Well of Furies

by Craig Delancey

  The map guided him down one translucent hall after another, and finally led him to an arm of the ship that branched off narrow docking connectors. No passages lay atop the hall, and the ceiling had been made clear to allow an uninterrupted view of space crowded with unfamiliar stars. It made the hallway seem dark.

  When he had taken just a few steps into the hall, an unusually large Neelee walked into his path, a young female with a pale stripe in her facial fur that fell neatly down the center of her nose. She thrust a heap of metal boxes at him. Reflexively, Tarkos took them in his hands. They were heavier than he expected, and stood up nearly to his chin.

  “What…?” Tarkos began.

  “Take these to the section 7373,” she barked. “Install immediately.”

  “I. What? I’m. I can’t do—”

  The Neelee started to turn away.

  “Wait!” he called. “I’m a Harmonizer! I have a mission to….”

  But she sprung off and in a few leaps had disappeared down the dim hall.

  Tarkos groaned. This was too much. He set the boxes at his feet. To hell with them.

  He took two steps forward, following the path the AI laid out for him. But then he stopped. He turned back. That Neelee deserved a kick in what passed for Neelee ass, and he hated the idea that he would just do what it said—what had that damned Rinneret said? That he’d finally end up just a servant of Neelees and Brights?—but the Alliance readied itself now for the possibility of war and maybe these damned boxes mattered. That’s what anarchist democracy meant, the Alliance constantly reminded newcomers: you had to take responsibility yourself. Governance existed only inside each citizen. No more shirking.

  He picked up the boxes. He’d check in at his ship, and then at least try to find a way to deliver these boxes properly. Maybe he could use one of the ship’s robots. The installation, whatever that was, would have to fall to someone else.

  The map led him to the entrance of a narrow passage that dead-ended at the airlock where the starsleeve docked. A few Neelee darted around him without comment, but no Neelee were in the docking passage. He took a few steps toward the airlock, and then stopped. Through the clear ceiling he could see the starsleeve: a lopsided cylinder of silver-white metal. Probability flanges covered its surface, metal spires each three meters long. From this distance, they looked like thorns on a metal thistle. Tarkos had reviewed the specs while walking. The starsleeve had crew cabins that could accommodate about four to six comfortably, assuming they were of the oxygen order, and of species not too large. Their own cruiser had almost as much room. With the space available in both ships, they would not be cramped.

  Predator cruisers were fast, and had stealth capability and extensive weaponry. But they could not travel faster than light. That required the cumbersome probability engines, which shifted a starship from real space to the strange realm of hyperspace. Tarkos and Bria usually hitched a ride from mission to mission, either on Executive ships or on whatever else was available, like this Neelee ship. But the starsleeve was a very expensive specialty ship: it was designed for the sole purpose of carrying a Predator cruiser. The sharklike cruiser would nestle inside, a perfect fit. All the cruiser’s systems would join seamlessly with the starsleeve’s controls, so that the sleeve could be controlled from its own bridge or from the cruiser.

  Tarkos had never before seen a starsleeve with his own eyes. They were rare and were used, he suspected, only for the most extremely sensitive missions. Like this mission.

  He suddenly felt the heavy weight of his duty. Ulltrians! The most feared and detested species the Galaxy had known, even accounting for a very long Galactic history interrupted many times by terrible wars. To hunt Ulltrians was truly to hunt beings of nearly supernatural reputation, like the devils of some prehistorical human myth.

  That thought broke him out of his reverie. The best thing to do when facing a terrible task was to get on with it. He asked his implants where he could find the dockmaster, and an arrow appeared in his field of vision, aimed at the end of the hall. As he walked toward the airlock, he noticed an access hatch near the floor, small even for a Neelee, and from the open hatch a strange pair of appendages protruded. The arrow pointed directly at these. For a moment, as he approached, Tarkos felt a dizzying disorientation. The appendages confused him: they were not twin narrow furry Neelee legs, certainly not Kirt legs, nor Sussurat. He thought, Here is some species I don’t recognize….

  Then he realized they were human legs.

