Synthesis

by Rexx Deane

  The Folians’ confusion overwhelmed Sebastian; they didn’t understand the reason for this association with evil, and could see no evidence to support the connection.

  Witch hunters recognised the humanoid forms of the child-trees and razed the forests where the dryads dwelt, separating them from their original host trees. Having no way of returning to a host tree to regenerate, the Folians were forced to flee and reside in smaller plants. Over the following years, they interacted with the few Humans still receptive to them, ensuring knowledge of their existence persisted in books and traditions, but time took its toll, and the effort of existing away from the host trees overcame them.

  After a last-ditch attempt to transmit their memories home, they faded away, only to be lost to legend.

  The vision ended and Shiliri moved back into the olive tree, leaving Sebastian standing, disorientated, in the Cambium.

  ‘So, it’s true,’ he said. ‘Magic did exist on Earth, and dryads were real … I’m so sorry they died.’

  ‘It is not for you to apologise. Your people did not understand what they were doing – you are not responsible for their actions.’

  ‘It doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty for my species’ ignorance—’ He let out an unexpected yawn, shattering the sombre moment. ‘Sorry. I should get back to sleep.’

  ‘Very well. You have a long walk ahead of you tomorrow.’

  Walking back to the shelter of the bush under the light of the stars, he felt exposed; he’d become a child in the eyes of the universe. So that was how the fabled Adam and Eve must have felt after they’d eaten the fruit of knowledge. Oh, the bliss of ignorance!

  Sebastian’s grandfather had told him the god Odin gained knowledge of the runes and magic by hanging himself from the World Ash Tree, Yggdrasil. Had he been a real person who had mastered the art of thaumaturgy, taught by a Folian in the guise of an Ash? Much of Earth’s ancient mythology could have been based on real events after all. If only he’d paid more attention to the religion his grandparents had taught him as a child. If the stories of dryads and magic were based on reality, what else was?

  ***

  The lake monster bore down on Aryx. With only one leg active, and the mobipack’s capacitor drained, he couldn’t make it up the shore in time. Somehow, he had to end it. He had no weapons, but he needed something with clout …

  That was it – the chair he’d kicked in Chopwood!

  ‘Cube! Deactivate the mobipack’s inertial restriction code and restore the unsafe preferences!’ Leaning back on his elbows to brace himself against the ground, he drew up his right leg in preparation for a kick and swallowed his fear.

  The giant angler-serpent lunged, razors exposed.

  Aryx swung his remaining leg upward, catching the creature with a wicked uppercut. The impact forced him deep into the mud as an almighty crack resounded from the monster’s jaw, sending shards of shattered teeth flying on the air. The creature swayed, off balance, and the serpentine body wobbled beneath the weight of the oversized head. It tumbled backwards into the shallows with a colossal splash, and tiny fins flapped around as it snaked and writhed. Within moments, it rolled over and wriggled off into the depths.

  With chest heaving, Aryx sat up and checked the pack. The capacitor had recharged. He reactivated the missing leg, picked up the bottle, and staggered up the bank.

  ‘Are you injured?’ the cube asked.

  ‘A bit shaken and muddy, but other than that, fine. I’m going to frigging kill Sebastian. This planet’s a death-trap.’ He bent over to catch his breath. ‘Thanks for the help back there.’

  ‘You are welcome. Besides, if I let you die, who else would carry me around?’

  ‘You’re such a barrel of laughs, you know that?’ The SI definitely had some kind of appreciation for humour, and it showed in the strangest of ways.

  Aryx packed up the survival kit and tied the wheelchair to the mobipack with a quick-release knot. He picked up the cube and checked the wrist locator; it pointed across the lake – at least it didn’t look too far to go around. Heading north, he skirted the near end of the lake, and a few minutes later entered the dark pine forest on the opposite side. The refreshing aroma of sap was reminiscent of times he’d gone hiking in the sequoia forests of North America. If only he could feel the softness of the needles as they gave underfoot.

