Escape 1: Escape From Aliens

by T. Jackson King

  He grit his teeth. This Market world sounded like the Roman Coliseum on a planetary scale. “The other human captive! Where did you capture him, rather, her?”

  A rasping sounded, followed by a hum. “You sexually dimorphic sapients are so amusing! Instinct and hormones drive you to your opposites, even at the risk of survival.” A pause happened, lasting five seconds. “The Human female was captured three of your star rises ago, in a place you call Chasm Lake, a location not far from your capture site. Like you she was resting beside the lake in a fabric shelter similar to yours.”

  Bill knew the place. It was in Rocky Mountain National Park. He’d hiked past the lake on the way up to Longs Peak. “Will you bring her to my cell? We humans do not do well in solitary captivity.”

  More rasping sounded, followed by a hum. “Entertaining you Humans are. No, the female will not be brought to you. That violates the Rules of Captivity.”

  When the unseen voice did not continue, Bill prompted it. “What are the rules of captivity?”

  “Good. You progress through your fifteen minutes quite swiftly. Perhaps you will use your remaining minutes to scream and attempt to damage your containment module.” Seven seconds passed and Bill kept his mouth shut. “No threats? Interesting. The Rules of Captivity are simple. They are that no ship crewmember will ever enter your containment module. No captive will ever be allowed to exit his module. Only one captive per module is permitted. Upon sale to a Buyer on a Market world, your module will be detached from our craft and transferred to the custody of the Buyer. Until then food, water and air will be provided to the captive by way of simple delivery outlets, all of which are one-way devices. Waste will be collected in a depression to your left, near the space you called a firepit. Water is provided to your right by way of an exit hole in the wall. Touch the wall and you will feel a mesh. Touch the wall above the mesh and water will exit. You may use your . . . your canteen to collect such water. The water flow ceases when your touch is removed. Food packets will be provided to you by an outlet to the rear of your fabric shelter. In short, there is no escape. There is no threat you can make that will allow you to exit from your module. And if you cooperate, we may consider your good behavior when considering bids from Buyers.”

  Fuck you, he thought. “Why do you sell thinking people to these Buyers? For what purpose are sapients bought?”

  “Logical you are,” muttered the mech voice. A hum sounded. “Sapient beings are captured on low-tech worlds mainly due to their visual-manipulator dexterity. Such dexterity exceeds the ability of even the most intelligent robotic subsystem.” A pause happened, which ended after two seconds. “Captives are bought by Buyers for multiple reasons. A few Buyers purchase captives to be subjects of biogenetic experiments, where captives are gene-modified, tested, and modified again. Most captives do not survive such experiments. Some Buyers purchase sapients for one-on-one combat in dangerous environments. Such fights are considered entertainment by some species.” Bill thought the voice tone sounded disapproving. “Most captives are sold to Buyers engaged in the mining of asteroids for the recovery of Nokten crystals. Nokten crystals are vital to interstellar navigation through variant space-times and they have never been artificially duplicated. The mining of such crystals requires visual-manipulatory dexterity to avoid fracturing the crystals. Mech devices are unable to exhibit the delicate dexterity that lies within the ability of sapients with excellent visual-manipulatory integration.”

  Bill had excellent eye-hand coordination. That was required when doing sniper work, setting a timer fuse on a block of C4, or waiting until the exact perfect moment to launch an attack with the rest of his platoon. In his final training he’d specialized in Breacher, Surreptitious Entry and Technical Surveillance Operations. Which training had now become essential to his escape from captivity. “Well, you picked the wrong human to take captive. I’m a SEAL.”

  A hum sounded. “You are not a water-dwelling mammal,” the mech voice said, its tone clearly puzzled. “You Humans are soft-skinned, bivisual, bipedal land dwellers who evolved—”

  “A SEAL,” he interrupted loudly, “is a person employed by my nation’s naval force who is trained in Sea, Air and Land combat actions, which include long distance underwater swimming, overland navigation, parachute jumping to a target, demolition of obstacles by use of explosives and deadly engagement with a hostile enemy,” Bill said, trying to keep things simple. Based on the seal critter definition, it was obvious his rasp-laughing captor had access to the internet and its encyclopedia of diverse knowledge. “It means I will use all tools at my disposal to escape this module. Thereafter I will pursue you, capture you, capture your starship and free other captives.”

  Loud rasping sounded. “Ahhh, now you resemble most of our other captives.” A pause came that lasted four seconds. “Your module cannot be escaped from. It is one of twenty attached to our ship. And the crew aboard this ship is sufficient to control and monitor all containment modules. You have one minute twenty seconds remaining in your orientation time. Other questions?”

  Bill clenched his fists. “How long have you been taking Humans captive?”

  A brief hum sounded. “Since your . . . your violence-focused people detonated two nuclear explosions long ago. Those planet-based neutrino emissions were detected by a robotic starship engaged in a life survey of this part of the galactic arm.”

  Well, this Collector stuff might explain the vanishings of so many people who went out to the wilderness, disappeared and were never heard from again. “What’s your name?”

  A long pause lasted ten seconds. “Interesting. No other captive has sought that information. Among my crèche-mates I am known as Diligent Taskmaster.”

