Corinus Lifhe
The buzz was incredibly distracting.
Corinus liked to think he didn’t have the same god complex as the rest of his species. Centaurans, as a people, far preferred to keep themselves out of the way of aliens. It was safer not to become drawn into their posturing and grandstanding, their petty wars and conflicts. Centaurans, thanks to their telepathy, were well positioned to maintain their neutrality in the galaxy, and they went to extreme lengths to do so. No alien had ever stepped foot on the Centauran home world; none of them were even entirely sure where it was. All attempts to pry it out of Corinus’s people had been doomed from the start.
When you could sense your enemy coming from a light year away, did they even qualify as an enemy? Or were they merely an annoyance to be avoided?
Centaurans didn’t completely ignore the larger universe, though. To be overly confident in their telepathic defenses would be the height of irresponsibility. It was overestimating their own abilities that had gotten them noticed by the Thassians in the first place, curse those ever-hungry bounty hunters. Ever since that first contact, the Centaurans had maintained a presence among the powers-that-be as scientists, researchers, and engineers. They used these positions to gather intelligence, anything and everything that would allow them to avoid future conflict, and they learned to read the minds of every sentient species in the galaxy.
Except for Caridians. Even for an alien, their minds were… strange. Multifaceted, like their eyes, and the surface thoughts that Corinus could sense, usually shallow as a petri dish in other species, were as deep and intricate as an ocean in this being. There was no penetrating these thoughts, no looking within. All there was, was what he could see, and all he saw and felt and knew was a heinous buzzing sensation, like there were a hundred people shoved into this creature’s head and all of them were trying to speak at the same time.
“Don’t keep trying. It’s no use.”
Corinus relaxed and anchored his mind on the steady, familiar feel of Dr Yoche’s.
“We will have to listen more with our ears than our minds for the duration of this meeting,” Dr Yoche went on. “But it is vitally important that we do so. Pay attention now.” Thus chided, Corinus refocused on the scene playing out in front of him.
There were two unfamiliar humans, one with the bearing and mental signature of someone who had grown up within the rigid structure of the last surviving Martian colony, the other with a freer, blowsier feel to his mind that was nevertheless military in nature – an Earthling. There was also a Thassian, male, taller than everyone else in the room even while seated, his face serene but his mind constantly edged with thoughts of death and killing. Corinus checked the insignia on the collar of his suit – ah, of course. A high-ranked member of the Thassian Mercenary Guild. No wonder he was so attuned to violence.
The familiar humans were the science director for Torus Station and, of course, Dizzie. Only Corinus, and Dizzie, from what he could glean from their mind, felt truly curious about the Caridian sitting across from them. What did everyone else know that they didn’t?
“Focus, Corinus.”
Dr St Paul spoke first. “I’m sure it doesn’t need to be said, but I’m saying it anyway – what we discuss in this room goes no further. There will be no messages, no media posts, no hints or references or anything else that might compromise the secrecy of this meeting. Understood?”
“Absolutely,” Dizzie said, and Corinus nodded as well. Dr St Paul checked in with Dr Yoche, who inclined his head in agreement.
“Dr Lifhe is a remarkably adept telepath,” Dr Yoche said. “He is perfectly capable of hiding all knowledge of this meeting from anyone who might be curious.”
“Good.” Dr St Paul sat back and gestured to the Earthling Coalition general, who cleared his throat. The Martian commander remained silently at attention as the Earthling Coalition general spoke.
“Six weeks ago, one of our patrol ships made contact with a Caridian ship in a place we didn’t expect to find it. After a brief… miscommunication, we learned that Ix-Nix-Six here traveled into Coalition space with the express purpose of carrying out a scientific mission, one that we’re inclined to let him proceed with.” He cleared his throat again. “I’ll let Mr Six tell you the rest of it himself.”
The Caridian’s mouthparts widened, like they were hinged. Corinus repressed a shudder as he stared at the gaping, feathery maw. Was that a… smile? An attempt at conveying harmlessness? It was not successful.
“Six alone is sufficient, general,” the Caridian said. His voice was actually quite pleasant, like a human chorus singing all at once with one prime voice rising slightly above the others. “And yes, I was greatly fortunate to find a receptive audience for my request, as soon as I assured them that I meant no harm with my sudden appearance.”
