AL CLARK - Avalon -: (Book Two)

by Jonathan G. Meyer

  Wish we had more watchers. Al thought.

  ****

  The group kept moving and soon tall plants began to crowd the trail, leaving them to walk a narrow path. As they came around a corner, standing not more than fifty feet away, was what appeared to be a large black dog. The biggest dog Al had ever seen.

  “What’s it doing?” Chris whispered.

  “Well—nothing yet, but I don’t think it likes us.”

  The creature had short black fur, with dirty gray spots, and was growling from way down in its throat. Standing more than four foot tall, it weighed, at least, two hundred pounds and radiated an air of superiority and menace.

  “We have another one back here sir,” came a warning from the rear guard.

  A second animal had blocked them in, leaving them with nowhere to go but into the trees.

  The humans and the hounds watched each other for a while. Both parties gauging the danger, and then the shady creatures made a noise that sounded almost like laughing, as they casually sauntered off into the trees and disappeared.

  Chris whispered an observation, “Don’t they look like big black Hyenas? Kira told me about these animals. Roughly translated, she called them Devil Dogs. They hunt in packs, attack all at once, and scare the crap out of the natives—where did they go?”

  The native girl, Kira, was one of the early contacts they met soon after arrival. She and another local named Toji had stumbled into Al and Elizabeth soon after arrival. She had been the first alien contact on Avalon and was so impressed with the visitors; she now spent most of her time with the colonists in their magical village. The local native tribe had a name for these people that came down from a star to save them. They called them the Kuthra.

  “I think they were testing us,” Al replied. “They had us boxed in and then let us go. I’m not sure if we scared them off, or if they were only here to size us up. If there are more of them, we could have a problem.”

  When it didn’t appear that the dogs would be coming back anytime soon, they moved cautiously on down the path.

  It was already past noon when the dogs reappeared. Staying just out of range of the laser rifles, they stopped the party from going forward or back causing the group to feel trapped and vulnerable.

  Al did not like how this was going; there were all the earmarks of a trap. He decided it was time to cancel the hunt and return to the village. He informed the group they were going back and changed places with the man in the rear of the group. The dogs would get out of the way or die.

  The sheriff had not taken ten steps when a third canine exploded from the trees and made for the throat of the last man. The man Al had just sent there. In a matter of seconds, it had attacked and ran away, leaving his officer, Aaron, clutching his neck and falling to the ground.

  The hunters now turned hunted surrounded the injured man with their rifles pointing out, and Doctor Cody opened his bag to administer what help he could. His examination was swift.

  “What do you think doc?” Al needed to know.

  “He is bleeding very badly. If I can, at least, slow it down, he should make it back to town, but we will have to carry him—and quickly.”

  Al looked around and said, “All right, quickly now.”

  The priority had just become the wounded man. “Who has the stretcher? Let’s get him on it and as soon as that dog gets in range, we shoot it and keep moving. We need to go—right now.”

  One of his men produced a stretcher, and they strapped the unconscious Aaron to it. To keep more rifles in play, Al asked Cody and Sila to grab two of the stretcher handles, while the captain and Chris picked up the others. Chris placed his rifle next to Aaron on the litter, and they started back to the village as quickly as possible.

  From the trees on both sides, loud roars erupted and the two beasts they had been tracking broke from the forest and rushed towards the group.

  Al yelled, “Shoot the dog and run!”

  Running back towards Camelot, the men with guns in front fired at the dog between them and escape, while the rest aimed for the Riktors. The attackers were fast, and the colonists were not. One of the ten-foot monsters grabbed the weakest person in the group, stretcher and all, and ran back into the forest, followed by his mate and the surviving dogs. They killed the dog blocking their path, but in a matter of seconds the fight was over, and the animals were gone, taking Aaron with them.

  “They set us up,” Al said to no one in particular. “The dogs were working with the Riktors and set the trap for them…this is not good. They are communicating somehow.”

  “They got what they came for and ran; taking him with them—that poor man,” said Sila.

  “I am hoping he never woke up. Was anybody else hurt?”

  Everyone checked, but none said they were injured.

  It could have been worse; Al thought, trying to make himself feel better about losing someone for which he was responsible.

  The group huddled in the middle of the trail; in shock. It had happened so fast that it took a few minutes for what happened to sink in. Seconds had elapsed between having a seven person party, to becoming a party of six, and getting used to that takes time.

  They looked around some, but it appeared that the threat was over, so Al spoke up, “We have to get back to the village. Security front and back and keep your rifles ready. We are going to have to rethink our relationship with the local wildlife…again.”

  This encounter was not the first time that Al had underestimated the Riktors. The large-headed creatures with a horn in the middle of their heads were problem solvers that adapted their tactics for success. They were smart. The beasts had killed four people to date, and now they were hunting in broad daylight. Al took his responsibility for the colonists seriously and now had allowed another person to die, and the guilt made him angry. Chris moved up and walked next to him, with the captain quickly following to walk with them.

