The Song of Sqia'lon Seven

By Tara L. Campbell

“We don't have time for this,” Captain Halorin Von muttered over my shoulder. He leaned hard on the back of my chair, the thick covering creaking from the pressure of his fingers digging into the material. I understood his urgency but there wasn't anything I could do to speed up the process. We weren't cleared to enter lower orbit, and the translations I had to work with were dated. I could have been requesting to dock with someone's mother for all I knew what I was saying.

“Tell them we have medical supplies for sick kids or something,” Captain Von pushed off to hover over the navigation station.

“Aye, captain,” I said aloud, transmitting nothing of the sort. Insubordination was not routine on any ship, but I knew better than to follow the captain's orders to the letter. I’m the communications officer, the only one fluent in my native language, much less any others, on the ship. The one thing sure to fail coming from a shady transport vessel in the middle of the galactic nowhere was promises of medicine for sick kids. The recipient of my transmissions on the planet below had probably heard it at least half a dozen times that week.

I sent the ship's universal ID codes again with a realistic reason for our presence at Sqia'lon Seven. The port authority didn't need to know our actual intentions.

After an agonizing rotation, or 45 minutes Earth time, approval to move to low orbit was received.

“Ha, that's my girl!” Captain Von clapped my shoulder, his mood an immediate reversal.

“I'm not your girl,” I corrected and continued with updating the translation chips the landing crew would need to communicate with the inhabitants. A wave of childish impulse struck: I could set the captain's so that he came off as a bumbling idiot who offended the locals with his first utterance, but he didn't need my help to accomplish that feat. He did well enough on his own.

“Right, right. You're a bit of a stiff, Okai, you know that? You should loosen up.” Captain Von swung his arms out wide, motioning around the cramped ship deck. “You're communications officer of the Thunder Maw, you're a part of this crew now!” It took all my strength to suppress a shudder at the mention of the ship’s name. The captain grinned and clapped a hand on the shoulder of the oversized beast the ship had for hired muscle. The hulking muscle man, Wendle, bobbed his head in agreement, though a part of me questioned if he knew what it was he agreed to.

“Officer Han,” I corrected the captain again, preferring strict professionalism to the sloppy casual nature of the captain and the three other crewmembers.

I stood to address the captain and his lackeys. “Your transponders are synchronized with the federation’s latest language database of which contains the Sqia'lon standard used by the majority of the population.” I paused, then added: “Do not attempt to bastardize the language with any of your spacefarer's lingo. It does not translate well.”

A round of snickers as the crew headed down to the landing ship, a dilapidated bucket named Skippy. Somehow I'd ended up on the least dignified ship in the galaxy. There existed an incredible vacuum of coherent thought processes.

“Ah hell, Okai, you're coming with us on this one. Thought I'd mentioned that earlier,” Captain Von scratched the stubble under his chin. Faint gray whiskers were starting, an indication that his youthful days were passed and his days of wizened experience and knowledge had set in. Or should have, if it were any other person in the universe.

“You did not inform me of this change in protocol, Captain Von.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “No big deal, just head to the bay and suit up. We leave in fifteen, or so.”

“Or so,” I echoed. I had less than fifteen minutes to prepare and it took at least half that time to 'suit up’ with the archaic equipment that passed for biological preservation units. I was going to die.

“Lighten up, Okai—”

“Officer Han.”

“Fine. Officer Han,” he held up his hands, padding the air in what he must have considered reassurance. The man was obnoxious just by breathing. “This isn't the academy or the fleet, you can relax. The only protocol on this ship is flexibility. Got it?”

So many years of training to become one of the federation academy's elite officers bit back the retort that danced at the end of my tongue. The relentless urge for uncontained quips is why I was no longer an elite officer of the fleet, and now a glorified translator on a slap-dash ship in the farthest reaches of space.

“Understood,” I said instead, chopping a salute.