“How did you appear so suddenly?” Dizzie asked, completely disregarding the looks the other humans gave them for interrupting. Personally, Corinus was glad they asked – he was curious as well, but didn’t want to open himself up to criticism. “If I recall, Caridians don’t use jump drives.”
“Not as such,” Six agreed. “We prefer to travel long distances via what you call Einstein-Rosen bridges, otherwise known as–”
“Wormholes!” Dizzie sounded thrilled.
“Correct. Our command of them is not quite as precise as we would like, however, and when I emerged from this one, I quickly determined that I was somewhere I wasn’t meant to be.”
There was something about the alien’s demeanor as it said this part, something glib that echoed in the buzz of its mind, that struck Corinus as a lie. He gently pushed the impression toward his mentor and was rewarded with a warm burst of approval.
“As a happy result of this mishap, though, I was able to enter into negotiations with the Coalition very quickly,” Six went on. “As stated, my goal in your space is purely one of scientific exploration. There is a planet approximately five-point-six parsecs from our current location that is of interest to the Caridian people.”
The general reached forward and placed his palm on the tabletop. An image sprang up from it, a distant view of the star system that the alien seemed to be referencing. It was a sparse section of space even for, well, for space. The only star of any note there was a red dwarf, and in close proximity to that was a tiny… surely that was too small to be called a planet! A dwarf planet at best.
“This,” Six said, waving a clawed hand through the image to enlarge and focus on that tiny speck, “is a planet my people call Sik-Tar. That is one of the ways Caridians say ‘signal’, and that is what this planet is broadcasting.”
No one said anything for a moment, all eyes – and minds – trained on Dizzie and Corinus. There was a pageantry at hand here that bothered him, like everyone else already knew the answers and were just waiting for them to catch up.
Why, though? What did a distant, unnoticeable planet have to do with the two of them? Corinus was desperate to speed this up, but he didn’t dare go poking at too many minds with Dr Yoche right there. It would make it seem like Corinus didn’t trust Dr Yoche to keep him informed.
Dizzie was more inclined to play along with the charade. They had a tolerance for putting up with ridiculous human machinations that Corinus had found impossible to match. “And what is that signal transmitting?”
“It’s a distress call,” Six said. “A distress call that has been going off for more than a thousand Coalition-standard years.”
Corinus blinked rapidly. “So long?” he asked, breaking his silent vow to let Dizzie do the talking. “And your people still haven’t answered it?”
“A thousand years ago, Caridians didn’t have the technological expertise to make a journey like that,” Six replied. “Using impulse power, it would have taken us several hundreds of those years to reach the planet, and there was no guarantee that we would find anything there worth the time and expense of such a long journey. Once the technology to reach Sik-Tar more quickly became available to us, new avenues for the assimilation of knowledge and resources also opened up. The Glorious Hegemony decided it was better to pursue more profitable ventures.
“Our people do not make a habit of exploring for the sake of it,” he said, a flatness in his buzzing tone that indicated disapproval. “The Seethe only mobilizes when it sees something it knows will benefit it. Sik-Tar has always been dubbed too much of a risk to be worth the trouble.”
“What changed your mind?” Dizzie asked.
“While the Seethe on the whole has no reason to investigate this distress call, over the course of my lifetime I have personally amassed enough resources to take on the venture myself.” Six’s mandibles clacked excitedly. “I was given permission by our queens to embark on such an exploration, provided I could persuade your peoples to grant me access to your space. The Seethe has no desire for an interstellar incident to result from satisfying my personal curiosity, after all.”
Dizzie glanced at Dr St Paul. “Has the Coalition ever been interested in this place?”
“Before now, we were barely aware of its existence,” the director replied, steepling her fingers as she stared at the hologram of Sik-Tar. “This area is technically Coalition space, but apart from basic stellar mapping we haven’t done much out there. There was never any reason to – no known sentient species live in that quadrant, and basic scanning shows no resources worth our time to go after. That, at least, has changed thanks to your research, Drs Dexter and Lifhe.”
