ARC: Under Nameless Stars (15 page)

“And maybe he should die like the blood-sucking skeenflea he is,” Fane muttered.

“Quiet,” Treth said, nodding toward the saloon. “He speaks of us.”

“…and we are concerned for their safety. There are five unaccounted for. They were not identified as being on board the
Helen of Troy
after it arrived in Khurspex space.”

“You mean they weren’t rounded up like the rest of us,” a female voice yelled.

Pokt ignored this. “The missing ones include the Captain, who is an Ornithope. There are also a Procyoni groom and her sacrist. As well an Earther dolphin in a mobile-suit. We are most interested in the… safety of the young human female with them. She is seventeen Earther years. She stands of medium height, slender, with red hair. She and the others may have been disoriented in the confusion. I urge you to contact me if you see any of them. And your help will be rewarded. With additional food rations. I can be reached through your Khurspex hosts.”

This was too much for the crowd.

“Hosts! Hosts he calls them.” The commotion that rose was beyond Pokt’s control. Ten or twelve of the survivors surged forward and encircled the Skirni.

“They are jailors! We are prisoners forced to do their labor.”

“Where’s the rest of the LSA delegation?”

“Why don’t you get us out of here?”

As the angry group pressed in on Pokt, two previously unseen forms now stepped out from the shadows at the side of the saloon. Twice as tall as a human, moving on four legs, the creatures positioned themselves between the Skirni and the angry crowd, which now drew back like a wave receding from the shore.

“Tell the Spex we need more food,” one of the throng yelled out, shaking his fist at the aliens.

“Tell them we have no fuel. We’re freezing in here,” another shouted.

The crowd’s anger at the Skirni now turned to jeers at both Pokt and the aliens that Zenn assumed were the ones they called the Khurspex.

The two beings were tall enough that their heads brushed the twelve-foot ceiling of the saloon. They appeared to have both insectoid and mammalian traits, with an outer layer of leathery, ivory-colored exoskeleton over a dull white dermal layer. Their coloring was pale; so pale Zenn was reminded of permanent cave dwellers, their skin gone white in the absence of sunlight.

Fane now stepped by her. She saw his eyes were very wide, his mouth open as if in shock as he stared at the aliens.

When he spoke, it was in a reverent whisper, “Ghost Shepherds.”

SIXTEEN

“The Shepherds,” Treth whispered. “Could it be?”

Fane reached out and gripped the Groom by the arm, both of them staring awestruck at the looming Khurspex.

The aliens held themselves on four stout back legs, with two small, arm-like tendrils waving before their erect upper bodies, giving them the appearance of distorted centaurs. The two tendrils extending from the torso ended in four flexible appendages at their tips, something like an elephant’s trunk.

Even in the present situation, Zenn found herself straining for a better look at these beings – it wasn’t every day one encountered an entirely new species, let alone an intelligent, technologically advanced species.

As the creatures moved further into the light, she realized each Khurspex was not merely a single animal, but a symbiont – a cooperative unit made up of multiple individual creatures.

The “back end” appeared to be some kind of quadruped, its four triple-jointed legs holding up a separate, barrel-shaped creature that was topped by the large, projecting head. The central “torso” creature appeared to have a short, muscular tail that fit snugly into the length of a groove that furrowed the back of the leg section, holding the two animals tightly together. The head was a third, separate creature, slightly darker in color and almost all braincase and facial area, with a pair of tentacle-like arms gripping the central chest section below it. The face, long and flat beneath the globular skull, tapered to a narrow-tipped snout. There were two eyes: visible, bright pink, sunk in narrow slits. Within the lipless mouth, a small, shiny black beak opened and closed, as if tasting the air. Most remarkably, the smooth, rounded forehead flickered with a display of soft, multihued light that shimmered and flowed just beneath the surface.

Zenn could also see that the Khurspex’s epidermal layer of skin appeared to be peeling off in ragged sheets and dangling strings, as if the animal was molting its outer layer. Occasionally, one or the other of the two would shudder slightly, then recover.

Zenn knew there were other instances of multi-animal colonies of organisms living as a single being, like the Portuguese man-of-war in the oceans of Earth and a few symbiont tree-dwelling crustaceans from the Sirenian rainforests. But these were lower-order examples, uncomplicated, and only functioning at the simplest level. And Cepheians like Ambassador Noom, of course, were symbiotic but consisted of the same species. The Khurspex, however, looked to Zenn like an example of complex multispecies integration that was undreamt of in Accord science.

As the creatures moved up next to Pokt, the crowd pulled back further. The jostling pushed one group of passengers away from the fire light surrounding their barrel, closer to the doorway where Zenn and the others crouched. In the shadows of the saloon, one of those in this group stopped, looked in their direction, and stared. Had he seen them? It was too dark to see the person’s face or to know if they’d been discovered.

“Back. Go back,” the Captain whispered, harshly. They returned down the corridor till they came to an open cabin. The Captain pointed and they crowded in.

“Captain Oolo,” Jules said. “What are those creatures? Are they the Ghostly Shepherds as this sacrist says?”

