by Chris Ward
Above him, towering junk towers leaned precariously, looking set to fall at any moment. Caladan squinted, trying to decipher the details of their design, and found them made of a combination of storage crates, filing cabinets, fold-out tables and chairs, and all manner of other furniture and fittings. All of it appeared to have been glued or fastened together in some way.
‘Melt him,’ a gravelly voice said close by, and Caladan’s curiosity divided as a great ice-breaker of fear came barging through. ‘Let him pay for the damage he caused. Melt him but keep him alive.’
Another grunted with laughter. ‘Hee hee. Hee…hee.’
There was something about the way the thing laughed—an almost childlike quality—that made Caladan want to howl with terror. It would achieve nothing, however, other than to confirm he was awake. He slowly lowered his shoulder, hoping the creatures wouldn’t notice.
‘Oh well, hello.’
Too late. Caladan twisted, peering over the fluff of his beard. A line of monsters ringed the table he lay upon, creatures barely tall enough to look over the edge of the gurney. Far from the mindless savages he had seen on the still photo footage, their abominable faces wore knowing grins and dark intelligence behind their squinty, crooked eyes.
‘Common speech. That work?’
‘Are you talking to me?’ Caladan croaked, barely holding in a scream desperate to give itself voice.
‘Ah. It speaks. Who’s hungry?’
‘What’s on the, um, menu?’ Caladan muttered.
The nearest cackled again. ‘Hee. Hee hee. Hee hee hee!’
‘Not me,’ said one.
‘Nor me,’ said another.
‘What does that leave?’ said a third. ‘Furnace is hot. Spit is sharp.’
Something prodded into Caladan’s butt and this time he couldn’t keep the scream inside. He wailed like a terrified child until he realized it was only a lumpy, misshapen finger jutting into him, rather than a sharpened metal pole.
‘Just pooped himself. Dirty boy.’
‘Filthy. Got anything we can wash him with?’
‘Furnace will burn him clean.’
‘Might add flavour.’
Caladan closed his eyes, certain he was dead and now found himself in a hellish Earthly purgatory where everyone he had ever cheated or wronged had come back disguised as a deformed imp to torture him.
The nearest monster leaned forward, putrid breath making Caladan gag as he found himself looking into a face that appeared to have been melted and then solidified again, all its features blurred into unusual shapes and curves. The eyes were elongated, the mouth too wide, the nose too protruding.
When it smiled, it revealed a toothless mouth filled with a thick, overlarge tongue which lapped out to leave his cheeks and nose coated with a putrid sticky saliva.
‘Hello there. Name’s Ken. K-E-N. Call me Ken.’
‘Hello, Ken.’
‘I rule here. This is my turf. You’re an intruder. Why are you trying to break in here? Didn’t you read the log? They’re dead. All of them. Into the furnace. Plop.’
The finger that had violated Caladan’s anus now prodded into his belly button, made a quick twist, then appeared wavering in the air above his chest. A fat, red-white boil perched on the end like a lump of melting candle wax.
‘We came here by mistake.’
‘Lucky for us you did. Quite a few do. Hear that signal, they do. Come looking to make new friends. We’re not the most sociable. Finding that out, aren’t you?’
‘We needed fuel for our shuttle.’
‘So, you wanted to use ours? How polite. How…invasive.’
‘We wanted to make a deal. We brought gifts—’
‘We stripped your little tank. Crates of dried food. Nice. Gourmet cuisine? Not. Do better next time, please.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Too late. Although I appreciate the sentiment.’
‘Our mission is important. We’re trying to save Trill System from a Bareleon Helix.’
‘Trill? Oh, lovely. Been there, once. Ten years on a prison moon. Delightful. Nice to escape. Not nice to end up here. Don’t recognize me, do you? Ken Norf-Oven.’
Caladan’s eyes widened. ‘The infamous smuggler. But you’ve been dead a hundred years.’
‘Presumed only, sad to say. Got trapped. Ended up here. Not looking my best these days.’
‘You’re a legend.’
