by Barry Kirwan
She concentrated. "Listen, all of you. We’re not alone. We’re on the galactic rim, but there are many other intelligent species out there. I mean hundreds, closer in towards the hub of the galaxy."
"You mean you saw them, as well as the spider creatures?" Blake’s voice had a sharp edge – it conjured up jagged, stark colors compared to the soft, undulating pastels of where she had been, and would have been considered rude there. But she knew Blake was merely probing to get the information out correctly.
"No. But – you see, I was inside their heads. I had images – in fact yes, I believe I ‘saw’ some of them, but not first hand. They send their Hohash out in small ships –"
"Hohash – the mirrors?" Blake again. The others were letting him alone interrupt. Kat nodded quickly, feeling nauseous.
"Yes – the mirrors – they sent them out, so they could bring back images when they return. There is something called the Grid. It spans a sixth of the galaxy – not the very centre where stellar density is too strong, but an inner ring, where dark matter density is highest." She was relieved she could remember it, but knew it would fade fast.
"The Grid is a three dimensional matrix, toroidal in shape, like a doughnut, used for superluminal inter-stellar transport. Nodes on the Grid are located near inhabited worlds. Thousands of worlds, Sir. And..."
They all stared at her, tongues of inquisitive purple leather snaking towards her. She shuddered. "Sir – some of them are way, way ahead of us. I mean completely beyond our league."
She felt an inner panic pushing upwards in her throat. Before, when she had been part of the Ourshiwann, their maturity, objectivity and passivity had protected her from the emotional impact of what they themselves had found out. Now, a wave of dread threatened to paralyze her. It was a slippery color infinitely darker than black, threatening to suck her downwards.
A rapier of red cut through. "Kat, listen to me. You’re a soldier. Tell us all of it, no matter how bad it seems to you."
She clung to Blake’s voice, and decided to do just that – tell it without pausing to think of the ramifications.
"Within the grid there is an order to things, has been for a very long time, maybe a million years. There’s a hierarchy, a sophisticated set of laws and allowable interactions. And a kind of policing agency – Rangers. There are nineteen levels in the hierarchy, but the Rangers only operate within the boundaries of the Grid, and we’re way outside it – too expensive to travel so far from the Grid, too uninteresting to bother. Also, they only protect Level Five and above; Level Four species are borderline, and will only be protected if a sponsor race can be arranged. The Ourshiwann were considered Level Four pending a status upgrade to five, but didn’t want to leave their home planet and move inside the Grid area. They also refused sponsorship from a couple of nasty races. The Q’Roth – the ones hiding somewhere on Eden – are Level Six, predatory by nature, and culled the Ourshiwann before they could gain Level Five status." She paused.
Pierre spoke, a smooth grey ceramic sheet – but something else under the surface: darker, moving fast, insect-like.
"Kat. What level do you think we would be?"
Kat saw a harmonic rippling across all their colors – it was the question they all now shared.
She cleared her throat. "Three."
Zack slumped back in his seat, a smear of brown arriving then disappearing. "That figures."
She sensed the colors heating up, becoming agitated. But she had to get it all out. "That means… it means that the Q’Roth have a right to hunt us. We don’t even have the right of appeal which the spiders rejected. It means other species have a right to enslave us or consume us as they see fit. We’re effectively seen as animals – for the Q’Roth we’re vermin at worst, food at best." Storm-clouds of rusted grey and violet rain swam around her. She closed her eyes. "The Q’Roth also pass through different stages in their thousand year life cycle. At first, when they hatch, they’re primitive, predatory pack creatures, relying on a basic feeding instinct. Not food as such, but – sentience, in a way; a kind of emotional and intellectual electro-potential. In Grid Society it’s effectively a classified drug. Frowned upon by higher races, but accepted for lower ones as a catalyst for maturation, or elevation as they call it."
