Trek It!

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Lunging forward, Swift took hold of the monitor on its wheeled cart and rammed it into the bronze-furred Vox, knocking the wind out of him. Before bronze fur could react, Swift drove him straight back against the wall of the adjacent cell.

  The other Vox, black-furred, took a punch in the snout from Zeke. The creature screeched and stumbled…then got a second helping on the same spot.

  As the gallery audience went wild, Swift drew back a fist and followed Zeke's example, pasting a good one on bronze fur's chin. The Vox's head whacked the polymer wall and dropped forward; when Swift backed the monitor cart away, bronze fur slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  Zeke's dance partner had more vigor. Black fur caught Zeke's fist on its third swing and yanked him off balance, then knocked him down. When Zeke aimed a kick at his legs, the Vox easily hopped out of range.

  Scrambling to his feet, Zeke charged his opponent, thrusting a shoulder into black fur's midriff before he could leap away. As he made the tackle, the Vox's sharp claws raked his back and jaws snapped at his scalp.

  When black fur hit the floor, Zeke tried to get in another shot, but the Vox blocked him and grabbed his arms. The two struggled for an advantage…until Zeke lurched forward and brought an elbow down hard on the Vox's skull. Black fur went limp and his head lolled back on the floor.

  As Zeke disentangled himself from his opponent, Swift rifled through the attachments on the gurneys, looking for something to use as a weapon. Though he couldn't immediately determine the functions of some of the instruments, he thought that most would only be useful in up-close pain induction…except one. It looked like a laser scalpel, about a foot long, with a slim, clear nozzle and a sliding switch on the grip. Swift snapped the device from the telescoping arm mounting it on the gurney and headed for the bronze-furred Vox.

  Hostage taking went against his grain, but it looked like his only way out of the current predicament. With the lives of his missing crew at stake, he thought such drastic measures were justified.

  Zeke joined him alongside the unconscious Vox, and Swift handed over the laser scalpel. Gripping the Vox's shoulders, Swift shook him roughly while Zeke held the scalpel at the ready.

  "Wake up!" Swift shouted over the din from the gallery. "Come on!"

  "Wake up!" shrieked the crowd. "Come on!"

  The bronze-furred Vox's eyes fluttered open, and Swift pulled him to his feet. "Let's go!" he hollered over the crowd noise, steering the creature toward the wall that concealed the exit panel.

  It was then that Swift realized his good luck was still on hold.

  From the corridor on the other side of the transparent wall, a row of guards stared back at him. Even as the humans approached, training a makeshift weapon on their captive, the guards made no move to open the door.

  "Open up!" shouted Swift.

  Zeke pounded a fist against the wall. "Open the door!" he hollered.

  One of the guards raised a device…a palm-sized panel with glowing control surfaces. With a clawed finger, he touched one of the contacts.

  Swift and Zeke waited for a door to open in the polymer wall, admitting them into the corridor. Instead, they heard a sliding sound behind them…and the roar of the gallery crowd grew louder.

  As one, Swift and Zeke turned in the direction of the uproar. They had about a second to register what was happening before they were overwhelmed.

  Instead of the door they had been expecting, another door had opened. An entire wall, actually.

  The viewing wall that had separated them from the mob on the street had disappeared. Wild Vox poured through the opening, charging straight at them with gleaming teeth and claws.

  Swift released his grip on the hostage and drew in a breath. Whatever Zeke was shouting, he couldn't hear it over the approaching pandemonium.

  Then, the howling storm of claws and fur was upon them.

  *****

  Chapter Ten

  The idea of a see-through city, J'Tull decided, was eminently logical…from the point of view of those most vested in keeping order.

  All activities of the citizenry were in plain sight. Disturbances could be quickly pinpointed. All citizens could act as lookouts, informers, and witnesses.

  And there was no place to hide.

  Without opaque walls or doors, a fugitive could not conceal himself from a

  city-full of vigilant eyes, watching from every room of every floor of every building. A quarry's movements could be easily tracked and the quarry apprehended by swift response from authorities or citizen's arrest. Time and effort would never be wasted on broad-based searches or false leads.

  For the keepers of the status quo, it was an ideal arrangement. Not so for J'Tull, however.

  On the run through the streets of the city, she could find no shelter from prying eyes, no rest for more than a handful of heartbeats from the running battles she waged with pursuers.

  It was a test of even her heightened Hephaestan stamina. She had been fighting hand-to-hand since the disruption in the tower…pitted sometimes against a few opponents, other times against a mob of them. Her strength – several times greater than that of a human in Earth normal gravity, significantly enhanced in the lighter gravity of Vox – enabled her to fend off masses of attackers...but that strength would be neutralized in the long term by inevitable fatigue. Little by little, she was wearing down, while fresh attackers continued to come out of the woodwork.

  At least she could see them coming. In this way, the transparent city served her as well as it did the authorities. Before rounding a corner, for example, she could look through walls to see who was lying in wait for her. Ambushes were impossible, and she was able with relative ease to direct her route along the path of least resistance.

