Windward Passage
Vega Rillius
Loman’s Moon Base

The Belfast Windfall underwent a series of prods and tests administered by Ux, his engineering team and Nickel and Dime. The starship rested on its landing gears in the subterranean hangar adjacent to the crossroads spaceport of the Windward Passage. Down the rows of ships, some Arthenean, others alien, various crews worked to make repairs and modifications, rumors churning all the while.

Rather than meet in the Jova Lounge, Biggs invited the Elowan contact to join his crew on the Belfast Windfall’s observation deck, away from prying ears. The photosynthetic creature’s vines and leaves quivered their message, and the translators went to work. “Yes, yes…this information will doubtless prove critical—the group at Teshbulr was quite certain navigational data would be the key component. You’ve done quite well.” Arella and Grix spent some time explaining the finer points of the information they’d discovered on the Downspin Range.

Biggs brought up some refreshments from The Lunch and the discussion continued on into the night. The contact explained strenuous efforts on the part of Future Plowshares to identify and support renegades in the Thrynn Confederacy. “Understand,” he emphasized, “we wish them no harm; their wickedness is often acute, but we seek not revenge.” The uglier concepts were expressed with abrupt jerky movements in the Elowan language of motion and it didn’t take a xenologist to pick up their moods. “It is our goal, rather, to fuel the elements that seek a return to the old philosophies that reigned during the epoch of the Empire.” He paused, his vines momentarily still as he reflected. “By all accounts, the ancient Thrynn were simply magnificent.”

“Diplomats and peacemakers and tamers of worlds,” mused Arella, pouring more into her glass, easing back into her seat.

“And priceless allies,” returned the contact. “The time is now to begin pulling them back from the tyranny of a millenium. But there is simply not enough remaining, too little raw material for the black cloaks—the renegades—to draw on. All that remained of the classical order was scorched away after…” The mass of vines and leaves paused, sagged, continued, “…after the Empire fell. In their way the cloaked Thrynn sense the changes, the imperative for a surge of some kind, but do not understand what or why. They need a reserve of wisdom and comprehension to guide them. Otherwise they can only fail and the darkness will swallow them.” Mack spoke next.

“Alright, I see this is some kind of key moment—Arth is shifting into gear, even what with this Spemin noise, and the Thrynn are paying attention—the time is ripe. So what does this nav gouge we found have to do with anything?” The translators chewed for a long minute and produced a rough equivalent.

“Try as we might,” conceded the contact, “we have been unable to impart to them all which they require,” explained the contact. “Forsooth, it is the project of decades, not the stuff of a few messages smuggled in and out over tramp frequencies. A reverence of truth and reason does not come without effort and time. It must be cultivated. The navigational data you have provided may lead to precisely what is needed in the Thoss night.” Biggs was skeptical, sensing some outrageous marigold plot unfolding and knowing his ship was bound to get bounced around if he signed on. He numbed his doubts with a few quick swigs of his beer, listened to the translation and watched the vines sway. “There are old stories…”

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Next: “Alongside”

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