Aldebaran Divided

by Philippe Mercurio

  Vassili scanned the entrance to the portal again. His enhanced sight allowed him to perceive the forces at work. It was a fascinating spectacle, far superior to what his—now former—fellow humans pompously called “art.”

  Lines converged in the middle of the portal, forming a tapestry in a thousand different shades of black. They wove an incredibly complex and constantly changing pattern. Behind this monochrome fresco, he sometimes saw a flash of shimmering bright color. After observing the phenomenon for some time, he began to suspect that the hall was home to more than a fold in space-time.

  He had detected the outline of a door in the rock near the opening. It probably concealed access to a part of the mechanism governing these strange portals, but despite his enhanced strength, he had not be able to force it open.

  He shook his head and looked away. Around him there were large bowls filled with water and huge red flowers resembling water lilies.

  “My only tool is my body,” he soliloquized. “I’ll have to hone it.”

  With measured gestures, he took off his jacket and dropped it on the ground, then unbuttoned his shirt. He looked at this vestige of his old life for a moment, almost surprised to see it, before letting it also fall.

  Barechested, he put his hands on his belly, on either side of the line created by his bulging abs. He clenched his fingers, pushed them into his own flesh, and pulled on the skin as if to stretch it.

  Under the effort, it tore like an old piece of cloth, revealing a small cavity. Vassili slipped a hand in and withdrew the ktol.

  With a satisfied smile, he considered that while the Saharj seemed to know about the artifact, they were far from understanding its capabilities. These idiots are probably looking for it on my ship.

  For some reason, the transformation triggered by the ktol, to which he owed his powers, had not followed the usual pattern. Instead of becoming more devoted to serving the Primordial Axaqateq, he felt himself becoming increasingly opposed to his orders.

  Since he had set foot in the Jaris asteroid belt and discovered the Saharj, he had begun to harbor his own ambition: like the beings who had created the alien warriors, he wanted to manufacture a new species. A life form capable of supplanting the ineffective humans and their eternal conflicts. At the head of an army of such superbeings, he could set out in conquest of other star systems.

  He looked at the ktol in his palm. Vassili was sure that the bristled object, which resembled a large white sea urchin, had not yet revealed all of its capabilities. He concentrated on it and murmured, “Tell me what you’re hiding…”

  The artifact didn’t respond. Vassili tightened his fingers, and the ktol’s spines penetrated his flesh. Once in contact with his blood, it reacted automatically and executed the task for which it was designed: a new phase of transformation began, but this time under Vassili’s control. Every organ, muscle, and tendon obeyed him independently, as easily as an arm bends to the will of a mere human. He maintained this almost trancelike state until he was able to generate it at the cellular level. He then guided the process step by step, working to increase his already extraordinary strength and reflexes.

  Almost a day had passed when Shadow-Void, the Saharj who had captured him, came to visit. The alien was on guard. Although its appearance hadn’t changed, Vassili couldn’t fool a being designed for combat.

  Shadow-Void stood at a safe distance. “Human. You had the ktol with you and you have used it!”

  The Saharj’s perceptiveness amused him. “For a mass-produced soldier, you’re not so stupid. Let’s see if you can take it away from me,” he said, pouncing on him.

  The Saharj activated the force field that divided the room carved into the asteroid. But Vassili moved so fast that he was just next to the force field when it went up.

  Before the alien could react, he pushed his hand through the invisible barrier. The release of energy was devastating: the backlash fractured the ground under the human’s feet. Within a fraction of a second, his fingers had deformed the protective shield, which began to flare. The field bent under the tremendous pressure, allowing Vassili’s index and middle fingers to reach the Saharj’s body.

  The Saharj was thrown back violently and fell to the ground before coming to rest—permanently. Where Vassili had touched it, a gouge was dug into its flesh. Under it and along a foot-long gash, all of the bones and organs had been destroyed.

  The modified man tightened his grip on the force field and pushed his other hand through. He spread his arms as if he were tearing a piece of cardboard. The curtain of energy resisted for a moment and then vanished with a final colorful flash.

