Helium 3: Death from the Past
Brandon Q. Morris
Cliff Allister
Contents
Helium 3: Death from the Past
Author's Note by Brandon Q. Morris
Author's Note by Cliff Allister
Also by Brandon Q. Morris
Metric to English Conversions
Helium 3: Death from the Past
Waiting for the End
“How much longer?”
Fleet Admiral Marty Joorthan sat in his pneumochair on the elevated command podium in the center of the rear wall of the bridge of the ultrasonic battleship Genia, from where he had a perfect view of the nearly 50-meter-diameter semicircle in front of him, where dozens of consoles and workstations were being used by the spaceship’s command officers to make final preparations for battle.
The question was picked up by the acoustic field in front of his mouth, and its contents were immediately relayed to and analyzed by the ship’s positronics. A question would next be passed to the recipient who, in the opinion of the positronics, had the greatest competence in the relevant field.
The ship’s positronics decided that, in this case, she herself not only had the necessary competence to answer the question, but she would also find it less distracting from her current work. The question did not enjoy a particularly high priority and was thus not important enough to bother other members of the ultrasonic battleship’s command in the current situation. Fleet Admiral Joorthan had also asked this question several times already in the last few million base time units, which corresponded to about 30 minutes of ship time.
The entire process took only a few milliseconds.
Directly in front of the admiral appeared the holographic avatar of the ship’s positronics, the figure of a young woman whom the fleet admiral had designated as avatar when he took office as commander-in-chief of the human fleet—or what remained of it. It was the lifelike image of his 24-year-old daughter, killed in the attack on Harjahan-4.
Together with the planet, her virtual manifestation stored in the quantum computer there had perished. It was therefore impossible to enable her to have a new physical incarnation. The avatar of the ship’s positronics remained the only possibility for the fleet admiral to communicate—at least now and then— with an almost-lifelike image of his daughter, even if the hologram had nothing in common with her except for its overall appearance and a few other physical characteristics.
Not even half a second had passed since the question, and Fleet Admiral Joorthan had not even had time to close his mouth when the answer came.
The ship’s positronics vibrated a few cubic centimeters of air molecules. Not only did the voice seem to come directly from the avatar holo’s mouth, lip-synched, of course, it was also precisely tuned to the exact frequencies and personal idiosyncrasies of the voice of the fleet commander’s deceased daughter.
“Hyperscanners show the tachyon wavefronts of the first enemy ships in hypertunnel approach still about seventeen Terran standard minutes away.”
As always, when Fleet Admiral Marty Joorthan communicated with the ship’s computer, a strange mixture of conflicting emotions befell him. He felt comfort at the thought of seeing his beloved daughter and hearing her voice, frustration at the knowledge that it was only an inadequate simulation, hatred for those responsible for her death, and disgust with himself for being unable to resist the temptation to resurrect her as this second-rate avatar.
And yet, he was unable to delete this avatar and replace it with another.
Seventeen minutes until the fate of humankind is decided, he mused.
Of course, Fleet Admiral Joorthan could have obtained the same information simply by glancing at the slow countdown time display in the central holotank on Genia’s bridge, where it was superimposed over the holographic representation of the system, its planets, moons, and habitats, and the defense fleet deployed there. But he found it reassuring to hear his daughter’s pleasant alto voice, and he knew that the ship’s positronics itself would take over answering the question. She had already handled it that way the previous four times.
The fleet admiral nodded his thanks, which the ship’s positronics took as a sign to dissolve the avatar, and the lifelike image of Joorthan’s daughter disappeared.
To the right of the fleet admiral sat his first officer, Fleet General Medina Hokranow, in her pneumochair. The green-skinned woman from the long-ago-destroyed planet Lorinoor gave her superior a furtive look that an outsider might have called disapproving. The unmistakable nervousness did not look good on the commander-in-chief of humanity’s last fleet, and it would be bad for morale if anyone else on the bridge should notice it besides her.
“Captain Welkins, put me through to the section commanders!”
Joorthan’s orders were to the fleet captain, who commanded the communications console. At the horseshoe-shaped station, three officers—the captain sat in the middle—were busy maintaining constant contact with the fleet’s ships.
Once again, the ship’s positronics heard the command. This time, since it had a direct addressee, there was no need to analyze the command’s content to determine where to forward it.
The person addressed heard the order over two acoustic fields generated by positronics right next to his ears, barely after Fleet Admiral Joorthan had spoken it.
“Aye aye, Sir!” he returned, using gesture control to make the desired connections.
Immediately, it seemed, the holographic images of the six section commanders who were to defend the system began to form in front of Fleet Admiral Joorthan.
It was to be the last meeting before the battle for the system and for the lives of its billions of humans, whether virtual or physical, broke out.
On a small open area in front of the command platform, six holograms flickered to virtual life one after the other. They were the life-size images of the six generals in whose hands the survival of humanity would lie—or, what remained of humanity after centuries of war. It was no longer a question of winning this war. The only thing that mattered was to avoid being completely wiped out, to avoid losing what was left of a human star empire that had once spanned half the galaxy.
