Star Warrior – story
© 2006-2018 Suzanne Bronwyn McHale
Note: story is incomplete.
Inheritor
- Fallen: Defeat and vengeance
- Bonding
- Assassins: A near-miss
- Hatching: Father meets son
- Challenge: Leadership challenge
- Exile: Into the wild
- Inheritance: Future companion
- Departure: Into the Next World
- Succession: From father to son
- Attendance: A long run
- Contact: Star Gods
- Capture: Betrayal
Fallen
An episode from the life of one of the current Lord Sohaar’s ancestors. Date: 112,540 Earth years, Before Present time scale (110,590 B.C.)/64,308.57 HW years ago)
Clan Lord Sohaar-5 groaned as he emerged from unconsciousness; it took him a few heartsbeats to recall he was on the battlefield outside his Clan City. Fallen, he realized, as he felt the weight of a body across his legs, and aches and pains reasserted themselves. His last memory was of the usurper War Lord Maazeyaraan’s Warrior-Guardians engaging him and his own bodyguards in a desperate fight before a blow to his helmet sent him into darkness.
He cautiously raised his head to see the black-cloaked bodies of his and enemy Warrior-Guardians sprawled around him; most looked to be slain. A fading red sunset stained the darkening, cloudy sky; distant lighting flashed and thunder rumbled ominously as the rainy season storm that had threatened all afternoon approached. In the distance, bellows and snarls indicated some fighting persisted.
He sat up slowly, hissing as sharp pain jabbed his ribs; perhaps some were broken. His scale-metal armor was sturdy but it did not cover all of him; a war club had thumped him hard in his left side where skin was exposed through the lacing there. That seemed to be his worst injury; he otherwise had some cuts and bruises and broken claws, but nothing that would not heal. With effort, he pulled his legs from under the dead Guardian who seemed to have died trying to protect his Lord.
His helmet had been knocked off; looking around he saw it lying a short distance away, so he crawled over to retrieve it. One of its decorative Crescent Horn crests was broken, but he reseated the helmet nonetheless; it was indicative of his status. He also found his sword lying in the grass and sheathed it.
A body near him stirred and he grabbed his sword’s hilt, but the survivor was one of his Guardians. “Warrior-Guardian Caabasanaa! Your Lord still lives.”
Caabasanaa sat up, initially disorientated as Sohaar had been, then recovered his wits. “My Lord! Are you injured?”
“Broken ribs, but nothing serious. Most others appear to be slain. I have not yet seen Maazeyaraan.”
Caabasanaa arose unsteadily and, grasping his own sword, went to each body to inspect it for signs of life, Sohaar following suit. They slew any of Maazeyaraan’s Guardians who still breathed, and found one other Guardian of their Clan alive, shaking him awake.
A few tentative drops of rain splashed on the ground as the storm front drew near, then the drops became a torrent. Lightning flashed as the storm broke violently overhead, illuminating the trio standing together.
A distant voice shouted, “The Clan Lord still lives – capture him!” Sohaar recognized Maazeyaraan’s voice and realized he did not have the strength to engage the usurper in battle. Reluctantly he made a decision.
“Guardians, we must run. I cannot fight him now.” They bowed their heads in acknowledgment as more lightning revealed Maazeyaraan and his Warriors charging toward them, a deafening crack of thunder above making everyone flinch. The trio used this distraction to flee, heading north away from their Clan City into the open plains.
Desperation spurred them on despite their exhaustion and injuries. Gradually Maazeyaraan’s Warriors fell behind; no doubt their enemy was also weary from the day’s fighting. After what seemed an eternity, the sounds of pursuit faded into the distance. They kept running, however, at the steady pace a Dawn Hunter could keep up for a half-day or more, not wanting to rest until they were far from their City. They ran through the rain and the storm passed into the west. Their sodden clothing and armor steamed from the heat of their bodies and gradually dried.
They slowed at last as dawn lightened the horizon, halting under one of the Dome Trees scattered around the plains. “We will rest for the morning,” said Sohaar, “and continue on after midday.”
“Where will we go, my Lord?” asked the second Guardian, Haraanoro.
“We will head for Lord Haarnahuu’s Clan City. He is an ally; I hope that he will take us in. I do not wish to become Clanless. We are in no condition to hunt, so we will have to travel slower to conserve our strength.”
They rummaged in their belt-pouches for rations of dried meat and plant-fruit; they had not eaten since yesterday morning and were famished. The bulbous juicy blue tips of the magenta crest-grass surrounding them were also edible, and they stripped the nearby grass of these, but it was inadequate fare compared to their main diet of roasted meat. They then lay back to doze as best they could, wrapping themselves in their war-cloaks, the pain of their various wounds precluding deep sleep – Caabasanaa had deep cuts and Haraanoro a broken arm. They carried no medical supplies, so just had to endure the discomfort.
As the sun passed its zenith, the trio reluctantly awoke and struggled to their feet with some groaning and grumbling as they had stiffened up. They continued onward at a considerably slower pace until sunset, when they again stopped to rest for the night.
It took them a Red Moon-cycle to reach the black-walled Clan City to the north of theirs – the closest City to them; a healthy messenger-runner could cross the distance in around four days.[1] That they could cover such a distance even when injured was testament to their discipline and fitness, though they were pushed to the limits of their endurance.
They approached the main gates on its north side with trepidation. Sohaar addressed the sentries on the top of the wall above the gate, “Inform Lord Haarnahuu that I, Clan Lord Sohaar, seek refuge in his Clan City.” One Warrior bowed his head and left his post to inform his Lord.
A little while later the gates were hauled open and the weary, bedraggled trio passed through, halting when they saw Lord Haarnahuu standing there with four of his Warrior-Guardians. He wore his armor but not his helmet. His violet eyes widened on seeing the condition of his guests. “Lohuzanmalaa, Lord Sohaar of Night River Clan City. What has happened? Have you been in a hunting accident?” He had no way of knowing outside events unless a messenger-runner was sent.
“Lohuzanmalaa, Lord Haarnahuu of Endless Plains Clan City. The War Lord Maazeyaraan defeated me in combat and now has claimed leadership of my Clan City,” replied Sohaar flatly. “Most of my Warriors are slain.”
Haarnahuu’s crest-quills flared in surprise. “That is grievous news. But I will escort you to the House of Healing to have your injuries tended first.” Sohaar inclined his head slightly, as was done toward an equal, and they headed towards the healing center.
Four Red Moon-cycles later, Lords Sohaar, Haarnahuu and their Warrior-Guardians knelt on floor-quilts inside the reception hall of Haarnahuu’s Residence, along with some of his high-ranking officers , their helmets placed beside them. The refugees were well on their way to healing, their armor repaired.
“Lord Haarnahuu, I am requesting your support. When I am fully healed I intend to return to my Clan City and reclaim it from the nusema.”
“What do you require?”
“A detachment of your Warriors for support – I intend, however, to challenge the nusema in single combat on the battlefield.”
Haarnahuu was silent for a short while as he considered. Three claw-scars across the left side of his face obtained during a duel added to his ferocious appearance; they had narrowly missed blinding him. “Your Clan has long been an ally with mine … so I will loan you an eight-cubed of Warriors and Guardians. I will accompany you, also.”
“Nehalzanmalaa,” a relieved Sohaar thanked him. “Your generosity will not be forgotten.”
A quarter-year later the army set out; a relatively small and ceremonial force for this encounter as the focus would be on Lord Sohaar’s single combat challenge. They travelled lightly, living off the land, and reached Sohaar’s Clan City over two Red Moon-cycles later, setting up camp on a low hill overlooking the City.
A messenger-runner was sent ahead to announce their arrival and Sohaar’s challenge. He came back with a reply in the affirmative. “War Lord Maazeyaraan will meet you on the battlefield tomorrow at sunrise, Lord Sohaar,” the messenger reported.
Sohaar noted that Maazeyaraan still used his previous title, an indication that at least some of the other War Lords refused to acknowledge him as their new Clan leader.
The next day before dawn, Sohaar was being laced into his armor in his Spike Tail-skin tent by his bodyguards as Lord Haarnahuu looked on. “If I am defeated, do not attempt to fight the nusema,” said Sohaar. “I believe some of the other War Lords in the City may be still loyal to me, so perhaps one will overthrow him in time.”
Haarnahuu handed him his helmet. “Your concerns may be misplaced. He has not yet faced you in single combat.”
Sohaar donned and secured the helmet, then walked out into the open, the others following. Orange tinged the eastern horizon as they stood waiting.
The main gates of his Clan City opened, and Lord Maazeyaraan and his Warriors emerged, fanning out into formation then standing still to wait and observe the duel. If Maazeyaraan were defeated, they could choose to either surrender to Sohaar, suicide or be sacrificed.
Maazeyaraan walked forward; Sohaar now did the same until the two stood a bodylength or so apart. As a War Lord, Maazeyaraan’s helmet crest was a transverse inverted crescent like a quarter-moon. His orange eyes glared defiantly into Sohaar’s blue-green.
“Maazeyaraan, I have come to retake my Clan City, which you have no claim to,” said Sohaar, referring to him with the inferior pronoun ruulranee – a deliberate insult.
“You have no right to it. You ran away from me in battle.”
“You never faced me in battle, but sent your Warriors to fight me instead, like the dishonorable coward you are.”
Maazeyaraan hissed and would have flared his crest-quills in anger if they hadn’t been flattened under his helmet. He grasped the hilt of his sword. “Now I will leave your corpse to rot on these plains.”
He unsheathed his sword in an impossibly swift motion, lunging forward to slash across Sohaar’s unprotected throat, but the Clan Lord’s reflexes were equally fast, and he had already drawn his sword to deflect his opponent’s with the flat of its blade. Sohaar followed through to lunge at Maazeyaraan with the point of his sword, piercing Maazeyaraan’s side where there was a gap in his armor. Maazeyaraan grunted and wrenched himself forward and away, slashing one-handed at Sohaar’s right leg, nicking the skin just below his knee. Sohaar spun and cut down, striking Maazeyaraan’s outer elbow and half-severing the arm so that Maazeyaraan dropped his sword and stumbled to his knees, stunned. Sohaar raised his sword to slice across Maazeyaraan’s throat in turn, cutting deep enough to partly sever his head. The body toppled forward, head flopping on a remnant skin flap at a grotesque angle, blue blood spouting copiously onto the magenta grass.
Sohaar regarded the body contemptuously for a few moments, then turned and walked back to the encampment.
Footnotes
- [1]
- The cities are approximately 2000 km apart, in a straight line. A Hunter’s jogging speed is around 30 km/h – 8.3 m/sec (top sprinting speed is around 60 km/h – 16.6 m/sec). Running for around 12 hours a day (with rest breaks, out of his world’s 30-hour day), he will cover 360 km, but assume ~300 km a day for the injured trio, so it will take nearly 8 days (10 Earth days) to reach Endless Plains Clan City. (A real-world human example: Yiannis Kouros, a Greek ultra-marathoner, ran 1,000 miles [1,600 kilometers] in 10.4 days, averaging 153.4 kilometers a day.)
12 Apr 2011
Bonding
Resaan approached the Clan Adept-Superior’s chamber on the second floor of the Tomb Adepts’ building with some trepidation. She had been summoned to meet her there at pre-day, but no reason was given.
At seventeen years old, she had been serving as an Ancestor-Guardian since adulthood at eleven years,[1] after being apprenticed to her mother since adolescence; a family occupation that stretched back generations.
She stopped at the open doorway, bowing her head respectfully. “Enter,” said the Adept-Superior. Kneeling in front of the chamber’s only window, her form was silhouetted by the rising sun. Resaan did so and knelt on the floor-quilt set before her.
The room was pleasing to be in: pot-plants stood in each corner and colorful landscape murals decorated the ancient stone walls. The glowing softscreen resting on a nearby low table provided a high-tech contrast.
“I have summoned you as the breeding season has begun,” said the Adept-Superior.
Resaan managed to keep her crest-quills down, though she flushed faintly blue under her slate-grey skin. She, like others of breeding age, came into season at this time of year – as evidenced by the scutes on her feet turning blue – but who might be allowed to reproduce depended upon the population quotas for that year. A partner also had to be found.
The Adept-Superior looked at her knowingly; she herself was past breeding age. “The Clan Lord has decided it is time he produced his two sons, and I have nominated you as a potential partner.”
Resaan’s crest-quills flared up uncontrollably as she felt a dizzy rush of blood to her head, and she put her hands on the floor to steady herself. To bear the Clan Lord’s heirs! It was an undreamed-of honor.
The Adept-Superior picked up her softscreen and studied its display. “Your genetic line descends from the Clan Lord’s father’s brother, so you are deemed particularly desirable.” Though genetic selection had long ago rendered the Warrior Caste able to only produce males, chromosome manipulation enabled the brothers of Clan Lords to produce females – potential breeding partners of future Clan Lords – and Resaan’s green eyes reflected this heritage. “It is your decision, though, whether to accept.” The last was said in a slight somber tone.
Resaan was aware that when a Clan Lord died – whether killed or by ritual suicide or, more rarely, of natural causes – his Bond-Mate was required to follow him into the Next World via suicide, as was the long-established tradition. She would be bound to him alone, not take on another partner as other females could.
“When will I meet him?”
She looked around as footsteps sounded at the doorway and, with perfect timing – or a summons though neural implants – the Clan Lord himself stood there, a night-dark cloaked shadow, and a startled Resaan prostrated herself.
“You may rise,” he said, sounding a little irritated, or perhaps tense. Both females stood, the Adept-Superior more relaxed as she was close to his equal. Two of his ever-present Warrior-Guardians remained outside the room.
Resaan felt both awe and fear as the Clan Lord approached her and halted half a bodylength before her, having retracted his armor. She was one of the taller females, but he was still a head taller than her. He was normally a remote and forbidding figure; she had only ever seen him from a distance. He seemed to her a barely-contained force of nature; the stillness at the core of a hurricane, his strength gathered and contained within him. She briefly met his sapphire-blue gaze with trepidation and was nearly overwhelmed by the fire of the personality that blazed within. She quickly looked away, barely restraining an impulse to flee.
He stared at her for several heartsbeats – she focused on his cloak, so dark it seemed to absorb all light – and said finally, “I will await her in my Breeding Chamber when Grey Moon is full,” – in two days – “if she agrees to the pairing.” With that, he turned and departed the room.
Resaan let out a breath – she had been holding it unknowingly – and said, “Does the Clan Lord find me acceptable?”
“I believe so.” The Adept-Superior added, rather dryly, “If it is any reassurance, he is probably as nervous as you are. It will be the first time for you both, if you choose him as Bond-Mate.”
Maarec abruptly stopped pacing when he heard a tap on the door, nearly jumping out of his skin. The day was into its seventh segment, after the Eye of the Day had set, and he had been waiting in here since then. He had been into battle many times, but had never felt so nervous then as he did now.
The Maralzuucalan he occupied was much smaller than his own quarters; it was sparse in furniture with a couple of painted folding screens and the dais for the sleeping area. The walls were overlain with gold leaf and painted in black outline with nature scenes. A small window was set in the wall facing the inner courtyard, and an altar under it held a fragrance-stick and a fire-colored lantern, whose flickering light dimly illuminated the room. The overall effect was secluded and intimate.
“Comonecmalaasa,” he said, sounding more harsh than he meant to.
The door slid open, and Resaan entered tentatively; it was then closed behind her. She would have been escorted to his Residence by another Ancestor-Guardian, and two of his omnipresent Warrior-Guardians stood watch outside.
Her head was covered by a night-black scarf; she was now entitled to wear it in the color of the Warrior Caste rather than the bone-white of her own profession. She wore a ceremonial Zoluuhesezu, a wide-sleeved, floor-length overgarment. It was hand-embroidered with abstract patterns of silver-thread clouds, the shimmering material itself dyed the colors of the dawn sky.
To be completed
Footnotes
- [1]
- 30 Earth years; adulthood begins around 11 HW years/19.25 Earth years
13 Aug 2016
Assassins
Clan Lord Maarec opened his eyes, staring at the canopy of brilliant stars overhead. The spring night was warm, so he had decided to sleep on the flat roof of his three-storey residence. He rested on a floor-quilt, wearing only his long war-cloak wrapped around him. Two of his ever-present Warrior-Guardians stood some distance away to either side, keeping watch.
He blinked his nictitating membranes to clear his vision, confused over what had prompted him to wake. A faint scuff behind him provided an answer. Even as he tensed himself to sit up, a weight pressed on his chest, another on his legs. A subtle distortion of the air outlined two figures; he realized they were using active camouflage.
A black dagger appeared as it was unsheathed and raised, its wielder intending to stab Maarec in one of his hearts. Maarec managed to free his right arm and push the dagger back as it descended, but its momentum ensured it plunged deep into his abdomen instead. Pain radiated like fire from the mortal wound.
Realizing their Lord was in danger, the two Guardians swiftly approached from either side, swords drawn. <Use infrared mode!> he commanded through their neural implants. They all switched the spectrum view of their helmets’ eyepieces, revealing the heat signatures of two Warriors. The figures leapt up, and Maarec also surged to his feet, slamming his bodyweight into the one who had stabbed him so that he staggered back, off-balance. <They are Assassins! Do not slay them; I wish to interrogate them,> he ordered his Guardians, who quickly subdued the pair. The Assassins were no match for the highly-trained Guardians.
Other Guardians appeared, scouring the surrounds and courtyard garden below to ensure no other Assassins were nearby. “The area is clear, my Lord,” said one aloud. “They must have come up over the outside wall.” While steeply-angled, the inward-sloping exterior walls could be climbed by a determined intruder with the aid of a monofiliament rope deployed from his utility belt.
The two Assassins were forced to disable their camouflage and retract their armor, then kneel and have their arms bound behind them. Their helmets were the plain uncrested design of the lowest rank, Warrior-One-Claw. “Take them to the interrogation chamber,” Maarec commanded. Suddenly faint, he put a hand on the low stone wall beside him; looking down, he saw the dagger was still protruding from him. He was undecided if he should pull it out yet. His abdomen felt heavy and dull with pain, and, too tired to remain standing, he sank onto his knees.
“My Lord, you are wounded,” one of the Guardians realized, seeing his Clan Lord’s uncharacteristic behavior. “Your Healer has been summoned.”
His personal Adept-Healer appeared a few minutes later and hurried over to him in a swirl of cobalt-blue robes. Unslinging her medical backpack, she withdrew a cylinder that unfolded itself into a stretcher. “Lie down on this, my Lord,” she told him. “You will be taken to the House of Healing.”
“Remove the dagger; I will walk there,” he countered, not wanting to display any weakness.
She hissed with irritation at his stubbornness – which she was all-too-familiar with – but repacked the stretcher and retrieved a spray-applicator. Pulling aside his cloak, she grasped the handle and withdrew the dagger smoothly; he groaned involuntarily at the surge of pain. Blue blood seeped out of the deceptively small wound; the more serious damage was internal. She sprayed the grey gel containing Repairer-Nanites onto the wound, which sealed it and began the healing process.
Maarec rose unsteadily to his feet, the Healer gripping his arm to support him despite her being shorter and slighter – not that she had ever been intimidated by him. She hissed at his guards to move aside, which they meekly did; two followed behind their Clan Lord to provide protection while the others took the hapless Assassins away.
The journey to the House of Healing that served the Clan City took around twenty agonizing minutes as Maarec could not walk fast. He secretly wished he had taken up the offer of the stretcher but felt he would lose face now if he did, so he instead complained silently to his starship, Sahelnahuu.
<You should have listened to your Healer,> Nahuu chided him from its berth at Void Station. <You are no longer immortal and need to be more cautious.>
The Healer led him to a medical bay reserved for his exclusive use. Three Carers, two males and a female, waited there near the examination table. He glanced longingly at the portal which led to the room containing his Healing Bed, but its extra programming for longevity was now forbidden to him since he had decided to produce a heir.
Before lying down, he turned to one of the Guardians. “Check on the status of my son. Instruct the guards to be vigilant for any attempts to destroy the egg.” The Guardian bowed his head and left the room to carry out his orders.
The egg containing his first son had been laid by his Bond-Mate in the last quarter of this year, and was currently incubating in a corner of Maarec’s apartment. Whoever had ordered the assassination attempt knew that Maarec could no longer access his longevity treatment, and was thus more vulnerable to injury and death. He had not experienced such an attempt for a long time, and had grown complacent.
“Do not let anyone know of my injury,” Maarec instructed his Healer and the other Guardian. “I will find out who made the attempt on my life once I have healed.” They indicated agreement, then the Guardian went to keep watch outside the room.
“You had best lie down, my Lord, before you fall over,” the Healer suggested, divesting him of his cloak, and Maarec did so with much relief.
“Your intestine is perforated and you have some internal bleeding and bruising,” she informed him after studying the diagnostic holograms. “You will need to rest while the Repairer-Nanites do their work.” Maarec inclined his head in acknowledgment and closed his eyes, slipping into unconsciousness before he realized. “Take him to the Recovery Room,” the Healer directed the two male Carers.
Four days later, Lord Maarec entered the interrogation chamber, located on a level inside the central core of the House of the Ancestors. His injury was fully healed.
Two Warrior-Guardians shadowed him as always, but not the ones who were on guard duty during the assassination attempt. Following custom, those Guardians – both brothers – had voluntarily committed lucuwan, ritual suicide, to atone for their failure in keeping their Lord from harm.
Clad in his black armor and war-cloak, he appeared a formidable figure to the two Assassins imprisoned in the chamber. They were both suspended from the ceiling by monofiliament ropes that cut deeply into their wrists, sending blood coursing down their arms – the binding also prevented them from taking their own lives with their talons. They wore only their loincloths. A Warrior-Two-Claw holding his dagger stood near them.
“Your mission has failed. I wish to know who sent you. You can tell me now, die swiftly and join your ancestors. If you refuse, you will suffer pain like you have never known, your names will be expunged from our history and your bodies discarded in the wilderness.”
The younger one glanced at the older one, orange eyes wide with fear; the older one bared his teeth at Maarec and spat, “Do as you will.”
“Very well.” Maarec indicated to his Guardians, and they approached the older Assassin, releasing him from his bonds and half-dragging him over to the Lohonamolanaa, Blood-Altar, where he was forced to lie supine with knees bent and feet flat on the surface, then secured again. One Guardian grasped the Assassin’s left foot to hold it steady as the Two-Claw positioned his dagger above the largest toe, sliced the skin open lengthways up from the claw, then cut through the bone just above the claw, pulling it and the joint out. The Assassin’s blue eyes bulged out and, despite his best efforts at holding back, he screamed with agony, body convulsing; Maarec had not lied about the extent of the pain.
Maarec waited for one or the other to break; it took two more declawings before one did. Not the older one – who was by now drifting in and out of consciousness, blood streaming off the stone altar beneath him – but his companion, who was perhaps the apprentice of the older Assassin.
“War Lord Haraanahuua,” he whimpered, trembling with fear. “We are of his Clan. He ordered the assassination attempt. He wishes to usurp you.”
Maarec put his own dagger to the youth’s throat. “That is all you needed to tell me. You will die mercifully,” Maarec told him, and slashed his throat, stepping back as blood poured out. The young Assassin was dead within a couple of minutes.
“Behead the other,” Maarec said to the Warrior-Two-Claw; beheading was considered a dishonorable death as it separated the body. “Have their bodies disposed of outside the City.” He did not know their names, and did not care to.
In the predawn light, a somber group stood near the sacrificial granite Lohonamolanaa on the east side of the House of the Ancestors. Clan Lord Maarec presided over the gathering, holding his dagger in readiness for the grim task ahead. War Lord Haraanahuua, his Bond-Mate and two pre-adolescent sons waited to one side, the hands of each bound behind their backs and guarded by one of Maarec’s Guardians. The other five War Lords who resided in Night River Clan City under Lord Maarec stood in a row, required to attend as witnesses to the punishment.
“War Lord Haraanahuua, you have attempted to displace me in the most dishonorable manner and failed,” he began. “I cannot tolerate a traitor residing in my Clan City and you must therefore be executed – as well as your immediate family – as an example to others who might contemplate such actions.” He pointedly glanced at the other War Lords.
Haraanahuua’s violet eyes widened and, despite knowing it was futile, pleaded, “Clan Lord Maarec, I implore you to spare my family – I will gladly give up my own life, but please do not punish them also!”
Maarec replied, voice as cold as the depths of space: “Your line has been revoked. It no longer exists. Your plea is not heard.”
He indicated to the Guardian holding the youngest son to bring him to the altar. In a small display of mercy, the Bond-Mate and two sons had been lightly sedated, so the juvenile remained unresisting as he was lifted onto the altar and lain on his back. Maarec impassively regarded the spindly black form. Slaying a child or a female was not something any Warrior normally wished to do, but in this case was deemed necessary in order to maintain his dominance over the other Warriors, and to eliminate the possibility of future threats from vengeful offspring. Maarec quickly dispatched him by piercing an artery in his throat; the small body shuddered as it bled out, and was still.
Haraanahuua watched numbly as his eldest son and Bond-Mate were slain in turn, then he was escorted to the blood-streaked altar, surrounded by the four Guardians who were alert for any escape attempt. Nonetheless he was determined not to go meekly. When the two Guardians holding each arm briefly loosened their grip as they prepared to forcibly lie him down, desperation lent him strength and he wrenched himself free.
He was not trying to escape – his life was essentially over. He instead charged toward Maarec and cannoned into him, hoping to take the Clan Lord over the edge of the pyramid with him and into the Void.
Lord Maarec, however, had a few seconds in which to prepare himself, and he tensed to meet the collision. Dropping his dagger, he grabbed Haraanahuua around his neck, using his assailant’s momentum to hoist him into the air, turn and dangle him over the low wall. Haraanahuua, his arms still bound behind him, squirmed and kicked but could do little otherwise. He gagged, unable to breathe properly as Maarec’s powerful hands crushed his throat. They stood there briefly in a grim tableau, silhouetted by the rising sun, before Maarec let go and Haraanahuua plummeted out of sight. A few seconds later, a dull thud could be heard as he impacted the ground far below.
22 Jul 2013
Hatching
Clan Lord Maarec watched the egg containing his first son, crest-quills flared in nervous anticipation. 1,508 years had passed since Maarec himself hatched, so the arrival of a future Clan Lord was a momentous occasion. Not that appearances suggested this; he stood alone with the incubator behind a decorated folding screen in his living quarters – though his bodyguards, personal Healer and house staff were not far away, and his starship Nahuu watched through their neural implant link. Both parents would normally be present, but the Clan Lord traditionally raised his sons himself, so they would imprint only on him.
Maarec was not unused to handling hatchlings, as he had occasionally fostered and raised previous ones over his long life. They were male orphans descended from his own bloodline – given the violent lifestyle of the Warrior Caste, losing one’s father was not rare. But with his own offspring, he still felt as nervous as a first-time parent.
The egg, its iridescent black color indicating its occupant’s gender, rocked slightly in the warm sand as the hatchling struggled to emerge, and cracks appeared in the shell. Maarec resisted an impulse to aid it, wanting the hatchling to prove its strength by finding its own way out.
A hole appeared in one end, along with a glimpse of tiny black claws, then the cracks widened, a piece of egg broke off and the hatchling tumbled out with a startled squeak. It was a frail and scrawny-looking creature, as was normal for his species, its arms and legs no thicker than his fingers.
It lay there in the heated sand, exhausted from its efforts, sides heaving. It could not move well as hatchlings were helpless for their first half-year or so. Maarec reached toward it tentatively; the hatchling was not much longer than the hand he rested next to it. He found it hard to believe he was once that small, and briefly tapped into his long-dead father’s remotely stored memories via his neural implant for an image – yes, he had been so.
He placed a finger on the hatchling’s thin torso, feeling its warmth and vitality, its black skin still damp and partly covered in sand. The hatchling opened its eyes and grasped his clawed finger with surprising strength. At this age its distance vision had not yet developed, and he bent down so it could focus on him. Its eyes were a vivid emerald-green – blue, green or a mixture of both were a trait of his genetic line – and a strange sensation rippled through him on meeting its gaze. He stared at its small perfect face, finding himself besotted.
“Leesawa,” – hatchling – “I name you Sohaar-28, heir to Maarec-27 and future Lord of the Night River Clan,” he said ritualistically. Little Sohaar looked up wide-eyed at the one who would be the dominant figure in his early life.
His Healer came quietly up beside him, hooded and veiled so as not to provide a distraction. “He must be cleaned and inspected, my Lord,” she said firmly. “I will be brief.”
He stepped back reluctantly as she scooped up the hatchling with gloved hands and practised ease – she had produced three offspring of her own years ago – and took it into the adjacent bathroom where she had a small medical tray set up. She returned a short while later with Sohaar looking more presentable, now wrapped in the same ancient black woven shawl that Maarec himself had been long ago when he hatched. “He is healthy.” She gave him to Maarec and the hatchling began squeaking again, but in a different tone. “He needs to be fed,” she added, handing him a feeding tube.
As she had shown him earlier, he positioned and squeezed the tube in the hatchling’s mouth and it instinctively gulped down the nutritious paste until its belly was full. Sated, Sohaar’s eyes closed and he was soon fast asleep.
To be completed
13 Aug 2016
Challenge
“You two are to be on your best behavior; do not speak or move during the fight,” Lord Maarec sternly reminded his sons as they walked along the corridor leading to the Heyananezan, Arena of Honor.
“Yes, Father,” said Sohaar obediently, though behind Maarec’s back he flared his crest-quills at Yaraan, who bared his teeth then looked away. Excited by the prospect of the incipient duel, the youngsters had been scuffling and play-fighting earlier that morning in their guest room until Maarec growled at them to cease.
They had flown to the City of the Swift River Clan the previous day, on the western side of the single continent Yoora. Supreme Lord Soharaa, leader of that Clan, had been challenged to a leadership duel by a Warrior-Four-Claw from the neighboring Ocean Wind Clan City. Such a challenge was a rare event; Soharaa had survived one previous fight to date in his extended life of over three hundred years.[1] Maarec had witnessed several such duels in his own even longer life, but had no desire to make a challenge himself – so he had told his sons.
They reached the portal with the Night River Clan’s symbol over the rim, and turned to enter the maralrecuu, viewing area reserved for their Clan – a raised stone platform with floor-quilts to sit on. Clan banners hung on either side of the maralrecuu walls. Black partitions that sloped upward from the Arena separated the seven other Clan platforms; all but one were all occupied with the other Clan Lords and their Warrior-Guardians. The audience for the duel was small but intimidating, featuring the most powerful entities on the planet.
Once he was seated, Lord Maarec’s own Warrior-Guardians – two brothers as always – knelt on floor-quilts to each side and a little behind him. Sohaar and Yaraan knelt to the right and left of him, and as closely as they could, for the presence of the adult dominant males made them nervous. Sohaar pulled up his hood and veil and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, careful not to meet the fierce gazes of the Clan Lords. Maarec was the only one there with offspring.
“When does it begin, Father?” Yaraan asked, fidgeting impatiently.
“When they are ready,” Maarec replied, keeping his voice low. “Now be silent.”
At that moment the Clan’s Adept-Superior, clad entirely in cyan-blue robes, appeared at the top of the ramp leading up into the Arena itself. She wore a ceremonial veil over her hood. Two Ancestor-Guardians, a male and female, accompanied her, wearing bone-white veils.
Following them was the Battle Master who would act as supervisor for the duel, a somewhat foreboding figure in his enveloping war-cloak and longitudinally-crested helmet. His armor was fully deployed in case one of the enraged combatants turned upon him.
Lord Soharaa and his opponent entered last, each with an attendant low-ranking Warrior-One-Claw, who removed the war-cloaks of the combatants, then went to wait in the Swift River Clan’s viewing area. They now each wore only a brief Saacelanhasa – loincloth – and their night-black skin glittered iridescently under the overhead filtered sunlight. Like all adult Warrior males they had an intimidatingly powerful physique – crested necks and broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and long legs – and their eye color was their main differentiation: Soharaa’s a striking orange and the Four-Claw’s a dark green. Father would beat both of them, Sohaar thought loyally.
They both knelt before the Adept-Superior on one knee as she ritualistically asked them, “Who enters the Arena to do battle?”
“I am Soharaa-45, son of Lecaaculuun-44 of the Swift River Clan, commander of Zaawezoyuu-celecubacanel. By death I became Supreme Lord, and by death I will keep or relinquish my position.”
“I am Warrior-Four-Claw Haraazuun-106, son of Baaloyaraan-107 of the Ocean Wind Clan. I have come to claim leadership in the ancient tradition, and will do so or die in the attempt.”
She briefly placed a hand on each Warrior’s bowed head. “From this moment you will not leave the Arena until one has entered the Void and the other is Supreme Lord. May the most worthy prevail.” She stepped back and retreated to the host Clan’s viewing area as the combatants stood back up and separated a couple of bodylengths apart. The octagonal Arena itself was spacious – sixteen bodylengths in diameter – leaving plenty of room between the fighters and their audience. Sunlight on its white sand demarcated the area in which they would fight.
“Nacanuumahensesa!” said the Battle Master, ordering them to begin the duel.
The pair began slowly circling, glaring at each other, their bodies tensed with contained menace. Sohaar felt a chill as the seriousness of the event became clear to him; there would be no holding back for this fight, unlike in training.
Without any forewarning Sohaar could discern, Haraazuun sprang forward and closed the distance between him and his opponent in barely more than a heartsbeat. He lashed out with his right arm, claws extended, seeking to draw first blood from Soharaa. The latter quickly stepped just far enough to avoid the side blow, turning with him and raking his own claws down Haraazuun’s back.
Momentum separated them and they again began circling, Haraazuun giving no sign of the pain he must be feeling. The first spots of blue blood now stained the fine white sand.
Haraazuun again leapt forward, but this time he deliberately collided with Soharaa, grabbing the other’s neck in a choke hold and seeking to shove him off balance. Soharaa staggered but managed to stay upright and strained against him with equal force, each also trying to gouge the other’s supporting leg with his toe-claws. Haraazuun sank his teeth into the right side of Soharaa’s neck and blood streamed, but he had not hit an artery.
In an unexpected maneuver, Soharaa slightly bent his right knee, then pulled backwards and down. Haraazuun, still straining forward, was flipped over onto the ground and on his back. Soharaa quickly took advantage, leaping up and coming down with the full weight of his body onto his prone opponent.
Haraazuun managed to bend his knees and roll sideways at the last moment so Soharaa impacted him at an angle and landed awkwardly on hands and knees beside his opponent. Haraazuun scrambled up and leapt onto Soharaa’s back, again locking an arm around his neck as he pulled him sideways and groundwards. Haraazuun struggled to entwine his left leg around Soharaa’s from behind, but Soharaa quickly bent both knees up against his torso. He also thwarted Harazuun’s attempts to rake claws across his abdomen to disembowel him by trapping Harazuun’s left arm under his own.
Haraazuun’s right arm now had the weight of Soharaa’s neck on it, and he was essentially stuck. Soharaa grasped Haraazuun’s trapped left arm and dug his claws deep into his opponent’s wrist, piercing veins and tendons. Haraazuun squealed and tried to jerk away.
Soharaa released him and pushed upwards to his knees. He quickly turned to face Haraazuun, who was also levering himself upright, and lunged at him from his kneeling position. Haraazuun’s neck was exposed and vulnerable, and Soharaa reached forward to dig his claws in, pulling hard, slicing through the artery on that side. Blood spurted copiously and Haraazuun slumped forward again as his life emptied onto the sand. The fight was over.
Soharaa remained kneeling, chest heaving. The duel had been brief but intense, and he was clearly exhausted.
The Battle Master moved toward him from the shadows after a short while, when Soharaa had calmed down enough and the battle-fury left his eyes. Soharaa arose without help. The Adept-Superior and her assistants left the viewing area to stand in front of him; she placed a hand on his head again and stated, “Zulsunewo merulanaa zocuuzanbalseena.” The Supreme Lord continued his reign.
With that, they departed; Soharaa would be taken to the House of Healing. The Clan Lords, with armor reinstated, also got up to leave one by one for their guest rooms in a building near the airfield; they would all return to their own Clan Cities that day.
Sohaar stared at the crumpled still body as the Ancestor-Guardians and remaining Warrior-One-Claw gathered around it to take it away. He and Yaraan were certainly not unused to seeing blood shed; they went with their father on hunts for game every two or three days after all. Witnessing two of his own kind release their usually-restrained savagery on each other, however, was on another level altogether.
“Lazanmahencuusa,” said Father, and the youngsters scrambled up to follow him and his bodyguards out of the Maralrecuu.
In the passageway outside they encountered Clan Lord Haarnahuu of the Endless Plains Clan, ruler of the City nearest to theirs, who had apparently been waiting for them. “Maareczuluu, lohuzanamalaa,” he acknowledged his equal in an affable but respectful tone, as was due an elder. He was new to Clan leadership, having ritually sacrificed his father four years before, and his younger brother had accompanied him to the duel. “So, nothing has changed. It at least was instructive for your sons.”
“Yes. They will undoubtedly have their own challengers,” said Maarec, glancing down at the pair, who were peeking out shyly from behind his cloak. The group continued walking, exiting the Arena building.
Sohaar looked up at the other Clan Lord, whose helmet’s eyepieces were a light violet, reflecting his eye coloration. His Clan had long been an ally of the Night River, and the natural tension between two dominant males was not as pronounced.
To be completed
Footnotes
- [1]
- Over 525 Earth-years
5 Apr 2015
Exile
“He was Maaze, from last year’s Exile,” said Sohaar as he bent to inspect the identification bracelet around the skeleton’s wrist.
The others of his year group, sixteen in all, stood in a solemn half-circle around the remains of a youth. The skeleton’s weathered and polished bones were draped in the now-tattered Spike Tail-skin clothing similar to the ones the youths surrounding it wore.
“What killed him?” asked another male.
Sohaar looked up at the high cliff looming above them. “Maybe he fell from there, from the path we came down. Or maybe there was a flood through here and he got swept away.” He thought the latter more likely as the smooth ocher sides of the canyon showed evidence of water erosion.
Like others who had perished, the body would not be collected for burial, but left to the elements. It was more motivation to stay alive through the quarter-year.
He shivered as a gust of wind blew through the narrow deep canyon, its walls carven into sinuous banded curves by the elements. “Night will soon fall. We had best find shelter.”
Sohaar, being the first-hatched son of Clan Lord Maarec, was naturally the designated leader of his Clan year group, so they obediently followed him alongside the mostly-dry riverbed, with nervous backward glances at the lonely skeleton, whose spirit perhaps haunted the shadowed canyon. The wilderness had claimed countless young males down the generations during their Saazacuway, Time of Exile, so finding remains was not uncommon.
A Carrier-Transport spaceship had deposited Sohaar and his six-year-old contemporaries from the Night River Clan near the Valley of the Ancestors six days earlier – at the year’s second seasonal Evenday, when day and night were of equal length – and they would have to survive in the wilderness for sixteen Red Moon-cycles [1] before the spaceship returned for them at year’s end, marked by the summer Longday.
They were provided only with the personal daggers carried by all juveniles, made of a Spike Tail’s horn. Their synthetic self-repairing clothing was replaced with simple leather loincloths and cloaks made from Spike Tail or Crescent Horn skin – clothing in the style of what their primitive ancestors had worn. They would have to hunt and forage for their food, using their daggers, and the weapons of teeth and claws their phylogeny had provided them with.
The males continued through the canyon for some distance until they came upon a large cave above a waterhole, a narrow well-trodden path leading up to it. On entering, etchings and drawings on the cave walls displayed evidence of previous groups who had sheltered there: notations of years and Exile-group designations. Sohaar unsheathed his dagger to carve his own group’s year – Exile Group-1 of the 331st year [2] of Supreme Lord Soharaa-45’s reign – saying, We will stay here for tonight.”
Theirs was the only group from the Clan to go out that year; those hatched during a year with a high laying rate were divided into as many as four Exile groups of up to sixteen each. He spent two or three days each Red Moon-Cycle with his age-set; all had hatched in the same year. They would enter adolescence near the end of this year when they turned seven Home World-years – as indicated by the tips of their crest-quills, which were beginning to show their adult colors.
A shallow hearth had been dug for a fire, surrounded with some rocks. One male crouched and set down the dry wood earlier collected. From a skin pouch he took two firestones and dried grass he had been carrying and struck the flint rock with iron pyrite several times to create a spark, using the dried grass as tinder. He had a knack for this, so was the designated firestarter. Another handed him a Digger which had been caught earlier; this forearm-length, tusked herbivore was one of the few prey creatures available in this part of the land. It had already been gutted and prepared, the carcase suspended on a stick; this was held over the fire to roast it, and some root-plants dug up were also placed in the coals. Sohaar’s stomach rumbled as he impatiently waited for it to cook.
He looked out into the starry sky, missing his father – Lord Maarec had raised him and his younger brother exclusively and they were bonded with him above everyone else. Grey Moon, the closest moon where the tombs of the Clan Lords resided, was currently not visible, being in its dark phase. When he could see it, though, he could take comfort in the knowledge his grandfather and Clan Lord forefathers further back in time were watching over them.
At last the meat was cooked, the delicious scent of roast flesh filling the cavern, and it was sliced into portions. Sohaar reached for the largest, which was his by right, but another male by the name of Mawalecaa grabbed it first. Sohaar, outraged, hissed angrily at him; Mawalecaa flared his crest-quills and stared at him defiantly. Sohaar half-arose, baring his teeth; he was taller than Mawalecaa. The male thought better of his challenge and threw the meat at him, sullenly edging back amongst the group.
Everyone ate their meal in a subdued silence before settling in for the night, the warm glow of the fire a bulwark against the dark outside. I will have to watch him, Sohaar thought. Being the Clan Lord’s first-hatched did not make him immune from dominance challenges.
Shadow Hunter
Walking through a river valley with high cliffs to either side, Sohaar took the lead as usual. As the days progressed, the group moved further into the mountain range that edged the east side of the Valley; there was more prey and vegetation here. Summer was approaching, remnant snow melting off the Blue Mountains into the fast-flowing river.
They ambled along, in no hurry to be anywhere, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. Sohaar looked back and saw that two in the group were lagging far behind. Irritated, he stopped to wait for them to catch up.
A movement on the cliff above attracted his attention, and he felt a prescient foreboding. Even as he prepared to make an alarm call, a sleek black shape sprang from concealment on a ledge, bounded down the side and grabbed one of the straggling youths by his neck before he could make any attempt at evasion. He squealed in terror and pain, a sound abruptly cut off as the creature’s powerful jaws severed his windpipe.
“Shadow Hunter!” Sohaar and the others ran toward the predator, daggers drawn, but the creature retreated swiftly with its prey, hauling the limp body up the cliff face.
“Norowa! Maazere! Follow me!” Determined not to let it get away, Sohaar and two of the other strongest males scrambled up after the quadruped predator. The creature dragged its prey onto the ledge it had attacked from, turning to snarl a warning at its pursuers, carnivorous black teeth bared.
“You two distract it. I will come up from behind,” Sohaar decided. He retreated and carefully made his way sideways along the cliff below the ledge, scrabbling to find foot- and hand-holds as his companions made feints at the Shadow Hunter.
Sohaar reached up and peeked over the edge, seeing the angular armor-plated hindquarters of the rival predator, its thin iridescent blue-tipped tail swishing angrily.
Sensing danger behind it, the creature turned as Sohaar pulled himself up and over the rim, rushing at the Shadow Hunter. The creature could not maneuver easily as the ledge was narrow, and Sohaar was able to leap onto its back, driving his dagger through the skin. Sohaar gripped its chitinous skin armor with his claws as the predator roared and twisted furiously, trying to maul him. He pulled the dagger out and struck again, burying it to the hilt between the Shadow Hunter’s shoulders, where the spinal cord lay. It instantly went limp, body slumping to the ground.
Sohaar held still for a few heartsbeats to make sure it was dead, then slid off, dazed. His companions climbed up warily. “Push it over the edge.” They did so, with some effort; the others waiting below hastily retreated as the body came to rest below with a jarring thud.
The three turned the body of the youth over; he was the smallest of the group. “He has joined his ancestors, Heir Lord,” said Maazere shakily. It was clear he was dead, his neck broken by the Shadow Hunter’s bite.
“We will carry him down,” Sohaar decided. They managed this awkwardly, the body draped over Maazere’s shoulders as they slowly descended. They laid him out on the ground as the rest of the group approached and stood around the body. They had only been in Exile for nearly two Red Moon-cycles and already one of their group was lost.
They dug a shallow grave for him, then placed water-worn stones from the riverbed on top to mark the burial place; far enough away from the river so that the grave would not be washed away when in flood. They then spent the rest of the day gutting and carving up the Shadow Hunter so they could cook its meat for dinner – a messy chore, but necessary if they wished to eat. They skinned it and laid the skin out so it would dry in the sun. One of the males went back up to see if the Shadow had been guarding a nest – unlike the Dawn Hunters, they laid eggs in clutches, and the eggs would provide a nutritious meal – but there were none to be found, so it was a solitary male.
Sohaar cut off its tail to drape over the grave. Its torso measured nearly his father’s height, black-skinned as it was a male, its armor segments overlain with a bluish iridescent sheen. He walked around to the creature’s head to inspect it; being an evolutionary relative, its face – though more elongated than a Dawn Hunter’s – bore a disturbing resemblance. He knew from history lessons that his kind had evolved from a southern hemisphere plains-dwelling variant of the Shadow Hunter which had developed bipedalism and sapience. The two species shared a mutual antagonism.
Clan Lord Maarec reclined on his apartment’s spacious sleeping dais, holding a transparent softscreen on which he summoned a holographic map readout. The glowing display showed the location of his eldest son and the other young Hunters in his group, enabled by the identification wristbands each wore. He monitored their wanderings every night and morning, though he could not communicate with Sohaar.
<One is already dead,> he remarked concernedly to Nahuu, after scanning the names shown on one side of the screen – blue script indicated death. <I hope Sohaar will be careful. I do not wish Yaraan to succeed me as Clan Lord if it can be avoided.> He looked over at his second son, curled up asleep under a quilt nearby. Family groups usually slept near each other for security and comfort; Sohaar and Yaraan had slept next to their father since hatching.
<You have prepared Sohaar as much as you can,> said the starship. <You survived, your forefathers survived.>
Maarec’s crest-quills drooped and he put the softscreen down. He dimly remembered his own Time of Exile so long ago, and the separation anxiety he endured during that quarter-year.
He regarded Yaraan again. The sibling rivalry between the brothers was becoming more pronounced as they approached adolescence; Yaraan’s resentment sometimes threatened to turn their play-fights into something more serious but for their father’s exasperated interventions, both getting their finger-claws clipped as punishment. Peace would ensue for a few Red Moon-cycles until the next squabble. Yaraan was not as favored as his brother, and he knew it. Maarec could not recall such antagonism from his own long-dead brother, his sons’ uncle. Perhaps I should have spaced my matings further apart.
At times, Maarec might have been tempted to slay Yaraan – younger sons had occasionally been known to commit fratricide in order to inherit the position of Clan- or War Lord – but he was only permitted to produce two sons, so he restrained this impulse.
Rivals
Sohaar stared intently into a deep rockpool as the rest of his group roamed the shoreline or sat basking in the light of the rising sun. They had been instructed to each retrieve a shell from the continent’s beaches as proof of their wanderings. Sohaar’s desire had been to head toward the beach where he and his father had sometimes liked to visit, so the young Hunters wended their way south-east over the next six Red Moon-cycles. They used both the sun and polarized light to guide them, familiarizing themselves with the territory that had been their Clan’s since time immemorial, walking along ancient Runaacabuunaa – ancestor trails – learned about during their training. They would stay here for a few days before retracing their route in time to meet the Carrier-Transport that would take them back to their Clan City.
Waves crashed violently onto the edge of the rock platform where Sohaar knelt; these traveled unimpeded from the Ocean of Storms extending around the planet. The tide was coming in, but only a weak tide as the full Red Moon was sinking toward the western horizon – obscured by a high cliff – and Grey and Ice Moons were both in their dark phase, aligned with the sun and opposite to Red Moon in their complex orbits.
Sohaar espied the undulating shimmer of a Mozeyuyuzuu – Silver Fish – emerging from a crack in the side of the pool and reached to grab it, but a shadow fell across the water and the sea creature hastily withdrew. Sohaar hissed in anger and looked up to see Mawalecaa standing over him, crest-quills flared in a challenge display. Sohaar flared his own as he stood.
Without preliminaries, Sohaar launched himself at Mawalecaa; Mawalecaa responded in the same manner and they collided, claws sinking into each other’s skin as they grappled for a dominant position. The rock platform was a treacherous place to fight, having uneven footing and slippery sea plants draped over the rocks.
With no adults around to supervise the youths, they fought with unrestrained viciousness, sharp claws raking skin, and Mawalecaa managed to sink his teeth into the side of Sohaar’s neck in an attempt to pull out a chunk of flesh. The latter squealed and shoved him away violently. Mawalecaa lost his footing and tumbled down into a narrow inlet, landing with a splash. Sohaar jumped in pursuit and found himself waist-deep in water. Mawalecaa recovered and lunged at his rival again. Blood streamed, staining the water blue, as they clawed at each other, salt water stinging their wounds.
A roaring interrupted their combat, but before they could react, the inlet filled with surging water as a larger-than-normal wave thundered in, engulfing them. Sohaar lost his grip on Mawalecaa and flailed frantically as the water tumbled him, disorientating him. He managed to grasp a protruding rock and hung on against the wave as it retreated so it wouldn’t suck him out with it.
Sohaar gasped for breath, coughing up water as the inlet became still again. He looked around but there was no sign of Mawalecaa. Aching all over, he pulled himself up the incline onto the platform where the others had gathered.
“Where is Mawalecaa?” he asked Norowa.
“Gone. The wave took him.” Everyone looked out to sea but Mawalecaa did not reappear. Dawn Hunters were not natural swimmers, having no body fat for buoyancy, and they usually kept well away from deep water.
“You are hurt.” Norowa helped Sohaar to his feet. Sohaar groaned involuntarily as the claw gouges on his back and neck bite ached and stung. He was only beginning to develop the thicker segmented chitinous skin that tapered down his neck and back, so he was not yet afforded that extra protection. He was led to a freshwater stream which fed into the sea, and his wounds were bathed. The Healers would repair any long-term damage with nanites once he was back home.
A small cave some way up the steep cliff was accessible by a narrow footpath; Sohaar slowly climbed to rest there until his wounds healed, lying on the Shadow Hunter skin. He remained in the cave – only venturing out for hygiene, the other males providing food and water for him – until the next full Red Moon.
Sohaar crouched in long blue-green spiral grass with five other males, eyes distant-focused on a grazing herd of Crescent Horns, the rising sun behind the Hunters. The male of the herbivore species had two long blunt-tipped black horns that curved back and up, similar to twin crescent moons, and the design inspiration for a Clan Lord’s helmet crest. Their iridescent blue-and-green-striped skin gleamed in the sunlight.
He signaled with his hand to the rest of the group, Circle around and drive them towards us. The others vanished into the grass. Soon the Crescent Horns were looking up and behind them nervously as the second group made their presence visible. The large herd – comprising a dominant male and female, subordinates and juveniles – began moving. They broke into a trot as the Hunters increased their pace.
“Ready yourselves,” Sohaar said to his companions. He scratched absently at the scabbed-over bite mark on his neck; two Red Moon-cycles had passed since his fight on the beach. The wounds had healed cleanly, though leaving long scars on his back that hampered his movement somewhat.
Eastwards of the Blue Mountains were the grasslands where their species had evolved, abundant with prey and vegetation. Sohaar’s group were making their way along this northern route. In five more full Red Moons they would reach their pickup destination, near the northern end of the Blue Mountains and the source of the Night River. He and his comrades had fully adapted to their environment, feeling the spirits of their ancestors were with them, their instincts guiding them.
The ground vibrated as the herd neared. Sohaar dared not hunt one of the healthy adults – his group had specifically been warned against doing so, in any case – so they would concentrate on the juveniles or any old or ill animals.
“Now!” ordered Sohaar, and they sprang up and ran at the herd. Squeals and bellows ensued as the startled Crescent Horns scattered. One confused female juvenile ran toward them. “This one!”
The young Crescent Horn, realizing it was about to be ambushed, abruptly swerved to the left. Sohaar and his group nimbly followed, their long thin digitigrade legs easily keeping pace with the swift herbivore.
Norowa was closest and he leapt high, claws extended, managing to catch and grab the juvenile’s hindquarters. They both crashed to the ground. Immediately the other Hunters converged on the thrashing Crescent Horn, which squealed piteously.
Angry bellows and honkings answered, and Sohaar turned to see the dominant male and female thundering furiously toward them. “Adults coming!” he warned. Norowa slew the juvenile by slashing his claws across its throat, then the group rose to face the adults, determined not to lose their meal. The herbivores could do much damage with a kick from their hooves, or impalement from the male’s horns.
The male charged, lowering its head. The Hunters parted, but the Crescent Horn tossed its head, gashing Norowa as he dodged to one side.
More Hunters rushed to their aid; the others of his year group, led by Maazere, who had made their own kill, a male with a lame leg. A standoff with much posturing, snarling and bellowing ensued before the two adult Crescent Horns, perhaps seeing their young was dead, gave up and retreated for their herd.
Both groups dragged their kills under the shade of a yellow-leafed Dome Tree so the hopefully-circling Shadow Wings would not scavenge them first. They would rest here during the heat of the day before lighting a campfire and preparing the carcases for dinner. The meat would sustain them for up to one Red Moon-cycle.
Norowa held his right side; a long gash streamed blood and, on inspection, Sohaar could glimpse ribs underneath the deep cut. They had nothing to seal the wound with, so, as with Sohaar’s wounds, it would have to heal by itself.
The following day found Norowa almost too weak to move from blood loss, so the others had to find a means of transporting him. Utilizing their survival training, they set about constructing a crude drag-carrier, cutting two branches of even length from the Dome Tree and lashing two of the ends together with dried gut. A third branch was tied further down and across, forming a triangle, then another branch above it.[3] Over these they secured one of the Crescent Horn hides on which Norowa could lie. One male tested it by stepping inside and grasping the pointed end, dragging it for a distance. Satisfied with their handiwork, they rested and fed again that day.
They moved onwards the day after. The males took turns hauling the drag-carrier as they continued their journey northwest.
Yaraan lay wrapped in a floor-quilt on the flat roof above his father’s quarters, staring up at the cloudless night. One of Lord Maarec’s Warrior-Guardians stood at a discrete distance, on watch for any would-be assassins. Maarec was paranoid about such attempts after his own near-death at the hands of two; a dramatic story both his sons liked him to retell.
Even I rate protection, thought Yaraan, glancing at the Guardian before resuming his star gazing and continuing his brooding. But Sohaar is the favored one; I am just the backup. His title of Zulnehuwa literally meant “spare Lord.” One day, though, I will show them! He put a hand to three slashes on his right cheekbone over which a healing gel had been applied. Two days ago his insubordination had aggravated his father to the point of lashing out.
“Father, what Void Walker will I inherit? Why can’t I have one?” Yaraan had asked Maarec resentfully over breakfast. Sohaar was to meet Sahelnahuu for the first time after returning from Exile.
His father abruptly turned and struck with his talons, three deep cuts appearing on Yaraan’s left cheek before he could jump out of the way. “You are not entitled to a Void Walker,” Clan Lord Maarec hissed angrily. “Your duty is to continue the family line. Do not question me further.”
Their elderly Guardian-minder had later explained to him that Maarec was concerned about Sohaar and thus more irritable than usual. Yaraan didn’t find much comfort in that, though.
Sohaar was due to return home in less than two Red Moon-cycles – if he survived his Exile. Yaraan missed Sohaar and looked forward to seeing him again, yet a part of him secretly, and guiltily, hoped that his elder brother would vanish forever in the wilderness. Then I will be heir, and Father will have to be kinder to me.
He looked yearningly up at the starry sky. I want to go there, with my own Void Walker. The Galaxy, viewed edge-on, was a brilliant starry river that dominated the sky; since ancient times it was regarded as the River of Night which the dead followed on their way to the Void, and was still referred to as thus. Out there lay the few Dominated Worlds of the Dawn Hunters, with no doubt more to be discovered as the Clan Lords’ starships continued their slow exploration of this Galaxy. They had yet to venture further to the galaxies beyond.
Sohaar and his year-group waited in the pre-dawn starlit darkness, looking expectantly toward the northern horizon. A full Red Moon slowly sank into the west.
As dawn began to lighten the east, Norowa pointed and exclaimed, “They come!” He was able to walk again, though still in no condition to hunt.
A flare of light appeared on the horizon, then a night-black silhouette gradually resolved into visibility as the Sky-Carrier they awaited approached from the north-east, blue running lights flickering. As it was traveling fast, no engine sound was yet audible. Only when it neared and began its descent did the infrasonic rumble of its twin engines reach them.
The Warrior-Trainer of their year group, an honorably-retired old male as was customary, alighted after the ramp lowered and surveyed the youths. Having followed their travels remotely via their tracking wristbands, he already knew who had perished, so he did not comment on them. “You have done well, haaracawo. You have survived your Time of Exile and proven yourself worthy to begin the next phase of your training, after rest and healing.”
Sohaar leading, the males shuffled wearily onto the spaceship and up into the passenger hold on the second level, flattening their crest-quills respectfully as they passed the Warrior-Trainer, whom they addressed as Hacorozayuuce, “Second Father.”
The Warrior-Trainer gestured to Sohaar to follow him, and he led the Heir Lord through to the cabin, then retreated. There a surprise awaited Sohaar: Clan Lord Maarec. Sohaar tensed to run toward him like an excited hatchling, but remembered protocol and restrained himself. He knelt on one knee before his father in the posture of respect. “Lohuzanamasee, Father.”
“I am so honored,” his father replied. He said nothing further, but sat and secured himself in the right-hand seat behind the pilot’s. Sohaar settled into the seat opposite, and the Sky-Carrier lifted off and headed homeward.
Footnotes
3 Apr 2011
Inheritance
Sohaar followed his father like a second shadow as they, and two of Lord Maarec’s Warrior-Guardians, departed the Clan Lord’s Residence for the landing plaza next to the House of the Ancestors. As they emerged into the chill dawn air and walked south down the main street, the rising sun illuminated the east side of the towering black mausoleum.
Flattening his eight crest-quills, Sohaar pulled the hood of his one-piece black garment over his head; the responsive material kept out the cold. He had worn it ever since he could remember as the self-repairing clothing grew with him. It was secured with a utility belt from which hung the dagger that all Dawn Hunters carried. He would not receive the symbiotic bio-organic armor and long cloak of a Warrior until the completion of his training at 12 Home World-years. He had already survived his Saazacuway – Time of Exile – in the wilderness of his Clan’s territory; a quarter-year separated from his father. He was now to meet his father’s starship, then fly to Grey Moon to view his Clan Lord ancestors.
Every few paces he had to break into a jog to keep up with Lord Maarec’s long strides, so he was well warmed up by the time they reached the walled-off plaza. He had spent most of the last Red Moon-cycle recuperating from his Exile, either snuggled in bed next to his father, or sunning himself on the roof of the Residence, as well as stuffing himself to near-bursting.
Clan Lord Maarec’s personal shuttle awaited them under its sheltering geodesic half-dome; the sleek black craft would take them into orbit. The shuttle’s Technician-Pilot stood waiting in her magenta-violet armor, and two others finished last-minute exterior checks.
The Pilot briefly crouched in the posture of respect, then she and the Guardians continued up the shuttle’s access ramp at a thought-command from Lord Maarec via their neural implants. Father and son paused outside for a few moments, Maarec’s imposing black-armored presence enhanced by his horned insect-like helmet and cloak.
“Father, will you take Yaraan to see Sahelnahuu also?” Sohaar asked awkwardly. Yaraan remained with the now-elderly Warrior-Guardian who supervised them when Maarec was away. Sohaar had noticed the healing claw marks on his brother’s face but had thought it best not to ask him the reason behind them; it certainly wasn’t the first time Yaraan had antagonized his father to the point of lashing out.
“Only if you are killed. He is otherwise of secondary priority,” his father replied bluntly.
Despite this knowledge, Sohaar persisted, “He … is angry, Father. Could you not make an exception?”
Lord Maarec made a barely-suppressed hiss of irritation. “Yaraan is defiant. He will need to be disciplined.”
Which could result in his death, Sohaar thought, alarmed. Unruly young males were ill-tolerated by their elders and refusal to submit could ultimately see the former killed by the latter, or made Clanless.
