This novel is limited to 100 free copies due to its part in Inkitt’s Novel Contest.
No light glimmered from the dark gray, smooth surface of the liner’s hull. Not a single sign of life, not a single discharge of energy emanated from the craft to draw attention to it. For all intents and purposes, the huge spacecraft filled with 100,000 Chrysallaman colonists might as well have been a lifeless asteroid. Untended and forgotten, in seventy years the fusion generators providing power to the stasis pods maintaining the life functions of the sleeping colonists would cease to preserve them, and the CSF Rkksshaw would become truly lifeless. The Federal Organization for Response to Celestial Enemies, popularly known as F.O.R.C.E. to the people of Earth, was not about to let the Chrysallamans go untended and forgotten.
Chrysallamans are a warrior race of beings best described as man-sized, tail-less iguanas. As a result of their vocal chords and tongues being unsuited for verbal interaction, evolution had compensated by developing their ability to communicate telepathically. Over several thousands of years, the Chrysallamans learned to telepathically control the brains of other living beings and used the ability to conquer the peoples of several planets, turning the slave-like survivors into an organic food source as the Chrysallamans colonized the conquered worlds. Superior technology coupled with unmatched mind control made victories extremely easy. The Chrysallamans happened upon Earth, a very nice planet ideally suited for colonization populated by, and this is a direct quote from the logs of Hisspat Zeck, commander of the discovery expedition, a primitive, animalistic culture so physically and technologically inferior they truly deserved to be annihilated to make room for the Chrysallamans.
Overconfidence breeds arrogance and complacency. Chrysallaman military leaders soon discovered when they began the attempted conquest of Earth that humans didn’t like to be controlled.
As one of the lizards’ military commanders had opined, “The obstinance of humans to any form of control, no matter how benevolent the control happens to be is unsettling. Humans don’t easily accept authority. In fact, the harsher the punishment for disobedience, the more unruly the blasted creatures become!”
The Chrysallaman invasion fleet sent to attack Earth had been composed of a combination of military and civilian populations. On the civilian side, 20,000,000 Chrysallamans, one-third of the entire population of Chrysalis, had been ferried to the solar system of planet HG-281 in huge spaceships called mega-liners. Each of the 200 mega-liners in the fleet held 100,000 Chrysallaman colonists in stasis pods. The colonists were made up of a standardized mix of educators, factory workers, tradesmen, skilled craftsmen, farmers, doctors, religious leaders and all their family members. Every skill and person necessary for a self-sustaining New World colonization was included in the migration. In addition, a complete panoply of Chrysallaman animal and plant life had been included in the cargo of each transport.
On the military side, there had been 50 mother ships and 250 scout saucers all heavily armed and crewed by bloodthirsty soldiers. The humans of Earth used a combination of reverse engineering of Chrysallaman technology, brilliant technological advances in power generation by Earth’s greatest scientist and genetic engineering to escape the Chrysallaman planned genocide. Only one mother ship and five scout saucers survived the human counterattack.
The Chriks, as they were referred to by humans, had been soundly defeated; however, the danger of an invasion by advanced militaristic aliens armed with light speed capable spacecraft had been frightening. The human military machine was determined not to be caught empty handed again. The necessity of discovering the secret of light speed travel had been elevated to Worldwide Top Priority.
Seven days had passed since the operatives of F.O.R.C.E. had captured the mother ship, VrrSilliac Xur, and forced General Hisspat Zeck, the supreme military commander of the Chrysallamans, back into his stasis pod. General Tom Blunt, Commander in Chief of F.O.R.C.E., had returned to Earth with Colonel Jason Stoneman, Major Amanda Kurstow and Colonel Alexander Fields, taking four of the five scout saucers docked in the mother ship with them. Following the pre-determined plan to recruit Chrysallaman civilians to provide specialized expertise and advice to Earth scientists, Whatsit, Colonel Douglas Jenson and Major Rebecca Mae Chang traveled in the VrrSilliac Xur to Jupiter to begin the selection process.
The mega-liners holding the Chrysallaman civilian colonists orbited Ganymede, the largest moon of the planet Jupiter. General Hisspat Zeck had left the colonists in their deep sleep stasis pods to be re-animated after the conquest of Earth. Human world leaders had made the decision not to destroy the innocent colonists after the Chrik military was defeated. Genocide is not the choice of intelligent, compassionate beings. The colonists would be absorbed into Earth’s population over a period of years to ease the transition for both humans and Chrysallamans into a combined society; however, gaining immediate scientific and technical knowledge and insight from native Chrysallamans appeared logical.
