by T. R. Harris
The collision was incredible, and even though Adam had lowered his head at the last second to meet the blow, he was thrown back twenty feet, landing on the hard grass surface with stars in his eyes.
In the meantime, Riyad closed on the other player, using his speed to narrow the gap before the alien could reach the goal line. But then the other player cocked his huge head and smashed it into Riyad’s side. Riyad was thrown off balance and his feet became tangled. He fell hard to the ground face first, scooping up a mouthful of the musty-tasting soil.
As he looked up and began to spit dirt from his mouth, he saw the alien cross the goal line and begin an elaborate celebratory dance.
For his part, Adam was still shaking off the cobwebs. He was lying on his back, oblivious to the cheering from the massive crowd. And then he felt something moist and warm on his left leg. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked down. Dravis was standing over him, a stream of yellow liquid flowing from his body mid-torso. It only took Adam a second to realize what was happening.
He scrambled to his feet, a little wobbly at first. “You son-of-a-bitch! You just pissed on me!”
Dravis smiled at him as he hitched up his pants. “I do not understand all of the translation, yet I grasp the context. Do not be alarmed, Human, this is how we show disrespect for an enemy.”
“But you pissed on me! That goes way beyond disrespect; that’s just nasty, you bastard!”
“Then I suggest you do something to gain my respect.” Dravis threw out his chest and took a step closer to Adam.
Suddenly, a Que’l referee was between them. Riyad was also there. “Did he just do what I thought he did?”
“He sure did,” Adam cried out.
“The score is awarded to the Que’l!” the referee announced, his voice echoing throughout the arena. “Players will resume starting positions.”
Riyad pulled Adam away. “Relax, Adam. One more goal and it’ll be over.”
Sherri was aghast at what she just saw. She was seated next to President Murr’s mate, a female name Ricoen. “Is that allowed?” she asked the native.
“Of course, and it was to Dravis’s credit that he did not discharge onto the Human’s face.”
“I’m sorry if I offend, but that’s disgusting.”
“Then I would suggest your males play better. They do not seem to be very capable physically. That must come as a disappointment to you.”
It took a moment for Sherri to realize her mouth was hanging open. She snapped it shut just as Omar Piero stepped up to her.
“What’s going on, Ms. Valentine? Why are Misters Cain and Tarazi on the field?”
“Where the hell have you been?” Sherri scolded. “They were taunted into accepting a challenge match.”
“Oh my god!” Piero said. He then took Sherri by the arm. “Forgive me, Jon Ricoen, but I must speak with Ms. Valentine in private.”
He took her to the side of the stage. “This is very serious. What are their plans for the match?”
“Plans?” Sherri said, confused. “They just want to put on a little show and let the Que’l win. But that bastard just peed on Adam’s leg.”
Piero looked around nervously. “This is serious. They cannot let the Que’l win, not without making an effort that will convince everyone here that they did their best. Even still, victory is the preferred outcome.”
“Against those beasts, you’ve got to be kidding? Why is this so important?”
“Follow me. We can talk on the way to the field.”
In the wide corridor below the stage, Piero filled her in. “These contests are like war. The Que’l are engaging in a real contest right now to see who is the superior race. If Cain and Tarazi lose, then the Que’l will have no respect for our leadership of the Union.”
“Dravis did mention something about technology helping us.”
“This is terrible, Ms. Valentine. These aliens despise those who dominate by the use of technology. They feel that is the ultimate form of cheating. Unless we can show them we are superior to them physically, we will forever lose their respect. I know the Que’l,” Piero continued. “They won’t drop out of the Union, but they will do everything they can to sabotage our position.”
“So what? They can’t do anything that will really upset things, can they?”
“They’re sitting on the richest deposits of crucial resources of any race in the Arm. They will use that advantage to undermine our authority. Sure, it may not work, but we don’t need the complication, especially when there’s been such a big movement for equal access to the leadership of the Union by the newer members.”
They had reached the field by now and ran up to where Adam and Riyad were lined up on the goal line.
“Strategy!” Piero called out. The nearest referee raised his hand.
“We have five minutes for a strategy meeting,” the bureaucrat said to them.
“What the hell’s going on, Piero?” Riyad asked, his mouth bleeding from the fall he’d taken. “These aliens don’t seem to be out just to win, but to humiliate us in the process.”
“That’s exactly what they’re doing.” He went on to explain the purpose and psychology behind these matches.
“Shit!” Adam cried out after Piero was through. “The damn things are built like Mack trucks and here we’re stuck with this headgear that’s like wearing blinders.”
“They didn’t do us any good,” Riyad said as he began to unbuckle the equipment. “I’ll take my chances without it.”
Adam removed his, too.
Sherri kicked off her shoes. “Make the announcement, Omar, I’m joining the team.”
Piero was stunned for a moment. “There are female leagues, yet never has a female gone up against the males.”
“That’s what I’m counting on. If they’re out to humiliate us, just imagine what will happen when we win with a female on the team.”
“Are you crazy?” Adam asked. “You’ll get yourself killed.”
“Piero, go tell the others they need a third player. I’m in.”
