Trixie swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “What if we refuse?”
Ktal leaned against his back rest. “You are free to leave the citadel and take your chances with the natives and the natural weather of this planet.”
“But that would impede your schedule, wouldn't it?” Trixie couldn't control her seething tone. “It would take you weeks, or months, to find another crew. You would miss your deadline.”
“Yes, it would create delays for us.” Ktal had a half smile. “But you would all die a horrible death... like your stupid predecessors.”
“We can take our chances with the Zerkers.” Trixie was bluffing, of course, but he couldn't know that.
“Zerkers?” His brow lifted.
“That's what we call the natives. We killed over a hundred of them and we can exterminate them all if we have to.” She hoped her conviction rang true enough to shake him.
Ktal considered her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether she told the truth or not. “We did register the explosion in the cave.”
Trixie held his deep aqua stare. “So why not give us something more in exchange for voluntarily doing the work?”
“So, you will work the mines?” No emotion in the low voice.
“Only if you soften the weather some more. We need to plant our crops earlier.” It was a matter of survival, but Trixie felt like a failure.
Ktal seemed to ponder the offer, the tension increased around his calculating eyes. “We will agree to add another satellite.”
McLure intervened. “And you will also let me introduce you to the important project I have in mind for this planet.”
Ktal narrowed his eyes at McLure.
Trixie hoped McLure's project might help their cause, show these mighty Godds that Humans were highly intelligent, not just slave material. “Yes, you will at least consider Professor McLure's project as part of our agreement.”
“It is for the good of everyone concerned,” McLure insisted.
Ktal's shoulders slumped. “All right, I'll consider it, but I make no promises.”
Trixie struggled not to blink under Ktal's stare. “When that is done, we will go to work.”
Ktal rose. “You drive a hard bargain, Captain. But I do agree with your conditions. I will arrange for the extra satellite, but you must start work in the mines tomorrow at dawn.”
“You'll send the shuttle for me tomorrow, then?” McLure's voice dripped with self-importance.
Ktal nodded. “I will send the shuttle.”
Trixie rose, so did Kostas and McLure.
Ktal waved his hand and the table and chairs melted as they receded into the white, spongy decking. “These negotiations are officially over.”
Trixie nodded, lead in her heart. “We'll do as you ask.”
As they made for the iris door, Trixie realized she had lost. They'd run out of time.
* * *
At the heart of the deepest cavern, far under the surface and safe from foreigners, Trock, king of the underground tribes, sat on his stone throne. From the royal seat on the elevated shelf, he surveyed his people and congratulated himself for this auspicious turn of events.
The dead from the battle, mostly friends and family, as well as the two fat enemies they'd killed, roasted over the many fires, the skin crisping, and the fat hissing as it hit the flames. The delicious smell of their meat raised the spirits of his people. It had been a while since they'd had a true feast, and Trock knew now there would be many more.
In a small circle to the left of his seat on the rock shelf, shamans, adorned with the bone necklaces and amulets of their caste, sat cross-legged. Their distant gazes attested to their state as they smoked the wooden pipe stuffed with the dried mushroom that gave visions of what was to come.
On the cavern floor just below Trock, his subjects laughed and danced and fornicated over the drumming of long bones on hollowed tree trunks. They sucked the brains from the skulls and used them to scoop fresh blood from the small pool. More skulls decorated rows of niches high on the walls of the cave. Foreign skulls of all sizes and shapes, with the foreign weapons they'd collected as trophies over many centuries.
Trock rejoiced over the abundance of meat. There was much to celebrate.
It was time to announce the good news. Trock touched the clear Blood Stone hanging from his neck on a leather tie. It flared, bathing the cavern in a crimson glow.
His subjects quieted and turned to face their king, kneeling and humming at the sight of his undeniable power. Only royal blood could make the crimson stone glow.
Trock glanced at the empty throne next to his. “Bring my new queen!” he bellowed.
