Out of Reach

       The hive module teemed with creatures: more squid-folk and monkeys, arthropods, avians, scaly things… The captain’s species came closest to humanoids in this galaxy. So B613’s arrival caused a sensation, the whole mob wondering and chattering. The noise grated, forcing me to strain for useful snippets. At least the din meant few would overhear me if I found a suitable fallible ear. The ship docked alongside the hive’s storage hatches; B613 anchored closer to the hive’s broad end. The captain ordered repairs, but the pterosaur whispered something, prompting her to snap: “These are the last crystals. Use all spare leaves for full combat readiness, not patch jobs.” A shriek from the dwelling module cut through the clamour: “Gran, you crashed because you left me behind!” Everyone turned, so I was perfectly entitled to be curious as well. A bizarre fruit fell down next to the old woman from the module: shaped like a little monkey, but with bare bluish skin like the other squids. The very product of crossbreeding? “I’m already big, I want to go hunting with you!” he continued whining. “First,” the captain snapped at him, “it’s Captain, not Gran or Great-Grandmother. Second, you’re not ready.” “Want a thrashing?!” the father threatened. The hybrid sulked, slinking back as its squid-mother murmured something inaudible. The runt wilted completely and scampered into the slums in an odd gait. I noted which hatch it vanished through. Classic generational conflict. Ah, this was promising. Naivety, recklessness, a need to prove oneself at any cost… Easy prey. The last survivors of their planets would have been a target of choice for me, but the captain and pterosaur were busy overseeing repairs, always in plain view. Time was short: only until repairs finished. Worse, they’d practically conscripted the Prince. The Rose wanted to join, but he promised her a proper tour later, in calmer circumstances. The pterosaur, the Captain’s first mate, protested at first, as ship rules required a creature to have five grasping limbs to be admitted on board of the catcher ship (though he himself had only two legs and clawed wing-fingers), but the captain overruled that the aliens weren’t crew members, safety rules didn’t apply to them, and they could watch where they stepped themselves. The Prince agreed and nodded so casually for his cavalry to follow him that they had no choice but to go and work some more. The Fox grumbled about being left behind; the Rose huffed that he didn’t count her as company. While they bickered, I pretended to tie my laces beneath the tree, pocketing the glass shard wrapped in the Businessman’s handkerchief. Time to move. I caught the Geographer at the anchor line. He was just figuring out how to climb it more conveniently without letting go of his encyclopaedia. He blinked at my tug on his cloak. “Er… Yes?” “You’ve forgotten,” I beamed. “Comets aside, your turn to keep watch over me wasn’t cancelled. Just reminding you. You’ve been dreadfully lax lately.” He facepalmed, sighing, but then cast a wistful glance at the menagerie hive. Perfect. I glimpsed the Businessman lagging behind the companions and then slipping into a hatch of the hive, off to trade, no doubt. “Oh good, you’re on duty,” the Fox nodded at the Geographer, heading for the rope. “Then I’ll go for a walk too. Don’t slack, watch him tight.” On the way he glanced back at me and bared one fang with feeling. Yes, yes, I’ll be quiet and discreet. Now, what is the Rose doing? She had climbed B613’s flank and craned her head to watch the bustle of creatures and her hero. The ship was turned nose-on to B-613, its damaged side towards the residential module, so her view was excellent. Understood. I estimated her blind spots and moved on to my plan. That is, to the Geographer. “I understand your frustration,” I addressed him again. A slight incline of the head, a fleeting hand to the chest, the faintest smile — and there you go, the impression of sincere concern. “This ship is a veritable atlas of this galaxy. All sorts of creatures, star charts, planetary data… You could compile a galactic survey in half a lifetime—especially since you don’t actually have that much time. So why not accompany me? You can gather information, question the inhabitants, and keep an eye on me at the same time. Deal? I’m always happy to help friends.” So little to bypass a scholar’s critical thinking. He gushed