2 - The Battleship Orion

Far above Dawn’s poor, beaten, and bleeding head, deep within the night sky, was something incomprehensible, majestic, and scientifically astounding at the same time. At least, it would be astounding for an Earth scientist.

In the desolate vacuum of space, orbiting carelessly around Earth was a single alien battleship, its massive metal hull appearing to cast a greenish-white glow around it. Near its thrusters was a large, painted name that read:

 

Mareyllé #01345

ORION

 

Though their presence was unknown to the humans (their cloaking technology was far more advanced than anything Earth had ever experienced), they were certainly present. They had been one of the few species that desired to research Earth, and they had done so for countless ages. They were inquisitive, easily fascinated, and, too be interested in Earthly humans, endowed with a good sense of humor.

They were the Monearki, a right-brained species of humanoids originating on the planet Moneark*. They were quite likeable, though sometimes annoying, and tended to have humorous and sometimes reckless attitudes. Space travel had existed on their planet for eons, and they were well versed in knowledge of the universe. Ideas and theories that humans accepted were jokes to them.

Anyone who knew Monearki history knew they were heavily linked to the elements of sound and music. Their language was soft, calming, and musical. They respected, even revered, the many genres of interplanetary music and had come to love Earth music as well. Much of their culture had been integrated with the things they had learned from Earth and its people.

Tired of using cloaked probes to spy on the Earthlings, the Monearki had planned an excursion to Earth. After millenniums of research, their knowledge of the Earth humans became so great that they knew more about Earth than the Earth people did. It was a strange thought.

With their knowledge in hand, the Orion Coalition, which was a group comprising of Moneark and several of its intergalactic allies in the Orion Arm, decided to form a scientific research group and send them to study human activity on Earth. Though many volunteered, only one was chosen in the end, and it was a bit of an upset.

Though there were many great Monearki scientists and astronomers at the time, such as the venerable Dr. Mizar Draco*, but the Orion Confederation chose a more unlikely candidate.

Rigel Sagittarius was a practically ancient scientist who hailed from the “wild jungle lands” of Credia, and, miraculously, won the job of leading the research expedition. How he got the position caused quite a stir in the journalist and gossiper community; the tabloids were blazing for months. However, it became clear that the Orion Coalition had simply become interested in his past experience.

Though well in his years, old Sagittarius quickly proved to be wise in the extreme and formed a crew, beginning research immediately and promising to put a Monearki on Earth by the end of the decade. No one doubted his words.

However, many doubted his decisions. For one, he kept most of his operations secret, and with an eager public, there became more and more rumors of illegal experiments and other controversies. Perhaps his most notorious decision was his selection of which of his crewmembers would travel to Earth.

The general plan was this: select a crewmember to travel, alone, to Earth and plant a form of timed tracking device on a human being. When the tracking device was activated, the same Monearki individual would return to Earth and attempt to form some kind of bond with the human, therefore finding a way to obtain shelter and sustenance for the duration of the mission.

It was an undoubtedly crude plan, unable to be tested in any way and by no means foolproof. To do the job, they would need a person knowledgeable in Earthly cultures, languages, and attitudes. They would need to be ready for anything, as the tracking device placement was completely random. Finally, they would need to be persuasive and trustable enough to convince the human to which they were bonded to provide them with necessities. It was a blisteringly hard task.

The general public outcry was for Prince Acamar Pisces XVII, prince of the Monearki province of Credia, war hero, and general celebrity, to be the one chosen. He had been selected as one of the head crewmembers, and it seemed inevitable that he would be the one chosen.

But Rigel Sagittarius had other plans. It had been long before the choosing of the so-called “Earthly Ambassador” that he had employed a homeless Credian in the project. The poor vagrant seemed quite pitiable, having lost eighteen years of his memory for some unknown reason.

However, he was brilliant in chemistry, psychology, and other important subjects, and Rigel could only assume that he had obtained a college education sometime during those eighteen years that he remembered so little of. Rigel took him under his wing and trained him in the research project, finding him to be a space travel prodigy, even more so than Prince Pisces.

