CHAPTER TEN
The planet Samarcia. Date—unconfirmed.
With Jenson at the controls, the Karine slipped through the atmosphere of the Samarcian home world. Their destination was a remote military spaceport sited on a southern peninsula of the biggest continent on the Terra-like planet. That area of the world was suffering from a sub-tropical storm, which combined with the cover of night, would hide the Leopard-class destroyer from prying eyes. Their stealth capability also appeared to be working effectively against the various security early-warning systems.
After spending some time carefully studying the Samarcian home world, Moss, Jenson and Sandpiper had concluded that the level of technology being employed was largely on par with the Karine's level of sophistication. This, of course, was to be expected; the Starweb at about this point in time, consumed the Samarcian commonwealth. At least that's what the information gleaned from the data-banks of Excalibur told them. Therefore, the technology found on board the three seed-starships; Excalibur, Dominator and Valvia, would come from the same period. The Karine employed a somewhat refined, but essentially similar technology, allowing the destroyer to slip unseen through the planet's atmosphere.
Moss had employed his sense of perception to scan the world below for signs of the crew of the lost Dyason colonial transporter, Shanoa. Letting his mind roam across the landscape, fleetingly touching the minds of the Samarcian people without their knowledge, he had sensed where the ship itself was. Hellvaux was a military installation some distance from any centre of population and the spot where they would begin their search for the colonists.
As to the location of the colonists themselves, well that was currently a mystery. The arrival of the Shanoa on Samarcia had been a minor media event, which had been well covered by the planet's news services. However, other than some poor quality images of the passengers and crew being herded away by members of the security force, nothing more had been reported.
Moss had scanned for Dyason and Terran minds but had come up with nothing. Perhaps it was because the Samarcian thought-patterns were so similar; the Shanoa's occupants were being lost in the clutter of millions of other souls. Or perhaps it was for another, more sinister reason.
Before they had left orbit, Sandpiper had gone through the passenger and crew list of the Shanoa, looking for any useful information. He had eventually come up with a gem, which had surprised them all. Amongst the passengers, there was a name, which they all knew—that of Brother Dakol.
Dakol was a Dyason monk whom Jenson and Sandpiper had encountered during the closing stages of the Dyason wars. He and his brothers had been instrumental in bringing the civil war upon that world to an end. (See Third Player- WJP) After the point-zero chain reaction, which altered that planet forever, Dakol and his monks had gone out into their world and achieved minor miracles in motivating the Dyason people to rebuild their shattered planet. What exactly he was doing onboard the Shanoa, they couldn't ascertain. However, he was at least a familiar mind that Moss could attempt to trace.
It was just as the Karine was touching down in a valley devoid of human occupation, when Moss finally located the monk's unique thought-patterns.
'I've found him!' he declared to the others as Jenson worriedly scanned the auto-land displays. Even with flight systems as sophisticated as those onboard the Karine, the tropical storm was battering against the ship, buffeting it alarmingly from side to side. So far, the flight computer was doing a good job of bringing the destroyer down into a clearing in the densely wooded valley. Should something go wrong however…well, they'd be stuck a long way from home on a world soon to be fumigated of human life. Not a pleasant thought!
'Thirty metres…twenty metre…ten metres…' the Karine hovered above the ground, swaying in the storm, then dropped with a bone-jarring jolt. Jenson quickly scanned the systems looking for any damage that might have been caused by their arrival. 'Touchdown! I thank you for flying Leopard Air,' Jenson announced wiping his brow with relief. 'Okay, so it wasn't the most gentle of landings, but at least we're still in one piece.'
'Only just,' Sandpiper said with feeling. The arrival had sent a painful jolt up his spine.
'Be nice,' Jenson retorted. 'We're here aren't we? What more do you want? Now, what were you saying Moss?'
Moss undid his seat straps and leaned forward to peer out of the canopy. There wasn't much to see…The storm lashed rain against the side of the ship and except for the occasional flash of lightning, the sky was pitch black. It wasn't exactly an auspicious start to their visit to the home of the human species.
