Animus Intercept

by Lawrence Ambrose

  Patricia turned away from the window and surveyed the room. When the leader fixed his red-green eyes on her, she made a motion of scribbling on a note pad. The leader's bat-shaped ears twitched. He stood up and opened a storage box on the wall above the seats, removing a small circular object and a square device that had a roll of paper on one end like a cashier receipt that stretched over a flat, metallic surface.

  "I'm guessing not an iPad?"

  Patricia ignored Mallory as she accepted the pad and circular device. She pressed a silvery point protruding from the device to the paper, leaving a dark mark. Using her arm in what looked like an awkward motion to Zane, Patricia drew a blimp with an arrow extending from its nose. She spread her arms wide under the unblinking stares of the leader and the other aliens, and scrawled a single line on the paper pad. Zane knew she was attempting to establish a symbol of distance, but it was an open question whether the fly-creature leader would get it.

  After handing the pad and pen back and forth a few times, pausing to roll more paper onto the writing surface, they seemed to arrive at a rough common understanding of distance units. Then Patricia wrote some basic addition and multiplication, equating number symbols with numbers of straight lines, until the alien leader appeared to understand. What he or she wrote in reply indicated they were on a trip that would likely cover a few hundred kilometers. More drawings by the alien leader confirmed they were going to a city or populous area.

  "See if you can learn anything about the Peacemaker crew," said Zane. "But don't reveal that we're the same as them. I'm not sure they understand that we're wearing protective suits and I'd like them to keep thinking of us as supermen."

  "I understand, Captain," said Patricia.

  Patricia tried to convey in a series of sketches an association between them and the Peacemaker crew. The leader appeared to understand, and indicated that the crew resided at their destination. Patricia pressed him for specifics, and the leader obliged with a sketch of what looked like a large, partitioned enclosure, placing some human figures in one of the partitions. Patricia drew a simplified mammoth and a line from it to the enclosure. The leader drew a parallel line connecting the two, humming agreeably.

  "They put them in a zoo?" Mallory asked, looking over their shoulders along with Zane.

  "That's one hypothesis," said Patricia, handing the writing pad and pen back to the leader. "From what I can tell, we're either flying into a population center or a place where they keep captured animals and people, for entertainment or food or some other purpose."

  Zane slumped back in his seat, allowing himself a few relaxing breaths, seeking a brief refuge from the insanity of the present. Command would never believe what this mission had become – not without a lot of convincing. At least the mission had clarified: liberate the Peacemaker survivors, return to the Cheyenne, and fly straight back to Earth. Drop all the information in Space Command's lap and let them deal with it. He didn't see the new information changing their "hands off Animus" decision. If anything, knowing that the sphere was probably inhabited by millions of living beings, including proto-humans, they'd be even less inclined to interfere.

  "Any theories about who these people are?" Zane asked, rousing himself from his private thoughts. "I mean, they're obviously the same species as the ones sleeping or dead on the outside, but what's their relationship?"

  "I've been thinking about that," said Patricia. "The main possibility I see is that the advanced aliens decided to keep a group of their own species in a less advanced state, preserving their older culture much as they seem to have preserved our Paleolithic human culture."

  "That's crazy," said Mallory. "That would be like us taking a bunch of our people and marooning them on an island so they could remain primitive."

  "True, but it does fit the apparent animal preserve theme of this place."

  "Do you think the rest of the sphere holds other eras of our world or theirs?" Zane asked.

  "Possibly. Or life samples from other worlds."

  Mallory stared at her, scratching his head covering. "So do these fly-people know anything about their world? Do they know their sun is fake? That they're being held in a really big room inside a sphere? Do they know anything about the more advanced aliens?"

  "I'm guessing mostly not." Patricia paused, as if that was a new thought for her, too. "Their level of technology suggests they're completely out of touch with the civilization that constructed this world."

  "Hell, even we don't have the technology to escape this place," said Mallory.

  "Exactly."

  "But the way they reacted when I pointed to the sky..." Zane shook his head. "They seemed to grasp the concept."