Therefore, it was the ex-tramp that was chosen as the Earthly Ambassador, and Prince Pisces and his fanbase were left in the dust. Immediately the public opinion of Rigel changed, and he went from wise, kindly old man to crackpot, senile old fool. The government trusted his decisions, however, and accepted the choice of the previously homeless man.

And so begins the story of Arcturus Muliphein Orion* and his fateful journey to Earth. He was a young Monearki, only 147 years of age, and was quite odd for someone who had once been homeless. It was obvious that he was no charity case. Those who were harsh on his brash and overconfident attitude would have said that he had learned nothing from being homeless and that he was not thankful in any way. This was quite incorrect; Arcturus was absolutely grateful for his deliverance, he just had an odd way of showing it.

Ask one of his friends, and they would tell you that Arcturus, who they called Art, was a friendly, slightly reckless, and generous man. Ask his enemies, however, and they would tell you that Arcturus was cocky, annoying, and incredibly inept. Either way, he had obviously been smart, humble, and good enough to win over Rigel’s favor and become the Earthly Ambassador.

Two years ago he had been sent to Earth to plant the tracking device. Oddly, through some bizarre form of technology, he had disguised the tracking device as a perfectly normal apple. The event was largely unplanned, and Art was rather confused by how he was supposed to get a human to take and keep the apple. Before he could ask any questions, however, he had been put in the teleportation device and transported to Earth.

The events that occurred after that happened blindingly fast. He found himself in the pitch-black darkness of a New York subway tunnel, the only lights there on his ruby-red alien armor. He made his way through the dim light and emerged in a busy subway station. However, he quickly realized that something was terribly wrong.

The humans in the station were clearly alarmed, as they were fleeing and screaming for help, police, and numerous other things. Cameras were flashing, people were jabbering frantically on cell phones, not even noticing that an alien in extremely futuristic armor had just walked into the station.

And then he saw the source of the commotion. There was someone dead on the ground, and beside her was a young girl, frozen in fear. Interested, Art hopped onto the platform and saw, in front of her, a man with a gun pointed directly at her forehead. In a moment of gallantry and realization, Art used one of his weapons to stun the man, and then turned to the girl.

With careful precision, he placed the apple in the girl’s hands, whispered to her a consoling phrase, albeit in Monearki, and wiped the memory of the last minute from the girl’s mind. He then stunned her and turned to those who had saw him.

Carefully using one of Rigel’s devices, he steadily wiped each of their memories, and then returned to the heavens above. He had remained onboard the Orion (which, coincidentally, was named after his war hero grandfather Betelgeuse Orion) for another two years while he and everyone else waited for the tracking device to activate in whatever way Rigel planned it to.

And here he was, two years later, still waiting. No one had expected this to take so long, and the community back on Moneark was starting to lose hope in the entire operation. Even Art, who was ambitious, faithful, and prone to never losing hope, felt slightly hopeless as they slowly orbited the blue orb beneath them.

There was a light tap on the door of Art’s cabin, and it awoke him from his light sleep. Wondering why someone had decided to come knocking at the door at this late hour, he got out of his pathetic bed and turned up the dimmed lamp.

The room was dark, cramped, and hardly bigger than a large closet. The lamp filled it with dim, reddish light, and the walls were lined with cabinets, the bed, a tiny hot plate, and several stray objects cluttered the ground. On one of the cabinets was a small, still growing plant and a leather bag that read Mothporle Seed. Several colorful moths fluttered around the lamp.

Art opened the door, and light from the outside corridor flooded his face. He had the same figure as a human �" four limbs, a head, and the general shape, but his fingers were longer, and, perhaps most noticeable, his skin was a shade of salmon. His hair was thin and wavy, reaching just to his neck, and it was a deep blood color.

His eyes were possibly the most prominent of his features. The size of chicken eggs, they were a gleaming sky blue with deep navy blue pupils. Beneath them was his nose, which appeared to be more of a bump with two holes in it rather than a body part.

