Border Colony Crathon

The captain returned his previous position and replaced the gel pack on jaw as the alien spoke. One by one, the crew introduced themselves, holding out their hands as he had. That their initiative was derived purely from his own bothered him, but he dismissed the feeling not long after considering it. It was supposed to be a routine job, and these were no combat-ready individuals. They had all been picked by the ASC administration for the very reason that they were useless elsewhere. For that matter, so he was he.

"Llaga."

One good tour of duty, hunting pirates and capturing rebels, followed by nothing but regret. Perhaps this encounter was the turning point in that, but it was unlikely. He had crashed the ship, hadn't he? If not for luck of crashing on an inhabited world, it would have been he who stranded the entire crew and ultimately killed them.

"Oret."

No, it was Oran whose life would change for the better, the nervous sensors operator deemed too excitable for patrols and police action. The captain looked at him now, noting the change in the younger Gyraci, who no longer wore the helmet he had donned earlier. It seemed as though the brief moments in that helmet had altered him completely. Yes, he was still excitable, but he gave off a sense of control, seeming to be in charge of himself now. The rest of the crew would be part of the inevitable documentary or three, but Oran and Llorem... They would be the stars, the reason everyone picked up the disk or streamed the film.

"Llorem."

The captain would envy them if only he could come to terms with the wraith of regret haunting him wherever he went.

"Gyem." It was Oran's voice, and sure enough, when the captain looked up, Oran's finger was pointing at him. Gyem bobbed his head in the Vathari's direction, having already taken his hand in greeting minutes before.

Olaron sorted the names out in his head, matching faces and appearances, voices, and any unique data to each one. After sorting this out he held out his hand to display the progress of the drones as they were scouting through the ship. He brought up side images of areas of damage and showed the image to the assembled crew, also bringing up a third image with a display of required resources denoted by binary logic representations of the elements needed, and displayed in Gyraci units and numerals.

He was about to try and communicate the meaning to the Gyraci captain when he heard a slight rattle, then a second one, and a third. The fourth was strong enough to shake loose objects on the bridge, and he also heard the distinct sound of metal treads plowing over rock and sand, accompanied by the loud thud of massive footfalls. The Fabricators had noticed.

Gyem spun in his chair and raised the blast shields with the flip of a switch. He was not unfamiliar with the sound of treads, which was becoming clear now that the distant explosions had stopped. With the blast shields up, he could see the source. It was a large vehicle of some sort, which Gyem guessed to be about thirty meters tall and covered in protruding devices, likely weapons. Not far from it was a titanic biped, its footfalls closer to the sound of thunder than the explosions heard earlier.

Ignorant of the rest of the crew's loud, possibly panicked reaction, Gyem turned to face the three outsiders, his brow wrinkled and eyes demanding explanation as he stood.

He'd been afraid of this, of the two Fabricators noticing. They wouldn't harm the Gyraci, but they were very visibly armed, and at least some of the Gyraci must have heard the earlier explosions. He reflexively fidgeted a bit, trying to figure out what to do.

He pointed out the windows at both of the titanic machines
"Fabricator" he said. He pointed specifically at one, "Thiril" and then the other "Rethul. Quaya." trying to emphasize that the two names applied to the same physical being.

He projected from his hand an image from his last trip to Oncar, showing the Fabricators Almaya and Thiril working one a Vathari warship in dry dock.
"Fabricator, fix." He brought up the image of the damage map again and pointed to it, then pointed back to the Fabricators in the distance. He only hoped the Gyraci would understand that despite all appearance, the Fabricators were a peaceful, artful people, imbued with great wisdom and intelligence.

"'Fix', it means repair, captain. They must be here to repair the ship." It was Oran. Llorem was bobbing his head, as well. The projection Olaron seemed to be holding only solidified that explanation, and so Gyem relaxed.

A tablet sat on the console next to him, a previously written message still displayed on it, though unused as the invasion of the Vathari onto the bridge had interrupted him. He took the tablet now, erasing the message and beginning anew. When finished, he tapped another button and the message began playing audibly through a text-to-speech program.

"What must be done?"

"Perhaps teaching the Vathari how to speak our language would be a start," Oret said. When the captain turned to him, hesitated, realizing he may have just interrupted the new important crew.

