The Man Who Talked to Suns

by Stephen Andrews

  The containers were all empty now except one. He bent and popped it open. Inside was the final piece of equipment. He hefted it and turned it in two hands. The helmet was made of translucent light green material with darker traces of equipment embedded within. It was cool to the touch and surprisingly light. The feel and look reminded him of ice with objects frozen inside. It had the lumpy streamlined aspect of the vehicle; hard to tell if it was made, grown or sculpted. Placing it on his head would make the final sensory links with the suit; aural and optical senses would be enhanced. The helmet also had another function. Once placed and secured it would locate and deactivate the guide patch and destroy the memories it stored. It would do so in a way that prevented repair. Thus it would protect him from deep interrogation and remove the traces of him from the shared mental spaces of this world. Once he donned the final piece of his warrior’s dress, he would become truly isolated; hidden and disappeared from everything. The price of all this new power was losing the social part of himself, losing the connection to knowledge and insight and contact that the guide patch provided so easily.

  He hesitated for a moment, slid a thumb over a small recessed button and watched the helmet blossom open. He lifted it, feeling the soft, warm interior make contact with his skull and cheeks. His finger flirted with the button again momentarily, and then he pushed. The helmet gripped his head and seated itself. Filters dropped over his eyes, amplifiers placed themselves in his ears. Small tubes inserted themselves into his nostrils and the side of his mouth, and the breather element closed over his lower face. It sealed with a small sigh and flicked on. Displays and options overlaid his natural vision; a plethora of new ways to sense danced at him enticingly. And, something went out. It felt like losing an ear or an eye. His senses functioned but suddenly something was not there. The guide patch had been deactivated. His mental link to humanity was turned off. For a shocking instant he felt utter, bleak loneliness, and then his training kicked in. Instinctively he contested the emotional landscape. He reconfigured it and found the emotions he needed, replacing the ones he did not, arming his soul with the will to fight. He was ready.

  He straddled the vehicle, settling into the low forward canted crouch that its ergonomics demanded. As he touched hand grips the mental connection synched. He was now a trinity — man, suit and vehicle linked in a powerful cooperation of force. The vehicle sensed his desire to leave and activated its propulsion system. It rose up, hovering at waist height, feeding him a new range of data and feelings as it readied itself. He shifted posture slightly, finding a better pose on board, and told it ‘go’. It drifted toward the door he had entered and slid through, the propulsion system barely trying. Stopping just outside, and keeping the door open, he looked back into the room, readied a weapon and instantly boiled the contents. The interior turned red hot and all traces of him save those about him were vaporised. Any devices sent to track him would be melting and sizzling too. The inferno would alert someone eventually, but the chamber was remote and solid, surrounded by rock and earth. If he was lucky the fire would extinguish itself through lack of fuel long before the vandalism was discovered. He was now ready to seek his fellows.

  Memory served him well. He navigated remote corridors, adding speed when he could, letting walls and features flash by. It was exhilarating. Still inside the remotest subterranean corridors of the port he sped on. His destination was a small lifting facility at the edge of the port, right on the border between man-made flatness and natural wilderness. These turns and long tunnels were represented by lines on maps he stored and retrieved from his own memory. He had worked hard to keep them there and so far he had not deviated or lost himself. The vehicle was emitting positive satisfied feelings. It was ready too and as far as it could feel, it was enjoying this ride.

  He was closing on the lifting facility. One final very long corridor would end abruptly with the small elevator. He turned a corner and glanced forward, Sure enough this was it. The corridor stretched ahead. It was like an artist’s rendition of the perfect vanishing point — lines of wall and floor and ceiling closing in on each other until they touched. It took a snap of enhanced vision to confirm there was an end at all, but everything was as expected. Time for a little indulgence he decided. He stopped the vehicle, lowered his torso so his chest touched its form, forearms ran parallel to the ground and thighs hugged its body. Feet pushed into recessed grips. He ordered full acceleration.

  The command thought just entered his head and the vehicle launched. It was as if a giant’s hand had swung down from the clouds and slapped him forward. The combat suit reacted to the violence of the acceleration, freezing his posture and preventing his head from whiplashing. Air rushed past with growing ferocity, and he allowed the audio to transmit the trembling roar as atmosphere split aside. His vision tunnelled, all but the furthest points disintegrating into speed blur. Small lights that sat inside the corridor roof first rushed at him then blurred into their own continuous stream of orange bolts from the blue. The gee force of acceleration did not abate. His world was a howling, pulsating fury of unstoppable acceleration.

  He was no longer guiding the vehicle; it had taken control, with his consent, to prevent even the slightest accidental alteration of course. The corridor wall was within touching distance and even grazing it now would send him into a spinning, shattering frenzy of impact that not even the combat suit could save him from. Acceleration continued and he felt a growing invisible force pushing at him; the air in the corridor could no longer move out of the way quickly enough. A shockwave of pressure was building in front of the remorseless projectile that he had become. He clung on, drove forward and laughed to himself inside the helmet. The vehicle registered his glee and in its small emotionally stunted way reciprocated the feeling.

