VII: The Ghost in Glathriel
"Let me go! God damn it, you piece of shit, let go of me!"
The Skaarj warrior had to admit, the Terran had spirit in him. Then again, all of the small-eyed, shrieking little bastards did. Fear and desperation gave them uncanny strength, even after they had been starved and beaten for weeks. The warrior had taken a peculiar interest in his band of mangled prisoners that had been festering in their cells, even to the point of learning their names and twitching his translator chip to their language so he could understand the insults they hurled at him when they thought he wasn't listening. This particular creature's name would soon be forgotten to him, anyway. All of the Terrans that he had corralled from their fallen ships would, sooner or later, meet the same fate as this one.
"Still yourself!" To emphasize the point, the Skaarj rammed his fist into the human's solar plexus. The man bent in half and made a horrible choking noise, which caused the warrior to laugh. They acted so feeble when they were struck. It was both disgusting and comical; they were so different, so inferior to his own species that he had often wondered how much of a threat they actually posed to the empire.
Grabbing the suffering human around the neck, the warrior dragged him down the ramp that led from the cells to the Red Chamber beneath the Nali castle that had been so long in his tribe's grasp. Shehu'lora, the Nali called it. The Place of Good Lore.
Meeting another of his clan at the foot of the ramp, the warrior tossed the human down like a sack of grain. It groaned at his feet, writhing, holding its stomach. "This one has not talked and will not talk," the warrior said to its companion. The other growled, nudging it with his foot. "His time is up."
The Terran pushed himself off of the mossy stone floor. Perceiving where he was, his eyes flashed with defiance and he spat to the Skaarj, "I told you, I know nothing! And even if I did, you sons of bitches wouldn't get anything out of me, anyway!"
The second Skaarj purred low in his throat. "We will give you one final chance, Terran zar'chi. Tell us if you have ever seen this particularly worthless human, and we will set you free."
The monster keyed open a hologram disk in his hand and jerked the man's head up by his blonde hair so he was forced to stare at the flickering green image.
"I don't know who she is! I've been telling you for weeks! She's not from my crew, she never was!"
The Skaarj chittered and snapped the disk closed. Meeting the eyes of his clanmate, he shrugged.
"Dispose of him. We've wasted enough time already."
The village lay as quiet and still as a stone next to the mountain lake. The wind off the water was deflected by a high rock wall that ran its perimeter around the settlement, but a path had been worn in the soft dirt next to the lake and wound its lazy way through a space in the wall and into the township. An empty fishing hut, lit by a single candle, sagged by the waterside; the bench and table inside were empty. After searching the immediate vicinity, the Marine waited for Rhiannon and Machiel to catch up and then they made their way towards the main road, which was paved with smooth white tiles that shone in the soft light of the Tarydium shard lamps lining the pathway. The three Terrans took a moment to regard the first healthy-looking settlement they had seen. Whitewashed walls, crisscrossed with dark amber beams of wood, rose around them in friendly familiarity, and the windows of several of the houses were flung open to the air, letting out the elusive smells of incense and woodsmoke. A fenced garden was planted next to one of the houses on their right, and wordlessly the Marine slipped over the fence and picked three vibrant red spheres from one of the plants growing from the tilled soil.
"What is this?" Machiel asked when one of them was placed into his hand. It was fleshy and had a smell akin to mangoes and strawberries; his mouth immediately began to water. He looked over at Rhiannon; she was staring at it mistrustfully. The Marine, in answer, lifted the bottom part of his mask, slipped the fruit into his mouth, and immediately fixed his helmet back into place.
"How do you know it's not poisonous?" Rhiannon asked. Machiel put the fruit to his lips and bit off a small part. It tasted like it smelled, acidic and fresh. "I don't think they'd grow poisonous fruit, Ries," he said with a small smile. His spirits were rising already; he felt refreshed somehow. "Just eat it," he told her.
Rhiannon's eyes fixed on the Marine; her hand suddenly clenched around the fruit and she let it drop to the ground. "We should try to find someone to help us," she said, brushing past both of them to knock on one of the doors. The sharp taps rang into the air, but no one answered, despite the cheerful golden light pouring out of the window above the door.
