The Betwixt Book One (13 page)

I slowly turned my head and gazed down at Od. What had just
happened? Had I missed something?

‘
I knew you would agree. Your race has the memory and the
foresight to realize what is coming.’

‘
What Crag'tal do?’

‘
We have a spot of trouble.’

‘
Then Crag'tal will shoot spot.’

I listened as Od filled Crag'tal in on the details, but my
mind wasn't all there. I was from a long dead race, if Crag'tal was
to be believed. An ancient, ancient race.

And that was a problem.

I don't think I'd ever really believed Od when he'd said this
coming war would be mine alone to thwart. I had always thought
there would be others out there like me. Whatever race I was – I
always thought there would be more of them out there, more help to
call on.

But how could there be more, if they were all long dead? And
how, how in the name of the galaxy, was I here, if one-half of me
shouldn't exist at all?

No, he had to be wrong. There had to be others somewhere in
this galaxy. There had to be.

Chapter 7

Exactly one hour and forty minutes after we had talked with
Crag'tal, I was sitting back in my quarters with my other pistol
tucked safely away in its case. I couldn't quite believe it was
back, and theoretically, I wasn't going to be dragged off to jail
just yet.

Crag'tal had managed to retrieve it and was now talking with
Od in the corner, casting glances at Hipop as he hid amongst my pot
plants. It seems my little alien pet was wary of the whole thing,
and I could sympathize. I had no idea how Crag'tal had managed to
get the gun back, none whatsoever. And here's the thing, they
wouldn't tell me. Neither Od nor Crag'tal felt the need to fill me
in on the finer nuances of Crag'tal's Pistol Saving
Mission.

Why?

And it wasn't as if they were deliberately not telling me,
they were just, well, ignoring me. Chatting over in the corner like
they were the best of friends. I felt a touch fed up with the whole
situation. I was the chosen one, destined warrior, and only person
who could save the galaxy, after all. Why was I being given the
cold shoulder?

I moped for a while before choosing to stare out my window at
the vacuous expanse of space. All that dark and all those tiny
little stars – the blackness only served to make the twinkle of
white and yellow more visible. It was making me feel very small.
The old adage that we are just an insignificant speck compared to
the rest the universe was playing in my mind. But it had a further
edge: if there really were more of my kind out there, then it would
be like finding a speck of dust in . . . the whole
universe.

The task was impossible. And even if I could not find more of
my race, my ‘destiny’ was impossible too. Od had repeated to me,
the moment I'd gotten my pistol back, that it wasn't a 'real weapon
for the purpose of our mission', and then he had added, with his
hands so daintily clasped in front of him, that 'we still have to
find the lost weapons of your race – it is only with these that we
can hope to repel the Twixts'. Now, how was I to find these ‘lost
weapons’, when I had no idea where they could be or what they
looked like? And how long did I have to complete this impossible
task? Not long, if Od's ominous rumblings to Crag'tal were to be
believed.

It was this waiting with no direction or purpose that was
getting to me, making me think of the question I really should have
asked yesterday. But honestly, what was the time frame here? Would
this ‘war’ happen tomorrow, next month, in a year, by the end of my
life? Would I be traveling the galaxy for the next fifty years,
tracking down ancient weapons, fighting the occasional Twixt on
some bone-dry planet in the middle of nowhere? Or would it take a
week before I would have to face off the hoards of In-Betweens in
the ultimate fight for the Milky Way?

There just seemed to be too much to find out – too many gaps
in my colander-like knowledge of the situation. And I didn't fancy
that Od was going to fill me in any time soon.

But one question began to shine through, like the first
twinkling star at dusk. Who was my mother, and why had she
abandoned me to this strange, strange life? I knew that she was the
alien half of me. Don't ask me how, I just knew. The scientists
hadn't even been able to figure it out – the peculiarities of
human-cross-species DNA left the usual mitochondrial markers
unreadable. But ever since I was a child, all those fantasies I'd
entertained of my lost parents – it was always my mother that
played the role of the white haired, supernova-blue-eyed
alien.

Who was she? Where was she now? I had never felt a greater
need to know, than at this point. I needed her now. She would know
what to do . . . .

I sighed heavily, and eventually went to flop onto my bed,
Hipop racing over to hide underneath my blanket. I scratched his
head lazily.

Why couldn't my life be normal? Then again, whose life was
really normal in space?

My swirling existential thoughts were eventually interrupted
by the uneven footfall of the very small and very tall entering the
room. I looked up to see Crag'tal towering over the diminutive Od –
both of them staring straight at me.

‘
What?’ I said, half-snarky at Od, and half very polite at
Crag'tal. I may have been in a rotten mood at them not filling me
in on how Crag'tal managed to retrieve my gun, but I wasn't about
to show lip to one of the most warrior like races in the Milky
Way.

‘
It is time for us to, as you say, get the hell off this
station,’ Od's voice was polite and careful, as always.

I looked down at him, my nose concertinaed in confusion.
‘Sorry?’

‘
No more station. We go,’ Crag'tal added, by way of
explanation.

I just blinked purposefully, and waited for someone to tell me
why.

‘
There is much for us to do, so much for us to complete. There
are no more Twixts on this station – and there is no need to wait
around for them to come to us.’

‘
Right,’ I encouraged, scratching Hipop behind his tiny, furry
ear.

‘
We must find weapons, allies, and information,’ Od gestured
with his hands expansively, as if to underscore just how huge this
task would be.

Crag'tal crossed his massive arms, the lizard-skin stretching
like plastic film tugged between two hands. ‘None of that
here.’

