by Barry Kirwan
“Do you remember, though? You and I were happy once.”
Again, several nanoseconds pause.
“I remember.”
“I have to go now, Hellera. Are the Hohash in place?”
“Of course. Are you sure about this, Kalaran?”
“Never surer, Hellera.”
“Then do it.” She broke the connection.
Two billion years alive. As Jen would say, he’d had a good run for his money. Kalaran readied his ship. Its ten kilometre-long outer hull shifted from its usual scarlet and green hues to a deep blue, except for a single ivory ankh, the sign of the Kalarash. His ship sprang towards Qorall’s, and opened fire.
Jen staggered along a passageway of gnarled rocks and boulders seen in ghoulish shades of grey in the utter darkness, courtesy of her new visual capability, Kalaran’s parting gift. She sucked in the last morsels of oxygen from her suit, holding each skinny breath for as long as she could before gasping another. It was tempting to lie down, to accept that life had finally kicked her ass, to give up. But she kept going, for Kalaran. Dammit, she was worried about him.
A faint glow rippled ahead, like a light underwater, so dim she thought at first that it must be an illusion, her new vision playing tricks on her. But no, it was there. She breathed out, and breathed in, having to suck hard, and realised this was her last breath from the suit. If nothing else, she wanted to see the ship before she died. The glow led her around a corner, and there it was.
A gyroscope was the first image that sprang to her mind as she gazed at the ship hovering just above the floor, the size of a three storey house, emanating blue light that pulsed like a heartbeat. Similar to the Tla Beth themselves, it had four vertical rings of shifting rainbow hues, turning slowly, two in one direction, two in the other. The inner part was diamond-shaped, its swirling surface masking any doors or windows that might offer her a sliver of hope.
The aching in her lungs grew to breaking point, and she exhaled a little, glancing at the red dial on her wrist indicating zero oxygen. Jen wanted to touch the ship, to try and make contact, and staggered a few paces forward. She exhaled some more as the onset of dizziness began. The thirst for air yanked at her lungs, and waves of nausea swept over her. One of the rings collided with her, knocked her off her feet, and spilled the last air out of her chest.
Jen tried to breathe, but there was nothing. Her mouth gawped uselessly, like a fish tossed onto dry land. She knew the pattern: muscles would fail from the extremities inwards, her brain being the last organ to shut down after the others stopped. Her body started to convulse, but even through the tremors she saw something silver above her, snaking its way towards her. It touched her helmet. She tried to sweep it away but her limbs refused to comply, and she watched a mouth open on the outside of her visor, reminding her of a lamprey, an Earth-based sea creature that latched onto fish and ate their intestines. She tried to push her head back inside her helmet, but her muscles ignored her.
Without warning, it pierced her visor, writhed into her mouth, and slithered down her throat. She wanted to scream, to fight this last violation, grab the worm and smash its head against the floor. But she was practically catatonic; even her gag reflex was inactive due to the oxygen depletion in her cells. Her body stilled, and Jen waited to die, thinking about Dimitri. She guessed she had a little time before complete brain death; maybe thirty seconds.
Jen felt a sharp jab inside her head, and found herself thinking about the Tla Beth, though she didn’t want to. She relived those last moments before it was destroyed by Qorall, images playing back in her mind of its accomplishments. She could still see its ship above her – but that wasn’t right – her vision should have faded by now. In fact, coherent thought should have ceased altogether. And then she breathed in the sweet taste of pure oxygen, just once, her chest suddenly rising, her back arching off the floor before collapsing again.
A surge of information screamed into her mind, she presumed via her node.
It wanted to know what had happened to its master. She mentally imaged Qorall’s attack on the planet, so the Tla Beth ship could see all that she had seen.
Another blast of oxygen. This time, her fingers and legs went into intense cramp, but she relished it; the Tla Beth ship was saving her. But again, just one breath. Jen gathered this was some kind of bargaining: oxygen for information. But the silver worm began to retract out of her gullet. She guessed why. She had nothing to offer it. Its master was dead. She was nothing to it. But she realised she wasn’t ready to die. Her arms still weren’t working, so she clamped her teeth down on the worm just as it was pulling out of her. Her head lifted from the floor as it tried to extract itself. Jen knew this was her last chance. She focused, transmitting via her node: Kalaran; her time on his ship, fighting the dark worms, accessing the Hohash; anything she could think of. The worm paused, its head just inside her mouth, as if deciding. Then it shot back down her throat, and pumped her so full of oxygen that her gag reflex returned.