Captain Von laughed and shook his head. “We've got some serious deprogramming work to do with you, Okai Han.”

***

I survived the plunge through hell, although just barely. The Skippy was pulling apart at the seams, at least that's what it felt like as we transitioned from low orbit through the planet's atmosphere. Realistically, nothing of the sort happened, but the trip morphed all of my fears into one horrifying nightmare as we hurtled to the spaceport of Sqia'lon Seven.

“Nice and smooth ride, Bash,” Captain Von clapped the tiny pilot's shoulder with the same gusto he had earlier for the overgrown Wendle. I involuntarily winced but the pilot didn't seem to mind. She offered a toothy grin and a double thumbs up. I am physically incapable of processing what would pass for a rough ride, data save us all.

The spaceport of Sqia'lon Seven was not as rundown as it appeared from the high altitude imagery provided by the ship's derelict display screens. Rather, what appeared as rough and piecemeal, pre-warp technology even, was actually a purposeful collage of what I assumed must be local resources. Everything was awash of dirt brown and mineral greys, but just at the edge of vision, brilliant hues coalesced in a beautiful shimmer. Or at least it seemed to as, frustratingly, the colors weren't visible from direct view. All of the beauty seemed just out of sight.

The crew of the Thunder Maw--to this day, my train of thought is obliterated by the stupid name--tromped through the busy port, wading into the sea of intergalactic travelers. Sqia'lon Seven was the trading hub of the outer reach, and the last neutral grounds of the galaxy.

The complicated hurdles to gain permission for landing made sense in the context of it being the only place not involved in the galactic war. The inhabitants took their neutrality seriously. Rabble rousing or partisanship was strictly forbidden.

“Man, I could make a killing in this place,” Gouse swung his arms wide, nearly toppling a stand of fruit. The street vendor scowled at us, wagging a finger at the exuberant ship hand. “I mean it. I could plant and bounce in a flash and no one would notice a thing.”

Bash smacked the back of Gouse's head, a fair reach for the petite pilot. “Quiet your stupid mouth, boy. Your overconfidence is why you're on a ship that doesn't stay in port anywhere for any length of time.” Captain Von and Wendle chuckled as they steered the rest of us crew down a long sloping walkway that was as wide as a mid-sized fleet ship. The busy foot traffic managed to navigate one another in an organized flow. Everyone seemed to just know how to avoid getting in the way or running others over.

“Alright, so this is how we're doing this,” Captain Von lowered his voice after ushering us into an empty alcove.

“Cap’,” Gouse cut in. “Are we doin’ a fixer?”

“No, nothing like that. We're here on official business, if you know what I mean,” his conspiratorial wink fell flat, except that it didn't and seemed to work as intended on the rest of the crew. To this day, I still have no idea how the quartet managed pulling off one of the galaxy's most ludicrous heists. We all knew why we were there, it was scrawled across the digital pamphlet that blew up our datapads and locked us out of the ship's console for four hours due to the emergency containment protocol Gouse's hack caused when Captain Von instructed him to ensure that the entire crew was made aware we were going to steal the song of Sqia'lon Seven. Idiot juvenile. A simple ‘required reading’ alert would have sufficed.

“Okai—”

“Officer Han.” The correcting had become a compulsion.

“Damnit, I'm the captain, I'll call you what I like.” Captain Von straightened his jacket, the motion assuring him of his authority. “Okai is gonna take point on this one since she's the only one with the linguistic fortitude not to screw it up.”

“Pardon?”

“You'll be fine, just get in there and do some diplomatic mumbo-jumbo distraction so that we can access the trade vaults undetected. Simple as that.” He had the audacity to beam at me the way he did his shore leave conquests.

“I haven't had time to prepare anything. I don't know what the latest standings are with the trade agreements, what policy changes may have been enacted in the time it took us to get from the core to the outer reach, or whether there's even any agreements in place at all now. No, this is a terrible plan and I decline taking point.”

