by J. E. Gurley
“I’ve been gone from Earth too long,” Ulrich lamented.
“We both have,” Lyton agreed. “I miss Boston. I have a small house near Boston College. I doubt I’ll ever see it again.”
“Sure you will,” Ulrich said, trying to cheer Lyton. “You can show me the town. Does it have a good library?”
“Library? Oh, yes, one of the finest in the Northeast, O’Neill Library. The reading room in the poetry section overlooks the Reservoir and Gasson Quad, an idyllic setting, almost ethereal in the spring when the trees are beginning to leaf out.”
Ulrich noticed the wistful look in Lyton’s eyes as he spoke.
“It’s a Jesuit school, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Lyton continued. “I taught there one semester and fell in love with the place. I decided to stay.” He shook his head sadly. “I left my cat with my neighbor. I shall miss Buttons. We’ve been together for many years.”
Ulrich was growing concerned with Lyton’s fatalistic attitude. The professor seemed assured of his imminent death, and Ulrich was afraid he might seek to fulfill his own prophecy.
“Look,” Lyton cried out, breaking Ulrich’s reverie.
Ulrich could see dozens, maybe hundreds of Phyein streaking toward the ship, each one attached to a small cable. They were almost invisible in the darkness and too small to trigger the proximity sensor, but someone else had spotted them, too. Six lasers arced out to intercept the swarm, slicing into them like fingers of destruction, but many got through. Ulrich could hear noises from the hull. They had reached the ship. Suddenly, the lasers stopped firing and an alarm sounded.
“I fear we are about to find out just how dangerous these creatures are,” Lyton said calmly over the blaring alarm. His look of defeat frightened Ulrich more than the Phyein skittering over the hull. What had happened to the lasers? Had the Phyein breached the hull? If so, he would never make it to his suit in the hangar. Like Lyton, he was frightened but not as ready to admit defeat.
“I’m going to the bridge,” he yelled at Lyton and rushed from the galley. Lyton smiled at him, but made no effort to follow.
“There are many Phyein approaching, Jazon.”
Jazon lay linked to Amissa. Quick action by Huumba and Harthim had thwarted the first attempt to attach a cable to the hull. He had been reluctant to fire at the Phyein, but he couldn’t ignore their actions. The second Phyein attack was subtler, more orchestrated.
“Why do they want us cabled?” he asked her.
“Unknown.” He didn’t like her reply. Lack of information could be dangerous.
“We’ll never get all of them. There are too many.” He could see hundreds of glittering specks swarming toward them, each trailing a slender thread.
The lasers reached out and tore into the swarm, scattering it wherever well-placed beams lanced out, but for every cable they sliced, ten more thin filaments arced toward the ship.
“They are on the hull.”
“Send a charge through the hull. See if you can discourage them.”
The hull flashed briefly as ten thousand volts surged through the metal.
“No good, Jazon. They simply absorbed the energy.”
The lasers stopped firing. Jazon called on the comm. “Huumba. What’s happening?”
Huumba sounded composed, as if he were simply waiting for death. “They have welded the laser ports shut. We cannot fire, Jazon. They are attaching small cables to the hull and weaving them into one larger one.”
“Keep me informed.” With no defensive weapons, Jazon knew they were already doomed.
A red light blinked on his panel – the emergency airlock.
“They’re trying to break into the airlock, Huumba. See what you can do.”
“No. That is Harthim. He has gone outside with a cutter. He will attempt to sever the cable.”
“Damn! You shouldn’t have … Keep me informed.”
Jazon knew that the Phyein would never allow Harthim to disengage the cable. For whatever purpose they were attaching it, it was important to them. He followed Harthim’s progress through the outside sensors and cameras. The Drone fought bravely using a cutter as a weapon, damaging or destroying many Phyein. They scattered around him, but just as Jazon thought Harthim might accomplish his task, they overwhelmed him as he began to sever the cable. He lost the cutter as he flailed it about. It floated out of his reach. The Phyein stopped and waited.
“Harthim, come back in,” Jazon cautioned over the comm. The Phyein seemed willing to allow this.
Harthim didn’t move. Jazon sensed he was about to do something foolish.
“Harthim, don’t try it.”
Ignoring Jazon’s plea, Harthim moved toward the cable. White-hot arcs flashed as the Phyein welded Harthim’s boots to the hull. Still, he wouldn’t stop. He grabbed the cable with both hands and attempted to wrench it free. Several Phyein wrapped their wire-like legs around Harthim’s body in an attempt to restrain him, but he used his utility knife to slash at them. Finally, sparks flashed and his body jerked uncontrollably, as the Phyein released a large surge of energy into his grounded suit. His faceplate literally exploded, exposing Harthim’s flesh to the cold vacuum of space. Jazon hoped Harthim had died before that point.
Jazon keyed the comm. “Harthim’s dead,” he told Huumba.
Huumba didn’t reply.
“Amissa, try again to contact the Phyein.”
“I have not stopped trying, Jazon. They do not answer.”
“Use your mind.”
“Perhaps you should use yours.”
“What?”
“The Phyein have contacted you several times before. Perhaps they have developed a link with you.”
Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Okay. I’ll try.”
Jazon released his mind from the ship and Amissa, though he could sense her comforting presence nearby. Amissa could manage what little they could offer as a defense against the tenacious creatures. He concentrated on the rings. Each time before, it was to the rings the Phyein had brought his mind.
“Ya’a’teh, Spider Brother,” came the sudden greeting to his mind.
He wasted no time. “Why are you trying to trap us here?” he demanded.
“Spiders weave, you know this.”
“You have killed one of my people,” he challenged. Anger was welling up inside, aimed at the Phyein attack and his inability to prevent Harthim’s death.
“His death was accidental. We sought only to immobilize him. Your bodies are less resilient, more fragile than the ones you call the Cha’aita.”
Jazon remembered the three ships. “You destroyed three Cha’aita ships. How?”
“They attacked us, destroyed many of our units. The fourth was returned to them.”
“The fourth?”
“The fourth ship we captured. In it, we sent the Cha’aita from the remaining ships. The three remaining we kept as compensation and used for energy.”
“You didn’t kill the Cha’aita?” Jazon was confused.
“Death is anathema to us. We live forever and do not wish to cause the ending of another intelligent life.”
“You killed one of my crew.”
“The death of the human was a mistake. We grieve for his loss. It has left an imbalance in the universe.”
“The Cha’aita will return with a larger force,” Jazon warned.
“Yes, it will be close.”
“Close? What will be close?” He hated these conversations with the Phyein. They spoke much but said little.
“Our Exodus.”
“Exodus. You’re leaving?”
In answer, he suddenly stood on the very edge of the planetary rings. Looking down, over the precipice, he could see the southern pole of the planet wrapped in blue-green clouds. As his eyes moved upward, the colossal proportions of the gas giant overwhelmed him. Looking upward and outward, he saw nothing, just a vast emptiness. The planet reflected too much light for the stars to be visible. He stepped back from the
dizzying sight. Memories of his vertigo at the Battle of the Rim swept over him.
“We must leave this place,” the Phyein said. He could sense sadness in the thought.
“Because of the war between the Cha’aita and the Alliance?” He asked puzzled.
“No. We leave because we must.”
“Where will you go?”
“Far away from other flesh species such as yourself. To another galaxy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It is Hozjo. You remember balance, do you not? The organic mind and the inorganic process information much differently. You look at an object, see only its surface and remark upon its beauty or define a use for it.
“We scan an object in several different dimensions, including its molecular composition, its past and its potential for the future. We evolve at a rate that makes coexistence with your species impossible. We realized this when we heard the Call. That is why we sought you out.”
A Phyein appeared beside him, this time a true spider the size of Jazon’s hand, a tarantula of the Arizona desert. He watched it crawl nimbly over the jumbled rocks of the ring.
“You are my spider spirit guide?”
“No. I took this appearance to teach you. Your spirit world, the world of your ancestors, exists alongside this world and that of other spirit worlds. Your gods of Olympus still exist to those who still believe.”
“I don’t believe,” he shot at the Phyein.
“You do, or you would not be here,” the Phyein challenged.
Jazon ignored the Phyein’s words. “Why do you want me?”
“Not you, her.”
“Amissa?” He was stunned. “Why her?”
“We need her for the same reason the Dastorans need her – to guide us.”
“Then why do you need me?”
“You and she share a bond that reaches far into your past and extends into your future. Each of you completes the other. She would not have become who she is without you. Through you, we brought her here.”
“So she and I are soul mates?” he asked facetiously.
“If you wish to use those terms. Your destinies intertwine as closely as the DNA strands in your cells.”
Jazon turned his back on the spider, symbolically refusing its words. He searched the skies around the rings for Occam’s Razor, but didn’t see it. The slow spin of the planet made him dizzy. “This is too confusing. Why do you want us trapped here?”
“Not trapped, secured. We have snared the large moon just outside the plane of the rings with our cables. When it approaches perigee, we will pull in the slack of the cable that secures it to the rings. We will increase its momentum by using the mass and rotation of the rings. When the time is right, we will release it and send it on its journey to our new world. We will transfer to the moon before that time with the stored energy needed for the long voyage.”
“All of you?”
“No, only enough units to maintain us through the many centuries the voyage will require.”
“And the rest of you?” he asked, suspecting the answer.
“Will be discarded much as you shed dead skin cells.”
“I thought you revered life.”
“With us, there is no death. All information gleaned, all stimuli felt by one unit, is absorbed by the Phyein. We are cells of the whole body. When we leave, all that have perished will travel with us as forever part of the Phyein.”
“This is why you need Amissa, to guide you to your new home, like the Dastorans?”
“Yes.”
Jazon turned and towered over the spider/Phyein. For a second, his fury overwhelmed him, and he wanted nothing more than to crush the Phyein. “No!” he screamed at it. “I will destroy the ship and you before I let you take her.”
The spider sat immobile at his tirade. “It is not her we want, only her mind, or rather that small part that is prescient. Her physical body and her personality are of no concern to us. These are hers to keep.”
“How …”
“It is a simple process that causes no harm to her. We sense she desires this, to lose that which makes her different.”
