Alien Worlds

by Roxanne Smolen

  She would miss this place. Pass or fail, she would never see it again. Would she remember the academy as being the beginning or the end of her adventure?

  With a stifled squeal, Natica caught her arm. She swung her around and pulled her to the side. “There he is.”

  Impani blinked out of her reverie. She looked where Natica pointed.

  Then she saw him. Trace Hanson.

  He walked along the far side of the corridor, his gait slow, eyes downcast. He was tall. His shoulders were so wide they strained his tunic. Impani wondered suddenly what it would be like to be held close by those muscular arms.

  “You should say hello,” Natica said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, more alarmed at the turn her thoughts had taken than at her friend’s suggestion.

  Her friend grinned and nudged her. “Go on. This is your last chance. In two days you may never see him again.”

  Impani squirmed from her prodding fingers. “You’re the one who was intrigued.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  “No!” Impani giggled and pulled her back.

  Just then, her gaze met his.

  Trace Hanson’s eyes were black and deep-set like a hawk. They made her feel he could see right through her, that he already knew her secrets, her faults.

  Impani’s face grew hot. She turned her back. “Stop it.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “He knows we’re talking about him.”

  “So what? Like I said, this is probably the last time we’ll ever see him.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. He turned down a hallway and was soon out of sight.

  With a laugh, Natica linked arms with her and set them moving down the massive corridor. Their footsteps echoed. At last, they reached a huge oblong touch plate in the center of the hall. A holographic roster listed the members of the Colonial Expansion Board.

  Natica pressed her palm against the plate’s dark surface. Letters appeared over her fingers.

  REGISTER GALOS, NATICA H. REPORT TO MEDITATION ROOM 3B.

  She smiled and moved aside. Impani took her place. The touch plate acknowledged her.

  REGISTER IMPANI. REPORT TO MEDITATION ROOM 8A.

  Impani stepped back. “It looks like we won’t be partners this time either. I really hoped we’d be together at least once.”

  “It’s a conspiracy. Listen, I have to get going. I’m all the way on the other side.” Natica headed for an arched hallway. She called over her shoulder, “Be spectacular!”

  “Good luck.”

  As Impani watched her go, she felt suddenly alone. With a sigh, she entered the hallway leading to the even-numbered rooms. This hall differed from the main corridor. The ceiling was close. Stark lights crisscrossed the pale walls. Instead of polished black tile, the floor was gray and resilient. It muffled the sound of her step.

  “Four A, Four B, Six A.” At last, she reached room 8A. A green light shone over the door. Impani glanced at meditation room 8B. The light blinked red. Access locked. Her partner was already inside.

  She held her palm against the reader. The door slid open to reveal a small room. A couch sat along one wall and a table along another. A non-denominational altar stood in the corner. Light flickered from a panel in the ceiling.

  Impani sat on the edge of the couch. She folded her arms, then crossed and uncrossed her legs. The silent altar admonished her. She had no prayers to give.

  Be spectacular, Natica told her. She’d have to be spectacular if she were to make the program.

  Who would her partner be? Hopefully someone who wasn’t afraid to take a chance. Vinod Mouallem would be good. Or Anselmi, the humanoid from the planet Veyt. Anyone but Davrileo. Or Robert Wilde.

  Repulsed by the thought, she approached a small mirror and slid the strand of pearls from her brow. She hated that she had no hair. Miserable skinsuits. The techs wanted nothing between her flesh and their instruments. With a derisive sniff, she tugged her tunic over her head.

  A line of equipment edged a shelf above the table. Carefully, she took down each piece. From a sealed pouch, she shook out her skinsuit. It was lightweight, finely ribbed with minute sensors and equalizers. She slid her fingers beneath a triple seam and laid it open. The texture was the same on either side. Gathering the suit in her hands, she pushed her foot inside. It molded immediately to the contours of her toes, the curve of her ankle. Slowly, she pulled it up her thigh, keeping the ribbing straight and the fabric even. The tightness eased as the suit adjusted.