Machiel bit off more of the fruit, looking from the Marine to Rhiannon. What was her problem with him?
Rhiannon tried the handle of the door; it didn't budge. Sighing heavily, she threw up her hands and glared at Machiel. "Well, that's great. The lights are on but nobody's home."
She tried more doors; all of them were locked. Following the white road, she ran her hands over each and every door, tugging the polished metal knockers, trying to find some house that was open. There were none. The streets began to look the same to her and quite soon she was standing at a crossroads underneath a Tarydium lamp in the center of town.
Machiel came up beside her, leaving the Marine behind to stand near the corner of one of the buildings.
"I feel trapped," she said dully, looking at him. "We need to leave. This place gives me the creeps."
Machiel smiled, his curly hair falling into his eyes as he shook his head. "I think the entire planet gives you the creeps. Don't worry, Ries, I think we'll be fine if we stick with—"
"No."
"What?"
"We need to get away from this man as soon as possible. We can't trust him."
"But he just saved you! He saved me!"
"I didn't have any love for those Prometheus bastards either, but did you see the way he just killed them when they didn't listen to him? If I learned anything from Boothe it's that people don't help each other out on Na Pali. They use each other. If we ever become a burden for that Marine, he'll kill us just as easily as he killed Boothe and the others. Don't you use your head in these situations? He's probably keeping us around until the going gets tough and then he'll fuck us over!"
Machiel was silent for a moment, and then he shook his head. "He's a Marine. He's trained for situations like this. He's on a rescue mission for the Prometheus and I'm sure he's helping us because it's his duty to help stranded—"
"He's not a Marine!"
Her harsh whisper sent a chill up Machiel's spine. "What do you mean?"
"In the cavern," Rhiannon said, her face crumpling with something akin to fear. "When the Marine was holding the gun up to Boothe's face, the back of his shirt lifted up a little bit and there was a black bar running down his spine. I thought it was a shadow but I kept staring at it and I realized that it was an ID barcode. You know—the kind that UMS tattoos its cargo with."
"But UMS doesn't ID tag its Marines on the spine."
"Like I said. That's no Marine," Rhiannon repeated, staring at the subject of their conversation. "He doesn't even have a full suit of body armor. I don't know who he is, but I don't like the fact that we've become so dependent on him. We need to leave him behind."
The pilot sighed heavily, rubbing his palm over his face. "When do you want this to happen?"
"As soon as we can."
The Marine walked up to them. Machiel noticed with some surprise that he had his CAR in his hands.
The Marine said, "We might be too late."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Rhiannon asked.
Holding up one finger, the Marine took one step away from them. The movements of his head had stilled and he was staring straight above them, at the dark wooden roof of the house across the street. The air had stilled; Machiel noticed that he was holding his breath.
The Marine walked cautiously around the corner of the next street. Following him, Machiel started when his boot knocked against a hard piece of wood. He stopped short; Rhiannon nearly collided with him.
He had stepped on the splintered remains of a support beam that was lying in the middle of the clean white road. There was a hunk of metal a few paces to his right, and a few books were spilled here and there on the street.
"What on Earth…." Rhiannon breathed. Machiel looked up. The few pieces of rubble he had seen led to the remains of a large square building, smashed in at the middle, doors buckling in their archway frame. A small part of the front wall had held up sturdily enough, but the planks of the ruined roof stuck up at odd angles like twigs, and the side walls had tumbled down so that the street that ran past the building was completely blocked with pulpy wood and rubble and the charred remains of carved shelves and leather-bound books.
The Marine stood directly in front of the mess, peering at something in the gloom of the destroyed house.
"What's in there?" Machiel breathed.
The Marine, in answer, walked up to the building and yanked one of the leaning doors open, gesturing for them both to follow. The inside of the building had been completely gutted by a fire. The walls were blacked and smelled like ash, and the staircase that led to the upper floors had crumbled to bits.
And sitting in the middle of the destruction like an altar was a twenty-meter wide and equally as tall chunk of starship hull that sat in a crater of splinters in the middle of the ash-darkened room. It was bent and twisted and its sharp edges dug into the once carpeted floors. Upon its friction burnt surface, Machiel and Rhiannon could make out the sketched letters "US".
