Quofum Read online

  “Many disagree with the standards held by the Qwarm—but at least we are consistent.”

  As she listened to him her hand continued to hover in the vicinity of her sidearm. For a split second it drew close, only to fall away. She slowly raised her fingers toward the seal, but despite her desperation and determination she could not bring herself to shift them the few final millimeters necessary to un-seal it and draw the waiting weapon within. She screamed silently, cursing herself for drowning in a mixture of indecision and cowardice. She was convinced she could see him watching her out of the corner of one eye as he mounted the ramp.

  Similarly convinced that the Qwarm was concentrating on the only female member of the team, Tellenberg reached down and drew his sidearm.

  He was neither as slow nor as clumsy as one might have thought. It did not matter. A black blur, Araza spun, raised his own compact weapon, and fired.

  The coherent sonic burst struck Tellenberg above the bridge of his nose and directly between the eyes. Such accuracy with such a small weapon over such a distance was remarkable. None of those in a position to observe it ventured a comment, however—unless one discounted the flurry of shocked obscenities and Haviti’s scream.

  As Tellenberg stumbled backward a couple of steps, blood began to flow copiously from the hole in front and the hole in the rear of his skull. Unlike Boylan his eyes never closed, not even when the xenologist toppled over onto his back.

  From holding his arm out straight as an arrow, Araza slowly lowered it back to his side. “A pity. That annuls a portion of the satisfaction that only a moment ago I said I was feeling about not having to kill any of you outright.”

  Having as thorough an awareness of what certain humans were capable of (and perhaps more than most of them), Valnadireb had turned and sprinted on all six legs for the protection of the camp’s entry module. N’kosi was right behind him. More stunned by the shooting than either of her companions, Haviti had retreated only a couple of steps. Almost as if she had forgotten Araza she kept staring at the prone, profusely bleeding body of her friend and fellow scientist Esra Tellenberg.

  The Qwarm, however, had not forgotten her. Shifting his stance slightly, he started to raise the stiletto a second time. He could have killed her effortlessly, with one eye closed and the other half open. As the members of his clan were wont to say, “A Qwarm has no qualms.” Instead he exhaled softly, pivoted, and resumed his climb up the boarding ramp. He did not forget her entirely, but neither was he especially concerned that she might try to shoot him in the back. If she had possessed the guts, she would have tried already. By this time he was reasonably certain she would not, could not, do it.

  He was a professional, and he knew the signs.

  Haviti took a couple of steps toward the body, then stopped. Esra Tellenberg was no more. However brave and well intentioned he had been in life, he could not help them. Looking up at the shuttle entryway she saw that the lock was already beginning to cycle shut behind Araza. If they were going to stop him, if they had any chance of surviving, wasting time keening over the body of a friend was not going to help.

  For an instant she considered drawing her sidearm and firing on the shuttle. Designed for travel in both space and atmosphere, resistant to extreme heat, cold, and violent changes in pressure, its hull would not be easy for a simple biofield sidearm to penetrate. Such an assault might also prompt Araza to delay his departure for the moment or two it would be required for him to deal with her.

  It struck her forcefully that in that event she would be confronting the certified assassin alone. Turning, she ran as hard as she could for the nearest modules.

  Valnadireb and N’kosi were where she expected to find them: in communications central. Though it sounded impressive, CC was little more than a couple of self-contained consoles linked together. They could not stop Araza, but maybe they could stop the shuttle. Ideally, they would have taken control of the mother ship’s AI. All communications with the main vessel, however, had to be relayed through the shuttle. In answer to her breathless query, N’kosi announced glumly that the ever-efficient Araza had already blocked that channel of contact. That meant they had to find another way to somehow prevent the shuttle from lifting off—and quickly.

  “Can we interface with the shuttle’s AI?” She fought to slow her breathing.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” A harried N’kosi was trying to make sense of the camp communications system’s more arcane possibilities. Like her and the equally anxious Valnadireb, he was a field xenologist. It was not necessary for him to understand the inner intricacies of such devices. Only how to use them.

  Pushing past his clearly overwhelmed colleague, Valnadireb addressed the console’s aural pickup. “Shuttle is not to lift off! This is an emergency override. Shuttle Hyla is not to lift off. Confirm!”

  It was a worthy effort. When in doubt as to which command to recite, an admiring and hopeful Haviti reflected, try shouting. The response from the console, however, was disheartening.

  “I am under direct crew command. Preparations for orbital return have commenced. Emergency override can only be initiated from on board.”

  That route was also closed to them, Haviti realized with a sinking dread. Araza had restricted all commands to crew already on board. To himself. They could not verbally countermand his instructions from within the camp. Leaning forward and resting her hands on the lower edge of the console, she tried to divine the purpose of each individual control, the meaning of every lambent telltale.

  There had to be something they could do. Some switch that could be thrown, some order that could be given, some override that could be engaged. There had to be!

