by T. R. Harris
“You could be right; all these cosmic rays out here are affecting my brain. Or maybe I’m just going stir-crazy and need a little action.”
“That I can relate to,” he said, as he locked the Pegasus on the approach-beacon being sent from the surface. “And down there is a whole new world of aliens we’ve never met before. This could be as much fun as a barrel-of-monkeys!”
“Careful, Adam, at this point we don’t know what these O’mly look like. This may indeed be a Planet of the Apes.”
The approach-beacon guided them to one of the larger islands that had several large v-shaped additions jutting off from it of obvious artificial construction. Most of the buildings on these extensions were of a uniform charcoal-gray color and varied only in height and width. Near the tip of the largest v-structure was a small landing area, presently occupied by only a handful of small delta-shaped spacecraft. Being delta-shaped itself, the Pegasus would fit right in, even though it was nearly twice as large as any of the other ships in the spaceport.
This larger island was surrounded by literally hundreds of much smaller atolls, each with central crops of green vegetation and surrounded by white, sandy beaches. At first glance, this planet did look like some kind of tropical paradise, even if the nasty demeanor of the natives could ruin the entire vacationing experience.
The briefing video was far too long and detailed to be assimilated in one viewing, yet it did fill in some of the blanks regarding this uncharted world. The planet was called Aslon and its natives the O’mly, and even though they didn’t look like monkeys, they did resemble trolls in a way. They were large beasts, with scaly skin that apparently changed color like that of a chameleon. Their heads were large, with several ridges of raised bumps that formed patterns above their yellow eyes and then ran up to form a central bulge at the crest of their skulls. Large, fan-like ears projected straight out on either side of the head and they appeared to be hairless, both on head and body. Even though Adam and Sherri couldn’t tell from the video, the webbed fingers on their hands led them to believe that the O’mly were amphibians and probably had gills hidden somewhere on their bodies. This made sense considering that most of their world was covered with water.
As they studied the report, both Humans cringed when they noticed the two, eight-inch long talons protruding from the tips of the middle fingers on their webbed hands. Each hand had four fingers and an opposable thumb; very Human-like – except for the talons and the webbing. They figured it must be a real hassle for the O’mly to have what were essentially two very sharp, eight-inch long fingernails with them all the time; having sex must have been especially challenging. Seriously however, Adam and Sherri knew the aliens had evolved over the millennia with the deadly-looking spikes as a natural part of their bodies. They had no illusions that these spikes were for adornment only. These were weapons, and even though the Humans would appear stronger and have quicker reactions in the light gravity of Aslon, the spikes would prove deadly in a street-fight – and the ATD would be no help at all. Adam just hoped they wouldn’t have to spend too much time on the surface of Aslon. They weren’t here on a sight-seeing tour; there was a mystery fleet nearby, and the sooner they found their answers concerning it, the sooner they could resume their journey home.
Adam and Sherri put on thick coats to protect against the deceptively cool weather, and since there had been no mention in the report of restrictions to carrying weapons, they each also wore MK-17’s on their hips. Once geared up, they opened the side hatch and stepped outside.
Six O’mly met them on the landing field, arriving in a large, electric cart with two rows of seats and a flatbed to the rear. In person, the scaly-skinned aliens were even more intimidating than in the video. Each wore form-fitting dark-green tunics and stood over seven-feet tall. Adam was getting tired of nearly every alien species being taller than Humans, but this was just one of the consequences of most life-supporting worlds having lighter gravity than the Earth. Adam didn’t complain too much; it was this gravity differential that gave Humans most of their superman-like abilities. However, as he watched the hulking green mass of alien approach him – their yellow-tinged talons clicking together in a deadly dissonant chorus – Adam was hoping he wouldn’t have to test his physical skills against this species.
The leader of the group stared down at Adam for a long moment; Adam knew better than to present a greeting to the alien – that was one of the things he’d gleaned from the briefing report. Instead, he let the creature take his time thinking about … well, whatever aliens thought about at a time like this. Finally, the O’mly pulled a datapad from a utility pocket in his tunic and moved to the front of the Pegasus; his entourage followed, all pointing out the numerous pits and holes along the once-shiny hull. The lead O’mly looked up at the blast shield covering the forward viewport and noticed traces of sealing foam seeping out from the sides. He entered some information into his pad and then turned to Adam and Sherri.
“Ninety korlons … for the viewport only,” the creature said. “The other hull damage will be considerably more, if you elect to repair the damage. This CW communication device you mentioned we cannot repair, since we do not know what it is.” The tone of the alien was flat and decisive, leaving Adam with the impression that there would be no negotiation regarding the price. With the variety of currencies throughout the galaxy, a fair amount of the transactions between alien species involved barter and trade. Even still, Adam had to be careful that he didn’t come right out and admit that he had no idea what a korlon was or how he would set a comparable value for anything he might want to trade for the repairs.
He also knew that the repairs were not absolutely necessary and that his real purpose for being on the planet was to track down the mystery fleet.
