by Rob Rowntree
Quickly closing the gap between them, Alan jogged down uneven rows of dirt-covered graves. Tiredness pulled at his increasingly leaden legs. Occasional markers gave substance to the tragedy that had occurred here: May Wheatman, Sister and Mother; Joseph Hadart, Single; Little Billy McGee, 4. After a while he tried to look away but found it hard. Along the second row, limbs poked from the earth like weathered signs, macabre pointers to the Peterson’s legacy. In the stiffening breeze, tatters of mummified flesh tapped against bone. Alan, for the umpteenth time prayed he could make this work.
Glancing up and over his shoulder he noted the sky remained relatively clear. What were the Unbound up to? He shivered.
The cemetery now behind them, Alan slowed to a walk. One hundred meters is one hundred meters and he needed to calm himself. Pickering and Stowe dashed past to catch up with Woodland. Alan watched as they charged up to the boulder and frantically started brushing away the accumulated dirt.
Stowe and Pickering began jumping and Woodland gave a ‘thumbs up’. Alan, about to shout his congratulations, halted as a large shadow presented itself. An Unbound crashed to the ground before him; Expediter class, it towered above him lurching forward, teeth snapping and clicking, its breath like bellows through mucus.
Alan backed up; suddenly realising that they had abandoned the translator as they’d run from the ploughed field. There’d be no way it could have matched pace with its short legs. Beyond the looming creature, Alan saw Pickering running towards them.
The creature certainly looked like one of the Expediters, but Alan felt sure he would fail miserably if he had to identify such an individual. It stomped nearer, the spittle and mucus flying from its thrashing head. Cold sweat made Alan that much more uneasy as it pooled in the small of his back to freeze like a stone.
The thing chattered and clicked, whistled. Alan backed away slowly, not wishing to alarm the beast.
Pickering arrived. The Unbound saw him and swept a large wing knocking Pickering to the ground. Alan heard the crack of leathery flesh on bone; he saw blood trickle from Pickering’s head. Alan worried. Not another. Pickering shouted, “It’s okay, I’m okay. Alan, the translator. Behind you.”
Alan took a quick check behind. A small cart carrying the translator trundled around the cemetery.
“Pickering,” Alan spoke quietly, “get up slowly and take a wide route around our friend here. Then come to stand by me. When the translator arrives get some answers.”
Moments later the translator did arrive and they were talking.
“You may not attempt the communion. We debate now and you must await the outcome.”
Alan wondered if the disappearance of the Unbound reflected the debate currently taking place. Could be they all need to have a say. “What is there to debate?”
“Some amongst us believe that you are not to be trusted, others that you would taint any relationship with the Free. Factions debate.”
Chances don’t come all that often but this one seemed opportune. “Do you see the Hot-Stone? Before I can contact the Free, we need to remove the dust and dirt around it. Will you allow us to complete that task, before the debate ends? You wouldn’t want your superiors to have to sit or stand through hours of digging in the earth, would you?”
“It is acceptable. However, I will keep that one.” It gestured at Pickering. “There are enough of us here to ensure your full cooperation. Commence.”
Alan turned to Pickering, “I’ll get back to you. Okay?”
Pickering, merely nodded.
Alan tried not to look back as he hurried over to the Lander. Waving questions away he said, “We’ve got some time and possibly the best opportunity we’ll ever get. Work fast, we have to locate the access port and clear away as much of the dust from around the base as possible. Time is life now guys. If the debate finishes before we’re in, we can say goodbye. It’s over.”
“Debate?” Stowe asked.
“That’s where our flying friends have gone. Apparently we might taint their holy relationship.”
Without any further debate of their own, they worked fast. The accumulated dust around the base was a good twenty centimetres thick, and in some places compacted.
“Come on,” Alan urged, “dig.”
Woodland, groaned, “Shit man, how long have we been at this now?”
Stowe stood, arched her back, intent on ridding herself a few aches. “About an hour. I’m nearly done on my section.”
Alan added, “Not long then, I’m there too.”
“And me.” Woodland confirmed.
