Philip Palmer - Hell Ship

One year after this message was broadcast to the stars, the Death Ship appeared in the skies above these people’s planet. The Dreaded were hailed as saviours, and a new spirit of cooperation spread through the lands of these once-aquatic peoples. Violence ceased. The elderly mellowed, and realised the folly of their brutal ways. The children learned to respect their elders, awed and shamed by the presence of alien sentient life.

The Dreaded were welcomed by these people with open arms, and according to several broadcasts transmitted to the stars, they were acclaimed almost as gods.

There is no record however of how this species and its planet were destroyed by the Dreaded; but destroyed they were, along with the rest of this universe. All that remains is a lament by a sentient being ashamed of his own people for all their flaws and frailties; and, as Star-Seeker Jak has ironically observed, unaware that that there are other creatures in existence who take evil to infinitely greater extremes.

“I have a tale to tell,” I said.

It was Day the Fourth, a day for poetry and tall tales. And I held all those gathered before me-who comprised almost all the sentients of the interior world except for the Kindred, and the sessiles, the aquatics and the plants-with my fierce gaze.

“A tale of adventure and courage; duplicity; guile; alien artefacts; and beautiful jewels,” I continued, and I knew I had their rapt attention, for such is my way with words. “For I stole a precious stone for my beloved wife Malisha, from the treasure house in the palace of the Galli, the chief family of the Southern Tribes in the city of Sabol on the planet of Markdsi. It was a jewel that had previously been stolen by the Galli from an alien species of peerless power. And I stole it from the thieves; for those effete Southerners could not keep it from me!

“And here is the jewel.” And I held it in my hand; a beauteous red stone, which shone like a furnace in the dim candle-light.

“I stole it for her, for my beloved wife Malisha,” I continued. “And, after fleeing Sobol in a small spaceship, I was pursued and then captured by soldiers of the Southern Tribes. But I kept the gem safe by hiding it in my mouth, in the place of a tooth which I had ripped out.

“Then I escaped, and stole another spaceship. I survived a space battle. I was marooned for many months when my craft was trapped in waves of energy that prevented all means of propulsion, a doldrums of deep space. I saw, or thought I saw, space ghosts. All these adventures I briefly mention here; they were to be the matter of a glorious tale to be told by the fireside late one night, to my naked and sated and beauteous wife.

“Yet this never happened. The tale was never told; for Malisha died, terribly. My daughter Sharil died. My people died. I came to this place and I found brave and noble souls, yourselves. And I commend you all for your spirit; I am proud to know you.

“But all this is mere preamble, to set the scene, and acquaint you with the character of the story’s protagonist, namely- myself. The tale I tell today is this: One day on the ship called Hell, a decision was made. One fateful day changed the destiny of all. One day all the peoples of the ship resolved to work together; not to fall into Despair, but to work together with one aim. And that aim is: to comprehend this place and how we are kept here and why we are kept here. And to use this knowledge to destroy our enemy, and to escape our captivity.

“That is the tale I have to tell; except I cannot tell it, for it has not yet happened. If we succeed, then shall I speak more.

“Who will join me?”

When I had finished speaking, I looked at Sai-ias. I knew what such a course of action would mean to her. It would be the repudiation of all her dreams of peace and contentment; the destruction of the equilibrium she had so painstakingly achieved; and the beginning of a vicious and merciless war which in all likelihood none of us would survive.

“I will join you!” Sai-ias roared, and relief swept over me; and all voices were raised to celebrate the dream of liberty I had conjured up this day.

There was much work to be done, and many nonsensical notions to be discarded to help us to achieve our aims.

For instance: translating air!

The very idea was absurd. There was no technology I could conceive of that could allow air to translate, on a long term and universal basis. Miniature mechanoids floating in the air equipped with databrains and a translator code could do it of course, for a brief while. But what mechanism would be used to convey the translation into the mind of the listener? It would be sheerest chance to swallow the one portion of air that contained the translation of the words we were hearing!

What’s more, in the course of time, these mini-mechanoids would be dispersed by the winds. So to create air that translates, you’d need as many mini-mechanoids as there were molecules of oxygen in the atmosphere!

Idiocy!

In the same way, all the creatures on this world had succumbed to the absurd notion that the Tower was the home of the Ka’un. They were sure it must be true-for the Tower was remote, yet visible; protected by winds; a constant reminder to them of the Ka’un’s power.

But what warrior would put his army in plain sight of the enemy like that? Did these creatures know nothing of subterfuge and military strategy?

Sai-ias and I had proved that the Tower was nothing but a myth; but it was one of many.

For, as I now argued to the peoples of the Hell Ship, this notion that air could translate was also a myth-by which I mean a superstition which idiots believe in because they are too stupid to think for themselves. (On Maxolu, we have no superstition; that is why we are so superior to the feeble-minded Southerners with their cult of the Inner God, which to my mind is nothing but an excuse for gluttony!)

Be that as it may: another Hell Ship myth was that the air somehow creates the light from the sun. But how? Tired air becomes the sunset-absurd! Why not use a hidden light source? Or place bulbs on the other side of the metal sky, and use mirrors to convey the light within?

These creatures of the interior world wanted to believe such lies. They could not face the truth; that solutions to problems are usually simple, sensible, and pragmatic.

It was now my job to teach these creatures to discount all these myths and delusions, in order to defeat the Ka’un. The myth of the air; the myth of the light; the myth of eternal life. All nonsense!

Teaching the citizens of the Hell Ship to see the world clearly and as it really is; that was my first part of my mission.

“I killed Zala,” I said to them all, “in the battle of the End of Days. So how could she have survived her terrible injuries, and come to live with you once more?”

A pause ensued; my listeners did not see the reason for the question, but I waited patiently.

“It was not the real Zala,” suggested Morok, “but a replica.”

“A machine-replica?” I asked, encouragingly.

“In our world,” said Tubu, “we had such creations. But they weren’t machines, they were illusions, solid to the touch.”

“It could be,” I said. “And remember, the real Zala had no memory of her fight with me; and no trace of a scar where I beheaded her.”

“The memories of those who fight the Ka’un are erased,” Morok pointed out.

“Not always,” Sai-ias said. “Sometimes the Kindred remember what they do; forgetting only occurs when their injuries are severe, as Zala’s were.”

“That may be it,” I said, pleased with Sai-ias’s astute comment. “For I utterly destroyed her body: I split the head and brain; and cut her torso into parts; even the waters of the well of life could not bring that to life.”