Passage to Lahska

PASSAGE TO LAHSKA

by

Bill Dovhey

Copyright 2018

For Brenda

PASSAGE TO LAHSKA by Bill Dovhey

COPYRIGHT 2018-08-23

• ISBN 978-0-9958547-1-0 (digital) and 978-0-9958547-0-3 (print)

Cover work-up originally by Maria C. F.

0:01

STARSCOUT 409, escorting Imperial Battlecruiser TRIUMPHANT on special diplomatic mission to the Ch’rtaghi, flashed out of Hyperspace in the proximity of the Zrada checkpoint and started the return leg to Veenaga under inter-planetary drive. Although his semi-conscious body was lying safely in one of the three sealed Independent Command Modules, Communications Officer 249K-VLAS was again fighting the battle of his life.

From an unknown dimension ‘the enemy’ flashed in and out of sight never materializing long enough for him to fix their line of attack. His body slammed from side to side as each new sortie shot slivers of hot metal boring into his brain. It was no contest and he knew he was going to die.

A shuddering intake of air racked his body into wakefulness. His eyelids flickered. Gasping with each new breath, he stared out of the ICM’s port into the low light of Command Deck and the familiar surroundings of the past ten days: the wall of screens ablaze with stars curving around the forward bulkhead and the StarCube hologram floating in the centre well monitoring their trajectory back to base. The hum and clicks of fans and relays, the glowing displays inside the closed capsule delivered a dose of reassurance he greedily inhaled.

His body felt like it had been through a shredder and he was sure he had a few bruises to prove it. It was the effects of those damned Hyperspace buffer-shots. Hyperspace transit was supposed to be so horrible without them, but he knew he wasn’t the only one in his squad that got nightmares instead of the anaesthetic effect. The other problem was the faulty restraining pads in his ICM not tightening enough. Could be an issue in an emergency. Got to report it.

Well, next Hyperspace jump he just might forego the . . . Stop it! Remember, the spylog records all infractions. Just breathe deep.

This wasn’t a combat mission. Lieutenant 249K-VLAS first had to wait for communication from Commander 56HH-SIYUL in his own ICM. STARSCOUT was on autopilot under NAVCOMP’s control. VLAS could take his time. He had a lot to think about: facing up to the repercussions of this phony ‘successful’ mission and surviving the war that was programmed to follow, a war he was convinced would be terribly one-sided.

The Ch’rtaghi ships just seemed like spooks when they first came into Veenaga airspace: slick black globes without any surface features. They disappeared as soon as you took your eyes off them but they swamped all channels with their freaky message which faded in and out at random intervals.

PEOPLE OF VEENAGA WE ARE THE CH’RTAGHI YOU ARE UNDER OBSERVATION AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS

Everyone was going crazy at HQ.

The Operations Room was in pandemonium. The text and audio of the Ch'rtaghi signal loomed in and out intermittently on every monitor. Even with power cut, the voice continued at the same pace without skipping a syllable.

Martial law had already been imposed on Veenaga. The Supreme Council of Ograrchs was in Emergency Session. Duty officers were running ragged with hand-delivered messages. Lieutenant 249K-VLAS was hunched over his bank of probes playing every combination he could think of.

Major 98LL-SLAHUN barked at him from his post on the upper tier overlooking the row of consoles.

249! Did you run the full sequence on that last analysis? You’re supposed to be some kind of expert. What the Disse kind of transmitters are they using?

Sir! I'm running All-Systems programs. There's just nothing coming through on the meters. Scanning algorithms are completely extended but we're just not picking up any external power source. It must be some new kind of energy field, Sir!

Don't be an idiot, 249! There's got to be a rational explanation and you'd better find it.

249K-VLAS glared at the green letters of the vidtext on the screens of his telemetry equipment. He didn't know what to try next. Was he being set up as a scapegoat? It wouldn’t be the first time. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. The flat lifeless voices filling the room bored into his ears until they too, like the communication monitors, seemed to be reproducing the message on their own. He knew this was beyond anything they themselves were capable of. A new field of technology was being treated as just an anomalous tech-effect.

Lieutenant 249K-VLAS and the other thirty Stargrade officers on the hastily assembled Diplomatic Mission filed into the RF-proof and lead-encased bunker for their final briefing. They flashed their badges and snapped a salute to the Security and Surveillance monitor: five serpent heads that rotated in the ceiling and emitted a masking hiss.

