Explaining Cthulhu to Grandma and Other Stories

by Alex Shvartsman

  Warm. Ace sent the short telepathic burst into Jack’s mind, indicating that the Methene was telling the truth.

  Jack smiled and accepted the chip. He kept thinking of how Kana might react if she knew Ace was in the next cabin over, separated from them by a thin plastic wall.

  Many Methenes still believed the Kanzai to be devils incarnate. What would Kana say if she saw Ace’s huge, tentacled body floating in the nutrient bath, a large section of his skull removed, and clumps of wires connecting his centuries-old brain to a powerful computer? The Zyxlar were not above experimenting on their subjects, and the Kanzai cyborg was the result of such an experiment they had left behind.

  Ace was permanently installed on the Stacked Deck, the black ops stealth ship Jack had appropriated as his personal transport, reading the minds of anyone who came aboard like a living, real-time lie detector. He sent signals directly into Jack’s head—warm for true, cold for false. The ship was aptly named: an Ace up his sleeve allowed Jack a tremendous advantage in his negotiations.

  “You’re trading a lot for year-old information,” said Kana.

  Jack held up a similar data chip. “Our intelligence on the Korten Alliance. Quite a bit more current than a year old, I might add.” He looked Kana in the eye. “Before I hand this over, I must have your word that you won’t reveal the source of this intel, not even to your own people. My planet’s neutrality cannot be compromised over this.”

  “I promise,” said Kana.

  Warm.

  Jack handed over the chip. “If your intelligence service picks up anything more up-to-date about the Zyxlar, I’d be very interested in trading for that information.”

  Kana placed the chip in one of the many pockets of her suit and got up to leave. “If I hear any news about the Zyxlar, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Cold.

  In his line of business, Jack could hardly expect an overabundance of truth.

  Jack watched her go and rotated the data chip in his fingers. It would take hours to sift through the information, but he didn’t mind the tedium. The answer was out there, and he’d leave no stone unturned looking for it.

  Jack found his boss in the conference room on his comm link, doing what he did best.

  “I understand, Governor. It’s not how things were done in the past. Your job was so much easier then,” Malcolm Carver spoke softly, as though sympathizing with the bureaucrat’s plight. “The Zyxlar and the Vilicus issued the orders, and your only responsibility was to jump to the exact height the overlords had specified.”

  Malcolm used the long conference table to set up rows upon rows of plastic dominoes as he spoke. He kept the video off.

  “However, things are different now.” Malcolm’s tone suddenly changed. Every word he spoke cut like the strike of a whip. “These days, you have to occasionally surprise everyone and think for yourself. I don’t intend to micromanage you, and if you become too much of a nuisance, I’ll replace you with someone who can get things done without calling me for approval on every little thing. Do we understand each other?”

  He listened to his earphone and continued setting up dominoes, reaching into the large box under the table for a handful more.

  “Very well, Governor. Enjoy the rest of your day.” Malcolm touched the link to end the call and turned his attention to his visitor.

  “Jack!” He smiled, and the two clasped hands.

  “You really let him have it,” said Jack. “I thought politicians are supposed to hide their displeasure behind meaningless niceties?”

  “Governor Patel is a decent administrator,” said Malcolm. “It’s a shame that I need to alienate him. My political opponents in his region have been a little too well-organized for my liking. Patel likes to be in charge of things. Once he decides to join the opposition, they’ll keep each other busy for months, struggling for dominance. Too busy to cause me any serious grief.”

  Jack found it difficult to wrap his mind around alienating an ally for strategic advantage, but he trusted Malcolm’s judgment. The man was a genius with this sort of thing, planning sophisticated political ploys several complicated moves ahead, and somehow always coming out on top.

  “Running the planet isn’t easy, is it?”

  “Sure it is,” said Malcolm. “Just enslave everyone, and then have your loyal-to-a-fault lapdogs do the heavy lifting.”

  The two men shared a smile.

