This could not continue, he realised that he was killing himself slowly. He needed to do something different. Thinking was hard because his mind focused on the cold and fear, but an idea came to him, and he queried the vehicle. It scanned actively and identified a suitable object. They turned and closed on it; a large rock covered in patches of lichen like vegetation. It was round and smooth like a giant pebble and stood higher than the combined height of vehicle and rider. Perfect. The vehicle drifted to a halt a short distance away and waited for his command. He hesitated for a moment knowing that what he was about to do would illuminate his position, and yet he saw no alternative. Not to act meant certain death, and to implement his plan at least meant a chance at survival. An ironic grimace flicked across his face — he was presented with the same choice as his enemy. Would he also suffer the same fate?
Feeling his eyelids droop again and the reflexive raising of eyebrows to try and keep them open, he decide to act. ‘Do it’ he commanded. The vehicle fired a broad spray of weaponry at the rock. Vegetation ignited and burnt off, particles of it rising into the night sky like miniature lanterns. The rock itself heated fast and radiated warmth, and as it did, the vehicle stopped firing and drifted in closer until he felt the joyous life-saving warmth touch his skin. Energy penetrated the suit, and then his body as the vehicle slowly rotated them, heating every part of him. He smiled and basked in the glow. I wonder if the vehicle sees the parallels with its birth he thought, and received no answer.
He cooked himself gently for a while, the warmth offering physical and emotional comfort. The urge to simply stay and bathe in the heat was strong, but he had no doubt that such luxury could not last. Even as his teeth stopped chattering he knew he must leave the refuge he had created and travel on. It took a supreme act of will to return to the penetrating cold dampness of travel. The reassuring heat vanished quickly as they moved away, and he tucked himself low against the vehicle to avoid as much chilling wind-blast as he could. Darkness marked by dim lines and shapes was all his optics would transmit now. He was virtually blind and clinging on to the vehicle. Nothing came at them from the dark, no weapons found them, no vehicles tracked them or sensors probed. He felt very alone, and despite himself almost wished for an attack, at least that would offer a distraction from the inevitable slow refrigeration of his skin and muscle.
The deep cold returned first to his neck, sending shivers down his back, and spreading to his shoulders. For the briefest of moments the dying suit found something in itself and sent a delicious ripple of heat across his body. It vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving him with a sense that that was all the help he could expect now. His only protection from the environment was the material of the suit itself, and that would offer the warmth of a corpse as it died. He felt the vehicle rise and fall across the landscape, aware of his condition and unable to help him. It was searching for more outcrops of rock to heat but none came – the terrain was a rolling plain of dank vegetation devoid of objects that would radiate heat. And, they must continue onwards, hope now lay with finding his comrades and time was short. How long before the suit stopped working altogether and became a living coffin? It was a race to see which organism froze first — the suit or the wearer.
He started and jerked. The optics had failed completely and he was blind. But, no, he had simply let his eyes close and now found the effort of opening them a herculean task. The optics still transmitted something; shapes flowed at him indicating speed and direction. He could not properly judge the speed, and he was starting to lose feeling in his fingers and toes. Then the aural sensors failed and the sounds outside were no longer filtered, natural sound added to the torture of natural cold. Vibrating, whistling wind filled his ears, creating a soundscape that screamed. It reminded him of the attack by the par-born, and in that moment he felt his own senses were his enemy; simply transmitters of pain and distress. He wished to turn them off, to lose himself in the comfort of sleep and retreat inside his mind away from the nerves that tortured him.
His body tried to seduce him into sleep. It sent messages and thoughts that willed him to rest; the vehicle can continue on, it does not need you, rest, shut your eyes, retreat from the cold and into sleep. He knew better than to respond to these siren calls. He was on the edge of hypothermia, and sleep was a condition from which he may never wake. He willed himself to stay alert, playing mental games with himself to try and focus, using his skills to divert attention from cold and numbness and unrelenting fatigue. And it worked for a while. There was no telling for how long — time had ceased to have meaning, there was only cold and the relentless spreading numbness that gradually took its place. This was his world, memory faded, imagination dulled, movement was an idea whose time had passed, and fear and occasional apathy were the only emotions left. Several times he arrested the fall into sleep and jerked himself awake. He was a fighter — he had proved it by vanquishing enemies — but he could not fight his own body or the environment of this world indefinitely. It seemed he would be the one to lose the race, and die before the suit. If he died would the vehicle deliver his body to his comrades? He had told it the way and the signs to look for, but did it possess enough sentience to continue without him? Would it care to complete the mission or find some other purpose of its own? He wished he would find out, but in his heart he knew now that he would not. His fight was gone, and he relaxed. Sleep engulfed him like a dark comforting sea in which he could blissfully drown.
But death it seemed was as elastic as gravity. It would not release its grip and neither could it take him fully. Even as he gave in and curled in on himself, losing senses and retreating into his own mind, something nagged from outside. There was an irritation that could not be ignored; his cold-dulled mind was being told something. It was the vehicle intruding on his peace, sending sensations and data into a brain that no longer wished to process either. A proximity warning was sounding, and it was transmitted from outside. The vehicle was making its own noise because it could no longer make it inside the suit. Something was there up ahead; a shape, idle, massive and powerful and attempting to hide. His neurons managed one last thought before even this urgent loudness and looming threat were insufficient to keep him conscious; don’t let them take me prisoner, don’t let them torture the truth from me.