  She gathered the other leg. Leaning against the wall, she drew the fabric taut along her skin and smoothed it upward to her waist. Environmental gadgets weighted the sleeves, and she worked her hands into them carefully to position the readers over her forearms.

  In front of the mirror, Impani rolled the hood over her naked scalp. She adjusted the insulator band at her forehead, tightened it beneath her chin, then ran her fingers down her body, making sure the triple closure was properly sealed. In her reflection, the seam appeared invisible.

  “Done in record time.”

  Hands on her hips, she turned from side to side. The silver skinsuit picked up the colors of the room as if she were camouflaged. It conformed to her so neatly she could count every rib. So flexible, she felt naked.

  She uncoiled her utility belt.

  “Hooks and clamps, metallic twine,” she whispered as she ran through her supplies. “The refit date on the stat-gun is current. Med-pac is full.”

  Her gaze fell upon the sonic resonator. She would be in charge of taking scans this trip. Maybe that would give her control over whether she and her partner explored their alien surroundings or just sat looking at pretty rocks.

  With a satisfied nod, Impani wrapped the belt about her waist. The latch wouldn’t close. Drel! She slammed the pin into the buckle and wiggled the clasp. After a few moments, the ready light gave a reassuring blink.

  She tossed her clothes into the recycling chute. Fresh clothing would be waiting for her when she returned from the session. As someone who never owned a second set of clothes, that always amazed her. She coiled the strand of pearls and left it on the table where it wouldn’t get lost. Then she put on her gloves.

  As she turned toward a blank wall, she took a deep breath. “This session will be my most spectacular.”

  She wiped her hand against her hip then pressed her palm against the wall. A panel slid to expose the Impellic Chamber.

  Impani’s stomach swooped. Tossing back a mane of phantom hair, she stepped inside.

  Mirrors encased the room. They caused the light to bounce at odd angles. A silver cylinder upon a raised dais met its image in the ceiling. There were no computer monitors, no panels of flashing lights—all tech was in the control room. Technicians watched from behind the mirrors.

  She crossed the room, sat on the platform, and dangled her legs over the edge. Her partner hadn’t left meditation. Leave it to her to show up too early. She swung her legs, feeling the weight of her boots, and saw a hundred images of herself move in sync.

  The techs were watching. Would Mr. Ambri-Cutt be among them?

  Suddenly self-conscious, she jumped down from the stage and circled the room. The reflective floor hindered her step as if she walked upon the surface of water. Probably the only place in the galaxy where a person didn’t have a shadow.

  Behind her, the panel from meditation room 8B slid open. Finally. With a smile, Impani turned. The smile froze upon her face.

  Her partner was Trace Hanson.

  Chapter 3

  Impani gaped at her partner then struggled to gather her wits. “Hi. I’m Impani.”

  “Trace.” He held out his hand.

  He seemed almost shy. Not the brash criminal she expected. She grasped his fingers and offered a tentative smile, but he only stared. Hawk eyes appraised her.

  She backed away. All thought scattered beneath the force of his gaze. At the chromed platform, she pretended t
o adjust her belt while watching his reflection in the mirror.

  Trace moved toward the silver cylinder. His skinsuit glowed, outlining his body. Muscles rippled along his arms. He frowned as if deep in thought. Was he thinking of her?

  Focus. Be spectacular.

  She flexed the hinges on her mask and connected them to the insulator band at her temples. The bulk made her head heavy. She sealed the faceplate and climbed onto the stage.

  The room brightened, and her heartbeat rose in response. Soon she would be standing on an alien world. She pressed into the niche along the side of the cylinder. In the mirror, Trace’s many reflections did the same.

  The light grew to searing intensity. A low-pitched hum rattled her chest. From behind closed eyes, she saw the Impellic ring. It spiraled upon itself, trailing black arms like the feeder bands of a hurricane, reaching for her, pulling her from the Chamber. She tensed with vertigo as the ring latched on and spun her into the void.