  ‘I wish I still had my legs.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I could feel something, even if it was pain … anything. I’d have made it up the cliff okay.’ He rubbed his bandaged thighs.

  ‘You may have; however, the encounter at the lake would have left you without your legs, if not your life. You are quite possibly more capable now than you have ever been.’

  ‘Easy for you to say.’

  ‘I have no limbs at all. I am entirely dependent on you for mobility. Do not underestimate yourself.’

  The cube had a point.

  As he trekked through the dense woodland, it occurred to him the plant life seemed strangely ordered. Chopwood had been a prime example of how nature would reclaim developed areas once left to do its own thing, and a planet this large with no visible development should be a riot of plant life, but there appeared to be little competition between species. He took a deep breath through his nose. An earthy, beetroot odour: petrichor. From what he recalled of his lessons on plant biology, it contained hormones – maybe the hormones from the trees were enough to suppress rambling vines and undergrowth.

  ‘You seem preoccupied,’ the cube said.

  ‘I was thinking about the plants around here. I’d expect it to be a bit more, I don’t know, wild.’

  ‘I cannot offer you an explanation as to why, but the concentration of geosmin in the air is much higher than recorded on other planets with a comparable ecosystem.’

  ‘Yeah, my nose already came to that conclusion, but thanks for the clarification. Another thing I don’t understand is why the hell this place looked like a gas giant until we passed through the upper atmosphere.’

  ‘Having not seen it directly, I have no explanation for the phenomenon. However, it does not sound rational. Could you have hallucinated it?’

  ‘Two people don’t hallucinate the exact same thing.’

  ‘Were you under hypnosis?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure the answer to that would be “no”. Maybe it’s this magic Sebastian kept on about.’

  ‘Maybe you both lost your minds?’

  ‘I’ll lose your bloody mind if you keep on like one of those psychotherapy TIs.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Your stress level has gone up.’ The cube’s tone was softer. ‘That was not my intention. I apologise.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Amazing – it was more sensitive than Sebastian. Aryx laughed. ‘Apology accepted.’

  The woodland grew lighter as they progressed; the conifers stood taller, with sparser canopies, and grassland shone between the trunks in the distance – its pinkish-yellow contrasting against the fragments of pale blue morning sky. The cool breeze became warmer closer to the tree line and the scents of cedar and pine were replaced with the crisp, golden tang of freshly cut hay. Somewhere in Aryx’s memory an antique red tractor rolled through a field, harvesting wheat.

  A large herd of slow moving animals roamed across the plain, ruminating on the thick stems, the closest of which moved skittishly, grunting and moaning, reminding Aryx of the cows that had lived on the farm. They looked like large highland cattle or yaks, with long brown hair that hung down and blended with the grass in thick, twisted braid-like strands. Judging by the ones closest to the trees, many of the creatures stood much taller than him, and their long, backward-pointing corkscrew horns seemed unnecessarily savage. In stark contrast to their woolly sides, their backs were protected with large, bony plates. They began to look less like friendly cattle and more like rug-covered tanks.

  He stopped and held his position in the shade of the trees.

  ‘I recommend avoiding these creatu
res,’ the cube said quietly.

  He held the device up to his ear and whispered, ‘I didn’t think they looked friendly enough to go walking through the middle.’

  ‘Where is the beacon signal coming from?’

  ‘The other side of the plain.’

  ‘Then I suggest keeping to the line of trees around the open grassland because the animals appear to be staying away from the forest.’

  Aryx made his way several metres back into the woodland and followed the trees around to the north, keeping one eye on the herd.

  Horns and bony plates clacked loudly across the savannah while the creatures jostled and argued over patches of grass, and muffled crunches echoed into the forest as they ate the thick, bamboo-like stems. Aryx shuddered at the thought of landing on the grasses’ viciously serrated blades if he tripped. The cube’s suggestion to avoid it had been well-founded – if for different reasons.

