Terror on the Trailblazer

by John Thornton

  A piercing wail echoed around the room as the cushion on the gravity conduit delivered up the cargo, and then the horizontal door sealed beneath it. A howling of sheer terror echoed off all the walls and ceiling. As the caterwauling rose rapidly, so did the heart rates of all the people in the room. The cargo had arrived, and it had been carried many kilometers, through zero-gravity conditions, and in utter blackness. Yes, now, it had arrived at its destination.

  “Hurry, apply the stabilizers,” Helen-Yirmi commanded, but Anaya-Joaquin was already stepping forward toward the thing on the now closed and sealed pedestal. “It was all alone.”

  “A bad one, yes,” Anaya-Joaquin stated, as patches were set against the squirming thing. Wires led from the patches to an apparatus in the case. A yellow colored light shone down on the whole surface of the pedestal.

  “Cover that limb over, before it gets too cold. Raise the heat, I see steam coming off from its thorax,” Helen-Yirmi scolded out the order.

  “A tail… but it could be a limb, or appendage, I suppose. Depends on how one defines the term limb. It is not an arm or leg as we know it, no hand or foot, per-se but perhaps…” Anaya-Joaquin looked over and saw the displeasure in the other eyes, and changed the course of the discussion. “Stabilizer patches established,” Anaya-Joaquin stated as they were locked on. Their soft and form-fitting composition held the delivery thing in place, and restrained it against squirming a bit. It continued to wail, tears forming on its three—each uniquely different, but misshapen—eyes. “Warming field begun. Genetic profile is severely deviated on this one, yet the saving grace is the high radiation resistance levels. With our techniques, survivability quotient is above ninety percent, despite nucleonic chromosomal pairs, triplets, and quadruples which are observed. Fifty-seven separate units categorized, but twenty-one are unstable and in flux. Mitochondrial discrepancies at sixty-four percent. Somatic grievances are high, while genetic drift is nebulous but cyclical. Paternal lineage uncertain, but maternal line clearly passed down the effects. Two generations from onset, apparently. Bonding of adenine, neogristine, thymine guanine, cytosine, uracil, are misaligned by fedostule factors. Chromosomes are unusual, even for this type. If the…”

  “Enough with your nonsense babbling. Just make the change!”

  “Transmogrification via the stabilizers begun,” Anaya-Joaquin said quietly, but a myriad of thoughts continued, but were not expressed. A moment later, the thoughts pushed out and became quiet words, “I did nothing wrong. It is fine to describe a complex medical procedure like this out-loud. That is mentally healthy and psychologically effective. I like to externally process my thoughts.”

  A rude snort showed that Anaya-Joaquin’s comment had not gone unheard, nor unnoted, despite the vigorous sobbing coming from atop the pedestal.

  Anaya-Joaquin just let the thoughts flow out verbally, “Union of stabilizing factors shifting biological features. Mutations being consolidated into sustainable form. Metamorphosis occurring along the alpha format. Physiological template being pressed into place. Body surface is now…”

  “Just do it, and spare the ridiculous commentary. There is no one here to impress, save me, and you have already impressed on me a life-time supply of your nonsense. We both know what is happening here, so bottle-up your jabbering, for there is no one to impress.”

  “Well, I am here. Yes, I am now here as well,” a new voice—sounding very much like the others—came from the hallway.

  “Siiri-Peter? I was unaware you were watching. I did not hear you with all the crying. I just wanted this process to go smoothly,” Helen-Yirmi said with a chastised tone.

  “Crying may be the only natural part of any of this. When terror strikes, crying is appropriate,” Siiri-Peter replied. “We all want these transitions to go smoothly, but that is not always, nor even often, the case. Be assured, colorful commentary does not aid in the process either.”

  “Apologies,” Anaya-Joaquin replied, pride falling away, as realization came that Siiri-Peter had been listening and watching for some time.

