by Luke Norris
“Call me Cougar!” Oliver said, grimacing at the pain.
“Ponsy!” The driver replied. His voice was deep with a raspy edge. He unclipped the small medical glue tube on his belt. The glue closed the cut, instantly fusing the skin, “You're all done here. Keep it clean. Infection risk is higher in the jungle.”
Ponsy was reciting the same mantras that Oliver had running in his own head. Knowledge they had both had imposed on their memories.
Oliver clipped the vent back in place. Then pushed himself up again painfully keeping the weight on his good leg.
“That was a bit of fun, wasn't it lad?” Yarn was smiling, his thin eyes glinting. “Come on you lot, I'm not carrying your dinner too.” He had taken his small utility knife and was working his way through the top of the front leg, trying to free the meat. The skin was leathery armor, making it painstakingly slow work.
Once they had finished removing the four legs. A large man stepped forward and took hold of the head behind the wide face plate, being careful to avoid the small horns between his fingers. His skin wasn't quite as dark as Ponsy's, and he had a wide flat nose. Oliver watched him strain against the weight of the carcass. His neck disappeared under shoulder muscles, arms rippled, as he dragged it to the bank.
This man’s a walking powerhouse. Oliver thought, watching the tail slither behind like some medieval weapon. He lifted the front half of the beast's three hundred kilogram bulk completely off the ground and heaved it into the current. “Best not to have a fresh carcass on the trail behind us.” The softness of his voice was surprising.
Yarn spoke up. “Strong… and some brains.”
“Ha! I doubt that.” Cass piped in. “This brute's good for nothing but following orders.”
Yarn ignored the comment. “What do we call you?”
"My name is Jerome,” he said, not looking at Yarn. His eyes lingered on the blaster in Cass’s jumpsuit. “And you little man with big mouth?" He added.
“I’m Cass. And don't go all macho driver with me! Keep those eyes in your head, big boy! You just keep to what you're good at… lifting things!”
Oliver noticed another watching the standoff in silence from under his thick dark brow. Penetrating blue eyes. Cass caught the driver’s scolding gaze.
“We don't have much daylight left.” The man said. “We need to carry on until we find somewhere to camp!”
“Yes, Costa’s right,” Cass said, leaving Jerome and turning to help Yarn.
It wasn't long before the meat was roasting. As Oliver chewed on the tough meat, he considered the obedient behavior from Cass. So un-driver-like. To be fair, the megalomaniacal behavior seemed to be occurring less amongst the group. But Cass had almost jumped to Costa’s bidding. Then again, nothing was normal about their situation, so who was to say what unusual behavior was? But something still bugged Oliver about it.
That night when the fire dwindled to red embers and snores could be heard from the drivers, Verity stood with six castaways in the shadows. The conversation between them barely above a whisper.
“I still don't like this.” Lieutenant Shira said. “What if they figure out who we are? They are all physically bigger than us. I mean, just look at the size of some of those men!” Her tall, lean figure was silhouetted against the night sky.
“That's exactly why we need them,” replied the captain. “Their size and strength are why they are drivers in the first place. We can use that in this hostile environment. I mean, you saw that creature we killed today.” He leaned in. “And, don't forget we have the advantage of speed. We can control our metabolism, they can only slow down for deep status sleep, and they have to be on the ship to even do that. If things get bad and the drivers get out of line we could speed up. Doesn't matter how strong they are, they could never match our speed, they wouldn't stand a chance.”
“I still don't like it.” Shira didn't seem placated. “They don't recommend increasing the metabolism to go faster, they say it has long-term damage to the body, decreases your natural lifespan, just like slowing down lets us live longer.”
“A few of them are still under the influence of the drugs,” Cass said. “I could still hear them calling Command for orders today.”
Sergeant Costa broke in. “Their powers of reason will return as the drugs wear off.” He paused, “this will make them more dangerous in one respect.”
“What? Are you crazy? Shira said. “They are egotistical killing machines on those drugs.”
“Yes, but at least they were predictable. They only had one train of thought, a single line of focus. Now they will begin to ask questions. Think! Some of them have been drivers for centuries, their minds chemically chained that entire time, either asleep on the ship or as our little commanders on the planets.”
Verity shuddered. She feared these men having their sanity returned, and she hated herself for it. How could she wish chemical shackles be placed on another person’s mind?
“Who really knows how they will be when they are themselves again.” Costa continued. “Remember what the captain said! Just keep up the act. None of them suspect us being anything but drivers…”
He broke off, as rustling came from the sleepers. They were silent for a time and then when they were sure nobody was listening they continued in hushed tones.
10. Suspicions
The orange light of the dawn was imbued with greens caused by some strange atmospheric phenomenon, it washed around the large crescent moon that sat in the sky. Verity closed her eyes and let the distraction absorb her, and take her mind off the nightmare of her situation. The cacophony of the jungle birds and wildlife rose to a wonderful chorus as the dawn rays filtered down the canyon to warm her face.
Yesterday, the ominous mountains had been black, they were now an eternally high wall of pink, orange and green rock as the rising sun spilled its morning colors across the face. A reminder that this strange world was not Terras.
