The Champion

by Scott Sigler

  “I can only move so much,” George said. “And since Becca weighs over three hundred pounds and every ounce of that is pretty much stepping on my testicles, you can just deal with my elbow.”

  “I can’t help it, don’t ya know,” Becca said. “There’s nowhere to move, okay?”

  Quentin turned in the co-pilot’s chair. “Guys, can it! We’re not far from where Bumberpuff’s ship is supposed to be. It won’t be long now.”

  He wasn’t mashed into the back with the others, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable, either, his full seven feet stuffed into a seat that would have been a tight fit for Commissioner Froese. Quentin’s elbows pressed against the controls on his left and right, which, fortunately, the shuttle pilot had deactivated.

  “We’re closing in,” the pilot said. “You can see it, straight out ahead.”

  Quentin saw a black shape moving against the blackness of space, visible only because of stars blinking out when it passed in front of them. He remembered the first time he’d seen the Grieve, how it had blocked out all the stars by the time it reached out and engulfed the Touchback.

  “It looks so small,” Quentin said. “We must still be, what, five hundred kilometers away?”

  “Try one kilometer,” the pilot said. “Not even that much. I don’t know what you were expecting, Mister Barnes, but that ship out there is only a hundred and twenty meters long. It isn’t much bigger than the Burly Brown.”

  Quentin looked at the pilot, then out at the Prawatt ship. A hundred and twenty meters ... that was a little more than half the size of the Touchback. The pilot had to be wrong — the Grieve was a monstrous thing, so large it was hard to get your head around it.

  Quentin heard a tone in the cockpit: a hailing frequency.

  The shuttle pilot moved his hands in front of him, manipulating the holodisplay.

  “Unknown spacecraft, this is Delta Two,” he said. “Requesting permission to approach.”

  The answer came back scratchy, as calls from another ship always did.

  “Delta Two, we have you.” Bumberpuff’s voice. “Approach slowly and dock.”

  A part of the darkness that was the alien ship extruded, a black glob of wiggling pudding. Quentin saw it shift and flex, until the end of the extrusion transformed into something familiar: a standard docking port. No mistaking the size of that — the pilot was right about the Prawatt ship’s unexpected dimensions.

  It was too small. All the prep, Messal’s plan to get everyone out here ... all wasted.

  “Put me on,” Quentin said to the pilot. “I want to talk to him.”

  “Channel is open, Mister Barnes.”

  “Bumberpuff, this is Quentin. Please tell me that ship you’re on is taking us to another ship — one that’s much, much bigger.”

  “I was not able to acquire the Grieve,” Bumberpuff said. “Have faith, Quentin. This vessel will more than suit your needs.”

  Sure, if my “needs” are funeral services for four Humans, two HeavyGs, a Harrah and a Prawatt.

  Things had been bad; now they were even worse. But, it was too late to turn back now. If that ship was the only chance to save Jeanine, Quentin would take it.

  6

  The Ship

  PINPRICK SPOTS OF LIGHT GLEAMED along the gnarled black surface, making the curved walls resemble the star-speckled void outside. The narrow corridor — originally meant for the tall, slim bodies of the Prawatt Walking X form — widened to allow Quentin and his teammates through. The shifting, moving walls showed this was a living ship, just as alive as the Grieve had been.

  Kimberlin was on Quentin’s right, walking on all fours so the ceiling didn’t have to expand as far upward to accommodate his full eight-foot height.

  “Quentin, this is not good,” the hulking lineman said. “This ship, it’s so tiny.”

  “Really, Mike? I hadn’t noticed.”

  It took only two minutes to reach the ship’s center, a small circular room. The walls bulged with curving bits of gnarled black material. Some areas glowed briefly, like a faint light shining behind a tight metal mesh, then faded out, returning the spot to darkness.

  From a hole in the ceiling, Bumberpuff’s form unfurled: four tentacle-like limbs connected to a central, solid, X-shaped mass. The three-fingered ends of two arms held tools of some kind. The captain dropped down to the floor.

  “Welcome aboard, my teammates!”

