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Eloka Sdn Bhd
www.eloka.com
Copyright ©2003 by Ross Richdale
First published in eloka.com, July 2003
ISBN 983-2865-21-2
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
The wooden fort crouched on a hillside overlooking the snow covered valley could have been in the American Wild West in the nineteenth century rather than the twenty-third. It could have even have been Washington or perhaps north of the border in British Columbia, Canada with the towering mountains stretching across the horizon but was neither.
New Seattle, the fortified village of a little over a thousand humans was so far removed in distance and time. Except for Jordan Wittenburg and the handful of Generation 4 centenarians, the inhabitants had forgotten their ancestry. They didn't know the significance of the two flags that blew with equal prominence from the corners of the fort's four-meter high log walls. One was a light blue with white circle of symbols around the center, the long forgotten United Nations and the other was merely called The Stars and Stripes. The history of both had been purposely withheld from Generation 5 eighty years earlier by an unanimous vote in the Survival of Humanity Protocol.
But the two flags survived to represent the last bastion of humanity on the entire planet of Delpe, hundreds of light years from their ancestors home of Earth, information also withheld from the younger generations.
On this 16th day of February 2248, True Time, the inhabitants had more pressing problems on their minds. A scout had returned with important information. The clickers were already across the international boundary at the New Colorado River. Over the summer and fall, the lower plains had been evacuated as the enemy had moved through the human state. Worse, though, were the creatures new body suits equipped with thermal heating so their cold blood could remain functional in the winter climate that normally froze them into immobility. It was also believed twenty or more flying females were assembling behind the front line. This was unusual as these females were normally only used for reproduction of the species.
The native inhabitants of the planet were only slightly shorter than a human and stood on two legs with the other four limbs used like human arms. In intelligence, they were equal to the humans but lacked any kind of morality or conscience to go with it. Old Jordan Wittenburg called them giant ants, another word lost in antiquity, but to the succeeding generations they were simply clickers because of the sound they supposedly made when they were annoyed or surprised. Most Generations 6 and 7 could speak Crucnon but preferred to converse in English, the language of their ancestors. The alphabet the enemy used was identical to theirs but the theory was that clickers had stolen it more than a century earlier to replace a less functional hieroglyphics. Nobody, though, could give a reason why the structure of both languages were similar, in fact Crucnon was closer in syntax to English than Russian, an Earth language that had been phased out two generations earlier.
However, more practical problems were being discussed in the besieged village that day. Andrea Jurjevics, the Proctor, dressed in her usual blue jeans and red woolen pullover, sat in the underground council chambers and frowned.
What else have you found out, Ron? she asked.
The Generation 6 man wiped a somewhat dirty hand across his brow and grimaced. They have mechanical vehicles on gigantic wheels that can travel up our highway from the river in a few hours. The ones we saw can hold twenty or more clickers and have reinforced bars at the front. I believe they intend to batter our walls down or perhaps surround New Seattle and starve us into surrender.
Have they learned to manufacture gunpowder in sufficient quantities to make explosive weapons, yet?
I don't believe so, Ron Cotterell replied. The mechanical vehicles have been seen pulling gigantic catapults on skids. I earnestly believe they are preparing for one last attack on our walls. By attacking in mid-winter they are hoping to catch us with our defenses down.
I see, muttered Commander Toby Evans, the tall gray-headed officer who was head of the village's Defense and Police Force, colloquially called the DPF. This supports other information I have gathered.
Andrea glanced up but refrained from inquiring how Commander Evans gained his information. It was believed he had contact with an underground clickers movement that supported coexistence on the planet with humans. She, instead, glanced around at the members of the Inner Council and spoke in a hushed voice.
It appears we have little time, Fellow Councilors, she said. We may need to prepare to evacuate New Seattle and withdraw to the caves beneath the mountains.
But how long will we last there? grumbled Councilor Malone Davidson. They merely have to wait and starve us out. Without access to our farms in spring we will be out of food before October.
So what do we do? snapped Andrea. This councilor was quick to criticize but never bothered to offer constructive help. Become their slaves or be wiped out? We all know what happened whenever any of our ancestors attempted to reason with the clickers?
Yes, supported Ron solemnly. Records show the few humans that ventured into their lands were never heard of again. That was eighty years back.
That's my point, Malone added with her own voice raised in anger. The clickers are a much more advanced society now. They may agree to speak to us.
Only the Blue Watch will, Toby replied. They're small in number, young and really just a student protest group with no power.
The Proctor sighed. They had survived four attacks over the last summer with their farms wiped out and domesticated animals slaughtered. Now there were barely enough cattle, dairy cows or sheep to supply the village, the conditions in these northern latitudes were too cold to grow wheat and even the native vegetables really needed a warmer climate. Each year became more desperate and, with the clickers now capable of mounting a winter offensive, it seemed their days were numbered.
