Under Nameless Stars

by Christian Schoon

  Zenn could also see that the Khurspex’s epidermal layer of skin appeared to be peeling off in ragged sheets and dangling strings, as if the animal was molting its outer layer. Occasionally, one or the other of the two would shudder slightly, then recover.

  Zenn knew there were other instances of multi-animal colonies of organisms living as a single being, like the Portuguese man-of-war in the oceans of Earth and a few symbiont tree-dwelling crustaceans from the Sirenian rainforests. But these were lower-order examples, uncomplicated, and only functioning at the simplest level. And Cepheians like Ambassador Noom, of course, were symbiotic but consisted of the same species. The Khurspex, however, looked to Zenn like an example of complex multispecies integration that was undreamt of in Accord science.

  As the creatures moved up next to Pokt, the crowd pulled back further. The jostling pushed one group of passengers away from the fire light surrounding their barrel, closer to the doorway where Zenn and the others crouched. In the shadows of the saloon, one of those in this group stopped, looked in their direction, and stared. Had he seen them? It was too dark to see the person’s face or to know if they’d been discovered.

  “Back. Go back,” the Captain whispered, harshly. They returned down the corridor till they came to an open cabin. The Captain pointed and they crowded in.

  “Captain Oolo,” Jules said. “What are those creatures? Are they the Ghostly Shepherds as this sacrist says?”

  “The Shepherds? No, I cannot imagine such a… We need more information.” He preened nervously at his ruffled chest feathers. “Treth, what do you think? Treth?”

  But the pilot stood as if she could no longer hear, her face an unreadable mask. Fane too seemed deeply affected and stood shaking his head slowly. Then, the Sacrist looked up at Treth, confusion and wonder in his eyes.

  “Groom Treth, can this be?” Fane said quietly. “Have they truly come, as foretold?”

  Treth frowned. “We know this much: somehow, the stonehorses are being taken. And these entities are somehow involved.”

  “Gathered,” Fane said. “The herds are gathered. By the Shepherds. As the prophecy tells us, as it is written.”

  “It is… possible,” Treth said.

  “Treth,” The Captain went to bob his head in front of her. “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying…” She clasped her hands in front of her, her knuckles white. “The Foretelling in the Book of Staffs. It tells us the Ghost Shepherds will return one day from their distant realm. That they will come to reclaim their stonehorse herds and take them home again.”

  “I’m sorry, and I don’t mean any disrespect, but… that’s just a myth,” Zenn said, unable to keep silent. “These creatures aren’t gods. That’s just not… They’re a new alien race. And they–”

  “They are doing as the Shepherds are prophesied to do,” Fane said, a strange light in his eyes. “It is written that they will come without warning. That their aspect will be as flawless as the dawn, as pale as the light of moons. That they and they alone will call the stonehorse herds homeward.”

  “Yes, it’s written, but who wrote it?” Zenn implored. “A Procyoni. A person like any other person, a person like you or Treth.”

  “She was no simple person that wrote these words,” Fane objected. “She was the Prophetess Ry Reth Trassin of Sinnuron. She saw what no others could see. She had direct communing with the Shepherds.”

  “Please,” the Captain said. He stepped between them and raised his talons as if separating two boxers. “We don’t have time for this. Treth, we need to backtrack. Get away from the Skirni and those… creatures… until we know what we’re up against. And how to fight it.”

  “If it is true, if they are the Shepherds,” Treth said firmly, “we cannot fight them.”

  “What?” The Captain’s chest feathers rose in agitation.

  “It would be sacrilege,” she said simply.

  “Plainly,” Fane agreed.

  “But…” the Captain sputtered. “What will you do then? Give up? What about the Helen’s passengers and crew? And your Indra? They took your Indra. Maybe they took all the Indra.”

  “And it was so written that they would,” Fane said.

  “If it is the Shepherds’ will, it cannot be undone by us. Or anyone,” Treth said solemnly.

  “So, what are you suggesting?” The Captain was almost chirping with frustration. “That we just… wait?”

