“Don’t worry, we’re coming.” They hurried up the steps after her. “Just setting down some house rules. Like I said, she doesn’t get out much.”
“How very odd.” Keeto’s voice was a frantic whisper, her expression one of quizzical amusement. “Is there a particular reason you keep her around? Besides her endearing personality, of course.”
Jack shrugged.
“Consider her a bodyguard of sorts.”
The doors opened automatically upon their approach. Jack and Klik struggled to keep up with Keeto’s increasingly hurried pace as they crossed the Ministry lobby. Curiosity dragged at their heels like a ball and chain.
Jack had been inside the building only once before. It hadn’t grown any less intimidating in his absence.
The architecture would have been described as something akin to 1950s New Brutalism back on Earth – giant, grey concrete blocks that stuck out at odd angles like an unfinished three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. Some of the monolithic cubes suspended from the lobby’s staggeringly high ceiling seem attached to one another only by the tips of their corners. The floor was as black and glossy as the building’s exterior. Ministers of all species marched in and out of shadowed doors hidden amongst the stone walls, dressed in their recognisable black robes, sometimes accompanied by foreign dignitaries in formal and military dress.
A long, obsidian reception desk lay nestled at the other end of the lobby between two sets of wide steps that led up to an elevated plateau beyond. Minister Keeto marched them towards it. A pair of stern looking aliens with an over-abundance of limbs were in charge of booking people into appointments.
Jack felt a pang of guilt as they passed one of the stone benches that lined the central aisle. It was where Rogan and Tuner had been forced to sit the last time they came to warn the Ministry about Everett – or Charon, as they knew him back then. They weren’t allowed past the lobby – automata were considered property, not citizens in their own right. Even Jack, an unregistered species, had been granted a brief appointment… but not them.
He wondered how many automata the Ministry had working for them inside their headquarters, or if they didn’t trust any robots to work behind the scenes at all.
They reached the reception desk. One of the gangly, faceless aliens raised its head from its computer terminal.
“Keeto,” it stated in monotone. Jack couldn’t tell whether it disliked the minister or if that was a friendly tone of voice for its species. “You’re back early.”
“Minister Glessant has everything under control.” Keeto impatiently tapped her finger against the counter. “I’m here for the emergency meeting. Can you do me a favour? I need you to add a witness to the agenda, pronto.”
The receptionist didn’t have any facial features, yet Jack got the impression it was staring at Minister Keeto expectantly.
“Fine,” sighed Keeto, rolling her eyes. Reaching into a pocket of her robe and fishing out a pouch, she counted out a couple hundred credits and slid them across the desk.
“Done.” The alien scooped up the credits with one of its tentacles and rapidly entered details into its computer with another. “You’d better hurry. They started a minute and forty-one seconds ago.”
“Punctual as ever,” Keeto grumbled.
They rushed up the stone steps behind the reception desk. Jack’s legs hurt – he wasn’t used to running about without the threat of death nipping at his heels. The first thing he noticed upon reaching the top was the giant gold sculpture in the centre of the plateau. It depicted half a dozen planets clustered together and surrounded by hundreds of tiny stars. It took Jack a second to realise where he recognised the artwork from. The same insignia was on the back of every credit.
He jogged past it to the only door on the whole plateau. Minister Keeto paused beside it, her data pad at the ready.
“Don’t wander off once we’re inside,” she said, inadvertently echoing Jack’s own advice to Klik. “And only speak if somebody in the council addresses you directly, understand?”
Jack nodded as his stomach tied itself into a bowline knot. Klik lowered her hood even further over her mask. Minister Keeto tapped her data pad against the door to unlock it.
They stepped into the Ministerium.
8
The Ministerium
Jack stared at the dark chamber in slack-jawed disbelief.
“How is this place possible?” Klik sounded even more amazed than Jack. “How does it even fit?”
The Ministerium – both the chamber itself and the collective of council members it housed shared the same official title – was entirely spherical and almost a kilometre wide in every direction. Private, glass-fronted cubicles covered its entire surface, from pole to pole and everywhere in between. In almost each and every one stood or sat representatives from a different species – the insectoid Ghuk; the armoured Dryggs; the humanoid Kerulians and Luethians; the reptilian Krolaks; the aquatic Plillup – the list went on and on. And those were just the ones Jack recognised. Despite his fervent research over the past few months, there were hundreds if not thousands that he had never seen or read about before. It felt like arriving in the galaxy for the first time all over again.
A long, narrow walkway grew out from the far side and stopped right in the centre of the chamber. On this central platform sat the seven Grand Ministers – those who led the Ministry meetings and ultimately made all of the galaxy’s important decisions. Jack knew that, as with the rest of the council, each member was elected from a different species, but they were much too far away for him to pick out let alone identify. Given their species’ prevalence in the Kapamentis headquarters, he had a suspicion one of them would be Oortilian. The rest was anybody’s guess.
Everybody else must have had the same difficulty in seeing each other from their booths, because the top and bottom halves of the council chamber were occupied with the enormous, holographically-projected head of whoever was currently talking. Right now, it was the turn of some kind of hyper-intelligent arthropod. The clicks and clacks of its sophisticated language boomed through the hollow chasm.
