The Orphaned Worlds

by Michael Cobley

  He thought he heard clicks coming from the nearest wall and turned in time to see one of the lower panels fall forward onto the floor. Out of the exposed recess came a small boxy drone on three sets of wheels, dragging behind it a length of pipe.

  ‘Lateness-apologies-Horst,’ said the drone in a flat monotone. ‘Take! Scavengers-danger-arm-yourself!’

  ‘Scavengers?’ Robert said, reaching for the pipe. ‘How many? Have they boarded the ship yet?’ His mind was a whirl of panic. He instinctively wanted to run and find somewhere to hide but knew that nowhere was safe.

  ‘Five-six-seven,’ said the drone. ‘Dynes-remove-hold-security. Scavengers-enter …’

  A metallic hammering at the bridge entrance interrupted the drone and Robert readied his pipe. It had a good weight, was seemingly made of a hard alloy and had been fitted with a thick semicircular blade and a gleaming spearpoint.

  ‘Anomalies-continue-Horst! Fight-live-survive! Expect-possible-parameter-changes …’

  He was about to quiz the drone on the mysterious anomalies when something smashed into the bridge’s armoured doors. They cracked open a few inches, wide enough for a metal wedge that prised the doors apart. The first scavenger was a bulbous metallic thing, its hull a patchwork of repairs sealed with rivets and crude welds. It moved slowly on stubby creaking leg assemblies and sported a variety of arms and tool-tipped extensions. And from inside a big, gridded fishbowl helmet, a scrawny, balding man grinned at him, eyes wide, pupils shrunk to dots.

  Robert’s first notion was to warn the intruder to back off but before he could the bald man worked his controls and one of the hull arms fired a cabled harpoon. In reflex he ducked, the harpoon clattered off his helmet, and the bald man shrieked with rage. In the next moment Robert’s stomach lurched, the hollow falling sensation of zero-gee. The deck gravity must have failed. As he grabbed one of the fixed desks, the scavenger glided towards him, extending about half a dozen tentacles tipped with drills and cutting pincers.

  ‘Delay-survive!’

  A small boxy shape flew up at the scavenger’s helmet. Some hatch opened in the drone’s stern and a sky-blue knot of something shiny sprang out, unfolding into long webby tangles that wrapped themselves around the scavenger’s every limb and protuberance. Robert let out a yell of triumph but it was premature. The dyne mist still swirled around them and in a few seconds a dense fog was coagulating around the blue tangles, which then began to melt and fall apart.

  ‘Use-axe-Horst!’ cried the drone as it tumbled away. ‘Fight-survive-fight!’

  A spirit of anger took hold and he clambered over the deck to get within arm’s reach of the scavenger in his mechanised cara-pace. He swung the axe at the nearest protruding implement, only to have it shatter on impact. Slivers and splinters of pipe burst outward and suddenly he realised that he was holding a long spine of utter blackness – the kezeq shard, the alien blade with which he had fended off the vermax!

  Without hesitation he hacked at the bulbous suit’s tentacles and jointed arms, chopping off drills, spinsaws and other lethal adornments, lopping off antennae and spring-loaded muzzles. As the skinny bald man screeched and gibbered his fury in an unknown tongue, Robert shoved his now disabled carapace off to rebound and spin harmlessly away. Then, as he pushed in the other direction, he noticed a strange grey wake trailing after the kezeq shard as he swept it through the air. Peering closer, he got the distinct impression that it was now shorter than before.

  Busy little subatomic termites, he thought. Just chewing away at what they don’t like.

  Then he spotted the ship’s drone over at the broken doors, holding back a squat, many-tentacled intruder with bright sparks and flashes. Determined to help, he pushed off from one of the desks and sailed towards the doors. That was when the centre of the bridge floor suddenly broke open as if smashed from below, cracked pieces of decking flying up from a jagged hole out of which an Achorga warrior, perhaps the one he had seen the dynes revive, clambered. It surveyed the bridge in a moment then launched itself at him. His unthinking reaction was a neatly timed sweeping parry with the kezeq shard, shearing off the deadly limb-tines that were scything towards him. Dark ichor spurted from the truncated legs, which thrashed in agony. Robert already had one leg raised so that he could plant his boot on the creature’s mid-thorax and propel it away. The action pushed him backwards but only for a few feet before something large cannoned into him from the rear. There was a sharp pain. The collision made his head snap back against the inside of the helmet while at the same time something else prodded him in the lower back.