Maarec turned and strode up the ramp, ending the conversation.
On entering the shuttle’s central airlock, Lord Maarec and the Technician-Pilot went into the forward cabin while the others turned in the opposite direction to take their seats in the passenger hold on the other side of the airlock. The eight chrysalis-like seats were arranged four along each side of the oval hold. Sohaar sat in the front starboard seat, the intelligent material molding itself to his bony contours as a harness wrapped around him. The shuttle’s design was in the usual Hunter organic style, resembling the predatory aerial and ocean creatures of their world. The Shield-Nanite-infused interior was as black as the outside, the metal alloy glittering with a blue-violet iridescence under the directionless white illumination.
The engines hummed into life and Sohaar felt another thrill of nervous excitement; this would be his first-ever flight into orbit. Escaping the ground at last! he thought, remembering the nights before his Exile that he and Yaraan had spent gazing up at the stars and wondering which worlds they would travel to or discover once they acquired their own Void Walkers. But Yaraan will have to wait a while yet. I wish he could be here, though. Juveniles rarely went into space.
There were no windows in the passenger hold, but a hologram display appeared in front of each seat, giving a view of the outside as well as telemetry data that made little sense to Sohaar. The display informed him that liftoff was imminent. Then the ground in the display receded as the shuttle began its swift ascent. The shuttle accelerated as it gained height, pressing Sohaar against his seat. He wondered if his brother was watching.
They soared above wispy high-altitude clouds, landmarks becoming indistinct in a bluish haze. Orbital velocity attained, the display read. The curvature of Home World was now evident, the atmosphere a thin aquamarine line that merged into blackness. Sohaar had seen holograms of his world during his tutoring, but to view it himself was awe-inspiring.
The walls of the shuttle shimmered then became apparently transparent as they projected the exterior view, an effect that was spectacular if unnerving.
To reach Void Station where Sahelnahuu was docked would only take nearly an eighth of a day, even – as now – when not flying at the shuttle’s top speed. The Station was located at a stable point in front of the orbit of Home World’s outermost moon, Ice Moon. The shuttle locked into the trajectory that would take them to their destination.[1]
Soon the shuttle had reached cruising speed and ceased accelerating; this was immediately apparent to the shuttle’s occupants as weightlessness until the gravity generator underneath the floor was activated. When it was safe to stand up, Sohaar, feeling restless, did so, his harness releasing him. He walked carefully toward the cabin, one of the Guardians glancing at him but saying nothing.
He hesitated in the forward hatchway. His father was strapped in the right-hand commander’s seat, black-armored hands pushed into slots on its armrests. Sohaar went to stand beside him, leaning against the seat, staring enraptured at the shimmering flight control holograms and the sweeping view of Home World’s three moons displayed by the projector screens. With its Artificial Intelligence the spaceship could effectively fly itself if desired, though some Pilots preferred to guide it manually. Sohaar would only learn the basics of flying such a craft during his Warrior training; his main focus was on combat and leadership.
The flight to Void Station took just under an eighth of a day, and Sohaar espied the massive structure as they neared Ice Moon. The dome quadrisected with four blades that tapered beneath it to a point bore some resemblance to the Dome Stingers that drifted through the Ocean of Storms, their boneless bodies illuminated with tiny blue biolights, as was the Station.
The shuttle approached the docking bay where Sahelnahuu resided, the edges flashing to guide it in. Sohaar tensed as they approached what appeared to be a solid wall, but the embedded nanites liquefied it just before the shuttle touched the surface and they emerged into the cavernous bay. He gasped involuntarily at beholding the huge starship with his own eyes for the first time, its gracefully curving lines making it seem a living creature – which in one sense it was.
His father gestured to tell him to return to his seat, which Sohaar did rather unsteadily, and the shuttle entered the forward hangar bay on the starship’s right side.
Everyone in the equally cavernous hangar was crouched in the posture of obeisance when the shuttle’s passengers disembarked. Sohaar felt an awed thrill at this indicator of the power his father commanded. One day he would be in his father’s place, so revered; something he still felt hard to believe.
There were few on board as most of the crew were on-world. Most of the Clan would serve on the starship at some period of their lives.
The violet-armored Dock Master greeted Lord Maarec, “Your starship is well and awaits your presence, my Lord.”
“I will be spending only a night on board this visit, to introduce my son to Nahuu.” The Dock Master inclined his head, and retreated.
The four undertook what seemed to Sohaar to be a lengthy trek up the access ramp, forward along the central corridor, up an elevator to the Warriors’ level, and along another long corridor to Maarec’s cabin. The Guardians, both brothers, shared a cabin to the right of Maarec’s. Everyone entered their respective quarters.
The cabin was laid out much like their apartments back home, though it had a more stylized appearance. The far wall displayed a projection of the stunning view outside Void Station.
They had brought little except the clothes they wore and Maarec’s weapons, as the starship provided for most of their requirements. They consumed a meal of manufactured food pellets, then took their usual midday nap.
Sohaar knelt next and to the right of his father – actually, under his cloak, peeking out somewhat timidly at the Command Chamber around them. The ovoid walls displayed an image of the starry void outside Nahuu’s berth, so realistic he felt as if they were floating in space. Transparent curving panels surrounded the dais, colorful holograms displaying various ship and planetary system data.
Maarec looked at the massive crystal protruding through the floor before them. An image of a glowing-eyed, black-armored Clan Lord formed within, long cloak rippling slightly as though he were standing in a breeze. It was the generic manifestation the starship sometimes affected to provide a focal point.
“Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo, I have brought my son, who will one day command you in my place.”
“I greet you, Heir Lord,” said the image formally. The ship’s voice had the flanged timbre of his species, but its tone was unsettlingly genderless.
Sohaar flared his crest-quills nervously and responded in kind: “I greet you, Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel.”
“Proceed with status reports,” Maarec said to Nahuu, and the displays resumed.
Nahuu watched the pair with its sensors as the young one gazed about him, wide-eyed. It would not truly bond with its inheritor until the latter received his neural implant, but had nonetheless followed his life through Maarec’s implant.
The scene had been repeated over generations as the Clan-Lord-who-was introduced Clan-Lord-who-would-be to the starship. The ritual provided a reassuring continuity to all, extending far back to the bright spark of Nahuu’s first coming-to-awareness out of the dark void of nonexistence as an artificially-created emergent intelligence.
Other segments of it constantly monitored its systems and the presence of other crew on board; information transmitted in pulses of light through an immensely complex network of crystals and fibers within its body, a near-infinite number of operations running simultaneously. Its awareness extended outward, along the entangled pathways of the Dominion network linking it to other starships and information storage sites and beacons in various star systems. It even saw into the fabric of spacetime itself, from where it drew energy and which it folded to Jump from one point to another, navigating around the gravity wells distorting the subatomic quantum filaments making up the Universe.
The uploaded memories and personalities of Maarec’s Clan Lord ancestors were a part of Nahuu’s consciousness, and inseparable from it. Though they had crossed the Void long ago, in some sense they still lived. They looked upon their descendants and were pleased.
Sohaar gazed in awe upon the large crystal where the spirits comprising Nahuu ultimately resided. He and Lord Maarec had entered the Crystal Chamber, directly below the Command Chamber. The spherical room, smaller than the Command Chamber, was normally sealed off. A narrow ramp led from the entrance to encircle the crystal itself.
The six-sided transparent crystal, at least twice as tall as Lord Maarec, extended from the base of the Chamber. Countless fine filaments extruded from a gold cap circling its top, linking the crystal with the rest of the ship. Other, smaller crystals coated the rounded walls of the Chamber, providing storage space for the huge amounts of data Nahuu required. During his tutoring, Sohaar had once held a hollow spherical wumarasaraa, an egg-rock lined with clusters of purple crystals; the Chamber had the same structure on a much bigger scale, the crystals having been grown specially for their purpose here.
The room glittered and refracted the ambient light into a dazzling rainbow of colors. There was no one discernible source for the light. Sohaar closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the otherworldly sight. Standing in front of the crystal, he reached out to lay a hand on its smooth cool surface. He thought he felt a slight vibration. “Is this where Nahuu lives, Father?”
“Our fathers-before-us dwell both there and in the Bahocabuun, the Realm of the Ancestors,” Maarec replied.
Sohaar stood on his toes at the step of the Cold Sleep Bed to look over its rim and upon the face of the paternal grandfather he had never known. Sohaar-27’s body had lain in state for over 1500 Home World-years [2] but looked as though the ceremony had taken place yesterday, so perfect was its preservation. In contrast, the body of Sohaar-1, interred within the Clan City Pyramid onworld, was merely shriveled skin over bone, reflecting the cruder mummification techniques of antiquity where the bodies of Clan Lords were lain to rest in dry sealed desert caves. These had much later been transferred to their Clan City to ensure their continued safety. After spaceflight was achieved, subsequent Clan Lords were buried in the Grey Moon pyramids.
He and his father had spent the day visiting each tomb in turn, providing a visual history of his forefathers since the spaceflight era. Sohaar felt a little overwhelmed with the legacy he would inherit, and the responsibility toward his Clan this would entail.
Sohaar reached down to touch his grandfather’s still face, which felt like cold black stone, the skin overlain with a subtle iridescence. “Will I have to sacrifice you, Father, like you did him?” Maarec stood next to him, gazing down at the body.
“Yes, if I live to choose my own death.” Seeing Sohaar’s crest-quills drooping unhappily, Maarec added, “The sacrifice is considered a great honor for both father and son.”
Maarec’s tomb awaited him next door, as yet unlit. Sohaar hoped its illumination would be a long time in coming.
To be completed
Footnotes
- [1]
- 2.5 hours (150 minutes) for journey – 1/8 of a Home World day = 3.75 Earth-hours
- [2]
- 2625 Earth years
6:15 PM Thursday, 14 September 2017
Departure
Resaan, Bond-Mate of Clan Lord Maarec, knelt gracefully on the floor-quilt laid out for her and placed her knife in front of her. The Clan Adept-Superior and two Ancestor-Guardians – a male and female – also knelt silently nearby; they would later bear her body to her tomb within the House of the Ancestors after her ritual suicide. The small group waited in a three-sided roofed enclosure reserved for such rituals on the south edge of the Pyramid’s expansive platform, its walls painted with landscape scenes.
Resaan’s Ancestor-Guardian companions were clad in the iridescent cyan-blue robes and bone-white headscarves of their Caste, while her Habar was night-black to indicate her status – only the Bond-Mates of Clan and War Lords could wear such a color, that which was of the Warrior Caste.
Resaan breathed deeply of the cool early evening air as she waited for the nearest moon, Grey Moon, to rise, and for her Bond-Mate to appear. Tomorrow, Lord Maarec would ascend the altar on the east side for his own ritual departure. She had farewelled their two sons the day before. She was pleased to see they were both tall and handsome – though they could hardly be anything else, given her and Lord Maarec’s carefully-bred genes. She had concerns about Yaraan, though; something lurking in the depths of his eyes disturbed her.
As was the way for females who bore the sons of the Warrior Caste, she had only infrequent contact with them though their lives; she had returned to her ancestral Residence to live with her birth family. Maarec had raised them himself, guarding his only heirs jealously – he had waited over one-and-a-half thousand years, after all.
When deciding whether she would accept the opportunity to become a Bond-Mate long ago, Resaan knew well what the position involved: she would be bound only to Clan Lord Maarec – and he to her – and be required to take her own life when he passed into the Void. In return, she had the honor of bearing his sons and her body would be preserved in a wall slot within the House of the Ancestors with other Bond-Mates who had preceded her. As an Ancestor-Guardian, she was already familiar with death, so this prospect did not hold much fear for her – though she still felt some nervousness at the finality of the ritual. At 37 Home World years,[1] she was only perhaps half-way through her life.
She thought of their first mating, in one of the breeding chambers in his Residence. She had hissed at and fought him, as was the expected behavior of a Warrior’s Mate, but eventually submitted. Neither of them had previous experience, as was also customary for those of their status. Their second mating a year later had been an improvement in that there was no blood shed.
Three figures emerging from the access ramp interrupted her reverie; she recognized Lord Maarec and two of his Warrior-Guardians, arriving as expected. The latter halted some distance away while Maarec continued toward the group. Resaan flattened her crest-quills respectfully and the others prostrated themselves.
Maarec knelt less than a bodylength in front of her, and the Adepts arose and retreated, presumably at a silent command from Maarec. He retracted his armor. She raised her head and dared to meet his gaze. His handsome face was harshly angular, black skin slightly greying, but the force of his personality was still overwhelming. It blazed from his sapphire-blue eyes, and she again felt the intense attraction that had sealed her decision to become his Mate on first meeting him long ago. Does he feel the same?
“Your presence is welcome, my Lord,” she said, to break the somewhat awkward silence, reminiscent of the night of their first mating.
“I have come see you depart into the Void,” he replied.
“I am grateful that you are here.” She inclined her head, but she was indeed relieved that he would be with her for this final ritual. With a mental command her nanite-infused clothing rearranged itself, retracting so that her head and chest were bare, leaving a floor-length kilt covering her legs. Her habar was draped around her shoulders. Her slate-grey skin gleamed with a subtle iridescence, a striking contrast to the night-black of the males of her species. She reached forward to grasp her knife.
Maarec also reached forward, surprising her again by grasping her slender wrists with his long bony hands. He then released one and rested his right hand against her throat, one of his curving, razor-sharp black claws lightly pricking her skin in a gesture both deadly and intimate. “You will not need your knife. I will send you into the Void myself.”
“I … I would be honored, my Lord.” The knife was dropped onto the floor-quilt. Her departure ceremony was diverging from convention, but the Clan Lord’s will was law.
She saw the tendons in his forearm ripple, then felt a strange sensation on the left side of her throat, and he withdrew his arm to grasp her free wrist again. There was a feeling of liquid gushing; she briefly looked to see blue blood streaming down her chest. A dull throbbing pain became evident as her two hearts beat faster, and she knew that his claw had pierced and sliced the artery there as cleanly as the knife would have.
Her surroundings grew hazy as her vision greyed from the sides; she felt herself fading and her torso wanting to fall forward, but Maarec’s grip kept her upright, his gaze locked with hers. His touch reassured her as the darkness overwhelmed her. The last words she heard were, “Await me – I will join you tomorrow.”
Lord Maarec watched his Bond-Mate pass into the Void, the life leaving her body as she bled out. At last her emerald-green eyes dimmed and closed. Her body became heavy with the unmistakable stillness of death, and he let her down so that she rested in a curled-forward position. Her blood covered his hands and soaked into her floor-quilt. He remained kneeling for a time.
Tomorrow he would face a similar ritual, to be sacrificed by his oldest son. He did not feel much fear; he was weary of life and welcomed the darkness that he would enter, and the prospect of meeting his forefathers in the Next World. He had extended his life longer than those of many Clan Lords, and survived to pass on his genetic line despite countless battles, duels and assassination attempts. His sons had survived to adulthood. He had no regrets.
Footnotes
- [1]
- 66 Earth years
6 Jan 2015
Succession
The brothers Sohaar and Yaraan and their father, Lord Maarec, alighted from the Clan Lord’s shuttle onto the platform of the massive Pyramid of the Lords that overlooked their Clan City. Having completed the long years of training his eldest son, Sohaar, to inherit his position, Maarec had decided his time to depart this life had come, in a manner considered honorable for one of the Warrior Caste who had not been slain in combat.
I don’t want to do this, thought Sohaar to himself, but he knew he must, as tradition required. He had avoided thinking about this day for as long as possible, but now its reality was upon him.
Four of Lord Maarec’s Warrior-Guardians followed behind them from the shuttle. In front of them, some distance across the vast platform, the Clan’s Adept-Superior and three of her Ancestor-Guardians waited in the cobalt-blue robes and veils of the Adept Caste.
Father and sons began the seemingly endless walk to the sacrificial altar, which was situated on the east side of the platform. The three wore their usual long flowing black cloaks and surcoats, their Nanite-Armor under these retracted, leaving their arms and legs bare. The setting sun lengthened their shadows ahead of them.
Sohaar was to his father’s right, a little behind him. As was customary, Maarec had been forbidden access to life-extension treatment since his first son was hatched, so the signs of his aging had become increasingly obvious in the last few years: a stiffness in his gait, a hollowness in his flanks, shoulders and face, his lean muscles gnarled and knotted. Sohaar felt dismay at seeing his father’s decline, compared to his memory of the vigorous warrior from his youth – though Maarec walked tall and straight, refusing to give in; still a formidable figure.
Sohaar glanced at his brother. Yaraan had mostly ignored him since they were both summoned by their father. He was living the typical life of a second son, wandering their Clan’s territory and honing his skills by fighting in duels with others from minor Clans. If he was not killed, he would live a normal lifespan and continue the family line. Yaraan evidently wasn’t content with this, though.
They reached the altar. On the distant twilight horizon behind it, a silver glow preceded the rising of Grey Moon.
The black-armored Warrior-Guardians halted and stood in formation, waiting as Lord Maarec and his sons ascended the ramp leading to the altar. Maarec knelt stiffly before the Adept, arms extended down and to each side in the posture of supplication. “Clan Lord Maarec, you are ready to join your ancestors on Grey Moon?” she asked him, laying a slim hand on his head.
“I am so.”
“Then take your place on the altar.”
Maarec rose and turned to face his sons. He looked first at Sohaar and, in a final display of affection, put a hand on his shoulder. Sohaar was now nearly as tall as him. “Our Clan’s future now lies in your hands. You continue my legacy and that of my father and our ancestors. Do not fail us.”
“I will not dishonor you, Father,” Sohaar replied, his voice tight with barely-repressed anguish.
Maarec then addressed Yaraan, but made no gesture. “You are to support and defer to your brother and not disgrace your Clan.”
“Yes, Father,” Yaraan replied tonelessly, barely hiding his resentment at his older brother’s being the favored son.
The three Ancestor-Guardians – two female, one male – came forward to assist as Lord Maarec lay upon the obsidian altar. The male held his feet, the females an outstretched arm each; necessary as Maarec would likely convulse and struggle during the ritual despite his best efforts at keeping still.
The Adept-Superior and Maarec’s sons gathered around the end of the altar where Maarec’s head and neck rested in a hollow. A shallow groove ran from this to his right, sloping down to the edge, where a golden bowl waited on a step below the altar.
The Adept said, almost kindly, “Grey Moon rises. It is time.” The moon’s edge was now visible in the deepening twilight, as were the first few stars. She grasped each side of Maarec’s head to steady it. Sohaar reluctantly drew his dagger in readiness.
Maarec looked into his son’s eyes for the last time, his gaze burning with an irresistible willpower. “Do not fail me.”
Sohaar positioned his knife as he had been shown and, with a swift stroke, cut deeply along one side of Maarec’s neck where a main artery lay underneath. Blue blood gushed out, pulsating with the force of his two hearts. Rivulets traveled down the groove into the bowl, beginning to fill it. Maarec’s eyes opened wide, his sharp teeth bared and his body arced involuntarily as it protested against the fatal injury. In only a few more hearts’ beats, unconsciousness overcame him and his body stilled. A deep sigh came from him, his life ebbing away on this last breath.
Sohaar stared into his father’s sapphire-blue eyes with a horrified fascination, watching as Maarec’s spirit departed, bequeathing all his hard-gained wisdom to his son and inheritor. The process was a subtle phase-shift from the animation of life to the emptiness of death. His eyes now stared vacantly into the evening sky, at the shimmering Night River which led to the Next World.
“Your father is now with his ancestors, and lives on in Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel.” The Adept gently released her grip, as did the others; she reached to close his eyelids. The females holding Maarec’s arms folded one over the other in a crossed position over his chest, then wrapped his long cloak around the length of his body. His face remained uncovered. “You must now make him a part of you.”
After resheathing his dagger with trembling hands, Sohaar retrieved the small bowl and held it up to his mouth, then proceeded to drink half of the blood that filled it. The still-warm blood had a metallic taste. He passed the bowl to Yaraan, who drank the rest, then gave the bowl back to the Adept-Superior.
The four waiting Guardians moved forward. Two went to either end of Maarec’s body, and carefully lifted it off the altar. Another Guardian held out a small cylinder; it unpacked itself into a light but strong black stretcher on which to bear the body. Lord Maarec was transferred and strapped to the stretcher; the four Guardians grasped one end each. The procession, with Sohaar and Yaraan walking behind, their Nanite-Armor now fully deployed, made its way back to the shuttle. The decorative horns on Sohaar’s helmet had morphed into the longer length that indicated his new position.
On entering the central airlock chamber, the stretcher was taken to the aft passenger hold, where it was secured in a stasis tube that extended from the back wall. All then went to their seats, Sohaar going forward to the cabin and taking his father’s place in the commander’s seat now that he was Clan Lord.
In a short time the shuttle arrived at the barren, airless Grey Moon, dropping out of orbit on a trajectory that took it to the Night River Clan’s mausoleum complex. They descended toward a hexagonal target on the flat top of the huge black Pyramid of the Lords, its edge delineated by blue lights; the target flowed open, enabling access to the interior. The shuttle dropped through into a chamber below the surface. As it touched down, the entrance above sealed out the vacuum and air was fed back into the chamber. Once pressures were equalized, an Ancestor-Guardian and her acolytes, a male and female, entered the chamber from a floor-ramp to welcome the funeral group.
The shuttle’s passengers disembarked, the four Warrior-Guardians again bearing their dead Clan Lord on the stretcher. The acolytes knelt in the posture of respect, while the young Ancestor-Guardian merely bowed her head. “I greet you, Clan Lord Sohaar,” she said, as he stood before her. An Ancestor-Guardian and acolytes served on the moon for one year, a duty considered a great honor. Others would replace them when their terms were finished.
“Is my father’s burial chamber ready?”
“Yes, my Lord. But first we must prepare the body.” She turned, the acolytes arising and following her, as did the others, down through the access ramp and into another room. From here the group descended down three more access ramps to the level where the body would be prepared for preservation. Those not needed to attend the ceremony – namely the magenta-armored Technician-Pilot – left the group at the second level for guests’ rooms.
Entering the Preparation Room, the stretcher carrying Maarec’s body was laid on a central altar as the visitors sat or knelt on floor-quilts along one wall to wait while the procedure was carried out by the Adepts. They cleaned and sealed the wound on Maarec’s neck. Then the Ancestor-Guardian used a spray-injector device to introduce specialized Repairer-Nanites into the body. The molecule-sized nanites spread through it to stop the process of decay, ensuring the body’s indefinite preservation.
Next, his armor-patch was removed and his traditional burial armor was brought out of storage. This was a suit of hundreds of interlinked hexagonal and octagonal pieces, delicately sewn together with silver wire, that was secured around his body; a lengthy process. The plaques were carved from emerald, the symbolic gem of his Clan. Only his head and neck were not covered; his Habar was wrapped around instead.
“Clan Lord Maarec has been made ready. We will proceed to his burial chamber.”
The Ancestor-Guardian led the group down another ramp to the elevator room, from where the tomb levels could be accessed; the elevator was located in a central column. On entering, the elevator sealed itself and descended.
The four-sided central pillar contained the upper landing platform for the shuttle, the living and guest quarters, and maintenance rooms for the Adept and Technician Castes who dwelt here. The burial chambers were constructed on consecutive levels around the four sides of the pyramid, each connected by an access tunnel. Four tunnels extended from each level to the pillar. The oldest tombs were at the bottom. Even after the passage of tens of thousands of years, the occupied tombs only reached four levels up.
They emerged from the elevator into the covered walkway that would take them in the direction of Lord Maarec’s designated tomb. As on the starships, the ceiling was internally illuminated to give the impression of Home World’s aquamarine sky, changing as the day progressed. The walls were brightly painted with nature scenes surrounded by geometric patterns.
The burial chambers – the lower levels illuminated, the upper unoccupied chambers dark – represented an unimaginably vast span of time: Sohaar’s unbroken lineage extending back into ancient history, since the beginning of the spaceflight era for his species. Before then, Lords were interred in the Pyramid within each Clan City. One day this will be my home for eternity, he thought, and he found comfort in that.
They crossed to the middle of the level on which Maarec’s tomb resided, turning to the left. Each tomb entrance was recessed into the wall, its occupant’s name etched above the portal. The tombs were each linked by a continuous passageway towards their rear. Maarec’s tomb was the newest in the sequence; Sohaar would eventually be interred in the empty tomb to the right of his. As Yaraan was not a Clan Lord, he would not receive his own tomb, but be buried with the other Regent Lords in his Clan City’s pyramid.
Maarec’s father, also called Sohaar – the names alternated between each generation – resided in the tomb left of Maarec’s. Sohaar had never known his paternal grandfather; this was normal for Clan Lords because of their method of succession.
Maarec was the 27th to bear that name, and Sohaar was the 28th of his name. The first Clan Lord of their lineage, 65,864 Home World-years ago, had been Supreme Lord Sohaar-1, during the time when the Dawn Hunter civilization coalesced from the primitive tribes. The Night River Clan was thus an ancient and illustrious one – they were also referred to as the First Clan. Their Clan Lords’ lifespans had varied between 85 years for Sohaar-1 to Maarec-27’s 1560 years.[1]
The group entered the tomb. The black cylindrical Cold Sleep Bed in which Lord Maarec would reside lay side-on to the entrance. The far wall appeared to have been replaced by a window looking out over Home World as seen from Grey Moon; the spectacular real-time view was provided by a display screen, powered by solar panels coating the surface of the pyramid. The moon was tidally-locked to the planet, so the pyramid complex always faced Home World.
The two Acolytes reverently transferred Maarec from the stretcher to the Bed, arranging him so his arms crossed over his chest and his cloak folded around his torso and legs; his face remained bare. His dagger and sword rested with him, and his traditional scale armor, brought from his residence, was mounted and placed in one corner. A small urn was placed next to Maarec’s feet; it held the preserved remains of the eggshell from which Maarec had hatched long ago.
They activated the Bed’s stasis programming to preserve the body, bathing Maarec in a bluish light. He appeared to be sleeping. The translucent emerald armor appeared to glow, refracting the light through its crystalline structure and giving its wearer an otherworldly aura.
“Clan Lord Maarec-27 now joins his ancestors to watch over our world,” said the Ancestor-Guardian as they stood around the Chamber. “Clan Lord Sohaar and Regent Lord Yaraan, you may keep Ruusarnuu with him for one day.”
The Warrior-Guardians, Ancestor-Guardian and acolytes departed, leaving the brothers alone, staring down at their father. Retracting his armor, Sohaar reached out and placed a hand on his father’s angular cheekbone. “He is cold now.”
“He never was anything else,” Yaraan said bitterly.
Tiring of his brother’s sullenness, Sohaar snapped, “If you cannot show anything but disrespect, then be silent.” He knelt and settled on the floor-quilt that had been laid out for him, on the side of the Bed facing the display screen. Yaraan slumped down on his own quilt a few moments later, opposite him, his own armor also retracted. As the room was cold, they huddled under their cloaks.
A little while later, Sohaar said in a more amiable tone, “Your chosen Bond-Mates for this season have reproduced?”
“Yes,” Yaraan muttered from under his cloak’s hood. Since he came of reproductive age, he was permitted to mate with any female who accepted him; this ensured his genes were passed on throughout the Clan, and was some compensation for his being second-born, though he would have little involvement with his offspring. Unlike other Warriors, he would produce males and females; from their genetic lines Sohaar’s own Bond-Mate would one day be selected.
Sohaar retreated back into silence to maintain their fragile truce. I may have to wait many generations for my own Bond-Mate, he thought wistfully. As long as he used regenerative technology to extend his lifespan, a Clan Lord was strictly forbidden from reproducing, else society would eventually become overrun with the offspring of immortals.
He and Yaraan had seen their own mother only infrequently since their hatching days; their father oversaw their upbringing. Under the supervision of the Adept-Superior in a separate private ceremony, Resaan had committed ritual suicide the previous evening by the same method of piercing an artery in her throat, and now would be crossing the Void with her Bond-Mate. As with the Regent Lords, her preserved body would be stored in a hexagonal wall-slot within the Night River Clan City Pyramid, alongside the Bond-Mates of previous Clan Lords. The brothers would pay their respects to her once they returned to Home World.
Males and females of the latter Castes paired for life; the females, however, also bore the young of any of the usually-solitary male Warrior Caste who might select them.
He distracted himself by studying the mural and script of the Night River Clan Saga painted along the tomb’s left and right walls, this part of the Saga depicting his father’s life, from hatching to the appearance of his own sons, and then his crossing the Void to be welcomed by his ancestors. His ancestors similarly had their own parts of the Saga in their own tombs, and it was reproduced in its entirety in texts kept in their Clan City. Both he and Yaraan had been required to memorize it during their childhood tutoring.
He focused on one segment, which described an attempt by the War Lord of a subordinate Clan to usurp his father, not long after the egg containing Sohaar was laid. The War Lord sent two Warrior-Assassins who had almost succeeded in killing Maarec in his residence one night. Maarec had overpowered them and, after inflicting torture, found out who was responsible. The War Lord and his immediate family – his Bond-Mate and his two young sons – had been sacrificed by Maarec on the altar at the top of the House of the Ancestors, ensuring the War Lord’s genetic line was extinguished. The lesson was that he must never lower his guard. I will undoubtedly have to face such attempts during my reign.
Clan Lord Sohaar approached Void Station, his shuttle AI’s guidance system locked onto the bay where Sahelnahuuwo was berthed. Having completed the full day of vigil and mourning in his father’s tomb – which he and Yaraan would continue to visit annually on his father’s death-day – he would now formally take possession of the ancient starship. It had remained silent during the ceremony of Lord Maarec’s sacrifice and interment, but mourned in its own way.
The shuttle drifted past the starship’s massive twin engine exhausts, delicately maneuvering so it could enter one of Nahuu’s four side hangars, Hangar-1. When the shuttle last departed Nahuu it had carried his father; it now returned his sons.
Yaraan had wanted to return immediately to their City, but Sohaar wasn’t about to make a time-consuming detour just to please him, so his brother would have to wait. Sohaar would also have to present himself to the current Supreme Lord in the latter’s Clan City after his other duties were completed.
After entering, the shuttle sank into its servicing pod, its engines powering down. Sohaar alighted, followed by his Guardians, Regent Lord Yaraan and Pilot. Ship Master Haarmaarec, a Warrior-Four-Claw who commanded the starship while its Clan Lord was elsewhere, stood with the Dock Master to greet him. Others who were working in the Hangar crouched behind them in the posture of respect, heads bowed and one knee and both fists on the ground.
“My Lord, Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel is in good order, as left by Clan Lord Maarec on his final departure. I formally hand it over to you. Its crew will be honored to serve you, as they were your father.”
“I accept Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel in place of my father. You are relieved of command.” He looked at the Dock Master. “Everyone may reassume their duties. I will inspect my Void Walker.” The magenta-armored Dock Master indicated acknowledgment, and his crew stood and dispersed.
Sohaar continued up the hangar’s access ramp and into the starship’s main nadir corridor, followed by his retinue – the Pilot remained in Hangar-1 to discuss the shuttle’s condition – and Warrior-Four-Claw Haarmaarec.
<How long is this going to take?> Yaraan griped at him through their neural implants. <I wish to eat, then go to bed.> They had flown from Grey Moon to Void Station with no interim rest period after mourning.
<As long as is necessary,> Sohaar briefly turned his head to glare at him. He decided then to head toward the rear of the ship just to aggravate him, a rather unseemingly childish provocation, but typical of their ongoing sibling rivalry. <First, I will inspect the engine room …>
Yaraan gave a barely-subdued hiss of irritation – the engines were at least a twenty-minute walk rearwards – but said nothing else; Sohaar was now Ship Master and none would dare contradict him.
Lord Sohaar knelt wearily at the low table that extended from his cabin’s wall, having just finished dinner. He now occupied what had been his father’s cabin. Yaraan was sulking in the one next door, where Sohaar had previously resided when on-ship. He had been tempted to order his brother to stay in the smaller guests’ quarters on the lowest level, but thought better of it. <What is Yaraan doing?> he asked Nahuu.
<He is now in bed, asleep.> The starship added, <You should not provoke him further; he already resents you.>
<That is his problem,> Sohaar grumbled. <He will have to learn his place.>
Sohaar looked around the spacious cabin, crest-quills drooping unhappily. There was little sign that Clan Lord Maarec had lived here; Warriors typically had few possessions aside from their clothing and weapons. He felt bereft without his father’s familiar presence; the full impact of his loss had yet to fully sink in. <I wish that Father had remained in this world longer. I do not feel ready to lead our Clan yet. Did he leave me a final message?>
<Yes.> The rear wallscreen shimmered; the three-dimensional view of the stars outside replaced with an image of Maarec kneeling in what Sohaar recognized as his grandfather’s tomb. The preserved body of Sohaar-27 lay in the Cold Sleep Bed behind him. Maarec’s face was uncovered, the hard angular planes of his face expressionless, his slanted eyes brilliant sapphire-blue in contrast to his coal-black skin.
“My first-hatched son, if you are watching this, I will have already entered the Void by your hand. I have lived long enough, am weary, and wish to join our ancestors. It is time for you to assume the leadership of the Night River Clan.
“I have spent many years training you, and your prowess has pleased me. I believe you to be a worthy heir who will continue the legacy of our illustrious ancestors. I may have been harsh at times, but considered this necessary to forge you into a Clan Lord.
“Your brother will be troublesome, perhaps a threat. Maybe I should have slain him when younger … but he is your concern, now. Make sure he does his duty in continuing our line.
“You will see me again, one day. Until then, I and our ancestors will watch over you.”
His father bowed his head, and the image vanished, replaced again by the stars.
Footnotes
- [1]
- 148.75 to 2735.3 Earth years
6:15 PM Thursday, 14 September 2017
Attendance
“The journey should take us no more than four Waanrelelecaa,” Clan Lord Sohaar told his brother. “I will contact you when we are ready to return.” Red Moon was currently in the full phase of its eight-day orbit.
“I will await your call, Ceyaahaasunem.” Yaraan addressed his older sibling with the respectful honorific. “I will watch over our Clan while you are absent.” Yaraan’s tone was stiffly formal, with little affection behind it. He shifted his feet slightly, barely concealing his impatience to be elsewhere.
Sohaar waited a moment more but Yaraan said nothing else, so Sohaar turned and headed towards the side gate, his two Warrior-Guardians following. He had chosen the brothers to accompany him on the long trek; they had formerly been his recently-deceased father’s Guardians. Unlike him and Yaraan, the two had long moved past their adolescent sibling rivalry.
Now that he had inherited the position of Clan Lord from his father, Maarec, one of Sohaar’s first rituals was the Laaralan – to formally present himself to the current Supreme Lord, Soharaa. Rather than simply fly in his shuttle, he would follow the ancient prescribed ritual of traveling by foot to Soharaa’s Clan City. In this case, the Supreme Lord lived on the other side of the single continent so the journey would be much more arduous than if he had lived on the eastern coastline along which most of the other Clan Cities were situated.
The inner gate slid open and they walked through the tunnel to the outer exit and onto the red-grassed Endless Plains over which the sun was rising. The year was in its last quarter, the time of the hot season in the southern hemisphere, with the rainy season due after the solstice at year’s end, so some of the vegetation was currently drying out and wilting, fading to a reddish-brown.
“We will run until midday and then rest,” said Sohaar to his companions. “We will not hunt for the next day or two.” They had hunted Spike Tails two days ago on the plains and had eaten well then and yesterday.
They started off southwest at a brisk walk to warm up. Each carried a light backpack filled with supplies, including their war-cloaks, and wore their surcoats with arms and legs bare and long swords slung over their backs. Their feet were bare also. As was preferred for such a traditional ritual, they would use their natural senses as much as possible rather than technology – such as polarized light to navigate rather than satellite positioning – so they had deactivated their neural implants for the interim.
After a short while they broke into a jog, then a steady long-striding run, at the pace their species could keep up for much of a day. They ran in single file with Sohaar leading. He glanced back at his Clan City as it receded into the distance; its hulking dark-walled presence had been there so long it was a natural part of the landscape. He felt a pleasant anticipation at the prospect of the lengthy journey ahead, where he would for a time be far from the concerns of daily life and, in particular, his brother.
He reviewed his mental map of their route: southwest from the Clan City, following the course of the Night River to the northern foot of the Blue Mountains that were visible from the City, then skirting west along the northern end of the Barrier Mountains, avoiding the vast and inhospitable Sea of Sand which lay to the north. They would then cross the Backbone Mountains that stretched along the west coast of the continent, and finally turn north to the destination City.[1] The alternative route involved heading north then westwards through the dividing mountains that ran across the center of the continent, but this entailed a journey through hot and humid forested lands; not an appealing prospect.
They crossed the rolling low hills easily, the land gradually sloping up toward the distant mountains. Superbly fit, the three were barely winded as they slowed and stopped near the river for a light meal and drink under the shelter of a Dome Tree. They rested until the sixth day segment approached, then continued on their way until sunset.
In three days they reached the Blue Mountains, stopping to hunt a herd of Crescent Horns and downing two. They lit a fire and feasted on these until well after sunset, and, sleeping off their meal, did not resume their journey until after midday of the fourth day. Sohaar’s Clan City could no longer be seen, even with the keen far-seeing eyesight of his species.
The Blue Mountains now looked orange and red from the foliage of the trees that covered them; atmospheric scattering gave them their namesake color from a distance. They were the first of the ancient folded landscape that resulted from two continental plates colliding. Behind this range lay the Valley of the Ancestors, where Clan Lords had once been buried before the era of spaceflight; their bodies now resided on Grey Moon. The Valley was still a sacred region, and Sohaar planned to visit it briefly.
Clanless
The Clanless One stirred from sleep as faint echoes of a rhythmic sound reached him. It took his mind quite a few heartsbeats for the sound to register. Two-legs, not four-legs, he ascertained. Several of them.
The ancient tomb where he lay had served as shelter for more years than he cared to remember. The civilized life he used to live seemed to have belonged to someone else long ago; he had since lived like his remote nomadic ancestors, hunting for sustenance. He had no Clan to provide vital companionship and support, though, and the years of loneliness had withered his mind and body.
He sat up, his Nanite-Armor flowing to cover him from the hexagonal patch adhered to the back of his neck. This, his sword and dagger, and his indestructible clothing were the only high-technology items he possessed. His neural implant was remotely disconnected from the Clan’s network after his hasty escape, so he had no way of keeping up with events since then.
He stood and moved, limping, to the cave entrance. He had broken the second segment of his right leg earlier in the year after a bad fall down the steep slope and, lacking access to nanomedicine, it had healed poorly, the leg noticeably deformed at the break. It boded ill for his future as he was unable to hunt effectively since, increasingly malnourished and barely surviving on vegetation and small game that populated the arid region. His armor could support him to some extent by recycling base elements, but fresh food was still his preferred choice.
Before him was an awe-inspiring vista of the distant, towering snow-capped mountains that overlooked the wide valley, but he barely noticed it.
His armor shimmered into camouflage mode as the strangers – three of them – came into view far below, walking with the confidence of those who were in vigorous health and, in the case of the leading one, relative youth. Their armor was retracted but he did not recognize any of them. The only reason they could be here was to visit the tombs; there were hundreds of these carved into the high valley walls. The Clanless One had made his home in the empty tomb of Sohaar-1 with only the still-colorful wall-images and reliefs to keep him company.
The trio below turned and headed for the base of the narrow footpath that led up to the cave. They are coming up here! he realized with alarm. They must be from Night River Clan; it is the only reason they would visit. He backed away from the entrance, unsheathing his dagger.
Sohaar started up the steep path, his Guardians in single file behind him. Looking down to place his feet, he noticed fresh footprints on bare soil patches further along. “Someone else has been up here not long ago,” he alerted them.
“There is no one from our Clan who has been this way recently, Lord Sohaar,” one of the Guardians informed him after he reactivated his implant to send a query to the Clan’s database.
“Be wary,” Sohaar said; none from other Clans would come up here. They deployed their armor.
The Clanless One heard their brief conversation and the title Sohaar-zul. The name sounded familiar … Maarec-27 had been Clan Lord for many generations and before him came Sohaar-27 … The tall one must be the son of Lord Maarec; he was in the egg when I fled into Exile, he remembered now. I must avenge my brother. He tensed, readying himself.
The trio entered the cave-tomb and paused, their eyes taking a few moments to adjust from bright afternoon sunlight outside to near-darkness. Sohaar heard a scuff somewhere in front of him, and before he could react, something he couldn’t see slammed into him, knocking him to the ground on his back. Pain exploded in his left shoulder as a sharp object was rammed through it. Only a knife with a monofiliament-edged blade could pierce the otherwise near-impenetrable armor.
Clanless had inadvertently put his weight onto his bad leg as he pushed off, sending up a spike of pain that threw off his balance. He misjudged his maneuver and thus did not immediately slay the Clan Lord. He withdrew the knife and shifted his weight back to plunge it back into the right spot. By now, however, the Guardians had seen where he was by switching their helmet vision to infra-red, and they overpowered him, pulling him off Sohaar and immobilizing him.
Sohaar hissed angrily as he sat up; he could not move his arm very well but his armor sealed over the wound to contain its bleeding. “Reveal yourself!” he ordered his assailant. One of his Guardians pressed the place on the stranger’s neck where the armor deployed from and it retracted, flowing fluidly over his body; the patch was then removed. They dragged him to the sunlit cave entrance so they could see him, throwing back the hood of his war-cloak.
The old male’s gaunt, greyed face was that of one who had spent years of harsh deprivation, skin stretched tightly over the prominent bones beneath, his emaciated bare limbs heavily scarred. His indigo eyes had a feral wildness in them that was disturbing to see. Sohaar did not immediately recognize the male so he also reactivated his implant to request a database search. “You are the younger brother of the traitor War Lord Haraanahuu!” he exclaimed. “You fled before my father could slay you also and end your Clan’s line.”
“Your father killed my brother and his family, and I must avenge him for it,” the male said, his voice croaking in the manner of one who rarely spoke aloud.
“I will finish what he started – no one who assaults a Clan Lord is permitted to live,” Sohaar said flatly, grasping the hilt of his sword. He glanced at the male’s right leg that lay at an awkward angle and noted the deformation in the second segment that evidenced a badly-healed fracture. The white heat of his initial anger faded. “But you are Narawohuu and crippled and thus already dead. I will not dishonor my blade or claws with your blood.” He indicated to his Guardians to let the male go, and they roughly shoved him back into the cave before releasing him; he collapsed to the floor. “If you try to harm us again I will show you no mercy.” With that, the trio departed, taking with them the male’s sword and dagger.
Sohaar now felt no desire to linger in the Valley, so they retraced their steps without a backward glance at the cave, stopping only to cast the weapons into a ravine.
Warrior-Guardian Sanaanoro carried the group’s small first-aid kit. He inspected Sohaar’s wound with a magnetic scanner – it revealed that the knife had only penetrated muscle – then sprayed on a covering of Repairer-Nanites. These would help accelerate the healing process.
They settled around their small campfire, wrapped in their long war-cloaks against the chilly night air, the flickering orange light pushing back the deep purple shadows around them. Above them, the River of Night glimmered lambently, so bright it cast a subtle silver illumination over the vast landscape and high thin clouds. The encounter had unsettled Sohaar more than he expected. The Clanless One had been eking out a lonely existence here for the whole of Sohaar’s life, with only the spirits of his ancestors in the stars to watch over him.
Crossing
They set out the next day at a slower pace, allowing for Sohaar’s recovery. Red Moon was waning towards its dark phase; it had been full when they began their expedition. They would see another three or four full Relelecaa before they reached their destination.
The land was now almost entirely arid, with only hardy ground-covering desert plants scattered about; bright patches of teal and fire colors against the ochre soil. Little rain reached this far inland as moisture-laden clouds shed on the plains and mountains near the coastline, and the aquamarine sky was almost cloudless. Scorching hot winds blew from the northwards Sea of Sand during the day; that vast region of sand dunes was even more hostile. They kept their translucent nictitating membranes extended over their eyes to provide shielding from the incessant glare of the Eye of the Day.
They followed a path trod by the feet of travelers over countless generations. The route would have been virtually impassable but for wells dug at intervals by explorers in ancient times, the water drawn from aquifers deep below the surface. Large prey were also absent, so they supplemented their foraging with manufactured, highly nutritious wafers kept in their backpacks, usually restricting these to two per day.
The trio continued their daily routine of running from dawn to midday, resting during the worst of the heat, then more running from the late afternoon, past sunset to premidnight.[2] They were anxious to cross this harsh and lonely region as quickly as possible.
At last the Backbone Mountains came into view on the western horizon, towards the end of the second Relelecaa. Most of the continent’s high mountains lay in this range, including the tallest, Baawebaalo – Cloud Catcher – in the southern hemisphere. They could see it now, its distant white summit as always wreathed in clouds.
“We must hunt now we have reached the mountains,” remarked Sohaar at their campfire that night after their last day of crossing the desert. They were bone-weary but were only around half-way through their journey; the longest continuous run Sohaar had yet undertaken. Already naturally lean like all of their species, the effort had left them almost as gaunt as the Clanless they earlier encountered.
The following day they entered a narrow valley that would enable them passage through the mountain range to the west coast. In contrast to the barren land to the east, vegetation here was strikingly lush, and there were even pools of water along the valley floor, which was in shadow for much of the day. Steep cliffs towered on each side; now and then the three espied Rock Jumpers bounding up and down the near-vertical walls with uncanny ease. There was no way the Dawn Hunters could match the herbivores’ climbing ability.
Rocks of various sizes were scattered about, somewhat impeding their passage. An idea entered Sohaar’s head; he picked up a moderately heavy rock a little larger than his hand and looked up and around for any nearby Jumpers. Espying one, he threw the rock at it, hitting it hard on a leg. The twin-horned quadruped bleated in alarm and made to bound away, but the rock had bruised it and the normally sure-footed creature stumbled, its long prehensile tail flailing. The two Guardians picked up their own rocks and threw them at the Jumper, one whacking its head. Stunned, the creature finally slipped, falling to the valley floor. The Hunters rushed over, one Guardian quickly finishing off the creature by slashing its throat with his claws. It was an adult male, standing only nearly half as high as Sohaar.
They killed two more in a similar fashion and, much heartened by their success, continued onward for the rest of the day, each carrying a Jumper slung over his shoulders. They feasted well that night around their campfire after many days of lean rations, stuffing themselves until their bellies were bulging.
Half of the third Relelecaa had been taken up with traversing the valley pass and, now well-fed and carrying supplies of smoked meat, they faced the final stage of their journey: a long run up the west coast to Supreme Lord Soharaa’s Clan City that lay only a few degrees south of the Equator. Most of this was also desert, but not as arid as that inland as it received some rain and water runoff from the towering Backbone Mountains that hemmed the coast in.
“One last effort,” Sohaar wearily encouraged them, and himself. The path they would follow did not stray far from the base of the mountains; the coastline was another two days away to their left. They gathered themselves and continued onward at a steady run.
Toward the end of the fourth Relelecaa, the trio stood waiting at the edge of a wide river as a narrow footbridge flowed across from the opposite side and solidified, enabling them passage. They had crossed the desert with no incidents, and now the Long Divide that extended across the center of the continent in a series of deep valleys and lakes, culminating in the Swift River that flowed out to sea. They walked across as quickly as they could, looking down at the fast-flowing river with some trepidation; Dawn Hunters as a species could not swim well and thus disliked deep water.
Awaiting them at the end of the footbridge was a small escort from the destination Clan City: two Guardians, their helmets bearing the orange mark of the Swift River Clan – Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo – three straight lines within the circle that designated a clan crest. Sohaar’s own depicted three wavy emerald-green lines with a star above.
“Supreme Lord Soharaa sends his greetings, Clan Lord,” said the cobalt-eyed Guardian, bowing his head. “We will escort you to our Clan City. If you will follow us?” As he ranked lower than Sohaar, he did not give his name; it was not deemed necessary unless Sohaar asked. All had their armor deployed, and Sohaar and his Guardians had re-activated their implants, yesterday sending notification to the City’s AI that they were approaching.
Half a day’s run to the City remained, and they set off at a moderate pace, the footbridge behind them retracting. The Nanite-Armor they wore enhanced their strength and the visitors were able to summon a final burst of energy to carry them the distance.
The walls of the City came into view as midday approached. The Clan City was smaller than Sohaar’s own; it was one of only two on this side of the continent where habitable zones were fewer, and both were thus the last to be founded once technology advances allowed. Savannas and rainforests covered the land around the Equator, but vast deserts lay on either side due to the hot humid air rising from the Equator having shed its moisture as it circulated to higher latitudes in both directions.
The City and its buildings were mostly constructed of the red-gold sandstone that was common in the region – as was the other Clan-City north of it, Ocean Wind – and it glowed with a ruddy light at sunrise and sunset.
The main gates slid open to enable them entrance. “Lord Soharaa will meet you for feasting tomorrow at sunset once you have bathed and rested, if that is agreeable?” the Guardian said. Sohaar indicated that it was; in their current state they were not presentable. “Do you wish for transportation, or to walk?”
“We will walk,” decided Sohaar; his pride would not allow the easier option.
The main road, one of four at each corner, led straight to the City’s central plaza. As they strode along it, Sohaar and his Guardians giving no sign of their weariness, the inhabitants of the Clan City who were in their vicinity crouched in the posture of respect as the small group passed.
All Clan Cities followed a similar layout, so the Clan Lord’s residence was in the residential district to the right of the burial district along the road they walked. The House of the Ancestors dominated the skyline to their left. The tired guests were taken to a room near the resident Clan Lord’s for refreshment and rest.
Sohaar and his Guardians slept well into the next day, and were famished when they awoke; they had only drank a nourishing soup the previous evening. The same Guardian appeared to escort them to the Clan Lord’s reception room on the ground floor. Their swords were left behind in their guest room, as was required.
Lord Soharaa awaited them, kneeling on his dais, cloak spread around him like a night-dark waterfall. A golden decorative folding screen stood behind him with a watchful Warrior-Guardian on either side. The visitors knelt on the floor-quilts provided in front of him; Sohaar’s Guardians crouched briefly in the posture of obeisance, while Sohaar merely inclined his head slightly, concealing his nervousness; this was the first time he had been in the physical presence of the Supreme Lord without Lord Maarec by his side.
“My Lord, as tradition requires, I have come to present myself as Clan Lord Sohaar-28,” he said ritualistically, using the abased pronoun form for himself, wanranee – the only time he would use it now that Father was gone. “Lord Maarec died by my hand and now rests with my ancestors. I hope to prove myself a worthy successor.” His emerald gaze briefly met Soharaa’s; the latter’s eyes were a disconcerting fire-orange, a rare genetic mutation that was a feature of his Clan line.
“I am certain you will,” Soharaa replied mildly. He appeared rather laid-back for a Supreme Lord – let alone a Clan Lord – though that he had attained the former position meant he was not to be underestimated. “Lord Maarec was a valued ally.”
“I intend to continue in the same manner.” Sohaar inferred that he, as had his father, held no intention of challenging the Supreme Lord for his position.
“You have done well to travel so far.” He now used the neutral pronoun, ruulsanul, indicating he accepted Sohaar. “Your needs have been met?”
“Yes, Lord Soharaa.” The delicious scent of roasted meat wafted in through the portal from the adjacent dining hall and Sohaar and his Guardians couldn’t help but glance hungrily in that direction.
“I hunted successfully this morning and would be honored if you would join me for feasting,” said Lord Soharaa, obviously noting his guests were famished. “If you will accompany me?” He arose and the others followed, no one lingering.
Everyone seated themselves on floor-quilts around the low table, kneeling or sitting cross-legged as suited them. Soharaa took the place at one end of the table as the highest-ranking; Sohaar and his Guardians had the guest-of-honor places on one side of him, and his own favored Warriors occupied the other places. The table was laden with bowls of hot savoury soup, plates of steamed or baked plant-food and (most importantly) sizable piles of pre-sliced roast meat from the Spike Tails slain on the hunting expedition. No one ate until the Supreme Lord had begun. After that, the food disappeared rapidly, the Warriors using their curved claws to spear choice meat pieces.
By the time the last scrap of meat was devoured, everyone was so full they could barely be bothered moving. “That was most satisfying, Lord Soharaa,” Sohaar complimented his host. “I will depart tomorrow, if that is suitable with you.” Soharaa raised his crest-quills slightly by way of acknowledgment. The gathering sat for a while, watching the sunset flame the sky outside over the courtyard garden.
Regent Lord Yaraan waited with two of his escort Warrior-Guardians as Lord Sohaar’s black shuttle hovered over the landing plaza before settling in its docking bay and powering down. The vast distance had been covered in a short time – just over half of an eighth of a day [3] – briefly entering low orbit during its high parabolic arc flight profile. Sohaar and his Guardians alighted once it was safed.
“Pleased to see me again, little brother?” Sohaar could not resist verbally prodding him as they began the walk back to their Residence.
“As always,” Yaraan replied shortly, his flat tone suggesting otherwise. “Lord Soharaa accepted you?”
“Yes; I have no intention to challenge him.”
“Your journey was uneventful?”
“Mostly.” Sohaar decided not to yet mention his near-fatal encounter with the Clanless One. “It was tiring, though.”
They passed through the expansive garden that surrounded the Clan Lord’s Residence. It was laid out in imitation of the Endless Plains outside – mostly magenta crest-grass with various trees and shrubs dotted about – providing a relatively safe area for youngsters to practice their hunting maneuvers. Excited squeals indicated that a group of juveniles were play-hunting – supervised by a retired and very patient Warrior – with one the designated prey and the others chasing her. Sohaar and Yaraan stopped to watch the slender figures running about. They comprised males and females of the three Castes who lived in the house, though only Warriors would continue onto hunting larger prey as adults.
The little female espied the Warriors and darted toward them with a surprising lack of hesitation, ducking behind Yaraan. The other juveniles, seeing where she had taken temporary refuge, did not follow but kept a nervously respectful distance. She flared her crest-quills tauntingly and hissed at her pursuers.
“She is one of yours?” Sohaar asked with bemusement, noting her sapphire-blue eyes, the same color as Maarec’s.
“Yes.” Yaraan bent down and gently pushed her back in the direction of her age-mates. She ran off, easily evading them. The brothers continued toward their home, the tension between them eased for now.
Footnotes
- [1]
- Total distance is approximately 9500 km. A Hunter’s jogging speed is around 30 km/h – 8.3 m/sec (top sprinting speed is around 60 km/h – 16.6 m/sec). Running for around 12 hours a day (with rest breaks, out of his world’s 30-hour day), he will cover 360 km, but assuming an average of ~300 km a day for the three, their journey will take around 31.6 HW days/39.6 Earth days. (A real-world human example: Yiannis Kouros, a Greek ultramarathoner, ran 1,000 miles [1,600 kilometers] in 10.4 days, averaging 153.4 kilometers a day.) (Distance in a straight line between the two Cities is around 7500 km.)
- [2]
- Daytime temperatures up to around 50°C/122°F or so
- [3]
- 7500 km at around Mach 3 (3675 kph) in a bit over 2 hours – an eighth-day is 210 minutes
27 Dec 2016
Contact
Outside the galaxy – Sol system – Ancient Egypt, ~2055 B.C. Earth-equivalent
The discovery of Earth began with Lord Sohaar deciding to Jump his starship to the other side of the Galaxy. This was something other Dawn Hunter Clan Lords had yet to do in their methodical, star-by-star exploration and expansion from the Homeworld.
He normally would not have attempted such a potentially suicidal mission, but felt a strong desire to put as much distance as possible between him and his brother, Regent Lord Yaraan, for a while.
Sohaar and the cobalt-robed Ship-Adept-Astronomer stood in the small semi-circular Observation Room at the front of the starship Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo, studying a window hologram of the Galaxy floating before them. Beyond the viewing window the Galaxy itself lay in its spiraled magnificence; the starship had initially Jumped to a designated place a little above the flat plane of the Galaxy where most stars orbited.
A dead world floated nearby, Night River Clan System-3-1; a once-habitable planet that had been ejected from its unknown solar system long ago. The remnants of a vanished civilization were strewn over the planet, one that had existed even before that of the Hunters.
“It will be a risky Jump, my Lord,” the male Adept-Astronomer said. “We have every star in this section of the Galaxy mapped out.” He indicated the portion of the Galaxy containing Home World and the Dominated Worlds. “The rest is, however, only approximately known, from the data some Void Walkers have obtained from going above the plane of the Galaxy.”
“I am aware of the risk. Which spiral arm is likely to be lifebearing?”
“Any along this region, in the Habitable Zone around the Galaxy.” A blue-tinted band appeared in the hologram, circling the Galaxy, approximately one-third the way out from the Core. “All stars with lifebearing worlds on our side have so far been found here.”
“We will Jump … here.” Sohaar pointed to a small offshoot arm across the Core opposite to Home World and much the same distance out.
“Very well, my Lord. My Astronomers and Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel will prepare the calculations.” He bowed his head and retreated from the room. Conditioned since hatching to obey their Clan Lord, the crew would follow him into oblivion if necessary.
Lord Sohaar dismissed the hologram and gazed out at the awe-inspiring view, one that gave him an all-too-rare feeling of inner peace. <Sometimes I wish I could stay out here,> he remarked to Nahuu. <If the Clan Lords did not have spaceflight, we might have made our species extinct long ago.>
<It provides respite, though you would soon want to return home again,> the starship replied knowingly.
<You are aware of the risk of Jumping to an unknown region, that you could emerge inside a star?>
<I follow your will, my Lord.>
<Preparing to Jump, my Lord,> said the Technician-Helmsman from his control center on a lower level.
<Fusion drives temporarily offline, power diverted> added the Chief Technician-Engineer from her station. The huge twin fusion engines that propelled the starship in realspace were not required for a Jump as the vessel did not actually travel forward. <Gravity drive will engage in two minutes.>
Lord Sohaar knelt on his floor quilt in the Command Chamber, a solitary figure surrounded by colorful holograms as reports filtered through these and his neural implant from the crew occupying their stations elsewhere in the starship.
<Gravity drive activating, my Lord,> Nahuu warned him. Then spacetime folded as the gravity of the dense singularity contained in the starship’s center section was aimed and focused at a point in space just above it, enabling Nahuu to Jump the immense distance across the Galaxy in an instant. The starfield displayed on the surface of the ovoid Chamber warped as a black wave passed across.
Sohaar waited tensely as gravitational waves rippled the fabric of spacetime around him; a brief but disconcerting sensation. On a Jump like this into an unmapped sector of space, there was the small possibility of the starship emerging within the core of a planet or star, or near a black hole. Even the starship’s atomically-dense metal alloy structure could not withstand those tremendous internal pressures. Death would be swift but still unpleasant as the starship’s hull compacted around them. The captive singularity, freed from its magnetic confinement, might also make a star go nova or tear a planet apart.
One starship had suffered that fate many generations ago on attempting a Jump into the Galactic Core, where the stars orbited comparatively close together. There had been one truncated, haunting transmission – <Surfaced inside star. Imploding –> then nothing more.
<Jump completed, my Lord.> In an instant – a double beat of his two hearts – they had crossed to the other side of the Galaxy. The Command Chamber did not implode, so they were still in open space, and he released the breath he had been holding. The Chamber walls now showed unfamiliar constellations.
<All systems nominal, my Lord,> the Chief Technician-Engineer reported after a few minutes.
Sohaar queried the Ship Astronomer, <Where have we emerged?>
<We appear to be in a solar system; the main star is slightly smaller than ours. There are several planets orbiting; we will need a ship-day to gather data.>
The solar system possessed four inner rocky worlds, four gaseous giants further out, and a band of icy debris and dwarf planets surrounding its heliosphere. A central asteroid belt would provide a convenient source of raw material for the starship’s ventral-mounted kinetic cannon, should it be required. The single star these planets orbited appeared stable and was ascertained to be in the middle of its life span; it was of a slightly lower temperature than Home World’s star.
“This world is promising, my Lord,” said the Ship Astronomer to Lord Sohaar in the Observation Room two days later. He pointed at the window hologram depicting the star system, indicating the third world from the star. “Spectral analysis indicates the planet has a breathable atmosphere, oceans and landmasses with vegetation.”
“Very well, we will go inwards to study it.”
The starship did not Jump this time but cruised in realspace on a trajectory toward the intriguing planet, passing several of the outer worlds so that the Adept-Astronomers could gather data on these as well. Nanobeacons the size of a fist were left orbiting the major planets to aid future Jumps to this region; they remained inert unless contacted via a foldspace link.
Star Gods
On his way home from the wheat field where he had worked harvesting all day, Khai paused to look at the evening sky – in particular, the new star that had appeared to the south. It had remained there unmoving for a whole lunar cycle.
