LIGHTNOVELONLINE The Crimes of Xaranañilok Erobosh
We dropped into Kursh five days later. A densely populated system, according to Miri’s research, with over a hundred billion sapient beings living on its main planet, Kursh Delta. A city-planet, similar to New Malagasy, albeit with less of a focus on tourism and education and more of a thing for industrial megaprojects and using supercomputers to determine the most sustainable and environmentally-friendly methods of harvesting teratonnes of hydrogen from stars. Miri was very excited about that last bit, for some reason, and I tried to look as interested as possible while she enthusiastically explained it to me.
The main problem was figuring out where the Emissaries had gone next, and doing it quickly. Qalin had alerted the Order to our presence, and they were almost certainly going to be coming after us, so we didn’t have time to spend weeks combing the whole system for any evidence of them. They’d also been a wakeup call: trusting the authorities is never the best idea, but doing so outside of Collective space, where the authorities act like authorities, can be a death sentence. Literally, in our case: we held a small funeral for Private Naomi Tanaka the day after leaving New Ivehar. It was a small Buddhist service, a little impromptu, but was impactful nevertheless. Someone I’d never really known had taken a blaster shot to the chest, and it was partially my fault. Then again, it was also Qalin’s fault for being a huge fascist, so it was mostly just sad.
The discussion about how to stay on the trail of the Torn Memory after we got to Kursh continued right up to the drop out of the hyperstream. Everybody had ideas they were tossing around, ranging from bribing asteroid miners to hacking the planetary network, but none of them really stuck out as being particularly practical. The feeling on the Lance of Croatoan as we dropped into Kursh was one of profound uncertainty and mild confusion, right up until the patrol ships started moving in.
I didn’t know anything was going on until the warning sirens started blaring. I was in my secondary cabin on the Lance of Croatoan, working my way through the third chapter of Remrion’s Ring. The more I read, the easier it became, as I started really getting the hang of Democratic Emissarine. Most of the common words I knew on sight in all of their common declensions, and I only had to get out the dictionary once every few paragraphs or so. Remrion’s long-winded internal monologue about their own personal struggles and strained relationship with their family had, at long last, been interrupted by a critical malfunction in their space yacht, causing a crash..
So right as I got to the part where the spacecraft was torn in half, a siren blared through the halls of the cruiser, accompanied by an electronic voice. “Emergency. Emergency. All crew to combat positions. Emergency. Emergency…”
I jumped, and would have leapt out of bed if I were physically capable of it. Instead, my heart rate proceeded to go absolutely through the roof while I slowly and carefully sat up, pivoted, and grabbed the crutch that Dr. Erobosh had made in the polyfac a few days earlier. With that in hand and my Ariel properly clipped onto my sleeve, I hobbled briskly to the elevator and hit the button for the command deck. Once again, having four limbs was proving to be very useful. Even with one arm in a cast and the other holding up my weight, that left two hands and eight fingers with which to poke buttons. Thinking about the upsides to my shitty, broken insect body was much better than thinking about how the Order was probably about to kill us all.
Everyone else was already there before me, of course, with my friends and family clustered behind the rows of seats where the crew of the Lance were hard at work figuring out what was going on. Dr. Erobosh filled me in on the fine details of the situation. They were as follows: a bunch of ships had been waiting for us when we entered the system, and were moving to surround us and cut off any chance of escape. They hadn’t opened fire, but they could at nearly any moment.
Commander Carver sat at her chair, tightly coiled, drumming her fingers across the console, muscles tensing and relaxing in waves up and down the length of her body. I could smell the stress coming off of her, pheromones of fear and anxiety thick in the air. And for good reason, when any wrong move, or no move at all, could lead to a hail of blaster cannon shots. She wasn’t the only one; I smelled building tension in the tunes of at least five different species.
Then, without warning, one voice rose above the rest, coming from a lower-ranking officer. “Commander… they want to speak.”
Carver responded immediately, rearing up to nearly nine feet above the ground, her head and neck spreading out into an enormous cobra-like hood. She stretched out her jaw, exposing rows of teeth, and a pair of needle-sharp fangs flicked into the open position; I could smell venom dripping from them. She flicked a gesture back at the one who had spoken, and the holographic display flickered to life.