  The vehicle had been monitoring their progress, calculating the point at which it would either reach maximum velocity or run out of space and need to slow. The latter would occur first and very soon. It alerted him to the rapid violent change it was about to make. He consented and braced, and as he did, the forces of this joy ride seemed to rotate through one hundred and eighty degrees. Instead of hanging on and fighting not to be pulled off backwards he was very suddenly fighting not to be thrown over the front. The suit was caught out by the change for just a part of a second, but it was long enough for him to feel the shift from acceleration to deceleration. The forces shocked him. Muscle power alone was utterly insufficient to cling on to this vehicle in full flight. He knew this of course, and had experienced these joyous, terrifying shifts in speed before, but his muscle memory never seemed to quite remember the experience until it happened. By the time he had reacted and flinched, the suit had already adjusted to absorb the massive forces of deceleration. He could see the end of the corridor now; it was rushing at him still, and doing so at a speed that seemed impossible to shed before impact.

  He experienced a moment of doubt. Theoretically the vehicle could miscalculate although it had never happened. In fact it had never been known to happen to any vehicle of this type, but it was not impossible. His jaw clenched and he felt his shoulders stiffen. He hunkered lower, moulding himself into a protective embrace against the body of the vehicle. Fingers sent protests of pain as he gripped too tightly, and just as he was about to query the vehicle’s sanity, it stopped. Motion ceased and the forces of deceleration vanished. He realised he had shut his eyes, and kept them shut for some time. They opened slowly to reveal the corridor end and the lift, still and unconcerned, a finger width from the nose of the vehicle. He let out a breath, opened the breather module of the helmet and released a deep vibrant laugh. It echoed back at him, sound reverberating off the dull grey walls of this deep neglected place. He patted the side of the vehicle like it was a thoroughbred animal, smiled and let more laughter fill him. As it did, an intense beautiful sensation of vitality and joy coursed through him. He bathed in it as the lift moved up towards the surface, and muttered to himself ‘It is good to be alive.’


  Low wind-blown clouds scudded across the sky, and raindrops died instantly on the optics of his suit. He sat upright, buffeted by nature’s stormy progress across this world. Here was another border. Just under his stationary vehicle the edge of the flattened and coated landing area ended abruptly. Beyond it was the uninhabited tundra-mesa that dominated this world’s landmasses. He let natural smells and air filter in for a moment. The suit warned him that the atmosphere would not sustain him for any length of time. He knew this and ignored the warnings. He wanted to sense this new environment for a few seconds; he wanted to taste it. He sipped a breath of rich peaty air, held it in his mouth like a smoker savouring a new blend, then blew it out. It left a strong taste that reminded him of salt water and edible fungus. He sucked at the drinking tube at the edge of his mouth and the taste of the world was replaced by a sweet fruity flavour which he spat away. No need to risk infection by leaving this world’s bacteria to find a new home in him.

  The helmet sealed and he willed the optics to overlay different views of the terrain in front. Unaided he could see foreground, but the middle distance faded into mist and drizzle. With the optics operational he saw to the horizon, and there just beyond his natural view was the first of the giant mesas he would navigate through. These giant’s teeth protruding from the ground were the reason he had been paired with this vehicle. This world presented the traveller with two choices — fly quickly over the terrain or navigate slowly through it. Flying high was conspicuous especially as he was heading away from civilisation. Driving low was slow and tedious — the ground was alternately rocky, marshy or harshly pitted, and the mesas prevented direct travel. His vehicle, hovering as it did, bending gravity a little by persuading this world it was something it was not, could ignore the surface texture, He would slalom between giant rock formations at speeds approaching those of some fully airborne craft. He would run low and fast, concealed now by the improbability of his course.

  There was one last act to perform before he adopted a temporary life of speed and manoeuvre. He leant forward, searched for a recess in the body of his vehicle and reached in with an index finger. His touch made a connection with part of the vehicles brain only accessible from this small node. It woke, acknowledged him and became fully active. Two leg-sized moulded attachments at the front of the vehicle turned translucent and things wriggled inside, part mechanical and part animal. The vehicle was nano-forging its weapons. They would grow and stabilise in the coming minutes and then align themselves with the systems in his suit. He would shortly be able to engage many enemies at once by combining the systems in his suit and those on the vehicle, and do so while manoeuvring violently. He had become a very potent enemy at the cutting edge of predatory technology.

  Reflective colour drained from his suit and the vehicle as he camouflaged them in matt greys and greens; the natural colours of this world. He leant forward into the riding crouch, tensed himself for acceleration and told the vehicle ‘Go’. Dramatic acceleration slapped him forward and he revelled once again in the joy of speed and power. As the velocity increased several massive mesas appeared to accelerate at him. The vehicle had already plotted the ideal course between them, maintaining speed and avoiding a deadly collision. He noted it, and took control himself. There was a gap to the left of the first two rock towers — his initial point of aim. He slid his body to the left of the machine, hanging it low and shifting the centre of gravity towards the apex of an imaginary curve. At the same time the vehicle felt his desire to flick left. It banked and turned hard, hurtling above the ground just below and pushing him into the padded area where the right side of his body rested.

