ARC: Under Nameless Stars (22 page)

TWENTY-SEVEN

Numb, exhausted and heartsick, Zenn allowed herself to be herded back through the
Symmetry Dancer
by Pokt and the half-dozen Khurspex with him. There was no sign of Charlie or the simstriss. Time passed in a disconnected jumble – a shuttle ride, a docking port, a quick march to a smaller intership ferry, Pokt saying nothing, pushing her ahead of him, the Khurspex crowding into the ship, occasionally stumbling into one another in their deteriorating state, their dank sea smell now tinged with the scent of accelerating decay. The ferry eased into motion, and with no other place available, she slumped down to sit on the floor, unable to stop the horrifying images that refused to stop replaying in her mind: the sub in the grasp of the furious lurker, dragged out of sight to vanish into the black, hopeless depths of the
Tson.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked finally.

“To the service ship,” the Skirni said. “From there you will be placed into the stonehorse.”

“Why? What will happen then?”

He bulged his eyes at her. “Pokt knows. Pokt knows much more than you. I have read your diaries. On the shards from your room. You did not suspect what was placed within you, even when it should have been clear. The joinings you shared? With the animals? Yes, I know what grows inside you. The time is ripe. You will enter the stonehorse. These hideous Spex will go homeward. And this business will be concluded.”

Even in her dazed state, the thought of an in-soma run into the skull of a living Indra was enough to provoke a cold stab of fear. “What business?”

“That which ends the years of wandering.” He shook his head at her. Suddenly animated, he hopped up out of his seat. “Years of the Skirni homeless among the worlds. Worlds that turned us away, made us scrape and grovel. And we, we who were denied a planet of our own, we will say who can have a world. We will possess the Indra ships. And we will say who can go from star to star. We will say who walks on green grasses and who lives their life in the cold arms of mother-void. The Skirni will say.”

So that’s what the Cepheians promised them.

Zenn almost pitied him. Almost.

“That’s not true, you know.” She tilted her head up at him.

“What is not?”

“Your allies won’t let the Khurspex hand over the Indra fleet to you. Or to anyone else.”

“You don’t know what you say,” he said, snorting.

“Why should they? Why would they give you the ships when they could keep them for themselves?”

“Lies. Pathetic lies.” But she could see her words struck a chord. “The friends of the Skirni know our value. The Skirni have long survived in the ships of the Accord. We are everywhere yet are so despised we are noticed nowhere. The scorn of others has become our hidden strength.”

“Yes. But what about when you’ve served your purpose? Why won’t these friends of yours just toss you away?”

“You know nothing,” he scoffed, but his mottled color darkened, his hands clenched and unclenched as she spoke. “You simply fear such power in the hands of the Skirni.”

“Oh? What if it is the Skirni who are fools? What if your friends deceived you? Then the Skirni get nothing.”

“No. That is not how it will go.” A wicked smile split his pug-face. “The Skirni have taken steps. To assure we get what is deserved. I am done listening here.” Then he waddled forward to stand next to the Khurspex operating the ferry, muttering to himself.

A short time later, the ferry docked. Pokt ordered Zenn through the side hatch. They entered a larger ship with an open deck area holding a scattering of supply containers. Along one side of the deck was a row of nine or ten compact surgical bays set into alcoves. In them, Zenn could see operating tables, banks of diagnostic scanners and other equipment. The ship was probably a mobile medical unit or rescue craft. Beyond the surgery bays, she could see all the way forward to the pilot’s console at the bow. The pilot’s chair had its back to them.

“The
Tson’s
mini-sub has gone offline.” The sound of the voice from the unseen person in the chair drew a gasp of shocked recognition from Zenn. Then, the chair rotated, revealing a human male. He wore a vermillion soldier’s jacket. “Your friends should have surrendered,” Stav Travosk said matter-of-factly, the silver-gray eyes showing no emotion.

“You? You’re the ally?” Zenn said.

“Ally?”

“You and the Authority… the Skirni.”

He gave Pokt a scornful glance. “Oh, the valiant Skirni network. Allies, yes. But the Authority? Hardly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Clearly.” He smiled at her tortured look. “You’re surprised? That the New Law refused to stand by and watch humanity be overwhelmed. The Authority is finished. Or they soon will be.”

