Chapter 1: Encounter thy enemy

Crowds were cheering as the contestants entered the hangar of the huge Va'Tal Mothership that even seemed to dwarf the mighty Estip'bar, the greatest of Va'Tal warships. The enormous docking bay was filled with people, so much, that it was a small miracle that all seven surviving fighters were able to find a spot to touch down. As the pilots exited their crafts, the crowds gathered around them seemed to reach a new level of utter ecstasy; the cheering was close to deafening as the winner made his way out of his craft.

Quickly and efficiently the Va'Tal guards escorted their guests through the docking bay, on their way to the central room of the ship: the huge botanic garden which was located in the lower part of the massive ship.

As they arrived there, the pilots were all amazed by the view which they encountered. The botanic garden spanned a surface that equaled the docking bay where they had parked their fighters just a while before. The height of the room was quite impressive; it seemed to span several decks of the ship. It was obviously an integral part of its entire structure.

Cilya Dahrcu, the pilot who had entered the Race on behalf of the Federation slowly walked trough the garden, amazed by its incredible beauty. She had spent most of her childhood on smaller starships or on starbases after her parents had died, and never really had the pleasure of knowing how it feels to walk through such an incredible display of beauty that a garden could be, and that this garden most definitely was.

The strangest of plants surrounded the tall, slender built woman. Her dark hair flowed down her back like a velvet blanket, shining vividly in the softened lighting in which the garden bathed. Joe could not help but notice her beauty. She seemed more at home here in the middle of such a small natural paradise then in a fighter.

As she was strolling through the designated paths, she noticed Joe catching up with her. She had heard of this Terran, this womanizer, and was curious about him. Plexxan men were much more reserved and did not treat women as if they were a form of prey, they revered them, courting them in the most romantic of ways, and therefore Plexxan women were known to be more then willing to get involved with someone more "exiting" when they had the chance, even if it was just a short-lived relationship and not a bonding for life.

"Hello miss, mind if I join you for a moment?" asked the Terran in a strong solid almost baritone voice. "Be my guest, I was just admiring this amazing garden." Her voice was soft in its intonation, a soothing and peaceful, even serene characteristic in it. Delgato was pleasantly surprised by the voice of this stunning Plexxan female, yet it suited her well in his opinion.

"Yes it is quite a remarkable place we are standing in here right now. I wonder why the Va'Tal brought us here for the ceremony instead of a more appropriate room."

"Yes, this crossed my mind as well. I still have to congratulate you on your victory" she hesitated, and her eyes were asking him for his name. Joe froze up as he peered into those two deep brown eyes. They seemed to have cast a spell on him the moment he gazed into them, and the more intriguing part of this all was that this was a different kind of spell then usual, this was something he hadn't felt in a long time, something he almost had forgotten about.

Noticing his hesitation, she smiled, her lips curling upwards. "Joe…, Joe Delgato, Commander of the…" His memory seemed to fail here for a moment; it was on the tip of his tongue. He thought he was transpiring, and was a bit embarrassed. "The Terran Empire", she completed his attempt, still smiling, with a small twinkle in her eyes. "My name is Cilya Dahrcu." She said still smiling and at the same time attempting to force herself not to stare back into his emerald green eyes.

"It is a pleasure Cilya, to meet you in person. I admire your performance today, that was some very remarkable flying." He truly meant that, as he had only briefly checked out the camera footage of the Race, and he had been very impressed by her skill, and was eager to exchange tips and tricks with her, as all good fighter pilots are supposed to be when they meet another pilot that matches their skill.

As Joe and Cilya were about to compare fighters, exchange tips and brag about their tricks, they heard shouting noises. Quickly they walked into the direction of the voices, only to find the Orfine and Hive pilots practically trying to tear each other apart. The only thing that keeps from actually doing so was the giant Preserver pilot standing in between them and holding them apart with his cybernetic arms, making sure both were just out of reach of each other.

"I will gut you like a fish you foul and lowly excuse for a sentient!!" the barking growl of the strong built Orfine was answered by the clicking and buzzing of the insectoid voice of the Hive pilot.

Joe had forgotten to set his Translator to the correct setting. He reached to his neck and adjusted the setting to include the Hive language, and suddenly he understood what the insectoid was saying: "… you touch me, you foul and disgusting bipedal dog and I will skin you alive before I will kill you!!!" And he added: "Slowly."