  “The Shepherds are gods. Immortal. Unknowable. Our actions will not alter their plans, whatever they may be. If they are not the Spectral Anointed, it will be revealed to us. If they are, they will give us a sign.”

  The Captain clasped his talons together.

  “Are they invincible, truly?” Jules said. “In that case, fighting them would be of no use. There are such beings in the old Earth paper-novel-books. Super beings. Several can shoot fire from their eyes. And have capes.”

  Zenn stared at Fane and Treth. They were just going to do nothing until… what? A magical sign? Until they were captured? If that happened, she would never find her father. Or Katie. Or Liam. She searched for an argument. There must something.

  “Treth,” she said abruptly, the idea coming to her like a gift. Treth and Fane both peered impassively at her. “The Shepherds take care of their flock, right? They look after their stonehorses?”

  “Of course,” Treth said.

  “And the Khurspex, who you think are the Shepherds, they’ve been helping the Skirni steal starships, hijack them.”

  “Because the stonehorses are bonded to the Shepherds, from time long forgotten,” Treth said. “So it is right and just that they gather them back. And so also must the ships be taken. The stonehorses would perish otherwise.”

  “But, when the Indra on the Helen was attacked by that bio-mech, the one released by the Skirni in your chamber, that Indra was hurt. Couldn’t you tell your stonehorse was in pain when the bio-mech attached itself to her?”

  “So it would seem,” Treth reluctantly agreed. “But one cannot say with certainty.”

  “Tell me this,” Zenn went on, “Do the writings say what the Shepherds will look like? Do they say they’re… ten-foot-tall tri-symbionts with… with light pigmentation?”

  “The Writings are vague as to how the Shepherds will appear once they assume corporeal form.”

  “Then maybe, just maybe these aren’t your Shepherds. Maybe they’re just aliens who happen to be… ghostly-looking. Maybe their coloration is due to being cave dwellers. Or their home star has a particular light spectrum. And maybe these aliens are hijacking Indra ships for reasons we just don’t know yet.”

  “This is merely your conjecture,” Treth said.

  Zenn got the feeling she wasn’t exactly getting through.

  “Either way, we need more data,” the Captain insisted. He stepped closer to Treth. “All I ask is that we retreat, regroup and take the time to learn more.”

  Treth looked at Fane, then back to the Captain.

  “Very well,” she said, “but only until we learn the true will of the Shepherds. No longer.” They all moved quietly to the doorway and filed out into the corridor. But they had gone no more than five feet when a shout sounded some distance behind them.

  “Guest Zora Bodine!”

  Zenn whirled around. There, froggish face creased with a huge, black, needle grin, hands on his hips, stood Yed the One Who Consumes Fat Meal-Larva With Lip-Noises of Pleasure.

  “It is you. You are safe,” he called out, grinning even wider. Panic flowed through her. She gestured at him frantically with both hands, willing him to be quiet. Then he hooked a webbed thumb over his shoulder, pointing back at the Skirni. “Guest Pokt is concerned for your well-being. He is seeking you. And Yed has found–”

  From behind him, a hand shot out and planted itself over his wide mouth. A face appeared. Liam. He was alive. He was safe.

  “Shut up,” Liam growled at the steward, who struggled to pull away, his eyes swiveling wildly to see
who was clutching him. Liam looked over his shoulder into the saloon, then back to Zenn and the others.

  “He’s coming,” he yelled at them. “Run!”

  The squat figure of Pokt appeared in the doorway next to Liam and Yed. The Skirni squinted in their direction. He hadn’t seen them yet. Then, a narrow beam of light leapt from the Skirni’s left eye – an implanted scanner? It swept quickly across the passageway until it came to rest on Zenn’s face, a tiny blue-green dot dancing on her cheek. She crouched and pressed herself against the wall. She knew this was the same pinpoint of light she’d seen before – in her bedroom at the cloister, just before he’d kidnapped her, ten thousand light years away, and what seemed like a million years ago.

  “You,” Pokt rasped. He raised his hand. It clutched a plasma stick, which he pointed at them, threatening. Zenn pushed herself to her feet.

