The Shining Cities: An Anthology of Pagan Science Fiction

by Lauren Teffeau

  Mammeri nodded, trying not to breathe too deeply. "I'll have ferch Alun send down some of the Marines."

  "The smart ones, not the dumb ones. Who was it? Free Aztec?"

  "No. Pirates."

  "Hmph. They after our supplies or the Oracle?"

  Mammeri paused, frowning. "Hopefully the supplies. I hate to think the Stellar Fleet has a leak, or that anyone would be foolish enough to attack the Beloved of Apollo." He spun on his heel. "Keep me informed. And I'll get you those Marines."

  "The smart ones!" Yassemidis yelled after him as he ran down the corridor.

  ***

  He found the Oracle near where he had left her, sitting on the ground. The foxes were nowhere to be seen. Prophētēs Kyrillos knelt at her side, weeping loudly and tearing at his robes. Prophētēs Oreias lay with his head in her lap, breathing heavily, a large red stain spreading across his chest. Pythia Theone was bent over slightly, whispering, her fingers gently massaging his head. Oreias smiled, hiccupped. His chest stilled. The Pythia inhaled sharply, a flash of pain crossing her face. She lowered his head to the ground, and closed his eyes.

  "Kyrillos." She gripped the priest's shoulder. "A coin, please. And stay with him, if you would."

  She clambered unsteadily to her feet, looked around, and spotted Mammeri. Moving slowly (did the foxes still have her slipper?), she stopped a few steps away. Her scarf was askew. She cleared her throat. "Your crew?"

  "Injured, badly," he snapped. "It's likely some of them will die. And my barque is crippled. Pythia Theone, I know that you speak for Apollo and that -- " He stopped, drew a calming breath. Would Apollo strike him dead for questioning His Beloved? "You could -- should -- have warned me. Instead, you deliberately called me away just as my ship -- "

  "No." She shook her head, eyes bright and wet. "No, I could not. I told you, the dreams are not always clear. And when it did become clear ... I knew what was required of me, what I had to do. I will not ask your forgiveness again." She straightened her back, blue eyes now dry and determined. "I will tell you the rest of the dream, though." She gave a short nod at his look of surprise. "A red dog walking along a road. A swarm of locusts. They tear the flesh from the dog. A bone dog. It walks into the east, towards two rising suns. The light is blinding. Out of it steps a man, a Great man. He pulls his beating heart from his chest and feeds it to the dog." A swift exhalation and she sagged slightly. "There. That is all the God has shown me -- for now. ... I will attend to my companion now." She turned, shoulders stiff, and walked slowly back to the wailing Kyrillos and the dead Oreias.

  ***

  "He takes his heart out of his chest? And feeds it to the dog?" Ferch Alun scowled, arms crossed. "Which means what?"

  "It's symbolic." Nikolides rubbed her lower lip.

  "Nnph."

  "Carrying the weight of a God, it's ... overwhelming, sometimes. Utterly exhausting." Nikolides braced her hip against the railing, gaze far away. "I think They use dreams and symbolism, sometimes, to avoid burning us alive."

  Another grunt from ferch Alun.

  Mammeri scowled around his bridge. Against Villanova's orders, Lakhanpal had checked herself out of the Therapeum and dragged herself back to the bridge. Head covered in bandages, she half-slumped over her console, pushing buttons, listening, listening for a response to the emergency buoy. Stathopoulos sat stiff, making minute corrections with the thrusters, keeping them in orbit over the planetoid despite the erratic tug and pull of the protostars, planetoids, and massive asteroids all around them. Tadi was doing her best to get some of the screens in working order again. At least the main screen had stopped flickering. Now it just had a giant crack down the middle and only the starboard side was functional. Part of a protostar glared back at him, brilliant blue.

  Mammeri tilted his head, studying the infant star.

  "Captain?" someone called.

  "Nikolides, how thorough are the most recent charts of the Iona Nebula?"

  She sniffed. "Not even thirty percent. The probes keep failing."

  He tilted his chin at one of the functional screens above Stathopoulos' head. "Pull up the chart. How many binary star systems have been mapped?"

