Rough draft, excerpt 14: "The Long Watch, volume I," part 6

6.

When Sobek came to, he was no longer in quarantine, but he was on his back in the foyer, tightly-bound to the floor by a set of cargo straps.  His eyes opened to the lamentable sight of several furry simian faces peering down into them.  He began a low rumbling growl, eyeing each of them in turn.

“Oh, hush,” said Alzhor, thumping him lightly on the snout.  She leaned forward, placing her elbows on his chest, and her face in her hands.  “You know, on my planet we keep animals like you as pets.”

“On my world, animals like you are kept as food,” he replied, intensifying the growl.  She backed up.

“If you’re quite finished, I think we can clear up our misunderstanding now and get back to business,” Lucipher said, leaning over him.  “But before we release you, we want some assurances about your behavior.”

“I assure you, the next person to thump my nose will be swallowed whole.”

“There is no reason for any of that,” said Lucipher.  “We know you’re no longer a threat, and once we can be assured of your calm cooperation, we will pose no further threat to you.”

A sense of violation was rising within him even before he was sure of the answer.  “How, exactly, do you know any such thing?”

“Because Zu has looked at your mind,” said Lucipher, as the little gray sprout stepped forward to peer down as well.

So the mushroom people did have names.  “You, I will chew up and spit out,” said Sobek to the Grey.  “You will fertilize my hunting grounds.”

The creature sputtered quietly at him, and after a moment of processing, his chestbox provided the translation.  “The hypnotic drug has all but cleared your system, and I have purged your mind of any lingering unconscious suggestions.”

“See, now?” Lucipher said.  “We can all be friends.  If you will agree not to chew up, spit out or swallow anybody, we will remove the straps.”

“I am not Capstone,” explained the Grey.  “I am an Individual.  I have departed their collective consciousness.  I am Zu.”

Sobek stopped growling.  The emotionless Grey continued watching, and Sobek found himself disqieted that he hadn’t been able to get a rise out of it.  “What suggestions?”

More sputter.  “You were commanded to open up this facility for Ibliss’ forces and stand by to join the incursion.  We do not know whether he still intends to land personnel here; our defense screen is not currently operational, and we can not detect any approaching warships.  We have hacks monitoring defense detection-and-ranging stations elsewhere on the planet which should provide us with some warning, but they are only as useful as the sensitivity of the stations we’ve hacked.”

“You say I was commanded.”

“Correct.  I have removed the command.  You are now fully-autonomous.”

“And you say your defense screen is not operational.”

Some uneasy glances were exchanged among the Ydlenni.

“That is correct.  You succeeded in that part of your mission.  If you wish to prove yourself friendly and helpful, we need you to agree to help us and stand in this facility’s defense.”

“Let me up.  Now.”

“Hold your water,” said Lucipher (the chestbox translated this into an Orrkuttssh idiom, “Hold your stones”).  “You have not yet agreed not to mangle or masticate my personnel.”

Sobek sighed a deep growling sigh.  “I agree,” he said.  His tail was also strapped to the floor, but the tip was relatively free; he pointed it skyward in lieu of holding up a paw.  “I swear.”

Lucipher issued a command to Agin, who did something at his console.  The cargo straps were loosened, one end of each being released from the recessed clasp locking it in place.  Most of the slackened straps immediately retracted into the floor, but Sobek was obliged to shrug a few free in order to regain his feet.

“Have I been disarmed?” he asked, straightening his raiment.

“No,” said Lucipher, backing away slightly.  “Your uniform and its armament are intact and untouched.”

Sobek patted himself down, verifying the presence of essential bits in his uniform.  Then he reached behind his shoulder to find the sheathed sword on his back.  He drew it and set it before him.  Ordinarily this formality required him to drive the sword into the ground; also it required him to keep the sword vertical, the pommel at a reasonable height from the ground.  Here, he could do neither, so he instead leaned the sword into a fairly flat angle, bending slightly to keep the point in contact with the floor.

“You have to grasp the handle,” he explained to the still-retreating Lucipher as a small army of uniformed Ydlenni surrounded him.  Lucipher stepped up and took the grip with a miniscule, shaking paw.  “I place myself at your disposal,” Sobek said quietly, “but not under your command.  I agree to defend this facility, but your military personnel must answer to me.”

“They’re not soldiers,” stammered Lucipher.  “They’re security guards.”

“Can they follow orders?  Do they know this ship’s weapons and defenses?”

“Yes.  Yes,” Lucipher replied.

“We are partners in defense,” Sobek said, closing the ceremony.  “Brothers in arms, for the time being.”  He turned to address the guards ringing him and Lucipher.  “Lower your weapons,” he ordered.

Some of them did so; the rest looked uncertainly at Lucipher.  “Do as he says,” he said.  “You are under his command until this is over.”

“I need you to provide me a tour of this facility’s weapons and denses, now,” ordered Sobek.  “A real tour this time, and as quickly as you can manage.  Who is in charge here?”

A robust female stepped forward.  “I am.  I am Astarte.”

“This is a Khunjeee spaceship, yes?  A Bullet Ship?”

“Yes.  What is left of one.  There are other portions elsewhere on the planet, but this is the largest and most intact, most defensible section.  It is also the most deeply buried.”

“Can you get to the other sections?”

“No.  We have started tunnelling between them, but they are very far apart and it is a long, slow process.  There is no other habitable section on this continent.  All the others are in unsettled areas.”

“Are there any weapons or defenses that can be recovered from them?”  By force, if need be?

Astarte considered, then jumped a peculiar simian startled jump.  “None that I know of for certain, except in Site 9,” she said.  “It has not been fully excavated yet, but it has some missile banks, heavy guns and other equipment we have not identified.  We believe it formed part of the perimeter around the warship bay, and was used to repel enemy fighters attempting to get inside.”

“Can we get there quickly?”

“I…no.  We cannot.  It is quite remote, and…beneath the ocean.”

“Fantastic.”  The Talon could submerge, to conceal itself from radio ranging equipment, but not to any particularly great depth, and was not particularly mobile underwater.  “What else do you have?”

“This section has…well, it has no physical defenses other than shielding.  It has no real weapons, but it can employ electronic countermeasures.  It can, for instance, direct a narrow-field or a wide-field electromagnetic pulse at attackers.  It can also reflect scans, amplifying them enormously, so as to disable the ship doing the scanning, as was done to your ship—“

Sobek rounded on her, dropping to all fours, putting himself more or less at eye level with her.  “You did what?!” 

She recoiled at the heat of his breath on her face.  “We didn’t do it,” she explained hastily.  “It was an automated response to the scan you sent just before coming over today.”

Sobek groaned, but to Astarte it must have seemed just another of his threatening growls, as she continued to wince and back away.  “Forget this ship for now,” he said.  “If it can automatically defend itself, then it doesn’t need us manning it.  Right now, my ship is first priority.  It has all the guns.”  And it might be our only means of evacuation.  “Are there any other ships here right now?”

Astarte recovered herself.  “Zu’s ship is the only one on the premises in working order.  Two others are under repair…and three others are currently engaged elsewhere on the planet.” 

Those tunnelling operations, he surmised.  “Does Zu’s ship have weapons?”

Astarte shook her head in a peculiar side-to-side motion, and Sobek interpreted this as a no.

“How many can it carry?”

Astarte gave this some thought.  “It can carry four Zu-sized beings.”

Zu stepped forward.  “My ship does not carry life support for animals.  It can be modified, but I do not think there is time.”

Fantastic.  “Get it ready anyway.  Get all your people ready to move, in case we have to evacuate.  Right now, I need five volunteers.  Mechanically-inclined.  We need to get my ship ready for fight or flight.”  Astarte stepped forward, followed by six others.  “No, you stay…Astarte.  You need to organize the pre-evacuation activity and have your people standing by to assist in…whatever can be done.  You, you, you, you, and you…come with me.”

Sobek turned to head back out to his ship.  “Disable the quarantine,” he ordered Lucipher.  “There can be no more delays getting back and forth.”

Lucipher turned toward Agin, now back at his console.  “Make it happen.”

Before further action could be taken, however, Agin raised his head in response to a notification of signal reception on his board.  “Incoming transmission from the ECD, sir.  Audio and video.  It’s—“

The viewscreen was still descending from the ceiling when the audio filled the air.  “Do you hear me, Daughters?  Do you  see me?”

It was Ibliss’ voice.

“Go two-way,” ordered Lucipher.  “Direct the camera at me.”

When the screen had descended to viewing height, Lucipher stepped up to it.  The screen’s built-in camera would now follow and focus on him as he moved around.  “Greetings, Ibliss.  How goes the Game?”

The screen was still dark, but now it flashed brightly, showing different washed-out hues while, presumably, Ibliss’ technicians fumbled with the remote communicator’s connections.  Then it settled into a clinical setting, dull gray and white walls backing refrigeration units and laboratory equipment.  Ibliss, his face mauled and with a patch over one eye, moved into view.  “Not so well, I’m afraid.  Someone has sabotaged some of my beasts.”  Being more familiar with the Ydlenni, he didn’t need to hear a translation of Lucipher’s speech, but he still relied on a translator to render his growls into Uleni.  The translator broadcast a deep, booming, and somewhat angry and sinister tone.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Lucipher smoothly.  “Any idea how many?”

