by Thomas Stone
The intercom buzzed. Harry leaned toward it. "Yeah?"
"Commander, this is Utme."
"Yes, Utme, what is it?"
"I'm in the corridor outside your quarters. I heard sounds coming out and knew you were on the bridge. The door is locked and..."
"Stay there. I'll be down in a minute." Harry frowned and climbed out of his seat.
"What's going on?" asked Serge.
"Beats me. I'll go take a look." Harry glanced at Burke. "Stick around and lend Serge a hand until I get back."
Burke nodded and Harry made his way off the bridge. Utme and Jareem were waiting outside his cabin. A loud thump came from within.
"What's that?" asked Harry.
"That's what I was talking about," answered Utme. "Something's not tied down and it's floating around, bumping into things."
Harry slid his access card through the lock and the hatch slid open. A pair of Harry's trousers floated past. Other articles floated about the cabin, including clothing, boots, a handheld computer, a translator, pages of paper, and hard copies of celestial maps. Gripping the edge of the bunk, Yoni kept himself from floating away. He chittered to Harry. Jareem and Utme exchanged a look.
"What's this?" said Harry, feigning surprise.
Yoni released his grip and spun playfully in mid-air.
"What's he doing here?" exclaimed Jareem.
"Must have stowed away," suggested Harry.
"But how?"
Harry shrugged and averted his eyes. "I guess we're taking him back home." He glanced at his two crewmembers. "This is under control. Thanks for your help."
"Let us know if you need us."
"Will do," said Harry as they walked away. Harry turned back to Yoni. "I told you to be quiet."
"Sorry. There was an accident." Yoni motioned at the things floating around the cabin.
Harry retrieved his pants, which had wandered down the corridor on their own, and closed the door to his cabin. He stuffed the other things into his open locker and latched it shut. A moment later, a knock came from the hatch.
"Now what?" Harry punched the access button and the door slid open.
Burke stood in the open doorway. "O'Neill told me we have a stowaway." He looked past Harry at Yoni. "How do you want to deal with this?"
"I'll take care of it, Jim."
"I thought the Corporation had declared that animal as survey property."
Harry smirked. "That's a little like slavery, isn't it?"
"Not at all. Corporation Salvage Code 917.17, subparagraph P, explicitly states any and all samples taken from..."
"I know what it says, Jim, but Yoni is a sentient creature. He has rights."
Yoni heard his old name in the mass of words the humans spoke and immediately said, in Bedoran, “My name is now Arai.” If anyone heard him, no one mentioned it.
"I don't mean to argue with you, sir, but that has yet to be determined."
"Well, he's here now and that makes it my decision."
"I don't know. There's not a precedent for this."
"I'm declaring a precedent."
Burke fell silent, then said, "As you wish. I'd better get back to the bridge." He turned to go, but Harry stopped him.
"Go ahead and take the first watch. I'll see about getting the boy settled."
Burke briskly nodded and floated away.
"I don't think he likes you very much," said Yoni.
"I know," said Harry, "I don't think he likes anyone very much. Well, I suppose there's no sense in trying to keep you a secret anymore."
"Are we home yet?"
"No, it's going to be awhile. Meanwhile, either you stay in here or you go where I go. I can't have you wandering around the ship by yourself."
"Are you hungry?"
"Starving."
Harry took Yoni to the crew's mess and heated up a soy packet. Before the microwave had finished its cycle, Roberta came in.
Eyeing Yoni, she spoke hesitantly. "Commander?"
Yoni stared at the young woman.
Harry glanced at her. "Hello, Bobbie. This is Yoni or Arai; he prefers Arai. Looks like we'll be taking him to Bedor with us."
"Does he bite?"
"No, no, of course not. Talk to him. He likes women. As long as you're not wearing a lab coat."
"Hello, Arai," she said. The boy ignored her. "I don't think he likes me."
"No, that's not it. Don't stare at him. Don't look him in the eyes. That's considered bad manners."
The microwave beeped and Harry took the soy packets out. He carried them to Yoni and put them on the table in front of the boy. "Here," said Harry, "I'll show you how to make friends."
