Under Nameless Stars

by Christian Schoon

  When there were no more mites to be seen, the three Vhulks stood waiting until Zenn and the others reached the corridor leading to the airlock. Then the Vhulks lumbered off into the hellish miasma and were gone.

  “Stay with me,” Treth shouted, moving close enough to the bulkhead to allow the scrim’s outer boundary to make contact with it. “Charlie…” The Loepith popped the cover off the control panel and began rewiring the circuits inside.

  “Treth,” Zenn shouted, pointing to the scrim above their heads. “Look.” The thin, purple-green bubble that surrounded them had begun to show tiny gaps on its surface, as if the delicate web were being broken apart in a dozen places.

  “The scrim. It’s tearing,” Liam said.

  “Get closer,” Treth said. “Move in… closer to me.”

  Through the holes appearing in the scrim, the shocking heat stabbed like scalpel tips penetrating Zenn’s face, the back of her neck, her hands. She felt as if the hair on her head was about to combust. Charlie frantically spliced together one last pair of wires, then punched at the airlock keypad.

  “Simple as that,” he said.

  Nothing happened.

  “Bad luck. All bad,” Charlie muttered. He twisted another pair of wires, punched at the pad again.

  Zenn’s next breath seethed like molten metal poured down her throat. She didn’t dare inhale again. Her consciousness began to stutter and fade. She was passing out.

  Seconds later, she was lying on her side in the dark, gulping air into her lungs – stinging draughts of wondrous, delicious, ice-cold air. They’d made it! They were in the Symmetry Dancer. But after the Prodigious, it felt as if she was tasting air from the subfreezing Martian icecaps. It was glorious beyond words.

  She rolled to a sitting position and saw Jules tipped against the nearest wall, his flanks heaving as he greedily sucked in the cooling air and expelled it rapidly through his blowhole. Liam sat next to him, head hanging down between his knees, chest pumping. Charlie lay flat on his back, also savoring the Dancer’s air. Beyond him in the corridor stood Treth, leaning with one arm on the bulkhead. Zenn no longer felt the chilling effect of the antipyretic; the intense heat must have forced their bodies to dissipate it quickly, but it had apparently lasted long enough to be of some help.

  Zenn felt Katie squirming in the backpack. She reached behind her to undo the flap, and the rikkaset hopped to the floor.

  “Friend-Zenn,” she signed irritably. “Too hot for Katie. No fun. Stinky.”

  “Sorry,” Zenn signed, and stroked Katie’s tufted ears.

  “Are you better now?” she asked Jules. “Getting enough air?”

  “Enough, yes. Much better now,” he replied, walking over to where she sat. “I must report I am very happy to be out of that place. I thought for a moment you would need to leave me behind. That was a frightful moment.”

  Zenn stood. She pulled the dolphin’s smooth, velvety head down toward her with both hands and rested her forehead against his chin.

  “You know I would never leave you,” she told him quietly. “You know that, right?”

  “You can never tell what another will do,” he told her, not moving from her grasp. She held his beak in her hands and looked into his eyes.

  “Well, unless they’re your friend. And I’m telling you that I wouldn’t have left you. I couldn’t leave you. Do you know why?”

  “Why then?”

  She gave his smiling beak a gentle shake. “Because I won. And you owe me ten units.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  One of the most technically advanced and luxurious private starships ever commissioned, the Symmetry Dancer had belonged to a succession of wealthy humans and Asents: a trillionaire Alcyon syn-gen inventor, several mega-star entertainers, one best-selling blink-nov writer and an Oortish mine-owner-turned-politician – who was currently learning about life in the penal colony on Titan after some rather serious computational errors in his tax returns. Just before the starship vanished a year and a half ago, the Dancer was purchased by the royal family of the Leukkan Kire. The Kiran ambassador to the Accord was aboard when it was taken, and the Kire’s king and queen had offered a small planetoid as reward for his safe return. The reward was never claimed.

  After allowing a few minutes for them all to rest and recover, Treth came back from her short recon trip to give them the bad news: the door leading into the interior of the Dancer was code-locked.