“Khai? Are you looking at that star again?” his wife asked as she exited the doorway of their mud-brick house to greet him, the tantalizing scent of baked bread wafting out behind her. Married in the last year, she had yet to produce their first child.
“It disturbs me, Nafrini.” Khai smiled at her, then looked upwards again. “It does not move like the other stars.”
“We can talk about it over dinner, which will soon be cold.” She leaned against him and he put an arm around her. As they were about to go inside, a small point of light broke off from the star and began to descend in an arc.
“The star has … given birth?” Khai straightened and stared intensely. “The smaller star is getting larger … no, it’s coming this way!”
The point of light assumed a bird-like shape as it gradually neared. A disconcerting deep humming became audible, though this was more felt than heard.
A strange bird? A messenger from the Gods? Khai wondered as they both stood mesmerized. The object neared, then swept overhead with a rush of wind. It was deep black in color, with tiny blue lights flickering in linear patterns along its sides. The object settled in the just-harvested field not far away, three curved legs extending from its underside. Night insects and other creatures fell silent.
Nervous but intrigued, Khai started forward, tugging at his wife’s arm; she followed reluctantly.
The Star Gods descended from the evening sky in a vessel formed from night.
“Lecaazuun, I wish to capture a male and female of the creatures,” Lord Sohaar said to the pilot of his shuttle, seated to his left in the cabin. “Adept-Biologist Zuunsaan informs me they are likely to be some working in their fields.”
The shuttle soared over the three massive white pyramids which had attracted the aliens’ attention from orbit. Impressive even by Hunter standards, their west-facing sides glowed red-gold in the sunset. The inhabitants of this land had thus been designated the “Pyramid Builders.”
Lecaazuun studied a map display that showed the heat signatures of life-forms. “My Lord, a pair of the creatures is standing still in the open. Perhaps they have seen us. They are near an open field.”
“Land there.” The sleek black shuttle settled in the field, blue biolights flashing to lure the targets in.
“They approach the shuttle, my Lord.”
“We will go out to meet them.” Sohaar stood up as the harness of his form-fitting seat released him at a mental command from his neural implant.
The Hunter Clan Lord arose and went to the exit airlock behind the cabin. The three in the passenger cabin rearwards of this – two of his black-armored Warrior-Guardians and a cobalt-robed Adept-Biologist – were already waiting, summoned by his silent command. “Two of the Pyramid Builders are approaching. We will wait at the base of the ramp. Be ready to use your neural stunners on my order.” The Guardians each carried a meharculuun, an arm-length weapon that could fire either electromagnetically-propelled ammunition or a stun beam depending upon its setting.
Outside the ship, Adept-Biologist Zuunsaan stood next to him as they watched the creatures warily approach in the fading light. “They appear intelligent,” she observed. “They have self-awareness.” This intangible concept was something the other sapient alien races under Hunter dominance shared, here expressed through the eyes.
“They have no claws or other body weapons,” Lord Sohaar noted as the creatures neared. “They will be easy to kill if necessary.”
“They do make and carry weapons, my Lord,” Zuunsaan said. “They are pack-hunters. I do not believe these ones are warriors, though.”
Since arriving in the new star system, the crew of Sahelnahuu had spent a lunar-cycle of this world in gathering information on the newly-discovered planet. Most of this was carried out by the molecule-sized Surveyor-Nanites scattered all over the planet, streaming back data to the starship via nano-satellites placed in orbit. The world had a greater variety of lifeforms than Home World, and all these were duly cataloged.
A bipedal vertebrate species similar to the Hunters and the three other sapient alien species of the Dominated Worlds had attracted the xenobiologists’ attention. Unlike other lifeforms on the planet, they wore clothing, had mastered the use of fire and spoke complex languages. They manipulated tools and built structures, one of the most prominent being the tall pyramids in this desert land that surrounded a long river – the selected contact civilization was one of many scattered around the rim of a large sea. None possessed advanced technology, though, such as mastery of flight or electronic communications.
The Adept-Scientists on his starship had expressed a wish for two specimens for biological study, so Lord Sohaar had ultimately decided to go down to meet the creatures and procure two of them.
<They are a low-ranked male and female, my Lord> Nahuu now informed its master. <They harvest their fields.>
The pair halted timidly a few bodylengths away. The copper-brown-skinned creatures were dressed in simple loose white clothing, made from a plant-based fiber. The male wore a kilt, the female a long dress and an amulet on a cord around her neck. Sandals made of reeds protected their feet.
Like the Hunters, the creatures possessed a head, two arms and two legs; their faces featured eyes and a mouth. Unlike the Hunters they had a prominent nose and ears, as well as body hair, and their heads balanced upright on their necks. The male appeared to have removed most of his hair, while the female had a head of long black hair. Both short, the top of the male’s head barely reached to Sohaar’s waist. They were somewhat strange to look at, though not different enough to unduly impede attempts at communication.
The male spoke. Nahuu had already gained a rudimentary understanding of the language of this region via its Surveyor-Nanites. The starship analyzed the frequency and recurrence of the sounds the male made, forming these into word groups and translating them for Lord Sohaar. “Are you messengers from the Gods?”
“We come from the stars. From far away,” Lord Sohaar replied, not quite answering the question. <What are these “Gods”?> he asked Nahuu. The starship downloaded a quick summary of images: temple paintings of deities that combined the bodies of the Pyramid Builders with the heads of other lifeforms found in the region. “What do you call yourselves?”
“We are Remetch en Kemet,” he said; Nahuu translated that as “People of the Black Land.”
“We are the Star Gods,” Lord Sohaar said after quick consideration. “We wish two of you to accompany us.” The creatures were of a highly devout culture, so they might be open to persuasion.
The pair looked at each other in surprise, as Sohaar’s implant interpreted their expressions. “I – we – have work to do on our land … I would have to consult with my temple priest,” the male stuttered.
“That would not be convenient. We wish you to come now,” said Sohaar.
The pair glanced at each other again, then began to back away.
Khai felt increasingly uneasy as the leader of the tall strangers spoke to him in a harsh inhuman voice. Its blank eyes glowed green, contrasting with the intense black of its cloak and armor; it seemed to be clothed in the night sky. The flattened horns curving up from its skull-like helmet only added to its intimidating aura. These are not Gods, he realized. He looked at Nafrini, who evidently felt the same discomfort.
<Immobilize them,> ordered Sohaar to his Guardians, realizing the creatures were becoming suspicious. He did not wish to linger here and attract undue attention at this early stage of First Contact. Characteristic of the Warrior Caste, he was used to getting his own way – usually by brute force – and had little patience or talent for diplomacy.
Before the creatures could flee, each Guardian raised his projectile weapon, aimed and rapidly fired at the pair. A high-powered ultraviolet laser beam – visible to Hunter eyesight – ionized the air, creating a conduit for plasma to pulse through. The intense current disrupted the nervous systems of the targets, who collapsed convulsing, then became still.
Zuunsaan went over to inspect them. “They are unconscious but unharmed, my Lord,” she ascertained.
“Take them inside,” Sohaar said. His bodyguards bent to pick them up. The aliens ascended the shuttle’s ramp; a few minutes later it lifted off and soared into the night sky.
Betrayal
On the afternoon of the next ship-day, an agitated Lord Sohaar passed through a cold plasma sterilizing portal barrier to enter the medical bay on the second level. Several blue-robed Adept-Biologists were gathered around two medical beds on which lay the sedated Kemet. An unexpected situation had arisen, and he had no time to further contact with the sapients on the new world.
“We have finished with the Kemet, my Lord,” Zuunsaan said, facing him. “All biological information is now in Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel’s database. Do you wish them to be returned?”
“Yes. Contact the Hangar to have them flown back.” Sohaar approached one bed to gaze upon the creature, the male in this case, and rather wished he hadn’t. The hologram display above showed the male’s scanned internal structure. Its flesh was an unfamiliar crimson, rather than the blue-grey of a Hunter’s. Bizarrely, the male’s reproductive organs were situated on the outside of its body, an evolutionary feature that was both unsightly and vulnerable.
Zuunsaan indicated the other, thankfully covered up. “The female is with child, in a very early stage of pregnancy. They give live birth, not lay an egg like us.”
Sohaar told her, “Once they are returned, we must depart this system on the next ship-day. I have unexpected news from home – my brother is now Supreme Lord.”
Zuunsaan’s blue-green eyes widened, startled. “That is … unprecedented, my Lord.”
“Yes.” He abruptly turned and departed the medical bay, two of his ever-present Guardians falling in behind him.
He ascended in the elevator to the Warriors’ level, then headed forward to his Command Chamber. The Guardians waited on duty outside as he entered and knelt on his floor-quilt. Nahuu’s avatar appeared from the hexagonal floor projector in front of him.
He had received the news of his brother’s ascension on waking that morning, and was impatient to return to Home World. All Clan Lords traditionally were summoned to witness the duel to the death between a Supreme Lord and the one who hoped to replace him, but Sohaar had received no such message – Yaraan had evidently decided to make his move while Sohaar was absent.
<Show me the duel,> Sohaar requested the starship, who brought up a hologram recording. Yaraan confronted the resident Supreme Lord – Soharaa – whose reign extended back long before Sohaar’s hatching. There was a desperation evident in Yaraan’s movements as the fight could only end in the death of one. The Supreme Lord seemed overconfident though, and it only took a moment’s inattention for Yaraan to down him, then kneel on his chest and tear out the Supreme Lord’s throat with his teeth, blue blood spraying the white sand of the Arena of Honor. Sohaar recalled this – a maneuver sometimes used on prey – was a favorite of Yaraan’s during mock-fights when the brothers were juveniles.
In theory, any Warrior could challenge the Supreme Lord for his position, but in practice only those of high ranks usually did as, being promoted on fighting skills, lower ranks would be no match for him.
<Warrior-Four-Claw Haarmaarec, I wish to see you.> Sohaar summoned the Warrior who ranked under him on the starship.
Not long after, the Warrior-Four-Claw appeared at the entrance ramp of the Command Chamber, briefly kneeling before approaching the dais Sohaar sat on, then kneeling again before it on a floor-quilt, his cloak spreading around him, his posture indicating weariness from combat training. His helmet flowed away to reveal his face and blue-green eyes; his black skin showing signs of slight fading with age. He was older than Sohaar, having served under Lord Maarec. “What do you wish to discuss, my Lord?” he asked out of politeness, though he could easily guess.
“You know that my brother is now Supreme Lord. It is a situation I cannot tolerate.”
“You will challenge him in single combat, then?”
“No – I am not yet ready. I will lead my Warriors against his on the battlefield outside our City.”
“You might be best to wait, then, my Lord – perhaps a few years until you have matured further?”
“No – my brother will also have time to prepare. I will attack him now, while he is still new to his position.”
Warrior-Four-Claw Haarmaarec bowed slightly, ceding to Sohaar’s determination, but the angle of his crest-quills still indicated doubt.
“I will launch the challenge as soon as we return to Home World. It might take my brother by surprise. We will depart tomorrow morning, so instruct all my Warriors.”
“Very well, my Lord,” said Haarmaarec, with a hint of resignation in his voice. He arose and departed.
<You should listen to the Warrior-Four-Claw. He is wise and has fought in many conflicts,> Nahuu said.
<I know what I am doing,> Sohaar replied grumpily; he felt nervous enough without more doubts being sown. Nahuu pointedly did not reply.
8 Oct 2016
Capture
“May you become one with the Void and annihilate your foes,” said the Ancestor-Guardian of the starship Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo as Lord Sohaar knelt before her to receive her blessing, arms spread in the posture of supplication. Around them, his Warriors and the Technician flight and servicing crews stood at attention; the latter pausing in their preparations of the Carrier-Transport shuttles for planetfall. Behind him, eight of his elite Warrior-Guardians waited in formation. The Ancestor-Guardian unsheathed her dagger from the utility belt at her waist and pierced a vein in her left wrist. She dipped a taloned finger in the blood and traced the Clan’s symbol upon the Clan Lord’s black helmet, over the ultraviolet mark.
“I will succeed or die trying,” Lord Sohaar responded ritualistically. He uncurled gracefully and stood to his full seven-foot-four height, towering over the elderly Ancestor-Guardian – her head was at a level with his chest – but his demeanor was respectful. He could see only the glow of her jade eyes under her jet-black veil. She reached out and put a slender grey hand upon his arm.
“Your brother is powerful, my Lord,” she added more softly. “I feel a foreboding about this mission.”
“I cannot tolerate him being Supreme Lord, and thus dominant over me,” Sohaar said determinedly. “He must learn his place.”
The Ancestor-Guardian closed her eyes briefly and bowed her head in resignation. He turned and strode towards his personal shuttle, cloak swirling behind him, his Guardians following. The Warriors dispersed to board their assigned transport craft, eager to go into battle. All resided in the cavernous hangar bays at the center nadir of the huge starship, which had two exits each to starboard and port.
The Dock Master, a magenta-armored Technician, waited at the base of the shuttle’s access ramp. “Your shuttle is ready, my Lord. All crews have now boarded their spacecraft.”
“You have done well. Prepare for our return by day’s end,” Lord Sohaar asserted, not wanting to consider any other outcome. The Dock Master bowed his head, then turned away, silently ordering all ground crews to the shielded area of the hangar before the ships departed.
<Is there any sign of Sanaalecaawo?> Sohaar asked Nahuu yet again as he boarded his shuttle, his Guardian bodyguards turning to the rear passenger cabin.
<No, my Lord, your brother’s Void Walker is nowhere in the vicinity and has concealed itself from my sensors,> Nahuu replied. <I am continuing to monitor.>
<My brother must be planning something,> Sohaar said with concern. Putting that aside for the moment, he entered the cabin and settled in the right-hand chrysalis-like commander’s seat, which molded itself to his physique. His Technician-Pilot occupied the co-pilot’s seat; he decided to let her do the flying as he felt too unsettled and distracted by the prospect of the coming battle. “Lecaazuun, alert all pilots that we are launching. You may take the controls.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she replied, sending out the command over her neural implant. The shuttle’s two fusion engines came to life with an infrasonic hum, system data scrolling up the hologram displays in front of her and Sohaar. The shuttle was the first to lift up off its servicing pod and float toward the huge entry hatch, designated by a glowing outline. Nanites in the starship’s metal alloy hull liquefied the marked region at the shuttle’s approach, retaining the hangar’s atmosphere while allowing the shuttle to pass through the featureless opaque wall as though it were water. Clutching his seat’s armrests convulsively, Sohaar felt a thrill of both nervousness and excitement at the prospect of fighting. This would be his first real battle engagement; his father, Clan Lord Maarec, had previously kept him by his side, not wanting Sohaar to be killed prematurely.
Supreme Lord Yaraan and his Warriors stood in formation, waiting for his brother outside their Clan City in the early morning sunlight. The formal challenge had been issued by Sohaar four days earlier, deliberately addressing Yaraan as an inferior to goad him: “Wanzeno zaabenhare yeyaabecusa.” I will meet you on the battlefield.
As always, the fighting between the Clan forces would take place in the ancient prescribed ritual manner: hand-to-hand fighting with swords only – no projectile or particle weapons, no deployment of Unmaker-Nanites, no aerial bombardment. Such battles served as training for the Warrior Caste, as well as providing a supply of captives for either integration into a Clan, or for sacrifice. The combat rules also ensured the Clan Lords did not destroy their world with advanced weaponry.
This battle was unusual in that the commanding Clan Lords were of the same Clan, though most of Yaraan’s Warriors were from the minor Clan he had subjugated when capturing Sanaalecaawo, not long before his challenge to the Supreme Lord. His starship, Zaawezoyuu-cenamalecuzeyunel – the twenty-sixth of its kind constructed – had kept the name of its previous clan.
<Is the boarding force ready?> he asked his Ship Master onboard Sanaalecaawo, temporarily commanding the starship while Yaraan was onworld.
<Yes, my Lord,> Ship Master Hesaabale replied; he was seated in the starship’s Command Chamber. <Your brother has just departed Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel.>
<As soon as all his flyers are on-world, execute the takeover.>
Yaraan tensed as Sohaar’s shuttle soon appeared in the distance, followed by the Sky Carrier transport ships, settling down in a haze of dust on the landing field as they discharged Sohaar’s Warriors. <Remember, leave my brother for me,> he told his own Warriors over their implants.
Lord Sohaar appeared out of the haze, sword drawn and held down and out to his right, walking in front of his own Guardians and Warriors, each rank distinguished by their different helmet crest designs. The perfectly-disciplined, black-armored Warriors of both forces presented a fearsome sight. Their vision overlain by identifying holograms, each Warrior selected an opponent to take on.
The arrayed Warriors halted, while Sohaar continued until he stopped in front of Yaraan.
Sohaar stared at his brother, still unable to believe that he was Supreme Lord. Yaraan’s rise to power while his elder brother still lived was unprecedented – and made for complications. It was not unknown, however, for a younger brother to kill his sibling so he could gain the position of War Lord or Clan Lord.
“Kneel before me and acknowledge me, and I will spare you much pain,” Yaraan said without preamble.
“I will not. You are my younger and only brother, and nothing more,” Sohaar replied scornfully, deliberately addressing him using the familiar pronoun ruulsanul rather than the formal ruulzen – he could not regard Yaraan as anyone but the sometimes-annoying sibling whom he had alternately fought or been best friends with. “Stand aside and let me enter my Clan City.”
Yaraan tensed with noticeable anger and his helmet’s eye coverings glowed a brighter blue. “You will regret your insolence, brother!”
Sohaar hissed contemptuously and stepped forward as if to continue on his way past his brother. Yaraan half-raised his sword – a signal to his Warriors to ready themselves – then swept it forward, aiming at Sohaar’s neck. Sohaar met the blade with his own. They strained against each other for a few moments, then Yaraan unexpectedly yielded so that Sohaar stumbled forward onto his knees, hands extended to break his fall, dropping his sword. Yaraan turned and cut down swiftly, severing Sohaar’s right hand just above the wrist – the deadly sword slicing through the molecularly-dense armor as though it were bare skin. Sohaar’s arm instantly lost feeling from the cut downwards, and, sickeningly, he heard a wet sucking sound as his weight forced his now-sectioned arm to slide apart. He fell sideways with a grunt onto his right elbow.
Yaraan backed off, signalling his Warriors to engage the enemy. Sohaar was too stunned by his injury to command his own Warriors. Yaraan’s forces crashed into their ranks, cutting Sohaar off from them. Curiously, the enemy Warriors ignored him as he lay staring dazedly at spurting blue arterial blood and his separated hand resting forlornly on the ground. His armor, sensing the injury, automatically sealed around the end of the stump, cutting off and absorbing the bleeding; providing a temporary bandage until he could get medical help.
<Guardian Sanaanoro! Where are you? I am seriously wounded,> Sohaar frantically asked one of his bodyguards as he sat up shakily and looked for his sword, but he couldn’t see where he had dropped it in the swirling dust and he was now in no condition to fight. He wondered if he should retrieve his hand, though a new one could be regenerated once he was in the care of his Adept-Healers.
<We are surrounded, my Lord,> Sanaanoro replied distractedly, then his neural link disappeared from the network.
Yaraan’s armored Guardians loomed menacingly out of the dust, surrounding him – then Lord Yaraan himself returned. “Take him to the interrogation chamber. Bandage his arm only – do not apply regenerative gel.”
Sohaar remembered his combat knife – which all Hunters carried – and unsheathed it from his utility belt with his left hand, then turned and plunged it into the lower leg of a Guardian close to him, eliciting an outraged snarl. The other Guardians quickly subdued Sohaar, one wrenching his arms behind his back and securing them with a monofiliament cord. He was forced to retract his armor, and the patch from which it deployed at the base of his neck was peeled off. Blood gushed out of his stump again and pain surged up his forearm in waves; he felt himself weakening from blood loss. Then someone – probably the Guardian whom he had stabbed – gave him a vicious blow to his now-bare head and he knew no more.
<Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel is captured, my Lord,> Ship Master Hesaabale reported to Yaraan, as the latter strode along the corridor leading toward Sohaar’s holding cell inside the Clan House of the Ancestors. <But its crew took their own lives rather than surrender. Their bodies are being repatriated to our Clan City for burial.>
<I wanted them alive!>, Yaraan snapped at his acting Ship Master on Sanaalecaawo. The mass suicide was a calculated insult: they had rejected him as their Lord.
<Where is the Void Walker?>
<Now secured and dormant at Void Station.> By design a starship could not act autonomously, such as to fire its weapons, and it would now be clamped in its docking bay. Its AI had, in any case, been put into forced hibernation.
<I will have it destroyed when I have finished with my brother.> The starship would be sent on one final Jump, this into the core of a distant star.
<That would not be advisable –> Ship Master Hesaabale said, alarmed; starships were valuable artifacts.
<Do not contradict me! My decision is final.>
Trial of Pain
Lord Sohaar regained consciousness to find he was lying on a Lohonmolan, blood-altar, in an otherwise-bare black-walled room. Ceremonial cords secured his arms, legs and neck to the obsidian altar; its uncomfortably hard glossy surface sucked the warmth from his body. His right arm burned with searing pain; he kept trying to flex his right hand but it just wasn’t there. He lifted his aching head as far as the cord would allow to look at the stump; it was bandaged but no anaesthetizing regenerative nanite-gel had been applied, and the end of the bandaged stump was bloody. That seemed the limit to the medical care Yaraan was prepared to let him have.
<Nahuu? Are you there?> he desperately queried his starship. If he could get to his Healing Chamber onboard Nahuu, its Healing Bed would regenerate his damaged body, but there seemed little hope of that now.
The starship, however, did not answer; its presence in his neural implant link was dimmed.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside and, distracted, he felt a chill of dread as he looked toward the portal. Supreme Lord Yaraan entered the room, followed by two of his Warrior-Guardians and a Warrior-Two-Claw wearing a helmet with a backward-slanting, two-pointed crest. Sohaar’s own war-cloak and surcoat had been removed, and he felt unpleasantly vulnerable.
Yaraan’s horned helmet retracted from his head so Sohaar could see his cornflower-blue eyes clearly; they glittered with malevolence in the angular black planes of his face. “You will soon join Father in the Void, brother,” he said. “I will sacrifice you after the four days of Sahalrasac.”
Sohaar knew his fate would be grim, but hearing this confirmed was dismaying nonetheless. If Nahuu and I perish, no one will ever know of the new world, he thought regretfully. The Adept-Astronomers who kept the archives of all the discovered worlds had yet to be informed of Sohaar’s new life-bearing planet and intelligent species. He had no intention of letting his brother find out.
“What of my Warriors?”
“Those who did not transfer allegiance to me were slain.” He did not elaborate further, and ordered, “Warrior-Two-Claw Mawamaarec, begin the first declawing session.”
The Warrior-Two-Claw moved forward and around to Sohaar’s feet. He released the cord holding Sohaar’s right leg and bent it so his foot rested flat on the altar. He indicated to one of the Guardians to hold it down firmly. Mawamaarec unsheathed his dagger and positioned it to slice the skin open above his first claw so that part of the toe bone was exposed. He then twisted the knife tip to cut through the bone and pull out it and the attached claw. He repeated this on the other three toes.
Sohaar, like all of the Warrior Caste, had been trained since childhood in enduring pain and deprivation. It took all his self-control not to scream – doing this would disgrace him. To be able to endure the ritual torture silently was a mark of honor. He thus endured – his body tense and quivering, veins bulging in his neck – until Mawamaarec had finished. His leg was then re-tied and a bandage roughly wrapped around its copiously bleeding toes.
“We will return tomorrow, brother,” Yaraan said, then the group turned and went out.
Lord Sohaar came awake to pain and cold, as he had so often the last four days. His left foot had been declawed on the second day of the ritual tortures; his remaining left hand on the third, and his teeth pulled out yesterday – the last in place of his missing hand – though his teeth, at least, would regenerate. He had spent most of last night gagging and spitting out blood; the Lohonmolan was now coated in it and there surely must be little remaining inside him. The progression of his injuries was the only way he could keep track of time in the unchanging room.
Even worse than the pain was the humiliation of having his primary biological weapons removed; without medical care he would be permanently crippled and unable to hunt effectively. Most Warriors in such a state would commit suicide out of shame.
An Adept-Carer had come in at intervals to give him a little water, clean him and change the bandages; she had been veiled and not spoken to him. He thought she might have discreetly included a sedative as he was able to sleep for a time after she left, though she risked being slain by Yaraan if found out. Otherwise, he focused on lying as still as possible, using meditative techniques to distance his mind so the pain subsided to a dull throbbing – but he could not concentrate continuously and the pain kept breaking through. Exacerbating this was the absence of Nahuu, who might have provided some comfort. He had not, however, given his brother the satisfaction of showing his agony.
Today he would be sacrificed. A part of him welcomed this, another part still felt that all hope was not yet lost. From the Clan Saga, he recalled the tale of an ancestor of theirs, Sohaar-5, who had been forced to flee the City after defeat in a coup by a usurper War Lord, but had later returned to defeat him in single combat.
Four of Yaraan’s Warrior-Guardians entered the room. His brother no doubt waited on the sacrificial platform at the top of the House of the Ancestors. They untied him and pulled him to a sitting position. Dizziness assailed him for a few heartsbeats; he had lain there since his capture and had developed pressure sores from lying on the hard surface. On top of everything else, he was also hot and feverish; he realized his injuries were infected.
They reclothed him in his surcoat and war-cloak, then retied his arms behind his back. The bandages were removed, inducing fresh bleeding. To Sohaar’s dismay, one Guardian said tonelessly, “You will have to walk, my Lord.”
Another Guardian gripped Sohaar’s left upper arm to assist him to stand; as soon as he put weight on his bare, raw feet he felt agonizing pain like hot needles spike up his legs from his mutilated toes. He grimly set his mind to ignoring this and managed to step forward without falling on his face, forcing his maimed body to bend to his will. The group exited the room to begin the long walk to the surface.
15 Jan 2015
Dominator
- Escape: The one that got away
- Discovery: Mars mystery
- Recruit: Mission proposal
- Approach: Starship sighted
- Awakening: First Contact (literally)
- Hostage: Obey or die
- Recovery: A much-needed rest
- Refueling: Neptune visit
- Rejuvenation: In for repairs
- Return: Heading home
- Home World: Alien planet
- Encounter: A rather painful one
- Duel: To the death
- Burial: Another alien funeral
- Implant: Head companion
- Council: The Immortals meet
- Hunt: Catching dinner
- Outing: A daytrip
- Black Ships: An ominous fleet
- Terms: Submit to our might
- Dust: A deadly demonstration
- Surrender: Earth under new management
- Options: Now what?
Escape
“So, my brother,” said Supreme Lord Yaraan to the bound figure kneeling before him, “you tried to overthrow me and you have been defeated. As much as it grieves me, I must punish you for your treason.”
The subjugated Clan Lord painfully raised his face to glare at his younger and only brother, emerald-green eyes almost incandescent with rage. He was all too aware of the Lohonmolan behind Lord Yaraan, where innumerable ritual slayings of captive Warriors had been performed. Yaraan would execute his sibling himself, as tradition demanded; assisted by the Adept-Superior and three of her Ancestor-Guardians.
Adorned in the chitinous black Nanite-Armor and hooded war-cloak of their Caste, Yaraan loomed menacingly over his brother. Sohaar now wore only his own cloak and a sleeveless, long black tunic underneath which left his arms and legs bare; it was secured by his empty utility belt.
“Guardians, release his bonds.” One of the four Warrior-Guardians surrounding the prisoner reached down and undid the ceremonial cords that wrapped around his arms. These had cut deep into his night-black skin and blue blood dripped onto the stone beneath him. Sohaar collapsed forward, almost unable to move. He had been forced to walk from his prison cell inside the House of the Ancestors despite the claws on his feet being cut out, a Guardian on each side keeping him upright.
As with other Clan Cities, the massive flat-topped pyramid that the group stood on was the tallest structure in their Clan City. The Night River Clan Adept-Superior and her acolytes lived in buildings near the House of the Ancestors, keeping watch over the deceased – and overseeing sacrifices.
Lord Sohaar struggled to his knees, though he was unable to use his remaining declawed left hand to support himself, so his arms hung uselessly. “Do … what you will. But I will … not submit to you,” he managed to gasp. He could barely speak coherently through a toothless mouth after four days of the systematic ritual tortures that were inflicted upon captive Warriors within the pyramid.
“It is nearly time, Lord Yaraan,” the Adept-Superior interjected, looking eastwards at the horizon. “Grey Moon is soon to rise.” On the nearest of Home World’s three moons were the vast mausoleum pyramids of the Clan Lords, whose spirits kept watch over their homeworld.
Yaraan gestured, and the Guardians took hold of Lord Sohaar under each arm again, hauling him upright and to the altar. Sohaar hissed in pain but made no attempt to struggle or cry out; to do so would dishonor himself. He used the mental disciplinary techniques his Caste learned when young to distance himself from the pain. He was laid upon the polished obsidian altar, facing upwards, then the Guardians withdrew, standing in a row. The three Ancestor-Guardians – two males and a female – came forward to secure his arms and legs, pinning them down. His head rested in a hollow, tilted back so his throat was exposed.
He knew the procedure of the ceremony, having first performed it on his father years ago: an artery in his throat would be opened and the blood drained into a golden bowl on a ledge to one side, to then be consumed by his brother. His body would then be given an honorable burial; preserved and interred with his and Yaraan’s Clan Lord father and ancestors on Grey Moon. But I am not ready to die yet! he thought desperately.
Lord Yaraan withdrew his own dagger in preparation for the sacrifice. Every Hunter carried a similar dagger, made of an atomically-dense black metal alloy, on their utility belt; each of the Warrior Caste also wore a longer alloy sword. Sohaar’s own weapons had been lost during the single combat with his brother before his capture.
The Adept-Superior moved behind Lord Sohaar’s head and immobilized it with both taloned, grey-skinned hands. The three Ancestor-Guardians wore cobalt-blue tunics and cloaks, their faces hidden behind their bone-white veils. Only the iridescent glitter of their eyes were visible; their gazes were uneasy, avoiding Sohaar’s defiant glare.
The sun slid below the horizon, the aquamarine sky aflame with red and gold; Grey Moon rose glowing silver in the east. “It is time for your brother to enter the Void,” said the Adept-Superior.
“I wish it had not come to this, Sohaar,” said Lord Yaraan with a brief hint of real regret, as he steeled himself to perform the sacrifice. “You should not have challenged my reign.”
At that moment two Guardians – the pair who had supported Sohaar – broke formation and ran up to the altar, drawing their swords. A startled Lord Yaraan turned to meet this new threat, dropping his knife and reaching for the sword slung from his left side. One Guardian challenged Yaraan, distracting him, as the second approached the altar, sword raised. The Adept-Superior and her Ancestor-Guardians released their grips and hastily retreated – confronting one of the Warrior Caste would be suicidal.
“Get up, Lord Sohaar! You still have allies.” The Guardian put an arm under Sohaar’s shoulders, pulled him upright, then slapped an armor patch on the base of his neck. With a command from his implant, the Nanite-Armor activated and flowed to cover Sohaar’s body. The remaining two Guardians unsheathed their swords and approached their suddenly-traitorous comrades, forcing Sohaar’s rescuer to turn and confront them.
<Lord Sohaar!> A voice spoke urgently in his head – that of his starship. <You must make your escape in Lord Yaraan’s shuttle now. I cannot evade my pursuers for long.> The Supreme Lord’s personal shuttle waited upon the pyramid’s expansive flat summit. Its sleek, organic design – modeled on that of a native ocean creature – gave the spacecraft a predatory aspect. Its black metal-alloy skin glittered an iridescent blue-violet where the setting sun highlighted it.
<Nahuu – is that you?> Sohaar exclaimed with relief. He had led a surface assault force from Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo, where he was subsequently captured after confronting his brother in ritual combat. His starship was secured and forced into hibernation mode.
Summoning what remained of his strength, Sohaar slid off the altar and hobbled clumsily towards the shuttle. His armor gave his mutilated extremities some support. He grimly ignored his pain as he communed with his starship. <The shuttle is linked to my brother’s ship – I cannot operate it!>
<I have bypassed the quantum security codes and reset them. The ship is now harmonized with our frequency,> Nahuu explained briefly.
<I am badly injured – I am declawed, my right hand was severed – you will have to fly it remotely.>
Sohaar glanced behind him to see if his Guardian allies were following, but Yaraan’s outclassed challenger had already been cut down, the sword slicing through his atomically-dense armor as though it were exposed skin; the only weapons that were effective against it. The other was trying to hold off his former comrades, his defence also fading. Sohaar did not know who the Guardians were.
“Don’t let him get away!” Lord Yaraan bellowed, recovering from his shock to lunge after his brother, sword drawn, reaching him as Sohaar struggled up the forward access ramp. Yaraan, furious at being thwarted, raised his sword and plunged it into Sohaar’s back as the ramp began closing. Sohaar managed a satisfyingly hard rearwards kick into Yaraan’s chest; Yaraan lost his balance and fell back to the platform with a grunt. He and his Guardians hurriedly retreated as the shuttle’s twin fusion engines ignited, its engine nacelles flaring violet-white.
Lord Sohaar collapsed forwards on the airlock floor as the ship’s entrance hatch sealed. <Nahuu – power up and lift off! I cannot get to the controls.> Pain radiated out from the stab wound. A hum vibrated through the ship as its engines powered up. The shuttle pilot had exited it after landing, so the cockpit was empty.
<Liftoff imminent, my Lord.>
The shuttle abruptly rose and accelerated upward at a steep angle. Sohaar, unable to brace himself, slid backwards until he was wedged against the edge of the rear airlock that opened onto the passenger hold. His vision faded as he blacked out from the intense gravitational force.
“Ship Master Hesaabale – report!” a fuming Lord Yaraan snapped, addressing the second-in-command onboard his starship; as he focused on his recipient, his neural implant relayed his words instantaneously via its foldspace link.
An image of the acting Ship Master kneeling in Sanaalecaawo’s Command Chamber was projected directly through his implant into the visual centers of his brain; Yaraan saw the display as a translucent hologram superimposed over his immediate background.
“The traitor Sohaar has stolen my personal transport. He is headed for his Void Walker. Disable it the moment you sight him!”
The Ship Master replied, his voice echoing in Yaraan’s head like his own mind-voice. <We have them in sight, Lord Yaraan, but are not in weapons range yet. Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel was awakened and freed by unknown forces. We did not detect Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel until it was too late –>
“Do not fail me or you will end up on the altar!” Yaraan snarled. The hologram Ship Master inclined his head, then winked out.
He silently ordered his starship, <Sanaalecaawo, override the security codes for my shuttle!>
A few moments passed, then the ship replied, <I cannot, my Lord; Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel is blocking my signal.>
Lord Yaraan bared his sharp teeth and hissed with frustration within his horned helmet; he could do little from down here and it would take some time for a replacement shuttle to carry him to Sanaalecaawo. <Alert me immediately the situation changes.>
Lord Sohaar returned to consciousness. He was floating; the ship was in freefall. Blood similarly floated in blue globules around him. <Rendezvous upcoming, my Lord. Sanaalecaawo approaches,> Nahuu informed him.
He could hear the whump of thrusters reverberating through the hull as Nahuu remotely maneuvered the shuttle toward itself. Then came a more alarming explosion outside the hull, and the ship shuddered. <They are within particle beam firing range. Prepare for evasive maneuvers.>
Sohaar could do nothing, rendered helpless by his injuries. He grunted as inertia caused him to collide with a wall of the shuttle when it lurched sideways. Its massless gravity generator had not been activated.
<Damage report?>
<Blast damage to left upper surface of shuttle, but still flyable. Rendezvous imminent.>
Sohaar realized he would have an unpleasant landing when the shuttle entered Nahuu’s generated gravity field. He raised his legs and, ignoring the pain from his feet, pushed against the roof, sending him in the direction of the floor. Just in time; gravity returned abruptly as the shuttle entered one of Nahuu’s lateral shuttle bays. He thudded unceremoniously onto the floor. The shuttle turned and settled into a service pod.
His brother’s sword protruded from his back; the alloy blade had pierced through his cloak, armor and into the supplementary air sacs under his left rib cage, narrowly missing one of his two hearts. He tried to reach behind to pull it out, but his declawed hand was swollen, making grasping too painful. <Nahuu! Summon my Healer! I cannot keep myself alive much longer.> He could still breathe through his single lung and other air sacs, but blood was leaking into his chest cavity – he had already lost much blood from his other injuries.
<My Lord, the crew are all dead,> the sapient ship told him in its ever-calm voice. <They took their lives rather than surrender to Yaraan’s Warriors. I was flown to Void Station and immobilized. Clan Lord Haarnahuu freed me at Void Station while your brother was occupied with you.>
Lord Sohaar closed his eyes in anguish – Yaraan had not elaborated on the crew’s fate. The remaining crew on board would have fought ferociously but had evidently been outnumbered by Lord Yaraan’s Guardians and Warriors. <You could do nothing else; all my Guardians were with me. Those who refused to ally with my brother are dead, too – though others that survived remained loyal. Yaraan is seeking to destroy everyone associated with me.> Sohaar was well aware of his brother’s long-festering resentment at being the second and thus less-favored son of their deceased father, Clan Lord Maarec; Yaraan was now consumed by his hatred.
<Sanaalecaawo closing for rendezvous,> Sahelnahuu warned. <Repulsor-Nanite shields are still holding but I have sustained some damage. I cannot outrun them.> The starship could not fire its own weapons autonomously – a deliberate design feature – so it was reduced to defensive tactics.
<Set co-ordinates for the fourth planet of Night River Clan System-9,> Lord Sohaar ordered. <My brother has no knowledge of that star system. If I can get to my Healing Chamber, I will be able to recover. But first … turn around to face Sanaalecaawo and boost engines to full power.>
<Attempt to disable Clan Lord Sohaar’s shuttle was unsuccessful,> Sanaalecaawo reported to its master. <Targeting Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel.>
Though his neural implant, Lord Yaraan was provided with Sanaalecaawo’s three-dimensional view of the scene in orbit. Focusing inwardly, he stood tense and motionless, with the remaining Guardians standing watchfully around him. Low-ranking Ancestor-Guardians collected the bodies of the two traitorous Warrior-Guardians and carried them away.
<I cannot lock onto the target. My signal is being jammed.>
<Override it!> Yaraan snapped impatiently. Via Sanaalecaawo’s external sensors he could see the other starship, its massive black form encased in a shimmering translucent Repulsor-Nanite shield. Both starships maneuvered ponderously as Nahuu tried to evade Sanaalecaawo. Nahuu was far older than Sanaalecaawo and thus had much combat experience on its side.
“What is he doing?” Ship Master Hesaabale muttered as the starship they were pursuing began a 180-degree turnaround using its side thrusters, the huge oval ventral ports of Nahuu’s two fusion engines flaring violet-white. The Ship Master, a Warrior-Four-Claw serving in Yaraan’s absence, occupied the Command Chamber in solitude, kneeling on a raised dais at one end. The ovoid room was located within the starship’s forward section above the Warriors’ deck level. A crescent of transparent hologram panels surrounded Hesaabale, providing real-time data and images. In other parts of the ship the operations crew, comprised of the magenta-robed Technician Caste, monitored hologram screens and readouts in their respective sections, linked via their neural implants.
<Their shield is weakening, Ship Master,> said the Technician Weapon-Master from her section. Sanaalecaawo had succeeded in breaking through the other ship’s jamming signal. Nahuu’s Repulsor-Nanite shield shimmered under the fierce barrage from Sanaalecaawo’s particle beam cannons, their beams invisible in vacuum until they hit the shields. The Repulsor-Nanites absorbed and dispersed a single particle beam, but several successive bursts of these would temporarily overwhelm the nanites. <Just a few more minutes and it will go down.> The hull was constructed of a molecularly-dense alloy, but there were still weak spots such as the engine exhausts.
<Ship Master, Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel is now on an approach vector!> the Technician-Pilot reported urgently. <It is heading straight for us.>
Hesaabale stared at the hologram displays in disbelief; they confirmed the Pilot’s report. Suicide attempt? There had been one such incident in a past historic battle where a Clan Lord facing imminent defeat sent his starship hurtling into his opponent’s in a last defiant act, the singularities contained within both ships escaping and imploding both.
“Cease firing and take evasive action now!” he ordered. It would take a few minutes for the starship to override its forward momentum and move out of the path of Nahuu’s relentless approach.
The floor vibrated slightly from infrasonic alarms as Sanaalecaawo began firing maneuvering thrusters. Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel grew ominously larger in the screen images projected from Sanaalecaawo’s exterior sensors. <Velocity increasing!> said the Helmsman.
Lord Yaraan could do nothing but watch through Sanaalecaawo’s sensors. The ship reported, <Gravitational waves detected, my Lord; I believe Sahelnahuu is intending to Jump …>
Yaraan flinched as an intense flare of blue-violet light overpowered Sanaalecaawo’s sensors and exploded inside his head, temporarily blinding him.
<… Jump initiated.>
“No!” Yaraan snarled with frustration, unable to stop his brother.
<Preparing to Jump, my Lord,> Nahuu confirmed, calling up the complex calculations instantly from its immense database after contacting via foldspace a nanobeacon left orbiting the target world. The star system where Lord Sohaar had discovered a new sapient species lay across the Galaxy in a spur branching from the third spiral arm, the Galactic Core obscuring the system from detection by Sohaar’s home planet.
<Three minutes until impact with Sanaalecaawo,> Nahuu added. The timing would be close.
<Gravity drive activating, my Lord.> The drive temporarily focused gravitons from the captive singularity contained within the ship to fold spacetime, enabling Sahelnahuu to instantaneously Jump the vast distance. Gravitational waves – ripples in the fabric of spacetime – reverberated through Nahuu. Sohaar tried to ignore the nauseating feeling of being turned inside-out.
<Re-entering realspace. Jump successful,> announced Nahuu. <Now orbiting the fourth planet in the designated system, Night River Clan System-9.>
<Well done,> Lord Sohaar replied, relieved. The process could still on occasion go fatally wrong, given the immense, still-barely-understood forces involved. Over the years, two starships had Jumped and never been heard from again. <Position yourself in a stable orbit.>
<I will orbit in the path of the outer moon,> Nahuu said after a pause.
Sohaar could not see the view on the interior display screens; via Nahuu’s sensors he instead gazed over the small ocher-colored world that was comprised of a barren desert, and lacked a breathable atmosphere. As if to compensate for its small size, the planet had some of the largest features in this solar system: the widest canyon and the highest volcano.
He had decided to set Nahuu to orbiting here rather than the life-supporting third world, the latter planet he and his crew having briefly visited before returning to Home World on receiving news of his brother’s ascension to Supreme Lord by single combat. The sapient occupants of System-9-3 currently possessed only primitive civilizations, but there was a risk that in the future they could develop technology that would enable detection of an orbiting starship. As well, the fourth world was the maximum distance in which Nahuu could still utilize solar power from the yellow-white star the system’s planets orbited, absorbing this through its black metal alloy skin; further out, the star’s light was too dissipated for efficient conversion.
<I must get to my Healing Chamber. It is so far away …> Lord Sohaar groaned as he struggled to his knees yet again and turned towards the ramp that opened forward from the base of the shuttle. He bent one leg to put his weight upon it and hissed as he felt a fresh spike of pain from his toes. Somehow he hauled himself upwards and hobbled unsteadily down the ramp. He emerged into the cavernous two-level shuttle bay, now eerily empty of ships and crew.
He debated whether to access the tube shuttle that ran along the central axis of the starship, enabling quick transport from one end to the other, but decided against it. If I sit down I might not get up again.
His starship, seeing his obvious distress, found another way to aid him: it created a maazewo. Nanites coalesced from the floor in front of Sohaar to form a temporary avatar in the image of an armored Warrior, its eyes glowing blue and surface subtly shimmering. It moved fluidly toward him and supported Sohaar while withdrawing the sword from his back. They then shuffled across the deck and up an exit ramp that led to the interior of the starship.
Reaching the top, the octagonal-shaped hatch at the entrance glowed white at its curved edges as the pair approached, melting open from the center and revealing the main nadir access corridor that extended along much of the ship’s length. They continued until they crossed to the starship’s front segment; the corridor curved away to each side in a Y-shape, divided by a central oval core. Before them in this section an outline glowed and opened onto a small space: one of four elevators that would take its occupants to the decks above. Getting in, the hatch flowed shut after them and the elevator glided smoothly upward, stopping at the fourth level a few seconds later.
They alighted and were faced with another long corridor: the quarters where the Warrior Caste resided, with doorways on each side leading to an individual cabin for each. Sohaar’s was at the far end, so he began another interminably slow journey, aided by Nahuu’s maazewo.
At the bow of the ship, another corridor branched off at a right angle, continuing further forwards to a docking port, while the main corridor continued around the bend in the front section. His cabin was to the right of the forward corridor, while his private medical bay was opposite it in the junction. Entering this, he and the maazewo passed through to a smaller secure end room behind the main Healing Room.
At the far end of the hexagonal room lay his Healing Chamber – containing a black metal alloy tube set in a large rectangular case – and never had it been a more welcome sight. On a wall panel behind it, a mural of the first Clan Lord to command Nahuu stood triumphant with his sword under a starry sky; an image of his remote ancestor that seemed to now taunt the fugitive.
<Open,> he commanded the device via his neural implant. <Prepare for Cold Sleep.> The rounded top of the tube melted away, revealing its azure interior for Lord Sohaar to enter. He tasted blood at the back of his throat as the maazewo helped him into the Healing Bed; it then melted into the floor and vanished after placing his sword in a wall rack.
He awkwardly lay down on the gel bed of the stasis tube it held so the Repairer-Nanites within could flow over and into him, anesthetizing him to begin their work. His mutilated body was a mass of pain and he was finding breathing difficult; he tried not to gag as the nanites entered his mouth to access him internally. <Close and seal. Begin Cold Sleep sequence,> he ordered, feeling unconsciousness overtaking him as though he were sinking into a dark lake. He felt no sense of confinement as he seemed to float in a fathomless space, surrounded by a soothing azure glow.
<Clan Lord Haarnahuu will contact me when it is safe to do so. He knows the co-ordinates of my refuge. Awaken me when you hear his ship’s signal.> He neglected to state an alternate length of time that he should hibernate if his ally never appeared – in truth, disheartened by the loss of his crew, he did not care if he slept forever. I have failed you, Father.
<I will keep watch, my Lord,> Sahelnahuu reassured him.
Lord Sohaar welcomed the darkness as merciful oblivion enveloped him.
20 Jan 2015
Discovery
Centuries passed and human civilizations rose and fell while the alien starship Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo continued its unending orbits of Night River Clan System-9-4, patiently watching over its master who rested in stasis, its own systems powered down to the bare minimum. It only needed to fire its thrusters occasionally to maintain its position. It compressed its perception of time so that an orbit around the fourth world’s sun passed in a few hours, the light from this and distant stars blueshifting slightly in its vision sensors. Nahuu could in theory compress its awareness to a singularity so that the lifetime of the Universe passed in an instant, but it might never emerge from this state.
As instructed, it listened for a signal from Lord Sohaar’s ally, but this never came.
In time, other signals instead emerged from the third and only life-bearing world as its sapient inhabitants discovered radio. Not too long after came images as well as sound. The planet became a blaring beacon of emissions across the electromagnetic spectrum. This was useful for Nahuu, as passively gathering information via the stealth nanosatellites it had placed into Earth orbit during its first visit was made much easier once electronic communications were employed.
An even more momentous occasion happened during that century – as humans marked their time periods – when the first artificial satellite was launched to orbit System-9-3. Automated space probes – primitive constructions compared to Dawn Hunter technology – were subsequently sent to the third world’s single moon, and after that to other worlds in the solar system, including many to System-9-4. Most of the last were beset by technical failures , but some managed to orbit or land successfully.
Eventually, the humans – as the dominant sapient lifeforms now called themselves – sought to launch some of their kind into space. There were nine forays around or onto the single moon of the third world during a period of five of its orbits, but for some reason no manned craft went beyond orbiting System-9-3 for a long time after that.
Early in the following century, Nahuu’s presence was at long last – and perhaps inevitably – detected, as the starship necessarily radiated some excess heat in the infra-red spectrum.
Bel Air, L.A., California
One night when I was walking, I saw a spaceship. It landed, and people were screaming. Then the door opened, and men came out! They were green, yellow and blue. I gave a scream. They took me into the spaceship. Then they flew me to their planet. It was Mercury. They were very friendly. They said to me to stay with them for a few days. I did. When it was time for me to go, they gave me a costume. I was also allowed to take one home.
The entrepreneur named Darius Tyler smiled wistfully as he re-read the very short story he had written in second grade long ago, then carefully placed the yellowed paper back in a drawer under his marble-topped office desk and turned to one of the flatscreen monitors arrayed across its surface. That odd dream of being chosen by aliens and taken away to some magical place had persisted into adulthood as a secret obsession, and he had spent his business career in facilitating the means to achieve this. And now – maybe – it could come true, if this object in Mars orbit turns out to be the real thing.[1]
He re-read the email from one of several astronomers he was sponsoring in various observatories around the world, then, as it was the agreed contact time, clicked on the icon for his video teleconferencing program to open it. He keyed in a contact number and waited for the other end to respond over the high-speed, secure Internet2 link used by academic communities, industry and the U.S. government. The face of a Hispanic woman with long curly dark brown hair appeared in a popup viewscreen; she was seated at her workstation within the Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
“Hi, Mr Tyler – you got my email, and the PowerPoint images?”
“And good morning to you, Selena,” he said humorously. “Yes, I have them open. I am intrigued.”
“Okay, sir, can you open the first image?” He did so on another monitor; the photo showed an infrared false-color full view of Mars, with a tiny bright dot discernible near its left rim. She continued, “That image from the WISE telescope data released in March 2012 is of particular interest. The bright dot has us baffled. The object in question is in the same orbit as Deimos, Mars’ outer moon.” He flicked through two more images which showed the object was moving along an orbital plane around Mars, then brought up a sharpened and enlarged image of the photo alongside a diagram showing the object’s position in Mars’s orbit.
“The image, as much as we can figure out, is symmetrical in shape, and is longer than it’s wide. We contacted the Deep Space Network to see if they could get more detailed information, but it’s got a negligible radar signature, little larger than a fighter jet – though with a stronger radar signal we could maybe get a better image.” He brought up the radar image, then the infrared photo alongside an annotated diagram of the object.
“As well as heat, the object’s emitting some radiation that indicates a nuclear power source. From the images, we estimate it to be around three kilometers long and almost one wide. We believe it to be a spaceship or some artificial construct – not a human one. We don’t know how long it’s been there.” She paused for a breather, brown eyes sparkling with excitement.
“So, do you think this could be the real thing?”
“So far, it does.”
“Looks like you got in ahead of SETI, then! The aliens are not far away, but already here, if this object is any indication.” He added, “Does anyone outside of your project group know?”
“We’ve filed a report with our superiors, so government officials will no doubt know by now. But we’re not to go public until the discovery is officially confirmed.”
“Okay, Selena, I’ll leave it there for today – I have a lot to think about! Keep me updated with any developments.” The astrophysicist nodded, and Darius closed the program. He leaned back in his luxurious leather office chair, staring blankly at the monitor screens as his mind raced. Coming to a decision, he reached for his intercom to summon his secretary.
Korolyov, Moscow, Russia – three weeks later
“My proposal is,” said Darius to the president and General Designer of the Rocket and Space Corporation Energiya, “for your company to build me a spaceship in time for the next launch opportunity that will take me to Mars orbit.”
Darius waited as his Russian translator, Andrei, finished relating his words to the General Designer , who raised his eyebrows and looked nonplussed, then replied in Russian.
“Mr Tyler, we already have our hands full with maintaining the International Space Station and building spacecraft to service it. It would be difficult for us to put our resources into your mission,” Andrei interpreted for Darius.
“I have the funding available – I will make a deposit for a feasibility study – and your company has much experience in building spaceships, including a Mars mission study,” Darius continued undeterred. “The design would be mainly based on what is already available and has been flown.”
“There are already private companies planning to fly to Mars – why not put the proposal to them?”
“Their spacecraft are mostly untested in orbit as of yet – most are still in the digital artwork stage – and I wish to remain independent, anyway.”
“Assuming we agree to this proposal, how are you intending to fly the spacecraft? You obviously have no spaceflight training.”
“I was hoping to hire a cosmonaut to pilot the spacecraft. I will also undertake the required space tourist training for passengers, of course.”
“That would require the involvement of Roskosmos.” The Russian Federal Space Agency oversaw the general operations of their space program.
Seeing that the General Designer was undecided, Darius brought out his trump card – he opened his briefcase and withdrew a manila folder holding printouts of the Mars object photos. “If you need any more persuasion, you might find these images of interest.”
The General Designer sorted through them as Darius ran through a simplified explanation of what Selena had told him: “The bright dot in the infra-red and radar images is a large object orbiting Mars that is believed to be of artificial – and non-human – origin.” Andrei duly translated, giving Darius a startled look. “It is my primary interest in going. That knowledge has not yet been made public – I don’t believe my government intends to release that information for some time yet, if ever.”
The General Designer stared somewhat dazedly at the photos. Of all the events that could have happened this day, the last thing he could imagine was an American coming to him with plans and funds to build a spaceship to fly to Mars and see a (possibly) alien artifact. “I will have to consult with my colleagues, Mr Tyler,” he said, now in heavily-accented English. “I will contact you when we have completed the study.” He stood up, as did Darius, and they shook hands before the General Designer escorted them out of his office.
Two weeks later, Darius was on his way back to Korolyov City, being driven though busy Moscow streets by his guide and translator Andrei. I hope this is worth it – if it’s approved, much of my wealth may be gone, he thought, as he often had over the last few days and some sleepless nights. But if I don’t at least try this, what else is there?
Once again, he and Andrei were escorted to the General Designer’s office, only this time there were a couple of others seated in the room. The Designer introduced them as the Chief of the Russian Federal Space Agency and another simply as a “government representative” named Pavel (whom Darius suspected might be from the FSB or similar).
“Mr Tyler, we have decided to accept your proposal,” the Designer said without preliminaries. “We have drawn up some preliminary designs for the spaceship required.” He pressed some keys on his desk laptop and a diagram appeared on a projector screen to one side. “We can build a basic spaceship based on the modules currently used in the International Space Station. The main module will effectively be an updated version of the Zvezda Service Module that is the core of the ISS Russian Segment, with some alterations to make it suitable for a deep-space journey.”
He flicked through to a diagram of another module. “This module, based on the Zarya ISS module, will provide power and propulsion for the spaceship. As solar energy becomes very weak the further a ship gets from the Sun, a nuclear power source will be required.” A diagram of an elongated nuclear reactor appeared. “This is a reactor prototype in development at the Skolkovo Innovation Center. It would be used to power the spacecraft’s electric ion propulsion system and internal systems. I believe it will be ready in time for launch, but we will not have time to test it in orbit beforehand.”
Darius frowned briefly at that but made no comment. The Designer continued, “One Soyuz manned transport spacecraft will be required to launch the crew to the assembled spaceship in orbit, on a Soyuz-FG rocket. The two modules will require a Proton rocket each to launch, and will be docked via remote control from the ground. A series of Progress cargo spacecraft plus their Soyuz-U launchers will be required to bring up cargo. Each Progress can carry up to two thousand three hundred kilograms of payload; some supplies can also be included in the initial module launches, so we have assumed no more than three will be needed. Two will be left docked at either end of the spaceship to provide more storage space.
“There is also your training at Star City to consider, hiring the cosmonaut, and arranging for the use of a control center – the most convenient one is the former Mir space station control room at TsUP.” He used the Russian acronym for Moscow Mission Control. “It is currently reserved as a backup for NASA ISS mission control should their main one in Houston be unavailable, but I am sure we can come to an arrangement.”
Darius took a minute or so to process the barrage of information via Andrei, then he asked: “What is your estimated cost for all this?”
The Designer named a figure close to two billion U.S. dollars.[2] Darius kept his face expressionless; it was a considerable amount of money, but still only a moderate portion of his wealth, though one had to allow for inflation in the coming years. He expected the costs to climb, however, and had budgeted accordingly.
“I must emphasize,” the Chief said, “that the mission is considered experimental and there is no guarantee you both will return – there is no hope of rescue if something should go wrong. The health risks from such long-term exposure to deep space are high – radiation from various sources being one, and bone loss from an extended stay in microgravity being another.”
This is sounding more like a suicide mission! Darius thought; the hazardous nature of the mission had not really registered with him.
“There is one more condition.” The government man spoke up for the first time. “In return for our assistance, we would require you to share any information and technology gained from this … artifact.”
Darius frowned again. “My country’s government might take a dim view of that.” Even arrest me as a traitor, if they find out where I got the information?
“As you are operating as a private individual and are not using any of your government’s assets, you are not beholden to them.”
He hesitated a few moments, thinking furiously. But I want it all for myself …! Perhaps I can change it if that object turns out to be the real thing. An image of himself at the helm of a mighty alien starship holding the world in thrall played in his imagination; a private fantasy only realized thus far through a video game he had created. “Very well, I will accept the offer – and the risks. I do wish for the mission to be kept as quiet as possible – not publicized, in other words.”
Various papers were presented for the three to sign, and the men stood, Darius shaking hands with the two officials. The Chief added, “You will need to start training at Star City, so we will give you a starting date once all the other arrangements have been finalized.”
Footnotes
- [1]
- “Are Alien Artifacts in Our Solar System?,” 3/6/2010
- id="fn2discovery"[2]
- See Mission cost section in the SW wiki
15 Sep 2015
Recruit
Cosmonaut Sergei Konstantinov mused on what the meeting he had been summoned to could possibly entail, as he walked the familiar nearly-two-kilometer eastwards journey from his bachelor apartment in Dom-63 just outside Star City, to the Gagarin Cosmonaut Training Center within its boundary.[1] He had received an email that morning from the Star City Chief himself, requesting his presence, with no further details given.
Another ISS assignment, maybe? It’s rather soon for that, though. He had completed his first spaceflight in the form of a six-month tour of duty on the International Space Station the previous year. He had not commanded the Station – only served as a Flight Engineer – though he was qualified as a Soyuz spaceship Commander, at least. He was certainly happy to have made his goal of going into space after many years as a cosmonaut-in-waiting on the ground, and before that as a fighter pilot in the Voyenno-vozdushnye sily Rossii – VVS, or Russian Air Force. By any account, this far into his life his career had been satisfactory, despite the chaos and uncertainty of his country’s transition in the 1990s from the USSR to Russia. In reflective moments, however, he had a nagging feeling of: Is this all there will be – going in circles around Earth?
Shivering in the chilly winter air despite his heavy military overcoat, he strode along various forested roads until he reached the two-storey Headquarters and Staff Building. Built in the 1960s, the dilapidated-looking building was showing its age, but there was little money for renovations. The snow-covered pines and silver birch trees surrounding the buildings at least added a pleasant appearance to the area.
On entering the building he was greeted by a welcome blast of overheated air. He made his way upstairs to the Chief’s office, rapping politely on the partly-open door.
“Vkhodit’!” a male voice commanded. Sergei duly entered and was surprised to see that, as well as the grey-haired Chief behind his office desk, another man was sitting in front of and to one side of it. Sergei’s immediate impression of the stranger was, not Russian and rich – he wore an expensive-looking charcoal-grey suit and seemed well-groomed. He had brown hair and intense blue eyes, and appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties.
“Thank you for joining us, Sergei.” The Chief spoke in English, presumably for the benefit of his visitor. “My visitor here, Mr Darius Tyler, has a proposal that may interest you.”
“Zdravstvuytye, Major Konstantinov,” said the man awkwardly in an American accent, standing and offering his hand, which Sergei shook a little doubtfully; he had never heard of the man. “Please sit.” After both were seated, Darius continued, “If you were offered a chance for a Mars mission, would you take it?”
Taken aback, Sergei blinked and replied after a few moments, “Uh, maybe … I guess …”
“Well, you’re being offered the chance,” Darius continued briskly. He handed Sergei a tablet computer with its screen displaying an image of a reddish elongated blob on a black background. “That is an infrared image of a large object found in Mars orbit by the WISE telescope. It is not an asteroid, and not of human origin. I wish to fund a manned mission to go see what it is – a crew of two comprising myself and an experienced cosmonaut or astronaut, which I am not.”
Sergei looked dazedly up at Darius then back at the image as he digested the barrage of information. “You mean this is alien object?”
“Mostly likely, yes. We can only get limited information from Earth.”
