Pools of Yarah

by J Gurley

  They staggered in a ragged line through a barren land, seeing nothing alive – neither plant nor animal, nor bird in the sky. The devastation of the old war had sterilized the soil and ripped the land into an unreadable mosaic of broken tiles. Fractures too wide to cross, they went around. At times, they climbed up and down vertically farther than they progressed horizontally.

  “This hell hole goes on forever,” she grumbled to Anderson, looking out ahead of them through her field glasses. She saw nothing but broken rock and heat swirls. “Whitehall needs shelter from this heat. We’ll look for some shade and wait until dark to continue.”

  They had gone through the same routine for three days. She did not need to tell Anderson anything, but it made her feel in command. He did not complain as he trudged off wearily in search of an overhang or a crevice in the rocks – anything that would get them out of reach of the sun’s fury.

  Cathi’s limited knowledge of Earth’s history did not include the reason for Sol’s flaring. It was not bad enough that the flares had forced humankind from its birthplace. Those who had chosen to remain had let loose the Hounds of War and finished the job nature had started. It seemed increasingly likely that only those who had re-settled Mars had survived. The age of flares had long passed, and the sun had again stabilized, yet it beat down upon her like an angry god. She could not imagine anyone thriving in such a barren waste.

  Anderson located a small overhang nearby and directed the others to it. Whitehall collapsed in a fit of coughing as soon as they stopped walking. She checked the transponder unit, as she had every few hours since they began their journey. It was still sending. At least Captain Moore could find them. If – and it was a big if – he could knock out the defense satellites and bring the Baldry in. She hoped Anderson’s last message had gotten through. Maybe the people on Mars had not been hiding anything after all. Maybe they had simply tried to warn the Baldry away from Earth because of the dangers they had faced.

  Too late for regrets, she mused.

  As the sun began to set in the blood-red western sky, she stood at the edge of the overhang, shaded her eyes, and stared out at the bleak vista before her. She caught a glimpse of the ragged peaks that still lay many days’ journey ahead. The ruins of Denver Dome were there somewhere, in the foothills, out of sight behind the intervening mountains. She feared they would never make it.

  Just as the blazing sun slipped over the edge of the horizon, she noticed a small flickering light just southwest of them. It looked like a fire, and a fire meant people. She rejoined the others and checked Whitehall’s pulse and temperature with the scanner. His pulse was weaker, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. His rising temperature concerned her. It was placing a strain on his already overtaxed system.

  He looked up at her with his sunken hazel eyes and smiled. “Don’t worry about me,” he said with a raspy voice. “I’ve suffered worse.”

  His attempt to reassure her touched her, but she knew he would not last long without help. She refused to let him die.

  “Anderson, watch Whitehall,” she said. “I’m going to scout ahead. I saw a bit of light. It may be nothing, but I have to check it out. I’ll be back in four hours tops.”

  Anderson looked at her questioningly, but merely nodded. He settled down on the ground and fell into a heavy slumber. She wondered if Anderson thought she was abandoning him and Whitehall, trying to save herself. If so, he did not have the energy to fight, and she certainly did not have the heart to argue. It would take every bit of willpower she had to force her weary legs to push on. She checked her chronometer again. Four hours should be plenty of time. She estimated an hour and a half there and the same back. That left an hour for reconnoitering and, if possible, to find help.

  She left the flashlight with Anderson. Without the illumination of the moon to light her way, she fell often over loose stones and twisted spires of molten rock. It took longer than she had calculated to reach the small rise upon which she had earlier spotted the flickering light. Once there, she found a small circle of stones and the still-warm ashes of a fire, but no people. There were no other signs that a living soul had been here. Still, fire meant people nearby. The idea of rescue lifted her flagging spirits. She searched for another hour. Just as she was beginning to give up hope and return to her friends, a small scraping sound behind her attracted her attention. She started to turn around but never completed the move.

