Angela Strange: Legend of the Arc-Walker

by Mick Fraser

  “I told you we’re in the Melrasi Reach, yes?” he asked. “The Reach is a cluster of star systems reachable with current technology, home to over forty space-faring races and several hundred inhabitable or terraformed worlds. It used to be controlled by the last three Founders – they were of the Iniir, the race who taught most of us how to reach the stars. Twenty years ago, the Founders were assassinated. A terrorist cell called the Legacy of the Unavenged claimed responsibility. They worshipped some forgotten Celestial God and this was their misguided attempt to avenge him against an ancient slight.

  “When the Founders died, it threw the Reach into turmoil. The Central Systems Accordance, of which I was a part, struggled to maintain control – until a young politician by the name of Tess Evayne came forward. She had incredible wealth and resources, and her charisma won us over. She claimed the Sceptre of Dao, the Founders’ badge of office, and when she took charge, we let her. We cheered as she re-purposed the Founder’s honour guard, the Harlequins, to hunt down and exterminate the Legacy.” He sat back, running his fingers through his beard. His words seemed strained, as though he was recalling painful memories. “She was the leader we needed and we rallied behind her. Before long, she started calling herself the “High Sceptress”, and the rest of us kind of got swept along in her current. Her legend came to greatly overshadow the woman herself.”

  Angela winced as Six-Tails tugged at her numb flesh. “So what happened? Why is she the enemy?”

  “About five years later, her bodyguard – and closest advisor – uncovered evidence that tied Evayne to the assassination of the Founders. She brought it to me, and I urged her to take it to the Senate. Instead, she confronted Evayne… The Sceptress had her arrested for treachery, and sentenced to be executed. The evidence she destroyed before I had the chance to go public with it, whilst she labelled the bodyguard a traitor and publicly shamed her. I couldn’t stand idly by.”

  “You helped her escape?”

  He shrugged. “I owed her my life. Drenno owed me his. We escaped, along with a few others, and those who believed us came too. The media labelled us “Firebrands”. It was all incredibly romantic and heroic, righting wrongs and correcting a great injustice – until Evayne hunted us down, too. She annihilated our short-lived rebellion with frightening ease, until only one ship remained. This one. We lost everything: the evidence, our friends and loved ones, the lives we had. And no one knows the truth but us.”

  “And the bodyguard?”

  “You met her today. Our quartermaster, Illith.”

  “Huh… And me?”

  “That we don’t know, Angela. Truthfully. Only that Evayne has scoured the Reach and beyond for you. You’re important to her. A part of something greater, perhaps. Either way, given your gifts, we can’t imagine Her Highness wants you for anything good.”

  The ship shook again, this time more violently. Six-Tails cursed in his native language. “What the hell are they doing up there? Status, Shim?”

  “We’re blue. She’s stable.”

  “Turn it on.”

  There was a flash of light that Angela would have sworn came from inside her head, and the sensation of warmth flooded her veins. She felt as though she was adrift on a gentle river. Tentatively she reached up, and her fingertips brushed against something now embedded in the flesh of her neck. The sensation of warmth increased, becoming unpleasant, then all at once faded away. She slumped down, breathing deeply. Rathe helped her to sit.

  “How do you feel?”

  She took a moment before answering. Her neck began to ache, and her limbs felt curiously leaden. “I don’t know. I feel—”

  A sudden explosion on the outside of the ship shook the medical lab, sending Angela tumbling. Shimmer shifted sideways, and Rathe crouched down beside Angela, helping her to rise. An alarm sounded, loud and shrill. Rathe half-staggered to the intercom by the door. He pressed a button with his thumb.

  “Ellys? What’s happening?”

  “Three Exethan stalkers. We got one, the others’re giving us hell. How’s Angela?”

  “Fine, so far.”

  “Then get up here and strap in. We might have to pull a Lorrimar.”

  “Oh dear. Alright, we’re on our way.”

  Angela felt groggy, sea-sick. “What’s a Lorrimar?”

  “Huh, you’ll see. Shimmer, we’re heading to the bridge. Drenno’s considering a Lorrimar.”