"He's right. We can't convey everything with gesturing." Oran supporting him gave Oret a new confidence about his decision. Whatever misgivings he had about the aliens before were largely gone after the Vathari took his hand. He had felt power in that grip, restrained out of friendliness. the alien could kill them all if it really wanted to. He was still worried, of course. He couldn't deny that, but he was oddly calmed now that he knew the machine's power.

"I taught the children of my street how to read before they entered school. It can't be much harder than that. There's a small conference room with a large display..."

"Llorem, would that be powered by the emergency generator?"

"I'll come with you two to make sure. If it's not, it's as simple as pulling a lever."

And so the trio departed from the bridge, one with a newfound purpose that Gyem knew would elevate him above the rest of the crew, though he still wasn't one of the stars.

Watching the Gyraci converse gave Olaron a few more clips of sound to keep, to both analyze and keep as mementos. Of course, he would remember this entire experience perfectly, but he decided to dedicate special attention to the audio. Ever since his childhood, hearing fascinated him. Sight was simple, but sound? It was complex. It was wonderful. And now he had aliens to listen to.

He kept himself occupied with those thoughts as the trio escorted him through the ship to another room. This room had a semicircular table at which sat five chairs, four on the circumference and one on the edge that faced a large, glass display. Olaron took a seat at one of the chairs on the circumference, and though it appeared that he was relaxed and seated, in reality he had magnetized his feet and positioned himself in a sitting position just barely short of his weight resting on the chair, for fear that if he did, he would crush it. Then he looked at the group, and waited.

They began simply, starting with the basics of descriptors, using drawings in conjunction with words. An image of a blue mammal in conjunction with "is blue" was one of many examples used.

It seemed to take longer for Oran and Oret to come up with proper examples than it did for Olaron to learn, but they continued on despite the faint embarrassment they felt.

Olaron found the Gyraci language fascinating, it was so different, so alien, to his own. Of course, this complicated things. Were it not for his vast processing resources, he doubted he could understand it so fast, and even then, he was no linguist. He had to work from scratch to figure out what he did, and that was still only the basics.

A few hours had passed, and he felt both Fabricators' comms beacons enter his short-range communications radius. He knew the Fabricators had good intention, but they didn't know what he did about the Gyraci ship. He turned to Oran and Oret.
"I talk to Fabricator Thiril" he said, and held his palm out. He called to Thiril, and the titan answered, establishing a link with Olaron's comms suite, appearing as a holographic representation about Olaron's height, projected out over the floor.

"I was uninformed of first contact. Were protocols observed?" The hologram asked Olaron.
"Yes, Vathar, Oncar, and Urastil have been notified by Orbital. The aliens are called Gyraci, none seem to have died in the crash, that I know of. I have drones scouting their ship for damage. I'm sending what they have found so you and the twins can figure out a plan of action. When you get here, prepare for what you need to do, but don't do anything until I confirm. Two of the Gyraci have taught me a rudimentary understanding of their language."
"Understood. May our Ancestors shine upon this world."

Olaron felt a slight wave of relief. Thiril was one of the oldest Fabricators, he was often stubborn. It was fortunate he had listened, the damage to the Gyraci ship would require very invasive repairs, and he wouldn't want its crew to believe they were under attack.

The hologram faded and he turned back to the two Gyraci.
"Speak to Gyem, now?" he said.

Oret was beaming with pride as Olaron spoke in the Gyraci tongue. It wasn't fluent by any means, but at least a simpler communication method had been established. Oran seemed glad as well, though he couldn't tell what about. Whatever the case, Oret was finding himself more and more excited by the prospect of alien life, rather than perturbed.

Oran simply stated his affirmation before moving out of the room and down the hall, leaving Oret to quickly clear the display and power it down before joining the two. They made their way to the bridge chatting with Olaron in Gyraci as they would a young child, though the subject matter was more advanced than most adults would discuss with children.

Soon, they found themselves at the bridge, and after a brief update from Oran, Olaron was given the floor.