She pulled up a new file, and a string of numbers appeared next to the projection of Sik-Tar. “Look familiar?”
Dizzie nodded. “Those are proportions of atmospheric gases. Nitrogen, oxygen, methane, nitrous oxide… the usual suspects for a planet capable of sustaining most types of life that we’re aware of.”
“Indeed.” Dr St Paul swiped a hand along the numbers until she got to the end of the list. “Plus a number of unknown trace substances that weren’t important enough – or didn’t seem important enough – to track down. We didn’t have references for these last three elements until we did a comparison with your recent findings on the atmospheric compositions of PK-L7 and PK-L10. And this one?” She tapped it, and the final number glowed bright green. “That’s–”
“Xenium,” Dizzie said breathlessly. They glanced at Corinus, excitement clear in their face and thrumming through their body.
Corinus felt rather breathless himself. Could it be that they’d inadvertently assisted in the discovery of another source of Xenium? This was the sort of find that could make a scientist’s reputation for life!
“In an even higher proportion than what you’ve measured in the PK-L system,” Dr St Paul added. “Which makes Sik-Tar of immediate interest to the Coalition.”
The Thassian suddenly snorted. “Just like a human,” he said, the elegant arch of his high forehead making him seem like he was looking down on all of them. “And all those infected with your greed. You only give something a second glance when it is either profitable or persecutable.”
Corinus bristled, both at the insult to Dizzie and the insinuation that he and his advisor were anything like a human – because to be fair, most humans were like that – but quelled at the sense of warning he got from Dr Yoche.
“If we’re so offensive to you, you don’t have to be here,” the Martian commander finally snapped, his jaw working like he wished he had something to gnaw on. “We brought you in as a courtesy, Leader Pavul, and we can disinvite you just as fast.”
“And provoke war with the Thassian people? I think not.”
“Here you are talking about us like we’re the greedy ones, when your entire culture is consumed with selling itself for goods,” the Martian continued. “How many of you are mercenaries, huh? How many of you fight in our battles and hunt down our enemies because your own planet doesn’t satisfy your bloodlust anymore? Talk about greed – you blackmailed your way into this meeting in the first place, don’t think I don’t know how you found out about Ix-Nix-Six, and if you–”
“You were not going to share the information willingly, that much was clear!” Leader Pavul said. “An opportunity like this must be extended to everyone involved equally, or else it is no opportunity at all!”
“Gentlemen,” Dr St Paul said, setting both hands down flat on the table. The holographic image disappeared. “We’re getting off track. No matter how we got to the point where we are now, the fact is, we’re here. Let’s stay focused on the objective.” She looked back at Six. “If you would continue, Six.”
“I would be most pleased to, director.” Six’s antennae dipped in what might have been a nod or a salute. “I have taken the liberty of asking for a Coalition-sponsored expedition to Sik-Tar to be assembled. I will personally provide for the cost of the fuel to both get there and return, in exchange for the assistance of able researchers in uncovering the source of this signal and its significance to my people. For your help, I and the Seethe at large will forgo all claims to any natural resources on Sik-Tar that are not entwined with the source of the signal.”
Meaning that any Xenium found on the planet is the Coalition’s for the taking. Corinus knew what he and Dizzie were doing here now. They were the closest thing the Coalition had to experts on Xenium, even though they’d never so much as seen it in person before.
“Your presence in particular, Dr Drexler, is nonnegotiable,” Six went on. “Upon reading a selection of your papers since my arrival here, it is clear to me that you are ideally positioned for a venture of this sort. If there are volatile chemical compounds to be found on this planet, I don’t want to accidentally endanger anyone through my ignorance.”
Dizzie blinked for a moment like a confused Centauran as they were caught off guard. “I’m flattered you think so, but you should know I’ve never been involved in elaborate fieldwork before.” Corinus felt a smidgeon of resentment accompanying that statement, one he knew well.
“But you are willing to make the journey, are you not?” Six pressed. “As I said, if you are not a member of my team, then I will be less inclined to pursue this course of action. I feel it is imperative that I have full Coalition support before making the very expensive journey to Sik-Tar.”