Cass’s voice broke her reverie as he barked an order at Jerome. “Don't forget the containers!” He made sure the handle of the blaster was visible. The scar above his lip made his smile sadistic. Jerome's brow furrowed but he stayed silent as he watched him pass.
Cass was the one crew member she tried to steer clear of. The way he bragged about things he had done on Earth. He had gone planetside, and let his depravity run wild. Did he even consider first-stagers as people? He spoke like they were animals. The only thing keeping her safe from his thuggery was the fact that she was also a second-stager. Thank god he had imposed those rules on himself. Sure, a woman like Shira could handle his type, but did she want to be hard and callus, like Shira? Verity couldn’t blame Shira for being the way she was, in this business you either grow skin or break. Would Verity break? If Cass knew she was really a good girl from society, well not even being a second-stager would protect her...from any of them.
It was the third day, and Verity estimated they had covered around fifty-five kilometers from the landing craft, but the mountains seemed no smaller or further away. The crest of the peaks resembled thousands of black blades piercing the stratosphere.
The chasms wound on, with no sign of the landscape relenting. Had she ever walked so far in her life? Raw blisters on both feet were rubbing as if answering the question.
The canyon they were in seemed to be one of the larger ones. There were hundreds of canyons adjoining this one, with streams feeding the river. Some of the tributaries were hundreds of meters high, waterfalls beginning as thick jets of water, but by the time they reached the main flow they were simply mist. The wondrous landscape was recompense for the pain in her feet.
Cass had made a lucky shot in the morning and hit one of the huge woolly creatures that grazed on the cliffs. The poor creature had jolted in fright at the echo of the blaster, the sudden movement caused the weakened rock to give out under the animal’s weight. It had toppled down the scree in a cacophony of cries and falling shingle and snagged itself in a tree just above the track.
Verity was famished, the remaining meat from two days earlier had already gone off and had been thrown away. This was fresh, but she could hardly keep it down. It stunk of urine, the urea must have permeated the tissue because the taste wasn't much better.
A large man named Brick, with chiseled square features interrupted her thoughts. “Who got us off the ship?” The drivers all spoke the rudimentary command language, but his accent was particularly thick. “Who actually pulled us out?” Everybody looked at each other, but nobody answered.
Verity’s insides squirmed as one of the driver’s eyes landed on her. Cougar was that his name? He was tall, with intense brown eyes. Apart from a few scars, he had a symmetrical face. But she found it hard to pull her attention from those scrutinizing eyes. It wasn’t just the way he looked at her, he did it to the others too. Nobody else seemed to notice. It was probably just a driver thing. She was being paranoid. He did seem more lucid than the other drivers though, but there was no way he could suspect her, was there? She clenched her jaw pretending not to be fazed by his gaze.
Verity had long since cast aside the romantic notion of adventuring through the galaxy. What a fallacy! She’d witnessed the callousness of her crew first hand. Yarn and the others had manufactured a chemical induced war on Earth, and let it tear itself apart. Billions of the planet’s inhabitants wiped out, for a profit. She was complicit. The only reconciliation to the atrocities was the knowledge that her crew had been forced to flee when the intergalactic police had arrived, and set to chasing them across the galaxy.
Yes, Earth had been rescued. It would recover, but there was catastrophic damage. She turned away from Cougar’s gaze.
*
Oliver’s leg prevented him from walking any faster, to escape the irritating tirade of words from Brick. All morning without pause. The driver, who had the physique of...well of a brick, was talking to him again in exaggerated loud tones, purposefully loud enough for the others to hear.
“We must go to the hills, yes?” Brick said. “Why are we following this man with blaster? I saw no smoke in direction we are going.”
Another driver mumbled his agreement, but he was vacant looking and simply going along with Brick’s forceful personality. “Mmm, no smoke,” he echoed. His mind was still under the influence of the drugs, but they should have long since worn off. His mind is broken. Poor sod.
The suspicions Oliver had over the last days had started to solidify. Someone in their midst had pulled them from the wrecked landing craft. This was not the act of a driver. Could there be a pirate among them, concealing their identity? He had spent months planning on board the ship with Lego, ways to infiltrate the pirate crew. Huge technical challenges had hindered them from achieving this goal. The space walk had only allowed him so far before the ship’s surface was no longer magnetic. Had Lego found a different way to place Oliver in the midst of the enemy? Had Lego had made sure he was one of the drivers on this landing craft because he knew that a crew member would also be onboard?
Brick was just a driver like himself. He could take Brick off his list of suspects. Those outbursts of aggression weren’t contrived. It was typical driver behavior and heavy withdrawal symptoms. Oliver tried to imagine what kind of man he must have been on his own world. Had he been a farmer like Oliver, more docile in another life? Oliver could see several scars on Brick’s neck above the jumpsuit. He’s a driver now. Oliver thought sadly.
“Hey, you! Costa, right? That's your name, isn't it?” Brick demanded. “You are the driver that climbed tree and saw smoke.”
It was true. How would Costa react to the accusation? Oliver stood silently off to one side and watched carefully to see how he responded to the other driver.