It took some moments to compose what he wanted to say in his mind. His handle on the Gyraci language wasn't quite near fluency, but he easily substituted with rapid, perfect memory. However, it meant he had to take care with what he said.
"Captain Gyem." He started "I Olaron, of Vathar, you know. Outside are Thiril, tall one with two legs, other is Rethul and Quaya, two people one thing. They Fabricators, of Oncar. This world Crathon, outpost. Fabricators use for practice fighting. My job is judge, watch fighting, find winner. Your ship, crash during fight. I notice, fear for people inside. I come to help. Now Fabricators notice, they help, too. Need do this:"

He held up his hand, projecting from it an image of the ship, animated in detail the invasive work needed to get to the reactor chamber to repair it, among other things.

"Rules say we ask if okay. Would be rude if not. We fix your ship? Will take days."

Days. Llorem considered this, bringing up the emergency power supply on his tablet. In the last six hours, they had used three percent of the stored power. Llorem wasn't sure of the length of a day here, but going by a standard day on Gyrakarr¹, they'd have about six and a half Gyrakarr days of power, assuming consumption rates remained roughly the same. A few days couldn't be more than three or four, so with the assumption that this planet's days were roughly the same a Gyrakarr day, they'd have plenty of time.

"We have enough power for it, captain. If we seal off the end of the ship they need to open, our atmosphere will remain intact as well."

Gyem nodded, looking from Llorem to Olaron as he did. Llorem asked the captain if that was permission, just to confirm, and received the same response. With that, Llorem said to Olaron, "You can do it."

Llorem fastened his helmet and gestured to a few engineers still lurking about on the bridge, and they departed to confirm that all the hatches were sealed.

¹: One Gyrakarr day is 1.28 Earth days, or 30.72 Earth hours.

Olaron nodded, and looked out the windows, at the Fabricators. He sent a single thought to them: "Go"

Without hesitation the titanic machines sprung into action. Thiril shaped his hands into shovels, the metal plates shifting and moving to hold a new form, digging into the rocky ground with little effort. Rethul began summoning drones that had survived the duel, having them drag the shattered bodies of their fallen kin into the bright, gaping maw that was the main forge of the twin Fabricator. Quaya took control of the foundry, producing from the new metal various vehicles and machines. The creations poured forth from the crawler, puffs of steam coming off their still hot forms as the rain pelted them, some going to aid Thiril's endeavors, extracting steel from the forge and beginning the construction of a field mine shaft. Others, large tracked trucks equipped with salvage cranes, went off back to the battlefield to gather more wreckage. Several dozens of bipeds, hexapeds, and tracked vehicles set off towards the ship. Many were mounting heavy equipment, others more delicate tools.

While it was impressive how fast the Fabricators could work, Olaron knew that this would still take a good time to fix the ship. Even longer to try and get it back into space, if that was even an option. That would give him plenty of time to learn about the Gyraci, though. First, however, he had to become more fluent in their language. He turned to Oran and Oret.
"Learn more speak?" he asked.

They headed back towards the conference room, chatting idly to exercise Olaron's Gyraci. At one point, Oran broke off and went down another hall, waving the other two on. Oret prevented the existence of silence with his chattering, talking about his initial apprehension and even fear of the possibility of alien life boarding the ship, how he came to be on this crew, and even a few stories about home, though he often disregarded Olaron's limited vocabulary. Conveniently for Oret, they reached the conference room just before he ran out of things to say.

As Oret was powering the display back on, Oran entered the room, brandishing a few bar-like constructs of plastic wrap. It wasn't until they were placed on the table that Oret realized they were nutrition bars from the supply room.

"I thought it was about time we got something to eat." Oran offered a bar to Oret before beginning to unwrap his own. Halfway through the unwrapping, he remembered Olaron, and held out another bar.

"Eat?"

Olaron grabbed the wrapped bar, and opened the package as they did. He felt the bar with a chemical sensor on his left hand. It tasted bland, had little smell, but contained many proteins and nutrients. He was puzzled as he watched the other two bite into an consume the bars. Was it a fuel source?

"What is eat?" He asked the two, his head tilted to indicated confusion.

"You need energy, yes? To move, to speak, to act. Eating is to... To take energy in, from 'food'. Starship energy is fuel, food is fuel for us, eat is to take in food. Understand?"