  The problem was, that still represented a lot of resistance. J'Tull was certain that a high percentage of the city's population had taken to the streets, though she did not know if they were all out for her benefit alone.

  Based on the condition of her teammates when she had last seen them, however, she did not think it likely that they too were on the loose. Though these particular humans were extraordinarily resourceful and could have effected an escape, she thought it most probable that the three of them were either imprisoned or dead.

  In either case, her current course was most logical. If she was able to traverse the city and reach the podcraft that had brought them to the surface, she could contact Exogenesis and request assistance. She could obtain weapons and communi-links from the podcraft's stores and mount a retrieval expedition for her shipmates…or their corpses.

  Her course of action was logical and demanding. Already, she had dispatched many opponents, even after suffering extreme physical punishment…exceeding even her own expectations of herself.

  Why, then, deep within the Hephaestan walls erected around her every emotional impulse, did she nurture the faintest flicker of shame?

  Retreating from the tower and leaving her shipmates behind had been a logical decision. The crowd had been densest and most aggressive nearest the other Exogenesis personnel, and she had been unable to fight her way through it to get to them. Her two choices had been surrender or retreat…and in the case of retreat, she at least ensured that one officer remained free to summon reinforcements…or survived to explain the deaths of the other three.

  Why, then, did a distant, buried part of her feel like a coward?

  No one could accuse her of avoiding physical conflict. The fighting never stopped along her current course, and the cuts and bruises multiplied by the minute.

  She had not held back in struggling to free her crewmates. Ultimately, she had been overmatched by sheer numbers of opponents, enough to constitute an irresistible force.

  Furthermore, as a Hephaestan motivated solely by logic, she had experienced no fear…and therefore, no cowardice.

  So why did twinges of guilt continue to prick at her? Why did she illogically dwell on the memory of her friends' faces as the Vox dragged them away t
o uncertain fates?

  As yet another band of attackers emerged from a side street, she pushed the troubling thoughts down as far as they would go. Emotional considerations would only diminish whatever possibility of survival remained for her comrades.

  Running headlong into the oncoming pack of Vox, J'Tull instinctively lashed out with the swift, precise movements of the suus mahna, the martial art that she had honed since childhood.

  Though savage and unpredictable, the Vox as a rule were undisciplined fighters. In large numbers, they became a seething mass of unstoppable animal ferocity…but in smaller groups, they were no match for the skillful application of leverage, momentum, and a wide-ranging knowledge of interspecies nerve centers and pressure points.

  Many of the creatures were armed with clubs and knives, but they were unable to damage anyone but themselves. With uncanny speed and economy of movement, J'Tull sidestepped every weapon, always turning it against its owner or someone else in the group, and dispatched each attacker in short order.

  As the last of the group of nine went down, J'Tull allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. She had been pushed well beyond her limits of endurance, however, and took a longer break than planned. Bending over and resting her hands on her knees, she sucked in long, shaky breaths and struggled to marshal her resources.

  She had the urge to sit down, right there, and nearly did…but Hephaestan mental discipline kicked in and she resisted. That, and the memory of Captain Swift and Commander Turner's faces as the Vox dragged them away from her in the tower.

  After one more moment, she stood straight, hands on hips, and surveyed her surroundings. She stood in the middle of a wide street with a clear shot to the park where the away team had first met with the locals. From there, it would not be far to the city's outskirts and the field in which they had set down the podcraft.

  The distance to the podcraft was short…but distance was not the problem. The buildings along the street teemed with Vox; she could feel their eyes upon her and was certain that they would not remain idle while she strolled past.

  If she succeeded in fending off those Vox, more awaited her in the park ahead. She glimpsed the edge of a crowd there and heard enough crowd noise, even from several blocks away, to know that the gathering was sizable.

  Assessing her own condition and the forces arrayed against her, she realized that she would not make it through to the podcraft if she followed the most direct route. Even allowing for hidden reserves of strength, she could not survive that gauntlet.

  Though she did not know the city's layout beyond the route that she had traveled from the podcraft to the tower, she would have to attempt a detour to her destination. The Vox in their see-through buildings would soon broadcast her whereabouts, and forces would be diverted to intercept her, but at least she stood a chance of success by avoiding the impossible passage ahead.

  And given a little more time, certain conditions promised to work in her favor. The sun had dropped from the sky, and twilight was settling over the streets; though she did not know how well the city would remain lit after dark, she hoped that nightfall would provide her with at least some limited concealment.

  Her keen Hephaestan hearing picked up the sounds of an approaching gang of Vox. Pulling herself together, she turned and ran toward them, back the way she had come.

  Excitedly, the Vox ran faster, howling and swinging weapons overhead. J'Tull hurtled toward them…then sprinted off down a side street while they were still some yards away.

  The gang followed behind her, howls blending with the chorus of calls from the Vox in the buildings she passed. She ignored them, pressing forward, mind focused on her goal.

  Another gang emerged from a side street ahead of her. J'Tull raced toward them, never breaking her stride.

