by Mick Fraser
She heard someone enter the room behind her, but couldn’t look away. “Quite something the first time, is it not?” said Rathe Massai.
“I don’t deserve this,” she whispered. “I don’t want to know what I know.”
The old man came up beside her to lean on the sill. “Orren is an old world. Older than Earth, I would think. Almost eight hundred years ago, someone from down there was the first of my kind to see what you’re seeing now. It is documented by those who were with him at the time that he did not speak for almost a day; he simply sat, and stared. And when he returned to the surface, and they asked him what he had seen, he told them he had seen the doorway to Eternity – and he was afraid that to pass through it would be to lay claim to something never intended for us. Our philosophers have spent centuries debating whether he was right.”
“But, how is this possible? How are you human, but not from Earth?”
Rathe shrugged. “I don’t know. Conditional evolution, perhaps? Maybe we were seeded. There are three human homeworlds – well, four now, with Earth. That makes us the most naturally widespread species in Known Space. We all share DNA, evolutionary traits – but we don’t know how or why. We’ve simply never found the answer to that particular question.” He looked sideways at her. “You’re thinking, you just want to go home, aren’t you?”
Angela sighed. “What do you want from me? I’m still not convinced this isn’t a psychotic episode.” She fingered her Saint Anthony as she spoke, wondering if her granddad had reported her missing yet.
“That’s nice,” Rathe told her suddenly. “Is it a religious piece?”
For a moment Angela didn’t understand, then she looked down. “This? My adoptive granddad gave me it. That’s Saint Anthony – the Patron Saint of Lost Things.” She chuckled sourly. “I was an orphan. It was his way of telling me I belonged somewhere.”
Rathe smiled warmly. “And you wish to return there? I can understand that, Angela, I promise you. But believe me when I say that where you belong is here. I wish I could explain it better.”
She looked back to the window. “Drenno says I can’t go home.”
“That much is true, I’m afraid. The Warren – ah, path, if you will – back to your system has closed. We believe it may have been time-sensitive.” His face softened. “Come and eat, meet the crew. I’ll tell you what I can of Tess Evayne, and see if we can’t deduce a little of why you’re here.”
She remained at the window for a moment while he waited for her in the doorway. As she watched, a huge white vessel drifted by, propelled by jets of emerald flame that sparkled against the darkness. It was bigger than the Shadowstar, she guessed, oddly cone-shaped, comprised of leaf-shaped sections like a huge pinecone. Adorned across its flank were markings in a language Angela couldn’t read, but Rathe translated it for her.
“That is the Penitent Savage, one of Evayne’s scout ships.”
Angela looked around sharply. “I thought she was the bad guy? Shouldn’t we move or something?”
The old man smiled. “We’re quite safe for now. Dizzy has more than a trick or three hidden in his pockets. Come.”
With a last look at the spectacle beyond the window, Angela followed Rathe into the corridor. It was brightly lit, not unlike something she had seen a hundred times in sci-fi movies. On one cream-coloured wall, a huge bank of diodes flashed like a Christmas Tree, while various pipes and cable trunking lined the opposite. The white floor was painted with three lines, one dark red, one deep, sea green, and the third a soft beige. As they navigated the corridors, Rathe seemed to be automatically following the green line. They passed by shuttered doors and deactivated monitors, but everywhere there were signs of life: a chrome trolley scattered with tools sat idly beneath an open vent, evidence of a half-finished maintenance job; a pile of cargo containers, unpacked but neatly stacked, sat beside a storage hatch.
“So, you live here?” Angela asked. “On board?”
Rathe glanced back. “For almost ten years. She was a long-range scouting ship originally, built for a crew of thirty. She’s tough and fast, and she’s kept us safe for a long time.”
“Thirty? How many of you are there?”
“Eight. Dizzy, our pilot, made some extensive alterations to reduce her operable crew.” Angela slowed her pace unconsciously, which Rathe noticed. “Something the matter?”
“How many of the eight are… human?”