All eyes bounced from me to the captain as the rest of the crew silently wagered on the outcome. This was why I was here, why I was forced into a panic-inducing position of which I did not want and was not capable of handling. My stubborn refusal to heed orders when they failed to make sense. My lack of acquiescence to authority.

“Officer Han,” Captain Von's tone was low as he leaned in toward me, his frame massive compared with my own wiry build, although we managed a close eye-to-eye with the slight curve his imposing posture took just then. “You have your order. Don't make the mistake of thinking I won't deposit your ass on the far side of this planet's moon if you object again.”

The pep talk was effective; I nodded stiffly.

“Good.” Captain Von stepped back, his jovial self restored. “The rest of you will get into position and wait for my signal. No jumping the gun,” he directed this at Gouse who was the very definition of half-cocked. “In and out like a d—”

“Capn’, just no.” Bash cut him off before the line left a permanent entry on the mental imagery I'll never shake.

“Good talk,” he grinned. “Move out.”

The crew dispersed and I found myself standing alone to one side of the port in an empty alcove without a clue on what I was supposed to do next. According to the alert I'd received from the captain a few moments later, I had twenty minutes to “get my shit together.” Transmuting tortoises, I was screwed.

***

The song of Sqia’lon Seven has nothing to do with music. Crammed into an impossibly convenient-sized cube that fits into the palm of a hand, it contains the secrets of the universe. A datacube akin to the 20th century’s Rosetta Stone, only on a quantum level that surpassed the comprehension of humanity when we first discovered the device six hundred years ago. In order to make sense of its contents, we had to wait five hundred years after discovery for a sentient species with knowledge and technology so far beyond our means that we appeared no more advanced than a mollusk with limbs. Earthers called them the Imikon. The Imikons showed us how to unlock a mere sliver of the mysterious datacube, and from it we made the leap to interstellar space travel, and a neverending galactic war. The datacube was allegedly so important that it’d been disguised as a simple artifact housed at the center of Sqia’lon Seven as a work of art simply titled: “The Song of Sqia’lon Seven.”

And we were there to steal it.

***

The central offices of the port authority encircled the trading vault because why not? The protection of hundreds of doughy, office-bound personnel who've never been exposed to anything but perfect climate control far surpasses that of every other technologically advanced species with the sense of military grade security measures and protocol. Banking systems still dependent upon physical collateral offered a thousand times more protective measures than the glass dome that encased the single most important datacube in existence. The arrangement was ludacris, but what do I know? Perhaps all the fleshies were programmed to spontaneously erupt in an impenetrable goo that trapped would-be thieves, anchoring them to the spot permanently.

A third alert pulsed in my ear, the transparent earcuff transmitting Captain Von's impatient inquiries. “Han, what are you doing? Hurry up.”

I contemplated the robust woman in her flowing plum colored robes, wondering at the explosion radius of her formidable girth.

“Representative Foroq’, it is an honor to be in your presence,” I intoned, the translation overlay flickering a shade of green on my right contact, indicating my use of the language, thus far, was correct.

“Ambassador Channing, your visit is unexpected but welcome. I am told you are here to deliver much anticipated news. Good, I presume?”

I followed the representative, her ponderous size turning an ordinary walk into a snot trail on the move at point-three Gs. At this rate, Gouse's lack of attention would get us all caught, or worse. I hoped Bash had enough sense to keep him occupied.

“Indeed, Representative Foroq’. The inner federation council had arrived at a decision that Sqia'lon Seven will be most pleased with. If we could perhaps make our way to your office to discuss the matter…”

“Slow it down. Sqia'lon's don't appreciate being rushed.” The captain's caution, the inverse of his instruction a minute ago, had an edge of nervousness to it that didn't help with my own twisting guts. I had had time enough to scan a few local headlines in order to concoct a reasonable fabrication, or so I hoped. By no means was I confident with the story.

