by A. R. Knight
Ferrolite glides in front as mirrored Oratus usher us from the room, their blurred forms made more imposing by the hot breath from their vents and their hissing commands to move faster. The outside ring is chaos - species are running at random as sounds, lights, and signals I don’t understand flag one Flaum to turn right into a side hallway, pull another Whelk back through the entry we just left, and send a squad of chattering, robed Teven sprinting by us without a glance.
“I should be leaving too,” Ferrolite’s saying to a mirrored Oratus that’s taken up position behind us, playing bouncer to the Chorus chamber. “Find a Flaum to escort the humans.”
“The First Chair gave you the command,” the Oratus replies. “You must obey.”
“Someone’s not happy playing our escort anymore,” Viera says to me.
“Ferrolite got its glory,” I reply. “Why would an Amigga do anything that doesn’t serve itself?”
Ferrolite’s protests get nothing more than a hissing glare from the Oratus, and the Amigga’s reddish brown bulk seems to sour as it decides it can’t cast us off after all. As the bustle continues, Ferrolite whooshes its way back to us, then starts heading down the ring with nothing more than a single, harsh command, “Follow.”
“Probably hopes we don’t, just so it has an excuse to order us killed,” Viera continues her whispers.
“Is there ever a time you’re not joking?” Malo says.
“Not that I’ve noticed,” T’Oli interjects from my shoulders. “Viera’s attempts at humor take up more than ninety percent of what she speaks, by my count.”
“Quiet, puddle,” Viera says.
As we sweep around the ring, terminals that, on our way in, had been showing scenes from the galaxy have switched to various feeds from around the Meridia. I only know that much because, at the bottom part of every picture, the feed’s location is displayed in wide, white lettering on a bright-blue background. As other species stop and stare at the screens, I realize the banners do more than just identify where - they tell everyone watching what places to avoid. What routes might still be safe.
One of the terminals, a large one blanketing the wall space between a pair of section entrances, blinks to show a massive interior courtyard and labels the scene Meridia: Grand Entrance. The place might have been grand once, but right now it’s a burning, smoking mess. Laser fire occupies every open space, with a contingent of Chorus fighters hanging back near a vast bank of lifts. Fire pours in at the defenders from every angle as they try to huddle behind what cover they can find, and pop off shots in retaliation.
Even Ferrolite stops to watch, giving us all a chance to see the attack unfold. It’s not pretty - the defenders are already desperate, and the attackers - I’m sure it’s the force the mirrored Oratus mentioned to the First Chair - aren’t content to settle into a firefight. A pair of small, bee-yellow balls arc into the picture, bouncing along the white stone near the doors, and when they burst, a bright flash knocks out our view for a moment. Like a parting mist on a sunny morning, our picture comes back slow and shows, among other newcomers, a rose-gold Oratus taking apart the defenders amid the lifts.
“Think I recognize that one,” Viera says.
There’s no doubting it’s Bas, the other Oratus that took us from Earth so long ago. I last left her, and Sax, on Cobalt, stranded as the station broke apart. What she’s doing here, fighting against the same creatures that commanded her to take us, I don’t know. But I’m confident that letting on we’re familiar with Oratus the Amigga want dead won’t help us with the Chorus.
“You what?” Ferrolite asks.
“She’s joking,” I say. “Talking about that Flaum. We’ve seen a lot, and they start to look the same.”
Ferrolite has no expressions, so I don’t know if the Amigga buys my cover, but then the feed blinks away to some interior room bustling with more Chorus guards. The shift shakes us from the moment, and Ferrolite orders us on without another question.
We hit the safe room a moment later. Ferrolite floats aside and asks us to enter, and with quick, confirming looks at me, Malo and Viera, lets us head inside. The room’s large, big enough for a few dozen people at least, and it has a wide window that looks into the upper-crust of Aspicis’ atmosphere. We’re sitting on the edge of space, and a constant blue-tinge to the view makes it apparent that the Meridia is spending plenty of energy keeping this level stable.
