Enigma

by C. F. Bentley

  “Where’s Laudae Sissy?” he asked before he’d set his feet firmly on the deck.

  Like a good lord, he’d looked after his people first, bringing himself to safety last.

  No one came behind him except Dog. The brown mutt of extremely mixed lineage whimpered in fright as he crawled along the tracks, completely surrounded by the transparent walls.

  “It’s like swimming, Dog,” Jake whispered reassuringly. Dog had finished his herding job. But without the job to do, the vast openness around him, without visible walls bewildered the critter.

  “I haven’t seen Laudae Sissy, My Lord,” Jake called over his shoulder while coaxing Dog with gentle murmurs and beckoning gestures.

  “Discord! I directed her through first. Harmony cannot afford to lose her avatar.”

  Jake knew that one slim woman born to Worker caste parents but with all seven caste marks, who had grown into the spiritual leader and head of Temple caste, was all that held a fracturing society together.

  His heart wasn’t too sure he’d come out the other side whole and sane if he lost Sissy or any of her charges.

  “Sissy’s girls came through first, safe. Did you actually put the High Priestess into the tube? With her brother and sister?” Jake pulled Dog free and sent him to circle Sissy’s acolytes.

  “No . . . damn. I’ve got to go after her.”

  “That’s my job, My Lord. You help Ambassador Telvino organize things on this end. Here’s my override key. You can get the lift moving. You’ll have to open some light-grav quarters to accommodate everyone. You can’t get to the other wings yet by tram. Oh, and you might try calling Control to get them to override the bulkhead to the trams.”

  With that, Jake swung one leg up and climbed into the access. “And will someone please turn off that damn alarm.”

  In response, it grew louder yet.

  Jake walked gingerly along the narrow ledge above the tracks, hauling himself from one grip to the next. He dared not hurry through the transparent carbon fiber tube toward the noise and red pulsing lights several kilometers away. The central tracks at the bottom sometimes carried electricity to power the ’bots. Sometimes not. Nothing seemed to be working precisely as dictated in the instruction manual.

  The network of tubes helped stabilize the otherwise independent wings of the space station as well as giving those tardy maintenance ’bots and workers easy passage between, without detouring to the trams at the nul-grav center of the spinning station—properly called Labyrinthe VII.

  These stabilizing tubes were necessary, yet invisible from a distance.

  Locked into an orbit around a young planet just beginning to explode with bacterial life, the station’s spin exposed it to alternating sunlight and darkness, controlling the heating and cooling rate from the local sun.

  Jake grunted as his foot slipped off the ledge. A momentary jolt flashed through his boots to his spine. Yep, the tracks carried power again. He clung to the wall grip with two hands while he caught his breath. Then he gulped. Only a thin layer of transparent carbon fiber separated him from vacuum. Vast constellations spread out around him. Nothing between him and eternity.

  He froze, staring in awe and terror of the endless universe beckoning him outward. “If only I was out in a fighter, I’d know what to do with all that black.”

  Why hadn’t the interior lights come on to aid him? If he had light, he could blot out the allure of the vastness outside.

  The alarm grew louder, more insistent. Discordant. He imagined it yelling, “Pay attention to me!”

  Laudae Sissy would sing those jarring tones back into harmony. If she still lived. He had to find her.

  He counted his movements to keep from screaming. Seven paces at a time. Forty-nine, then ninety-eight, and onward.

  “Sissy, where are you? You’d better not be dead. Not after all I went through to keep you alive,” he muttered.

  At last the opening at the end of the tube grew from a pinprick in size to a thumbnail, to something he might fit through.

  The pulsing red lights disappeared behind a shadow.

  “What in the seven hells?”

  “Jake,” a tiny voice whispered.

  “Marsh?” He moved faster.

  “Thissy won’t come,” the little boy lisped. “An’ Ashel wants to stay w’ ’er. Monster too. The cats ran up to the tram afore the alarm closed ’em.”

  Great. Cats loose on the station, free to crawl into any crevice they decided was warm and safe. Without proper supervision and separation, they’d breed and overrun the place in a matter of months.