  The Zyxlar had conquered the entire galaxy and ruled it as they saw fit for centuries, with Vilicus—a race that worshipped the Zyxlar as gods—enacting their will. They had colonized new planets and moved Terrans and other species around like so many chess pieces. And then, with no warning at all, the Zyxlar had disappeared.

  No one, not even their Vilicus underlings, knew what happened. Distraught and directionless, the Vilicus withdrew in search of their masters, leaving billions of beings on hundreds of colonies to fend for themselves.

  Nine months ago, Malcolm had been the mayor of the largest human city on Stammiden, and Jack his chief of police. Malcolm was the kind of man who knew how to recognize an opportunity. By the time the dust had settled, he was in charge of the new government of Stammiden, having masterfully played the planet’s various races and political factions against one another. Jack became the chief of security for an entire world.

  “Speaking of making independent decisions,” Jack smiled meekly at his friend.

  Malcolm grabbed another handful of dominoes. “Let me guess. You want to go off-planet again, chasing your mystery?”

  “I have a really solid lead. Ace confirmed it for me.”

  “I need you here, taking care of business, instead of chasing after the Zyxlar. I need Ace, too.”

  “Learning what happened to the Zyxlar is the most important thing I can be doing for our security,” said Jack.

  “We’ve had this conversation before.” Malcolm set several more dominoes.

  Jack had been working for Malcolm since the first mayoral campaign. He always executed Malcolm’s schemes without question, even when they seemed outlandish. He wished that Malcolm would reciprocate in trusting his judgment.

  “You’re always telling me to think strategically, to plan ahead. That’s exactly how the Zyxlar must think, too. They move tens of thousands of colonists from world to world, terraform some planets, annihilate others. They are setting the dominoes, Mal, planning many moves ahead. They’re setting the stage for their return.”

  Malcolm looked up from the table. “They might return tomorrow, or in a thousand years. Or never. If they decide to take over again, there isn’t a damned thing we can do to stop that. So the prudent course of action is to ignore what you can’t control, and to make the most of their absence.”

  “You’re right,” said Jack. “But what if we knew their plan? Can you imagine the sort of strategic advantages that might yield? Come on, the Office of Planetary Security won’t collapse without me.”

  “All right,” said Malcolm, after pursing his lips and making a show of reaching a difficult yet magnanimous decision. “Take the Stacked Deck. But I want you back here putting out local fires as soon as possible.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Malcolm finished setting up the dominoes. He pushed the piece in the front, and the two of them watched as the dominoes tumbled, spreading graceful, orderly destruction in waves across the complex patterns on the tabletop.

  New Canberra had not survived the Zyxlar’s departure nearly as well as Stammiden had.

  The town where Jack landed had been a tourist destination once, a tropical paradise with warm, shallow water and pristine sand beaches that attracted visitors from all over the planet, and beyond. But since the Zyxlar had disappeared, and the long-standing supply chains collapsed, the tourists had left and the residents, cut off from a steady supply of food and fuel, descended into anarchy.

  Jack made his way from the barely functioning spaceport into town. The shops, once prosperous from the tourist trade, were cl
osed, their windows boarded up. Piles of glass shards lay glinting on the ground where elaborate displays had been broken during the rioting. The streets were full of garbage and devoid of traffic. As he walked, Jack could hear the muffled sounds of children playing in yards somewhere off the main street, but he saw no one. He could feel suspicious eyes peeking at him from behind the shades of the apartments above the abandoned stores.

  Jack reached his destination — a single-story building that stood out because of a fresh coat of bright yellow paint. The backlit neon sign above the entrance depicted a Terran swimmer in a scuba suit and breathing mask. Underneath, the text read “Dive Bar” in large blue letters.

  He entered the dimly lit bar. An assortment of diving gear, from human wetsuits and snorkels to Saurian buoyancy compensators, to gadgets the purpose of which Jack could only guess at, hung on the walls. A handful of patrons nursed their drinks in silence. There was no music, no laughter. Jack stepped up to the counter, where a Methene bartender fiddled with a stack of shot glasses.

  “Solar Wind,” he told the bartender. When his drink arrived, he handed over double the amount of credits it was worth. “I’m looking for Prax,” he said.