The Orfine stood just under two meters tall, while the Hive was shorter then Joe, only reaching one hundred seventy four centimeters, and seemed to be blessed with a lot less muscle. However, as he was an insectoid, this could be just the appearance of things, as it was well known among the biologists of all races that studied that part of the sciences that insectoids tend to possess remarkable strength for creatures of their size. Among the Terran relatives of the Hive are species known to be able to lift and carry up to sixty times their own bodyweight.

Gakh Botil growled at his mortal enemy and tightened his grip on the Battleclaws he was holding. In return Quix'Tooygh held up his Borer high, threatening to fire it at the Orfine.

"Why don't we all calm down a bit and remember that this Race is a sports-event, not a place to fight out your wars." Joe's voice almost seemed to demand the attention it got. Both the Orfine and the Hive hesitated for a moment, but eventually both lowered their weapons and backed away slowly, never taking their eyes off each other.

The Preserver still stood as if he was holding back an entire pack of Orfine on the one side and a small hive of insectoids on the other.

"What's your designation Preserver?" asked Cilya. An artificial monotone voice answered the question: "Designation #4-Alpha5K present and operating at full capacity. Request input." "Alright Hex, you can stand down now, the war is over." Said Joe with a small chuckle. If it was possible for a Preserver to hesitate, then that was what it did, otherwise he was just computing the input he had just received. Either way, after a few moments, the giant construction slowly started to lower its arms. As the Orfine backed away from Yu'koq, he growled something in his native language: "Your time will come, just like the others." Quix'Tooygh answered this threat with some very eerie sounds.

Until that moment the Kolari pilot had kept himself out of the situation and had kept to himself, as the race was usually known so very well to do. However, now he stepped out of the corner where he had been standing. The soles of his Encounter-suit made a heavy metallic, yet somewhat muffled noise with every step he made. It sounded as if a solid block of steel fell three stories down, onto a concrete floor, every time he set a step. He activated the artificial voice, so that he could communicate with the others in a fashion they were accustomed to, after all, it was generally known among the Kolari that most organic life forms were either not capable (yet) of telepathic forms of communication, or were just absolutely and utterly unwilling to keep the possibility of its existence of such forms of communication. And as far as telepathic communication goes in combination with a Preserver, one would have more success in attempting to grow and sustain a plankton colony in the middle of a Class V desert, compared to which the Terran Sahara is more of a glass of water then an over-enlarged heap of sand.

Slowly but clearly the words of Lahi Cisu Roh formed and reached the ears and hearing devices of the others present: "Inner struggles are not only the result of outward aggression, they are equally its cause. The one capable of solving his inner struggles will be the one to achieve a complete state of peace and serenity." "Kaáh bguo kir ti'mokl hukam mog'ba?" was the response of the large bipedal canine, which would translate into "What is this battery pack on about?"

"What I am "on about" is this. The Hive and the Orfine have been enemies for, in the perspective of an organic, many years, and the hostility between your races is increasing due to the propaganda both sides have been preaching for the duration of this conflict. This propaganda is the inner struggle. Both the people of the Hive and the people of the Alliance have been indoctrinated, which limits their ability to search for the actual truth behind this entire situation. Thereby this propaganda causes both your peoples to continue with aggressive actions of the one towards the other. In its own turn, the propaganda is a result of the earlier hostilities between Arcturus and Betelgeux." Cilya interrupted: "Cause and result." "Very correct lady of honor," the being of pure energy continued his explanation: "The fight you fight, my dear organics," the entity encased in the metal contraption turned to Gal and Quix'Tooygh, "cannot be fought without fighting your inner struggle first. Your own struggles are your true enemies at this moment. Once you conquer them, you will be able to assess whether or not you truly have reasons to fight each other."

The other pilots had somewhat of a gaze in their eyes after he had finished. Even the Preserver seemed to need to compute all this complicated input.

"Or, as the Terrans put is so eloquently: this is a typical case of the pot calling the kettle black."

Gal Sath was the first to respond, and didn't exactly bother to phrase his thoughts in a more enlightened manner: a growl that more or less sounded like "Garrhk gah!!"

However, the speech of the enlightened creature seemed to have worked, Neither the Hive or the Orfine pilots expressed any further hostilities towards each other.

After this incident, the pilots went on discussing the Race, exchanging technical specifications, over-exaggerated stories of their competence and accomplishments.

It was not before twenty minutes after this that Khor'mat, the Slah'ke contestant walked into the botanic garden. Naturally this attracted some attention, most likely more then what the reptilian creature had hoped for.

Khor'mat found himself being the subject of a staring contest: a pair of compound eyes, three pair of eyeballs, a dual visual sensor array, and whatever the Kolari qualified as their eyes.