Two sturdy men brought the naked female, holding her arms, shoving and pushing her up the four carved steps leading to the natural shelf. Forcefully, they sat her onto the stone throne, and tied her ankles and wrists with sinew looped through holes in the stone.
Trock grimaced. She looked too skinny for his taste. He would have to feed her and plant a child in her belly. Despite the blood smeared on her skin, she looked too clean. He wouldn't take much pleasure in bedding her, but being king required sacrifices. And although Trock released his sexual urges whenever he pleased with any woman in his tribe, only this one would carry his royal heir. She was sacred. She was the one of the prophecy. The first five-fingered queen.
She vociferated something to him in the strange language of the new inhabitants of the citadel. She had some fight in her, and anger in her wide brown eyes. He might enjoy bedding her after all. Trock rose and faced her, dangling his male parts in front of her. She spat upon him and he laughed.
But for now, he needed her to shut up and show respect. He punched her face and she collapsed on the throne. Good.
He turned to his subjects and raised his arms, encompassing them all.
“This is a blessed day. The fulfillment of our prophecy is near.”
The men and women yodeled their approval.
“Our gods have spoken through the shamans of the tribe.” He motioned toward the foreign woman in the stone seat. “This is your new queen. No one can touch her but me. She will give us a five-fingered heir of royal blood, to bring about our destiny.”
More yodeling exploded, and rolling of drums and humming, as befitted the occasion.
“Only when our entire race has five fingers again, shall we return to the city of our ancestors and enjoy our life as it is meant to be. We shall rise again and rule as a united sovereign tribe.”
A murmur of approval rose and ebbed.
Then Trock gave the signal, and his subjects rushed toward the roasting fires, shoving and punching each other, jostling for a prime morsel in their feeding frenzy.
Chapter Eight
Kostas entered the gatehouse atop the rampart and refrained from slamming the door. Instead, he sighed as he hung his parka on a peg. Even a hot bath had not soothed his frustration. He threw his dirty clothes into the empty basket in a corner. He'd worked up a sweat at the forge, but at least the daytime temperatures had risen to a more comfortable level.
With the lighter from his belt, he lit the earthen oil lamp on the central table. Courtesy of the Godds... he wondered how they could produce so many items so fast, without industrial facilities. Did they have replicators onboard their ship? And where did the lamp oil come from? There was also the firewood. Was it natural or replicated? Too many unanswered questions.
After the furnace of the forge and the public baths, the empty gatehouse felt chilly, and the night would bring frost. He ignited the straw and kindling under the wood set up in the fireplace and blew on it. Another long day, another sword forged from scrap metal. Another lonely night ahead with aching muscles... and tomorrow, mining would start.
Although famished, Kostas dreaded facing the others in the refectory. They didn't understand why he insisted on making primitive blades, and he felt in no mood to justify his actions. He grabbed his backpack hanging from the pole of a bunk bed and sat heavily on the lowe
r bunk. He drew a sealed ration from one of the many pockets.
An unusual scratching noise raised the short hair at his nape. Vermin in his barracks? Kostas took pride in military cleanliness and wouldn't tolerate such infestation in his quarters. Dropping the silvery ration pack on the bed, he pulled the knife out of his boot and quietly stalked toward the dark corner where the scratching noise originated.
By the light of the fluttering lamp, he glimpsed a black rodent the size of a fat rabbit, squeezing into the space between bunk bed and wall. He shoved the bunk bed aside to gain access, but before he could lunge or throw the dagger, a yellow blur dropped from the top bunk and pounced upon the rodent, in a flurry of squeals, hisses, bare fangs and claws.
When the commotion quieted, the fat yellow cat held the rodent by the neck in a death grip. As the prey still struggled feebly, squealing through long front teeth and twitching a vestigial tail, the yellow fur ball snapped its jaw. Bone cracked. The rodent with rounded ears and long snout, hung, lifeless from the proud cat's maw.
Kostas crouched by the shaggy feline and sheathed the knife into his boot. “Good job. Couldn't have done it better myself.”