gratitude but still made me go first. “Best question the idle elders,” I suggested. “The crew is busy.” In other words, we’d keep to the fringes, well clear of the ship, ensuring the Prince and captain wouldn’t notice my sortie too soon. “Quite logical,” the Geographer agreed, landing beside me on the upper deck. He followed me to where the hybrid brat had vanished. A flock of squid-creature hatchlings tumbled into my path, fascinated by aliens. I dearly wanted to kick them aside, but their parents wouldn’t have taken kindly to that. Instead, I endured as the Geographer attempted to interrogate them about their homeland and species. The little runts barely grasped standard speech, communicating among themselves in clicks and shifting skin-patterns. And cosmogony was hard to explain in Morse code. The short corridor beyond the hatch led to a dim chamber housing the elderly experts. No sign of the hybrid, though. The Geographer stalled completely upon encountering a creature composed of parallel rods of varying lengths, flexibly joined by some unknown means. A familiar species. Shards should have minced their planet among the first. According to its account (conveyed through rustles and rod-shuffling, translated by a desiccated cockroach veteran in a grating, low-on-vowel rasp), that’s exactly what had happened. The Geographer bombarded it with questions about its extinct people until I gently hinted that such trivia was irrelevant now since the planet and people no longer existed. Had this ‘stick-man’ contributed to the ship’s design, I inquired? Some living-quarters structures eerily resembled its own form. It confirmed, and the Geographer promptly pivoted to ship mechanics, navigation systems, and so forth. I listened intently too, though feigning disinterest while scanning the room. Where was that half-breed? The rear wall and floor were mat-covered. Countless hidden passages might lurk there. Ah. The living decks detached before hunts, leaving the ship lean for manoeuvring. Prior to intercepting shards, one sail and its adjacent gangways were winched aside, allowing fragments to embed unhindered in the resin core without igniting anything. The Geographer suggested replacing belt drives with cogwheels, but even the cockroach failed to translate those terms. Forced to sketch gear mechanics in his atlas margins, the Geographer brightened when I reminded him the Businessman had actual specimens, those fossilised gear-flowers from the K’ivi planet. He could fetch some for demonstration, so why not look for him? I was certain the Businessman would also avoid the repair dock to evade unpaid labour. More crucially (though unspoken), it might take me to where that hybrid brat was sulking in the slums. Engineering itch activated, the stick-man led us to the hive’s far side. Eventually the Businessman was found, trying to barter some seeds from another hunched, shrivelled monkey in exchange for those flower-gears. The old woman complained that decorations couldn’t possibly be worth more than food. Sensing customers, the Businessman eagerly showcased his wares, even offering to haul them to the ship for a live demonstration. I casually proposed entering via the ship’s stern. Supposedly not to interfere with work. In truth, it would minimise exposure before I could take certain actions at the catcher ship. After all the explanations, the hive arson plan had lost its appeal; the Catchers extinguished fires too efficiently, and the Hive’s core housed a water reservoir for the squid-folk—former aquatic creatures still requiring periodic moistening. En route, the hybrid remained elusive, but another squid-kid mob got underfoot. The Geographer, fascinated by interspecies breeding (without my prompting), learned that the captain’s hybrid grandson was an exception. Y’s (the squid-folk’s term for themselves) didn’t form couples or any other reproductive groups. The hatchlings, bored by mere conversation (the aliens didn’t perform any Prince-grade marvels here), scampered off, the eldest muttering something mean about a half-y-not-marrik, but saying nothing of the hybrid’s whereabouts. And I didn’t dare a direct inquiry not to betray my interest. I needed to talk to him first, and only then, once he swallowed the bait, get onto the catcher ship. But the anchors were already in sight, and the hybrid was nowhere to be seen! If I start with minor design tweaks and never reach the