Threshold Shift (2 page)

“You
have started a war.”

“We
can win,” Daniel said.

Jon
opened his eyes to find both Threshians staring down at him.

“Crate
him up before he can move again,” the older brother said. “You
brought him here Daniel, you get to keep him.”

Daniel
nodded. “What are you going to do.?”

“I
will advise the Marshal that he must surrender to us or lose his
child. Perhaps he will even agree.”

With
those words, the older larger Threshian limped towards the warehouse
door and disappeared into the night. Jon could feel a subtle tingling
in his limbs, his toes and fingers almost responding to his commands.

“So,
little human,” Daniel said. “How long do you think you
have left to live?”

Jon
felt a cold resolute anger growing within him. He was long past fear.
This thing had murdered his mother.

“I
have a wooden box for you,” the alien taunted. “Dead
humans like wooden boxes so I am told.”

Jon
found that he could almost grit his teeth. I will hurt you, he
thought. I will hurt you more than you hurt me. Death will be a long
time coming.

Death
will be a long time coming...

The
thought echoed back to him, as distant as a reverberation in a long
tunnel. The voice his own, but slightly different.

I
will hurt you more than you hurt me...

Again,
the echo, less distant this time, almost his voice, but not quite,
not yet.

Before
him the alien had discovered a crate that was about his size, and was
removing the nails one by one with long curved claws. A moment later
it was open, the contents, a pile of condensed Jopo crops, emptied
out upon the ground.

“This
will do,” Daniel said, brandishing the two parts of the crate
in his hands. “I must remember to make some air holes.”

Jon
watched helplessly as the Threshian began to walk towards him.

Who
are you?
The voice asked

“I
am Jon,” he said aloud, his own voice finally responding.

“Little
human almost better?” Daniel asked. “That’s quite
impressive; I wasn’t expecting you to recover from the dart
this soon.”

I
am Wun,
the voice announced in Jon’s mind.
We are the
same.

The
Threshian came closer, setting the crate down beside him. With an
outstretched arm it closed a clawed hand around his neck.

“It
would be so easy just to snap this,” Daniel said. “You
are such fragile creatures.”

The
claw opened and the alien stepped back. “Even so, we allowed
you to enslave us, steal from us.” Daniel shook his head. “My
mother was murdered by a human, how fitting that I returned the
favour.”

I
remember my mother,
Wun commented absently.

Jon’s
hands balled into fists, and he took a weak swing at the Threshian,
missing by inches, but even if he had struck, he knew it would have
been pointless. He was not strong enough.

Daniel
snorted. “I can’t fault your anger little one, it feels
good doesn’t it? Deserved?”

Jon
stared deeply into the eyes of his captor.

Hurt
you more than you hurt me.

“Help
me,” Jon begged simply. “Help me, please.”

“Why
would I do that little human?” Daniel asked.

We
are Wun.

Jon
watched as the Threshian unexpectedly fell to the ground, its body
writhing in a fit of agony. Then, without a second thought, the boy
stood up, the last of the drug purged from his body. Coldly and
dispassionately he observed the murderer of his mother roll from side
to side, its pain continuous and unrelenting. Jon knew that pain came
from him. Wun had given him the strength to make the connection, to
make it happen.

“Thank-you,”
Jon said.

You
are alone, Jon,
Wun said.
You should not be alone. None of us
should be alone.

“What
are you?” Jon asked.

I
am like you,
Wun said.

Jon
shook his head, hoping the voice would go away. Below him Daniel
continued thrashing, his suffering unabated. Jon realised he could
kill Daniel now. The alien was completely at his mercy. He tried an
experimental kick, quickly followed by another and another. Tears
welled in his eyes, his mother was dead. This thing had killed her.

Stop!

He
collapsed against a crate, the alien still shaking with inner pain
before him. Time slowed as he cried, until finally he realised that
he was still in danger. The brother could return at any moment.
Rising awkwardly to his feet he rushed to the door. He had to escape.

