by A. R. Knight
Sax doesn’t bother restarting the conversation, because it’s too late. The view outside is entirely swirling yellows now, and the Mobius is already rattling in its descent. Plake wouldn’t change course this deep. After they land, Sax and Bas will have to find another way off-world, back to where they need to be.
Entering Rathfall’s atmosphere is a visual treat, once Sax decides the Mobius is well-built enough to handle the turbulence. The planet is the product of hyper-pollinating plants and the giant, mindless insects that swarm from each flower to the next, scattering so much of the pollen that the planet’s covered in the stuff. Ordinarily, the shading of starlight would have resulted in a super-cooled atmosphere, but the plants dealt with their own problem, burrowing deep into Rathfall’s soil and rock to release heat from the planet’s core.
The plant’s practice was quickly co-opted and refined by those who found Rathfall’s natural cover a perfect opportunity for businesses the Amigga didn’t want in the open. With guidance, the plants now keep Rathfall’s temperature equalized, and with that balance, trade flourishes.
Outside, the pollen scatters and bursts as the Mobius plows through pockets. Some sticks to the windshield for a second, exploding out against the pressure in grainy-yellow patterns. Flames appear as the ship hits the harder parts of the atmosphere, flicking in whites and blues along the edges of the glass. Sax thinks he can make out larger shadows flitting in the distance - the bugs about their work.
When they get beneath the upper pollen cloud, into the pocket of pressure that splits Rathfall’s canopy with its floor, it’s as if the Mobius is suspended for a moment in between worlds. Sax can see clear to the left and the right, with the windy tendrils of pollen above and the roiling, thicker mass of it below.
Plake pulls the Mobius out of its dive and settles into a streak across the surface, heading towards, Sax has no doubt, one of the Spires.
“What will you do?” Bas asks now that the rough-and-tumble part of the entry is over. “Leave us and run?”
“You promised me a way to get back at the Amigga,” Plake doesn’t hesitate before replying. “We’re seeing it through. I want those ugly things knocked down as much as you do.”
“So you trust us.”
“I trust what I can see,” Plake replies. “The Vincere want you dead, which means there must be a reason. You two aren’t smart enough to be thieves, so my guess is that you’re a threat.”
“We are always a threat,” Sax says.
“Yeah, yeah,” Plake sticks up one feathered arm, waves away Sax’s words without looking at him. “I get it. The posturing. Oratus always have to be the deadliest ones in the room.”
“Even when they’re not,” Agra-Red says from the back.
On the edge of the horizon, a dark pole appears, jutting up from the clouds beneath and its wide, flat top stopping well below the upper canopy.
Sax pushes away tempting thoughts of carving Agra-Red to fine, jelly bits and instead focuses on Plake.
“So you will not take us to the Chorus, even to hurt the Amigga?” Sax asks.
“Prove to me that’s what we need to do and I’ll think about it,” Plake replies. “As it is, we’re low on cash and I’ve still got all these supplies. You failed hard in that respect, Sax.”
“Not our fault,” Bas replies.
“Guess who doesn’t care.” Plake ruffles her feathers, then her long tongue wicks out of her mouth and brushes a few of them that didn’t fall back into place. “Here’s the plan. We’ll dig around on Astre’s Spire for a bit, see if we can’t find out something on your missing commander. Agra-Red’ll sell the supplies and the Engee can make sure this ship isn’t going to fall apart after the hits we took getting away from Scrapper Station.”
“We’re not much good at digging,” Sax says. “It’s not, as you say, what Oratus are for.”
“Oh, I know,” Plake replies. “That’s why you’ll be staying on board. Guard the ship, so that when Coorvin and I figure out where to go, it’ll still be around.”
“Guard it from what?”
Scrapper Station was lawless enough. How all these places continue to exist on their own, without the Vincere enforcing basic rules, makes no sense to Sax. Then again, if guarding the ship means he can spend the time threatening smaller, more pathetic species, he’ll at least be entertained.
