The Captured

by Kyte, Adrian

  The airlock was about seven by seven metres, nowhere near large enough for the number of B’tari – at least fifty – in a muted state of panic. Muted, she surmised, because they did not want to be seen genuinely panicking in front of a couple of humans; the very notion that any B’tari could show a loss of control or admit to fear in the presence of a lesser species, didn’t bear consideration. Although a few had begun to recognize her. One saw the presence of an officer (officially ranked lieutenant but she didn’t go around issuing orders to lesser ranks), and said in B’tar, ‘They’re not telling us anything. We’ve been waiting for over an hour. Maybe they’ll listen to you.’

  ‘All right,’ she replied, Suddenly feeling the eyes of fifty B’tari civilians upon her. ‘I’ll speak to the captain.’

  Everyone parted helpfully for her to reach the hatch; meanwhile Torbin was left slumped against a wall, his glazed eyes looking upwards. She put her finger on the intercom sensor, so that it would transmit her ident to the captain.

  ‘How may I be of assistance, lieutenant?’ came the smooth voice in her language.

  ‘You can let me in for a start.’

  The hatch opened. But as she was about to enter, one of the civilians pushed past her. The young male clearly had this planned. Zoraina followed him as he ran through the silver-grey corridor towards the flight deck. ‘Wait,’ she shouted as she tried to keep up with his considerable pace. He then reached the hatch to the flight deck, and realizing he may have miscalculated in not trying to push through one of the side doors, turned to face her, his forehead ridges glistening. ‘I know this ship is already nearly full,’ he said, ‘and they’re not going to let the rest on it. Well, what do you reckon: women and children first? Anyway, I will prove myself useful here, I guarantee it.’

  ‘Step aside,’ she ordered him. He complied.

  The hatch opened. She walked in but the man followed. The bridge was a fairly basic blue-grey; there didn’t seem to be much in the way of controls. These days a single control room was more symbolic than functional. The captain swivelled round in his chair. He was human-looking. That was not so unusual these days given how allied her race had been with humans, except there was something not quite right about his face – a kind of plasticky quality like the early days of cosmetic conversion. He acknowledged her presence then fixed his stare on the young male, pointed a finger at him, and to her astonishment, the b’tari vanished, leaving a brief puff of smoke.

  ‘What did you...’

  ‘He’s back in the bowels of the station?’

  ‘But he’ll never survive.’

  ‘Then let his fate be an example.’

  ‘That seems rather callous?’

  ‘It was a reasonable response to a potential liability.’

  The realization suddenly came to her. ‘You are not B’tari. What are you?’ she asked despite having her suspicions.

  ‘I am what you refer to as an Elusiver. And you are aboard a ship far more advanced than anything your race has in the fleet.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I am here for Torbin Lyndau. He is – how do you say? – a bargaining chip.’

  ‘Torbin? Why?’

  ‘He is an ally of the Kintra machines. And his capture may prove useful in tracking down Roidon. Now you have your answer I hope you will follow my orders and know that they are for a logical reason.’

  ‘Of course. Torbin is waiting in the airlock. When I tell him what you told me I’m sure he will come here without a moment’s hesitation.’ She couldn’t be sure if the Elusivers got sarcasm.

  She forced herself not to run, just keep a calm steady pace. The crowd were surrounding her like a Higgs field, firing questions. Exasperated, she stopped at one point and told them: ‘The captain of that vessel is not a B’tari, he is an Elusiver. I’m sure at least one of you will have heard of them.’

  There were a few gasps. At the back of the crowd Torbin stood; he staggered towards her.

  ‘An Elusiver? They are here?’

  Zoraina waited until he had reached her before replying: ‘Our last ride out of here. And the captain is very keen for you to take it.’

  ‘And he just let you go?’

  ‘Only so I could fetch you.’

  ‘But there’s no way I would go.’

