The Galactic Express

by Tobias Wade

  Sali shrugged. “A little terrible, maybe, but I don’t blame you for it. You should have killed someone else though. That way your wife would have had some company while you were gone.”

  There was a pressure building in Elden’s head that could either emerge as laughter or tears. It might as well be laughter, because now that they were here, what did any of it matter anyway?

  “Twelve years, with another twelve back, if we do ever make it back. I’m sure she’s going to find plenty of company in that time. What about you, huh? You’ve got to have your own story if you knocked somebody off.”

  “Maybe another time,” Sali said quietly. She slouched back to place herself against one of the massive trees.

  “What? No fair. If you’re going to make a big deal about—”

  Sali put a finger to her lips. This time Elden heard it too. A rustling, thumping sound, like something heavy was being dragged through the jungle.

  “Harris?” Sali called tentatively.

  The rustling stopped. Sali made a few complicated finger gestures at Elden, who furrowed his brow and shrugged helplessly. Sali’s mouth formed an unmistakable swear word, and she dropped to her hands and knees to crawl back toward the escape pod. It probably wouldn’t do much for protection anymore, but there might still be some emergency tools or weapons stored in there somewhere.

  A sharp sting in Elden’s neck brought the world to a stop. His vision swam as his fingers fumbled for the wound. He watched his hands moving in slow motion. Did he come here with a feather protruding from his neck? Surely he would have noticed before now. Did the colors of the jungle always run together like a wet water color painting? Oh never mind these philosophical ponderings, he had to stay focused on the task at hand. He had to follow Sali to the escape pod and… lie down… and… what was he doing there again? Oh that’s right, he was about to take a much needed nap.

  “Won’t you lie down and rest with me?” Elden mumbled as the light faded from his eyes. “Amore…?”

  “It is as you said, young sapling,” thundered an unfamiliar voice from the rapidly blurring jungle. “The life force of the sacred Habanon has been stolen by these intruders. For the glory of the Hallowed Quasi Crystal, we offer them as payment for the blood that was shed.”

  Captives

  The darkness was warm and snug, a blanket of protection against a cold and uncertain reality. Popping from the blank screen like an unbidden advertisement came a schedule floating through Sali’s head. Treadmill with flashing goal targets, showering, breakfast with a list of approved foods, and then maintenance and upgrades; every half hour block with its own unique color. She’d tried to clear the schedule when she was arrested, but it still showed up every time she woke, yet another unwelcome artifact forced upon her from her mother. Twelve years away, and that old harpy was still inside Sali’s head.

  Sali opened her eyes to dissolve the intrusive mental popups. She saw the dull orange flicker of a smoldering ember. It revealed no more of its surroundings than the glimmer of a distant star. If it was night, then shouldn’t there be real stars overhead? There were certainly enough of them up there. It was hard to believe no hint of the endless cosmos pierced through the clear atmosphere. Perhaps that was a blessing though, for what heavenly sight could be worth knowing those beady yellow eyes were looking back at you?

  “They’re using Humanist words. Of course we can reason with them. It’s not like we killed the sacred whatever on purpose.” It sounded like Elden.

  “The sacred Habanon.” That was Harris, from a little ways behind. He sounded angry, and if the dark rumble in his voice was any indication, he’d practiced being angry for a rather long time and was ready to compete professionally. “You better be careful throwing words like ‘we’ around when those savages get back. You two are the ones who killed it—I landed my craft properly.”

  “Don’t even talk,” Sali sniped groggily. “You’re the one who killed Eisen and the other prisoners, smashing out of the ship like that. At least hitting that creature was an accident.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re equating me saving all of your lives with you getting us all killed? If you were one of my crew, I’d have have you locked in the cooler for a week.”

  “Shhh, someone is coming!” Ramnus pleaded from the darkness.

  “Two weeks, the lot of you! With tree bark for dinner!”

