Trek It!

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  He didn't even restrain her when he and the others fell asleep. Did they leave her unguarded in a cave full of weapons because they believed they had won her over to their cause? Or did they assume that she wouldn't dare hurt them and venture into the labyrinth of tunnels on her own?

  Mariko was sorely tempted to prove otherwise.

  But common sense prevailed. As impatient as she was, until the Vox delivered her to the surface, her only choice was to wait.

  For a long time, she sat cross-legged and watched the sleeping Free Speakers, curled together in a pile of fur that rose and fell with the rhythm of their breathing. Though she was tired, sleep eluded her; she had too much on her mind to relax.

  Over and over, she replayed the day's horrific highlights: the bedlam in the tower when the mob had attacked; the death sentence pronounced by the regent; Captain Swift and Commander Turner being dragged down and pummeled by the furious crowd; and the two moments when she had been convinced that she was about to die – first in the super-heated cell, then in the pitch black tunnel.

  It had been a day when some of her deepest fears had been realized…and her greatest strengths had been turned against her. Language – her forte, her outlet, her love – had nearly killed her…and might have led to the deaths of her shipmates.

  Even now, that talent was denied her. With the gag sealed in place, she could not hold a simple conversation, let alone use verbal communication to her advantage.

  A word had been her downfall…and now, she couldn't speak a single word to affect the outcome of her situation. The one thing she excelled at above all others, the one thing that had always made a difference in her life, she could not turn to.

  Despite the newfound resolve that had filled her when she'd learned that she'd been tricked, Mariko was weighed down with self-doubt. Since boarding the Exogenesis, she had been in some hairy situations, and she had received combat training from Martin Simon…but she was not a seasoned fighter by any means, and her current circumstances were different from any others she had faced.

  She was alone on an alien world, completely cut off from the ship and the rest of the away team. She was exhausted and unable to eat or drink. She had no communi-link, snalayzer, or multiterpreter, let alone an emanator pistol. She could not speak…and of the three languages regularly used by her hosts, she had limited comprehension of only one.

  The odds seemed to be stacked against her. How could she hope not only to free herself, but to locate and rescue the rest of the away team (if they were even still alive)?

  There was no question: she was up against the biggest challenge of her life. She thought it would be a miracle if she managed to pull it off.

  But she had to try. Either that, or die.

  By the time the Free Speakers woke, she would have to get hold of herself and quench her doubts. She would have to shut off the part of herself that was doing the most talking now – the part that said she was going to fail – and reach deeper inside herself than she had ever reached before.

  Lying back on the bedding, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her nerves. She had no idea how long the Vox would sleep, but she planned to use the time to prepare for the trials to come.

  For a while, she thought of Earth and the people she loved. She wondered if she would ever see them again, or if she was doomed to die so far away, on this world that was so misleadingly, breathtakingly beautiful.

  She thought of the Exogenesis, too…circling the planet overhead, so near and yet completely out of reach. If someone had told her, on the day she came aboard, that in just a short time the ship would become like a second home to her, its crew a second family, she would not have believed it.

  When she thought of not seeing that ship or those people again, she felt the same ache in her stomach as when she thought about not returning to Earth. She honestly didn't know which home she would miss more.

  As homeward thoughts forced aside recollections of her traumatic first day on Vox, Mariko finally relaxed. Sleep took her suddenly, with no advance warning, as if she had been knocked unconscious by a drug or a physical blow.

  She wouldn't remember it when she woke, but the place she dreamed about was Exogenesis.

  *****

  Chapter Twelve

  Before the video had finished running on the viewer, Martin Simon ordered the podcraft launch. He didn't need to watch the rest to know it was long past time to send the extraction team to the planet's surface.

  He had been waiting for what had seemed like an eternity to give the order, ignoring his gut feeling in favor of caution. Now that the wait was over, he felt some relief at finally taking action…but not much relief, given what he saw in the video.

  The transmission was snowy and the camerawork jerky, but he could still plainly see the away team's disastrous fate. After an exchange of words between Mariko and one of the Vox, the group had been attacked; the angry mob had backed off briefly, only to swarm over them again, beating them down with punishing force. Simon's stomach had ached as he'd watched Swift and Zeke disappear under the brutal onslaught.

  Now, he saw Mariko gagged and held up before the roaring crowd. He winced as they shook her and spit on her, then tossed her down and dragged her off by her wrists.

  The entire bridge crew was silent as Captain Swift and Commander Turner reappeared on-screen, their limp bodies hauled up and flung overhead like beach balls by the crowd. The shot bobbed drunkenly and panned across the fur-covered throng to reveal J'Tull, still fighting valiantly; when it panned back, Swift and Turner were being dragged out after Mariko, their bodies kicked and clawed on their bumpy trip across the floor.

  When it ended and the screen cut back to an image of the planet Vox, no one said anything for a while. It had been fortunate that they had found the news video feed, or they might still be sitting on their hands…but it had been difficult to watch.

  Especially for Martin. The decision to wait to send down the podcraft had been his alone; now, he knew for certain that he had made a mistake in not ordering the launch long ago. If they lost the entire away team, it would be on his head.

