by Todd Brill
“I’ll cover you,” she said to Nomad, shouldering her rifle. It was clear by the way she held the rifle she knew what she was doing. Nomad just nodded as he cradled little Yola in his arms, his rifle slung behind his back.
They shuffled quickly down the final corridor to the exit after Hiyadi stopped briefly to blockade the gate with crates and tables. They dispatched two more guards who were protecting the exit to the outside of the prison complex which was barred and locked. They used a button from one of the guards to open the door, but the bars remained across the doorway.
“It must be controlled from somewhere else,” said Telarch, pulling at them fruitlessly.
“Stand back,” said Nomad. He concentrated on the bars, listening to the particles of iron and paint. Asking them to move. He could feel the particles beginning to flex and vibrate in response to his will.
Suddenly, they curled back like an orange, opening a passageway in the middle.
“Amazing,” said Telarch whistling. “I’ve never seen such a thing. You should teach me that trick, Nomad.”
Telarch and Nomad moved the bodies of the guards before stepping through the door. Individually, the rest of the party stepped through the doorway.
Outside now, they found themselves on the outskirts of a city in the distance. The prison was on a large rise, overlooking the city below. Behind them stood the dull gray and reddish-brown metal structure of the prison complex. There was a vehicle near the exit and Telarch quickly led them to it.
The city was bathed in the early morning light that filtered through the sparse cloud cover scattered across the sky. It reminded Nomad of some of the small towns he saw growing up in Missouri. None of the buildings were particularly large or tall, the highest looked to be about five or six stories.
The strangest thing about the city was there wasn’t the constant vehicle and foot traffic Nomad was used to on Earth. The streets were nearly deserted. He could make out a few vehicles here and there, but for the most part the city was quiet. Almost expectant.
The prison vehicle make Nomad think of a van from Earth. It was large, boxy, and made of the same dull gray metal he noticed in the walls of the prison. The van had strange looking wheels and small lights in the front and back with a pair of orange beacon-lights on top. Even though Nomad couldn’t read the alien language, the markings on the side clearly depicted a prison.
Telarch got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The van whirred to life but was nearly silent. It sounded like an electric motor. Danik opened the back hatch door, and they laid Yola and Jorune’s bodies inside and climbed in the back with them. There were tarps in the back, which they used to wrap the bodies.
“Do you know where to go?” Nomad asked Telarch.
“I remember vaguely from the plans,” replied Telarch. “I just hope our contacts are ready for us. We’re a lot earlier than we planned.”
Telarch punched at the display console in front of him and the van did a three-point turn and began down the road toward the city. The road was mostly empty. They passed a few vehicles going in the opposite direction. They were like small electric cars on Earth -- only these were all dull-gray metal and had no comfort features that Nomad could see.
The road was pitted and Telarch had to avoid several potholes large enough to engulf the entire van. It seemed as though the great Leader didn’t have much interest in paving the roads of his capitol properly.
There were several signs along the road but none of their group could read the local language so they had no idea what they meant. Some of the signs were pictograms which made them somewhat obvious. They were very similar to Earth signs: Stop, Winding Road, and Animal Crossing -- although the animal depicted had what appeared to be six legs and a long snout.
Telarch drove quickly -- but not so fast as to attract attention. When they came to the first intersection, several vans that looked a lot like theirs sped through with their orange beacon lights flashing and sirens wailing. They stopped and waited for a moment as they watched the vans headed to the prison.
“We’re going to need to get proper clothes and cover up some,” said Telarch. “Some of us stand out too much,” he looked specifically at Hiyadi. In fact, none of them looked very much like the aliens of this world. Danik and Nomad were close, but their limbs and faces weren’t long enough. Their skin color wasn’t right either. Telarch was as much an alien as Hiyadi: short and stocky with a long beard. Nomad hadn’t seen a single alien from this world with facial hair.
“Agreed,” said Hiyadi. “My skin pigmentation, facial structure, and eye configuration are not synonymous with the indigenous population. In addition, none of our hand and digit configurations are similar -- nor are any of our facial structures. Some kind of hooded raiment would be sufficient to cover our features should we keep our hands and feet out of sight.”
“If the rebels know we’re coming, maybe they have some clothes for us,” said Danik. She was absently stroking Yola’s hair with her hand while she steadied herself against the movement of the van with her other hand.
“That is possible,” agreed Hiyadi.
“How’re you doing?” Nomad asked Danik, placing his hand on her arm and squeezing it.
“Numb. I’ve failed my mission even though I tried my best. I don’t think anyone could blame me. Who could foresee that we’d be transported to an alien world and held prisoner in a death camp? I tried to get us out but it was too dangerous to stay and too dangerous to go.” Her head sank.
“We all did the best we could,” said Nomad. “Thanks to you, Telarch and Hiyadi, we’ve made it this far.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Telarch in a low voice. “It’s very sad when children are hurt needlessly.” He was tugging on his beard again.
“I, too, regret the death of Yola,” said Hiyadi. “I wish I could have done more to protect her and Jorune. They were both very nice people and I considered them my friends. I apologize for my shortcomings.”