  Quentin wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

  “Bumberpuff, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  The Prawatt captain spread out his two long arms to indicate the ship in which they stood.

  “This is Rosalind Franklin, our vessel for the journey into the Cloud. I gather it’s not what you expected?”

  Quentin bit back an angry reply. He forced himself to remain calm.

  “We’re going into the most dangerous place in the galaxy,” he said. “You promised the Grieve, and you brought me a tin can.”

  The Prawatt’s body rattled, a sign that Quentin had said something offensive or embarrassing.

  “I would be careful using insulting phrases like tin can, Quentin,” Bumberpuff said. “And I did not promise you the Grieve — I told you I would get you the biggest ship you’ve ever seen.”

  Quentin lifted his hands, gesturing to the living walls around him. “And this is it?”

  “Of course not,” Bumberpuff said. “Quentin, I went through a lot of trouble to arrange this. You need to trust me.”

  Quentin took a breath, fought down his temper. Bumberpuff had no connection with Jeanine or Fred, no reason to risk himself other than to help a friend. Somehow, on just a few days’ notice, Bumberpuff had acquired the Rosalind — Quentin needed to show appreciation, not anger.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Thank you, Bumberpuff. I guess this ship will have to do.”

  “Have to do?” snapped a female voice. “First you call me a tin can, and then without any knowledge of my capabilities you say I’ll have to do? Really, I never!”

  Quentin looked around for a moment before realizing the voice had come from the gnarled walls.

  He looked at Bumberpuff. “Who said that?”

  “Rosalind did,” the captain said. “You’ve never heard a ship speak before?”

  “Oh, you mean a ship’s computer? Yeah, sure, I just never heard one with a surly attitude.”

  The walls let out a heavy, feminine sigh. “Honestly, Bumberpuff, where did you find these rubes?”

  Bumberpuff’s body rattled — definitely from embarrassment this time, Quentin was sure of it.

  “That isn’t a computer talking,” Bumberpuff said. “It is the ship. Rosalind is a Prawatt, just like me.”

  The walls sighed again, an overly dramatic sound that conveyed exhaustion with the whole endeavor.

  “Bumberpuff, I haven’t been just like you since my explorer days a century ago. And as for you, Human, are you some kind of formist?”

  Quentin looked to the ceiling, the walls, automatically trying to find the source of the voice, to find something to look at.

  “I have no idea what formist means,” he said.

  “It means judging someone or dismissing them as a person because of their form,” the walls said. “It’s like being a racist. Or do I need to explain to you what that means, too?”

  “I am not racist,” Quentin snapped. “Or speciesist or sexist or ableist or formist or whatever other damn ist someone creates next, all right? I’m, uh, just not used to a person ... I mean, a sentient, of your size.”

  “Are you calling me fat?”

  Quentin felt that all-too-familiar hot sensation in his face as his cheeks turned red. Another new species — or another new form, at least — and he found himself once again saying the wrong thing. And then it clicked ... this ship, Rosalind, was trying to get a rise out of him.

  Two could play at that game.

  “You actually look pretty trim,” he said. “Aside from your aft section, of course. That
part’s a bit chunky.”

  There was a silent pause, then a rollicking, carefree laugh.

  “Bumberpuff, your friend is funny,” Rosalind said. “Why didn’t you tell me he was funny?”

  “I was unaware,” the captain said. “Quentin Barnes is not exactly known for his sense of humor.”

  Rosalind made a harrumph sound. “Well, so far he’s hysterical. I like him. Shalom, Quentin.”

  “Shalom?” Quentin said. “What does that mean?”

  Bumberpuff’s metallic body rattled slightly, once again with obvious embarrassment.

  “Rosalind is a little ... different,” the captain said. “She doesn’t worship the living god, Petra. Instead she’s ... well, she’s Jewish.”

  “I converted,” the ship said. “Some seventy-five years ago. Quentin, are you religious?”

  “Uh ... sort of. I was in the Purist Church.”

  “Purism? Well then, perhaps we heretics could have a nice kibitz.”

  “That depends,” Quentin said.

