by Barry Kirwan
He prayed Pierre had pulled it off, even though he’d said he wasn’t certain to succeed. But if it wasn’t finished in time then it was all for nothing: Micah would lose the vote, and the Ossyrians would leave humanity to its own devices. Mankind could negotiate maybe a decade of peaceful quarantine on Ourshiwann – not nearly enough – after which it would be open season, with the Alicians waiting patiently at the gate. But if the Ossyrians left, they would take the Transpar with them. That had been the key. The Transpar was the wild card in the pack, and Micah intended to play it fully. He stared at Sonja’s empty chair, unsure how she’d react. He’d done this for the good of everyone, he told himself, again.
The chattering in the room died down: Sonja had arrived. The gravity of the situation reasserted itself on everyone, as they all took their seats silently. She walked solemnly towards her chair, head held high, ebony face like marble.
“Good luck,” Sandy whispered to Micah. It sounded consolatory, anticipating defeat.
Blake waited for Sonja to take her place, then rose to his feet. “Sonja, have you made your decision?”
She nodded once.
Micah glanced around once more to the empty doorway.
She stood. “I –”
She was interrupted by a commotion outside: shouting, muffled noises, and heavy footfalls. The Transpar strolled into the room, dragging along two soldiers struggling ineffectively to hold it back. Its crystal head swivelled first to Blake, then to Sonja.
Blake held up a hand. “Easy men, let it be. What do you want here?” he said to the Transpar. “This is a closed session.”
The soldiers backed away, as the crystal man opened its mouth. Its teeth sparkled, its voice carrying like coins bouncing off a stone floor. “Blake,” it said. “You are Blake. I remember you. I remember Kurana Bay.”
Blake glared at the Transpar. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The Transpar walked to a spot in front of Sonja. “And you. You are Sonja. I have many memories of you and the one called Zack.”
Blake rounded on Micah. “Is this your doing, Micah?”
Micah rose from his chair, facing Sonja. He’d rehearsed this a dozen times, but still it came out haltingly. “Sonja, one of us had to make the ultimate sacrifice, out there, at the trial. I wanted it to be me, but Zack… Well, you know him better than any of us. When we won, I asked the court if his memories were still inside him. I knew the emotions were gone, but the memories…” He faced Blake. “Normally after a trial is finished, they dispose of Transpars, but they agreed not to, and left him in the Ossyrians’ care.” He swallowed. “Last night I asked Pierre to…” Micah found it hard to say the rest. He stared at the floor.
“What did you ask him to do, Micah?” Sandy asked.
“At first it was about saving us all, by getting Sonja on our side, any way possible.” He glanced in Sonja’s direction. “But as I talked to Pierre, I realised it was guilt. It,” he said, nodding in the Transpar’s direction, “that, should have been me.” He took a breath, drawing himself up. “I asked Pierre to restore as much of Zack as he could. He’s done something to the Transpar, don’t ask me what. It’ll never be Zack, of course, and I can ask him to undo it if –”
“No!” Sonja was on her feet. “No, Micah, you’ve done quite enough.”
She approached the Transpar, standing close to its face, looking up into its crystal eyes. “What is my favourite time of the day?”
“Sunset,” it answered.
“Where did Zack and I first kiss?”
“In your room in your parents’ house. There was a storm outside. You were talking, and he told you not to stop, to close your eyes so he could focus on the sounds, and then he leant forward and kissed you in mid-sentence.” The Transpar looked at the ceiling, then back down at Sonja. “He thought you were fragile, too trusting in people.” The Transpar sounded curious, as if trying to grasp the emotions underneath the words. “He never told you that, because you are also a proud, strong woman. He was terrified something would happen to you. He wanted so much to protect –”
She placed a finger on the Transpar’s lips, silencing it. “Stop, please,” she said, her voice quavering.
She returned to her seat, clutching its edges with rigid arms. She glared at Micah. “You’ve manipulated me, Micah. You’ve grown from the young man I met six months ago. I’m not sure I like what you’ve become.”
