The Omcri Matrix

by Deborah Chester

  She reached out and grasped the crystal mesh with both hands. But before she could fit her foot into a toehold, the once-faint tinkling sound was suddenly loud and right behind her. She spun, her heart beating absurdly fast as she saw two shapes outside the enclosure.

  Only then did her bruised mind permit her to remember all that had happened. The Omcris had taken her from Playworld and brought her here. Dozens of fragmented impressions swirled through her mind. Was this, then, the origin point of the devil-things?

  No, she thought decisively, gazing at the shimmering entities before her. There was beauty here and exquisite, precise order. This world, with the clarity of its cold atmosphere, its clean scents of polished stone and ice, and its odd gravitational pull which made her feel squashed and heavy as though even her lungs were too flattened to breathe, had not produced the Omcris. Their sickly, decayed taint was not here.

  “Who are you?” she asked, only to be startled by the change in her voice. Its tone was muted, flattened almost to a monotonic quality. She took a step closer to the mesh, frowning at the entities in an effort to see them better. Their shimmering, unstable quality made them seem to fade in and out of her vision as though she were trying to peer into a liquid mirror that could not hold its reflection. “Who are you?” she repeated. “What is this place?”

  They made no reply, and the eerie silence of the world pressed around her. Then a single musical note of such volume and purity it brought pain struck through her. Clasping her hands to her ears, she reeled back, falling just as the crystal mesh of the enclosure shattered around her. Tiny shards embedded themselves in her arms as she cringed, covering her head as best she could. Panting, she looked up, lifting herself unsteadily to her hands and knees. Hot little rivulets of blood ran down her cut arms, but she barely noticed as the things rushed at her.

  She tried to rise and was knocked down again. Then one of them was on top of her, its weight immense, crushing. She cried out as she was pressed into the frozen ground, cutting her cheek on the shards of crystal littering the earth like snow. The gentle tinkling noise grew more agitated as she heaved and struggled. Something gritty scraped across her shoulder blade, tearing through her already tattered tunic and abrading her skin. She felt fierce stinging, and smelled blood, her blood, as though her hide were being peeled away. The scraping came again and again, almost eagerly, and she felt it rasp bone.

  It was feeding upon her!

  “Mercy of Moii!” Furious and terrified, she flung herself aside, rolling beneath the weight of the creature with an effort that snapped a rib. Her breath caught, and for a moment she thought she would be sick, but she pushed herself on, squeezing free of the creature, dragging herself to her knees, dodging its rush at her, and scrambling to her feet.

  The two of them moved to cut her off and pin her between them, but she lashed out with hands and feet in desperation, cursing them with the full fury of an unleashed temper. It was like kicking solid rock. She staggered back a little at the jolt of impact, realizing she could not fight them. One of them knocked her down again, and she cried out as she landed on the broken rib. Flecks of black danced across her vision, but she gritted her teeth, making herself move before the things could pin her again. Her fingers clawed the ground as she fought to keep going, scrambling, dodging, half falling, her breath sobbing in her throat as she eluded them again and again. Then at last she gained her feet and sprinted between them like a mad thing, feeling one last glancing blow as she drove herself against the heavy gravity that made her feet like lead. She ran without daring to look back, the memory of that horrible, sucking greed upon her flesh driving her on as she aimed herself at the building of pyramids and spires ahead.

  None of the buildings, however, were as close as they had originally seemed. When at last she stumbled to a halt, her breath rattling in her throat and a searing pain gashing through her side, it was to find herself no closer to them than she had been before. Were they real, she wondered in despair, bending over in agony. Or were they illusions? She had nothing else to aim for.

  She looked back, dreading pursuit, but saw none. Perhaps the creatures had not been hungry enough, or perhaps they had some other means of cornering escaped game. Shuddering, she made herself stumble on. The gravity was becoming heavier with every step, and she felt far too exposed out here in the open with no vegetation of any kind for cover, nothing but occasional geometric shapes like queerly formed sculptures that might or might not be living things and more of the enclosures such as the one that had held her.

