Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

by Christie Golden

  The nuclei field was the demarcation between the humanoid section of the west and the gaseous environmental part of the station. Valerian continued onward. His “shortest” path took him directly through an enormous, glowing, golden wall of intricate computer technology that was currently being upgraded by a group of Omelites, bio-metallic species with large, bulbous heads, several spindly appendages, and laser eyes. The destruction this particular move caused bothered Valerian more than the damage he’d done to the nuclei fields. He hoped he hadn’t done anything irreparable. The Omelites had developed the ability to communicate telepathically, and the messages being fed into his brain quite vividly conveyed their displeasure. He didn’t think they’d hurt him, but he was glad to get out of range of those laser eyes.

  “Hurry,” came Laureline’s voice. “Looks like they’re making for a docking station and you’re nearly there!”

  “I’m doing my best!” Valerian snapped. He smashed through the other side of the giant computer banks into a freefall, firing plasma disks to step on as he made his way through a sea of translucent floating creatures that looked like jellyfish of the air.

  “Hang on,” Laureline said. “They’ve boarded. Ship has no tags, a totally unknown model. Change of plan. One hundred forty degrees east! Just keep going straight and look for a door marked eighty-one. Alex will pick you up!”

  Valerian didn’t break stride as he glanced at his wrist and made the correction. Each section, no matter the inhabitants who had settled there, had a docking area that could accommodate a variety of vessels and environments. He was heading toward one of those now. It hadn’t seen much use in the last several years. Doubtless the Pearls had chosen this one so as not to attract unwanted attention.

  He reached it now, running on metallic flooring instead of the softer plasma disks. Valerian smashed through another wall, and found himself in a ventilation shaft. He kept going.

  “Alex?” came Laureline’s voice in Valerian’s ear. “Sending you the coordinates. Pick him up.”

  Valerian was starting to tire, but he couldn’t afford to. Not now, not when he was so close.

  “Intruder in position,” came Alex’s voice.

  “That’s good news!” said Valerian, panting. Seldom had words been more sincerely meant. He sprinted straight for an iron door with the numbers eighty-one prominently displayed on it.

  “That’s it!” said Laureline. “Keep going!”

  Head down, Valerian charged through a steel wall and found himself in space.

  Unfortunately, the Intruder wasn’t there to catch him, and he started to plunge downward past levels of empty docks.

  “Hey, Alex! Where the heck are you?” he shouted as he fell.

  * * *

  Puzzled, Laureline glanced at her map. She turned the dial. The map spun. She gasped, horrified, as she realized that eighty-one became eighteen.

  “Alex? You are on eighty-one?”

  “Affirmative, Sergeant.”

  “Sorry, my mistake,” said Laureline. “It’s number eighteen!”

  “Great!” came Valerian’s voice. “See? I trust you more than I trust myself, and look where it gets me!”

  Laureline felt her cheeks grow hot. “Alex? Pick him up! On eighteen!”

  She waited, biting her bottom lip. It felt like hours, but it was only about ten seconds before she heard a breathless, irritated Valerian gasp, “Thanks, Alex! Bring on the beach!”

  Laureline allowed herself a relieved smile.

  * * *

  Valerian switched his suit to normal mode and clambered into the cockpit. Energy returned to him in the form of adrenaline as the ship filled his screen and he realized that this was definitely the right place. The vessel docked in bay eighteen-not-eighty-one looked exactly like the sort of ships the pale, beautiful Pearls would build. It was huge, and its three sides came together in a shape like a star. The engines at its base were dozens of perfect white spheres, and its prominent surface wasn’t any one single, bold color, but a soft, muted combination of delicate shades that seemed to undulate and shift.

  Pretty though it was, it was gearing up to flee, and it had Commander Filitt on board. “I don’t know where you come from,” he muttered as he locked onto his target, “but I know where I’m going to send you.”

