by YS Pascal
I was concentrating so hard on the stars outside the ship that I almost didn’t hear the door behind me whisk open. I did catch the Ursan entering my room when his tall, furry figure was reflected in the porthole glass. As he neared, I spun around and aimed directly for what I thought might be a tender area in a giant bear. He was ready for me, though, and sidestepped smoothly, letting me land face first on the not-very-soft titanium floor.
“You okay?” he said with a note of concern after I didn’t get up immediately. In English. English? Did he have an Ergal to translate?
The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Nose aching, I turned on my back and looked up at my captor, wondering why I hadn’t yet been overpowered and placed in cherukles or stunned. My jailer was a classic arctic Ursan, a typical native of southern Caniformia, with long white fur and a moist brown snout. Not someone I’d typically run into in my neck of the woods. And not someone I’d expect to be particularly compassionate either.
I nodded. “Embarrassed, but, yeah, I’m okay. Any, uh chance you could give me a clue where we’re headed?” I added with a tentative smile.
“HD5924, Octant 7, M82,” the Ursan responded. What was it about his voice …?
The sector of our neighboring M82 galaxy was, I remembered from my cosmography uploads, sparsely occupied, and not by Ursans. I’d never been outside of Zygan Federation territory before, much less to M82 in any case. Newer catascopes were usually encouraged to stay ‘close to home’, especially until their relative age of majority, which for Terrans was eighteen. Normally, I wouldn’t mind a chance to explore new expanses, but wasn’t M82 where Gary had said Benedict had begun his Andart assaults on Zygfed? Was the Ursan Andarts’ mission to deliver me into Benedict’s clutches?!
“And what happens after we get there?” I tried to keep my expression calm.
“Don’t worry,” he added, “just stay with me and I’ll take care of you.”
I got up slowly, my hands visible and clear of weapons. “My Ergal would help.”
He smiled—I think—and reached a paw out to gently pat me on my head. “Just follow my lead.”
I smiled at him politely, and muttered, unconvinced, “The check is in the mail.”
Chapter 10
It’s about Space
M82 Galaxy—present day
It took us quite a few hours to arrive at HD5924. The M82 galaxy wasn’t much farther from the Milky Way than Andromeda, but I surmised that the Ursan ship wasn’t a racing model, and we weren’t exactly flying at top speed.
My self-appointed “friend” met me at the door right after we landed and put my hands into cherukles so I could still walk. I entered the hangar sandwiched between the two Ursans, neither of whom had bathed for what was an inconsiderately long time.
We trudged down a long dark hall and then turned into a closet-sized chamber. I recognized the lights that glided over us as a primitive NDNA scan, and wondered if, after all these exposures, I’d ever be able to have children someday.
Another chamber door opened to another dark hall, and we continued walking somewhat downhill for several more minutes before reaching a large, solid door, where we waited until it groaned open.
The lights were blindingly bright, and it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. The room beyond was quite big, the size of at least three football fields, and contained several khaki-colored domelike structures on its hard floor. Above the domes floated hundreds of white spheres, many the size of tennis balls, others up to twenty meters in diameter. Their walls were translucent, and I could see flickering lights inside, but no openings in their smooth surfaces.
Ignoring some of the smaller spheres that had begun trailing us, the Ursans headed straight for one of the large domes on the ground. The absence of doors in the domes didn’t seem to faze my captors. When we arrived at the dome wall, we sort of diffused right in through the … membrane … and found ourselves in what looked like a government office building. Yes, right down to the scuffed linoleum floors, stained linen-colored plaster walls, and scratched gray doors, each sporting foot-long signs with obscure titles that morphed from Ursan to English to Ursan as we walked by.
We stopped in front of a door whose sign read Executive Coordinator of Strategic Initiatives and Outcomes Assessment. Ursan #1 placed his paw on a coat of arms on the center of the door, which was momentarily bathed in light. The door then opened and we were welcomed by a short, oily-haired man in a tweed suit and bow tie. He invited us in to sit in some burnished leather chairs before his cherry desk.
