The Fallen

by Paul B Spence

  "Why don't the rest of you stop hiding?" he said challengingly.

  "We three are the only ones here," the woman said, but her eyes held a challenge of her own.

  "I can feel the others," Mandor said. "I don't know how, but they're blocking my sight, just as you were. I don’t even know why."

  "Indeed," she said with a trace of humor. "I assure you, however, that no other living thing exists in this chamber."

  "Whatever," Mandor replied. He was more than a little annoyed at this treatment. It wasn't what he had expected. "If you wish to speak to me about Thetas, then get on with it."

  "I am Pavla," she said. "In order to serve you best, maybe we should start with what you know about these Thetas."

  Mandor ran a hand through his short white hair. "They are malevolent aliens with seemingly impossible abilities."

  "No."

  "No, what?"

  "No," she said. "You are wrong."

  "About which part?"

  "They are not all aliens, and they do not have impossible abilities."

  "Not all aliens? What? What are they, then?" asked Mandor.

  "To understand that, you must understand yourself."

  Mandor tensed his fists until the joints cracked. "Would you care to explain that?" He liked Rhyrhans, but they could be damnably annoying. Especially when they got philosophical.

  "It concerns the evolution of the soul."

  "Look," Mandor said reasonably, "I understand that your people believe in reincarnation, but not all humans do, okay?"

  "You, of all people, who have lived so many lives, should believe."

  Mandor twitched. "Why don't you explain it to me?" he said. "And leave out the religious parts, if you can."

  "All right, in scientific terms," Pavla said. "You would not argue that your body exists in many dimensions, including sub-atomic space, yes?"

  "I couldn't argue with that," he replied. "It is a fact."

  "Then is it so hard to believe that your body exists in a higher dimension, also? That it extends into hyperspace?"

  The conversation had turned in a direction he hadn't expected. "It is well known that physical matter casts a hyperspace shadow. At least into the first layer of hyperspace," Mandor said. "Why?"

  "That is the soul," Pavla said simply.

  "Okay, I can buy that. If you want to call that extension the soul. What does that have to do with Thetas?"

  "At what level do you think Thetas exist?."

  "You are saying that they exist in hyperspace? Are they from there?"

  Pavla sighed. "Not exactly. Not all of them. Assume that some of them can move in and out of hyperspace at will."

  "That would certainly account for the way in which they move about. Some of our ships have been attacked during transit."

  "We know."

  "Do you have this problem?"

  She looked away, but he felt the wave of pain from her. He’d touched a nerve.

  "Yes, we have been forced to deal with the unfortunate creatures at times."

  "I’d love to know how. We’re having a hell of a time. If you know of a good way to kill them, I’d like to hear it."

  "I didn’t call you here to teach you how to kill. That is not the path of compassion."

  "Compassion?" Mandor asked, incredulous. "These things are demons, monsters, whatever the hell you want to call them. You can’t expect compassion for them."

  "And what if you knew that they were simply poor suffering souls, lashing out at those around them in fear, confusion, and rage?"

  "I'd say it doesn't matter. You don't ask a virus if it would like a new host; you destroy it. I’d also say that you were full of shit. No offense."

  "You are angry."

  "How very perceptive. My family was tortured to death in front of me by one of these things. It knew exactly what it was doing."

  "I’m sorry. I did not mean to belittle your suffering, but they are suffering, too."

  "Then tell me how to put them out of their misery."

  "Mandor," Develos said softly. "We are trying to help. There is too much at stake here for your feelings to get in the way."

  "I can't help but feel the way I do, damnit. I can't think the way you do. I'm not made for it. I’m willing to be helped, but only if you have some other solution than 'turn the other cheek.'"

  "It is a matter of souls," said Pavla. "Not all souls are content to move on, or reincarnate, or rejoin the universal pool of energy. Some souls cling to life, even though their bodies are dead. They cling to the thought of living, and they are afraid. They are filled with fear and remorse. This can sometimes lead to anger, despair, and hatred. As souls without bodies, they cannot exist for long on their own, not with nourishment."

  "Okay." Mandor's head hurt. He didn't want to argue the obvious problems he saw in their logic. "What's the point?"

  "They feed on the souls of the living."

  Mandor felt chills run down his arms. "You're saying these things are feeding on us?"

  "On the fear and pain of the living, yes. It is in times of greatest stress that the soul burns the brightest."

  "I'm really not into religion."

  "This is the science of the mind, Mandor Shadovsky, not religion. It is as much a fact as your telepathic or apportation abilities."

  "I'm sorry, but this is rather a lot to take in. If I accept all this, will you tell me what you know about my enemy and how to defeat them?"

  "Your enemy has evolved beyond the need for a physical body."

  "They seem pretty physical to me."

  "They are when they manifest, but it is not always so."

  "You mean when they are in hyperspace or whatever." Mandor was trying to understand, but his headache was getting much worse. He suspected it had something to do with the way the Rhyrhans were cloaking themselves.

  "The best thing that could happen for them is that they be encouraged to give up the self and disburse into the universe."

  "You're talking about Nirvana!" Mandor exclaimed. "The nothingness that Buddhism claims to be striving for. I never understood why they would want that."