“The Shepherds? No, I cannot imagine such a… We need more information.” He preened nervously at his ruffled chest feathers. “Treth, what do you think? Treth?”

But the pilot stood as if she could no longer hear, her face an unreadable mask. Fane too seemed deeply affected and stood shaking his head slowly. Then, the Sacrist looked up at Treth, confusion and wonder in his eyes.

“Groom Treth, can this be?” Fane said quietly. “Have they truly come, as foretold?”

Treth frowned. “We know this much: somehow, the stonehorses are being taken. And these entities are somehow involved.”

“Gathered,” Fane said. “The herds are gathered. By the Shepherds. As the prophecy tells us, as it is written.”

“It is… possible,” Treth said.

“Treth,” The Captain went to bob his head in front of her. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying…” She clasped her hands in front of her, her knuckles white. “The Foretelling in the Book of Staffs. It tells us the Ghost Shepherds will return one day from their distant realm. That they will come to reclaim their stonehorse herds and take them home again.”

“I’m sorry, and I don’t mean any disrespect, but… that’s just a myth,” Zenn said, unable to keep silent. “These creatures aren’t gods. That’s just not… They’re a new alien race. And they–”

“They are doing as the Shepherds are prophesied to do,” Fane said, a strange light in his eyes. “It is written that they will come without warning. That their aspect will be as flawless as the dawn, as pale as the light of moons. That they and they alone will call the stonehorse herds homeward.”

“Yes, it’s written, but who wrote it?” Zenn implored. “A Procyoni. A person like any other person, a person like you or Treth.”

“She was no simple person that wrote these words,” Fane objected. “She was the Prophetess Ry Reth Trassin of Sinnuron. She saw what no others could see. She had direct communing with the Shepherds.”

“Please,” the Captain said. He stepped between them and raised his talons as if separating two boxers. “We don’t have time for this. Treth, we need to backtrack. Get away from the Skirni and those… creatures… until we know what we’re up against. And how to fight it.”

“If it is true, if they are the Shepherds,” Treth said firmly, “we cannot fight them.”

“What?” The Captain’s chest feathers rose in agitation.

“It would be sacrilege,” she said simply.

“Plainly,” Fane agreed.

“But…” the Captain sputtered. “What will you do then? Give up? What about the
Helen’s
passengers and crew? And your Indra? They took your Indra. Maybe they took all the Indra.”

“And it was so written that they would,” Fane said.

“If it is the Shepherds’ will, it cannot be undone by us. Or anyone,” Treth said solemnly.

“So, what are you suggesting?” The Captain was almost chirping with frustration. “That we just… wait?”
“The Shepherds are gods. Immortal. Unknowable. Our actions will not alter their plans, whatever they may be. If they are not the Spectral Anointed, it will be revealed to us. If they are, they will give us a sign.”

The Captain clasped his talons together.

“Are they invincible, truly?” Jules said. “In that case, fighting them would be of no use. There are such beings in the old Earth paper-novel-books. Super beings. Several can shoot fire from their eyes. And have capes.”
Zenn stared at Fane and Treth. They were just going to do nothing until… what? A magical sign? Until they were captured? If that happened, she would never find her father. Or Katie. Or Liam. She searched for an argument. There must something.

“Treth,” she said abruptly, the idea coming to her like a gift. Treth and Fane both peered impassively at her. “The Shepherds take care of their flock, right? They look after their stonehorses?”

“Of course,” Treth said.

“And the Khurspex, who you think are the Shepherds, they’ve been helping the Skirni steal starships, hijack them.”

“Because the stonehorses are bonded to the Shepherds, from time long forgotten,” Treth said. “So it is right and just that they gather them back. And so also must the ships be taken. The stonehorses would perish otherwise.”

“But, when the Indra on the
Helen
was attacked by that bio-mech, the one released by the Skirni in your chamber, that Indra was hurt. Couldn’t you tell your stonehorse was in pain when the bio-mech attached itself to her?”

“So it would seem,” Treth reluctantly agreed. “But one cannot say with certainty.”

“Tell me this,” Zenn went on, “Do the writings say what the Shepherds will look like? Do they say they’re… ten-foot-tall tri-symbionts with… with light pigmentation?”

“The Writings are vague as to how the Shepherds will appear once they assume corporeal form.”

“Then maybe, just maybe these aren’t your Shepherds. Maybe they’re just aliens who happen to be… ghostly-looking. Maybe their coloration is due to being cave dwellers. Or their home star has a particular light spectrum. And maybe these aliens are hijacking Indra ships for reasons we just don’t know yet.”

“This is merely your conjecture,” Treth said.

Zenn got the feeling she wasn’t exactly getting through.

“Either way, we need more data,” the Captain insisted. He stepped closer to Treth. “All I ask is that we retreat, regroup and take the time to learn more.”

Treth looked at Fane, then back to the Captain.

“Very well,” she said, “but only until we learn the true will of the Shepherds. No longer.” They all moved quietly to the doorway and filed out into the corridor. But they had gone no more than five feet when a shout sounded some distance behind them.

“Guest Zora Bodine!”