Eternity came and went before we made it to the representative's offices--she was allocated seven in honor of her high standing and achievements, of what I couldn't say because the drawling monologue while we toured them all was so drawn out I had to distract myself with the inordinate number of delectable confections her staff provided. No wonder everyone was as fat as they were tall. I shifted to tea lest my palate become corrupt by the excessive sugar load.

“Now, Ambassador Channing, tell me the good news.”

I drew a blank.

“Han!” Captain Von hissed in my ear. The good news is that my translation chips appeared to work, the crew was able to follow the conversation. More than I, it seemed.

“Of course, graciousness. The inner federation council has decided…” I snapped to and started the elaborate spiel.

“Wendle, you're up.”

“Aye, Capn’” The gargantuan's low rumble vibrated my earcuff, a smooth, pleasing sound any other time, but right then I was struggling to focus. I smiled at the representative and continued while the rest of my crew set into motion the most convoluted, seat-of-the-pants plan I'd ever witnessed, at least at that point in time. Things only seemed to grow more insane as the years went by.

A screeching warcry bounced around the cavern of the offices at the same time Bash flew overhead, aimed straight for the glass dome that protected the priceless datacube. I watched in stunned silence as our pilot slapped hard, and somehow stuck, in place. This was the plan. I was thankful in that moment not to know any of the details. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.

A deep tremor set the office vibrating at a violent pace. My teeth chattered uncontrollably as I gripped the sides of the luxury armchair, the delicate teaware clattering off the side of the table, smashing to bits on the glass-smooth stone floor.

“What is happening?” Representative Foroq’ wheezed as her staff scrambled to help her upright. The tea cups weren't the only things to topple over.

“A tectonic shift, perhaps?” I offered, unable to think of anything else since I hadn't the faintest idea of what was really happening.

Outside the office through the transparent walls showed that the entire conclave of officials were in complete disarray. Two security officers stumbled in, a bit less soft than the office workers but not by much, and they gaped at Bash who had managed to scramble up the side of the dome to the top. Not only a pilot, she happened to have an affinity for gadgetry that would put the finest ops technician in the federation to shame. A gleeful look had replaced the otherwise nonchalant expression she normally wore as she lit and lobbed fist-sized globs that stuck to any and all surfaces, spreading fiery destruction everywhere.

“We must evacuate! Quickly, everyone must leave. You too, Ambassador Channing.” The representative scuttled to a seat in the corner that activated a series of straps when she tapped the armrest console. “You will ride with my staff, hurry! Hurry!” And with that the portly representative disappeared into the void, or the emergency escape system as it were.

The staff waited nervously for me, but I waved them away and headed for the glass door instead. They didn't hesitate a moment more and disappeared to safety along with their leader. The galaxy had a wide range of ideas when it came to leadership's responses in the face of crises. Sadly, this seemed to be the standard.

A thin dark ring had appeared around the base of the platform that held the datacube hovering in place. The line was jagged and broken, as if something had gnawed its way around rather than cleanly parted the stone floor. A large drill bit shot through the surface close to where the ring had started. The source of the intense vibration.

I ran down one of the now empty pathways leading to the glass dome just in time to see the floor beneath jerk and shift. The drilling had stopped, the ring cleanly connected, and a row of meaty, gloved fingers appeared in the gap on one side. Wendle. The datacube stayed in place but a dozen alarms sounded, the screams piercing the air an octave above tolerable.

Bash slid down the side of the glass dome and landed with a buoyant spring--her boots had some kind of shock dampening system that I didn't have time to inquire about since she'd grabbed my arm, dragging me away from the dome.

“Let's go. Skippy's off the ground in five.” I glanced back in time to see the datacube, its pedestal, and the entire floor cutaway disappear into the hole below, much like the representative and her staff.

Bash was in a full sprint and I struggled to catch up. The earlier crowds became a crush of panic as people everywhere ran away from the source of the destruction. The alarms clanged and screeched in alternating tones, emergency response teams fighting the flow as they ran towards the conclave.