The VrrSilliac Xur floated 1,000 feet away from the port side access hatch of the Rkksshaw. Without some kind of reference for comparison, it’s impossible to grasp the gigantic size of the Chrysallaman colony ship. To put its length of 3,281 feet in perspective, think of two and a half Empire State Buildings laid end to end. Height and width were 984 feet . . . a little over three football fields. There were 200 of the huge colony ships orbiting Ganymede, and lying end to end, the ships created what appeared to be a 130 mile long dark gray snake.
The Rkksshaw access hatch was large enough to allow a mother ship to land completely inside the mega-liner. At the moment, the exterior clam shell hatchway was open and a spotlight from the mother ship illuminated the interior of a warehouse sized hold and open deck. The bright light swept around the empty hold, revealing nothing except a broad, clear landing area. The VrrSilliac Xur was saucer shaped. Even though it was over two football fields in diameter and 164 feet thick, the battleship was small when compared to the bulk of the Rkksshaw. Colonel Douglas Jenson stared in amazement as Whatsit maneuvered the mother ship through the open hatch, extended its landing gear and settled upon the broad inboard deck.
“All systems to stand-by. Gravity drive neutralized. Access hatch energized and closing. We are ready to debark,” Whatsit advised as he finished entering commands into the control console.
Whatsit was a native Chrysallaman. He was dressed in his favorite outfit, a dark green trench coat and brightly decorated sombrero tied under his chin by a leather draw cord. Whatsit had been 12 years old when he was captured in 1947 at Roswell, New Mexico. He was now 78 and vigorously healthy in mind and body. The skin on his face and hands was wrinkled with fine age lines. The dark green color of his skin had lightened over the years and had a mild yellowish tinge. His dark black eyes always captured a human’s attention, and anyone not activated with the DNA enhancements designed to help defend humans from the Chrysallaman invasion could be mentally controlled by Whatsit’s telepathic brain. Whatsit’s help and advice had been critical to the defeat of the murderous Chrysallaman invasion. The United Nations had named Whatsit the Official Ambassador of the Human Race to the Chrysallaman Empire.
Watching the clam shell access hatch sliding closed, Colonel Douglas Jenson frowned, crossed his arms and looked at Whatsit, “No alarms? No ‘please standby’ while we’re scanned for dangerous weapons or alien threats?”
Cocking his head in a human way and shrugging his shoulders, Whatsit replied, “Why would the mighty, all powerful Chrysallamans entertain the ridiculous thought that repugnant, backwards, inferior and stupid animals such as your race of humans would have the ability, let alone the audacity, of conquering the benevolent and superior rulers of the galaxy?”
Tightening his lips into a sideways grin, Jenson said, “When you put it that way, I guess the answer is obvious.”
Jenson was 6 feet 2 inches tall with large, expressive blue eyes. He was in good shape for a 60 year old genetically enhanced human. His dark black hair showed only a few strands of gray around his temples, and he hadn’t gained more than 30 lbs since graduating from West Point.
A soft whoosh behind them signaled the opening of the control room door and turning their heads, they watched as Major Rebecca Mae Chang sauntered up to them. Chang was a vivacious, 5 foot 6 inch tall sprite with coal black hair worn in a complex twisting loop at the back of her head. Other than her last name, the only physical sign of her Chinese heritage was her almond shaped black eyes which sparkled as if illuminated by some internal flame. She had proven herself to be an expert telepath capable of projecting realistic illusions into the minds of not only Chrysallamans but humans as well.
“So what’s the hold up?” she asked with characteristic impatience.
“Surely out of twenty million Chrysallamans, you’ve found a few we can pull out of stasis who won’t automatically try to kill us.”
“It’s an interesting problem,” Whatsit replied, cupping his chin with his left hand.
“My search parameters for the selection were based upon the age, educational training and familial relationships of the sleepers.”
Leaning over the control board, Whatsit typed a series of commands, and the view screen divided into two sections. The left hand section showed a digital representation of 200 mega-liners, one of which in the top left hand corner blinked ‘CSF Rkksshaw’. The right hand section displayed lists, colorful pie charts and bar graphs. Becky got the distinct impression she as watching a PowerPoint presentation in a corporate board room.
Whatsit continued, “Per normal guidelines, the lead mega-liner Rkksshaw within which we are now docked is filled with the most relevant scientific, engineering and technical people required during the initial phase of colonization. The lead mega-liner colonists are debarked on the new planet at least two years before the other colonists in order to study the new world and determine the best environments for a successful immigration.”
Tapping a control key, Whatsit caused the blinking icon representing the mega-liner, CSF Rkksshaw, to expand in the left hand section of the screen.
