The Soul Monger

by Matilda Scotney

  He returned his attention to her. “Because you’re not terrified, and the others take their lead from you, at least for now.”

  “I didn’t have these abilities on Earth.”

  “You did. You must have had them. It’s this place…” Xavier’s mind wandered off again; then he blinked a few times. “As you said yourself, our attributes unfold as each challenge demands.”

  They sat in companionable silence, watching the crewman go through his exercises.

  “What did you do for a living, Xavier?” Laurel asked after a few minutes.

  “Civil engineering,” Xavier swivelled around to face her, his face alight, the portrait of a man who obviously loved his work. “My wife, Nancy—Annunciata, worked so I could put myself through university. It was hard for her, but she was so proud of me,” he laughed a little, his eyes soft at the mention of his beloved. “And I was proud of myself, until the war years when Mr Mussolini decided my skills had a better application within the machinations of war.”

  “Mussolini? Xavier, I thought you were eighty-one when Darlen took you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then how could you have been in the war? What year were you born?”

  “1910, why?”

  “Because I was born in 1988 and the last date I remember was January 24th, 2018.”

  “The last date I remember was August 4th, 1991.”

  “And Eli spoke of apartheid,” Laurel frowned. “That ended years ago.”

  “Perhaps Darlen took us at different times,” Xavier said with a nonchalance that reflected his belief that what must happen will happen, no matter how much they question.

  “Harry told me there’s a kind of distortion in time in our galaxy; it might explain why we’re from different time periods.” Harry’s explanation of Earth’s time intrigued Laurel. She would have loved to discuss the subject with Xavier, but once again, his thoughts turned inwards. Time paradox put to the side, Laurel waited. Xavier had another reason to want to chat.

  “What do you think of Canon Akkuh?” he said suddenly.

  “Canon Akkuh? Well, I don’t have an opinion. Pleasant enough. His English is comical, but I’ve only met him a few times.”

  “He avoided me at the reception,” Xavier said, his eyes narrowing, “I know you noticed.”

  “I did notice, but I wasn’t sure why.”

  “If you faced him now, you’d understand. He’s not to be trusted. He knows more than he admits, more even than he tells Harry or those Congressmen.”

  “I’m still an unreliable telepath, Xavier. I may have had trouble reading his mind.”

  “But I did read his mind.” Xavier gave Laurel a knowing smile. “He mistakenly assumed I was on an equal level to the rest of you. The Canon has many masks, so many secret stores for lies, but I couldn’t delve deep enough at the time. That’s why he stayed away from me.”

  Xavier pointed to the crewmember sparring with the holointerface. “Can you read his mind?”

  Laurel looked over. “His wife had a baby recently, and he misses them. He’s a half soul, like everyone else that I’ve met here except us and the two Semevalians.”

  “A warrior?”

  Laurel looked again. “Yes, for now.”

  Xavier drew a deep breath and took her hands in his.

  “This isn’t a typical war, Laurel. Canon Akkuh is bearing the truth of it in his head and heart, keeping it away from his conscience.”

  “If that’s the case, we need to tell Harry.”

  “Tell Harry what? That we think there’s a conspiracy? They’d need more than just our word.” Xavier’s brows knitted together in a frown; a bushy caterpillar sitting comfortably above his eyes. Laurel hadn’t noticed them before, and she smiled. Xavier caught her silent observation but ignored it. “At the moment, it’s just a sense; I might be completely wrong.” He grinned suddenly and patted her hand. “Events will unfold as destiny dictates,” he said wisely, using one of his oft-quoted homespun adages.

  Xavier called up the visuals from his d-com. “I want to show you something.”

  The visual displayed a slim rectangle and within, a darkened section overlying the filaments of the vivid colours of the nebula.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s what I pick up when the portals come to mind. But there’s also an impression of anguish, of suffering.”

  “From that shape? Or something within it?”

  “I don’t know. My thoughts, feelings, they keep going in a circle. I thought getting close to it might give me a clearer picture.”

