by J G Cressey
Cal nodded his thanks and set off without another word.
He saw only two other Carcarrion drones by the time he arrived at the mining belt. As luck would have it, both were busy intimidating other prisoners. Here, in the very center of the camp, many of the other prisoners were walking about solo, which thankfully made him far less conspicuous. Approaching the engine room, he saw a large group bunched around the loading end of the belt, busily operating the cranes. He made his way over. “I’m looking for Laurence Decker. Can anyone help me out?” he asked no one in particular. Only one of them took any notice: a big burly man with thick, hairy forearms and hands black with grime.
“I don’t recognize you, friend,” the man said, more as a question than a statement.
“I’m…a new arrival.”
The big man looked a little confused but nodded. “Hang on here for a moment,” he said before heading to the engine room.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he reappeared. Another man was by his side. He was of average height, slim but well-muscled and, just like every other man on the planet, was heavily bearded. The slim man continued forward alone and came to stand before Cal looking perplexed, an expression that quickly turned into wide-eyed disbelief.
Cal sighed frustrated. “I’m trying to find Laurence Decker,” he said, failing to hide the exasperation in his voice.
The man’s shocked expression morphed into a wide smile. Then he laughed out loud, making Cal feel like the butt of some idiotic joke. “What’s the matter, Callum? You don’t recognize me with all my teeth?”
Cal’s brow creased for a moment before his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Holy shit! “Decker?”
Cal braced himself as the man moved closer. After all, if this was Decker, he’d knocked the man’s tooth out, and people had a habit of holding on to things like that. Suddenly, the man was lurching forward and wrapping his wiry, muscled arms around him. Cal was about to counter attack by twisting and slamming him face first into the hard ground, but then he realized he was being embraced!
“Damn, Callum, it’s good to see you.”
“Well…thanks,” Cal replied, his bewildered tone not nearly doing justice to his confusion.
Eventually, Decker released him and stepped back to regard him intently. “Come with me. We’ve got a hell of a lot to talk about.”
Still bewildered, Cal nodded. No shit.
Chapter Thirty-Five
THE LAST TRIBE
Callum bloody Harper. What the hell were the chances? Laurence’s mind was reeling as he swiftly made his way down the steep passageway. The little pouch of glow worms he held only penetrated the inky darkness enough to illuminate his next two strides and no more. Despite the lack of light, he strode with a brisk, assured confidence. He’d been down the passageway countless times now, enough to navigate it blind if need be. Of all the individuals that could have turned up. Life certainly had a peculiar synchronicity at times. His arrival was the little miracle Laurence had been waiting for.
He came to a halt and turned to face the smooth, black wall of the passage. Then, he walked straight through it. Identifying the near-invisible entrances had been a challenge for Laurence in the beginning, but now, it was strangely easy. Striding into a large cavern, he took a moment until his eyes adjusted before having a good look around. The space was lit by countless glow worm pouches, far larger than the one he held, and most radiated an orange glow that gave off a certain warmth. Under that glow were hundreds of Carcarrions, their muscled forms scattered throughout the huge space. None of them paid him much attention; they were well used to his visits by now.
As he walked further in, Laurence saw young Carcarrions, smaller in stature than most humans, leaping from high ledges and chasing each other around the sharp, jutting rocks. Most of the adults were busily performing tasks, some crafting crude weapons out of the very rock that surrounded them while others manipulated bundles of the local weed-like substance. Rather than using it for sustenance, as he’d once been forced to do, the Carcarrions were weaving the weed into rope and clothing. As far as food went, Laurence had only ever seen them feast on massive reptilian carcasses that hung at the far side of the cavern. Not one scrap was wasted from bones to the hide to the eyeballs. They even consumed the mushy, multi-colored contents of the great beasts’ stomachs. Indeed, the half-digested pulp seemed to be considered a delicacy, one that Laurence was running out of excuses to turn down.
