Outpost Hell

by Jake Bible

  “I figured it out,” Nordanski said. “They’re going to kill us by making our egos explode.”

  Taman laughed. “I like you. You have a humorous outlook. Your brain must be exceptionally wired for you to be ready for violence yet keep a sense of mirth with you.”

  “That’s me,” Nordanski said. “Always packing extra mirth.”

  “They are using more than light and shadows,” the AI said over the comm.

  Chann tried not to react, but his face must have betrayed that he was hearing a voice as Taman’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then the man’s grin widened and he glanced at his hands, both still held at shoulder level.

  “May I lower my hands? This is becoming rather uncomfortable,” Taman said.

  “They do not possess weapons that I can detect,” the AI announced. “But I also do not detect the people you are speaking with. If I did not have visual confirmation of their existence through your helmet vids, I would not believe there was anyone other than you Marines in that building.”

  Taman’s eyes narrowed that time, Chann was positive of that. He gripped his carbine tighter and cleared his throat.

  “Kay? What’s the call?” Chann asked.

  “How about you tell us who you are and what you are doing here,” Kay said to Taman.

  “Gladly,” Taman replied. “Perhaps I could do that somewhere other than this corridor? I am sure you are all hungry, what Marines aren’t, and while our stores are not exactly overflowing, we do have some delicious breads as well as preserved fruits and vegetables that I am sure you will find very palatable. You are Cervile, yes?”

  “Half,” Kay said.

  “There is a tin of sheg fish that I have been saving,” Taman said. “I would be happy to open it now and share.”

  “Sheg fish? You have a tin of sheg fish?” Kay asked.

  Chann glanced at her, hearing the tone of surprise and longing in her voice. Kay caught his glance and shook her head.

  “That sounds great, but let’s do a Q and A before we have appetizers,” Kay said.

  “Yes, of course, completely understandable,” Taman said. “After all, you are strangers in our home, armed with considerable firepower, and less than trusting. How silly of me to consider that my wishes, and the wishes of my people, might be considered.”

  “Damn,” Nordanski chuckled. “Guy’s got a way with the guilt trip.”

  “Private Kay, I think we can easily come to an arrangement that suits us both,” Taman said. “But I am going to have to politely ask that you stop pointing your H16s at us. That seems only fair since you are standing in my house.”

  “Kay?” Chann asked. “What’s the call?”

  “Lower your weapons, Marines,” Kay ordered. “But do not surrender them.”

  “There,” Taman said, lowering his hands at the same time that Chann and Kay lowered their carbines. “That is what I call an excellent compromise. Now, how about we go find that tin of sheg fish?”

  ***

  “Please, please, relax,” Taman said as he led the Marines into a good-sized cafeteria. “We may outnumber you, but we are not trained in combat. We wouldn’t stand a chance against your skills.”

  Chann studied the room. Several long tables with seats bolted to bars that hung from each end. Standard issue, no different than any mess hall on any GF base in the galaxy. Along the wall were food converters and beverage dispensers along with an ancient-looking dishwasher and sanitizing station.

  “It has served us well,” Taman said as he pointed at the dishwasher. “Molecular vibrator instead of water based. Water is a premium on the planet.”

  “What’s the name of the planet?” Kay asked. “We couldn’t find it in our ship’s records.”

  “Private Kay?” the AI said. “I am losing your comm signal. The cafeteria…be…walls…”

  Kay tapped at her helmet then looked at Chann.

  “I lost it too,” Chann said.

  “Lost what, if I may ask?” Taman said.

  “Communication with our ship,” Kay said.

  “Ah, yes, of course,” Taman said. “It would be naive of me to think you were here without being in touch with the rest of your squad.” He frowned and his brows knitted together. “Squad? Is that the correct terminology?”

  “Depends,” Kay replied. “So, you didn’t answer me. What’s the name of this planet?”

  “Depends,” Taman said. His grin returned. “Please, sit.”

  “I’ve got watch,” Ma’ha said.

