The Human Chrinicles Box Set 4

by T. R. Harris

  “Well…yeah. Who else?”

  “There are several hundred Humans where you are going, according to the reports. What about them?”

  Adam hadn’t thought about that. All he’d been concerned with were his friends. “We can’t take everyone aboard the Najmah Fayd. Maybe a few others, if it works out.”

  “I was just asking.”

  “It was a good question. I’ll think on that a little more, see if there’s anything else we can do for them. Otherwise, I’m sure allied military command is working on a plan. I wouldn’t expect them to be sitting around letting the Nuoreans colonize the Fringe. They have to have something in the works.”

  83

  Admiral Smith still wasn’t happy. All he’d managed to assemble was five thousand seven-hundred ships. The Nuoreans now numbered close to eleven thousand, which was five thousand more than they should have had, meaning they were still bringing new units into the galaxy. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t even consider going up against a force nearly twice his size. If he lost, that would open up the bulk of the galaxy to the invaders. But with the not-so-secret-anymore beam platforms, he felt he had the advantage. Or at least he hoped he did.

  The fleet was assembled between the Fringe and the planet Hyben. Smith already had one platform on station; the other two were on their way. In three days they would arrive and then it would be off to the Fringe, with another four days of travel. A fleet his size would be hard to hide, and if the Nuoreans scattered again, he could only pursue three of their fleets. Any of his squadrons without a platform would be fair game for the invaders’ run-and-trap strategy. Honestly, Smith had no idea how many other Nuoreans were in the galaxy, just waiting to ambush any non-platform-protected allied forces.

  The antacid he’d taken an hour ago wasn’t helping. He still had the burning in his stomach thinking of the near future. If he got it wrong, the galaxy could be lost. If he was right, the invaders would be badly crippled, but not defeated. They still had ways to enter the galaxy and with no viable plan to stop them. If the Nuoreans wanted to shut down for a while as they developed a counter for the suppressor beam, they could, just to resume the invasion again when ready.

  But first things first; Admiral Nathan Smith had to gain the upper hand. If he could produce a respite, then possibly the allies could come up with a more permanent solution to the crisis. If not, then the Milky Way was in for a long, hard slog to the finish line.

  84

  Adam eventually capitulated and let Kaylor modify his disguise. He didn’t see how the changes made that much of a difference, but to the Belsonian they did.

  “There, that is better,” said Kaylor. “Yet beware the surprise on the face of another Belsonian if you encounter one.”

  Adam had seen the huge worker’s compound from space when he landed but didn’t know what it was. It was located about twenty miles southeast of the spaceports in the middle of an arid desert made up of abrasive red sand. There had been no rhyme or reason why the Nuoreans had set up the camp there; it just seemed like a good place at the time to dump the workers. Since then a wide road had been cut in the desert which the natives used to ferry supplies back and forth.

  Using the rotation schedule Kaylor had given him, Adam set off in the early afternoon for the camp. He took a paid transport to the main security gate and stepped out into the hottest part of the day. It was sweltering, with a steady ten-mile-per-hour breeze whipping up dust devils and other huge clouds of ruddy sand. Adam was dressed in a dark blue, one-piece work outfit with a multitude of pockets and an elastic waistband over which he’d placed a small utility belt. He carried no identification or weapons, just the Belsonian disguise he was worried would melt away in the intense heat.

  It was nearing the shift change so most of the foot traffic was headed out of the compound. Anyone not out when the transports arrived would be scooped up and hauled away, with all exit privileges revoked.

  Adam walked up to the huge guard shack and flagged down a stern-looking Nuorean. The alien was tall, stocky and without a bead of sweat on his head, which made Adam believe the weather on Castor was much like that of Nuor. For his part, Adam wore a full face mask made of clear plastic that shielded his face and eyes from the abuse of the blowing sand, while also feeding a trickle supply of oxygen from a small canister he had clipped to the utility belt.

  The guard looked him over, focusing on the dangling appendages from his earlobes. The added scrutiny made Adam mentally thank Kaylor for the time he spent attaching the capens to his ears, otherwise the crude method he’d first used would have been a dead giveaway.

  “I am a new conscript,” Adam shouted through the mask. “I am a construction engineer assigned to the Human compound. I was told to report here.”

  “How long will you be on Qidos?”

  “Maybe three days.”

  The alien worked on his datapad. After a moment, he produced a plastic badge from a unit under the computer. “Proceed to the landing area. Any transport will do; they all land at the same spot. Show the badge to a Nuorean guard and you will be directed to the proper ground transport. When leaving, you will return here, yet go to the tech gate for exit. The badge is good for only one exit, three days from now. Proceed forward.”

  Adam stepped through the gate and into the compound, surprised by the ease of the entry. But then he snickered. Who would infiltrate a massive compound of conscripted slave labor? Getting in was easy; getting out was a whole other affair.

  Early on, thousands of tents had been brought in by the natives. They remained, creating a massive city of canvass in the middle of the desert. This was home to the workers. And when their numbers began to run low, the Nuoreans would simply draft another thousand or so from the native population.