  She figured Torbin probably would rather die than submit himself to his erstwhile enemy. There was something that didn’t add up here. She made for the airlock intercom and told it to patch her through to the lab, mildly surprised to discover it was still working.

  ‘Zoraina. There was nothing I could do,’ said the chief scientist. ‘I just found it gone. Not even any sign of entry. The Kintra machines must have some kind of stealth technique we don’t yet know about.’

  ‘The Earth sim? You are sure it was the machines?’

  ‘Well, who else could it be?’

  ‘I think I have an idea.’ She broke off the link.

  Torbin was looking at her in bemusement. ‘An Earth sim?’

  ‘Yes, and it contains a perfect copy of you.’

  ‘So the Elusiver has it?’

  ‘Well deduced. That’s the bargaining chip.’ No, she thought, not quite.

  Torbin shook his head. ‘Still, I will not be boarding that ship.’

  ‘Oh yes you will. Otherwise your life will definitely be over. You think the machines will show you mercy now, now we are at war?’

  ‘I think I would rather die.’ He was looking to the floor.

  ‘That’s because you are consumed with self pity,’ she told him. ‘Why not think about others for a change? Your boarding will save not only my life but the lives of these people here.’

  ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘Observe.’

  She returned to the docked ship, the door opened obligingly. The Elusiver captain looked at her expectantly. Zoraina said, ‘I know you have the Earth sim, but I still have some leverage.’ The Elusiver gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. And she continued, ‘Here’s the deal: you let all those people on board and Torbin will follow.’

  The Elusiver inclined his head in contemplation. ‘That will be acceptable. However, many will have to share sleeping quarters.’

  ‘I’m sure they will accept that. They’ll have to.’

  The civilians, however, took some persuading. The reputation of the Elusivers had carried from the days when they deemed all sentient life other than themselves unfit to continue (although too late to learn from their own lesson as their artificial progeny became dominant), creating a form of temporal eradication. How many of those, she wondered, would appreciate the irony of the same process being sought by another means?

  As he walked the slow walk of a condemned man Torbin said, ‘You were right of course. This is not about me any more.’

  ‘Although it is about your virtual double working to save us.’

  ‘I wouldn’t guarantee his safety either.’

  Once aboard, the ship left the sea in an instant; they were in space in a few seconds. Watching from the observation deck, Zoraina tried to find some sign of the Kintra incursion. The thought occurred to her that the entire attack had been faked, that it was some elaborate ruse to get Torbin and the sim.

  The stars then shimmered out of existence. Whatever type of space they were in she at least felt safe from the Machines. Torbin, on the other hand, was on the flight deck in the presence of the captain. She tried not to imagine what his fate may be. She vaguely remembered a quote from an old science fiction series – a wise alien talking about the needs of the many outweighing that of the few. Then she recalled her studies of the Temporal Directive class, the teacher reciting the passage ‘Sometimes doing the right thing can involve pain for a few for the preservation of the many, even if that eventual outcome is not apparent. Time often rewards selfless intentions, as it rewards infinite patience.’

  Zoraina relaxed into a chair, enjoyed the strange undulating iridescent colours of space (that were probably more as a fu
nction of her mind than anything in reality) with the thought that there was nothing else she could do.

  Then: a shudder. The ship was in normal space. Spider-craft; the dark arachnid forms surrounding. Hundreds of them. Somehow they had followed the ship of the most advanced biological species in the galaxy.

  Of course. The Kintra machines had learnt from their erstwhile masters. They had adapted.

  Part Eight: Making the Most of...

  62

  Roidon’s starship was something special, even he – who had been in the best the B’tari had to offer, and not to mention the Elusivers – had to admit to being impressed. He had travelled nine thousand light years across the galaxy in only twenty-fours hours of subjective time, using a technology he had no comprehension of beyond its utility. It seemed that he had the best end of a deal: destroy an Elusiver ship in exchange for a means of transport unparalleled by any other race. Well, he reflected, it seemed a little too good to be true. For a while he imagined there to be a Kintra – a baby arachnid machine – hiding in some recess of an engine or behind a removable interface panel. He checked and found none. There was no reason anyway for their hostility towards him. It was not as if he was any longer in the business of taking sides.

