by J. N. Chaney
“Can you mask your ship’s identity code? Keep it from going out. Wouldn’t that make us invisible?” I ask, sensing a problem with my own logic.
Shaina shakes her head. “That would work if it was a comms check only. Which is the same fault in Van’s original plan. If they do a sensor scan and look at the data, which they do frequently contrary to what he believes, we’ll be immediately identified.”
“Not immediately. A raw scan will just show us as a ship. They’ll think there’s an error, and try to confirm the code,” Van argues. “Then they will have to put a direct video feed on us, which is a lot harder than people think. Space is a big place, and I’ll be sending more false signals to confuse them.”
“You better put on your speed boost if that happens,” Shaina says. “If I had payment for every time I heard a smuggler claim their ship was fast, I’d be rich.”
“This girl is fast. Call that my backup plan.” Van stares back, expression hard. “This is my ship. I rescued you. Try not to forget that.”
“Trust me, that will be hard to forget.” I don’t want to think about freezing on the ice world or running from Axu.
“Wak-wak,” Van says. “I want to listen in. Do your magic.”
One of the Hwelas answers quickly, nodding its eye-covered face and shifting its stance to a new pair of legs. That is the most disconcerting thing about the small creatures. They stand on two legs with all of the others folded along their sides or back, until they decide to stand on different legs, and then they do a sort of cartwheel into the new position.
Wak-wak chitters rapidly. At first, I can’t understand what he, or she, or whatever is saying. But then I start to pick it up. “Yes, yes. Overlord conversation on the way. If that’s what Van-pilot wants, that’s what Van-pilot will have.”
New sounds crackle through the comms. After a brief period of adjustment, the sound is more clear than anything I have heard for months.
“Wak-wak knows what he’s doing,” Van says, noticing my reaction.
Shaina raises one eyebrow, also impressed. “Maybe Wak-wak wants a new job with the resistance.”
“Wak-wak only works with his Hwelas brothers and sisters. Only, only, only works that way. It’s the best. It’s what Wak-wak always wants,” the Hwelas communication tech says.
Van gestures toward the nonhuman group. “I only needed two or three of them, but they’re a package deal. And you haven’t seen all of them. About a hundred and fifty sleep below decks—or in the hallways—until I take on passengers.”
“That doesn’t make you nervous?” Garin asks, looking the nearest Hwelas up and down, possibly comparing their size to his and realizing he’s at a disadvantage with some of them.
“No,” Van says. “They’re vegetarian. I think.”
A new voice comes over the comms. “I’m telling you, Richard, I’m not the Serendipity. How would I know your first name? Come on, give me a break.”
“That is an unauthorized communication, Serendipity. Power down all weapons and follow the navigation order transmitted to your ship,” the Overlord squadron commander says.
“Okay, Dick. I’m doing it now,” the frustrated Overlord pilot says.
“That’s enough! Lieutenant Kane, fire on their weapons immediately. Disable them. I’m done playing games with this fool,” the squadron commander orders.
“As you wish, Commander.”
A second later, a flash of light streaks across the view screen, slamming into the fake Serendipity and destroying it entirely.
Van laughs. “That’s what happens when you fire at something that isn’t what you think it is. They aimed at weapons, and probably hit the Overlord hunter center mass. Flawless. Really warms my heart.”
“What the hell happened?” The commander shouts over the comms.
“I followed orders,” Lieutenant Kane responds dryly. “Apparently that freighter was fragile.”
“Unacceptable!”
Van flicks his hand toward Wak-wak. “That’s enough. Let’s concentrate on following Overlord protocol exactly until I can calculate a jump off point from this system. We stay in formation, avoid any reason for them to communicate with us until I decide it’s time, and slip away just like before.”
I tense as we fly between two enemy ships. The view screens might only be computer mockups of what’s out there, but I feel like the enemy is staring back at us, seeing straight through our disguise. One look at my friends suggests they feel about the same. Shaina stops antagonizing Van, however. Garin doesn’t offer any of his jokes and Zedas remains as inscrutable as ever.