“As an age parameter, I didn’t want anyone younger than 16 nor older than 70. Anyone younger wouldn’t have the needed age related development of physical and telepathic skills required for our return trip to Chrysalis. I was afraid anyone older than 70 might be stubbornly set in their ways as you humans are fond of saying.”
Amused at the way the big alien lizard attached human foibles to his Chrysallaman brethren, Becky asked, “So how many people did your age parameters cull from the available population?”
“Twenty thousand give or take,” Whatsit replied.
“Note the chart areas colored yellow depict the population rejected by the age limits.”
Becky nodded and watched a digital counter in the upper right hand corner of the screen change from 100,000 to 80,256.
“Whatsit and I compared notes on what educational backgrounds we wanted to emphasize,” Doug added. “We both had the same ideas.”
“Yes,” Whatsit agreed.
“Educational training needed focus on technical skills in high energy and gravitational physics, metallurgy, astronomy, chemistry, computer design, electrical engineering, spaceship design, stasis research . . . the root sciences and design expertise required to build superior spaceships.”
“We don’t need Chrysallaman politicians, social scientists, pre-college teachers, entertainers or religious leaders until Earth is ready to begin mass immigration and integration of Chrysallamans into our worldwide society,” Jenson continued.
“Okay,” Becky replied as she seated herself near the mother ship’s control board. “Those educational requirements must have whittled your count down dramatically.”
“Yes,” Whatsit agreed. “Our count reduced by another seventy thousand. The light blue color in the charts indicates the population rejected.” Shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, he added, “Even so, we had around ten thousand left to analyze.”
“It was the selection parameter on familial relationships that knocked off a big chunk of the remaining population,” Jenson said as he tapped a command into the keyboard of the control panel.
Whatsit explained, “Chrysallaman family relationships are similar to Earth humans with the same kind of love, loyalty, bloods thicker than water kind of stuff. As a result, the ideal candidate is single, divorced or widowed. The candidate shouldn’t be in a love relationship or have close family ties with others onboard. We don’t want our prime candidates being lonely and distracted by thoughts of awakening their loved ones. The candidates must be able to concentrate on the task of helping humans expand their knowledge base.”
As Whatsit concluded his explanation, Jenson selected a key and the pie and bar charts updated with the new information. Orange color appeared in the charts to indicate the population rejected by the familial relationship criterion. The remaining count for analysis dropped to 25.
“You mean to tell me that out of 10,000 Chrysallamans, only 25 were single, divorced, widowed and not in a love relationship?” Becky exclaimed.
“Hey, Chrysallamans are lovers not fighters,” Whatsit replied with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Ha. Ha,” Becky replied as she rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Doug liked the way her hair bounced when she was excited. He had forgotten to shield his telepathic meanderings, and Becky read every thought his unguarded brain transmitted.
Looking him up and down with an odd glimmer in her eyes, Becky sent a telepathic stiletto, “I didn’t realize you were into pony tails, Colonel Jenson.”
Clamping down on his thoughts, Doug replied, “Pony tails?”
Then peering around the room as if he was looking for something, he did his best to change the subject, “Give me some details about the 25 candidates, Whatsit.”
Becky smiled to herself as she enjoyed Doug’s chagrin.
“He’s cute when he’s caught off guard,” she thought. Her musings were interrupted by Whatsit’s response.
“They are all highly trained individuals in their respective sciences; however, one in particular stands out from the others. His name is Jamins GooYee, and he is the top Chrysallaman scientist in high energy physics.”
“Well let’s get this show on the road!” Jenson replied in a determined tone.
“Wake ’em up so they can be introduced to their new best friends. I just hope they’re psychologically well adjusted. If I was put into sleep stasis by fellow humans and waked up by a Chrysallaman leaning over my bed, I’m sure I would freak out!”
“I’ll prepare the candidates as best I can for their first encounter with you,” Whatsit replied with a wink.
“Any of them who are unable to adjust to the reality of meeting the unconquered evil Earthlings will have to be put back into stasis.”
Curling up the right corner of his mouth in a mischievous smile, he continued, “We don’t have time for any of them to go through a 12-step program to cure an egotistical intolerance for lower lifeforms.”
“Are you trying to give Doug and me an inferiority complex?” Becky chuckled.
“I don’t know about him, but you’re making me feel bad.”
Whatsit simply cocked his head and hummed the sad, small violin ditty as he turned to the control console and typed the entries necessary to begin deactivation of the stasis chambers holding the selected Chrysallaman colonists.
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Steve Lang: I thought this story was imaginative, and well thought out. I also think it was an original piece, and not a rehash of previous scifi stories I've read in the past.Thank you for the effort put into this tale, and I look forward to reading more of your work!
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