The Galactic Express Page 3

  The clattering horde was halfway across the docking hanger when Sali snapped their pod door closed, sealing Elden and Ramnus inside with her. Sitting next to Ramnus in the cramped pod was impossible without also sitting under him to some degree. The large man did his best to tuck his wild white beard between his legs, but there was nothing he could do to prevent his ample stomach from roaming around the pod to explore. Sali had to shift his bulk to the side to even view the display screens.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Ramnus groaned self-consciously. “It’s not my fault. There aren’t any small men in my family.”

  “Why not? Did you eat them all?” Sali asked.

  Ramnus was taken aback, knitting his bushy white eyebrows together hard enough to make a sweater.

  Sali managed to reach past him to the computer panel and its dizzying complexity of flashing lights. Her fingers hesitated, but she closed her eyes and the blue light glowed through her temples once more. A second was all she needed before activating the touchscreen and rapidly navigating a large menu of options.

  “Well? Do you know how to open the garage door?” Elden asked impatiently.

  “I hit the command already! Just wait.”

  “Are you sure you know how to fly this thing?” Ramnus asked.

  “You want to fly with the great Captain Harris? Be my guest. At least that way I’ll be able to reach the controls.”

  Ramnus looked out the window at the swarm and grimaced. “That’s alright, I’ll be patient.”

  Easier said than done, with an army of shining black creatures bounding toward them. The ones on the ceiling were maneuvering directly above and disappearing out of sight.

  “Unless of course…” Sali muttered, impatiently pounding on the touchscreen.

  “What’s wrong? Why isn’t it opening?” Elden asked.

  “… unless they already damaged the airlock mechanism to keep us from escaping. Strap yourself in, I’m lifting off anyway. We can’t let them reach our pod.”

  The escape craft lifted from its dock, jolting as it tore free of the charging wires and fuel hoses still tethered to the wall. Harris Johnson must have reached the same conclusion because his vessel had also begun to float. The Hatachi Escape Pods maneuvered smoothly, allowing them to hover in the center of the room where it would be more difficult for the buggers to reach. It was no use though—a cascade of impacts sent tremors throughout their craft, forcing them several feet downward. The creatures were dropping onto the roof from above. All it would take was a single claw puncturing through to dash any hopes of sailing through the vacuum of space. There was no more time to waste, no more luxury of doubt or regret.

  Harris Johnson didn’t hesitate. His craft accelerated straight toward the dock’s glass wall.

  “He can’t break through!” Sali yelled. “The dock will be inaccessible. Eisen won’t be able to reach the remaining pods!”

  It wasn’t clear whether Harris’ pod would be smashed to bits upon impact as an explosion of glass shards shook the entire ship around them. Then he was through—soaring into the abyss of space.

  “He’s killed them. He’s kill all of them!” Sali shouted.

  The torrent of air escaping into the vacuum carried the buggers along with hurricane force. The creatures flailed their legs helplessly as the escaping air swept them through the jagged hole in the glass. Sali gritted her teeth, pressing a lever forward to glide through the shattered wall. The relief of being free was dampened by the knowledge of Eisen and the others left behind, and no words were shared between them besides a mumbled confirmation that each was alright.

  It wasn’t until they navigated the escape pod away from the Galactic Express that they were able to turn and view the entirety of the ship they were leaving behind. That’s when they saw the true nature of the infestation.

  A thousand boneless arms greedily snaked their way around the ship, a thousand sharpened beaks gnawing on the metal exterior, a thousand yellow eyes shifting to watch them leave. The Galactic Express was embedded within the clutches of a behemoth many times the size of the spacecraft. One might think of it as spider-like, or perhaps more like a squid, if these animals were painted with the frenzied passion of a schizophrenic mind. The monster was covered in glistening chitinous plates, so black that the empty space around them seemed to glow where it outlined its writhing form. It was a part of reality that had come undone, a nightmare haunting a dreaming Universe.

