Dark Planet

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Dark Planet Page 5

by Charles W. Sasser


  DRT-213’s mission: blast off for this planet, recon the suspected Blob base without making contact or being detected, return with the information to the recovery ship. Sensor bots, previously inserted, had sniffed out faint energy emissions and hyper tracks. They performed a cursory biosphere sweep and managed to localize the emissions to a range of mountains before they inexplicably went silent.

  The same thing — inexplicable silence and presumed destruction — befell the two previous DRTs sent in to recon. It was now DRT-213’s turn.

  I clearly read Blade’s single simple thought: Fu-uck.

  By a fortunate twist of luck, considering the immense distances in the Tau Ceti Tail corner of the cluster, a survey ship had discovered a heretofore unknown open transport tunnel to the planet which should enable an undetected approach. DRT-213 would depart in two days aboard a small Stealth craft piggybacked to a dreadnought. Once the huge warship reached destination, it would hurl the Stealth into orbit, where it would remain while the team inserted in a landing pod, conducted the mission and returned.

  The dreadnought and a Republic Starship would cruise the region to provide cover support, while a battle fleet waited, prepared to annihilate the Blob base as soon as it was pinpointed.

  “It’s up to you to find it, fix it, and report back,” General Numb Nuts said. “We think Blobs use extrasensory perception, telepathy, as a normal means of communication. That’s why you have a Sen assigned to your team. Your Zentadon should be able to detect and intercept their thought waves.”

  My ears twitched.

  General Numb Nuts turned the briefing back over to the staff colonel.

  “With the exception of Zentadon Sens,” the colonel said, “it appears we Humans are in this fight alone. The Indowy have gone soft. They are attempting to establish commo with the invaders and plead for peace in our time.”

  He shifted around the rod up his ass and made a painful sound. “Peace in our time!” he scoffed. “The Blobs appear to utilize the same general logic as Humans … and some Zentadon. We should therefore assume that they will expect a reconnaissance, especially after the vanishing of the two previous teams. You should remain on a heightened state of alert and expect the unexpected.”

  Assistants began handing out supplemental material: target folders, area studies, maps, CEOIs, videos and photos. An aide activated a holographic display of maps and charts and globes. I experienced a short burst of taa directly to my brain. I reacted the way any Zentadon would have, even one with Human blood, when confronted with that planet, the way survivors of what in Human history was called the Jewish Holocaust recoiled at the mention of Auschwitz or Dachau.

  I recognized the image of Aldenia instantly, its two moons, one large and pale with a second orbiting it; the darkness of the planet, two-thirds of the surface covered with seas, lakes and oceans. Although it was the farthest planet from the galaxy’s primary sun, Ceti, it was near enough to a second sun-star that revolved with it around the outer edges of the galaxy that the climate remained predominately tropical. The two suns in opposing refractory were said to cause the eerie otherworldly lighting that had branded itself into the Zentadon collective memory.

  “Aldenia,” exclaimed Team Sergeant Shiva, also recognizing it.

  “Exactly, Sergeant,” said General Numb Nuts, delighted at the shock effect. “The Dark Planet.”

  “Sir?” said Captain Amalfi. “Why do we think the Blobs can colonize Aldenia when all other efforts for centuries, since the time of the Indowy Federation, have ended in disaster and failure?”

  “Apparently,” scoffed General Numb Nuts, “the Blobs have not heard or do not invest credence in superstitions manufactured by the Zentadon after the taa camps. I myself do not place stock in these Old Elf Tales.” He chuckled. “Contrary to popular dogma, there is nothing inherently evil about the planet of Aldenia. Would you agree with that, Zentadon?”

  I snapped to attention, arms folded respectfully across my chest. “It was a dark time in Zentadon history, sir … and a dark place.”

  I thought to leave it at that.

  “There is nothing inherently evil about Aldenia,” the General persisted, scowling.

  Blade rose to his feet. “General, sir. I have been to Aldenia. I came back.”

  “Not all return,” I countered.

  “Not all return from the toilet.”

