Space Stations Part 19

"Thirty seconds to implosion," the computer said, its voice once more flat and lifeless.

He looked down at the planet. Could he save those people? Did he want to die? Did he want to be thrown out, his existence terminated?

"Fifteen seconds to implosion," the computer said.

NO! "Computer," he snapped, "halt auto-destruct sequence, pa.s.sword E-N-V-E-L, Alpha Command One."

"Auto-destruct sequence deactivated," the computer said. "Thank you, retired Colonel Mason Envel."

He sighed, wondering what he would do next. Could he save those people on the planet and somehow save himself?

"Secondary system activated," a new computer voice said. "Automatic overrides in place. Auto-destruct sequence reactivated. Time remaining before station implosion is ten seconds and counting."

"What?" Mason said.

"Error," the Computer said. "There is a system error. All internal systems and security functions have been locked down by secondary system."

"Nine seconds to implosion," the new computer voice said.

Mason tried to find his voice, couldn't. He'd known from the beginning that he could override the auto-destruct, but until the computer had pointed it out, he didn't think he would. Apparently, someone in Central Command had thought of this possibility."

"Eight seconds to implosion," the new computer said.

"Retired Colonel Mason Envel," the Station Computer said, "you tried. You did not quit. I did not quit. We have performed our... duties... admirably."

"Seven seconds to implosion."

"No," Mason said, a bare croak, "I'm not ready yet."

"No one ever is, retired Colonel Mason Envel, not even a computer."

"Six seconds to implosion."

Mason spun back toward the viewing window, the stars, the planet. All those people would die. But weren't they dead already, he asked himself. Hadn't they made the decision to die?

"Five seconds to implosion."

Mason thought of his childhood, racing through the t.i.tanium heart of the Station, his boots echoing in the long corridors near his parents' housing unit. The stars flickering by like pinpoints of gold on his first training flight.

"Four seconds to implosion."

He realized that the Station Computer was quoting ancient poetry again, something about raging against the dying of the light. How appropriate, he thought. I want to rage."Three seconds to implosion."

Had he saved all those people on Station Omega so they could leave him like this?

Trick him like this? His mind was in overdrive, moving thoughts and images past him faster than he'd ever thought possible. No, he realized. It wasn't a trick. They knew he could stop it and they couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk the Station being taken by the Actar.

"Two seconds to implosion."

He didn't want to die, he wasn't useless. He was just old, d.a.m.n it all. That wasn't a crime, was it?

"Implosion."

Mason felt tears on his cheeks, heard the first guttural roar of an explosion in the bowels of the Station.

A nanosecond pa.s.sed, and then- It's like coming around the Moon, he thought even as the blast of fire roared towards him, and seeing the Sun for the very first time.

Serpent on the Station

by Michael A. Stackpole

Michael A. Stackpole is the author of eight Michael A. Stackpole is the author of eight Michael A. Stackpole is the author of eight Michael A. Stackpole is the author of eight New York Times New York Times New York Times New York Times best-selling best-selling best-selling best-selling Star Star Star Star Wars Wars Wars Wars novels. He's the author of thirty-two novels, including novels. He's the author of thirty-two novels, including novels. He's the author of thirty-two novels, including novels. He's the author of thirty-two novels, including Fortress Fortress Fortress Fortress Draconis, Draconis, Draconis, Draconis, the second novel in the DragonCrown War Cycle of fantasy novels. the second novel in the DragonCrown War Cycle of fantasy novels. the second novel in the DragonCrown War Cycle of fantasy novels. the second novel in the DragonCrown War Cycle of fantasy novels.

"Serpent" is the fifth story set in his Purgatory Station universe "Serpent" is the fifth story set in his Purgatory Station universe "Serpent" is the fifth story set in his Purgatory Station universe "Serpent" is the fifth story set in his Purgatory Station universe . . . .

FATHER Claire Yamas.h.i.+ta heard the tones warning of the s.h.i.+p's alarm, but only distantly. It signaled the s.h.i.+p's imminent reversion from hypers.p.a.ce. Ignoring it for a moment, she whispered a Hail Mary and fingered another bead on her rosary. She was only partway through her daily devotion, firmly in the eighth decade of rosary and contemplating the Sorrowful Mystery of Jesus' being crowned with thorns. It had become one of her least favorite of the mysteries she meditated about while saying the rosary. Even so, she forced herself to continue and complete that decade before she stopped praying.

Under normal circ.u.mstances nothing would have prevented her from finis.h.i.+ng the entire devotion, but this time the reversion tones heralded the Qian s.h.i.+p Ghoqomak's arrival at her new home. I'm so far distant from Terra that the sunlight which s.h.i.+ned on our Lord's face is not seen here yet. This she had known on an intellectual level ever since she requested the a.s.signment, but-until her actual arrival-the emotional impact of the distance from Terra had not struck her.