The grouped officers stood at attention looking straight ahead. He could barely hold in the bitterness he felt at his failure to be assigned to the Battlecruiser. Ograrch General GSED-DOLGIT and Admiral JURM-KRAKH emerged from a side door. The expressions on their tanned faces were stiff and Lieutenant VLAS was shocked at the dark circles around their eyes. The assembled officers barked a salute, shooting up their right arm and clenched fist.

Victory to the New Order! Long life to the Council!

As befitted ranking members of the Ograrchy, the returned salute was more relaxed and the two took their places at the desk. General DOLGIT leaned wearily back in his chair and picked up a marker. Playing with it, he looked up. His voice carried well but lacked intonation.

These ’Chortaghese’ – and we’re still not sure what the Disse kind of life form they are – say they want a treaty to share exploration and colonization rights to the quadrant of the Outer Galactic Arm we explored last year. They say they have no interest in Veenaga or our colonies because their life-form is based on methane polymers. We don't know how true that is, but it doesn’t matter. There are gas giants in our systems too. Our new colonies on Sytra in that quadrant are completely vulnerable. The future of the Empire itself is under major threat. What else is this incursion into our territory but the beginning of some kind of invasion? That means war. Our first priority is to stall for time to gain more intelligence and mobilize to Combat Status while telling them it was part of a long-planned military exercise. Admiral KRAKH's mandate as Chief of Mission is to play along with them and their smoke-and-mirrors show and offer phony concessions for at least ten days.

VLAS cringed at the term ‘smoke and mirrors’ but masked his reaction.

"We’ve convinced them to carry out final negotiations near that black hole system in Kritus Minor. Their point of origin must be in that same sector. Battlecruiser TRIUMPHANT will have unarmed escort for this Mission. To strengthen your hand before you leave, we are putting on a little demonstration . . ."

He exchanged amused glances with Admiral KRAKH.

We’re going to use our new 'Planetbuster' to clean up a good part of the Asteroid Belt, telling them it was a long-scheduled aid-to-navigation project. Give them something to think about. First chance we get, we'll burn them so bad they'll wish they had never left their 'methane polymer' garbage dump.

He turned to Admiral KRAKH and the two of them exchanged grunts of approval.

Is that clear? Any questions?

His piercing eyes threw the bunker a fleeting glance. VLAS knew it was not for the likes of mere Stargrades to respond, let alone express any reservations, but words were burning in his mouth. If he had been given the resources on Triumphant . . . His jaw clamped shut and he continued staring straight ahead.

Very well. Since real-time communications with HQ is impossible until your return leg, you'll be totally on your own until Checkpoint Zrada. We expect you back by the fifteenth. We've let them know that if, for any reason, you don't show up by then, the ships they leave behind here will face the consequences.

He brought his hand to his mouth to mask a chuckle and looked sideways at Admiral KRAKH who nodded approvingly.

That should keep them busy, he added with a final twist to his mouth.

General DOLGIT turned to Admiral KRAKH who rose slowly to face them. His expression betrayed lively distaste at the task ahead as he launched into his message.

"Let me be very clear. Our job is just to get more information about them while we play for time with this treaty nonsense. TRIUMPHANT is being loaded with our most advanced remote-sensing equipment and highest-grade data base. You will work double shifts as needed. You know what to expect for any slacking off, but also – if the mission is a success – chest candy and extended leave to the Girly Farm."

A burble of chuckles erupted from the assembled troop.

His grin wiped off and instantly silenced the hubbub.

The Council expects every man to fulfill his duty without any kind of whining. The future of our Empire and your future in the Service is at stake. That is all. Pick up your gear for immediate boarding. Salute to the New Order!

He threw the command out at them like a challenge.

VLAS used his anger to fuel a straight-arm clenched-fist salute. His bellowing voice merged seamlessly with the others.

Glory to the Council and Destruction to our Enemies!

As they filed out of the bunker, he knew this could have been his big chance for promotion to StarCluster, but his request to be stationed on TRIUMPHANT had been rejected, ostensibly because of his lack of seniority, but he knew the real reason. He eyed the rotating serpent heads and the departing blank faces and made sure his own was in line.