  “No,” Liam yelled. She saw him grab at Pokt, trying to pull the weapon from his grip.

  Pokt snarled at Liam and, with a powerful twist, tore the plasma stick out of the boy’s hands.

  “Stop! All of you,” he shouted at Zenn and the others. “You will come with–”

  A mass of white-hot sparks blossomed from the bulkhead next to the Skirni, forcing him, Liam and Yed to all duck back into the saloon. The Captain, standing his ground further down the passage, held his beam-pistol before him in one claw.

  “Go,” the Captain shouted, waving them on. He stepped behind two large supply crates stacked in the corridor and prepared to get off another shot.

  But before he could fire, Pokt scurried nimbly out into the saloon doorway, brought up the plasma weapon and loosed a charge. The jagged white lightning bolt of energy arced down the corridor to strike the floor at the Captain’s feet, kicking up a spray of molten fragments.

  “Everyone, down,” Treth yelled. She grabbed Zenn by the arm and dragged her to join the Captain behind the crates. Jules and Fane hurried back into the cabin they’d just left. Behind Pokt, the two Khurspex peered out into the passage cautiously. When they turned toward each other, Zenn saw their forehead areas light up with flickering lightshows of rapidly shifting colors.

  The Captain leaned out, fired three times in rapid succession and dropped back. The shots missed but made Pokt and the creatures pull away out of sight.

  “Captain,” Fane yelled. “Do not anger the Shepherds.” The Sacrist stuck his head out of the cabin door. “Sainted Ones,” he called to the aliens. “Forgive us. We do not mean to give offense.”

  The Skirni poked his head out and fired a bolt into the wall above the crates. Melted debris sizzled in the air around Zenn and Treth.

  “A warning shot only,” Pokt yelled. “I do not wish to kill. Only to stop you. Cease your resisting. You will be… treated fairly.”

  “Like you treated my father?” Zenn shouted, furious. And terrified. They mustn’t be captured. She had to convince the Groom she was wrong.

  “Treth,” Zenn said. “Would your Shepherds do this? Help someone like him?”

  “The Shepherds’ ways are… veiled from us,” Treth said. But Zenn could tell she was less sure now than moments before.

  “You have to believe me.” Zenn turned so the Groom could see her eyes, see that what she said was true. “Your Indra was hurting when she was attacked. I swear I could feel her pain and fear. I felt it. You can’t let them take us.”

  Another strike from Pokt’s plasma stick hit the wall beside them, making them crouch lower behind the crates.

  “Enough. Throw down your weapon,” the Skirni rasped.

  “You did feel it,” Treth said, nodding, then looking hard at Zenn. “I could tell, even then. But I could not believe it was so. Perhaps I wished not to believe. She was my Indra, after all.”

  Zenn thought she saw a change in the Groom. The sign was small, fleeting. But it was real.

  “Sacrist,” the Groom yelled at the unseen Fane. “The Novice speaks truly. The Shepherds would never harm a stonehorse. Or ally themselves with one who would do this. It cannot be the Foretelling.”

  “Book of the Rope of Light, chapter nine, verse twelve,” Fane shouted back. “‘For the Shepherds’ return will rise as a storm-bull raging. It will fall as a jewel-rain blessing. Many will doubt the Sainted Ones’ coming. Few will see the Ninth Gate opening. But the faith-keepers will know. The truth-seekers will see!’”

  He’s quoting scripture now! Zenn thought, incredulous. This can’t be happening!

  Treth shook her head.

  “Sacrist Fanesson,” she shouted at him. “Book of Dohlms, chapter eighteen, verse nine-twenty-six: ‘Keep keen thy wit against false claimants to the Shepherds’ cloak. Turn from these deceivers, who come as dreadwolves to the herd’.”

  “But Groom Treth,” Fane yelled back. “What of the words in the Book of–”

  “Shut up this talk,” Pokt screamed shrilly. “Cease this nonsense talk, I say.” And he loosed another bolt of plasma over their heads. “Come out now and be done.”