Alongside the usual white flooring, ready to form up to tables and chairs at our mental command, the room houses a pair of terminals on the far wall. A couple of what seem to be static images layer the other interior walls, depicting giant vines flowing beneath a blue sky.
“You’ll stay here for now,” Ferrolite says. “Someone will come for you when it’s safe enough to leave. I suggest you touch nothing and enjoy the view.”
The Amigga doesn’t wait for questions, but jerks itself around and floats away. As it leaves, the two-meter wide doorway slides shut behind it. The whoosh-click quiets the alarms, the pounding steps, the constant voices coming over intercoms and leaves me with my friends, apart from everything.
I feel myself breathe. Marvel at it. Blink and sense my eyelids brush over my eyes. For the moment, there’s nothing demanding me to be somewhere, to do something, to react or attack or run. Instead, I get to think.
“I almost gave up humanity,” the words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Away from Ferrolite’s pressure and the parade of promises, relief takes their place. “But I didn’t, right?”
“The oath wasn’t completed,” T’Oli says, and the Ooblot slithers off of my shoulders to go towards the window. “By the Chorus’ own definition, you’ve pledged nothing so far. Of course, that leaves Earth open to assault and destruction by whomever desires it, but you’re still free.”
Malo’s walking around the white flooring, raising up various chairs, tables, versions of furniture I remember from Damantum. At the Ooblot’s words, though, the warrior stops, his hand brushing the surface of a simple stone bench. He looks from the Ooblot to me.
“Are you changing your mind?”
“Didn’t you see what’s happening out there?” Viera says as she stands by the window. “This whole place is a mess. They’ve got a rebellion going on. Why would we want to join that?”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Malo says to her.
“I am,” I speak up, partly because the last thing I want right now is for my two friends in this place to fight over a decision I’ve already made. “I’m not going to go through with it, Malo. When Ferrolite comes back, I’ll tell him that we would love to join the Chorus as partners, but not as servants.”
Malo lets the bench sink back into the white as he steps over to me. “You know as well as I do that they won’t accept that.”
“I know. I just can’t, Malo. I can’t give us up like this.”
I’m expecting Malo to resist. He’s always been practical, and that side of this choice lies with the Chorus and their countless benefits. Instead, though, he gives me a simple smile.
“You know I’ll follow you no matter what,” Malo says. “The Chorus had better think twice before they say no.”
“You don’t think I’ll be dooming us all? They won’t torch Earth just because I’m being difficult?”
“They might.” Malo nods over at Viera. “But they might do that anyway, because Viera’s going to say something stupid.”
“I heard that,” Viera calls over.
“Don’t care,” Malo replies.
Over Malo’s shoulder, I catch sight of a shifting screen; one of the terminals, flickering between feeds of the outside. A brief view of the ongoing battle gives me a thought, and Malo sees the change in my eyes.
“If we’re not going to join the Chorus,” I say. “Then we might want to figure out whose fighting them, and whether we should help.”
8 Hunter
When you’re in a giant facility full of the galaxy’s most advanced technology, assuming the enemy kn
ows exactly where you are is the safest option. That assumption proves true for Sax when the lift locks after going up all of one level, its doors opening and dumping Sax out into what appears to be a support space for the level below. Several terminals glow among the well-organized shelves of audio-visual equipment.
The cameras, the Q-Net links for sending long-range messages, microphones and other black and gray devices Sax doesn’t know nonetheless strike him as familiar. So many times Sax has been on a raid, cutting through a hostile town or assaulting a cruiser and there, some distance behind or floating above on a skiff, are Flaum holding gear like this. Taking and sending the images across the galaxy to build support for all of the Chorus’ various assaults.
Speaking of assaults, Sax wonders how the one below is going. The terminals offer an obvious chance to check in, though at first glance these appear to be secured. Small blue patches below the screen indicate bio-markers; scanners to make sure the person attempting access belongs inside. Out of curiosity, Sax places his own midclaw in the bio-scanner. See if the Vincere removed his credentials.
