Well of Furies

Chapter 1-2

“Kirt,” Bria hissed. “And Neelee.”

Tarkos sniffed, but detected no different scent near this door. He could sample stray DNA and then use the gene sequencer and the quantum computer embedded in his body to come to the same conclusion as Bria, but he let Bria show off her superior sense of smell.

The door slid aside. They entered a trapezoidal room suffused with soft light that made the opaqued green walls seem distant and immaterial. The door closed behind them, cutting off the busy sounds of the ship.

As Bria had predicted, a Neelee and a Kirt waited within. The Neelee, a female, wore a Predator uniform—for the Neelee, Tarkos noted resentfully, this was just a simple vest. Beside her, a Kirt shifted on its eight legs. The crablike Kirt stood up to Tarkos’s chest, but was as wide round as Tarkos was tall. She had smaller mandibles around the mouth, a sure sign of her s*x, and the reddish sheen of her shell indicated she was young, probably around Tarkos’s own age. She had a shell tattoo on her back, some kind of emblem of her trade that Tarkos did not recognize. The salty sea smell of the Kirt filled the room. Tarkos liked it. It reminded him of beaches in Palestine and in California. He wondered what humans smelled like to a Kirt. Dry land? Dirt?

Tarkos and Bria both stamped their feet. This was a traditional show of honor for a Neelee, something between a salute and handshake. In response, the Neelee tapped a hoof in barest recognition of their salutation. Then she waved a small brown hand, and the room’s walls darkened even further to shield their conversation. She stood about average height for a Neelee—a head shorter than Tarkos—but was thin and lean. Something about the tilt of her head, and the way her ears stood up severely but did not quite point at them, seemed to say: you are barely worth noticing. Tarkos felt no surprise. The very name “Neelee” meant self-made. This female was a leader of the race that had founded the Alliance, and that had created the life-centered philosophy that united the species of the spiral arm. They had reason to be proud.

“I am Special Advisor Preeajitala,” the Neelee fluted in a high, soft voice.

Tarkos swallowed, making his adam’s apple chafe against his uniform. In the Corp, Preeajitala was legendary for her coldly analytical ruthlessness. He turned on his phonetic translation implants. He didn’t want to miss a word the Special Advisor said, especially given that she spoke very quickly, and Neelee tended to drop lots of ending consonants.

“Commander Briaathursiasaliantiormethessess,” Bria said, introducing herself. She waved a claw at Tarkos. “Harmonizer Tarkos.”

“This esteemed being,” the Neelee Special Advisor said, pointing at the Kirt, “is Ki’Ki’Tilish, star scientist, admirable astronomer, from the planet Kirtpau.”

Both Tarkos and Bria bowed their heads to the Kirt. Tarkos looked her over again. Why would they need to meet with an astronomer? How could anything an astronomer would tell them be more important than the mission they had just aborted? He began to consider again his original plan to voice a protest about the importance of completing their current mission. But he had only just opened his mouth when Preeajitala said, “Ki’Ki’Tilish has discovered evidence that some of the Ulltrians survive.”

Tarkos held his breath. The Kirt shrunk down a little, reflexively cringing back. The mandibles around her mouth drew tightly together. Bria huffed, and the hair along her back stood erect. Her claws went click, click, click, click as they involuntarily unsheathed and tapped at the hard floor.

Oh, thought Tarkos, I am definitely not going to insist that we finish the Rinneret mission right now.

“Where?” Bria hissed.

Preeajitala turned toward the Kirt. “Esteemed astronomer?”

The Kirt rose slightly, its mandibles waving at the air. “This one attempts, with little success, to study sunless planets, adrift between stars.” Tarkos was glad he’d turned on his phonetic translation implants, which quickly adapted to Kirt intonations. Most Kirt speech seemed to lack all vowels, turning Galactic into staccato clicks.

The Kirt lifted a claw and a hologram appeared in the center of the room. “However, an unexpected trove of data recently came to Kirtpau, from a probe that had spent many centuries exploring deep space. This one,” she gestured toward herself with a single claw tip, “had the misfortune to receive the data from the probe.”

The hologram portrayed a volume of space pricked only with the light of distant stars. Ki’Ki’Tilish spread two legs, and the hologram expanded until it filled the room, putting them all into the dark scene, as if they stood in space. “You will note the black spherical gap in the stars,” the Kirt said. “A miserable lack.”

Tarkos did see it: a round spot where nothing shone.

“Two occlusions,” Bria said. She pointed a sharp nail. At the very edge of the image, another dark circle blotted the mist of stars. That likely meant two round bodies, in deep space, far from any star and reflecting no light. Out there, moving incessantly through blackest night, they would be invisible but for what they shadowed.

