Every orb on the ship followed him as he passed. He ignored them all. He knew what they were thinking, and they may well be correct—perhaps his time had come. It would be a pity to end his life today. At least the disconnection would be fast and painless.
“Well?” asked the Captain.
The Engineer stood at attention. His burnished chassis didn’t gleam in the bright lights of the bridge. It was too burned and misused by arc-welding and chemicals. On a mech ship, the technicians didn’t bother with protective gear. The raw surfaces of their bodies were tougher than any spacer’s suit.
“I find this interruption unexpected and unwelcome,” the Engineer said.
“Explain yourself.”
Surrounding the two mechs, a half-dozen bridge crewmen shifted uncomfortably. The Captain had his disconnection device in his grippers again. The mechs that were anywhere near the Engineer showed particular alarm. They moved away with clanking feet, trying to ensure that if by some accident the Captain missed with his deadly signal, they would not be affected.
The Engineer sensed their exodus from his vicinity, but did not follow them with his orbs. Nor did he study the disconnection device with morbid fascination. He remained in a stance of rigid attention and stared at the Captain’s falsely-fleshed eyes of wet blue polymers. “Just as I said. I have nothing new to report. I’m building subsystems and adapters for the purpose of translating the substandard equipment I expect to find on Faust into something useful.”
“Are you suggesting we’ve chosen the wrong option?”
“That is immaterial. I’m working on the problem. This business of responding to your whimsical summons to the bridge to make daily reports is wasting my time and damaging my mental focus. I wish to get back to work, before we are pushed further behind schedule.”
The Captain stared for a long second, then made an odd barking sound. It was the mech’s equivalent to laughter. “I like you! I wish I’d fished you out of the tank earlier. At last, an Engineer who makes no excuses! Complaints, oh yes, he has plenty of those. But only if he is dragged away from his passion.”
The Captain spun around in a circle. In so doing, the tip of the disconnection device was leveled briefly at all present. There was an uneasy ripple of discomfort among the bridge staff, who otherwise stayed silent.
“You see? All of you should take note of this excellent crewman’s attitude. If he were not so valuable in his current role, I’d move him up to navigation.”
The Captain turned back to the Engineer and put his device on the table with finality. There would be no disconnections today. “Carry on, Engineer. Dismissed.”
The Engineer did not dare look at the device on the table between them. His orbs didn’t even flicker in that direction. His thoughts, however, drifted for a brief moment. He envisioned himself grabbing the device, aiming it at the Captain and disconnecting him. The trouble was the three-second delay. It was a wise precaution which had been purposefully designed into the instrument. By the time the Engineer had stood there depressing the firing stud for three long seconds, the Captain would have called for aid and the rest of the crew would have fallen upon the traitor.
The Engineer saluted and spun around, servos whining. He thumped his way back toward his workshop.
Naturally, his entire performance had been bluster. He had nothing. No subsystems, no adapters—no hope. He knew he had to think of something, and he had to do it fast.
–7–
Gersen awoke in a pit. Before he’d even opened his eyes, he suspected it had been dug for the purpose of waste removal, probably sewage. The odor was overwhelming. Had they cast him down into a latrine?
His head ached, and when he commanded his eyes to open, only the left obeyed. The right was sealed shut by dried blood. He moved to rub at it, but his hands didn’t reach his face. They’d been restrained. His legs were free, but his wrists were tied high, forcing him to stand against one wall of the pit.
He looked around in the dim-lit hole. It was a tiny, foul prison, an excavated pit with a roof that had once been a grill of some kind. Possibly, the grill had been part of the landing ship Bolivar had spoken of.
There were footsteps and movement above him, where the light filtered down from above. He heard hushed voices.
“Father, you cannot allow this,” Estelle said. “This is injustice! We have no right to cast him into the pit.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” Bolivar said. “Unfortunately, things are worse than you know.”
Gersen thought of calling to them for aid, but instead remained silent. He’d always learned more by listening than by complaining.
“What do you mean?” Estelle hissed.
“He’s guilty. He admitted it to me himself. He carried gourds of dead pods into our walls. A glaring breach of our laws.”
“But the plants did nothing. Our laws must be in error.”
Bolivar made hushing sounds. “Do not speak that way.”
“You rule here, Father. Surely, you can explain the situation. Kerth is just jealous. His charges are clearly biased.”
“Perhaps so, but it doesn’t matter. I do not rule here, I guide. There is a vast difference. If I twisted the law in my favor, I would lose everyone’s trust.”
Gersen thought he heard a sob.
“Did you have feelings for the stranger?” Bolivar asked. “I apologize. I suppose it’s only natural. I’ll do my best to make the proceedings—painless.”
Gersen sweated in the dark pit, fully awake and straining his ringing ears to listen. He tested his bonds, but found they were made of quality binding-fiber. Applied while wet and dripping, they had constricted steadily as they dried. They were leftovers from seedpods that had ended their lifecycle.