He rubbed Yoni on the top of the head and the boy craned his neck, pushing his head into Harry's hand. "Just do that, he'll love you forever." Harry stopped scratching and Roberta took over.
"Mr. Burke told us what was going on, except he said you had an animal."
"Did he say that?"
"Yeah, but he didn't say it was the Bedoran." Roberta was enchanted with Yoni. The boy allowed her to smooth the fur around his face and began to hum.
Harry had heard Yoni make the same sound when Kathleen scratched him. It was the sound Bedoran babies made when they were relaxed, clinging to their mother's breast. It was the sound of pleasure mixed with satisfaction.
"Looks like you've made a friend."
Roberta grinned.
Yoni looked up at Harry and chattered. "Is she your mate? I thought Kathleen was your mate."
"What did he say?" asked Roberta.
"Uh, he said he's pleased to meet you."
Dr. Ferguson came in and spotted Yoni. "So, I heard he was here."
"Sheesh. Word travels fast."
The doc peered at the boy. "What a wonderful specimen! It's certainly taken to Roberta."
"It's a he," corrected Harry.
"Well, Commander, I can see that." She bent down and put her hand to Yoni's head. Without hurting her, Yoni removed the doctor's hand.
"I guess he doesn't feel so good about me."
"Biosciences really worked him over. He's become increasingly nervous about being around people."
"Well, that explains it," replied the doctor. "I'm surprised they didn't try to dissect him."
"Why? He's the only intelligent alien ever brought back to Earth."
"You answered your own question, Bobbie. He's the only one. The Corporation places the highest premium on scientific knowledge. Everything else is expendable."
"He's just a juvenile, though."
"You haven't worked for the Corporation very long, have you?"
Bobbie shrugged. The doctor turned to Harry. "What are we going to do with him?"
"We'll leave him on Bedor with his people. Seems the only natural thing to do."
"Mr. Burke's not going to like that."
"Well," Harry said, "it's not Mr. Burke's call."
Unknown to all, Jim Burke sat in the pilot's chair, his back to Serge, watching and listening to the conversation in the crew's mess. In reply to Harry's comment, he mumbled under his breath, "We'll see about that."
Chapter 15
The jungle turned out to be more of an obstacle than Fagen had first thought. It was thick with alien vegetation, none of which was familiar. Some of it was Earthlike, green, leafy, and obviously photosynthetic, but much was wildly different with rainbow colors cast over a multitude of shapes and sizes.
Fagen stepped carefully behind the lead Malaaz warrior, avoiding the more bizarre-looking plants while trying to precisely follow the warrior's steps. Behind, the other two warriors walked along with the beetles. Occasionally, the big insects would become distracted by a particular sweet-smelling bush and stop to nibble the leaves. Whenever this happened, a warrior would prod the beetle with the end of a spear. Eventually, the insect would move on.
Travel was slow going. It was humid and hot with the occasional breeze mostly blocked by vegetation. As a result, sweat ran freely down Fagen's face, sti
nging his eyes and soaking his tunic. The Malaaz trudged on and for hours Fagen followed.
Relief from the heat arrived when night fell. The group stopped and arranged a makeshift camp. Fagen was disappointed to find they'd only traveled a little over three kilometers and he voiced his concern to the lead Malaaz. The creature remained silent and stared into the bush, preoccupied with unseen matters.
Finally, it spoke. "What do I care? Besides, the temperature is too hot. My feet hurt."
It took but a moment for the translator to work. "We must find the ghlowstone by tomorrow," Fagen reminded the warrior. "Even if your feet hurt." Fagen glanced down at the warrior's bare feet. Like the hands, the feet had four digits, but they were also absurdly wide with yellow, calloused soles. Thus reminded, the warrior reached down and began to rub one of his feet. A crack from the jungle darkness caused them both to freeze.
Fagen squinted at the thick foliage. There was nothing to see, no motion, no sign of life. The warrior stated the obvious.
"I don't see anything."
