* * *
Two days earlier, after she’d been lured away from the party:
“What is it?”
“An artifact from a bygone era,” the Scholar said. He was still wearing Pappy Boyington’s face and a Marine uniform. Lisbeth still hated him for it.
What ‘it’ looked like was some sort of sculpture depicting a gigantic non-human creature lying on a slab. There was something that looked like a spine and a rib cage, topped by a skull, vaguely humanoid but with an oversized brain case, a third eye socket, and a relatively diminutive jaw. There were no arms and legs, and the partial skeleton was huge, easily thirty feet long; the skull accounted for about a fourth of its length. The bones – or bone-shaped structures – were painted or made of some substance with a gleaming black finish, smooth enough that Lisbeth could see her reflection on their surface as she approached the massive artifact. Right below the rib cage was something clearly artificial: a twenty-foot long teardrop-shaped object, the same color as the bones, with no visible seams or openings. It looked as if the skeleton or skeleton-shaped portion had been fused to the teardrop structure; the spinal column ran down its length like a grotesque dorsal fin.
“These are the remains of a Pathfinder,” the Scholar explained. “A member of an ancient species that mastered the secrets of warp space. Towards the end their Path Masters no longer needed ships to travel between the stars, but could transit and emerge from warp at will.”
“That’s impossible.” Lisbeth said.
“To the likes of you, or even us Tah-Leen at their peak, yes. But the Pathfinders changed their bodies and minds for the task, abandoning their old selves and becoming something more. Eventually, their wisdom allowed them to Transcend. A few hundred of them remained behind, however. The Warp Marauders of Kraxan found their hidden burial grounds, where those renegade Path Masters slept away the eons. Using forbidden technologies, the Kraxans transformed the sleepers into entities trapped between life and death. The Path Masters’ power, combined with their own abilities to withstand the rigors of warp travel, enabled the Marauders to build an empire that lasted ten thousand years, until the nascent Peacekeepers drove them to extinction.
“What you see here, Major Zhang, is a Marauder Corpse-Ship. One fashioned out of the body of a Path Master.”
“Okay, let me see if I’m keeping all those pretentious names straight,” Lisbeth said. “You have the Pathfinders, who did all kinds of nifty warp stuff. Then the Marauders made ships out of the Pathfinders’ bones. And who are the Peacekeepers again?”
“Another name lost to Starfarer history, representing a brief but glorious time when most civilizations in the galaxy united to preserve law and order. The Peacekeepers were what the Galactic Imperium wishes it could become. But eventually those paragons fell before a new group of upstarts, including my own Community of the Unique.
“Among the spoils we won during their downfall was this relic: a vessel that makes your vaunted warp fighters seem as crude and primitive as stone-tipped spears. This living corpse once was an invincible engine of destruction that spread terror among the stars.”
All this talk about undead ships was creeping Lisbeth out. She hid her feelings from the pompous ass, though.
“Very impressive,” she said, trying to sound bored. “Are you looking to sell it?”
“Even if I were willing to part with such a priceless artifact, you would not get much use out of it. It has been disabled, for one: its power and weapon systems were lost long before the True Individuals found it. For another, it can only be controlled by a Master of the Seventh Circle, as the Pathfinders and Marauders measured such things. And it is very old. This relic has lain in this chamber for a hundred millennia. I am the only one who knows it even exists. That is, until I brought you here.”
And two can keep a secret if one is dead. Doesn’t bode well for me.
“As ancient and broken as it is, it is not dead,” the Scholar continued. “Go ahead, touch it and find out for yourself.”
She noticed the Tah-Leen was keeping his distance from the massive figure and the slab on which it rested. Whatever this was, he seemed to be wary of it. Maybe even afraid.