  A ready admission to anyone who might be spying or listening: ‘My life means nothing beyond pleasure.’ Although not (he silently assured himself) merely the physical; his pleasure could be exalted to the most profound philosophical revelation – the surmounting of what had seemed insurmountable, the equivalent of seeing God. Always good, he reflected, to have something still to aim for, however elusive.

  He no longer cared for wars; surely somewhere down the line even this one would settle into a predictable pattern like so many through the centuries – like two grandmasters all too familiar with each other’s game. These endless struggles to gain dominance over another for some strategic advantage may once have been interesting in the days when life was nasty brutish and short, when you could see the enemy before killing or being killed. But all he had witnessed, frankly, left him weary. If the Kintra and the Elusivers fought in any conventional sense he could enjoy the spectacle, he’d enjoy playing one side off against another. Only to them it was like a game of chess, with humans the pawns; the Kintra had every one of their pieces under strict control, even the lowest level drone could defeat a battalion of humans. He understood the romanticism – and to some extent nostalgia – that had held for centuries of the great wars, when both sides were of comparable stature. Even if the enemy had greater armaments or numbers you could still go into battle with a sense of hope that at least you’d survive, or die a hero. In the last incursion people didn’t even know when they had been overwhelmed, it happened with such brutal efficiency.

  He had come out of hyperspace when, as requested, a planetary system similar to sol (and thus likely to host humanoid species) was located; one displaying signs of a high technology. From observations it was at least as advanced as Earth.

  Above a planet of a similar size to Earth his ship orbited. He entered the shuttle-pod, he’d also previously checked for any Kintra-machine stowaway.

  When darkness had fallen he landed the shuttle in a jungle, ten kilometres away from any civilization He took with him what equipment he could strip from the ship – a device to replicate food and drink, a sleeping bag, a lifesign scanner in a hand-held device, which even incorporated a paralingual translator. Also infrared specs proved invaluable in the pitch dark. The Kintra had been remarkably generous, and yet he didn’t believe they’d provide more than was necessary. Perhaps these were merely leftover bits of tech they had accrued in the capture of various aliens.

  Had the Kintra ventured this far? If their technology easily allowed it, then why not? Too far, too isolated, it was a factor in his choice of this world; he’d betted they’d concentrate their resources on a more populous sector of the galaxy.

  Only something here felt wrong. Intuition: that nebulous nagging feeling – he could stop to analyze, but now his need to make contact with someone, another biological entity, was driving him on. Here was the difference. Being human.

  The jungle cleared to reveal a cityscape; illuminated towers of turquoise and red with spires piercing hundreds of metres into the starry sky. Although it hadn’t exactly been cool, the heat of the city washed over him along with a mild scent of jasmine; urban warmth – a wonderful relief, the balm to loneliness. He had walked the entire ten ks to a densely populated area. Roidon felt the flutter of anticipation in his belly. Even though it was the middle of the night, a big city like this would still be a hive of activity, of sentient beings, working, socializing, enjoying each other’s bodies.

  He pressed on, walking from a dirt track onto a main road. Three-wheeled vehicles zipped along roads and up the side of buildings. In the distance he was sure he saw a restaurant. It all seemed uncannily Earth-like. He headed towards it. There were figures: humanoid. When he reached a pedestrian square he stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of someone leaving the restaurant. Humanoid indeed. A short dress, the outline of breasts, the curvature of hips and bottom. A female. She seemed to be striding in a determined way. Or was that anger in her movement?

  Roidon dared himself to approach her. When he intercepted her she nearly walked around him. The translator active in his pocket. He blocked her path, caught her averting gaze. Yes, beautiful, although her skin appeared – in this muted light – to be a khaki green, as if she were designed to blend into the jungle. A true native female. How exotic, he mused. She seemed upset.

