The situation annoyed Koll. With no more inclination to send men looking for an absconder than to search for the human survivor, his main concern was why the escape had occurred at all. The fault was clearly his for sending only one guard to do a job when he should have sent several, but nothing about that would ever appear in an official report.
He wanted the alien ship undamaged but the hull was highly electrified, a simple but effective way to defeat his best efforts at gaining entry. The obvious solution was to force one of the prisoners to deactivate it on pain of death, but the creature had attacked its escort and fled!
Koll made a mental note. The creatures were not as helpless as he expected. Two guards per human from now on! With any luck, the escapee would die in the mountains, but if it somehow survived, a search party might become necessary. Humans were weak and fragile creatures, but the other one had managed to stay alive in the wilderness, so this one might as well. One itch could be ignored, but not two.
Leaning back in his chair he took a deep breath of the sweet, filtered air in the office, dreaming of the day his assignment would be over, and of his victorious return to the home of the Empire. Leaving this accursed place would be bliss, and the return to the tollean home world a triumph ... dinners, honors, appearances ... wealth!
Chapter 04
Ben slipped on the damp, rotting morass beneath his feet, then tumbled and crashed through the undergrowth, coming to a grinding halt at the base of the steep gully with something sharp poking him in the groin. Scrambling from the mound of flattened vegetation that broke his fall, he brushed himself off, subconsciously wiping blood from the scratches on his face and hands.
This was not going well, he decided. Only two days since escaping and he was lost. An impenetrable maze of narrow gorges divided these ridges, every one filled with choking plant life, each requiring a seeming eternity to navigate. For a man who had spent most of his life in space, this was the nearest thing to the Hells he had ever experienced. A tollean cage did not seem so bad now, he thought, wondering why he had bothered to escape at all.
On something resembling an old, rotting log, he sat and tried to re-orient himself. Rain had fallen in the night, but beneath the dense canopy, the drops never reached the ground, filtering down instead as a fine, diffuse mist. Moisture from the dank air settled on his face and soaked into his uniform.
Sheer walls ran along both sides of this canyon, tangled jungle filling the almost level floor between. The trees stretching at least twenty metres above Ben’s head and almost blocking out the sunlight.
The strong, musty odour emanating from the thick carpet of multi-hued moss assailed Ben’s nostrils, each colour of the mossy rainbow making its own small declaration in the dim light of the forest understory. Nearby, something unseen rustled in the bracken, moving away from his intrusion.
The native fauna did not concern him. Before the mission, he and the other members of the crew had received a full briefing on the nature of this world. Ninety percent terran in nature and more hospitable than modern day Earth, according to the official line, Corros possessed few dangerous animal life forms. In addition, the native biology, while not totally incompatible, was sufficiently so to render most of the micro-organisms harmless to humans.
Animal attack was not a problem, but survival was. Ben needed water desperately, or he would never have attempted the recent descent into the canyon. The moisture from his face and clothes served to keep his mouth moist, but he needed more.
Somewhere through the undergrowth, a stream tinkled; after a deep breath of the cool, damp, forest air, he climbed to his aching feet and stumbled towards the sound.
Not far away, a mountain creek flowed along the floor of the canyon, clear, fresh water tumbling in rills and pools over the bare, sun washed rocks. The path cut through the jungle by the watercourse offered the first open passage Ben had encountered all day.
After a much-needed drink from a small waterfall, he turned and picked his way along the bank, heading downstream. Betrayed long ago by a failing sense of direction, he prayed the creek would lead back towards the mining camp, or at least to the nearby coast.
After two days lost, his only hope lay in returning to the ship. The rest of the crew were still prisoners, and beyond his own survival their rescue was his number one priority; he would not free them by dying here. Duty! Duty, always first! An acceptable plan could wait until he was out of this mess.
Clothes wet from the rain and mist, he sat on the rocky bank to recuperate, the sun's warmth a welcome change from the dark and damp of the forest. Rested, but content to sit for a moment longer, he cast a wary eye towards the opposite tree line.
On the far side of the stream, visibility beneath the trees extended almost as far back as the cliff base. The vegetation opened up a little there, the canopy extending right to the water’s edge, but the under-story clearer. The ubiquitous moss looked well worn in places, probably from the passage of animals. Farther back, in the dim light at the edge of sight, the open area gave way to a mass of tangled vines. And a solitary window.
Hidden in the shadows was a structure, most likely built long ago from local timber. Startled by the unexpected sight, Ben picked his way across the rocks and crept up the bank.
A cabin materialised in the gloom as he approached. One end of a narrow veranda with a closed door and a window was visible, the remainder covered by a cascade of forest lianas that flowed across the roof and down in a curtain at the front. Old, worn and derelict, it was nevertheless intact. The walls stood strong, the weathered planks well secured. The window frame still contained glass, and the door had a new hinge. Someone maintained this place, Ben realised.
He crept up to the porch. Motionless, he listened for sounds of movement from within and then satisfied he was alone, eased the door open. The interior was dark, but as his eyes adjusted to the shadows a single room became visible, about six metres square and as rough as the exterior. It was clean and tidy. Someone lived here!
