Worlds Away (The Interstellar Age Book 3)

by Daniels, Valmore

  “They’re doing some kind of upgrade—it’s been needed for a long time. They were supposed to be finished overnight, but it’s taking forever.”

  Michael made a grunt of displeasure and looked around.

  “A city bus should arrive in twenty minutes, if you want to wait.”

  There was no way they would make the terminal in time.

  “How far away is a car rental office from here?” Michael asked.

  The attendant said, “Oh, the del Angel Vehicle Hire is right over there, near the north end of the terminal. You could walk there in five minutes.”

  “Thank you.” He gave the attendant a tip, and then hefted his luggage. He glanced at Yaxche. “I don’t think we’re going to make the daily shuttle in time. If we can rent a car, we could drive to Santa Rosa ourselves after we check in with the consulate.” Yaxche gave Michael a nod that he agreed with the plan. He had a backpack full of souvenirs he’d bought at the Pearson gift shop, and he slung it over his shoulder before following.

  When they entered the rental agency, the harried clerk behind the counter shook his head. “If you’re looking to rent, all our cars and trucks are gone. With the autotaxis down, we sold out almost an hour ago.”

  If they hadn’t been so delayed by customs…

  Not only would they miss the shuttle out of the capital, but they also seemed to be stranded at the airport.

  Michael grimaced, and looked at Yaxche. The older man was looking pale; after spending so long in air-conditioned space craft, and in the cool Canadian climate, it would take a bit of time for them both the acclimatize to the heat of Honduras.

  “Maybe I’ll call the consulate, and see if they can send a car.”

  They stepped back out of the rental agency, and Michael scanned up and down the terminal for a comm kiosk. He strode over to it, logged in, and placed the call. A young-sounding female voice answered.

  “Thank you for calling the Canadian Consulate of Honduras. Beth speaking. How may I direct your call?”

  “This is Michael Sanderson. I’m a special emissary escorting a Honduran national. I believe Allan Perkins was informed of my arrival. It seems we’re stuck at the airport without transport, and we’ve missed the daily shuttle to Santa Rosa de Copán.” A moment later, he remembered to give her his official access code to verify his identity.

  The secretary said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Sanderson. Consul Perkins had an all-day conference today. Unfortunately, because of budget cuts, we no longer have any vehicles for official use. We contract with a chauffeur service, but they don’t travel outside the capital. I could send one to bring you here. There’s a hotel near here where you can stay until tomorrow.”

  Trying not to sound ungrateful for the offer, Michael said, “We were hoping to make Santa Rosa de Copán today.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sanderson,” the secretary said.

  It seemed they didn’t have any other choice. “Thank you, Beth. We’ll be waiting at the north parking lot.”

  After disconnecting, Michael said to Yaxche. “We might as well find a shady spot and sit down.”

  There was an outdoor food vendor, where Michael bought two iced teas. They sat at one of the round patio tables and took refuge in the shadow of its umbrella.

  “How does it feel to finally be back home?” Michael asked.

  Looking around the busy streets, Yaxche said, “This is not home.”

  “Well, with luck, we should be in your village tomorrow evening at the latest.”

  “It has been a long time since I slept in my own bed.” He gave Michael a toothy smile. “Your beds are all too soft.”

  Since his release from the detention center in Ottawa, Michael hadn’t pressed Yaxche on specifics, taking the older man at his word that he might know the whereabouts of the alien race Ah Tabai called the Grace. Thinking about it, the information the Mayan had given them was fairly thin—that he might know where they’d gone—but then again, everyone had discounted that the ancient Song of the Stars document contained the key to unlocking the photonic properties of Kinemet. Michael was prepared to go on a little faith, but his curiosity got the better of him.

  Casually, he asked, “So, what is it we’re looking for?” When Yaxche glanced at him questioningly, Michael added, “I mean, is there another ancient scroll or something?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “It’s possible, but I do not think so.”

