Destiny's Hand Read online

  DESTINY’S HAND

  by

  Michael Campling

  A Science Fiction Story

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  Table of Contents

  1 Golmeneth

  2 Aboard The Shengzen

  3 Golmeneth

  4 Aboard The Shengzen

  5 Golmeneth

  6 Aboard The Shengzen

  7 Golmeneth

  Time to be Awkward

  Coming Soon

  Also by Michael Campling

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  Golmeneth—The Outermost Planet of the Sengurnica System

  When I was little, the other children called me ‘Niner’. It was a silly nickname, awarded because of my extra finger, but it stung me nonetheless. I desperately wanted to be the same as everyone else and have three fingers and a thumb on each hand, not least because the number nine was the unluckiest of all the numbers. But I’d been born with that imperfection, and there was nothing I could do about it; such things were not discussed, and it was my duty to bear my burden without complaint.

  So I never talked about it. Except for that one day. The day when everything changed.

  I was sitting with my mother on the sofa in the living room—the best room in our big old house. The windows looked out over the city square and the sofa made an ideal spot to observe the constant bustle outside as merchants plied their wares, the city folk came to buy, and exotic travelers wandered through the crowds on their mysterious errands. I remember the warm light filtering in through the thick glass of the special window panes, and the soft, lilting tones of my mother’s voice as she sang me songs and told me stories. And I remember the exact moment when I took a deep breath and admitted my secret anxiety.

  “Mother,” I said slowly, “I don’t like having this stupid finger. Everyone makes fun of me.”

  “Don’t listen to them,” my mother said. “There’s nothing wrong with your hand. Not really. It’s just something that makes you extra special.”

  “I don’t like it,” I told her. “No one else has a funny finger. Can we make it go away?”

  “Here,” she said, “let me give you a hug.”

  I sat next to her on the sofa, and she held me tight and stroked my hair, then she gently rubbed my hand, soothing away my worries.

  I looked up at her sweet face and basked in her tender smile. And I plucked up the courage to say what was really on my mind. “I was wondering…what does it mean when you say someone’s a modder?”

  Her body stiffened. “Who used that word? Who said that you?”

  “Some of the other boys,” I said. “They said they wouldn’t play with me because I was a modder.”

  She squeezed me tighter and let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, my poor boy,” she murmured. “It’s hard to explain but you mustn’t worry about it.”

  I wriggled against her, soaking up her warmth, the sweet flowery scent of her perfume. “I didn’t understand what they were talking about. And they said I was an idiot because I didn’t know. But if you tell me what it means, then at least they won’t be able to call me stupid again.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “But if I tell you, then you must promise not to worry about it anymore.”

  I nodded. “All right.”

  “Modder is a name that some people use to make fun of anyone who has some part of their body that looks different to everyone else.”

  “Like my finger?”

  “No,” she said gently. “Sometimes, people… people try to alter the pattern within themselves. It’s hard to explain, but these people try to change their bodies, to make themselves look different.”

  I pulled away from her embrace and stared up at her in disbelief. “But that’s stupid. Why would anyone do that?”

  She looked down at me, and her smile was gone. There was a sadness in her eyes that I’d rarely seen. “They think these changes will make them better than other people, but sometimes things go wrong. Sometimes they can end up looking quite…peculiar. And then everyone knows they tried to change themselves, and people call them names.”

  “Names like modder.”

  “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

  I looked at my hands, imagining what it would be like to change my body and make myself look the same as everyone else. Would I make that change, if I could? I wasn’t sure. But there was something strange in the way my mother had said the word, peculiar, a shudder in her voice, and I got the idea she was talking about so much more than a troublesome extra finger. “What do they look like?” I asked. “Are they like that man who sells fish in the market?”

  She ruffled my hair. “Oh, Yempy! You’re such a dreamer. Mr. Greene used to sail the sea, working on the fishing boats, but he lost his arm in an accident, that’s all. He’s a perfectly nice old man, but he gets rather grumpy when children stare at him and ask him silly questions. All right?”

  “All right,” I said, and then I held my tongue for a moment although my imagination was running riot. I racked my brains for anyone else I’d seen who might belong to this mysterious new group of people. “What about—”

  “Oh, no,” my mother interrupted. “We’re not going to play that game.” She took a breath. “Listen, Yempy. You won’t have seen anyone who might be called a modder, OK? They don’t…they don’t like to stay in the city.”

  “Oh. Do they run away? Is it because people call them names?”

  My mother hesitated. “Something like that. People don’t treat them properly. They forget that, even though they look different, they’re still people. Do you see?”

  “Yes. I think so.” I chewed my bottom lip, thinking. “It’s not their fault is it? I mean, they didn’t mean to end up looking different, so it’s horrible to call them names. It’s not fair.”

  “Children can be so cruel,” my mother said.

  I nodded. “You wouldn’t ever try to change yourself, would you?”

  “No. Your father and I, we don’t believe it’s right.”

