Part 25 of Beyond the End of the World, Lokians 1

Welcome to Beyond the End of the World. My name is Aaron Dennis, and I will be presenting this published novel to you one chapter at a time. The entire novel is free for download via Barnes and Noble online.

This is an action-packed, scifi military novel. Some language may not be suitable for minors.

They Lurk Among Us, Lokians 2, has officially been released, so make sure to visit www.storiesbydennis.com too!

Chapter Twenty Five

Swain gave the men a breakdown regarding how the traveler’s helm functioned. They went to work on a new design. By the end of the day, they created a 3-D rendition on computers.

“Mister Swain,” Frep called.

“What’s the problem?”

“There’s a lack of Swainium alloy. What would you like to do?”

“Oh… man, oh, man.”

He puzzled over the predicament, but a Thewl proposed scrapping nonessentials from the Explorer, which brought them to the next phase, creating a program to pilot the helm. Such a feat resulted in another round of irritation; no one had a clue how to proceed. Munching on his lower lip, the big man snapped his fingers.

“Nandy!”

He called his friend through his personal comm. “Copy,” the voice resounded.

“Busy? I need you in the lab.”

“No, Sir; just watching Fitzpatrick and DeReaux teach some youngsters how to shoot. What did you need?”

“Just get over here on the double!”

“Roger that.”

Swain paced back and forth, occasionally bumping into others trying to navigate around him. He was practically dancing on his toes, waiting for Nandesrikahl. When he shambled into the hangar, Swain ran right over to him.

“Can you understand computer lingo?”

“Uh, I don’t know. What exactly do you have in mind?”

“I want to sit Day down at the helm and have her access the core programs, which route information between her and the ship. I’m hoping that if you get a look at the code, you can figure out what it means.”

Nandy was taken aback; he did a double take with his mouth slightly open. “That’s some wild idea, you’ve got there. ’Ow–”

“Never mind how,” Swain interrupted. “I’ll tell Day to meet us back at the ship. C’mon.”

As Swain dragged his friend by the sleeve to the cart, he called Day, letting her in on the plan. Once they convened on the traveler’s ship’s bridge, she hopped into the chair and stuck the helmet on her head. Following Swain’s instructions, she accessed the basic code from various programs, brought the monitor from the wall out, and myriads of symbols flashed over the screen.

Nandesrikahl looked them over. He shook his head after a moment. Swain pouted.

Nandy knew his friend was at his wit’s end. “Maybe, if I hear it?”

“Hear it?” Swain echoed. “Miss Day–”

“On it,” she cut him off.

Day asked the ship to verbalize the code. What they all heard was similar to antiquated, dialup connections of the late Twentieth Century on Earth. While Swain covered his ears, Nandesrikahl listened attentively. Each tone, break in sound, and sequential repetition provided a set of ideas, blocks of cogent logic. He easily translated the code into what only he saw as a digital alphabet.

“Sure… sure,” Nandesrikahl remarked between bits of laughter. “All we need is to translate it into binary. Then, your programmers can build their own version from the ground up. Astonishing….”

****

Nandesrikahl spent countless hours speaking into a recording device. The numbers one and zero poured from his mouth. He collected data until his throat was raw, but when he was done, he passed it on to programmers.

The following days were spent building a helm for Day, writing code, and toying around with some weapons. Since there was little for Swain to do outside of supervising, he had visited his old friends on the Explorer, where he handled a brand new photon rifle, one he had visualized for the captain. It was bulky, but light, had four, revolving barrels, each containing a lens, which allowed for an endless stream of photon blasts; it was a photon, machine gun.

He, DeReaux, Fitzpatrick, and O’Hara ran off into the woods to test it out. All manners of chirps, whistles, and rustling warbled through the trees. The captain tried out his new toy, searing right through trunks, and unfortunately, setting them ablaze. Swain suggested firing at boulders instead.

They had a riot. No one spoke two words about the Lokians; their upcoming fight seemed a thing of science fiction, and the odds were stacked against them. Rather than being mired in negativity, they enjoyed their time together, shooting through stone, chasing after scaly birds, watching lizards with shells climb golden trees; it was magnificent.

The time had come. Thewlian programmers devised a basic, operating code allowing Day to link with the alien through the newly fashioned helm. For safety reasons, the helm was built outside the vessel, and cables ran from the chair and helmet to the thing’s innards. After careful consideration, and words of confidence provided by O’Hara, she took her seat, and holding her breath, she established a connection with local servers.

It took a long time to translate the Lokian codes into binary—Nandy was none too pleased—but when their combined efforts came to fruition, they created a hybrid program to fully access the alien’s systems, including the subspace drives. As it turned out, how they functioned was irrelevant. What was important was her ability to control them.

Rounds of applause clamored throughout the hangar. Swain praised God. Then, O’Hara called everyone together.

“Alright, we’ve come this far, and that’s great, but we still have a problem. We don’t know where to go or how to navigate subspace.”

“I’ve spent some time scanning Lokian data. There are bits of messages relayed to and from the ship,” Day said. “The ship received orders from multiple programs from a solitary source. I think it’s the Lokian in charge…the queen.”

“Does that mean you know where to go,” O’Hara asked.

“It means I don’t have to. I can tell the ship to take us back to its point of origin,” she replied, gravely.

“Stellar work, Day,” the admiral said.

O’Hara glanced at everyone. They looked ready, determined. The agents nodded to him. Lay even patted him on the back.

“Is there anything else we should do,” he asked

“We’re pretty much all set to go, son,” Lay answered. “In the meantime, I’ll be keeping lines open with the Carrier. We’re still not sure about the Yvlekesh, but things are looking good here.”

“Sir?”

“Humans and Thewls have Eon covered; you go give those Lokian assholes a taste of their own medicine.”

“Copy that, Sir,” O’Hara chuckled.

He saluted, and the admiral returned the gesture. With a final glance to those in the hangar, he took a deep breath, exhaled, widened his eyes, and motioned for the engineers to open the Lokian. Less than an hour later, the helm was integrated into the vessel.

“Alright, you guys ready?” Everyone nodded. “Let’s climb in that thing,” O’Hara commanded.