“Welcome, gentle beings, welcome. Do make yourselves at home; I can mega the chairs if you wish,” he added for the Ursans benefit.
My friend nodded and the chairs instantly grew by a factor of two, pushing my own seat towards a paneled wall. I eased my toes out to see if the wall was porous, so I could maybe slide back out and make a run for it. Hard plastic. No such luck.
The man was looking intently at me. “That would be foolish, my dear,” he said in a harsh tone. An instant later, he was smiling again. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
I shrugged, showing him my cherukled hands.
“Agriarctos,” he instructed in Ursan, “do let our guest have some tea.”
My friend nodded and removed my cherukles, patting me once more with his paw. I gave him a cold stare that I hope included the message, “You are not my type.”
The creepy little man Ergaled a steaming mug of a purple substance that he levved towards me. I thanked him, and cradled the mug without drinking.
“Now then,” he stopped and shot me a sideways glance. “Does she know?” he asked the Ursans.
Agriarctos shook his head.
“Well, then,” said the man as he turned to me and gushed, “I am Fahrquardt.”
He seemed to be waiting for a response. I finally squeaked out, “Ah …”
“Goshdingdong to heckypoo!” Fahrquardt shouted, as he angrily threw several paperweights which crashed on the paneling over our heads. “What does it take to get fashionable with young people today?!”
I now saw that the paneling all around us was pockmarked—and that Fahrquardt still had a number of paperweights laid out on his desk. Uh-oh. Reminded me of an insane studio executive I had to deal with last year…
“Jumping Jilly!”
I started. Another paperweight flew by my ear. “Yes, yes, sirree, Mr. Fahrquardt. Right here with you.”
Fahrquardt seemed to calm down just a bit. “Well, goshamighty. Of course you are.” He paused, and then giggled, “Didn’t mean to scare you there. They just don’t make catascopes like they used to.” He laughed heartily for a few minutes and then stopped cold.
“Where is it?” His voice was icy.
Double Uh-oh. I was in trouble. Not only didn’t I have ‘it’, I didn’t even know what ‘it’ was. But, I’d watched my agent do this during negotiations. I leaned back and oozed faux confidence. “Are you ready to make a deal?”
“You are a cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” Fahrquardt said, chuckling. “Okay. I’m a businessman. Ten million credits as soon as you deliver the Somalderis. And, of course, I’ll send,” he nodded at the Ursans, “Agriarctos and Plionarctos to help.”
Summelwhat? Where had I heard that before …? Pretending I knew exactly what the clown across from me was talking about, I put on my self-assured grin, and sat forward assertively. “Fifty million and asylum. And, my own sanctuary in M82.”
I braced myself for another paperweight assault. Fahrquardt’s hand reached towards his desk. “Goodness gracious, you do drive a hard bargain, my dear.” He grabbed the only book in the room, opened it, and removed several tissues from the dispenser inside it which he used to blow his nose with a loud honk. “Golly gee, I guess I’ll have to say yes.” He stuffed the tissues back in the book dispenser. “Plionarctos, go with—”
Agriarctos stood up quickly, knocking the mug out of my hand and splattering the hot liquid all over his partner. Plionarctos roared as the tea
burned his white fur and skin, so unused to heat.
“A thousand pardons,” Agriarctos whispered to his companion. The clumsy Ursan turned to the small man. “Plionarctos must seek care, Fahrquardt. I will go with the girl to retrieve the Somalderis. We will return by sunsrise,” he added, brushing my hand.
Hearing my cue, I stood up and joined in, “Hey! Why are we wasting time, Artie?” I grabbed him by his thick, furry arm. “Let’s go. Mister Fahrquardt’s treasure awaits!”
A paperweight whizzed by each of our noses, dealing Agriarctos’ longer snout a glancing blow. We both turned, ready to duck.
“If you’re not back by morning,” Fahrquardt’s tone was no longer genial, “Benedict will have your hide,” he threatened Agriarctos, before fixing his piercing gaze on me, “and your neck.”