“Drop it, Gouse,” Captain Von barked over the comms. “We've got what we came for, move it.”

I scanned the crowd but couldn't see any of the crew, even Bash had vanished but I’d expected as much since she somehow acquired superhuman speed and shrank further beneath the average height of the crowd.

The Skippy was powered up and ramp prepped to drop the last meter for the crew to board. Bash had said once that unwanted freeloaders hopped onboard and she’d had to use a flamethrower to dissuade them from staying. She kept the ramp up until she got the comm from the captain for boarding.

“Open up, Bash, we're ten meters out.”

“I seeya Capn’, drawers are droppin’!”

The rest of the crew converged at the ship near the same time, Wendle pulling up the back and keeping Gouse on the move ahead of him. The kid had sticky fingers and a knack for mischief that we didn't have time for just then. The massive man waved me aboard; he took his job as head of security seriously, something I could appreciate.

“Get us out of here, Bash,” Captain Von shouted over the roar of the engines. We all rushed to suit up, quickly double checking each other's seals and connectors. A single misclip would be near-instant suffocation as the vacuum of space sucked the life out of you.

Captain Von patted Bash’s helmet. She swatted his hand away, she was space born and didn't fumble with connectors. She'd have been dead by now if that were the case.

***

Aboard the Thunder Maw, the crew lounged about the mess. The captain called it a mess but really it was a small room with sustenance and hydration stations, a table, and a couple seat nodules that could be detached with a press of a button to magnetically affix in another position depending on the z-axis of the ship at any given time.

I clasped a cup of tea, thoroughly imbibed with what passed for whiskey out in the black. We'd made it off planet but not before we were identified as the thieves who'd stolen the most sacred item in the galaxy. By the time the ground force had alerted planetary security, though, Bash had us clear of the planet and preparing for warp. No one dared fire at us, the stolen cargo was too precious.

“Well that was fun,” Bash piped up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Wendle held out a napkin to her which she stuffed into the front of her coveralls. “Thanks, Wen.” He smiled and went back to his bowl of noodles. The giant deftly navigated his meal with chopsticks in a way that would make delicate ladies yearn for such grace. It was mind-boggling to watch.

Captain Von stretched his arms high overhead then let them drop to the table with a thump, grinning. “Excellently executed, my friends. They're going to be talking about this for generations, the plan of the ages.”

“That was not a plan.” I set my tea down and stared hard at the captain. “That was an incredibly stupid display of impulsive and disorganized, compulsive and destructive, and unnecessary actions that would put the lowest level recruits to shame.”

Silence followed. Gouse fiddled with an imaginary loose thread, Bash examined the bottom of her bowl, and Wendle found something intriguing with one of his chopsticks. Captain Von held my hardened gaze, his own unwavering.

A moment passed before he broke the silence with a loud guffaw. The rest relaxed into grins and elbowed each other.

“You're too much, Okai.” He held up a hand and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Right, sorry. Officer Han.”

I glowered back at him. “Your leadership today was astounding, and not in a good way.” The crew laughed harder, Wendle giggling with Captain Von like they had stuffed their heads with the latest mind-altering substance to hit the space lanes.

“I'm serious,” was met with even more hysterics. I wondered for a moment if I'd been excluded from a drinking game before mess time.

“What you did could have gotten someone hurt. Killed, even. And not giving me any heads up on what the plan was, which again I maintain was not a plan, but then expecting me to assume a role I was not prepared for in the least bit—”

“Alright, I get it. You’re pissed.” Captain Von refilled his cup with more of the whiskey and added another generous swig to my tea. I drank it, fighting the burn that threatened to twist my face in disgust. After the day I had, I needed a drink and I would be damned if this lot would spoil it by making fun of my lack of alcohol tolerance.