“What is the meaning of this? You will not intimidate the Collective, and if you wish to fight, know that we will not be an easy target.”
The holographic display took a moment to work, and when it did, the sight almost made me stumble. On the other side of the line was an Architect, sitting rod-straight in a captain’s chair, their long arms draped over each arm. But there was something different about this Architect, something that took me a moment to even register as real. This one wasn’t wearing a breathing mask.
An Architect’s face, I discovered, is a disconcerting mix of the human and the inhuman… a bit like my face, actually. They had a nose, lips, cheeks, all mammalian, even apelike, but covered in a fine layer of those same white plastic scales, and elongated into an almost reptilian muzzle. As the opposing captain opened his mouth to speak, I caught the briefest flash of enormous gleaming fangs.
“CSC Lance of Croatoan, this is Commander Ullach’tormiana Bezrin of the Bouwon-Phane Authority.”
I could sense Dr. Erobosh tense up, and his pheromones shift from anxiety into outright grief.
“Evidence has been delivered to us that, docked with your cruiser, is a ship that is rightfully the property of our Department of Nuclear Sciences, and that you have unwittingly been aiding the one who committed the theft, Dr. Xaranañilok Erobosh. Turn him and the ship over at once, or we will use force.”
The entire command deck froze; Carver retracted her hood and slowly sank into a neutral posture. All eyes were on Dr. Erobosh. His eyes were closed and his head had fallen to his chest.
“Respectfully, Commander Bezrin, I believe there must have been some error; there is no Dr. Erobosh aboard this ship.”
The Architect commander clicked his jaw in a way I’d learned meant he was annoyed. “Our information was highly accurate,” he said. “But if you truly wish to drag this out for as long as possible, the uniquely modified engine signatures of the stolen spacecraft will be easily identified with a thorough examination.”
“The Collective is not in the habit of allowing anyone to examine our ships merely because they ask,” said Carver, a slight edge still in her voice. “And furthermore, we are not in the habit of handing over people merely because we are asked to do so, especially not to a people who have rebuffed our offers of alliance several times in recent memory.”
Commander Bezrin leaned forward in his chair, slitted pupils glaring directly into Carver’s. “Perhaps I should clarify the position of myself and my government, that you might make a well-informed decision. Xaranañilok Erobosh is accused of treason, the punishment for which is life imprisonment. If you do not turn him over, you will be considered to be in full abetment, in which case we will arrest you all. By force, if necessary.”
Dr. Erobosh sighed through his mask. His scent changed again; he was completely, unbelievably calm. Then he shoved past Quinn and Arana and dashed across the main floor.
“I have had enough of this!” he shouted, pushing Carver aside as he stood in front of the holo-display. “This is Dr. Erobosh, former researcher of the Department of Nuclear Sciences, speaking.”
Commander Bezrin made a low, rumbling noise in the back of his throat. “You have decided to come peacefully, then?”
I was frozen, my eyes locked on Xara. Whatever he wanted to do, there was nothing I could do to prevent it. The muscles around the corners of his mouth were tight. He was calm. “Peaceful is an odd adjective to use for a forceful arrest in preparation for imprisonment; but yes. I will come peacefully. With conditions.”
“And those conditions would be?”
“First, that none of the people I’m traveling with be punished, or detained, or delayed,” Xara said, slowly, staring unflinchingly into Bezrin’s eyes. “I will go, and the ship with me, and then you will part ways and that will be the end of the matter. Second… I want a couple of hours. To remove the property of my companions from the Helium Glider, and to… make my goodbyes.”
He glanced back at us for just the slightest fraction of a second, almost an unconscious twitch in our direction, then right back to that stare. Xara and the commander of the force that had been sent to arrest him—for treason, apparently— were locked in a battle of wills. The image in the holo-display shifted slightly, his lips peeling back to bare a small part of his fangs. Silence covered both command decks.
Xara won. Commander Bezrin rolled his eyes and flared his slit nostrils. “If it will reduce conflict, then you may have your terms. Undock the stolen craft in two hours, and do not attempt any moves until then. Comms off.”
The holo-display flickered out of existence, leaving a shocked emptiness to fill the room. The first to break it was Carver. “Good work, Dr. Erobosh. You just bought us enough time to come up with a plan for getting out of here.”