'I was saying I've tracked down our friend brother Dakol,' he repeated casually.
'Oh yes? Where?' Jenson asked while shutting the ship's flight systems down.
'He's in a room in a city, some two hundred kilometres from here. That's all I can tell you for the present,' he answered.
'There's no sign of the rest of the passengers and crew?' Sandpiper asked. 'That's a bit ominous isn't it? Can't you make telepathic contact with the monk and find out what's going on?'
Moss sat back down in his seat and the other pair turned to face him, the shutdown complete. 'Yeah, it's a bit worrying that there's no sign of the rest of the Shanoa's occupants. However, without actively going to look for them, there's no way to tell at present what's happened to them. As to making contact with brother Dakol, my sense of perception is entirely passive. My mind is only reading what is being transmitted from people and objects about us. If I attempt to link with the mind of the monk, I'll become active; I'll be transmitting.'
'You mean you'll be exposed to any telepaths that may be here on Samarcia?' Sandpiper asked, immediately grasping the concept. 'I guess it's a bit like the ship's sensors; if we just listen, we're hard to detect, but if we probe actively, we announce our presence.'
'You got it in one,' Moss confirmed. 'Until we know what we're up against I'd rather not take any risks.'
'I'd go along with that,' Jenson readily agreed. 'Just us against the entire Samarcian commonwealth is not good odds. However, now that we're here what's the game plan? It seems to me that we first need to find where they're keeping the ship itself, and take it from there.'
'That would make sense to me,' Moss confirmed. 'I reckon I can get the three of us into that military base alright. What we do after that depends upon what we find there.'
Sandpiper looked at the young father thoughtfully for moment and then asked, 'What about you, Moss? We set out on a rescue mission to save Jennifer and your son. Now things seem to have moved on a bit. Yet, you're apparently calm. How so? You were prepared to rip the Starweb apart in order to reach your wife and kid a few hours ago. What's changed?'
Moss gave a quick shrug then told his friends, 'Well, the way I see it, so long as we're here, what's happened to Jennifer and our child hasn't actually happened yet. We've moved upstream in the sub-ether remember; the Starweb, Earth, the Dyason wars—none of it has actually happened, nor will it happen for thousands of years yet..
'Yeah, I see what you mean,' Sandpiper nodded trying to get his head around the concept of using the sub-ether to travel through space-time. 'At least, I think I do. Does that mean when we go back through the sub-ether we'll end up in space-time where we left off? If you get my meaning?'
'I guess so,' Moss answered with another small shrug. 'We won't really know until we attempt it. There's one thing I'm sure about guys, we're here for a very definite reason. I don't know what that reason is yet, but I can feel it in my soul. The Starweb diverted us into the depths of the sub-ether, but I'm certain they weren't expecting us to end up here. There's some other…force at work here and we'll just have to improvise until our real purpose becomes clear. That's why I'm not as concerned about Jennifer right this moment. There'll be plenty of time to deal with that matter later; figuratively speaking of course. And I'm sorry for my behaviour onboard Excalibur; I've had a few hours to think things over since then.'
Sandpiper shivered briefly then c
ommented, 'Well it's all too much for my feeble mind to grasp! This time and space business just gives me the colly-wobbles! As to your behaviour Moss, I didn't notice anything different from usual.'
Jenson smiled at his sidekick's unerring ability to make a joke in any situation. 'There's nothing to forgive old man!' he added, 'If you hadn't been throwing a wobbly, one of us would have—and it wasn't even our wife and child! So think nothing of it and let's get on with whatever heroic deed we're supposed to carry out!'
Sandpiper sighed theatrically and complained, 'Oh no, don't tell me I have to be a galactic hero again! It's bloody wet out there!'
Jenson stood up and slapped his chum on the back, 'Come on mate, it'll be another long story you can spin to all those babes you try to get in bed!'