"I'm close," the Marine breathed reverently, putting one gloved hand on the hull. "It's here."
Machiel and Rhiannon exchanged looks. After a pause, Machiel nervously cleared his throat. "So, earlier we heard you saying that you were looking for the UMS Prometheus. Are there more people like you on Na Pali? Searching for the ship, I mean."
The Marine turned to them. "None like me," he said, and Rhiannon shuddered to hear him talk. It sounded like a warning.
"Why just you?"
The Marine gestured to the sky, visible above the jagged remains of the ceiling. "There are eyes watching out for me."
"So, ah, why do you need our help?"
The Marine cocked his head, and then a small sound came from the voice synthesizer and Machiel realized that he was laughing. "I don't," he chuckled, pushing past them and into the open air.
Machiel looked at Rhiannon. She raised her eyebrows. "See?" she mouthed. They returned to the sugar-white street, sticking close to each other and giving the Marine a wide berth as their companion surveyed the destroyed area.
"We'll have to go around," he finally said, fairly trotting down the street. When he realized that Rhiannon and Machiel weren't following him, he turned slowly, cocking his helmeted head to the side.
"Why do you need us to come with you?" Rhiannon asked bluntly.
The silence between them was punctuated by the mountain wind. From somewhere far off, a Nali rabbit calf cried out. Rhiannon could see the glow of the stars in her peripheral vision but she kept her eyes on the Marine, whose armor was glowing in the light of the lamps, polished as an opal stone.
"I think you're looking for pardon," the officer said, her nasal voice accusing. "You decided to rescue two higher-ups because you've done something wrong. Either that, or you're planning to pull the same stunt that Boothe tried to do. I'm telling you right now, whatever you're thinking, it won't work. Sooner or later we'll find out who you are and what you're up to."
Machiel, at a loss for words, ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. "Please understand," he said. "It doesn't make any sense. I mean, we're thankful to you, but all we're doing is slowing you down. There's got to be a reason for what you're doing."
"So which is it?" Rhiannon asked. "Are you looking to get on someone's good graces by playing the good Samaritan, or are you planning to set us up when we get to the Prometheus? I heard what Boothe was talking about—it's being overrun by monsters. You need some way to distract them, don't you?"
The Marine walked towards them. The helmeted head moved from one side to the other, regarding each of the Chantilly officers from behind the tinted eyepiece.
"There are two types of monsters on Na Pali." The mechanical voice was cold. "The ones you know, and the ones you don't." The gloved hand lifted to rest on the Marine's thin upper body armor. "If I have not made an attempt to kill you, you cannot rightfully regard me as an enemy." He leaned closer. "But if I ever raise my hand against you, you would be wise to cut me down where I stand. To make any other assumptions about my character and my motivations is a waste of your time."
Rhiannon spluttered for a moment, and Machiel couldn't help but smile. The Marine turned on his heel and began picking his way over the rubble. The pilot followed, leaving his officer alone in the middle of the street.
"C'mon, Ries," he said, a small laugh in his voice. "Let's just go with him."
Stumbling over the planks of wood and the collapsed walls, Rhiannon felt her face burn with anger. She wasn't used to being addressed like that. As an officer, she hated being reprimanded, and the way Worch was laughing at her made the sting all that more irritating.
"It's Officer Ries to you, Worch," she muttered as she followed the two men down the other side of the hill of rubble. When they got down to level ground again, more of the same awaited them; cheerful sky-blue lamps lighting the way down pristine white streets that wound between clean-looking houses.
But right in front of them was a low brick wall; on the other side, halfway up a gentle slope, was a tall, dark-bricked building with a stained glass window shining above a pair of double doors.
"It's a church," she said. The Marine had already hopped over the wall before the words left her mouth, and she and Machiel had to scramble to keep up. When they reached the doors, they heard the distinct sound of unintelligible muttering coming from inside. The Marine tried the elegant silver handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.
"Well, that does it—" Rhiannon began to complain, but then she shrieked and nearly fell as the sound of metal slamming against wood scared the thought right out of her mind. The Marine had hefted his combat assault rifle and was rhythmically slamming the butt of the gun against the door. After three steady, bone-shaking hits, the wood crumpled and the door swung inward.