"Once they’ve fed, they change, and go through an intense period, five centuries long; a phase of blinding artistic and technological creativity. But the Q’Roth are mostly valued as soldiers in Grid Society. That’s what earns them Level Six status. They mate once, and then most die, leaving their eggs and a handful of guardians. They mean to feed on humanity, to extract the bio-electric energy."
Silence swept into the cabin. She paused to let it sink in, and dared to open her eyes again. The evanescent colored fresco, this mode of perception, was fading. She wasn’t sad to lose it, and examined her colleagues in grainy sepia. Rashid was sitting on the floor, head down, in a loose lotus position – trying to accept the bad news with equanimity. Zack was tight-lipped, looking out toward the desert, seeking out the enemy, no doubt worried about his family back on Earth. Pierre was looking down. Kat couldn’t read his thoughts or emotions, but his body language was compressed, she presumed trying to rationalize it all, but struggling to do so. Only Blake was facing her, glaring. Her brow widened with shock: he was angry.
"Anything else, Corporal?" The words came out like the unfurling of a whip.
Kat swallowed, and wondered if she, the messenger, was about to be proverbially shot. "No, Sir – well, some fragments, but nothing that makes much sense at the moment."
Blake stood up. "Now, listen up, all of you. What Kat has just told us is pretty grim. I have no doubt that she has told us exactly what he saw – what was imparted by the mirror – this… Hohash."
She relaxed a little.
"Now, it may be true, it may not. The reality on the ground, here and now, is that we know there are creatures out there that are hostile and damned difficult to kill. There are eggs somewhere on Eden that could be a serious threat to humanity if more of us come here or, God forbid, if the Q’Roth make it to Earth."
"So, we have four goals. First, we must re-establish comms with Earth, let them know we’re alive, and what we’ve found out. Second, we need to gather and take back some proof, because no matter how real this is to us, you all know how difficult it will be to accept without hard evidence back on Earth. Third, we need to determine if the eggs are here, and if we can destroy them before they hatch. Fourth," and he looked around the room, "Fourth, we need to go home."
Kat felt Blake’s words wrench her out of her own growing despair, like a glowing silver lifeline hauling her out of a dark pit. Zack and Rashid stood up, followed by Pierre. Kat scrambled to her feet as Blake’s gaze met hers, and then the others, one by one.
"Listen, all of you," Blake continued, quieter. "Let’s just consider, for one moment, that everything Kat has seen is true. That we’re insignificant in this so-called hierarchy – prey, if you will." All eyes were on him.
"Well damn them!" He slammed a closed fist against the side of the hull, its dull thud reverberating around them. "This level three species is not going to lie back and take it. We will fight, and we will survive."
A grin crept across Zack’s face. "Amen, Skipper."
Rashid nodded and gave a loose salute to Blake. Pierre followed suit, Kat too. She held it for a long time.
As the others left the compartment to make preparations for their tasks, Blake and Kat were left alone. She was trembling.
"Sir, there was something else."
He approached her, eyes sharp. "Tell me."
She took a deep breath. "The only way the Hohash could let me see these things was to connect with its master’s memories. Well – you see… I was there when the Q’Roth came. The spiders knew they were coming, and had decided as a group – as a people – to retain their pacifist mode of life through to the end, though it meant they would all die. They had no space-ships themselves, since they never trav
elled – the Hohash did it for them. They’d resigned themselves to their fate, very much in control of their emotions you see." Kat folded her arms tight around her. "But when it happened – the carnage, the pain – some of them wavered – including the one I was ‘inside’ – that’s why he disobeyed his society’s agreement and sent his Hohash out into space."
Her legs shook, threatening to give way. "I – the spider – ran. I ran for my life, when others stood tall and were slaughtered. I knew it would do no good, and I was not alone to run, but suddenly I couldn’t accept this fate, neither mine nor that of my species. So I ran in blind fear and one of them chased me. It caught me and slashed at me, cutting my hind legs from under me, then it’s mouth bore down on me, sucking my life force away." Her eyes brimmed with the memory of it, but she sniffed the tears back. "Captain – I was killed. I bloody-well died with it. I shared its terror, its grief for its kind."