With a grin, Laurence thought of his first visit to the cavern. His friend Tarquintin Matisse had led him down the mysterious, pitch-black tunnel and persuaded…no, tricked him into entering the cavern first. The little bastard hadn’t even hinted a warning as to what he’d face inside. Now, Laurence was all grins and chuckles about it, but when that Carcarrion had lunged forward and grasped him in its steely claws, he’d been close wetting himself. But instead of tearing him in half, the Carcarrion had simply lifted him like a child and placed him down a few feet to the left, making room for his giggling little bastard of a friend to enter behind him.
The sight of the Carcarrions held little fear for Laurence now. Quite the opposite; being among them made him feel strangely optimistic. Despite their fearsome appearance, these true Carcarrions were nothing like the cruel, possessed abominations on the planet surface. At first, he’d recognized little in the way of emotion among these survivors: no fear, no anger at the tragedy that had befallen them. Except for the occasional scowl, their cat-like features seemed forever cold, almost lifeless. After time spent in their company, however, he began to recognize the subtleties of their expressions and at times caught glimpses of very real emotions, something that Tark was quick to confirm.
Coming to a halt near the center of the cavern, he looked about for Tark. It didn’t take long. The little man stood out like a snowy hatchling among a flock of ravens. His long, white hair shone luminously under the warm glow, so much so it almost seemed a light source in itself. Laurence waved, and Tark was quick to spring down from his perch.
On their first meeting, Laurence had found it hard to place his new acquaintance in any particular military role. He’d even questioned whether the strange little man was simply a hallucination manifested by his own delirium. As it turned out, Tark was neither. As Laurence had eventually learned, his friend was in fact a highly regarded anthropologist, zoologist, alienologist, and a couple of other ists that Laurence couldn’t recall. He’d been living on the planet for the last twelve years—more than a decade of communication, integration, and eventually full acceptance even friendship with the planet’s inhabitants. Laurence could see it now: the way the little chap hopped deftly across the sharp rocks and weaved so casually among the tall, dark aliens. Such a confident manner could only come with years of experience.
“I just had a rather strange meeting,” Laurence said enthusiastically as Tark sauntered towards him. “It was with a man who’s got a half decent plan to get us off this rock. And by that I mean all of us. Well, all of us who survive the plan that is.”
Tark perched himself on a nearby rock. “Excellent, where’re we off to?”
Laurence snorted a laugh. “Where are we off to?”
Tark brushed some black rock dust off his knees and looked up expectantly.
Laurence shook his head and gave it a rub. “You’re not interested in the how?”
Tark waved his hand dismissively. “I’m sure it’s a good plan.”
Laurence continued to shake his head, half amused, half bemused. He wondered whether he’d ever be able to surprise his little friend. “Alvor…the planet Alvor’s the destination.”
“Ah, the planet where the ingredients for that nice ale come from.”
Laurence grinned. “Yes…Alvorian ale.”
“Good. I like ale; count me in.”
“Really?”
“You look surprised, Laurence. I may be small, but I can knock back the ale like a pregnant guzzle fish.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Lauren
ce took a seat on a rock opposite him. “I’m surprised because you seem keen, eager even. I thought… Well, I thought I was going to have to persuade you to leave. God knows why, but you seem to love this planet.”
“God would be wrong, Laurence. It’s not the planet I love, it’s the beautiful inhabitants that hold my affections.” Tark swept a hand about. “Besides, I need a change. You get as old as me, and you need to keep the body and soul toned with new experiences.”
Laurence nodded. He was starting to see the truth in that.
“So, this escape plan, I hope it encompasses our tall friends here?”
“Of course,” Laurence replied, smoothing his thick, shaggy beard. “I mean, I hoped they’d want to escape, but I wasn’t sure they’d want to leave either.”
“Yes, this is their home, and your assumption is logical. But again, it’s wrong.” Tark grinned. “I’ve discussed the matter with them many times of late. Their words are few, and my ability to hear their full vocal range is limited. But their meaning is clear; they think their planet is a crap hole.”