‘How nice. Doesn’t grow me up four feet, does it?’
Caladan had heard the name Ken Norf-Oven spoken of with reverence in gambling dens across the Fire Quarter. Legendary with cards, he rarely lost, but none would dare refuse him a game through fear of repercussions. He had a reputation for mercilessness. He had got rich smuggling illegal weapons and tech. His pirate fleet had been the scourge of the wormhole belt around the outer planets of Phevius System, until the day he abruptly vanished without trace. It had always been assumed his ship had got into difficulty, joining the gently orbiting ring of space debris it had so often hidden amongst.
‘We have a recuperation tank on the shuttle.’
‘Fantastic. I’m afraid you don’t get it. We’re all of us stuck like this. Blows, but you adjust. You find other ways to eat, fight, and screw. Resourceful as they come, us crims. Not like you scientist scum.’
‘I’m no scientist. I’m a smuggler. We just escaped a prison ship, which is why we’re here. We were hiding from their fighters.’
‘Lucky boy. Best hotel in Quaxar System, this. You want a glass of wine?’
‘Yes, please.’
Ken scowled, an action that made him appear even more hideous than usual and slammed gnarly fists down on Caladan’s chest. ‘It was a joke, idiot. Though perhaps you’re a man I might once have liked. Who knows? Now, let’s get down to business. My boys in there are hungry. We got a group of female captives from that scum lot across the hall in the tank back there too. Nothing greases them up like a bit of actual, cooked meat. You’re tonight’s special unless we can cut a deal.’
‘A deal?’
‘Little inside info. My weasels have sneaked onto your ship and disabled the stasis-ultraspace drive. We might look like ugly gnomes, but we’re resourceful. Now, we want to leave. I have a task for your woman. Easy job. You’re meat but I might let her go if she helps us get off this rock.’
‘You want her to take you on the shuttle?’
Ken shook his head. ‘Better than that. Something you haven’t seen but perhaps you should.’
‘What?’
Ken grinned. He talked like he was chewing around a potato, and even when he smiled he looked as though opening his mouth too wide might spill his guts out. ‘Didn’t see no ships around, did you?’
‘None.’
‘Keep them out of sight, we do. Special place.’
‘Where?’
Ken reached up and squeezed Caladan’s nose. ‘Let’s get your lady friend on the phone, shall we? Honk!’
16
Raylan
‘Of course it was their ship!’ Raylan jumped, his hand slapping down against his sides. ‘Do I look stupid, Jansen? We logged its serial code and it confirms. Don’t ask me what that whore sister-in-law of yours is doing out here at the end of Frail System, but I want her caught and brought to me. Scour every inch of Vattla’s surface until you find that ship.’
Kyle snapped a salute. ‘Yes, lord. I have to inform you, however, every available seek-and-destroy team is currently operating, and they haven’t found the Matilda yet.’
‘Search harder!’
‘I’ll tell them, lord.’
‘Do you like your feet?’
Kyle looked down. ‘My feet, lord?’
‘It’s giving me an ache in my neck to look at you. It would be a very simple procedure to have you lowered so we could converse eye-to-eye. Would you like that, Jansen?’
Kyle looked confused, and Raylan, looking through his anger, wanted to laugh at Kyle’s indecision.
‘I, um
, have no problem kneeling at your feet, lord,’ Kyle said at last. ‘In the event that you need to scold or punish me for my failures, I could bow my head in order to receive the blows.’
Raylan scowled, frustrated at the answer, and kicked Kyle’s shin. As Jansen winced, Raylan turned and stalked away. ‘She’s down there, on the surface of Vattla,’ he said. ‘Here’s a little incentive for you. If you catch her, if you bring her in, I’ll let you have her the first night. You can do what you want. After that she’s mine.’
‘A Vattlan night, or an Earth night?’
Raylan glanced back. Kyle wore a thin smile. How fun it would be to cut off the man’s face and replace his slimy visage with a mask made from the hide of some hideous creature—
‘Don’t push your luck, Jansen.’
‘I’ll double my efforts, lord.’