Blake steadied her, hands on her shoulders. "Kat," he said, "every soldier in battle goes through what you’ve been through – maybe not as far, for sure. But you’re through it, and you’re alive. And you’ll fight when the time comes. These spiders – noble creatures for sure – while I can respect their culture and their choice not to fight, it won’t be our way, I can assure you."
She nodded, and steadied herself.
Blake reached into a pocket in his jumpsuit with his right hand. "Zack told me to give you this when you really needed it." He pulled out a crumpled, folded piece of paper. "Someone gave it to him on Zeus. Said it was to be opened in your darkest moment. He wouldn’t tell me who, but he left it with me."
She stared at it. "What is it?"
"I don’t open other people’s mail, Kat."
Her lungs seemed too full to breathe except in shallow gasps. "Read it out to me. Please."
Blake unfolded it, and read out loud. "Let me see. It says – To Kat– I promise –" He paused, shifted uneasily, and cleared his throat. "I promise I will wait for you, no matter what, no matter how long. All my love. And then it’s signed – Antonia."
She gaped at the piece of paper, and then took it gingerly, as if it might break or crumble into dust. Blake left her alone. She sat down, cradling the note in her hands. Zack had written something on the outside in his large scrawl: Happiness is knowing that someone, somewhere, really gives a shit.
***
A kilometer away, the solitary Hohash hovered on top of an outcrop, still tuned into Kat’s mind. It felt her emotional response – this grieving. It let go of her mind and displayed on its mirror face a churning sea storm, an image borrowed from a painting stored as a memory in Kat’s mind years ago. In this image, the mirror stood alone on a small vessel, strapped to the helm, thrashed in all directions by the ravages of the maelstrom, whipped by wind, shaken by thunderclaps. Other boats were also caught in the storm, tossed by the mammoth waves. The mirror, via this image, was finally able to express its anguish at its masters’ and comrades’ annihilation.
The storm image raged on for some time. Abruptly the storm pacified, the sea calmed, and the sky cleared. In the image, the Hohash was still on the inundated boat. None other had survived. Beneath the boat, dark shark-shapes circled. But deeper still in the water, on the seabed itself, there were glints of reflected, fractured, mirrored sunlight.
The image on its surface evaporated. The Hohash set off at a fast pace. Like the crew on Ulysses, it also now had tasks to accomplish, and time was running out. After nearly a millennium of biding its time, it knew everything would come to a head, one way or another, in the next few days. And in the brief connection between Kat and Blake, it had absorbed something new, energising – a hitherto alien construct – this time it would find a way to fight back.
Chapter 32
Louise
Vince tried again, but Louise wasn’t answering, and her signal had gone off the secure nets. Technically she was AWOL, which meant he should have reported it three hours ago. But this wasn’t the first time.
He stood legs astride for balance in the sky-taxi, surveying New LA below. His wristcom pulsed – the fulsome face of his superior officer at Chorazin HQ appeared, looking even less happy than usual. Vince kept his poker face; he’d give her more time. But not much.
"Vince, check Channel 49."
Vince tapped the console and up popped the broadcast.
"Idiot!" This was the only word Vince uttered during the transmission. He watched Senator Josefsson live across America and God alone knew where else as he announced two things. First, the fact that Earth had less than ten years before undergoing a significant, fatal climate shift, a global increase of thirty degrees Celsius. Second, how the recently discovered ships – two more like the one IVS had discovered had been "found" – could take people directly to Eden. He talked about how America, a nation of pioneers that had lost its way, should take the ultimate step and colonise Eden, in partnership with its high-tech Indistani colleagues. Vince wanted to switch it off, but had to see it through. Afterwards, the voice of his superior cut through again.
"Did you know he would do this?"