  Masses of Castorians—along with a smattering of other species—were gathered around a huge landing field at the far western side of the camp. They moved in slow motion, dejected, with very little talk. These were the workers who had been following this same routine for over four months: transports would land, load up twenty thousand conscripts, and then lift off, leaving the compound empty. Three hours later, other transports would land and deposit the first work crew, comprised of another twenty thousand-strong work force returning from Qidos. Thirteen hours later the transports would return and the process repeated, around the clock, every day. All sleep, meals, and medical care had to be done within this thirteen-hour period. Fortunately, caring volunteers would flood into the prison once the workers were offloaded, with food, water and other supplies and help their fellow natives recover as best they could from their latest shift at hard labor.

  Adam mingled with the crowd, ignored for most part until an old Castorian with a craggy face took note.

  “You are a new addition,” the native observed. “I have seen your kind, yet I do not recall the name.”

  “Belsonian,” Adam answered. “There are not too many of us in the Fringe.”

  “Are you a tech?”

  “Yes, an engineer, assigned to the Human section.”

  The old looked a little sadder. “Your first trip?”

  “Yes.”

  “The facilities you are constructing are some of the largest. They appear to be many, so I am afraid your time with us will be prolonged.”

  “I return in three days.”

  The alien snorted. “If you are good, you will not leave. There are places on Qidos where the techs are kept. You will have more value to the invaders than Castorians like me and be treated differently.”

  Adam studied the old face. “What is it you do?”

  “I am too old for the dirt crews, so I control a mover, huge piece of equipment used to clear space for the arenas. They are building thousands. Many will die, both in the arenas and in the work crews. Many have already.”

  Thunder was heard above and Adam looked up to see a line of small black dots descending from the cloudless sky.

  “The transports,” said Adam’s new frien
d. “They carry five thousand each. They arrive empty to load us first. Then the prior shift arrives. The invaders do not want all forty thousand workers merging—too much confusion. This way they clear all from the compound and worry not for identification. If you are here, you go.”

  As the ships approached they grew larger until Adam could see they were truly gigantic spacecraft. They would have to be to carry five thousand troops at a time. They landed in a blinding cloud of stinging sand and hot chemical exhaust, before several huge panels opened on each face and the compliant workers began to board.

  “Hurry,” said the Castorian. “If we are among the first on, we can enjoy the cooler air inside longer than the later entries.”

  Adam followed the old creature. They entered the nearest transport—still radiating intense heat from the landing—and headed for one of the wide stairways leading to the higher levels. The interior of the ship was one large open bay, divided by five floors made of thick metal screen. At the top of the ladder, the old Castorian led Adam to the far back wall. There were hundreds of supports placed between the floor and ceiling on each level—looking like subway poles—along with thousands of canvass loops hanging from the ceiling. The Castorian claimed a spot and took hold of a strap. Adam did the same.

  Within five minutes, all five thousand workers for this transport were aboard, and crowding Adam and the old Castorian. One of the natives came up to Adam and stared at him with contempt before moving off. This was probably his spot, but he didn’t have time to make a fuss. The ship lifted thirty seconds later.

  Adam’s new friend was right about the air conditioning. The slight drop in temperature—as compared to outside—came as a relief. Even the oxygen level climbed to the point he could remove the mask. However, the stench was almost unbearable.

  It was a four-hour journey to Qidos. Four hours cramped into a closed space with five thousand aliens, without any restrooms or places to sit. The floor was a heavy metal grate, and Adam could imagine what it was like on the lower levels, where refuse, sweat and piss filtered down to the unfortunate thousand or so aliens too slow to reach the higher floors. The conditions were horrific, and this was just the ride to the planet. He could hardly imagine how it could get any worse.

  Adam had threaded an arm through the canvass loop and was literally dangling there half asleep when the transport began its landing approach. The hum of the generators changed and the gravity shifted to that of Qidos, which was slightly less than Castor, which in turn was right at Juirean standard—three-quarters that of Earth. His new friend had said taking the higher levels would give them more time to enjoy the cooler temperature aboard the ship. He was right, but the sickening odor overrode that benefit. Once the ship was down, Adam gave a quick nod to his companion, and then shoved his way across the floor, down the stairs and out into the bright sunshine of Qidos.

  And he thought Castor was hot….

  Adam had spent a lot of time in the Fringe, yet he’d never set foot on Qidos. Very few did. It was a blistering ball of red sand, looking much like Castor, yet without all the charm and natural beauty. It was dry, windswept and barren. The Nuor had selected the planet because it would be easy to claim vast stretches of flat land and construct hundreds of combat arenas. There was a salty sea covering about a third of the planet, and one of the first things the Nuor did was set up a series of huge desalination plants to supply their burgeoning colony with drinking water. They brought in processors and vast quantities of food paste to keep themselves fed, and Adam understood immediately why they chose to shuttle the work crews back and forth. There just wasn’t enough food and water on the planet to support them.

