Bloodstone

by Kathryn Hoff

  “Sounds complicated,” Kojo grumbled. “Why would Galactic go along with that?”

  “They’re getting a little something out of it.” Rachel’s eyes glinted over the rim of her mug.

  Kojo and I looked at each other, puzzled.

  Archer bounced on the couch. “The metal case!”

  Rachel beamed. “Quite right, Virgil!” Archer blushed at his first name. “Gavoran scientists are eagerly studying the metal from the Cazar temple that shields against telepathic influences. Since the other races object to any enhancement of Gavoran technological dominance, the Settlement Authority has given the metal samples from the case to Galactic and Rampart as well.”

  Archer giggled. “I predict we’ll see rich Gavs wearing metal hats by next season.”

  “So,” I said, twisting a lock of hair, “there was an expedition and a sixty-day charter, and everything happened as it did, except it was all a hoax and we never found Nakana.”

  “Right,” Rachel said. “Jamila and Lyden were taken in by the fraudulent artifact and were convinced to search for a Sage planet. The haste in putting together the expedition was because outlaws had heard the rumors and were showing interest in stealing the artifact to find the planet first. The danger of piracy explains the attachment of a Corridor Patrol officer, and the uncharted location explains the participation of the Settlement Authority. All of which has the advantage of being, in a general way, true.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kojo said. “Jamila’s not going to let people think she was fooled.”

  “As it happens, Jamila Patil has a certain history of being associated with the black market in archeological objects. She’s accepted a desk position with the Authority reviewing archeological survey reports while on probation—probation to be revoked if she becomes too talkative.”

  “So what did we find in sector 342?” Hiram asked.

  “A planet that had conditions incompatible with life and no indication of technology. There was an emergency, a crash landing, and a fire. Mya was fatally injured. The whole expedition was a disaster, one death after another, all based on fraudulent information.”

  I nodded. “That’s pretty close to truth. And Sergeant Danto?” I was suddenly trembling, remembering the seductive voices and the swarming parasites.

  Archer put a comforting arm around my shoulder. He’d been doing that a lot lately. To my surprise, I rather liked it.

  “Patch, are you all right?” Rachel asked quietly.

  “I’m fine.” I leaned into Archer’s shoulder.

  “The Gavoran clans have all been satisfied,” Rachel said. “Danto died in a heroic attempt to rescue Mya. Deprata was a suicide over a love affair. Balan died courageously defending your ship against pirates. Lyden died of natural causes. To be honest, she never should have attempted the expedition.”

  “What about the burzing Patrol searching all those ships for treasure?” Hiram asked. “Every ship in the Selkid Trading Cartel knows about that.”

  “A cultural misunderstanding between the Gavoran and Terran members of the excavation team, now resolved, with apologies to the Corridor Patrol for their trouble.”

  Tinker jumped to my lap and settled in for a tongue bath. The cat seemed fine—Rachel had wormed her for any lingering parasites and had spayed her for good measure. No more yowling in the middle of the night.

  “Don’t you think anyone else will go looking for Nakana?” Kojo asked.

  Rachel looked sternly at Kojo. “If they do, the Authority will have an excellent idea who told them where to look.”

  “Hell, I can keep a secret,” Kojo protested.

  Rachel switched her gaze to Hiram.

  “Aw, don’t worry about me,” he said. “Nobody would believe me even if I did say something—everyone knows I drink a bit when I’m in port.” He patted his tankard fondly, smiling at me and Kojo. “Besides, these youngsters will keep an eye on me.”

  “You’re not joining the Cartel?” Archer asked.

  “Nah. Sparrow’s in my blood. I won’t jump ship just yet.”

  We all drank a toast to Hiram and Sparrowhawk.

  “What about that snake Grimbold?” Kojo asked. “He won’t stay quiet.”

