“That’s strange,” Exar said a minute later, “I’m not picking up any of the satellite constellations. If it was just one of them knocked out, I’d put it down to a scheduled maintenance. But all of em? Fishy, that’s what it is.”
“I don’t understand,” Rene’s spirits plummeted at the news. He should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.
“Me neither, chief. But take it easy!” Exar assured him, “There’s an easy fix for that. Just hike me up someplace with better reception. Any place where we can get above all these damn trees is good.”
“I’m afraid that’s not exactly an option, noble Exar.”
Rene briefly summarized the situation, filling in the details whenever Exar interrupted him with a question, which was not often.
“Got it,” Exar said after listening attentively, “In short, you’ve got a tribe of devolved humanoids on your tail, also infected by the same parasitoids as our young miss over here. Comms are down, and our closest exfil point is at least thirty-nine klicks due southeast, where our friends, ‘the Fleet’, will be waiting for you.”
“How did you measure the distance so precisely?” Rene asked.
“The T.O.R.U. you were piloting is currently in power cycling mode, but it’s still sending out its mayday message for the repair crews. Judging by the fact that it ejected us via safety pod, the unit must’ve suffered potentially catastrophic damage to its subsystems. Not to worry, though. My inbuilt Geiger counter just gave the all-clear, so there was no meltdown in the reactor core.”
“The most pressing issue is that you have less than 72 hours’ worth of fungicidal doses left, and nothing with which to defend yourself but the monomachete from your kit. In addition, this young lady—”
“Zildiz,” Rene supplied him.
“My bad—Zildiz. I like it, very exotic. Zildiz belongs to a culture which behaves aggressively towards Exodus Industries development projects here on the ground. That everything?” Exar briskly concluded.
Rene nodded. Exar then immediately began outlining a plan of action. Their first priority was to gain altitude and establish communication with ‘Exodus Industries’, an entity which Rene assumed was the ancestor-gods’ equivalent to Fleet Command.
Exar would then signal for help using the spinning bowl (which it referred to as an ‘allcomm antenna’) and an interstellar shuttle would be sent to transport them to the one of the moons.
The moons! Rene was giddy at the prospect of becoming the first man to have returned to mankind’s celestial origin. He tried not to get his hopes too high, however, knowing life’s avowed fondness for ruining every dream a man ever had.
Failing that, Exar would use the high vantage point to triangulate their position using nearby geographic landmarks. Once they had their bearings, it would be a simple matter of hiking over to the nearest hardened base and knocking on the airlock doors.
“I must say, you’re taking all this bad news remarkably in stride, wise Exar,” he told the beeping sphere.
“Oh, puh-leeze! This ain’t my first rodeo, pardner. We E.X.A.R. units have dealt with far worse in our time.”
“Really? Worse than Arachnea?”
“Oh, is that what the kids are calling this place these days? Sure is catchier than 65 Syngman Bb, lemme tell ya. But yeah, this here is nuthin.”
Exar chuckled, a child amused by the backwardness of his senile grandparents.
“Alien plague strains from the thawed-out heart of an asteroid. Cosmophage armadas unleashed by rogue A.I. Not to mention all those privateer raids on the fringes of Pact space. We’ve dealt with them all, helped people survive through the worst the galaxy can throw at them. And with 95% success rate, too, if I may add,” Exar said somewhat immodestly, “Anywho, that’s enough of me jawing. Let’s go mobile, chief.”
“What, right now?”
“The mist’s our best shot, bo-sing. Natural concealment. No telling how long it’ll last.”
Before they left, Rene had Exar explain the functions of all the tools in the kit. The sphere confirmed what Rene had suspected: the slate fed on the radiance of the suns. Exar called it a ‘solar cell panel’. In turn, the pronged cords attached to the solar cell could transfer energy to artefact he wanted to use.
He connected the panel to the mysterious gauntlet with the underslung pipe, which Exar informed him was a ‘laser designator’, a tool meant for guiding in airdropped supplies or flying machines.
“It also doubles as a heat source. Just up the wattage on that sucker with the slide wheel on the edge of the hand. See it?”
Rene put on the gauntlet and activated it by means of a green switch under the thumb. A tight needle of red light shone from the tube, and Rene understood that it was basically like the electrochemical torches that miners used. When he adjusted the slide wheel the needle of light narrowed and grew brighter. Where it touched the granite walls of the burrow there, sour-smelling wisps of smoke rose.
Hot enough to scorch stone? He would have to be careful where he pointed this.
“Go easy on it, though,” Exar advised him, “That kinda power output will drain the juice in a jiffy.”
“The juice?” Rene repeated stupidly.
