A Holiday on the High Stars

A Holiday on the High Stars

A Novelette By Andre Ricardo

 

“A fake tree,” Chris repeated himself. His translator apparatus emitted the high-pitched chirps and low-rumbling burbles of the Yuldani language.

The Yuldan shopkeeper looked up at Chris with confusion in his deep, dark eyes. He leaned back on his thick tail to use his forelimbs to gesture at some tiny trees in ornamental ceramic pots.

“No, those are real trees, right?” Chris tried to explain. “I want an artificial one. Something I don’t have to water.”

“We don’t have fake trees. Only real miniature Tulma trees,” the shopkeeper’s translator apparatus said in English.

“Yeah, don’t those grow super tall? And their leaves get to be as wide as I am tall.”

“You misunderstand, sir. These are miniature Tulma trees. Won’t grow more than a few viir tall.”

“How many viir is a few viir?” Chris asked impatiently.

The shopkeeper stroked his furry white chin. “About eight viir at the tallest. Most get to around six.”

Chris thought for a moment as he translated the Artifine standard measurement into American measurements he was more familiar with. “So, a little over a foot,” he said to himself.

“Foot? It would easily grow over your feet. Since you’re bipedal, it might reach up to your knees.”

“What? Oh no, sorry. I’m from Earth. A foot is a unit of measurement. That’s why I want a fake tree, we Earthlings have a tradition where we hang ornaments on a fake tree to celebrate a religious figure of ours. It’s called Christmas.”

The Yuldan’s bare, pinkish face lit up with excitement. “Ah! Like Kippirido!”

“What’s that?” Chris asked.

“We Yuldan are a very religious people. Our holy text, the Kippirik, which unifies all Yuldan wherever they are, must be written on the leaves of a Tulma tree. A real Tulma, big one, like you were thinking of. Tulmas are very important to us Yuldan. We’ve lived in and around Tulmas our whole history, and prehistory. That’s why our home planet is called Tulmana, which means Tulma place, or Tulma world.”

“Very interesting. Us Earthlings named our planet after dirt. So, what’s Kipirdo?”

“No, not Kipirdo, Kippirido. It’s a holiday that lasts a Tulmanan month where the finest and roundest leaves are chosen to be turned into a new Kippirik by a Reader. The rest of the leaves are painted many colors by the rest of the community while the Reader assembles the Kippirik, so that when the arduous work of writing a Kippirik is done, the Reader is blessed by the community with a beautiful, colorful forest of Tulmas.”

“Fascinating. Say, it might not be the right time, but do you have any paint I could use on one of the miniature trees?” Chris asked. “Christmas only comes once a year for us Earthlings, so I don’t know if Kippirido is the same way.”

“Of course, you can have some paint,” the shopkeeper said cheerfully before shuffling over on his hind limbs and tail to a wooden drawer that he opened and sifted through with his long, strong forelimbs. “Kippirido can happen any point in time. It’s up to the Readers. Always need to be prepared. In the big cities, where there are metal buildings and us Yuldan don’t live in trees anymore, the people will buy miniature trees and decorate them for their own homes when it is Kippirido. Always good business for me when that happens. Here you go.”

“Thank you, how much extra is that?”

“Nothing extra. Enjoy your Christmas,” the shopkeeper waggled his head from side to side in the same way a human might shake it.

“Well, thanks again. I’ll take that one,” Chris selected a Tulma tree.

“Very good. To the counter please,” the shopkeeper carried the tree over with one hand while using the other to walk over to the counter, which sat at around Chris’s knees. He squatted down to meet the Yuldan at face level.

“Three hundred and twenty-seven Hydros, sir.”

Chris paid the shopkeeper and took his new houseplant and paint with him out the door of the shop. A gust of warm, humid air blew past him. He walked carefully past quadrupedal Yuldan who strutted down the street with shoes and gloves covering their hands and feet, long tails swinging back and forth as they moved. Chris thought they looked like some animals back home on Earth. Something like a cross between a kangaroo and a monkey. Most wore very little clothing, typically a sash across their body, given they had a layer of fur covering most of their bodies aside from their face, feet, and hands. Chris almost wanted to join them in their more tropical attire, as he immediately started to sweat again under his cargo pants and old t-shirt after being plunged back into the muggy climate of Kulido, one of the first worlds the Yuldan settled after leaving their home planet of Tulmana.

As he entered the station for Kulido’s transport network, he spied a Reader preaching to an audience of Yuldan atop a pedestal made of Tulma wood. He wore an elaborate robe of gold and red and held his copy of the Kippirik high in the air. Two Readers in training, both wearing robes of green, watched intently at his side. Chris squeezed into the transport car, which was just slightly too short for him and filled with Yuldan and a few other aliens. Sapients, Chris reminded himself. You don’t call aliens aliens, you call them sapients. At least that’s what his father told him, and his father had years of experience dealing with sapients from all across the Artifine Coalition from his prestigious job as a Senator for Earth.

“Kuudka ta Bid. Kulido Jima-nardak,” the train announced in Yuldani.

“Darn,” Chris said to himself and checked his translator apparatus. “Out of juice.”

The train slowed to a stop and its doors opened to what Chris recognized as the station for the spaceport. Chris slithered out of the train between Yuldan passengers and started walking back to where his ship was docked.

“I’m going to guess that Jima-nardak must mean spaceport in Yuldani then, since Kulido is the name of the planet. Maybe Kuudka ta Bid means the train is stopping,” Chris whispered to himself. “You learn something new every day.”

Kulido spaceport was small, but adequate for its time. It was a relic from the days when ships would land on the planet itself instead of docking at a spaceport in orbit above the planet. Much of Kulido’s long history in Yuldan hands could be seen through the old spaceport. Most of it was made from metal, but a few parts were still made out of hardened clay, the traditional building material of the Yuldan’s surface constructions, and tradition clearly meant a lot to the Yuldan. Even the metal replacements were embossed with the same traditional carvings and pictographs as the old clay structures would have had long ago.

At last, Chris was reunited with his ship. He flew a Fix-Rosh SH2500-Class star hauler. A modest vessel for a modest man. Some would see his ship as just a stepping stone towards something bigger and better, but Chris had learned to appreciate his star hauler for its reliability and familiarity. Plus, since so many of them were made, replacement parts were never in short supply, should they even be needed. He rode a thin elevator up the ship’s airlock tube and into his living quarters. Galileo waited for him inside and let loose a demanding yowl for food.