  The yaks mu’uhed and meh’d to each other between grunts, and the cube emitted a mu’heh back.

  ‘You’re communicating with them – that’s amazing!’ Aryx said. ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  He shook his head slowly. He was stuck on a planet with a computer. An insane, sarcastic computer.

  Another hour of walking took him along the forest edge and into a thin belt of trees that projected out to the east – a peninsula in a sea of grass. A hundred metres or so away, on the opposite side of the field, the strip of trees continued. He approached the last of the trees and paused in preparation to leave the cool shade.

  ‘Wait,’ the cube said. ‘I hear a disturbance.’

  ‘What?’ he whispered. Only the light breeze blew in his ears.

  The cube spoke in imitation of his whispering tone. ‘I think it has gone now.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Animals in distress. The sound did not last long. I believe they may have been downwind, to your left. Proceed with caution.’

  ‘As always.’ He headed across the grass, picking a route through an area of shorter stems. Halfway between the wooded peninsula and the forest ahead, he paused.

  To the north, more of the animals grazed. Two had roamed away from the herd, isolated. Details were hard to make out – they were over a mile away, after all – but as he watched, a creature larger than the grazers approached from the farthest side of the savannah.

  ‘Do not stop,’ the cube said.

  One of the animals turned and ran back to the herd. The second was not so quick. The larger shape moved in quickly, taking down the armoured yak in moments. The wind direction and distance conspired to make the entire scene play out in silence.

  Aryx ran towards the forest. The wind changed direction and with it came screams of terror.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ He couldn’t let that thing catch up with him! No longer listening for the cries of the herd, he stumbled across the grass and tried to ignore the threat of the razors beneath his impervious feet.

  He reached the other side of the grassy stretch and leaned against a tree, panting. The cries had ceased. The thing was either no longer hungry, or the wind had changed again, but he couldn’t afford to hang around and so, ignoring the burning in his chest, he started off again, keeping right, to the southern side of the tree line, while he followed the locator beacon.

  ‘Hell, I’m knackered. I need a drink.’ He pulled out the bottle and took a few gulps. Even though the water was sterilised, it left a strange, bitter taste at the back of his throat.

  ‘I am detecting polymer and hydrocarbon particulates in the atmosphere indicative of a combustion source,’ the cube said. ‘As we have not detected any signs of civilisation, I think it may be the Ultima Thule burning.’

  So that was what caused the taste – not the water, but the air. ‘Thanks for that.’ He took a slow breath; better not to get his hopes, or fears, up. ‘Any idea how far?’

  ‘The concentration is relatively low, and I am unable to determine a distance based on detection alone.’

  Spurred on by the prospect of being within reach of the ship, Aryx tucked the bottle away and started walking. The odour grew stronger.

  The forest wasn’t as dense on this side of the plain and, as he followed the curve around, more grassland showed through the trees to the east. Finer grass grew between the trunks and he crossed the belt of woodland quickly. The smell of burning became pungent and acrid: burnt toast; napalm barbecue; a fire in a plastics factory.

  A column of grey rose into the sky from somewhere over the horizon: three miles away – maybe more. With luck, the ship was at the bottom and not burnt beyond repair. At least the locator beacon was pointing in that direction, so that part of the ship must be intact. Walking across the open plains was far from ideal, but there was little choice. It was either that or walk around the plains, skirting the trees, for God knows how far. With no sign of the grazers, he set off across the golden sea.

  ***

  The smoke wasn’t as bad up close. The ship lay at an odd angle in the middle of the savannah, glinting in the sun. Aryx had half expected to see it engulfed in flames, but instead the smoke lazily issued from the underside of the hull. Green streaks, bright grass-stain skids, ran along the Ultima’s white-panelled side. Sebastian must have pulled up enough to avoid crashing into the mountain, several miles to the west, but there was a distinct lack of furrowing in the ground. Other than the obvious damage, the ship had landed safely, but the Dyson hoops still projected at an angle of twenty degrees forward: not an angle suitable for landing.

