Zenn didn’t argue. She ran.
SEVENTEEN
They plunged on through the frigid air of the unlit corridors for what felt like hours. Down deserted passageways, up through stairwells, along yet more endless tunnels of corridor, not speaking, breathing hard, footfalls echoing. At last, Zenn had to rest and said so. Reluctantly, Treth whispered, “Five minutes. No longer.”
The Groom squatted down on her haunches. Zenn and Liam both dropped to sit on the floor. Jules parked himself nearby and busied himself redirecting the mist-jets on his walksuit.
“Captain Oolo… I can’t believe that he’s…” Zenn’s voice broke, the words refusing to come. Her shock quickly turned to anger. “Why? Why would they do that? What do they want?”
Treth raised her gaze to look at Zenn, the Groom’s eyes hunting something.
“They want you, Novice. The Skirni said as much.”
“But why?” Even as she spoke, Zenn felt a surge of guilt, then fear. She suspected she might know why. Should she tell the others? No. She could be wrong. It was crazy. Yes, she was probably mistaken.
“Treth, your arm,” she said instead, standing up. “Here, let me see.”
“It is nothing,” the Groom said, but she allowed Zenn to examine her. The Skirni’s weapon had cut a thin line of charred flesh across her upper arm. Zenn slipped off the straps of her field kit, dug in it and located what she needed. After cleaning the wound, she applied a coat of antiseptic and sprayed on a dermal bandage.
“That should protect it until the skin grows back.”
Treth flexed her arm, nodded in approval.
“Thank you, Novice,” she said, then turned and walked off to scout the route ahead.
“Scarlett,” Liam said from where he sat against the bulkhead. “Sorry. About your friends.”
“The Captain was just… trying to protect us,” Zenn said, sitting down again beside him. Her throat tightened.
“And the Procyon kid,” he said. “Do you think he’s…”
“He’ll be fine,” Zenn said. “I think he’s just paralyzed, like Pokt said.” Her hand rose to her neck. She was certain the shell-like thing the Khurspex used on Fane was the same thing Pokt had used to paralyze her that night in her cloister dorm room. “The neurotoxin will wear off in an hour or so. He’ll just be a little sore.”
“Well, that’s good to know. And I’ve got something here that might cheer–”
Zenn felt something brush her cheek, and she pulled back reflexively from Liam. Then she felt pressure on her arm, but saw nothing. Something was on her, poking at her… something alive!
A purple-and-cream blur distorted the air, and then a rikkaset materialized into view, her snout poking out of Liam’s shirt, gold-green eyes blinking at her, small black hands reaching out to her.
“Katie,” Zenn cried, her eyes filling with tears. Katie sprang into her arms, and Zenn held her tight, smelled her wonderful rikkaset smell. “Katie, Katie, Katie,” The rikkaset licked her nose and signed up at her.
“Friend-Zenn – Katie alone, alone. No friend-Zenn came back right away. Not so nice. Not nice!”
“Katie, I’m so sorry.” Unwilling to release her grasp on the animal for even a second, she forced herself to speak slowly so Katie could read her lips. “I… I couldn’t come back. I tried to find Katie but… but you’re here now.” She pressed her face into Katie’s warm, silk-soft fur, then looked up at Liam. “Where did you find her?”
“I was about to tell you – she found me,” he said. “After they took us all off the Helen, everyone was herded into a big cargo bay. Next thing I knew, she was rubbing against my leg and begging for food! And then–”
“Silence,” Treth whispered urgently, coming back down the passage toward them. “I heard something! Just ahead.” The Groom knelt against one wall, the plasma stick raised. Zenn opened the top of her jumpsuit and pushed Katie down inside.
“Is it those Ghost-Spex?” Jules asked.
“Quiet,” Treth snapped at him. They all pressed themselves into the shadows and strained to see up the black tunnel that stretched before them.
The sound that came from the darkened corridor made Zenn jump, adrenaline pouring into her system. Then she realized it was the sound was of someone, something, laughing.
“Hoo-haha…” The voice was thick, gravelly, with an odd, lilting accent. “Spex? You think I’m Khurspex? I think not, thanky very much.”
