by Chris Ward
A Gorm. Native to the Festar System on the far side of the known galaxy, they were sedentary creatures often found operating deep space mining vessels due to their extended life-spans and dislike of rapid movement.
‘Who are you?’ Lia said, holding the blaster steady, aware that all she would achieve by shooting it would be to make a mess; the Gorm would reform and reestablish itself unless large enough parts of its body were permanently separated.
‘Olin Dun-Olind,’ came the metallic voice. ‘The curator of this lighthouse, and alas, its only remaining inhabitant. Gorms don’t flee from danger like other races. We don’t have the same sense of urgency.’
‘What happened?’
‘We’ll tell you once you explain what you’re doing here. Our transmissions have been virally blocked. We had no idea you had even landed until the bridge detected the opening and closing of the hangar doors of docking bay nine.’
‘We were on the run from pirates,’ Lia said, a practiced answer she had used dozens of times. ‘We were mistaken for another ship, and sustained damage. In accordance with the ICC rules, we took the liberty of your vessel’s hospitality in order to undertake repairs.’
‘You’re a long way out,’ Olin said.
‘As are you.’
‘We had a … situation in Yool-4. It required immediate evacuation. We ordered the crew to jettison and sent them into stasis-ultraspace, but unfortunately the transport was destroyed. We engaged the tugs and used the lighthouse’s last remaining power to jump into the nearest wormhole, but unfortunately we’re too far out to contact the Trill System’s government.’
The Gorm paused, its chair rattling then emitting a long beep as though a battery charge were being reset.
‘While stationed out in the outer reaches of Yool,’ he continued, ‘we were boarded by a shuttle requiring assistance, not unlike yours. Unfortunately, when it connected to our systems our transmissions were scrambled and then blocked by an unknown virus. The crew destroyed and ejected the shuttle, but by the time we realised what the virus was, it was too late. We were unable to transmit a warning. We’d been receiving strange transmissions for days, and regular messages from the system government had stopped coming. We realised something was happening, but we could have never imagined what it was.’
‘What was it? Where did the shuttle come from?’
‘Just a few Earth-hours behind us lies a wormhole into the outer reaches of Yool-4. Beyond that wormhole is a full Barelaon Helix.’
‘A what?’
‘I know the Barelaon,’ Stomlard said. ‘Cutthroats and mercenaries, the dregs and leftovers of most respectable races. But what’s a Helix?’
‘A Helix is a full living colony. Not just a fleet of assimilated mercenaries and runaways, but a true community of pure Barelaons, tens of millions of them. Yool-4 System is finished. And Trill, the nearest system, will follow unless the Estron Quadrant can raise a fleet capable of repelling them.’
Lia put up a hand. ‘Sorry, but explain this to me again. I’ve heard of the Barelaon. I’ve encountered small fleets before. I’ve never heard of a Helix.’
‘The Barelaon are a nomadic warrior race,’ Olin added. ‘They consist of a tiny organic core around which a robot exoskeleton exists. However, such is the core’s need for organic food that they must assimilate with organic beings from other worlds in order to survive. These organic carriers sustain them until their natural lifespan ends or they are fully absorbed. However, the personalities of the assimilated fuse with the Barelaon core’s combative tendencies, which is why they are just as likely to fight among themselves as against other races. However, a Helix is where the original cores are created.’
‘Like a hive?’
‘Yes,’ Olin said. ‘The Helix creates them, while closely linked groups hunt native species to assimilate with these new creations. So, close to the Helix itself, they are united, capable of wiping out entire star systems in their hunt for organic fuel. There have been a few encounters in far-reaching systems, but a Helix moves slowly, breaking itself up over time and separating off into new communities.’
Lia tucked her blaster back into her belt. ‘What do we do?’
‘Since the lighthouse entered the Trill System,’ Olin said, ‘yours is the first spacecraft we have encountered. We must ask you that in exchange for our hospitality, you relay the message of the impending danger to the Trill System government on our behalf.’
Lia looked at Stomlard, but the engineer shrugged. ‘It’s your call, Captain. I’m just the hired help.’
Lia looked from Stomlard to Olin and back again. She thought about Trill System, with more than a dozen inhabited planets and moons, hundreds of billions of people.
She took a deep breath. ‘We’ll do it,’ she said.
19
Caladan
‘In eighteen Earth-hours,’ Solwig said, ‘the moons’ orbits will cross. This is when the slavers usually come, when they have the shortest distance to cover.’
Caladan nodded. ‘Then that is when we will attack.’
The old Thatcher had been propped up into a launch position, one missing landing leg replaced by a pile of rocks. It would be a one-way trip, Caladan knew, yet patched up and loaded with fuel salvaged from the crashed Interceptor, it was ready to carry his invasion force.
What little it was.
A hundred of the two-headed monstrosities the Luminosi called harpies were squeezed into three storage bays, together with those Luminosi charged with flying one. A cacophony of bone-tingling squawks echoing out of the rusty pipes in the Thatcher’s walls as Caladan walked from chamber to chamber, carrying out inspections.