  “Locked, yes,” Charlie said, brandishing his twine at the Groom as he shuffled up to the door. “Knew it would be.”

  “You knew?” Treth said as the Loepith pulled an access panel off the wall and peered into the hole.

  “Been here before, haven’t I?” He poked at his sleeve screen, then brought it up close to face, squinting at it.

  “Charlie,” Treth said, “we need to get inside. Quickly.”

  “Need to find the numbers, don’t I?” Charlie told her, not looking up. “Need the code. For the door. Not all here, though, is it?” He frowned at the sleeve screen read out. “Only a part left. The heat in that ship. Did some damage.”

  He went to the door and typed with one finger at the keypad.

  “Might remember the missing bits, though. Maybe.” He had barely spoken the words when a bell-like tone rang out, followed by a soft, lilting voice that seemed to come out of the air around them.

  “Charlieee…” the voice said. It sounded happy.

  “Oh no…” Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Lost data, lost too much. Didn’t mean to do that.”

  “What just happened?” Treth asked.

  “Made a mistake, didn’t I?” Charlie moaned, and covered his face with his hands, rocking back and forth. On the floor next to Zenn, Katie looked around apprehensively.

  “What did you do?” Liam said. “Was it bad?”

  “Charlieee.” The voice spoke again, sultry, female, emanating from nowhere. Then Zenn saw it, saw her, standing in the center of the room – which a second ago had been empty. “You’ve come back,” the voice said. “I’m so pleased to see you.”

  The owner of the voice was a beautiful… no, a ravishing human female with intricately styled auburn hair and a slinky, very expensive-looking optiweave evening gown.

  Seeing the apparition suddenly appear, Katie puffed up her tail fur and blended out of sight.

  “I knew you’d come back,” the beautiful woman said, then bent to take Charlie’s whiskered chin into her hand.

  “Awww, no, no…” he muttered miserably. Then, as Zenn and the others watched, the beautiful woman seemed to melt, turning transparent with a short burst of static. When she came back into focus, she was no longer a human woman. She had become a Loepith; a female Loepith, Zenn thought, by the body build and lack of facial whiskers. She wore a uniform similar to Charlie’s but new and spotless.

  “Did you think I’d forget?” The shape had altered, but the newly appeared Loepith continued to speak to Charlie with the husky tones of the human seductress she had been moments before. It made for a strange combination.

  “Did you see this event?” Jules said. “She changed entire.”

  “It’s a holo-projection, Jules,” Zenn said, moving in to get a closer look. Katie reappeared next to Zenn, apparently reassured it was safe. She sniffed at the apparition but, smelling nothing, became suspicious again, her fur rising.

  “Not a holo. Worse,” Charlie said. “A simstriss. The Dancer’s simstriss.”

  “They’re an advanced AI construct,” Treth said. “Used onboard the higher-grade ships. Charlie, she seems to know you. How is this?”

  “From before,” Charlie whined as he sat down despondently on the floor. “Been through it all before, haven’t I? Now I’m back in it. Bad luck, bad and worse.” As he spoke, the simulated Loepith sat down next to him and nuzzled into his shoulder.

  “Charlieee…” The sim-Loepith purred, looking at him with what could only be described as adoration. “I was so hoping you’d return. I’ve been quite bored w
ithout you. The Dancer is so very lonely without my usual quota of guests to attend to. And, I must remind you, you promised to stay. When you left me, I was so bored and lonely with not a soul to take care of. But it doesn’t matter. You’re back now.” She hugged him to her. He squinted his eyes shut.

  “These simstriss types,” Jules said, “do they always change in this way? As you look at them? It is disconcerting.”

  “They read the bio-signature of the species they interact with,” Treth said, “then assume the most suitable appearance.”

  “Truly?” Jules asked. “Hello,” he said, leaning down toward Charlie and the sim-Loepith at his side. “My name is Jules V Vancouver. What is your name? Testing. Testing.”

  The simstriss tilted her face up toward Jules and, after a brief fadeout, resolved herself into a dolphin that lifted into the air. The walksuit that materialized around the sim-dolphin was like Jules’s rig, only sleeker and newer.