  Michael looked at Yaxche pointedly. “If it’s not a scroll, then what is it?”

  “It is a story.”

  “What story?”

  “I cannot tell you. It is not my story.” After a moment, he said, “I already told you my story.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “Now you’re just being cryptic.”

  Yaxche, as if enjoying teasing Michael, smiled wide. Letting out a small laugh, he said, “We need to speak to an old friend of mine. Perhaps, if he likes you, he will tell you his story.”

  “The story of the Grace?”

  Keeping his smile firmly in place, Yaxche shrugged helplessly. “It is best to hear the story from the storyteller.”

  Michael recalled that the key to the Song of the Stars wasn’t the story itself, it was in the telling, and he resigned himself to be patient.

  Yaxche patted him on the arm. “Do not worry. I think my friend will like you.”

  By the time they finished their iced teas, they spotted a long black car pulling into the parking lot. The decal on the door read ‘Tegucigalpa Chauffeur Service’. Michael stood and hefted his luggage as the car pulled up.

  The driver spoke in English with a heavy Spanish accent. “Mr. Sanderson for the Canadian Consulate?” The man, who was short but quite stocky, wore an odd-fitting black suit. The tie around his neck was loosened, and the top button of the collar was undone. As if realizing the fact, he quickly did the button up and tightened the tie.

  “Yes, that’s us,” Michael said.

  Reaching into his vehicle, the driver pressed the trunk release, then hurried over to help Michael and Yaxche with their luggage.

  Once Michael and Yaxche climbed into the back seat, the driver engaged the navigation computer and typed in their destination.

  They drove along the Bulevard Fuerzas Armadas, weaving in and out of traffic, and Michael looked out of the window at the city. When he glanced over to Yaxche, he saw that the older man seemed not to take any interest in the city.

  When they reached the Boulevard Centromerica, instead of turning north toward the Canadian Embassy, they kept going east.

  “I think you missed the turnoff,” Michael called out to the driver.

  “Construction,” the driver said. “We’ll take a side street around. It’ll be faster.”

  Sitting back uneasily, Michael searched his memory. It had been a few months—his time—since he’d been in Tegucigalpa, and though he didn’t have as keen a memory as Alex or Justine, he’d taken the time to look at a street map of the capital more than once. There were no side streets from the turnoff until they crossed the Anillo Periférico. Even in a roundabout way, that would more than double their travel time.

  “City’s going through a lot of problems this morning,” Michael said.

  “Sí.”

  The man didn’t seem to be acting suspiciously. Perhaps Michael was just being paranoid. He decided to wait and see what happened.

  When they reached the turnoff to Anillo Periférico, and continued heading east, Michael sat forward.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “Please relax, señor.” The driver drew a pistol from inside his suit jacket and held it up a moment for Michael to see before putting it back. “It’s for your own good.”

  17

  Kulsat Ship :

  Centauri System :

  Blind both physically and Kinemetically, and trapped inside a small tank surrounded by water on a hostile alien ship was enough to make Justine feel ove
rwhelmed. Knowing there could either be a mass slaughter or a revolution just outside her reach, the outcome of which would directly decide her own fate, Justine fought to keep herself from succumbing to the emotional overload.

  Sounds didn’t travel very well into her terrarium, but what she could hear, she couldn’t interpret. Had her efforts returned Red Spot to physical form? Had Three Crescents repaired his energy rod and blasted her? Was he finishing his insane task of killing every non-Risen on the ship?

  The Kinemetic radiation coming from the alien Risen started to seep back into Justine’s system, and her sight returned to her slowly.

  In the span of a few seconds, she saw what had transpired during her blackout. Three Crescents had reconnected his energy rod and was blasting it at the other aliens, but he was doing it out of desperation. As if Red Spot’s courage had bolstered them, the other Kulsat charged Three Crescents. They grabbed loose tools and canisters to use as weapons. So far, none of them had gotten close enough to strike Three Crescents, but he’d killed more than half a dozen of them and wounded several others.

