Ranking the System

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Naturally, that depends on the shape of the scream. Does it belong to one of the Storots? They don’t scream with mouths, so you don’t hear them with ears. They’re a different kind of being, searching the vast unknown.

Their search brought them to a remote arm of an unremarkable galaxy. As they were passing through, they detected a solar system with an icy cloud-shell containing (based on preliminary data) eight or nine planetary bodies. One of them was debatable. Those bodies were so deep within the shell that the Storots had to travel inside it to even begin getting a meaningful grasp of the system. The third planet from the system’s sun had pinged their search for potential genetic material.

The Storot ship, DeTaiMoLanVoRe, detected regular radio signal patterns before they even reached the cloud-shell. At first, this excited them. Once inside the shell, known to its host sapients as the Oort cloud, the Storots noticed a radio signal exchange near the system’s heliopause.

Limning stood in DeTaiMoLanVoRe’s Command Chamber. Limning was his friendname; Storot birth names were too long and impersonal for decades of spaceflight in relatively small, shared spaces. As the vessel’s Path Nurse, an occupation blending the roles of leader, teacher, captain, and social worker, he was responsible for aligning everyone – personally and for the mission. From the outside of the ship, each Chamber was a hexagon differing only by location and contents. From the inside, the Command Chamber had an open-concept central floor surrounded by an amphitheatre of hybridised flesh and crystal computing equipment called ordinators.

Beginning at the centre, there was Limning himself. Only three hundred cycles old, he was young to be the Path Nurse of an exploration vessel. He was budding a sixth limb. The other five formed arches and stood firm, meeting at a sophisticated axis structure vaguely similar to a seven-way pelvis. From that axis hung a bulb that contained the most important vital organs, though most had redundancies and support organs in the surrounding limbs.

Storots looked like a willow tree in reverse proportion: the “trunk” shrunken and hanging while the massive “branches” held it up.

Moving outward, Limning’s senses picked up a wide variety of activity. Three of his limbs were gripping ordinator links in the floor. They literally connected his nervous system so that his imagination could directly project imagery around him to see ordinator data on nebulae, other Storot vessels, star systems, space dust, and so on.

On each stage of the amphitheatre, rising in concentric hexagons, were crystalline ordinator surfaces that glimmered with operational light waves running along a semi-organic resin forming borders and seals. These resins changed in colour for numerous reasons. The room was predominantly cyan and fuscia, with the whole range of other colours forming small patterns within that broader trend. The organic elements of the ordinators were contained in the crystals for optimal function and protection.

Limning was soon joined by two other Storots, their five limbs carrying each of them throughout the different stages to interact with various ordinators or simply to gain some space from one another. Storots had special organs – a main one in the bulb and supplementary ones in the limbs – that generated and received radio waves. It was how they communicated.

“Sensors show the radio signals from that pinpoint source are very different from the bath of signals coming from one of the planets in the system,” pointed out the Medium Monitor. She went by Jet, and her occupation concerned environments, the inanimate, and the crystalline side of ordinators. Jet added, “Both sources show the repeatable patterns of language, though I can’t tell if it’s ordinator coding or natural speech. Either way, they aren’t compatible with our frequencies.”

In short, the signals were gibberish.

“It’s using primitive thrust technology,” Plasma remarked. They were the ship’s Weapons Advocate, an occupation that included military responsibilities but mostly focused on the destructive in both nature and technology. Fire, all things nuclear, eruptions, magnetic fields, particle weapons, high-energy tools, and so on. They continued: “Clearly this system has a sapient species, though probably only barely. Remember the other two – I’ll be generous – ‘civilisations’ who crossed us?”

“I’m not digging up a new argument just yet,” Limning said to the Weapons Advocate. Which was why he didn’t point out that it had been the Storots who did the crossing.

Like all Storots, their bodies had a glassy outer layer used for sensing and displaying bioluminescence, as well as protecting them from a wide variety of harsh environments. That bioluminescence included photocrawls for the expression of emotion and an additional avenue for communication. Elaborate light on a glass skin to serve the purpose of facial expressions.

Plasma’s photocrawl came in sharp, angular bursts. Limning’s were curved, but still: they were not friends. Jet spanned two stages of the amphitheatre, attaching three of her limbs to the links of disparate ordinators. She was quick, dextrous, and efficient. It was like watching a glass octopus do gymnastics.

“I can catch the communicating body in a graviton net,” she told the others. “Matching velocity will be uncomfortable, but manageable. The hard part will be facilitating signal input and return through the ship and possible byproduct gravity lensing.”

“Who cares if they can tell that their little toy is cut off? I’m surprised it’s survived this far out from its host planet,” Plasma remarked. “It has the space-viability of a stage 3 youngling science project.”

“I would prefer that the sapients not be aware of our visit here,” Limning replied. He hadn’t moved from the centre of the main floor. Yet he was surrounded by mismatched segments of the solar system and its outer icy shell-cloud. A great deal of data was flowing into him from the ship’s many sensors and calculations. It was like peaking into the dreams of planets, comets, and asteroids. “The sapients themselves may be the most viable source of genetics. Besides: by the time we’ve compiled the genetics solutions we need for Pollen Prime, these people may have matured enough to at least grasp the fundamentals of civilisation.”