  Thinking hard he tried to recall his lessons on interrogation. “What are you like? Are you a mammal? A bird? A reptile? Some kind of—”

  “My species calls itself Hard Shell. We . . . we meet your world’s definition of an arthropod. A large insect, I believe.”

  The image of a two-legged cockroach filled Bill’s mind. “Well, on our world we stomp on insects. With boots. Tell me, can the chiten of your skull withstand my boot’s impact?”

  A short rasp sounded. “That is something you will never know. Be calm, eat your food packs and eventually you will find a new life in service to a Buyer. This ends your orientation time. No further verbal communication will be allowed.”

  With that the speaker shut off. No hum sounded. Bill looked around, building in his mind an image of his cell. Maybe this Diligent person believed the containment module was escape proof. He didn’t. There had to be a door somewhere, on some wall surface, otherwise the Aliens could never have put him into the cell. And he had a few ideas for prompting the arthropod in charge to come to his cell, open the door and look inside. He grinned. Survival in air, water and on the land was second nature to him. And it was time for him to apply his Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape training. He’d done great at SERE during harsh climates training near Kodiak, Alaska. And he could hold his breath underwater for four minutes. Plus he could jump high enough to touch the cell’s ceiling. He turned and reentered his tent. Time to find some food. Time to build up his energy. And time to think long and hard on what threat would motivate the Alien insect in charge of his cell to violate the Rules of Captivity.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bill sat in his tent, turned his backpack upside down and scanned the contents that fell out. There were six packets of dried meat and pasta meals, three packets of dried fruit, a packet of cinnamon gum, a plastic bottle of orange juice, a bottle of water purification tabs, three candy bars, five ziplock baggies filled with trail mix nuts, his left ear hearing aid, a pencil-shaped flashlight, and a plastic container of needles and sewing thread. Which had been opened to remove the tiny pair of scissors in it. Also missing were his Swiss Army pocket knife, his iPhone, and two extra clips of .45 hollow-point ammo. Reaching into the mess he sorted stuff. To one side he put two changes of underwear, a gree
n t-shirt with the SEAL trident printed on it, his blue jeans, his brown leather belt with a SEAL belt buckle, four sets of cotton socks, his blue parka jacket, a red First Aid kit that lacked its scissors, a one quart canteen, his billfold with two twenties, his driver’s license, his Navy ID and the color photo of his sister Joan. Whom he would never again see, if this Diligent person really did plan an interstellar trip to another world. She was the only family he had left, after his parents died three years ago in a Louisiana bayou outing that left them and their guide drowned in a swamp. He’d claimed their bodies, which bore the teeth marks of local alligators. His platoon buddies had been there for him during the funeral. Now, no one was with him. No SEAL buddies. Just him, his belongings and the cell.

  “The only easy day was yesterday,” he murmured to himself, recalling plenty of other SEAL mottos. Including a few not intended for mixed company. Looking down at the sewing kit, he realized it held six steel needles. Apparently needles were not considered a dangerous device. Checking the First Aid kit he found only bandaids, pads, wound tape, a simple hypodermic injector and packets of antibiotic cream. He looked up and out the sheer mesh entry of the tent, fixing on the fake lake that was camouflage for a wall that lay just ten feet from him. That side of the cell did not contain the food, water and waste outlets mentioned by the Alien. Perhaps the entry door lay in that wall. He had not felt any door seam or edge when he’d walked forward. Then again, he had not really tried to see by feeling. Time enough to do it later this morning. Which thought made him look at his left wrist. The digital watch he always wore was there, its flex band holding it tight against his sweaty wrist. He always sweated when under pressure. He realized his options were limited. Either come up with an improvised explosive device that could blow a hole in a wall, or mess up something inside the module that required a visit by a crewmember. His heart thudded as he realized he also had a third option. Unzipping the entry mesh, he stepped out, still naked, and looked up, just above the surface of the lake, to the spot where his ears said the Alien speaker device was located.

  “Diligent! You captured me for sale to some crazy Alien! Well, I know how to kill myself! And that is exactly what will happen, if you do not release me. No one, no one! holds onto a SEAL! Either we escape or we die trying!”

  No reply.

  He did not plan to die. Resistance and escape were his priorities. But maybe the death threat would cause the Alien to worry about the survival of its captive cargo. Bill looked around his cell and tried to build an image of it that lacked the fake holo scene. Based on his pacing, he stood inside a circular cell that was twenty feet wide by eleven feet high. No doubt it had connections to pipes that supplied water, pumped in fresh air to keep low the level of carbon dioxide, removed urine and shit, and inserted food packets. Plus power was provided for the fake daylight that seemed to emanate from the entire ceiling. Which led him to wonder where the fresh air entered and where it exited. If he could find a way to kill the hologram emitters, he would get a clearer view of his cell. Course just walking around the perimeter with his hand flat against the curving wall would tell him something about what was embedded in the wall, and where it was smooth and unbroken. And it was time for some exercise. He was used to daily jogging around the apartment complex he lived in on the west side of Denver. Walking forward with his hand outstretched, he walked into the fake blue waters of the lake until the cool metal of the front wall stopped him.

