Phoenix

by S. F. Said

  ‘Never!’

  ‘It happens on every world. Ordinary people, protesting against the War. Not that the government listens.’

  At the top of the road was a stone monument. It was carved with names and garlanded in flowers. Beside it, a man on a platform was making a speech. Lucky caught only a few words.

  ‘. . . died in vain,’ the man was saying. ‘And you’re all here because you’ve had enough of war. You’re here because you believe this is how things could be – Humans and Axxa, side by side!’

  Everyone cheered, and another chant started up. Lucky’s skin tingled in the quickening rain. It felt incredible to be part of such a great flow of people. He was swept up in the rush of it: this huge crowd, marching, chanting, together, united. It gave him goose bumps on the back of his neck.

  And then his neck stiffened, because now it seemed like parts of the crowd were being blotted out. Like the air was somehow darker, thicker, in those parts.

  He looked closer.

  Oh no. There were Shadow Guards in the crowd, moving stealthily through it. They were pulling people out of the flow, onto the roadside.

  One of them dragged a woman aside, and held his hand up to her face. The woman tried to back away, but other Shadow Guards held her there. Fingers of darkness reached out from the Shadow Guard’s hand, and probed at the woman’s eyes. They went right in through her pupils. Then the Shadow Guard pulled sharply – and ripped a stream of bright images from her eyes.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ gasped Lucky, as thunder shook the sky above their heads.

  ‘Ripping her brainscan,’ replied Bixa. ‘That’s how they get their information. They rip the entire contents of your brain – whether you want them to or not.’

  The images were pouring out of the woman’s eyes, shimmering and sparkling in the shadows. Her thoughts, her memories, her feelings and dreams: the Shadow Guard was taking them all.

  The woman screamed and slumped to the ground, writhing in the rain. The edges of the crowd began to break up as people saw what was happening, and tried to get away.

  Lucky wanted to get away too – wanted desperately to turn and flee from this scene that had spun horribly out of control – but he couldn’t. All he could do was shake with fear.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ gulped Frollix. He’d seen the brainscan. His hands were trembling, making the handlebars rattle.

  ‘Drive!’ urged Bixa.

  But Frollix seemed unable to drive. He stalled the cycle, and couldn’t start it up again. He was shivering, his great horns wilting in the rain.

  ‘Frollix,’ hissed Bixa. ‘By all the Twelve Astraeus – drive! We’ll get pulled up if you don’t!’

  ‘I’m trying . . .’ muttered Frollix, as he failed again to restart the cycle. Bixa’s needles blanched to palest white.

  And then, without warning, a Shadow Guard was in front of them, blotting out the world around him.

  ‘Stop right there,’ he ordered, in a voice that Lucky felt in his bones. And in his mind, he was right back in Phoenix Spaceport, on the flight tower, with the shadowship bearing down on him and his mother –

  – but she wasn’t there to save him this time. All he had was a flimsy disguise.

  ‘Show your ident,’ commanded the Shadow Guard, as Frollix pulled the cycle to the side of the road.

  ‘G-g-got it right here,’ stammered Frollix, handing his card over. He was far bigger than the Shadow Guard, but his size counted for nothing before such power.

  The Shadow Guard scanned the ident. ‘What are you doing at an anti-government march?’

  ‘Uh – well – we—’ mumbled Frollix.

  ‘We’re on the crew of a civilian ship, loyal to the government,’ said Bixa, interrupting imperiously. ‘We’re on shore leave. We had no idea there was a protest march here today – we were just going shopping in the famous market. But we got caught up in this stupid crowd. We’d be very grateful if you’d help us get out of it.’

  The Shadow Guard looked at Lucky. ‘You at the back. You are shaking. Why?’

  Lucky couldn’t answer. He could barely even breathe. He looked into the faceless darkness before him. He could see no eyes, no mouth; nothing Human at all.

  ‘Take off those glasses,’ ordered the Shadow Guard.

  Lucky forced himself to remove the mirrorshades. His contact lenses were exposed. Surely the Shadow Guard would see straight through them . . .

  ‘Now hold still,’ said the Shadow Guard. ‘I am going to scan your brain.’

  Oh no. Please no.