  Vassili moved toward the alien’s remains. His attention was drawn to the harness the Saharj wore. A thin steel disc that looked like an antique coin hung on it. He tore it off to get a better look. The object emitted a delicate sound, and a 3D projection appeared before Vassili’s eyes.

  It was both a key and a map, allowing for navigation through the dark portals.

  The man quickly read the map. Leaving the warrior’s corpse where it had fallen, he plunged into the portal and began the journey that would bring him back to his ship.

  Laorcq awoke with waves of pain coursing through his body. Still imprisoned in the stasis box, he bent his head slightly forward, enough to see that the wound inflicted by the Saharj had been treated. This did not make the veteran feel any better: evidently, it had been done so that he could be tortured again.

  He knew he could resist, at least for a time, but at the thought that his companion was undergoing such treatment, his blood froze in his veins. “Alrine!”

  His voice was mushy and his throat was dry, distorted by the respirator. His attempt sounded like a dying gasp in his ears. He licked his lips and called out again, but got no response. Was she unconscious? Dead? Not knowing was worse than the physical pain.

  He was beginning to despair. Of course, Mallory and the Vohrn had to be coming for them, but it was almost too late. The Saharj could decide to kill both of them in a few hours or in ten minutes.

  A low noise that sounded like a fingers tapping on a table interrupted his gloomy thoughts. A Dva had just entered the room. The sight of the harmless-looking creature was nevertheless concerning to him: the little alien was holding an object that looked like an injector gun, loaded with a vial filled with brown liquid.

  The latter approached the trapped man and tried to administer the shot. Convinced that it was either a tranquilizer or a lethal drug, Laorcq struggled with all his might: he had no desire make it easy for the alien.

  The Dva emitted a strange sound and seemed frightened or even panicked. At least that was how the scarred man interpreted the movements of the thin alien, who was folding and unfolding its tentacle-like legs, engaging in a comical dance that made it look like he was mimicking a mechanical pump.

  “Leave me alone. If the Saharj want to kill me, they’ll have to do it themselves!”

  The Dva turned on a dime and pumped its limbs harder before stopping its antics. It approached the human.

  “Maaaall ooorrr ryyyyyy, hhhellll ppp,” it said with difficulty.

  Laorcq thought he had misunderstood because it was too good to be true. The alien insisted, rasping out the tattooed pilot’s name three times. The man was finally roused from his funk. If she was here, Torg must be with her, and the Vohrn must be about to arrive.

  “Okay, if Mallory sent you, free me! And don’t inject me with that stuff!”

  The Dva began to undo the steel shackles. Once released, the tall scarred man’s first reflex was to look for Alrine, but there was no trace of her. The only positive sign was that the box holding her had also disappeared. Laorcq clung to this fact: If the Saharj put her back into stasis for transport, I might still be able to save her.

  A noise that sounded like the release of a compressed air valve rang out, and his right thigh itched: the little alien had taken advantage of his distraction to give him the shot.

  Laorcq quickly re
ached out, grabbed it at the base of its head, and lifted it up. The creature’s twenty eyes fluttered, and it let out a series of panicked squeaks. The human looked at it and sighed before releasing it.

  “You freed me. I have to take the risk of trusting you, I guess.”

  As soon as it touched the ground again, the Dva began to stir. Gesticulating wildly, it made Laorcq understand that he must follow. Together they entered the portal network.

  On the edges of the Aldebaran system, the Urkein’Naak flew in a wide orbit around the giant orange sun. The cruiser’s bridge was bathed in darkness interrupted only by holographic displays and the lights of the Vohrn genotech devices.

  In the center of the vast bay, Hanosk analyzed the news from Solicor. Now that the danger posed by the parasitic embryos had been identified, the indigenous people were slowly resuming their peaceful cohabitation.