  “Yes, you do,” Taman said. “I’ll be honest, I have never encountered a Gwreq before. You are an impressive race.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, cut the crap!” Kay snapped. “Who are you and what is the name of this planet?”

  Taman froze, his smile rigid and strained. “I do not think that outburst was called for.”

  Taman’s people began to move into the cafeteria, but he held up a hand and they stopped. Nordanski and Ma’ha instantly brought their carbines back to their shoulders.

  “Let’s calm down,” Taman said. “We’re getting off on the wrong foot here. I’m trying to build trust, not break it.”

  “Yeah, I’m kind of done with that,” Kay said. “So far you haven’t answered a single question I’ve asked.”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true,” Taman said.

  An ear-piercing squelch of static shot through the comm, causing the Marines to wince. Chann could have sworn he heard the AI’s voice within the static, but it was gone so fast there was no way to tell what it was trying to say.

  “I think I’ll step outside,” Chann said, tapping at the side of his helmet. “See if I can get a better signal.”

  “After you eat and drink,” Taman said. “Refresh your body then tend to work. That’s how we live here. Always mindful of our bodies. Without them, there is no point in continuing.”

  “Oh, man, they’re a health cult!” Nordanski exclaimed.

  “Nord, be quiet,” Kay said. “Chann, stay put.”

  “You sure?” Chann asked. “I thought I heard—”

  “Stay put,” Kay ordered.

  “Staying put,” Chann said.

  “This isn’t going well,” Taman said with a sigh.

  “No, it’s not,” Kay said. “But we’re going to fix that.”

  She slung her carbine and reached up with both hands to unclasp her helmet. There was a slight hiss of air as she lifted it off her head and tucked it under one arm. She sniffed the air and frowned.

  “Cinnamon?” she asked.

  “Synthetic, I’m afraid,” Taman said. “We change fragrances in the air purifiers each day. For variety. Otherwise, all we smell is dirt and dust. It’s a very dry planet.”

  “We noticed,” Kay said.

  She took a seat at one of the tables and waited. Taman smiled and joined her while his people, and the Marines, stood around the cafeteria, eyes wary and bodies tense.

  “Is the girl yours?” Kay asked.

  The question took Taman by surprise. He leaned back in his seat and cocked his head.

  “Voxah? Oh, heavens no,” Taman said. He looked around the cafeteria.

  “She is not in here,” an older woman stated.

  “Good,” Taman said and leaned closer to Kay. Ma’ha growled and he immediately leaned back. “Her parents met with an accident. Horrible thing, really. Very traumatizing to us all. We like to consider Voxah all of ours now.”

  “What happened to her parents?” Kay asked.

  “An illness,” Taman said. “None of us are trained physicians, so we could not give them proper medical care. Mercifully, it was fast and they did not suffer long.”

  “No med pods?” Kay asked. “Outpost like this should have med pods.”

  “Yes, it should,” Taman said. He did not elaborate.

  “The real name of the outpost is a Ferg word meaning Hell,” Kay said. “We got that from the transponder. Why’d you turn it off?”

  “We did not know it was even on,” Ta
man said. “Then our scanners detected your ship, which is a Galactic Fleet warship, and I panicked. I had it turned off in hopes you hadn’t received the signal and would move on.”

  “You don’t like visitors?” Kay asked.

  “We have found that strangers can bring with them difficulties that we may not be equipped to handle,” Taman replied. “There is also the possibility of outside interference. Which we have all spent a good deal of time trying to avoid.”

  “Are you fugitives? On the run from the law?” Kay asked.

  “Health cult,” Nordanski muttered.

  “We are like-minded individuals with philosophical ideas that do not mesh with the general norms of galactic society,” Taman said.

  “That sounds like it could be in a press release,” Kay said.

  “Yes, well, perhaps one day,” Taman said. “At one time, there were a good deal many more of us and we were a thriving community. But not here. We did not start here on this planet.”

  “Which has a name,” Kay said. “That name would be…?”

