by J. N. Chaney
Wak-wak drops several of the smaller items into a pouch near the small of his bulbous back.
At the far end of the little cubicle, there’s a curvy desk with microphone-like rods sticking out of one quarter. I don’t touch any of the buttons around them.
“This must be it. It must be, I think it is,” Wak-wak says excitedly.
Garin’s eager expression is begging for praise. Patty-pats switches her tail through the air, unconcerned. She curls her front feet under her body, then her back feet, and looks like a little block of fur with a face. She’s loafing, I realize. My old partner at the LMC escalation site, Dr. Cynthia Allen, explained the feline position once.
“Hey, Mr. Doctor Murphy, you here?” Garin asks.
“Sorry, this place is familiar. It reminds me of the first gate I went through and someone I used to know.” My eyes never leave the cat. She squints until she could be asleep—just like a cat.
“This reminds you of a gate?” Shaina asks.
“In a general way, but it looks like a comm station.” I manipulate one of the microphones, twisting it closer to me. “Can we use it?”
“I can learn it,” Wak-wak says. “Get back.”
We retreat into the hallway and stand guard.
“I’m glad we brought that little freak,” Shaina says.
Garin puffs out his chest. “Hey, he’s my friend.”
“Relax, kid,” I say. “Keep your eyes open and hope that this doesn’t take too long.”
“Now the big question,” Shaina asks. “Once we get it working, how are you going to contact a specific Prothean, this Axu character? I don’t like this part of your scheme. It really feels like we’re going to draw their entire invasion force down on the ship.”
“I think he gave me a code when we were on the ice planet,” I say, attempting to remember the phrase precisely. “He said I was to call him Axudain to ensure our next meeting was private.”
“Did he specify that it can be done over long-range comms?” Shaina shakes her head like this is the worst news she’s heard yet. “I hate this more and more.”
“He didn’t specify anything,” I say. “Some of this is instinct. I’m working through a lot of confused memories. I was injured, starving, and alone during my captivity.”
She throws up her hands. “Well, then I’m completely okay with it. This probably won’t get us all killed and doom the entire Goliath Sector to alien domination for a thousand years.”
“Now you made it ugly.” I peek in on Wak-wak and find him pounding away at the oddly formatted alien keyboard and running sliders this way and that.
“Join the resistance, they said. Trust the Orphan, they said.” Shaina curses under her breath and paces when I stop paying attention to her.
I reach into my Orphan memory, looking for the exact scene. My eyes snap open as I remember everything—the freezing wind on my face, the harsh glare of the ice planet’s sun, and Axu looming over me as Zedas hid in the shadows. Our situation had been hopeless, nearly as bad as now.
“We are not done with one another, but I warn you that our conversations must never be revealed. Your death and mine would quickly follow. Should you require contact, call me Axudain, and I will bring my closest allies,” I say. “Those were Axu’s exact words.”
“I’m not sure which part is more disturbing, the fact that you remember it like that or that you’re on a first-name basis with a Prothean hunter,” Shaina says.
I move toward the communications station and check for power. Purple light glows from several icons. “If this fails, I’ll owe you an apology. I don’t have anything else but to die in battle like Zedas is always going on about.”
“Don’t bother,” Shaina says. “We’ll face the end together. Not because I want to, but because I don’t have a choice. In the afterlife, that’s different. I am going to curse you all the way through the void, so don’t screw this up.”
“Sounds like a plan, Shaina.” I pull the largest microphone forward, then all the others for good measure. “If I’m going to broadcast, it might as well be on all channels.”
Shaina throws up her hands. “Why not?” Garin, Wak-wak, and Patty-pats stare at me, three small creatures depending on me to get this right.
I flip the switch, lean forward, and hear my breath over the ship’s public address system. “Mic check, is this thing on?”
My voice booms through the halls. Feedback pierces my ears. I cover the mic with one hand. “Shaina, can you tell if this is broadcasting anywhere but on the ship?”
She shrugs.
Wak-wak scurries forward to examine the switches and sliders on the device. “That’s a lot. I think it will do the most.”
“Great,” I say. “But what does that mean?”
He points at a row of lights that reminds me of the equalizer on my 1984 Z28 Camaro dashboard. “That one, at least, is broadcasting to other ships. Possibly a distress channel.”
“Perfect.” I lean close, then remove my hand. “Axudain.”
The word booms through the ship. I only hope it has gone into the void to summon Axu.
“Someone is coming,” Garin says from the door.
I can’t resist. “Wow, that was quick.”
“Get serious, Murphy,” Shaina complains. “We don’t have any weapons. Who else is looking for us but the Dark Eye’s henchmen?”
“Wak-wak, can you turn this off? Make it look like we were never here?” I ask.
The Hwelas flutters four of his pointing hands and dances on his main feet like he has to pee without ever taking his attention from the comm station. No one does agitation like a humanoid with eight limbs and more eyes.
Shaina steps past the spider guy, grabs a handful of cables in the wall near the desk, and rips them free. The terminal goes dark.
“That should do it,” Shaina says. “Let’s double time.”
“You lead. I’ll bring up the rear.” I stand tall and wish I had a charge rifle.
