Chapter 2: Jokers Wild

“Call,” Harry said, taking a conservative sip from a glass of brandy as his alien companion looked down at the cards that he was holding. It was almost impossible to tell when a Krell was bluffing, their reptilian features were so hard to read, their scaly faces nigh expressionless. The creature was hunched over the round table opposite him, his eight-foot frame meaning that he had to practically double over to get level with it. He was sitting on a stool from the bar, equipped with a sturdy spring that would sink the occupant down level with the counter, designed to accommodate the various species that frequented the establishment. His long, oar-like tail trailed along the floor a good distance behind him, making up almost half of the alien’s body length. It was thick and heavy, packed with fat reserves and muscle for swimming.

A cloud of grey cigarette smoke lingered in the air above them, the fans that hung from the ceiling creating swirling patterns as they spun, their lamps casting a yellow glow that created dark shadows to give everything a dingy vibe. They were surrounded by booths and tables, many of which were occupied by their fellow Navy personnel, puffing on e-cigars and drinking their ration of alcohol as they chatted or played games. The bar was off to their right, made from the same faux-wood as the tables and paneling, the glittering bottles that lined the shelves behind it reflecting the light. The flashing neon of arcade cabinets added a touch of color the space, and a low murmur of conversation provided a constant background noise. There were few places on the station where Harry felt more at ease, he always relished the time between deployments.

“Hang on,” he grumbled, running his fingers through his blonde hair in exasperation as he looked down at his hand. “How can I have Four of a Kind if you have a Royal Flush? I’ve got all four Kings.”

The Krell began to laugh, a low, huffing sound that was felt as much as it was heard. The giant reptile lay his cards on the table, spreading them out with his seven-fingered hand.

“What the ... why are there two King of Clubs? You always cheat, you walking handbag. How are you doin’ that? You don’t even have sleeves!”

His companion continued to chuckle in his alien way, Harry reaching over and plucking the extra card from the table. Some people dismissed the Krell as being slow, or unintelligent, due to their sluggish mannerisms and their easygoing nature. They concerned themselves only with basking beneath the heat lamps in their barracks, and clogging the lanes in the Pinwheel’s Olympic pool, following what orders they were given without question. Those who took the time to get to know them better soon discovered that they were just as sharp as any other species. The perception of them as being anything less was mostly a result of their plodding metabolisms, and the way that their longevity altered their perception of time. The Krell rarely did anything with any urgency, unless it pertained to combat. While they wouldn’t hurt a fly under normal circumstances, if someone threatened their charges, they would fly into a frenzy and tear the aggressor limb from limb.

“Right, let’s try again,” Harry complained as he scooped up the cards and began to shuffle the deck. “And this time, I’m going to deal.”

The Krell turned his snout towards the door, loosing a low trilling sound that he used to greet someone that he recognized. He couldn’t reproduce human speech, at least not without a translator, but he understood it just fine.

Harry swiveled in his seat to see the Chief approaching, the man raising an e-cigar to his lips with his prosthetic hand as he neared their table.

“What’s up, Chief?” Harry asked. “You got time off? I’m trying to get a fair Poker game out of Blackjack if you want to buy in.”

“What’s on the table?” the Chief asked, taking a draw from his cigar. “Finally, I’ve wanted a smoke all damned day. Kaisha won’t let me do it in the apartment, says it stings her nose.”

“We’re just playin’ for today’s tab,” Harry replied, shuffling the cards. “Blackjack doesn’t drink much, but he doesn’t stand much chance of losing either, so it evens out.”

The Krell rumbled in agreement, the low resonance making the glass of brandy vibrate.

“Unfortunately, I’m here on business,” Moralez replied. Harry made to stand to attention, he hadn’t realized that the Chief was on duty, but a prosthetic hand on his shoulder stayed him. “At ease, Harry. I’ve got an assignment that I think you two will be well suited for. Follow me over to one of the booths at the back, I don’t want to be overheard.”

“Aye, Chief. Come on, BJ.”

There was a creak as the Krell rose from his stool, his tail dragging on the floor behind him as the trio made their way over to an unoccupied booth. Harry and Moralez slid into the padded benches, while Blackjack stood beside their table, blocking the view of the room with his bulk.

