by Mike Freeman
Her face was suffering frost-nip in the intense cold even with her body pumping in warm blood. Thankfully her suit would preserve her body’s core temperature. Her vision was blurred and despite her augmented eyes she knew that her vision would slowly deteriorate.
Her head injuries were bad but if she could make it back to the camp before she succumbed to them, then she could be healed as good as new. She wondered why her suit had injected her with two full shots of hytelline – she was drowning in the stuff. It made it impossible to think straight. She inventoried herself and, though no air was passing through her vocal chords, her lips made a gasping movement.
She was in a far worse condition that she'd thought.
The bitch must have used her filament blade. Three quick slashes of the arc cutter would have been all it took. Novosa’s legs had been cut off not far above the knees, swiped at a slight angle. Each of her hands had been cut off at the forearm. Her suit had sealed the injuries and was treating her for shock.
Even through her hytelline induced numbness Novosa felt the dim reflection of her terror. The bitch must have been in a hurry. Stabbed her in the head then as an afterthought slashed off her hands and legs. Novosa wanted to express emotion but she just felt numb. She couldn't cry or gasp because her face was dying in the hostile atmosphere. The wheezing sensation from her chest continued, sucking and blowing like a foot pump feeding a deep sea diver.
She wished for a moment that her suit hadn't saved her then pushed that thought aside. She didn't need to be physically strong to get back to the camp. The suit would do most of the work as long as she was conscious to direct it. She just needed to live. She realized how much she wanted to live.
She pressed down on the stump of her left arm and dragged herself forward.
Zig.
Her face scraped against the abrasive surface. She angled the suit and her face lifted off the ground. Her exposed head was nothing but a liability. It was freezing from the outside in, blood pumping in as fast as her body and suit could manage as they fought to keep her brain alive. She pressed down with her right stump and pulled herself forward.
Zag.
One complete zigzag. Nearly half a meter gained. She was going to make it back.
She squirmed across the ground, gradually moving away from her hands and legs. They lay oriented in their correct anatomical positions like an avant-garde mime act.
105.
Havoc watched as Stephanie approached his chair and knelt next to him. He raised an eyebrow as she put her hand on his knee. She slid her hand up and, to his surprise, clasped his hand and opened point comms.
> Can I ask you a favor?
His expression was guarded.
> You can ask.
She pouted at him while their fingers intermingled.
> I just want you to check something for me.
Havoc had almost forgotten the severity of Stephanie’s mood swings. She seemed more settled and her demeanor was happier – optimistic even. Of course, the pressure they were under was extraordinary, particularly for a diplomat unused to front line operations.
> Uh huh.
Stephanie bit her lip, pensive.
> I was thinking when I was out.
He was thinking she looked pretty good. Her cheeks were flushed as she crouched by his lap, her hand on his thigh. He'd regretted their encounter in the shower, but looking at her now he could feel his misgivings slipping away.
> You were?
> I think it might be worth checking Jafari’s cabin.
His face gave nothing away.
> Checking it?
> You know, for...
> Spy stuff?
> Right. And don’t make fun of me. I’m serious.
> Does anyone else know about this?
> No.
> Will they?
> Not if you don’t find anything.
> Hmm. You’ll take it––
> You’ll take it straight to Abbott.
He raised an eyebrow at that.
> You don’t want to be involved?
> I don’t want to be caught in any crossfire or be seen casting aspersions on a Federation member of the team.
He frowned.
> Hmm.
She leaned forward and kissed him, her lips soft and moist.
“Thanks, darling. Abbott is calling me and I said I would speak to the princes to find out if they’re staying or heading up to the platform.”
“Now there are two lads you won’t need to convince to stay.”
“Ooh. You feeling the competition, John?”
“Pff.”
“It gets me excited to see you getting worked up.”
“I’m not getting worked up.”
She stared into his eyes; a good long stare.
“I didn’t mean that way.”
Now he was getting worked up. She licked her lips. He thought he was putty in her hands. She looked up at him, then down at his lap.
“Maybe I don't need to rush off that quickly.”
Maybe not putty.
106.
Weaver turned away from the plinth, dismayed. She could hardly believe it.
“A ship designed to eliminate species.”
Darkwood looked startled.
“This ship?”
Weaver sighed.
“I can’t be sure.”
“But it’s definitely involved,” Touvenay said.
There was a morbid silence.
Kemensky rallied.
“Eliminate species. What does that even mean? I mean, I know what it means, but practically in effect, what could that really mean?”
Touvenay frowned.
“What about, 'if any instances of the target species remain, identify the nearest presence and eliminate it'.”
“Did you just make that up?” Kemensky said.
Touvenay highlighted a block of ideograms on Weaver’s wall.
“No. I translated it.”
Darkwood looked shocked.
“What’s our confidence level on this?”
