Savage By Nature

by Jacob Russell Dring

  And of course, he didn’t pay his food any mind.

  In the cartwheeling speech he spilled, Calloway probably said too much for such a simple plan. It was also punctuated by a lot of “um” and “uh” stammers, as if his brain was throwing itself into overdrive trying to materialize this idea.

  Fact was, even Felina ultimately detached herself.

  She wasn’t dismantling the idea in its entirety—she was a bit intrigued. But she wasn’t certain it would hold ground enough to make a difference. Baez seemed to feel differently; she appeared engrossed, shoveling food faster while practically staring at Calloway as if viewing her favorite film.

  Felina broke down his compound idea in her head for better understanding.

  He wanted to recruit the “like minds” of the Samum crew for “exclusive interviews” using their PDA’s; he aimed to prelude with some trivial questions before “the big reveal”: exposing the secret of the Xeno Project and then recording their reactions. His goal was to disrupt the “warped confidence of Asher” and those that seemed perfectly alright with this twisted experimentation.

  As much as Felina wanted to believe it would work, just a fraction of it, she knew that if the Captain was even half as ardent about Project Xeno carnem as Asher was—success was dubious. They would ruffle some feathers before being bribed, blackmailed, and possibly worse.

  She would rather not think about it.

  As her mind began to wrap itself around Calloway’s scheme to develop her own angle, Loudon’s patience ran dry.

  “Ugh!” she blurted with a vexed grunt, springing from her seat. It scooted back with a quiet screech on the tile but didn’t fall over; that would’ve drawn far too much attention. Her voice was harsh but not strident, although enough to knock Calloway off his pedestal. “I’m sick of all your psycho-babble bullshit, Calloway! Pull your head out of your ass and grasp the big picture, instead of trying to stick your dick in the Big Dipper, then maybe all the hot air will disperse.”

  Felina had to give the woman props, but her disposition was too heated. She tried to verbally reach out and placate Loudon, but the woman was already making her exit. She snatched her tray from the table, slinging food onto the floor, and started to march off. En route to another table no doubt, or perhaps beyond the cafeteria where seclusion held better favor, she bumped into a tall long-haired bearded man who immediately apologized. Loudon simply scoffed and rolled her eyes, as if offended, then stormed away.

  “What’s her problem?” the bearded man asked, his uniform and appearance immediately dawning upon the three seated documenters.

  He wasn’t alone, either. To his sides were a pair of other men, one pale and the other dark-skinned. The pale one was a bit lanky and wore a thin mustache. The other was almost Godunov’s size, but younger, with a bare scalp and prominent ears. Despite his strong brow, his gaze appeared affable. In fact, all three of them seemed most amicable in lieu of their generally dark composures. Perhaps it was their uniform discomfort; they were wearing the same USRD visitor’s uniforms as the documenters, which was a big change from their typical attire.

  They looked like they felt—sore thumbs in a crowd of pinkies. For men used to manning gear of some kind, to walk about in civilian dress with empty hands made them feel incongruous. Felina could tell as much, it was an easy observation; as was her realization of their identities.

  Unfortunately, names were failing her.

  But this was them, alright, Samum crew reporting for…

  Well, not duty. Leisure?

  This clearly had them shaken.

  “Mitchell, right?” Baez said after swallowing her food. She looked on the right side of love-at-first-sight, already standing to offer her hand.

  “One ‘n’ only, yes ma’am,” the bearded man said, shaking her head and offering a brief smile. “Was it my ID tag or—”

  “Um, no, I actually just recognized you from the shuttle.” Baez tried to sound casual. She then shrugged before speaking again. “You’re the pilot, right?”

  “Correct,” he replied, noticing not once her eyes drifting from his, a dark green. He then approached and nodded to the other two documenters. “Kurt Mitchell, pilot of the Samum, aka your chariot. The stick figure to my right happens to be my right-hand-man, literally, copilot of the Samum.”

  “You’re always so kind,” the younger man said. He blushed slightly and introduced himself accordingly. “Terry Ballard, at your service.”

  “May we sit with you?” the other man asked, his voice surprisingly light despite the baritone composition. His accent was thicker than Ikabu’s.

