Dark Tempest. Manda Benson

twenty inches of air, or an immeasurable hypothetical distance within the privacy of her mind. Stillness. Equilibrium. Chimaera. Shamrock.

      She shot, not at the chimaera, nor at some conjecture entertained, but for the place where she knew the chimaera would be in the fraction of a second it took for the arrow to hit the field and be accelerated. As she felt the release, the air the arrow disturbed as it took off, she knew no doubt.

      The contraction of the limb polymer alloy flung the arrow forward at twice the speed of sound. It pierced the containment field with an electrostatic shockwave, like a pebble breaking the surface of a pellucid pool, and a flash of light sent it on its course as the chain annihilation was initiated. Jed, complacent in her certainty, had not the time to lower the bow before she knew her prize was won. The arrow hit the chimaera in the thorax, extinguishing the light in its tail.

      With a single prompt to the Shamrock, she activated the electrostatic field that would bring her prey home. Far out in the dusty cloud, the other chimaera drew back from the casualty then scattered into the night, flicking their tails down and breaking away.

      Jed lowered the bow, her fingers upon the string where the arrow had been, with the galaxy and her ship around her, and the dimly lit armoury, and Gerald Wolff with his pathetic curiosity, like a child trying to construe a magician’s trick. She checked the scanners for the returning arrow. The chimaera was mature and healthy, a good catch. Conurin magnified sensation as well as concentration, and the fire deep in her stomach and her increased heart rate gave Jed a detached sensation that she was no longer limited by the confines of her own body, as though she was out there and soaring with the chimaera.

      “Did you hit it?” Wolff asked.

      Jed glared at him. Four words seemed all that was needed to bring the glory crashing back down.

      “Yes. I ‘hit it.’” Jed reduced the negative field as the arrow approached to decelerate it. “You will see it now, if you look.”

      Wolff watched her for a moment, and he stepped cautiously to the gap and watched the returning arrow as it sped back to the Shamrock. He was worried she would push him through the loophole—she could see it.

      The arrow stopped close to the containment field, trapping the chimaera against the ship. The spear had punctured the chimaera’s metallic thorax, and its limbs were retracted close to its body. The organometallic creature was about twelve feet long from the bulb at the tip of the tail, which provided its propulsion to its foremost point. A few other thruster-like limbs stuck out around the base of the slender, eight-foot tail shaft and on either side of the rostrum. Three elaborate gold-coloured photovoltaic wings with scarlet panels framed the thorax–one on either side above the legs, and one dorsal wing. The rounded head had narrow indentations on either side where the optical sensors were, and two slender sensory antennae pointed forward. The rostrum and chewing mandibles were drawn into the underside of the head.

      Jed pulled a lever beside the loophole to flip the chimaera into a containment basket. When the basket closed, she shut the loophole and started the mechanical cycle to bring it inside the ship. The container slid back into a tight-fitting airlock, the outer door closed, and an inner door beside the portal opened. Jed took up a pole from the weapon rack to pull the basket out of the airlock, because metal that had been left in the void was cold enough to burn.

      Behind the vitreous alloy plates, the lustrous form began to move.

      “Is that a closed vacuum?” Wolff asked.

      “Yes. Our nitrogen-based atmosphere damages them. You see those bright barbs on the tail? They’re made of solid potassium metal. Moisture in the atmosphere would react with it if it was allowed to come into contact.”

      “Potassium?” Wolff frowned.

      “Only mature adults of one of the sexes has them. It’s been suggested that the metal might act as an electron source in some kind of metabolic redox process. Much of this species’ behaviour and lifecycle is a mystery.”

      Jed looked at Wolff as he stared at the chimaera. Something in his demeanour made her recall that distant time when she had been ordered to stand and observe, when she had first seen one of these mysteries from the depths of the night shot down and pulled aboard the Agrimony, and how it had made her feel. How she had wondered at the thousands of suns this strange filigree beast of metal had seen, as it drifted aloof in the open void, and how it could now never return, how it would always be a slave to the self-obsessed race who had taken its freedom in their quest to reach ever higher, ever farther. Man, forever striving for infinity’s asymptote.

      Why was she was telling this man these things? Perhaps she saw an old vestige of herself in his aimless curiosity. Not that Jed’s pearls of Archer wisdom would be much use to him. He was a halfBlood male, and he couldn’t learn how to control an Archer’s ship, or to shoot chimaera. Maybe men would laugh at him, call him an idiot, when he walked among them, speaking of the Archers who were such an enigma to them. Maybe he would embroider his tale. Perhaps he would be the one who held the weapon in local legend, or perhaps he might even say he seduced an Archer, and that her name was Jed.

      It felt strange to think of him returning to the habitats of men, a world now so distant to Jed the memories were senseless fragments of an evanescent dream.

      As they returned to the bridge, Jed felt the ship slowing further, and looked to the sun they were now aimed straight at.

      Wolff looked also. “You know this system?”

      “It is the sun of Satigenaria. I have traded here before.”

      “Surely we cannot be heading for the sun itself?” Wolff’s voice held a note of uncertainty, and perhaps even fear.

      “So your faith in Taggart’s deliverance wavers?”

      “He would not program a course directly for a star. Taggart was no fool.”

      “Then perhaps as you said, he foresaw his own death through some intellectual portent, and rather than avert it, wrote in a failsafe to secure his own vengeance.”

      Jed twitched. A slow-moving and inconspicuous object had just come into detection range. Wolff seemed to notice. “Where are we?”

      “We have passed the Kuiper belt, and our vector remains aimed directly at the Satigenarian sun.”

      Wolff shifted his weight ever so slightly, onto one foot. “You bluff, Archer.”

      “I lie not.” Jed raised her chin and blinked, not looking at him.

      “You insinuate your ship dives toward the star?”

      “I insinuate nothing. If you have not the artifice to make alternative deductions, Gerald Wolff, then you are blinded by your own myopia.”

      “Some planetary conjunction bisects our course?”

      “This system contains only two planets, the innermost fifty radians starboard of our course, and the other nearly at opposition. Where we journey is a place closer than the innermost planet, but if one were to accurately aim a projectile at the sun anywhere within the ecliptic, one would be sure to hit it.”

      “Damn you,” Wolff muttered. “A planet innermost from the innermost planet, which permanently occupies the whole span of its orbit—an artificial construction to house the population, a circumfercirc.”

      She’d frustrated him, but Jed was irritated that he’d managed to solve her riddle. She said sourly, “Three, to be precise.”

      The Shamrock drew closer to the object, and Jed could now see what it was. Soon it came into view, the sharp reflective arc of its parabolic sail making a strange silver crescent in the front viewport.

      Wolff’s mouth fell open. “What in Pilgrennon’s name is that?”

      “A stellar galleon,” replied Jed nonchalantly. “And whilst you are aboard this ship, I will not have you use the name of the Blood paragon in disrespect.” As the Shamrock passed, the galleon’s sail revealed itself