The Archer's Paradox - The Travis Fletcher Chronicles Read online

  “WHAT!” The Journalist squeaked, her eyes bulging from their sockets in shock.

  “As I said: ‘unexpected side effects.’” The Mercenary replied flippantly.

  “But I never, I couldn’t have … did I? I still had my clothes on!” she protested.

  “He said you were the best …”

  “Stop it!” The Journalist protested frantically.

  “… storyteller he had met for some time.”

  “Storyteller?”

  “Yes, the Arcturans have no concept of journalism and their history is stored in their songs, art and stories so ‘storytelling’ is the closest they can relate to. Apparently you were giving a vivid account of your life, from birth right up to the moment you passed out. He had some difficulty with your turn of phrase, and the translator had difficulty with colloquialisms, so I had to explain that the boy you met on holiday when you were sixteen did not actually steal any fruit from you.” There was that momentary twinkle that passed for mirth and then it was gone.

  “Everyone seems to be having fun at my expense today.” The Journalist grumbled, a little petulantly.

  “Come,” Cat butted in, “it is nearly time.” She headed for the upper level, with the others following.

  They left the bridge and took a lift which opened up at the back of the bar; already more crowded than it had been for the departure and with more beings arriving every second. The three moved towards the front and the panoramic view of the void. The Mercenary indicated a suitable spot and a table and three chairs oozed from the floor. As they sat, a glass of vodka appeared for The Mercenary, along with a bottle of wine with a glass for The Journalist, and a glass of brown pungent liquid for Cat.

  The Journalist’s mind was bursting with new questions but as she made to speak The Mercenary raised a hand to cut her off. The fusion engines had been shut down and the RAM scoop had been retrieved. The ship now rode the magnetic fields of the universe again, not dissimilar to a sailing ship using the tides and winds to propel itself.

  “Now we are comfortable, I have news that will lighten your day.” His eyes had softened and a smile played over his lips as he spoke. This, for The Mercenary, was akin to jumping for joy. “Star has been revived!”

  “What!” The Journalist was stunned. Emotions played over Cat’s features as she regarded The Mercenary silently.

  “Her heart has been repaired and is now beating and she is breathing. However,” he cautioned, “there is still serious brain damage because it took us too long to get her out, but she has the best we have repairing her synapses. It will still be some weeks before we know for certain.” A single tear rolled down Cat’s cheek from under her visor. The Journalist wanted to throw her arms around her in comfort. The look Cat shot her and the set of her jaw put paid to that thought and she took a long swallow of wine. Ok, she had only just had breakfast but she really did not care at the moment.

  “Hyperspace entry in one minute, drive is charged, all stations have reported ready.” a disembodied voice cut through the silence. “Hyperspace entry in thirty seconds, drive is discharging, entry point creation started.” Ahead a blood red tear appeared and began to grow rapidly. The tear lengthened and widened, the edge was now a jagged maelstrom of energy, with discharges flashing every colour of the rainbow as the universe fought with the ship to end this assault on its very fabric. The centre of the maelstrom was pure nothing, no stars, lights, or colours of any kind. The ship rushed on. “Hyperspace entry in four, three, two, one…” The assembled throng cheered and the band of energy holding the two universes apart flashed past mere metres from the ship’s hull. “Hyperspace drive shutdown, entry complete.” The voice concluded. The entry point had closed behind them. The absolute blackness outside seemed to ooze round the edges of the windows and encroach on the space inside the ship. Suddenly the bar seemed small and claustrophobic. Many of the crew looked uncomfortable, a few even on the verge of a panic attack. The Journalist was one of the latter, even Cat’s unflappable mask had slipped a little and her glass was suddenly empty. It was like a huge blind spot that you could not focus on, but was at the edge of your vision wherever you looked. She felt that the whole universe was compressing into this nothingness and she was having difficulty breathing. After a short delay the windows polarised and became opaque. All the ships external portholes would now remain opaque until it was time to re-enter normal space. The oppressive atmosphere ended and the crew returned to chatting. The ritual now complete, some got up and left. Their seats and tables melted back into the floor as they walked away, some more unsteadily than others.

  “Why do they do that?” the experience had shaken The Journalist. She had finished two glasses of wine in quick succession and was trembling visibly.

  “Bravado mostly.” he replied, still with a slight tremble in his voice. “I suppose it’s partially my fault.” he admitted. “I instigated the departing ritual. I used to come here alone and eventually others joined me and it grew from there. There is no need for the windows to be transparent during entry, they want to feel what the first pioneers of hyperspace travel felt, even though they know it is only for a few seconds. You will never get used to it, it’s just as disturbing the hundredth time as it was the first. Also,” he continued, “hyperspace travel is still very dangerous. As someone once said, ‘Travelling through hyperspace ain’t like dusting crops, kid.’” he put on a bad American accent for the quote. “The ship uses a fantastic amount of energy, enough to rip a small planet apart, and is tearing a hole between two realities. One miscalculation or failure and this ship is toast. I suppose it’s nice to see it coming. Would you take a blindfold to face a firing squad? I wouldn’t.”