  Dazed by the impact, he sensed he was being carried forward by the unseen object and tightened his grip on the kezeq. It was then, as he tilted his head forward, that he saw the thin, bloody metal spike jutting from his midriff. An instant of disbelief was followed by an engulfing wave of dread and horror. Then he felt the pain, and his breathing came in short gasps. Then he heard a faint hissing – the suit! – and wanted to push himself off the spike but couldn’t … couldn’t make himself move.

  ‘Horst! – survive-anomaly-near-Horst …’

  But the drone’s voice was coming from down a long tunnel. Greyness blurred in from the edges and he realised that the dynes would remake him if he died … maybe turn him into a mad scavenger with no hair …

  An awful numbness crept through his head and, as he recalled the last time he saw Rosa, he fell forward into a swirling darkness.

  KAO CHIH

  Baltazar Silveira’s small sleek ship was called the Oculus Noctis. Its living quarters, clearly designed to serve a crew of one, became a claustrophobic assault course when two Humans and a Voth tried to fit into it. And yet the ensuing aggravation scarcely seemed to affect Silveira, who maintained an amiable courtesy throughout the two-and-a-half-day journey to the Roug homeworld. Even when the disagreements explored such territory as the waste products and intestinal flora of different species. At such times Silveira, rather than get involved in the exchange of insults, would smile a thoughtful smile, while at other times Kao Chih was so offended and outraged that he did not dare to speak.

  Fifty-six hours and thirty-one minutes after leaving Darien, by Yash’s reckoning, the Oculus Noctis dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the Busrul system, home to the enigmatic Roug. Visual sensors showed the bright red dwarf sun, Busrul, wreathed in the characteristic veils and swirls of deepzone dust clouds, with the gas giant V’Hrant just visible as a pale grey dot. Thirty-five minutes and two microjumps later they reached the outer environs of V’Hrant, where Silveira, after studying his screens, said:

  ‘There is a slight problem.’

  ‘Is that “slight” as in jelking big,’ said Yash from the sleep recess, ‘or “slight” as in unimportant?’

  ‘It is certainly the opposite of unimportant,’ said Silveira.

  ‘Krowb … or should I say man-krowb!’

  Ignoring the sniggering Voth’s scatological reference, Kao Chih leaned into the small command cockpit.

  ‘Exactly what is the problem, Mr Silveira?’

  ‘It may not be advisable to dock at the orbital, for the time being,’ the Earthsphere agent said, indicating the screen over his main console. An oblong picture opened, a view of the Agmedra’a’s greater radial wharves, currently dominated by an immense grey-blue wedge of a ship. Its upper hull was curved, the lower a succession of angular modules, and everywhere weapons ports, launcher housings, sensor clusters.

  ‘That’s a Hegemony warship,’ Kao Chih said.

  Silveira nodded. ‘The Ajavrin-Vulq, a Mortifier-class battle-cruiser, seconded to the Hegemony’s diplomatic service …’

  ‘Hah!’ said Yash. ‘As in “we come in peace, shoot to kill”, eh?’

  ‘How did you find that out?’ said Kao Chih.

  ‘Open ship-tagger forums on the Agmedra’a dataplex,’ Silveira said. ‘No information on the reason for the visit, just that it berthed less than nine hours ago and several officials disem-barked. It coul
d be a coincidence, but I think an alternative destination is called for, like your people’s asteroid vessel. I had intended to pay it a visit anyway.’

  ‘The Retributor?’ Kao Chih said. ‘Will we be able to avoid detection?’

  ‘We’re safe, Kao Chih. My ship’s stealth systems will get us to your rock-habitat without incident.’