Chapter 9.
He swam in warm seas, drifting in the currents of his youth, below the surface but not needing breath. Above him their sun sent its light through crystal waters, dappling his body with the refracted patterns of the waves above. It was idyllic, and yet he was not happy. Something intruded in this warm amniotic world. A thought, like the reminder of important things lost, stopped him from immersing himself completely in the perfect sea. He had lost something or forgotten something and now that seed of discomfort was growing. He could not stay here, it was beautiful and he felt comforted but he could not stay. That was it; he had a task. People were depending on him to do something. He was drifting in pleasure when somewhere people of his race needed something of him. He had to leave, and leave now.
He tried to kick for the surface, but his limbs would not move. He was puzzled and alarmed in equal measure, and tried again. Still the commands of his mind would not speak the language of his muscles. The beauty of his surroundings did not abate, but they took on the characteristics of a prison in his emotions. He tried again and again to command his limbs, concentrating hard and trying to jerk them into life, all to no avail. His sense of unease was heightened when he felt something predatory glide below him. He could not see it, and again his emotions acted like senses, fear and panic signalling its arrival. He was floating face up and the thing was below him, pulsing through the depths and orienting itself to attack.
And suddenly, urgently, he needed air. Of course he could not breathe under water! Was he delusional? He needed oxygen in his lungs. He needed to breach the surface and breathe gases. His lungs and throat begged to suck something in, but all he could offer was water and drowning. He wante
d to thrash and kick but appalling paralysis gripped him, noises formed in his throat, muted moaning sounds that his mouth would not open to emit. This was all wrong, it could not be. How had he got here in this state of immobile vulnerability? It did not make any sense.
Pain struck his ankle, once, twice and then again. Something was hitting him, or, no, he was hitting it. His limbs had returned to him, and they thrashed and struck and kicked, fighting to swim and find air to feed his starved lungs. Something solid was there, the predator perhaps closing and ready to embrace him in a spiked, tentacled grasp. And there was a miracle; he breathed again. Warmth still surrounded him but it was the easily parted warmth of air. He felt no resistance as his limbs struck out. He gulped down the delicious oxygen rich gas and remembered what it was to breathe. As relief flooded in with the air, a new sensation struck him; there was something pushing at him, something trying to control him again. He would not return to submission now and he fought hard with what strength and skill he could muster, lashing out at the unseen. He had opened his eyes, but something covered them or prevented him from seeing. Still he fought, and at one point he heard the satisfying crack of bone breaking as a lucky blow landed squarely. There were voices now, and to his dismay the sound of a weapon discharging. He felt the thud of impact hit his leg and denial then anger grip him as his limbs returned to imbecility. He calmed and stilled despite himself, his mind still an inferno of resistance while his body rested like a child deep in sleep.
People moved around him and he felt hands on him. Devices were being removed from his body or inserted in it. His sensation was dulled and he could not tell which it was. At least there was no pain yet. The torture would come later he knew, when he was well enough to survive it, and spill his secrets in shame. Hands touched his face removing something, and for the first time light glowed red through his eyelids. He heard the voices again, and then there was stillness. He could open his eyes if he wished. He could see where capture had brought him. He summoned courage and squinted. Light flooded in and his irises reflexively reacted until shapes and textures and volume could be seen. His eyes revealed his new truth.
The ceiling he gazed up at was a soothing blue green colour. It had the tell-tale texture of nano-forged technology, and something of the soft lushness of plant life. It looked to be a machine-organic composite like the interior of his suit. The suit! He was out of it, dressed now in the simple light clothing that one could wear in a protected environment. It felt soft against his skin. Light came not from above but from the sides of the room. An orange glow complemented the green and generated a sense of harmony and natural order. It was all designed to make him relax he knew. Well, he had no choice at this moment, so he calmed his mind and started the mental preparation to resist. He flicked eyes left and right and took in more. He was in a man-made environment, and it was truly man-made he was sure, not made by other races.
There was movement at the periphery of his vision. His head was locked in an upward position by paralysis, and at first he could only hear and then just see a figure moving closer. It approached cautiously, fearful he supposed of another outburst despite the tranquillising weapon they had used. It moved into view and placed hands on his shoulder, taking time to look him in the eye and make direct contact as humans do, revealing their emotional intent through the size and shape of eyes and alignment of facial muscles. He looked up into a warm smile with hints of concern and fear revealing themselves.
The face was human, male and old. And in an astonishing tingling moment of realisation it became familiar. He looked up into the face of a man he knew, a man who had saved him and taught him how to flee and how to hide so long ago. It was aged but unmistakable, and as he watched the face, his own must have betrayed some flicker of recognition, for the face broke into a beaming smile and tear drops fell from the cheeks, landing on his skin in tiny warm splashes. He felt a hand stroke his hair and something press against his arm. Tingling sensation heightened and flooded into him, muscles unlocked and began to respond to his commands. His face returned the smile, and is it did so arms embraced him and held him close. A trembling voice whispered in his ear “By all that is solar, you made it. Great suns, you made it. Ansti Murai welcome back.”
