by Andy Kasch
The great ray of white light that was destroying the Dirg fleet then retracted back into the light ball. The light ball settled into a dimmer glow, still completely immersing the vessel, but the outline of the old Azaarian warship could now be seen within the light. It was still in there.
The remaining Dirg fleet cleared out of the salvage area themselves and approached the Latian position. They assumed a combative stance and launched more fighters. No doubt they were attributing the destruction of a third of their fleet to the Latians, and were extremely upset. Claiming ownership of that saucer craft may not have been such a smart move after all.
“I only count twenty eight of them left, sir,” Murrkal said.
“Yes,” Errshlin replied. “With two or three squadrons of their fighters already destroyed. Scramble all our reserves, Captain.”
He turned to the Dirgs. The three of them were hissing and pulsating rapidly again.
“The odds appear to be much more even now, Commander Jojob, if you’re still up for that fight.”
Sinlo Mountains C3 Amulen
Chapter One
Jumper knew his friend was scared. Not that Alan lacked courage. Their situation had become precarious, the result of climbing much higher than they were supposed to. The rumors about the mountain dwellers were enough to keep sensible Torians at lower elevations, and no other humans would dare venture anywhere near this area. But Jumper enjoyed his reputation at the Earth colony for being adventurous, and needed a constant supply of new stories to tell if he was to keep it up.
“I don’t like the way they have us surrounded,” Alan said in a low voice. “Let’s finish this thing and get out of here, if we can.”
Jumper broke his concentration from the game and surveyed their surroundings. Alan did have a good point. The audience of charcoal-hued, leather-skinned Amulites was now arranged in a semicircle behind them on the partial clearing, and blocking every possible exit.
Well, every possible exit except one.
“I think you’re right,” Jumper said. “Hey, we came up here to give these suits a proper testing, didn’t we?”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Alan’s short blonde hair was standing straight up from the breeze.
Jumper chuckled. “Relax. We know they work, right?”
“No, we don’t. Not from these heights. That leap we took in the foothills was nothing, Jumper, and you know it.”
“There might not be another way down now. This is what we wanted to do anyway—kind of.”
Alan looked around nervously. “I must confess I was planning to let you go first—and hopefully off a slope, not a sheer cliff face.”
“Right,” Jumper said. “Me first, as always. My dad sure is lucky to have me.”
“If these things don’t work better than his last invention, he may not have you much longer.”
Jumper’s opponent made a grunting noise indicating a growing impatience. That was good and bad. Good if he could be pushed off-kilter by a little gamesmanship. Bad if the mountain dwellers would consider it cheating and decide to administer their own form of quick justice. Jumper noticed several of them held hand weapons as they watched.
Jumper quickly moved a piece to a spot in the game field that flashed at him for a nanosecond. He was becoming more and more confident in this impulsive-seeming style of move. When he first started trying to use it, he failed horribly and lost many times because of it—most of them to Alan in the secret basement where they practiced. Jumper could afford to lose those games, though, and had always suspected there was a powerful force to be tamed if he could perfect the move. He gradually got better with it, and finally took it out of the basement to use against the rest of the guys.
Nowadays, he was nearly unbeatable in the colony. The flash move, as Jumper liked to call it, had much to do with his success. He still didn’t fully understand it, but he learned to recognize and trust it when the opportunity presented itself. Alan was the only one of his friends who even knew about it, but was himself incapable of discerning it from the other random reflections of light in the game field. That was the real trick. It couldn’t be forced, had to be waited upon, sometimes never appeared at all, and proper recognition of it was extremely subtle. Fortunately, Jumper had learned to hone in on it.
His opponent began nodding with what seemed to be a great degree of satisfaction.
Jumper knew that was a good sign. He trusted the flash move without understanding why it worked. It never looked like sound strategy on the surface, as it almost always occurred in a remote spot away from the current developing patterns. His opponents usually considered it a desperate attempt at a diversion. Jumper knew from experience that in a few moves the questionable piece would probably complete a bridge to a strong encompassing formation which would agitate his opponent tremendously.
That’s exactly what happened. Three moves later, the innocent looking flash move piece was the cornerstone of a formidable structure that tied together most of the field’s broken patterns from the opening moves. It was overbearing and Jumper knew he had won.
Several members of the audience stepped forward and appeared to marvel over the craftiness of this young Earthling. But not Jumper’s opponent. He grabbed ahold of his head and rocked back and forth in obvious anguish.
“Hey, don’t go berserk,” Jumper said. “It’s only a game.” He liked saying that after winning. Jumper knew all too well there was no other game remotely comparable to polwar. Everyone realized it was somehow much more than just a game. Saying that was his own special form of victory dance, a method of personal gloating—especially after beating a native.
Two of the Amulites who were holding weapons then came up behind Jumper’s defeated opponent. His opponent stood. His look of anguish turned to one of terror.
“What in Erob is going on here?” Jumper asked. He and Alan stood up as well.
Jumper’s beaten opponent then turned and ran off the side of the cliff.
Jumper and Alan chased after him as far as the edge, stopped, and looked down. That was a mistake. They saw him crash into a rock protrusion far below, tumble lifelessly down the mountainside from there, and finally vanish into a clump of large shrubs. Jumper and Alan spun back around.