“You’re a spy,” she said, the terrible truth dawning. “For the New Law.”

“I prefer ‘patriot’. Someone who refuses to let my species succumb to a tidal wave of alien filth.”

Behind her, Pokt emitted a snort. She turned to see him glaring at Stav, who appeared oblivious to either his insult or the Skirni’s reaction.

“Now it’s time.” He stood and came toward her. “The Indra is ready for you.” Her shock was overtaken now by stark fear closing around her chest like a deathly cold hand. “Pokt, your presence is no longer required. Go to the
Delphic Queen
and wait. I’ll contact you when I want you to bring him.”

Zenn’s throat tightened.

Father!

Pokt regarded Stav, then went the hatch leading to the shuttle they’d just come from.

“I should enjoy seeing it,” the Skirni said. “The placement of the nexus into the stonehorse. Why do I not wait?” His beady eyes flicked to Zenn, then away again. “I could wait until you have made the interface and the Indra ships are secured.”

“No.”

“Is there some reason I should not see it? It will be a shining moment. When the Indra fleet is taken and we divide our prize.”

“I said no.”

“Are we not allies, the New Law and the Skirni?”

“What? Of course we are. Pokt, we don’t have time for this.”

“But if we are? Equals? Why should Pokt not stay and witness the ending of our plan?”

Stav clamped his eyes shut, turned his head away, then swung back to the Skirni.

“I do not explain myself to you, Pokt.” The Skirni didn’t move. “I said go and wait on the
Queen
.” There was brittle anger in his voice, silver eyes flashing.

Pokt met Stav’s gaze and gave him a hostile smile in return. He glanced again at Zenn, back at Stav, and then he turned and went through the hatch.

Visible through the bow view screen behind Stav, the vast Khurspex structure was suspended in space, floating like an immense, ungainly wagon wheel. At its center was what had once been a starship, but was now a surreal composite vehicle of spires, connective struts, loops of massive ductwork and bizarre engineering permutations, a free-form construction with no visible bow, stern, up or down that Zenn could identify.

Stav saw her staring at it. “There, in the center.” He pointed to the viewport. “The meta-ship. Built for the Asyph, what the Spex call the
Helen’s
Indra. Built so the Asyph can take the Spex back to wherever they go to spawn more of their kind.”

Now, in the shadow below the meta-ship, extending out into space, Zenn saw her, the
Helen’s
Indra. The whole of the creature’s mighty head was exposed, floating serenely in the open vacuum, looking strangely vulnerable despite its size. There were four small bronze-gold spheres moving in lazy orbits around the Indra’s head – sedation satellites, keeping her calm and docile.

“Nearly in position,” Stav said, leaning into the console to make a final adjustment for their approach.

“But you… the Encharan slug. You saved my life.”

“Couldn’t let you be damaged, could I?”

“How did you even know?”

He looked up at this.

“Microtransmitter. At the party. Once I knew it was you behind the mask, I needed to keep track of you. Your hand?”
Yes. She remembered now, the feeling that he’d held her hands in his a little too long. That’s when he planted it. She examined one hand, then the other. In the center of her right palm, a tiny black speck, no bigger than a dust mote, just under the skin.

“And, of course, that’s why I mentioned the visit to the Indra chamber to the Captain. It all fell nicely into place. The safe room there. Most protected site on the ship during a forced tunnel event.”

“But if you had a tracker in me this whole time…”

“It went offline when the
Helen
tunneled,” he said, his attention back on the console. “We’d anticipated this might happen. It shouldn’t have mattered. But the Spex drones were late getting started. And the Captain was a bit too clever for us. And, as it turned out, too clever for himself. Enough chitchat.”

He came and took Zenn roughly by the arm and led her aft. He gestured to a long, narrow object stowed in shadow near the far bulkhead. The sight of the thing made Zenn pull back against Stav’s grasp. He only gripped her harder.

“You’ll be familiar with the instrumentation on this.”

The in-soma pod was a gleaming new Royce Insomic, smaller and sleeker than the aging Gupta-Merck unit in which she’d trained. Top-of-the-line equipment. Any other time, Zenn would have been thrilled to see what it could do.

