Fire Storm

by Chris Ward

  17

  Caladan

  The rust bucket optimistically referred to as flight-worthy was an old scientific research vessel from the Second Expansion. While a handful of the Luminosi, including Solwig and his daughter Lorena, could speak the common language, none of them had learned to read it.

  The Thatcher-9 Deep Space Observatory flying out of a long-forgotten Old-Earth colony called Britain had crash-landed here some twenty thousand Earth-years ago. Half of its crew, kept in suspended animation, had died without ever waking up, but the others had survived for some years according to the ship’s log, which had continued until the power had eventually died.

  It was hard to concentrate with Luminosi workers buzzing around him, but as Caladan scanned the increasingly infrequent and brief updates—a symptom of the ship’s failing power—he was able to piece together some of the mystery.

  With over two hundred scientists on board, and with a ship packed full of the period’s best scientific equipment, they had begun to fill their time in the only way they knew—by experimenting on anything they could find.

  Several creatures were mentioned in the log, giant things Caladan was glad not to have seen, tiny things burrowing through the soil, slithering things in the swamps. Eventually he came to a mention of the birds, which were known by the Luminosi as harpies, a name Caladan was sure must have come from a rather imaginative member of the Thatcher’s crew. Several specimens had been captured and bred in captivity, genetically engineered over multiple generations into the two-headed monstrosities that had almost eaten him. Bored, and possibly slightly crazy, there was mention of the frustration at the failure to develop a third functioning head on numerous specimens. Caladan felt a little tingle of horror when he came to a brief video clip of something terrifying struggling out of a jumble of egg shell.

  Throughout, though, he found no mention of the Luminosi, and it took until nearly the end of the log to figure out why.

  These humanoid creatures that appeared almost transparent but could pulse different colours to reflect their emotions were the direct descendants of the Thatcher’s crew—not an off-worlder community as he had originally thought, but a human subspecies developed by a group of bored humans experimenting on themselves.

  ‘God who Points the Way, have you developed a plan of attack yet?’

  Solwig stood beside him, holding a box of supplies taken from the crashed Interceptor.

  Caladan smiled. ‘Soon, my friend. Soon.’

  Solwig returned the smile and headed off into the bowels of the ship, humming to himself. Caladan let out a sigh. In truth, he had no idea if the Thatcher would even fly despite Lorena’s claims, but at least he knew what was going on.

  As the radio equipment on the Thatcher failed, the fourth generation of survivors moved the ship to its current location—presumably by using ropes and rollers; the log didn’t specify—then took what was left of their cutting weapons and carved the great man-shape into the cliff. It was a symbol to show anyone in the air that there were humans here, a distress signal which, dozens of generations later, had attracted Rue-Tik-Tan slavers building a base on the adjacent moon, and like a giant ugly child receiving a birthday gift early, had gratefully and meticulously farmed the population to fill their mines and factories.

  The Thatcher’s power had long faded by the time one arm on the giant carving had eroded away, and what had once been fact had faded into myth, and then into folklore.

  And now he was here, the one-armed bandit, ready to save an entire race from oppression.

  Caladan banged his head on the desktop. It was just a shame these scientists hadn’t left any weapons behind.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. Lorena stood behind him, naked, pulsing an alluring shade of purple. ‘God … Caladan, I mean … how does your research go?’

  She began to massage his stump, as though it were the source of all his power. He felt a little guilty for enjoying it, but it made a change to be adored rather than reviled. If it wasn’t for the relentless itchy feet since he had arrived—both from a need to get back into the sky and something carried in the soil—he could have considered staying a while.

  ‘Getting there,’ he said. ‘I still need more. Have your people finished drawing the map yet?’

  Lorena nodded. ‘It is nearly finished. God—Caladan—you look tired. It would please me to help relax your aching bones a while.’