  Siiri-Peter confidently walked over and looked down at what had been delivered. “Yes, you are welcome here. We will help. Terrified and all alone in a tube. What you endured, little one, is disgusting, but we will help you. You are alone, unwanted, and terrorized no longer.”

  Flesh was moving about under the forces of the stabilizers and the other treatments being delivered. The features of the thing were changing right before their eyes.

  “Evolution never moved so fast,” Siiri-Peter observed, “Yet, none of us are products of natural evolution.” Then addressing the thing on the gravity conduit pedestal, “Come forth, little one. Come forth, and join your family. Your odyssey alone is over, your solitary terror is ending. As the caterpillar of legend became the mythological butterfly, so too you will change for the better. Friends, we are witnessing the birth of a tant!”

  “Our child.”

  “Our baby.”

  “Yes, our next generation.”

  The patches and other devices which had performed the stabilizing transformation and transmogrification were detached. The new form’s body shifted, wiggled, and suddenly stopped crying. The muscles and flesh of the body undulated and rippled as body parts found their permanent places. It was free to move about. Its eyes merged into a single one, with an intense brown color, but moments later, faded into a blue hue, bifurcated, and spread about into two matching eyes, of indeterminate color, and widely spaced on the remolding face. They blinked and focused in on the surroundings. Looking toward the top of its head, the eyes blinked again as ragged, dark, course hair forced its way out of the steadied scalp. The hair then stopped when it was about two centimeters long. Below the two eyes, the fleshy cartilage reshaped into a nose, which was blunt and flat, while its nostrils flared and cleft open. Red mucus membranes became visible inside the splayed nostrils, while the mouth was forming and taking shape. That orifice was triangular with its apex just under the flattened nose. Irregular, tiny teeth pushed out from the newly formed gums, and small trails of blood rolled down the sides of that eerie mouth. The babe smacked its lips together, and then licked at the bloody mess with a tongue that was too long. Its limbs, now more human in appearance, flailed in synchronized movements. Six-fingered hands reached out and grabbed six-toed feet. Knees bent and pushed as the joints and legs adjusted into their form.

  “Behold, a new tant has come into our world. What the norms saw as trash, and threw away to die alone, we see as children to be helped, and honored. Yes, radiation is our creator,” Siiri-Peter stated proudly. “A fairy godparent to all us, tants.”

  “All standard variables for tant stability achieved,” Anaya-Joaquin stated. “I am shutting down the process.”

  The light which had shone on the pedestal winked out, and the four people all blinked their eyes as they adjusted to the different illumination level of the room.

  “I will carry her to the nursery,” Siiri-Peter stated, and picked up the baby tant, wrapping a blanket around her. “Little girl, you are not alone.”

  “Her? Girl? A female?” Helen-Yirmi snorted out a question.

  “I call them all—the babies—her, until the naming. I know it is supercilious, pretentious, and completely trivial of me to do that, since none of us have a single gender, in the traditional sense of that word. Norms say we are all monstrosities, with their overt sexual dimorphism. Yet to me, babies are always females. In a very real way, we are her parents,” Siiri-Peter lifted the baby up and kissed her forehead tenderly. “Such a hard start—a truly tough genesis—deserves a loving embrace, do you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Infancy is such a short time anyway,” Siiri-Peter went on, “A month from now she will be walking, and then go to the naming service. She deserves cuddles and snuggles for now. We cherish her newness and life. You two, just continue your work, but well done! I will make the necessary connections and personally deliver her
to the nursery. You say Ida and Medical Clinic 14CFJ7 were responsible for this child?”

  “Yes, it came originally from upstream in Ida, and Medical Clinic 14CFJ7, of the Isle of Pines, refused to accept it. Hence, it came here.”

  “I will address those issues as well,” Siiri-Peter stated, and walked away, cuddling the baby. “Ida, and Medical Clinic 14CFJ7, interesting. Come with me little girl, your life is changed, and will now go on. Yes, I have you. Alone no longer, a stranger no more. You were hated and discarded, but not by us”

  After Siiri-Peter departed, the other two tants waited for a while. Only when it was obvious that their leader had actually left, did they begin to speak again.

