“This is yours,” Ordo’nak commented, his voice monotonal, handing the plastic sheet over to Marcus. “Is identification card. You must have with you all times.”
“Thank you. I will,” Marcus agreed, staring intently at the small piece of plastic which appeared to be entirely transparent, with no markings or imprint visible at all.
Ordo’nak reached over to the metal case on the table, opening its lid and withdrawing a small device, handing it to Marcus. At less than a centimeter in thickness, it was even smaller than one of Taylor’s cigarette packets, and light too, but as he grasped its cold metal frame in his palm, it gave off an impression of great durability.
“This is Pamco,” the alien said as he handed it over. “Also must keep with you all times.”
“Pamco?” Marcus repeated, staring at him inquisitively.
“Put identification card in Pamco at top, and press finger on screen,” Ordo’nak instructed him. “Pamco will make sample genetic code and then you access all information to your person: registration, permission, license. It also act as connect to credit accountings and allow pay for goods and service. It also short-range communicate.”
“And this is free?” Marcus asked incredulously.
“Yes, basic Pamco is provide free. Is require that all persons who traveling in Etherium space carry Pamco on all time,” Ordo’nak added. “You is finished. Please inform Captain that Gaian ambassador have refuse request for audience. You free to go.”
Marcus had expected the session to last much longer but was relieved to be let go. As he stood up to leave, Marcus realized just how uncomfortable the bright lights that had been shining directly into his eyes had been, and noticed that he was sweating profusely. The door slid open once more and allowed him passage to the docking bay. As cool as the still air back in the bay was, it made a welcome change to the steamy interrogation chamber.
* * * * *
One by one the crew had each gone through Ordo’nak’s questioning, and they’d then been instructed to wait in the docking bay while he reported to the authorities. As there was some confusion as to whether this was in fact a first contact situation or not, the protocols that needed following were apparently in dispute. They had waited for almost four hours, sitting on the deck against the cold steel walls of the docking bay while the Dalapian slugs scoured their ship for any signs of contraband or illegal weaponry. Finally the grim-faced customs official returned.
“I have news,” Ordo’nak stated. “Etheran Council will hear you and consider to grant you sanctuary on Semeh’yone. Hearing for you schedule after sixty four cycles.”
“Sixty four cycles?” Captain Mitchell asked.
“Sixty four turnings of planet we orbit,” Ordo’nak explained. “According to you way of time…” he tapped at his wristguard, “One cycle is twenty seven hour and twelve minute.”
“Ah,” Captain Mitchell sighed. “And in the meantime, what are we to do?”
“You be give access to New Arrival Zone,” Ordo’nak proclaimed. “Please be on best behave, as bad incidents may great affect you plea with Council.”
“And the Etheran Council is…?” Serena chimed in.
“Ruling government,” Ordo’nak grunted.
“…of your race?” Serena prompted when the Hrūll failed to elaborate.
“No,” Ordo’nak corrected. “Etheran Council is combination effort this part of galaxy.”
“Well, thank you for your help,” Serena smiled. She had been utterly intrigued by the entire encounter, and was bursting to know more, despite her disappointment at the aliens’ knowledge of the Terran language.
Ordo’nak simply nodded, his face still locked in a grimace, as if they had somehow wronged him without realizing it. Just then, the Dalapian slugs returned from the Tengri, apparently having reported that no contraband had been discovered during their search.
As the crew gathered around, Ordo’nak informed them that they’d now be allowed to leave the docking bay, but reiterated that they would only be allowed access to the New Arrivals’ Zone and insisted that they were to leave behind any weapons other than their sidearms, or risk setting off the numerous weapons scanners stationed throughout the spaceport. With a final admonition that they were to keep out of trouble until their hearing with the Etheran Council, the bulky alien strode from the bay, leaving the enormous hatch standing open behind him.