“Come out,” Treth ordered, weapon at the ready. “Show yourself.”
“Show myself?” the voice said. “Show me that burn-rod pointing elsewhere! Then maybe.”
Treth considered for a moment, then lowered the weapon.
“See?” she said. “Now come out.”
A figure shuffled into view, stopping just beyond the shadows, appearing ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. The creature was a little taller than Zenn, two short legs, two long arms. Its apelike face was masked with grime, and its outlandishly long cheek whiskers and eyebrows drooped forlornly, the once-white muttonchop sideburns tinted a grimy brown-gray. It was a Loepith.
He – Zenn guessed it was a male although it was hard to tell – wore several headlamps and a magnifying glass attached to a band around its head, and a tiny signal dish protruded from one ear. Strapped to its body – or hanging from multiple crisscrossing web-belts – was an assemblage of mashed-up electronic gear, miscellaneous hand tools and a variety of pots, a tin cup and what looked like wineskins. Net bags bulging with food and other odds and ends hung from shoulder straps. The overstuffed pack on his back had a rolled-up blanket tied to it. His ragged clothes had numerous pockets, but the outfit was so shredded and dirty, Zenn couldn’t even guess the original color.
“Who are you?” Treth said. “What are you doing down here? Away from the others?”
“Who am I?” the Loepith snorted. “And who is she to ask us questions?” He glared at Treth. “Eh? Who are you to ask, rude and groomish?”
Zenn saw Treth’s jaw tighten.
“Her name is Treth. And yes, she’s a groom,” Zenn said quickly, standing and moving closer so the Loepith could see her. “We mean you no harm. We’re just trying to get away. From the Khurspex. We’re from the Helen of Troy.”
The Loepith pulled the head-mounted magnifying glass down over one eye, making the eye suddenly appear huge as he examined her.
“That was the Helen just got snagged?” the monkey-like anthropoid said. He seemed to relax a little, pushed the glass away from his eye. “The Helen and all its many-many. Bad luck, but there it is.”
No, not monkey, more like a mix of human and orangutan, Zenn thought, considering his lanky frame and powerful, overlong arms that reached well below his knees.
The Loepith’s big brown eyes glistened from deep sockets, his gaze darting about the corridor as he spoke.
“So, then – sampled some Spex hospitality, have ya? Hospitality, heh heh.” The Loepith laughed a cackling laugh and displayed a smile packed with large, tea-brown teeth the size of dominoes. Zenn guessed he was middle-aged for a Loepith, mid-eighties or so. He spoke with what she thought might be a Lunar Settlements accent.
Treth slowly approached the Loepith.
“You’re an engineer?” she said, leaning down to examine the creature more closely. The Groom was looking at something on his shoulder – a patch sewn onto his shirt, barely visible through the grime. “From the Zeta Reticuli Lunar setts?”
“Yes. The Moonish one, me.” He pointed to the patch, tapping it, his gaze restless, as if reluctant to make eye contact with any of them. During the past century, Loepiths had migrated to the Zeta system’s lunar mining settlements in large numbers, from their Ophiuchi homeworld. Their legendary reputations as nimble, ingenious mechanics made them welcome throughout the LSA. If a “Loeper” couldn’t fix it, the saying went, you might as well scrap it.
“How long have you been here?” Treth asked.
“Long enough for this.” He picked at his sh
redded shirtsleeve. “And this.” He pulled out a matted strand of cheek whiskers and let it drop. “Years on top of years.” His voice dropped. “What does it matter now? Not much, eh? Hardly.”
“What was your ship?” Treth squatted down next to him.
“Oh? And who are you to know about me?” Suddenly suspicious, the Loepith stared at the Groom, eyes no longer darting about but keenly focused. “And what’s my ship to you, groomish?”
“Please,” Zenn said. “We’re just trying to figure out what’s going on here. My name is Zenn. She’s Treth. This is Jules. And he’s Liam. Can we know your name?”
The Loepith regarded her solemnly for a moment.
“Charlie, I would be,” he said. “Charlie Iph, as called by some. But not lately. No one calls, you see?”
“Yes. We see. Charlie,” Treth said, making an effort to speak more softly, “are you all alone here? Are there others like you?”