He mumbled something that sounded like an apology for being late, and tried to make his way to a distant corner. He was dressed in his regular battle-gear: shoulder protection that seemed to be manufactured out of a carbon-titanium composite, chain mail of unknown manufacturing origin decorated with the Slah'ke holy symbols for the Divine Shak'Ma, Battle and the upward four digit green fist that represents the United Slah'ke People. His lower body was equally scarcely protected, apart from a few strategically placed patches of very tough leather. All armor seemed to be connected to each other with straps of that same tough leather.

The characteristic Ka'Mak Sword was strapped on his scaly back, and reached down almost far enough to touch the base of the equally characteristic tail.

Slah'ke were by nature not only cold blooded - literally - fighting machines, some of them also seemed to possess an amazing ability to sneak around almost undetected. That isn't so surprising, considering the pleasant situation back home in Proxima most of the time: an inquisition here, an overly violent and bloody sect-war based upon a dispute about the correct interpretation of Verse 4:8:12 of the Sacred Writings of Shak'Ma.

Survival for a Slah'ke didn't always depend on his understanding of the game of war, his abilities as warrior, or the blunt force of his muscles. Instead, at home his cunning and his ability to move undetected were the tools of the trade. Often warriors were not only used on the battlefield as cannon fodder, or to make a statement of the righteous claim of a sect, the most skilled of warriors were often also employed as assassins during conflicts.

Sometimes it just was not possible for the leaders of the various sects, or less effective, to just slaughter each other while they were discussing the matters that concerned the Council. After all, it is not always helpful for your cause to have the entire Union know you have murdered that particular sect leader.

Therefore, assassins were used. If a warrior was entrusted with a mission that involved such 'ritual cleansing', it was considered a great honor, a great service in the name of the one true leader of the Slah'ke: their god Shak'Ma.

As they silently watched the cold-blooded alien walk by, making his way to a dark corner of the garden - which was hard to find in the first place - some of them got a good look at his face. His snout was lenghty, and somewhat pointed, and was filled with extremely sharp teeth, up to a point where they made Gal's canines look blunt.

A flattened forehead, covered in greenish scales, like the rest of his body, no visible ears, another characteristic feature of nearly all reptilian species in the galaxy, sentient or not.

What scared the spectators most, were his blood-red eyes, seemingly cut in two by vertically slitted pupils which were seemingly aware of anything happening in their surroundings, or at least for as far that he could see. Slah'ke have virtually no long distance sight.

"Khor'mat! How unfortunate that you couldn't call that bluff out there just now. Truly a shame. I would have loved to really put you and your ship to the test." Joe's mocking tone could have triggered a personal desire for starting a crusade within the Slah'ke, and maybe it did. If it did, then Khor'mat did not give into the temptation to act on it. Instead he answered in Terran: "Anytime monkey brains, anytime." His hissing accent made him sound as if he was short on breath after running longer and harder then he was physicaly capable of..

"What was that about?" whispered Cilya close to his ear as Khor'mat continued on his way to the dark corner he had just spotted.

"That, Miss Cilya is a long story, one that I might tell you another time, but not now." Said Joe with a bitter voice, while he watched the double doors that gave access to the botanic garden automatically opening themselves as someone entered.

The doors opened, and in walked the Va'Tal governor of the Naos Territories. The governor was a large man, clearly someone that preferred an extra meal over some well deserved excersise.

The rolls of fat on his body pulsed with every move, accentuating every movement while they crashed into the fabric of his brightly multi-colored robe, like waves in every sea on every world in the galaxy, rolling in perfect unison choreography towards the coast and crashing just as violently as merciless into the golden tranquility of the sunbathing beach, thereby amplifying every move his very space-demanding body made.

The governor had short stubby arms, a biological trait of his species, however his massive body size created the visual illusion of his arms being even shorter then they actually were.

Visual display was important to the people of the Va'Tal. It was the way the successful distinguished themselves from the other, less capable negotiators in the Va'Tal Territories. Over the years it had become clear that although the Va'Tal were a people of traders, they lived completely without greed, unlike their Klakanid competition.

For the Va'Tal the process of negotiation was more important. They cared not about the gold at the end of the profit-calculation, but about the status their next big agreement or business contract would bring them.