The feline looked up at Kostas with amber eyes, unblinking in the lamp light. The cat dropped his limp prey but kept a possessive paw clawed into his kill, as if daring Kostas to steal his meal.
“My name is Kostas.” He ventured out one hand for the feline to sniff. “What's yours?”
The cat took a whiff of his fingers, then a lick.
“Aren't you the friendly sort.” Kostas petted the big shaggy head. “You look and fight like a Viking warrior, my friend. May I call you Viking?”
The cat mewed. He seemed to approve.
“You are welcome to stay in the barracks. You can have that top bunk if you like. I could use a good hunter to get rid of those rats... or whatever they are.” Kostas slowly reached to touch the dead rodent. “May I?”
The cat nuzzled his kill toward Kostas, like an offering.
“Willing to share, are you? That's very generous. Don't worry. I'm not going to steal your dinner. But I could skin it for you.” Kostas assessed the cat, fat and healthy. The settlers were taking Trixie's suggestion to heart. This cat was well fed.
Viking pushed his head against Kostas' knee.
Fairly certain now that the cat wouldn't attack him, Kostas touched the long, thick fur of the black rodent. It felt soft and luxurious. “I guess we could make warm hats of these skins... even fur coats if we could get enough. You bring me more of those, and we can start a fur trading business.”
Kostas pulled out his sharp knife and cut the rodent's throat, then he let it bleed into the fire. When the blood was gone, he neatly separated the skin from the flesh. Then he peeled and turned the skin inside out, from neck to bottom, like removing a jumpsuit. The cat rubbed against his thigh as Kostas crouched by the fireplace. He laid the metal grille to rest upon the stone shelves inside the fireplace and deposited the fresh kill on top, slightly to the side, so it wouldn't burn to a crisp but cook gradually.
Kostas stretched the pelt on a makeshift frame he fashioned out of spare kindling, then hung it from a peg to dry. Survival-101. He would have to teach the settlers to do that if they didn't know how. He hoped they had a furrier among their craftsmen. It would be handy in this climate.
Sprawled at the edge of the top bunk, the cat surveyed his every move.
“Viking?” Kostas turned to the cat. “How do you like your dinner cooked?”
The aroma of roasting meat wafted through the room. Probably aroused by the smell, the cat leapt off the bunk and wove into his legs, purring and mewing. Kostas fetched a thick ceramic plate from a shelf above the water basin and slid the roasted critter upon it with the flat of his knife blade.
Then he cut open the chest and belly of the roast, revealing the dark, steamy entrails. It looked cooked throughout. Blowing and spreading the small bones with his fingers, Kostas cut up the animal meat in smaller pieces and blew on it some more, allowing it to cool before he set the plate on the stone floor, in front of Viking.
The cat purred loudly and sniffed with caution.
“Careful, it's still hot.”
The cat hesitated only a moment, then attacked the feast with noisy snorting sounds.
“Sorry for not joining you, buddy, but I'll stick to my protein rations... although that meat smells mighty good. Reminds me of old-fashioned hamburger day in the barracks.”
Kostas sat on his lower bunk and unwrapped the ration he'd dropped there before the incident. He slowly chewed his protein bar. Sweet, nutty. Healthy. “Thanks for the company, Viking.”
The cat just kept eating as if he'd never get another meal. No wonder he was so fat. But on this planet, fat was probably a good thing.
“Eat while you can. You don't know what's going to eat you.” Kostas chuckled. “Won't be me, I promise. But watch out for those nasty Zerkers.”
It felt good to talk to someone who wouldn't argue. “I keep telling everyone these savages are coming back. No one listens. Just because I saved a truckload of weapons from the ship doesn't guarantee victory against the Zerkers.” Just this morning, Ktal had confirmed the natives were resilient survivors.
“When they come back, I want to be ready,” he told the cat.
Sated, Viking sat on its haunches and stared at him with amber eyes, licking its lips with a pink tongue.