  *

  She awoke with a throbbing pain in the back of her head and the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. She attempted to sit up and found her hands and legs tightly bound. She was also naked. The stones beneath her were uncomfortably hot. Looking around, she saw a band of seven men in ragged clothing rummaging through her clothing. One removed the laser from her belt, examined it for a moment, and then tossed it aside. It clattered against the rocks as it bounced down the slope. That can’t be good for it, she thought wryly. One man with a toothless grin was fighting a smaller comrade for her jumpsuit. In their rage, they had failed to notice that she had regained consciousness. She worked frantically at the knots of her bindings, which they had not tied very securely. Given time, she was certain she would be able to work them loose, but depending on the intentions of her captors; she doubted she would have any time.

  The men, all painfully thin, wore a loose collection of various colored bands of cloth draped over their bodies bound together with leather cords and other strips of cloth. Over this, several wore a kind of poncho or serape and either a leather hat or burnoose to protect their heads from the sun. One wore her cap. The prevalent footwear was leather sandals, decidedly unsuitable for the sandy terrain. They were particularly interested in her boots. Their exposed flesh was smeared with a foul-smelling white cream that had caked and cracked as it dried, lending them the impression of old age, but she doubted the oldest was more than thirty. By the coughs and wheezes they emitted as they laughed and argued over her belongings, she doubted most of them would live beyond thirty-five, their lives shortened by constantly breathing in the prevalent dust.

  Toothless won the argument over her clothing by the expedient act of kicking his opponent in the shin. Bearing her jumpsuit draped over his arm, he sauntered over to her triumphantly and stood at her feet. She feigned unconsciousness.

  “No fool,” he snapped. “Hear your heart. Looky me.” He followed this command with a swift kick to her leg.

  She had barely understood what he had said. His words were slurred by his lack of teeth, and his double O’s sounded like short U’s. His kick had been easy to interpret. Realizing her unconscious act had not worked, she sat up, wincing at the pain. Toothless leered down at her. She stared back at him.

  “Hey, Toothless, what do you want with me?” He took no notice of her nickname for him.

  “Big tits, bitch. Hardy will like.” He chuckled. “Much to play with. Give me much riches.” He shook his head. “No. We don’t touch you, bitch. But we look.”

  “It’s nice to know the word bitch hasn’t changed meaning in a thousand years,” she replied.

  His comrades, including the small one now limping, joined him and stood in a semicircle leering down at her. She did not like the idea of being on display. Normally, nudity did not bother her. Aboard the Baldry, they had no inhibitions about the human body, especially while sharing baths or massages. Seeing a comrade parading naked from the bath to their cabin was commonplace. In this instance, as a recipient of their vulgar lecherous stares, she felt dirty, dirtier even than the layers of filth accumulated by her long journey could account for.

  When Toothless drew a long, double-edged knife from the band around his waist, she thought for a terrible moment he had changed his mind. In a display of domination, he shredded her jumpsuit, smiling his toothless grin the entire time. He dropped the pieces at her feet one at a time. Her undergarments quickly joined the pile of scrap. Judging by the group’s bedraggled attire, her jumpsuit would have been a valuable trophy. His costly display of destruc
tion was a warning to her.

  “Eat,” Toothless said and nodded to one of the men, who tossed her a scrap of meat. She felt her stomach began to heave when she saw that the piece of meat was a human finger, roasted earlier over the fire that had drawn her here. Intellectually, she understood their fall into cannibalism. High protein foods, especially meat, had to be scarce in such a desolate place, but the thought of actually killing and eating a fellow human being was repulsive. She was not a Vegan as were many of her comrades, but she certainly drew the line at eating people.

  Luckily, they valued her more as a female than as a food source. Of course, she reminded herself, they could always eat me later, after satisfying their more basic carnal urges. Looking at them, she wasn’t sure which would be worse. They were little more than savages. Her only hope lay in the fact that the one they called Hardy wanted her brought to him. If he was their leader, perhaps she could work out a deal with him that would save her two companions. She despised the idea of using sex as a bargaining tool, but if it kept her and her companions alive, she would subject herself to whatever debasement he required of her.

