The Grand Tour

The Grand Tour.

Captain Hendry took the opportunity of the trip from ship to market to lecture me on the item we hoped to precure. I feigned interest, as is the polite thing to do, nodding at appropriate times.

‘The Bromillian Core is grown rather than manufactured. It starts life as an imperfection, a stray grain of pollen or some such that lands on the bark of a tree in the jungle colony, much like a grain of sand in an oyster creates a pearl.’ Hendry liked to use these obscure references, I acted as if I knew what he was talking about. ‘The tree embraces the pollen grain, if that is indeed what it is, and draws it into its cambium layer. The tree nurtures it with food from the phloem, and the imperfection grows both to its own genetic code and code from the Bromiliac tree. It grows as the tree grows, gradually travelling the length of the trunk, up to 500 metres in some cases, to the tops of the jungle. It is akin to a fruit or tumour, balancing precariously on the fragile upper tentacles and twigs of the species, until they break and the core is launched up into the atmosphere. We don’t exactly understand how, but the core spends several years traversing the planets skies until it breaks free of the atmosphere and becomes space faring, returning to their home planet only to die. Some scientists suggest that the initial imperfection that create a new core is actually the remains of an old core, explaining how the crops are reducing in number as we harvest and utilise the cores,’

Hendry’s voice was quite soothing in a monotonous way. I had to fight to stay alert as the shuttle carried us to the market, the empty desert outside the portal as bland as Hendry’s lecture. ‘However, there is no proof of this and galactic law classifies the core as Artificial Intelligence rather than sentient being as it is not born from natural recreation.’

I had learned on our interminable voyage that when Hendry gets on to one of his topics little will stop him, but questions can sometimes redirect him to a more interesting topic. I interrupted him in an attempt to stay awake.

‘It will be able to show us a quicker way home, right? I can’t face another seven years bouncing all over the galaxy.’

 ‘When Interfaced with a ship mind the core becomes a highly intuitive navigational system. Perhaps in the same way that salmon find their way back to the same river to spawn, the core always seems to know exactly where it is in space, time and dimension. It will be our salvation. It will help us to climb out of this backwater of a system and find the shortest way back to civilisation. ‘

I butted in again before he started a lecture on the multitude of mistakes, I had made to get us here, ever a favourite topic of his. I had chartered this voyage and was generous in my funding of it, including the cost of this core. You would think that if I chose to fly into uncharted territory and become unbearably lost, I would be allowed do so without constant critique from my paid help, but that was not the case.

‘Will there be any entertainments to purchase at this market, something to shorten the journey home? I believe I’ve viewed everything on board.’ Hendry’s lips disappeared in to a tight line of disapproval.

‘Is not that kind of market.’ He glared at me and stared out of the window, finally quiet. Hendry hated the frivolity of entertainments.

He was right, as he often was. The market was nothing like I imagined. No exotic aliens, foods, music or smells. Just one long, low, grey wall on the horizon that stayed boring and grey until a gateway appeared and the shuttle flew us inside. The shuttle settled, sinking into the mud like floor. It was sticky and as grey as the walls. Each step was accompanied by a distressing sucking sound which made me wince at the damage it was doing to the fine leather of my hand made boots. There was very little sign of life in the decrepit housing as we traipsed by, empty windows and blocked up doorways. Hendry led me to a large building, filled from floor to ceiling with cages, each large enough to fit a medium size dog. They were filthy. Would it have been such a huge task to wash them down once in a while? A spherical, floating lifeform filled each cage, these so-called cores. They seemed pitiful to me. They had silver fin like wings that may have looked interesting, but in the grey light they seemed bedraggled, torn coat tails dragged through the mud, fluttering like butterflies against a window pane.

I know that Hendry thought me a soft, spoiled type of man. He took little effort to hide it and, in truth, I didn’t mind in the least. He must have been quite taken aback when I struck him hard on the back of the neck, sending him sharply to the floor. The brown, faceless creature that was the market keeper might have been equally astonished when I fried his control system, but his lack of features made it hard to tell. There was no mistaking the animosity of the two lumbering beasts he had for muscles, slow sleepy things. I only stunned them, I try my best to avoid taking life, it is impolite and poor karma. The market keeper squealed hot air from some hidden orifice as I pulled the manual switch that released all the cage doors, but I swatted his tentacles away, there was no need to stun him.

It didn’t take the cores long to realise they were free. As one they propelled themselves out and rose to the roof, barely pausing to forced their way through. I raced against the falling debris until I was far enough away that I could properly enjoy the spectacle. And what a spectacle it was. Imagine an operatic score translated to lights, performed by a thousand glowing spheres, each a master of colour, tone and rhythm. It was of unimaginable beauty, which faded as the creatures flew higher into the greyness.

One swooped down in front of me. It hovered, regarding me by whatever means they use, close enough I could feel the warm breeze its wings create, but I wasn’t afraid. Its edges touched gently up against my forehead, cold at first but growing to a warm kiss. My ship mind, plugged in to my neural lace, awoke and fired off a stream of alerts, like confetti through my consciousness. A million data streams poured through me to my ship, including our passage home. I guess you do not need to enslave a species to gain their help, some good will do the trick.

 Hendry was heavy and I tore my shirt dragging him back to the shuttle. He would doubtless sulk for weeks at the assault and betrayal, but I couldn’t be part of something so outdated and unfashionable as enslavement. It became very clear to me the only viable option was to mutiny in this way.  Hendry had long since refused any orders given him and was insistent the core was the only way home. I would not be leaving him a good review on his profile on our return, now only 3 years away instead of seven. Unfortunately, the cores did not transfer any new entertainments to stem the boredom, but happily I might have a hiatus from Hendry’s lectures.