  “Of course,” Baez said, returning to her seat.

  “Please do!” Felina gestured.

  Calloway, meanwhile, appeared in a daze. Probably due to his plan involving the Samum crew and how their timely arrival has just jumpstarted everything.

  Sensing this, while the three men took their seats—the unnamed to his right, Mitchell opposite him and Ballard to his pilot’s left—Felina’s gaze targeted Calloway, tacitly insisting he keep quiet. Regarding his radical plan, at least, and this much was clear to him.

  He seemed fit on keeping it under wraps, although the obviousness of his discomposure wore Felina thin.

  “My name is Kosa Bomani,” the dark skinned man said, lending his hand immediately to Calloway, almost startling him. Calloway cleared his throat and introduced himself as well, loosening up a bit. From here, Bomani just nodded amicably to Baez and Felina in greeting.

  “What is it you do aboard the Samum?” Felina asked.

  “Off the record?” Bomani sounded solemn. It quickly broke into a bright-toothed grin. “I am only fooling. Sorry, but this is quite a luxury for us—to be invited aboard for so long, and on such a vessel as the Manticore.”

  “Paid vacation never sounded so good,” Ballard chimed.

  “Right on, my friend.” Bomani laughed hoarsely. “But truthfully, I am Samum’s technician. It is all I know, really. Fascinates me more than the stars do most of you.”

  “Any passion is worth following,” Felina said.

  Unless it involves bioengineering alien and human DNA to create your own trademarked monster, she couldn’t help but think, and with brief eye contact realized Calloway was mulling over the same thing.

  “This is usually true,” Mitchell said, but there was a heaviness in his voice. Perhaps it alluded to the same notion Felina had in mind, only without the knowledge of the Xeno Project.

  Supposing he was going to elaborate, he hadn’t a chance when his cohort interrupted.

  “Oh, but imagine the technicians here!” Bomani’s eyes lit up. “What great things they must have in the bowels of this vessel.”

  Felina could think of greatness, but it was coupled with horror and even disgust.

  “So how much of the Manticore have you three been shown?” Calloway suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Uh, well, technically not much at all,” Mitchell said. “Ensign Cassel showed us to our lodging, informed us of the vessel’s schedule, and then left us to it. Basically said, if the door is shut don’t enter—”

  “Unless it’s the rec center or a lavatory,” Ballard said with a wry chuckle.

  “Yeah, of course,” Mitchell said, not sounding very amused. Then he sighed and said, “But frankly, we’ve pretty much slept away our past two days. We’ve really needed it, and the type of sleep that makes a stasis chamber look like a prison cot. Oh, man…there’s something beautiful about being paid to sleep, I tell ya what.”

  They all shared a brief laugh.

  “So besides that, just been wandering around?” Calloway pressed after a moment.

  “Yup, pretty much, man,” Mitchell said. “Just enjoying the freedom. Ain't no better tour than your own.”

  “Agreed,” Felina said. “Although sometimes one needs to know more than what they can see.”

  “And that’s why you all are here, right?” Mitchell said. “To observe and document?”r />
  “Clever,” Calloway said, sounding bitter.

  “Oh, I meant nothing by it, really. Just a, uh…well, you could say, just an observation.” Mitchell smirked, sharing a curt laugh with his cohorts. It faded quickly. “So, what have you all thought so far? You’ve been up and about more than we have since boarding this ship.”

  “Ah, uh, you might want to watch that,” Baez hissed cautiously. Mitchell raised an eyebrow in confusion. Baez lowered her voice, squinting. “They don’t like it when you call the Manticore a ‘ship.’”

  “Yeah, c’mon, Mitchell,” Bomani scoffed. “It’s supposed to be ‘vessel.’ You’re just stubborn.” He pivoted his head to look over at Calloway, Baez, and Felina. “He’s just always so stubborn.”

  Mitchell rolled his eyes but Ballard laughed, and so did Baez. Felina chuckled, but her next words targeted Calloway with a vengeance.

  “Yes, we all know how that can be,” she said.

  Calloway abruptly cleared his throat.

  “So what do you boys think about ETL?” The remark from Calloway’s lips was a blurt that made Felina want to kick him in the shin if she could reach from where she sat.