  Any sensitivity to the portals remained Xavier’s at this point. Laurel had no choice but to accept the explanation that the area was either unstable or somehow modified by the enemy. Xavier clearly struggled with those possibilities, so it made sense for her to go with him next time.

  She left him there to his reflections, but Xavier didn’t return to their quarters that night. Laurel managed to doze but was up and dressed before Issie arrived to marshall them for the day. Eli and Chloe went with Harry for flight training. Helen, Marta and Laurel continued to the combat training room.

  “Can you offer us more on the techniques the enemy have used up to now?” Laurel asked Cere, “From what they have told us, most of the individual battles, despite the devastation, seem like skirmishes. We have a theory the actual war may be yet to come.”

  Marta agreed. “A warring species would single out a more aggressive adversary. Simple folk leading simple lives would hardly represent a challenge; their actions imply an ulterior motive.”

  Harry arrived at that moment and overheard the conversation. “I hope you’re not right, Laurel, Semevale is the closest system to the nebula. If Semevale 8 falls, the invaders are well placed to gain access to six separate systems bordering on Semevale space. The invaders must recognise the tactical edge; access to their portals and control of the region.” He paused, “And if you have theories; please bring them to me.”

  “Xavier thinks you either have something they want or it’s a grudge,” Laurel recounted a comment Xavier made the previous night.

  Harry was dubious. “Semevale has nothing material of benefit to anyone; its greatest asset is its people but subduing several star systems might destabilise the League.”

  “Have you ever expelled anyone? Perhaps Xavier is right, and someone is harbouring a grievance,” Laurel pressed on. Xavier had produced some persuasive arguments, but Harry knew nothing, Laurel was sure of it.

  “Not from across the nebula. The League has had dissidents of course, but no outright conflict and no expulsions. This enemy has no other purpose than to inflict chaos and destruction.”

  “Then the League is naïve,” Marta said, “to believe that because they cannot find a way to navigate the nebula, then no-one can. This enemy does have a purpose; you need to find what it is. No-one takes up arms on a whim.”

  “I beg to differ, Marta,” Harry raised his chin, prepared to defend the League and everything for which it stood, but at that moment, Laurel caught the wavering in his resolve. This theory wasn’t his; it was propaganda, fed to the League soldiers, presumably by Canon Akkuh. Laurel kept silent; it wouldn’t do to challenge the idea when she didn’t have any solid clues of her own.

  Harry continued, “Historically, man engaged in war to secure power and position. As we have no idea what drives this enemy, we can only assume it’s a play for power.”

  “You’ve mentioned intelligence,” Laurel said. “Are there operatives working in the field?”

  “No, any attempt to infiltrate ended in disaster. It’s extraordinary; there were a few instances where we received information on the enemy’s operations. There are no means of identifying that person, but someone within enemy ranks.”

  “He or she could be leading you into a trap.”

  “Not so far; the intelligence has been valuable.”

  “We need more information, Harry,” Marta clapped Harry on the back, the strength of the c
ontact causing him to stumble ever so slightly forward. “We’re speculating and making it up as we go.” As Harry resolved never to engage Marta in a fight, he mumbled, “So are we.”

  “I’m with Marta,” Laurel nodded. “In my profession, if a problem has been long-standing, we got as much history as possible before initiating a treatment regime. I guess I’m taking a similar approach.”

  “And in an emergency?”

  “Put a bandage on the wound, give pain relief and find a specialist.”

  “That’s what we’ve done, and you are the specialists.”

  Cere ordered up the new combat droid. “We have work to do Commander,” she said, in a voice that had Harry turning to leave. “These questions can wait until you reach 100 moons.”

