U.S.S Montag

  In orbit around Research Facility 13

  Brigadier General Rodrigo leans over the main control console, peering at the readouts racing across the screen. A star chart, with various plotted coordinates and several slowly moving blips, is situated at the top of the large screen. This chart is of paramount importance to the impatient general. The colonial marine seated at the console glances up at his commanding officer.

  “We’re approaching Facility Thirteen, General,” the marine exclaims in a flat tone. “ETA…Nineteen minutes. We still can’t get a signal through. We’re talking absolute radio silence. I doubt anyone is alive down there. No sign of the enemy. Noth—.”

  The marine’s eyes widen as a flashing message appears on his screen. He holds up a finger and presses his other hand to the side of his radio mic.

  “I’m getting something weird, Sir…” the marine states.

  “Weird?!? What do you mean 'weird', son? What do you hear?” General Rodrigo hisses.

  The marine’s eyes widen further. He motions toward his partner sitting next to him at the console. His companion is too busy studying the new flashing readouts. The marine snaps his fingers to get the other’s attention—glancing worriedly over at General Rodrigo.

  “I asked you a question, son?!” Rodrigo barks angrily. “What the hell is going on? What do you hear?”

  The young marine shakes his head resolutely and dares to refuse General Rodrigo’s demand for answers. His voice quivers with fear and indecision.

  “I think…I better get a second opinion, General Sir,” the marine says. “Don’t want to go jumping to conclusions. Private Harding…What do you hear?”

  Private Harding takes the radio mic offered to him by his marine buddy and places it on his head. Almost immediately, a stricken expression explodes onto the private’s face. He rips the mic from his head and tosses it back to the first marine.

  “What the hell is that?” Private Harding yells in surprise.

  Turning back to the console, Harding begins inputting commands into the computer.

  “I can’t pinpoint where the signal is coming from,” Harding says in a panicked voice. “Hell…I can’t even figure out who’s sending it. What the hell? There’s nothing out here. Nothing except the station. And she’s quiet as the grave. I don’t get it.”

  General Rodrigo’s patience runs out and he slaps a hand on the top of the console. The furious general’s eyes burn into Private Harding’s.

  “Put it on the loudspeaker,” Rodrigo roars. “I want to hear the message.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir!” Private Harding replies, his gaze shifting uncomfortably around the bridge.

  “Did I ask for your opinion, Private Harding?!” Rodrigo growls. “Now put it on the loudspeaker! Now…Dammit! Or you're relieved of duty!”

  Private Harding goes against his better judgment and does as instructed. Almost immediately, a guttural laughter fills the entire ship. The laughter continues to play on a loop, over and over.

  “What…In…The…Sam…Hill?” Rodrigo says. “Sounds like Satan crawled out of the tenth level of Hell!”

  “General! Sir!” Corporal Manning, the marine seated next to Private Harding barks excitedly. “I’m getting a massive heat signature. Straight ahead. About seven-hundred meters.”

  Rodrigo stands erect and whirls toward two colonial marines seated at the weapon control hub. He points in their direction with a finger gnarled from decades of handling ammo, fighting wars, and pulling various triggers. Corporal Remar enters the bridge just as General Rodrigo barks out an order.

  “Arm energy torpedoes! And remove all safeties,” Rodrigo yells. “Fire as soon as you are able to lock on target.”

  A burly marine with a thin mustache nods respectfully. Both marines offer the general crisp salutes and an affirmative yell. They turn back to the weapons console. Corporal Remar hustles toward the communications station, intent on relieving Private Harding. He never makes it.

  Before the torpedoes can even be armed, a bright flash illuminates the area surrounding the ship. There is a hard lurch to starboard and the Montag’s power levels drop. Rodrigo glances around him as he experiences a sensation of complete weightlessness. Tools and even people rise from their stationary positions. Rodrigo grips a large pole beside him to keep from floating too high off the floor. The front half of the Montag dips one way, the other half dipping another. The high-powered yautja laser cannon having sliced through the ooman ship like a hot knife through soft butter.

  As Rodrigo watches the front view screen, a second burst of light brightens the dark envelope of space. The plasma burst slams into the forward half of the large human warship, exploding it into several large pieces. The second half of the ship is dealt with just as decisively.