  “On?”

  “On what a kibitz is.”

  “A chat,” Rosalind said. “A talk about our various faiths. It will piss off Bumberpuff, but into each life a little crap must fall.”

  Bumberpuff rattled again, this time in anger.

  “Rosalind,” the captain said, “we can do without your usual poking and prodding. I’d rather focus on finding Quentin’s sibling as opposed to your need to rile everyone up all the time.”

  The walls sighed.

  “Fine, fine,” Rosalind said. “I don’t mind if you ignore me. Quentin, perhaps when our quest is finished, we could chat. It gets so tiring being around barbarians who invented their own religion. I mean, Petra is only seven hundred years old. My god has been around for millennia. I believe your High One is a variation on Yahweh, so yours is also thousands of years old. Petra is really just a whippersnapper when you think of it. She—”

  Bumberpuff stamped a metallic foot down hard on the gnarled floor.

  “Please, Rosalind! We have work to do.”

  “Fine,” she said. “As long as it makes you happy. I’ve got a course locked in for the Rewall Association’s fifth quintant, and I’m ready to punch.”

  Quentin shook his head. “Rewall Association? What are you talking about? Take us to the Portath Cloud, not Rewall space.”

  “Without the Rewall, that’s a six-day trip,” Rosalind said.

  A galactic map appeared in the middle of the room.

  Quentin saw a planet labeled Gateway, which was close to where Frederico had sent the Hypatia’s last message. Quentin had read up on Gateway during the trip. A dead world in the Planetary Union, it had small settlements supporting the mining industry. It was also right on the edge of Portath territory, making it the main punch-point into the Cloud.

  A glowing line appeared, bouncing from one planet to the next, outlining the standard shipping lanes that led from Rosalind’s current position to Gateway: Mason to Solomon, then New Earth, New Whitok, Capizzi, Whirod, Thomas 3, then, finally, Gateway. Not only would the trip take six days, Rosalind would have to travel through the Purist Nation, the Planetary Union, the Whitok Kingdom and the Harrah Tribal Accord, systems that — were she detected — would be none too accepting of a Prawatt vessel. And, of course, during that whole voyage, Creterakian warships or various system police forces could appear at any time.

  “Bumberpuff, I assumed you had something else planned,” Quentin said. His jaw clenched, as did the muscles in his neck and shoulders. “We don’t have six days to waste.”

  “Oh, relax, bubbie,” said the walls. “We know you want to get there fast, that’s why we need the Rewall.”

  Edgeward on the map, an irregular green shape glowed brighter.

  “That’s the Rewall Association’s fourth quintant,” Rosalind said. Around the outer edges of the galaxy, another four green shapes glowed. “These are the Association’s other quintants. The Rewall don’t have a continuous territory like the other governments. Theirs is broken up in isolated islands, because they have the best punch technology of any race. They can punch from one quintant to another without having to stop at every punch-point in-between. Any non-Rewall ship traveling from quintant one —” a green shape on the galaxy’s edge, just outside Creterakian territory, flashed briefly “—to quintant five—” on the other side of the Milky Way, the green shape nearest the Purist Nation glowed “—that’s a trip of eleven standard days. A Rewall ship makes the same trip in a single day, with a single punch. So, our fastest way into the Portath Cloud is to go to quintant five and bum a ride to the last known coordinates of your sister’s ship.”

  Kimberlin walked to the map. The rest of Quentin’s friends remained in the entryway, watching.

  The lineman crossed his arms and shook his head.

  “This plan is no good,” he said. “The Rewall are only slightly more understood than the Portath. We’re going to use one mostly unknown race to enter the territory of a completely unknown one? Who came up with this ridiculous plan?”

  Bumberpuff bristled. “The Rewall are not mostly unknown to the Prawatt. We have far more knowledge of that race than do the other species.”

  Kimberlin turned to face him. “How did your kind acquire that knowledge?”

  “Their second quintant is in the middle of our sovereign space,” the captain said. “We had a small territorial dispute.”

  “A territorial dispute,” Quentin echoed. “You mean a war?