  Sali was fully awake now, alert to the burning ember moving their way. The light grew more intense as it approached, soon revealing a low-burning torch made from dried and knotted vines. The flickering orange light splashed across a man’s face. His skin was thickly smeared with red and white powders in spiraled patterns reminiscent of the dead Habanon beast. The light spilled across what was once a yellow jumpsuit, now threadbare and faded white. The metal nameplate had been ripped off, and in its place three rows of long sharp teeth were sewn into the fabric.

  “He’s a prisoner too!” Elden exclaimed, rising to his feet to greet the newcomer.

  He didn’t make it past his knees before his unseen bondage snapped taunt and yanked him back to the ground. As the light grew closer, Sali was able to make out the fresh green vines around his wrists, securing him to one of several wooden rods anchored in the rock around them.

  Sali squinted, frustrated by how slowly her biological eyes were adjusting to the darkness. She was supposed to get them upgraded next month—or 11 years and 11 months ago, she corrected herself. That was one of the only upgrades she’d actually been looking forward to. It’s not like she could afford the upgrades on her own. Everything she’d been equipped with had been forced upon her by her mother Gamber, but Sali had been saving for over a year for the new eyes. Ever since she had her ears done and started picking up radio waves, she couldn’t wait to download the new ultraviolet pack. It was a frustrating thought to realize the world was full of colors she’d never get a chance to see now.

  The other survivors she’d met on the ship were similarly tied around her, including the dark skinned young man who was now awake. His eyes were puffy and tired as though he’d been crying, and he was trembling all over. His nameplate reading Tareesh Amadad was just visible between his quivering arms that wrapped around his frail knees.

  The approaching figure leaned heavily upon a wooden staff that sprouted dozens of strings from the top, each attached to some sort of nut, seed, colored stone, or other decorative bauble which rattled as he moved. A cloth bundle was tucked beneath one arm, which he set down on the ground before sitting cross legged just out of reach from the prisoners. He said nothing, slowly and deliberately meeting the gaze of each captive. Sali had the unnerving feeling that she was a piece of meat in the butcher’s window being leered at by an inquisitive customer.

  “Greetings chief, my name is Captain Harris Johnson—”

  “Not a captain,” Sali cut in immediately.

  “—and my ship was passing above your planet when we were ruthlessly attacked—”

  “Wasn’t your ship. We were prisoners.”

  “—forcing us to evacuate to your beautiful planet. I understand that one of my crew members has caused collateral damage during her poorly navigated descent—”

  “Again, not his crew. It was a crash landing.”

  “You bring great evil with you, star travelers,” the painted face spoke at last. His words were hard and cold, each spoken precisely as though he was reading aloud from a script. “Listen, do you hear it in the wind? The world is mourning your arrival.”

  Perhaps it was the after-effect of the poison still coursing through Sali’s veins, but in that moment she really did hear something in the wind. Something deeper than sound and older than words. At first it seemed an almost human moan, but surely no human could bear the weight of suffering which floated through the jungle around them. Then again she’d never been in a jungle before, so perhaps that’s how places were supposed to feel when they weren’t being swept and cleaned. The wind settled back into a heavy silence of qui
et seething. Sali scanned the others to see their wide-eyed fear and awe, and knew they must have felt it too.

  “I wasn’t the one who killed the…” Harris began.

  “The sacred Habanon?” interrupted the painted man. “It is a tragedy how you disrespected the creature, but the village kills them often on the hunt. That is not the evil I spoke of. What is the name for this terrible curse you have brought us?”

  The man unfolded the cloth bundle and dumped its charred and blackened contents onto the ground. It was one of the buggers—probably the one that had latched onto the escape craft, given its crumbling and charred condition. The only one who seemed surprised by this was the young Tareesh, whose brow glowed with feverish intensity. The sight of the giant insect cast a fresh look of horror and revulsion upon his face. The boy scrambled backward, straining against his bonds to get as far away from the corpse as he could.

  “Calm yourself, I am not your enemy,” the painted man said. “You are your own enemies, or else you never would have found yourself here at all.”

