Movement startled him, and he spun around to face the dark room only to see a flutter somewhere in the corner. He moved towards the fallen drapes gingerly, stepping over the junk which had lathered almost every inch of the floor. He came to the large pile of fallen cloth, only to be suddenly seized around the ankle by a wrinkled, bony hand which sprung from underneath.
Psycho cried out and fell over. He shuffled backwards and shook himself free of the four-fingered hand. From under the robes, an arm pushed up against the floor and an arching back helped hoist the rest of the body up. The eyes of a blue-eyed giant stared at him from under the cloth with a menacing steer, and then it lunged forward and roared at the boy with the crackling croak of a demonic toad. Among the debris, Psycho picked up a utensil which looked similar to a soup ladle and held it with both hands offensively. But the captain did not attack. The old commander groaned and moaned as he clumsily yanked the large drapes off his head. At the same time, he shuffled across the room, dragging clutter with his red train, and somewhere amongst the floor he eventually seized a wooden walking stick. When, at last, he was free, Captain revealed himself to be a very old giant, with a ragged loincloth hanging askew from his bony hips, his head scarf mostly unravelled, and his spiny back hunched over like a troll’s.
He asked with concern, ‘Captain?’
Captain threw himself against the wall suddenly, slamming his forehead. With his claws, he scraped down, viciously ripping up the paint and leaving long, silver scars. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
‘Bujn stuovorgen!’ he grunted.
It translated to something close to, ‘It’s still night-time!’
Psycho dropped the ladle. This giant was a threat to no one but himself.
‘How long have you been in here?’ he asked. He gazed around the moonlit office and observed the mess on the floor. In the corner of the room, the giant still had his claws embedded and his head pressed against the wall. He growled under his breath and watched Psycho untrustingly as he moseyed about his private quarters.
‘Vrai nu een—’
‘You speak just fine,’ Psycho interjected. ‘Don’t play dumb with me.’
Captain spun around and stared at him with those almost-florescent blue eyes. He narrowed them. ‘Engineerses?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. I’m Engineer’s.’
Captain fumbled as he staggered across the room. He went to the arched window, which looked down onto the artificial clouds beneath him. Outside, the storm swirled and the rain poured. Streams of moonlight created long shadows across the floor and revealed the unsettled dust in the air. He leant against the frame of the window to hold himself up. He was weak and frail, much frailer than others his age, as though his muscles were wasting away beneath his charcoal skin.
Captain demanded, ‘Vater.’
Psycho darted to his desk, where a metal carafe sat. He poured water into a silver cup and brought it to him. Captain snatched it and looked at it before drinking, as though wary of its credibility. He eventually drank it, then threw the cup to the floor, letting it clatter among the other junk.
Psycho watched the giant closely, watched him gaze absently out into the storm. His eyes looked tired.
‘Engineer send you to laugh at me?’
‘No,’ Psycho said. ‘No, no, I came by myself.’
‘Vhy?’
Psycho turned to the window and admired the storm with him. He slotted his hands into his suit pockets. ‘I know what’s making you ill.’
‘Pesh! Old. Everything make me ill.’
‘How old?’
Captain stared down at the boy moronically. ‘Old.’ He then watched him for a while, a little human standing at his side, observing the world from the clouds with him. He said, ‘You are small.’
‘Actually, I was considered quite tall for my age back home, and not a bad looker either. Sure, I was not a Channing Tatum, but could perhaps pass for a Daniel Radcliffe on a good day.’
Captain showed what may have been a cynical smile. ‘You are annoying.’
‘I hear that a lot.’
‘So, if Engineer not send you, then you are breaking rules here.’
‘Yes.’
‘You could be hurt for this.’
‘I know.’
‘You are not afraid?’ he asked.
Psycho looked up into those sharp, blue eyes. ‘I was never afraid.’ He walked across the room, back towards the mantle. From its high ledge, he reached up and retrieved the glass case of medals and awards. ‘These all yours?’