  “I need a better angle,” the Captain said quietly to Treth. “When I move, you take the others back down the corridor.”

  “No, Captain. You are not trained in arms. Let me–” But the Captain was already in motion, firing as he ran for the opposite wall. Pokt didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the doorway, raised his stick and fired. It caught the Captain square in the chest, the super-heated bolt hurling him out of Zenn’s sight, leaving behind a small blizzard of colorful feathers that drifted and swirled where a second ago he had stood.

  “Captain!” Treth cried.

  Pokt now strode into the corridor. Behind him, the two Khurspex loomed into view. In the saloon beyond them, Liam appeared, looking shaken, his face drained.

  “You see the product of your foolishness?” Pokt said, shaking the plasma stick at the Captain’s limp body. “Take them to the bridge and hold them there,” he instructed the two creatures, pointing to Zenn and the others. “And take care the Martian girl is undamaged.”

  “No!” Treth threw herself out from behind the crates, diving to where the Captain had fallen. A second later, she crouched with his pistol in her hand.

  She fired. The energy beam burrowed into the hind leg of the leading Khurspex, scorching the limb and toppling the creature to the floor. Then, the Khurspex… broke in two. The front half, supporting itself on its long tendril-arms, withdrew its thick tail section from a cavity in the back half and heaved itself clumsily to the floor. The wounded back portion of the creature then stumbled away from the forward section, trying to raise itself on its three good legs.

  Before Zenn could quite process this bizarre sight, Fane was walking past her, exposing himself in the corridor, deliberately placing himself between Treth and the aliens.

  “This is sacrilege, blasphemy. It cannot be allowed.” He held his arms outstretched to either side, moving ahead as if in a trance, calling to the creatures. “Shepherds forgive us.”

  “Fane, don’t,” Treth hissed.

  Pokt gestured to the other Khurspex next to him. The creature raised its arm-tendril. Attached near its waving tip was something like a shell. It gripped the Khurspex’s “wrist” with an array of thread-like filaments. The shell split open. From inside, a long, thin rope of living tissue like a chameleon’s tongue whipped out toward Fane. It tapped him lightly on the side of his neck, then recoiled, the shell snapping shut around it.

  Instantly, the Sacrist collapsed, dropped by the touch of the thing.

  Anger twisting her features, Treth looked up from Fane’s fallen body, raised the pistol. But Pokt had already taken aim. He fired, the stream of lightning licking across Treth’s forearm. The pistol spun from her grasp. Clutching her arm, she staggered back against the wall.

  “You see?” Pokt hooted. “It is useless.” They all stopped where they stood as he approached. Stepping over Fane, he nudged his body with one boot. “This one will recover. The whip-whelk poison does not last long. It is the favored weapon of the Spex. Activated by t
he merest thought. So simple, so effective.”

  He leered at Zenn.

  “You have been long sought, human. And much trouble. But now we have you. And what you carry.”

  Zenn saw motion behind Pokt. It was Liam, in the corridor, running at them, fast. The boy tackled Pokt from behind, squeezing a loud grunt of pain from the Skirni and sending them both sprawling onto the floor.

  “Go!” Liam yelled as he scrambled to his feet, scooping up Pokt’s weapon as he stumbled toward them. He turned, fumbled with the plasma stick, tried to aim it at the Khurspex coming down the corridor. “How does this… Where’s the damn trigger?”

  Grimacing in pain, Treth pushed away from the wall, snatched the weapon away from Liam. She twisted the handle to maximum force and fired – not at the approaching creature, but at the ceiling of the passage. A massive, forking lightning pulse erupted from the weapon, atomizing the ceiling panels in a cascade of fire, fragments and acrid, black smoke. Nothing of Fane, Pokt or the Khurspex was visible through the choking cloud.

  “Dolphin, Novice! This way,” Treth yelled. Jules strode out into the passage. Liam ran to where Zenn crouched, helped her to stand.

  “Fane,” Zenn cried. “What about Fane?”

  “We cannot help him,” the Groom shouted, shoving Zenn and Liam down the corridor ahead of her. “Run!”