  The Vohrn agents had thwarted the Saharj. In exchange, Hanosk hoped to gain preferential access to Solicor’s forest moon and its rich vegetation. In any case, assembling teams of diverse species to intervene in diplomatically sensitive areas had turned out to be an excellent idea, despite the sudden abduction of two of its members. He had written a report to this effect, which he had then distributed to his counterparts. Some of them were already beginning to form similar groups. As for the missing humans, he was relying on Captain Sajean and her squad to rescue them.

  Despite the positive results, the end of the fratricidal clashes on Solicor was only a partial victory. The Saharj still had to be prevented from causing further damage, despite their understandable grievances against the Gibrals. Hanosk hoped for a diplomatic solution that would prevent a deadly conflict and strengthen his people’s influence in this sector of the galaxy.

  The Vohrn communications officer sitting to his right said, “Long-range beacon detected. Broadcast in progress. Location: One hundred light cycles away. Username: Losnuk.”

  Hanosk drew the obvious conclusion: if Losnuk’s squad had used a beacon, the Sirgan and its crew must be in trouble. The alien’s long arms waved, a marked sign of annoyance.

  Once again, Vassili Cole had put his officers in danger. He seemed to have resources beyond the scope of a mere human.

  The alien leader leaned over the console of the technician who had raised the alert. He received the information broadcast by the radio equipment via his rostrum.

  Without missing a beat, he issued orders to send a Vohrn delegation to the Solicor embassy. They needed to open trade negotiations with the Gibrals while they were still in a good mood.

  After receiving confirmation, he used his navcom to compare the coordinates of Losnuk’s beacon and the available geopolitical data. Satisfied with the results, he turned to the navigators and said, “The signal is coming from an unclaimed sector. Set a course for it.”

  The orders from the bridge activated the synergetic group, which was powerful enough to tear a planet from its orbit, and the space leviathan flew off towards the Jarvis system.

  Determined to continue pursuing Vassili, the Vohrn committed the same mistake Mallory had made—they were flying into the Saharjs’ trap.

  XXI

  RED SEA

  MALLORY awoke covered in dried mud. The edges of the respirator itched around her mouth and on the bridge of her nose. She lay in a room with a low ceiling covered with a network of force fields containing fluid that formed geometric patterns. Soft light emanated from amber-yellow crystals implanted in the walls at regular intervals.

  She turned her head to the right and saw four “doors” that were about three feet high. Each of these openings led to the portal network. To her left, she saw Torg. He was also lying down, fast asleep with his fists clenched. His deep, regular breathing was loud enough to be mistaken for ocean surf.

  The pilot tried to get up. The mess with which Rupo had covered most of her skin cracked before sliding off in pieces. Mallory expected to find a good dozen gashes on her body, but she was pleasantly surprised to see that she was uninjured. “Not bad… Hanosk will definitely be interested.”

  For the first time since arriving in the belt, her sensitive tattoos transformed into red roses.

  She reached out to the cybrid and gently shook him awake. He groaned and twitched before opening his eyes.

  “Mallory! How are you feeling?”

  Worried, he touched the tip of one of his thick fingers to her cheek.

  A grimace twisted the pilot’s regular features and her black eyebrows furrowed. “I’m okay. As for showing the Dva that the Saharj aren’t invincible, I think I missed my shot! If you hadn’t saved me, he would have sliced me into little pieces.”

  Torg hastened to disagree. “On the contrary! Rupo won’t stop telling the story to his friends. He gave himself the starring role, but the results are the same: the Dva are ready to take on the Saharj!”

  This news made Mallory feel much better. At least she hadn’t risked her life for nothing. But she felt like she was forgetting something. While wondering what was bothering her, she tried to stand.

  Her aching muscles and her skin protested in unison. Although intact, it hadn’t regained its usual level of flexibility. Maybe I should ask Rupo for a pot of this sticky mixture, to put on another coat?

  She froze. Talking to a Dva! That’s what was bothering her. “Hey, Torg. How do you know what Rupo told the others? Did you manage to learn their language?”

