“What?” Marcus leaned over to try to see his friend’s phone. The screen was an array of somber purples and black.
“It’s my automatic death message.” Justin’s voice was soft. “Everybody’s going to think I’m dead.”
The star field grew to fill their entire wide field of vision. The moon slid away to the left. Something flashed past on the right, and Marcus had the distinct impression of a massive airplane. He screamed as it disappeared behind them, his fingers sinking into the malleable material of his arm rests as his mind told him they were tearing through the atmosphere, pointing straight up, no matter what his inner ear might have to say on the subject.
A shimmering white object shot past on the right. The moon was gone and they were headed out toward the distant stars. They passed a strange bronze cube that shot a red beam out at them. The beam seemed to pass right through the walls of what he was coming to realize was a spaceship, flashing down the length of the cockpit around them, and he watched as their abductress looked from side to side with sudden tension. The light flared and past, however, and she soon relaxed.
They had been soaring silently for what seemed like an hour, but could have been only a few minutes, when the woman sat up, her seat lifting to do all the work, and turned to smile at them. She held up one finger, a red-painted nail flashing in the dim, sourceless light, and said a few guttural words. She reached out behind her and worked a control on the moving panel, slid back into her seat, and then with the easy grace of a showman, indicated the view ahead.
The star field rippled as if they were looking at it through water. The disturbance grew more agitated, and the stars in the center of the shimmer winked out of existence. The blacked-out area spread as the disturbance flattened, spreading out like a disk around the sphere of disappearing stars. The entire image began to swirl like some cosmic whirlpool.
For the first time, the ship experienced a sense of movement, shaking slightly as the vision ahead of them continued to grow. An occasional streak of blue or red passed them, dropping into the swirl, giving the impression that they were being drawn into the vortex as it continued to grow.
Justin’s eyes widened in alarm, and Marcus knew a moment’s satisfaction to see the calm finally drain from his friend’s face. Then he realized what he was seeing, and he was too terrified to care.
It was a black hole, and they were diving straight for it.
Marcus had failed high school physics, and he didn’t know much about black holes, but he was pretty sure they were generally viewed as something to avoid.
This was too much. The fat man, the necklace, balls of electricity, beams of light, strange women and floating ships, death, destruction, threats, kidnapping, and now a black hole?
He screamed with throat-tearing intensity as they seemed to fall into the endless darkness within the colorful smear of swirling stars.
Chapter 3
Ambassador for the Galactic Council, Khuboda Taurani, looked down at the shape floating in the middle of his hibernation pool. A soft cloud of pink sent fading tendrils out into the crystal waters around the edge. His broad chest heaved in a dramatic sigh as he pulled robes of state over his shoulders.
He took a moment to enjoy how the crisp ivory cloth set off his pearlescent grey skin, reflecting on the sad reality of the moment. Most pleasures in this life were fleeting, and he knew this loss would haunt him in the days ahead. This ceaseless exile from civilization was going to seem interminable without distraction to occupy his mind.
Still, one took one’s distractions where they came. The slit of his mouth widened in remembered pleasure. The facial parts of a Kerie were not built for such base displays of satisfaction as smiles, but at times even he could see the enjoyment of such things. After a moment, however, the orbits of his silver orbs quirked in annoyance.
Such diversions were not easily come by so far from the galactic core. He had brought this one with him from his last station, knowing that such entertainments would be few and far between during his new posting. Now, he would be alone until he was able to return, triumphant, to the Council. The sacrifices he made for his family and his race.
With a shrug of heavy shoulders, he turned away. His Eru servant, Iranse, would take care of the mess before he returned from his latest appointment. The brute had had enough practice, after all. He finished fastening his robes and stepped away from the pool. His last post had been on Iwa’Ban, where he and the other Galactic diplomats had been treated with proper respect, their tastes and appetites catered to as was only right and proper. It was one of the most sought-after posts in the Council Diplomatic Corps for just that reason. He sighed again.
This current assignment, on the other hand, was an excellent notch to collect on one’s climb upward. If he was able to bring things here to a successful conclusion, the Council would not soon forget his name, and his family would be well along to achieving their deeper goals as well. But the ennui suffered in the process might well come close to killing him. Pulling his robes into line one last time, he wrinkled the olfactory field between his eyes and his mouth and pivoting upon his left hoof, stalked from his inner chambers, through the opulent rooms of the consulate’s residential quarters, and out past the two hulking Ntja guards at the door. Moving into the surge of galactic trash that floated through the pressurized halls beyond, he knew that one of the guards had stepped out after him, stomping along at a discreet distance, its beady eyes and fleshy nostrils seeking any signs of danger from the heaving crowd.
*****
The Consulate of the Galactic Council was located in the upper levels of one of the most opulent towers of the city, as befitted the representatives of the most powerful conglomerate of worlds in the known universe. At least, that was how the location had been sold to the Council. In reality, despite the luxurious nature of the location, they were about as far from the control center as they could conceivably be.