  "That's hard to say," said Patricia. "They may have some record of beings outside their world, or they may have developed theories about how they got here - perhaps even religious beliefs about their origins."

  "Let's say we find the Peacemaker crew locked up when we get there," said Mallory. "What's the plan?"

  Zane considered that for a few moments. "I'd say we try to reason with these people, talk them into freeing them and giving us a ride back to the eastern wall."

  "And if they won't listen to reason?"

  "Then we'll need to be more persuasive."

  Chapter 8

  THE CITY STRETCHED FOR miles below them. Zane's first impression was of a tent city thrown up around an enormous stockade. The colorful banners flying everywhere suggested a theatrical reenactment of some Medieval military campaign – perhaps the Crusades camped out by a fort.

  The tents were brightly colored cloth that resembled canvas, strung out between poles. Fly people wandered in and out of the shaded areas as in some Middle Eastern bazaar. The fort was closer to an outdoor stadium, filled with ascending rows of benches. The stadium, as the alien leader had drawn, was divided into multiple areas by tall walls. The drawing had failed to convey the enormity of the stadium or the number of separate areas. Zane imagined that a dozen Candlestick Parks would easily fit within its walls – two or three within a single partition.

  It was more of an enclosed world - much like this world itself, Zane thought – with a variety of habitats inhabited by a variety of creatures. He spotted one grassy area populated by woolly mammoths, another by what looked like hairy rhinos, and others with deer, elk, bison, wolves, a massive cat that might've been a saber-tooth tiger, and – Zane pressed his face against the window - people in various sizes and shapes and clothing.

  Zane jerked back as someone or thing slashed across his view. He pushed his face back against the window. A person – fly person – appeared to be riding a large bathtub-shaped sled with fins through the air.

  "Looks like he's surfing," said Mallory, his face jammed against the window beside Zane's.

  They watched a pair of aliens wing their way up toward the clouds towing the toboggan-like surfboards in the distance.

  "About time for Operation Hijack?" Mallory asked.

  "I'd say so. Ready, Patricia?"

  "As I'll ever be."

  Zane paused to digest her new informality. "Inform their leader of the change in plans."

  "Yes, Captain."

  They'd agreed on a plan over the last few hours. Not much to it: commandeer the airship, land and pick up the surviving crew members, and fly back to the Cheyenne. A simple plan, Zane thought, just like the plan for NDs to eat Animus. What could possibly go wrong?

  Patricia hand-signaled for the writing device, which the leader readily provided. She drew the airship blimp and a line to the human stick figures in the enclosure below. The leader crossed out the enclosure and drew a line to a location north of the stadium. Patricia drew another more forceful line to the captive human figures and circled it. The leader waved his hands in denial. He reached for the pad.

  Mallory moved forward, shoving the barrel of his kinetic rife into the leader's chest.

  "That wasn't a request, motherfucker. That was a fucking order."

  The aliens spran
g to their feet, drawing their weapons. Zane leveled his rifle alongside Mallory. Patricia tapped her sketch and jabbed her finger downward with dramatic finality. Neither the leader nor his people moved.

  "What the hell is wrong with them?" Mallory spoke in a harsh whisper. "They saw what these guns can do. How can they think they have a choice?"

  "Perhaps they're prepared to die?" Patricia suggested.

  "Happy to arrange that," Mallory grated.

  As Zane considered their options, the aliens made their decision for them – rushing them en masse, clawing at their weapons.

  "Hand to hand," Zane called out. "Try to avoid lethal strikes."

  Neither the fly people's weapons nor their blows made much impression through the PA suits. Zane noted that the projectiles bouncing off their suits looked more like darts than bullets. Tranquilizer darts? Was that how they subdued the mammoth and the Neanderthals?

  While the aliens focused on seizing the rifles – which they couldn't have fired anyway since all Command hand weapons required the human user's fingerprint on the trigger – Zane, Mallory, and Patricia chopped them down with punches and kicks. Zane estimated the aliens' strength and physical toughness at around human level – despite being a fraction of their weight - but it was hard to tell in an aug suit. The fly people obviously had some combat training, but no martial system could equalize the PA suits armor and 5x strength advantage.

