by Hugh Howey
The shadow grew larger, and she couldn’t help but shrink toward the wall with fear as sweat ran down her back. She cursed the EACS—it made her unable to hold her breath, and she gasped for air.
The figure appeared around the corner so quickly it took her by surprise, and she let out an uncontrollable squeak of fear.
Chapter 2
“Yanick!” Seralah swore for the second time in as many hours. “What are you doing down here?”
Granton shrieked as he saw her and dropped the tray he was carrying, sending the coils of wiring and tools cascading to the floor. A tangle of coppery-colored strings caught on an air tube and pulled the mask from his face, and he fidgeted for a moment as he readjusted the cylinder on his back. Seralah wiped dew from her brow and bent toward the floor to help gather the spilled items, breathing a sigh of relief that it was only her clumsy lab engineer who’d caused the fright.
“Why aren’t you wearing a mask? You shouldn’t be down here without one. You know what the rules say—”
“I was only coming for a few minutes,” Seralah interrupted, though she took the mask from Granton’s outstretched hand gratefully and with a smile, and she enjoyed a few deep breaths of cool air. They remained crouched for a moment so that she could continue refueling without the need to pass over the gas tank that was still firmly belted to Granton’s back.
“What were you doing down here?” Seralah asked her technician again.
“The EACS was off; I was worried the force-field was down. I was trying to get the system going again when I heard something.”
“So that clatter wasn’t you?”
“Oh…” He stopped and looked apologetic. “I got spooked and backed into a console.”
Seralah couldn’t help but grin; she should’ve known.
“Granton, you really are the clumsiest engineer I’ve ever known. How you haven’t killed yourself by know I’ll never kn—”
She stopped short, her ears rotating away from the conversation and back toward the underground lab. She’d heard something—she was sure of it. She passed the mask back to Granton and felt the heavy atmosphere upon her face again. Granton was quiet, the pair of them frozen to the spot as their eyes peered into the low light and their ears searched for the slightest sound.
“Why was the EACS down?” Seralah whispered after a moment, keeping her voice so low she barely heard it herself.
“I thought it was a fault a first,” Granton replied. “But I couldn’t find anything, so I traced the outage back to the main terminal. It was switched off from down here.”
“Why would anyone—”
Seralah jumped as she heard a sudden droning in the distance. Without thinking, she let go of the cable converter in her hands and watched with horror as it fell to the floor. If there was ever a time to remain quiet, it was now. Her colleague’s hand whipped out and caught the falling item before it could send a deafening echo across the chamber and alert whoever was there to their presence.
“Thanks,” Seralah mouthed with surprised, wide eyes as he deftly caught the device. He smiled, the beige flecks of fur at the corners of his mouth making his grin seem larger, brighter, than anyone else’s she knew. Then, without warning, a whirring filled her ears, and all thoughts of how cute her colleague looked were gone.
She couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it, but she could sure hear the missile rushing through the air toward them.
“YANICK!” Seralah screamed, abandoning her discretion and pulling Granton to his feet. “RUN!”
They raced toward one of the makeshift laboratory booths that had been set up for onsite analysis. Her heart was in her throat, the thick air making her feel as if she were wading through the muds of her home planet. Granton was beside her but falling back, the equipment in his hands and on his back weighing him down.
“Leave it!” she screamed, knocking the tray from his hands and causing a tide of tools and materials to be thrown into the air. They scuttled for cover, the noise of the weapon coming closer and filling her thin, round ears with terrifying and painful vibrations. As she ran, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw that it was too late.
“GRANTON!”
The missile buried itself into the oxygen cylinder on Granton’s back. An explosion of orange bowled her over backward, and Seralah threw her hands over her face as the flames ate at her flesh. She cried out, tears streaming down her face as she hauled herself across the floor, taking cover behind what was left of the lab station, patting her burning fur and feeling sick at the smell of singed hair. She gasped for air in the fiery atmosphere, choking on both her fear and the smoke.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and once again she froze, her bloodied ears on high alert. Despite her terror, she rolled over quietly and peeked around the edge of her hideout. Two figures stood over the smouldering heap of Granton; one of them gave her fallen engineer a sharp kick to ensure he was dead. They were almost invisible in the dim light, their darkened bodies clouded by the smoke. There was a third somewhere, too, Seralah now realized, as a call came from across the chamber in a language she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t very good at the core languages, but she knew enough to know that this wasn’t a race she’d dealt with before—even on some her most remote digs, where the more dangerous members of the galaxy lurked.
The two strangers turned away, seemingly satisfied that they’d eliminated the threat and ensured their presence went unnoticed. Had they not seen her? Did they not realize she was here? She took a final look at the pair as they sauntered back to where the artifact lay, and she had to resist the urge to shriek when the smoke cleared enough for their gangly and crouched physicality to be revealed.
Why were they here? What did they want with her relic?