Plasma’s radio organs generated a non-word that was roughly the same as a grunt. They returned to their responsibility of monitoring all things explosive. “The toy has negligible combat potential. The system’s star is stable. You know, once we’ve gleaned enough diverse genetic lineages, we could likely craft a more viable people.”

“Stand by for now, Weapons Advocate,” Limning replied. He did his best to keep his frequencies diplomatic. He connected a limb to a comm link in the floor. “Attention all Storots, DeTaiMoLanVoRe will become a graviton net. Stay in your current Chambers. The presence of the Ship’s Integrator will be required once the Cargo Chamber has secured the foreign object. Limning out.”

It took some time to arrange everything as the Path Nurse and Medium Moderator had planned, but now they were in the Cargo Chamber with the “toy.” The ship was programmed for minimal interference, so the signals – mostly going from the toy to the third planet of the system – were allowed their exchange unimpeded.

“There are no genetic markers on this contraption,” said the Ship’s Integrator. He went by the friendname Stalk. “Well, none grown into its construction. There are minuscule traces of microbes whose presence appears to be unintentional or accidental.”

Plasma was not impressed. “You would think that if they only focussed on tech, they would have at least built good machinery. Are you not alarmed that you cannot interpret their signalling system?”

“Why in all the galactic clusters would I be concerned by that?” Jet asked, genuinely baffled by the Weapons Advocate.

Plasma wondered if Jet was an idiot. “They are sensing and communicating, but not affording us any intel. As the Ship’s Integrator has indicated, we’ll gain nothing from genetics aboard this pitiful bauble. Why not simply destroy it?”

Jet wondered if Plasma was an idiot. “We don’t know what sensory organs they have, how their technology developed, or even if they have diverse communications. Not every species can mutually understand all of its members, you know. They may be using it for nothing more interesting than weather observation.”

As she spoke, she moved about the device – refusing to think of it as a toy – and carefully made observations directly. She frequently connected with links in the floor or nearby ordinators to scan it or corroborate those observations. Limning, meanwhile, was monitoring the whole team and briefly consulting system logs to ensure the whole ship was in regular operation.

Finally, the Path Nurse joined the conversation. “Plasma, we do of course value your vigilance. I do not doubt that you will make ready use of our array of energy weapons. If – and only if – we determine that we are in danger or the sapients could cause harm outside the system. Stalk, are there any signs of life-like structures in the system beyond those of the third planet?”

“From here, it’s too difficult to draw much by way of distinct conclusions,” the Ship’s Integrator answered. “There is nothing on a planetary scale, but there could be trace amounts of life in other areas. All indications of the genetic diversity on the third planet are deep and involved beyond my wildest dreams. I find it hard to believe that such a teeming world could have only one intelligent – or semi-intelligent – lifeform. We won’t know without much closer examination, however.”

“We’re going to want to be inside of that asteroid belt, aren’t we?” Limning asked. Previous misunderstandings with other sapient species made for great youngling stories. Some of those memories were real, all of them were personal, and they were making him hesitant to get close to this group.

“We could send some saucers in for remote genetic extraction,” Jet suggested. “I don’t have anything in the system’s records to indicate that any of our brethren have been this far into this quadrant of the galaxy.”

“We are the farthest from Pollen Prime in this sector of the entire galactic cluster,” Limning pointed out. “At least for the Recovery Mission.”

“Many Storot vessels departed from the system in the last few thousand cycles due to all manner of conflicts,” Stalk said. “Jet?”

“I haven’t detected any signs of our technology in this system. Anyone before us must have passed it by. Contact is unlikely, though they may have sent saucers. If we want to maintain discretion, we should release the device sooner than later.”

“How much are they learning about us?” The Weapons Advocate was slowly rotating his bulb by successively switching limb grips along a circular path. It was like pacing, but on the spot.

“I can’t tell for sure, since I can’t read their communications,” Jet replied. “But we could send a message to Pollen Prime requesting records of known Storot activity in the region.”

“I’ve already relayed that through the Command Chamber,” the Path Nurse said. “Now, what do you have on this contraption? Stalk, where are you going?”

He was almost at one of the exit doors. “I don’t think I’ll be much use here, Limning. I’m going to the Growth Chamber. I’ll have a better idea of what to do about the third planet from there.”

Limning could find no reasonable argument against that.

“Path Nurse,” Jet started. “While the machinery itself is…unprocessed, there are some interesting details.”

“Unprocessed?”

“They don’t seem to use materials beyond natural occurrence or the occasional alloy. Some synthesis, but nothing on a space worthy scale. It’s like digging up rock, melting it down to constituent metals, and then arranging that metal into a simple flat wall. All to simply stop up water flow. That said, they have a kind of cleverness in making the most out of what they have. And observe this gold disc. It stores rudimentary signal processes of some kind. It also features images with surprisingly fine resolution; I had to use scanners to grasp their significance. I think the sapients stand on only two feet, with an unnervingly vertical and archless body, and the sexual dimorphism Pollen Prime has in old sea life.” Jet reminded Limning of scholars in the old days of their homeworld. Individuals who would delve into all manner of undignified earth strata, but emerge with fascinating insights into ancient Storot life.

