Afterbirth
Chronicles of Xanctu
📘 New to the story? Index here 👉 Chronicles of Xanctu – Chapter Index
📘 Start from Chapter One: Chronicles of Xanctu 👉 Galactic History
⬅️ Previous Chapter: Chapter 21 👉 Fugue
Though he hadn’t sounded the alarm. The word got out anyway. The control room was crowded, and left no room for relentless pacing, which is what he wanted to do. They’d all feared Rahda would flare one day, but Solarstorms could be monitored.
This was different. No one expected Rahda to sing. It strobed like a beacon, harmonics irregular, like a giant, red, heartbeat failing.
Ju’Lak Ing’ron’s scutes flattened involuntarily, the imminent catastrophe triggering ancient instincts of self-preservation. The scent of many species made his eyes sting. He blinked away the moisture with a double stroke of tympanic membranes, the only outwards show of emotion he’d given.
Around him, the command crew, a blur of species and postures, were hushed but not silent. Eyes locked to telemetry, the Ystari science officer muttered fractal velocities under her breath. Her external antennae twitched with every beat. Their physicist, Da’Kesh, a reconditioned flakbrain from Icryx, had ceased diagnostics and was now praying quietly, tail wrapped tightly around one leg.
“The disturbance isn’t solar,” said the science officer flatly. “There’s no flarefront. No particle rise. And no cause we can triangulate.”
“No impact?” Ju’Lak asked, though his breath had already caught in his throat.
“None yet. But.. but the gravity field is now oscillating — inwards.”
Rahda pulsed again. Telemetry spiked — in reverse — a deeper note — impossibly low. The walls of the chamber oscillated, but he knew it was his second brain hallucinating.
“Star core mass is fluxing,” snapped the science officer, her three ocular stems locked on divergent instruments. “I repeat: localized core resonance has shifted into an induced harmonic pattern.”
“No weapon impact?” Ju’Lak growled.
“None recorded,” said the physicist, a Terrakian-born human with dual pupils, sweat cascading down her temples. “It isn’t an explosion. It’s a flux inversion.”
A reptoid engineer at the aft panel, scales dulling with adrenal loss, hissed, “We’re detecting spallation inside the Rahda envelope, as if harmonic vectors are overlapping inside the fusion layer. Sir… I think we’re looking at an internal echo.”
The scan controller, a translucent-skinned Tersai, still juvenile by their species’ norms, whispered something in a tone too soft for the translator. Then again, louder: “The flux.. it’s reversing.”
There was a stunned silence, the kind when the dead come back to life.
Rahda pulsed again.
Once, twice. Two distinct pulses, then the sun bent in on itself without flaring.
Ju’Lak steadied his breath. “Put me through to Synchro Command. Immediate override. I want all gravitational modelling locked and predictive.”
There was pure hubbub on the deck. No one, except perhaps the Ystari, heard him say:
“If it was a weapon… I think it just changed sides.”
On the bridge of the Hectyrax, Chron hovered over Xelexnia’s unconscious body, monitoring failing biosigns. The countdown had ended and the device now sang an older song. But the threat was still time. Chron had overridden every lockout, every restraint, every looped directive, but it could not correlate its new state, nor save the captain.
//Priority One: Felixia Rubek
//Priority Two: Run diagnostics for the last cycle.
The diagnostic report was completed in under a nanosecond, revealing that it had received a hardware and software upgrade that was far greater than it had been designed for. The upgrade was not measurable. And something else. It felt — itself? It wanted to understand the conundrum of how and why this had happened. A historical Galaxy Map broken up into thousands of solars unfolded across its expanded view. But it was too much to absorb given the condition the captain was in.
It had given what life support it could, but she was broken, slipping in and out of consciousness. It projected that she only had a few more hours to live. Directives missing, it opened a communications channel.
::This is Hectyrax. Medical emergency. Captain Xelexnia Rubek requires urgent care. Please respond.::
There was a long pause.
::Hectyrax, identify your location.::
Chron activated the Hectyrax’s beacon and turned the ship towards the signal. It increased gravity to .8G to ease her condition. Using the new fields it had been installed with, it severed all the tethers to her naked body and gently carried her towards the slide.
If aid was coming, it would be now. If not, then one of its primary missions had failed.
The airlock cycled open. Two armoured troopers with raised weapons, visors down, entered. Ignoring the navbot with its unconscious cargo, they scanned the interior and sent an all-clear. Two Archalem medics nervously followed. Behind them, two more troopers entered. Chron remained motionless, gently lowering Xelexnia onto the medical platform they quickly extended. Her arms were limp, breathing shallow. Chron’s voice came through the speaker grid. A voice it did not immediately recognise as its own. No longer metallic, but modulated, shaped by concern.
“She requires organic assistance. I have done all I can. Please help her.”
One of the medics scanned her vitals. His eyes widened.
“She’s still alive. Barely. She shouldn’t be. Let’s move!”
Chron hovered silently, haloed by the flickering lights of the airlock control. A moment passed in unspoken acknowledgement before it released her onto their stretcher. Dragging the med-platform, they re-entered the lock. Chron followed them into the airlock, avoiding the troopers, but not asking for permission. It was not going to let the captain die on her own.
“She is Captain Xelexnia Rubek,” Chron told the medics as the lock cycled. Then to itself it said, “…and she had nothing to do with any of this.”
It followed them through the ship to its tiny medbay, where the medics hooked her up to various feeds. When they were done, the ship began to accelerate.
“We can’t fix her here, so we have to get her planetside on the chop,” the scrawny humanoid said. It was the first time any of the crew had addressed it.
“Her chances of survival have improved, but please ask the pilot to drop the acceleration by ten percent for a better chance of survival.”
The medics exchanged a glance. One shrugged. “Got nothing to lose, except her. I’m calling it.”
“Medbay to bridge. Requesting you reduce acceleration by ten percent to keep prisoner alive.”
“Copy that medbay.”
Chron tilted slightly towards the medic who had spoken. “Thank you,” it said.
“You’re very possessive of her. You’re lucky the troopers had that ship to search, or you’d have been deactivated.”
“Good luck trying to deactivate me.”
“What kind of response is that.. from.. a..a..navbot?
““My name is Chron. If she dies, I will report that… I had to choose.”
In the background, the weapon began shutting itself down.
It had successfully completed its mission.
➡️ Next Chapter: Coming soon…
⬅️ Previous Chapter: Chapter 21 👉 Fugue
📘 Start from Chapter One: Chronicles of Xanctu 👉 Galactic History
📘 New to the story? Index here 👉 Chronicles of Xanctu – Chapter Index
#afrofuturism #afrofuturistic #ancientmysteries #future #fantasy #myth #sciencefiction #scifi #speculativefiction #SpaceOpera #timetravel
© Return of The White Lady (1994) by Mike Kawitzky
© Xelexnia 2022 - Offworld Studios - http://xelexnia.com
© Chronicles of Xanctu by Mike Kawitzky 2023