“That is acceptable,” Adam said finally. “For payment, we can either trade for the repairs, or we can arrange for payment from our partners who have also just arrived in-system.”
“We do not trade for service at the port. If you do not have the fee, then you will have to arrange for a sale of items though a merchant transaction. If you have partners who can provide the korlons, then you should pursue that option as well.”
“We came in with the squadron of battleships that just arrived. Is it possible to secure transportation to the fleet … on credit? We do not want to risk any further travel with the viewport in its present condition.”
The alien stared at Adam with unblinking yellow eyes. “The viewport appears to be sealed. I do not see any danger with travel in your craft.”
Adam looked over at Sherri, seeking any help she could provide. She stepped up to the alien. “Yes, we can use our ship, yet the CW device you mentioned is also tied to our navigation system. We have lost the ability to track our fleet. We will need assistance if we are to retrieve the korlons for the repair. Can you help – assist – us with this?”
Again the alien hesitated before responding. Either this thing is suspicious … or else he’s a really slow thinker, Adam thought.
“I know little of the alien warships – that is not my field of expertise. Yet if it will secure the korlons for the repair, then I will send inquiries regarding navigational assistance. You will remain in your vessel until further notice.”
The O’mly began to walk away, but then stopped abruptly and turned back to the Humans. “You should know better than to arrive on Aslon without the proper currency. A thought has occurred to me. The landing fee is twenty mi-korlons, as is the departure fee. Even if your ship was space-worthy, I would not allow it to depart without payment of port fees. It appears as though you may have to arrange transportation to your partner fleet after all or seek communication with them in some other fashion … since I will be holding your vessel as security until you can pay at least the port fees.”
“What the fuck! You can’t confiscate our ship.” Sherri said, stepping closer to the alien. Adam heard the clicking of talons become more prevalent as the other five creatures moved clos
er.
The lead O’mly leaned over Sherri. “I have never encountered the Jusepi before,” he said, “so I do not know how your society is managed. But here on Aslon, manners are set by the O’mly, and I say we can impound your ship until we are paid.” The alien lifted his right hand and began to slowly extend his two middle fingers towards Sherri’s face. The needle-sharp tips of the talons were only inches away. “Welcome to Aslon … off-worlder.”
Adam pulled Sherri away. “That will be fine,” he said quickly. “The ship will stay here until we can arrange for payment. Do we have your permission to seek trade within your city? I’m sure we should have something of value within our vessel, at least to cover the port fees.”
The alien continued to stare at Sherri even as he answered. “Granted, but you only have one cycle. If you have not secured payment by then, I will take your vessel as payment. That is a trade I will accept.”
Through his ATD, Adam could sense a dampening field being broadcast over the area. This would inhibit well-generation, rendering the gravity drive useless. But how the O’mly would keep him from using his chemical drive to escape was anyone’s guess. However, chem-drives were exceedingly slow and noisy, and the natives probably had some sort of weapons system capable of destroying ships either coming or going without permission. He reached out with his senses and detected a number of electronic systems operating within his range, even though he couldn’t detect any weapons – other than the primitive flash weapons carried by the dockmaster and his entourage. The dampening field was controlled from farther away than half a mile, so he would not be able to disable that unless he could get closer to the source. In any event, he still had a cycle – however long that was – to score some korlons.
And his best bet for accomplishing that was to find the nearest spacer’s bar.
50
Nigel McCarthy…
When Nigel left his base over four months ago to embark on his failed assault on Adam Cain’s headquarters on Pyrum-3, he’d left behind eighty virile and physically-fit examples of Human maleness. Mercenaries one and all, each of his men had prior military experience and were completely dedicated to the notion that mankind was the top-dog in the galaxy. Now, as the overpowering stench of feces and sweat hit him, Nigel knew most of these men had reached the end of their willpower to survive. There would be no salvaging these men. He would have to find another army – if he survived.
The shuttle hold was large – approximately two-hundred feet square and with a towering ceiling made up of the curving solid rock of the lava tube. The shuttles had been removed, and now it served exclusively as the prison for the shattered remains of his army.
The designers had seen fit to place a single loo in the room, which when used by eighty men over an extended period of time, had ceased to function after the first week or so. The alien scientists hadn’t bothered to fix the toilet, and even had the water cut off to the sink and shower because the men were drinking from them.
As his eyes became acclimated to the dim light, Nigel could see dozens of corpses spread across the floor, with the barely-living shuffling slowly among them without concern. The few survivors were now a disgusting collection of emaciated men with torn clothing and gaunt, ghostly faces, resembling Holocaust victims from World War II. Concern entered McCarthy’s thoughts; he would need at least a few of these men to be healthy enough to carry out his plan. What he saw in the hangar-prison didn’t offer much hope.
As Kronis had said, the aliens had lost interest in the prisoners, forgetting to feed them for days, then as more of the men died, the scientists had decided to just let the rest of them die. The experiments with the newer models of the artificial telepathy device were nearing an end, and soon the aliens would be leaving the base for their homeworlds, equipped with the means to make each of them rich and powerful beyond belief. The Humans would die then anyway, so why delay the inevitable?
