Afterburn

by S. L. Viehl

  Cautiously he lifted his head and looked over at the blast site, which had vaporized three bins and melted a dozen others. His frost-covered fin shook as he reached up and enabled both channels on his headset.

  “Device disabled.” He saw frozen blood on the floor, and darkness crowded in on his vision field. “I’m going to need a medic down here.”

  “That’s a nice addition to your scar collection,” Shon said as he inspected the wide gash being sutured shut on the side of Burn’s neck.

  “I offered the sublieutenant a follow-up appointment for next week so that we could remove the scar tissue,” the nurse working on the ’Zangian told Shon, “but he refused.”

  “I told you, scars are attractive.” Burn lifted one of his fins, the ends of which were smeared with a colorless dermal gel. “Frostbite, in contrast, just hurts.”

  “You wouldn’t accept any painkillers, either,” the nurse reminded him. It took another minute for her to finish the suture and apply a light dressing. “Stay out of the water for twelve hours, please, and come back if there is any significant bleeding or further loss of consciousness.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere if I pass out,” Burn said.

  “That’s why you shouldn’t be alone for the next twelve hours.” The nurse smiled at Shon before leaving the treatment room.

  “I knew I should have taped it up myself,” Burn grumbled as he gingerly touched the bandage.

  “Let them fuss.” Shon secured the door panel and leaned back against it. “You’re a hero to every person on this ship.”

  The console beside the berth flickered on, and black eyes in a black-and-green-striped aquatic face looked out. Burn? What happened? They made us go over to the other side of the ship. They won’t tell me anything.

  Burn exchanged a look with Shon before enabling the com panel. “I’m fine, Lady Liana. There was a problem in engineering. It’s fixed now.”

  You’re bandaged. What is wrong with your fin? The Ylydii female swam closer to the screen, and the fins on the sides of her body unfurled. Who did this to you?

  “Liana, it’s nothing. I’m fine. You’ll be briefed later.” Burn reached over and shut off the console before he rubbed his brow. “Females.”

  Shon didn’t see any annoyance on the ’Zangian’s face. “She’s beautiful.”

  “She should be. She’s royalty.”

  “So she’s the one.” Shon recalled the panic in the Ylydii’s eyes. “She cares about you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. The Ylydii don’t crossbreed, and, even if they did, Liana will be returning to her homeworld in a few weeks. She’ll rule it someday, and have plenty of meek little males eager to suck on her flukes.” Burn used his uninjured fin to scratch around the base of his gillets. “Twelve hours until I can get wet.”

  Shon chuckled. “You could be dead, Burn. Count your blessings.”

  “One being an incompetent bomb maker.” Burn swung awkwardly off the berth and tested his legs. “If he really was so stupid.”

  Shon tensed. “What makes you say that?”

  “If you wanted to blow up a ship, would you build a device that could be disarmed by a pup?” Burn shook his head. “The tech is all wrong, too.”

  “He got the detonator components from the Hsktskt,” Shon said. “Displacer tech is all they use.”

  “Which is why every League soldier is extensively trained on how to handle it.” Burn wobbled on his flukes and clutched the berth rail. “You’d also plant the detonator in an area that isn’t inspected daily by the crew, right? Not slap it on out in the open.” Burn decided he could stand and released the berth rail.

  “This bomb was never meant to explode,” Shon said, lending an arm to help steady him.

  “I’m okay, Shon, thanks. No, this was done for another reason.”

  “A dry run to test response times and reactions?” Shon guessed.

  “That, or he’s telling us that he can destroy the ship whenever he wants.” Burn began fastening up the front of his flightsuit. “I wish I knew what was really going on here. I can’t guard against a theoretical motive.”

  “We’ll find out. In the meantime, I’m the new Skartesh delegate to the summit.”

  Burn gave him a sideways glance. “You’re pulling my tail.”

  “I wish I was.” Shon looked out through the viewport at the stars. “The other delegates are refusing to continue the talks until we’ve changed locations. Representative Nathaka has suggested we move the summit on-planet and hold it in the coastal waters.”