  He was true to his word. Just over an hour later the retrofitted, repaired, refurbished and unsightly exterior of the Retributor loomed large in the cockpit viewport. The hollowed-out asteroid was encrusted with apparatus, as if it were some deep-sea denizen whose epidermis had attracted all manner of grotesque growths. He felt a sense of homecoming relief as he surveyed that familiar jumbled profile, but it was overlaid with apprehension. He had been dispatched on a mission of supreme importance, to discover if there might be room on Darien for the survivors of the ruined Pyre colony. Now he would have to explain to the Duizhang and the elders how the Hegemony and its Brolturan allies had seized Darien and why Earthsphere seemed powerless to stop them. After that there was much else to make an account of, not least being the reason for Silveira’s presence. During the journey he had planned what he was going to say and how, but the Hegemony warship had disrupted that with the eloquence of a boot stamping on a Go board.

  For a less advertised arrival Kao Chih ignored the New Dock and the Old Dock and instead pointed Silveira towards one of the maintenance pits. After a brief exchange with the pit manager, during which he announced his name, the Oculus Noctis was allowed to descend and moor in one of the larger mech troughs.

  ‘There may be a few people here to greet us,’ Kao Chih said as the personnel lock cycled through. ‘My mission was very important – there might even be a reporter from our weekly sheet, Great Unity Report …’

  ‘You have an actual hardcopy newspaper?’ Silveira said.

  ‘Printed on recycled biomass,’ Kao Chih said. ‘It’s a tradition …’

  The inner door hatch swung open to reveal four members of Retributor security with stunguns aimed and ready.

  Taken aback, Kao Chih held out his hands. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘No front-page picture, I would guess,’ said Yash with unconcealed glee.

  Then an official in a plum and black suit stepped in from the side, one arm draped with long, rich orange garments.

  ‘Pilot Kao Chih, and honoured guests, I am Assistant Commissioner Liangyu. Please accept my apologies for this treatment. I’m afraid that your arrival could not have been more badly timed. We cannot afford to have your presence any more widely known, which is why you must don these robes before we take you up to the command level.’

  He held out the orange clothing, which Kao Chih and Silveira hesitantly took. Yash folded his arms and glared up at the official.

  ‘Jelk that! Why should I?’

  ‘Such a refusal is your privilege, sir,’ Liangyu said. ‘But in the interests of security we would have to render you unconscious then dress you anyway and carry you out.’

  A stungun’s muzzle was wide and rounded, bearing dozens of mini-emitters around the resonator, a slender spike. All four of these were now pointing at the Voth. Who sneered, shrugged, then went along with it.

  After a ten-minute journey through maintenance passages and staff-only companionways, they stepped out into one of the carpeted, faintly fragrant corridors of the command level. A door opened a few yards along and the armed escort hurried them into a small room sparsely decorated with a few screens. Three chairs were arranged behind a low black table on which two tea glasses sat, half-full and giving off faint vapours. The Duizhang Kang Lo, commander of the Retributor, sat there, attired in official blue and black, his expression sombre, his dark eyes considering the newcomers. Next to him was one of the grey-haired elders, Tan Hua, wearing a flowing gown of white and pale russet, his lined features betraying nothing but a lofty disdain.

  Kao Chih frowned. Tan Hua’s presence indicated that he had risen in rank, possibly displacing the Duizhang’s first officer, Li Guo, although it was also possible that he was here for another reason.

  Then a corner door half-hidden by a screen opened and a tall, spindly Roug entered to sit in the third seat, its movements deliberate and unhurried. Kao Chih was suddenly certain that this was about Tumakri’s death and his role in it. He swallowed hard, ordering his thoughts, his defence, rehearsing his argument that they had been insufficiently prepared for such a task, that it had been unwise to rely so heavily on local contacts for course data …

  The Duizhang exchanged murmurs with Tan Hua and the Roug for a moment, then beckoned Kao Chih forward. A chair was brought out for him and positioned before the low table. His legs felt weak as he sat.

  ‘Pilot Kao,’ said the Duizhang, Kang Lo. ‘While we are relieved, almost astounded to see you safe and well, your sudden appearance has put Human Sept in a difficult position. In essence, we have spent the last eight or nine hours assuring Hegemony officials that we had no clue as to your whereabouts.’ He folded his arms and sat back. ‘But now here you are.’

  Tan Hua gave Kao Chih a cold look. ‘Pilot, you were given an assignment demanding the highest commitment to duty, an undertaking of the gravest import. But what do we hear? – that you diverted away from these crucial responsibilities in order to cavort with terrorists!’