The old man stopped, smiling again. He rested a hand on her shoulder, which didn’t comfort her as she suspected he hoped it would. “Two,” he said. “Drenno and myself. I fear you’ve more shocks in store. It’s best you try to keep an open mind. Perhaps you’d rather meet them one at a time?”
She weighed up the options, but neither reduced the cartwheeling in her stomach. She took a deep breath. “What the hell. I might as well jump in the deep end, right?”
“As you say, dearheart. Drenno has assembled them in the mess. I hope you’re hungry.”
She was, too. She’d have committed cold-blooded murder for a slice of marmalade on toast right now, but she sensed that wasn’t on the menu. She allowed Rathe to lead her the rest of the way, until the green line terminated at a pair of grey double doors.
“This is Habitat,” he told her. “That is the mess, the galley, living quarters and life support. The medical lab is back that way. The bridge and gunnery are directly above us, the hold is below, and the hangar is in the rear.”
“Good to know,” she replied evenly.
“Ready yourself, Angela. And do try not to stare.”
She took another deep breath and, as the doors shushed open, it exploded out in an involuntary gasp. She grabbed the doorway to steady herself. Her arms began to glitter immediately, and her head suddenly felt too heavy for her body, as though the weight of it might drag her to the ground. Rathe caught her as she swooned. Drenno, who had been perched on the wide mess table, ran forward to help. Angela felt like she was on a carousel that wouldn’t slow down, barely registering details as her eyes darted from face to face.
“She’s going to arc!” Drenno shouted. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
She felt Rathe’s soft hands on her cheeks as he turned her eyes towards his. She saw his deep green eyes, stern but protective, like her granddad’s. He released one cheek, and she felt him pushing something cold and hard into the palm of her hand. It was her Saint Anthony, and the instant she felt its touch she felt safer.
“Angela,” he said, his voice steady and quiet, “you must focus on me. Listen to my voice. You mustn’t arc in here, do you understand? Breathe, calm yourself. This is real, Angela, and it is scary – I know that. But these people mean you no harm.”
Drenno gestured to someone behind Rathe. The older man smiled kindly. “Now listen. We need our med-tech to take a look at you. His name is Six-Tails. Remember, try to stay calm.”
A shadow loomed above the doorway, and Angela kicked out involuntarily, trying to crawl backwards from the room. “Hold her!” she heard someone shout, the voice as deep as a tomb. She looked up, but the speaker was silhouetted by the strip-light above. There was hair, lots of hair – no, a mane, arching out from a wide skull. Its shoulders were massive, bigger than any man Angela had ever seen. Pain burst through her arms and she screamed, then kicked as something bit into her neck. She felt a rush of cold fluid, and was seized instantly by a sense of deep calm. She was still afraid, only now it was way harder to give a shit. The pain in her arms subsided, and she slumped back, finally focusing on the one who had given her the shot.
“Sorry,” she said slowly. “Wasn’t expecting... whatever you are.”
“This is Bregga Six-Tails,” Drenno cut in. “He’s our Medical Technician and trauma specialist. He’s an Endrani.”
The creature’s face was flat, the nose wide and dark, the eyes slitted and curiously orange. It was covered in soft, downy fur the colour of slate, streaked here and there with flashes of white and tawny. It was wearing a shirt of soft g
rey cloth, and held a shiny disc attached to a chain that was in turn affixed to its collar. Angela wondered if it would like its ears scratched. “It’s a silver lion-bear,” she slurred, “and it’s wearing a stethoscope. Makes perfect sense.”
“My people are essentially feline, yes,” Six-Tails said. “There is no need to be rude.”
“Sorry,” she murmured again. She glanced down. “You only have two tails.”
He placed the disc against her neck and listened. “Where I come from, we earn our name. Perhaps, one day, I will tell you the story.”
She smiled dreamily at Drenno. “Okay. That wasn’t so bad. What’s next?”
Drenno sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. Together with Rathe he helped Angela to stand. As Six-Tails stepped aside, she laughed heartily. “And what the fuck is that?”