Flashlights enter the end of the hallway. Fast-moving commandos shout for us to stop.
I push the others into the next hallway. “Garin, if you can take us to the weapons crate now is definitely the time.”
“Okay, Mr. Murphy, but I don’t know if they moved those crates by now!” Garin shouts. “It was in a staging area near the landing bay when I saw it.”
“Circle around if you can.” My attention stays on our pursuers. They’re coming fast, like a full squad of Orphans at the peak of their powers.
Slamming the door, I find a crossbar and slide it through. Purple symbols glow on the metal, but I don’t know what they say. I’m voting for ‘this door is now permanently locked.’ Probably too much to hope for.
I sprint to catch up. My friends disappear around a dark corner. With black walls and occasional purple lights, visibility is unreliable. I slip at the corner, land hard on my left knee, and scramble to my feet. Pain radiates up and down my leg. A bloom of heat numbs the misery, at least for now.
Someone blows the door behind us. I reach another bulkhead and manhandle an even heavier blast door shut. This time the pulsing symbols are enclosed in a double circle. I still don’t know what that means, but I’m growing optimistic. Without Orphan strength, there is no way I could move this portal, much less slam it like a galactic gong.
“Have fun with that one!” I race to catch up only to find myself in the center of a nine-way intersection.
“Murph, where are you?” Shaina’s voice echoes from multiple hallways, some simultaneously.
I turn in circle after circle as additional sounds reach me. The Dark Eye’s commando team has broken through the blast door. I hear their infrequent commands. They will converge on my location soon, probably from multiple hallways. I hear Garin, then Shaina again from another direction.
“Get out of here! I’ll catch up,” I yell. “Free Zedas!”
I pick a route with the fewest sounds of soldiers and no flashlights reflecting around corners, then dash away f
rom the intersection. Memories of that first run on the beach near the Prothean sanctuary come back like a cinematic movie. I create the wind in my hair this time, really going for a personal best.
Leaving pursuit behind is easier now. Maybe they can match my stride, maybe not. The victory is temporary. I know it. One of the search teams will locate me eventually.
I reach another intersection, hesitate, and decide it isn’t the one I recently left because it is a lighter color of purple and crystals frame two of the archways.
“Doctor Hank Murphy,” says Jack Barris. “How the hell have you been?”
I spin around. “I’m alive, no thanks to you, Jack.”
He laughs. “Couldn’t be helped. You must have really pulled out the stops to get back to the Sarsten system so quickly.”
“You left me to die. That’s not something friends do.”
He rolls his eyes. “You weren’t going to die, Murph. What kind of an asshole do you think I am? We were friends. Might have remained friends if you’d just stuck to being a scientist. Let me do the fighting. Let me be the leader of men.”
I have nothing to say for several heartbeats. Pairs of soldiers take up guard duties at each hallway. The sounds of Shaina, Garin, and even little Wak-wak fade away.
They’ve escaped for now, which is better than I hoped for. Axu isn’t coming, and if he does, the trip will take hours at best—if he’s in-system—but probably weeks or months. I have no idea where he is or how fast their ships travel.
Jack takes off his gun belt and hands it to an officer I’ve never seen. This squad has the best gear I’ve seen, including energy weapons that make charge guns or firearms look like toys. Each of these soldiers has an eye tattooed on the left side of their face and a stylized oval on the other.
I point to the officer holding Jack’s weapons. “Is that a gate tattoo on his face? A dark eye and an Orphan Gate? Really?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says.
“That’s messed up, Jack. If you want to be a megalomaniac, do it without maiming your followers. That is hideous,” I say.
“Shut up, Murph. I’m warning you.” He rolls his neck.
I’ve seen him perform the movement before. He’s warming up for a confrontation, maybe even a fistfight.
“What are you gonna do, beat me up?”
“You should have stayed in the Midas system. I would have sent a task force to pick you up once I seized the Emperor’s throne. We could have faced the Protheans together with the combined might of every human in the Goliath Sector,” he says.
“You mean every Hadrian.”
“Where do you think they came from?” He moves closer but remains out of arm’s reach. “Spoiler, if you had done what I asked, I would’ve kept you busy for ten years following clues—the kind you like. A little danger and no one getting hurt. Eventually you would’ve realized that the Hadrian Emperor is a Roman, from Earth. One of the first Orphans to find the Goliath Sector. Oh the conversations you could have had with the guy.”
“Assuming you didn’t kill him,” I say.
“Please. I’m not an uncultured barbarian. He’ll be in prison. You can visit him or share a cell, your choice.”
“You’re giving me a choice?” I ask, stepping to my left to reduce the advantage Jack is working for. “Then why are we about to duke it out?”
“Is that what we’re doing?” He puts his fists up and settles into a boxer’s stance, hopping side to side to adjust distance.
“Damn it, Jack. We might not be friends anymore, but why the games?”
He snorts. “You haven’t learned anything from the Goliath Sector. Everyone will betray you, no amount of force is ever too much to direct toward your enemy, and the weak die badly or become slaves.”
He jabs.
