by Barry Kirwan
He knew Kostakis must have stolen it from Shakirvasta, somehow. He hefted the bottle in his hands, and addressed the crowd. “People of Esperantia. People of Earth. I had thought about the name Athena, a wise woman to watch over us. But we need to be prepared to show aliens they need to respect us.” He took a few steps to the side of the hull of the looming ship, raising the bottle high into the air. “I name this ship Agamemnon.” The bottle crashed against the black metal, champagne gushing out to a small cheer from the crowd. He tossed the bottle’s broken neck aside, and shook Kostakis’ hand. Vasquez came forward carrying a bundle.
“Micah. Your father’s jacket. Rashid replaced the nannites with some new ones, which we salvaged from this ship. You may well need them.”
He received the coat deferentially, remembering how it had already saved his life back on Earth. “Colonel Vasquez, Rashid, thank you both.” Micah wanted to say more, but no words came. In the awkward pause that followed, Antonia walked up to him.
“Bring everyone home, Micah.”
He met her gaze, and nodded. She moved back into the crowd. He leaned forward, and whispered into Kostakis’ ear. “Look after her, Professor.”
He looked across the sea of faces, trying to lodge some of them into his memory, though he knew the odds of him making it back were remote. He had to quicken his resolve. He addressed the crowd. “We hope to return, with allies. And a few stories to tell. Please be here when we get back.” With that he turned and led the group up the ramp.
Micah lowered himself cautiously into Louise’s chair. Zack had mounted his fighter pilot’s chair to the right and parallel to Micah’s, and Sandy sat in another chair to Micah’s left, with Ramires in Jarvik’s position. Micah stood up, one hand in each pocket, and faced Hannah.
“Hannah, do you relinquish any and all allegiance to the Alician order?”
She blanched, but nodded, jutting out her chin. “I do.”
He clicked the button in his right trouser pocket, and the chrome necklace clamped tight around her neck sprung open and tumbled noisily onto the floor. She swayed slightly, gasping, her hands around her throat. “Thank you,” she croaked. She glanced around the room. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Zack shook his head.
Micah nodded and sat down again, facing forward. The viewscreen showed that everyone had moved a safe distance away. He knew the ship was fully prepared, the first set of transits already programmed into the nav system. “Anyone not ready? Okay then…” He paused, and leaned over to Zack, whispering. “What am I supposed to say, exactly?”
“You’re the boss, now. You have to decide.”
Micah cleared his throat. He remembered an old sci-fi vid he’d watched as a kid. “Okay. Zack – Jump.”
As soon as he said it, sitting in Louise’s command chair, the puzzle unlocked itself in his mind. You’re the boss, now, Zack had said. Louise had been the captain of this ship, was Level Five intelligence, as well as a trained Chorazin agent, and should have spotted Hannah’s wavering loyalty. And yet she’d walked into a trap. Twice he’d seen her killed. Was it possible she had a back-up plan?
But Zack had already slammed the metal ankh, the ship’s starter key, into the slot; it was too late to think further on it. Micah and the others held their breath, as everything around them, every contour, every surface and crevice, turned silver, freezing them in space-time as the galaxy slid beneath them.
* * *
A woman’s scream of primal rage echoed around the sealed chamber. She choked, her new body not yet fully functional. Vaulting off the table, her legs buckled when they hit the floor, slipping and sliding in the green amniotic fluid. She ended up on her knees and forearms. She screamed again, but it turned into a wail, tears bursting forward. Her fingers clawed at the clammy floor, but the fingernails had not yet grown fully. Her body racked with tremors, her back arched like a hyena. She pounded the floor with her fists, her breath catching in broken rasps. She let it all ride out. She couldn’t taste him any longer on her lips, but she remembered. She kissed the floor. The tears started again. She fell asleep, naked on the floor, crying.