Alan checked out the cemetery with a glance. Six Unbound, two of them Expediters rested on their haunches. They looked unfazed and carefree. Pickering unfortunately, sat tied to a stone wall by a neck leash.
Back to the task Alan asked, “Anybody seen sign of an access hatch?”
“No,” Woodland scratched his head; “Shouldn’t be too hard to find though. There’ll be ladders, they have to be here. The ladders must be stored higher up, and lower somehow. I suggest we scrape a line around head height and look for rungs.”
“Good thinking,” Alan felt sure he would be right. Designs back then rarely called for retractable access ladders.
Ten minutes later, two of the Unbound flew by to check on progress. They chattered a while and apparently satisfied, they departed.
Frustration mounted. With each sweep of the Landers base, Alan became more agitated; his plan appeared to be floating away with the breeze. Why did they have to come across a Lander with a retractable ladder? Think. Where would the release mechanism be? Would it be powered up?
Chapter Thirty
Sacrifice
“Recessed panel or something?” Woodland, stating the obvious, began to run his hand around the base again. Checking from hip to head height he moved methodically. Hot-Stone they called it. Hot.
“Woodland, Avram, check for warmth. Look for an area giving off heat. Even if it’s only a slight variation from the surrounding material.” Alan rejoined the search, hoping his insight might lead them to the access hatch.
“Here. I’ve found it. I think. Around here.” Stowe almost whispered, mindful of alien ears.
Alan hesitated. Stowe’s voice came from around the other side of the craft, the side facing away from their jailers. If they all disappeared around there, the Unbound would be crawling all over the craft before they could do anything. “Listen,” he told them, “we need to keep up appearances. Don’t let on we’ve found it. You two keep searching and I’ll take a look at what you’ve got.”
He passed a beaming Stowe and a few meters further around he came to an X marked in the accumulated dust and dirt. Touching the back of his hand to the mark he felt steady warmth flowing through the accumulated dirt.
Quickly he began to scrape away debris. Slowly, a panel appeared. Two LED displays glowed red. No, no, come on. He brushed away as much dirt as possible.
Leaning in, he willed his spore ports open. Dry skin popped as the ports flexed, Alan felt skin tear. The optic neural-fibre bundles sought out a home and located the diagnostic couplings. He released a small jolt of power from his reserves. Suddenly Alan’s tired mind flooded with information. Selecting and closing down feeds, he began to isolate systems, then to search and locate functions.
The LED’s turned green.
Stowe passed around again. “You’d better hurry. The sky towards the gorge is filling with the Unbound. Debate’s over I guess. Reckon we’ve got about ten minutes.”
Above, stone and dirt chipped and fell away from the Lander’s flank as a ladder popped free of its recess.
“Must be a humdinger of a power source,” Stowe said. “Not to mention fantastic materials for the ladder to have remained functional for all these years.”
“I gave the power cells a jolt from my internal supply, just enough to get the job done. As for the alloys the ship’s made of, just plain luck I guess. Maybe the soil insulated them or something.” He looked at her, “Who
cares, they worked.”
Raising an eyebrow, Stowe went to fetch Woodland.
Alan said, “Don’t come back yet. Keep up your search; I don’t want our friends out here just yet.” As Alan mounted the first rung, his mind raced thinking how to get Pickering out to the Lander. Only minutes remained.
Moving quickly, he climbed the Lander’s access ladder. Further up than he would have thought he came to the access door, a round port covered in a fine layer of dust and grit. He rubbed his sleeve against the small inset window. Dirt fell away from an opaque window; its surface rendered so by countless scratches. Unable to see inside, he set about opening the door.
His earlier power shunt had miraculously kicked a small trickle of power around the Lander’s systems. The access door’s control panel glowed green.
Moments later the door clicked outward, hissing as pressures equalised, then it froze. A high pitched whine came from the door’s actuators. Alan despaired. Damn, it’s stuck. The hinges looked caked in dirt. No time for finesse.
Placing his feet firmly against the angle between the ladder and the Lander, Alan pushed his fingers between the small door and the hull. Decay assaulted him from within. Maslov’s remains? That would be the least of their worries.