The Inner Council discussed the situation throughout the day and into the evening without really solving the problem. Withdrawal to the underground tunnels seemed the only solution if clickers broke through the outer defenses.
I'll consult with Jordan Wittenburg and the elders, Andrea finally suggested.
Those stupid old fools who live in dream of a far world somewhere out there, Malone waved her hands out in exasperation, and a great silver flying machine to take us away for ever to the heavens. It's all fantasy, I tell you!
We all know your opinions, Malone. Andrea replied in a caustic voice, but there may be some fact
behind the legends. She stood up and fixed the other woman with an icy glare. I'll speak to Jordan. It will do no harm.
Not much good, either, Melanie muttered as she gathered up her papers, nodded at the two flags attached to the front wall and strutted out of the chamber.
The attack on New Seattle came at dawn the following Monday, when, without warning, thirty flying female clickers appeared out of the predawn darkness to attack the outer walls of the village. Before the lookouts could even sound the siren they were overhead with huge canisters clasped in their four arms. These were dropped on the south wall and burst in thunderclaps of explosion after explosion. The wooden logs simply disintegrated in the onslaught and more than two dozen defenders were killed.
My God, they do have explosives! Commander Evans gasped as he stared out the smoking gap to where the field outside could be seen. Line after line of suited clickers marched towards the gap to the ominous beat of a drum.
But the chief of the DPF was not about to give up easily. Right flank, form a semicircle outside the breach! he roared above the roar of the flames. Left flank. Fire duties.
Fifty young men and women, all with shields, swords and crossbows leapt through the flames and outside to meet the incoming foe while fifty more were already bathing the wood with high pressure water hoses.
Flying clickers heading for the north wall, a lookout screamed through a loud speaker. At least a dozen.
This time, though, the humans were ready. Their own firearms came into action. Twenty mortars exploded and hurled a wall of stones at the incoming flight of female clickers. Five were hit and crashed to the ground to be killed by the explosives still held in their arms, another two dropped the bombs harmlessly beyond the outer perimeter. Four, however, reached the wall. Again, there was a discharge of explosions and a four-meter gap was blasted in the fence line.
Lower and fire at will, Commander Evans ordered.
He smiled grimly as one clicker disintegrated in the air above him while a second tipped and plummeted to earth inside the compound.
She lay gasping on the ground with terrified eyes as a youth ran up with his sword drawn.
Please! she cried out in well-spoken English. Please have mercy. Four three fingered hands covered her face in defense.
Insect! screamed the youth and was about to stab the clicker with his sword when a young woman rushed up and grabbed his arm.
No, we do not kill in cold blood, she hissed and glowered at the youth.
Why, Holly? the youth replied but hesitated. After all, Holly Jurjevics was the Proctor's daughter and held considerable powers with humans as Generation 7 Leader.
The young woman swished a strand of red hair out of her eyes and stared down at the wounded clicker. Like the entire enemy, this female was dressed in a blue coverall; gloves, boots and Perspex like helmet that covered all except the yellow eyes and almost human shaped mouth. Her four wings were folded beneath her with the two left ones bleeding thick yellow blood.
The eyes, though, looked directly at Holly and tears of emotion appeared in their corners. I had no choice, the creature gasped, again in English. We must obey orders.
Crap! snarled the youth and lifted his sword again.
You will withdraw, Hilton Foster, Holly said in a soft voice. We are under military law today so that is an order.
Hilton stared at the angry face of his colleague but knew to disobey an order in an emergency was a serious offence. The young woman outranked him by three stripes.
Watch her sting, he snorted but stood back.
Crucnon do not have stings, the clicker gasped. Her eyes turned to Holly. You must be Holly, Proctor Andrea Jurjevics daughter, she continued. Thank you for sparing my life Holly Jurjevics. I am your slave and will seek your permission to ritually assassinate myself so I am not a burden to the Vybber Nation nor the biped enemy. Tears once again appeared in the yellow eyes. We have a poison capsule to bite on.
I see, Holly replied and squatted beside the young female. She had never been this close to a clicker before but had studied numerous photographs of them. This one would be no older than her own twenty-three years. What is your name and rank, Crucnon?
She had studied clicker military law at college and knew this young female had failed in her duty and was expected to commit suicide in disgrace. She also knew, though, the ritual of becoming a slave. Any Crucnon, as the clickers real name was, had the right to surrender as a slave to an enemy. This was usually to their kind and flying females would be sent to a concubine to reproduce the victor's offspring. Usually this amounted to a life of misery and death within months of the capture. In most cases suicide was the more pleasant alternative.
