“Look at them,” Wilson hissed. He waved at the hangar surrounding them, over the lip of a small platform that held the two Marine shuttles.
Alien forms raced in every direction, jetting gasses from maneuvering packs. San couldn’t gather words for a response. Some of them wore environment suits that concealed their forms in bulky material while others appeared able to handle more of the Sommen atmosphere, their insectile faces covered with a kind of fabric that San guessed must filter and allow them to breathe. She almost let go of the Marine while staring, trying to absorb and catalog everything until her group stopped moving.
A multilegged creature towered over them, blocking what San guessed was the platform’s exit portal. It wore a full environment suit but its helmet faceplate was wide, filled with a clear pane that revealed a praying mantis–like face, its sharp mandibles clamping and unclamping to make an audible clicking noise.
San’s translator sprang into action. “It is good that you came when ordered. It is good you did not resist.”
“Where are the Sommen?” the lieutenant asked.
“You were not invited and will stay with your craft. Where are your priests?” San raised her hand along with Wilson. “You both will now follow.”
The lieutenant stepped forward. He had to lean back to look up at the creature’s face. “We are their guards—their escort. They go nowhere without us.”
“There was concern about this.” It lifted an articulated leg and slammed it on the platform; others of its kind streamed from the massive doorway behind it and arranged themselves in a wall, front legs lifted as if ready to attack. “We can kill. It has been permitted and means nothing to the masters. They care only for the priests.”
“Jesus . . .” the lieutenant started.
“It’s okay,” said San, grabbing Wilson’s arm. “We’ll be okay. Wilson and I have full charges of maneuvering gas and new oxygen generators. We can go and be away for up to an hour.”
“Miss, this is an enemy vessel. My orders are to stay with you at all times.”
“I’m giving you a different order, Eugene: stay with the ships. If we come back we’ll want to get out of here as quickly as possible.”
It took everything she had to get the words out. San did her best to block the waves of fear from cascading, not wanting to let Wilson know that she was on the verge of breaking down. Her thoughts refused to stop a repetitive cycling of fear that forced San to bite her cheek, hoping the pain would bring relief. She didn’t have to wait long; the lead creature turned and exited. Then the others formed a gap in their line to allow the pair through, and San reminded herself that it was not a dream, that it was happening when she and Wilson shot a burst of gas, following the thing off the platform.
San tried to record everything as they floated after their escort but when she and Wilson entered a giant Sommen corridor, her suit electronics malfunctioned. San punched at her forearm controls. Nothing worked except for her helmet lamp, which flashed awake to illuminate their way and cast emerald glints with its beam, turning their environment suits an odd shade of green.
“Many electronics will not function within,” the creature said over its shoulder. “It is how this is done. My master has asked for me to tell you that it is one thing to learn from the Sommen texts. That is allowed. It is another thing to gain access to functioning Sommen systems and technology: to steal information by spying. You will not be allowed to leave here with data except that which you carry in your minds.”
“So we are not to be executed?” San asked. Her translator converted the speech into clicks and whistles, a symphony of nonsense that she never would have been able to learn even after a lifetime of study.
“I am told that you are to be given a message and an examination. That is all.”
“What kind of examination?”
“I cannot say. My master is a priest like you and your race is in a special category—neither enemy nor slave. Your race is somewhere else, and I am not to know the details.” It held up a leg, the other five clunking on a metal floor so that she realized its appendages ended in magnetic caps. “Do not say anything about your race or why you have special status. I have been warned: If you tell me, I and my entire species will be erased from existence. Whatever you things are, my master and his warriors value your kind above all else—even war. They were on their way to battle and postponed it, merely to meet with you. I have never seen such a thing. To the Sommen, battle is more important than eating.” The creature paused outside a circular hatch, dark green and almost four meters across. San did her best to keep from backing away, horrified to see its insectoid facial features up close.
“We are here.” It waved its front arms, reminding San of a spider spinning webs. “Show no fear. It is allowed for me to show fear, but not you. Your status demands that you look the warriors and my master in the eye, and do not bow or show any sign of deference. Sometimes a warrior will challenge, to test you. Do not back down. If one charges and you try to run, it will make things worse; the warrior will continue the attack, acting on instinct. It is a small victory for them and the goal of these test aggressions: to make their adversaries run.”
“Counting coup,” said Wilson.
“I do not understand this reference; is there something wrong with your translator?”
Wilson shook his head. “We have an ancient race on our world. In combat they would sometimes charge an enemy just so they could touch him with a stick. The point wasn’t to kill; it was to show that the warrior was brave and he would wear an eagle feather to show it.”
“Yes. This is similar, but some of those words do not translate. Here, look at this.” It lifted one of its center legs on the left side, the thing’s suit fabric stretching taught so that San noticed a long strip of material sealed over it; it was a different color and age. A patch, San realized.
