The Tales of Two Worlds - Chapter 1

Chapter One: Cipher Murderer

He saw the sky lit up, orange and menacing. Clouds yielded to waves of solar winds that marked the end of this system. But the ship was waiting, revving on the landing pad.

      We must go now, sir!' someone summoned him; the voice was partially shrouded by high pitch whines from the engine and exhaust back-wash.

      Give me a moment,' he screamed over the sound. Where was Geor! He was anxious, the clock was ticking fast. They had underestimated the expansion's magnitude. The outer coating of the sun had expanded beyond the trajectory of Mercury, and was engulfing Venus, soaking the planets in its own suicidal outburst.

      Finally, Geor appeared, escorted by none but his most faithful officer.

      'It's about time we go!' he called.

      'No, I can't,' was Geor's dismaying answer. `I must wait for my wife; she would be arriving any moment now.' Just then, a loud cracking boom in the upper atmosphere indicated that the expansion's front had finally reached them. `But take him, take Ralph with you.' Geor handed over a small baby, one yet to open his eyes.

      'Heed my words, Geor,' he said with a hint of anger, `there is no time; it's either now or never.'

      'He is right,' the pilot beside the ship's stairway agreed.

      'You are wise, II,' Geor forced a weak smile, `but there are times when the wisest fail. Take Ralph, please, and with him, restart the empire. My reign is over… Isn't it amazing how swiftly things could change? …One dawn, Kalada was still merely a small empire, another dawn, it prospers, and another…' he paused, for a lump had put itself in his throat. `Please, take him,' he caressed Ralph one last time, `don't fail me, old friend. Mayhap we would even see each other again; in this reckless world, many, many miracles could happen…'

       II nodded, `that is a deal, Geor, if you break it, dinner is on you,' he managed a very belying grin, all these were false, he knew.

      'Go!' Geor hastened him.

      And next he had been ushered by the “someone” into the cabin. As soon as the thick, heavy door slid shut, he saw through a thick quartz panel the ground falling away. The solitary figure of Geor watched as the ship floated upwards into a reddening sky. II felt a slight push of G force on him and the ground zipped away. A steady hum from the Revera-drive sounded as it hauled the ship into space, far, far away…

      There were so many stars out there, but the lost of one could bring so much sorrow. Why? This is a mystery science could never overcome…an aspect of the soul…

      II was roused by the loud buzz of his phone. He stabbed a flipper on the clock beside him; the clock-face lit up, showing three o'clock- midnight. For a moment, he had the intention to ignore the call, but decided against it.

       'Sure, I'll come over…' II scratched his head in frustration. Is it the Chief Researcher's and the Head of the Penguin Union's task to be in every single event? Could they decide something on their own? He wondered.

       'It's either something urgent or someone would be butted,' II walked in to the TCAC (Tundaweed Capital Air Control) center that was just a few blocks away from his makeshift home. The whole terrace had been one of the few places on Tundaweed that sported regular low-rising houses, but which in itself was built onto a large platform hovering some good few hundred meters above ground, like all other platforms on Tundaweed. The interesting contrast in motivation had been: while old Humans had progressively gone up into condominiums due to the lack of land space, Tundawians were there from the beginning. It was a promotion of eco-friendliness, with a lot of classiness and good-lookingness too. II strode into the darkened room, in his trademark red-white-green scarf and hat.

       Fortunately, it is something that would raise your eye-brows,' the answer came. II could barely decipher the dark figure before the panels of green-glowing screens. `We've a Pulsing-Ship,' shorthand for flying objects that miraculously appears and disappears from the radar screens.

        'In this weather, I wouldn't be surprised if we couldn't spot a legion of massive cargo cruisers,' II looked out at the pitch-black sky above. Groups of cumulonimbus cloud had dominated the sky, and occasionally, there were silent flashes of lightning here and there. The fast rotation of Tundaweed, fifth planet in the En-Solar system, can whip up some rather violent storms sometimes.     