* * *
“Well done,” I said to my Ursan guard as he guided me in cherukles back to the Ursan ship. “Thank you for getting me out of there. You do know, of course, that we now actually have to go find that Summelthingy, whatever it is.”
“Somalderis,” he whispered as he shut the door of the airlock.
“Whatever. So, what exactly is it?”
Agriarctos struggled to explain. “It’s an ancient … membrane, that’s a … gateway to other … worlds,” he stumbled. “That’s all I really know.”
Membrane? Gary’s tale popped back into my brain. Brain … Brane … P-brane. God, I wish Spud were here with me. I really could use his brain right now.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any idea where we might find this, uh, membrane?” I ventured, not very optimistic.
Agriarctos shook his head. “Just give it to me and I’ll see that Fahrquardt gets it and sends you your money.”
“Me? What makes you think I’ve got it?” Was that what all this was about?
Agriarctos snorted, a sound that blended a cough and a bark. “You didn’t steal it from Sutherland? You were bluffing?”
“Uh, yeah…” I inched away as far as I could to stay out of furry arms’ reach.
“Well, then,” Agriarctos decided, “I guess we’ll have to go back to Sidon and look for it together.” His voice was cold. “Until I believe you.”
* * *
Agriarctos locked the portal and let me ride shotgun on the bridge this time, without cherukles. I settled comfortably in my seat for the long trip back to Earth, where I figured I’d have a better chance of successfully escaping. Agriarctos’ current size advantage against me would be offset once we landed by the spectacle of a talking polar bear chasing me down the streets of ancient Phoenicia. I was fervently hoping that Sidon had a well-staffed Animal Control Department, or at least a few Roman archers with good aim.
“Who is Fahrquardt, anyway?” I asked as we went into warp. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Benedict’s #8, though he thinks he’s #4,” Agriarctos chuckled. “Bureaucrats never make it past #5.”
I whistled. “So that was a Benedict refuge?”
“Outpost. Not refuge,” Agriarctos clarified. “M81 and 82 aren’t Zygan protectorates, you know.”
I shrugged. “Not yet, anyway. So what makes you think this MacGuff—Somal … deris is still on Earth?” I asked casually.
Agriarctos looked at me from the corner of his eyes. “I’ve seen it.”
I sat up. “Whoa. No kidding?”
The Ursan nodded.
“Where?”
“The first time, a place called Kolhis, near the Black Sea. Many, many years ago. And then--”
The rest of his answer was lost in the explosion. The fusion torpedos from the starcruiser took out the rear of our ship and all of our propulsers. We were tossed out of faster-than-light hyperdrive and thrown off course hundreds of kilometers, floating dead in space. Thankfully alive. But lost “at sea.”
“What happened?” I asked Agriarctos, who seemed intent on determining our coordinates on his locator holo.
Before he could answer, our ship trembled and started to move. Agriarctos’s furry paws desperately tapped buttons on his console and icons on multiple holos, but were unable to counter the force that was pulling us backwards, faster and faster through unfamiliar space.
I leaned over and switched one of the screens next to me to display a view of what was left of the rear of our ship, in the hopes that I might glimpse what or who was tractoring us at top speed. I was, I admit, relieved when I recognized the titanium maw of the enormous ship that was about to swallow us. Gliesers. The border guards of the Zygan Federation.
“Rescued!” I cheered, as we were drawn into the belly—or bowels, depending on your perspective—of a giant shark-nosed vessel whose underside sported the Zygfed flag.
Agriarctos mumbled something that sounded like a Zygan curse. As our cruiser slowed down and came to a stop in the giant warship’s hangar, Agriarctos slipped me back my Ergal with the pointed comment, “Your turn.”
Before I could ask what he meant, our cruiser’s main portal was opened remotely by the Glieser welcoming committee. As soon as the airlock realeased, I inched towards the opening and peeked into the cavernous water-logged hangar to be welcomed by the Gliesers with arms. Not open ones, I’m sorry to say, as Gliesers are an aquatic species and only have fins. And in those fins were the latest model stun guns, pointed at me.