We fly for hours. No one leaves the cockpit. Unlike the Heptagon, there is plenty of room here. It’s more of a bridge, or a control deck as seems to be the more popular term in the Goliath Sector.
The Hwelas work quickly and efficiently, communicating amongst themselves in their own language. They speak so quickly that the words sound like Morse code. I watched in fascination but can draw a few conclusions about them beyond what I see.
Shaina leans toward me, finally breaking her attention free of the busy crew. “The moving patterns. I didn’t pick up on it at first, but the Hwelas might be one of the best crews I’ve seen. I’d definitely put them up against anything an Overlord Academy pumps out.”
“That’s the impression I get.” I watch one of the eight legged humanoids cartwheel away from his workstation as another performs the same maneuver to take his place. It’s seamless and a bit hilarious, all at once, and the way the multi-legged humanoids ambulate would be ridiculous if me and my friends tried it. For them, the movement appears natural and efficient.
Van lets something slip about their coloring, and I realize which are male and which are female. The former have a sea-foam green pattern of spots on their backs while the latter have red.
I’m not sure that it matters. None of us can understand their language. I can barely understand their version of Hadrian English for that matter. But body language is easier to interpret. They work as a nearly perfect team, never seeming to argue.
Van swivels away from the captain’s view screen. He catches my eye. “You don’t know what to make of them, do you?”
“Not yet, but I’m trying to learn,” I say. “What about the rest of your crew? Or are they all Hwelas?”
“I’ve had Hadrians and even a Dogan a long time ago, but not of the warrior caste. Hwelas can work with anyone, but not anyone can work with Hwelas. Long voyages are particularly trying. They get moody and wander the decks with the lights off,” Van says. “It gave some of my weaker crews nightmares. This is a better arrangement.” He lets out a short laugh. “Got to admit, waking up with a trio of them watching you sleep feels like a waking nightmare.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” Shaina asks.
“No, because they have saved my life too many times for me to doubt them.” He faces his screen and works busily on the concave keyboard.
“That doesn’t look like it was built for your hands,” I say.
He huffs. “Nope. It’s a Janderlin desia fair trade. Now let me concentrate. The Overlords have given a recall. All ships must return to their carriers. If I don’t find a good jump off point and leave the system before then, we’ll be in trouble.”
I look at Shaina, who seems worried.
One by one, Overlord ships draw closer together and form a column twisting toward a carrier ship. It’s strange, because there is literally more than enough room for everyone to choose their own course. “Why do they do it this way? It seems pointless to form up like this.”
“Shhhh,” Van says.
“It’s a tradition,” Shaina explains. “And it’s a test. These pilots will be required to land two or three at a time, wing tip to wing tip. Extremely dangerous.”
“Why?” I ask.
“It’s supposed to demonstrate skill and prove trust in your squadron,” she says. “But mostly, that’s the way it’s always been done.”
More and more ships gather in
to the formation. Van takes his place perfectly, adjusting each time the flight parameters tighten.
“I didn’t realize there were so many hunters looking for us,” I say.
That gets Van’s attention. “You don’t know the half of it. To be honest, I suspected there might be something in it for a poor smuggler like me. If the Overlords want you so badly, and I managed to save you, wouldn’t I be rewarded accordingly?”
Shaina crosses her arms. “Now we see your true colors.”
“Why do you think they’re so hot to catch us? This seems like a lot of resources spent on four people,” I say.
“Not four people, just the one who killed Anaximander. You’ll never understand how much they hate that. Generals are practically gods to them. Can’t be killed. You ruined that illusion. Then you and the Dark Eye captured the only known gate ship,” Van says. “They will never quit chasing you.”
Shaina swears, throwing up her hands as she turns away, but I keep my eyes on Van and see something else. He’s not telling the entire story. What’s his angle? What is he searching for?
