Age of the Marcks

by Gregory Benson

  She was warm, and her soft hair refreshed his senses like a breeze swirling across flowers on a Draylok hillside. He nuzzled her hair and found it intoxicating. He was at ease and dizzy all at the same time. She felt the tickle of his breath and turned around. Their eyes locked and their hearts raced. A gentle kiss chased into a deeper kiss which lasted, yet not long enough. They both knew that tomorrow might not go well, that this could be their last night.

  They paused, staring deep into each other’s eyes, ensuring that they both had the same thoughts. Crix studied her eyes and found something so profound. She sparkled with anticipation looking back into his. They pressed into each other softly, sharing sweet kisses. Fortunately, the salty, old soldier on the other side of the room slept as if he was in a coma.

  Crix had never been this close with anyone before, and he could not imagine it to be any better. She was perfect. The excitement of her body next to his eventually settled; they both fell asleep nestled in the coziness of each other’s embrace.

  CHAPTER 17

  H it the deck!” Krath howled, startling Crix and Kerriah from their sleep. “Tya got about five minutes to get somethin’ to eat ‘cause ole glow rod has some sorta mission for us.”

  Crix was still a little drowsy from a short night of sleep. He pulled himself out of bed and gave Kerriah a light kiss on the forehead. “Thanks for last night; thanks for caring.” She smiled in appreciation for his tenderness and gratitude.

  After grabbing a quick bite to eat from the freshly stocked buffet table, they followed Eetak Four down the corridor to the hangar that Crix met Plexo in the night before. Plexo stood before them flanked by three Eetaks: two marked in deep grey with red insignias on their chest plates that displayed the image of a skull which was cracked down the center, the third heavily armored with a full armament of assault weaponry.

  “Isn’t that the Crimiant mark?” Kerriah asked.

  “Yes, that’s very observant; I have retrofitted Eetak Five and Six to look like Crimiant guards. They will be your guide for entry into the penal moon of Dispor.”

  “Aw, great, and what is our disguise going to be?” Krath was irritated as usual but already knew the answer.

  “You’re going to be their new prison transferees from the orbital prison station of Crimiant,” Plexo replied. “I have a Marck shuttle that I procured by calling in a favor and have likewise marked it up with the Crimiant insignia and coded with prison protocols. This will be sufficient to get you through the guarded gammac corridor Delta and deep inside Sector Thirty-Eight.” Sector Thirty-Eight was an outer system that was used primarily for mining and forced labor. There were no naturally inhabitable worlds there.

  “From there, you will shuttle into the Dispor docking station for prison transfer processing. The Marcks on the far side of the gammac corridor run somewhat independent of the core since the relay systems are unable to traverse the portal. This will likely ensure you won’t be recognized until the outer relays have been updated. To my surprise, they appear to be bit lax on this. My sources have indicated this to be a weekly update. If things go as planned and my sources are correct regarding Dispor protocols, my Eetaks should be able to escort you to the third level of reparation. Creedith is supposedly held on the fourth level, so you will need to apply some of your own creativity to get yourselves sent there.”

  Unfortunately, no one outside of Dispor knew much of the reparation levels aside from the fact that each level was worse than the former, and that the deeper levels were for the most notorious prisoners whose life expectancy was minimal. Most considered Dispor the worst place to be of the UMO controlled systems.

  “Okay, so what’s the big one that’s armed up to his choppers for?” Krath asked while staring cautiously at the Eetak that was hulking with armor and laden with what appeared to be every type of small to medium armament that could be squeezed onto a single Marck frame.

  “Eetak Two is your cooler in this mission. Since he was one of the prototypes that could withstand extreme pressure, a characteristic that makes him particularly strong and capable of resisting quite an onslaught if necessary, I decided to outfit him for heavy assault. He will remain concealed inside the shuttle as his presence would positively alarm all Marcks stationed at Dispor. If you find yourselves in a bind or things go poorly, you are to activate this tracer.” Plexo handed Kerriah a device that looked like a small dot.

