Occam's Razor

by J. E. Gurley

  “He died nobly, trying to save blood kin,” Harthim announced as he set flame to the wick. His words trembled with barely suppressed anger.

  “There was no need,” he yelled

  Huumba reached out and gently touched his companion’s arm. “I watched the video to see for myself. Though I did not believe him, the Terran Jazon Lightsinger was correct. Methurish sent me moving toward the ship because he knew there was no more time.”

  Huumba’s anger had not abated, but now he directed it at himself for his weakness in the face of danger. “I am to blame for his death, not the Terran.”

  “You were fully exposed to the fury of Pralax twice, while Methurish was shielded inside the debris. That is why you succumbed, not any weakness on your part. Methurish died with his kin because he could not explain to his wife why he alone lived. If the Terran is not to blame, and you are not to blame, Methurish’s death must be an act of balance. The decision to return to Pralax was good. The blood kin of Methurish did not die alone and forgotten, he died with family. It was a good ending.”

  Huumba was surprised that Harthim believed in the Mahata Fey. Few warriors did. “You remove a heavy load from my mind, Harthim.”

  “We have earned our Breeder’s rights this journey,” Harthim said.

  “Yes, if we return home.”

  “I shall not.”

  Harthim’s solemn declaration shocked Huumba. “What do you mean?”

  “I feel it – here.” He slapped his heart with closed fist. “All I long for will be denied me. This, too, is balance.”

  “No, we will return,” Huumba reassured him.

  Harthim smiled. “Some die fighting the Cha’aita. Once I thought this the highest honor. Now, I see another course. Where we go, a new thing is happening. It will change the universe.” His eyes fixed on Huumba. “It will change you.”

  “In what way?” Huumba challenged.

  “Already you admire the Terran, Lightsinger. You feel for his pain, the pain our Lord Hromhada has brought upon him. In your heart, you know that fleeing our troubles has no honor. To claim, as does the Council, that we leave to seek a better environment for our Ascension, is close to blasphemy.

  “How can we become better beings by abandoning duty and honor? If this mission requires a sacrifice, I wish to make that sacrifice. I do not wish to return home only to run away like a coward.”

  Huumba stared at Harthim with newly opened eyes, as if seeing his companion for the first time. “Upon my honor, we will not run.”

  The proximity klaxon interrupted their conversation.

  “Two Trilock ships are approaching,” Jazon announced over the comm.

  “This is M’Kat’s doing,” Huumba sneered. “There is one more sacrifice to be made.” He headed for the bridge with blood in his eyes.

  The proximity alarm ended Jazon’s hopes that the remainder of the voyage would be trouble free. He directed the sensors in the direction of the object and was distressed to find not one, but two Trilock Thistleships on an interception approach. The only way the Trilock could have anticipated their course in Skip space was if there was a locator beacon aboard the ship.

  He sighed, and then picked up the comm.

  “Two Trilock ships are approaching. M’Kat, would you come to the bridge, please?”

  As Jazon expected, the smug expression on the Trilock ambassador’s face told him all he needed to know. “I suppose you know we are being approached by two of your ships.”

  “My people insisted on implanting a locator device in my body before I left.” He raised himself to his full height. “Perhaps now you will allow them to examine this ship. I will insist Earth be given a copy of our scans. It will be, as you say, mutually beneficial.”

  Jazon toyed with the hilt of his knife in its sheath, idly thinking about removing the locator from M’Kat’s body, but it was too late for that now.

  “I’m sure your people are good at their word.” He smiled at M’Kat. “You remember the device only I can activate. Well, before I allow your people to examine this ship, I’ll blow us up and take your friends with us.”

  M’Kat lowered his head so that it rested snuggly between his shoulders in a defensive posture. “You would not do that. It would serve no purpose.”

  “It would amuse me,” Jazon quipped. “That’s purpose enough.”

  “Why do you insist on doing the bidding of the Dastorans? They have deceived you. They will leave your people to fight alone. The Trilock are willing to share. Together, perhaps we can stop the Cha’aita.”