I duck and slip to the side, neatly deflecting the attack.
“Some of my men think I went too easy on you in the beginning. They think I’m playing favorites. That equals weakness in their eyes, and I can’t have that,” he says, then fires a one-two-one punch combination while advancing.
It’s been a long time since we boxed, and we’d been kids in his mother’s backyard. I still remember the taped up, two sizes too big gloves and how spastic we must have looked flailing at each other. We’d thought we were going to be knockout champs. I studied a bit in college. He fought in amateur fights in the army before everything went sideways.
We should be doing this for fun, counting points, teasing each other and having beers after.
The blacked scar around his eyes twists as he roars a wordless challenge. “Ahhhhhh!”
I step aside and kick him across the shins, hoping I don’t break both our legs.
He stumbles, can’t stop his forward momentum, and falls face first.
“Give it up, Jack. You never fight well when you’re angry.” The words have barely left my mouth by the time he’s scrambled up and rushed me.
His arms wrap me up. I’m lifted into the air and slammed on my back. Blackness explodes in my vision. When sensation returns, I’m facing another direction.
Jack straddles me, fist high in the air. “Never embarrass me in front of my men!”
I block, but my forearm barely slows his savage attack. One punch after another finds my face. I push and kick with my legs, attempting to escape, thrashing to get away from the merciless barrage.
He pauses to catch his breath.
I jab upward, busting his lip.
He kneels on my arm and hits me three times, each strike well-aimed and delivered right against my nose. Blood streams from my face.
He grabs both sides of my collar for a choke and leans close. “This was supposed to be for show, Murph. You were going to spend the rest of the attack on Hardian’s fortress world in a secure but reasonably comfortable cell. Then we could have worked things out. But you always were too stubborn to quit and too proud to know what’s good for you.”
“Jack—”
His fists rain down. I block when I can, strike back infrequently, and remember how Van told me I needed fifteen more Orphan Gate transformations to ever beat the Dark Eye.
I realize now that I can never catch up. He’s too far ahead to even pursue. He’ll keep going through gates until it kills him. Until then, I need to be smarter than he is or find more dangerous friends.
Why hadn’t Axu come with ‘his best allies?’
Because he’s too far away or he didn’t hear the message or he never intended to answer that summoning in the first place.
I lie on the deck for a long time before I realize the beating has stopped. Everything hurts. My back is wet, from my neck to the backs of my thighs and I realize I’m in a pool of my own blood.
“My friends got away, Jack,” I croak. “So screw you.”
“No, Murph, they didn’t.” Jack says, then steps away to bellow at his soldiers. “Turn off that alarm. What the hell is happening?”
“Prothean attack. Nine ships. The little spider freaks are losing their minds. They say it’s some kind of fable, the Legend of Nine Axu,” a man out of my view explains.
“I don’t care about history! This is now! Battle stations. Prepare to repel boarders!” Jack shouts.
Rough hands grab me under my arms and drag me across the floor. All I see is the deck plating because I can’t lift my head.
31
The next thing I know, I see the floor moving beneath me. It might feel like I’m floating if the pain in my armpits and neck wasn’t so excruciating. Disorientation and rage can only push back the agony of a beatdown so far.
Two strong men drag me toward a destination I can’t see because I can’t raise my head. Their hands grip me roughly under the arms while my feet drag behind me like they belong to a dead man. My head hangs forward, blood dripping from my face to leave grisly evidence of my passage.
Unable to look up, I twist my face to my right. This allows me to look back the way we just came. I see symbols on the bulkhead we are leaving
. I’m not sad to see the last of that dark, dangerous place with undiscerning lighting and weird sounds. Humans were never meant to be there… or anywhere on this ship. I feel the truth of it in my guts.
Symbols move and change around the edge of the bulkhead, captivating me entirely. For a moment, the Gestalt aggregation of the symbols and the way they are moving could be a large eye focusing on my distress like I’m having a very structured acid trip. I can almost read the symbols. If these jerks would just leave me here to study the connections…
“By the stars, I’m glad to be out of that part of the ship,” one of my captors says.
“Never should’ve gone in there,” says the other man holding me. “This loser and his friends would’ve come out eventually. I never feel right touching that part of the ship. It’s like we were always being watched.”
“And talked to,” says the first man.
“Shut the hell up with that. You and your ghost stories. The ship is just a ship. Don’t try to understand the Protheans or whoever made this thing.”
“Put me down. I’m going to puke,” I grunt despite having no urge at all to vomit. I want a better look at the door and the symbols.
“You better not,” the first guard says.
I force myself to retch and cut it off at the last second. “Can’t help it.”
“Drop him!”
I hit the ground a half-second later and twist onto my side. The deck vibrates. A series of low tones reverberate from the massive portal to the dark side of the ship. I can’t help but laugh. It makes me think of that movie when I was a kid, Close Encounters of the Third Kind—that part where the alien ship comes down, and they communicate by jamming out on a keyboard with fancy lights.
It is like I’m being talked to, just like the paranoid guard claimed. Not that I understand the message. And unless it says a group of good super beings is on the way to rescue us from the bad super beings, I’m not really interested.
