Flower-of-Sands_The Extraordinary Adventures of a Female Astronaut

by Grahame R. Smith

  Flower-of-Sands somersaulted away from what she thought was the trajectory of the first arrow, but the second penetrated her left leg, just below her knee. She crashed to the ground as the creature loomed over her.

  Whatever she did was unclear, but somehow the animal bypassed her, its momentum sending it crashing into the side of the amphitheatre, unexpectedly disturbing spectators who were drooling over the prospect of a bloodbath. The impact threw Bellona off the creature and propelled her into the midst of people struggling to get clear.

  Flower-of-Sands screamed in pain as she pulled out the arrow from her leg. Miraculously the arrow had not severed an artery. She yanked off her top, tore off a strip, and bound it around her leg above the wound, creating a makeshift tourniquet.

  Having lost its rider and unhinged by its crash, the creature began thrashing about and attacking spectators. Within minutes, three people were dead and dozens injured. The general bellowed orders, his face red with fury, his mouth curled up in a snarl as he glared down at Flower-of-Sands. His men surrounded the creature and shot it full of tranquilizers. Gradually, it collapsed into a rancid and appalling heap of blubber.

  The outcome of this conflict was not resolved. Bellona re-entered the arena and flung off her helmet, revealing mature handsome features set in grim determination. As she drew nearer, Flower-of-Sands caught her eye and saw one who had shut off all mercy and humanity, but who was, like her, a victim of the general’s dystopian regime. How could she kill such a person?

  Bellona attacked.

  Limping, but still able to move, Flower-of-Sands picked up the spear that Bellona had discarded. She needed to move fast. Using both hands, she raised it above her head as Bellona’s sword descended. The spear buckled under the impact. Bellona was well trained and attempted to divert the momentum of her stroke, but slipped and fell at Flower-of-Sands’ feet, the sword sliding out of her reach.

  Flower-of-Sands leapt away and tried to regroup, but Bellona was already attacking. Two knives shot through the air, which she managed to dodge, but a third grazed her arm as Bellona reached her with a fourth that plunged towards her heart. She diverted, sinking onto the hot sand, dust rising and obscuring her vision, but somehow Bellona again lost her footing and crashed through the sand like a boat in choppy water.

  The crowd was in uproar. They had never seen such a fight. Bellona’s followers were urging her on, but Flower-of-Sands had acquired a fan club too. Men, women, and youths were chanting the name bequeathed by the captain: Sand Queen, Sand Queen, kill, kill!’

  Bellona, mindful of her opponent’s deceptive fighting style, leapt with silent cunning. Flower-of-sands felt legs around her neck, pulling her to the ground, squeezing and jerking relentlessly. The pain was terrible. She felt air forced from her as Bellona pressed her face into the sands, kneading, squeezing.

  Unable to breath and choking with sand, Flower-of-Sands felt her strength ebbing like water rushing through a vortex. Unable to manoeuvre away from the vice-like grip, she sank into herself and stopped struggling, waiting for the end, or waiting for a sudden opportunity.

  It was at this point that Bellona made a mistake. Holding Flower-of-Sands in this manner was uncomfortable, so she moved slightly, like someone adjusting a pillow so that they could sleep better; she wanted to be in an advantageous position to witness her victim expire, to revel in glory. It was then that Flower-of-Sands summoned the last of her strength and lashed the back of Bellona’s head with her right foot. It was not a heavy blow, but the surprise of it gave her the advantage. For a split second, Bellona was off balance as her opponent drove an elbow into her rib cage. Bellona screamed in surprise as Flower-of-Sands repeated the action.

  Finding that she was free, Flower-of-Sands rolled away, gasping for breath, her throat rasping hideously. But Bellona was already upon her, determined to repeat the lethal neck hold.

  To the spectators, it looked as if Flower-of-Sands was rolling about, like a child in a tantrum or playing an obscure silly game. Whatever it was threw Bellona off balance; she slipped heavily, wounding herself on the sword that she had managed to retrieve.