Moralez paused to take another puff from his cigar, Harry listening intently as he began to speak.

“The Admiralty has informed me that we have a very unusual VIP coming in today to sit in on the Coalition security council meeting.”

“Unusual how, Sir?” Harry asked.

“Before I tell you that, you need to know two things,” he said as he leaned across the table conspiratorially. “The first is that you must not repeat what I tell you here to anyone, is that understood?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“The second,” he continued after another brief draw from his cigar, “is that this is a voluntary assignment. Due to its unusual nature, I won’t order you to do it. If you don’t feel up to the task, I won’t fault you for turning it down.”

“Well damn, Chief, are you gonna tell us what it is?”

“What do you know about Jarilo?” Moralez asked.

“Jarilo?” Harry mused, glancing at Blackjack. “It’s a colony planet, the Navy recently cleared it of Bugs. I know a few people who served on the Thermopylae during the campaign, it was a pretty clean op from what I heard. They caught the roaches with their pants down.”

“They didn’t clear the planet of Bugs,” Moralez said, the glow from his e-cigar lighting up his grizzled face in the gloom of the booth. “The hive that was dug in there surrendered, and the Navy accepted...”

“I ... don’t understand, Chief,” Harry stammered. He glanced at BJ again, as if seeking reassurance, but the Krell remained expressionless as he listened intently to their conversation. “How can a Bug hive surrender?”

“That’s a long story, but the gist of this thing is that the hive is sending an ambassador to the station, and the Admiral has tasked me with making certain that nothing happens to them while they’re here. I need bodyguards to stay with them for the duration of their visit, someone reliable, someone I can trust. You two fit the bill. You’re a smart kid, Harry, and a good Marine. I know that you can handle yourself and that you’ll make the right decisions in a pinch. Blackjack is a Krell, enough said,” he added as he gestured to the reptile with his cigar.

“That’s high praise, Chief,” Harry replied. “I guess if anyone found out that this guy was working with the Bugs, there’d be a big-ass target on his back. Ain’t nobody on the station who hasn’t lost someone to the roaches, present company included.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Moralez continued, exhaling a cloud of smoke to join the haze that hung in the air. “The ambassador ‘is’ a Bug.”

Harry’s demeanor changed, a frown darkening his face.

“Sir, with all due respect, we’re letting Bugs on the station now? I joined up to ‘kill’ roaches, I cut my teeth repelling Bug boarding parties, and now we’re giving ‘em free tours?”

“I reacted the same way when they told me,” Moralez said, “but that’s what the Admiralty wants. They think that they can get something out of this, maybe an edge over the other hives, and it’s not our place to question their orders. I’m going to need you to babysit this thing at all times and keep it out of view of the public. I have some ideas on that front, but we can talk about the details later. Are you in, or are you out?”

“If you think it needs doin’, then we’ll do it,” Harry replied with a shrug. “Blackjack, you wanna weigh in on this, or not?” The giant alien merely rumbled, his low voice making their teeth chatter. “He says he’s in,” Harry explained.

“I know I’m asking a lot,” Moralez continued. “I know that if this gets out, then you might face some backlash from the other Marines.”

“The old soap in a sock treatment?” Harry replied with a grin. “Nah, don’t pay it any mind, Chief. I’ve done my time on the front, I’ve killed my share of buggers. Everyone who’s served with me knows it, and I don’t much care about the opinions of those who haven’t.”

Moralez reached across the table, offering his polymer hand to Harry, who shook it.

“Glad to hear it, Marine. I’ll pull some strings, make sure that you and Blackjack are compensated appropriately. I can probably convince the bean-counters that this qualifies as both overtime and hazard pay.”

“Much obliged, Sir.”

“I’ll let you know where and when,” the Chief continued as he rose from his seat. “Until then, I have to get back to my duties. I didn’t realize that I’d be working as a greeter when I accepted the position of Security Chief.”

Moralez found himself in the hangar once again, standing beside Secretary Stevens as they awaited their next visitor. The shuttle that had ferried the Rask delegate to the station had left, but the gaudy Elysian frigate still occupied much of the space. The vessel was surrounded by a team of yellow-clad engineers now, and he found himself wondering what they made of it.

