The Soul Monger

by Matilda Scotney

  “I heard your thoughts,” Laurel whispered. “I’ve never heard anyone’s thoughts.”

  “I’ve never been able to send thoughts before,” Xavier said. “There’s something…” he looked about him as though listening, or even smelling the air. “I don’t know what it is. I find my senses…alive.”

  “I think we have a way to go to catch up with you, Xavier. Eli and Chloe’s experience in the medical facility appears to have been rather profound.”

  “Harry told me Eli and Chloe were grieving,” Xavier looked over to where Eli paid close attention to the conversation at the table. “They placed a device in their brains, to dull the grieving process and help them function without grief responses getting in the way.”

  “That’s clever,” Laurel handed him two beakers, “scarily clever. Did they say what caused their grief?”

  “A brother I think in Eli’s case. Nothing regarding Chloe.”

  “Not much on patient confidentiality, are they?”

  “Not between us.” Xavier sighed, “We’re a solution, Laurel, singular. One entity.”

  “Well, we’re all in this together. Whatever Eli’s problem, it’s up to us to accept him, and it’s for this League to give him purpose. Chloe too.”

  Xavier watched her return to her task; he made no move to return to the table, the beakers still in his hand.

  “You know, don’t you?” he said quietly.

  “Know what?” Laurel didn’t look up, not wanting him to see she knew exactly to what he referred.

  “That we’re not here by accident?”

  Laurel glanced behind at the little gathering of people who in such a short time were now her family. Taken from everything familiar and removed to a fantastic universe which defied everything they understood, they’d witnessed technology far more advanced than anything Earth’s scientists ever conceived. Those people, seated at the table, rather than screaming in terror, howling in dread, or sitting in a corner, huddled and terrified, were now holding an animated discussion, expectant of what was to come, but none of them any longer showing fear.

  “I believe…” she said, Xavier waited while she searched for the right words. “Yes, you’re right,” she looked directly at him. “There’s a reason for this, for all of this.”

  Chapter 11

  New bales of clothing and footwear arrived next morning, complete with a fresh, brand new clothing smell, each bundle individually inscribed with their names.

  “New stinks!” Asde declared, grinning from ear to ear as he dumped the bales on the table. “Wash hair and body and cavities. Dress up!”

  They’d understood him, but he still demonstrated with his hands, his clownish movements provoking laughter from everyone and bringing a sense of jollity to the whole situation. Asde, who sported a very external sense of humour, got the banter. He plucked at his own attire and pointed to the clothes.

  “Fit like skin,” he chuckled. “Very comfortable. You like. I stay and help.”

  They selected their individual bundles and opened them out.

  “They’re uniforms,” Helen gasped. “I love the colour! Red suits me.” She held the long-sleeved, fitted shirt against her.

  Laurel wondered out loud. “Why uniforms?”

  “Maybe everyone wears uniforms,” Xavier picked up his package.

  Asde cut in, figuring out their confusion. “Make you soldier. Like me.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Laurel muttered under her breath. Xavier looked at her sharply, but he was the only one who heard, and though her next words remained unvoiced, nevertheless, he heard them. “At least not until we get the facts.”

  Xavier watched her as the realisation dawned, Laurel’s eyes widened. “You heard me?!”

  Xavier nodded slowly.

  Unaware of what passed between Xavier and Laurel, Helen’s interest lay less in the meaning of the clothing, and more that they fit better than what they had, declaring, “At least they’re not parachutes!” and promptly proceeded to pull the rest of her bundle apart with all the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.

  Marta examined the red suit, the design was not to her taste, and she flashed a dissatisfied glance over at Laurel, but as it turned out, the uniform fitted Marta in all the right places, hugging her tall, statuesque frame. With her short spiky blonde hair, she looked strikingly attractive and formidable. The uniform likewise transformed Eli; handsome in red, he drew murmurs of admiration; even a “gorgeous” comment from Marta, which made him hide a smile. Chloe opened the communal mirror. Her uniform was a perfect fit and she couldn’t stop staring at herself, but as it transpired, red didn’t suit Helen. No-one said so, as they could tell she felt very important, repeating over and over her fantastic metamorphosis from checkout chick to space soldier.