“Not yet,” said Ibliss.  “I may have to flush all of them out of an airlock.” 

Several of the Ydlenni exchanged gloomy glances.

Sobek, hearing the voice of his erstwhile commander, broke stride and returned to the reception area.  Ibliss saw him coming into frame and roared.  “You did this!”

“I did nothing,” said Sobek to the scarred visage onscreen.  “I was a captive, thanks to your subliminal programming.”

Ibliss snarled.  “So you would rather admit to being incompetent than inconstant.  How very like an Orrk.  I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me whether you succeeded in your mission?”

“I would always answer truthfully, when the orders given are lawful.  The orders you gave me were not.”

“Very well, then.  It does not matter at this point.”

“What exactly does that mean?” asked Lucipher.

Ibliss ignored him.  “You may really have dragged your tail through it this time, Sobek,” he said.  “I am trying to accomplish something of note here…to secure freedom and living space for our kind, and for all kinds currently scraping out an existence under the Arch.”  At this, the little naked Grey stepped out in front of the viewscreen, catching Ibliss’ remaining eye.  “Ah, so that explains it.  The Arch does have a presence there.  Sobek, you’ve merely traded in one mind control for another, and in so doing, have thrown your lot in with the bad guys.”

“I am not Arch—” said the Grey, but Ibliss cut off the translation mid-sputter. 

“I care not.  I am talking to Sobek, an Immortal Decorated soldier whom I had lawfully disinterred for a Mission of solemn—“

“Disinterred under false pretenses,” interrupted Sobek.  “The Hierarchy would not approve of your methods in this case.”

“The Hierarchy would change its views once it understood what I am trying to accomplish, Sobek.  Now, it seems, you will be left out of the final triumph.  I will have to return to the Crypts to find someone else worthy, someone whose name can stand for all time in the histories.”

“Why the Crypts, Ibliss?  Why not living soldiers from this era, on the books and receiving current payroll?  Obviously you are not engaged in a legitimate military pursuit.  All I can see of what you’re trying to accomplish is the accumulation of wealth by questionable means, participating in a Game that has been outlawed in civilized quarters--”

“These are not civilized quarters!” hissed Ibliss.

“—kidnapping organisms from a wildlife preserve—“

“They are animals!  They cannot be kidnapped!”

“We are all animals, Ibliss,” said Sobek, although he knew Zu didn’t quite qualify.  “Perhaps kidnapping doesn’t apply, but theft certainly does.”

“You cannot steal what isn’t owned, Sobek.  If the monkeys whose company you are currently enjoying have told you that the animals were theirs, they have lied to you as much as I have.”

Lucipher attempted to regain control of the conversation.  “We do not own the wildlife on this planet, no.  But we do capture and tag specimens, and we do study some of them in captivity.  They are owned by us as surely as any livestock is owned by you, by virtue of our right to exclusive use.  And some of those are among the creatures you have lifted from this soil.”

Ibliss narrowed his eye and peered down haughtily.  “And have you told Sobek why you arranged to ‘occupy’ this particular ‘wildlife preserve,’ Lucipher?  Why this planet, among all others in the Galaxy, has escaped the notice of the Arch for all this time?”

Sobek looked at Lucipher, who shook his head at him in that funny “no” signal before turning back to the screen.  “All in good time, Ibliss.  We have more pressing matters, I think.”

“Yes, you do, Lucipher.  You certainly do.  In my capacity as governor of this system, and as Commander of the military fast-reaction, support and rescue units garrisoned here, I hereby recommend that you immediately undertake a full evacuation of your facility.  Get off the planet.  Now.  If you cannot manage an interplanetary trajectory, then I suggest you find a high orbit and park yourself there.  I have a Fear station in the vicinity that can take aboard survivors.  As for your Arch…personnel, I heartily suggest that you leave them behind.  Any that are found in your company after the rescue will be subject to interrogation.”

“What’s going to happen?” asked Lucipher, but Ibliss was already signing off.  The screen faded back through dark red to black, just as it had done before.

Ibliss manually disconnected the power feed to the entanglement communication device and dropped the jury-rigged interface back into the pulped mass of Rex’ dissected skull.  Technicians hurriedly went about the business of tidying up the bloody mess and securing the power cables he’d used to effect the connection, while he limped back to the bridge.  The men were on heightened alert after the day’s events, so they jumped to attention with a satisfying alacrity when he entered.

“Open a TransCom channel to Dread,” he ordered.  Get me Aphep.”

After a moment, the communications offer replied, “I have Dread.  Aphep is not on the bridge.”

Ibliss sighed.  “Who has the conn?”

The comms officer patched the incoming signal through the bridge intercom.  “I do, sir,” replied an orderly, curt Orrk voice.  “Uweh, Second Officer.  Aphep is seeing to—“

“Never mind, Uweh.  I know he’s always frightfully busy, seeing to the needs of guests.  Issue a shipwide alert notifying him that a planetary emergency is imminent on Aten III.  Have him—or, hell, do it yourself—contact the population centers on the ground and issue a general evacuation order.  Stand by to receive refugees.  Once you’ve taken on as many survivors as you can, or if the rescue becomes stalled for any reason, you are to vacate the vicinity of the planet.  Move the ship to Rally Point Four Two and stand by for further orders.”

“Yes, sir.  What’s going to happen, sir?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.  You are not to intervene, is that understood?  There is nothing you can do to prevent it.”

“Understood, sir.  Rally Point Four Two.”

“What is the status of the recall?”

After a moment, Uweh replied:  “Four cargo ships and two shuttles en route.  One ship still unaccounted for.”

“A transport?”

“A Talon, sir, modified for Aphep’s—“

“I get it.  What was its last known destination?”

“We have it on scope, sir, but it’s not moving or responding to hail.  It’s on the ground outside one of the resort settlements.  It was last tasked with picking up water from a support station there.”

“Towhret?”

Another moment, then, “Yes, sir.”

Ah, Towhret, Towhret, Towhret.  Despite his affection for her, he was prepared to sacrifice her to the cause; she wasn’t proper military, anyway, so it wouldn’t be a serious loss, but it might cost him Aphep’s loyalty in the days ahead.  She might not yet have overcome the hacks blocking the Talon from receiving the alert; alternately, she might simply be ignoring it.  “Continue broadcasting the alert.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ibliss signed off and turned toward his executive officer.  “What’s the status of the remaining Game animals?”

“Six implanted ECDs have been detected, and those animals have been quarantined and sedated, pending recovery of the devices.  All other animals except two have been returned to their pens.”

“Which two?”

“Animals designated Barh-97 and Wex-146,” replied the other, consulting his PDD, using a nomenclature based on the Orrkuttssh alphabetic script.  “Clones of two of the current Candidates—“

“Handy and Busy,” groaned Ibliss.  “Perfect.  At least they’re not particularly large.”  And, he hoped, therefore not particularly destructive.

“No, sir.  That is undoubtedly why they’ve evaded discovery so far.  But unless they’re capable of operating the lifts, they have to still be in the animal hold or the adjoining veterinary complex.  Veterinary staff is confident they will be back in captivity within an hour.”

“Notify me the moment they’re caged,” said Ibliss, and left the bridge.

As he stalked off, he mentally reviewed the situation.  Regardless of how things panned out on Aten III, Dread would soon be orbiting Aten IV.  The “rally points” were actually planetary orbits; points One One through Four One were low orbits over Atens I through IV, respectively.  The second-order points were high orbits; Four Two, for instance, was a lunar orbit over Aten IV.  Points One Three through Four Five were the libration points in the vicinity of the respective planets, three apiece.  Standard operating procedure was to occupy a lunar orbit; should this become impossible, then, in this case, Points Four Three through Four Five would become the next preferred locations; failing that, the station would fall back to Four One.  Once a “retire to rally point” directive had been issued to the ship’s navigation computer, it could, in the absence of further direction, attempt to occupy each of these orbits in turn, in theory putting the ship into a reasonably sustainable orbit without any intervention.  Four One was the station of least preference, because it would be the most subject to radio interference and eclipse by the planet, and because a low orbit entails more stationkeeping than any other.  But even so, a fully-functional Fear station could operate autonomously for centuries, keeping itself atop the atmosphere and listening for radio broadcasts until completely drained of fuel and power.

As he turned the corner toward his office, the arrival alert for Lift 98 chimed, signalling its landing on his floor.  Distracted, he turned toward it, expecting some of his security escort to step out.

Instead, two of the escapees from the animal hold emerged:  the clones of Handy and Busy.  Ibliss instinctively steeled himself for battle, crouching as best he could to lower his center of gravity.  He knew that, as crippled as he now was, he could not maintain his balance or hold an upright position for long, but he only had to hold them off until he could retreat into his office, or until a security team arrived.  

Handy II regarded him with mute curiosity, and Busy II with malice and hunger, as they slowly approached.

Sobek turned toward Lucipher.  “Why did he call you ‘daughters?’  What is really going on here?”
 

Astarte stepped up.  “He was talking to me.   I am chieftain of the Daughters of Evolution.”

Sobek regarded her coldly.  “So…terrorists, then.”

She bristled; longer, hidden hairs on her head and neck stood out, enlarging her profile.  “Not terrorists.  Activists.  We do not attack civilians.  We do not undermine commercial interests.  Legitimate commercial interests, anyway.”