The fact that there were no other consulates in the city was a bit troubling. He had done some digging and knew that many of the more prominent races and alliances maintained discreet legations here, often much closer to the control center in what was known as the Red Tower. But the Galactic Council was the only entity with an official residence of record. In a way it made sense, the Council was the de facto ruling body of the entire galaxy. But for some reason, it made him uneasy, here in one of the last independent polities in the galaxy, whose questionable legal status remained central to the question of Council control.
The Council’s embassy was located in the heart of the city’s western wing, in a tall, elegant tower that, like all the towers here, had been a starship in ages since lost to memory. From the dim, greenish lighting in the corridors, the swirling, grainy pattern of the walls, and the relatively low placement of interface controls, it was clear this tower had once been a Kot’i passenger cruiser, back when that furry, amiable race had ruled its own destiny. It was long and thin, with no bridges connecting it to any other towers for the upper half of its considerable length. In official reports this might appear to set the consulate above the fray, in the lofty heights, as it were. In reality, it just meant that when Taurani had to make the distasteful journey to speak to the creature that nominally ruled here, it took him far longer than he would have liked.
An access port to the spinal lift tube array was not far from the consulate. Although the drop always did dreadful things to his robes, Taurani preferred the swift transportation to the more dignified, but longer, journey of a shuttle. On any civilized planet in the galaxy he would be treated with all the pomp and ceremony of a local ruler, feted and fawned over in a dizzying whirlwind of sycophantic frenzy. Here, he was treated like some diseased outsider. The Council was not revered in Penumbra. And the representative of the Council was looked upon as an interloper, or worse.
The flesh between his mouth and eyes wrinkled again. Let them have their petty victories. Let them play their little games and force him into tramping up and down the lo
cal real estate. There would come a time in the not-so-distant-future when things would be set right here, and he would be able to return to the comforts and security of civilization.
Taurani stopped before entering the lift tube and turned to his Ntja guard. The creature was nearly a head taller than him, its mismatched little eyes peering down from either side of the open, snuffling hole of its great nose. The metallic domes of combat and tactical enhancements embedded in its skull emerged through the bruised, puckered flesh of its scalp.
“I’ll be going all the way down to the Concourse, I think. I want to taste the mood of the people before joining Virri in his little hovel.” He turned back to the tube without waiting for a reply. The guard nodded sharply anyway, moving to follow him with the ease of long practice.
The lift tube was a harrowing, barbaric experience, as always. It was all Taurani could do to keep the panic off his face as the twitching, fitful gravity grabbed a hold of him and pushed him downward at what his brain told him had to be a lethal speed. The gravity-manipulation required for Penumbra’s countless thousands of inhabitants to move about, living in the vertically aligned towers but moving through the horizontally situated Concourse that covered the deep core of the planetoid the city rested on, was dizzying.
Coming to an abrupt halt at the designated level, the gravitic field pushed him out, and he shook his robes back into some semblance of order. Heavy footsteps behind him announced the arrival of his guard moments later.
The observation level of the tower was an ornate balcony crafted from one of the immense thruster nozzles that had once pushed the ancient ship through space. A wide opening had been carved into the wall of the nozzle, carpeting and polished handrails added, and a scattering of comfortable-looking chairs and simple tables placed around as a final touch.
Taurani moved up to the railing, his long grey fingers settling down upon the faux-wood surface, and gazed down at the Concourse, two levels below. The Concourse had been constructed around the bases of the many starships whose hulls thrust up into empty space overhead. The ships were joined by countless bridges and transportation conduits up and down their lengths, but here, near the bottom, the world opened up, and the denizens of the outpost could wander free, moving between the ships without having to resort to the bridges above, or expensive personal shuttles or taxis.
The mob that surged and churned beneath him was a veritable rainbow of races, colors, and creeds. Every one of them here against the express wishes of the Council, each one of them a slap in the face to those who would see the galaxy a single, unified expanse of peace, plenty, and happiness for all beings. Those below were violating everything Taurani believed to be most important in existence, and they smiled and laughed while they did it.
A soft hacking sound erupted from the back of the ambassador’s throat. It was a Kerie sign of disgust and frustration, and the only response he could think to convey the depth of his disdain for the beings that made this place their home despite all of the advancement and stability the Council had brought to the galaxy in the last thousand years and more.
He continued to scan the crowd, not trying to hold back the sneer that peeled the rigid skin from the fan of baleen lining his mouth. There was no redemption for these beings who had turned their backs on the Council. No reason for him to feel bad for what he knew was coming. A flash of white caught his attention, and his face wrinkled as he focused on one particular being moving sedately through the jostling crowd.
The flowing white garments of a Thien’ha master, offset by the pale green beard frill and pale bald head of a Goagoi Kuak, stood out amid the dull, muted colors of the masses. Thien’ha masters were not uncommon anywhere, their strange credo taking them all over the known galaxy. And although Goagoi Kuak were not known for wandering far from their forest homes, the lure of the Thien’ha path could easily explain its presence. However, the Thien’ha had a bad reputation for bringing disaster and chaos in their wake. Their attempts to witness all of the most tumultuous events of galactic history were well known. It was often hard for the lesser beings of the galaxy to separate the enigmatic monks from the events they chased, and they were seldom welcomed when they arrived in a new location. Taurani scowled.