  “Great idea. Nathaka and Carada can chat while you and the Ninrana drown.”

  “A surface meeting place would be harder to arrange, as the Ylydii have to remain submerged. Urloy-ka and I can stay at the URD for the duration.”

  Burn regarded him. “I don’t like this, Shon. All that open water provides a lot more exposure than this ship. This smells like rotflesh.”

  “I agree,” Shon told him. “But what smells can be tracked.”

  CHAPTER 13

  I am not pleased about any of this, Sublieutenant, Carada said to Burn as she moved into the submersion transport. Two of the delegates will be physically separated from us. We Ylydii will have nothing between us and whatever is trying to kill us.

  The Skartesh and Ninrana parties will have open access to communications with the aquatic delegates at all times, Lady Ambassador. Burn didn’t twitch from his guard post at the docking portal. Nor would he look at Liana. Everyone will be made as safe as is possible.

  We weren’t even safe on our own vessel. Carada swept past him. Come, Liana.

  Liana wasn’t sure why Carada had agreed to accept the ’Zangian delegate’s invitation to relocate the summit to the coastal sea waters on K-2. The few times in the past that Ylydii had made contact with the ’Zangians, they had brought the aquatics up to their ships. This would be the first time any Ylydii had ever entered water populated by another aquatic civilization.

  The submersion transport shuttle was a recent triumphant melding of aquatic ingenuity and land-dweller engineering. Designed to ferry large numbers of aquatics from the surface into orbit, where they could be transferred to larger passenger transports, it provided most of the comforts of the sea within its liquid-atmosphere-filled decks. Small compartments designed to mimic different regions of the ’Zangian oceans were made available for passengers who wished to rest or have privacy during the flight.

  It was into one of these compartments that Liana was sent. Take this opportunity to rest, Carada told her before swimming off to consult with her advisors. You look tired.

  Liana wasn’t fooled by the show of concern. Someone—probably Miglan—had reported the transmission she had made to medical to check on Burn after he had been wounded. Since then she had been treated like a wounded invalid herself, and hadn’t been left alone for a moment.

  Like time, the opportunities to take action were quickly running out.

  The compartment was only a third of the size of the tank she had occupied on the ship, but the feed was plentiful and the décor as natural as any real underwater reef. Liana watched the flat-headed, wide-tailed orasa, specially imported from her homeworld, dart in an orchestrated mass of flowery color through the dazzling red branches of synthetic flame rock. Beyond them, a wide, transparent panel provided a view of the planet, which seemed to swell larger as they descended.

  The entry portal flowered open and closed behind her. Aren’t you hungry, my lady? Or are you eager to get to the surface?

  Liana turned to stare out the viewport. This is my space, Fokrej. Leave it.

  The valet ignored her order and swam to her side. He looked down at K-2. There are monsters down there. Did Her Grace tell you about them?

  I know about the ’Zangians. They’re not monsters. She held her fins furled so tightly that they ached. Get out.

  Such deliberate discourtesy. You must have missed my special attentions. Fokrej slapped her across the face, his barbs creating a dozen
shallow scratches.

  If she killed him, Carada would punish her unmercifully. Liana knew this, knew she had to endure whatever he did to her as a result, and still her veils ached.

  The valet drew in the water stained with thin ribbons of her blood, savoring the taste of it. The monsters I refer to are those that prey on the ’Zangians. They’re called mogshrike.

  Naturally he would know about them. Everyone knows of them. They’re as large and mindless as the zodsio who lumber through our seas.

  Large, yes, but not mindless. The land-dwellers call them killing machines. They live to hunt, and they hunt everything. Imagine mouths as wide as caves, lined with very keen-edged teeth. Fokrej darted forward, as if to snap at her face, making her flinch. They move much faster than that, my lady. You’d never get away.

  I will never be around them.