The hall was only slightly brighter than Art’s dark cabin, and it was obvious that it was located in the bowels of the ship. It had an odd hexagonal shape, and was lit by lights high above in the metal rafters. The door to Art’s cabin was built into the slanted wall, and there was a step between them, making him seem a foot shorter than he really was.

Standing in the hall was the one who had knocked on his door. She was slim, had protuberant yellow eyes, and sky blue skin. “I was told… t-to give you a message*,” she said, her voice quavering a bit.

Though drowsy, he said, “Go ahead.”

“The admiral would like to see you,” she said. “He says that it is time for y-you to begin your m-mission.”

Suddenly wide-awake, he said eagerly, “Really? The tracking device has been activated?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, and he noticed that she looked slightly tearful. “Y-you need to report to �" to Transfer Room C.” She paused for a bit, seeming to catch her breath. “Good luck, Art.”

He smiled slightly, and then, without one word of concern for her weepy expression, returned to his room and closed his door. Picking up a weather-beaten belt with a buckle that was engraved with a u-shaped symbol, he clicked a button on it. The various objects cluttered around the room, including the moths and the Mothporle, glowed brightly red and vanished, apparently into the belt.

He then pulled on what appeared to be some kind of mahogany-colored bomber jacket. On its left were the words <<Gralon>> - Arcturus M. Orion, and on the right, Special Forces �" Earthly Ambassador. Buckling on the belt, he exited his now vacant, save for the tiny bed, room.

The pretty blue girl was no longer in the hall, and it was quiet except for the sound of Art’s naval boots clanking against the steel floors. His heart was pounding with excitement �" the mission was finally ready to begin. But what if something went wrong? What if he was late, and Pisces was appointed Earthly Ambassador instead?

He let none of these thoughts plague his mind, being an incorrigible optimist, and walked down the halls with a spring in his step. He reached the elevator and let two disgruntled-looking fellows walk by him, both of them ignoring his thrilled smile. He entered the bright, white elevator and hit the button that would take him to Level One.

Feeling himself rise rapidly, he stumbled as the elevator stopped early on Level Four. Entering it was Acamar Pisces, his face haughty and deep blue, and his blazer far nicer and more expensive than Art’s tatty brownish one. He noticed Art only after the doors had closed.

“Art!” he said eagerly, in a tone that Art did not expect. “I’d been hoping to see you.”

The idea that the reigning prince of Credia had been hoping to see him came as quite a shock. “You were?”

Pisces nodded. Though Art had respect for his authority and position, he tended to find Pisces a bit arrogant, and had supposed that the prince would be bitter towards him ever since Art took the position of Earthly Ambassador.

“I heard that you were setting off tonight, and I just want to wish you luck on the mission.”

Art smiled as he had done with the blue girl, and muttered his thanks. “Listen, dad relinquishes power in a few years,” the elevator stopped at Level One, and they walked out together, “and if this mission goes well, you’ve definitely got a place in my administration. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

He seemed to be looking for a word of acknowledgement from Art. “Oh,” he said, slightly surprised. He had never had the kind of wealth that a government salary would grant him. “Of course I’d be fine with that… yeah.”

Pisces patted him hard on the back, grinning at one of his passing fanboys. “Alright, then, Art. I doubt that you could possibly do as good as I would,” Art suppressed a gag, “but as long as you’re passable,” Art’s impression of Pisces and willingness to proceed with this engagement were both waning, “I’ll definitely consider you.”

Art tried to turn his scowl into a smile and managed to create a grimace of some kind. “I have to go talk with Captain Pleiades. See you in a bit, Art.”

He laughed with the last few words, and Art only smiled wryly. He was glad to be rid of Pisces, for a few years at least, or so he hoped. As he swaggered down the hall, a lime-green Monearki emerged from around the corner of Level One’s far brighter halls.

“Sucking up to the prince now?” asked the green one coldly.

“Get off it, Capricorn,” said Art, “you’re just jealous that I ended up with this position.”

“You’re position’s nothing. You’re a gralon, and that’s-,”

“One rank higher than you, I thought.”