“This was where a warrior gouged me with its claws, when I first arrived for service. I backed away when charged. It is a lesson one never forgets. Are you two prepared to meet my master and his guards?”
“Who are you?” San asked.
“I am . . .” the thing started to answer, but its name failed to translate, the computerized voice replacing it instead with the phrase unidentified words detected.
“No. I meant, who are your people?”
“There is no time. Already I have exceeded my allowance for getting you here. I wish I could tell you all about my kind, but that is not the purpose. Perhaps someday we will meet again. Your kind resembles an animal we hunt on my home world; it is very soft and slow, but dangerous when cornered.”
The thing slapped one of its front arms against a panel and the doorway slipped open, a sphincter valve mechanism hypnotizing San with its interlocking blades that spun apart. The creature waved San through, then Wilson. San’s headlamp showed the floor ahead of them but nothing else, and she sensed that they’d stepped into an empty expanse so large that the walls and ceiling were beyond her lamp’s range; she felt lost, having to examine the floor to make sure she didn’t drift upward and lose all sense of orientation. San turned, waiting for their escort; the creature stood outside where it leaned down, peering through the open doorway.
“What is wrong?” it asked. “Why do you not move forward?”
“We can’t see,” said Wilson.
“What do you mean you can’t see? Is this why your suits emit in a narrow frequency range—to illuminate your way?”
“Yes,” San answered.
“I’m sure my master knows this but it was overlooked. Hold please.”
Their escort pushed through the doorway and ran past, moving so fast on all six legs that San had only a second to dodge, her gas burst sending her into a gentle spin. By the time she recovered, the creature had disappeared in the darkness. A few minutes later, it returned, limping and with a fresh patch applied to its chest, the surrounding suit fabric stained black.
Their escort’s voice sounded faint. “Go. You are late
and my master is displeased.” San then sensed that it collapsed, but in zero g all she saw was its body begin to sway, locked to the deck with magnets.
“I think it’s hurt,” she said. “Maybe even dead.”
“We still can’t see. Have you noticed how differently things sound here, San? In the ammonia?”
“I don’t like this, Wilson. I think we should . . .”
Lights flickered to life, faint at first but then increasing in intensity to cast a glow throughout the chamber enabling her to see. San held her breath. She’d been there before: a long hall with sharp arches fashioned from a different material than the rest of the ship. It was an alabaster-like material, glistening where ammonia condensed on its surface, and pale blue light glowed from objects that hovered far overhead, weightless and rotating so the light shifted and cast shadows along the walls. She recognized the statues on either side of the vaulted room; they were the same ones from her previous mental visit with the Sommen so long ago, and the shadows made them seem as though they were living things—about to charge from either side.
She saw them at the far end. From this distance and in the dim illumination, San couldn’t make out details, but she and Wilson jetted forward, soon approaching a dais. Atop it were two warriors. Each of them carried long, sword-shaped weapons, with clawed hands wrapped around the grips, their points embedded in the floor. The pair wore woven fabric tunics, a plain black that blended with their blistered skin, and, she guessed, black magnetic boots to lock them in place.
Between the warriors rested a tank—a horizontal and rectangular structure comprised of clear sides, which contained a liquid tinted blue and capped by a solid black slab. A Sommen swam inside. San squinted and recognized the priest, drifting motionless in the center with its black eyes pointed in their direction but nothing in its eye structure gave evidence that it knew her; San just sensed it.
“This may have been a bad idea,” Wilson whispered.
“As if we had a choice.”
When they got within a few meters of the dais, the warriors raised their swords and dropped one foot back so they now stood in a crouch, ready to leap.
“You should come no closer,” the Sommen priest said. San noticed that it wore a kind of facemask, from which a green hose extended and disappeared, somewhere in the tank floor near the front. Its voice came from a speaker that San couldn’t locate.
“Why are we here?” she asked. “We have not broken treaty.”
“Perhaps you have not, but can you say the same for the rest of your people? Even now I receive reports of a human excursion outside your allotted space, not far from here.”
“Who?” asked Wilson.
“By your abomination. I can sense in the female, in her thoughts and in her patterns. She knows this one, the one who broke our treaty. He is her brother. She and I have spoken before.”
San’s skin went cold. Their escort had assured them that they wouldn’t be killed but now she doubted that assurance. The Sommen knew about her brother and wherever he was, Win had left human space. What if he had been captured and revealed the entire purpose of the Bangkok’s and Jerusalem’s mission?
“I know who he is, but I have never met him,” she said. “I’m sure that if you captured him, he told you as much.”
“We do not hold this one captive, nor do we take prisoners. We choose to ignore the breach in agreement. But we cannot ignore your race’s transgressions for much longer, and this is the first reason why you are here: I have a message for you and your kind—the priests.”
“We aren’t . . .” Wilson started but San waved him quiet.