  “Hello!” he shouted.

  A man backed out of the hatch and stood. He wore a plain uniform of a kind Tarkos had not seen before, but colored the green of Neelee official uniforms. He had dark blond hair, and piercing blue eyes, and a shadow over his chin and cheeks. He looked to be about Tarkos’s age. The red arrow in Tarkos’s visual field pointed at the man, and over his head the word DOCKMASTER appeared.

  A smile exploded on Tarkos’s face. He set down the boxes and then leapt forward to shake the man’s hand.

  “I’m Amir Tarkos,” he said, speaking Galactic out of habit. He turned off his implants, so that he could see the man without distraction.

  “Pietro Danielle,” the man said in English.

  “It’s wonderful to see another human being.” Tarkos still held Danielle’s hand in both of his own and shook it wildly. He smiled, not caring that he surely looked like an idiot. “I only see one of us a couple times a year out here.”

  The man laughed. “I know. I know. I feel same.” He stepped back and, still gripping Tarkos’s hand sympathetically, apprised the patch on Tarkos’s uniform. “You are with Predators.” He shook his free hand sideways back and forth, as if it were hot, and whistled. “Very impressive. I didn’t know we humans had been honored so.”

  “And how do you come here?” Tarkos asked, finally releasing Danielle’s hand.

  “I work with the Neelee.” He waived a hand dismissively. “But, really, there is an old saying, go anywhere on Earth, and there you find a Napolitano. Well, I work to make this true also of Galaxy. Go anywhere in Galaxy, and there you find a Napolitano. And you are from where? America, no?”

  “Mostly. But I was born in Palestine.”

  Danielle nodded. “Well, here you are, yes?”

  Tarkos laughed. He appreciated the sentiment. The Alliance had announced itself to Humanity only twelve e-years before. Every day was startling, unreal, wonderful. He’d been born a poor kid in the Occupied Territories, grew up in California, and now, suddenly, he traveled the stars, sworn to defend all Galactic life. No doubt this man Danielle had as strange a story to tell.

  “But you work… here?” Tarkos asked. “On the Savannah Runner? ”

  “The Neelee find me useful. I don’t mind a little—how does one say?—tight spaces, little places. There are robots to do that kind of thing, of course, but sometimes you want a sentient being to get something done. Also, I can listen to a manual. And I like machines. So….” He threw up his hands, as if that explained it. “To tell the truth, I think they find me as a—how does one say?—a pet.” He smiled widely.

  Tarkos shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a human simply striking out among the Neelee.”

  Danielle reached out and touched the airlock door. It began to cycle. “You are surprised they would let a human on board?”

  Tarkos pointed at the boxes. “Some Neelee just walked up to me and handed me those, then told me to take them to 7373 and install them. I get the impression they esteem us just above non-sentient robots.”

  Danielle laughed. “She had a white stripe down her nose?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Don’t be insulted. She is an engineer. She cannot tell humans apart. She thought you were me. Leave the boxes there. I’ll take care of it.”

  The airlock door opened and he stepped inside. He waved that Tarkos should follow. “Come, come.” The door closed, sealing them in the airlock. But Danielle did not reach out and open the door to the starsleeve. In
stead, he leaned towards Tarkos. “Listen. The Neelee, they are truly special. They move like frightened children. Like rabbits.”

  Tarkos stifled a laugh.

  “Sorry, ma è vero. To us, they move like rabbits. Like they are afraid. They run off here, they run off there. Sempre hanno fretta. Always in hurry. They jump if you talk to them when their backs are turned. They jump if you drop a tool. They jump even if you cough. Like rabbits. But….” He held up one finger. “But they are old, old hearts. Vecchie cuore. They have watched down the ages, and have not turned away. Look at their eyes, Harmonizer Amir. Look at their eyes. Their eyes are ancient eyes. Their eyes are like the eyes of gods.”

  Tarkos smiled ruefully, remembering the few but long seconds he dared stare into Preeajitala’s deep pupils. “You’re a philosopher, friend.”