Vince recalled his and Louise’s meeting with Josefsson yesterday. He’d left early, left them alone. She would have got under Josefsson’s skin, possibly in more ways than one; he was the type to brag to try and get her into the sack. She should have seen this coming.
"Had I known, I would have stopped him." He’d have to deal with Louise later.
"Recommendation?" His boss growled.
"It’s too late to sanction him now, verbally or otherwise – if anything happens to him it will only convince people more. Containment, maybe some of the details. Consequences – what it would mean to move to Eden so suddenly. All the research that’s been going on at PsyTech since we first found out about the climate time-bomb. Contingency plans. Smearing Josefsson for what he clearly is – a reckless self-serving hypocrite who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about people, only his career." Vince smiled. "Or maybe putting him on the first ship."
"Ah, that’s something we hadn’t thought of; has a certain appeal."
Vince looked down through the brown haze over the sun-baked city of New LA, imagining it emptying as millions across America tried to leave. And then he imagined an extra thirty degrees, or at least tried to. It wasn’t pretty.
"We need something else, Vince. Something on Eden. Did you know there is now a desert there?"
"Since when?"
"First spotted a month ago, but they thought it was a malfunction – you know the pictures aren’t always that reliable. Yesterday it was confirmed. Growing at quite a rate."
"Sir – I’m guessing IVS must have the same data – yet Josefsson spoke anyway."
"We all know the senator is in their pocket – we believe they may have primed him, but possibly he went off early, so to speak."
"I’m on my way back to Eden Mission now. I’ll see what they are making of the desert issue."
The wristcom cleared.
He called Louise: unavailable. "Louise – it’s Vince, call me after you’ve seen Josefsson’s speech on the Nets." He saw the Eden building approach, and considered Louise’s recent behaviour. She usually came through. Still... He sent a coded message to a level ten colleague, Abrahams, to check on Micah at Chorazin-Med. He had a feeling she would show up there sooner or later.
The Eden Mission Complex loomed in front of him. "Take us down to street level," he instructed the sky taxi computer.
***
Antonia shifted in the chrome chair, her composure faltering.
"So, he just slipped into a coma?" Louise said, continuing the questioning. "How could you tell?" She scraped a chair across the room and sat astride it, leaning forwards on its chrome back. Antonia stared back at her.
"I couldn’t at first, but you know, or maybe you don’t, that when analysts use the Optron their bodies remain tense. His just went limp."
Louise stifled a yawn. "I’m told that can be quite upsetting." She got up and walked over
to Micah’s comatose body, and ran her hand down the length of the various drips and devices feeding into and out of him. She stood right next to Antonia, who turned to see Micah. As soon as she did so, Louise first put her hand on Antonia’s shoulder, then brushed the back of her hand against her chin and cheek.
"I can see why he likes you."
Antonia blushed, looked away and made to get up, but Louise’s hand pressed down firmly on her shoulder. Antonia folded her hands in her lap. Louise walked around right in front of her and lifted her chin.
"Do you care for him?"
Antonia’s mouth opened, and then closed. "What… what do you mean?"
Louise let go and walked to her chair, and rested her buttocks against the back of it. "It’s a simple question, Antonia. You’ve known him for some time, you met him on the bubble platform the other night, and now, here you are, at his bedside."
"I – how do you know I – we – we met accidentally on the platform. Anyway, I was just…" she stopped, not wishing to divulge her relationship with Kat. "What does this have to do with anything?"
"People don’t just slip into a coma, Antonia. Perhaps you did something to him. Lover’s tiff, perhaps?"
Antonia shot to her feet and headed to the holo-window. She tried to recover herself. "This is ridiculous, Louise. Micah and I are just colleagues. I was trying to help recover data from Ulysses. Micah works in telemetry and I work in data processing. It just seemed logical." She remained facing away from Louise.
"You’re one poor liar, my girl. You know he’s in love with you, don’t you?"
Antonia tensed, and blinked hard. She spun to face Louise, eyes glaring. "No he isn’t! Where are you going with all of this?"