by Barry Kirwan
None of them had yet seen the alien dweller – she remained convinced by her interactions with the Hohash that there was only one inhabitant on the ship. She’d seen something – a fleeting shadow, more or less – move out of her field of vision once or twice, always staying ahead of her eye movements, which meant its perception and reaction time were off the scale. When she’d first heard the theory that there were nineteen levels of intelligence in the galaxy, she’d struggled to see what they could possibly know at the upper levels. But now, for the first time, she began to think it was possible after all to have such a range of capabilities in the galaxy.
Her gaze shifted back to Dimitri – it was good to be with him again. He’d stuck by her during what she now thought of as her ‘dark phase’. She’d never leave him or lose him again, she decided. Looking back, she felt as if Shakirvasta had cast a spell on her. If he were here now, she’d throw him down into that lake for sure.
Dimitri’s mess of hair and beard craned upwards from whatever he was doing, and he waved to her, shouting something she couldn’t catch, the sound lost in the echoless chamber. She waved back, smiling, trusting him like no one else.
They’d found no control room, or any room for that matter, just these gas-filled spheres, like the one she’d landed on when she first entered the ship. Dimitri had conjectured that this whole hallucinogenic structure was part of the creature itself, but her instincts told her otherwise.
She stared past the countless orbs toward the ship’s hull a kilometre away. A dull orange glow hung there. It reminded her of the first pre-dawn rays back in Dublin when she was a young girl, except here it stayed the same – sunrise never actually arrived. Yet it was uplifting, as if the creature was dawning, waking slowly, coming back to life. But she was growing impatient. Idly, she scuffed the glass surface with one of her boots, creating a smear which healed itself within seconds. They’d been here for hours, and found nothing. Even the Hohash had stopped communicating, instead shadowing her like a manservant, always there when she turned around. On impulse she checked to see it was still there, and it was gone. The slender man who stood in its place took her breath away.
“Gabriel?” she whispered, knowing it couldn’t be her brother. He’d aged since she’d last seen him ten years ago, but the resemblance was unmistakeable.
“Hello, Jen. I’m not Gabriel, but I needed to find a way to communicate with you, other than through my Hohash.”
Her pulse raced. Part of her wanted to rush up to the man in front of her and embrace him, even if it was the alien in disguise. The other part of her was angered by the manipulative act. “Then use a vidcom!”
Gabriel smiled the wan smile she’d forgotten. It almost cracked her apart. “I’m sorry, Jen. I need to have your full attention. It’s taken me a long time to understand your species. The Hohash are my eyes and ears. They are omnipaths: they see, hear, empathise, and record everything. We created them long ago as galactic recording devices, witnesses. I’ve been studying you, as well as your companions on this planet and elsewhere, through the surviving Hohash devices. I needed to know if I could trust humanity.”
Jen snorted. “You must have dozed off during a few episodes if you’ve not noticed how difficult and untrustworthy we can be.” The frustration at seeing her long lost brother, in the flesh, within arms’ reach – yet it was not him – made her scratch deeper. “You must be a little desperate, too, to be honest. Don’t you have any Level Nineteen friends to play with?”
His face grew more serious. “There isn’t much time, Jen. You must listen.”
Gabriel’s face took the same expression he’d had when as kids he’d needed to tell her something important. It disarmed her. She turned away. “What about the others?” But she saw they were not moving, or perhaps were moving very slowly. She turned back to him. “Do you control time as well?”
Gabriel laughed. “I wish. No, I accelerated your synaptic ability for a short while. It won’t harm you.”
She shrugged. “Okay, I’m listening, but I have some questions too.”
“I’ll answer three. Choose carefully.”
She folded her arms. “You first.”
Gabriel’s gaze swept around the menagerie of globes, as if he’d never seen them before. Maybe, Jen thought, he’s never seen them with human vision before.