After exiting hyperspace, TRIUMPHANT and STARSCOUT 409 decelerated toward the rendezvous point with the Ch'rtaghi in the newly catalogued Kritus Minor binary system: a black hole and a distantly orbiting but still autonomous blue-white star. Silhouetted against the wild colours of the event horizon, the dark orb of the Ch’rtaghi mother ship was itself like a miniature black hole. It was escorted by a smaller black globe, both de-materializing sequentially to some secret rhythm.

Inside STARSCOUT, VLAS and the other two members of the STARSCOUT crew, Commander 56HH-SIYUL and Navigation Officer 982Y-HALOR, watched the scene on the Command Deck of TRIUMPHANT on closed circuit. The Battlecruiser’s Tech officers were setting up sensors to study every physical aspect of the Ch'rtaghi ships, assess their military capabilities and glean whatever information possible about the enigmatic race commanding them which had yet to show its face. On STARSCOUT, VLAS had prepared a series of makeshift probes but knew his chances of success were minimal to non-existent.

Chief of Mission KRAKH was seated in front of the three rows of duty officers and support staff. His scowling face filled the whole screen. With a flick of his hand he gave the order to send the recognition signal on the agreed diplomatic channel dedicated to audio and vidtext only, as per the Ch’rtaghi’s conditions. The fingers of KRAKH’s outstretched left hand tapped rhythmically on the console as if conjuring up extra time for his stalling strategy. VLAS’s chest tightened.

The same flat Ch'rtaghi voice erupted from all A/V terminals accompanied by scrolling vidtext.

VEENAGA UNITS YOUR ARRIVAL IS ACKNOWLEDGED MAINTAIN PRESENT DISTANCE FROM OBSERVED SYSTEM WE ARE CONDUCTING FINAL STAGE OF ENGINEERING PROJECT ON STELLAR UNIT

KRAKH's brows knitted and he raised a finger to indicate he had something to transmit. His expression was one of restrained impatience.

This is Chief of Mission Admiral KRAKH. I bring greetings to your Excellencies from the Imperial Veenaga Council, which wishes to enter into negotiations without delay. I am sure that you consider your time as valuable as we do ours. Just what is the nature and purpose of this ‘project’?

There was not the slightest pause before the reply.

ANALYSIS INDICATES INSTABILITY OF STELLAR UNIT WITH IMMINENT SUPERNOVA POTENTIAL PROXIMITY TO CH’RTAGHI ENCLAVE INCONVENIENT ENTROPY OF BINARY SYSTEM WILL BE ACCELERATED UNDER CONTROL CONDITIONS TIME DELAY INSIGNIFICANT

VLAS heard a guffaw from HALOR sitting next to him at his station. Commander SIYUL jerked his head up and glared at him.

Save your energies for your assigned tasks, 982!

VLAS couldn’t suppress a smirk. This would go into the spy log: ‘Navigation Officer 982Y-HALOR breaches security protocols displaying lack of self-control’. What an idiot! But they now had a crucial item of intelligence about the Ch'rtaghi. How naive of them to let this breach of their own security slip by.

VLAS glanced back at the main screen. Admiral KRAKH was rhythmically thrumming the top of his console, his face a patient mask.

I see . . . Our Mission and the Council will be very interested to view whatever preliminary procedures Your Excellencies wish to present. But any radical modification of physical properties of a star involves emissions of dangerous radiation. We must insist on guarantees of security for this Mission before Your Excellencies initiate this action. Otherwise . . .

METHANE-POLYMER AND CARBON-BASED LIFE UNITS EQUALLY SUSCEPTIBLE RADIATION SHIELDING UNNECESSARY RESULTANT ENERGIES WILL BE SHUNTED BY CONTROL SYSTEMS TO INTERDIMENSIONAL NON-SPACE

A look of concentration passed veil-like over KRAKH’s face as he nodded his head slowly.

Very well . . . I am sure Your Excellencies will agree that it is always best to proceed cautiously yet trustingly in such matters. As a preliminary token of our confidence in the success of our negotiations, we will waive any further discussion of this item, in consideration of a future reciprocal exchange, of course. However, our ships must take precautions for the safety of our personnel in the event of unfortunate contingencies beyond anyone’s control and will deploy certain minimal and − ah − purely protective measures. You may proceed with your project. Admiral JURM-KRAKH signing off.

