Authors: Scott Sigler
The answer came back scratchy, as calls from another ship always did.
“Delta Two, we have you.” Bumberpuff’s voice. “Approach slowly and dock.”
A part of the darkness that was the alien ship extruded, a black glob of wiggling pudding. Quentin saw it shift and flex, until the end of the extrusion transformed into something familiar: a standard docking port. No mistaking the size of that — the pilot was right about the Prawatt ship’s unexpected dimensions.
It was too small. All the prep, Messal’s plan to get everyone out here ... all wasted.
“Put me on,” Quentin said to the pilot. “I want to talk to him.”
“Channel is open, Mister Barnes.”
“Bumberpuff, this is Quentin. Please tell me that ship you’re on is taking us to
another
ship — one that’s much,
much
bigger.”
“I was not able to acquire the
Grieve
,” Bumberpuff said. “Have faith, Quentin. This vessel will more than suit your needs.”
Sure, if my “needs” are funeral services for four Humans, two HeavyGs, a Harrah and a Prawatt
.
Things had been bad; now they were even worse. But, it was too late to turn back now. If that ship was the only chance to save Jeanine, Quentin would take it.
6
The Ship
PINPRICK SPOTS OF LIGHT GLEAMED
along the gnarled black surface, making the curved walls resemble the star-speckled void outside. The narrow corridor — originally meant for the tall, slim bodies of the Prawatt
Walking X
form — widened to allow Quentin and his teammates through. The shifting, moving walls showed this was a living ship, just as alive as the
Grieve
had been.
Kimberlin was on Quentin’s right, walking on all fours so the ceiling didn’t have to expand as far upward to accommodate his full eight-foot height.
“Quentin, this is not good,” the hulking lineman said. “This ship, it’s so
tiny
.”
“Really, Mike? I hadn’t noticed.”
It took only two minutes to reach the ship’s center, a small circular room. The walls bulged with curving bits of gnarled black material. Some areas glowed briefly, like a faint light shining behind a tight metal mesh, then faded out, returning the spot to darkness.
From a hole in the ceiling, Bumberpuff’s form unfurled: four tentacle-like limbs connected to a central, solid, X-shaped mass. The three-fingered ends of two arms held tools of some kind. The captain dropped down to the floor.
“Welcome aboard, my teammates!”
Quentin wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.
“Bumberpuff, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
The Prawatt captain spread out his two long arms to indicate the ship in which they stood.
“This is
Rosalind Franklin
, our vessel for the journey into the Cloud. I gather it’s not what you expected?”
Quentin bit back an angry reply. He forced himself to remain calm.
“We’re going into the most dangerous place in the galaxy,” he said. “You promised the
Grieve
, and you brought me a tin can.”
The Prawatt’s body rattled, a sign that Quentin had said something offensive or embarrassing.
“I would be careful using insulting phrases like
tin can
, Quentin,” Bumberpuff said. “And I did not promise you the
Grieve
— I told you I would get you the biggest ship you’ve ever seen.”
Quentin lifted his hands, gesturing to the living walls around him. “And
this
is it?”
“Of course not,” Bumberpuff said. “Quentin, I went through a lot of trouble to arrange this. You need to trust me.”
Quentin took a breath, fought down his temper. Bumberpuff had no connection with Jeanine or Fred, no reason to risk himself other than to help a friend. Somehow, on just a few days’ notice, Bumberpuff had acquired the
Rosalind
— Quentin needed to show appreciation, not anger.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Thank you, Bumberpuff. I guess this ship will have to do.”
“
Have to do
?” snapped a female voice. “First you call me a
tin can
, and then without any knowledge of my capabilities you say I’ll
have to do
? Really, I never!”
Quentin looked around for a moment before realizing the voice had come from the gnarled walls.
He looked at Bumberpuff. “Who said that?”
“Rosalind did,” the captain said. “You’ve never heard a ship speak before?”
“Oh, you mean a ship’s computer? Yeah, sure, I just never heard one with a surly attitude.”
The walls let out a heavy, feminine sigh. “Honestly, Bumberpuff, where did you find these rubes?”