“Enough of that,” said Nomad. “We all did what we could. Nobody’s perfect, you guys. I don’t want to hear any more of that shit. We all did our best. We knew people would get hurt -- not that we wanted anyone to get hurt, but we knew it might happen. Sometimes, there’s a price for freedom. Freedom isn’t free.”
Nomad looked at each of them in turn and nodded. They each nodded back except Danik. She just looked away, the tragedy etched on her face. She still blamed herself. Yola was her ward for a long time and Danik was supposed to protect her.
“I don’t know what the traditions of your people are for…dealing with the dead,” said Nomad. “Is there some kind of burial ceremony or something?”
Danik nodded still looking away from him. “Yes, there is. But our dead are set aflame on a pyre and the ashes collected in an urn, not buried.”
“I wish I knew what Jorune would want,” he said, looking over at her small body. He reached over and took her small bone cane and tucked it into his belt. He suddenly felt anguish wash him like a rogue wave as he began to cry.
Danik shuffled over to where he sat and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him. He wept for a moment in silence and then wiped his face on his sleeve.
“Sorry,” he said, “I just got a little overwhelmed for a minute there.”
“Don’t worry,” said Danik. “I was beginning to wonder how you felt but now I know. They were both very close to us, so it’s only normal that we feel sad now that they’re gone. We’ll get through this together.” Nomad nodded.
“I think we’re getting close,” said Telarch, craning his stout neck around to look about the van. Once the area seemed clear, they resumed driving into the city.
“Yes, from the description we got, it looks like that small shop over there,” said Danik, pointing over Telarch’s shoulder.
It was a tiny, dilapidated shop that reminded Nomad of a jewelry store back home. The front entry was barred with a sliding metal gate and the sign was nearly falling off. The ligh
ts making up the electric sign were flashing, but some of the tiny bulbs were burned out. A derelict man sat in front leaning against the building. His clothes were filthy and he had several bags of belongings piled up around him like a little nest broaching him against the cold wind whipping down the barren, dirty street. The man was a local. He had long arms and legs, and his face was elongated too.
“A bum,” said Nomad. “That’s what we called people like him back home.”
“Is that a reference to the humanoid posterior specifically?” said Hiyadi. “Why would you refer to someone that way?”
“I never really thought about it,” said Nomad, shrugging. “At times in my life, you could have called me a bum too. It’s not a nice thing to call anyone I guess. They’re just people after all.”
“Interesting,” said Hiyadi, studying the squatter.
He looked almost human, but like the other indigenous people on this planet, his skin was purplish and his limbs were elongated. His clothes were in tatters and looked as filthy as the garbage-strewn and stinking street.
“Should we wait here until he leaves?” said Telarch, pulling the van to the side of the street, bulldozing some of the trash out of their way. Nomad thought a moment.
“That might be best,” he said. “Besides, it doesn’t look like it’s open.” Telarch shut down the power to the van, and they waited. The squatter seemed to be talking to himself and sang parts of songs Nomad didn’t recognize in a slurred voice. He thought he saw the alien look at them once or twice, but couldn’t be sure.
After about an hour, the bum rose and collected his bags. He stumbled down the street toward the van mumbling to himself along the way. When he got close to the van, he stopped and looked at Hiyadi sitting in the front passenger seat.
His eyes grew wide and seemed to be clearer than a rambling squatter’s eyes should be. The squatter rapped on the window, and Hiyadi tapped the control to lower it.
“You’re far too conspicuous out here,” said the alien quietly. “Pull up closer to the door and I’ll let you in.” He began stumbling back to the storefront door and punched in a key-code to unlock the bars. Telarch drove the van closer, and they all got out of the vehicle bringing the bodies of Jorune and Yola with them.
The bum was looking around suspiciously while they entered the store, watching for movement on the seemingly deserted street. It was nearing noon, but there was no one to be seen.
“They said there would be more of you,” said the alien. “What happened?” He was eying the bodies in the tarps nervously.
“Some were captured and we suffered some losses,” said Telarch, gesturing toward the bodies they carried.
“Okay, hurry and get in and then we can talk,” said the alien, waving them inside with his long hands. They shuffled through the street garbage and through the small door to the shop. After securing the doors, their contact masquerading as a squatter led them through the store and into the back room. He unlocked a hidden hatch in the floor and led them down a flight of steep metal stairs into a small room two levels below.
“Nobody’s here yet ’cause you’re early,” said the man, “but you can bunk down here until tomorrow. That’s the soonest I imagine they’ll be able to get here on short notice without arousing the police.” He motioned toward some cots with small mats and pillows lying piled up in the corner with some blankets.
“There’s rations in the boxes over there with heating discs and bottles of water, too. You might want to put those bodies in the walk-in cooler in the back until you figure out what to do with them. It smells bad enough in here already.”
“What’s your name, friend?” asked Telarch.
“You can call me Del,” said the bum. “It isn’t my real name but we don’t deal with real names here.”
“Thank you, Del,” said Nomad, grabbing his hand and shaking it. “We appreciate all your help and the risk you’re taking to help us.”
Del looked at his hand as Nomad shook it.
“Damn strange alien rituals,” Del muttered, scratching his head.