By this stage, he was killing time. The ship was as space-worthy as it was likely to ever get, and his laughably light army was loaded. All that was left was to wait for Cloven-1 to reach its closest point, then launch.
It was quite possible they would be shot out of the sky before they even came close to the slavers’ base, but Caladan felt quietly confident that if he could land the ship safely, he could at least inflict a few flesh wounds before the resistance was crushed.
‘Caladan.’
He turned. Lorena stood behind him, pulsing with a light purple glow. Her body glistened with sweat; she was most likely nervous. They hadn’t spoken since their previous encounter, but now he found a feeling bouncing around inside him that tasted of regret.
‘Lorena. How have you been?’
‘I wanted to say … I’m sorry. My people, we’re simple people. Only those of us stolen from our villages have ever seen anything beyond these forests. In some ways … I’m envious.’
‘Don’t be.’
She came closer. He suppressed an urge to flinch as she reached out, but when her hand closed over his arm, there was no electrical surge.
‘We can control it,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know how until Father showed me.’
Caladan looked down. Despite the muscle and bone he could see moving inside the flesh, it was still the arm of a woman, something that hadn’t come close to him in willing tenderness for many years—perhaps not since his dear mother had dusted him down after a playground fight.
‘Will we win?’ she said.
Caladan hesitated. Lying was for card tables and brothels, but the temptation was still strong. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘There is a chance, if your people are brave. We are few, but the slaves are many. They will need to stand up and fight when the time comes.’
‘We have faith in you. Hundreds of generations had faith you would come, and now you’re here.’
‘I appreciate the thought.’ He sighed. ‘We are up against great odds, but you learn a lot from losing an arm; in particular how not to lose another one. I have a few tricks up my, um, sleeve.’
He smiled as he spoke, and the amusement in Lorena’s face suggested she hung on every word. She reached out with her other hand, but with no arm for it to encircle, instead it rested on his waist.
‘You look tired
,’ she said. ‘Let me relax you. This time I will take more care than before.’
Caladan smiled. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Gods get tired too.’
An Earth-hour later, as they lay together beneath a blanket made of the hide of some uncomfortably sharp-furred animal, Caladan felt greatly better. Lorena’s head lay across the elbow of his one arm as she gazed up at the cavern roof.
‘I suppose, when our people are free,’ Lorena said, her voice taking on a wistful air, ‘you will leave us and return to the stars. There must be other races waiting for you. Other races in need.’
Caladan thought of Lia, wondering if she had given him a moment’s thought since his escape from the GMP outpost. It was possible she was no longer even alive, but if he was ever going to find out for sure, he had to get away somehow.
Lorena was still staring at him with doe eyes, waiting for his response. Caladan was pleased that his beard made it easy to look serious. The girl, despite her words, was far from a star-struck simpleton. She had been responsible for many of the repairs to the Thatcher, technical skills far beyond his own, skills she had learned from her father and from experimenting with the old ship. If he found something space-worthy enough to escape in, she would be a useful addition to the crew—and not just during the long, lonely hours of spaceflight, with nothing much to do.
‘Your people can’t be free while I’m around to, um, be worshiped,’ he said. ‘I will have to leave.’
‘When you leave, will you take me with you?’
He paused, not wanting to seem too eager. ‘If it is what you want,’ he said. ‘Then it is … possible.’
She buried herself against him, sobbing into his chest. Caladan felt both like a god and a scumbag at the same time, but he was used to feeling like one, and was increasingly getting used to feeling like the other.
Solwig and the rest of his delegates felt it necessary to perform a ceremony before the Thatcher took flight. Caladan stood on a tall rock with Solwig beside him, and as many Luminosi as Caladan had ever seen crowding around them, filling the clearing around the cliff and the spaces between the trees. Some of them pulsed purple and green—which Caladan had learned meant pride and envy—others red—meaning anger, which he hoped was intended for the slavers on Cloven-1.
The Luminosi’s leader made a speech. After the cheering had died down, he bid Caladan step forward.
‘They want to hear your voice,’ Solwig said.
Caladan took a deep breath. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we, um, leave here today to save your people from the asshole space hedgehogs who’ve enslaved you. We will be victorious. We will win. We will stand together and defeat them.’ Aware he was starting to ramble but had nothing left to say, he raised his single fist into the air and screamed, ‘To victory!’
No one responded. A sea of skulls peering through translucent skin watched him, like a host out of a nightmare.
‘They don’t understand,’ Solwig said.
Caladan grimaced. He turned back to the crowd and lifted his fist again. ‘Arrahhh!’ he screamed this time. ‘Arrahhh! Arraaaahhh!’
At first no one reacted. Then a few fists rose at the back of the group, followed by a few more. At last, the whole crowd began screaming with him.
‘Arrahhh! To victory!’ Caladan screamed, while beside him, Solwig, his face beaming with a wide smile, wiped a tear out of his eye.
The Thatcher shuddered as the lower thrusters burst into life, burning away a millennia-old crust of dirt and rust, the smell of which managed to permeate even the air on the bridge. Caladan watched through an external view screen as the ship slowly rose out of the cup of rock, rocking from side to side as it battled up into the sky. With every passing second he waited for the fail of one of the thrusters and the sudden plummet to earth, but it didn’t come. The forest and its cheering crowd slowly receded, blending in with the green and grey landscape, until the only distinguishable features were the immense gorge below, and a glittering sea far to the east.