  The XB982 opened fire on the ship. It swerved away and accelerated, with Valerian hot on its tail. It was fast, and it was smooth, and it led him on a merry chase. The two vessels sped in and out of the queue of tanker ships alongside the docking station, and Valerian was reluctantly impressed at the speed with which the much larger ship could maneuver. Even so, he managed to get a solid lock on the back of the vessel.

  “I’m going to shoot out the engines,” he announced to Laureline and Okto-Bar.

  “Their protective shields are very sophisticated. You won’t go through,” Laureline warned him.

  “Then let’s try something bigger.”

  As he was about to fire, the unthinkable happened. Dozens of what looked like fissures appeared along the shell-hued sides of the vessel. For a second, Valerian thought it was going to explode. But instead, the “cracks” became deeper, and Valerian realized that the single enormous ship was splintering into several smaller, identical-looking ones that now peeled away in all directions.

  “Shit! Laureline? The ship’s just broken up into a bunch of little ones. Which one has the commander on board?” Valerian shouted.

  “Nine o’clock! South!” Laureline answered.

  “Nine o’clock?” Valerian repeated, furious and irritated. “You sure? Not six o’clock?”

  “Nine o’clock!” Laureline snapped. “Hurry up!”

  The vessels were flying above, ahead, behind, and below him now, and he spotted the vessel Laureline had pinpointed zipping along beneath him at, indeed, nine o’clock. The Intruder switched course to chase after the smaller spacecraft, which hurtled into the maze of the station’s innards.

  Valerian loved piloting the Intruder. He was very fond of Alex. But after he almost slammed into another vessel and Laureline had yelled, “Watch out!” in his ear, he reached a decision:

  “I’m too big to follow them,” he told her and Okto-Bar. “I’ll take the Sky Jet!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Oktobar frowned. “That’s odd. It looks like they’re not trying to escape into open space—they’re heading right back…” His voice trailed off.

  The two red dots were approaching the radioactive area at the heart of the station.

  “You’re near the dead zone,” warned Laureline. “Reel them in before I lose you!”

  Valerian, frenzied, shot back, “I’m working on it!”

  Laureline kept her eyes glued to the map, watching with increasing agitation as the red dots that signified Commander Filitt and Valerian drew closer together even as they edged toward the zone that was bombarded with radiation.

  “Valerian?” she said. “I’m going to lose you in ten seconds.”

  “I can’t slow them down!” Valerian snapped.

  “Five seconds…”

  “Oh, shit!” Valerian shouted.

  Then, silence.

  The red dots had disappeared off the map. Laureline’s heart contracted. “Valerian? Valerian, do you read me?”

  There was no answer. No sign of life.

  Laureline whirled to Okto-Bar. “I need a Sky Jet!”

  “Sergeant Laureline, you can’t go after him.” Okto-Bar’s voice was harsh.

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  He stabbed a finger at the map. “That zone is too dangerous and it’s under enemy control.”

  “An enemy you don’t even know!” she retorted.

  “An enemy that just attacked us!”

  “By putting us to sleep and not killing a single one of us?” she cried. “Why would they spare our lives? Why?”

  He stared at her, and for a moment, his commanding, certain expression wavered. “I… don’t know.”

  “Valeri
an has seen these creatures before. They are coming from planet Mül.”

  Okto-Bar frowned. “Ridiculous. Planet Mül exploded thirty years ago!”

  She was running out of time. Valerian could already— no, she wouldn’t let herself even think it. She turned to leave, done with trying to convince him. Okto-Bar grabbed her arm.

  “I can’t let you leave! What you’re saying—it doesn’t make any sense!”

  “It’s our mission that doesn’t make any sense, sir!” Laureline shouted. She didn’t care who heard her. “Somebody’s lying to us. While you find out who, I’m going to find my partner!”

  She wrested her arm away from him and stormed toward the door. The general nodded to two sentries to block the exit.

  Laureline whirled. “General, Valerian’s an invaluable agent. You can’t afford to lose him.”