A large, slightly-lighter skinned Amulite emerged from the group and sat down where Jumper’s now-deceased opponent had been. He turned off the game frame and sorted the pieces. One of the armed natives then stepped forward towards Jumper and Alan.
“You will now play our champion,” he said, motioning at Jumper with the small laser weapon in his hand.
“Man, we never should have told them you were the Earth colony champion,” Alan muttered.
“I don’t understand,” Jumper said to the big Amulite before them. “Why did he kill himself? What is this? Where we come from, this is only a friendly game.”
“Polwar is a serious affair,” the armed native replied. “You chose to come up here, uninvited. You claim to be a champion. You will now defend your claim, and play our way.”
“What happens if I lose? Can we go back down the mountain afterwards, and leave peaceably?”
The native shook his head. “You must have proper motivation to play, or it’s not a real game. We play for real.”
Jumper felt Alan grab his upper arm, restraining him. They both looked back down over the precipice.
“Come, play,” the threatening native said. “Or else the only way down is the same way your last opponent went.”
Jumper looked at Alan—who shrugged and pointed down. “Like you said, it’s why we came up here.”
“Right.” Jumper dove off the cliff without further ado. In a few seconds, his freefall was jostled by a hand grabbing his ankle. He looked up at Alan.
“Let go, you fool! The suits are magnetically repelling. We can’t be this close together!”
But it was too late. When Alan released him, their bodies were pulled together in the air and they spun uncontrollably.
; “I thought you said repelling!” Alan yelled.
Jumper managed to untangle their limbs as the rushing cliff side behind them turned black, and then something must have kicked on in the suits—because he and Alan shot away from each other. Jumper was no longer falling vertically but propelling sideways. He adjusted his body to a flying position and felt his horizontal thrust find equilibrium with the force of gravity. He then settled into a gentle ebbing, back and forth, which is what—he was pretty sure—the suits were supposed to do. At least, that’s how they felt on the small slopes in the foothills.
Looking back across the mountainside, Jumper could see Alan in the distance, now slowly swaying as well. The sensation was like swinging back and forth in a hammock that was slipping down the trunks of the two trees it was fastened to. A feeble laser beam from up in the mountains then shot in Alan’s direction, probably for spite, as they were now well out of range. The float suits’ delayed activation turned out to be a blessing.
They eventually both reached the ground. Jumper’s landing was soft, but he knew he had a long walk in front of him so he started jogging. When he caught up with Alan, the two of them hiked back to the lower foothills of the Sinlo Mountains where they left their mid-range cruiser.
When they got there, however, it was gone.
“Are we sure this is where we parked it?” Alan asked as he looked about the darkening hills.
“Yeah,” Jumper said. “Extact. I knew we should have hidden it better. That brushy area up on the knoll there would have tucked it completely out of sight. Stupid, lazy mistake. Now we’ll have to camp here for the night.”
“Um, that clump of bushes you pointed to is moving. Are there dogs in these hills?”
Jumper looked again and saw the unnatural rustling in the brush. “I don’t think so. There might be some zaboar around here, but whatever’s moving those branches is too big. Could be a large bird or a stray yuquin, which would be a stroke of luck. We better check it out.”
Jumper motioned for Alan to approach on the left while he came about the right. The front bush shook erratically as they came near and then stopped. Whatever it was had moved into the small clearing behind it. Jumper signaled to Alan and they both came around from opposite sides at the same time.
It wasn’t a bird or a yuquin. They were facing a native; a rather small, bright, silver-skinned Amulite. He was crouched on the ground as if ready to spring up and run, frantically looking back and forth between Jumper and Alan. They had his only exits blocked, as the groundcover was thick behind him. Jumper noticed Alan also looked ready to scramble on a second’s notice.
“Did you take our cruiser?” Jumper asked. “It was parked right down there.” He pointed.
The Amulite cocked his head at Jumper and stayed in place. Finally he said, “Earthlings?”
“That’s right. My name is Jumper and my friend there is Alan2.”
The Amulite stood and slowly made his way over to Jumper, looking him up and down in the fading moments of daylight. Alan came up behind him. The Amulite turned and studied Alan for a minute before facing Jumper again.
“Young Earthlings?”
“Correct. I am 24 and my friend will be 23 next month.”
“Almost didn’t live to see it,” Alan mumbled.
Jumper ignored him. “Are you one of them?” He motioned toward the mountains.
The Amulite looked up before answering. “Are there really Torians who live up there?”
“I guess not then,” Jumper said. “Yes—we met some of them today. They didn’t exactly make us feel welcome.”
“Pretended to be friendly at first,” Alan said. “Are you friendly?”
The Amulite bowed. “Tulros. I am Hol4, a native of this continent. I’m considering climbing into the mountains tomorrow and seeking out whatever community may be there.”
“Hope you’re good at polwar,” Alan said.
Hol4 cocked his head for a second. “Oh, the game. Yes, that’s what they call it. I had forgotten.”
“You don’t want to go up in these mountains if you’ve forgotten about polwar,” Alan said. “Or even if you haven’t. They’re a bit …fanatical up there.”