“Easy,” Chris said to his cat. “I’m back now. Now no chewing on this. I need it for Christmas. And I don’t know if it’s toxic to cats. Alien plants and all that.”

Galileo, immediately ignoring Chris’s request, began chewing on the leaves of the Tulma tree the second Chris set it down and turned his back.

“No!” Chris shouted. “Bad!”

Chris picked the Tulma back up, closed Galileo inside the living quarters of the ship, and placed the tree in the ship’s cockpit. It wasn’t quite the starship cockpit Chris had seen in old movies as a kid, filled with flashing buttons and controls and windows that offered perfect visibility of the infinite void of space. Rather, there were no windows, and most of the ship’s functions were controlled by a computer. Manual controls existed, in the form of a control stick that controlled the power output to the ship’s plasma thrusters, but Chris hadn’t used it, instead preferring to just let the autopilot sort things out for him. All he had to do was enter a destination in the ship’s navigation computer.

Chris did just that, entering the next place on his route. He’d just finished selling off some medical supplies on Kulido, and now had to head to Heshlin, a Halsar planet to pick up some handcrafted toys he would sell to a distributor on Artitur. After that, it would be Christmas, and Chris would spend the day with his family. Not physically, but through a video call over the Artinet.

Then again, perhaps his father would be on Artitur. As a Senator, Chris’s father Tom spent most of his time on the Artifine capital arguing over budget cuts. Maybe he could see at least one of his family members.

“Hi dad,” Chris dictated into his quancom. “I’m going to be picking up some toys from Heshlin to sell on Artitur tomorrow so I will be there for Christmas. Was planning on calling you, mom, and Sally over the Artinet, but if you wanted to meet then that would be nice. If you’re too busy that’s ok, I guess.”

 

Tom scanned the Senate Chambers. Hundreds of delegates from every corner of the Artifine Coalition sat and voted on the mundane measures put forth for this cycle. A Halsar representative took the podium.

“Piracy has become rampant around Heshlin,” the reptilian representative said sorrowfully. “Our resources have been spread too thin as of late due to the recent economic issues. The Halsar Confederacy’s budget only permits that we keep our fleets docked, as sending them out on regular patrol would consume too much of our strategic hydrogen reserves. I am putting forth a request to this Senate for a security detachment to be deployed in the Esh’Tor system, where the planet Heshlin is located, to root out these outlaws.”

Tom thought for a moment about the price tag of this endeavor.

“Burrus, run the numbers for me. How much will all this cost?” Tom asked his robotic assistant.

“A standard security detachment comprises a fleet of two Respondent-class automated cruisers, five Coalition-class automated destroyers, seven Mufrun-class automated frigates, three infantry divisions, a surveillance corps unit, five brigades of ground police, a gravity sensor array, as well as all the hydrogen necessary to keep the fusion reactors running for all necessary equipment. This would cost the Artifine budget 48 billion Hydros for one rotation of service, at the current rate.”

“There’s no way we can pay for this,” Tom said under his breath as he stood up.

“Senator for the Halsar Confederacy, I am a Senator for the United Nations. Your plea resonates with me, as a citizen of the Artifine Coalition, for all people of the Coalition are suffering under the same economic crisis. The fact of the matter is that the economic downturn due to the outbreak of the Findalian Civil War and the loss of our strongest trading partner seven rotations ago has not fully ended, and the hydrogen shortage you are feeling now impacts us all. All this security detachment would do is place the burden of protecting your trade routes onto all of us.”

The Halsar representative’s tongue lashed. “Indeed. Isn’t this Coalition built on mutual cooperation? When one of us struggles, it is the responsibility of the rest to assist them. That is the strength of the Artifine system.”

“Correct, but this system is also constructed in a way that Constituents of the Artifine Coalition are allowed and encouraged to self-govern, even field their own militaries to respond to internal and external threats. This protects our sovereignty as Constituents, rather than dependencies, to not be reliant on a centralized power for protection. Piracy, while an issue that threatens all of the Coalition, is up to you to control within your own borders.”
“Senators for the Confederacy and the United Nations. I am a Senator for the Yuldan Sacred Union,” a Yuldan representative joined the fray. “I can see truth in both of your statements. The Coalition is indeed an alliance of mutual benefit, yet also one where that benefit must sometimes come at the burden of others, and that burden is shouldered with the knowledge that it shall be repaid in benefit in the future. However, I fear that the decision to send a security detachment is ultimately up to the Artifine themselves, as their forces are under their sole control. I open this discussion to a Senator for the Artifine Core.”

The attention of the Senate Chambers turned to the Artifine’s box. A sleek, metal man rose from his seat in a precise, flowing motion.

“The Senator for the Yuldan is correct. Fleet movements are a decision ultimately up to the General Staff. However, to honor our democratic principles, I compel all in this body to vote on the matter. I will personally relay news of a successful vote to the General Staff and do my best to compel them. No further deliberation,” the Artifine said in a smooth, well-toned voice.

Tom watched the votes tally on his screen. 302 in favor. 389 against. 32 abstaining. Just another day at the office.

“Senate Proceedings are concluded for this cycle,” the Artifine Senator announced.

“Bene. Let’s head home, Burrus,” Tom said.

He packed all his belongings back into his bag and passed it to Burrus, who diligently carried it for the rest of the trip. Tom couldn’t understate the handiness of a personal robot. Burrus could do almost anything and seemed happy to do it. He was even good conversation while Tom was on Artitur away from his family back on Earth.

Tom stepped down the stairs of the Senate Chambers and back outside into Coalition Square. Thousands of sapients from across the galaxy explored the landmark. Samples of art from all the Constituents of the Coalition were arranged in a circular pattern. Tom walked past a replica of the Polsop Pilso, a Syulip sculpture of one of their cephalopod kind. The sculpture’s tentacles splayed up towards the glass dome of Artitur. Next to the Polsop Pilso was a Halsar stone rubbing in a glass case. The multicolored red and tan clay of Hal’Forek stained a porous rock with swirling patterns. Past the stone rubbing was a familiar sight and a product of one of Tom’s people, both a fellow human, and an Italian. A model of Michelangelo’s David stood with his focused expression, as if he knew he had to look his best to represent the newest member of the Artifine Coalition.