  Six-Tails growled. “Man’s insane.”

  “So a Lorrimar is bad?” Angela asked, but Rathe didn’t answer as he half-dragged her from the med-lab. They hurried through the narrow grey corridors and into a service elevator. The doors closed behind them and Rathe slapped the control panel, causing the lift to rocket upwards so fast Angela felt herself forced down against the panelled wall. The doors shushed open onto a huge, dimly-lit open-plan room filled with monitors, workstations and panel after panel of readouts. A huge window occupied the far wall, offering a breath-taking view of the space beyond. Drenno sat before a dashboard below the window with Dizzy on his right. Illith and Gaelan were positioned at separate workstations against the right-hand wall.

  Rathe led Angela to a high-backed chair set before a large touch-screen monitor displaying a 3D image of the ship inside a mesh-like grid. There were two other ships inside the grid, these rendered in red. As the Shadowstar banked, the image shifted in real time to keep up. Rathe pulled two thick straps across her, securing them beside either hip. He swung himself into the chair opposite her with the grace of a younger man. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he secured his own safety harness.

  “Alright, I think…” she answered absently, remembering a time when she knew at least half of what the hell was going on in her life. “What’s happening?”

  He smiled. “I imagine someone’s trying to kill us. Happens all the time.”

  She didn’t even try to return the smile. The room vibrated, dragging her attention back to her screen. One of the ships had moved to the right, the other had dropped beneath the Shadowstar. The image of the first began to flash, and then another shot pounded against the outer hull.

  “They’re too damn small!” Drenno cursed. “Too damn fast! Hold on!”

  Angela looked to Rathe, who was pushing buttons on his screen. “You’ll need some distance if you’re planning what I know you’re planning.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Drenno snarled, pushing forward on the control apparatus he held. The Shadowstar dipped sharply, and on Angela’s readout she saw that the smaller ship below them was forced to evade quickly. It banked to the left, then climbed suddenly – and when she looked up she saw that it was now outside the front window, facing them. It was narrow, almost like an over-sized sport’s car, with two flat discus wings and a black panel at the front, like a windscreen.

  Drenno and Dizzy moved in unison, and the Shadowstar was propelled forward, narrowly missing the ship in front. The view spun as though Angela were on a merry-go-round, but she felt little motion. As the Shadowstar banked and levelled out, both Exethan ships came into view. Someone – she guessed Dizzy – squeezed a trigger, and red sparks spat from somewhere below the viewing window. The Exethan ships broke off, and Drenno drove the Shadowstar directly between them.

  “Hold on!” he shouted again. “Dizzy! Fire it up!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Blinding white light filled the viewing window, and a sound like a thunderclap echoed across the bridge. Angela clamped her hands over her ears, pressing her chin into her chest as a sudden swell of motion seemed to lift the Shadowstar. Everything vibrated, shaking so hard that Angela worried every screw in the place would work itself loose. She peered at Rathe through one eye. He was watching her, fingers gripping the sides of his chair so tightly they had turned white. He mouthed the word “Alright?” and Angela nodded, closing her eyes as she rattled in her seat. After a moment, the shaking subsided, and Angela slowly opened her eyes to see that the space beyond the now-darkened window was white. Clean and
white – as though they were flying through fresh snow.

  “That was a Lorrimar,” Rathe told her. “Captain Drenno performed a Phase-shift with two other ships in his slipstream. Incredibly dangerous. A little bit stupid.”

  “You’re welcome,” Drenno growled, spinning in his seat to face them. He glanced sideways at Dizzy. “Dulgaar, please, pilot. Steady as she goes.”

  “Boss.”

  Drenno smiled at Angela, tapping the back of his neck. “Did it work?”

  She sat back, taking a deep breath. Her stomach swam, and a dull pain throbbed behind her eyes. She wondered how long it had been since she last ate. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t worry. I know a guy who knows a guy, and the guy my guy knows has information about why Evayne wants you. We’re gonna go meet him. In the meantime you should eat, rest, shower. Whatever. You don’t look so good.”

  A sudden nausea rose in her gut, and a loud rushing roared in her ears. She tried to speak, but her own voice sounded somehow far away. She struggled to focus through blurred vision, but everything went sideways. And then everything went black.

