Quietspring lifted his bony shoulders. “Many far away, or a few close by.” Ironlung rubbed his chin. He was one of the few men who still had to shave, an ancestral trait that occasionally popped up. “Go tell the chief.” He winked. “See you for dinner.” Heavy footsteps clanged on the metal walkways as Ironlung returned to the engines, the dungeons that held the dark matter in place.
Quietspring made his way to the bridge. His footsteps were soundless.
Gravitydancer was there. Of course she was there. She would take over the caravan when her father deemed her ready. Quietspring swallowed. “Chief Stareye?”
The small man turned. His dark leathery skin was creased and taut at the same time. “Ah, Quietspring, I trust you’ve got good news?”
“Yes. There’s a group at twenty-five, thirty-six.” He snuck a glance at Gravitydancer. She was almost as reedy as he was. Every generation seemed to become taller and thinner, elongated almost. Her large eyes were black holes that relentlessly sucked in Quietspring’s thoughts.
“Good, we need to restock and refuel. As does the rest of the fleet.”
The caravans were the scouts, the explorers chasing the rays before they could retreat beyond known space. It was an endless hunt. Humans needed the rays to enable their travel through hyperspace to the closest star systems, but by travelling through space, they scared away the rays. In fact, the whole human exodus was a giant expanding bubble. The rays at the edge were pushed farther and farther. And humanity had no choice but to follow. One jump at a time. Until they found a new home that would embrace them. In the meantime, humanity had learned to harvest the emptiness via the rays.
Sometimes Quietspring wondered if the bubble could collapse.
Stareye scrutinized the holographic radar display. “Hmm, they’re not yet in sight of the ship sensors.” He turned to Quietspring. “Excellent job, young man, you’re very sensitive.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
“I’ll go and talk to the hunters, tell them to prepare. Gravitydancer, you’ve got the ship.”
“Yes, Chief.” On the bridge, formality still stood its ground.
Quietspring stepped up the raised inner circle, the front of which was lined by a glass wall full of three-dimensional figures, floating numbers, and colorful trajectories.
“Why so gloomy, Quietspring?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Every time you come here to announce that you’ve spotted… felt a herd, you seem despondent.”
Quietspring stared at the ever-changing glass graffiti. He felt a soft, smooth hand on his. For a brief moment, his steady pulse galloped. He sighed.
“It’s just that… I don’t like it.”
“Like what?”
“The hunting, the killing.”
She withdrew her hand, leaving a mysterious coldness in its wake. “We have no choice. We need the cysts. It's the only way we can contain the dark matter, the only way to travel between the stars and find a new home.”
“Yes, I know.” Quietspring folded his hands behind his back, where they exchanged memories of Gravitydancer’s touch. “But we’re killing innocent creatures to do so. And the ceremony in their honor after the hunt is a sad excuse for... well, an excuse.”
“We honor their spirit, we cause them no pain, and we ensure the survival of humanity. Like it or not, this is our way of life now. This is the only way of life now.”
“How do you know we cause them no pain?”
She looked at him, slightly puzzled. “They’ve got no nervous system or anything like it.”
“I suppose.”
He didn’t tell her about the howls. He hadn’t told anyone about the howls.
Quietspring stood in the nothingness.
This time, he was firmly anchored on the scout shuttle. The sensorsuit’s tendrils crept into his consciousness. He wasn’t looking for rays now. After all, they were right there for anyone to see. Elongated lozenges the size of the entire caravan. Almost translucent milky white. Flapping their wings as they glided through space. Inside the milk, dark globs of treasure.
He felt the rays, felt the waves they caused in spacetime course through him. But he had different quarry now. Other hunters, seeking to steal their prey. Scavengers, looking to perpetuate their selfish way of life. He was the alarm.
“All systems check. All hunters confirm.” The voice of Spaceripper, pack leader, sounded in the darkness of Quietspring’s world.
A wave of “confirms” followed.
Quietspring felt the hunters rush past, each one of them seated in their small torpedo-shaped spacebike.
“Batwing formation.”
Spaceripper’s bike led the way. Red stripes on a dull gray background, one for each successful hunt. The others gathered around it and arranged themselves in neat pyramids with the tips pointing to their victim. Spaceripper had chosen a ray that lingered at the back of the herd. Large. Old. The front of the herd sped up. How many eons of life will we attack when we strike this old one? He signaled Spaceripper. “They know we’re here.” A trickle of bile crawled up his throat. He swallowed it down, hoping the guilt would follow suit.
“On we go, hunters.”
As one, the pyramids lunged.
Energy weapons or long range beams weren’t the most effective weapons against the rays. Short range kinetic projectiles did the trick. Bows and arrows. In space. Sometimes, young dogs had to relearn old tricks.
The target? A small red light at the front of the ray, faintly pulsating. A heartbeat, perhaps. Or a plea for mercy.
“Outer left wing, detach. Outer right wing, detach. Inner wings, maintain.”
The formation spread its wings.
“Outer wings, circle.”
The predators prepared to strike.
“Inner wings, target sides.”
“Target acquired.”
“Target acquired.”
“Inner wings, engage.”