“So ... what do you think the Brokers are?” Stevens asked, breaking the silence. “Are they autonomous drones, are they controlled remotely, or do you think that there’s a creature inside that suit?”

“Hard to guess,” Moralez replied, “I’ve only seen them once or twice. I’d think that a suit would be less clunky if anything.”

“Yes, they never visit the station unless absolutely necessary. I wasn’t on call during the last council meeting, so this will be my first interaction with one. I’ve seen pictures, but that’s about it.”

“Here they come,” Moralez said, gesturing beyond the wavering barrier of energy. As they watched, a silvery glint came into view, gradually growing until its shape came into better focus. It looked to Moralez like a cigar that had been wrapped in tin foil, made from shining, silver metal that reflected the unfiltered sunlight of the system’s star like a beacon. It was completely featureless. There were no visible engines, no windows, no bridge. He couldn’t make out the telltale puffs or gas or jets of flame from thrusters, it simply seemed to glide effortlessly through space, under no visible forms of propulsion.

The object slid through the hangar’s force field, hovering silently above the deck. Where the shuttle had needed to compensate for the bay’s gravity, the Broker vessel seemed untouched, merely floating down to the floor as though it was no heavier than a feather.

It did not deploy landing gear. Instead, it came to a stop just above the deck, as if it was resting on an invisible cushion. It slowly rotated on a dime to put itself side-on to its captivated audience, an indent appearing in the chrome finish at its flared midsection, as though an unseen blade was scoring the metal. The indent opened like a wound, the metal parting, somehow flexible. A ramp descended from the orifice, seeming to grow out of the silver material, stopping when it came into contact with the deck.

Stevens and Moralez craned their necks in an attempt to get a look inside the mysterious vessel, but the interior was too shadowy for them to make out anything of substance. From the darkness emerged two creatures.

The first looked like a refrigerator perched atop a pair of robotic legs, standing around eight feet tall. Its bulky, square body was a shade of matte white, while its mechanical components were the same shining silver as the hull of its vessel. It was featureless, save for a litany of sensors and lenses that protruded from the forward face, cameras and scopes of varying sizes seeming to zoom and focus independently of one another as they scrutinized the two humans. Protruding from the sides of the chassis were four segmented arms made from chrome metal, flexible like tentacles. Each one was tipped with some kind of grasping claw or strange attachment, the appendages hanging frozen in the air in unnatural positions while at rest. It was supported on two skeletal limbs made up of silver rods and pistons, exposed machinery visible in the spaces between the protective covering. It had backwards-facing knees, like a giant chicken, with cup-shaped feet.

The Broker marched down the ramp, waiting patiently for its companion to join it.

The second figure was an especially large Krell, his skull alone must have been five or six feet long, and he bordered on twenty feet from his nose to the tip of his dragging tail. The reptiles never stopped growing, and their lifespans seemed indefinite from a human perspective. The longer they lived, the larger they grew, and the darker their complexion became. This individual was sheathed in a layer of hard, thick scutes and overlapping scales like medieval armor, a dark green in color that faded to a lighter beige on his leathery underbelly.

He wore a poncho made from dark leather that was sparsely decorated with geometric patterns, reminding Moralez of tribal cave paintings, and his green scales were covered in some kind of colorful dye. There were multicolored handprints and alien sigils staining the smoother scales of his underside, as though other Krell had been fingerpainting on him, almost like tattoos. Hanging about his neck was a mass of rope necklaces and pendants that were piled on top of each other, there must have been a hundred of them. They were decorated with seashells, colorful beads, and carved pieces of wood. If their weight caused him any discomfort, he didn’t show it.

Upon his thick wrist was a device that resembled the onboard computers that were a component of Marine armor, with a built-in touch panel that was lit up with an orange glow. It clearly wasn’t of Krell origin, and it looked quite out of place.

