THE GALAXYMBION ODYSSEY

“Four orbits ago was not that long,” Rilmuta Skane admonished his companion playfully.

“True, though so much has happened since then. This interplanetary space station and pleasure colony is putrid; full of verminous creatures, and I do not mean the small insects and rodents scurrying about. I refer to its dubious inhabitants.”

“I concur, Princess Sebria. Yet I am certain we have no choice but to be here. The Yoltessandrian in command was quite adamant that our Kalima IV refugees will eventually be abducted and sold into slavery if they remain on the station. He even threatened to expel the religious order protecting them if they were not removed promptly; I believe Yoltessandrians do not like their dens of iniquity being visited by Galaxymbion citizens.”

“Since this facility suffers from an assortment of filthy aromas and delinquent low-life, the feeling is mutual. Apart from that spiritual enclave this station and all its worthless denizens should be flushed down a black hole. And why do they keep staring at me?”

“Primitive carnal lust, Princess. Backward species think about it all the time; it preoccupies their waking and their sleeping almost every rev. If they can ogle a female of high quality they misguidedly think better of themselves.”

“Hideous microbes; they are all filthy, smell atrocious and even the women look like reprehensible barbarians. Don’t they have hygiene facilities on The Great Rendezvous? Huh, what an inappropriate name for a messy, pus-filled dump like this. The design is awful too; why make respectable visitors go through mall after mall of casinos, whore-houses and drinking establishments just to get to a director’s office, and then more malls of seedy ‘fun houses’ and dubious pleasure parlours to reach the only respectable district?”

“Their minds are as polluted as The Great Rendezvous itself, Princess. I believe we are not too far from the religious enclave now. It should be just around this corner, passed what they call the Gravegate Peninsula.”

“And where do the two of you think you are going?” a grotesque individual wearing ornate yet grubby clothing bellowed, drooling, whilst intentionally blocking a wide corridor, assisted by a group of assorted misfits. It was using a cheap translation device to re-sequence its speech.

“The Spiritual Enclave. You and your followers are in our way.”

“Oh, so sorry, your Highness. Forgive me, humble peasant that I am,” the putrid being rumbled, dripping with sarcasm. “Spiritual Enclave, eh? Wish to repent for your sins or have some mystic diversion? And what if I wish to detain you and your servant for some more interesting diversions? Does a Princess do it any differently from the mall whores, I wonder? And your male servant could entertain my ‘lady’ followers too, if he is obedient. Join us if you please, your Galaxymbiont majesty.”

“We do not have time for your inane diversions. Let us pass, now.”

“Shame on you, Princess. That is no way to speak to a Senator. Supreme Senator Prald Crimp of the United Straits of Plek. I have royal status here, so you mind your manners and be nice to me, Galaxymbion harlot, or I will just have to teach you a lesson or two in my personal pleasure house.”

Sebria considered her response, aware that the crude oaf in front of her was becoming more belligerent by the second, whilst his followers were gearing up for conflict also. “If you are royal then you need to learn manners also, Senator Crimp. Your tone is disrespectful and I tire of your boring attempt at conversation, your obnoxious stench and the sight of last year’s meals spilt down your clothes. Stand aside.”

Clearly the Plek Senator had never received such a challenge from a woman before and bristled with ignorant hatred. “You dare insult me and command me, Princess? I know who you are, high and mighty Princess Sebria of Caldia. Word travels fast in The Great Rendezvous. Behind me you see fifty-two gallant Plek warriors, all battle-hardened and loyal to me. My own personal bodyguard, tough men and women all. You and your servant can do nothing against such a force, so you have one last chance to be nice to me voluntarily. If you continue your challenge you will become our playthings, and we will enjoy you involuntary like. What can you do about that, Princess?”

“This,” Sebria snapped, raising her left hand above her head.