“Alone? Us? Yes. Alone entire, actually.”
“And you live here?” Treth asked. “On the Nova Procyon?”
“Oh, on the Nova. On some others. I go here. Go here and there.”
“To other ships?” Treth said sharply. “You’ve been on other ships in this… structure?
“Some other ships. Here and there.”
“Charlie,” Zenn stepped in closer to the Loepith. “Have you seen a man on any of the ships, a human from Enchara? A man named Warra Scarlett? He has red hair like mine. And a red beard.”
Katie poked her head out of Zenn’s jumpsuit. She stretched out toward the Loepith, crinkled her nose and pulled back.
“Needs a bath!” she signed up at Zenn.
“Katie, shush.”
“One man? With a name?” Charlie stared at Katie, extended a long, inquisitive finger at her. Katie sniffed once, sneezed and burrowed back down out of sight. Charlie shrugged his shoulders at Zenn. “Many, many men. On all the ships! Men and not-men. Who can say what names men have?”
“He would have come recently,” she told him. “Maybe from the Helen.”
“No way to know, is there? None. We only know what we know, eh?”
Her heart sank. She consoled herself with the fact that the structure was vast, and this Loepith might not be the most reliable witness to the comings and goings on it.
“What was your ship, Charlie?” Treth asked again, then added, “If you wish to say.”
The Loepith squinted at her, then seemed to decide it was safe to answer.
“She was the Belle Savage. A good old ship, her. Not so good now. Stripped down. All the good taken off her.”
“The Belle?” Treth said. “That ship vanished fifteen years ago.”
“Fifteen, is it? So it was. Fifteen years and one month extra.”
“Can you tell us,” Treth said, “what the Khurspex are doing this for? Why are they taking the stonehorses, building this structure?”
“The Spex? Those crab-heads? They wanna go home,” Charlie said matter-of-factly. “They take the Indra boats to sail em home again.”
“Home? They’re taking all these ships to get back to their native planet?”
“Have to, don’t they?” Charlie said. “It’s a long sail. Other side of the g’laxy. They need every horse they can get, don’t they?”
“The other side of the galaxy? Truly?” Jules said, coming up behind Zenn.
“How soon?” Treth asked. “Do you know how soon they’re going to… go home?”
“Oh, soon soon. From what I see, Helen’s Indra is the last one, the last stonepony they need. Then they’ll hook all those ponies into that giant trip-ship in the middle and make that long g’laxy tunnel.”
Treth put her hands on the Loepith’s shoulders and lowered her face in front of his. “Charlie,” she said, speaking very slowly, “how soon is soon? When will they go?”
“Days, I’d say. Could be less.”
“How do you know?”
“Food’s run out, hasn’t it? Spex food. Charlie’s food. Indra’s food. That darkly matter, most all gone. And when those crab-heads are gone on that center ship, then the rest of us are gonna have to stay. Stay right here. Forever, mostly.”
“Maybe not, Charlie,” Treth said. “Maybe we can help each other. If you would help us, maybe we can find a way for you and the all the rest to go home. How’s that sound?”
“Help us all get back homeward?” The Loepith grinned at this. “You could do that, groomish?”
A loud bang echoed from the passageway behind them. They all froze, listening. Zenn strained to see into the darkness.
“Spex,” Charlie whispered, and when Zenn turned back to him, he wasn’t there.
EIGHTEEN
“With me,” Treth said. “Move.” She started off down the passage. Then another bang, metal on metal – a door thrown open? But this sound came from in front of them. They were boxed in.
“We cannot go in either way,” Jules said, weaving about uncertainly on his mech-legs. “Those Ghost-Spex will find us here. What will they do? Will they be mean and unpleasant?”
Zenn wanted to tell him it would be OK. But she didn’t really believe that. She saw Treth checking the remaining charge in Pokt’s plasma stick.
A husky voice called to them from the dark.
“This way, groomish.”
Charlie was gesturing from a gap in the bulkhead a dozen feet behind them. Zenn was surprised they hadn’t seen this passageway when they passed it. Then, once they’d all squeezed through the opening, Charlie slid a metal panel into place, sealing off the gap behind them.