“What I just saw on that screen looked a lot like an unprovoked attack.”

“It wasn’t an attack.  Not exactly.  It was intended to disable his Gaming laboratories, not injure personnel.”

“And yet personnel were injured.  As well as the very creatures you’re ostensibly trying to help.  It looks to me as though you led that poor beast straight to its death.”

“They’re all destined to die anyway,” she said sadly.  “What we were hoping to do was make sure that he couldn’t breed more.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Sobek said, turning back toward the quarantine lift.  “We have to get ready to move now.”

It was early evening when he emerged back into sunlight, with his five tiny mechanics in tow.  His ship was within an easy walk for him, but they had to trot to keep up with him.

He quickly ran down the checklists, verifying functionality from various systems.  Within an hour the verdict was in, double- and triple-checked to compensate for concerns about Ibliss’ hacks:  all systems were essentially nominal except for communications and several banks of sensors.  The main comms antennas and their backups had been blown, and some of the connections coupling these to their user interfaces and the ship’s computer were damaged.  This stood to reason; of all the systems on an armored ship such as a Talon, the radio equipment was always the most exposed to electromagnetic interference.

“Can you repair this?” he asked the mechanics as a group.

“If you have some spare parts, we can manage,” said the ranking Ydlenni, another female named Liliath.  “We may have to obtain some materials from our own stores, but we’ll make that determination while we work.”

“You have three hours,” said Sobek.  “I have to ready the ship and then make arrangements with Lucipher.  Be done by the time I’m finished.”

The mammals established a repair crew, with three of them working, one supervising, and the fifth serving as a communication and materials relay between the ship and the facility.  Sobek hurried about the ship, securing some things and opening others, attempting to make room for everyone in Eden, including those he suspected Lucipher had never admitted to harboring…as well as any other refugees that could be gathered prior to liftoff.

Then he headed back to the facility.

A meeting was hastily called to order, including Lucipher and his department heads, as well as security personnel, and several other personages Sobek had not before encountered:  two primate-like Abanthids, and four Fomigs, six-legged beasts with a weird combination of insectoid and mammalian characteristics.  Their legs terminated in appendages that were like sucker discs; the first four of these could be extruded into finger-like digits.  When bending the forward part of their bodies over their hindmost legs, they could achieve a kind of bipedalism, freeing up four arms for manipulating tools and objects; these were evidently Eden’s principal mechanical staff. 

Some of the assembled creatures sat on chairs made specially for their anatomies; others perched on crates, arranged in haphazard rows.  Sobek stood.

“You cannot count on any defenses in this facility operating correctly,” he advised.  “The pulse that was sent back to my Talon only disabled my communications equipment, although it was supposed to have done far more damage.  This suggests to me that your defensive power reserves are very low.”

“Or, possibly, that there are other problems on your ship that you have not yet discovered,” suggested Mut, one of the Abanthids.  Sobek knew almost nothing of these, other than there were two subspecies occupying the same habitat on their homeworld:  one exclusively diurnal, the other exclusively nocturnal.  There was no way to tell in this far-removed, subterranean habitat, which lifestyle applied to Mut.  But he spoke Uleni, so at least the translation was taken care of by Sobek’s chestbox, and no other issues of culture or conduct mattered at the moment.

One of the Fomigs stridulated, speaking a language that was definitely not Uleni, but Agin’s console translated it into that, and Sobek’s chestbox took it from there.  “We have been experiencing intermittent system failures since your probe, and concur that there is a power loss in progress.  We can try to redirect power from nonessential systems to defenses.  But it would help if we knew what we were up against.”

Sobek sighed.  Having held on to this information for this long, it could only damage his newly-gained standing to reveal it now.  “I have intelligence to the effect that Ibliss will launch, or may already have launched, some kind of powerful missile at this planet.  I do not know precisely why, or what effect to expect.  But I gather that we would be better off trying to leave than trying to stop it.”

There were some shouts and angry murmurs at the translation.  Lucipher spoke up.  “Why is this only now coming to our attention?  How long have you known this?”

“I knew about it this morning when I came over,” replied Sobek coolly.  “I didn’t say anything immediately because I was first locked in an airlock, then tied to the floor.”

Lucipher turned sharply toward Zu.  “I did not see that in my scan,” said the latter.  “I was looking only for evidence of his mission, and of any subliminal programming.”

Lucipher shook his head irritably and turned back to Sobek.  “How did you come by this intelligence?”

“I have a source within Ibliss’ organization.  An Orrkuttssh working for the commander of the Fear station tasked with overseeing this planet.”

“And you trust this source?  Completely?”

“I trust almost no one completely.  This source is, I believe, a mercenary in the employ of Aphep, the station’s commander.  I have a particular revulsion for soldiers of fortune, because of their penchant for destabilizing governments in their zeal to find work.  However, in this case, I believe the individual is simply seeking a way to serve in uniform, having been found unfit for proper Service in some way or another.  In any event, the fact that she is not in the military hierarchy makes her, as far as Ibliss’ personnel go, more trustworthy than most.”

“Towhret,” said Astarte, and there was a general nodding of assent through the assembly, including a funny waggling of the Fomigs’ flat, horizontal heads.  “Yes, I think she can be trusted.  Assuming Ibliss hasn’t been feeding her false information.”

“The question remains as to why Ibliss would provide us with fair warning now,” said Sobek.  “Either he was stricken by pangs of conscience, or he wants us to simply get up and leave this planet for him to take over.”

Lucipher seemed to think, or at least hope, that his group’s activity, and the ensuing TransCom conversation with Ibliss, had predisposed him to the former possibility.  “Maybe we got through to him after all.”

Astarte spoke up again.  “You don’t just ‘get through’ to someone who regards himself as godlike.  Ibliss has been controlling evolution here.  He has, or believes he has, the power to destroy a planet.  That’s as far removed from the concerns of ordinary people as you can get.”

Sobek pondered this.  If it was true of Ibliss, it was triply true of the Capstone.  And yet, here was little Zu, a presumed expatriate from their divine realm.  “Ibliss may think he has been controlling evolution, but he has not.  He cannot.  The Game is nothing more than glorified domestication.  People throughout history, throughout the Galaxy, have believed themselves capable of regulating nature:  regulating economies, regulating societies, regulating ecosystems.  They have always failed.  This has been the downfall of governments, of entire civilizations.  If hubris is Ibliss’ problem, then he will fail as well.  If he can be made to see reason, to understand the problems inherent in assuming control over complex systems, then he may rethink his course of action, even relent.  And his misadventure earlier today cannot help but drive that point home to him.”

“That only works if he has the power to stop whatever he’s started,” hissed Astarte, “and if he’s willing to listen.”  There was more nodding among the assembly.  Many of them had seen him unilaterally break off the TransCom communication.

“Even gods can be reached,” said Lucipher.  “They listen to prayer.”

“Only if you believe in gods,” replied Astarte impatiently.  She was becoming agitated, and Sobek recognized desperation.  Perhaps she, too, had information she wasn’t sharing.

“What do you know about his weapon?” he asked her.

She hesitated before speaking.  “My people have some knowledge of his missile.  It is indeed supposed to be capable of destroying a planet.  If he has already launched it—which I’ve come to assume, on the basis of his last transmission—then it is beyond his capability to recall.  Even if he did care to stop it,” she said, directing this last toward Lucipher.

Sobek considered this.  “If that is the case, then why do you not think it’s a wise course of action to leave this planet?”

“Because I don’t want him taking it over.  If there is a chance that we can stop the missile, I believe we should take it.”

This brought forth some murmurs from the assembly.  “How, exactly, would we accomplish that?” asked Lucipher.

She hesitated again.  “We would…have to take control of the Fear station and use its weapons to destroy it…and, failing that, to fly it into the path of the missile.”  Then, louder, over the rising volume of the resulting uproar, “We could do this with Towhret’s help.”

“Have you been in contact with her?” asked Sobek.

“No.  I have never spoken to her.  But it is my understanding she is sympathetic to the Daughters’ cause.”

“She may well be.  As it happens, I have been expecting to hear back from her.  Excuse me while I try to raise my ship.”

Sobek stepped back from the group and activated his headset.  Immediately he received an exasperated transmission from Liliath.  He patched his headset through his chestbox so that they could understand each other.  “Sobek!  We’ve been trying to reach you for an hour!  Evidently we don’t have outgoing hails working yet!  But we seem to have two-way communication working!  Can you hear me clearly?”

“Loudly and clearly,” he said, adjusting the headset volume downward.

“You have a message from another Orrkuttssh,” she hollered.

“Towhret?”

“Yes!  That’s her!  Let me patch it through!”

Sobek tried to interrupt, but the recording was already playing.  “Sobek, this is Towhret.  Where the Sokharr are you?  Please contact me immediately.”

Once the recording was finished, Liliath came back on the line.  “Did you get that?”

“Yes, I—“

“Would you like us to call her back?”

“Yes, please,” he said, grinding his carnassials.

The call went through, and Towhret answered immediately.  “Sobek, I—“

He knew she would be angling for a way to confirm that he was himself, free of Soma influence.  “I’m good,” he replied curtly.  “What’s your status?”

