanes, about Mirek’s disappearance and his current location in time and space. I also understand why you sent him there, and that he will eventually be in the gravest danger. You have revealed to me the larger extent of The Crisis, and what you know of its solution. Our Monzarl Project must be accelerated if The Solution is to be ready before a point of no return. You have also told me of Rilmuta Skane and Braagan.”

“How can this be, creature who walks and looks similar to Kolda-rians, yet thinks like Kalmek? We sensed nothing of your probes into our consciousness. Such is not possible, except by Kalmek itself.”

“Kalmek has many forms, Weethis of The Brethren. For Kolda-ra there is Kalek, for Albascade there is Aska, for Talara there is Nor-Jan-Markri. I am an adept of the latter. Apologies for this intrusion, only necessary because you did not come to us.”

“The Brethren seeks questions from you,” Noothis broadcast. “We are puzzled yet seem to have answered your questions without even knowing your questions. You are obscure.”

“As you wish, though I know already what you ask. I can mask my thoughts from you because I also am a chronomorph. I am not Kalmek, yet I am part of Kalmek. In the future you will leave this world and go to Monzarl and Kolda-ra. You will meet Rilmuta Skane and his mother, Aramek. In time you will even journey to meet your cousins on Braagan.”

“Braagan? That world is a place of nightmares. We have no cousins there.”

“Yes, Noothis, not at present. In the future you will. And if you do not go there this situation will worsen. I must leave now. Be safe with Kalmek and thank you for your understanding.” And with that he stepped through blue energy and was gone.

2741/1988

“Mirek, we call to you. We of the clouds, we of the Nivas, need you to be whole once more. Why have you left us here in a shattered realm? Be once more with us, friend and cousin.”

The slumbering figure twisted and turned fretfully, troubled by these dream illusions; voices still calling to him from fluffy crimson clouds. Suddenly Mirek broke out of the dream world and sat up, soaked in perspiration. The bluish tints in his skin were whiter than usual and he rubbed his eyes as he tried to adjust to consciousness. He knew he had had THAT dream again yet could remember nothing before it. He left the comfortable layers of his sleeper and went to his window. Outside stretched a beautiful panorama - Iloa Citadel – yet it did little to calm his thoughts. It looked different, not as it should, somehow of some recent past; the spires and buildings were as he recalled yet the air was definitely of times gone.

Mirek had only a vague idea why he was here, how he had travelled to Iloa or what had happened before his arrival. Only those dreams of clouds persisted; deeper than normal dreams and more real somehow than his presence here. He looked around the room, recognising nothing; everything seemed wrong, out of place, not part of his life. Iloa was not even his birthplace, he was certain, and he seemed to be in a student villa yet he should no longer be a student. Unsure how to reconcile what should be with what was, he washed and dressed in silence, hoping that by venturing out into Iloa he might find some answers. He seemed to recall that there was a vast Central Archive at the Gardens of Tarvtorim, so that would be his first destination.

The day was hot and moist, typical for an equatorial city, and R.E.D regulators worked quietly on each street to keep everything clean and the air cooler than in the forests or savannahs. Even so their moderating effect did not completely suppress humidity. Lost in thought and beginning to feel hungry, Mirek found his way to the Tarvtorim Gardens but, lost in a maze of unfamiliar paths, could not determine which way to go for the Central Archive. He must have looked in need of assistance because a young girl’s voice broke the air just behind him.

“Are you new to this Citadel? Perhaps I can help if you need directions or have lost your orientation.”

“Yes; I need to go to Central Archive. I’m not even sure why I am here in Iloa; it is not my birthplace – at least I don’t think it is. Something tells me I’ve been here before, even though everything looks much older than I recall.”

“I can help you. My name is Aramek Skane; pleased to meet you, fellow student. Follow me, I am going to Central Archive myself.” She began walking slowly, so he followed as suggested.

“Why do you think I am a student, Miss Aramek Skane?”

“You wear a white student toga, with the university letters on the shoulder; ITU. Iloa Technology University, not Interworld Triumvirate Union before you say anything; everyone makes that joke. That means this is your first orbit in Iloa. As you can see, my toga is grey for second orbit. I know this Citadel well now, and everyone here is friendly. Where are you from, Mr?”

