The Imprisoned Earth

by Vaughn Heppner

  SF Books by Vaughn Heppner

  THE A.I. SERIES:

  A.I. Destroyer

  The A.I. Gene

  A.I. Assault

  A.I. Battle Station

  A.I. Battle Fleet

  A.I. Void Ship

  EXTINCTION WARS SERIES:

  Assault Troopers

  Planet Strike

  Star Viking

  Fortress Earth

  Target: Earth

  LOST STARSHIP SERIES:

  The Lost Starship

  The Lost Command

  The Lost Destroyer

  The Lost Colony

  The Lost Patrol

  The Lost Planet

  The Lost Earth

  The Lost Artifact

  The Lost Star Gate

  The Lost Supernova

  Visit VaughnHeppner.com for more information

  The Imprisoned Earth

  by Vaughn Heppner

  Illustration © Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

  Copyright © 2019 by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  -1-

  I was in a hallway as a hatch slid open in front of me. Corporation guards in brown uniforms prodded me from behind with bayoneted rifles. I glanced over my shoulder at them.

  Each took a step back. They wore Kevlar body armor and helmets, had obviously bulked up on steroids and trained with heavy weights, and must have had orders to shoot if I resisted. But they were tame men, civilized after a fashion. They must have believed I was kill-crazy and jacked up on Tempo, a drug giving speeded reflexes.

  “Go inside, Bain,” the corporal said nervously. “Do it now, or we shoot.”

  Each guard had his rifle butt tight against his right shoulder, his index finger beginning to tighten against the trigger as he aimed at my chest.

  Before they made a mistake and shot me, I stepped through the entrance, ducking my head, the steel hatch sliding shut behind me and sealing me in a brightly lit chamber. It was the size of an old-style schoolroom, but empty, with a two-way mirror for a ceiling. If I squinted just so, I could see the observers up there in their white smocks, computer slates in their hands, watching me.

  None of the observers spoke to me through the intercom. Part of the test would likely be to see how I responded to unpredictable danger. That would be in line with their previous behavior, at least.

  A hatch opposite me slid open, and a lean cat man slunk through into the chamber.

  I tensed as his hatch closed with a clang.

  “Cat man” was slang. He was a corporation experiment in DNA mutation. It was my understanding that altered cat DNA had been injected into human fetuses and chrono-grown into adult forms.

  As you can see, I wasn’t just any barbarian from the Badlands—the radiated zones in Old America. I had old-style book learning and knew ancient history—anything from before the three nuclear wars that had devastated our planet. I also understood the current situation. I was the raid chief for the Wolf Clan warriors who had explored the ruins of a city once called Las Vegas. Unfortunately, Allan Corporation mercenaries had been waiting, using sleep gas to capture us and bring us here.

  The cat man didn’t care about any of that. He glanced up at the two-way mirror and stiffened as he no doubt saw the observers. They did not respond to him any more than they had to me. Several seconds later, the mutant regarded me.

  I felt the scrutiny, as if a lion or a jaguar crouched in tall weeds, an attack imminent. Pressure, like someone physically pushing me, caused my nape hairs to stir and my gut to clench.

  The cat man was taller than I, even though I’m tall among humans. He was leaner with narrower shoulders and had fur all over his body. He even had a furry head, and his features were aquiline—slanted eyes, and fangs instead of ordinary teeth. He wore no clothes, boots or hat, while long curved claws slid out from his fingertips and toes.

  That was eerie. Great cats should not walk nor think like men. I knew the cat man was incredibly dangerous, his lean muscles hard like iron and his speed phenomenal. The claws could slash or stab deep. For dealing with him, a machine gun would be best or a high-caliber revolver. I had neither.

  The claws extended as the cat man began to stalk me, not coming straight on, but at a slant as if he was indeed hiding in weeds.

  My heart pounded, but I did nothing. The cat man meant to murder me. Maybe the observers meant for him to murder me, and they would record the gory happenings.

  I was tall, like I said, had enough muscles that most people considered me strong, and was a Wolf Clan warrior of Nevada. In hand-to-hand combat, I had no doubt I could lick any three civilized men. I wore an Allan Corporation military cap, fatigues and combat boots. A half-hour ago, an instructor had told me to report here. He had specifically said to come unarmed. Now, I knew why.

  I obeyed Wolf Clan customs, but no one had ever accused Jason Bain of being tame. I could read and reason and had learned combat skills from Elder Dan. I’d also learned through harsh experience, the most ruthless teacher of all. I knew life was hard and seldom fair. I also knew that where one was ordered to come unarmed, there it was best to go armed.

  The Allan Corporation had been running my captured clan warriors and me through many tests. I had lost three companions-at-arms during them, and had vowed to lose no more.

  The lethal cat man watched me as he slunk nearer, lightning death on two feet. He hissed, crouching lower, no doubt getting ready to spring. Yet, I saw a moment of hesitation in him. Maybe he could not understand why I had not moved from my original position. Likely, that confused him, although it would not last long.

  Cat men had incredible reflexes and were deadly killers. They were not deep thinkers, however. And that was my only hope.