Fagen didn't reply. He didn't have to. He knew something was there, something that preferred not to show itself. There were no other sounds besides those coming from the other two Malaaz. They hadn't concerned themselves at all and were engrossed in preparing their evening meal.
"It was probably an animal," the warrior said, adding, "It's probably gone now."
"Maybe," Fagen finally said.
The warrior shrugged and turned to its companions.
The other two had unloaded the beetles and were busily preparing the evening meal, a pasty substance with the appearance of oatmeal. The bulk of the substance, however, came from their own manure. They paid no attention to Fagen and offered him none of the food. Fagen was grateful as he bit into one of the protein bars Minerva dispensed from her food replicator. They weren't very tasty, but they were nutritious and stayed fresh for weeks. Besides water, it was the only food Fagen brought along. He didn't plan on staying long enough to grow hungry.
Relieved of their burden, the beetles rooted around in the undergrowth, nibbling at leaves while searching for delicacies. Fagen watched for awhile before climbing into his tent and zipping himself inside. The three Malaaz attempted to share the other tent. Amused, Fagen watched as the three crammed themselves inside. Not nearly large enough to hold three full-grown Malaaz warriors, the sides of the tent sagged outward. Even so, snores soon filled the quiet jungle air.
The beetles wandered in and out of the small camp. Fagen ignored them and he too soon fell into an exhausted sleep.
Sometime before dawn, something disturbed him. He opened his eyes and looked around. The jungle was quiet and a mist hung in the air, close to the ground. Not far away, a rustling erupted as if two animals struggled with each other in the brush. A loud pop suddenly creased the air.
Fagen sat up and reached for his light. Flicking it on, he checked the Malaaz tent. They were there, sleeping comfortably. Two beetles rested outside, antennae intertwined. There was no sign of the other two bugs. Fagen unzipped the tent flap and climbed out.
The temperature had dropped considerably but it was still humid. A heavy dew had formed and everything was wet. Three moons hung in the sky and, to the east, a rosy red foretold the coming of day. Fagen stood straining to hear more, but there was nothing. Finally, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. He was used to getting more sleep. Stepping to the Malaaz tent, Fagen urinated in front of the open flap where the odor would find its way to the Malaaz' sensitive olfactory glands. Fagen's plan had the desired effect. In minutes, all three warriors were awake and cursing the day Fagen had been born.
A short while later, they discovered one of the beetles was missing. Not such a tragedy in itself but the fact was they needed it to carry supplies. Otherwise they wouldn't have taken the time to search. It didn't take long. One of the Malaaz found the beetle. He called to the others and they soon gathered over the remains.
The lead warrior pointed. "Its back is broken."
Fagen didn't need to be told. The carapace was literally broken into two pieces. Fagen recalled the loud pop he'd heard. Green blood and an assortment of bowels littered the ground. The warriors clicked their disapproval and made furtive glances to the surrounding brush.
"What could have done this?" asked Fagen.
They ignored him. When he repeated himself, one of them finally said that the beetle had wandered off and been killed by a ghost.
"A ghost? What kind of ghost?"
If Fagen could have read the expressions of the Malaaz, he would have seen disgust.
One them grimaced and stuck out its tongue. "Ghost of the Krits," it said.
Fagen looked for footprints, any sign of another creature, but there was nothing.
"If something was here, it would have left a trail."
The lead warrior snorted. "It was a ghost. Ghosts leave no trail." Then he said nothing else. Fagen asked again what they were talking about but all three clammed up and Fagen soon realized he wasn't going to get any more from them. They'd already spoken more to him that morning than they had the entire trip. Now some superstition had set them off. In any case, the sun was up and it was time to go. Fagen insisted they get moving.
Since one of the beetle porters was gone, there were too many supplies for the remaining bugs to carry. Fagen ordered the warriors to divide what remained and carry the equipment themselves. The warriors were offended.
One of them, thinking the translator was out of earshot, said to another, "I will work as a common slave when the ugly human sprouts wings and flies."
"Quiet. He'll hear you."