“How should I know?” Plake presses a hand on the terminal to her right and, immediately, the windshield covers the visible area around the growing Spire with diagrams, statistics, and news. “Read up, everyone, because in ten more minutes, this is going to be our new home.”
Landing in Astre’s Spire means doing some light dodging around the mess of cargo drones coming and going, ferrying raw materials to much larger ships that would break apart if they attempted to enter the atmosphere. Plake doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned as she weaves around the blocks and their big engines, and she settles the Mobius in with a half-dozen other passenger craft. Almost immediately after, the captain and her crew disembark, leaving Sax and Bas alone with Engee, the Teven who prefers her endless experiments and her lab to interacting with the two Oratus.
At first, it’s annoying being left behind. Sax burns to move, to get going after being stuck for so long. After an hour of watching ships come and go, and waving off the occasional robot asking if they have cargo to sell, Sax finds himself settling in, finds himself falling into a long conversation with Bas as the two of them stand at the base of the Mobius’ entrance ramp. It’s the first time in a long time they’ve been able to just be with each other for hours, and the time begins to whirl by as they walk back their memories.
Yet even when Rathfall goes through its deep night, with Astre’s Spire lighting itself up in a bright blue glow to be more visible against the yellow murk, there’s no sign of Plake, no sign of Agra-Red or Silver and Black, the two Flaum that vanished with them.
“Do we go after them?” Sax asks as Rathfall edges towards daylight, and their own exhaustion weighs heavy on their eyes. He’s sad to ask the question, as it signals an end to what they’ve had, a return to the harsher realities of now.
“Plake said it might take a while,” Bas replies. “And this is a large Spire. There’s been no word of a fight, a kidnapping or anyone trying to take a ship who’s captain has met a sudden end. Another day, then we look.”
They wait one more round of shifts, another night under the halo lights in the bay as Rathfall’s skies grow dark. In the morning, though, there’s a sense that’s something’s definitely not right. Not a soul’s returned to the ship, and nobody’s tried to lower the ramp or yell for help.
“Doesn’t make sense for them to pay for rooms in the Spire,” Bas says what Sax is thinking. “Not when their quarters are here.”
“But for all of them to vanish at once?” Sax replies. “That would mean a concerted effort. Who would care that much about a few worthless transporters?”
Bas punches the button to lower the Mobius’ ramp. “It may not be Plake and her crew that are the target.”
The two Oratus descend the ramp, claws out and ready, miners attached to tight holsters meant for smaller bodies. Sax wishes they had functioning masks, but such things are hard to come by without a Vincere operation behind you. As it is, they’ll have to rely on their scales and a faster draw than anyone after them.
Outside, Astre’s Spire continues apace. Ships come and go and various species mill back and forth through the docking bay. Nobody spares the Mobius a suspicious glance.
“Maybe they’re all on a sudden vacation? Celebrating a successful sale somewhere?” Bas wonders after no threat presents itself. “Too much to take, and they decided to stay in the Spire?”
“Can you imagine Coorvin doing that?”
The Flaum, who’d spent a very long time in crippling service to an Amigga, was both old and careful, not one to take his consciousness and throw it in a trash bin for kicks. Even if Plake and Agra-Red wanted to blur out their stres
s for a night, Coorvin would have brought them back safe.
There’s a scrambling noise behind them, and both Oratus whip around, claws at the ready.
“Whoa, hey!” Engee, the short Teven, stands at the top of the ramp.
Her carapace is covered in small hooks, from which hang a cascade of tools and devices. Engee herself pokes her eyes out of a couple of holes near the top, while her padded feet emerge at the bottom. Apparently she’s nervous, as her arms stay protected inside the shell.
“Want to say that there was a message waiting for us this morning. Sounds pretty strange! You want to hear it?” Engee practically hops as she finishes the sentence. “Vocal signatures don’t match the records either, so it’s a new species or someone wants to keep themselves a secret!”
Sax glances at Bas, then they both clomp back up the ramp, shutting it behind them - no reason to give stowaways or thieves easy access - and they head to the cockpit. There, blinking on a large terminal, is the yellow indicator saying something’s waiting for them.