Louise sat on the harsh bench. She hadn’t eaten in the five days since her wakening and emotional torrent, but felt no hunger. She took stock. Her back-up plan had worked well, but left her emotionally fraught. She tried to recall what she’d been like before Thailand: a young, optimistic, compassionate teacher. But with each day the old sympathetic traits diminished. The emotion gaining ascendancy was anger, along with a grinding thirst for revenge. It didn’t surprise her: the regeneration chamber she’d concealed inside the Transport’s hidden section was tuned to Q’Roth DNA, their emotional repertoire leaning to the darker end of the sentiment spectrum.
She’d hoped she’d never need the clone, but since discovering the nannites and watching Hannah’s moves, she’d uploaded long term memories into its maturing brain each night. She hadn’t known how good the final memory transfer would work, but the connecting node implant had triggered in her last moments with Vince. Clone maturation had taken three weeks, but for her, less than a second had passed. She was surprised it had worked at all, and assumed it was because she’d had so much Q’Roth DNA in her already.
Using Q’Roth surveillance gear in the shielded section of the ship, she’d found out what had happened since her demise, and where Micah had gone – at least his initial spatial vector. She lazed in the Q’Roth heat therapy room, sweat trickling off fresh, supple flesh. She’d been studying Q’Roth strategy, now able to read Largyl 6 fluently. Her new body and brain was far more Q’Roth compatible, and she found she could pick up their concepts faster. A diagnostic test confirmed she had passed Level 5 intelligence, and was approaching Level 6.
She pondered her options. She could wage battle here, but even with her new found physical prowess – many of her organs and body parts such as bones, musculature and tendons had been upgraded automatically – she was severely outnumbered, and a transport ship had no weapons. Q’Roth tended to go for genocidal incursions of non-affiliated races, to avoid retribution by survivors or co-dependants. So, if she could find Micah and bring him and the others down, then she could return with the attack ship either alone, or with allies, and stamp out humanity forever. Vince had been the only man she could have dealt with – and tolerated. And he was gone. She would leave only one relic of humanity: a statue of two lovers embracing.
Four engineers sat around a small stove having their night shift snack, on a break from operating the laser drill which was making slow progress on the third level of the transport. Chairman Shakirvasta reckoned there was a hidden chamber behind this wall, perhaps even the engine room.
One of the engineers choked on his soup, as the three heads of his colleagues slipped off their shoulders in mid-conversation, their bodies folding up like rag dolls. Coughing, dropping the bowl to the floor, spilling hot soup down his overalls, he stumbled backwards, panicking. He tripped over a power cable, slapping him face down on the floor. Two boots stood in front of him. He felt a razor cut across the back of his neck, and a warm wet feeling around his throat. He tried to move but nothing happened. His vision faded to black.
Louise executed the half-dozen or more engineers working inside the ship during the night shift. She gathered their bodies on the lower level, found some fuel and set fire to them, watching the funeral pyre burn. It barely sated her need for vengeance. She knew the one person whose death could slake her thirst. The one who had been instrumental in humanity escaping, and the brains behind the twisted assassination which had killed Vince, snatching away her last chance of being human. So be it, she thought, you’ve made me what I am. You’ll reap the whirlwind, Micah. Twice she’d had the opportunity to terminate him. She headed for the bridge.
She closed the external hatches and fed in the coordinates taken by Micah’s ship. She checked there were no more humans on board, and dropped the ankh key into the slot. The ship vanished.
* * *
Deep inside the Q’Roth transport, the Hohash replayed what it had witnessed: a solitary female watching a bonfire of corpses, now smoking ash.
Once the transport had been recovered, the Hohash had tried to warn the ones calling themselves human that something was happening inside, but their scanning devices were too archaic, and now they were dead. All hatches had sealed, and the ship was about to transit.
It tried once again, as it had for aeons, to reach its master, but there was no response. And yet it sensed something, perhaps a wakening, the first stirrings from a slumber measuring nearly a million angts. It had been so long without instruction, and Hohash were above all servants, artefacts needing a purpose. It faced two choices: stay on Ourshiwann, or travel with, and confront, this hybrid, warped female. It connected briefly with its comrades to let them know its decision.