Tom paid for his fare on Artitur’s all-encompassing travel network and entered a pod with Burrus. He looked out the window at the shimmering towers of Artitur, the proud capital of the Coalition. Artitur had started off as the linking of the ancient ark-ships the Artifine used to escape their home planet, Tur, before it was destroyed by its own star. From there, Artitur had been built on top of itself so many times that it was now the size of a dwarf planet and housed 20 billion sapients across its many layers, all stabilized by the largest artificial gravity array and climate filtration system in the galaxy. Occasionally, rainclouds formed up at the top of the glass dome. Tom could see a few forming on the horizon.

Tom idly checked his quancom and turned his notifications back on, having silenced them during senate proceedings. His son’s message sat at the top of his screen. The world “Heshlin” twisted his stomach.

 

The ship’s leap drive made knots in Chris’s gut, though not nearly as much as when he started hauling cargo.

“Entering the Esh’Tor system. Destination: Heshlin Spaceport orbiting the planet Heshlin,” the ship’s computer announced.

“Tell me about Heshlin,” Chris commanded.

“Heshlin is a planet colonized by the Halsar Confederacy, one of the original Constituents of the Artifine Coalition. In your regional dating system, Heshlin was first settled in 1830 A.D. Heshlin’s primary exports are food and traditional crafted goods. Primary imports include building materials and medicine. In recent history, Heshlin’s crime rate has increased due to the lingering presence of piracy.”

“Piracy?” Chris asked.

“Indeed. Pirates have used Heshlin’s status as a periphery planet to establish hidden bases across the planet and in nearby asteroids and dwarf planets. Currently, the Coalition’s police network is working in tandem with the Confederacy to apprehend these criminals with limited success.”

“Well, at least I’m not carrying anything valuable to them,” Chris said to himself. “Put her down.”

“Understood,” the computer said. The ship’s thrusters increased in power and hurtled the craft towards the spaceport.

 

Tom scrolled through reports of crime around Heshlin and the greater Esh’Tor system accessed from the Artifine Department of Judicial Affairs. According to one source, up to sixty percent of all crimes, ship-related or not, were connected to one of the many pirate groups operating in the Coalition. Most of them were high-profile criminal organizations like Bezg-Dadol, the Duo, or the Ringlings, but a substantial amount were smaller organizations, even some home-baked ones from Heshlin itself. One harrowing statistic said that one in twenty vessels fell victim to a pirate attack, with two in three of those attackers getting away free. Worse yet, pirates seemed brazen enough to operate large, heavily armed vessels instead of the usual speedy, light crafts found in other systems. A report from the Heshlin Security Division said that pirates have been seen operating vessels the size of battleships.

“Burrus, you mind going to a store? I need something to cook for Chris tomorrow,” Tom called out into his spacious Capital District apartment.

“Certainly. What would you like me to purchase? When should I have it prepared by?”

“No, no, I want to make it. Just get the ingredients, and I don’t know, something ‘festive.’ Back home on Earth, we’d normally have lasagna on Christmas, but I don’t think you’ll find that here in an Artitur food market. You pick.”

“I’ll try my best, Mr. Baliani.”

“You never don’t,” Tom said as his robot left the apartment.

The senator let out a deep sigh. He rubbed his forehead to try to quiet his mind. After that didn’t work, he pulled out his quancom and gave his wife a call.

“Hello, Tom,” Katy said.

“Hi,” Tom replied.

“What is it?” Katy asked.

“What is it? Ha, nothing. Just wanted to see how things are. How is Christmas Eve?”

“Fine. Boring,” Katy said. “Now, spit it out, what is it? You never call just to have a chat, so something must be up.”

Tom momentarily tried to come up with an excuse but decided to just capitulate and move on.

“Chris is coming. Here. To Artitur. For Christmas,” Tom said choppily.

“Oh,” Katy said, surprised. “Well, that’s wonderful. I suppose.”

“Yeah, yeah, very excited. He wanted to call you and Sally, so expect that tomorrow.”

“Alright, sounds good.”

“Yeah,” Tom trailed off. “He’s making a delivery here.”

“Cool,” Katy said with a bit of annoyance, waiting for Tom to finally spit out what he was trying to say.

“Said he’s coming from Heshlin,” Tom finally said.

“Neat, I don’t know where that is.”

“That’s funny, I just heard about it today in the Senate, actually. Evidently, there are a lot of pirates in that system so I’ve been looking up some things and sure enough, there are,” Tom said rapidly, tension apparent in his voice.

“Oh, that’s terrible. And so, I take it you’re worried he’ll be attacked by them now?” Katy asked, finally understanding Tom’s reason for calling.

“Worried? Well, yes. I don’t know what he’s thinking. ‘Oh, let me just fly my barge through the most pirate-infested system in the Coalition and then pop by to see Papa for Christmas right afterward,’” Tom mocked.

“I know and believe me if there was anything you or I could have done to try and stop him from doing something so below his caliber we would have,” Katy said.

“It’s just,” Tom started to say. “It’s just we never have to worry about Sally being attacked by pirates, like what?”

“I know,” Katy said firmly. “Speaking of Sally, she just finished finals for the year on the 22^nd.”

“Oh, great,” Tom said. “I bet that’s a relief to be all done. I remember how stressful finals used to be for me. Just one semester to go for her now.”

“So do I,” Katy said. “Pulled way too many all-nighters than what’s healthy.”

“Oh, I remember,” Tom chuckled. “We shared a lot of energy drinks those nights.”

“And paid for it around 11 am the next day.”

The two both laughed over their shared memories of sleepless youth.

“Alright, well I’ll let you get back to it,” Katy said.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “You too.”

 

 

The ship lurched slightly, and Chris heard a rumble. Alarms blared.

“Warning, foreign object has attached to outer hull.”

Chris darted to the ship’s controls and scanned the various camera feeds of outside the ship. Most were of just the metal hull and the infinite void of outer space, but one showed a cable lodged in his ship’s frame. Chris moved the camera on the display and saw the origin of the cable. A massive battleship had fired its boarding cable into Chris’s ship. Several escort vessels swarmed to barricade Chris from escaping.

“Alert. Incoming signal from Pugguran vessel.”