And inside were twenty or so of the four-armed creatures that Machiel and Rhiannon had met before.
Nali, Rhiannon recalled. Inside, the church was hazy with incense smoke and glowing with candlelight. There were no pews, and the floor was made of highly polished stone. A red carpet ran up the center aisle and ended at a cloth-covered altar, upon which sprawled a lanky, brown-skinned body that seemed crushed in at the torso. Three robed Nali stood in front of the altar, and all of the others were standing, golden eyes wide, bodies visibly shaking as they stared down the Terrans. Terrified though they seemed, they did not move.
The Marine walked straight down the carpeted aisle and was finally blocked by two of the robed Nali in front of the altar. He began speaking in a strange language, his mechanical voice clicking on some of the words, and Rhiannon looked at Machiel in question.
"Does he know these guys?"
The pilot shrugged. They continued to watch the conversation unfold; some of the Nali were whispering to themselves, and at one point the Marine, after pointing at the Nali on the altar and supposedly learning what his fate had been, walked up to the altar and put his face in his hands. The third robed Nali took the Marine's elbow and led him to an antechamber off the side of the main chapel, beaconing for Machiel and Rhiannon to follow. They did, hesitantly, looking at the huge lanky forms that surrounded them like a forest of trees as they followed the Marine into another hallway. In front of them were two double doors, blocked by two more Nali. The robed Nali spoke briefly with them and then pushed the Marine forward.
The double doors opened, creaking ominously, and a fire lit chamber awaited him. The Marine walked into the room, tracking mud onto the stone floor. Machiel leaned forwards and surveyed the small space, taking note of the full bookshelves on either wall, the low table by the fireplace that was covered with potted herbs and open satchels filled with roots. A few more Nali sat in chairs around the room, and two of them stood in front of the fire, their backs to the blaze and their faces thrown into shadow.
One of the standing Nali, wearing a heavily mended cloak that looked too short on his lanky form, held up one of his hands. The Marine stopped instantly.
"Why have you come here?"
"I think you can help me," he said, his mechanical speech somewhat halting.
"What makes you think that I have it in my power to help you?"
The Marine said, "I am sorry about the dead villager on the altar. It is because of me that he has perished. It is also because of me that your houses have been destroyed. If you help me with my task, I can prevent more needless deaths."
The cloaked Nali nodded at his companion and stepped forwards.
"Welcome to Glathriel Village. My tribe and I do not reside here, but circumstances have forced us out of our own homestead. Under normal conditions, I act as a mediator between your people and my own. My name is Baran." His face was young but his eyes held quiet wisdom.
The Marine looked at him, fidgeting. Finally he inclined his head and said quietly, "My name is Myscha."
The doors closed with a bang behind the Marine and Machiel flinched. Rhiannon grabbed the back of his uniform, breathing in quickly through her nose.
"What do you suppose is so important that they discuss it without us?"
"I don't know."
Rhiannon snorted. "This is ridiculous."
"I don't mind. We can just wait quietly until this whole business is over."
"I still don't trust him, Worch."
"Give him time. He's helped us so far. And he's right, you know. If he wanted us dead he'd have killed us by now."
The officer ran her hand through her hair. She inspected her nails. The paint was peeling off. "This is such a fucking nightmare," she muttered.
Machiel turned his head over his shoulder. "Did you hear that?" he asked suddenly. Suspiciously, the congregation of Nali in the next room had all gone quiet.
"No. What was it?"
Glass breaking. A unanimous, panicked cry.
Unthinking, Machiel was already running towards the door when he was hit from behind and knocked into the wall, unconscious. Rhiannon dropped to her knees at his side as she struggled not to fall beneath the crush of bodies running towards the front door.
"Get up, asshole!" she hissed at him, slapping his face. "We have to move—hey!"
She was hoisted into the air.
Whatever was holding her turned her around; the fabric of her uniform twisted painfully under her arms.
Gritting her teeth, she found herself facing a nightmare. Its catlike eyes regarded her in a vicious stare, and it lifted its free hand up and wrapped its muscular fingers around her neck.
And started squeezing.
The Chantilly officer gasped out one breath before her vision creased and she fell, once more, into darkness.
