The corpulent female was supine upon a pile of coins in a dark, moist alcove of the cavernous room, sedately enjoying a snack of crystallized sweet moss. Her lesser limbs slowed in their constant, mindless counting of the coins, and the wall-mounted, organic laser cannons flanking her tightened their focusing coronas and tracked the approach of the advancing male.
As fitting her exalted rank, she lazily raised four eyelids to gaze at the small male dancing excitedly on the marble floor before her. “What is it (hiss-spit)? Another buy one get one free sale?"
“No, Your Majesty! A starship approaches!"
“A scout returning home?” she asked raising another set of eyelids, and beginning to show some faint sign of interest. That damn blockade of the Gee's was a clever trap. RporRians could check in, but they couldn't check out.
“No, Your Greediness. It's a blue, Mikon #4!"
“Aliens?” For the barest moment her sub-hands paused in their eternal work and she laid aside her claw of moss. “Oh dear, what do our sensors tell us about them?"
The messenger rattled with pleasure. “Thulium, Queen/Mother and lots of it!"
“Wonderful,” she sighed and removed a ceremonial rasp from its long undisturbed compartment to begin filing her bargaining claws. “Then let us prepare a welcome for our guests."
“A parade, Beloved Assessor?” the guard cried, clapping his forelegs together with the sound of castanets. “Could we hold a parade?"
She smiled widely, the act almost breaking her head in two. “That sounds like an excellent idea, (hiss-spit). Yes, they should have a parade."
“Yippee!” the messenger/guard shouted as he started to scuttle from the room.
The Queen/Mother writhed a smile. “Oh yes, and (hiss-spit)?"
Breathless with excitement, he paused by the door, the reflected light from the glass beads casting a thousand tiny rainbows across his twitching, gnarled features. “Yes, Your Avarice?"
“Take that fake silver piece out of the pot and put in two real coins, or I will make you stand on a stepladder.” She was no longer paying attention to him, but her vestigial kneecaps crackled ominously.
Fearfully, the male swallowed hard. “B-by, your command.” Gosh, was she a Queen/Mother, or what?
* * * *
As the Ramariez drifted through space, the green dot on their forward viewscreen rapidly grew into a picture of a lush, tropical world. However, the details were obscured by a thin gray fog that seemed to blanket the planet.
“Dead stop,” Captain Keller ordered, and the ship eased to a halt. Vainly, he studied the screen before him, trying to get a glimpse of the Gee's blockade. Nothing.
“Tactical, Mr. Buckley."
“Aye, sir,” CPO Buckley responded, fiddling with the dials on his console until a vector graphic formed on his monitor and information began flowing across the bottom of the screen.
“Class K star, no sunspot activity. Eight planets in the system, three before us, five aft. Nothing in our vicinity but a few asteroids. No divergent courses. Getting a high metal reading from the planet, indicative of an advanced civilization.” Then he tapped a meter with a finger. Wait a minute, those readings were going right of the scale! Hell, right off the planet!
“Sweet Jesus,” the CPO whispered, crossing himself.
“Report, mister,” Keller barked, the whipcrack tone achieving the desired effect.
“At first I thought the fog was a dust storm, or maybe pollution,” Buckley said, a calm professional once more. “But the cloud is not even in the atmosphere."
Seated at the Scanner Console, Ensign Hamlisch worked to slave their monitors together. “What are you saying?"
“It's the Gee blockade,” Buckley confirmed, barely able to believe it himself. “A swarm of gray metal pyramids that completely surrounds the planet."
Scowling in disbelief, Captain Keller snorted. “Visible at this range? Impossible. There would have to be millions of them."
“Ninety seven million,” Chief Buckley corrected, staring at his flashing gauges, “And still counting."
Keller managed to maintain his outward facade of calm, with only the slight crunching of the metal arm of his chair arm to reveal the tension this news produced. When the Great Golden Ones put up a blockade they didn't fool around. Just calling it a blockade didn't do the construct justice. It was staggering. This was what the Gees had been in the process of erecting about Earth. For the first time, the starship officer fully appreciated what it was they were defying.
