by Barry Kirwan
“Let go now. Mannekhi ship. Maintenance shaft.”
Kilaney released the Ngank. “You nearly fried me alive back there.”
“Saved you. Side effect. Emergency micro-jump.”
He studied his palms. The blood was drying. No scars.
“Fixed you. Easy. You basic model now.”
He knew he was missing some of what the squid was saying, because Largyl 6 included consonants undecipherable by the human hearing system. “Your ship, your comrades?”
The squid’s head did a small pirouette. “Ship gone. Comrades?”
“The other surgeons… Wait a Goddam minute, you mean to say you were the only Ngank aboard?”
“Clone projections. Tell you secret. You work out soon, but need know now. Higher Level, less number.”
Kilaney thought about it. Pierre said there were only seven Kalarash left in the entire universe, including one who had quit this galaxy, and Hellera, who remained. Q’Roth were Level Six and numbered hundreds of billions, Ossyrians were Level Eight and numbered a few billion, Rangers were Level Fifteen, and were few and far between, maybe a few thousand in the entire galaxy from what he’d heard, and Tla Beth... In all this time he’d never done the maths.
“Why?” he asked.
“Think later. Now you take ship.”
Kilaney thought he’d heard it wrong, then laughed out loud. “I used to be a general, but I haven’t seen my troops in a long time. Why don’t you take the ship?”
“Not harm. Ever.”
“I thought you used bio-weapons when you had to?”
The squid shivered. “Not Ossyrian. Never harm.”
“Not a great survival philosophy.”
One of the tentacles swiped Kilaney’s arm, stinging it.
“What happened to ‘not harm’?”
“You hurt, not harmed. We are old race, ninety million your years. You very young race, know nothing, understand less.”
Kilaney bristled. “Still –”
“Survival not everything. Bigger picture.”
Kilaney shook his head. This was going nowhere. At least he was still alive. And he had no pain, though by rights he should have. No pain. An idea crystallised in his head. “Anaesthetic doesn’t do harm, does it?”
The squid didn’t answer, but its tentacles braided around each other as if it was crossing them.
Kilaney held out his palms. “Micro-jump. Bridge. Anaesthetise everyone there except me.”
The squid didn’t move. “You not kill them. Aiding harm, causing harm.”
Kilaney grimaced. He’d prefer not to deal with prisoners. “They stay anaesthetised, I’ll leave them alone. You have my word.”
Two tentacles unfurled into his palms. “This will hurt.”
Story of my life.
He tied the last knot around the wrists of the twelfth Mannekhi crewmember on the bridge, then moved over to the comms console. Twice in the past decade he’d boarded a Mannekhi Spiker, so he knew his way around. He sent the comms signal, the one Ukrull had shown him.
Pierre’s avatar appeared. “Esperia, fast as you can.”
Kilaney wasn’t much of a man for sentimentalism or congratulations, but he’d expected some surprise that he’d survived and taken the ship. But Pierre continued before he had time to reply.
“General, we’ve gained some new intel while trying to reach Hellera. We’ve confirmed that Sister Esma is onboard a Crucible bound for Esperia. Micah and Blake have nothing to match that level of hardware, and frankly neither do the local Ossyrians stationed there. The vessel you’re on might stand a chance, if you can surprise her. Can you pilot it alone?”
Kilaney had thought about that. Navigate and operate tactical weapons at the same time? He shook his head. Pierre’s avatar looked away from him, and Kilaney heard Ukrull’s grating voice.
“Crew still breathe?”
“Yes,” Kilaney answered.
“Then listen.” Ukrull told Kilaney something. It made his jaw drop. He stared at the inert crew on the Bridge.
Pierre took up the lead again. “General, there are Shrell en route to Esperia. They will poison space around the planet. You must arrive quickly. We have to jump now. The Ngank can explain about the Shrell.” Pierre’s eyes grew intense. “You must hold Esperia till the very end, General, whatever the cost. Even if you defeat Sister Esma. Tell Blake not to leave the spiders. Qorall will come to you. Sorry, we have to jump now.”