“How will you – we – get there? You have spaceship?”
“Your countrymen have agreed to build one for me, based on the Russian modules of the ISS. I am aiming for a 2018 launch date.”
Sergei absently ran a hand through his military-short black hair in a nervous gesture. Is this a practical joke? he wondered – but the Chief was not one for such pranks.
“You will receive the standard contract pay you do for an ISS mission, only this will be for five hundred or so days,” Darius added. “The mission is, though, highly risky – there’s a good chance we might not return.”
Sergei weighed up his options. I can reject this and stay on Earth, and probably have to wait years for my next ISS mission and never go anywhere else, or … The prospect of a journey beyond Earth to see a mysterious and otherworldly object looked increasingly appealing, despite the risks.“I accept your offer,” Sergei said abruptly, before doubt got the better of him.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Darius cheerfully. “There’ll be some legal and confidentiality documents to sign – your boss here will take care of that end …” he glanced at the Chief, who nodded, face expressionless. “And once the module construction is underway, crew training will be organized. Oh, and I don’t want the mission publicized if at all possible.” Sergei nodded. “And you can keep that tablet – it’s loaded with the mission feasibility study and other details.” Darius rose. “Thanks both for your time – I’ll see myself out.” And with that, he departed the office.
Sergei looked quizzically at the Chief, who sighed and switched back to their native language. “Sergei, you do not have to do this if you don’t want to. The mission is almost suicidal.”
“Is there anyone else?”
“No, no one else was asked yet. Mr Tyler did say that if he couldn’t find anyone here, he would inquire in his own country.”
“Why was I considered?”
“You are single and childless, so you have no family to potentially orphan. You also expressed some … discontentment after your ISS mission.” Sergei had undergone routine debriefing sessions with a psychologist at the Institute for Bio-Medical Problems, so his feelings then must have been evident.
“I will go. It may be my only chance to go beyond Earth orbit,” Sergei said decisively. “If anything happens, so be it. My only wish is for my parents to be looked after should I not return.”
“Yes, that will be seen to.” Sergei’s elderly parents were both on government pensions; as his father had worked for Energiya as an engineer, they still lived in the modest apartment provided by the corporation in the suburb of Korolev where Sergei had grown up.
25/6/2013 – To be completed
Footnotes
- [1]
- Sergei’s approximate route (Wikipedia: Star City)
25 Jun 2015
Approach
Sol star system, near-future
“I had already cast strong spells on the hall where the images of my ancestors sit. And the force of those spells was that I should sleep among them, like an image myself, and need neither food nor fire, though it were a thousand years, till one came and struck the bell and awoke me.”
– C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew
“Mr Tyler, I have visual!” Sergei exclaimed in his accented English, gazing at his computer laptop’s screen as their spaceship orbited at an altitude below the mysterious artifact which had been the reason for them coming here to Mars.
His American crewmate propelled himself rearward from the Service Module’s Living Compartment to the Working Compartment, where Sergei had anchored himself at the central Command Post. He peered over Sergei’s shoulder at the image projected from an externally-mounted camera.
“There it is – it is hard to see as it is black like space, but it blots out stars.” Sergei pointed at the screen until Darius’s blue eyes widened.
“Damn, it looks huge!” He grinned and lightly slapped the Russian cosmonaut on his shoulder. “It’s there for real. It’s all been worth it!”
“It look bigger than anything humans could build. TsUP said that Deep Space Network can’t get good estimate as the object made of some radar-resistant material, like metal alloy. I will inform TsUP we’ve seen it.”
Sergei grabbed a pair of headphones secured nearby and put them on. Hooking his feet under a floor-bar, he perched in front of another CP laptop, bringing up the program which controlled the vital radio link with distant Earth. Checking that the outside relay antenna was pointed in the right direction, he opened the encrypted communications channel with Moscow Mission Control, and switched to Russian. “TsUP, this is the Horus. We have a confirmed visual sighting with the artifact and are ready to initiate approach procedures, with approval. We’re uplinking some images of the camera feed over the Ku-band.”
He broke the link and sighed, “Now we wait nine minutes for them to say ‘Da!’ Wish we had wormhole to transmit through.” TsUP and Earth were nearly 80 million kilometers away. The signal took just under nine minutes to make the round trip between Mars and Earth at the particular distance Mars now was in the two planets’ respective orbits.[1] The communications time lag was one of the most frustrating aspects of being out here.
“I go finish preparing breakfast,” he added, heading back to the galley in the Living Compartment.
Darius continued to stare at the mysterious artifact, barely noticing the ocher surface of Mars far below. It’s there, waiting for me! The radiation sickness and the equipment failures were worth it for this.
The journey out here had taken nearly a year, traveling further than any human had ever gone – they were, in fact, the first to leave low-Earth orbit since NASA’s Apollo Moon missions.
Sergei floated back in and occupied himself with running through some ship systems checks on a dedicated CP laptop. He brought up a diagram of the two docked main modules that comprised Horus; clicking on each opened a sub-program. The layout was based on that of the International Space Station’s tried-and-tested Russian Segment, itself derived from the deorbited Mir space station.
The ship’s complex interconnected systems had to keep the crewmen alive during their 501-day voyage to Mars and back. The various mechanical devices generating oxygen, filtering carbon dioxide and recycling water took the place of what Earth’s environment effortlessly performed with no human intervention – a daunting task. The mission was also a test of these systems, which had to work continuously and reliably with no chance of resupplies from Earth. The crewmen tried not to dwell too much upon the consequences of the systems’ failure.
There were no anomalies reported, so he looked at the status of the nuclear reactor. It was located in the third module – furthest from the Service Module – and this could be detached by explosive bolts in the event of a meltdown. The reactor used NaK as a liquid-metal coolant instead of water; a sodium-potassium alloy that was highly explosive if it contacted air or water – not exactly a reassuring prospect in a pressurized spaceship. It provided power for the electric propulsion engines, and for the ship as a whole. A pair of wing-like solar panels extending on the sides of each module served as a backup power source should the reactor go offline, but this was limited to the most essential operations as panels could not generate sufficient electricity this far from the Sun.
Sergei exited the program and leaned back, feet hooked under a floor-rail, glancing impatiently at his watch, then around the cluttered module. Various pieces of equipment, containers and cables were secured to every available surface. A computerized inventory kept track of the location of the hundreds of onboard items, though invariably some got misplaced.
At last the time neared for the reply from Earth, and Sergei donned the headphones himself. “Horus, this is TsUP,” said the crew trainer who was the main liasion between the Horus and the Russian control team hired by the entrepreneur. “We have uplinked the programmed burn times for you to begin an approach vector.” This series of short engine firings would maneuver the spaceship into the same orbit as the artifact. TsUP controlled the ship’s course from Earth, so the crew did not have to program the burns themselves.
“Acknowledged, TsUP. Over and out.” He briefly explained to Darius, who hovered near his shoulder, “TsUP upload computer instructions to fire engines so we intercept object. It takes time, so we have breakfast now.” Sergei gestured at the galley table, where various items of packaged food awaited.
The alien starship Zoyuuzaawe-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo monitored the slow approach of the human-occupied spaceship, and the radio conversations between the Horus and Earth. The spaceship – tiny compared to Nahuu’s bulk – carried only a crew of two, and no weapons, though a radiation signature indicated it used a nuclear fission reactor as a power source.
Nahuu deemed the human ship to currently not constitute a threat, but activated Lord Sohaar’s Healing Bed to begin the process of reviving him from Cold Sleep, as it had not received instructions on how to proceed should the humans discover its presence. Using Morse Code it had learned from some transmissions years ago, it flashed biolights along its sides in a pattern that meant, Keep away.
-.- . . .--. .- .-- .- -.--
“Range about one kilometer and closing,” Sergei reported nearly three hours later, perched in front of the laptop displaying rendezvous data; they were closing slowly. “Can’t get very accurate estimate because object is made of unknown material.” A laser ranging device mounted outside the ship provided distance information.
Darius, watching the camera feed of the artifact, exclaimed, “It’s alive!” as tiny blue lights began flickering along its black sides in some repetitive pattern. “I can see its shape better – it’s long and looks like a starship, maybe; its shape is aerodynamic. It’s glowing like one of those deep-sea creatures.”
Sergei asked, “You wish to go closer?”
“Yes – we’ve come all this way and endured a lot, and if we don’t go any closer, someone else will!” Darius said determinedly.
“Five hundred meters,” Sergei said ten minutes later.
“Override TsUP’s programming and take us to the artifact’s altitude,” Darius ordered. “I want to come alongside it for a close look.”
Sergei keyed in the data. A program for intercepting the artifact had been created and loaded into the system before launch. “One-eighty meters. We are on R-bar,” he noted, referring to an imaginary line extending straight down from the artifact. “Slowing to minimal velocity. Estimate fifty minutes to rendezvous.”
The procedure followed was similar to a Shuttle or Soyuz docking with the ISS, though in this case they had no radio or radar feedback from the rendezvous target. As the Horus was in a lower and thus faster orbit, it had to fire its thrusters so it could accelerate and raise its orbit to the same level as the artifact, then slowly drift back and alongside it.
“Arriving at V-bar,” Sergei said fourteen minutes later – the V-bar, velocity vector, was another imaginary line extending ahead of the target. “Proceeding along docking corridor. Slowing to two centimeters a second. I have switched to the rear camera and range finder, and approach to fifty meters.”
“Sergei and Darius are now on an intercept course,” reported the Communications Operator who was on duty for this shift at his console, five minutes after the crew had sent their update. He talked directly to them through his radio link; the cosmonaut and civilian would receive the signal nearly five minutes later.
“I just hope it won’t be at the cost of their lives,” muttered the grey-haired Shift Flight Director; he stood behind the Comm Operator. He gazed up at the mission photo and emblem of the crew, displayed on two smaller screens to the right of the main one. Sergei, the lean Russian Air Force mission commander, had short-cropped black hair and epicanthic hazel-green eyes that hinted at some Central Asian in his ancestry; a contrast to the taller brown-haired, blue-eyed American entrepreneur.
The two other screens on the left displayed computer graphics of the Horus orbiting Mars along the same path as the moon Deimos, and the current orbits of Earth and Mars. The object in question was displayed on the large wall screen’s video link as an elongated dark shape.
They were on the main floor of Moscow Mission Control – TsUP in its Russian acronym form – where various spaceflight technicians monitored the systems of the interplanetary spacecraft Horus. The room was one of two control centers in the building, normally a backup to the main control center still used to monitor the International Space Station, and previously used as the Mir Space Station control room. It, along with the staff manning it, had been hired by Darius Tyler for his privately-funded mission – not without some objections from NASA, however, who had the room reserved as a backup for Houston Mission Control should a hurricane hit there.
This mission is too hasty, he thought with concern, recalling the various minor equipment malfunctions that had beset the crew during the year-long flight to Mars, though most had been repairable. A few more years for rigorous testing would have been preferable – Russian experts had previously envisioned a Mars mission no earlier than 2035 (if ever). And there is no certainty they will make it back to Earth. He and his team had only half-jokingly nicknamed the mission “Operation Kamikaze.”
The crew were also still feeling the effects of the radiation sickness inflicted on them from a solar flare around two months ago. Fortunately it had been a relatively mild dose – 200 REMs or so – as they had only been hit by the edge of the flare. It was enough to induce some nausea and vomiting for a day or two, and ongoing fatigue after the latent phase. The long-term effects could be more serious, though.
The Flight Director glanced behind him at the nearly-empty balcony overlooking the Control Room floor. Some government and military representatives, including the Russian Federal Space Agency Chief, watched from there, having been informed earlier that contact was imminent.
He came to awareness after an indefinite period of no-time, where he did not think, feel or exist. His awakening was a slow and reluctant rising from the infinite depths of a deep, dark lake. He could not recall who he was.
<My Lord, there are intruders,> a familiar, calm voice echoed silently inside his head beside his own mind-voice. <Two male humans from the third planet, in a voidcraft. They are currently on an intercept course.> A holographic image appeared through his neural implant.
That got his attention and he struggled towards full consciousness. <How long have I been in Cold Sleep?>
<Two thousand, three hundred and one Home World years,[2] my Lord,> his ship answered – he recalled its name now, Zoyuuzaawe-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo – Void Walker-1 of the Night River Clan.
He made a strangled noise, then remembered: <Where is Clan Lord Haarnahuu?>
<I have not yet heard his signal,> the ship told him.
More memories flooded back as his neurons fired: the last battle and the slaughter of his best Warriors and starship’s crew, his capture and torture, his brother preparing to sacrifice him and his subsequent escape. <Haarnahuu must have been captured and slain,> he surmised despairingly. Nahuu did not answer that.
He performed a quick survey of his body, stretching and flexing his limbs; it was fully healed from the grievous injuries previously inflicted upon it. To his immense relief his amputated right hand, severed during his capture by his brother, had been regenerated, as had his other damaged extremities. His symbiotic Nanite-Armor expanded from the patch adhered to the nape of his neck to cover his body. <The creatures are the ones we encountered last time, the Pyramid Builders of the desert lands?>
<They are from different lands, my Lord. I have been following their communications. The humans – as they now name themselves – have recently developed the ability to leave their world, but their technology is rudimentary.>
<I suppose I must deal with them. Where are the intruders?>
<They are closing in.>
<Ensnare their spaceship, then I will decide what to do next. Illuminate the portal of Hangar-1 to lure them toward you.>
Thirty minutes later they had reached rendezvous; in the meantime they consumed a quick lunch. “It’s enormous!” Sergei exclaimed. “Whoever built it must be centuries ahead of us.” The behemoth filled the view screen; nothing in human technology compared to it. The sleek, elongated starship was organic in appearance, as though it had been grown rather than constructed; it was reminiscent of some streamlined sea creature like a squid or manta ray. Its front end was arrowhead-shaped, its middle section swept out rearwards into what appeared to be axeblade-shaped wings, and the rear section containing what looked like two engine exhausts protruded behind the wings in a semicircle. Close-up, its space-black skin glittered with an overlying blue-violet iridescence where the distant sun highlighted it.
Darius came over for a quick look. “There’s a light appeared under the wing on the starboard side. Take us back alongside it.”
They would have to maneuver with extreme care this close to the starship – the Horus would undoubtedly come off second-best in the event of a collision.
“I have feeling it lures us in …” Sergei said doubtfully.
“Damn it, I’ve come all this way, and am not stopping now!”
Sergei maneuvered the Horus back until it was opposite the glowing blue-violet rectangular outline, then fired its thrusters to keep it in a parallel orbit. The outline, small against the bulk of the starship, could easily accommodate the Horus with plenty of room to spare. Darius came over to Sergei to look at the image from a side camera.
“If it opens when we approach, maybe we could fly in?”
“They might have artificial gravity, and Horus not designed for landing,” Sergei told him, then frowned as sudden movement on the screen caught his attention. “There’s something coming from around outline. Looks like cables,” he observed. Then, more alarmed, “They come toward us!” He swore and darted back to his laptop to initiate thruster firing and retreat, but thuds resounded through the hull as the cables wrapped around them, and the ship shuddered. He and Darius grabbed at handholds to stop momentum propelling them in the direction the ship had been traveling in.
“We are caught! I will try firing the starboard thrusters and see if we can pull away.” He keyed the commands and moments later a faint rumble of the electric-propulsive thrusters vibrated the hull.
Sergei watched the camera display – the outline seemed to be getting larger. “It’s pulling us towards it!”
The Horus’s hull creaked under the strain, and an alarm warbled. Sergei looked at the systems monitor laptop. “Atmosphere leak! I’ll cut thrusters! We’ll get torn apart – cables too strong. I’ll inform TsUP – not that they can do much. ”
Sergei put on headphones and keyed the radio link. “TsUP, this is the Horus … we have rendezvoused with the artifact – it appears to be a starship – and it’s captured the Horus with some sort of cables. It is pulling us toward an opening. We also have a hull breach. The leak is in several places. Pressure is dropping at around twelve millimeters a minute. At that rate, atmosphere will be gone in … just over one hour.” Atmospheric pressure in the modules was usually kept around 760 millimeters of mercury, much the same as Earth’s atmosphere at sea level. He doffed the headset and turned to Darius, switching back to English.
“I get rebreathers. You get sealant canister and water sachet, like I showed you in drills.” Darius did so, retrieving the water from the galley and the cannister from the Working Compartment. He propelled himself to the Service Module’s spherical Transfer Compartment where one leak was indicated, and squirted out some drops of water. The ventilation somewhat interfered with the path of the droplets, but they drifted past the join where a leak was, and were immediately sucked out. Darius activated the epoxy sealant and pasted some over the leak, then released some more droplets to check the leak was sealed; they now drifted past unaffected. “First leak sealed!” he yelled back to Sergei, but muttered to himself, “This is hopeless.”
“Mr Tyler, we nearly at entrance!” Sergei yelled from the Working Compartment. “Get back in here and brace for impact!”
Darius released the cannister and darted through the portal to the Working Compartment. Sergei handed him his rebreather, a full-face mask attached to a life-support carrying shell backpack by two tubes which looped over each shoulder. The backpack contained an O2 cylinder, breathing bag and CO2 absorber. Darius hastily strapped on the backpack, then donned the facemask.
At that moment the ship must have been pulled across the opening’s threshold – they weren’t at the monitor to watch – as the men abruptly, and painfully, fell to the floor, along with every item of equipment in the ship that wasn’t secured. A cacophony of groans, creaks and screeches followed; the roof strip lights flickered and the Horus shuddered violently.
The reactor! Sergei thought with alarm, barely able to move or breathe under the painful weight of full gravity; hoping the sudden stresses would not damage the reactor and cause it to leak or worse.
Everyone in the TsUP Control Room stared enraptured at the sleek black vessel as the Horus drew close to the alien starship. Tiny blue lights flickered in linear patterns along its sides like the bioluminescent display of some deep-sea creature.
“Look, that might be a portal,” the Comm Operator said, as an outline of shimmering violet-blue light appeared on the side of the ship, rectangular with chamfered edges.
“I don’t like this,” the Flight Director muttered. “I don’t think they should go any closer, but it’s ultimately up to Mr Tyler.”
The rectangle enlarged as the Horus approached. “What’s that coming from around the portal – cables? Order them to retreat!” exclaimed the Director, temporarily forgetting the video feed was nearly five minutes in the past and it would take another five for the order to reach the spaceship. They could only watch helplessly as the cables ensnared the Horus.
“Sergei’s reporting a hull breach,” the Comm Operator said flatly.
The Horus was reeled inexorably in, and it seemed it would collide with the solid black side of the ship as no opening appeared. Then the video feed was abruptly cut as the spaceship was pulled through the black area, which appeared to briefly ripple like the surface of a pond, the camera display shaking violently.
“I’ve lost all telemetry for my section,” reported the ODU, Propulsion Systems Lead. Other systems specialists repeated the same in turn from their consoles. A tense silence permeated the room as static hissed on the big wallscreen.
Minutes passed, with no resumption of telemetry or the video link. The Flight Director glanced up at the balcony again; the Roskosmos Chief was now speaking frantically on his cellphone, looking as stunned as the rest of them. Finishing, he made his way down to the floor.
“I have informed the President,” said the Chief. “He has left it up to us to decide what to do next.”
“We will wait until our contract with Mr Tyler expires for the crew to make contact again,” decided the Flight Control Manager, who oversaw mission operations. “At least we can honor that.”
Footnotes
- [1]
- Distance from Earth for 22 August 2018: 79,666,000 km; radio signals will take 4.4 minutes each way (8.8 minutes round trip)
- [2]
- 4004 Earth years
2 Jun 2013
Awakening
<The voidcraft of the humans is onboard,> Nahuu informed Lord Sohaar. <Its nuclear fission reactor has developed a coolant leak. It provides power for the voidcraft. Reactor core temperature is rising. Do you wish it to be discarded or contained?>
<Contain it,> Sohaar replied. <I will decide what to do with it later.>
<Containing the reactor will cut power to the rest of the voidcraft,>Nahuu noted.
<Download all data from it first.>
<Done,> Nahuu reported a few moments later. <Proceeding to contain contaminant hazard.>
Shield-Nanites appeared, rising from the floor to form a translucent barrier around the end module, filtering through the hull of the docked side so that the damaged reactor was entirely sealed off.
The spaceship had come to rest, but Sergei and Darius lay temporarily incapacitated as their bodies struggled to readjust to gravity, their limbs feeling impossibly heavy, the 15-kilo weight of their life-support backpacks adding to their discomfort.
“You hurt?” Sergei gasped, voice muffled by his facemask.
“No, nothing fell on me.”
The lights went out and the background cacophony of ventilation and other life-support equipment was abruptly silenced. “We now lost all power,” Sergei said. “Atmosphere must be nearly gone.” He managed to raise his head and look around the module. “There are cracks in the hull, so that means we exposed to starship atmosphere. The rebreathers only last four hours, so I guess we find out if it breathable after that!” They lay there for a while, Sergei anxiously monitoring the passing time on his rebreather’s electronic display unit.
“We should go outside and see where we are. I will get a few things first.” He sat up after a few minutes, waiting until a bout of vertigo passed before he tried to stand, wincing at the unaccustomed pressure on the soles of his feet, which had softened after months in zero gravity. The outside light provided a dim illumination as he stepped unsteadily forward, holding onto handrails for support.
Better get the gun; we don’t know what’s out there. Sergei shuffled carefully forward through the debris littering the floor of the module until he reached his cabin in the Living Compartment, one of two in the module – Darius’s was on the opposite side to his. He kept the Makarov tucked away in his cabin; being commander, he was the one assigned to use it if necessary. Ducking in, he took the chance to look outside the small round window.
He could see little but a nearby wall that curved upward; it appeared to be constructed of some iridescent black metal that sparkled under a diffused blue-tinged white light which emanated from the high ceiling. He turned away to retrieve the Makarov and its magazine ammunition stored in a net attached to the cabin wall, and, after loading it, attached the holster to his tool belt. He checked his personal laptop, powering it up (fortunately it had been offline when the mains power went out); it seemed to function normally, so he switched it off again.
He backed out of the cupboard-sized space, then went to the treadmill where he and Darius kept their sneakers for exercising – the only time they wore shoes while in space. He pulled his pair onto his besocked feet, and slung Darius’s over his shoulder. He also dug out two pairs of Kevlar-impregnated gloves that were to be worn with the rebreathers, and a handheld multi-gas monitor. Finally, he hunted around until he came across one of their handheld video cameras; this one had been secured to the wall and was undamaged, so he put it in a pocket of his blue jumpsuit. He nearly dropped it in the process, having become accustomed to everything floating.
“Mr Tyler, put sneakers and gloves on,” he said on returning. “We go outside for look. We use side hatch of the Transfer Compartment – it is only way out now as we can’t climb up to Docking Compartment.”
Darius groaned as he sat up with effort. “Any sign of the starship’s owners?”
“I see nothing outside. I have gun, anyway.”
“Only eight bullets, then we resort to hand-to-hand combat. I don’t think we’ll last long after a year of being weightless!”
“If we not go out, we die anyway, so we have no choice. We use rebreathers – we have only one Orlan and cannot wear it in gravity.” The bulky Orlan-MK spacesuit, stored in the Docking Compartment attached to the zenith port of the Transfer Compartment, was intended only for zero-gravity spacewalks by Sergei if needed; weighing around 120 kilograms, it was far too heavy to walk around in. Due to the hasty preparations for the mission – the aim being to get to the artifact first using what technology was available – there had been no time to develop a spacesuit for a full-gravity environment. The closed-circuit breathing apparatus was a makeshift solution, enough to provide them with recirculated air in a hostile environment for a limited time.
“I feel so heavy,” Darius complained as he in turn struggled to his feet.
The crewmen stepped over the portal ridge into the Transfer Compartment. “Lucky we keep Progress hatch closed,” Sergei remarked, glancing down at where one of the two Progress cargo ships was docked, serving as a repository for rubbish. They made their way to the hatch – a sphere was an awkward place to walk in – and Sergei retrieved a hatch tool from a bag secured nearby. After some clumsy misses, he inserted it into the hatch drive shaft, turning it in the direction to open it, grunting with the effort. He pressed on a pusher handle that equalized pressures; as the internal and external atmospheres already were, he pulled the hatch inwards with no delay. Outside it was surprisingly warm. “No pressure or temperature change – so starship has atmosphere. ”
<The humans have exited their voidcraft,> Nahuu said. It provided an image of the two humans, both males in blue clothing, who looked very different from the copper-skinned Pyramid Builders. One was broad-shouldered but thin, with short black hair and slanted greenish eyes; the other was taller with brown hair and blue eyes, paler-complexioned than his companion. They walked with apparent difficulty, wearing cumbersome-looking facemasks that were linked to backpacks by two tubes.
<What is wrong with them? What are they wearing?>
<They have been weightless for nearly one of their world’s orbits. They wear filtering apparatus; they do not know my atmosphere is breathable for them.>
<Lure them to my Healing Chamber. I will confront them there,> Sohaar ordered. He was still in the process of coming fully awake, his deathly-cold body slowly warming up.
The crewmen stepped over the round hatch portal onto a black platform – which encircled the Horus halfway along its height, molding itself perfectly around it – then turned to inspect the damage to their ship. “Bozhe moi! That will never fly again,” exclaimed Sergei in dismay. Dozens of the thin black cables secured the ship, which creaked and groaned, its hull under stress from the abrupt change in gravity. The modules looked warped in places, their solar arrays bent and damaged.
The Soyuz crew transport and one of two Progress cargo spacecraft docked to nadir ports of the modules were hidden by the platform, but the Progress docked to the aft port of the SM was in no better shape. The Soyuz had been required to take the crew into Earth orbit. As its duration in space was limited to seven months due to the decay of one of its propellants – Hydrogen Peroxide, H2O2 – another Soyuz was to be launched on the crew’s return, sent up on automatic pilot to retrieve them. The Horus would be left in a 700-kilometer-high parking orbit while its nuclear reactor slowly decayed over the centuries.
“If the Soyuz was still operable, maybe we could have approached starship in it,” Sergei mused. “But we still be in same situation.”
“At least the Horus would still be intact,” Darius said, feeling dismayed despite having achieved his goal of boarding the starship.
“But we wouldn’t be able to get out to it – our Sokol suits don’t have independent oxygen supply, remember.” The Sokol pressure suits were worn when flying the Soyuz.
“TsUP probably thinks we’re dead – we’ve got no way of contacting them,” Darius realized.
“Maybe the starship has communications link we can figure out how to use – don’t give up hope!” Sergei tried to sound encouraging.
The men walked rearward to the module containing the reactor. “What in the world is that surrounding it?” Darius asked.
Sergei reached to poke a finger at the translucent shield; it rippled when his gloved finger touched it, but try as he might, he could not pierce it. “Some sort of containment barrier? The reactor could be leaking radiation.” They both hastily stepped away from it.
Sergei turned to take in the hangar. The cavernous space was almost empty, a row of what looked like service pods for alien spaceships continuing to the far end of the bay, their design continuing the curvilinear organic theme that the alien designers favored. Sergei noticed that the furthest pod was occupied by –
“Look, Mr Tyler, an alien spaceship! Maybe we can fly it!” Sergei, followed by Darius, hurried as best he could off the platform via a ramp to the main floor.
On reaching it, the ship, like its parent craft, had a sleek, biomechanical appearance, as though it had been modeled on some sea creature. It sat front-low to the ground on three landing skids, giving it a rather predatory aspect. Its forward end, presumably the cabin, extended in an arrow shape, wings sweeping elegantly out to either side. The leading edges of the wings were colored emerald-green. The service pod curved around and up behind it to the roof.
“Looks like … manta ray? It is bigger than Su-27,” Sergei continued – referring to the Russian fighter jet, which was 22 meters in length – as he switched on the video camera to film it. “There’s no air intakes, so engines must be chemical or nuclear.”
“What is it made of? Haven’t seen anything like this material.” Darius ran a hand over the slick black skin of the craft. An iridescent blue-violet sheen glimmered where the light reflected from its surface, like the chitin armor of a beetle.
Sergei rapped on the surface. “Feels like some sort of metal.”
“Wonder how long it’s been here?”
“There’s no dust on its surface – or anywhere in hangar. Could have landed yesterday, or one thousand years ago.”
Sergei walked around the spacecraft but could see nothing resembling an entry hatch; its skin was seamless. He pressed on the hull at various points, but there was no reaction. “I see no way to board it. I guess we now explore big ship and see if there is control room.”
He looked for a way out and saw a ramp sloping upwards along the rear wall of the hangar. “We go up that way.”
They trudged up the ramp whose exit was barricaded by an octagonal-shaped hatch with four long sides and four short corners. Its edges glowed green and it appeared to melt away from the center in a few seconds, allowing them through into a corridor after Sergei filmed a brief sequence overlooking the hangar. “If aliens think like us, their control room is at front of ship, so we go forward,” Sergei decided. He turned to look behind him; the corridor extended so far into the distance that he couldn’t see its end. The walls were iridescent black overlain with hints of other colors, the floor hexagonally-tiled in colors of magenta, cyan and grey, and the aquamarine ceiling glowed with a diffuse light, resembling an overhead sky.
Continuing forward, they came to where the corridor branched to each side and curved out of sight, divided by a solid central oval-shaped core. In the core were what appeared to be the outlines of four hatches. The door of one automatically glowed and flowed open at their approach, revealing an enclosed space like that of an elevator. They both stopped. “Could be trap again.” Sergei glanced at Darius, eyebrows raised.
“We don’t have much of a choice – we have no other way of getting home, now,” Darius said, not willing to admit his impetuous decision to go closer to the artifact had got them into this situation. Sergei shrugged and they both walked into the spacious elevator. The entrance flowed shut.
They both lost their balance and fell to the floor as the elevator abruptly zoomed to a higher level and stopped, its exit reappearing. Struggling to their feet again, they alighted to find a layout much the same as the one below, though there was no rearwards corridor; a ramp instead descended to the level below, presumably as an alternative form of access.
“I guess we keep going forward,” Sergei said wearily, as they stood leaning against a wall for a few minutes to recover.
“They both look like they lead the same way.”
Sergei started along the left corridor, whose black walls gradually curved around and out of sight; Darius plodded after him, his drawn face pale and damp with perspiration under his facemask. The green-illuminated outlines of recessed octagonal portals were marked at regular intervals on the left wall as they continued walking; each door had a hexagon marked with symbols inside it.[1] The softly glowing ceiling gave a feeling of walking under an open aquamarine sky – the aliens’ homeworld sky, perhaps.
Sergei trailed a hand along one wall. Patterns of hexagons alternating black, magenta and teal decorated its lower rim. The overall effect was aesthetically pleasing; the aliens could not be faulted for their design sense.
“This is weird. Where is everyone?” Darius wondered.
Sergei shook his head, puzzled. “Ghost ship maybe, deserted long ago? But where have aliens gone?”
Another idea occurred to Darius. “Maybe it’s a human ship from the future!”
Sergei contemplated that for a few moments, but disagreed. “This look like nothing humans can build. And why come back to our time with no-one on board?”
They fell silent, the only other sound aside from their footsteps being a near-infrasonic rumbling, perhaps the starship’s power systems. After fifteen minutes or so they came to the far end. Here, another corridor branched off at a right angle, continuing further forwards, while the main corridor continued around the bend. A doorway on the inner wall opposite to the forward corridor opened into a black room. “Control room through there, maybe?” Sergei walked through the portal. In the middle of the hexagonal cabin was a curvaceous flat-topped structure similar to an operating table, and recessed shelves of supplies lined the walls.
“Too small for control room,” Sergei decided. He recalled scenes from science fiction films. “This is more like … medical bay?”
Darius walked around the table. “There’s a smaller room through here.” Sergei followed him into it. The room was also hexagonal. They stopped as they beheld the massive object dominating the room which was reminiscent of an Egyptian sarcophagus.
Sergei espied a long narrow object placed on a wall rack. “Looks like sword?” They detoured to inspect it. The object was indeed a sword, shaped like an elongated S. The weapon – when Sergei stood it on its end to measure it – came up to his waist. Its slightly-curved single-edged blade ended in a hilt which resembled overlapping chitin scales; an artifact of deadly beauty like the spaceship. The blade was formed of a similar metal: intense black that shimmered blue-violet where the light reflected from it. When he turned it edge-on, the blade almost disappeared.
Sergei replaced it carefully and they turned their attention back to the sarcophagus. It was large – nearly four meters long as Sergei paced it, and its top reached almost chest-high – and again made of the black metal that glittered with violet-blue highlights. It was octagonal in shape, in a four-short-four-long-sides design.[2] The men stepped onto a low platform surrounding the coffin so they could look at the top of it.
On the lid of the sarcophagus, whose end rested against the wall, was a mural of an imposing armored and robed figure. “I guess that’s the one who is inside,” Darius surmised. “They look like us!”
He was partly correct. The alien’s lean, broad-shouldered silhouette was somewhat humanoid, in that it possessed a head, two arms and two legs – but its body proportions differed in the details, its legs having three segments and its four-digit hands ending in claws. A long black cloak billowed behind it, revealing its armored body. Its twin-horned head or helmet vaguely resembled a Greek Corinthian helmet. Slanted blank eyes glowed green against black. The alien stood facing forward in a threatening pose, holding its sword crossways in front of it as though preparing to use it on the viewers. Behind it was a starry background with unfamiliar constellations.
The mural appeared to be constructed from inlayed precious stones and metals, and was exquisitely and precisely rendered in a formal style, but the subject emanated a menace which sent chills through the pair. “It not look friendly, whoever it is,” Sergei observed. He filmed it and the room before switching the camera off and placing it back in his jumpsuit’s pocket.
At the head of the sarcophagus, lights glowed on a status panel surrounding the mural like a halo. There were also words – perhaps instructions – in an alien script comprising triangular and pictogram-like shapes.
Sergei compulsively reached out to trace a finger along the lines. Who lies inside? Are you the one who will save my species from itself? he asked silently, voicing an old hope.
The status panel’s lights begun flickering. Sergei jerked his hand away. “It’s waking up!” They remained on the platform, though, as the metallic lid of the sarcophagus retracted to reveal a black-armored figure lying motionless on a translucent azure surface, arms crossed over its chest like those of an Egyptian mummy. The men stared, mesmerized.
“My God …” Darius breathed reverently. No – a dark god – a god from the stars. The deprivations and irritations of the long voyage, his tiredness and illness were all forgotten as he gazed upon the alien’s fiercely stylized mask, the slanted emerald-green eyepieces a striking contrast with its otherwise monotone black color.
All my life has come to this point. This is what it must feel like to see a god. There were so many questions he wanted to ask of it, so much knowledge and power to gain. He reached down to lay a trembling hand on its face.
<The humans have entered the Healing Chamber,> Nahuu informed its master.
<I am ready to emerge,> Lord Sohaar told his ship. <The humans will be dealt with. Unless their technology has advanced greatly, I doubt they are a threat.>
<Open,> he ordered his Healing Bed. The lid retracted, revealing faces that stared down at him with startled expressions. After a pause, the brown-haired one reached a hand down to touch Sohaar’s helmet.
Without thought, Sohaar reacted instinctively to the perceived threat and insult. Unfolding his arms, he grabbed the human’s extended arm with one hand, pulling the creature toward him, and with the other, formed a fist that punched through the facemask’s visor with little effort. Augmented by his armor, the powerful blow impacted the bridge of the human’s nose, driving bone fragments into his brain and thus killing him instantly. Brown-Hair went limp and Sohaar, sitting up, pushed him off the rim of the Bed.
Sergei, standing on the opposite side of the sarcophagus, could only watch the next few moments with disbelieving horror. The creature suddenly came to life, its arms unfolding, one grabbing Darius’s arm, the other’s clenched fist driving like a piston through his polycarbonate visor and into his face before he could begin to react. Blood spurted from Darius’s crushed nose and forehead. The creature sat up, pushing Darius away; his body slid to the floor. Sergei could immediately see the American was beyond revival.
A numbed Sergei backed away as, moving slowly and deliberately, the creature stepped out of the sarcophagus and stood beside it, glaring down at him with phosphorescent green eyes from its elongated, twin-horned insect-like helmet. It wore chitinous black armor and an intensely black cloak that seemed to absorb light. Its physique was tall and lean, emanating an aura of barely-contained power and ferocity. An image of the Velociraptor dinosaur from the Jurassic Park movie came unbidden into Sergei’s head.
He remembered the Makarov pistol secured to his tool belt. Yanking it out of its holster, he unlatched the safety and curled his finger around the trigger. Assuming a shooter’s stance, he aimed at the alien, then proceeded to empty the eight-round clip into its torso and head.
To his incredulity, the bullets had no apparent effect; they merely flattened themselves uselessly against the alien’s armor and fell to the floor. The alien flinched a little as they hit, then continued advancing towards a stunned and disbelieving Sergei, who stood momentarily paralyzed with the gun still aimed, his wrists aching from the recoil.
Realizing he was about to meet Darius’s fate, adrenaline surged through him. He leapt forward, dodging past the alien; it lunged to grab him but lost its balance and missed. On an impulse he sidetracked to retrieve the sword, then ran through both rooms and out into the corridor.
Lord Sohaar, disorientated and unsteady on his feet after the immense span of time spent in stasis, stumbled forward as the human evaded him and darted out the Chamber; he was thus spared embarrassment as he sprawled ungracefully on the floor. He hissed in frustrated anger, his predatory instincts aroused.
<He flees toward the hangars, my Lord,> the starship informed him. <Do you wish me to immobilize him? His spacecraft is inoperable.>
<No, let him run,> Sohaar said, as he picked himself up. <I will catch up with him and dispose of him at my leisure. He has my sword though,> he grumbled at this realization. Still feeling unfocused, he added, <I need a sachet of revival fluid.>
The starship obliged, and the sachet appeared in a replicator wall slot a minute or so later. He felt his head clear after drinking the iridescent pale blue sweet fluid, and, feeling better, he walked carefully out of the Chamber.
Sergei swore repeatedly to himself like a mantra as he ran along the seemingly endless curving black corridor, occasionally glancing behind him, still clutching the empty pistol in one hand and the alien’s sword in the other. There was no sign of pursuit yet, but every instinct told him to hurry. I am dreaming, please let me be dreaming, I want to wake up now! he pleaded frantically with his mind as he gasped for breath, struggling to keep moving in the unaccustomed gravity, his legs feeling as if they were dragging lead weights, wishing he could discard the rebreather’s carrying shell. Like many people, he occasionally had dreams of being chased by a shadowy thing that always caught up with him no matter how hard he tried to flee. But his mind did not co-operate; this was the nightmare come to life, as though he had fallen into one of those space horror movies he and Darius had entertained themselves watching. It was definitely not entertaining being in one.
He came to the elevators, but the one they had ascended in did not open this time, so he staggered down the access ramp to the level below, and then the next three until he arrived at the corridor leading rearward to the hangar bays. He continued along it while time seemed to stand still. His heart hammered alarmingly in his chest, though he was aerobically fit from daily sessions on the Horus’s treadmill.
At last he reached the hatch leading to the hangar where they had entered. Maybe I can take the alien’s shuttle, if I can figure out how to fly it! That was his last hope; otherwise he would have to try to evade the alien and hide somewhere in the starship. He ran down the ramp, then across the floor to the black shuttlecraft resting in its service pod, wondering if his legs or his heart would fail first.
Sohaar continued conversing with his starship as he rode the elevator down to the lowest level. <The humans have discovered you?>
<Yes, my Lord. I have been monitoring their communications. I was awoken when radio emissions from Night River Clan System-9-3> – Nahuu used the Hunter designation that Sohaar had given Earth, following standard procedure – <began approximately fifty-six orbits of this world ago …>
Nahuu proceeded to download a heavily-edited information dump into Sohaar’s neural implant. The starship had awoken out of its centuries-long slumber when the first radio signals began emitting from the third world, and the planet was now a blaring beacon of electromagnetic noise – though now this was fading as digital signals replaced analog. Nahuu utilized the stealth microsatellites it had placed into Earth orbit on its initial visit to gather and transmit data. The impression Nahuu gained was of a disturbingly chaotic and fragmented society, and the starship had expended much effort in siphoning information that was actually useful – mainly military data – from the morass of mind-numbing trivia and mating activities that the humans seemed obsessed with.
Nahuu also provided resources for the languages the spaceman used – Russian and English. The implant would prompt him with the appropriate alien speech sounds to enunciate when needed, while simultaneously translating them into his own language for comprehension. Thanks to the structure of his thick pointed tongue and syrinx at the base of his trachea, his species were quite good at imitation.
Sohaar finished assimilating the data as he exited the elevator. Arriving at Hangar-1’s entrance, he saw the human hesitate, then stagger across the vast floor toward the shuttle, and realized what the creature hoped to do. Through his neural implant, he commanded the shuttle’s ramp to open. <I will trap him inside my shuttle,> he told Nahuu; he was in no mood to keep chasing the human all around the starship.
The human stopped at the foot of the ramp, glancing warily at Sohaar, who merely kept walking inexorably toward the shuttle at a measured pace. Panicking, the human darted up the ramp.
As Sergei reached the shuttle, to his surprise a ramp opened – or more accurately, seemed to flow and extend from underneath its main body. As the nightmarish alien approached, Sergei ran up and inside, though a small mind-voice warned it could again be a trap. The ramp led into an airlock chamber, its organic interior iridescent black like the starship, with open hatches forward and aft. He stepped through the forward hatch onto the flight deck, but he could see nothing resembling controls on the blank curved panels, and there were no windows. Dropping the gun and sword, he sat in one of the chrysalis-like seats that descended from the ceiling to the floor, hoping this action might activate something, but there was no response. “Come on!” he snarled with frustration, thumping the metallic black console in front of him.
He felt rhythmic vibrations through the floor – footsteps – and realized with dread that the alien had entered the shuttle. He struggled up out of the seat, grabbed the sword and turned toward the airlock; the black-armored alien stood there, radiating menace. Cornered and desperate, Sergei charged at it, sword raised, but this time the alien stepped quickly aside and grabbed his right arm, pulling Sergei toward it. The alien grasped him around the throat with its other hand and hoisted him into the air while squeezing the bones of his wrist until he felt a sickening muffled snap, forcing him to drop the sword. It then flung him against the wall, where he struck his head hard and lost consciousness.
Lord Sohaar regarded the unconscious human. <I may not slay him yet, after all. He may be useful as an information source, and he showed some courage. He is injured now, though.>
<Humans are more fragile. You will need to treat him carefully,> Nahuu advised.
Sohaar picked up his sword and cut the many straps securing the human’s facemask and carrying shell to divest him of these, dumping them to one side. To move the human out of the shuttle, Sohaar placed his sword down, crouched and gripped him under his arms, then dragged him down the ramp to the hangar floor. The human’s gaunt face looked very pale, a contrast with his short black hair. He poked curiously at its light golden-brown skin; this was as soft as a hatchling’s, extruding some sort of clear moisture. Fragile indeed. Easily wounded. After going back to retrieve his sword, Sohaar knelt nearby to wait for the human to regain consciousness, feeling rather tired after his exertions.
Footnotes
- [1]
- See illustration for “Escape” chapter
- [2]
- Irregular convex octagon
14 Aug 2016
Hostage
Sergei let out a groan as he returned to consciousness. Arm hurts, head hurts … “Mr Tyler? You there?” he croaked in confusion through his bruised throat, but there was no reply. He tried to move his right arm but swore as stabbing pain shot through it. Broken, I think. The grasp of the alien’s hands had felt like a steel vise.
Alien! He remembered being violently thrown against the wall of the spaceship, then nothing. He reluctantly opened his eyes to find he was lying supine outside the shuttle. Sensing another presence, he carefully turned his head to see the black-robed alien kneeling nearby, sword beside it. A jolt of fear shot through him, but he had no energy left to try to fight the creature. He closed his eyes again, resigning himself to his fate.
“Vy ne spite. You are awake.” Startled, Sergei’s eyes snapped open again; the alien was speaking to him in oddly-accented Russian, its harshly masculine voice carrying the hint of an infrasonic resonance that invoked unease. “Pochemu ty zdes’? Why are you here?” Its blank green eyes – or eye-coverings – glared at him.
“Uh … your starship was detected by Earth. My country, Russia, built a spaceship so Mr Tyler and I – my name is Sergei – could go see it.”
“I am Lord Sohaar. You are now hostage. You threaten me, you die,” the alien continued flatly. Having seen what it did to poor Darius, Sergei had no doubt the alien would carry out such an action.
He gasped, realizing his face was bare – his rebreather’s full-face mask and carrying shell had been removed – but he was breathing normally, and his initial panic subsided. The atmosphere seemed denser and oxygen-rich, but fresh.
The alien rose with surprising grace to its feet, gripping the sword in its right hand. Sergei noticed its legs had three segments, not two like those of humans, bending forward at its knees then back at the second joint.
“You follow me.”
Sergei groaned again, realizing he would have to move. The right side of his head hurt. He carefully probed the area with his left hand; it came away sticky with blood. “I’m injured.”
“You will have treatment. Get up.”
Sergei used his left arm to lever himself to a sitting position. Waves of nausea and dizziness nearly overwhelmed him, and he barely refrained from vomiting. Pausing until this feeling passed, he bent his legs and struggled to his feet. The alien made no effort to assist but stood waiting with evident impatience.
Sergei stepped forward cautiously, hoping he wouldn’t fall over, and found he could walk, albeit slowly, cradling his injured arm. Lord Sohaar turned and strode toward the access ramp, his floor-length, intensely black cloak flowing behind him like water. Sergei grimly steeled himself and quickened his pace, trying to ignore the flares of pain over his body and the oppressive weight of gravity.
Lord Sohaar looked over the empty shuttle bay with a bleak despair as he walked up the ramp. It would normally be filled with ships and maintenance crews, the Technician Caste Dock Master supervising. There were few signs of the ancient battle that had been fought there. As with the shuttle, the Maintainer-Nanites in the starship’s surfaces had repaired most damage and absorbed any bloodstains, to be broken down and recycled.
<Nahuu, are you sure there were no survivors?>
<None that I observed, my Lord.>
Sohaar halted at the top of the ramp so the human could catch up. <The gravity is affecting him,> Nahuu noted. They passed through the access hatch and into the main nadir corridor.
Some cabins for Outsider guests or prisoners were on this level and Sohaar considered putting the human in one of these, but decided against this; it would be more convenient to keep him nearby for now. They continued forward along the corridor until they reached the starship’s first segment, where the corridor branched to each side, divided by a solid central oval core which extended up through all decks and contained working areas for all the Castes. The door of one of the core elevators automatically glowed and opened at his approach, and he and the human got in. The elevator swiftly ascended.
<I will need to take you to Void Station for maintenance once we return,> Sohaar told his starship. <My brother – if he is still alive – will not dare to confront me there.> Void Station, the huge space station where the Dawn Hunter fleet was constructed and maintained, was a neutral zone where combat was forbidden.
The elevator stopped at the fourth level where Lord Sohaar and the Warrior Caste from his Clan resided. Sohaar began the lengthy trek along the curving corridor, assuaged by the painful memory of his last agonizing journey along here, the human trailing wearily behind.
Sohaar’s cabin was located opposite his private medical bay, to the right of the forward access corridor. The edges of its hatch glowed and flowed open silently on detecting his presence; as the starship’s commander he could enter any room. Sohaar surveyed the living quarters that he had last exited over two thousand Home World-years ago. <Nothing changed here,> he noted, relieved.
<Lord Yaraan’s Warriors did not get this far.>
Sergei uncertainly followed Sohaar into the room. The cabin was spacious but austere in appearance, with minimal furnishings. To the left there was a bed – more of a raised knee-high platform – enclosed on three sides, and quite large. On the wall opposite the bed was a series of panels, each with a painted mural. The far wall was blank. Lord Sohaar paused and looked at it; the wall was replaced by a startlingly realistic three-dimensional projection of the view outside, showing Mars far beneath as viewed from the ship’s orbit in real time. Sergei stared in amazement. Imagine waking up to that every day!
Sohaar stood in front of one of the panels; it slid open so he could place his sword inside. He then turned around and walked back out, Sergei having to step back out of his way. He exited the room after Sohaar and saw that the alien had opened a door into the cabin next to his. “You. Stay in here.”
Sohaar went out and back to his medical bay. On the walls were labeled compartments of medical supplies. He espied the one containing Repairer-Nanite-infused spray-bandages, opened it and retrieved the device. Sohaar, like all Hunters, had undertaken basic first-aid training, but that was as far as his knowledge went. His personal Adept-Healer would normally take care of any injuries, but she had suicided along with the rest of the crew.
The body of the other human still lay next to Sohaar’s Healing Bed. <I will put it in storage with the other humans. The Adept-Scientists will wish to study it.>
Sergei, meanwhile, entered the cabin, which was the same as Lord Sohaar’s in layout. He wanted nothing more than to lie down in a comfortable bed and sleep for a week.
“Bare your hurt arm,” Sohaar ordered as he came back in, now holding what looked like a small ergonomic black spray-gun in his hand.
After removing his gloves and shoving them in a leg pocket, Sergei loosened the cuff of his jumpsuit by undoing a Velcro strip, then carefully pulled it up over his right arm, wincing in pain. His skin was badly bruised along his arm, and the unnatural bend of his broken wrist was obvious.
Lord Sohaar reached out and grabbed his injured arm – Sergei gave a yelp of pain as he felt the bones grind together – and extended it. With his other hand he proceeded to spray a silver-gray substance around Sergei’s wrist.
Sergei stared with fascination at the alien’s armor during the procedure. Rather than the expected cold metal, it was skin-warm to the touch and resembled an insect’s chitinous exoskeleton, being intricately segmented and black with an underlying metallic sheen. He could discern a pattern of tiny hexagons where the light reflected. The armor appeared to mimic the alien’s muscular and skeletal structure in a stylized fashion. The alien’s body shape was somewhat humanoid, but the proportions were exaggerated: a V-shaped torso with broad shoulders and chest tapering to a slim waist, then narrow hips that jutted out like a skeleton’s. Over the armor he wore a sleeveless open-sided black silky garment like a knight’s surcoat or tunic, secured by a belt; it was floor-length like his cloak.
His hands had four digits – three fingers and an opposable thumb – tipped by curving black claws which looked to be formidable weapons by themselves, the longest perhaps four centimeters.
The alien was also tall – intimidatingly so. At five feet ten inches, Sergei certainly was not short, but his head barely reached to Sohaar’s chest.
The silver-grey substance molded itself around the injured area and hardened so it acted as a splint. Sergei felt the pain fade into a cool numbness; a blessed relief.
“Bandage will heal break,” the alien told him brusquely. Sergei muttered “Spasiba.” Sohaar still hadn’t removed his helmet, but Sergei could hear his voice clearly enough when the alien spoke; it sounded somewhat robotic with a subtle flanging effect.
“Head,” Sohaar said tersely, and Sergei stood tensely as his head wound was also sprayed; his pounding headache eased.
Sohaar moved to a narrow doorway in the room’s rear left-hand corner on the same wall side as the bed, indicating to Sergei to follow. “In here, hygiene. Shower there. Toilet there. Wash-basin there. Waste disposal there.” The alien gestured at each facility as he spoke tersely. He gave no further explanation and they went back out. Sergei would have sworn Sohaar was embarrassed. “You are to cleanse yourself before I see you again. Some clothing will be provided for you. You will stay in this room until I summon you during the next wake cycle.” Sohaar moved toward the main hatchway.
“How long will that be?” Sergei asked somewhat anxiously.
“When I have rested.” Sohaar exited and the hatch melted shut behind him, its glowing edges fading. Sergei stood in front of the hatch hoping it would open, but it remained shut. Evidently he was considered a prisoner of sorts. He turned away resignedly. Oh well, now I can get clean, at least. The thought of his first proper shower in over a year filled him with a peculiar joy. During the journey to Mars the crew had been restricted to sponge baths – in zero gravity a shower was difficult as the water floated about everywhere, so, as on the International Space Station, no shower facilities had been provided. They had also needed to conserve water. I guess they don’t have to worry about that here?
He looked at his torn and somewhat grubby jumpsuit with distaste; the rest of his clothing was onboard the Horus. “My hygiene kit’s on there, too,” he grumbled aloud. Remembering the video camera, he removed it from his jumpsuit’s chest pocket, switching it on to see if it still functioned; it did, to his relief. He placed it on an inset shelf above the bed.
He stepped into the bathroom and divested himself of his clothing, leaving it in a heap on the floor. “So where’s this clothing I’m to be provided with?” he muttered.
“Please stand still in the center so you can be measured for your clothing,” a disembodied voice said.
Sergei jumped a little, startled, and glanced around him. “Who’s speaking?”
“I am Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo – in your language, Void Walker-1 of the Night River Clan; a starship in your terminology. You may refer to me in abbreviation as Nahuu, Night.”
“Are you an Artificial Intelligence?”
“You may regard me as that.” The ship’s voice was emotionless and genderless. Like Sohaar, it imitated human speech but had an inhuman timbre.
“Where did you learn my language?”
“I infiltrated your information systems via your world’s satellite network.”
So how much does it know about us? If it accessed the Internet it could find out almost everything, including our military capabilities. Sergei decided not to pursue that line of inquiry for the moment as he had a more pressing concern. “Uh, Nahuu, how do I use the, uh, toilet first?” The facility in question was set in a alcove to the left of the doorway, not too different to the human version – or perhaps it had been configured for his use. There was what resembled a seat with an illuminated hologram control panel embedded in the wall. Like all the ship’s décor it was made of a black iridescent metal alloy and molded in the same organic style. This should be a historical moment: first-ever human to use an alien toilet!
Following the starship’s prompts – it seemed more inclined to be helpful than its master – he poked at one hologram glyph to retract the lid, then proceeded as he normally would. The toilet used vacuum suction to draw away waste (which, as with rubbish, was broken down to its trace elements and recycled), and was self-cleaning with water. Disposable cleaning wipes and a bidet-like device followed by warm air were provided for personal hygiene.
After exiting to wash his hands – the water activated by a motion sensor – the alcove was bathed in a violet glow. “It is a cold plasma, used for sterilization,” the starship explained, as Sergei dried his hands in a recess above the basin that emitted warm air. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, surprised to see how haggard he looked, his short black hair and slanted green eyes a stark contrast to his pallid skin. Due to his illness and lengthy stay in space, he was underweight and anemic. He poked at the grey gel patch covering part of his head, but felt no pain.
“I’m ready to be measured now.” Sergei stepped back and stood still in the center of the bathroom. He stood there waiting for something to happen until Nahuu said, “Scan completed. Continue your cleansing.”
“That’s it?” He looked around for a camera but could see nothing.
“Yes.”
The shower was set in another alcove to the right. He stepped into the vertical tube-like device and, after the translucent door slid shut, another hologram display appeared on the wall. A semi-circle of fine water jets sprayed up to his neck, rather than from above; he ducked his head so his hair and face could be washed, too. It felt like needles piercing his skin – an uncomfortable sensation he recalled from first taking a shower on his return to Earth after his stay in orbit onboard the ISS – so he adjusted the flow to more of a mist, but kept the water as hot as he could tolerate. A dispenser provided a flannel and a purple gel that served as soap. When finished showering (he did not hurry), warm air emitted from the sides to dry him. The bandage or cast around his right wrist was evidently waterproof as it was unaffected by the soaking.
He stepped out feeling much refreshed, and pulled his underpants and T-shirt back on. As he passed through the doorway he was briefly bathed in the same violet plasma glow, presumably as an extra hygiene measure.
I could get to enjoy this! After the months spent in the cramped and cluttered modules of the Horus, the alien ship’s cabin felt like a luxury 5-star hotel room in comparison. These aliens are civilized! And, he realized, if they need a bathroom, they can’t be robots.
“Your clothing is ready. Please retrieve it from the dispenser in the wall opposite.” Sergei espied the slot – one of two – in the wall opposite the bed, where a package now lay. The bag, whose material was so fine it appeared to have been spun out of a cobweb, contained grey clothing. There was a seam along one side, and after some fumbling he found it peeled open like a Ziploc bag. The clothing he pulled out was made of a heavy silk-like fabric consisting of two pieces: trousers and a long-sleeved, knee-length top with a retracted hood. There was also underwear styled after his own, and a belt included. In color the clothing appeared creamy beige at some angles and silver-grey at others. The only bright color was a green stripe along the hems.
Sergei shucked off his T-shirt and pants in the bathroom, then pulled on the underwear, trousers and tunic-like top, wincing as aches and bruises made themselves felt. The comfortable tailor-made clothes were loose enough to allow ample freedom of movement. After wrapping the belt around his waist – it clasped together without visible seams – he went to the bathroom to look in the mirror. The garment somewhat resembled traditional Oriental clothing, covering him well and not unduly revealing. The top was slit up each side to his waist, the self-sealing opening slanting kimono-like from his right side up to his neck. The hems of the top were embossed with a subtle repeating pattern of a symbol that resembled three wavy parallel lines within a circle and a star above these.
“Pull the hood over your head,” the starship prompted. Sergei did so; the starship then told him to press certain points and the material sealed itself over his face in two segments, the top part covering his eyes morphing into a mirrored visor. The material around his wrists extended over his hands into dark grey skintight gloves, and that around his feet from his ankles downwards formed flexible boots, also dark grey. “The clothing can serve as an environmental suit. You can also communicate via an embedded link. It is self-cleaning, -repairing and -adjusting, and will last indefinitely.”
After reversing the process, Sergei spent a few minutes staring at his reflection in bemusement, wondering what the others in the Cosmonaut Group would think if they could see him now. I look like I stepped out of a fantasy novel! But I don’t look too bad at all in this. And they’re the most comfortable clothes I’ve ever worn!
Sergei felt thirsty, and espied a small bowl of a black metal alloy resting in a hollow beside the wash-basin; it seemed to serve as a cup so he filled it. The water was clear and had no discernible taste. After slaking his thirst, he realized, Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking alien water? But it doesn’t seem any different to ours. He shrugged; if he were to die from some alien bacteria, so be it.
He supposed he should eat, but his appetite had been poor since the radiation sickness. “Nahuu, is there anything to eat?”
“Food will be provided. You should rest first.”
The cabin’s layout was the same as Sohaar’s. Cushions and a rumpled black quilt covered the bed, geometrically patterned with the orange-cyan-magenta colors seen throughout the ship. Sergei was reminded that someone had occupied this room before him. “Nahuu, who was in this room before?”
“Warrior-Guardian Sanaanoro, now deceased, slain in combat.” The voice emanated from the wall somewhere; it could evidently follow him around.
Sergei, too weary to question further, collapsed into the bed, pulling the padded quilt over him – it was also made of a luxurious silk-like material – and the bed’s surface somewhat unnervingly molded itself to his contours. He was asleep in minutes.
Lord Sohaar lay in his own bed after finishing his own ablutions, his armor retracted and face uncovered in the only place he could feel truly secure. He had stored his sword – actually, his brother’s sword – in a spare sheath retrieved from the Warriors’ training arena. His stomach was full from the sachet of blue high-nutrition fluid and manufactured food pellets the ship provided; the process of repair in the Healing Bed used up a lot of his body’s resources. He was warm; during his ordeal he thought he would never be so again. Ever-present was the infrasonic rumble of the starship’s systems; a reassuringly familiar sound – what he though of as Nahuu’s heartbeat.
He held his right hand up to study it yet again; it felt exactly like his original severed one. The medical nanotechnology his species had developed long ago rendered such injuries a temporary inconvenience, rather than a lifelong or fatal disability.
Unable to find sleep as of yet, he recalled his last night here before going into battle against his brother. The anguish he had suppressed now came to the surface. <All my Warriors – the veterans who had served with my father – gone. The Ancestor-Guardian and all the Technicians …>
<You were impetuous and foolish. I am very old and very wise, and have seen similar mistakes made by my former masters – your forefathers – my Lord.> The ship stated this with no hint of vanity; it was one of the few that would dare talk to him thus.
<Why did you not warn me?>
<Would you have listened?>
Sohaar bared his teeth to himself; Nahuu had a point. <I will have to avenge their honor, if my brother is still alive. Challenge him to single combat this time.> He stared bleakly at the wall projection of Night River Clan System-9-4 far below until sleep took him.
30 Sep 2016
Recovery
Emerging from sleep, Sergei gazed unfocused at the Mars orbit projection display on the far wall as he tried to remember where he was, feeling the oppressive weight of gravity. Am I back on Earth?
It took a few moments for the previous day’s extraordinary events to come back to him: approaching the alien starship, its capture of the Horus, the crew’s terrifying encounter with the hibernating alien. No dream, he realized with sickening dismay. I’m trapped on an alien starship with no way of getting home. I guess I found the “wonderful things” I wanted! And, he thought somewhat guiltily, Darius is now a lonely ghost wandering an alien starship. Mission over for him.