  Lianetta had come from a background of purity and morality, working for the Galactic Military Police and raising a family, until necessity had turned her into the deviant he had flown with over the last few Earth-years. Caladan, however, would swear to having been born with a pack of cards in one hand and a bottle of Earth-whisky in the other, with a blaster tucked between his legs and a harem of easy women on speed dial. Saving an entire race from oppression was tough work. It was only right that he took the odd break. The Luminosi were not done loading the Thatcher yet at any rate.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But just for a few minutes. I have important God-work to do.’

  ‘This way,’ Lorena said, smiling.

  She led him through the ship into a former storage room refitted as a relaxation chamber. Soft woven mats lay on the floor, while the scent of incense filled the air. Caladan watched Lorena as she closed the door, aware that she was still naked, and he wished he was, too. As the lock clicked, he could barely get his clothes off quickly enough.

  ‘Help me with this,’ he said, struggling, as he often did, to get his shirt off with one hand. It had got caught on his stump again, and he found himself in an awkward tangle, the allure of the situation flustering his senses and control.

  ‘Certainly, God,’ Lorena said, not bothering to correct herself this time. ‘Now, please lie down on the floor.’

  Caladan did so, aware certain protrusions from his lower body left no doubt as to how he felt, but Lorena shook her head.

  ‘On your front,’ he said. ‘The main working muscles are on a man’s back.’

  Caladan grimaced and rolled over. No sooner than he had done so, he felt Lorena balancing on his back. She shifted, making his breath shorten. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but if he had a choice, he would prefer a different option.

  She had walked halfway up his back in little steps when a blinding pain shot up over his shoulders. It felt like needles of electricity jabbing his skin, but whereas with an electric shock his reflexes would have pulled him away, now he had no choice but to endure it.

  As a bolt of white lightning raced up his spine, Caladan screamed and rolled. Lorena tripped, but instead of falling away from him, she landed on top of his chest, her light but highly electrified body pressed close.

  ‘Off me!’ he roared, pushing her aside far more roughly than he would have otherwise liked, the touch of her skin making his fingers twitch like fairies sewed to the stumps of his knuckles.

  Only as she sat up beside him did the pain melt away. Caladan was left gasping, soaked with sweat, his arousal shrunk to nothing—perhaps to never rise again, he wondered darkly—while Lorena stared at him, eyes filled with horror, her body pulsing red and orange.

  ‘What … happened there?’ Caladan gasped, his tongue feeling like an alien slug in his mouth.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Lorena said. ‘I forgot you’re not like us. Father warned me not to touch you, but I thought you were all powerful.’

  ‘Well, I guess it depends on what the criteria are,’ Caladan said, pulling his clothes back on. ‘I think I should get back to work.’

  ‘God—Caladan—wait!’

  With the tingle of electricity still making his skin feel as though it had done a few turns over a fire pit, Caladan stumbled back to the Thatcher’s bridge, limping as the nerves in one leg continued to twitch.

  A few minutes later, Solwig joined him.

  ‘My daughter told me what happened,’ the Luminosi’s leader said, making Caladan wince and hope the girl had held a few things back. ‘She is worried that she upset you, th
at you might decide not to help us after all.’

  Caladan lifted his hand, but remembered just in time not to pat Solwig on the shoulder. He was sure he was safe while the Luminosi was at his usual translucent state, but just in case. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It just came as a bit of a shock, that’s all. Actually, a lot of a shock, but I’ve had worse. There was this time I got caught sleeving aces in a gambling pit on Bryant … but I guess we’ll save that story for the return journey.’

  Solwig smiled, then lifted something onto the terminal. ‘We have finished this. I hope it helps you. Along with the few others who have escaped, we have drawn up this map of the slaver’s base.’

  ‘Let’s take a look.’

  The Luminosi had tried to use paper from the Thatcher’s hold to draw their map, but it had proved too brittle. Instead, they had used the hide of some large reptile caught in the swamp. So fresh that it still smelt of death, Caladan was glad that Lorena’s electrical charge had shocked him so much his nose had started to run.