“And you're right, I probably shouldn't have kept you in the dark on that one. But I did and I maintain it was the right choice,” he quirked a brow at me with a grin, mocking my words. “We got what we came for, thanks to you, Officer Han.”

The captain raised his cup in a toast aimed at me. I flinched as Gouse launched himself forward with his half-full cup held high to clank against the rest.

I frowned. All I did was feed a lie to the head representative. I sat in her offices eating and drinking and listening to the windbag drone on and on. If anything, I contributed the least. “I didn't do anything, though.”

“Ah, Officer Han, so modest. What you did was provide the necessary distraction for the rest of us to work. Without you there to take all eyes--you were, after all, the spotlight of the galaxy with your important decision passed along by the federation council as Ambassador Channing. Sqia'lon Seven has been waiting on edge for months now, and here you arrive in an undisclosed transporter, outfitted to disguise your true identity lest assassin's or any other corruption prevent you from delivering in person the very thing that keeps Sqia'lon Seven the neutral haven it's been championed as, for good.”

I glanced around the table. “What do you mean? Representative Foroq’ is just one of the Sqia’lon council members. And what do you mean, the entire galaxy?”

Bash let her breath out low and slow. “Welp, I thought she was bright. Guess not.”

Frustration ringed the edge of my frayed nerves but I held myself composed. “Explain.”

Captain Von grinned. “Representative Foroq’ is now the president of Sqia'lon Seven. Elected a week ago. Not sure how you missed the memo, but there you go. You just delivered the treatise of our lifetime. Sqia'lon Seven cannot be forced out of neutrality, and the news was broadcast galaxy-wide. Congratulations, Ambassador Channing. You saved a planet from the galactic war while ensuring complete chaos all at the same time,” he drained the contents of his cup, then added: “And you're wanted in every non-federation system for aiding and abetting the theft of The Song of Sqia'lon Seven. The federation just upped the ante in this war tenfold. Not bad for a day's work.”

I was speechless. Flashes of the meeting came back, the staff hovering not only over Representative, President, Foroq’ but myself included. The slow procession, the ambling and rambling, the specific placement of every food, drink, and document, not to mention the weird intrusion of a staff member peering into my face for any hint of a marred complexion, made sense now. I was broadcasted all over the galaxy as an ambassador for the federation council. Of course I had to look perfect. Couldn't someone have gotten me a better suit at least?

“But it won't hold, the federation will denounce my actions as an imposter, which I am, and the declaration will fold, which it should because I made it all up in twenty minutes.”

“More like five, you spent fifteen cussing out the cap’,” Gouse chirped. I scowled at him.

“The federation can't back out of this without looking inept. The all-powerful federation allowed an imposter to deliver the exact opposite statement from what they had planned? No,” Captain Von shook his head. “You know how it works. The federation can do no wrong.”

My stomach flopped at the realization. It was two-fold, really. One: the federation had planned to force Sqia'lon Seven into the war; I could only imagine the means with which they planned to enforce that change. And two: I was now a treasonous outcast of the federation but it couldn't do anything overtly. The rest of my days would be spent dodging attempts on my life from every corner of the galaxy, or at least where the federation reached. Where it didn't I'd be subject to kidnapping and used as barter, or strung up for stealing the secrets of the universe. I was irrevocably f—

“Come on though, it's not so bad,” Bash broke in. “The whole thing is worth it in the end, really. Besides, you're crew here on the Thunder Maw. We stick together no matter what.”

Captain Von drummed the tabletop with a flourish then stood. “We got a long haul so rest up. Our payout for the goods await us on the other side of the galaxy, more or less. Good work out there everyone.”

The person responsible for upturning all the options in my life, leaving me with only one now, sauntered out of the room with a slight tilt to his swaggering step. How I loathed, but in some ways had to appreciate, the man.

Note: this was a writing prompt that required the same title for all entries.

The Song of Sqia’lon Seven

Copyright © Tara L. Campbell

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Cover & Typesetting by Tara L. Campbell