Ansti sat in a reclining chair much like the one he had used in transit. Around him a small group of excited people were trying hard not to stare or talk openly about him. He was, it seemed, a celebrity amongst these people. The recliner monitored his precarious but improving health while his teeth and gums savoured the sensations of biting and chewing on the food he had been given. The room itself was tuned a sky blue colour with yellow light diffusing in from above, and it had the soft curves and extrusions commonly found on the ships grown by his people; it implied functionality and ergonomic thought and confirmed that he was now inside a vessel. He felt at home.
Ansti chewed and regarded the compatriot sitting across from him. After his rude awakening Ansti had been ordered to relax and heal more. It was only now after hours of intensive medical care that he was ready for meaningful conversation. Even so, he had been helped here by members of the crew, still too weak to walk by himself and tired of the ministrations of healing machines. He simply wanted time without connection to a machine mind. Although his fellows were concerned, they had respected his wishes and walked him here, like friends helping a drunken comrade home.
Each man regarded the other, content for a moment simply to enjoy the company. They both smiled without being aware that their faces radiated warmth and respect. Some might have seen the expressions and thought them lovers, such was the intensity of their gaze, and in sense they were, although not physically. Adversity had bonded them and forged a friendship. Ansti spoke first, his words a little slurred after days of silence and the rigours of combat.
“I can’t believe you came in person Ashur. It’s so good to see you again after so long. How did you escape surveillance to get here? How did you even secure a craft? Great suns, what must you have done to find me and be here?”
They both broke into a laugh, Ansti realising he was gabbling and Ashur laughing along with his friend, delighted to witness his humanity returning.
“Ok” Ansti smiled “tell me the story, but tell me one thing first, are we winning Ashur?”
The older man’s face took on an edge of seriousness,
“We are fighting Ansti, but there is no victory and no freedom yet. We’ve recovered from the defeat and regained some strength, but victory is a long way from our grasp; the enemy still control our world.”
His gaze probed Ansti, looking behind his eyes and searching.
Typically the pleasantries were short with Ashur.“Do you know why we sent for you Ansti? Why we risked our lives and yours to bring you here, and why we spent lives to ensure we met again?”
Ansti shifted in the recliner, and held his friend’s gaze with steady measure
“I guessed that you needed pilots, Ashur. Friendly pilots must be a rare commodity these days. After all it is what I do, and it is why you sent me running; to preserve my skills for our people, isn’t it?”
The older man’s expression betrayed something, pain or regret – Ansti could not tell, but there was undoubtedly a flicker of something.
“Well, yes, we do need pilots, and you are right, those with your skills and allied to our cause are very rare. Ansti, you should know, of the hundreds that were trained to partner ships, of all the generations schooled in that art, you are the only one left.”
Ansti frowned and found that thoughts would not coalesce into words. He knew the enemy was ruthless, but to kill so many pilots was an act of systematic murder that defied understanding. His people had built their lives and livelihood on nurturing this skill. It was their pride and their renown. It was what they gave to the universe and the reason they found a place in it. To take that away was to condemn his people to a little life, to be mere observers of the galaxy rather than those who helped to shape it.
“All of u
s?” Ansti queried “They took us all?”
Ashur nodded and rested his chin on intertwined fingers.
“Some they turned to their side, but most have been found and would not betray our people.”
“But how? You organised the flight Ashur, surely I was not the most skilled at hiding and running? Sun-shit, before you found me I couldn’t have fought and won against vat-born warriors. I was barely trained when you sent me on. Are you telling me I was the best at this?”
Ashur shrugged and inclined his head a little.
“No, my friend, not the best, just the luckiest. Although you did show combat skill. Perhaps you learned your lessons better than you thought?”
Shock and disbelief were growing in Ansti.
“They’ve destroyed us, totally” he interjected. “There’s nothing left Ashur? I mean, what can we do? I can’t train an entire new generation of pilots, and even if I could, would ships trust us again? After The Separation, we could not communicate — they broke something we could not repair.”
Ashur lowered his gaze and thought before choosing words.
“You are right of course. The enemy has crippled us Ansti. They have taken from us that which made us unique. Perhaps it is a lesson of a kind. Did you ever think we had become… arrogant?”
Ansti sat up fast, and felt his body protest the sudden use of muscles. His voice was high-pitched, betraying the sudden shock and anger he felt, and the tension of directing it at his friend. “Arrogant? Ashur, what are you telling me, that we deserved this? Are you telling me millions of dead on dozens of worlds, and a people stripped of a purpose are the price we had to pay to learn humility? Have I been hiding for decades, to learn a lesson? What, is happening here Ashur? What do you want me for? Am I supposed to see some moral purpose in my own ordeal? Where is the morality in leaving me to fight alone as I made this journey…?”
The Man Who Talked to Suns Page 12