The terminal’s screen, a blank blue asking the prospective user to touch the bio-marker, shifts to show Sax’s face, his old Vincere three-letter rank, and, following that, a large block set of words declaring Sax both a traitor and wanted. Sax hisses a laugh - he’s not sure who those words are for, someone standing over Sax’s shoulder? As if they’re going to see what’s on the screen and immediately attack him in the name of the Chorus.
What happens next does make Sax snort a surprise. The screen shifts black for a brief moment before brightening again, though this time into a gray, featureless box that fills with a pulsing leaf-green circle surrounded by a string of numbers. Sax stares at it - he knows this, has seen it before... somewhere. In his conflict-addled state it takes a deep memory dive to place the juddering shape into context and define the proper reaction. Something relegated to other species. To prey. Not normally worth his time.
Sax notes the number, then taps on terminal and answers the call.
“Sax? Can you hear me?” the voice is tight, stressed and yet packed with a sense of wonder. “I think I have it right. Don’t I?”
There’s some mumbling elsewhere that Sax catches, though the green circle is now still, with a neon-blue outline signifying Sax’s answering tap.
“Nobaa?” Sax hisses the Teven’s name, one he didn’t think he’d have occasion to use again. That Sax says it now is, if he’s being honest, disappointing. Tevens are the most annoying things. “I can hear you.”
There’s no guarantee that the Teven can hear Sax, but by the series of startled exclamations, the Oratus guesses his reply came through.
“Excellent!” Nobaa says. “We’ve secured a room in the Cavignum. They think we’re running repairs, which, we are because your method caused quite a lot of damage and without our work, this whole place—”
“Get to the point.” Sax waves a claw, hoping Nobaa can see it.
“Yes. The point. We have access to the Meridia’s security systems, for now. Eventually, we won’t. Before then, you have to get to the top. To the Priority Beam.”
That’s what the Amigga below was talking about. Some sort of broadcast tool. It didn’t sound like a weapon, so Sax hasn’t thought about it since.
“Where I’ll do what?”
“If we don’t get the message out to Solis and the other Vincere sympathetic to Evva, the ones in orbit around Aspicis will crush us.”
“I’m not much of a speech-maker.”
“It won’t take much!” Nobaa’s somehow getting even more excited. “Just tell them to hold off. Give their own species a chance!”
Before Sax can reply, the signal fuzzes, the green circle goes black and the terminal’s gray box shifts to red, with bold black letters stating that the terminal has been locked. Guess that’s the end of the conversation. Still, Sax has his objective now. He didn’t need to listen to the Teven any longer.
If, though, the Chorus are sealing his terminal, that means they know where Sax is. The sudden chiming of the lifts on the far end of the level - across from where Sax came in and separated from his position by walls of stacked equipment - reinforce the point and the Oratus jerks himself into action. The size of the lifts means a dozen Flaum, with armor and weapons, could fit inside and that’s more than Sax wants to fight head on.
So as the sounds of small claws on tile floor start to patter and the first call for surrender chirps out, Sax aims one of his miners towards the lights and fires. One shot per glowing rectangle, each one melting out in a shower of sparks, and in six shots and as many seconds, most of the level is dark. The only lights left sit over the lifts behind and in front of Sax, casting enough shadows through the shelves and stacked equipment to make a world of jagged white-on-black edges.
A hunter’s paradise.
Sax goes low, tapping his talons and midclaws on the ground as he slithers around the equipment, blending his own noise with the nervous approach of the Chorus guards. With one of his miners emptied of energy, Sax crouches off to the level’s middle side, back against the wall. He smells, hears, knows the Flaum are getting close to the center, where Sax shot out the lights. As the creatures get close, Sax cocks his foreclaw back and then launches the miner in an arcing toss over their heads.
The weapon clatters into a pile of small boxes, which do their duty and tumble, hitting each other with enough clacking to draw the eyes and aims of every Flaum in the room.
Sax can’t ignore that many backs, that many targets for leaps and slashes, bites and tripping tail whips.