Blake cut in. “Then your vote is against the proposal?”
Sonja looked to the Transpar, then to Blake. “I’m sorry, Blake, really, but if I do that, these Ossyrians will take this – him – with them.” She stared hard at Micah. “My vote is for the proposal. Micah has left me no choice.”
In the uproar that followed, with everyone on their feet shouting and arguing, Micah stared at Sonja in disbelief. In the din, he mouthed the word “Sorry”. Her lips widened a little, and she mouthed back, so that no one else could hear, “Thank you.”
Blake and Micah were the last two left in the room, absolute quiet having seeped in once all the others had gone. They stood some distance apart. Blake hadn’t said a word to Micah since Sonja’s vote. Micah had expected an outburst of some kind, but instead he sensed resolution, and waited patiently, ready to accept whatever Blake had to say.
Blake sat down in Rashid’s seat. “I’m retiring, Micah. I’m going to spend my remaining time with Glenda. There’s a chair over there needs filling. You’ve earned it, and you’re man enough now for the job.”
Micah searched for an edge in Blake’s voice, a tinge of bitterness, but found none. He knew he still had a long way to go to reach Blake’s level of professionalism. He walked over to the chair, ran his fingers over its varnished wooden surface. It was no doubt heavy, like the position it occupied in the Council. He considered others who could have taken it, Vasquez for one.
Micah had never sought power – if anything he’d always been anti-establishment. But the idea resonated and, more than that, he wanted to see this through, and only someone who believed in the upgrade could lead humanity forward. He knew it would be less of an uphill struggle if he was at the top.
“I’ll do it. But you can’t retire. I need you to do something.”
“Micah, I’ve –”
“Jennifer, Rashid and Dimitri need you to do something. The galaxy needs you for one last task. And Glenda will be well enough to help you soon.”
Blake surveyed Micah. “Sonja was right about you, you’ve grown alright. Well, you’ve got my attention. What is this great Galactic task?”
“Protect the spiders. There are eggs on the planet, and they’re going to hatch in a couple of years.”
“Ah,” Blake said. “They found their way in, then.”
Micah tried the chair for size. “Could you maybe elaborate on that?”
Blake told Micah of the caves, the egg nest, and the ship. Micah pondered for a while. He closed his eyes and let the possibilities formulate into hypotheses. Rashid had obviously been referring to the ship’s inhabitant. In the Tla Beth ‘Court’, Micah had seen an image of a crossbow-shaped ship, and on the way to Ourshiwann, Pierre had mentioned an ancient race of Progenitors, called the Kalarash. The pieces slotted together in his mind, though he had no idea what the role of the spiders could be. As often happened, his projections catapulted forward to yield a less certain, but plausible prediction: that the Galactic battle would find its way to Ourshiwann, and humanity and the spiders would be swept up into that confrontation. He opened his eyes.
Blake stood in front of him, watching, a wry smile on his face. “Still want the chair, Micah?”
He rose and met Blake’s offered hand, shaking it firmly. “Yes, but I’d really welcome your guidance.”
* * *
Micah strolled towards the central plaza. He wore his father’s military jacket; it kept the chill night air at bay and, well, it was comfortable, he told himself. People liked to see him in it. At first he thought they respected it, or his decease
d father. But then he realised they respected the fact that he wore it, honouring his father. Either way, Micah had decided that it fit, and anything that helped him get the job done…
He’d been doing the rounds, visited Kat and Antonia, played with their child, Petra, which had been awkward at first, until Kat said Micah should visit often, that Petra needed some kind of male anti-role model in her life, or else she’d end up straight. Despite the banter, Micah suspected she was still cut up about Pierre.
He travelled to the egg nest with Blake and Glenda. Far from being revolted as he’d feared, Glenda threw herself into cataloguing the chamber’s contents, planning nurseries, and hatching her own proposal for co-habitation between spiders and humans. He winced at that, and began formulating his own plans for a new human city on the ridge, though they only had two years to build it.
