Alien Interludes

by Tracy St. John

  Sojan tossed his long black hair back and approached the drone carefuly, his eyesight good despite the dimming sky. The hole was very wide he saw. As he neared, it resolved into a tunnel burrowing deep beneath the ruined landscape.

  He huffed a breath and looked around. Here and there, jagged bits of the former prison’s wals jutted into the sky. Bent metal framework suggested skeletal remains, as if some prehistoric herd of beasts had died where they stood, their flesh rotting away. The red-tinged sky lit by the setting sun and the nearby poisonous cloud over what had been Washington, D.C. made the view even more unwelcoming.

  Surely the roaming gangs of Earth wouldn’t come to this inhospitable place to forage. He should be safe.

  He clicked on his com. “Dramok Sojan to base camp.”

  He recognized the almost feral snarl of Nobek Cincad. “Base camp responding to Dramok Sojan. I show your drone is located forty-five miles away at the Bridgewater Womens Prison location. Is there a problem?”

  Sojan wisely queled his curiosity as to what Cincad had done to draw night communications duty at the base. For a Nobek, such easy work was punishment. He’d no doubt hear al about it when he got back.

  He settled for filing his report. “The drone picked up lifesign as my search period ended. It is consistent with a single Earther entity.”

  “What have you found?” Cincad sounded a little less angry now that he was first to hear interesting news. Sojan could almost see the rugged Nobek’s eyes lighting in excitement. Cincad was his age, unclanned, and away from Kalquor for the first time. Drawing the dangerous Earth assignment was a thril for any Nobek, especialy the younger ones.

  “The drone has led me to a large hole midway through the prison ruins, which appears to open into a tunnel. The lifesign is, uh –” Sojan paused to doublecheck the probe’s readout “—fifty yards further in.”

  “Stand by for shift commander,” Cincad said after a second’s silence.

  Sojan pursed his lips but didn’t voice the assertion he was perfectly capable of investigating a hole and puling a single Earther out, even if that Earther proved to be reluctant. Cincad was in trouble already.

  He was going to go by the book and obey the letter of the rescue party’s policy by reporting Sojan’s situation to a superior officer.

  After less than two minutes, another voice issued from Sojan’s com. “Scout Sojan, this is Commander Tanu. Is the lifesign showing any indication of movement?” Sojan frowned and studied the drone’s readout. “None, Commander. It is definitely keeping to an area of no more than ten feet in range.”

  “What is your language rating?”

  “I’m an eight rank in English and five in Spanish.” Those were the North American bloc’s two major languages.

  “This tunnel the subject is in ... how are you for maneuverability in a hostile encounter?”

  “To judge by the opening, it’s a bit cramped. I’m pretty confident I can approach without giving warning, however.” Sojan was eager to check out the tunnel, and the risk to himself seemed minor in his excitement. Inspiration made him report, “Even if we had a larger party to approach the subject with, the tunnel would prohibit more than one man at the time.” The silence from Tanu made Sojan regret his impulsiveness. He might very wel be ordered to wait for a more seasoned scout to arrive and approach the hidden Earther. And while Sojan would receive praise for tracking a survivor down, he wouldn’t have the privilege of having actualy rescued one.

  Finaly Tanu spoke again. “You must remember these Earthers are very frightened of us, Sojan. That can manifest in ways from hysteria to violence. Approaching one can be dangerous if it’s armed.” Sojan’s heart sped with excitement. “Yes sir. I’l be extremely careful.”

  “Al right. I expect to hear from you within the hour. And if you find yourself in the least bit of peril, back off immediately. Cornered Earthers, even the weak and injured ones, are animalistic fighters.”

  “Thank you, Commander!” Sojan couldn’t restrain the delight in his voice.

  He was putting his com away when Cincad spoke. “Sojan, good luck. I wish I was there too.”

