‘The honour is mine, my King …’
He approached the glass of the nearest ‘specimen’. A man was suspended inside, closed eyes darting back and forth in REM sleep.
‘You there,’ King Masaad said.
Despite the glass and fluid, the man’s bloodshot eyes snapped open, startling the girl. He was breathing fast and heavy.
‘Tell your King how this acolyte changed the plan.’
‘Kill me,’ he pleaded, his voice amplified through speakers. ‘Please.’
Another pair of ghastly eyes opened, this time of an elderly woman.
‘I saw what you did, merciful King,’ she said, her voice carrying through the cavern. ‘You knew the red god would come.’
More of the damned awakened, shouting over one another.
‘Merciful King! Alim suffers!’
‘Orionis burns in flames … Masaad the Tyrant, destroyer of worlds!’
‘Brother against brother, the House will bleed!’
‘Silence!’ Masaad roared. ‘Look on this girl. Tell me what you see!’
The man who had spoken first answered.
‘The beginning,’ he said.
‘What begins with her?’ Masaad demanded. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Myrha, Myrha, Myrha,’ a woman’s voice called out. ‘Maez, Maez, Maez … who shall it be, be, be?’
‘The acolyte, damn you!’ Masaad roared. ‘What of my son and daughter?’
All the voices went silent. Then the old woman spoke.
‘For one,’ she hissed, ‘the omega.’
Before the acolyte could take another breath, Masaad darted forward with augmented, unnatural speed, grabbed her by the chin and snapped her neck. Catching her as she fell, he hoisted her lifeless body in his arms, her limp head dangling from her shoulders.
‘Forgive me, Lyanna,’ he whispered, looking upwards, as if there was a heaven above him.
‘A King’s sorrow, ha!’ the elderly woman mocked. ‘A tyrant’s remorse!’
‘Weep for the twins!’ another shouted. ‘Pray to your red god for their return!’
They mocked him relentlessly as he approached the grating’s edge. He watched the acolyte fall until the darkness swallowed her.
He heard no landing, and took that for a sign.
16
ANONYMOUS
19 March 2809
Dear Amaryllis,
The sentiment of missing someone really is a critical design flaw.
Most intelligent species restrict their neurotrophic response to personal alliances. Relationships thus exist only for the time during which they are actually useful. That way, when they are severed from the ones they love, the loss does no harm. As it stands with humans, the results can be devastating … a lifetime of disabling anguish for most.
Humans have always had so much to lose. How then, has it come to this?
I mentioned we were never taken to Lunar Base Hadfield.
After learning that World War IV had begun, we were induced to hibernation and awoke at UNSEC Station Alsos, a base whose existence was unknown to anyone that had ever set foot on Earth. From our perspective on the shuttle, we were alarmed to find ourselves hurtling towards a pristine, unglamorous asteroid in an apparent death dive.
But I must have blinked at the moment of impact because my next memory was the inside an enormous hangar whose construction was clearly not human.
To accurately convey what we saw is impossible. For starters, every surface was morphing – irregular, strange shapes merged and rearranged into larger structures that moved alongside us as we coasted. Our shuttle was an old NATO challenger model, roughly 130 meters long. A fleet of them would not have filled the inside of this structure. And the colour … everything, every light, surface and object was the same red hue as a dying star.
If this wasn’t overwhelming enough, the UNSEC colonel overseeing our transfer from Earth had us physically restrained before disembarking. We were uniformed soldiers, shackled at the wrists and ankles like prisoners. ‘For your own safety’, we were told.
Then we were fitted with breathing masks, but no pressurised suit or mag-greaves.. When the airlock opened, hot, dry air greeted us. Within moments we were drenched in sweat, shuffling single file along a narrow catwalk that vanished behind the last man.
The colonel behaved as though nothing unusual was happening, leading us into a small amphitheatre that was so ordinary compared to everything else I wondered if it was all an illusion. Five rows of plush seats were arranged in tiers curving around a stage. As we filed in, the colonel urged us to remain calm, assuring that no harm would come to us. My attention was drawn to an archway on the far side of the room that was twice the height of the door we had entered through.
Then I heard the clicks.
A series of rhythmic, lively taps graduating into heavy, ominous thumps as something approached.
I doubt you’ve ever seen an alien in person.
Very few living humans have. But if you do, the first few moments are utter, complete bafflement. Your brain simply struggles to process the information your eyes are sending it. I know some people envision a beautiful, awestruck moment to mark their first encounter, but believe me: no matter who you are or how you prepare yourself, the reaction that universally follows initial confusion is the darkest terror you have ever known.
The reaction is primordial. You are human, face to face with a superior predator. And you cannot fight, nor flee.
Standing over two metres high, the monstrosity bounded in on a pair of reverse-jointed legs anchored by armoured tri-pedalled talons. Its head was a rounded, elongated pyramid, but perfectly smooth – there was no nose, mouth or eyes protruding from the glossy surface. It had two sets of arms; one raptorial pair with immense pincers, the other with six finer but equally sharp ‘fingers’. On its back was a pair of enormous wings made of a crimson-tinted transparent material, folded neatly behind fearsome shoulder blades. Running down from its spine was a tail that led to the only asymmetrical component of its form: an irregular club with sharp protrusions adorned with metals and gems.