He and Blake had descended alone into the deeper caves, found the roiling ocean, but no trace of the ship, just equipment abandoned by Dimitri. Blake told him of Rashid’s love for Sonja. Micah cursed himself for not seeing it, playing back his last conversation with his tormented friend, realising how it had cemented Rashid’s resolve to depart.
Micah squatted, staring down at the unending, perfect waves rolling fifty metres below his feet. He wondered how long it had been there, how long the ship had been hiding, waiting; maybe a million years. We always took ourselves so seriously back on Earth. We had no idea what was out in the galaxy. He ran a finger over the smooth glass surface, and wondered how much of a difference it would have made if mankind had known, and decided it would have made all the difference.
He straightened up. “How is Sonja getting on with the Transpar?”
“They need time, a lot of time. Pierre’s advanced nannites are still working. Last time I was there, it saluted me, can you believe that?”
Micah smiled. “I don’t think Pierre is doing it just for Sonja, or for me. I have a feeling the Tla Beth will pay a visit one day and ask the Transpar to give them a reckoning on us, on humanity. Pierre is doing it to protect us.”
Blake picked up the torch, and indicated to the exit. “Sorry the Ossyrians didn’t grant your request, about upgrading adults who want the process. Guess we’ll have to rely on the young ones to fend for us.”
Micah felt a shiver, knowing the social problems all of this was going to unleash. He’d have a lot on his shoulders starting in about twelve years’ time, when teenagers would begin to outsmart him. He hoped he’d done the right thing.
* * *
Micah met Pierre for the last time as he boarded the small, ash-coloured spacecraft crouching crocodile-like outside the city.
“Are you coming back, Pierre?”
“The Kalaheii must be defeated. I will do whatever I can to help.”
Micah nodded, hearing Ukrull grumble something from inside the ship.
“Micah, there is something you should know. Sister Esma has petitioned for stewardship of humanity if this ‘experiment’ fails.”
Micah shook his head. “She doesn’t give up, does she?”
He told Pierre about Louise.
“There is no threat now. Neither Alicians nor Q’Roth are allowed within ten light years of this planet. But the quarantine is only for one generation, Micah.”
“I understand. But by then, I doubt I’ll be in charge, Pierre – one of the young men or women will be better suited.”
Pierre didn’t respond, but it seemed to Micah that he had an odd, unreadable expression on his face, as if he was deciding something. Pierre held out his hand, Micah assumed out of politeness. Micah gripped the cool silver, feeling a tingling sensation in his palm. “Good bye, Pierre,” Micah said.
“Au revoir,” he replied, a shadow of a smile.
Pierre boarded the ship, and shortly afterwards, it vanished. “Good luck,” Micah said to the rocks and bushes undisturbed by its wake. As he walked back to the city, he scratched his aching forearm absently, oblivious to the grey-black swirl, like iron filings, that circled there momentarily before disappearing beneath his skin.
* * *
Micah found Sandy and Blake in the central plaza. Like others who had gathered there and elsewhere in the city, they were looking upwards. He followed their gaze to see the final pulse of red light whisk up from the top of the Ossyrian pyramid ship into the night sky. A luminous drop, like a giant scarlet snowflake, formed at its zenith, then radiated outwards in every direction down to the horizon and beyond, a shimmering shroud around the entire planet. After a few seconds, the shield became completely transparent, vanishing from human eyesight.
“That’s it,” Blake said. “Nothing gets in or out. From here on it’s just us, the spiders, and a handful of Ossyrians.”
“A generation of quarantine; fifteen years,” Micah said. “A lot can happen in that time.”
“Families, stability, some breathing space, for one thing,” Blake said.
“Coming to terms with arachnophobia, for another,” Sandy added.
Micah laughed. But he foresaw a complex tapestry of social problems in the near future, and knew that he and Blake would clash again, sooner or later; Micah had won the first round; that was all. Still, he wanted to relax for the moment, so he suppressed those thoughts. “No news on Rashid, Jennifer or Dimitri?” he ventured.
Blake slapped his hands together, then rubbed them in the crisp air. “None. I doubt we’ll see them again.”