He turned and started for the elevator, shaking his head. “I’m going to go pack.”
Carver started after him. “Excuse me?”
There was a sinking feeling in the center of my abdomen. “No! No, you can’t just do this, not like that.”
“As it so happens, I already have,” Xara said. “I’ve made my choice.”
Arana moved in front of the doorway to the elevator. “Dr. Erobosh, please, you don’t have to do this. With the time you just bought, we will have more than enough opportunity to get you out of here safely.”
Xara stopped, clenching his hands. He was pissed, in a way that not even Bezrin had made him. “And then what, Karus? We spend weeks on the run, as fugitives? Possibly get the Collective involved in a second war, less than a month after the beginning of the first one?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But we’ll find a way. I’ve been in worse situations—”
“Even if we did escape intact, we would be forced out of the system, and lose the trail of the Emissary ship for weeks, if not months. We don’t have that kind of time.” He glanced at me, while I hauled myself up to my mother’s side. “Cathy doesn’t have that kind of time.”
“No. Absolutely not! I won’t die, and I’m not going to let you sacrifice your whole life to rot away in a jail cell for my sake! Xara, think of what you’re doing.”
“I already have,” he said. “My species is capable of deliberation at a greatly accelerated rate compared to most sapients.”
“Then think again, goddamnit! I am not going to let you give up on yourself. You’re more clever than this, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.”
He hissed softly, his pheromones showing a tinge of… nostalgia, reminiscence. The hell? But he didn’t say anything.
Arana sighed. “Cathy, I’m sorry to have to say this… but I think that Dr. Erobosh might have a point here. Who knows how much worse your condition might get if we’re forced to spend so much time evading the Architects? Besides, if he’s made his choice, he’s made his choice.”
I fervently shook my head. “He may have made his decision, but so have I. I don’t want this; I want him safe, and out of jail, my own health be damned. Don’t make this sacrifice for my sake, because I don’t want your sacrifice!”
“Catherine,” Xara said softly. “Cathy. It’s going to be alright. The Architects have a long reach, and it was only a matter of time before this happened. Let my surrender at least have some benefit.”
By this point I was hyperventilating, my antennae hanging totally limp on either side of my head. The thought of never being able to see Dr. Erobosh again suddenly seemed impossible, terrifying, more even than losing one of my parents. He had helped me to understand the new world I’d found myself in, provided a counterbalance to Arana and Stellina’s overprotectiveness, Quinn’s recklessness and Miri’s standoffishness. I didn’t want him to go. I was desperate for him to not go.
“Stellina, you can see how absurd this is, right? Stop him before he does something stupid, please!” Stellina didn’t respond. “Carver? You’re the captain, your word is law, tell him to cut this shit out and let us come up with an escape plan!” Again, no response.
Stellina sighed. “Kiddo… I can’t stop him. It’s his choice if he wants to turn himself in.” She leaned down, putting a hand on my shoulder. She probably meant that as a gentle gesture. “He’s doing this for you, you know.”
“Your mother is correct,” he said.
I looked to Arana, mandibles quivering, all eight eyes wide and staring and looking for some sign that she would help. All she did was nod, and something broke inside of me.
I jerked my shoulder out of Stellina—Steph’s grip, turning to face Xara. “Please don’t,” I mumbled. “Don’t do this.”
For a few seconds it almost seemed like he was going to reconsider, between the way his brow furrowed up and the slightest scent of regret on his pheromones. He sighed; then he did the last thing I would have expected. Xara reached out and pulled me into a hug, holding me as tightly as he could to his chest.
“I’m sorry, Catherine. But it has to be this way.”
I cried. There were no tears, Emissaries don’t work that way, but I cried anyway, sobbing and moaning into his scales. I tried to beg, or else to make some kind of rational argument as to why this was a completely absurd thing to do, but through the haze of misery at seeing him go, and disgust that nobody else was stopping him, I couldn’t get the words to form.
Suddenly, an extra pressure was added to my back. Miri had stepped forward and joined the group hug. It hurt, as my carapace was not in a good place for withstanding the pressure, but I didn’t care. Not even when Quinn started hugging me from the other side, meaning I was now smooshed in the center of an impromptu group hug. I needed the contact more than I hated the reminder of how sick I was, and didn’t let go until Xara pulled away, a minute later.