        We have regulated the ships to using specific beacons distributed by the department, but those foolhardy manufacturers just won't heed us,' II scowled, `and guess what, when a collision happens, the majority of fingers would be pointing at us.'

       'Yeah, I wouldn't blame those el cheapo manufacturers for not using our beacons, considering the price,' the person laughed, `but would the Empire Fleet bother to spend a few extra coins on us?'

       It was the last sentence that really caught II off guard. Empire Fleet was the governing department's own fleet with some of the most high-tech and expensive ships in Tundaweed. `Which one is it?' II pressed on the radar screen that illuminated him in green glow. The air was suddenly much tenser. Accident was intolerable, with regard to the people that might be involved. Finger-pointing from the public was one thing, but from the government units was another.

       'We have just identified the craft,' another Penguin appeared seemingly out of no where. `And…' he trailed off.

       Impatient, II grasped the sheet in the Penguin's flipper and shone a light on it. Abruptly, he was cast into terror. `No-' II gasped, but the printing was clear. What else might it be, the oblong fuselage, the wingless design, the slick surface- the emperor's craft! He stood motionless, unable to analyze the situation.

      'Can you verify the info?' II finally said.

      'It is blipping on and off the radar, but, otherwise, yes, the call-sign can be verified,' the one by the radar replied.

      'Headings?'

     'The palace.'

     A confounded stew of ludicrousness and confusions! On a level, II was relieved, but on another level he was mind-boggled- which really balanced out to a zero net change in stress. Were the TCAC officers ignorant enough to squeak into alarm for a pulsing Emperor's ship trying to park into its own garage?

      II was about to confirm the magnitude of their situation when his question was answered, `I wouldn't directly assume this is a routine port-in, Landing-Code wasn't commence; in fact, landing permission hadn't been verified yet, at least not on our side.'

     Any chance that they might just miss the switch?' It was the primary radar officer's turn to question the other. II only listened intently, but could not decipher anything beyond his pounding heart. He tugged at the scarf by his stubby neck, which suddenly seemed so itchy and irritating. But it wasn't just fear, not entirely; some strands of typical Penguin genetics were playing havoc with his rationality, tempting him to say: “a crash? Cool, good chance to study Debris Trajectory Modeling.”

      'Miss the landing button, fail to retrieve out of stealth mode, did not respond to tower's call, all three mistakes at once?'

      'Have you tried to establish contact?' II queried.

      'The palace's tower did, and received no response,' was the distressing answer. `We attempted too, just in case, but our frequency was blocked. It was like they were trying to prevent us from homing on them-'

      'Let me try,' II interjected. He picked up the bright red phone that was awfully bulky to compensate for sound quality and good grip. He dialed in on the call-sign, and expectedly, “denied” displayed on the LCD screen in huge green block-letters. But II came prepared. With quick motions, he fingered over the key board. A series of cryptic signs appeared on the screen in place of his code and the line was connected. `This is II here.' No response. `Can you confirm status?' No response. He grew cold- or perhaps uncomfortably, restlessly stuffy, like those damp summer afternoons; matters were worse than he thought.

       The pass weeks had been rather uneventful, and although he had hoped for something colossal to take place, II was totally taken aback in this. The Empire Fleet was the safest flight-group in town, equipped with advanced navigational systems, state-of-the-art on-board technologies and well-trained personnel who took the oaths of loyalty towards Tundaweed.

      `Sir, the craft has entered port-in range,' a Tundawian officer spoke. In contrast to the Penguins, he was relatively tall, looming over them, a two-meters-plus Humatic physique topped with a large bird's head and two folded wings mounted on his back- like a monolith of darkness blocking off distant residual city-glow. `Speed still sustained…' the voice quivered ever so slightly.

        A green spot with call-sign “Empire Fleet One” blipped clearly on a narrow-band radar's screen. For once, II appreciated the fact that no stealth technology could yet deceive the narrow-band radar's very sensitive sweep (he had previously thought it gave the window for terrorists to intercept on a ship). The technical thing about radar and in fact any probe (including the eyes) was: you can only measure down to sizes about as big as your detection mediators' wavelengths. So the narrow-band radar was like a good fellow with a better telescope surveying the distances, while the other wider-band good fellow stared dumbfounded.