  Nikolides walked down the ramp, slid around Tadi, and tapped at the console. The screen filled with a crude outline of the Nebula, roughly one third of which was clearly mapped. The rest was empty space, just a star here and there marked and identified. "Looks like ... twenty-seven binary systems."

  "It would have to be a system that hasn't been mapped," Tadi said quietly.

  Mammeri "hhm"ed his agreement.

  "So ...." Ferch Alun's eyebrows danced in consternation. "The symbolic rising suns are ... literal stars?"

  "Protostars. Newborn suns."

  "And, we have to find one particular binary system in a chunk of uncharted space that is almost one hundred light years across in every direction? And then hope we have enough fuel left in the thrusters to get there. And then ...?"

  "We have faith, Aerowen," Mammeri answered. "Bhāskara?" He leaned over the railing. His comm officer peered up at him, face drawn tight with pain. "Ignore the buoy. Start listening for a heartbeat."

  ***

  He kept busy. He worked on the bridge screens with Tadi, and they managed to get four of them working again. He cleared corridors of debris, put out small fires here and there, cleaned the blood from the floor of the Therapeum. Five hours later, he was in Engineering, helping Yassemidis and the Marines shunt emergency power from secondary to primary systems, when Nikolides called him.

  He ran to the bridge, and found Lakhanpal smiling, despite the lines of pain around her eyes. "It's faint. I had to filter out a lot of background noise, but it is there." She pulled the mic from her ear, slid her fingers gracefully across the console -- and a low thrum-thrum filled the bridge.

  Mammeri felt a smile forming on his lips. "That is a turbo running on low power." He glanced over at Nikolides to share the smile with her, only to find her bent over the railing, gripping it tight. She was taking deep, calming breaths. Tadi reached up from below and knit her fingers through Nikolides' clenched hand. A flash of deep, awful despair. His Primary Officer exhaled long and hard and slowly straightened. A determined nod.

  "Right, then," she said. "Lakhanpal, coordinates?"

  "I can get us in the general vicinity."

  Mammeri stepped up beside Nikolides. "Stathopoulos, how's our thruster fuel?"

  "Down to fifty percent, Captain." The navigator looked up at him. "If we go deeper into the Nebula, we won't get out again. If we exit now ...."

  Ferch Alun was shaking her head. "You can be damned sure those pirates are watching the edge of the Nebula, just waiting for us to come out. We might have the fire power to hold them off for a while, but we sure as Annwn won't be able to outrun them."

  Mammeri glanced around at his bridge crew: Nikolides, back straight, despair beginning to give way to just the tiniest whisper of hope. Ferch Alun, looking pissed. Stathopoulos, impossible to read, as always. Tadi, smiling at him in total trust. Lakhanpal, nodding.

  "Faith it is, then. Take us in."

  ***

  He lost count after the tenth asteroid almost sheared them in half. Adjusting for the weird, conflicting tug and pull of the various stars and planetoids used up more fuel than they had anticipated. As they approached the binary system, they were down to only twenty percent reserves. Following the thrum-thrum of the heartbeat, the Fox edged around a string of comets and a molten protoplanet. Over a tumbling asteroid and into the full light of the protostars. There, her hull shining bright copper and jade, the Ptolemaic crest emblazened across her bow, floated the Alexander the Great.

  With a silent sob, Nikolides bent over, pressing her forehead to the railing. Mammeri squeezed her shoulder, and ordered them in closer. "Stathopoulos, put us in a parallel orbit. Lakhanpal -- hail the Alexander. Just in case."

  Overlapping "Aye, Captain"s.

  The cracked main screen wavered, then the solar filt
er kicked in, blocking most of the protostars' glare. Mammeri studied the other barque as they moved alongside it. She was a massive vessel, six times the size of the Fox. The pride of the Fleet, meant to carry Pharaohs and Chancellors and Nomarchs, lost to fate and chance on her maiden voyage.

  Ferch Alun suddenly sat up straight in her chair. "Captain, one of the landing bays is open. Port side, section three, level three."

  "Stathopoulos, can you get us in there?" He felt Nikolides shudder under his hand. She scrubbed her hand across her face and slowly stood up. Her breathing was shallow, but steady.

  The navigator gave a slow nod. "Aye, Captain. It'll take some fancy dancing and use up most of the fuel we have left -- " he actually smiled " -- but I can do it."