“If it really means that much to you… I know where they will take me,” he said.
“Where?” I said. My accent was a lot stronger than normal, too upset to hide it.
“If you wish to come find me, I will be on Bouwon-Phane, the Architect homeworld. Our legal system is flawed, but it cares deeply for proper procedure and due process. It will be several months before I am sentenced, and in that time… there is a chance you will be able to find me, and offer help.”
I nodded. “Of course. I’ll come find you, even if I have to charter the ship on my own.”
“But you have to promise me that you won’t do that until you’ve found the cure for your sickness,” he said firmly. “Don’t risk your health for me.”
I hesitated. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m going to go pack up.”
Without anyone stopping him, without anyone even moving, Xara left the command deck of the Lance of Croatoan. I leaned over onto my crutch, my legs suddenly feeling even weaker than they had. My whole body was shaking.
“Why didn’t you stop him?” The question wasn’t for anyone in particular.
“Because it’s what your parents wanted,” said Carver.
“He had a point, kiddo. We don’t have the time to play cops and robbers around half the galaxy.”
“What your mother said,” Amanda added. “You have to understand… I want you to be healthy. I want to find your people.”
“And you didn’t think—” how it would make me feel was what I wanted to say, but I realized there was no point. That had always been the problem with my parents. They knew how to keep me safe, they would and could move heaven and earth to keep me safe, but the one thing they never took into account was my actual goddamn feelings. And for some reason, in that moment… I understood them. Half-forgave them.
They weren’t Arana Karus, legendary admiral of the Collective fleet, and Stellina Karus, rogue and free trader. They were just Amanda and Steph Sierra, two moms from Broadleaf, California. They were my closest allies, the people I could always rely on to be on my side. But they would never be the parents I needed them to be.
I took off as quickly as I could down the hallway Xara had taken, down the elevator, to the deck where Helium Glider was docked. I caught up to him just at the entrance to the umbilicus connecting the two ships.
“Xara! Xara!”
He stopped in his tracks, turning instantly at the sound of my hoarse, strained voice. “Catherine? What is it?”
“I have one more question, before you go. I need to know this.”
“Ask, then. Time is short.”
“Did… did you really do it? What they’re saying you did? Is the Helium Glider really stolen?”
Xara clicked his jaws, pondering for a long moment. “You have to understand that nearly all of the work that went into it was mine. I had assistants, and funding, but the core principles that make this ship unique are entirely of my own devising. When I began work on the project, to create the next generation of fusion pulse engines, I believed in law, and government, and the ideals of my people, and thought that the work I was doing was for a good cause.”
“But that changed?” I asked.
“Yes. I realized that the system I was working for was… corrupt. Unjust. When the project was done, I decided that they didn’t deserve the product of my life’s work. So I deleted all the files except for my own personal copy and stole the only prototype. Which is to say that I did do the thing they have accused me of. But I am of the opinion that what I did was the right thing, and the only thing to do.”
I nodded. “Thank you for telling the truth. Go get ready. I’ll miss you.”
“So will I,” he said. “I hope that you find your people, Catherine. And may your path always be certain.”
That was the last thing he said to me. An hour and fifty minutes later, all of my possessions that I’d left on Helium Glider were sitting, neatly arranged, in my cabin on the Lance of Croatoan. Xara undocked the little yacht and flew off into the waiting arms of his captors. Once they’d docked, it was a matter of minutes before the Architect fleet went right past us and soared off into the hyperstream.
By the time we’d docked with Kursh station, we had a plan for finding Emissaries. Quinn was the one to come up with it, inspired by the countless donation posts that circled his social media feed back on Earth. We would put out a request on the planetary network, anonymously, and see if anyone knew anything.
The next three days sucked. There was nothing to do but wait. I read more of Remrion’s Ring, I sketched when my joints would allow me, I pulled the covers up over my head and wished that I could vanish for a while. I was getting more and more sick, too. But on the morning of the fourth day, Miri opened my cabin door before I was ready to wake up. We’d gotten a response. And not just a response from anyone: it was a private message, from someone claiming to be an Emissary.