In contemplation, the captain glanced at the triptych viewscreen at the front of the bridge. The left panel was in data mode scrolling mathematical equations, the right screen displayed the planet highlighted by computer-generated color splotches indicating chemical composition and thermal activity, while the middle showed a magnification factor 10 picture of the world framed by a gray metal cloud.
“Why is the blockade thinner directly in front of us?” Ensign Soukup asked, stating the captain's unspoken thought.
“Checking,” Hamlisch said, manipulating his Scanner controls.
“Well?” Captain Keller demanded after a minute.
Ensign Hamlisch flipped a switch and frowned. “Because, sir, as far as I can tell, we are in a spiral passageway that goes through the blockade to the planet.” He nodded at the middle viewscreen. “The only reason we can see RporR this clearly is that we've come out of Hyperspace somewhere near the end of the spiral."
“A passageway,” the captain mused. Then he snapped his fingers. “Of course! We must be in the Gee safe route through this mine field."
“Makes sense, sir,” Soukup conceded. “Considering whose coordinates we used to get here."
“Skipper,” the Communications Officer announced, touching the wireless receiver in her ear. “I have just gotten a warning from a sentry device shaped like a golden beehive on the other side of the planet."
“Ordering us to leave?"
The Hawaiian turned to face him. “No sir, just strongly advising us not to land. Or if we must, then not to breath the air on the planet."
“The atmosphere does not register poisonous,” a nurse at the Medical console stated in a thick Russian accent.
“Air tax,” Lilliuokalani said, deadpan.
Captain Keller wondered if the woman was trying to be funny. “Let me get this straight,” Dag said, leaning forward, elbows resting on knees. “It is only prohibited for an inhabitant to leave, but not for somebody to visit unless they pay a tax?"
“Apparently so, sir."
With a sigh of contentment, Keller reclined in his command chair. Great. They were still semi-legal then.
“But this is much too simple,” Ensign Soukup ventured, swiveling her chair about. “Surely, the locals must see ships coming in. Why don't they just try leaving the same way?"
“They probably do,” Buckley agreed. “But the drones are so arranged that thirty percent of them can fire in unison on any target."
“What kind of power does that entail?” Lilliuokalani asked.
Ensign Hamlisch looked apologetic. “Sorry. My gauges don't go that high."
Captain Keller grimaced. Swell.
“Should we erect shields, sir?” Chief Petty Officer Buckley inquired, fingering the proper button.
“Unnecessary,” Keller decided. “It appears that as long as we don't have any RporRians on board, we're safe."
“Aye, sir."
“Anything directly from the planet, Mr. Lilliuokalani?” Keller asked.
“Negative, sir."
The captain considered that most odd. Surely, they knew the ship was coming in for a landing and reticence was not conducive to good salesmanship.
“Follow the spiral in, Ensign Soukup,” he ordered. “And approach with caution."
The Helmsman gulped. “Affirmative, sir."
To the nervously watching crew, it appeared as if the ship was floating through an endless bank of mist, the sheer number of the Gee drones swamping the visuals
.
“Entering atmosphere,” Ensign Hamlisch announced, as the viewscreen began to change from foggy gray to a clear blue. In the distance, puffy white clouds lined the horizon.
“Where should we land, sir?” Ensign Soukup asked.
Attentive to detail, Captain Keller studied the continent. Most of the land was either vast farms, or smoke-belching factories. The two historical adversaries oddly intermingled. Almost as if the effect of pollution on crops was unknown, or perhaps the locals enjoyed the taste of smog. Anything was possible with an alien race. Both of the coasts were sparsely settled, and only three major cities were discernible; two resembled a military complex, and the third an amusement park.
“There,” Keller said, pointing to the left. “That city over there, surrounded by what resembles a roller coaster. It fits the description of their planetary capital."
“Scanners indicate docking facilities for starships to the west of the capital,” Ensign Hamlisch reported crisply. “Change course, six degrees, north by northwest."