Costa looked up with his penetrating blue eyes under a thick dark brow. He carried the distinct look of utter disinterest. As a way of answer, he just swigged some water and waited.
“You said you saw smoke! Brick insisted. “We have been walking three solid days and have not seen a hint of civilization!” He nudged the brain-dead driver beside him.
“Civilization.” He echoed.
Costa looked as though he hadn't heard, and then turned away.
“Don't you turn away from me! You are responsible...hey listen to me when I’m speaking to you.”
Costa turned back and watched impassively as if Brick were a mildly interesting show.
“There was no smoke, and you know it.”
“Know it,” came the mumbled echo.
“These drivers might not realize it, but I see through you.” Brick had moved and now stood above Costa, his muscles tensed.
Intimidating other drivers was hard, but Costa seemed unusually calm to Oliver. He still hadn’t uttered a single word. Something about his demeanor seemed off.
*
Costa continued to sit looking up at the man from under his thick brow with an expression of boredom. He couldn’t let his face give away what was taking place inside his body. The sounds around him had already begun to deepen slightly, and Brick’s voice seemed slower and dragged out like a soundwave being slowed down. Everything around seemed to be slowing down, but it was an illusion, his body was, of course, speeding up. Costa was preparing his body to move at hyper speed.
This first-stager peacocking around in front of Costa. He was about to experience something far beyond his understanding.
But something wasn't right. It was taking too long. It's been too long since I've done this, this is what happens when we let drivers do all he fighting. My body is not responding like it used to, I'm out of practice. Costa’s placid expression gave none of these thoughts away as he sat on the log, he still hadn't moved a muscle.
Brick stepped closer to Costa, scanning the other men for support. His attention suddenly snapped to something at the river. He stood there transfixed, temporarily forgetting the altercation with Costa.
The pale shoulders of a woman emerged from the water. She rose facing away from the men and was oblivious to their stares. Water streamed down her back until the cheeks of her bottom were just above the current, her pale creamy skin was wet and reflected the sunlight. She walked to the bank to collect her jumpsuit, female form swaying in a natural alluring motion. Her one piece jumpsuit slid up over her shoulders. Verity was completely unaware of her new audience. Finally, with the unflattering jumpsuit attached, the men seemed to break out of their trance.
Costa could see confusion on some of the silly driver’s faces. These desires were normally suppressed by the chemicals. The two women had shaved heads, and in the frumpy jumpsuits, their femininity was almost forgotten. Now minds of the drivers were waking, after eons of being chemically shackled for obedience to Costa’s crew. It looked as though the altercation that was about to escalate was all but forgotten by Brick.
Costa began slowing his body once again. It was a good thing if he had been forced to go into hyper speed because of one unruly first-stager and reveal his identity he would probably have to kill them all. This would be a shame, they had already proved useful. Cougar had distracted the creature Cass shot and had taken a leg wound in the process. It was better him than a crew member. Yes having to kill the drivers would leave them at a disadvantage in these wilds.
Verity’s little stunt had saved him from a large inconvenience. Nevertheless, something didn’t sit right about her, and Costa’s instincts about people were seldom wrong. But she had certainly defused this situation, even though she wasn’t aware she’d done it.
*
“They're definitely asleep captain, I double checked.” Riff crept over to join the others where they had assembled, out of earshot from the main camp.
“What do you mean, Fresh?” Verity asked again after the interruption.
“Lots of the drivers on the ship are from the last planet,” Costa said, “could be that some of this lot are from there.” He nodded to the cluster of bodies sleeping near the fire. “Fighting on Earth was probably their first tour of duty. We had to replenish
half of the drivers because we lost so many in the battles,” the sergeant rubbed his temple. “I think that's why most of them are coherent as the chemicals are wearing off because they are fresh. You can tell some of the older ones, their minds are shot, probably four or five tours of duties under their belt. Those ones have been under the mind control drugs so long.”
“That's probably why you lost so many on the last planet.” Lieutenant Shira chastised him. “The old drivers were past their use by date. It's better to replace them each new planet I say.”
“It had nothing to do with the drivers being old!” Costa snapped. “The fighting was just thick! That was why we lost so many! We were far too late getting to Earth. All the spoils and good pickings were taken. Bonobo’s' ship probably arrived a decade before us.”
“Wait!” Verity interrupted. “You mean to say you know the crews of other second-stager ships, who are in competition with you? I thought you fight each other.”
“We fight each other using drivers of course,” Costa said, “our drivers pitted against their drivers, on the planet. All completely civil. Nobody would ever attack another second-stager. I mean that goes without saying. We are still a part of society and not animals.”
What kind of warped moral code was this? Talking about pillaging a planet, and the expiry date of these men they had enslaved. “So you drug the population to be subservient and then send these,” she indicated to the sleeping drivers, “down to the planet to command them? I don't see the point of that.”
Shira put a patronizing arm over Verity’s shoulder and pointed to the fire in a visionary fashion. “Think all those fashion trends in society, do you know where they come from? The clothing, music, art, and sports? They come from new planetary members to the United Worlds, they are always the rave in society.”
“Yea...I thought they were from the new planets invited into the United Worlds Federation.” Verity said.