The creature to which she referred frowned in response, crossing two of its four arms. It was wearing a pale grey flight-suit which contrasted not unpleasantly with its scaled black skin. The toad-like eyes were bright green, and when it breathed two flaps of skin on either side of its wedge-shaped skull inflated. “Charmed, I’m sure. I’m only the ‘fuck’ who saved your ungrateful skin back on Earth.”
Drenno cleared his throat. “This is Dey-Zera Zera. You can call him ‘Dizzy’. He’s our pilot. And I recall that being a joint effort, Diz.”
Dizzy raised two of his arms. “Whatever you say, boss. But both of us know fully well if I hadn’t been there you’d still be floating in Purespace, asking for directions.”
Angela had all but forgotten the no-staring rule, but she pulled her eyes away from Dizzy long enough to focus on the two “women” beside him. One was human-looking enough, but her skin was ice-white, her eyes yellow, similar to Six-Tails’. Her dark blue hair was parted in the centre by a ridge of bone that crested her skull, itself pierced through with gold and silver rings, and her pointed ears were topped with tiny tufts of hair, like a lynx. There was a cat-like quality to her, too, evident in the sharpness of the teeth she bared, and in the way her cold eyes stared. She was dressed in what looked like webbed black spandex, and what was strapped to her leg was definitely a cosh of some kind. Even in her semi-sedated state, Angela could only count three clawed fingers and a thumb on each hand. The white-skinned woman’s expression was unfriendly running to hostile, and she perched on the tabletop like a cat that seemed nonchalant enough, but who any mouse could tell was ready to pounce.
Beside her was a creature that exuded a feminine presence but which could possibly have been anything. Dressed in a glimmering opalescent body-suit that resembled a flowing robe, its neck seemed impossibly long, its masked face narrowing down from a slim, rounded cranium to a pointed chin. The mask itself was ornate, decorated with dark filigree in a symmetrical pattern that reminded Angela of a Rorschach test. Its folded arms were long and slender, ending in hands that beheld only two slim fingers and a thumb, and it seemed to hover, weightless, beside the table.
Drenno pointed to the icy woman first. “That’s Illith,” he said. “She’s the quartermaster, but you’ll want to give her a wide berth. Silsir aren’t known for their even temperament. The other is Shimmer, our science officer.”
Shimmer bowed deeply, but the full-face mask prevented Angela from reading her expression. “Is that a space-suit?” she asked Drenno.
“It is a vita-suit,” Shimmer replied, her curious accent rolling and musical. “I am a Ri'in. My people are... different to you.”
“No shit...”
Drenno gently gripped her shoulders and turned her towards the other end of the table. “And finally… this is Gage, our mechanical engineer, sharpshooter, general Hell-raiser.”
Angela followed Drenno’s gesturing hand and saw what looked like a clothing store mannequin fashioned out of near-black chrome. At some point she had been through the wars, as small patches of the chrome plating were missing, exposing bundles of tightly-packed wiring like human muscle sinew. She regarded Angela with white eyes that sat unblinking in a stunningly beautiful face. On closer inspection Angela could see that every inch of her body visible around the black and grey harness she wore to conceal her ample artificial modesty was covered in white and silver writing, dotted here and there with diagrams, like an entire textbook etched into her body. There were intricate patterns carved into her smooth cranium, which glowed faintly with pale blue light.
Gage unfolded herself from her chair and approached Angela with a disturbingly seductive gait. Beside her floated a large spinning cube; it was about the size of a human head and carved with grid-like patterns that emitted a greenish glare. Gage halted in front of Angela, and the cube hovered before her.
“This is what we went all that way for, Drenno?” said the chrome woman. Her voice was as smooth as whiskey, as crisp as early morning dew with an inflection that sounded curiously Antipodean.
“Play nice, Gage,” Drenno cautioned. “We’re all friends, remember?”
Angela jumped as a sudden bright light burst from the cube and seemed to sweep across her, appraisingly. When the light vanished, the cube retreated back. “Oh, my,” it said primly, the tinny voice issuing from somewhere within. “I thought you said she was human?”