As he stood near the door, unnoticed at first by the prisoners, Nigel could now clearly see that the survivors were divided into two distinct groups – the barely living and the stronger, healthier segment. So, some have learned to survive, even under these conditions. It wasn’t hard for Nigel to imagine how that had happened.
As the days, weeks and months passed, his men had reverted to a Lord of the Flies kind of existence, which must have been hard to do in a population of tough-as-nails equals. However, as in all societies, some did rise to the top. They dominated the rest, keeping most of the food and water for themselves. Even at that, this stronger group was now down to fourteen individuals, and after four months under these miserable conditions, most were on the last-leg of their will to survive.
Garrett Linfield was one of the Lords that ruled over what was left of the Humans. He had managed to claim larger portions of the rations for himself, and when the men resorted to cannibalism for survival, it was Garrett who took the first bite of Human flesh. He was a survivor, and as such, was one of the few who could still walk when Nigel was placed in the hangar and the door sealed behind him.
“I must be bloody-hell hallucinating,” Garrett said as he staggered up to McCarthy. “I thought you was dead?”
“Not hardly,” Nigel said as the rest of the survivors moved toward him in an eerie, slow-motion parade. “It looks like you men have let yourselves go. You would be amazed what a little exercise would do for your condition.”
“Ain’t you the funnyman, McCarthy? Look what your bloody scientists have done to us. They’ve treated us worse than bugs, and they haven’t even thrown any of that slop they call food in here for three or four days. The only thing that’s kept some of us alive is a leaking cooling conduit where we get our water … and the meat from some of the dead that weren’t too diseased.”
Nigel wrinkled his nose at that comment, surprised that Garrett would so readily admit to cannibalism.
“Now I suppose with you back and alive, all fat and happy, you’ll be the last man standing after you’ve eaten the last of us, Major, sir!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lieutenant,” Nigel replied looking the gaunt-faced man straight in the eye. “I intend to get us out of here, and I mean soon.”
Another of the survivors – Private First Class Doug Cromartie of the American Marines – leaned against a wall, supporting his weak legs as best he could. “How you going to do that, Major? We tried everything – when we had the strength. The fucking aliens always would suck out the air or turn off the heat anytime we tried anything. And now we have these fucking collars. And I know they have cameras set way up there and they watch us all the time.” He tried to lift his arm and point at the ceiling but his hand only made it as high as his chin.
“Cromartie’s right,” Garrett said. “Besides, we’re in no condition to fight. Looks like you waited too long to make an appearance.”
“So why are the aliens still here? Why didn’t they take off as soon as they had taken over the base?”
“Been working on some project,” Cromartie said. “Once they had us fitted with the collars, they had us move equipment around for them. That fat slob Kronis was the worst of them, too. What a sadistic bastard. He even took a couple of us out just so he could cut us open and see why we’re so strong.”
“He’ll be dealt with as soon as we get out of here,” Nigel assured him.
“We ain’t goin anywhere, Major,” Garrett said, his foul breath noticeable from even ten feet away. “They have those medallions, like you had. That’s doing it, isn’t it? That’s how they can control the collars … and other things. It’s the medallions you had them make.”
“Yeah, but I can stop them. When they made the first medallions for me, they made three extras. I know where they are.”
“Don’t tell, me, they’re in the lab?” Garrett turned and sat down heavily on an empty crate. “All you have to do is get in there, right?”
“That’s right. And I don’t even have to actually possess the medallion to make it work. I just need to be within about
five or six meters.”
“How do you know the aliens haven’t converted them for their own use?”
“Because I felt them when I was with the aliens before, but I didn’t get close enough to fully activate them.”
“You felt them? Bloody-hell gone bonkers have you, McCarthy?”
“No, these medallions are tuned to me and me alone. We even built in a fail-safe where they couldn’t be converted, as you called it. They’re in the lab all right, and all I need to do is get close enough.”
A third man staggered up to them. He was Cameron Dukes, the Australian Nigel had left in charge of the base when he left. Even though Garrett Linfield had taken over the hangar, Dukes was still a formidable opponent, or at least he once had been. “So you need some way to get back in the lab.”
Nigel placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and was stunned to feel the prominent bone under the filthy, once-tan, short-sleeve shirt he wore. “It’s good to see you’re still around, Cam,” Nigel said, while offering an accusatory look in Garrett’s direction. Until a few moments ago, Garrett had ruled the prison. Now he knew he was no match for a healthy and well-fed Nigel McCarthy.
“Yeah, for what it’s worth; now what’s your plan?”
Nigel looked again at Garrett. “You may actually enjoy this, but the lab is also the sick bay, and after all of you have beaten the snot out of me, the aliens will have to take me there to get me patched up.”
“And why would they do that?” Cromartie asked. “Why wouldn’t they just let you die in here like the rest of us?”
“Because I have a secret that will make keeping me alive very important to them, and it’s the reason all of you are going to attack me.”
“What secret is that?” Garrett asked, skepticism dripping from his tone.
“I have no idea. I’m going to need a little time to work that one out.”