There followed the familiar delay of her composing herself.  “I have deciphered a message that was logged by my ship earlier.  It was a general recall.  Ibliss has ordered all military personnel to vacate the planet and rendezvous on Dread.”

Sobek mentally reviewed the day’s events.  He was no longer sure of the hour, but clearly more than half a day had passed since he’d last spoken to her.  “How long ago was this?”

“Thirty point two hours, local time.”  Nearly a day.  “There’s more.  Just over an hour ago, a total evacuation order came down from Dread, directed at all the settlements in this hemisphere.  The resorts are in a panic, and there are caravans of transports already clearing the spaceports.  All of the spaceports are broadcasting Turn Away signals and refusing to accept any inbound traffic other than empty, turnaround-ready commuter craft that can ferry civilians out.”

“Are you assisting with the evacuation?”

There was a pause.  “No.  I am concerned that Ibliss may attempt to force-recall my Talon, and I’ve been attempting to contact you.  If it takes off on its own, I want to be aboard.  If it left without me, you would be on your own, and I would be stranded.”

Being stranded on a strange planet would not be unprecedented in Sobek’s experience, but being obliterated by a giant interplanetary missile certainly would.  “Do you think they need your help?”

“As far as I’m aware, there are always enough transports on hand to handle the population in the resorts.  As for whether they’re spaceworthy and ready to fly, I cannot say.  I could offer assistance in the nearest resort.  But I cannot travel to all of them in any reasonable time frame.”

“Contact the nearest spaceport, and offer to provide a lift to any overflow refugees.”  They would just have to trust that the local authorities were gathering up the residents in a complete and orderly manner; she couldn’t be expected to serve as traffic cop too.  “As soon as you are able, however, I need you to move toward my location.  If you can spare any fuel or launch-assist equipment, I will need it.  If you have none to spare, see if you can acquire some.  And if you have to break off, leave immediately.  Don’t risk yourself and your passengers coming here if there is no time to do so.”

“Understood.”  

“Sobek out.”

With two Talons, his options were somewhat enhanced.  If they needed to throw something in front of the missile to stop it, it might be easier with a Talon already under their control, than with a Fear station that would have to first be seized by force.

Depending, of course, on how big that missile was.

But losing his ship was not a happy prospect.  Still, as worlds go, there were worse places to be marooned.  At least this one wasn’t infested by giant radioactive flying spiders.

As far as he knew.

He returned to the assembly, and the murmur of discussion quieted down.  “We may have another ship available shortly to help.  It is currently assisting with evacuation efforts in one of the resort facilities.”

“Evacuation?” asked Lucipher.  “Does everybody else on this planet already know?”

“They do.  An evacuation order came down an hour ago.”

Lucipher turned toward the Fomig technicians.  “Has anything come through here?”

More unintelligible babble followed, accompanied by weird Fomig head-waving.  The translation:  “Nothing.  Our communications array has been going up and down for the past two hours, though.”

“Check the logs.  Now!  Contact the nearest settlements and find out what’s going on.”

The Fomigs shuffled off in their weird gait, shifting from hexapodal to quadripedal to bipedal and back again.

Sobek assumed control of the conversation again.  “I need to know what you have in the way of fuel, boosters, and launch support material.  I think our best option is to get skyward as soon as possible.  Regardless of whether it’s for flight or fight, we should be in orbit in order to deal with whatever’s coming.”

“Agreed,” said Lucipher, and Astarte nodded slightly.  “I don’t think there’s much we can do in the way of launch assist, though.  Most of our heavy-lift capability is currently deployed elsewhere in the world.”

“We need to figure it out, now.  We have at best a very few hours to get you all aboard, with any life-support materials and supplies you might need.  My ship was not designed to take on…creatures as small as you.  You will not fit into any of the seats, and I have only cargo straps to strap you in with.  And I have no idea what to do with…him.”  He indicated the wall to his left, which was the front pane of the vast aquarium hosting their resident Slurghh.

Seeming to hear this, the shadowy, angular folds of the beast—for the first time, Sobek read the nameplate, noting that it was named Khons 48763—lifted from the bed of the aquarium, and a mass of tentacles, half-resembling the spidery legs of this world’s marine crabs, spread out along that front wall.  Seen in this way, the creature was enormous, and terrifying.  As its suckers latched onto the interior glass surface, colors and lights played over its surface.  Zu detached himself from the assembly and stood before the glass, watching.  After a minute, he spoke.

“He says to open the drain and let the tank empty into the lagoon.  He will flow through the pipes and meet us outside by the ship.  He can crawl aboard and fit into any water tank on board that will accommodate his volume.”

Sobek considered asking how Khons would be able to fit through the Talon’s entry, then thought the better of it.  Given enough time, this being could probably pour itself through any opening.

Lucipher turned toward Sobek.  “A water tank will do for us Ydlenni, too.  We have flotation devices, but most of us won’t need them.  You don’t need to provide seats for us, just a fluid of a similar density to our bodies.  Just make sure there’s enough air in the tank that we can breathe until launch is complete.  After that, we may want to…leave the tank and move about a bit, if possible.”

Sobek could probably manage that.  He had never finished purifying all the water he’d pumped aboard from the lagoon, but he didn’t think that was a major consideration at this point.  There were four tanks, and he could easily dedicate two of them to passengers.  The hard part would be rigging up a structure that the primates could use to climb in to the service hatches, which were, of necessity, at the top of the tanks.  There were Dragon-sized ladders whose steps were far too separated for the monkeys to use, but then again, perhaps their arboreal days were not so far behind them that they couldn’t clamber down with those graspy little paws of theirs.

He nodded in agreement.  “What about the others?”

“The Fomig can curl up and wrap themselves around any suitably-padded beams or spars.  The Sri-Abantha can float with us.”

One of the Abanthids spoke up.  “We should have some kind of strapping or webbing to cling to in the tank, lest we all find ourselves compressed into a solid mass at one end of it during takeoff.”

“I will provide cargo netting,” said Sobek.  “I will let you determine how best to arrange and secure it, but do try not to cause any leaks in those tanks.

“Now, what of your life support requirements?  We can all breathe the same air, and we all seem comfortable in a similar temperature regime.  Is there anything else I need to provide?”

Lucipher stood, assuming the role of representative of all Eden’s life forms.  “I presume the air onboard your ship is dehumidified.  We will need water, of course, depending on how long we remain aboard.  Preferably water that we haven’t all been soaking in.”

Sobek wasn’t averse to the notion of drinking Ydlenni soup, all things considered, but he understood this concern.  “If we find ourselves in orbit for an extended time, I can humidify one or more crew compartments to suit your respirational requirements, and you can make use of my materials and supplies to arrange the compartments into suitable quarters…pending the parcelling of quarters proportionally, as there may be other refugees coming in with Towhret.  Of the four water tanks I have aboard, two have been treated and are potable.  You can ride out launch in the other two, which contain water from the lagoon which has been filtered but not chemically treated.”

“Fair enough.  What of food?  Nutritional supplements?  Medicine?”

“I suggest you pack and bring as much of that as you think you will need for a short trip.  I have plenty of raw meat on board, but no supplements that I think will work for you, and most likely none of my medicine will be of use to you.”

“Some of us do eat meat, although we abstain, by convention, during our work here, and of course have none with us,” replied Lucipher.  “But no matter, as we are not likely to be aboard long enough to require any of your personal supply.  We can load all the food that we need for a short haul, if you will provide direction as to location and storage procedures.”

“Do you have any sick or injured personnel right now that require special handling?”

“None.”

“What about your personnel at the other…Bullet Ship sites?  You have people tunnelling between the sections, yes?”

Lucipher gave a start.  “Yes, we do.  Agin will contact them and have them evacuate immediately.”

“Can any of them get here quickly, with ships capable of assisting the evacuation?”

Lucipher considered, and looked toward Agin, who replied, “There are currently three ships out.  All are utility transports, that can be rigged to carry passengers, but that will take time, as they are currently rigged for cargo.  All of our remote personnel should be able to escape, yes, but they’ll have to start scrambling now if they’re to help us get people out of here.”

“Have them do so.  If they cannot quickly transform for passengers, have them get clear of the planet.  You are in charge of coordinating air traffic, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sobek, having watched this exchange minutely, was newly impressed with Lucipher's leadership under crisis.  This might just work out well.  He turned back to face him.  “Are there any other immediate concerns?”

Lucipher shook his head.

“Then I suggest we break up the assembly into teams.  You need personnel to organize and load supplies; you need a team to perform hasty modifications to the water tanks; and you need to do this in shifts so that people can take breaks to quickly pack any belongings they wish to bring.  I have plenty of cargo space, but not much time for loading.  While this is underway, I wish to return to my ship so that I may coordinate with Towhret, check on the evacuation proceedings elsewhere on the planet, and attempt to reach Ibliss again.”

Ibliss proved unreachable.  Sobek’s TransCom station, for all he could determine, was working, but there was no response from Dread, nor any indication it was listening.  Sobek gathered cargo netting and welding equipment for the Ydlenni, briefed the mechanic team on the proceedings, and had them coordinate stowage with Lucipher’s loading team.  Then he checked in with Towhret.

“Any launch-assist materials?”

