Seventeen million years ago, when the first Kamir explorers set foot on the planet they would call Kamsho, the dominant animal species were a scattering of different types of vermin that showed no particular evolutionary promise.
The first to be classified and studied by the Kamir exploration leader Opodi Talhem were pudgy, black and white furred quadrapeds that fed on pale green plant shoots in the misty jungles of the eastern continent. A research assistant declared them to be Opodians. No matter how hard she protested against this, the name stuck.
In the forests of the western continent, the survey team found another quadrapedal species with striped fur, sharp claws, and blunt heads. These stubborn creatures defended their territory with a viciousness unmatched by anything Opodi had seen throughout her explorations. In fact, they reminded her a great deal of a rival she had once had when pursuing a teaching position at the University of Multvaros. His name had been Llivor Shath. So, these creatures became known as the Llivori.
The skies of the western continent were overwhelmingly dominated by a predatory species of winged creatures - leathery skin, sharp claws, pug-faced. The Kamir researchers first encountered these beasts during a second survey of a Llivori den in the upper latitudes of the western continent. They had been just fired a tag bolt into the flank of a squealing Llivori when the winged beast swooped down in the bloody light of the setting sun, snatched the target in its talons, and lofted away (presumably to feed its family). Their ugliness and opportunistic behavior reminded Opodi of her sister, Tupa. So, these creatures became known as the Tupai.
On an island continent in the southern sea, the explorers found a race of lazy, orange-furred marsupials who spent most of their time eating, sleeping, or mating. Some actually spent more time mating than eating and sleeping. These creatures conjured up memories of one of Opodi's first roommates when she was a student at the University of Multvaros hundreds of years earlier. Thus, these creatures earned the name Gankri.
In a fabricated tower rising over the island jungle, Opodi used the glow of her bioluminescent skin to read over the recommendations of the survey team. It had been six and a half months since they had arrived on behalf of the Evolutionary Science department at the University of Multvaros. In that time, her group had determined that the species here were suitably savage and primitive enough to begin what would amount to an uplift process. If approved by the department board, each of the four major species on this planet would undergo genetic and behavioral modifications over time until they achieved sentience, formed societies, and evolved into intelligent indigenous populations. Such an endeavor would require a remarkable amount of resources in personnel and supplies. It remained to be seen whether Opodi's team could make a case compelling enough to sway the Kamir elders to select Kamsho as a candidate for uplift. Soon enough, she would find out.
She closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift beyond the exploration camp, above the tree canopy, out of range of the chittering creatures in the wild darkness, over the crashing surf on the sandy beach, into the sky, and onward through the stars until at last she opened her eyes once more.
Opodi Talhem stood in a dim, cavernous chamber that existed on a layer of reality apart from the one recognized by most sentient creatures. She looked around the chamber at other figures like her, shrouded in white-gray robes and hoods, their fingers laced behind their backs. It was a Gathering Fold, a gauzy shred of space-time used by the elder Kamir to meet beyond the reach of their mortal creations. Such folds existed as a manifestation of the Kamir will and unshakable concentration.
"We have given your team's report ample consideration," said one of the shrouded Kamir as he took a step forward from the main circle of observers to face Opodi. "Understand, we have considered reports from numerous teams tasked with exploring our opportunities in multiple dimensions and realities. In the end, however, we lack the resources to commit to more than one uplift project. Please relay to your team our appreciation for their efforts, but we must regretfully deny your application for resources at this time, Opodi Talhem."
Her brow creased, but she mastered her emotions, refusing to allow them to spiral out of control. "I ask that you reconsider on the basis of prudent resource distribution. If you elect to underwrite the Kamsho project, you will have not merely one but a total of four new alien races at your disposal. Such an endeavor would also present us an opportunity to study complex social and cultural relationships."
The circle leader shook his head. "Your request for reconsideration is noted, but denied. The selection for this round is complete. We welcome reapplication for uplift consideration during the next round in two million years."
She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and felt the rage welling within her chest. The damp air swirling around her suggested that she was no longer in the nowhere place of the Gathering Fold with the other Kamir, even before she opened her eyes.