Alan pulled; arching his back he brought all of his body’s weight in to play, the actuators whined, the door gave a little. More, harder. His grip slipped, tightened. The door juddered, moved again. He felt the skin on his fingers rub and blister, but the pain felt vital, he felt alive. When the door began to open fully he was elated.
Woodland shouted from below, “Better hurry, sky’s filling with the bastards.”
Without replying Alan dived into the small ship’s interior, to land atop Maslov’s rotted remains. He gazed momentarily at Maslov’s detritus; mould and rot clung to surfaces, the cabin really did stink. Lights flickered across boards.
Without a doubt there’d be no direct link, his wetware came after designs like this, but there would be diagnostic connections. He sought one. Time was precious.
Moments later, link secured, he slid his persona into the machine like an eel ranging through pipes. The small ship’s reserves of power were low, possibly too low to fire the booster. The thrusters were functional.
Alan found the power grid. Here goes then. He felt his lower abdomen grow warm, uncomfortable. Opening connections he fed a short burst of power in to the Lander’s grid. The ship grumbled and shook. That was it; there’d be no hiding now.
Stowe popped her head inside, “We can’t wait, sky’s full—”
“Get in,” Woodland shouted from behind her. “Now.”
Stowe tumbled in. Behind her Woodland’s head and shoulders appeared.
Alan was about to tell him about the Lander’s power situation when a loud thrashing of leathery wings drowned out his voice. Woodland vanished from the hatchway, a sudden scream punctuating the movement.
Alan and Stowe hesitated, each of them, Alan surmised, shocked by the turn of events.
Stowe said, “What are we goi—”
“Shush,” Alan said, “listen.”
A faint scrabbling came from outside, and beneath the scraping and scratching Alan heard the exertions of a man breathing hard. He ran for the hatch, closely followed by Stowe.
Half way down the access ladder, one of the Unbound held Woodland in a head lock. Below, another alien savagely gorged on Woodland’s leg. Somehow, and Alan wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, Woodland had tangled his arm in the access ladder; he looked like he’d never let go.
Woodland snarled and grimaced, desperately trying to fend off the assault with his free arm.
Alan said, “I’m going down there. You stay here.”
“And die like Maslov if you guys don’t come back. No chance. I’m coming down right behind you.”
Alan mounted the ladder and raced down, Stowe’s hurried footfalls narrowly missing his hands. The Unbound flexed their wings and looked up. Seeing the human’s they snorted and spat. The lower alien left its feasting and flew up, straight into Alan. Teeth snapped and claws raked. Alan grasped its throat, but with one hand, choking the creature proved futile.
Tiring, Alan moved across the face of the ladder. The creature darted its head forward, through the gap between rungs. Teeth bit and sunk into Alan’s cheek. Rough, wet lips caressed the edge of his wound, the beast’s latent anticipation coursing through Alan as the Unbound wrenched his head back.
Alan screamed as skin and flesh ripped from his face. Enraged, he let go of the ladder and brought both of his hands in and through the rungs, grasping the creature’ head. All rational thought gone, Alan leaped from the ladder bringing the Unbound’s head through and down. The creature’s neck caught and snapped.
Alan swung and banged back into the ladder, instinctively he clutched the nearest rung. Below, Stowe and Woodland were dispatching the other alien. Somehow Stowe had managed to get past Alan and his alien during the fight. A faint grunt signalled the alien’s demise. Breathing hard, Alan said, “Can you make it Woodland?”
Woodland looked up, “Move it, I’m right behind you.”
Once inside, Stowe dogged the hatch while Alan looked to Woodland’s injuries. In Woodland’s thigh two fist size wounds bled freely, but the blood didn’t pump. Alan took that as a sign that Woodland’s circulatory system remained intact. “How do you feel?”
“I’ll live.” Woodland appeared angry. “Let’s get this boat in the sky.”
Alan took a deep breath, “The ships functional, but there’s not enough power to launch—”
“What?”
“All this way...” Stowe sank to her knees.