  Danielle slapped the inner door. It slid open. “So they tell me back home. Come. I’ll show you the starsleeve. I stocked her for you. The Neelee don’t like to come aboard; no view. I won’t ask a thing about your mission. Don’t tell me a thing. The less I know, the more my captain trusts me. Still. Is bad news, I can see. Everyone is nervous. The ship is all Neelee running and Neelee shouting. But you go, you come back, and we drink wine together when you return, no?”

  “You’re kidding me,” Tarkos said. “You have wine? Real wine? Here? On this ship?”

  “Yes. Real wine. Good wine. Amarone. Seventeen Earth years old. We drink.”

  “Thank you. Now I’m sure not to get killed. I gotta have that wine.”

  Danielle smiled. He picked a small metal case from the floor, where it sat in the airlock. Then he stepped into the ship. He held up a hand, and gestured at the bright, clean hall of pale metal that stretched off in both directions. “She is not bello, the starsleeve. She is not elegante. But she is very impressive, no?”

  “She’s a starship.” Tarkos stepped aboard. “In all the universe, what could be more impressive than that?”

  _____

  It took Danielle an hour to show Tarkos around the ship. The passenger space was small, a single U-shaped corridor with a bridge at the apex, and several doors to cabins on each flank. The ship was Bright design, with an interior sleek and white, all the edges and corners rounded off. There were few hard interfaces: nearly all the controls, as in typical Kirt design, were virtual. The bridge was thus a formality, a gathering place for crew, but it had several hard control interfaces available for backup, in the unlikely event that communication with the ship via implants should fail.

  They reviewed the systems, and Tarkos checked each in turn to be sure his implants could properly interface. Then Danielle showed Tarkos the quarters.

  “I have already prepared the rooms for your special crew,” he said. “Best to give time for atmosphere control to get right.”

  They walked back toward the airlock, and Danielle opened the first door on the exterior side of the hall. Heavy, damp air, smelling faintly of rot and sulfur, wafted out over them. Tarkos coughed, choking slightly on the combination of the high CO2 content and the stench. The interior lights were set to a dim brown glow, revealing low furniture.

  “This room is for the lumache, ” Danielle said.

  “The lew maky?” Tarkos asked. He used his implants to close the door, and immediately felt relief as the air cleared.

  “Mi dispiace. Sorry. It’s my name for the OnUnAns. They look like snails. Lumache. ”

  Tarkos nodded. He’d seen pictures of typical OnUnAn colonies. “Only they don’t have shells.”

  Danielle smiled. “Neither do the lumache, when they’re on your plate.”

  Tarkos suppressed a smile at the inappropriate image of eating an OnUnAn. A Harmonizer was expected to always show a certain decorum, Bria liked to remind him. They walked farther down the hall, and opened the door to the next room. Damp salty air. “The Kirt’s room,” Tarkos observed.

  “And the robot, the AI, also,” Danielle said. “They asked to be together.”

  They finished the brief tour in a room on the other side of the ship, near the bridge. Tarkos was pleased to find a long human-sized bed in one corner, with white linens, and beside it a desk and chair. “You take this room,” the dockmaster said, walking inside. “It is near bridge. I set it up for a human.”

  Then, to Tarkos’s surprise, Danielle turned and closed the door, sealing the two of them in the cabin. He put a finger to his lips, and then pulled a small disk from a pocket at the back of his pants. He set it on the floor and gestured that Tarkos should come near. When he did, the dockmaster tapped the disk with the toe of his shoe. A hiss filled the air, and then a shimmering opaque field surrounded them.

  “Silence field generator,” he said. “With a, how does one say, electromagnetic scrambling field also. I have something from the Special Advisor.”

  “From Preeajitala?”

  Danielle nodded.

  Tarkos frowned. Why would Preeajitala use such an unorthodox channel as this unofficial human mascot to get a message to him? If she had something to add to their briefing, it seemed incredible that she wouldn’t just call him on his implants, or come to the starsleeve herself.

  But before he could ask anything, the dockmaster handed him the small case he had been carrying. Tarkos reached for it and was surprised by its weight. He tightened his grip on the handle.