“I think the civilians here will end up using all the spare boosters.  There may be some liquid fuel left when they’re all gone, but I don’t want to commandeer any before then.”

“How much longer do you think it will take?”

Towrhet answered with a measured pace that suggested she was reading from prepared notes.  “I am just outside of Blue.  There are approximately forty thousand people left, total, in this settlement and the three to my south.  That may well be everybody in this hemisphere, at least all those that could be reached.  I cannot account for hermits living in the wild without radios.  But it is at least a substantial majority.  However, at this rate, it will take at least two more hours to get all ships away, and that’s assuming there is no riot or damage to the ports before then.  There are thirty four ships queued up to go, twenty of those here, nine at Red Sand, three at Rock Mountain and the rest at Seaport.  People are lined up in all the terminals, and are being admitted without formal ticketing, although there is an effort to identify and track everybody and keep an accurate count, and that is slowing the boarding process.”

“Understood.  Keep monitoring, and stay alert.  Have all of your functional astronomical sensors turned skyward.  Patch into the settlement’s observatory and defense screen, if you can.  Notify me the moment you detect something, then head for the sky.”  As he signed off, an unbidden line from the Combat Verses (ENERGY #21) came into his head:  “Do not seek success in your inferiors.  Victory is to be found in the situation.”

It wasn’t victory he was hoping for, however; it was survival.  There was no one to defeat here except Sokharr, the Jaws of Death Himself.

Three hours later, it was quite dark outside; the single giant moon had shrunk to a narrow crescent, and, anticipating calamity, was making itself scarce in a vast black sky.  Sixty crates of supplies and belongings had been loaded, and all but six of the Ydlenni had taken their place in the water tanks.  Sobek had stood by in quiet awe as the giant Slurghh had hauled itself out of the muddy lagoon and flowed aboard his ship.  Having slowly rolled itself into a single long tentacle and oozed into the secondary water-circulation system, it occupied one of the two raw-water tanks; the Ydlenni and Sri-Abantha occupied the other, with the Fomigs taking up an odd intertwined position around the struts securing the tank to the Talon floor.  A makeshift intercom had been installed with stations in the water tanks so that the passengers and cockpit could communicate.  The remote personnel, judging time to be too short to convert their ships for passengers, had taken off, and were on a high-orbital trajectory.  Only one of the Edenites was unaccounted for, an Ydlenni who’d been presumed to be engaged in clandestine work for the Daughters elsewhere on the planet.  Sobek had gleaned, from the smatterings of conversation that had taken place during the flurry of preparations, that Lucipher was not a member of the Daughters and was not directly involved with their operations, other than to provide the occasional cover.  Much of what went on here was carried out without his knowledge, although there was a general tacit consent, owing presumably to the environmental activism that the Daughters engaged in, which seemed frequently to benefit the Eden station’s research.

The characteristics of the unseen weapon were still unknown, and surmised only insofar as the characteristics of planet-killer missiles had been published in historical literature.  Most of the company assumed that it would be a large, multiwarhead rocket with many fusion or matter / antimatter devices to scatter over the surface, rendering the whole of the planet instantly and (for all practical purposes) permanently uninhabitable.  To Sobek, this didn’t jibe with any kind of tactical advantage that could be gained from nuking a planet.  If Ibliss was engaged in a land-grab, the damage would have to be more limited and targeted than that.  He began to despair over ever getting the whole story here. What was going on in the Galaxy that had brought Dragons to such a pass?  Why had the newsmagazines been so quaintly silent on geopolitics during his trip out here?

The Talon was now significantly heavier than it had been upon arrival, and there had been no launch assist materials in the facility suitable for use without substantial modification, for which they simply had no time.  They could expect to get to a medium-altitude orbit and rendezvous with Towhret to determine their next move, but planetary escape was impossible without whatever she might bring with her.

Lucipher, Liliath, Astarte, Agin, Ahura and Mastema were on the launch pad, inspecting the ship’s exterior and generally assisting Sobek with the final checklist before taking their places in the tank.  Zu was with them, having insisted that his small craft be stowed in the Talon’s hangar, rather than being flown by himself to safety.  “You will need me to assist with weapons and communications,” he said.

“You cannot assist with anything.  You are too small to use the controls.”

“I have this,” the mushy creature said, imitating Ydlenni well enough for the chestbox to translate, and holding up a headset with an attached tangle of wires and optical transceivers.  “It is a neural interface.  If you allow me to patch it in to your ship’s computer, I can control almost all of its systems.  I will, of course, allow you to continue to fly it.”

Sobek sensed there was a vestige of a sense of humor in this being.  Zu was still not wearing clothes, so had no pockets in which to secret the device; presumably he had been carrying it inside his own squishy abdomen (Sobek had not observed the retrieval, and cared not to imagine how it might have looked).  “Get to it now.  Liliath can assist you—“

“I do not need Liliath.  I will set up in the copilot seat, if you permit it.”

Sobek nodded, amused, and the little grrorrknn ran, surprisingly swiftly, up the ramp into the cockpit.  There was no way for a Hrorngd to sit securely in a Dragon-sized seat, but maybe the creature could self-adhere, sprout suction cups or spread itself into a paste over it.  He almost looked forward to seeing just how it would cope with liftoff’s acceleration forces.

Lucipher stood with the remaining Ydlenni at the base of the ramp, looking forlornly over the scene.  The night insects and other animals were on the move, doing their thing, oblivious to the danger from above.  It had rained earlier in the evening, and the surroundings were damp and cool, with a very light scattering of fractocumulus clouds now dimming, now revealing the bright curtain of the Galaxy.  Astarte had wanted the facility’s power supplies shut down and the site placed into total dormancy, but Lucipher had insisted that the lights should remain on, in case the danger passed and they could return.  Having automated air-traffic control would be to their benefit during landing procedures, and if the life-support and climate controls remained active, they could return to a reasonably comfortable and convenient home.

Sobek suspected that Astarte simply wanted, in this, their last look at their surroundings, to view the lagoon, the surrounding forest and the nearby meadow as they had once been, in an unlit, pristine state.  But even absent artificial lighting, this would have been impossible, given the intervening concrete and steel structures of the landing pad, communications tower and boundary fence.

He cleared his throat to get Lucipher’s attention.  The latter jumped, then groaned.  “Let us go,” he said, resignedly, and turned to go up the ramp.  He and Sobek led the others slowly up to the cockpit.

Sobek attempted to affect a comforting demeanor, but he suspected he wasn’t quite capable of pulling it off.  “You have done everything you could.  Circumstances were not subject to your control.  You got all your people out of here, and that’s what will matter tomorrow.”

Lucipher shook his head.  “You got all my people out of here.  All that will be remembered of me tomorrow is that I was running Eden when hell came to earth.”  He laughed ruefully, in precisely the same way he had during their first interview, all those weeks ago.  “They’ll probably even blame me for it.”

A call from Towhret came in on Sobek’s headset.

“Sobek, we need to move now.  I’ve just picked up readings on a very large, very close inbound object.”

“Readings from where?”

“From the settlement observatory, as well as my own radio ranging array.  Sensors all over the hemisphere have just begun squawking.  The object is approaching on the shadowed side of the planet, and is moving very fast.”

Sokharr.  “Have the civilians cleared out?”

“There are three ships left at this spaceport.  I don’t know how many are left at the others, but they had fewer to start with, so they should all be done by now.”

“All right.  We’ve done what we can.  I’m boarding my Talon now.  I should be able to monitor the missile once I get strapped in.”

“If you’re still outside your ship, you can probably see it now.  Just look up.”

Sobek, at the threshold of the cockpit, paused and looked up.  Lucipher and the others, all having heard at least some of the translated portion of his conversation, followed suit. 

A very bright white star, unfamiliar to them all and heretofore unseen from this planet, was slowly crossing the sky like a very low satellite, headed east to west.  In the few seconds they had it in view, it brightened considerably.

“Holy gods,” said Lucipher.  “That’s a missile?”

“It’s a comet,” said Ahura.

“It has no tail,” said Sobek.  “That’s an asteroid.  Get aboard.  Get into the tanks and hold on to the straps; we’re taking off immediately.”

Towhret had taken aboard six refugees, volunteers who had remained behind long enough to help get the rest of the transports away.  These included a mixed sampling of Abanthids and one Ydlenni who carried no identification papers.  “Takeoff will be high-acceleration and very violent,” she warned them.  “Find something padded in the crew compartment and wrap yourselves in it.  Cut into the seat padding and wrap up in it if you have to.  And hold on tight.  I do not wish to wipe monkey guts from the walls.”

She performed a very abbreviated launch checklist and countdown.  The refugees had helped her top off her liquid fuel tanks, but there had not been time to check coolant seal integrity or inspect the lines for damage.  It was at this point, she grimly remembered, that many hasty launches simply blew up on the pad, leaving too little evidence to explain precisely what had gone wrong to those who had to clean up the mess.

“Main engine engaged,” she said to no one in particular, not even sure if the hacked cockpit log on this ship would record her words.  She fired the primary chemical rocket at one-quarter thrust.  So far, so good; the Talon strained against its locking straps.  “Disengaging straps.”  The launchpad locks fell away and the Talon bolted skyward.  “Liftoff.”  She opened the throttle on the liquid fuel to full thrust.  In defiance of her orders, she did not launch directly skyward, but put the Talon on a course to Sobek’s last known position.