  The Shadow Guard held a hand up to Lucky’s face. The fingers of darkness reached for his eyes.

  But Bixa just laughed, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. ‘Hey, course he’s shaking! They both are! They know I’m gonna kick their asses for this mix-up when we get back to our ship, and so’s our captain! I told them not to come this way, but they insisted – didn’t you, boys?’

  ‘I – uh – yeah . . .’ whimpered Frollix. Lucky tried to do the same, but his mouth was so dry, he couldn’t speak.

  ‘See, that one’s not even worth talking to,’ Bixa snorted. ‘Look at those teeny tiny horns: he’s one sorry excuse for an Axxa! No, if there’s anything you wanna know, you can brainscan me, if you like. Here.’ She took off her mirrorshades, and looked directly at the Shadow Guard with her silver eyes. ‘I don’t mind.’

  The Shadow Guard stared at her.

  She held his gaze – one second, two, three – until Lucky thought his heart was going to explode.

  And then, at last, the Shadow Guard nodded and let his hand fall back to his side. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said, returning Frollix’s ident. ‘You can go now. But be careful. Theobroma’s army is everywhere.’

  ‘Uh – yes, sir,’ mumbled Frollix. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  He tried the engine again. Finally, it sparked into life. His hands were still shaking as he found a gap in the crowd, and drove away from the protest march.

  No one spoke until they were in the clear, and speeding through the rain.

  Frollix groaned. ‘I’m sorry, you guys. I’m so sorry I put us through that . . . But you did good there, Bixa. Real good. I owe you.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Lucky, still shaking uncontrollably. They’d come so close to disaster. ‘You were brilliant, Bixa.’

  ‘I was, wasn’t I?’ She turned round and grinned. Like comets, her sudden grins came flashing out of nothing, seemed to light up the world, and then soared away again.

  ‘Weren’t you scared?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said quietly. ‘We’re all of us scared when it comes to them.’

  ‘I ain’t scared of anything,’ Frollix mumbled. ‘Except . . . for . . . them.’

  ‘But you didn’t seem scared at all,’ Lucky told Bixa. ‘You were so brave.’

  ‘Brave?’ She shook her head. ‘Brave would’ve been standing up for what we believe in, like those marchers. Or fighting them – like your mother did.’

  Lucky was silent; the fire in his heart burned at the memory.

  ‘C’mon, Bixa!’ said Frollix. ‘You can’t fight them. You know you can’t.’

  ‘Maybe I could, if I only had the guts! I’ve worked my whole life to make sure I can defend myself – and I’m a good fighter, I know I am. But I’ll never find out, will I?’

  Lucky was puzzled. ‘Why not?’ he asked her. ‘What’s stopping you? Is it because you’re going to be a Startalker?’

  ‘No!’ she snapped, needles darkening. Frollix glanced back at her, then looked away without a word. ‘Anyway,’ she muttered, ‘don’t get too excited about that whole Startalker thing. That’s Mystica’s idea, not ours.’

  Above their heads, there was another crack of thunder. The rain thickened; the streets were getting wetter and wetter. Deep puddles were forming, glowing with reflections, like there was another world just below the surface of the water.

  ‘We’d better take cover,’ said Frollix, ‘till the storm passes.’

/>   He pulled up by a cycle shelter on the side of the road. It was a corrugated-iron shack, just big enough for the three of them to huddle beneath it. Raindrops pattered on its roof as they watched the storm play out before them.

  After a while, Frollix took a pipe out of his pocket and lit it. He drew deep on the pipe, and smoke rose in spirals from its bowl. ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘I think there’s something you should know about us, Lucky. It’s only fair – right, Bixa?’

  Bixa shrugged, her needles almost black now. ‘You tell him, if you want to. I can’t.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ said Lucky.

  Frollix took another deep drag on the pipe. The shelter was full of its smoky scent now, as well as the storm smells of rain and wet leaves. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s about our family, and who we really are.’

  ‘You’re brother and sister, right?’ said Lucky.

  ‘Course!’ said Frollix. ‘And Mystica and Nox—’

  ‘They’re your parents?’