He saw that in bound of port-in range to the palace, the ship was apparently on a perfect descend trajectory, but carrying overwhelming velocity.

     `Empire Fleet One, Empire Fleet One, please induce speed-reduction,' the TCAC captain commanded. There was no response saved a long buzzing static. He repeated the order, but was answered again by the menacing silence. `Sir, should we get the SAM online?' he turned towards II.

      II pondered for a moment, and decided, `yes, that would be appreciated, but don't engage, yet.' The “yet” left a thin margin for very different multiplicities in results. What/who would be within the ship? Where is the pilot? He shivered with adrenaline unwittingly.

      Being the Chief Researcher and the Head of Penguin Union put him second after Emperor Ralph, he guessed. The honor, the power, and the responsibility- which was what he truly received above the other two advantages… or maybe not… partially… fractionally. What would the public think if this would lead to a calamitous ending? Probably the majority of fault would be on the TCAC's lack of response against the event. And he happened to be at TCAC that particular night! No, he thought, the accident cannot occur, at least not without endangering officers in here- excluding me, though. He knew his position wasn't fungible by such proportionally petty and helpless mistakes.

      `Sir, the ship is fifteen minutes to port, and showing no sign of reducing speed to landing configuration.'

      `Infrared sensors over palace's port tower reported all three engines to be on seventy percent thrust, way off limitation.'

      The air was growing tense; no one had the faintest idea what this rogue ship would commit. Designed to withstand impact and physical assault, the three-engine ship could cause a relatively massive destruction. But, on the fortunate side, they could rest easy in expectation of no leaky fuel-tanks, which had the worst habit of exploding. Seventy percent of all turbofans were a big fraction off minimum required output for even a fully-loaded craft. However, II considered, if the chance was that the Empire Fleet One was hi-jacked and driven on a collision trajectory, why was there a thirty-percent power-reserve? Unless…

     `Give me the port-tower!' II bellowed, which more than stirred a panic in the officers around him. One flipper went for the phone, and the desk connected him to palace's port-tower.

      `This is II from TCAC!' he greeted hastily when there was a mere crackle indicating that someone had picked up the phone on the other side. `Is the ship within visibility?'

     `Yes, but transparency is lousy in the sky. It is in bound on our way, but barely a speckle in the clouds, descending to twenty degrees and thirteen minutes to port-in at current veloci-'

     `Save the info.' II cut him off. `Can you register a bright spot on the ship's tail? Make haste, this is crucial!' After he had considered the possibility of the next move, everything seemed to fit snugly into place. The low velocity (for a planned crash), the power off-take and the static when TCAC contacted them…

      `You mean the anti-collision light?'

     `No, no, no, a big, white, bright flash,' II described what he was looking for. The officers seemed partially quizzical at what II was looking for, but somehow grasped the idea and gasped.

      `No, only the regular flashes of red anti-collision light.' The answer put II on considerable relief. `Wait-' II stirred up again. `There is something! No, couldn't be! They are revving up the Revera-drive!' The other side was near hysteria.

     Have to get Ralph out of there! The thought boomed in his head. II smacked the phone into the hang-up button, picked it up again hastily, `get me to Ralph's room!' This is more severe than he had thought. The event had apparently become a clear intended terrorism.

     A tall Tundawian at the desk had to explain their crisis to the palace's phone-operator to gain permission for II into Ralph's room, which was compensated with more time wantonly wasted.

    When finally the call was connected and Emperor Ralph Geor picked up the phone, II boomed his voice across, `Get out of there now, Ralph!'

      `It's Emperor Ralph,' the young Tundawian replied on the other side. `Why, the wise Penguin trying to shoo me out of my room in midnight? I know your style II, but do spare me some sleep.' II could perceive a long, stretchy yawn from him.

