First Contact

Chapter [ERROR] - Those Left Behind

Heaven's on Fire - Pre-Diaspora Warning

The temperate rain forest was cool and comfortable, drops of water falling from the leaves to land on the mossy rocks, soaking through the moss and to the ground where it ran in little trickles to the stream that lazily moved through the clearing. Sitting on her favorite rock, Dreams of Something More looked over the datapad in her hands, going through the day's checkboxes. She was dressed in a relaxation kimono that showed animated images of warriors from the Tank Wars Era of Animeland, comfortable doeskin slippers, and a neat little box hat that she had purchased recently. She adjusted the hat and continued to go down the checklist.

Meet with the Lanaktallan diplomats that could be pulled away from their video game grinding? Check.

Walk Mr. Rings? Check.

Send an update to Confederate Diplomatic Services? Check.

Go over Treaties 1138 - 1149? Check.

She sighed as the wild birds called out to signify she had a visitor. She closed out the datapad and motioned to the Tukna'rn infantryman standing by the edge of the clearing. The Tukna'rn nodded and turned to where the door was hidden.

A Lanaktallan came in, with a Hikken, two Tukna'rn guards, and a Telkan security services agent.

Dyplo'o'mo'o'at. He had been chosen by nearly fifty of his peers to represent them to Dreams of Something More, they had abdicated their responsibilities to him, trusting him to sign treaties and bargain on their behalf and on behalf of the populations of the systems they were nominally in charge of. Much of it was his sheer size. He had gone through late life growth, most Lanaktallan only coming up to his shoulder and only 3/4 his mass. He was intelligent, canny, patient, and wise, all reasons the other Lanaktallan had abdicated their responsibilities to him.

In reality, it was mainly because he didn't like video games.

Dreams of Something More stood up and gave a short, curt bow of a superior to an inferior. She was always proud of her ability to bow, something she had honed during her trips to Animeland and the Warsteel Lotus Han Imperium.

The Lanaktallan bowed back clumsily.

"Madame Diplomat," Dyplo'omo'o'at said. He moved over to a rock and made himself comfortable as the ergonomic seating hidden by the hologram adjusted to his body.

"Stallion Diplomat," Dreams of Something More said, using the agreed upon greeting.

"How are you this day?" Dyplo'omo'o'at asked, looking around.

Mister Rings dropped down next to him and extended one tentacle.

"Ah, good to see you, old friend," Dyplo'omo'o'at said. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a puzzle snack that he ordered his nutriforge to fab up.

The Pacific Northwest Ringed Tree Octopus took the treat and climbed back up into the branches.

Dreams of Something More hid a smile. "I am good. The day passes slowly, mostly full of duty and repetition, but I am grateful for such leisurely boredom after the excitement of the last few years," Dreams of Something More said.

"A true statement," Dyplo'omo'o'at stated. He leaned back slightly, the hidden back of the chair taking his upper torso weight easily. "The same can be said for my office."

"Is there still the shipping issue or has it been resolved?" Dreams of Something More asked.

"Resolved, but only because the shipping and receiving control computers were shut down and what had formerly been automated transports are now piloted by skilled beings," Dyplo'omo'o'at said.

The door banged open and Words Spoken We Fear barged into the room with 117 in hot pursuit.

Before anyone could say anything, Speaks threw a grenade into the stream even as 117 rushed over to the master dataport. Through the door came Sees That Which May or May Not Be and Fights Against The Night barged in.

"Hurry, oh, hurry," Sees said, wringing her hands, rubbing her bladearms and vestigal wings, and hunching her shoulders.

"What is going on?" Dreams asked.

The four Tukna'arn and the Telkan all reached for weapons.

"HOLD!" Speaks barked, holding out one hand with his diplomatic security override shining from the palm-implant holoprojector.

The grenade went off before Dyplo'omo'o'at could say anything.

The EMP grenade went off, wiping away the rain forest and the holographic camouflage.