Kilaney stared at the space where the avatar had been a second ago. It was almost too much to take in, and Pierre had left a lot out. While he chewed it over, he checked weapons status, then set the navigation controls and powered up the engines for the first jump. A low bass rumble vibrated the soles of his feet.
He turned to the Ngank. “So, tell me, who are the Shrell?”
“Space-dwellers, born in outer layer of gas giant.” Its tentacles sketched an outline in the air. It flash-filled with colour to produce an image in 3D: picting. Kilaney had heard some species could do this, but never actually seen it before. The picture vanished. What Kilaney had seen reminded him of the eagle ray from Earth’s tropical oceans, some kind of techware along its wings’ edges.
The Ngank’s tentacles coiled and twisted around each other. “This bad news. Shrell space-fixers. Patch space after too many high-energy transits bruise subspace. Care about habitat.”
Kilaney imagined serene, eco-friendly rays swimming through space. But he’d seen how wars could twist allegiances, particularly those who tried to stay ‘neutral’. When a war went global, or in this case galactic, there was no neutral party or territory, everyone took sides sooner or later, out of choice or coercion.
The engines reached mid-pitch. “What did he mean, ‘poison space’?”
“Fracture subspace harmonics. Stops transits, creates eddies and vortices.”
Kilaney envisioned ships travelling full speed then slamming into a lattice of supercharged exotic particles, like a giant cheese-grater, shredding vessels and occupants, leaving their fragments to drift forever in quickspace. Qorall would send in the worms later to mop everything up. Bad news indeed.
The engines’ keening hurt his ears; he wondered how much of a jump they were about to make. He shouted over the rising crescendo.
“Can we stop them?”
The squid’s tentacles braided again. “My relief transport arrived. You on own now.” The squid teleported, vanishing in front of Kilaney’s eyes.
Never harm, it had said, and never abet harm. Kilaney sighed and took the command chair. He doubted he could do anything about the Shrell, except hopefully arrive before them. Sister Esma, though, that was a different matter. But he would need the crew lying unconscious on the floor to help him. That wasn’t going to be easy. The engine noise suddenly ceased, as if the ship were holding its breath.
Just as every surface around him turned mercurial, signifying jump initiation, Kilaney smiled, and it felt good on his new face. Despite the odds – his ship was no real match for a Crucible – this was a battle he was looking forward to.
* * *
Three hundred Shrell flew in V-formation, their leader Genaspa at the front, setting the pace. They noticed a ship tearing past on a similar vector, ploughing a furrow through the rolling hills of folded Transpace. As one, they flinched at the taut wake-line etched into space-fabric behind its pathway.
They watched the time-frozen ship race ahead of them on its long trek to Esperia’ s system, their own destination, then, as one, increased their speed to match its velocity.
Chapter Six
Eye of the Storm
Micah awoke as Esperia’s dawn rays stole through the curtains, glancing off Antonia’s bare shoulder. She slept on her side, facing away from him. He nuzzled closer, inhaling her scent
, nestling his forehead against her hair. Years earlier, a lifetime ago, he’d dreamed of being in bed with her – not just the love-making – of simply being with her, and of them sleeping together. For the first time in months, he felt peaceful, even if he knew it wouldn’t last. His fingers traced the curve from her ribs to her hip, then cupped her perfect buttocks one after the other. He moved closer, kissing the back of her neck as he nudged his groin to make contact with her, and he felt himself harden against her soft flesh. She stirred, a hand reaching behind her, finding him. She held him, rubbed him gently between fingers and thumb.
Micah gasped, gnawed at her neck, then coaxed Antonia onto her stomach. She parted her thighs. He stroked the wetness there, her buttocks rising as she moaned softly against his finger.
“Don’t be a tease, Micah.”
He mounted her, entered her, closed her legs between his, and moved as slowly as he could. Levering up onto his left elbow, his right hand reached around to caress her pert breasts, finding her nipples erect. She made a moaning noise, and both her hands reached behind her, flat against her buttocks, palms upwards, touching him.