  Sojan felt a little sorry for the envious Nobek. “Thanks, Cincad. You’l be hearing from me pretty soon.” He was trembling with excitement as he turned off the drone’s indication audio and reprogrammed its tracking speed. “Buffer field on,” he said, and the air around the drone shimmered. The buffer would deflect attacks whether by physical attack or percussion blaster. Just as Sojan wasn’t so stupid to not use it as a shield for himself, neither was he dumb enough to have one of the three drones in existence destroyed. The machines were like gold, able to detect lifesign better and with more range than anything else in existence. Sure, they were making more of the drones on Kalquor now, but with a nine month journey between his home world and this isolated little planet, they would be a long time coming.

  Sojan looked the drone over with not a little envy. Some hotshot pilot, only a little older than Sojan himself, had invented the thing. Before that, his clan had found the Empress’ family and even clanned the Imperial Sister. Some guys had al the luck, Sojan thought.

  Wel, he was going to make his own luck. “Track,” he said, puling his percussion blaster out. The drone resumed its delayed descent into the hole. Once it reached there, four spindly articulated limbs shot out from the cylindrical body. It stopped hovering to crawl down the tunnel, its legs tapping over the surface. Sojan jumped down and folowed after it.

  * * * *

  Rachel Hicks checked her watch for the milionth time and scowled to see only two minutes had elapsed since her last look. The luminous numbers floating in the air before her face mocked her in the al-encompassing darkness. Time stretched obscenely down here, especialy the nearer to night it got. It was hard to be patient, lying or sitting on the granite-hard bunk, when every second languished for an hour.

  Damn it, she wanted to get out of this stinking hole for the few safe hours of night, when it was easier to hide from the gangs that ruled the remains of Washington D.C.’s outskirts.

  The stinking hole indeed. They’d caled it The Hole when she’d been incarcerated here, and now what had been solitary confinement was literaly that. Her prison in pre-Armageddon life, it had morphed into her refuge.

  How funny life was, and not in a ha-ha way. More of a ‘crying-and-hystericaly-screaming-because-I’m-going-insane’ way.

  How Rachel had screamed in this place. But the screams were done along with the physical torture that had brought them. The mental anguish went on, however. Her tormentors lived stil in nightmares and halucinations.

  Even now she thought she could hear their footsteps coming down the corridor to her cel, light steady taps of careful feet in the dark. Coming to yank her clothing off, to jeer at her nakedness. To beat her until her gorgeous mahogany skin split and ran with blood, until bones broke, her starved frame sweling from the strikes of the canes. Her ears ringing with the threats of how they’d burn her womanhood off with the branding tools unless she gave up the names of other anarchists like herself. They knew she wasn’t a virgin despite never having been married, and they were going to castrate and mutilate her anyway.

  But they used the fear of it against her, giving empty promises she’d be spared if she’d just give them the names. Ignoring her shrieks that they’d caught them al and she had no other names to give.

  It wasn’t about getting information, and she knew it every bit as wel as they did. It was about making an example of her. She wondered how many schoolchildren had watched her vid-recorded punishment as they were warned of the perils of adultery and disobedience. As a leader of the attack on the very prison she’d eventualy been sentenced to, Rachel was someone Earth Gov had much wanted to make an example of. Her torture had been planned with care, lovingly calculated to last as long as possible until she would finaly die of it.

  She hadn’t died. She’d lived to see Earth reduced to rubble and debris. It had been those above ground who had
perished as the outer vestiges of the shockwave tumbled the poorly constructed prison into chunks of rock and twisted steel. Those who had been locked away in The Hole, sentenced to suffer drawn out deaths, had been the ironic survivors.

  The ghost sounds of the guards, inquisitor, and torturers were coming closer, clicking their way down the halway-turned-tunnel this time instead of thudding towards her. Rachel gripped her flashlight and then made herself let it go without turning it on. If someone realy was there, the light would bring them right to her. Her fingers skittered over her blaster, but she didn’t pick it up either. She would not give in to the trauma-inspired delusions. They did not rule her. She refused to check the time again.

  Just a hallucination, Ray-Ray. A result of post traumatic stress disorder, that’s all. All the bastards are gone, either dead or run off. No one’s in that corridor. No one’s coming for you. No one knows you’re down here.

