by Rupert Segar
“I know people like that,” said Art. “Take the Emperor or his Enforcer, Colonel Garth.”
“It was not Human, Art. I saw those eyes and experienced what Magella felt. It sat there looking back with smug confidence and evil intent. It was a great malevolent creature saying ‘You are next.’”
+
“I don’t believe it,” said Becky sitting at the long low table in the chamber the three humans had adopted as their conference room. “Are you telling me the Creators are off the hook? It is too good to be true.”
“If there is some evil intelligence behind the Kargol offensive, it might explain a lot,” said Art.
“Oh dear me, a big bad black boggle eyed monster is going to eat us all,” snorted Becky in derision. “It’s just too damn convenient. Anyway you’ve only got Zeeann’s word for it, that and the hysterical raving of an unhinged nun.”
“Zeeann doesn’t lie,” said Lea earning a sharp look from Becky. “These aliens might not tell us everything but they don’t tell outright falsehoods.”
“How come you’re the expert on the aliens now?” said Becky.
“Come on,” said Lea. “We’ve all experienced their telepathy, even you, Art.”
“Yes, well …” said Art, blushing and looking down at the ground.
“Oh, I thought you were too high and mighty to go tete-a-tete with Zeeann,” said Becky, pouting at Art. “What did she do to change your mind?”
“The thing is,” said Lea. “We all know how direct and spontaneous thought is. Unless, Creators like Zeeann are self-deluded, they have to tell the truth.”
“Zeeann is determined to believe anything as long as they’re not responsible for the disaster,” said Becky “And even better if it’s us humans.”
“Look, just consider one thing,” said Art, composing himself. “What if there is some evil creature that’s about to cause the galaxy to come crashing down? What can we do? We have to do something.”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it? Art, the saviour of the universe,” said Becky, in a sing-song voice which she changed for a more determined tone. “Just for once, I’d like to be the one who says we have to act.”
“We can all be heroes,” said Lea reaching out and taking Becky’s hand.
+
At one end of the cavern of the Pools of Light, the three humans along with Mr Angry sat on a low bench. Strictly speaking, the mechanical pod hovered slightly above the surface of the seat. Zeeann and Sisters Magella and Freya stood by a pool, waving their hands over the surface and peering into the choppy water.
“Aren’t they frightened the bogey man is going to get them,” said Becky quietly to Lea.
“No, we are not frightened,” said Zeeann, who clearly had acute hearing. “Now we know what to expect, we will not be surprised. In any case, at the moment, we are not looking any further afield than Last Haven, the planet you call Devastation.”
“He is there!” said Sister Freya with slight excitement. “I told you there was a Human male in the valley below.”
“A Human male?” said Lea.
“Yes,” squealed Becky in real excitement. “It must be Anton, I left him in the temple days ago.”
“Do you want to go and fetch him?” said Zeeann.
“What, you mean hike all the way down the mountain and back up here again?” said Becky, somewhat despondently at the thought of having to exert herself.
“No,” said Zeeann waving a long arm towards an alcove at in the wall of the cavern. “We Creators have short cuts.”
A grey portal appeared hovering in space a roughly a meter above the ground. Becky leapt up and stood in front of the gateway. The oval disc’s lower lip dropped to the ground.
“Becky, you may have to walk a little bit,” said Zeeann, mockingly, “Maybe one of your Terran minutes at a brisk pace. In general, the closer the gateway, the longer the transit.”
“Hey, I’m all for exercise,” said Becky disappearing into the face of the portal. The grey faced disc returned to its normal impassive oval.
“Was it just luck that you had a gateway in the valley below?” asked Lea suspiciously.
“No, we made this one a few moments ago,” said Zeeann.
Lea looked surprised and perplexed at the same time.
“But I thought it took the planetary mass of a solar system to make a spinning black hole and form a gateway,” said the historian feeling betrayed by his own ignorance.
“That is true for the original network of doorways,” said Zeeann, smiling. “But we can easily create secondary portals nearby using overspill energies in the flux field. Particularly on this planet where there are four main gateways and erratic flux patterns all over.”
The grey portal dropped its lower lip and Becky emerged arm in arm with Anton. The tanned man with a black and white beard and dark eyes looked around the room and bowed to Zeeann.
“Can’t stop,” said Becky. “Anton’s not had a mouthful of food in three days. That’s if you don’t count grubs, Yuk!”
Becky dragged the voyageur off.
Mr Angry rose from his seat and glided towards the portal in the alcove.
“Can you create a portal link to the other side of the planet where my sibling is in hiding with Dylan Moran?”
“Yes we can,” said Zeeann, smiling patronisingly towards the red pod. “However, your mechanical brother will not be able to pass through. The doorways only work for sentient beings.”
“Well, let’s see,” said Art, smiling.
Magella had been manipulating the controls on the side of the pool by sliding her hands and jabbing with her fingers just above the surface of the liquid.
“We have located the shuttle,” she said to Zeeann. “We are initiating the portal.”
“Yes, let’s see,” said Mr Angry. “I will go and fetch my ‘mechanistic brother.’”