15
The basement of the alien jewelry store was made of cement and brick and smelled like dust and used oil. The floor was covered in dirt and Nomad was certain he had heard some kind of animal scurrying around during the night. Cobwebs draped from the corners of the low, poorly lit ceiling. There was a single, small, yellowish light bulb hanging from a wire providing an oily, flickering light.
The mattresses they slept on were clean enough and, to Nomad, they felt like a luxury after sleeping on the ground in the prison camp for the past few months.
They each had a small hand-knitted blanket Nomad would swear was wool if he didn’t know there were no sheep on this world. The blankets were a dull brown color aside from the burnt-orange trim. He slept well despite his grief and worry. More than likely, it was because of his exhaustion from the escape the day before. He and Danik slid their mattresses together and cuddled all night.
Off and on through the night, Nomad would awake to find Danik sobbing in her sleep. Yola’s death still weighed heavily on both of them. Nomad stroked Danik’s hair until she fell back asleep. In the morning, they would lay Yola and Jorune to rest.
He could still remember how Yola had approached him in the prison the first time they met. She was so young and naïve. He was a total stranger but she took to him as if they had been long-lost friends. Nomad wept when he thought of her cute little smiling face. He eventually drifted back to sleep by focusing on the dark sea to calm himself.
When they were all finally awake, they began making plans for the day. Del hadn’t come back yet, so they had to wait for him. Who knew how long it would take for him to reach the underground commanders and inform them of what had happened? Nomad kept glancing tentatively at the bodies of Yola and Jorune in the corner. They had wrapped them in tarps last night so they now looked like little gray mummies. He listened for a moment, focusing on the bodies, but he only sensed decay and death.
Nomad was about to turn his attention inward when he sensed something else. Even though Jorune and Yola’s bodies were dead, he could sense the process of decay. Even in death, their bodies contained life. He closed his eyes and sensed the myriad of microscopic engineers working tirelessly to deconstruct and recycle the bodies. The energy stored in the cells was transformed and consumed by the bacteria, viruses, and other critters inhabiting the corpses. Life from death. The universal cycle Jorune had told Nomad about was playing out in front of him.
He had never thought about death in this way before: it was too painful. But thinking about it now, in this way, gave him a sense of hope and peace. Nothing in the universe was truly destroyed. Someday, perhaps far into the future, the particles of his body would merge with the particles of their bodies and they would be together again.
A few hours later, Del returned with a small bundle of clothes and a box of food. There wasn’t much to eat, but they were famished and consumed the breakfast quickly. They ate some wonderfully soft bread with some kind of nut butter that reminded Nomad of peanut butter. After months of gray gruel and flatbread made from grass, this was a feast. There was some fairly fresh fruit that looked and tasted just like apples with yellowy flesh. There were also grapes.
They weren’t like grapes. They were grapes. As he ate, Nomad wondered how this world could have things so closely resembling those of Earth. He didn’t think about it for very long as he devoured the food like a starving man. They finished their meal with some chunks of a slightly dry but salty hard cheese. The cheese reminded Nomad of white cheddar but it had a different smell to it he didn’t recognize. It was like tasting heaven.
After breakfast, they washed in the tiny sink against the basement wall, dressed in their new clothes, and began planning. They were each afforded some simple gray woolen pants, black leather zip-up boots, and some dull gray tunic-like shirts that zipped up the front just to one side of center. The shirts had breast pockets and the pants had deep pockets o
n both sides held fast with buttons. None of the clothes fit well, of course, but Del had done a remarkable job given the circumstances.
Danik and Telarch had the most trouble fitting into the new clothes. Telarch was much smaller than everyone else, and stocky. His feet were human-sized, so the boots weren’t a problem, but they had to trim the tunic and pant legs with a knife to fit him. His broad, stocky chest wouldn’t allow poor Telarch to zip the tunic completely closed either. He grumbled about it, but they eventually convinced him he looked good exposing the upper bit of his burly, hairy chest.
Danik had problems with the boots. Del apologized saying all the boots were meant for men, not women. They were too large for her smaller feet. She had to wear two pairs of wool socks to fill them out, but it meant she slipped around in them. She spent some time soaking them in hot water and fitting them to her feet — something she’d picked up during her combat training — and that seemed to help.
Danik also couldn’t completely zip the tunic closed. Her ample breasts prevented the tunic from closing all the way. The only tunic that fit her properly also exposed the top of her bosom in what Nomad found was an intriguing way. More than once, she caught him staring at her chest and gave him an arched eyebrow in return.
Once they were fed and dressed, they all sat down to talk.
“There was a lockdown all night at the prison and guards were seen scouring the city,” reported Del. “Several patrols searched this very street. I had to move your van to have it stripped and painted so they wouldn’t find it.”
“Do you have a news network of some sort?” asked Telarch.
“Yes, but it’s controlled by the Leader so you have to be careful about trusting the information,” said Del. “They reported an attempted escape by alien prisoners which was quickly thwarted. The prisoners who led the revolt were all executed and work continues on the project.” Del wiped his nose on his sleeve and examined the trail it left on his tunic.