brat before the final shard hunt, nothing useful will happen. The Catchers would just miss some shards, that’s all. A coordinated experienced crew will notice and fix minor faults, and pinning them on others wouldn’t be easy. I could speak to the hybrid later. But getting back on the hive module again was unlikely, this was the only chance… Weighing the risks, I half-listened to the cockroach’s stories about squids. They laid hundreds of eggs, but with food shortages, like on a ship in space, the fry began eating each other. Natural selection in action. Maternal love, friendship, respect for life were too complicated for them. But they did use common sense and understood that antagonising neighbours was not a good idea. Pity. Perhaps I could experiment with hatchlings? Quietly drop one into the tar, no one would miss it. Maybe one life — or rather, death — would be enough to restore my true form? The stick-creature declined boarding (five-limb rule), leaving the cockroach to lead the tour alone. With eight legs he had plenty of barbs and bristles. The humans and I climbed the rope-gangway onto a small round platform at the ship’s rear pole, with an umbrella-sail for braking and reverse. According to the cockroach, it was rarely used in manoeuvring during shard approaches, so disabling it made no sense. The engineer-demonstration party proceeded to the equator along meridian gangways, short planks linked in a chain, with a rope handrail at about my waist height. And I immediately understood why the five-limb rule existed—and what could be worse than walking on two legs in gravity: walking on a swaying plank above a mass of deadly resin, separated from it by a single thin rope. Halfway to the equator the walkways sagged almost to the resin surface. No, too many witnesses to trip companions. As I suggested, the inventors emerged onto the platform of an equatorial mast with an intact sail, away from repair crews and prying eyes. The ship’s three equatorial masts and front polar spar supported horizontal fan-sails on spokes. At full speed, these black leaf-sails unfurled like fans, cloaking the ship’s front (that’s why I had failed to see it before the collision). As the Geographer guessed, the light-absorbent sails pulled toward light sources, propelling the vessel—ingenious, given this galaxy’s unstable and unreliable cosmic winds. For manoeuvres, pirates adjusted sail geometry, folding them to any degree (now, docked, they were cramped into narrow stacks). Likely, they’d deploy only intact sails for the final shard hunt, avoiding patched rigging. While the Geographer demonstrated how to place star-shaped blocks, I studied the sail winches and gangway mechanisms, keeping an eye on the gorilla-like shiny beast with the Prince atop and crew zipping along ropes to the warehouse and back. The ship’s convex hull and mast shielded me from B613 and the Rose’s gaze. The simplest sabotage: ensuring the operational sail wasn’t retracted. A shard strike would ignite rigging swiftly. A full crew might contain it, but the hybrid alone would fail. Thus, disable the sail rigging, but subtly, allowing initial spread. As the cockroach explained and I could see by myself, sails unfurled semi-automatically, under their own weight, once released from the lock and manually slid along the equator by a handle on the movable edge. Retraction required winch-powered lines threaded through fan-spokes. Could a sail be retracted manually? Perhaps—but not by a single person. Where was that hybrid? He hadn’t appeared on the module surface at all. Fine, I’d continue with the mechanical part of the plan. The most convenient target was the rope on the sail’s movable end. I leaned casually against a folded fan, palming the glass shard (wrapped in the Businessman’s handkerchief), and sawed the line just enough for it to hold under light handling and snap under strain. The line was peculiar, not fibrous, but solid, rubbery, white, and dense. The handkerchief frayed against the glass. Now for the second intact sail. To reach it unnoticed, I needed to redirect the scholars. They were too engrossed here. I had to make the other mast seem better for them. “Perhaps better light over there?” I suggested as the Geographer nearly stuck his nose and magnifying glass into the winch mount. True enough, this side faced the dark sky, while the other mast was closer to the work area, lit by the catchers’ glowing