Capricorn pointed to his own brownish jacket. “Look at that �" Rigel made me gralon a few hours ago. Which makes you the same as me.”

Art shrugged. “Well, I’m better looking, taller, and smarter, so I think we can consider me just a bit higher on the authority chain than you.”

The greenish Capricorn wrinkled his nose and turned briskly away from Art, who smiled smugly to himself. “You keep off that Capricorn,” said a deeper voice beside him, and he turned to see a large magenta Monearki beside him.

“Thuban!” exclaimed Art. “Good to see you.”

Thuban’s tough expression did not change. “Like I said, careful with that Capricorn. He’s got some fine connections.”

Art nodded, but only because he wanted to end the conversation concerning Capricorn. Thuban turned, revealing a tiny purple Monearki behind him. He had thin, wiry hair and looked quite nervous and weedy.

Smiling, Art greeted him, “Hey, Sabik. This place sure is busy for the middle of the night, eh?”

Sabik let out a wheezy giggle. “Y-yeah… Admiral Sag-sag-tarius sent us t-to get you,” he stuttered in a quiet, squeaky voice. Art continued following behind the two down the pristine white halls.

“He wanted to make sure that you didn’t get into ay trouble before you set off,” grunted Thuban in his thick voice. “Which it looks like you were about to do.”

“Capricorn’s a wimp,” said Art without care, “there was no way he was going to take that argument any further.”

Thuban grunted and Sabik gave a shaky shrug. “Corporal Algol wants to see me, so I have to go now,” muttered Thuban.

“What, does no one sleep?”

“Algol always was a bit odd. I think he might sleep during the day.”

Though this was odd, nothing seemed to affect Art in his mood of excitement. Thuban wished him luck, and Art continued walking with Sabik towards Transfer Room C.

“How you been, Sabik?” asked Art, addressing his old friend. Though his memories of him were foggy, Art remembered Sabik from his younger days, and they had both saved each other’s life in turn.

“F-fine,” said Sabik. “Here it is.” He pointed out a large door that read, on the plaque next to it, Transfer Room C. They entered it and found themselves in a small lobby of sorts that led into a room completely made out of glass. There were several futuristic screens on the walls, and one of the five Monearki that were now in there was looking at one with interest.

Seeing that two more Monearki had entered the room, a bespectacled magenta one turned around, greeting Art. “Excellent. You’re a bit late, but we can make it on time if you just hurry,” he said, ushering Art over to the glass chamber.

“Excuse me, Dr. Cancer,” said a calm, emotionless voice from behind Cancer and Art. “If I am correct, we still have twenty minutes before the human becomes untraceable.”

“We can’t afford to waste any time, Admiral,” said Cancer urgently, turning to look at the man who had spoken. Art did so as well.

He recognized his longtime mentor and commanding officer Rigel Sagittarius, the man who had organized the mission in the first place. Though Monearki aged at extremely slow rates, he appeared to be nothing short of ancient, with human-sized, yellow eyes and wrinkles all over his pea green face. His hair was almost completely gone, and what remained of it he had swept into a messy comb over. He was dressed in a long robe of black with plum-colored edges, and held a pocket watch in his right hand.

“I would like to speak with Arcturus privately before he departs,” he said in his calm voice. Though Cancer seemed quite perturbed, he nodded sharply and waved them off.

They exited the Transfer Room and headed into the hall. “This looks like a good spot,” said Rigel as they entered an empty conference room. “Here we are, Arcturus. The point that we have so strived to reach for all these years.”

Art looked slightly confused. “This conference room?”

Rigel gave him a stern look. “The mission.”

“Oh. Go on.”

“Well,” Rigel took a seat, “I have bad tidings to report. Something is happening on Earth, something that has never happen before in known history. Should we not intervene, it will surely bring the planet’s end.”

“What is it? What are you going to do about it?”

Rigel closed his eyes. “I have predicted this issue for many years. When I realized that the time was ripe for it to come to pass, I volunteered myself to head up this mission. I was lucky �" they accepted me.”