  Outside, the escalating whine of the shuttle’s engine rose to a howl, stimulating a symphony of shrieks from the depths of the surrounding Quofumian forest. Flocks of flying things exploded from the treetops while arboreal hallucinations and taxonomic nightmares hastened to flee in all directions. With stately aerodynamic grace the shuttle rose vertically on its landing pads, folded those mechanical limbs into its belly, and accelerated into the pink sky. From within the camp’s science module Tiare Haviti, Moselstrom N’kosi, and Val of the hive Na, clan Dir, family Eb, could do nothing more than watch via instruments as the shuttle vanished beyond the clouds.

  It was gone. The Qwarm Salvador Araza was gone. Their colleague Esra Tellenberg was dead.

  And they were assuredly, unarguably, indisputably stuck.

  10

  Araza felt no remorse. Not a tinge, not a touch, not an iota. If he regretted anything at all it was that as a curious man he felt it a shame that so much new scientific knowledge had to be left behind. It did not have to be so. He could have remained, taken his time, and one by one terminated each of the three remaining scientists, after which he could at his leisure have stuffed the shuttle with even more recorded information in addition to a choice assortment of carefully preserved specimens.

  Personal penchant, however, was not the province of a Qwarm. He had not been taken into service to participate in scientific research. Engaging him as a member of the crew had not been easy. More experienced technicians with longer résumés had been available and had been nominated for the position. It had taken a good deal of work on the part of the clan’s administrative arm to secure the appointment for him.

  He was a fully qualified tech, of course, or he would never have succeeded in concealing his true nature for the duration of the outbound voyage. No one on board had suspected that his true specialty lay in an area as utterly alien to them as the world for which they were headed.

  No, that wasn’t entirely true, he told himself as he relaxed in the shuttle’s command chair and occasionally glanced at the instrumentation. There were times, instances, when Boylan had shown some suspicion. But the captain had put his tech’s occasional failings and slowness to finish assignments down to the kind of individual imperfection often found in his subordinates. Araza’s subterfuge had never been challenge
d.

  In the end, it was a failing of Boylan’s and not of Araza’s that was responsible for the man’s death. The Qwarm did not know the names of those to whom the recently demised captain owed money. It was not necessary for him to know in order to carry out his assignment. All that he needed to know was contained in the formal clan briefing that he had committed to memory long before he joined the Dampier’s crew.

  Now it was over. He had completed his task successfully and in such a way that it could not be traced back to him. As for the Dampier, it would be stripped and then placed in a stable orbit around a suitable planet. Eventually it would be found, investigated, and discovered to be a missing Commonwealth Science vessel. Finding the empty survey vessel in orbit around a Commonwealth world would lead investigators to believe that she had either been scavenged and abandoned by a renegade crew or diverted from her assignment by others. There would be nothing explicit to implicate the Qwarm.

  The absence of the crew would be remarked upon and for a short while would provide fodder for jaded media. Perhaps a reward would be announced for information leading to their exposure. The attention of the greater Commonwealth public being always brief and forever submerged in a continuous, never-ending stream of reportage of disasters, scandals, gossip, and actual straightforward news, the matter would soon be forgotten. Commonwealth Science Central would take charge of its recovered vessel, continue to muse on the fate of its crew, debate the alternatives of group desertion or disaster, and move on. As would Salvador Araza. As would the Clan Qwarm.

  All that remained was for him to report back in to his seniors. They would then convey the pertinent information to those who had hired the clan’s services. A final payment would be made. Though it was not a matter of great importance to him, Araza knew there would be a sizable bonus payable to him personally.

  He felt quite calm and outright good about the outcome of his assignment. The obligation had been appropriately discharged, he had not been harmed, and he had been compelled to slay only one potential witness. While unable ever to return to civilization, the remaining three he had managed to avoid killing outright might still live out their modest remaining lifetimes on a world that was, if not particularly hospitable, at least supportive of humanx life. If they watched their collective step and rationed their resources, they might not only survive but be able to continue their work—albeit in the knowledge that the results were unlikely ever to be seen by another human or thranx until long after the last of them was dead. Continuing with their research would give them something to focus on besides simply surviving. Araza hoped so. He was a technician and a professional, not a sadist.

  Of course, in the absence of any hope of rescue they might also go mad. It was immaterial to him. Despite his superficial and calculated efforts at conviviality while in their company, now that he was on his way home it was of no import to him whether the trio of scientists he had abandoned lived or died. Genuine sociability was a luxury he could not afford. A Qwarm made friends with someone they had been assigned to kill only if it would facilitate their work.

  Once outside Quofum’s atmosphere he could no longer locate by sight the river delta where the camp had been established. He could not even tell for certain on which of several continents it was located. The camp, like his former shipmates, had already receded into memory. All that remained now was for him to return home, make his report, and embark on a well-earned and richly deserved holiday. The life of a clan member was not all blood and death-dealing. It was perfectly possible for those whose business was murder to relax and enjoy life—provided they were psychologically well adjusted. Araza was secure in the knowledge that he fell into the latter category. Though a more complex mission to plan and organize than most, the Quofumian assignment had been comparatively undemanding to carry out.

