by A. R. Knight
Sax watches the First Chair float away, leave the room with those two Flaum guards trailing it. Then his limbs tighten, the rings pressing his body close together until Sax feels like he’s going to pop. His vents barely have enough space to squeeze in air, and his arms and legs are going numb as blood fails to get through. The Oratus sinks, until Sax hovers a millimeter above his hatch.
“Guess you didn’t give the First Chair the answer it was looking for,” Kah hisses, and as the mirrored Oratus stalks by Sax, a brighter, red ring glows around Kah’s right foreclaw. As Kah walks, Sax begins to float after him, tied to that glowing ring. “Too bad. Your record says you’re good.”
“I beat you.” Sax’s voice comes out high, almost yipping with the compression.
“But you’re going to die anyway,” Kah replies. “And everyone’s going to see it.”
5 Approach
From the bridge, where Kolas has called us to watch the approach to a world he calls Aspicis, a great green ball fills in the void. It’s a deeper, darker emerald than the bright leafy colors Earth shows off from space, and it’s backlit by a shock-white star that, whether by Kolas’ intended approach or sheer luck, hangs just behind Aspicis, haloing the planet in a holy glow.
“Beautiful,” I say.
Our platform extends in a thick line over a deep-cut U shape, inside which bunches of Flaum and Teven work at terminals or circle around projections displaying what look like maps of the galaxy or sections of the ship, Nunilite, that we’re aboard. It’s a bustle of activity that gets no interruption from the approach to Aspicis.
I suppose once you’ve seen a thousand worlds from space, the next one isn’t all that remarkable.
“It is beautiful,” Ferrolite states. The Amigga is floating off to my left. Absent during Gar’s funeral, I’d forgotten the Amigga existed, but now that we’re arriving at its home, it makes sense Ferrolite would be here to brag. “What you’re looking at is the most magnificent world in the galaxy, home to the center of progress, of civilization.”
“For you, maybe,” Viera cuts in.
“For your species as well,” Ferrolite replies, and it’s impossible to tell if it reads Viera’s reply as an insult. “Once you join the Chorus, everything we decide will chart your path as well as ours. The benefits we provide will be yours.”
“So will the costs.”
I hold myself back from intervening. Viera’s being who she is, and while nobody makes a move, and the chatter from the others on the bridge continues, I think Kolas is listening to the exchange just as Malo and I are. Though if Viera oversteps her bounds, I don’t think the Oratus would take her side.
“Your civilization, compared to the rest of the galaxy, is primitive,” Ferrolite’s monotone voice sticks to its low, mechanical pitch. “Everything your society uses, depends on, and desires will be improved by joining the Chorus. Even if we call on humanity to assist in a larger endeavor, its costs will be negligible next to the gains your people reap from our relationship.”
“We keep hearing that.” Viera folds her arms. She wants to lean on something, no doubt, but there’s nothing that can give her that dismissive slouch on the bridge. “The Sevora said the same thing. Didn’t deliver.”
“Human, without us, you will fall prey to some other species. Refuse us, and the Chorus will not protect you next time.”
Ferrolite floats forward after the words, ending the argument. I’m not sad about that, as Viera wasn’t going to get us anything more than a bad reputation, and besides, we’re drawing closer to Aspicis and I’d rather watch what’s going on outside.
“She’s going to get us killed,” Malo whispers to me.
“If a bit of chaff gets the Amigga angry, humanity won’t last long anyway.” I nod forward, out beyond the massive windshield, signaling to Malo I have other things on my mind.
Like the collage of starships appearing out of the black folds of space in front of us. From the far distance, I couldn’t see them at all. Great ovals and tiny slivers dancing and darting around. Others look like skeletal spheres, hanging around Aspicis with wide bars connecting focal points. As we get closer, colors burst out too - these aren’t the common gray-black I’ve seen elsewhere, but painted in reds, blues, and golds.
