Chapter 106: Plath Egg Soup

In a shielded conference room, the prime minister, the woman in the green blazer, Doctor Henry Chapman of RARPA, and Mark Guilderan, the Republic Secretary of State, sat around a small table.

"You can't do this!" Doctor Chapman exclaimed. "That Plath clearly has access to advanced technology we need. You don't have any idea how advanced her electron pistol is! That single device—"

"Can you replicate it?" the prime minister asked, "Right now, can you build a working copy?"

"Well, no..."

"Do you think you can replicate the technology within the year?" the prime minister asked calmly, "Do you even think you can understand the operating principles within five?"

"Well… I..."

"Then it is worthless," the prime minister replied, "We don't have decades. We have years at best. A piece of exotic equipment that even you cannot understand does nothing for us. Computers changed the world, Doctor, but a single one cast back in time would not have prevented the fall of Rome. We need steel, Doctor, not magic."

Doctor Chapman squirmed under the prime minister's gaze.

"Tell me, doctor," she continued, "exactly much of your time has been expended on that little toy? How many people have you pulled from projects that would actually bear fruit?"

"I..."

"Exactly," the prime minister replied, "I normally let you do as you please, but I am now telling you to put down that plastic toy and get back to work."

"But she could teach us so much!"

"Can she?" Mark asked, "From what I have gathered from the Kalent and other sources, it is highly likely she doesn't even know herself."

"The interviews from Cerberus also indicate this," the woman in the green blazer said with a shrug. "She's a xeno, so our profiling AI isn't as fine-tuned, but she is pretty guileless, and her physical responses indicated truth when she said she didn't know how even the shredders, the most simple of her weapons, were made. As far as the electron pistol goes, she honestly believes it's a simple 'burner' she learned how to make from a video game. She honestly has no idea how remarkable it is. She just 'threw it together'."

"She has to know something," Doctor Chapman insisted.

"Even if she did," the woman in the green blazer said, "after the complete mess Hades made of this situation, she has no reason to cooperate. There is little reason to allow a being with every reason to hate us that can basically perform 'magic' on our nukes with whatever is laying around inside a starship access to an actual research lab."

"Even after all these years," the prime minister sighed, "you are still trying to deflect responsibility for your actions. Hades's failures and misdeeds are yours, child. They are also mine. Now, we must clean up our mess, and that includes this Plath."

"Prime Minister," Mark said cautiously, "I… We made an agreement with the Kalent, one that offers technology that we can replicate. Recent intel also shows they definitely have things we would want."

"And we aren't breaking that agreement," the prime minister replied, "We aren't targeting the Plath, and we won't target her. However, if she were to have an unfortunate proximity to a thermonuclear detonation, it would not be a bad thing. If we move swiftly and decisively, we can rid ourselves of Gloria Samuels, Shelia Donovan's crew, their hacker, and this abomination at once. We should try to seize this chance. We won't get it again."

"But the Kalent… whatever it was… said that she might be important."

"Ah yes," the prime minister replied, "that strange 'prophecy' they mentioned. Either they have become too accustomed to dealing with superstitious savages, or they are the same. I don't put much faith in such nonsense. I am also less than eager to 'share' this Plath with the Kalent, who may very well be able to replicate what she will hand them."

She refilled her coffee cup with a carafe on the table.

"I will, of course, honor our agreement," she said, "but I would much rather inform them of a tragic and unavoidable death. From what you have told me, I am fairly sure this would not displease them either. That Plath dying is the best possible situation for all of us and would only prove that she was not the one from that laughable fable they hold so dear."

"I know the 'prophecy' stuff sounds weird," Mark said, "but that Kalent lord believed it, and they are definitely not savages. My gut—"

"Is this the same gut that told you that conspiring against the Republic was a good idea, Mark?"

Mark flinched and fell silent.

"As soon as Colonel Wintersmith provides us with their location," the Prime Minister said firmly, "We strike."

"We are losing so much potential science!" Doctor Chapman wailed. "These Plath clearly have something."