“Well, I guess we should go see what this place is all about,” the captain suggested, much to the excitement of his crew. “I’m sure you all want to get out and explore as soon as possible, but I’ll take the contact team and Dr. Gehringer out for a look around first. The rest of you are to wait on the Tengri. It can’t hurt to be too careful.”
Marcus had almost forgotten all about Ga’ouna and the life he’d imagined for himself on the warm jungle world. His mind was filled with the untold possibilities that Semeh’yone had to offer, and a burning curiosity as to why his visions had guided them here.
Chapter 14
Having been escorted through the maze of windowless back tunnels and passageways that made up the service section of Semeh’yone’s spaceport, the team emerged into the New Arrivals’ Zone. The sprawling city unfolded before them as they stood on a broad concourse, bustling with returning or would-be travelers. Networks of transparent tubes filled with misty vapors of various colors and opacities intersected one another at intervals, spread out throughout the district and allowing passage to species which didn’t share the most common types of atmosphere.
Across from them, a wide chasm was filled to capacity with over a dozen lanes of slow-moving hovercraft that drifted nearly a meter or so from the metallic surface of the road below, lined with rows of blinking lights. A pair of bridges teaming with life spanned the street. Thousands of creatures belonging to dozens of alien species lined the streets, coming and going, greeting expected visitors or peddling their exotic wares. Billowing steam, pouring down from an overhanging vent jutting out from the spaceport’s main structure, shrouded a group of peddlers and cutthroats from view. The bittersweet aroma that permeated the area reminded Marcus of a mixture of pungent fish and cinnamon.
Behind them, the facilities of the docking sector bulked large, its upper levels cresting into the city above like rocks poking up through the waves on the beach on Ga’ouna. Ahead, the towering white pillar of the central tower soared high above the rooftops, surrounded by a knot of skyscrapers in the far distance, an imposing monumental landmark that dominated the view. The inside of the domed force field overhead portrayed dark, somber clouds which seemed to shift ever so slightly, stirred by imaginary winds. Marcus couldn’t tell whether the light that fell from above was generated by the force field or was the light from the system’s star, but it lit the scene well enough for him to see clearly.
Breathing the open air was a tad more strainful than it had been in the docking bay, whose atmosphere Dr. Gehringer suspected had been blended especially for their physiology. This felt heavier, somehow. Still, the city air was apparently within the range of their tolerance.
“Stay close everyone,” Captain Mitchell ordered as he surveyed their surroundings.
Marcus was overwhelmed. He’d never felt so small in his life. He was reminded of the time that his old squad had been led on a tour of the promenade, back on Alamo station, when he was only a few weeks old. Fresh from the tanks they’d been grown in, the clones had been overwhelmed by the bright lights of the bars and shops of what was, he now knew, a fairly small centre to keep off-duty troops entertained before they were shipped off to war. How far he and his squadmates had come since then.
“Taz! Get away from there!” Mitchell yelled, noticing their scout had wandered a good twenty yards away and was being beckoned by a pair of… what looked like two human women with slender limbs and curvaceous bodies. Pulling his eyes up from their tight-fitting, low-cut bodysuits, however, he realized with a that their skin was a mottled lavender, and their long, thick hair a purplish colo
ur.
As Taz stood, torn between the captain’s orders to return and the voluptuous women who stood by the base of a thick pipe protruding from the platform’s floor, Marcus wondered if their skin had merely been painted or tattooed, and if these women weren’t the mysterious Gaians. Then the shorter of the two flicked her hair aside in an achingly human gesture, and he saw her face more clearly. Beautiful as she was, there was no way her large amber eyes and broad, nose-less face could be mistaken for a human’s, whatever the similarity of their bodies. As if to reinforce the point, her taller companion bent to whisper something to her, and as they turned Marcus saw they had long prehensile tails that writhed in the air behind them.
“What?” Taz shouted back, not noticing the trio of broad, hooded figures looming off to his side in the steam spilling down from overhead.