Bumberpuff’s body rattled — definitely from embarrassment this time, Quentin was sure of it.
“That isn’t a
computer
talking,” Bumberpuff said. “It is
the ship
. Rosalind is a Prawatt, just like me.”
The walls sighed again, an overly dramatic sound that conveyed exhaustion with the whole endeavor.
“Bumberpuff, I haven’t been
just like you
since my explorer days a century ago. And as for you, Human, are you some kind of formist?”
Quentin looked to the ceiling, the walls, automatically trying to find the source of the voice, to find something to
look at
.
“I have no idea what
formist
means,” he said.
“It means judging someone or dismissing them as a person because of their form,” the walls said. “It’s like being a racist. Or do I need to explain to you what
that
means, too?”
“I am not
racist
,” Quentin snapped. “Or speciesist or sexist or ableist or formist or whatever other damn
ist
someone creates next, all right? I’m, uh, just not used to a person ... I mean, a
sentient
, of your size.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
Quentin felt that all-too-familiar hot sensation in his face as his cheeks turned red. Another new species — or another new
form
, at least — and he found himself once again saying the wrong thing. And then it clicked ... this ship, Rosalind, was trying to get a rise out of him.
Two could play at that game.
“You actually look pretty trim,” he said. “Aside from your aft section, of course. That part’s a bit chunky.”
There was a silent pause, then a rollicking, carefree laugh.
“Bumberpuff, your friend is funny,” Rosalind said. “Why didn’t you tell me he was funny?”
“I was unaware,” the captain said. “Quentin Barnes is not exactly known for his sense of humor.”
Rosalind made a
harrumph
sound. “Well, so far he’s hysterical. I like him. Shalom, Quentin.”
“
Shalom
?” Quentin said. “What does that mean?”
Bumberpuff’s metallic body rattled slightly, once again with obvious embarrassment.
“Rosalind is a little ...
different
,” the captain said. “She doesn’t worship the living god, Petra. Instead she’s ... well, she’s
Jewish
.”
“I converted,” the ship said. “Some seventy-five years ago. Quentin, are you religious?”
“Uh ... sort of. I was in the Purist Church.”
“Purism? Well then, perhaps we heretics could have a nice kibitz.”
“That depends,” Quentin said.
“On?”
“On what a
kibitz
is.”
“A chat,” Rosalind said. “A talk about our various faiths. It will piss off Bumberpuff, but into each life a little crap must fall.”
Bumberpuff rattled again, this time in anger.
“Rosalind,” the captain said, “we can do without your usual poking and prodding. I’d rather focus on finding Quentin’s sibling as opposed to your need to rile everyone up all the time.”
The walls sighed.
“Fine, fine,” Rosalind said. “I don’t mind if you ignore me. Quentin, perhaps when our quest is finished, we could chat. It gets so tiring being around barbarians who invented their own religion. I mean, Petra is
only
seven hundred years old.
My
god has been around for millennia. I believe your High One is a variation on Yahweh, so yours is
also
thousands of years old. Petra is really just a whippersnapper when you think of it. She—”
Bumberpuff stamped a metallic foot down hard on the gnarled floor.
“
Please
, Rosalind! We have work to do.”
“Fine,” she said. “As long as it makes you happy. I’ve got a course locked in for the Rewall Association’s fifth quintant, and I’m ready to punch.”
Quentin shook his head. “Rewall Association? What are you talking about? Take us to the Portath Cloud, not Rewall space.”
“Without the Rewall, that’s a six-day trip,” Rosalind said.
A galactic map appeared in the middle of the room.
Quentin saw a planet labeled
Gateway
, which was close to where Frederico had sent the
Hypatia’s
last message. Quentin had read up on Gateway during the trip. A dead world in the Planetary Union, it had small settlements supporting the mining industry. It was also right on the edge of Portath territory, making it the main punch-point into the Cloud.