"Relax, Doctor," the woman in the green blazer said, "we are only losing one Plath. We have a ship full of the little bastards for you to play with."

"What?" Mark Guilderan asked, his eyes wide.

"We decided to discretely obtain a few for study," the woman replied.

"Why was I not informed of this?" the prime minister demanded.

"We have acquired samples before," the woman in the green blazer shrugged. "The doctor wanted more samples for study."

"You have to put them back!" Mark Guilderan exclaimed. "Right now! If they Kalent find out, it will sink any agreement that we can make, and they say those things are dangerous! If we are discussing one of them at this level..."

"They already know they were pinched by humans," the woman in the green blazer said. "It's either use them or space them at this point. I'm comfortable with either decision. However, I would put forward that since we have already done this, we might as well take advantage of the situation. At the very least, we can try to figure out how they work."

"How they work?" Mark spluttered.

"Biologically, I mean," the woman replied, "Those things are freaky. It might shed some light on this weird technology… among other things..."

The prime minister narrowed her eyes at her long-time retainer.

"Explain."

***

Ullennona, leader of the Hillfern Gunners, slowly regained consciousness.

"What happened?" he thought as he instinctively remained perfectly motionless and soundless as he quickly recovered.

The smugglers arrived with the new gear… and it was legit! Then they all started to move it underground…

...and then there was a bright flash.

"That one's conscious," a human female Terran said, "He's just playing dead."

"He ok?" a male voice asked.

"Yeah," the woman replied, "tough little crybabies."

Crybabies?

"Alright," the man said, "throw it in the hold with the rest of them."

Rest of them?

"I know you are awake," the woman said as she nudged him with the barrel of a weapon, "and I also know you speak Terran like the rest of them. Get up."

Ullennona opened his eyes to find himself in a… In a med bay? (at least that's what the ones in the games looked like)

He started as he saw a couple of his crew lying motionless in med tubes.

"They are alright," the woman growled as she pointed a heavy stunner at him. "Move." Paying close attention to every step he took, Ullennona allowed himself to be led down a corridor.

He wasn't familiar with this game map.

He took mental note of everything as he was hurried along.

"Keep moving!" the woman snarled, "Fuck! You little shits are so slow!" she exclaimed as she pushed him.

Slow?

Deciding not to correct her, he sped up… a little.

The human opened the hatch at the end of the corridor, revealing a cargo bay where two other stunner-armed humans sat surrounded by riot curbs.

Now those he was familiar with. A curtain of knock you on your ass would shoot straight up if you tried to go over those. They could stop a mob of enraged humans. One Plath didn't have a chance.

He gasped.

Huddled together were a good dozen or more fellow Plath, scared out of their minds. His concern and worry were gone instantly, replaced by…

...nothing.

Lkvth~halloi vazk bavnee… Vthoth! Vthoth! Vthoth!

His head started pounding as it felt like fire had started flooding through his veins.

He staggered, stumbling to the ground.

"Why do they all do that?" the woman growled as she hauled him up, "It really creeps me out."

She roughly dragged him to the others and dumped him.

The woman glanced over at Geelshan, who, of course, recovered first, who was just sitting against the walls looking at her with fully dilated pupils and a perfectly expressionless face.

"Aww," the woman sneered, "you still mad that I shot your little horsey?"

Silence.

"You are looking at me like you want to do something," the woman chuckled.

"Blea'tk~Illianda vazk bavnee," Geelshan replied as the skin around her eyes started to ripple slightly. “...you… shall… make… iron...”

The woman blinked and, her weapon trained on Geelshan, backed quickly away.

She quickly turned and left the hold, closing and locking the door behind her. They should just space the whole lot of those things. Why wouldn't anyone listen to her?

***

"Oh, I'm so scared!" an unfamiliar Plath female wailed as she scooped up Ullennona and clung to him.

"I think we are ok, at least for now..." Ullennona said, his body still pulsing and wracked with pain.

"The pain will pass soon," the young woman whispered in his ear with a much calmer voice, "We don't know why, but it happened to all of us once we saw the others."