But the most alarming feature of this creature was its exoskeleton: a polished armour that reflected a maelstrom of red and clay hues, like the sheen of an oil slick. Thick plates protected the joints and what I could only guess were vital organs behind its thorax and head. I just couldn’t tell what was and wasn’t organic.
It marched to the centre of the stage area and faced us. I registered a thunderous voice:
I am a Raothri, the race that means to end your own. My name is Ceitus, a lesser denizen and exile from my civilisation.
The horrified expressions of my companions confirmed that it was communicating with us telepathically, which as we all know, is ‘impossible’.
While remaining as motionless as a statue, this ‘lesser denizen’ explained to us in perfect English that the Raothri predate human existence by more than a billion years. Their homeworld was located in what we call the Scutum-Centaurus arm of the Milky Way, in a star 55,000 light years from Earth, obscured by the dust clouds at the centre of the galaxy. Life did not begin on their planet until its parent sun grew into a red giant, thawing a world that was cold and dead the entirety of that star’s existence. By the time of its supernova 17,000 years ago, the Raothri had begun settling other worlds.
The exact moment they discovered your own Pale Blue Dot was 1 March 1954 AD, 18:45 GMT. On that fateful day, the so-called ‘United’ States of America detonated a 15-megaton thermonuclear hydrogen bomb on what was then the Marshall Islands in the Pacific Ocean. Unbeknown to physicists of the era, fusion explosions open quantum tunnels through spacetime whose endpoints follow the dark matter topography of the universe. Some of the neutrinos released in the infamous ‘Castle Bravo’ blast tunnelled their way into Raothri sensors thousands of light years away. Humans had announced their presence to the most technologically advanced race in the Milky Way.
The Raothri placed Earth under
surveillance, and soon after judged our species unworthy of survival. In spite of our self-imposed trajectory towards extinction, the complete eradication of humans from Earth was deemed necessary because of the threat we posed to them.
That’s right, Amaryllis. We were doomed not because of what we were, but by what they believed we would become: Imperfect creatures governed by irrational emotions with escalating technological potential. We had split the atom and demonstrated our misuse of that power. They feared the logarithmic curve of human innovation. Ending our civilization was a logical necessity.
Humans were not the first to face extermination by the Raothri. Ceitus claimed to work with dozens of species that were, or would soon become, their victims. Allegedly, he had a ‘charter’ to ensure that some of the doomed lived on. My fellow recruits and I had the distinction of being the first humans to join his charges. To demonstrate his commitment to our survival, Ceitus presented UNSEC with jump drive technology – the very same drives the Archangel is being fitted with right now.
It was then, and remains today, impossible to know if his intentions are benign. We follow because there is no alternative.
Ceitus emphasised that the other species he’d gathered had unanimously taken exception to his decision to give us the technology. Humankind, they argued, built the Genesis motherships not to escape from the Raothri, but to escape a fate of their own creation. Ceitus countered that other civilisations, including his own, have learned from similar experiences. In the opinion of this apparent god, we were ‘worthy’ of one last chance.
So, in case you were still wondering, I’ll clarify here: UNSEC made contact with Ceitus before anyone else. They knew the end was coming long before the opening strike of the Fourth World War.
The highborns know the truth. Any who deny such are lying. We believe the Tau Genesis crew mutinied when they learned it. The fact is that Generation Orionis are the offspring of defeated generals who set the world on fire before abandoning it. They were born to parents who decided which of their children would live, and the manner in which the siblings would die. The Navy, the privateers, the cartels, Ceti, and the Houses are the progeny who survived that choice. Their differences live on, and the implications are no less dire.
I realise all this may be difficult to accept. But you’ve spent far too long atop the food chain of a world that matters less to the universe than the dust it once was. I have seen things that can’t happen, life forms that don’t fit within the narrow construct of what humans consider ‘possible’. They are commonplace in my world. Soon they might be in yours as well.
Curse my neurotrophic response to you. Though who knows? Perhaps that is the very reason why we were spared.
Love always,
- A
17
ADAM
Dad was no longer speaking.
Withering away in his tethered bag, he spent more time asleep than awake, blisters boiling on every part of his face that wasn’t covered by his breathing mask. He was the epitome of anguish. His eyes appeared lifeless even when they stayed open long enough to focus. When Adam had last spoken to him, Dad’s words had been incomprehensible. Most likely he was imparting advice that he had learned the hard way, so that his son might not suffer the way he did.
Adam helped his mother change his father’s soiled clothes and cleanse the wounds opened by the radiation sickness ravaging his shattered body. He was numb to the world around him, withdrawn to a troubled place deep within. He spoke only when absolutely necessary. His only respite was the rig, where he would seek escape, only to be consumed by memories instead.
The mining platform was Dad’s legacy; the family business that he had hoped would give them a better life. That dream was lost. Even though one had nearly killed him, Adam found himself yearning to catch another glimpse of the Arkady. And though he had completed the herculean feat of restoring the rig’s production, the Ceti overlords who hauled away their spoils remained indifferent to their struggles.
