The Council-floor Part 2

Grak wasn't quite sure which was a less inviting sight: Belief In A Lower Power from the inside, or Belief In A Lower Power from the outside. From the outside, Belief was an octagonal prism of brown metal and rivets, with a slightly smaller cylinder peeking out of either end. On the back were the two rocket power nozzles. Grak was not an engineer, but he couldn't help but imagine that the cobbled together mess of plumbing and wire wrapped around the rocket engines was somewhat more of a liability than an asset. But who was he to judge, after all. At the front of Belief was a set of two semicircular pods that could have formed a ring around the ship if they tried even a little bit harder.

Belief was slowly becoming smaller in the viewport of the wedge-shaped shuttle. The planet below had a real decent chance of being beautiful. Vast, shining oceans, visually interrupted by fluffy, swirling whisps of high-altitude water clouds. An atmosphere of nitrogen and, if the sensors were not malfunctioning again, oxygen, brightened the rounded horizon with a heavenly glow. Deep purple-red striations marked the brown surface, swirling into odd patterns which match long-term climate--the result of the world's short-ish period and tidal lock. The obstacle standing in the way of Grak's appreciation of the world was totally the fault of the sun: Barnard's Star. A red dwarf sun, it produces little to no blue or green light. As a result, the planet was lit by a nigh-monochromatic orange-yellow. The blue ocean could barely muster a green-brown tone. The color of atmospheric scattering was a dull white, and the clouds were a fiery orange in color. Barnard's Third Planet is hardly unique in its artistic situation. The majority of worlds in the universe orbit red stars. When viewed by species who evolved to see the light of hotter stars, such planets are very often lacking in appeal.

The shuttle entered the atmosphere of the planet, and so began the smooth, error-less descent into the strange world's air. Upon landing, Grak departed the shuttle and surveyed the landscape. It was dotted with, of all things, burnt and warped spacecraft parts. This was a remarkable coincidence on account of the fact that Grak had just landed in a collection of burnt and warped spacecraft parts. With a sigh of what must surely be considered contentment, Grak made his way to the co-ordinates that he was assigned.

The blocky, metallic structure reminded him of the architecture of his homeworld. He distinctly recognized the window shape as a popular design fad for a few decades in the prior century. "Strange," he noted, "a Traddin colony." As he approached the building, he heard faint sounds of hammering and drumming coming from within. Closer still, and he would be lying if he said he didn't thought he heard music. More still, it was music that didn't sound like a church organ committed having a heart attack. A relief to listen to familiar music, each further foot towards the complex was accompanied by a skip in his step. At last, Grak reached the complex. "Uh, may I come in?" he asked the unlocked door. The music halted. Grak smiled in disappointment. The door opened itself, but no one was at the door. "Uh, hello?" he said. He stepped into the entryway and tripped over.

Grak woke up, tied to the ceiling of a huge, empty chamber. Throughout the floor, in clusters of around seven to twenty, were small, slimy animals. "Uh, hello?" he repeated. The animals all looked up at Chatter composed of clicks and growls filled the chamber, until a roar halted them. The roar coursed through Grak's ears, echoing throughout the chamber, and causing the lights to flicker. The high pitched growl of response that followed would have destroyed Grak's ears if he were human. "Alright I can understand the growls, but what's with the ringing bells?"

A deep voice spoke up, towards a shadowed doorway. "It speck Kimmel tongue."

"Kimmel tongue?" said Grak.

"Langwedge spak be those mak thes build," said the voice.

"Excuse me, could you get just a little closer I can't quite see you," Grak said.

The voice moved forth. It resolved as one of the small purple creatures. The major difference being its size.

"I am the Queen," said the Queen, "of the Beanmen," said the Queen of the Beanmen.

"No, really?" Said Grak.

"Indeed I am," said the Queen of the Beanmen.

"Oh man, see that actually explains quite an awful lot."

"How so?" said the Queen of the Beanmen.

"Oh well you see I thought I was sent to kill a Queen Bee, but this makes a lot more sense."

The Queen of the Beanmen roared.