Dalton Kane and the Greens

by J. S. Bailey

  “You’re loading up in these life pods now?” Dalton asked, too stunned to comprehend the severity of the situation.

  “Yes, but you are a stowaway. There is not enough room in them for you and your missing friend. It was nice knowing you, human, but you were foolish in getting onboard and will reap exactly what you deserve.”

  In a daze, Dalton watched as Ashi’ii strode down the corridor after her peers.

  His vision narrowed to a point until she was all he could see.

  She still had the Cube in her pocket, with Chumley more or less inside it.

  Alarms started going off behind him in the control room.

  It was now or never.

  “Aaaargh!” he cried as he launched himself at her. She let out a yelp of surprise as he shoved her to the floor.

  “Give me that Cube,” he grunted as he fumbled for her pocket.

  Since she was taller and more massive than he was, she got her bearings back easily enough and threw him off of her. “You’re going to get me killed!”

  “I just want the Cube!”

  “I’m not going to—”

  Outside in the blackness of space, two Haa’la sat in the cockpit of a passing space yacht on their way down to Okoka City, where they planned on spending the weekend sipping spiked yurba juice and eating injingji pie until they burst at the seams.

  An unexpected orange glow blossomed through their forward viewport before dissipating into black.

  Trinni, who was operating the controls, leaned forward and frowned. “Pip-pip. What do you think that was about?”

  Her companion, Jonju, stood up and tilted his head to one side as he regarded a new patch of floating debris where moments earlier there had been a bulky cargo ship. Trinni had spotted it a short time before, angling through space a few hundred kushkims ahead of them.

  Jonju said, “Pip-pip. Must be some unlucky bastard who crossed the wrong people.”

  “Pip-pip. Poor buggers.”

  “Pip-pip. Poor buggers indeed.”

  Chapter 19

  Chumley had started to feel rather peculiar the moment he ensconced himself within his Cube to await his ultimate punishment, which was bound to be something equally humiliating and painful.

  Stress, of course, was what made the room sway as if he were onboard a fishing boat on a storm-tossed sea, and as he sank onto his bed to steady himself, he thought of the dying Green he’d touched out in the desert before the storm hit, and how it had been so hurt and broken. Why hadn’t he tried to help it? It hadn’t meant anyone any harm; it had deserved so much better than what it got.

  He slouched there for a time, pondering the poor creature and its fate, when without warning, the image of a fireball in space flashed through his mind’s eye, and he sat up, heart racing. A fireball? In space? Had the Feds found Ashi’ii’s ship and decided to blast it out of the sky?

  He shook himself. What was he thinking? Like he would know if the Feds had found them, being trapped in here, a prisoner of his own making.

  Still, the sense of alarm that had flooded him would not abate. He looked to his security screen and couldn’t see a thing, meaning someone had stashed his Cube somewhere out of sight. Perhaps Dalton didn’t want any Haa’la absconding with it.

  In his mind, he saw himself activating the doorway, frantic as a madman.

  He gritted his teeth.

  What would make him frantic as a madman? An exploding ship?

  Do it NOW.

  Frantic as a madman, Chumley tore across the room and slapped the button to activate the doorway. He rushed out and saw that his Cube had been dropped on the floor in the ship’s central corridor seconds earlier. Dalton and the Haa’la in charge were wrestling each other beside it.

  “Get in!” he bellowed.

  Both Dalton and Ashi’ii stopped, looked at him, and then over at the holographic archway flickering beside him. Dalton’s eyes widened, and he threw himself into the safety of the Cube. Without missing a beat, Ashi’ii followed him inside.

  Chumley paused, assessing his surroundings. No other Haa’la were in view.

  The ship shuddered, accompanied by a loud rumble.

  He swallowed and hurried back inside the Cube, deactivating the doorway.

  On the security screen, fire erupted in a blinding burst, and when the smoke cleared, he could see the curving, cityscaped surface of a planet that could only be Leeprau floating before them like a great, bloated marble.