  “I most certainly can’t afford to lose two in one day!” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Sergeant.” To the sentries, he said, “Confine her until backup arrives. Trigger the highest alert level, and find me the commander!”

  One of the sentries took Laureline’s gun. “Please follow us, Agent,” he said.

  She felt her face grow hot with anger, and bit back a retort. Okto-Bar wasn’t about to listen to her. He was convinced the Pearls weren’t real, and nothing she could do was going to change his mind.

  She walked down the hallway, flanked by the two soldiers, her stride brisk and angry. At a junction with another hallway, though, she spied three very familiar squat, long-nosed, winged figures wandering away. An idea flashed into her mind and she came to a halt.

  “Hey, guys!” she said to the soldiers. “I think you should cuff me.”

  They looked askance at her. “No, I’m serious. Cuff me. First, because it’s procedure. And second, because I’m sorely tempted to escape!”

  The two soldiers shared a glance, puzzled. One of them shrugged. “Whatever,” he said.

  He pulled out a pair of magnetic handcuffs. As he stepped forward and started to fasten them around Laureline’s slender wrists, she seized his companion’s arm and thrust it forward before the first sentry could halt his motion.

  Snap.

  The two men, one of them now partially handcuffed, stared at each other for just an instant in mutual shock.

  It was long enough. Laureline’s long leg shot out, impacting one sentry’s knee with an ugly crunch. He dropped like the proverbial stone. She seized the other one’s arm, twisted it, and before either one knew what was happening, there was a manacle around one man’s wrist and another about the second’s probably broken leg. He was white as a ghost. Deftly, she plucked her gun from his waist and gave them a shrug.

  “Good job, boys.”

  She sprinted back to the intersection. The three Doghan Daguis were already partway down it, but she hurried after them. When they turned at the sound of footfalls, she drew her gun. For the second time in less than an hour, their short arms were reaching for the ceiling. Keeping her weapon trained on the trio, Laureline glanced around for a more private place to have this conversation. The door was ajar to a room that appeared to be for storage of some sort, and she gestured toward it with her gun.

  “This way. I need a word.”

  They obeyed. She followed them in and closed the door behind them. “Newsflash!” she said with fake cheer. “If you don’t help me find Valerian, you’re all going to die.”

  She placed her gun against the side of Blue’s wrinkled head. “And you’re the first up.”

  Surprisingly, they did not look nearly as afraid as they ought to have been. In fact, Laureline thought they were smirking at a secret joke.

  The first one said, “It’s to avoid such situations—’’

  “—that all our information—’’

  “—is divided three ways,” said the third, Yellow, rather smugly.

  “Kill one of us,” said the first, and Burgundy piped up, “and you kill the information.”

  “What a pity that would be!” Yellow said. He seemed to have the pithiest comments.

  Laureline sighed, and lowered her gun. “Okay, you win,” she admitted. “But you’re going to have to give me credit. I don’t have much on me.”

  In unison, the three Doghan Daguis shook their heads. “How tiresome,” said Blue.

  “If the commander were here—” said Burgundy.

  “—he could use the converter to pay us,” Yellow lamented.

  “But he’s been abducted—”

  “—precisely because he had the converter on him,” Burgundy finished.

  “Unless, for security reasons,” mused Yellow, and Blue chimed in, looking inordinately pleased with itself, “somebody else was carrying it for him.”

  Laureline stared at them, simultaneously appalled and impressed. “How the hell did you get that info?”

  “It’s not info,” replied Burgundy.

  “Just deduction,” supplied Yellow.

  “We know how humans work,” Blue said, smugly.

  “They’re all so predictable,” said Burgundy, with an undercurrent of arrogance and contempt.

  Fury surged through Laureline. No doubt General Okto-Bar was tracking her down right this moment. Commander Filitt was still imprisoned, and who knew what had happened to Valerian. The last, the absolute last, thing she wanted to be doing was standing here listening to three stubby little informants disrespect her species. She lifted her gun again, bent over, and shouted into the sensitive earhole of Blue, “All except women! Especially when they’re in a bad mood.”