  CHAPTER 10

  ~BREAKFAST IN PURESPACE~

  SHE FELT AS though she was sinking, as though her legs were made of stone, her arms flooded with lead. She saw a light far above, blinking in and out of focus, as silver and pure as starlight. She found she couldn’t move, though she could feel no external resistance. She focused on the speck of light and began to move toward it. As she drew closer she realised it wasn’t just a speck, but a well, a fissure from which the shining silver radiance poured, spitting and sparking as it flowed.

  She tried to move her head but it wouldn’t obey her commands, so she strained her eyes in their sockets to take in as much of the environment as she could: all she saw was blackness, deep and endless, broken only by the well of light. As she drifted closer she began to pick out shapes in the sparks, but they were fleeting each time; a tree, its branches gnarled and twisted; a city skyline that vanished as though blown away by a sudden breeze; a figure carved out of shadow. She beheld the image of a great ship, a disc hundreds of miles across, with cities built upon its back and rivers of crystal carved into its flesh. As the image shifted she saw more ships, each just as gargantuan, and realised they were drifting through space, covering millions of miles with each passing minute. Behind them, in the far, far distance, something hunted and hungered, and its rage carried across aeons. The visions made no sense, spoke to nothing in her mind or memory, and she dismissed them as they faded. All that was important was the light, and everything else fell away as she focused all her attention on it. It grew brighter and brighter, and soon the images stopped forming and the light ceased its spitting and crackling. It flowed towards her, around her, enveloping her, until it filled her vision completely…

  Angela opened her eyes, squeezing them shut again as blinding light assailed her. The window beside her was filled with silver-white radiance as sharp and all-consuming as it had been in her dream. There was a button on a small pad beside the window, and she reached up and slapped it. There was a groan of metal, and then a shutter slammed down, plunging the room into darkness. Angela slumped back on the bed. It was surprisingly comfortable, but she didn’t feel like sleeping in. She rolled over to sit up, lowering the zip on the chest of her black jumpsuit.

  How did you turn the lights on in a spaceship forty-thousand light years from Earth? Was there a switch? “Um, lights?” she said tentatively. Nothing happened. “Lights on?” She sagged, pushing herself to her feet. She felt dizzy, disoriented, but better than she had for a while. Her stomach growled in argument. She found the cold metal of the door and felt around for anything resembling a light-switch. Her questing fingers found a smooth square, slightly warmer than the wall. She touched it, gently, and the lights came on. Ha. Mission accomplished.

  She took a quick survey. The room was clean, clinically so: bed with plain white sheets, white rug on the floor, a poster of some kind on one wall depicting a spaceship cresting a smoking battlefield. There was writing, but she couldn’t understand any of it. For some reason, it made her smile. It appeared that they still had media on the other side of the galaxy, and the thought was oddly comforting. Her torn running clothes and scuffed trainers had been cleaned and repaired, and someone had placed them neatly on a small bench beneath the poster. On the opposite wall was a glass cubicle with a tiny drainage hole in the floor, and half a dozen nozzles pointing inwards. Angela stared at it for a while, thought better of it and turned away, then immediately turned back. What the hell.

  Searching for a switch, tap or crank yielded no results, but she located a smooth metal pad similar to the light switch. She stroked her fingers across it and some mechanism inside the wall beeped before the shower-heads activated, pouring glittering cascades that splashed and sparkled against one another. Steam began to rise, and it looked so inviting that Angela fairly tore at her jumpsuit. Leaving the clothes in a heap she stepped in, shuddering at the sting of heat against her skin. Dirt and grime swirled against the white floor. She hadn’t realised how filthy she was, and wondered how much time had passed since her abduction.

  Was abduction the right word? Rathe and Drenno were convinced they’d saved her from a fate worse than death. Maybe they had.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, scrubbed at her neck, winced as her fingertips brushed against her left shoulder. Gingerly she touched the wounds. They were already closed, but there were no scabs and they hurt like hell. She turned in the shower, enjoying the near-scalding water on her skin as it pounded the dirt from her pores, when all at once it stopped. There was a series of beeps, and she swore as she was blasted with warm air. Within minutes she was almost completely dry; her hair she wrung and tied in a loose knot.