  He straightened, and said in torturous speech, “Face. Me.”

  An involuntary shudder ran through my body. I’d never heard a cat, dog or bull man speak before this. The cat man must be a genius-level breakthrough. Whom was the Allan Corporation testing here, him or me?

  In case you’re wondering, I did not turn to face him, but crossed my arms instead. My one chance was to goad him into furious, unthinking action.

  “You…afraid?” the cat man asked.

  I steeled myself for his reaction, mentally preparing, saying, “I piss on your ancestors.”

  It took him a second. Then, he froze, and the fur on his head and shoulders rose stiffly. With a yowl of sound, he launched at me.

  As fast as I could, I drew the knife hidden under my left sleeve, flipped it so I held the nine-inch blade by the tip, drawing my arm back at the same time. In continuation of that fluid motion, I snapped it forward and released the knife. The cat man, in his feline rage, did not comprehend quickly enough, and the spinning knife sank point-first into the creature’s right eye. The force of the cast caused the steel to sink until the hilt struck the cat man’s facial bones.

  By that time, I had thrown myself to the side. The lean cat man moved astonishingly fast, reaching me and raking with razor-sharp talons. He shredded one of my pant-legs and drew three lines of blood along my thigh.

  He hit the pristine floor at the same time as I did. I heard his thud as I rolled and shot back to my feet, spinning around in a fighter’s crouch.

  I needn’t have worried. The cat man lay dead on the floor, face first, his left leg twitching.

  I straightened. I
was bleeding, but it wasn’t too bad. I stared through the ceiling at the observers.

  It took them several seconds to understand what had happened. Then, an intercom clicked on—I heard the barest crackle.

  “You cheated,” a woman accused, one of the observers. “You were supposed to enter the chamber unarmed. You had a knife.”

  “I’m alive,” I said, keeping my voice as bland as possible, difficult to do because I was winded due to adrenaline and a pounding heart. I’d come that close to dying.

  “Yes, you’re alive. Through cheating,” she spat.

  I debated saying nothing more, not really knowing how much power the observers had over the verdict, but finally added, “I lacked natural armaments like his claws. The knife was an equalizer.”

  “You see,” she said triumphantly. “The barbarian just admitted it. He’s inferior to the C-mutant.”

  That angered me. “I’m alive. He’s dead.”

  “The test is over,” a man said calmly. “You will exit the chamber and rejoin the guards. They will take you to a punishment station. There, you will receive Level Three shocks for the duration of three and a half minutes. Observer Kline is correct. You clearly disobeyed your instructions and must pay the penalty for that.”

  My jaw muscles stiffened at the injustice of this, but I looked down, trying to hide my anger from them.

  “He should die,” the woman said. “The barbarian cheated, costing the corporation an expensive experimental mutant. Now we’ll have to rerun the test with new subjects.”

  “I concede your point,” the man told her. “But Dr. Calidore will decide the ultimate outcome. Unless you wish to lodge an objection with QSR.”

  “No…” the woman said, sounding reluctant. “It’s just that the C-mutant is clearly the superior guardian. The barbarian even admitted his inferiority. How often have we witnessed that?”

  “I said I concede your point,” the man said, with a new edge to his voice. A few seconds passed. “Still…the experimental mutant is dead.”

  “Because the barbarian cheated.”

  I didn’t hear the rest because a hatch slid open and corporation guards beckoned. It was time to receive my punishment shocks…unless I could figure out a way to avoid the station.

  -2-

  I couldn’t. I endured the punishment jolts as I had so many times before. I sat inside a tiny enclosed booth, gripping two upright metal handles. If I released the handles, the guards would double my time. If I let go again after that, I would receive much worse torments than the agony sizzling through my body from the handles.

  I was a Wolf Clan warrior. Thus, I did not scream as so many did who entered the booth. The guards made the others stand in attendance so we all benefited, they said. A TV camera was aimed at my face, the projection shown on a screen for the others to see.

  I screwed up my face, panting as the agony seared through my body. I sweated, and Hector Trask—my right arm guard—said later he heard me grunt three times and sigh twice.

  When it was over, I felt weak and my muscles felt limp. But I forced myself to walk out of the booth under my own power.

  According to my book learning and advanced teaching from Elder Paris Roan, the world had greatly changed since the three nuclear wars. Many regions glowed with heavy radiation, while barbarism had become rampant throughout most of the planet. The corporations had high technology, which included rocket launchers and space flight throughout the Solar System. The corporations had begun interplanetary colonies, with the largest ones on Mars, Ceres in the Asteroid Belt, and several more on moons of Jupiter.

  Humanity had deep, self-inflicted wounds, but we were slowly recovering. The Wolf Clan elders wanted our people to have a better spot on the totem pole of importance. Our world was seriously divided, with the corporations wielding deadly power over the rest of us. That was the reason I’d led a party into the ruins of Old Las Vegas. We’d been attempting to find ancient technology that would aid our clan and help us compete against the Allan Corporation.

