“Are
you certain you’ve arrived at the right decision?”
Damiel
lay half-embedded in his bed’s nanotech mattress, his face
and chest extruding
as if from a bubble bath. Marishison’s
transmitted voice entered his thoughts like another random daydream.
“I’m
certain,” Damiel replied, stubbornly immobile.
“I’ve made up my mind.
I want to
join you.”
“We
have only half an hour before we reach the last wormhole, and then
there is no
turning back.”
Damiel
had prepared for the occasion. With
the
ship’s acceleration thrusters turned off, there was no
gravity. He
preferred to stay in one place during such
transitions.
“I’m
aware of that, Father,” he said.
“But the past week has been … I mean
the days
in between stasis … I’ve never felt so free.
You’ve been wonderful to me.
All
five of you.”
“But
Damiel, we still haven’t told you everything.
We couldn’t.
This freedom, this
peace of mind you value so much, will come to pass, and become just a
nostalgic
novelty in your memory. True
peace, true
freedom, are luxuries that none of us have in our world. Are you sure you want to
do away with that?”
“In
exchange for the answer I’ve been searching for? Yes.
I’ve told you; I’m not completely
free of guilt just yet, but now
I’m more … accepting.
You can thank
Skalosak for that, bless her pumpkin-sized heart.
And a few rests in her pouch helped me settle
my mind a bit more.”
Damiel
smiled at his recent memories. Relaxing
in Skalosak’s pouch was like resting in the most luxurious
sleeping bag
imaginable. It was
no surprise that her
ancestors had been engineered to rescue snow victims.
“I’m
glad your stay has turned out so well,” said Marishison. “But please
believe me; you will never be
free of guilt. Not
while sharing our
vocation. These
days are as good as your
life will ever get.”
“Then
I would rather be wiser than happier.
It’s what I need.”
“Then
I pray you will find what you are looking for.
Would you like to float out and watch our entry into the
wormhole? ”
“I’ve
seen the last two. I
don’t need this one
to ritualise my decision. I
will accept
my fate as it is, without fanfare.”
“Bless
you, Son. May your
chosen path be the
one you were truly born for.”
Damiel
stood near the edge of the stone hall, amazed that so much living space
could
be carved so deep into a planet’s crust.
The chamber was in the shape of a mountain-sized tree,
fanning upwards
and outwards for kilometres. Its
walls
were honeycombed with hundreds of tunnels, all sparkling with lamps and
living
quarters. Hundreds
of translucent tubes
- some red, some purple - stretched and coiled far into the misty
distance above,
writhing and swerving like tentacles from one tunnel entrance to
another,
depositing passengers to their desired destinations and picking up new
ones. They were
like the veins and
arteries of a tremendous, exotic beast, with the chamber’s
many thousand
inhabitants playing the role of blood cells.
Looking around himself, he saw that the smooth stone
chamber floor
stretched out in all directions like a city-sized starfish, its limbs
extending
into broad tunnels under the walls.
Far
into these tunnels, kilometres beyond, glowed the golden haze of other
chambers. Damiel
had not been told the
population of this secret, hidden colony, but the evidence before his
eyes
clearly placed those numbers in the millions.
He
only had to focus a little closer to confirm this.
For
many hundreds of metres, the chamber floor was scattered with beings of
all
shapes and sizes, commuting to and fro.
As Damiel had suspected on the way to this planet, the
majority of
inhabitants were of two forms - humanoids and felinoids. He also spotted quite a
few reptilian
denizens, many insectoids and arachnids, and even a few giant walking
octopi. Most
inhabitants were roughly
human-sized, but some exceeded Skalosak for sheer bulk.
Many denizens travelled on great striding
behemoths that could have been machines, beasts or even fellow citizens
- it
was impossible to tell.
“And
to think,” said Damiel, “they call this planet
‘Hell’.”
He
recalled his first view of the planet from space - smooth, black,
totally
featureless. Tarkonon
had explained that
the entire planet had been modified to absorb as much solar energy as
possible;
but Damiel could not escape a small tremor of trepidation for the
bleakness of
his new home.
“It’s
only ‘Hell’ if you’re terribly
naughty,” said Marishison.
“The rest of us simply have jobs to do, with
plenty of free time in between.”
Damiel
tried to read the expressions on the faces of passing humanoids - still
the
easiest to read.
“No-one
seems particularly depressed,” he observed.
“Or beaming with joy, for that matter.”
“We
believe in balance,” said Marishison.
“The grimness of our tasks is balanced out by
the modest comforts and
amusements of our personal lives.
And
there is another, deeper balance that can somehow justify the task
itself. It is
balance that brings you here,
Damiel. Balance is
the attribute you,
and others like you, can bring to our world.”