The upcoming battle with the implacable enemy, only a few minutes away, would be about nothing less than the survival of the last remaining humans. And about a secret hidden in this system, which would preserve the heritage of humanity even when the people themselves would be no more than a distant memory.
A secret whose origin lay far in Earth’s past, inseparably connected with this conflict—perhaps, even the trigger of it.
54th of Nahn, 299
Kimikizu nervously tapped the floor with her beak. Where was the person who had invited her on this strange ship? She should not have left her eggs alone!
“Duck!” Norok shouted.
But the warning came too late. Kimi hit her head on the pipe that ran across the much-too-shallow room. Angrily, she stomped her foot. Norok put his wing over her shoulder comfortingly, but she swiped it down. She didn’t want to be comforted right now. She would rather be telling off this man named Mart, who had first lured her onto his strange ship with mysterious hints and now never showed his face.
Kimi buckled her legs, folded her wings, and made herself comfortable on her knees. Norok sat down opposite her so that their beaks touched. Kimi’s abdomen ached. The egg-laying had been exhausting, even if she had only laid three eggs. She could be quite reassured, because a couple of older females were now taking care of them, but she felt as if she had abandoned her children. Young Iks were raised by the commu
nity, but the hatching was the mother’s responsibility. Hopefully, Mart would not keep her in suspense much longer.
She heard a scratching sound. Tolkut entered the room. On the smooth floor, his six legs made a noise that caused the fluff under her feathers to stand up. On softer ground, the Mendrak could have approached unnoticed to spin his threads to wrap her up at lightning speed and then suck all the juices from her defenseless body. Kimi shuddered, though she knew that a clever mind dwelt in Tolkut’s black-haired head. They all owed much to Tolkut. Without him, the Iks would hardly have survived the conflict that had erupted after the arrival of the two species in this system.
Kimi jumped up and moved her feet in a fast rhythm and in all directions. Tolkut stood frozen. The vibrations caused by Kimi’s dance would spread across the floor to the Mendrak. They would reach him as an expression of her joy, and at the same time, they would signal her tense anticipation.
Tolkut used all six legs for his answer. Since Kimi could hardly feel the vibrations, she had to watch him closely. That was especially difficult because she had already learned that what mattered was not when the Mendrak set his feet, but rather the rhythm that it created. There were certain speech habits among the Mendraki that probably resulted from their anatomy. For example, the legs opposite each other could never drum at the same time. That was what they called this form of communication. But while Tolkut preferred to use his front legs for triplets, younger Mendraki preferred to use their hind legs.
I... am... worried, Kimi translated Tolkut’s sentence in her mind.
“What did he say?” asked Norok.
Her partner had given up trying to learn the strange language of the Mendraki. What was the point, when there were translation machines—and, of course, her?
“He’s troubled.”
“Tell him that...”
She looked at him reproachfully.
“Yeah, you’ll be fine, I know,” Norok said.
It was also unusual among her people for a female to lead the conversation, at least in certain situations. But among the Mendraki, female individuals had almost no rights.
Man makes us wait unduly long, Kimi drummed on the floor.
With her two feet, it took a long time to complete this short sentence, but Tolkut listened patiently.
Suddenly, two more hairy legs pushed through the low passageway on the wall into the room. They could only belong to Kasfok, who had also been invited to join the small delegation. Kasfok had once been Netmaster of the Mendraki, the Supreme Commander of their fleet, and Tolkut had rebelled against him. Still, Kasfok seemed to bear him no grudge. In any case, he had proven to be an amenable negotiator in the post-war communications. It was a fine example, Kimi thought, of how a character can change when conditions change. Norok was much more suspicious of Kasfok than she was, and they had argued about this often enough.
Kasfok crawled up the wall and approached them at the ceiling. There he drummed a greeting. Kimi had to tilt her head far back on her neck to follow his movements, so she missed the first part.
... impudent, drummed Kasfok. ... let us be picked up by a ship’s master. Let all of Mart’s feathers fall out...
Kimi had freely translated the insult at the end. Kasfok had drummed a word whose rhythm had sounded something like ‘spermatic cord,’ a vulgar term she had picked up from some young Mendraki.
Calm down, Tolkut replied. If man asks us so urgently, he will have his reasons. We are... indebted.
Kimi had difficulty following his leg movements. When the Mendraki talked among themselves, they took no account of their language difficulties.
“What is it?” asked Norok.
“Kasfok is impatient.”
“Me too. I have an appointment with the Supreme Mother in two hours.”
That was typical. She was worried about their joint offspring, but Norok thought only about work. Kimi moved her tail reproachfully, but Norok didn’t notice. Instead, he watched with fascination as Kasfok preened himself. In a flash, the Mendrak had built a small net on the ceiling and was now scratching his abdomen with his forelegs. Tiny flakes of skin rained down on them. Norok caught one and held it out to Kimi on his wingtip. The scale shone, although the light in the chamber shone diffusely from all the walls.