  Though he had a military background and was accustomed to facing hard choices and unpleasant consequences, he was sickened by the possibility that he would be responsible for the deaths of his friends.

  And he hated the fact that he was still sitting in the command chair instead of riding the podcraft to the surface. He wanted to go down there more than anything, to personally head what was sure to be a problematic rescue mission…but he had decided to stay put instead. As much as his expertise could mean the difference between life and death for the endangered team, he had concluded that his place was on the bridge given the current circumstances. If Exogenesis was still in orbit when the fleet arrived, the senior tactical officer should be onboard; the safety of the ship and crew had to take precedence over the four lives on the surface and the five in the podcraft in transit.

  Seventy-four lives versus nine; it made sense. He knew it was the only rational choice he could make…but he hated himself for making it. Given his recent

  decision-making track record, he worried that he had gone wrong again, compounding his original mistake when he ought to be on the surface undoing it.

  But the podcraft was away now and he wasn't about to delay the mission further by calling it back. He had held a place for himself on the shuttle for a long time before giving the order to add a fifth man other than him; he had had plenty of time to reconsider, and now he had to accept his decision and get on with it.

  Heaven knew, there was plenty for him to deal with at that very moment.

  "Six hours until fleet intercept," said Tanner Bellweather, continuing his countdown.

  Simon was starting to regret having ordered the updates; it was like being punched in the gut every fifteen minutes. "Any change in course or speed?" he said, asking the same question that he asked after each update.

  Tanner' answer was the same as always. "None, sir."


  "At least we can depend on something," said Martin, only half kidding. The fleet's predictability really was a blessing; as long as those ships didn't accelerate, their arrival time at Vox was a known quantity. Further, if they remained incapable of reaching speeds beyond G2, the Exogenesis had an advantage over them, however small. The intruders might have the power to destroy Exogenesis a thousand times over, but the Earth ship could still run rings around them.

  That was the one thing in which Martin took comfort. He had a feeling that a quick getaway would be an absolute necessity in six hours.

  "Lieutenant!" When Ensign Levy called out, Simon spun the command chair to face the science station.

  Levy's face was pale as he stared at the monitors on the console. "I've lost a second set of human bio signs," he said.

  Martin leaped from the command chair. "Is it the electrostatic interference?" he said, rushing to Levy's side to see for himself.

  "I don't think so," said Levy, working controls on the console.

  "Well, is it or isn't it?" Martin said sharply.

  Levy turned and peered into the gooseneck viewer. "No, it isn't," he said. "I've been working to screen out the interference, and I had a clean signal from two sets of human bio signs. One's gone now."

  Which one? wondered Martin. "Maybe you screened it out," he said. "Try looking at all frequencies again."

  As Levy operated controls and gazed into the viewer, the only sounds on the bridge were the beeps and hums of electronics. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, listening for the dreaded verdict.

  Finally, Levy looked up from the gooseneck viewer. "It's back," he said, "but the signal is weak."

  The news wasn't altogether good, but Martin was still relieved. A weak bio sign was better than none at all. "No more screening interference," he said. "At least not when you're monitoring bio signs."

  "Aye, sir," Levy said contritely, combing a hand through his dark hair.

  Though he inwardly obsessed over the bio signs' weakness and what it could mean, Simon forged ahead with other concerns. "Now what about those building schematics?" he said. "Any luck?"

  "Some," said Levy, returning his attention to the console. He touched controls and a rectangular wireframe diagram appeared on the viewer. "We've mapped a limited layout of the structure in which the human bio signs are housed." When he entered a command on the console, two dots of light appeared in a lower quadrant of the diagram on the screen. The dots flickered and shifted position but remained in the same general area. "The interference makes it impossible to pin them down, but we have an approximate location."

  "It's a start," said Martin. "Transmit what you've got to the team in the podcraft and keep working on it."

  Levy acknowledged the order and Simon headed for the communications station. Ensign Neruda worked intently there, bent over the blinking console.

  "What've you got, Ensign?" said Martin. "Any more news feeds?"

  Neruda looked up with a start. She had been so engrossed in her readouts and whatever was playing through her earpiece, she had been oblivious to his approach. "Even better, sir," she said with a smile. "We speak Vox."

  "The multiterpreter is back on line?" said Martin.

  "It was never off," said Neruda. "It had trouble sorting out the transmissions because the Vox use two distinct audible languages at the same time – one consisting of the kind of spoken syllables we're accustomed to, the other a series of clicks and buzzes. They literally carry on two conversations at once."

  Martin nodded. "So we can talk to them now?"

  "Yes," said Neruda, adjusting knobs on the console. "I've recalibrated the multiterpreter to split Vox transmissions into two tracks. We can translate both and respond in either language."

  "First things first," Martin said briskly. "Transmit the multiterpreter configuration to the podcraft. Then put me through to the top brass down there, or as close as you can come."