  “Is this guy serious?” Mitchell said with an awkward laugh, pointing a finger at Calloway and yet looking at Felina and Baez.

  “Hell if I know, most of the time,” Felina said tersely.

  “As in…extraterrestrial life?” Ballard said, leaning on his elbows to stare at Calloway through squinted eyes.

  “Yessir,” Calloway said with what Felina could only describe as an inebriated smile, despite his sobriety.

  “You’ll have to excuse my copilot,” Mitchell said. “He’s a little, well…let’s just say he doesn’t quite have all his dogs on a leash.”

  “Yeah, I believe ETL exists beyond the Milky Way,” Ballard said without amusement, not entertaining his cohort’s remark.

  “Why only beyond?” Calloway raised an eyebrow.

  “More to the question, why are we discussing this now?” Mitchell asked, glaring over the table at Calloway. Introductions were already made, but still Mitchell squinted at Calloway’s ID tag, probably hopeful to read more, but it was as basic as things got. “What are you, an asshole? Huh, buddy? Hey, Calloway—I’m talking to you.”

  Calloway finally redirected his gaze from Ballard to the pilot of the Samum. The look on the man’s rugged face was rougher than he had seen it since meeting him, even briefly back aboard the shuttle. He was a tad speechless in lieu of the question, and currently displayed his palms to Mitchell.

  “Don’t gimme that shit,” Mitchell said. “You’re fucking with us, aren’t you? Amused ‘cause we’re shuttlecocks floating through space in a trashcan.”

  Felina rubbed her brow. She didn’t see this turning out well. Mitchell had already accused Calloway of insinuating derision. ‘Shuttlecocks’ in the United Systems was not a reference to badminton; it was a derogatory term for shuttle crewmen, and their aircraft were often belittled as ‘trashcans.’

  “No, hey man, trust me—that isn’t what I was saying.”

  Calloway’s words were so sincere they were palpable with a twang of apprehension. Mitchell could clearly read this in his voice, and eyes, which finally led him to back down.

  “So this guy is serious?” Mitchell asked, turned to face Felina specifically.

  She shrugged. “Honestly, I think so. But that doesn’t rationalize his theories.”

  Mitchell smirked. “I see.” He turned back to look at Calloway. “Apologies, my USRD friend. But you gotta realize how crazy you sound. I mean, look at us—we’re in a multibillion-dollar research vessel at the edge of our galaxy; this is a thing that’s been beyond the beyond, and you’re sitting there asking what we think about ETL.”

  Calloway shrugged. “I don’t see the validity of your argument. What’s any of that matter?”

  Mitchell tried to respond but appeared to short-circuit en route to cohering his thoughts.

  “To answer your question, man,” Ballard said casually, “pretty much what Mitchell just said. I mean, we know every nook and cranny in our system. We’ve explored and pried into every crevice that could possibly exist. Ain’t nothing here. But beyond, ya know? Like…past Andromeda, maybe even NGC…yeah, definitely. ETL is out there, man, no doubt.”

  “Interesting point. No doubt, though?” Calloway said.

  “Don’t entertain this guy, Ballard,” Mitchell said. His eyes turned to Calloway and he gave the documenter a lackadaisical wave. “No offense.”

  Meanwhile Bomani was failing to repress silent laughter.

  “I don’t get why you’re so bent outta shape over the matter,” Calloway said. “It’s just a theoretical.”

  “Yeah, one that mankind’s been hearing tossed around like razor-wire tumbleweeds for the past few centuries.”

  “You’re older than you look,” Calloway replied casually.

  “And I was right,” Mitchell said bitterly behind a sarcastic smirk, “you are an asshole.”

  “Just speaking my mind, man,” Calloway slapped his hands on the table, rattling his tray. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “The possibility of ETL has been discussed, debated, and explored ever since the Sumerians depicted space-men in their texts. I got one word for you, buddy—debunked.”

  “Actually, they were the Anunnaki, which the Sumerians worshipped as gods who created man in their image, as per a tablet discovered 5000 BC; but yes, to the uneducated, aliens of ancient times. And ‘debunked’?” Calloway laughed. He looked over at Ballard and pointed at Mitchell, saying, “Is this guy serious?”