  “That’s the problem, M’Kat. Once the Cha’aita are gone, maybe even the Phyein, Earth would still have to deal with you. No, I think I’d rather end it now simply for the satisfaction of watching you die. Do you sweat, M’Kat? If so, now would be a good time to do so.”

  “Wait!” M’Kat cried out. “Let me speak with them. There is no need to act so impetuously.”

  “Impetuous? Yes, that’s me,” Jazon agreed. “You’d better talk fast, M’Kat.”

  Jazon hid his amusement as the Trilock spoke to the approaching ships over the comm. The computer translated through Jazon’s neuro-link so that he could eavesdrop.

  “To the Captains of the two Imperial vessels approaching us, this is Ambassador M’Kat of the M’Itok Clan. My code name is Mushkathrit. Do not approach any closer. The crazed Terran threatens to destroy this ship and yours.”

  “This is Captain T’Umon of the T’Oki Clan. We will not allow this Terran to live. He murdered our kin and insulted a Trilock Captain. It is a blood oath.”

  “There was no murder. The Terran bested your kinsman in personal combat.”

  “Impossible! The Terran’s are soft, like the Dastorans. We must have his blood.”

  “Your revenge will cost us two precious Thistleships and my life. I will not allow it. I will see to it that the technology of this vessel becomes ours in due time. You will abide by my wishes and allow us safe passage.”

  There was intense silence on the Trilock ship as the captain pondered the value of M’Kat’s words. For a few agonizing moments, Jazon thought the foolish captain would attack. His mind gently caressed the auto-destruct switch. A part of him wanted to trigger it.

  “Very well,” the captain growled. “On your head and the blood of your Clan I place this decision.”

  Jazon sighed with relief as the two Thistleships changed course and quickly disappeared from the screen.

  M’Kat turned to him. “It is done. They will trouble us no more.”

  Jazon couldn’t help smiling. “Something tells me you won’t receive a warm welcome upon your return.”

  M’Kat twisted his shoulders, a Trilock shrug. “My life is important to me. I do not welcome death with such relish as you. I fear you think of death as a close companion. Before this journey, I sought the services of one of the Dastoran Truth Sayers. I was informed I will lead a long and profitable life.”

  Suddenly, the Trilock ambassador’s smug expression turned to one of absolute horror. Blood, yellowish and thick, began to run from the corners of his mouth and down his fat, scaly jowls. He opened his mouth wide and let out a pitiful squeak that belied his size. Still, the eerie sound sent a chill down Jazon’s spine.

  Then he saw Huumba standing behind the Trilock with an expression of glee on his distorted face.

  “Die, traitor,” Huumba hissed as he twisted the blade of his knife in the Trilock’s back. Jazon, fearing Huumba might be settling old scores, reached for his own knife and backed away.

  As the Trilock collapsed to the deck, Huumba went to his knees and attacked the Ambassador’s body with his knife, slashing his chest open until the boney rib plate was exposed. He reached into the blood-soaked, hacked flesh and removed a small metallic cylinder.

  “Here it is,” he yelled in triumph. Huumba showed the locator to Jazon before smashing it with his boot. He noticed Jazon’s hand on his knife. “Do you think I wish your death also?”

  Jazon stared at Huu
mba trying to assess the danger. Finally, he shrugged and replaced his knife. He nodded at the bloody mess on the deck. He hoped they wouldn’t need the ambassador’s services again. “I should be angry, but you just saved me the trouble.”

  “He is the common enemy we face.”

  “Are we enemies?”

  Huumba glared at Jazon for a moment before releasing the tension in his frame. He bowed slightly. “No longer. You acted wisely, and I spoke in haste. This much, at least, I grant you. For the future, time will answer.”

  “Good enough. Now, will you see to it that this mess is removed from my bridge?”

  Huumba bowed again. “Yes, Captain.”

  “You acted on Lord Hromhada’s orders, didn’t you?” Jazon ventured, referring to the Trilock’s death.

  Huumba nodded stiffly.

  “Do you have such orders for me?”