I stopped patting Hipop. I had finally caught up to what they
meant. We were leaving the station . . . for good.
It was a strangely painful realization. I wouldn't call this place
home, per se, but it was still the most familiar place to me in all
the galaxy. And now I was expected to leave with little chance of
returning. I may have been screaming about 'getting the hell of
this station' hours before, but that had been in the heat of the
moment . . . . I hadn't really had time to
appreciate the consequences.

I looked around the room, my room. There were my crazy pot
plants. There was my photo of Matron Mirabella. There was my
holo-pin from work, just sitting on the bedside
table . . . .

‘
We must have haste, I am afraid,’ Od said, ‘time is either our
ally or enemy, depending on if we can keep up to her
race.’

‘
Where are we going?’ I held onto Hipop tighter, till he
squeaked in protest.

‘
It has been the point of discussion between Crag'tal and
myself. It is a hard question – there are many options from which
we can choose. It is unfortunate that a situation, such as
this—’

‘
Where are we going? Just skip to the part where you tell me
where.’ Forgive me for being a little impatient, but this was the
rest of my life we were talking about here. That, and I didn't
really know these two. I was planning on going off with a Crag and
Kroplin – both of whom I had just met – to somewhere in the galaxy.
It would be the most ridiculous, most adventurous thing I had ever
done – apart from fighting a Twixt with a frying pan, that
was.

‘
There are a few races old enough to remember the Wars of the
In-Between. I believe it is amongst those planets that we should
start our search.’

A needle in a haystack, a speck in a galaxy – these were
analogies that fit this strategy. ‘Being old enough to technically
remember an ancient historical event doesn't mean they have one of
my people's weapons in their cupboard. Isn't there a better way to
do this? Couldn't we go to your own home world? Surely, that would
be the best place to start? After all, you seem to know plenty
about this.’

‘
Oh no, child,’ the smile didn't shift from Od's face, though
it did seem different somehow, ‘my home world was destroyed a long
time ago. We are a race of drifters. The records and history we had
on your people was lost with our planet. We are now a very
dispersed race, though there are those of us that can and will
help. ‘He bowed his head gently.

I was speechless. All this time and I hadn't even known Od was
from a dying race. If it hadn't looked too bizarre, I would have
slapped myself right in the head for being such an idiot when it
came to galactic history. I could bet the confident and in control
Commander Cole wouldn't have made that mistake.

‘
I . . . I'm sorry—’

‘
There is nothing to be sorry for. That we still exist, and
that we may still prevent the destruction of this galaxy, that is
all that matters.’

I was humbled into silence.

‘
But there are other races out there, as ancient as my own that
still remember, and it is with their planets that we must begin. We
do not have the luxury of time, either – we are limited to those
that we can travel to quickly.’

I nodded.

‘
Crag,’ Crag'tal said, voice so much deeper than Od's that it
was like listening to a bass guitar after a piccolo. ‘Close. We
remember – good place to start.’

‘
Crag,’ I repeated, trying not to look too shocked, ‘your own
home world?’

Crag'tal nodded. ‘Old ruins on one moon. Not many Crags go
there. Only few Crags care – only few remember.’

I was sucking at the inside of my lip. They really wanted to
take me to the Crag home world? Crag'tal was one thing, but
ordinarily Crags lived up to their reputation of being the premier
warrior race of the galaxy. I'd seen Crags start, and
comprehensively finish, fights over little more than someone
glancing their way. They had a deserved reputation for being
aggressive, rash, and not the kind of people you invited to tea
with your elderly grandmother.

Or maybe that was just a stereotype, after all, Crag'tal
didn't fit any of those categories. He'd helped me twice now, and
was fast making friends with Od, someone whom he may previously
have considered a light snack.

‘
Okay,’ I said very slowly. ‘So we go to this moon—’

‘
Crag'e'thal,’ Crag'tal corrected.

I decided against trying to repeat the name – I wouldn't be
able to get the guttural rumbles just right and would sound like I
was clearing my throat after inhaling a hand-full of flour. ‘Yes,
we go there. And then what?’

‘
There are ruins, Crag'tal assures me,’ Od was looking up and
out of my window at the space beyond, ‘and it is amongst the
ancient that we should search for the clues of the
past.’

There he was, being dramatic and flowery again – but I didn't
mind so much now. ‘What kind of clues? I mean, are we looking for
people – I mean Crags – who might know something? Or are we looking
for ancient symbols carved on walls or, I don't
know . . . ‘

‘
Both of those things. But much more important to us are
artifacts.’

‘
Artifacts? I repeated.

‘
Objects of ancient origin that may or may not hold
—’

‘
I know what an artifact is. But how are they going to help?
Are we really going to go all the way to Crag, just to poke around
in the dust on some moon for a shard of pottery or a rusted-over
spearhead?’

‘
No, such things would be of no use to us. Instead, we will
concentrate on discovering artifacts. of your people. While a shard
of pottery may be of some interest to an archaeologist—’

‘
Hold on,’ I interrupted, more than happy to cut Od off in mid
ramble, ‘what are my people even called?’ It had just struck me
that this entire time we'd been referring to my alien race, and
hadn't once mentioned their name.

Od stared at the floor for a minute. ‘They do not have a
name.’

That was a terrible answer. Every race has a name. You can't
just say you are from ‘ . . . .’ when you meet
up with all the other aliens at the bar – you'll never be able to
invite them home for dinner. ‘ How can they not have a
name?’

‘
Ko – this is what my race called them. It roughly translates
as ‘the People’,’ Od said.

‘
Oldest,’ Crag'tal added, ‘Crag call them Oldest.’

Oldest and the People . . . I thought I'd stick
with The People. Oldest would remind me too much of the fact I was
supposed to be the only one left.