Over the generations, their culture had evolved in such a way that the man was judged as a suitable mate by his success in not only the negotiations concerning the lifelong bonding - "Brjakaçèh" - which was a commitment not unlike the Terran concept of marriage. Contracts and successful negotiations had become such an obsession that instead of Historical Archives - there weren't any Va'Tal historians at all, there never were - there was an Archive of Agreement, Negotiation and Trade, and instead of art, one would frame their greatest achievements - the contracts on which that were negotiated the most - so that visitors could amaze themselves of the abilities of their host.

"Welcome my esteemed guests! I hope you all enjoyed our beautiful garden." The rather enormous governor clapped his hands, and out of nowhere suddenly solid couches appeared. These couches soon turned out to be holographic, but with such a degree of detail, that they actually looked solid. The couches were - as it were to seem to those that saw the images of the couches - made out of an unknown type of leather, and sat quite comfortable.

As Joe sat down and allowed himself to be pleasantly surprised at the softness of the seating, Cilya gracefully sat next to him quite closely. The rest of the pilots took a seat on the other photonic seats.

"First of all I would like to congratulate you on completing the course. This year it has been designed to be especially challenging to the competitors. And off course my condolences to the friends and relatives to those that failed to cross the finish line." His high-pitched voice was carried by a speaker system which had been installed just for this occasion.

"In just a moment the ceremony will begin in which we decorate the winner, which is according to my information" a slight hesitation in his voice as he ruffled through his documents "Joe Delgato, for the Terran Empire. Good, we will start in just a moment."

"We are here live from the Va'Tal Mothership in the system of Naos, where just about an hour ago the 40th Annual Va'Tal Honorary Invitational Fighter Challenge of Naos ended in a quite spectacular finishing. Any moment now the Va'Tal governor of Naos will commence the ceremony in which the winner will be announced to the public and decorated." The young female Terran took a breath of air while the viewers of the Imperial Galactic News Network were presented with a quick fact sheet on the Race itself, on which she would comment in just a few seconds.

Moments before the ceremony was to start in the botanic garden of the Mothership - which was filled with exotic plants from all over the galaxy but primarily functioned as a showcase of the flora of the Va'Tal Territories - in presence of practically the entire galactic press, the contenders got onto the - again holographic - stage which had been created only moments before.

Cilya, who sat right beside the speaking-console, overheard the governor and another official whispering to each other: "Brood….un-natural death …. no risks" and: "after ceremony…. guards… no contact…". She was puzzled by this information, after all, who wouldn't be. However, she did not share it with anyone, simply because of the lack of time: the ceremony was starting.

The events following that moment were all recorded and broadcasted live in pretty much every corner of the galaxy. All viewers, and that number was extremely high since the Race was a major sports-event, all saw a Terran dressed in a sturdy solid-woven black uniform with some gold colored lining across the sides and chest, as well as a golden Eagle right over where the top of his right lung should be, decorating the fabric, walk up to the governor and be presented with the medal representing the first place which he had managed to secure.

After that slowly, with much a due and off course plenty of display and ceremonial time consuming nonsense, the other contestants, apart from the Brood pilot who had tragically perished in the hazardous asteroid field, were presented with their medals.

After the lengthy ceremony - which was effectively hours later in Terran time - everyone was escorted off the stage and informed of what was to happen now:

"My dear contestants" again the high pitched voice of the governor was protruding the eardrums of the pilots, "I regret to inform you that we have started an investigation to the untimely death of your Genus colleague, therefore we would like to ask you all to go to your assigned quarters. There is a chance you will be asked to answer a few questions."

Out of nowhere guards appeared and directed the seven pilots to separate rooms. All of them were separated, and would be unable to communicate with each other or the outside world without permission from the Va'Tal officials.

As Joe entered his quite spacious but to his taste poorly decorated room, he noticed that he didn't hear the footsteps of the guards die away in the hallway next to his room, instead, they stopped as he walked into the room: he was now under guard, a feeling he didn't like, however, he didn't see what he could do to change the situation apart from cooperating with whatever was to come.

And so he sat down on the surprisingly comfortable bed, partly unbuttoned the shirt of his uniform and waited.

Cilya was taken by two guards just a few rooms further down the same hall as the room Delgato had been assigned to. The situation in which she found herself was quite similar: the guards didn't leave when she closed her door, but instead stayed at their post, not moving one muscle. She as well was not lyrical about the design choices made when the room was decorated, however it was not so bad that she could not live with it.

She sat laid down on the bed, placed her lovely head on the soft pillow and crossed her long slender fingers with a worried look on her beautifully formed face, as she wondered what those officials had been whispering about just before the ceremony had started.

Hours passed, and slowly but surely as the pilots one by one fell into a deep sleep, the night fell on the Mothership.