  The Luminosi, capable of preventing a millennia-old spacecraft from rusting to nothing, had nevertheless never taken the time to learn to draw. The map was crude and barely legible, the kind of thing a child might make with a couple of melted candles, blindfolded, standing on one leg.

  ‘Just so I don’t make any mistakes, explain this thing to me,’ Caladan said.

  ‘These here are factories,’ Solwig said. ‘On the far side—here—these are mine tunnel entrances. Over here are testing and launching bays. Ship hangars. Here—dormitories. The base is surrounded by hills on three sides, nestling against the ocean on the fourth—northern—side.’

  Caladan nodded. ‘How big is it?’

  ‘Ten Earth-miles across.’

  ‘And they’re building starships?’

  ‘That’s right. When they finish one, they launch it. There are never more than a handful in production at any one time, which means the base won’t have much defense against our aerial assault.’

  Caladan rolled his eyes. ‘Our aerial assault consists of one damaged ship. They won’t need it.’

  ‘We have faith,’ Solwig said.

  ‘Well, that should solve everything. What’s this?’

  ‘Fuel stores. Every few Earth-months a ship arrives from deeper in the system, from one of the fire planets. They bring trioxyglobin, which they unload.’

  Caladan nodded. ‘That’s something to work with. And this, the black line, what is it?’

  ‘A river. The water supply.’

  ‘How many people are down there? At a rough guess?’

  ‘Twenty thousand Luminosi. Maybe more. Many were born there. They know no other life. And at least a thousand guards.’

  ‘You’ve never thought to stand up to them?’

  ‘The guards are heavily armed, and know what we can do. They don’t flee from a little colour like the harpies do.’ The Luminosi leader’s fist clenched, pulsing a bright red. ‘But we have been preparing for your coming. We’ve been building an army.’

  Caladan lifted an eyebrow. ‘Have you now?’

  ‘Come. I will show you.’

  Caladan followed Solwig out of the ship and back into the forest. He glared up at the forest canopy as they walked, resenting every last leaf. There was no better place to be than inside a warm starship with carefully controlled heating, automated baths, and preferably a dispenser machine filled with all manner of delicious poisons. What he wouldn’t do for a little—

  He stopped, rubbing a spot beside his eye, frowning.

  ‘What is it?’ Solwig said, turning back. ‘Do you need to rest?’

  ‘Solwig, what do your people do for entertainment?’

  Solwig smiled. ‘We dance. We tell stories of the God who Points the Way.’

  ‘Nice. Don’t you drink?’

  ‘Only water. Distilled, of course. The swamps contain all manner of poisons.’

  Caladan nodded. ‘I might have an idea,’ he said. ‘Come on. Where’s this army of yours?’

  Solwig beamed with pride. ‘This way.’

  They climbed up a steep ridge, emerging on a ledge that overlooked the great gorge that split the moon’s surface. Caladan glared warily at the skies again, waiting for the terrifying flap of giant wings. His fingers closed over the trigger of the blaster he had found in the Interceptor’s stores.

  ‘Aren’t we a little far out of camp?’

  Solwig shook his head. ‘We let them stay out in their natural habitat. It’s easier that way. The slavers suspect nothing.’

  ‘What are you talking about? You let who stay out in their natural habitat? I thought we were going to view an army…?’

  Solwig put two fingers into his mouth and let out a low whistle. For a moment there was silence, then a great cacophony rose up from the cliffs around them, and movement filled the air.

  ‘Okay, I’m done with this.’

  Caladan turned to flee, but Solwig reached for his arm. ‘God, wait!’ the Luminosi shouted. ‘These ones are ours.’

  Caladan, his guts turning inside out at the sight of them, forced himself to look back. At least two hundred of the monstrous two-headed harpies hung in the air in front of them, like a flock of flying devils. Solwig, his arms aloft and pulsing a warm green, had a grin on his face as wide as the moon’s cleft.

  ‘You’ve got to be having a laugh,’ Caladan said. ‘Those things are tame?’

  ‘Not all,’ Solwig said. ‘We take the eggs and raise them, then set them free. This flock are our family, our children. When the time is right, they will fight for us.’