  Angela stepped from the shower, and was startled when she saw Gaelan in the opposite doorway. She grabbed her jumpsuit, suddenly conscious of her nudity, and covered herself. “Can I help you?” she asked, somewhat harsher than she intended.

  Gaelan’s skin was a pale pinkish-red now. Angela was sure she saw the other woman’s eyes flicker down the length of her body and back up. “I came to make sure you hadn’t died in your sleep. Rathe wants to see you on the bridge. That’s the red line and one floor up, Earthborn. Try not to get lost.”

  Angela sensed hostility, but she couldn’t be sure. “Have I done something to piss you off?” she asked, as Gaelan turned to leave. The Avellian paused in the doorway, half turned back. Her skin rippled to deep violet.

  “Do’vah went to great efforts to find you and he is risking a lot to keep you here. You might not appreciate that, but you should. You would be dead now if not for him. For us.”

  “I realise that,” Angela told her, but even she wasn’t convinced.

  “I do not think you do. You act as if you expect to wake any moment and find that this has all been a dream, a fever. It is not, and you will not. We have been a long time without trouble – leastways, without the kind of trouble you invite – but we are in this now as deeply as you are. You need to accept the gravity of this situation, and deal with it. Red line, Earthborn.”

  Alone again, Angela sighed, then groaned as her stomach rumbled. All she wanted was to go home, curl up with a cup of tea and a Bowie album and shut out the greater problems of the galaxy at large. Instead, she climbed back into her jumpsuit, pulled on her boots, tightened straps, zips, buckles and pips and followed the red line out of the room.

  By the time she reached the bridge, her stomach was doing cartwheels. She walked for what seemed like an hour and took the elevator up to find herself before a set of double doors. As she approached them, they slid open with a quiet susurration. Rathe was sitting in the Captain’s chair, bathed in bright white light that poured in through the main window. He was wearing a pair of shaded goggles to protect his eyes. Shimmer sat beside him. Both were staring intently ahead; they seemed peaceful.

  Shielding her eyes, Angela knock
ed twice on the door frame. Rathe looked around, waved, and threw her a pair of goggles. She stretched the band around her head and settled the specs in place. Through the darkened glass the light was no longer visible, and through the window she saw swirls of vapour and sparks of light dancing and flickering around one another. She saw countless tiny explosions, like fireworks, and beyond a certain distance an endless pool of pure, unsullied emptiness.

  “Quite something, isn’t it?”

  Angela almost jumped at Rathe’s voice. She crab-walked to him, not taking her eyes from the window. He leaned forward and pulled a chair from the console beside him. As she sat down, he waved a plate of food under her nose. “Breakfast?”

  She almost passed out with relief, and eagerly took the plate from his hands. She paused, lifting the goggles to peer down at her plate with one eyebrow raised. There was a piece of what she assumed was fruit, bright blue and dripping a viscous green juice onto the pewter. Beside it was a kind of sandwich formed with a slate-black bread substitute and some mysterious vegetables. Rathe sensed her hesitation.

  “The fruit is called rembah,” he said. “It’s quite refreshing, and incredibly nutritious. The rummicub is bevin and pickled vil. I promise you, it’s harmless to you and very tasty.”

  She sniffed the black thing. “Rummicub?”

  “You don’t have something similar on Earth? Two pieces of chak with a filling?”

  “Chak? Made from… flour? And yeast?”

  “Yes.”

  “Huh. We call it bread. It’s a sandwich, where I come from. What’s bevin?”

  “A root vegetable. Incredibly nutritious.”

  “A salad sandwich. Right.” She dipped her finger in the fruit juice and tasted it. It was delicious, like a blend of grapefruit and strawberry. She smiled, and picked up the… rummicub, sending a silent prayer to whoever might be listening. She bit into it, and was both disappointed and relieved to find that it tasted almost exactly like a mixed salad roll. Something occurred to her while she chewed, something she hadn’t realised was nagging at her mind.