  Cere’s training over the preceding days was nothing if not scrupulous and precise. Standing to the side, she observed the three women work together, unarmed against three combat droids, then against six. Helen was the only one injured when she took a moment to celebrate her skills. Weapons control, flight simulation by interface and battle tactics were each covered with Cere’s customary thoroughness. She drummed familiarity with the enemy’s weapons and battle tactics into them, along with the use of the weapons ports structured at the elbow of each uniform. The weapons, which responded to the NTI were given as much attention as the wrist licks. The stiletto was a narrow blade with a serrated edge; like a knife used to cut steak, but infinitely more lethal than anything found in a kitchen drawer. The second weapon at the elbow emitted a whip-like beam identical to the lick.

  Realising her survival depended on her skill in battle, Laurel sought new ways to improve her tactics. During her simulated battle session with six androids, she developed a technique, leaping high into the air and disabling two of the combat droids with the wrist and elbow lick. Two went down at the same time with kicks to the head, and she mopped up the last two by firing her lick in rapid succession. She knew the androids were more predictable than humans, and in all likelihood, easier to subdue than the real enemy, but still, triumphant, she turned to her open-mouthed audience. Harry, Marta, Helen and Cere stood in a row, dumbstruck.

  “What?” Laurel’s initial pride in her performance sank, now she was unsure.

  Cere stepped forward. “Impressive, Laurel,” came Cere’s minimal praise. She indicated Marta and Helen now take on the combat droids. Helen promptly sat down, but Marta, aware that once Laurel mastered a skill, the others often followed, was keen to give it a go. Her results weren’t as dramatic as Laurel’s, but they knew by the next day, she would be equally capable. Helen refused even to try.

  As the days passed, Laurel and Marta’s level of telepathy grew into a regular means of conversing between them, although when there were others present, they made sure to use verbal communication. They were also learning to close their “mind’s eye” when they didn’t wish to see inside someone’s head. Helen showed fewer signs of telepathic ability and even her empathic senses seemed underdeveloped, only happening in glimpses or flashes of inspiration; a point that worried Laurel when it came to the prospect of battle.

  “What’s on your mind?” Helen flopped beside her after a training session, causing Laurel to mask her feelings, just in case.

  “Our speed over the last couple of days has progressed,” Laurel said. “Nearly twice what it was.”

  “You maybe, and Marta,” Helen puffed out her breath. “I’m the slowest though.”

  Marta threw a towel at her. “You did okay. You didn’t always need me to lead.”

  “It’s great that our thoughts link,” Laurel said. “It’s going to be useful.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll be the one holding you back.” Helen looked glum, “I still think I’d be better left here to help Xavier.”

  “You won’t hold us back, Helen. What kind of talk is that?” Laurel laughed, but Helen was only voicing what they knew might be the truth.

  Chapter 19

  “Marta,” Laurel asked later during their rest period. “Do you remember what you were doing when you were taken?”

  “Yes, standing at the bottom of a stairwell, dreading the walk up because the elevator was stuck.”

  “What year?”

  “2008, why?”

  “Hmm, 2018 for me. What about you, Helen?”

  Helen replied slowly, her interest piqued. “2017. What’s going on?”

  “Xavier told me he was taken in 1991,” Laurel explained, “and Eli mentioned apartheid, so I guess he wasn’t taken too recently. I assumed we all got taken at the same time.”

  “So did I,” Helen agreed. “What about Chloe?”

  “I don’t know, but we seem to be one unit; as if Darlen knew what he was looking for.”

  “He claims to have been a Soul Monger all his life,” Helen snorted. “I imagine he’s pretty good at it. Like picking the best breed of horse or dog.”

  “We’re not animals, Helen,” Marta at first protested the comparison, but on seeing it a second later, raised her eyebrows and nodded her head in agreement.

  “See?” Helen thumbed at Marta. “We’re commodities as far as Soul Mongers are concerned,” she said, tut-tutting her disgust. “Thinking about them makes me shudder, the idea they’ve been cruising around our world nicking people. I wonder how they managed it?”

  At that moment, Eli and Chloe rejoined them, so they agreed to return to the discussion when they had more time. They didn’t much like the idea of bringing up their younger colleagues’ tragic pasts in such a public place.