“Engee,” the message starts, and it’s a synthesized voice, mechanical and distorted. “It is unfortunate that you did not come into the Spire. I know you still have what I need, and you will give it to me. I’ve waited long enough. Come to the Wildfire, and make good on your promise, or you will never leave this place.”
The two Oratus look at the Teven. “That was the most straightforward and dull threat I’ve ever heard,” Bas finally says. “Who are they and what do they want?”
“I don’t know!” Engee pips. “I’m as confused as you are! I don’t know anyone who would threaten me!”
Sax blinks. “Then what could they be talking about?”
Engee’s arms pop out and wrangle themselves together. “I don’t know, Sax. Maybe they want something on the ship? Something I have?”
Sax glances at the message. Plays it again. Listens hard for inflection, for background noise and gets none. Whomever left it is taking care not to give themselves away.
“It’s probably a trap,” Sax says. “If they know where you are, and that you have what they want, then they would come here and get it.”
“The Mobius does have some defenses,” Bas replies. “Perhaps they’re afraid.”
“Regardless, they gave us a choice,” Sax hisses. “Either we answer, and go to this place, or we stay here and wait for them to act on their threat.”
“Engee, the voice spoke to you. It’s your choice,” Bas says.
The Teven doesn’t look like she wants to decide. She scampers a bit back and forth around the cockpit, then stops. Turns towards them.
“I’ll go. But someone should stay and watch the ship, in case this is a trick to get us away.”
“You watched the ship on Cobalt,” Sax says to Bas. “I’ll take guard duty here.”
Bas touches Sax’s tail with her own in thanks. Neither of them wants to stay here, and they both know it.
“Perfect. Bas and I!” Engee announces. “Before we leave, though, we should probably get some gear. I’m not going to be caught unprepared like on Scrapper!”
Back on that station, the Teven had found herself accosted and unequipped with any defenses. Sax had stepped in, but before he’d needed to use his claws, Agra-Red had annihilated one thug with a hard blast from the Whelk’s miner. Unnecessary, messy, and something Sax had quite enjoyed.
Wearing masks, which coat Sax’s skin like light cloth, is second-nature. Wearing what Engee gives him, which amounts to a vest with four holes cut for his arms, feels heavy and strange. The vest itself is made from woven chrysalis fibers, a not-very-rare insect product from Dellis, and it’s a silver-blue color that would be beautiful were it not marred by a thousand little gadgets.
Sax may be exaggerating, but that’s what he thinks when he looks down at it. Each node dotting the vest ties to a specific sensor, linked by pinprick needles to Sax’s nerves, and each of those sensors tie into the Mobius. Engee describes the vest as a connection to the ship itself - if Sax is frightened, or nervous, then the ship will engage various defenses and use Sax’s own mind to target threats. To eliminate them.
The problem, as Sax sees it, is that he doesn’t get nervous. He doesn’t get afraid.
Bas laughs at this. “You might not say it, my pair, but you feel it. We all do.”
Sax doesn’t dignify that with a reply, and after a quick touch of tails and claws, the Teven and Bas depart for the Spire, leaving Sax alone with the Mobius.
This begins an even more boring exercise of watching ships come and go. Sax replays Engee’s message a few times and hears nothing new. Then resorts his attention to scanning the news, hunting for signs of Evva. There’s word of major Sevora military moves, but they’re not heading towards the Chorus or any known world, so the Vincere aren’t trying to stop them.
A Flaum on an old space station accidentally triggered self-destruction protocols and prompted an evacuation. A poison gas leak on a ship required an emergency landing. The Amigga are introducing a new version of the Fassoth, said to be more dependable and less aggressive.
All standard stories. All boring.
This is not the life Sax wants for himself. He ought to be on the front lines, in perpetual fights and dealing death with his claws. Or, failing that, somewhere like Nova, enjoying beauty with Bas. Not here in this dull cockpit, watching the little freighters play out endless monotony.