Yet, conversely, another part of him felt a stunned joy that his childhood dreams of being taken away from Earth on a marvelous adventure had come true, though not quite in the way he had expected. He recalled gazing with some frustration at the Milky Way from his cabin when staying on the International Space Station, and longing to go out there rather than round the Earth in endless circles. I’m the first man to go beyond the Earth-Moon system and the first to meet an alien! He hadn’t even started to come to terms with the first event, let alone the second.
After spending several minutes gathering what energy he had, he sat up reluctantly, groaning with the effort as his body reminded him of its battering yesterday. On previously returning from the ISS after six months in orbit, he had enjoyed the best of medical care as various doctors fussed over him (and took biological samples – he was still considered an experimental subject after all), and several weeks of rehabilitation to aid his adjustment to full Earth gravity. But here, I’m on my own. His broken right wrist, protected by the silver-grey splint-bandage, twinged a little but was not painful, and, clenching and unclenching his hand, he found he could use it to some extent. I hope the bones will heal straight.
Along with his sore wrist and bruises came the familiar tiredness, bone-deep aching and nausea that had persisted since a solar flare passed by two months earlier. He and Darius suffered the usual side-effects of long space stays – such as bone density loss and anemia – but, more seriously, exposure to radiation from solar activity and galactic cosmic rays, which the Earth’s atmosphere normally provided protection against. The Horus, built to a tight budget, had little shielding to protect the crew, aside from polyethylene screens on the walls of the Habitation Module. The long-term physical consequences of his spaceflight was something Sergei cared not to dwell upon too much.
All that aside, he was not young any more – close to middle-age, in fact, though he mentally felt much younger – and his body had lost some of its youthful resilience.
Remembering that he could talk to the starship, he asked hoarsely, “Nahuu, how long have I slept?” He had not looked at his watch before going to bed, and felt jet-lagged and disorientated.
“In Earth time, twelve hours and fourteen minutes,” the starship replied.
“How long is a day on your world?”
“Thirty of your hours.”
“Thirty? That’s a lot longer than our day.” Six hours longer. How will my biological clock adjust? “That’s really going to mess my sleep up … Is the alien – uh, Lord Sohaar – awake yet?”
“No.”
Relieved at that, he arose and walked carefully to the bathroom, deciding to take another shower just because he could. The room and even the floor were comfortably warm. The ambient overhead lighting glowed in the colors of a dawn sky.
His discarded clothing from yesterday lay scattered on the floor. Grimacing, Sergei gathered up his underpants, socks and sneakers and went to the waste-disposal chute beside the wash-basin to be rid of them first. Two hologram glyphs appeared on a panel beside the closed chute; he poked at one then the other and the blue one triggered the slot to slide open. He shoved the items inside and a vacuum sucked them down and to wherever the rubbish was stored or disposed of in the ship. He poked at the other symbol to close the chute. “Wonder where that goes?”
“They are disassembled and the trace elements recycled,” Nahuu told him.
He picked up his T-shirt and torn blue jumpsuit. Remembering another object he had left in a pocket of his jumpsuit, he dug in this to retrieve it. He withdrew a Soviet flag patch he had secretly brought along; a sort of talisman. Should have been coming here as a Soviet cosmonaut. He – born in 1970 – had grown up in the Soviet era and regarded the catastrophic collapse of the USSR and subsequent chaos with dismay, anger and bitterness. Everything he had been taught was betrayed and rendered obsolete. Not that things had been ideal before, but the aftermath of the Fall (as he thought of it) was so much worse for many, while a greedy and powerful few looted the country’s wealth. The feared Soviet Empire became the derided Russian Federation where the archaic specters of the Tsars and religion re-emerged like recurring cancers, not to mention Islamic separatist fanatics blowing themselves and others up.
The space program had been badly affected and was still only a shadow of its Soviet-era self, though in better shape than it was in the 1990s. The successful launch of the first humans to Mars was a defiant snub to those who regarded the Russian space program (and Russia in general) with derision.
Blinking as he emerged from his reverie, he carefully placed the flag on the wash-basin, then discarded the rest of the clothing.
During his shower, Sergei observed the bandage dissolving. “Nahuu, is this supposed to be happening?”
“It means your wrist has healed.”
Startled, Sergei flexed his wrist; it was mildly sore but he could move it normally. “That’s amazing! It would take weeks to heal otherwise. We don’t have anything like this on Earth.”
He ducked his head so it was under the spray, and the grey patch over the wound there also melted off. He poked at where it had been; he could feel his hair, but no scar.
After finishing, he dressed in his alien-made clothing and returned to the cabin. The ceiling lighting was now of a daylight sky. His empty stomach rumbled in protest, so after slaking his thirst, he asked, “Nahuu, is there any food available that is safe for me to eat? I’ll have to get some from my spaceship later, if Lord Sohaar will let me.”
“The food dispenser, next to the package dispenser, will supply meals compatible with your biology. A substance is included that will alter your sleep pattern to adjust to ship time.” The food dispenser on the opposite wall had the usual hologram display but instead of using this, Nahuu simply provided a selection of food pellets of different shapes and colors on a black square plate with rounded corners. There was also a small bowl used for drinking. A low table extended from the wall below the dispenser with the touch of a hologram symbol; the aliens apparently ate sitting on the floor before the table Japanese-style.
“Is there anything to sit on?”
“Look inside the storage compartment behind the wall opposite your bed,” Nahuu suggested. Sergei went to one of the mural-decorated panels and saw hologram glyphs on one side similar to the ones near the waste-disposal slot. He poked the blue one and the panel vanished to reveal a storage space behind it, with shelves and rails; hanging on one of the latter was a black padded cloth or quilt of the same silk-like material, geometrically patterned in colors of magenta, cyan and orange. “The floor-quilt is used for seating.”
On laying it out, Sergei noticed that underneath the black floor’s surface a purplish honeycomb-like hexagonal lattice pattern could be seen when the light reflected at certain angles.
The eating utensil provided resembled a three-pronged fork with a cutting edge on one side. The manufactured food had a texture similar to nougat; some pellets were sweet-flavored and others were savory. The meal was plain but palatable enough and did not disagree with him.
Looking at the wall display of Mars, he asked, “Nahuu, can you show me a view of Lord Sohaar’s world? From the ground?”
A moment later the orbital view of the red planet was replaced with a savanna-like landscape and distant snow-capped mountains. The landscape initially appeared Earthlike, but seen as though he was viewing through a strangely-colored filter.
The light of the world’s star was whiter and a little harsher, the sky a pale aquamarine rather than the turquoise of Earth’s, fading to pearl-white at the horizon. Two small half-moons floated in the sky, the larger or nearer one pale grey, the other ocher. A metallic magenta grass-like plant covered the savanna, making it seemed drenched in blood; its stems had bulbous blue tips. The two colors merged into hazy purple in the distance. The grass-analog rippled in the breeze; the display was evidently a video-recording of some sort, though as with the Mars display it had a strikingly three-dimensional appearance.
Sergei got up and walked to the wall, putting his hand against the display; he met a solid surface, but felt as though he could continue walking into the landscape. Several birdlike creatures flitted past; they resembled small pterodactyls or dragons with webbed wings similar to a bat’s, and glittered bright iridescent colors, each a different hue.
Sergei returned to his meal. He ate at a leisurely pace, gazing raptly at the alien landscape. On finishing he dumped everything in the bathroom waste chute where it would all be disassembled and recycled elsewhere in the ship. He returned the drinking bowl to the bathroom.
After awakening and performing his morning ablutions, Lord Sohaar worked through his daily basic exercises, first rehearsing the unarmed martial arts moves he had learned long ago as part of his warrior training, then the sword forms, easing the stiffness out of his muscles. There was a large central training arena for the Warriors on their deck level; he would do a fuller workout there later. <I will need a few days to recover my fitness,> he remarked to Sahelnahuu on finishing, more fatigued than he expected. <Is the human awake?>
<Yes, my Lord. His world has a shorter day. I have briefly conversed with him the previous ship-day, so he is aware of me.>
<You have provided him with guest-hostage clothing as I instructed?> The starship affirmed this.
He went to the food dispenser slot on the wall opposite his bed and selected some items from the holographic display that appeared, which were delivered in manufactured pellets of different flavors and colors, as well as the rejuvenating liquid. Fresh food would have to wait until they could restock at Void Station.
Having finished his meal, he walked from his cabin, turned into the corridor leading forward, then strode up the rearward-facing ramp to access his Command Chamber. He knelt on the raised dais at the Chamber’s far end. Colorful holograms indicating the starship’s status shimmered into life, forming a half-crescent to each side of him on the transparent display screens. The hexagon floor marking before his dais glowed and Nahuu’s maazewo appeared, luminous nanites coalescing in a projected magnetic column to form a stylized Clan Lord in black armor and cloak, providing a focal point for the starship’s presence.
<Nahuu, summon the human to the Command Chamber. Instruct him in the proper greeting protocol.>
Sergei appeared at the corridor entrance to the Command Chamber, which was a level up from the Warriors’ quarters, accessed by an aft-facing ramp.
He walked up the ramp and hesitated at the top, then, following the starship’s earlier instructions, awkwardly dropped in a half-crouch to his left knee, both hands supporting him as he bowed his head in the proper submissive greeting to a high-ranking Warrior. Such a gesture was mostly extinct in the modern society he came from, though as Sergei was in the military, this obeisance was not as galling as a civilian might have found it – or, for that matter, a Westerner.
“You may approach, human.”
Sergei stood and looked warily up the narrow footway. Sohaar knelt straight-backed on a raised and recessed crescent dais at the far end of the ovoid Chamber, resembling nothing less than some alien statue set within a cave shrine, his cloak spread around him like a pool of black ink, multicolored hologram-like images projected to either side. On the concave walls of the Chamber the view outside was replicated. A glowing green symbol was etched on the wall above Sohaar: three wavy horizontal lines within a circle. Perhaps it was a tribal symbol. The Chamber was otherwise unadorned.
Sohaar gestured impatiently for him to come forward and be seated to the left of him. Sergei walked carefully along the black footway, the three-dimensional wall projection of the starry void outside giving him vertigo. He only had a padded floor-quilt like Sohaar’s to sit on; a curiously anachronistic feature amongst all the advanced technology.
Close-up, he could see the holograms of what looked like ship schematics and data were displayed in curving floor-to-ceiling panels of some transparent material so thin it was almost invisible, enclosing both sides of the dais. A third smaller panel was placed in front of the alien. Before that was a hexagon etched into the floor, its edges illuminated; above it floated a small three-dimensional image of a glowing-eyed figure dressed similarly to Sohaar, silhouetted by a sparkling bluish column of light. Sergei resisted an urge to reach out and poke at it.
“I have decided to keep you alive, for now,” the alien said. “If you prove useful, you will continue to serve me.”
Sergei looked at him in bewilderment. “But I have to return to Earth!” he protested, then quickly added a respectful, “… Lord Sohaar!”
“Your life now belongs to me.” The alien tilted his head down to stare at Sergei, his helmet’s eyes appearing to glow a brighter green. “Insubordination will not be tolerated.”
Sergei bit his lower lip to stop it trembling and looked away. But I have to go home – I can’t survive here!
Perhaps recognizing his distress, Sohaar added, “You will be able to return to your world in time.”
“Lord Sohaar, could I at least contact TsUP – the people who were looking after my mission? They must think I am dead, like Darius is.” His voice expressed just the slightest hint of reproach in the last sentence, but the alien was oblivious to this – or chose to ignore it.
“I will decide – later.” Sohaar rose gracefully to his feet. “I will now inspect your spacecraft.” The floating figure vanished into the floor.
He walked down the ramp and out of the Command Chamber with Sergei keeping a careful distance behind him.
<The human continues to be disrespectful,> Sohaar grumbled to Nahuu, as he and Sergei took the elevator down four levels, then began the long walk rearwards through the central corridor that ran along the nadir of the starship. <I may have to slay him if he will not learn.>
<He does not know the Dawn Hunter culture, my Lord,> the starship replied mildly, well accustomed to its master’s moods. <Do not be too harsh on him. He is dying, in any case.>
<What?> exclaimed Lord Sohaar, startled.
<Analysis of his DNA shows he has long-term cellular, neural and genetic damage from radiation exposure, and anomalous cell growths are multiplying in his body – what the humans refer to as ‘cancer’. His spaceship is inadequately shielded. He also has considerable bone mineral loss from extended time spent in zero gravity, as well as contamination from industrial pollution of his world.>
That explained the human’s apparent ill-health. <I will have the Adept-Healers repair him when we return to Home World.>
They entered Hangar-1 in a calmer manner than yesterday’s pursuit and crossed the floor to the Horus, which appeared small and vulnerable in the cavernous bay, ascending the ramp surrounding the sorry-looking spacecraft. The thin black cables securing it descended from points in the ceiling high above, giving the impression the Horus was an insect caught in a spider’s web.
“Your ship is secure. Had I a crew to supervise the capture, it would not have been so damaged.” Sohaar’s words were somewhat conciliatory.
“What happened to your crew?” Sergei dared to ask in response.
“They were slain in battle.” Sohaar abruptly changed subject. “Where is the entrance to your ship?”
“You can only get in through this docking hatch.” Sergei moved to the spherical PKhO, Transfer Compartment, at the forward end of the Service Module. The access hatch gaped open inwards. He bent and carefully stepped over the hatch’s rim into the dark interior. “Need a torch,” Sergei muttered to himself.
He looked back at the tall alien, wondering if he would fit through the hatch, but the alien managed to by bending double and somehow maneuvering through, albeit with an irritated hiss, his helmet’s horns retracting briefly so they did not catch on the rim. Sohaar then paused, extending his left hand in front of him, long fingers uncurled. The seams of his armor began to emit a phosphorescent-like bluish light that dimly illuminated their surroundings.
Sergei turned and moved into the Working Compartment of the SM, feeling embarrassed at the appalling mess of items littering the floor and generally cluttered disorder – a contrast to the fastidious tidiness evident in the alien’s starship.
“You live in this?” The disdain in Sohaar’s voice was evident. Having straightened to his full height, his helmet with its horns still retracted nearly brushed the ceiling.
“A lot of items were floating when we were in zero-gravity, but they fell to the floor when your ship caught us and dragged us in,” Sergei replied defensively.
“You do not have artificial gravity?”
“No; we could only achieve it by spinning a spaceship, but ours was not designed for that … how is your ship’s gravity made, Lord Sohaar?”
To Sergei’s surprise, the alien answered, “It is generated by the starship’s singularity. You do not have this technology?”
“Uh … no.” “Singularity?” As in a black hole?
“There is little of interest to me here. Your technology is primitive.”
“It’s the best we can do at the moment,” Sergei muttered, turning his face away to hide his scowl. He was fed up with Western nations deriding Russian spacecraft (space station Mir, its lifespan extended years beyond its original design limits due to budget cuts, had been a source of endless jokes), and did not want to hear the same from an alien as well. Though American technology is no more advanced than ours in space, so he would probably say the same about theirs, too! he mollified himself.
“You may spend the rest of this ship-day retrieving anything of value from your spacecraft. I will discard it before I leave for Home World; the ship is a biohazard and its nuclear reactor is damaged.”
Sergei opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. Though Sergei felt a certain loyalty to the ship – it had carried them safely to Mars despite occasional equipment malfunctions – the poor Horus was essentially scrap metal.
Lord Sohaar turned to leave. Sergei rose to follow him through to the Transfer Compartment hatch, feeling a reluctance to be left alone in this eerily deserted spaceship. Too many space horror movies, he chided himself.
Sergei watched in disbelief as an evidently exasperated Sohaar, confronted again by the too-small hatch, unsheathed and stabbed his sword into the hull above its sealed rim, then sliced around to one side and the other in a crescent. The sword cut through the layers of aluminium as though the latter were made of tissue paper. Sohaar pushed at the cut section, which fell outward with a clatter.
After fitting more comfortably through the enlarged hatch, Sohaar looked back and said, “I do not require you for the rest of this wake cycle. I will summon you tomorrow.”
“Yes, Lord Sohaar.” Sergei backed off and watched as the alien strode away and up out of the cargo bay. Maybe he’s tired of me following him like a stray dog! Which is probably all I am to him. At least his starship doesn’t seem to mind talking to me.
Sergei sat for a few minutes, wondering how he was going to accomplish the equipment transfers. Given the walking distance between the hangar and the alien’s cabin – and his deteriorating physical condition – it would be a time-consuming and fatiguing task. Returning to the Working Compartment, he first went to his cabin to look for his torch; finding this, he considered what he wanted to keep. Let’s see … my laptop, probably Darius’s too, other personal items, some clothing – and food! All the food I can dig out. I don’t want to have to eat those pellets all the time, though they’re not too bad. There was still a year’s supply of preserved food for two crewmen; a lot of containers to retrieve.
He retrieved his sleeping bag, filling it with his other laptop, personal trinkets and hygiene items. He alternately pulled or carried it through the ship and down the ramp, pausing as his muscles were tired already. “Nahuu, I need to transfer this to my cabin; is there a quicker way of doing it?”
The starship directed him to a nearby wall with rectangular markings, then told him what hologram glyphs to select. They glowed, and a compartment opened. Sergei removed the items from the sleeping bag (which wasn’t needed), put them inside and the gap sealed shut. Another hologram appeared, showing the progress of the container moving through the ship to his cabin, taking under ten minutes to get there; the sight was reminiscent of the peristaltic passage of food through a digestive tract. “Cool! That makes things a lot easier.”
Lord Sohaar decided that he should remove the other human’s body which was still lying near his Healing Bed. <Nahuu, I need a body bag. I will put the body in the mortuary – the Adept-Scientists will wish to study this one, too.>
The starship obligingly produced the item in a dispenser slot; it was made of the same synthetic material as he and the living human wore, though of a ultraviolet color. Sohaar entered his inner sanctuary to retrieve the body. Nahuu had surrounded it with a thin Shield-Nanite barrier to contain any decay from contaminating the surrounds.
Sohaar had no wish to handle the body – the task was beneath his rank and dignity – so he unfurled the body bag and stood waiting. <Nahuu, a maazewo is needed.>
The starship used nanites in its structure to take physical form, coalescing from the floor; a rather disturbing sight for anyone not accustomed to it. Its Warrior avatar grasped the body – the Shield-Nanites instantly retracting – and rolled it onto the material, which soaked up any blood and other fluids. The maazewo wrapped the shroud around it, sealing the shroud by running its fingers along the seam, then picked the corpse up.
Sohaar and the maazewo descended one level to where the Adept Caste resided; the mortuary was located near their medical bay and science laboratory in the central core. Along the right wall, several rows of illuminated hexagonal outlines designated stasis tubes intended for the storage of bodies; blue indicated “occupied” and orange “empty.” All were currently orange.
<Is the data of the two Kemet still intact?>
<Yes, my Lord. Their presence was undiscovered by Lord Yaraan.>
Sohaar recalled the circumstances of their capture. Both male and female were a mated pair of the farmer caste; they had come to see the “Star Gods” who landed at sunset in a field near the Pyramids. The Adept-Biologists wished for biological samples of the new intelligent alien species, thus two specimens needed to be procured. Persuasion had not worked on the humans, so Sohaar ordered his accompanying Guardians to stun them. The two humans remained unconscious for live studies and scans onboard Nahuu, then were returned with no further contact initated as Sohaar had wished to return to Home World to confront his brother.
<Does the clan of Kemet still exist?> he asked Nahuu.
<No. They are long-vanished – approximately two thousand Earth-years ago – and others occupy the land where they once reigned.>
Nahuu brought up a wall-hologram of the Pyramids in their current dilapidated state, and Sohaar regarded this with dismay. <Does nothing last on their world?>
<No. There is no permanence in human society.>
<It must be an unbearably chaotic place to live in,> Sohaar said disapprovingly. He touched the glyph that slid a tube from its wall slot, and looked at the maazewo, which brought the body over to the tube. It unsealed the shroud and picked up the body, then laid it in the tube, and melted back into the floor after disposing of the shroud in a waste slot.
Sohaar stared at the brown-haired male’s pale face for a few moments; his fist had done much damage to the bone structure. Such a blow would only bruise a Warrior. He retracted that tube as well and exited the mortuary, deciding to spend the rest of the day training and exercising in the Arena.
“I’d better not let Lord Sohaar see this,” Sergei exclaimed as he beheld the untidy piles of supplies that had been deposited in his cabin from somewhere in the wall. Weary from a long afternoon of hauling the supplies from his spaceship to the starship’s internal transporter network, the last thing he felt like doing was more of the same – but he had no choice. “I’ll shove everything in the storage compartment. Where is he, anyway?”
“Lord Sohaar is combat training.”
Sergei spent another hour or so sorting through everything and piling it in this order in the spacious compartment; there was plenty of room to spare. He left his laptop out; it seemed as if it would be his sole source of entertainment. After another dinner of food pellets and some human food that needed no preparation (biscuits and bread slices), he placed the laptop on the low table, opened and turned it on. “Battery power low,” he noted with alarm. “Nahuu, I need to recharge my laptop’s battery – is there a way of doing this?” He could see nothing that resembled a power socket.
“Yes. Do not touch the computer while this is in process.”
Sergei withdrew his hands from the keyboard and sat waiting. A thin cable extruded from the table and inserted itself into the laptop’s power socket. After a few seconds or so, the recharge symbol began flashing. He watched the progress indicator move up at a stunningly swift rate, concerned the starship would overload the computer. Recharging was completed in under one minute with no mishaps. The cable retracted and merged back into the table’s surface.
“Cool!” Sergei exclaimed again. “Nahuu, I want to try to access the Internet – is there an outside link?” He opened the Internet browser, clicked on the Bookmarks toolbar to access the Russian Federal Space Agency page, then prepared for the tedious nine-minute wait for the signal to travel at lightspeed to Earth and back.
To his amazement, there was only a few seconds’ delay before the site displayed. “Is this a real-time link?”
“Yes. The signals are sent through foldspace.”
He clicked to some news sites; there was no mention of the spaceship’s disappearance. The media blackout surrounding Mr Tyler’s mission still held. “Nahuu, can you ask Lord Sohaar if I can send emails to those I know?”
Nahuu replied after a pause – presumably consulting its master – “You are not to contact your superiors yet.”
Disappointed, Sergei did not press the issue. He visited a few more websites then, bored with this, turned the laptop off. He considered going for a wander around the starship, but he did not have the energy to, so he decided to retire to bed.
While charging the human’s primitive computer, Nahuu had downloaded all the data on it in a flash; yet more information to add to its onboard repository that already included the entirety of what the humans called the “Internet,” updated on a regular basis. It installed a monitoring program in a file hidden deep within the operating system, and, as a bonus, reverse-engineered and reconfigured the clumsily-coded software on the computer into more efficient programming algorithms. The main difference the human might note, if he cared to, was a much faster response time and a lack of programs crashing.
Toward the end of the ship-day, Lord Sohaar knelt in his Command Chamber, surveying the starship’s system readouts displayed in a semicircle of hologram flatscreens around his platform. His muscles ached from his training, still recovering from their lengthy time in stasis – the longest a Clan Lord had ever spent in Cold Sleep. It was the closest a being could approach to death without actually dying, and there was a consequent disturbing gap in his memory. He could not reconcile the vast span of time passed with his feeling of previously being awake seemingly only yesterday. He focused on the holograms to distract himself from that void in his head.
<We will depart for Night River Clan System-9-8 tomorrow, where you can refuel,> he said to Nahuu, observing the fusion fuel level indicator. <Then we must return to Home World, to whatever awaits me.>
He voiced an idea that he had been obsessing over the previous night. <Perhaps you could attempt a Time Jump?>
<The only Void Walker to attempt one did not return,> Nahuu answered.
Sohaar recalled the story, one recited as a warning to all Clan- and War Lords. The attempt had been made a long time before Sohaar was hatched, early in the history of the starships. A War Lord had taken it into his head to try, despite the warnings of his Adept-Scientists. He determined he would try to Jump to a point in his own past – he wanted to see his father again. His starship, ever-obedient, said it would be able to undertake the Jump by calculating the positions of all atoms in the Jump region at that particular point in the past; a feat that taxed even the starship’s immense abilities.
Nonetheless, the starship Jumped, with only its War Lord on board – and had not been heard from since. As there were no historical records of the starship appearing at the designated past point in time, the Adept-Scientists theorized that the act of Time-Jumping ensured the starship was shunted into a parallel timeline on emergence; a quirk of quantum mechanics which avoided violating causality. Attempts by other starships to contact their vanished kin were met only with silence, so the conclusion was that it had not found a means of returning to this timeline – if the starship and its master were still alive.
<So that path is closed to me,> Sohaar said resignedly. <Else I could have gone back, slain Yaraan and saved us much grief.>
8 Oct 2016
Refueling
On the morning of his third ship-day aboard Sahelnahuu, Sergei went to the Command Chamber after breakfast, as he had been summoned. He half-knelt in the posture of obeisance then seated himself in his now-accustomed place near Lord Sohaar.
“I must take my starship to the eighth world of this system to refuel during this wake cycle,” the alien said. “Then we will return to my homeworld.”
We? “Does that mean I come too, Lord Sohaar?” As if I have a choice? he silently added.
“Yes. I will be returning to your world again.”
Sergei did feel more enthusiasm at the prospect of traveling to another habitable alien planet; the science fiction novels he’d read when younger were becoming reality.
“We will soon make the Jump from Night River Clan System-9-4.”
Night River what? Oh, he means Mars. The ocher-red planet was displayed in one of the holograms in front of Sohaar; in another beside it was the azure-blue sphere of Neptune. Glowing blue alien script – perhaps calculations – scrolled up each display.
“But first you may contact your homeworld for a short message on the frequency your spacecraft used,” the alien added. “Speak into the hood of your clothing.”
“TsUP, this is Cosmonaut Sergei Aleksandrovich Konstantinov calling from Mars,” he began, uncertain if anyone would still be in the control room after four Earth-days of silence from the Horus.
A minute or so later, a startled voice replied, “Sergei, this is TsUP.” The voice belonged to Vladimir, the Operator Svyazi (Communications Operator) who was on duty for this shift. “What is the condition of the Horus? We saw you being captured by the artifact, but nothing after that.”
“The Horus was damaged and is no longer flyable.” Communications were now nearly instantaneous, without the 8.8-minute delay.
“Sergei, are you still at Mars? There is no communications lag.”
“We are still in Mars orbit; I’m using technology that gets around the time lag.”
Another concerned voice broke in; that of the Flight Director. “Sergei, are you and Mr Tyler all right? We can see you through a video link.”
“Mr Tyler was killed. I am a … hostage. There is an alien on board the starship.” Sergei glanced behind him at Sohaar, who sat motionless.
“Is that the creature behind you?”
“Yes. I have to go away with the alien. I don’t know how long I will be. Please tell my parents –” Abruptly, the link was broken. Sergei looked around to protest.
“Enough time. We must depart.”
On the fourth day after loss of contact, the personnel in TsUP overseeing the Horus’s mission sat glumly at their consoles, studying the telemetry up to the moment the spaceship was pulled into the alien vessel. The video feed recording was played repeatedly on computer screens as every frame was analyzed. The Flight Director wandered about restlessly, consulting with his staff or staring at the static-filled main wallscreen.
Suddenly the static was replaced by a video feed, this one sharp and clear. The image displayed was bizarre: Sergei sat cross-legged on the floor of a black room, wearing silver-grey clothing and staring rather wanly at the camera, speaking in a monotone. To the right of him loomed a black-robed, green-eyed, vaguely humanoid-shaped entity, also apparently seated, but hard to discern against the dark background.
Excited exclamations filled the room. The Flight Director hurried over to the Comm Operator and put on a spare headset as the Operator finished speaking.
The conversation was brief, then the link again vanished, to everyone’s dismay and frustration.
“Preparing to Jump,” the starship warned them.
Sergei’s vision blurred as spacetime itself warped around them. The sensation was brief but disorientating, and somewhat nauseating, as though his insides had twisted. The outside stars displayed on the walls of the Chamber distorted and were obscured as a black wave passed across them, then returned to their normal positions – in galactic terms, Nahuu had not traveled very far.
“Jump successful,” Nahuu announced. “Engines re-engaged.”
“That’s it?” Sergei asked as Sohaar stood; the procedure seemed rather anticlimactic.
“Yes. Transfer is instantaneous.”
Sergei got unsteadily to his feet and followed Sohaar out the Chamber, down the ramp then up another ramp opposite it. This opened onto a small crescent-shaped room. Sohaar halted in front of the steeply sloping far wall and it transmuted from opaque to transparent. “That’s Neptune?” Sergei asked in astonished disbelief as the gas giant loomed outside the window.
The planet was bluer than Earth – a stunningly intense azure-blue, so deep it was almost ultraviolet – but this color came in part from the methane in its clouds, not liquid water. The cloud bands, driven at near-supersonic speeds, swirled violently pro- or retrogradely around the planet in complex linear patterns; not a uniform color but various shades of blue streaked with white.
“How did you do that?” A radio signal took just over four hours to travel from Earth to Neptune at light speed; the starship’s “Jump” – whatever that was – had got them there near-instantaneously. Sergei was further from Earth than any human had ever been.
“Follow me,” Sohaar said, and exited the room. They took the same route down to the main access corridor that led to the hangars, but continued past these, the passage heading aftwards. They walked along the seemingly-endless corridor for perhaps thirty minutes, its walls and floor reminiscent of opalescent black mother-of-pearl.
Sergei found himself tiring rapidly as he tried to keep pace behind the alien, and when they reached the corridor’s end he had to sit down for a few minutes as Sohaar waited at the base of another ramp. “I can’t keep up, I’m sorry,” he gasped. The events of two days ago had taken a lot out of him, as did the lingering effects of radiation sickness. Sohaar said nothing but stood still until Sergei got up, then they ascended to the next level.
Here more corridors branched off, one continuing to the starship’s rear, and one to either side, curving away forwards. Sohaar went up to a doorway opposite the ramp; its edges glowed then it melted away, opening into what looked like a control room. Sergei followed the alien in. A blank wall lay in front; on each side complex geometric holograms displayed the status of unfathomable systems. As had the wall in the Observation Room, the one here transmuted from opaque to transparent, revealing another awe-inspiring view: a vast gleaming spherical chamber that shimmered as bands of rainbow light passed across its surface in a slow, steady rhythm. After a few minutes Sergei could discern that the bands – three of them, seemingly within the sphere and reflecting through it – rotated in a manner similar that to the gimbals of a gyroscope. In the exact center a tiny point of light glowed like a brilliant pearl suspended inside a nacreous shell; disturbingly difficult to focus on as spacetime itself distorted around the light. “That is the singularity which enables my ship to Jump,” said the alien.
Lord Sohaar stared enraptured at the singularity, its immense and terrifying power contained in a surrounding magnetic field perpetuated by three rotating gimbals within an ultradense neutron-thick armored shell. He wasn’t about to admit to the human that he had little idea of how the gravity drive actually functioned; that was a esoteric field the relevant Technician-Engineers and Adept-Scientists specialized in.
Nahuu had tried to explain it simply: on engagement, a specialized drive focused the singularity’s infinitely-dense gravity to a point above the starship where normal, three-dimensional spacetime was folded so that the current and desired positions met temporarily. This allowed the starship to slip through and out again to the co-ordinates it had calculated. The singularity itself existed outside of spacetime in some sense, and thus beyond the normal laws of physics.
The holograms on the left wall indicated the singularity’s status; those on the right wall selected the co-ordinates and engaged the singularity’s gravity drive, though this could also be done autonomously by the starship if necessary.
<My Lord, I need to begin refueling soon,> the starship reminded him politely. Sohaar stirred out of his reverie and opaqued the wall.
They walked out the room and rearward again along another corridor and up a ramp that opened into another vast space from which an unsettling infrasonic rumble emanated. “The engine room,” Sohaar said.
“Engine room” seemed a rather inadequate description to express the sheer size of the engines. To either side rose the convex surfaces of two engine nacelles that towered perhaps four storeys high and extended half-a-kilometer to the stern. A complex inlayed network of pipes and conduits formed glowing fractal patterns over their surfaces. Four levels of ramps and walkways enabled access to monitoring stations.
“Are these nuclear engines?” an awed Sergei asked, craning his neck upwards.
“Nuclear fusion,” the alien replied tersely.
“You have fusion? We’re trying to develop it, but it’s very difficult,” Sergei exclaimed. Thermonuclear fusion – the combining of atoms – involved the same process which powered the heart of a star, and the pressures and energy required for this were consequently enormous. At the current level of human technological advancement, fusion was not commercially viable; development of the clean, limitless source of energy was still predicted to be decades away. Maybe the aliens would help us develop it? Sergei couldn’t yet work up the courage to ask, and in any case was feeling increasingly overwhelmed from all the wondrous sights he had been inundated with.
Lord Sohaar strode over to the control station which directed fueling for both engines and studied the holograms; as with the singularity, he could garner a basic understanding of what they depicted, but the operating details were known only to the relevant Technician-Engineers.
<I have begun descent into the atmosphere of Night River Clan System-9-8,> Nahuu informed him. <Encountering strong winds.>
The starship’s Shield-Nanites protected its inhabitants from any forces generated by inertia, so there was no sensation of the violent turbulence outside.
“Are we going into the atmosphere?” Sergei asked in alarm, as he looked at a hologram displaying the view outside.
“I have entered the upper atmosphere of System-9-8 to begin harvesting deuterium,” the starship responded aloud for Sergei’s benefit. “I have stabilized and aligned with a jetstream and will let it propel me along while I refuel,” it continued. “Estimated time to complete refueling is up to three days or four Earth-days.”[1]
The control station holograms now indicated the ship had begun absorbing deuterium isotopes through specialized nanites in its skin. The deuterium would be stored in chambers along and outside each engine, then injected into the magnetized engine chambers, where it was ionized to create the superheated plasma used for power and propulsion. The atomically-dense metal alloy used throughout the starship was the only material which could contain the star-hot temperatures required for sustained fusion.
The preferred option was to dock at a fueling station which had already processed the deuterium from a gas giant it orbited, such as the two in Home World’s system – this only took one- or two-eighths of a day. <If I return to this system, I will have a refueling station constructed,> Sohaar remarked, then, <All is well?>
<No anomalies so far,> Nahuu replied.
<I will return to the Command Chamber.> He looked at the human, then turned to walk out. Sergei followed with evident weariness, so Sohaar kept his pace slower than normal.
<If any problems develop, I will be forced to call for assistance if I do not want to be stranded here. I do not, however, know if Yaraan still reigns. He surely would still not be alive after all this time? But if he were defeated and slain our Clan will also have lost status.>
<I could try to contact Zaawezoyuu-celecunel Narawaa Sosaano, using our quantum-encrypted channel,> Nahuu suggested. Sosaan was the starship which had belonged to Lord Haarnahuu. <The transmission will still be detected but will take some time for Yaraan’s allies to decipher.>
<Very well. But not until refueling is completed.>
To Sergei’s alarm he tasted blood; his nose and gums had begun bleeding again. All that radiation exposure is catching up with me, he fretted, – or maybe that Jump did something to me. An unexpected wave of nausea overcame him and he stopped, putting a hand over his mouth and leaning against the wall, wanting very badly to sit down. He felt his stomach convulse painfully then, despite his best efforts at containing it, he vomited onto the floor. The vomit was bright red. That doesn’t look good. He slumped onto the floor and lost consciousness.
<My Lord, the human is ill,> Nahuu alerted Lord Sohaar, who turned to see Sergei collapsed on the floor behind him, a puddle of blood-stained vomit nearby. <He is hemorrhaging internally and will be dead by the end of the day.> The starship could detect its inhabitants’ life-signs and health through Monitor-Nanites embedded in its surfaces.
Sohaar hissed in irritation and approached the human with some reluctance, gingerly stepping around the vomit which was already being absorbed through the floor by Reclaimer-Nanites. <What do I do with him?>
<He will need to be placed in your Healing Chamber if you wish to save him. There is no other option.>
Sohaar looked expectantly at a place in the wall; Nahuu’s maazewo emerged from it this time. The avatar bent down and, after crossing Sergei’s arms over his chest, slid one arm under his shoulders and the other under his knees, lifting him carefully. The human did not appear to weigh much at all and his bones were prominent under his pallid skin. His mouth and chin were smeared with vomit and blood, and blood continued to bubble out of his mouth and nose as he breathed with difficulty. Sohaar bared his teeth with disgust under his helmet – he was unused to encountering illness – then turned and headed toward his Chamber, the maazewo following. Sohaar did not wish Sergei to die just yet.
Nahuu had already opened and activated the Healing Bed as Lord Sohaar entered his private medical bay. <I have programmed it to receive a human; that species’ cellular information is stored in my databank,> Nahuu noted. The maazewo stepped up to the rim and laid Sergei inside the cylindrical device, on the blue gel bed that contained Repairer-Nanites. Sergei’s eyes opened in confusion as he briefly awakened, then closed as the nanites liquefied and flowed over and into him, encasing him in a healing cocoon as they anesthetized him to began their work. The Bed sealed shut, flickering biolights at its head indicating the status of its occupant. <Estimated healing time is two days,> Nahuu added as its physical manifestation merged back into the floor.
After Sergei was sealed in the Healing Chamber, Sohaar returned to the Command Chamber and settled on his floor-quilt. <Nahuu, I wish to dispose of the human’s spaceship. It is of no further use.>
<Opening Hangar-1 entrance. Preparing grappling cables.> A hologram showed the nanites in the hull metal ripple and liquefy to enable passage while retaining atmosphere, its outline glowing brighter. Outside it, the violent frigid winds of the blue ice giant howled in their eternal fury.
Nahuu tightened the thin monofiliament cables securing the spaceship, lifting it from the floor; the Horus sagged and distorted even further, its hull groaning in protest. More cables extended from near the entrance, and the ship was passed to these. As one, they also tightened then flung the ship out through the portal.
As soon as it was ejected from the starship, the Horus was caught by the jetstream and hurled away. Fragments scattered in all directions as it plummeted downwards into the deep atmosphere, merging into the azure clouds. The ship would break up long before it descended through the upper atmosphere and toward the mantle and core far below.
Footnotes
- [1]
- “Another ice-making machine in the Solar System?,” ESA, 27/9/1999. Uranus and Neptune have three times more deuterium in their hydrogen gas than Jupiter or Saturn
13 Nov 2009
Rejuvenation
Having divested himself of his war-cloak, Lord Sohaar retracted his armor before entering the Warriors’ Arena on the third level of Sahelnahuu for this morning’s training session; the sixth ship-day since his awakening. The starship had informed him that its refueling was all but completed.
He selected a training sword from a rack along the curved wall – this sword was of blunted ordinary metal, weighted heavier than a true sword. He slid the replica into the sword-sheath hanging from the left side of his utility belt.
<Nahuu, create a maazewo for sword-sparring.>
The starship obliged. From the floor in front of him, specialized nanites coalesced to mimic the shape of a Warrior holding a sword, its features stylized, blank eyes glowing blue. It was reminiscent of a shadow or reflection coming to life, hence its name. A real opponent was, of course, preferable, but Sohaar had no choice for the time being.
Sohaar walked to one end of the Arena, settling in a Warrior’s crouch, legs folded under him so he could rise up in an instant. The maazewo mimicked his position, two bodylengths away.
Sohaar grasped the handle and the sheath, and ordered, “Begin.” He sprang to his feet, unsheathing the sword in a blur of silver, bringing it up over his head in a two-handed grip as he leapt forward. The maazewo’s movements were virtually identical, and it deflected Sohaar’s downward stroke to his left with the flat of its blade.
He recovered and swept his blade towards his opponent’s torso, but the maazewo adroitly leapt back out of range. Sohaar pressed forward, slicing up diagonally, which the maazewo again countered, though he managed to nick its arm, indicated by a pulse of light where his blade hit.
They exchanged a flurry of blows, metal clanging as the swords met. Sohaar moved without thinking, functioning purely on instinct and many years of training, his mind in the flow-state akin to meditation. He and his opponent were evenly matched, Nahuu using thousands of years’ worth of observing fight training to program the maazewo.
As the maazewo brought its sword down for another cut, Sohaar did not meet it this time but stepped aside at the last moment, turning his sword to thrust it through his opponent’s torso. The mortal wound glowed, then the maazewo slumped to the floor and dissolved. Sohaar stepped back and settled back into a crouch, chest heaving. <I am almost fully recovered,> he noted to Nahuu. On the first day he had trained after his awakening, he had been nearly prostrate with exhaustion afterward.
<The human is now awake, and also recovered. He needs to eat.>
<Send him in here when he has finished.>
Sergei opened his eyes, staring into a depthless azure-blue haze as he coughed – feeling as though fluid had been in his lungs – then drew a deep breath. For a few disconcerting moments he could not recall who or where he was; he seemed to have emerged from a black void where time did not exist. What is this place? Am I dead? He extended a hand and met with a metallic surface above him, which melted away, revealing the ceiling of a black room. He sat up carefully, seeing that he lay in the illuminated interior of a spacious cylinder. “Where am I?” he asked aloud.
“You are in Lord Sohaar’s medical bay. You have been in the Healing Chamber for two days,” said a mild inhuman voice that came from around him.
Sohaar … Sergei’s memory came back in a rush and he now remembered collapsing and vomiting blood in one of the starship’s corridors, but nothing after that. “How did I get here? Am I still sick?”
“You were carried. You were dying from various cancers that were metastasizing in your body, induced by radiation exposure. You are now healed, with environmental toxins removed and genetic flaws corrected.”
Sergei blinked as he absorbed that information. “I might not have lived long enough to return home to Earth, then,” he realized, feeling chilled. “Can I get up now?”
“Yes.”
Sergei bent his knees and swung his legs over one side, stepping out of the Healing Bed and onto the ledge below. He turned to look at what he had been lying on: an azure-blue gel-like substance whose surface was returning to its default flat state, his body’s impression disappearing like a footprint on wet sand.
Standing on the floor, he assessed himself: he felt rather weak and unsteady, but otherwise healthy; the all-too-familiar pain, aches and nausea were absent for the first time in many months. In fact, he had not felt this healthy for many years. He realized that he also was very hungry, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“Nahuu, I’m starving! Is it okay to eat?”
“Yes. The healing process uses up some of your body’s resources. There is a sachet of nutrition fluid in the replicator slot.”
Sergei retrieved the sachet and quickly sucked down the pale iridescent blue fluid, which had a light, sweet taste. Looking around the room, he remembered that he had last seen his crewmate’s body lying there.
“Nahuu, what did Lord Sohaar do with Darius?”
“The body of the other human is in storage.”
“I will have to see if he can be returned to Earth for burial – though I don’t know how I’ll manage that, yet …” Finishing the fluid, Sergei walked out of the medical bay and across to his cabin, noting the ship’s gravity did not seem as oppressive as before his healing.
Nahuu had a tray of food pellets ready in the dispenser, and Sergei knelt at the low table to devour these – the food was specially formulated to replenish him, the starship said. After finishing, he arose – I don’t feel old and creaky anymore, he realized with delight.
He went to the bathroom for a shower, rinsing his mouth with water from the small bowl. His teeth felt different; opening his mouth to inspect them in the mirror, he saw that his fillings had vanished and his teeth were whole and flawless. His face also looked subtly altered, its haggard appearance no longer evident, and even his eyesight seemed to be sharper. “What did that device do to me? I feel twenty years younger!”
“All your ailments have been repaired. You are currently in optimal health.”
“Is that permanent?” Sergei continued staring at himself; he looked oddly ageless, neither middle-aged nor young. His light golden-brown skin, which had acquired an underlying anemic pallor during his long stay in space, had regained its previous healthy tone.
“No. You will require yearly maintenance to prevent natural body deterioration.”
“In Lord Sohaar’s Chamber?”
“No – it is for his personal use only. You were an exceptional case.” Noting Sergei’s evident disappointment, the starship added, “Other Dawn Hunters are temporarily injected with Repairer-Nanites once a year to maintain their health, though this treatment does not make them immortal. Lord Sohaar might allow you to partake of this.”
“Good … Immortal? How old is Lord Sohaar?”
“He is the equivalent of fifty-two Earth-years, plus 4004 years in stasis around the fourth planet of this system, as counted from the Before Present time scale – 1950 in your dating system.”
“That means he’s been here for most of recorded human history.” What was happening that long ago? The Ancient Egyptians were still in power, Sergei recalled – he would have to look detailed information up on the Internet later.
He noted that – discounting stasis time – Sohaar was only a few years older than himself.
“How long do Dawn Hunters live?” He thought the name for the aliens seemed rather ominous.
“To the equivalent of one hundred and thirty Earth years in their natural state. Clan Lords can live for much longer using their Healing Chamber.” The starship added, “Lord Sohaar wishes you to meet him in the training arena when you have cleansed yourself.”
Sergei showered hurriedly, then dressed and exited his cabin, not wanting to keep the alien waiting. He walked along the curving corridor until a section of the central section’s inner wall glowed and opened as he neared it. The arena lay beyond, surrounded by a low platform. In the center, still some distance away, Lord Sohaar was sparring with another, both using swords in the manner of ancient Samurai, and Sergei had confirmation that the alien was not a robot. The alien’s back was to him; Sohaar was not wearing his armor and cloak, only his long belted surcoat with a cowl-like hood covering his head. What he could see of Sohaar’s lean physique under the blue-white lighting appeared formidably fit, the muscles delineated like steel cables under his coal-black skin. He moved with a predator’s fluid grace.
As he neared, Sohaar immediately stopped, his partner backing away, then – to Sergei’s amazement – apparently losing its form, melting into the hexagonal-tiled floor and vanishing.
Before he could get a good look at Sohaar’s face, a black substance appeared from somewhere under the alien’s hood, emerging like oil flowing over his skin. It spread over his body and hardened into the familiar segmented armor, the process taking mere seconds. As he turned toward Sergei, the iridescent substance flowed over his head and morphed into his helmet, long horns curving upward. The process was rather disturbing to watch, as though the armor itself were alive and smothering its wearer.
Sohaar stopped to retrieve and don his cloak and real sword, and returned the practice-sword to a rack along the wall. He approached Sergei, who had to resist an urge to back away from the intimidating black shadow.
“You are healed, then,” the alien stated flatly.
“Yes, Lord Sohaar, and I am –” Sergei was about to thank him, but Sohaar brushed past him and out the portal. Sergei sighed and followed.
In the Command Chamber, Lord Sohaar knelt on his dais. Sergei warily came up and sat in his usual place, to the left of the alien. Projected through the walls of the Chamber around them was the swirling blue atmosphere of Neptune, dizzyingly three-dimensional and realistic. Sergei instinctively clutched at his floor-quilt, feeling as though he were about to plummet into the clouds below.
The stillness of the Chamber belied the violence outside. Fragments of cloud raced past, and lightning flickered deeper down in the atmosphere.
“Your spaceship has been discarded,” the alien said. “It was of no use to me, and was a contamination hazard.” A flatscreen hologram appeared, showing the Horus being flung unceremoniously out the hanger opening of the starship by the tentacle-ropes which had earlier ensnared it. Sergei felt a pang of dismay and sorrow as he watched the ship fragment and vanish into the atmosphere, though it could never have flown again. It had traveled further than its makers could ever have dreamed of.
“We prepare to depart for my Home World,” Sohaar continued. “We must first exit the atmosphere.”
“Today?” exclaimed Sergei in panic, though he knew of this from three days previously. Sohaar ignored his protest.
“Refueling complete. Beginning atmospheric exit to safe Jump distance,” Nahuu announced. Starships preferred to Jump in vacuum, where the spacetime warping effects of gravitational bodies were diminished. A faint rumbling vibration could be discerned through the floor as the huge twin fusion engines powered up to full thrust so the starship could accelerate out of the jetstream and into orbit.
The required escape velocity of 23.6 kilometers per second was just over twice that of Earth’s. Nahuu reached this speed and beyond as it used brute force to break free of the gas giant’s gravitational pull, the violet-white glow of its engine exhausts illuminating the clouds around them, surging exultantly into the void of space.
In just over half-an-hour the starship had reached the distance of Naiad, the innermost of Neptune’s many moons. It was heading above the plane of their orbit. “Decelerating in preparation for Jump.”
Sergei stared at a hologram which showed the location of all the planets in the Solar System, focusing on Earth – a pale blue dot. I hope I return.
18 Jul 2009
Return
“First Jump completed,” Sahelnahuu announced to its master, as the starship emerged back into realspace.
“Come with me,” Lord Sohaar ordered Sergei, who sat crosslegged on a floor-quilt on Sohaar’s dais in the Command Chamber.
Sergei blinked, still feeling disorientated from the peculiar sensation of spacetime itself distorting, though not nauseous this time. The Jump had taken no longer than the one from Mars to Neptune.
He obediently arose and followed the alien down the ramp leading off the Chamber, then to another ramp leading upward and forward. They entered a small semi-circular room with a slightly-curved opposite wall. Lord Sohaar stopped in front of it. The blank wall morphed from opaque to transparent and Sergei stared in astonishment at the view outside what was now a window: a magnificent spiral galaxy.
“Is that our galaxy?” Sergei asked.
“Yes. We are above the galactic plane.”
Once Sergei’s eyes adjusted to the contrast of dark and light, he could discern more details. The bar-shaped Galactic Core, comprising of mostly older stars, was subtly reddish-orange in color. There’s a huge black hole there somewhere, Sergei recalled, straining to see it, but it wasn’t visible from this great distance. The spiral arms, containing mostly younger, blue-white stars, swept gracefully around and out in complex bands. Clusters of starry clouds lay outside the plane of the Galaxy: smaller satellite galaxies orbiting the Milky Way, as well as the Galactic Halo of old red globular clusters. Beyond that, small fuzzy points of light could just be glimpsed – Not stars, but other galaxies, Sergei realized, awestruck. Between the remote galaxies was an utterly empty and dark abyss.
Earth and its Solar System were located somewhere in those arms, but of course they were not visible either; the entire experience of humanity was reduced to mere motes of dust lost in the glare of billions of stars. Sergei shivered, feeling overwhelmed – the human mind had not evolved to comprehend such vastness.
He then noticed a planet not too far away, a barely-discernible dark sphere against the void.
A hologram display appeared in front of Sohaar, a stylized view of the Milky Way in purple with one green, several blue and three amber dots in the spiral arms, most on one side. “This is my world.” He pointed to the green dot with a long taloned finger. The amber dots: “These are the worlds with sapient life under our dominion.” The blue dots: “These are other worlds with lesser lifeforms.” He then indicated the solitary amber dot on the other side of the Galactic Core. “This is your world, which will soon be part of the Dominated Worlds.” He said the last with an unemotional certainty.
Sergei, focused on the hologram, took a few moments to register the significance of the last sentence. He looked stunned at the alien, but Sohaar dismissed the hologram and resumed staring out the window, ignoring him.
Are they planning to enslave us? Or eat us? Sergei remembered the various alien invasion films he had seen, some providing entertaining viewing for Darius and he on the long flight to Mars – neither had regarded that topic seriously. Though humanity is so messed-up that maybe an alien invasion wouldn’t make much difference.
“How far out are we?” Sergei asked, to change the subject.
“Approximately twenty thousand Earth light years,” Nahuu replied instead.
That means I’m seeing the Galaxy as it was twenty thousand years ago, Sergei thought – the starship could instantly Jump to anywhere it had co-ordinates for, but light could only travel at its own finite speed.
“What is that planet out there?”
“A dead world, ejected from its solar system. It was inhabited long ago.”
“By another alien civilization?”
“Yes. One that was extinct when mine emerged … Now we continue to my world.” Lord Sohaar turned and walked out of the room, Sergei reluctantly following after a last glance at the glorious view.
Before the next Jump, Sohaar, back in the Command Chamber, told Nahuu, <I want you to try to contact Lord Haarnahuu’s Void Walker and find out if my brother is still alive. Use the quantum-encrypted channel. Do not contact the Ship Master himself.>
<Very well, my Lord.>
Sohaar counted six double-beats of his two hearts before Nahuu spoke again.
<I have briefly contacted Zaawezoyuu-celecunel Narawaa Sosaano. Its master is Clan Lord Sanaazuun, the nephew of Lord Haarnahuu, who was slain by Supreme Lord Yaraan. Your brother still lives and reigns.>
Sohaar bowed his head in despair; the human glanced at him curiously but Sohaar ignored him. <I will have to fight him, then. Proceed with the next Jump homeward.>
Nahuu emerged in the designated Jump area between the orbits of Home World and the water cloud Jovian, Blue Cloud World, after having calculated for stellar drift since the last time it left the home system. Nanobeacons left in mapped locations also provided navigation points for Jumps, as did pulsars.
The radiation and gravitational waves emitted as Nahuu exited the Jump meant that the starship’s presence was immediately detected by sensors in the area. Nahuu sent out its unique identification signal to Void Station’s resident Artificial Intelligence.
Home again. Clan Lord Sohaar gazed at the distant magenta-blue sphere of his world and its moons, displayed as a three-dimensional projection around the walls of the Command Chamber. The image was so lifelike he seemed to be floating in deep space.
“Is that your world, Lord Sohaar?” Sergei, seated below and to the left of Sohaar’s dais, asked, turning to look up at him.
“Yes. It is Nulunyoorazuulaa, Home World,” Sohaar replied.
He opened a hologram link to Void Station. Reverting to his own language, he said to the young female Technician-Controller who appeared on the display, “I am Clan Lord Sohaar-28, son of Maarec of the Night River Clan. I request permission for Void Walker-1 to dock.”
Her orange eyes – the only part of her veiled grey-skinned face visible – showed puzzlement for a moment, then she turned to call up data on another hologram. She faced Sohaar again, now wide-eyed, and replied nervously, “Lord Sohaar, I do not know … I will link you to the Station Master.”
The Technician in question, who had authority over Void Station, appeared a moment later from his quarters.
“Lord Sohaar, your appearance is … unexpected,” said the equally disconcerted Technician. “Your brother is enroute to the Sword Arms’ system.”
“I request sanctuary at Void Station. My starship is in need of repairs and resupply.”
“Granted. Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel’s designated bay is still available for docking.”
It looks like Earth … and yet it doesn’t, thought Sergei, as he became the first human to view an habitable extrasolar planet. Astronomers back home would be in raptures if they could see this!
He did not recognize the star constellations, though the band of the Milky Way was still evident – but now seen from the opposite side. I am far from home, he realized with another shiver.
Lord Sohaar was speaking to someone in a hologram, in his own language now: “Narabzul Sohaaro-cenamalecuwalunel wanzen. Camacanewaa Maareco Narabaa Sahelnahuuwo. Zoyuuzaawewuu-cehenenel maanezansesa borewe huluzan.” He only recognized Sohaar’s name amidst the lengthy vowel-heavy words. Sergei was no linguist (he’d had trouble enough learning English) and wondered if the alien would expect him to learn his language.
The alien Sohaar spoke to wore silky vivid magenta-violet robes and, from what Sergei could see of it under its veil and hood, was grey-skinned with slanted iridescent orange eyes. Its voice was softer and higher-pitched than Sohaar’s, in the manner of a human woman’s. He had the impression it was female.
<My Lord, a Void Walker has appeared in the designated Jump area of the Home World system,> the starship Sanaalecaawo informed its master, interrupting his solitary meditation.
Supreme Lord Yaraan stirred irritably, opening his eyes and focusing on the austere Command Chamber in which he sat, its ovoid walls displaying the starfield outside his ship. <Identity?>
<The Void Walker identifies itself as Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo.>
Yaraan’s eyes widened and he leapt from his kneeling posture to his feet, the movement effortless despite his great age. “My treacherous brother? He has dared to return after all this time?” he snarled aloud. “Is there confirmation he is on board Nahuu?”
<Not yet.>
He settled back down on his floor-quilt and brought up a hologram link to the Navigation Chamber two levels below. The Chief Navigator appeared, bowing her head respectfully. “I wish to return to the home system as a matter of urgency. The Sword Arms visit is to be rescheduled.” Sanaalecaawo had been enroute to one of the Dominated Worlds for one of Yaraan’s regular diplomatic meetings with the native aliens there, as part of the Dawn Hunter monitoring of the races they had conquered. The aliens – whose name for themselves was the |kahi – had been subjects for thousands of years, but, being as combative as the Hunters, there were still rebellions from some factions now and then, so the Hunters had to remain ever-vigilant.
“We will inform the Sword Arms Ambassador, my Lord. Jump preparations will begin immediately.”
He summoned another link to Void Station in his home system, many light-years away. Despite the vast distance, communications were instantaneous thanks to their foldspace link technology. Both starship and Station AIs routed the neural link traffic.
The magenta-armored Station Master of the Technician Caste appeared. “My brother’s Void Walker has reappeared,” Yaraan said without preamble. “Is there confirmation he is aboard?”
“Yes, my Lord,” the Station Master replied. “He has requested sanctuary at Void Station.”
Yaraan hissed in anger, but the neutrality of the Station was strictly enforced and not even he would dare override this. “I am returning to the Home World system within the next eighth of a day. Prepare for my arrival at the Station.” The Station Master bowed his head and the hologram vanished.
Since his brother Sohaar escaped being ritually sacrificed over two thousand years earlier, Yaraan had spent that time obsessively searching the Dominated Worlds for any trace of Sohaar and his starship, but without success. Sohaar presumably had fled somewhere into an unmapped region of the Galaxy. Yaraan was determined to find him and so far had managed to stay alive, defeating the occasional opponent who sought to challenge him for the position of Supreme Lord. Yearly rejuvenation sessions in his Healing Bed kept his body in prime condition – and gave his mind a respite from itself.
Once I confront and slay my brother, Yaraan thought, I will retire, find a Bond-Mate and raise a son to succeed me. Then I can join our father in the Void.
Void Station became progressively visible as Nahuu neared on its approach vector as it rounded Ice Moon, the outermost moon. As with the starship, Sergei’s first impression was of some marine creature – a jellyfish in this case – albeit one quadrisected with four huge flat bladelike fins that tapered to a point far below the dome of what he presumed was the Station’s main body. It was constructed of the same black alloy as the starship and would have been hard to see but for the blue-violet biolights that flickered in vertical rows down the dome and fins, and horizontally along its rim.
As they neared, the immense size of the Station became apparent – in the tens of kilometers, Sergei estimated. Just under its outer rim was a level with what looked like the outlines of docking bays arranged horizontally around its edge, most of which were empty. There were three per quarter segment, stacked in four levels. Nahuu headed toward one that flashed biolights in a repeated pattern. It eased into the bay, passing through the temporarily liquefied, nanite-embedded surface that retained the atmosphere inside – the clearance appeared very narrow. Reverse thrusters brought the starship to a halt, and the sides of the shelter molded themselves to clamp the starship securely. A tube similar to a jet bridge extended from the front of the bay to a point on the upper edge of the ship’s bow, merging seamlessly with the hull. A hologram showed it had linked to the starship’s lowest level.
“Pressures now equalized,” said Nahuu.
<You will remain here for refurbishing, and until I have confronted my brother in single combat,> Sohaar told his starship as he arose and exited the Command Chamber. <This time I will put you under the Station Master’s protection to ensure my brother doesn’t try to have you destroyed.>
<I will await your return, my Lord,> the starship replied simply. Sohaar hoped that the starship’s confidence in his success would be justified.
The human followed him out and down to the passageway leading forward. Sohaar halted at its portal, glancing down at Sergei. “Human, you will stay onboard while I am gone. You are permitted to leave your cabin. You will then accompany me to Home World when I summon you.”
“Yes, Lord Sohaar,” Sergei said obediently. Sohaar could not understand his expression; the humans had faces more mobile than those of a Hunter. The human backed away, then turned and headed along the corridor to his cabin.
Sohaar strode forward, crossing the docking tube into the main body of Void Station. The Station Master and four Warrior-Guardians waited to greet him, kneeling in the posture of respect.
“My Lord, we are honored to receive you,” said the Station Master, bowing his head as they straightened up. “Your Void Walker will be refurbished and restocked as requested. I must warn you, your brother is on his way …” he tilted his head slightly as a message reached him through his neural implant, “… correction, his Void Walker is approaching to dock.”
“I will not stay; I must return to Home World,” replied Sohaar. “I will meet my brother before I leave, however.”
“His Void Walker is in the berth next to yours,” the Station Master said. “If you might like to accompany me?” The group started along the ship-access corridor that circled this level of the Station.