  “Do you believe they were working together? It doesn’t seem likely to me that alpha predators would help each other to share a kill,” asked Chris.

  “You saw the same thing I did. The dogs boxed us in, wounded one of our people, and distracted us until the Riktors could get close enough. It looked like teamwork to me.”

  The captain had a thought. “What happened to the watcher? Wasn’t it supposed to be tracking these things?”

  Al pulled his pad from his pocket and checked the video. The screen showed the base of a light brown tree and tall grass. He tried rotating the camera and was rewarded by the image moving left and right. In the background, maybe fifty feet away, was the trunk of a large dark green leafed tree that stood out from the rest of the forest.

  “I have to go back and get that. We only have two watchers that work, and we are going to need that one,” Al declared. “The rest of you keep moving; I’ll catch up.”

  Both the captain and Chris knew what Al had in mind.

  “You’re going enhanced, aren’t you?” Chris quietly asked.

  “Look, I can’t risk sending anyone else back, and I can be there and back in no time. A jump or two to find that tree in the background, a quick trip to recover it, and then back. Fifteen minutes tops. I have to do something, or I’ll explode.”

  The captain, ever the leader, said, “Well you better get going, we can’t have you exploding.”

  ****

  Al could not help but feel regret. His nature made him wonder if he had not been so reluctant to go enhanced whether the outcome might have been different. In reality, the attack had happened so fast there was no time for anything helpful. He had thought the nocturnal hunters didn’t hunt in daylight, but that assumption turned out to be wrong. It was all very frustrating. He knew well enough that he had to conserve his power pack and had been reminded countless times by his friends, including roboticist Doctor Edward Florida. Still he felt guilty.

  This little mission was just what he needed. It would feel good to release the shackles and do some of the things this body allo
wed him to do. Al left the group and headed into the trees. He moved into the forest and found a small clearing out of sight from the bedraggled hunters as they moved on. He was still uncomfortable changing in front of people and avoided it whenever possible. Now he was ready.

  The change in mode was simple. All that Al Clark had to do was repeat a phrase…verbally to himself. The metal of a man is measured by what is inside. The spelling of metal when written was a testament to his creator’s sense of humor.

  He always kept his eyes closed. The transformation was easier that way and with closed eyes, he could concentrate on the audio circuits coming on line and adjusting to the ambient noise. The power supplied to his arms and legs ramped up and the feedback that accompanied it was liberating. Only then would he open his eyes.

  That was the best part. The sharpest, clearest world that Al had ever seen, with tell-tale indicators for distance, elevation, and power, floating discreetly in his peripheral vision. With a thought, he could focus on a distant object and zoom in up to one hundred times if needed. He walked a few circles, and then stood in the center of the tiny clearing, hesitated for only a moment—and jumped.

  His legs powered him thirty feet into the air, and as he climbed he spun his head around and looked for that unusual looking tree. One hundred yards to the east was a tree that looked like a possibility. He smiled as he made the second jump and verified the tree he saw was the tree he needed. Breaking into a run, it always amazed him how fast he could travel, and with the help of his enhanced vision, he was standing over the watcher in a matter of minutes. The watcher was banged up, but repairable, sitting by the trunk that had partially blocked its view.

  He lingered for a moment, enjoying the sensations brought on by the enhancements, and then ran to catch up with the group. The feeling of power and speed was exhilarating, and Al loved it. But to save power, and lengthen his life, he once again repeated the phrase that made him become more like a human; with more than a little regret.

  Fifteen minutes after he left them, Al appeared out of the trees with the watcher in hand, and everybody stopped short.

  “You’re not even breathing hard,” Sila said. “How far away was it?”

  Al looked at Chris, and then the captain, while they tried to hide their smiles.

  He smiled a little himself and said matter-of-factly, “It wasn’t far at all.”

  She didn’t know Al all that well, but it was easy for her to tell he was not being completely honest. Sila had heard stories of the sheriff, mostly in a positive light. “You might be a lot of things, but you are not a good liar Mister Clark.”

  “That might be so Miss Patrone but the drone was close, and I just went and grabbed it. No big deal.” He grinned and added, “We don’t have time for a discussion right now, but we can talk more about it later if you want—let’s get moving folks.”

  The would-be hunters trudged silently home, still trying to figure out how they could be trapped and outsmarted by prehistoric creatures.

  Chapter Two

  The funeral for Aaron Sterling took place two days later. The settlers were no strangers to burials, and it was a community affair, with most of the colonists attending. Held in the auditorium at the community center, the bleachers rolled out for this gathering were packed with people.

  One-thousand souls had been aboard the Excalibur and one hundred and sixty-eight never made it to Avalon. With so many dead, they had no choice but to jettison the bodies and send them off into space to continue their individual journeys. It was a hard thing to do, and it weighed heavily on each and every survivor. Aaron’s death was another to add to the long list.