“I’m not checked out on this model,” she said flatly, searching for anything to say that would delay him, put off the inevitable. “It’s newer… too complicated.”

“Not a factor. The pod’s autopilot is preprogrammed. Your only job is to facilitate system ops. That and compensate for any anomalies on the way to the hypertrophal lobe.”

The HT lobe. The organ at the center of the Indra’s brain, the living quantum field-generator that enabled the stonehorse to outrun the laws of physics – and carve a path through the very fabric of space and time.

“What do you expect me to do in there? If I survive?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. The Indra will engage the nexus once you’re in position. It’s a homing reflex, hardwired into their behavior.”

“I won’t do it,” she said, trying to hide the dread growing inside her. “You can’t threaten me now.”

Zenn thought of Jules and the others, water pouring into the sub, the lurker dragging them down into the icy black; limp, cold bodies floating somewhere entombed, deep, soundless… No, Stav couldn’t use her friends as a weapon against her. Not now.

“I had a feeling it would come to this,” he said. “And I’ve taken steps to help you overcome your reluctance. You will do your part. You’ll become an agent of purification, in spite of the alien corruption growing inside you. In spite of your small, selfish desires.”

He motioned at the console and a virt screen rose up into the air. An image came into focus – a human body lying on an operating gurney in a sickbay, the
Delphic Queen’s
sickbay. The air around the body shimmered and heaved with the energy of a restraining field. The body immersed in it moved sluggishly, as if in fitful sleep. Her heart began to pound as she saw the long braid of hair suspended in the field – hair the same color as hers. The figure’s eyes were closed. The facial muscles twitched ever so slightly.

“Father.” She spoke the word in a half whisper. “What have you done to him?”

“He’s restrained, that’s all. To keep him manageable.”

Zenn stared at the sleeping face, her mind a whirlwind of emotion.

Stav spoke to the screen, pronouncing his words with exaggerated clarity, making sure whoever was listening on the other end understood.

“The Skirni Pokt is on his way. I will contact him when I want the prisoner brought over. Then you can join the others on the Asyph’s ship. Understand me?”

From off-screen, a Khurspex’s pale, eyeless face leaned into the image. A noise from somewhere out of view attracted its attention and it turned away.

“No, wait…” Stav said. But the Khurspex had already pulled back out of camera range to investigate. “Tell Pokt to–” Then the screen abruptly went dark.

“These creatures…” He growled to himself, turned to the view screen at the bow. “It’s almost time for the Asyph meta-ship to leave. Makes the Spex even more worthless and unpredictable than usual.”

Zenn followed Stav’s gaze to the screen at the front of the cabin. She now saw that several ferries and shuttlecraft had disembarked from the surrounding ring and were all making for the central ship, like moths to a flame.

“No one wants to be left behind,” Stav said, eyeing the small armada. He smiled at her. Zenn looked away.

“I won’t,” she said, but this time, her voice wasn’t as steady. “You can’t do anything to make me.”

“What I can do to
you
is only part of what can be done.”

Stav pushed a pressure point on his sleeve screen, and a small opening in the ceiling of the nearest medical bay slid open. What descended from it was alive. Coiling down from the opening were half a dozen thick, knobby gray-green vines, each one terminating in a three-way assortment of talon-like hooks, scissoring claw blades and suction cups, all writhing in the air with a slow, precise menace.

“The Khurspex aren’t killers. But this ship we’re on, hijacked along with the others, must have belonged once to a race much less squeamish than the Spex. When properly stimulated, the bio-med devices aboard this craft produce effects on a living body that are nothing short of unbelievable.” He regarded Zenn calmly as she watched the vicious-looking vines. “Your father will be here shortly. What becomes of him then – “ he patted the surgical bay, “– is up to you.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

She knew it had been futile. But she had had to try. Now he’d played the card she’d known all along he would play. After several minutes of silence, as Stav maneuvered the ship closer to the central ship and its Indra, Zenn admitted defeat.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“You never had a choice. But it will be easier. This way.” He walked to the in-soma pod and told it to begin pre-op checks. It split apart, the lid opening with a soft hiss. Zenn slipped off her backpack and set it carefully against the nearest bulkhead. She felt for Katie; the rikkaset twitched against her hand, a small, black nose appeared, two bright eyes blinked up at her. Preoccupied with the pod, Stav didn’t notice.