  The bartender said nothing but nodded toward the back. All Jack could make out was a large silhouette hunched in a booth.

  “That Prax?” he asked.

  “See any other Silicates around here?” the bartender said.

  Jack ordered another of whatever the Silicate had been drinking and carried both drinks over to the booth.

  “May I sit?” He offered the Silicate a gallon-sized mug full of what looked like steaming orange juice.

  Prax eagerly accepted the drink and drained half of it in an enormous gulp. Seated in the booth, he was nearly as tall as Jack, his powerful forearms nearly as thick as an average Terran’s torso. His rough, light grey skin shone like a polished granite countertop.

  Jack slid into the booth across from him. “My name is Jack. I heard that you might be in possession of certain valuable information and was hoping we could do business.”

  Prax studied the Terran. “You want the coordinates of the secret Zyxlar base.”

  Jack was surprised at the alien’s candor. “Yes. You have them?”

  Prax nodded.

  “How?”

  “I was part of the construction crew. The Zyxlar brought thousands of Silicates to a system with no habitable worlds and made us build it. At first, I thought it was just like any other orbital defense station, but then I grew suspicious.” Prax finished his mug and stared at the Terran. He didn’t resume speaking until Jack waved over the bartender and ordered a refill.

  “All the supplies were brought in by automated shuttles,” said Prax. “No new workers, no rest or downtime for any of us. I’ve been working on space rigs my entire life, and this was the first time I’ve ever seen a Zyxlar project with no Vilicus in sight. So it got me thinking, if the Zyxlar were building something they didn’t want anyone to know about, then what was going to happen to us after we finished our work, eh?

  “I got more and more nervous, and when the station was nearly complete, I managed to steal a shuttle and get out of there before, as my people say, the mine caved in.” Another mug arrived, and Prax drank. “I kept my head down, but I also made some quiet inquiries, and sure enough, no one’s heard from any of my workmates ever again. They disappeared the year before the Zyxlar did.”

  “What was so special about this station? What were the Zyxlar trying to hide?” Jack kept his voice steady, despite his excitement. If Prax’s story checked out, this could be huge. He couldn’t wait to have Ace verify it.

  “It houses artificial cocoons of some kind. Countless thousands of them, built inside a station that’s designed to last.” He finished the mug. “I think the Zyxlar are ready to enter whatever is the next stage of their evolution. They enter those cocoons, and Jum only knows what’s going to come out, or when.”

  “What will you charge to take me there?” asked Jack.

  “No way,” said Prax. “I’m not going within a light year of that place. I’ll sell the coordinates to the highest bidder. There are already several interested parties.”

  “I’m not interested in bidding,” said Jack. “I’ll get you off this planet and pay you a large sum of money, but only if you come with me right now, and only if your information checks out.”

  Prax thought about it, and named an astronomically large sum. For the next several minutes, they negotiated.

  Jack thought it odd that the bartender was on his comm the moment the two of them got up to leave the saloon. Stacked Deck was less than half a mile away, and he nudged Prax to pick up the pace.

  They moved quickly, but not fast enough. A block away from the spaceport, a dozen armed Chitters blocked their path.

  The insectoid aliens bore the marks of the warrior caste on their chitinous armor. They positioned themselves in a wide semi-circle, out of each other’s line of fire. These weren’t bounty hunters or petty criminals, Jack noted, but a military unit, bred and trained for combat.

  “The other interested party?” asked Jack.

  “One of ‘em,” grumbled Prax.

  Jack’s mind raced. He was so close to unraveling the mystery, the biggest secret in the galaxy. He wasn’t about to give it up to these overgrown cockroaches, even if he was outgunned.

  In one fluid motion, he stepped behind the Silicate and drew his handgun, pointing it at Prax’s head.

  “Put down your weapons and let us pass,” he called out. “Or the information dies with him.”

  The Chitters paused and looked at one another. Then they turned as one toward Jack and Prax, and opened fire.

