The Herem Saga #2 (Them and Us)

By Davide Sassoli

Milky Way, thirteenth millennium of the stellar age.
Human beings have long since left the surface of the Mother Planet, Earth, and so much time has passed they barely remember it.
They have established themselves as the predominant form of life among the stars and all the while they expand, colonize and multiply undisturbed. At times they are at peace, other times they quarrel with one another in an endless strife of meaningless skirmishes.
But one day the balance is broken. A terrible alien race, relentless and apparently unstoppable, now threatens to upset this delicate order and wash away over twelve millennia of progress and expansion.
People in the Milky Way call them Herem, the Anathem…

BOOK TWO: THEM AND US

Araia Research Starbase, Orion Nebula. Emra is a brilliant scholar, a man who traveled the galaxy far and wide and lived on dozens of worlds. He is solitary and extremely jealous of his work, especially now that he's working for the army, trying to pry the secrets behind the Herem's very existence and feeling close to a sensational discovery. But now, a group of young PhD candidates from the Otamendi Academy has reached Araia, looking to upgrade their resumes. They are determined and willing go well out of their way to surpass their companions, and some of them have taken an interest in Emra’s study of “cerebros”: a colorful name for the mysterious Alien organisms which seem to be responsible for the Herems’ thought processes.
Meanwhile, the shadow of a terrible epidemic looms over Araia and its population. Just when he feels he's getting close to a breakthrough… Emra could very well be out of time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Davide Sassoli
• Release date: Apr 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9791222400037

Book preview

On the Universe and its Distances

The easiest and best way to imagine the Universe, is thinking of a sandbox.

Take the Milky Way: spiral galaxy, very common… You could just take a flat board and draw a sort of map, where stars and planets take up various positions, like cities on a landscape. That’s cool, but it would give you a very wrong idea of the actual distances which separate objects in the cosmos.

The Milky Way is in fact – just like the Universe itself – a box. It’s a container which gathers many objects, all very close to one another, at least if you consider the enormous distances which separate, for example, two different galaxies.

Astronomical distances are often measured in multiples of c (the speed of light). How long does it take for light (the fastest thing we know of) to travel between two places? From Earth to the Sun it merely takes 8 minutes, and from here to the next star it’s just a few years trip. To reach the closest star cluster, however, it would take over four hundred years, and that becomes forty thousand if we’re heading to the center of the galaxy. Not to mention Andromeda, the closest other galaxy we can see in the sky, which is currently two million and a half light years away.

The reason for all this is the Universe being an enormous gravitating system. It’s made of objects which exercise a constant pull on one another, so the closest ones tend to become even closer, and they will eventually come to revolve around a common center of mass. That’s why planets and asteroids tend to stay close to their star, leaving vast expanses of empty space all around, and stars (with their full systems in tow) will keep close to other stars, forming clusters, and star clusters will then form the spiral arms of a galaxy. A galaxy will then seek the vicinity of its nearest companions, forming a cluster of galaxies, and so on… up to the Universe, which is the biggest container we’ve discovered so far.

So it’s actually no wonder that science fiction is forced to call upon some very improbable concepts – like hyperspace, warp speed or worm-holes… – to allow us to travel to other planets. It’s also no wonder, though it might not be so easy to imagine, that an inhabited solar system might actually have no knowledge of its closest neighbor: though bound by gravity, the two would be incapable of actually reaching one another, so they might just as well be on opposite sides of the Cosmos.

In the Year 2491, according to the Gregorian Calendar, the first interstellar space-faring vessel left Earth, never to return.

The Galactic Chronicles record this event as the Zero Hour of the Stellar Age.

PART 1 – Cerebros

Araia Research Starbase (civilian research outpost), Orion Nebula, galactic year 12.594

Emra tapped his finger against the glass and the thing inside reacted with a jerk, twisting part of its purplish mass and extending a lump in his direction, like a dude who’d just turned his head.

Emra was standing well beyond the red lines bordering the safety area. They’d been set down by the base’s military personnel in accordance with a complicated and very stupid regulation which, in their quite limited minds, served to ensure the safety and well-being of all civilian personnel; just in case one of these terrible Aliens decided to break free and eat the entire research team, students included.

He stared at the thing, precisely in the direction of the lump that was pointing at him, pretending he could read its expression. When he tried tilting his head, it reacted.

«Professor!!»

Emra jerked.

«We’re ready to begin. If you would be kind enough to step back…»

Emra turned, chuckling.

