“There must be at least a hundred,” she observed. “Thankfully, the Vohrns aren’t as bellicose as Orcants or Nageks.”
A protective arm thrown over Mallory’s shoulder, Torg acquiesced, “It wouldn’t take them long to destroy all of humanity.”
“Morsak is completely crazy to take them on! He’s going to get us all killed!” This additional reason for defeating the Idernax CEO strengthened her resolve. Her steps quickened energetically, which obliged the cybrid and the soldiers to speed up. A massive door slid silently aside as they approached.
She realized then that there were barely any other sounds. On an Earth ship, she would have heard the cries of the maintenance staff struggling to be heard over the din of the machines, the crash of tools, or the crackling of welding arcs. On the contrary, absolute calm reigned on this warship.
Once they crossed the threshold, one of the warriors gestured that they should follow the firefly lamp: they wouldn’t accompany them any further.
Mallory grabbed on to one of her bodyguard’s thick, steel-reinforced fingers and dragged him along with her. “Come, Torg. At least, the Lyoden’Naak is so large that you shouldn’t get claustrophobia.
Laorcq spent another night in a cell. This time, his “roommate” wasn’t a Sirius ape, but an Orcant afflicted with a partial mutation. Lying on the top bunk, the soldier observed him with disgust. One of the alien’s progenitors had probably contracted a benign form of Omsyn before birth. A common occurrence, for them. As resistant as cockroaches, their DNA could accommodate multiple mutations.
The result was curious, if nothing else. One of his three eyes waved at the end of a cartilaginous stalk. Its chitin carapace was split in several places, allowing small greenish tubes to stick out. They attracted insects, trapping and digesting them.
While the Orcant did have four lower limbs like others of his species, he was equipped with six arms. Unfortunately for Laorcq, the extraterrestrial’s customary stink had increased proportionately. There was nothing he could do. Even if he knocked him out or killed him, the quadruped’s stench would remain. Angrily, he grumbled, “Lafora chose well. A three-week-old corpse wouldn’t smell this bad…” He leaned over the top bunk and said, “Don’t you agree, you giant cockroach?”
Incapable of understanding, the Orcant let out a grunt underlined by a series of farts.
Disgusted, Laorcq lay down. He tried to take stock of the situation.
After being turned over to the Gloria City police by the Vohrns, he had asked where the pilot was. He had only been able to get one sentence out of them in reply: “Captain Mallory Sajean is traveling to Mars on one of our cruisers.”
Laorcq knew these gigantic ships by reputation. Ten years earlier, the Nagek Oligarchy’s fleet had gone up against one of them. According to the Nageks, the Panjans were flouting the natural order by creating cybrids, and they had to be punished. Although no one had expected them to carry out this threat, the Oligarchy had taken everyone by surprise by launching an armada to assault Panja. The planet had been ravaged and its people annihilated.
In retaliation, a lone Vohrn war cruiser intercepted a hundred or so Nagek vessels and had left behind only a handful of survivors. Since then, incredible legends about these ships had flourished.
Laorcq worried: with that kind of ship traveling toward the solar system, the slightest hitch could lead to a catastrophe.
That said, he was facing a much more immediate problem: the tribunal. Despite his service record, the soldier could remain imprisoned for life.
He had gone after Morsak using his prerogatives of rank. This was already reprehensible. Even worse, things had gotten completely out of control: he had sown property damage and cadavers in his wake. Now that Geekler was dead and the package gone, he had no proof about Morsak’s machinations. Shit! Still, I’m not done yet. I have a last card to play, and I’m not throwing away my shot!
The next day, during the five minutes of mandated navcom usage time, he wrote a message to the director of the Kaumann lab.
Sodoye, the mercenary who had attacked the Sirgan between Pluto and Kenval, hadn’t given up anything but the name. Thinking about it, though, Laorcq realized that Kaumann could be a potential ally. His reasoning was simple: if they were in competition with Idernax, he should be able to convince them to join forces with him.