“Affirmative,” Soukup replied, adjusting her controls.
“Belay that order!” Captain Keller snapped. “Land us at that park in the middle of the city. According to Trell it's public property and available for anybody to use for free."
“Free?” SFC Hassan asked, from his Engineering station. “Are you sure about that, sir?"
The captain told the man yes, and to shut up.
“Ensign Lilliuokalani, have the landing party assemble in Launch Bay #4,” Keller directed. “The first team will consist of Ambassador Rajavur, Sgt. Lieberman and six Marine guards armed only with pistols. We don't want to appear threatening, or discourteous."
“Affirmative, sir."
“If anything goes wrong, the rescue squad is to be lead by Lt. Sakadea with every remaining Marine fully armed and in powerarmor, backed by our hover cannon, laser batteries and the main gun."
Just the thought of the awful weapon made the Hawaiian uneasy. “Aye, aye, captain."
* * * *
“No, we're not going to call it that either,” Sgt. Lieberman said, resting a polished boot on the edge of a bunk, the shiny leather toe making a dent in the otherwise mathematically flat cloth plane. “Look, what's wrong with calling it the UN Assault Rifle Mark One?"
“But, sarge,” a private complained, scratching her ear. “That's boring! Its gotta have a nickname."
Lieberman scowled. “And what would you call it, Griggs? The Iron Rug, because it can't be beat?"
“How about, the D-20?” a tall, bony private suggested, in the booming voice of a radio announcer.
Sgt. Lieberman braced herself. “Okay, I'm ready. Why?"
“Because, as we charge into battle we'll yell: Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!—"
“Thank you, Furstenburg,” she said cutting him off. “We get the idea."
“Why is that knucklehead here?” a private whispered to the corporal next to him.
At that moment, the wall speaker announced the personnel assignments for the intended landing.
“Tell ya later,” the woman said, as she and the other chosen Marines broke for their lockers and began strapping on equipment.
* * * *
“RporR,” Trell sighed, gazing at the small, wall mounted, auxiliary viewscreen in Launch Bay #4.
His earlier journey to the floor had given him only a brief reprieve from the awful knowledge of what they were about to do. Land on RporR of their own free will. Which was probably the last free thing any of them would ever do, before they landed in one of the bug's infamous debtors’ prisons; which were filled exclusively with off-worlders who thought they could outsmart the insectoids. Proof that stupidity was a universal trait.
“What's wrong with the place anyway?” a private, asked strapping an extra ammunition belt about his waist. “Seems nice enough to me."
After the Master Technician had given the Marines a short, at times near incoherent, synopsis of the insects’ career, even the New Yorkers among them were impressed with the bug's amoral greed. Those guys would put a Colombian drug lord to shame.
Located just below the equator of the huge starship, on the port side, Launch Bay #4 was a curved rectangular room whose plain steel walls had yet to be painted. Luminous yellow lines sectioned off the center of the room into twenty squares, and inside those were sleek, silver aircars.
Designed purely for atmospheric travel, the vessels strongly resembled a conventional bus with the roof removed; with plenty of seats, one driver and no cargo space. All that was missing was a No Smoking sign, a change box and gum on the floor.
Unlike the space going shuttle craft which were named after astronauts, the aircars were christened in honor of atmospheric flyers, both real and imaginary: Icarus, Wang Ping, Vero, D'Amecourt, Count Zeppelin, Orville & Wilbur, Kal-el, etc.
Equipped with Rolls Royce built antigravity generators and belly turbines for lift, and heavy duty Choron ion thrusters for drive, the amazing crafts could lift an army tank full of lead and still travel at over 800 kph. The versatile aircars could also float in water for days, and had studded, puncture proof tires for emergency ground transportation. However, the Marines considered the things little more than flying deathtraps, as the aircraft had no armor to speak of and maneuvered like a dead whale on roller skates.
Dressed in tan duty fatigues and combat boots, the waiting Marines were armed with a laser pistol, five extra power packs, a Heckler Koch 10mm automatic and nine extra ammo clips. Plus, in a bulky shoulder holster, a single shot 40mm grenade launcher. Just like the captain had ordered, sidearms only. Personally, the Marines wished they could bring some real weapons with them.
