The Soldier: The X-Ship

by Vaughn Heppner

  The line of warriors continued approaching him. Ah, more followed the warriors. Those were shorter and squatter. Those carried leather bags. Oh, he now saw that those were obviously females. Like many Stone Age primitives, the males hunted while the females did everything else.

  “Okay,” the soldier muttered. It was time to make his stand.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cade wanted to collapse onto his butt, but he stood as the long line neared. He was a soldier. If he were going to die, he would face the moment on his feet, preferably fighting to the very end.

  As he waited, he drank from a canteen. He ate a protein bar. That helped a little. He couldn’t believe that this was it. Surely, this meant death. He’d slain two of their tribe. As primitives, they would want revenge. Look at how much effort they’d taken to hunt him. Look at the lion-like predators: they’d unleashed at least one of them against him.

  He was so damn weary, so spent and dispirited by this turn of events. If ever he would have liked to weep—

  It didn’t matter if his final stand was on a primitive planet while he stood alone. He had a duty—he cocked his head. Did he have a duty? If that was so, to whom did he owe this duty? A bleak faint smile touched his lips. His comrades were likely all dead on some ancient battlefield or stuck in ancient stasis units. He was truly alone in this future time. The bleak faint smile caused him to examine the nearing wolf aliens. It occurred to him that they were not all the same.

  Silently, he berated himself for failing to take advantage of the moment. He must study the enemy, searching for a weakness or a way to use their habits against them.

  The spear-armed warriors had streamers dangling from their weapons. Some had black streamers, some had red and others green. He didn’t think it signified status so much as clan or tribal affiliation. The black-streamer spear-carriers walked with the blacks and the greens with the greens. Now that he noticed, the medicine men or chiefs stayed with their streamer-colored clan or tribe too.

  That made sense. These were primitives, hunters—nomads. That implied small clans ranging over wide hunting territories. Four hundred and fifty warriors must mean a huge gathering of clans or tribes, three distinct groups according to the colored streamers.

  What did that mean? Something, he was sure. He didn’t know enough to—

  “No,” the soldier said. That wasn’t going to cut it. If he didn’t know, he must figure it out, and fast.

  He snorted. He didn’t have much time, did he? Cade took a wide stance and put his hands on his hips. He had the big revolver in the shoulder rig, and he knew how to speed-load. He had one hundred bullets or thereabouts. If he was going to start killing primitives, he should consider drawing—

  Before he could strike, warriors pulled out horns and began blowing. The heavy low sound struck the soldier, the sounds shaking him, making his bones quiver. Once more, it signified to him the strength, the power, of the bipedal wolf aliens.

  At the heavy horn sounds, the advancing warriors halted and thrust the butt end of their spears against the ground as if that meant something. Another blast from the horn-men caused the warriors to sit cross-legged and proudly erect, with their spears resting lengthways on their knees.

  The soldier examined the line, a curved line like a giant beast horn. Maybe this was a spectacle to them, a once-in-a-life-time event. The females sat behind the warriors, many of them craning their necks so they could see over the larger wolf-men.

  The soldier noticed that the medicine men or chiefs still stood. He counted fifteen of them, five for each colored-streamer group. They conferred with each other in their groups of five. Finally, one from each group started for him.

  The soldier shivered. This was it. He had to choose. Did he draw and kill the chiefs? That seemed like a good strategy. Didn’t primitive peoples have champions? Slay the champions or chiefs and the rest should flee. Would that work the same here?

  The soldier—Cade—did not draw. He waited. The three bipedal wolf aliens looked old to him—older than the warriors at least. So, probably not their fighting champions. They each had long necklaces with shiny objects attached. Each had skulls on the necklaces, too.

  Behind his sunglasses, Cade squinted. Those looked like human skulls, not wolf alien skulls. That was interesting and troubling.

  Each of the approaching three stooped or had gray in his facial fur, and each carried a baton instead of a spear.