The two aliens were so diametrically opposed. One was the very embodiment of advanced technology, while the other was a primitive, yet it was not unusual or unexpected for them to arrive together. The alliance between the Brokers and the Krell predated the UNN’s entry into the Coalition by several hundred years, and they had a very close relationship. The Krell were not capable of space flight under their own power, their soldiers were delivered to the station on Broker vessels as needed, and returned in the same manner once their duties to the Coalition were fulfilled. The Krell seemed to have absolutely no interest in industrializing their society or obtaining any modern amenities. They did what was required of them as part of their commitment to the alliance, and no more.

“Honorable council members,” Stevens began with a bow, “welcome to Fort Hamilton.” Moralez hesitated for a moment, then mimicked the bow, the Broker watching them with its unnerving number of electronic eyes. They hadn’t bowed for the Borealans, perhaps Stevens had prepared different greetings for the different races.

The Krell reached down and began to tap at the device on his wrist, then responded with a low, guttural rumbling that Moralez could feel in his bones. It was almost sub-sonic, so powerful that it seemed to vibrate the very air around them, echoing throughout the hangar like a church organ in a cathedral. After a moment, a halting, synthesized voice was emitted from the device. It was translating his alien speech.

“Greetings to those within our great circle,” it said. “We have come to parliament to take part in deliberation. The Elders pay tribute.”

“We welcome you into our circle, wise Elder Rasheth,” Stevens replied in a formal tone. The alien lumbered over to him, his size and sheer mass even more apparent as he neared the comparatively tiny human. The Krell leaned down to press his scaly forehead against Stevens’, his crocodile-like snout long enough that it reached the man’s knees, packed with jutting teeth. It was a kind of Krell Eskimo kiss, their equivalent of a handshake, perhaps. Moralez was relieved when the alien didn’t expect the same greeting from him.

The Broker remained at the foot of the ramp, seemingly unwilling to stray too far from its strange ship. From somewhere on its robotic body came a tinny voice, far more advanced than the translator that the Krell was using, but still somewhat synthetic.

“I will remain on my vessel until my presence is required,” it said.

“As you wish, councilman,” Stevens replied. “Please don’t hesitate to contact the ambassadorial staff if you should need anything.”

With that, the robotic creature turned around and made its way back up the ramp. The wound in the hull healed up, the ramp receding into the body of the craft, leaving it as featureless as when it had arrived. Not too friendly, these Brokers...

“Come, Elder. Allow me to show you to your suite,” Stevens said as he guided the lumbering Krell across the hangar. “We have prepared a basking pool and a heat lamp for you.”

Moralez stayed to examine the Broker vessel from a distance for a minute, wanting to get closer, but worrying that it might be a breach of protocol. Their technology truly was amazing, to the point that he couldn’t even make sense of it. A shame that they didn’t see fit to share it with everybody else...

A call came through on his earpiece, and he put his finger to it, the familiar voice of the flight control operator coming through.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Security Chief, but we have an unknown vessel on approach.”

“Unknown?” he repeated.

“The configuration appears to be that of a UNN Courser, but it has no transponder, and it’s refusing to identify itself.”

“Can you pipe an image through to my tablet?” Moralez asked, pulling the device from his pocket.

“One moment,” she replied. “There, you should have it.”

The external cameras that were mounted on the hull of the torus showed what looked like a Courser at first glance. The vessel was shaped like a giant cotton swab, with a needle-nosed cockpit section at the front that was connected via a skeletal frame to the engine and reactor section at the back. They were designed to be the perfect balance between mass and power capacity, able to perform long-range superlight jumps that outpaced vessels many times their size. They were most often used for ferrying VIPs, and for delivering important messages where conventional communications were not available.

This one differed from the usual configuration, however. Its sleek hull was encased in layers of armor plating, the angular surfaces painted with a black stealth coating, throwing off that careful balance of mass and speed. Where there should have been naked beams that resembled the jib of a construction crane, there were instead what looked like missile pods, along with a few jutting railgun batteries. The vessel certainly generated enough juice to power them, but that wasn’t the point.

“And you’re not picking up a transponder signal?” Moralez asked, watching the vessel’s thrusters flare as it made small course corrections. All UNN ships had a transponder that broadcast identifying signals upon receiving a query from a friendly vessel, used mostly in IFF systems as a way to track friendlies.