spheres. But also more dangerous, being closer to unwanted witnesses. Startled, he agreed and marched off; along the equator, the walkways were firm and wide, far safer than those from poles to masts. The cockroach hurried after him, while the Businessman lingered. With his suitcase he didn’t dare lift his feet from the support or his hand from the rail. Seizing the moment, I tore the remaining handkerchief scrap and wedged it behind a winch as incriminating evidence. If the handkerchief were found, they’d remember whose it was and blame the Businessman. He had motive, to damage the rigging to prove the superiority of his gears and sell them at a higher price. I hurried after the group, using them as cover. The cover proved too effective. Only upon reaching the second mast platform did I notice the new obstacle: squid hatchlings swarming over the sail stack. No chance of subtle line-cutting there. And the youngsters didn’t shy away from strangers. Perhaps it was time to shove one unlucky creature into the resin and test the murder hypothesis. Alas, a minute of observing this biomass was enough to realise: eight suckered tentacles and agility made it impossible to simply kick even the smallest squid off. I scanned for ideas and noticed something worse. A familiar russet tail flicked into view around the ship’s curve. The Fox. I crouched, buying seconds. A larger hatchling plopped nearby, shooing a smaller one beneath the planks. Let one problem solve another—or better yet, eliminate it. I could incite the squidlings to knock the Fox into the resin. Or perhaps, in self-defence, he’d knock a hatchling in? But would such indirect murder count? Worse, would the squid-brats later reveal who put them up to it? Likely. Best feed them something innocent. “Hello, little ones,” I murmured, ensuring the preoccupied adults wouldn’t hear. The smallest hatchling wriggled from under the gangway, puffing up behind its elder. I hated children, and the feeling seemed mutual. “Wha’ you wan’?” the eldest clicked, its purple skin dulling to grey. “Just to show you something amusing. See that small red creature trotting there? If you tug his tail, he makes hilarious noises. Go on, try it.” The middling hatchlings clustered, bubbling with what passed for giggles, but hesitated until the leader approved. The little tyrant revelled in his authority, rolling light and dark patches across its head. Hurry up! Finally, curiosity won. The mob scampered toward the Fox, some clinging to ropes, others leaping. He had nearly reached the platform, still unaware of me behind the mast. Then came his inventive curses, mingled with the hatchlings’ delighted clicks, and a red and blue blur went careening back along the gangway. Perfect. While everyone gawked at the spectacle (still no sign of the hybrid!), I seized the glass shard and sawed at the second sail’s line. Not even halfway through, the shard slipped plunging into the resin below. I barely stifled a hiss. The notch might suffice, but I never relied on luck alone. I glanced at the engineers (engrossed), the repair crew (busy), and B613. The asteroid was visible, but the Catchers’ light-globes obscured the Rose, meaning she couldn’t see me either. I tugged the frayed line, scraped it with a nail. No, too sturdy. Human nails were pitiful tools. Where to find something sharper? The cockroach didn’t have a belt-sabre; the Businessman wouldn’t let me near his suitcase; the Geographer’s pen looked flimsy. Only one option: untie the line’s end from the outermost sail-spoke. The winch would reel in slack, leaving the sail in place. But the knot was professional, awkwardly placed, and too tight for ‘childish’ hands, hence I hadn’t considered it. Now, however, alternatives were scarce. Feigning fatigue and boredom, I squatted and slumped against the sail’s edge and picked at the knot, careful not to break a nail. After half an eternity, I loosened one of five coils, only to spot a russet object on the polar gangway. The Fox! Alive, damn it. And about to see me. Unless… I pretended to tighten the knot, then ‘noticed’ the Fox, sprang back, and acted as if admiring the stars. It worked. He trotted over, butted my knee, and growled under his breath. Was he afraid his young squid friends would hear? “What’s your problem?” I asked. “Undo whatever you did, you bloody terrorist!” He jerked his muzzle toward the rope knot. “You’re imagining things.” I shrugged. “Everything