  He busied himself in mentally preparing for the journey homeward as the shuttle docked with the Dampier. Once back on board, he took the time to enjoy a meal and a shower before paying a visit to the bridge. No alarming telltales greeted his arrival. Any last promises, pleading, cursing, screaming, or other attempted communications from the surface would have had to be relayed through the shuttle’s system. Since the shuttle was now here instead of there, such contact was no longer possible. Anyway, he had shut off the shuttle’s ground receiver as soon as he had boarded the transfer craft. His last words to his former shipmates had truly been his last words.

  As a safety measure in the event that its designated captain became incapacitated (Araza allowed himself a slight inward smile at the thought—despite their profession the Qwarm were not entirely devoid of humor), the ship had been programmed to respond to any of its passengers. Araza now took it upon himself to issue commands.

  “You wish to return to point of origin?” The AI was designed to query any instructions it found equivocal.

  “I do. Promptly and without detour, maintaining communications silence throughout.” Sitting back in the command chair, Araza spoke easily and without hesitation. He had rehearsed this encounter and its possible variations long before the ship had even left for Quofum. Anticipating the current exchange had been as much a part of his preparations for the mission as planning how and where he might confront Boylan.

  The AI entered into a pause that might charitably have been described as contemplative. “I do not detect the presence of Captain Boylan or any member of the official scientific team.”

  “They are presently engaged in active research on the surface below. Much of importance has been discovered. I have been instructed to file a report in person and return with needed additional personnel and supplies.”

  “I could do that without you,” the ship responded.

  “AIs can file reports, but they suffer when it comes to conveying emotion and other unquantifiable components necessary to persuade.” Well rehearsed in the potential objections an AI might raise to a request for departure, Araza didn’t miss a beat in his replies.

  “That is true,” the ship conceded. “Why are you doing this and not Captain Boylan?”

  “Captain Boylan’s organizational expertise is required below. As the camp is now up and running smoothly, the presence of a repair and construction technician is temporarily expendable. Captain Boylan’s presence is not.”

  A long pause followed. “I, of course, cannot confirm this assessment because I cannot at present raise any member of the scientific team.”

  Araza found himself nodding in agreement. The ship would easily be able to establish such individual contacts and verify the veracity of the technician’s claims—so long as the shuttle and its advanced communications system was present at the camp and in a position to relay such requests onward. The Hyla’s present location within the mother ship’s cargo bay presented the main AI with a dilemma. It could send the shuttle back down on automatics and subsequently utilize its integrated systems to contact one or more members of the crew in an attempt to confirm Araza’s statements. But that would mean countermanding a directive from an authorized member of that same team—Araza.

  Finding no reason to do this, encountering no objections from below, and determining from the last time it had the opportunity to do so that all components of the recently established surface camp were functioning normally, it finally replied, “Departure as per request in five minutes.”

  Araza leaned back and smiled contentedly. It was all over now but the trip homeward, the filing of his official report, and the collecting of kudos for a job well done. As the ship readied itself around him he retired to his cabin. Along the way he passed the entrances to those living quarters that had been occupied by the members of the science team. Their silence did not in any way impinge upon or trouble his conscience.

  It took the ship the better part of a day to boost outsystem in normal space. It could have made the changeover to space-plus much sooner, but Araza was in no hurry and was curious to examine the system’s other worlds. Once beyond the last gas giant he issued the necessary fi
nal commands.

  “Preparing for changeover,” the ship promptly responded.

  Comfortably ensconced in his own cabin, Araza tensed slightly. No matter how many times an individual underwent the shift from space normal to space-plus, one could never be sure how one’s innards would react. He waited. It would all be over within a minute or two and then he would be on his way homeward at a velocity outside and beyond that available to travelers in normal space. After a few minutes of waiting, he relaxed. It had been the smoothest changeover he had ever experienced. He waited for the expected corroboration from the ship.

  It was soon forthcoming, but it was not at all what he expected to hear.

  “There is a problem.”

  A frown drew Araza’s brows downward. “A problem? What kind of problem?”

  Though not programmed to overtly express confusion, the AI managed to convey it anyway. “I am currently experiencing a navigational quandary.” While that confession was unsettling, it was nothing compared to the feeling that shot through Araza’s gut at the ship’s next words. “Ancillary advice is in order and would be appreciated.”

  What the hell? Using a hand to sweep aside the tridee play he had been viewing, the near-naked Araza left his room and made his way quickly back to the bridge.

  There everything seemed normal enough. He untensed slightly. “What’s the problem? You said something about ‘a navigational quandary’? Be specific.” Looking around, he could see nothing visibly amiss. All instruments appeared to be functioning normally. Telltales, projections, and readouts were clear and sharp.

  “It is a quandary that is at once both simple and complex,” the AI informed him. “I cannot retrace the outward-bound route nor plot a new one because I do not know where I am. My reference points for performing the necessary calculations are gone.”