“Pugguran?” Chris asked the computer, confused. “This ship is Pugguran?”

“Correct. Signal origin is from the NRMC Coddof, a Warnuff-class battleship belonging to the Pugguran National Republican Navy.”

“But– That doesn’t make any sense,” Chris said while putting on his freshly charged translator apparatus. “Whatever, patch it through.”

The screen projected the gnarled face of a human cyborg. Half his face was still flesh and blood, while the other was a patchwork of cybernetic replacements. His cyborg eye turned and focused on Chris.

“Greetings. This is Captain Kash of the Prancing Poodle. Whatever goods you are hauling are now forfeit. Open your airlock or my men will pry it open for you.”

“What?” Chris said, flabbergasted. “You’re a pirate? Using a Pugguran battleship?”

“Not your turn to be asking questions. Open the airlock,” Captain Kash said with a toothy grin, half of those teeth being metal.

“For sure,” Chris said while pressing his thumb down on the button to open the rear airlock. “But you might want to pick your targets better in the future. I don’t think there’s anything your type would like.”

“Captain, he opened the airlock,” said a high-pitched voice from off screen.

“Smart man. And what type is that my nameless fellow?” Kash asked.

“Pirates, clearly,” Chris responded. “And the name is Chris.”

“Oh!” Kash covered his mouth with a cybernetic hand. “Pirates! Why, I’m offended. We aren’t pirates, Chris. Bah!”

“Well, you’re hijacking my ship, stealing my cargo, and doing so while in a spaceship. If it looks like piracy, it might just be piracy.”

“There’s a flaw in that logic. We’re not pirates, we’re adventurers. Freedom fighters. Rebels.”

Chris could hear the interior airlock slide open and a group of invaders climb onto his ship.

“Say, Kash, looks like your folks are here. Got to go break the bad news to them that this ship is only hauling handmade toys, and not a pile of miscellaneous jewels and gold doubloons. If you want to continue this conversation, why don’t you pop on over? Door’s open.”

Chris shut off the display and opened the door of the cockpit. Three burly pirates huddled around the door of the ship’s cargo hold trying to unlock it.

“Be a bit easier if you had the key. Let me get that for you,” Chris said.

The pirates whirled around and brandished their plasma pistols at him.

“Easy,” Chris said with his hands up. “It’ll be hard to get me to cooperate if I’m dead.”

Chris walked past the outlaws and entered the code to the cargo hold. The pirates scurried inside the second the door opened. Their enthusiasm died down as they saw what they had just risked their lives for.

“Congrats. You just raided Santa’s sleigh and ruined Christmas. No toys for good boys and girls on Artitur.”

“What?” one pirate nearly burst a blood vessel in his face of white-hot fury.

“Little joke to myself,” Chris said.

“I’m not laughing, clown,” another pirate said with his finger on the trigger.

“Oy!” came a voice that had just entered the cargo hold. “No killing anyone over a difference in senses of humor.”

The pirates holstered their pistols and put their hands behind their backs in a martial stance.

“Is this true? You’re only hauling toys?” Captain Kash asked in all his cybernetic splendor.

“Yessir,” Chris replied. “Welcome on board, captain.”

The captain stomped about the cargo hold and sifted through the piles of wooden knick-knacks, intent on finding something. His mumbling curses grew louder with each box he opened and fiddled around in.

“Need any help?” Chris asked.

“No!” Kash bellowed. “What is the identification number of this ship?”

“Uhh, don’t know it off the top of my head, give me a second,” Chris scrolled through his quancom until he found a screenshot of the ship’s ID. “AC-UN-9982-34-2320938.”

Kash pulled a scrap of paper out of one of his many pockets and read it over a few times. “Felgras, that fool. We were supposed to hit AC-UN-9982-34-2320928 not 38,” the sound of Kash’s cybernetic leg stamping the ship’s metal hull echoed across the cargo hold.

“Easy mistake. Happens to the best of us. You don’t know how many times I’ve entered that in wrong and had to completely resubmit documentation for this ship,” Chris said.

The cargo hold was quiet again as the captain thought. The ship’s climate control whirred. One of the pirates, a large, bearlike alien, huffed in and out short gulps of air.

“You want to wrap this up? I still have time not to miss Christmas.”

“Christmas? That your sister or something?”

“No, it’s a holiday.”

“You named a holiday after yourself?” Confusion tamed Kash’s anger.

“What? Oh no, I’m kind of named after the holiday. Or at least the guy the holiday is named for.”

Kash’s confusion had only grown from this explanation.

“So, my name is Chris, short for Cristiano, my father’s Italian and Catholic. I was gonna meet him on Artitur but he might be too busy with the Senate like he always is. Hell, I might be the one that’s late for once since I’m being held up with this nonsense. Anyways, Cristiano is the Italian version of the name Christian, which means ‘follower of Christ,’ and Christ is a religious figure on Earth who–“

“Shut up!” Kash shouted. “Are you like this with everybody?”

“You did ask,” Chris defended himself.

“Never mind that, did you say Senate?”

“Yeah. My father is a Senator for the United Nations.”

Kash’s face went pale. His criminal escort tensed up.

“Listen,” Kash started. “We don’t want any trouble. How about a deal?”

“Maybe should have thought about that before you raided my ship,” Chris said, arms crossed.

“We didn’t even mean to raid your ship! It was an accident, I swear. You saw, your ship ID is different from our target.”

“What are you even looking for anyways?”

Kash was silent. His face scrunched up like he had eaten something sour.

“The ship we were after, AC-UN-9982-“

“I don’t need to hear the whole ship ID. What’s on that ship?” Chris demanded.

“Cybernetics!” Kash spat. “Expensive, medical grade cybernetics.”

Chris expected to hear “Weapons!” “Pressurized hydrogen!” or even “Tourists to sell to black market slavers!” before “Cybernetics!” Though, it made sense. Cybernetics, especially medical grade ones, fetched a fair price on the black market, though typically thieves preferred to steal them when they’re already in clinics, not in transport.

“Alright. Cybernetics. What sort of cybernetics? Where are you gonna sell them?”

“Sell them? No, no, no, I need to use them. My arm’s been finicky recently. Has trouble with wrist rotations. When it does rotate, it goes unresponsive and just keeps rotating,” Kash explained himself.

“And you can’t just buy one because…?” Chris pondered.