Oran took another bite of the nutrition bar, chewing a bit before glancing over to Oret as if asking for confirmation that the explanation was sufficient. Indeed, Oret found it to be so, and nodded.

"Vathari use energy. Burn..." Olaron paused, he didn't know the Gyraci for hydrogen fusion. "Burn first gas. Like stars." He reached to his chest, a panel loosening as his hand got near. He pulled the panel back, bringing with it a chunk of disconnected machinery, and a smooth curved piece of metal with a multitude of ports was revealed, obviously a side of his chassis' fusion core. "Like your ship."

More and more Oran found himself to be lucky in not firing off a shot in panic. Of course, there were the obvious benefits of having the ship repaired and the Vathari not killing everyone on board, but there was also a great possibility for technology exchange here. That little generator had to pack a fair amount of energy for its size, and no doubt the ones the Fabricators used could put this little starship to shame.

"First gas is hydrogen. That is a fusion generator, I think. Hydrogen fusion?"

"I think we know where to start with our next lesson, Oret."

"I'm a bit out of touch with my chemistry."

"Never a better time to learn."

The Gyraci's understanding of chemistry was not new to Olaron, per se, but they were roughly equal to Vathari understanding, from what he could tell. He made a note to himself to let the ruling council know that even a species so young as the Gyraci had become as advanced as Vathar was. Perhaps more focus should be diverted into new research, to ensure that they could keep up with alien species.
He remembered them asking about his generator.
"Yes, hydrogen-boron. Miniature reactor, runs in pulses to charge batteries. Also runs during high draw, like combat or hard work. Device takes up most of torso, makes energy for living."

He motioned to his chassis.

"Want to know of more?"

The thunder's crashing, the lightning's flashing, the water's flow from the beachhead out to sea... None of it compared to the movements of the titanic Fabricators. Their steps and treads deafened this world's thunderclouds, their tools blinded the alien lightning storms, and they did it all with a fluidity that left even the rivulets of rainwater and retreating waters in a state of awe. These were demigods of work and craft, their wordless and invisible communication with the drones lending further beauty to their synergetic performance. Dwarfed by such beings, one could easily find themselves lost in a mere moment, finding themselves struggling against amazement to continue their work. Such a moment of becoming the embodiment of the word "awestruck" can stretch into minutes, even hours, to eternity, and the echo shall reach farther than even that.

If one can study these colossi at work without admiring the essence of their being, then I declare --

"I got it! I got the camera."

Llorem tapped the tablet screen, directing it back to his notes. Lingering in his (perhaps overly) amazed trance, he found the words cold and analytical, though in reality they were less similar to his diagnostic notes than his state of mind would have him believe.

His eyes lingered only a moment on the tablet, however, perhaps saving him from deleting the notes in blind disgust. Turning, he saw the engineer who was crying out his triumph, his voice oddly muted in a fashion by the atmospheric helmet. In his hands was a lengthy black shape, too short and thick to be a rifle. His wits coming back to him, Llorem realized it was a camera. It wasn't until the engineer had almost reached him that Llorem finally replied.

"Excellent. This will serve nicely, thank you." The engineer practically forced the camera into Llorem's arms, no doubt beaming through the tinted glass of his atmospheric helmet.

"It wasn't nearly as easy as I thought, but I managed to do a few workarounds, and..."

Llorem half-listened as the engineer weaved the tale of his struggle to seize the blackbox bridge recorder from the dark depths of the ceiling panel without initiating hostilities with the native wildlife, colorful snakes slithering about in the darkness, linking the camera to the blackbox itself.

Under normal circumstances, this particular engineer's exaggerations would be entertaining, but the chief engineer's gaze was continually brought back to the Fabricators. At some point, the younger of the two must have realized his elder's distraction or finished his tale, because his tone changed and Llorem wasn't prepared to tune it out.

"Awesome, aren't they?" Llorem almost took it insultingly, as if believing the engineer was implying he didn't already know. Instead he was once again drawn in by the elegance of creation, and thought only one thing in reply.

The very embodiment of.

Once he had confirmed the functionality of the camera, Llorem sent off the engineer to continue patrolling the interior for damage. More likely than not, he'd run off to gamble or otherwise socialize with his fellow crew.