Captain said nothing.
‘Impressive. You must be a brilliant leader. I mean, you’re basically in charge of the future of your entire species, right? I guess you’re in charge of all the species now.’
Captain spun back to the window and rested his head against the cold glass. ‘Go away.’
Psycho put the medals back where they originally sat. ‘We need to talk.’
‘You are a little spit, aren’t you?’
‘The expression is shit, and I need you to become the captain again.’
He waved the boy off lazily and collapsed into a large armchair, facing away from Psycho. Beside him he still held his crooked cane, with his fingers coiled around the handle. He tapped them rhythmically, and by watching his fingers, Psycho could see where the extra bones were, extra knuckles and joints which human hands lacked. A pain came to Captain’s head, and he pressed his fingers against his skull, pushing against the wrinkled skin.
‘Engineer is captain now. Is fine, I’m sure,’ he droned.
Psycho shook his head. ‘Look at you. You’re pathetic.’
‘Get me doctor. I don’t feel vell.’
‘It’s all in your head.’ Psycho stepped into his view and saw the giant slumped there. He was a mess, an embarrassment to the majesty of his kind. ‘Get up, you slob.’
Those blue, sharp eyes looked as though they would pounce onto the boy and devour him, if only he had the energy and the enthusiasm to move.
‘Vhy are you here?’
Psycho took in a breath and gently sighed, ‘Lo is on this ship.’
‘Who?’
Psycho flinched. ‘Who? Lo! Your Lo! This is why you’re ill, isn’t it? She didn’t transition with the rest of us.’ He saw Captain was not listening. He was too lethargic, bored, unstimulated. To get his attention, Psycho marched over to the glass case of medals once again, took them in his hands, and then smashed them onto the floor. The glass shattered. The medals flew apart and scattered amongst the other messes.
Captain lurched upright and hobbled forward with his cane. ‘Sgu dert!’ He raised a hand to slap him.
Psycho demanded, ‘Are you or are you not Baba?’
Just as the giant was about to swipe his hand across the boy’s cheek, he froze. He halted, towering over him, and something in his eyes changed. The muscles in his lanky arms loosened and his body seemed to shrink a little as he relaxed. He staggered back with his cane.
‘Vhat did you call me?’
12
DROP
Captain tore apart his wardrobe in a mad rush. He hastily dressed himself in faded orange cloth, wrapping his body in a loose fabric poncho and headscarf, covering everything but his eyes. He told the boy to be quick and discrete; he did not want to attract attention.
Psycho aided the fragile elder through the darkened ship. Captain directed him down lesser-known corridors, avoiding as many of his crewmen as possible. A short ride down an elevator landed them in one of the many biological warehouses, each the size of a football stadium and each housing a hundred-thousand stacked pods in floor-to-ceiling shelves. Each oval pod contained the shadow of a living creature, lying comatosed in a pond of brown slime, fed through the spine by a silicone tube: furry things, feathered things, scaly things, hooved things… Captain was left in awe by their alien appearance and sheer numbers. He had only seen this place when it was empty, he explained. He looked rather beside himself by the enormity of it all now tha
t it was full.