“All right, but they’re not going to like it.” He ran off to speak with the ref.
Sherri huddled with the men. “Look, you know in this gravity that we’re faster than these guys. We can also jump, which is something I haven’t seen any of them do, not even in the regular match. Let’s use finesse against them. And Adam, if you do get a chance to bust some heads, make it count. Eight-footers have never been a problem for us before. I’m sure these guys are no different.”
Piero returned, a worried look on his face. “Okay, they agreed. In fact, I think they found it amusing that they’d be facing a female. I can’t emphasize this enough, but these contests are like real war and the victor really believes they’ve won it all at the end. This isn’t a game to them.”
“War is my middle name,” Adam said.
“I thought it was Jonathan?” Sherri said to lighten the mood.
“Today it’s War. Now…let’s go kick some alien butt!”
This time when the starting whistle blew, the Humans took off at full speed. In the light gravity of Uinsid, all three of them reached the rock a full five seconds before the Que’l. Adam hoisted the stone, finding it to be incredibly light for its size.
“Here Sherri, you take the stone. Riyad and I will provide the blocking.”
Adam tossed her the stone. At first she dodged it, but when she reached down and grasped the handle, she smiled. “Ten pounds, maybe?” she said. “I got this. Lead on.”
They took off to the left, angling away from the nearest Que’l player, the new one they’d just brought in. He was quick, though, and managed to close the gap fifty yards before the goal line. As he took aim on Adam, he lowered his head, his beady eyes angled up so he could keep sight on his target.
Adam moved to join him, lowering his shoulder and taking aim himself. But then at the last moment, Adam jerked to the right. His movement was lightening quick compared to the reactions of the alien. Th
e Que’l player lost his balance when his head didn’t impact anything and he fell forward onto the field. Adam circled back, and as the Que’l player scrambled to his feet, Adam lowered his shoulder again and crashed into the alien. This time the result was just the opposite as when he’d first collided with a Que’l. This time it was the native who grunted hard and went airborne, landing unceremoniously on his backside, dazed and confused.
Adam took off after Riyad and Sherri.
The other two aliens had moved to block the goal line, a savage animal look now on Dravis’s face. They both closed on either side of Riyad, with the plan to crush him between their two boney head plates. Yet just like Adam, Riyad waited until the last second before he leapt into the air, easily floating over the charging aliens. They came together, their hard headplates making a sound like a thunder clap. But they didn’t fall, not at first. Instead, the two aliens staggered backwards, before Dravis’s teammate finally keeled over to his left.
Dravis was by far the strongest and most accomplished of the Drunage players. He didn’t fall, at least not until Adam ran up and blindsided him from the right. The hapless creature spun around three times, literally corkscrewing into the grass of the playing field. Now he collapsed, and for a moment crawled around on his hands and knees like an infant, before toppling over on his side.
Adam stopped next to him, before looking down the field to see Sherri cross the goal line. Score: All tied up. Then he turned his attention back to the moaning alien. Should he, or shouldn’t he? Adam was conflicted. Finally, he reached out a hand.
Dravis saw him do so, and a frown crossed his dazed face. “It is within your right,” he said to Adam.
“I know, but that’s not how we do things. Respecting your enemy will help you to truly understand him. Acting superior all the time can lead to some very nasty surprises.”
Dravis took Adam’s hand and stood up. ‘I believe I know what you mean.”
“The game’s all tied,” Adam said. “What say we call it a draw so no one can be called a loser?”
“That is unusual,” Dravis said. But with both his teammates still struggling to climb off the turf, he didn’t have much of a choice. “I agree, Adam Cain.” He grasped Adam’s hand and then lifted both their arms into the air. “We have both yielded. The contest is concluded!” he cried out, his voice easily picked up by the multitude of microphones surrounding the field.
There was a moment of stunned silence from the crowd as Dravis slowly lowered their arms and surveyed the stands. He had no idea what would happen next.
And then a slow crescendo of cheering took over, not a lot, but enough to make protesters take pause. The players on the field took this opportunity to make a hasty exit.
“Let’s get cleaned up,” Adam said to Dravis. “I assume you’re invited to the banquet we’re having? If not, then come as my guest. I insist.”
Dravis blinked his beady eyes several times. “You Humans are a strange species. Yet I can see the advantage of keeping your enemies near.”
“That’s true, Dravis, yet I prefer the company of my friends over my enemies. The Que’l do have friends, don’t they?”
Again the blinking eyes. “I am beginning to see how it was that Humans were able to lead a galaxy. I regret to say that we Que’l may have much to learn from your kind.”
Adam smiled. “Come, my friend, all this exercise has really built up my appetite.”
It was an odd sight as the diminutive six-footer led the hulking eight-foot tall giant off the field. The crowd was still in a mild state of shock as the pair exited under the huge stage.
It was after an exquisite banquet when a crowd of aliens and Humans were gathered in a large reception hall, each with glasses of appropriate intoxicants to cap off the excellent meal. Dravis was engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with Sherri and the first mate, Ricoen, while Riyad was speaking with one of the Human diplomats, a very young, dark-skinned woman who appeared to come from the same part of the world as he.