“You will have to ask her, but I will not let you harm her.”
Jazon felt the rings shudder beneath his feet. “What’s that?” he asked in alarm.
“We are drawing you in, securing your ship to the rings for the acceleration. There will be tremors.”
“We can stand off and wait.”
“There is no time. The Cha’aita will return soon, as you have said. We must have physical contact with the female to remove the portion of her mind we need.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“There is no need. She has been listening.”
“Still …”
“Very well. Speak with her, but time is of the essence.”
He was back in the link. He could feel Amissa’s presence as she hovered around him.
“You heard?”
“Yes. I agree,” she answered.
“That quickly?”
“I wish to be human.”
“Do you trust them?” He wasn’t sure that he did. Would they lie to get what they wanted?
“Yes. Can you not feel their sincerity? They cannot lie. It is impossible for them, even as a concept. They are all one being, one mind.”
“Is it safe?”
“They say it is. I must believe them. They want only the small portion of tissue where my prescience lies. Its removal will not change who I am.”
Jazon wasn’t as certain as she was, but it was her decision to make, not his.
“Very well.” He felt her mind merge with his. He could see the truth in her words. The removal of that small part of her mind engineered by the Dastorans would not harm her. In fact, it might free her of any programming the Dastorans had wrought on her subconscious mind.
“I’m picking up many Cha’aita ships approaching. They will arrive within the hour.”
He reached out with his mind and saw them, a dozen ships, more than Occam’s Razor could take on.
“The Phyein show no fear of the Cha’aita,” Amissa observed.
“With our laser ports welded shut, we should,” he reminded her. “Two beam weapons and a few missiles won’t last long.”
“The Phyein will protect us,” Amissa assured him.
Jazon wished he had her confidence. The ship jerked again as the Phyein reeled it toward the rings.
“I hope they don’t shake us to pieces before the Cha’aita show up.”
A series of grindings and scrapings reverberating through the hull announced that the Phyein had securely anchored the ship to the ring plain. In effect, they were sitting ducks for the Cha’aita ships.
“Huumba, I want you to check our remaining missiles and prepare the particle weapons. I’ll try to convince our friends to release our laser ports. It’s not much, but I’d rather not go out doing nothing to defend ourselves.
“I will defend this ship to the end,” Huumba swore.
“Maybe our Phyein friends can offer some assistance. Frankly, I don’t know their intentions.”
“Jazon, this is Lyton. May I speak to you, alone?”
“I hope it’s important,” he snapped. “As you can see, we’re pretty busy here.”
“It’s extremely important.”
“Very well. I’ll come to your cabin.”
“Thank you.”
“Amissa.”
“I heard. I will continue to monitor the situation and contact the Phyein concerning the laser ports.”
Jazon unlinked from the ship and hurried to Lyton’s cabin feeling slightly annoyed at the professor’s timing. Things were about to pop, and he needed to be at the controls, not babysitting a drunken academician. He knocked on the door but got no answer. The door was unlocked, so he opened it.
“Lyton?” he called quietly as he entered.
Lyton was standing before his mirror. He did not turn around or acknowledge Jazon’s presence. He con
tinued to stare at his reflection.
“What is it?” Jazon barked.
“Do I look ill, Jazon?” Lyton asked softly. He touched his cheeks and rubbed his forehead.
“What? No, not really. A little haggard maybe, but we all do.”
“I can feel them crawling around inside me now.”
Jazon felt his muscles tense – the nanites. “They’re not free are they?”
“No.”
“That’s good,” he sighed.
Lyton smiled sadly. “They are eager to be free. In an hour, at most, they will be free. I must be off this ship by then.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“You saw what the Phyein did to the Cha’aita ships. They have advanced a hundredfold in four short years. We would stand no chance against them.”
“They don’t mean us any harm. They want to leave this galaxy.”
A spark of hope crossed Lyton’s face. “You believe them?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you are right, but then there is still the matter of the Cha’aita.”
“First things first. Promise me you won’t do anything rash without informing me first.”
Lyton hung his head. When he raised it again, he was smiling. “I promise, Jazon, but in the end, I fear I shall not see home again.”
“Sure you will Lyton. We’re not out of it yet.”
“If you say so.”
After his conversation with Lyton, Jazon headed to the weapons pods. Huumba, too, was smiling.
“They are unsealing the laser ports,” he said, pointing to the tracking scope. Jazon could see dozens of Phyein methodically unsealing the port. “At least we will die fighting.”
“Why is everyone so damn ready to die?” he snapped. “We’re not dead yet. Slave the other laser batteries to yours. Be ready to fire on my orders only. We’ll have one chance at this. Maybe the Cha’aita won’t spot us here on the rings.”
Huumba looked as if he were ready to dispute Jazon’s estimate of their chances, but said nothing. Jazon was thankful for that.
“The Phyein are pretty powerful and seem eager to help us. Let’s see what they can do before we roll over and play possum.”
“Play possum?” Huumba asked, confused.
“A Terran term. It means to play dead.”
“Ah, a ploy. Yes. We let the Cha’aita think we are trapped by the Phyein.”