“But, as I was going to say, I can get the ship off the ground if I use my wetware power reserves.”
Silence graced the fetid cabin. Alan found the prospect unappealing; however, this was the only choice left. It’s okay, we’ll be free. Keep telling yourself that.
“Woodland you’ll have to pilot. We can reach orbit and there’s enough fuel in the thrusters, to get around. We can make Haqiqa. If my message got through...”
“Pickering?” Stowe’s mention of the Doctor cut deep.
Woodland said, “Alan, fire her up. Avram get to the door. We’ll open it and try to rescue Pickering and hope he can jump to the Lander’s ladder. Best we can do.”
Alan said, “Okay. Just remember, we may become the first bomb this world’s ever seen.”
Woodland scrambled into the pilot’s couch, winced, and checked a few controls and readouts. “Ready.”
Alan closed his eyes, “Hang on. Three, two, one.” Alan felt his whole body shake, felt a hot knot of seething energy push up and through his screaming neck.
The small ship bucked and coughed, vibrations shaking the cabin until his teeth chattered. Somewhere, Woodland shouted, “Lift off.” A grinding noise, metal against rock coursed through the cabin as the Lander edged upward.
Drained and close to passing out, Alan clawed his way towards the access door. Stowe hung to a stanchion staring outside. Pulling himself level he looked for Pickering.
Through the open doorway the world spun and yawed. Alan felt a wash of nausea course through his body. Cramps ripped at his stomach.
Stowe warned, “You should get onto the floor.”
Woodland throttled back and the ship wobbled, she slew sideways. Sky and plain tumbled, like a kaleidoscope, “Bitch’s not going to take this; better get the Doc on the first pass.”
Outside the air teemed with flying gargoyles. The Unbound flipped and dove, edged nearer. If it hadn’t been for the ship’s uncontrolled wobble, the Unbound would have boarded.
Stowe pointed. On the ground a melee ensued. Pickering fought, bravely, downing several smaller Unbound. Momentarily, Pickering ran free, Alan saw him run, searching for higher ground. He’d got the idea. “Woodland take us left, drop twenty.”
The air between the Lander and Pickering became a wall of flapping snarling flesh. “Pull back, w
e’ll be swamped.” Stowe bellowed.
The ship rang with the sound of sudden contact.
Popping his head out Alan saw two Unbound clinging to the access ladder. “We’ve got company.”
Woodland said, “Just keep them at bay while I get nearer.”
Stowe shrieked. “It doesn’t matter. Look.”
Pickering dashed down the slope away from the Lander. Pursued by the Unbound, he ran on, removing the option of rescue.
“Take her up, Woodland. Now.”
Alan and Stowe sealed the door just as the Unbound reached the lip.
Power increased and Alan fell to the deck, winded. He felt several jolts as the ship rocketed up through clouds of the Unbound. As he drifted away, he found his thoughts turning to Pickering and his bravery. Somewhere he berated himself for all the sourness between them. He’d been unkind.
Chapter Thirty One
‘Something Wicked...’
Alan felt the cool-steel-jab of another cannula slip under his skin; right forearm. Something warm entered his body, the feeling becoming fully tangible as a flush coursed around his skin.
Through a murky haze of half glimpsed figures and shadows he heard Stowe say, “Five days? It doesn’t seem fair after everything we’ve been through.”
Woodland said, “Best we can do. Ship’s a wreck. Kiki did a fine job.”
Alan wondered what had five days left before he fainted away to a pain free blackness.
Alan woke to the sound of scratching. His body felt awkward, unfeeling, like he’d been to sleep on his arm but the sensation gripped all over. Although fully awake he found the prospect of moving less than enticing. Slowly, the deep-seated pain that came from numbness worked its agonising way around his body. Not long, keep focused. The scratching continued.
Low light illuminated sterile work surfaces, instrument racks and dehydration packs. Raising his head and ignoring the neck pain, he saw an open doorway and the emergency-lit corridors of the Haqiqa. Smiling, he re-settled himself.
The scratching stopped and Stowe said, “You’re back then.”