  Even the other inmates were gone, al her felow Hole inhabitants who’d lived through Armageddon. She’d watched them run off into the distance, laughing or screaming, al a little or a lot crazed. Some ran towards the burning wasteland that had been the North American bloc’s capital. Some ran the other direction, flinging fearful glances over their shoulders as they went. Rachel knew many were running for home, wherever those places might be.

  They were al probably dead by now. Most had likely been caught by the gangs, who would have taken what they wanted from the scarred and broken bodies before kiling them. Others would have falen victim to sickness or injury. Then there were the Kalquorians. The few times Rachel had poked her nose out during daylight hours, she’d seen the ships, shining and sleek oblongs that shot through the sky.

  Most of those hovered around the remains of Washington, as if watching a sport like so many alien spectators.

  Rachel hadn’t run. First of al, she wanted to know the situation before she was caught up in it. Second, she had nowhere to go, no one to find. Marcus had died during the siege, his beautiful body shredded from the bombardment of percussion blaster fire. That same body that had made love to her so many times, made bloodied and broken and stil.

  Third, she was safe here. Safe in her former cel, of al places. As much as she hated the place, she was loath to leave its shelter. She knew she was being a coward, that it was her terror of facing what was outside that realy kept her here. It was humiliating for a woman who had prided herself on being a take-charge leader, but not humiliating enough for her to quit this place in which she drew herself in tight like a turtle in its shel.

  Life realy was funny. You could die laughing over it as your mind finaly loosened its last tether to reality.

  Meanwhile those halucinated tapping footsteps came closer. Entered the room. Paused as softer, almost silent treads came midway into the cramped space.

  “Helo, Earther woman. Do you have injury I can help?”

  Rachel’s mouth dropped open in a soundless scream. Her nightmares spoke, but her halucinations did not. Panicked, she scrabbled for the flashlight and the blaster. Before she could touch either, large hands closed over hers.

  “Safe, Matara! No harm. No shoot me; I help. I come to rescue you.”

  Rachel stared blindly in the darkness at the voice that came from only inches away. Warm breath wafted over her face. His hands were warm too and gripped hers gently but firmly so she couldn’t get to the blaster.

  “Please, Earther. Let me help you.” The deep, roling tones trembled slightly, as if he was as frightened as she.

  Rachel swalowed. Whoever he was, he didn’t seem inclined to hurt her. She gave a quick jerk of a nod.

  “Good. You are safe.”

  Safe. If Rachel could have spoken, she would have told her new friend there was no such word.

  * * * *

  Sojan had expected to feel heroic, coming to an Earther’s rescue. Instead he felt like a frightened child looking at the female. This poor, destroyed wretch with a face of unsurpassed beauty. He didn’t know if he wanted to weep more over her face’s unmarked perfection or the massive damage done to her body.

  Her skin was richer, browner, darker than his. Where the tattered gray rags of her clothing showed her flesh, she was marked worse than any old battle-scarred Nobek. She hadn’t been just beaten at some point in the past; she’d been tortured. Some of the scars were raised black lumps on her mahogany skin. Others were nearly white; slender stripes as if she’d been cut with a razor-sharp blade. She was incredibly thin too. Her ribs jutted plainly where her blouse rode up. The tiny spokes of her fingers had disappeared in his hands. He was average sized for a Kalquorian, but next to the Matara he felt like a giant.

  It was agony to look upon her starved and battered body. He moved his gaze back to her unmarked visage. Her black curls were clumsily shorn close to her skul, leaving her heart-shaped face bare. Her lips were ful, her cheeks rounded, her eyes large and liquid brown so deep they were almost black. Sojan could have looked at this part of her for hours.

  It hurt to see such a lovely woman so badly harmed, so obviously terrified. Her breath heaved in and out, a hurricane of emotion as her eyes strained to see him in dark. Sojan was overwhelmed. He was prepared for finding someone scared. He would have been fine if he’d faced an Earther determined to fight him. But this…

  “You wil be made better. Your hurts wil heal,” he babbled stupidly, hoping it was true. “Good Kalquorian medicine wil fix. I swear it, Matara.” He was no medic, but by the ancestors, he had to do something for her. Right now. He looked again at the prominent ladder of her ribs, pressing hard against scarred flesh. “I have food. You wil eat.” At his last words, the woman made a dry, raspy sound, her mouth gaping wide. She stopped trying to pul away, moving towards him instead with a kind of desperation.