  ‘This is it? This is your army?’

  Solwig laughed. ‘Yes, God who Points the Way. With the harpies at your back, how could we possibly lose?’

  18

  Lia

  ‘Cover me, Stomlard. Harlan, just stay still. Hopefully they won’t notice you.’

  ‘My programming says I should feel offended by that—’

  ‘Shh!’

  The hatch lowered. Lia took a few steps forward, the blaster held against her shoulder. No enemy in sight, but that meant nothing. There could be automated weapons trained on them. The official Intergalactic Code of Communications said no free space station could refuse the landing of a ship offering peace, but her own crew had broken that code on multiple occasions. Caladan had always maintained that rules were only made in order to be broken.

  An automated system had authorised their landing request, a docking code matching their offered landing code which had allowed the hangar doors to open and let them into a wide landing bay. They were yet to receive a true response, human or otherwise, from the lighthouse bridge, but all Lia hoped for was enough time to find the tracker Kyle Jansen’s men had hidden on the Matilda and finish the repairs they had begun in Tantol.

  She tentatively peered out, then hurried down to the hangar floor and took up a defensive position beside one of the Matilda’s claw-shaped landing feet. From the shadow of her ship, she looked out across a wide, empty hangar. Lights and breathable air told her the lighthouse’s systems were operating, but there were few other clues as to what had happened out here in deep space to cut off the lighthouse’s transmissions.

  Where was the crew? Why had no one contacted them or come to escort them off the ship?

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said, waving to the others. ‘On second thoughts, Harlan, you stay with the ship. See if you can connect with the lighthouse and find out what’s going on.’

  ‘In my current form that’s impossible—’

  ‘Try anyway. It’ll keep you busy. Come on, Stomlard.’

  Harlan5 lifted an arm. ‘May I point out that you are paying Stomlard to work on the ship, not defend you in battle.’

  ‘Do you see any battle? I need him to carry whatever loot we find. Now hurry up.’

  As they headed out across the hangar floor, Stomlard grinned. ‘I can see where your reputation came from.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘All of them.’
r />   Lia sighed. ‘You just can’t get the droids these days. And when you do, they spend the whole time arguing with you. Now, in your opinion, what do you think is going on here?’

  ‘The crew has abandoned the lighthouse, perhaps headed to a nearby planet. I couldn’t tell you why.’

  ‘Even with their transmissions scrambled or blocked, they would be able to live for years on their supplies. Why leave?’

  Stomlard shrugged. ‘These lighthouses typically have a crew of less than a couple of dozen. Everything is automated. It’s possible there weren’t many people here in the first place.’

  ‘There would have been some, though. They wouldn’t have let a strange ship dock without at least requiring clearance before disembarkation.’

  They headed out of the hangar and into the lighthouse’s labyrinthine corridors. Lia kept the blaster at her shoulder for the first few minutes, but soon it felt pointless. The lighthouse, in places a trading center, in others a hotel for space travelers, was empty.

  A few levels above the hangar, they came to an information terminal for guests. Lia pressed a few buttons, watching the display with increasing alarm.

  ‘I think we need to leave,’ she said, scrolling over the information. ‘This isn’t a Trill System lighthouse at all.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  Lia read the information out to Stomlard as she scrolled. The Lighthouse 34-K Deep-Space Trading Outpost had come from the neighbouring Yool-4, the closest un-unified system to the Estron Quadrant. Governed by a different galactic body, the lighthouse had no place in the Trill System without Trill System Government authorisation, something it would have been unable to receive with its transmitters blocked.

  ‘It’s on the run,’ Stomlard said. ‘But from what?’

  ‘From a Barelaon Helix,’ a metallic voice said from behind them. Lia spun, the blaster coming up, finding no one there. She frowned, then realised the voice came from a small motorized vehicle moving toward them along the corridor. A marbled red and yellow jellified blob bulged through a metal casing framework like a deflated medicine ball caught in a wire net.