  “My name is Lu, Guest Services Agent and Hospitality Specialist Zero-slash-delta-delta,” the sim-dolphin said, the voice still unchanged. “Welcome aboard the Symmetry Dancer, Guest Vancouver. I do hope you and your companions will be with us for our entire voyage. However, I must admit I have not been informed of our destination. I’m sure this information will be forthcoming soon. In the meantime, if there is anything I can do to make your time on board more enjoyable, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  “Yes, Lu, there is one thing,” Treth said, stepping between Jules and the sim. “We would like to exit this holding area and enter the ship. Can you assist us with that?”

  “For your safety, this holding area has been locked,” Lu said pleasantly. As she spoke, she transformed into a Procyoni groom, complete with intricate anitats and face piercings like Treth’s but with a cascade of dark brown hair falling across her shoulders.

  “Can you unlock it? Please.”

  “I regret to inform the guest that this holding area must remain secured until authorized ship’s officers arrive,” the sim-groom said. “May I offer you refreshments while we wait? Tea? Coffee? Kipfruit gelato?”

  Zenn’s mouth watered at the mention of iced kipfruit. Treth ignored the offer.

  “Ship’s officers? Do you mean the Khurspex?”

  “Yes, the Khurspex code-admins. They are en route now. Estimated shuttle arrival time is fifteen minutes. I’m sure they will be able to answer all your questions.”

  “We should leave this place,” Jules said. “Those Khurspex will come. They will not treat us nicely.”

  “Can we go back into the crusher?” Liam said.

  “No,” Treth said flatly, unbuckling the scrim-field generator and dropping it to the deck. “The power cells are depleted.”

  “Charlieee,” the simstriss looked at Charlie and was once more a Loepith. “You must not leave again. Being here without you, it’s simply not to be endured. You will stay this time? I so hope you will stay.”

  Charlie looked up pitifully at Zenn and the others, then lowered his face into his hands again.

  “Lu,” Treth said. “I am Treth Loreth Shansdaughter, Stonehorse Groom, LSA starliner Helen of Troy. I order you to open the code-locked door.”

  “I am so sorry to remind the guest that this holding area must remain secured until authorized ship’s officers arrive,” the simstriss repeated, smiling. “May I offer you–”

  “This construct is obviously malfunctioning,” Treth said, “to ignore the direct command of a union groom.”

  “Been tampered with,” Charlie said miserably. “Had to make adjustments the last time, didn’t I? To get through.”

  “What kind of adjustments?” Treth asked.

  “Minor, so I thought. Spex had the Dancer all sewn up tight so no one could pass. Fiddled the simstriss config-sys to breach the lockdown protocol. And so, the sim, it… Well, then, as you see, it… attached itself.”

  “What?” Liam said, peering at the simstriss. “You saying this thing fell in love with you?”

  “Love? With me? Well, then… How could it be…” Charlie’s voice trailed off into a mutter.

  “Our Charlie’s a lady’s man,” Liam laughed, catching Zenn’s eye. She laughed too and

  realized this was something she hadn’t done in quite some time.

  “You altered it once, Charlie,” Treth said. “Can you do so again?”

  “Not so easy,” Charlie said “Lost my data. Wrong code changes could crash it all down. Crash ship’s systems. Life support, too. Bad luck for all of us in here.”

  Treth was silent for a moment, then went to stand over Charlie and the simstriss. “Lu, I know this is a hard thing for you, but… Charlie wants to leave.”

  “This would be unfortunate. I am afraid it simply cannot be allowed.” The simstriss hugged him closer. “You do not wish to leave me, do you, Charlie?”

  “Uhh…” Charlie looked at Treth, who nodded at him. “Yes? Yes. I’m afraid I might.”

  “But I don’t want you to leave, Charlie. The boredom. No one to care for. Please, you simply mustn’t.” She looked up at Treth. “We regret to inform you it cannot be allowed.”

  “We understand your situation, Lu,” Treth said, speaking quickly. “And I have a proposition. Would you be willing to let the rest of us proceed into the Dancer… if Charlie promised to stay?”

  “Treth,” Zenn couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “Lu?” Treth ignored Zenn’s protest.

