“The rain?” she asked, confused. “What do you mean?”
As a cloned soldier only a few months old, Marcus had experienced zero gravity, deadly atmospheric conditions on the moon of Triton and assault by alien creatures, but although he had seen rain through the windows of Takahashi’s penthouse suite in Sol, this was the first time in his life that he’d been able to experience it firsthand, to feel it on his skin.
“Never mind,” he sighed.
Across the central clearing, Jakunu and Jago, one of Marcus’ squadmates, appeared from an opening on one of the larger huts, a hexagonal structure whose walls had been painted with symbols of crimson and green, many of which depicted Golan figures dancing around a fire or praying to the sky. Jago was a virtual giant of a man, whose muscular frame was almost too large for his body. He had a broad angular jaw and a monstrous hooked nose, his prominent brow ridge protruding below the dark stubble of close-cropped hair, which was broken by a set of scars.
Despite the clone’s towering form, however, he was dwarfed by the enormous chieftain. Jakunu was nothing like what Marcus had expected from a leader. From his experience in the Terran military, Marcus had thought that all leaders were as stern and stubborn as his officers had been. The Golan chieftain was the opposite, a bubbly, cheerful sort who, once Serena had explained to him and his people that the Terrans were not gods but merely travelers from another world, had reveled in the marvels these new friends had to offer. His inquisitive nature was more akin to that of a child. The huge pair circumvented the fire pit, approaching the wood store.
“Marcus, the shuttle is going soon,” Jago rumbled. “The boss says we can go back to the ship now.”
Jakunu, meanwhile, held one of Jago’s cigars in his stubby fingers, rolling it back and forth, trying to devise the nature of the peculiar object.
“I’m staying,” Marcus answered. “What’s with the cigar?”
“Oh, gift. I think he will like it,” Jago explained, obviously enjoying the chieftain’s company.
“Hoji hili sahako?” muttered the Chieftain, sticking out his slimy, flesh-colored tongue to lick the base of the cigar.
“No, no,” Jago stopped him. “You smoke it. Smoke… it.”
Serena shook her head in quiet disbelief.
“He doesn’t understand you, Jago. And you shouldn’t be giving him that! You have no idea what that thing will do to him. It’s not exactly healthy for you either,” she scolded.
“Heh, no, no, the Doc gave him one of his cigarettes yesterday. He was fine,” Jago retorted, grabbing the chieftain by his massive arm and guiding him back to the tent, leaving Serena standing there with a perplexed look on her face.
“The Doc gave him…?” She exclaimed, outraged.
Finally she just shook her head and stormed off towards the shuttle, no doubt to give ‘Doc’ Taylor – the squad’s medic, and the closest thing the Tengri had to a medical officer – a stern talking to. Marcus chuckled. If this was to be the extent of their troubles on this new world, then he was all too happy to stay.
A few minutes later, Jago emerged from the now smoke filled tent, stomping off towards the shuttle while the chieftain stood in the doorway waving him off. The bizarre image of the alien chieftain puffing on the cigar, which seemed quite miniscule between his thick lips, brought yet another smile to Marcus’ face, a smile that only widened when the smoke wafted from the series of holes on the back of the alien’s neck.
Marcus crawled further back underneath the awning sheltering the woodpile. He let his eyelids close softly while breathing in the fresh air. The aroma of wet grass filled his nostrils. The laughter of children in the distance and the soft humming of the tribesfolk preparing the afternoon meal was gentle enough to lull him gradually into a doze. Before drifting off and allowing his drowsiness to get the better of him, Marcus sighed and whispered faintly to himself. “I’m home.”
Chapter 3
Taz sat perched on the small metal crate he’d obtained from the ship’s stores, hiding behind an open locker door in the far corner of the changing room. He was a shabby dark-skinned man, whose long, narrow face was covered in dark stubble from ear to ear. His close-set brown eyes never strayed far from anyone of the female persuasion, and his plump nose seemed to be permanently stuck in someone else’s business. He rubbed his knees with his stubby fingers. His joints ached from having sat there too long. Still, he hadn’t chosen the location for its comfort, but rather for the view it would soon offer.