“The galaxy has been invaded by an ancient race called the Kalaheii. They are Level Nineteen, like me. The definition of a level difference is very simple – they can subdue any level beneath them if they so choose. All the Progenitors – the ancient Level Nineteen races – left this galaxy long ago, or sublimated, which comes to the same thing.” He glanced at her to see if she wished to ask anything, then continued. “We had a War in our home galaxy. Qorall, the Kalaheii leader, was losing badly. He unleashed a weapon we’d not seen before. It destroyed the entire galaxy in a matter of what you would call days. We barely escaped. Quintillions perished, including, so we’d thought, Qorall himself.” He squatted down. He grazed his fingertips over the smooth glass surface. As he did so, the red colour underneath rippled. “Qorall will wage war here, and will steadily sweep across the galaxy. All opponents will fall before him, though they will delay him and his army. I may be able to stop him. But, as you neatly phrased it, I need friends.”
“But your friends left the galaxy.”
He nodded.
Jen thought about it, imagined how Qorall would think. “His first priority will be to ensure there are no ancients in the galaxy. That’s why you’ve been hiding here.”
“I’ve been dormant for some time, contemplating my future. However, his arrival changes everything. He must not find me before I am ready.”
She unfolded her arms. “So, you’re… Oh my God. You’re leaving the galaxy?”
He stood up, stretching backwards at the waist the way her brother used to do. “For a short while. You three are coming with me. One of my ‘friends’ developed a portal, aeons ago, an inter-galactic shunt to a neighbouring galaxy. The trip will take a few months in your subjective time, but back here – and here we will return – some ten or so of your years will pass.”
Jen felt dazed. Her anger about the creature taking the form of her sibling dissipated in the wake of this news. “Why take us with you?”
“A good question, your second by the way.” He chewed his lip. Jen knew that if it had been Gabriel, that gesture would have indicated embarrassment. Could that be true of such an advanced species?
He gazed into the distance. “It’s so long since I’ve held a physical form like this, so limited, yet so alive! That’s why I need you three with me, by the way. When you’ve lived tens of millions of years, not as a race, but as an individual, you’ve seen it all, over and over again. You become detached. Many opt for sublimation, merging with planets, even suns. Others go off to explore new galaxies, new dimensions if they can find entry.” He walked up to her, put his hands on her shoulders. “When I find others… they may persuade me to stay with them. I need a reason to come back. You three will remind me.”
She sensed there must be more to it than that, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t be drawn further on the matter, so she let it go. In any case, his touch melted her anger. He even smelled like her brother. She reached for his hand.
He drew back, leaving her fingers dangling in mid-air. “You have one more question, Jen. What is it to be?”
Her hand dropped to her side, and she brought herself back under emotional control. She thought hard. There were so many potential questions, but one rose above the rest. Why was he here, on this world? What was on Ourshiwann that made him pick it, because she was sure that a Level 19 alien did nothing by accident. “The spiders. They’re important, somehow, aren’t they?”
A broad smile lit up Gabriel’s face. “Your brother would be proud of you, Jen, your father, too. Very well then, I will tell you, and then, before we leave, I need one of you to deliver a message to the man called Micah.
C
hapter 29
Hard Choices
The pyramid-shaped Ossyrian ship Solace dwarfed Esperantia, its burnished sides reflecting the morning’s first rays. It had landed silently during the night, though not unnoticed. A straggling crowd two thousand strong had assembled at the city’s boundary in the chill morning air. A hundred metres ahead of them, near the leading edge of the gargantuan vessel, Vasquez spear-headed a phalanx of a hundred or so jittery soldiers, all of whom hefted an array of heavy weapons.
A hole the shape of an eye opened up near the ship’s base. A transparent oval tube sprouted forward, descending toward the ground where Vasquez and Antonia had been standing the past hour. Micah emerged, leading Sandy, Ramires, and Kat down the glass tunnel. He kept a measured gait until they got closer, when it seemed as if Sandy was tripping over his heels. He broke into a trot, and all four of them ran the last twenty metres. Micah slowed down just as they arrived at the outlet, the others fanning out around him. He made a half-hearted attempt to maintain decorum, but a grin split across his face. “Damn, it’s good to see you!”