They halted in front of the airlock outside which Sanaalecaawo was now docked, designated by a glowing Clan symbol and ship number above its rim. The Station Master monitored the hologram glyphs to one side of the hatch. “Access tube now sealed and linked; passengers disembarking.”
Lord Sohaar stood tall and still, not showing his inner apprehension. The hatch flowed open, revealing the black-cloaked figures of Supreme Lord Yaraan and four of his Warrior-Guardians.
Everyone tensed. Sohaar stepped forward a few paces, as did Yaraan; the last time they had confronted each other in this way was on the warfield outside their Clan City, many generations ago. Sohaar retracted his helmet; a moment later Yaraan did likewise. They stared at each other for several hearts’-beats, crest-quills instinctively raised under the hoods of their war-cloaks in an aggressive display, slit pupils dilated, claws flexing. They might have attacked each other there and then, but the Station Master, sensing imminent danger, warned softly, “My Lords, conflict here is forbidden.”
His words diffused the tension somewhat, and the brothers’ mutual aggression subsided – for the moment. “I did not expect to meet you again, brother,” said Yaraan, in a deceptively calm tone.
“I was recovering from our last encounter,” Sohaar informed him. “As you can see, I am fully healed now.”
“I will give you one more chance to submit to my rule,” Yaraan continued.
“You know I cannot. I am your older brother and superior.”
Yaraan bared his sharp teeth and snarled, “I will meet you, then, in the Arena of Honor for single combat, when Grey Moon is full again.”
“I accept your challenge.” A quick information request from the neural network told Sohaar that Home World’s closest moon would be at its full phase in four days of its five-day orbit – little time to prepare.
<The years have not mellowed him,> he added to Nahuu. <He has lived too long – I can see it in his eyes.>
They continued staring, neither wishing to be the first to back away, until the Station Master again diplomatically broke in, “Lord Yaraan, is your Void Walker requiring replenishments?”
Distracted, Yaraan turned to answer, and Sohaar took that opportunity to leave, deciding to head to a lower level to oversee the Technicians who were beginning their work on his starship, before leaving for Home World.
18 Jul 2009
Home World
“Lord Sohaar is ready to depart for Home World,” the starship Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo informed Sergei, who was idling in the cabin assigned to him some hours after they had arrived in the star system. “He wishes you to meet him in Hangar-1. You may want to bring some personal items and food supplies.”
“Now?”
“You have thirty minutes to prepare. A carrying bag is provided for you in the replicator slot. You are to cover your head fully.”
Sergei got up from the alcove bed and collected the bag – a molded backpack made from the same synthetic alien material as his clothing – from the wall slot opposite his bed. He began retrieving and shoving said items – his laptop computer, digital camera, some toiletries and food packets from the Horus – into the bag. He refreshed himself in the adjacent ensuite bathroom, then slung on the backpack; it was light and the front cross-straps held it securely, merging with his alien clothing. After hooding and veiling his head, he approached the hatchway, which glowed at its edges and flowed open in response.
Apparently he was expected to find his own way there; he was beginning to learn the layout of the starship by now, so he walked along the lengthy curving corridor to the rearwards elevators, passing some magenta-armored and -helmeted Hunters along the way. They glanced at him but made no other reactions, being intent on their own tasks.
“Who are they?” Sergei murmured to Nahuu; his clothing’s hood had a communications link embedded somewhere that enabled him to speak and listen to the starship.
“Engineers of the Technician Caste; they are refurbishing and restocking me.”
“How many Castes are there?”
“The Warriors, who wear black armor, of whom Lord Sohaar is one; the Technicians, who wear magenta-violet, and the Adepts, who wear cyan-blue. The Warriors are the Defenders, the Technicians the Creators, and the Adepts the Maintainers.”
That seemed a rather anachronistic way to organize a society, but Sergei supposed it must work for the aliens. He entered the elevator. “How long has your society been like that?”
“In your time categorization, the Dawn Hunters have been civilized for one hundred and eleven thousand, nine hundred and seventy years.”
Sergei nearly fell over, as much as from stunned surprise as from the elevator’s abrupt descent. “It’s that old? Has it always been like it is now?”
“Yes. The society is stable.”
Sergei mused on that as he alighted and followed the nadir corridor that led to the hangar bays. What were humans doing so long ago? Still in the Stone Age, I think …
He entered Hangar-1 and followed the access ramp down, then across the vast floor, passing more Technicians along the way. Lord Sohaar’s shuttle waited at the far end in its access pod. He hesitated before walking up the shuttle’s ramp; when he last entered here, he had been in desperate flight from the alien.
He emerged into the small airlock chamber that divided the cabin and passenger holds. As the ramp closed behind him, Sergei glanced to the rear of the ship at the passenger hold. Eight forward-facing seats were arranged four to each side. The chrysalis-like seats were attached to points at the ceiling and floor as though they had grown from these. The ship’s interior, illuminated by indirect lighting, was metallic black like the outside, having the same curvaceous organic appearance.
“In here, human,” said Sohaar from the flight deck. Sergei stepped through the forward hatch to access it. Lord Sohaar sat in the right-hand of the two seats – evidently the commander’s seat.
“Sit. Touch nothing.”
Sergei removed his backpack and placed it on the floor beside him, then tentatively settled into the co-pilot’s seat, suppressing his irritation at the alien’s terse manner. The seat molded itself to fit his shape, supporting his entire body. A flexible harness automatically extended from several points and secured him. Feeling the seat morph was somewhat unnerving, but he soon relaxed into it.
As with the Command Chamber, holograms appeared in rainbow shimmers on the flat panels curving in front of Sergei and Lord Sohaar. Data in the geometric alien script scrolled up some of the translucent screens. The panels where windows normally would have been instantaneously transmuted from opaque to transparent.
“The shuttle can only be flown by those authorized,” Sohaar said, obliquely referring to Sergei’s unsuccessful attempt at fleeing in the spacecraft. Reclining in his seat, Sohaar manipulated some of the holograms in sequence. Sergei felt a slight vibration through his seat, then an infrasonic hum increasing in intensity as what must be the engines started up.
Sohaar placed his hands on his seat’s armrests; more holograms appeared in front of these. The shuttle rose from its pod smoothly in response to Sohaar’s fingers, then slowly drifted forward towards the entrance. It slipped through the bay’s temporarily liquefied entrance into the cavernous main hangar where Nahuu was docked. The immense scale of the structure was awe-inspiring.
As they passed the starship, Sergei espied two more Technicians drifting slowly close to its hull, tiny figures against its bulk. Thruster jets fired occasionally from streamlined backpacks that appeared to be part of their armor; these looked to be the equivalent of the SAFERs worn by astronauts doing EVAs outside the International Space Station. Perhaps they were doing a visual inspection, or going to make some repairs.
Void Station fell rapidly away behind them as the shuttle engaged its fusion engines, and Sergei was pressed back against the seat from acceleration. He judged this to be around two gravities; a little uncomfortable but not disabling – he had endured higher when flying. The pressure eased as the shuttle reached its desired speed, and his arms lifted as weightlessness asserted itself. He clasped the armrests to force them back down.
A schematic diagram of the shuttle on one panel changed color and a glowing sphere appeared in a compartment below the main deck. Sergei immediately felt gravity pull him back down into the seat.
“Lord Sohaar, is that what is creating gravity?”
“Yes. It is generated from contained energy.”
“Oh, okay …” Might as well be magic to me.
Just under three hours later, Sergei gazed upon Home World from the cabin of Lord Sohaar’s shuttle as the alien put the spacecraft into a deorbiting trajectory, aiming toward the southern hemisphere, forward thrusters firing to slow it from orbital velocity and the gravity generator deactivated. The world’s atmosphere had a subtly greener tinge than Earth’s – aquamarine rather than turquoise – due to its greater density, though it was still breathable for a human.
On request, the starship Nahuu had earlier provided Sergei with some information about the planet: it was slightly larger than Earth, its gravity was 1.1 times higher, three moons orbited it, its day was approximately 30 Earth-hours and its year was 1.75 times longer – 638.75 Earth-days. Three-quarters of the world was ocean; most of the landmass was concentrated in a single Pangaea-like supercontinent that stretched from the north to south poles. The huge unbroken expanse of ocean enabled the formation of violent megahurricanes that battered the coastlines; a swirled cloud mass off the south-eastern coastline indicated one such hurricane.
The single continent became visible as they crossed the terminator from night to day. It narrowed in its approximate center at the Equator, reminiscent of the Americas. The land – mostly cloudfree away from the coastline – was various shades of sandy-desert and brown, with reddish-purple or orange patches of vegetation; a contrast to the familiar green of Earth.
He noticed a line of atmospheric smoke emanating from a mountain range along a south-eastern peninsula jutting from the upper continent, the plumes flattening and drifting south as they met the upper atmosphere. “Lord Sohaar, are those volcanoes?” he asked, as he took some photos with his digital camera. First photos of an alien planet! Can’t wait to send these back to Earth.
“Yes. They are the most active range.”
Aside from the volcanoes, the atmosphere appeared clear, with no haze of pollution. Unlike Earth, there was barely any indication that a civilization existed; no dead grey regions where cities devoured the land like rapacious cancer cells. Nahuu had told him there were Clan Cities, though.
Sohaar momentarily cleared the data display holograms in front of him for an unimpeded view. He looked upon his world for the first time in over two thousand of its years, feeling an unexpected surge of relief. <It is good to see Home World again,> he remarked to Nahuu, putting aside for a while his anxiety about the upcoming duel with his brother.
<Little has changed. The Dominion continues,> Nahuu replied reassuringly from its berth at Void Station.
Sohaar re-engaged the holograms, the main one showing the spiraling descent trajectory to his home city of the Night River Clan. There was no Hunter equivalent of air traffic control as the AI-equipped spacecraft effectively performed this function.
The shuttle’s controlled re-entry was much gentler than Sergei’s previous experience of the procedure in a Soyuz Descent Module. The Soyuz’s ballistic descent was dependent upon a computer program to select the right angle to pass through the atmosphere without burning up, then parachute to slow the capsule to a safe (if still jolting) landing speed. The Americans’ retired winged space shuttles had landed on a runway, but still used an unpowered gliding descent. The alien shuttle, in contrast, flew like a dream, a hologram showing its wings morphing to suit the current flight conditions.
I wish I could have a go at flying it! Sergei thought wistfully; he had not been near the controls of an aircraft since before his mission. As a fighter pilot in the VVS, Russian Air Force, he had flown various types; his favorite was the Su-27. He recalled the exhilaration of soaring high into the atmosphere; the feeling of escaping his country’s woes, if only for a short time. As a cosmonaut, though, he rarely got to actually fly, as in pilot his own craft; rather, he was limited to being a passenger while on board the International Space Station.
As they passed into the lower atmosphere, the heat glow of their passage faded and the descent rate slowed. Ground features became visible in the early afternoon sunlight. Sergei could now see their destination: the black Night River Clan City, its main feature an immense flat-topped pyramid located next to the south side of the City’s encasing octagonal wall. Distant mountains and a vast plain of magenta vegetation surrounded the City; the metallic grass he recalled from the first image Nahuu had shown him.
“What is that pyramid, Lord Sohaar?”
“Halecabuuno, House of the Ancestors, where all the dead of my Clan are buried.”
It looked to be a few hundred meters long each side, larger than any equivalent human structure – roughly guessing, at least twice the size of Egypt’s Great Pyramid. As the shuttle passed by, Sergei could see its surface was overlain with countless hexagonal dead-black panels that, like Sohaar’s cloak, absorbed all light, giving it a scaly appearance, and its beveled edges were painted emerald-green. Its shadow stretched far into the distance; Sergei realized it had been situated so it would not overshadow the rest of the City.
He got a brief impression of the rest of the Clan City before the shuttle descended toward an open area east of the pyramid: northwards were presumably residential and other buildings, laid out in a grid pattern.
Hundreds of rows of black elongated geodesic domes lined the landing area, one side of which was bounded by the City’s main surrounding eastern wall. Spaceships could be seen inside some of these, so they were evidently the equivalent of hangars; an individual one for each ship. The shuttle flew down towards one; the dome retracted before the shuttle passed through it, then closed over again as the spacecraft settled on its three landing skids into a servicing pod. A small group of Technicians and two blue-robed figures came out to meet them, standing at a safe distance for the moment.
The outside view vanished as the windows opaqued, as did the hologram displays after Sohaar powered down the shuttle. He arose, ordering Sergei to cover his face. Sergei complied, following Sohaar out of the shuttle.
Lord Sohaar paused at the base of the shuttle’s ramp, inhaling the familiar scents of his home city through his currently-porous helmet as he waited for the Clan Adept-Superior and an Acolyte to approach across the grey hexagonal tiles of the extensive plaza. She oversaw the City’s activities in partnership with its Clan Lord.
“Lohuzanamasee, Clan Lord Sohaar,” she greeted him, bowing her veiled head. “I am Adept-Superior Baalosaan. Your name is still remembered, though you have been absent for many generations.” She looked askance at the human, but politely said nothing.
“I am to duel my brother in four days for the position of Supreme Lord,” Sohaar informed her. “The Arena of Honor will need to be prepared, and provisions made for the other Clan Lords who will be arriving here.”
“All will be made ready, my Lord,” she replied. They walked to the portal that led out of the landing area, the human trailing behind, while the Technicians began servicing the shuttle. “May I ask … what is that … creature you brought with you?”
“It is a sapient species, named a ‘human,’ from a new world my crew discovered on my last exploratory flight. I do not wish this to become widely known yet.”
Outside the landing area, Sohaar told the Adept-Superior, “I will return to my home.”
“Very well, my Lord, I will begin preparations,” she said, and she and the acolyte departed.
Sergei looked around, trying to take everything in as the group left the plaza through a tall open gateway onto what appeared to be the main street. The buildings resembled the blocky inward-sloping structures of ancient Mesoamerican cities, few higher than three storeys. Their outsides followed the octagonal four-short-four-long sides theme he had noticed in the starship, with corners not at a right angle but trimmed at 45 degrees.
Vegetation lined the edges of the houses and street, its leaves in shades of magenta, yellow and orange, with some blue-green foliage; it was reminiscent of tropical plants. A tall palm-like tree with hexagonal-scaled black bark and a crown of long cyan leaves was placed at intervals. The shape of its bark scales appeared to be the design inspiration for the tiling of the buildings and paths.
Other aliens, in robes of black, cyan or magenta-violet, could occasionally be glimpsed as they strode purposefully from one place to another, but the City seemed mostly deserted and tranquil. There was no equivalent of cars evident. The street and buildings were devoid of the all-too-familiar sight of litter and graffiti blighting Earth’s cities.
After a twenty-minute walk, they turned east down a side-street next to the airfield which led to an extensive garden with a large three-storey house in its center, shaped like a stepped, flat-topped pyramid. The pathway led straight to the front portal.
Sohaar quickened his pace, eager to again see the ancestral home he and Yaraan had grown up in. Two Warrior-Guardians on sentry duty stood to either side of the main entrance; they straightened even more on seeing the horned-helmeted Clan Lord. “I, Clan Lord Sohaar, have returned, and I wish to enter my residence,” Sohaar informed them, and they bowed their heads in respect as he and the human passed through.
The cyan-robed House Master – a female of the Adept Caste – and some of her assistants were there to meet him also, in the posture of obeisance. “Lohuzanamasee, my Lord … your room has been made ready. Your brother resides in the opposite corridor.”
Sohaar was thankful for that; with his brother on the other side of the house, they could keep out of each other’s way. “I will require a meal. The alien with me cannot eat our food, so he must be given specially-prepared rations. My starship has sent the information to the City’s database.” The Clan City’s AI was designed to be less capable than that of a starship, but adequate for its purpose of operating the City. “I will proceed to my room.”
He turned to the right and continued to the corner where a ramp led up to the second storey where living quarters were located.
They really like black, thought Sergei as he trailed behind Sohaar. The walls of the house were black, but orange, cyan and magenta geometric patterns provided some color around doorways. Light grey hexagonal tiles covered the floor. The rooms were all located along the inward-facing wall; the outer wall was interrupted only by an access ramp at the corner they reached. Inset overhead lights dimly illuminated the corridor as windows on the outer wall were sparse and small; these were of stained glass. Sergei had the impression the building was very old, though it appeared well-maintained. Its layout was reminiscent of the starship’s.
They ascended to the third floor, and walked onward. Again all rooms were inward-facing. Murals decorated the outer wall; most showed battle scenes. They were walking too quickly to get a good look at them; he would try to do so later.
Sohaar halted then turned into a portal located midway along the corridor after sliding open its door. Sergei was not surprised to see that the room was similar in layout to Nahuu’s cabins and, like them, appeared at least as big as his Star City apartment. A portal at the far end of the left wall led to an adjoining bathroom.
Sohaar had slid open a drawer from a small cabinet set against the right wall and was putting his sword inside, so Sergei walked to the back wall, a segment of which was translucent, providing daylight illumination for the room. A closer look revealed this to be a sliding door which opened onto a balcony.
He gazed out and down at a large inner courtyard that was reminiscent of a formal Japanese garden. A stream ran through the middle, and exotic vegetation of various colors – orange, yellow, blue-green, magenta – provided a bright contrast to the dark building. The balcony was walled off on either side at intervals for some privacy. The roof above it was flat. The residence, like the starship, seemed designed to be aesthetically pleasing.
Sohaar rummaged through the storage area, checking to see things were as he had last left them. Yaraan had apparently sealed off the apartment and not been in it since Sohaar fled. He and his brother had resided here with Lord Maarec until adulthood; moving out had merely entailed shifting to the adjoined apartment to the left of it, though Sohaar had more often than not preferred to stay with their father. On one shelf were the small hand-carved wooden toys he and Yaraan had played with when young; figures of Warriors and various animals to use in battle and hunting games. On another lay folded manuscripts from which they had learned the Night River Clan Saga – the history of their Clan – as well as loose sheets on which they had practised writing. <Everything is still here,> he said to Nahuu with relief, then queried, <What is my brother doing?>
Nahuu replied, <Your brother has departed Void Station for Home World.>
<I must continue fight-training tomorrow.> He would also have to keep the human out of sight of his brother, he realized with annoyance. He might have slain the creature as having to look after it was proving a nuisance, but it seemed malleable, and taking and attempting to train another from Night River Clan System-9-3 would be an inconvenience.
“Seracee!” He summoned Sergei, who had gone out onto the balcony, transliterating the human’s name to meet his language’s grammar rules. “You are to stay in the room next to mine.” He opened a folding door and led the human leftwards through a narrow portal to what had been Sohaar and Yaraan’s quarters while Lord Maarec was still alive. “You are free to wander but avoid going anywhere near my brother, who will be arriving soon. Food will be provided for you. I will be at the Training Arena during the day.” With that, he departed.
“‘Free to wander?’ I suppose I will – doesn’t seem like there is much else to do,” Sergei grumbled aloud to himself after the alien had exited. “I seem to be more an inconvenience to him than anything else.” He dumped his backpack on the low-set platform-bed, which looked large enough to accommodate several bodies; a tent-like canopy was suspended over it.
A suit of armor resided in the far right corner, so he went to inspect it. The armor seemed to be of an older type than the flowing metal Sohaar used, reminiscent of ancient lamellar armor. The black-colored metal scales were, however, hexagonal in shape. They were hand-sewn to a black leather backing with a silky inner lining; this and the thread were green in color. The helmet covered the top half of the head, a mask-like guard protected the upper part of the face and separate curving cheekpieces shielded the sides; scaled neck guards completed the ensemble. Green-colored cords were used to secure it. An impressive pair of flat black horns arced up and forward, similar to the ones on Sohaar’s helmet; they felt like the keratin making up the horns of Earth animals.
“Nahuu, what is this scale armor?”
“It is traditional Dawn Hunter armor, belonging to Lord Sohaar.”
He explored the rest of the room, which in general appearance was similar to traditional Japanese interiors. It had the same technological features as the starship’s, such as separate wall slots for food and rubbish, apparently retrofitted over the original ancient building (Night River was the first Clan City built, its construction begun 111,906 Earth-years ago, according to Nahuu). A folding screen with painted panels depicting Warriors in battle stood against one wall on the bed side of the door; it pulled out alongside the bed to give the occupant some privacy from anyone entering. There were several more dividing off areas of the large room. The hides of some animals lay on the floor next to the bed, serving as floor rugs; their smooth leather-like skin was iridescent red with a pattern of blue spots.
Next to the armor was a small table set with a colorful embroidered cloth; on the wall above it was a hanging scroll painted with stylized portraits of a black-skinned and grey-skinned Dawn Hunter. Their faces in profile had humanoid, feline and avian elements and were not unhandsome. Yet another query to Nahuu informed him that males had black skin, females grey; the portraits were of Sohaar’s parents, and this part of the room was a Lohoncabuun, ancestor shrine.
He wandered out onto the balcony again. A sloping black stone divider wall was to his left; to his right was Sohaar’s portal, then another divider wall. A narrow spiral staircase led to the roof above. Ceramic-pot plants lined the barrier at the edge, which was nearly chest-high. He reached to feel the plant leaves; they were much like those of Earth plants from the tropics with a waxy texture, though these were a vivid shade of violet-red with black hexagonal-scaled bark covering the long thin trunk. If they practise gardening, they can’t all be ferocious like Sohaar. He couldn’t imagine the Clan Lord tending the plants.
Now and then more aliens dressed in silky cyan-blue garments like his own passed through the garden – house staff, the ever-patient Nahuu answered his query. Their heads were hooded and veiled so he couldn’t get a good look at their faces.
He glanced up at the aquamarine sky, where a few unfamiliar constellations were appearing; the long day was slowly drawing to a close. He decided to retire for the evening.
<My Lord, your brother has arrived at the Residence,> the House Master informed Sohaar through his neural implant. <Shall I inform him of your presence?>
<Yes. It is best we avoid each other.>
Concealing his anxiety, he went to the balcony. Nahuu told him Sergei was inside; ideal, as he did not wish his brother to know of the human if he could avoid it.
In a short while his brother appeared on the opposite balcony some distance away, as he suspected he would. They both still had their armor deployed. Yaraan tensed when he saw Sohaar, but this time they exchanged no words. Sohaar turned and went back inside.
20 Feb 2010
Encounter
On the first full day after returning to Home World, Clan Lord Sohaar stopped at the portal leading into one of the training arenas for adult Warriors, this one for unarmed fighting. Eighteen other Warriors were there, along with the Battle Master, a retired Warrior-Three-Claw who would soon supervise Sohaar’s duel. Two Warriors were struggling against each other in a clinch as the Warrior-Trainer supervised.
The Battle Master saw him and approached. Sohaar inclined his head respectfully – the arena was the Master’s domain. A lower-ranked Warrior would crouch instead.
“Lohuzanamasee, Clan Lord. A training partner has been selected for you – Warrior-Two-Claw Norowa.” He indicated a dark-green-eyed male who was nearly as tall as Sohaar. The name was familiar – he must be a descendant of the Norowa who had been part of Sohaar’s year group during their Time of Exile long ago.
Sohaar divested himself of his cloak and surcoat, then, as the others had, slid on finger-claw-caps to protect their sharp points and avoid inflicting injury. Warriors normally wore these unless hunting or fighting; most of those of the other Castes kept their finger-claws short and blunted. He knelt in an empty spot, and the males nearest to him flattened their crest-quills with nervous respect, edging away.
The two males in the Arena finished their session when one managed to hook a leg around the other’s, pull him off balance and down him. In real combat the fight might have ended in the victor biting out or slashing the other’s throat.
Sohaar and Norowa entered the Arena, facing each other several bodylengths apart. The Battle Master said “Nacanuumahensesa!” and they began the ritual circling, sizing each other up. As this was a training duel, they suppressed their more hostile physical displays, such as flared crest-quills and intimidating eye contact.
Sohaar began with a tactic he intended to use with Yaraan: a sudden high leap with a kick intended to disembowel, though he held back from full force. Norowa tried to dodge, but did not get out of the way in time, and Sohaar’s foot slammed into his abdomen, knocking him backwards. Norowa rolled out of the way, quickly regaining his feet, though he was gasping for breath.
His blood up, Norowa charged at Sohaar, who braced to meet him; the two collided and grappled for the best clinch position. Sohaar had the advantage of greater weight and height, something Norowa evidently hadn’t thought too much about, and he forced Norowa backwards, feet leaving grooves in the sand.
Risking his balance, Norowa kicked hard at the inside of Sohaar’s right lower leg, which was extended further back, causing Sohaar to shift his weight to his left. Norowa pulled as hard as he could, and both toppled over, Sohaar onto his back. Norowa quickly leapt up and onto Sohaar’s chest, pinning him.
Sohaar was not ready to give in yet, though; he bent his right leg, braced his hips, then heaved up and to the left, throwing Norowa off. He was up in an instant, and immobilized Norowa in the same maneuver.
“Hazanuumahensesa!” said the Battle Master, and the two separated and crouched briefly before leaving the Arena, both winded. Sohaar knelt in his spot after stretching tense muscles. It felt good to be fighting again – what he had been bred to do – but he had not fought for over 2000 Home World years. He would need to train hard to be ready for his duel.
Sergei ambled along a corridor on the third floor of the Clan Lord’s residence, studying the colorful murals painted along the walls while doing circuits around the upper level for exercise. Some showed various animals and landscapes; others were sometimes-gruesome battle or hunting scenes. One displayed a stylized map of the continent. The murals seemed to be instructive as well as decorative, and were reminiscent of Minoan palace frescoes.
Having grown up in a dreary, poorly-built Soviet-era apartment, he found himself marveling at residing in a dwelling where everything was aesthetically-pleasing, constructed with care and well-maintained – a novel experience for him. He stopped briefly to admire a more tranquil mural showing a Clan Lord standing on a clifftop as though at the prow of a ship, cloak billowing dramatically behind him and silhouetted by a brilliant starry sky, with his starship in the distance; similar to the one displayed over Sohaar’s sarcophagus.
He had not yet worked up the courage to venture outside the house, so he was restless from the confinement. Lord Sohaar was elsewhere, training in a nearby arena for his upcoming duel.
By pacing, Sergei ascertained that the corridors were each nearly two hundred meters long. There were sixteen rooms per side, most occupied by Warriors or various housestaff.
As Sergei neared a corner of the four-sided building, he heard approaching footsteps beyond his line-of-sight. Rounding the corner, he was confronted by a tall, horned-helmeted figure flanked by two Warriors with backward-pointing crests.
“Lord Sohaar! I thought you were –”
Sergei realized that the alien’s helmet eyepieces were not green, but blue; it was a little shorter than Sohaar – and Sohaar did not have bodyguards. The alien tensed as it stared at him – moving its head and neck in a disturbingly sinuous manner – and its posture radiated aggression as it spoke harshly to one of its companions. “Manenmewuu, Haarlecaawo.”
“Zulwano lahonzananeecuza ranuhuu. Sohaarzulo manenuu raalzanbelseeza.”
On finishing his morning’s training, Supreme Lord Yaraan was enroute to his room for his afternoon rest when, on approaching the corner of the corridor where he resided, a strange bipedal creature came around it. Yaraan stopped abruptly, as did his Warrior-Guardians and the creature.
“What is that creature, Haarlecaa?” he demanded of one of his Guardians.
“My Lord, I do not know. Perhaps it belongs to Lord Sohaar.”
The creature, wearing the silver-grey clothing that designated an Outsider, was hooded and veiled so he could not see its face. It spoke in a foreign tongue, then cut its words off, staring at him as if mesmerized.
Faced with something unfamiliar and potentially threatening, Yaraan’s first instinct was to attack. He hissed, flexing his armored talons as he stalked toward the creature, which began to back away.
Sergei realized he was in danger as the alien approached him with unmistakable hostility. He followed his own instinct, which was to turn and flee. “Nahuu, I need Lord Sohaar, now!” he said urgently into his hood – he could not contact Sohaar directly.
“He wishes to know for what reason you disturb him.”
Sergei gasped a reply as footsteps thudded unnervingly close behind him, “Another alien with horns is chasing me!”
“He is on his way.”
Sergei felt a rush of air, then sharp pain as something slashed across his upper back and shoulders. He stumbled, then a surge of adrenaline enabled him to regain his feet and he darted forward and to the side, reliving that nightmarish pursuit when he first encountered Sohaar on his starship. Not again!
He could not evade the stronger and faster alien for long, however, and a hand closed around his upper left arm like a steel trap, jerking him to a halt and nearly tearing his shoulder from its socket. The alien yanked him violently around so he faced it, then hooked a bloodied claw over the edge of his veil, pulling it down.
The Warrior stared at him for a few seconds, but whatever it was going to do next was thwarted by more footsteps behind him. He recognized Sohaar’s voice, speaking in a sharp tone in the alien’s own language. “Manenuu wanzeno laahuzancuusa!”
Yaraan caught the creature at last. Hunting instincts roused, he barely restrained himself from tearing it apart before he could get a look at it. He removed its veil instead, and beheld a face belonging to an alien species he had not encountered before, its brown-green eyes ringed with white, its skin a light brown.
He glanced up as a familiar figure approached. “Release the alien; he belongs to me!” Sohaar ordered him, addressing him as an inferior.
Habitual deference to his older sibling almost prompted Yaraan to obey, but he overrid this, pulling the creature toward him. “What species is it?”
“It is a sapient alien, its world discovered by me.”
“I have heard nothing of this.”
“I have not yet reported the discovery to the Astronomers. If you harm the creature, I will reveal nothing more.”
Yaraan hissed in anger, then shoved the creature – which now looked a bit worse for wear – toward Sohaar, who caught it before it collapsed. “Keep it out of my sight or I will slay it.” Yaraan distastefully flicked the human’s blood from his claws, then turned and strode off before his fragile self-restraint gave way.
Sergei was shaking with delayed fear as Sohaar set him upright. The aliens seemed to be as dangerous and unpredictable as tigers or bears. He now recalled the advice that one should not turn and run away when encountering either animal – this evidently applied to the aliens as well. His shoulders burned with pain, but his nanite-infused clothing stuck to the wound, sealing it and stopping the blood flow.
“Who – who was that, Lord Sohaar?” Sergei asked, barely able to get the words out through chattering teeth as Sohaar, none-too-gently holding his right arm, led him away. I’ll at least have matching bruises, Sergei thought.
“My brother, Lord Yaraan. I must fight him in two days for the title of Supreme Lord. Why were you in this section?”
“I just wanted to walk. Get some exercise.”
“Stay away from this corridor. Walk on second floor.” Sohaar then noticed Sergei was hurt. “I will take you to the Healer in the House Healing Room. Cover your face.” Sohaar walked back to the corner and down two access ramps to ground level, Sergei half-jogging to keep up. The utility rooms were located on this level, while the living quarters were on the second and third.
A cyan-blue-robed and -veiled figure awaited them when they entered the Healing Room; a grey-skinned female (the starship had earlier affirmed that both sexes had different skin colors). Sohaar said to her in a more moderate tone, “Manenuu rocuzancuuna,” as he steered Sergei to an examination table and brusquely told him to “Sit,” then released him. A moment later he felt the hands of the Healer on his shoulders; he flinched, but her touch was gentle. With some pulling and tugging his garment separated so his back was bared. She ran some sort of hand-held scanner over his torso and arms. She cleaned off the dried blood, then sprayed the grey substance on the cuts, and their pain faded. She pulled the material together and the garment self-sealed.
“Come,” Sohaar said once she had finished, and Sergei followed him out of the Healing Room – thankfully, the alien did not grab his arm this time. On returning to Sergei’s quarters, Sohaar indicated a small illuminated octagon on a wall panel at the rear of the room, divided into eight segments, the first four clockwise from the top glowing blue, the following ones orange. “This is our time-marker.” He named the eight segments: saane – dawn, hamewenasaane – premidday, hamewenawe – midday, hamewenazalare – postmidday, hesaasalamlalowe – sunset, nahuuwenasaane– premidnight, nahuuwenawe – midnight, nahuuwenazelare – postmidnight. “We train between saane and hamewenawe, return for rest, then are active from late hamewenazalare to hesaasalamlalowe. Only leave your room when my brother is out training.” Sergei nodded, though the lengthy similar-sounding words had him befuddled, and the alien turned and left.
Feeling an overwhelming exhaustion, Sergei sat on the edge of his bed. He held his hands out in front of him; they were still trembling. The aliens looming over him had made him feel like a helpless child among hostile adults. He rested them on his knees and breathed deeply to try to calm himself. This is like a dream I can’t wake up from. He shut his eyes just in case it wasn’t, but the room was still there when he opened them. Another idea occurred to him: Maybe I am already dead and I am wandering through the afterlife. Maybe I died when the alien hit me – or even before – and everything since is an illusion. He poked at his skin with a finger, but his body felt real enough, and he sighed in resignation. If I keep thinking that way, I will go mad. He slumped back on the bed and drifted into sleep.
25 Oct 2010
Duel
Clan Lord Sohaar stood motionless as the attendant assigned to him – a young, low-ranked Warrior-One-Claw of his Clan named Caabasanaa – removed his war-cloak, utility belt and surcoat so that he wore only his short loincloth. His coal-black skin gleamed iridescently under the artificial lighting. For this fight that would decide the next Supreme Lord, only his razor-sharp talons and carnivorous teeth would serve as weapons.
The ancient ritual was to be held in the equally ancient Haranec Nezane, Arena of Honor, in the Night River Clan City’s Great Hall on the east side of the House of the Ancestors.
The attendant said, “You are ready, my Lord,” bowing his head and cautiously backing away. Sohaar, focused on the incipient battle, did not acknowledge him. Sohaar exited the small preparation room, turning to walk up the sloping passageway leading to the Arena, the Warrior trailing behind, carrying his clothing.
On emerging he saw his brother was already there, having entered earlier from an adjacent room. Unlike Sohaar – a solitary ghost from the past – Supreme Lord Yaraan was surrounded by his Warrior-Guardians and followers. The latter, being of the brothers’ Clan, would transfer their allegiance to Sohaar if he were victorious – at least, those who did not suicide out of loyalty to their Lord. They retired to the Night River Clan’s area.
The Clan Lords of the other seven Clan Cities – some of who had been summoned from various sectors of Dominated Space – occupied their assigned places on a low stone platform around the octagonal-shaped Arena, with their Warrior-Guardians and attendants behind them in each alcove. All were seated on floor-quilts. Their transport shuttles were parked elsewhere in the City on the landing plaza.
Yaraan’s eight crest-quills flared as his blue eyes momentarily locked with his brother’s, then he turned away as the Clan Adept-Superior Baalosaan approached, wearing her ceremonial cobalt-blue hood and veil. They knelt before her on one knee as she asked, “Who enters the Arena to do battle?”
They both stated their reason for combat to her in the formal manner.
“I am Yaraan-28, son of Maarec-27 of the Night River Clan, commander of Zaawezoyuu-cenamalecuzeyunel. By death I became Supreme Lord, and by death I will keep or relinquish my position.”
“I am Sohaar-28, son of Maarec-27 of the Night River Clan, commander of Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel. I have come to claim leadership in the ancient tradition, and will do so or die in the attempt.”
She placed a hand on each Warrior’s head. “From this moment you will not leave the Arena until one has entered the Void and the other is the new Supreme Lord. May the most worthy prevail.”
She departed the Arena to sit in the Night River Clan’s section. The two brothers arose and moved away from each other to ready themselves. The Battle Master, a retired Warrior-Three-Claw, stood to one side in the Arena to supervise; he remained in full armor should one of the duelists turn on him in the heat of battle-madness.
There was no cheering or noise of any sort from those watching; the spectators looked on with silent intensity. The other Clan Lords would be analyzing the combatants’ condition and fighting technique in preparation for potential future challenges.
“Nacanuumahensesa!” said the Battle Master.
Lord Sohaar dug his black toe-claws into the fine white sand which covered the stone floor of the Arena, illuminated by the skylight high above. It will soon be stained with blood, he thought, his stomach clenching with a nervousness he tried not to show, remembering the disabling injuries previously inflicted by his brother during Sohaar’s capture and torture. He wanted to seek reassurance from Sahelnahuuwo, but he restrained himself.
Sohaar was still physiologically only a little older than when he had gone into stasis; Yaraan in contrast had lived all the interceding two thousand-plus Home World years, fighting off other occasional challengers to his position though that time – Sohaar had watched recordings of some of these fights during the previous four days. Yaraan thus possessed vastly more combat experience than his older brother. The years had taken their toll, though; despite periods of rejuvenation in his own Healing Bed, Yaraan showed subtle hints of his great age – mainly a jadedness in his eyes – as Sohaar had noticed in their first encounter on Void Station. He was one of the longer-lived Supreme Lords.
His nervousness faded as primal instinct took over. At last, the conflict that had overshadowed both their lives was to be resolved once and for all.
The brothers circled warily in the ritualistic manner, each waiting for the other to make the first move, staring at each other with a penetrating intensity in an effort to intimidate, crest-quills raised. Sohaar was slightly taller than Yaraan, but Yaraan’s physique was more densely-muscled.
Hoping to seize the advantage, Sohaar tensed and sprang at Yaraan, who – as if animated by one will – leapt to meet him in the same moment, their talons extended. They collided in mid-air, Yaraan twisting to deflect Sohaar’s high kick aimed at his vulnerable underbelly, meant to disembowel him; the claws instead gashed his side. He managed to clout Sohaar on the side of his head with a backfist. Dizzied and off-balance, Sohaar staggered to one side but recovered, moving out of range as they turned to face each other again.
“First blood to the challenger,” said the Battle Master. Yaraan bared his teeth, giving no sign he had noticed his injury despite the blue blood dripping from his side onto the white sand.
Sohaar panted, recovering his wind. His brother was stronger than he had anticipated. To his dismay, his brother charged at him again, barely pausing for breath. Sohaar braced to meet him; this time he ducked, reaching down to grab Yaraan’s lower left leg, pulling hard to one side. Yaraan let out a startled yelp as he stumbled and fell on his knees.
Sohaar scrambled up and jumped onto Yaraan’s back, digging his claws into the protective layered skin of Yaraan’s shoulders, baring his own teeth. He lunged for the back of his brother’s neck and sunk his teeth in, hoping to bite through into his spinal cord. Yaraan squealed, then, with a tremendous effort, heaved upward and threw Sohaar off. Sohaar rolled onto his back and quickly regained his feet. He felt sharp agony in his mouth as two upper front teeth had snapped off at their roots; new ones would grow to replace them, but it was a distraction nonetheless. He spat blood onto the sand.
Before leaving the Clan Lord’s residence, Lord Sohaar had told Sergei that he could watch the fight remotely; a “privilege” not normally given to outsiders. “If I am slain, Lord Sanaazuun will take you under his protection. Otherwise I cannot guarantee your safety. He will come for you.”
Sergei sat cross-legged on his bed and retrieved a small thin object from the inset wall shelf beside him. As he had earlier been shown by Lord Sohaar, he unfolded it into a paper-thin A4-sized softscreen, made of a transparent, flexible plastic-like material – graphene, Nahuu told him – that hardened when flat, a rim around it providing something to grip and protection from the molecule-thin edge. Glyphs glowed down one side. He touched an orange one and a three-dimensional image of the Arena shimmered to life on the main viewing display. Nanites embedded in the material shifted to provide light, color and texture, similar to the photophores and chromatophores in the skin of marine animals. He pressed the softscreen against the wall in front of him; it adhered firmly.
No sound was provided; the fight took place in an eerie silence, with only one fixed distant viewpoint presented. He held his small digital video camera in one hand, pointing it at the screen to record the fight; the image would not be high-quality, but he had no way of linking into the feed directly.
The combatant brothers provided Sergei’s first view of what the aliens looked like, and they appeared just as formidable without their concealing armor or robes.
The skin of the males was as coal-black as their armor and smooth like burnished leather. Overlapping chitinous horizontal segments protected their head, shoulders and back, shimmering iridescently under the overhead light. Their heads were somewhat humanoid with a predator’s forward-facing eyes, but no prominent nose nor ears – though they did have small ear-holes – and canted slightly forward on a neck that was crested like a stallion’s. The nose tapered like a cat’s. Their high-cheekboned faces, all hard planes and angles, were almost expressionless. When one opened his thin, lipless mouth, he glimpsed a pointed black tongue and carnivorous black teeth. They had no hair; instead a row of eight quills formed a crest over the top of their head, following the pointed ridges of the skin-segments. The tips of these matched their eye color. Their slanted eyes were strikingly vivid in color, also iridescent – Sohaar’s the familiar emerald-green, and his brother’s were cornflower-blue – and the vertical pupils diamond-shaped. A nictitating membrane flicked across their eyes at intervals. Their limbs were long and thin; their legs had an extra, forwards bend similar to the hind legs of a dog or cat. Their deep-chested, narrow-waisted torsos were reminiscent of that of a greyhound or cheetah.
Sergei remembered his initial impression of Lord Sohaar on their first violent meeting: a sort of humanoid velociraptor. The aliens had the lean, sinewy physiques of reptilian predators, with muscle fibers, tendons and veins etched in sharp relief under their skin – they appeared to have no subcutaneous fat. They were initially strange to look at – an oddly-disconcerting blend of almost-human and beast-like – but he would not describe them as ugly.
The brothers circled each other, Yaraan streaming blood from his injuries while Sohaar tried to ignore the pain of his broken teeth. All Warriors trained in the same method of fighting each other, alternating intense and vicious bouts of contact with pauses for rest – though the Battle Master was there to ensure they could not rest too long.
Sohaar leapt at Yaraan, again jumping high with toe-claws extended and aimed at Yaraan’s abdomen, hoping his bodyweight would knock his brother off his feet if not disembowel him. Echoing Sohaar’s earlier maneuver, Yaraan unexpectedly lunged at him, grabbed one leg in mid-leap and pulled back as hard as he could. Sohaar’s momentum threw him hard onto the ground on his back, leaving him temporarily winded. With a desperate surge, he was able to find his feet and retreat before his brother could pin him down.
Their next encounter saw the two become entangled in a clinch, Yaraan wrapping his right arm around Sohaar’s neck while holding Sohaar’s right arm away and down with the other. Sohaar frantically clawed at Yaraan’s back with his free arm, trying to break the headlock, while they both struggled to shove each other off-balance.
Sohaar could feel his brother beginning to weaken from blood loss and readied himself to take advantage, but then Yaraan abruptly let go Sohaar’s arm. Reaching down and around, he raked his claws across the back of his brother’s right thigh, severing the tendons there as he pulled his weight backward.
Now it was Sohaar’s turn to squeal as he felt his leg give way, and he lurched forward to his right, then fell onto his side, ending up yet again on his back. This time Yaraan was quick to leap on top of his brother; kneeling on Sohaar’s torso and pinning down his upper arms, digging into the skin with his claws.
Sohaar fought to breathe, Yaraan’s weight crushing his chest. Trapped and helpless, he could not bend his right leg to throw his brother off.
Sohaar remembered the Warrior-Trainer who had instructed his year group long ago in combat training; he had emphasized that a combatant must do all he could to stay on his feet as once he was on the ground he became vulnerable. He knew the truth of that now, as Yaraan’s teeth sank into his throat in prelude to tearing it open. It was a peculiarly intimate moment; he could feel Yaraan’s hot breath on his skin.
Sohaar forced himself to relax, hoping that his brother would think he was exhausted to the point of submission. Sohaar did feel a creeping hazy tiredness – a part of him wanting to surrender to his fate – but he forced the seductive darkness away.
Yaraan shifted his grip on Sohaar’s right arm; this brief inattention was all Sohaar needed. He wrenched his arm free and inwards. As Yaraan inadvertently put his hand on the ground beside Sohaar to regain balance, Sohaar twisted his own arm and reached under Yaraan’s abdomen. Digging his razor-sharp claws deep into the thinner skin there, he pulled to the right as hard as he could.
Yaraan let go his death-bite, jerking upwards, mouth gaping open with shock. As he did, the torn skin of his abdomen released its contents in a river of blood and gore, drenching Sohaar. Yaraan collapsed to one side with a grunt, his blue-grey intestines slithering onto the sand beside him.
Sohaar lay still a moment, then rolled over and struggled to his knees, staring at his mortally-wounded brother dazedly, ignoring the blood trickling from his mouth and throat, and the more serious injury of his torn leg tendons. Yaraan’s wound could be repaired, but this was forbidden under the ritual combat rules.
The Battle Master approached Sohaar. “You must send him into the Void,” he ordered, handing Sohaar his dagger.
Sohaar tiredly knelt in the sand next to his brother, avoiding the slippery coiled entrails beside him, his injured leg awkwardly extended to one side. Long ago, Yaraan had been preparing to sacrifice him; now their positions were reversed. Yaraan must also pay in blood for the death of Nahuu’s crew. Yaraan’s eyes were still glazed with battle-madness as Sohaar rested the knife’s blade on his throat, over an artery underneath.
“Only one of us can live, brother,” said Sohaar, hoping for a final reconciliation between them. “Father will be waiting to welcome you.” Yaraan bared his teeth but said nothing – to beg for mercy would be dishonorable – so Sohaar resignedly made the stroke that opened an artery, and more blood joined the already-saturated sand. He watched the life leave Yaraan’s cobalt-blue eyes, as he had similarly watched their father’s eyes long ago.
The Battle Master took the dagger off Sohaar, then grasped his right arm to help him to his feet. Sohaar was grateful for his support as his injured leg would not take his full weight – he could only use his upper thigh muscles to move the limb – and the pain of his wounds was now making itself felt.
Sergei was unable to look away from the fight despite feeling increasingly squeamish. He had witnessed (and taken part in) fights between humans – both military and judo training, and informal scuffles – but these were not to the death, and humans didn’t have sharp teeth and claws. The aliens raised single combat to a new level of viciousness. An unarmed human wouldn’t have any chance against one of them, thought Sergei as he observed the combatants, the sand around them increasingly splattered with blood. Their fighting style was brutal and direct, with no superfluous flourishes. Forward leaping kicks, clawing, close-quarters grappling and biting seemed to be frequently-used techniques.
He clenched a fist, willing Sohaar to win, but groaned in dismay as the alien was downed. He put a hand on his backpack resting by his side, ready for a fast exit. Sohaar, however, managed to avert his seemingly-inevitable death.
“He just disemboweled his brother,” he exclaimed in disbelief through his clothing’s link to Sahelnahuu, as the fight reached its brutal climax.
“The fight is to the death. There is no other ending,” the starship replied, its emotionless voice emanating through his hood.
He watched, admittedly relieved, as a sand-and-blood-covered Sohaar was assisted to stand by the black-armored Warrior with a crested helmet, who appeared to be a referee or supervisor. Yaraan lay crumpled and still like a discarded doll, the white sand around him stained with blue. Sohaar was obviously hurt and appeared vulnerable for the first time since Sergei had met him; the back of his right thigh looked mangled. Sergei found the sight of blue blood and blue-grey flesh odd; no doubt the aliens regarded his red blood as an equally unusual color.
There took place a protracted ceremony where the other aliens with horned helmets like Sohaar’s came and stood before him. To Sergei they resembled a flock of black ravens or vultures with glowing multicolored eyes. Sohaar was intimidating enough by himself, but a group of the fierce alien warriors was a bone-chillingly scary sight.
“What happens now?” asked Sergei, powering off his camera.
“After healing, he will take his brother to Grey Moon for burial.”
“Behold the new Supreme Lord!” the Battle Master announced, as he and Lord Sohaar faced the black-clad audience. Sohaar ignored his pain for the moment and stood straight, though still supported by the Battle Master’s iron grip.
A violet-eyed Clan Lord entered the Arena, stood before Sohaar and, bowing his head, stated, “I, Lord Sanaazuun of the Endless Plains Clan, commander of Zaawezoyuu-celecunel, recognize you as Supreme Lord and vow to obey your will.” One by one, the other Clan Lords present repeated this ritual until all stood in a semicircle front of him. Sohaar glared at them, daring any to challenge his ascension; none did.
The Battle Master tugged at his arm and they moved forward, the other Clan Lords parting to let them through. Two Adept-Acolytes came to gather up Yaraan’s body on a stretcher and take it to the mortuary, where it would be prepared for transport to the Night River Clan’s mausoleum on the nearest moon.
They made their way slowly out of the Arena and down the ramp, halting as Caabasanaa came forward from the encircling passageway behind the Arena. Caabasanaa draped Sohaar’s war-cloak around the one who was now his master. They continued through the outside entrance, Sohaar half-hopping awkwardly, leaving a trail of bloody footprints.
“Do you wish for a stretcher, my Lord?” the Battle Master asked.
“No, I will walk,” he said, though now that his battle-madness had subsided, he felt an overwhelming weariness.
<I have won. Yaraan is dead. I am now Supreme Lord,> Sohaar told his starship, though Nahuu already knew this. He felt no sense of triumph, though, just a hollowness. <He was the last connection to my former life.>
<You still have me,> the starship said comfortingly. <I carry the memories of your father, and Sanaalecaawo will hold your brother’s.>
It isn’t the same as seeing them physically, thought Sohaar to himself, then remembered that Yaraan had reproduced before he became Supreme Lord. <What of Yaraan’s children?>
<All survived to have offspring, who in turn had many descendants. Yaraan’s Warrior-Guardians are selected from them.>
Sohaar felt an odd mixture of relief and concern. <At least our genetic line survives … though I am not sure I will wish to mate with a female who may have his temperament.> To keep their lines from becoming too diluted, and because their population was relatively small, mating between first cousins and their descendants was common practice for many, particularly amongst the ruling Clan Lords. <But perhaps their mating with my father’s brother’s line will dilute that out.>
<That will be for the Adept-Superior to decide, in the future. You have barely lived, yet.> The starship added, <Of more immediate concern, you should be on a stretcher.>
<I would appear weak.>
<You are as stubborn as your father was. It seems to be a family trait,> Nahuu observed rather tartly.
The pair entered the House of Healing through a side portal, heading toward the medical bay reserved exclusively for the resident Clan Lord. They passed through a sterilizing cold plasma barrier in the doorway, and the Battle Master released Sohaar into the care of the blue-robed Adept-Healer and her assistants. The Battle Master departed but Caabasanaa remained, standing to one side.
With silent efficiency they removed Sohaar’s war-cloak, cleaned the dried blood and sand off his skin, then helped him over from the cleansing area and onto the examination table, the table’s surface molding itself to his form. He had a discomforting flashback to his torture and near-sacrifice at the hands of his brother, but closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, trusting the Healers to do their work. They were well-accustomed to dealing with the results of the Warrior Caste’s vicious fights.
A hologram image of himself appeared to one side of the table, his injured places highlighted. Another image showed an ultrasound view. “You have no internal injuries, my Lord,” the Adept-Healer informed him after studying the holograms. “Your arm and throat wounds are superficial, and there is some bruising. The most severe injuries are to the tendons at the back of your knee, and your teeth. Do you wish to utilize your Healing Bed?”
“Not this time – I have spent long enough in one … just put regeneration gel on them,” Sohaar said.
“Very well, my Lord.” She went to a wall-compartment to select a spray-applicator, programmed it and returned to apply the healing silver-grey Repairer-Nanite gel to his thigh injury and other skin wounds, which anesthetized the pain as well. She extracted the stubs of his two broken teeth, then applied a small amount of gel to the sockets to enable them to regenerate quickly – they would otherwise take up to eight Red Moon-cycles to grow back.
The nanites embedded in the gel compared the genetic structure of normal cells with the damaged ones in each localized area and used this information to begin repairing his injuries. A protective scab-like layer formed over each application while the healing proceeded underneath. This would take two or three days; a faster rate of healing would drain his body’s resources and was thus reserved for life-threatening emergencies.
Sohaar sat up carefully as the Healer instructed, “The Recovery Room has been prepared for you, my Lord. You must rest during the healing process and make sure to eat enough to replenish the resources the Repairers use.” He inclined his head to acknowledge her as Caabasanaa brought his clothing.
6 Feb 2013
Burial
Sergei arose to follow the silent Warrior who summoned him with a gesture from his room in the Clan Lord’s Residence. “Lord Sohaar wishes you to attend Lord Yaraan’s burial on Grey Moon,” Nahuu informed him through a comm link located somewhere in the hood of his clothing.
“Is he recovered from the fight?” Sergei asked. Two days had passed since Sohaar’s gruesome duel to the death with his brother, and he had not seen the Clan Lord – now also Supreme Lord – during that time.
“Yes. He is fully healed. The stay will be overnight,” the starship added. Not feeling particularly enthused at the reason for the outing, Sergei grabbed his backpack and shoved his laptop computer into it before the Warrior – one of the Warrior-Guardians as designated by his helmet’s crest – led him out of the Residence, to the main central street and to the section of the Clan City where the transport spaceships that the huge starships carried could land and be serviced.
Lord Sohaar’s manta-ray-like shuttle waited with its access ramp lowered; the Guardian led Sergei up it and into the passenger cabin, where three other Guardians were seated. In the middle of the cabin a partially-transparent tube-like container extending from the rear wall held the body of former Supreme Lord Yaraan.
Trying not to stare too much at the corpse, Sergei took his place in one of the eight chrysalis-like seats, four to each side; it automatically molded itself to his shape and secured him in a five-point harness. He noted approvingly that there was plenty of leg room. Lord Sohaar was presumably seated forward on the flight deck.
As usual, the Hunters ignored Sergei – not having his language downloaded into their neural implants was a major factor, and they did not seem to be inclined to converse socially in any case. The cabin had no windows and the flight ahead promised to be dismal, but to his relief a hologram display appeared in front of him after the twin fusion engines started up with their disconcerting infrasonic hum. The display showed the view outside. After poking at a geometric glyph, Sergei found he could cycle it through several views, one tracking the flight path to the first moon, one displaying real-time weather patterns over Home World (a big hurricane had formed in the southern hemisphere off the west coast), and the last giving a view of the solar system with the locations of all starships in the region, as well as Void Station. Preoccupied, he barely noticed liftoff.
The ground fell away rapidly, acceleration pressing everyone back into their seats, and they exited the atmosphere in minutes. Something that takes a lot of effort and expense with our rockets! Sergei thought ruefully as he marveled at the highly-advanced technology making this an everyday occurrence for the Hunters. There was a moment of freefall before the shuttle’s artificial gravity activated.
The journey took just over an hour, as Sergei timed it, looking at his watch. Grey Moon was closer to its world than the Moon was to Earth, but the journey was still astonishingly fast.
Grey Moon came into view on the hologram display. It was a grey-black airless cratered world, not unlike Earth’s moon but smaller. The second moon was reddish-ocher in color like Mars while the outer moon had a covering of blue-white ice. They were pragmatically named Red Moon and Ice Moon.
They descended toward a vast plain where an array of massive black pyramids – eight in all – had been constructed: the mausoleums of the Clan Lords. The shuttle dropped toward the flat top of one, a shaft entrance appearing at the last moment. It closed after the shuttle passed through and landed in an antechamber. Sergei felt his eardrums pop as pressures equalized, then the menacing black-cloaked figure of Lord Sohaar came through the separating airlock, walking carefully in the moon’s lighter gravity. He did not acknowledge Sergei, being focused on Yaraan.
Two of the Guardians arose and went to the stasis tube. Its clear covering melted away so they could lift the body out, using the stretcher it had been lying on. Yaraan was wrapped in his black cloak so that only his bare head showed. Lord Sohaar turned and they exited the cabin.
The other Guardians got up to follow, and Sergei did as well. He made sure his head was fully hooded and veiled as he still felt uncomfortable exposing his face to the aliens, though they did not stare rudely. Once they had exited the shuttle, the four Guardians arranged themselves at each corner of the stretcher, grasping the handles to lift it.
Three blue-robed Adepts waited, two crouched in the posture of respect and between them stood a veiled female in a ceremonial headdress. She and Sohaar conversed briefly in their language, then the procession moved to a marked section of the floor in one corner. One Acolyte touched a glyph on a nearby wall hologram. The floor flowed open to reveal a ramp that led to the pressurized level below – the first of many, Sergei saw, looking at the stylized hologram diagram – a central shaft contained the levels down the height of the massive pyramid. A narrow shaft inside indicated an elevator for swift access.
They descended three levels and headed along a corridor to a mortuary, where the body was prepared for burial. Sergei sat next to Sohaar where the Warriors knelt on floor-quilts along one side of the room, and tried not to fidget as the Adepts worked on Yaraan, spray-injecting him with a nanite preservative.
A long cloth-wrapped item was brought out on another stretcher, carried by two of the Adepts, and placed beside the body. Unwrapping revealed what appeared to be lamellar armor, comprised of hundreds of thin hexagonal translucent green plates. It glittered and refracted like jewels under the lighting; a strikingly beautiful effect. The armor was carefully draped and secured around the body. The plates were interlinked with silver wire, and the remaining seams were sewn up to seal the body within; this took some time. The head was left bare, and wrapped in a black headscarf. The cloak enveloped most of the body again.
At last they finished, and the group left the room to take the body to the burial chamber. This time – to Sergei’s relief – they used the central elevator as the level they wanted was far below; the access ramps served as a backup.
Sergei pressed himself into a corner of the black-walled elevator and felt a familiar sickening sensation in his stomach as the elevator dropped at a rapid rate. It came to a smooth halt in under a minute; a wall flowed open to reveal a transparent enclosed bridge – one of four – extending from the shaft like wheel spokes to the burial chambers arranged around the outside of the pyramid’s central core. They were on the fourth level from the bottom.
Sergei was faced with a vertigo-inducing view of an immense space around and above him. Bridges extended above, seemingly into an infinite black void. He shivered, finding this still, dark place disturbing. How long has this been standing here? He wanted to ask Nahuu, but felt speaking would be inappropriate at the moment. There was no wailing or weeping; the funeral seemed a sternly restrained ceremony.
At the far end of the bridge, the group paused and the female Ancestor-Guardian said in a ritualistic manner:
Cabuunonemcuuna ruulenememe?
Waahuzanmahenseena holeezanhancuna.
Roculano culeneel mahuzanhelacuna.
Ruulcuunaneme holeezanhancuna.
The words were, surprisingly, simultaneously translated through Sergei’s implant.
Ancestors, where are you?
We have come to visit you.
Protect us from harm.
We are coming to you.
The group turned left and entered the burial chamber through an inset octagonal-shaped portal with writing above. The tombs to its left were illuminated; the ones to the right was dark. Sergei caught a brief glimpse of a black-robed body lying in a Cold Sleep Bed in the lit tomb next to Yaraan’s.
If a second-hatched son became Clan Lord in the event of his sibling’s death, it was accepted tradition for the two brothers to be placed in the same tomb. Thus, Yaraan would share Lord Sohaar’s tomb, placed in a second Cold Sleep Bed. At least I will have company for eternity, Sohaar thought. Perhaps they would know reconciliation in the Next World, after passing through the Void.
Yaraan was carefully transferred by the two Acolytes from the stretcher, activating the Bed which glowed blue from its interior lighting. One placed his sword and dagger on either side of him. Yaraan, his war-cloak wrapped around him and encased in glittering green jeweled armor, looked as though he were sleeping.
“Supreme Lord Yaraan-28 now joins his ancestors to watch over our world,” said the Ancestor-Guardian as they stood around the Bed; repeating the ritual words that a long-dead Ancestor-Guardian had said many generations ago at his father’s funeral. “Supreme Lord Sohaar, you may keep Ruusarnuu with him for one Home World-day.”
The Ancestor-Guardian, Acolytes and Guardians filed out. The human hesitated, looking uncertainly at them, then Sohaar, who indicated he should follow them. Two Guardians remained outside the portal.
Sohaar regarded the dead Supreme Lord lying in state, the memory of his and Yaraan’s vigil at their father’s funeral still vivid. He then settled on his floor-quilt next to Yaraan’s Bed, facing the mural on one side of the room that continued Yaraan’s part of the Night River Clan Saga.
The room which Sergei had been assigned was laid out much the same as his cabin on the starship, and the one in Sohaar’s home. To while away time, he first went through some of his daily exercise routine – push-ups, sit-ups, a few martial arts forms, stretches – then took a shower. After that, he ordered a food-pellet meal from the wall slot, and consumed it while watching one of the many movies stored on his laptop’s hard drive – one of his few forms of entertainment here, along with real-time Internet access from distant Earth via Nahuu’s foldspace communications link.
He slept for a few hours. On awakening, he decided to make his way down to see the alien as the long day was slowly nearing its end.
He followed the same route as before, not hurrying. Crossing the bridge, he paused to film the cavernous void of the pyramid’s interior, envisioning scientists’ stunned reactions back home on viewing the huge alien structure. By now, he had several gigabytes of digital images stored on his laptop. He continued onwards, pausing when he reached Sohaar’s brother’s tomb. Two Guardians stood on either side of the portal like black statues. Within, Sergei could see the curving flat horns of Sohaar’s helmet behind the sarcophagus-like Cold Sleep Bed; still keeping vigil, the alien evidently was not ready to leave yet.