I
am coming, Jon, I am coming.

Once
outside, Jon ran, with no idea of where he was or where he was going.

He
ran.

Threshold

March
3371

Ten
Years Later

Chapter
One

Jacob
tried to rise from his bed, throwing the duvet and blanket aside with
as much strength as he could muster. They were sodden with
perspiration, the result of a feverish night of restless sleep. His
head spun as he sat up, the colours of his vision running. With a
groan, he stood, swaying unsteadily for a moment before taking hold
of the bedstead. Even so, the floor appeared to pitch from side to
side under his bare feet. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and
summoned his concentration.

I am
Jacob Klein, husband of Eleanor, father of Jon.

I am
Jacob Klein, husband of Eleanor, father of Jon.

The
mantra continued, the words accompanied by images of his smiling
red-headed wife as she lay beside him, ate with him, hung from his
arm as they talked. Of Jon, he recalled a baby crying in a crib
followed by the laughing infant boy he chased lazily around a
courtyard. He found himself smiling at the recollection, anchored by
it. Beneath him the floor no longer swayed, and opening his eyes, his
vision no longer swam. He exhaled, letting the tension wash away. He
was himself again, but he knew it was only a temporary respite. By
willpower alone he could overcome the worst effects of the
withdrawal, but only for shorter and shorter periods. He needed more
Jopo and he needed it fast.

Retrieving
the grey Marshal's uniform from beside the bed, he barely managed to
sidestep a half-eaten plate of vegetables drowned in congealed gravy.
Last night’s dinner left to rest in peace. Not for the first
time he realised how small the room was. It had always been small,
with barely enough space for his bed and store cupboard, but it had
also been his home since the house had burnt down. The house... He
blinked that away, recalling it was gone only reminded him that
Eleanor was gone too. He didn’t want to remember that.

The
cold plexifibre floor bit into his bare feet as he tugged on his
trousers and clipped on his gun belt. A frantic search revealed a
pair of mismatched socks in plain view beside his boots. The mirror
on the door was dirty, but even if it had been clean, he would barely
have recognised his own face. His black hair, greasy and curled,
entirely too long for the service and a three day beard on his chin,
the thin silver strands definitely winning the war against the black
ones. Shaking his head he slipped on a used shirt and pulled on his
boots, his arms aching in the process. It made Jacob feel old, the
sharpness he had induced a few minutes before already becoming hazy
and indistinct.

Time
to go.

Leaving
the room, he grasped the staircase handrail and descended, passing
through the empty Jailhouse and out into the hot Threshold sun. It
was noon already and he knew he had slept too long. Not for the first
time he regretted sending his deputy Roe across country to deal with
the latest Threshian mining dispute. Larson ore was necessary for
space travel, and it was up to the Marshal's office to ensure the
supply kept flowing. But even so, he really needed her in Argon. He
was in no condition to patrol the town, and he was sure the local
criminal elements were beginning to notice. He hadn’t even made
his rounds the night before and could only guess at the quantity of
fights and muggings that had gone unpunished.

Thinking
of Roe, he realised he was actually a little relieved she wasn't
around to see him like this - an addict on the edge of withdrawal. He
valued her respect too much, and if she saw what was happening to
him, then it would become all the more real. He would have to admit
what was happening, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. Once he
had some more Jopo, he would be able to get his mind together, get
cleaned up, sort things out.

Hassan
would have some.

Jacob
studied Main Street. It was still a little wet after the rain, but
already the sun was cleansing it. The two-storey buildings that
threaded each side were old, a little basic, but well made, a
testament to a colony that had first been established on the planet
almost a hundred years earlier. Argon was a few miles from the
spaceport, surrounded by farms and the oldest worked out Larson ore
mine. It wasn’t the farmers that were the problem. They only
occasionally frequented Argon for supplies or to discover the latest
off world fashions. No, the problem was the human prospectors,
travelling from far and wide to drink and indulge themselves at The
Colonial Captain. Jacob had to keep them from robbing and killing
each other. It wasn’t always easy, there were so many of them,
and when the liquor ran freely so did their tempers. Last but not
least was the added complication posed by the Threshians, growing
bolder each year; they were slowly becoming a presence in the town. A
presence he did not much care for.