All of the settlements and some eighty-seven outbound ships had detected the sudden presence of a large solid mass in the sky.  There was an immense commotion, a babble of voices in a dozen languages over all radio channels as everybody tried to make sense of the readings and coordinate their flights in the absence of planetary flight control.  Aphep, intoxicated, lazy and indulgent of his patrons, had finally gotten his head around the situation and fled with a handful of cronies, and had forcibly jockeyed himself to the head of a long line of military and civilian ships queued for internal docking with Dread, which was facing an unprecedented set of problems of his own.  Uweh, earnest but inexperienced in emergencies, was unprepared for the onslaught, and his traffic-control staff had never dealt with civilian craft, nor so many craft at once.  The loose formation of circling ships, some already running out of fuel, looked to him like an attack wave, and an edge of despair crept into the anxiety and confusion he was already fighting.  Some few, in an effort to conserve fuel, had gone into drift mode, passively orbiting the planet, and Dread had to constantly monitor these for collision threats and stationkeeping maneuvers.

Uweh had taken the time to program the rally point and establish an automation trigger that would engage the Aten IV transfer orbit once the bridge became uninhabitable or contact with the chain of command was lost for any reason.  It was the only thing he felt he had actually accomplished, despite the barrage of orders he’d had to issue in the minutes since.  Now, as Aphep’s ship began to slip into the docking bay, he felt relief that he would soon be able to hand control back.

As Sobek took his seat, and the padded seatback merged itself around the protrusions of his tail and back fringes, he glanced over at the copilot chair to see Zu had, indeed, spread himself over the bottom surface and into the crevices of the padding.  All that was recognizeable was the head, which wore the neural interface headband and still sported the large, unfathomable black eyes of a Hrorngd, rising from the flat puddle of semisolid tissue.  As he watched, though, one arm extended from the mass, reaching an impossible distance from the seat to a large red canister mounted on the cockit wall by the seat.  The puddle stridulated, and a moment later the translation came from the chestbox:  “I can help with fire control too.  You should always have a safety officer during takeoff.  This is the manual fire extinguisher, yes?”

Sobek’s amusement deepened.  “No.  That is spider repellent.”  He pointed toward a smaller yellow canister, mounted closer to the floor.  “That one is fire extinguisher.  It is to be used only in the event of a failure of the automated system.”

There was a slight pause, then Zu replied, and this time the voice came through Sobek’s headset with no intervening stridulation.  “Understood.  Is there any other safety equipment I need to be aware of?” 

The Grey had evidently successfully patched the neural interface into the ship’s intercom, and could now think his responses directly into the audio system.  Sobek was impressed with the technology, and with the creature’s ingenuity, but didn’t like the prospect this held for control of the ship’s launch, landing and maneuvers.  “See that big black button on the console ridge between the seats?  That is the launch escape control.  If the ship starts to explode upon takeoff, and the cockpit doesn’t automatically separate from the rest of the ship, press it to launch us away from it.”

The asteroid had stopped sideslipping between universes once one of the yoked navigation computers had detected the nearby planet and realized it was on a preprogrammed collision course; the machine disengaged from the quantum units, breaking up the dispersal mode that served as a cloaking mechanism.  For several minutes, the computer attempted to break off course, but was unable to reach the engines through the firewall imposed by the quantum navigational units.  In desperation, it signalled its partner computer and fired the explosive bolts in its mounting, escaping using the rockets that had initially docked it with Nemesis prior to launch.  A moment later, the partner computer, having thus far refused to accept the urging of the other, followed suit.  The asteroid had already dipped into the upper atmosphere, and the drag dramatically slowed and curved its path downward.  It tumbled sharply as it began a steep descent.

“This will probably hurt,” said Sobek over the intercom to all hands, as the cockpit’s seats finished rotating into launch position.  Then, to himself, the ship’s log, and Zu, he counted off the final steps in the launch procedure.  “Disengaging locking clamps.” 

“You should have engaged the engine with limited thrust first,” thought Zu.  “The ship must be held stable prior to the full engagement of main engines.”

“Main engine engaged.  Full throttle.”  He stepped on the pedal.

“Engaging the main engine at full throttle while still on the launch pad will destroy the pad,” thought Zu, while vibrations roared around them and heat burst through the windshield from the rising cloud of flaming exhaust.

“Do you think we are coming back for a landing?” said Sobek gruffly as the ship punched skyward.  From the corner of his eye he could see Zu’s domed head settling somewhat into the puddle of his body, and this was somehow gratifying.  He knew in the bottom of his cold, cold heart—as well as in his other, warmer one—that there was little chance for survival now, and he wished to die in a good mood if possible.

“I see,” thought the other.  “Abbreviated launch procedures to get us airborne more quickly, by way of sacrificing a pad you believe we no longer need.”

“Yes,” he grunted.  Acceleration was rapidly increasing, and Sobek’s massive frame was being squashed into his seat, making speech difficult.  He could only hope that the others were coping at least as well as he.  “Not just airborne more quickly, but accelerating as rapidly as possible to overcome the increased mass of all my…new passengers and their supplies.  If we encounter difficulties that cost us more fuel or maneuvering capability, I want to be at least in low orbit, rather than falling to the ground, when they happen.”

Zu thought nothing over the audio system for a few moments.  Then, “Thank you.”

Finally, one of the grubby little critters from this armpit of the Galaxy had acknowledged his help.  Sobek shrugged it off.  “Can you tell how the others are doing?”  There had been no sound from the tank intercoms.

Zu paused a few seconds, then replied.  “I believe everybody is alive, but nobody is speaking, all being compressed by acceleration.  Some may have lost consciousness.”

“Monitor them as best you can, and be ready to help me with first aid as soon as we’re weightless.  I have no idea how to see to primates.”  His knowledge of the care and handling of mammals was limited to canning and refrigerator shelf life.

“I hear voices now.”  Zu thought something at the audio system, briefly amplifying the signal from the tanks so that Sobek could hear it over the engine roar.  It was chanting, as of several voices at once, from the monkey tank.  Zu superimposed a translation on the audio signal.  Look to your own duty; do not tremble before it.  Nothing is better for a warrior than a battle of sacred duty.  Although Sobek would not recognize the source—the Ydlenni Action Verses, an ancient tome of platitudes for warriors and those who awaited their return—he could understand its purpose, to strengthen the will against a danger that could be overcome in no other way. 

He nodded curtly in acknowledgement, and Zu cut the audio feed. 

“When this is all over, can you explain to me what the Sokharr is going on here?”

“I can explain it to you now.”  Sobek started to demur, wanting to focus on the launch, but the audio stream of Zu’s thought commenced, a rapid, steady blast delivered just at the threshold of his ability to hear, comprehend and retain.  It didn’t take long at all to complete the information dump.  “The Capstone have begun clamping down on economic, agricultural and scientific activity.  They are extending their control over member societies, and we believe they are increasing their consumption of member species.  Ibliss wishes to form a breakaway Republic, and if possible to overthrow the entirety of the Capstone government apparatus.  We wish to assist him in this if possible.  He does not know we are helping.  We have covered for him by altering the information feed to the God Machine so that it looks the other way.  He has managed to gather support among Orrkuttssh throughout the Galaxy, and may be in a position to conduct insurgent operations very soon.  He is using the Game, as well as some unauthorized mining operations, to finance the insurgency.”

Sobek blinked.  The rapid delivery of information deprived him of the cadence and breathing rhythm of ordinary speech, and he missed a few beats before replying.  “Why, then, does Ibliss seem to think of you as the enemy?”

“It is important that he not know we are assisting his efforts.  If he becomes aware, then the God Machine may become aware, and the whole initiative will collapse.”

“So why did they…did the Daughters sabotage his operations?”

“It is complicated.  There is not perfect agreement between all parties as to how best to be involved.  Lucipher has tried to restrain some of the others, but he does not control everything.  The Daughters take offense at the use of indigenous life in Ibliss’ schemes.  They thought it possible to disrupt that practice and encourage him to focus on the mines, without incurring his wrath.  I think they made too big a show of it.”

Sobek was once again amused, this time by the Grey’s use of the pronoun “I,” which, as far as he had been previously aware, they never used.  It was always “we.”  This one had used it at least twice so far.  “What happens now?”

“Everything is different.  The situation is evolving, as must we all.  Ibliss might be forced to begin the insurgency early.  This might spell doom for that effort.  Whatever happens there, the research materials in Eden must not be allowed to fall into Capstone hands.  If Ibliss does not destroy the planet, we might have to return to finish the job, or to recover the project.  So in answer to your earlier question, yes, I think we may have to land there again.  Eventually.”

“What project?  What exactly have you people been working on down there?”

“Immortality.  For all beings.  Not the chemical immortality of the Hrorngd, which must constantly be fed with the blood of other beings, or the artificial immortality of the Orrkuttssh, which requires long interment in a state of dormancy.  Biological immortality that enables all life forms to replenish their tissues and regenerate lost and damaged organs.  The kind of immortality that might make murder impossible, and make war obsolete.  The kind of immortality that might equalize relations between species.  The kind of immortality—“

“That utopian dreams are based on.  Haven’t you people learned enough already about pinning your hopes for behavioral perfection on technological improvements?  Animal nature is animal nature.  We’re aggressive, territorial, competitive, hierarchical, emotional, rapacious and predatory.  And hungry.  Have you never thought about that?  How are you going to feed a whole Galaxy of immortals?”