  "You will," Pavla said, her voice tinged with deep sadness. "A season of night is descending upon your species."

  "You said several things could happen," Mandor said, ignoring the implications of her statement. "What else?"

  "They can be destroyed, if bound to a physical form before the death of that form."

  "And how does one go about doing that?"

  "Terrific pain will cause them to cling to the flesh. They are often very tough; you would need to use antimatter or plasma, at the least."

  "At the least?"

  She just shrugged.

  "Okay, then answer me this: why now?" Mandor said. "Why are they only attacking us now?"

  "Is not your history plagued with tales of horror?" Pavla asked. "It is the way of young species."

  "If this is true, then why haven't humans figured it out before now?"

  "Your species has, many times," Pavla replied. "Once, long ago, they faced the horror of what they could be. There was war. Your religions all deal with it to some degree. Most choose to pretend it doesn't happen, and deny reincarnation in the hope that the truth will go away. Others, like your Buddhists, know the awful truth and deal with it in their own way."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Some species reach ascension more easily than others. Our species makes the transition mostly without mishap. We produce very few of the unfortunate creatures you call Thetas. Sadly, your own species produces as many failures as successes. Your Buddhists chose long ago to strive for enlightenment, but they safeguarded themselves by learning how to reach the state you called Nirvana. They keep themselves from falling by choosing oblivion."

  "Wait a minute. You’re saying that some of these things were once human?"

  "It is possible."

  "I don’t believe that," Mandor said. "It doesn’t make any sense. Many of these things are being found out
in space; some are definitely thousands of years old."

  "I never said they were all once human."

  "Great," said Mandor. "I guess there aren't any non-fallen enlightened beings around to help out, either?"

  "Your Thetas have hunted down and killed many of those who oppose them," Pavla said sadly. "Still some exist. Your history is filled with stories of angelic beings. What else could they have been?"

  Mandor nodded. "Okay. This still doesn't help much, unless you have a solution for our problem. Do you have a way to avoid war with the Thetas?"

  "You could commit suicide, as a species. That would prevent the coming war."

  "I don't think that is an option," Mandor said dryly.

  "Then have faith," replied Pavla. "You will have assistance, and some of it will come from places you have never before dreamed of.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Captain Rachael Vardegan cursed fluently in her native tongue of Yiddish as her clearance for take-off was once again delayed. She was proud of her cultural heritage, and it was a fine language to curse in.

  News of the imminent war between the Federation and the Empire had induced a state of near-panic in the independent star systems along the edge of Federation space commonly known as the Rimward Marches. The Emerald Conglomerate was trying to stay neutral. Most of the merchant ships stranded at Birmingham Starport were frightened that there would be a spillover in hostilities. They suspected that both sides would use the war as an excuse to conquer the smaller nations in the region.

  Fucking goyim, she thought. Delta Eridani was far enough out of the way that Rachael couldn't see either side being all that interested. Why would anyone bother with little systems like these?

  Fear led to mass hysteria, and there had been rioting in the streets. The government of Beda reacted in the predictable way and sent soldiers against the rioters. Now civil unrest had become outright civil revolt, and it was threatening to spill over into the starport. She could hear the rioters, like the roar of the ocean, when she was outside the ship.

  Rachael suspected that the merchant ships were being held groundside to provide a means of escape for the bureaucratic idiots who had precipitated the affair, which didn't make her any happier. She didn't want to get stuck in the middle of all of this.

  There was also the little problem that her cargo wouldn't make any government official too happy with her, either. Given the prevailing conditions, it might even get her shot. Unless she shot first, of course.

  Rachael's ship, the Marie, was a Byzantine-class, atmosphere-capable merchant vessel operating out of the Sentient Concord, at least according to her registry. The truth was that she was didn't really belong anywhere. The Marie was a smuggler, and her cargo hold was filled with crates of highly illegal military-grade weapons commissioned by the local revolutionaries. Unfortunately for everyone concerned, the rebels hadn't collected the weapons before all hell broke loose on the planet.

  That meant Rachael hadn't been paid for them, either.

  She was distracted from her gloomy thoughts by the intercom. "Rachael?" It was Martin Feldstein, her engineer. He was outside on the docking cradle waiting for the clearance to disconnect the ship. The primitive starport didn't have automated docking procedures, and the riots had kept the ground crews away.

  "What is it, Marty?"

  "We got another guy down here wanting to book passage."

  Rachael swore again. "We've discussed this, Marty. I have no interest in taking on passengers right now."

  "I know," Marty replied. There was something odd about his voice. "This one is different, Rachael."

  Nancy Richards, her co-pilot, was gesturing to her. She clicked the com over to hold. "What is it, Nancy?"

  "Marty doesn't sound right," she said. "He sounds upset."

  Rachael nodded. "Francesca, bring up a view of the dockside where Marty is."

  "Yes, Captain," came the smooth voice. Francesca was the ship's machine intelligence, which was highly illegal in the Earth Federation and only moderately illegal everywhere else – outside the Concord, of course. Intelligent machines were common there, but then, the Concord hadn't had the same problems with AIs as other places.