  He said, ‘Excuse me. Can you help? I am looking for a place to stay for the night.’

  She creased up her face. A look of incomprehension. Then she said, ‘Ibawali imtotal cronal zonnotuta. Rolk eemz bantalia!’

  Roidon felt in his pocket for the translator. It was active, its little lights flashing, and on its screen were her words. Perhaps it was struggling with a radically different syntax.

  Then after few a seconds, her words projected into his ears: ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying. But please leave me alone.’

  ‘I don’t mean to bother you ma’am,’ he tried, ‘But I am lost, and I need a place to stay.’ Roidon then noticed his words appear on the device, and its side lights flashed.

  The woman had noticed it, was peering down, curious. ‘I understand you now. Yes, there are plenty of places to stay. If you have the money.’

  ‘That’s the problem. I have no money that – as far as I know – would be accepted here. But I have some precious gemstones, diamonds, and gold. I also have a device that can create food from base molecules.’

  ‘Oh really.’ A half nod with a half smile. ‘Are you on some kind explorer?’

  ‘Of a sort.’

  ‘And all you need is a place to sleep?’

  ‘That is my immediate concern.’

  She nodded fully as if in comprehension of what he was implying. ‘And you’re hoping you can stay at my place. Well, from here on I’ll be living in a small apartment since my bastard of a boyfriend dumped me.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Of course you’re not. You see this as an opportunity to take advantage of a girl when she is down and vulnerable.’

  ‘Am I that transparent?’

  She nodded again, and started walking. Roidon kept along side her. As they got into the well-lit central plaza the woman stopped and studied him. ‘Where are you from?’

  Roidon looked skywards. ‘I’ll be honest with you,’ he said with sigh. ‘I’m from another planet. On a secret mission.’

  ‘How exciting. Guess that means you can’t tell me about it.’

  ‘I can tell you that part of my mission is to observe the culture of this precious world and to assess its vulnerability.’

  ‘Vulnerability to what?’

  ‘Other invaders.’

  ‘What invaders?’

  ‘I’ve told you too much already. You mustn’t even repeat what I’ve sai
d.’

  ‘So you are here to help us? To protect us?’

  ‘I hope to be.’

  ‘You don’t sound very confident.’

  Roidon found himself smiling. ‘First time anyone has accused me of that.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘Oh, I often like trying things for the first time.’ At which point he realized that that line would not have worked on many human females.

  She presented him with a warm smile, started walking again. Roidon kept at her brisk pace. They exited the main plaza onto a side street.

  ‘My name’s Roidon, by the way.’

  ‘Mine’s Ebueliza.’

  ‘How … regal.’

  They headed towards rows of tower blocks with basically lit apartments, much like Earth of the twenty-first century.

  ‘I guess I won’t be able to get rid of you now,’ she remarked.

  ‘I can leave you if you really want, although I would be greatly disappointed if that were the case.’

  She turned to face him, slowing her pace. ‘Actually, Roidon, you have cheered me up. That is something of an achievement.’

  ‘I reckon I can cheer you up even more if you give me the chance.’

  This time she laughed. ‘My apartment is in that block,’ she said as they reach the second of the grey concrete buildings.

  They entered an old-fashioned-looking elevator with a number display counting up the floors. Roidon wondered whether he should make the first move. Maybe the conventions were different here, maybe they didn’t kiss in the same way. So he only engaged in small talk about the geography and the weather.

  Her apartment was very sparse, un-lived in; it was an old place that she said she was glad she was unable to sell now that her erstwhile boyfriend had taken up with another woman. Roidon was expecting that at any moment there would be some jarring cultural dissonance. Maybe the translator was smoothing over the differences, representing a compromised version that both could relate to, otherwise it would seem extraordinary for their respective languages to share so many common concepts.