  One laser strike, and four plasma bursts later, the U.S.S. Montag is nothing more than floating wreckage. The last thing any ooman aboard heard, was the sound of N-Vorl’s cruel laughter.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  -

  -

  105 minutes later

  A Safe Distance Away

  N-Vorl is stationed before a viewing portal in his private quarters. He watches the explosion of Weyland Industries Mental Research Facility Thirteen with a wide grin on his yautja face. Mau-Nis and the other yautja warriors have long since returned. If all has gone well, Teresa and Vor’taalnis should be safely secured in the aft portion of the ship.

  N-Vorl’s spirit soars at the thought of holding his mate in his arms; their childling tucked firmly between them. He is in an uncharacteristically good mood when Mau-Nis appears at the door to his quarters. As the heavy metal doors rise upward, N-Vorl’s face falls. Mau-Nis wears an expression of solemn despair. Something has not gone right.

  The command leader steps into the room, his eyes downcast. Mau-Nis only makes eye contact out of necessity, much preferring to avoid the conversation to come altogether. N-Vorl takes several steps in Mau-Nis’ direction.

  “Where is my family, Mau-Nis? You swore you would protect them?” N-Vorl roars. “Are they safe?”

  “They are safe, Elder N-Vorl!” Mau-Nis says reluctantly.

  N-Vorl relaxes somewhat and breathes a sigh of relief. He studies Mau-Nis’ face, not quite sure why the command leader still appears melancholy.

  “Where are they? The shielding…Is it working? I wish to go and see my family,” N-Vorl says. “Are they where we discussed?”

  “No, Elder…They are not,” Mau-Nis replies. “In fact, they are not aboard this ship.”

  N-Vorl’s eyes widen and his mandibles flare widely with his anger. However, the future elder is mindful to keep his voice low. The risk that he might be overheard is too great. He takes a menacing step toward Mau-Nis. The command leader does not even flinch.

  “Not on the ship?!?” N-Vorl hisses. “Then…Where are they?”

  “On an ooman escape craft…Headed for the planet V’daha,” Mau-Nis says matter-of-factly.

  N-Vorl’s mandibles open wide and he takes another step in Mau-Nis’ direction. He scrutinizes his command leader as if the older yautja has finally lost his mind.

  “V’Daha…Is a myth, Mau-Nis,” N-Vorl hisses. “A story to keep yautja from declaring war on each other. As long as there is a larger threat from the outside…Yautja will seek peace with their own kind. We all know this. There is no V’Daha.”

  Mau-Nis narrows his eyes and shakes his head solemnly.

  “Not so, Elder N-Vorl,” Mau-Nis insists. “V’Daha is very real. I have been there. Many cycles of a season ago. Elder Mahtyu’s brother…Your great uncle…Has descendants on the planet’s surface. As do others...”

  Mau-Nis’ voice trails off as a shocked expression explodes onto N-Vorl’s face.

  “As do others of our kind,” Mau-Nis concludes. “V’Daha has become the home of many hybrids. So that those who have fathered such offspring may have them close…Without interference. That is why the myth of the kredonyit is kept alive. To stoke fear in the hearts of any yautja who might dare to explore the planet. Sadly, many of the planet’s inhabitants now live a life of isolation. Having been abandoned by their sires.”

  N-Vorl steps closer to Mau-Nis, his eyes riveted to the face of his command leader. Is what Mau-Nis says true? How can that be? A world filled with yautja-ooman childlings? How could such a thing have remained a secret for so long?

  “There are others…Like Vor’taalnis?” N-Vorl questions, disbelief written on his face and in his heart. “An entire planet?”

  “Yes,” Mau-Nis states candidly.

  “And you knew about this?” N-Vorl says through clenched teeth. “You never had any intention of bringing my family aboard this ship. It was always your intention to send them to this…V’Daha?”

  “That is true, Elder,” Mau-Nis admits. “I knew your plan…Could never work. They would have been discovered. You would have been tried and convicted. You would no longer be elder of this clan. That was not a risk…I was willing to take. As I said before, you can never be mated to the ooman female. Not if you intend to be elder. Not if you intend to enact the changes…You claim you want to see. Changes…Our clan…In fact, our very species...Could benefit from. The female will be safe…With others of her kind. With others like your son. You needn't worry.”