  C·H·A·P·T·E·R

  NINE

  The dreadnought Admiral Tsutsumi was a powerful ship and looked it. Its hull was nearly five kilometers long and covered by a maze of heat exchangers, tractor beam projectors, com pods, heavy-duty weapons blisters and other installations common to Starship class warships. In contrast, the Stealth attached piggyback to it was a stubby, black, windowless lump, like a malignant mole on a giant’s backside.

  I was primarily an academic, having taught at the Interstellar School for much of my productive adult life, so could not help but be astonished at my first close-up experience with the reality of space warfare. Humans were amazing creatures, I had to hand them that. Although the Proton-Nuclear Wars wiped out three-quarters of Earth’s population and made at least that same proportion of the planet uninhabitable, there were survivors whose restless energies and nimble minds continued to long for adventure and knowledge and, perhaps, even a kind of salvation. It was they who developed eph-proton fuel and cultivated the Mini-Magnetic Plasma Propulsion (M2P2) System, an “energy wind sail” capable of inconceivable light speeds. Humankind was on its way to colonizing the universe, and no other civilization would be safe again. Beings in the galaxies were soon wearing Wrangler jeans, even those individuals with three or four or five legs, shouting, “Hey, Dude!” to each other, and forming sex clubs.

  Because we were piggybacking on the Tsutsumi, it would not be necessary to crew the Stealth until we arrived within Aldenia’s gravity field. Captain Amalfi chose hibernation for the crew in the time couches. These were molded individual recliners with glass-sealed hoods. They were tiered one above the other in an available space on the Stealth, with a ladder leading to each.

  “I had rather us hibernate and come out peaked fresh than to get fat and flabby for six weeks on a damned cruise ship,” Captain Amalfi explained.

  Due to the threat of sabotage and internal subversion surrounding the launching of the mission, HazMat teams swept both the mother ship and the Stealth for unauthorized explosives before crews were allowed aboard.

  We entered the Stealth in the reduced gravity by merely stepping out of the lock and drifting down one by one, getting out of each other’s way in the confined areas. As all this was new to me, having only traveled as a passenger in space liners, I paid particular attention to everything. The interior of the ship was a bit disconcerting in its clutter and chaos of arrangement and utility; hydraulics and valves, instrument panels and pipes and hoses and knobs and other gear, the function of which left me guessing. It was like an old Human submarine I had once seen in a museum. It smelled musty and oily.

  “Your first time aboard a Stealth?” Gun Maid guessed. She was the only one of the team who deigned to speak to me, if you discounted Captain Amalfi and Sergeant Shiva issuing orders and Blade muttering Fu-uck every time he looked my way.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “I have had nightmares.”

  She laughed. “It isn’t really as threatening as it appears. It’s crowded, but entirely functional and actually quite simple in its structure. We’re in the crew compartment. Aft is the M2 reactor. Forward is the control deck. The landing pod is in the nose. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Maybe I’ll take it for a test drive.”

  She looked at me and, after a moment, chided in that voice of hers that was both pleasing and pleasant, “You’re a real puzzle, Kadar San. You’re always wearing an expression that makes me want to offer you a penny for your thoughts.”

  I gave her a dumb, uncomprehending look. She giggled delightfully.

  “It’s an old, old Earth expression,” s
he explained. “You look a little smug.”

  Zentadon are not real good at repartee with the opposite sex out of breeding season. The Human part of me couldn’t help noticing that Gun Maid might make an excellent breeder.

  “I will work on it,” I said. “A lowly Zentadon must never look … a little smug.”

  “A Zentadon, Sergeant, would get along better if he hadn’t such a chip on his shoulder.”

  There was nothing on either of my shoulders. Gun Maid giggled again.

  “Another old, old Earth expression?” I guessed.

  “Can’t you read my mind? You’re a telepath.”

  I thought she looked worried that I might.

  “Sens have an etiquette,” I said, not completely truthfully. “It would be like rape if I read your thoughts without permission.”

  “Oh? But you’ll rape the Blobs and other assorteds?”

  “When necessary. But with much less pleasure,” I replied, enjoying the exchange in spite of my suspicions.