"What? What is..." Dreams started again. She winced as Speaks used his authority to suddenly shut down her datalink and turn off her retinal link.

Dreams opened her mouth to say more when the alarms started wailing.

"Red. Red of Terran blood. Red of a Terran dawn. Red of Terran eyes at night," Sees moaned out, sagging in Fights arms. "Eight eight zero eight zero eight," the opalescent mantid moaned out, her wings trembling. "In eights and zeroes we shall be protected in the light of Terran eyes from the rage of Terrans passed through death."

117 made a snapping noise with his wings and shifted slightly.

The lights in the room went red.

"Case Austrian Duke," Speaks suddenly snapped.

Dreams of Something More reacted. The reflex was ground into her very DNA. Hypnotic triggers backed the reflex. It was so deeply ingrained that she could have carried out the reflex even without her head.

She hit her personal panic button as Speaks invoked the 'worst case assassination attempt' protocol. It referred to when the Iron Fence Vampiric League attacked the Steel Duke of Austria, plunging Terra into the First Global Conflict.

The entire building went into lockdown.

Speaks moved over to the window and looked out.

"Shades. Holy Chrome Egg, Terran shades," Speaks said. He turned back. "I must insist all diplomats engage in Protective Posture Level Five."

Dreams went to say something when there was a sudden crack.

Standing in front of her, one hand raised to their mouth and holding a sloppy looking sandwich, the other hand holding a cold can of Countess Crey Super Bubble Cola, wearing comfortable clothing, stood someone that had vanished months prior.

"Mo?" Dreams said.

The Mosizlak turned around and looked at her. "Madame Diplomat?" he asked. "How did I get here, I was just having lunch."

"I have no idea," Dreams of Something More said.

-----

Dressed in a denim vest, with a denim abdomen wrap, a set of jogging shoes, and a comfortable soft beret, Dreams of Something More sat in her office, playing with a stylus and a pen while sitting at the desk. Speaks sat against the wall, watching with amusement, totally aware that the Madame Diplomat had forgotten he was there.

"You will never truly understand the power of the Dark Side," she said, tapping the stylus against the pen.

"But I have right on my side, a power something a creature twisted by evil such as you could never understand," she said, tapping the pen against the stylus.

"Understanding will not stop my evil plan," stylus against pen.

"Evil has no power, your plans cannot start," pen against stylus.

"Evil starts while good sleeps," stylus against pen.

"But eight hours of sleep is what good possesses to face evil," pen against stylus.

The entry chime sounded and Dreams jerked slightly, setting the pen and stylus to the side.

The door opened and the Mosizlak limped in, escorted by Fights. One arm was in a traction cast, held tight against his chest. He was wearing comfortable clothing that assisted with healing and a pair of athletic shoes. The Terran came in and sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

"Not too long. He's still recovering," Fights said.

"I'll be fine," the Mosizlak said.

"Not too long," Fights repeated, then withdrew.

There was silence for a long moment.

"I have a lot of questions," Dreams said.

The Mosizlak nodded. "I'm not sure I can answer everything, but let me tell you, it's been something else," he said.

"For starters, where did you go? You just suddenly vanished," Dreams said.

The Mosizlak shook his head. "That's the weirdest one," he said. He closed his eyes, blocking out the amber glow, and took a deep breath. "I was inside the SUDS."

"So, you were dead?" Dreams asked.

Mosizlak shook his head. "No. I was moved, via mat-trans, which somehow used triangulation to grab me, to the physical facility of the SUDS," he held up a hand to stop any questions. "It's layered Dyson Spheres. We're talking a dozen of them, all inside one another," he shook his head. "The smallest of which is roughly a fifth of an AU from the center point. The largest of which is a single AU from the center-point, but is the most interior," he gave a shrug. "The geometry is all messed up."

"You were inside the SUDS physical facility? Who is there? Who has been working on it?" Dreams asked.

