Starchild exile, p.5
Starchild- Exile, page 5
jwashburn.com/books/starchild
The targravs couldn’t compensate for this rapid movement, especially so near the surface gravity. As the movement jerked the passengers to the side, Benton grabbed the harnesses going over his shoulders. “Oh, my.”
“This is the best sailing you’ve ever seen, isn’t it?”
Benton moved his hands from his harness to the bottom of his seat, pulling himself deeper into it. “Maybe you could just slow it down a bit.”
“And give them a chance to see us? I don’t think so.”
The Spirit cut between more curls of smoke and massive rock formations. Its wings fanned to the sides, forming two jagged-edged semicircles. It looked almost like a raptor with its wings stabbing forward in an aggressive dive.
“Just want to make sure you get your money’s worth.”
No one laughed. But Liink, clinging to the seat with only three of his paws, at least grinned with his rippled lips.
Nak eased the ship down into one of the glowing canyons, zipping along the uneven corridor. He slowed a bit too, but not enough to let Benton relax.
At last, he pulled the ship back out of the canyon, eased up on the throttle, glided above the flat ground, and drew to a gentle stop. The ship hovered for a moment as the landing gear deployed, and then The Spirit touched down on the surface of Toar.
“Okay, this is the contracted drop point. And not a chance they detected us.” Nak looked at his wrist. “I’ll meet you at our next rendezvous point in tee minus six isochrons. That’ll be right when the sun vanishes for the third time.”
The team members each set their chronometers. Then they stood and did a final gear check.
With a hiss, the airlock opened, and beyond it the gangplank lowered as the hot air flowed in. The foreign atmosphere came through Nak’s mask, and he breathed it in reluctantly—something about it was the wrong flavor.
The three clients marched down the walkway and into the strange air.
Nak walked halfway down, placed a forearm on the deck, and leaned down. His dread mask turned to one side and then the other, surveying the landscape. The soil looked like burnt charcoal and seemed to absorb any light that touched it, creating an unnaturally dark surface. He breathed in, letting the heavy, warm air do its job. He then descended the rest of the way and stepped onto the black ground.
As the three others set out on foot, their shadows grew quickly behind them. The sun approached the horizon at an unsettling speed, as if time itself were hoping this would hurry up and be over.
Nak shouted at their backs: “I just want to reiterate, since you’re all on your way to set off some alarms—if anyone isn’t at our next rendezvous on time, I’ll be forced to cut you loose.”
Benton turned around, taking a few steps backward, as he shouted, “As we agreed.” The timidity he’d shown on the descent had completely vanished. His tone held the courage of a man ready to die for his cause.
Soon the sound of their footfalls disappeared into the wind as the three figures slowly diminished toward the black horizon. The sun slid behind jagged mountains, marking the end of the first day and transforming the cloudy sky into a colorful array. It faded too quickly into a black dome of unfamiliar stars with the red planet glowing in the sky.
Nak watched them go, marching off into this land of fire and smoke. Something about this outfit really fascinated him—three desperados risking their lives to save some girl.
It must’ve been something to have friends like that.
4. The Knight
Benton’s mind was stuck in a loop.
Miss Whitesun, I have to apologize for something you don’t know I did.
No.
She’d hate that formal tone. She always used to tell him to stop being so formal.
Although she’d been born into a distinguished family much like his own, she’d been ripped away from them at an early age. Early enough that most of her polish had been scuffed. Her personality was distinct from his too. He found it strangely attractive.
Listen, Kalh, I need to be upfront with you. There’s…
No.
He could only pretend to be casual. Even if he managed to do it authentically, it wasn’t the right decorum for Benton Xylander, son of Tarkon Xylander. Though it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done what such a son shouldn’t.
Miss Kalhette, I did something that inadvertently put a lot of attention on your imprisonment.
Oh.
He wished he didn’t have to tell her. That would be ideal. She wouldn’t be happy about the news—not a positive step in their relationship. Only he couldn’t hide it either. When she found out—and she would find out—she’d be angrier over a lack of transparency. Besides he’d sworn off subterfuge with people he trusted and who he wanted to trust him. He had to tell her.
Immediately.
Kalhette, I need to tell you something. I made an honest mistake, one for which you have suffered and will suffer the consequences.
Straightforward.
Just her full name, then warn her what was coming, and then tell it all.
“Where’s your ID!”
The gruff voice snapped him free of his thoughts.
Dray stood in front, wearing one of the eponymous masks of the redhelms.
It was shaped like a crimson skull. Dray stared out through big, black eyes of glass. A channel of vertical slits formed what could’ve been the mouth, like a human mutilated. Charcoal gray circles covered the ears and housed the comms. Gray grooves ran through the helmet in a pattern like frowning eyebrows that stopped short and cut directly downward like daggers through the eyes. Dray’s shoulder pads indicated the highest rank that still wore one of the anonymizing masks. Higher ranks showed their faces and had identities, but right now the demeaning policy was a good thing: Dray’s betrayal made him infamous, and although the broadcasts mostly glossed over the incident, he was still likely to be recognized in a place like this.