  The cybrid, who had also risen, was slouching from his eight-foot height to avoid hitting the ceiling. He leaned towards her. “Rupo’s a smarty-pants. After bringing us here, he took a quick trip through the portals back to the asteroid where the Sirgan was parked. He quietly reactivated Jazz and opened a communications channel.”

  Torg went to a corner of the room where the rock formed a niche. He pulled out a thong necklace woven of plants, to which was attached a silver cube the size of a thimble. He brought it to Mallory.

  “Well, it’s nothing compared to your old navcom, but it’ll let you chat with the brain-in-a-can.”

  Mallory took the object in the hollow of her palm. It lit up, and a tiny hologram appeared before her, a blue sphere that pulsed in time with Jazz’s voice.

  “Captain! Glad to see you’re back on your feet. I was really getting bored of talking to big-and-hairy and the limited Dva.”

  “On that subject: how did you and Torg manage to communicate with them?”

  “Easy! Languages are all the same: words galore, but in the end, we only use about two or three thousand on a daily basis. So I launched a process and kept Rupo talking until I collected the basic set. The rest was easy. You hold the result in your hand… An improvised navcom with translation capabilities. I must admit: the Dva are top-flight technicians. They’re almost as good as me!”

  Jazz’s boasting succeeded in eliciting only a brief smile from the human. While the situation had improved, they were far from out of the woods.

  Torg spoke again. “You’re not going to tell her?”

  “What?” Jazz said, surprised. “Oh yeah! That’s right. We have more good news: one of the Dva found your tall, scarred friend. They should be here shortly.”

  Laorcq was alive, and he was no longer Vassili’s prisoner. A wave of relief swept over the pilot but was quickly dampened: she had almost forgotten that the veteran wasn’t the only kidnapping victim. “No news about Alrine?” she asked.

  “Not really. She was separated from Laorcq and is probably still in stasis. That’s all we know.”

  For once, Jazz was tactful: he refrained from commenting on the amount of time it had taken Mallory to ask the question.

  She concluded uncomfortably that the policewoman’s life was hanging by a thread. Laorcq had already lost a wife and a child. He was strong, but she feared that enduring such grief a second time might finally break him.

  Forgetting about her barely healed wounds, Mallory asked Torg if they could also use the portals to go meet Laorcq.

  “Your new jewelry allows yo
u to use the portals between the asteroids that are reserved for the Dva,” said the cybrid.

  With unconcealed excitement, Mallory explored the small cube’s interface. She found a map of the portal network as well as the communications interface. Among a long list of long names, she saw Rupo’s. She spoke happily with the Dva.

  He reassured her that there was no need to run—Laorcq was only two portal crossings away.

  Indeed, barely a minute later, one of the black portals seemed to warp, and two individuals suddenly appeared, one after the other: a Dva and Laorcq.

  At the sight of the tall scarred man, she almost threw herself into his arms, but the affectionate impulse died on the spot. Despite his breathing mask, she could see that Laorcq’s features were drawn. His usually impassive gray eyes showed his deep concern.

  “You look awful,” she said too quickly, immediately regretting her words. “What happened?”

  Laorcq’s face fell. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, sighed, and muttered, “Vassili delivered us to the Saharj wrapped in a bow, I was tortured, and Alrine disappeared. I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

  His arm fell along his body, almost lifeless. Finally, he seemed to take an interest in the pilot’s condition. “What happened to your clothes?”

  Embarrassed, she realized that, while the Dvas’ ointment had done wonders for her skin, her black flight suit had been torn, creating multiple holes as big as her hand. As for her leather jacket, she couldn’t remember what had happened to it. She explained flatly, “I had a knife fight with a Saharj.”

  “I see. Still reckless.”

  The remark stung Mallory to the quick. He takes his fair share of risks, too. Well, a knife fight against an alien designed to for combat may have been a bit over the top. Is that why he likes Alrine more? Because she’s reasonable?

  Lost in thought, she was surprised by Laorcq’s reaction: he approached her and, putting an arm around her shoulders, pressed her against him. Mallory’s heart raced as he whispered in her ear.