  Laurel was the last to get changed. The strange oil shower did clean and freshen, but it wasn’t the same as a long luxurious soak in a hot tub. Dressing in the uniform, Laurel regarded herself in the slot mirror; her reflection evoking none of the excitement that affected her friends. Again, that sense came over her; she saw it in her own eyes as she gazed at the mirror; that being here was no accident.

  Laurel was of average height, with a well-crafted face and rounded cheeks. Her lips were full and her eyes wide and bright, with an amber hue that made a description of merely “brown” inadequate. Laurel’s ash-blonde hair, a mass of curls and ringlets had been her best feature, but now it was too short even to curl. The cropped style did nothing for her round face, but Harry assured her it would start to grow back in a few days. The uniform lifted her colour and fitted her well, emphasising her usually concealed curves; a distinct change from the green and shapeless hospital scrubs she covered herself with every day.

  After the flurry of changing and preparation, expectation turned into apprehension of what they might next expect. At the forefront for Laurel was why the League issued them with uniforms. Helen’s enthusiasm at receiving better clothing dimmed as she finally considered their meaning; that the group’s willingness to be part of the war was a given, rather than a hope.

  They declined Asde’s offer of help, so he’d left them to their dressing. When he returned later, he reviewed their uniforms—spent too long checking Chloe’s—then informed them he would be taking them to The Vanguard, a “beetleful” section of the Consular ship where Canon Akkuh and Commander Harry awaited.

  Asde’s depiction of The Vanguard, the most forward part of the vessel, might have conjured up vermin-ridden images had they not recognised that he was trying to say “beautiful,” because there was nothing “beetleful” about it. The floor of The Vanguard gleamed like a marble lake sweeping across from one side of the bulkhead to the other. Elegant furniture, manufactured from highly polished, rich-hued woods and comfortable chairs were tastefully arranged, seemingly for either private discussions or lively debates. Magnificent mirrors and murals adorned the walls. A stunning central feature was a richly carved, ancient-looking table, centrally supported on turned legs the width of tree trunks. The table could accommodate more than 100 in the equally impressive high-backed chairs surrounding. Broad, gold-trimmed carpeted steps swept dramatically up to a stage where Canon Akkuh and Commander Harry waited.

  But Laurel’s attention, even though she marvelled at the spacious beauty of The Vanguard, was captivated by what lay beyond as a backdrop to Canon Akkuh and Commander Harry. Through the expanse of glass behind them, a sea of colours, so extraordinary, so familiar, its drifting, melting threads of blue and red and green, tones and shades she didn’t recognise, tipped along the wispy clouds. Stars popped and sparkled like sequins within its depths. Laurel closed her eyes, but the colours stayed with her, gently unfolding themselves in her mind, but the memory they invoked stayed beyond her reach.

  Canon Akkuh, once again formally attired, regal and important, greeted them by raising his arms wide as if he would embrace them all at once. Laurel noted he avoided eye contact with Helen, perhaps rec
alling the incident when they first arrived.

  “Good morning,” he announced in a large voice. “Please come and be seated.”

  He showed each of them to a chair, an act Laurel guessed might typically have fallen to a person of lesser stature. Harry grinned at her but didn’t step forward to take over the task. This was an opportunity, she realised, for Canon Akkuh to execute an appropriate welcome. He was all smiles, but the smiles stayed on his lips and although she couldn’t say why, they made Laurel uncomfortable.

  “This time, we intend to make a better effort of our receptions,” he said. “We will address your burdens and offer you our reasons for your enforced removal by a Soul Monger.”

  But despite feeling somewhat unsettled, Laurel’s gaze kept straying back to the colourful landscape—spacescape, outside. She knew little about nebulas, certainly didn’t realise they manifested such colours, maybe the gases inside the nebula might produce that effect, but… every colour of the spectrum, Yellow? Indigo? And more?