Third Class Mother Jaddig Qarte, seconded to the First Fighting Wing of Northern Command's 27th Fighting Brigade as a Flying Bombardier. She spoke in her own language without removing her eyes from Holly.
Have you any offspring? Holly asked in the same language.
I have not yet been prepared for mating, the creature replied and, for the first time diverted her eyes. I was called up for military service instead.
I see, Holly continued. So under the protocols of war you are now under my orders?
That is correct. Shall I bite the poison capsule, Holly Jurjevics? There was a tremble in the voice, which made the young human woman frown. Clickers were meant to be entirely devoid of emotions, totally regimented and also without pity. This wounded female was different than she expected.
The eyes looking at her were pleading and full of emotion.
Before she could reply, a swordsman who walked up interrupted Holly. The clickers have stopped advancing, Generation 7 Sergeant Major Jurjevics, he said and tried to ignore the clicker lying on the ground. Your platoons are on stand down unless there is a rally call.
Thank you Dean, Holly replied and gave the man a brief smile. The sudden attention to military rank annoyed her. She turned back to the clicker. I order you to spit out the poison and surrender any weapons, she commanded.
But you can't! snapped Hilton Foster. Let the creature kill herself.
Holly glowered at Foster but said nothing. Instead she turned to the wounded female and snapped. Do it!
Jaddig Qarte's mouth quivered but she nodded and spat a tiny red capsule out, reached to a small pocket inside of her body suit, removed a stiletto type knife and placed it on the ground beside her. I have never had contact with humans, she trembled as her eyes switched to Hilton standing a meter behind Holly. I have heard the males are particularly aggressive.
They can be, Holly snapped, but we are not barbarians. She next quoted a phrase learned at Military Academy. Its origin was, like many other things, unknown but the meaning was real. Under the Geneva Convention, you are a prisoner of war and shall be treated for your wounds.
I have heard of this convention, Jaddig Qarte muttered, still in her own language. A cowardly protocol that our military forces do not recognize.
Holly looked into the yellow eyes. Perhaps that is why we're human and you're Crucnon. she whispered and looked up at Hilton. Get a stretcher and take Jaddig Qarte to the infirmary, she ordered.
The youth was about to protest but saw the determined expression in Holly's eyes and decided to obey the command. Yes, Generation 7 Sergeant Major Jurjevics, he muttered and walked away.
New Seattle was, in reality, a village built with defense and security utmost in the architects minds. All security buildings were in four underground levels with dormitories and storage areas further down, still. When first started a generation earlier, a gigantic limestone cave had been used as the basis of the village. As well, entrance corridors had vacuum doors with a no-man's corridor between that could be filled with freezing carbon dioxide within seconds. Of course, the defenses could now be of little value when the clickers wore their thermal heated body suits.
The infirmary was off 2nd Avenue, the long walkway two levels below the surface reached by zigzag ramps. No elevators were installed as the small elect
rical generating plants only had the capacity to provide lighting and a few other essential services.
When Holly let the stretcher party through, citizens in the access route stood aside with varying expressions on their faces from curiosity to outright abhorrence. However, the young woman's standing in the small human outpost was high so, no comment was made as the wounded clicker was wheeled past.
The hospital was filled with burn victims and warriors suffering from cuts from the brief but ferocious fight before the humans drove the advancing enemy back by sending thousands of arrows into them. Dozens of young men and women were wounded but hundreds of the enemy lay dead around the village.
We cannot give you blood as we have none of your type, Doctor Martin McLean stated in a quiet voice as he examined Jaddig. We will, however, patch up your wings and stitch those nasty wounds in your shoulder and thorax. It is twenty degrees Celsius in here so you can remove your body suit without fear of losing mobility.
The young female paled, as her normally tanned face turned a dull gray. Female Crucnon do not undress in front of males, she replied in English and turned her pleading eyes to Holly. Surely you understand that?
Holly smiled. This was another unexpected response from this creature. We can get Doctor Sandy Boydell to examine you, she replied. She is female.
Thank you, replied Jaddig. I know I am a non creature now with no rights but...
You have the same rights as everyone else here, Holly interjected, and that includes the right to privacy. She turned to Doctor McLean. You don't mind, do you?
Of course not, he replied and nodded to a nurse You can take Ms.... he looked at the card in his hand, Qarte through to that side room and I'll get Sandy.
You humans are kind, the clicker stuttered. We were told... she never completed the sentence but caught Holly's eyes. Even though the clicker had no eyebrows or eyelids she managed to show her innermost thoughts through a facial expression.
I think both creatures on this world have been told untruths about each other, Holly replied and briskly added. I know I was.
Generation 7 Page 1