  Putting both hands against the wall, he closed his eyes. He did not need the disorientation of thinking he was touching empty air. He also lifted his face up, hoping he could feel the entry of fresh air from some kind of hole or mesh. Nothing. Putting one hand above the other, he reached up to what he felt was eight feet above the floor and began sweeping his hands over the cool metal. Left to right for a yard, then dropping lower and repeating the side to side sweep, he felt for anything that broke the smooth metal surface.

  Yes! At a point just above his head he felt a roundness. The size of a tiny marble, the bead stuck out from the flat metal wall. Opening his eyes he looked up to where his hand covered the bead.

  “Damn!”

  The appearance of empty air created by the holo had gone missing for a narrow vertical strip. A space two feet wide and eleven feet tall now lacked the appearance of open air. Instead, Bill saw a dull gray metal surface that had no rivets, no sign of a wall plate joining another wall plate. He looked back, saw his green tent, judged the angle and walked to the tent. Reaching inside he grabbed his other boot. Twin to the one he’d thrown up in the air and which now lay to one side of the tent. Turning back to the lake vista, still naked, he walked back to the wall that faced his tent. His eyes told him he walked through the lake with only air before him. Closing his eyes and reaching out with his free hand, he felt the metal surface and skimmed along it, searching for the tiny bead.

  “Got you!”

  The bead lay directly across from his tent and at a height of maybe seven feet. With his hand covering the holo bead, he opened his eyes. Before him was a strip of gray metal wall, with the holo of open air to either side. Weird. Lifting his boot up he twisted it so the metal that rimmed its heel was topmost, with the toe pointing down. Pulling his arm back, he swung at the bead, moving his hand just before the boot impacted.

  “Whang!”

  Empty air showed before him. Closing his eyes he felt for the bead, found it, lifted the metal boot heel up until it overlay the bead, then, holding the heel against the bead with his left hand, he slammed his right fist into the boot.

  “Crunch,” sounded softly.

  Bill pulled the boot away.

  The gray wall stayed gray. Open air did not replace it. Looking closely he saw the spot where the bead had been. Glassy fragments partly filled the spot. Behind the fragments there glowed a light that was partly blue and partly white. He stepped back and looked to either side.

  In SEAL training and afterward in his specialized classes, he’d learned that holograms are produced by the intersection of two or more laser beams. He guessed he’d just killed one holo laser emitter, thereby causing a sudden absence of empty air and blue lake water that stretched from eleven feet above him down to the floor. The wall now was visible gray metal. Looking up he saw the ceiling still appeared to be open sky with a yellow sun glow to one side. Clearly there were holo emitters in the ceiling that created the appearance of sky, and the sharp pebbles and brown sand that made up the floor. Since he’d not felt any beads while walking along the cell floor, there were no floor level emitters. Just in the wall and in the ceiling. He grinned.

  “Diligent! Take your lakeshore and mountain fakery and stuff it!”

  Moving to the left, with his eyes closed, Bill felt with his left hand for the laser emitter bead that lay at a level above his head. There!

  “Whang!”

  A second strip of gray metal appeared as he whacked the boot’s metal heel against the emitter bead. Moving again to his left, he felt for another bead, found it, placed the metal heel against the bead and punched it.

  “Whang!”

  Twenty minutes later he had completed the circle of his cell and had killed twenty laser holo emitter beads. Looking around, he saw the gray wall of his cell surrounding him. There were no windows, no portholes, no obvious openings. But in front of his tent, just below the first emitter bead, he saw the faint outline of a man-high oval. The door to his cell!

  Looking to his right he saw on the wall the small mesh circle of the water outlet, while to his left, on the floor and next to the wall, was a basin depression. A hole in its bottom was clearly the exit for urine and shit. Turning further around and looking behind his tent he saw the outline of a slot the size of an old VHS feeder slot. The slot outline was in the wall, at waist height. As he watched a rectangle of gray something slid out from the wall and dropped to the floor with a soft thud. The slot showed black briefly, then gray metal covered the opening. Perhaps he could jam something into the slot just after the
next meal slab came out. He walked over, grabbed the gray rectangle, squeezed its spongy surface, lifted it up and took a bite out of one side.

  “Damn! You Aliens could make cardboard taste good!”

  The food slab no doubt held carbs, proteins, minerals and vitamins essential for his survival. But it had no taste, its texture was granular, it had no smell and he knew it would never pass for prison food on Earth. He swallowed the slab fragments, turned, dropped the remnant beside his tent and walked over to the mesh water outlet. Touching the wall above it, he held his other hand under the mesh. Water spurted out.

  “It’s cold at least,” he said, hoping his verbal repartee would keep the ship captain interested in monitoring him.

  Walking back to his tent he knelt, reached inside, grabbed one of the ziplock baggies, emptied the nut mix into the backpack and then held the open baggy under his butt. He squeezed his gut muscles and focused on taking a shit into the bag. He would need the brown crap for one of his escape plans. He’d try the simpler one first, after he finished his dump. He looked up at the spot on the wall from which the voice of Diligent Taskmaster had come.