She frowned. It disappointed her to be so weak that a petty personal concern could interrupt her prayers. Claire kissed the crucifix on her rosary, then rose from the floor of her cabin, allowing herself a smile. She came up from her cross-legged position without using her hands, which was not easy. The pod containing her cabin ran at slightly higher than Terran gravity for the benefit of the Haxadis amba.s.sador, consort, and entourage.

She picked a piece of white lint from the shoulder of her black jacket, then pulled the garment on. With the flick of her right hand she tugged her hair free of the jacket collar and made a mental note to get her hair cut back again. She deposited her rosary into the jacket pocket, then slipped from her cabin. The door hissed shut behind her,clicking rea.s.suringly, freeing her to make her way outward to the pod lounge.

Qian stars.h.i.+ps were known to many humans as wasps because of their look. The c.o.c.kpit formed the head and the hypers.p.a.ce drive was built into the thorax. The abdomen, which could get quite long on the powerful s.h.i.+ps, was made up of pods fixed around a central core. Gravity could be adjusted in each pod, and each pod itself could be configured for anything from hauling cargo to a medical facility, machine shop, or pa.s.senger compartment.

The pod to which Claire had been a.s.signed had slightly more luxurious appointments than most pa.s.senger pods, but that was only because of the Haxadis contingent. Claire had expected to occupy a small cabin like the ones she'd been in throughout her journey, but when the Haxadissi had learned she was a Catholic priest, they insisted she take one of the empty cabins in their pod.

Claire knew that "insisted" was far too strong a word. A Qian officer had extended the offer to Claire on behalf of the Haxadissi, but from the way the Haxadissi treated her when they ran across each other, she suspected the aliens had been pressured into making room for her. The Qian clearly wanted her in that pod for mysterious reasons, and the Haxadissi had complied for reasons known only to them.

An offer of pa.s.sage from some other aliens would have made perfect sense, since the Catholic Church had forged significant alliances with a number of xenotheological sects. All of them shared a basic agreement on gradual revelation and the direct intervention of G.o.d in history, always in the person of a savior sent to redeem the preeminent species on that world. Most included a baptism of sorts, many with water, so that common ground was easy to find.

The Haxadis did have a religion, Lyshara, that involved gradual revelation and even the intervention of a G.o.d in the affairs of mortals, but there the similarities ended. Instead of dealing with Good and Evil, the Haxadis had a trio of figures that covered Good, Evil, and Justice. Justice most often came as a trickster or arbiter, serving to chasten the other two divine aspects. It often insulated mortals from divine wrath, but just as easily turned and punished mortals for their iniquity.

While at seminary Claire studied a paper that a.n.a.lyzed the Haxadis religion and tried to tie it more directly to Christianity. The author equated Justice with aspects of the Old Testament G.o.d, which was a far more persuasive argument than early missionaries had made in equating the Haxadis trinity to the Christian Trinity.

Regardless, Claire had found the comparison grossly flawed, largely because it ignored the superst.i.tious trappings that attended all other aspects of Lyshara. Her deconstruction and demolition of that paper had earned her high marks and even a kind word from Cardinal Winters.

The corridors of the Haxadis pod were roughly triangular in shape, being broader at the floor to accommodate their physiology. This actually made it easier for Claire to move through, since she could steady herself with her hands on the narrowed upper walls. She reached the lounge and found it unoccupied, which she did not mind.

Crossing the open floor, she perched herself on a padded cylinder jutting from the wall, hooking her knees around it, and watched out the viewport as reversion melted reality.

Reversion communicated many things to many people, imparting to some visions, to others nightmares. Psychologists had suggested it was because the transition from extra-dimensional existence back into the real universe was so beyond the ability of minds to comprehend, that people instinctively sought rea.s.suring or fundamental images. For Claire, a black cylinder streaked with rainbow stripes both narrow and thick simply melted into a greater darkness stippled with light and grandly splashedwith color where the system's planets...o...b..ted. The fundamental vision she sought was neither ecstatic nor terrifying, just reality.

"Thank you, G.o.d, for the safety of our journey."

Though she had kept her prayer a whisper, a hiss from the doorway suggested she had been overheard. She turned slowly, doing her best to stifle a s.h.i.+ver. To s.h.i.+ver would have been quite rude, and might have even toppled her from her Haxadis version of a chair.

But for a Terran, stifling a s.h.i.+ver would take superhuman effort.

The Haxadis amba.s.sador, her abdomen swollen with child, slithered her way into the lounge. Light glistened golden from her scaled flesh, highlighting the bands of yellow, red, and black marking her from head to toe. The pattern continued on her arms and fingers, the narrow band of yellow contrasting with the thicker bands of red and black. The scales of her abdomen were similarly colored, though slightly bleached over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly. Her face did jut into a muzzle, complete with a lipless mouth. Claire saw no hint of fangs, though she knew enough to know they were retractable and seldom seen.