Pierre tried to keep up with Ukrull. He’d never realised how fast his reptilian colleague could run, covering ground easily with his zig-zagging gait. Pierre activated his suit rear-cam, to see behind him rather than turn around and risk tripping. It showed an image of what was chasing them, displaying it on the upper right section of his visor.
Beetle-like machines loped toward them, with eight legs and empty sockets where eyes might have been, and coiled protrusions on their skulls that could have been antennae. At least they had no wings, since there was no atmosphere, and no wheels either since the terrain was too broken up. Pierre had no doubt that the Machines could fabricate any form they needed. But the antennae were stretching in his direction. With alarm he saw more of the mechanized creatures to his left and right, closing in.
At last he was catching up with Ukrull. On second thought, Ukrull was braking, and Pierre saw why – a gaping fissure had opened up in front of them, too wide to leap across. A ship rose up from its depths, but it wasn’t black like the other Machines; rather, it glowed blue. It lifted level with them just as the beetles arrived. A hatch opened, and a space-suited, helmetless figure stood in the doorway: Jen.
She waved to them to enter, though there was no need; Pierre and Ukrull bolted for the hatch. They dived in and the doorway disappeared as if it had never been there. As he got to his feet, Pierre found he couldn’t focus on the interior, it was like being inside a liquid, pinks and blues and other coloured shapes forming and deforming, sometimes transparent, sometimes opaque. Secrecy. All he could resolve visually were Jen and Ukrull.
“This way,” Jen said.
Pierre had a hundred questions, but an objection got there first. “Qorall has shielded the planet; we can’t get off.”
Jen turned. “It’s good to see you both alive. Really.”
Pierre slowed down a second: Jen looked like hell. He dared to ask. “Dimitri?”
Ukrull turned to look at Jen, too. Her eyes teared up, then she raised her chin to stop any from falling, and placed her right palm over her heart. Pierre understood. But it was hard to accept: Dimitri had been the closest human to a Level Five Pierre had known, smarter than most Genners. And Dimitri and Jen had been besotted with each other; that much had been clear. But before Pierre could speak, Ukrull emitted a low growl that grew into a roar; it fit how they all felt, a mixture of loss, anger and respect. But mostly anger.
Then Ukrull spoke, though it wasn’t any language Pierre recognised. A Hohash arrived – not theirs, its frame metallic blue – it must have belonged to the Tla Beth guardian of this planet. It showed them an external view: ten or so of the beetles were clambering all over the Tla Beth ship, their antennae trying to syringe into the Tla Beth’s exterior, but they couldn’t penetrate the hull, and so instead they locked their legs around the external rings. Pierre wondered why the ship didn’t rotate its rings to break free.
Jen, rather than Ukrull, answered his unspoken question. “It wants them. We’re takin
g them with us.”
The certainty in her voice led him to another question. “Are you in touch with the ship? Via your node?”
She nodded, then added, “Kalaran is out there, though apparently he can’t break through this planet’s shield. The good news is that Qorall can’t either. We only know what’s going on because this Hohash is communicating with one just outside the shield. Subspace movement is blocked, but not communication.” Jen frowned. “According to the ship, the Machines aren’t supposed to be able to do what they’re doing.”
Pierre suddenly felt optimistic. “Never mind, Jen. Kalaran is here! That’s great news.” Yet she didn’t look happy, and neither did Ukrull. Pierre’s optimism dipped. “Isn’t it?”
Ukrull loped off through curtains of colour. Jen held out her hand. “Come on, Pierre, it’s time to go.”
They turned a corner and the colours dissolved, revealing a circular hatch leading to empty space – normal, not green – full of stars. Pierre didn’t get it; had they left the planet and moved outside the shield? And if so where were the beetles? As he got closer he saw that there was a gossamer tube-like corridor leading from the hatch, twisting out into space, its walls like thin transparent plastic. He paused at the threshold.