  Still trying to grapple with ideas well beyond her comprehension, she probed further. “We discussed last time that travelling faster than light only existed in science fiction, so what are we doing this time?”

  “We have simply gone somewhere that operates under a different set of rules from our own universe.”

  “Explain that to me, in simple language.”

  “Ok, we have four different types of engine on this ship.” he began. “The designers were pure scientists who put all their knowledge and expertise into it, without the constraint of budgets or governments, and that included the engines, weaponry, defence measures and crew facilities. We can out manoeuvre, out run, out gun and shrug off more damage than just about anything in the galaxy and still have a three course dinner and cocktails.” The Journalist smiled appropriately at The Mercenary’s humour. “Two engines are for normal travel, one uses the natural magnetic fields that occur everywhere, not particularly fast, but highly manoeuvrable for such a bulky vessel. The second is the fusion drive, which uses hydrogen and some highly volatile elements for fuel. Basically, light the blue touch paper and stand back. The other two are for interstellar travel.” he paused to collect his thoughts and take a drink. “The Compression Drive, we’ve talked about already. The Hyperspace Drive tears a hole between two realities. Basically we fly into a reality where the laws of physics are different. I never took Quantum Physics at school but as far as I understand it, in hyperspace we do not exist as a three-dimensional object, we spread out like oil on water and if left unchecked will eventually touch all corners of the universe. The trick is to find an ‘anchor point’ where you want to end up, create an exit point and pull your scattered molecules to that point and out into normal space again. As I said, this takes massive amounts of energy; you never enter hyperspace unless you have enough to get back out again.”

  Not for the first time, a wave of vertigo swept over The Journalist. Too much, too fast and no time to assimilate the information. “How long do we spend in hyperspace?” The question was logical but delivered with an edge of hysteria.

  “About three months in hyperspace and another month under full Compression Drive because where we are going is too crowded to use a hyperspace exit point.”

  “Where are we going?” The Journalist was intrigu
ed.

  “My dear, we are going to the centre of the galaxy and the birthplace of all things, where I will introduce you to the Hunab Ku. You, my dear, are to meet the oldest and most venerable beings in the galaxy, as well as ancient ancestors to all humanoid life. Cheers!” he raised his glass to The Journalist in salute, put his head back and poured the contents down his throat.

  Chapter 4

  Breathing was difficult. Don’t force it. Long, slow, deep inhalations and exhalations through the mouth seemed to work best. It was like having a paper bag over your head: breathe gently and you can get enough oxygen through the fibres, breath sharply and you suck the bag over your mouth and get nothing. He opened his eyes but there was nothing to see. Featureless black turned to bland white. There was nothing to focus on, no movement, no change in colour, brightness or texture. He willed his head to turn right and then left. No change. He could not even tell if his head had moved. How about up and down? No, nothing there either. He was not even sure which was up or down. No hand moved in front of his face at his command either. He had been here before, only last time he was in the familiar surroundings of a hospital ward.

  So, I’m dead am I? He felt strangely calm about the prospect. Those two spooks were just my imagination playing tricks on me. Or were they angels with bad attitudes and an evil sense of humour? If they were angels, is this Heaven or Hell’s idea of a bad joke? It did not fit the accepted description of either. He examined the angel theory for a second and dismissed it. He was alive, but where or how he did not know.

  I am familiar with the concept of Heaven and Hell and I can assure you that this is neither, but neither has your life ended. A female voice; not his original visitor but with a tantalizingly similar quality, interrupted his thoughts. He could not place the direction as it seemed to emanate from inside his own head. A blur moved into his vision from his left and stopped in front of him. The figure was dressed completely in white, but the image was distorted as if viewed though a concave lens. At least he knew he was vertical. I am Sundaravāda Ciṭṭe and I will be your Ts’ats’aak as you recover. You are currently in a healing tank in a White Room on The Interstellar Explorer Two which is taking us to Otoch. She had anticipated his questions accurately although the answers left him none the wiser. So, you are to be the savoir of our race, she continued, I expected you to be taller. The attempt at wry humour seemed a little out of place in this environment.

  You’re my what?

  There was a pause. Doctor or Healer, is the closest translation the ship can find, so that will suffice.

  Ok, so what’s a ‘healing tank’? Last time I was in the White Room, it was a Goth bar with live music that I used to frequent. An oxymoron as it was painted completely black, he mused to himself. Where exactly is Otoch and why do we need a ship to get there?

  My Aantah, there was a long pause, my assistant, Niji No Tori, will answer your questions. I must go to prepare for our next session. You are making excellent progress. Sundaravāda Ciṭṭe moved out of view as a second figure moved in.

  I will do my best to give you all the answers you require. A smaller build but also dressed in white, with the distortion it could have been the same person except that the ‘voice’ sounded younger, eager to please and seemed to be tinged with an edge of awe and a little apprehension. I will answer the last questions first. The names will be translated for you because I have researched some star maps while we waited for your arrival. She sounded pleased with herself.

  How nice of you. The heavy layer of sarcasm passed over the other unnoticed.

