The Kholorian Conspiracy
by Geoffrey Wakeling
Chapter 1 “Yanick!” Seralah swore and slammed a hand against the table. The cup to her left wobbled, and the thick green tandry that had been keeping her awake all these hours oozed over the edge and dripped onto the desk. She looked around at the two stunned technicians at other workstations before quickly apologizing for her outburst.
“I just can’t decipher this alphabet, if that’s even what it is,” she added, turning and looking back at the console with exasperation. “Almost two months with these formulas and I still can’t grasp even the simplest sequence.”
“Have you tried using the core’s basic language algorithms?”
“Of course I have,” she replied quickly, glancing at the man with her dark hazel eyes.
“I thought you might have just gone straight to the advanced analytical software,” he assuaged quickly, removing himself from her gaze and focusing on his own work.
“I did at first,” Seralah said, putting a hand to her cheek and scratching the dark and downy fur that covered her face. It matched her eyes, though she was sure a few early silver streaks were appearing. “The analytics didn’t find anything, so I rolled it back to the basic codes in the hope something would be recognized. Seems this language is so old, even our ancient programming can’t decipher it.”
She reached for her cup and took a much-needed gulp of tandry. It was sweet on her tongue before she felt its heat at the back of her throat. Life had been so much easier when she was in the shaft with her tools, her team, and only the rocks to deal with. She enjoyed that aspect of archaeology: finding something new and taking care, precision, and time to dig it out. The research aspect of it was okay, but she didn’t like being away from the field for too long. And now? Sitting at a terminal, hour after hour, trying to crack one of the shortest alphabet sequences she’d ever seen? That was enough to send her over the edge. It was not at all why she’d embarked on this profession. She’d never had much time for technology. Give her a shuttle, a laser, and a set of coordinates to head to—that’s what she liked. She’d land and be digging around in the dirt happily for years on end.
“I’m going to run it through another decryption process,” she said. “Do not, under any circumstances, touch my console.”
She drained her cup, welcoming the awakening burn in her throat, threw her ocular enhancer to the desk, and left the lab through the airlock.
. . .