Exar made it clear to him that the artefacts could store ‘the juice’ from the panel. Moreover, the panel could be mounted on the front or the back of the jumpsuit by means of the same backpack rigging that held the breathing apparatus, allowing the user to collect the juice and charge up to two devices (Exar included) even while on the move. Even the bulky survival kit could be could be fastened to his loadout with a set of clasps at the bottom of the pack which Rene hadn’t noticed.
“As for me, I can hitch a ride on your backpack as well,” Exar told him brightly. And indeed, there was a spherical indentation above the breathing apparatus where Exar could fasten himself in with his stubby spike legs.
Rene whistled appreciatively at the compact nature of the jumpsuit’s design; the entire survival kit was so cleverly put together, a testament to the ancestor-gods’ practical mindset.
He secured his gear, choosing to split the juices between Exar and the gauntlet, and got ready to leave. Rene crouched at the hatch of the burrow like a man in a trench waiting for the shrill whistle that would propel him up and over into the desolate no-man’s land.
Then he noticed Zildiz still huddled in place, not even daring to look at him or the talking sphere. Rene had originally been grateful that Exar’s appearance had shut her up, but this state of catatonic shock of hers worried him.
“Coming?” he asked her.
“I’m not going anywhere with that…that thing!” she stated categorically.
“Was it something I said?” Exar sounded hurt.
“The simulacrum said it would cut me out of my exomorph. That would kill me, Fleet-man.”
“Madame, I got no intention of hurting you!” Exar protested, “But the fact is, you’re sick. The parasite’s attached to so many of the organs in your body, that I fear that it’s totally coopted their functions. Our people have the technology to reverse all that.”
“I will not heed the promises of a slaved intelligence!” she snapped.
Their argument was interrupted by a chorus of hair-raising screams from the jungle beyond. Even in those guttural, inhuman voices there was no mistaking the notes of grief and rage.
“They’ve found Kryptus,” Rene surmised, “Just like you said they would.”
“I take it the natives are restless,” Exar tittered nervously, “Tailo, methinks we gotta go.”
Rene saw Zildiz hesitate, weighing the balance of her fears and forming an internal consensus. He made a move to tip the scales in his favor, and spoke to her from the heart:
“Zildiz. I swear to you that as long as it is within my power to protect you, I will not allow you to come to harm. You are a prisoner of penultimate importance to the Fleet. I’d sooner die than fail in my mission to get you back to civilization. If you doubt my intentions, consider the fact that nobody in their right minds would’ve tried so hard to keep you alive, not unless they have very good reasons to do so.”
“I am not like the Leapers or your people, the Gallivants. I am a soldier of the Fleet, and my priority is the continuation of my species—our species,” he added firmly, “Now, I can’t begin to imagine what horrors and depravities your kind have suffered these past few centuries, or what the Vitalus has taught you to believe. But in my mind, we are all one people under the same god. If that god is the Vitalus, then it is clear that he hates us. Why else would he, in all his supposed omnipotence, condemn us to live in this unending state of warfare and ignorance? Why does he forbid the full use of the human intellect, the sole source of our comfort and security in an uncaring universe? Why must he despise us so?”
“I don’t know the answers to those questions. But I do know this: I do not hate you, Zildiz of the Gallivants. In fact, I would very much like to help you. Will you let me do that?”
Rene stood up and lifted the hatch, turning to offer her a hand.
“Besides! If you come with me, we can go ask the gods in person.”
#
This is certainly new, Zildiz thought, unsure of what to make of Rene’s offer. His suggestion of a pan-kindred alliance bound together by their shared ancestry was ridiculous, of course. She knew enough of the mathematical models and the general principles of nature to know that such an undertaking was doomed by definition. And yet here was an opportunity unlike any other.
Rene meant to take her to one of the last remaining holdfasts of the Betrayers. Who would have thought that those ancient demons were still clinging on to life, lurking in some nameless abyss, waiting for their chance to wreak one final act of vengeance upon an unsuspecting Arachnea.
And here she was, uniquely placed to destroy them all in one fell stroke. Once she was nestled in that abode of evil, a single transmission from her magnetosynaptic organ to the Vitalus was all it would take to bring Its righteous fury down upon them.
The rewards would be immense. At the very least they would make her a Matriarch. Her gilt helix would live on forever in the generations to come, her legacy enshrined in the undying architecture of the genome. Her children would never go hungry or cold for the rest of their lives. She and her brood could have their pick of exomorph grafts.
Infrared eyes for night stalking, hypo thorax stabilizer tendons for prolonged flight, extra waste ducts, subdermal heat signature regulators, biochemical afterburners to add thrust, not to mention a whole slew of offensive weaponry—nothing would be off the table!
All she had to do was take Rene’s hand.
She did. The Fleet-man lifted her up out of the burrow, trying not to look too surprised at her acceptance.
A very naïve race, she decided. He caught her calculating gaze and must have mistaken it for the beginnings of friendship, for he said:
“Glad to have you aboard, Zildiz. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