  Serve the Labyrinthe Corporation right.

  “I’m coming, Marsh. I’ll take care of your sisters.” He jumped to the deck, sparing the boy a brief hug. Then he swung him up into the tube. “Stay on the walkway, Marsh. The tracks aren’t safe. Go to Mary. Stay with her so we can find you later.” Breathing definitely shallow here. They were losing air and pressure.

  “But . . .”

  “Do it, Marsh.” He closed the tube hatch. But only for a moment before bracing it open with a series of latches on the bulkhead. The power plant would push some atmosphere and pressure from the CSS wing through the tube to this wing, replenishing some of the air that drained away in the hull breach.

  Pressurized atmosphere moving toward the vacuum of space sucked down the lift shaft. He climbed onto a staircase railing and let the wind push him, and the increasing gravity pull him, down seven levels into the heavy-grav section at the outer reaches of the wing.

  “What new disaster has found you, Sissy?”

  The klaxon kept blaring. The few working lights continued pulsing red. He felt as if he moved through heavy water in a surreal and distorted parody of an orderly and safe space station.

  When he was still Major Jake Hannigan, hotshot fighter pilot and undisciplined brawler, he preferred the known dangers of a space station to the uncounted variables dirtside. After six months on Harmony with Sissy, he’d come to appreciate solid ground under his feet and natural wind in his face.

  A shift in the wind told him to jump off at level HG 3. He paused to assess the situation. An empty level, too heavy for human occupation—as was a good third of each wing. No partitions divided this level into rooms; it was just a vast circular space broken in the middle by the lift system. A few sturdy columns stabilized floor and ceiling.

  According to the specs, the long continuous lift had been put in place during construction to facilitate the movement of equipment and materials. After completion the lifts should have been divided into three sections with a sealable bulkhead across each shaft. That last safety measure had been cut short. Something was terribly wrong here. Something that endangered all the inhabitants of the wing.

  He gasped at the sight of the bridge of a small cargo ship penetrating the hull. Almost half the length of the cigar shaped vessel protruded through the bulkhead. Two bizarre creatures, all tentacles and heads, stared deadly out of the cockpit. A small woman in purple nightdress and bare feet pounded desperately at the bio-plastic windshield with the blunt end of a fire extinguisher.

  Her seven caste marks arranged in a circle on her right cheek seemed to glow in the baleful light.

  Her younger sister, in brown coveralls and with a single brown X caste mark, beat at the other side with some kind of wrench.

  Monster, the huge, shaggy, black water dog, ran around them both, barking in rhythm with the obnoxious alarm.

  As Jake watched, Sissy gasped in what little air was left and belted out one crystal-clear note born of angelic choirs. The sweetness overrode the klaxon and brought the alarm into her harmonic circle. The clear windshield clouded over with a spider web of cracks. A second note and it splintered inward.

  A wave of water gushed outward, knocking both Sissy and Ashel off their feet.

  A wail of pain and despair burst from the interior of the ship, louder than the alarm. It came from behind the watertight partition of the bridge. It stabbed into Jake’s brai
n with psychic urgency.

  A wave of salty water rushed over Sissy’s head. Instinctively she held her breath. For a heartbeat she wished she’d made the effort to learn to swim before leaving Harmony.

  No time, no privacy then. And she would not subject herself to the embarrassment and humiliation of discarding all of her clothes in front of the Crystal Temple population for that luxury.

  Her next heartbeat reminded her that Ashel could not swim either. She flailed about in a desperate effort to reach her sister. The salty water—warmer than the freezing air—stung her eyes. But she had to keep them open, her only chance of finding the child.

  Pressure built in her chest. She desperately needed to gasp for air or cough out water. She didn’t know which. Either would kill her.

  Nothing must happen to Ashel or Marsh. She couldn’t allow it. Not after losing the rest of their family in an assassin’s massive explosion intended for her. Only she could get Ashel to safety.