“We are scientists, Sobek.  We just answer the questions.  We let the engineers come up with the applications.”

Sobek suspected this might be another attempt at a joke.  He waited for more.

Zu continued.  “We believe that if the Capstone is decapitated, and planetary exploration can be freed up, plenty of empty worlds can be found on which to grow food enough for everybody.  If restricted markets can be freed up, then plenty of capital can be raised with which to finance the operations.  The primary goal, however, is to simply free the Galaxy of the Capstone.  For millennia they have been playing civilization against civilization, manufacturing war, shortage, economic and cultural conflict in order to exploit the situation.  This, above all else, must stop.  If another way is found, then I am agreeable to taking it.  But then, I am already immortal, if properly fed.  You are already immortal, if properly rested.  It is the other beings here who might wish—might need—to see the project through to completion.”

“As you say, we must all evolve.  My advice to you—to everybody at Eden—is to allow society the same grace.  Society evolves.  It is not created.  You do not perfect it by perfecting technology, because you cannot perfect animal nature the same way.  Our nature doesn’t evolve on technological timescales, but rather on geological.”

There was another pause.  “I do not disagree.  But I am just one voice here.  If you stay with us, you can be another.”

“I may end up staying here whether or not I wish to.”

“Indeed.  Radio ranging marks the asteroid at the top of the atmosphere.  We have less than a minute to clear the hemisphere.  There will be an electromagnetic pulse.”

They had much less than that.  The ship’s sensors were immediately overwhelmed by the brilliance of the asteroid’s passing, and the cockpit flooded with blinding light.  Radio ranging was washed out by ionization, and the ship lost track of the bolide’s position and momentum.  The computer attempted to project its path, correcting for the assumed tumble (which imposed an additional differential on the drag gradient that already existed from the top of the asteroid to the bottom, given how much of the atmosphere it penetrated), but there was no time to anticipate or automatically correct the Talon’s course.  Sobek and Zu, a quarter of a world away, were blinded and burned, shocked and terrorized beyond the capacity to react.

The descent took only seconds to complete.

As it plummeted, the asteroid compressed a column of air beneath it.  The combined incandescence of the heat of this compression and the asteroid’s surface friction vaporized clouds in a vast arc before and around it; far below, the forests and newly-spreading grasslands over the northwestern and southwestern continents burst into flame.  Its topmost portion was still well within the stratosphere when the bottommost portion plunged into the ocean just to the east of the northwestern continent.  There was just enough time for it to plow through layers of seawater and silt and make contact with the crust below before the shockwave of that impact obliterated its remaining mass. 

The resulting titanic explosion was the most violent event that had taken place anywhere within the orbit of Aten IV at any time within hundreds of millions of years, far more cataclysmic than a simultaneous detonation of the entirety of the Orrkuttssh nuclear arsenal could ever be.  A majority of the terrestrial lifeforms on the western continents were wiped out instantly by the flash, which incinerated all exposed organic matter.  The heat was only briefly mitigated by the incredible wall of water which rose around the point of impact, itself scraping the stratosphere before breaking up into mist and vapor.  Impact waves began rolling, one after another, from the site, heightened by the waves moving through the crust itself, now largely liquefied and roiling over a substantial area.

The Talon lost all electronic functionality.  For a few seconds the main rocket continued blasting it skyward, then it too failed, and the ship coasted out of control.  Shock waves from the detonation began buffeting Constrictor, driving its course southward.

Towhret, considerably more distant from the detonation, was no less traumatized.  Her eyes were burned, even through the Talon’s solar screening, beyond her ability to see the console and pilot the ship.  In desperation, she put the console into automatic mode and commanded it to get the ship clear of the hemisphere exposed to the blast.  A moment later, the ship went dead, all electrical equipment having lost power.  The liquid-fuel rocket continued burning for a moment before the fuel pumps spun down, and then the ship was a dead weight, a ballistic missile headed, still well short of apogee, on a parabolic arc toward the northern continent. 

Aphep had just entered the command lift en route to the bridge, leaving his minions to secure the shuttle, when the electromagnetic pulse hit Dread.  The station’s armor was well hardened against the phenomenon, which was an expected consequence of nuclear attack, but the docking bay, wide open and currently oriented downward toward the planet’s ionosphere, received the full effect of secondary electron emission.  The docking deck, the air-traffic control system and local life support systems all immediately failed, and cascading failures radiated outward from the bay as power couplings burned out one after another.  Worse, some twenty inbound civilian ships all lost navigational control at once, and were instantly transformed into high-velocity explosive projectiles, all aimed at the interior of the bay.  Most of the rest of the civilian craft, still in holding patterns, became dead satellites, orbiting without life support or stationkeeping functionality, a deadly curtain of high-velocity bullets barring the way between station and ground.

“I cannot see,” said Sobek.  “My eyelids are burned shut.”  The wide glassy lenses of Zu’s eyes had been glazed by the searing heat, badly blurring his vision as well.  He attempted to stridulate a response, finding the cockpit intercom useless for communication, but in his current scorched state it was impossible to do so clearly, and there was nothing capable of translating for Sobek.  He bent his mind toward the task of using the headset to contact any surviving optical and magnetic controls in the ship, in hope of salvaging pneumatic and hydraulic actuators that might correct their uncontrolled course into some semblance of a controlled glide.  As he did so, he focused his regenerative capability on his eye lenses, attempting to clear them for the landing.

Towhret tried to assure her passengers over the screaming, undampened noise of their descent, but knew they could not hear her voice.  The scarred lenses of her eyes admitted enough light for her to see the flames of reentry licking the windshields, and to know that the cockpit’s interior was still dark and unpowered.  It hurt to look, but it hurt worse to close her eyes, dragging her eyelids over the rough terrain of her eyeballs.

She meditated, finding peace in inaction.  She had never drilled in the Combat Verses, but knew some funny songs, ribald songs sung by her husband and his cronies during their revels, those moments when she, bored beyond distraction, had been compelled to be gracious and charming and pretty to help lull their deep pockets into submission.

She hummed as she fell.  She could not hear her voice over the onrush of hot atmosphere, but she could feel her resonating chambers vibrating, could feel her heartbeats falling into rhythm with the chant.

Aphep and a few hundred crew members had enough time to get to survival chambers before Dread was rocked by numerous impact events.  Each chamber combined elements of a Sleep facility with an escape pod, and could be launched in the event of a catastrophic failure, or retained aboard in the event of loss of life support, in the hope that the individual could slip into an estivatory state in time to survive. 

Some unfortunates panicked in the absence of the reassurances of command, and launched their pods into the uncertain, chaotic environment of the devastated planet below.  Aphep, Uweh and most of the command staff were in the elite chambers, on the bridge, which—as bulkheads slammed down and compartments walled themselves off from the explosive decompressions happening in and around the docking bay—separated automatically and made a controlled descent into the planet’s southern ocean.  Those who remained behind were either driven by the sudden cold into dormancy in their chambers or frozen in place as the separation completed the process of venting Dread’s remaining atmosphere into space. 

The station stabilized, however, after the final loss of life support systems; the onboard computers clamped off those from the remainder of the electrical subsystems and managed to keep the rest of it alive.  After the preprogrammed interval passed without additional command input, the failsafe navigation kicked in, breaking Dread from orbit of Aten III and sending it on a slow transfer orbit to the rally point at Aten IV.  Now a ghost ship, it would eventually join Aten IV’s existing moon, a small, irregular chip of flint, in a low, slow-decaying orbit through the ages.

Zu was expending most of his energy in fighting the ship’s fall.  His eyes were clearing, but the metabolic cost was high, and he would have to go dormant after the crash, assuming he survived. 

Then there was the glimmer of a response from the backup navigation computer.  Those portions of the ship that had been deactivated by Sobek during his attempt to stamp out Ibliss’ hacks were coming back to life, awakened by the sudden failure of the main systems.  Inactive during the electromagnetic pulse, they had been largely, but not entirely, shielded from its effects.  Over the next few seconds, crippled, barely-communicating subsystems tentatively awakened and reached out to each other, and the ship slowly came to and realized the peril it was in.

Towhret became aware that there were other voices singing along with her.  Suddenly fully alert, she glanced painfully around the cockpit and saw hazy indicator lights and actuators moving on their own, engaging the pilot’s controls in an effort to level off Pelagic.  The backup communications system was online as well, and the voices she was hearing were those of the passengers…still conscious, still able to sing.  She did not recognize the song—her translator was among the systems still not responding—but she recognized the tonality, the emotion.  The primates in the back seat were all terrified—she could smell that from here—but they were all putting on their best show of bravery, each trying to instill courage in the others.

She admired this.  She knew that if they crashed, she might eventually have to eat them in order to survive, but this would be done with regret, and with respect.

In a flurry of activity, she switched subsystems off and on, routed power flow around damaged components, and restored a handful of sensors and communications equipment.  The environment outside was pure hell—not just around her falling ship, but throughout the atmosphere—and she could get no readings at all on the ground.  But secondary ranging equipment detected falling debris all around her, some of which matched the physical signature of escape pods.  And there, almost dead ahead, less than a tenth of a arc-sphere away and falling fast, was a ship, a Talon.  Talon 32.  Constrictor. 