  At first those she passed were empty. Then she came upon shattered ones, with clean-picked bones lying amidst the glittering shards of crystal. Sickened, Costa hurried on, her eyes constantly scanning, her ears straining for that betraying soft chime of tones. Her instincts told her she was watched, making the skin along her spine prickle. And yet, she saw no one and heard nothing save the crunch of her feet over the metallic earth.

  By the time she drew near the buildings, sweating and shivering in the icy air, she began to pass larger enclosures. They were all full, many containing species she did not recognize. But the reason for their presence was more than clear.

  A scent suddenly filled her nostrils, one that she knew too well, one that made her back arch in revulsion.

  Omcris!

  She threw herself behind one of the enclosures, holding her breath and ignoring the inmates reaching for her as her eyes apprehensively followed six of the devil-things herding prisoners like bleating herendis into a long crystal chute which fed into a tall, isosceles-shaped building. The noise here after the previous silence made her ears ring. She crouched lower as an Omcri sailed within a few meters of the enclosure shielding her, and fought off a mindless urge to run. They would not possess her easily again, she vowed, but she dared not venture out into the open so close to them.

  A snarling scream, shrill and piercing, caught her attention. In the largest enclosure a black-furred Zethian male stood a head taller than most of the other prisoners. Screaming again, he made a wild swipe at one of the Omcris floating above him. His claws ripped through the hem of the Omcri’s robe, and he snarled as he jumped in a mad effort to sink dripping fangs into the devil-thing.

  Pitying the demented one, Costa swung her eyes away, only to blink as she suddenly glimpsed a human. Surely it was not…

  “Duval!”

  The word tore itself from her throat. Heedless of the danger, she raced forward and sprang at the crystal mesh, climbing up and over with a rapid bound. Omcris whirled and sailed toward her, but she ignored them as she pushed and shoved her way through the milling crowd in an effort to reach Duval. Jumping up to try to see past an orb of pulsating flesh, she saw Duval going into the chute and passing from sight.

  “Duval!”

  Her voice was drowned out in the roaring confusion of terror around her. A tentacle snaked around her arm. She chopped it viciously and pulled free, reaching the chute just as a section of meshwork slid into place, cutting her off.

  She struck at it in frustration. “No!”

  But the Omcris herded Duval’s group through the gateway at the opposite end of the chute, and he passed from sight into the building. Her eyes aflame, Costa tossed the warrior braid out of her face and began climbing the meshwork. She had to follow him; she had to find out what fate awaited him and all his fellow prisoners.

  A furred, claw-tipped hand grasped her arm and pulled her down as easily as though she were a doll. Furious at this interference, Costa whirled with her fists curled to attack, only to find herself facing the mad Zethian.

  His amber-jade eyes glowed into hers. He bared his fangs, still holding her fast despite her attempt to jerk free. Something whispered along her mind, and she screamed, flinching back.

  “You are the one called Costa,” he said in hoarse Unise, and for an instant the madness cleared from his gaze. “Haufren…for you searched.”

  “Haufren!” Her hand tightened on his arm, hope warming her. “Where
is he? Did he find the access point beneath the temple? There is an ancient trans—”

  “Transender,” said the Zethian in a hollow voice. “A highly dangerous device used in the past to disassemble the corporal body into tachyon particles and beam them to another access point on physical wavelengths of…shall we carve also the flesh from their faces and dance upon their hearts? Shall we bite upon their entrails and strew the hollows of their bones? Fight! Let us fight!”

  He whirled as though to pounce, and although she shrank from his madness Costa held onto his arm.

  “Wait, Zethian!” she said, putting all the bark of command she could into her voice. “Do you know Major Haufren? Haufren! Do you know him?”

  The Zethian’s eyes widened, staring at something she could not see. She heard the breath catch in his throat.

  “Touch me not!” he said to the air, hysteria in his voice. “Duval! Haufren! Touch me not! No!”

  He broke free of her and plunged into the crowd, snarling and scratching in utter terror. Costa stared after him, her heart thumping. Who was this Zethian? Was Haufren here as well as her brother?