Laurence couldn’t decide whether to laugh or feel sad, so he did his best to keep his expression neutral. “I see,” he said after a moment. “Well, of course they can come. I’ve arranged that everyone can leave.” He turned to look at nearby group of Carcarrions. They were crushing a huge bone into dust then adding some sort of liquid to make a paste. “We’ll need them to be distinctive…stand out from the drones up above.”
“Drones? Fitting,” Tark said thoughtfully, then after a moment, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they’re distinctive.”
“Good…that’s good.” Laurence smoothed his beard again and continued to watch the nearby group. “I’m glad they’re coming with us, Tark,” he said after a moment. “We’re going to need all the help we can get to pull off this plan.”
“Oh yes?”
Laurence turned to him. “It’s going to involve a bit of a fight, you see.”
“Terrific.”
Again, Laurence found himself shaking his head in bewilderment. “Like a bit of a fight, do you?”
Tark shrugged. “You know, Laurence, no matter how intelligent or spiritually evolved a human male might claim to be, there’s always a primal part of him that can’t help but enjoy a good old tussle. Come to think of it, quite a few women I’ve known over the years enjoy it even more.”
Laurence chuckled and shifted himself on the rock in a failed attempt to get comfortable. “And the Carcarrions…you think they’ll be up for joining the fight?”
Tark gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Despite their tribal divisions, they’re a peaceful race. In all the time I’ve been here, I’ve witnessed very little fighting or conflict, quite unlike us humans. But just because they’re not naturally aggressive doesn’t mean they don’t have it in them to be quite lethal.” Tark looked over to the huge, lizard-like carcasses hanging at the far side of the cavern. “I’ve seen them take down their prey often. Quite a show. I promise you, Laurence, you piss them off enough, and they’ll make sweet music with your bones.”
Tark’s expression was serious, and Laurence nodded his understanding. “But you don’t think that maybe they’ll have trouble fighting against…” Laurence glanced upwards to indicate the planet surface high above them. “They might feel they’re fighting their own. They kind of will be in a way.”
“I was here during the invasion, Laurence. I saw what happened. The Carcarrions aren’t an easy species to sneak up on. Very light sleepers. But these slug creatures have incredible stealth, and they blend into their surroundings incredibly effectively. They came while the tribes slept. By the time the alarm was raised, most had already fallen prey, and those that hadn’t soon did. I would have never believed such tiny, legless creatures could move so fast. Snakes at least have the benefit of length.” Tark’s eyes, which had grown distant, suddenly snapped back into focus. “It takes a hell of lot for a Carcarrion to retreat, Laurence, hence the reason you see so few survivors here.”
Tark took a moment to gaze around the cavern. When he turned back, his expression had grown dark, angry even, something that Laurence had never seen in the little man. “Let me tell you, Laurence, those beasts up there, those drones as you call them, the resemblance absolutely stops at the physical. They are dead, their bodies hijacked, and their spirits long gone. This I know, and I can assure you that every male, female, and child Carcarrion you see around you now knows it too. This is the last…the very last tribe. When it comes time to a fight, they won’t hold anything back, and this time, they’ll be prepared. You’d be wise not to get in their way when that happens.”
Again, Laurence quietly nodded his understanding. He tried to imagine the battle that lay ahead. The vision sent a shiver down his spine. He’d never been one for combat; just the thought of it had always scared him witless. During his mollycoddled life, he’d never once been involved in a fight—at least not until Harper had punched his tooth out, and calling that a fight was perhaps a little generous on his part. He wondered whether his newfound courage would stand up to the battle ahead. At this moment, he felt he could face any challenge thrown at him. More than that, he wanted to. It was like a switch had flipped within him, a switch that he hoped to God stayed flipped.
His musing suddenly reminded him of Callum’s sample. The gift. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the little syringe. Maybe it was time to give it the trial run Callum had insisted on. As he rolled it between his fingers, Tark took interest and leaned over to peer at the bright green liquid within.
“Pretty.”