‘Good.’
He dismissed Kyle Jansen then headed for the command ship’s bridge. His fleet commander, the Shadowman Dorn Al-Teeth, greeted him with an elasticized bow that briefly lowered the spindly creature’s head below Raylan’s chest.
As Dorn regained his full height, Raylan felt a momentary heart flutter at the sight of the Shadowman and his comrades working at the terminals around him, some evolutionary alarm through his human genetics giving him a natural fear of these tall, lithe, and unnaturally thin creatures which resembled moving shadows. He’d never felt safe in their presence despite the alliance between them, as though he stood at the end of a nightmarish forest where the trees could close in around him at any moment.
‘Have the delegation arrived?’ Raylan said, struggling to keep the sense of panic out of his voice.
‘They just came out of stasis-ultraspace,’ Dorn told him. ‘Four ships. One governmental transport command, and three battleships, fully armed. They fear us, lord, yet they have come ready to fight if negotiations fail.’
‘Our firepower?’
‘Nine ships in orbit around Vattla. They are transports, but heavily armed. We have enough. The delegation, however, have requested that you meet with them on board a treaty shuttle. Neutral ground.’
Raylan gave a slow nod. The newcomers were taking no chances.
‘Very well. Have all weapons trained on their battleships. If anything goes awry, fully engage.’
‘Yes, lord.’
Raylan headed back down to his chambers where he had his staff arrange appropriate wear for the Overlord of Trill System. In order to meet these fearful newcomers wishing to sign a treaty, he needed to look the part.
A few frustrating hours later, his shuttle docked with a small treaty ship hovering midway between his own command vessel and the delegation party of the newcomers. He brought a group of guards into the welcome hall on his side of the twin-sided ship but told them to stay behind as he headed for the audience chamber. The treaty ship, split perfectly in two, was a symbolic gesture; completely unarmed and with only a single weak thruster to keep it hovering in place. It was political folly, designed for two delegations to negotiate in safety. With no armor, the ship could be shot out of space by either side at either time, but with both factions unable to leave until the other was ready, it was considered neutrally safe.
Raylan thought it was stupid, but if he was playing the hand of a politician, he had to play the game. He waited outside the audience chamber doors until a light appeared overhead, indicating it was time to enter.
As the doors slid open, he found himself facing his opposite number, a tall, spinebacked Rue-Tik-Tan in full ceremonial warrior dress, which consisted of layers of colorful fabric sails billowing over his head. Raylan, who had adorned himself with the heavy gold that was common of the Trill System government, nevertheless felt like a moon compared to a star.
A table stood in the center. The delegation party had stocked it with foodstuffs from their own system and a couple of flagons of finest wine among an arrangement of rare flowers—possibly the last of each species, as was usual protocol. The tabletop, designed for the Rue-Tik-Tan however, rose to Raylan’s neck, and he felt his hackles rising at what was possibly an intentional slight. It was an oversight that would not go unpunished when the opportunity arose.
‘Overlord Climlee,’ intoned the other in a booming voice. Before Raylan could respond, the Rue-Tik-Tan began to shake as though undergoing a seizure. The sails rustled, and a clicking sound came from the creature’s throat. Then, with a flourish of color, he dropped to one scaly knee, completing a traditional Rue-Tik-Tan symbolic greeting. Raylan, who had been invited to this audience and therefore came from the position of power, simply nodded in acknowledgement.
‘High Deity-in-Waiting of Wealth and Prosperity, it is my honor to receive you,’ he said, wishing he could demand the fool with the stupid title grovel and beg at his knees.
Both approached the central table. The High Deity leaned over it, while Raylan stayed a short distance back.
‘You have called me, and I have come,’ Raylan said. ‘It is my hope that an alliance can be formed between our systems. Mine of Trill, yours of…Phevius.’
The High Deity-in-Waiting of Wealth and Prosperity gave a solemn nod. ‘It has long been the opinion of the Phevius System Government of which I am the head counsel, that the Estron Quadrant is about to enter a period of upheaval. It has been coming for a long time. The fall of Trill System was merely a catalyst for a far more wide-ranging sense of dysfunction, and it is our opinion that now the cracks have been challenged, a new harmony can be achieved.’