  Harry extracted Eli and Laurel from the afternoon session. “Xavier’s waiting in the landing bay,” he said. “He wants to fly closer to the nebula and specifically requested you both.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “No, Laurel. Flying anywhere close to the portals is tricky. We need to trust Xavier’s judgement.”

  Xavier was waiting in a scout. Laurel finally understood what occupied Eli’s days as he expertly prepared the ship for flight. Harry held back for Laurel to occupy the seat beside him. Harry was correct, Eli had taken to flying like a duck to water. In only a few weeks, Eli flew as if born to it. Laurel assumed his training comprised of hours in the simulator, as hers had been, but it was apparent he’d also been receiving at least part of his instruction in open space. He and Chloe had not spoken of it.

  “Impressed?” Eli flicked her a cocky glance, catching her admiration.

  “I am, Eli, it’s hard to believe you’ve only been flying for such a short time.”

  “I can’t even drive a car; a motorbike I can, I never even held a licence. I never had power over anything, not even my own life. I’m in control here.”

  Laurel sensed his satisfaction and pride. A strong impression that lit up like fireworks inside her head. Eli was happy, so Laurel felt the feeling right along with him.

  The exit portals were undetectable to the naked eye. The star chart enhanced the coordinates of the closest exit, exposing a region less than fifty kilometres across. Invariably, as it did now, the nebula distracted Laurel with its majesty, but aside from her own reverence, she discerned nothing else. Xavier leaned forward, placing a finger on the star chart and peering towards the region encompassing the portal. After several moments, he glanced down to the side in thoughtful consideration, then looked back towards the nebula, replaying the actions a few times while his three companions remained hushed, not wishing to interrupt his focus. At length, Xavier inhaled noisily, but he still looked thoughtful.

  Laurel spoke first. “I can’t see the shape you outlined on the d-com, Xavier.”

  “I feel the shape, Laurel. I can’t see it. Harry? Are there recordings of enemy vessels exiting the nebula at close range?”

  Harry brought up the data for Xavier to examine, explaining angles and trajectories that Xavier, with an engineering background, appeared to understand. He listened attentively. No stranger to war, it was reasonable to assume he had at least a basic grasp of strategy.

  “I ass
ume in the past,” he said to Harry, “a squadron of your ships has stood by and fired on the enemy as they came through?”

  “Of course,” Harry changed the data stream to show League ships converging on enemy craft exiting the nebula. “But we can’t detect the ships, and we have to drop stealth to fire on them. Early on, we surprised them and did some damage to their fleet, but now, they discharge a spread prior to exiting, so we must keep our distance. Sometimes, even with stealth, they seem to know we’re there.”

  “And you’ve sent unmanned ships into the nebula?”

  “Yes, imaging probes, more than once. We lost readings each time.”

  “Hmm,” Xavier stared at the panel and star charts, then gradually lifted his gaze to the nebula. At that moment, Laurel felt a shift in her solar plexus, and meaning connected the two empaths. Her heart skipped in dismay as Xavier’s realisation became hers.

  “Your invaders have more than a tactical advantage, Harry,” Xavier said solemnly. “They have a ferry.”

  “A ferry?” Harry didn’t understand.

  “A vessel that can carry you from A to B. In this case, a lifeform.”

  Laurel’s telepathic connection with Xavier gave her a minute to adapt, but Harry turned pale.

  “A lifeform? How?”

  “I don’t know, but your so-called sector of unstable nebula is relieved to see us. There’s a strong sense of coercion. It only ever shows up at this point when it’s carrying vessels…Eli!”

  But this time, Eli was one step ahead. He’d applied stealth and swung away at a burst of widespeed at the second Xavier shouted the alarm. Knowing a moving stealthed vessel disrupted space and risked detection, Eli cut power and waited.

  “I’m at 900,000 kilometres from where I calculate they’ll exit, Commander Harry,” Eli said. “They’re not at capacity widespeed, and they don’t appear to be in a hurry. From their progress, I would say I sensed them at around 600,000.”