Seralah receded into the dark and laid her head against the wall as her burns began to pulse rapidly, bringing hot pain with each wave. She’d never seen one of them before. She’d been lucky, having evaded any contact with them on all her previous digs. And now, here they were, in her sector, on her moon.
Kholorians.
* * *
“I’m fine,” Seralah repeated for the fifth, twentieth, or hundredth time; she couldn’t remember which. In fact, she was far from fine, but she wasn’t about to let her peers know that. The nurse by her bed stubbornly remained behind when the physician left the room, continuing to wrap and rewrap the bandages around Seralah’s hands and arms, slathering a thick milky paste between layers as she went. Seralah sat there rigidly while the process went on, desperate to leave but holding her tongue nevertheless. Finally the nurse seemed satisfied, though Seralah slapped her hand away when the thorough woman went to adjust the wraps one more time.
“I really need to be going.”
She quickly pushed herself off the edge of the bed, grabbed her bag of personal belongings, and stepped out into the hallway.
“Professor Delekin!”
She pretended not to hear. Surely now that her ears were so badly singed they would believe the act. But the call came again, this time a little closer, so she quickened her pace toward the elevator. I need to get back to my lab. I need to check on the artifact.
“Professor!”
“I really haven’t got the time, I—”
“Professor Delekin.” There was a hand on her shoulder, and she realized there was no escaping. Swallowing the irritation and taking a deep breath, she plastered a weak smile across her cheeks before rounding to face the annoyance. “You’re going to have to come with us.”
Seralah was taken aback upon seeing the three Reihus guards. Her species was not a military race in the slightest, and its forces tended to remain within the home system and outlying colonies.
“Is everything okay?”
“There’s nothing to be concerned about, Professor. We just need a few moments of your time.”
But she was concerned. Reihus guards didn’t turn up for just anything, and they certainly didn’t accost hospital patients and escort them away wit
hout reason. Seralah nodded gently at the trio, who turned away from the lift and toward the heart of the facility. She’d thought today couldn’t get any worse; it seemed she might’ve been very wrong.
* * *
“And just why were you down there?”
The question was fired at her without any compassion for the colleague who’d been murdered. Just a cold, harsh query. She was sitting uncomfortably in a small cubicle in the hospital’s inner sanctum: a place of laboratories situated well away from patients, visitors, and, indeed, most of the medical personnel.
“That damn orbital station had me questioning my sanity. I needed to go and see the artifact with my own eyes again.” She paused. “I don’t see why I need to explain myself,” she added rigidly. “I am the project lead.”
“Not anymore you’re not.”
“What?” The shock of the statement hit her like two tons of Karivien ore. She stared angrily across at the Academy of Sciences board member. She’d never seen him before—a fact that was concerning in itself, for she’d met all but the very highest of the Academy’s academics, directors, and sponsors. His fur was greying and he looked a little too fat to easily escape his sleeping hole. One eye had the telltale green sheen of a permanent ocular implant. It made her wary; he might be questioning her, but what other manner of data was he scrutinizing? Her career? Her performance? Her background?
“It’s out of my hands, Professor,” the man said quickly and without apology. “You’ve shown no concrete results from the item, and now, because of the poor state of your laboratory, a fine engineer is dead and the artifact is destroyed.”
“Destroyed? No! It might’ve been taken!”
What was happening?
“Taken? And just who would take such a thing?” The board member threw the question casually into the air as if neither wanting, nor needing, an answer.
“The Kholorians. I saw them. They shot Granton. They must’ve stolen the artifact.”
The room fell silent, and Seralah could hear the breaths of the guards stationed on either side of her chair. She saw the green shine of the implant as her employer leaned in and gave her a hard stare.
“Professor, the Kholorians have no business here and are rarely seen within the core systems unless they’re making trouble with the Oridiane Five. Quite frankly, this little situation has given us great cause for alarm, and it has me questioning your ability to run a team here at the Academy.” He pushed back his chair and stood, guiding his plump body around the table. “Take some time, Delekin. Drop this matter from your mind. You can expect reassignment within the coming weeks.” The door behind her clicked open and she heard him muttering as he left. “Kholorians, here? What a ridiculous notion.”
Chapter 3
Thirty minutes later, Seralah was aboard the shuttle heading to the science station—though not, as her superiors expected, back toward her quarters. There was salvageable data in her lab, and there were colleagues she might be able to coerce into giving her information. She hurried along the corridor, avoiding the stares and gossiping technicians who became hushed as she scurried by. The lab was in sight, and she rushed forward to push her fingers against the lock.
Any hope Seralah still had quickly evaporated when the door failed to open. Still, she tried several times, all with the same effect. Finally, one of her project members left his desk and slouched toward her, shifting nervously on the other side of the translucent door.
“We’re under strict instructions not to let you in,” he said quietly, looking as dejected as she felt. “What happened down there?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, not wanting to make herself the focus of further public scandal. “Granton’s dead.”
Her former project member nodded his head miserably. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Seems your golden ticket ran out.”