  Sojan pushed her blaster out of her reach with one foot before releasing her hands to pul an emergency ration bar out of the pouch on his belt. She didn’t try to find her weapon. Her freed hands waved, clawing at his chest as he peeled the protective sleeve off the bar. He pressed it into her palm.

  She shoved the food into her mouth, tears pouring down her sweet, pretty face as she ate. Sojan had a second bar ready for her when she finished the first. And a third after that.

  As she ate the third ration, one of those claw hands patted its way up his chest, to his throat, his chin, and finaly rested on his cheek. Sojan blinked. This was the traditional greeting from a daughter to a father on his world. Then he figured out she was thanking him. That brought another realization.

  The woman had not spoken a single word since he’d found her.

  “Matara?” he said. “Earther? You speak English?”

  She nodded, paused a moment as if confused, then shook her head. She took her hand from his face to point to one ear, a tiny cup flat against her round skul. She nodded. Then those stick fingers went to her lips, tapped twice. She shook her head.

  “You understand. You do not speak.”

  Nod.

  “You speak no language? You are mute?”

  Nod.

  Sojan swalowed. “Because they hurt you?”

  Nod.

  It was too much. His arms went around her, puled the tiny, underfed, scarred body to his as if he would hide her forever, protect her from al further pain. She stiffened for an instant then sagged against him.

  “I am sorry for your hurt, Matara. No more. You safe now. Kalquor keep safe.”

  She drew away at his words. There was a guarded look on her face, lending the delicate beauty a strength he was awed to see. She made that raspy sound again, mouthed words he couldn’t quite make out.

  Sojan took his Earther handheld computer out, turned it on, and pressed it into her hand. Every rescuer carried one in the case that they came across Earthers they couldn’t communicate with.

  Her face took on an excited expression at the opportunity to communicate, though the guardedness and a measure of anger remained. She tapped the handheld’s keyboard, the vid letters glowing in the a
ir.

  You’ll keep me safe like you did New Bethlehem?

  Sojan took in a breath. “A ful investigation is underway on the massacre of the innocents of that colony, Matara. I promise you, the Kalquorian Empire did not sanction the deaths of those women and children. Justice wil be served.” Perfect, just as rehearsed. Al rescuers had been carefuly instructed on how to deal with questions about the New Bethlehem debacle.

  Partly to distract her from that uncomfortable subject and mostly because he was curious, Sojan asked, “What is your name?” She blinked, and the tight disapproval on her face eased. Rachel Hicks. You can call me Ray-Ray.

  Sojan’s ability to read English wasn’t nearly as good as his speech. “Rah-Rah?” he tried.

  Shake of her head, the corners of her lips quirking. Long A sound.

  “Ray-Ray.”

  Nod. Your name?

  “Sojan.” He speled it out on the handheld for her after careful consideration of the alien alphabetic keys. “I am a Dramok. You know about Kalquorian breeds?” Dramok. Clan leader?

  “Right. Except I have no clan yet. I am just old enough now.”

  She smiled, and it made something in his guts tighten. She was so beautiful when she did that. Do you have a light so I can see you?

  He smiled back, knowing she would hear it in his voice. “Promise to not be scared? I am bigger than you. No hurt Ray-Ray though.” Nod.

  He puled a lumen-rod from his belt and activated it.

  * * * *

  In the golden glow of the Kalquorian’s glow stick Rachel blinked at the man who, despite kneeling on his knees, loomed over her.

  He was the biggest man she’d ever seen, dwarfing her five-and-a-half feet frame by quite a bit. And he was bulky with muscle, like someone who lived at the gym and gulped protein drinks by the galon.

  The bulges were nicely outlined by the black bodysuit that clung to it. But the face attached to that formidable body was almost childlike with wide purple eyes and a sweet, nervous smile. There was no guile present in that open, innocent face. He looked like the proverbial boy next door, if the boy next door was a bodybuilder alien. The Boy Next Galaxy, perhaps.