“I wonder what was in the ship?” Micah added.
“We’ll probably never know,” Blake said. He tilted his head as he looked at Micah, then cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Micah, Sandy tells me … you knew my son.”
Micah coughed, and shot a glance at Sandy, wishing she’d warned him, but she just stared right back at him, smiling. He nodded, facing Blake. “I was in Kurana Bay, just a kid then, like Robert. We were in the same training squad. You and Zack rescued me. I never expected you to remember me, given everything that happened that night.”
Blake chewed on it for a while. For the first time since Micah had met him, Blake looked vulnerable.
Sandy put a hand on each of their shoulders, pulling them closer. “God, you men are really useless, aren’t you? Micah, tell him about his son.”
He swallowed. “I only knew him for a couple of months,” he replied. He addressed Blake. “What do you want to know, exactly?”
Blake’s eyes lit up. “Everything, Micah,” he said softly. “Everything you can remember.”
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Pierre studied Ukrull’s chaotic green console, studded with jagged controls, spattered with myriad spherical screens of shades of brown which Pierre had difficulty interpreting.
“The Kalarash was here all along?” Pierre asked.
“Masked. Level 19 stealth tech. Detected once ship folded space-time.”
“The three humans have gone with it?”
“Yes.”
Pierre’s eyes zoomed onto the central cubic display showing the razor-thin tear in the space-time fabric caused by the Kalarash’s departure. No more than a hair’s breadth, and blacker-than-black, it streaked up from the planet’s surface, flailing silently out into the void.
“Must fix,” Ukrull said. “Qorall’s spies must never see.” He nudged Pierre with a claw. “Image it.”
Pierre’s left hand riffed over the controls to highlight the rip on the main screen. Ukrull wheeled the ship around to intercept the filament from just above the shimmering barrier. The ship emitted a narrow orange beam from its front section. Ukrull – in manual, Pierre noticed – steered the ship to trace up the tear’s entire length, from Ourshiwann’s orbital shield, all the way to the thread’s dangling end a hundred or so kilometres out into space. The painstaking operation took over five hours, and Ukrull didn’t miss a centimetre. He then withdrew the ship to observe.
Pierre was relieved to see the rip slowly contract in on itself and disappear. He also noticed Ukrull did not seem in the least fa
tigued. “Can we track the Kalarash vessel?”
“No.”
“You’ve informed Tla Beth Central?”
Ukrull folded his muscular forelegs. “Yes.”
“What was their suggestion?”
Ukrull snorted, his heavy tail thudding into the hull at the same time.
“What do you suggest?” Pierre asked.
“Have idea. Long shot. Long trip.”
Pierre wondered – not for the first time – why Ukrull hated using words, minimising everything, odd for such an advanced species. He seemed to be always testing Pierre, trying to make him guess what was probably obvious to the Ranger. Pierre considered what to do next, what leads to follow. He concentrated his mind, searching through trans-dimensional landscapes of probability projections, but nothing emerged that was statistically noteworthy. The galaxy was simply too big: they could be anywhere. And the space-time rip the Kalarash ship had left behind was like nothing ever recorded. That ship could be half-way across the galaxy by now, or even … yes, it was possible, the Kalarash vessel might have left the galaxy, in which case there was no way to pursue them. To make matters worse, according to the Tla Beth, there was only one Kalarash left.
He noticed that Ukrull remained still. The Rangers appeared to be aggressive, over-bearing reptiles, and said little. Yet he knew Ukrull was Level Fifteen. He wondered how this could be, in a race so loathe to communicate.
“Not loathe,” Ukrull said.
The two words struck Pierre’s mind like a jeweller’s hammer smartly splitting a diamond in two. He understood straightaway why Rangers would want to keep it a secret.
“You’re telepathic?”
Ukrull laughed, a vicious chomping sound like chewing rocks. “You not so dumb.” He opened his foreclaws and activated a number of controls in blurred motion while he spoke. “Kalarash paired species. Mate for life. Female still hiding. Find her before Qorall does.”