  The Fox edged away from the Alexander, angling around so that her bow was pointed at the other barque. Sliding along, up, higher along the hull, until the open bay door came into view. Or, mostly open.

  "Of course," ferch Alun muttered. "Why would it be open all the way, when the Gods can watch us crash in a half-open door?"

  "Not going to crash," Stathopoulos muttered in response. "Quiet, please."

  A starboard thruster went off, then port, then one on each side, then four at once, slowly pushing the Fox forward. The Alexander loomed into view, blocking the light of the protostars. The copper and jade colored hull, brilliant from a distance, looked increasingly pitted and worn as they drew closer. The Fox slowed, shifted starboard, Stathopoulos' fingers hopping and skipping across his console, and then forward again. With only a few feet on either side, the small barque slipped through the broken door and into the dark landing bay. It hovered for a moment as the landing gear descended, then settled with a jolt onto the deck.

  Ferch Alun exhaled loudly. She poked at Stathopoulos. "If we get home, big horn of honey mead, all yours."

  "Lakhanpal, have Yassemidis and any Engineers he can spare meet us in Airlock Delta. Ferch Alun, get all your Marines. Break out the EVA suits -- "

  "Captain," Nikolides interrupted, "permission to accompany you."

  He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. The shudders and shallow breathing were gone, and her eyes were clear. He nodded. "Granted. Stathopoulos, you have the bridge."

  "Aye, Captain."

  ***

  Located in the aft of Engineering, on the underbelly of the ship, and meant for loading and unloading blocks of cargo -- or dignitaries and their entourages -- Delta was the largest airlock on the Fox. Strapped tight into his EVA suit, surrounded by his crew and a dozen Marines, Mammeri offered up another prayer as the platform lowered them to the deck. "Heavenly Tanit, continue to guide and watch over your devoted children, and assure any spirits herein that we offer them only the respect they are due."

  The platform stopped with a clunk. "Captain Ferch Alun, you and I will head up to the bridge and gather any ship's records we can. Everyone else, Engineering. Do whatever Primary Engineer Yassemidis tells you to do."

  Lots of nodding and "yes, Captain"s as headlamps and wristlamps snapped on. The columns of light swung around the dark landing bay, back and forth, sometimes overlapping, as they spilled off the platform. Multiple kachink-kachinks as electro-magnetic boots locked onto the deck. Mammeri heard a click, saw Nikolides lean in and say something to Yassemidis over a private channel, then another click as she came back onto the main line. The Primary Engineer stared at her for a moment, shrugged, and waved everyone to follow him. "This way, pick up your feet, we got engines to salvage."

  Mammeri turned to find his Primary Officer, but she was already gone.

  "Captain? Bridge?" Ferch Alun reminded him.

  "Right." He waved his light towards the far end of the bay. "I doubt the lifts work. We'll have to take the ladder up to the Main Gallery on level two, cross that, than up the ladder to the bridge on level one."

  After wrestling with a reluctant access panel, it was a quick climb up the ladder to level two. The ladder opened directly into the floor of the Main Gallery. Mammeri pulled himself up, turned to give ferch Alun a hand, and then stopped to just stare.

  The plasteen dome of the Gallery, punctured and battered, as long and wide as two Foxes end to end, faced the protostars at just the right angle to allow the twins' light to fill the room without being blinding. It warmed the white and blue marble-clad floors and walls, the flowing double staircase, the stylized bronze and copper chandeliers, the marble columns with their silver caps, and the brightly painted flower beds. In the center of the Gallery, the light turned the giant idol of Alexander the Great -- his right hand raised and pointing forward, ever forward -- to brilliant gold.

  Mammeri found himself standing at the foot of the idol, just at the edge of the pool that should have been filled with cool water and leaping fish; it was empty, boiled away, leaving the idol to stand alone. He raised his hands, palms up. "Great Alexander, General of Generals, King of Kings, Pharaoh of Pharaohs: you were lost, and now you have been found. We rejoice."

  He lowered his hands and turned to find ferch Alun on her knees, awkwardly pressing her helmeted forehead to the marble deck. He could hear her whispering over the comm. After a moment, she rose. She shrugged at him. "We follow the traditions of Cymru on Brynmelyn. That's how we honor the ancestors."