He looked around and saw that most of the "terrified" Plath were still clinging to each other but were looking at him quite calmly.

The young Plath woman looked over at Geelshan, who nodded.

"You're the leader of the Hillfern Gunners?" the Plath whispered.

"I guess so," Ullennona muttered as he rubbed the skin around his eyes.

"Great!" the Plath whispered, "we've been waiting for an FPS team."

"An FPS team?"

"Sorry," the Plath smiled as she buried her face against his shoulder in a show of terror, "Ynellsoan, captain of the Sprout of Light, ship combat simulatons."

She nodded over at a young male.

"And that over there is Nexuona, leader of Whisperfrond."

"The RTS team?" Ullennona asked, "They're good. So are you guys!"

"Only real gamer teams could afford the gear they were offering," Ynellsoan smirked, "It looks like they went shopping for one team of each of the main genres."

"And what about those guys?" Ullennona asked, indicating a group that looked truly afraid.

"Just some normal Plath," Ynellsoan replied, "they didn't use bait on them. They just grabbed them. It's a brewer and her students, poor kids."

Ullennona hissed. It was one thing to go after gamers. At this point, there was very little difference between them and criminal gangs aside from their violence being simulated. Most now lived in hiding and relied on criminal enterprise or at least illegal foraging and poaching to support themselves.

That plus gambling, of course…

But to target actual innocent Plath, and children to boot? Now it was on.

The pounding in his head mellowed into a quiet burn.

"Now that they got an FPS team," he said, "Their shopping is probably done."

"From what we have overheard," the Plath clinging to him whispered, "you are correct."

She smiled as she held him close, shaking with "terror".

"But now that the strike team has shown up," she purred, "we can finally make a move."

Ullenona nodded as he clutched her in "fear".

"Have you identified the ship?"

She nodded.

"Can your crew fly it?"

"Probably," she whispered, "I mean, we've never flown an actual starship, but we know our stuff."

"So you know the floorplan?"

She nodded again.

He looked away so the guards wouldn't see him grin.

Game on.

"So..." he purred as a slight hiss left his gills, "what have our strategists cooked up?"

***

Sheloran sat on a box in the cargo bay, gloomily picking at some electronic components.

Not only was she a bad person, she was an ugly one too.

Gloria walked in hesitantly.

"Hey," Gloria said after a moment.

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"Hey," Sheloran replied.

"What's that?" Gloria asked at the pile of disassembled repair parts.

"No idea," Sheloran shrugged.

"Look," Gloria said quietly, "...um… I'm sorry I upset you. I really didn't mean to."

"I thought you enjoyed upsetting people," Sheloran said as she looked up with a weak smile.

"I do when I mean to do it," Gloria smiled back. "But when I do it by accident, it sucks. I didn't mean to imply you were ugly."

"I know," Sheloran sighed, "It's just that I am ugly. It's sort of a 'thing' for me. You didn't know."

"You're ugly?"

"Yeah," Sheloran sighed. "I'm twenty-three years old, Gloria. I've never had a boyfriend… I've never even really 'made out' before. In my culture, most people are married by now, or at least have a boyfriend they could marry but haven't. I haven't even dropped an egg!"

"Dropped an egg?"

"Yeah," Sheloran said gloomily, "when you really have a boyfriend, and you are really… um… doing stuff… enough um… stimulation… will make eggs."

"Aren't you a planet full of prudes?"

"Dropping an egg isn't like getting pregnant," Sheloran replied, "It's naughty and a bit 'unclean,' but everybody does it. As long as it doesn't get fertilized, nothing happens… except for a waste of food and possible fouling as it rots. Most people just eat them with their boyfriend, along with his sperm."

"Gross!"

"Oh, like you have never had sperm in your mouth," Sheloran replied with a little smirk.

"Touché," Gloria laughed.

"When a couple drops an egg," Sheloran sighed, "they tend to run off or lay low while the sickness overtakes them, and they cuddle, and kiss, and eat the food they stored up… and then they will cook the egg and sperm and eat them… or at least some of it. I mean, it's a LOT of food."