In contrast to the others, Touvenay appeared rather unmoved.
“If you accessed one information source at random from your home system, would you believe it absolutely?”
Darkwood shook his head.
“No, of course not. Though the context feels slightly different here.”
Weaver agreed.
“It certainly does.”
Kemensky frowned at the curving section of wall.
“A species hunter?”
“A species eliminator,” Touvenay said.
Karch moved up to stand alongside Weaver.
“Damn. That does not sound good.”
Kemensky looked bewildered.
“Surely a whole planet such as this one, it can't just be for that.”
Touvenay shook his head impatiently.
“We can't deny a truth just because we don't like it. We can't project our cultural values onto another species.”
“This could be wrong, out of context, someone else. It could be anything,” Weaver said.
Darkwood played back the recent access to Weaver’s plinth on one of Touvenay’s screens. He pointed at the screen as he paused the feed.
“This ship was attacked.”
“I can't believe this ship travels around destroying species,” Kemensky said.
“It doesn't. It's a honey trap,” Weaver said.
“Honey trap?” Kemensky said.
“Exactly. It doesn't travel around destroying species.”
Kemensky raised his hands.
“Well there we are then.”
“It attracts the target species to come to it.”
Darkwood slowly shook his head.
“And then, once the target species have proven their ability to colonize space by traveling to it...”
Weaver nodded, her face bleak.
“It destroys them.”
107.
Havoc entered the cabin to find A
bbott and Stephanie looking at him expectantly. He’d clearly interrupted their discussion. Abbott gestured toward the screen.
“Look John, we’re reviewing our objectives for our next meeting with Ualus. So unless you have anything?”
Havoc looked at Stephanie then at Abbott.
“I do.”
“Oh?”
“I took it upon myself to check through some of the cabins.”
“You did what?”
“In my capacity as our security lead. And someone who wants to live.”
Abbott smiled and frowned at the same time.
“And you found something?”
“I did.”
“Well don’t keep us on tenterhooks.”
Havoc waited.
Abbott smiled at Stephanie as he realized Havoc’s hesitation.
“You can tell both of us, John. We don’t have any secrets, trust me.”
Stephanie smiled back at Abbott.
One happy family, Havoc thought.
“I found some relay transmitters and some ONC sticks in Jafari’s cabin.”
Abbott practically fell over.
“Jafari?”
Stephanie’s hand shot to her mouth in shock.
“My God.”
Havoc simultaneously nodded and frowned at Stephanie's reaction.
“That’s right.”
“Show me,” Abbott said.
Havoc shook his head.
“I didn’t take them. I didn’t know how you'd want to play it.”
Abbott pursed his lips.
“Ah. Right. Clever.”
Havoc looked at Stephanie and he and Stephanie looked at Abbott. Abbott frowned deeply.
“Is Jafari back from prayer yet?”
Havoc shook his head.
“No.”
Abbott turned to Stephanie.
“We need to focus on our next conference with Ualus. After that, I’d like to talk to you and then we’ll talk with John and Jafari.”
Havoc felt obligated to qualify his finding before he was dismissed.
“Remember it's possible that what I found was a plant.”
Abbott frowned and Stephanie’s eyes flashed. Havoc felt amused. As if he was suggesting her.
“Though they were well hidden,” he added.
Abbott nodded.
“We’ll bear that in mind. Thank you, John, good work. We’ll see you shortly in the amphitheater.”
Havoc took his cue and left.
108.
“It's a peace ship,” Weaver said.
Karch looked skeptical.
“It’s a 'peace ship' now?”
“That's right.”
Kemensky made a face.
“Isn’t a peace ship just a euphemism for a warship anyway?”
Touvenay shook his head.
“I don't believe so. The language appears to have different symbology for warship. This appears to be a different concept.”
Kemensky spread his hands.
“But how is a honey trap for eliminating species a peace ship?”
Darkwood looked uncertain.
“It’s a bluff?”
Weaver projected an image up on the screen.
“I don’t think Plash is the honey trap. Look at this.”
Karch grimaced.
“Fuck. A whole system of inhabited planets?”
Weaver nodded.
“Gone. And then this.”
Kemensky looked horrified.
“A whole galactic segment, I can’t believe the scale of this thing. So what are you saying? That this planet isn’t a honey trap?”
Weaver reviewed her tentative conclusions in her mind.
“No, but it has encountered several. In fact, it seems designed to hunt them out.”
Darkwood considered this.
“A honey trap hunter. It’s plausible, I suppose.”
Kemensky frowned at Weaver.
“So you changed your mind?”
Weaver smiled.
“I'm a scientist. New data, new conclusions.”
Darkwood walked closer to the screen.
“If these images show the devastation the honey traps cause when they're triggered, maybe it makes sense to disarm them before that happens.”
