by Kurt Johnson
I looked at Nonch. My friend since forever was turning out to be much more than just a pretty face. “What do you mean?”
“Our pheromone messages are higher-level concepts. If I say, ‘run’ to you, you understand the action, but there is no context. Our messages are the equivalent of ‘run to the hive center as the Broodmother calls.’ One smell for ten Galactic words, but they happen at the same time.”
“Wow,” I rubbed my shoulders, “That’s…amazing.”
“Can we use it somehow?” Cri asked. “As a signal?”
“Yeah!” I whispered. It was brilliant. “A timed message? So if we’re close, we know to take an action. If we’re separated, we’ll know that certain actions have been taken, and it’s our turn.”
Nonch clacked. “It is possible.”
“It would need to be contextual. And we need to agree on a smell.”
The odor of fresh-cut ’natch suddenly wafted around us. We looked at each other, then at Nonch. His sensor stalk twitched.
“Smells like ’natch,” Cri said.
“Yes, will it suffice?”
“Sure,” I replied. “What does it mean?”
“’Natch.”
I looked at him and shrugged. “Well, now it means ‘danger,’ or ‘go,’ or ‘yes.’ We have to interpret it contextually.” Nonch didn’t reply. Mieant nodded.
“So, if the response is ‘no’ to a question, we don’t smell anything?” Cri asked.
“Exactly,” I replied. It was a start. “We need to have a simple code between us before we run into trouble.”
“Up ahead, look at that,” Mieant said. We’d approached a green rectangular building made out of corrugated metal. It had a gently pointed, A-frame roof and looked exactly like the sheds on our farm. Food? Supplies?
But Mieant was pointing past the shed, toward the perimeter of the camp. A force wall sparkled occasionally as Nem’s insect population incinerated themselves on the otherwise invisible wall. The wall shimmered between six-meter-tall poles about as thick as my body. The poles were spaced every ten meters. Small auto-cannons mounted on each pole pivoted with 360 degrees of freedom. Red sensor clusters glowed in the morning light. Autocannons swiveled toward us as we approached. Below the sensor clusters lay a round shield casing, from which poked a single barrel.
“And? We’re walled in? There are guns pointing at us?” I asked, tired of guessing at what he found so interesting. I’d expected defenses like this. Collars or no, it would be much easier to manage us with a physical fence. The autocannons, albeit smaller than those on our farm, would help as well. Why not have all three? Mieant put a hand on my head and moved my head down so I was looking at the ground three or so meters from the force wall. “Oh.”
Cloud-grey metal beams twisted from the ground, emerging like a drowning swimmer’s hand clawing toward the sky.
Nonch flowed up to the metal and bit it.
“Uh,” Cri said.
Nonch turned back to us. His inner mouthspikes moved slowly, like when we Galactics—at least those of us who have lips—move our mouths, tasting a flavor.
“It is ancient Human metal. We are close to the Ruins. That, at least, is good.” He looked at each of us, seeing our confusion. “Broodmother has mapped all of the ancient Ruins. We believe we have tunnels to all of them. My kind may be close.” He balled his tail up and smashed the metal, like a dinosaur crushing an opponent with the bone hammer of its tail. We all jumped back, and an enormously deep gong reverberated out across the camp and through the ground.
Starbat swarms exploded into the sky from the darkness outside the camp’s perimeter. Shrieking and glowing and pooping EVERYWHERE, they must have numbered in the millions. Turrets swiveled and focused on us. Guards drew their weapons, checked their scanners, and told us “stupid kids” to stop messing around or we’d pay.
We looked at each other with horrified grins.
If it wasn’t for the threat of being incinerated, I’m pretty sure we all wanted Nonch to hit the flipping gravity well out of that metal thing again.
We could still hear the gong underground. “Do you understand?” he said, turning to us, “Human Ruins are old buildings. Strong. Huge. Many, most, are hollow and lead down under in Nem’. There are cities, with roads, tubes, tunnels, stretching across Nem’, underground.”
“Brilliant,” Cri said, cocking her hip. “Shells, you know what you should do?”
Nonch tilted his head to her, orienting his sensor stalks to give my sister his full attention.