A few days passed before the response arrived. It was not a video or a text, but a human. Wearing a skirt suit and tall, sharp heels and carrying a business card that said “Attorney.”
The firefly lamp guided Mallory and Torg to a corridor where its feeble light faded away. It ran through the ship from end to end like a hollow spinal column.
Still holding the cybrid’s hand, she instinctively moved closer to him. She had the impression they were moving through a cave.
From time to time, a bipedal lizard appeared in the area lit by the floating lamp and then disappeared immediately afterwards. Uneasy, the pilot murmured, “What an ambiance! You’d think we were on a ghost ship…”
After a hundred or so yards, she noticed that the cruiser was actually comprised of a series of rings. The interior layout adhered to the philosophy of the tower where she and Laorcq had almost been assassinated. The only difference was that one out of every two segments here contained the equipment required for spatial navigation.
Mallory activated her navcom and furtively scanned the place in all three dimensions. Jazz would definitely want to see this. At least, if she could stay alive long enough to get back to the Sirgan.
Her thoughts drifted: with regard to survival, she knew someone who was in a worse place than she was. Laorcq had dragged her into this insane story: she shouldn’t be worried about him. Nevertheless, she owed him her life.
She also had to admit that if someone had ordered the massacre of her colleagues and tried to kill her, she would have wanted revenge just as badly.
She admitted to herself that the scarred man’s presence had a good side as well. Torg and Jazz were adorable, but they couldn’t replace a human. Despite his somewhat blunt behavior, she would be happy to be on a crew with Laorcq. Having such a reliable associate on-board would be nice. Especially since he was nice to look at. She smirked at that thought.
The firefly lamp stopped in front of an open compartment. A Vohrn was waiting for them inside, sitting on what must have been a bed: a slightly rounded platform covered with blue fur.
The alien seemed to be in a bad way. Under the purple robe he was wearing, the pilot could see a thick bandage.
He moved carefully when he stood to welcome them. “Captain Mallory Sajean, cybrid Torg. Welcome to the Lyoden’Naak. Here is the room for living.”
Mallory looked around the cabin. No chairs or table. The walls were covered with the same material as the bed. In an alcove, there was a drink distributor that looked like the one on the shuttle. Time is going to feel slow here.
Reacting belatedly to her host’s catastrophic grammar, she suddenly recognized him. “Hanosk? I thought you were dead.”
“Almost. Happily nothing vital damaged,” he informed her. “I will be guide for the trip, you shouldn’t disturb the step of the ship. You to learn basis our culture to not offend.”
“I know how to behave! I delivered a package directly to the royal family on Venus!” the pilot retorted, vexed. She regained her calm and asked, “What’s the plan? Mars? And then?”
“You tired and fragile,” the Vohrn replied. He handed her a shapeless packet. “This your property. Sleep now. In six hours, I will teach you. Me professor.”
The bundle contained a change of clothes and the pair of pistols Laorcq had given her. Hanosk left the cabin without another word, leaving Mallory and her bodyguard in the company of the furry bed. She put away her meager possessions in one corner, undressed, and lay down.
To her great surprise, the box spring sank completely under her weight. The edges of the piece of furniture met and closed into a warm, soft sac. After the first few m
oments of panic, she appreciated the unexpected comfort. She fell asleep quickly, under Torg’s affectionate gaze.
The moment of respite flowed through quickly forgotten dreams. True to his words, Hanosk came to extract Mallory from the hairy cocoon. With an envious glance at the cybrid rolled in a ball at the foot of the bed, she decided not to wake him. At least one of them should get to sleep in.
She discovered with pleasure that her clothes had been cleaned while she slept. They carried a light odor, a blend of sugar and hydrocarbons. Deciding not to complain about such a small thing, she dressed and left the room.
With her hair still tousled and her black eyes swollen with fatigue, she followed the Vohrn to the Lyoden’Naak’s bridge.