  A few dozen of the arms released their hold of the spacecraft to coil their way through the vacuum. They bent across hundreds of joints to snatch the small flailing buggers and tenderly pull them back into its body. More of the swarm continued to flow freely from the creature’s many mouths as they burrowed into the Galactic Express.

  “I’ll go back for them if you tell me to,” Sali said. She sounded surprised by her own words.

  “I don’t want to die, Sali,” Elden said. “I don’t care about being a hero, I just don’t want to die.”

  “You aren’t a hero for throwing your life away,” Ramnus said somberly. “We can still protect each other, that’s got to be worth something, right?”

  There was nowhere else to go but toward the looming green planet below. Sali pressed the lever forward. The ship descended in silence, with Harris Johnson’s vessel mimicking the motion. The absence of the alarm was louder than anything, and Elden fervently wished it still rang to drown out his most unwelcome thoughts. Pieces of scrap metal, trash, and debris floated alongside them as the destructive halo spread from the decaying ship.

  No crime could deserve this as punishment, but here they were, watching the only vessel that could carry them home being dismantled before their eyes. It was hard to imagine how the situation could get any worse until the monster began to untangle its many arms from the ship. The monster pushed away from the Galactic Express, an unseen propulsion guiding its smooth pursuit as it followed the escape pods toward the planet.

  The Generated Planet

  Outlanders are so good at being criminals that they can be arrested for practically anything. All the truly ambitious ones had long ago left the surrounding exoplanets though, moving instead to the great metropolis of Pria where they could earn more by running for elected office. Prian senators generally consider those who remain in the dusty, rural Outlands to not be the best nor the brightest, although there’s a certain dignity that comes from robbing someone to their face that even the most powerful politicians must envy.

  Most crimes are punishable with fines, so your responsible citizens will pay for the crimes they’re likely to commit in the coming year ahead of time just to be safe. Some of the more entrepreneurial districts will even offer package deals, allowing someone to pay for two charges of murder and get a robbery pass for free. Nevertheless there will always remain the stubbornness of poverty, which itself is occasionally outlawed to limited degrees of success. Those who can’t pay their debt to society are sent to one of the many overcrowded prison blocks deep within the core of Pria, where the only lesson they typically learn is how to get away with it next time.

  Prison Block D14 offers a refreshing alternative. There aren’t any walls, or locks, or disgruntled coworkers waiting around the corner with a sharpened spoon. The wide open space has instead been decorated with green and graceful ferns which drape aesthetically from towers of electronic equipment. Twenty prisoners sleep here, still wearing the clothes they were arrested in. Their beds are aesthetically arranged like flower petals around the pillars of computing hardware. Cables like hanging vines tether the prisoners to the machines through bundles of delicate copper wire, inserted through their temples to interface directly with the brain.

  “They’re beautiful when they’re asleep,” purred Senator Hallum. It was the sort of voice a cat might have used while playing with his food, presumably on the premise that its humiliation enhanced the flavor somehow. The patronizing tone seemed perfectly appropriate coming from his smug, angular face, which was currently displaying a cunning
smile that made anyone who knew him involuntarily flinch whenever they saw it.

  The experimental Block D14 had been the Senator’s pride and joy for a long time. Watching his dream grow from a frightened intern hooked up in a broom closet to the magnificent facility he stood in now filled Hallum with a foreign and intoxicating feeling. Other people would identify the emotion as pride in one’s work, but given the traditionally frustrating nature of the Senator’s occupation, he was still struggling to put a name to the warmth he felt inside.

  “Beautiful? In what world?” his old friend Senator Malberry sniffed, deliberately unimpressed. “They’re the same knuckle-dragging thugs as when they were yanked from the slums.”

  Senator Malberry made an exaggerated show of inconvenience as he lumbered over a bundle of cables on the floor. No obstacle was too small for him, although to be fair it was a wonder that his spindly legs could lift him at all considering how understaffed they were; moving someone Malberry’s size was at least a four leg job.