The prey slowed, weighed down by the harpoons in its wings.
“Outer wings, engage.”
Quietspring wriggled uncomfortably in the sensorsuit. Wait, wait, I can hear it, I can feel it. Wait. His voice did not find its way out.
The prey faced its predators. The ray had almost stopped moving. The outer wing squadrons fired their harpoons and flew over the ray, drawing it up as they went. The bullseye stretched out before Spaceripper, enticing him.
“Engage,” Spaceripper grunted as he fired.
A howl entered Quietspring’s mind. A scream that wasn’t his own freed itself.
Then, darkness. True darkness.
Quietspring lay in the nothingness.
Naked. Unsuited.
A burst of light.
“Wh…”
“Whoa, calm down, son. Calm down.”
A strong hand softly propped up the pillow under Quietspring’s head.
Reality came into focus.
“What happened?” A stammer more than a question.
His father’s bulk hung over him. Behind it, he could see Gravitydancer, who did her best to wipe the concern from her face, but failed.
“Welcome back, son. How are you feeling?”
Besides the odd taste in his mouth, he was just tired. “Tastes like red,” he mumbled.
“What’s that?”
“What happened?”
“You tell us. Spaceripper struck and you suddenly started screaming.” An involuntary shiver ran across Ironlung’s broad back. “The scout came rushing back, but you had already fainted before it entered the vehicle carrier.”
Gravitydancer had moved to the other side of the hospice bed. “That scream, it wasn’t… It wasn’t you.”
“I don’t know. I’m tired.”
His father nodded. “Hint taken.” With a gentle demeanor that seemed out of place for a man of his size, Ironlung shepherded Gravitydancer out of the room. Just before she left, she turned her head. “See you at the ceremony later, right?”
How could h
e resist those big eyes that longed for loving obedience?
“Of course.”
He leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
A throat was cleared. Strong. Manly.
Quietspring opened his eyes and was surprised to see Spaceripper. Somehow, the boundless bravado that hung around the muscular hunter seemed to waver. “How are you?”
“Fine. Tired.”
“What happened out there?”
Quietspring shrugged.
“I’m not stupid. You started to scream the moment I struck. Can’t be coincidence.”
“I’m not sure. Even before you struck, there were… voices. No, not voices. Feelings. Awareness within my awareness, if that makes any sense.”
Spaceripper frowned. An odd and unusual expression for someone who appeared to have the gift to take everything in stride.
“Sorry I can’t be clearer,” said Quietspring.
“You should tell the chief.”
Quietspring nodded.
Spaceripper turned to leave. “You know,” he said, facing away, “I don’t enjoy killing, Quietspring. But it’s the only way, and if it has to be done, I’d rather make sure that it’s done quickly and efficiently.”
The caravans were collections of crafts attached to each other via flexible carboplast tubes. Massive, segmented beasts crawling through the universe. The powwow craft sat stately in the middle of the beast and outsized all other segments. It was there that ceremonies were held and social events organized. Like white blood cells attracted to a virus, everyone who wasn’t performing essential tasks gathered to listen to Chief Stareye honoring the ray.
Even Quietspring joined the group standing around the holographic bonfire. Gravitydancer quickly spotted him and snuck away from her father’s side.
“Are you alright?” A soft touch on his arm, panacea.
“Yes. Thanks.” He hesitated. “I need to talk to your father.”
“He’ll finish soon.” She grinned. “Look at him, he enjoys all this ritual stuff.” Stareye wore the war bonnet that supposedly belonged to his Old Earth ancestors and, with full conviction, chanted words whose meaning had long been swallowed by time. The chant ended with a loud triplet of “A-oums” formed by hundreds of mouths. Smaller green-blue bonfires flickered into life. People gathered around them in small groups. They talked, shared food, and enjoyed each other’s company. There was little time for that in the caravan, so each opportunity was treasured.
Gravitydancer took Quietspring’s hand and dragged him along. “Let’s go talk.”
She sat down next to her father and pulled Quietspring down alongside her. “Dad, Quietspring wants to talk.” No formality between father and daughter in the powwow craft.
Chief Stareye turned his flustered face to Quietspring. “Ah yes, I heard what happened. I would have come to see you myself, but preparations…”
“I understand, Chief.”
“Well then, what is it that you want to talk about?”
“It’s about what happened.”
Quietspring hesitated.
“Yes? Go on.”
“This might sound strange, but I think the rays tried to reach out. I think I can hear them. Feel them.” The conversation in the small group halted, but Quietspring was fired up by sudden passion. “We’ve been wrong this whole time. They are aware and they feel pain.”
“Stop right there.” Stareye held up his hand. “You’ve gone through an ordeal. You should rest and allow your thoughts to calm.” Approving mumbles circled the conversational partners.
Quietspring readied himself to mount a counterattack, but Gravitydancer tugged him away. “You’re right, Dad. I’ll make sure he reaches his bed.” Snickers and innuendo danced around each other.
When they had left the powwow craft, Quietspring snapped, “You don’t believe me either?”