Through the Song, Benton had learned to detect thought beyond the usual mental boundaries. So although nothing could be read on these death masks, through ptolis he sensed Dray’s stillness. The man had poise beyond that of other mortals, but Benton still detected a hint of trepidation, proving Dray too was human and the threat was real. Just the smallest thing out of place, and these soldiers might shove the visitors to the ground and aim guns at their heads.
And yet Benton had been thinking about Kalhette.
He swallowed, willing the anticipation to stay dormant.
It was absurd. He’d kept his cool through situations just as risky, but it was exponentially more difficult with Kalhette under his skin. He was way too old to be acting like he was still in his teens though. She was just a person, a woman, a young woman, a little naive at times, at least compared to him. It could be expected, considering the age gap. She was right on the border of being too young for him, in fact. Still, she was just a person, so why was she affecting him like this? Well, he knew why: It would be the first he’d seen her since the break up. But why couldn’t he choose to stop? He felt a dab of sweat building up above his lip under his red helmet. If he really had extra time to think, he needed to be working on the details of their revolution. If they survived this rescue, it would be imminent.
Dray wore a bracelet with an ID coded into its grooves. He held it up for the soldier to scan. The machine beeped when he did.
During his percents in exile, Benton had chiseled into several places with similar security, and he’d learned that any given system was only as secure as the weakest person with access. That meant any system could be infiltrated. It was a matter of finding the weak link. Or in this case, the weakling: A man named Jaulson had authorized these IDs in the system.
Benton raised his own wrist to the scanner.
“State your purpose.” The noisy guard also wore the mortal red color.
Again through ptolis, Benton sensed Dray’s annoyance. He was the perfect person for this role because he wasn’t acting. He pointed a gloved finger toward Liink. “A new acquisition.”
The guard leaned for a clear line of sight past Dray and Benton at Liink. The guard’s voice had a metallic ring to it: “That’s a big one.”
Dray didn’t even look at Liink. “Coming in from Koischioux Station. Ready?”
The guard was supposed to be reading the orders, but he somehow sensed Dray’s annoyance. He waved a red, mechanical-looking glove, urging them past the checkpoint. “Move along.”
Benton took a slow breath and followed Dray inside Building 13 while leading Liink on a leash. The inside of the building was busy. More redhelms walked about, like wounds spread throughout the populace. Researchers in white jumpsuits walked the lengths of hallways and in and out of offshoots, matching the pristine white walls. These were nearly all humans.
As explorers slowly unfolded the Photoss Galaxy and its colorful spectrum of species, a mystery appeared alongside: Why had humans existed on multiple planets? Not humanoids either but actual humans, the only common species ever discovered. No planet had ever provided evidence of even a lost ability to traverse the ocean of stars prior to Aion Zero.
As the most populous species, many human cultures maintained a sense of superiority, which came by subduing or surpassing other species. The dominance of the Pangalactic Socialist Democracy seemed to confirm this attitude. The Orthau from Orban were a notorious exception, having earned almost universal respect for increasing their own lifespan and that of their human neighbors.
The miina, on the other hand—Liink’s people—had not fared so well. Prominent PSD leaders had described the miina as backward and barbarous and had labeled their high chieftains monsters. All because the miina refused to be ruled. During the conflict known as the Solace Sunset, the PSD confiscated and destroyed thousands of volumes of miina literature and demolished hundreds of Photoss temples and libraries, trying to break their spirits. The PSD then vilified the miina to justify their own wrongdoings.
That made Liink the perfect decoy, just the sort one might expect to find imprisoned in Building 13. Benton sensed anxiety from Liink, an eagerness to prove himself and to see what would happen. Really, despite his massive size, he was just a cub. He’d come because of his demolitions training. It was also a symbolic gesture to have a chief’s son on the mission.
Liink’s black jumpsuit was designed for a human, so they’d cut holes for his middle arms, which stuck through, naked, another affront to his species. With his six limbs chained together, he walked more like an insect than a mammal. He wobbled on purpose a little too, pretending to be drugged by the collar around his neck. A muzzle clamped between his eyes, down the bridge of his snout, and around his jaw. Not the most dignified of costumes, but a miin like Liink was completely committed to the mission: He would undergo any hardship for honor.
The trio went directly to the elevators and exited on the processing floor, another detail only an insider like Dray could’ve planned.
Benton had heard of the Strand long before Kalh was taken here. The rumors said that the engineers had dug so deep into the infernal surface that they’d reached a demonic otherworld. The people running it were the real monsters though, as Benton’s research had revealed. They did unspeakable things to their prisoners. Yet in all he found, he never discovered the true purpose of the Strand, only speculations. Maybe Kalh would tell them more though.
The trajectory of their inbound flight had been so low that they hadn’t seen the Strand from the sky, but Benton knew well what it looked like. He’d spent most every waking isochron studying it for the last forty cycles. Just finding the right pilot had taken a long time, but there was also the planning and logistics and bribery. It took much too long, and every additional cycle was another cycle Kalhette had to suffer.
On the surface, the network of buildings looked like the spine of a dead animal, its vertebrae forming a series of white clumps in an arc across the black ground. From the sky, the buildings of the Strand all appeared to be about the same width and length, but these structures plunged underground at varying depths, making it something like an underground city.