  The mesa’s structure became visible; he noted wind and rain carved rock studded with clinging plants. Then it was too close to see detail, and he flashed past, speed blurred peripheral vision sensing the rock’s proximity. His course was a perfect arc that took him into the clear space between rocks. Others hove into view and he made short mental course projections — right, right, decelerate, left, decelerate, straight, accelerate. It was a dance; his mind and body working to optimise the vehicle’s performance, penetrating the clear spaces between rocks. He was using the skills acquired as a pilot, albeit on a world and without the friendly partnership of suns. But this cyborg like physicality made him smile and enjoy. He was free, relying only on himself and charging towards a new chapter in his life.

  The dance went on. After a while his mind and body became tired and he gave control back to the vehicle and the suit, becoming a simple passenger. The terrain changed little; low grass-like tundra, deeply rutted as if ploughed by super-beings, broken by the massive monoliths of stone. He remembered that in at least one language this world was called ‘The Giant’s Farm’. That was probably the most flattering name. The languages of other races had neutral or descriptive names that tended to emphasise the grey, bleak qualities. Even the playful Praveen called it something like ‘The Place Where People Adopt Wonderful Colour to Make Themselves Happier in the Mist.’ Well, he thought, the mist is my friend here. Old world you and I are brothers in an endeavour for a while and something of your form reminds me of home. Those towers of living rock look like the towers of life on my home world. Others might shun you but I am here to enjoy you. I can see your beauty. I hope your sun sees it too. I wonder what it thinks of you?

  He spent the whole day in forward flight, resting and eating on the vehicle, fed liquid nourishment by his suit and held in place to nap when he wished. The suit cleaned him, removed waste and searched remorselessly for threats. It found nothing. There was some reassurance in that, but he also knew that he was followed at least this far. He did not believe his enemies would now simply let him go. He had taken precautions and been aided on the ship, but his enemies had their own devices and subterfuge. He was fully expecting to be followed. If there were enemies in his wake he must find them before the rendezvous; leading them to his friends would be disastrous. The pursuers would know he was not a lone rogue planning some act of solitary, desperate revenge. They would see the truth; him as a willing partner in a highly organised plot to free a people from those who had imprisoned them.

  The sky was darkening as night approached, and for one fleeting moment the sun appeared low on the horizon. Perhaps it has come to discuss its feelings towards this world he mused wryly. It breached the cloud base and made a rare appearance. In those few moments, shadows took on definition, stretching away from the ever present mesas, laying themselves across the terrain like huge blankets of darkness. He was feeling rested and calm as he sped into the last daylight. Now would be a good time to make a sweep he decided. Now would be a good time to turn predatory.

  He readied the vehicle and the suit. The vehicle slowed and hugged the contours of the ground. It was still moving fast but now it took time to trace a vector. The smooth and gentle rise and fall he had experienced all day was replaced with jarring changes of micro-altitude as the vehicle followed the ground. There would be little comfort, and an aching from his ankle reminded him that he was not yet fully healed. The bumps were testing new muscles. The suit was on full alert and using only passive sensor arrays. Nothing emitted from it now, not even a trace of his scent, or heat or DNA. His weapons were set to snap-fire. As soon as the suit or vehicle detected a threat they would fire. Out here where there were no people and no large animals of any kind, the risk of engaging something other than an enemy was slim, and he was sure his enemies would be ready with the same hair-trigger response. It was possible that life or death would be decided before either knew there was contact.

  The vehicle turned, doubling back to take a course parallel to the one they had just made. The turn was wide and jagged; the vehicle dodged mesas and hugged the ground. Adrenalin began coursing through his body, and he used it to heighten his own perception before willing sensors fully functional. He was immediately struck by a new and intense aural and visual experience. Tastes and scents unnoticed before now reached him. He felt the air move over hi
m and sensed changes in temperature as he moved from lighter to darker areas. Intense colour augmented by overlays from unusual parts of the spectrum filled his vision. It would all become overwhelming and could not be sustained for too long. His mind was processing vast amounts of sensory data, and it would grow tired quickly. But, in this heightened state of awareness he could hunt anything that might hunt him.

  He let the vehicle track a course while he focussed on searching. If he was followed it must be by vehicles similar to his own. Nothing had been above him, he had checked many times during the day as had his suit, and no type of ground transport could keep pace with the hectic twisting pace he had set. If he was pursued it must be by beings using the same type of technology as him — craft that excelled at moving quickly and stealthily. His lines of sight changed and moved as mesas rushed past. It reminded him of running through a forest of giant trees, trunks conspiring to open and close views as he travelled. He searched and manoeuvred, probed and finessed the course. He deviated from the backward path to cross his previous trajectory, pouncing at it from the flanks in a move designed to surprise anything he found. At one point he saw an area unusually devoid of the giant monoliths. He’d noted it as an ambush point earlier, and now decelerated violently, bringing himself and the vehicle into a small dip, the ideal place to survey the area from cover. There was nothing. He used the stillness to seek harder, asking probes in the vehicle to check for the tiny changes in air pressure or low frequency vibrations made by vehicles disturbing atmosphere. There was nothing.