Mitchell spotted what looked like the glint of metal protruding from the sleeve of one of the looming figures, which was slowly circumventing the scout to come at Taz from behind.
“I said now!” Captain Mitchell roared, and Taz came jogging back with his tail between his legs.
“I could get used to this,” Taz proclaimed eagerly to Marcus, not hiding his shame. “At least the girls here seem friendly.”
“Yeah, right up until their friends slit your throat,” Captain Mitchell countered, pointing out the retreating figures. “We all need to be a lot more careful, especially you two,” said the captain, giving Taz and Jago a commanding look.
“Yes boss,” chimed the Ape.
The team started nervously across the concourse, Marcus noticing that, as on-edge as the new sights and sounds had made the clones, Dr. Gehringer seemed the most bewildered of them all. The scientist had turned an entirely new shade of pasty white as he peered frantically around him at everything that moved, panting anxiously in barely-suppressed fear.
As they left the concourse fronting the port and made their way across the bridge in front of them, their eyes were drawn to the narrow pedestrian streets that cut through the dense blocks of four- and five-storey structures in straight lines, each building designed to draw as much attention as possible from passers-by on the streets below. With their glowing neon lights, multi-colored streamers and brightly-lit signs written in what could only be a mixture of alien symbols, it was impossible not to feel a strong measure of excitement.
A row of scantily-clad, large-breasted females with purplish skin and devils’ tails stood on the nearest street corner, dancing seductively for a small crowd of spectators. Unlike the two Taz had spotted back at the port, some of this group were covered in a variety of body art, inked into their skin or sculpted from their very flesh. Marcus was amazed at just how human they appeared.
The whole team was suddenly startled by a thick, tentacle-like appendage that unfurled down from above them and landed square in the middle of their group. The clones’ inborn soldier’s reflexes sent them diving for cover, and even Serena and Dr. Gehringer leapt to the nearest wall for safety, unable to utter a single word in shock. Gaping upwards, Marcus saw that the tentacle belonged to a huge cephalopod, drifting a couple of meters overhead as it used its six agile appendages to navigate the busy streets. Its translucent skin revealed veins of greenish blood and purplish muscles, as well as an odd assortment of fluorescent internal organs. Its body was largely enclosed in an artificial transparent shell that contained a sloshing greenish yellow liquid, but its limbs seemed to be covered in a thin, flexible fabric of some sort. Despite the relatively slow movement of the creature’s tentacles, its sheer size allowed it to easily surpass the current of passersby, letting out a deep, muffled hum as it loped overhead. When the Terrans realized that none of the alien pedestrians had paid the creature any heed, they regrouped, laughing nervously, and continued to wander the streets, making sure to stick close together.
Wading through the crowded streets, they were completely unaware of the cloaked figure shadowing their every move.
Their path led eventually to a junction, where a street band comprised of all sorts of strange alien musicians were performing a weirdly atonal rhythmic tune, and they hesitated briefly while Mitchell peered down the various streets that spread out, mentally debating which route to take.
Watching the band, Marcus could make out a Hrūll playing some sort of percussion instrument that closely resembled a metal drum with a tuning knob on its side, allowing its user to change the pitch of each blow with one hand while he struck it with the other. A tall, lithe, grey-skinned humanoid with long slender limbs and fingers played a circular instrument lined with dozens of strings, its elongated head bobbing and swaying to the music.
Off to one side, Marcus caught a glimpse of a peculiar creature in a nearby alleyway. It was tall, well over two meters high. Its body was concealed beneath a long, rough brown shell, covered with bulbous protrusions, beneath which three pairs of thick, leathery-looking legs held it upright. A pair of spindly arms with claw-like fingers stuck out from the front of the shell, underneath a head which resembled a large beak with two tiny yellow eyes on each side.