“Jen, is this what I think it is? An inter-dimensional corridor? It shouldn’t be possible.”
She shrugged. “Level Nineteen, remember? Kalaran still has a few tricks up his sleeve. Just think of it as an escape chute, Pierre. You go first.”
He didn’t move. “We should stay and help Kalaran.”
She shook her head. “You’re not thinking. At best we’d be a distraction, mostly a nuisance, and at worst a liability. He wants us out. Now.”
“Where’s Ukrull?” Pierre stared into the infinite, empty corridor.
“Behind you,” Ukrull grunted, and shoved Pierre in the back, knocking him over the threshold.
Immediately, with that single step, Pierre found himself flung far along the corridor, landing on hands and knees. The corridor’s floor had a damp, spongy feel, his fingers making indentations; it felt terribly flimsy, as if it might tear and disgorge him into open space. He got up and looked behind, and could just make out Jen and Ukrull staring from the hatchway. Yet outside the corridor he’d moved a great distance; he estimated twenty thousand kilometres from the planet. He tried to step back toward Jen, but a single pace in any direction thrust him further down the corridor. Now he couldn’t see either the hatch or Jen or Ukrull. But what he could see took his breath away, as this section of the corridor appeared to run close to the heat of battle.
Kalaran’s ship jetted a stream of blazing violet fire at Qorall’s asteroid-sized vessel. Most of it was deflected into the mouth of Qorall’s black hole. Qorall’s ship spewed forth jade-coloured forks of dark energy throughout the entire system. Pierre turned to see the Machine planet, in the path of those arcs of destructive power. The planet’s dull shield came down long enough for a single ship – the one he’d been standing on a minute ago – to sprint out of the system towards a crimson mouth at the edge of the sector that swelled for a moment then swallowed the ship and vanished.
“Wormhole,” Jen said, suddenly next to him. “Kalaran created it out of enemy ships and exotic matter. Hellera has opened the other end deeper inside the galaxy, at the Tla Beth homeworld.
“Why didn’t we travel through it?”
She laughed mirthlessly. “Turned out Dimitri was right about that. Wormhole travel is possible in theory, but most matter gets pulped and cooked during transit. But the Xera are very tough. They adapted last time around – using some kind of Level Eighteen shielding – when they tried to escape this battle-field two million years ago.”
Pierre saw the irony in what was happening. “Kalaran blocked them last time, didn’t he?”
She nodded.
He turned back to the planet. It was being drawn into Qorall’s black hole. But some of the Machines had escaped. Kalaran’s plan all along.
Ukrull arrived. “Must go. Conduit sealed behind us. Won’t last.” Without waiting, Ukrull took another step and disappeared down the corridor.
“We have to go, Pierre,” Jen said.
She held out her hand. He looked at it but didn’t take it, not meeting her gaze. “I’ll be right along, Jen.”
She studied him a moment. “I don’t think…” Her voice caught. She collected herself, and tried again. “I don’t think Kalaran’s going to make it, Pierre. Qorall is too strong. I’ve lost one person I care about today, I’m about to lose another. Please don’t make it three.”
He had to force himself not to step back. Kalaran about to die? Impossible. Kalaran was way too smart. “I’ll be there, Jen. I promise. You go.”
She shrugged, took a breath and a step, and vanished into the distant swaying, cord-like corridor.
Pierre didn’t believe Kalaran would, or even could, die. He was Level Nineteen, a sublime intelligence. For sure he had some trick up his sleeve, and Pierre wanted to see it; the scientist in him demanded it, and he still had a little time. He glanced back towards where the ship had been: the corridor undulated in space like a long rope cut loose. He swallowed, but stayed put.
Kalaran’s crossbow-shaped vessel was closer to Qorall’s now, the latter’s asteroid-sized ship glowing red under Kalaran’s relentless fire. The Machine planet whipped past both ships, arcs of green lightning skittering across its surface. It plunged towards the maw of the black hole, shattering into fragments before spiralling downwards. Its descent appeared to slow down, due to relativity, but Pierre knew the planet was already gone.
