by Chris Ward
Teer Flint laughed. ‘No. But we don’t feel love like you weakling humans. We feel no need to remain in each other’s company after mating rituals have been completed. In the old days, before our homeland was stolen, we remained in family groups. A woman returned to her family, and the children were raised by the family members as a whole.’
‘And the man would just go back to his family and swan it about? Drink whisky and screw other women?’
Teer Flint shook his head. ‘Ha, maybe in a perfect world. No. We controlled our families carefully, one daughter and son selected from each new brood. If an older child died, the following brood’s selection would be adjusted.’
‘Adjusted? How many children were born?’
‘Oh, we lay eggs. Ten to a dozen. Of which two are chosen.’
‘And the rest just thrown away?’
‘Eaten, usually.’
Paul stared. ‘But that’s … inhumane.’
Teer Flint laughed. ‘An interesting word, there. That central part, “human”, is the problem. Blingdil are not and never have been human. We have a different way of life. The problem your species has is that it always tries to push its values onto every species it encounters, force through its stupid laws, impose its narrow-sighted will.’
‘But to eat your young….’
‘I said usually. Some might be traded to other family groups for food or goods. Like I said, we are not controlled by feelings like you humans. It was why I felt nothing about staying on that asteroid to die.’
‘So how did you end up there?’
Teer Flint went quiet, and despite what he had said about feeling no emotions, Paul sensed some were there.
‘The Marfanti. A larger, better adapted, more powerful race that invaded our homeland. Legend has it—a legend that may or may not be true, depending on what is hidden in the archives for the First Expansion—early human settlers drove them from their own homeworld, believed to have been deeper in Areola System, a little colder, the gravity a little heavier, hence their evolved size. Rubin, our world, had a similar habitat, so they came and took it. Our histories say their initial numbers were few compared to our many, but in the wars that were fought over hundreds of years, they gradually gained the upper hand. We were reduced to hiding out in caves and swamps, hunted like game animals. Eventually, the wider Areola System government got involved along with the Galactic Military Police, ending the wars and establishing enclaves for both populations. However, hunting has always continued. My people had always been great builders and engineers, so many, like my grandfather, began to leave, heading for the colonies and the machine worlds. I have never been to Rubin and perhaps never will. I have encountered a Marfanti just once.’
‘And what happened? Did you kill the scum?’
Teer Flint’s lips wrinkled as though uncertain what to say. His eyes stared straight ahead, out of the view-screens at the dark interior of the Trillian orbiter as they cruised towards the core.
‘I hid,’ Teer Flint said at last. ‘My people might not care for love, but we understand fear, and we’re practical. It was a fight I wanted, but one I could not win.’
Paul nodded. Not so long ago he might have lambasted Teer Flint as a coward, but he had since seen what the man could do. There were plenty of cowards in the galaxy, but the mechanic they had picked up on the worthless hunk of rock called Docrem2 was not one of them.
‘The Marfanti will get what they’re due in time,’ Teer Flint said, his voice going quiet, but Paul sensed it was wishful thinking rather than anything realistic.
‘Raise yourself an army and I’ll pilot with your first wave,’ he said.
‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ Teer Flint said, grinning. ‘Let’s survive this place first. Look. I think we’ve found the core.’
A crimson glow came from up ahead. Since leaving the Matilda they had cruised slowly along the flight path Harlan5 had uploaded into the shuttle, watching the innards of the great alien spacecraft drift past around them. Immense finlike curves and angles surrounded them, a design which looked more organic than synthetic. Paul had heard the story but never really believed he would ever find himself in the belly of an Old Earth whale, but this was how he imagined it might look like. At one point they had passed through some kind of barrier and now flew through what the shuttle’s sensors claimed was a synthetic atmosphere. With levels of carbon dioxide, oxygen and methane constantly shifting, the orbiter’s internal mechanisms seemed to be trying to identify the shuttle’s life-forms and adjust itself accordingly. Atmospheric friction around the shuttle increased as the air thickened, the sensors recording temperatures and gravity levels they could stand without spacesuits.