KRAKH de-activated the diplomatic channel, his face reverting to a more natural scowl and signalled with his hand to deploy the plasma radiation shields. VLAS's mouth twisted in involuntary admiration of the smooth duplicity of KRAKH's response: pretending to object to their plan, yet undoubtedly pleased to be killing time. They had also gleaned another piece of information about the possible vulnerability of their foe.

Would it matter? VLAS was stunned by the Ch’rtaghi intention to manipulate the star. The energies involved would be mammoth, far beyond their own puny capabilities demonstrated two days previously with the Planetbuster. If the event was genuine – or not – there was more to the Ch'rtaghi than ‘smoke and mirrors. Was he the only rational person on the Mission?

A shaft of blue light aimed at the star shot from the black mother ship and reached its target. For some moments it seemed to have no effect, but a shimmering wave passed over the surface of the star and a limb of incandescent plasma flared out in a long arc towards the spiral clouds of the black hole’s event horizon. The jet grew visibly thicker and pulsed like flood waters backing up a blocked channel until it became half the diameter of the star itself. Its profile started to shrink as it advanced closer to the event horizon.

VLAS glanced at the meters of his equipment on STARSCOUT. All gravimetric, magnetic field and radiation readings were unchanged, nominal. Was anything really happening out there? He turned back to the video link with TRIUMPHANT and caught a glimpse of KRAKH's fingers beating at a faster pace as his scowl deepened.

On STARSCOUT's big screen, the colours pulsing down the arm of gas being sucked into the black void were flashing faster and more brightly.

Could this really be only an elaborate show? Could all their sensors be malfunctioning or duped? He heard a muffled gasp that could only be HALOR again but it passed without any remark from Commander SIYUL.

The star was moving faster. Its bulk was visibly shrinking and elongating. The rhythm of the cataclysm increased its pulsing and the star received an explosive impulse that propelled it across the screen in a flash of blue-white light that filled the cabin. VLAS's arm whipped up to protect his eyes but the filters cut in and the screen blacked out.

When normal vision returned, he saw the black hole’s event horizon had grown beyond its original coordinates. Two blue jets shot out perpendicularly into space from its poles and where the star had existed new points of light made their appearance. But all his meters were still reading nominal!

It was a phenomenally impressive demonstration – or performance – confirming his original suspicions. Veenaga was hopelessly outclassed in this encounter, whether the event was real or staged, and this was surely only a token of their other capabilities.

On TRIUMPHANT, KRAKH scanned the monitors around him and swivelled his command chair so as to face the closed-circuit camera. His eyebrows knotted more tightly around his deep-set eyes. Knobby fists gripped the armrests. His voice was a barely contained snarl.

"Smoke and mirrors! That's all it is! Don’t fall for these hallucinations! All gravimetric, mass, X-Ray and gamma radiation readings on TRIUMPHANT are unchanged! They’re just manipulating telemetry data. We’re not sure this ‘race’ is even in the same time-space continuum as we are. Why do they keep fading in and out as if having trouble stabilizing? All reliefs cancelled. Verify and correlate all sensor data. I want a report from each Section Head before muster. Get to work! KRAKH out."

KRAKH shifted position to switch back to the diplomatic channel and VLAS was bemused by how rapidly his features changed from scowl to deferential smile. His voice took on an unctuous tone.

We congratulate Your Excellencies on such an interesting – uh – achievement. Remarkable indeed on so many fronts. It is gratifying to meet a society technologically on a par with our own and we look forward to eventual collaboration in our different fields of expertise. We would be pleased to review whatever other – hmm – phenomena you wish to present. Over . . .

OBSERVED OPERATION SUFFICIENT

On KRAKH’s face disappointment flickered momentarily.

In that case, may we begin our deliberations regarding the agreed matters under consideration. First item on the agenda . . .

On STARSCOUT, VLAS glanced warily out of the corner of his eye at his two colleagues. Commander SIYUL was whispering commands to NAVCOMP. Both he and HALOR were wearing appropriately busy expressions as they bent over their consoles betraying little reaction to the events just witnessed. He had better show himself getting busy too, although the pit in his gut was growing deeper by the minute. He was sure they didn’t have the slightest chance of survival against the Ch’rtaghi. He was trapped like a stick in a whirlpool.