Vasquez saluted. “Welcome back, Captain Sanderson.”
Micah turned to Antonia, but Kat whipped around in front of him and swept her into a long kiss.
Micah tried to ignore them, and spoke to Vasquez. “We had some disturbing news… Carlson?”
Vasquez’ smile vanished. “It got ugly here, Micah, but Shakirvasta’s dead, and Josefsson is in a cell with his militia commanders.”
Sandy interjected. “Blake?”
Antonia extricated herself, a little short of breath, her face flushed. “His wife Glenda is dying, Micah. She could go anytime.”
Kat glanced at Micah. “Not if I can help it, she won’t.” She turned back to the mouth of the tube, and shouted. “Chahat-Me, come on down, we have work to do!”
The soldiers, most of whom had lowered their weapons on seeing Micah and the others, raised them again, aiming at the majestic Ossyrian who appeared from the bottom of the ship aboard a crystal hover-sled.
“Hold your fire!” Vasquez yelled to his men, his hand held high.
Chahat-Me drew up beside them silently. Kat pulled Antonia behind her as they boarded the sled and sped towards the city, the wall of soldiers parting before them. Antonia glanced back once, catching Micah’s eye. He nodded. You’re welcome.
Micah picked out a lone figure walking towards them from the crowd. Even at a distance he could see her footsteps weighed heavily. Sonja.
Vasquez asked about the ship, its inhabitants, their weapons capability, Micah was relieved when Ramires stepped in and furnished answers to the barrage of questions. Micah had gone over and over in his mind what he would say to Sonja. He felt personally responsible: it should have been him, not Zack, turned into an emotionless crystal echo, little more than a walking, talking memory chip.
“Sonja,” he said, his pre-planned speeches deserting him.
She stared deep into his face, searching, then looked downcast, her bright hopeful eyes melting in the face of his conciliatory frown. “It’s alright,” she said, “I already knew he was gone. I just needed to be sure.”
She made to leave, but he seized her wrist. “Wait. Please.” He gazed back up the tunnel, nodding to those standing just inside the ship.
He returned to Sonja. “Listen, Zack is gone, but not completely.” He watched her eyes widen as Pierre and the Transpar started their descent down the walkway.
Sandy tried to warn her. “Sonja, it’s not –”
But she pushed through them with surprising force and sprinted into the tunnel towards the Transpar. “Zack!” she screamed. “Zack!”
Sandy set off after her.
“Is it Zack?” Vasquez asked, incredulous. “And is that Pierre?”
Micah watched the scene as Sonja reached the crystal form of Zack. It slowed down as she tried to embrace it. “It was Zack,” Micah said, “but now it’s … it has his memories, that’s all. They don’t add up to a person, not by a long way.”
Micah couldn’t hear what Sonja was saying. He didn’t need to. She collapsed before the Transpar, kneeling down and curling around its lower leg, stopping it from walking. What was once Pierre stared at her with a look of detached curiosity. Two of the Ossyrians came forward, but before they reached her, Sandy arrived. She knelt down next to Sonja, and slowly disentangled her from the glass leg. Sonja collapsed sobbing into Sandy’s shoulder.
Vasquez cleared his throat. “Micah, why exactly did you bring it back? What good is going to come of it?”
Micah and Ramires exchanged glances. Micah spoke in a hushed tone. “We were put on trial by one of the high races – all humanity was judged. What happened to Zack was part of that process. We think that maybe they sent the Transpar – that’s what it’s called – with us, because their judgement isn’t entirely over.”
Pierre and the Transpar made their way down. Pierre’s silver eyes glistened in the morning sun. He addressed Vasquez. “Colonel,” he said, “how nice to see you again.” He offered a silver hand. Vasquez didn’t bat an eyelid, and shook Pierre’s hand firmly.
Micah knew that Pierre was affecting this all; doubtless his mind was elsewhere, working on infinitely more complex problems, most probably the Galactic incursion.
“Why are you here, Pierre?” Vasquez asked.