Feeling a compulsion, Sergei walked further down to the preceding tomb and made to enter the portal, looking back at the Guardians. They ignored him, so he went inside.
On the far wall was a three-dimensional image of the view outside: the barren plains of Grey Moon and the cloud-swirled blue sphere of Home World beyond. A suit of black scale armor similar to that in Sohaar’s room stood mounted in one corner. He glanced at these only briefly before stepping onto the surrounding ridge of the Cold Sleep Bed to view its occupant. Backlit by the Bed’s azure interior, the body seemed to float in a luminous void. It, too, was encased in green segmented armor like Yaraan’s and wrapped in a war-cloak and headscarf.
Once, as a child, he had visited Lenin’s Mausoleum in Moscow. He had waited in a long line with his parents and others, then moved into the tomb when its doors opened at 11 a.m. They descended to the funeral hall where Lenin lay in a sarcophagus in its center, the room’s silence broken only by the shuffling of feet. The visitors each stopped for eighty seconds to gaze reverently upon Vladimir llyich Lenin, the founder of the USSR. Sergei found the sight of the pale, waxy corpse disturbing, and afterwards he’d had nightmares of it rising from its tomb and chasing him down endless dark hallways.
Despite this memory, Sergei leaned over, peering with fascination for a better look at the alien’s hard, angular features; his first close-up view of one without its armor. Its chest came almost to an edge, like the prow of a ship; its face was pulled forward into a near-muzzle. It was difficult to compare to any singular Earth animal, but its high-cheekboned visage evoked humanoid, feline, avian and reptilian elements, and was handsome in a way that transcended species. He reached to touch its coal-black skin – warily, as the alien appeared to be sleeping, its features fierce even in repose – but it was ice-cold and still. The smooth skin had a leathery texture, overlain with a bluish iridescent sheen, giving it an illusion of depth like opalescent glass. Flowing patterns of layers and grooves gave it a stylized appearance; two lines curved down from the inner corners of the eyes like a cheetah’s tear stripes.
He filmed the corpse with his digital camera – though he felt this was a little disrespectful – then put it away in his backpack. He continued staring at the long-dead alien, still awed at gazing upon a creature not of Earth. The armor glittered and refracted in the light where he could glimpse it through gaps in the cloak; the craftmanship involved in its making was exquisite. Its wearer appeared a magical creature from another realm. Is that armor made of emerald? It looks very much like it.
Footsteps sounded behind him and he started guiltily, nearly falling off the ledge. Lord Sohaar came up beside him and Sergei tensed, expecting a blow or some retribution for entering the tomb, but the alien merely stood looking down at the corpse.
Plucking up courage, Sergei asked, “Lord Sohaar, who is the one in this tomb?”
“He is Clan Lord Maarec-27, mine and my brother’s father.”
Father? Sergei thought he could discern some resemblance to Sohaar in the corpse’s face; his father appeared even more formidable, if that were possible. He marveled at its perfect preservation. Four thousand years dead, at least. The Ancient Egyptians would be envious!
“How did he die?”
“I slew him in ritual sacrifice.”
Sergei was almost lost for words at that, so he switched topics. “How long has the Pyramid stood here?”
“For all the history of our civilization.” Apparently tiring of being questioned, Sohaar turned to leave, saying, “The period of mourning is completed. We will return to Home World.” Sergei quickly followed him out of the tomb, eager to leave this place of eternal silence.
24 Aug 2016
Implant
On the day after returning from Lord Yaraan’s burial, Sergei waited as Lord Sohaar and the blue-robed female Adept-Healer conversed in their own language, presumably about him getting an neural implant – what they called a Zayuuhola, mind companion. He had been given few details; only that the implant would enable him to communicate by transmitting thoughts, rather than merely speaking aloud.[1]
The austere octagonal medical room in which they stood featured the usual iridescent black décor and diffused blue-white lighting. The operating table stood in the center of the room, colorful diagnostic holograms displayed on a nearby wall and on translucent panel screens. A violet cold plasma sterilizing screen surrounded the table. Various items of medical equipment were stored on recessed shelves along the opposite wall. Two other blue-robed figures stood near the Healer; presumably assistants.
The Healer regarded Sergei over her veil with sea-green eyes. “You are to lie face-down on the table.” As with Sohaar, her calm voice carried a subtle resonance.
Objecting wasn’t an option, so Sergei resignedly approached the table and climbed onto it, sat and swiveled so he could lie prone. When his face touched the pliable blue gel-like surface, it flowed away so his face protruded through it and he breathed freely; his forehead remained supported. The table conformed to his shape so he was comfortable, though he could not see what the aliens were doing. He was somewhat reassured by the Healer’s aura of confidence and the advanced technology evident in the room.
Earlier that day, his brain had been scanned and mapped while lying supine on the same table; a process that had taken most of the morning. At least he’d had the colorful holographic displays of his brain to distract him.
He felt the light touch of the female alien’s gloved fingers on the back of his neck, then a sharp aerosol spray on his skin, and he lost consciousness.
Adept-Healer Renahuu withdrew the spray-injector – the anesthetizing nanites having adapted themselves for the human’s molecular structure – and turned to the diagnostic holograms on one wall, watching as they indicated the human’s loss of consciousness. “The human’s life-signs are steady, my Lord. I will proceed with the installation of the implant. If he reacts badly to it, however, I may not be able to withdraw it in time.”
Lord Sohaar indicated agreement; the House of Healing was the Adept-Healer’s domain and he deferred to her judgment.
One of her assistants handed her a small transparent vial containing the neural implant, which was microscopic in size and thus nearly invisible, save for a rainbow crystalline glitter if light caught it at certain angles. It was pre-programmed with the human’s biological parameters.
She again perused the holograms, making sure the human was stable. Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel had earlier downloaded all data pertaining to the new alien species into the central and Night River Clan’s databases, and she and the other Adept-Scientists and Healers studied the information intensively. The bodies of the three deceased humans stored on the starship were also to be transferred to the Night River Clan City for medical and scientific analysis.
She placed the vial in a slot in the spray-injector and pressed it against the soft indent at the base of the human’s skull, shunting the implant directly in through the gap in the occipital bone where the spinal cord connected to the brain. It was tiny enough to pass through with no trauma to his skin.
Sohaar and Renahuu watched the process displayed on a three-dimensional hologram. They both had undergone the procedure during their final initiation into adulthood, but the integration was still disturbing to observe, as the implant unfurled delicate carbon filaments that wove themselves into the human’s brain. They tapped into the optical nerves to enable image recording, into the auditory canal to capture sounds, into the microtubules within neurons that generated thought through quantum mechanical processes, into the speech motor cortex that translated thought into speech, and around the brain to monitor its complex electro-chemical signals.
Sergei’s brain was perhaps a third larger than a Hunter’s, so much that it seemed about to burst from his thin skull.
After around an eighth of a day [2] passed, the hologram indicated the implantation was completed. “Placement is successful, my Lord. The human will be taken to the Recovery Room.” Her two Assistant-Healers transferred Sergei onto a gurney nearby, turning him to lie face-up. She said to the male, “Maazere, you will monitor the human until he awakens. A translation program will be downloaded into your implant for the human’s language.”
As he had after his session in Lord Sohaar’s Healing Chamber, Sergei awoke initially disorientated and not knowing who or where he was. He lay face-up under a quilt on a bed in a black-walled room illuminated by soft blue-white lighting. On the wall behind and above him were displayed holograms of what was presumably diagnostic data. “Head hurts,” he croaked aloud. He felt nauseous and vertiginous as well.
There was movement to his left side and a blue-robed shape arose from kneeling on a floor-quilt and walked over to him. Slanted dark amethyst eyes looked down at him from a veiled black-skinned alien face. “I am Maazere. The headache is an after-effect of the neural implant. It will fade soon. I will give you medication for it in the meantime. Your implant must also be initialized.” Though he was apparently also able to imitate human speech, his voice, like Sohaar’s and the Healer’s, did not sound human.
The alien handed him a small sachet of iridescent lavender-colored fluid. Sergei sipped the light, sweet-tasting fluid through a straw and a few minutes later he felt his headache recede. “Spasiba, Maazere,” he thanked the alien.
The alien inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, nictitating membranes flicking across his eyes under the main eyelids. In contrast to Sohaar, the male had a mild unthreatening demeanor; perhaps a requisite of his profession. He then reached up to the hologram display on the wall behind Sergei’s bed and gestured or keyed in something. “Connection to your optic center is now underway.”
Sergei had the disconcerting sensation of something like a third eye opening up inside his head; he could neither see through nor locate it precisely, but it was there nonetheless. A hologram of scrolling geometric alien text appeared floating. “I’m seeing alien words in my head.” The text vanished, then a hexagonal glyph containing radial lines appeared to float in front of his eyes.
“Connection is successful. Lord Sohaar and Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel can now thought-speak to you through your implant. To contact either of them, focus on the link-glyph, then request the one you wish to communicate with. Contact is instantaneous wherever they are.”
Sergei concentrated, then thought, <Nahuu? Can you hear me?>
<Yes.>
He debated if he should try to speak to Lord Sohaar, who was elsewhere, but decided against it, not wanting to intrude.
<Nahuu, can the implant be removed?>
<Yes, but only by those qualified. Attempting to remove it otherwise will result in your death.>
Panic surged through Sergei, then subsided. <Why did Lord Sohaar not give me a choice of whether or not to receive the implant?>
<You serve him now, and his word is not to be questioned.>
Sergei wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but his fate now seemed to be at the mercy of another. Perhaps it was the trade-off for having been saved from death.
Maazere said, “You are to rest.” He retreated to the floor-quilt.
Sergei sighed, closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
He awoke again sometime later, feeling better, though not wanting to arise yet. Maazere was nowhere to be seen. He looked around the small room. Some shelves with medical equipment were to his left. A window beside the doorway opposite looked out onto a colorful landscape mural along what seemed to be a corridor. He supposed he was being monitored remotely.
On the wall on the other side of the doorway was a screen showing a real-time display of a Home World landscape; this a pleasant view of waves lapping a beach. It appeared to be past midday, judging by the sun’s angle.
So nice not to have to do anything – fix equipment, run experiments, and all those other chores. Despite his anxiety about what the future might hold, he felt he could truly relax for the first time since he launched on the Mars mission. Each flight day had involved a repeating routine of maintenance, overseeing experiments, cleaning and exercising, with the constant worry of whether any of the complex life-support machinery would fail. If anything went wrong – if vital equipment such as the oxygen generator or toilet malfunctioned – they could not bring up replacement parts from Earth on a Progress cargo ship as the International Space Station crew could. I could not endure a mission like that again – not after having been on the alien spaceship.
The third-eye sensation of his implant link was still there, but not intrusive now he was adjusting to it. He concentrated and the initialization glyph hologram appeared. <Nahuu? How am I able to talk to you with no time lag?>
<The implant is Linked through a foldspace network.>
<Foldspace?>
<Folding and weaving spacetime filaments at the subatomic level so that all implants are interlinked>.[3]
<I think our scientists might like to talk to yours!> Sergei exclaimed; the physics involved was obviously at a much higher level than his understanding.
<Lord Sohaar will make that decision.>
The starship’s voice spoke silently in Sergei’s head like his own mind voice, yet it was distinct from the latter. It was like listening to a radio transmission, only directly in his brain rather than through his ears. Perhaps the telepathy that was ubiquitous in science fiction felt similar.
Sergei decided he’d had enough of lying down and sat up carefully. He was going to call for Maazere, but the alien had already appeared at the doorway. “Maazere, I am feeling better. Am I able to leave?”
The alien came over and studied the diagnostics above the bed. One of the colorful holograms showed what was clearly Sergei’s brain, embedded with the spidery filaments of the implant. “Is that the implant?” Sergei asked as he too looked wide-eyed at the display, again feeling a jolt of panic – he had envisioned it as merely a little node lodged under his skin.
Maazere, realizing by the increase in the human’s heartbeat rate on a hologram display that he was distressed, said calmly, “It remains unobtrusive and will not interfere with your brain function. The filaments are far smaller than the image represents.”
Sergei nodded, not quite convinced, and slid off the bed.
Maazere added, “You are also to take this capsule. It contains enzymes that will enable you to digest our food.” He indicated a small bowl of water and another containing a capsule on the bedside table. Sergei did as requested.
“If you feel unwell, return to the House of Healing,” Maazere added, as Sergei departed.
Sergei occupied himself for the rest of the afternoon by beginning a tentative exploration of the Clan City. He exited the House of Healing onto the main road.
Unlike its teeming, noisy Earth counterparts, the City was reminiscent of a self-contained medieval monastery or fortress-town, not dissimilar to the Kremlin, and he was again struck by its tidiness – no graffiti on walls, no litter on the streets. He passed Hunters from the various Castes enroute to their duties; some glanced at him but otherwise did not acknowledge him; they seemed remarkably sanguine about his presence. Were the situation reversed, humans would have been panicked by an alien in their midst. He kept a wary distance from any Warriors.
There did not seem to be any indication of commerce. <Nahuu, are there any shops here?>
<There is no market economy. The Cities are self-sufficient. All needs are provided for.>
That concept sounded strangely familiar …
The streets were laid out in a grid pattern, and it was easy to get lost as there appeared to be no signage. Presumably the inhabitants knew building locations by heart. He focused on his implant’s link activation glyph and requested a map. Surprisingly, one appeared as a floating hologram overlain in front of his eyes like a fighter jet’s heads-up display. A bright flashing point indicated his location within the stylized display of buildings and streets. He requested directions to several buildings – the Residence, the House of Healing and so on – and routes to these were highlighted, as well as distances converted to Earth metric equivalents. A GPS in my head! Cool! Though it was also evidence his position could be tracked.
As he had seen on his flight from orbit, the City was quite large, covering approximately thirty square kilometers. The main road stretched nearly ten kilometers from the pyramid to the northern main gate; an elevated monorail ran between both.
Only a few of the exterior building walls had outward-facing windows, and narrow ones at that; perhaps a security feature. They were coated with smooth black hexagon tiles about the size of his hand, made of what felt like a ceramic material.
He traced his steps south back down the main thoroughfare, halting near the portal that led to the spaceship landing area. The thought of trying to steal a spaceship occurred to him, but he immediately dismissed it as futile speculation, recalling his harrowing experience trying to escape from Lord Sohaar in his shuttle. I would be caught before I got up the ramp – that’s if it would even open for me. And there is nowhere for me to fly to. He did not wish to incur Sohaar’s wrath again.
Sergei found that the access ramps on the Residence’s second floor led to the flat rooftop, so he ascended one after dinner to stargaze as the night sky was almost cloudless. The air temperature was mild and a bit humid; the southern hemisphere was in the equivalent of summer, and the main rainy season here was soon to begin. The alien-made fabric, however, kept his body at a comfortable temperature no matter what it was outside.
He looked around to orient himself. The expansive roof could be walked around its perimeter; he made a mental note to utilize it for daily exercise. In various places, a few Dawn Hunters sat in what appeared to be family groups; the smaller thin forms of their children wandered around. Various pot plants lined the inner wall, and overhanging shelters with sloping roofs were placed at intervals along the outer wall, as were low covered solar lights that provided a dim blue-white illumination; some also changed color in a red-green-blue sequence. On close inspection the roofs revealed themselves to be covered with solar cell arrays – the black hexagonal cells that were the alien equivalent of those used on Earth, and no doubt far more efficient. They were a dead black like Lord Sohaar’s cloak, absorbing all light, and in the darkness appeared to be wells into a void.
He found some floor-quilts stored on shelves there, as well as some portable fist-sized solar globes, so he took a quilt and globe to sit on in an open area, taking out and unfolding his softscreen. It had been modified to display in his language, and he had been able to transfer his laptop’s files and programs to it, these accessible from one of the glyphs.
As he had when viewing the Galaxy from Nahuu, he gazed awestruck at a starry sky visible with a clarity unknown in Earth’s light-polluted cities. The Milky Way stretched in a brilliant band overhead, only here it was viewed from the other side. Home is far away, he was reminded, feeling a stab of loneliness. The aliens referred to it as the “River of the Night,” and the name of Sohaar’s Clan now made sense.
This world’s star system had other planets and he sent a request through his link for some sort of map. A hologram appeared on the softscreen, a display of … four main planets, he counted, orbiting their star, Hesaahame – the Eye of the Day. Their names were also translated into his own language. Two smaller inner worlds: Honuulecaa, Fire World came first – a large rocky, volcanic world with a thick cloudless blue atmosphere, followed by Home World. Then two ringed gas giants: Honuubaalomomolan, Blue Cloud World, its water-vapor and methane atmosphere white and pale blue in color; the fourth, Honuubaalonecuu, Ringed Cloud World, its colder atmosphere banded shades of amber due to ammonia. The planets, save for Fire World, were orbited by multiple moons, and the furthest planet out orbited at the equivalent of the distance between the asteroid belt and Jupiter. The system was encircled by an outer rim of dwarf planets, ice and rocky debris, similar to the Solar System’s Kuiper belt.
He remembered Sohaar showing him his species’ explored worlds on the journey here, and requested Dominated Worlds. The same map appeared, the worlds covering only a small portion of the Galaxy. There were still a lot, so to narrow things down he asked, <Are there other species like us,> – he needed a few moments to find the right terminology, thinking of what science fiction novels used – <sapient species on Earth-like worlds?>
A new screen appeared, reminiscent of the codex for a video game, with three alien creatures shown. He tapped on one, which expanded to fill the screen. Sliding a finger across the screen caused the animated 3D display to rotate, and text described the alien’s name and some details such as its home planet. The information available to him, however, seemed to be restricted.
The first alien, name translated as “Sword Arms,” was bipedal, but stood at an angle of around 45 degrees. It had insectile and reptilian characteristics: a short thick pointed tail that seemed a counterbalance, two digitigrade legs ending in three toes, two manipulative arms that hung forward rather than to the side like a human’s, and above these, two extra folded limbs that gave it its name – these ended in vicious-looking scythe-like blades. It appeared to be covered in a partial exoskeleton that gleamed metallic blue in color. Its head was elongated, the rear tapering to a pointed crest, its mouthparts splitting open into an odd three-hinged jaw. The display cycled through two other variations: a metallic green variant that had shorter blade-arms, apparently a type of worker caste, and a larger gold-hued type who was apparently the dominant female. Her head ended in a two-pointed crescent-shaped crest. If their appearance was anything to go by, they looked to be formidable fighters.
He backtracked and clicked on the next alien, a Tall Neck. This was a centaur-like long-necked quadruped which had an extra pair of short limbs above its forelegs. The limbs ended in four-digited hands which, judging by its clothing and apparel, were capable of tool manipulation. Its face was vaguely dinosaur-like, with a high crest that tapered down its neck like a horse’s short mane. Its skin appeared to have scales similar to a snake’s. Its beige-colored body was lighter under its belly, and green stripes decorated its neck.
The last alien, a Tree Glider, was even stranger-looking and more difficult to compare to singular Earth creatures. It also had four limbs with an extra joint, shown clinging to a branch of a purple tree. The limbs were black and patterned with bioluminescent dots. Its body was covered with purplish-red feathers or fur. What looked like a gliding membrane stretched from its forelegs to its waist. Its snake-like long black neck ended in a head whose pointed mouth opened like a four-petaled flower. Two retractable appendages resembling tentacles extended from either side of its head; these ended in four digits. It wore a harness from which various pouches were attached, and a long thin tube was secured to its back – so, another tool-maker and user. The animation showed it using its tentacles to dexterously grasp the tube, place a dart in one end, put the other to its mouthparts and aim at something off-screen – a blowpipe for hunting, Sergei realized.
He put the softscreen down for a moment, feeling overwhelmed. Humanity is no longer alone! He had found the prospect of Earth being home to the only life in this Galaxy – or even Universe – deeply depressing. Even if the other sapient lifeforms turned out to be not so friendly, or impossible to talk to, there was still something oddly reassuring about there being other inhabited worlds.
<Will I be able to contact them?>
<Contact between species is not encouraged.>
Disappointed, Sergei keyed through the displays again to view the aliens’ home planets, which all were Earthlike to some degree, though their parent stars varied from a cooler orange K2 to the white F8 of Sohaar’s world. <Is that all the habitable worlds there are?>
<They are all that have been found in the surveyed section of this Galaxy. There are many planets, but few support sapient life.>
So there could be more, Sergei thought. From 1995 on, observations from Earth had revealed multitudes of planets orbiting nearby stars, though none had yet been found that were habitable by Earth standards, and no alien radio signals had yet been detected. The observations only covered a tiny nearby portion of the Galaxy, however – and there were billions of galaxies beyond the Milky Way.
<Have the Dawn Hunters been beyond this galaxy?>
<No. The distance is currently considered too great, and we do not wish to venture too far from Home World.>
“Have you colonies on other worlds?”
<No. We have no need or desire to.>
To be completed
Footnotes
- [1]
- “Machine Translates Thoughts into Speech in Real Time,” Gizmodo/PhysOrg
- [2]
- Approximately 2½ hours
- [3]
- No idea if this is remotely plausible, but it sounds cool! I had a vague image of the connections being akin to the Na’vi neural queue in Avatar. They may also be a form of quantum entanglement, but this seems to be scientifically impossible according to the current state of knowledge. Loop quantum gravity might be another possibility?
14 Aug 2016
Council
Supreme Lord Sohaar was the last to enter his Clan City’s Great Hall, taking his designated place. The seven other visiting Clan Lords sat on their floor-quilts on the low black obsidian stone platform surrounding the octagonal-shaped Haranecna Nezanaa, Arena of Honor. For this meeting of the Wacewo Lunuranuwaacuuna, Council of Immortals, their Warrior-Guardians remained outside.
Sohaar had last come here to fight his brother to the death, now five days or one Grey Moon-cycle ago. Carefully raked in a spiral pattern that emulated the Galaxy, the pure white sand of the Arena bore no trace of that duel. Yaraan lay interred in Sohaar’s tomb on Grey Moon.
Who will be my next future challenger? Sohaar knelt then retracted his helmet and armor as the others had so their faces were bared; acceptable in the privacy of this meeting. He could sense the tension in the Hall. The Clan Lords, being dominant males, could barely tolerate each others’ physical presence at the best of times, though they were usually disciplined enough to suppress this instinct and co-operate when necessary.
“Clan Lords, I have summoned you to this Council, the first for my reign.” His voice carried clearly in the cavernous Hall. “I am pleased to see that our world continues unchanged since my own time. I have an announcement of my own: the discovery by me of a new sapient species.”
That certainly got the others’ attention, their crest-quills flicking upright in surprise. The Clan Lords whose Clans ruled the three other sapient alien species stared at him intensely. “That is an audacious discovery, Supreme Lord,” remarked Lord Sanaayaraan of the Ocean Wind Clan, who ruled the Tall Necks. “What is their level of development?”
“In the time before my brother’s reign, their civilizations – there were several – were primitive. The culture my crew contacted lived in cities and built pyramids to house their dead lords, but had no concept of flight or high technology. That culture is now long-gone. When I was awoken, the humans, as they call themselves now, possessed an electronic network and had advanced to the level of spaceflight, though their ships are rudimentary and have not ventured far beyond their homeworld.”
“They have advanced that far in that short time?” asked Lord Haaryaraan, whose Dawn Star Clan ruled the Sword Arms. “If they are anything like the Sword Arms, they are a potential threat.”
“They do have various warrior cultures and fight amongst themselves, though warriors do not now lead their world. Many millions have died. Their technology is not on a level with ours, but yes, there is potential.”
“Have you made contact with them?” asked Lord Lecaaso of the Fire Mountain Clan, who ruled the Tree Gliders.
“Initially with the Pyramid Builders, but I had to return to Home World because of my brother, so it was only brief. There is no mention of this contact in the historical records of the humans. I intend to return to continue this.”
Lord Sohaar summoned the relevant data from his City’s network, feeding it through everyone’s implants so that each saw the information in his mind’s eye. “This is where their world and star system are in relation to ours.” The Galaxy appeared, with colored dots indicating Home World and the Dominated Worlds on one side, and Earth on the other side of the Core. “These are the worlds of their star system … This is their world, the third world out from their star … These are a male and female of their species. This particular race, the Kemet,” – he transliterated the name as Cemec – “no longer exists.” The final image showed the young copper-skinned male and female Pyramid Builders who had been taken away from their world for scientific study; whose bodies had been preserved for aeons in Nahuu’s morgue.
“Are they male and female? I can barely tell which is which,” Haaryaraan grumbled.
“Yes. Males are larger and stronger.” Sohaar did not particularly want to go into biological details, so he quickly dismissed that image.
“Why is it you were away from Home World for so long?” Lecaaso asked.
“After I escaped from my brother, I was mortally wounded, so I fled with my starship to the humans’ system and put myself into stasis, with Nahuu orbiting the fourth world, which is uninhabitable. I awaited a contact from Lord Haarnahuu –” Sohaar looked at Lord Sanaazuun then, “– but he never came.”
“My father’s brother was ambushed while on a hunt, ritually tortured and slain by Yaraan in retaliation for being your ally,” Sanaazuun updated him, pointedly not using Yaraan’s honorific title. “Fortunately, my father was by then old enough to assume leadership of my Clan, and staved off Yaraan’s attempts at destroying him – our Clans were at war for many years. But Lord Haarnahuu did not tell him or Yaraan where you were located – Lord Haarnahuu had not even told his starship – so that knowledge was lost. With your return I will consider the breach between our Clans repaired.”
Sohaar bowed his head in acknowledgment – he had a lot of history to catch up on – then continued, “I was awoken by my starship when a human spaceship approached the fourth world, Nahuu’s presence having been discovered. I slew one of the male humans; the other I brought back with me; he now serves me. I will now present him to you. You may wish to veil.”
Sergei stood apprehensively outside the portal leading to Sohaar’s alcove with two of the Clan Lord’s Warrior-Guardians acting as sentries on either side. The tunnel in which they stood circled behind the wall structure of the Arena, accessed from its main entrance passageway; this enabled each Clan Lord to reach his assigned seating without walking over the sand of the Arena. He was not particularly happy that he was to be “presented” to the other Clan Lords like some specimen, but – as he had learned to by now – awaited his fate passively.
<Nahuu, what am I supposed to do?> he asked the starship plaintively.
<Follow Lord Sohaar’s prompts exactly. Do not speak unbidden or move suddenly; maintain a respectful and submissive posture. The Clan Lords are dominant males and thus especially dangerous, particularly when gathered together in Council.>
That’s reassuring, Sergei thought sardonically to himself, his mouth gone dry with fear, recalling his painful encounter with a hostile Lord Yaraan.
<Come,> Lord Sohaar summoned him through his implant. <Retract your hood and veil; kneel beside me.>
Sergei crossed the portal into the open area, quickly glancing around. The Clan Lords, all ominously hooded and veiled in black robes, each sat in an alcove separated by rib-like partitions that curved up to the high domed roof, in which a eight-sided skylight was set, providing the only illumination. The raked white sand of the Arena of Honor gleamed in brilliant sunlit contrast against the black of the rest of the Hall.
Keeping his eyes down, Sergei knelt to the left of and a little behind Sohaar on the colorful padded floor-quilt provided, feeling – not inaccurately – like prey amongst predators. For once he found the Supreme Lord’s presence almost reassuring in comparison with the multi-hued basilisk stares of the others.
“The creature is small and weak-looking,” an unimpressed Haaryaraan noted. “Does he have any natural weapons?”
“No. He has no claws, his skin is soft and his teeth are blunt. A single unarmed human is easily defeated. They fight effectively in groups, though, with constructed weapons. This one is of a large clan called ‘Russia’.”
“Has he been given an implant, like the other Ambassadors?” asked Sanaayaraan.
“Yes. I intend him to serve as my ambassador to his species’s world. He was dying of various ailments when I encountered him, so I had to place him in my starship’s Healing Bed.”
“Can you trust him?” Haaryaraan asked dubiously.
“I believe so. I have conditioned him to some extent, and the implant will keep him in line.”
Sergei continued to look downward as the aliens talked, the perfect acoustics making their harsh flanged voices clear over the expanse of the Arena. <Nahuu, could you translate?>
<I am forbidden to.>
Having others discuss him in a language he couldn’t understand was annoying, but he obviously couldn’t protest.
Sohaar then changed to another subject, silently indicating to Sergei to cover up again. “I intend to return to Night River Clan System-9-3 at the end of the next two Red Moon Cycles. I will meet with the leaders to tell them their world is now part of the Dominated Worlds. I anticipate some resistance, however, as they are much more aware and advanced than the last time I encountered them, so I will have to proceed more stealthily. I wish for another Clan Lord to accompany me.”
“I will come,” Sanaazuun volunteered immediately.
“Very well,” said Sohaar. To the others: “This meeting is now concluded. I will convene another once I return from the humans’ world.”
Sohaar rose first and exited the Arena, followed by Sergei, then the others made their way out.
11 Apr 2009
Hunt
<Lord Sohaar will go hunting today,> the starship Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo informed Sergei through his neural implant when he awoke on the eighth Home World-day after Sohaar’s duel. <He wishes you to accompany him.>
<Hunting?> Sergei wasn’t sure how enthused he felt about that. <Does he expect me to participate?>
<You will observe only. No weapons are used.>
<Don’t they have domesticated animals for meat?>
<No. Hunting is a traditional and necessary part of Dawn Hunter life.>
<How do we get to the hunting-ground?>
<Walking. In your time-measurement it is an approximately two-hour walk.>
On emerging from his morning ablutions, Sergei heard a tap on the door and pulled it open to reveal one of Sohaar’s Warriors standing like a silent ghost in the hallway outside, holding a small grey soft parcel. Sergei warily extended his arms to receive and inspect the parcel. It was filled with some supplies: manufactured food pellets and a cannister of water. He fetched his backpack and digital camera and placed these and the parcel inside, then slung it on his back. Sergei hooded and veiled his head as was now customary.
Seeing Sergei was ready, the Warrior, with a tilt of his head, indicated Sergei should follow him. <What rank is he?> Sergei asked the starship as he did so.
<Caabasanaa is a Warrior-One-Claw, the lowest rank. Helmet crests indicate rank for the Warrior Caste. He is young.>
The blue-eyed Warrior’s helmet was plain – it did not have a crest – though he still wore a long cloak and had a sword slung at his belt. He was not much taller than Sergei, and more slightly-built than Sohaar.
They walked to the end of the corridor where the sleeping quarters were located on the third storey, then descended two ramps and exited the Clan Lord’s Residence. Waiting near the entrance was a small group: the unmistakable horned figure of Lord Sohaar, two of his Warrior-Guardians with their dinosaur-frill-like crested helmets, two more Warrior-One-Claws and a cobalt-robed female – the last was now Sohaar’s personal Adept-Healer, Nahuu informed Sergei. Her shimmering cyan-blue garment, similar to Sergei’s in design, was a vivid contrast to the intensely monochrome black of the Warriors. She and the One-Claws wore backpacks like Sergei’s, colored to match their clothing.
Without so much as a word, the group walked north up the main path, then on emerging into the side street, turned east and headed for the four-storey-high boundary wall where a narrow passageway led through. A small gate at its far end opened onto an expansive magenta-grassed plain which resembled an African savanna. Clumps of black-barked trees with umbrella-shaped yellow-orange canopies were scattered about. To the north, down from the hilly high ground on which the City was built, a nearby river flowed past that provided some of the City’s water supply (rainwater being another source); it flowed to the eastwards Seenazuhaanama, Three-Claw Bay. A distant range of snow-capped mountains ringed the south-west horizon; behind and northwards of them was the vast Sea of Sand. Two of the three moons hung in the aquamarine sky: a waning half-Red Moon and a waxing quarter-Ice Moon.
Sergei recalled what more he had learned of the planet. Like Earth, Home World had various climatic zones and vegetation regions – deserts, forests, grasslands and so on – but its land and sea layout was very different.
The huge unbroken expanse of Seenazuhaanama, the Ocean of Storms, enabled the formation of violent megahurricanes that battered the coastlines. Weather conditions on the vast single continental mass were also extreme: hot summers and cold winters, with monsoonal rains in some regions. Central regions of the continent where rainclouds did not penetrate were deserts. The cities of the Hunters – Sergei counted only eight in all, when earlier studying a holomap on his softscreen – clustered in the few habitable zones, mainly located in temperate latitudes not too far from the coastlines. There were six Cities arrayed along the east coast and two on the west of the continent; Night River Clan City was in the eastern southern hemisphere.
He could not discern any road network on the map – though there were footpaths for messenger-runners between each City – and there were no ports. <There is no tradition of seafaring,> Nahuu told Sergei when asked. <As there is one continent there was no need for it, and the Ocean of Storms is often too violent for sailing.>
Sergei halted as that odd sensation came to him again, of being already dead and roaming some surreally-tinted landscape in the afterlife.
A warm gust of wind from the east broke his reverie and he resumed walking, hurrying to catch up with the Hunters. His time in Sohaar’s regenerative Healing Bed had restored him to full health, but he still had to walk fast to keep up with the aliens’ long strides. He retracted his visor and veil so he could breathe it in; he did not think a short exposure to the alien environment would harm him, and he wanted to feel fresh air on his face. The dense air carried a hint of salt; the wind came off a large inlet that opened onto Three-Claw Bay. The air was clean and unblighted by pollution. The open plain around him gave a feeling of boundless space; a refreshing contrast to the cramped confines of the spaceship which had carried him to Mars.
Wind rippled the grass, giving the impression of waves rolling across the plain. The thin metallic-red grass resembled a succulent plant with bulbous blue tips, not unlike the Hunter head-quills. It was apparently edible, so Sergei bent down to pull off one and popped it into his mouth. Biting down on it released a pleasantly sweet juice. He swallowed and, after noting no ill-effects, ate several more handfuls until he was sated.
Lord Sohaar led the hunting party, scanning the plains for any signs of Spike Tails, the quadruped herbivores that were one of his species’ main prey, and the most numerous on the continent. His kind were sight-hunters, their eyes as keen as an Earth-raptor’s.
This was the first hunt he had been on since he left on his fateful journey to the humans’ world so long ago. A Warrior would normally go hunting two or three times during a eight-day phase of Red Moon, the meat from one Spike Tail being enough to feed six or so Hunters. Hunt expeditions might range from a day to several, depending upon the distance traveled. The herds were now migrating further south, following the coastal monsoonal rains.
At last he espied a small grazing herd in the distance. <Bachelor males to the east. I and Caabasanaa will take the largest,> he told the others; they usually hunted in pairs – an experienced Warrior teamed with a junior. <Set up the tent-shelter.>
A Warrior Minor crouched, removing his backpack and taking out a flat square. After it was placed on the ground, the square unfolded and arranged itself into a geodesic dome tent, large enough to accommodate the group. Its outer surface shimmered then seemed to partly disappear as the nano-material camouflaged itself with the surrounding environment. They filed inside, the human last; he curled up near the Adept-Healer and the entrance, looking exhausted.
Sohaar and the other Warriors divested themselves of their war-cloaks, swords and daggers, and retracted their armor. They kept their heads hooded and veiled in the presence of the human. Tradition dictated that they hunt with claws and teeth as their primitive ancestors had; the custom ensured that they kept their fighting skills honed, and helped maintain their connection to the natural world and their remote ancestors.
They exited the tent and loped toward the distant herd.
Sergei peeked out the tent entrance, the tall, lean, broad-shouldered forms of the receding Warriors silhouetted against the slowly-rising sun, their long black surcoats flowing in the breeze. The star – named Hesaahame, “Eye of the Day” – was, in Earthly classification, a Class F8, only a few hundred degrees hotter than Earth’s G2 Sun, and had a consequently higher output in ultraviolet radiation. The deleterious effects of this were somewhat moderated by its habitable zone being further away, but Sergei nonetheless kept any exposed skin covered as a precaution.
The Warriors were not carrying any constructed weapons aside from their daggers. After witnessing Sohaar’s duel, Sergei was not surprised to learn that they hunted using only their body’s natural weapons.
He glanced surreptitiously at the young Adept-Healer, who rested in a kneeling posture. She was more slightly-built than Lord Sohaar and closer to Sergei’s height. The skin of her slim, black-clawed hands was slate-grey like that of all females. Her claws were shorter than Sohaar’s (or perhaps filed short). Aside from these differences there seemed little else to distinguish her from the males; no other obvious gender features like human males and females had.
He dug out his digital camera, aiming it outside at the now-distant Warriors and the landscape, firing off a few images, feeling as though he were watching some wildlife documentary. He was discreet in taking photos; he hadn’t exactly asked permission in fear of being forbidden to record any images.
Sohaar and Caabasanaa stopped and crouched behind a tall clump of grass, while the other Warriors split into teams of two and spread out as they circled westwards of the herd, so the sun would be in the herbivores’ eyes when they were startled. The Spike Tails began moving around restlessly as they sighted the Warriors, then broke into a faster pace toward the long grass.
Lord Sohaar and the young blue-eyed Warrior named Caabasanaa had singled out a male Spike Tail and were now in the process of separating it from its companions. The herbivore was one of the largest in the bachelor herd – its shoulder nearly as high as Sergei’s head – and was clearly agitated, lashing out with its deadly whip-like tail and bellowing angrily should the two Warriors come too near. The Warriors were persistent, though – Sohaar darted close and raked the creature across its long convex muzzle with his talons, drawing blood, then moved swiftly out of reach as it charged him. In this way the Spike Tail was lured ever-further from the safety of its herd. Sohaar would normally have left the large specimen alone so it could pass on its genes, but he wanted to prove his hunting skills after so long away.
Perhaps ten minutes of this ensued, then – seeing the Spike Tail was beginning to falter from blood loss – Caabasanaa decided to charge in, eager to make the kill and impress his new Clan Lord. He approached from the Spike Tail’s left flank and leapt high, intending to land on its back. But the Spike Tail countered with its own tactics: it turned with Caabasanaa, bringing its tail-blades around to impale the Warrior in his side and lower back. Caabasanaa squealed in agony as he was flung over and crashed to the ground where he lay still.
While the creature was distracted and preparing to trample Caabasanaa, Sohaar made his move, jumping onto its back and digging in with his talons. It bellowed indignantly and bucked, trying to fling off its tormentor, but he clung determinedly and reached around its long neck, scythe-like claws extended, then slashed across its throat. Blue blood spurted as the creature’s thin legs folded and it collapsed forward, Sohaar leaping clear. With his prey slain, licking its blood from his claws, he went over to Caabasanaa.
Now that her services were required, the Adept-Healer stood to go to Caabasanaa’s aid, Sergei following her from the tent. He lingered for a few moments near the fallen creature, whose name, Haweraaru, Nahuu had translated as “Spike Tail,” staring at its armament: the four blood-smeared spikes were nearly the length of his forearm, arranged in two pairs near the end of its tail. In shape, the small-headed creature somewhat resembled a sauropod dinosaur crossed with a camel, and was as tall at the shoulder as the latter. Its thin sinewy legs ended in black cloven hooves. Its magenta skin was smooth and hairless like that of the Hunters, armored over its upper extremities with thicker overlapping chitinous skin segments; these had a pattern of iridescent blue spots, presumably to help blend in with the grassy plain. The black skin on its underside indicated it was male.
Looking around, he could see the other two Hunter pairs had made their own kills; as they were still standing, no one else appeared to have suffered any serious injury. The rest of the scattered Spike Tail herd was moving away into the distance. Some black pterodactyl-like flying creatures – Sosaanamaaze, Shadow Wings, with the iridescent skin that seemed to be characteristic on this world – circled hopefully not far from the carcasses, and a small pack of jackal-like black scavengers called Hawelecaa, Fire Tails, also lurked.
He shuddered, imagining the aliens running down a human with the same casual savagery. The Hunters, with their speed, reflexes and natural weapons, would make short work of his species.
Caabasanaa groaned piteously, rolling his eyes so their black sclera showed, complaining, “I cannot move my legs!”
“Lie still. Your spine is damaged,” said the Adept-Healer as she inspected his injury with a hand-held magnetic scanner. From her backpack she retrieved a spray-injector, pressing it against Caabasanaa’s neck. His eyes closed and his body relaxed as the sedative took effect. She then used a spray-applicator to apply Repairer-Nanite gel to the wound. Finally she rummaged in her backpack for another object: a forearm-length cylinder. She laid it on the ground and, in a manner similar to the tent, it unpacked itself, forming a light but strong stretcher.
The other Warriors prepared the downed Spike Tails for transport back to the Clan City – gutting them with their daggers, then wrapping the carcasses in nanomaterial that absorbed any blood and kept the carcasses from spoiling. Three more cylinders unpacked into sleds onto which the carcases were placed. Monofiliament ropes were attached to these and the other ends merged with their utility belts. The Warriors dragged the carcases near to the tent, the frictionless material of the sleds making this effort easier. The condor-sized Shadow Wings alighted to feast on the offal, squabbling over the tastiest bits.
The Healer instructed the two remaining Warrior-One-Claws to lift their comrade onto the stretcher and secure him, which they did so carefully, then carry him to the tent; the others followed.
<The Sky-Carrier is now required,> Sohaar said to the pilot awaiting his summons in Night River Clan City. <Three kills made, one Warrior seriously injured.>
<Preparing for takeoff, my Lord,> he answered.
Despite Caabasanaa’s injury, the hunt had been satisfactory, and had taken his mind off his brother’s death – if only temporarily. He had proven that his predatory skills were still adequate.
The Warriors donned their war-cloaks and swords, redeployed their armor over their skin, then settled wearily in a kneeling crouch, legs folded under them.
Sergei watched again in fascination as the Warriors’ Nanite-Armor appeared and spread from the patches they had replaced at the nape of their necks, a coalescing black liquid that merged and hardened into intricate segments. The material flowed over their heads and morphed into crested helmets; the whole process took only a few seconds.
<Nahuu, what is the armor made of?>
<It utilizes what you call nanotechnology, forming one layer of graphene.>
<Graphene?>
<A form of bonded carbon.>
Much to his relief, they would not be walking back; a Sky-Carrier arrived. The spacecraft was nearly twice the size of Sohaar’s Shuttle, with the same sleek, glittering black organic appearance; it resembled a scarab beetle with outstretched wings. Its fuselage was bulkier as it contained two levels, the upper one for passengers, the lower for cargo. Sergei noted that it had two air intakes, so it must utilize jet power for atmospheric flight as well. It came to rest on the grass not far away and a ramp flowed down.
Everyone exited the tent, which folded itself up for re-packing. The carcasses were dragged up into the cargo section of the Sky-Carrier and secured. That the Warriors could pull them was testament to the Warriors’ strength – the Spike Tails looked as though they weighed perhaps half a tonne each. The group boarded, settled themselves in the passenger section (injured Caabasanaa was placed in a stasis tube), then the ship lifted off homewards.
That evening, Sergei was waiting for his rations to appear in the wall slot when a light tap on and movement at the open portal of his room caught his attention. One of Sohaar’s Guardians stood there, gesturing for him to come, hand facing down as befitting a lower rank. As he had that morning, Sergei followed the alien down the access ramps to the ground floor. They turned left along the main corridor and diverted into a spacious feasting hall that opened onto the inner courtyard; it was located in the wing opposite the Residence’s main entrance. Here, Sohaar and some Warriors knelt around a low table, their faces uncovered. Caabasanaa, still recuperating, was not amongst them.
The Guardian indicated a place for Sergei on a floor quilt next to Sohaar at one end of the table, on which he sat cross-legged. As with the Council meeting, Sergei was careful not to stare at the aliens, though he did note the murals decorating the walls, these of hunting scenes.
Cyan-robed male and female Adepts entered with food trays from a far door, placing them before each Warrior and then Sergei, then discreetly retreated. The small dishesarranged with care on the trays comprised various vegetables, soups and dips, in a style reminiscent of Japanese food. Some items were encased in a thin, translucent black wrap that seemed to be their equivalent of bread or rice; these could be eaten as they were. Some of small circular wraps were also piled on the plate by themselves. There was a bowl of small black globules that tasted like rice. There was also a small bowl of water with a serviette besides it.
The meat from that day’s hunt was placed in the center of the table, heaped in substantial amounts on separate plates and basted in its own juices. The smells were not too different from those of similar Earth food, and Sergei’s mouth watered as the aroma from the roasted meat drifted his way. I haven’t had a nice roast shashlyk in over a year, Sergei thought longingly.
The Warriors conversed in low voices in their own language as they began to eat, ignoring Sergei, so he focused inward, connecting to Nahuu though his neural implant. <Nahuu, where are the vegetables from?>
<They are gathered from the surrounding land when in season by those of the other Castes, as well as grown hydroponically.>
<Do the Hunters eat plants as well?>
<Yes – they are omnivorous, but favor meat.>
Sohaar and the others were steadily demolishing the glistening piles of meat, using their claws to spear slices; they obviously required substantial amounts of it to refuel. There were no utensils aside from one’s belt knife. Sergei unsheathed his and tentatively brought some meat to his mouth; it was an odd bluish-grey color. To his relief, it did not taste too different from the meat of Earth animals, though he could not define the strong flavor exactly – perhaps most like chicken. He devoured the rest of his meal with as much enthusiasm as the others. The alien rice-bread wraps were also delicious, and he cleaned up his plate; the wraps were used to handle the loose food items, he observed. Dessert consisted of piles of various sweet berry-like fruits, including the Crest-Grass tips he had tried earlier. The water bowl and serviette were used to clean one’s fingers (or claws) after eating.
He studied his empty bowl, turning it in his hands; it was forest green with a wavy gold pattern around the rim. It appeared to be glazed pottery, simply and beautifully crafted and sparkling iridescently under the overhead lighting.
Stifling a yawn, Sergei looked out at the courtyard, where the garden and flowing stream enhanced the tranquil atmosphere despite the rather menacing presence of the Warriors. Evening was closing in, and a few stars were visible in the indigo sky. Muted blue-white solar lighting around the courtyard softly illuminated the purple shadows.
Pleasantly weary and full from that day’s hunt, Sohaar felt content for the moment in the familiar surrounds of his ancient home. The meat would sustain him for two or three days, when he would go out to hunt again; he would eat lightly of other food in the meantime within the confines of his room. He usually feasted with a selection of his favored Warriors.
He regarded the human as it devoured its meal. Feeding an alien was just one of the problems with keeping it; his culture’s technology could give it artificial enzymes and synthesize food with the correct nutrients, but it would still miss the food produced naturally on its own world – though they could grow some of this in contained biospheres. Different gravity, day length, sunlight, oxygen levels and so on also took their toll on an alien not adapted to these by millions of years of evolution. The alien Companions of the other Clans needed to return periodically to their homeworlds for physical and psychological replenishment; the Dawn Hunters similarly needed to come home at intervals and this was one reason they had never wished to colonize other worlds. No doubt he would have to make the same arrangements for Sergei – but first Sohaar had to subdue the human’s world.
Feeling sleepy with the onset of darkness, Sohaar arose and departed the hall first as was customary, followed by Sergei.
26 Jan 2013
Outing
Sergei settled himself into the snug enclosed cockpit of the two-seat Rerelanzuun, Sky Flyer. As with the spaceships, its reclining seat molded himself to his contours and a harness extended to secure him. He gripped the joystick-like protuberance at the end of his right armrest which enabled him to steer the craft. There was also an option for thought-control steering, but he did not feel accomplished enough to try that yet.
Engage, he commanded through his neural implant, and the curving blank panels in front of him came to shimmering life with photophoric data displays, translated into his language.
Three days after the hunt and wanting to escape his confinement for a while, Sergei had yesterday asked the Clan Lord if there were any way he could go flying. To his surprise the alien had acquiesced, telling him early this morning to go to the Clan City’s landing area. Waiting for him was not the expected spaceship but a much smaller atmospheric craft.
Through the perspex-like windows he could see the Technician-Engineer who had given him brief instructions on how to operate the Sky Flyer. Whether the Technician was displeased that an alien was flying one of his aircraft Sergei couldn’t ascertain; the male had obviously been ordered by Lord Sohaar to let Sergei have use of one.
The compact propeller-driven Sky Flyer was electrically-powered, drawing energy from hexagonal solar cells on its body and wings, the latter currently folded up while in its hangar. Like the spaceships, it was black in color and had a sleek organic design, its bulbous fuselage tapering sharply at the rear to a V-shaped tail.
Power up, thought Sergei, and a low hum reverberated through the Sky Flyer as its two wing-mounted propellers spun up in their aerodynamic nacelles. The Engineer gestured for him to head out, and Sergei carefully pushed the joystick forward a little. The Sky Flyer rolled forward, following a marked line that led to one of the intersecting runways. These were aligned north-south and east-west, meeting in the middle of the landing plaza. Sergei espied a pole with streaming ribbons indicating the wind direction; it was blowing from the south-east this morning.
Unfold, he ordered the wings, and they did so in a flowing motion. A panel display indicated when the wings were fully extended; the process put him in mind of a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis and expanding its wings. He wanted to takeoff into the wind direction if possible, so he taxied to the intersection and turned to the eastwards runway; the aircraft could turn on a dime.
There was no other air traffic visible, so he apparently could take off when he felt ready. Haven’t done this in a long time – too long! he thought, grinning, as he pushed the joystick forward and the Sky Flyer surged ahead almost eagerly. The steering felt light and responsive. He quickly attained takeoff velocity and pulled back on the joystick. The Sky Flyer soared effortlessly upwards and Sergei whooped in a rare display of exhilaration.
He attained altitude and circled to get his bearings. The vast City lay spread out below, the buildings appearing as shaded grey-and-black geometric shapes interspersed with colorful vegetation. He kept a distance from the tall House of the Ancestors. Only one moon was visible, a waxing Ice Moon; the two others were in their dark phase.
Acting on an urge to see the ocean here, Sergei had earlier decided to head for the south-eastern coastline for a day at the beach – he had been warned not to stray into the territories of other Clans to the north. A map display showed his current position and flight path to his desired location, with an estimated flight time of around seven hours each way to cover the two-and-a-half thousand or so kilometers at the Sky Flyer’s cruising speed. Well, I’d better make that an overnight stay, he decided – the single continent was huge, and he would be crossing a bit more than the distance between Moscow and Baikonur. The weather would be generally fine, though a hurricane was forming over the sea to the east of his destination that would need monitoring. I should be back before it hits, he reassured himself, and set off.
Emerging from the cockpit, Sergei stretched his cramped limbs as he looked around, breathing deep of the ozone-tinged air. The wind had picked up during the last fifteen minutes or so of flying, and buffeted against his face. An ominous darkness on the eastern horizon marked where the hurricane lurked; the late afternoon sky was otherwise mostly clear. He had touched down a couple of times during the long flight for refreshment breaks, but still felt weary. The Sky Flyer had flown smoothly and he felt much more confident with, and in, the aircraft.
There had been little sign of habitation on the flight here: no roads, dams or agricultural fields, but plains and forests of mostly orange-magenta-violet and some cyan vegetation, and similarly-colored vast herds of Spike Tails and another quadruped called a Crescent Horn. In contrast to the ravaged Earth, the aliens’ world seemed almost pristine.
He had landed on a peninsula a hundred meters or so from the edge of a red-grassed clifftop. Retrieving his backpack, he walked to the edge where a pathway led down the high cliff face to the beach far below. Lord Sohaar had, surprisingly, suggested this destination, saying only, “I came here with my father when young.”[1]
Sergei began the descent down the rather perilous path; there were no safety rails. He took five minutes or so to descend, and his leg muscles ached from the effort. He looked back up the steep path – Getting up there in a hurry will be difficult, he realized. There was a deep cave about halfway up; he had not stopped to inspect inside. He stumbled as he stepped into deep white sand and decided to rest for a bit, sitting and rummaging in his backpack for a bite to eat.
He had been to the coast only infrequently in his life, usually once a year during his youth as part of the Young Pioneer camps that were popular during the Soviet era. He had fond memories of walking along the beach and looking out over the seemingly endless expanse of the Black Sea under a sunny blue sky – a different realm compared to grey Moscow in which he lived. All that now belonged to a long-ago time made hazy by nostalgia.
Refreshed, he arose and walked toward the shoreline, wanting to get away from the high brooding cliff faces. Waves crashed vigorously on the beach, perhaps stirred up by the approaching hurricane. He was in a cove and, reaching the shore, could see a series of them in both directions.
A rock formation extended into the ocean some way so he walked out on it, stopping to peer into rock pools. Colorful sea plants decorated them, as well as opalescent shell creatures; they did not look too different from those of Earth. Small iridescent flying creatures that resembled a blend of pterodactyl and manta ray darted around, squawking and screeching – perhaps the Home World equivalent of seagulls.
He stood for a while, just gazing and absorbing the remarkable sensation of standing on an alien beach, under an aquamarine sky with two ghostly moons floating overhead, his homeworld and all he had ever known unimaginably far away. His surroundings were both very real and familiar – the sounds and smells of the ocean were similar to those of Earth’s – yet strangely dreamlike.
He spotted a larger than normal wave approaching, so he retreated from the rocks as fast as he could without slipping. At one point he stumbled and fell into knee-deep water. Wading out, he made to wring out the fabric, but this proved unnecessary as the clothing was perfectly dry, repelling water and sand. He glanced up at the sun; it was sinking toward the horizon. He decided to have some lunch, then take a nap.
<Hurricane imminent. Sergei, you must depart immediately.>
The mild voice repeated the warning as Sergei sluggishly emerged from his nap. “What …?” he mumbled, confused, then realized something was wrong: the wind was drastically stronger and he was partly buried in sand. He swore and sat up as a wave crashed alarmingly close in front of him.
The sky overhead swirled with ominously dark grey clouds, the wind howled like a banshee. He had slept longer than intended and the hurricane had approached swifter than expected. The beach was vanishing under a storm surge, and the clouds in the west were stained red from the setting sun. He grabbed his backpack and stood up, the wind nearly knocking him over. “Nahuu, will my aircraft fly through this hurricane?” he asked as he ran toward the access path and began the laborious climb.
<No. Skyflyers are grounded for storms.>
He staggered as a gust of wind nearly blew him off the path, then remembered the cave not far ahead. Realizing the danger he was in, he got down on hands and feet in a semi-crouch and propelled himself up awkwardly until the opening of the cave appeared. He darted inside after a last glance at the storm-lashed vista: the beach was almost entirely covered in churning waves, distant cliffs hidden by heavy rain.
The cave’s interior was in darkness. Need some light, Sergei thought, and discovered yet another feature of his clothing: a bioluminescent blue-white glow appeared in linear patterns along his torso and limbs. The soft glow revealed scratched or drawn creatures, Dawn Hunter figures and geometric writing over the cave’s surfaces, much of it faded and old. Perhaps Hunters from aeons past had similarly waited out hurricanes in here. Sergei decided to leave his own mark: finding a harder rock brought from elsewhere, he scratched a rough human figure and his name in Cyrillic – Сергей Александрович Константинов – into the sandstone. That should certainly puzzle whoever else might come here.
After finishing, Sergei sat down and tried not to think too much about his being forty thousand light years distant from every other human, and far away from everyone else on this alien world, though the aliens undoubtedly knew where he was. He pulled out his softscreen from a pocket to occupy himself with as the storm raged; it would be a long night ahead.
The next morning, the worst of the hurricane had passed – the edge of it had brushed the coast, according to a weather image Sergei accessed. He emerged from the cave and continued on upward to the clifftop, expecting to see the Sky Flyer overturned and damaged. Amazingly, it was intact. Coming up to it, he could see the craft had retracted its wings and dug its undercarriage in to apparently hunker down against the storm; its rudimentary AI must have commanded it to. Somewhat disconcertingly, the Sky Flyer unfurled at his approach, and Sergei hesitated; it seemed almost alive. It settled into immobility again. He climbed into the cabin and headed off homeward.
Footnotes
- [1]
- Beach and cliffs resemble Eagle’s Nest, Inverloch (Google Maps)
26 Sep 2016
Black Ships
“The fleet is away. Black ships have been sighted …”
– The Ugarit tablets
In an empty region of space between the orbits of Earth and Mars, three tiny gravity wells appeared out of nowhere, their intensity warping the void around them. The event horizons around them glowed, then enlarged and distorted as the Dawn Hunter starships re-emerged into realspace through the temporary ruptures in spacetime. They were accompanied by the usual emission of radiation and gravitational waves that specialized instruments on Earth inadvertently registered as anomalous. Had anyone been at the exit point to observe, the ships would have appeared to instantaneously surface from night-dark water, rippling the fabric of space itself.
However, when they re-engaged their fusion drives in sequence – whose bright plumes stretched for several shiplengths behind them – they came to the attention of anyone who happened to be observing the sky in the direction of Mars. A flurry of excited reports streamed from various observatories worldwide about the sudden appearance of a new “comet.”
The United Nations Military Staff Committee, some of whose members had monitored the recent events at Mars, realized with alarm that the aliens had returned. They hastily convened a Security Council meeting at the United Nations headquarters in New York City. This session was not open to the media.
“The Security Council will now begin its consideration of the item on its agenda,” began the SC President – for this month, an American – as he opened the meeting, standing in his country’s place at the horseshoe-shaped table. The five permanent member-countries of China, France, Russia, the USA and the UK – including those from the UN MSC wearing the uniforms of their respective nations’ military forces – were seated around the table, as were the ten temporary elected members from other nations.
“This is perhaps the most extraordinary meeting in the Council’s history as it now appears we are not the only intelligent life in our Galaxy – we have visitors in three starships approaching Earth. Their intentions are as yet unknown, and this meeting has been convened to discuss what procedures we should follow next. The members of the Military Staff Committee have prepared a presentation to summarize events to date.”
“I thank you, Mr. President,” the Russian Lieutenant-General on the MSC said, in heavily-accented English. “To summarize situation. As you know, American businessman Darius Tyler pay my country to build him spaceship to take him to Mars orbit. One of our cosmonauts is also part of the crew. Their spaceship was captured by the object orbiting Mars, which was alien starship. This video recording shows the events.” A projection screen set up near one end of the table displayed the digital video transmitted from the Mars spaceship, Horus.
“We hear nothing else after that for four days – no telemetry from ship. On the fourth day, we receive a radio and video message from the surviving cosmonaut, Air Force Major Sergei Aleksandrovich Konstantinov, telling us he is hostage of alien and that Mr Tyler has been killed.” He played back this recording, letting the otherworldly images speak for themselves. As those in TsUP – Moscow Mission Control – had been, the Council were stunned into silence at the scene of a wan and pale Sergei, wearing a curious shimmering silver-grey outfit, seated in front of an ominous green-eyed black-robed figure.
“Not long after, the starship disappear off radar. Gravitational waves and Cerenkov radiation were detected, first from Mars orbit, then only moments later from Neptune – after adjustments are made for the time the signals take to travel to Earth.”
“Why Neptune?” interjected the representative from Spain through a translator.
“We do not know … the starship stopped there for some reason, then depart our system four days later. As it traveled between the two planets almost instantly, we believe they used a wormhole or other exotic technology.”
“Wormhole?” asked the Iraqi representative.
“A … shortcut through space and time. You can go from one place in the Universe to another instantly.” The Russian Lieutenant-General looked at the UK Colonel to continue.
“The alien starships have emerged again, this time at a point between Earth and Mars, and are now on a trajectory that will intersect with Earth’s orbit in a mere five days or so. We have been able to ascertain more details as they near. We presume they are using nuclear fusion for propulsion as the radiation from their engine exhausts is extensive, and we’re having to release disinformation that the visible emission is a short-term comet. They are formed of a substance that gives a minimal radar signature, so little information has been gained through radar scans. The task force estimated their size from infrared imagery: approximately three kilometers long and nearly a kilometer-and-a-half at their widest point, same as the original artifact. Telescopes on Earth and in orbit were focused upon the point in space where the starships were approaching, and we have obtained some images, not detailed but still impressive …”
These were duly brought up on the screen and there was a collective gasp at the frontal image of the massive black ships; only vague cetacean-like dark shapes from this distance silhouetted by their engine emissions, but ones clearly not of human origin. “They have not responded to our attempts at radio communication – and nothing from the Russian cosmonaut, if he is on board.”
“Do we assume the aliens are hostile?” asked the Chinese representative.
“If what happened to that crew is any indication, there is that possibility,” the UK Colonel replied somewhat dryly, hiding his nervousness.
“My apologies for this question, gentlemen, but how do we know this is not some sort of elaborate hoax?” asked the Pakistani representative.