  “You would think that a galaxy that embraces so many different species and races would also embrace many different viewpoints on life and spirituality,” Taman said, ignoring Kay’s inquiry once again. “I probably don’t have to tell a squad of Marines that is not the case.”

  “Team,” Kay said. “We’re a fireteam. Part of a squad.”

  “Ah, yes. The parts create the whole,” Taman said and nodded. “Then you will understand how we work.”

  “I’m not understanding much of anything right now,” Kay said.

  “Yes, yes, I apologize for being so oblique,” Taman said.

  “There’s a way to fix that,” Ma’ha said. “Answer the damn questions.”

  “Ma’ha,” Kay warned. “I’ve got this.”

  “Alright, I am going to lay it out for you once and for all,” Taman said. “There are exactly thirty-one of us here. Unfortunately, that is not a sustainable number. We are quickly running out of food and water. We have tried tapping the underground aquifers, but there are elements in the water we cannot filter out.”

  “Aquifers,” Nordanski said. “Makes sense.” Chann gave him a look and he shrugged. “What? Sounded like something smart to say.”

  “We have been growing some food and relying on salvaging shipwrecks for more,” Taman continued. “But your ship above is the first we have seen in a very, very long time.”

  “Shipwrecks?” Kay asked. The wary, guarded tone she had been using dropped away and was replaced by one of cautious hope. “Ships have crashed on this planet?”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Taman said and laughed. “Hundreds over the years. You see, the wormhole portal you came through, I assume you came through, correct me if I am wrong, well that wormhole has been depositing ships in our system for decades. Those ships are drawn to our planet and most end up trying to land. None ever do successfully. We are all very surprised your little drop ship made it to the surface in one piece.”

  Taman’s people muttered agreement.

  “Where are these ships?” Kay asked. “Preliminary scans showed zero tech on this planet except for your buildings.”

  “No, your scanners would not pick them up,” Taman said. “They are buried deep under the sands. During the high season, which is half the year, the winds blow so fierce that we are forced to remain inside for weeks, sometimes months, on end. It is not the most agreeable existence.”

  “Then why not leave?” Kay asked.

  “That is exactly what we would like to do,” Taman said.

  “Okay, then do it,” Kay said.

  “We have no ship,” Taman replied. “Until you arrived.”

  Chann brought up his carbine at the same time as Ma’ha and Nordanski.

  “I’m afraid you can’t have our drop ship,” Kay said.

  “Have? No, of course not,” Taman said, holding his hands up. “I was not suggesting we hijack your ship at all. I apologize if I gave that impression.”

  “Then what the hell are you suggesting?” Kay asked.

  “A simple trade,” Taman said. “We show you where the buried ships are so you may repair yours and you take us with you.” He spread his arms wide. “All of us.”

  “We don’t have the equipment needed to excavate a ship graveyard,” Kay said.

  “You will not need to,” Taman said. “For the high season is upon us. We expect the first storm to hit within a day or two at the most. Nature will provide and clear the sand for you.”

  Part Two

  The Deal

  1

  Naked except for a pair of briefs, Manheim sat up as the med pod’s lid began to rise. There was discomfort in the stump of his severed leg, but nothing compared to the pain he’d endured as the pod had prepped the blood vessels, nerves, ligaments, and other tissues for later prosthetic attachment. Manheim reached for the metal cuff that had been affixed to his leg, but a sharp beep in his ear forced him to pull his hands back.

  “What was that?” Manheim barked.

  “I apologize, Sergeant Manheim,” the AI replied. “But you must leave the prosthetic interface alone for at least twelve hours while the junctures heal. Your prognosis for full use of your leg is excellent if you refrain from undoing the work the med pod has performed on your body.”

  “Twelve hours? Are you freaking kidding me?” Manheim barked. “I’ve got Marines out there that could be in who knows what kind of trouble, and I have to sit in this ship for twelve more hours?”

  “To be exact, you must sit in the med pod for another twelve hours,” the AI said. “How long you stay in the ship after that, I cannot say.”