The red pod moved smoothly towards the portal and disappeared. Zeeann was visibly surprised.
“Never underestimate Mr Angry,” said Art laughing at Zeeann’s discomfiture. “The pods are all fully conscious. That’s the way your technological cousins designed them.”
Zeeann turned and stared at Art. He stopped laughing.
“Of course, the portal is not limited to the surface of the planet, Art” she said. “We can connect with the entity called the Ship and Yelena. Are you going to save her?”
Chapter 6: The Fate of Humanity
In loading bay 7, there was incessant activity. Engineers, all converts to the cause of the spiders, brought in a variety of equipment. The obedient slaves rigged connections and adapted apparatus at the instruction of the Brood King. The large spider squatted in its nest by the space doors and used the head of the former Vice Admiral Bartz to deliver a series of complicated orders to a string of technicians.
Close by was the partially dismantled Sentinel. Two of the Brood Kings legs trailed over the machine. ‘Mad Peter,’ the wretched guardian officer, who had surrendered his ship and its Sentinel intelligence, fiddled with the AI’s wiring.
The Kargol Emperor sat on a flimsy camp chair next to the Brood King. He was surprised at the intensity of the activity but felt it could be better organised. Not that he would say any such thing directly to his new master.
“My Lord, wouldn’t it be better if you told them what you wanted to achieve. Some of these mechanics are quite talented, I am told. If they knew the purpose of your device they could possibly improvise and, dare I say, might make improvements.”
“There is no reason for them to know or understand anything,” said the detached head hanging from under the spider’s stomach sack. “I am simply constructing two devices for instantaneous detection and communication: the first will allow me to sense what is happening near any gateway in real time no matter how far away it is; the other will let me communicate with any of my kind, anywhere in the cosmos.”
“Sire, being able to do either would be a profound scientific breakthrough. Either would give t
he owner of such technology an overwhelming advantage in any interstellar conflict.”
“I can do both,” said the Brood King. “How is it do you think we Brood Kings have conquered one hundred and seventeen galaxies? These tools endow an insurmountable tactical advantage. That is precisely why I do not want your engineers to understand what I am doing. Even the most devoted drone might get ideas above their station. You Humans are stubborn. I cannot be absolutely sure of these engineers’ loyalties. So, at the end of the construction phase, every one of them will be fed to my grubs.”
A shiver went down the Emperor’s back. He had become aware that ultimately his fate, along with that of the rest of humanity, was as food for the spiders. Despite his revulsion, he still felt an overwhelming compulsion to please the Brood King.
The two beady eyes stared at the Kargol Emperor. The head below spoke again.
“Now, I need your assessment of how the war is progressing. You need only talk in broad generalities; I receive detailed reports nearly every hour. What I want is your Human perspective on our achievements and what you think our objectives are.”
“Sire, with the exception of Fair Isle, we are succeeding on every front. Within two months, we will have control of half the galaxy. We already control a large part of the galactic rim going anti-spinward. Before our latest expansion, the Kargol Empire covered more than a thousand worlds. Hundreds of planetary governments, on our far borders, voted to join the Empire without any hesitation. Two armadas have now left Kargol controlled space to engage the worlds beyond.”
“Going spinward, we have complete control of the Alliance worlds. Their fleets have been commandeered without opposition, unless you count the suicidal scuttling of two cruisers at Columbus. Beyond the Alliance, there is only a scattering of small kingdoms, none of which have the capacity to fight us for more than an initial engagement. We let them know in advance that opposition will result in retribution. As a result, there are lots of individual worlds that only need one or two cruisers to be pacified.”
“Good, how are we treating the occupied territories?” asked the spider’s mouthpiece.
“Some with the right political leaning have become protectorates. The rest have been designated slave worlds with forced labour and high production targets to meet the increasing demand for war materials. We now have more than 200 space yards producing cruisers. Some are even manufacturing battleships. Only a tiny minority of worlds have required decimation to pacify the population. Killing one-in-ten sends a strong message. Three planets had to be cleansed.”
“You must try to preserve as many planetary populations as you can,” said the spider. “Wiping out entire populations needlessly is wasteful. Now, what are our objectives?”
“Complete military dominance of every world around the galactic rim. Every sector will be centrally controlled. On pain of death, we will require the complete loyalty of every citizen or slave of the Empire. Limited elections will be allowed for local councils. Outside of Kargol worlds, no elections will be allowed. Every human will service the needs of the Empire. Dissidents will have their friends and families executed. Rebellions will result in genocide.”
“Humanity will learn to serve under the remorseless yoke of discipline,” said the Brood King. “But you have forgotten the two most important objectives.”
“Yes, my lord, transport and education. All interstellar flights are to be limited by the Empire. Civilian freighters and passenger ships are to be automated and centrally controlled.”
“I will tell you now,” said the head hanging beneath the spider. “All ships, civilian and military, will be controlled by spiders. My brood queens are laying their eggs at the moment. My offspring will be able to pilot every ship and control its every function. The last thing I want is for humans to rove about the galaxy finding new freedoms where none should exist. But you have still forgotten the most important objective.”