He could hear the water from the shower pouring, splashing against the hard surface of the tiled floor. She must be almost done, he thought as he began unbuttoning his pants, slowly, carefully, without making a sound. Not that she could have heard him anyway, what with the shower running. Still, he’d been bred to be a scout, and was burdened with a high level of innate paranoia. He imagined her standing there, her wet skin glistening as the water streamed down her naked body, washing away the milky white froth that still lingered from the soap.
He froze abruptly, one hand wedged down his trousers, the other firmly holding the locker door in place for cover. Is there someone else here? he thought. He could have sworn he’d heard the hatch to the compartment open. Leaning forward, he tilted his head so he could take in all the sounds with his oversized ears.
Don’t even breathe, he reminded himself. If the captain found out what he was up to, he’d be on latrine duty for a month… if he was lucky.
He could hear breathing on the other side of the locker door, rapid and shallow. Was it her? Had she seen him?
Carefully he poked his head around the corner to steal a glance, but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. His lids clamped firmly down, he waited for the cry of alarm and outrage, but heard only silence… until he felt the warm wet tongue licking his nose.
“Spot!” he gasped, his eyes flying open, seeing the captain’s pet, nearly tipping off of his perch on the crate from shock. “Will you get out of here! You’re going to get me spaced!”
The little beast looked as if it had just run headfirst into a wall, its comically large eyes set above its squashed snout. The canine tilted its head from side to side, staring vacantly at Taz in bewilderment.
“Shoo!” Taz hissed, letting go of the locker door to wave the little animal away. He knew she was almost done. Any moment now she’d come out of the stalls and into the changing room.
“Get out!” he whispered as loudly as he dared, clambering to his feet with one hand clutching his half-open pants to stop them slipping down, shuffling after the animal which backed away, panting heavily.
At that moment he heard the water being turned off, and immediately sprang forward, rushing for the hatch to the gangway as fast as he could with his pants falling around his ankles, Spot playfully running out ahead of him, tail wagging.
The hatch slammed shut behind him just in time, and Taz found himself leaning with his back against it out in the corridor, staring into the big, blank eyes of the squad’s sniper, Reid Albano.
He was a tall man, his muscular frame nearly a foot taller than Taz, his skin an even darker shade than the panicked scout’s. Reid stood there, eyebrows raised, arms folded over his chest, a questioning look in his eyes. “Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time,” he eventually deadpanned, jerking a thumb to indicated Spot, who was now sniffing at Taz’s boots. “You do know it’s male, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t…” Taz began to explain, pulling his pants up.
“I don’t know which the captain would find more disturbing, that you were… pleasuring yourself in the women’s showers, or that you were doing it while watching his dog.”
“Oh fuck off, will you. Kaiden’s in there!” Taz hissed, trying to keep his voice down so she wouldn’t hear him through the closed door.
“Well, that’s a bit less disturbing, but I don’t think the captain will like that either. He’s got an eye for her himself,” Reid chuckled.
“He’ll probably space me out of je
alousy alone,” sighed Taz as he finished buckling his belt. “Not that I’d blame him much! I’ve never seen anyone like her.”
There was truth to his words. Taz had never seen skin so smooth, not that he’d seen that much skin at all, despite his incessant boasting. Aboard the Tengri, Kaiden Karell was every man’s fantasy. She had lightly tanned skin, long flowing brown locks and an ample bosom. It didn’t hurt that her position put her in close physical proximity with the men of the crew on frequent occasion: she filled a variety of roles including the duties of ship’s nurse, physical therapist and psychiatrist, her training complimented by her strong and determined character. She was also quite adept at using her good looks to coax those under her care to push themselves to the limit.
“You won’t say anything, will you?” Taz begged, grabbing Reid by the shoulder and peering down the gangway to make sure their conversation wasn’t being overheard.
Reid stared at him, as if he were measuring him up, tormenting him with silence. Finally he spoke.
“Well… it’s not like this is something I really want to remember,” he said. “So I guess your secret’s safe… at least for now.”
* * * * *
“Any more data from the probe?” prompted Captain Mitchell, who’d barely left the bridge in days.