“But what is it? What’s causing trouble on Earth?”

“Hold on, Arcturus. Anyhow, I knew that I needed to intervene before this problem came to engulf the Earth as I had predicted. I myself could not defeat it �" my human disguise is far too old and weak �" so I would need to send someone to exterminate this problem for me.

Art was putting two and two together. “So you picked me to go to Earth and get solve this problem.”

“Yes. You are by far the most instrumental part of my plan. However, I would need a cover-up. If the mission was for anything more than simple exploration, I would lose my government funding, my position as Admiral, and, at this point in the mission, would probably be thrown in jail.

“So I made Procyon Cancer, professor of astronomy at JSU*, the scientific leader of the mission. He does not know of my true motives, but has formulated an exploration mission that will act as the excellent cover-up I needed. He must not know of our true mission either.”

“You still haven’t explained what this problem is,” said Art with impatience.

“Have patience, Arcturus. I need you to trust me completely before I give you any further direction.”

Art did not hesitate when he said, “Of course I trust you.”

Rigel smiled a smile that was full of confidence. “I did not doubt it. I have your word that you will not relay the mission I am about to give you to any of our Monearki colleagues?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” said Rigel, and he leaned forward in his chair. “This may be hard to believe, but in my great age and wisdom �" 347,000 years of it, that is, I have deduced that something terrible is going on behind the scenes on Earth.”

“Well, I’ve figured that much out for myself, Admiral.”

“I know. As I am sure you know, thanks to your years of college education-,”

“-That I can’t remember how I got?”

“Yes, that education.”

“How do you think I lost my memory, Admiral?” asked Art, inquisitive.

“Another time, Arcturus. Now we need to discuss your mission. As you know, numerous governments that are based on states, provinces, and countries govern Earth. It has recently come to my attention that they are all linked in one of the worst ways possible.

“There is some sort of order, at this very moment, acting in clandestine ways, that controls at least one Earthly government. Their deeds are neither ethical nor reasonable. They must be stopped.”

“So my mission is to save the world from these folks?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds easy enough,” said Art cockily.

Rigel chuckled. “It will be far more difficult than you think. You must remain on Earth until you defeat these evil people. If the Monearki government should call you back, you must go into hiding, as will I. You understand?”

Art nodded. “Excellent. If you have no questions, then you should be getting to Earth.”

“One question,” said Art, and Rigel nodded, “well, more like a thousand, but we don’t have time for that. Anyway, how did this… new world order… come to power? What kind of psycho methods did they use? If I know that-,”

“-Then you will be able to defeat them easier, of course. Many years ago, a Monearki temple on planet Earth, made millenniums ago, was raided. A source of great evil that was in that temple was stolen.”

After a pause, Art asked, “And it was?”

“Darkness.”

“Just… Darkness?”

Rigel raised his forehead, as Monearki had no eyebrows. “Not just darkness, but Darkness.”

Art was dumbstruck for a second. “You realize that… that makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Darkness, Art. Darkness with a capital “D” in all forms. It latches on to not the body, but the soul, and slowly uses the body as a vessel for carrying out its deeds.”

“So these evil people are just controlled by Darkness?”

“Darkness alone cannot control, Art,” said Rigel gravely, “ for no lone substance can take away a being’s free will. These people have chosen their paths. They are wicked people, and the Darkness in them only augments this.

“They, or perhaps only one of them has Dark powers �" consider that, Art �" have taken control using one of the more destructive abilities of Darkness called ‘suggestion’.”

“They, or this single person, can suggest anything to another human, and that human’s mind will alter in its thoughts and opinions to agree. This is what makes them so powerful. To perform suggestion, they need extreme Dark skill, and it cannot be used against those of pure heart or great willpower.”

Rigel reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a piece of waxy yellow quartz on a string. “Take this, Art. You never know when you might need it.”

Art took it. “What is it?” he asked, slipping it into his pocket.