And so, after saving his notes -- both the analytical and the poetic -- Llorem began to record the Fabricators and drones at work, occasionally making a clarifying remark or pointing out interesting methods being taken. Once or twice, he may have audibly admired the Fabricators' work, though whether it was caught by the camera through all the noise, he couldn't say.

Some time later, Llorem's radio headset came to life, white noise droning quietly as the microphone on the other end bumped against something several times.

"Ah, I think we found you." It was Oran, who no doubt spent the last few minutes checking all station channels to find the frequency Llorem was hiding on. It was persistence he could admire, though he was annoyed for a moment as he was once again drawn from his trance.

"What is it?"

"Olaron wants to show us his body."

"What?"

"The technology integrated with his being is amazing. You should come check it out."

After passing off the camera to another engineer, who was told his strict mission objectives several times over, Llorem climbed down the emergency hatch, back into the ship. A few minutes later, he found himself in the conference room, tablet in hand.

He seated himself in front of Olaron, with his back to the screen. With the tablet on the table, and the stylus just centimeters above that, Llorem focused his attention to the Vathari and bobbed his head.

"I hear you have something to show me."

It was, perhaps, Llorem's biggest understatement of the day.

His hand drifted towards the access panel, ready to remove it fully, when he paused. No, hesitated. What he was about to do would require a great amount of faith in the Gyraci, as it broke usual contact rules. Were this an average chassis, he would not think twice. But it wasn't.
No, this one was a gift to him from the Old Minds; it wasn't quite Fabricator levels of sophistication, yet it was still the very height of Vathari technology.

A single impulse of feeling entered his mind, and he acted on it. His hand tore the first panel free with a soft 'pop', and soon he had worked away the entire assembly, leaving the core visible, his chest open with wires sprouting out, snaking to the machinery mounted to the panels he had set on the table. That impulse had originated from a thought, a simple one, an old one. When he was young, his parents taught him that trust was gained from trusting others. He would trust these aliens, these Gyraci, to his knowledge. Trust them to take it home to their people and make the best of it.

Now his hand reached to his face, and he twisted on one of his glowing eyes. The assembly extracted itself from his head as he turned it, and soon he held it in his hand. He placed it on the table, holding his fingers over it. The tips of his fingers split open into small tools, working away, taking apart the mechanism. Various rings, gears, motors, mirrors, lens, and prisms were array out when he was done, in rough order they would be when assembled together.

Next he pulled the smallest finger off of his left hand, placing it on the table and having it open to reveal the delicate mechanisms inside. Surrounding the motors and artificial tendons that gave the digit movement were the same sorts of tools he had used to work on his eye, naked in their detail.

For the final piece he decided on what was the ultimate measure of trust. He would show them his true self, his brain. He reached both arms behind his head, working delicately on his brain case's mechanism. It was difficult, to say the least, each layer of locks requiring both physical and digital keys to open. Finally, he had it free. The back of his head opened gently, four panels splitting off from each other, and another two beneath them, to finally reveal his very essence. He felt it, his mind move, as he gently removed his processor from its chamber. In the air it frosted over slightly, still cold from the cryogenics that had been disconnected. Without the extra coolant he couldn't use all of his potential power, but it wasn't needed. He set his delicate self onto the table, now controlling his chassis through radio.

He reached across the table "As you are here." he said, touching Llorem's head "I am here" and he rested his hand on the table, pointing to his processor.

As Olaron disassembled himself piece by piece, the mystery of his function was slowly unraveled and put on display before Llorem. At first glance, it all seemed mundane and familiar rather than alien, but the way the pieces fell together and interacted made it clear just how advanced the craft was. The intricacy of the design drew Llorem in, and his eyes never strayed.

Llorem had caught on to Olaron's gesture some time before the processor was placed on the table, but Oran only realized the amount of faith being put in the Gyraci at that moment. Where Llorem saw it as an inventor revealing his blueprints and prototype, Oran connected the dots from experience and a time before joining the navy.

Gesturing to the finger resting on the table, Llorem looked Olaron in the eye and dared to ask.

"May I touch?"

"Yes. Here, I will show..."