  Kao Chih could not stay silent. ‘Honourable Tan Hua! – I was taken prisoner by the Chaurixa …’

  ‘Must we add perjury to the list of charges set against you?’ Tan Hua thundered on. ‘As a result of your collaborations, extremists are plotting to strike at the very world we most fervently hoped would offer us a new home.’

  ‘Sir, this is not true.’ Kao Chih turned to Kang Lo. ‘Honourable Duizhang, I did not collaborate …’

  But Tan Hua came back with another vituperative accusation, ignoring the Duizhang’s hand plucking at his sleeve. Then the Roug spoke in its distinctive papery whisper and everyone fell silent.

  ‘Pilot Kao Chih,’ it began. ‘I am Qabakri, Mandator of the High Index – Tumakri was my second-path son. Please tell me how he died.’

  For a moment Kao Chih was tongue-tied – the Mandators were the third-highest ranking in Roug society and had considerable powers. Then he made himself speak, a rush of words explaining how he and Tumakri arrived at Blacknest, how their contact Avriqui was slain by the same bandits who waylaid Kao Chih and how Tumakri was shot while trying to escape.

  ‘So ignoble an end,’ said Qabakri. ‘Repeat once more the name of the master of these butchers.’

  ‘Munaak is his name.’

  ‘It is remembered.’ The Roug turned to the Duizhang. ‘You may continue.’

  Kang Lo gave a courteous bow of the head then looked at Kao Chih.

  ‘Pilot Kao, the Potentiary, the senior official from the Hegemony vessel, has made his demands very clear, that we either render you into his custody or provide him with information leading to your detention. To that we now must add the option of trying to conceal you from detection. Any of these will have serious consequences in the event of failure …’

  ‘With respect, Duizhang,’ Tan Hua cut in, ‘in the interests of our exalted patrons, and for the safety and security of the Human Sept, we should pursue only one course of action, namely to deliver Kao Chih over to the Hegemony Potentiary.’

  ‘You will forgive me if I do not acquiesce to your reasoning, most honourable Tan Hua,’ Kao Chih said with undisguised dislike.

  Fury flashed in Tan Hua’s eyes. ‘Keep your silence, pilot! It is not your place to judge your betters, rather you should be close-mouthed and thinking upon the rash errors that will lead to your rendition.’

  Kao Chih’s own anger surged but before he could hurl a more barbed rejoinder, Silveira spoke from off to the side.

  ‘Respected sirs, might I interject at this point?’

  Wide-eyed, Kao Chih glanced over his shoulder – the Earthsphere agent’s Mandarin was flawless.

  ‘Please accept my ap
ologies for not having ascertained your identity, sir,’ said the Duizhang. ‘I for one am keen to know your name and to learn how and why Pilot Kao came to be your companion. The highly interesting vessel berthed in our maintenance pit is yours, I believe.’

  Silveira stepped forward and bowed. ‘Yes, Duizhang, it is. My name is Baltazar Silveira; my official rank is that of captain in the Earthsphere Alliance Navy but in terms of my assignment I am an Extraordinary Field Operative for Earthsphere Intelligence.’

  Stunned silence greeted this information, and Silveira went on to reiterate some of the things he had explained during the meeting between Greg and Vashutkin several long days ago. He included concise summaries of the political and military situation, and passed on Greg’s half-truth about the ancient device inside Giant’s Shoulder, the matter-transport explanation rather than the hyperspace-gateway one. He ended by explaining how his encounter with Kao Chih profoundly altered his assignment, and how he now saw it as his mission to convince his superiors to directly intervene and rescue the colonists trapped on Pyre.

  ‘… Which is why, with your approval, I should like to travel to Pyre in order to examine the situation on the ground.’

  While Silveira spoke, Kao Chih watched all three arbiters. Where Mandator Qabakri was unreadable, the Duizhang Kang Lo’s face was almost an open book: surprise, puzzlement, fascination and other emotions were revealed clearly. Tan Hua was an enigma; the disdain and hostile arrogance that had so animated his features seemed to have drained away, leaving behind a composed, unrevealing visage from which slightly narrowed eyes peered unwaveringly at Silveira. Kao Chih wondered what had happened during his absence that had enabled the man to ascend to such a position of power.