Outpost Hell

by Jake Bible

  Both were easily over seven feet tall and nearly half as wide. What Nordanski had mistaken for loose skin were actually rags tied and bundled around bulging muscles and powerful hands. He stayed as still as possible as the two behemoths confronted each other.

  “Nog,” the newcomer snarled.

  “Poofulala,” the first replied. “Poo. Ful. Ala.”

  The newcomer shoved the first one, and the air in the cave became electric with the threat of violence.

  Then the beings began to laugh and they closed on each other for a hard embrace. After some back smacking and more laughter, they separated and turned to regard Nordanski.

  “Howdy,” Nordanski said, trying not to cringe under their intense stares.

  Stares that came from brilliantly blue eyes. Almost human-looking eyes. At least until one of them blinked and the lids came in from the side instead of from the top and bottom.

  “Cheef wug los,” the second one said. “Boo fafa not.”

  “Fafa hud,” the first one said. “Stapa wa.”

  Nordanski tried to find a pattern in the speech, but he couldn’t. The words were pure nonsense. There was barely any repetition of the same sounds. Faglah had seemed to mean something, same with nog, but neither of the beings had repeated those since.

  “Listen, guys, thanks for getting me some shelter,” Nordanski said. “It was starting to get a little windy out there, and I swear I was eating more sand than I was breathing actual air. Cheers to both of you.”

  “Noof,” the first one said and pointed at Nordanski. “Noof lip lala wat. Poon.”

  “Hey now, no need to get personal,” Nordanski replied and chuckled. The chuckle died on his lips almost as fast as he had produced it once he saw the glares he received. “Sorry.”

  “Soory!” the first exclaimed and smacked his comrade on the shoulder. “Soory!”

  The second one grunted and walked over to the cave wall directly opposite Nordanski. He pressed his hands against the wall and shoved to the right. The sound of grating rock assaulted Nordanski’s ears, and he tried to shrug his shoulders up to block out the sound. He’d have clapped his hands over his ears, but they were bound to a cord that was tied tight to the bindings on his ankles. He was lucky if he could shift even a centimeter.

  The grating stopped and Nordanski sighed with relief. Then the second one turned and was holding something in his hands. Something wet and glistening. Nordanski wasn’t so grateful anymore.

  “Whatcha got there?” Nordanski asked as the huge being walked over to him. “Looks drippy. Why is it so drippy?”

  Nordanski’s gaze shifted to one of the piles in the cave. The one made up of picked-clean bones.

  “Choo nok nok wap,” the being said, holding out the wet, glistening, dripping hunk of whatever. “Faglah.”

  “Faglah? You guys keep saying that word,” Nordanski replied. “It means something. I am really hoping it means that you’re going to start a nice, toasty fire and roast up that hunk of…meat?”

  “Masg,” the being said. “Masg faglah. Choo bop nob gak.”

  “Yeah, I’ll pass on the bop nob gakking,” Nordanski said.

  The being shook its head and looked to the other. “Po fava net.”

  “Tip tip wall bon,” the first being said and stomped over to take the hunk of stuff from the other’s hands.

  He crouched down close to Nordanski and shoved the meat (oh, it was meat) into his face. Nordanski tried to shrink back, but there was nowhere to go. His back was pressed against the cave wall, and his hands and feet were bound so tight he wondered if they’d end up falling off after a couple of hours.

  “No, thank you?” Nordanski said.

  “Billu faba nat,” the first being said and shoved the meat against Nordanski’s mouth. “Moo goo wappy ha!”

  “Moo goo wappy ha,” the second being said, arms crossed over his chest, his head nodding up and down. It was the universal gesture for “yeah, you better freaking do what he says and eat that shit or we’re going to fuck you up and then make you eat it.”

  Nordanski had been a Marine for a long time; it wasn’t the first time he’d been in a situation where he was forced to eat something he really, really didn’t want to.

  “Maybe just a nibble,” Nordanski said.