  Slowly, he turned to Dalton and Ashi’ii, the latter of whom looked on the verge of erupting, herself.

  “What . . . happened?” Chumley asked.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Dalton glared at Ashi’ii, who glared right back at him. “Who blew up your ship?”

  Chumley’s skin crawled. He went to his minibar and poured himself a glass to help him not think.

  Ashi’ii took her time in answering, as she was busy taking in the contents of the Cube and wrinkling her nose at most of it.

  “Was it the Feds?” Dalton pressed.

  Ashi’ii pursed her lily-white lips. “No.”

  “Then who?”

  “Rivals.” She sniffed. “Ones I’d hoped not to run into again. They must have operatives working for Space Traffic Control, and if they got a good look at our flight records, they’ll know what planet we just left.”

  “How do you know it’s them?”

  “They announced themselves before they shot us down.”

  “Are they Haa’la?”

  “Yes.” Her scowl deepened. “They call themselves the Verdants. They’ve destroyed four of my cargo ships in the past five years, usually right after they’ve landed. Thank the gods they haven’t found our main headquarters yet.”

  Dalton frowned. “What do they do that for?”

  “They think Nydo Base Corporation and others like it are monsters. Actually, they think that way about any Haa’la who leaves Leeprau. They consider it an abomination for anyone to set foot on another world, like we’re contaminating the universe.”

  “So, they’re radicals.”

  “As radical as they come. And now they’re going to destroy our base on Molorthia Six.”

  “But you just said they think it’s an abomination to set foot on another planet.”

  “They’re radicals. They haven’t discovered logic yet.” She shivered, then composed herself into a mask of calm. “It was smart thinking, stowing us in your vessel. Can you steer us down to the surface? The outside is small enough that Space Traffic Control won’t see us on their scanners.”

  Chumley was already in the middle of pouring his second glass when Ashi’ii said this, and he looked up at her wearing a pained smile. “About that.”

  “Yes?”

  “This isn’t a vessel.” He poured back a shot that burned its way down his throat like a falling meteor.

  Ashi’ii’s expression grew stony. “Then what is it?”

  Chumley coughed, lightly. “It’s a storage unit—where I keep my things. If it were a vessel, we wouldn’t have stowed away on yours, now, would we?”

  He hadn’t thought a Haa’la’s face would be capable of changing color, but Ashi’ii’s deepened to a violet blue, which was probably the color of their blood. “So, what is the next step?”

  “We stay in here until we suffocate from lack of oxygen.”

  A slow metamorphosis passed over the Haa’la’s face. At first she appeared confused, then mirthful.

  “You think we’ll suffocate, do you?” she asked, her expression now wry.

  “Well, yes. The Cube is floating out in space. If I open the doorway to ventilate it, all of our air will get sucked out.”

  Ashi’ii actually chuckled. “It’s typical of humanity.”

  “What is?” Dalton snapped. He’d been brooding in the corner, star
ing at his boots as if they would give him some answers.

  “Your profound lack of knowledge about your stellar neighbors. Humans and Haa’la might look similar superficially, but we have vastly different physiologies.”

  “What, you don’t need to breathe?” Dalton asked. “Doesn’t help us any; we’ll still suffocate.”

  “Of course we breathe! My species needs carbon dioxide to live, and our bodies convert it into oxygen when we exhale. Based on what I learned in university, your species is the exact opposite. This physiological balancing act will give us time to solve our dilemma.”

  “If you hadn’t invaded Molorthia Six, we wouldn’t be in this dilemma,” Dalton reminded her.

  She threw him a disgusted glance. “I’ll hear no moralizing from the people who’ve conquered a hundred forty-four worlds and then some. Molorthia Six was never really yours. You just went there and made it yours—and now, it’s mine.”

  “We could reach some sort of deal,” Dalton said.

  “Of course. Give me the money I would have earned from the sale of your planet’s minerals, and I’ll pack up my bags and call it a day.”