“Is that all, Galaxymbiont whore? I expected so much better from you,” Senator Crimp bellowed, producing some kind of projectile gun from his filthy cloak. His fifty-two bodyguards similarly drew weapons from hidden holsters. “Try not to damage this royal tart too much; I want to enjoy her before she dies.”

Sebria strode forward swiftly, a metallic blue staff with a central grip materialising in her hand as she walked.

“A parlour trick,” Crimp bellowed to his followers, raising his gun’s muzzle and lining up a shot at Sebria’s left arm. “Useless against my battalion!” he shouted angrily at her.

Wordlessly Sebria dropped to a crouch, the staff spinning around and above her; forwards, backwards, left and right. As it rapidly accumulated energy from the air it crackled with indigo lightning and sparks, continuing to whir and slice as Sebria leapt up from her crouching position and vaulted into the centre of Crimp’s brainless battalion. Ionisation of air particles created a haze of sharp ozone and smoke in which only the rapid indigo trails of her lance could be seen. Added to its sizzling electric sounds were gasps, yells and shrieks, clattering weapons and unconscious battalion members falling to the floor with bumps. As suddenly as it had begun there was silence and the lightning stopped. Smoke dissipated, expelled by atmospheric regulators.

Sebria stood calmly with her lance held at her side, uninjured. She was surrounded by fifty-two unconscious misfits in heaps, their broken weapons strewn everywhere. Supreme Senator Prald Crimp of the United Straits of Plek stood also, gun still in hand pointing at the Princess though with its muzzle and firing mechanism sliced off.

“How?” This was all that the Senator could manage to utter with the help of his translator.

“I am Princess Sebria of Caldia - seventh plateau penultimate grade peace-warrior of the Blue Flame, and eighth plateau ultimate grade Opal Capriccite thought master. Thank you for your diversions. Don’t ever get in my way again you silly little man. Never insult my chastity, have no more lurid thoughts about me, and never speak to me again without my permission or I will remove more than your pathetic little gun’s muzzle. And do something about the stench; you and your followers need to bathe and launder your clothes urgently.” She strode off followed by Rilmuta Skane, her lance of the Blue Flame evaporating.

“We must do this again, sometime,” Skane said to the baffled Senator as he passed. Presently he caught up with Sebria.

“That ‘parlour trick’ of yours went well. Do you think the Senator will make an incident out of this?”

“Unlikely. Most belligerent primitives, when challenged and defeated, keep quiet. Besides, my friend, I am Third of the Caldian Triumvirate now. He can complain to me if he wishes, and I will uphold my actions, as will my father and our Second.”

Rilmuta laughed gently as they left the corridor, crossing a huge, empty concourse towards the mighty carved wooden doors of Spiritual Enclave. Already there was a more pleasant emotional atmosphere and a better perfume in the air.

“What do we know of this religious order, Rilmuta?”

“Almost nothing, Sebria. Kolda-rians avoid this place as strenuously as Caldians.” He lifted a large metal ring and brought it back firmly to the door, making a resonant thud. “Quaint”, he muttered, almost to himself. “I hear footsteps; now we have the opportunity to find out why this mysterious sect is here on this iniquitous floating garbage heap.”

“Who summons the Saints of Thaliocran?” a deep voice boomed in perfect Galaxymbion. Rilmuta exchanged a puzzled glance with Sebria.

“I am Rilmuta Skane from Kolda-ra, my companion is Princess Sebria of Caldia. The Galaxymbion High Council received a message from your priesthood, advising us that you were sheltering Galaxymbion citizens. We have negotiated with the Yoltessandrians who run this station to collect our refugees and bring them home. Your message was rather cryptic; may we enter your sanctuary?”

“Yes; please wait and keep your distance from us when you enter. We carry a disease, and our appearance could offend. The door will open inward. Enter when summoned.”

“As you request, brother, monk, priest?”

“My name is Father Kajindi. I am a tertiary priest here.”