She saw a dozen alien reptiles busy at their posts. Each one seemed indispensable, but she couldn’t quite figure out who was doing what. Everything was much too unfamiliar to her, and the low light from the firefly lamp, combined with the blinking of several monitors, wasn’t helping at all.
The stations were a mix of organic and artificial, which was typical of the genotech she was beginning to recognize. The layout of the bridge seemed in complete contradiction to Earth norms. Only the large central screen seemed normal to her. The characters on it were indecipherable, so the pilot ignored them. Mechanistically, she interpreted the diagram, which showed the position of the ship in relation to the binary Procyon star.
Hanosk described the cruiser’s capabilities to her, being careful to provide as little sensitive information as possible.
To Mallory’s delight, someone had finally correctly calibrated the alien’s translator. She nevertheless doubted she had heard correctly when he stated the Lyoden’Naak’s specifications. “A top speed that’s fifty percent faster than the Sirgan?”
“Yes. Human propulsion systems are interesting, but their yield is not optimal.”
She was stunned: the cruiser outclassed her transport ship. Intrigued by the hospitality Hanosk was showing with his guided visit, she asked him, “Why are you treating me like a distinguished guest? Why trust me? You barely know me. I might flee at the first opportunity.”
“During our physical contact, I was in touch with your mind. I am certain you will not abandon the Sirgan, nor the goal of proving your father’s innocence. Once my people are out of danger, it will be easy for us to recover the asteroid where he hid his orders. If you wish it, we will also take care of your associate Lebrane.”
Mallory’s first reaction was embarrassment. She didn’t like the idea that a stranger could know so much about her so easily. On the other hand, she reasoned, it was normal among the Vohrns. It was hard to be angry with them, especially if they got rid of her dear associate.
She imagined a horde of reptilian aliens on the crook’s heels and felt her morale shoot up. “I don’t wish it—I dream about it!”
Hanosk abstained from pointing out one of the pilot’s other personality traits. While she liked traveling from world to world, the life of a merchandise transporter didn’t satisfy her. She would feel much more fulfilled by helping his people undo Morsak’s plans.
While he had probed her psyche, the alien had been surprised: the human female possessed the character traits of a warrior. For the Earth woman, facing risks would only add spice to the situation.
XIX
MARS
MALLORY was listening to Hanosk summarize the outlines of Vohrn history with fascination. “Our society operates on a model similar to your Roman Empire. At the beginning, our two peoples prospered during the same time period. However, while human society has risen and fallen repeatedly, our civilization has stabilized. When we launched ourselves into space, we had already formed a single nation.”
As they had every day, Mallory and Torg were spending a few minutes with the convalescing extraterrestrial. He had organized a program distributed across the two weeks of the trip to Mars. Little by little, the pilot began to understand how ignorant Earthlings were about aliens. Hanosk was an excellent mentor but lacked the time to convey such a large amount of knowledge.
He touched on several topics, which always surprised her. For example, the social fabric: the statuses and positions available to the Vohrns were based on concepts that were completely foreign to humans.
This class in “general xenoculture” unfolded during walks through the areas of the ship where natural landscapes had been recreated. Conceived as a trompe l’oeil, these parks imitated reality so well that Mallory and the cybrid sometimes forgot they were on a spaceship.
Their hosts adapted easily to the shadows, but most of the plants native to Cébalraï, the Vohrns’ home world, were photosynthetic. Consequently, the gardens were bathed in the simulated light of a white dwarf star. Mallory and Torg welcomed it joyfully. On the cruiser’s other decks, they had to make do with the genotech firefly they had been given. Although a little too bright for the Earth woman, she found the artificial sun more agreeable than the weak light emitted by the flying glimmer.
They were crossing through a forest of bushes with golden flowers when Hanosk broached the subject of work. “The least sought-after positions are those that require the execution of simple or repetitive tasks,” the alien explained. “Fortunately, we have machines to do these kinds of chores. The only exception is administration, for which we use our offspring.”