  The walls sighed. “Tomato, tomahto.”

  Quentin rolled his eyes. “Is there anyone the Prawatt haven’t had a war with? And what the hell does bum a ride mean, anyway?”

  Rosalind said nothing.

  Quentin stared at Bumberpuff. “Well? Let’s hear it.”

  The X-Walker rose up to his full two-legged height. If Bumberpuff had a chest, it would have been puffed out with confidence.

  “I told you I’d get you the biggest ship you’ve ever seen, and I will.” Bumberpuff’s tone wasn’t conversational anymore — this truly was the voice of the Captain, someone giving a calm yet irrefutable order. “The fastest way to the Cloud is with help from the Rewall, and the Rewall are still a day and a half from where we are now. I have work to do before we depart. Rosalind will show you the way to your rooms.”

  Bumberpuff reached his long arms to the ceiling, grabbed something, pulled himself up, then vanished back into the space where he’d been when Quentin entered.

  Lights lit up under Quentin’s feet, a glowing line heading back out the room’s entryway.

  Quentin looked at Kimberlin, who shrugged.

  “I think we’ve been dismissed,” the lineman said.

  There wasn’t any point in staying. Quentin couldn’t get another ship anytime soon, so Rosalind was it. He would have to trust Bumberpuff after all.

  Quentin turned and followed the lighted path.

  Excerpt from “Not Just Another Colony”

  by Zippy the Voracious

  The universe is a vast place, littered with forms of life both very large and very small.

  The Rewall are both.

  Rewall are composed of small individual organisms called zooids (pronounced zoH-oids) that work collectively as a larger, more complex entity. Zooids cannot survive by themselves: to function, they must be part of a colony. That colony operates as the larger organism and is called zoon (pronounced zoH-on).

  To put it simply, a Rewall is a bacterial colony so large it can literally grow legs and walk.

  CELLULAR COMMUNICATION

  The Rewall’s nature as a collective organism is unique among the known sentient races. The Prawatt have some similarities, in that small independent organisms join together to make a larger, more complex individual. The Prawatt “minids,” however, combine permanently; if a minid falls off the main body, that minid dies. In direct contrast, each cell of a Rewall zoon remains an independent organism, capable of surviving if separated from the larger colony. What�
�s more, a zoon is also capable of changing its function within that colony.

  For the purposes of this explanation, we will compare Rewall biology to that of a Human. Humans are made up of specialized cells that perform specific functions within the context of the larger organism: muscle cells contract and work in unison to exert force; nerve cells communicate information to and from the brain; brain cells integrate to regulate the body’s automated systems and to create conscious thought. Rewall also have specialized cells, including functionally identical muscle, nerve and brain cells. The key difference is this: Rewall cells can change from one type to another depending on the colony’s needs.

  Rewall brain cells can alter their structure and become muscle cells. Nerve cells can morph into bone cells, and vice versa. Complex internal organs needed to supply gasses, provide nutrients and remove waste can be assembled as needed and disassembled when they are not. This level of plasticity is unheard of anywhere else in the galaxy.

  MEMORY AND SIZE

  The Rewall have something else in common with the Prawatt: the more brain cells an individual has, the more information it can process. In other words, the same rule of thumb holds true for both species — the larger the colony, the smarter the colony.

  The Rewall memory process is far more complex than that of other higher-level sentient organisms, because each individual cell carries its own individual memories. All cells contribute to the greater consciousness of a Rewall zoon, not just those that are in the “brain.”

  If you cut off a Human’s arm, that grievous wound has no measurable effect on memory or the individual’s concept of “self.” That is not true for the Rewall. A limb of any kind might constitute 10 to 20 percent of the colony’s mass. Cut off that limb, and the colony correspondingly loses 10 to 20 percent of its “self,” including collective memory.

  Therefore, the more cells a Rewall colony has, the larger and more comprehensive its memory. More cells mean more experience with different physical forms, types of work and labor, survival strategies and cultural interaction. The phrase “the more the merrier” seems to be the rule among the Rewall: the more successful a colony, the bigger it gets.