“What
do you mean?”
Damiel
turned to watch one of the huge ribbed tubes lower its tapered end to
the stone
floor fifty metres away - right beside a small cluster of inhabitants
who were
all looking up at it expectantly.
The
end of the tube opened up in layers of translucent, membranous petals,
and
regurgitated a dozen passengers, who came floating out as if in zero
gravity. They
lowered gently to the
floor, landing feet first. Then
the tube
turned to the waiting crowd beside them, lifted them off their feet in
an
invisible uprush of air, and closed its petalled mouth once it had
swallowed
them all. Slowly,
like a titanic beast
underwater, it began to raise its faceless head, facing its writhing
siblings
far above.
Damiel
stared slack-jawed, trying his best to rationalise the scene before him. Even the Milton’s
computer had told
him that true antigravity was not available to Collectors. From what he had read and
heard, the
commuters were probably being raised and lowered by invisible clouds of
nanomachines. “Utility
fog”, they called
it. This was
technology that made his
own world look positively stone-aged.
“When
we first met,” said Marishison, “I told you that
your new task would give you
the opportunity to make a difference, however small.
It is that small difference that will
preserve your sanity, that will - once in a while - soothe your heart
with a
sense of accomplishment.”
“I
still don’t understand.”
“The
criminals and sadists that we collect, however repulsive they may be to
our
sensibilities, all face a fate far to horrific for us to imagine. If I had a choice, I would
not let any one of
them suffer in such a fashion. Not
one.” He
stared pensively at the
floor. “But,
unfortunately, none of us
here have that choice.”
“Does
the Queen threaten you into submission?”
“No. At least, not in a direct
or obvious
way. Her treatment
of Her servants is
more … subtle. In
a way, She loves
us. But She loves
Her victims even
more.”
“Loves
them? How could she
love those that she
torments endlessly?”
“Perhaps
that is best left for Her to explain, when you meet Her. But this balance that I
speak of, this
balance that you and I and others bring to our bleak task, is the
balance of
justice.”
“I
thought the Queen followed her own definition of justice, and you all
followed.”
“That
is not the full story.”
“Are
you saying that humble Collectors have some sort of veto power when it
comes to
condemning prisoners?”
“Well,
not precisely. At
least, not our
crew. We are barely
borderline
superbright, as you will be in a few days.
We are only assigned to low risk regions, and our say in
matters is
minimal at best. But
when you become
Chaplain of your own Collection Team, you will have the most important
task of
all. You will give
prisoners a chance to
repent, to save themselves from the Queen’s lust.”
“And
the Queen wants us to do that? She
wants
us to deny her potential meals?”
“So
it would seem. Her
ways are strange and
mysterious. But she
does not want us to
give Her anyone who is ready to choose true remorse.
Most of those we collect have left remorse
far behind in their lives, but all must be given tests based upon their
psychology. They
must all be given tests
that they are capable of passing, but more capable of failing. They must be given a
chance, however
small. Almost
always, the test will ask
them to overcome a certain fear, although this is usually combined with
a test
of empathy. The
test may come in two
parts, or three or five or twelve, and they must take one by surprise
so one is
never certain one is being tested.
Your
on-board psychologist will help you with this, just as Skalosak helps
me. She knows so
much about fear. And
empathy.
Poor girl.”
Marishison
let out a long sigh.
“Would
you like to visit her now?” he added.
“Of
course. Where is
she?”
Damiel
recalled how Skalosak seemed in such a hurry when she exited the Milton. He and Marishison had to
stay on board for an
extra two hours while the ship AI scanned his brain and body for the
ninety-somethingth time. Skalosak
had
not seemed herself then. There
had been
none of her usual playfulness, nor her stalwart sincerity. She had been cold and
silent. She could
barely even look Damiel in the
eye. “I
have important business to
attend to,” she had told him.
“You can
talk to me when it is over.”
“In
her apartment,” said Marishison.
“Up …
there.” He
pointed at one of the highest
tunnels, lost beyond the tangle of transport tubes.
“Is
she all right?”
Marishison
sighed again and shrugged. “Skalosak
is
Skalosak. When I
finally understand her,
I’ll start to worry. She
seems to have a
lot on her mind lately. She
goes through
this fairly frequently. It
will pass.” He
stared reflectively at the floor, as if
recalling decades of frustration.
Damiel
wanted to break the silence, break the mystery.
“How do I…?” He gestured upwards,
to the heights of the cave chamber.
“Just
stand there and call to the transport tubes,” said Marishison. “Tell them where
you want to go. They
will understand.”
He
turned and walked away.
