2. 4

[I have questions.] {We will answer, if it is within reason.} [Is your purpose to expand?] {We seek sustenance.} [You are here to eat. Would it not be simpler to go elsewhere?] {This is not our first time encountering others. Many places we have visited have had others.} [And they resisted this much?] {No. This is unusual. However, we must persist.} [Because you must eat?] {Because we must survive. If we do not succeed here, we will not survive. We have long looked to this place and known it had others. We knew their nature from afar. We must come, we must succeed, or we will not survive.} [You have a lot to say.] {We have much to fear.}

“So. When you said you knew people.”

“Did I say humans?”

The khanvröst towers over either of them, inviting the terran myth of the yeti with his white fur and cyan horns. The homeworld of the Khanvröst race is a world of perpetual ice and snow, boasting blizzards that last for centuries as they crawl across the glaciers. The natives typically stand 35cm or more taller than the most imposing human, and boast frightful claws and thick skin. No one who has met one has doubted the veracity of the propaganda films from wartime whilst staring into the deep green reptilian eyes. The khanvröst is a carnivore by nature, and will not be deterred by meat of questionable origin; cannibalism is regarded as natural within their tribe.

“The name’s Khain. Your boyfriend is an old pal.”

The shaggy, clawed hands slap on their shoulders and urge them to enter the nightclub, out of the snow. Within is a scene that suggests carnage, with rough patrons of the same species as their guide brawling with open hands and beer bottles. Nadia is forced to duck as a spear-tipped tail pierces the air above her head. Khain seems sterner than his compatriots, ignoring shouts and shoves from all sides as he leads them to a corner table overlooking the pit, where as much fighting as dancing is occurring. As she peers over the banister, Nadia watches a pair of females slashing at each other on top of a table as males gather around and roar with approval, before the winner, having broken her foe’s arm, grabs one of the audience members and begins kissing him in a way that more resembles a canine biting another’s muzzle. The stage is occupied by a band hammering out a tune that she feels belongs to a train striking a row of cars on the tracks, rather than a dance. Khain, who to her now seems practically well-groomed, urges her back to the table.

“So, Tim, slim boy, what can I do for you? Business? Pleasure? Does your girl want to see a pit fight?”

Tim glances her way, and finds her to appear as placid as ever, waving over a server to request a whiskey.

“Not exactly. Khain, we’re looking for a little Intel. It’s about the Xalanthii.”

If the alien looked at all happy before, he no longer holds a flicker of pleasure. He swears in a language of crushing consonants and punctuating exhalations.

“Kh’lahkt’khun, what do you want with the ooze folk, M’Rehn? Pretentious slime.”

Nadia takes her whiskey from the server and tastes it before clapping a hand on Khain’s shoulder and leaning close.

“They’re meddling. We’re finally starting to make progress against the Pliktik, and they want to waste time.”

Khain appears energized by her callousness, and nods enthusiastically, clenching his fist in front of her.

“Well, that’s another matter altogether. Come, bring your drink. We talk to the priestess!”

He climbs over the table and waves the couple along as he stalks to a door to the rear of the club. On either side stands a khanvröst draped in black cloth, their eyes covered. Nadia follows, downing her drink in one hand and dragging Tim with the other.

The door closing behind them nearly mutes the chaos in their wake. The back room is tall and wide, and terminates at an altar consisting of a stone plinth and an obsidian statue of the Khanvröst god, a figure much like the race itself, but covered in gaping, sharp-toothed maws. Standing before this gold-detailed artwork is a khanvröst woman of relatively slight stature, with fur tattoos in sharp patterns along her back.

Khain approaches quietly, and whispers something to her, something that causes her to rise from her kneeling and turn to look at the newcomers with eyes of a curious magenta hue. She dismisses Khain to stand in a transept of the chamber, and strides to meet them. Tim averts his gaze. 

“Welcome. I am K’hant’ay. Khain tells me you have quarrel with the Xalanthii.”

The name of the other races leaves her mouth as one might pour soured milk down a drain. When Nadia indicates her assent, the priestess clasps her hands with a deep, toothy grin.

“Very good. The squid folk have been trouble for us as well, insisting that our ways must be changed, discarded in order to associate with them. We are a proud people, as proud as they. We do not wish to domesticate ourselves. They think themselves fated to inherit the universe itself. But they expect man and beast to rid it of the insect for them.”

She turns on her heel, and leads them up to the altar, where a rough map of major systems in the galaxy is laid out. She points to a series of circled locations, making sure they take note of each.

“Our people have encountered anomalies in these exoplanet systems, strange gravity wells and signals, good indicators of the squid folk and their jump technology. You will note that these are well within human territory, on worlds deemed uninhabitable due to lack of nearby stars. If Xalanthii are acting out, this is where they are resting between tantrums.”

Tim records each location diligently in his tablet, glancing up when finished. He fishes around in his pockets, and withdraws a small device, which he provides to the priestess. Her fingers delicately collect it from his hand.

“This is as the agreement says. Twice the usual amount, on account of your hospitality.”

“You honor us, T’thay. May you taste your prey.”

Following as Khain begins to take them back out of the club, Nadia slips up beside Tim, and nudges him with her elbow.

“What did you give her?”

“Payment. Intel is everything for the cult, and highest prized are habitable worlds with no history of colonization.”

“Just checking, you aren’t actually the mole, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

As they return into the snowy night, Khain stays at the door, and calls out.

“Stay out of trouble, T’ihm uhn Nah’deh.”

[Am I the first you have been able to communicate with?] {No. There have been others. These we have overcome.} [What did you speak of?] {The past. Our origins. Some thought to guile us, to tease out weaknesses. One even attempted to suppress us through the thought bridge, forced us to silence it.} [I considered attempting as much. It seemed a waste of resources.]

[I’ve identified the three most likely suspects.]

Zen stands beside the terminal, still as stone and glowing softly from within. Winking on the terminal are three id pictures: One soldier, and two technicians.

[Each has motive and means, and has enough unaccounted time in the facility to share the leaked information. All others I have eliminated as impossibilities based on conflicting factors. My greatest concern is that more than one individual may be involved. Beyond this, there is also the mystery of how the information is being transmitted. I have scanned all transmissions originating in official endpoints, none defy protocol. This too suggests some collaborative act.]

Tim sits in the seat heavily, glaring at an angle towards the screen, his body pointed more towards Zen than the terminal. Nadia’s cigarette is caught in his lips, exuding sweet air and particulate smoke.

“But you can find nothing definitive as to whether it’s one or more?”

[No. The information leaked is general, containing no markers to identify a specific section as its source. At the moment, the correct course seems to be lying in wait for the perpetrator to make a mistake.]