  Zane tried to pull his blows - more of an art than science since they fed off electrical impulses and adrenaline, which weren't always easy to control.

  In a startlingly short battle, aided by Patricia's fierce martial arts performance – Zane didn't doubt she was studying combat techniques as she fought - the aliens were down and out. The leader, lying on his side grasping his chest, raised one quivering suction-cup fingered hand to signal their surrender. They quickly gathered the alien weapons and dropped them out an opened window.

  "I think the engine and guidance controls are in the next room," said Patricia, nodding to a door.

  They burst in on a shocked-looking alien, who made a feeble grab for a pistol-sized weapon on a nearby shelf. Mallory seized him by the bristly hair on the back of his neck and dragged him to what looked like the steering wheel while Zane hauled the leader - limping on one leg with obvious pain - into the room. The leader hummed to the pilot, whose eyes shaded into at least three different colors before he settled down in front of the wheel.

  They watched through the engine room windows as the dirigible turned slowly toward the habitat enclosure. Up close, the habitat area was far larger than it had appeared from the air: Zane revised his estimate up to a couple of square miles, all told. They drifted toward the far end of the enclosure and landed softly in a small clearing within a heavily forested area.

  "Stay here, Patricia," said Zane. "Make sure they don't leave without us."

  "Not a problem, sir."

  They dragged the alien leader out into the clearing. When Zane stared at him the leader pointed to the forest.

  "Hey!" Zane shouted. "Anyone here?"

  A big tawny cat stuck its head of out of the trees, eyeing them for a moment before slinking back out of sight.

  "Was that a saber-tooth tiger?" Mallory asked.

  "Maybe. Who knows." Zane didn't like the thought of his people sharing turf with one of history's most-feared predators. Clearly the fly people weren't overly concerned with their health. He pushed down a sharp jab of anger.

  "Captain Kinsley !" Mallory shouted. "You in there somewhere, old man?"

  A movement in Zane's peripheral vision made him turn. Their erstwhile Neanderthal guides were crossing the clearing toward them, their grim faces sprouting grins when they noted Mallory's possessive grip on the alien leader's shoulder. Zane experienced an unpleasant sinking sensation as the Neanderthal men gathered before them, raising their spears and hooting with apparent joy. The alien leader made a weary gesture toward the Stone Age men as if to say: agreement completed.

  "Looks like there's been a slight misunderstanding," said Mallory.

  Zane breathed out a silent curse. He faced the alien leader and shook his head with slow emphasis. He could think of only one way to communicate what needed to be communicated. Slowly, he undid his mask and pulled it back from his face. The alien stared with red gleaming eyes at him. Zane pointed to his face.

  "Get it?" he asked.

  The fly people leader made another weary fluttering gesture that seemed to confirm that. Zane pointed outside the habitat. The leader hummed in a resigned-sounding way and nodded.

  "We need to free the Neanderthals, too," said Zane. "It's the least we can do."

  "Right." Mallory sighed as though he'd been expecting that.

  They started back to the ship, Zane waving the Neanderthal men along. The alien leader's fierce gestures of protest stopped when Mallory's grip tightened on his shoulder.

  The aliens scrambled to their feet in apparent panic as the Neanderthals clomped into the gondola. Zane and Patricia stepped firmly between the two groups as the hunters raised their spears, Zane motioning the Neanderthals back.

  "The Peacemaker's crew isn't here," Patricia stated.

  "Nope. No one gave you any trouble?"

  She shook her head. "I think they've learned that resistance is futile." She gazed at him with sudden question. "Why did you uncover your head?"

  "It was the only way I could think of to get the leader to understand who we were looking for. He seemed to get it, and indicated that the crew is somewhere else. I'm hoping nearby. We'll get to that, but first we're going to drop off the Neanderthals somewhere safely clear of this place. We owe them that much."