The last effects of the Hyperspace buffering shots had faded away as STARSCOUT approached Checkpoint Zrada on the final leg to home base. VLAS readied himself to open the ICM on Commander SIYUL’s order. He cursed himself again for the failure of his jury-rigged probe on STARSCOUT that had to use what he considered second-rate equipment. But his assignment to STARSCOUT wasn’t unexpected. His parents had been ‘politicos’, among the last hold-outs in the Dissident Wipe-up campaign of 2948-37. He’d worked hard to try to live down his ‘tainted’ background but it had all come to nothing.

So what! if the Mission had its phony ‘treaty’ wrapped up as neat as tinklefoil and a little more data on the location of the Ch’rtaghi’s home world. They had learned virtually nothing more about the Ch’rtaghi themselves. It was obvious to him that Veenaga was hopelessly outclassed. In addition, he hadn’t been able to come up with any kind of plan for surviving the forthcoming war he knew was doomed to failure.

What the Disse!

The Emergency Communications board suddenly lit up and a siren began a staccato squeal. A signal from Checkpoint Zrada was being picked up but was strangely distorted. His operations screen started flashing: TOP-PRIORITY MESSAGE RECEIVED"

What was going on!? That was ‘SuperCrypt’! Right. Switching on. Accepting call, voice and video.

Over the ICM’s intercom SIYUL shouted.

What are you waiting for, 249? Bring it up on main screen!

Hear you, Sir! Decrypting and switching over to main channel. Some kind of interference. Maximum boost.

The familiar hawk-like face of Ograrch DOLGIT spluttered onto the screen. There was also no mistaking the look of a dying man: sullen expressionless eyes, hollow pock-marked cheeks.

"Attention TRIUMPHANT . . . You know . . . I am. This . . . Triple Black Alert – NAVCOMP Priority Code X999 . . . Repeat . . . ode X999. Do not proceed Veenaga. Re . . . not proceed Veenaga . . . attacked . . . ago with biological weapons. Rapid and . . . effectiveness. I am one . . . the last survivors. Human life forms . . . xtinct. Visual verification . . . news sources . . . You are now . . . your own. Save yourselves . . . can. DOLGI . . . out."

VLAS's residual grogginess vanished as if his brain had been seared by a laser. Stomach churning, VLAS was sure the message was genuine because even though the A/V was out of sync he knew enough lip-reading to verify most of the feebly articulated words.

Snippets of video followed showing streets full of panicking people and massive riots in the cities, body-strewn parks and hospitals besieged by clawing mobs; then, panels of scientists who, themselves dying, were desperately trying to fathom what was happening to their race.

. . . and while the physiology of . . . form seems quite simple, its toxicity . . . to reproduce quickly, and adapt to . . . immunological and pharmacol . . . defences are beyond our ability to even . . .

"BLACK ALERT OVERRIDE. BATTLE STATIONS. MULTIPLE TARGETS APPROACHING EXTREME SENSOR RANGE. CO-ORDINATES BTD 352 VELOCITY POINT 2C. HOSTILITY FACTOR POINT 99. ACTIVATING INDEPENDENT COMMAND MODULE PROGRAMMING. COMMENCING HYPERDRIVE ESCAPE MANOUVRES. INITIATING NARCON MEDICATION."

On a screen inside his Command Module, full-spectrum radar painted a diamond pattern of twenty black balls streaming toward them blinking in stroboscopic rhythm. TRIUMPHANT was already responding with red Q-Field beams but they froze in mid-space around the Ch’rtaghi formation without reaching any target.

VLAS contemplated the chaos on the screen in front of him as though in a trance. While a part of him was gripped in panic, a startling exhilaration exploded inside his gut.

Now he’d show them how ‘tainted’ he really was!

All the shouts and commands in his ears dropped away.

He lunged for the spylog tablet on the armrest and jammed it against the injector needle that was emerging to fire the anti-Hyperspace drug into his upper arm. It unloaded itself instead into the thick metaplastic casing. His action would be reported – to who? − and his chest swelled with satisfaction.

The first blast hit his ship two deci-secs before transit to Hyperspace. The whole hull shook and bounced in the wash of the shock wave, but he knew it was only a glancing blow. In the almost total darkness of the ICM he stared numbly at the numbers reeling off on the red display. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. If they closed the range before Hyperspace transit . . .