  In a single movement Flower-of-Sands was on her feet facing a disorientated Bellona. Seeing her opportunity, she attacked and Bellona crashed onto the sand, hurting herself badly. Flower-of-Sands jumped on her several times. Her actions appeared clumsy, but were effective; Bellona tried getting to her feet but was only able to kneel.

  The audience was frenzied and chanting ‘Sand Queen, Sand Queen kill, kill, kill.’ But the Sand Queen was no killer; she was incapable of plunging a sword or knife into Bellona, who, given time, might recover enough to become dangerous.

  Flower-of-Sands looked towards the general and his colleagues. The general’s eyes bored into her; he wanted blood, a sensational finale to his theatre of slaughter – and those eyes held threat. Flower-of-Sands hated him and everything he stood for. If she could kill anybody, it was he.

  ‘Kill me quickly,’ Bellona rasped. ‘He has my family.’

  Flower-of-Sands’ heart went out to Bellona – not a good place from which to kill her, as she still posed a threat. The spectators, sensing her hesitation, were screaming for action.

  She decided. There was a small chance it would work; she had to accept it as her only option. She had never used the move before, but had practised it extensively during her training with Invisible Fist. She executed a series of jabs to Bellona’s chest, neck and head, and Bellona sank slowly onto the sand, her eyes wide, surprised, and unseeing. Many hours, even days later, having appeared dead, she would waken. Flower-of-Sands hoped that would give her a chance – a long shot, but better than the alternative.

  The audience were disappointed. They had wanted blood and gore – not a phantom punch. But, at least they had a kill, or so they thought. Many had had their money on Bellona, and were licking their financial wounds. Not so Diaz. Shrewdly, he had bet heavily on his Sand Queen. Soon, he would be rich, provided he could get the woman to kill properly.

  He returned to his quarters, accompanied by two officers. He was nonplussed. Who was this extraordinary woman who had fallen into his world? One thing was certain; in her maladroit way, she was dangerous. She could kill with her bare hands using a series of punches one could hardly see. He patted his side arm as if checking it was still there. No, the girl was more than dangerous – she was lethal.

  Chapter 33

  There is something drifting at the edge of my mind.

  Silence.

  Nothing.

  There is something …

  Astral-La opened her eyes. She was lying on a grassy slope. Beside her lay Jalaal and Venetia, both unconscious. Her body felt like concrete, as if she was a statue thrown clumsily into a waste disposal unit. Numb all over, she tried moving; her hands, arms and legs moved only slightly, but she was breathing. She was alive.

  But how? She closed her eyes again and a voice said. ‘Hello.’

  She opened her eyes and looked over at Jalaal. He was trying to say something, but failing. How did we survive, she thought? How?

  There is something moving at the edge of my mind.

  She closed her eyes again and waited.

  Obviously, she had jumped them out of the plane. But how? She had no recollection of doing so. Jumps always involved an act of will, an intention. In this case, that had not happened. The explosion had been too sudden. Maybe it had been a reflex – she didn’t think so.

  There is something …’

  She could feel Jalaal and Venetia stirring. She opened her eyes again. They were sitting up, dazed, rubbing their limbs. She sat up also and began stretching.

  ‘What happened?’ Jalaal asked, more to himself than anybody else.

  ‘Astral jumped us,’ Venetia murmured.

  ‘No, I did not.’ Astral-La sat up, pulled her legs up close to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them.

  No one spoke.

  ‘It was too fast for me to prepare,’ Astral-La said finally.


  ‘You must have done,’ Jalaal said. ‘We are here. We are not dead.’

  ‘I had help. Somehow, something, in some way, helped me.’

  ‘But surely,’ Venetia said. ‘Surely, you must have done it, because we are here. We are alive.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that the first time, Venetia. But something, someone, helped me. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Well, it’s a mystery, but how we got here is one thing, what we are to do is another.’ Venetia spoke practically.

  By now, they had recovered sufficiently to start looking around. They were on a hill overlooking a town. Around them were other hills and rock formations. Everywhere was dry; the grass dull and rusty coloured, plants small and withered. The town was more like an installation. People, mostly in uniform, moved about, loading trucks and other vehicles. There was an intensity about their activity, as if moving rapidly in preparation for something.

