STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS (58 page)

T
he loud boom emanating from somewhere above distracted them for only a few brief moments. Everyone in the meeting peered up into the sky, but only Dr. Mish—Tars Northern’s physician, secretary, and general assistant—looked deeply troubled.

“What is it?” asked Tars Northern, captain of the
Starbow
.

“Uncertain,” Mish replied. “Just now … I had the oddest sensation, something I haven’t felt since I reunited with my … ”

“Yes?”

“—my … my Aspach brethren.”

Northern glanced at the audience, then back at Mish. “What does that mean?”

Mish looked to the side, disturbed. “I’m … uncertain. But let us not dwell upon it now, Captain. We should focus on the meeting at hand.”

Mish was right. The meeting they were having was important. And negotiations with the Frin’ral were too critical to be derailed by something like strange sounds.

Strange, however, was also a good description of the meeting. In fact, it might just have been one of the strangest meetings that Captain Tars Northern had ever been involved in.

But then again, all of Northern’s meetings tended toward the unusual.

“It’s very simple,” Northern said, feigning a casual mood to the Frin’ral leadership. “What we want is to get the hell out of this place.”

The Frin’ral sat, placid. They always seemed calm and uncaring. Perhaps it was the non-confrontational state of affairs in Omega Space. Or maybe it was just that they weren’t overly concerned. Did it matter? The moods of the Frin’ral were sometimes hard to read for humans like Northern.

Dr. Mish turned to Shontill. “So Shontill,” he said. “You’re a Frin’ral here in good standing.”

“I … am,” intoned the alien. His face wiggled.

“But you’ve also been aboard the
Starbow
, our ship, for a long time.”

“Yes. That is true. You saved me. I searched for my people. And now I have found them here in Omega Space, where they had retreated from the forces of the Jaxdron.”

Dr. Mish looked over to the Frin’ral and then back to Shontill. “Perhaps, Shontill, in that case you might explain why we’re having difficulties making our case at this moment.”

“Right, old boy,” added Tars Northern. “We helped out. So why can’t you now get your people to help us?”

Shontill’s face wavered. His body quivered with what seemed to be a Frin’ral version of a shrug.

Northern leaned back in his form-fitting amoeboid chair and simply stared at him with a grimace pasted on his face. Things weren’t working out well. And without the aid of the Frin’ral, their chances of returning home seemed to shrink further away.

Gods, he could use a drink!

And not just sham-booze, either. What Tars needed was a good shot of pure Scotch. Yes, just the thing! Some strong single malt, tasting of the highlands and the heather …

But no. He was off the bottle, leading a sober, happier, cleaner life. Maybe that was the problem, he thought, with this whole business. When he drank alcohol, there was some kind of metaphysical alchemy that occurred, one that connected him with some greater Self, a Self of power, a Self of decisiveness and brilliance. And that was the reason he was such a suitable captain for the remarkable starship called the
Starbow
. Well, for that and other reasons …

Now, though, he was dry. Not because of Dr. Mish, who was his monitor, but because of himself.

True, he felt better. He was exercising and eating well here on the seemingly infinite plain of Omega Space. His muscles were toning up, and he was sleeping well at night. But still, he was simply at a loss on how the hell he’d pulled off what he’d pulled off. Now he did not feel at all inspired with the flame of the cosmos. No, he felt like a normal human stuck in the middle of the sublimely abnormal.

Shontill shivered a bit more, like a dog having just left the water, and then slowly reformed into the semblance of humanity that he’d established for his association with the crew of the
Starbow
.

“Forgive me, Captain. Part of the difficulty is that I am not yet fully at peace with my people.” The alien sighed. A shift of mauve and gentle green passed over his face. “There are issues unresolved as of yet.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Northern in a soft voice. “I know those matters are of great importance to you. We’ve spent a long time with you and have learned much. You’ve given us a lot, Shontill.” His voice tightened. “However, you’ve got to make them understand us. You know our mission. And the mission of this crew is not being carried out here in a place other than … this nowhere reality that we’re stuck in.”

Shontill nodded and glanced briefly at the members of his people. The Frin’ral, with their moist slimy features and almost-humanoid bodies. As a group they weren’t much to look at. But they were all that Northern and his crew had at that moment. Shontill would just have to do whatever he could with his members.

Members? Yes, Northern thought. That was the word for it. They seemed to stick up from the ground like parts of an organism. Fingers? Toes? Tentacles? They wavered in place like spikes atop a sea urchin. Twenty, thirty, or perhaps even more? The thing was, you really couldn’t count them because the number seemed always to be changing. While there seemed to be just one during any single moment, a shift in Omega Space-Time could manifest three or four. Conversely, when there were five, they suddenly converged into one bulbous mass—or perhaps into a mass from which five sets of eyes stared out.

It was queasy-making, to say the least.

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Often there were smells involved! From puckers and orifices and fissures, the creatures gave forth an array of gases. Not all seemed unpleasant, but there were enough obnoxious odors in the mix to give the miasma that they exuded a swampy texture. What could a human do other than endure? Occasional notes of cinnamon and raspberries passed the Captain’s attention. Or was that the bitter smell of hops? The thought of beer did little good to allay his simple desire for a drink.

“I well know the mission of the
Starbow
,” pronounced Shontill in a droney approximation of a human voice. “It was a mission I supported for quite some time, a good mission. To combat an evil tyranny over a people, to oppose a malicious government that stains the galaxy—the government that controls your Federation.” He nodded. “But now that the primary threat is abated—and I speak of course of the Jaxdron—my primary mission here is to convince my people to emerge from their hideaway here in Omega Space and take their rightful place back in their own universe. This is no simple matter. I am not yet … assimilated. Indeed, I am excluded from major decisions. Still … this is my home now.”