Behind the Thien’ha master, following with a gait considerably less graceful and untroubled, was a Humanoid figure in the dark robes of a Thien’ha Novice. Masters often accepted students, training them and allowing them to follow on the many journeys they made in response to the demands of their strange beliefs. The novice’s hood was raised, hiding its race from him. He stared at the two figures moving through the crowd, his pearlescent eyes inscrutable.
He lowered his head, turning away from the mob, and forced a steadying breath. There was a brightening edge to the situation here: the chaos could not endure for very much longer. When his current mission came to fruition, this bastion of confusion would succumb to the order and discipline that represented the only path to true, universal harmony.
Taurani’s eyes flickered as he accessed the clock function of his nano-implants. He was overdue for his meeting with the sniveling amoeba, but by just long enough to make his point. This hellish hole was not worth the time of a high-ranking Galactic diplomat, and neither was its nominal leader. He shrugged the robes into place and swept past the silent guard toward the lift tube. They would need to go up several levels to catch a transport linking this tower with the Red Tower that housed the control center. His mouth twisted in distaste at the thought of having to deal with the shiftless slime peddler whose moist bulk currently filled that ragged throne. Still, it would not be much longer. Soon, either Uduta Virri would see the path of sanity before him, or he would be replaced. The pieces were in position, and only the opportunity now remained to be found.
He chuffed in amusement through his brill. Soon this shadow realm, last holdout against Galactic Council rule, would fall.
*****
The control center was located in the center of what had once been a Variyar warship. The brutal lines, the cold, dark metal of its crooked halls, and the crude, if effective, security systems made that clear enough. The reddish tinge to the overhead lighting as one walked the narrow halls was an unnecessary reminder. The Variyar were a rough-edged, unrepentant race, chaffing beneath the mantle of Council rule, as they had since the Council was first founded. Every time Taurani visited the place, he found himself wondering what strange course of events had resulted in some ancient Variyar war leader surrendering his ship to this conglomeration of misfits and hulks.
The broad, studded security doors to the control center were closed when the ambassador and his bodyguard swept around the curved hallway. This in itself was strange, as Virri seldom allowed the doors to be shut. The position of administrator here was constrained with so many rules, customs, and traditions that a certain claustrophobia could not help but result, and the current creature holding the post was even more given to that particular weakness than most.
Taurani expected the doors to sweep open as he approached, as they had always done on those few occasions when they had not been open. Instead, they remained steadfastly closed.
Standing before the mute barrier, the ambassador stared at the burnished steel with wide disbelief as his long fingered-hands wrapped around each other in growing annoyance. Why would the doors be closed in the middle of a normal work session? And why, if closed, would they not open at once for the anointed representative of the Galactic Council?
He cast his glittering eyes all around the frame of the security doors. He had never had cause to look for any sort of mechanism to open them before, or to make his presence known to those inside. And on this ridiculous antique, he would not even recognize one if he found it. The prospect of knocking on the heavy metal, however, seemed ludicrous. For a brief, heated flash he entertained the notion of ordering the Ntja guard to blast the door with his sidearm. But given the Variyar construction, and the innate security systems of the city, the single shot they wo
uld get with the weapon would probably not be equal to the task, and he would only be made to look even more foolish.
If there was one thing Khuboda Taurani could not stand, it was being made to look foolish.
He could feel tension rising behind his eyes as the anger began to build. Every indignity, every slight, every hardship he had been forced to endure here on the edge of civilized space, stung in his mind. He began to calculate exactly how many Ntja soldiers the consulate contained, how many heavy weapons were stowed within the holds of his diplomatic shuttle, and what the chances were that, his plans only half fulfilled, he might be able to bring the entire disgusting nest to its knees by sheer brute force…
The hiss of the heavy doors opening stopped him just short of spinning around and ordering his bodyguard to prepare for war. The half-hearted muttering of the many creatures bent over communication consoles, hammering away at data interface controls, and puttering around doing whatever the little cretins who manned the control center day and night might do, was disappointingly mundane as he stepped through the open doors.
The room had been the bridge of this once-formidable warship. It made sense: the command and control stations needed to sail such a mighty vessel might just suffice to house the oversight and mediation forces needed to keep this nasty little city from devouring itself. He had never paid too much attention to the control center, if he was being honest with himself. He had no intention of ruling here when the current regime was dismissed. By the time the smoke had settled and the bodies counted, he would be well on his way to his just and ample rewards. But still, to his untrained eye, nothing about the worn-down, shabby room seemed amiss.
Except that Administrator Uduta Virri was not slouched in the middle of the small reception area beyond the doors, ready to receive him and fawn all over his pressed and shimmering robes. In fact, no one was waiting for him at all. Several of the creatures at the duty stations nearest the door looked up, but there was nothing he could interpret as curiosity or concern on their varied faces. Each bent back to their work without a single sign that they either knew or cared who he was or why he had been kept in the hallway in humiliation.
Legacy of Shadow Page 5