  “Sarcasm doesn’t suit a man of your gravitas,” Senator Hallum countered briskly, refusing to allow the old warthog to dampen his victory. Hallum rose from his chair with the rigid posture of a scarecrow, turning away from the sleeping bodies to peer into the broad digital screens overhead. The broadcast displayed the same sleeping prisoners, although instead of being in their beds, a few of them appeared to be flying through space within Hitachi Escape Pods.

  “Poor bastards don’t know what they’re in for.” Malberry sighed. “Give me prison for however long over a day in your mad house.”

  Senator Hallum shook his head. “I almost envy them. Enter a prison, and you’ll leave full of hatred for the years that were stolen from you. Enter my world, and you’ll undergo the type of rebirth you and I can only dream about. They’ve already been transformed from petty criminals into daring explorers. By the time they earn their freedom, they’ll be so much more: martyrs, heroes, selfless warriors who have fought and died for their fellow man. Can you even imagine such a society, populated only by the angels who have been tested and proved they deserve to belong?”

  Malberry snorted, staring at his own reflection in a disabled monitor. He shifted his limp, greasy hair from one side of his head to the other, where it now looked like a drowned rat facing the opposite direction. “Angels don’t steal hover track batteries to lick for the thrill.”

  Senator Hallum half-turned from the screens. “Really? Which one of them—”

  “—and Angels definitely don’t try to knock their own mother off,” Malberry interrupted.

  Hallum scowled, straightening his already severe posture until his vertebra threatened to join a union. “As gratified as I am that you’ve taken an interest in my work, I’m quite sure none of my prisoners have killed their own mother.”

  “Oh no, not killed. But the poor old woman was knocked off her scooter alright. The pair of them created such a public disturbance that it took three Masks and 50,000 volts to separate them. The old broad gave me an earful about it during my last fundraiser. Besides, her daughter already had a long history of trouble making. They’re nothing but a bunch of hardened criminals, the lot of them.”

  Senator Hallum winced. What did he care what the prisoners had done? They were his now, free to do with as he liked. With a patient smile as only someone who has sat through a twelve hour meeting about legislative syntax can muster, he smoothly replied:

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to fix them. Their beauty isn’t poisoned from their past mistakes, stemming instead from their aspirations to belong to a better world. The wise will not judge a man without seeing his dreams any more than he’d judge a bird without hearing its song.”

  “When is the last time you’ve heard a bird sing in Pria without coughing?” Senator Malberry replied, unfamiliar with any poetry that wasn’t in the form of a legal loophole. “I must admit, the monsters were a nice touch though. Why didn’t you tell me this round was going to have aliens in it?”

  “The digital wraiths aren’t a permanent fixture. They’re just a bit of code I’ve been playing with to keep things interesting. I usually let the prisoners reach the planet before giving them their first test, but look how well it turned out. Eisen Germi has already taken the opportunity to earn her freedom.”

  Malberry looked away from the digital avatars and turned toward Eisen’s physical body. His sausage fingers hovered in anticipation around the feeding tube which led from her drooling mouth to the gurgling machine it was attached to. They traced their way up to the bundle of copper wires extending from the woman’s skull. Eisen moaned slightly, her closed eyes clenching a little tighter.

  “Hands off. I’m not finished with her yet,” Hallum snapped, slapping the offending hand away. “If I woke them up as soon as their avatar died, don’t you think they’d realize they’ve been tricked?”

  “Outlanders are used to not understanding things,” Malberry replied offhandedly. “They know they can’t win a race to the future, so they’d rather run the other way and pretend they’re winning the race to the past.”

  “And it is exactly those superstitions that make my program so effective.” Hallum turned back to the nearby console and began typing again. “Before she wakes, a divine spirit will visit her in the simulation. It will explain that she has been given a second chance because of her good deeds. Then, just for good measure, it will threaten her with unimaginable horrors if she crosses the Humanist laws again. She’ll then wake up in her own bed with every reason to believe the miraculous has occurred. Not a single criminal from my program has earned so much as a parking ticket since their release. Compare that with the conventional prison system, where nearly half will find themselves locked up again before the first year is out.”