“Yes,” the Kirt said. “Unfortunately, as you observe, there are two bodies. The larger occlusion is closer to the probe taking this image. It is the sunless planet. That other occlusion is a brown dwarf star that the planet orbits. Together they wander through the Galaxy. See now. See. See.”

She waved an arm. The mandibles around her mouth twitched nervously. For a moment nothing happened. Then Tarkos saw some of the stars twinkle. No, not twinkle, but rather, something shifted across the starfield, covering and then uncovering stars. A black irregular shape. As it came closer, their view changed over to an enhanced reconstructed image, revealing what radar and other sensors could find.

A ship. A ship rose from the nearby planet. But it seemed not so much a ship as some kind of flying nightmare. It had an irregular shape, which Tarkos knew meant the ship likely had interstellar probability drive. But the probability flanges that covered its surface were not the bright thin towers that covered a Neelee or a Kirt interstellar ship. They were hooked black barbs that seemed to claw at space. To Tarkos, the black craft looked like some kind of medieval t*****e instrument from humanity’s dark ages.

The monstrous form grew as it moved towards the probe. Then the ship changed shape, seething and pulsing. They watched as a bright line appeared along its underside, a door cracking open on some kind of bay.

The ship shot forward and swallowed the probe. White and blue light engulfed them. Behind the probe, the bay door began to close. In the featureless glare, something moved nearby, casting columns of pale shadow. It came closer, waving huge black legs in erratic, insectile motions.

Then, in a flash, they saw nearly all of it, before the bay door clicked fully closed, and the transmission from this lost probe ceased in a hiss of static.

The Kirt reversed the video a few seconds and then paused the image: before the probe, creeping out of the light, came a scorpion monstrosity that Tarkos had seen only in historical recordings when studying at the Harmonizer Academy: black, the size of a rhinoceros, with a metallic carapace and a festering cluster of fathomless black eyes.

An Ulltrian. One individual of the warrior race that had nearly destroyed all order in the Galaxy five thousand years before. The race that had been thought extinct since that war, when every known Ulltrian had fought to the death.

“How can we be seeing this?” Tarkos whispered.

The Kirt heard him. “The probe had hyper-radio,” she said. “Faster than light communication. It relayed its information to another probe before the bay closed and communication became impossible. The receiving probe has recently returned to us with this recording. Bad news always finds its way.”

“When?” Bria hissed.

Ki'Ki'Tilish understood Bria’s question: when had the recording been made? “With dread, this one must report, fifty-four k-years ago. Margin of error: 0.6 k-years. Most of that time passed while the secondary probe returned to Kirtpau with its data.”

Tarkos did the math in his head. Fifty four Kirtpau years would be about sixty or sixty-one Earth years.

Bria leaned forward. Her huge fangs flashed white and ominous in the glow of the hologram. “Where?”

“Yes,” the Kirt said. She waved several arms in agitation, tapping nervously at the floor. “Bad news only gets worse, as is always the way, this one knows. We can only place the probe within a cone of two degrees from the secondary probe’s location. The resulting area is a conical volume of space eight k-years in diameter at most likely limit of transmission. Margin of error: 1.3 k-years.”

“Other evidence?” Bria asked.

The Kirt shifted in place, making all eight legs tap at the floor. “There is the following unfortunate event, which is far too improbable to be other than a wretched portent: nearly all of our deep space probes have fallen silent. No doubt most have been destroyed, in a horrible and painful way.”

“Most of the Executive ships are searching this volume where the sighting likely occurred,” Preeajitala said, “as are all available Harmonizer teams. The new mission of all Harmonizers is to assist with the task to locate this wandering planet, confirm or disconfirm the presence of Ulltrians, and then determine the Ulltrian intent.”

The hologram faded. Tarkos felt relief as the lights returned, and the terrifying image of the Ulltrian disappeared. “Special Advisor,” Tarkos said, “that volume of space is huge.”

Preeajitala turned her great green and brown eyes from Bria to Tarkos. Tarkos could not read her expression, but he imagined it combined disdain with curiosity. “Perhaps that task is too demanding for you? The vastness of space terrorizes?”

“No, Advisor, but—”

“You need not fear. You will be spared the difficulty of assisting that most important of missions.”

Tarkos recognized the Special Advisor’s admonitory tone, but he could not help himself, he still protested, “But to put all our fleet, highly dispersed, in that one volume of space—is that wise?”