  *****

  Chapter Eleven

  When the cooking smells reached her, Mariko's stomach growled…but she ignored it. She had other concerns on her mind, like how she was going to get off the forsaken mudball known as Vox if it was the last thing she did.

  Since she had learned the truth – that she had been manipulated into using the forbidden word in front of the regent and ministers – her attitude had done an about face. Just a short time ago, after her condemnation, imprisonment, and near death experience, she had been at the breaking point…but now, she felt revitalized. Her state of shock and panic had given way to clearheaded calm and resolve.

  She was going to get herself out of the mess she was in, whatever it took.

  Sitting cross-legged on the bedding on which Nalo had placed her, she watched the two dozen Vox in the underground chamber as they gathered for a meal. Before digging in, they all raised their cutlery and cheered for her at Nalo's behest.

  "To Mariko!" they shouted, flashing their teeth in her direction. "To free speech!"

  Mariko was almost grateful for the gag. She would not have wanted to share a meal with the Vox even if she could have.

  Nalo had explained their reasons for setting her up, but she didn't care. Nothing could justify putting her through the nightmare she'd endured…not even a dying language.

  "'Mazeesh' is one of many profane words," Nalo had told her. "They are all from the same language.

  "In fact," he had said, "every word in that language is considered profane.

  "They say it is the language of the ones who hunted us. We, the Free Speakers, believe otherwise."

  Growing increasingly impassioned, Nalo had paced and gestured and raised his voice. "We believe it is the tongue of our ancestors. We believe that our leaders have suppressed it because it allows for the expression of dangerous ideas."

  Nalo had stopped pacing and dropped to his haunches before her. "Crastala na neepom," he had said. "It means 'to be an individual.'

  "Shoshar na yothu," Nalo had said. "It means 'to follow your heart.'"

  Gradually, all the Vox in the chamber had gathered around them…and as Nalo had recited each phrase, they had exuberantly repeated what he had said.

  "Shoshar na yothu!" they had shouted.

  Nalo had sprung to his feet and whirled to face his supporters. "Tark razeek na," he had said.

  "Tark razeek na!" the chorus had repeated.

  "To dream of something better!" he had said. "Zush na carapata imbolio rivix shanyo!"

  His supporters had repeated the phrase, and he had spun to face Mariko again. "To tear down what is broken and replace it!" he had shouted.

  The Free Speakers had cheered riotously, hopping and yipping and hugging with abandon.

  When the commotion had died down, Nalo had settled to his haunches again, staring at her intently with his black pearl eyes. "These things I have said…they are called profanity now. It is forbidden to speak them in public.

  "But this is the true language of our people. Soon, it will be heard round the world, from the mouths of every living Vox."

  Gently, he had reached out and touched her cheek. Though she had wanted to recoil, she had held herself still. "Thank you, Mariko," he had said softly. "Ija onya sufir brin cozcona. 'You give us hope.'"

  It had been another situation when perhaps it was a good thing that she was gagged. If she had been able to speak at that moment, she would have said some unpopular things.

  And she would have used some profanity of her own. As a linguist, she had an extensive repertoire from which to choose.

  Truth be told, under other circumstances, Mariko would have been fascinated by the Free Speakers and their struggle. Language was her passion; she would have been excited to study a suppressed tongue and participate in efforts to resurrect it.

  If she had been asked instead of tricked, and if her duties had allowed it, she would have gladly done everything in her power to help Nalo. If she had been asked.

  And if her shipmates had not been endangered. And if a massive alien fleet with heavy weapons and unknown motives was not hours away from orbit.

  Any other time, she would have been thrilled to lend a ha
nd. It was a once in a lifetime experience and would make a stunning paper for the linguistic journals back home.

  But today, she wanted only to tell the Vox to go to hell.

  Her one and only goal at this point was to escape and find Captain Swift and the others. She had been brought into this against her will, and she was determined to use sheer force of will to get out of it.

  Unfortunately, for the moment, she was stuck. Plenty of weapons were available in the cave, but if she snatched one and made a break for it, she would have no place to go but the tunnels. Without a guide, she knew for a fact that she would end up hopelessly lost in that maze.

  So she had to wait until someone led her back out to the surface. That would be in the morning, according to Nalo, when the Free Speakers made their big move. Mariko didn't know what exactly they had planned…only that they were going to take her along.

  That was when she would have to act – when they emerged on the surface, before they could drag her into some new ordeal. She would feign cooperation, catch them with their guards down, and make a run for it.

  The only problem with her plan was that she couldn't carry it out right this minute. She was having a hard time pretending to be sympathetic to the people who had put her through the grinder without her consent.

  Nalo just made it worse when he walked over after dinner and patted her on the head. "Get some rest, Mariko," he said. "We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

  Mariko looked up at him and nodded…but all she wanted to do was swat his hand away and punch him in the face.

  As she watched him curl up on some bedding across the chamber, she wondered if he really imagined that she was an ally after all he had done to her. Did he think that saving her life had secured her loyalty, when he was the one who had put her in harm's way in the first place? Or was he playing along, as she was doing, until he had finished using her?