“I’m an outlaw, genius,” Kash replied. “Can’t just walk into a cyberclinic with this face. What’s left of it anyhow.”

Chris nodded his head to capitulate to Kash’s logic.

“What if I knew someone that didn’t ask many questions?” Chris offered.

“Hey now, I’m not interested in some poorly wired hack job from someone that got their cyberneticist certification on the Artinet,” Kash said.

“Of course you aren’t. She’s the real deal. A former army cyberneticist who got her certification in the field. Now she runs a robot repair shop on Artitur.”

“Going to Artitur would be suicide. The Prancing Poodle would show up on their sensors the second I leap in. No good.”

“That’s why I’ll take you. My ship is scheduled to arrive. You send your men back to your ship, tell Felgras or whoever to take charge for the meanwhile, and I’ll have you back here within the cycle.”

“I’d never put Felgras in charge now after his screw-up today,” Kash shook his head.

“I said ‘or whoever,’ you must have someone on that giant battleship you’d be comfortable running it other than yourself,” Chris said.

The captain crossed his arms and summoned a contemplative expression. As he did this, his wrist began to spin slowly. He rolled his remaining eye and flipped open a panel in his arm to disconnect it from power and then reconnect it.

“Fine. I’ll take you up on your kind offer. I can’t tolerate this thing any longer.”

“Shake on it?” Chris extended his right hand.

“What’re we shaking?”

“Common gesture of trust where I’m from. Ancient people would link hands and shake because any concealed daggers would fall out of their sleeves.”

“How about the other hand?” Kash offered his left hand, still flesh. “My right side’s my unlucky side. Lost my arm, leg, eye, kidney, lung, damaged my vocal cords, and even cracked my hip. All on my right side.”

“Works for me,” Chris said and shook with his left hand instead. “I bet there’s a story for each of those.”

“And you might hear it. Later. Boys!” Kash shouted to his men. “Prance back to the Poodle. Tell Felgras he’s been demoted to janitorial duties and tell that Veltsirian, Veru-Gan, that he is in command of the ship until I get back.”

The pirates scuttled back down the airlock shaft and Kash sealed it when they all were clear. The boarding vessel undocked and the star hauler lurched again as the boarding cable snapped off the frame.

“Alright,” Chris said idly as he flopped down into the singular seat in the cockpit and instructed the ship’s computer to head for Artitur.

“By the way,” Kash said with a distinctly smoother voice than his typical rumbling rasp, “Any funny business, this star hauler will be added to my fleet. Understood?”

“All humorous commercial transactions shall be kept to an absolute minimum,” Chris said.

“You ever get tired of pretending you’re smart?” Kash said pointedly.

“I just really liked vocab as a kid, sorry,” Chris shrugged. “How about one of those missing limb tales?”

“You only get one. Pick.”

“Remind me of my options.”

“You’re looking at them.”

“No, no, I remember you saying lungs, that’s inside. Hey, by the way, how’re we speaking if you don’t have a translator apparatus?”

Kash unbuckled his multipocketed green coat made from a rubbery-plastic-like material to reveal a speaker buried in his right pectoral.

“Ahh, I should have guessed the cyborg would have an internal translator apparatus. Did you get that done when you lost your lung or damaged your vocal cords?”

“Is that your choice?” Kash asked.

“Oh true, you nearly got me there. How about we go arm today since that’s what this whole adventure is for.”

“Alright,” Kash said and licked his lips before recounting his tale. “I was raiding a shipment of weapons the Quemi Empire was sending to their vassal, the Principality of Thelraxia. The Principality is on the periphery of the Quemi imperium and borders what’s now the Bond, so to shore up their defenses the Quemi decided to send some hardware their way.”

“Ah, the Bond of the Perfect Machine. I’ve heard of them on the news,” Chris commented.

“Yep. Rotten bunch they are. Can’t steal from them because it’s next to impossible to get an informant that isn’t immediately tracked down, memory wiped, or worse. That is if you can even find someone who’s broken the Bond’s programming enough to even be an informant,” Kash stroked his salt and pepper stubbled chin with a scowl. “Anyways, raiding the Quemi. We’d planned that job out a hundred times over and figured the only real way to hit it was to come at them hot, plasma cannons blazing. For some of the more trigger-happy of my colleagues that was no problem, but I didn’t want any unnecessary casualties for either of us. Too many dead actually attract more attention than leaving them alive.”

“Really?” Chris asked. “So, leaving no witnesses isn’t the best way to get away with piracy?”

“Not a pirate,” Kash barked. “And no, it isn’t They’ll track you down eventually. If you make yourself out to be an even bigger villain, they’ll just want you caught even more. Leaving a few confused and bewildered fools behind makes you seem like less of a terrorist. Besides, I’ve no thirst for blood.”

“Noble of you, I guess,” Chris said. “I’m still not seeing how a space battle has to do with losing an arm.”

“Because you keep interrupting. The space battle goes smoothly, we shoot out their thrusters, leave them stranded. Send in EMP torpedoes to cut the power in their defense frigates. Now the cargo hauler is vulnerable. We board and are ready to get to looting, but they aren’t having it. They were cooperative at the start, but in truth, they were just leading us into a trap. Got us all into the room with the guns, then sealed the door and turned them all on us. Once all the plasma was done flying, I had taken a nasty shot to my arm and lost a few good raiders. The defenders all died with their precious haul, and we couldn’t even get any of it since that had cut into our time and their response fleet wasn’t far behind them. Barely made it back to the Poodle and off to our hideout alive.”

“So, who gave you your cybernetic?”

“Back at the hideout I used to have a premium cyberneticist. Serviced my whole crew. He had to amputate my arm and replace it with this buggy number. Unfortunately, he was one of the ones caught when the hideout was flushed out by Quemi enforcers not long after the botched job.”

“And you must have made it out alive,” Chris added.

“I wasn’t even there when the Quemi attacked. I only found out when the distress signal went off. I was off on Tolaren escorting away Veltsirian refugees fleeing the Bond when that happened.”

“Refugees?” Chris asked.

“Yeah,” Kash said confidently. “I have a heart. Real one too, it’s on my left side after all,” Kash thumped his fist on his chest.

“Is it just that fleshy, organic, heart that motivated you to rescue Veltsirians from the Bond or was there a monetary reward involved?”