Back in her jungle tower on the Gankri island on Kamsho. Denied the resources her team so richly deserved. Such news would be disheartening, to say the least. Kind words of appreciation aside, the refusal to select Kamsho would be a repudiation of the hard work that her team had been doing so far. Still, she had no choice. She had to tell them. So, she descended from the tower tree to find Damek, her second in command, in his cabin near the beach.
"I have consulted with the circle," Opodi said. "They have elected to underwrite another team's project."
Damek frowned, looping the sash around his robe before settling into the chair behind his desk in the cabin. "No room for appeal?"
"None," she said.
"So, what do we do now?" he asked. "Pack up? Translate back to Aukam?"
"We could," Opodi said. "The circle won't reconsider Kamsho for uplift until the next round."
Damek scratched his chin. "Two million years. Hmm."
"What?" she asked. Her eyebrows stitched upward as she allowed her thoughts to focus on what Damek might have in mind.
"Well, that's a lot of time that we could use to our advantage, even without the substantial resources that the circle could bring to bear on our behalf," he replied.
She tilted her head and crossed her arms. "An independent uplift operation? That's a massive undertaking, even for a world with just one promising race. We're talking about four here, Damek. It's reckless and irresponsible."
Damek shrugged. "Is it any less irresponsible to put their uplift on hold for two million years? Imagine the climate shifts and catastrophic asteroid strikes that might occur on Kamsho during that delay period. One or all of our potential uplift species could be eradicated, simply because the Kamir bureaucratic system didn't let them score high enough on a subjective scale."
Opodi sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know, Damek. Can we do all four races justice?"
Her assistant laughed. "That doesn't matter. That never matters! It's the experiment and the outcome that matter. It's what we can learn from doing this. Yes, something might go wrong. How they change, adapt, grow, and learn - that is what we wish to observe. It is that simple."
"I wish I could see it in such cut and dry terms," Opodi said. She leaned against his desk, considering the options. "However, I am willing to consider the possibility. Talk to the rest of the team. If you can win unanimous support for this project, I will permit it to proceed under my watch. Then, perhaps, we will see what these creatures can teach us about the way of the universe."
<<>>
“Shut up and fly,” Vard Bokren snarled at Toka, who had just barked a startled shout after sparks exploded from an overhead panel in the cockpit of the Kjernkor.
The ship bucked, taking another shot to the hull from the Llivori guard ship. Or it might have been the Opodian. Zazal couldn't be sure. He had lost track a few minutes into the pursuit. Zazal crouched beside the pirate leader's command chair, clutching the base with nimble fingers and his prehensile tail for good measure.
For many years, the Opodians and Llivori had struggled for dominance of the planet Kamsho. The Opodians pursued their goal with the doggedness that came from religious zealotry thanks to their fanatical worship of the ancient Kamir explorer who discovered and raised them from savagery to civilization. The Llivori, on the other hand, fought just to avoid being seen as pets of the now-dead Kamir. Vard Bokren didn't want to choose one side over the other because, ultimately, that might prove bad for business.
“Would it really be picking sides if you shot both vessels?” the Lotorian dared to ask. “After all, at this point it seems irrelevant to worry about whether either side likes you or not. Clearly, they don't.”
Vard rubbed the left side of his chin with his right hand. “A fair enough point,” the pirate agreed, just as another blossom of fire and shrapnel danced along the upper hull.
That got a sharp look from Toka. “Sir, isn't that exactly what I...?” The Kjernkor shuddered. Bokren's second in command had to brace himself to keep from tumbling out of the nav chair.
“Shut up and shoot,” the commander growled.
A dark smirk crept across Toka's face. He knew better than to gloat, but he took great pleasure in locking the aft torp launchers on the pursuing attack ships. Toka waited until the holodisplay showed bright green for the firing formula, then thumbed the flashing red buttons. The first torpedo hammered into the forward hull of the Opodian guard ship, eradicating the command center. The second erupted through the belly of the Llivori vessel, tearing through the central hull, and finally venting gas, shrapnel and flame through the upper hull as the interior lights flickered and went dark. Both ships drifted, inert, in the wake of the Kjernkor's attack.