  Looking at the sky, she judged that dawn was only an hour away. She had been unconscious for hours. If she did not return to her companions soon, she hoped Anderson wouldn’t think she had abandoned them. Not that she would blame him. So far, she had accomplished nothing but crashing the shuttle and stranding them in the middle of a desert. She had sought rescue for them. Now, she was the one in need of rescue. She couldn’t use her hands. Bending over as far as she could, she jammed her knee into her sternum to activate her sub-dermal communicator. She didn’t have to speak aloud. The induction mic embedded in her mastoid bone would pick up her sub-vocalizations.

  “Anderson, this is Lorst. A band of savages has taken me captive. They don’t look very friendly. I think I’m about two kilometers southwest of you. I could use some help.”

  To her dismay, she received no answer. Too far away, she thought, or maybe Anderson thinks he and Whitehall are better off without me. I don’t blame him.

  Before she could make a second attempt at contacting him, Toothless dragged her to her feet, being none too gentle about it, loosened the bindings around her ankles, and tied a length of braided leather rope to her left ankle. He wrapped the other end around his wrist. He did not remove the thong securing her wrists.

  “Walk,” he told her, shoving her forward.

  Walking hobbled proved awkward, and Toothless enjoyed jerking her down to the ground just to stand over her and laugh while she struggled to her feet. Many hours passed in this manner. Her naked feet began to bleed from sharp rocks, and her knees and forearms bore numerous cuts from breaking her frequent falls. The sun rose in all its fury. Within two hours, the heat had become unbearable, searing her naked flesh, sucking the moisture from her body. The rocks and sand roasted the soles of her bare and abused feet.

  To her immense relief, Toothless halted their march and sought shelter beneath the meager shade of a great spire of rock. She collapsed on the scorching rock while the others spread blankets to lie on. Toothless untied the cord from his wrist, looped it over a knob of rock, and walked the perimeter of their camp. Finally, satisfied they were safe, he, too, lay down, after first looping the cord around his wrist. An experimental tug on the rope showed her that he awakened easily and that escape would be difficult if not impossible. Besides, where could she go naked, barefoot, and lost in a desert? She sat quietly and tried to think of a way to free herself and find the others. Her dismay mounted. There appeared to be no solution to her dilemma.

  The slight sound of falling rock instantly brought Toothless to his feet. He hissed a warning, and the others scrambled for their weapons. She searched for the source of their concern. Suddenly, one of her captors screamed out and collapsed with a neat hole burned through his chest. A wisp of smoke rose from his leather shirt, still smoldering from the intense heat of a laser. Whitehall! He had come for her. When one of her captors raced toward her with a spear intent on skewering her, she tried to roll away, but Toothless still held firmly to the rope attached to her ankle. A second blast from the laser vaporized the side of the spear bearer’s head. He fell dead across her legs. The spear landed inches from her head. Unable to locate their silent attacker, her captors began firing arrows blindly in all directions.

  Using the confusion as her chance to escape, she rolled the dead weight of the body from her legs and scooted closer to the spear. Grasping it behind her back with her hands, she worked the bindings on her wrists against the sharp metal point. They parted quickly. She slipped the rope from her ankle and made a dash for freedom. Toothless noticed her movement out of the corner of his eye and dove for her. A laser bolt shattered the stone between them. He fell back brushing chips of hot stone from his skin and clothing. Running as quickly as she could on cramped muscles and bleeding bare feet, she rounded the rock spire and almost tripped over Anderson.

  “This way!” he yelled, firing twice more to cover their retreat. A third man fell as he pursued them. The others fell back in confusion. He looked at her. “You’ll burn to a crisp in that outfit,” he commented as he handed her a jumpsuit.