“Negative, Chief. They transmitted what seem to be correct Navy codes upon request, but they won’t comply with our requests for identification. They won’t give us a name or a serial number. Protocol states that I should let them through, but it’s highly irregular. I thought it best to let you know.”

“I’m going to get the Admiral on the horn, keep an eye on it. If its weapons go hot, or it begins to accelerate towards the station, I want you to scramble a Beewolf squadron to intercept. Warn any ships in the vicinity that we have a potential problem.”

“Roger that, Sir,” she replied. Moralez put in a call to the Admiral, waiting impatiently for a few moments before it went through.

“Yes, Security Chief. What is it?” the Admiral asked, a touch of irritation in his voice. “I’m very busy right now.”

“Sorry to disturb you, Admiral, but we have an unknown vessel on approach that has no transponder and is refusing to identify. I’ve told flight control to be ready to launch interceptors if it activates its weapons systems. It appears to be a UNN Courser with some unusual modifications.”

“That’s one of ours, Security Chief, we’ve been expecting it. Tell flight control to cooperate fully.”

“Sir?” Moralez asked, confused. “As the Security Chief of this station, and considering how many VIPs we currently have aboard, I’m going to need a little more information than that.”

“Are you making demands of me, Security Chief?” the Admiral replied.

“No, Sir, not at all. But this is unusual, to say the least, and I need to know who’s on my station if I’m going to do my job properly. Is this vessel delivering the asset that we discussed?”

“No,” the Admiral replied sternly. “That ship is on a classified mission and has no obligation to identify itself to flight control. It has the correct codes, and I’m telling you that it’s expected, what more reassurance do you need?”

“Very well, Admiral,” Moralez replied as he attempted to disguise the frustration that was creeping into his voice. “If you’re certain that it doesn’t pose any kind of security risk, then I’ll have flight control let it through.”

He took another glance at the ominous vessel that was being displayed on his tablet, then put his call through to flight control.

Moralez walked along the lines of Marines, his prosthetic hands clasped behind his back. The men were lined up to either side of him, creating a kind of small avenue in the hangar, a red carpet laid out between them. He still found it hard to believe that when the Admiral had asked them to roll out the red carpet for the Valbarans, he had meant it literally.

They were wearing their signature black combat armor, the ceramic plates overlaid on top of their Navy-blue uniforms, their faces obscured behind the reflective visors. In their hands were clasped XMRs, the modular railguns that were favored by the Coalition. They were unloaded, but no less impressive. The men were at ease right now, but once the delegation landed, they would snap to attention and put on a show. The Valbarans had never visited the station before, they had come a very long way, and the Admiral wanted to make a lasting impression.

There were also a dozen Borealan shock troopers dressed in similar armor standing behind them, wielding long, bayoneted rifles that looked as much like spears as firearms. Their fuzzy ears protruded from the tops of their helmets, and their tails trailed behind them, the varied colors and patterns of their coats standing out against the matte black. Finally, there were two Krell flanking the twin rows at the end of the carpet, clad in the armored ponchos that served as their battle dress. Each one was clasping a golden flagpole from which hung a ceremonial flag, blue in color with gold trim. Woven into the fabric was the UNN logo, a globe of Earth surrounded by a wreath, all in white. The flags were hanging limp, as there was no breeze in the bay, but they were no less impressive.

Each species was a member of the Coalition, but this was a UNN installation, and the aliens were serving as auxiliaries. They had no Coalition flags to fly.

The silvery Broker vessel and the ornate Elysian frigate were off to their right. The engineers seemed to have finished their inspection of the gaudy flagship, and the cigar-like Broker craft remained as unknowable as ever, its featureless hull reflecting the harsh lighting of the hangar like a mirror.

Moralez walked back up to the top of the carpet, standing beside Stevens as they awaited the newcomers.

“I’ll be glad when this is over, my feet are killing me,” Stevens complained under his breath. He raised a gloved hand to loosen his tight collar, then resisted the urge, clasping them neatly behind his back instead. “One more delegation to go...”