  ‘Seb!’ Aryx shouted, running towards the battered vessel.

  There was no reply.

  ‘Why would he have left the ship if it had come down in one piece?’ He swallowed. Unless … he was dead.

  He made his way to the airlock on the far side of the ship. The CFD step coalesced and immediately popped like a soap bubble – something else that would need fixing.

  He climbed into the ship. The gradient made it difficult to stand but struggling up the slope with the wheelchair didn’t seem worth it, so he released it outside the door.

  Except for being strewn with items that had fallen out of the storage lockers, the cargo hold was intact. He climbed the ladder to the cockpit. Front windows intact. Console lights flickering intermittently; probably some dislodged components. The diagnostics console was still on, but the container of evidence underneath had cracked open and shards of glass lay scattered around. He slid the tub out and pulled off the lid. The frame that housed the wiring loom had smashed along with the glass items.

  ‘Damn, that’s bloody wrecked.’

  ‘What is the item with the wires attached, over in the corner to your left?’ the cube asked.

  It was the melted lump. ‘How did you see that? You got eyes in the back of your head?’

  ‘I have nanocameras on each face.’

  He picked up the object. It was as intact as it could be after he’d butchered it. ‘Sebastian found it in the burnt-out lab and I spent ages trying to analyse it. I still have no idea what this is.’

  ‘I can help you examine it later, if you wish. Your top priority is to determine the source of smoke coming from the ship and extinguish it.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ He put the lump on the workbench and went to the cockpit, where the console illumination flickered. How was he going to tell which controls were active and which were not?

  He placed the cube on the console and shuffled underneath on his back to investigate. He reached up, flicked open an access panel, and began wiggling the relays and other removable components.

  ‘The lights are still not working correctly,’ the cube said.

  He pulled out a relay, blew on the contacts and reinserted it. ‘How about now?’

  ‘No.’

  He unscrewed another panel using the multi-tool. Something fell out and landed by his head.

  ‘The lights are stable now.’

  He picked up the object and slid o
ut. ‘This was wedged in some of the electronics,’ he said, turning the small black pellet in his fingers. ‘It looks like a snooper, but Gladrin said Sebastian had found all of them.’

  ‘Perhaps he miscounted.’

  ‘Either that, or he didn’t know about it.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘I wonder if the ITF terrorists somehow planted it on the ship while it was in storage, and then used it to track us. I thought it was strange how they managed to intercept us at Yazor.’

  ‘It is possible. You did also make a transmission to Agent Thorsson some time before the incident while he was in the comet. They could have been monitoring the signal and used it to locate you.’

  ‘I don’t know … They were there too quick. Anyway, I’ve got more pressing things to worry about.’ He touched controls on the console. ‘Computer, damage report, and for Christ’s sake, be specific.’

  ‘Engines and thrusters are active but the power supply is compromised due to damage in one of the energy conduits on the keel. Would you like repair instructions?’

  ‘No, I’m quite capable.’ He pressed several more controls, powering down the engine. How quiet it was without it running. ‘Extend the landing struts.’

  An alarm sounded on the console. ‘Unable to comply. Support struts are folded beneath the ship. Inadequate clearance for release.’

  ‘I’ll have to use the shield to raise the ship,’ he said, pressing several more controls.

  The ship rocked and another alarm sounded. ‘Structural failure imminent.’

  A loud creak echoed from below, followed by the clang of metal. Everything shook as the ship fell back into its resting position.

  ‘That didn’t sound good!’

  He picked up the cube and dashed for the lift.

  His heart sank as he entered the shield generator room: the two lower suspension struts on the forward side of the generator had ripped from their mountings and torn the fixings from the bulkhead.

  ‘Christ! Sebastian had the shield up before the crash. The impact must have weakened the struts, and lifting the ship was the last straw.’