  Jack threw himself to the side, pulling Prax with him. He scrambled to his feet and made for the nearest shop, projectiles whizzing through the air around him. He felt a sharp sting just as he reached the building and threw his weight against the unlocked door. A slug grazed his left shoulder.

  Prax burst into the shop behind him, momentum carrying the large Silicate past Jack. What used to be a souvenir shop was empty, looted months ago. Broken display gondolas were scattered across the floor, littered with holo-images of tropical sunsets and clay knickknacks.

  The two of them made it across the shop by the time the Chitters had reached the front entrance. There was no back exit, only a staircase leading up to the apartments on the second floor. “There!”

  Prax headed up, wooden stairs groaning under his weight. Jack turned and fired a couple of shots at the approaching bugs. Then, he raced after the Silicate.

  The staircase terminated in a small corridor with several doors. Jack tried each in turn, but all were locked. “Open up. Let us in!” he shouted on the off chance that someone was inside, but if any residents heard them, they wanted no part of this.

  Prax crashed into the farthest door with all his considerable weight. The metal door held.

  The two of them faced the staircase, their backs literally against the wall.

  “This is all your fault, Terran,” hissed Prax. “You just had to pull your weapon.”

  Jack fired a shot at the Chitter that was climbing the staircase. The bug ducked below the floor level and out of the line of fire.

  “What’s done is done,” said Jack as he took mental inventory of his remaining slugs. “Instead of throwing accusations, let’s think our way out of this mess before I run out of ammo.”

  Prax grunted and charged the door again, this time from a running start. It still held.

  Jack’s vision blurred for a moment. He glanced at his shoulder. Adrenaline saved him from feeling much pain yet, but there was a lot of blood. A Chitter peeked over the staircase and fired, the slug ricocheting with a whine off a metal door. Jack fired back and the Chitter disappeared again.

  Jack cursed. Ever since the Zyxlar had vanished, he had been chasing them. At first, he thought of it only as a part of his job, but then it became an obsession, a goal that kept him up at night. H
e used all the resources of his Office of Planetary Security, traded money and secrets, but got nowhere. And now that he finally had a viable lead, he was going to be gunned down in an abandoned hallway. The universe had a cruel sense of irony.

  He heard the sounds of gunfire downstairs. And then the Chitters came, all at once, rushing up the stairs, willing to lose several soldier drones rather than play the waiting game.

  Jack fired off his last shots, taking down two of the bugs, and stepped forward, gripping the gun to use as a melee weapon.

  There was more gunfire downstairs, and a crackling sound. A squad of Methenes ascended the staircase on the heels of the Chitters and discharged their energy weapons into the backs of the remaining bugs.

  The Methenes advanced on Jack and Prax. Jack lowered his gun to the floor, taking care not to make any sudden movements, released it, and raised his hands. Prax raised his hands, too.

  A Methene female stepped through the ranks of the blue-skinned warriors. Her face stretched in an approximation of a Terran grin.

  “Ah, a fellow connoisseur of Zyxlar secrets. It’s good to see you again, Mister Garnell,” said Kana.

  Jack’s eyes widened as he recognized his rescuer. He tried to speak, but the world swam in front of his eyes and he slid to the floor.

  “My field medic will get you patched up and take you to your ship,” said Kana.

  “What about him?” Jack managed, fighting to stay conscious.

  “I’m sorry,” said Kana, and patted Prax’s massive shoulder. “How is it you Terrans put it? To the victor go the spoils.”

  It took a few days for Jack’s wound to heal after he returned from New Canberra, but his pride didn’t recover so quickly. Since Kana had absconded with Prax, Jack redoubled his efforts to find the Zyxlar on his own. He didn’t have the coordinates Prax had promised him, but at least he had a lead to follow. He parsed the shipping data from a dozen star systems, looking for patterns that might betray the location of the Zyxlar base but kept coming up short.

  He looked further into Kana’s role in the Antarean government. Through discreet sources, he learned that she wielded considerable influence within her Federation. Her self-proclaimed title of a security chief was, while not something Ace would flag as a falsehood, a considerable understatement.