‘It’s like it’s welcoming us,’ Teer Flint said, running a finger down a line of readings on the screen. ‘This orbiter is allowing us access.’
‘The question is why,’ Paul said, slowing the shuttle even more. Up ahead, the glow was coming from a central column that rose up through the orbiter’s center. Around it was a vast tube, thousands of entrances leading off.
‘Like a beehive,’ Paul said.
‘A what?’
‘Bees. They live in communities and all work together. It’s like a damn hive.’
‘But the bees left,’ Teer Flint said.
Paul was silent for a moment. They had seen nowhere that appeared to be any kind of control station. As they flew into the central core and circled a couple of times around the massive glowing cylinder, he could only feel that the thing was organic, like it had grown this way. He was still staring at it, wondering what he ought to do, when the intercom buzzed, nearly making him jump out of his seat.
‘This is Beth,’ came a welcome voice. ‘Do you copy? Are you all right?’
‘We’re good,’ Paul said. ‘Just scoping out the dems of this mother.’
‘The what?’
Paul rolled his eyes at Teer Flint, then mouthed, ‘Women.’ Leaning forward, he said into the intercom, ‘The dimensions. Just seeing what we’ve got on our hands.’
‘Well, hurry up. We need you back here.’
‘Sure thing,’ Paul said. ‘We’ll be back in touch when we’ve found something out.’
‘Paul—’
He switched off the intercom, then grinned at Teer Flint. ‘Did you hear that? I know she said we, but she probably meant “I”. What do you think?’
Teer Flint pointed at a platform stretching out across the vast tunnel to end at the central core. ‘I think we should land over there and take a look. That’s the first thing we’ve seen that doesn’t look like the rest.’
‘You’re the man with the plan,’ Paul said, clicking his fingers. ‘Let’s do this.’
He brought the shuttle down on a flat area just inside one of the tunnels. Beside him, Teer Flint practically jumped out of his seat.
‘Steady there, eager beaver,’ Paul said. ‘What’s with you?’
‘Look over there,’ Teer Flint said, his voice electrified with excitement. ‘You see that? It looks like some kind of control panel. How many mechanics get to see something like this?’
‘I thought your race didn’t feel emotions,’ Paul said.
‘Perhaps I’ve been hanging around with your crew too long. Come on, let’s hurry. We might be able to find a way to free the Matilda.’
They checked the sensor readings of the gravity, temperatures and atmosphere outside, but went with skin-moulded lightweight spacesuits just in case. Paul marveled at the way the smart-fabric moulded around Teer Flint’s six remaining legs, although it took a frustratingly long time before the mechanic was settled and comfortable.
‘Damn, you’re like a woman getting dressed,’ he said with a smirk.
‘I’ll be sure to let Beth know your opinion next time she offers to do a spacewalk,’ Teer Flint said. ‘Come on. Let’s see what we’ve got here.’
They opened the shuttle doors and headed outside. Even with a heavily tinted visor, the glow from the central core was so bright Paul cou
ldn’t look directly at it. Peering over the edge at the tunnel chasm that dropped down as far as he could see, it felt like he was looking into the core of a star. The column, what he had at first thought was a tube made of some kind of metal, now looked organic, like a massive, flexing human vein.
‘Over here,’ came Teer Flint’s voice in his ear microphone. Paul turned away from the chasm and found the mechanic standing by a wall a little deeper into the tunnel. Rising several times the height of a man, it resembled the kind of climbing wall he had enjoyed excelling at during physical training in the space academy. All cracks, nodules and ledges, he flexed his shoulders at the thought of getting a little exercise. It had been a while since he had given his arms a proper workout.
‘I think it’s some kind of control panel,’ Teer Flint said. ‘But I’m not sure how it works. I can’t even tell whether it’s switched on or not.’