  His demeanor was matter-of-fact, his eyes never straying from the retreating savages to her naked body. They had seen each other nude many times, and even though he had never been one of her lovers, she admired his sense of decorum. She was his superior officer. Casual nudity was far different from being stripped naked by force. She noticed the jumpsuit he produced was Whitehall’s. She glanced at Anderson. He nodded.

  “He died an hour after you left. He passed quietly in his sleep. When you didn’t return, I became concerned and searched for you. When I discovered your tattered jumpsuit but no blood or body, I figured you had run into trouble. I went back for our packs and took Whitehall’s jumpsuit. Sorry for the delay. Looks like I was just in time.” He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. “Who were your friends?”

  “Thanks, Anderson,” she said as she slipped on the jumpsuit. She winced as it touched her tender flesh. Heavy perspiration had washed away the last of the sunscreen she had applied before they began the trek. She didn’t worry about carcinomas. Her annual gene-booster therapy prevented most cancers, but they didn’t prevent serious sunburn. Large blisters pocked her arms, face, and neck.

  Anderson kept watch while she dressed. She had been wrong to think he would abandon her. He hadn’t received her com call, and yet he had searched for her. “Too bad about Whitehall,” she said. “His death is my fault. I guess I haven’t been a very good officer.”

  Anderson looked at her. She had never been good at reading his face when playing cards. Some thought him stoic and cold, but she knew he simply kept his emotions in check. She thought it was part of his religious upbringing on Brosnia, a decidedly theocratic planet. His religion had placed him at odds with most of colonized space, which was agnostic, atheistic, or apathetic. Centuries of wars between religious empires had left a bad taste in people’s mouths. He spoke little about his past and revealed even less about himself. She herself believed in the possibility of a Creator, but was certain he or she did not care much for his or her creations.

  “You brought us down in one piece, lieutenant. No one else could have done that. Pegari and Whitehall aren’t your fault. Chalk them up to this damned planet. We’re still alive. Now let’s try to stay that way. You’re still in command, lieutenant,” he continued.

  “You can call me Cathi, Kal. We’re not on duty and I’m not in command of anything.”

  A brief flicker of something she could not identify crossed his face. Was it fear? she wondered. “I would prefer to continue to call you lieutenant. It . . . helps me keep myself oriented. Who were those guys?”

  “A local welcoming committee, I suppose,” she replied as she slipped on Whitehall’s boots. She winced as she worked the boots over her damaged feet. His jumpsuit was a too large for her, but it covered her body. His boots were too large a
s well, but they were better than walking barefooted on the treacherous, searing rocks.

  He handed her the transponder and her laser. “Sorry, that’s all I could salvage. They took or destroyed the rest. The laser is badly damaged. I’ll try to repair it later.” He looked around. “Which direction?”

  “We head west. We follow them.” She nodded towards her recent captors. She transferred everything from Whitehall’s backpack into hers and slung it over her shoulder. It was a heavy load but she wanted to leave nothing. Fully dressed, she regained some of her lost composure. “Let’s go.”

  Toothless’s band moved swiftly. Following them was not easy. They knew they were being pursued and attempted several times to throw Cathi and Anderson off their trail. Luckily, the medical thermal scanner they carried was powerful enough to pick up traces of their trail, even in the heat of the day. Anderson had used it to follow her after Whitehall’s death.

  Eventually, Toothless’s band gave up trying to throw off pursuit and headed due west at a rapid clip. Her biggest concern was that Toothless could pick up more men and return to recapture her and Anderson. To continue following them was risky, but they needed supplies soon. Moreover, the group lay between them and Denver Dome. Denver Dome, she was sure, was their only chance for rescue.

  “Did Whitehall say anything before he died?” She had been silent for hours as they marched in the relentless heat. She was angry at herself for being captured and even angrier at not present when Whitehall needed her most.

  Anderson stopped walking and looked at her questioningly. “Like what?” he asked.

  She sighed. “Like maybe he blamed me for his death.”

  Anderson shrugged noncommittally. “He was raving a bit from fever, but no, he didn’t really say anything.”