Claire slowly stood, then bowed her head. "Peace be with you, Amba.s.sador Soluvinum."

The female Haxadis spared her only the slightest of glances. Her dark eyes had no warmth in them at all, and her manner remained quite cool. She slithered off to the lounge's far corner and her consort, a male, moved with her. Seated, the Haxadissi were as tall as Claire, but their serpentine tails easily measured three times the length of her legs. As they sat, they wrapped their tails around the cylindrical post from which jutted the branch where they sat.

A smaller Haxadis undulated over to Claire. It had black scales with two red stripes running down the length of its body and ivory abdominal scales. It ma.s.sed three quarters of what the amba.s.sador or her consort did, and Claire knew it to be of a caste below that of the n.o.bility. When the Haxadissi had interacted directly with Claire, it had been this creature that had been saddled with the task of buffering its masters from her.

"My mistress bids you welcome, Priest."

Claire smiled. At the start, the creature had referred to her as "priestess," which had annoyed her because of its inaccuracy. "I appreciate being shown your hospitality on the last leg of this journey. I am certain the station will be dull in comparison to this pod."

The little Haxadis c.o.c.ked its head to the right. "You have not been here before?"

"No."

"We have, on our outbound journey. This system is positioned such that it allows for a swifter, more direct route to our home than picking our way from star to star."

The little creature clasped dark stubby-fingered hands across its ivory abdomen. "The station was very nice..."

A sharp hiss by the amba.s.sador snapped the aide's head around, narrowing its nostril slits. The aide bowed its head without looking back again at Claire. "My mistress..."

"Of course." Claire smiled, again suppressing a shudder as the Haxadis sinuously sped off. She turned and looked out the viewport as the Qian station came into view. It had an official designation, but to all humans sent out here, it was known as Purgatory Station.

Purgatory Station existed out at the fringes of the Qian Commonwealth. A littleover a century and a half previous the Qian had come to Terra and told mankind that while humans had not yet expanded beyond their own solar system, they were close to discovering the secret of hypers.p.a.ce travel. The Qian offered to make Terra a protected world and integrate it into the Commonwealth, and humanity had accepted the offer.

Qian technology, as it turned out, surpa.s.sed human invention on many fronts, and the station had been built using it to its utmost. Ma.s.sive gravity generators had been focused on an asteroid and had compressed it until it became molten rock, perhaps even plasma. Computers then manipulated the gravity to shape it, tunnel it, and recreate it into the sh.e.l.l they wanted. Factory s.h.i.+ps arrived and began producing the parts needed to build it out. Before long-an eye blink in Qian terms, and less than a decade in human reckoned time-the station had come on-line and the Catholic Church had a.s.signed chaplains to it.

Another warning tone sounded as the s.h.i.+p slipped into orbit around the rocky station. The Haxadis pod shook, then lifted away from the Ghoqomak. This surprised Claire. She'd been told that she'd have to transfer to one of the cargo pods to make her way to the station, since the stars.h.i.+p was set for the quick resumption of the long run to Haxad once it had dropped the pods meant for Purgatory Station.

The Haxadissi hissed in surprise, then a viewscreen against an interior bulkhead flashed to life. A dark-eyed Qian female, pet.i.te and serene, appeared and bowed her head. She began to speak in Haxadissi. The amba.s.sador hissed angrily, then slithered out, followed by her consort and the aide.

The viewscreen went blank before Claire could ask what had happened, but this did not discomfort her. She had been destined to travel to the station on a pod, and one was as good as another. She had long since packed her personal belongings and had stowed them in a cargo pod. Aside from one small bag still in her cabin, she was ready to quit the s.h.i.+p.

Returning to her cabin, she did catch a hint of the cinnamon scent of angry Haxadissi. She'd actually smelled it fairly often, and caught herself remembering warm toasted cinnamon-raisin bread at breakfast with her family. She did her best to banish that memory ruthlessly, because homesickness so far from Terra would be impossible to cure.

The journey had taken her two months and she was truly ready for it to end. She had spent most of the time alone, which she didn't mind. Being a cleric meant folks didn't always invite her to join them for pleasurable pursuits, which was just as well because her refusal of same always seemed to suggest a moral superiority on her part.

She didn't feel morally superior, just more focused on the spiritual than the physical, and few were the contemplative and spiritual distractions on stars.h.i.+ps.

She gathered her leather attachh and frowned at the designer label. Owning such a thing went against her sense of propriety, and buying it would have run counter to her vow of poverty. Her parents had given it to her as a going away present, so she allowed herself to value it for being a gift. This far from Terra, the label will be meaningless anyway.