Just inside the door, two wooden chairs stood by an old table. Ben sat down and looked around. Urged on by the persistent snarl from his empty stomach, he searched for something, anything, edible. His eyes settled on a collection of fruits and vegetables on a crude bench against the wall.
Terran plants, he thought. The Tolleani can’t tolerate this stuff. It was toxic to their biology, so they would not store it here. And it was fresh, more or less. A tin of salted meat, labelled with a Cymbelian manufacturer’s tag and apparently still edible, sat amongst the other items, immediately drawing Ben’s eye.
Satisfied the occupant of the cabin was human Ben lunged at the bench, hauled the newfound treasure to the table and without hesitation began to eat.
The rest of the room contained very few furnishings. A stack of boxes and tins stood beside an ancient, cast-iron, wood-burning stove and a pile of cut and stacked firewood. A mug containing two old and well-worn toothbrushes sat on the table, and an old double mattress lay by the back wall.
You don't sleep there though, do you, Ben decided. Hidden in the darkest corner behind the door was a small cot. Smart! Stay where you won't be seen if someone comes in unannounced.
Half an hour later Ben remained seated by the window, eyes on the stream outside. He toyed aimlessly with one of the toothbrushes, wondering if there were two people living here. Nobody was around, but Ben suspected whoever owned the place would return eventually.
Alert for outside sounds, he chewed on what remained of the raw vegetables, his first rations in days. No doubt, the owner would be upset with the food theft, but ignorance of which native plants were safe made living off the land risky and hunger was an urge difficult to resist.
He wondered if this might be the refuge of a survivor from the mining town. That seemed unlikely; four years had passed since the Tolleani attacked this planet and the colonies were declared dead. On the other hand, there was no other possible explanation.
Given the state of the war, no att
empts to re-colonise this world had yet been made. Ben's mission was driven by necessity, but the team's orders to determine if the mines were recoverable did not involve looking for survivors. Central Command discounted the possibility of anyone surviving alone out here for so long. Guess they're wrong, Ben thought.
Exhausted from his battle with the forest, his eyelids began to droop, prompting a move to the cot. He would wait, hidden behind the door, until the occupant of the shack returned. He never knew when consciousness succumbed to a deep sleep.
Echo squatted in the tangled undergrowth at the edge of the deserted fields, watching the gardens of the old town. At first glance, they resembled any wild meadow: years of inattention had allowed the crops to self-seed and survive, but in most places, local flora now spread unhindered through the gardens. Native life on Corros competed poorly with the stronger, engineered terran species, and useful food plants still grew among the weeds. It was the only reason she ever came here.
Untended and unpruned for years, the fruit trees still yielded small harvests of suspect quality fruit, mostly edible and little touched by native insect pests. Nothing moved in the garden area other than the odd, grazing goat, now wild after years of freedom. The monsters never came here.
Beyond the fence line, Echo found a decent scavenging patch. Taking only what she needed, she covered the scars of her digging to minimise the chances of discovery. The Tolleani did not know she foraged here, and the longer they stayed ignorant, the better.
A week ago, she found tomatoes, but now they were gone, most likely cut to the ground by animals grazing on the valley floor. There had been a lot of that in the last few weeks. Root vegetables were still plentiful: apart from pigs, the animals tended not to dig too deep.
With a full satchel, she returned to the edge of the field and looked across to the town. Her old home was the nearest building. She had buried her family there following the tollean attack, and lived there for the first three years of her exile, but now it held too many memories. Bad memories! Shaking her head she turned away. There would be no trip into the town today.
On the animal path leading back into the mountains, Echo paused as a small wild piglet crossed the track and rushed away into the undergrowth. It was always best to avoid the pigs: some of them, the males in particular, were now far too dangerous to approach, growing larger and more aggressive each year. Engineered to do so, they thrived on the native vegetation.
Minutes later the piglet moved away. A juicy pork roast would have been a real treat, but not this time. The adult pigs were somewhere nearby; it was better not to disturb them.
A survivalist at heart, her father had instructed her in hunting and subsistence in the wild. Despite a few minor bouts of gastric poisoning, she remained fit and healthy. She knew what vegetation she could eat without repercussions and what to avoid, having coped well over the last four years on a mixture of terrestrial and native plants and animals.
Most of the native fare she left alone. At best, it produced a disquieting heaviness in the gut, and at worst made her vomit and dry retch for hours on end. Only one plant, a spinach-like green growing along the watercourses, was a regular source of sustenance, but she often had to fight the pigs for it. Releasing them had been a mistake.
As she walked, Echo’s thoughts turned to rescue, as it often did. She wondered if another ship would ever come, having accepted the inevitable fact that until that happened, or the aliens captured or killed her, death from starvation remained a distinct possibility. The town gardens were failing and food was getting scarcer.
Deeper still was her wish for the simple touch of another human being, someone with whom she could talk. Since the attack, she had dreamed often about men, strong, beautiful men who would love and protect her – the chances grew dimmer with each passing day. Perhaps I'll die from loneliness first, she thought.
The long, arduous journey home followed old, well-worn wildlife trails. Deeper in the forest now, she scrambled down-slope through the trees to a fast flowing stream and waded through the shallows, moving higher into the mountain canyons.