Gravitydancer bit back, “I heard the scream. It wasn’t you. Maybe Father believes you as well. He simply can’t allow you to make such claims without support. Believe me, there are those would like to claim the title ‘chief’ for themselves.”
“Now what? Stay quiet and continue the killing?”
“Maybe I can help.” Distracted by their own bickering, they had missed Spaceripper following them. The hunter’s smile was that of a mischievous cat. “Let’s fly.”
Quietspring sat in the nothingness.
Sniffing, tasting.
Loosely tied to the scoutship piloted by Spaceripper, he scoured the universe for waves. A scared herd was too fast to keep up with, but hopefully the rays had settled down by now.
He tried to calm the storms in his mind. He was a senser. A feeler. His breathing deepened, slowed. Quietspring sank into the cosmos.
Spacetime quivered.
There.
“Minus six, eleven.”
“Got it. Hold on.” Spaceripper set course to the herd.
“Stay in range of the comm beams, guys.” Gravitydancer was alone on the bridge. She'd dismissed the officer keeping watch to allow him to join the powwow. The gathering should last long enough to buy the trio time for Quietspring to try and make contact.
True to his name, Spaceripper tore through the void.
“Slow down,” Quietspring said when they came upon the herd. “Don’t spook them.”
The scoutship dropped speed.
“Stop here.”
“Aye aye.”
Quietspring sat down on top of the spacecraft. This time he wouldn’t have to attune himself to listen or feel. No, this time, he had to shout.
He could feel the slow and steady waves emanating from the rays. He had to find a way to push back.
Reach within.
Push back.
To stop the killing.
Push back.
To end the pain.
Push back.
To silence the suffering.
Push back.
To see new horizons.
Push back.
Something emerged from a hidden place within himself, from the unknown depths beneath the surface waters of his thoughts. A bubble of emotion, feeling, sensing, burst through the mental shallows. Quietspring’s mind screamed for attention.
The herd stumbled. The rays’ movements staggered with confusion. With languid motions, they turned towards the scoutship.
“Guys, something’s happening here. We’ve picked up other ships heading toward us. Everybody’s being jostled back to their stations.”
“Something’s happening here, too,” whispered Spaceripper. “I think Quietspring made contact.”
“Good, then we can try again later. Right now, you really need to come back. They don’t look friendly.” A brief moment of silence. “Spaceripper, we might need your skills.”
The rays were closing in, inspecting the tiny louse that shouted.
“Heard that, Quietspring? We’ve got to go. We’ll be back.”
Quietspring was vaguely aware of Spaceripper’s words, but the inquisitive emanations probing the edges of his mind demanded most of his attention. He couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave.
“Quietspring? Do you hear me? Quietspring?”
“Guys, get back here now. It’s a scavenger group. They must have followed us since the hunt. Bastards took advantage of the ceremony to try and get their hands on the new cysts. Damn. Come back. Now!”
“On our way.” Spaceripper turned the scoutship and fired up the engines.
Quietspring felt the lurch of the sudden acceleration. No no no. They’re here, they’re trying to make contact. I’m so close.
He forced his throat and tongue into action. “Can’t go. Not now.”
“You heard what’s happening. We’ve got to go back before the scavengers reach the caravan. A single pair of hands can mean the difference between victory and defeat.”
“You are needed. You go back.” My hands are useless anyway.
“What do you mean?”
Quietspring untethered himself and pushed off.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find my way.”
“Quietspring, what are you doing! Stop!”
A ray came swooping down, more agile and elegant than its size seemed to warrant.
I hear you. The ray filled Quietspring's vision.
Closer. Closer still.
The last thing Quietspring saw was Spaceripper's ship rallying back to the fleet, to the pack that needed the warrior's help.
The ray swallowed the tiny human floating in front of it.
Quietspring floated in the nothingness.
But he was not alone.
There was something—someone?—else beside him, around him. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t have to.
He remembered…
He remembered hitting the ray and sinking into it.
He remembered the panic when the viscous goo breached the supposedly impenetrable suit and clogged the oxygen ducts.
He remembered how his breath became a prisoner of his lungs, unable to escape.
He remembered how the goo snuck into his body.
Then, welcome and curiosity. Two minds sniffing at each other, trying to understand, to see, to find common ground.
There were waves and images. Exchanges. Slowly, Quietspring’s brain began to make sense of it, assisted by the sensorsuit’s extensive sensory capacities. Seeking patterns, real or illusory, was one of humanity’s greatest abilities. A gift and a curse.
He felt the herds roam through space, being nourished by spacetime itself.
He felt how humanity’s exodus had drawn the rays, inquisitive creatures as they were.
He felt how humanity lusted for the cysts and began harvesting them.
He felt the deaths, the confusion, the frustration at the inability to communicate.
He understood that the rays could manipulate the cysts more deftly than humans.
He understood that the rays could travel between the stars.
He understood that they could share this ability.
He understood that it would take healing and reconciliation.
Something niggled at the back of his mind. Of its mind. Of their mind.
His friends. His family. They were in trouble.
Quietspring/ray extended their shared senses. He/they perceived turmoil. Ripples of high energy. Weapons.
Lawless Lands: Tales from the Weird Frontier Page 16