'Yeah, but I never actually got any of them in bed,' he moaned following the other two out of the cockpit. 'The yarns are so long they always fell asleep!'
'It's the way you tell them,' Moss quipped over his shoulder. 'I'll have to give you some tips one day.'
'Oh would you?' Sandpiper asked sardonically heading for the equipment locker. 'What, with you having had so many girlfriends before you got married…gee, that would be swell!'
'Be nice to each other boys,' Jenson said mildly admiring the new toys strapped down in the Karine's hold.
Some twenty minutes later, the rear of the destroyer opened and three motorbikes descended the short ramp and paused by the edge of the clearing. Fuelled by water in a small, but powerful rotary engine, the off-road bikes were designed to be used on any type of terrain and came equipped with side-panniers containing virtually anything an expedition required. They were the latest in TWDF kit and the kind of toys boys dreamed of; which probably explained the wide grins on the faces of the three riders. Wearing wet-gear and helmets with built-in image intensifiers, they looked back at the Karine as the rear doors closed and sealed tight.
'Do you think the ship will be OK here? Sandpiper asked.
'I don't perceive anybody within twenty klicks of this place,' Moss answered. 'The area is uninhabited.'
'Besides I've got the ignition keys in my pocket,' Jenson added dryly.
'That's all right then,' Sandpiper retorted, then revved the virtually silent bike and disappeared into the stormy night. Moss and Jenson were close behind, relying on their image intensifiers to follow the tiny animal track.
De Felke sat and watched whilst the strange man pushed the food about his plate. The more he looked at him, the more De Felke noticed small genetic differences between himself and this person who supposedly came from another point in space-time. His head was completely bald, but his stubble was a mix of flame-red and grey, which was unknown for a native Samarcian. There were many people with brown, black or blond hair in the commonwealth, but no redheads.
The eyes were a little odd. They were narrow, with heavy lids and dark, almost black in colour. De Felke certainly couldn't remember ever seeing eyes like those before. Of course, these subtle differences alone weren't sufficient to prove Jelde's incredible story. Nevertheless, they were interesting, very interesting.
At least the poor bastard was wearing normal casual clothes rather than the awful gown he'd been forced to wear at the detention centre. If they had to make a run for it through the busy streets outside, he should pass for a visiting off-worlder, just.
'What are you staring at?' the man demanded with hostility. They could converse properly now, which was something. De Felke had forced the refugee to undergo a force-learning programme so he could speak standard Samarcian. It was for his own good, but of course, it just pissed the poor bastard off even more.
'I was just looking at your features,' the News-web journalist replied as amiably as possible. 'There are subtle differences which are unusual.'
The bald-headed monk said nothing, just stared hard at De Felke.
'I read the report about that ship of yours, the genuine report that is. Not the rubbish being fed to my colleagues at present. Obviously you are genetically slightly different from ourselves and that gives credence to your story.'
'It's no story,' Dakol snapped back his eyes wild, clearly agitated. 'I've never lied in my life and I'm not about to start now! Why in God's name did nobody believe us? What possible threat could we be to you?'
De Felke watched as the man's face collapsed into his hands and he began sobbing again. Interesting question, he thought to himself, not feeling the slightest sympathy for the emotionally devastated monk. Jelde had told him the reason the rest of the doomed ship's company had been killed, was to ensure the Starweb corporation couldn't get their hands on them before she had made her deal. What she hadn't explained, was how she had convinced the senate to sign their death warrants.
There had to be more at stake than merely the contract to produce the new super-computers, and De Felke was determined to find out the entire story. It wasn't just a matter of money, it was a matter of professional pride. Instinctively, he knew he was on to something big; possibly the biggest story of his career. And he would file it on the News-Web, even if it killed him. Which considering who was involved, it probably would.
That was the difference between him and that secret service bitch Jelde. She wanted the credits to get her face surgically altered in a bizarre quest for love and sexual gratification. He wanted the scoop of the century not just the money. It gave him a small, but important advantage and he knew the whole thing hinged on him getting this strange man's trust. And of course, he had to keep him alive—which was going to be the tricky part!