Vard switched on an open broadcast channel. “Kamsho Ground Control, we didn't come here looking for trouble. We've neutralized one ship each from the Llivori and the Opodians, only after we were fired upon first. We want no further hostilities. Allow us to land. Further interdiction efforts will be met with the same response.”
Zazal approved of this approach and hoped that the warring parties would see the reason of what Vard Bokren demanded. The commander didn't wait to get an answer. He signaled Toka to begin the descent toward the Llivori capital of Vor. The Kjernkor passed through the scorching barrier of the planet's upper atmosphere, then angled down through the clouds.
“That could have gone worse,” Toka observed, easing back on the throttle as he leveled off before starting a spiraling descent toward the sprawling metropolis of Vor. He even allowed himself a faint smile. Then the ground-to-air missiles lofted into the sky, setting the sensors pinging frantically with alarm. His smile vanished.
“Evasive!” Vard snapped. He eyed the holodisplay as it tracked the missiles zooming toward the Kjernkor. "And make the furballs pay for making this more complicated than it needed to be."
"Sir?" Toka inquired, firing thrusters to move out of the path of one of the incoming missiles. It soon arced around to pick up the trail once more.
"Into the city," the commander replied. Zazal's ears flattened atop his head as he watched the skyline growing in the forward viewscreen. Vor wasn't a small city. The inhabitants had built high as well as broad. "Among the towers." And the traffic, Zazal noted with no small hint of alarm as his fangs clacked together. Many hovercars zigged and zagged between the spires.
Toka didn't question the order. He clenched his jaw, eased forward on the throttle, and led the missiles into the thick of downtown Vor's forest of high-rise office buildings. Panicked hovercar pilots slammed their vehicles into each other to avoid a collision with the Kjernkor, tumbling ahead of their trails of black smoke toward the streets far below. One of the missiles got within one hundred yards of the pirate ship, but then Toka juked left and the missile zoomed toward the uppermost floors of the Grothak Industries tower.
On the 82nd floor of that old glass and steel skyscraper, Obas Tekki sat in a conference room as he waited for a meeting with his supervisor. It had been a long time coming, this sit-down. Obas had worked, diligently and patiently, on every project that the old Llivori had thrown his way. He had worked his allotted hours and then some, at the expense of personal and family time. He had watched, frustrated, as less competent co-workers took home larger raises and climbed the corporate ladder ahead of him. His mate complained that he cared far too much about his work and not enough about his family. The truth was: Obas cared so much about succeeding at his job precisely because he wanted what was best for his family.
The door opened. Rodal Siban, his supervisor for nearly ten years, limped into the conference room and set his datapad on the conference table. "Let's make this as quick as possible, Obas," the old Llivori said. "I've got another meeting with the chiefs in fifteen."
Obas let his jaw drop open, his whiskers flaring. "Sir, with much respect, I scheduled a 30-minute block with your approval more than a week ago - after you refused to an hour, which had been my original request."
"Keep it to fifteen," Rodal said.
The underling sighed. He got to his feet and said, "See, situations like this are exactly why I had to call this meeting. You take me for granted. You disrespect me. You hold me in lower esteem than your friends, and thus your friends get generous raises and promotions."
The old Llivori blinked. "Watch yourself, Obas."
"Hey, you wanted me to speed it up," Obas replied. "I'm giving you the quickest version I can." He turned, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. He felt power surging within him. It was a strength of will that he couldn't remember feeling before. He could stand up to Rodal Siban. He could get what he wanted. What he deserved. "You should promote me to local manager, sir, with commensurate salary and bonus structure."
Rodal tipped his head to the left, peering at Obas. "What's that?"
"It's very simple, sir, I want a promotion."
"No, no, I heard that," Rodal grumped. He pointed a clawed finger in the air, aiming past Obas at the window. "What's that?"
Obas turned just as the missile slammed through the window, detonating. The explosion disintegrated Obas, Rodal, and the rest of the staff within the blast radius, without regard for value or competence.