  He opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and took the smallest bite he could of the meat. A sour, salty taste filled his mouth, and he struggled not to gag as he immediately swallowed the bite without chewing.

  “Soop wappy flah,” the second being said. He clapped his hands together, turned, and left that part of the cave, stomping off into a deeper chamber.

  “Lass bah wango!” the first called after him. He pressed the meat against Nordanski’s mouth again and nodded. “Smaga ratch been.”

  “Sure, sure,” Nordanski said and took another bite.

  The second wasn’t as bad as the first, and against all reason, his stomach began to growl.

  “Traitor,” Nordanski said.

  “Stup wah flut,” the being said and dropped the meat into Nordanski’s lap.

  A very large knife was quickly produced, and Nordanski clenched with all his muscular ability so as not to piss himself at the sight of the incredibly sharp blade.

  A flash of metal and Nordanski’s bindings were cut loose. His hands and ankles were free.

  “Stoov wan hag,” the being warned, pointing the tip at Nordanski’s left eye. “Spoopa wal.”

  “Not a problem,” Nordanski said and cautiously picked up the squishy hunk of meat from his lap. He took a third bite and chewed it with exaggerated chomps. “Mmmm.”

  “Spoga qit,” the being said as he stood up and shook his head. “Talla cax vis.”

  “Whatever you say, man,” Nordanski replied.

  He forced all revulsion out of his mind and continued to eat the mystery meat. He really hoped it wasn’t from a sentient race. Nordanski considered eating any of the galactic races to be a form of cannibalism. Yes, some races hunted each other for food, and had for millennia, but that was their deal. Nordanski may have been a Marine that got totally jacked on violence, but he wasn’t a monster.

  And despite the appearance of the thing in front of him, he wasn’t sure it was either. Although his pounding head said different.

  “So, you a native of this lovely planet?” Nordanski asked when he was halfway done eating. The taste had grown on him, much to his dismay. Hunger was a bitch like that. “Did you grow up around here? Is this your childhood cave or something?”

  “Jak wal vox,” the being said and rolled its eyes.

  “Okay, sure, you don’t want to talk about it,” Nordanski said. “I get that. Childhoods can be traumatic. Mine sure as hell was.”

  “Hell,” the being hissed. “Moov shapa Hell.”

  Nordanski swallowed and stared up at the thing. “Hell? You know that word?”

  The being raised both hands, palms up, and shrugged. “Kip wanga Hell. Feg lafa Hell.”

  “Okay…” Nordanski replied.

  He continued eating until all that was left was a sticky film on his gloves. He actually considered licking them, but knew he’d never forgive himself for doing that.

  “Oof nil,” the being said and walked off. He went about four meters away, picked something up, then stomped back to Nordanski. “Chibl das.”

  Nordanski was more than surprised when the being tossed a pair of boots at him. His boots; freed from the cave’s ceiling.

  “Nik wah,” the thing said and walked off the same way its compadre had gone.

  Nordanski didn’t move. He sat there and waited. But the being didn’t come back. Neither did the other one.

  Counting to fifty, Nordanski was about to put his boots on when he noticed that his arch wasn’t torn up anymore. It still hurt like hell, but the foot had been wrapped and bound with some sort of bandage. Nordanski had a sinking feeling the bandage was made of skin, but he shoved that out of his mind as he gingerly slid his injured feet inside. He locked
the clasps and the boots immediately formed around his feet.

  “Okay…” he said again and stood up.

  His feet hurt, but the boots added a good amount of protection. Taking careful step after careful step, he made his way to the drape that covered the entrance and pushed it aside. There was a second drape a meter away. He moved on and pushed that aside as well.

  The wind hit him and he stumbled back a few steps, the drape falling away from his hand and back into place. Nordanski studied the material the drape was made out of and shivered. Sure as hell looked like skin. Nordanski wasn’t about to take his gloves off and find out if it actually was skin, though.

