Inherit the Stars

by Tony Peak

  “Meh Sat,” Kivita whispered. The human homeworld.

  As the ships left, a glimpse of gray-green, crescent-shaped craft appeared. Violet beams of light darted from the vessels to the planet below.

  “The Sarrhdtuu destroyed it,” she said with a strained voice.

  A similar image of Khaasis, with Aldaakian fleets scattering in desperation, appeared in Kivita’s thoughts. Again, Sarrhdtuu ships arrived and demolished the planet from orbit. Jewel-blue atmospheres darkened from soot and ash blown from the surface.

  Kivita shuddered and licked her lips. “They . . . they destroyed Cradles.”

  The vision transformed. Kivita gasped as a Sarrhdtuu held her against a wall, waving the Juxj Star in her face. Purple-slotted eyes widened as moist, steely coils tapped Kivita’s head. She got the impression the Sarrhdtuu wanted her to do something with the Juxj Star. Something the viewer hadn’t wanted to do.

  The images blurred in her mind. Focus, attune, absorb. She couldn’t lose her control, her concentration. Not now, please not now.

  Kivita’s mind peeled away another data layer. A huge chamber filled with transparent tubes and pipes, each flowing with green or yellow fluids, contained rows of vats containing green jelly. Humanoid figures floated inside each vat. Booms with stalklike appendages lifted several figures from the muck.

  Yes, another of the images from Xeh’s Crown! But . . . the body reminded her of Shekelor Thal’s green-rigged augmentations. Sarrhdtuu Transmutation, she now realized.

  The viewer struggled until opaque green liquid engulfed the vision.

  Coughing, Kivita doubled over. Her grip tightened on the Juxj Star.

  The gem sent another scene into her mind, where Rhyer Vondir waited in front of Kivita, wearing his purple cape and polymail. The charred remains of a Sarrhdtuu hull lay on the stone floor. Kivita concentrated on the gray-green metal covered in knobby protrusions.

  By thought alone, the viewer—Kivita’s mother—caused one of the protrusions to open.

  Teeth chattering, head throbbing, she almost brought up the milk she’d drunk earlier. Hands prevented her from slumping to the floor.

  “The datacore has stopped glowing,” the Naxan Sage’s voice entered Kivita’s ears.

  “She is taxed. Please stand back so she can have air.” Navon’s voice.

  Kivita coughed again and sat up. “I’m okay,” she mumbled, then took a deep breath. Her trembling ceased. The throbbing in her head lessened to a dull mental fatigue. The faces around her gawked and stared.

  “Did it work? Was the data recorded?” As she loosed a shaking breath, the icy tingles left her temples.

  Jandeel gaped at her, clutching his head. “You planted it into our minds. Without touching us, without speaking.”

  The Tahe Sage slumped over the desk and whimpered. One of the other Savants had fainted. Several students wobbled, clutching chits filled with written information.

  Navon steadied himself against the wall. “You transmitted it to all of us, Kivita. Even I . . . have difficulty with what you have just shown us.”

  “The Sarrhdtuu have been our ancient enemies long before we ever came to the Cetturo Arm,” Kivita breathed. “The Aldaakians are right.”

  “We have nothing they need,” Jandeel said. “By all accounts, they don’t seek out datacores.”

  “The Sarrhdtuu ships, the green-rigged people—I think they’re connected somehow. I don’t know how, but . . . my mother manipulated that piece of Sarrhdtuu hull.” Kivita stood. Unlike the others, her strength had already returned.

  “The same as you managed with other electronic devices, like you have described to us.” Navon gripped her hand. “Kivita, that is why they want you. That is why they destroyed those worlds. They fear what you can do. Fear it so much, they massacred civilizations to contain it.”

  The Naxan Sage clicked five times. “That is speculation. From that vision, they green-rigged the very Savant who sent that memory to the Juxj Star. The Sarrhdtuu also wanted something performed with this datacore. If they fear Savants so much, why commit those things?”

  Kivita shivered as Shekelor’s final words over Tejuit entered her mind: “You cannot escape.”

  “Aldaakians lack the Savant ability,” Jandeel said. “Why destroy their worlds, too, Navon? I always assumed the two fought over resources.”

  Everyone waited for Navon to answer, but Kivita bit her lip and shook her head.

