Animus Intercept

by Lawrence Ambrose

  The balance of the afternoon was passed butchering the creature. Mallory brought out his knife, and then it was Neanderthals' turn to be amazed as a few easy strokes of his diamond-coated blade sliced through gristle and bone, producing two briefcase-sized chunks of meat. Gimli extended his hand in entreaty, but Mallory declined to surrender the assault knife.

  Select portions of the meat were cooked over two open fires while other portions were cut up and mixed with berries and grasses and pummeled with stone clubs into a fine colorful mush which the men stuffed into leather bags. It was easy to see, Zane thought, how these men maintained their dense body mass. And why bruises and scars adorned their rugged bodies.

  They checked back periodically with the ship. Dana had a million questions about the Neanderthals and wanted to convert Zane, Patricia, and Mallory into field scientists. "Give us a close-up on their tools!" she pleaded. "Shoot them with the BADD for more than a few seconds! Give me more data!" That task fell mostly on Patricia.

  The Neanderthal men, unlike the young girl, showed little interest in explaining their words or in trading vocabulary. They tried to pry information from them about the winged people, but the Neanderthal's grumbling noises and shaking heads only communicated there was no love lost between them. The youngest of the men, a slimmer individual with blondish-red hair and a threadbare beard, drew something in the dirt that seemed to suggest that the fly people had abducted some of them in the past.

  On the third morning, they encountered a woolly mammoth in an open field. Zane would never have believed that a creature of such size could be hidden in plain sight, but one moment it was just a mound of speckled bluish-gray in a bluish-green field – and the next it was a monolith of tree trunk legs, mountainous shoulders, and curved yellow-white tusks that looked a mile long exploding up out of the grass fifty meters away.

  Mallory whipped his rifle off his shoulder and aimed. Zane had no doubt that just one .55 caliber projectile placed in its massive head would drop this creature like a stone. A SHE round would blow its head apart like an overripe melon.

  "Hold on, David," Zane said.

  Mallory didn't lower the rifle, but he eased his finger off the trigger. Their heavy-set escorts, after a few startled murmurs, appeared to take it all in stride. They rushed toward the beast brandishing their spears while Zane and his crewmates backed slowly off. The mammoth trumpet sounded truly pissed off to Zane – an angry squeal combined with a fierce snarl – as the Neanderthals closed in on all sides. The mammoth wheeled from hunter to hunter as they danced in and out of reach of its slashing tusks and swinging trunk. When it focused on running down one man, the others swarmed in from the sides, harassing it. No spears had been thrown yet, and the hunters appeared reluctant to throw them. Perhaps, Zane thought, because they were already carrying several pounds of semi-fresh meat each.

  The frustrated mammoth finally chose discretion as the better part of valor – or so it seemed to Zane – as it broke through the men's ranks and trotted down a gentle slope toward a ring of lakes below. The men lowered their spears and turned, smiling, to Zane and his crewmates. Their smiles curdled into expressions of horror as they stared over the crew's shoulders.

  Zane turned along with Mallory and Patricia, expecting to face a saber-toothed tiger or some other horrific Paleolithic monster, but what they saw descending in from the skies straight for them was both far more puzzling and frightening: several large, colorful blimps glinting in the sun high overhead while winged beings fluttered down holding huge squares of interwoven fabric between them.

  The Neanderthals bolted. Fearless in the face of a giant bison or a furious mammoth, they fled with terrified backward glances.

  "Are those nets?" Mallory rasped.

  "Sure looks that way." Zane pulled his head and hand covers into place. Mallory and Patricia did the same.

  "The net consists of hemp fibers," said Patricia, eyeing her BADD. "Processing cell samples of the flying entities..." She pursed her lips. "Genetically near-identical to the bodies in the first chamber."

  The first two groups of flyers carried their nets past them – one after the fleeing Neanderthals, the other in the direction of the fleeing mammoth. A third group came straight at the Cheyenne crew.

  "Take down the blimps?" Mallory spoke over the stock of his rifle.

