First Contact

Chapter 268: Historical Archive (P'Thok & The Great Ice Cream Raid)

Chapter 268: Historical Archive (P'Thok & The Great Ice Cream Raid)

Delmek-4 was a standard agricultural planet. They produced wheat, sorghum, corn, soybeans, alfalfa, potatoes, and tobacco. There were sheep, pig, cow, and other animal farms. Factories took the raw food and turned it to foodstuffs, from bread to steaks to mutton to ice cream to cigarettes. True, it was near the Treana'ad Disputed Zone, but it wasn't exactly a priority military target and the close proximity of Mestacalla and the Republic Navy base there at only 7 light years made sure they could scream for help. The Republic shipped the goods of Delmek-4 all over the Republic, supporting the colonies of Terra.

P'Thok was more than a little nervous. Terra Sol was only thirty light years away, the Disputed Zone and Treana'ad Space only ten light years behind him. While Terran Space wasn't big, only roughly 50 light years, and they had possessed nearly fifteen colonies in addition to their heavily protected Core World, P'Thok was still very nervous. He did not mind admitting it to himself, although he found that contemplating it over a bowl of ice cream topped with butterscotch sauce and then smoking a cigarette made it easier to think about.

The Terrans had attempted to colonize two worlds that the Hive Worlds had slated for being used for expansion. Both worlds had been prepared, with the proper creatures in the sand to give grubs a good meal as they grew and the proper vegetation. The Treana'ad couldn't believe the temerity of the Terrans and so they had declared war.

They had even managed to wrest two star systems, both of them with red suns, from the Terrans, and even take two colonies on disgustingly wet worlds underneath dangerous yellow suns.

But unlike every other mammalian race the Treana'ad had discovered, the Terrans could fight. They could fight, and fight hard. Even Mantid warriors and speakers were not as dangerous as a Terran, as the Treana'ad had learned during the two years of warfare.

Which is why P'Thok carefully studied the maps of the primary target that the ship's scanners were able to discern. P'Thok had to admit, the Mantid vessel had amazing scanners. He had not expected a Mantid trading vessel to have scanners able to read the dataplate on the back of a ground car from orbit, but he was glad the ship possessed them all the same.

The Matron had agreed, this mission was of great importance. She approved of P'Thok's targets.

The Goody Scoop Ice Cream Company for one. That was the primary target.

The Whachagotta Lose Tobacco Company was the newest target.

P'Thok managed to identify a distribution point for both companies, where trucks full of product came in and were unloaded before the contents were loaded onto a ship to distribute the product around the Republic.

Finally ready, P'Thok entered the bridge and gave the signal.

The pilot, a talented worker caste male who was a good shot with a plasma rifle in addition to being a gifted pilot, glanced at the worker caste at the communications computer, who nodded, a cigarette held in his mandibles.

The communications specialist opened a channel to ground-side.

Right as it was answered the pilot looked at P'Thok.

"Sir, your cigarette," he said.

"Oh," P'Thok took the cigarette out of his mouth and handed it to the pilot.

The screen cleared, showing a beige skinned human with dark hair. "Thontaire City Space Traffic Control. How can I help you?"

"Yes, we need landing permission. We are here to discuss trading with the Mantid Hive Worlds," P'Thok said.

On the side of the screen the overlay of a Mantid Speaker repeated what P'Thok said, using Mantid body language instead of Treana'ad.

It was an excellent piece of software.

"Berth-9," the human said and cut the channel.

"Well, that was rude," the Matron said, puffing out a cloud of 'blueberry cream' around herself, easing everyone's agitation.

"No matter. I will wrest the ice cream and smoke from them despite their rudeness," P'Thok promised. He looked at the pilot. "Take us in, Klikatikit."

"As you command, sir," the pilot said. He motioned at the cigarette in his mouth. "Do you wish this returned, great one?"

"Keep it. Piloting this ship must be stressful. I for one am grateful for your skills," P'Thok said. He headed for the lift. "I'll be with my men."

The Matron eyes P'Thok as he entered the elevator.

Yes, he would father many grubs.

----------

The Mantid tradeship landed in the dark of night. Two security drones moved close, just in case there was a problem.

Two accurate shots from a heavy plasma rifle gutted them and the two teams of Treana'ad warriors bolted for the two different warehouses while a third sprinted at nearly fifty miles an hour at the spaceport control center.

P'Thok fired his plasma rifle twice, caving in the doors, and rushed in. There was a sign proclaiming which way to security and he waved two men that way. "Stun only!" he reminded them. The other five men followed him as he charged down the hallway, shooting open the door to the control room.

He had carefully examined human media to make sure anything he had to say to humans would carry the most weight. He'd chosen to go without a helmet, instead wearing a cloth head covering like a Terran engaged in nerfarious deeds would, as well as a snazzy hat.

He charged into the room, seeing a half dozen Terran females and a dozen Terran males sitting at work stations.

"REACH FOR THE SKY!" P'Thok yelled out, firing two shots into the ceiling. "THIS HERE'S A HOLD UP!"

