“Wow,” Crowley remarks with a low whistle, staring out at the shattered face of RJ952, “she ain’t a pretty one…” He rests a hand against the top frame of the viewscreen and leans forward to further survey the chaotic field. Protoplanet RJ952 – heavily scarred by numerous collisions and featuring an impact site so deep as to have blasted off nearly a full half of its mass – hangs in their proximity, a large piece of refuse lost amongst a veritable sea of other shapeless, lifeless rocks populating PSR J1565-76’s extensive debris disk. At the center of it all, an impossible distance away, PSR J1565-76 – a magnificent and dangerous pulsar – rotates steadfastly amidst spectacular, sprawling tendrils of glowing violet gas.
“The light is unflattering, I think,” Talisk retorts thoughtfully, appearing beside Crowley. He observes the devastated planetesimal with false consideration and then gives a solemn nod. When he speaks, his tone is mocking. “Turn her a bit this way, snuff out that pesky star over there and I think she just might be worth a closer look…” He turns his head to peer expectantly at Crowley.
Crowley casts a dubious glance in his direction. “Yeah right,” he snorts, smirking, and then returns his attention to the viewscreen. “I’m guessing this ain’t a colony world,” He comments, strangely unsettled by the eerie scene, “unless your astrogation guys forgot to carry a one or something when they were doing the math.” Talisk’s hissing laugh does nothing to alleviate the odd feeling.
“Yveth would be in command if it was a colony,” Talisk notes. “At the present time he is probably at home, happy that he does not have to be here with us.” He gestures dismissively to the vast mess of asteroids and other debris stretching far beyond their field of view. “We do not live here; probably no one does – permanently, at least.” He shrugs. “Primarily, we come to mine, but, occasionally, Seris will send out an expedition to gather data from the star – it is of interest to them.”
“Seris?” Crowley asks.
“A research organization,” Talisk explains, “our most prominent one.” He pauses and then looks off in the direction of the door leading out into the bowels of the drop ship. “The linguist Lekket that we have with us today counts among them,” he adds after a moment, “if I am not mistaken. They have a number of facilities on Ssujak-resk, but their headquarters are offworld.”
Crowley nods at this and the two watch the viewscreen in silence for a while as their pilot – an accomplished Coalition soldier on his third assignment to Vinaed-2 – deftly navigates the ship ever closer to RJ952. Their current vector would take them to a rugged point on the rock’s northern hemisphere – a long-abandoned Ssujak mining installation that recon flagged only a day ago as the location of the final transponder…along with a strong Oban presence. The reports indicated over two dozen distinct life forms in the preliminary scans, along with some heavy equipment and what was later identified as an Oban craft of moderate size…and that was just above ground! The mining tunnels, too deep for long-range scans, would need to be surveyed manually.
“Vinaed is home for you?” Talisk asks, curious.
Crowley purses his lips. “Nah,” he says, “it’s work, but these last few years it may as well be; I got an apartment there. Home is way out.” He smiles at the thought.
“What is it like?”
“I dunno,” Crowley replies, momentarily unable to draw any specifics worth relating. “It’s hot, I guess. Doesn’t really rain a whole lot. Days are short,” he chuckles, “but maybe that’s just what it seems like to me when I’m there… Anyway, I live a couple miles outside Interchange – a city. It’s huge – the biggest one we got; there’s too much going on there, though, too many people wasting their time. It’s shitty, ’cause you have to drive straight through it to get to the closest spaceport.” He frowns. “And I do that all the time. Tests my damn patience is what it does.”
“Go around it?” Talisk supplies logically.
Crowley laughs, looking over at him. “I don’t think you understand me when I say ‘huge’, pal.” He makes a face. “No time savings either way – take my word for it. I’ve tried everything. My wife won’t even bother with it—” He stops as the ship enters orbit around their destination.
Talisk unconsciously begins adjusting his gear as the ship dips in close to RJ952 and its dark, broken surface overtakes the entirety of the viewscreen. “Seems nice, I think.” He comments.
From the corner of his eye, Crowley idly watches him adjust the guards covering his forearms, noting the barbed spiral insignia etched there and recognizing it as the Ssujak emblem. “What about you?” He asks, pointing to the crest. “You and the Executor from the same hometown?”
“Now? Yes.” Talisk replies, covering the arm guard with his palm and patting it twice. “Originally, no. I was among the first of my kind to experience the Oban.” He makes a sweeping gesture with a hand and Crowley raises an eyebrow. “My colony was practically decimated – quickly, despite its size. There was no warning; we defended as we could under the circumstances, but by the time the Oban pulled out it was already a loss.”
“They retreated?” Crowley asks, finding this peculiar, given the Oban tactics observed to date.
Talisk nods. “Yes. Things were becoming more difficult for them as we regained our bearings, but not enough for a retreat – I believe they simply did not find what they were looking for and did not care to stay longer.” He pauses, thinking. “Or, they achieved what they hoped to. Either of those options.”
“Huh,” Crowley grunts. “Guess you’re lucky.”
Talisk manages a rueful laugh. “Yes,” he says and goes quiet. Soon, his tail begins snaking restlessly a few inches above the ground. “That day,” he continues tentatively, “one of the Moors – the Oban brood mothers – was there.” At this, Crowley turns to face him, a crooked grin on his face.
“Is that right?” Crowley exclaims. “What’d she look like?”
Talisk shakes his head. “I did not see her,” he specifies – much to his comrade’s chagrin. He taps two fingers to his chest. “I heard her. Or…I felt her, I think it is better to say. When she told her soldiers to withdraw, it was like a compulsion…” He curls the fingers of one hand into a fist. “I felt it. It was weak – nothing of concern – but when the command came I understood it as well as if it had been spoken.” He shrugs a shoulder. “What do you think of that?”
Crowley eyes him for a few seconds. “Where’d you say this happened?” He asks suspiciously.
“My home,” Talisk replies curtly, “a colony world in the Maat system; it is not far from the nebula where the wormhole opened.”
“Anyone else hear the command when it went out?”
“Some mentioned it afterwards, others did not.”
“Huh.”
“Yes, interesting.”
Crowley snorts and then raises a hand to give Talisk’s shoulder a rough shake. “Well, if you start hearing voices you just let me know, and I’ll do us both a favor before anything creepy can happen.” He suggests, only half-joking. “We got a deal?”
Talisk laughs. “Excellent, yes,” he replies.
The COM channel in the room opens, crackling for a while in the background before the pilot’s voice informs them that they are minutes from landing and should hang onto something. Talisk obeys, moving away from the viewscreen to find a more suitable place to stand. Crowley does the same. Eventually, Talisk speaks again.
“Every time I go to a new Oban site, I hope to hear the Moor again.”
“Can’t say I understand why… You sweet on ‘er?”
“The opposite.” Talisk answers tightly, eyes on RJ952 looming ahead. “I want to know she is near,” his tone changes, making his intentions perfectly clear, “but for an entirely different reason.”
Crowley smiles. “Now that, friend, I can understand.”