His mind reeled, and his body shook. Micah took both her wrists and pinned them to the pillow above her head with his left hand, while his right lifted her chin up so his lips could meet her mouth. She kissed him hard, devouring him. He kept up the same rhythm, thrust deeper, felt her tighten around him, never letting go of the kiss.
They lay entwined, neither of them speaking. Micah basked in the moment, knowing their world was soon to unravel, but savouring every minute that passed. He etched every second of the past ten hours into his memory. Antonia’s finger played with the hair on his chest, tugged at it. He kissed her again, urgently, knowing he was in forbidden territory, somebody else’s bed. He felt the guilt rise inside him, like a gathering storm in his chest. As he drew back, she read his look.
“Another lifetime,” she said, kindness and warmth in her eyes, letting him down gently.
A lyric from an old classic song popped into his head. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, Antonia.”
She glanced away, bit her lip. “Kat used to sing me that song.”
He rolled onto his back. She had always belonged to Kat. This night had been an eye in the storm for Antonia, too.
He sat up. “I intend to find her. Bring her back to you.”
She stroked his back, then sat up, and kissed his shoulder. “Do you think you can find her?”
“It’s top of my agenda, why I resigned.”
“To find Louise, or to find Kat?”
He gave her a sideways look, which made her smile. He knew that while Antonia looked demure, she wasn’t naïve. “Both, I hope, but I only plan to bring one back alive.”
Her eyebrows edged closer. “But if they split up and you have to make a choice?”
He’d thought about it. “Kat,” he answered, wondering how he might really react if faced with that particular choice.
“Because she can link to the Hohash?”
He nodded. And because the Hohash can link to the Kalarash, and only they can stop Qorall.
Micah mock-pinched her thigh and got out of bed. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“Micah?”
He paused, turned around to face her, naked in every way.
“Whoever gets you is a lucky woman.”
He winked. “Perhaps. Or maybe you just don’t often sleep with a guy who hasn’t had sex for seven years.”
She grinned, and was about to say something else, but he pre-empted her. “Toast or eggs?”
She lay back down, put her hands behind her head. “I like both, Micah.”
He laughed and walked into the lounge and froze. A Hohash mirror hovered soundlessly a few centimetres off the floor on the other side of the room. Kat stared through the mirror straight at him.
“Kat!” he said.
Kat’s face cocked an eyebrow, and he remembered he was completely nude. But Antonia had heard him utter Kat’s name, and dashed into the room, a sheet hastily draped around her. Kat raised the other eyebrow, but Antonia rushed past Micah to the mirror, her sheet falling off as she seized the Hohash’s frame and knelt before her lover, her wife. Micah couldn’t see either of their faces, but Antonia’s shoulders trembled. He moved out of line of sight into the kitchen, retrieving one or two of his garments on the way.
He wondered how timing could be so cruel. Hohash were mute, like the spiders, so no verbal communication was possible except through a third medium, somebody with a node. His guilt went into overdrive, but that was secondary – this could have ramifications. Kat had every right to be angry and could turn away from them. But there was nothing he could do. Even if oral communication were possible it would probably not help. Sometimes words only made it worse.
Antonia called him over. “Micah, I think she wants to say something to you.”
Micah didn’t see how. But no sooner than he was in line of sight of Kat, his head started to hurt. A searing pain stabbed at him behind his eyeballs, blinding him. He cried out and dropped to his knees, gasping with pain.
“Micah, what’s wrong?” Antonia put her arm around his shoulders, but he could see nothing, and the pain bit deeper. His forehead was on the floor, his hands to his temples.
“Kat, stop it, please, you’re hurting him!”
Micah groaned, unable to think. His resident, she must be using it. How? He gasped again.
Antonia was shouting. “Kat, stop it now. Please! Hurt me, I’m as much to blame!”
Abruptly the pain shut off, and Micah collapsed onto his back, his hands over his eyes, his breath ragged. After a while, he dared to open them. Antonia knelt next to him, red-eyed, wiping her cheeks, sheet back in place around her. He laid a hand on her thigh. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Micah, really. Kat’s gone now; she looked sharply at something to her right and then the Hohash just cleared.”
