by Marcha Fox
Chapter 3
AS THE CERULEAN NIMROD approached Verdaris, the planet's emissions were overwhelming. Thyron luxuriated in the euphoric influx of data that engulfed him in an exhilarating mind-feast. Most exciting was the presence of botanical species without number, unlike his sparsely-populated native world. As the ship set a parking orbit in search of its destination, the planet rotated below, emitting trillions of impressions which he sorted instantaneously into his expanding photonic database.
A vast variety of floral geneses and innumerable species with varying degrees of awareness linked with his expanding consciousness. Some were nearly as intelligent as he, many were carnivorous, and others passive, subsisting entirely on minerals from the rich soil. Moisture abounded in extended tropical regions, others temperate with species that experienced deciduous cycles of dormancy. The virtual sense of being embraced by such a luxurious atmospheric caress of humidity was pure ambrosia.
He shuddered when he felt the metallic chill of human technology with aggressive intent in the planet's remote polar areas. Its darkness filled him with foreboding, not only due to its human origins but its destructive purpose which would affect all living things.
Thousands of square kilometers were cultivated in what he discerned as vast farms lush with grain that identified itself as stalii, which would be harvested for human consumption as the primary ingredient of genour. He shuddered and reminded himself of the evil nature of humans, forcing plant species to slavery and a violent death. Besides that, however, while Heaven or Nirvana were concepts he hadn't yet encountered, what he perceived below was a close facsimile. Harmonic patterns of botanical kinship and waves of new knowledge soaked into his flaunal brain as comfortably as pedal rootlets absorbed spring rain, expanding and enhancing his perceptions while refining his thoughts to those of poetic expression.
The ship jolted sharply and a collision alarm went off, its shrieking frequencies startling his awareness back to the confines of the Cerulean Nimrod and its immediate surroundings. The reason why the planet was under evacuation order was immediately apparent. Beyond the piloting chamber window, clusters of lethal meteoroids circled the globe, a mix of cometary fragments combined with dust and debris from impacts which had already bombarded the planet's surface. A series of craters below belched smoke like waning funeral pyres, the planet's guts spewing volcanic eruptions as if rebelling against the cosmic attack. The rich mineral content of a large fragment distracted him momentarily as he wondered if they could bring some much-needed nourishment back to his fellows until another impact demanded his attention.
Sensing imminent danger, he accessed the nav system and switched it to manual, assuming control from the pre-programmed trajectory to a location they'd otherwise never reach. Intuitively guiding them through the plethora of rocky projectiles, when clear of any immediate threat, he allowed the ship's automated systems to resume control. It banked sharply in another direction, his sensors alive with input from his floral cousins below as the ship slipped into the atmosphere and drew closer to the planet's lush surface. A small settlement comprised of ballomes, small, inflatable epoxy structures used as temporary shelter on remote outposts, appeared near the horizon. The craft's bearing clearly stated that such was their destination.
Nestled amongst an unkempt field littered with a variety of disabled spacecraft was a primitive domed structure covered by a variety of antennae, one of which was conveniently emitting a distress signal in a radio frequency, something the Sapphirans' elite navigators had long since discovered often indicated easy prey.
The craft settled to the ground and shut down. The pygmies filed up from below, hungry, expectant faces seeking instructions. According to procedures provided by their employer, Thyron advised them to suit up. The environmental suits onboard were bulky and uncomfortable compared to the natives' usual fashion statement comprised of loin cloths or less, his directive earning a protest comprised of grunts, groans and an effluvial blast that wilted some of his leaves. He knew the concept of following orders was unknown, so responded with a graphic visual replay of a previous hunting expedition which targeted a distress call.
The ship had been disabled but not its crew, resulting in the demise of half the members of their party when the occupants of the doomed vehicle had recognized them for what they were, i.e. self-serving bounty hunters with cannibalistic intent. This reminder was all it took to convince them that suits offered some protection from low power laser weapons, at least, and thus a slight advantage, just in case. Furthermore, in the event the victim was familiar with Sapphirans, their identity would be hidden.