Kemensky looked around with apparent wonderment.
“And this is the ship that does that? And it was this race, the Torquemada, that set the traps?”
Touvenay nodded.
“It appears so. And it seems there may have been one of these honey traps near here.”
Darkwood raised an eyebrow.
“So we rather urgently need to establish which side won?”
Kemensky frowned.
“So we could be on... either?”
“But if we were on a honey trap, why would it contain records that talked about honey traps?” Darkwood said.
“Hell of a double bluff,” Karch said.
“Quite,” Darkwood said.
Karch pointed at the screen.
“That gold cloud in the image. You’re saying that's the weapon released by the honey trap?”
“One of them,” Touvenay said.
They contemplated the image in silence.
Weaver’s eyes narrowed.
“And the cloud in that clip is being sucked into a single point.”
“That’s right,” Darkwood said.
“As if by some kind of gravitational beam.”
“Indeed,” Touvenay said.
“Which could end as a gravitational anomaly if the process continued...” Weaver said.
Darkwood’s eyes widened.
“By thunder. I see what you’re saying.”
109.
Havoc stood, faintly illuminated by the glow from the altar above, as Abbott directed his question at the light.
“If we release you, what would you do?”
“Do?”
“What actions would you want to take?”
“I would live.”
“Could you please be more specific?”
“I would eat and drink and search for my fellow people, wherever they might be.”
“Didn't you say your species was destroyed?”
“The systems that were targeted were destroyed. Our civilization was destroyed. I hope some of my people survived. Nothing is certain.”
“Could you tell us about the system that you come from?”
“I would rather not until I better understand your intentions. Please explain them to me.”
“You are a multi-system species?”
“Yes.”
“I know this must be difficult, but to help us avoid a similar fate, could you tell us what happened?”
“You mentioned the gravatic beam before.”
“Yes. Is the beam a weapon?”
“It can be. But it is what the beam conceals that is the far greater weapon.”
“Something is inside the gravitational anomaly?”
“A weapon.”
“Inside the gravitational anomaly?”
“You wish me to repeat it?”
“No. No. What kind of weapon?”
“A self-replicating dissembler. Are you familiar with this technology?”
“Perhaps. Could you explain it?”
“Yes. The Diss can be controlled from the Eliminator. Or from anywhere else, if the controls are taken.”
“Can you tell us more about the Diss weapon? And their controls?”
“Yes, but not at this time. Please release me. You are clearly a species based on exchange. I am concerned by the prospect of a sequencing error. If I answer your questions you may leave me here. If you release me, I will still be in your presence. So I will tell you what we have agreed. This is logical.”
The horror of what the alien had said sank into Havoc. What the hell was a 'self-replicating dissembler', if not some kind of super-weapon? A new human arms race may have just started, prompted by this conversation. If one of the other civilizations heard about such a
technology there would be chaos in the system.
“If you release me I can explain to you the energy source, the gravatic beam and the control of the Diss.”
Havoc grimaced at the magnitude of the carrot being dangled in front of Abbott. With the fanatical Gathering outside and the other civilizations nearby – especially given the technology that was on offer – Havoc knew that Abbott would try and reach an agreement with the alien. And when you make a deal with the devil, he always collects.
Jafari came on the line.
“Code five, visitors have arrived.”
Translation: the Gathering is here, things do not look good and I need you outside, right now.
110.
Novosa struggled on, lost in her own world. She wasn't human any more; she was a writhing, squirming animal that was hell bent on nothing but dragging itself forward.
Left arm, pull, right arm, pull. Repeat.
The wind whipped at her. Her vision was slowly deteriorating despite her augmentation.
She hauled herself up another low dune. As she crested she saw on the horizon the large dune that marked the end of the desert. The upper part of the pyramid loomed over it, dispassionately marking her advance.
She looked back at the dirt.
Her entire world was the single square meter in front of her. An ever shifting, ever changing, completely uniform conveyor belt of dirt that determined if she was going to live or die on this God forsaken rock on the far side of the universe.
Left arm, pull, right arm, pull. Repeat.
She swam in an abstract world of hytelline, dancing around barefoot as a little girl, walking purposefully along the lines of the pavement, left foot, right foot, tilting from side to side. She was on a boat as a cadet, far too drunk, swaying up and down as the deck undulated beneath her. She drifted on, the suit taking the strain and pulling her forward, knowing all she had to do was hang on. The suit was damaged so she couldn't target it on her destination. The suit would read her neural impulses and move her, but she had to stimulate the movements consciously.
Sleep beckoned her as she swum through her anesthetized world. A nap. A break. Just to relax for five minutes and drift away. Everything felt so remote. The sensation of her breathing was silly. A little break was irresistibly tempting. Too much hytelline, she thought, abstractly. She rolled onto her side, intending to pause for only a moment.