The writing on the wall, as humans sometimes put it, was clear. There would be no trip to Sik-Tar without Dizzie. That would mean no chance at the Xenium there for as long as it took the Coalition to actually make a decision about sending a team out there themselves to research it, which, given their inability to agree on almost anything, could take years. Corinus already knew that he and his fellow Centaurans wouldn’t be part of any such investigation on their own. There were far too many risks involved.
If Dizzie said no, though, they would be destroying their career. Not that there was any chance of Dizzie saying no. Corinus could feel their excitement growing with every second. Just as the director opened her mouth to take the decision out of Dizzie’s hands, Dizzie spoke up.
“I would be honored to be a member of your team.” Their voice was strong and clear, approbation on full display. “I promise I’ll perform to the very best of my ability on this venture.”
Six’s mandibles clacked so quickly it could have been applause. “Wonderful! I’m very glad to hear that. I think we might also–”
Dizzie held up a hand, white lab coat falling halfway down their forearm. “I do have a condition, though.”
Anger swelled up in the other humans in the room – understandable given Dizzie’s insistence on making a demand despite their status as an underling. Corinus was surprised to feel apprehension from Dr Yoche, though.
“Please speak it,” Six said.
“I must insist on including Dr Lifhe in the expedition.” They gestured to Corinus, and now it was his turn to blink rapidly. He was confused, he was surprised, he was a little horrified… and also rather pleased. “Dr Lifhe has proven himself to be an excellent researcher for as long as we’ve worked together and will be instrumental in helping me discover the source of the Xenium. I worry that I might not be able to fulfill my role in the mission without him,” they went on, blithely ignoring the discomfort on the other humans’ faces.
Surprisingly, it was Leader Pavul who spoke up first. “I am in favor of this. Having another non-human as part of the crew will improve my trust in the expedition.”
“Another non-human?” Dizzie asked. “You mean Six?”
“I mean the protector that I will be assigning you and this mission on behalf of the Thassian people, and our interests,” Leader Pavul said.
“Oh.” Dizzie’s momentary confusion lightened. “That would be great! I’ve never spent much time with Thassians before; our specialties don’t intersect much. I’m sure we’ll have the chance to learn a lot about each other.”
“You will be fortunate to learn from one of our most exemplary protectors,” Leader Pavul said. There was something in the way he said it… Corinus didn’t know why, but all of a sudden he felt like a bug had crawled down the middle of his back.
“This is all dependent on Dr Lifhe actually wanting to go to Sik-Tar, of course,” Dr Yoche interjected. “Which is not something I will require or even encourage him to do. The decision is solely up to him.”
“Of course,” Dizzie agreed. Corinus could tell they were doing their best to control their emotions, to not let them leak out and influence Corinus. It was an admirable attempt, but he could still sense the excitement and beneath it, the anxiety that surrounded this potential voyage, all those emotions now centered on Corinus. If he said no, Dizzie would be devastated.
He couldn’t do that to them.
“I’ll go,” he said, and the burst of happiness from Dizzie was almost enough to drown out the resignation he felt from Dr Yoche. “It is an unparalleled research opportunity.”
If he said it enough, he might even be able to ignore the fact that it was also an unparalleled danger.
“Wonderful!” Six’s antennae practically danced, and although his thoughts were as opaque as ever, Corinus was quite sure that the alien was feeling… satisfaction. “Now we have only to finalize the last two members of the crew, and then we can leave for Sik-Tar.”
Corinus was taken aback. “Surely an expedition of this scope requires a significant planning period?” he said. “We need to think about equipment, supplies, logistics–”
“All taken care of!” Six said.
“We’ll ensure that you have everything you need for an extended stay,” Dr St Paul said, her calm, measured tone matched by the serenity of her mind. Corinus focused on her so that he could borrow some of her composure. “You’ll get a chance to review the supply lists, of course, but speed is of the essence for all of us. We don’t want word to get out about a potential new source of Xenium, especially when the element has proven so unpredictable.” The director stared at both of them, her demeanor going from calm to stern. “Proper containment protocols must be followed at all times; do you understand me?”
“Of course,” Dizzie said. “We’ll make sure everyone understands.”