  Canon Akkuh, seeing that he didn’t have her attention, looked at Harry, who followed Laurel’s gaze.

  Harry made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “The Miran Forin nebula,” he said.

  Laurel’s own rudeness horrified her. “I apologise, Canon Akkuh, it’s just that the colours are unbelievable! As soon as I looked through that window...” her voice trailed as she realised she was gushing.

  Canon Akkuh looked out to the nebula. He didn’t see anything unusual. Then he looked at Harry who gave a tiny non-committal twitch of his shoulders. The nebula held nothing special for him either. Canon Akkuh himself could hardly pick out one or two colours, certainly nothing to create such a response. He mostly viewed the nebula as a riddle to solve, but this woman was a whole soul, he couldn’t see what she could.

  “Perhaps we see through different eyes,” he said after a moment. “Now, we had large plans, the Commander and I, that you arrive and you…you…” he shot a searching look at Harry.

  “Our welcome would set you at ease,” Harry responded obligingly.

  “Yes, yes, but I accept blame for my actions. Like this good lady,” he briefly inclined his head towards Helen, “it all…it all,” he looked to Harry in frustration.

  “Fell in a heap, your worship,” Harry said with a respectful bow.

  Laurel stifled a grin. Helen certainly did that.

  “But you are welcome here,” the Canon continued, “and we are in deep gratitude for your presence, more grateful than I can express in your language. I’m sorry if I appear offal, the mantle of this type of rule has felled me quite unusually. I must now expose myself.”

  Laurel knew Helen was grinning. She also guessed what she was thinking because she didn’t want the Canon to expose himself either! Trust Helen to find humour in any situation.

  With a flick of his wrist, two tall, narrow shafts of light appeared before Canon Akkuh. Making a low humming sound, they separated to reveal a sizeable transparent map. A point of light flashed and drew their attention.

  “This is your destination, an asteroid field in the Caval system, there is an abandoned base within. There we will wait.” The Canon’s grasp of English was not good, and he was still behaving as if their cooperation were a foregone conclusion.

  Laurel raised her hand. “Before you commit us to this war, may we first have the history?”

  The Canon again looked to Harry, who murmured an answer in his own language. A separate screen appeared. Laurel had seen something like this before when she took a tour of a television studio. An auto-prompt.

  “The League has 279 systems,” the Canon waved his hands at the star chart. “More than 3,000 planets, moons and space stations. We have reigned peace for thousands of generations.” A line of lights lit up on the display. “Mentelci is the nulceus of the treaty planets, who are a merging of half and quarter-soul populaces, quarter-souls are passive; half-souls have other distinguished qualities.” He puffed himself up, obviously a proud half-soul. “None of us are empaths. Whole souls, such as yourselves, will prove charming to the continuance of the League and harmony.”

  “Bugger me!” Helen leaned across to whisper to Laurel. “What’s he talking about? What’s a bloody nulceus?”

  “I think he means nucleus,” Laurel whispered back, then raised her hand again.

  “Why? Or, as importantly, how?” Laurel felt it was possibly a matter of custom to let the Canon address them, but Helen was right, listening to him was a challenge. His bland voice, coupled with poor English was not making the explanation any simpler. It would have been preferable to let Harry explain. As that thought flickered into existence, Canon Akkuh looked at her, stepped back and signalled to Harry to take up the story.

  “We will answer that question in a moment, Laurel,” Harry said. “Semevale has been part of the League since ancient times,” Harry told them. “It’s a system of eight planets. As you can see,” the points of light relocated themselves as he spoke, “it’s located at 4Iw from the asteroid belt. The markers determine distance and widespeed algorithms.”

  Laurel sensed Helen’s unspoken expression of, “huh?”

  Chloe stood. She didn’t raise a hand to ask a question, merely got out of her seat and approached Harry to get a closer look at the map.