Obediently, he headed back to where Ines was waiting for him, well behind both the red and the yellow lines. The purpose of the latter he still ignored, even though a very patient Lieutenant had thoroughly explained it to him, quoting very interesting technical details and making many reassuring gestures. He shook his head.

Ines was the best assistant he’d ever worked with: young, intelligent, extremely capable and exquisitely beautiful (to the point he could stand being scolded by her like a boy who’d just been caught stealing his parents’ electronic stimulators), but she made it a point not to tolerate his transgression of security protocols, though he’d explained to her a thousand times that those things were totally harmless, especially as long as they remained confined within the containment tanks, from which they couldn’t have gotten out even if they were armed with bombs and explosives. Then tanks looked like glass, but those glasses were actually a blend of extremely resistant and resilient polymers, ten times tougher than any carbon-based crystal and practically impossible to bend or erode. They were the metaphorical belt and braces.

«Did we calibrate the sensors this time?» he asked, hoping the change in subject would be enough to appease her.

«Yes, Professor,» she confirmed. «All frequencies you suggested will be monitored within the minimum possible error allowed by uncertainty principles.»

«What about interference?»

«Filtered out to the limit of our current knowledge of cosmic and quantum physics.»

«And by "our knowledge" you mean…»

«I mean what is currently known to the human race, Professor.»

«Very well.» Emra never made many compliments. To get people to work properly you always needed to suggest that things could have been done better or more rapidly, or both. «Have we heard from our spectators?»

«Spectators?»

«Weren’t we waiting on that school trip, those youngsters that wanted to witness the experiment?»

«Are you talking about the PhD candidates from the Otamendi Academy?»

«Ah… yes, I think so.»

«I’m just waiting for your authorization to begin the streaming session.»

«Good! Let’s start then.»

«Do you wish to review the parameters one last time?»

«Ines…» he answered, showing her a sly smile, «if we reviewed them again, we’d go beyond Akkadi’s uncertainty principle, don’t you think?»

«I don’t believe it applies to this circumstance, Professor.»

Emra turned, chuckling again.

«Please don’t forget to remain inside the safety area during the experiment,» she reminded him.

«I know, I know…» He’d actually already forgotten about it, but why admit it? «Ready when you are, my sweet assistant.»

Ines made no answer. She never took up on those small provocations, nor did she show any pleasure or displeasure at his compliments, whether they were quiet and elegant or openly preposterous.

Maybe that’s why I like her… he thought, while he tidied up best he could in the seconds before they went live: because she’s a challenge.

«We’re live, Professor. You can speak freely.»

Emra was aware that, at a reasonable distance (though close enough to enable optic and electronic communication), sat (or stood) about twenty young future scientists. They had been accurately tested and selected by the Otamendi Academy, which strongly valued first-hand experiences among its best subjects and whose internships covered all the best research stations in the sector; and that stood quite well with Emra, so long as the brats didn’t pester him.

«Welcome, eager young minds of tomorrow!» he greeted them out loud with a theatrical gesture while speaking to the lab’s rear bulkhead, where he knew most of the micro-cams would be fluttering about. «I know this is a moment of great interest and excitement for you all, but I must remind you that security always comes first! We are dealing with an extremely dangerous and aggressive life form, which has already exterminated countless millions of human beings across every sector of the galaxy.» He glanced at Ines, hoping to get some reaction: even a small tilt of the head or a muffled little sigh would do, but he got nothing. «So please be very careful not to pilot any micro-cams or probes beyond the security lines, which were gently put in place by the FIA personnel under the orders of Major Dison. I’d also like to remind you that it is highly recommended you activate the sonar filters on your receivers and regulate them to a minimum setting of 4. Failing to comply with these restrictions will result in the termination of your contract and in a note of demerit to be forwarded directly to your supervisors. All right… if there are no questions, I believe we can begin.»

There were no questions, obviously. He gestured for Ines to…

«Professor? Excuse me, Professor!»

Emra froze with his arm in mid-air.

The voice was coming from behind his back, from one of those micro-cams still stupidly equipped with loudspeakers, though he’d expressly insisted that the model be eliminated and its designers fed to the specimens (provided they actually ate). Ines chose that moment to show the faintest of smiles.

Emra cursed the day he had agreed to that charade and turned again, putting on his best poker face. «Yes, Ms. …»

«Gwen… Gwen Oskovic, Professor Arkadiev. And… thank you for your patience.»