Doubting she had heard correctly, Mallory asked, “Children? Your translation box is up to its usual tricks.”
“No, the term is correct. It refers to the period preceding the passage to adulthood. The…” The translation took a second or two longer than usual. “Adolescents.”
Mallory was incredulous. “In that case, do they not have the opportunity to go to school?”
“Instruction mostly takes place beforehand. Public service completes their training. Weaknesses and talents are revealed, making it possible for them to choose a path.”
Imagining the same principle applied to humans, Mallory visualized a group of undisciplined kids who were responsible for meeting with irascible taxpayers. A surrealistic scene…
Her next question didn’t make things any clearer. “And what is the most highly respected profession?”
“Landscaper,” replied Hanosk without the slightest hesitation.
She stopped walking and turned toward her companion, wondering if he hadn’t just suddenly discovered his sense of humor.
“Even though you build warships like the Lyoden’Naak? I would have thought it would be scientists or soldiers.”
“Landscapers design the cities, the layout of roads, and the forms of buildings, as well as selecting the plants required for the best possible environment. Nothing matters more than the place where one lives and raises one’s progeny…”
A little disconcerted, Mallory confessed, “To be honest, that profession is different for us. They only take care of exterior spaces. Architects design and build each building independent of its neighbors.”
“Now I understand why your cities are so ugly! You can work in groups, but large-scale collaboration seems beyond your scope. You live in a permanent state of partial conflict, and yet you manage to progress. How do you do that?”
“We wonder that ourselves.”
Discrepancies in other areas revealed themselves later. Leisure activities included betting on races between genetically modified insects. Mallory thus saw what she referred to as a “centipede-grasshopper” win five times in a row against what she called “bee-spiders” and “dragonfly-crabs” before succumbing under the assault of a “cockroach-snake” as long as her arm.
The most inventive creations defied imagination. Each trial unfolded in an orgy of shimmering colors and a buzzing of diaphanous wings. Even Torg, normally impassive, appreciated these strange competitors. After this attraction, Mallory thought they had run out of surprises, but the subject of reproduction eclipsed the insects.
The Vohrns had five sexes, three of which were able to procreate. Some kinds were incompatible, while o
thers required two different partners for conception. This complexity didn’t fail to intrigue the human. “When I think of the problems we have with two genders…”
Hanosk misunderstood. “Indeed, the limited possibilities seem frustrating to me. Your natural aggressiveness must come from there.”
Mallory had to bite her lower lip to keep herself from bursting out in laughter. Forcing herself to remain serious, she tried to explain. “Oh! We do manage new combinations. No, the problems come with feelings. Earthlings want each other, sometimes too much or not enough. That creates… misunderstandings.”
Inside, she laughed at herself: this last sentence made her the queen of euphemism.
“We don’t suffer from that kind of disagreement,” the alien affirmed. “We mate in groups of at least eight, and we change partners frequently. Also, we have no equivalent of this concept of unsatisfied desire. But we know it well, having observed it among certain animals on our home world.”
Having remained mute on these subjects to this point, Torg chose that moment to interject. “Laorcq and you don’t always understand each other. Is that connected to sexuality?”
Embarrassed by the cybrid’s candid question, Mallory denied everything. “No! Not at all. It’s because of the difference in our ages.”
The click of the bolt brought Laorcq out of his sullen thoughts. Two guards had come to take him from his cell. They accompanied him to the visiting room, where he hesitated for a moment upon seeing his lawyer. Having a celebrity defend him was the last thing he had expected.
A star in her profession, Carenko had saved dozens of crooks from well-deserved punishment. He put his own problems aside, impatient to learn why she was here, instead of an inexperienced assistant.
He sat facing an armored glass partition pierced with holes at regular intervals. The pane cut the room in two and thus isolated the prisoners from their visitors. The law woman sat in turn. Laorcq examined her delicate features. It was hard for him to imagine her making short work of her adversaries in court.
The Kenval Incident Page 16