  “Conceal this behind your ear and pinch it hard if needed, and it will transmit a signal that will active him from up to twenty kilometers away . . . even underground. Once activated, his only mission is to wipe out all mechanized units detected while zeroing in on your position. This is to facilitate a path out for you. I have supercharged his power packs, so he will, for lack of a better term, go into a frenzy until his energy supply is exhausted, which I expect to be about thirty minutes.

  “Oh . . . and please, stay clear of him. There will be a sizable amount of collateral damage, and in the end, he is equipped with a failsafe to clean up all evidence of his existence. When that happens, make sure you are a good distance away. Of course, he is there only as a last resort, and my principal design is for him not to be called upon.”

  He continued to brief them on the mission and assured them that the odds were better than they believed. The general mood of the group was one of anxiety folded in with bravado. Crix and Kerriah, with their youth, gained the emotional push needed from Plexo and his speech, whereas Krath stood back with irritable discernment. The shuttle door slid open, and Eetak Five and Six militantly turned before entering the small ship. Plexo placed his hand over his chest in a devoted gesture of farewell.

  “Safe return, my friends. Remember that while you are away, I will use my probes to monitor Dispor. I have already passed them through the guarded portal undetected, thanks to their relative size. I have also devised a plan to recover you once you have reached a safe distance from the prison’s outer detection systems.”

  Just before the shuttle hatch closed, Krath turned to Plexo. “Hey buddy, how do tya know Creedith is still alive?”

  Plexo apprehensively frowned. “I don’t, but if anyone would still be alive in that dreadful place, it would be him. Besides, we desperately need him to be.” There was a faint sign of nervousness in his delivery.

  Krath took a solemn breath. “Okay, that’s all I needed to know.” With that, the door slid shut with a lengthy hiss.

  CHAPTER 18

  O rdal three-six-nine, Crimiant prisoner transfer to Dispor, shuttle three-alpha-twelve requesting clearance for attachment to forward docking station.” Eetak Five’s crackling voice was unnerving as it communicated with Dispor’s space control tower.

  Kerriah ushered Krath and Crix over for a huddle to discuss the holographic image generated from a small square she held in her hand. “Okay, let’s go over the basic layout once more.” She went back into the details of their mission, not wanting anything to stray from the plans that Plexo had provided.

  Crix snuck a look out of a narrow strip of window for a glimpse of the darkness of space. He had never been off Soorak, and the notion of space travel to another world had stirred his stomach and distracted him from the mission briefings. He wanted to look around like a wide-eyed child, to experience and soak up the sensation of space travel; he found himself woefully unfocused.

  Kerriah looked up at him and cleared her throat in an apparent effort to regain his attention.

  Krath cracked a large smirk. “Tya never been in space before, have ya, buddy?” Crix shook his head. “Well tya will learn to hate it like most of us, though it’s sorta fun at first, but it’s just a whole bunch of work and discomfort these days.”

  Kerriah looked at both of them, annoyed that they were not taking this as serious as she was. “May I continue?”

  Krath and Crix had a look on their faces like schoolchildren in trouble before they straightened themselves back out and leaned over the hologram image, waiting for her to continue.

  “
Level one is the scab processing level; we will arrive there first, but since we need to get to level three, Plexo has our prisoner status as operative saboteurs. This means the law requires that we are to be directly transferred to level three, which is the lower scab mines.” She paused and listened briefly to the communications between Eetak Five and the tower Marcks.

  “Affirmative, these prisoners are not in the database, level three transfers classified due to insurgent risk.” Eetak Five pressed on with his programmed orders from Plexo.

  She turned around and finished her briefing. “We are to remain in proton shackles until we reach level three. Once there, if we discover that he’s been transferred to level four, the scab hives, we will have to get ourselves sent there. At that point, Krath, it’s your move, and I hope that will be enough to get us put into level four. We will wait until you make your move.”