  As he marched back to the command chair, Martin lost a little of the foreboding and self-recrimination that had been bogging him down. Finally, they were making headway: the podcraft was en route and the language had been cracked. He could even take action, after a fashion; instead of dwelling on mistakes and weak bio signs, he could try to straighten things out with the planet's leaders. He would rather be on the surface with an emanator rifle in his hands, but attempting a diplomatic solution was still better than doing nothing. It might even work; crazier things had happened.

  "Five hours, forty-five minutes until fleet intercept," said Tanner.

  There was that foreboding again. Martin considered amending his earlier instructions and extending the time between countdown updates…but thought better of it. Five hours and forty-five minutes would race by in no time; frequent reminders helped keep everyone sharp and focused.

  After a few moments, Neruda spoke up. "Sir, I have someone identifying himself as Defense Minister Olera," she said…and then she winced and tugged the earpiece out of her ear. "He seems a little…irritated, sir."

  "Understood," said Simon, turning his full attention to the viewer. "Patch him through."

  When the silver-furred Vox appeared on the screen, his mouth was already in motion. A rush of gibberish burst from the bridge speakers, then snapped off and was replaced by a translation. Somehow, the Vox sounded even angrier in multiterpreter-generated English than in his native tongue.

  "How kind of you to finally take my call!" hollered Defense Minister Olera. "We've been trying to reach you for over two hours!"

  Martin replied with a friendly smile. "I'm Lieutenant Simon of the star cruiser Exogenesis. What can we do for you, Minister?"

  "Leave orbit immediately!" shouted Olera. "And never return!"

  "Ah," said Martin. "I think we can help you there. As soon as our landing party is returned to us, we will be most happy to go away."

  Olera smacked his fist on the desk in front of him. "Impossible! Your people are as good as dead! They must be punished for their crimes!"

  Martin stifled a wave of anger and managed to continue with a civil tone. "What crimes?"

  "Flagrant public use of the most offensive and forbidden slur!" bellowed Olera, whiskers twitching. "A word so vile, I cannot even repeat it!"

  So that was what had happened to the away team. Martin was amazed that a single word could lead to so much trouble…and further surprised that Mariko, with her expertise and attention to detail, could have accidentally spoken it.

  "I can assure you, Minister," he said, "that this incident was a misunderstanding. We have nothing but the utmost respect for your people and all races we come in contact with."

  "You insult us again!" said Olera. "I heard them speak that profanity with my own ears! It had nothing to do with respect!"

  "Your languages are quite complex, compared with our own," said Simon. "We've had a great deal of difficulty translating them, which is why we took so long to answer your call."

  "So you say!" said Olera.

  "Isn't it possible that our team, unfamiliar with your languages, mistakenly used the objectionable word?"

  "Don't bother making excuses," said Olera. "There are no exceptions under the law. There are no mitigating circumstances."

  The wave of anger resurfaced, and this time it took more effort to force it down. "We offer our deepest apologies," said Martin. "May I suggest that we work together to come to an understanding?"

  "Apologies hold even less weight than excuses," said Olera.

  "With all due respect," said Martin, "I believe that now is the time for cooperation, not confrontation. You do know that a heavily armed fleet of ships is on a direct course for Vox, don't you?"

  Olera exploded. "Now you're threatening me? How dare you?" He literally leaped over the desk and charged the camera, thrusting his face at the lens. His obsidian eyes, gleaming teeth and fluttering whiskers filled the viewer. "Do your worst! You won't be the first who've come from space to harm us, and I promise you'll suffer the same defeat as al
l the rest!"

  Martin drew a deep breath and released it slowly. Under the best of circumstances, he had little patience for diplomacy…and these circumstances did not rank among the best. Negotiating with Olera was like talking to a brick wall…or a wailing siren. It could have been worse, though; Martin hated to think what it would be like to deal with the hostile official face to face.

  Another deep breath. "We aren't threatening you, Minister," said Martin. "The fleet isn't ours. The reason we came here, in fact, was to warn you of their approach."

  "Oh, thank you!" said Olera. "How thoughtful of you!"

  "They wouldn't answer our hails," Martin said evenly. "We don't know who they are…but maybe you do. You said you've been invaded before?"

  Olera snarled like an animal. "You want information so you can plan your own invasion!"

  "Not true," said Martin, raising his voice. He was getting perilously close to responding in kind to the Minister's tirade. "Our intentions are peaceful. Once we have our people, we will be on our way."

  "You won't get them, so be on your way now!"

  Pushing out of the command chair, Martin crossed the bridge and stood in front of the fanged, furry visage filling the screen. He was close enough to the video pickups within the screen that the image of his own face would likewise fill the Vox's planetside monitor.

  "Who is your commander-in-chief?" said Martin.

  "I answer to the regent alone!" said Olera.

  "Ah," said Martin. "Then I would like to speak to the regent."

  "I speak for the regent!" said Olera. "Her orders are clear! You will leave our space immediately!"

  Martin wanted to shout back at him, but instead he just smiled. "My orders are also clear. We will not leave until we speak directly to the regent."

  Olera opened his mouth to say something, then looked off-screen. Another voice was audible, but pitched too low to be heard clearly.

  When he looked back at Martin, the Defense Minister's whiskers quivered like never before.