“Stay, Katie,” Zenn signed quickly, whispering the words to be sure Katie would obey, her voice breaking. “You stay. Friend-Zenn… will be right back.”

She pulled the cover over Katie’s face, then she took a deep breath and went to the pod.

A soft alarm tone pinged from somewhere, and a mild jolt rocked the ship.

“What now?” Stav looked up from his console in irritation.

A creaking rasp of machinery came from the other end of the craft, and the rear airlock hissed open.

“No. Not yet,” Stav said, taking a step toward the hatch.

“I have brought the Earther.” It was Pokt. He didn’t enter but remained half visible in the hatchway.

“I told you to wait,” Stav said, his voice even but seething.

“Yes. I thought it better I come now. To observe the process.”

“
You
thought…?”

“To see that all goes as promised. With the stonehorse and the fleet.”

“Pokt, I don’t know what you’re getting at…” he said, keeping his eyes on the Skirni as he edged away toward the front of the ship.

“Getting at? Yes, I will tell you what I am getting at, Lieutenant Travosk of the New Law. I had a thought just now. As to the nature of our alliance.” He looked at Zenn, then away.

“You? Had a thought?” Stav gave Pokt a thin imitation of a smile.

“Yes. A thought. That the purpose of this alliance might not be what it seems. Not what you claimed it to be.”

“Pokt, you’re not making sense. And we’re running out of time.” Stav had reached the pilot’s chair.

“Am I not? Making sense?”

“No, Pokt. You are not,” Stav said, then he sat down in the pilot’s chair and leaned back as if to make himself comfortable.

“My sense is this: perhaps you do not intend to keep your word,” Pokt said, stepping into the cabin to keep Stav in sight, walking with his hands held behind him. “Perhaps you will not honor our bargain, and keep the stonehorse fleet for yourself. When it should clearly go to the Skirni.”

“That’s ridiculous, Pokt.” Stav said calmly. “Why would I lie about this? You said yourself, the Skirni and the New Law are allies.”

“Allies?” Pokt’s voice now dropped to a low snarl. “We do not need allies such as you. You who treat Pokt as dirt. You will not deal honorably. We must take what is ours!”

Both Pokt’s hands now jerked up into view. Clamped onto his wrist was a Khurspex whip-whelk, its dull brown shell just beginning to crack open, the fleshy appendage writhing out to test the air.

“The Skirni
will
have that fleet,” Pokt screamed, raising the weapon to aim at Stav. “And you will pay for your contempt and lies.”

Stav leaned over quickly in his chair. When he rose again, there was a flux-rifle gripped in one hand. Before Pokt could activate the whip-whelk, Stav fired. The razor-flat ribbon of purple, ionized gas scored the Skirni along the side of his head, pitching him backwards to hit the wall, where he slid down and lay still. The smell of burned flesh drifted in the cabin’s air.

Stav rose from his chair and went to look down at the body.

“Poor little Pokt,” he said, then came to stand next to Zenn. “Did he really think the Skirni were going to… what? Rule the universe? That we would allow that? It’s almost tragic.”

He grabbed her shoulder in one hand and pushed her toward the in-soma pod.

“His behavior proves the point, I suppose,” he said. “Treachery. Betrayal. No surprise, is it? Humans could never ally with Asents. Not in any real sense. Get in.” He gave her a shove. “We need to get started.”

She did as ordered, stepping into the pod and lying down on her stomach on the lounge seat. She buckled the safety harness around her and rested her hands on the control surfaces hidden on either side. This new unit had the same general layout as the cloister’s older pod, and she’d memorized the various controls’ positions during her in-soma training. Stav likely knew the designs of both pods, but she could try to stall him.

“I’ll need time to get familiar with these,” she said, feeling dead inside as she put her hands on one control and then another. “It’s different from the one we had.”

“No, it’s not. At least, not in any way that concerns us just now.” Stav leaned close to her. He nodded at the open hatch Pokt had entered from. “He’s right there, your father. Fail this, do anything foolish, and you’ll live just long enough to watch me take out my disappointment on him. Do we understand each other?”