“A secret and hidden passage,” Jules said to Zenn. “This is an element of paper-novel mysteries! Although generally there is a moving bookcase activated by a handle on the fireplace. It is very clever thinking, Mister Charlie.”
“Gotta be sharp, don’t we?” Charlie said. “Gotta keep the crab-heads guessing! And I know how. Oh yes, I go here and there.”
With Charlie leading them at a brisk trot, they continued down the narrow service passage, their path illuminated by one of the lights that Charlie wore.
“Charlie,” Treth said after they’d put some distance between them and their pursuers. “How have you avoided them, the Khurspex, all these years?”
“Hid, didn’t I? Down deep in the deeps. Down in the Belle’s nether-hold at first. Down in the hard, cold places. Not even the crab-heads could catch me there.”
“And you were by yourself, all that time?” Zenn asked.
“Years, by myself. No talking, no one listening, you see?” Zenn could tell the Loepith had paid a price for those solitary years of running and hiding. As they went, Charlie explained that the ship they were on, the Nova Procyon, was attached on one side to the Prodigious, a Vhulk starship taken some eight years ago. The Prodigious was a “crusher ship”, designed for inhabitants of planets with high atmospheric pressures and temperatures. Accordingly, surface pressures inside it were staggering, with interior temperatures kept at a searing level, just short of the boiling point of water.
Charlie didn’t seem to know much about the ship on the other side of the Nova. All he’d been able to learn was that it was an alien craft filled with a toxic cocktail of unbreathable gases.
Beyond the Prodigious and its hellish environment was another Earther-class ship, the Symmetry Dancer, which was in turn attached to the Benthic Tson, built for sea dwellers and filled stem to stern with vast reservoirs of fresh and salt water. Next in line after the Tson was the Delphic Queen. Beyond that, the Ghestan Star and then Charlie’s original ship, the Belle Savage. That was as far as the Loepith’s knowledge extended.
“But what about internal scans of the ships, and patrols?” Treth asked. “How did you escape detection?”
“I keep all my eyes on em. Keep outta their way,” Charlie said. Then he pulled open one side of the dirty vest he wore and glanced down at something that lit his face with a faint glow. Before Zenn could see what he was looking at, he closed the vest again. “Besides,
Spex don’t use scans so much, don’t hardly need em. All the many-many are stuck in their own ships. Can’t move around. So the Spex don’t care about scans. Why should they?”
Like the Nova Procyon, Charlie said, each ship was connected on either side to ships with incompatible environments. As a result, no passengers from one ship could survive the conditions of the ships attached to it. This apparently negated the need for the Khurspex to keep close tabs on their prisoners.
“You talked of the Benthic Tson,” Jules said, quickening his pace to come up alongside Charlie. “Are there living ones aboard it?”
“There are. Some in the water still,” the Loepith told him. “Can’t say how many.”
“But why?” Zenn asked. “Why keep everyone here at all?”
“Need em, don’t they? Spex gotta keep every ship’s systems up and ready, and they need crews for that. That’s their plan. Keep the big chambers going, keep those stoneponies comfy. But not so comfy now, are we? Spex are getting sick. Can’t keep systems up with their skin coming off, with stumbling around half blind.”
They came to a steep set of stairs and Charlie led the way down.
“But this is like the Ghostly Shepherd story,” Jules said. “Maybe these ones are those Shepherds in the writings.”
“No. I think not,” the Groom said. “I clearly wounded one. The true Shepherds are immortal. Their flesh incorruptible. They cannot be harmed by such weapons as mortals possess.”
“And did you see their heads?” Jules said. “They had colorful lights moving inside them.”
“It’s how they talk, those crab-heads. Use skin colors.”
“Talking with colors,” Jules said. “Can this be true?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” Zenn said. “There are cephalopods on Earth, like cuttlefish, that use color to communicate. They have microscopic chromatophores under their skin – tiny sacs of pigment. They expand or contract the sacs to create patterns. The Khurspex could be doing something like that, only more complex.”
“Thank you, Doctor Knows-Way-Too-Much,” Liam said.
“But the Khurspex are getting sick?” Zenn said.
Under Nameless Stars Page 17