It was impossible for such a colossal space to exist within the walls of the Ministry headquarters. The pyramid was big… but not this big.
“What did I tell you about keeping quiet?” snapped Minister Keeto. She hurried them along a narrow walkway until they arrived at one of the few unoccupied booths on their side of the Ministerium and then quickly shut the door behind them.
“This whole building is a relic from the ancient race that came before,” she whispered to Jack and Klik as they sat down. “Retrofitted to serve the Ministry’s purpose, of course. It’s much older than almost everything else on the planet.”
“Like the Libraries?”
Minister Keeto looked pleasantly impressed.
“Yes, exactly. Now hush. They’re almost through with the customary preamble. The proper meeting is about to start.”
Jack understood that some of the alien races had certain cultural or religious ceremonies they liked to perform before the meetings properly began. With so many thousands of planetary representatives in attendance, it was a wonder the Ministry got anything done at all.
The holographic arthropod disappeared from the airspace above and below the Grand Ministers’ platform. It was replaced by member of a species Jack didn’t recognise – they wore some sort of complicated breathing apparatus over their entire face, with a thick rubbery tube running from either cheek into the folds of their black robe. From each of their four sleeves emerged an armoured hand like a medieval knight’s gauntlet.
What he did recognise was the golden symbol hanging from a ribbon around their neck – the same symbol as the sculpture in the lobby and on all the credits in the galaxy. It appeared this was the Grand Minister tasked with leading this particular emergency meeting.
“My dearest council members,” she announced in a muffled, metallic and yet unquestionably authoritative voice, “thank you for attending
on such short notice. We’ve called this emergency meeting of the Ministerium to discuss a most urgent matter. As I’m sure many of you are already aware, we lost Proxima Delta’s star early yesterday morning. An operation to rescue as many of the system’s inhabitants as possible was immediately set in motion. But we must face a harsh reality. The Proxima Delta system is doomed.”
A murmur of shock and disapproval rippled throughout the enormous chamber. Apparently not every council member had been notified.
The hologram switched to show a large, gelatinous creature that Jack suspected was a distant relative of a Cutworm he once ran into.
“So, what?” Its voice quaked with self-righteousness. “Was it due to go supernova? Why wasn’t this planned for?”
The hologram switched again. It returned to the Grand Ministers, though this time the minister speaking was, as Jack had correctly predicted, an Oortilian. He looked much, much older than Ministers Keeto and Glessant.
“You misunderstand, honourable minister.” He laced the fingers of his hands together and spoke with remarkable patience. “Proxima Delta’s star did not die, or extinguish, or careen off-course. It has disappeared. We suspect it was harvested illegally.”
“Of course it was harvested!” A furious new face cut across the projection, and this species Jack did recognise. It was the same pale-blue species to which the research scientists and the little orphan child with the stuffed toy belonged. “One second it was up in the sky, bright and healthy as always, and then bam! Gone! And we all know damn well who’s responsible!”
The Grand Minister with the breathing apparatus rose from her chair on the platform and took the floor again.
“I appreciate your frustration, Minister Diurn,” she said, “especially under the circumstances. But for the sake of civility we must try to avoid making unsubstantiated accusations. We don’t know anything for certain yet.”
“Like sheek we don’t.” Jack almost had a heart attack when he saw the next speaker appear. With its smoke-black skin, razor-toothed snout and leathery wings it resembled a prehistoric demon, albeit one dressed in traditional Ministry garb. It jabbed an accusatory finger down towards the central platform. “There’s only one species in the Ministerium capable of making a star vanish like that. And only one Empire with the hubris to actually go and do it.”
The council erupted in anger. Jack heard a small voice to the right of him whisper two words.
“Uh oh.”
The drones from which the various holograms projected correctly predicted the next speaker. The display showed one of the six Grand Ministers rising from his chair to respond to the allegations being thrown in his species’ direction.
“Uh oh indeed,” Jack whispered. “This is going to make things difficult.”
The Grand Minister in question had a thin neck and a wide head like that of a hammerhead shark. A pair of long, fleshy tendrils dangled from either side of his mouth like whiskers. Jack wondered if they grew the same way that old men’s ears did.
It wasn’t Scara Li Ka, thank goodness, but it was evident that this Mansa carried himself in a similarly lofty regard. He waited for quiet.
“Let me be categorically clear,” he said once the council had calmed down. His words were laced with the same narcissistic disdain Jack had heard in every voice back on Paryx. “The Mansa Empire has no interest in Proxima Delta’s star. As you all know, we have always applied for harvesting permits and complied with Ministry regulation. I’m as horrified by the events unfolding as anyone else, but somebody must have made a mistake.”
Furore built up again. “Sure you are,” Jack heard somebody raspy shout from one of the booths nearby. “Yeah, you sound horrified,” came a second voice from the other side of them.
“This is going well,” sighed Minister Keeto. “See what I mean by the Ministry hanging together by a thread?”
“If it wasn’t the Mansa, then who was it?” asked Minister Diurn, still angry.