Paul grinned. Teer had no idea. This was clearly where these ancient aliens had got their exercise of a morning. Behind them, back through the tunnel, a platform stretched out across the chasm. No doubt it had been used for shuttle runs, or perhaps even pull-ups for the really brave. There was nothing like the fear of impending death to urge someone into another set of reps.
Teer Flint was peering into some of foothole as though waiting for nirvana. ‘If only we could figure out how to switch it on,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could initiate some kind of reset sequence. Something like this might be capable of self-repair, or even—’
‘Keep talking,’ Paul said, setting himself. ‘I’m listening, spider-bro.’
He kicked off, happy that the gravity was almost the same as that of Old Earth. The heavy gravity on Dynis Moon had been a killer for his back and hips. Now, he bounded forward, feeling his balance working right, his hands flexing nicely, and leapt up at the climbing wall, finding holds a metre off the ground, hauling himself up quickly, letting his arms do most of the work, using his legs only for balance. There were no harness ropes, but that didn’t matter; the suit had an automatic gravity adjuster which would check his fall. If he could have, he would have turned it off anyway; safety was for weaklings.
‘Ah, that’s better,’ he growled, taking hold of a couple of larger ledges overhead, then briefly ignoring the three-points-of-contact rule to let his legs hang free while he executed a dozen quick pull-ups. Feeling the lactic burn in his biceps and shoulders, he sighed, then grinned down at Teer Flint on the ground below.
‘What are you doing, you idiot?’
‘Come on, Flint. How about a race to the top? You’re a couple of legs down but you’ve still got four more than me.’
‘Get down from there!’
‘Hang on a minute, let me just claim this one.’
The roof was just a few handholds overhead. With a grin, Paul reached for the next one, a protruding ledge about the length of his hand. It was a little larger than the others, wide enough that he could probably use it for both feet.
It gave under his pull, lowering a little, nearly throwing him off. He hung on with one hand, but for one terrifying moment his legs dangled free above the floor far below. With a desperate lunge he found one hold, then another, just as lights began to appear around his hands.
They came from inside the wall’s surface, as though buried in the rock, but they were growing in size like luminous fish swimming to the surface of a murky pond. Paul stared as a pale orange glow appeared right in front of his face, flickering and shifting like something alive.
‘Flint! Flint! What’s going on?’
‘Don’t move!’ came a shout from somewhere below. ‘Stay right where you are. I think you just turned it on.’
All around Paul now, the wall was pulsing and shifting, the lights growing and fading, but he also felt the temperature changing under his hands: sudden bursts of heat hot enough to make him lose his grip, other times the rock turning so cold he felt his fingers freezing. Inside his space suit, the readings that came through a constant stream of information in one ear were going haywire, rushing up, plunging down. He wanted to make a jump for it, but couldn’t trust the gravity adjuster. A little lower and he would have chanced it, but the last thing he needed was a broken leg when he had a starship to command.
And then the rock itself started shifting, the hand- and footholds moving in and out, so he found himself doing a crazy kind of wall dance, leaping for new handholds as others vanished, his feet doing a ridiculous two-step that, while displaying an incredible level of skill—if he did say so himself—would look insane to anyone watching.
‘It’s like the whole wall is alive,’ came Teer Flint’s voice from below, and Paul risked a quick glance to see his companion kneeling in front of the wall like a six-legged priest at prayer.
‘I wouldn’t mind a little help up here!’ he shouted down in a rare moment when he could catch his breath. ‘I feel like a damn child’s toy.’
‘Just hold on!’ Teer Flint shouted back up.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Paul growled, as a sudden protrusion struck him in the stomach. ‘Whatever in the galaxy you are, I command you to stop!’