  “Duval,” she whispered, turning back to gaze at the chute. Urgency burned through her. She dared not wait until the Omcris returned to force more of them into that building.

  Wincing as pain ground anew through her side, she climbed over the gate and dropped to the ground on the other side, crouching there a moment to see if anyone noticed her. The prisoners watched apathetically with the Zethian screaming at the inhabitants of the next enclosure. Costa drew in a breath and hastened along the chute to the far gate standing in icy shadow. Glittering like spun glass, the building loomed over her. She hesitated, then climbed over the gate.

  At first she thought she was entering pitch darkness, but as she snapped open her innermost eyelid she was able to discern a faint glimmer of illumination in the distance ahead. Cautiously, moving with all the stealth she possessed, she eased her way ahead, feeling the downslope of the floor with every groping footstep. The farther she went, the warmer the air became, and only then did she realize how thoroughly chilled she was. She shivered, rapidly running her hands up and down her arms, and longed passionately for a weapon.

  The faint but steady hum of distant machinery alerted her. She caught disturbing scents of death, fresh and hot, and she quickened her pace. A light glowed at the first corner she came to, and beyond it a broad series of steps descended to endless depths. She set her hand against the wall and felt the vibration there, traveling vertically as though lifts were working through the building above her. But she had no curiosity to explore this place beyond the need of finding Duval. Swallowing hard against the urge not to go any farther, she started down the steps.

  A broad chamber, blindingly lit, opened out at the foot of the steps, leaving her exposed with nowhere to dart for cover. She stood there a moment, blinking and deafened, as a vast network of generators roared and metal clanked and shrieked in swift efficiency. A vast belt, black and stained, conveyed past her a multitude of packaged cubes from the maw of a gleaming, silver monster which shook from the violence of its own working.

  Costa swallowed down her nausea and swiftly scanned the chamber. She saw no one, neither guard nor prisoner. Duval could not be one of those packages. He could not be! Desperately she plunged into the room, threading her way through vats of noxious-smelling liquids which bubbled thickly and coated everything around them with greasy steam. She passed more belts, these bearing things not yet completely processed, and had to avert her eyes lest she lose all control of her already heaving stomach. Finally she came to a wall and eased through the doorway it contained, only to stop in astonishment.

  Acoustically padded walls blocked off the cacophony of noise behind her. The air was warm and pleasantly scented. She heard the shriek of laughter and a rapid babble of children’s voices. Slowly she climbed the steps to a grillwork extending over a vast play area containing hundreds of children, all plump and healthy, divided by species with glass walls that permitted them to see one another but not to mingle. Their laughter stilled as Costa walked overhead with a lump choking her throat and rage blurring her sight. Were these the delicacies of an unknown galaxy?

  She could bear no more of it. Throwing aside caution, she ran the rest of the way, her boots ringing out on the metal grillwork. Using both hands, she wrenched open the door on the other side and flung herself through.

  She found herself knee-deep in grease-coated mud. Nauseated by the stench, she retched uncontrollably until there was nothing left in her stomach. Trembling, she slowly straightened and began to make her way through row after row of bodies, hung up by lashed wrists. Some were dead; some kicked feebly, moaning. Costa stared at them in horror, then began running, her eyes scanning every face.

  There! Thank Moii herself, there he was!

  Sobbing gratefully, she ran to him, nearly slipping in her haste, and pressed a hand against his chest with desperate hope. He lived!

  “Duval!” she whispered, her voice choking. “Duval!”

  Slowly he dragged open his eyes to look down at her, and she screamed, stumbling back in horror. Where his eyes should have been were swirling black voids of space and madness.

  She spat, tears burning her face. The Omcris had taken his soul! He was only a hulk, one of their dead things to be used as a puppet and then discarded.

  “Oh, Duval, no. No!” she said. Gripping his tunic, she bent her head against his side and wept.

  “Sufficient.”

  Startled, Costa whirled and saw beyond the rows of hanging bodies two enormous faces floating in holographic transmission. Neither were humanoid; instead the skulls were long and narrow, tapering to slim muzzles. Tall pointed ears projected upward, and the eyes were cold and lidless, unblinking with reptilian intensity.