  The shadows stirred at the edge of his light. Concealed amidst the jungle were over a dozen others leering at the newcomers. Each wore a similar jumpsuit in various stages of wear and ruin. How long had the Humanists been sending prisoners here?

  “You are not the first to be punished for your deeds in a previous life,” the painted man continued, “but never before have new travelers borne such a darkness as I read in the stars.”

  “The stars have never hurt me,” Sali countered. “Only people have done that.”

  “You do not know what you speak. Never before have the stars been so masked. Never has a Habanon fallen victim to the raining pods. And now we see that you bring with you such a being to make all the land tremble in dismay. The Quasi Crystal is not pleased to welcome you, and demands punishment for the evil you have brought.”

  “This isn’t right,” Elden protested. “We’re one of you, can’t you see? None of us had a choice in coming here, and it’s not like we brought the monsters on purpose.”

  “Monsters? How many of them are there?”

  A hissing rose from the surrounding jungle as though they were in a nest of vipers with asthma. The word ’sacrifice’ emerged as a chorus from the onlookers. Sali reached a sudden realization that these men might not have been prisoners at all, and only wore the spoils that they’d stolen from those who landed before. If that was the case, then it took no great leap of imagination to wonder what might have befallen the previous occupants.

  “You’re all madder than a hen that got pissed on.” Harris Johnson whistled low. “I’m sure your magic crystal has some divine wisdom or prophesies or whatever, but man this ain’t one of them. It’s your good fortune that me and my crew are the best mechanics and engineers this side of the Universe, so I’m going to let you in on a one time offer. You let us all go, and we’ll help you get off this hot sticky rock and back to civilization.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about—” Ramnus rumbled, interrupted by a swift kick from the self-proclaimed Captain.

  “Ah shucks, I sort of like it here though,” someone mumbled from the darkness before being swiftly drowned out by the surrounding hissing.

  “No we don’t,” another voice said sternly. “This is clearly a bad omen, and if you don’t see it, then you’re a bad omen too.”

  “Quiet back there!” the painted man grunted over his shoulder. “I’m the only one who gets to decide what’s an omen and what’s not.”

  “But Grand Shaman, you think everything is an omen,” the voice in the darkness protested. “Just last week you said that dark cloud was an omen. And that funny shaped rock. And then the cloud went away, and that was another omen—”

  “So what if they were? This is exactly what they foretold!”

  “Oh, alright then, bravo I guess,” the voice said reluctantly. “Although I really don’t think it should count as an omen unless you tell us what it’s going to foretell before it happens. You can’t just keep calling everything an omen.”

  Tareesh had calmed down again and was crawling back toward the giant charred insect on the ground. He knelt before it at the edge of his bonds, running his fingers with fascination down the black carapace which flaked off in his hand. No, Sali thought, calm didn’t do justice to his transformation; the look on the boy’s smooth features was nothing less than ecstatic now.

  “How’s this for a prophesy,” Harris Johnson said. “You’re going to let us go get our landing pod—perfectly preserved after a masterful landing. We’re going to replicate the thrusters a few dozen times, enlarge the housing interior, then blast off—all the way out of here. You wouldn’t still be here if your crystal could do that, now would you?”

  The ambient hissing softened without silencing, which might have been a good omen in itself, except that it isn’t easy to hiss for a prolonged period and the onlookers were probably just running out of air. Harris didn’t have a real plan, did he? Was he just faking it and hoping these people were dumb enough to believe him? One of Sali’s installments had covered rocket design and space travel, but launching from a higher gravity planet like this would be a lot more complicated. And how would they generate the anti-matter fuel? Or build their own cryogenic tanks to avoid carrying twelve years of provisions with them?

  “The Quasi Crystal only requires human sacrifices on special occasions,” the painted man said sternly, the words mostly directed over his shoulder. “Though we do not desire your death, it will still come to you if you try to escape this place. To turn your back on the Quasi Crystal is to turn your back on your brothers and sisters who keep you safe. Only by living and dying for them will you find salvation.”