  N-Vorl lowers his head before turning and glancing out of the viewport once again. His heart sinks as he considers the idea of his family hurtling through space in a tiny ooman craft. Lost again, to the abyss of space.

  “With Teresa…The ooman scientist gone…How will we explain her disappearance,” N-Vorl says in a resigned voice. “We have failed to bring her before the council for trial. An explanation will be in order.”

  Mau-Nis exhales deeply and takes a step closer to N-Vorl. He stares at his soon to be elder with both sadness and pride.

  “Her absence…Can be easily explained away,” Mau-Nis says confidently. “She was killed by her own kind.”

  N-Vorl whirls on Mau-Nis with cold, angry eyes.

  “We will need to substantiate that claim with evidence,” N-Vorl roars through clenched teeth.

  Mau-Nis simply stretches out his hand, in which is held a small circular disc. He locks eyes with N-Vorl and a tiny smile tugs at his mandibles.

  “And so we shall,” Mau-Nis states.

  “What is that?” N-Vorl asks.

  “Images taken from the ooman computers…Before they were wiped,” Mau-Nis explains. “Images of the doctor’s interrogation by the other oomans. Most of it is…Rather barbaric in nature. I believe we can convince the council that she was already dead when we arrived on the station. The only yautja who actually saw the ooman female alive…With the exceptions of P’taal and Leyyu…Are right here in this room. And P’taal will not betray you, Elder. If you say the ooman was already dead…He will attest to it.”

  N-Vorl stares at the disc Mau-Nis is offering him. The young Elder-Apparent shakes his head and refuses to take it from the command leader’s hand.

  “I will not watch it, Mau-Nis,” N-Vorl says. “I cannot.”

  “You must,” Mau-Nis insists. “If you are to give believable testimony to the council.”

  N-Vorl’s mouthfolds grow taunt and he begrudgingly takes the disc from Mau-Nis. The command leader once again makes eye contact with his younger elder.

  “I did not wish to watch it either,” Mau-Nis admits sheepishly. “But it was for the best. P’taal must watch it also. Our stories must align in every possible way.”

  N-Vorl turns back to the viewport, gazing forlornly out at the stars. He wills Teresa’s craft to safely reach V’Daha. So that he might visit her there.

  Mau-Nis comes to stand beside his elder. He studies N-Vorl’s face very carefully. From the set of N-Vorl’s jaw, Mau-Nis can sense his elder’s anger. It writhes underneath the younger yautja’s otherwise blank expression like a serpent’s pale offspring.

  “You said, that many of the planet’s inhabitants…The females and their childlings…Have been abandoned for a long time?” N-Vorl queries. He tilts his head to peer at Mau-Nis.

  “Yes,” Mau-Nis confirms. “Were your connection to the ooman female to become common knowledge…No place would be safe for her. V’Daha is a planet veiled in secrecy. But secrets can only stay buried for so long. Those who felt the risk of discovery was too high…Or, that their dreams and ambitions were of greater importance…Simply abandoned their offspring. And never looked back. Perhaps, when you become elder…That may change.”

  N-Vorl sneers and turns back to the viewport.

  “That will change,” N-Vorl says confidently.

  Mau-Nis is both excited and wary to witness N-Vorl’s enthusiasm on the subject. He never expected N-Vorl would be willing to take on the council. Not over a matter such as this.

  Memories of his own time with Teresa bubbles to the surface of Mau-Nis’ mind. His clawed hand gently caressing her flesh, and the feeling of her body as it rose to meet him. He hopes she is safe, but he also worries about the future. While dividing Teresa’s allegiances has served its purpose, it has also created a dilemma. In his heart. How will he react, when he sees her again?

  For Continued Readers/Followers- Really did want someone to complete the poll. Adding it again. Story 2 is very intense/indepth. A lot of energy to expend (more vulnerable) to not have readers actually reading it. Viewership way down. Based on Another Kind and Story 1; would you read story 2 or NOT? Thanks.