“Do not speak,” the priest said. “Listen. When we are finished here, you are to return to your vessels and send a message to the females—the ones that trained you. Tell them this: The ones who fled your home world must be wiped out. They must be eradicated from the universe, for there is no place in our teachings or the prophecies for the impurity of flesh and machine fusion.”
“The Chinese?” asked Win.
“That is what you call them. Yes.”
“Our people,” said San, “are already tracking the Chinese down. We will take care of them.”
“You are taking too long. Here.” The priest reached with a spindly arm, so thin it almost looked like the thing’s bones had withered into twigs, and touched something on the tank floor. San’s suit system woke; a light indicated that it was receiving data. “Those are the coordinates and system, in which these machines have hidden. We know you destroyed their vessels recently. This is good. We have also scanned your ships and commend you on their design. Our systems detect almost nothing—an indication of promise and hope for what will come.”
“We will deliver the message,” San said.
Wilson cleared his throat. “Do you have a name?”
As soon as their translators had transformed the question into Sommen, one of the warriors bared his teeth and then roared, spinning toward Wilson before it strode from the dais, careful to make sure each foot locked to the floor. It lifted its blade and was about to strike when the priest’s voice rang from the tank.
“Stop!”
San caught her breath. It had all happened so fast that she hadn’t had time to move, and, she guessed, neither had Wilson, who stood facing the warrior. She recognized his expression of terror.
“What did I say?” Wilson’s voice shook with fear.
“Do you not have our texts?” the priest asked. “You should know that names are only given to warriors. Our priests are pure; a name would be an insult.”
“We have not had time to review all the texts,” San explained. “They sent us to space before our training could be completed.”
“That is interesting.” It stared at San again and she clenched her jaw at the sensation that the thing was examining her, looking for any stray thoughts or feelings. “What is so important that they would send you forth, your training incomplete?”
San thought, settling on something that was true; there was no telling whether or not the priest could detect her lies. “I have been sent to kill my brother—the one who left human space. My superiors decided it must be done quickly, and cut our training short.”
At first the priest said nothing. San was about to repeat herself when it spoke. “I can see truth and its absence. I see you do not lie. This is good. I also see that this is not all the truth that answers my question. That is also good. One must never offer everything to one’s adversary. I will give you a lesson.” The priest, suspended stomach down, waved its arms in the fluid. “This tank is pure liquid ammonia under pressure, combined with our vision drug, unidentified words detected. It is this drug that gives us sight. It is this drug that I now must take to stay alive, and which withers my body so that I have a fraction of the lifespan of a normal Sommen warrior. I am pure. I am a mind, and little else. We live in these tanks so that we can see everything, everywhere, and plan our invasions through communications with other Sommen battle groups scattered throughout the galaxy. To give me a name would reduce me and other priests to something lesser. This is the Sommen way.
“You have not yet found your way,” the priest continued. “Earth is a fascinating adversary. You require two genetically distinct organisms to procreate; we multiply on our own, during the birth season or during our death if there is sufficient time. And your race was just getting started on farming when we had completed our first interstellar campaign, thousands of years ago, after our priests found the first wormholes. Their existence confirmed what the creator had taught us: the way of war. Finally, we could spread out and act on the visions we had been given and even now I see them clearly in my memory, the recollections handed down to me from the first priest, down through the centuries, one after another so the thoughts merge with mine. I am not a single Sommen. I am a collective, one of many linked through time and space.”
San asked, “Who created the transits? Were they there when you first expanded?”
The Sommen c
losed its eyes. San had never seen their eyelids, and blinked at the leathery orange-toned skin, rippled and bumped as if that of a lizard. “I see this question in an ocean of your intentions. Your people, even now, your brother included, are consumed by this race—the ones who built the wormholes. It is a waste of your time.”
“But there is nothing of them in the texts. Did they create you and us?”
“No. And this is another insult.” The priest waved to the warrior who stood near Wilson, forcing the Sommen back onto the dais. “Do not test my warriors, young priestess. Our creator, and yours, created them as well. We call them the machinists. All we know is that the creator made them first, and gave them the curse of machinery. As with your Chinese, this race fused themselves with synthetic materials and used intelligent machines to seed the galaxy with wormholes. The creator gave them the plans—showed them where to build their network. And when it was done, the machinists disappeared.”
“How? What happened to them?”
“Their synthetic beings turned. Some of our most difficult battles have been against what remains of the machinists, scattered from system to system. It is a warning to all races: impurities destroy. Impurities eradicate entire species.” The thing snapped its eyes open again. “Earth is fortunate that we caught you in time; had you encountered the machinists on your own, or had you continued down the path of hybridization, you too would be gone. What the machinists created to connect, their false offspring now use against the Sommen. But then, it was always written this way, was it not?”
San shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“It was preordained by the Creator: that the Sommen would encounter your kind—a race with three secrets, prophecies.”
Tyger Bright Page 21