Pierre glanced back towards the corridor’s original entrance, only to find it was rushing toward him, like the end of a deflating balloon. He stumbled backwards and found himself thrown way down the corridor, but the loose end was catching up fast. He got to his feet and was about to run when he saw in the distance the unthinkable: Kalaran’s ship was engulfed in green shards of energy. This can’t be happening! Turning to his right, open space was almost upon him, and he dived left just in time.
The scene was far away now, hard to make out. The whole sector was like a ball of green electricity. He heard Jen’s voice as Ukrull’s claws locked around him.
“Out of time.”
Pierre was hauled off his feet, as the trio bounded towards the safe end of the corridor. He didn’t struggle. The last glimpse he saw of the battle scene was a series of eye-searing flashes before it went dark. But in the afterglow Pierre witnessed the unmistakeable remains of Kalaran’s shattered ship spinning into Qorall’s black hole.
As the trio spilled into an empty white room – Pierre hardly cared where they were – Ukrull planted him on his feet. Pierre gripped Ukrull’s claw and Jen’s wrist.
“Kalaran’s... dead.” Pierre still couldn’t believe it. Surely Qorall would win now; Hellera alone could not stand up against him. She would leave, and the galaxy would be lost. He felt dizzy, wanted to sit on the floor, to sink through it. Ukrull should have left him in the corridor.
In the silence punctuated only by Ukrull’s raspish breathing, they stared at each other. Ukrull let his head roll back towards the ceiling, his fore-claws raised above his head like fists, as he began hammering the air, emitting the loudest roar Pierre had ever heard. Pierre glanced at Jen, then sat down, his back against the wall. He didn’t have the energy to roar. Instead he stared into the floor, trying to make sense of it, to see the way out, but all he foresaw was their doom.
All his life he’d believed intelligence to be the only thing that mattered, and spending the last eighteen years travelling in a galaxy whose very basis was founded on the supremacy of intelligence had vindicated that perspective. But now the most intelligent being in the galaxy, perhaps the universe, had been felled. The universe had changed with Kalaran’s passing, and Pierre wasn’t sure he wanted to stay in this darker one.
Ukrull’s roaring ceased, leaving a ringing in Pierre’s ears. Jen joined him sitting on t
he floor, and took his hand and held onto it, while Ukrull paced, occasionally stomping or kicking at the walls.
Jen leant her head against his shoulder. “We’re totally screwed, aren’t we?”
Petra stared at the plazglass, wondering if it needed to be thicker. Blake – the golden version – was quieter now, finally. Kilaney had brought him back in a stasis capsule, a grim moment for the people of Esperia, seeing the one-time saviour of humanity sedated in a transparent casket surrounded by heavily-armed guards. Word spread quickly as to what had happened, that Blake had been contaminated – corrupted – and was now on Qorall’s side. He’d been brought to Esperantia’s hospital through the streets; most people had looked at him not so much with pity, but with fear. If Qorall could turn Blake…
That was yesterday. Since then a contingent of Ossyrian doctors and an Ngank surgeon had landed their egg-shaped ship right outside Esperantia’s hospital. That was where Petra stood right now, staring at Blake, separated by a reinforced glass wall.
When they first woke him, he broke through his restraints – apparently by dislocating his shoulder – and managed to bite one of the Ossyrian doctors, infecting her. The others had evacuated and vaporised their comrade, even as her fur had begun to take on a golden sheen.
Sedation was no longer working. He just sat there, staring.
Kilaney entered through the Egg-ship’s airlock. “Any change?”
She shook her head.
“The Ossyrians want to take him into orbit; less risk of contamination up there.”
“No,” Petra said. “He’s my jurisdiction. He stays.”
Kilaney took in a breath, as if about to give a speech, then apparently thought better of it. He walked up to the glass, fingertips of one hand resting against it. With speed that made Petra recoil and almost topple from her stool, Blake leapt forward and rammed the glass with his head. A dull boom filled the room. Kilaney didn’t flinch. Where Kilaney’s fingers met the glass, there was a golden smear on the other side. Blake returned to a standing position, his head apparently undamaged, and resumed his stare at Petra.