She continued, “You should smash that thing louder, and maybe my mom and dad will hear us and come to our rescue. Or, or…you guys stand with your backs to me, and I’ll dig. Just make sure you cover the dirt so the guards don’t see. Or…”
“Cri, why do you have to be such a spike?” Mieant said, annoyed. Nonch’s sensor stalks dropped as the sarcasm hit him. “We’re scouting. It’s information. Maybe we can use….”
“I’m a spike? You’ve been a supreme butt-nova for the past three years!” Cri started out looking hurt, but as she spoke, her voice grew louder, and she got in Mieant’s face. “Holding my hand doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do, jerk!”
“HEY!” I interposed, stepping between them and grunting as I shoved each back a pace. Sheesh. I mean. We’re in a prison camp or what? The two Lethian guards who had passed us were staring in our direction—no doubt blaming us for the white and green blossoms of starbat poop on their uniforms and looking for an excuse to do something prison-guardish. “C’mon,” I said, “stick to the plan. We’re on Human Ruins. We know one thing we didn’t know before. Keep moving.”
Cri looked down and sighed. Mieant pulled and straightened his tattered clothes and sucked in a breath.
I looked between them and said, “We good?” I waited until I got nods from both of them, and then continued. “OK. We’re all really unstarred to be here. We’re probably going to die.” They frowned at me.
I continued, holding up my hands in a let-me-finish gesture. “I don’t know what to do with that, except, uh, to try hard not to. We have nothing to lose.” I put a hand on Mieant’s shoulder. “We need information.” I put my arm around my sister. “We don’t know how much time we have.
“Focus.”
I shoved them both forward, slapping their backs as I did. Banefire was rising, and in the morning light it became apparent where we were. Around us, a skeletal forest of twisted metal stretched toward the sky. Disturbed starbats screeched and circled and pooped their way back to their roosts. Behind the Ruins, one of the Mesas revealed its bulk in the morning light like a submerged rock that appears as a wave recedes. Banefire’s light crested the horizon and colored the top of the mountain red. Dawn’s light revealed the Storm Wall as an imposing purple, grey, black, and lightning-flecked barrier reaching up into Nem’s atmosphere.
Why would Godwill have a base here? While the Mesas were huge, spanning kilometers, there were only three of them. If we were this close to the Mesas, might we be only a long walk from the farm? And if we were this close to the Human Ruins, did that mean we were close to the Human base AI told me to take shelter in? Could we be that lucky?
Sure. When gratchers fly.
38
As it turns out, except for the few ancient Human echo-y ruins sticking up from the ground, the camp wasn’t exciting. It was just as Cri had said: a space three hundred or so meters long and three hundred meters wide. Go Galactic creativity.
That said, the camp WAS at the edge of the Human Ruins (which were interesting) and in the other direction, ’natch stretched out into infinity (which was not interesting). The camp was shoved into the Ruins like an iron egg in a metallic bird’s nest. This deep in the tangled buildings, the struggle between the planet and Human architecture was evident. Grasses, flowers, and even some scraggly trees lined the ground, unsuccessfully trying to push aside the angry metal structures that blocked their precious light.
Starbats took shelter from the day, perching in th
e hollow Ruins and jostling each other for the best roosting spot. Geckomice no larger than my hand flicked about. Their whiskery noses protruded like thistle tips as they poked their heads around a struggling plant or a metal beam. They were as curious about us as they were intent on catching the myriad of insects hopping or flitting around us.
The insects, of course, were oblivious to the geckomice and the force wall. At one point, a geckomouse leapt from the edge of a leaf at a giant moth and caught it in clawed hands. Its arc carried it into the force fence, and the furry geckomouse disappeared in a zzzzzushhh. Nonch turned his head toward the smell. I wonder what message he got from that?
A low hum sounded from the east. It swelled with the pulse of anti-grav thrusters, and an NPD cruiser raced into view. As it drew near, the ship grew from a black dot against grey clouds into the potato-shaped ship that had visited our farm. Starbats launched themselves from their perches, their directions chosen at random. This time, they were even more irritated than during the earlier interruption. Geckomice scurried for cover, squeaking in rapid patterns only they could decode.