is as it was.” “Oh really? And if I bite your leg?” “Take care,” I nodded at the unstable gangway, “or you’ll fall into the resin.” He snapped his teeth, herded me aside, and tackled the knot himself, untying the remaining loops of the knot. Excellent. Toothprints and fur at the crime scene. “Hey!” he called softly to the Geographer. “This your idea of guard duty?” I hurried to the scholars so they wouldn’t accidentally glance from me to the rigging and notice anything. “Nothing is amiss,” I assured the flustered Geographer. “I’m right here, doing nothing. The Fox is the troublemaker.” “How so?” the dried cockroach fretted. “Chasing y-hatchlings.” I shrugged. The Fox launched into a tirade, displaying bald patches left by the squids’ sucker discs on his fur. Then the captain’s portly son waddled over, demanding why the ‘y-lings’ were running around like mad, unwittingly confirming my story. The Fox sulked, vowing revenge. The cockroach reported that the outsiders proposed a promising design improvement and that they should speak to the Captain; the quartermaster suggested going immediately, as repairs were nearly done. No, I absolutely didn’t need that! But how to slip away? The Fox watched me like a hawk; the Geographer remembered his duty. Time to distract the quartermaster. “May I ask a question?” I said casually and tugged his bandolier to hold him back. Not part of the main plan, but sowing doubt never hurts. Might work if I never find the hybrid. “Your mother is astonishingly well preserved,” I continued. “You say she’s the oldest on the ship?” “What are you plotting?” the Fox bristled. “Aye,” the monkey scratched his armpit. “I can barely scratch my own tail these days, yet she still pilots the ship on the Hunts.” “Doesn’t that worry you?” I feigned concern. “One more word, and I bite,” the Fox threatened. “What’s his issue?” the monkey asked. “Shedding season.” I waved dismissively. “Foul mood.” The Fox growled, but his patchy fur supported my claim. He stormed off to the damaged side of the ship—to complain, most likely. Then I’d better hurry. “If it were my elderly mother leaping about near lethal shards,” I murmured, “I’d suggest she pass command to someone younger. Her knowledge is priceless and definitely worth preserving. And best petition it with crew support. Just thinking aloud, of course.” The quartermaster fell silent, scratching his belly. Then— “Hey, what’s going on?” The Prince’s voice carried from the repairs. His sketched gorilla loomed like a crane, its arm bridging the gap. He slid down. The Fox had been really quick. “Snake, I saw everything from above.” Oh? And what exactly? I’d tried to act only when his crane was hidden behind the ship’s curve. Just in case, I looked where the squids had gone, not at the sail edge. But the Prince didn’t approach it; instead he grabbed my elbow and dragged me back onto the gorilla. I barely kept up and clung to him as well. No deck or yard here, no railings, tar below. But in three seconds the beast shook us off onto a nearly repaired yard. The Prince led me further, to the platform around the nose mast, where a rope ladder led to the residential module. “Hey, little captain!” The captain monkey swung down by the rigging into his path. “Leaving so soon? Not much left to finish.” “Just taking him back to the asteroid, Then I’ll return,” the Prince said tightly. “Why not let your friend work? Extra hands won’t hurt.” “No.” The Prince didn’t stop. “He’s no friend of ours. Best keep him away from others.” “Then why not drop him on an uninhabited planet?” “No, absolutely not!” The Prince panicked. “He’d escape and cause more trouble. He’s a master at sowing discord and chaos with words alone. He’s already spoken to your son. Question him, warn him not to listen.” “Perhaps,” the monkey creaked, walking the rope rails behind me with ease. “Or perhaps you should kill him and be done.” I nearly stumbled; the Prince did, nearly dragging me down, but recovered. “No!” he squeezed back to shield me. “I don’t want and won’t allow anyone to be killed. Otherwise I am no better.” “Oh, you’re flattering me,” I interjected quickly before the blunt monkey decided anything, and edged toward the ladder. “I’ve never lifted a finger. So-called sensible beings destroy themselves through greed, stupidity, jealousy, and so on.” “And the Rose?” the Prince said. Now I faltered. Must he always twist that knife? “I didn’t