  “It is a wonderous sight, when one of those lives!”

  “Yes, indeed it is. Stabilization was a remarkable—a miracle—breakthrough in medicine. We did it here, and we are not a clinic, or medical unit at all. We saved, what Ida considered garbage.”

  “And Ida should pay more food, since they threw out that baby. So should that medical place, right?”

  “Medical Clinic 14CFJ7 was in a position to help, but they refused to accept it. Bastards!” snorted out Helen-Yirmi

  “They diverted it away, treated it like junk. Tants are always treated like junk, even pre-embryonic ones. But who sent it?”

  “Unclear. I do not know its specific, exact, original origin, except somewhere up in Ida. Obviously, they owe us more food, supplies, and resources to take care of our new tant. Ida owes us!”

  “That medical unit has a lot of explaining to do too. Oh, yes, I agree completely, but, as was mentioned, who will collect it?” Anaya-Joaquin’s arms were spread wide apart.

  “First, they need to know what we did.”

  “Know…? You cannot be serious.”

  “I am. That Benefactor of theirs should receive a thank you note from us. Medical Clinic 14CFJ7 just diverted that baby. Disgusting. The gravity conduit system can send messages as well as transport items. I know the message system on our end is working, and it is about time those norms heard from us.”

  “Sure! Send it. Let them think it is the ghost from their terrorizing that child. What is the worst that could happen?” Anaya-Joaquin rhetorically asked.

  “Siiri-Peter will know. The Outer Limits friends monitor everything, but I am sick of them treating children like this. Sick, frustrated, and angry!”

  “Me too. Send them an epistle they will never forget.”

  “Not just a single ghost, oh no. Let them fear us all. I cannot tell exactly from which pedestal in Ida our babe originated. However, I can broadside a message to all the working pedestals. Now, I will just open up the speakers there in Ida and acknowledge receipt of our new tant,” Helen-Yirmi snorted as the adjustments on the controls were made and the message sent. “That medical unit will know also. Oh, yes, they too will hear. The six fingered hands tapped in a message on a keyboard. I think that ought to do it.”

  “What did you say to them?” Anaya-Joaquin inquired.

  With a subdued chuckle and snort, Helen-Yirmi replied, “Their pedestals are now saying, in a recorded voice which sounds like one of us, ‘An angel arrived here moments ago, alone and in terror. We have adopted the child you discarded. Medical Clinic 14CFJ7 refused to help, even though they are active and empowered. However, we did not shirk our duty. Our family has benefited by your loss and ignorance. We are stronger now, but sustenance is required, and will be collected. Benefactors need to pay their dues. We are coming.’”

  “Oh, bravo! Yes, Helen-Yirmi, that is appropriate. You have impressed me. If I were a norm, I would be frightened.”

  “If you were a norm, you would be ugly, cruel, and evil.”

  “And I would be looking over my shoulder to see when the tants would come!” Anaya-Joaquin clasped the shoulder of Helen-Yirmi, and they both nodded at each other. They shut down the gravity conduit, and departed the room.

  Helen-Yirmi got very serious and snorted out, “But seriously, will any of those norms pay any attention?”

  “Doubtful. Really doubtful.”

  From a covert corner of that room, mechanical optics were recording all that had happened. Helen-Yirmi’s message was not the only signal which was sent from that location. It remained to be seen which message would cause the greatest amount of terror on the Trailblazer.

  2

  Scorned Fury

  Plates, cups, and a golden goblet sailed across the ornately decorated room, smashing into the wall and spilling food, drink, and treats all over. A blue stain ran down the elegant tapestry which had been adorning the wall, while the goblet which had held the wine clattered to the polished floor. The man who threw the items off his tray sat back down in a large, overstuffed chair, and looked around. His ring-encrusted hands fidgeted as if they were looking for something else to hurl, but did not release the silver tray.