  Then out of nowhere, strong hands grabbed her shoulders. She fought the restraint. But he dragged her free of the lethal ocean of water.

  “Jake,” she breathed as her head popped above the water into the rapidly thinning air. Barely enough left to fill her lungs. The atmosphere had mostly bled out into space. “I knew you’d come.”

  He grunted something and dove down into the murky depths, even as they slopped and drained away.

  “Sissy!” Ashel wailed the second she cleared the water. Monster held the little girl’s collar in his mouth as gently as if he’d retrieved a fallen bird. She sounded weak, far off, though only a few yards separated them.

  Jake surfaced right beside them. He pushed Monster’s hindquarters toward the stairs.

  “I’m here. I’m safe,” Sissy gasped. Her heart sounded overloud in her head, beating too fast, too shallow without enough air to push it.

  They had to get out of there soon.

  The sharp, piercing mind scream of a trapped passenger inside the ship reverberated through Sissy’s skull. Someone was stuck inside that small spacecraft, wailing in despair and agony. Sissy swallowed her distaste for even looking at the mangled alien pilots. Thinking only of getting to those that lived, she jumped and clasped the edge of the broken windshield.

  She had to hang there too many long moments, gathering enough strength and air to continue.

  Jake grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back to the deck. Only a few inches of water rolled against her ankles now. The movement in the pulsating and uncertain light and the lack of air sent her senses reeling. She had to cling to him to remain upright. She had to ignore the warmth and vigor of his hands on her chilling body.

  “Let me go. I’ve got to help them.”

  “Not you. I’m here now, Sissy. I’ll do it.” He clutched her close against his chest.

  His heart beat strong beneath her ear. Oh, to stay here. To linger with him, to allow him to protect her. As he always had.

  Then he pushed her away.

  A vast and icy barrier of three inches separated them.

  “Go. Take Ashel to safety. Now. Your clothes are freezing on your bodies. You are too valuable to risk.”

  “But . . .”

  “Now.”

  “No. You can’t do it alone.” She turned back to the damaged ship, seeking hand and footholds to climb. “Our strength of purpose will unite our power and compound it. Such is the work of miracles.” Her voice echoed through the thinning air.

  Did she really say that? She hadn’t thought the words before speaking.

  Hands on her waist interrupted her musing. Not Jake’s. She didn’t know this touch, this pinching grip.

  Panic made her hands clutch the protrusion on the craft tighter.

  “I will handle this. Take her to safety. Now.” A stranger’s voice. An alien accent she’d only heard once before, from the mouth of the station owner. A strange creature no taller than herself, with huge ears that could cover his entire face and larger spectacles with communications and monitors built into them.

  Same accent, different voice. This one was higher in tone, almost female, and yet it felt male.

  “Take her.” The alien lifted her free as if she weighed nothing and passed her to Jake.

  “You need help . . .”

  “No, I don’t. Believe me, I can handle this better than you. Now go. At once. Before you lose the ability to breathe. The water is draining out and freezing in the cracks. It will slow the loss of atmosphere. I hope I have time to break through the cockpit barrier to the air breather behind.”

  Jake threw Sissy over his shoulder, grabbed Ashel under his other arm, and sloshed toward the stairs. Monster ran ahead, checking for more dangers.

  Jake put Sissy down to maneuver up the narrow spiral. She glanced back at the damaged ship. A gasp of surprise, horror, and defilement escaped her throat. The alien being spread two extra arms and two extra legs from beneath the folds of his voluminous clothing. These had pincers instead of four-fingered hands. Then he scrambled up the side of the craft as if each of his eight appendages had sticky pads embedded on the ends.

  “Jake, look.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the monster. And yet he’d been so kind and gentle—like her dog Monster. So, how could he invoke horror?

  “I’ll be damned. He does exist,” Jake whispered.

  “Who? Who is he?”

  “A phantom. A ghost. A legend. Every station has one. But this one is different. The stories are too specific, too close to the observer.”

  Even as they watched, the being squeezed himself inside the broken windshield.