Again Preeajitala stared at him a long time. Now her expression seemed to Tarkos interested, even contemplative. But her ears still pointed slightly away from him, a sign that he did not merit all her attention. Tarkos swallowed and waited. Galactic culture was radically democratic. Every endeavor was cooperative and voluntary. This included even the few police, like the Harmonizer Corp, and the military, known as the Executive. Titles were honorary, and respected, but they were not guarantees of obedience. Yet all citizens knew that these defense institutions were delicately balanced: it was considered a sign of civilization and maturity to understand that debate could impede operational effectiveness. So a very fine line existed between asking tough questions and being seen as an obstacle. Those who were too often an obstacle found themselves untrusted, unsought, uninvited to the most important missions.

“Perhaps not,” Preeajitala said. “But the Alliance Council recommends this course of action be pursued.”

In other words, Tarkos thought, you don’t like it any more than I do.

The Special Advisor turned back to Bria. “Your mission is different. An unusual mission, dangerous and its virtue in doubt.”

Tarkos was surprised to see that Bria still stared at the empty space where the image of the Ulltrian had been. The fur on her back stood high. With what appeared to be titanic effort, she slowly turned her head to look at the Neelee.

“Many Harmonizers agree,” Preeajitala said, “that additional information could be beneficial. One unlikely additional source has been identified. I judge it worth pursuit. I ask you to travel to the Well of Furies. There you will contact a human named….” The Neelee Special Advisor hesitated. Finally she waved a hand and Latin alphabet spelling appeared over her head.

“Pala Eydis,” Tarkos said.

The Neelee continued without comment. “This human Pala Eydis is a secondary citizen, and thus one of only seven Galactic citizens on the Well of Furies.” The Special Advisor hesitated again. Tarkos presumed she didn’t know the s*x of Pala Eydis, and so settled for ‘it.’ “It is studying terrible truths: the development of Ulltrian technology. It has reported that the Ulltrians left an ancient account of a wandering planet pair that passed their homeworld long ago. If these wandering planets are the same as those observed by the probe, the human’s data may help us better track the trajectory of the dark worlds.”

Bria growled. “Dangerous. To depend upon a single human. No other source?”

Preeajitala flicked her ears. “The Council agrees with you. They consider a single human unreliable.”

“Hello,” Tarkos mumbled in English. “Human in the room.”

“But no other additional data source is known,” Preeajitala continued.

“We will go,” Bria said, blinking her assent.

The Neelee Special Advisor took one step toward the Kirt. “Ki’Ki’Tilish will accompany you, as will the probe that returned the information. Both will be valuable for their expertise regarding wandering planets. Also, an Alliance agreement with the OnUnAns, anciently respected, requires that one official of the OnUnAn race participate in each and any inquiry regarding Ulltrians. You will bring one OnUnAn representative with you. This representative is waiting outside the Savannah Runner. You will retrieve this diplomat from its ship immediately and accommodate it on your mission. Its counsel is to be respected but the mission must be completed with haste.”

Preeajitala turned and stepped back toward Bria. She spoke very softly, fixing first Tarkos, and then Bria, with her green and brown eyes. “Some on the Council decry this mission as ill advised. The OnAnUn members of the Council objected most strenuously.”

Tarkos had never peered so closely at the eyes of a Neelee before. The iris did not seem to have a surface. The soft folds of tissue instead reached deep into the eye. It was like looking down from orbit at a rainforest, and knowing whole worlds lived under the canopy. Once he noticed this, he found it hard not to get lost in the sight. He struggled to concentrate on what the Neelee said.

Preeajitala locked her gaze with Bria and leaned forward slightly. “You are not the best prepared team for this mission. You are not the most experienced team for this mission. You are not the team most likely to be effective on this mission.”

Tarkos frowned and drew his brows together. He looked to Bria but the Sussurat only blinked again in agreement.

Preeajitala leaned back, and spoke more loudly. “You will be provided with a starsleeve for your cruiser. The dockmaster will assist your preparations.”

The door hissed open. The Special Advisor darted past Bria and out of the room. Tarkos sighed: Neelee had a disconcerting habit of ending conversations without warning. They had no tradition for goodbyes. In Preeajitala’s absence, the walls of the room slowly grew transparent. The door softly closed.

“Prepare starsleeve,” Bria said to Tarkos. “Will retrieve OnUnAn representative.”

“Yes, Commander,” Tarkos said, surprised by her tone. She was talking to him the way she did when they were in combat: in harsh, loud growls. Tarkos started for the door, but then stopped. “Commander… what is the Well of Furies?” He could look it up, of course, but he had a hunch that it would be best to hear Bria’s answer to this query.

“Abomination,” the Sussurat hissed at him. And then, when Tarkos thought she would not say anything more, Bria added, “Origin world of Ulltrians.”

Ki’Ki’Tilish had the last word. She waved two red arms at the air, like a crab warding off some approaching danger. “This one regrets having agreed to come on this mission, and now would have preferred to die on her home planet, after having lived a little while longer.”