Once Jelde had made her deal and the credits had been transferred to an off-world account, she would be looking to return the freak to her benefactors. Of course, they would dispose of the last survivor of the alien ship and then…then they would be coming for him. She'd offered him huge sums of money as part of their deal, but the reporter had no illusions that Jelde had any intention to honour the agreement. He would be cleanly and efficiently disposed of. Unless, that is, he could file his story along with the necessary proof, before they found him. If he didn't, De Felke's wonderful career was going to be prematurely terminated.
The News-web reporter leant forward and grabbed Dakol by the wrist, forcing him to make eye contact.
'Look my friend,' he began in his most earnest fashion. 'You shouldn't tar me with the same brush as those secret-service goons. I'm not one of them!'
'Then who are you?' the monk demanded, staring out from haunted, red-raw eyes. 'How is it that I've been saved when all my companions have been so mercilessly slaughtered?'
'Let's just say you have a friend who has your best interests at heart,' De Felke answered with an ingratiating smile. 'Me! I'm an investigative reporter for the News-web, the commonwealth's largest news group. I believe your story, friend Dakol, and I believe our corrupt government does too. For some reason, you and your shipmates posed a threat to at least one or more interplanetary corporations. They are the ones who arranged your death warrants!'
'You know who these godless vermin are?' the monk asked, a look of wild, hopeful anticipation on his face.
'I don't have enough evidence to confirm my suspicions at the moment,' De Felke replied, being economical with the truth. 'I have contacts looking into the matter now. It's only a question of time before the whole picture emerges.'
The monk grabbed hold of the journalist's wrists with a strength born of desperation and hissed, 'I want to know who they are! I want them to pay—do you hear?'
Surprised by the intensity of the older man's grip, De Felke nodded, his eyes shrewdly narrowed. So, the monk was prepared to forgo his strange religious beliefs for the most basic of human emotions; a desire for revenge! There was the lever!
'Oh yes,' he answered slowly and clearly, 'I hear you. I hear you very well!'
By the time first light was breaking over the remote mountain range, the tropical storm, which had lashed the forests, only a few hours before, had spent its force and was quickly dissipating. When t
he sun finally appeared between scudding clouds, its rays were diffused eerily by the tall trees, creating a half-world where shape and form were changed by light and shadow. Out of these shadows and into the clearing stepped an incongruous figure. Her face was lined and weathered, whilst her hair was long and unkempt. Her clothes were a bizarre mix of manufactured garments that must have once been fashionable, and animal skins cured and stitched together. The backpack she carried was however, of the latest contoured design and obviously tailor-made for her short, stocky figure.
The mountain-woman looked up at the starship, which had appeared overnight in what she considered her territory. Sleek, with a delta plan form, it was of a design alien to her. Not that she'd seen many starships in the past few years; there wasn't much call for such vessels in the mountains. Like her, the few inhabitants of Samarcia's wildest and most beautiful territory didn't have any need for them. They were trying to live with nature, not against it.
Still, as the beast was there, she may as well take a look at it, she thought to herself. Firstly, she crept all around the edges of the clearing, using the shadows to hide her form. Then when nothing untoward happened, she boldly stepped right up to the vessel and attempted to run her hands along the smooth, seamless hull. But her fingers were firmly repulsed before she could touch the vessel's skin. How interesting! She tried to find a gap, a way past the force field, but whoever had parked the beast had ensured nobody could steal their property; at least not easily.
It was as the mountain-woman examined the rear of the strange ship, that she noticed the three sets of tracks leading into the forest. She squatted down and examined the markings carefully. Each track was made by a two-wheeled vehicle; motorbikes she guessed, with clearly defined off-road tyre marks. Judging by the depression and freshness of the tracks, she deduced that three motorbikes had left the ship and disappeared into the forest sometime during the overnight storm. Probably soon after the vessel had landed. The real question was why?
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