There were sounds of rattling – chains – as some ancient mechanism was worked manually from within. Slowly the massive slabs of wood swung inward, creaking and groaning on their hinges. Inside was dark, illuminated only by weak flickering flames from braziers along walls in what turned out to be a medium sized triangular hallway. Hooded priests or monks finished pulling the door chains whilst a single figure remained in the hallway centre. “You may enter now. You must keep your distance from each of us, since this disease can only transfer from host to victim when they are in extremely close proximity. Whatever you do you must not touch us.”

Rilmuta and Sebria stepped into the warm, dim surroundings. “Peace and greetings to your sanctuary, venerable priests, and thank you for assisting our citizens. I hope this situation has not inconvenienced you too much. It is understood that your order is closed and that you have virtually no contact with the outside world. Exactly how did you make contact with us and how did a religious order end up on a space station dedicated to debauchery and crime?”

“Firstly, Princess Sebria and Rilmuta Skane, it is good to meet you both. I have heard much about you and your Galaxymbion alliance, all highly commendable. To answer your curiosity, young Skane, our priesthood was hunted where we came from. Almost to extinction. About a century ago we gathered our adepts together, leaving our barbaric world and its poisonous society to its own ways. Follow me, I will take you to the Kalima IV survivors. Our priesthood chose this place for two reasons. Our own kind would not find us easily here and what better place for a priesthood to work than where spirituality is so desperately needed? Our order has perfected spiritual acuity to a high level and it is thus not difficult to perceive the outside from within our monastery. You have many questions, Sebria and Skane. We will answer them all in good time; please promise not to be perturbed by what you see here.”

“We won’t, Father Kajindi, so please do not worry; the Galaxymbion makes no prejudice. Our citizens are factual people, not given to intolerance or mindlessness. We did have a confrontation with some of this station’s locals; they had rather unpleasant intentions towards us. I was wondering how you manage to be left alone by them.”

“An understandable question, Princess Sebria. We sensed your confrontation yet knew that you required no assistance. Through this door please. Our kind are feared by most species and a space station like this is no exception. Particularly one created for dubious secular pleasures far removed from any planetary authorities. Our priesthood is not to be feared, of course, just our species; but popular misconceptions are hard to dismantle and we could not afford to reveal our physiology overtly. So, we planted the idea of an unknown fear within the station dwellers. When we contracted this disease we advised the administration also, which helped even more to encourage station dwellers to leave us alone. So, we can contemplate The Kalmek Argin in peacefulness, without their attention.”

“Kalmek? Curious; we have an ancient belief in a Godlife called Kalek. Certain beings of my acquaintance refer to the Web of Kalmek.”

“Yes, the glowsnakes of Kytonia, young Skane. Turn left please, and along this corridor. We are entering the Cathedral of Argin soon; the refugees await you there. Your Kalek is the same as Kalmek, as we understand both. Our bible, if you wish to call it such, - The Argin - is based on divine philosophies of Kalmek. We keep it in our Shrine of Thoughtful Investigations. Each of us must visit this shrine twice daily and read silently from the text every alternate day. Only a paragraph here, a page there; just enough to learn something – no more than that. The Argin codifies our many conversations with Kalmek concerning the path to deliverance from chaos. Here we are. Your refugees.”

They emerged into a large vaulted chamber, elaborately decorated and well lit. Paintings and symbols adorned every wall; representations of nebulae, planets, galaxies and equations were most evident.

“Excuse me Rilmuta, Father Kajindi; I wish to attend to the medical conditions of our refugees. Please tell Rilmuta whatever he asks.”

“Naturally, Princess. Take a seat, Mr Skane. Do not worry, I will continue to keep my distance. Now, to answer your first question. I know you voiced nothing, yet the question is in your mind. And to answer your second question, yes, we are psionically trained however only some of us have the skill. Part of being a Thaliocran adept. Ah, here is my colleague, Grand Father Eloshen Chgel. He can answer all your questions more fully than I can, even so I will remain with you if you don’t mind.” Kajindi sat and poured herbal water for Rilmuta, himself and Chgel.