Zenn said nothing and toggled a switch. The pod door swung shut with a soft, breath-like sigh.

Inside the cramped pod, Zenn was alone; alone with her thoughts of her father and her stupid, girlish daydreams about saving him, her hopes twisted into the nightmarish bargain she had made in order to see him once more, alive and unharmed.

“We’re there,” came Stav’s voice, then his image materialized on the small view screen just in front of her face. He was seated in the pilot’s chair. “Prepare for insertion. And make sure you–”

The transmission was severed by a loud, high-pitched electronic screech. The screens flickered off and on again as the pod was seized by a shaking so violent Zenn nearly had the breath knocked out of her.

“What was that? What’s happening?” she said into the mic mounted on the pod wall near her left cheek.

“It’s the restraining satellites.” She saw Stav wave his hands at a screen and the pod stopped shaking. “The Indra is resisting their control. I’ve boosted the levels.”

“Resisting?” A terrifying thought swept everything else from Zenn’s mind. “Is she spiking a fever? What’s her internal D-rad level?”

“Yes, she’s feverish. But the Dahlberg radiation is within limits. It’s survivable.”

“For how long?” Zenn said, not quite able to believe she was heading into a lethally stressed Indra.

“The sedation sats will hold until the nexus is needed. It’s not your concern.”

Before Zenn could protest that it was very much her concern, the in-soma pod lurched into motion, and the unit’s bow-cam view screen showed the med ship’s outer hull door sliding up. Barely fifty feet away, the armored mass of the Indra’s head filled the opening, scales gleaming dully in the faint starlight, its colossal body out of sight, hidden within the huge bulk of the meta-ship that cocooned it.

The launch arm pushed the pod out into the void, and Zenn’s body lifted up, weightless against the safety harness. With a slight lurch, the arm and the attached pod came to a stop. The tip of the pod was resting lightly against the Indra’s skin.

The arm jerked into motion, extending again, and the pod was carried toward a dark spot just below the crease where the creature’s giant skull met the first node of the spine. Hidden in a fold there, Zenn knew, was one of four cranio-mitral valves spaced around the base of the Indra’s skull.

Made up of two muscular flaps that opened and closed to relieve pressure in the skull, the cranio-mitral valves kept the Indra’s head from literally exploding during the awesome forces generated by quantum tunneling. The valves led directly into the foramen magnum – the hole that admitted the spinal cord into the skull. The foramen opening was the critical boundary. If the Indra perceived her and the pod as a foreign body at that point, it would be all over. That’s where the immune response would trigger, the same response that lit up the Indra chamber when her mother, in her malfunctioning pod, had been lost doing what Zenn was about to do now. Unless the tissue inside her own brain deceived the creature, it would release a pulse of radiation no amount of shielding could withstand, a deadly particle-wave no living organism could survive. What had her mother felt when she saw the radiation gauge in her pod leaping into the red zone? Did she feel heat? Pain? Panic? Astonishment?

The nose of the pod had just penetrated the Indra’s body when both view screens went black. Zenn’s pulse rate galloped.

Claustrophobia enfolded her like a heavy, suffocating blanket. She gasped out loud at the sensation and fought to remain calm, made herself draw the air of the cabin deep into her lungs, then slowly exhale. The pod slid ahead. She was inside the Indra’s body.

The pod’s exterior headlights switched on, the beam playing across the space ahead, the bow-cam showing the smooth, dull pink membrane lining the spinal interstitial space.

“Cranial temp holding steady,” she said softly to herself, as if hearing the words spoken aloud made the information somehow more reassuring. “Hull integrity nominal.” Her jolting heartbeat slowed. “Internal stats nominal. Forward velocity two thirds.” Her breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. She would do this and come back out and she would see her father again. That was as far as she could think.

The autopilot light blinked steadily on and off, and a low hum sounded as the pod’s exterior coating of millions of tiny artificial polycilia fibers came to life, pushing it ahead, moving slowly, soundlessly forward.

The cranio-mitral valve came into view just in front of her. It was large enough for the pod to squeeze through, but not if its three valve flaps remained shut, closing off the opening. The musculature would be much too strong for the pod to penetrate without a relaxant.

A pinging sound above her signaled the pod’s surgical computer had come online.