  From our studies of the corporations, they had high technology but few people, and even fewer who could breathe the open air unaided. Corporation people generally lived underground or in the great domes that dotted the land. Perhaps they attempted to create bipedal workers and warriors by using the DNA of dogs, cats and cattle as one way of compensating for their small numbers.

  A thought struck me then as I marched back to the barracks. Did they use their own fetuses—or those of so-called barbarians—to create those mutants?

  “Why do you scowl?” Hector whispered to me.

  “It is nothing,” I said.

  “You look as if you want to kill someone.”

  “‘It is nothing,’ I said.”

  Hector, a squat and powerful warrior, nodded and drew back, leaving me to my thoughts.

  For the next three days, we loafed in the barracks. The guards didn’t give us any indication as to why the tests had suddenly stopped.

  “Do you think they’re going to kill us?” Hector asked on the third day.

  I lay on my cot, with my hands clasped under my head as I stared up at the ceiling. I’d been sleeping and eating, resting from the grueling tests. I’d told the others about the cat man and the woman observer who’d claimed I had cheated.

  Before I could answer Hector, a hatch opened to reveal three battlesuits. They were heavy, perhaps weighing as much as two tons, and constructed out of gleaming metal. They had humming servos and exoskeleton power, and each battlesuited soldier aimed a heavy slugthrower into the barracks room at us.

  An external suit speaker clicked on. “Jason Bain, stand up.”

  I rose from the cot, facing them.

  “You’re coming with us, and if you bring a hidden knife along, you will die painfully.”

  I removed a knife from its arm sheath, tossing the blade onto my cot. That I had such a knife in the barracks was against regulations, and would likely cost me many minutes in a punishment booth later.

  “Come,” a battlesuited soldier said.

  “Is he heading to another test?” Hector asked.

  “Yes. His last. Hurry, Bain. The observers are eager to finish this.”

  A bad feeling swept over me, but I squared my shoulders, determined to face my fate with a brave front.

  -3-

  I sat in a chair, alone in a bare room, immobile and waiting. This time, the ceiling was just a ceiling. I tested the air, but I could detect no chemicals, no drifting poisons. I estimated I had been here for an hour already.

  Were they testing my patience?

  I would have shrugged, but that might have caused hidden observers to make marks against me. Besides, had I not waited for hours behind a bush near a pool, waiting for spring-deer to take a drink? I had no doubt that I could outwait any civilized man.

  We had a vague notion the observers were testing us for mercenary use. The corporation soldiers who had captured my band in Old Las Vegas had been mercs. From what I’d learned the past three months, the mercenaries had been Yellow Jackets from a deep valley in Old Idaho. I knew nothing about Yellow Jacket culture. The mercs had handled their advanced corporation weaponry easily enough, so maybe the Yellow Jackets were, like Wolf Clan warriors, conversant with higher technology.

  Abruptly, a screen flickered on before me on the wall. I found myself peering at a skinny man in a green corporation uniform. He had a large head with a beak of a nose, intelligent brown eyes and tufts of wild white hair. A Wolf Clan man who looked like that would have been a madman or, perhaps, a shaman.

  “Hmmm, you’re big enough,” he said. “Anglo-Saxon or German stock would be my guess. Your hair is so blond it almost appears white. Broad shoulders, too.” He glanced at something on a desk before him. “According to the stats, you’re extremely fast. Ah. Your Guile Index is excellent, and your survival traits—oh my! This is the best I’ve seen so far.”

  He looked up at me and smiled.

  I had seen many smiles in
the last three months. All of them had held malice. His smile seemed genuine, as if he was glad.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  I shook my head.

  “Dr. Calidore’s the name. I’ll let you in on something you’ll learn quickly enough. I’m the smartest person in the Allan Corporation, the most educated, too. It’s possible I’m the smartest human alive. That means plenty of people hate my guts and worry themselves sick over me. They wonder when I’m going to take over. That means those with power keep me down and make sure I’m sent on dangerous missions.”

  I hid my surprise that he would say such things to me and simply stared at him.

  “You don’t say much, which shows intelligence, I suppose. Yes, yes, I suppose that’s a survival trait, means you’re cautious. Are you so cautious, however, you’ll let dangerous people or situations kill me?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Ah, a guarded answer. I’m not sure I like that, though. No, no, I’m not sure at all.”

  “You’d prefer a cat man, would you?”

  Dr. Calidore stared at me as he folded his thin hands on his desk. “Not so guarded after all,” he said. “I would compute that as a sarcastic statement. Clearly, you believe yourself superior to a C-mutant.”

  I remained silent, wondering if I’d gone too far.

  “Well, do you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “A-ha, I’ve stung your warrior pride. Interesting, interesting. I’m still not sure about you, though.”

  I waited.

  The skinny doctor looked away, brought a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. He frowned, frowned deeper and finally turned to me.

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Are you ignorant? No,” he said, answering for me. “An ignorant man doesn’t admit he doesn’t know, at least not so quickly. That makes you more dangerous—but that’s what I need, a dangerous man to take care of dangerous situations for me. But if you’re too dangerous, you might try to hold me hostage. That would be a bad idea, you know?”