  “Because we’re Gemmenites?”

  “That’s part of it,” she said. “We believe Gemmen made each of us according to our own unique pattern. And so each and every one of us is perfect, just like her. Everything in harmony and balance.”

  “But not my finger. That doesn’t match. It’s all wrong, and it’s unlucky.”

  She hugged me again. “Oh, Yempy, you always want to question everything. But I’m afraid that some of the things Gemmen does are very hard to understand—especially for one so young.”

  I didn’t argue. It was true; I liked to know things. I liked to know why things were as they were. But I didn’t pester her with any more questions. I nestled against her, enjoying the warmth and comfort of her hug. I could’ve stayed like that forever.

  But then Ashra came running in and spoiled everything.

  My older sister had been playing in our garden, bouncing a ball against the high wall with her friends, but now she came barreling in through the door, her cheeks flushed and sweat on her brow. She ran across the room and staggered to a standstill in front of us. Excitement burned in her eyes, but when she saw me, her expression hardened.

  My mother sat up straight. “What is it, Ashra? What’s the matter?”

  Ashra pushed out her bottom lip and looked away for a moment.

  “Are you all right?” I asked her. But she didn’t reply, didn’t even look at me.

  “For goodness’ sake, Ashra!” my mother said. “Don’t barge in here and then stand there saying nothing. What’s going on?”

  Ashra let out a hiss of frustration and stamped her foot. “I’m not saying it while
he’s here.”

  My mother said nothing, and a heavy silence filled the room.

  “It’s all right, I’ll go,” I said, and my voice wavered: hoarse and high-pitched like the marsh cats that prowled the city walls at night.

  “No, Yempy,” my mother said. “You sit tight. Anything that Ashra has to say, she can say it in front of you.”

  Ashra glanced at me and scowled. But before she could speak, my father burst into the room. “Did you tell them yet, Ashra? I thought you’d all be outside by now.”

  My mother laughed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you two. Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” She looked up at my father. “Why are you so jumpy, my darling?”

  Ashra stared at my father and her mouth hung open as if she’d suddenly realized she was going to miss her moment in the limelight. “It’s a ship!” she blurted. “A ship has arrived. It’s in orbit over the city. And you’ll never guess who it is!”

  I jumped down from the sofa. “Is it traders from Analtha? Are they bringing sweets and toys and…and everything?”

  Ashra gave me a pitying look. “No, it’s much more important than that.”

  “Oh, praise Gemmen,” my mother murmured. She stood up and hurried to my father’s side. “Tell me. Is it them? Have they finally come?”

  My father nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We all heard its call-sign. There’s no doubt about it.” He held my mother’s hands and kissed her. “It’s an envoy from Selmon. And it can only mean one thing.”

  “They’re going to choose someone,” Ashra shouted gleefully. “They’re going to choose someone to go with them. And it’s going to be me! I’m sure of it.”

  And I looked down at the floor and kept quiet. Because I knew Ashra was right. She was the smartest person in school: always the top of the class, the captain of any team, the highest scorer in every test. Whereas I was nothing more than a clumsy kid, with awful handwriting, a head full of questions, and a long record of being scolded in school for daydreaming when I should’ve been attending to the teachers. There was nothing special about me: no good grades, no sporting achievements. Nothing. And whatever my mother might say, I doubted very much that it would count for anything to have a stupid extra finger.

  2

  Aboard The Shengzen: Wolf Class Destroyer (Selmon Fleet)

  Principal Administrator Arech Jarmine stood outside the envoy’s operations room and stared at the perfectly polished, dark wooden door. To Arech, the antiquated door with its lustrous sheen was an unnecessary affectation; it was grandiose, and its absurd cost far outweighed it usefulness. Not unlike the High Command, he thought bitterly.

  He looked away for a moment and drew a deep steadying breath. Such thoughts were deeply shameful, and he pushed them from his mind. It was important that he present himself to the envoy in the usual way: calm, professional, and completely in control of his emotions. But it was difficult when, yet again, the envoy had requested that he attend urgently, only to keep him waiting outside. It’s a test, he told himself. Everything is always a test. Arech bowed his head and clasped his hands loosely in front of him. He could wait as long as necessary.

  But just as he’d let his thoughts wander to other matters, the great wooden door slid slowly open, and Arech looked up to see the envoy’s personal secretary standing quietly in the opening. Arech examined the secretary, checking that the man’s uniform was in order. The secretary’s name was Olgenni or something similar, but it hardly mattered. As a mere assistant, the man would not expect to be addressed by name: his job title would be sufficient.

  Arech waited for a moment, allowing an uncomfortable silence to grow between them in case the secretary dared to speak first. But the man evidently knew his place, and he stood, holding the door open, his expression blank and his posture submissive.

  “I’m here to see the envoy,” Arech said. “Inform his Excellency that I await his invitation to enter the operations room.”