Another missile closed on the Kjernkor, causing Toka to jam forward, taking the ship into a dive for about six hundred feet and then leveled off in a roll before making another sharp turn to the left.
"--watching as events unfold live above the city," said Vormedia broadcast anchor Isali Tobel as the holofootage behind her showed the rogue freighter descending, ground-to-air missiles rocketing in deadly arcs to intercept and destroy. She sat behind a desk on a soundstage in a holovid studio on the sixty-seventh floor. It was her first day as anchor for a major incident. The latest reports suggested that the Opodians had launched a brash new assault against the Llivori. If she could hold it together, she'd probably win a Saulee or possibly even a Taeteraelu. On one level, Isali felt terrified as what appeared to be all-out war broke out in her own proximity. On another, she was elated at the opportunity presented by such disastrous consequences. She felt the stage shudder from the force of a thundering shockwave. Her hand cupped the receiver in her ear as she asked: "What was that?" Her eyes widened. "I see. Apparently, the hostile vessel just narrowly avoided a collision with our broadcast tower."
The producer shifted to external camera images - holocam orbs swirling around the upper reaches of the Vormedia building. To the west, smoke billowed from the wrecked floors of the Grothak Industries tower. Another orb came into focus just before it was clipped by the passing second missile, which plunged diagonally through the middle floors of the network building.
"Coming to you live," were Isali Tobel's final words before the missile detonated, causing the soundstage level and higher to collapse, leading to a massive implosion that sent the rest of the skyscraper toppling into a cascade of dust and debris.
"Thousands of people dead for no damned good reason," Vard frowned. "If they didn't hate us before, they will now." And this seemed to trouble him. The pirate commander didn't quite match the stereotype that Zazal had come to expect of the vicious Medlidikke. As far as most Lotorians ever knew, the more destruction and mayhem that accompanied the operations carried out by the pirates, the better. Now Zazal observed with wonder as Vard Bokren actually seemed to demonstrate some semblance of remorse for the effects of the damage in Vor's city center.
Zazal pointed at the holodisplay, which seemed calmer now without the angry red insectoid buzz of impending doom from incoming missiles. "No more missiles," he noted. That should have come as some relief to the pirates, Zazal thought, but they seemed no less tense despite the good news.
"I doubt that means they've forgotten about us," Vard said. "We just have to work quickly. Toka, land in the tavern district. Keep the engines running. Be ready to dust off with no time to spare. Zazal, you'll be with me."
The Lotorian blinked. "With you? Out there without the time to spare, I presume?"
Vard nodded, getting to his feet as the Kjernkor eased down toward the pavement grid of the city's western district. "Just remember, fur grows back eventually."
Zazal loped uneasily after the commander. "I'd rather not lose any, just the same." He followed Vard down the main corridor to the airlock. The Medlidikke pounded the hatch control. He then stood aside to let Zazal enter the chamber ahead of him. Once Vard was inside, he shut the interior hatch and motioned for Zazal to clutch the nearest bulkhead brace. Then Vard opened the exterior hatch and triggered the landing ramp. Wind rushed into the airlock, buffeting the occupants as the Kjernkor settled onto the street in front of several startled onlookers in hovercars and on sidewalks in front of the taverns that took up so much of the district.
Vard jumped off the ramp, drawing a plasma pistol from the holster at his hip, then turned to wait for Zazal. The Lotorian sprang several yards, landing not far from the door to the Goddess Undressed Tavern. For the moment, people were still too shocked to do anything heroic about the new arrivals. A Llivori threw open the door of the Undressed Tavern just as Zazal was about to pull it open. Zazal tumbled back, sprawling, then jumped back to his feet in time to face a cranky-looking Llivori in a mussed gray jumpsuit. He glowered at Vard, shouting: "You idiot! Pulling a Multvaros Maneuver in the middle of MY town?"
Zazal looked toward Vard, puzzled. The Hekayti asked: "What'd he say?" Sirens wailed in the distance. City ground authorities would be arriving soon. He waved his gun-wielding hand. "Never mind! Get him aboard. He can yell at me once we're out of here."