Zenn whirled around. There, froggish face creased with a huge, black, needle grin, hands on his hips, stood Yed the One Who Consumes Fat Meal-Larva With Lip-Noises of Pleasure.

“It
is
you. You are safe,” he called out, grinning even wider. Panic flowed through her. She gestured at him frantically with both hands, willing him to be quiet. Then he hooked a webbed thumb over his shoulder, pointing back at the Skirni. “Guest Pokt is concerned for your well-being. He is seeking you. And Yed has found–”

From behind him, a hand shot out and planted itself over his wide mouth. A face appeared. Liam. He was alive. He was safe.

“Shut up,” Liam growled at the steward, who struggled to pull away, his eyes swiveling wildly to see who was clutching him. Liam looked over his shoulder into the saloon, then back to Zenn and the others.

“He’s coming,” he yelled at them. “Run!”

The squat figure of Pokt appeared in the doorway next to Liam and Yed. The Skirni squinted in their direction. He hadn’t seen them yet. Then, a narrow beam of light leapt from the Skirni’s left eye – an implanted scanner? It swept quickly across the passageway until it came to rest on Zenn’s face, a tiny blue-green dot dancing on her cheek. She crouched and pressed herself against the wall. She knew this was the same pinpoint of light she’d seen before – in her bedroom at the cloister, just before he’d kidnapped her, ten thousand light years away, and what seemed like a million years ago.

“You,” Pokt rasped. He raised his hand. It clutched a plasma stick, which he pointed at them, threatening. Zenn pushed herself to her feet.

“No,” Liam yelled. She saw him grab at Pokt, trying to pull the weapon from his grip.

Pokt snarled at Liam and, with a powerful twist, tore the plasma stick out of the boy’s hands.

“Stop! All of you,” he shouted at Zenn and the others. “You will come with–”

A mass of white-hot sparks blossomed from the bulkhead next to the Skirni, forcing him, Liam and Yed to all duck back into the saloon. The Captain, standing his ground further down the passage, held his beam-pistol before him in one claw.

“Go,” the Captain shouted, waving them on. He stepped behind two large supply crates stacked in the corridor and prepared to get off another shot.

But before he could fire, Pokt scurried nimbly out into the saloon doorway, brought up the plasma weapon and loosed a charge. The jagged white lightning bolt of energy arced down the corridor to strike the floor at the Captain’s feet, kicking up a spray of molten fragments.

“Everyone, down,” Treth yelled. She grabbed Zenn by the arm and dragged her to join the Captain behind the crates. Jules and Fane hurried back into the cabin they’d just left. Behind Pokt, the two Khurspex peered out into the passage cautiously. When they turned toward each other, Zenn saw their forehead areas light up with flickering lightshows of rapidly shifting colors.

The Captain leaned out, fired three times in rapid succession and dropped back. The shots missed but made Pokt and the creatures pull away out of sight.

“Captain,” Fane yelled. “Do not anger the Shepherds.” The Sacrist stuck his head out of the cabin door. “Sainted Ones,” he called to the aliens. “Forgive us. We do not mean to give offense.”

The Skirni poked his head out and fired a bolt into the wall above the crates. Melted debris sizzled in the air around Zenn and Treth.

“A warning shot only,” Pokt yelled. “I do not wish to kill. Only to stop you. Cease your resisting. You will be… treated fairly.”

“Like you treated my father?” Zenn shouted, furious. And terrified. They mustn’t be captured. She had to convince the Groom she was wrong.

“Treth,” Zenn said. “Would your Shepherds do this? Help someone like him?”

“The Shepherds’ ways are… veiled from us,” Treth said. But Zenn could tell she was less sure now than moments before.

“You have to believe me.” Zenn turned so the Groom could see her eyes, see that what she said was true. “Your Indra was hurting when she was attacked. I swear I could feel her pain and fear. I felt it. You can’t let them take us.”

Another strike from Pokt’s plasma stick hit the wall beside them, making them crouch lower behind the crates.

“Enough. Throw down your weapon,” the Skirni rasped.

“You did feel it,” Treth said, nodding, then looking hard at Zenn. “I could tell, even then. But I could not believe it was so. Perhaps I wished not to believe. She was my Indra, after all.”

Zenn thought she saw a change in the Groom. The sign was small, fleeting. But it was real.

“Sacrist,” the Groom yelled at the unseen Fane. “The Novice speaks truly. The Shepherds would never harm a stonehorse. Or ally themselves with one who would do this. It cannot be the Foretelling.”

“Book of the Rope of Light, chapter nine, verse twelve,” Fane shouted back. “‘For the Shepherds’ return will rise as a storm-bull raging. It will fall as a jewel-rain blessing. Many will doubt the Sainted Ones’ coming. Few will see the Ninth Gate opening. But the faith-keepers will know. The truth-seekers will see!’”

He’s quoting scripture now!
Zenn thought, incredulous. This can’t be happening!

Treth shook her head.

“Sacrist Fanesson,” she shouted at him. “Book of Dohlms, chapter eighteen, verse nine-twenty-six: ‘Keep keen thy wit against false claimants to the Shepherds’ cloak. Turn from these deceivers, who come as dreadwolves to the herd’.”