  “Remember—the Sarrhdtuu chased my mother’s ship into the Cetturo Arm. By all rights, they should have incinerated it. Maybe that’s how she escaped? By doing something to their ship . . . with her mind?”

  “More speculation.” The Naxan Sage clicked once.

  “So much death,” the Tahe Sage murmured. “It serves no purpose. This is genocide, complete eradication. Why?”

  Something teased at Kivita’s mind, a notion born of intuition. It bothered her that such thoughts might not be her own, but data recollected from the Juxj Star.

  “Maybe the Vim developed Savants as a weapon?” Kivita said.

  Everyone shot her a contemptuous look.

  “We spread knowledge, not death!” one Savant cried.

  “That’s ludicrous, Kivita,” Jandeel said. “How would this be used as a weapon?”

  “Yeah, but we already know someone—the Vim?—created humans, Aldaakians, and Ascali from one stock, then put us in these spiral arms called Cradles. But why? Why would the Sarrhdtuu chase Savants across the cosmos, just to kill them? Why capture and torture them? It has to be something more than just broadcasting data.”

  No one answered Kivita’s questions.

  “We must study these revelations,” Navon said, his deep, warbling voice a comfort among such concepts. “Study and discern them, before Luccan’s Wish completes this jump.”

  One by one, people left the library. The Tahe Sage still quivered, and one Savant had to be aided out by two others. Though Kivita also found the images disturbing, she failed to see what really troubled everyone. The Thedes were rebels. Weren’t they used to death? Even Jandeel avoided her eyes as he left with the Naxan Sage.

  She scratched her head. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

  Navon sighed. “They all refuse to entertain your theory, Kivita. Those who join the Thedes usually do so in rejection of war, forced coercion, and slavery. For you to insinuate—”

  “What would the reason be?” Kivita crossed her arms.

  “The Sarrhdtuu confuse me,” Navon replied. “They destroy, then enslave. The Vim either abandoned us or were unable to cope with Sarrhdtuu aggression. So many of their wrecked craft are found in the Cetturo Arm, and no one really knows why. It is a mystery the Juxj Star may never reveal, but there are uncounted datacores still awaiting discovery. Perhaps one will cast light on our ignorance.”

  The mention of enslavement evoked the slave pens on Umiracan. Since Shekelor did not deal with the Tannocci, Naxans, Aldaakians, or Inheritors . . .

  “Oh no,” Kivita whispered. A chill crept over her body.

  “What is the matter?” Navon clasped her hands.

  “Shekelor is green-rigged, right? He also had scores of slaves when I was on Umiracan. We know he’s a Sarrhdtuu flunky. Think he sells slaves to them?”

  The color drained from Navon’s face. “If that is so, that might explain other things.”

  “Navon?” Kivita walked over to him.

  “Though it is unknown to most, the Inheritors press entire villages and townships into service from my homeworld,” Navon said. “That is one reason I became a Thede. Villages that are desolate, their people vanished. Yet no Thede agent has ever uncovered any clues as to where these people were sent or their fate.”

  Kivita nodded. “Yeah, and you mentioned the Sarrhdtuu are the Inheritor’s benefactors.”

  Navon gripped her hands tight.
“We must pore over our available datacores, Kivita. We must try to find all knowledge relating to Sarrhdtuu Transmutation and its links to the slave trade. I fear what you have shown me today is but the first murmurs of an ancient nightmare.”

  “You cannot escape.” Shekelor’s warning sunk into her mind and burrowed into her heart.

  27

  Sar opened the Savants’ cells one by one. Each huddled in a corner and regarded him as some reptilian predator from Bellerion. None left their cells.

  All of them resembled Dunaar, but thinner and younger. They even shared his baldness and sweaty skin. Sar had to turn away from their pitiful stares.

  “Food. Redryll?” Bredine pointed at the entrance.

  Wincing at all his bruises, Sar stubbed the clothed Proselyte with his boot. “Put it on. It’ll be easier to escape.”

  Bredine rubbed her arms. “I won’t wear void black uniform. Hmm. Beatings, beatings.”