  Blue cringed and clapped his hands to his earholes. His wings flapped in agitation, striking a pile of boxes. “Ow! Okay, okay!”

  “Calm down!” urged Burgundy.

  “What do you want to know?” asked Yellow.

  “Where Valerian is!” said Laureline.

  “Hard to tell,” began Blue, still covering his ears.

  “But we know a way to track him down—”

  “—with complete precision,” Yellow finished.

  “How much?” Laureline asked.

  “A hundred baduls,” said Blue.

  “Each,” clarified Burgundy.

  “Cash up front,” Yellow supplied.

  Laureline wondered if they fully appreciated just how close she was to almost literally exploding. Through gritted teeth, she said, “I don’t have baduls.”

  The first Doghan Daguis said, “You have a converter.”

  Laureline fished in a pouch at her waist and tossed a small sack at them. “Forget about it. Here’s all I got.”

  The small sack contained a few dozen of the diamonds the converter had produced for her earlier. The Doghan Daguis peered in, then one by one they turned their heads to her. They were not happy.

  “Diamonds are less valuable than baduls,” Blue said.

  That. Was. It.

  “End of negotiation!” Laureline pointed her gun at his other earhole and his weaselly eyes widened.

  “Okay, okay,” Burgundy said, holding up his hands placatingly. “Under the circumstances—”

  “—we accept the deal.”

  “Good,” said Laureline. “Now. Where’s Valerian?”

  “Follow us,” Blue said, and rubbed his ear.

  * * *

  General Okto-Bar had been a man of battle, but had found his true calling at Alpha Station. He had found a fascination and an odd sort of peace in managing the goings-on of the vast station, and he done so ably for the last four years. He’d grown fond of the aliens who, like him, called this place “home,” and had made friendships among their number that would last a lifetime. The thought of peril to them, to his fellow humans, to this station that for centuries had stood as a beacon of harmonious interaction and interspecies goodwill and cooperation—it was unacceptable.

  He had anticipated, with good reason, that if he continued to smoothly manage the day-to-day troubles of so enormous a collection of beings, he would be rewarded with a promotion to commander of the place he
loved. But Commander Arun Filitt had always been a more immediately arresting figure, and when it was time for Filitt’s superiors to give him something to do, Filitt had been given the command of Alpha Station instead of the man who’d actually been running it well with quiet, unappreciated passion for several years. And so Okto-Bar had continued his work in the shadow of the colorful, popular figure.

  But now, the commander had vanished, and Okto-Bar was fully aware that Filitt’s likely survival—and that of Okto-Bar’s beloved station—was now his responsibility.

  The news that Agent Laureline had escaped was especially irritating. He did not need rogue agents, decorated or not, dashing about. He stood, staring at the map of this place that was both his charge and his joy.

  His soldiers, his finest commandos, stood beside him awaiting orders. “Phillips, you head straight for the spot where the major disappeared. Milo, you go after Agent Laureline. When you track her down, bring her in peacefully. No violence! Fall out!”

  The commandos hurried on their way. The general gazed pensively at the map.

  He was not a man of extreme emotions, nor one given to flights of fancy. Some who knew him would go so far as to accuse him of lacking an imagination entirely, which bothered him not at all. Agent Laureline’s peculiar assertion that Mül inhabitants were on this station and that Agent Valerian had somehow known them was rubbish, of course.

  And yet… he knew her as being someone who was solid and forthright, unlike her impulsive partner. She had been so very insistent.

  He was running out of options, and it would do no harm to investigate.

  Okto-Bar put his hand on a glass scanner. “Declassified. I want all available information on planet Mül.”

  After a moment, the scanner began to glow red. A message flashed up: ACCESS REFUSED.

  What? The general’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Who has authority over this file?” he asked.

  The answer flashed up: COMMANDER ARUN FILITT.