Well… at least she was respectful. She also had a cute voice, all things considered; Emra wondered what she might look like in the flesh. «Speak up then, Ms. Gwen. I’m listening,» he encouraged her.

«I was wondering how exactly will a neutronic bombardment induce organic reactions in what you refer to as the subject’s sub-sensitive cortex. Wouldn’t electronic stimulation be more effective?»

«Naturally, but only in a carbon-based life form like ourselves,» Emra conceded, sparing an angry glance for Ines that meant: "Couldn’t you at least make sure they were minimally prepared." «But as you are surely aware of, Ms. Oskovic, alien species 9-4-89-K’s organic structure is primarily composed of silicon and germanium, plus lesser but still relevant quantities of tin and even minor traces of lead. The current theory on their cerebral and sensory processes (my theory) places both of these in the deeper layers of their sensitive cortex which, as you correctly reminded us, extend to the entire form of the creature and thus are not limited to a single and clearly definable organ. It is a structure so complex that, by comparison, our primitive human brain is…»

«Professor… Sorry for interrupting you, Professor!» Emra forcibly unclenched his fists. «My name is Gillian Strauss and I’m from the Calypso System.»

And why the hell should I…

«I’d like to ask you if you believe the extension of the sub-cortex to be the same in all variants of species 9-4-89, and whether we’ll have the opportunity to conduct any experiments on those subjects.»

Emra kept smiling. It was his best smile, the one he used when he was speaking in front of a very ignorant and rich audience. That smile said: Thank you for this excellent question, my dear sir! I see that, unlike the others around you, you are quite the expert…

Emra was still holding on to that smile when he answered: «My dear Mr. …»

«Strauss, Professor! Gillian Strauss.»

« … my dear Mr. Gillian Strauss, if by variants you’re referring to the insectoid sub-units cataloged as sub-species 9-4-89-00X, and sadly known among the non-academics as crustbreakers, allow me to re-direct you to section beta, level 8, sub-level 46 inside this very structure. There you will find an abundant quantity of specimens on which you may conduct any and all experiments you deem worthy of your attention, including goading, slicing by means of sharp blades and auditory disturbances generated by impacting the transparent walls of the containment tanks through the use of the lab’s numerous chairs; I suggest holding them by the backrest, with the help of both your hands. But, Mr. Strauss, please don’t ever interrupt me again: my time is precious and I’ve already lost enough of it on you.»

The gravely silence he obtained was extremely gratifying. He pointedly didn’t look towards Ines, who was probably just giving him another one of her stern looks (in four standard years of cooperation, he’d never been able to impress her), and took his sweet time, allowing the annoyance that PhD brat had given him to deflate on its own.

Variants… those things were called 9-4-89-00X for the simple reason that every time you thought you’d cataloged them all, you discovered just as many new ones, none of them holding a shred of interest. They were a byproduct, a regurgitation; they came out totally random and baring one single purpose: shredding things to pieces. He’d had to put up with them for over fifteen years, until he’d taken it upon himself to bring fresh air to those sterile researches after the discovery of variant 9-4-89-K, now purposely called cerebro. Cerebros appeared to be just a bunch of inform violet masses with no purpose whatsoever, but the reality underneath their looks was much, much more promising…

«So, where were we?» he went on as if nothing had happened. «Oh, that’s right! As I was saying… what makes neutronic bombardment so important, my dear Gwen, is my personal belief that the Alien’s cognitive processes take place on the level of those very few, yet vital, lead molecules, which are extremely heavy and thus extremely slow, making it imperative they revert to a totally different method for the purposes of transmission and storage of information. Which is…»

Emra waited, confident that this time no one would have anything to say, and he was about to reach the climax of his lecture when…

«Which is a series of variations in the atomic weights due to isotope decay,» Ines’s voice said from behind his back. In that voice, Emra noticed a distinct note of satisfaction.

And this is when I wonder if it would be more pleasing to just kick her out of my lab for good or to finally get her clothes off, he mused, trying to control his temper. «Precisely, my dearest Ines,» he finally conceded. «Now, if you would be so kind to activate the neutron accelerator… we will start the experiment!»

«Professor, wait!» it was sweet Gwen's voice again. «If your theory is correct, don’t you think that a neutronic bombardment might cause a sudden increase in the subjects’ cognitive and rational capability? Wouldn’t we make them more… intelligent?»

There was a hint of worry in that question, fear even.