"A lot?" Gloria asked. "Exactly how much sperm does a little Plath dude shoot?"

"Just the one," Sheloran replied, "They are so cute. I got to play with one once. They are so cuddly!"

"One sperm?" Gloria asked, her head cocking to the side like a confused dog. "And you played with it? How big is this sperm?"

"About like this," Sheloran replied, holding her hands apart as if she was holding a guinea pig.

"Holy shit!" Gloria asked. "If the sperm is that big… then the egg?"

Sheloran held her arms out as if she was holding a beach ball.

"And that comes out of you?!?" Gloria asked in shock as she looked at Sheloran's slender frame.

"It's really soft," Sheloran replied, "and it's not like it comes out all at once. You do swell up a bit, though."

"If a couple wanted a baby," Gloria asked, "then what would happen."

"Oh!" Sheloran gushed, "Then you would take the egg to a river, stream, or large pond. You need a lot of water. Most people will set up a little love tent right on the bank! That's what I want to do!… So romantic! Mine is going to be purple with pink blankets and…"

Sheloran sighed and smiled wistfully for a moment.

"Anyway," she said, warming to the tale, "you then put the egg in the water and tickle the top, and its mouth will open."

"It's mouth?!?"

"Yep," Sheloran replied, "and then you feed it the sperm. You then feed the egg every day and—"

"You have to feed it?"

"Well, yeah," Sheloran replied as if it was a silly question. "if you don't, it will swim away."

"The egg will swim?"

"Only if you don't feed it," Sheloran replied, "Well, sometimes they swim off anyway, and the whole town has to go looking for it before it gets into trouble."

"Trouble?"

"Well, it is hungry," Sheloran said. "It's gonna eat something, and it doesn't really care what. A stray egg will wreck a garden, and if you are keeping any livestock…"

"Holy shit!" Gloria laughed, "rogue fetus alert!"

"Well, it's better than lugging it inside your belly for nine whole months," Sheloran laughed, "What's up with that?"

"How long does an egg take to hatch?" Gloria asked.

"Oh, anywhere between three and four weeks," Sheloran replied, "They grow really fast. That's what the water is for. They get hot, really hot, and you need the water, so they don't cook themselves. I guess that's why it takes so long for you humans, huh. You can't do that without roasting yourself."

"You know," Gloria snickered, "Normally, when you meet a new species, you think they are freaks, and, over time, you come to realize how alike you really are. But, with you, the freak just keeps coming!"

Sheloran replied with a wet little razzberry from her gills and the extension of the appropriate digit, causing Gloria to laugh with delight.

"Ok," Gloria said excitedly, "What happens next?"

"Well," Sheloran replied, "after three to four weeks, the egg starts to change colors, and you know it's ready to hatch! So the whole town gets together and throws a big celebration! We light fires, and there's food and drink, and we all sing hymns, and the preacher and garden sister light incense and lead services and… fireworks! Oh! It's so much fun!"

Gloria nodded. It did sound fun.

"Then, at exactly midnight, the egg bursts open!"

"Always at midnight?"

"Yep!" Sheloran exclaimed happily. "and a new baby climbs out, and everybody starts singing a special greeting to welcome the baby and soothe it because it is usually really confused. Once the baby hears the music, it will start walking towards the firelight and the song."

"Walks?!?"

"Yeah?" Sheloran replied in confusion, "Wait. That's right. Your babies don't walk. It must be because they have to come out so small."

"How big are your infants?"

"Oh, about normal height."

"That isn't helpful," Gloria snickered, "what is normal height for a baby?"

"About like me," Sheloran replied, "you know, normal height."

"Your babies come out fully grown?!?"

"Physically, yeah… mostly..." Sheloran replied, "they do need to flesh out a little, and they are still babies."

"Your babies are fully grown?"

"No," Sheloran replied, "they can walk and talk, but they are still babies."

"They can talk?!?"

"Not Federation or Terran," Sheloran replied, "That would be weird. They speak our native language."

"Holy. Shit." Gloria said as apprehension started to build a little. "Then what happens."