The old prospecting hut was still solid despite its extreme age, and provided a perfect refuge hidden from view to all but the closest and most observant eyes. Dense, tangled vegetation almost covered the structure, and with all the access paths overgrown, it was invisible from the air and approachable only from the stream. She drew closer, then hesitated. Something was wrong here.
Attuned to the environment by years of solitude, Echo sensed a presence. Her forehead wrinkling to a deep frown, she knelt on the grass and reached over a shoulder for the hunting crossbow always carried on her back.
Confidence wavering, she fitted a bolt to the bow and crept forward, certain the monsters had finally found her. Pausing on the veranda, she noted the door was slightly ajar; she always closed it. Easing the door open, she stepped inside. Her eyes still accustomed to the brighter daylight outside, little was visible in the dim interior. Silence filled the room.
Behind the door! That's where I would be. Stepping forward, she dropped the satchel to the floor and swung around to face the front of the room. With the weapon raised, she peered into the darkest corner.
A shadow moved.
Echo froze.
Her breath caught as she fought to keep her hands steady. No one had ever intruded into her home before! The trespasser was human, dressed in a dirty, battered, pale blue uniform. Visible on his clothing was a symbol identical to the roundel on the spacecraft at the airstrip. Suddenly he snored!
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she moved forward. She had not seen another person for years, and now a stranger lay on her bed.
Gods, a man, she thought. He was attractive, despite the dirt and blood. A bit stinky though.
The odour was familiar, something not smelt for years, the aroma of sweat. Masculine sweat! Deep inside, her stomach twisted with a shiver of excitement, tinged with fear. A man! The only males she had ever known well were the boys at school. She had loved being around them, but they were not men.
She had not felt that vague, internal wrench for many years. Mesmerised by the intruder's presence she edged closer; despite her acute sense of caution, she could not help herself. Reaching out with one foot, she poked him in the side. With a sudden jerk, he sat up and stared around, seeking his attacker.
Echo heard the pulse pounding in her ears. “Don't move!” Trembling from head to toe, she pushed her crossbow forward, fighting to hold the business end steady. “You're one of the crew. I mean ... from the ship that arrived a few weeks ago.”
Ben wiped his eyes and peered at the figure standing over him, a young woman dressed in old, tattered cargo-shorts and a dirty, checked shirt rolled up at the sleeves.
“This is a dream, right?” Rubbing his eyes again, he swung his legs off the cot. As he stood, his attention locked on to what appeared to be a medieval crossbow, pointed straight at his stomach.
“You escaped the day before yesterday,” Echo said. “I saw you. I thought the monsters killed you.”
“I'm hard to kill. Can you put that thing away? I'm not dangerous; I don't mean you any harm. I'm a friend ... human, like you.”
For what seemed to Ben like an eternity Echo remained motionless, then lowered the bow to point at the floor. Edging across to a wall, she hung the weapon on a hook and turned back towards him, running a hand through her dark brown hair in an attempt to tidy her tangled, waist length ponytail
The immediate threat reduced, Ben examined his assailant. The girl was tall, but several inches shorter than him, and fit, her figure trim and athletic. From her skin colour and facial features, she was of terran-caucasian heritage. Large, green, almond eyes framed in a small, heart shaped face glared at him as if he was some kind of insect. The grim, determined set of her mouth warned she was not to be interfered with.
Ben sighed and stretched himself. The girl was not so dangerous, he decided, and was cute in a rough kind of way. Beneath th
e grime and the rat's nest of hair, she was quite attractive, and the last thing he expected to find on this world. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to startle you.”
Echo gestured towards the scraps on the nearby table. “You ate my food!”
“Umm ... Yeah. Sorry! I'm starving. Is there any more?”
Chapter 05
Echo backed away and sat at the table to remove her old, battered, miner's boots. Still trembling inside, she studied the intruder. On first impression, the man was not a threat, but she kept her eyes glued to him regardless as he moved across to sit down opposite her. Not that he frighten her – nothing did except the aliens – but he was the first human she had seen in four years. And he was a male. Thank you, Gods!
Beneath his grimy flight uniform he was tall, strong and undeniably handsome, with light brown hair she found remarkably appealing despite its chaotic state. Soft blue eyes betrayed a state of complete exhaustion as he ran his battered fingertips across several weeks of beard growth and then the dark, bloody scratches on his hands. Unarmed, he appeared harmless, so Echo decided to take a risk and trust him, for now. Leaning forward, she grabbed the satchel from the floor.
“These can be eaten raw.” She dropped her fresh supplies in front of him. “Don't worry, I washed them in the stream. The stove can't be lit until after dark, otherwise the monsters will spot the smoke.”
“Monsters? The Tolleani?”
“Yes ... them!”
“Oh, okay. I don't know if I would class them as monsters. Bastards, certainly. They're quite advanced really, more than us in some ways. Don't think like us though. No empathy!”
“I hate them!”
“Yeah ... I suppose you would, considering.” Ben gnawed at a raw turnip, running his eyes over the other items Echo had provided. “This is good. My last descent meal was a week ago.”
Solitude's End Page 4