by J. N. Chaney
A sudden vibration rumbled the Slipwing’s hull. Since they were still outbound from Penumbra on low-energy departure, Viktor had offered to tune up some of her systems. Dash was happy to oblige. The guy definitely knew his way around the guts of a ship; he’d already knocked a half-dozen errors and failures off the list—
The vibration swelled, making Dash sit up. But then it faded, and died away altogether. The overall feel of the Slipwing was…smoother, now. So he shrugged and lay back, lifting the book and flipping a flimsy page.
Scanning the pages he could read—because the book was actually written in several of the major languages in general use—it struck Dash that Clan Shirna certainly didn’t seem to have a problem with believing in bigger and better things. Everything about them was steeped in mysticism, beginning with the Induction…the process, or ritual, or ceremony, or whatever the right word was, by which someone could join the Clan. And anyone, it seemed, could join the Clan. Species wasn’t important. All that mattered was belief. Although…
Dash flipped back and forth through the pages he could read. He wasn’t interested in getting all the details, at least right away…although it would be good to know as much as he could about Clan Shirna before trying to slip through their lines to the Pasture, and then back out again. The initial impression he got was of a fervent belief system based on protecting the Pasture from intruders. It seemed to be the Clan’s main, even sole, purpose. Initiates were brought to the Clan’s home world, a medium-sized planet orbiting an aging start on the margin of the Globe of Suns. The place sounded awful—a thin, dry atmosphere, almost devoid of cloud cover, shot through with blasts of radiation from the star. Most of the planet seemed to consist of dry oceans and lakes, the landscape scoured down to desiccated soil and bare rock, forming scrubby deserts known as Sinks…
“Sounds like a place I vacationed once,” Dash muttered, flipping more pages.
Anyway, it was on this foreboding and desolate planet that something called the Induction occurred, initiating a would-be into Clan Shirna. The actual Induction was described in ponderous, metaphorical terms, a “a lifeform born anew, beginning a new childhood” and “one alone, joined unto the whole and all stronger” and the like. Dash skimmed it, finally found the part—and it wasn’t obvious, that was for sure—where the book described what Clan Shirna was all about. Frankly, it wasn’t much. They “stood guard over the faith” and “prevented those not of the Inducted from committing sin and entering the maelstrom” and the like…in other words, all pretty standard, religious dogma. Dash had seen this sort of thing many times, too…
But something did catch his attention. Throughout the book, reference was made to change…to those joining the clan undergoing an apotheosis, an elevation, a transformation. He would have simply dismissed this as just more spiritual gobbledygook, except the context around these parts referred to things that sounded decidedly non-religious. Dash noted words and phrases like pregenetics, overprinting in-born codes and beneficial mutation. Those all sounded more like scientific terms…which may not be that surprising, since Clan Shirna was definitely a technological advanced society. But there was something about the undertone of the book…something about the overall context, that made Dash wonder…
He sat up and swung his feet to the deck. Okay, he was a courier, not a…a scientist, or anthropologist, or whatever. But there was someone on board who knew lots of stuff.
Dash stood. “Hey, Conover,” he called. “Got a question for you!”
Dash waited as Conover scanned the book. He hadn’t fallen into a death-like trance this time, but the book wasn’t inscrutable, star-exploding alien tech. Still, Dash had braced himself as the kid started reading, just in case…
But he just sat there, hunkered in the copilot’s seat, reading. The minutes dragged on and Dash started to fidget.
He finally had to speak. “So what do you—”
Conover held up a hand, silencing him.
To pass the time, Dash turned to the instruments. Everything looked good—better than just good, in fact. Viktor had worked marvels. There were only two failure statuses he hadn’t managed to clear, both apparently requiring parts he didn’t have and couldn’t just print on board, but neither critical. The Slipwing was, in fact, in as good a shape as she’d ever been. Combine that with a full load of fuel, and Dash could almost convince himself he was one of those especially successful couriers, the ones who had the biggest, fastest ship. They got the best jobs on the Needs Slate, probably didn’t have to worry about things like affording fuel or landing fees, and sometimes even franchised themselves out, operating small fleets of ships and making credits faster than they could possibly spend them.
Dash curled his lip. I hate those guys—
“I think you’re right,” Conover said.
“Right about what?” Leira asked, as she and Viktor clambered into the back of the cockpit.
“About Clan Shirna,” Conover replied. “Dash said this book makes it sound like they’re basically bred to stand guard over the Pasture, although they also call it the Maelstrom. Something about it having different aspects, like light and dark, or good and evil…anyway, that’s all part of their dogma. But if you read closely, you can see references, all through this book, to what sounds like genetic manipulation.”
Viktor narrowed his eyes. “Genetic manipulation? For what purpose?”
“To protect the Pasture. To not let anyone in or out.”
“Including themselves,” Dash put in.
Conover nodded. “Especially themselves. It’s something like…it’s the Pasture, when you’re outside it and obeying the edict to never enter it. But if you do enter it, then it’s the Maelstrom, a place of great violence and danger. To keep your spirit pure, you stay out and worship the Pasture from afar. If you enter the Maelstrom, though, your spirit is corrupted.”