They weaved through the aisles, dodging oncoming shadows of Vet’s workers. Giants in white cloth, wearing face masks and surgical gloves, routinely monitored the specimens and the life-support systems which were keeping them alive. The consistent function of one machine was crucial: the supercomputer. There was only one aboard the cloud, but its data occupied almost an entire stadium-sized cavern of its own. Captain and Psycho alike knew of its purpose, although the technology was beyond both their expertise: the enormous digital screen displayed two lines of text, both rapidly rolling across the screen in opposite directions. Although the lettering was foreign, Psycho knew these two lines of script were the genetic codes of two species: one from this planet and one from another. The computer found millions of similarities and differences in genetic samples of hundreds of species a day; it picked out fragments of DNA with extremely high compatibility, and it estimated the viability of the hypothetical analogue which would spawn. From these calculations, the process of creating a living hybrid specimen was hideously fascinating: when the supercomputer found compatibility in the genetic material of two species, DNA of one was cultivated with eggs of another to form an embryonic mass no more than 100 cells in size. Healthy cell masses were then implanted into female specimens, taken down from a pod amongst the shelves. The animal would always remain asleep as it was artificially impregnated with the alien eggs. If it died on the table during the operation, the floor beneath it would immediately open up and swallow the specimen into a pit of flames, reducing it to ashes. Successfully implanted animals contained analogues growing inside of them. Instead of allowing the natural process to take its sweet time, chemicals in the tubes made foetal growth rapid. Mothers that were ready to burst were brought down to the operating tables and sliced open across the lower abdomen by a laser. The mother’s carcass dropped down into the inferno and the prodigy remained to be assessed. In the initial attempts, not many offspring were found alive. They too disappeared into the pit and the process was repeated again and again until something living emerged.
At one such operating table, the two hid to observe Vet’s scientists manipulating the sleeping carcass of what appeared to be a zebra on a circular platform. Long, mechanical arms were working on the animal, using tiny fingers armed with scalpels, needles, lasers and tweezers. But something went wrong. A cut was made which resulted in excessive bleeding. A heart-rate monitor indicated the animal was going into shock. The mechanical arms retracted and a button was pushed which allowed the circular floor to open up beneath the zebra and a blazing fire engulfed the animal instantly. There was a burst of heat, a blinding light, and then the circular trap door sealed shut once more and the warehouse returned to darkness. A clumsy mishap. The scientists were unmoved by the loss and proceeded to try again with another.
Psycho was more determined than ever to keep the human race from befalling the same impassive fate.
‘Quickly,’ muttered Captain. The feeling of urgency was mutual.
In another passing section of the alien laboratory, there was a woken creature on the circular platform, encaged within metal bars. The beast was a feline, yellow and black stripes, two metres long; additionally it had sprung ivory horns from its head and had piercing green eyes. It lounged lazily in its cage, swinging its tail. When the analogue yawned, there was a vibrant fluorescent ripple effect which briefly washed over its whole body, like a surge of green static electricity. A work in progress, perhaps.
Up ahead was the human warehouse.
‘How do you know her?’ Captain asked as he hobbled along, using both his cane and Psycho’s shoulder to keep himself upright.
‘We’re friends.’
Giants didn’t understand this term, so he had to correct himself and say, ‘We connect.’
‘Vill she connect with me?’
‘She’ll be asleep.’
The metal doors leading into the human laboratory were plastered with yellow warning signs of biohazardous materials; for some reason the giants believed natives, above all, were the most germ-ridden creatures on the planet. The number of microbes they must have witnessed in a human’s gut alone would have terrified them, and only very few crewmen, such as Vet and his highest scientists, dared to go in here without a full Hazmat suit. It explained why no giant would shake hands with Psycho, and why all of their dirty plates, bed sheets and clothes were incinerated after their use.
Psycho knew the keypad code to enter, which he had memorised from watching Vet’s fingers. Before proceeding, he offered Captain a facemask, to protect him from airborne germs, but he pushed it away with a disgruntled, Pesh!, claiming they were all well beyond the threat of contamination.
Beyond the lifting doors, the human warehouse was at full capacity and yet eerily quiet. A hundred aisles, ten rows, each with one hundred pods stacked from floor to ceiling; every glass case contained a single sleeping body, fed through a tube and living in a state of permanent limbo. Unlike the others, this room lacked computers and analogous experiments taking place. If Vet was telling the truth, they would never get to that stage; they’d be thrown straight into the inferno, every last one of them, as per Engineer’s orders.