“The Chorus’ Cradle,” Kolas announces as we begin to pass by the outer ranks of the ships. “If the Vincere is the hammer of the galaxy, then this is its shield. These ships are the outer band, and the spheres the wall to any threat. Aspicis herself lies nestled within, a reward only for loyal visitors.”
“Every color shows the ship’s proper placement in a fleet,” Ferrolite says. “Align every one in a parade formation and you will have the Chorus colors, leading, of course, with our chosen blue.”
“Who are you parading for, if the whole galaxy is yours already?” Viera asks, refusing to cut the venom out of her voice.
“Discipline is never a bad thing to encourage,” Kolas answers, forestalling any comeback from the Amigga and getting another positive point from me. I’m starting to see why Kolas is running this ship, this fleet. “Reinforcing a ship’s proper position, how to pilot in a formation, show our soldiers and our commanders that we are not a wild force but a deliberate tool.”
Viera, for once, holds her tongue at the massive Oratus’ response, and that’s without Kolas flashing a single razor tooth.
After we pass by most of the fleet, our ship slides beneath one of the spherical structures with its gold shading. I notice the large turrets dotting the ship twist and track us along our route. The Cradle isn’t much for trust, apparently. When I point it out, Ferrolite tells me each of these structures scan incoming ships, looking for abnormalities. Anything suspicious, and they’ll attempt to disable the ship for a closer inspection.
“Abnormalities?” I ask, thinking we, humans, might be one.
“Mass above normal,” Ferrolite says, taking over guide duties as Kolas strides away from us to direct his staff from the end of the platform. “High power usage. Weapons or shields ready. More than a few have attempted to attack Aspicis, including the Sevora. We will not be surprised.”
Once we’re past the Cradle’s outskirts, we trace an orbit around the planet, falling into a line of other ships, most smaller than ours, as we cruise above Aspicis’ dark side and head towards the light. Ferrolite breaks into a long digression about the planet, explaining its long night and day transitions, and how few people are cleared to land on the planet itself.
“So why are all these ships here?” I ask. “If nobody’s allowed down on the surface?”
“There are runners,” Ferrolite replies. “Watch.”
As we round the planet’s edge, and as a filter drops over the massive viewing shield to blunt the brightness of the white star, it’s easy to see the swarms of small craft shooting up and down from Aspicis’ surface. The line of ships we’re in comes to a congregation around what looks like a large, square stake rising from the ground all the way out into space.
The runners swarm these ships, latching onto them and breaking away minutes later or longer. Once they’ve all detached, the bigger ships, their missions complete, burst their engines to life and glide away from the planet, through an open, blue-sphere-lined section of the Cradle.
“So this is all cargo?”
“Cargo, and also those people called to the Chorus or that happen to live on Aspicis,” Ferrolite says. “Information and technology. All of it passes through here. As will you.”
The way Ferrolite says ‘you’ has me stick to the word. The Amigga didn’t say all of us, didn’t say the three of us.
“Viera and Malo are coming with me.” There’s no argument on that. I’m not leaving them, and I doubt either would agree to me vanishing on an Amigga ship alone.
“You are the envoy for your species, not them,” Ferrolite counters. “We cannot allow unnecessary visitors on Aspicis. Security demands it.”
“My security,” Viera says. “Demands I stay with my Empre
ss.”
“Agreed,” Malo echoes. “We will not leave her.”
I stare at Ferrolite. The Amigga may not have eyes, but it’s clearly seeing everything, so it ought to know I have no intention of leaving my friends.
“This will... require a conversation,” Ferrolite replies. “We want humanity’s support, of course. But we don’t want to compromise the safety of our most valued members.”
“You just finished telling us how primitive we are,” I say. “Now you’re going to claim we’re a threat? Choose one, Ferrolite, but the only way you’re getting us to your planet is as a group.”
Ferrolite hovers. Kolas twists, his red-black eyes twinkling as he glances our way. Is that a quiet laugh I’m seeing in his ridged face? Maybe Kolas likes seeing someone stand up to the Amigga. Maybe he’s not entirely under their control.