Sudden movement on another screen caught his eye. Three green beams had penetrated TRIUMPHANT’s hull and sliced it into four ragged sections spilling men and materiel into space. The broached Q-Field pods ignited in a chain reaction and vaporized the ship in a blue flash.

The second blast hit STARSCOUT at the exact moment of transit. The ship was jolted with a force that almost tore the ICM off its mounts. Pummelled by the restraining pads, VLAS heard the air on Command Deck being sucked out into space in a shuddering gasp. His eyes tried to focus on the control panel but suddenly everything became a red mist, and then – nothingness.

0:02

Where was he?

Was he dead?

Where was the ship?

Had he been ejected? But there weren't any stars.

He could hear himself thinking, so he must be alive. But it was all dark.

No, there were lights ahead . . . They were m+oving closer. They were beautiful, collapsing into each other and he into them.

There wasn’t any pain! Actually, he felt . . . superb. There was just him, the colours and the feeling: this incredible high . . .

So, was this hyperspace? But it was supposed to be so terrible . . . !

He was starting to float. Starting to turn. Moving faster.

Everything was turning. It was a whole galaxy! No, it was more than that. Too strange. How could it turn that fast?

He was heading straight for the centre.

Faster and faster. More colours. Flashes. He-was-being-pulled

d-o-w-n

t-h-r-o-u-g-h

I-T

Crystalline voices emerged out of the lights.

They are all around him circling. Why are they whispering to each other? What do they want from me?

They’re some kind of energy fields, trying to tell him something.

He’d been what? . . . Why him? Yes, yes, he understood . . . But all the things he’d done . . .!? All right. All right . . .

Vlas’s heart was pounding. The ‘stars’ had voices that sounded like filaments of quartz sliding over each other, scanning him, talking to him. They had chosen him for something important but now he couldn't remember what.

He became aware of a red glow beyond his eyelids, padded straps over his body and the slow hiss of venting air. He opened his eyes, saw he was still in the ICM and quickly closed them, savouring the fading edges of the intensely pleasant experience. It had been like sex but in a body totally unlike his.

The last lift of euphoria passed. He tried desperately to hang on, but the images and sensations now felt as though they had happened to a stranger sitting inside his skin. He felt a pang of regret but knew he would never forget them.

Why did Space Command drug everybody so nobody would experience how marvellous Hyperspace transit really was? No, of course. Wasn’t that typical of everything on Veenaga?

Other sensations were surfacing – not pleasant ones. He was being delivered to his ‘real’ body. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

He was still in the ICM. He was not hurt. His eyes danced around the consoles as though seeking consolation for his recent loss. The hull damage-repair panel was indicating systems working at their highest capacity. Then two sets of pulsing red lights caught his eye. The life-support circuits in the other two ICM’s were non-operational − open to space. His was the sole intact one. That meant . . .

He remembered the message from the dying Ograrch, the videos from Veenaga, the vicious attack. And now this . . .

He lay stunned, staring into the darkness around him feeling only the dryness in his mouth and the void in his gut.

No-o-o-o!

His body slammed against the belts. Rocking from side to side he fought against the restraining pads, oblivious to the welts forming over his muscles and chest. Exhausted and drenched in sweat he passed out.

But instead of oblivion came the record of other times, other places.

Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!

The chant droned into his brain through the ringing in his ears. The crowd of half-naked boys around him and Dron, his opponent, were shouting themselves hoarse, pounding their fists with passion. Their sweating eyes were blazing, their teeth glistened with anticipation. They wanted real blood this time. Either his or his Dron's; they didn't care. Those were the rules of the initiation.

Circling around Dron, his body bent but head straight, knife in his left hand, he knew he was near the limit of his endurance. Blood was pounding in his ears and spots starting to flicker in front of his eyes. He'd better do it real soon, or else.

The other boy was heavier and had a slightly longer reach, but favoured a lunging left that made him vulnerable. He, though, was quicker and smarter.

Eyes locked on each other, knives at the ready, they waited for an opening, a weakness, a mistake. Another flash from the left! He let the boy's arm streak out to him. It was too far out this time! Now! Sidestepping to the right, he brought his left hand down in a chop to the elbow joint and jabbed with his right straight to the ribs. There was a scream, a gush of blood and a raucous cheer. He sank to his knees in the dust. It was over.