Adam was speaking with Ambassador Reynolds and the head of the Que’l military, an alien named Fracus Sim.
“And they only took the bodies, nothing more?” the Ambassador was saying.
“That’s right,” Adam said. “Sir, I’m surprised you haven’t been informed of this.”
“It may be in my queue, but I’ve been so busy with the preparations for the Joining Ceremony that I’m behind with my correspondence.”
Adam looked at Fracus Sim. The alien was quiet and with three deep furrows in his hard forehead. “Bul-Mot Sim, are you feeling ill?” Adam asked, calling the officer by his rank.
“Forgive me, Captain Cain,” Sim said coming out of his trance. “It is just that I have some information that may add to your concerns. Recently, there have been five reports of abandoned ships discovered with missing crews, yet also with signs of savage action aboard. We attributed such attacks to pirate activity, which honestly had been nonexistent until this time. Since these ships were not operated by Que’l, but other races within our sector, we took no further action. In light of your revelations, it seems your mysterious invaders are active in Que’l space as well.”
“Can you send us the locations where these ships were found?” Adam asked. “We might be able to isolate their movements that way.”
“Yes, without delay. If what you say is true about this suppressor beam, then all ships are vulnerable that travel without escort. And even then, there is no proof that the beam can’t be focused on several ships at a time. You said it yourself; the Humans survived because these savages were not aware others of your kind were aboard the Juirean ship.”
“That’s true, and until we have another attack, we can’t even be sure there’s more than one mothership.”
“Let us give hope that your Humans did destroy the only ship employing such a beam. Do you truly believe that to be a possibility?”
Adam shook his head. “Not at all, just wishful thinking. With so many crewless ships to commandeer, the fact that they abandoned them tells me our technology means nothing to them, or our mode of star travel.”
Fracus smiled—a full tooth grin unlike so many other alien races who were offended by such displays of ferocity—and lifted his glass of intoxicant. “As the newest member of the Orion Union, we will now ally ourselves with all our fellow members to face this threat united.”
Reynolds and Adam each raised their own glasses. “Here’s to strength in numbers!” Reynolds said.
“I just hope it will be enough,” Adam said half under his breath. The other two heard him, and almost immediately their smiles ratcheted down fifty percent.
“Have faith, Captain Cain,” Fracus said. “The Que’l are now on your side.”
183
The planet had no name and no designation. It was unknown to all but a few and harbored no native life, even though it had the proper temperature and an atmosphere that could support most Primes in the galaxy. A billion years ago life was just beginning to take hold on the surface, as was the rule for most worlds with the resources of this one. Unfortunately, the large ball of rock ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, which was only a hundred light years from a gamma ray burst aimed in its direction. The deadly dose of scorching radiation fried the planet, putting an abrupt end to the evolutionary process. Now only basic microbes called this world home, themselves aliens having arrived on asteroids and comets from more hospitable environments.
A survey of the world would show one small ocean, a scattering of huge lakes, very little cloud cover and a vast expanse of arid brown desert. Gigantic swirling dust storms were omnipresent, giving the planet a ruddy look from space, and as the probe continued to scan the surface, no signs of occupation would be found, nothing to indicate that the planet had ever been visited by outsiders. Nothing…except for a strange array of three massive antennae and accompanying power generators set atop a low-lying hill in the middle of a flat, dry desert.
This incredible feat o
f engineering and construction sent the three masts soaring a mile above the desert floor, with cooper-colored coils climbing up three-quarters of their length. These structures were themselves separated by a mile of surface area, and each was angled in ever so slightly. If one could draw a line extending from each mast into space, there would be a point where the lines intersected. This was the apex point, where the incredible power of the array was focused.
Focused, however, was not the proper word in this case. That would imply that a beam of some sort was being sent to this point by the array. In fact, it was just the opposite. The array served to draw in the distant dot in space rather than send anything to it. The incredible energies the generators produced literally pulled the very fabric of space and time toward the desolate planet, creating what was commonly—yet mistakenly—termed a wormhole. To clarify, the rip in the fabric of space/time created by the array was more like a doorway rather than a hole. A hole had length, width and depth, yet if viewed from the side, this portal could not be seen, as it was only fractions of a micron in depth.
Yet this incredibly small gap was enough to link one dimension with another. As would be learned, time and space consisted of not just one dimension, and not even eleven, thirteen or the number currently in vogue in the scientific journals. In fact, it consisted of an infinite number of dimensions, and all separated by the universal distance marker—the width of a single hydrogen atom, the basic building block of all things in all dimensions.
The array was fully automated, so no living creature was present when the generators suddenly flared up and the fabric of space and time was once again ripped open. The portal wasn’t huge, just big enough for a single disk-shaped ship of a dull black color to appear. And then the door closed again.
The small black ship headed for the planet, only four hundred miles below; it landed without a sound or disturbance on the desert floor at the base of the small hill. Within minutes, a small side hatch spun away on the hull and a figure appeared, hesitating only momentarily before descending on a short ramp to the dusty red surface. A pair of huge, black armored figures also appeared at the hatchway, and they followed the much smaller and unshielded being up the hill and to the base of the nearest mile-high tower.