“Not here, for sure. Tirian, I think. I am uncertain even about that. Mirek; my name is Mirek Taro.”

“That is rather coincidental, Mirek Taro. Tirian is my home citadel also. What are you studying?”

“Funny you should ask, Miss Skane, as my memory is playing up a little. Everything here in Iloa looks strange; not as it should be and not as I know things. It isn’t helping me focus. Probably some technical subject if I am enrolled at ITU.”

“How interesting and vague; of course you study something technical at ITU. I meant what are you studying specifically? Well, never mind.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe you hit your head? We could check records at the Archive anyway. I am going there to do some research myself, so it will be easy to quickly call up the first-year students for ITU. If you have hit your head you should go and see a physician and get scanned.”

“Yes, you’re right, Miss Skane. What are you researching?”

“Cultural Engineering and Social History at Regional Diplomacy Corps. See my lapel?”

“You intend to work in civic administration, diplomacy or Interworld liaison?”

“Yes, any of those. If possible, I would like a role within the Galaxymbion command here on Kolda-ra. What do you want to do, Mr forgetful?”

“Planetary Defence Corps probably. Preferably as a pilot or navigant. I would like to see other worlds, and not just Galaxymbion ones either.”

“Hmmm, Mr forgetful and Mr ambitious. What do you think of your villa? I hope it has a good view of Iloa Citadel. It’s a bit warm here for my liking however the scenery is magnificent – so lush and exotic. Equatorial Jazz, my parents call it.”

“That is understandable. Why are the R.E.D units so inefficient now? When I visited here several orbits ago they certainly worked better than this.”

“They are okay; maybe you are more sensitive to the heat because you just got here. Tirian is a lot cooler most of the time so Iloa does take some adjustment. Or perhaps you have some malady; that could explain why you are forgetting things.”

“You could be right, Aramek.”

“Well, you remembered my name, so that is a start. Alright, we are here. Let’s go in and see what we can find out about you, Mr Taro.”

Mirek followed this charming young woman; he liked her yet felt awkward in her presence. It was not her fault, just some feeling within him, as if he had a wife waiting for him somewhere. They entered the enormous white dome of the archive and walked along a pleasant hallway to the library section. Aramek found them a vacant work station and touched her thumb to the activation panel. The screen came to life in front of her and she began running through the current University intake. It only took a few pulses to call up relevant information.

“Look, Mirek, you are listed here; Advanced Planetary and Interstellar Technology, Navigation, Cosmology and Space Travel. It says you arrived yesterday. I need to do some study, you probably need to also. You are welcome to sit at the same table with me. I’m just going to get some books. Wait for me?”

“Books? They still use them for study sources in Iloa? How curious. Yes, you run on ahead; I just want to check some things in these computer records.” Aramek smiled (though she was clearly puzzled by his reaction to the word ‘books’) and departed to find some. Mirek thumbed the console activator and the screen switched to viewing mode. He began scanning citizen records at Tirian and found something curious; his parents were documented, he was not. Then he noticed the update entry; two orbits before he was born. He rested his chin on his right hand and began trying to make some sense of it all. He pondered this anomaly for a few moments and only Aramek’s return woke him from his reverie.

“Are you okay?” Aramek asked, nursing her bound volumes.

“Not really. According to this archive I have not yet been born, though my parents are well documented as being twenty-nine orbits younger than I know them to be. Could your archive in Iloa be so archaic? None of this makes any sense as your records should be linked to planetary archive by Transplex. What is the current orbit number?”

“You must have hit your head really hard, Mirek. I’ve found a vacant study table – let’s go and do some research. The orbit number is 2741. That’s how long our world has been a member of the Galaxymbion. Why, what do you think it should be?”

“I was born in 2743, Aramek, and I am 27 orbits old. How can I be in Iloa Citadel two orbits before my own birth?”