“A slight fee for the journey was collected, yes. Can’t expect to risk my fleet being obliterated by the Bond for nothing after all.”

“And no fee was collected from someone else for them? Collected from the Ol’Nuri or the Nylanderians perhaps?”

“Never,” Kash said, a sharp tone of offense in his voice. “I’m not a slaver. Never. Sent them to a group that looks after the lost and the neglected in the Kaleshi Triumvirate.”

“Think the Kaleshi will look after them well?” Chris asked.

“Is that you poking again?”

“No, genuine question. I don’t know much about the Kaleshi, just know they’re getting cushy with the Nylanderians.”

“Yes, they’re in the Nylanderian Forum, but they aren’t like the Puggurans or the Ferodocians. More thoughtful of others. Thoughtful for things other than labor they can extract. Plus, I don’t have a warrant there.”

“Ah, that makes it easier.”

“Much.”

“Leap drive activating in one half-life,” the computer chimed in.

“Let’s get you comfy,” Chris said before flapping down a spare bench attached to the wall of the cockpit. “You’ll feel the affordability of this star hauler as we tumble through leap.”

“Peachy,” Kash said as he buckled into the bench.

“Leap drive activating in ten ticks. All passengers remain stationary.”

The drive kicked in with a buzz and the ship lurched through the wormhole into the Wurvul system, the adopted home of the Artifine.

“Welcome back to civilization,” Chris said.

“I’ve had some work done on my face since last the Artifine saw me. Hopefully they won’t recognize me.”

“I’ve got an old hoodie around here somewhere if you want to try to hide your face,” Chris offered.

“Hmm.” Kash pondered. “It might be best for me to not be seen in my captain’s garb too. Give it here.”

Chris stepped out of the cockpit and opened the door to his living quarters. Galileo immediately slithered out the door and went to greet the newcomer. Kash backed up against the wall in fright.

“Ey, ey, ey!” Kash squealed. “You didn’t tell me you had a roommate!”

“Oh, sorry,” Chris said from inside his closet. “That’s just Galileo. He loves visitors.”

Galileo intently sniffed the mud-stained rubber boots of the outlaw and sneezed.

“He talk?” Kash asked.

“No,” Chris said with a chuckle. “He’s a cat.”

“And? He Kazzian?”

“What? No, house cat. Pet from back home on Earth.”

“A pet, ah,” Kash said with a breath of relief. “I guess I should have known since he crawled in on all four paws.”

“I know right? That was a trip the first time I went to Kazz and saw a bunch of cats walking around on their hind legs. But the Kazzians are shaped a little differently. More defined front paws and stronger, thicker back legs than an Earth cat. Still kinda freaky.”

Chris walked back to the cockpit and handed Kash his disguise.

“Is this a dog?” Kash asked while looking at the front of the hoodie.
“Bulldog. Generic mascot of my high school. You put that on, and I’ll get everything ready to dock up.”

Chris returned the lids to all the metal crates of toys Kash had sifted through and lined them up near the rear door. He checked his quancom in case he was missing anything on the manifold and saw a message from his father.

“Don’t go to Heshlin. There can be pirates there. Senate proceedings concluded so I will be on Artitur for Christmas.”

Chris shot back a reply. “Sounds good. All went smoothly. Dropping off a friend and then I can meet you around term 37 at your apartment. We can call mom and Sally from there. Remind me where you’re at?”

Tom responded in a timely manner. “Ok. I live in Capital District, Senatorial Dormitories, Building 12, Suite 77. Who’s your friend?”

Chris knew his father would pry. For an Artifine Senator who worked with aliens all the time, Tom seemed overly distrustful of other lifeforms. “Met him in Heshlin spaceport. Needed a ride to a doctor’s appointment.”

“Picking up hitchhikers now?”

“No, just branching into taxi work.”

No reply. Chris shrugged and returned to the cockpit. Kash looked inconspicuous enough, if a bit homeless given his rugged appearance.

“That’ll work,” Chris said.

“It better. Tell me about your cyberneticist friend.”

“Her name’s Fehs’sah. Halsari. And she’s a roboticist but got her training as a cyberneticist. I’ve been delivering to her for a while now. Parts, salvaged robots, once even a few dead warbots she was gonna restore into household caretakers. All plasma-blasted and whatnot.”

“That’s a great idea. Let the kill-drone wash dishes,” Kash snorted.

“Better a dish-drone than a kill-drone, right?”

“Sure.”

“Docking into Bay 19 of Port District 22, Artitur,” the computer announced.

 

Tom dried off his wavy dark hair with a towel after a relaxing shower. He gazed into his face in the mirror. A few wrinkles creased his face near his eyes. A sprinkling of grey hairs flowed through his hair and a five o’clock shadow. The life of an Artifine Senator came with a certain amount of stress, should the job be taken seriously. The fact that his son decided on living the life of a trucker in space didn’t help with soothing Tom either.

As he buttoned a red shirt, he thought of how things could be different for the millionth time. Tom had struggled his entire life to bring himself from a lawyer in Italy to an Italian Senator. Once his term ran out, he took the initiative and looked even higher, running for a position in the Artifine Senate, which he won and had held on to for over a decade.

That isn’t something that came easily. It required time, effort, charisma, and connections to achieve, and responsibility to maintain, or at least it should in Tom’s mind. Tom could have passed this knowledge on to both of his children, rather than just Sally. Instead, Chris decided to be a college dropout, and not the good kind of college dropout that utilizes some alien tech to start a revolutionary company. Tom thought to himself that when Chris said he was done with schooling back in 2102, he was done with everything. Done with trying to succeed or be anything more than mediocre. The years following only proved it as all he had to show for himself was a sparkling career in moving boxes across the galaxy, which conflicted with Tom’s ability to support his son’s choices.

His quancom buzzed on the counter.

 

Riding the transport network was always one of Chris’s favorite things to do on Artitur. The Entertainment Districts had flashing lights, trendy eateries, and elaborate virtual reality activities, but there was something therapeutic about watching the endless city zip past him. Kash sat across from him in the pod and seemed more interested in keeping his head down.

“Arriving at Production District 19. Please collect all belongings and be prepared to disembark from the pod,” the pod broadcasted.