The wall continued to shift, then gradually began to slow down. Paul took the opportunity to climb down, jumping the last couple of metres to land untidily next to Teer Flint, still on his knees, his eyes wide as he gazed up at the wall with something like adulation. Paul looked up, and for once found himself speechless. The lights and rock had settled into a certain gentle rhythm, and he found himself looking at what he could only describe as a giant face.
‘What in Vantar’s Seven Hells is that?’ he whispered to Teer Flint.
Teer Flint was breathing so hard he was practically hyperventilating. He took a few deep breaths to settle himself before he could speak clearly enough for Paul to understand.
‘I think it’s one of the builders,’ he said at last, his voice full of awe. ‘They were here the whole time.’
27
Caladan
‘Do you have a name?’ Caladan asked, frustrated by the droid sitting in the corner of his cell, so still he barely remembered it was there, like an imaginary friend who refused to cooperate.
‘I am not permitted to say.’
Caladan sighed. ‘Or a serial number? Some form of identification?’
‘I am not permitted to say.’
‘If my arm wasn’t chained to the wall and I could find something to throw, be assured it would be heading in your direction. Unfortunately, I don’t. So come on, at least give me something to work with. Where were you manufactured?’
‘Dundtak Industries. Model number 94-7D.
Caladan nodded. ‘We’re getting somewhere. While I’m pretty sure one of those freaks is sitting in a cubicle somewhere upstairs telling you want to say, I appreciate that we’re at least on first name terms. From now on I’ll just call you Dundtak.’
‘You may refer to me however you wish.’
‘Can you tell me when I will either die or be released?’
‘I am not permitted to say.’
‘Do you even know?’
‘I am not permitted to say.’
‘Will those stretchy, bug-covered freaks torment me again tonight?’
‘I am not permitted to say.’
Caladan leaned his head back against the wall. His first night as a prisoner of the Shadowmen was not something he would forget in a hurry. He had awoken to louder screams than usual from the other prisoners farther up the corridor, only to find himself strapped down and no longer alone in his cell. Three of them were in there with him, nightmarish, elongated creatures, completely naked and buzzing with the crawling bugs he often saw clambering over their bodies. They had proceeded to leer at him, grinning their dark moon smiles, then to laugh in a way he could only describe as grating. With his heart racing, his sanity on the verge of collapse, they had then taken things further by beginning to touch him, running their freezing, tickly hands all over him in the least erotic way he could imagine, then finally to lea
n over him and proceed to bite and suck at him like rats feeding on a corpse. For a while he had thought they meant to actually consume him, but, by the time he had screamed until his throat bled, he realized it was all an act, their form of torture.
Finally he understood the screams.
In the morning they asked him if he was prepared to cooperate. He refused. Silently, they went away, and the following night they returned.
This time, the intimate, almost sensual torture went on for hours. After a couple of hours of dream-plagued sleep even worse than the torture itself, he awoke to find his body stiff and aching from thrashing about, bruised in two dozen places from where he had bashed himself against the cell wall.
This time when they came, he offered to tell them everything they wanted.
He was so exhausted he couldn’t walk, so they chained his feet and had the droid drag him.
‘Are you being controlled by anyone?’
‘I am not permitted to say.’
Caladan sighed. ‘Can you play music, or anything like that?’
‘I have a basic database of local music.’
‘Whose local are we talking about?’
‘My current masters. The Shadowmen.’
Against his better judgment, Caladan said, ‘Okay, let’s hear a verse or two.’
He could stand only a couple of seconds of the hideous grating wail that Dundtak played that he screamed at the droid to switch it off. He leaned back against the wall, the dirty prison uniform they had given him soaked with sweat.
‘Can you tell me about your previous masters, or are you not permitted to say?’
‘It is not classified information. I was recommissioned.’
‘Do you remember your previous command?’
‘Yes. For a time I was stationed on the Trillian battle cruiser Tintaran, stationed in orbit around Feint.’
‘I imagine that didn’t go well.’
‘The Tintaran was captured and recommissioned.’
‘Its crew slaughtered?’