Claire made her way down and forward, then through a hatchway and into one of Purgatory Station's large landing bays. Above and to the right she saw a gangway extended from an upper level and the Haxadissi making their serpentine pa.s.sage across it, to be greeted by several Qian officials and other dignitaries. I can hear the outraged hissing from here.

"Father Yamas.h.i.+ta."Claire's head came around, and she couldn't hide the surprise on her face. The man addressing her had managed to say her name correctly, mas.h.i.+ng together the latter half of it. He stood nearly as tall as she did, his hair as white as hers was black and his bright eyes as blue as hers were brown. His voice came with a faint Irish accent that she found very warm and rich.

She nodded and extended a hand to him. "I am pleased to meet you. You are Father Flynn."

He shook her hand heartily, enfolding it in a strong grip. The strength of it surprised her, as she guessed he must have had thirty or perhaps forty years on her.

"Please, you'll be calling me Dennis or Flynn, that's customary between peers here."

His steady gaze invited a similar offer of familiarity, but she held back. Flynn's genial greeting had blasted through the sh.e.l.l of serene isolation she'd formed around herself. Claire suddenly realized that she was finally at her new parish, and that she would have to begin to deal with people, all manner of them. The enormity of that hit her and hit hard, shaking her.

She withdrew her hand from his grasp. "Thank you, Father Flynn. You didn't have to come greet me."

"No? Sure and the Church has not suggested we're unmannerly out this far. Truth is, I almost missed you, since I was down to the bay where your original pod was coming in. Advantage here is that coming in on the diplomatic level, you can take care of the entry forms later."

The man glanced back toward the broad tunnel leading into the station interior, then raised a hand. "Ah, here he is. Someone you'll be wanting to meet. Meresin, over here."

Claire recognized the name immediately and followed the line of Flynn's gaze even though she had no desire to do so. There, dressed in black, came the Unvorite chaplain of the Mephist faith. Tall and strongly built, he strode forward with the gait of a conqueror. Long, unbound black hair streamed back past his shoulders. At his hands, throat, and face she could see his blood-red skin, and as he smiled, he flashed black teeth. Seven black thorns jutted up through his hair, the largest sprouting from just above his hairline at his forehead, aligned with his strong, narrow nose. And his eyes, his red eyes, burned with a light she could only describe as infernal.

The Unvorite paused and executed a flawless bow. "Komban-wa Yamash'ta Claire-san."

If Flynn's familiarity had shaken her, Meresin's greeting in j.a.panese shattered her. By dint of habit she bowed in return, then looked at Flynn. "If you will forgive me, Father, it has been a long journey. Our arrival interrupted my daily devotion. I... I need to pray and rest. Please forgive me."

"Understandable, Father Yamas.h.i.+ta, right this way."

Claire held a hand up. "I've studied the station. I can find my rooms. Thank you.

And thank you for meeting me. Again, I apologize." She slipped past the Unvorite and insulated herself with the anonymous press of the crowd leaving the docking bay.

II.

Flynn frowned as he watched her go. "Well now, I wasn't thinking that was how this would start."

The Unvorite nodded, his black brows arrowing down beneath the large horn. "I didn't say anything incorrect, did I?"

"Oh, no, no, your greeting was perfect." Flynn smiled at his friend. The Mephistfaith was one that had been decried and dismissed by the Catholic Church as being wantonly hedonistic, but Meresin had always sought to do that which comfortably brought others pleasure or showed them respect. "Like as not, it's as she said, it's been a long journey. I don't know but what she's not met any Mephists before, so that might have come as a shock."

The Mephist priest laughed. "And if she spoke with your previous aide's wife, I am certain her image of me is something beyond diabolical."

The human priest nodded. "I'm thinking that could be another piece of it." There is more, though, lots more, I'm sure.

Meresin looked up toward where the Haxadissi were hissing loudly. "Then again, traveling in that pod would be enough to put anyone on edge."

"Not speaking any Haxadissi, I'm not understanding what they're going on about, but they don't sound pleased."

"It's that this is an unscheduled stop. They were on their way home, but the Ghoqomak lost a seal on its jumpdrive. Standard procedure is to get pods to port, then send a crew out to fix it. Problem is that the station doesn't have the right seals to fix the s.h.i.+p immediately, so it will be at least a week before they head out again."

Flynn raised an eyebrow. "I know the worlds of Haxad and Unvoreas are relatively close to each other, but I was not aware you spoke Haxadissi."

"I don't, my friend." Meresin pointed back along the way he had come. "The kind soul who directed me up here told me about the damaged seal and the delay. I have merely intuited the rest. The Haxadissi are not known for their patience, and a pregnant n.o.ble would seem to gain in fury as well as girth."