“Uh huh,” Laurence agreed, holding the syringe up to the light of a nearby glow worm pouch. “You know what, Tark, for all our sakes, I hope it’s a lot more than pretty.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
THE GIBSON GUN
“Eddy, what the hell are you doing?” Toker asked in disbelief. “Seriously, that gun’s bigger than you are.”
Halfway up the Star Splinter’s loading ramp, Cal caught sight of the girl’s perspiring, red face.
Toker was laughing at her. “Oh man, your delusions of grandeur are really starting to border on insanity.”
“Shut ya face,” she growled. “An’ stop showin’ off to the doc with ya smart arse long words.”
As he continued up the ramp, Cal saw the gun Eddy was wrestling with—a five-barrel rotating blaster—and he found himself inclined to agree with Toker. She was attempting to lift the huge weapon as if it were a slimline pulse rifle.
The massive gun was originally designed as a mounted weapon, and only after the battle of Greenwich six years previously had it ever been considered otherwise. During that battle, a sergeant by the name of George “Bulldog” Gibson had become a little carried away while facing an overwhelming force of pirate invaders. So it was told, the Greenwich moons had been Sergeant Gibson’s boyhood colony and, possibly because of this emotional attachment, the fury of the battle had overwhelmed the man. It was rumored that he’d heaved the monstrous gun off its mounting as if it were a mere toy and led a charge while unleashing all five of the weapon’s barrels in a thunderous rage. The act had apparently turned the tide of the battle, resulting in the pirates fleeing.
Word of Sergeant Gibson’s herculean act had spread, and before long, others were trying to imitate the achievement. A successful attempt at wielding the huge weapon—renamed the Gibson Gun—had soon become the ultimate test of strength among military units. The result was nothing but a massive increase in the incidents of dislocated shoulders and torn biceps. George “Bulldog” Gibson was a giant of a man, and his feat was not something easily repeated.
By the time Cal made it to the top of the ramp, Toker’s laughter had diminished, but he was still grinning widely and shaking his head. “Even if you did manage to lift it, you’d fire yourself further than the pulse discharge.”
“I will bloody lift it, an’ when I do, I know exactly which direction I’ll be firin’.”
Cal str
ode past the pair and headed towards Kaia. She was leaning back against a loading crate, watching Eddy with a mixture of disbelief, amusement, and possibly even a hint of respect.
“How did it go with the Infiltrator?” she asked as he approached.
“It’s in the Mosquito and heading down to the planet surface as we speak. Viktor and Jumper have the sync sphere up and running in your lab.”
“Good.” Kaia smiled at him. “Glad to get that fake beard off, I bet?”
Cal grinned as he realized he’d been scratching at his chin. “Yep.” He nodded towards Toker and Eddy. “I swear, one of those two clowns must have put itching powder in that face glue. It was worth it though; there’s not a lot of personal grooming going on down there.”
“I can imagine.” Kaia pushed herself off the crate. “So this man, Decker. Do you think we can rely on him?”
Cal rubbed his hand across his chin, doing his best not to scratch. “If you’d asked me that a couple of days ago, I’d have said not a chance in hell. But I have to admit, the man I met down there isn’t the Laurence Decker I knew, far from it, and I’m not just talking about his physical transformation. I didn’t have long to judge, but yes, I think we can rely on him.”
“Just as well. We’re not exactly overwhelmed with alternatives.”
Cal nodded and took a moment to look about the cargo hold.
“One of Viktor’s self-built toys,” Kaia said as she saw him do an almost comical double take at something stored at the back of the hold. “He’s calling it the silver widow.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. The silver widow looked something like a mechanical spider, about six feet in circumference, four feet in height, and sported a modified swivel blaster on its back. Lost for words, Cal blew out a breath and resorted back to scratching his chin.
“He’s going to control it remotely from the cockpit,” Kaia went on to explain. “Says he doesn’t like to send Melinda into battle unprotected. He seems a little disappointed we’ve put him in charge of the ship.”