It surveyed its surroundings. Everything around it frosted silver in transit mode, which most beings believed was instantaneous. From a conventional space-time perspective, it was. But Hohash were not anchored in normal space-time. Decision made, it headed toward the bridge.
* * *
The Ranger Ukrull paused his omniviewer. This human species had survived and defeated an attack by a new Level 5 species armed with Level 6 technology. This was noteworthy. His claw slid into the glistening slot on the Bartran’s back, and the purring ceased immediately. He thought – encode message to Ranger Grid Sub-Commander 423. The Bartran’s mind became fluid, stretching towards the Grid. The Ranger began:
GSC 423 ACKNOWLEDGED – ASSESS SURVIVAL QUOTIENT. ZERO-CONTACT PROTOCOL TILL GRID-LAND. REQUESTING SP195 [Q’ROTH] PRESENCE FOR CONSULTATION.
Ukrull emitted a deep, rock-crushing growl.
OBJECTION NOTED. YOUR OBJECTIVITY QUOTIENT BORDERING TOLERANCE. WISH RE-ASSIGNMENT?
His foot lashed out, crushing a non-essential, self-repairing console. His objectivity was indeed wavering. Pathetic as they were, there was something about this species...
DENIED. MONITOR NEW SPECIES IN HABITAT.
Ukrull broke off comms. The Bartran vibrated unevenly. The Hohash. Ukrull had not yet reported that he had found them – they had been missing for so many millennia – which would land him in trouble with Ranger Prefecture Central sooner or later. What was the Hohash interest in humanity? Ukrull stroked the Bartran till it purred softly.
PART TWO
THE GRID
GAL-C-017-001: TLA BETH SENSES ONLY: INTER-GAL FAR STATION 3 CONTACT LOST
VERIFICATION PROBABILITY: 100%
INBOUND GENETIC MARKER: UNKNOWN. KALAHEII SUSPECTED
THREAT LEVEL: OCTRINO
GALACTIC BARRIER INTERCEPT TIME: 0.004637 ANGTS
MINES / DRONES DEPLOYED: Y
GALACTIC BARRIER INTEGRITY: HIGH
SPACE-TEAR FIREBREAK / DARK WEAPONS ISSUED & PRIMED: Y
EVACUATION PROTOCOL: LEVEL 12+ ADVISED EXODUS SECTORS RKZ249-UFZ355
SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: >12
EVALUATION: KALAHEII INVASION FLEET
DATA RESONANCE DIAGNOSIS: UNKNOWN WEAPONS CAPABILITY – INTEL NEEDED
ACTIONS: MUSTER SCLARESE NOVASTORMERS; CONVENE TLA BETH WAR COUNCIL; CONTINUE SEARCH FOR KALARASH – ALL RANGERS PRIORITY ONE; OSSYRIANS ASSIST MED-EVAC
Chapter 14
Seven minutes
The door irised closed behind Chahat-Me.
“Thank God. At last we can talk in private,” Kat said. “I preferred it when she didn’t understand our language.”
Pierre shifted from one foot to the other, reeling from the information exchange he’d just shared with the Ossyrian. They had only seven minutes, and he had a lot to tell Kat, most of it – no, all of it – bad news from her perspective. At least she can’t read my eyes, he thought. He cleared his throat. “We don’t have much time, Kat –”
She rounded on him. “Why? I’m pretty fed up with these ultra-fast conversations you two have.” Her eyes softened, and she managed a smile. “Girls get jealous, you know.”
Her joking made it worse. He decided to deal with the technical aspect first. “She needs to get back to the Grid, and we need to go into stasis. Because of the length of the journey,” he lied. Merde, when did I learn to lie?
The corners of her mouth flat-lined.