«When we strive to look beyond the horizons of the unknown, my dear Gwen,» Emra said as solemnly as he could (he always got a kick out of that), «we are always confronted by some form of risk. But if we left the Mother Planet and conquered the stars, it is only because some of us had the courage to take it.» Then he raised his voice again: «I once again remind you all to keep your micro-cams far from the containment tanks and to not, for whatsoever reason, fly them beyond the yellow and red lines. Ines, my dear… are we ready?»

«Of course, Professor.»

«Then let’s begin!»

The accelerator turned on, flooding the transparent tank with a shower of invisible neutrons. Then, suddenly, the whole lab shut down.

Externally, Gillian wore a perfect mask of calm and composure. Perhaps a mindful observer would have noticed the slow and methodical rasping of his nails on the polished glass of that antiquated workstation, or the all too perfect and regular rhythm of his breathing, which he exhaled in short puffs and through tight lips. But apart from that, no one would have guessed the rage and indignation that were burning him up, hotter than a neutron star.

I haven’t felt so humiliated since… since… Why you ugly little piece of pre-stellar space shit! Who the hell do you think you are??

Gillian flew his micro-cam very close to Arkadiev’s left ear, so close that if he had maximized the zooming he would have been able to spot every single speckle of ear wax obstructing the drum. His fingers were already circling on the polished command console to raise the loudspeaker volume to max when, naturally, security protocols took over and piloted the micro-cam at a safety distance.

Defeated, he told himself he’d make that bastard pay some other way, sooner or later. But at that point, his attention was drawn, obediently followed by his micro-cam, to the side of the lab where the testing equipment was installed, to the spot where… Gillian was dazzled, his fingers perfectly still on the console, unable to avert his gaze.

And where did you come from…?

She was a young woman, so young she didn’t bear any sign of youth treatments. She was tall, had green eyes and a sharp face and her hair was dyed a classical blonde, though a little less bright than normal like it was… authentic. Fuck! She was wearing her natural color! Who did that anymore?

Meanwhile, Arkadiev was entertaining himself with cute little Gwen Oskovic, whose previous interruption, needless to say, hadn’t bothered him at all. Gillian had heard of Arkadiev’s… fondness for female students, but he never would have thought him to be such a pig.

He tried to relax, stretching the muscles on his neck which, he could feel, were quite tense, and allowing himself to linger on the blond assistant’s face and her exquisite body.

Since the experiment was about to start, he imitated his colleagues and activated the molecular filters, adding some amplified graphics just for the taste of it. With that kind of configuration, he would see some convincing images of the otherwise invisible neutrons that would be hitting the creature beyond the glass of the containment tank, plus all other possible reactions coming from its Alien body. Puritans advised against amplified graphics, labeling them as useless scenery, but Gillian didn’t mind some entertainment, especially considering he’d have to witness the experiment through a visor (a visor!); he’d been convinced everyone in the galaxy had a cortical implant by now, even here. When he’d found out, he hadn’t believed his ears

«Professor, wait!» Gwen was interrupting again. «If your theory is correct, don’t you think that a neutronic bombardment could cause a sudden increase in the subject's cognitive and rational capability? Wouldn’t we make them more… intelligent?»

It was the stupidest question he’d ever heard, but Emra Arkadiev didn’t show the slightest annoyance and even took the opportunity to show off some more, talking about unknown horizons, courage and other bullshit.

Gillian was shaking his head, but then he noticed that Gwen was looking at him. Her visor was up and her charming blue eyes, amazingly enough, spoke of a real worry. He automatically produced what he hoped looked like a reassuring expression, though it couldn’t have come out properly, since his eyes were still covered. Meanwhile, in his ears, Arkadiev’s voice was inviting Ines, his beautiful assistant, to activate the accelerator controls.

Gwen hastily pulled her visor down, just as Arkadiev was giving the initial start signal (like he was hosting a race), but a moment later, all micro-cams stopped transmitting and went dark, followed by some visible moments of perplexity among the over twenty PhD candidates.

The workstations were arranged in concentric circles, the ones in the back raised higher like in a round-based theater, and Gillian could see his colleagues touching and tinkering with their visors, looking for some plug or switch that would reboot the signal. There was a lot of grumbling in the background.

After some minutes, the first unfriendly comments came. They were aimed at the Professor (and these pleased Gillian very much), at the equipment (How could a place like Araia Starbase still be equipped with this pre-stellar crap?), at bad luck and at everything in general.