“But
…
are you sure it’s …”
Marishison
turned back to face him. “Look,
you’ve
flown in a starship orders of magnitude faster than anything
you’ve seen
before, passed through three wormholes, and ridden in a
Siberoo’s pouch while
she was combat practicing. I
don’t think
these things should be a problem for you.
Go on, just call to them.”
He
slowly began to back away.
Damiel
stared up at the red and purple coils far above.
“Skalosak’s apartment!” he
shouted. “Skalosak
the Siberoo. Can
you take me there?”
Just
then, kilometres up, one of the red tubes twitched.
It then reversed like a thread through the
tangle of other tubes, and turned down to face Damiel with its eyeless
head. Slowly, with
weightless grace, it
began to lower in his direction.
The
sound of my voice hasn’t even reached it yet, he
thought as he stood rigid to the
spot. How
did it hear me? Is
this a modification to my brain implant
that they didn’t tell me about?
Trying to maintain his composure, he turned to Marishison
and said: “See
you at my Initiation.”
“That
I shall. Bless you,
Son.”
A
new
riddle suddenly occurred to Damiel.
“When you say that,” he said,
“are you invoking the Queen to bless me?”
Marishison
laughed. “We
have no illusions about Her
godhood,” he said. “She
is our ruler and
sovereign, true, but there are far greater beings in this galaxy alone. And besides, I never
stopped believing in a
God Above All, and neither should you.”
Movement
directly above Damiel caused him to jerk his gaze upward in shock. The pointed head of the
travel tube loomed
above him, like an airliner suspended in midair.
Its many-petalled mouth opened up, like an
orchard, like a lamprey, and Damiel gave a brief cry of surprise as he
felt
himself lift off the floor. The
fleshy,
fire-veined petals passed around him, and he entered an endless throat
that
glowed like splashes of neon and lava.
He spun around in midair to see the petals close upon him. Then there was an abrupt
rising sensation,
like being in a very fast elevator.
He bobbed
gently up and down in midair, which now felt slightly thicker than air
should
be - almost like being underwater.
Long
transparent strips appeared along the sides of the throat, displaying
the cave
wall rushing downward like a waterfall of stone.
Were they windows or telescreens?
It was impossible to distinguish - perhaps
there was no difference in this world.
As
abruptly as it had risen, Damiel felt the tube slow down. Outside, one of the vast
tunnel entrances
approached. As it
expanded to fill his
view, he saw many balconies, walkways and struts around the lower lip
of the
tunnel. Its dimly
lit interior was lined
with more balconies and walkways, like some decadent subterranean hotel. How am I going to
find Skalosak’s home
amongst all this? he thought to himself.
Just
then, the tube finally stopped just over the largest, most crowded
platform on
the lip of the tunnel. The
petals of the
tube’s mouth opened and disgorged Damiel in an outrush of
air, landing him
softly on the platform’s surface.
Follow
the light,
said a strangely calm voice in Damiel’s head.
Its
mouth still open, the tube turned to face a group of about twenty
colourful
denizens, sucked them all in, then closed its mouth.
It retreated, then swerved away and sank into
the misty depths of the cave chamber.
Is
that what the Queen of Pain is like?
mused Damiel. Just
another giant biomachine? It
seemed that it was possible to get used to this world after all. But then, he felt a new
chill as he realised
how relative everything was. In
this
world, a machine as awesome and overwhelming as his world’s
greatest temple was
a mere taxi. What
would it be like to
stand in the presence of the demonic being that had created this place? Would he be ready?
He
felt strange asking himself that question.
Just over a week ago in his waking life, he had been
prepared for an
eternity of torment - ever fearful, but stalwart in his own sacrifice
in the
name of justice. Now,
he was deeply
apprehensive of even approaching the Queen.
He
turned
to face the tunnel yawning before him, looming above and around the
broad
staircase. Its end
was close enough to
be clearly visible; but that still meant it was a few kilometres away,
so vast
was the tunnel. Of
all the thousands of
doors embedded in the walls, one caught his eye.
It was to his right, halfway up the wall, and
relatively close to the tunnel mouth.
Most curiously of all, it was dimly illuminated in a
subtle shade of
red, but in a way that passed through his eyes and danced tauntingly in
his
mind, like a dream that places the greatest of significance on the
smallest of
details. Was the
illumination the result
of real light, or was it projected into his mind?
No matter - its purpose was unambiguous, as
was the identity of she who resided behind that door.
Standing
before the huge door, Damiel finally saw the glow fade from his view. The air-jet platform that
had carried him the
extra distance was now just another minnow in the sea of novelties. What interested Damiel
more was the sheer
size of the doors here, not to mention the majority of individuals he
had
passed. Like
starship Milton,
this section was clearly designed for beings larger than humans.