Probably with good reason, but there was no turning back now. This would have been a good time for one of her warp-induced hunches, but none were forthcoming, and she’d learned that trying to make them happen didn’t work. Lisbeth gingerly walked towards the reclining slab. Most of the huge skeleton-ship was out of her reach unless she tried climbing up the slab, but the spine reached all the way to the end of the capsule; its tip came to an end a few inches off the floor. She placed a hand on it, half-expecting to burst into flames or experience some other lethal input.
The metallic surface was warm to the touch, sort of like plutonium is supposed to feel, not that she’d ever handled any. A few seconds went by before she sensed something she recognized immediately. By the time she’d become qualified to fly a War Eagle, Lisbeth had developed the ability to feel the presence of her fellow fighter pilots, warp navigators and other similarly-gifted – or cursed – individuals.
She was sensing just such a presence from somewhere inside the skeleton-thing.
It wasn’t quite the same. For one, the ‘signal,’ if you wanted to call it that, was much fainter than anything else she’d picked up with her newfound senses. It also had a different texture or flavor or whatever; they needed to come up with a whole new vocabulary to describe the new things she and other Warp Adepts were discovering.
Except they aren’t new things at all. I’m touching something that is older than the human race. The Marauders could do everything we humans can, and more.
That wasn’t exactly news – there’d been legends about such ‘demons’ and ‘witches’ among Starfarers long before humans had entered the stage with their fancy abilities – but it was humbling to come into direct contact with one of those legends. That thought was followed by the realization that the term ‘living dead’ hadn’t been a metaphor: whatever was inside the Corpse-Ship wasn’t a machine, not even one of the so-called ‘true AI’ systems that were able to simulate all kinds of things but never managed to develop actual consciousness without breaking down. Whatever this was, it had once been a sophont before something terrible had been done to it. Its consciousness was trapped inside its dead body.
“This is wrong,” she said, stepping back and rubbing her hands together. She wanted to wash them thoroughly. The whole thing left her feeling unclean, disgusted. “Forget wrong. This is utterly fucked up.”
“I am a student of history,” the Scholar said. “The one thing that remains a constant is this: all sophonts are quite capable of the most unspeakable atrocities. I no longer concern myself with matter of morality. That way lie madness and despair.”
“How long as it been like that?”
“Approximately half a million years, using your quaint measurement units of time. Although I do not think it experiences duration in the same way you or I do, except when in contact with a temporal being like yourself. One could say your touch awakened it, briefly. It should enter its normal vegetative state soon enough. And remain in it until you contact it again.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because it suits my purposes. You aren’t a Seventh Circle Master, or any sort of Path Master for that matter, but your affinity to warp space may allow you to access the Corpse-Ship’s records. When you do, you will find a very special device, a weapon the Warp Marauders of Kraxan used to dispose of the most well-defended targets. You will then use that weapon at my behest.”
Shit.
“You want me to kill someone for you,” Lisbeth said. “Another Tah-Leen.”
“A number of them, as a matter of fact. The High Priestess and the Seeker of Knowledge, for starters. They represent a faction that must be neutralized so that mine may prevail. With those two and a few of their followers out of the way, I will be able to manipulate the Hierophant, who is a fool, in ev
ery expression of his individuality, for my own purposes. For far too long, those cowards have forced us to languish in this bejeweled prison, instead of extending our reach beyond it. I aim to change all of that.”
“Why do you need me?”
“Yours is the only species still living that might be able to use it. Even before our downfall, the Community of the Unique had no special connection to warp space; this artifact was beyond our abilities. Now, of course, we cannot use the most ordinary transluminal drive. After the Fall, the Elders condemned us to remain here and stripped us of the ability to travel between stars. We cannot leave. To enter warp space means death to us. That is our greatest, most shameful secret.”
Well, that explains why these tangos haven’t used their super-tech to conquer the galaxy, Lisbeth realized. It might also be the reason why they were all batshit crazy.