“Get us away from the Overlord convoy,” I say. “Now.”
“Patience,” Van says.
“I’m fresh out. Especially when you just demonstrated what kind of bounty they have on me,” I say. “You expect me to trust you?”
“I don’t deal with Overlords. They have a bounty on me too,” he says.
Shaina grabs him by his shirt, pulling his face close to hers. “You know damn well they would pardon you for going AWOL if the price is right.”
He slaps her hand away. “Sit back and watch me slip away. Because you don’t have a choice. Without me and my Hwelas, you’d already be caught.”
Glaring at his view screen, he begins to type faster than before. He barks half words at Wak-wak who chatters back, then turns several circles and claps two of his upper limbs together. The other Hwelas join in, each running to a workstation to activate screens that had been dormant.
“Hunter 988 Alpha Bravo for Command, I’ve missed my mark. Hold formation until I can re-acquire the vector,” Van says, sounding ten years younger and more uptight than a second lieutenant straight out of officer candidate school.
“Command for Hunter 988, negative. Circle to the end of the formation, the very last landing sortie. Your incompetence will be logged,” a deep voice answers.
“Hunter 988 receives and complies.” Van peels away from the tightening line of ships and heads the other direction. When he reaches the last sortie in the three dimensional column, he reduces thrusts as though making the turn, but flounders far out of the pattern.
“Easy, cheesy, and super greasy. That’s how it’s done,” he says. “Tak-tak, mark our new course. Wak-wak, inform the crew we’ll be leaving the system in five.”
Shaina gives me a shrug. “That was slick. Still don’t trust him or his crew.”
“No one does. But don’t worry. You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Van says. “Smugglers have excellent hearing. Keeps us alive.”
“We’ve got a saying back home—trust but verify. I think that’s where we are right now,” I say. “Shaina or I will stay on the bridge until we’re safely away from this armada.”
“Fair enough,” Van says. “I wouldn’t respect either of you if you just took me at my word.”
“I’ll take first watch,” Shaina says. “You’re going to respect the hell out of us by the time this is over because I’m not giving you a cube.”
I back her up but lean close when Van looks at his work. “Don’t antagonize him.”
“No promises.” Shaina clasps her hands behind her back, standing like an admiral, never taking her eyes off the smuggler.
Van turns over the controls to one of his strange friends, then joins us. “Let me give you the rest of the tale in the spirit of full disclosure. Tamok Sky put out the bounty when he learned what happened. The Dark Eye is building a hell of a fleet in the Sarsten System, and it’s a well known secret he wants Tamok’s armies under his command and on his ships. Tamok wants to know what really happened out here, is my bet. He doesn’t want to be subordinate to Jack Barris.”
“Is that all?” I ask.
“Wist Hadrian went back to the Overlords. Escaped is what I heard. And he has a bounty out on you as well. My sources tell me that is what started this fleet looking for you, though it is too large to belong to Wist. He’s out there somewhere, looking for you just like me.”
“I still don’t trust you,” Shaina says.
Van returns to his station but glances her way. “You don’t have to. I need to escape just as bad as you.”
I wait a beat, worried the disagreement will escalate, but it doesn’t. “I’m going to check on the others. Call me if you need me.”
“Will do,” Shaina says.
I find Zedas eating bland gruel he made himself. The galley is empty of everyone but us. “That looks... simple.”
“It tastes simple,” Zedas says. “It also has all the nutrients I require. Would you like a bowl?”
“No thanks.”
He slurps down the rest of the slime, then meticulously scrapes the bowl out with a spoon that looks too small for his thick fingers.
“Where is Garin?” I ask.
“Sleeping. I checked on him before seeking caloric intake,” Zedas says.
“Do you trust Van and his crew?”
“Do I have a choice?” Zedas says, as he slips his bowl into a compact dishwasher that looks like the newest, most advanced piece of equipment on the ship. “What you should be worrying about is what will happen when we return to Tamondran.”