“We may not want the Ship’s Integrator to go about unobserved,” Plasma chimed in. Neither of the other two were willing to admit they’d forgotten the Weapons Advocate was still in the room. “You know Stalk doesn’t believe in the mission.”

“It’s an excuse to give him more genetic material to study,” Limning said with his best effort not to radiate dismissal. Plasma could be touchy. The Path Nurse added: “He and I doubt the mission for different reasons. He thinks we need to build a whole social architecture to connect with other sapients. Like how we use a flesh-and-technology hybridisation for linking our bodies to ordinators.”

“And you think we can just talk to non-Storots.” Plasma’s frequency shimmered with contempt.

Limning stepped away from the device and rose to his full height. Plasma had more pronounced arches, a sturdier gait, broader limbs, a highly agile axis, and real combat experience. The Path Nurse was laughably outclassed for a fight. But he stood his ground anyway; he was mission leader. “We have difficult decisions ahead of us, no matter how-”

EMERGENCY CHAMBER DETACHMENT

It was a radio signal broadcast throughout the ship in Storot communication frequency. Effectively, an alarm. The Weapons Advocate was gone before Limning could begin to issue them an order. His bulb dipped – a shrug – and he turned to the ordinators to get a sense of ship status.

Jet wordlessly set about securing the device and engaging a simple shield over it. It was like a blend of liquid crystal and semi-living, semi-hardened synthetic resin. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. As soon as she could, she disengaged from the ordinator links and double-checked her port patches – seals placed over Storot orifices for breathing, eating, and other activities.

“Almost our entire flesh-based and genetics payloads were diverted to the chamber before separation,” Limning said with a spiralling, worried photocrawl. “So Plasma was right…”

“Never mind that,” Jet said. “I’ll need to study more before I’m confident making recommendations about approaching the sapient homewo-”

EMERGENCY CHAMBER DETACHMENT

They both cursed and connected to the command chamber together, talking as they got caught up on what was happening. “All Storots on board, report to the Command Chamber,” Limning ordered.

“It was Plasma!” Jet was a photocrawling constellation of outrage and multi-tasking. “They couldn’t round up as much of the staff and resources under their command as Stalk did, but they have the FTL supports. You should lock down…”

“Already on it,” Limning said, but just as he was punching in the Command Override on the Chamber divisions…

EMERGENCY CHAMBER DETACHMENT

Limning cursed.

Jet took inventory of the ship’s remaining segments, staff, civilian explorers, and younglings. Limning traced trajectories and looked at the last of the command logs from the detached Chambers.

“Why would Plasma go to the next star system?” The Path Nurse couldn’t make sense out of any of this. Yes, they all had their gripes about the mission – and their little scuffles with each other – but what’s changed to make them go AWOL?

“It has three stars,” Jet assessed with urgency as she described to the Path Nurse the unique configuration of proxima, alpha, and beta centauri. “They can improvise FTL communications with the waveform long distance components to communicate with Pollen Prime.”

“Why bother?”

“The younglings knocked out our long-range comms.”

“Wait, what?”

“The third chamber,” Jet said. “It contains the younglings. They were close to the long-range communication array, which is now offline. Plasma would have seen that in the status report when he was reaching the Advocacy Chamber.”

“They’re on opposite sides of the ship!”

“Where was the third chamber headed?”

Limning’s irony, bitterness, and dismay cascaded in a photocrawl along the glassy surfaces of his limbs. “The seventh planet of this system. It appears to be an ice giant with high albedo. The entry commands don’t make much sense; I think they just mashed ordinator link codes until they made it go.”

Jet surmised: “We’ve lost long-distance travel and comms, almost all the organic components we could use for a wide set of functions, the younglings, half the ship, and team unity.”

All the remaining ship’s occupants began either entering the room, finding another room in the Chamber, or accessing ship’s comms to report their presence.

“There will be emptiness,” Limning warned them as he took over Command comms. “We can’t chase the rogue Weapons Advocate, they are heavily armed, and they will have the first opportunity to report to Pollen Prime. The Ship’s Integrator is going to the sapient homeworld, and he obviously doesn’t expect to get what he wants by sticking with us. Finally, and I urge those of you with community roles to calm yourselves, the younglings are on course for an ice giant. It is the seventh planet in the system.

“So,” Limning finished, “we have a hard decision: our Medium Moderator is already setting our course to pursue the younglings. Because of course. But what do we do about Stalk? We will need to arrange ourselves, effect repairs and preparations, yes. But we do not know how the sapients will respond to his presence, nor to how he chooses to extract genetic material from their world.”

Then, because he had no choice, he entered the confirmation code for Jet’s alert signal.

MISSION COMPROMISED.

MISSION COMPROMISED.

MISSION COMPROMISED.