“Of course, I do not mind. Grand Father Chgel, might I know if you will read my thoughts without asking?”

“I will not, be reassured,” said the stooped, cloaked and hooded figure that had joined them. “It is good you are seated, young Skane, since much that we are about to reveal will shock you. Please remain seated yet ask anything you wish. Father Kajindi tells me that you are curious about our order. No doubt he mentioned our persecution amongst our own kind. Here is the reason.” Chgel pulled back the hood of his habit, revealing -

“A thornid!” Rilmuta coughed, choking slightly on his herb-infused water. “No wonder you were persecuted. I am curious as to your beliefs and how you maintain contact with the wider universe, since you appear to be well versed in galactic affairs. Do you use any technology?”

“Your questions are reasonable, given what you know of our kind. What you may not know is that The Thaliocran Sect arose on Gelaymer several millennia ago, as part of The Clan of Green Earth. Not as long ago as the Alarni’i of your world, yet long enough. Thaliocrus was our founder; a unique Glane who thought and contemplated about life. He was the spiritual leader of The Green Earth clan and encouraged contemplation and pacifism from all clan members. Our authorities of the time repeatedly arrested him and inflicted torture, trying to break his spirit and separate him from his pacifist beliefs. They failed, naturally. During his final detention they forcibly removed his thorns and venom sacks without anaesthetic. Henceforth it was used as a torture against any citizen failing to follow the military dogma, obey the Regent’s orders or succeed at assigned military objectives.

“Thaliocrus was never seen again after that last detention, and many Glanes believe he was left to bleed to death from his injuries. Yet his spirit continued to seek out benevolent souls on Gelaymer. He appeared to people in their sleep, attracting new followers in every district - even from warlike clans. They had to form an underground movement, of course, hiding to avoid detection and persecution. Those were difficult times for believers. During our world’s last purge several cells were located and wiped out. So, we came here. Less than two hundred adepts study and have sanctuary within these walls; all that is left of a sect that once numbered in excess of twenty thousand. We have no technology, we don’t need it.

“We communicate with Kalmek and Kalmek reveals Galactic events to us. That is how we maintain contact with the outside. This disease we have picked up, you may recognise.” Chgel pulled his sleeve up, revealing an attachment of white matter along his arm. “We know this is some form of Letungexeva, yet not which type. It incubates on a host, grows to about this size and then becomes dormant, like a proto-virus, and its symptoms remain. Your scientists may wish to study it, however any attempt to remove the parasite results in extreme pain followed by death. There is something else. It seems to lead an existence independent of the temporal dimension and evidently finds our blood distasteful, hence the dormancy.”

“A similar parasite attacked my father,” Rilmuta observed.

“Mirek Taro,” Chgel prompted.

“Are you sure you have no technology here?”

“Absolutely; it is forbidden in our order. Only the Web of Kalmek can tell us of the Universe; its troubles and triumphs. You are worried that your refugees may have been infected with Letungexeva. We were careful neither to touch them nor get too close.”

“Might I enquire how you became exposed to this virus, and when?”

“We believe that an infected individual visited this station recently and spores of the virus got into the air circulating system. We started to develop these growths around three phases ago.”

Sebria returned to where Rilmuta and the two priests sat. She looked worried and shocked that the priests seated at the table were Glanes. “Father Kajindi, these refugees are not Galaxymbion citizens, though they speak our language well and are familiar with our philosophy. As far as I can ascertain their health is reasonable, considering they too are carrying a mild form of your disease. Tell me how they came to be in your protection.”

Kajindi and his older colleague seemed distressed by this news. Kajindi stood and laced his fingers together in front of him. In the cross-beams of lighting it was clear to see his Glane physiology also, but with the complete absence of thorns. Sebria wondered whether that was genetic or self-inflicted.