“Yes, sire, I remember. The teaching of science is to be banned throughout the galaxy. But, sire, without technicians, everything about us will stop.”
“You fail to appreciate your species’ technological age is coming to a close. After the war, when I have subjugated Humans throughout the entire galaxy, all you will need to do will be to light fires and make mud bricks.”
“But my lord, the sciences involved in maintaining and running a star ship is prodigious. Without ships, how could you police your territories? Without computer technology we would be back in the Age of Isolation with every world on its own. Also we are dependent on technology to sustain our people, grow food and provide medicine and education.”
“You need not be concerned,” said the Brood King’s mouthpiece. “We will deal with your surplus populations. Every Human being has a use, alive or dead. And, as I have said, Humans will not be needed to fly star ships. In fact, once your race has been de-skilled, only a few hundred warships will be needed to keep order. The Human race has long dreamt of living a rural idyll. That fantasy is about to become the harsh reality of a basic agrarian society. Illiterate masses will face a life of hard work in the fields. There will be the return of pestilence and frequent starvation. Beside the warships, the only other star ships I’ll require will be cattle freighters. They’ll be packed with humans to supply the dietary needs of my billions of offspring.”
The Kargol Emperor looked down at the ground feeling sick. He was so in thrall to the Brood King that he felt compelled to betray his entire species. Human beings would be reduced to meat animals on a galaxy wide farm. He prayed his dismay was not apparent to his spider lord. Neither the Emperor nor the Brood King noticed ‘Mad’ Peter looking at them, his face contorted with perplexity.
“Emperor, who is next in line to the Kargol Throne?” said the Brood King.
“As you know, my lord, all of my siblings were killed when the royal barge vented its air into space. The Lady Thea, my great niece, is the only surviving member of my family.”
“Why is the Lady Thea not in court on board Orion? She is not one of us, is she?”
“No, my Lord, she has not experienced the bliss of your blessing. She is an imperial spouse. Her husband is an intendant on an occupied backwater world called … Archipelago or something like that.”
“It is called Arcadia,” said the Brood King. “I am not happy that the next in line to the throne is not one of us. Your Colonel Garth will have another mission when he returns from Earth. He will pay her a visit to ensure her loyalty to the Brood.”
Chapter 7: Casket Head
On board the alien ship there was a quiet calm. Despite being surrounded by the enemy and wrapped in a cage of traction beams, the occupants of the small vessel felt at ease. There had been no attempt to breach the mirrored surface of the alien ship’s defence screen. The damage to the vessel, that occurred before the defensive fields were fully deployed, had largely been repaired. The ship itself said it was now impervious to attack by the Imperial battleship, which hung one kilometre away. The only reason for the apparent stalemate was that the ship wanted to contact the humans on the planet below but dared not in case it revealed their presence to the enemy.
Yelena lay on a cot in the medical bay, still deep in a coma. The medibot surgeon had replaced the crude head clamp with a more sensitive neural net. Now, however, as well as being linked to the ship, Yelena was connected to the damaged nurse, Ethel, and the living remains of Captain Sying Chang. The captain’s limbs had been amputated and her eyes removed. She was preserved within a glass fronted casket which supported her life functions. This fate was reserved for the more valued prisoners of war captured by the Empire. Bundles of probes and neural stimulators were attached to the optical nerves. When questioned, the prisoner in a casket was forced to reveal whatever he or she knew or thought about any topic.
“Thank you so much for allowing me to talk,” said a holo image of Sy’s head floating beside the trolley on which her casket was resting. The medical bay was too cramped so Sy’s casket and the inju
red nurse’s cot had been set up in a makeshift camp just outside the door. “The Ship is most kind to give me access to all sorts of data.”
“I am so sorry for not realising you were cut off from everything,” said Gill. “I was just so pleased we had all escaped, I didn’t think of you trapped in your casket.”
“I try not to think of myself as inside a box,” said the young woman’s voice coming from mid-air. “Anyway, now, with the help of the Ship, I can be anywhere: here in the corridor by the medical bay; or, outside in space, seeing what the Ship senses.”
“Are you able to talk to Yelena.”
“No,” said Sy. “She has cut herself off from everything.”
The projection of Sy’s face flickered and went off. The striped holosphere appeared in her place.
“I am sorry to interrupt, Gill, but we have an emergency. There is an intrusion forming in the control cabin.”
Carole had no idea what an ‘intrusion forming’ meant, but it did not sound good. She ran as fast as she could up the switchback ramp to the control cabin. She was puzzled to observe a grey oval about the size of a football pulsing in mid-air near the pilot’s chair. It was surrounded by a large green sphere which filled the cabin from floor to ceiling.
“I have erected a spherical inertial dampening field around the incursion,” said the holosphere, popping into existence by her side. “Whatever gets in, will not be able to get out … of the sphere, that is.”
The pulsating mass stretched itself out into a flat grey oval about one meter across.
“That looks like …”
“… a portal,” said the ship finishing Gill’s sentence.