The hauler and the pirate left the sleek pod, which was quickly refilled by a young woman, likely having just gotten off a mind-numbing shift at one of Production District 19’s many assembly plants, judging by her sullen expression and slumped shoulders. Kash and Chris walked around the Harfun Electronics Distribution and Production Center and down an alleyway to a shop with a sign in the Turi language, the lingua franca of the Artifine Coalition, that read “Robot Servicing.”

“Fehs’sah?” Chris called out into the shop. “Fehs’sah! It’s Chris.”

The reptilian peeked out from over a counter. She cocked her head to the side to look at him through one of her golden yellow eyes.

“Khriss,” the Halsar hissed. “Hno… chrashlayshor.”

Fehs’sah opened a drawer under the counter and shuffled around until she found her translator apparatus, which she placed in her ears and hung around her neck.

“Sheresh alsan, Khriss tovvan,” Fehs’sah said in Halsari.

“You didn’t turn it on,” Chris motioned towards his translator apparatus.

Fehs’sah fiddled with the apparatus for a moment.

“Better now?” the speaker projected.

“Perfect,” Chris said. “I’ve got a robot in need of a service.”

“Robot? Where?” Fehs’sah asked.

“I think he means me,” Kash said and pulled off his hood. “I’m told names likely aren’t important for you.”

“Chris, who is this homeless man you have brought into my shop?” Fehs’sah asked.

“He’s not homeless,” Chris said and patted Kash on the back. “He’s… a man of the stars. Like me. I live in my spaceship, so does he. Would you call me homeless?”

“No,” Fehs’sah said. “Still, he is not a robot.”

“Cybernetics, robotics, same thing,” Chris said.

“Cyborg?” Fehs’sah eyed Kash up and down, using both sides of her head. “Half a cyborg.”

“I’ve got an unlucky side,” Kash said. “Of my body that is. All my replacements are on my right side.”

“Clearly,” Fehs’sah said. “Well, what is the problem?”

“May I show you?” Kash asked.

“You want me to fix it, yes?” Fehs’sah replied.

“It gets finicky with rotations,” Kash said and demonstrated.

Kash placed his cybernetic arm on the counter and allowed the reptilian to inspect it, opening hatches and feeling around wires. Chris decided to leave Fehs’sah to work her magic and went through the sliding metal door of the repair shop and out into the alleyway. He kept going, aimlessly strolling through Production District 19. The buzzing of machinery, whirring fans, and a symphony of voices filled his ears. He saw all walks of life. Bedraggled looking workers directed automated carts loading factories with raw and refined materials to assemble into quancoms, robots, virtual reality arrays, and every other kind of consumer electronic Chris could think of. A manager patted a new hire on the back for a good day’s work at the door of the workplace. The new hire, some kind of avian sapient, trotted on long, skeletal legs back to the pod station to head home, and passed a duo of Artifine Security Drones who had just arrived in the Production District. The drones started stopping passersby and showed them a screen with a familiar enough face on it.

It was Captain Kash’s face. Not cyberized, and much younger looking, but the resemblance was still there. The passersby waved their hands, talons, claws or whatever other forelimbs they had and kept on their business. The drones dutifully kept interrogating whilst they searched for the pirate captain.

It was only a matter of time before they came asking around Fehs’sah’s shop. Chris might even be implicated, depending on what Kash would tell them. Chris thought of going up to the robots and steering them in the wrong direction, but that would just implicate him even more if they figured out it was a lie. Besides, Chris had no credibility with them.

But he knew someone that did. He slinked back into the alleyway and pulled out his quancom and silently typed out a message to his father.

“You mind heading down to Production District 19?”

“Why would I do that?” Tom replied.

“It’s Christmas.”

“Do they celebrate Christmas in Production District 19? Did Santa move his workshop there?”

“I want you to meet my friend.”

“Did you really need to spring this on me on Christmas day?”

“Remember, I only saw him yesterday.”

“No, I don’t,” Tom’s replies paused for a moment, indicating to Chris that he was scrolling through previous messages. “Is this the same friend from Heshlin spaceport?”

“Yes. I know him from high school on Earth,” Chris lied.

“He done with his doctor’s appointment?”

“Getting there. Just come meet him. We’re in a robot repair shop behind the Harfun Electronics plant.”

 

Tom sighed and typed out a final message. “Fine.” He put his quancom back in his pocket and walked out of the living room and back to the kitchen.

“Burrus,” Tom said. “You’re in charge of the food now. When that Kippirido Bake is done in the oven, set it out to cool. Don’t slice it until Chris is here. Hopefully not with his friend, but we’ll see.”

“Understood. Are we having more than one guest over today?” Burrus asked in his typical polite tone.

“As I said, hopefully not,” Tom said in a voice burning with irritation.

“Should I make preparations in case?”

“Go for it, I guess. Better to be prepared for the worse than not,” Tom said.

He tapped a button on the door control panel. The door slid into the side of the wall, then back into place as Tom left. He pressed his thumbprint into the scanner outside the door to lock his apartment. He took the elevator down into the lobby of the Senatorial Dormitories, a lavish and comfortable space where some of Tom’s colleagues discussed matters of state with each other.

Not far outside Tom’s building was Coalition Square, and just beyond that was the clean, well-kept pod network station, all spaced out relatively conveniently, his walk didn’t take more than five minutes, or a few ticks over four radons in Artifine measurements. The pod ride to Production District 19 was similarly speedy, about the same amount of time.

The loud clanging of metal and omnipresent and omnidirectional hum of voices of Production District 19 was a stark contrast to the quiet Tom was used to in the Capital District, or the few more subdued Entertainment Districts he would frequent on his down time. Tom decided to take this as an opportunity to get to know the underbelly of Artitur firsthand, perhaps someone with his gravitas in government could have something done to improve the lives of these people.

Tom passed by a group of Halsar laborers cheerfully exchanging fried beetles with each other at the foot of the Harfun Electronics factory, a duo of Artitur Security Division bots looking for someone, and a few other sapients on his way to the alley. Tom spotted the robot repair shop and headed towards it. He still couldn’t quite put together why Chris was in a shady-looking bot shop but didn’t question it, knowing his son had gotten into more questionable circumstances which he would pridefully relay to the family over Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner whenever he came home.

Tom spotted Chris sitting on a crate of robot parts when he walked inside the shop. Whirring noises came from another room.

“Dad,” Chris rose to hug his father. “Merry Christmas.”