“Their damaged vessel docked at this station almost five phases ago. The administrators did not want injured aliens wandering around the station unsupervised, and there are no medical facilities here anyway. Besides, these Yoltessandrians are greedy and impounded the ‘Novacosm’ for their own purposes. The humans were brought directly to us without question or explanation, for us to treat their wounds and keep them out of the precincts and malls and away from the ‘salvagers’. Since we speak Galaxymbion we tried talking to them; they responded positively and upon questioning advised us they were from a Galaxymbion world. Without ‘Novacosm’ they are stuck here.”

“I have spoken to their representative. Father Kajindi, whatever these people appear to be, they are not of the Galaxymbion. At least not at this time; they are Ledaran. Humans. Their representative, Lana Walking-Eagle, talks rather coherently for a human. She refers continually to her home planet as some sort of newly transfigured paradise, though. I took microphoton scans of her, and her fellow humans. They are not of this time, or even this dimension, and all have experienced Learning Sphere education. Their knowledge of The Galaxymbion is impressive; they claim to have developed friendships with Ekrians, Kolda-rians and other Galaxymbionts. Did they tell you what happened to them?”

“In a manner of speaking, Princess Sebria. Their vessel ‘Novacosm’ was exploratory in nature. Their mission to chart interstellar space took them to a planet they called Kalima IV. From the coordinates they provided we calculated it to be in the vicinity of the Seppra-Sarkron system. They had been in Kaliman orbit only a few revs when they noticed an abandoned monastery on the surface and decided to send a landing module down to investigate. Their account becomes much foggier after that, almost sounding hysterical or drug-induced. We believe they speak the truth; their landing module was caught in some kind of temporal fracture on the planet’s surface and disappeared into what they describe as a spectrum of hazy, wild energy. Novacosm’s command module remained there for several perchrons, searching for their missing colleagues, before it succumbed to gravimetric disturbances and emerged near to this station.

“As you no doubt are aware, Seppra and Sarkron both supported extensive monastic settlements until quite recently. Their solar system was unfortunately victim to severe gravitational incongruities and spatial fractures along linear weaknesses. They collided and both monastic communities were destroyed. It would seem that our refugees are from an alternate future in which Kalima IV suffers a less violent fate, albeit with temporal after-echoes affecting their landing module and ultimately their command module. That is the account of their experience told to us by Lana Walking-Eagle.”

“They told me exactly the same version of their plight, and I have no cause to doubt their word. The question is, what to do with a group of humans from Ledara’s future? A future in which they apparently consider themselves part of The Galaxymbion?”

“We understand your dilemma, Princess Sebria,” Chgel offered. “However, we have sensed a new threat, heading for this station right now. It would appear that we have caught the attention of The Creators; they have sent their Ovalloid Seed-ship to investigate.”

“Creators?”

“Beings of immense power and knowledge, perhaps even more powerful than Kalmek itself. Kalmek knows of these beings and is troubled by them. The imminent arrival of their Seed-ship bodes ill for all of us. There is little time to act; will Omnipotence be able to carry us, the refugees from Kalima IV and any inhabitants of this station?”

“Regrettably, no to the latter,” Rilmuta offered. “I sense this Ovum now also. Barely twenty lapses will pass before it is here, bringing chaos with it. Princess, can you instruct your captain to bring Omnipotence to this section of The Great Rendezvous? We will need intermediary vessels quickly deployed. How many Aldebaran 8s or Aldebaran 9s does Omnipotence carry?”

“Five of each.” Sebria already had a communications cube in her hands. “Captain Kalana; code Vakra, immediate. Triangulate my message and bring Omnipotence to this section of the station. Launch all Aldebaran 8s and 9s ahead of you. Seven must be in quarantine mode, equip the other three as support vessels. Recovery and exit, possible full power pull-away may be required.”

“Grand Father Chgel, your people must go to the concourse right now. Our vessels will free-dock in a few moments. Father Kajindi, can you organise the refugees to one sector of the external glass? Good.” Rilmuta looked at Chgel earnestly. “Time to leave, reverence. Are you prepared to abandon your sanctuary?”