     `Another minute and you'll be sleeping permanently! Evacuate, now!'

    Ralph more or less grasped the urgency at this point. `Er, sure!' he hung up the phone.

    `Revera-drive about to be deployed,' II heard from across the TCAC room, `in five, four, three, two, one, ignition!'

     Everyone was shushed at this moment. The only sound emitted were the low hums of computers and the “beep, beep, beep” from the radar reading which was now projected onto a colossal screen set on the ceiling of TCAC. The whole room grew so quiet and everyone so motionless that it appeared even the smokes from various cups of hot drinks went still in midair.

    The big green spot that indicated Empire Fleet One sped up with incredulous swiftness. In normal circumstances, unprotected from the anti-G system as part of the ship's technology, the craft would have been crushed (which would have been welcomed in this case) by the acceleration.

      Over the palace's port-tower side, officers and staffs could witness the brightening of the spot that was the in-coming craft. The ball of radiance was so bright it illuminated the cloudy sky in starry white.

     A Revera-drive was meant to be operated in space, with the capability to hyper-boost its corresponding craft to subteleportation-velocity, Lach four and above. For once, II thought, science, technology, design, innovations have failed me, have turned against me. And, now, I find myself beyond helpless at the reign of the synthetic. `Come on, Ralph, pray you get out of there.'

      He was so busied over praying that he became ignorant of the “beep, beep, beep's” sudden seizure. Again, the silence pressed on for moments. The system, fooled by the absence of a craft on collision-course, reported the airspace status with an “all-green-and-a-going”. It was the high pitch “bink” when threat-absent-and-eliminated registered in the central TCAC server that woke II.

       `Collision confirmed, sir,' someone spoke over the circular control tower room- whom II did not make the effort to recognize.

      A phone rang somewhere, and someone picked it up. `Do you want it connected to you, sir?' the desk pointed at the big red phone in front of II. He shook his head and gave a just-pass-me-the-tidings glance.

      `Sir?' the desk said after conversing with the other side.

     `What did they say.' It was more of an order to proceed than a question.

     `The palace's port-tower confirmed the crash, visually. It hit home on the north wing of the palace at about Lach six; the northern part relinquished to the impact almost immediately, the southern wing remained but was badly shaken. Emperor Ralph's evacuation was not registered, but his back-up ship was… on the pad atop... northern wing… never took off. I am sorry, sir.' It was a message for II, but everyone had listened in, and shared the grief.

     `Nope,' II denied, `I should apologize. Ralph, my emperor, my friend, my… life, a very significant person. Just pray he would be all right. I, as a Chief Researcher and Head of the Penguin Union, am truly sorry… Who else was in the building, how bad was the impact?' But he never waited for the desk to check with the palace. He drank a sip of tea out of an anonymous mug, and took off.

     `You have affairs to settle here, sir II.' TCAC captain halted him. `You should be at the phone to receive any significant call from the palace. It's almost dawn, not much more time to doze in really.' The last sentence was merely meant to banter.

     `No, Capt. Kev,' II replied, `I am going to the palace, now.'

    Kev watched the short stub back of II disappearing down into darkness, and grinned with admiration toward the Penguin. `That's one brave and wise fellow.' He muttered. `But quite foolhardy, too, sometimes,' he added just for amusement.

      The taxi ran along highways with incredible swiftness, partly because there was so few traffic at this hour. II sat, rather impatiently, at the back-seat, despite the fact that it was the ramshackle machine's maximum speed. He should have taken his car. No government personnel anywhere above a regular chief of government-funded-and-sustained-security-department would have to bother with the thought of transportation. But he had no heart to wake the driver at four in the morning. Yet, he reached an accord: the popping and vibrating car engine was relatively vexing in contrast to the steady hum of a jet.