  "The ladder should be up here." He headed towards the nearest staircase. "I don't know much about Brynmelyn. Care to enlighten me over a mug of honey mead?"

  "Sure, if Stathopoulos is willing to share."

  ***

  The bridge was full of bodies. The Captain and Primary Officer, Navigator, Comms, Marine Captain, and a half dozen other crew members. Mammeri pressed his hand to the chest of the dead Comm officer and gave it a firm push. The body floated away, spinning, giving him space to climb up and into the bridge. He stood slowly, headlamp sweeping the room. There was no sign of damage to the bridge: no blown panels, no soot from a fire, no cracks or openings in the hull. Just blank screens, silent consoles. And bodies.

  "They died doing their duty," ferch Alun whispered.

  "Good for them. They could face the Gods with honor, and be judged well."

  His comm crackled. "Yassemidis to Mammeri."

  "Go ahead."

  "Took some doing, but we're in Engineering. Turbo seven is running at bare minimum. The rest seem to be functional, but we're gonna power them up and make sure they still work before we start ripping them out. Stand by."

  "Understood -- "

  Lights flared to life, consoles blinked, screens flickered on, and the a-grav kicked in. Bodies crashed to the floor. The Comm officer shattered.

  Mouth pulled into a tight grimace, shoulders hunched, ferch Alun snapped, "Thanks for the nightmares, Yassi, 'preciate it."

  "What?" More crackling. "Oh, sorry about that. You all right, Ni Muirne? Didn't get whacked too hard, did you?" More crackling and a barely audible response from the other Engineer. "Right, than. Give us about three hours, Captain, and we'll need at least another six to get the wrecked turbos removed and the new ones installed."

  Nine hours. He suppressed a sigh of frustration. "Call us if you need help." He turned to Aerowen. "Let's see if we can find out what killed the Alexander."

  ***

  They worked in shifts. With De and Okoye still under Villanova's care in the Therapeum, that left only Yassemidis, Ni Muirne and Egbokhare to oversee the removal of the damaged turbos and the installation of the new ones. Sweating and swearing in their EVA suits, the Marines strapped a pair of hover pads together and hauled the turbos, one at a time, through the Alexander's corridors to the Fox. The corridors were barely wide enough. The hover pads scratched the walls, digging deep gauges in a few places.

  Off-duty, helmets tossed aside, they collapsed in exhaustion in the Fox' garden. With the remaining power still being shunted to primary systems only, Chef Stella had to get particularly creative: she "borrowed" several of Villanova's plasma scalpels and sterilization pods to cut and cure small pieces of chicken, beef, and rabbit. With th
e raw spinach and strawberry salads, cashews, and fresh-squeezed orange juice, it was enough to keep the crew going. The kits, of course, were running around looking adorable, stealing what they couldn't beg.

  Helmet and gloves tucked under his arm, Mammeri found the Oracle among his crew, passing out pieces of flatbread and small cups of honeybutter. Astonished, eyes wide, several of the crew stood and bowed as the Oracle served them. She smiled softly, nodded, and motioned them to sit.

  "Captain Mammeri," she said when she spotted him. Her gaze never wavered. She held up the tray of bread and honeybutter. "Hungry?" She had fixed her scarf. Was there more gray in her hair?

  Conversation around them lulled, the crew pretending not to watch.

  His stomach growled. Mammeri sighed and nodded, and awkwardly lowered himself to the ground. Gravel crunched. "Famished, thank you." Dipping chunks in the honeybutter, he had devoured two whole pieces of flatbread before he realized it. She handed him a mug of orange juice and he guzzled that down, too. He burped in satisfaction. "Thank you, Pythia Theone, for leading us to the Alexander."

  "I can only do as the God directs me. Now," she tilted her head at the bulkhead, "there is a mother in mourning who needs you."

  ***

  He found Nikolides in her son's quarters, starboard side, section two, level three. She sat on the bed, clutching a scroll to her chest, and stared at the wall.

  "I can't find him." Her voice sounded tight over the comm. "He would have been ... here. Or at his station, in BioSciences. Or, maybe the Gymnasium. Or, in the Main Gallery ..." her mouth twisted " ... writing poetry."