The Terrans stared at the six Treana'ad warriors, easily almost ten feet tall, all of them wearing baclavas and cowboy hats as well as Treana'ad combat armor and carrying Treana'ad plasma rifles.

The raised their hands.

"Keep your fingers off the silent alarms. No cops!" One Treana'ad, excited over it all, ordered, waving his plasma rifle around with one hand and clacking his bladearms together.

"I see a cop, all of you are dead!" another Treana'ad warrior threatened, running over to crouch down and look out the window.

"Nobody do anything stupid and you'll all live to go home to your kids," P'Thok promised, scuttling over to a Terran with the most elaborate decorations, including facial tattoos and piercings. P'Thok pointed at him. "You, Facility Manager, you will do my bidding!"

"I'm the janitor," the impressively decorated human said.

"Oh," P'Thok turned around, reaching into his combat harness. The Terrans flinched. "Who's the manager?"

A Terran human gulped and raised her hand.

P'Thok pulled out his pack of cigarettes, opened it, then lit the one he retrieved.

The humans seemed to relax as P'Thok put the pack away.

"Come over here, stand by me. Anyone pulls anything, I see any cops, and you'll be first," P'Thok threatened.

The terran female nodded, moving over by the massive Treana'ad.

"Smoke?" P'Thok asked. Now that he had them all cowed and submissive, the movies had shown that he should be polite and sociable.

"Um, thank you?" The Terran said. She lit it and handed the pack back.

P'Thok watched two of his men quickly search the desks for passwords, finding them, and then going to work on the computers. One man was to get the robotic system to lay the loading tracks to the ship, the other was to start listing freight to be loaded. A third man crouched down in front of a terminal and began furiously typing, searching the Terran InfoNet for the information that the Treana'ad so desperately needed.

The fourth and fifth crouched down by the windows, peeking out, watching for 'cops'. One opened the window and stuck the barrel of his grenade launcher out, an EM-homing grenade loaded up.

After a moment, P'Thok realized that the room had both male and female Terrans in it, and the Terran next to him was the largest of them. Thick of body and limb.

"You have many males here. Are they all yours?" P'Thok asked.

"Uh, they work for me," the shift manager said, her mind whirling at what was happening.

"No, no, are they yours for when you are overcome by breeding lust?" P'Thok asked. "What of the lesser females?"

"Um, I don't get overcome by breeding lust," the Terran said.

P'Thok turned and looked down at her. "You don't? Does that mean you don't enter breeding heat and... what's that thing mammals do... ovulate! right, don't you ovulate and devour the lesser females and then breed with your males?"

"No. I use birth control," the female said.

"Birth... control?" P'Thok said. He tapped his bladearms nervously against his chest plate. "What is 'birth control'? Tell me, and perhaps I will reward you."

The Terran female just stared. "Um, it's just an implant. It releases hormones into my bloodstream that keeps me from ovulating, releasing eggs into my womb, so I can't get pregnant unless I want to turn off the implant."

P'Thok thought for a long moment. That seemed impossible. Controlling breeding cycles? Why, you might as well try to control pheromone...

...

P'Thok pulled out his small datapad and handed it to the Terran. "Write down everything you know about this 'birth control' and when we leave I will spare all of your lesser females and captive males."

"Of course. Just... don't hurt them, OK?" the female Terran said.

P'Thok just nodded, his mind spinning. Controlling egg production? It's crazy. It's insane. It's impossible... but what if it isn't? What if it can be done?

"Sir! I've got it! They left that part of the database unsecure! There's hundreds of recipes!" his warrior searching InfoNet said excitedly.

"Download it all! We are indeed lucky, men," P'Thok said.

"The hold is 90% full, sir," the one watching the robotic loading systems said.

"Sir, we need to know something," the one tagging inventory to be loaded.

"What?" P'Thok asked.

"Where does 'milk' come from?" the warrior asked.

P'Thok turned to the lead female. "Where does milk come from?"

"Cows. Moo-moos," the Terran said. She tapped the notepad. "Those."

P'Thok stared. There were millions of the brown furred four legged herbivores on the planet. Of course! It made perfect sense!

"Stop loading!" P'Thok said. "We need to save room!" he turned to the human. "Input the care and feeding of moomoos."

The shift leader was completely confused as she did it. Complying with hostage takers was the best way to survive a hostage situation, but what they wanted was so confusing. She handed the small datapad back.

"Signal the teams! Withdraw to the ship. We must carry out an additional mission!" P'Thok said.

When the two watching the window counted that all the Treana'ad were aboard the ship, P'Thok busted out the window with the butt of his plasma rifle and had his men climb out. He looked at the Terrans.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he said, then raced off at top speed for the ship.

The Matron watched as P'Thok entered the bridge, exhaling smoke from his legs.

"Find a large grouping of these creatures," P'Thok ordered, tossing the image from his datapad to the main viewscreen. "Set down, quietly, near them. They are easily startled and weigh as much as warrior."

"What are those?" the Matron asked, exhaling blueberry cream, which seemed to calm the bridge crew the best.