It hunched over a pair of thuggish-looking humanoids with greenish skin and thick features, whose floppy ears listened intently as the six-legged being whispered its ill-gotten secrets for a price. One of the two humanoid thugs was as tall as the Terrans, and more of a mottled brownish green, covered in scars, most of which looked like they’d healed years past. The other was far shorter, and its skin was a more yellowy shade of green. The shorter one stood closer to the street, seemingly keeping watch, with one hand anxiously on the grip of the bulky cannon of a handgun strapped to one side of its belt.
As the team started off into the crowds again, their hooded stalker drew quietly closer, pushing through the throng, closing the distance between them.
They entered a small, round plaza covered in a thin layer of wispy vapors that appeared to be escaping from a monolithic three-storey structure to their left, the walls of which consisted of a combination of tarnished stone and rusted metal. A blubbery, stark-naked humanoid stood defiantly on its front steps, its greenish-brown skin glistening as if it had just emerged from soaking in water. It perked its long, pointy ears to listen to the rustle of foot-traffic. Its bulging stomach and chest were covered in tattooed symbols, and it sported an assortment of jewelry pierced through its pointy ears and nostrils. Its face was not at all unlike that of a human being, though its head was considerably larger, almost comically so. Reflective black eyes were set under a protruding brow ridge on either side of a compact nose, small but broad. Even its mouth looked human, but in lieu of hair, the top of its head was covered in bumps of bone or cartilage atop its skull, and its skin was far from smooth, but rather coarse as uncured leather. Marcus realized that despite the differences between them as individuals, this alien was of the same species as the thuggish two he’d seen in the alley by the band.
Most of the other buildings in the plaza looked shut-up, with closed doors and covered windows, but on the opposite end of the square patrons lined up in front of a building whose front was comprised entirely of dimly-lit, segmented windows, beyond which an assortment of creatures from all manner of species seemed to be offering sexual favors for sale.
Cutting through the dispersing crowd, the cloaked stalker continued its pursuit of the Terrans, inching ever closer to Marcus’ back as the traffic thinned out in the plaza, reaching out an arm as it did so.
Suddenly, Marcus felt a tapping on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.
“You would be wise not to dwell here,” the hooded figure addressed them in Terran. “This is not the safest place to be.”
The rest of the clones noticed almost immediately, and quickly took up position around Marcus, hands on their weapons as they tried to look as imposing as possible, like a pack of wolves protecting their cub. The spectacle drew the attention of the brutish figure outside the monolithic structure, who watched in seeming fascination.
“You are not safe here,” the f
igure repeated, this time loud enough so all of them could hear.
“Why is that?” Captain Mitchell asked suspiciously.
“That is the leader of one of the Banthalo gangs,” the cloaked figure replied, gesturing towards the naked brute on the bath house steps. “If you follow me, I shall take-”
“Who the hell are you?” Mitchell broke in.
“Who I am is not important,” the figure answered, drawing back his hood to reveal long flowing locks of blond hair and delicate human features. “What I can do for you, on the other hand, is very important.”
* * * * *
The cloaked man, who had introduced himself only as Rodan Kesh, had drawn them in off the streets with the promise of a hot meal and helpful advice. The establishment he’d led them to was a rundown formation of tables underneath a canvas awning which hung from crude support beams lashed between the protruding rafters of the building on the opposite side of the pedestrian street and the kitchen itself, which appeared to have been fashioned from an old shipping container. The speckled grey paint on its flat panels was peeling in numerous places, covered in dents and scratches, and the wide window of tinted glass wedged to the side of the main entry was fogged up from the heat.
The clatter of the wait staff scurrying between the tables of the eatery blended with the cacophony of alien voices, deep in conversation about things that Marcus couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Their lavender-skinned waiter stood poised at the end of their table, every so often brushing the locks of deep blue hair from his eyes in an unnervingly human manner. His tail held a glass canister containing a bubbly orange liquid which he was pouring into glasses at the table across the gangway, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to know when to stop.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 10