  “4Iw? Is that a measurement of distance or speed?” she said, moving her finger between the location of the asteroid field and the planet. “Do you mean the speed of light?”

  “No—uh, it’s…”

  “24 trillion miles give or take,” Chloe said, impressed, grinning over her shoulder at the whole soul audience.

  “I realise you would see it as logical for certain physical laws to…” Harry began.

  “Nothing can exceed the speed of light,” Chloe cut in again, certain of her position.

  For Harry, Chloe’s interaction had come as a surprise; a pleasing surprise.

  “I would very much like to discuss this with you at another time, Chloe,” he smiled. “For now, can you accept that widespeed moves an object through space at a speed that is faster than light?”

  Chloe hadn’t finished. “Do we age or regress in age at widespeed?”

  “At full velocity; no more than a regression of less than 0.02 of a second.”

  “Okay, Harry. Thanks.” Chloe left it at that and returned to her seat.

  Laurel knew how fast light travelled and guessed Marta did too. She caught Chloe’s eye, and the girl grinned. “My dad was a physicist.”

  “Here,” Harry pointed out blue and green filaments, “is the perpetuation of the Miran Forin nebula. The nebula is impossible to navigate, for us, but not it seems for the marauders and invaders coming through and declaring war on the League.”

  Blue and green on the star chart? Laurel glanced out at the nebula; there were so many colours. Perhaps for all of this technological advancement, the screen could only interpret a couple of them.

  “Sorry,” Laurel held up her hand again, “but you must have some idea why this war; this invasion is taking place?”

  “We don’t,” Harry shook his head. “Four of the planets in the Semevale system mine ore which the inhabitant’s trade with their neighbouring systems. This ore is a useful, though not crucial part of our energy management, with specific uses in household applications and some space-going vessels. At first, we assumed this is what the invaders were interested in, so we thought we could enter into a trade agreement, except we don’t know where they’re from, and so far, they reject any attempt at communication or negotiation. We don’t even know what to call them.”

  Helen leaned in again and murmured to Laurel. “I knew it. There had to be oil in this someplace.”

  “The Semevalians are decent people,” Harry said, bringing up an image of a beautiful city set in mountainous surroundings. Individuals in what Laurel supposed was traditional dress attended to their daily chores. “This is one of the larger prefectures, before the war,” Harry continued, then his voice became sombre. “This
is it now.” The next image, thankfully, was a still view, but many of the buildings were gone; those that remained, were damaged and blackened. “The Semevalians have never called upon the League for help. Now they need us, and we find ourselves not up to the task.”

  Laurel saw how deeply the plight of the Semevalians troubled Harry. Despite not knowing the complete story, the feeling inside her grew that she would help these people, somehow, even if it turned out she was not what they expected.

  Harry pointed to the nebula. “The Miran Forin nebula is boundless. It reaches beyond anywhere our ships can travel safely, beyond the furthermost planets we can access. Miran in our language means perpetual; Forin means hostile or demonic. Even within the confines of a ship with shields, the nebula joins with the hull, suffuses any metal or cellular structure and eliminates whatever life is contained within. No man has ever withstood it. The invaders seem to experience few obstructions in navigating it, however. This sector of the nebula…”

  Laurel looked out at the whimsical colours and drifting fibres, momentarily losing concentration. How could something so beautiful be so hostile?

  “…appears transformed in some way,” she returned her attention to Harry as he continued, “allowing them to cross with no ill effect. And that is how they access our space. We have thus far been ineffectual in gaining access to theirs.”

  “How did you discover you couldn’t go through it?” Marta asked.

  “The nebula has been a source of superstition and fascination since records were first kept,” Harry smiled as he looked through the window. “Investigation, exploration, all involving loss of life played a large part in determining its nature. Each technological advancement sought an answer, but in time, we learned to respect that its secrets are not for us to discover. That said, since the invasion, we have sent unmanned probes in to track enemy vessels. Each time, we have registered the loss of that probe.”