  Huumba’s eyes went cold as he spoke. “Do not attempt to steal this ship, and I will follow your command.”

  He walked off the bridge leaving Jazon with some idea of the miniscule diameter of the tightrope he was now walking. Ulrich raced in from the corridor, looked down at the ambassador’s lifeless body, and immediately launched into a protest.

  “You didn’t try to stop him?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see him until it was too late.”

  “It was murder,” Ulrich cried.

  Jazon kept his voice flat. “M’Kat tried to betray us twice. Enough is enough.”

  “But to murder him in cold blood … even you should be above that. Huumba should be locked up.”

  “He acted on Lord Hromhada’s orders.” Jazon kicked M’Kat’s boot and stared at Ulrich. “I would have killed him myself sooner or later,” he said coldly.

  “From what you’ve told me, the Trilock are more trustworthy than the Dastorans. What about that?”

  “I still don’t trust either of them.”

  “Whom do you trust?”

  Suddenly, Ulrich’s words seemed to recede into the distance, as if Ulrich, or he, were racing away at a dizzying speed. Jazon’s vision blurred as stars and clouds of gas blazed by. He found himself standing on a great, dark, rock-strewn plain with a gas giant, brown, pink, and green banded, rising above the razor sharp horizon.

  “It is beautiful, is it not?”

  He turned to see Amissa standing there between him and the rising planet. She was wearing a long, filmy blue gown that danced on her body like a living thing, a gown of cloud fibers. He could see her naked body through the thin material backlit by the reflected light of the planet. She looked like a goddess overseeing her domain. He tore his eyes away from her and gazed at the massive gas giant rising above them, so near it looked as if it he could reach out and touch it, swirl the clouds with his finger like stirring cream in a cup of coffee.

  “Yes, it is. Where are we?”

  “The home of the Phyein.”

  Jazon looked around but saw nothing.

  “They are busy on the other side of the planet,” she said in answer to his unspoken question. “They brought us here to understand.”

  “Brought us here?”

  Her gentle smile brought tears to his eyes, as he remembered what he had done to her.

  “Our minds, at least.”

  “Amissa,” he started, and then stopped. What could he say to explain himself to her?

  “It’s all right, Jazon. I understand. You wish to protect me, but you cannot. My future was written six centuries ago.”

  “You don’t have to accept your fate. According to Ulrich, the Three Principles say we are free to make our own decisions.”

  “I am a made thing, a tool. Does a tool have a right to choose its use?”

  “Yes. You’re human. You can claim your heritage, your future. You don’t have to do Lord Hromhada’s bidding. Fight it.”

  “And doom several hundred thousand people to their deaths? You do not want that, even for the Dastorans. They seek to grow, to become more than they are, just as your race will someday. I am to be their Avatar. That is my purpose.”

  “No. You’re human,” he protested

  “Am I truly? I wonder.” She smiled. “Ulrich once said I was what I am, no more and no less. Perhaps he was closer to the truth than he suspected. I am what they made me to be, but I am more than they anticipated.”

  “I love you,” he cried out to her.

  Her smile shattered his heart. “Yes, I know and I love you, dearest Jazon, above and beyond the reach of the Dastorans’ manipulations. This is what they did not anticipate.”

  “We can leave. Forget about everything else and just live.”

  “Is just living enough for you?”

  “Yes!” he yelled, raising clenched fists into the air as if to beat them on the rising planet. “Yes, yes.” He brought them down on his thighs.

  Amissa shook her head sadly. “I don’t believe you. There is more to you than even you suspect. The Phyein chose you carefully for a great purpose, just as Lord Hromhada chose me. Was it in truth his choosing? We are but two parts of a magnificent machine designed to change the universe, Jazon Lightsinger, and we can no more escape our fate than we can escape our past.”

  As she spoke, Jazon noticed a tiny thread rising from the edge of the planetary rings on which they were standing. He pointed to it. “What is that?”

  “The Phyein reach for the stars,” she said with wonder in her eyes. “It is what they brought us here to witness.”