mean to!” “You guide others’ thoughts toward ruin,” the Prince raised his voice in indignation, but still turned and followed me, addressing both sides. “And Snake, I never permitted you to leave the asteroid.” “Nor forbade it,” I sniffed. A couple more steps to the mast platform and I could relax. “What is your name, anyway, you dark one?” the Captain called. “The little red beast calls you something different every time.” “Fox is just teasing,” the Prince said. “Snake is his true name.” I was going to object that I had no true name when— “I see…” The captain’s whisper was deadlier than any scream. I turned and saw her effortlessly jump over the Prince and me onto the platform. Next second she yanked me down by the collar to her level, hissed in my face, reeking of old beast. Her pupils narrowed to vicious points. “Snake, then? Been to our worlds before? Sowing chaos with words? So it was you?! There, in my homeland, in the Queen’s chambers—I heard my mother speak with someone she called Snake, about how to neutralise all dissenters…” What? That audience had been private. She had eavesdropped? I couldn’t confess—she might kill me. But if I said no, the Prince wouldn’t believe me. So I stayed silent, gripping the rail to avoid falling. “Please, don’t!” the Prince grabbed my elbow with one hand, tried to push the Captain back with the other. “He’s not that dangerous right now! And I have leverage over him. Alive, he can lead us to other worlds he has harmed. We’ve already saved three planets here with his help! Maybe it’s not too late to fix your home, too?” After an eternity, she released me. “Too late.” She stepped back. “Fine, let him live, if you think he may still be useful. Under your responsibility. You’ll come to regret it later. And about not being like him, I disagree. Sometimes the lesser evil is necessary.” She shoved me onto the platform and strode to the frozen sailors on the other yard, shouting orders. The Prince called the Fox, who immediately emerged from behind a mast, smug. “Here. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He bared his teeth at me. “How often do you get to see our worm nearly shortened by a head?” “That’s enough. Escort Snake to the asteroid, I’ll send the Hunter to you.” “Captain’s orders: watch the tailless dark one.” A squid-creature slithered up from another spar—likely the hybrid’s mother. Her kind were hard to tell apart, but she was smaller, her hue slightly off. “Oh. Right then,” The Prince released me with a shove. What choice did I have? Slowly, cautiously, I descended the ladder to the hive module. Still no hybrid in sight! Only fading monkey shrieks from the ship. “Your ship’s that way,” the squid murmured as I tried to turn inside the module. Blast. Well, she’d serve another purpose. What was her name? “Second Mate Yu? May I ask?” I turned to her for a second. “You again at it?” The Fox fretted, but her silence was promising. “You, the y’s, outnumber the other species aboard. You have more, er… grasping limbs, you’re stronger and more agile. Yet you still obey the marriks. Do they really know better what’s needed for the majority, that is, for your kind? Or is it just… tradition?” The Fox growled but froze, staring past me. “Understood,” the squid said flatly. Then something sharp pricked my back. “And very stupid. Now I see what Captain meant by sowing discord. No, we y’s won’t seize power. We know gratitude. Without marriks, our ancestors would’ve dried up and died in space when our planet evaporated. Open your mouth again, and I’ll flay you alive. Move.” Ah, we had reached B613’s anchor line. Gladly. Not that I’d truly expected to raise a rebellion. The performance aimed to show observers: See? My ‘temptations’ are clumsy, overblown, the Prince exaggerates my danger. Let Second Mate Yu pride herself on thwarting me. Let them expect words, not deeds—and forget to inspect their ship. The Fox tried to herd me ahead, but I seized his scruff, shook a yelp from him, and tossed him into B613’s gravity field as if to help him, while actually signalling the squidlings who so loved harassing him. First, though, I reassured the approaching Hunter this was merely ‘efficient transport.’ Climbing the anchor line (harder under the Hive’s gravity), I recalled the Prince’s words to the captain: ‘saved three planets with his help.’ It seemed he had allowed the thought that I had not always to be a threat. Just what I need.