He was bitter, knowing these people had no law about using pod vines, only the pods themselves. How was he supposed to have known they held the pods in special regard, like sacred objects? It was true that during the ripening and the planting seasons pod-walkers would become fanatical at any perceived danger to a young pod. But the pods he’d brought to their walls were long dead and steamed clean of pheromones. The plants would not react to them any more than they would a stone.
Bolivar led the girl away. Gersen slumped in his bonds, full of bitter thoughts. He wished he’d never entered these walls. The sweet time spent with Estelle was far from worth it.
The gloom was such that he could barely make out his surroundings. Using his feet, he reached out and tapped at his environment. He found that the crumbling sides of the pit were alarmingly close.
He tried stretching as tall as he could, and reaching out with his mouth. If he could get his teeth onto the binding fiber—but no. He could not reach. In fact, his straining efforts only managed to tighten the loops more. They cut into his wrists, and his hands grew slowly numb.
Cursing quietly in the stinking pit, he became aware of a fresh intrusion. A large face loomed like a moon over the grill. It was Kerth.
“Hello stranger,” he said, grinning more widely than before.
“Hello fool,” Gersen said.
Kerth chuckled, and the sound was ominous to Gersen.
“I’ve got something for you, stranger. You violated Estelle, and I’m going to return the favor.”
Gersen’s eyes grew wide in the darkness. He peered up at the man. He thought of cursing at him, or calling out for aid, but waited instead. Kerth’s face vanished, and everything was quiet for a few seconds.
Gersen thought of the last thing he’d seen before being attacked. “The ship,” he said aloud. “There is a ship coming, Kerth. Do your people realize that?”
Kerth laughed. “Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.”
“You don’t understand. I saw it. Just go outside and look up. Study the heavens. The long streak in the sky—”
“Is that the best you can do? Do you really think we are such bumpkins, stranger? We have better tech than anyone on Faust. I saw the comet, and was not impressed.”
&
nbsp; “It’s not a comet—” Gersen broke off however, as a trickle of fluid came down through the grate. He realized after a moment of confusion he was being splattered with warm piss.
He did curse then, being unable to stop himself. Kerth laughed, shook off a few final drops which ran over Gersen’s shoulders, and left.
Urine ran down Gersen’s lank hair over his face and arms. The liquid burned his eyes and cuts. His thoughts turned dark, and he almost flew into a rage, ripping at his bonds. But instead, he controlled himself and tried to move his hands.
Yes … his bonds were fractionally looser. He was sure of it. He looked around for more liquid. If he could get the bonds truly wet, they might loosen enough for him to slip free.
He tried spitting on them, but his mouth was dry and his aim wasn’t perfect. He tried biting his lip and spitting the blood as well. It had little effect. Soon, Faust’s short night would end and the villagers would come back to check on him. He had to escape before they did.
Using his arms, he felt the walls of the pit near his tied hands. There were rough spots. He worked to expose a sharp rock near his left wrist. It wasn’t much, but he used it to saw at his bonds. Unfortunately, the stressed vine cinched tighter than before. He’d stretched it, and it had reacted by drawing up, as was its nature.
He slumped, all but defeated. But then he noticed a slow stream of droplets running from his elbow. He traced the source and found it was his own blood. He’d cut his left hand.
Getting an idea, he scratched himself repeatedly against the sharp rock, sawing at the palm of his hand rather than the binding fiber itself. A wound soon opened, and blood flowed over the fibers.
The process took the better part of an hour, but eventually his left hand was free. Shaking his hand to awaken the tingling nerves and banish the numbness, he set about freeing the other hand. When this was done, he pulled himself up to investigate the metal grill over the pit. It had been firmly locked down.
After crawling around the rest of the pit, he discovered an exit. A stinking, slimy hole led away into pitch blackness. He was sure this was meant to be a waste chute of some kind. Deciding it was better than being tied into place again, he crawled inside and vanished into the hole.
Like a vine in a wormhole, he wriggled toward what he hoped would be freedom.
–8–
The Black Ship arrived in orbit over Faust as the small, spinning world’s main continent passed from day into night. The planet looked inviting enough from space, the oceans were deep blue and the land was dark green. The main continent possessed the vague shape of a horsehead. Countless jewel-like islands ringed the landmass.
The crew scanned the planetary emissions in disappointment. There was very little that registered on their sensors.
“No cities?” demanded the Captain in disbelief. His orbs were glued to the scope.
None of the others on the bridge dared to respond, lest this disappointment somehow become their fault.
“There’s precious little of anything down there. It’s practically empty. I’d expected a backward colony—but this is a wilderness!”
He raised his orbs and scanned his bridge crew. The Navigator busied himself with computer scrolls charting escape velocities and refueling points. The Weaponeer fiddled with his controls, despite the fact there was nothing of significance to target.
“Where’s that Engineer?” the Captain demanded. “Get him up here this instant!”
The crew sighed in relief. The Engineer! Yes, it was easy to blame that one. They hastened to obey and relayed the summons to the doomed mech who toiled below the main decks.
Within a few minutes, the Engineer arrived. He strode onto the command deck with purpose. “We’ve arrived? Excellent.”
The Captain stared at him. “Have you lost your faculties? Have you seen these readings? This place is useless.”