Micah tried to get up, but his head started to split. “Not all her fault,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
His thoughts were clearing, but he was still catching his breath. “The Hohash accessed my resident.”
“What? You still have that thing in your head? I thought the Tla Beth neutralized it during the trial?”
He shrugged, then winced.
“How can a node interface with a resident?”
“I don’t know, but it did. Kat was trying to send me a message. The Hohash… it picked up on Kat’s anger – pretty natural, really – and amplified it.”
Antonia frowned. “Are you just saying that, Micah? Because I’m –”
He squeezed her thigh. “I felt her; she was willing it to stop. Honest.”
Antonia bit her lip. “This is all my fault. I don’t deserve either of you.”
Micah tried getting up again, Antonia helping him. “Listen, Antonia, she’s alive. That’s what matters.” Micah had also felt something else in the ‘transmission’; Kat’s intense loneliness verging on despair. He’d tried to convey emotions back to her: that she was sorely missed; that last night had been a one-night fling; but he wasn’t sure he’d gotten through.
Antonia’s face brightened. “She is alive, isn’t she? My God, Micah, you’ve no idea…”
He held her, saying nothing, while her tears rolled down his chest. Then his resident interrupted his thoughts. He had no idea how Kat and the Hohash had done it, given that nodes and residents were completely different technologies, but two verbal messages appeared in his mind’s eye. The first said that Kat would somehow find a way to forgive him, but if he did it again she would kill him, adding that she already forgave Antonia, and to tell her so. His relief translated into a tighter hug around Antonia.
The second message said: “General Kilaney is alive. Pierre went to retrieve him. Complicated. With luck he can help you from the outside. Will try to find out more. Have to go. Difficult to communicate. Louise is –”. The message ended.
&nb
sp; He closed his eyes, relishing Antonia’s touch for the last time. Thanks Kat, we owe you one, and this will never happen again.
They ate, or at least Antonia did, once she’d calmed down. Kat’s first message helped. Micah had black coffee, a rarity grown with haphazard success some three hundred klicks South of Esperantia. He cradled the cup, sipping the steaming bitter ultresso as he stared through the window towards the Acarian mountains. If Kilaney was able to come… He needed to tell Blake, this news would turn things around for sure, since Kilaney had been Blake’s commander back on Earth.
“Is Pierre coming back, too?” Antonia asked.
Micah knew why she was asking. “I don’t think so. At least the message to me implied Kilaney would be coming back. I think she’d have said if Pierre was, too.”
Antonia didn’t comment further, blowing across the top of her coffee cup, looking to Micah as if she were miles away, most probably light years.
Micah put down his cup and stood up.
“Blake needs to know about this, Vasquez too,” he said.
She rose. “And Petra. And Zack?”
He stared at her. He hadn’t thought about involving Zack’s Transpar, Blake’s former right-hand man. Antonia had a point, since Kilaney had also trained Zack, apparently. But during the Trial Zack had been transformed into a man of glass, completely transparent in every way, unable to lie and therefore the perfect witness for the prosecution. They’d also taken away his personality. His wife Sonja said that every now and again she saw glimpses of the old Zack, but if so, she was the only one. Even Blake believed there was nothing left of the original Zack.
“Maybe,” he said. “The Council should be informed, but I’m no longer on Council, so –”
“I’ll inform them, Micah.” She touched his arm. “I see now why you resigned. You don’t want to be second-guessed and compromised by eleven other people.”
He nodded, and was about to say goodbye, but she placed a finger across his lips, and shook her head.
In the doorway, as he was about to leave, she spoke again. “You know, Micah, you and Gabriel aren’t so different. You want the same thing, and neither of you play by the rules. He’s fixated on the threat from Sister Esma, you’re more worried about Louise. And Pierre, wherever he is, well, he went off to fight against Qorall.” Her face darkened. “Micah, what if all three enemies are coming here?”