Gillian was about to remove the visor supports, because they were starting to bother him, when a message string appeared before his eyes. It was Gwen: The micro-cams are working. Did you notice?

And why the hell are you telling me this? he wondered, before realizing she was right: the signal hadn’t been interrupted and the micro-cam commands still worked. There was simply nothing they could transmit: no light and no infrared from the lab’s interiors, not even the neutrons that were supposed to be showering down from the accelerator. All that came through was a dead silence and a pitch-black view.

Something must have happened on the other side. Do you hear anything? it was Gwen again.

Gillian was about to answer that he didn’t when suddenly all lights in the room – including the command consoles and all other equipment – blinked repeatedly and then shut down, while some very loud noises coming from one of the secondary accesses told them that someone, or something, was trying to get in.

There was a scuffle of feet, of arms and legs and of heads bumping, along with a lot of swearing and many thuds of people falling, while all twenty candidates tried to reach the place where they knew to be the exit; some were carrying small light sources, which just added to the commotion and confusion. Gillian was sitting in the second row and scrambled for a way out but hit his knee in the process, then someone tried to use his head as a support, but slipped and fell, cursing. A hand grabbed his own, it was a girl's hand.

«Come on!» said Gwen Oskovic.

«Ok,» Gillian stammered, grasping her wrist and allowing her to lead the way.

He was hit, pushed and pulled for the better part of a minute, but Gwen’s hand was firm and guided him out of the turmoil. He heard the puff of doors opening and the noise behind him change when others discovered that someone had found a way out; then they all rushed in that direction.

«This way! Hold hands and follow my voice!» Gwen shouted over the babel.

«Where are we going? What do we do?» asked Gillian.

«I think we should head to our rooms, but I’m not sure…» tried Gwen, her voice trembling. «I don’t know any other ways, do you?»

Gillian did, actually, but he didn’t think they’d be useful. And anyway, she was the one who could see in the dark somehow. She must have a personal visor, or maybe some ocular implant… he had no idea how rich she was.

Gwen pulled him along a path she evidently knew and Gillian told himself that she was very tough, to have reacted so coolheadedly. He didn’t want to think of what had happened: he knew that Araia Starbase hosted Alien experiments under the army’s supervision and that there were many live specimens onboard, especially on the inferior levels, but no use wondering on that now. Better to just keep following Gwen, who seemed to know exactly what she was doing, even if her voice trembled and she kept asking for his opinion. Then, suddenly, the girl stopped.

«What’s going on?» he asked, while he was already being squashed from behind.

«Dead end! What do we do now?»

Gillian didn't know what to reply, he was blind and compressed by the weight of other eighteen people, provided they hadn’t lost some already.

«Does anyone else have a visor?» Gwen cried desperately.

«Where the fuck are we?» came the angry response from behind.

They were clearly inside a very small room and the air was beginning to grow hot. Perhaps they could go back, but Gillian doubted the last in line would agree since they kept pushing and swearing because they wanted to go forward. Behind them, further away, they could still hear those noises.

«I’m sorry… I’m sorry…» Gwen kept saying. She was crying. «I thought I’d memorized the way out.»

Gillian felt she had cuddled up beneath him and he was doing his best to shield her from the weight of the others, but he was tiring rapidly.

«Hey! Hey, it’s here! Go forward! Go forwaaard!!»

There was a terrorizing scream. Gillian didn’t know where to go or what to do, he just felt he could no longer breathe, but still all he wanted was to be as far away from where that scream had come from as possible. Then, suddenly, like in some very bad practical joke, the lights turned back on.

Ines entered Arkadiev’s private office. Her stride was smooth and measured, her expression neutral; she folded her arms. She wasn’t sure what that gesture would mean to the Professor, but in her intentions, it conveyed a very hard rebuke.

Emra Arkadiev was slouching on his favorite armchair, staring out towards the stars and the nebula’s ever-changing rainbow of colors, and laughing his head off like a madman.

«Did you see them? Did you see them?» He had tears in his eyes and was unable to dry them up. «I’ve never seen anything so funny in my life. The best students from the Otamendi Academy, the great and young – and a bit too gullible – minds of tomorrow. Ahahaha! I wonder how they managed not to piss their clothes!»

Ines didn’t reply.

«Oh, come on! You can’t say I’m not a genius, you can’t!»

She sighed, but just because she couldn’t refrain herself.

«Don’t look at me like that! We have to find some amusement in this rat cage of a station, right? Ines… did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?» then he burst out laughing