  With no idea who waited outside the chamber or how many aboard had already entered cryostasis, Sar considered his position. Either he could wait here and risk someone coming back or he could slip out and hope to hide somewhere aboard. Neither option appealed to him. He’d never been so brutally beaten in his life. It took all his strength just to stand.

  “Fine. You lead,” he said.

  Bredine unlatched the door and peered outside. Sar stifled a grunt as his nerves woke fully to the damage he’d received. At least he’d not given away anything about his friends or Kivita.

  “Redryll?” Bredine whispered, motioning him to follow.

  No one stood guard outside, and the lamps in the corridor had diffused. His eyes darted to every corner. Disguised or not, his skin prickled. His breaths sounded too loud; each footfall was a cacophony.

  “I lead. Hmm? Redryll. But you act the part.” Looping her arm in his, Bredine walked slightly forward of him. He leaned on her more than he liked to admit.

  As Sar followed Bredine through Arcuri’s Glory, lamps flickered on at their approach, then faded after they walked past. Inheritor transports placed the crew in cryo, while a scant security detail maintained the ship. With luck, he’d avoid them. After the beating, he was too weak for resistance.

  “Food, food. Hmm?” Bredine’s green eyes measured Sar with hope.

  He put a gloved hand on her shoulder. She cringed for a second, then nestled up to him.

  “I promised you would eat, but keep still. We don’t know who might be about.”

  Sar’s breath came out in small clouds, which worried him. With Arcuri’s Glory maintaining an air supply and the interior temperature not dropping as much as it should, it meant others remained awake, too. More than just a few crew.

  Right around the corner, two soldiers snapped to attention.

  Sar’s heart almost leapt from his chest, but Bredine urged him on.

  Two more soldiers stood guard at the end of the corridor. Sar did his best to shamble past them, but the next corridor contained an entire squad of the bastards. Dressed in red jumpsuits and gold-chased polyarmor, they were Dunaar’s elite troops. All gave him and Bredine a wide berth and nodded in respect. Playing the arrogant Proselyte, Sar didn’t acknowledge them.

  Was Dunaar in his own cryopod? Even though Sar wore the Proselyte’s outfit and mask, he needed to know. He pointed at a squad commander.

  “Has the Rector entered cryostasis?” His voice sounded like flesh scraping over gravel.

  The commander saluted. “Indeed, sir. His holiness’s staff, servants, and retinue have also entered cryo.” He frowned at Bredine. “Do you require assistance, sir?”

  “The Rector wanted this one to eat before going into cryo.” Sar hoped the man would reveal the location of the kitchen galley, but the commander nodded again and continued his patrol.

  Pain stabbed into his knees and shoulders. Bruises along his body pounded his nerves. Dammit, the shock was wearing off.

  “Redryll?” Bredine leaned him into her right shoulder.

  Without knowing the ship’s total jump time, he needed a cryopod. One where, upon waking, he’d not be captured again. Dunaar would discover his absence shortly after exiting the jump. A more immediate concern was his health. A good cryosleep where he could be pumped full of medicine would help, but he needed a doctor.

  “Hmm? This way.”

  For a prisoner, Bredine knew her way around Arcuri’s Glory. He tried to keep his footsteps silent on the sandstone and quartz flooring while they crept into another corridor. A humming, machinelike sound rose above the ship’s gentle thrum: a hot-wave disk. The scent of cooked protein slabs wafted up his nose.

  Bredine’s stomach growled. He tensed.

  “Hey, nobody’s supposed to be on this deck,” a voice called from a side galley. “Unless you’re the Rector himself, get your ass back into cryo.”

  Sar stood straight and gripped Bredine’s hand. Walking into the galley, he tried to adopt a Proselyte’s stiff, arrogant gait.

  “You hear me? Dammit.” A crewman in a brown jumpsuit came out, holding a steaming protein slab. “Oh. I wasn’t told one of you fellows would be still awake. Hey, prisoners aren’t allowed on this deck. Rector’s orders.”

  “Where are your comrades?” Sar asked in a gruff tone.

  The crewman frowned. “I won’t be waking my reliever on this deck until another Haldon week has passed. Hey, what are you—”

  Sar punched the crewman’s jaw, then jabbed his knee into the man’s stomach. The man crumpled to the floor and reached for a large wrench on his belt, but Bredine kicked the wrench away and twisted the man’s legs together.