He knew they’d been lucky to have reached upon a world with breathable air, but he’d been expecting more. The lush green world below might offer shelter and sustenance, but with its high gravity it would cause all manner of skeletal deterioration, circulatory problems and other health issues for his crew were they to settle there. It was a shame. Ga’ouna was a tranquil world, with vast clear oceans, teaming with life, though its numerous moons made for some unpredictable weather patterns.
“Nothing new Captain,” replied Navigator Wei.
“Hmpfh,” Captain Mitchell grunted. His thoughts weighed heavily on his mind. He had hoped that the massive gas giant in the system’s farthest orbit might harbor moons more suitable for habitation. He leaned against the railing by the forward viewport, staring at the glimmering ocean on the planet below.
“Serena seems to be enjoying herself,” Navigator Wei said, in a vain attempt to appease him. “Her latest reports show that the-”
“I read the reports,” the captain retorted, cutting him short. “If it weren’t for the gravity, it would be ideal.”
“I overheard Dr. Gehringer in the mess this morning. He was mumbling about the possibility of constructing a device that would reduce the-”
“I know. He mentioned it to me,” Captain Mitchell snapped, turning his back on the enormous viewport. “It would take years to build, what with our limited resources, and its effectiveness would only be viable over a short distance, assuming he could get it to work in the first place.”
Though he appreciated the navigator’s attempts to lift his spirits, his own morale wasn’t the one that concerned him. Though he had heard no protests or complaints from his crew, it was the silence that disturbed him. Apathy abounded, people’s expressions were vacant as they went about their daily routines, routines which held little meaning if this was to be their end. He’d have been happier with another hostile encounter, like the Nyari. At least then they would have gone out fighting, rather than living out the rest of their days in some squalid hut, their bodies slowly crumbling under too-high gravity, of all things. It was not a notion that particularly appealed to him.
When it had been offered, he’d seen the mission as a great honor. Takahashi had made C-CORE hold off on selecting a captain for the ship to make room for his appointment. This could have been his greatest achievement, the farthest that any Terran had ventured since the Lazarus. Now it was to be his greatest failure, a footnote in history: Robert Mitchell, Captain of the TES-Tengri, embarked on an exploratory mission to Sector 09-09. Status: unknown.
“Unknown,” he mumbled. Is there anything more terrifying?
* * * * *
“Is that from a battle?” asked Serena, gesturing to the faded T-shaped scar on Marcus’ chest. He had removed his shirt to bask in the afternoon sun on a small hill overlooking the Golan village.
“What?” said Marcus, startled.
“Sorry. People say I can be overly curious,” she apologized, standing over him. “I haven’t met many soldiers. C-CORE doesn’t usually get involved with clones. Not that I have anything against clones. It’s just, I…”
“It’s ok,” Marcus smiled, cutting her short. “Actually this one is from when I was… born.”
She looked away, down to the village below, followed by an uncomfortably long silence. Whether it was because of her interest in the Golan tribe, or perhaps because she wasn’t a clone, Marcus couldn’t tell, but there was something very unique about her, an aura that seemed to follow her wherever she went. She was gentle, but unflinching, like a sapling in a forest glade, fragile yet determined to grow strong and proud.
“This one…” he mumbled awkwardly, feeling compelled to break the silence. “I got this one in battle,” he said, pointing to the scar on his cheek, just below his left eye. He regretted it immediately. She would want to hear the details of how he received it. She herself had admitted that she was overly curious.
“It’s ok Marcus… It’s none of my business,” she sighed, a hint of sadness in her voice.
How did she know? Marcus thought. Can she read my mind? The thought had never occurred to him that any of the crew, apart from the captain, might be a telepath. They were supposed to be incredibly rare, but if Division 6 relied heavily on such talents, it wasn’t entirely unthinkable that C-CORE might do so as well.
“I can see it upsets you to think about it,” she added after a brief pause.
“Oh, I thought…” Marcus began, before stopping himself. “Never mind.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve bothered you. I just thought you might want some company. You’re always by yourself,” she explained as she turned to leave.
“No, wait!” he called. “You can sit… if you like.”