Raylan tried not to yawn over the garrulous and long-winded answer. Composing himself, he said, ‘What is it that you require in order to seal our alliance until the Estron Quadrant is under a new form of government?’
The High Deity’s lips withdrew to reveal a wide grin of serrated lizard teeth. In an ideal world Raylan would have had each one removed using the most painful means at his disposal, but unfortunately the negotiating table made such a situation impossible.
‘A couple of Earth-years ago, a secret military base in Frail System belonging to the Phevian government was discovered and destroyed. Information leaked about its logistics, and more damning, its… source of labor, causing great harm to our system’s image. Several systems, including Quaxar and Areola placed economic sanctions on us, while prejudice and resentment toward Rik-Tik-Tan throughout the Estron Quadrant has since escalated, to a point where our government has decided something has to be done.’
‘And what is that something?’
‘We offer our hand in alliance to Overlord Climlee and his associates in the hope that together we might bring a restored peace to the Estron Quadrant and ensure the safety of all inhabitants.’
Raylan smiled. ‘By my honor as Overlord and Grand High Commander of Trill System, I accept your hand.’ He reached up, inwardly scowling when the scaly lizard member reached right over the table to shake with him, like an ugly, overlarge adult humoring a child.
The Rue-Tik-Tan smiled its evil grin again. ‘But we have one special condition that must be met to ensure our space navies are offered to yours for union.’
‘Yes?’
‘The war, as all wars are, will be long and hard. We will require a labor force. The Intergalactic Code of Communication has a rather overbearing and far-reaching law which we would like lifted from the Estron Quadrant. Trill System, as the largest of the Seven Systems, has always casted the deciding vote, but in the… absence of the other five, I take your authorization as… gospel.’
‘Make your request and I will consider its merits.’
‘Building and maintaining an army capable of supporting your highness during the coming battle will require unimaginable labor forces. It has proved hard as it is to maintain our current space navy, yet we need to expand it to impregnability. I therefore request that authorization be cast for us to use the blood of our captured enemies for this arduous task.’
Raylan nodded. An easy request to answer. Doubtlessly, as most systems did covertly, Phevius had used slaves in s
ome order, a situation long ago outlawed by the Intergalactic Code of Conduct. The punishment for involvement in slavery was the removal of one’s middle digit—or the nearest equivalent on a non-human hand—a mark that would remain visible, bringing scorn and resentment whether you went. Raylan had encountered dozens of such people, enough to know that the equality and balance between the races was a tenuous situation forever in danger of total and utter collapse.
‘As Overlord and High Commander of Trill System, I hereby authorize you to build your armies in whatever way you deem necessary. May we walk together through the blood of our enemies until we reach the gates of victory.’
He reached up again. The Rue-Tik-Tan leader grinned as they shook hands once more.
17
Beth
Paul, with one blaster in hand and two more fitted to his belt, and Davar, with an assault rifle reluctantly slung across his back, walked ahead of Beth and Harlan5. The tree line they followed angled up the ridge to where a cutting in the rock would give them a view of the other side.
The underclothes spacesuit kept her warm and dry, but the adjustable climate control allowed her to simulate the regular conditions if she chose. She had tweaked it once, and found the air chilly and damp, a soft breeze blowing down out of the mountains. A few times, they’d passed wide pits in the ground that gave off heat like geothermal vents, but Harlan5 had warned them to keep their distance for fear of what might be inside.
‘There’s another one.’ Paul stopped for the others to catch up then pointed at the gray-green mound between the trees ahead. ‘I’d swear it wasn’t there five minutes ago.’
‘The moss,’ Harlan5 said. ‘The air pressure is changing with the onset of night.’
‘Moss?’
Harlan5 lifted a hand. ‘That’s a form of moss native to Vattla. According to my database, it’s the primary source of food for the Evattlans.’