“Lightstone. Seeing as we are fighting a form of, say, corporeal darkness, I have decided to give you a form of corporeal light. The Darker things become, the brighter that will shine.” Rigel stood up and walked over to the door. “It will also protect you from Dark suggestion, though I think your willpower is enough protection from that.”

Rigel smiled serenely and Art returned it. “Time to go, I think. You know what to do.”

They exited the room together and reentered the Transfer Room, where Dr. Cancer was tapping his foot impatiently. “I’m ready, Dr. Cancer,” said Art forcefully.

Cancer let out an infuriated sigh. “The tracking device is about to wear out. We’ve got under five minutes.”

A bowl of something salmon-colored and creamy was handed to Art by one of Cancer’s attendants. “What is this? Chowder?”

“Beef, your favorite,” muttered the attendant.

“Ooo,” said Art excitedly, and began to spoon up the chowder happily.

“We have to get you full before a transfer, or it won’t be a very comfortable landing.” Cancer sat down in a chair. “We’ve gone over all the precautions already: Operate your bionic armor regularly, don’t get into trouble, don’t hang out with any disreputable humans, don’t engage in sexual intercourse with any of them-,”

“What happens if I do?”

“You aren’t planning to, right?”

“I’m just curious,” said Art, shrugging and resuming eating his disgusting-looking broth.

“Well, don’t be. We don’t really know what would happen.” Cancer stood back up. “Anyhow, if you agree to all terms and conditions…”

“I do.”

“…Then you’re ready to go. As you know, you’re going to be landing somewhere in the United States of America. With you’re Earthly knowledge, you ought to know everything about it.

“We’ve verified the coordinates of the tracking device while you were speaking with Rigel. You’re going to be landing in a forest on the outskirts of Roslin, Iowa, which is a small town not far from Sioux City. You know these locations?”

“Uhh… a bit.”

“Good, you don’t need to know much,” said Cancer, and he ushered for Art to enter the transfer chamber. The bowl of chowder was wrenched from his hands, and he scowled at the attendant who took it from him.

“G-good luck, Art,” stammered Sabik Scorpius from the corner of the room.

“Thanks, Sabik. See you soon,” said Art, and he turned to Rigel, who stood opposite to Scorpius.

“Be careful, now,” was all that Rigel said, though he gave Art a secretive smile as he passed.

“If you would turn on your armor,” said Cancer as Art entered the transfer chamber. Art flicked the buckle of his worn, reddish belt, and several metal plates whirled around him, fixing themselves to his body. When they had ceased, he appeared to be a large, humanoid lobster with glowing electric blue eyes. He surveyed everyone in the room through a bluish haze and several targeting reticules and status meters.

“Good-bye, Art,” said Cancer, though he said it halfheartedly and still looked blatantly impatient. He hit a switch on one of the computer panels and the glass doors of the transfer chamber slid shut.

All sound was blocked out. Art felt like he was in a completely silent shower stall. He could see nothing but the figures of those outside of the chamber, and suddenly a strange tingling feeling spread throughout his limbs. He felt as if his body was fluid as it was weirdly distorted. For a second he felt as if his eyes were on his leg and his hands on his head, and then everything righted itself.

If he had not done this before, he would have thought something had gone wrong. However, after a moment of silence and motionlessness, the air was rent with blinding light, and he felt himself falling through nothingness.

---

* Pronounced MON-ark. Monearki is pronounced Mon-ar-KEE.

* The standard method of naming Monearki people is governed by a method known as “Constellation,” in which a Monearki child’s surname is the same as his or her father’s, which is almost always the name of a human-named constellation. The forename tends to be the name of a human-named star, nebula, or, even more rare, galaxy. A person named in this format is known as a “Constellate.”

* Pronunciation varies between Monearki and English. Monearki: ESH-yoo-us Moo-lif-EE-un OH-ree-un. English: ARK-tyur-us Mull-if-EE-un OH-ri-un

* All words spoken by the Monearki on the battleship Orion are translated from Eastern Monearki to English for convenience.

* Journey State University. Located in the twin cities of Journey in southern Credia, just northeast of Gezzou, the capitol of Credia.