  Dalton bristled at the Haa’la’s airy tone, and before this could devolve into even more of a mess than it already was, Chumley said, “How about you both have a good, stiff drink? We might be trapped in here for a while, and fighting won’t help us keep our heads. Do the Haa’la drink alcohol?”

  Ashi’ii let out a sigh. “What do you have?”

  Chumley eyed the contents of his minibar. “Bourbon, whiskey, some red wine, and champagne. Oh, and tequila, but I’m not sure if I have any salt to go with it.”

  Ashi’ii took a sudden, recoiling step backward. “You drink salt?”

  Perplexed, Chumley said, “It goes on the rim of the glass; adds a little flavor. I’m guessing it’s not quite your taste?”

  “My taste?” Ashi’ii looked appalled. “It’s barbaric!”

  “How so?”

  Genuine fear glinted in her eyes, and she took another step in reverse. “Salt in its pure form is deadly. If it gets on my skin, or if I consume it, I’ll dissolve.” She swallowed. “Please do not use that information against me. I mean you no harm.” As if to prove it, she knelt on the floor and bowed her head.

  Chumley looked over at Dalton, whose mouth hung open in astonishment. “That’s why the food at the base tasted so bad.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Cadu breathed.

  Carolyn and Errin had fashioned a rudimentary stretcher out of supplies from the hardware store and carried the inert intruder down to the police station. The being lay out on the long table in the meeting room now, uncuffed, and Carolyn’s cousin Monica had arrived a short while ago, bleary-eyed and blinking, to examine them.

  “It’s true,” Monica said. “This is a Haa’la, most likely male. He’ll probably wake up within the hour.”

  “The Haa’la,” Carolyn said, uncertainly. “Aren’t they the ones the Feds have been investigating?”

  “For raiding alien worlds and stripping them bare, yes,” Monica went on, shining a penlight into the Haa’la’s amber-yellow eye. The pupil contracted, but the alien didn’t stir. “I saw a special about it when I was off visiting Punam for a few weeks.”

  “They’re the ones causing the fires, then.”

  “I’d bet money on it. The Haa’la specialize in mining and drilling and probably needed to clear some land up that way.”

  “They’ve been looting, too.” Carolyn nodded at the alien. “This one was stealing from the hardware store.”

  “Not just this one,” Cadu said. “One was in here, too. And there was the one you saw outside your flat.”

  “What can we do about this threat?” Carolyn asked.

  “You’re the boss,” said Cadu. “You tell us.”

  “I know almost nothing about these people.” Then, remembering what she’d asked Errin to retrieve earlier, she said, “Errin, do you still have that salt?”

  “Oh! Yes.” Errin dug in the pocket of their pajama bottoms and withdrew a salt shaker. “But I still don’t understand what we need it for.”

  Fully aware of how un-Carolyn-like this would sound, Carolyn said, “Something happened to Gwendolyn Goldfarb that’s caused her to know things she has no way of knowing. She knew the hotel would burn down, for one. And she told me that ‘salt will win.’ Now either she and I have both gone bonkers, or there’s something to it.”

  Monica’s eyebrows rose. “You really don’t know much about the Haa’la, do you?”

  “I already said I don’t. Why?”

  “Salt is deadly to them. They don’t even swim in their own oceans, because even though the salt is dissolved, it can make them extremely sick.”

  Carolyn returned her attention to the Haa’la. Monica had lifted his veil from his head and pulled off his shirt to get clearer readings from his heart. (Monica had reported that his pulse remained steady at forty beats per minute). His skin was ivory, like a bowlful of heavy cream, and long, recently-healed scars stretched across his abdomen, as if made by sharp talons.

  “What do you think cut him up?” Carolyn asked.

  Monica frowned at the old wound. “Based on the spacing between the cuts? I hate to say it, but our boy here might have survived a Green attack not that long ago. I saw some of the remains from Piney Gulch.”