“Very nice,” Kimi said.
What is it? Tolkut drummed.
Why is there no translator here? Kasfok asked back.
You could have taken one with you, Tolkut replied.
We were talking about one of Kasfok’s scales, Kimi explained with quick leg movements.
Hopefully, the two Mendraki would not start fighting now. Tolkut and Kasfok had once been essentially mortal enemies. But she did not know the exact background. Tolkut had become a bit of a friend to her, but he did not comment on the internal affairs of his species.
Yes, they are very annoying at the moment, drummed Kasfok. I wait every day for the molt to finally begin.
The molt? The Mendraki didn’t have any feathers at all, did they? This had to be a misunderstanding.
What do you mean by that? drummed Kimi.
We lose our entire outer layer every three to four orbits, Tolkut explained.
I have never seen that before.
No wonder. This is a very intimate process for which we withdraw into a cocoon we have spun ourselves, drummed Tolkut.
It is especially dangerous because we are very vulnerable during this time, Kasfok added. In the past, the entire clan defended us, but Tolkut has abolished the clans.
I have not abolished anything. The Mendraki have decided that we no longer need this outdated form of society.
Thanks for the explanation, Kimi drummed.
I wish you hadn’t brought up the subject! Kasfok groused.
“Would you be so kind as to let me in on your conversation as well?” Norok asked.
She didn’t like hearing that tone from him. They were probably all overwrought. It was more than time for Mart to appear. She wrapped her wings around her torso in annoyance. A force pushed her toward the floor so that she had trouble keeping herself upright. Norok seemed to feel the same way. Then she heard a scratching coming from the ceiling. Kasfok wriggled his legs, trying to find a foothold, but it was no use. He was falling. Kimi experienced his fall as if in slow motion. She realized too late that she was standing almost directly beneath him.
“What kind of—” Norok said.
Kimi pulled in her head. Kasfok fidgeted with his front legs. Maybe he was trying to avoid it, or perhaps he was just trying to cushion the fall, but it didn’t help. The huge black spider landed on Kimi’s back. She let out a sharp scream. Then she fell to the left side. She supported herself with her wing, but it was no match for Kasfok’s weight. It cracked. Surely the bone at the front of the wing had broken—it was hollow, not designed to support a great weight. A throbbing pain went all the way to her head.
Kimi was lying on her side, with Kasfok trying hard to get off of her. The movements of his six feet felt almost like a massage, but new pain stabbed whenever he accidentally got too close to the broken bone. The force pushing them all down intensified. Kasfok didn’t stand a chance. It hurt so much! Why didn’t Norok come to her aid? That was when she saw him. He was also lying motionless on the floor, pinned down by the force that could only be an effect of acceleration.
The ship into which Mart had invited them must have launched. There was no other explanation. Had they just been kidnapped? But why, and who was responsible? The thoughts helped to distract her from the pain. What was Mart planning to do with them? Was there some plan behind it that no one had suspected? Or was it some natural force, after all, perhaps an asteroid hit or a celestial body that the ship had to avoid by using its thrusters? But then why had there been no warning?
All of a sudden, she became very light. Nausea rose in her, and the world disappeared.
“Kimi? Are you there?”
Norok held her head on his knees and patted her face. Her beak pok
ed into his belly, but that didn’t seem to bother him.
“Where else would I be?” she asked.
Surely it had all been a dream. They had lain down in the evening after laying the eggs, and now she was awake. She moved her left wing, and pain shot into her consciousness. This was no dream.
“You were unconscious,” Norok said.
Kimikizu moved her head. They were still in the same room, which was now filled with a sour smell. Kasfok sat next to her and cleaned himself.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You vomited and hit the Mendrak in the process.”
“Kasfok?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
She had to apologize to him. Kimi tried to get to her feet, but she could not. She was too weak. That damn wing bone! She couldn’t stand weakness, especially not in herself.
“You have to apologize on my behalf,” she said.
“But I can’t—”
“I’ll describe the movements to you.”
“Okay.”
Norok carefully put Kimi’s head down, stood up, and danced the words of apology she described to him. It didn’t look too elegant, but Kasfok seemed to have understood him.
There is no reason for that, Kasfok drummed. Letting others share in your digestion is a great honor. It is something that parents do for their children. I thank you very much, because I have never shared digestion with an Iks.
Kimi described as Norok performed the dance of non-intentionality.
Nevertheless, Kasfok drummed, if you want me to return the favor, all you have to do is tell me.
That’s worth missing, she thought. Just thinking about it made her feel nauseous again.
“Surely you know the dance of thanksgiving?” Kimi asked.
By now, almost every Iks knew these fundamental movement patterns. Norok rose again and executed the few steps.
Helium 3: Death from the Past (Helium-3 Book 2) Page 1