"Moomoos. They are the animal that produces the substance known as 'milk', which is mammary gland nutrient fluid. It's the secret ingredient to ice cream!' P'Thok said excitedly, taking another drag off his cigarette.

"Located. Not far away," the pilot said. He looked back. "We're setting down."

"We'll collect some males as well as females," the Matron ordered. "I shall have several old grub hatcheries converted to habitats for them!" she could imagine the envy of all the other Matrons, including the local Hive Queen if she built lavish moomoo habitats to ensure the production of ice cream.

"As you command, Matron," P'Thok said, still thinking over what the human had said. She wasn't consumed by breeding frenzies, she could control her urge to breed and give birth. Treana'ad society, since the dawn of time, had centered all around breeding cycles.

Wars had been fought over breeding grounds.

The majority of males were fated to die at the mandibles of females.

Controlling breeding, as insane as it sounded, as impossible as the concept seemed, could break that cycle that dominated Treana'ad life.

And P'Thok knew he'd really really like to keep his head uneaten, especially with the Matron's spoken desire to mate with him.

"I must go command my men," P'Thok said. The Matron waved idly, exhaling smoke, as she imagined the incredulous rival Matrons who would gnaw at their own bladearms with envy at the lavish habitats she would construct.

The ship landed with a bump and the rear cargo hatch lowered. The moomoos paid no attention as the Treana'ad warriors rushed out to meet them and stopped.

"Get on the ship," P'Thok ordered, waving his plasma rifle at the moomoo.

The moomoo opened one eye, looked at him, and closed its eye again.

"Sir, the moomoo is ignoring my commands!" one of his men said, rubbing his wings in agitation.

P'Thok stared at the mammal. It was huge, massing maybe even more than a warrior. It was heavy with muscle, a thick furry hide, a large head, and a ring in the nose. It was studiously ignoring him and he realized with surprise that the creature was asleep.

Curious, he reached out and grabbed the ring. It was warm and slightly slimy and the moomoo opened its eyes.

"This way, moomoo, this way," P'Thok chittered, gently tugging the ring.

The moomoo followed.

"Emulate me, men," P'Thok ordered. He led the moomoo onboard the ship, then rushed out to another one. And another. And another.

He sent ten of his men out to grab the large bales of grain, something called alfalfa and yellow ones called 'hay', and then approached one of the even larger ones with horns. He grabbed the ring and said "follow me, moomoo, follow me."

The large moomoo's eyes opened, it glared, and suddenly rushed forward, slamming into P'Thok and knocking him into the air before stopping, passing gas, and going still again. One hoof pawed at the ground for a moment.

"Sir!" one shouted, leveling his plasma rifle.

"No, just stun it! Get a graviton loader, we'll carry it and put it in a stall," P'Thok ordered.

They had nearly all of the moomoos loaded up when P'Thok heard a human shout.

He turned and saw a human with a rifle.

"CATTLE RUSTLERS! BOY, CALL THE SHERIFF!" the human yelled, leveling the rifle and firing. The round whizzed by P'Thok.

"Men, retreat! We must hurry before the Sheriff arrives!" P'Thok called out, imagining a huge warmech with a star painted on its chest.

He and his men rushed back onto the ship, one pulling a grav-dolly with an unconscious mean moomoo on it.

The human chased them, waving his rifle and firing shots that kept missing.

Once aboard P'Thok slapped the com button. "Lift off! Hurry! The cops are coming!"

The ship lifted off even as the cargo ramp slowly raised.

P'Thok breathed a sigh of relief as the ship screamed into space, breaking orbit and vanishing into jumpspace. He slumped in relief as he lit a smoke and sought out the Matron.

She was just finishing a small bowl of ice cream, the room full of the scent of bubblegum.

"Matron, our raid is even more successful then we thought," P'Thok said.

"Oh?" The Matron signified interest. She had to admit, P'Thok was quite handsome. She fluttered her wings and gave him a coy look, feeling like a young matron again.

P'Thok checked his notepad. The Terran had put information about 'birth control' on it, including describing it, describing the mechanism by which it worked, and even the different brands and types, many were confusing and obviously intended for mammalian biology.

"Keep an open mind, as you did about ice cream and smoke," P'Thok said. He handed her the notepad. "Another human secret I wrested from them with guile and cunning."

The Matron looked at the data and suddenly stopped. She exhaled bubblegum scent slowly then took a deep drag off of her power smoker.

"The concept is insane!" she blurted out. "But... but... how did we never think of this? How did we never think of any of this?"

"Would you do it if you could, Matron?" P'Thok asked, tensing to run out of the room if she took offense. "I mean, if you could break the tyranny of the birthing chamber, would you do it?"

The Matron nodded. "Yes. It consumes a Matron's life. This... this seems so impossible, yet so simple. An impossible concept, an easily achieved medical research project."

She sighed wistfully. "To be freed."

"Then accept that notepad, Matron, with my undying awe at your presence," P'Thok said, backing out of the room.

The Matron didn't even notice, puffing absently on her power smoker and reading the articles downloaded from the Terran InfoNet and the testimony of a Terran Shift Leader, an obviously important and grand station.

To be free... she thought as she ship raced for the space station.