  Cade no longer stood with his feet wide apart. He stood taller, although he wasn’t as tall as the wolf aliens. He was thicker or deeper in the chest. Were his reflexes better?

  As they approached, the three eyed him closely. When they reached five meters from him, they stopped. In Cade’s mind, they were Black, Green and Red, in that order from right to left. The three began shaking their batons. Each stick was leather-topped and pebbles, or old bones, perhaps, rattled inside the tied bags. At that point, Black, Green and Red began to mumble in a singsong way, and they began to shuffle and dance in a small circular area, each to himself.

  Medicine men, Cade decided. Were the old fellows laying a curse on him?

  The itch to draw his gun and fire grew. By force of will, mainly because of curiosity, Cade held back.

  The medicine men stopped dancing. Each eyed the other. Black pointed his baton at Green, Green pointed his baton at Red, and Red, of course, aimed his baton at Black. Abruptly, Black staggered backward as if hurt, lowering his baton.

  The seated warriors watching this stirred.

  With his shoulders slumped, the Black medicine man turned away and shuffled to his team. None of them spoke to him. Together, the five Black medicine men or shamans went to their warriors, moving through the seated line to sit among the females.

  In some manner, Cade decided, the Black shaman had succumbed to the others.

  Red and Green did not aim their batons at each other. Rather, they muttered to each other, eyeing Cade at times and eyeing the seated warriors. Finally, both shamans whistled loudly.

  A big warrior from Green and an equally impressive warrior from Red stood up. The shamans shouted questions at the standing two. Each of the warriors shouted back, picking up his spear and stalking to the shamans.

  With their batons, the two shamans pointed at Cade. The two warriors shook their spears as they faced each of their leaders, growling, and they whirled toward Cade. Without any more preamble, the two warriors charged, their spears held level and two-handed. It looked as if they meant to drive their flint tips through his body.

  The act took Cade by surprise, and he acted instinctively, drawing the WAK Magnum and firing. With a terrific boom, a .55 caliber slug tore a giant hole in the Green warrior’s throat. It wasn’t sporting, but this was the soldier’s life and manner of death. He shifted his stance, ready to fire again—

  The Red warrior halted. He did not look at Cade or at the fallen Green warrior. He simply turned around and started back for the seated line of Red warriors.

  The action shocked Cade, who stood there with his smoking gun held near his right leg.

  The Green shaman’s shoulders fell. He, too, turned away from Cade, walking back to his fellows. Like the Black shamans, the Greens walked through their seated warriors and took their place with the females.

  The Red shaman began shaking his leather-topped baton, rattling the pebbles or bones inside and chanting in a low voice. He shuffled in his circle, raising his snouted face to the sky and howling as if to the gods. He did this for a solid five minutes.

  The soldier figured the old wolf alien must have been getting dizzy. Abruptly, the shaman stopped, and he stared at Cade as if with wonder. The Red shaman touched the back of his head and cried out, keening.

  All the seated warriors stirred. They seemed surprised, although they did not seem angry. Two Red warriors stood, barking orders at the Red tribe females.

  Several females helped a weak wolf alien to his or her feet. That one had a cloth over his or her head. One of the females re
moved the cloth, revealing a male. The male’s facial and head fur was completely white. He had a heap of necklaces around his bent old head. There were many human-like skulls and shiny baubles on the necklaces. The two females helped him hobble to the two impatient warriors.

  The two Red warriors took the old one’s arms, slowly helping him toward the waiting Red shaman.

  How had that ancient wolf alien kept up with the pack last night? Cade had no idea, unless someone had carried him.

  The three reached the head Red shaman. The shaman pointed at Cade. The old one did not look there. He waited. The shaman spoke to the old one and tapped the back of his own head again.

  At that point, the old one studied Cade. He nodded feebly and spoke to the two warriors. They turned to Cade and began helping the old one toward him.