“I worry about that every day. But that is where we need to go.”
15
Entering a solar system is still new to me. Shaina and the others act like they’re arriving by subway or private car—no big deal. I stare at the screen, marveling at distant stars.
“Your computer does an excellent job recreating this sensor data on the viewer,” Shaina says.
Van laughs loudly, then plants his hands on his thighs. “You will never forget my tricks, will you?”
“Never,” she says.
“System scans are different from ship identification, you know they are,” he says. “The one we’re entering now is uncharted. Nothing is numbered.”
“We should maximize speed while it doesn’t appear suspicious. We’re no longer pretending to be an Overlord hunter ship,” she says.
I listen, but focus my attention on Wak-wak’s screen. The little Hwelas remains the most attentive member of the crew. Is he afraid of the same thing I am?
“My ship is fast, but why should I have to prove it?” Van seems to enjoy the banter with Shaina now. “There is a lot more to space travel than brute force, or raw speed, or whatever you thought mattered. I can system jump faster than anyone, and no, I’m not telling you how I do it,” Van says. “Trade secret.”
“You are just using the same navigational techniques I learned in the Overlord academy but doing it slightly better,” Shaina says.
“Ah, hah! You admit I’m better.”
I let them tease each other. Everyone is in a good mood, except for Wak-wak.
“What’s got you spooked, Wak?” I ask.
He turns his head toward me, disturbing since it doesn’t look like he has a neck. “Spooked is a word? Do you mean to ask if I’m worried?”
I hold up a hand, hoping he will slow down. “Not so fast, Wak. Give me a second to hear what you’re saying.”
He clicks and rolls his words a little slower. “I fear the Protheans. Much more than Overlords. As you should. Wak-wak says it.”
“We’re on the same page.”
“Page? This means something, yes? Yes. It must. We think alike. But not like Hwelas think alike,” he says.
“I’m worried about the Protheans, but Axu specifically.”
Wak-wak thinks about this for a long time. “Tell Wak-wak about Axu? Say all the things that matter. Listening wi
ll happen.”
“Axu chased me and my friends. I attempted to lead him away and was captured,” I begin.
“Speak more quickly so I can understand all of these words,” Wak-wak says.
“I can do that. Normally, we slow down when working through a language barrier,” I say. “Is this better?”
“Yes. It is easier to pick up the rhythm,” he says, adding a line of clicks at the end. “The data is more compact, not spread out over time. Hadrians like you speak too slowly. Wak-wak loses concentration.”
“Axu wants me to help him take the gate ship from the Dark Eye.” This isn’t perfectly true, but I’m not about to share everything. What have they done to earn my trust?
The Hwelas studies me for a long time. His eyes pull closer together and I wonder if I made a mistake. What if he can sense deception as easily as a polygraph examiner? Could the creature have a sixth sense?
I wait him out, determined not to overreact or tip myself off out of nervousness.
“Protheans are not friends to Hwelas,” he finally says. “You and I share enemies. Playing games is not-not good.”
“I agree.” There is no chance I’m telling them or anyone about the gate key tablet I’m carrying even if it is broken.
He sidesteps around me, each eye looking me up and down, with no two of them working at the same time.
“So maybe body language isn’t as obvious as I assumed,” I say.
“What do you mean? Why would bodies have a language? Or do you mean the dance? The movement. The physical expression. All movement assembled from these components,” he says. “You are an Orphan. This is what Van the captain who is good says. Very interesting. I am using all of my eyes.”
“I noticed that.”
“Does it bother you?” he asks.
“I’m not gonna lie, it isn’t my favorite thing,” I say.
“Of course not. Van the captain tells me we look like spiders. He says most of the Hadrian subjects fear all manner of arachnids.” He pauses. “But few are poisonous enough to cause danger, so why fear them?”
“Just the way they look, I guess.” How can I tell him that they’re just plain creepy. Might as well keep this dialogue going. “Van trusts you.”