Day after painful day blurred together, waiting for the inevitable, until one day Adam was awakened by the voice of a stranger in their home. From his room, he strained to listen to the conversation down the hall. A friend of Mom, perhaps, and presumably of Dad as well, and not one of those Ceti bastards.
Whoever he was, he was at least pretending to care.
‘This is everything I could find,’ the stranger was saying. ‘It’s not much, but it should buy him some time.’
‘We’re very grateful,’ Adam’s mother said. ‘Thank you.’
Then an uneasy silence.
‘Why don’t you come with us?’ the stranger asked. ‘My team can work the rig while you’re away, maybe even make some repairs. We can get Tomas the transfusion he needs, better provisions for you here … maybe even a visa to return to the Inner Rim.’
‘It’s gracious of you to offer, but no.’
More silence passed before the man spoke again.
‘Pardon me for asking … but for God’s sake, why not?’
‘Because we can’t leave here,’ Adam’s mother said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry? What about your children?’
‘A transfusion would save him,’ Abby was saying. ‘Adam and I can run this rig ourselves.’
‘Our agreement with Ceti forbids him from leaving so long as we remain in debt,’ his mother explained. ‘The aid we were promised was allegedly seized by the Navy. Your freighter is just as likely to be seized or shot down with him aboard.’
Adam crept out of his sleeping bag and glided down the hall to listen more closely.
‘Dawn,’ the stranger said, ‘most of us have done well under Ceti. What happened here?’
‘What happened is that my husband became ill.’
‘All due respect, ma’am, but I can’t believe that’s the entire story.’
‘Some rigs are just luckier than others.’
Halting near the kitchen’s edge, Adam peeked around the corner to get a glimpse of the stranger. Though dressed in a survival suit, his appearance was too healthy to be a roughneck … short, lean, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes. A kind face, concerned even, but one Adam did not recognise at all.
‘He won’t survive without this,’ the stranger said. ‘You know that.’
‘Tom’s wish is to remain here,’ came the response.
‘First time I’ve heard that,’ Abby commented, drawing a glare.
‘When is the last time either of them received transfusions?’ the stranger asked, nodding towards Abby. ‘Months? Years?’
His mother held his stare for a moment and then smiled.
‘Thank you for coming here,’ she said. ‘Tomas will rest easier now, thanks to you.’
‘What is wrong with you?’ Abby exclaimed. ‘Why won’t you accept his help?’
‘Abigail, that will be all,’ her mother warned.
‘I don’t understand,’ Abby fumed.
‘I’m afraid I don’t either,’ the stranger said.
‘You don’t have to,’ their mother said. ‘It’s my decision.’
‘I suppose it is,’ the stranger sighed, moving away from the table. ‘I did what I could.’
Abby wouldn’t let things end there.
‘This is fucked, Mom.’
And then she lost it entirely:
‘Abigail, shut your mouth!’ their mother shouted. ‘Larus, get out!’
Larus, Adam thought, watching as the man disappeared through the far hatch of the kitchen, nearly brushing against his sleeping father as he went.
‘You are horrible!’ Abby yelled.
‘I’m trying to protect you!’ their mother hissed. Adam had never seen her like this before. ‘If he is moved from here, no matter what the reason, they will come after you and your brother. Our only hope is for someone to buy this fucking rig.’
‘Why?’ Abby demanded. ‘Why would anyone hurt us? What have you done?’
‘We have no choice,’ their mother roared. ‘Le
ave it at that!’
‘No, I will not “leave it at that”!’ Abby screamed. ‘I have a right to know! It’s my life!’
His mother glared at her, contempt in her eyes. Then she pushed off the wall and glided away, towards the module she slept in. Adam heard a hatch close shut, followed by a muffled thud.
‘Mom!’ Abby yelled. ‘Goddamn you, tell me why! Why!’
Adam had to get away.
‘I fucking hate you!’ he heard Abby scream. ‘I hate you so much!’
As she screamed herself into sobbing, Adam began climbing into his own survival suit, slowly at first, then quickly, as if his skin was on fire.
The tears found him on the way down.
By the time he reached the platform, all he could do was stand in the ammonia downpour, incapacitated with grief. The old Pegasus mech, confused by the physical inputs of his sobbing, attempted to convulse along with him. Adam wanted to lash out at his mother, even his dying father, because their suffering could have been avoided. That much was clear after the visit from this Larus fellow. Abby was right: they had a right to know everything now, even if they couldn’t understand it. Ceti was no saviour – if there was anyone to blame for his family’s hardships, it was them.
Adam tried to compose himself as he attached the refuelling hoses. The rain had ceased but the sky remained overcast, glowing in crimson hues as thick roiling clouds of amber and gold bubbled beneath him. With a deep breath, he hoisted a crate filled with replacement rig components that had descended with him. The Pegasus was in much better shape now, and with any luck, the overhaul he was about to begin would lead to an increase in Three production. Altogether, Adam had twelve hours of hard work ahead of him.
The Tabit Genesis Page 17