  The screen in front of Rachael lit up with a view of the port. She could see several other ships in groundside cradles. Mobs of people pressed against the fences at the perimeter of the field; lines of military guards inside the fence kept them at bay. It was only a matter of time before desperation made them swarm over and try to get to the ships. Rachael really didn't want to still be at the starport when that happened.

  Francesca focused the display on the portside boarding ramp. A tall man stood outside the airlock. Marty was visible just past him, and Marty looked scared.

  Rachael frowned. "Francesca, scan that man for weapons."

  "Scans are negative, Captain."

  "Query his datalink," Rachael said. "Hack it if you have to." It was illegal to hack a person's link, even out in the Marches, but Rachael didn't care just then.

  "Scans are negative, Captain."

  "He doesn't have a link?" she asked, incredulous.

  "That is as I indicated, Captain." Francesca's electronic voice had a trace of irritation in it. "All of my scans are negative."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means I get no readings of any kind from him, Captain. He must have some kind of sensor block."

  A sensor block was bad news. That meant an operative from one of the major powers, and Rachael didn't want to get tangled up with any of them. "I'm going down there," she told Nancy. "Hold the fort."

  "Is that a good idea?"

  "I'll pick up a little encouragement for him to be nice on the way," Rachael said with a grim chuckle. "Tell Marty I'll be right down."

  Rachael wasn't taking any chances. She armed herself with a nasty little military-grade 10mm coilgun she'd picked up in Gamma Ceti along with their cargo. The compact pistol could take down a Homndruu; she was certain it would be an adequate deterrent to bad behavior from the visitor. It wouldn't be the first time she'd had to deal with a pushy client.

  Marty was standing just outside the airlock when she stepped out. He nodded and ducked back inside. He wasn't good with people, but he was great with engines.

  The mysterious stranger was standing a few meters down the ramp. He was tall, solidly two meters in height, with coppery-red hair bound into a long ponytail. His skin was pale white and his eyes – truly the first thing she noticed – were a bright, vibrant green. Those have to be artificial, she thought. No one has eyes like that. He was dressed in some kind of strange, archaic black clothing that looked like it belonged in a historical vid.

  "What's the problem here?" she asked. She didn't quite point the pistol in the direction of the stranger. No need to be rude – yet.

  "I require passage to the Earth Federation," the man said. He had a melodious baritone voice with an unidentifiable accent.

  "Require, is it?" she said with a sneer. He didn't seem concerned by her gun. He had a lot of nerve for a man with no weapons and no armor.

  "Yes," he said. "This vessel will do nicely."

  "Assuming I was willing to take you, which I'm not, how were you planning to pay?"

  He cocked his head at her in an oddly inhuman gesture. There was something about him that made her uneasy. "Pay?"

  Rachael couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, pay. You didn't think I'd take you out of the kindness of my heart, did you? A girl's got to make a living."

  "If you find it necessary for such," the man said. "What kind of currency would be acceptable?"

  "What rock did you crawl out from under?" she asked. "I don't have time to explain the facts of life to every back-planet schlemiel that comes along. I don't know how you even got past customs."

  "I think you are being unnecessarily rude."

  "You think so?" She raised the gun. "Here I thought I was just being necessarily rude. I think you had better go before I have to show what unnec
essary rudeness is."

  He stared at the gun curiously. "I'm not familiar with that weapon," he said.

  She blinked. He truly didn't seem scared at all. "It's a coilgun. It fires a hypersonic explosive projectile that would cut you in half at this range. So you might want to show a little respect and clear off."

  He smiled a feral grin that showed at least several sharp-looking teeth. "I cannot do that. As I said, I require passage on this ship."

  "Aren't you scared?" Rachael asked, gesturing with the gun. "I could easily kill you where you stand."

  "I doubt it," he said, and something in his voice gave her chill-bumps. "But you seem quite scared. Do I frighten you that much, child? I doubt very much that you could kill; you don't have the instinct for it. If you did, you would have already tried to do it."

  His unnatural eyes seemed to exert a physical pressure on her. He moved suddenly, and before she could even think of pulling the trigger, he had taken the gun and stepped back.

  "You have been rude to me. You have threatened me. In another time and place, I would have killed you -- slowly. However, I accept that this may be the way things are done here. So I will forgive you this one time. Do not repeat such performance, at your peril. Now, to business. I still require passage. You may elect to transport me in an effort to assuage my wrath, or you may name a price for the passage, and I will pay it. It matters not which to me."

  She could only stare, gaping, at the strange man.

  "Close your mouth; it is unbecoming."

  "What the hell are you?" she asked finally.

  "I am, as of now, your passenger," he said, stepping closer. "Do you require payment or not?"

  What the hell, she thought. I need to make something for this trip. She didn't like the strange man, but she had to admit that he was tenacious, and in a better bargaining position, since he had her gun. She had the sinking feeling that he would have no compunctions whatsoever against using it. He looked like he would enjoy using it.

  "Payment would be nice," she said, swallowing her pride. "Since we seem to be negotiating after all." She couldn't believe she was agreeing to let this man aboard her ship, but she didn't see that she had much choice.