  Red Spot was still alive, Justine saw, but she was injured. One of her tentacles hung limply from her torso—perhaps a graze from the energy weapon.

  Helplessly, Justine watched the army of cephalopods throw themselves at Three Crescents, but he seemed an expert in his aim and kept fending them off.

  The sheer numbers were on the rebels’ side, though. As if sensing that he couldn’t keep up his defense forever, Three Crescents quantized himself. In control of himself in that state, he raced out of the laboratory, leaving the survivors and Justine behind. He was no doubt going to report to Long Fingers.

  Justine didn’t know how many Risen were on board the alien ship, but one was all that was needed if they decided to quantize the entire vessel. Once everyone was neutralized in a photonic state, the pilot could navigate back to their home system, where the numbers would undoubtedly favor the elite Kulsat rather than the rebels.

  Red Spot swam to the terrarium and turned on the translation computer with a flick of one long tentacle. The familiar hum of the link on her collar gave Justine a sense of comfort she hadn’t expected.

  “Red Spot,” Justine said. “Are you all right?”

  The little alien typed. “Your concern is unexpected. I will continue. I am not certain our actions were wise, however. We have no power against Long Fingers.”

  Behind her, dozens of Kulsat waited, as if unsure what to do now that they had succeeded in scaring Three Crescents away.

  Justine said, “Is there a shuttle on this ship?”

  “Yes, we have six such vessels. They are used to mine the Gift of the Grace on asteroids. The shuttles do not have the engines to use the Grace.”

  The Grace. According to Alex’s story, that was what Ah Tabai had called the race who created the system of star beacons. Maybe, for the Kulsat and the other Emerged races, the name was homonymous for the power of Kinemet, the photonic state of being, and for the race that had first mastered the technology.

  “Do you have any of the Gift on board?” Justine asked. “If we can get some of it to my friends and our ship, we might have a chance.”

  Red Spot turned to the aliens behind her and signed to the group. Several of them signed in return, and the back and forth went on for what seemed like forever—at least, to Justine.

  She waited, barely containing her impatience, as Red Spot spun back to the computer and took a very long time to type the results of the conversation.

  “There are several stores of the Gift on board. We can collect a quantity of it and load it on the mining shuttle. The problem we have is how to bring you to the shuttle. Your observation platform is affixed to the hull. Even if we could move it, the loading door to the shuttle is too small for it to fit. There is no provision for one of your kind on the shuttle. Our alien biologist informs us that you are an air-based species and cannot process oxygen under water. It will only be a short duration before Three Crescents and Long Fingers return to destroy us.”

  A few times, Justine tried to interrupt the message that came in, but since it had been pre-typed, there was no way to stop the translation. She bit her lip until the machine voice finished speaking.

  “Bring some of the Gift here, to me. Once I’m recharged, I can turn to light and follow you to the ship. We won’t have any way of communicating while I’m in that state, but if we can find my ship and my friends, they will be able to help us.”

  Red Spot made a unique set of signs to her, which Justine took as acknowledgement. The little alien then turned around and handed out instructions to the small band of revolutionaries. The individual Kulsat swam off to complete their assigned tasks. Only Red Spot remained in the lab.

  “Is everyone with us?” Justine asked.

  “We are conditioned to obey those in authority. The Kulsat on board regard me as their new sub-commander. I told them Three Crescents is unit-defective and wanted your alien technology for himself. That is the reason they attacked him. They are all still loyal to the Consortium. If they encounter Long Fingers, however, he will be able to counter my instructions.”

  Justine felt herself grow frustrated with the Kulsat’s culture. They were alien to her in every sense of the word.

  “Are you still loyal to the Consortium?”

  Red Spot replied. “Yes.” She continued to type. “Our kind has been persecuted throughout history. When the Grace disappeared from the universe, the other races became jealous of our knowledge and warred against us. They invaded our home world. Only because of our superiority were we able to survive. Now, we are the dominant race in the galaxy, but we are not secure. The other races continue to plot against us. Only with the final component will we assure our continued survival.”