  “What does it mean?”

  Her form began to flicker, like a holograph losing power. He looked down and saw his own body dissolving also. He glanced back at Amissa.

  “Endless possibilities,” she whispered before she vanished completely.

  “Jazon! Jazon!”

  Jazon opened his eyes and saw Ulrich’s frantic face in front of him as Ulrich shook him like a rag doll. He muttered something unintelligible.

  “What happened?” Ulrich asked. “You seemed to go blank for a second.”

  Jazon shook his head. “I was talking to Amissa,” he said and smiled.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Watch the bridge for me. I have something to do.”

  He left the bridge over Ulrich’s protests and raced to Amissa’s cabin. The sight of her lying there so innocent and so damaged tore at his heart. He sat down beside the bed and held her tiny, cold hand in his.

  “I’ll never leave you,” he whispered softly.

  Like a new flower giving itself to the soft caress of morning sun, her hand slowly opened. He could feel the warmth surge through her flesh like a molten tide of life renewed. She stirred. Her eyes opened to mere slits, and looked at him. The briefest flicker of a smile crossed her reddening lips. She turned and closed her eyes, now fast asleep, but no longer comatose.

  Ever so gently, he brushed his lips across the back of her hand and tucked it against her body.

  16

  “Will you walk into my parlour?” said a spider to a fly.

  “Tis the prettiest little parlour that you ever did spy.”

  The Spider and the Fly Mary Howitt

  Amissa came to him that night. He knew it was wrong to trust the computer to guide the ship through the vagaries of space, but she needed him, and now that he understood her, trusted in her judgment, he could allow himself to desire her. The light was low as she walked almost soundlessly across his cabin to where he lay in bed. He had expected her, hoped for her, but would have understood if she had not come. She wore very little, a loose teddy that, at another time, he would have found stimulating. Now, he merely found it in his way. With a shrug, she dropped it to the floor and stood before him fully, gloriously naked. She was the Amissa he had known. Each feature of her body was as his mind remembered it. Gone was the innocent fourteen-year-old-girl. In her place was the woman with whom he had fallen in love. He marveled at her perfect body designed to suit his tastes, though her Dastoran creators hadn’t known of him. Her entire past had been but a preamble fo
r this moment.

  She came to him whispering words of love and desire, but he couldn’t hear. His heart pounded, as if trying to leap from of his body to marvel at her. His blood roared like a lion as it rushed through his veins. His nostrils flared as he caught a whiff of her fragrance, one of pure, undiluted passion.

  “Take me,” she whispered in a voice that screamed at him.

  He drew her down beside him and rolled on top of her, heard her gasp as he entered her without foreplay. They needed none. Their entire lives had been foreplay leading to this moment. As he knew it would be, she pleasured him as no woman had or ever could have. They moved as one, each a part of the same great machine wrought by genes and the slow turning of the galaxy. If ever he had believed in the Three Principles, it was at this moment that Jazon understood their true meaning.

  She shuddered, slowly at first, but building into a series of spasms that shook her body uncontrollably. Jazon matched her pace and felt his own soul pouring out as if shot from a cannon. She arched her back, lifting him from the bed. He slammed her back down as if he were gravity and she were the essence of the universe. She screamed silently into his shoulder, gripping his arms with tiny hands suddenly grown as strong as a giant’s. Her nails sliced into his flesh, and his blood spilled, rolling down his arm until sweat mixed with blood in a sheen that coated them both. A soft cry began in his mind and swelled until it became a shout, a cry of freedom. She spoke to his mind as if they were neuro-linked.

  “I never knew,” she whimpered.

  “I’ll never leave you,” he answered, mind to mind. His thoughts flowed into hers and hers into his.

  “You must.”

  “No.”

  “We each have our destinies.”

  “You are my destiny.” Jazon pushed his love into her mind. Amissa accepted it.

  Her hands gently caressed his body. “My poor Jazon. Time will show you.”

  “Time means nothing in Occam’s Razor. You know that. We can spend a lifetime here and pop back into a universe hardly aged.”