  “Just look at what you caused!” the man sputtered. He rose up from the seat and whirled about. His gray and black speckled beard was the prominent feature of his face, but the brilliant yellow stripes of paint which came down vertically across his forehead, then across his eyebrows, and finally down the length of his nose did glow with their own iridescence. “Was it not my Grandmother? Then my father? And now me? Well? Yes, it was. Benefactors! Oh, what a thankless burden we have born, and now I bear. I have put aside all worldly pursuits to devote my time to fulfilling optimal mystical realization, and community disclosure, and other-actualization. Not self-actualization, not self-serving, not selfishness. No, not I! I serve others and support life in Ida in every way, every single, solitary, and lonely way! Ida is all I consider, and Ida is my entire life. My family has done this without officially accepting anything in return.” He folded his hands, still grasping the silver tray, and stood as if waiting for some response. “Alone in my miseries. That is what a Benefactor is!”

  It was an awkward silence, but the Benefactor broke that, before anyone else in the room did. From past experience, they all knew better. He ranted on, “And what reward is there? Not that I ever seek a reward, not in any way. Not at all. I am other-focused, and other-aware. Once becoming Benefactor, I left my old life behind just—just as did Father, and Grandmother—to focus on the future of Ida, Ida’s people, and all that Ida needs.” He dropped the tray on a nearby divan where it caused an obese feline to scurry away. He watched the cat waddle off with detached interest. “Oh, bother, now look! They have made Filbert frightened. Will this wretchedness never end? Oh, the hardship of leadership. Come back, little kitten, your Benefactor will keep you safe.” He whirled about again, the cat slinking under a chair at the far side of the room. “Is it too much for someone, in all of Ida, to grant me the mercy of some decent kumquat marmalade? Can the Benefactor have nothing at all which gives even a moment’s fleeting pleasure?” He flopped back in the overstuffed chair, and his orange and blue robes, with their intricate designs, settled about his ample frame. He looked for something else to throw, but the closest thing was a bowl of hazel nuts, on a table a few steps away. With a shrug and a flipping of his hand, he went on, “Is the Benefactor asking too much for a mere trifle of marmalade? Or am I even allowed to ask for that? Do you agree, Butterfield?”

  “Oh, of course, Benefactor, you should only have the finest of things,” a woman in flowing, colorful robes said, but did not make eye contact with him. Her russet colored eyes were averted and yet, took in everything around the palace. She knew that when called by name a verbal response was absolutely required, but she gave only an acceptable response.

  “Butterfield, you are one of the few who persons who truly understands me, and acknowledges my loneliness,” the Benefactor stated. “This latest series of troubles, they all started some time back, when those strangers visited. Am I not correct? What do you think, Butterfield?”

  Butterfield’s emotions churned, but she never expressed anything but a nodding affirmation, and an externally compassionate expression. “Oh, Benefactor, that is correct, but
surely those trouble-makers are dead and will never bother you again. The search you had me make, showed they departed Ida, via corridors, and therefore they are now dead.” Butterfield had never actually stopped searching, but she did not tell him that.

  “Dead? Well, I suppose…” Turning his head, the Benefactor gazed out the large windows which were floor to ceiling on the wall opposite where he had flung the food. Outside, the trees of Hazel Tower—where the palace suites of the Benefactor were located—rustled in the breezes. One hundred stories up, the winds moved about Ida biome’s tallest building at a moderate clip, causing the leaves and branches of the hazel trees to sway back and forth. They were firmly rooted into the earth which was held in the large planter troughs on the myriad of platforms all around the tower and on every level. From the Benefactor’s top-floor suite, the vista of the Ida biome was beautiful. All the other treed towers of Forest City were smaller in comparison to Hazel Tower, and it being in the center of Forest City, made it the object of admiration, with the Benefactor himself the pinnacle of attention, just as the Benefactor liked and expected it.