“Inject eight point zero cc’s atropoda via intramuscular?” The computer’s gender-neutral voice was maddeningly blasé and relaxed, but she was glad nonetheless that this newer pod model was equipped with the latest medical AI system. It made her feel less alone.

“Yes, inject eight point zero,” Zenn said.

One of the pod’s exterior surgical arms extended until it contacted the surface of the bulging valve muscle. A large pneuma-ject emerged from the tip of the arm, and with a visible effervescent puff of bubbles from its compressed air, a measured dose of atropoda venom was propelled into the valve wall. Harvested from a species of free-swimming seaweed found only amid the sentient reefs of Bensarus Oc, the atropoda produced a unique variety of highly potent, fast-acting muscle relaxant. Very similar, she noted grimly, to the paralyzing toxin of the whip-whelk used to paralyze her, Hamish and Fane. Fane… with his bright, off-kilter smile. Where was the Procyoni sacrist now? Was he safe? Injured? Was he still alive?

She was pulled back to the present when she saw the valve before her relax and yawn open. The polycilia microfibers coating the pod vibrated to life again, carrying her forward through the opening of the foramen magnum. This was it. The entry into the skull. No turning back now. She held her breath as she felt the pod sliding through the muscular valve.

A moment later, her entire body, every cell, every molecule, was bathed in a throbbing stream of energy – the Indra sensing her. But this was different from the other linking events. She wasn’t overwhelmed. She didn’t lose hold of her own mind; her thoughts remained her own, remained clear, maybe even sharper than usual. Now Zenn, in return, was able, was allowed, to sense the Indra’s being. She felt the creature’s ancient, unfathomable consciousness, its mind reacting in vague surprise at first, then questioning, a rapid, probing study of the strange presence within her. Would the Indra react? Would it reject her? Kill her? Kill them both?

Zenn held her breath, watching the D-rad gauge. The gauge ticked up, then back down, stayed down.

No fatal surge of radiation. No lethal immune response. The nexus tissue inside her had done its job. The Indra was aware of the invader in its body but accepted it.

Zenn breathed out at last, scanned the readout dials glowing in front of her, made herself focus on what would happen next. The autopilot reengaged, and the pod moved forward. Now it would enter the narrow open space that ran along the spinal cord. Unlike a mammal’s brain, the Indra’s cerebral material was arrayed like a tree’s leafy branches sprouting from the central trunk of the cord. This open cavity would take her in turn to the brain’s lateral ventricle, a fluid-filled area that, it had always seemed to Zenn, resembled the outline of a butterfly with wings outspread. It should be just twenty feet or so from there to her final destination: the hypertrophal lobe.

The pod slowed to a halt then, held tightly between the innermost part of the double-layered skull walls and the
dura mater
, the tough membrane that enveloped and protected the brain.

Zenn double-checked to make sure she hadn’t misread the gauge. No, no mistake. The Indra’s fever was generating 274 rads of Dahlberg radiation; 312 rads would disable all the instruments on the pod, and 330 rads would kill any life forms inside her.

“Execute maser-caut incision to
dura mater
with minimum-length for pod ingress?” the computer inquired.

Zenn told it to go ahead and another thin, metal arm reached out from the pod’s hull. The maser-cauterizer built into its tip crackled to life, and it slit an opening in the tough, white
dura
tissue. Surface tension pulled the two sides of the incision apart as the maser made its incision, its heat sealing the edges of the wound as it cut, the fluid around it boiling and bubbling in response. A few seconds later, there was an opening large enough to allow the pod to squeeze through. As the pod moved beyond the
dura mater
, the enormous brain itself came into view, the mushroom gray and off-white of its convoluted surface billowing away into the dimness. She read the D-rad gauge: 292 rads. Still rising.

Freed suddenly from the grip of the
dura
, the pod escaped into the open space of the lateral fissure with an unexpected spurt. Before Zenn could react, the pod was knifing through the cerebrospinal fluid so fast, she had to slam her fist onto the emergency braking jet control to keep from ramming the brain tissue ahead of her. The pod slowed just short of impact and coasted to a halt with a slight bump against the soft, spongy mass. She tensed, staring at the monitor dials for any sign of response from the Indra. None came. She made herself relax.