Northern could see signs of despair in Shontill. Old signs from his time on the
Starbow
, which made him worry that the creature was going to commit suicide. But as before, suicide having been averted when it had seemed imminent, he could be misreading the creature, and projecting his own troubled psyche onto Shontill. Maybe all his worry was for nothing. Northern couldn’t help himself. He was the Captain, after all. The welfare of Shontill, as with any member of his crew, was a matter of concern.

He placed a comforting hand on Shontill’s back, patted it. “Just remember, fellow. Whatever happens here, you’ll still have a home aboard the
Starbow
.”

Shontill looked at the starship Captain blankly. “I sense your sincerity, Tars Northern.”

“So remember, when you get us out of here—you can always come with us.”

“I wonder, Captain,” said Dr. Mish, “if that is the appropriate thing to say at this moment?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean—you hardly can comprehend a psychology that’s alien to you. Just because you find so much purpose and meaning in belonging to the
Starbow
community—and, I might add, in being its leader—doesn’t mean that Shontill does.”

“I’ve fought alongside this guy. We’ve put our lives on the line. He’s my brother,” objected Northern.

“I’m not denying that,” Mish stated flatly. “But that fact won’t help Shontill with his current situation. We must consider the here and now.”

“Yes … I see what you mean.” Northern looked over at Shontill. Leaning back, he held up his cup to Shontill and then took a swig of brackish-tasting Arsht ceremonial peace juice. “Sorry, Shontill.”

“There is no reason to be sorry. And Dr. Mish, the Captain is correct. As I sit and commune with my brethren here, I well understand the nature and value of my communion with the
Starbow
crew.”

“Yeah! We like you!” said Northern.

“Captain!”

“‘Like’ is a human word, I think,” said Shontill. “I believe I have learned to appreciate that human word—and more … ”

Northern blinked. Was that some semblance of a smile on Shontill’s wiggly face? He couldn’t help but grin. Either way, Shontill’s attempt at a joke was worth the effort.

“Right. That’s great,” he said. “So what’s the situation then, Shontill? You can give it to us straight.”

Shontill said nothing.

“I assume you’ve been able to glean at least some of the basics, then, old buddy.”

“The basics,” said Shontill. “Yes. My people found this place, this margin between the universes, millennia ago. However, they abhorred it. They only retreated here in order to escape the Jaxdron. And the Jaxdron absorbed or destroyed their—our—worlds. Now that my people, the Frin’ral, have spent time here, acclimating, they have made their home here. They no longer wish to leave.”

Northern gestured with frustration. “No one’s asking them to leave! We’re the ones who want to leave!”

Shontill shook his head. “You do not understand. They live in fear now.”

“I believe what Shontill is saying is that the Frin’ral have been traumatized.”

“Traumatized!” Northern glanced over at the odd amalgamating conglomeration. “What? Like a bunch of puppies? Scared to go outside their home?”

“Young dog animals?” asked Shontill. “I do not understand the allusion.”

“Look, never mind. The Frin’ral have every right to stay exactly where they are now. That’s their business. And if you want to stay here or go back with us, that’s your business too. But getting back … that’s my business. And I want to know exactly why the Frin’ral don’t want to help us, if only to get us out of their hair.”

Shontill somehow contrived a look of confusion. “The Frin’ral have no hair.”

“I’m going to tear my hair
out
, that’s what I’m going to do!” cried Northern, standing up and getting red in the face.

“An expression, Shontill,” said Dr. Mish. “An idiom of the human language.”

“Ah, yes. The tearing out of hair. The rending of clothing. Signs of emotion.”

“Yes,” said Northern. “And in this case, major frustration. But the answer is still wanting, Shontill. Your people are being obtuse.”

“Obtuse … ? Do we appear geometrically disorien—”

“It’s a simple request,” Northern cut in. “Help us get on the
Starbow
and leave Omega Space!”

“That is not as simple as you may believe,” said Shontill.

“Is that what they say? C’mon, guy! Give it up! I’m the Captain. It’s my job to take bad news. Can you at least get the ball rolling on this? We’ve got geniuses with us … good techs and great engineers. We can start to at least work on it. And, as you can see, I’m asking because we know we can’t do it on our own.”

“I do not mean that the actual problem of getting the
Starbow
back into Normal Space is insolvable,” assured the alien. “I mean that my people question the wisdom of allowing you, your crew and your vessel to depart.”

Northern blinked, his face nonplused. “I didn’t realize that the Frin’ral had gotten so fond of us!”

“Emotion does not play a part.”

“I would think not,” said Dr. Mish. “But Captain, if I may—”

Northern gestured towards Shontill with an open palm. “Be my guest. You have an explanation for this insanity?”

“Perhaps I can approximate one. I should think that the Frin’ral trust us somewhat here in this dimension, but … ”

“Go on,” urged Northern.

“Simply put, they don’t trust us back on the …
other side
, as it were.”

“What’s that supposed to—?” And then it dawned on him. “Oh. Wait a minute, Shontill. Are you saying that your people believe that we’d betray them? Sell them out to the Federation? Or maybe even to the Jaxdron based on the recent turn of events with Zarpfrin?”

“Again, a simplistic description,” replied Shontill. “However, at the moment, essentially no one knows where the Frin’ral are. No one in Normal Space knows how to penetrate Omega Space.” The alien paused and gazed at Northern with a blank, neutral stare. “If you leave, that will no longer be the case.”

“Now look, Shontill—”

“We have a problem!” Cal said, interrupting their conversation.

Northern looked up … and immediately froze. His stare centered on Cal, who stood at the entrance buck naked and glistening wet. Standing just behind him was Laura, wearing a short fluffy white terry cloth robe, both arms crossed. Angry.