The trail in the jungle snaked along the rushing mountain stream. Tall filigree-leaved plants overhung his path and brushed into his eyes. He watched for the edible ones, picking and stuffing them into his pack. Except for the zinging of insects, the silence was total. It was mid-day and he needed to rest, eat and get his bearings. There was a clearing ahead.

Only one more week of this. If he reached the pick-up zone alive and in time, he'd earn a junior commission and his first star. So far, so good. He'd managed to keep himself intact.

There was a bend in the stream to his left and a rocky escarpment leading to higher slopes on his right. The clearing ahead was larger than he thought, curiously level with a grassy floor and strewn with moss-covered boulders overgrown with vines and saplings sprouting from their tops.

He went down to the stream that he felt sure would lead him to the Shining Sea and out of High Kaltea. Would he make it in time to be picked up? No show – no . . . He didn't finish the thought.

He put his backpack on the bank, took off his tunic and laid it on rocks in the stream bed weighted down so the current would scour it. The water was cool and inviting. He swam to the middle of the pool and for some lazy moments lay face-up, absorbing the coolness of the water and the warmth of the sun on his face. He reflected on his game plan, weighing the calculations he had made of time versus distance, difficulty of terrain and stock of food and water. At the same time, he kept a watchful eye out for predators still known to exist in these wilder parts.

He dressed, squatted and opened the backpack to take out the last haunch of kelliput he’d snared two days before. Looking around at the wild profusion of animate and inanimate growth: bugs, snakes, useless plant matter not of service to man or the New Order, he wondered why they hadn't been bio-phased out yet. Not only that, what was the point of survival training in this ‘natural’ setting anyway when all their work was going to be in the slums and underground of the urban world?

He quickly shut off that train of thought. Yet he had to admit the place had a strangely pleasurable feel in spite of its natural excesses and the dangers he knew it concealed.

As he leaned back on his elbows to survey the clearing, he noticed the unusual symmetries of the twenty or so man-high boulders. Their tops and sides were overgrown with vines and shrubs, but what bare rock was exposed revealed perfectly flat surfaces with a suggestion of curved lines. He noted with surprise that the spacing of the boulders hinted at a pathway leading toward the cliff face. He decided to explore. Perhaps it had been a settlement or fort in the old days before Pacification.

He followed the boulders toward the base of the cliff. Rounding a particularly large one he found himself in front of an archway sculpted into the rock, barely wide enough for one person. He scrutinized the ground in front of him for animal tracks and food debris, but it was clean. Just in case, he unsheathed his hatchet-knife and opened the lumestick he had saved for night work. Slowly he entered the opening. The air was still and moist with a mineral scent.

Walking forward, however, he found there was no need for artificial illumination. Oblique shafts cut upwards allowed enough light to see the way ahead and there was a point of grey in the distance. The tunnel became spacious and led straight into the heart of the rock.

He became aware of features on the surface of the walls around him. Carvings, consecutive life-sized profiles of women were caught in mid-motion creating a dance frozen in stone. He stopped, awed. They possessed a voluptuousness that was serene and gentle, unlike the current Porn-Norm. He had never seen women like that before, although he had heard rumours about the banned ‘art’ books kept in Security archives.

The point of grey ahead became a brightly illuminated cleft in the massif. He extinguished the lumestick. Near-vertical shafts of light revealed a series of steps leading to a recessed chamber.

He saw flickering shadows within. His hand tightened on his hatchet. He quietly approached the portal from one side and glanced inside. The chamber was empty except for three tiny flames burning out of metal pipes set into the wall. As he entered, the flames leapt and wavered in his airstream. Slowly the walls came alive with more life-size figures of women, this time facing him directly with eyes large and open, beckoning to him in the bending shadows, motioning him to kneel by the flames. He moved closer to the little jets. There was a recess in the wall which initially seemed empty but, looking closer, he saw a metal medallion the size of his hand facing him. There was strange writing on it. Picking it up, he saw it unfolded into three composite views of a woman's upper body. She was looking right at him, smiling. His vision blurred for a moment and when it returned her arms appeared to reach out to him to welcome and embrace him. He brought the face to his lips and kept it there.

Staring at the object in disbelief, he swore and broke into a sweat. He had never before in his life given in