  Zane gestured for the leader to get their trip underway. The pilot was in the main room with them, for some reason standing with the door closed at his back.

  The Neanderthals started growling and stabbing their spears – more at the door, Zane thought, than at the other fly creatures.

  "What's wrong with them?" Mallory asked.

  As if in answer, the pilot motioned them over. Zane and his crew headed toward him, the aliens scrambling obligingly out of their way to one side of the room. Zane smelled something like rotten meat.

  "What –"

  The pilot flung open the door and Zane's question jammed in his throat. A striped cat the size of a horse exploded out of the doorway, knife-length fangs jutting from gaping jaws. The next thing Zane knew he was flat on his back, paws the size of catcher mitts planted on his chest. It occurred to him in a terrifying flash that his head cover wasn't on.

  The Smilodon's fangs slashed downward. Zane's hands snapped up and caught the giant cat by the throat, stopping the motion. Muscles and tendons bunched in the cat's oversized shoulders and forelegs as it gripped Zane's sides, leveraging its jaws closer centimeter by centimeter. The fetid, meaty air blasting from its cavernous mouth was horrific. Smelladon.

  "Little help," Zane gasped.

  The Neanderthals rushed in with spears, and the saber-tooth whirled on them. Two kinetic rifles cracked at close range. The full 800 pound weight of the muscle-bound cat slumped down on Zane. He gathered his breath and was starting to shove when Mallory and Patricia dragged it off of him. They hoisted him to his feet.

  Pandemonium ruled. The aliens were humming to beat the band – in fact, their screechy pitches might literally have accomplished that – while the Neanderthals growled and twittered like angry birds. Mallory snarled out a curse in rough tune with the furious symphony and charged across the room, slamming the cowering pilot against the wall.

  "Careful," said Zane. "We'll need him to –"

  Gimli leaped over the Smilodon carcass and drove his spear past Mallory into the squirming pilot's chest. Red and yellow liquid burbled out around the buried shaft. Gimli twisted the spear and yanked it free with a fierce grunt. The pilot stopped squirming, the bright red color draining out of his eyes.

  Mallory patted the Neanderthal's grapefruit-sized shoulder and eased him ba
ck as the pilot slid to the floor. He turned to Zane.

  "You were saying, Captain?"

  "I was saying I hope they have a backup pilot."

  After more drawings and improvised sign language, Patricia was able to communicate their desires. The alien leader selected another crew member, and soon they were rising up from the forest out of the habitat and powering their way against a stiff breeze back in the direction from which they'd come. When they'd gone a few miles, Zane tugged Gimli to a window and pointed to the ground. The redhead rolled his big shoulders in apparent approval. Zane directed the leader to take them down.

  On the ground, Zane held out his hand to Gimli, who appeared puzzled, peering at his hand as if searching for what Zane was offering him. After a few moments he reached past Zane's outstretched hand and thumped him amicably on the shoulder. Zane returned the gesture. Gently.

  When they were airborne again, Zane, Patricia, and Mallory watched the Neanderthals melt into the forest below.

  They flew back over the habitat enclosure and continued west. Rows of spiral structures that made Zane think of the top of chocolate ice cream cones dotted the ground between trees and gardens. Mud or adobe buildings or houses?

  They had no real idea of what they were walking – flying – into. The alien leader had scrawled what appeared to be a building a short distance from the enclosure where he indicated the Peacemaker crew was being held. Assuming there wasn't another misunderstanding. Maybe they were being taken to a band of Cro-Magnon people. Or maybe it was a trap.

  They approached a large, golden-brown mushroom-shaped building. The alien leader pointed to it three times for emphasis.

  "Can you get him to tell us where they're holding the crew in the building, Patricia?" Zane asked.

  A couple of drawing exchanges ended with a vague placement of the Peacemaker crew in the center of the building on its second or third floor.

  "There is a cluster of twelve individuals with slightly different body proportions in the center of the building 9 meters from ground level," said Patricia, consulting her BADD.

  "How many fly people?"