  ‘They’re our grandparents.’ Frollix exhaled with a sigh. ‘Their daughter, Joxi – our mom – well, there’s a reason why you haven’t met her, or our dad. See, back before the War, before any of us were born, Joxi went travelling through the worlds. And on her travels, she fell in love with a Human. A man called Jonathan.’

  ‘Jonathan?’ said Lucky. Outside the shelter, raindrops were rippling the surface of a puddle. ‘Mystica mentioned that name. She said my contact lenses were his.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Frollix looked away. ‘He needed to disguise himself, ’cos not everyone liked to see an Axxa and a Human together. People said it wasn’t natural; some people even thought they were different species. But that’s not true, and the proof is, Axxa and Humans can have kids together – just like our parents did.’

  ‘Jonathan’s your father?’ said Lucky. ‘Your father’s Human?’

  ‘Amazing, ain’t it?’ said Frollix, his eyes glinting blue in the shadows of the shelter. ‘We look Axxa, like our mother, ’cos the genetic line always follows the mother’s side – but the truth is, we’re half Axxa, half Human.’

  Lucky couldn’t help grinning. ‘So you’re Groundlings!’ he said. ‘You’re like me!’

  ‘Don’t push it,’ said Bixa as the rain streamed down. ‘We’re both – and we’re neither. But what difference does it make? To Humans, we just look Alien, so we’re treated like Aliens—’

  ‘And even among Axxa,’ said Frollix, ‘it’s never been easy. When the War came, everyone had to choose sides. We couldn’t. The Startalkers refused to, ’cos they could see all points of view. The Axxa King and the Human President both hated them for that, and our people were so fired up, they turned against the Startalkers too. It got dangerous; we weren’t welcome anywhere. Our family got trapped in the middle of a battle between Shadow Guards and the Axxa army. Captain Nox saved us. He got us away to safety on the Sunfire, though he had to fly through exploding Dark Matter bombs to do it. But our parents, they . . . well, they didn’t make it. They were caught in the crossfire and killed. Shot by both sides.’

  Lucky’s grin was gone. He felt awful. ‘Oh no . . .’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I was just a kid,’ said Frollix. He blew out a series of smoke rings. ‘Bixa was so little, I had to carry her onto the ship. But I remember thinking, right there: If the Startalkers can’t even defend their own families, then who cares about Startalking, huh? What’s the point?’ He shook his head. ‘Mystica never could explain that one to me. Her and the Captain, all they wanted to do was keep us safe from violence. So they took us away from the War Zone and brought us to the quietest Human worlds, looking for a peaceful life.’

  ‘Never did find it,’ added Bixa, in a small voice.

  ‘So that’s why the Captain won’t let you fight,’ said Lucky. He leaned back and watched the smoke rise in spirals from Frollix’s pipe. In the glow of its embers, it seemed to him that he saw his companions clearly for the first time. At last, he understood that strange gap between Mystica and Nox, the old people, and Frollix and Bixa, the young. He felt the absence that no one ever spoke of, but that was always there, between them, on the ship. And now he could see why his disguise had upset them so much. ‘I think you’re both so brave, to come through all that.’

  ‘We survived,’ said Bixa. ‘But only because we never, ever try to stand up to them. We never try to change anything. We just keep our heads down and let them rule us. And that’s not brave. That’s cowardice.’

  Lucky didn’t agree. Now that he knew their story, he thought the way she’d just outwitted the Shadow Guard was even braver and more brilliant than he had before.

  But he kept his opinions to himself. There were no more words between them; they were each lost in their own thoughts and memories.

  Gradually, the storm passed. The rain eased off and the sun came out again. They left the shelter, and Frollix drove them through glistening city streets, until at last they arrived at a riverbank.

  He parked by a vast bridge that spanned the river. There was a series of caverns in the arches beneath it. Lucky could see people inside these caverns, and he heard the deep bass kick of music. An oceanic sound, like heartbeats in a womb.

  ‘So this is it, kid,’ said Frollix. ‘The famous market of Leo Five – the place where you can get anything your heart desires!’

  Chapter Sixteen

  They entered the caverns. Each one was crammed with stalls, extending far into the distance. They were wild with colours and sound. The air was thick with music, pulsing from speakers high above their heads.