  “‘Uneducated’ is one thing we are not, mister,” Bomani said, suddenly solemn. “You may share your theories and propose new ones, you may debate if you wish. But insult us, this is something nobody has the right to do. Whether you’re documenter or chairman of the United Systems.”

  Well past solemnity, Bomani stood from the table and gestured with a nod that they leave. Mitchell was already on his feet, disregarding Calloway with spite in his eyes. However, it was more than evident that he was regretful to leave, especially in such a manner, by the way he looked at the two women. He bowed his head briefly, mimicking a curtsy of an unseen hat, then slapped Ballard in the back of his head. The young man sprang up, scoffing, and as the Samum crew took the nearest exit into a corridor, Ballard could be heard going on about Calloway’s good points.

  “Way to go, Calloway,” Baez said snidely, returning to her tray’s contents.

  “Yeah, I can see just how adamant you are about attaining their trust for your plan,” Felina said, her sarcasm like a high-caliber rifle. She stood from the table, tray in her right hand. There wasn’t much left in its partitions, as she’d gotten plenty to eat during Calloway’s verbal scuffle with Mitchell. She shrugged just then before leaving. “Dinner and a show.”

  “Actually, it’s lunchtime,” Calloway said, looking over at Baez, even his voice wavering.

  “And you’re hopeless.” Baez said with a mouthful, intentionally putting him off. “Too bad, since I thought your plan was genius.”

  Felina heard fragments of their lopsided conversation as she dumped the leftovers from her tray into a receptacle then set it down. Using merely her eyes, she gestured Baez to follow her, and in the next instant Felina was out of the cafeteria, funneled into the corridor. She glimpsed the Samum crew turn a far corner down the corridor, their pace hasty.

  With a guttural sigh, albeit thankful the corridor was just about empty, Felina picked up her feet to catch up to them. Behind her, Baez was quick to follow, although with less covertness. Baez soon passed Felina, practically jogging, en route to the three men.

  “Dammit, Baez,” Felina half-smirked, picking up the pace. She caught up with her soon enough, and in doing so arrived at the men’s left side. Baez was on their right, and together the women were like a friendly ambush. The corridor became packed with the five of them, side by side, wall to wall.

  �
��What a lovely surprise,” Mitchell said. “Where’s the space cowboy?”

  Baez laughed.

  “Not following, apparently,” Felina said with a brief look over her shoulder. “Care to start fresh?”

  “Of course,” Bomani said, shaking Felina’s hand anew, although it wasn’t quite what she meant. He was nearest, besides, with Mitchell on his right and Ballard to Baez’s left. Bomani’s eyes held a fluorescent gleam to them and his smile was most radiant despite its gloomy disposition moment earlier. “Always welcome to a second chance, should it be welcoming.”

  “That’s a good saying,” Felina admitted.

  “Yeah, he’s full of those,” Mitchell said blandly. “So tell us, what’s the deal with Calloway?”

  “He’s just a little obsessed. Like a child in space, ya know? Can’t stop looking and asking.”

  “His first time up here?” Ballard asked.

  “Nah,” Mitchell interrupted Felina’s response.

  “How do you know?” Ballard cocked an eyebrow.

  “I could see it in his eyes. Trust me, I could tell. The man ain’t that difficult to read. He’s got good intentions, I think.” Mitchell shrugged. “Just kind of an asshole about getting his ideas across. He’s not a ‘can you pass the salt, please’ kind of guy.”

  “He just grabs it,” Felina said with a simple nod.

  “Yeah,” Mitchell sighed. “Admirable in most men, and women…but respect is foremost, where respect is due of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Speaking of respect, which you two seem to be bustling with, where’d the other woman go?”

  “Oh, Loudon?” Baez said with a dismissive shrug. “Probably just to catch some air. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “Calloway?” Mitchell said.

  “How’d you guess?” Felina’s sarcasm was as fluent as a second language.

  “And the others?” Bomani asked.

  “There was a slight…division,” Baez said reluctantly, which was already more than Felina clearly wanted to say.

  “About what?”

  “Opinions,” Felina butted in. “Just…opinions of sheep.”