  “Tell me what I want, and I’ll dump you in a cryopod trussed up, not as a corpse.” Sar caught his breath, his bruises smarting.

  The crewman went limp. “What the hell you need?”

  “How many are awake in this section?” Sar propped himself against the wall. Damn, he hurt all over.

  “One per deck, plus one in operations and one in the engine room. So five others.” The man winced as Bredine tightened her grip.

  “Soldiers, hmm?” she asked. “Hmm. Still eight squads? Already eaten this shift?”

  “Yes. How did you—” He gasped as Bredine wrung his left arm behind his back.

  Sar tried to think of what else he needed to know. “Is Fanged Pauper docked with this ship?”

  “Yes, the Vim curse your eyes. Who the hell are you?”

  Bredine undid the crewman’s belt, along with its attached tools. She hesitated, then removed the tools and snapped the belt with a smile. Sar hadn’t expected her to still have all her teeth.

  Turning the crewman over, Sar pulled the man’s arms to the center of his back. Bending over made him grunt from his multitude of agonies. Bredine looped the belt around the crewman’s wrists, though Sar shook his head when she drew it too tight. She relented, then rewound and fastened it into a thick knot.

  “Where’s your cryopod?” As Sar tried lifting the man up, his battered body and stomach and tingling nerves made him stagger. With strength belying her appearance, Bredine helped Sar bring the bound crewman to his feet.

  “Two doors down. You’ll be executed for this, whoever you are. The Vim won’t have mercy on you!” The crewman spat at Bredine. “Filthy witch!”

  Sar forced the man along until they entered the specified door. Nineteen cryopods held various crewmen; one was empty. Sar shoved the man in and closed the hatch. Though the crewman struggled and cursed, the hatch muted his voice. Sar waited until cryosleep took the man, then returned to the galley, limping at every step.

  Bredine sat on the floor, eating the crewman’s protein slab. A placard of Inheritor Charter tenements hung over the counter.

  “You’re not filth or a witch.” Kneeling, he smoothed the dark bangs from her eyes. She watched him with wide eyes, chewing the slab.

  “Food
?” She pointed at an open food locker.

  “Need a medical cabinet.” He lifted the ply mask. “I’m Sar Redryll.”

  “Bredine Ov.” She pulled sugar reeds and Susuron mussels from the locker, then gobbled them by the mouthful.

  Though raw pain shot through his legs and stomach, Sar rose and pulled out a water flask. “Hold still.”

  He wet the ply mask and washed her face. Bredine didn’t move, but he had to work around her continuous eating. A long scar ran down her left cheek; another went up from her right brow into her scalp. Around thirty years old, she looked attractive despite her abuse. Those green eyes . . . like those of an elderly woman. He wondered how long Dunaar had kept her in cryo.

  Contrary to Dunaar’s claims, Sar had aided many such victims of Inheritor hegemony. Bredine’s dark hair and determination reminded him of Caitrynn, reminded him of what little his vengeance had gained him. He feared to abandon it. Shekelor had, and it had made the pirate even less honorable. Without retribution driving him, Sar wasn’t sure what he might become himself.

  “Grab a flask and let’s go. Got to find a cryopod somewhere.” Sar stood and rubbed his pounding face. For a moment, Kivita entered his mind. He wondered if Cheseia had harmed her.

  “Kivita sending to you?” Bredine asked between bites.

  Stomach throbbing, Sar bent over and shut his eyes. No tears came, but emotions shook his body, ripped his heart. His sacrifice had been in vain; Cheseia would lead Dunaar to the Thedes, and all of his friends and the woman he loved would die. Now Caitrynn and Kivita both would haunt his frozen dreams across the cosmos. Sar’s knees buckled and he flopped onto the floor.

  Something soft and damp caressed his face. Sar opened his eyes.

  Bredine wiped his face with the wet mask, her green eyes solemn and noble. The damp cloth mopped away dried blood from his lips and nostrils.

  “Gushing hot love for her. She’ll forgive.” Bredine popped another reed into her mouth. “Don’t let heart get void black, okay? Sar Redryll. Redryll, Redryll. Hmm. Food?”

  Wincing, Sar sat up. “No, thanks.” He lifted her up with him. “Need some medicine.”