  He pushed it aside once more and squinted into the hard blowing wind storm that was lashing the landscape. Twisters of sand dotted the plains that stretched out before him, obscured only by the drifts and dunes of sand that began piling up where other twisters had stopped and died out.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Nordanski said then began to cough as the wind shifted and he sucked in a lungful of sand and dirt.

  He retreated from the cave entrance and found his way back into the cave’s main chamber. The two beings were leaning against one of the walls, their arms crossed, huge smiles on their huge faces.

  “Choobo wap nob?” the first one asked.

  “Yeah, pretty choobo out there,” Nordanski said.

  “Habba wap!” the second exclaimed and started laughing. He pushed away from the wall and gestured for Nordanski to come closer. “Biff nut gah. Nop nop. Bif nut.”

  “Yeah, I’m good right here,” Nordanski said.

  The first one chuckled as the second one sighed then walked over to a pile of debris in the corner. He plucked an item from the top of the pile and threw it at Nordanski. The thing nearly nailed him in the face, but Nordanski got his hands up in time to catch it.

  A helmet. One with an intact faceplate.

  “Choop laba fop,” the first one said and shrugged. “Goo ba.”

  “Goo ba,” the second one said.

  He made motions for Nordanski to put the helmet on followed by a choking gesture. Nordanski had noticed that breathing was beginning to be a struggle. He studied the helmet, checking it for cracked seals or fissures in the faceplate. As far as he could tell, it was fine.

  Nordanski slid it over his head and waited for it to seal on its own. When it didn’t, he waved his hand over his wrist and brought up suit diagnostics. It took a few minutes of fiddling before he got the helmet to pair with his suit’s systems, but he managed it finally, and the helmet began to seal.

  Sweet, clean air filtered in around his face and he took a long, welcome breath. Then he coughed for a good two minutes straight, hacking up half a lung of sand and grit. He popped his faceplate open and spat until he got most of the sand out of his mouth then sealed his helmet once again and took a few shallow breaths.

  “Jada ghat?” the first one asked.

  “Thumbs up,” Nordanski said and gave them a double thumbs up.

  The two beings laughed so hard they had to bend over and put their hands on their knees. When they finally had themselves together again, the first one motioned for Nordanski to follow as the two beings walked to the back of the cave and into the dark corridor beyond.

  “Okay…” Nordanski muttered as he hesitated then followed.

  His helmet’s external lights powered up as soon as he was in the rock-hewn corridor. It was barely big enough for the two beings to walk single file. Their shoulders almost brushed the sides of the corridor and they each had to hunch down slightly. Then they took a turn and were lost from sight.

  Nordanski hurried his pace and caught up, finding himself in a massive chamber that had to be ten times as large as the original one he’d just been in.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered as he saw a dozen others seated around a fire, chatting, laughing, and punching each other in the shoulders as they seemed to be telling jokes and stories.

  When Nordanski was visible, the others, looking almost exactly the same as the first two he’d met, went silent. They looked from Nordanski to the two that led him into the huge chamber then back to Nordanski.

  “Marines,” the first being said and pointed to the group, to himself, then to Nordanski. “Marines. Chappa wop nog. Marines.”

  Then Nordanski saw the emblems on some of the beings’ torn rags they wore as clothing.

  Galactic Fleet Marines. No doubt about it.

  ***

  The sand was near blinding.

  Manheim used his helmet’s sensors to filter out the occlusion caused by the intense wind that whipped at his suit, but even with his tech dialed up to its highest setting, it was still only shadows through a curtain of yellow and orange.

  Carbine to his shoulder, Manheim slowly made his way towards the closest airlock of the closest building.

  “Sergeant, I am picking up movement directly in front of you,” the AI said over the comm. “Four individuals. Armed with plasma rifles. Full armor. They are coming right at you.”

  “Shit,” Manheim muttered. “Who are they?”

  “I do not know,” the AI replied. “But I would advise circling to your right for about twenty meters. You will avoid them completely. From the way they are moving, I do not think they know you are in front of them.”

