Starfall: A Starstruck Novel (6 page)

“They didn’t exactly request a report. The device activated and I got to it as soon as I could, since they were messing with Nuath’s power. They didn’t ask me anything, though, just pulled my life history out of me—and stopped the power glitches.”

“No report was sent?”

“I guess not? I hadn’t ‘absorbed data’ or anything. But then the device activated again, just a few minutes later, and they said, ‘We are coming.’ I tried to ask
when
. And
why
. But they just pulled more stuff out of my head.”

“Did you allow the Grentl to terminate the connection?”

“Er, no. I think I might have let go early.” I saw no point in explaining why, to this non-personality version of Aerleas. I hoped the one in the other Archive would be easier to warm up to.

“It is possible they would have said more. You have only recently imprinted on the device?”

“The day before yesterday. Yes.”

“It took me many years to establish sufficient rapport with the Grentl to safely initiate contact. Even then, they often declined to respond. I recommend you allow the Grentl to initiate all contact at this time.”
 

That was
so
not helpful! “Can you maybe give me an overview of
all
communications with the Grentl?”
 

“Earliest communication was with two extra-solar researchers, five years before my Acclamation. They discovered little beyond the fact that the Grentl are from a distant part of the galaxy. Repeated attempts to question the Grentl resulted in the device disabling one of the researchers. Six years later, a small team of Communications Engineers made another attempt at contact. They also had limited success, with a similar conclusion. At the Grentl’s request, I was next to interface with the device, at which time I imprinted upon it. The Grentl then cautioned that only I was to use it from that point forward.

“In subsequent sessions, all but three initiated by the Grentl, I was able to learn more about them. By no means humanoid, the Grentl are a hybrid organic and energy-based life form that reproduces by fission. Their keen interest in the development of the colony of Nuath led me to believe they originally founded it for experimental purposes. The Grentl do not measure time as we do, sometimes treating a span of many years as though only days have passed since the previous communication. Also, they are wary of revealing too much about themselves to lower life forms, as they consider us.”

“Wow. How did you learn all that, if they don’t like questions?”

“Over time, my interactions with the device became reciprocal, allowing me to receive impressions from the Grentl much as they received impressions from me. I was never able to ascertain whether this was deliberate on their part or not. I felt it wisest not to ask.”

So they wouldn’t block her from finding out more, I assumed.
 

“As with you, at first they were able to access the whole of my conscious memory. Over time I learned to limit the scope of what they received.”

Ah! “Can you tell me how you did all that? I don’t want to piss them off or anything, but I really do need to get more information about what they plan to do. I’m not sure I can afford to wait until they contact us again. They might just…show up or something. We need to be prepared.”

She paused for a long moment before answering. Maybe searching through the Archive?
 

“There is no precedent for the sort of message you received. Given the potential urgency of your situation, I will attempt to assist but it is possible you will be unable to achieve the same reciprocal communication I did. My son Leontine was never able to do so, nor to limit what the Grentl took from his mind. Therefore he relied primarily on data chips to transmit his reports.”

“I understand. But I have to at least try.”

Aerleas nodded gravely. “I concur. Keep in mind, however, that direct questioning of the Grentl is likely to end badly.”
 

“Got it. So…what do I do? Just grab onto the device again and wait for them to, uh, pick up?”

“Essentially.” Still not a trace of a smile. “On the few occasions I initiated contact, that is what I did. On three occasions, they responded. On four others, they did not, though I waited for over an hour each time. When they did respond, it was within twelve minutes.”
 

I’d give it at least half an hour, then. “If they do answer, how do I get information from them without asking questions?”

“Listen. Reach out with your mind. I grew better at this with practice.”

I wondered if it would be anything like when I used to “listen” for Rigel’s thoughts. Pain lanced through me at a memory so precious, so…gone. Quickly, I asked another question.

“When you did achieve that two-way kind of communication, what kinds of things did you, um, talk about?”

“Their primary interest was the status of this colony: population, air quality, food and power reserves. At irregular intervals, they have specifically requested updates on these things. I initially shared that data directly, after absorbing it myself but later a data port was installed per the Grentl’s request and instructions to allow for more efficient transmission of numerical data. Consult one of the Grentl-cleared Engineers for further instruction on use of the data port should it be needed.”

Not that there
were
any Grentl-cleared Engineers now that Eric was dead. It wasn’t something I needed to know right now, anyway. Unless the Grentl
did
want a report?
 

“When was the last report sent?”

Aerleas abruptly dissolved, to be replaced by my grandfather, Leontine. “Most recent contact with the Grentl occurred in the seventy-second year of Sovereign Leontine’s reign.” He sounded just as mechanical as Aerleas had, showing no sign he recognized me. Which made sense, since this was a totally separate Archive. Still, it fleetingly made me think of how Rigel would act if I ever saw him again. I quickly forced my mind back to the matter at hand.

“The seventy-second… Um, how long ago was that? In Earth years?”
 

“Forty-six Earth years.”

“And what was communicated then?”

“The Grentl requested an update on the colony’s status, which I provided as a data file. Displaying now. For security reasons, no text may be transferred from this Archive to any other storage medium.”

A large rectangular screen replaced Leontine’s image, black print on a white background, filled with statistics on the colony’s status at the time. At the end a narrative summary briefly outlined changes since the prior report, thirty-four years earlier.
 

Power reserves had declined, which had been compensated for by consolidating three villages and putting two others on reduced energy—now voluntarily inhabited by technophobes, I knew. Government structure was mentioned in just a sentence or two, noting a slight shift in
fine
representation in the opposite direction from how I hoped to move things. No mention whatsoever of Earth or the
Echtrans
there. Odd, since I knew they’d been involved in the first Moon landings, which would have happened fairly recently when this last report was written.
 