  The last of the defeated hisses trailed off into disappointed silence. Heads drooped, and shuffling feet and mutterings floated from the shadows.

  “Are you sure, Grand Shaman?” one of them called tentatively. “If they’re an omen, doesn’t that by definition make this a special occasion? It’s been a while since we’ve had a good sacrifice.”

  “Yeah, maybe just one of them? You know, for the spirits, and stuff,” added another.

  “It’s just that I put out a good piece of meat, and the spirits didn’t even touch it,” added the first, more confident for having backup. “‘Course you’re the Shaman, and you know best, but it seems to me the Quasi Crystal has been in a mood lately. Nothing like a little sacrifice to show we care.”

  “Come now, we have to be practical,” the Grand Shaman replied, an uncustomary doubt breaking through his solemnity. “We had a sacrifice just a few weeks ago to help the stream restart, did you forget? We can’t defend our village if we keep sacrificing able-bodied men.”

  “That didn’t count and you know it,” the onlooker complained. “Man was half-dead already, probably wouldn’t have even lasted the night. If I was a divine spirit, I’d have sent him back to the kitchen and asked for a fresh one.”

  “Stop interrupting and let me talk to the prisoners! I had a whole speech planned out about camaraderie and enlightenment, and you’re ruining it!”

  “Oh come now, a sacrifice isn’t such a bad idea,” Tareesh joined in. The boy was smiling now, his once feverish glow replaced by an almost maniacal glee. “You can’t say it wouldn’t be practical when it would obviously help their morale. Look at that, you’ve got them all worked up with that cryptic woowoo of yours. You’re not really going to let us off without a show, now are you? If you don’t sacrifice at least one of us, I think you’ll have let a lot of people down.”

  “Yeah, he gets it! What about our morale?” called the onlooker. “I don’t got any morale anymore, haven’t in ages.”

  The painted man seemed unsure of himself, casting several furtive glances at the assembled locals. “I am trying to teach them our ways. Life is precious here, not something so casually discarded—”

  “What about justice? Isn’t that worth something too?” Tareesh prodded relentlessly. “We killed a Ha
banon. I saw the body; it looks like we made a real mess of him too. Someone ought to do something about that.”

  “Mess? What are you talking, mess?” Ramnus growled. “You saying I don’t know how to skin an animal?”

  “What are you doing, Tareesh?” Sali groaned. “Stop encouraging them!”

  “All I’m saying is that people aren’t going to respect your ways if you don’t take a life now and then,” Tareesh said. “It shows you mean business. And you should know there are a lot more of those buggers, or Draiths as I like to call them. They weren’t too happy about us getting away. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if more of them didn’t follow us here.”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Harris protested. “You slept through the whole thing, what do you even know about the… Draiths you called them?”

  Tareesh pulled away to the edge of his bonds where Harris couldn’t reach him, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “They’ve devoured whole planets, right down to the rock and molten core, those fearsome beasties. How do you think they’ll feel about some nice, soft, wood? Or a whole jungle full of juicy, delicious people and animals? Oh it’s going to be a disaster, an absolute tragedy. Honestly, sacrificing one of us is the least you can do.”

  “… how many of them are there, exactly?” the Grand Shaman asked, a tremor in his voice.

  “How many stars are in the sky?” Tareesh answered with delight. The painted man began to answer, but Tareesh hurried on. “Never mind, it was a rhetorical question. What I mean is, how many more Draiths would it take to blot out the stars? I don’t see any clouds up there, do you? And if you think the little one is bad, just wait until you see the queen settling in to lay a fresh batch of eggs. Makes you scared, doesn’t it? And a little angry? Well don’t blame my friends here, because it really is all my fault. So why don’t you string me up from a tree, or knock off my head, and then have a little dance around my dead body? I promise you’ll all feel better about yourselves.”