Sleep doesn’t announce itself, but when Sax is leaning back in crash netting with nothing happening, when the boarding ramp’s closed and the alarms are set, there’s not a lot of reason to stay awake, so Sax drifts away staring at Rathfall’s yellow sky.
And wakes up later to another blink from the message terminal. Outside things are deep dark. He’s slept too long, then remembers the only thing he’s doing is waiting. He reaches out a claw, presses the button for the message, expecting some sort of status update from Bas.
The filtered voice comes on again.
“Engee, you missed our meeting. I’m not playing games anymore. Not again. This ends tonight.”
The message cuts there, leaving Sax looking at the blank terminal. Not again? Missed our meeting? If Bas and Engee didn’t even make it to the Wildfire, then what’s going on?
Sax jerks himself up from the netting, retracts it into the ceiling, when the Mobius bursts into harsh noise. Alarm lights in the ceiling flash orange, and the terminals in front of Sax swap into camera feeds from around the ship.
Looking at the gray-scale images, Sax expects certain types of intruders. The common species for break-ins and threats. He doesn’t expect this.
Scattered around the ship are cargo robots, ones with sleds attached to help with the moving of large goods. Their magnetic coating lets them hover above the surface, and now they’re sitting outside the Mobius like metal ghosts, silently ringing the ship.
The intercom next to Sax crackles to life, bringing the same filtered voice into the cockpit.
“Engee, are you inside? I hope so, for the sake of your ship, for the sake of your own life,” the filtered voice announces, and instead of anger, Sax hears sadness, frustration. “I’ve sent some robots to gather what you owe me, and I expect you to deliver it. Or I will have the Spire’s own guards take it by force. You have thirty seconds to respond.”
What would Engee possibly have that would require a dozen cargo robots to move? Sax doesn’t recall seeing anything of that size here. He wouldn’t mind a fight, but starting a struggle against a force of Spire guards, who might decide to just blow the Mobius apart from afar, doesn’t seem like a great idea.
So Sax hits the button to reply.
“Engee isn’t here. She went to meet you at the Wildfire. I’m only watching the ship, and don’t know what you are looking for.”
Straightforward. Peaceful. Bas would be proud.
There’s a moment’s wait before the intercom crackles again.
“No games, whoever you are. I know the Teven landed with this ship, and I know
she never appeared at the Wildfire. So I will take what’s mine. What’s owed to me.”
“What is it then?” Sax tries. “I don’t even know what you’re looking for.”
“Engee promised me a dozen crates of Ceres Crystals. They must be on your ship somewhere. Find them. Now.”
Ceres Crystals? Sax hasn’t ever heard of those before, but then, the Oratus don’t need to be versed in commodities without military application. If the Vincere doesn’t need it, Sax doesn’t need to know about it.
Until, of course, he does.
3 The Ghost
The escape mod settles on its side and Viera, at a sign from T’Oli, presses against the handle and twists it open with a screeching thunk. The door swings out, and I breathe the air of my home for the first time in what feels like forever.
And it’s terrible. It feels, tastes like I’m breathing in rocks and wood chips. The air scratches at my throat, makes me cough before I’ve even stepped out. My eyes water as they burn, and when I look at Viera to see if she’s experiencing the same thing, her eyes are blood red, her nose is running, and she looks like she’s about to throw up.
Even T’Oli, normally a creamy white, has splotches all over its skin. Yellow and blue-black spots spatter across its form. The Ooblot’s eyestalks shrink down and nearly close.
“This is quite the hostile environment,” T’Oli says, before scurrying back into the escape mod.
“This isn’t our home,” I manage. “At least, not what it should be.”
I’m trying to cover my face with my hands, and I hold cloth up to my mouth and wish I still had the mask. After the fight escaping Vimelia, our masks were fractured and broken, and we left them on the shuttle. As it is, I stumble back against the escape mod, try to stuff my face into my loose, makeshift robes, and know that we’ll never survive any kind of journey in this air.
“Here,” T’Oli announces, coming back out of the mod. “There’s filters in the mod. They’re adaptable.”