  Didn’t you hear? They’re not staying in the cold waters anymore. They’re coming into the shallows to hunt the ’Zangians. They hunt by scent. Blood scent, rot scent . . . change scent.

  Sickened, Liana closed her eyes. Somehow Fokrej had guessed her deepest fear. Nothing revolted her more than the thought of being made prey, of being devoured alive. I am not afraid.

  I think one of these mogshrike will recognize you. You’re so close to it now that I can smell it. Instead of hurting her again, he stroked one of his blunt fins down her side. It excites me to think I will be here to see it as well as taste it.

  Why was he trying to make her angry? Didn’t he understand how close she was? It will never happen.

  You’ve waited too long, my lady. Fokrej was already so aroused that he was shaking. Nothing can stop it but your death.

  Liana could no more hold back her anger than she could a tide. Is that what you want? To see me dead, or to watch me kill? Why are you like this? What is the matter with you?

  I am the normal one here, my lady. Fokrej glided against her. But you need not be afraid. There is always the third alternative.

  Liana’s vision sharpened, and her own body trembled. The forces at war inside her were so strong that resisting them took all her concentration. Leave me now.

  I haven’t properly attended to you, my lady. You know how much you need me. We were born soul mates; now we have only to consummate our love. He latched onto her and tried to roll her. Take me inside you.

  For a moment she nearly gave in. Although the thought of the child that she and Fokrej might produce made her belly surge, it would be the simplest solution. This way she would have the pleasure as well as the pain. It would take several attempts for him to impregnate her, but if she allowed her body to dictate matters, he would. Her body didn’t care who or what the valet was; he was a male, and ready to mate. It was enough.

  It wasn’t enough. She had never wanted Fokrej, or any other male. She had mated out of duty, but the act repelled her. She had never desired another male except the big ’Zangian.

  Take me, Fokrej crooned. You know it is what you want. Take me. Hurt me.

  Burn would never say that. He would never want to be hurt, and he would do the taking. He had even said so.

  I would take you wherever you wished to go.

  The memory of the ’Zangian’s voice made the bile rush up Liana’s throat, and she opened her eyes to see Fokrej positioning himself against her, upside down. It made him the perfect target, so she released the contents of her stomach into his face.

  Fokrej was still choking on her vomitus as she swam out to find a steward and request another, cleaner compartment with a door panel that could be secured from inside.

  “I was hoping to contact Dr. Selmar,” Ana Hansen told T’Kafanitana. “This underground barax hive on the perimeter of the colony might constitute a hazard to some of the agricultural projects, according to the dozen botanists who have been signaling me about it since it was discovered. The Hlagg are also quite upset, as it could represent a cultural disaster for them.”

  “I will relay the message, Administrator,” T’Kaf told her, “but I fear that Dr. Selmar will be occupied for some time with the ’shrike capture project. Perhaps I can be of assistance?”

  Ana looked puzzled. “Do you have some background in xenoentomology?”

  T’Kaf discreetly masked her amusement. “No, but I am an exo.”

  “An exo?”

  She found it hard to believe Ana had never heard the slang term for her kind before this. “Exoskeletal or insectile life-form. As such, I may be able to contribute some insight as to the reason the barax have built and are actively defending their hive.”

  “I see.” The Terran female frowned. “Just out of curiosity, do you call us—life-forms with internal skeletons, I mean—endos?”

  “That, or bonies.”

  “I see.” Ana chuckled. “Forgive my nearsightedness, T’Kaf. I tend to think of you as a person, not a type of life-form.”

  “That is why you are so suited to your position here. You see every colonist the same.” The N-jui checked her schedule. “I have a few hours of personal time this afternoon. Would the two hunters who found the hive be available to meet me and take me to the site?”

  Ana confirmed that they were, and the N-jui made arrangements to meet the two at the Hlagg embassy before ending the relay.

  T’Kaf left her console and scanned the last of the specimen batches brought in by the deep-sea probe collectors. Another bioengineered wrill had been caught in the bloom sample, but this one was still alive.