  As they continued to look, it became apparent that the town was militarized. Weapons were everywhere, and many vehicles carried missile launchers and machine-type guns. Further afield, lost in a haze of pollution, were lines of tanks. Even further away, hardly visible, was an airport from which helicopters and other aircraft took off and landed with persistent regularity. A rancid smell of petroleum filled the air.

  ‘This does not look like much of an improvement on where we were,’ Venetia said sullenly.

  ‘Let’s hope it is transitional,’ Astral-La said.

  ‘Well, maybe I can cheer them up with my music,’ Jalaal laughed.

  ‘You still have your instrument?’ Venetia exclaimed, moving around him, and gazing with surprise at his back, on which his instrument nestled comfortably.

  ‘It’s part of me. I never part with it. Of course, I have made it smaller. I can do that, as you both know. It is a smart-rubab, after all.’

  Venetia nodded, remembering, almost with nostalgia the times Jalaal had entertained them with demonstrations of how he could regulate the size of his rubab and change the texture of the tones that issued from it.

  The two women looked at Jalaal who was grinning optimistically.

  ‘How can you be so positive,’ Venetia said, her voice indicating outrage. ‘We are millions of light years from home; we are escapees from an absolutely obscene intergalactic criminal fraternity, if you can call it that, and with no prospects of ever getting home.’

  ‘It was you, Venetia, who said that if there was a way here, then there must be a way back,’ Astral-La said. ‘I am holding you to that.’

  ‘Forgive me, I am just … upset, and inherently frustrated.’

  The air vibrated with low thunder, like a pending earthquake, and the smell of petroleum increased. A massive flying machine loomed suddenly from behind the hill followed by a swarm of helicopters, one of which detached from the others, flew low, and came in close. A voice boomed in an incomprehensible language. The trio slowly got to their feet, completely at a loss.

  The voice boomed again. The trio remained motionless.

  A machine-type automatic gun rattled bullets a few metres below them, spitting soil and dust into the air. The noise was deafening. The trio ran for cover, having never been exposed to gunfire. Again, the voice boomed heavily, reverberating inside their heads.

  Venetia raised her hands above her head, hoping this might demonstrate that they were harmless. The other two saw what she did and followed.

  Lower down the hill, the helicopter hovered close to the ground, and a group of five heavily armed soldiers spilled out. On reaching them, one of the soldiers gesticulated that they should get to their knees. Now, hands above their heads, kneeling on hard ground, Astral-La and her team longed for Keeper and his comfortable prison.

  The man continued shouting in his incomprehensible tongue.

  ‘We can’t understand you,’ Astral-La shouted back. The soldier’s response was to continue shouting as if the entire universe was obliged to understand his language.

  Venetia, like her friends, was terrified, but was unable to resist a comment. ‘Out of the frying pan into the fire.’

  This comment cost her dearly. One of the soldiers, who appeared to be some sort of sergeant, incensed by her apparent light heartedness, caught her across her head, causing her to collapse screaming onto the ground. Jalaal instantly leapt to his feet and attacked the soldier who caught him a blow across the face with his rifle.

  Spitting blood, Jalaal fell beside Venetia, his rubab crashing down beside him. The sergeant went over to the instrument and kicked it away. He then raised his rifle with the obvious intention of shooting.

  Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes wide with fear, his mouth curled in a terrible snarl as if he were about to scream for all humanity. Turning, he started to run down towards the helicopter, screaming pitifully, and raising his rifle, threatening the men inside.

  His men were dumfounded and for a few moments forgot Astral-La and her friends. They quickly recovered, however, and turned threateningly towards the trio. Somehow, they blamed them for the strange behaviour of their boss. One soldier reached towards Venetia who was struggling to her feet. His intention was to manhandle her, but before he could start, he emitted a cry like the howling of his demented sergeant.

  At the same time, the sergeant had started shooting at the helicopter. The sheer incomprehensibility of the situation had caught the helicopter pilot by surprise. Rounds from the sergeant’s rifle engaged him. This did not entirely penetrate his body armour but did enough damage to cause him to lose control of the helicopter, which began somersaulting and careering away from the hill towards the other craft.

