James Axler – Parallax Red Parallax Red

It was the unifying insignia of the Archon Directorate, one adopted by Overproject Excalibur, the Totality Concept’s division devoted to genetic engineering.

Kane managed to keep the angry revulsion from registering on his face. He knew the symbol was supposed to represent some kind of pseudomystical triad functioning within a greater, all-embracing body.

To him, all it represented was the co-opting and deliberately planned extinction of the human race.

The female troll waddled up beside him, making shooing gestures with the harp. Kane obeyed her, but he took notice of how her gait seemed slightly uncertain and how her black eyes appeared glassy, like damp obsidian. He remembered what Baptiste had said about Earth’s oxygen levels having an adverse effect on the trolls, and he wondered if the ugly little bitch might not be a bit tiddly.

Grant was eyeing the contents of the trestle tables when he rejoined him. They both looked at chunks of ores, stones and minerals. Little adhesive labels were stuck to some of them, identifying them as terbium, tantalum, promethium.

Bisymmetrical forms like outlandish sculptures also rested there, made of substances which appeared to be wood overlaid with a metallic lacquer. The labels on these items read ID Pending.

A large number of objects scattered over the tables were completely unrecognizable, bearing no labels or striking any chords of recognition within either man.

They followed Sindri and Brigid down an aisle formed by plastic-sheet-shrouded banks of equipment. A few feet beyond lay a small living area, with a low table, a couple of chairs, a fraying sofa and a small refrigerator. A few personal items cluttered the table a hairbrush, a sheaf of computer spreadsheets, crum-pled-up self-heat ration packs. A glass-fronted, wire-shelved case held all of their equipment, from blasters to their helmets, all within easy reachif the handles had not been chained and padlocked.

A scrawny orange cat dozed on the arm of the chair and regarded their arrival with sleepy yellow eyes. Sin-dri gestured to the furniture. “Take a load off, but don’t spit on the deck or call the cat a bastard.”

Kane, Brigid and Grant exchanged mystified looks. Sindri uttered a short laugh. “Old Navy talk. Picked it up from a book, as I have so many things. Forgive the eclectic mixture of furnishings. They were the best of a bad lot I was able to salvage.”

A quartet of trolls stood by watchfully, including the woman. Uneasily, the three of them took seats, Kane easing down on the sofa, at the far end from the cat. He was moderately fond of animals, but he had not spent much time in their company, especially cats.

The animal looked his way, made a quizzical noise that sounded like “Ralph?” rested its chin upon its paw and fell back asleep.

Sindri said, “Don’t mind old Robinson Crusoe there. He’s the latest in a very long line of feline Robinson Crusoes who took possession of this station after its bipedal inhabitants fled.”

“Cats?” Grant’s tone was skeptical. “Cats lived here?”

Sindri opened the door of the refrigerator and bent down to peer inside. Distractedly he said, “Evidently a few of the original colonists of Parallax Red brought their pets with them. They and their descendants survived long after their owners perished.”

“What did they find to live on?” Kane asked, interested in spite of himself.

“Oh, there was plenty of water still in the reservoir, dripping from pipes in the lower levels. As for actual foodstuffs, the station supported a thriving population of rats.”

“Rats?” Grant’s tone wasn’t skeptical now; it was alarmed.

“Experimental animals that escaped their cages, got into the food stores and were fruitful and multiplied.”

Sindri rummaged through the contents of the refrigerator, muttering, “What to offer you, what to offer you…”

With an exclamatory “Ah!” Sindri straightened up, holding a heavy carafe in his hands. Placing it on the table, he said, “Permit me a moment to scare up some glasses.”

Kane eyed the carafe distrustfully. “Mind telling us what’s in it?”

Sindri plucked three tumblers from a shelf, blew on them and set them down on the table. “No, I don’t mind at all, Mr. Kane.”

He tipped the carafe, pouring a clear fluid into a tumbler. He smiled disarmingly. “Water. Plain, ordinary distilled water. After your period of weightlessness and exposure to the thin air, you’re all touched with dehydration. It would be unwise to offer you anything else, even had I anything else to offer you.”