  Lucky recognized the tune. ‘Hey – isn’t this that music you like?’ he asked Bixa.

  ‘Yeah.’ She nodded happily. ‘Listen, Frollix: they’re playing Gala!’

  Frollix beamed with pleasure as they walked through the market. Lucky gazed around, trying to take it all in. His senses were bursting. There was everything for sale here; everything he’d ever heard of, and even more that he hadn’t.

  The first cavern was packed with stalls selling animals, and it had an overpowering musky smell. There were brightly feathered birds flapping in their cages. Snakes hissing in glass displays. There were solemn-eyed leopards on leashes, and wolves curled up asleep.

  The next was full of stalls selling combat and security gear. Rack after rack of body armour, ground-blasters, cannon of every size. Whips, chains, electrocuffs. Tracking devices, surveillance cams, long-range comms: all open, all for sale.

  Beyond that was a cavern with massive speaker stacks fifty feet high, and vidscreens even bigger. An image flashed up on one of the giant screens, then another, and another.

  Lucky couldn’t stop staring at them. It was as if everything else melted away.

  Because the image was of a handsome man with a moustache, dressed in a starship commander’s uniform. The very same man whose vidpic Lucky had grown up looking at. He looked much older, and he wasn’t smiling, because Axxa troopers in military uniforms were holding a gun to his head – but it was unquestionably him.

  UPDATE ON THE HOSTAGES scrolled across the screens.

  The image changed to show the President of the Human worlds, addressing the galaxy from her office. Her voice rang out of the speakers. ‘We have received this footage of Major Dashwood, commander of a government science ship, who is being held by Alien forces beyond the Spacewall,’ she announced. ‘We demand his immediate release, and that of all prisoners of war. We will not negotiate with Alien wrong-doers. I vow to you, I will personally bring them to justice, starting with their king.’

  She continued talking, but Lucky’s mind was whirling. Dashwood? So that was his real name, not Ashbourne?

  ‘What you staring at, kid?’ said Frollix.

  ‘That man!’ said Lucky, pointing at the screens. ‘That’s my father!’

  Frollix looked up, and saw the broadcast. His expression darkened.

  Lucky couldn’t stop staring. There he was at last: the centre of his hopes. The great space her
o whose image had watched over his childhood, and with whom he’d shared so many imaginary adventures. This was the man who Lucky believed would answer all his questions. The one person in the galaxy who could take care of him, and make everything all right again.

  Yet it seemed his father was the one who needed help.

  ‘What are they doing to him?’ he said. ‘I have to rescue him!’

  ‘You gotta find him first,’ said Frollix gently. ‘And even then . . .’

  Lucky kept looking at the vidscreens, hoping for more information about his father – but the broadcast had ended, and the screens were now flashing up a public safety warning about the need for people to cooperate with the Shadow Guards.

  He looked down, bitterly disappointed.

  ‘Come on,’ said Bixa. ‘Let’s find the Professor, and get your astrolabe fixed. Then at least you might know where to look . . .’

  Lucky followed Bixa and Frollix in silence, his mind spinning with troubled thoughts. At last, he had some information about his father – but what terrible information. It was shocking to see him so vulnerable, in such danger. If he was a prisoner of war, then the chances of finding him were slimmer than ever. And yet Lucky yearned to find him all the more.

  They tramped deeper into the market, past stalls selling food, clothes, boots. Lucky was struggling to keep up. After the awful vidpic he’d just seen, it made him queasy to look down and see what appeared to be big black cloven hooves, marching beneath him instead of feet. It was so strange; so Alien.

  But Bixa and Frollix dragged him ever onwards, through thousands of stalls, past heaps and heaps of merchandise, until at last, in a dim dark corner, they came to a small antiques stall. It seemed rather neglected. There were all sorts of strange objects stacked up in boxes at the front, and a dusty curtain at the back. Everything looked faded, like it had seen much better days. No one else was shopping here, while the other stalls thronged with customers. A single elderly Axxa sat behind the counter.

  ‘Stay here, Lucky, while we greet him,’ whispered Frollix as he approached the stall. Bixa went with him, while Lucky hung back forlornly and watched.