“Who can forget the game?” Hol4 said while looking to the opposite horizon. “I simply forgot its name, as I don’t play. But we all know the game. It’s is why we are segregated, and why we must work as we do. Work that is difficult for the few who now supply the many. Or else there wouldn’t be enough food. ”
“Oh,” Jumper said. “You work in the agritents?”
“Yes. Or at least, I did.”
“Those are in the north, on the high plains, right?” Jumper asked. “We’ve never gone out that far.”
“Perhaps it would be best if you never do. The tents are no longer restrained to the north, as production needs have caused them to spread down into the lowlands.”
“So, have you seen our cruiser?” Alan interjected. “It’s a mid-ranger. We left it right down here on this slope.”
Hol4 shook his head. “Sorry. There were no vehicles here when I arrived an hour ago.”
“Well, we better make camp for the night,” Jumper said. “It’s getting dark. Please join us. We have some dried fish we can share, and there’s a creek up the trail a ways where Alan can fetch us water while I build a fire.”
Hol4 looked alarmed when Jumper said the word fire, but he hesitantly agreed.
*
If there was one thing Jumper enjoyed, it was showing off his survival skills. He hummed to himself as he gathered wood, sticks, and dry brush. He started a fire by rapidly spinning a stick upon a piece of bark within a clump of dry brush, and adding twigs after it caught. As the flames gained strength, he put the smaller wood pieces on. When the fire was hot enough, he added some cortzye stones he found—there were many in the area—and piled bigger wood pieces on top. Hol4 kept looking about as the fire grew bigger. There was something furtive about his uncomfortable fits, but Jumper decided not to pester him about it.
Alan wasn’t a novice camper, either. One couldn’t be if they were Jumper’s best friend. He came back with three full water pouches he made from folding freshly-picked leer tree leaves. Jumper then fastened two green sticks together to make a tong that could hold a hot cortzye stone long enough to swirl around in the water pouches for a few seconds, sending brief billows of steam from each of them.
“Hard to believe we now need to sanitize water,” Hol4 said before taking a drink. “For thousands of years it’s been clean and safe to drink straight from the ground.”
“At least you don’t need skin protection,” Alan said. “The dissipation of the upper firmament is causing skin problems for humans—especially those of us with lighter complexions. These days, we have to apply chemicals before going outside for long periods, or else wear protective gear. My mom says Earth was like that, but she never had to worry about it on Amulen before, and now it’s worse here than it ever was on Earth. Soon the remaining population of Amulen humans may have to move to Banor.” He looked up at the night sky. “Not that there’s many of us left here.”
Hol4 turned his gaze from Alan to Jumper. “Why isn’t your name numerically designated, as your friend’s?”
Before Jumper could answer, Alan laughed and said, “His father doesn’t like numbers in the names. So he named him something nobody else is ever going to name their kid. You should hear what his full name really is.”
“Only if you want your nose rearranged,” Jumper said to Alan. “And some humans on Banor do name their kids the Earth way, without numbers, from what I understand.”
“Maybe so,” Alan said. “We’ll find out firsthand if we’re forced to move there.”
Jumper took some of the dried fish out of a package he had in his float suit pocket and broke off a sizeable piece to give to Hol4. He accepted it gratefully, and split it with Alan. They all ate. Jumper was thankful his skin was darker than most of his friends, but knew he wasn’t immune from the now-da
ngerous sun rays either. His dad thought he should grow his hair out as natural protection for his neck, but Jumper didn’t like how bushy it got so he kept it shorter. He must have inherited his thick black hair from his mother.
“Cardinal-4 sure is bright tonight,” Alan said.
Jumper looked up and instantly saw it. “Yeah, wow. That’s something. You know they are renaming it Cardinal-5 when the current construction work is done.”
“Yeah, but how long will that take?” Alan’s tone was cynical.
Jumper shrugged. “Three years. Maybe five.”
“I’d like to go there,” Hol4 said. “To work and live.”
“What about the mountains?” Alan asked.
“What you’ve told me of them is not appealing. I prefer to get away from the games, but without being labeled a deserter of my home continent. A work contract at the station would accomplish that for me.”
“In that case,” Jumper said, “I think you may have stumbled upon the right Earthlings. My dad is good friends with the space station steward.”
Hol4 leaned forward. “You mean the governor of Cardinal-4?”
“Yes,” Jumper replied. “Although, since the station is effectively closed during reconstruction, and the elections there have been halted, my political science professor says ‘steward’ is a more accurate title for him.”
Hol4 kept looking out across the flatlands as he finished his fish. He seemed to be thinking about something important, while still slightly on edge.
“Come with us tomorrow,” Jumper said to him. “I’ll take you to my father, and we’ll see if he can get you connected to a space station job.”
“Who’s your father?”
“He’s a professor of sociology at the university. But his real passion is gadgetry. He’s an inventor and technology researcher. He created these special suits we have on, which give the wearer some anti-gravity capabilities.”
“Some,” Alan said.
“I said some.”
“Your father was one of the frozen research subjects, right?” Hol4 asked. “How has he risen to such prominence in Amulen society?”