  Just as she thought she might retch, her progress stopped. There was a sensation of flattening against a barrier. The barrier parted.

  Impani blinked in the gloaming of early dawn. A breeze patted her back. Sand spread in an endless vista. Dunes scalloped the horizon and edged scattered patterns of tumbled rocks. Nearer, a group of stumpy trees reached like human hands from shadow.

  She pivoted on her heels. “It’s beautiful.”

  As if reprimanding a child, her partner said, “We’re not here to sightsee. Please run your scans.”

  “I know the routine.” Impani opened her resonator with a flick of her hand. A color-enhanced projection filled the tiny screen. “I’m picking up air pockets in those rocks.”

  He held a pair of tri-view field glasses to his mask. “They’re called caves.”

  She felt her face redden. “I suppose you’re an expert.”

  “I spent time in a mine.”

  Of course, she sneered. In the penal colony.

  “Your caves are the only point of interest.” He folded the glasses and hooked them to his belt. “It will be a bit of a hike to get there.”

  She stretched out her arms and danced. “We’re in the middle of a desert. It’s going to be a hike to get anywhere.”

  With a curt nod, he headed toward the rocks.

  Killjoy. He has no sense of wonder.

  She checked the environmental sensors upon her sleeve. The readings shone green—oxygen normal. Raising her mask upon its hinges, she breathed deeply of the alien air. The breeze was hot and dry, rich with spicy overtones.

  She slid the mask until it rested upon her head then hurried to catch her partner. “I smell sage.”

  He glanced at her and increased his pace. “We haven’t tested the atmosphere, Impani.”

  “We’re students. They wouldn’t send us to a toxic world.”

  “Mistakes happen.”

  With a shrug, she fell silent—then smiled when, after a moment, he lifted his own mask.

  They trudged through the sand to the trees. Up close, they looked even more like wretched hands—the bark smooth and pale, limbs thick and bent. In the palm of one, she found the stringy remains of a bird’s nest and two broken eggshells, each the size of her thumbnail. She sealed a sample of the shell in a specimen container.

  A gust of wind peppered them with grit. Bands of light brought muted color to the sky.

  “Do you suppose this entire planet is a desert?” she asked.

  “It would make sense. That way each team would be up against the same conditions.”

  Impani thought of the other students scattered in pairs across the planet’s surface, each trying to out-do the next. She skipped ahead to face her partner, walking backward. “I have an idea. Let’s not search the caves.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s expected. Because every recruit of every session before us must have searched those caves. I want to do something spectacular. I want to see what’s over that rise.”

  “Absolutely not. We’re Scouts, not tourists. If we’re expected to search the caves, then that’s what we should do.”

  “We’re not Scouts yet, and we never will be if we don’t show them we can take a chance.”

  Trace walked on.

  She trotted after him. “Look, what’s the point of these testing sessions? To scout out as much of the planet as possible and to report something that has never been seen before, right? Well, we aren’t going to do that from inside a cave that’s obviously been set up as a first stop.”

  “This is a desert. We could walk for hours and not see anything.”

  “That’s where the part about taking a chance comes in, but Trace… Trace!”

  With a growl, he threw his hands into the air. He walked away with exaggerated gestures.

  Impani kicked the sand and glared at his back. He was impossible. He had no daring, no love of adventure. How could he have been promoted to her class in just three months?

  Turning toward the sunrise, she squinted into the light. What was beyond the stretch of open land?

  <<>>

  Trace felt the thud of his boots as he stormed over the uneven sand. He should pace himself, but at that moment, all he wanted was to get away from his partner. She was reckless, heedless. An obvious troublemaker. Right when he needed to prove he could be a model Scout.

  The first time he saw Impani, he’d bumped into her in the doorway of the Astrophysics Lab. Her eyes were so bright a shade of green they’d startled him. She wore an expensive piece of jewelry across her forehead.

  Obviously, she was rich. He’d known many rich girls—empty headed and trite. They treated him as if he were a prize, or worse, as if he was incidental.