"The baby says that something is wrong. They always say that and that they do not have a designation. Then we all sing a special song that soothes it and then sing that it is a child of the prophet."

"Uh-huh..." Gloria said as her eyes started to widen.

"Then the baby asks to be brought to its unit, and their family comes forward and sings the song of recognition, and the baby acknowledges this and says that it is ready. Then the parents sing another song that soothes it and says that the days of darkness are gone and that it now only has to follow the path of the prophet. It says that it has no knowledge of this role, and the parents sing a song that soothes it for a final time, and the baby then becomes a real baby."

"A real baby?"

"Yes," Sheloran sighs, her eyes shining as she remembers happier times, "It becomes a real baby! It's hard to explain, but it's kinda like it forgets stuff? It still kind of talks, but it's real baby talk now and needs to be taught what words mean and how to do stuff. Oh! It's also starving, so there is a big feast laid out, and the baby gets to eat all it wants! Then everybody sings more hymns, greets the new baby, and has a big celebration after the baby is put to bed."

Sheloran sighed happily as Gloria looked at her with a growing sense of dread.

"So what would happen if that baby wasn't soothed?"

"It's always soothed," Sheloran replied.

"Yeah, but if it wasn't?"

"It always is."

"But, surely, it had to happen at least once, right?"

"It always is!" Sheloran snapped.

"Ok..." Gloria replied. "It's always soothed. Got it."

Then another even more concerning thought hit Gloria.

"Um… Sheloran?"

"Yeah?"

"You said that the 'baby' comes out pretty much full-sized?"

"Uh-huh!"

"How long before it's, you know, sexually mature?"

"The age of consent?" Sheloran said brightly, "It's sixteen. That's the earliest that you can get married."

"Yes," Gloria said, increasingly nervous, "but when could a Plath have a baby?"

"Sixteen."

"I know that is what is done," Gloria said carefully, "but, and this is purely hypothetical. I'm not saying it would ever be done. But, based purely on biology, how soon after birth could a Plath make a baby?"

Sheloran sighed.

"Kids will be kids," she said, "and some adults will… you know… We aren't perfect, either. However, any adult that breaks that edict and is found out is gone. They… they feed a tree."

"So, how early?"

"Immediately," Sheloran replied. "in fact, earlier than immediately."

"What?"

"Sometimes, a baby is born already making a sperm or an egg when they climb out."

"Oh… shit..."

"The Plath are torn on this," Sheloran said, "Some people say that they are gifts from the prophet. Others say that they are agents of the Befouler. Opinion changes over time and from high priest to high priest."

"What is done with these?"

"It depends on the family, of course," Sheloran replied. "and the community. Fortunately for me, my family had room, so they raised me too!"

"Gift eggs are supposed to be lucky, or the child is supposed to be gifted or special or something," Sheloran said ruefully. "I guess I am. Too bad my gift is for getting gill deep in poop."

"Who made your sperm?"

"That's the weird part..."

***

Shelia was sitting on the bridge, drinking a cold one.

Finally, things were starting to settle down and get back to what passed for normal.

She smiled as she raised the bottle to her lips.

The bottle stopped moving as a very shaken Gloria walked in.

Sheila sighed and carefully set down the bottle. She suspected she would need that in just a second.

"Um… Sheila?..."

***

On the Plath homeworld, just outside a cottage deep in the woods, a mortally wounded kalun'sha lay next to a demolished garden and deep gouges and scorched earth from where a ship had lifted off.

It had tried to stop them… whoever they were…

It looked over at the other fallen livestock. They had tried, too.

Things not from here had… come here… had… violated… hurt his person…

The homeworld had been attacked!

With the last of its strength, it raised its head slightly and let out a loud trumpeting roar that echoed across a small patch of woods.

Then, with a sigh of satisfaction, it breathed its last.

In a nearby tree, a bird cocked its head. Then, it took off in a straight line, heedless of danger, as it started singing a song it had never sung before.

That song was heard by a beetle on a bush. Then it started buzzing oddly...

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