       The first hint of sun could already be perceived at south-east. Woods and rivers a few hundred feet below were embraced by the first light. If anything, he thought, Ralph was well-taught at preserving nature- not that he was not, but simply gave up after he could barely sustain a pot of cactus by his bedroom; roads and highways were built several hundred feet above ground-level, at optimum height, on columns. The surface of the planet, therefore, was quite a wilderness.

       Far off to his left, stick-like buildings jutted upwards to incredulous height, each connected at some level with several bridges-roadways: again, to conserve land-area for more greens.

     `Where you say you goin'?' the driver queried. A juncture was coming up fast.

    `The palace, take the left road, would you?' II responded.

     `A wee bit too early fir tou'ists ain't it? The exhibition part won't be opin now, would it?'

      `I will address you to speak, when I want to,' II replied, not to the usual personable characteristics of a Penguin, but he was rather on the edge this morning. `Turn left again at the next juncture!' almost missed the turn-point.

      The driver veered his jumping and neighing vehicle violently and II could hear the tires screech, piercingly. `Ah… you sure `bout this? Says “no unauthorized personnel” in case you din't see 't.'

      `No worry, pass here almost everyday,' was II's blasé respond. `Drop me by the security booth.' But the driver was not to hear his comment.

       `Geez, having a serious barbeque in there ain't they!'

      Dark plumes of smokes poured from the crumbled building, more ferociously than water from a high-pressure hose. II could see what was to be the remnant of the south-wing, badly shaken. Several large, house-sized glass panels were either shattered by the blast or blown off. The central dome was in a worse condition. Portions of it had collapsed, exposing steel beams, which were in turn mostly molten and fused together by heat. He could see no opportunity for Ralph to elude death- much less unscathed.

      Reporters and early-birds surrounded all sides of the palace's thick wall. The driver was so absorbed into the scene that he almost drove right into the security booth, but came to another alarming, screeching halt.

      `Sorry sir, we would accept no visitors at this hour,' a guard came hastily but ceased when II hobbled out of the taxi, clearly no taller than the tire's height, yet bearing a lordly air.

     `Pay him, would you?' II merely gestured for the taxi driver to be paid accordingly, `charge it to whatever department thereafter.'

     `Yes sir!'

     Seeing their chances, reporters pressed towards the merely two-foot tall Penguin with ferocious anxiety, flashing cameras and video-taping the scene. For goodness sake! II could even perceive a satellite van nearby, broadcasting live reports, probably all across Tundaweed. `Is Emperor Ralph still alive?' `Did he make it?' `Who is the cipher murderer?' `Who do you suspect it is?' Questions bombarded him.

      II dismissed his usual “one question at a time please” with smiles, and ignored the press deliberately. He was in no mood to meet those confounded people- those merry-makers who took an accident as fodder for their business!

     A tall (but merely half an adult-Tundawian's height) figure clad in all black met II on the other side of the gate. `A bit late this morning,' he greeted.

     `Indeed!' II retorted. `I suppose you were not within the palace when this entire hullabaloo decided to take place.'

     `What gives you the impression?' he followed II onto a buggy that came along to transport the rather significant Penguin.

     `Your tone.' II hopped aboard the vehicle, and sat snugly on the leather seat.

     `Well, anyway, I was here when the firework happened.'

     `Bring me to the crash site,' II ordered, to which the driver registered with a wordless nod to indicate comprehension.

     `Hold you horses,' the man pressed II back, `the site could be contaminated with radiation, toxic fumes, or something exotic-'

      `Hold your horses, Silence,' II retorted with a hint of frustration, `just bear with silence, I'm the scientist here. Or in other words, I'll take care of myself,' he winked.

     `It's all the easier on my part,' Silence replied, edging his wide-brim hat to shade the sun, which glittered off his absurdly huge, oval glasses.

     `Which reminds me, weren't you a guard or something of the sort? Does your guard-sense not predict the “threat”?' II adjusted his own hat that resembled somewhat of a Christmas hat without a round-fur-knob atop.

     `“Guard-sense?”'

     `Psychology studies and other craps' II grinned.

     `T'was midnight and the palace were awfully comfortable,' Silence sat beside the Penguin.