  A female medic came from the Tsutsumi to assist the team with hooking into the time-couch life support systems. “How do you stand those things?” she asked, shuddering. “They’re like … coffins.”

  She administered hiberzine. The team began stripping off their uniforms and climbing one by one into their “coffins.” The medic came to me.

  “I will pass,” I declined. “The hiberzine drug does not work on the Zentadon. I’m afraid your ship has an unexpected tourist for the next six weeks.”

  Captain Amalfi blinked. “I always assumed hiberzine was created by the Zentadon.”

  “It was invented by the Indowy to be used on humans and employed by Zentadon.”

  “Uh…?”

  “About four thousand years ago.”

  “I thought we encountered the Zentadon less than a thousand years ago.”

  “Elves,” I said mysteriously, “have always been around.”

  Captain Amalfi frowned as the glass hood closed over him.

  Most of the crew opted for VR — virtual reality — entertainment hookups which allowed experiencing all kinds of true-to-life adventures while they slept. Rather like dreaming, I assumed, only closer to real life. I wondered what program Gun Maid selected.

  She stripped down to bikini underwear for the time-couch. No brassiere. Her near-naked body was slender and hard and brown as she settled in for the ride. I stood next to her couch as the medic attached her to IV’s, electric muscle exercisers, and vital organ stimulator feeds. Atlas, from his coffin, stared at me disapprovingly. Warm, soft padding flowed around her body, supported by hard memory plastic.

  “Penny for my thoughts?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  “I was wondering how you’d look with a beautiful furry tail.”

  She was still giggling when she went under.

  C·H·A·P·T·E·R

  TEN

  Suspicion and mistrust blocked all doors wherever I went on the dreadnought during the long flight. I felt like a virus, isolated and impugned. I encountered walls of fear and apprehension whenever I released my Sen powers to explore. How could I really blame the Humans after the way we Zentadon had been used against them by the Indowy? And after the Homelander incident prior to departure? I felt the same kind of mistrust toward the Indowy. My own anxiety grew the closer we came to the dreaded Dark Planet and its latent social memories of the taa camps. Had I a choice, which Commander Mott assured me I hadn’t, I would have stayed on Galaxia and waited for the breeding season.

  Sometimes, out of loneliness, I entered the Stealth, while Captain Amalfi and the team slept on. I stood by Gun Maid’s time-couch and watched as the VR she was experiencing animated her features. She must be having a delightful time. I experienced a surge of unfamiliar jealousy. I wondered what it would be like to have cocktails with this little brown female, then go to my cubicle afterwards together and watch her undress again. It surprised me to have such desire and it not even breeding season. And for a Human female, no less.

  I tried to recall the female I had seen with Mishal at the hangar that night. She was small, like Gun Maid, built well. But I had only seen her in silhouette and, concentrate as I might, I could not correlate Gun Maid in my mind with Mishal and the Zentadon Homeland Movement. Fact was, I didn’t want her to be a traitor to her people. Hers was virtually the only friendly face aboard.

  Foolish Zentadon. Part Zentadon, part Human, and neither one nor the other completely.

  Instead of six weeks, as planned, the journey took three months because of a chance near-Blob encounter. I attempted to report the cause of the delay when the team revived out of cocooning. However, the Stealth turned into such a feverish hive of pre-mission activity that the Captain had only half an ear for me, figuratively. Everybody jumped out of the time-couches like oversleeping commuters late for work. Nervous energy and excitement flooded the Stealth. Chameleon uniforms were donned but not activated, weapons and equipment checked, then re-checked. Sergeant Shiva supervised the inventory and storage of rations and other gear aboard the tiny drop pod in the Stealth’s nose. Gun Maid had her radios and commo to prove out. As DRT-213’s ops and intel specialist, Gorilla downloaded mission updates, standard news summaries and EEI requirements from the mother ship’s computers, which he condensed on his palm comp for the Captain. It was he who discovered the time discrepancy. He scowled at the miniature screen.

  “Captain Amalfi? Have you checked the date?”