If the subject refused to join them peacefully, each was issued a stun-gun, with which they'd practiced onboard during their journey. This had unfortunately resulted in numerous scars before they'd figured out that the weapons were most effective in different parts of the anatomy than those targeted by spears and arrows. Thus, following directions to retrieve the individual, who was described as non-threatening, was assured, so they could fulfill their delivery contract.
As if that would ever happen.
Thyron knew delivery of the subject was moot, given the fact they'd been without solid food for several days. More likely, their harvest festival would take place right there, surface hazards related to cometary collisions notwithstanding. Maybe they'd all die, but they wouldn't go hungry.
As soon as everyone was suited up, Thyron released the inhibit securing the ramp and it hummed to the ground. Immediate complaints at the world's increased gravity compared to their own came forth as grunts and sighs. Mirth tickled his protoplasm again as he watched the first two Sapphirans exit and waddle slowly through waist-high grass toward the comcenter broadcasting the distress signal. If they failed to return, the next pair would investigate and the final two in the event they, likewise, didn't come back. Sapphirans' low grade intelligence combined with a strong sense of personal survival didn't include magnanimous concern for their peers.
As he watched the first pair approach the hunched over building through the flight deck window for the first time, Thyron tuned into their quarry's psi waves. The target was a pre-adult female with a psi-signature such as he'd never seen. Her intelligence not only matched his own, but had an entirely different human nature than any he'd encountered before. This was no warrior, but a human with a demeanor he'd never suspected to exist. Momentary compassion consumed his protoplasm, mind spinning with indecision.
No. Humans were herbivores and couldn't be trusted. Game on, he thought.
He expelled a leafy gasp and rolled his bulbil eyes when the two pygmies stopped abruptly to remove their helmets. Now that their race was obvious, it clearly bespoke their devious purpose, so there was no telling how their subject would react. He shifted frequencies back to her thought queue and perceived recognition followed by panic. She was talking to someone, but if there was another person present, he couldn't pick up their response. Then a sense of purpose replaced the girl's anxious vibes and a moment later the target of their jaunt appeared on the deck surrounding the primitive structure. She wore a startling jumpsuit of bright orange such as that worn by prisoners on some planets. Had she escaped from one? Or was she perhaps a waylaid astronaut? He examined her aura more closely for clues. She was Miran, the glaring outfit a color-coded uniform based on age. Mirans were predictable, which would make this easier.
Or were they?
Thyron's eyes widened in disbelief as the dark-haired girl welcomed his blue compadres to the planet and beckoned them inside!
This gig clearly wasn't going according to the Sapphiran's plan any more than the one dictated by their employer.
Suspecting a trap, Thyron sent the pair a cautionary advisory, but his directive was overruled by hunger. The two disappeared inside. He sensed a brief frenzy of activity, then all was quiet. Had they been ambushed or were they prepping their quarry for the harvest feast? Thinking the other two were
claiming the bounty to their exclusion, the next pair headed for the building. Again, the girl issued a welcome, albeit a nervous one, and the pair hobbled toward her and up the steps on stubby legs.
Again, all was quiet. Too quiet. He tuned into the girl's consciousness and found it agitated but alert. The four pygmies, however, were silent. Sensing their minimal brain activity was always a challenge, but it was unlikely they'd suddenly acquired the appropriate social graces to wait patiently, assuming, of course, that their quarry didn't realize what she was dealing with. Her emanations told him otherwise.
Meanwhile, the final pair was impatient and nervous, not so much because something unfortunate may have befallen their comrades, but the possibility that their anticipated meal was somehow jeopardized. Thyron sent them a visual impression instructing them to use the second entrance he'd detected at the rear of the building. The pair departed in a wide circle, using their spacecraft for cover, then working their way through even higher grass, which Thyron had previously detected was cultivated. They disappeared amongst sheafs heavy with ripening grain which waved far about their naked blue heads, the vegetation's movement tracing their covert path.
Thyron locked onto their mental frequencies, feeling their excitement, anticipation and a touch of trepidation. A burst of surprise. Then silence.