The insects just buzzed and darted and flapped louder.
Fire ran around my neck. My knees got weak for a moment, and I clutched my collar.
The cruiser touched down.
“Human!” Sarla shouted as she approached us, a small device in one of her five blood-red hand claws. Obviously, it was a controller was linked to my collar. I collapsed to my knees, head to the dirt, hands pulling at the plastic circlet.
“Jurisdictor requires you.” She held up the claw with the device, waved it, and pointed to my neck.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see my friends watching me.
Pain. I pushed myself to stand.
I reached out a hand, and Nonch extended an arm claw. Nonch’s head, with its weaponry, pivoted toward me. I put my other hand on his mandible and pulled myself up. The cruiser’s door whooshed open, and Godwill stepped out. My friends encircled me.
Seeing Sarla tense, I pushed through them. She seemed larger than my memory of her in the daylight. I walked toward her, hands at my side, and looked over my shoulder one more time. My friends huddled close to each other, a natural back-to-back formation. They were scared.
“It’s OK,” I said to them, one hand on my collar. “Nothing you can do.”
“Ray….” Cri took a reflexive step toward Sarla, who, in response, arched her body and unfolded her sword arms like flower petals. I looked at her—my sister, who’d become so angry at me lately. Hope flickered that she just might still want to be my sister. That was worth protecting. She was important to me.
“Look around you!” I yelled, waving at the autocannons. NOVA! WAS EVERYONE BLIND? The closest turrets were tracking us with their molten red eyes. My friends followed my gaze. To my relief, Cri backed away.
“Ahh. Raystar of Terra,” Godwill said pleasantly as he approached. He wore his formal NPD police uniform, and his black, pupil-less eyes seemed to stare at everything from the nothingness of his gaunt face. He came to a stop next to the Crynit. “Sarla,” he said, “I will take the Human from here.” Godwill gestured toward my friends and smiled. “Take our other guests to their enclosure. Be gentle with them. They all have important roles in the upcoming days.”
Sarla flowed like a black waterfall toward my friends. In an eye-blink, she’d pinned Nonch on the ground, a blade claw pressing down on his head. Mieant was held around the neck with hand claws, a blade under his chin. Sarla’s tail pinchers held Cri around the waist. I could see a thin trickle of blood where Sarla’s sword-sharp chitin cut into her hips.
“Don’t fight! Don’t fight!” I yelled. “Wait for our time, yes?” I added this—I don’t know why. Sarla and Godwill could hear me. The scent of ’natch wafted over us, and Sarla’s head whipped toward Nonch. She cocked her head and slowly looked at all of my friends as they relaxed in her grip. Godwill laughed and shoved me roughly toward the two-story building.
Our smell communication had worked, and all Sarla had gotten was the smell of ’natch.
“Raystar,” Godwill said, looking down at me as we walked. He grinned from bony cheek to bony cheek, showing his teeth. “This is a ‘nova’ day for me! That is how you kids say it?” He paused and then chuckled. “Although I doubt you’ll share the same level of enthusiasm once we begin.”
I spared a glance toward my friends to see them moving back toward the compound where we had slept.
“Me, Raystar. Pay attention to me. There is no help you can give them.” And then he chuckled more to himself than to me. “And there is absolutely no aid they can give to you.”
We reached the building. He opened the door and pushed my shoulder so I stumbled over the building’s threshold. Two startled Lethian guards rose to attention and acknowledged us with a terrified, wide-eyed salute. Their overly enthusiastic fists slammed into open palms at chest level. Godwill ignored them as we walked by. The cacophony of starbats from outside silenced as the door closed behind us.
Godwill marched me down a hallway with white, reflective floors, walls, and ceilings. We arrived at a large, very out-of-place door. It was corroded and looked like it had been punched outward by whatever was on the inside. He made a gesture, and the building synth opened the door. It was a vault. The door was over a meter thick.
Stepping into the vault was an insane journey to a different world. The walls were stained, scratched, corroded. This must have been where they’d taken me the first time I’d been tortured.