They came to the circular operating platform in the centre of the warehouse, where Psycho placed Captain down and let him catch his breath. Captain gazed around him in awe as Psycho moved towards the digital control bench. He had learnt to operate these systems from Vet and knew how to bring down specimens from their slotted positions, control the mechanical surgical arms, and even incinerate things, if he wanted to. Using a touch-pad keyboard, Psycho initiated the system by first ‘dialling’ a specimen of his choosing. He punched in Lo’s pod number. On his monitor, very basic information appeared about this specimen, catalogued by the scientists who studied them: male, female or genderless (if they could not work it out), fertile, infertile, quad- or bipedal, and other taxonomic or physiological markers which were too complex for him. Then there was a lever beside the number pad. It was big and industrious, like the override switch of a huge electric generator. It took two hands and some force, but Psycho was able to push it from its idle position into ‘lift’. Nuclear machines whirred. A bright, purple light gushed out from a random spot on the wall, high up in the warehouse. Psycho then pulled the lever back towards him and flattened it into the ‘drop’ position. Beam-up, beam-down: a child could operate these devices.
A bright light shone up from the circular stage, blinding Captain momentarily. The two watched in wonder as a pod appeared from glittery dust and vapour, as if appearing from the pink and purple ether. The specimen that materialised onto the stage was a girl, sleeping soundly in her cocoon. Psycho turned everything off once the beams had fully rebuilt her. The nuclear machines all powered down again and the warehouse fell into silence.
Captain, at first, did not know what he was looking at. His head tilted to the side. He waddled forward with his crooked limp, but only a few steps at first. The glass pod was obscured by fog and condensation, as the specimen inside was endothermic. Captain looked at it curiously. With his four-fingered hand, he swept aside a layer of grey mist. Underneath, he saw a face.
It all came back very quickly.
‘Lo?’ he whispered.
‘I know I’m meant to be loyal to Engineer and, hand to God, I still am, but if you don’t step up and become the commander of this ship again, every single native on this cloud is going straight into the fire.’
Captain was too lost in memories and emotions to have heard any of that. He couldn’t stop staring down at the little sleeping girl.
Psycho stepped closer. ‘Engineer is going to kill Lo! Do you hear me?’
‘Vhy?’
‘He hates us – them.’
Captain looked down at the boy. ‘And you? Do you hate them?’
Psycho hesitated and chose his words carefully, ‘I’m doing this for Lo. She was meant to be here, with me, but something went wrong in the process.’
The giant loo
ked down upon Lo with dread and sorrow in his blue eyes, perhaps even tears. ‘Can she hear me?’
‘No.’
‘Vhat can I do?’
‘Become the captain again. Tell Engineer to step down and—’
‘Engineer vill never step down,’ he snarled. ‘He vant to be in charge since the day ve leave. He is just waiting for me to die.’
‘But you’re the captain!’
‘I am veak.’
‘I refuse to believe that. Those medals on your shelf – you earned those. You were given command of this ship because you were the best man – giant – thing – for the job. Engineer took your place when you fell ill, and now he’s using that power to change everything you set out to do on this planet. You have to take command back, or else all of these people are going to die, including Lo.’
Captain wobbled passed the boy and examined the digital screens on the dashboard. He pushed a few keys and read what the screen displayed. ‘De Vet scheduled cull for tomorrow.’
‘Vet doesn’t want to cull them. He wants you to save them. Save Lo! Please!’
Captain could see the desperation in the native boy’s eyes. He looked down at the workbench to see that dreaded message in red, showing the date this species was to be incinerated. He looked back to the pod where Lo slept, unaware of her own fate. Finally, something appeared to click. He swung back and hobbled towards the pod, brushing passed Psycho as though he wasn’t even there. There was a sharp look in his eyes, determination.
‘What are you—?’
Captain then raised his cane and smashed through the glass cocoon with one swing.
‘Captain!’
The pod shattered. Captain used his cane to tear through the glass shards to make a hole large enough. He then reached in and with two lanky arms he scooped up Lo’s sleeping body from the muddy water. He saw the tube in her neck and yanked it out.
Skyquakers Page 19