She gripped the stick anew in her right paw, toggled engine power switches with her left, and stomped on the fuel pedal.  After a couple of false starts, secondary fuel pumps began to spin.

The liquid fuel engine roared to life.

The cataclysm was not yet complete.  Things continued to fall from the sky:  escape pods, dead spacecraft, molten asteroid debris blasted back into space before reentering.  Before the day’s end, there would be many impact craters scattered over much of the planet.

The bottommost, coldest, oxygen-poor layer of the ocean was churned up and driven, now clouded with silt, into the shallows, suffocating those regions richest in life.  The impact site boiled incessantly, the rock below still superheated and compressed, rebounding and recoiling in violent fits; as marginally cooler water spilled back into the depression from the surrounding gulf, it too burst into steam, carrying some of that heat away while completely disrupting the normal flow of oceanic currents and the sea-level winds that drove them.

Enormous waves of seawater rolled in from the gulf, completely inundating the northwestern continent and most of the southwestern.  Others made their long way around the planet, repeatedly flooding the other continents, first in one direction and then another in their crossings.  This extinguished much of the firestorm already engulfing the western continents, but within a few minutes, the heat retained in the atmosphere itself, as well as in the rain of melted rock still falling in arcs splashed from the impact site, reignited the fires…only to be put out again when the next impact waves swept over minutes later.  A cycle of blaze and extinction followed over both continents, being repeated several times in some places.  The floodwaters washed the ashes, cinders and occasional still-intact corpse of animal and tree off the land, sweeping a half a billion years’ accumulated terrestrial biomass into the oceans, there to settle out over the course of the ensuing years as the currents gradually returned to a normal flow.

Seismic waves of various kinds, at various frequencies and of various amplitudes, traversed the planet’s interior away from the site of impact.  Some curved through the mantle; others were reflected from the boundaries of its layers.  There was no place on the planet that did not feel the impact, although some shook only after many minutes, even hours, had passed.  The quakes continued for hours afterward, the entire planet ringing like a bell in the hand of a god.  At the antipode of the impact site, compression waves met and passed through each other, fracturing the crust repeatedly as successive wavefronts collided.  Deep fissures opened, exposing the mantle to the atmosphere.  Its pressure suddenly released, it erupted explosively over a vast area, turning once-fertile terrain into a Sokharrian realm of lava flows and toxic fumes.  The eastern continent, largely unscathed by the initial impact, was within hours a site of equivalent devastation.  Nothing survived the flood of volcanic gas and pyroclasm.  A corrosive cloud of acidic vapors and greenhouse gases spread upward and outward from the site of what would become an extensive flood basalt, killing everything that breathed, long before the heat and choking dust from the opposite side of the planet was felt here.

Minerals and metals were spread, in a hot fine mist, throughout the atmosphere.  The mushroom cloud rising from the impact site was as tall as the asteroid had been long, reaching from the depths of the gulf to the top of the sky.  Iron, nickel, silicon, and iridium, and the various trace components of the minerals they had been bound in, rose in an immense smoky plume, much of which to be mixed in with the high-altitude currents of the stratosphere where they would ride for years before settling back to the surface.  The cloud would, over the course of the next few days, encircle the planet, darkening the sky, blotting out the sun, and beginning to starve what vegetation yet survived.

No large animals on the surface would survive the resulting mass extinction.  Only in the oceans, in the rivers, and in burrows along their shores would anything larger than an Ydlenni remain alive.  The decomposition of trillions of organisms, settling out in bodies of water where they had escaped total incineration, would deprive those waters of oxygen, extending the Jaws of Death even unto the bottom of Sokharr’s realm.  The extinction that resulted would claim more than three quarters of all animal and plant species living above the waters, and an even greater portion of the marine species.  These would still be dying out centuries after the impact, as cascading failures rippled through the already-weakened ecosystem.  The planet would not begin to fully recover for many thousands of years.

Only the two southern island continents were unaffected directly by the collision, but the weather effects would slowly, inexorably claim their life as well.

Sobek stood on the pebbly shore of the southern continent, looking northward across a shallow sea toward the northern continent where Eden still lay.  After a long moment, he turned westward.  There were no stars, and the moon had finally hidden itself away from the sorry scene below.  The night was pitch-black, except for the western horizon, which was ablaze; the firestorm covering the western continents, although far out of sight, was reflected off the bottom of the spreading black cloud of dust.  A monumental column of smoke, rising from a point well over that horizon, still fed that cloud, spiralling furiously in a tornadic updraft, a low-pressure center the width of an island continent.  It fed corrosive volcanic gases to the stratosphere, where they attacked and began to gradually destroy the protective ozone layer.  The surface would become, in the days ahead, even more inhospitable, as unchecked solar and cosmic radiation began to pour down.

“Hypercane,” said Lucipher, sadly, watching lightning flash through the fiery tornado, defining its shape against the suffocating darkness beyond.   There was no word for this phenomenon in Orrkuttssh, and the chestbox was useless anyway.  Sobek just stood silently, unable to say anything.

He had ferried survivors from his crash-landing to shore on his back, swimming the way his ancestors had, by long sweeps of tail and corrective paddling of paws.  It had taken several trips to get them all.  Twenty-nine of the Ydlenni had made it through; the rest had either drowned or been pulverized in the crash.  The Abanthids had survived, but the Fomigs had been pulped.  “Scrape up the tissue,” Lucipher had said with a failing voice, his throat and face badly bruised and swollen.  “If we can get them back to Eden in time, we can save them.”  Water canteens had been used to contain their pulp.

The last thing that Zu had managed to do before going dormant was use a laser scalpel to incise Sobek’s eyelids.  It hurt to move them, but he could see now.  Zu, too, had been scraped up and poured into a canteen.  “All he needs is food,” Lucipher explained.  “It may take him some time to recover, but he will regenerate.”

Khons had survived as well, but was stunned by the impact, and incapable of moving or assisting in his own removal.  The Talon was not in immediate danger of sinking, but life support systems had been put entirely out of commission by the crash, and the engines were completely destroyed.  Liliath’s mechanic crew had used gas torches to break open his tank, but he would have to recover and flow out of it on his own.

Towhret’s landing had been less damaging, and after gathering up the survivors on the shore, they determined they could use Pelagic to fly everybody back to Eden.  She assisted in removing the bodies of the dead; at Lucipher’s insistence, they were to be buried there.  The Ydlenni she harbored, one Rah, was reunited with the Eden survivors, and they huddled together, with the refugees she’d brought, on that dark shore, a tiny campfire their only warmth, as they watched the world burn far to the west.

It was some time the next day—the sun never visibly rose, but the blackness of their surroundings gradually turned red as light filtered through the dust and ash—when Khons was able to roll himself out of the tank and out of the cargo bay into the ocean.  With assistance from inflatable flotation devices, he was then able to roll into Pelagic.

Sobek and Lilath managed to repair enough of the onboard systems to provide reasonable assurance that its transponder and locator beacon would be able to lead them back, some day, to Constrictor.  Then the survivors—those still able-bodied enough—formed a work gang and offloaded as many supplies as they could to Pelagic.  Under Liliath’s guidance, they performed the same modifications that she had previously done for Constrictor, creating a survivable launch environment for the primates.  They would not be launching so violently this time, however.  There was no need to escape to space now.  There was only fuel enough—including what could be ported off of Constrictor—for a short hop to the northern continent.

There was grim talk of justice, of vengeance, of safeguarding the planet against imminent invasion.  Sobek knew this talk to be futile, or at the very least idle.  It might buck up the survivors for the hardships ahead, but for the foreseeable future, survival would be as good as it gets. 

The world was changing. 

Everybody had best get to evolving.

Wadjet awoke.  Unbidden, without a recovery signal or exterior activation, she found herself regaining consciousness.  Over the course of several hours, she came fully awake, and when her arms were able to move decisively and without tremor, she actuated the internal controls to her tomb and released herself.

There was no one to receive her.  But Sobek was gone.  After hours more of recovery and meditation, she realized that she had been dreaming about him.  Something had happened to him, and in the extremity of desperation, he had called out to her.

And she had heard him.

She made her way out of the Crypt, back to the monitoring shack.  The custodian there was shocked into near-apoplexy at her appearance.  Auto-recovery from Sleep was almost unheard-of.

Over the next few days, she resumed normal metabolic activity and began to take stock of the situation.  Sobek had been recalled to duty under clandestine conditions; the records of his disinterment were fragmentary and heavily-redacted.

But with the help of the Bek clan’s minions, and the dream-impressions she still maintained, she determined that he had been sent to Abob, and thence to Aten.  Once put on the right general course, she could eventually figure out how to retrace his steps.

Sobek’s relatives insisted that she not travel alone.  Borchuk was disinterred to accompany her.  She saw this as unnecessary, however; she would not be travelling alone under any circumstances.  Some portion of Sobek would be with her, in her dreams, guiding her toward his current position.  And aside from that, she bore life within her.  In contravention of long-standing convention, she had allowed herself to be put to Sleep while gravid.  She would find Sobek, and she would carry his sons to him.