“I will see what can be done,” Ferrolite states. “Regardless, we are nearing the connection point. You should go and get your things. Our ferry will be here soon.”
As if I have anything to bring along. Malo and Viera match my expression with shrugs; none of us have weapons, or any other possessions beyond the clothes on our backs, and even those are tailored outfits designed for Flaum. Pearl-green vests and pants. No masks this time, and no robes either - apparently we’re going in front of an audience that cares about presentation.
After Ferrolite leaves, Kolas stomps over in front of us, his heavy breathing from the vents lining his long torso drawing our attention his way.
“What happens next will be a momentous event for your species,” Kolas says slow and deep, like a rumbling volcano. “But do not lose yourself in what the Chorus tells you. The Amigga drive civilization and the galaxy forward, yes, but they do so with their own plan. Their own goals. Do not lose sight of what makes your species unique.”
“What do you mean?” I reply. “I thought we were joining a group?”
Kolas flicks a claw back towards the Flaum manning the various stations on the bridge. “You are. And you will get many things for doing so. When the Amigga find a place for you, however, be wary of becoming only that and nothing else.”
“Like you?” Viera, again. “The Oratus? You sound like you’re warning us against doing this at all.”
Kolas regards Viera with a melting look. The kind that says he’s so far over and above Viera that it’s an honor he’s even considering her words. “The Cycles are covered in dead cultures. Would those same species have died without the Chorus, destroyed themselves in pathetic wars or been drowned by the Sevora? I cannot say, but I know most did not truly survive either. Maybe humanity is different.”
That seems to be the end of his warning, as Kolas turns back to his command and hisses out orders to bring the ship into a blank section of space. As the cruiser turns, grass-green lights blink up out of nowhere, forming a path through the void. At first I’m confused about what they are, but as the lights move and form up, I realize they’re tiny ships, directing Kolas’ pilots where to go.
“C’mon, Empress,” Viera says. “Time to go meet our new overlords.”
I grab one last look at Aspicis’ star as we go from the bridge - it’s not the same color as Ignos, but I hope the god can see his way through to us anyway.
I have a feeling we’ll need all the help we can get.
The Chorus shuttle is minimal - no bridge, only a simple set of white couches that rise from the floor to meet us as we settle in. Viera, Malo, myself, T’Oli and Ferrolite, who pauses a moment when it sees the Ooblot with us as well. The blob had been spending its time scurrying around the cruiser, digging into everything it could learn after spending most of its existence trapped beneath the Sevora sewers.
“T’Oli’s my assistant,” I say, going with the story we agreed upon. “None of us know how things work here, so T’Oli’s going to keep us out of trouble.”
“This was not approved,” Ferrolite grumbles.
“Humans like to change our deals.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
The Amigga, though, doesn’t protest any further and instead settles into its own side, still floating along in its microjet-boosted shell. I’m waiting for the airlock door to close, but it doesn’t. A second later, Lan ducks through it, her large form taking up almost a third of the shuttle’s space by herself.
“You’re coming too?” Viera can’t help but ask.
“There is something on Aspicis I need to do.” Lan sits across from us, closes her eyes, and appears to fall asleep.
Once the Oratus is settled, the shuttle goes into a series of swift changes; the airlock shunts shut, the globe lights along the ceiling dim, and the hull around us fades to a near-translucent shade.
“Enjoy the descent,” Ferrolite says as we disengage from the side of the Nunilite. “It’s the most beautiful entry in the galaxy.”
“I think you might be biased,” Viera replies.
Ferrolite doesn’t answer.
In fairness to the Amigga, Ferrolite isn’t all wrong. As we drop beneath the packed lines of ships delivering and receiving cargo and passengers, the breathing room gives the giant bulk of Aspicis time to show itself off. And, set against that deep green, the tower, which Ferrolite labels the Meridia, makes an imposing entrance.
Our shuttle, unlike plenty of others rocketing towards the surface, aims for the Meridia’s top. Unlike, say, the mirrored surfaces of the Sevora buildings or the stone roofs of our temples, the Amigga crown their achievement with a glittering red-orange spectacle.