“And their whole angle,” Dash said, “seems to be protecting everyone’s spirits—their own, yours, mine, everyone’s. It’s their holy mission.”
“And this Induction,” Conover said, “seems to be the key. They manipulate and change the genetics of anyone who joins the Clan, seeming to…hardwire, I guess, the members of the Clan into wanting to protect the Pasture. Needing to protect it, even, like it’s their overriding reason for existing. It’s like changing what a computer does not just by changing the software, but changing the hardware, too, so the computer can’t ever be used for anything else.” The kid looked up and around, at the others. “Nothing else—not food, not sleep, not sex, nothing—matters more than keeping anyone out of the Pasture.”
“In other words,” Dash said, “they’re guard dogs.”
Conover nodded. “Yeah. Clan Shirna was designed specifically to protect the Pasture, probably by the Unseen.”
“That explains their amazing hostility,” Leira said. “I knew they threaten anyone who tries to enter the Pasture with death, but I assumed it was because they considered it their territory, their space to explore and exploit. Turns out it’s actually a sacred duty, keeping anyone out of there.”
“Which means,” Dash said, “I was really right. There’s just not going to be any reasoning or dealing with them.”
“So, given what we now know,” Viktor said, “are you sure you want to try going there?”
Dash opened his mouth to answer, but Conover cut him off. “I wonder if the Unseen are still there…still in the Pasture. Maybe that’s where they stay, and they use Clan Shirna to keep outsiders away. Or did they all wither away and die?”
Dash abruptly changed the trajectory of his thoughts. “That’s…an interesting thought. After all, if the Unseen are really all…dead, gone, whatever…then they wouldn’t really care if anyone busts into the Pasture because, you know…they can’t.”
“Except,” Viktor said, “Clan Shirna could just be doing what they were programmed to do. All this time later, they either still have all these religious beliefs that were originally created for them by the
Unseen, or they created them themselves, over time.”
Leira shifted uncomfortably. “True, except…”
Dash looked at her. “What?”
“When we were in there, there were…ghosts.”
“Uh…ghosts? Really?”
She gave a thin smile. “No, not really ghosts. But there were all sorts of phantom electromagnetic emissions. They made scanning inside the Pasture difficult…in some places, nearly impossible. And some of them…”
“Some of them what?”
“Some of them…seemed like deliberate transmissions. Things I could almost understand. Like listening to someone speaking a language I’ve heard, and picked up a few words and phrases from…so I thought I could understand them if I could just listen closely enough. But we never could resolve them, and they never seemed to repeat.”
Viktor shrugged. “We were pretty busy trying to not crash into asteroids and comets, so I didn’t pay much attention. But there definitely were emissions…lots of them.”
“So even if the Unseen are no longer there, in the Pasture,” Leira said, “their ghosts might be.”
Conover looked at her. “You actually believe in ghosts?”
“I don’t necessarily not believe in them.” She looked at Dash. “You know it, right, Dash? That there are things out there that are…well, hard to explain—?”
“They’re not ghosts,” Conover said flatly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Dash raised a hand. “Before we start a long debate about whether spooks exist or not, let’s return to the subject at hand, shall we, ladies and gentlemen?” He looked at each in turn. “The Pasture is a massive chunk of alien tech. It contains things like that Lens. Even a tiny fraction of it would make us rich beyond…well, I was going to say our wildest dreams, but when it comes to wealth, my dreams can be pretty wild.” He shrugged. “Anyway, if we can get into the Pasture, I can fly us through it, to where we need to go.”
“Dash,” Leira said, “like I told you, the EM emissions make navigation, well, a serious problem.”
“Just makes the ride more interesting.”
“The real question,” Viktor put in, “is one I asked before. Considering everything we now know about the Pasture, and Clan Shirna…not to mention the natural hazards of the Shadow Nebula and the Globe of Suns…and the fact that we lost one ship and almost lost two, not to mention all of our lives—”
“Not mine,” Conover said. “I wasn’t there.”
Viktor looked at him and blinked. “Uh…yes. Right. All of us except Conover almost lost our lives…are you really sure we want to go back? I mean, not to put too fine a point on it, but the Lens by itself is probably enough to make all of us extremely rich. It just seems like…a lot of unnecessary risk.”
But Dash shook his head. “No. The Lens is the reason we have to go back.”
Leira frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“The Lens blows up stars, right? Whatever the reason the Unseen thought something you could put in your pocket was able to make stars explode was a good idea, it’s still massively destructive. Do you really want to sell something like that and…just put it out there? Who knows who’ll end up with it? And what they use it for? Awfully hard to enjoy being rich when the galaxy is being turned to a bunch of supernova remnants, right?”
Uncomfortable looks, and then nods all around.
“So, unless we’re just going to forget about his completely and…I don’t know, stash that Lens somewhere where no one will ever find it…then we need to go back to the Pasture and find something…creative. Something that builds, not destroys. I mean, if we find a piece of tech that…I don’t know, let’s say, gives an airless world an atmosphere with the push of a button…then not only is that going to be worth a fantastic fortune, it’s safe. It won’t threaten to end all life as we know it…you know? Am I making sense here?”