  The secretary nodded once then spoke quietly, keeping his head low as though speaking to Arech’s shoes. “His Excellency, the Honorable Balteg Telleama, has instructed me to deliver this message. He invites you to enter his operations room and looks forward to your discussion.”

  The secretary stepped back, holding the door open, and Arech entered the room. Now, it was his turn to keep his head bowed, and his turn to wait until his superior had spoken.

  The envoy stood behind the central operations table that took up much of the room, his fingers moving rapidly over the table’s surface to manipulate the documents displayed. Naturally, he ignored Arech for some time before he deigned to glance in his direction. “Ah, you’re here at last.” The envoy swiped his hand across the table to clear its display then beckoned to Arech. “Come closer, let me show you something.”

  Arech moved obediently to the envoy’s side and looked down at the table, watching carefully as a new document appeared.

  “What do you make of it?” Telleama demanded, then he stood back, studying Arech’s expression intently.

  Arech scanned the document. It appeared to be a security bulletin: a statutory report of an unauthorized transmission. But the body of the report, which listed the details of the illegal communications, meant nothing to him. “When was this intercepted?” he asked. “Before we left Selmon, presumably.”

  Telleama grunted. “When was your last security training? The details of the intercept are right there in front of you.”

  Arech felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. “My apologies, your Excellency. I’m afraid that my rotation with the security team is some way behind me. I shall schedule a refresher course at the first opportunity.”

  “Very well, but let this be a lesson to you. Just because you’re a member of the senior administration, it does not mean you can avoid your obligation to train among the lower orders. You must learn the roles of those below you, in order to carry out your own responsibilities effectively.”

  Arech nodded politely. “Wise words, your Excellency. I shall take them to heart.”

  Telleama sniffed, apparently satisfied then ran his finger across the relevant details on the report, highlighting them instantly. “Here.”

  Arech read the highlighted text, and he could not restrain himself from gasping out loud at what he saw. He looked up at the envoy, then remembered his manners and lowered his gaze. “But surely, your Excellency, this is not possible. Some mistake perhaps, or–”

  “There’s no mistake,” Telleama interrupted. “This illegal transmission came from within my ship, and it took place shortly after we arrived at this forsaken planet.”

  “But, who would do such a thing? It’s a complete breakdown in protocol. An unforgivable breach of our security. An offense punishable by banishment.”

  Telleama nodded slowly. “And yet it occurred. This communication did not initiate its own transmission. It came from a member of our crew, and it can only mean one thing.”

  Arech swallowed hard. In all his many years of patient service, he had never come across such an outrageous lack of discipline. It was an offense against everything he held dear, and it stung like a physical blow. But the facts forced him to admit that it had happened, and he had no choice but to accept its implications. Despite himself, he uttered the words he could hardly bear to hear: “A traitor,” he murmured. “We have a traitor aboard our ship.”

  3

  Golmeneth

  I remember when I first heard about the Selmon envoy’s plans. It was early evening, and I was standing in the garden with my father. We’d been outside for some time, looking up at the envoy’s ship as it swept across the sky. The ship had been a constant presence in our skies for several days, and no one had talked about anything else. Since its arrival, the ship’s gleaming, silvery hull had carved a majestic path through the clouds as it circled the city night and day.

  I spent most of my waking hours keeping an eye on the ship, and at night it haunted my dreams. My mind was buzzing with unanswere
d questions, and I remember that on this evening, my father was being even more patient than usual and trying to answer as many of my questions as he could.

  “How many people will they take?” I asked.

  “I can’t say for sure,” my father said. “It’s been so long since we had a visitor from Selmon that no one can really remember how it goes. I’ve heard some people say that it may be as many as fifty, but most people seem to think it will only be a few.” He hesitated. “I wish Ashra wasn’t quite so keen to be one of their number.”

  I looked up at him. “But you’d be proud of her if she was chosen, wouldn’t you?”

  He smiled and put his arm around my shoulders. “Yempy, I don’t need either of you to go to another planet. I’m already proud of you and your sister, you must know that.”

  I looked down at the ground and nodded. “But they might take Ashra. She’s the clever one.”

  My father sighed. “There are lots of different types of cleverness, Yempy. And you’ll get into your stride at school one day. In the meantime, you can only keep trying, and each day, you’ll get a little better at what you do.”

  An uncomfortable silence grew up between us. My father worked for the government, and though I did not really understand what he did, I knew he sometimes carried secrets he wasn’t allowed to share with his family. And I’d learned how to tell, from the look on his face, when he knew more than he was telling me. His blue-gray eyes always gave him away, and on that evening long ago, I was certain he was hiding something. “At school,” I said carefully, “everyone says there’ll be a test to see who the cleverest people are. The Selmon are going to take the people with the highest scores.”

  He took a breath. “No. Not a test—a competition.”

  I was wide-eyed with wonder. “What sort of competition?”

  “We don’t know all the details yet, so you’re not to breathe a word of this to anybody else. You understand?”

  “Not even to Mother?”