Two Flaum go down before any shots are fired, and those red bolts lance towards noise, towards shifting shadows as Sax knocks shelves, throws bodies, and generally turns the scene into one of constant motion. To stay still is to die, so after taking a satisfying chomp of a third Flaum, Sax burrows away beneath a falling camera stand, taking cover behind a full shelf. His vents scoop air, his two hearts race, and, with a foreclaw, Sax picks a clump of fur from his teeth and listens.
The Flaum are squeaking to each other, a high-pitched sound that bounces around the level without purpose other than to say here I am, come eat me! It’s instinct. It’s meant to tell the squad where its members are, but Sax uses the chirps to navigate, slip around behind and towards the lifts the Flaum rode as the Chorus guards congregate in the middle and form some sort of firing circle.
Numbers still aren’t in Sax’s favor, so he’s not thrilled to see both lifts on this side glaring red and locked. Sax isn’t wearing a mask, so any hit’s going to give him a severe burn or worse. The locked lifts mean the Flaum in the center don’t have any excuse to go hunting, either - Sax comes to them, or they wait for more reinforcements and Sax gets gunned down by a far superior force.
But if there’s one thing Oratus get used to, it’s being outnumbered.
Sax takes a pair of heavy steps away from the lifts, making plenty of noise. Stops just before a pair of tall shelves that look heavy, and, with a kick of his right razor talon, Sax cuts out the corner post of one of the shelves. It begins to lean, and Sax catches it, steadies it. The metal struts groan, and Sax covers the sound with a roar of his own.
“I’m over here, and I surrender!” Sax calls loud, keeping his midclaw on the precarious shelf.
Any Vincere member would know an Oratus never surrenders, but these Flaum have been in the soft comfort of the Meridia for who knows how long. They haven’t been on the galaxy’s front. So they form themselves up and come cautious from the center, creeping three abreast with miners raised. The second and third rows hang a bit behind the first, keeping their eyes peeled in different directions, as if Sax will appear from anywhere.
To be fair, Sax might.
The Oratus expects the Flaum to try and negotiate, but they give their intentions away by the fear and sweat streaking off their fur in pungent waves. Sax almost coughs, the stench is so strong. These aren’t confident soldiers, ready to apprehen
d an enemy. These are scared children, who’ll spray lasers everywhere before they think of another alternative. When they finish talking, if Sax so much as twitches, they’ll melt him.
The moment arrives: the lead Flaum sees Sax as they head between the shelves. The miner snaps up and the Flaum starts to screech a threat.
Sax doesn’t hear the words. Doesn’t care.
With his right claws, Sax pulls the weakened shelf down while sidestepping in the opposite direction, using the stocked shelves as a barrier to the few panicked shots making it out as their own material buries the Chorus guards. It’s a clanging, squeaking crumble that leaves half the Flaum incapacitated and the others firing madly into the shifting shadows, trying to hit an Oratus that’s hunkered himself down behind a giant, un-powered terminal.
Sax waits out the flashes. Lets the confidence that comes when you embrace a futile situation fade away, waits for fear to creep back into his prey. The Flaum will search now, see if any of their wild shooting found a mark. The scuffing steps of light, booted feet bring truth to the idea, and confirm the Flaum’s total loss of cohesion: they’re splitting up. Two pairs, going to different sides of this part of the level.
The two coming near Sax’s terminal manage to round the corner, manage realize Sax isn’t dead, then they lose their miners and their consciousness as Sax slams them into each other. Killing all of them isn’t the goal - no matter how fun it might be. Or tasty.
The collapsing Flaum trigger the attention of their last-remaining brethren and Sax figures to use the bodies as bait, but these Flaum are cowards. The clue comes when the lift panel beeps, with whooshing doors a moment later.
Their escape can be Sax’s, too, and the Oratus leaves a set of heavy grooves in the floor as he bounds towards the open lift. One of the Flaum, stepping in after its friend, manages to whirl and get its miner up. A motion that brings the front half of its long barrel into the space the now-closing lift doors plan to occupy. Rather than shutting, those same doors freeze at the rifle’s obstruction, simultaneously giving Sax the opening he needs to slip through the doors while causing the Flaum to give up its shot as its partner pulls it back into the lift.