  The Red shaman spoke sharply. The two warriors let go of the old one, stepped back several paces and sat down.

  Cade realized neither of those two warriors had their spears.

  Together, the Red shaman and the old one he helped—the old one had red streamers among his many necklaces—began shuffling to where Cade waited.

  The soldier glanced at the curved line of seated warriors. Many leaned toward him, watching avidly. This was the main event. Had the shamans fought over how they would do this? Did each tribe have its own ideas about what they should do with the stranger? Had the Black or Green tribes sent the predator he’d slain last night at his tree?

  Cade holstered the revolver. He didn’t fear these two, at least not physically. They were each taller than he was, but given their frailty, he was probably heavier and no doubt much stronger.

  The head Red shaman was mumbling as he approached. Cade did not understand anything the wolf alien said. Once they reached half a meter from him, the two halted. Cade could smell them, a mild wet dog odor. It wasn’t pleasant, but he could easily stand it.

  The Red shaman began shaking his baton again, the speed of his mumbling increasing. No doubt, it was some sort of spell of protection.

  The white-furred old one stared at Cade. There was something hypnotic about that one’s eyes. They were dark like all the wolf aliens. But they held knowledge and maybe—

  Cade grunted, bending his head and rubbing a spot on his forehead.

  The baton shaking quit. The Red shaman glanced at the old one. The old one ignored the other.

  “Brune,” the old one said slowly.

  Cade’s hand dropped from where he’d been rubbing his forehead. His head snapped up as he asked in astonishment, “What did you say?”

  The old one pointed a crooked finger at him, saying slowly and with precise enunciation. “You are Jack Brune?”

  “No,” Cade said, astonished at the turn of events.

  The old one’s eyes darkened and deepened. “No?” he asked.

  “I’m Cade.”

  “You are two creatures in one mind?”

  “How do you know my tongue?”

  The old one might have smiled. With a shaking hand, he tapped a finger against his white-furry head.

  “You can read my mind?” asked Cade. He wondered then why the head Red shaman had touched the back of his head. Could that signify the shaman knew about the cyborg device in the back of Cade’s brain?

  “Not read but see jumbled thoughts,” the old one told Cade. “It is like understanding cast rune stones. Only a few have the ability to see correctly. There is confusion in your thoughts. There is something else in your head, in the back of your head.”

  “A cyborg device,” said Cade.

  “You speak of sorcery. Do you belong to the sorcerers?”

  “If you mean the cyborgs, no, I hate them.”

  “You hate the sorcerers?”

  “They are my enemies.”

  “Yet…you travel toward the Cursed Mountains. You carry a sorcerous weapon that barks with killing thunder.”

  “I go there to find a woman,” Cade said.

  “What woman?”

  “She came down from the sky like me.”

  “Aeeiii!” the old one cried, raising his white-furred muzzle to the sky, staggering back from Cade.

  The effect was electric. The two, nearby seated Red warriors leapt to their feet, rushing forward, catching the old one before he fell to the ground. The head Red shaman began shaking his baton harder as he sidestepped so he was between Cade and the old one.

  The old one moaned, pointing a shaking hand at Cade.

  The shamans sitting with the females jumped to their feet. They pointed at Cade, shouting. Warriors began jumping up, shaking their spears at Cade. He wondered if they would attack in a mass. Was this it for him?

  The old one tapped one of the warriors holding him up. The warriors turned the old one to the milling throng.

  The shouting stopped.

  The old one held up shaking arms, speaking as loudly as he could, or so it seemed. He kept pointing back to Cade.

  The Black and Green shamans shouted in what seemed like a negative manner.

  The head Red shaman whirled around to face them. He raised his baton high and strode beside the old one. He pointed at the slain Green warrior, flies buzzing around, and on his blown-apart, blood-clotted throat.

  The Green shamans conferred together, sitting down afterward. The Black shamans did likewise. The Red shamans followed the last example, and that ended the incident. All the warriors sat back down too.

