Tentacles: An Anthology

by Haley Whitehall

  The first tissue samples crashed the analysis computers when they were flooded with

  conflicting data. One of the few things the computer could tell them was that it was not the Mandrite it was supposed to be. The samples were then given to powerful artificial intelligences who declared the mass of data impossible to interpret as a whole. Eventually, the researchers learned that the mass was composed of individual cells. Or, to be more specific, one cell, each, from separate individuals of many different species originating on dozens of different planets.

  Only when they laboriously analyzed individual cells did they get useful results. Each cell was, indeed, from a single individual, no two from any one being. With this information, the search for the identity of the cell’s owners began. The researchers became quickly frustrated when they realized their data bases and networks only allowed them to identify species and world of origin. They finally called the police for access to their larger identity networks.

  With the inspector’s cooperation, they submitted a selection of profiles to the secured police networks for identification— and waited. Had the situation not already been highly unusual, none of those present would have believed the eventual results. The cellular material of the sample group belonged to beings reported missing across the galaxy over a period of almost 300

  standard years. This sample group was from a small piece of tissue, less than half a cubic centimeter. The original mass almost filled a star liners passenger cabin.

  The officer and researchers quickly prepared preliminary reports which were immediately sent to various police agencies and research labs across the galaxy. They also prepared and sent off a short press release on the results to the planetary news service as follow up to the story of the star liner’s recent quarantine scare. Within weeks most of the galaxy would have basic information on the incident. Almost lost in the excitement was a short report from the ships security officer on a now missing stowaway, one Mr. Sweede.

  ZAURAL

  ..................

  By Eva LeFoy

  ZAURAL BURST THROUGH THE OBSERVATORY’S door, her jaw set firm, wearing her best no-bullshit-tolerated scowl. Seeing not much at all in the bluish-dark gloom, she spun left in a circle, right, and then slapped her hips in exasperation. “Okay, where the hell are the little fuckers?”

  Slight ripples in the water reflected specks of moonlight off the dome’s translucent ceiling.

  Not enough to illuminate the room, but enough for her to see what wasn’t there as soon as her eyesight adjusted. In the recesses where the Gramica should have glowed were empty pockets in the plexi-glass structure. Which lent the whole room a Swiss cheese appearance, and punched holes in her already tenuous mood.

  “For your information, they’re called the Gramica, not ‘little fuckers’, Zaural. And they ain’t here, that’s for sure.”

  Hairs along her neck stood in silent protest at the sound. She knew that voice. Dreaded the fact she’d hear it again all the way here. And now here he was. In the flesh. “Kasan,” she snarled.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  She needn’t have asked. The clink of a bottle dropping onto the plexi-glass focused her gaze on the oblong white shell-shaped chair facing away from her. It swiveled smoothly on its axis.

  “Right here. Waiting for you. Like always.” He grinned a soused, lopsided, if slightly sad smile.

  “I have no time for this, Kas. We’re on a tight schedule. The—”

  “The particle shower will arrive in T-minus 30, and gadget-girl’s here to save the day. All work and no play. You haven’t changed.” He vaulted upright, wobbled, sketched a clumsy bow, and stumbled toward a hole before catching himself.

  She took a step closer, her teeth gritted against warring impulses to save him or push him in.

  “Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you. Can we just forget a about the past and deal with the present for a minute?”

  He straightened. “The present. Right.” He waved an arm over the plastic hole-filled area.

  “Presently, they aren’t here, and we – the purveyors of backwards technology – have no idea where they could be hiding.”

  “Did they leave before, or after they killed Matako?”

  He scratched the scruff on his chin. “After.”

  “Has anybody looked for them?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes rolled back in her head. Of course not. Too few people and too much work to do to stay alive on this poor excuse for a planet. No one to spare for a science mission. Thus the colony’s emergency call. “Can you differentiate their signal on a thermo-scanner?”

  His brows dipped. “On a what?”

  Oh right. No scanners allowed in paradise. How they’d survived the first few years eating dried food packages armed with rocks and spears, she’d never comprehend. Some peoples’

  choices were stupider than hell. “Come on.” She snatched his collar and dragged his drunken ass towards the Destiny.

  “Wait. Where are you taking me?”

  “To my ship. You know these creatures. And you’re going to help me find them.”

  “What if they don’t want to be found?”

  Typical, Zaural thought. Typical stupid-ass colonist thing to say. Their back-to-nature anti-tech live-and-let-live ideals had gotten them into this mess. But her ship, her crew would pay the price to get them out. With their lives, if they weren’t careful.

  ..................

  “Admiral on the bridge.”

  Zaural stood at attention, gaze locked on the vid screen image of Admiral Vorle like every other sane person on the crew. Kasan, on the other hand, sat slumped at the console. She resisted the urge to smack the back of his head a good one.

  “Captain Shuri, give me an update.”

  She came forward to deliver the good news. “Yes, sir. It appears the Gramica have vanished from their last known location. We are now attempting to locate them.”

  “And the body?”

  “Fronson has located it, and beamed it up for analysis. We should know more in several hours once his autopsy is completed.”