Viktor nods. “You are.”
But Leira’s frown deepened. “I’m not convinced it’s worth the risk.”
Dash rolled his eyes. “Leira, Leira…you’re a courier. Risk is what we do!”
“No…managing risk is what we do. And this…” She shook her head. “We barely made it in and back out of there once with our lives. The chances of us doing it again…” She shook her head again. “That’s not managing risk, Dash. That’s just being reckless.”
Conover watched the exchange going back and forth. “She has a good point,” he said. “But…just imagine what might be in the Pasture. The things we could learn. It’s kind of…staggering, when you think about it.”
“Is that a yes vote?” Dash asked.
Leira immediately scowled. “Wait…who said we’re voting? For that matter…and with all due respect to Conover here…based on the arrangement you made with his aunt back on Penumbra, he’s basically a…a tourist.”
“Well, it kind of is my ship,” Dash said. “And I did kind of save your lives. Now,” he went on, raising a hand as Leira opened her mouth to object, “I’m not saying you owe me anything…well, except for the payment for that job I signed up for, the one where I flew in and saved your asses. All that said, though, if you don’t want to come along, I’m not going to force you. Any of you.” He shrugged. “It’s just that doing it alone…”
“I’ll come with you,” Conover said. “I want to see the Pasture, and what’s in it. That’s what tourists do, right?” he asked, glancing at Leira. “Want to see stuff?”
Viktor looked at Leira, then gave an apologetic shrug. “This really is too good a chance to pass up, Leira, I’m sorry. I’d hate to spend the rest of my life wondering what we might have found or done.”
“At least you’d have a rest of your life to wonder it,” she snapped. For a moment, she glared from Dash, to the others, then back to Dash. “Damn you…fine. I’m in. I don’t know why…must be the stupid permeating the air aboard this ship.”
Dash grinned. “There you go! We’re a team now!”
It was Leira’s turn to roll her eyes. “Great.”
“Don’t look so glum. The Slipwing’s a damned fine ship, we’ve got the Fade to help us out, and I’m an excellent pilot—”
“If you do say so yourself,” Leira muttered.
“You’re right! I do!” Dash turned to the nav, to call up a chart showing the broad expanse of space around the Globe of Suns. “Okay, so let’s start thinking about how we’re going to do this. The first obstacle is the Shadow Nebula—”
A chime cut him off. It was the comm. Dash frowned and checked the display. Someone had just sent a message…an unSpace message, in fact, but addressed to the Slipwing specifically. There was no originator ID.
He glanced at the others. “Could be a creditor, I guess.”
The comm chimed again. Dash sighed and opened the channel, ready to launch into his usual speech about how he was just finishing up a job, and soon as he got paid he’d pay what he owed…
But it wasn’t a creditor. It was…
“Who are you?” he asked the reptilian face on the vid.
“I am Nathis, of Clan Shirna.”
Dash blinked and looked at the others. “Oh. Um…what can I do for you, Nathis—”
“Tell me where the desecrators are, that I might retrieve what they stole and see to their punishment.”
“Uh…desecrators? Sorry, you’ll have to be more specific—”
“Do not dissemble,” Nathis snapped. Dash noticed patches on either side of his neck reddened as his voice hardened. “We know that you responded to the call from the desecrators for rescue, and that you subsequently fled with them after their ship was destroyed. I could label you a desecrator as well, but I accept that you may simply have been interested in…profit.” He said the word as though it left a rancid taste in his mouth. “Therefore, if you turn over the desecrators for judgment, along with the sacred relic they have stolen, you will be forgiven your sins.”
Dash stared at the vid. “You want me to just…hand these people over
to you for some sort of trial—?”
“No, of course not.” The patches on Nathis’s neck took on a more subdued, purplish hue and his face softened. Dash thought it might be his version of a smirk, or as close to a smirk the severe alien probably ever got. “There are no trials. There is only judgment, and for desecration that is death.”
“I suspect lawyer isn’t a popular career choice for your people.”
“I do not know what a loy-er is, nor do I care. I care only for the judgment of the desecrators.” Nathis looked off-screen and said something that the comms couldn’t translate, or was just too quiet to make out. “You are now being sent coordinates. We will wait there for you.”
“You…really believe I’m just going to show up and hand these people over to you, don’t you?”
The neck patches reddened slightly. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, you see, it’s more complicated than that—”
Nathis scowled—at least, Dash assumed the pinching of his reptilian features was a scowl—and his neck patches darkened. “Yes. Of course. Profit. Very well, we will pay you.”
To Dash’s chagrin, his first and immediate thought was, how much? But he shoved it aside and shook his head. “No, this isn’t about profit. This is about…well…you can’t seriously believe I’m going to bring two people to you so you can execute them.”
“But they are desecrators—”
“Yeah, yeah, and that’s all terrible and shit. But it’s not going to happen.”
The neck patches flared bright red. “Then you will be labeled a desecrator as well, and subject to the same judgment—”
“Know what? This conversation is going nowhere and I have better things to do. You want to round up us desecrators, come and get us.”
Dash snapped off the comms and turned back to the others, still standing in the back of the cockpit. He smirked. “What an asshole, huh—"