“The Ossyrians, the Transpar and myself are here to help you. We can offer you protection.”
Micah thought Vasquez would have folded his arms if he could. Instead he stood rigid as ever.
“You’ll forgive me for saying this, Pierre, but as you know yourself, invaders and colonisers throughout history have used very similar overtures.”
The Transpar spoke, its wind chime voice tinkling on the breeze. “Where is your other arm?”
Micah’s jaw dropped slightly. Vasquez didn’t miss a beat.
“I lost it in the War, Sir, fighting for what I believe in.”
“Which is?” the Transpar asked.
Vasquez jutted out his chin. “Freedom, Sir. That is what we humans value most.”
The Transpar’s glass eyes twinkled.
“Micah,” Vasquez said, “maybe you and I had better brief each other before you meet the Council.”
Micah nodded, knowing there was worse to come. “Good idea.”
Pierre held up his hand. “No.”
Micah and the others froze. The tell-tale buzz of soldiers’ pulse weapons activating drifted toward them on the breeze. Micah leaned towards Pierre. “What are you doing?”
Pierre ignored him. “Colonel. You and Micah can talk inside the ship while we repair your arm.”
Vasquez bristled. “My arm is perfectly…” His brow furrowed so deep, Micah thought it might crack. “Wait a Goddam minute, you’re not saying…” He turned to Micah and Ramires. “Can they…?”
Two Ossyrians arrived level with them. Pierre faced them, his eyes evanescing instructions to them.
Sandy and Sonja arrived. “Colonel,” Micah said. “These are the best doctors in the galaxy. They don’t often make house-calls.”
Micah had never seen Vasquez ruffled. “Trust has to start somewhere, Colonel, and, to be honest, it’ll make our job a lot easier.”
Vasquez’ eyes darted from Micah, to Pierre, to the Ossyrians. He glanced down to the stump where his arm used to be. “Twelve years,” he said softly, head lowered.
Pierre gestured toward the tube. “If it makes you feel any better, Colonel, this race used to be fierce warriors and field surgeons. They’d patch up their wounded in the midst of battle, repairing injuries, growing new limbs and re-fitting them if necessary, and have them fighting again within the hour.”
Vasquez stood tall again, and nodded. He turned around to his soldiers. “You hear that men. One hour. Take a break. If I’m not back here in one hour, board their ship, and bring your weapons.”
Vasquez faced Pierre. “I’m all yours, Pierre. You have fifty-nine minutes and fifty seconds to convince me.”
Micah wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the trace of a smile cross Pierre’s silver lips.
* * *
Micah sat positioned between Pierre on one side, and Chahat-Me and the Transpar on the other, in the domed, circular room. Its rugged white walls had a deadening effect on sound. Vasquez had remarked to Micah that many thought the room had been a place of meditation for the spiders, but in reality no one knew. He’d also said that it had a beneficial effect on the Council meetings they’d been holding there recently, since people did not ramble on – it required such an effort to keep discussions animated.
Sandy, Ramires and Kat joined the Council meeting as honorary members, taking up their allocated places next to Micah in the high-backed wooden chairs arranged in a wide circle. Micah recognised them as those Shakirvasta had originally brought along, but the conference table was gone, people adopting the apparent spider habit of facing each other without any physical object separating them. He didn’t know all the other faces in the Council, the hastily concocted governing body of the surviving population, which had quickly filled the vacuum left by Shakirvasta’s militaristic junta.
Vasquez sat across the circle from Micah, oblivious to all around him, staring at his new right arm, playing with his fingers, curling and uncurling them. News of this ‘miracle’ had spread quickly, and the Ossyrians had wasted no time in curing other afflictions. Micah knew it would add weight to his cause, though he wasn’t sure it would be enough.
He glanced towards Antonia and Sonja, who were equally introspective, for opposite reasons: Antonia had found her lost love, while Sonja had lost hers. Next to Sonja’s seat was Rashid’s empty chair – he’d been missing for several days. But as long as they had ten members present, the Council was considered to have a quorum, and its decisions would hold sway over the entire population.