  All they wanted was his family’s land. His father couldn’t see it, hosting affair after gala affair, trying to trap him with matrimony. He wanted his only son to remain at the plantation and manage the family holdings.

  But Trace was barely seventeen years old. He wanted to see the galaxy, not settle down into a loveless marriage. That as much as anything had led him to run away from home and take a job as an off-loader on the Umiak.

  A rash decision. Look what became of it.

  He scowled at the memory and lengthened his stride. Shadows grew before him. They accented the dips and swirls of sand as the scorching sunlight strengthened at his back.

  His father would adore Impani. Beautiful. Vain. Stubborn. The problem was she was right. All the previous scouting teams would have investigated the caves. He doubted they would find anything of interest there.

  He would improvise. He’d prove to the Board that he could succeed, that they were right to take a chance on him. His only alternative was prison.

  Trace leaned into a gust of wind and walked away from his partner.

  <<>>

  Impani faced the rising sun. She was wasting time. No one would blame her if she headed toward the rise alone.

  Or would they? In Ms. Kline’s debriefing yesterday, Davrileo Mas reported that she’d wandered away and had to be rescued. If she walked off again, would she be labeled a loner, someone who didn’t work well with others? Would she be dropped from the program?

  Her shoulders sank. She’d come too far to risk everything now. She would have to make amends, try to salvage the session. She turned and looked for her partner.

  Trace Hanson was a silhouette. Distant and dark. He had not slackened his pace waiting for her. Beyond him, naked boulders gleamed white against their shadow like the bones of the desert.

  Impani rushed to catch up. By the time she reached him, she was panting.

  “You were right about the hike. My legs are tired.” She paused for an answer then continued upon his silence. “Will you do one thing for me? Before we crawl into your caves, can we climb to the top of the rocks for a minute, just to look around?”

  Trace walked briskly. Impani listened to the quickness of his breath. All around, dunes rose and fell in silent monotony.

  She said, “How about if I do all th
e climbing?”

  Just then, an animal stepped from behind the rocks. It stood at least a meter and a half at the shoulder and had thick, shaggy fur.

  The two cadets froze.

  As if unimpressed by them, the creature turned its back. It walked along the line of rocks with its wide muzzle nuzzling each crevice. Its snorts stirred the loose sand.

  Trace whispered, “Take the safety off your stat-gun. In case it attacks.”

  “No. We’re not here to butcher the locals. Let’s approach slowly. Show it we can be friends.”

  Neither one moved.

  She nudged him. “Go on. It has hooves. It doesn’t eat meat.”

  “Perhaps it’s not aware of that rule.” He glanced behind them as if plotting a course back to the trees.

  Time to take a chance. She stepped forward.

  The bovine head lifted. Large eyes regarded her from beneath a heavy fringe of lashes. It exhaled loudly. She tensed, awaiting the animal’s charge; but it never came. They studied each other in silence. After a moment, the beast turned away and continued to root.

  What was it looking for? Impani craned her neck. A slender purple flower poked out of the sand. The animal snapped up the blossom. Great cloven feet moved the sand away to expose hidden tubers.

  “Plant life.” Trace appeared beside her. “Your friend may be vegetarian after all.”

  A rush of adrenaline coursed through her. “My friend is going to help us tour the desert.”

  “What? Impani, wait!”

  Impani crept nearer. The animal raised its head. She held out her hand and stood so close she could touch its nose. It snorted, shook its pungent, musky fur, and edged away.

  In a single, fluid movement, she grabbed the coarse ruff and leaped onto its back. The animal bucked and spun in circles. It brayed in a strange, bawling manner.

  “Come on,” she called. “Or stay behind.”

  Trace hesitated. His face flicked through conflicting emotions. Impani leaned low and reached for him. All at once, he jumped behind her. His hands went around her waist.

  The beast thrashed and kicked. Its heavy feet stirred a cloud of sand. Suddenly, it ran.