  "And start a war with dozens if not hundreds of these beings?"

  "Looks like they already started the war."

  "But they don't know who we are," said Patricia.

  Zane breathed in and out. Raising his rifle, he placed one round in all three blimps well away from their attached passenger compartments. Even from where they stood they could hear high-pitched whistling sounds.

  "Nice shots, Captain," said Mallory with a dry laugh.

  The winged creatures descending toward them twisted around and buzzed like startled mosquitoes. The buzzing grew louder when they dropped closer and got a better look at the crew in their blue aug suits.

  But whatever they thought about what they saw or had heard, the creatures continued on target, dropping their net above them – flying close enough for Zane to see their buzzing, near-transparent wings and fly-human faces.

  Then the thick netting - heavy enough to make an impression even through the PA suits - slapped down on them. None of them lost their footing. They gazed up at the dozen or so insectile beings circling sixty or seventy feet overhead. Zane and Mallory slipped out their knives and sliced through the net with ease – an act which excited even more intense humming from the fliers and caused them to rise several meters higher. Stepping on top of the net, Mallory lifted his rifle, sighting in on several fliers in succession. They seemed to recognize the threat by flying higher. But not high enough, Zane thought.

  "Just say the word, Cap," said Mallory.

  "They didn't try to kill us," said Patricia. "They're trying to capture us."

  Zane turned toward the fleeing Neanderthals, who were now trapped in a similar net, hacking away without apparent success with their stone knives. Farther down the hill, the mammoth was dragging along another net, followed by a troop of fliers bearing heavy belts and straps, apparently waiting for the huge creature to tire.

  "No deadly force," said Zane. "Not unless they take it to that level. I'm hoping we can communicate, maybe reason, with them."

  "Well, if reasoning doesn't work we sure as hell can communicate with them." Mallory tapped the side of his rifle.

  "They're all wearing tool belts," said Patricia. "One or two of the devices may be weapons."

  Mallory squinted in the direction of her gaze. "I don't see any details. Do you have telescopes in your eyes?"

  "I added magnifying power to my eyes by nanites that assemble into a magnifying lens behind my pupils that roughly triples my range of vision. I can also invert the lens for close-up magnification."

  Zane only had time for one uncomfortable twinge at the idea of Patricia modifying Keira's body before the creatures had landed in a wide circle around them. They were pointing sausage-sized cylinders that ended in a short tube that looked suspiciously like gun barrels.

  "They appear to be holding pressurized canisters," said Patricia. "Diameter of the barrels suggest a .33 diameter projectile." The fly-people stirred as she pointed the BADD at them. "Chamber is an aluminum-steel alloy. I'm guessing the maximum compression is 21 megapascals, with an estimated possible velocity range of 400 – 900 feet per second, depending on the projectile mass."

  "So we're talking pellet gun." A relieved smile in Mallory's voice. "Not much chance of that doing anything to these suits."

  "Let's lower our weapons and make a point of seeming friendly," said Zane. "See what they do."

  In response, their guards lowered their weapons and held their positions. They were obviously the same kind of beings they'd seen in the vast chamber. Zane had underestimated their height, which ranged from his own six-one to about seven feet, and their humanness: bushy fur that might've passed for hai
r, purposefully groomed and cut in a variety of styles, long, graceful limbs, six-fingered hands mostly devoid of hair that ended with what Zane thought might be an array of tiny suction cups that puffed out and then withdrew on several of the hands he noticed. Their tall, slim builds were 180 degrees removed from the Neanderthals' squat, powerlifter builds. Their graceful, buoyant movements made Zane suspect they were athletic and quick. He could only wonder how strong they were.

  By far the most strikingly human-like feature were the eyes: though larger and reticulated into tiny segments that protruded from their faces, they glimmered in shades of blue, yellow, green, red with a dark center eerily like a human eye's pupil. Their mouth and noses folded in a fleshy protuberance that could pass for a human nose and mouth, reinforcing the human resemblance. Their bright clothing – predominantly orange but also various hues of virtually every color in the rainbow – covered their waists and upper thighs and parts of their torso.