“You cannot comprehend the true extent of our damnation,” the Scholar went on. There was real emotion in his expression and his voice. “Once, we roamed among this arm of the galaxy and ruled a vast empire. This used to be a place of repose, what you would call a vacation spot. Now it is our personal hell. We will never Transcend. Nothing we do matters. All we can do is try to stave off ennui from one day to the next, except nothing we do keeps it at bay for long. We have tried every experience imaginable from the perspective of a thousand different species. And nothing has made a difference.”
Cry me a river, Lisbeth thought. From what little she knew about the Elder Races, they didn’t hand down punishments without a good reason. Whatever the Snowflakes had done had been bad enough to justify wiping out most of them and condemning the survivors to life in prison.
The Scholar whined on: “Do you know we no longer remember what we once looked like? The one shape we forbid ourselves is our original one. ‘Regressive Morphing’ is our one sin. To ensure we would not commit it, we destroyed all visual records of who we once were. We can be anything we want, except ourselves.”
Having the alien asshole confide in her was worrisome. She suspected he’d only shared his fee-fees with her because he knew she’d never get the chance to tell anybody about them.
“But that does not matter,” the Tah-Leen said after regaining his composure. The fake smile returned to his face. “I believe you can become the solution to our dilemma. Previous human visitors turned out to be a disappointment; even warp navigators could only sense the Corpse-Ship’s essence but not access its records. My hope is that a warp fighter will do better. When the Hierophant suggested we invite a new batch of humans to participate in one of our games, I realized this was a unique opportunity. Some research led me to you. I used the Kirosha incident as a pretext to bring you here; the Hierophant loves that sort of military drama, and your name is but one of many, easily overlooked.”
Great. It’s my fault we’re here, Lisbeth thought.
“The Seeker backed me up, much to my surprise. I believe he has a scheme of his own, but that will not matter once you have the weapon at my disposal. He will be rather surprised when I have you snuff out all seventeen versions of him.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she didn’t much care. Being used as an assassin had very little appeal, especially since there was only one way to make sure the Scholar wasn’t implicated in the killings.
“I can see that you are not eager to do as I ask,” the Scholar said. “What if I told you your American delegation was brought here simply to provide us with a few days of entertainment? That none of you are meant to leave Xanadu? That the Tah-Leen do not care about the affairs of some jumped-up monkeys or their enemies? You and the Lhan Arkh are here solely to amuse us. We will play our games until every last one of you is used up or becomes too unresponsive for our needs, and then we’ll dispose of you like so much refuse. Would that motivate you to kill a few of us?”
“Sure. Except that you’ll kill me and everyone else anyway.”
“Not necessarily. I might want to keep you around as my personal enforcer. And to ensure your cooperation, I’m prepared to allow your fellow Americans to depart in peace, at least those still alive when you learn how to use the Corpse-Ship as I see fit. If you wish to live, your only option is to rely on my mercy, for the rest of my people have none. Will you do as I say, Lisbeth Zhang?”
No choice. She nodded.
* * *
They came out of warp like a swarm of locust, sixty Corpse-Ships, their black bones gleaming in the reflected light of the system’s yellow star. Their target was the fifth planet from the sun, a green world, lush with life, surrounded by orbital installations and a large defending fleet that scrambled to meet the unexpected threat.
It wasn’t much of a battle. The Corpse-Ships were surrounded by near-impregnable auras that absorbed direct hits from main guns and swarms of missiles with minimal damage. Their return fire was devastating: the Warp Marauders’ weapons created tiny singularities that mundane shields and armor could not withstand. Direct hits turned dreadnoughts into scrap and swallowed lesser vessels entirely, sucking them into their event horizon. It didn’t take long before every ship and orbital fortress and planetary defense base was gone. A new wave of warp emergences followed and brought forth bloated mobile bases the size of small moons, carrying the workers and machines that would plunder the planet, stripping it of every useful resource.