He moved on quickly. Distract. Evade. Where were these tactics coming from? “I found out some more things about the Grid, the society.”
“Can’t it wait? If we only have a few minutes I’d rather –”
“It’s important you know now. When we arrive there won’t be much time.”
She shrugged, and sat facing away from him.
He felt like a bastard. No, he thought, more like a doctor lying to a patient, trying to ease the blow. But he stuck to his course.
“Galactic society is well-orchestrated. It’s like a caste system. Most races know their place, their function in society. There are whole races who farm, or fabricate things; other races are predominantly engineers or scientists, or traders or militaristic, in which case they form the police network which maintains order spanning half the galaxy.”
Kat stared through the floor.
Pierre cut to the important part. “The caste system is rigorously enforced. Each race can interact with any race its own level or below, but can only address the immediate two levels above its own rank. Courtesy isn’t optional: if proper deference and respect isn’t observed, the perpetrator is usually recycled.”
Kat looked up, her expression a question mark.
“The offending person or group is deconstructed into basic biochemical constituents and used for medical or nutritional purposes.” He sighed. “The least infraction can constitute a violation, and if the party concerned is four or more levels above, they don’t even have to justify their claim of a ‘breach of hierarchy protocol’. We’re going to have to be extremely careful.”
Kat pursed her lips. “Then maybe we shouldn’t go.”
He nodded, and sat next to her. “We can’t remain here.”
“Why do we need to go into stasis, Pierre?”
He could tell she knew he was keeping something back. Timing was key. He needed to delay it a little longer. “I’m getting there.” He leant back against the chamber wall. “Many races aren’t satisfied with their status quo. They want what is called Elevation, which means rising to the next level. However, to do so needs two things. The first is education so that the race can take on higher responsibilities, and the second is finding another species to take over their current duties. The latter is the prerequisite to the former, and pretty hard to find, as you can imagine. Even if a petitioner race finds a substitute race it can foster to take its place, the replacement process can take anywhere from several hundred to thousands of years, due to the need to ensure the new race can do the job, and the difficulties of adjusting the new race’s culture to their new galactic social role. Also, the educational process of the petitioner race sometimes requires genetic re-structuring of the brain and nervous-endocrine systems, which has to be taken slowly over many generations.
Kat’s hand stifled a yawn.
He realised neither of them had slept for two days. That would be fixed soon enough, but he still had to play this out.
“So, some races rebel. Many of them, typically level 4 or 5, are clustered in this region of the Galaxy. To impede proper policing, there are illegal transpatial mines scattered over the whole region, particularly directly between us and the Grid.”
Kat raised an eyebrow.
“These mines exist in transpace and lock onto any object traversing it; they home in on it and detonate.”
“So, how do we get through them?”
“And we need to be in stasis because..?”
“We wouldn’t survive otherwise. Neither would Chahat-Me, incidentally. Our nervous systems wouldn’t be able to handle it; they’d … melt.”
“I see.”
He waited, but she said no more. He knew the gas that would put them to sleep would come very soon. Then Chahat-Me would return to put them into stasis.
“There’s one other thing, Kat.”
She levered herself up to her feet. The words loitered in his throat, preferring to stay where they were. She approached him, so that he could smell her warm, inviting scent. Maybe he should tell her later…
She spoke softly. “Pierre, tell me right now what is going on, or I’m going to hit you very, very hard.”
He stood up, half-nodded, and swallowed. “You’re pregnant.” He watched her eyes widen, and continued as fast as he could get the words out. “I was sterile, honest, a by-product of my genetic engineering, but when Chahat-Me scanned you, she detected the defective sperm and your ripe ovum and, well … corrected things…”
For a second, while his heart didn’t dare beat, he thought he’d got away with it. Her hand lashed out towards his cheek, but stopped millimetres from him. He hadn’t flinched, feeling he’d somehow earned the pain.
She sat back down, then lay back on the bench, hands cradling her belly. She looked down at it.