  “Have you uncovered any idea why these creatures killed Matako, captain? We have to

  determine the exact nature of the threat here, before we can decide on the best course of action to assist these…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone in the room could pretty much fill in one of the many missing adjectives by themselves. Outcasts. Freaks. Terrorists. Rebels.

  Convicts. Several of her crew cleared their throats.

  Behind her, Kasan stiffened. She decided she didn’t need to defend him. “Yes, sir. But until we locate the Gramica, get a usable reading and determine their level of sentience—”

  Kasan whipped around in his chair. “With what? A computer?” Admiral Vorle frowned. So did his eyebrows. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Young man—”

  “His name is Kasan, sir. One of the colonists.” As if the admiral couldn’t tell that from the man’s dusty sun-bleached clothes. “He’s helping us locate the Gramica.”

  Vorle cleared his throat. The sound of his fingers tapping on the desk rang out over the audio fuzz. “Captain, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that we are on a short time leash here. The particle storm will arrive in—”

  “T-minus 30,” Kasan stated. “And counting.

  Vorle’s left eye twitched. “Which leaves us a matter of days to investigate and prepare for evacuation if needed.”

  She didn’t think it possible, but Kasan turned white as a Greek Old-Earth column. He bolted to standing and tottered a little. “Evacuate? Who said anything about leaving?”

  “Captain, I’ll expect your full report tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Evacuate?” Kasan came toward the vid screen, his voice a sharp shout. “We didn’t agree to this. You can’t just—”

  “Vorle out.”

  The screen blanked. Kasan rounded on Zaural,
fists clenched, as if she’d planned this. Her fingers curled around the pistol at her hip and paused. Never hurt to be prepared for the worst.

  “You can’t do this! We will never agree to be evacuated. Never!”

  “Sit down, Kas. We can talk about cancelling evacuation later, after you locate the Gramica and prove they aren’t a threat.”

  He once more muttered something about them not wanting to be found as he sat again.

  Zaural got the idea he knew more about this situation then he had so far divulged. A little charm might work. She bent to hover over his back and whispered in his ear.

  “Kas, listen to me. Nobody’s going to remove you without my order. I promise you. I know how much this,” she nearly gagged trying not to say, ‘dried up old rock’, “colony means to you.

  Can you trust me to be on your side? For old time’s sake?”

  Kasan shook his head.

  He’d always been smart. Too smart. Rebels always were. “Well, we’re going to locate them anyway.”

  She stood, and Kasan reached a hand out and acted as though he’d stop her, or as though maybe he’d tell her a secret, so she hesitated. As time froze for a few seconds, the call rang out over ship’s comm.

  “Found ‘em, captain. We’ve got them!”

  Kasan let his hand drop and didn’t say a word. She could have swore she saw defeat in his eyes. But then, the training manual said to expect that amongst his type.

  His type.

  She rolled her eyes and tried to force back the images of them together on sweaty sheets on the bunk on the Growley, planetside, and on the small desert moon where the light gravity made sex a whole new acrobatic feat. No, she refused to let the past play a role in the present. She wasn’t here to conjure demons, but to interrogate them.

  “On my way, Fronson.”

  ..................

  “Ten clicks.”

  “We should see them any time now.”

  Dawn came too slowly to planet Andvari for Zaural’s liking, and bathed it in a peaked light far too lazy to meet optimum plant growth guidelines, but enough light to see by nonetheless.

  The CapeTown executed the standard search pattern, following gridline for gridline well within the target area. If nothing else, her crew knew how to be meticulous.

  Zaural peered into CapeTown’s sensor looking for – she didn’t know what she was looking for – anything that might seem … lifelike. Nothing. Not even a blip. “How far underwater could they be?” She tossed a glance at Kasan, who’d turned a dull airsick green. She suppressed a smile.

  He swallowed, eyes never leaving the read-out. “Depends.”

  “On what?” If he said, whether they want to be found, she might just shatter his front teeth.

  But he said nothing.

  The ship’s proximity alarm dinged and the pilot automatically slowed. “We’re here. See anything?”

  “Set on wide scan,” Zaural commanded. “Give me any life-sign reading.”

  Her crews’ fingers flew over the keyboard. Minutes passed. Nothing.

  She radioed back to ship. “CapeTown to Destiny. There’s nothing here. Please confirm

  coordinates. Repeat. Please confirm coordinates.” They came back exact. They’d made no error.

  What the hell was Destiny reading in Andvari’s dark sea?

  “What time is it?” Kasan’s voice was almost lost in the clatter of keys. But she’d heard it.

  She spun in her chair.

  “Why? Does that matter?”

  He shrugged. “It might.”

  She’d either be a fool to ignore him, or a fool to trust him. In the end, those wadded sheets did count for something. “Arty, hold this position.”

  “Aye, captain. How long?”

  “As long as I say.” A glance at the fuel showed they had three, four hours tops left in the tank. She bit her lip and sank back into the chair. Time passed in dull, nerve-wracking silence.

  Medical called an hour and a half later.

  “Captain, we have the serum ready.”