     The tiny buggy wined down the palace path in incredulous relative swiftness for its size. “Watch-out!” they heard screams from the crisis site and saw, with amazingly low enthusiasm, the short stub that was the remnant of north-wing crumbled to nothingness saved gallons of jet-black smokes.

       `Alas.' II muttered.

      `Thought you could preserve it for some sort of memorial?' Silence asked.

     `No,' II replied, `just thought I could conduct experiments on it. I'm all for research.'

      `That's why they gave you the “Chief-Researcher” tag?'

     `Partially,' II said, `partially because Chief-Researcher and Head of Penguin-Union is the highest rank after Ralph's. I was the emperor for a couple of years, you don't know that do you?' II was hoping for more awe, but the silent Silence merely raised an eye-brow.

      The buggy stopped gently a few hundred yards from the crash-site. II jumped down from it, wary not to tumble over on his ungainly Penguin talons.

      `Greetings, my Chief-Researcher and Head of Penguin-Union,' a Tundawian all in dark-blue suit came to shake his flipper.

      `Just call me II,' II smiled, `saves some time.'

     `Ah, humor,' the Tundawian smiled with enthusiasm.

     `Any news?'

     `I've just received confirmation that Emperor Ralph Geor was transported to the best hospital for the best treatment possible. He is still alive and cussing, don't worry.' (Not that Ralph ever really cusses). `As for the palace, it's in a pretty nasty shape, as you can see. Guess Ol' Ralph (a friendly gesture besides the usual formal greeting) would have to stay in a hotel for some time while they rebuild this.'

      `Don't bother, he has plenty of other palaces, and I can reckon he wouldn't be out of the hospital for quite a while,' II replied, `take your time, build it, polish it, make it shine.'

      `Ah, some more humor,' the Tundawian laughed with enough sarcasm.

      `And tell me you inspectors working up and down the field haven't discovered a thing?' II gazed down the still-sizzling debris at the aftermath- inspectors toiling to and fro in awkward anti-radiation-and-toxic suits for clues of what exactly happened.

      `Plenty of shards, other than those, nothing much of a conclusion yet.'

      `Except it was terrorism,' II paused. `Just acknowledgment. I'm going down the field myself.' Halfway finishing he was already striding down the plain on short Penguin talons, brushing his tail along the ground.

       `Hold on, sir,' the Tundawian halted him. `The place is littered with all kinds of dangerous materials, toxic, radiations, and maybe even a leaking fuel-tank somewhere.'

     `Oh please, the last thing you would do is put me in armor.' II ignored the caution.

     Very apparently, it was a scene from hell. The fine, thin grasses carefully mowed by special gardeners were singed coarse black. Even partial of the soils were fused into glass particles. Debris from both palace and the rogue ship peppered the ground, so deformed that they could hardly be recognized. Tons of them had already been collected into heaps that were separated into identifiable parts of the ship while so-called experts were trying to decipher them in greater details.

       Wondering and day-dreaming, he stabbed a feet, painfully, into a piece of gray steel mechanism; it was well intact. `Looks like they missed something.' It was merely as wide as his flipper, but was, he suspected, a casing that contained fundamentally computer-chips. Some markings were engraved on one side of the cube in cryptic writings. `Finder-keeper' he muttered, keeping the object. He had no idea what it represented for the moment, but had the vaguest of conceptions it would be of something significant.

        `Not a good day to be hunting for metal, sir,' an expert greeted him. `The ship was traveling extremely fast; some of the most crucial parts to the mystery could have been blasted miles away into the dense woods. Just wish some passer-bys hadn't kept them to themselves for amusement.'

      `Finder-keeper? How immoral!' II fingered the little cube he had.

     `Something you would wish to contribute to our heap there?'

     `Hush-hush.'

    `Aye, sir,' he shrugged and turned a blind eye on the Penguin.

   *Lach: a short-hand for light-speed, originated from the term Mach which indicated sonic-speed.