  Otoch is our home planet and it is the last habitable planet of the Xi Scorpii cluster. It orbits Xi Scorpius C. Before the last war, our civilisation inhabited planets in all of the five Xi Scorpii stars. When the war finished, which we call The Fall by the way, Otoch was the only planet capable of healing itself whilst sustaining life in any quantity. So any survivors that could do so, moved there to rebuild our civilisation. Her ‘voice’ had a sing-song lilt like a child reciting a speech she had been practising for days. Otoch is nearly ninety-three light years or just over twenty-eight parsecs away from Earth.

  Ninety-three light years. The numbers sounded big but meant little as Travis had nothing to measure them against. It was ninety-six million miles to the Sun from Earth and light took eight minutes to get to Earth, he remembered that from a science lesson at school. Eight light minutes. Multiply ninety-three by seven and a half to find how far light travels in an hour, that’s ….. bollocks! It’s not commutable, let’s leave it at that. So, this is why I needed mathematics! He sensed amusement from his visitor.

  What’s so funny? He was annoyed, partially with himself for being so useless, both physically and mentally, but also with his visitor for no logical reason.

  My apologies, Niji No Tori bowed, it was something Xnuk Ek’ said when she brought you on-board.

  Yes, he replied acidly, I can imagine what she said. Do continue.

  Your body has been very badly damaged so we have placed you in a healing tank. The liquid you are immersed in will mend your bones and reconstruct your organs while Sundaravāda Ciṭṭe attends to the neural damage you sustained. Travis knew he should be alarmed at this point but his head felt stuffed full of cotton wool. He was feeling tired and a little nauseous. Everything seemed to be receding, as if he was freefalling down a well.

  What’s happening? I feel a little strange.

  You are being sedated so Sundaravāda Ciṭṭe can begin the session. A distant voice echoed from the top of the well. He was aware of another body close by. He felt a light touch on the back of his neck. There was a pause, then he felt - no, ‘felt’ was the wrong word - he experienced another consciousness slipping in next to his just as he finally succumbed to unconsciousness. In the microsecond before the blackness overwhelmed him, the second consciousness merged with his own. He had a momentary flash of great age, experience, beauty, peace, deep seated sorrow and loss.

  **********

  “You wish to see me?” Xnuk Ek’ stood in the open doorway of Wingu Kanzu’s cabin. He closed the communication from The Council he had been re-reading and the holographic symbols that hung in the air above his computer station dissipated before she had a chance to see them. Not that she would; the Code of Honour specifically forbade intentional prying of any kind. He motioned her inside and indicated the chair that had oozed from the floor as she entered. She sat and regarded her mentor, who exuded an air of disquiet. This was unlike him, he usually kept his emotions and stray thoughts locked behind an impregnable mental wall. This unnerved her but she kept her own thoughts under control and made a quick inspection to satisfy herself that her own mental defences were in place.

  “This has been your first excursion away from Otoch?” - she nodded in the affirmative - “You have been my Paal Kanik for ten years and I have always considered you to be my best and most attentive student, which is why I chose you as my Aantah on this expedition.” he leant forward and studied her intently before continuing. He noted her well-constructed shield between them and raised a mental eyebrow at her. “You have an independent mind and have displayed initiative and the ability to make rational decisions under pressure. However, your conduct on the planet could have put our whole existence in jeopardy.”

  Xnuk Ek’ was ready to defend her position. Wingu Kanzu would expect nothing less from her, but she was also prepared to accept his judgement on her. “Our existence is already in jeopardy.” she countered.

  “Nevertheless,” he continued, “you displayed an open hostility to The Original that countered all your training.”

  “He has as much in common with the Originals as a single cell organism!” her tone was derisory. “His thoughts are violent, self-serving and primitive. His body is as poisoned as his mind. Could you not smell all the chemicals and toxins rotting his flesh?” she spat the words out as if expelling a piece of rotten fruit. “In fact, the whole planet stank of decay and death. How he can serve our need i
s one of the great mysteries of the universe.” she finished in an almost pleading tone.

  “Enough!” The single word carried with it a severe mental reprimand that brought a sudden end to her tirade.

  “Yes, Nuuktak,” her body language became submissive under the weight of the other’s authority, “I am sorry. But what has gone wrong here?” she held her arms out, palms up, plaintively.

  “It is true that some catastrophe has occurred and the true power of The Originals has been lost, but he does carry the gene, albeit hidden and dormant. We will need to analyse the data gathered to discover what happened in our absence.” he paused and stood with his fist on the desk to overshadow his Paal Kanik. “In the meantime you will attend his needs.”

  “Me!” her voice cracked with incredulity and her mental shield slipped enough to reveal her complete revulsion at the task, which did not go unnoticed by Wingu Kanzu.

  “Yes, in light of your recent revelations, I think it will do you good to interact directly with him, ensuring he is fit and prepared for his arrival on Otoch. We made a promise to him that must be kept.”

  “Yes, but!” she protested impotently. She expected a punishment after displeasing her Nuuktak but this was severe and out of proportion. The prospect of ministering to that primitive animal was humiliating.