  If what Red Spot said was true, then the Kulsat had reason to be paranoid of other worlds. Justine asked, “Why did you save me?”

  “The Consortium believes all non-Kulsat races are an imminent threat and must be expired to ensure our continuance. The Consortium believes non-Kulsat have no value. The Consortium believes Deficients have no value.” She held Justine’s eyes as her next statement filtered through the translator. “You believe all beings have value. There is validity in that. Perhaps there is an opportunity to reevaluate some of the polices of the Consortium.”

  Justine was overwhelmed by what she was hearing. How many other Kulsat felt their culture was overzealous in its xenophobia? Although it was difficult to avoid imposing one’s own values on other cultures, Justine didn’t know how a society could progress when it completely discarded those who failed to achieve the Kinemetic change.

  She would save her philosophizing for later. Right now, time was working against her.

  From what she gathered, Three Crescents and Long Fingers were completely ensconced in their status as elites. They believed the rest of the Kulsat were thoroughly subjugated; the ship didn’t have much in the way of internal security. That slight advantage would disappear the moment Long Fingers felt the situation was out of his control.

  Even if they all managed to get on the shuttle and flee the ship, the moment the two Risen became aware of the exodus, they could easily pull her back, as they did when she was on the Ultio. Then they could blast the shuttle to bits at their leisure.

  Justine had to increase her chances of escape, somehow, and ensure the other Kulsat weren’t killed in the process.

  “Red Spot,” she said, “are there any other Risen on the ship besides Three Crescents and Long Fingers?”

  “No. We are not military. We are a mining vessel. There is only one science leader and one ship leader on board.”

  “Can you describe the layout to me? Where is the main cabin, engineering, crew quarters, loading dock, everything?”

  “Yes. I can explain that.” Red Spot typed for a long while.

  ∞

  By the time Justine absorbed all the information Red Spot gave her, she had a very solid idea of the ship’s geo
graphy.

  She sensed one of the non-Risen Kulsat returning to the lab. He was carrying a small quantity of Kinemet—the Gift of the Grace—in a spherical container. The radiation level was minimal, and Justine assumed the enclosure was made of some kind of damping material, like the titanium they had used in Sol System to keep the Kinemet from playing havoc with nearby electronics.

  As the alien got closer to Justine’s tank, she felt a surge ripple through her. Although she’d been able to absorb second-hand radiation from Three Crescents, that had been little more than a drop of water on the tongue; nowhere near enough to quench her thirst. Even sealed by the damping container, Justine could feel every fiber of her being reaching out for the nourishment of Kinemet.

  When Klaus had conducted his experiment on her, he’d used a milligram of the kinetic metal. Justine sensed the Kulsat had brought her at least a full gram. If she never quantized herself, that much would most likely be enough Kinemet to sustain her for the rest of her life. It was being in the photonic state that consumed Kinemet at a rapid rate.

  Hungrily, she waited for the Kulsat to get to her tank. With Red Spot’s assistance, the two swam up to the top of her glass cage and placed the container in the cylinder that had been used to feed her previously. They placed the cylinder in the delivery mechanism and triggered the winch.

  As the Kinemet was lowered within her reach, Justine heard Red Spot’s message come through the translator.

  “Only a Risen is capable of opening the container.”

  For a moment, Justine’s impatience got the better of her, and she felt a rush of heat to her cheeks.

  Whatever substance the container was made of must be impenetrable by physical means. Since a Risen had the ability to quantize others at will—as they had done to her—then it followed that they had the ability to quantize objects as well. Once the sphere was converted to photons, the Risen had full access to the Grace inside.

  The problem was that, even if she were fully irradiated, Justine didn’t have any idea how to quantize anything except herself. Radiation still leaked out of the container, but at a rate so slow it would take her an hour or longer to become charged enough to make the change—and even then, she would use up that charge very quickly.