  Jake pushed Ashel up toward a safe exit. Then he grabbed Sissy’s hand to drag her behind him.

  She looked back one last time just before clearing the deck of the next level.

  The alien emerged from the broken ship, a long figure in white dangling from his two lower arms. A strange radiant glow from a cloud of nearly white hair, pale skin and a gleaming gown engulfed them both. Sissy couldn’t see a definite edge to the injured passenger.

  The thin air must be hindering her sight.

  Then the alien jumped into the nearest maintenance tube and disappeared.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Am I in heaven, soon to see my angel father? Or is my rescuer a demon whisking me off to hell?

  Pain fills my body. Confusion clouds my mind. There is no truth here. Only a continuation of my agony. My physical pain equals my spiritual emptiness of not knowing. I cannot succumb to the pain, I must keep searching for the one place where the rituals can be re-sanctified; where life can return to its origins.

  Mac settled the weight of the injured passenger easily into his secondary limbs. With the pincer at the end of his secondary leg he flipped a switch, cutting power to the tracks. He had to pause and close the hatch behind him. The sensitive pads on his feet located and fixed the lock without the aid of his eyes. A few of the photo-and motion-sensitive cells embedded in the walls blossomed into life.

  He had no need of the lights. Even if he did not know every passage in the station by smell or by feel. He gathered enough starlight through other sensors to find his way.

  He liked the way the humans called his station the First Contact Café better than the family name of Labyrinthe VII.

  His half brother, Number Seven, had no right, talent, or enough intelligence to run the place.

  With the hatch closed and the air safe for the being he carried, he moved forward, sedately, careful not to jostle fragile bones. The broken ones were in danger of penetrating lungs and liver.

  Such an inefficient structure these bipeds had. An exoskeleton like his own protected the body much better.

  His father’s species—responsible for his unique bone structure, his extra limbs, bulbous lower body, and his ability to survive vacuum—would have let this delicate creature die. His mother’s people would hold her for ransom. He shouldn’t have risked exposing himself to the humans to rescue her.

  But her yearning for truth c
alled to Mac from her soul to his. A being out of time and place. A being who belonged in no world and yet offered so much to every world.

  Just like him.

  He paused a moment to catch his breath and gaze at the majesty of space beyond the protective walls of the tube. His heart yearned to go out there, explore, see more of life than just this station, a smaller version of Labyrinthe Prime but built on the same design. As much as he loved the station, considered it his own, he knew there had to be more to life than his shadow existence, always hiding.

  He’d like to visit some planets to see how different they smelled from this station. He’d like to talk to other races. He’d like to find his father’s people. Would they accept him as one of their own? Or would they shun him as his mother had because he was different, neither Labyrinthian nor Arachnoid.

  Slowly, he worked his way toward a place of safety. As he progressed, he noted the places he’d deliberately left dark, making sure the blundering maintenance ’bots hadn’t fixed them. At the same time he found places showing wear, in danger of breaking down—shoddy construction finished in too much haste. They must be fixed before they endangered the station.

  His circuitous route took him through bulkheads, around living quarters, past kitchens and storage facilities, where he commandeered food and medical supplies for himself and his charge. He couldn’t take her to the central Medbay. They’d shoot him full of drugs and dissect him on the spot. As for the female? He couldn’t trust any of his brother’s employees with her. Their greedy sloth reflected the station manager’s personality. This woman was unique and special. He could tell that at first glance.

  She was also desperate and illegal. No one else would take passage in a cargo hold sealed off from the rest of the water breathers’ ship. No one else would trust the aging vessel held together with rubber bands and chewing gum.

  Keeping to tubes with full hydrogen-nitrogen-oxygen atmospheres, he approached the final obstacle in his journey: a wide expanse of deserted cargo bay. His brother had lowered the air, pressure, and heat here to save money and power. Mac had emptied it. He had no need of them for an hour at a time. The lack of amenities kept snoopy security personnel from finding his nest on the opposite side. A purloined wall partition and safety hatch made his home look like the natural curved walls of the hull.