To Guard Against the Dark

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Nope.” Terk tossed his bowl and spoon into the recycler set in the wall, then stretched, joints cracking. “Typical. We do all the tough stuff, officers take the credit.”

  “Partner Russ-ELL—”

  Bending toward Finelle, Terk covered his ears and stuck out his tongue.

  Stunned speechless, the Lemmick reared back.

  Morgan laughed.

  The galley com crackled to life. “Tug incoming. Please meet me on the bridge.”

  “You heard the captain,” he said.

  It was time.

  Interlude

  THANKS TO THOSE linked to me, I kept my sense of how time passed in AllThereIs, marked by events on a celestial scale, less so by immediacy, not at all by heartbeats or breaths.

  Or tears. I’d run out, so they weren’t much use either, except to warn of limits. To my strength, to my ability to function here, to the time I had to finish my task. Not to my pain, but I’d known that.

  What I hadn’t? How it would feel, to be here, standing in the same universe as Jason Morgan. I could do a heart-search and find him. Bring him to me, bring me to him.

  I’d the Power.

  It would be that easy, and to every Sapients’ hells with the M’hir—

  —then what? Give Morgan up again, before the Great Ones thundered through Between to shatter the universes?

  The DREAD I felt wasn’t mine alone. It eased, fading back and away. They trusted me, those who held on, who’d sent me here and stayed.

  Should they? I let out a shuddering breath and hoped.

  “I thought you were done,” Touley muttered, mistaking the sound. The Assembler had taken refuge from my little storm in a corner. She stood there now, arms tight around her middle as though insisting her parts stay together.

  I used the edge of my not-a-dress to wipe mucus from my face, letting out a second of those shuddering breaths. “No,” I said, uninterested in deceit. “I won’t do it.” Whatever the alien thought I meant didn’t matter. I wouldn’t lose control again, not here.

  Spotting the tube of e-rations, I picked it up and made my way to the table. Somehow, I climbed up to sit on it; Rael’s body protested in ways I vaguely remembered. I bit and chewed. Swallowed. Bit and chewed.

  Maybe it was the taste of the e-rations, but my brain started to work again, fastening on a question. Trapped in this room, with an Assembler between me and the door, what would Morgan do?

  Meanwhile, slowly, Touley edged out of her corner. She gave the drain—or was it the bloody sheet?—a wide berth and neared the end of the table. “I asked the stupid Scat one-mind for you why he woke you against orders.”

  I kept chewing.

  As I expected, the Assembler came a little closer. “He said you were protection. You barely stand. How are you protection from anything?”

  Scats seized or abandoned notions with bewildering speed, assessing each on the basis of personal gain for personal risk, but they weren’t xenophobes. Meeting other species, Scats had quickly realized they were influenced by different motives. What they thought of those didn’t matter; they had use.

  One, in particular, succeeded with a multiplicity of victims.

  “I’m a hostage,” I guessed, more to myself than her.

  “What?”

  “The Scats believe they can control those who want me if I’m threatened with harm.”

  “Harm taking you out of the box.”

  Point taken. “Out of the box, I’m easier to move or hide.”

  “Those who want you will be angry, not controlled.”

  Chewing, I shrugged, inwardly alert. Any new information could be of use. “Maybe the Scats want to offer me to a wider market.” Use her words. “To a different group.”

  Her hands gripped the table beside me, the left white-knuckled, the right resting. “Bad. Bad. Not do!”

  “Why?”

  Her mouth clamped shut.

  No matter. She’d come within reach. I swallowed my last mouthful, surprised to find I’d finished the tube’s contents. Rolling the wrapper neatly, I made a show of looking around, as if hunting where to put it, then set it on the table. Touley’s eyes followed the wrapper.

  I threw myself forward, pushing off from the table, managing to grab her by the wrists. We both fell to the floor, but she hit first. I rammed a knee into her torso, a move Morgan had taught me.