"Who is there? Well... everyone. Well, not the dead. They're still being processed by the thousand and put in areas of the Dyson spheres that will be the easiest for them to acclimate too," the Mosizlak said. "Each sphere's surface is the size of five hundred sixty million Terras. Twenty odd spheres, with two sides each, all contoured."

"That's a lot of space," Dreams said. She shook her head. "So you were there? Why?"

"Whoever is working on it has to go through the hard coded alerts, which involved an extinction level attack on Terrans, which meant the system grabbed them, alive, and put them in places to keep them safe," the Mosizlak said. "Time moves a little different too."

"How?" Dreams asked.

"I've been in there about eight years," the Terran said. "Luckily, no spouse or children or I would have been put out with you."

Dreams nodded. "How long are you back for?"

The Mosizlak shrugged. "The rest of my life, I guess," he said.

Dreams asked more questions, but by and large the Mosizlak didn't know. After twenty minutes, Fights came in and took the Mosizlak away, leaving Dreams sitting in the room with Speaks.

"Well?" Dreams asked, looking at Speaks.

"The seers were right. The Terran aren't all dead, aren't all gone. They're in hiding, so to speak," the black mantid said. He shook his head. "Your panic button pulls your Mosizlak from wherever he is, using the mat-trans system, and puts him wherever you are," he said. He tapped a bladearm against his knee. "That means, the panic system is hard coded in."

"They tell you in school that the panic button has never failed any diplomat who uses it since before Terrans developed FTL travel," Dreams mused, looking at the cyberware implant in her arm.

"We knew it moved the Mosizlak to your location, but we never thought it could be used at interstellar distances," Speaks said. He gave a short, sharp laugh. "And apparently beyond."

"The SUDS is inside a massive set of Dyson Spheres, all layered one inside another, with the outer layers being smaller than the inner layers," Dreams said. She shook her head. "That wouldn't make sense, unless one thing is true."

"The SUDS is in another dimension, another reality," Speaks said. He nodded. "It makes sense. Probably one of those weird dimensions that each single point there touches all points in this universe."

"Aren't those usually hostile to life," Dreams asked.

117 reminded everyone of his presence with a quick burst of equations.

Dreams recognized them. Terran survival equations.

"Depends on how hostile the life is in return," Speaks said, his voice full of amusement. "Do you think just being hostile to human life has ever stopped the Terrans?"

"We could ask the Mantid Queens," Dreams said. "Oh, wait, they're all dead."

"Exactly," Speaks said. He shook his head. "Which means, as soon as they figure out how to do it, they'll be back."

"You really think so?" Dreams asked, her voice slightly wistful. "I miss them."

"They will. The big question is: how long will it take them to figure out how to get back?"

-----

The waves were perfect curls in an azure sea. The blazing fire in the sky made the white sand of the beach glow slightly. The breeze was perfectly warm and not too windy. It was a perfect day on the beaches of Atlantis.

The pile of fries had gotten bigger and the gulls had landed to feast, fighting over the golden treats, running off with the bigger ones, or strutting around to impress the others.

A blocky warsteel canine head lifted from behind the driftwood log. A tail wagged with excitement.

From behind a large stump, twenty feet thick and fifteen foot high of driftwood, a Terran face peeked, looking at the gulls. A small goat head leaned out, looking at the gulls, a tiny tail wagging furiously.

With a roar the Terran ran out from behind the stump, waving a spear. The goat followed, bleating menacingly.

The canine leaped over the log, barking furiously.

The gulls scattered with aggrieved cries of outrage, leaving behind the pile of goodies.

The man bent down and rubbed the goat first, then scratched the dog between its warsteel ears, laughing uproariously, leaning on his spear.

After a minute, the man and the goat went back behind the stump. The canine went behind the log.

The gulls above circled, calling out in an injured tone. Finally, they all conferred.

Surely, the three wouldn't jump out this time.

The gulls settled and began to feast.

The man, the goat, and the dog all peeked out from their hiding spots.

And the surf rolled on.