"What do I care? He is ignorant. He believes he can fetch the ghlowstone."
"It does not matter. He will lead us to the jewels. Certainly he will die, but we will still have the jewels."
"If the Krits do not kill us all before."
"What's the problem?" asked Fagen.
The two warriors fell silent. The third stepped before Fagen. "We are Malaaz warriors, not pack drones. Other than weapons, we do not carry things."
"Oh, is that so? The Tetrarch commanded you to come with me, did he not?"
"That is the truth."
"And the Tetrarch also commanded that you return with three copels of jewels, did he not?"
"Of course."
"How then do you expect to get the jewels back without carrying them?"
"That is different. Besides, the beetles will carry the three copels."
"What if the remaining porters suffer the same fate as the one last night?"
The lead warrior shifted uneasily from one foot to another and looked at his companions. "Perhaps we should carry our own supplies..."
"This is an insult!" bellowed one. "I am the personal guard of the Malaaz Tetrarch. It would be an indignity to act as a mere slave! Have you no regard for my position?"
The other two agreed, but Fagen remained unfazed. "I will carry my own personal gear, but I can't possibly carry yours as well. You must decide whether to cooperate or return to the city. I might add, it will be an arduous task to walk all the way back. What will the Tetrarch say when you return empty-handed?"
Fagen's comment gave them reason to pause. It occurred to them that Fagen was right. If they returned without the jewels and without Fagen, they were sure to face the wrath of the Tetrarch's consort. Her reputation as a merciless judge was considerable.
In the end, they agreed to carry the provisions. Their grumbling lasted a full kilometer, but eventually the hike through the jungle commanded all their attention. As before, Fagen followed the lead warrior.
All through the morning, they made their way through the tangled brush. Not once did Fagen see anything that looked remotely like animal life, although once the lead warrior commented that there were signs of something passing through the jungle in front of them.
"This is a bad place," he informed Fagen, "a place not meant for the Malaaz. My feet hurt and my back aches. The Krits watch and th
ey laugh at our efforts."
The other two remained sullen and quiet, but plodded on. Blissfully unaware of any danger and unperturbed by the death of one of their own, the remaining three beetles, backs loaded, formed a single line and delicately stepped along on their six legs.
In time, the troop came upon a river that led to a tumbling waterfall. A cooling mist filled the air and Fagen determined it was a good place to take a break. While the warriors collapsed in exhaustion, Fagen set up his radio and made a call to Minerva.
Static filled the receiver. Whatever caused the interference was growing in strength. Obviously, they were closer to the source, most likely the ghlowstone itself. When there was no answer from the ship, Fagen realized he was entirely on his own. If trouble came, he could expect no help from Minerva.
With his rangefinder, he checked their coordinates. He had to re-check the figures several times and compare the results before he decided they were still on course. The unknown energy source was playing havoc with all his electronic gear. Even the simple compass he carried swung in confusion from point to point. Gazing at the sky, he calculated they had a good six hours of daylight before they must set up camp again. A splashing in the pool beneath the falls drew his attention.
One of the beetles had stepped into the water and was leisurely taking a drink. Its antenna danced over the surface as it immersed its feeding tube. With sucking sounds, it drew the water up as if sipping from a straw. The other beetles, urged by their thirst, edged toward the water. They stopped just short of the shore and waited.
Fagen wondered why and in a moment, discovered the reason.
The first beetle continued to suck up the water. Below its carapace, through its transparent sides, Fagen saw the ingested water filling the creature's water sacks. They swelled like balloons until completely filled. Only then did the insect begin to back away. Before it was out of the pool, it suddenly stopped and began to thrash. Something beneath the surface snagged the bug's forelegs and was trying to pull it deeper into the pool.
Fagen jumped to his feet and shouted to the warriors. Dumbfounded, they stared first at Fagen, then the trapped beetle. The other beetles backed farther away as their comrade increased its struggles. In the struggle, one of the bug's midlegs popped off and disappeared into the water. Whatever held the insect wasn't satisfied and continued to tug, pulling the creature underwater.