The Secretary clearly didn’t know that there was still another ambassador yet to arrive, the representative from Jarilo, but he might not be privy to that information.

“They’re coming,” Moralez said as he received an alert from flight control. He lifted his tablet, Stevens scooting closer to get a look at the screen as the station’s cameras zoomed in on the alien vessel.

Its white hull was long and spindly, seemingly made up of modular, cylindrical segments that were joined together. At the bow was something that resembled a bridge, with rows of windows that looked out into space, and to the stern was a bulky engine module. Situated at the vessel’s center of mass was a rotating torus that was joined to one of the segments via spokes, not unlike that of the Pinwheel space station itself. It was creating centrifugal force to simulate gravity, which suggested that the species had not developed AG fields yet. The crew must live in that spinning module while they weren’t at their posts. It was armed with railgun batteries, however. They seemed to be of UNN design, retrofitted, perhaps. The whole thing was about three hundred meters long, twice as long as the docked frigate, but nowhere near as large as a jump carrier.

As they watched, an object detached from one of the segments and began to move towards the station. It appeared that they didn’t have hangars on their carriers either, the craft had been docked externally, clinging to its mothership like a flea to a dog.

“Alright people, you know what to do,” Moralez said as he stowed his tablet. “Let’s give the Valbarans a reception that will impress.”

They stood to attention, Stevens and Moralez watching as the Valbaran lander slowly came into view. It matched speed with the station’s rotation, maneuvering carefully towards the force field. It was roughly twenty meters from its rounded nose to its twin tail fins, the stubby, swept wings that protruded from its streamlined hull suggesting that it was capable of atmospheric flight. It almost looked like one of the primitive spaceplanes from Earth’s distant past, a little larger and more unwieldy than a UNN dropship, more akin to a cargo lander. It was layered with heat tiles that were painted with ocean camouflage in shades of grey and blue, blackened by reentry on the nose and belly. Moralez could see figures moving behind the blister-like cockpit, but he couldn’t make out much detail.

Along the flanks of the vessel were a series of light panels, almost as though the aliens had bolted LCD monitors to the exterior of their hull. They flashed in colorful, mesmerizing patterns, like a neon sign or an animated advertisement. Waves of purples and blues ran from the nose to the tail, shifting hue towards greens and yellows, almost like mood lighting. Whether they were trying to communicate something, or just putting on a show, Moralez couldn’t be sure.

As it passed through the barrier of energy, orange jets of flame belched from the thrusters on its underside, the vessel lowering itself towards the deck as it fought against gravity. It wasn’t very graceful, and it wasn’t suited to VTOL, that much was obvious. It deployed a set of wheeled landing gear that absorbed the impact as it touched down, rolling for a few feet before it came to a stop, the roar of the engines fading as it powered down.

There was a loud hiss as a landing ramp at the rear of the vessel began to slowly descend on a pair of heavy, hydraulic cylinders. It was facing towards the force field, and so Moralez couldn’t see inside the compartment. When it reached the deck, a procession of strange creatures descended, rounding the idle vessel and heading towards them.

They were wearing form-fitting flight suits, too light to be armored in any significant way, the material rubbery and flexible. Their garments shared the same patterning as their vessel, camouflaged with splotches of grey and ocean-blue, but that wasn’t the only similarity. Just like the color panels on their vessel’s hull, they had flexible panels on their forearms. It must be some form of communication unique to their species. He could make out what looked like insulated cabling for the internal electronics running along their limbs, almost like veins visible beneath skin. Their helmets had an opaque visor, not unlike those used by the Marines, the aliens seeming to have somewhat of a snout. From behind their heads dangled two thick cables, like a pair of braids, long enough to reach the small of their back. These too came equipped with the strange, light-emitting panels. They looked as though they should be connected to some kind of oxygen tank, but they were hanging loose.

The aliens were around four or five feet tall, their body plan basically humanoid, with two digitigrade legs that were long and powerfully built in proportion to their relatively small and short torsos. Their small hands had only two fingers and a thumb, and their boots seemed to have two toes. Their long, thick tails were held off the deck as though they were being used for balance, the aliens walking with a bobbing gait that reminded Moralez of a chicken.