“It’s a good thing I am sitting down, future citizen. I think we should try and clear up your little mystery, whilst we are here in Central Archive. You probably looked at a historical register and got your orbits muddled: I can ask for an archivist to attend us.” Aramek began typing a code into her personal communicator. “Hello, I am Aramek Skane and need some assistance with a population archive problem. Table 43A. Yes, fine. Thank You. Don’t worry, Mirek, an archivist will be here soon; they are very efficient people and will check everything on a portable. They can trace stuff we cannot.”

“What if it turns out I am not hallucinating?”

“Then we will at least have a chance of working out what really happened. I think you are just confused; have you been ill recently? There are a few interesting diseases in the equatorial regions and some of them cause temporary visions, memory loss or flights of fancy. If you did not take your treatments before coming to Iloa something could have invaded your system and started playing around with your perception. Ah, here we are.”

“Greetings, I am Ventorr Lantt, deputy archivist with citizen records. You must be Aramek Skane. And you, young man?”

“Mirek Taro. I hope you can help me, sir. My name appears on a student manifest for the Technology University, though I should not be here. I believe I am from Tirian Citadel 29 orbits in the future.”

“What an incredible story, young man. Well, I suppose you have already looked at citizen records? What did you find?”

“Only my parents, nothing about me. Wait a moment; you said your name is Ventorr Lantt. Something is coming back to me; I know someone with the family name Lantt; a tactical Recon Pilot called Emrikan. We worked for PDC based at Tirian and met on a mission to Kytonia. I don’t know his father’s name, though.”

The archivist looked shocked, as if seeing a ghost. “Emrikan is my son’s name. He is eight orbits old and wishes to be a pilot in the PDC. The scans and learning spheres have shown he has the exact match in personality and skill. We will be moving to Tirian within one orbit, so that he can train at the PDC Academy there. Well, how strange. Do you have your identity disc on you, Mr Taro?”

“Yes, here. It should have all you need on it, having been issued to me in 2743 and last updated in 2770.”

Ventorr looked rather sceptical. All the same he took the disc and slipped it into his portable. Information scrolled up the screen and made him look extremely puzzled. “Yes, it says here you are – will be – a pilot in the PDC. Look at this lens so I can take a retina scan; hmm, exact match. Finger on the green pad; yes, organic analysis confirmed. Parents Jen Taro and Mirek Olara. Let’s see what it says about them…. Aha, resident in Tirian, no children. Now, what can we find on planetary database? Good grief, that’s strange!”

“What is it, archivist Lantt?” Aramek said with more than a little urgency.

“Planetary has no current record of a Mirek Taro. Yet here you are on the student manifest. I wonder who updated that entry. Hmm, Coroma Arlon, senior adjutant at Tirian Citadel Conference Centre. Says she sponsored you for the ITU course. Aren’t you a bit old for such a course? Why aren’t you using learning spheres like most adult students, or attending a Tirian university, instead of travelling halfway round the planet to study with Iloan adepts?”

“Mr Lantt, I don’t know. Something is wrong and it makes no sense; my studies were completed many orbits ago from my perspective – around twenty orbits in your future. I should be in Tirian Citadel in the future, with my family. Everything is jumbled in my thoughts. Being here is weird.”

“Yes, of course. Before we decide what to do with you, Mirek Taro, I want to widen this search through the entire archive. It will only take a moment. Ah, here we are. Mirek Taro, believed to have lived from -19507 to -19135 recorded as an archaeologist and last Paladin of Iloa. No image, naturally, that far back. According to the ancestry he died unmarried and thus childless so cannot be related to your Taro or Olara family lines. Odd coincidence, though, his parents have the exact same names as your parents. I wonder what it says about them; Jen Taro was a healer and Mirek Olara an explorer. Will you agree to sub-molecular imaging, young man? We have an imaging room here in the medical complex.”

“Of course, Ventorr. Aramek, you don’t need to come with me; you have your own work to deal with and my problems have already caused you enough inconvenience.”

“Good luck,” was all that Aramek Skane felt able to say.

“Out of curiosity, what are your parents’ professions?” Ventorr Lantt asked, leading the way to the imaging room.

“My mother is a physician and my father is with the Exploration, Technology and Arts Triumvirate. More or less like that eponymous couple you found in the ancient history accounts.”