  She fragmented. Shoulders burst from arms; wrists pulled in opposite directions; the torso split and ran for it. I turned my face in time to protect my nose as I dropped through what had been Touley to land on the floor.

  The head laughed without sound as it backed away.

  I showed my teeth at it, then maneuvered to my knees, still holding the wrists. Losing its smile, the head began to frown. As if summoned by mutual need, the legs and feet rejoined. Other parts scrambled to follow.

  “Too late,” I assured them. Rising to stand, I staggered gracelessly to the door and whipped one of the hands through the air. The fingers went wide to protect themselves, leaving the palm flat to press against the lock.

  As the door whisked open, I stepped through, then let it close, smiling as I heard the lock snick into place. Scats liked that sort of effect. The hands wriggled in fury, and I tossed them down the corridor. They were welcome to try and climb the wall to unlock the rest of their group.

  I’d no intention of arriving at our destination as a hostage or helpless. Scats could be negotiated with—hadn’t I done it before? The trick was to find the right Scat.

  Which meant finding the bridge.

  Chapter 13

  THE BRIDGE OF THE WAYFARER was unlike any Morgan had seen before, and he’d seen his share. Curved he’d expected, not this steep ribbed funnel cutting through two decks, facing a blank wall of equal height. Stairs led down one outside edge, with a handrail. A tube offered a quick ride down the other. Between, attached like pods on the funnel’s ridges, were a dozen traditional consoles with padded seating for crew. To reach them?

  “You swing. Like this.” Captain Usuki Erin slipped her hand through a strap attached to a colorful cable, one of many looped against the outside walls, and launched into the air.

  Not quite. The cable let her walk—bounce—along the funnel’s side to reach her command post; she tied it off once there. “Wayfarer was designed for racing in null-grav,” she explained, her voice carrying flawlessly. Augmented. “Pick a seat and strap in. Any console can assume the full range of ship functions, but don’t worry. Nothing’s live but mine.”

  Two-Lily Finelle took to the air, a sight to chill the heart of any Whirtle, but Noska would ride out the trip in its quarters. A well-deserved rest, Erin had explained, a twinkle in her eye. The Lemmick’s landing was more a collision that landed her in a chair, presumably the one she’d intended. She gave a cheerful wave.

  Terk turned sickly green.

  Morgan, after a quick study of the nearest rib, took pity on him. “Here,” he said in a low voice, tapping the rib with his boot. It expanded outward to offer a comfortably wide path, a pulsing light marking the way. No, a countdown. “I’d hurry,” he added.

  With Terk safely at his console and strapped in, Morgan chose a cable that would bring him to one behind and to the right of the captain’s, keeping his feet in contact with the ribs. Once there, he pressed the cable against the mechanism that gripped it for later use, then perched on the edge of an exceedingly well-contoured chair. Leather, by the texture and wear. The Wayfarer’s builders had style, he’d give them that. The console itself? A glance reassured him. If the need arose, his hands knew such controls—

  Not his ship.

  Rigged for racing, was it? His gaze traced channels in the wall, dropped to assess the layout of the consoles. Morgan nodded to himself. The Wayfarer’s bridge was designed to slide into another, more typical configuration. He lean
ed forward, pitching his voice for the ship’s captain. “Showing off?”

  Erin grinned up at him, not bothering to deny it. “Did you see your friend’s face?” she chuckled. “Admit it, it’s a fun option. Noska’s plan is to charge a bit extra to let passengers ride through lift.”

  “Sitting like flies on a wall?”

  “No. Like this.” She stretched out a hand and operated a switch.

  The bridge went dark, except for tiny telltales on the consoles.

  Then the far wall opened, letting in the dawn.

  Framed in starships, the ocean stretched to the horizon, painted in reds and orange. An atmospheric freighter floated by overhead, dimming the light for a moment, while below, in the lane between ships?

  A tug approached, great arms wide in welcome.

  This wasn’t a viswall, like that in the galley of the Fox—or not only one—but a window two decks high.