“We are always ready, young Skane. It is the way of our order to permit no attachment to physical things or places. Kalmek taught us this path to true happiness.”

Six monks entered, two taking up support of the frail Chgel, the other four directing their refugee guests. Rilmuta looked at Sebria. “My turn this time, Princess. My skills are more appropriate.”

Sebria looked around the now empty Cathedral of Argin chamber. “Agreed. Is your Niva ready?”

“Absolutely. Let’s go.” They both broke into a run, back the way they had entered. Out in the concourse they saw the Saints of Thaliocrus and, slightly separate from them the Ledarans, all watching the approaching Aldebarans and obviously wondering what manoeuvre was intended, since there were no docking portals here. Sebria talked urgently into her com cube, refining the trajectories of approaching Aldebarans. In the near distance Omnipotence loomed ever larger, sleek and beautiful.

Rilmuta stood in the middle of the concourse, lowered his head and closed his eyes. A sphere of ephemeral pink glow lifted from him, expanding to fill the concourse. Soon the priests and refugees were all within its space as it completely filled this section of The Great Rendezvous. Sebria continued directing her Aldebaran crews, who followed her instructions precisely. Each Aldebaran used cutting lasers to carve large circles in the glass. One by one these hastily bored portals fell away to space, taking air outside Rilmuta’s Niva with them. Aldebarans turned and guided their entry airlocks to the new holes along the glass observation wall, as the station’s alarms began a raucous cacophony and heavy doors sealed this section off. Protected by Rilmuta’s Niva the assembled Glanes and Ledarans were ushered through these holes and into the waiting vessels. As Aldebarans filled with fugitives they departed, and finally, only one Aldebaran remaining, Sebria and Rilmuta left The Great Rendezvous. The last Aldebaran parted from glass and headed to the waiting hanger deck of Omnipotence.

“We will be aboard shortly, Captain Kalana. Execute lockdown as soon as we are inside and warn off an incoming Ovalloid vessel. I want to give the space station some time to organise its own defences and evacuations. Do everything possible to draw attention away from The Great Rendezvous.”

As it transpired, that was easily achieved; whatever forces drove the Ovalloid were not interested in the station. Possibly they were pursuing the anachronistic humans, possibly the fugitive order of Saints of Thaliocrus. Maybe the Letungexeva virus attracted them, or Rilmuta’s possession of a Niva. As soon as Omnipotence cleared the station the Seed-ship, a featureless black oval, huge and menacing like some gargantuan cold metal egg, turned in pursuit of the Caldian vessel. Although it made no attack upon The Great Rendezvous, in turning away from that Yoltessandrian hive of skulduggery what propulsion it used impacted on the station’s shields, struts and arms. Explosions could be seen dotted across parts of the Rendezvous superstructure.

Omnipotence accelerated, banking to the left in an attempt to turn the Ovalloid’s propulsion mechanism away from The Great Rendezvous. It worked. The Seed-ship surged forward in pursuit, matching Omnipotence’s trajectory and velocity. At last clear of the station, Omnipotence rolled and pitched to Galactic south and presented its deadliest flank to the advancing mystery. Energy clusters fired in sequence, splicing space with their light and spattering the sleek Ovum with a spectrum of plasma. The black oval threat slowed and turned, rolled on its own axis and tried to outrun the next barrage, not knowing that Omnipotence had a secret weapon in its arsenal.

“Now are you glad I invited Krissmin Vorn back to serve on the vessel he commanded under my father?”

“Naturally,” Rilmuta remarked, “though I believe it was me who made that suggestion to you. Krissmin knew my father, and his father also knew mine. If Mirek showed up on our adventures, Krissmin’s presence could prove invaluable.” Rilmuta and Sebria were already on their way to the Command deck as they spoke of this. “Besides, as you just witnessed, he has some fine manoeuvres up his sleeve.”

“Indeed,” the Princess observed.