  “What if I have to take a piss?” Manheim asked.

  “You may do so in the pod,” the AI said. “It is perfectly sanitary. The pod will dispose of any bodily waste and make sure you stay clean.”

  “I’m not pissing my civvies,” Manheim said. “If I want to get out of this pod, then I’m damn well going to get out of this pod!”

  Manheim moved to swing his leg and a half over the side, but the sharp beeping in his ear returned, considerably louder than before.

  “Knock it off!” Manheim shouted.

  “Will you remain in the pod?” the AI asked.

  “No!” Manheim yelled. The beeping grew more intense. “Yes! Shit! Fine! I’ll stay in the pod!”

  The beeping ended instantly.

  “Again, my apologies, but this is for your own good,” the AI stated.

  “You’re lucky you don’t have a face or I’d punch the shit out of it right now, AI,” Manheim snarled.

  “Yes, I suppose you would,” the AI said.

  Manheim rubbed at his cheeks for a couple of seconds then eased back against the med pod’s cushions that had adjusted to his sitting position. He waved his hand at the lid that hovered a couple feet above him.

  “Can you make that go away?” Manheim asked. “It looks like it’s gonna fall at any second.”

  “Of course, Sergeant,” the AI said. A hatch in the ceiling slid open and the lid was lifted inside. “There. Is that better?”

  “Yeah,” Manheim said. “Now, what’s the sit rep on the team?”

  “They cleared the first building, but encountered no one,” the AI said. “It was the second building where they encountered the occupants.”

  “How many? Did they engage?” Manheim asked.

  “They did not need to use force,” the AI replied. “From what I observed, the occupants of the outpost are not hostile. But that was only from one initial visual observation.”

  “What did scans say?” Manheim asked.

  “That is the problem,” the AI said. “If not for visual confirmation, I would not have known that the team had encountered anyone at all.”

  “Why? Stealth tech?” Manheim asked.

  “No, I would not say that,” the AI said. “The occupants mentioned using light and shadow to mask their presence. Apparently, we are not the first visitors to the planet.”


  “We must be the first Marines or this sketchy situation wouldn’t exist,” Manheim said. “Get Kay on the comm. Now.”

  “I have been trying,” the AI said. “But, there is too much interference. Possibly atmospheric, possibly due to the way the outpost walls are constructed. Whatever the cause, it is making it impossible to communicate with Privates Kay, Ma’ha, Nordanski, or Chann. Would you like me to continue to try to hail them?”

  “Yes, of course I do,” Manheim said. “And give me a holo scan of the area. I want to see what we have gotten ourselves into.”

  “I will do my best,” the AI said. “I can say for certain that atmospheric interference is creating difficulties with the sensors. I must admit that some data has been filled in according to my extrapolations of data from previous scans as we landed. Current data is spotty, at best.”

  “Spotty? That’s not exactly a technical term, is it?” Manheim chuckled. “Sometimes you AIs are a little too human for my taste.”

  “There are many more races in the galaxy than just humans,” the AI said. “I prefer to think of my growth and cerebral expansion as more inclusive than just assigned to one race.”

  “If that makes you feel better about yourself, then do whatever you need to,” Manheim said.

  “I do not feel anything, Sergeant Manheim,” the AI said. “I am not programmed for emotional analogs.”

  “I envy you there,” Manheim said. “So, those holos?”

  “Here you go,” the AI said.

  A grainy image hovered in front of Manheim. The four outpost buildings wavered for a couple of seconds before becoming stable enough to study. Manheim leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, taking in the details the holo projected. Each building was eighty meters long by fifty meters wide by ten meters high. Manheim was about to swipe past the buildings and move on to the environment surrounding them, but something caught his eye.

  “What is that?” Manheim asked, pointing his finger at four dark areas at the base of the closest building. “Enhance.”

  “Those appear to be vents,” the AI said as the image zoomed in on the building. “Two intake, two exhaust.”