  “Tya don’t need to worry, slim. I have this, no problem,” Krath reassured. “I’m just lookin’ forward to bustin’ up some of those Mark guards as we break our way back out with ole Creedith.”

  “Clearance granted. Proceed to forward docking station eight,” the mechanical voice hummed out over the shuttle’s communication system.

  The Dispor moon was eerily dark, like the face of a monster on a moonless night permanently shadowed by the planet, Vaapur-9, a result of its stationary orbit. Vaapur-9 was a haunting planet, a mix of grey and black, with clouds of ash and smoke from its numerous active volcanos and geysers spewing methane into the atmosphere. Dispor’s surface appeared to be lifeless with strange, hooked, rock-like formations that littered the surface. A generation ago, an exploratory mining ship discovered an aggressive lifeform called Scaberious deep beneath the surface of Dispor. These scabs contained prodrain crystals, the principal power component in Marcks.

  Scabs were dangerous when found alive and would swiftly chew through the flesh of those that stirred their habitats, and then wildly consume the minerals from the victim’s bones. It was a horrifying death and suitable for the worst convicts sent to Dispor, an assumed death sentence. Kerriah had always thought of this place as vile and worthy of its collapse. The thought of having to travel there sickened her, but at least it was a rescue mission. She would be more than pleased to get someone, especially a political prisoner, out of this place of misery, even at the peril of her own life.

  Surrounding the Dispor prison station were circular battlements, four of them, that housed heavy concussion cannons used to repel unwanted ships or terminate those attempting to escape. The cannons looked menacing, and it was likely their appearance, alone, had prevented their use. As they neared their approach, the protruding docking stations came into view, twelve in total with eight in the front and four in the rear. Red beacons strobed on the eighth dock, signaling their destination.

  The shuttle spun around as it neared, and then quivered as it mated with the dock. A deep echo crashed down upon the upper and lower hull as stabilizing clamps latched onto the ship, which was now just as imprisoned as the living inhabitants of the grim, dark place.

  Kerriah steadied her stance and tightened her core. Krath rolled his eyes. The shuttle’s lights went dim, and red auxiliary lighting blinked online just as the external hatch swirled open to the long, dimly lit gangway, leading into the beast known as Dispor.

  In the distance, the laboring of machinery screamed out, evidence of their poorly kept components in the harsh environment. The bitter scent of death reeked from the hot, dry air as it filled their shuttle’s airlock, beckoning the new arrivals. Crix’s lungs burned and his eyes watered as he peered through the pollution and flashing lights. Eetak Five and Six emerged from the cockpit wielding their rifles and stopped at the hatch. The group fell in behind them, shackled, as they proceeded inward.

  The gangway opened up to a checkpoint station with three Marck units. Their soiled armor was shaded dark grey with Dispor’s vertical, white, barbell insignia spanned across their chest. Eetak Five handed over a transparent card to one of the Marcks, who then turned around to slide it into a panel nearby. Turning back around, it motioned for the other two Marcks to take possession of the prisoners. Eetak Five raised its palm forward and stopped the two approaching Marcks.

  “We have orders from the high authority to escort these prisoners to level three,” Eetak Five said.

  “That is an illegal operation; prisoners not escorted by Dispor guards are forbidden entry into the lower prison security levels,” the guard replied.

  “Our orders have been cleared; we will follow the facility guards down with the prisoners,” Eetak Five retorted.

  The guard paused for several minutes before replying. It was difficult to determine if the Marck was receiving orders during this wait or was taking time to process a decision on its own; the wait was agonizing. The Eetak’s escort was part of Plexo’s plan to make sure they had the support needed. All the while, Kerriah considered some contingency plans, and then the guard responded. “You may follow to level three.”

  With that, the guards tagged each of them with a thin piece of transparent material inserted beneath the skin on the backs of their necks.

  Crix began having feelings of reluctance over what they were doing. This was not the place anyone tried to get into, and yet, that was exactly what they were doing.