“How's it coming, sir?” Sgt. Lieberman asked, ambling over to their assigned craft, The Icarus Express.
“Done, Sergeant,” Trell said, closing the hood of the aircar while wiping his lower hands clean on a rag. “I charged the antimatter accelerator, aligned the photovoltaic disc, balanced the gyroscopes and changed the wiper blades."
The soldier paused, then forced a smile. “Great."
Over in the far corner of the bay, a Maintenance technician stopped her mopping of the floor. “Photovoltaic?” she asked. “But surely the DRL assembly is electronic."
“Nonsense,” the man next to her replied, pausing in his scrubbing of the wall prior to painting. “The magnetic lens must be controlled by fiber optics. It would eliminate any possibility of negative feedback."
“Yeah,” said the janitor, studiously applying her mop. “That makes sense."
Leaving the alien to his work, Sgt. Lieberman called for her troops, and the soldiers came running. As they gathered around, the noncom gave them a cursory inspection and nodded in approval. They were hard, lean and mean. She paused. Sounded like a Marine law firm. Hard, Lean and Mean, attorneys at war.
“Security has got to be tight on this trip,” Lieberman, said working the slide on her automatic to chamber a round for immediate use. “The RporRians will do anything to get their people off this planet, and the drones have orders to shoot to kill. The locals don't have communication satellites anymore, or use airplanes. Too risky. The drones keep shooting them down."
“No kidding, Sarge?” asked a private, checking the load on his grenade launcher.
“It is true,” Trell said, neatly arranging his tools in a folding metal box. “Some of the more cowardly of the bugs don't even dare stand up straight. Minor criminals are often punished by making them stand on tall things in the outside."
“Really? What do they do with felons?"
“Breed with them."
The three word reply was delivered with such disgust and hate that it conjured nightmarish visions, and shivers ran along the spines of the Marines. Some things are best not known.
“Okay, time to board,” Lieberman said, glancing at her watch and deliberately breaking the mood. “Take only window seats, but don't get comfortable. I want everybody alert and ready for trouble. But the first person who ac
ts without permission will get a unidirectional boot in the ass."
As the Marines tromped onto the aircar, the janitors across the room chuckled. Tanya Lieberman snorted at them. Maybe the lenses were controlled by fiber optics. Sheesh! Didn't they know the magnetic flux of the aggie generator would distort any such primitive maser relay? The dopes. But then, that was why they were the cleaning crew.
* * * *
As the harsh buzz of its drive softened to a muted snore, the Ramariez came to rest a rigid two meters above a large grassy plain, with gentle rolling hillocks and several lakes. The pastoral locale was the Mid City, Tax Free, Outdoor Recreational Center of (gargle-choke-burp) the capital of RporR.
The local population had scurried away at the starship's approach. Running in fear, the humans supposed logically. But within minutes they were back, hastily assembling plastic sales booths about the ship, taking photos and hawking goods; not to each other but the humans inside. Such esoteric items as: edible postcards, Gee dartboards, Koolgoolagan cigars (fake) and bags of genuine souvenir dirt.
Standing in front of the main viewscreen, Captain Keller studied the banners fluttering above the inflated booths. Most of them bore a broken triangle, the universal symbol of FOR SALE. Quite a few had the triangle and double circles which translated as BARGAIN. One even had three circles, which the starship officer supposed meant CHEAP. Nowhere did he see just a broken circle, the symbol for FREE SAMPLES.
“Are you sure about this?” Keller asked the wall.
“Positive, sir,” the voice of Trell replied. “The ship is too low to need to purchase a flying permit, and too high to require a parking fee."
“What a crazy world this is,” Hamlisch remarked softly.
Ensign Soukup readily agreed. “Aren't they all, my friend."
* * * *
“Here he comes,” the driver observed in a measured tone.
Trying not to tap her boot, Sgt. Lieberman scowled. “About time."
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