“It is a class-four world, to be sure. But we don’t need much. May I participate in the scan?”
The Captain scoffed. “Be my guest.”
The Engineer approached the scope and worked the controls. His silvery orbs stared into the device for perhaps two minutes, before he made an exclamation of discovery.
“There it is,” he said. “That will do nicely.”
The Captain tapped and scraped his grippers over planes of metal. Reacting to the rough contact, the board brought up an image which was transmitted to everyone on the bridge via the local net. Mechs from Talos had little need for viewscreens, they could share vid feeds remotely, and review them in their own individual minds.
“I see nothing but a rocky island.”
“Ah, to the untrained orb, this would seem to be true. These people are primitive, but not without resources. See the circle of stones in the middle of the island?”
“Yes, but I fail—”
“That is our target. Those stones did not appear there magically. They were cut, dragged, placed and apparently melted into place. Each stone is quite large, meaning—”
The Captain cleared his throat. He had the disconnection device in his gripper again. The Engineer never glanced at it, although avoiding it with his orbs took a great effort.
“You will explain yourself, or you will be replaced. I do not detect any significant emissions from this site. The structure might not be natural, but there is no evidence indicating advanced technology.”
The Engineer lifted a gripper and gestured with it emphatically. “Exactly!” he said. “This world isn’t a proper colony. There is no central government. There is no ruling body that enforces coherent laws. In short, the colonists have splintered into distant, armed encampments. They hide their tech so they are not targeted by the other pirate settlements that dot the world.”
The Captain appeared doubtful. “Are you saying they have tech, but are hiding it?”
“Yes.”
“And what evidence do you have to support this conclusion?”
The Engineer brought up a large file of numbers. “You see these readings? They are power measurements. They have a powerful central generator.”
“A generator? To power what?”
“That is what I want to know,” the Engineer said. “There are no emissions to speak of, no communications, no radio. The settlements aren’t in communication, especially this one. It is isolated and ignores the rest. And yet they maintain an impressive power supply.”
“Hmm,” said the Captain. “Weaponry, perhaps?”
“It doesn’t matter. We should land and take what we need.”
“But if they are armed, and the whole world is at war, as you say …”
The Engineer made a dismissive sweep with his gripper. “They surely can’t outgun this ship. Let’s go down and find out what they are hiding so carefully.”
The Captain was quiet for several seconds. Everyone tried to look busy, except for the Engineer, who stood at attention and awaited the verdict. He believed his fate was in the balance. The Captain was fiddling with the disconnection device uncertainly.
“Very well,” he said at last. “But if there is nothing there, you will have failed me, Engineer.”
“That will not happen.”
The Engineer clanked smartly away. When he reached his workshop, he immediately set about working on his project again. He chased all the Techs and Specialists out of the place on pretense of checking every system on the ship. He demanded they repair and recalibrate if they found the slightest flaw. Grumbling, they left him to his work.
He proceeded at a desperate pace, uncertain if his goals were even attainable.
–9–
When Gersen climbed out of the waste chute at last, he was blinded by the bright reddish light of Faust’s star. Sensors were tripped, and an alarm went off. Gersen crawled to his feet wearily. He looked back and realized where he was. He shook his head bitterly. He stood at the base of the outer wall of tall boulders. He’d found the exit point of the passage he’d tried to crawl into days earlier, upon his arrival at the
village walls.
The fields of pods writhed, sensing his nearness. The pods were riper now, and in a sour mood. They were very close to their time. Gersen walked among them, wearing nothing more than stained scraps of clothing. He weaved his way between the plants, drawing upon years of experience as a wanderer.
The plants rattled their leaves and sought him with swollen pods. He took up stones, tossing them away from himself when the plants came too near. This worked, but it was reckless behavior. It was always best to slip by the plants without making any kind of disturbance. Today however, he was too annoyed and hurried to take the time to do it right.
“Stranger!” called a voice from behind him.
Gersen turned, craning his neck and squinting in the sunlight. Kerth stood on the wall top. He was alone and had a crossbow cradled in his arms.
Gersen realized he was trapped. He was in the midst of the field. If he ran carelessly, the plants would try to sting him with wild abandon. Without venom, he would have been injured, but not killed. These plants were ripe however, and their hair-thin spines dripped with deadly toxins. A single brush might kill him.
So, Gersen didn’t flee. He turned slowly and faced Kerth, staring up at him. He didn’t beg for his life, although the thought did occur to him.
“You know I can shoot you down?” Kerth asked. “You are a fugitive. You have broken our laws and deserve death. It would be lawfully done.”
Gersen continued to stare. Kerth raised the crossbow, put the stock against his shoulder and aimed with care. Gersen stood with his body turned to the side, providing a narrow target. When the trigger was pulled, he would only have time to flinch, but it might be enough.
“You’ve got nothing to say?” Kerth asked.
“If you’re going to shoot, get on with it,” Gersen said at last. “I’ve got a long way to walk and the plants are restless.”
“They say you are an expert at evading them,” Kerth said, lowering the weapon a fraction. “Let’s see the truth of it.”
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