  This is insane. What are we doing here? Disconcerting thoughts flooded his mind.

  The likelihood that Creedith was still alive seemed about as remote a possibility as them being able to escape if they did find him. Kerriah was suffering from similar thoughts as she felt like this might well be a wasted end to her efforts of thwarting this regime. Krath simply shrugged and assumed that, at the very least, he would get to bust up some Marck junkers.

  They followed the guards down a long corridor, and a large door opens slowly, letting in a stale odor of toxins from the lingering air. Behind that door was another heavier door a few meters beyond. The heavy red door had black burn marks around the edges as if the foul-smelling soot and vapors that had escaped left their mark. The door screeched open, and hot air gusted inward. Kerriah felt the scorching draft across her face. The air made their gag reflexes clench from the stench of pollutants and decay.

  The Marcks escorted them out to a mezzanine that overlooked into the processing facility on the moon’s surface level. Their eyes strained against the bright lights in this area, and then they slowly adjusted. The three observed hundreds of prisoners clad in grimy yellow jumpers below. This captive labor force worked feverishly inside a primitive machine-driven line. A series of chutes churned out ground scabs from the lower level and endlessly fed this line. The chutes belched up plumes of powder as they continuously pumped out more scabs. Many of the workers coughed violently and frequently stopped to rub their eyes, most likely from the gritty substance they were inhaling. With no safety equipment provided, this was considered a lengthy and miserable death sentence.

  One of the Marck guards stepped over to a worker and slammed the butt of his rifle into his back for stopping too long to cough. “Don’t stop working,” it commanded.

  The workers were scooping up the ground scabs and tightly packing small tubes, and then using a pistol-like device to seal the tops. Kerriah and Crix instantly wheezed and coughed at the first few breaths of the dust-filled air. Four large, bulb-shaped machines hung from the ceiling with no apparent purpose, though they looked ominous to those below them.

  High above were a series of long overcrossings lined with armed Marck guards, which stood by motionless like a meticulously set up toy army, poised with their rifles pointed downward. Their light armor was tinted dark grey and layered with dust and grime. On a separate platform slightly above the guards stood a solitary Marck tinted red with large black tines rising from either side of his head. In the center of his head was the faded mark of the Knactor Legion, the most notorious of the Marck legions. This infamy derived from their technical and mechanical enhancements over the common battle Marck, coupled with t
heir unique capability to store and refine their own experiences. They were the designated shock troopers of the UMO.

  This well-seasoned warrior panned the area slowly as if looking for anything out of line. Like a predatory hawk watching mice below, it was obvious that nothing would go unnoticed by his watchful gaze. Upon their entry, his head slowly turned in their direction, placing them under his seamless observation. His name was Zeltak, and it was easy to see that he was the one in charge.

  The Marck guards walked them onto an open elevator platform, and they descended below to the same level as the workers and then proceeded forward to a circular platform. A sudden scream shrieked out from a worker as one of the giant mechanical bulbs above extended down with four silvery, snake-like arms and pointed in his direction. The arms drew back like cobras preparing to strike. They speared into each limb of this hapless worker and towed its victim up like a string-controlled doll.

  This unnerving killing device sucked the worker into its bulb and then spewed out a splash of blood-red jelly into a nearby basin of black slime. The pool of stagnating slime looked like the last stop for workers unable to maintain an acceptable pace. It was not clear to Crix if their Marck escorts stopped to simply observe or to ensure that the three of them observed this horrific scene, but stop they did until it was over. One thing was clear; the cesspool of gore was an ominous reminder for the prisoners to push themselves to their bitter limits.

  A strong, commanding voice far above made an announcement to the prisoners below. “This is another reminder that insubordination will always be dealt with, and liquidation is the penalty for failure to comply.” The tine-bearing Marck, Zeltak, gave a slow nod, and the escorting guards resumed shoving them onto the platform.