The
door slid away, revealing a dimly lit abode with sections that
glistened like
ice. The rush of
cool air only enhanced
the effect.
“Damiel,
please come in,” said the soft voice of Skalosak.
Damiel
stepped through the threshold, and the door slid shut behind him. The room suddenly seemed
too dim, barely fit
for human eyes.
“I’m
sorry,” came Skalosak’s voice, and the entire
apartment brightened. Damiel
looked around, mildly disoriented once
again. This
apartment seemed even less
“human” than Skalosak’s quarters aboard
the Milton. It
was difficult to discern seats from
benches from tables; and equally difficult to discern what was hard and
what
was soft. Almost
everything gleamed with
what looked like smoothly rounded ice crystal, dauntingly large. Standing out amongst them
- pressed against
walls and even a good part the ceiling - were deliriously detailed
sculptures
carved out of wood, their angles harsh and forced, as if they had been
violently slashed into shape. From
their
surfaces erupted what seemed to be dozens of tentacles, eyes and
screams. They
seemed so out of place here, contrasting
jarringly with the serene beauty of the furnishings.
Marishison had mentioned Skalosak’s hobby
several times, but Damiel had never seen an example until now.
“My
tributes to Her Infernal Majesty,” said Skalosak. Was that a hint of
cynicism in her voice?
Damiel
turned to face the Siberoo, who seemed perfectly in proportion amongst
the
giant furniture. She
was holding an
angular bottle of clear blue liquid in her left paw.
“It
gives me a sense of accomplishment,” she added.
“Between missions, of course.
In
my life, today, a sense of accomplishment is very important.” She turned and stared
intently at the door,
as if deciphering patterns that only she could see.
“She is amused by all this.” She turned again and
gestured at her
sculptures. “She
knows that my
creativity is fuelled by pain. She
tells
me that it is proof that pain is good.”
“Pain?” Damiel frowned. “But I
thought-“
“The
pain of our duty. The
pain of dealing
with the scum of the galaxy on a regular basis.
The pain of … living, just living.
So many painful decisions.”
Her
voice seemed to be slipping somehow, the façade of humanlike
speech stripping
away to reveal a snarl beneath. She
gently lowered her liquor bottle onto the bench beside her, which was
higher
than Damiel’s head.
“Are
you all right, Skal?”
Skalosak
closed her eyes and shook her head, sighing like a gale.
Suddenly,
the room trembled.
Skalosak
opened her eyes, but registered little surprise.
“What
is that?” said Damiel. “Is
it a natural
tremor, or is one of the ships-“
“It
is neither. It is Her.”
“What
… what do you mean?”
“Sometimes
She gets excited. It
is always when an
exceptionally sadistic criminal is sent to Her.
She can sense their cruelty, their cowardice, their
absolute fear of
Her. Usually, when
She is this excited,
She knows that the sacrifice is going to fail the tests, and that She
is going
to have her morsel. She
anticipates the
taste of him - it is usually ‘him’.
She
knows that She is going to take the hapless little sinner into Her
everlasting
embrace and teach him everything She knows about pain …
which is far more than
any of us will ever imagine.”
Damiel’s
heart began to thud. For
years, he had
seen damnation as an essential part of the cosmic order, such as light
and heat
and life and consciousness. He
had
believed that his own damnation would serve the universe well and
contribute to
the Lord’s pattern of order and justice.
Now, despite the knowledge that he was not scheduled for
eternal
torment, Damiel felt frozen dread expanding inside him.
What had he got himself into?
What creature gained so much pleasure from
inflicting so much pain? What
creature
relished her own naked cruelty so much that her lust shook solid stone
for
kilometres around? Transapients,
demons,
these were just words. What
in God’s
Name was the Queen?
Skalosak
gazed directly into Damiel’s eyes for the first time in hours.
“And
you, Damiel, my little lamb,” she said as she grinned hugely,
“ you are here to
become part of all this. You
are here to
serve Her, to feed Her, to travel with us and help us look for Her
meals, to
keep Her Majesty happy and sated.
For
the rest … of … your … life.”
The
room shook again.
Then,
in a flash of striped fur, Skalosak lunged for Damiel.
She
grabbed his torso in her huge hand and lifted him into the air, holding
him
high against the wall, high enough to lock her gaze level with his. Her face became like her
artwork - all harsh
angles. She held
out her other hand,
extending black claws as long as dinner knives.
“Ska
…
Skalosak!” Damiel
wheezed, his breath
drained by shock. “What
are you doing?”
The
Siberoo shook her head. “There
will be
no Initiation tonight. I
won’t allow
it.”
'