  Manheim hustled to his right, careful of his prosthetic leg. Last thing he needed was for a servo to short and for him to collapse into the constantly shifting sands of the planet’s surface.

  “Status?” Manheim asked when he’d gone at least twenty meters.

  “They did not see you,” the AI stated. “At least not that I can tell.”

  “Where are they headed?” Manheim asked.

  “Directly for the drop ship,” the AI said. “They are attempting to open the rear hatch. I have it locked down and made it only accessible to your biometrics, so they will not be able to…”

  Manheim waited, but there was no more from the AI.

  “Hello? What’s going on?” Manheim called. “AI? Where’d ya go?”

  “Sergeant,” the AI said, its voice low and thin. “Hide. Run. Get to safety wherever you can find it. These are not normal beings. Run!”

  “Eight Million Gods,” Manheim said and sprinted as fast as he could to his right. The AI’s tone of voice chilled his bones to the marrow.

  If his initial readings of the outpost’s layout were correct, then he was circling back behind the first building. He continued running for a good fifty meters then slowed and turned himself so he was facing what he thought was the rear side of the first building. He cautiously approached it, carbine up, eyes wide open.

  When he reached the building, he moved along its wall until he came to an airlock. The control panel had been fused into a lump of useless metal and plastic.

  “Not getting in that way,” Manheim said. “AI? You there?”

  No response.

  He sighed and kept moving. He came to another airlock, but found the control panel in even worse shape. Manheim studied the damage and easily concluded it had been deliberate. There were scorch marks from a plasma welder streaking each side of the panel. He muttered a few curses and moved on.

  The first building ended and he paused at the corner. A quick duck of his head and he saw the coast was clear. He sprinted across the gap to the second building, pressing his back against the wall immediately, waiting for the plasma fire or angry shouts to follow.

  But nothing happened. He’d made it without being detected. Except he highly doubted that. He glanced up and started studying the edges of the building he leaned against. Visibility sucked with the wind roaring around him, but he filtered enough of the sand out to see some detail of the wall and roof edges.

  Two vid cameras. One on the corner and one a meter away just under the roof’s eave. They were actively swiveling back and forth. Manheim cursed some more and started to run again. If they knew he was outside, then they’d send more armed and armored folks out to get him. That�
��s what he’d do. He had to assume that the occupants of the outpost were trained enough to follow suit.

  Manheim kept running until he came to the very last building. Then he stopped and stared at what was before him.

  “Eight Million Gods,” Manheim whispered as he stepped through the wide-open wall and directly into the building. “What the holy sick crap is this?”

  5

  “I’ll wait here,” Ma’ha said as Kay and Chann stood with Taman at what was revealed to be a lift entrance. “Keep an eye on the surface level.”

  “There is no need to keep an eye on anything,” Taman said. “We are safe within these walls.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Ma’ha said. “Might go check on Sarge. I ain’t happy about the comms being out.”

  “Again, no need, Private Ma’ha,” Taman said. “I have sent some of my people to make sure your drop ship is secured against the storm. The winds are picking up out there.”

  That was obvious by the sound of the buildings being buffeted by waves of sand gusting against the outer walls. Ma’ha looked at Chann who in turn looked at Kay.

  “Call?” Chann asked.

  “Stay up here,” Kay said to Ma’ha. “But don’t go outside. Sarge is fine. I’m sure the AI has him locked down in the med pod, keeping the old bastard from trying to come in after us. Once Chann and I are back up, we’ll all go to the drop ship and check on him.”

  “Like I said, I sent some of my—” Taman began.

  “They won’t be able to get inside,” Kay said. “The AI will have them locked out and refuse to respond. It’s standard protocol on an unknown planet.”

  Taman nodded and gave Kay a slight bow. “Of course. I should have thought of that.”

  “Next time let me know you’re sending someone out there,” Kay said. “We can avoid any wasted effort and confusion.”

  Taman bowed once more then straightened up as the lift doors slid open. The Marines shared a look as they stared into the shadowed interior of the lift.