  Her four eyes glittered as she carefully separated it from the other, normal specimens and placed it under the scope in a dry dish. Deprived of water, the wrill tried to curl, but its body could not control the weight of its enlarged head, and its spine snapped soundlessly.

  As soon as its life functions stopped, the wrill’s transparent skull split open, spilling its swollen brains out into the dish.

  T’Kaf returned to her console and prepared a standard specimen container, labeling it to the attention of Dr. William Mayer before taking it to one of the housekeeping drones. “Send this over by courier to the FreeClinic. Have it delivered today.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  T’Kaf had ample time to finish her work in the lab before leaving to meet the two insect hunters at the prearranged place. She took a field collection kit and, almost as an afterthought, a stunner.

  The Hlagg named Paal greeted her with the open-mouthed admiration of a true insect-lover. “Chemist T’Kafanitana, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. This is my companion, Moleon.”

  The Skartesh looked up at her and gave a single nod of acknowledgment before silently walking off into the forest.

  “Administrator Hansen told me few details about the underground barax hive you found,” T’Kaf told Paal as they followed the Skartesh. “Have there been any incidents similar to this one on your homeworld?”

  “No, and I do not understand what has changed them.” Paal’s eyes shimmered. “The barax have never been specifically interactive with my kind, but they have never displayed such overt hostility, either. We thought we had a relationship of mutual respect and admiration.”

  T’Kaf knew endos regularly projected their emotions onto other, different species. Despite the appalling amount of ignorance that indicated, she always tried to consider it part of their charm. “Have you ever attempted to ask them how they felt about this relationship?”

  Paal shook his head. “We cannot communicate with them, I fear.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Would you be able to?”

  “I don’t know. Can you hold a conversation with a paramecium?”

  “Ah. I see your point.”

  “I am sensitive to chemical messages and exo behaviors, so perhaps I can interpret something.” T’Kaf felt sorry for the downcast Hlagg. “How long have the barax been building this hive?”

  “Almost a cycle, we believe.” Paal sighed. “They tend to build quickly, and they’re not that far from the embassy.”

  “Long enough to start a second generation?”
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  “And a third, and eggs to start a fourth. Barax breed faster than they build.” He peered up at her. “Does that present a problem?”

  “Exos usually are not sentimental, and primitives like these do not store memories as your kind do. The longer the barax are separated from you, the stranger your chemical scent becomes to them.” T’Kaf looked ahead and saw that the Skartesh had stopped walking and was sniffing the air. “Subsequent, new generations may have been the ones that attacked you when you found the hive. What is wrong with that one?” She indicated Moleon.

  “Moleon?”

  The Skartesh made a quick hand gesture demanding silence, and drew in a deep, slow breath.

  “He will do this several times,” Paal whispered to the N-jui. “It is how he scouts the area.”

  T’Kaf breathed in and picked up some scent, but the chemicals were too sophisticated and evolved to belong to the barax. “Someone has been out here before me to visit this site.”

  Paal looked confused. “I do not think so. The area has been declared off-limits to the colonists.”

  “Likely some curious children.” The scent trace was rather strong. She saw Moleon swiping the air with his hairy arm. “I think that male wishes us to join him.”

  They moved quietly toward the Skartesh hunter, who was staring across a cleared area at a group of purple-leafed trees.

  “This is not where we found the hive, Moleon,” Paal said to him.

  “It is bigger now.” The Skartesh pointed to the middle of the clearing. “Look there.”

  “It cannot be here,” Paal protested. “There is another quarter kim for us to walk before we reach the place.”

  T’Kaf stretched her head to study what appeared to be a roughly oval area of ground covered by short, thick, brown and green plant life. Small, sculpted mounds of dark soil appeared at regularly spaced intervals. “Entries.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Paal asked.

  “The mounds of dirt. They are entryways into the hive.” T’Kaf caught a tiny amount of movement under the cover of the plant life. “Please, stay here.”