“We’ll see,” Tom said. “Where’s this friend of yours?”

“In the back,” Chris pointed behind his shoulder with his thumb. “He’ll be out soon.”

“What’s his name?” Tom asked.

“Dan Cash,” Chris said.

“I don’t remember anyone named Dan Cash going to your high school.”

Chris chuckled. “Well, that’s because you only ever asked me about my grades or extracurriculars.”

“Dan Cash” walked out from the back of the store while testing out his shiny new arm by picking up random objects and twirling them about in circles with remarkable dexterity.

“This is better than that old chunk of scrap was when it was first attached to me. Oh, I feel like I’ve actually got an arm again, not just a replacement.”

Tom’s eyes widened and his brow creased at the sight of the ruffian. He slowly turned to Chris and whispered, “This? This is your friend?” Tom noted his scruffy appearance and intense cyberization, but also the Bulldogs hoodie he was wearing. He vaguely remembered that being the mascot of Chris’s high school, but paid more attention to the fact the writing was in English which indicated this rogue really was from Earth.

“His name’s Dan Cash,” Chris whispered back. “He’s a miner.”

“A miner? They still let people do that?” Tom asked. “I thought it was all robots now.”

“Hello, Mr Baliani,” Kash said with his cybernetic arm outstretched for a handshake.

Tom stared blankly for a moment before remembering what to do. It had been a while since he had shaken anyone’s hand, as it was strictly an Earthling gesture. He shook the surprisingly warm metal hand and returned the greeting. “Hello, Mr Cash. I’m Chris’s father, Tom Baliani. Chris tells me you’re a miner.”

“You’re shaking proof of it,” Kash said with a grin. “I overheard you saying you thought it was all done by robots now, and you’re partially right, since I’m partially a robot myself now after everything that’s happened to me.”

“Oh! Well, I didn’t mean, uhh, you see,” Tom stammered. “No offense, is all.”

“Hey, none taken,” Kash said. “Say, I haven’t anywhere to hole up for Christmas. You mind if I drop by for a while?”

The door to the robot repair shop slid open. Two shiny security bots walked inside. Their movements smooth and precise. Their faces were like that of a cyclops, with a singular camera in the center of a round head for an eye. A speaker positioned in one of the robot’s chests announced their presence.

“Attention, citizens. We are officers of the Artifine Security Division. Our intelligence indicates a known outlaw has been seen on Artitur. Have you seen this sapient?”

The other security bot held up a tablet showing Kash’s face, though a much younger Kash without any cybernetics. The room was eerily quiet.

“No,” Chris said as confidently as he could. “Haven’t seen him.”

“Excuse me, individual. Please identify yourself,” the first security bot said to Kash.

“Name’s Dan Cash. I’m from Earth,” Kash said.

“Verification, please,” the security bot commanded.

“What? Dan here? No,” Chris said. “I’ve known him since high school. He’s no outlaw he’s a miner.”

“We require identity verification from all of you, please,” the bot pressed.

“That might be a little hard,” Kash said. “I lost my identity verification card when I lost my arm. Freak accident down in the mines, I’ll spare you the gory details.”

“And mine’s still in my ship,” Chris said.

“Unfortunately, we’ll need to take all of you to the local ASD station for questioning and to retrieve–”

“Stop, they’re telling the truth,” Tom interrupted. “My son wouldn’t lie. You can take my word for it, and my verification.”

Tom fiddled through his wallet and retrieved his identity verification card. The security bot scanned it with a device embedded in its hand.

“Apologies, Senator Baliani. Are you certain these individuals are truthful? Protocol requires–”

“Protocol,” Tom whipped together a speech. “Is not the only thing we listen to here in the Artifine Coalition. Here, we value liberty, privacy, and freedom too. This isn’t the Bond of the Perfect Machine, officers. Listen, whoever you’re looking for, I can promise is not here. Now, you’re holding all of us up for Christmas, one of the most important religious and cultural celebrations of the people of Earth.”

“Understood, Senator. Enjoy your Christmas,” the second security bot said.

The two robots turned about face and walked out the door of the shop in single file. Chris, Tom and Kash trailed them back outside and walked together to the pod network. After an uncomfortably quiet pod ride to Capital District, Tom led the two men to his building. He almost felt embarrassed being seen with them, so he made a beeline out of the lobby for the elevator. Burrus welcomed them at the door of the apartment.

“Gentlemen, for this Christmas I have prepared a tradition of the Yuldan, the Kippirido Bake, which is a meal made from multiple layers of vegetables, ground meat, and bread.”

“Oh, lovely,” Kash said. “I haven’t had a meal this good since, well, I can’t remember.”

“They don’t feed you well down in the mines?” Tom asked.

“Oh no, everything’s all the cheapest they can find. Might as well be eating the Bond’s nutrient cubes.”

Tom shrugged and moved towards Chris, who was wandering around Tom’s spacious apartment and taking in the many artworks he had displayed, both replicas of familiar pieces from Earth, like a bite-sized Venus de Milo sitting below Van Gogh’s Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette, and alien artworks, like a painting of a ruined Osoridian city by Osoridian artist Doranda and a Halsari stone rubbing.

“Enjoying my collection?” Tom asked.

“Sure. Doranda was an excellent painter. She always captures the haunting mystique of Osoridia. To think, those sweeping towers were built, lived in, and then abandoned and left to decay before modern humans even existed. It’s incredible they’re still standing after all that time. Shows how good the Osoridians used to be as builders.”

“It’s like looking at if Artitur was reclaimed by nature, if Artitur had nature to be reclaimed by. When did you become an art appreciator?”

“I took ‘Pangalactic Art History’ my last year of college. That was the only class I really liked, so I kept looking into art after I dropped out. Makes for easy conversation with aliens when you aleady know something about their art and culture.”

“Remember, they’re called ‘sapients,’” Tom reminded Chris. “How about we have dinner now?”

“Sounds good to me,” Chris said.

They gathered around a glass table in the shape of a teardrop and were served slices of the Kippirido Bake by Burrus. Kash tapped his stemless wine glass on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“A toast, to Christmas, this one being my finest yet,” Kash said and slugged the entire goblet of wine down.

“Cin cin,” Tom replied.

“Cheers,” Chris said. He glanced at his father, and they shared a smile.

 

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