  “As soon as he recovers, Grimbold will be spending the next year or three in a penal colony, clearing up certain outstanding warrants for fraud and theft. Frankly, he’ll be safer there than walking around—Rampart Militech will be extremely angry that Grim lured them into chasing a hoax, resulting in the destruction of two of their vessels and the death and capture of their crews.”

  Tinker abandoned me and rubbed against Rachel’s ankles. Rachel gave Tinker a little scratch behind the ears, eliciting a purr I could hear clear across the salon.

  Kojo shifted uncomfortably. “Rachel, now the damn thing is gone, what was that relic? I know I saw Tinker get away with something. Was there really something alive in there?”

  “Worms,” Rachel replied.

  I shuddered again. Archer held me close.

  “The creatures within the relic were parasites,” Rachel said. “I rescued a fragment from Tinker’s scat. It may have been alive when she found it, but Tinker dispatched it very effectively.”

  Archer crooned, “Good kitty.”

  Rachel rubbed Tinker’s spine, making her arch ecstatically. “The relic was a device, created to send telepathic messages to specific genetic populations. The worms were simply a biological switch, very efficient at breaking down blood. They excreted a specific chemical when they encountered a particular genetic marker in their food, a marker present in Gavoran blood.”

  Kojo glanced at me sideways. “Are all Gavs telepaths?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Most Gavorans have a degree of telepathic receptivity, but they can’t send telepathic messages. I suspect the Sages were a telepathic species. The best way for them to communicate with their allies, and control them, was to insert a gene that permitted this limited form of telepathy.”

  I nodded. “All Gavorans believe in spirits, whether it’s ancestor spirits or Sage prophets. Maybe it’s because for us, telepathy is real.”

  “The Sages may have selected Neanderthals to nurture because of their inherent telepathic abilities,” Rachel said. “Or the Sages may have genetically modified the Neanderthal population on Gavora to be receptive. In either case, we can deduce that the Sages influenced Gavorans telepathically from the beginning.”

  The Sages, messing with Gav genetics, making us believe they were gods. Sentencing whole clans to slavery and implanting a religion to justify it. Damn them all.

  Kojo asked, “Are you saying the worms were telepaths, telling the Gavs about Nakana, telling them when the relic needed blood?”

  “It wasn’t the worms issuing messages, it was the device inside the relic.”

  Archer nodded, tapping his foot. “I told you, Patch, remember? That if I were going to leave a map I would leave a machine, not an animal.”

  “It may have seemed like the relic was engaging in a conversation of sorts,” Rachel said, “but it couldn’t receive communication. The only changes to the content of the message came about in response to the worm’s chemical excretions. The relic’s primary message, its default activity, was a hunger call.”

  “For blood.” I felt cold just thinking about it.

  “Blood is the worm’s natural food. During periods when they had no sustenance, the worms went into stasis, but the device continued to emit the hunger call, waiting for a person with the right telepathic receptiveness.”

  “So that was what lured Balan and Deprata to the relic in the first place,” Archer said. “And once they fed the worms?”

  “In the presence of food,” Rachel said, “the worms awakened and reproduced. When the revived worms detected the genetic marker of an ally, the worms excreted a chemical trigger. That trigger caused the relic to reward whoever was touching it with a message that revealed the location of Nakana, and which simultaneously stimulated the pleasure centers of t
he brain.”

  “So, it was addictive,” Kojo said.

  “Exactly,” Rachel agreed. “That kept the receptive person coming back. In addition, the trigger caused the device to change its general message from the hunger call to mental images that all members of the receptive species would receive—images of an idyllic, pastoral planet and promises of peace and joy.”

  “But it knew that Balan died,” I said. “It started calling for blood again.”

  “The blood tie was supposed to be renewed periodically. When Balan failed to return and give additional blood, the worm’s secretions reverted to its hunger mode, to find another donor.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Why leave the relic there at all?”

  “A fail-safe device,” Archer said.

  Rachel smiled and nodded for him to continue.