A glowing line appeared, bouncing from one planet to the next, outlining the standard shipping lanes that led from Rosalind’s current position to Gateway: Mason to Solomon, then New Earth, New Whitok, Capizzi, Whirod, Thomas 3, then, finally, Gateway. Not only would the trip take six days, Rosalind would have to travel through the Purist Nation, the Planetary Union, the Whitok Kingdom
and
the Harrah Tribal Accord, systems that — were she detected — would be none too accepting of a Prawatt vessel. And, of course, during that whole voyage, Creterakian warships or various system police forces could appear at any time.
“Bumberpuff, I assumed you had something else planned,” Quentin said. His jaw clenched, as did the muscles in his neck and shoulders. “We don’t have six days to waste.”
“Oh,
relax
, bubbie,” said the walls. “We know you want to get there fast, that’s why we need the Rewall.”
Edgeward on the map, an irregular green shape glowed brighter.
“That’s the Rewall Association’s fourth quintant,” Rosalind said. Around the outer edges of the galaxy, another four green shapes glowed. “These are the Association’s other quintants. The Rewall don’t have a continuous territory like the other governments. Theirs is broken up in isolated islands, because they have the best punch technology of any race. They can punch from one quintant to another without having to stop at every punch-point in-between. Any non-Rewall ship traveling from quintant one —” a green shape on the galaxy’s edge, just outside Creterakian territory, flashed briefly “—to quintant five—” on the other side of the Milky Way, the green shape nearest the Purist Nation glowed “—that’s a trip of eleven standard days. A Rewall ship makes the same trip in a
single
day, with a
single
punch. So, our fastest way into the Portath Cloud is to go to quintant five and bum a ride to the last known coordinates of your sister’s ship.”
Kimberlin walked to the map. The rest of Quentin’s friends remained in the entryway, watching.
The lineman crossed his arms and shook his head.
“This plan is no good,” he said. “The Rewall are only slightly more understood than the Portath. We’re going to use one
mostly
unknown race to enter the territory of a
completely
unknown one? Who came up with this ridiculous plan?”
Bumberpuff bristled. “The Rewall are not
mostly unknown
to the Prawatt. We have far more knowledge of that race than do the other species.”
Kimberlin turned to face him. “How did your kind acquire that knowledge?”
“Their second quintant is in the middle of our sovereign space,” the captain said. “We had a small territorial dispute.”
“A
territorial dispute
,” Quentin echoed. “You mean a war?
The walls sighed. “Tomato, tomahto.”
Quentin rolled his eyes. “Is there anyone the Prawatt
haven’t
had a war with? And what the hell does
bum a ride
mean, anyway?”
Rosalind said nothing.
Quentin stared at Bumberpuff. “Well? Let’s hear it.”
The X-Walker rose up to his full two-legged height. If Bumberpuff had a chest, it would have been puffed out with confidence.
“I told you I’d get you the biggest ship you’ve ever seen, and I will.” Bumberpuff’s tone wasn’t conversational anymore — this truly was the voice of
the Captain
, someone giving a calm yet irrefutable order. “The fastest way to the Cloud is with help from the Rewall, and the Rewall are still a day and a half from where we are now. I have work to do before we depart. Rosalind will show you the way to your rooms.”
Bumberpuff reached his long arms to the ceiling, grabbed something, pulled himself up, then vanished back into the space where he’d been when Quentin entered.
Lights lit up under Quentin’s feet, a glowing line heading back out the room’s entryway.
Quentin looked at Kimberlin, who shrugged.
“I think we’ve been dismissed,” the lineman said.
There wasn’t any point in staying. Quentin couldn’t get another ship anytime soon, so Rosalind was it. He would have to trust Bumberpuff after all.
Quentin turned and followed the lighted path.
Excerpt from
“Not Just Another Colony”
by Zippy the Voracious
The universe is a vast place, littered with forms of life both very large and very small.
The Rewall are
both
.
Rewall are composed of small individual organisms called
zooids
(pronounced zoH-oids) that work collectively as a larger, more complex entity. Zooids cannot survive by themselves: to function, they must be part of a colony. That colony operates as the larger organism and is called
zoon
(pronounced zoH-on).