“Good.” Dr St Paul turned to the Martian commander. “As for the last members of the team, they’re being provided by Mars. We’re still working out the… details on them. The two of them are–”
Dr Yoche unexpectedly spoke up. “As Dr Lifhe is the subordinate scientist on this mission, I am comfortable ceding the decision-making from here on out to Dr Drexler. Dr Lifhe and I will begin a census of his laboratory and determine what to do with his current experiments, if that’s all right with you, Dr Drexler.”
“Of course,” Dizzie said, happy to let them leave for Corinus’s sake and just as happy to stay and learn as much as they could for their own sake. “It’s fine with me.”
“Go ahead,” Dr St Paul confirmed. Corinus followed his advisor’s lead, inclining his head to the assemblage before turning and leaving on his hind feet. Once the door closed behind them, though, Dr Yoche fell to all fours with a sigh. His mind was shielded, a trait that all Centaurans mastered in their youth, but Corinus didn’t need to use his telepathy to see that his elder was unsettled.
“Shall we…”
“No words,” Dr Yoche said gently, shaking his head. “Not here. Let’s go to your lab and get started.” The lab had similar shielding to the Dark Room.
“Surely we can speak like this.”
“Not. Here,” Dr Yoche reiterated, and now Corinus started to get concerned. Who was going to be able to hear them if they spoke telepathically? There were no other Centaurans on Torus Station, and no Kolbani here either. Obedient as ever, though, Corinus kept his silence as they were picked up by the transport, as they sped back out to the end of the spoke where Corinus and Dizzie’s lab was, and as he unlocked the door to the office beside it and ushered his mentor through.
They couldn’t meet in the far-more-secure lab, unfortunately. According to the rules governing the Torus, Corinus couldn’t enter their lab without Dizzie – ostensibly because they were the senior scientist, but also because the humans who ran the station weren’t quite as trusting of Centaurans as they could have been. It was galling to be singled out like that, but Corinus’s interest in Xenium had been encouraged by Dr Yoche, not only because it was a useful mineral, but because someone needed to keep track of what the human scientists knew about it. Research was research, whether you were looking into crystal microstructures or people’s minds.
Only after the door was firmly closed behind them did Dr Yoche begin to speak, his words sounding as wary as his thoughts.
“We don’t know what Caridians are capable of,” he said bluntly. “They possess no outward indicators of telepathy, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have it. I had no success reading Ix-Nix-Six’s mind. Did you do any better?”
“Not really,” Corinus said apologetically. “Just a general feeling, here and there. Nothing at all comprehensible in terms of words.”
“I don’t like that,” Dr Yoche said gravely. “And I don’t like that the Coalition was so quick to agree to allow this Caridian access to a planet they’ve never been concerned with before.”
“But they didn’t know about the Xenium…” Corinus tried to protest, but it was weak. To him, the Coalition’s actions made sense.
“All the better that they didn’t know about it! What has Xenium proven to be other than a lure and a curse?” Dr Yoche shook his head and began pacing across the office, his eyelids fluttering with anxiety. “Your research is as comprehensive as it can be, but there is still so much we don’t know about this element. It has wrought wonders and terrors, and I’d say the balance of that tips on the side of terror. The Xenos who spring up wherever Xenium has been found are killing machines, and none of you, apart from whoever the Thassians provide for the expedition, have any experience as fighters. If worst comes to worst… I fear for your life, Corinus.”
Corinus swallowed hard, his throat clicking dryly in a way that reminded him of Six. “I don’t have to go,” he said, changing his mind as easily as he’d originally agreed to go, in the face of his advisor’s warning. “I could stay here and keep running the experiments and… and…”
But he knew he couldn’t. There was no way he’d be allowed to keep the lab going without Dizzie. They trusted him, but the people in charge of the Torus didn’t. If he didn’t go along on this mission with Dr Drexler, he’d lose his access to the lab and lose his utility to his people.
No. He had to go. “I think I’ll be all right,” he said, trying to sound convincing. “After all, there is a tremendous potential to learn so much, which can’t be ignored with this mission. Not only about the Xenium, but about the Caridians themselves. You heard his description of the Seethe, the Glorious Hegemony. They are many, and they are powerful, and there are valuable secrets at work here.”