  Archer blushed, but carried on. “Suppose you’re part of an advanced race in the middle of a war. You’re worried you’re about to lose a battle, maybe lose most of your forces. So, you hide some key resources somewhere no one knows about, so you can start again when things calm down. You create a device that will operate after a long time has passed, one that will show the map to the hidden fortress only to your allies, and you plant the device someplace out of the way, where it won’t be destroyed in the battle.”

  “Very good, Virgil.” Rachel beamed at him like a proud auntie. “You might leave it with some primitive people as caretakers by cultivating a myth that the device is sacred.”

  Kojo rubbed his jaw. “So, years or centuries later, when the device locates an ally, it gives them a map to the hidden fortress. It even helps them gather the rest of their people and bring them all to the fortress by promising good things. Bingo. Generations after some disaster has wiped out your forces, you have a ready-made army of willing recruits showing up at your fortress, ready to serve the old gods or, if needed, to fight another war. Very cute.”

  “The relic worked just like it was supposed to,” I said. “It brought Gavorans to Nakana.”

  “When the relic got close enough to the planet,” Rachel said, “it triggered the beacon in the ruined city. The beacon was another device, one that produced a stronger version of the telepathic call to come to the planet, designed to draw every ally within the planet’s orbit to the central square. Mya couldn’t resist the call. Even Patch and Danto were drawn to obey.”

  “But nobody was there,” I said. “It was horrible.”

  “They probably intended for the device to be triggered millennia ago, but the destruction of the Cazar civilization meant there was no one in range to pick up the relic’s call—not until Gavorans joined Jamila’s archeology team. The people who originally lived on Nakana are long gone. The remaining animal life is infested by parasites—tormented, always moving, run to death. I don’t know what happened on the planet to change its ecology. Perhaps some vital link in the plant or animal chain of interdependence was lost, some check on the parasites was allowed to die out.”

  “Do you think it was the Sages who lived there?” Kojo asked.

  “I hope not.” I shuddered again.

  Rachel looked at me. “Why, Patch?”

  “The bowls on those plinths—they had channels and pores, just like the relic. And they were rimmed with blades to draw blood.”

  Archer shrugged. “That makes sense. The residents would want any visitors to give a little blood, to test, like the relic, to make sure they’re really allies.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But those bowls were awfully big, and there were a lot of them.”

  I tried to stop trembling. It’s over. The nightmare is over.

  “Suppose the reason they, the people who lived there, were so obsessed with blood is because they needed it? The place was filled with parasites that live on blood. Maybe the people who built the ruins…”

  Rachel grinned. “You think the blessed Sages were highly evolved parasitic worms? Who wanted the Gavorans to come to Nakana as potential feedstock? It’s possible. Theoretically, even a parasitic worm could evolve to become the apex predator. To develop reason and culture.”

  “And if it did,” I said, “it would see a world filled with warm-blooded animals as a paradise, filled with peace and joy, just like it told us.”

  Archer jittered. “If that’s true, they could still be there, in stasis like the relic worms, waiting for people to come and sacrifice enough blood to wake them up again.”

  “Let’s hope not.” The glint in Rachel’s eyes told me she’d already worked out that possibility. No wonder she didn’t want anyone snooping around Nakana.

  We assured Rachel we’d keep all the secrets.

  I didn’t need the threat of drastic consequences to keep to the cover story; in fact, I was delighted with it. Since the Cartel knew we were carrying the synthreactor to Ordalo, we could make them understand that between running from the Rampart mercenaries and being commandeered by the Corridor Patrol to chase a hoax, we’d had no chance to turn the relic in to the Cartel. They might give us trouble, might even blackball us, but I was betting they wanted the synthreactor bad enough for Kojo and me to keep our freedom.

  “Where will you go next?” Rachel asked.

  “Ask Patch,” Kojo said. “She’s in charge of business.” He winked at me.

  I suppressed a smile. Kojo had lightly mentioned to me that once we were free of Ordalo’s threats, he wouldn’t mind staying on as Sparrow’s captain. At least for now, we were still partners.