  One of the tallest of the fly people, clothed in near-iridescent red shorts and a vest, stepped away from his companions and approached them. He pointed to them and then to the north, south, and east in apparent question. Zane pointed straight up at the sky.

  The gesture had the desired effect. The aliens hummed and buzzed like mosquitoes on meth, Zane thought. A few even buzzed their wings. The fly spokesperson pointed at them again and then to the sky for confirmation. Zane repeated the gesture.

  Zane sensed a lot of communication going on in the symphony of hummed pitches. He was reminded of some atonal piece he played as a trombonist in high school: it was incredibly complex, and the conductor insisted on capturing every sixteenth rest and weird pitch with machine-like precision. But that sounded like crap, and this collaboration, despite its fractional pitches and crazy ascensions and crescendos, had a mesmerizing, near-melodic quality.

  "You're getting this, Patricia?" he asked.

  "Of course."

  "Is there any chance you'll be able to translate it sometime soon?"

  "Not likely. I believe they assign words to certain pitches, and I suspect the grammar may have something to do with changes in volume and the glissando effects, but I'll need to attach the sounds with objects and action to translate them."

  In the fields across from them, the dirigibles were inflating with the familiar rumbling whoosh of ignited gas flames.

  "Looks like they patched the projectile holes," said Mallory.

  The leader made a motion of placing his presumed weapon on the ground and gestured for them to do the same. Zane and Mallory shook their heads.

  "No way," said Mallory.

  The leader and the others watched. They didn't blink, but their eyes appeared to brighten or dim at random intervals. Maybe expressing inner emotions, Zane thought, or perhaps just adjusting to light conditions. But the atmosphere of expectation was unmistakable in their unmoving bodies and unwavering stares.

  After nearly a full minute, the leader turned and emitted a quick series of sharp-sounding pitches. One of his people unharnessed a long, tubular device that reminded Zane of his childhood's Sheridan pump pellet gun. He and Mallory raised their rifles, but the alien swiveled away and took careful aim at a tree sixty meters distant. The device thwumped and a coconut-like object hanging from a tree limb exploded. The marksman faced Zane and the crew, shouldering its weapon.

  "I guess that was meant to impress us," said Zane. "Maybe we should return the favor. David, why don't you put a round into that tree? Make it a SHE round."

  Mallory chuckled under his breath. "That should make an impression."

  He took aim, his laser pointer painting the center of tree trunk a few meters up. His rifle cracked. The targeted portion of the tree vaporized. The rest of it blew upward – a Titan missile with branches – in an ear-numbing blast. The shock wave blew into them, showering them with branches, leaves, and coconuts. The aliens hit the ground, covering up, while the three humans barely kept their footing, even with the stabilizing force of their PA suits.

  For several seconds the only sound was the fluttering down of shredded leaves. The upper half of the tree lay on the ground by the gathering, its tip only a few meters away. Zane reconsidered the wisdom of firing a SHE round so close to their position. They were in no danger because of their suits, but the explosion could've harmed their would-be captors. The decibel level alone could've burst their eardrums if not for the aug suit instantaneously thickening the area around their ears. He hoped the fly people didn't have sensitive ears.

  Another pellet gun thwump, and Zane felt something like a hand slapping him hard on the chest. He glimpsed a bullet-sized conical slug bounce into the nearby grass. A few meters away the fly-creature who had fired the demonstration shot was aiming at him, a tiny cloud of dust curling away from the end of the barrel.

  Mallory's gun swiveled until a red dot appeared between the alien's multifaceted eyes.

  "No," said Zane. "Show them mercy for now."

  Mallory strode over with an angry grunt and jerked the gun out of the alien's hands. Two other fly-creatures struggled unsteadily to their feet, one swinging what appeared to be a dagger at Mallory's side. The knife stopped at its tip as the PA suit recruited carbon nanotube fibers to the point of impact.