“What happens when the battery packs need recharging? Will the all magnanimous Godds offer to recharge them?” Kostas shook his head. “They want the Humans of Kassouk vulnerable, dependent, tractable. Not armed and self-sufficient.”
Explaining that to civilians and dreamers took more energy than he had left at the end of the day. Even his super-soldier's constitution had its limitations.
The cat still stared accusingly.
“Yeah, I know. That's not the true reason I'm not eating in the mess hall.” Kostas had refused to face the truth, but how could he lie to a cat? “The problem is... Trixie is there. You probably know how it is with women.” Kostas couldn't control what he felt. His brain wasn't wired for this. He didn't have the benefit of an entire childhood to learn how to deal with emotions. “If I tell her how I feel, I'll either make a fool of myself or sound like a lunatic.”
The cat mewed in obvious understanding.
“Right. Women!” Kostas set aside his pack.
He lay back on the bunk, one hand under his head, and patted the mattress next to him. The big yellow cat leapt to his side and stretched along his flank. Kostas reached and petted the big fur ball.
Viking purred and proceeded to groom himself.
“Good cat. Cleanliness is important to a warrior.” Kostas relaxed, noticing he felt a little better for unburdening his mind, albeit to an animal. “Thanks, my friend. You are a good listener.”
* * *
Tablet in hand, McLure stepped out of the transparent shuttle and climbed down the three steps to the spongy white decking of the Goddian ship's bay. He remembered the way to the conference room, as Trixie had called it. He certainly hoped he could talk some sense into these Goddian giants. They might consider him inferior, but as an advanced race, they should see the logic of his project, and the many advantages for everyone involved.
McLure entered the conference room and bowed slightly. “My Prince.”
Wearing the same turquoise robes, Ktal waved him forward. Next to him stood the other alien, in crimson with a skin of gold and fiery eyes. The screen behind them displayed in real time the streets of Kassouk with the hustle and bustle of the new life in the citadel.
McLure could see the teams of workers gathering to go toil in the mines. He shuddered at the thought. He hoped he'd never have to perform such degrading labor.
Ktal gestured, and McLure promptly took his seat at the white round table, facing the two Godds. He set his tablet on the table, switched on the holographic imaging, and explained, as the holovid projected graphs and formulae, and im
ages of the original planet the settlers were supposed to colonize.
“Despite the differences in temperature, this planet below is a perfect candidate to spread the fauna I intended for our new colony. Most conditions are very similar. And if I understand correctly, you can provide the necessary weather adjustments.”
Ktal nodded in a non-committal way. “We do have the technology, yes.”
“The Terran fauna I brought, in the embryonic stage, could easily be adapted to fit this planet. It successfully thrives on my home world.”
Ktal rested his smooth chin on his six-fingered fist, elbow on the table. “I already agreed that we need a proper fauna around Kassouk.”
“May I ask what happened to the original animal life?” McLure knew from the age and conditions of the planet that there had been native life at one time.
The two Godds exchanged a conspicuous glance. Were they responsible for the lack of animal life?
Ktal hesitated. “Whatever species could survive the cold were decimated by the local population. The summer vegetation, although scarce, feeds the rodents and allows them to store food for the long winters. Of course, our workers' crops do suffer from their raids as well. I'm afraid these large rodents we see everywhere are the only native species that survived.”
“But they are plentiful. They could provide the bottom of the food chain for larger carnivores. That would also keep the vermin population in check.” McLure waited for any sign of assent.
Ktal waved him to go on.
“But first things first. We should immediately seed the oceans with plankton, then later with crustaceans and fish.” McLure keyed on the underwater holovid. “When those flourish, we can introduce large sea predators, like sharks, to keep the fish population under control. Other large animals, like bears and such, eat river fish.” He pushed the next key and holovids of large mammals in action filled the space above the round table.
Ktal considered the images with interest. “If the planet teemed with such wildlife, the savages could hunt for food and would have no need to steal your crops and cattle.” Ktal lifted his high brow and his turquoise gaze widened. “I see you have given this a lot of thought.”
Noah's Ark Page 10