Stifling
a yawn, Jacob was careful not to stagger, nodding to a few familiar
faces as they loaded supplies onto a hovering electrocart. They
nodded back, still retaining a modicum of respect for him despite his
appearance. Besides the farmers, Main Street wasn’t
particularly busy, although he did notice a group of five Threshians
sheltering under the canopy near the dental surgery. He tried to
ignore them as he trudged by, his fingers wavering above his sidearm.
Was his hand trembling? He didn’t bother to check, it was best
not to know.

Hassan
would be firmly entrenched in his office at The Colonial Captain at
this time of day. That wily little rat-faced man would be able to
help him, although what he would ask for in return Jacob could only
guess. He did not like dealing with Hassan, but the farmer who used
to supply him had shipped out on the last shuttle. Quite inexplicably
he had been unable to find another regular supplier. What Hassan
offered was inevitably too expensive and inferior, but it had become
his only option.

Jacob
entered through the swinging double doors of the Captain, resisting
the urge to cough in the smoke filled atmosphere. The gamblers were
either working the tables early, or they had not finished working
them from the night before. He stood beside the bar and watched them
for a few moments, their furtive eyes constantly flickering from
their cards to their opponents with a hunger he could not understand.
Above him the ceiling of The Captain easily stretched ten metres
high. In daylight he could see the pinched white plaster in all its
smoke encrusted glory, but at night the electroglobes illuminated it
faintly and unevenly, wreathing the rafters in shadow. Jacob had
always liked the space and openness in The Captain. The other bars
were a little bit too close. But he was also wary of what could be
hiding in those shadows.

“A
Coffee, please, Elliot,” Jacob said to the barman.

Elliot,
a man whose large stomach was hidden by a long white apron, swiftly
served up a steaming mug from behind the bar.

“You
don’t look good today, Jake,” Elliot commented as he
scanned Jacob’s credit strip.

Jacob
nodded, a wry grin spreading on his face. “I feel worse. Is
Hassan upstairs?”

“He
is.”

“I
need to see him.”

Elliot
took a step back, leaning against the counter.

“I
didn’t want to believe it,” the barman said slowly. “But
it’s true, isn’t it? You’re a Jopo addict.”

Jacob
took a sip of his coffee, letting the warmth soak into him. But he
needed more that caffeine.

“Help
me out, Elliot,” he said.

Elliot
folded his arms. “I shouldn’t let you up there.”

“You’ll
let me.”

“Please,
Jacob, I went to school with your son. Do you think I like seeing you
this way?”

“Elliot,
it’s because you went to school with my son that I don’t
throw you in jail right now.”

Jacob
reached into holster and placed his sidearm on the bar. It was a
twenty-year-old concussion bolt pistol, sleek and deadly. For years
the weapon had done all his talking, and he was willing to let it do
a little more.

“OK
Jacob,” Elliot said, eyeing the gun. “But I tell you now,
as a friend, the Jopo Hassan sells is no good.”

Jacob
nodded. “I know Elliot, and thank-you. Now take me up.”

Elliot
frowned, and then sprayed his hands with a disinfectant spray located
next to the credit scanner.

“This
way, Marshal.”

Jacob
holstered his gun and followed Elliot behind the bar to a side door.
Elliot paused for a moment and then leaned into a retina scanner. The
door clicked open and the barman led Jacob up a narrow curved
staircase to a large room decorated with shifting abstract graphics.
Hassan sat behind his desk sipping an espresso, a satisfied smile on
a face that seemed too small to support it.

“Marshal,”
he greeted, “how lovely to see you again.”

“Always
a pleasure, Hassan,” Jacob said, hand on gun.

Hassan
flicked a dismissive finger at Elliot. “Thank-you, Elliot.”