  A subdued silence fell over the room. Fully aware of the increasingly late hour, Carolyn said, “Can we give him a shot of something and wake him up?”

  “I’d rather let him wake on his own; I don’t want to accidentally kill him with human drugs. We’d better get him strapped down, though.”

  Before Carolyn could reply, the Haa’la drew in a gasp and sat up, wide-eyed at first, but then his expression morphed into a sneer. “Pip-pip! Go a’a shim himms.”

  “Catch any of that?” Cadu muttered, drawing his stun gun.

  “He probably just told us to go to hell,” Errin commented, taking half a step backward. They were still holding the salt shaker, and when the Haa’la’s gaze went to it, he let out a shrill cry and tried to scramble off the table, not realizing his ankles had been bound together.

  Cadu squeezed the Haa’la’s shoulder with his free hand and shouted, “Cuffs!”

  Errin snatched the metal cuffs off the table and slapped one side around the Haa’la’s left wrist, then yanked his other arm around and secured the other one. “I said we shouldn’t have taken these off in the first place.”

  “It would have made it too difficult to examine him with them on,” Monica said. She’d backed closer to the wall, her stethoscope hanging askew around her neck.

  Errin picked up the salt again. Their Haa’la prisoner regarded it as if it were a cobra that could strike at any moment.

  “Do you speak English?” Cadu asked the prisoner.

  The Haa’la’s jaw clenched, and he muttered something in his own language.

  Cadu tried again: “Você fala português?”

  The Haa’la made no response.

  “Let me try,” said Monica. She looked to their prisoner and said, “Tuannu punjabi aundi hai?”

  This didn’t work, either.

  “Well,” Cadu said. “Does anyone else have any ideas on how we can talk to this guy?”

  Carolyn knew rudimentary Punjabi as well, which wasn’t going to help. She looked to Errin and said, “Have you got anything?”

  Errin bit their lip, concentrated a moment, and said, “Xereis na milas ellinika?”

  The Haa’la’s eyes lit up, and he replied, “Naí.”

  Cadu looked equally stunned and impressed. “What the hell was that?”

  Errin folded their arms, a trifle smugly. “Greek.”

  “You’re not Greek!”

  Monica said, “The alien speaks Greek?”

  “Hush, all of
you.” Errin refocused their attention on the Haa’la and said something else in words nobody else in the room could understand. The Haa’la said something in reply, and the two of them carried on in that same manner for several minutes.

  Finally, Errin cleared their throat and said, “His name is Shoru. He would like it if we removed the salt from his sight.”

  “People in hell would like a drink,” Carolyn spat. Fatigue was getting to her, and her head was pounding. “How do the two of you happen to know the same language?”

  Errin said something else to Shoru. Then, “I had Greek roommates at university. Shoru learned it at his old university, where students could study alien languages as electives.”

  “All right,” Carolyn said. “Ask him what he’s doing in my city.”

  “And ask him how many more Haa’la are lurking around here,” Cadu added. “That might be kind of important.”

  “Of course.” Errin started to interrogate the alien further, when suddenly three white-veiled figures materialized just inside the meeting room door, pointing weapons at them.

  “Pip-pip! Release your prisoner,” one of them said, taking one menacing step forward.

  “Or what?” Carolyn asked.

  “Or we will rain combustible acid down on your city, just as we did to the forests.”

  Carolyn raised her eyebrows. “You’d burn your comrade along with the rest of us?”

  The English-speaking Haa’la fell silent, but only briefly. “We will do whatever must be done to ensure the success of Nydo Base Corporation.”

  “And what does Nydo Base Corporation do here?”

  “We operate mines and drills. It is a profitable endeavor, but your people may be too stupid to know that.”

  Errin, meanwhile, was making discreet movements at the far edges of Carolyn’s peripheral vision. Carolyn realized what they were doing and thought, I ought to give them a raise.

  “You should leave us,” Errin said, their tone uncharacteristically dark.

  “Or what?” the Haa’la asked.

  “Or you’ll pay the consequences.”