“That’s what we’re here to determine,” said the masked Grand Minister chairing the emergency meeting. She patted the air for quiet with her four metallic hands. “Let’s hear from the witnesses. Who’s up first?”
Jack wriggled in his seat in anxious anticipation of being called to the stand. His stomach felt as if he’d swallowed a rock.
A Grand Minister who looked like a black octopus in mid-explosion rolled off its chair and opened its data pad.
“There are one hundred and sixty-four testimonies on the agenda,” it announced.
Jack sighed. This was going to take a while.
The individual testimonies and accusations lasted for almost three hours. At first Jack was enthralled by all the different species who appeared as giants via the holographic display. But he hadn’t slept for almost a day. After a while, he found himself nodding off.
Until he heard his name being called out.
“Jahhhrrrker Beeeeshupp?” The Grand Minister who looked like a cross between a cephalopod and a bunch of violent polygraph spikes struggled to pronounce it. “Is there a Jahhrrker Beeeeshupp here to speak?”
Suddenly, Jack’s mouth was bone dry. He felt groggy, like he’d woken too early from an unpleasant dream.
“Well, go on!” Keeto gestured to the window in front of them. “Tell them what you came here to say!”
There was no terminal in the booth – no camera or microphone of any kind. None Jack could see, at least. But as he nervously rose from his chair, a drone shot towards their pod. It hovered only inches from the glass, its lens fixed on him.
Jack turned his head just in time to watch himself become two one-hundred-foot holograms – one above the Grand Ministers, and one below.
“I’m him,” he said gingerly, unsure if anyone in the chamber could hear him. “Jack Bishop, I mean.”
Klik looked down at the floor and groaned. That was fine. Jack was too terrified to feel embarrassed.
The hologram switched back to the old Oortilian Grand Minister as he replied.
“You’re new,” he said, squinting up at Jack’s booth. He said the second word with a noticeable air of suspicion. “Who brought you here?”
Minister Keeto raised her hand. The drone in front of their booth turned to face her, then snapped back to Jack.
The Grand Minister, despite his consistently calm and patient demeanour up until that point, couldn’t stop his weathered mouth from turning down ever so slightly in the corners.
“Minister Keeto. Of course.” He looked as if he might protest but then waved his hand in an open gesture. “Very well. Please proceed. Do you know anything or have anything in your possession pertaining to the matter being discussed today, Jack Bishop?”
Jack swallowed hard. He could feel hundreds of thousands of eyes fall on him.
“I do.” His nervous voice boomed through the Ministerium. “I know who harvested that star, and I know why.”
The entire council chamber erupted in a fresh bout of protests and yelling. The Grand Minister with the mask and breathing tubes roared for quiet… and got it.
“And?” she added.
Jack couldn’t see the Grand Minister in charge of representing the Mansa Empire – he wasn’t shown on the holograms when he wasn’t speaking, and the Grand Ministers’ central platform was much too far away for Jack to properly see with his naked human eyes. But he could all too easily imagine the Mansa delegate’s expression: quivering, apprehensive fury. Surely the Mansa minister had been informed about the theft of a Solar Core already. Or would this come as news to him, too?
If you ever return to this star system, you will die. That’s what Scara Li Ka, general of the entire Mansa armada above Paryx, had told him before sparing his life. If you ever speak of the theft of this Solar Core – or of your involvement in said theft – to anyone, you will die.
Jack never had any doubt as to the sincerity of Scara Li Ka’s threat, nor his ability to follow through with it. An empire as powerful as the Mansa’s could pretty much do any
thing it wanted, especially something as simple as making a single, unregistered human disappear. But he couldn’t keep quiet and let Everett get away with everything. He couldn’t let more lives be lost… even if it meant losing his own to save them.
“The man you’re after goes by the name of Charon. I know him as Everett Reeves, and he’s the only other surviving member of my species. He was able to harvest Proxima Delta’s star because he has an empty Solar Core. I know this because… because I’m the one he tricked into stealing it for him.”
This time it was hushed whispers that rippled around the chamber. Jack hurried to continue before anyone else could take over.
“You need to stop him. Please. Stealing a star is just the beginning. He’s going to use it to create a singularity – a black hole. He thinks he can save our species with it.”
“Where?” asked the Oortilian. His previously tranquil face turned stormy.
“I… I don’t know.” Sweat trickled down the back of Jack’s neck. “All I know is he needs the right star otherwise his calculations will be—”
“And what proof do you have of these claims?” the masked Grand Minister asked, interrupting him. “You do have proof, right?”
Jack opened his mouth then shut it again. What proof did he have?
The Ministerium grew deafening with the voices of a quarter of a million galactic species. Rage. Terror. Disbelief. And in the midst of all this, the representative for the Mansa Empire rose from his Grand Minister’s chair. Jack felt his bladder grow heavy. Here came the death sentence, as promised.
“I think,” the Mansa said in his loud, commanding voice as everyone else around the hall fell silent, “we’d better listen to what this newcomer has to say. Please, Jack Bishop. Start at the beginning.”
Jack nodded. He told them everything.
9
A Dark Horizon (Final Dawn, Book 3) Page 6