Beside him, Lorena smiled. ‘We did it.’
‘So far, so good. Let’s see how this thing deals with space.’
The controls were ancient, from the kind of decrepit spacecraft Caladan had seen as a boy in museums on school trips, the ones you could climb up into the cockpit of and play around with dials and joysticks long crusted up with painted-over rust. It was so old it might as well have been made of wood and stone, but its simplified computer systems were easy enough even for him to control, as he set an automated course for Cloven-1, a dinner-plate-sized ball gleaming in the sky.
As the atmosphere gave way to space, Lorena clutched him to her. ‘I’ve dreamed of this day,’ she whispered, ‘the day I would see space on a mission to save my people.’
With the irritated squawking of the harpies in the lower holds drifting up through pipes not nearly as securely sealed as they should be, Caladan wished he could share her confidence. As though hearing his insecurities, she patted him on the arm again.
‘We will win,’ she said. ‘I know it.’
Caladan stared at the growing dot on the monitor screen, and tried not to think about the butterflies in his stomach.
‘I hope so,’ he said.
20
Lia
‘The lighthouse will take many weeks to reach Feint, where Trill System’s seat of government can be found,’ Olin said. ‘By then, it might be too late. Your ship is our only chance. You can go on ahead and warn them of what is coming.’
Lia shook her head. ‘We need time for repairs,’ she said, staring at the blob in the motorized cart, wishing Gorms could display easily readable body language. A shifting swirl of colours like several paints mixed together did nothing for her. ‘Our ship is damaged, and there’s a tracker we haven’t been able to find.’
The Gorm’s microphone emitted a frustrated growl. ‘Two Earth-days,’ Olin said. ‘Then you must leave. Any longer and it could be too late.’
Lia looked at Stomlard. ‘Can the Matilda be fixed in that time?’
‘Not by me. Do you have droids, Olin?’
‘You can use whatever you can find,’ the Gorm said. ‘We shut down most of the major systems to give us more flight power, but there are some maintenance droids available in the lower hangars.’
‘They will be of great help.’
‘Make haste.’
Olin excused himself to return to the bridge in order to monitor their flight path. Lia and Stomlard returned to the Matilda, where they found Harlan5 attached by a series of wires to a control terminal built into the hangar wall.
‘What have you found?’
Harlan5 shook his head. ‘Alas, there are no compatible droids on this station. I had hoped to find a new body.’
‘There’s no time for that. What have you discovered about the lighthouse?’
‘Nothing yet. The computer system has been encrypted, scrambled like the transmitters. If I had my old skills I could crack it far easier … but this could take time.’
‘Keep trying. Stomlard, get to fixing the Matilda. Let’s see what we can find around here.’
She left them both with the ship and headed for the huge docking bays that adjoined the hangar, looking for anything that might prove of use. She found several large fighters sitting at dock, but they were the multiple-pilot variety, of little use to her if an invasion fleet suddenly showed up without warning.
She tried to remember what her GMP history lessons had taught her about the Barelaon. Usually a blanket term given to teams of mercenaries, the original species was a vast, warlike race originating from an as-yet undiscovered system. The actual genetic makeup of a pure Barelaon was unknown, because none had yet been encountered prior to assimilation with a conquered race, or with willing participants looking for a new life. Therefore, most Barelaons Lia had met had, on the surface, appeared not to be Barelaon at all, but a different off-worlder species altogether with a heightened aggressiveness.
A Helix. What could that mean? Full colonies of B
arelaon had been encountered during the Great Expansions; her history books talked of massive quadrant-wide wars to drive them out. Barelaon were parasitic, unable to live alongside other races without their need to dominate and control bringing them to eventual war. These days, the supposed remaining colonies drifted in deep space, shunned by all systems, until their own infighting eventually broke them apart.
None had been heard of in Earth-centuries.
She came to a maintenance hangar and found a working computer terminal. To her dismay it was also scrambled. The battery ports were still working though, so she took a moment to remove her blaster and plug it in for a charge.
While she stood around waiting, she couldn’t shake a feeling of unease, that there was something very wrong about the lighthouse. A single Gorm couldn’t surely control all its systems, but she hadn’t seen even a single working droid. Those she had seen were shut down, lined up in rows as though waiting for something to do. On a station this size, it was remarkable that they wouldn’t be needed. The Matilda, a mere speck in comparison, was difficult enough to fly alone, but to operate an entire lighthouse….
And there had been something about the way Olin had spoken, as though he were not referring just to himself, but to others, too. The Gorm’s home world was far across the galaxy, and the common language was not taught as standard, as far as Lia knew. It could have been a simple mistake, but her old GMP senses were telling her something was not quite right.
Her blaster beeped, fully charged. She removed it and returned it to her belt.
Back at the ship, Stomlard had managed to activate a couple of maintenance droids to take care of the cannon damage to the hull.