  “Heavy.”

  Danielle nodded. “Four kilograms.”

  “It—this is absurd—but the size and shape, and the placement of the handle, remind me of a lunch box I had as a kid.”

  “Yes,” Danielle said. “I did not think this, but I see what you mean. I had one like so too.” His smile seemed sad as he looked down at the small, heavy case, now in Tarkos’s hand. “This is something from the Special Advisor that is just for you and your partner. In case of emergency. Don’t open it unless you need it, she said. And don’t open it unless you’re in armor.”

  “But what kind of emergency?” Tarkos asked.

  “Robot emergency.”

  Tarkos squinted. “What? I mean—”

  “Friend,” the dockmaster interrupted, holding up both hands. “I tell the truth. I know nothing about your mission. But the captain of the Savannah Runner, Nereenital, he trust me. I’m sorry, so sorry to say, he maybe not trust everyone on the ship.”

  Tarkos cocked his head back in shocked surprise. How could it be possible that a Neelee captain might not trust his crew? The Neelee were morally infallible. Or were there other crew he didn’t trust? There were many guests on the ship, Tarkos remembered. OnUnAns from the ambassador’s staff, Kirt and Brights, and a host of other travellers….

  “What is it?” Tarkos asked.

  “Coherent plasma weapon.”

  “What would I do with—”

  But Danielle waved off the rest of the question. “Preeajitala asks Captain Nereenital for the favor, the Captain asks me for the favor, and I do the favor, no? Now, you keep that, and keep this too.” He pointed at the silence field generator.

  “There is one thing also more,” Danielle said. “Something that Preeajitala said was for you alone. Just for you, Harmonizer Amir. She said—” Danielle switched to speaking Galactic. He spoke slowly, with the soft, coughing tones of a Neelee. “You humans understand that even good persons can make very terrible mistakes. We must measure oaths broken against oaths kept, and measure mistakes made against just deeds.”

  Tarkos waited, but there was no more. “That’s it?”

  “Si, ” Danielle said.

  He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  Danielle shrugged. “I know only that she wanted to say this to you, and you alone.” He threw up his hands. “That is all. Now, go with God, yes? Make humanity proud, and come back alive, and drink Amarone with me.”

  With the toe of his boot Danielle tapped the field off. Then he turned and left Tarkos alone in the room, holding the little case, as heavy as a bomb.

  _____

  Tarkos began a second system check,
mostly to practice with the interface between his own implants and the starsleeve. He wandered the interior of the ship while he checked the systems, switching his attention back and forth from the information projected by his implants and what he actually saw with this own eyes. Finally, he stood on the bridge, eyes closed, activating and deactivating individual probability flanges for practice. A chime sounded from the airlock.

  Tarkos hurried down the hall. He was pleased to discover he had become familiar enough with the systems to remember how to open the airlock door without touching it.

  Crowded into the airlock were the Kirt and a robot.

  “Welcome, Ki’Ki’Tilish,” Tarkos said, well aware that he butchered the name as he spoke it.

  The Kirt raised a leg in recognition. “This one requests permission to come aboard this doomed ship, so we can go together to our deaths.”

  “Uh, please come aboard. Both of you.” Tarkos backed down the hallway to make room.

  The Kirt stepped daintily in, testing the deck with a tap of each long, thin leg before planting it firmly down. Once the Kirt was through the door, the robot stepped past it and skittered on many, tiny steps, to Tarkos’s left side. Involuntarily, Tarkos shifted away slightly. Robots had become rather common on Earth during his childhood, so he was used to being around them. But this robot housed a full AI, made long ago, when the Galactics still gave their AIs high autonomy. And the only thing that Tarkos trusted less than an AI was an AI that walked around.

  To his surprise, he noticed then that the robot smelled of the sea. It made the thin, black machine seem less ominous. And, standing on all of its legs, the robot resembled no creature so much as a thin, small Kirt. Well, he thought, humans made some of their robots like little men, after all. Maybe Earth’s robots even smelled like humans.