  Theatrics. Part of him disapproved on principle. You were a trader or an entertainer, not both, and space travel had better be predictable, every check done every time, or you were dead. Boring was safe.

  The other part of him—the part that thrilled to the roar of engines and the chance to see new worlds—thought Noska a shrewd business-being and this? The best bridge ever made.

  So would Sira.

  “Whaddayou say, Captain?” Erin asked. “Like the view?”

  Not without her.

  An irrational decision, maybe, but Morgan lowered his eyes, refusing to look. He felt the familiar shudder as the tug took hold, the lurch as the ship was plunked from the ground, the vibration as the journey to the field began. He’d missed this, too.

  “Thel confirms the shuttle’s away,” Terk announced, his voice booming through the bridge.

  Erin swore and twisted in her seat. “You’ve accessed my coms? How!? Stop!”

  “I’ve skills,” the enforcer said modestly. “Oh, and Captain Yo’lof from the Paradigm sends congratulations.”

  Morgan met Erin’s outraged glare with a half smile. “He’s a decent comtech. Might as well put him to work, too.”

  A look that could melt plas. “Nothing goes out without my—”

  “Pardon, Captain?” from Terk. “Missed that. Busy updating shipcity control with our status. Thel advises any dents to her tug will be on your bill and to enjoy the flight.”

  “Acknowledge,” Erin said icily, turning back to her board.

  “Incoming from the Eaky: ‘Thought you’d grown roots under those fins, pumpkin.’” Innocently, “Do you wish to respond, pum—Captain?”

  Letting the two spar, Morgan settled back in his seat and closed his eyes.

  The Heerala had lifted before dawn, on course for Plexis, with Huido and the Yabok bones.

  As well as the box containing Cersi’s last Adepts. Or rocks. Whatever they were, Huido would keep them safe until Morgan could deal with them. If need be, the Carasian would destroy them. Better that, than—what? What they didn’t know loomed like a chasm.

  Keep it simple, Morgan reminded himself. The potholes would tell him when they’d arrived at the field; Auord’s attempts to fix the junction between the shipcity’s firm laneways and the more fluid nature of the field being a long-standing joke. He’d exit the bridge once suborbital; no sense leaving the comfort of his seat until the quick and dirty work on the Wayfarer’s engines proved to either work—or blew them to particles, annoying Thel and melting a good portion of the landing field.

  Even odds which.

  Lift-off achieved, he set to work. The Wayfarer had decent-sized air locks, but Morgan had to tilt the scapula to fit it inside. The Assemblers—hands only—wiggled a protest, but kept hold. Whatever the head had told them continued to work.

  He’d have felt safer gluing them down.

  “We’re in position, Captain Morgan. The shuttle has lined up to dock with the Worraud.”

  He shifted to aim his visor at Finelle, her large eyes visible through the inner window. “Terk?”

  Her voice could smile. “Partner Russ-Ell makes a convincing idiot. He has the Scats as incensed by his clumsy work on coms as they are terrified by the nearness of our ship. Captain Erin has helped by making our engines appear to falter.”

  Morgan hoped “appear” was all it was. “Good. Ready?”

  “Yes. I’ll extract the air at your command. The interior lights will go off before the hatch opens, again at your word. May your journey be— I’ll wait here,” the Lemmick finished with a confidence he wished he shared.

  The return trip, at least, he planned to make under power. “Do it.”

  The suit fit better than any he’d owned, but the tang was the same: metal on the back of the tongue; the redolence of confined Human flesh. Recyclers never got it all. Homey, that. Breathing and pulse, steady, but they should be. Some trips in the Fox, he’d spent as much time outside as in.

  Morgan angled the bone to check on his cohorts. As the air thinned, the Assembler bits were losing color, their flesh tone becoming gray. At the same time their skin thickened, exchanging flexibility for strength. The species didn’t advertise its ability to resist vacuum and hard radiation, but free traders were well aware, faced with scouring hulls of such hitchhikers or face fines. The red-eyed vermin were among the worst, working their way into any crevice or hiding place, tolerating with ease what etched away at a ship’s hull. Assemblers preferred not to hang on the outside of starships and, able to pass as Human, rarely did.