After the pilot dropped them off, they spent their first short night on Toar hiking across the black desert to a transport, another thing that had taken time to plan. Plumes of smoke rose from the cracks in the surface, making the only soft features of the terrain. The rest was thorns, insects, and jagged black stones.
They sailed the transport to Building 13, arriving with all the trappings of an official transfer.
Benton had found almost nothing about the purpose of the Strand and no maps or blueprints, so without Dray’s insider knowledge, he wouldn’t have even known which building to approach. Dray’s experience would let him react spontaneously to whatever unexpected situations arose. In short, he was the mastermind, and none of this would’ve worked without him.
He explained that Building 13 housed the prison. Although prison might’ve been the wrong term. It suggested justice. What happened at Building 13 was far from that. It contained detainees who’d committed no crimes other than to have been born with propensities in the Song. People like Kalh. And there they waited for experiments to be performed on them.
Benton handed Liink’s leash to Dray as the three of them approached a woman at the desk who wore a white jumpsuit and had her hair tied behind her head. “Let me see your assignment.” She held out a hand. Next to her desk was a murky glass door, above which read the words Detention Block. A pair of redhelms sat casually on a bench, their discipline apparently quite lax. “███████ miin.”
Benton acted like he was supposed to be there and turned to a plinkscomm terminal to the left of the desk. So began his role as the chiseler. Building 13 had dozens of prisoner floors, which made finding Kalhette nearly impossible, not without Benton accessing the Strand’s local network to find out exactly which cell Kalhette was being held in. He’d been unable to get this carefully guarded data on the outside. Even if he had, it might’ve changed by the time they got inside. He had to find it now, on the spot, and he had to do it quickly, while Dray stalled.
The terminal fit into a slight inset in the wall. It offered Benton the slightest privacy and put his helmeted face out of sight to the pair of redhelms. Still, if either of them stood and looked directly, they would see what he was up to. His best bet was to simply pretend like he was supposed to be there and make it fast. He tossed his bag on the ground and began typing at the terminal. He casually pulled a plinkscomm cylinder from his bag and plugged it in to the console, leaning his stomach against it for concealment.
“Was he looking at me?” came a metallic voice.
The words snatched Benton back out of his focus. He leaned back to see.
One redhelm leaned forward, his face clearly pointed toward Liink.
Liink was supposed to have his head down, eyes mostly closed, like a toddler who couldn’t wake up. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be looking around.
Dray still held the leash and was talking with the woman at the desk, somehow using his insider knowledge of this place to distract or confuse her. He faced forward, exemplifying perfect discipline, acting as if he hadn’t noticed any of it.
The redhelm leaned forward in an aggressive pose toward Liink. “Were you looking at me, vermin?”
Liink bent his head to the floor, not acknowledging the question.
Benton focused forward, typing away. At the right moment, he grabbed the plinkscomm and twisted carefully. If anyone reviewed the logs, they’d think an android had been the one accessing it. He just needed a few more moments to reach the roster.
The soldier stood and grabbed a baton from his belt.
Liink almost imperceptibly drew closer to the floor.
Dray seemed to be doing nothing about it.
Benton tried to hurry. He just had to scroll through a few hundred inmate names, down to the W’s.
“Seems he doesn’t know Building 13 etiquette yet. That’s easy enough to learn though.” Without a moment’s warning, the redhelm raised his baton in the air and cracked it against Liink’s neck.
The sound seemed to go right into Benton’s own neck.
The miin crumpled forward, his chin hitting the ground just before his chest did too, his arms in a tangle beneath him.
Benton jerked the plinkscomm from the terminal and turned around. “Stop! He’s supposed to be conscious for testing!”
“You’re obviously new too.” The disdain carried clear enough in the soldier’s voice. “He shouldn’t be looking around like that. You gotta be careful, specially with these big ones. Better check his collar. I think the exhaust is running out.”
The woman at the desk frowned.
Dray’s redhelm was just a mask of indifference.
Benton stared for a moment at Liink, debating whether to help his friend back up.
Before he’d decided, Liink struggled back onto his feet, his gaze carefully locked on the floor. He had conviction on his face though—Benton had spent time enough around the miina to recognize even subtle facial clues. Liink’s expression said he would gladly die for Kalhette and her cause. Above that expression, near the back of his neck, red blood oozed into his fur.
Sometimes Benton believed he shared Liink’s conviction. At other times, including right now, he felt like he only wished he could share it. He wasn’t worthy of such a comparison.
The woman at the desk handed Dray a collection of tiny packages. “Here you go.” Dray stuffed them into his pack, handed the leash back to Benton, and started walking out.
Benton wanted to apologize for taking so long. That blood was his fault.
Instead, he silently turned and led Liink to Floor 27, cell A13.
* * *
The night he met her, she’d appeared suddenly, the moment she was needed, like his own personal fairytale.
He’d been sitting in a dank, poorly lit bar.
A man with a head made of concrete said, “What about people paying their fair share—for good things, like skyways and police and charity?”