  Mallory chopped the knife-bearing alien's wrist and slapped the other in the head. Both dropped to the ground – one clutching its wrist and making high-pitched cicada sounds while the other sprawled unconscious.

  The other aliens pushed slowly to their feet, brushing debris from their bodies and out of their eyes. No way to judge their body language, Zane thought, but the angle of their heads now had a subtle downward tilt. Respect? Submission? Knowing their blue-suited guests possessed superior strength and could blow them into micro-bits had to count for something.

  "Any questions?" Mallory asked their hosts. Zane knew he was grinning under his mask.

  In the adjacent fields, three of the blimps were rising to the hissing sounds of igniting flames. One carried the Neanderthals, strung in what had to be an uncomfortable clump within the net a few meters below the blimp's passenger compartment. The other two flew toward the unconscious mammoth.

  Zane felt a twitch of guilt as he watched his former guides hoisted away toward the west. Still within rifle range. One shot would bring it down again. They could rescue the Neanderthals, but they had other priorities – priorities that didn't blend well with an all-out fight between them and a hundred fly people.

  "I think we're looking at what happened to our people," he said.

  "I agree," said Patricia. "Wherever they're taking them is probably where the Peacemaker's crew is."

  The leader was pointing from them to the last blimp on the ground - now swelling to life – in obvious invitation.

  "I'd say we just scored a ride to Fly City," said Mallory.

  "And with any luck to our people."

  Zane nodded to the leader, gesturing to his crew and pointing to the ship. The leader dipped his head and motioned for them to follow. The others fell into step, flanking them, including a limping alien supported by two of his fellows – the still groggy recipient of Mallory's love-tap – and the formerly knife-wielding fly-person, who was clutching his right wrist.

  It was a tight fit inside the blimp's passenger compartment. Thirteen aliens and the three humans jammed into a twelve by twelve foot space.

  Engines outside their room thrummed to life.

  "I don't know much about dirigibles," said Zane. "In fact, I don't know the difference between dirigibles, blimps, or Zeppelins. But whatever you can tell me, Patricia, should give us some hints about the level of their technology."

  "All ships using gas or heated air are dirigibles or airships. Zeppelin is a brand of air ship built by Ferdinand von Zeppelin in the early nineteen hundreds. Rigid airships have a fixed frame; blimps have partially fixed frames and rely on gas or air for their complete shape. They're more like balloons than fixed frame airships."

  "What kind of engine
is powering this thing?" Zane asked.

  "A steam turbine, heated by propane, which also heats the air in the envelope. Judging from the weapons and airship, I would estimate their technology level to be roughly at human levels in Western society in the late 1890s."

  "That gives us about a hundred and fifty year edge," said Mallory.

  "Roughly," said Patricia. "There could be significant variables."

  "Any ideas on what to expect when we arrive wherever they're taking us?" Zane asked.

  "Large enclosures where they keep their animals and human captives. I expect to see the surviving Peacemaker crew."

  "What possibilities would they have to defeat us while in PA suits?"

  "They could defeat us by sheer numbers. They may have explosives or more powerful projectile weapons that could defeat our suits, but I doubt that."

  "Too bad we didn't think to bring along extra weapons," Mallory grumbled. "That might've pushed the odds more in our favor when we find the crew."

  "We'll figure out a way regardless."

  Zane moved to the nearest window, and was joined by his mates. They were maybe three hundred yards up and moving with at a speed that Zane, as a small aircraft pilot, guessed was sixty or seventy miles per hour. Not too shabby for balloons.

  Their hosts had settled down on benches that folded out from the sides.

  "I wonder how long this ride is going to take," said Mallory.

  "Maybe that's something we could find out," said Zane. "We should make some attempt to communicate with these beings. Maybe we could learn something."

  "If we had writing implements and something to write on," said Patricia, "we could try what we did with the Neanderthal girl. I think these creatures will be more amenable to symbolic communication than the Neanderthals."