Sashes of light layer, looping from one side of the Meridia’s top to the other, folding between each other and dancing across the broad black space. Our shuttle coasts towards it, and as we do, the sashes change color, shifting to a green-blue shade that reminds me of seaside shallows back on Earth.
“Amigga are capable of art too,” Ferrolite says. “I know you think we’re a brutal species, but look at this and tell me that we can’t make beautiful things.”
“What does it mean?” Malo asks as the ribbons of light swoop around us.
“The changing shape of the galaxy,” Ferrolite replies. “Every color, every ribbon is another part of our collective. Even as our nature changes, we stay connected to one another. A bond that cannot be broken. One you are joining.”
As a spectacle, it’s mesmerizing. The white light of Aspicis’ star gives the sashes a shine that makes them shimmer like jewels. And yet. The familiars on Cobalt could be beautiful too, that didn’t mean they were good.
So why am I doing this? Why did I volunteer if I don’t trust the Amigga to do the right thing?
Because if I don’t, they’ll destroy humanity until someone does what they want.
“This is your home?” I ask Ferrolite as the shuttle heads further down the Meridia and the wonder work disappears behind us. “This planet?”
“My home? Yes. Our species? No.” Ferrolite pauses. “Our home planet is long since destroyed. Too many accidents, too many costs extracted in pursuit of better things. Aspicis, though, is the result of those lessons. It is verdant, and every part of it produces what we need. So in that sense, Aspicis is our home. One we’ve built to our desires.”
“You wanted a giant metal stick jutting out from its surface?” Viera asks.
“The Meridia is necessary.”
Ferrolite tells us why in stages. The first comes when the shuttle lands, when we’re unloaded into a tight, blue-metal docking bay with space only for one more of the craft. Unlike Cobalt, where a single familiar greeted our wondering selves as we left the shuttle, Ferrolite’s assembled a quartet of Flaum guards to wait for us. They’re all sporting crisp sea-blue uniforms, with a single lava-red circle etched on their chests. Each one carries a miner in their hands, with a smaller one on a belt. They stare at us without a shred of surprise or the skittering nervousness I’m used to with the furry creatures.
“This is some welcome you have for new friends,” I say to Ferrolite as we head down the ramp.
I’m willing to sacrifice a little protection for ceremony, not all of it.
“I don’t want you to feel unwelcome,” Ferrolite replies. “It’s been too long since we’ve inducted a new species. There should be some celebration.”
“If this is their idea of a celebration, maybe they can learn something from us,” Viera whispers.
Ferrolite has us form up between the guards, and they escort us from the quiet docking bay. We’re weaponless and wearing soft-padded shoes made from flexible gel that molded to our feet back on the Nunilite. I still have, though, my emerald necklace. Malo has his tattoos. Viera, well, Viera has her attitude. We’re about as ready as we can be when we reach the end of the docking bay and a pair of interlocking circular doors spin themselves loose from each other to let us inside the Meridia.
I’m expecting something sparse and metal. Efficient and clean like the Vincere ships. What I get, though, has me pausing in a breath-stealing gasp that Ferrolite probably expects. The first word that comes to mind is color - the space is awash with it, a glitz that, after a moment, I track to a hanging piece of colorized carapace. At least, that’s what I assume the thing is - a shell larger than me that hangs on a pair of translucent bars descending from the ceiling. Each part of the shell, like a beehive’s honeycomb, is filled with a different color that warps the light streaming through it from a mottled set of globes in the ceiling. The outcome is dazzling, and if that was everything, it would serve to redefine my expectations for the Chorus.
But no. What I’m looking at isn’t a hallway, it’s an entry into a wide circle, and beyond that hanging shell there are displays, screens and objects housed within floating prisms of glass. Wide terminals show cascading scenes of wonders - blue mountains, shifting tornadoes of yellow dust, a volcano spitting huge sheets of ice high into the sky - that I want to stare and watch forever.