Before the looting began, an offering was necessary, however. Half the planet’s survivors were herded into open spaces by their conquerors, a process that took months and killed a full tenth of the captives along the way. Enough survived to watch in unbearable horror as holes in the fabric of reality burst open over their heads. The chosen victims were sucked into the swirling vortices by the thousands; the roar of the warp gates was drowned out by the terrified screaming of millions of sophonts. The Warplings waiting on the other side consumed their bodies, minds and souls.
The Kraxans watched the spectacle without concern or regret. After centuries of making deals with the things that dwelt in the Starless Ways, they had lost all empathy for anyone not of their kind. Their constant exposure to those entities was changing them physically as well. Scars and tumors marred their flesh; some were growing new limbs and organs out of their torsos and heads. The unseen changes were, if anything, far worse. Dealing with demons was transforming them into creatures beyond the bounds of physical reality.
And they didn’t care.
* * *
Lisbeth tried to blink the vision away but the hideous aliens kept haunting her. The Marauders had originally been Class Two bipeds with surprisingly human-like features. By the time they’d dug up the Pathfinders’ corpses and used some sort of nanotech deviltry to turn them into warp vessels, they’d become a pack of freaks, each sporting a different set of deformities. Their looks matched their minds; just about every positive emotion and impulse had been leeched out of them Towards the end, they had hated themselves almost as much as they hated everyone else.
She had to take a break.
With a grunt of effort, Lisbeth pulled herself from the pilot’s chair. It was shaped like a motorcycle’s seat, meant to be used while reclining forward. It wasn’t very uncomfortable by itself, but staying in one position for what felt like days had left her feeling stiff and sore. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the sheer torture involved in accessing the undead ship’s telepathic user interface. The system didn’t use grav-waves; it worked just like warp-induced visions. None of the VR baffles in her imp had done a thing to protect her from experiencing what the Marauders had seen, done and felt. Every time she connected to the ship, she all but became one of them. It was nearly unbearable.
The only reason she hadn’t dropped dead or completely lost her mind was the steadying presence of the dead Path Master who lived on inside the Corpse-Ship. Lisbeth had learned little from the slumbering or comatose creature, but even the second-hand information she’d gleaned from its Marauder owners had been illuminating. The Pathfinders had been twisted into somet
hing monstrous despite their ability to access warp space. Their ability to access the Starless Path – their name for w-space – had gone beyond anything humans or Kraxans had achieved, and they’d done so without damning themselves.
That discovery was worth all the mental torture. At first, she’d been convinced that humanity was doomed to follow in the Marauders’ footsteps. There was an alternative, however; the Pathfinders had found it. If she figured out how they’d gotten there, there was still hope for her fellow humans. All she had to do was survive and spread the word.
Lisbeth Zhang, Visionary and Missionary, she thought. If she wasn’t so tired she’d start laughing hysterically.
Lisbeth groped blindly for one of the sipping bottles the Scholar had left for her. She couldn’t look around; her eyes were still seeing images of the Marauders and their ritual sacrifices. From previous experiences, she knew it would take her anywhere from a minute to an hour to recover. After a few false tries, she found the container and greedily drank the flat-tasting water. At least the Snowflake and his robotic servants were keeping her fed, although the source of her rations had creeped her out.
The water bottles and barely-edible rations weren’t from the Brunhild; they’d been labelled as belonging to the SS Mirabella, a Columbian-flagged civilian freighter that according to her imp had gone missing some fifty years ago. By now she had a good idea of what happened to its crew. The Tah-Leen were as bad as the Marauders, and they didn’t even have the excuse of having been driven insane by warp exposure; they’d managed that entirely on their own.
Her vision eventually cleared enough to find a fifty-year-old protein chew. Time hadn’t improved its flavor one bit, but it was still edible. Just as she was done with it and thinking about having a second one, the Scholar’s face appeared in front of her. The imp projection still bore the features of the long-dead Marine pilot, but the fake smile was nowhere to be seen. The alien scowled at her.
“Malingering again, I see,” he said. “I want a progress report.”
Warp Marine Corps- The Complete Series Page 80