  The Captain consulted his internal chronometer. His body automatically adjusted it for time, temperature and OpPlan schedule.

  “Three months! What the hell happened?”

  “Captain, that is what I have been trying to …”

  “Right, Sergeant Kadar. Save it.”

  He ducked angrily out the connecting hatch into the dreadnought and rushed down the steel corridor toward the mother ship’s bridge and ops center, on his way to confront Lieutenant (advanced grade) Snork, the liaison officer. Ferret tagged along with him, casting back a look of reproval at me. Hey, what did a lowly Zentadon know?

  I had already stowed my gear and weapons in the drop pod and donned patterned chameleons. I looked around to make sure I wasn’t noticed, then followed the commander and Ferret. They were already out of sight, but to a Sen, Captain Amalfi’s anger left a spoor as easy to follow as a blood trail for the giant predator fish in Galaxia’s oceans. I didn’t trust Lieutenant Snork, who had constantly gone out of his way during the three months to confront me on small matters. He as much as accused me of communicating telepathically with the enemy, of being the Blob plant who attempted to sabotage the Tsutsumi.

  “Wherever you go as long as you’re aboard the Tsutsumi,” he promised, “you’re going to have a tail. Well …” He glared at where my appendage should be. “Well, you know what I mean. You’re going to have company watching you to make sure you follow the straight and narrow.”

  “You are straight and narrow?” I asked innocently.

  “Don’t be insolent, Sergeant. Need I remind you that I am a lieutenant, your superior, and that we do not trust you Zentadon?”

  “I am half-Human. Do you half-trust me?”

  Had my Talent for mind-reading been more refined, I would not have been compelled to sneak up to the door off the liaison office to hear what was being said. It was a distasteful scene inside between the Captain and Lieutenant Snork while Ferret watched. I sampled their emotions. Snork’s deceit and disingenuousness made me nauseous.

  “The creature is weird,” he was saying. “He hardly said a word to anyone on the ship for three months. He just went around reading everyone’s mind. One of the sailors called him out on it. The Zentadon sneered the way he does, turned his back on the sailor and walked off. Later, in full view of everybody, he went down to the gym and started bench-pressing nearly five hundred kilos. Like it was nothing.

  “I don’t think we realize how powerful the Zentadon are, being no bigger than that female of yours. But he
bench-presses half a ton! He regularly worked out in two or three gravities. That’s eerie. But it’s not half as eerie as reading people’s minds.”

  “What does all this have to do with the delay, Snork? Get to the point. I’m in a hurry. We’re preparing for an insertion.”

  “I’m getting to it, Captain. There was another big clash in the sector between Blob fighters and some of our armed scouters. We had to break out of the trough and do a non-tunnel jump.”

  “Why didn’t you get back in the trough after the threat was over?”

  “Because that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you … I went to the commander about it and he agreed with me that it would be safer not to. Let me ask you this, Captain Amalfi: How did the Blobs know we were coming through this sector? The obvious reason is … your Zentadon.”

  Captain Amalfi started to protest, but Snork cut him off. “Hear me out, sir. Your Zentadon is a Sen, right? We watched him. He would go out on the enclosed observation platform and meditate for hours. We know the Blobs communicate by telepathy. So … Who was the Zentadon mind-talking to all the time? You figure it out, Captain.”

  “That’s no proof that Sergeant Kadar …”

  “Sir, I’m just reporting the facts.”

  “These are assumptions, not facts,” Captain Amalfi snapped, to his credit.

  “Sir, this is not a formal caution and no record will be made of it. However, the commander and I felt your team should be made aware of it. I know one thing — and I’m no superstitious coward, sir — but I wouldn’t insert on that planet with the Zentadon. Mark my word, Captain, if you take him you won’t be coming back. If he makes one false move, I’d get rid of him. That’s what I’d so, sir. Get rid of that elf.”

  Through Ferret, the entire team would soon be apprised of the gist of the conversation. Suspicions, once nurtured and attended, grew like strangler vines. I would have to watch my back and keep my senses tuned to the changing moods of my own teammates.

 

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