  As if aware of his scrutiny, the hands bent toward the hatch.

  Impatient to get this over with, were they?

  Morgan steadied the bone. He wasn’t. There’d be new nightmares to follow, without any surety he’d done the right thing.

  For Rael.

  “Open the hatch.”

  Interlude

  “I WILL HAVE YOU blown out the hat-ssch.”

  Being nose to snout with an enraged Scat was an experience I’d planned not to repeat in any lifetime, let alone go looking for it. Yet here I was, again.

  Black foam edged the serrated teeth lining the jaws. Scales covered the skin, delicate on the throat, sharp and overlapped over the cheeks and head. A frill rose behind each large yellow eye, frills pulsing with emotive color.

  As now, red with fury.

  “You can’t,” I told it, calmly, not sure which gender I’d encountered. I did know this was a member of the crew, not an officer.

  The sweeper being a dead giveaway.

  The head reared back in offense. “Why can’t I?”

  “Because the captain’s expecting me on the bridge. If you delay me—” I left it there, not daring to ask directions.

  “The captain?” The Scat angled its head to bring its right eye to bear. If the other was flawed, that could explain its position in the crew—while making it inclined to seize any chance to promote itself at the expense of others. You really couldn’t win with the species. “Are you one of them?”

  “What do you think?” I countered, possibly too clever for my own good.

  Luckily not, for the frills lost their red and flattened, and I saw its claws tense on the sweeper. “Mindcrawler. They told us-sss you would arrive on the ss-shuttle.”

  “And so I have.” Clan, here. With a shuttle, docked and presumably about to leave. I spared a moment to sigh inwardly. A reasonable chance to escape captivity, but I couldn’t take it. Not until I dealt with whomever it had brought and discovered where to find the rest.

  At least my task looked to be easier than I’d thought.

  Tempting, to lower my shields and search for minds like mine, but I’d been warned against it. Besides, I’d no need, having spent time on a Scat ship. Shuttles docked with the big hatches on the cargo level. That’s where I’d find the Clan.

  “I need to go back to the shuttle, come to think of it,” I said,
as if the creature with its predator focus locked on me wasn’t at all unnerving. “I forgot my gift for your captain.”

  The eye glistened, its slit pupil widening. Something wrong with my appearance, or smell, was making its way through that long skull.

  The moment it arrived, the Scat’s jaws began clattering in the laughter of its kind.

  I leaned back to avoid the inevitable spittle. “Get out of my way!”

  “You will—”

  The corridor lighting flashed red, then white, then red. A klaxon screeched a warning that didn’t need to be in Comspeak to be understood: collision alert. As the Scat Hindmost hesitated, I hit the power reverse on the sweeper and held my breath.

  The creature disappeared in a cloud of filth.

  Who knew my shifts as Hindmost would prove useful?

  As the creature clawed at its good eye and spat, I dodged low through the cloud, still holding my breath, and ran down the corridor for the lift. The flashing light turned my steps into terrifying slow motion and at any instant I expected claws to rip into my skin. I couldn’t hear pursuit over the unceasing alarm, but the Scat would be after me, if only for its own sake.

  I got the lift door open and threw myself inside, closing it at once. I gasped for air, this body—my body—shaking so hard I could barely stand, somehow managing to send the lift down.

  Danger!!! The howl from the Watcher—more than one—locked my muscles. Just as well, or I’d have dropped to the floor. HARM!!

  What’s wrong? As well ask a storm for sense as pry an answer from them mid-drama, but I tried. Tell me!

  An unlikely calm. Suddenly, in a dire echo of the past, another howl began, one I understood all too well.

  Names.

  Clan had died, and it was too soon and wrong to feel anything but grief at their passing. I shuddered, closing my eyes.

  It was only then it occurred to me to worry about the collision alarm.

  What was happening outside the ship?