  Since planetfall, they had lost four more, two of them from Al’s security team. They say that funerals are for the living and that it should remind those left behind how one minute you are there living your life, and the next you are not. Everyone checks their outlook on mortality.

  Aaron had been a new recruit to Al’s force, only having started two weeks before. His chosen profession was a school teacher, and he only joined the security team because the colony needed security more than it needed teachers. He was only twenty-four and well liked. The community would miss him, but not as much as his friends.

  The captain, acting as mayor stood at a podium on the south side of the room, the villagers seated in front of him, and Aaron’s empty casket respectfully laid out before him. There were local flowers placed all around the empty coffin that made the simple wooden box appear to be in the center of a colorful flower bed.

  The settlers quieted down when they saw the captain preparing to speak. He began, “Aaron Sterling did not hesitate to say hello to anybody. He had to be one of the friendliest people I have ever known, and I don’t know of anyone that would disagree with me.”

  The leader that most called Captain took a breath and continued, “Another member of our small community has paid the ultimate sacrifice. Here on Avalon, even with all the security measures we maintain, there will always be an amount of risk. The events that led to Aaron’s death happened through no fault of anyone and were impossible to anticipate.” The captain made it a point to look in Al’s direction as he uttered the last statement.

  The words stopped coming, and the captain stared out at the audience deep in thought—a single tear made its way down one cheek. Finally, he said, “However, for the time being there will be no more excursions outside the fence on foot. Trips outside will be limited and shuttles will provide transport only when deemed necessary. The search for vital resources will become a priority. The Riktors that did this are still out there, and we will have to take precautions for the indefinite future.”

  The crowd readjusted themselves in their seats and appeared uncomfortable.

  “Aaron Sterling will be remembered as a hero. He risked his life to protect the people around him and lost it in their defense. He will not be forgotten.” The captain finished abruptly and stepped down from the podium. He could think of nothing more to say that didn’t sound trite.

  Aaron’s wife stepped up and thanked everyone for their support; a few friends said some nice things about him, and the designated pallbearers lifted the casket and carried him out. Aaron’s simple box was buried under a large lush tree overlooking the valley, in the growing cemetery with the other colonial hero’s—and then everyone went home, to carry on where Aaron Sterling could not.

  ****

  It was the ship that allowed them to produce the things necessary to maintain their style of life on Avalon. They were able to provide parts for their machines, textiles for their clothing, and with proper source materials, a wide variety of products in the shops on-board the Excalibur. The vacuum of space combined with weightlessness made it the ideal platform for manufacturing. The only missing component was the raw materials needed to feed to the machines that produced the needed items.

  Different crucial elements were required to maintain and resupply the luxuries they had brought with them from Earth. They refined gold, lead, iron, and other metals from their respective ores. Ferrous and non-ferrous metals required specific supplies to manufacture the aluminum, copper, and steel; of all kinds, needed by the machines.

  Some small mines had been established fairly close to the village, and many of the common minerals were being dug up, transported to the ship, and processed into useable products. Some of the harder to find prizes would require traveling a little further from home.

  Of particular interest to Al and his friends, was the procurement of the ores needed to produce the titanium crucial for the fabrication of various machine parts and the heavy duty power supplies for their weapons, many tools, and the machines they used for construction. The metal was strong, lightweight, highly resistant to corrosion, and necessary to enclose the high-tech power cells. Titanium was also required to construct the case for Al’s new power pack, which he thought was pretty important.

  The original seven from the ship gathered at the Clark home for the first time in months. A f
uneral tends to bring people together, providing a moment in time to remind them that life is fleeting. Plus, with the village on a security lockdown due to the attack of the Riktors, their mineral search was being severely hampered, and they needed to develop a plan.

  “What do you think we should do Al?” asked the captain.

  “We have to go after them, Tobias.”

  “You’ll want to use a shuttle?”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “You realize we only have two shuttles still operational, right?”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that sir.”

  “We’ll have three again if we can get the metal for the parts I need,” offered Chris.

  Elizabeth listened to what was said and had something to say to Al, “You know you can’t keep going all Superman whenever we have a problem. Why don’t you let your security people handle this?”

  “Liz, you know why I have to do this, don’t pretend you don’t.”

  She stared at him, a look of barely restrained anger radiating from her face. She said, “It was not your fault. None of those killed were your fault. Why do you think you are the only one who can fight these monsters?”

  Al was uncertain how to respond; he loved his wife, but facts were facts.

  “I am not the only one going. There will be others beside me. I won’t go enhanced unless I absolutely have to.”

  Elizabeth saw his determination and relented, relaxing back into her chair—for the time being.

  Ana and Kayla were sitting at the table, snacking on peaches cut up for this gathering. Anastasia Kossalowski, a petite girl with short brown hair and a doll-like body, that had a mind wiser than her years. She asked, “Can’t we set a trap or something, dig a big hole and lead them to it?”