The corners of her mouth curled up into a warm smile.
“Alright then,” she replied, taking in a deep breath of the fresh forest air before plopping down beside him.
They gazed over the surrounding landscape. The top of the forest canopy rolled out before them, a blanket of greenish hues which seemed entirely unbroken. Marcus could see mountaintops shrouded by clouds so far away that he imagined it would take weeks to reach them on foot. The laughter of Golan children playing somewhere on the outskirts of the village drew him back from his daydreams.
“He was my friend,” he finally sighed.
“Who was?” Serena asked, perplexed.
“The one who gave me this scar,” Marcus explained, awkwardly rubbing his left cheek. “He tried to run a knife through my eye… but I… I stopped him.” The memories brought with them a rush of emotion. Regret, sadness, anger.
Serena put her delicate hand on his shoulder for comfort.
“It’s a strange world we live in, Marcus,” she exclaimed, “People will do terrible things, often for the most foolish of reasons.”
What could she possibly know of such things? he thought. She wasn’t a clone. She knew nothing of war and battle.
“You can’t let the mistakes of others dictate how you live your life,” she told him. “And you shouldn’t blame yourself.”
She was right. He knew she was right.
“Is it weird, being a clone?” she asked, unexpectedly.
“I… I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” Marcus answered, taken aback by her change of subject.
“I suppose it must be nice having so many brothers and sisters, and all of you being born on the same day makes it easy to remember everyone’s birthday,” she chuckled.
Marcus couldn’t help but smile. Her positive attitude was infectious. He’d noticed that Serena smiled a lot. It was as if none of the world’s problems affected her in the least.
“Aren’t you disappo
inted at all?” he ventured.
“Disappointed?”
“Well, this, all of this,” he explained.
“Marcus, we flew thousands of light years, spent nearly ten years in stasis, all on the remote chance that maybe, just maybe, we might find… something, anything. I don’t think the others realize just how lucky we are. We could have wound up on a lifeless ball of dust, or even worse, a system with no planets at all. Even finding microbial life forms would have been a thrill. The Golan are amazing. Did you know the evolution of their society is not unlike our own? Thousands of years ago we weren’t that much different from them.”
He had to admit, the thought wasn’t entirely unappealing to him.
“Although I suppose our history hasn’t been quite as peaceful as theirs seems to be,” she added. “Even in our infancy, we humans were quite adept at killing each other. The Golan seem to know nothing of war, or hatred, or greed. They live a life of perfect harmony, with nature and each other.”
Marcus leaned back on the grass, gazing skyward. Perhaps in time, the others would come to see Ga’ouna as they did, for the paradise it truly was.
Chapter 4
By noon the clouds had cleared up, and for the first time in two weeks Marcus could see the bright orange sun lazily soaring across the pristine sky.
Jakunu stood by the fire pit, barking orders at his eldest son, Hanasi, who stood scratching his head as he attempted to get a fire started.
“Huno, huno. Holi livo puto muvuni,” shouted Jakunu, kicking a wet piece of wood from the fire pit. Hanasi shook his head in silent protest before scampering off to search for some dry wood.
The shuttle had arrived moments earlier and Marcus was waiting to greet its passengers. Emerging from the bushes, Captain Mitchell and Doc Taylor cleared a path for Dr. Max Gehringer, the lead scientist assigned to their expedition. He was the strangest man Marcus had ever met. Though he looked middle aged, his paper-white skin was delicate and smooth, seeming to almost sizzle in the direct sunlight that washed over him as he stumbled clumsily into the clearing, dropping his datapad. The man had no hair at all, not even eyebrows, and the sheen on his bald head sparkled like moonlight on a still lake. He struggled to extricate his limp little frame from the last of the tangled undergrowth, peering warily in every direction, clearly expecting some savage alien beast to jump him. He cut a ridiculous figure, and Marcus was barely able to contain his laughter when he saw that the scientist was still wearing a stark white lab coat over a plain white shirt and grey dress pants, hardly appropriate gear for the jungle. Even worse, his pale coloring and white clothing made him look ghostlike and utterly out of place.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 2