Curious, I inquired about that omission.

Leontine’s image reappeared. “Sovereign Aerleas cautioned me against mentioning any contact with Earth. She believed, based on years of communication with the Grentl, that such information might provoke them to take measures against either Earth or Nuath to prevent further interaction.”

Yikes. They’d definitely learned about it from me, and from Faxon, too. “Um, why?”

“She intentionally never told me what specific risks she perceived, as I was never able to learn her method of shielding my own thoughts from the Grentl. It is why I sent my reports via the data port rather than directly, as she had. As contact with Earth continued to increase over the course of my reign, filtered reports seemed safest, given Aerleas’s concerns.”
 

Good to know about that option…if it wasn’t already too late.

“How often do the Grentl ask for reports?”
 

“The time between requests varies. On average, every thirty-nine Earth years.”

Past time for another one, then, which was probably why they activated the device to begin with. If I sent their overdue report, maybe they wouldn’t come here in person after all? It was definitely worth a try!

“Where can I find all the data I’ll need for a new report?”

“All data is available at any Sovereign’s request. Method of retrieval is addressed in the main Archive.”

Wow, this Archive really
was
limited strictly to the Grentl!
 

“Thanks,” I said, even though it wouldn’t matter to this stripped-down version of my grandfather. “
Chartlann fionragh.
”

According to the clock on my bedroom vidscreen, it was past one in the morning—and I had to be at another stupid breakfast meeting at eight. Even so, I went ahead and popped the Grentl Archive out of the Scepter, replaced it with the main Archive and activated it, smiling as the more lifelike version of my grandfather appeared in front of me.
 

“Emileia.” He smiled, too. “You now have the information you require?”

“Some of it,” I told him. “I need to know how to call up all the colony data so I can put together a report for the…you know.”

“Certainly. Have you set up your secure channel yet?”

There was
so
much I didn’t know! Stuff that only prior Sovereigns could tell me. From all I’d read, I was the first Sovereign ever who hadn’t been mentored by a Sovereign parent or grandparent for at least a few years before being Acclaimed. “Um, no. How do I do that?”
 

At his direction, I activated a sub-menu on my vidscreen, created a password (
not
“cornfield”) and secured it genetically with a touch on the control pad. Next, he showed me how to access every database on the planet, pointing out which ones I’d need to compile my report—though without ever mentioning the Grentl by name. We kept at it until after two, by which time I was too tired to think straight.

Finally, regretfully, I said goodnight to my grandfather and deactivated the Archive, vowing to continue as soon as possible.

*
   
*
   
*

Unfortunately, the next day was frustratingly like the one before. As I hurried from appointment to appointment, I started to wonder if Mr. O was
trying
to bore me to death, just so I’d hurry up and appoint him Regent. The fact that Sean and Molly had been excused again today—this time to go sightseeing—lent weight to my cynical theory.
 

If that really was his plan, it just might work. Rather than painstakingly evaluate all the eligible candidates, I was increasingly tempted to simply give the job to Mr. O so I could hand off all this dull, day-to-day stuff and devote my time to more important things—like preparing that report for the Grentl.
 

“I thought you were going to schedule me enough free time to figure out that Archive?” I finally whispered on the way from one stupid meeting to the next.

He looked sharply at me. “Have you made any progress?”

“I, um, haven’t really had a chance,” I fudged, since Leontine had more or less sworn me to secrecy. “That’s kind of my point.”

Mr. O nodded thoughtfully and pulled out his omni. “While I think it’s likely we needn’t worry any time soon, it would be best to verify that. I’ll free up tomorrow morning for you to work on the problem.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”
 

Molly was bubbling with excitement when she and Sean joined us in my living room late that afternoon. “M, you have
got
to see the Central Pillar! It’s so cool, how far up it goes—like a whole mile! And there are these murals all over the sides that look really old.”
 

“Not that we could get very close, what with that protest going on.” Sean sent a worried look at his father.

“Protest?” Already Mr. O was reaching for the remote to turn on my main vidscreen.

Sure enough, the top story was about a Populist rally at the Central Pillar, led by Crevan Erc, head of Nuath’s anti-Royal movement. Nearly three hundred people had attended, though about that many had also gathered to voice their opposition to his platform and their support for me as Sovereign.
 

“Hm. No real cause for concern, I’d say, based on their dwindling numbers.” Mr. O sounded relieved. “Still, I suppose they may bear watching.”

He was about to switch off the vidscreen when I suddenly glimpsed a familiar name among the various headlines in the sidebar. “Morag Teague releases statement.”
 

“Why is Rigel’s grandmother in the news?” I exclaimed, pointing.

Mr. O hesitated for a moment, then clicked on the story. The new screen showed a smiling Morag Teague (which was nearly as weird as seeing my Aunt Theresa smiling) giving what seemed to be a prepared speech.

“Fellow Nuathans, I am pleased to report that my grandson, Rigel Stuart, has unequivocally proven that he values Nuath’s welfare above his own desires. Rather than risk undermining Sovereign Emileia’s transition to her new role, or her relationship with her intended Consort, Rigel has elected to have all memory of his association with her erased. In addition, he has left Nuath permanently, returning to his parents on Earth. Needless to say, I am very proud of my grandson for making such a selfless decision. He has shown himself a credit to both our family name and to his race. I hope all Nuath will forgive and forget Rigel’s prior poor judgments, as I have done. Thank you.”

My stomach began to churn. How dared she? Wasn’t it bad enough that Rigel had abandoned me when I needed him so badly? Now, with Morag’s smug public statement, all Nuath knew I’d been ditched. When the video started over again, I grabbed the remote myself and switched it off.
 

“That awful, awful woman! I wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow brainwashed Rigel into doing what he did.”