  “Good. How much?”

  “Two hundred units.”

  “Understood. Keep them ready. Zaural out.”

  “Serum for what?” Kasan asked.

  “We’ve developed a re-gen formula that should help those ravaged by particle penetration.”

  “A serum?” Kasan raised an eyebrow. “What does it do, exactly?”

  “Repairs damaged tissue.”

  “Uh huh. And have you ever seen anyone who’s been hit by the storm unprotected?”

  She shook her head.

  “The scarring…” he shuddered. “It’s not just the cellular damage you’d have to cure. Most die within a week.”

  She turned in her chair so they sat knee-to-knee. “Then tell me. How does this work? How can the Gramicas simultaneously protect humans against exposure and be killers at the same time?”

  Kasan sat forward, rubbing his head. It was the most vulnerable she’d seen him in a long time. The most unsure. The liquor must have worn off. “They deliver the dose directly to our bodies. But the Gramica don’t have enough for everyone. With repeated exposure – those that have been here since the last storm – only a top-off dose is needed. But with those born since the last storm—”

  “They need a larger dose?”

  He nodded. “And they don’t have enough for everyone that needs it.”

  Arty called back from the pilot’s chair. “But how large a dose does it take for them to kill?”

  Kasan looked as though he’d punch her pilot, right before his gaze snared on something past Arty’s head and he stilled. “Why don’t you ask them?”

  Zaural spun to look out the shuttle’s front screen and gasped. Yellow, ethereal lights came closer and closer to the surface with every passing second. She didn’t know how or why they swam, or even cared whether or not they didn’t swim but simply floated. A grin broke over her face as she hit her comm. badge. “Destiny, we found them. Arty, bring the ship down.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  The ship vibrated as it broke surface tension, but then it floated quite evenly. Zaural unbuckled and made for the door. “Open the hatch. Extend gangway.”

  Arty flashed her a worried look, but complied. “Aye. Extending.”

  Kasan’s fingers dug into her arm. “Look, don’t go out there. Don’t confront them on this.

  You’ll only drive them off. And you won’t get the answers you seek.”

  She turned, eyes narrowed, to see if his desperation rang true. He believed it. She could see it in his eyes. “And why the hell not? I’m investigating a murder here, Kas. I have a job to do. I can’t just pretend the murder didn’t happen.”

  He dragged her away from the now open hatch and ran his other hand through his hair.

  “Look, the creature … the creature that killed Matako, he’s just a boy. A bit of rebel. He …

  chose on his own to do this. To make a point.”

  She raised her chin and waited for the rest.

  “They’ve already punished him. If you go down there, if you bring this up, they’ll be shamed, and have to make him an outcast, cut him off entirely.”

  Teeth filed against teeth as she digested his words. “Wait. You’re telling me that a rebel – a rebel – is what we’re fighting against?” A laugh spilled from her throat. “The outcasts versus the outcast? Oh, that’s rich.” Her laugh faded as she as she yanked her arm out of his grasp and closed the distance between them. “Or, is this a case of one terrorist protecting another?”

  Kasan frowned. “I’m not a terrorist.”

  “The state says you are. That’s why you’re here, remember?”

  He grimaced. “The hell with the state.”

  She spun on her heel and he caught her arm – again. Her other hand went to her pistol. She couldn’t afford to be made a fool in front of her crew. Besides, shooting him in the ass would feel real good.

  “Listen to me. Find a way to get the
information without harming the kid. It’s imperative we have their cooperation. We need it to live. To survive.”

  With a twist, she dislodged his hand once again. “You should have thought of that before you burned down the federal building,” she hissed. It hurt to watch him recoil, but that’s what happened to people who went against the grain. They fucked up and they paid the price. It didn’t matter if they were humans or … she gazed at the light-filled water beyond the ship … alien sea creatures. She gulped, fully comprehending for the first time just how alien these creatures were.

  How in the hell did she even communicate with them? “Arty, open the translator and watch our backs.”

  He grunted, and with any luck he’d understood she’d really asked him to keep Kas off her back.

  The wind whipped her short brown hair in crazy directions as she stepped down the

  gangway. The last few feet bobbed up and down in the water. She went three-quarters down and crouched, searching for words. Damn if she’d ask Kas who the leader was, or how to address them. Instead, she cleared her throat. “I am captain Shuri, of the space vessel Destiny. We’re here in response to a distress call made by the humans on the planet. Are you familiar with our language?”

  Silence. The sea undulated yellow and a blushing orange hue all around her. The creatures, always moving, always glowing, showed no sign they’d heard her. She scooted a little further down the gangway and held a translator just above the surface of the water as she spoke. “I need to talk with your appointed leader about the future of the human colony on this planet. If this can be arranged, please reply. We have our translation system standing by.”

  Several minutes passed. Her legs ached. The cold water washing over her boots seeped in through the eyelets and chilled her toes. The first signs of a migraine danced behind her eyes.

  With a sigh she stood and stared at the dark horizon. “How in the hell do you talk to these creatures?” Kas’s voice inches behind her made her jump.