  “You would promise to stay with me?” Lu asked, the expression on her Loepith face hopeful and wide-eyed. “You would stay forever? To be my one and only guest? I would see to your every requirement.”

  Charlie looked from Treth to Zenn and back, his eyes almost rolling in his head.

  “I… would promise,” he said, his entire body seeming to shrink into itself at the prospect.

  Loepith-Lu smiled a wide, brown-toothed grin. “Yes! He promises.” Standing up to address Treth, Lu was once again the brown-haired Procyoni groom. “Central hatchway deck 3 is now unlocked for guest boarding. Welcome, and have a pleasant journey aboard the Symmetry Dancer. Please watch your step.”

  “Treth, no.” Zenn was gripped by helpless rage. They couldn’t leave him. Not after all he’d done to help them. The Groom took Zenn by the shoulders and propelled her toward the doorway that now stood open.

  “No arguments, Novice. We must go.” Treth fixed her eyes on Zenn. “We must, if we are to have any hope of helping all the others.”

  Jules looked at Charlie uncertainly, then went to the doorway. Zenn knew Treth was right; this was their only choice, to get away, to help the others, to somehow make it to the Delphic Queen and find her father.

  “Treth,” she said, desperate.

  “You must trust me, Novice,” Treth said quietly, guiding Zenn through the doorway.

  Lu draped her lanky Loepith arms around Charlie. At the doorway, Treth turned.

  “Charlie?” He looked up at her hopelessly. Then, in one swift motion, Treth plunged her hand into the guts of the open control panel next to the door and yanked out a tangled, sparking wad of wires. A starburst of light bathed the room and the body of Lu-Loepith went white with static and vanished. “Run!” Treth yelled at Charlie.

  “No! Not good,” he yelped, leaping to his feet, holding his head in both hands and doing a little jig of distress. “She’ll be mad now. Memware’s not stable. She’ll be dangerous mad.”

  “Too bad,” Treth covered the distance to Charlie in three strides, grabbed him by the rags of his uniform and propelled him ahead of her through the door. “Everybody move, into the ship! The sim will reconstitute. We don’t want to be on board when she does.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “How long before the sim comes back?” Liam asked anxiously, running alongside Treth as they all raced through the Dancer’s tidy, well-lit corridors; apparently, the ship’s auto-maintenance systems were all still fully functional.

  “Uncertain,” Treth said. “Ten minutes? Five?”r />
  “Five?” Charlie squeaked. “Maybe less. And then a mad, mad Lu.” Some of the cabin doors they passed stood open, and as they passed, Zenn looked longingly at their sumptuous furnishings, their large, inviting bunks, their soft mattresses, pristine white sheets. They dashed by a dining saloon, tables still draped with spotless linens; she imagined the wonderful food that must be stacked on the galley’s shelves. Her stomach protested. How long was it since she’d eaten? She couldn’t remember.

  They were all gasping for breath by the time they reached the airlock leading to the Benthic Tson.

  “Well, Groom,” Liam said, bent over, sucking in air, hands on his knees. “Anything up your sleeve for getting through this ship? Got some spare gills on ya?”

  Treth activated a monitor screen on the wall. “All waterships of this class are equipped with auxiliary service craft,” she said. “Pressurized submersibles for maintenance and emergencies.”

  “There’s a submarine?” Liam said.

  Zenn noticed the look of concern on Treth’s face as she frowned at the screen. “Treth? What is it?”

  “There is a problem,” Treth said, dialing up another image on the monitor.

  They all moved in to see what the Groom was seeing on the screen. It was a murky underwater cam shot of a small, bulbous craft suspended in a circle of gloomy green illumination. The service sub sprouted numerous utility arms and sensors from its dull yellow hull, and a thick cable could be seen running from the craft to the nearest bulkhead.

  “The sub is moored near the opposite airlock. It is not responding to commands. Charlie?”

  “You can repair it, perhaps?” Jules said, moving closer to look at the screen. “Maybe it is a fuse thing? Or it needs further computer input?”

  Charlie poked tentatively at the screen’s keypad. “Won’t respond. Not from here.”