  “Extraordinary. Simply remarkable. You know I’m only poking fun, old friend. The whole senate loves betting on your little game, and when is the last chance we’ve agreed with the Outlanders about anything? Speaking of, if you do decide to leave the digital wraiths in for another round, do you think that would allow you influence who the winner will be?” Malberry inquired innocently.

  Senator Hallum narrowed his eyes. “How did I know that the reason for your visit wasn’t strictly humanitarian?”

  Senator Malberry chuckled nervously, wringing his hands as far behind his back as he could reach. “Well, what about it? Don’t play coy with me, old friend. Who do you think is going to win? I know betting can be a bad habit, but there’s nothing like a bit of luck to put me into a good mood. You do want me to be in a good mood when I’m sitting on the oversight panel for your cherished Galactic Express, don’t you?”

  The hint of a smile appeared around the edge of Senator Hallum’s mouth like a lone and wilted flower in the desert. “I always want you to be in a good mood, old friend, no matter who you are overseeing. You didn’t hear it from me, but a certain Elden Thrush has been tearing himself apart ever since he let Eisen go back to her death. If any of them are going to sacrifice themselves to save the others, then he’s the one to keep an eye on.”

  “The man with the face like a lost puppy? You sure he’s not too much of a coward? Well if it’s coming from you, then I know it’s excellent advice. Yes, yes, I’ll have to think on that. Have fun with this batch, and may the best man—”

  “—may the best man die first. Good evening, Senator Malberry.”

  Senator Hallum watched his friend wobble an exit from the room before he allowed his ghost of a smile to relax into a more comfortable scowl.

  Hallum hadn’t quite been truthful about the digital wraiths, a name that he’d found in the code and hadn’t even invented himself. He had no intention of telling the oversight panel about the virus infiltrating his system, massively increasing his energy consumption since the moment it arrived. And it was definitely better that they didn’t know Hallum had already tried to purge the digital wraiths a dozen different ways with no success. It seemed as though whenever the antivirus program tracked dow
n the offending code, the intelligent program would rewrite itself into a new location and conceal its identity as part of the antivirus itself.

  Hallum stared at the screen, meeting the beady yellow eyes of one of the giant insects staring back at him. For a moment it seemed like it had been tracking his movements, although of course that was impossible coming from a display screen. How had this virus slipped through his impenetrable security to infect his precious Galactic Express?

  The silence and emptiness of outer space was disconcerting, but it was sorely missed when the scratching began. Soft, pleading, scraping, like a dog pawing at the door to be let out. Or more accurately, Elden thought, it was begging to come in.

  “There’s one on the roof that hasn’t let go yet,” Sali said in a dead-pan voice.

  How much of her brain was still human, and how much had been augmented beyond recognition? Did the same mortal fear that gripped Elden wrack her mind as well, or did artifice replace the emotional centers that filtered out that sort of noise? Elden shifted uncomfortably in the cramped space around Ramnus. It was getting hot in here, and the large man was sweating profusely. The recycled air smelled like a hair dryer full of hot dogs.

  Elden closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was back home basking in the sun. Not home on Pria, but back on his real home on the planet O8 before Amore had ever told him they were moving to the big city. Back beneath the purple skies and the brilliant blue sun which warmed endless fields of golden grain. Maybe the new planet would be like that again: a natural paradise unspoiled by the ravages of progress. Why did man ever think they needed more than that?

  “I’m taking her down toward the planet,” Sali continued. “I’ve registered an atmosphere that should fry the critter as we descend. Twenty-three percent oxygen, seventy-five percent nitrogen—that’s good. Amazingly close to Pria, actually. What are the chances?”

  “You’re the one with the calculator in your head, you tell me,” Elden said without opening his eyes.