by Pj Belanger
Taking a deep breath he inched forward, needing to read exactly what was stenciled on them. Markus lost his breath, letting the talon extend when the guard stirred but thankfully the Bothian just turned over, sniffed and sneezed, then went back to sleep.
The Major again lost his breath when he read the small print on the boxes. They were atomic cluster bombs. Totally illegal as far as the Federation Council rules of war went, but then the Bothians were not part of the Federation. Barbarians! He wondered if Fed Command already knew. Is that why they were blowing the island apart? He bet it was and he’d want to be far away when these babies blew.
It was then that he noticed the bright yellow fluorescent radiation suits hung in a back corner. What really caught his attention were the matching radiation booties. They were stacked in an open yellow plastic box. He reached in and counted out eight pairs, stuffing them under his arms.
He carefully went back down the hall, changing to a bulky black muscle-bound man and grabbed the uniforms but not before stuffing the yellow booties inside. He edged out back to the courtyard, keeping to the shadows and letting his sharp eyes and sensitive nose look for the guards. He made it back to the shed, slipping back into the laboratory. Dropping the black bag, his body leaned against the door and caught his breath. Markus looked menacingly different in the dull glow of the laboratory lights.
“Who are you?” came from a shadow that stood before him. It was Shana. Behind her was Ben, who had a combative stance. The scientist had a microscope that he had raised as if to strike Markus.
“Stop, it’s me!” the Curthian softly said so the lab audio bug wouldn’t pick it up. He grabbed the bag and headed into the bunkroom where he could talk. Once they were in, he breathed deeply. “Give me a minute,” he explained as he returned his body to normal. When he looked like Markus Mase again, he sat on the cot. “Why aren’t you two sleeping, the food they give you is drugged?”
“We know,” Shana explained. “We take turns skipping.”
“Markus? How?” Ben’s voice shot over in the dark room.
But it was Shana that answered, “He’s a Curthian? Aren’t you?” Her hand touched him in the dark assuring herself that he was again the man that had guaranteed them he would get them out of this hell hole.
“Yes, you’re right,” He said toward the direction he assumed Shana was.
“A changeling,” Ben piped in. “I’ve never, ever thought I’d meet one. You are a rare species.”
Markus was used to the surprise, the wonderment and yes at times the suspicious anger. Those that did not understand often misjudged. Many did not realize that he was still human, but that he had a strange physiology and was not some magician or demon. They didn’t realize he wasn’t a sorcerer but that he was a person with soft changing bones and chemical attributes that effected his body. Although different, he had his limits too.
The woman researcher’s voice seemed to float over him, “I knew one once. A woman who was a professor’s assistant at University U. She took hours to change though. You just did it in less than a few minutes.” Shana, from her darkened corner expounded even further, “She was limited in what she could do. For instance, you have to remain the sex that you are. Also you have to have come in contact at sometime with what you change into. Actual contact, not just a picture.”
“Yes, correct but some of us are better changers than others and lots of times it depends on the worlds we are on, given gravitational pull, climate temperature, etc.” Markus told the voices in the darkness. “A few of us have the versatility of rapid change.”
“Wow,” Ben sounded half scared. “I don’t think you’d want the Bothians to know. They’d kill you right away. They are superstitious bastards.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Markus told them. “Hopefully I’ll be long gone before they can even guess. Here, help me get this bag under my cot. I found your uniforms. We will need them soon when we escape.” Shana helped him shove the bag as far under the cot as they could, pushing it against the wall.
As he lay in bed listening to their snores his mind wandered to the crates. The devastation the cluster bombs would cause would take centuries to fix. He had no doubt that once they blew the island up this whole part of the ocean would be a “no fly”, “no enter”, area for many years to come. Damn dogs!
In the morning he was sluggish and sore. Whenever his body changed often it took a lot out of him. His bones and muscles would be sore for days. He also itched on the upper part of his arm. Shana came over to look at his rash. “You got bit by a Tschi Flea. You’re gonna be really sick tomorrow, probably even later today. I’m sorry.” He looked into her blue eyes that were filled with anguish. He bet she was a nice looking woman before her capture, now she was all sharp angles and bones.