Oops. Apparently, entering back into Zygfed space without clearance or authorization was somewhat frowned upon, even if our intentions were harmless. Which they were … I think.
I now understood Agriarctos’s plan. He’d given me back my Ergal in the hopes that I, as an official Zygint catascope, would save his skin this time, and get us out of trouble with the border barracudas.
I stepped out of what was left of the Ursan ship, and stood at the water level on the ramp, holding up my Ergal in a gesture of “I’m with Zygint. Don’t shoot!”
They didn’t shoot. But they didn’t trust me entirely either, as I felt myself become stunned and immobile once again. A contingent of glistening Gliesers levved me supine above the water and out of the hangar. I flashed a mental image of being trapped in a coffin, paraded to my grave by piscatory pallbearers, and concentrated on taking deep breaths as John had coached me years before.
From my frozen position, I couldn’t see what was happening with Agriarctos. I was taken directly to a room that resembled, well, an aquarium. Only the water was on the outside of the tank, bathing my audience of Glieser interrogators. I was laid on the cold floor, and, after my pallbearers had returned to their fluid-filled observation posts, I felt waves of scans buffeting my body.
After the requisite scans confirmed my genuine identity as a Zygint catascope and I had been unstunned, I asked my current (no pun intended) colleagues about the Ursan.
“What Ursan?” was the frigid response.
“Damn!” was my hot one. I was now facing hours of grilling about why I was tooling around the edge of Andromeda without authorization in an Ursan ship. And, somehow, Agriarctos had managed to escape!
Chapter 11
It’s about Two Men in the Strangest Place
Zygan Federation Border—present day
I wish I could say things went swimmingly, but I’m not Sarion. It took almost six hours of intense questioning, and an influential call from Juan De La Cruz at Headquarters, for the Gliesers to finally agree to release me in my own custody; along with a warning about following proper procedures for travel authorization and border crossing to enter Zygfed territory. Yes, sirs. At least I had escaped another visit to the Omega Archon.
As the Ursan ship was in no condition to take me home to Earth, Captain Gil Pesci kindly offered me one of the Glieser warship’s shuttles for my return to Terra Firma, as long as I promised to send it back immediately on autopilot. Yes, sir!
It was actually kind of fun to wend my way home in a vessel resembling a sting-ray. I yielded to the impulse once or twice to guide the ship through some smooth flips and turns as I glided through the ether. I gave a silent thanks
to Captain Gil for his loan, and to T’fal for her ka’vyr skills that had allowed me to survive Glieser interrogation without revealing what had happened with the Ursans and the strange small man on HDWhatever. I’d half expected Agriarctos to reappear and cheruklize me again, but my furry partner in treasure hunting seemed to be gone for good. I resolved to keep my Ergal within arm’s reach in the future, just in case.
* * *
Hollywood—present day
Spud should be grateful I didn’t shoot his head off. He M-fanned in the bathroom of my Malibu house soon after I’d arrived—as I was taking a relaxing bubble bath. I invisible-ized my stun gun and sunk deeper into the tub, only my head sticking out of the bubbles.
“Don’t you ever knock?” I asked, irritated.
“You said it was urgent,” he shrugged, putting down the toilet cover and sitting on it next to me. “Here I am.”
“That’s for sure,” I rolled my eyes. “You smell like a chimney.”
“I have been cogitating …”
I held out a hand quickly. “I don’t want to know.” I looked at him with a satisfied smile. “Somalderis.”
An eyebrow went up. “Pardon?”
“The MacGuffin. Somalderis, that’s what it’s called.”
“Ah.” The eyebrow went down. “I had begun to fear it might be the Philosopher’s Stone.” He added, “Sorcerer’s Stone, for you Yanks.”
I threw a wad of bubbles at him—and missed.
He laughed. “So what is it?”
“I’m not quite sure,” I admitted. “Agriarctos said it was some kind of membrane that could take you to another world.”
I expected the next question to be, “Who’s Agriarctos?”