  “Yes, Hosahkt will be pleased with this test subject. It has performed well.”

  “Agreed. It must be taken before Hosahkt. Since it is the first of its kind to recover unaided from Omcri tampering, evidence suggests it can be utilized in many ways. Come, subject.” The second creature beckoned to her.

  Costa stood her ground. “Identify yourselves.”

  They exchanged startled glances as though not expecting anything other than immediate obedience from her.

  “Unnecessary.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Who are you?” repeated Costa. “What is this planet? How long—”

  “Oh,” said one in amusement. “It desires statistical information. Answer it.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Another test. Hosahkt will be curious.”

  “We are Gerend. This planet is unimportant, serving merely as cold storage for food purposes which serve five systems of Hosahkt’s third sector. It has been labeled Storage Facility Nine. Previous to Hosahkt’s occupation of this galaxy, the planet had another designation. We do not know it, any more than we know or care about the original inhabitants who built the structures you have so admired today.”

  “I am not food for you, flin!” shouted Costa. “Those other things did not eat me and neither will you!”

  Again the two faces exchanged looks.

  “It refers to the Vestiges. They are not governed by us. They exist by stealing. Omcris are charged with destroying them on sight, but a few manage to survive.”

  “Enough explanations. It is time to present the subject before Hosahkt. He desires the Ranger’s secret. If this one provides the key, we shall be amply rewarded.”

  “Recovering the Zethian Ranger from madness would have been preferable,” muttered the other.

  “That failure we need not immediately report. Come, subject! Walk forward.”

  Every sense within Costa quivered eagerly. Haufren had not abandoned her! Somehow he had learned of her capture, and he and Duval had come after her. Her grip tightened on her brother, who had believed too late in her story.

  Head high, she made no move to obey. “This man is my brother
. Can you reverse what the Omcris have done to him?”

  “Irrelevant. Come!”

  “I do not leave without him! Can he be cured?”

  “Your species has great belief in the power of Omcris. They are, in fact, minor beings of little importance to Hosahkt.”

  “Then he can be—”

  “Unimportant. You will come now, subject, or be hung here for processing. Other keys can be found.”

  Costa faced them with steel in her eye. “Then you do not care that Duval also has information about the Rangers? Isn’t that what you want? Information about the Rangers? Where their primary base is? What their numbers are? What their capacities are for striking against you? They’ve held you out of our galaxy for quite a while now. That must make them your greatest enemies.”

  “Hardly. You are but a small—”

  “Time is wasted,” snapped the other. “It delays us and shall pay for its arrogance.”

  “And if it speaks truly? Let us err on the side of caution, Phobis. Let us take the second creature.”

  “And the Zethian,” said Costa, afraid of her own boldness, but not daring to leave the mad one behind if he truly were a Ranger as well. She had heard of the Ranger rule of never abandoning someone in the field. They lived by it. She would not break it if she could help it. “He is also a Ranger—”

  “Useless. The Omcris have broken its mind with their games.”

  “Then let them mend it!” shouted Costa. “Bring these two men, and I shall come willingly.”

  “You will come, willingly or not.”

  “Agree to its terms, Phobis. Other uses can be found for them besides meat.”

  “Indeed,” said Phobis darkly. “But I shall personally see this subject carved, spiced, and served to Hosahkt on a tray of its own bones as soon as its use is expended.”

  “You would be wiser to dissect it to determine why it has been able to withstand so much of Omcri direction. Come, subject. Your terms will be met, for now.”

  Costa swallowed, her throat dry. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Besides, if there was the slightest hope of restoring Duval…She stepped forward through the greasy mud, walking with the confidence of a patrol officer, but she had never been more frightened in her life. There was something sinister about these jackal creatures who spoke to her so easily in Unise yet regarded her as though she were not even sentient life. Haufren had spoken of the masters of the Omcris; plainly these Gerend were, but who commanded them? What was this Hosahkt? She did not really want to know.