Angela looked at Drenno, who glared at the cube. “And that’s Winston, who has a habit of disengaging his brain-mouth filter.”
Rathe stepped forward hurriedly, batting at Winston, who swayed aside. “She is human. She’s just… more human than the rest of us.”
Making a mental note to pick at that one later, Angela instead attempted to make sense of the mess of information that bubbled and burst in her mind. “Well,” she said at length, “that wasn’t as bad as I expected.”
Drenno forced a smile. “You’ll get used to us, kid.”
She chuffed anxiously. “I suppose your bark’s worse than your bite?”
“Void, no. Our bite’s pretty damn bad. But right now, we’re on your side – and believe me, that’s where you want us.”
“Wow,” she quipped. “That’s comforting.”
Drenno seemed about to reply when a klaxon suddenly went up, and two lights in the corner of the mess hall started to flash white and red.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Drenno ignored her as the Shadowstar crew scrambled from where they sat. The Captain barked at Dizzy, “You said that cloak would hold! What the hell went wrong?”
Dizzy was already up and running, heading for the door. Drenno followed, half turning as he went. “Shimmer, Tails, take Angela to Medical. Time to test that theory of yours!”
“Theory?” Angela said as the door closed behind Drenno, Gage, Gaelan and Illith. She wheeled on Rathe. “What theory?”
It was Six-Tails who answered. “We have something that may help to control your arcing. We think.”
The klaxon was still blaring. “Is this really the time?”
“It seems to be triggered by stress,” Rathe explained, “And there’s a chance the next few turns will be very stressful. There’s no sense wasting any more time.”
Shimmer flowed forward, curling one impossibly soft and slender hand around Angela’s arm. Her touch felt curiously warm as she leaned in close. “Come, child. We can talk more in Medical.”
CHAPTER 9
~THE AMP~
“IS THIS GOING to hurt?”
Six-Tails looked at Angela over the gleaming needle-point. He tapped the steel with one filed nail. “The needle might,” he admitted. “As for the Amp? Well, this is a learning experience for us all. I know the basics. Trust me.”
She opened her mouth to reply when the ship shook violently. The lights flickered and several medical implements clattered to the floor. Six-Tails smiled a feline smile. “Lucky it’s not keyhole surgery.”
Angela swore under her breath and placed her head back in the face-hole. She was lying belly down on the gurney in the medical lab, with Rathe on one side and Shimmer standing by the bank of monitors. On the chrome trolley beside her was
a wooden box that looked about a hundred years old. There were silver patterns carved into it, now faded almost to invisibility.
“So what is this thing?”
“It’s Founder tech,” Rathe told her. “It’s a personal ability and aptitude amplification matrix. We just call it an Amp. Very rare these days. Six-Tails has had this one for almost thirty years, and it has always been inert – until you came aboard. It seems to react when you arc. We know the Founders could arc, and we think these helped to regulate it. So this is a bit of a calculated gamble, I’m afraid.”
“I hope it’s worth it.”
Rathe squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “You’re taking this very well, Angela. You’re really very brave.”
She grunted as the needle bit into her neck. “I try to keep an open mind,” she said through gritted teeth.
“A little anaesthetic,” Six-Tails told her. “Are we in the blue, Shim?”
“We are.”
“Right.”
Six-Tails opened the lid of the box and ruddy orange light poured out. There was a thickness to it, as though it wasn’t light at all, but something gaseous. Angela’s skin began to glow. “Why does that happen?” she asked.
“It’s the radiance,” said Rathe. “Founder technology that might as well be magic for all we understand of it.” The ship rocked again, and Rathe gave the Endrani an exasperated look. “Okay,” he said to Angela, “try to relax. We don’t know exactly what this will do.”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “My neck is numb,” she whispered. She tried to breathe slowly, but her resolve was faltering. “Talk to me, keep me occupied. Tell me about Evayne. Who is she? What does she want with me?”
Rathe smiled nervously and exhaled loudly. She felt Six-Tails’ touch on her neck, but whatever he was doing was painless. The old man kept hold of her hand and leaned forward in his chair.