  The old one tapped one of the warriors again. They turned him toward Cade, letting the old one go. He tottered, step by step, to his former point across from Cade.

  The head Red shaman resumed his vigil, shaking his baton and mumbling the protection spell.

  The old one stared at Cade and said, “We have captured you, yes?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We could kill you.”

  “Many of you would die if you tried.”

  “It is true that you have sorcery. We have courage and spears. You might kill some, but you would die.”

  “Yes,” Cade said. “That is so.”

  “You are our prisoner.”

  “I will fight to the death before I allow anyone to lay a hand on me.”

  “I know this. But you seek the witch woman. She has our great priestess. The scum of the hills obey the witch woman, and they stole our priestess through the witch woman’s sorcery.”

  “What is that to me?”

  “You are our prisoner. We will take you to the Cursed Mountains. Since you love the witch woman, we will trade you for the great priestess. Do you agree?”

  “The one you call the witch woman might not agree to the trade.”

  “Then you will die, Two Minds.”

  Cade thought about that, finally saying, “Then I will die, Old One.”

  “Let it be so.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The soldier’s capture must have been a great event for the wolf aliens. As the party headed for the Cursed Mountains, more clans or tribes joined the original Black, Green and Red. In three days, over fifteen hundred warriors sang their battle songs and blew their war-horns as they ambled toward the stronghold of the witch woman and her scum.

  In speaking of capture, Cade hadn’t been forced yet to keep his word. No one laid a hand upon him. No one tried. He walked in the center of the mighty throng, with warrior bodyguards giving him a wide circular berth of approximately twenty meters. The first night when he lay down to sleep, he was certain he would wake up trussed to a carrying pole. That did not happen.

  They left him haunches of kill and pans of water. He ate and drank, recovering from his bear-bruises.

  Each evening after the tribes stopped for the night, the old one spoke to him. From him, Cade learned the wolf aliens called themselves the People of the Pack. Those they considered the scum of the hills looked like him, human but darker-skinned and thinner. They used bows and arrows, a weakling’s weapons, and fought from hiding, from ambush. They were not proud and noble like the warriors of the
Pack. The hill scum cowered in the driest mountains, building rock fortresses and keeping gardens of edible stalks. The men worked those plots, making them little better than females. Where was their pride? They did not have any.

  Still, killing them in the mountains and hills had always proven dangerous. Thus, the People of the Pack or the Runners of the Plains wore the hill-scum skulls as death totems.

  “I don’t understand,” Cade said at the end of the third day’s journey when he learned most of this.

  “Death totems,” the old one said, sitting cross-legged from the soldier. “They are wards against silent deaths like the baying cough and yellow pus.”

  “Oh. Diseases.”

  The old one touched the end of his snout. “Your words are strange. It causes pain in my mind to see your thoughts for long. I am growing weary. Tomorrow…”

  Cade twisted to peer over his shoulder. They had almost reached their destination. The grassland had become drier as they walked upslope. Rocky foothills with many boulders and sparse vegetation preceded taller mountains with craggy slopes. On one of the foothill slopes was a flat area with an ancient ruin of many circular bases. Had humans built that or was it one of the alien ruins?

  When asked about that, the old one had no idea.

  Cade wondered if the wolf aliens had long ago built technologically sophisticated societies, and then fallen. About that, the old one said the People of the Pack had always run the plains, hunting and fighting for dominance. They were warriors and would forever remain warriors.

  “Do you have legends of speaking with men like me?” Cade asked.

  The old one shook his head.

  “What do you know about the witch woman?”

  “You speak of dark knowledge,” the old one said. “I have no interest in it or in sorcery. The scum of the hills have stolen our great priestess. They have threatened to kill her if any of the People of the Pack set foot in the Cursed Mountains. For the priestess’s sake, we have stopped hunting the hill scum. But that is evil, as it is against our customs. Warriors need to hunt enemies. It is the way of life.”