  Chaos reigned. The helicopter rotated rapidly, crashed into other helicopters, creating a vortex of confusion that threatened the main craft. Someone fired a series of automatic rounds. Soon the air reverberated with gunfire, and close-range missiles. Everybody seemed to be firing at everyone else without discrimination.

  The berserk soldier who had threatened Venetia drew a side arm and shot his men in quick succession. The suddenness of this action so stunned Jalaal and Venetia, they were unable to move. Astral-La grabbed her friends, shouting to them to close their eyes, and hold on to her. But Jalaal wrenched himself free, and ran for his rubab which lay among the bodies of the fallen soldiers.

  Holding Venetia in a vice grip, Astral-La followed and grabbed hold of Jalaal as he slipped the rubab over his shoulder. A roaring wind embraced them as Astral-La struggled to teleport them away. They seemed not to move, the scorching air shuddered, and the ground shook. Explosions. The smell of gas, petroleum. The rattling sound of automatic rounds.

  There is someone at the edge of my mind.

  Everything stopped – the noise, the shuddering, the sound of gunfire, and the toxic smell – all stopped. They opened their eyes. They were on a rusty coloured plain, facing a formation of high rocks. The sky was clear, yet dull-red translucence was a thin veil over the scenery. Beyond, the rocks were jutting cliff edges; further back, the outlines of mountains cast oppressive shadows.

  ‘What happened? Where are we?’ Venetia shouted.

  This was an open question neither Astral-La nor Jalaal could answer. But Astral-La seemed alert, her eyes scanning the landscape, as if she sensed something familiar.

  ‘What is it,’ Jalaal said. ‘You’re like an animal sniffing the air.’

  ‘We were helped – again. Don’t ask me by what or how. But I sense something nearby. A presence … and something else.’

  ‘I sense something too,’ Jalaal said. ‘Let’s link minds. Together we are stronger.’

  Venetia rolled her eyes. Linking was not her favourite thing, even in extreme circumstances. ‘Must we?’

  ‘Maybe no need,’ Astral-La said. Her skin was glowing in the dull red atmosphere. ‘Over there, that formation of rocks. There is some foliage, and I sense water. There is a pool there.’

  ‘At least we can have a swim, and a wash,’ Jalaal muttered. ‘Something we could each do with.’

&nb
sp; They walked towards the mass of rocks and large boulders. Shrubbery, small trees, and a type of grass grew out of the soil around the rocks and became more abundant as they progressed. Soon they were wading through weeds that reached to their waists. A pungent smell assaulted their nostrils, and insects and other creatures darted about in a parody of summer.

  Eventually they came to a pool formed from a waterfall that drained through a series of rivulets. As far as they could tell, it was not manmade.

  They stripped off and plunged into the water, which was clear, exhilarating, and icy. After swimming and splashing about, they faced each other in a small, intimate circle.

  ‘At least we have each other,’ Venetia said as she clasped Astral-La and Jalaal to her. ‘We could end it now and be free of this.’

  ‘Please do not think like that,’ Jalaal said. ‘As you have said yourself, and I repeat it: if there was a way here, there must be a way back. All we have to do is find it.’

  They clambered out of the pool, sliding on the slippery grass, and jumping up and down to get warm and dry.

  ‘What did you do to those soldiers?’ Venetia asked as she rubbed her chilled skin. ‘Did you force them to do what they did?’

  ‘I put suggestions into their heads, yes. It was the only way. They would have killed us otherwise. They were weak minded – luckily. There was little resistance.’

  Astral-La became quiet and once again started scanning the area.

  ‘There’s something here,’ she said. ‘A presence. I feel it strongly and it feels familiar.’

  Jalaal gave a small cry of surprise. Bending down he began to separate tufts of grass that were wet from their attempts at drying. Venetia and Astral-La looked over his shoulder as he dislodged a small object.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘It looks like a bracelet of some sort,’ Venetia said. ‘Others must have been here.’ She looked expectantly at Jalaal and then at Astral-La. ‘It could be good news.’

  ‘That’s extraordinary,’ Astral-La said. ‘It does look like some sort of ornamentation. Others must have been here swimming. It looks familiar …’