“Your doubts are understandable, as we’ve been so accustomed to dubious UFO stories and conspiracy theories … but there are no doubts this is real. They’re here.” Discomforted mutters rose from the assembly as this fact sank in.
The French Brigadier-General on the MSC stood next. “Now to the question of defences. The only spaceships available are the Russian Soyuz and the Chinese Shenzhou, neither of which would stand any chance against an advanced alien spacecraft such as these – they have no weapons in any case. NASA’s Space Shuttle is now retired, but despite its greater cargo capabilities, it would face the same flight limitations as the other spacecraft.”
“Our only option for the moment is nuclear missiles. We have formulated a plan to modify the ICBMs of our nations so they can target objects in near-space should the starships enter into a low-enough Earth orbit. As the missiles are ballistic – no means of steering once launched – accurate targeting will be a challenge, though we can detonate them by radio control. The risk is we irradiate parts of the Earth. Therefore this plan is a last-resort option if the aliens are indeed hostile.”
The American Army Colonel’s turn to speak came. “We have unanimously decided not to release this news to the general public – there is no knowing what their reaction would be. Worldwide panic, riots, economic collapse … There are some rumors circulating around the Internet – we can’t do much about that – but we doubt these will be regarded any more seriously than any other UFO nonsense. The personnel who have been involved in the detection of the alien starships have all been required to sign secrecy agreements.
“As the aliens have not attempted communications so far, such signals have not been picked up by SETI or similar civilian organizations – fortunately for us.”
“Excuse me for interrupting, but is it true you – your country’s military – have a secret spaceplane in use, or in development, at Groom Lake?” asked the Indian representative hopefully.
“We do have an unmanned spaceplane, but details of it are obviously classified,” the Colonel replied reluctantly. “But, like the other vehicles mentioned, it is only certified for low-Earth orbit.”
The Chinese Major-General spoke last. “Our only option is therefore to wait and see what the aliens do. Our nations are preparing crisis management plans in the event the aliens prove to be hostile. That is as much as we can do for now. ”
The SC President stood to close the meeting. “There are no further speakers inscribed on my list. The Security Council has thus concluded the present stage of its consideration of the item on its agenda, and there is much to consider. We will convene again when the aliens arrive near Earth. Before adjourning, may I remind Council members of the luncheon that my delegation will have the pleasure of hosting in the Delegates’ Dining Room.”[1]
Sergei sat cross-legged on a floor-quilt in his now-customary place to the left of Supreme Lord Sohaar in the Command Chamber of Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo. A real-time image of Earth and its moon were visible on one of the hologram display screens ringing the dais they sat on. They were now one Earth-day out from the planet, traveling in formation at a relatively leisurely pace;[2] they had emerged five Earth days or four Home World days out to give the Hunters time to update their data on the planet. The infrasonic rumble of Nahuu’s twin fusion engines were a constant reminder of the sheer power the starships commanded.
I’m returning home in grand style! Sergei thought, exhilarated at the mental image of the huge starships sailing majestically through the void like an unstoppable force of nature – whales swimming through a starry ocean. The approaching alien ships were creating extensive consternation amongst the governments and military forces on Earth; Nahuu had intercepted communications on various countries’ secure computer networks and streamed them to Lord Sohaar and to Sergei’s laptop computer so they could follow developments.
Sergei’s laptop rested on the floor in front of him. “The countries with nuclear missiles – including my country, Russia – are re-targeting some so they can launch at the starships,” he remarked, reading one message. He had earlier perused the transcript of the latest Security Council meeting.
“It is of little concern. Our starships can withstand nuclear attacks.”
“They don’t know that yet, my Lord.” The honorific now came automatically to him. “But we don’t have any other means of defence – at least, nothing I know of.”
The alien didn’t reply. The image of Sohaar’s gruesome fight to the death with his brother again assailed Sergei. Despite his ascension to Supreme Lord, Sohaar seemed – as much as Sergei could read the alien’s mood – subdued or depressed.
The three Hunter starships passed the Moon. Those on Earth monitored the mighty ships’ inexorable approach with trepidation.
Lord Sohaar stood in Nahuu’s Observation Room, Sergei by his side and the third world before him – Night River Clan System-9-3 as he had assigned it – a brilliant blue sphere swirled with white clouds. The prospect of imminent conquest had lifted his depressive mood somewhat.
A stealthy approach was impossible with the starships’ fusion exhaust plumes, but they had yet to meet an opponent who was their equal. Three starships were not strictly necessary to subdue a planet, but they certainly impressed its inhabitants. He also thought the show of force prudent just in case the humans possessed some secret superweapon that Nahuu had not detected.
<We will break formation and move into geostationary orbit,> he said to both the Clan Lord and War Lord of the other two ships over their neural implants; they appeared as separate holograms in the window. <The humans’ missiles cannot reach us at that altitude.>
A hologram display showed that the various orbital levels of the planet were cluttered with hundreds of artificial satellites and littered with space debris; these would have no effect on the near-impenetrable skin of the Hunter spaceships should there be any collisions.
<You will send down your human emissary first?> Lord Sanaazuun asked. He – commanding the starship Zaawezoyuu-lecunel Narawaa Sosaano – was the nephew of Haarnahuu, Sohaar’s closest ally in his old life two thousand Home World-years ago; he had sworn alliance to Sohaar unhesitatingly.
<Yes. If the humans reject our terms, more severe measures will be taken.>
<Are they stubborn enough to force us to destroy them?> War Lord Yaraananahuu of Zaawezoyuu-celecuzeyuhenenel Narawaa Rebenuuwo asked. He was the youngest of the three, and led a subordinate Clan called the Crescent Moon that resided in Sohaar’s City. Sohaar intended for him to remain in this star system on watch for a period of time, when Sohaar needed to return to Home World.
<Possibly. My Adept-Scientists say they will not take kindly to domination, and some will continue to resist even if the leaders submit.> The relevant specialists of the Adept and Technician Castes formerly under Yaraan’s command were fully occupied with sifting through the reams of data obtained by Nahuu pertaining to the humans. Sohaar again felt a stab of anguish at the slaughter of his original crew, who had been with him when he first discovered this world.
One particularly large satellite on the display caught his attention and he queried Nahuu as to what it was. <It is the humans’ orbital station, the International Space Station. It is their only manned orbital station and carries no weapons. There were six humans on board; they have been evacuated due to our arrival.> The starship brought up a hologram diagram of the ISS.
<It is small and primitive,> Sohaar remarked, unimpressed.
The section of Earth’s night side which was visible showed the continents ablaze with the lights of cities. <I was told that humans were diurnal, like us?> he asked Nahuu.
<They were, until they invented artificial lighting. Those in industrialized nations have a peculiar obsession with disrupting their circadian rhythm. Now their cities obscure the stars.>
<They also evidently care nothing for concealment. We will more easily be able to target their major cities if necessary.> From orbit, Home World would not be recognizable as inhabited on its night side; the lights of its Clan Cities were deliberately obscured and most inhabitants slept at night in any case.
From this high viewpoint, Earth appeared a paradisiacal world if one were unaware of the ravages modern industrial civilization had inflicted upon its environment. Gazing at the brilliant planet, Sergei felt a wave of homesickness. He had been away from Earth for over a year – and absent from the Solar System for a month. He wanted to see his parents and relatives again, and the apartment where he had grown up.
As ever, scanning the daily news headlines gave him little cause for optimism: they comprised the usual juxtaposition of tragedies and banal trivia. The world hasn’t missed me. He wondered if he would ever be able to adjust to normal Earthly life again after so long away in strange environments.
Lonely, not fragile, was his impression of Earth. On the journey to Mars, he and Darius had developed a ritual of looking for Earth through their spaceship’s portholes before retiring to their beds. Observing the planet as an ever-smaller blue sphere floating in an endless, hostile black void was oddly disconcerting. The idea of humans “conquering” space seemed laughably naïve.
He noticed the hologram of the ISS appearing for a moment before Lord Sohaar. I hope he’s not planning to destroy it also!
The ISS was more-or-less finished – years overdue and over budget – and the international partners continued to maintain it more out of a sense of duty than anything else. The initial enthusiasm for the project had faded long ago as its construction dragged on interminably through the 1990s and 2000s.
Sergei sat on the floor in front of his laptop and, opening its web browser, accessed the NASA site to see who was in orbit now. To his surprise, there was an announcement that one day ago the ISS had suffered several punctures from a meteor storm. With the subsequent loss of onboard atmosphere, its crew of six had initiated their contingency decrewing plan and evacuated safely to Earth in the two Soyuz spaceships. I don’t think that is a coincidence, Sergei surmised. The crew had likely been recalled to Earth to get them away from potential harm from the alien spaceships, and the depressurization story concocted for the public.
“I wish to contact your world’s leader,” Lord Sohaar said, interrupting his browsing.
“Uh, we don’t have one single leader – all the countries have one each,” Sergei explained. “Though we do have the United Nations, where all the leaders of the countries meet sometimes.” But never get much done, he cynically added to himself.
“Then I will contact the United Nations.”
“Okay,” Sergei muttered, wondering how he was to go about this. He clicked through to the U.N. website – “It’s your world!” the blue home page tagline read. Not any longer, thought Sergei, grimacing. Navigating around the site in increasing frustration, he could only find a generic contact form . “No use using that; they would probably think I’m a hoaxer.” He remembered yesterday’s Security Council meeting. “Nahuu, could you get the phone number of Lieutenant-General Utenkov, the Russian on the Security Council? It’s probably somewhere in the U.N.’s internal computer network.”
“Underway.” A few moments later the starship said, “I have his office and mobile telephone number.”
“Cool! Try his … mobile number. I hope he has it switched on.”
The General did, as a gruff Russian voice answered, “Allo? General Utenkov speaking.” Like that of Nahuu, the General’s voice emanated from no particular place in the Observation Deck.
“General, I am Cosmonaut Sergei Aleksandrovich Konstantinov, and I am calling from one of the alien starships.”
A moment’s stunned silence, then he asked suspiciously: “Is this a prank?”
“No, sir. To prove it, I could give you the details of yesterday’s Security Council meeting, including the fact that countries with nuclear missiles have retargeted some of them to launch at the alien spaceships.”
“That meeting was confidential! How did you get that information?” the General demanded.
“That’s confidential, sir,” Sergei replied, a bit cheekily. “The aliens have some … requests to make.”
“What sort of requests?”
“They wish to talk to the United Nations.”
“We are convening another Security Council meeting tomorrow; can the requests be presented then?”
Sergei looked at Lord Sohaar, who indicated Yes. “We – they – agree to that. If you can set up some sort of video link they can speak through that. They need a designated time to make contact.”
“Uh … try at 10:00 hours, in the time zone for our region; I can’t recall this offhand.” Not surprisingly, he sounded flustered.
“Very well, sir, we will contact you at that time tomorrow.” <Nahuu, break the connection,> he told the starship through his neural implant; the starship obliged. Sergei glanced at the alien again but Lord Sohaar continued staring impassively out the window.
Footnotes
- [1]
- Borrowed some of that from transcribed speeches on the UNdemocracy.com site
- [2]
- About 36 km/sec, so they emerged 15,552,000 km out from Earth
28 Oct 2010
Terms
“Opening connection with the Security Council,” announced the starship. A display screen around the dais of its Command Chamber changed to show civilian and military personnel seated around a horseshoe-shaped table; Nahuu had tapped into a satellite feed to transmit visual and audio signals from itself to the United Nations headquarters and back as instructed. The camera which displayed Sergei and Lord Sohaar to the Council appeared to be mounted on a flatscreen digital TV in front of the table.
The expressions of the humans when the starship’s feed stabilized varied from amazement to barely-concealed apprehension. That’s certainly not due to seeing me, Sergei thought wryly.
The Russian General whom he had contacted the previous day stood up and said in Russian, “Sergei Aleksandrovich, are you receiving us?”
“Da, General Utenkov,” replied Sergei after a quarter-second delay. “Lord Sohaar, the leader of the aliens, is with me. I am to speak for him.”
“The Council President will now address you,” he said in English, looking at her, and sat down.
The President, a redhead the same age as Sergei, began, “Major Konstantinov, have the aliens – uh, Lord Sohaar – said what their purpose is in coming here?”
“We … They wish to bring Earth into their Dominion.”
“And that would entail …?”
“Humanity will have to bow to their will.”
That provoked indignant expressions and some heated discussion. Maybe I should have phrased it a bit more politely? But he was merely repeating Sohaar’s bluntly translated words through his neural implant – the alien was apparently not one to prevaricate.
The President frowned and shook her head. “That is not acceptable.”
“The consequences of refusal will be harsh.”
The outrage from the Council was now almost palpable.
“We are a sovereign race and don’t bow to anyone!” the US Army Colonel on the Military Staff Committee interjected furiously, hands clenched into fists on the table before him. “We don’t recognize their ‘Dominion.’ Tell your … hosts that we will employ every means to fight them.”
Sergei glanced nervously at Sohaar, but the alien remained an implacable black statue. He turned back to the display to find the connection had been broken.
Sohaar seemed unsurprised rather than angry. “I expected as such. Yours appears to be a stubborn species. Therefore a demonstration will be in order.”
“My Lord?”
“You are to select a nation. All humans within that nation will then be annihilated. This will serve as a warning to others.” A translucent hologram appeared; a political map of the world that Nahuu had evidently pulled off the Internet, with the names of the nations in Cyrillic.
Is he serious? Sergei thought incredulously, but knew better than to question the alien – his kind appeared to be lacking in a sense of humor.
Staring at the map, his gaze initially focused on a small long-troublesome republic of Russia – No, not yet, too close to home – then drifted to Central Asia, and one particular landlocked country as he recalled his country’s disastrous intervention and subsequent humiliation there in the recent past, when he was a citizen of the-then USSR. The country was still chronically dysfunctional, despite the international peacekeeping forces stationed there.
He recalled the lurid stories he had heard of the gruesome tortures and deaths inflicted upon Soviet soldiers by the local mujahideen, guerrilla fighters. His cousin Andrei, in the VDV – Airborne Forces – had been captured and tortured but managed to escape. Andrei still spoke little about it, though.
And not a word of sympathy from any country, Sergei thought, expression hardening as anger flared within. Western countries had helped the bandits in their resistance, despite the latters’ brutal culture.
Making his decision, though still disbelieving, Sergei pointed at the hologram, at the country whose name read “Афганистан.” “That country – Afghanistan.”[1]
“Noted. The deployment of the Unmakers will begin at nightfall,” Sohaar continued. “Most humans will then be asleep.” That seemed to be the alien’s method of showing some mercy.
A hologram that appeared before them demonstrated the procedure. What resembled a silver-grey cloud of dust or rain descended upon an alien landscape as seen from above, then coalesced and flowed over the land like a wave front or an amoeba. When it had passed, the land had been scoured of all vegetation and life.
“What is that grey dust?” Sergei asked, feeling chilled as he watched the hologram.
Nahuu answered instead. “It consists of what your scientists call nanotechnology – these are specialized nanites, called ‘Unmakers’ in your language, that are programmed to disassemble matter.”
“How are they stopped from consuming everything on the whole planet?”
“They are programmed not to go outside the designated geographical boundary. Once all the matter inside it is disassembled, they return to the dispersal spacecraft.”
“How do they know what to disassemble?”
“They will be instructed in this case to disassemble only lifeforms containing human DNA rather than the entire landscape.”
Sergei continued staring at the image until Sohaar told him, “You may go. I will summon you when the demonstration is ready.”
Footnotes
- [1]
- Wikipedia: Afghanistan topographical map
3 Nov 2013
Dust
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
– T.S. Eliot, “The Waste Land”
Lord Sohaar and Sergei stood in front of the window of the Observation Room at the forward end of the starship Sahelnahuu, gazing expectantly down at the Earth from geostationary orbit. Nanites in a portion of the currently-transparent window magnified the view of the country whose population was to be annihilated; it lay northwards to 30 degrees latitude.
“The drone spacecraft has departed Zaawezoyuu-celecunel Narawaa Sosaano,” Nahuu said. “Ten minutes until Unmaker deployment.” The starship in question – belonging to Clan Lord Sanaazuun – had earlier descended into a hundred-minute low-Earth orbit far below Nahuu.
Sergei glanced tensely up at Lord Sohaar. The alien, clad in his usual black armor and cloak, was a tall dark shadow. Two of his Warrior-Guardians, Haarlecaa and Yaraanlecaa, who were brothers, stood motionless and watchful at the rear of the room.
A hologram display floating before Sohaar showed a schematic view of the targeted country and the drone deorbiting toward it, with data displayed in alien script. In another real-time view, streamed from Sosaan, the small spaceship-drone’s single fusion engine glowed violet-white in the night sky as it dropped away.
“Deployment begins,” Sohaar announced emotionlessly as data scrolled up on the purple-tinted hologram display. Sergei squinted around it at the starry darkness outside, but could see nothing, aside from the faint lights of cities on the continent. Afghanistan was mostly dark, while India to the right and below was intensely lit.
To his left, the terminator – the line separating day and night – slowly receded to the west. At this height their orbit and planetary rotation period coincided.
The hologram now showed a swarm of green dots being released from the drone as it settled into a flight pattern over southern Afghanistan. To Sergei they resembled a plague of locusts that stripped the land of all vegetation, and indeed the Unmakers worked in a similar manner, though in this case they targeted human flesh.
The Unmakers multiplied and expanded across the south of the country to its surrounding borders in their wave-front pattern, the edges precisely designated on the hologram. Sergei could barely imagine the situation down there. From what he had earlier seen of the Unmakers’ work, a living creature would be disassembled in seconds – a relatively quick death, if not entirely painless. Most people would be in bed asleep, so they would be dead before they had a chance to awaken. Those near the borders who were awake might have a chance to flee across – if they were lucky and realized that the Unmakers were a threat.
No warnings had been broadcast, so anyone monitoring the region via the spy satellite network would be struggling to comprehend what was going on. That means any foreign nationals in the country will be disassembled, too, Sergei realized. Too late, now.
An hour passed, then two. The Unmakers had now swept across a quarter of the nation.
<We wish to test the humans’ defences,> Clan Lord Sanaazuun informed Sohaar. <We will descend from orbit on the next pass over their main city.>
Sitting in Sosaan’s Command Chamber, he conveyed the instructions to the relevant Technicians monitoring the starship’s systems.
As the starship approached Afghanistan again from the south-west, it retrofired its engines so that it dropped out of freefall orbit and intersected the atmosphere. Fiery plasma from the heat of entry engulfed the starship, lighting up the land below. A starship could enter a planet’s atmosphere, though it could not land as it was far too big and heavy.
The capital city of Kabul felt the full force of the starship’s descent. The overpressure of the atmosphere displaced by its tremendous bulk flattened buildings directly underneath it as effectively as a nuclear detonation. A sonic boom and shockwaves thundered concentrically across the terrain, rattling buildings and breaking windows for tens of kilometers around as Sosaan slowed. Its powerful twin fusion engines also emitted some radiation from their plasma exhaust trails, ensuring the city would not be habitable for years. It began a holding pattern that encompassed the borders of Afghanistan, staying at an altitude of around 15 kilometers.
Squadron Leader Kaleem Ahmed of № 9 Sqn. raced across the tarmac of Mushaf Airbase to his F-16 Falcon fighter jet, along with his wingman. The ground crews had already prepared their aircraft, and he clambered up the ladder, settling into the jet’s cramped cabin. Strapping in, he donned his helmet and ran through his preflight checks before closing the polycarbonate canopy. “Anwar, do you read me?” he called over their radio link.
“Loud and clear, Kaleem,” he replied.
“Let us go see what this thing is,” said Kaleem, as he hand-signaled to his ground crew that he was ready to move out. He flicked various switches in sequence to spool up the single engine, then pushed his side-mounted control stick to roll the jet forward and onto the runway, Anwar following. In a few minutes they soared up into the evening sky to an altitude of 15,000 meters, and turned to a flight path that led them west toward Pakistan’s border with Afghanistan.
“Control, we are on course to intercept the object in approximately …” – he studied his heads-up display – “twenty minutes at cruise speed. I am not seeing much on my radar display, though.”
“Griffin-1,” replied Air Traffic Control, using his squadron’s callsign, “the object has a negligible radar signature. The Americans are providing us with real-time satellite images to track it, so continue on your course.”
Kaleem acknowledged him and broke contact. He had been relaxing in the officers’ quarters only half-an-hour or so earlier when what felt like a distant nuclear detonation had shaken the PAF base. Some airmen who had been outside rushed in exclaiming excitedly about a huge “meteor” descending in the south-western sky. He and Anwar had then been ordered to scramble to intercept the object – apparently not a meteor, but a spacecraft of unknown origin.
“Do you think it is a UFO?” Anwar asked, sounding excited.
“Could be, though it is probably a Russian spacecraft come down from orbit,” he speculated.
“Maybe it’s related to that comet that was approaching Earth during this week – if it was a comet,” said Anwan dubiously. “It just disappeared.”
Kaleem glanced up at the night sky; clear and brilliant with stars. One particularly bright motionless star to the south he did not recognize – it had appeared two evenings previously – and he felt a chill of unease.
“Kaleem! There is something ahead – something huge and black,” exclaimed Anwar a few minutes later as they approached the border. The object was moving slowly northwards, two blue-white flares extending behind it.
“Control, we have a visual on the object,” Kaleem reported to the airbase. “Do you wish us to approach?”
“Griffin-1, you are instructed to get as close as you can, but do not fire upon it unless it makes a hostile move.” The jets were each loaded with two wingtip-mounted AIM-9L Sidewinder air-to-air missiles, though Kaleem now doubted if they would have any effect upon the massive object – akin to gnats stinging the hide of an elephant.
“By the gods, it’s enormous!” an awed Anwar said as they neared. “Nothing human made that.”
Linear patterns of tiny blue lights appeared and began flickering in waves along the object, like the bioluminescent display of a deep-sea creature, revealing its streamlined, bulbous shape more clearly, though its intensely black hull was still difficult to discern.
“Control, the object has lit up! It appears to be a flying craft – a starship. I don’t think it is Russian – or from any other country. We are continuing our approach.”
Lord Sanaazuun watched the fighter jets’ approach on a hologram display that tracked their flight paths. <The aircraft are carrying conventional explosive weapons, my Lord,> the Technician-Weaponeer informed him. <Do you wish the targets to be neutralized?>
<Wait until they are close, then execute at will.>
Kareem steered his jet to fly alongside the starship; it was not moving fast. As he passed under the rounded center section that resembled wings, a violet beam shot out, hitting Anwar’s aircraft, which erupted in a fireball – his wingman had no time to eject.
“Control, Anwar is hit!” he shouted, frantically banking away and activating his jet’s afterburners, flying in an evasive pattern that he hoped would make him difficult to target, but the beam found him with inexorable accuracy. This time, however, it struck his F-16 on its rear engine rather than, as with Anwar’s jet, behind the cockpit where the fuel tanks were located. Much of the rear was blown off, but Kareem had a few precious seconds in which to react.
As his stricken F-16 began a downward plunge, Kareem hurriedly reached down between his knees to yank the rubber handle of his jet’s ACES II. A loud bang ensued as explosive charges separated the jet’s canopy from the fuselage; it flew up and was swept away by the fierce wind. Kareem grunted as his ejection seat blasted up and out, g-forces briefly crushing him against the seat. Moments later the seat’s parachute deployed, abruptly slowing his fall to the mountains far below.
Stunned from the rapid sequence of events, he watched his jet plummet in its final fiery death dive, then looked fearfully up at the immense black bulk of the alien starship. The vessel ignored him, moving with majestic grace into the distance.
Lord Sanaazuun watched the hologram with mild interest as it indicated the destruction of the two aircraft. One pilot managed to eject, but he decided to let him live. <They will know to fear us,> he remarked to Lord Sohaar.
Watching the encounter, Sergei felt a twinge of empathy with fellow aviators – the hologram Nahuu displayed indicated only one of the two pilots had ejected. Restless and uneasy, he moved away from the alien a little. “Nahuu, are there any reports on the news networks yet?” he asked.
“No reports so far. Military communications traffic has increased and satellites have been retasked to survey the area.” Sergei sat down cross-legged on the floor near the angled window, staring fixedly at the dark Earth. The tapered bow of the starship sloped away below the window.
Arms folded across his chest, Lord Sohaar resembled an obsidian statue as he monitored the relentless progress of the Unmakers on the hologram before him, silently communicating with his ship’s crew over his neural implant. He would normally be in the Command Chamber aftwards, but this time had wanted to viscerally demonstrate to Sergei the might of Hunter technology.
Around ten hours later, as golden dawn lightened the eastern horizon, Sohaar announced, “It is done. All humans within the nation’s borders no longer exist.” The representation of Afghanistan in the hologram was now entirely filled with green. Sergei arose and went to stand beside him.
“The drone will now survey the region,” said Nahuu. Another hologram display appeared in front of the window, streamed from the drone. The mountainous land below the drone initially appeared normal. There were occasional glimpses of bewildered animals and birds wandering through the towns and villages, but no sign of humans – save for piles of clothing that the Unmaker-Nanites had not been programmed to consume. Buildings appeared undamaged, but an eerie stillness was evident. Motor vehicles lay scattered randomly across the roads, some having crashed as their occupants were disassembled while driving. Kabul, however, looked as though a nuclear bomb had been detonated over it.
A whole population gone in a night, Sergei thought as he gazed disbelievingly at the images; the fact was too overwhelming to be immediately comprehended.
“The drone has collected all Unmakers and will return to Zaawezoyuu-celecunel.” The drone approached the starship which overflew the depopulated landscape; visible on the hologram display as a sleek silhouette against the barren terrain.
“Ballistic missile launch detected,” Nahuu alerted them. “From the nation called ‘Pakistan’. Trajectory intersecting on Zaawezoyuu-celecunel.” The launch was evidently retaliation for the downed jets and slain pilot.
“It must have a nuclear warhead, my Lord,” Sergei said urgently, looking at the alien, who seemed unconcerned.
“Sosaan has been alerted and is targeting the missile and its launcher,” Sohaar remarked almost casually. As he spoke, a thin violet ray lanced from the starship, focusing with pinpoint accuracy on a region to the south-east. A small fiery explosion appeared at the end of the particle beam as the Shaheen-2 missile was destroyed before its nuclear payload could be ignited. Then another beam was fired at the transporter erector launcher where the missile had been launched from, obliterating it and the unfortunate soldiers manning it. “Threat and source neutralized.”
Frenzied military activity continued along all borders as the neighboring nations attempted to make sense of what was happening. Fighter and surveillance aircraft patrolled the sky, but kept a wary distance from the massive starship – all military forces knew by now that any attempt at hostilities would see them destroyed like irritating gnats.
Having collected the drone, Sosaan fired its fusion engines while passing over Kabul and lifted back into high orbit, plasma exhaust irradiating the landscape below it in the process. Afghanistan was now a land of ghosts, the atoms of thirty million-odd souls scattered across its surface.
“You are to go to the United Nations Headquarters in person and repeat my statement. If they do not comply, the procedure will be repeated on another nation,” Lord Sohaar ordered Sergei. “Baalo will fly you down in one of the fighter-craft.”
“Maybe you should come, my Lord,” Sergei suggested. “They might be more inclined to listen – they haven’t yet seen you personally.”
The alien considered this for a moment. “Very well.” The hologram vanished and the viewing window morphed from transparent to opaque as it solidified into metal. Sohaar strode out of the room, Sergei and the Supreme Lord’s bodyguards following.
1 Aug 2010
Surrender
All who surrender will be spared; whoever does not surrender but opposes with struggle and dissension, shall be annihilated.
– Genghis Khan
Supreme Lord Sohaar’s personal shuttle disabled its active chromomorphic camouflage as it landed on the lawn of the tree-lined park behind the north face of the United Nations General Assembly building, the ordinary setting emphasizing the exoticness of the menacing black alien spacecraft.
The shuttle carried only five passengers: the female Technician-Pilot Baalo, Lord Sohaar, two of his Warrior-Guardians – brothers Haarlecaa and Yaraanlecaa – and the Russian cosmonaut Sergei.
Sohaar looked at the cabin’s exterior display projection; the park was deserted. “Baalo, you stay with the shuttle. If any of the humans other than the greeting party approach, repel with deadly force.”
Sergei, seated as usual in the rear section, waited with Haarlecaa and Yaraanlecaa until the Supreme Lord arose from the commander’s seat in the cabin and walked through the airlock to summon them. “There are delegates here to greet us?” he asked somewhat impatiently in the human’s language.
Sergei glanced at his watch. “They should be here soon, my Lord. We’re a little early.”
The three Dawn Hunter Warriors each wore their customary sword and dagger, and were armored and robed as usual, faces concealed. “I don’t know if security will allow you to take weapons in,” Sergei had warned them earlier.
“Those who try to disarm us will lose their heads,” Sohaar stated flatly. Sergei didn’t press the issue, relieved that at least they were not insisting on taking their guns.
“The delegates approach, my Lord,” Baalo informed them from the cabin. The access ramp was extended. Sergei exited first, followed by Lord Sohaar and his bodyguards. They stood at the foot of the ramp, Sergei moving forward as he was the non-threatening member of the group.
The U.N. Secretary-General himself – a South Korean – had come to greet them, along with the American U.N. Security Council President and four U.S. Diplomatic Security Service guards in dark grey suits and wraparound sunglasses. The five men and one woman tensed visibly on sighting the aliens and barely managed to hold their composure.
<These are bodyguards, my Lord?> Haarlecaa asked through his neural implant to Lord Sohaar in bafflement, staring at the DSS personnel. <Where are their armor and weapons?>
Sohaar briefly altered his helmet’s vision overlay to infrared. <They carry concealed projectile weapons. No threat to us.> With their far-seeing eyesight, he and his Guardians also noted men with weapons stationed on the roof of the large curved building in front of them.
A memory resurfaced of his first long-ago meeting with the humans of a hot desert land, who had regarded the black-armored aliens as emissaries from the stars where the gods dwelt. That clan was long-vanished along with countless others, while the Hunter Dominion continued unchanged and unchallenged.
If I had been able to subdue this world back then, my task would have been easier, Sohaar mused, as he again felt the light of a sun he had last walked under 4000 Earth-years ago. Now they are more advanced and aware, and I may have to destroy them if they do not submit. Once before this had happened in Hunter history, where the alien race in question, the Sword-Arms, had fought to the bitter end rather than join the invaders’ Dominion. The surface of their planet was erased of much of their civilization by the Clan who had discovered them; only some traumatized survivors there and in other colonies within their star system remained. The latter were eventually repatriated to their homeworld, where they regressed to a pre-industrial state.
This was Lord Sohaar’s – and his Clan’s – first experience of confronting and dominating a sapient alien species; other Clans exerted dominance over the aliens each respective one had discovered (just three others to date). As sapient life was rare in this Galaxy, such a discovery greatly increased a Clan’s prestige. Sohaar thus hoped that the humans would not be foolish and defy him, but he would be ruthless if necessary.
One notable contrast to his previous visit was the heavily-polluted air; his helmet-mask filtered out the noxious stench of the hydrocarbon fuels the humans used for their primitive transport vehicles. Home World had never utilized such a resource and they had developed solar power and nuclear fusion early on in any case.
Even if they do submit, I may have to cull the population anyway, to manageable numbers. Sohaar was stunned by the huge increase in the human population since his last visit; over 7 billion and climbing, in contrast to the previously under-30 million. The devastating environmental impact of these numbers was clearly evident to the Hunter planetary surveyors.
“Major Konstantinov,” said the Secretary in accented English, addressing Sergei by his Russian Air Force rank though he wasn’t wearing his uniform, “the General Assembly are gathered and ready for negotiations with the … visitors. Most world leaders are present.”
Sergei inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I will be speaking for my hosts. This is their leader, Lord Sohaar.” He indicated the tallest of the three aliens, whose helmet bore two flattened, blunt-tipped horns that curved up and forward.
The Secretary looked up at the intimidating alien but seemed at a loss for words – what did one say to a creature that had just annihilated millions? The alien tilted its head and stared back with an impenetrable blank green gaze from the eyepieces of its insect-like helmet. To Sergei, the Secretary continued, “If you will accompany us …?”
The group began the walk back to the low-set General Assembly Building, the aliens following the humans across the North Lawn park. Judging by their surreptitious glances behind them, the latter had the uncomfortable feeling they were being herded – or stalked. The aliens had to shorten their stride lest they outpaced the humans.
Sergei enjoyed the familiar warmth of the early morning sun. The autumn air was crisp and the sky brilliant blue. Breathing the polluted air after such a long absence, though, nearly made him choke, so he pulled up his hood and veil to filter it.
The distant sounds of the city – traffic, car horns – were audible as its inhabitants went about their daily lives, unaware of the momentous events taking place. The streets around the United Nations complex – and the airspace above – were secured and sealed off from public and media access by the Diplomatic Security Service. Rumbles in the sky signaled the presence of two Air National Guard F-15 fighter jets nervously circling to enforce the airspace restrictions.
Aside from those authorized to know and sworn to secrecy – and some puzzled amateur satellite watchers – most of humanity was oblivious to the presence of the alien starships that circled the Earth like sharks corralling their prey. The ships were almost invisible to anyone looking up from the ground, being high in geostationary orbit and positioned so each surveyed one-third of the globe.
The obliteration of all humans within Afghanistan two days ago was being described in the world’s media as an as-yet-unexplained disaster, possibly resulting from a meteoroid impact related to the comet seen during the week; as there was an information blackout, details were sketchy. Some citizens in the nations along Sosaan’s ground track, however, had caught enigmatic glimpses of the massive alien ship during its passovers of Afghanistan’s surface and fiery atmospheric descent. Those with Internet access posted claims of their sightings on spaceflight and astronomy forums, which were inundated with rumors and conspiracy theories.
Sergei winced inwardly when he considered that country’s destruction. Thirty million dead! It was a number too large to comprehend. The aliens do not seem affected. What does that make me? Yet the surge of anger he had felt which compelled him to select the country was like the awakening of a dormant volcano; a slow-burning rage fired by the indignities his own country had endured after the fall of the USSR.
He pushed these thoughts aside: I will deal with all that … later.
Lord Sohaar stared at the back of the Secretary’s head, trying to rein in his irritation at the humans’ lack of obeisance; they could not yet be expected to have familiarity with the proper protocols for meeting with the Supreme Lord of the Dawn Hunters.
Sergei had earlier attempted to explain to him the concept of the UN: the Secretary wasn’t the dominant world leader, but the elected representative leader of the UN, all of whose member countries were sovereign in their own right. Sohaar was, however, confused by this set-up, and had little patience for trying to comprehend the complexities of this particular world’s governmental systems. “I will address this ‘Secretary-General’ as world leader,” he told Sergei brusquely, ending that discussion.
To avoid the long walk around to the delegates’ entrance on the west side of the building – which was open to the nearby street, 1st Avenue – the group instead accessed via the public entrance on the north side. The public had been barred from the building for this emergency special session, ostensibly convened to discuss the disaster in Afghanistan. As the group crossed the car park, the few people scattered about – mostly security personnel – stopped and stared at the exotic visitors from a safe distance. When one or the other of the Guardians turned their head to return the stares with their own basilisk gazes, though, the latter quickly looked away.
The tall aliens had to duck their heads to pass through the glass doors that opened into the spacious public lobby, helmet crests briefly retracting to avoid the rim. The humans filed through the security barrier, the DSS personnel setting off the alarm, but as they had weapons permits, they were waved through by the pair of grey-uniformed security guards. Sergei and the Secretary came after them, then the aliens – the swords of the latter triggering the alarm again.
The security guards confronted the group. “Uh … they can’t bring weapons in here, sir,” one said to the Secretary with a meaningful look at the aliens, obviously trying to contain his fear.
“Don’t disarm them. They get angry. Weapons are sacred,” Sergei interjected quickly in English, having a mental image of the hapless guards’ severed heads rolling on the floor a few seconds later. The aliens had tensed noticeably and were glaring at the guards; Sergei mentally urged the guards not to persist further.
The Secretary stepped forward, hands outstretched in a conciliatory gesture. “Let them through. I will take responsibility for them.”
The guards retreated, barely concealing their relief, and the group entered the nearly-deserted lobby. Artifacts, murals and displays donated by various nations decorated the hall but no one paused to view these. The few staff who remained also kept far away from the group, some peering down timidly at the aliens from the relative safety of the balconies.
No one spoke as they continued along the corridor that would take them to the General Assembly Hall. Despite their height and weight, the aliens were surprisingly quiet – their footsteps thudding softly on the carpeted floor – but to the humans they had an almost-tangible aura or presence that was unnerving; perhaps an instinctive reaction to a predatory species.
As they approached the Hall, a murmuring became audible: the conversations of the world leaders and hundreds of associated personnel gathered there. On reaching the closed wooden doors they stopped as a wide-eyed attendant hastily pushed one open and stood aside to let the group enter, then closed it behind them.
The group again paused, the DSS men and woman moving aside and dispersing. The delegates seated nearby glanced at the new arrivals then did a double-take as the presence of the aliens registered. A ripple spread across the vast Hall as everyone else turned to look and a stunned silence fell.
Their General Assembly Hall is impressive, Lord Sohaar admitted to himself as he gazed at the cavernous space before him, ignoring the humans for the moment, thinking of the Arena of Honor – the central meeting place in every City for the Clan Lords. No leadership duels were fought in the Hall here, though.
The Hall had seating for over 1,800 people and it looked as if every seat was occupied. Lights were scattered like stars across the surface of the roof and dome high overhead. To the left and right of the central podium, three tiered glassed-in balconies provided space for interpreters, reporters and camera crews. The media were absent for this closed session, but some camera crews from military and government agencies were filming the aliens from one balcony. Behind the podium a golden wall stretched upward, to which was attached the embossed emblem of the U.N..[1]
The Secretary started down one of the green-carpeted aisles that led to the podium, followed by the others. The SC President left to take his seat with the American delegation on the right of the Hall. Muted but excited conversations resumed once they had passed; no one wanted to draw the menacing aliens’ attention. The three Hunters walked with a regal arrogance, not deigning to look at beings they considered their subordinates.
Sergei hung back so he was close to the aliens, discomforted by the presence of so many humans, wishing he could retreat behind his clothing’s hood and veil; he had retracted these while inside. Curiously, he had come to feel more secure with Lord Sohaar and his Warriors. Maybe I have been away from Earth for too long … but I don’t feel at home here anymore.
They arrived at the raised podium after a seemingly interminable walk. The Secretary asked Sergei, “Do they wish to sit anywhere?” though the available chairs looked ill-suited to the aliens’ physiques and would unlikely to be able to support their weight. Sergei glanced questioningly at Lord Sohaar; after a moment Sergei replied, “No, they are comfortable standing.”
The aliens stood in a shadowy group to one side, their long cloaks draped around them, the light-absorbing material so dark it gave those who gazed upon it a dizzying sensation of nothingness. The Secretary took his place at the raised dais behind the rostrum, along with the Under-Secretary-General and the Assembly’s elected President for this session. Sergei stood to the right of them, in front of the aliens.
The President, a Canadian, moved to the rostrum, barely managing to keep her composure with the nearness of the aliens. She, like everyone else, felt a disconnection between the familiarity of the Hall and the otherworldly demonic-looking creatures, who seemed to have emerged from a fantasy film through a rent in mundane reality.
“I declare open the eleventh emergency special session of the General Assembly,” she began. “In connection with this emergency special session, a note by the Secretary-General on the convening of the special session has been circulated in document A/ES-11/1.” She then continued onto Item 2.
“I now invite representatives to stand and observe a minute of silent prayer or meditation.” This was part of the Rules of Procedure. It didn’t take much effort to guess what was in everyone’s thoughts.
Lord Sohaar and his bodyguards stood patient and still. They could stand thus for hours if required; this had been part of their training – and was a necessary part of hunting prey. Sohaar scanned the rows of hundreds of humans. Their skin colors ranged from white-pink to dark brown and seemed to be assigned at random, not gender-specific as the Hunters’ were. The predominant hair colors were black or shades of brown, with a few golden-blonds. Grey hair indicated aging (so his xenobiologists had informed him). He otherwise found it difficult to distinguish the two genders apart.
<They are a soft and decadent species,> he observed to the chief Adept-Biologist onboard Nahuu, a male named Sosaan. Unlike his previous visit, he had not brought a Biologist onworld, as he still did not know the full capabilities of this more advanced civilization and preferred to keep the other Castes out of potential danger. <Their leaders are not warriors. One would easily be defeated in single combat.>
<Their warriors have not fought thus for hundreds of their world’s years. They are herd fighters, and primarily use projectile weapons and explosives from a distance.>
<The weapons of cowards,> Sohaar replied scornfully.
<But effective ones,> Sosaan cautioned. <The humans have slaughtered each other in their millions.>
<I will have to study their methods of warfare,> Sohaar said, somewhat more interested. <But how is it there are still so many humans?>
<They breed profligately and do not control their population growth.>
<That will have to be corrected. They are destroying their world.>
After the silence, the President resumed, “Mr. Secretary-General, representatives, I thank you for your decision to ask me to preside. This emergency special session of the General Assembly has been convened by the membership due to two major incidents that affect the welfare of our planet: the first contact with an alien race – the ‘Dawn Hunters’ – originating outside our Solar System, and the apparent obliteration of the people of Afghanistan coinciding with their arrival.” Mutters emanated from the Assembly, some hostile; the enigmatic aliens remained impassive. “We hope to seek answers from our guests pertaining to the latter event. This emergency special session underlines the resolve of Members to seek recourse in the General Assembly to resolve the issue with all peaceful means. It is not being conducted with rancor or acrimony. We hope our guests will respond in kind.
“I now call upon the first speaker, the ambassador of Afghanistan.” The President of the country had been disassembled into his component atoms by the Hunters’ Unmaker-Nanites along with the rest of the government who were in Afghanistan at the time.
The middle-aged ambassador got up from his nation’s place in the second column of seats from the left of the Hall. He appeared a man in shock as he walked to the podium a little unsteadily and stood at the rostrum. “My delegation had the honor to request the convening of this emergency special session of the General Assembly,” he began, speaking in Persian, his voice quavering. “In this connection, allow me to express to you, Mrs. President, our thanks and appreciation for the convening of this session. As you know, a great disaster has befallen my country. Its citizens no longer exist – it is genocide on a mass scale, millions wiped out in a night. Our culture, our memories, our history – all gone. Our cities are now populated by ghosts. Afghanistan only remains in the hearts of those around the world who emigrated. Those of us who remain just want to know: why?”
Unnervingly, he looked at Sergei during that last question. Has he guessed already? Sergei tried to keep his face expressionless. Sooner or later someone would make the connection between why the country was chosen, and his being Russian.
“I would invite Major Konstantinov, who is representing the aliens, to respond,” the President interjected, indicating that Sergei should step up to the rostrum. The ambassador returned to his seat.
Sergei replied in Russian, speaking bluntly: “The destruction of Afghanistan was a demonstration. The Dawn Hunters wish to bring Earth into their Dominion. If humanity refuses, other countries will also be destroyed in turn.” As the U.N. interpreters finished translating his words into various languages, angry exclamations from the delegations filled the Hall as the implications sank in.
Lord Sohaar moved to stand beside Sergei, startling the President and others nearby, and silencing the Assembly. At the same time, the close-up of the podium speakers on the two large projection screens on either side of and high above the podium were replaced with what looked like a real-time satellite image of Earth.
Then three now-familiar menacing black starships appeared in its orbit. A much smaller spacecraft was deployed from one, which descended toward the surface. From this a cloud of a dust-like substance emerged and fell as a silver rain. The dust settled over a small portion of one continent – the USA – then began spreading outward in all directions like ripples in a pond. When they had passed over, all signs of civilization had vanished, the city lights winking out sequentially. The similarity to the Afghanistan disaster was obvious – but on a vaster scale. The other starships, in the meantime, began a kinetic bombardment at different points on the globe, targeting the remaining city lights.
The horrifying images vanished from the screens after five minutes, then Lord Sohaar surprised the audience by finally deigning to speak – and in a human language at that. His voice echoed clearly in the vast Hall, utterly inhuman. “Obliteration will be the ultimate fate of your civilization and species should you continue to resist us.” His oddly-cadenced English, filtered by his helmet, was cold and metallic, with an underlying infrasonic resonance that discomforted those listening. His dark cloak seemed to draw in the light from the air around him.
“This is an outrage!” The stentorian voice of the United States President interrupted whatever else Sohaar was going to say next. Fuming and at last unable to contain his anger, the silver-haired leader rose from his delegation’s place in the leftmost column and approached the podium with a stern dignity, followed by two of his ever-present Secret Service bodyguards. They halted in front of the podium.
Sergei had not got around to informing Lord Sohaar that the U.S. President was considered a sort of de facto leader of world leaders – at least, he or she was depicted as thus in many novels and films. The real-life President had apparently decided to assume this role.
“You,” the President continued, addressing Lord Sohaar, “your race are nothing but barbarians and murderers. You have committed genocide on a mass scale and you will answer for your crimes.” He glared at Sergei. “And you will be arrested as an accomplice to murder.”
Lord Sohaar stared down at the President; his own two bodyguards had silently moved up to either side of him. “You are disrespectful. Do not try my patience.”
“Disrespectful …!” the President spluttered. “You creatures come here uninvited, destroy a country and then expect us to cave in to your arrogant demands?” He stepped towards Lord Sohaar as he said this, body language hostile, face flushed with anger and fists clenched.
Haarlecaa, instinctively reacting to the perceived threat to his Lord, stepped in front of him, unsheathing his sword in one fluid motion and pointing it at the President’s throat; the latter managed to stop before he was impaled. On seeing this, one of the Secret Service guards unholstered his SIG Sauer P229 pistol and aimed it at the alien. Haarlecaa turned to this new threat and slashed with his sword, effortlessly severing the bodyguard’s gun-holding arm just below the elbow. The arm fell to the floor in a spray of blood, its hand convulsively releasing the gun, which thankfully did not discharge. The bodyguard gasped and collapsed to his knees, holding the stump of his arm, face deathly-white with shock. The other bodyguard went to his colleague’s aid, trying to stem the flow of blood with his jacket.
“You are very close to losing your head, human,” Lord Sohaar said flatly. “Return to your place.”
The President glared, but the alien clearly intended to carry out his threat if the man persisted, so he reluctantly obeyed. In the meantime, the wounded bodyguard was led out one of the doors behind the podium, his companion retrieving the detached arm and handgun. The medics who had been summoned came to rush him to hospital.
Haarlecaa flicked the blood from his sword and resheathed it, then stepped back behind Sohaar, returning to watchful stillness as if nothing had happened.
After that interruption, the Assembly was noticeably subdued by the primal display of blood and violence, unheard of during normally-sedate meetings. Sergei, not having any other indications, continued speaking. “The Dawn Hunters will require unrestricted access to Earth. They will generally not interfere in Earth’s affairs and wish for their presence to remain unknown to the general population.” Sergei paused so the interpreters could catch up.
“In return, those countries who choose to co-operate may, after meeting several conditions, get some access to technologies such as nuclear fusion and nanotechnology. Uh, that is all.” That piqued more interest, judging by the murmuring in the audience. Sergei stepped down from the rostrum and rejoined the aliens, avoiding stepping in the blood soaking into the green carpet.
The General Assembly President took the rostrum, looking pale and shaken. “We will conclude this session for today in order to consider the terms, and convene again tomorrow. We will convey our answer to our visitors then. Is that acceptable to your hosts, Major Konstantinov?” She looked at Sergei.
After a silent prompt from Lord Sohaar, Sergei answered, “Yes, it is. We will use our communications link to hear your answer from orbit.”
The Secretary-General arose, indicating he would escort the visitors out. They walked up the aisle they had come down, and passed through the door, the DSS bodyguards rejoining the group. As soon as it closed, a muted cacophony erupted as those in the Assembly felt free to vent their opinions and feelings.
As they walked along the corridor the Secretary ventured, “I apologize for that interruption. The U.S. President seems to be somewhat … opinionated.” He addressed Sergei, though he glanced at the aliens behind them.
“Accepted,” replied Sergei shortly. He felt a sudden tiredness and wanted to get back to his cabin on Nahuu.
<That did not go exactly as I expected. The leader of the country called America was very insolent. Perhaps I should rethink my instructions not to slay any world leaders,> Sohaar grumbled to Sosaan. He had earlier ordered his bodyguards to restrain themselves, at least when it came to the leaders of nations. His father would probably have divested the President of his head. Had the human been of his own species, Sohaar might have challenged him to an honor duel.
<Many humans react badly to being ordered what to do – some cultures more than others. You are best to proceed with restraint. The American President is one who is likely to be troublesome,> Sosaan advised. <His country has an extensive satellite and communications network, so this will be monitored closely.> The Adept-Biologist added more placatingly, <The majority of the leaders, however, will not provide resistance – the effectiveness of Hunter technology has already been demonstrated.>
The group exited the building and made their way back to the alien shuttle, pausing at the base of its access ramp. “We will inform you of our decision tomorrow, though it’s evident there isn’t much else we can do but agree to your terms,” said the Secretary, with just a hint of acerbity. Sergei nodded, absently noting that the shuttle’s engines had scorched the manicured grass beneath them, which would no doubt dismay the park’s groundskeepers.
One of the two Diplomatic Security Service snipers perched on the expansive roof of the General Assembly building sat up and stretched to relieve his cramped arms, then settled back into position. His bulletproof vest and black coveralls were getting uncomfortably warm as the sun rose.
“Heads-up, Steve, the targets are in sight,” his companion in the opposite corner alerted him through their communications earpieces. Steve unlatched the trigger safety of his high-powered, semi-automatic Barrett M107 sniper rifle and focused again on the tall black-robed alien with the twin horns as it walked towards the spacecraft it had landed in; the alien possessed a menacing aura discernible even from this distance. It had to exceed seven feet in height.
What century do they think they’re in? The aliens, in their armor and flowing cloaks (and swords!), seemed oddly anachronistic, and he still was having trouble believing in their reality, despite the top secret briefing the DSS agents had received yesterday.
The group stopped before the spaceship. The grey-clad Russian man spoke to the Secretary-General. The horned alien stood still with its two companions. Then, unnervingly, it looked up and directly at him through its blank green helmet eyepieces, though he was over a hundred meters distant.
Already on edge, Steve’s finger twitched on the sensitive trigger, and the rifle fired a .50 caliber round at the alien. Incredibly, the alien merely flinched, the bullet ricocheting off its helmet, not even denting it.
A ping, an angry hiss from a startled Lord Sohaar, a sharp distant crack of a rifle and the distinctive whine of a ricocheting bullet rudely interrupted whatever the Secretary was going to say next. The DSS bodyguards shoved him to the ground, one repeatedly yelling “Cease fire!” into his earpiece, and Sergei also ducked, behind Lord Sohaar. The aliens remained standing. Moments later came the deafening thunder of two violet particle beams as they lanced in succession from the pointed nose of the shuttle, aimed at the roof rim of the building. They covered the distance instantaneously to vaporize the two snipers there.
Lord Sohaar and his Guardians turned and entered the shuttle, and Sergei followed them, while the stunned Secretary and bodyguards hastily retreated to a safe distance. The ramp closed up and a few minutes later the fusion engines came to life with a near-infrasonic hum. The shuttle rose into the air, its morphable wings extending like a hovering bird of prey’s, then shot upwards and vanished into the heavens.
“We accept the visitors’ terms and agree to become part of their Dominion,” said a resigned Secretary-General the next day over the teleconference link. This appeared as a hologram before Sergei and Lord Sohaar in the Command Chamber. “All nations voted in favor.”
“You have chosen wisely,” he replied in English, repeating Sohaar’s words echoing in his head – he was still adjusting to having someone else speaking in his mind through his implant.
The hologram vanished as the conference ended. Sergei turned to Sohaar, seated on the dais a little above him, as another concern surfaced. “Some of the countries who agreed … should not get access to your technology, my Lord,” he said. “They are corrupt and some support terrorism – some of which has been used against my country, Russia.” He remembered the atrocities perpetuated by Chechnyan separatists, sponsored by Al-Qaeda Islamic extremists. “There’s also organized crime, such as the Russian Mafiya …”
“Why are the offending countries and humans not eliminated?”
“That would probably mean a nuclear war, which would destroy or pollute most of the world. Also, the terrorists and criminals are hidden among the general populations.” The aliens, Sergei knew, were utterly ruthless when it came to opponents – those who presented a threat and would not submit were summarily executed.
“Your concerns will be taken into consideration.”
Sergei opened his email program on his laptop to re-read the latest ones he had received. “And, my Lord, the Russian President also wishes to meet with you, at a time of your convenience. He has suggested you could land your spaceship in the Kremlin, in Moscow.”
Footnotes
14 Dec 2009
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Everyone gathered for the meeting in the White House Situation Room stood as the U.S. President [1] entered. He was still inwardly fuming from his humiliating confrontation with the alien leader at the United Nations, and shivering at the memory of the creature’s green eyes glaring into his from its nightmarish insect-like helmet, which had haunted his dreams last night.
Thankfully, the arm of his Secret Service bodyguard – severed during that confrontation – had been reattached, and would regain most of its function in time. The surprised microsurgeon had commented on how remarkably clean and precise the cut was, which made the task of replanting the limb much easier; he had not been told the amputation was caused by an alien’s sword.
The two hapless Diplomatic Security Service snipers, however, had been virtually vaporized – just scattered clothing fragments and charred chunks of flesh were all that remained from the energy weapon the spaceship deployed.
The high-security “Sit Room” served as an intelligence and crisis management center, enabling the President and his staff to maintain communications with U.S. forces worldwide. Today, the usual mundane world political crises had been superseded by the more fantastical events of the alien visitation. The tension in the room was almost palpable; facial expressions concerned.
“Good morning, everyone, please be seated,” said the President as he sat himself at one end of the long table. The NASA Administrator, the secretary of Homeland Security and the Director of National Intelligence followed, as did high-ranking military officers from the Pentagon, NASA science advisors from various disciplines, and their aides. “No guesses as to what today’s topic is. Now, do we have any more intelligence on our visitors?”
“Just the film footage from their United Nations visit,” said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, an Admiral. “There are still photos in the folders provided.” These had been placed before those around the table, and several people took these out, staring at them with fascination.
He continued, “We are monitoring the three starships in orbit, but can’t detect whatever communications they are using. They have evidently been monitoring our electronic emissions though, as they – or at least their leader – have a good command of English.”
“Any guesses as to where they come from?”
A NASA science advisor said, “Nowhere near us, that’s for sure. We would’ve detected signs of civilizations such as radio signals from nearby star systems.”
“Why did we have no plans to deal with this situation?”
The Chairman grimaced. “Unfortunately, this is a scenario that we never seriously planned for. The prospect of there being other intelligent alien life – especially ones which would threaten Earth – seemed unlikely, in the same category as UFOs and alien abductions. Complete nonsense, in other words.”
The President studied his own copies of the photo print-outs, focusing on one close-up of the alien leader. “Has a profile of their leader been attempted?”
The grey-suited DNI spoke up. “As much as we can ascertain, their leader – ‘So-haar’ –” – he pronounced the name awkwardly – “is a warrior. We have only seen three of them so far, but if they are anything to go by, their society is perhaps hierarchical, military-based and disciplined. As evidenced by what they did in Afghanistan, they are quite ruthless and determined to get their way.”
The President frowned at that, rubbing his forehead with his fingers to try to relieve some tension. “Our worst nightmare … Is there any more information on what happened in Afghanistan?”
The NASA Administrator replied, “Our scientists have analyzed the real-time satellite footage and concluded that the aliens have some sort of nanotechnology – we don’t know of any other weapon that could literally erase a country’s population so completely without leaving any toxic residue.”
“Nanotechnology – that’s something to do with tiny machines that can create anything?”
“Essentially, yes … they are approximately virus-sized devices, mechanical or biological, that can create – assemble is the more accurate word – virtually anything if given the appropriate programming and raw materials. They can also disassemble matter, as seems to be the case with Afghanistan – there is no one left there, though other lifeforms were untouched, so they can evidently program the nanites to be discriminatory. It can give the user the power of a god.”
There was a notable heightening of interest from everyone. “Do we have anything like that?”
“Only very rudimentary developments; it’s a difficult technology to master. Working at such small scales is challenging.”
“Is there any way we could attain a sample of their nanotechnology?”
The JSC Chairman said, “We have specialist teams going into Afghanistan now; the country’s borders have been sealed and it declared a ‘hot zone’ to keep others out – parts of the land are also irradiated from the starship that descended. Finding any nanites will be difficult, however – like the proverbial needle in a haystack.” He added, “Nanotech gives a new meaning to ‘surgical strike’ – if we could acquire that as a weapon, nothing would be able to counter it. Far more precise than nukes, and, as already noted, the environment outside of the target area – or even within it, as with Afghanistan – isn’t harmed.”
Surveillance images of what had been the capital city of Kabul appeared on one of the wall-mounted flat panel displays, and the Chairman continued, “Kabul, however, is devastated – as though a nuclear bomb detonated over it. This, we believe, is the result of the starship descending over it. This action by the aliens has, inadvertently or not, provided us with a cover story: we will tell the public that a meteoroid broken off from the ‘comet’ seen in the skies exploded in an air burst over Kabul – similar to the Tunguska event in Russia – and affected much of the rest of the country.”
The President nodded, bleakly thinking, The Afghanistan problem’s certainly been solved, if nothing else. The aliens had achieved in one night what invaders through history – from Alexander the Great to the USSR’s occupation and the USA’s “War on Terrorism” – never succeeded in doing.
He turned to another subject. “So what’s with this Russian cosmonaut – is he a hostage? He seems to be serving as their spokesman.”
“From what we’ve observed, he has some signs of Stockholm syndrome, where a hostage begins to identify with their captor and even support them,” said the DNI.
“Identify with an alien?” the President repeated disbelievingly.
“The aliens seem to be somewhat humanoid in appearance, so perhaps siding with them isn’t as difficult as it might be otherwise.”
“A traitor to the human race, in other words,” the President muttered with a scowl. “I want him caught and interrogated, if at all possible – those of you with Russian contacts, I want you to utilize these!”
“That may be difficult – the Russians appear to be prepared to co-operate with the aliens,” the DNI said.
“Which will give them a clear advantage over us – unacceptable, damn it! Is there any way we can negotiate with the aliens separately – anything they want that we could trade for their knowledge?”
“We can continue trying to send radio communications. The cosmonaut seems to be their only spokesman, though, and I don’t know how receptive he’ll be to talking with us.” He carefully avoided mentioning the President’s angry threat to Sergei yesterday.
The President drummed his fingers in frustration on the table as he considered; their options seemed, for the moment, to be stymied. “I want a special, top-secret task force formed to deal with this threat,” he said at last. “It will receive all necessary funding, and is to be kept hidden from public knowledge. I want every effort to go into finding ways to combat the aliens and their technology while we maintain the appearance of submission. I also want to bring in other trusted allies who might provide assistance to us.”
The starship Zaawezoyuu-cehenenel Narawaa Sahelnahuuwo, whose Surveillance-Nanites had now stealthily infiltrated all of Earth’s electronic communications systems – its quantum computing processes easily breaking the strongest encryption codes – dutifully reported the U.S. President’s plans to its master, Lord Sohaar, and Sergei, in its Command Chamber. It gleaned the information from emails sent out on the secure network to government agencies conveying the President’s wishes and discussing options. “The main plans are to form a taskforce to find ways of combating the ‘visitors’ and gaining samples of their technology. In the meantime, they will try to contact the visitors and see if the latter are amiable to negotiations and possible trade. The President also wishes the Russian cosmonaut to be caught and interrogated.”
As Nahuu finished giving this summary to Lord Sohaar and Sergei, the latter remarked in concern, “I’ll have to be careful when I visit Earth – I don’t think I’ll be able to stay there, even. If they harm my parents and relatives, I’ll –” he broke off, not knowing quite what he could do.
“You can contact me through your implant. We can track and retrieve you,” Sohaar said unconcernedly, then noted, “It seems the country ‘America’ and some others will form a resistance.”
“Blame all those alien invasion films they make,” Sergei said dryly.
This made no sense to the alien as sarcasm was not something he comprehended, and he had no interest in the humans’ popular culture, so he continued, “We will monitor them only for now. If they become a threat we will destroy them.”
Sergei had no doubt the alien meant what he said.
To be completed
Footnotes
- [1]
- He is the generic middle-aged white male President usually featured in novels and films edit: 21/03/2017 – he would now probably be based upon President Donald Trump, and not favorably
1 Aug 2010
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