  What vegetation there was on the planet bordered the sea or was to the north and south, at the poles, providing the planet with an atmosphere right on the edge of Human tolerance. Adam wouldn’t have to wear the mask while on the planet, which was both a blessing and curse. Everyone he passed seemed fascinated with his capens, and without a mirror nearby, he had no idea what they looked like in the heat of Qidos. He measured them with his fingers, glad to find they hadn’t stretched much beyond their original two inches in length. He was expecting the silicone appendages to be down to his shoulders by now.

  Even with the heat, Adam was now free of the gagging stench of the transport, yet still pressed into a throng of Castorian workers disembarking from the ship. But that all changed in less than five minutes. All the workers knew where to go, and go they did, leaving Adam—along with a dozen non-Castorians—standing alone on the dirt of Qidos, looking lost and confused.

  Several Nuoreans approached, checking badges and giving directions.

  The alien checking his badge did a double take.

  “Human,” he said. Adam’s stomach tightened. “I’m told they are master players. I look forward to joining them in the arena once the fields are complete. Are you familiar with the species?”

  “I have met a few.”

  “Are they as formidable as rumored?”

  “From what I have seen, they are the most vicious, savage, deadly creatures in the galaxy. No creature, here or elsewhere, can stand against them.”

  At first the Nuorean appeared defiant, but then his features softened. “Then perhaps they will be classified Jundac.”

  “What is Jundac?”

  “Too dangerous to challenge, a threat to the Nuor.”

  “What happens then?”

  “They will be exterminated.”

  “Yet arenas are being built to fight them?”

  “Special events, with pre-determined outcomes,” said the Nuorean with a smile. “Or there will be mass slaughter demonstrations, using a variety of methods, all very entertaining.”

  The Nuorean suddenly changed his tone. “Enough talk. You can board the blue transport over there and it will take you to the Human section. Check in at the watch building. You may already be late. Now go.”

  Adam did as he was told and boarded the six-row, open-air electric transport. There was no driver, and once Adam joined the other four creatures in the cart, it set off along a road formed in the hard ground.

  The journey took him through a maze of completed arenas, as well as many more still under construction. The place reminded him of the Wimbledon tennis complex, yet on steroids. There was easily a ten-to-one ratio of small challenge fields with spectator rows numbering only five, compared to the huge multi-field stadiums like the one he’d been in on the first Nuorean prison planet in the Radis Spur. All the smaller fields he passed were filled with Nuoreans, either watching the contests or as challenge participants. The cart moved slowly enough for him to see several conclusions to the battles taking place, many lasting only a few seconds. An occasional Nuorean would fall, but over ninety percent of the losers were aliens from the Milky Way. The invaders had a fleet of around ten thousand ships in the Fringe, full of Nuoreans anxious to earn immunity points, and their leaders were giving them what they wanted.

  The cart dropped off the other four occupants at various locations before finally arriving at a segregated area about a mile from the main cluster of arenas. It stopped, and as soon as Adam jumped it, it took off to locations unknown.

  About forty feet away was a strange looking building. It was made from a huge excavated pit covered over by slabs of marble leaning against each other at radical angles. The rock ceiling covered the pit, with the gaps filled with glass windows. A door was set in a rock wall down a series of stairs.

  Before Adam entered the building he took a look around. There were several of the stadium structures under construction and one that was ready. There were none of the smaller fields, just the grand arenas. Six contemporary buildings sat off to the left, looking like barracks and made of either pre-fab material compressed from local rock and sand or shipped in from off planet. Sherri and the others would be there—if they were here at all.

  He entered the watch building.

  Light filtered in through the window making the interior bright, but not a
s bright as outside. Adam found it refreshing. The air inside, however, was only slightly cooler than outside. Normally heat like this would sap his energy, but Adam was feeling great, enthused about the prospect of finding his friends…and anxious to start busting some heads, if it came down to that.

  He frowned and checked his emotions. Down boy, he thought. You’re on a planet full of deadly aliens, you don’t even know if the others are here, and you’re completely on your own. Hardly the time to get all gung-ho.

  Three Nuoreans sat at desks on the other side of a four-foot-high counter. Adam walked up to the barrier and one of aliens came over to him. Adam handed over his badge.

  Without a word, the guard went back to his desk and began making entries in his computer. He returned a few moments later.

  “There is no record of an engineer tech arriving today.”

  Adam’s face lit up. “Does that mean I can go? I can go back to Castor?” He turned to leave.

  “Stop!” commanded the Nuorean. “I did not say that.”

  “But if you have no record, then I should not be here.”

  “The badge gives this location.”

  “But I am not in your computer.”

  The alien looked at the badge again, the one created for him by the Nuoreans back on Castor. “No, you will wait while I investigate more. Sit over there.” He pointed to a long bench seat made of native stone—wood was a rare commodity on Qidos.

  “For how long?”

  “Until I tell you otherwise,” the Nuorean growled.

  Adam acquiesced and took a seat.

  Three hours later Adam was still seated on the rock slab. He kept adjusting his position, and every time he did, the Nuorean guard would frown at him. He was wondering how long this could go on when he heard a rumbling coming from outside. A shuttle was landing in a clearing near the building.