Olaron picked up the detached finger and handed it to Llorem, explaining each part in detail as questions were asked about their functions. Sometimes he had to ask Oran for help with the words, as his handle on Gyraci wasn't yet complete. He decided to get that resolved when he was done with Llorem. Though between the engineer's endless curiosity and his own wealth of knowledge, he realized that would take longer than any of them would have thought.

~~

Fire roared and sparks flew through the air as she worked. Thousands of arms bending, twisting, cutting and placing metals and plastics and wires. In moments, a new machine came online, and her being filled it as an artist would their palette. This creation and the many like it were merely brushes, and she was a painter, one whose canvas was the world itself. Her forge sprang to life again as an older work of hers was brought before it, to be made anew. Just hours ago it had been a soldier, a pawn in a war game. Now it, too, would become an instrument of creation and mastery.
The new machines joined the ranks of those already working outside. They would work for days without fatigue, they would never grow dull in their handle of the crafts each one was designed to do, all because of her will.

Her first automatons reached the alien ship, climbing on and around it, adding and confirming the blueprint that Olaron had sent. In time, enough machines had been gathered to begin working their way through to the damaged core. She asked Olaron if the aliens had sealed off the area, and he confirmed that they had. Her work started with constructing scaffolding around the work area on the ship, starting at the ground on each side, and bridged together over the work site. Next began the removal of the hull plates, examining each fastener to fit with the proper tool. As plates were removed they were carried to the scaffolding, where she had began the construction of two cranes to assist with lifting. As the work proceeded deeper into the ship, it became more solid, less modular. Structure was cut with care, equipment was worked around, and piece by piece rooms, hallways, and machinery were removed from the widening hole and placed into storage above.

She had reached halfway to the core as the sun began to set over Crathon's horizon, the sky transitioning from the gray of the storms to the black of night. Each Fabricator's work slowed as night fell, but only to a point where the noise was kept low. They didn't know if Gyraci needed sleep, but it presented an opportunity to rest themselves. She did not tire, physically or mentally, but batteries needed charging, fuel reserves resupplying, and other maintenance tasks. As the last ray of light passed through a cloud she wondered, briefly, what it was like to sleep, or dream, as the Vathari did.

~~

From his internal clock, Olaron felt it was near or at sunset, by the time Llorem finally ran out of immediate questions. Throughout the day he had done his best to work with the engineer, sometimes letting the alien figure out a mechanism alone, if only to provide an opportunity to speak with Oran and Oret to expand his vocabulary. By now he was mostly fluent, if only in the conversational parts of the language.
"Llorem, the sun is setting and I think it's about time I put my arm, and my head, and- well, most of me, back together. I'd like to speak to Captain Gyem again, and I'll need to speak to my superiors, as well. If you want, I can show you more things later?"


((I will be using ~~ for scene transitions))

In truth, Llorem only found himself running out of questions as fatigue caught up to him. A quiet yawn from Oret pushed him over the edge, infecting him with the knowledge of his exhaustion. He set down the final mechanism he had been inspecting, bobbing his head.

"Yes... Of course. We best do that."

* * * * *

When they arrived at the bridge, Oran and Oret accompanied Olaron as they approached Gyem, while Llorem stepped off to side, hailing the engineer with the camera over the radio.

"Captain, in the past six hours I have given your engineer Llorem a good deal of knowledge about Vathari technology. In that time I have also learned more of your language, so we may talk with more understanding, now. The information I gave Llorem required that I trust him, and also you. I don't know how advanced your people are, but given Llorem's curiosity, I think I introduced him to at least some previously unknown science.

Now, as for your ship. Quaya has informed me that her workers are half way to the core, and that Rethul is working on a factory to build the parts. They think they will be done in three more days. Thiril has been working on a method to put your ship back into orbit, but none of us think your supplies will last long enough to finish it. I talked with Orbital, our station above the planet, and had the minds on board call the nearest ship. It will arrive in two local weeks.

Is there anything you would like to discuss with me, Captain?"

Gyem nodded and began to type on the tablet in his hand. Several times the other Gyraci noticed him pressing in a way that must have been backspacing as he typed and re-typed. At last, he appeared to finish, staring at the message a moment before turning on text-to-speech.

"Where is the ring?"

Llorem was rubbing his eyes, but stopped when the message came through. Of course, the ring; their only means to get back to ASC space.