“Move,” Godwill commanded. I swallowed and walked down the stairs. My boots made scratchy sounds on the rusty metal. My fast breaths verging on hyperventilation, the swishing of his long military jacket, and the pounding in my chest were the only other sounds that could reach my awareness through my fear.
The stairway led to a room half the size of the building. Brown rust cracked underfoot like gravel. I frowned and snuck a downward glance. The weight of my kid-body pushed rusted material apart, and I was rewarded with a view of pock-marked Galactic alloy. What could do that to Galactic alloy? We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I blinked at the new surroundings.
What would he want a vault for?
Red stained the brown walls in patterns that looked like someone had decorated it with a hose. Some areas glistened in the pale yellow light. The room was sticky and hot and smelled like metal and offal. A rusted restraining chair, minus any sort of padding, sat under a spotlight in roughly the middle of the room. Dust motes floated in and out of the cone of light.
I swallowed as blind terror started elbowing plain-old fear aside for the captain’s chair of my controls.
Around the spotlighted chair floated a wall of displays. Some showed readouts; others had what looked like news feeds on them. Next to the chair was a tub large enough for a Galactic my size. The tub extended out of a shiny new cylinder with a control terminal on one end. It looked like the tub could retract into the glass container. As we approached, the sound from the various feeds blended together in low, whispering, confidential voices.
At the far end of the room squatted a giant container half-filled with pink, sparkly liquid. It was covered with strange symbols, but the Convergence seal, a circle with multiple stars on the inside, was dominant. It was an old version of the seal. A retro version.
“Sit,” Godwill pushed my head, shoving me toward the chair. I hesitated.
Pain stabbed from my collar into my spine and out through my back while radiating into my arms. I arched and sucked in a breath, too surprised to scream.
“Mmmm,” he chuckled, low and deep. I turned to him, gasping. I was not going to survive this. Fear sent a tingle through my belly. I wiped my nose, and my fingers came away with my blood. It sparkled, little microarcs dancing on its surface but not turning into anything more than pretty white-blue flashes against crimson.
He snatched my wrist, his eyes wide, as he watched my corona dance over my blood. “Yes!” he exclaimed as he grabb
ed me under my arms and picked me up. His strength crushed my shoulders, and I was tossed into the chair. “Restraints,” he called, grabbing an arm and a foot roughly and positioning them on the chair. The synth activated, and metal bands slid across my stomach, arms, thighs, and ankles and around my forehead.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered. “What do you want?”
“I want nothing from you personally,” he said. “Your body. Your DNA. You have not earned that. You were simply born with it. And just as luck gave it to you, luck has given it to me.” He paused, statue-still, and regarded me with his pupil-less eyes. He slowly moved his head closer to mine as his lips peeled back into a grimace.
“Well, Raystar of Terra,” he whispered. I could smell the caramel of his breath. “I humbly submit that I might have done a bit of planning, too.”
He paused, his face close to mine. From the corner of my eye, I saw his hand move toward my head. I strained to track it—not that my seeing it would do any good, locked down and immobile as I was in this nova-flipping chair. I felt his fingers run though my hair.
“Raystar,” he breathed, “You are beautiful.” He let my purple bangs fall into my eyes. “You have no idea, little Human. You are my beginning.”
Straightening, Godwill reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a glass tube the length of my hand. It was capped on each end with dull grey metal, and through the glass, I could see a sparkling silver liquid.
Godwill stood above me, his mouth pursed in concentration. With one hand, he reached to my neck. His touch was warm, dry, and invasive. The collar clicked and he pulled it off, letting it fall with a crunch to the rusted ground. He ran his hand around my neck, pressed on my collarbone, and stopped over my heart. His black, reflection-less eyes looked down at me. He smiled, clearly mistaking me for a lab partner, and moistened his lips with his darting tongue.
Raising his other hand, he showed me the glass tube poised there like a knife. He jiggled it and smiled again at me. Like we were sharing an old joke. As he smiled, the grey skin on his face pulled taut, like a balloon over a skull. A needle the length of my little finger extended slowly from the part of the tube near the bottom of his hand. He put his other hand on my sternum and closed his eyes as he searched for my heartbeat. Which had increased to a thundering drumroll.