  “Once repairs are done,” I said, “we’ll look for some cargo to pick up and head back to our home sectors. It will be good to get back to trading again.”

  For once, I was hopeful about the future. Rachel had already approved the last installments of payment for the expedition. When we eventually reached our home port, I’d sell the premium brandy in the vault to favored trading partners—we’d been away for so long, I wanted to give them a reason to remember us. With the upgraded propulsion the Patrol had installed for the mission and the extended range scanner we’d taken from the Rampart harrier, we’d be able to take our pick of jobs. We’d be out of debt in no time.

  First thing on my splurge list: go to a first-rate med center and get that damn skin graft fixed for good.

  “There’s one more thing,” Rachel said, sipping her tea. “The microbial synthreactor.”

  Kojo’s eyes widened. My stomach dropped.

  “What?” Archer looked from me to Kojo in confusion.

  Rachel smiled. “I tagged it with a locator before we even entered the Gloom, long before you dropped it off at that little moon. The Authority should have no trouble tracking it to its ultimate destination.”

  Kojo buried his face in his hands.

  “A locator.” My blood pounded in my ears. My worst nightmare was coming to life.

  Rachel cocked her head like a curious robin. “Did you think all those scanners in your cargo hold were just for show? It took me half a day to trace the anomaly in my readings. I must say, I thought the grease on the bulkhead screws was a nice touch.”

  A rasping noise came from the corner. Hiram, now looking fully sober, was grinding his teeth.

  Archer looked at me like I’d kicked a puppy.

  Rachel settled more comfortably into the chair. “A Settlement Authority investigator will meet with you tomorrow at a safe location. If you want to stay out of prison on smuggling charges, you will provide her with every scrap of information you have about where you got the synthreactor and who the purchaser is. After that, you will proceed with whatever arrangements you’ve made to transfer the synthreactor. Thanks to you, the Authority will be able to close down an illegal terraforming operation and arrest that contraband ring.”

  Kojo muttered something unintelligible into his hands.

  “You don’t understand,” I begged. “We were forced to carry that thing. If our contact suspects we’ve informed on him, that the goods are tagged…you have no idea what he’ll do to us.” Ordalo wouldn’t be satisfied
with our ship and our freedom, he’d want our blood, and prison walls wouldn’t stop him.

  “Something dire, I’m sure,” Rachel said cheerfully. “But don’t worry. The Settlement Authority has an interest in keeping your role secret—but only in return for your full cooperation in locating the wildcat terraforming operation.”

  Kojo raised his head, hope glimmering in his eyes.

  Ancestors, give me strength.

  “All right,” I said. “You win. Whatever it takes to keep Sparrowhawk sailing.”

  Want to read more of Sparrowhawk’s adventures?

  Ghost Ship

  Sparrowhawk Book 2

  Patch and Kojo are stuck in the frontier sectors bordering the Gloom, waiting for a sting operation to play out that will determine whether their future is freedom or prison.

  When an old friend of Patch’s father shows up begging for help, Patch and Kojo and the crew of Sparrowhawk take a side trip into uncharted space to salvage a valuable wrecked ship. The ship is there waiting for them—but so are the dangers of trackless space, pirate raids, warring worlds, and the menacing presence of the derelict ship’s dead crew.

  If you’re a fan of Firefly, Star Wars, or Battlestar Galactica, or the books of Elizabeth Moon or J.N. Chaney, you’ll enjoy the rough and tumble space adventures of Patch and the crew of Sparrowhawk.

  Acknowledgements

  While all the mistakes and draggy bits are mine and mine alone, I could never have brought a book to completion without the help of many others.

  There is nothing like objective, constructive criticism to improve one’s writing. I’m extremely grateful to my critique buddies at Critiquecircle.com for their support and suggestions, especially C.A. Collins, Allison Mulvihill, and Lizzie Newell.