“What medicine can I take? I can’t be sick!” he told her.
“They have a shot, but you won’t get it. The Bothians could care less. It’s not fatal, you’ll just be sick with a fever and perhaps a little delirious for a day. Then you’ll be fine. We’ve all had it.”
Markus couldn’t believe it. Of all the times! In a typical Curthian manner he accepted it and went on. He’d have to get them out tonight. He spent the rest of the day pretending he was helping Ben on his research. Mostly he went over in his head his plans of escape. He wanted to make sure he’d not overlooked anything.
It was early afternoon when two sizeable Bothian henchmen came in and grabbed Ben, dragging him out of the room. “No, take me,” Mort, throwing himself in front of them, pleaded. “He’s too old, take me!” Using one heavy paw, one of the guards hit the skinny little scientist and tossed him against the wall like a rag doll.
“Leave him alone,” Shana clutched one of the canine’s arms and got a hard swat that sent her reeling back against the bathroom door. She was momentarily stunned but jumped up and would have gotten another swat if Markus hadn’t held her back.
“What’s going on?” he asked her.
“They take turns torturing one of us, trying to get information out of us. Poor Ben! He’s 64 years old, they’ll kill him.” She sobbed, sinking down to the ground. The woman sat grabbing her knees and weeping.
“Bastards!” the biochemist Ned Baxter yelled at the audio bug under the table.
A blue-furred four-armed dog stuck his head in the doorway. His translator barked at them, “Get to work or all you will die, NOW!” When he swung the lab door open, in two of its arms were stun guns pointed right at them. The remaining scientists shuffled back to their research tables. Cofflin and Mort started singing as loud as they could.
“They will discover soon that we aren’t making any progress,” Shana whispered to Markus. “If you’re going to get us out, it better be real soon.”
The Curthian had thought the same thing. The escape had to be tonight. If he’d understood the guards right, the upper command with their own scientists were coming in soon. All hell would break out once they realized the scientists weren’t really cooperating.
To make matters worse, Markus knew that he was getting sick. Being a changeling, he was super aware of his own body. He could feel his inner biological structure and it was screaming that it was under attack by the flea’s poison. Being aware didn’t help in this case. He had no way of stopping the flea’s venomous assault without the medical shot. He could only try and delay it by strengthening his immune system as best he could.
Late afternoon Ben was thrown back into their lab room. He staggered in and fell into Mort’s arms. The older man looked like hell. His legs and stomach were marred with burn marks. One of his eyes was bloody and blackened. As Mort lowered him to the ground, Shana rushed over washing his face and cradling his head.
“Where does it hurt, Ben?” she whispered to him.
“Everywhere,” he mumbled and passed out. They carried him to one of the cots but had to leave him as the guards came in and told them to get back to work. Markus felt his face flush in anger but said nothing. The Curthian was worried; Ben was in no shape
to walk. They would have to carry him to the escape beach.
Night came and they were shoved once more into the small bunkroom. He had warned everyone not to eat. They had all flushed their meals down the toilet. Ben had actually sat up when they first entered into the bedroom. “I’m alright,” he weakly told Markus. Both of his eyes were now black and bruises covered his entire body.
“We can’t escape tonight,” Shana grabbed his arm, “Ben can’t make it and you feel hot.”
“We have to,” Markus responded. His head was pounding. “The upper Bothian brass is coming here tomorrow. I heard the guards talking last night. The dogs will know you haven’t been really working on finding the stun gun antidote override. They’ll kill you.”
He heard her gasp. “We’ll never make it.”
“Yes, you will,” he forcefully told her. “Get everyone in their uniforms and each of you put on the booties I found. Remember the Bothians have glass shards not only on the beach but also in the surrounding waters.” Markus found the one small flashlight and turned it on. “Hurry, find your clothes and dress. I don’t want to waste the charge in this flashlight.”
The dim lit room became noisy as each of the scientists separated the uniforms and found their own. Each one put on the bright yellow fluorescent booties. The Curthian shook his head. He hoped