Dr Yoche nodded grimly. “I suppose. How did such an identifiable signal of theirs get so far from their territory, when he already admitted that their species didn’t have the technology to make the trip at that time? What is the nature of this signal? What wavelength does it broadcast on? Could this be a ploy by the Caridians to establish an outpost in Coalition space, with our unwitting assistance?”
“I don’t know,” Corinus admitted.
“We can’t know,” Dr Yoche said. “Not the way that we’re used to knowing, not with our telepathy. Not yet, at least. You may learn how to decipher his mental noises, but it will take time and familiarity. I don’t like it” – he closed his eyes for a long moment – “but I suppose you’re right. The benefits to our people to understand both the Caridians and Xenium are worth the risks of your participation.”
He leaned in close to Corinus, nudging their faces together in a Centauran embrace. “Do not make yourself vulnerable to the Caridian in any way,” he said firmly. “You must first and foremost prioritize your own survival on this mission – ahead of everyone else, even Dr Drexler.”
Corinus reared back, but Dr Yoche grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him in close again. “I know you are close to them, but you must not give in to your softer emotions. Nothing is more important than the survival of our people. Is that not correct?”
“It is,” Corinus whispered. “Of course it is.”
“Of course.” Dr Yoche nodded. “Only those who remember their role in the greater good are permitted to remain in the company of aliens, Dr Lifhe. Your loyalty has come under question several times recently.”
Corinus was shocked. “But why? I’ve never done anything to betray our peoples’ best interests!”
“You haven’t shared all the information about PK-L7 and your research that you could, either.” Dr Yoche sent him a quelling thought even as Corinus began to object. “And I understand why. I told them that you are a thorough scientist and will not present any information to our ruling council that you can’t be sure is correct. Nevertheless, it’s easy to feel your attachment to Dr Drexler. You admire them greatly.”
“I… yes, but…”
“They are your tool.”
It wasn’t true, though. Dizzie was so much more than that – they were a brilliant scientist who was capable of looking at the world in an expansive way, opening Corinus’s mind to possibilities he’d never have seen otherwise. To think of Dizzie as nothing more than a tool for him to use to gain covert information felt wrong.
He knew that wasn’t what Dr Yoche wanted to hear, though. “They are my tool,” he agreed.
“You will protect yourself above all others on this journey.”
“I will put myself first.”
“You will discover as much as you can about the Caridians and their intentions toward this part of space. If necessary, you will sabotage this mission to ensure that they don’t gain a foothold in our space.”
Corinus whimpered. “Sabotage?”
What, ruin an experiment or get someone else hurt or even… or even… get them killed? Maybe get himself killed in the process? Was he not supposed to put his own life first? How could he do that if they all died on distant Sik-Tar?
“If you can’t promise to do this, you will not be allowed to go,” Dr Yoche said, his mind and tone equally implacable. “I hope with all my heart that it won’t come to such lengths, but if it does, we need to be able to trust that you’ll do the right thing.”
Of course they did. “I will do everything you ask,” Corinus assured his mentor. “I promise. Nothing will escape my notice, and I’ll learn everything I can about Ix-Nix-Six without putting myself at undue risk. And if the worst comes to the worst, I will make sure that–” Corinus’s eyelids were fluttering so fast now the room looked shrouded “–that the alien doesn’t get the chance to bring any harm to Centaurans.”
Dr Yoche bumped their foreheads together in approval. “Excellent,” he congratulated Corinus. Warm approbation flooded his mind like a hot bath, and Corinus sighed and closed his eyes, taking the time to enjoy the sensation. “Your behavior is exemplary, as usual. I’ll make sure you’re rewarded properly for this when you return, Dr Lifhe. Perhaps it’s time to negotiate for your own lab, hmm?”
Corinus hmm’ed back, ignoring the sick pit of doubt that had opened in his second stomach. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to do anything other than what he’d already planned on – conducting experiments on Xenium with Dizzie.
If he was really lucky, this expedition would be nothing but a… what did Dizzie call it? A “wild goose chase”.
For the first time in his scientific career, Corinus earnestly hoped for poor results.