“Seems so,” Seralah replied. Her days of cashing in on the accidental Lapso Disease cure seemed to have come to an end.
She took no pleasure in traversing the halls this time around, or even staring out the window at the beautiful moon below her. There was a hushed and somber mood creeping through the station. By now everyone would be well aware of what had happened—or at least, what the Academy’s board were saying happened: that she, Professor Delekin, heroine of the Reihus, had demonstrated a severe lapse in judgment, resulting in a team member’s death and the destruction of an ancient artifact.
Why won’t they believe me?
The unanswerable question toiled in her mind as she threw off her clothes and crawled into her sleeping hole. She pulled the blankets around her, suddenly wishing she’d taken her father’s advice and brought some hessian; to feel home would have comforted her. Poor Granton. He hadn’t deserved such an awful end. The smell of burning flesh and fur was still caught in Seralah’s nose, and without warning she was sick, bursting into tears as her stomach convulsed. Her hands had begun to ache again, and she peeled the bandage edging away, wincing as it tugged at the remnants of her singed hair.
Why were the Kholorians there? And what did they want with the artifact? What was so important that they were willing to kill for it?
* * *
Her superiors certainly didn’t know her very well, Seralah thought wryly to herself as she strode toward the airlock the following morning, a bag slung over her shoulder, her mind focused on the new task at hand. Wait for reassignment? Were they joking? Surely even the lightest reading of her personnel files would’ve made quite clear that she wasn’t very patient… or good at obeying the rules.
She held her head aloft and paid little attention to those around her, instead enjoying the feeling of the EACS upon her face. Perhaps, after all this was done, she’d visit her family on Kree and feel those real homeworld winds upon her fur once again. All this time in artificial atmospheres and away from real dig sites was taking its toll.
The main dock of the spaceport was quiet when she arrived; the morning transport had already come and gone. By now, all the students on rotating apprenticeships, along with their technicians, would be busy with lab work. As for the miners—well, they preferred to go on private shuttles as part of their pay deals.
Seralah was waved past the check-in desk and allowed onboard and directly into Top Tier without even paying. Her newfound notoriety at least gave her some perks.
“Can I get you anything, Professor?”
“I need a communications tab that links directly with the Oridiane Cloud. Oh, and a menu.”
It was only now that she realized she was utterly famished. She waited until the attendant had returned with a complimentary glass of tandry, passed her the menu, and closed the private cabin door before she removed her gloves and attended to her sore hands. She dared not unwrap the bandages, despite the fact that brown, tainted ointment was oozing from between the folds. It was better not to look. There were multi-alien specialists where she was headed; if one of them couldn’t treat a simple burn, there was no hope for anyone. Luckily, the nurse had bandaged her such that her fingertips stuck out the ends, and she could just about use the communications tab, though it took some getting used to.
As she was fine-tuning her awkward use of the device, the attendant returned, took her order, and, within moments, reappeared with a steaming black and glossy tajine filled with soup and a pile of grilled, salted Barnth chrysalises. Seralah didn’t care how much it disgusted the other races when they watched Reihuses crunch the outer shell and suck down the gooey contents; as far as she was concerned, there wasn’t much better in the way of comfort food than a sticky pile of her favorite delight.
Chewing on the end of a chrysalis and feeling the goo in her mouth, Seralah relaxed into her seat a little and prepared for the “Space Shot.” She’d never actually made this journey before, but she’d looked it up the previous night: three Space Shots on a rather indirect route that would take twenty-seven hours. Still, at least she didn’t have to change transports; the fewer people she had to deal with, the be
tter.
Kholorians. Focus.
Seralah looked back at the communications tab and connected with the Oridiane Cloud. The constantly evolving database was a central knowledge core, accessible to the five major races from wherever they were in the galaxy. The current connection was a bit spotty, but with the distance and speed of travel, she wasn’t surprised. At least it would allow her to do a little research on the journey.
She’d already practically dug down to the base code of the Academy’s database in her research, and still hadn’t been able to decipher her artifact’s numerics and symbols—if that’s even what they were. But the Academy’s database wasn’t connected to the Oridiane Cloud. The Reihus had always preferred to safeguard their technologies and advancements, and for good reason. Even the major species had not always seen eye to eye, and there was something to be said for keeping local systems offline.
Navigating through the various channels, and cursing occasionally at her lack of dexterity, Seralah finally began to educate herself on the Kholorian race. They were not—and Seralah believed, never would be—one of the core five. They were overly aggressive, and their desire to expand and colonize had brought them under fire from just about every known race at one time or another. The list of trade and social sanctions against them over the years went on for pages, and after glancing at the first half dozen, Seralah realized that even with a twenty-seven-hour voyage, she didn’t have time for all the entries. Skipping to the end, she noted that lately they’d begun to leave the major races and their surrounding systems alone, opting instead to attempt seizure of lesser-known and isolated worlds. But even there, the Oridiane Five had asserted their authority, and the Kholorians weren’t happy about it.